19 | Elrond is the Powerhouse of the Cell

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Elrond Peredhel | Lord of Rivendell

Location: Mithlond, Lindon, Middle Earth, Arda

Time: April 2981 T.A

Shooting up from his bed, Elrond threw the covers off with wracking breaths.

'It was a dream.' He repeated in his head. 'It was merely a dream. A dream...your family is still alive...'

Elrond...

With a hand on his forehead, he wiped away the sweat that had built up.

I'm sorry...I'm sorry.

His other hand clenched the ring that was on a chain, hung around his neck.

Melmenya...I want to do this...

Fingers trembling, he fiddled with the ring, trailing the warmth of the blue gem.

You won't...you can't...

He breathed in.

In and out. In and out.

This is my choice now.

Suddenly a sharp pressure erupted from his mind, making his ears ring. A harsh thrum expelled from the ring of power, hinting as if it were insisting that he control himself. To calm down.

So, Elrond quickly hitched a breath and before long: he found himself leaping from his bed and striding up to the other side of the room where a vanity table was placed.

Hands grasping the back of the chair, he looked down to take a solid deep breath.

Once he gazed up, Elrond stared blankly at himself. That feeling of nothingness began to bleed into disorientation - even fear - as he could almost sense his reflection almost shift slightly.

For a sudden moment, he almost saw a tint in his irises – a flash of purple swirled within his eyes.

But as Elrond blinked: it was gone.

'What is happening to me?'

Those were the words he was beginning to fear.

'They were merely just dreams. Just dreams.'

To clarify, he should be referring to them as visions rather than dreams. If not a dream, perhaps nightmares. Though, nightmares are not supposed to be so surreal that one could feel the very wounds and the very air around him that he could suffocate in his sleep. Nightmares that could cause his very soul to throb and his heart to give in at every face he saw.

Just as Stephen Strange told him, perhaps the vision he was seeing was truly the future. But was it of his own making or Fate itself?

Was it destiny or fate?

Irritably, Elrond clearly didn't need it that morning, no less it was perhaps the most important day that he had written down for the past week. Maybe if he had time, he could possibly contact Galadriel before his second meeting for the day. Knowing well that his dear friend and lady have always been good at consulting such situations.

Or perhaps before he collapsed in exhaustion.

Unfortunately, that was not an option for him.

Taking another sigh, he stood back up, removing his dress shirt before heading to where his clothes had been hung up. Elrond tried all he could not to glance back at the other full-length mirror but he couldn't resist. Just on his abdomen was the reminder of what happened: the scar that would only recall the moment his moment of weakness.

He should have been able to protect her. But the very thing he used all these centuries to protect them had been the downfall.

Alright. Perhaps he shouldn't try and dunk himself in sorrow. Today was important and he needed to be at his best vigilance. So once he was dressed, with a dagger hidden as well as the sling ring hidden underneath his clothes: Elrond dared not to stare back at the mirror once more.

He was going to forget that dream.

For now.

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When he first met them, Elrond immediately felt underprepared.

A group of elves arrived from Forlond just before midday, already the candles indicating the time of day as he, Gil-Galad, Celebrían and Círdan assembled at the front courtyard of the villa. No flag was held up nor any royal banner or herald; instead, there were several armed soldiers amongst both the former King of Gondolin and his sister.

Lord Turgon was every bit of what he had seen from portraits, paintings, and descriptions. Even as he was saddled upon the black horse, there was a certain air around him which showed poise and strength. It didn't help that he almost overshadowed the rest of them with his taller stature, known to the Eldar to be amongst the tallest of their kind. He remembered from The Council that he must have been the same height as Maedhros, perhaps even taller.

It was maybe why Illyria wasn't so shocked at Maedhros, knowing the former king close enough.

When he got down from his horse, Lord Turgon held his hand out to the elleth that was sat upon the next horse. To their surprise (and Gil-Galad's side glance back at him), the elleth ignored his hand and tutted – slipping down with grace and elegance. Her dark raven hair – matched to Lord Turgon's – flowed like ink upon paper, matched by an all-white and silver cloak and dress.

Elrond bit back a chuckle, understanding exactly where Elemmírë once got her free and independent spirit from.

Because no one could match the beauty and strong personality of Lady Aredhel Ar-Feiniel: commonly known as the White Lady of the Noldor. Her silver eyes were sharp, just as the arrows in her quiver and the bow hooked on her shoulder. This was the very elleth which Elemmírë was partially raised, and he could already tell the mannerisms and the strong Noldorin stubbornness came from.

When her brother introduced himself and her, there was tension (or perhaps anticipation) when she looked at them. There was sophistication and elegance in her tone but also a slight relaxing moment when she easily teased about how she looked forward to scouting the eastern parts of Lindon. Though as she spoke to them along with Turgon about what the plans were, a few more elves arrived.

He forgot about the one person who was arriving that day: and that was Lord Maeglin.

Never could he feel such awkwardness arose when he saw him. Elrond should have expected a confrontation with the half-dark elf, knowing there was a key reason why Lady Aredhel came along with her brother. And that was to meet her son. The son who had cost an entire city their lives.

He wasn't sure when he held his breath that moment, watching the dark eyes pan before them before he slid off his horse. Lord Maeglin appeared similar to Lady Aredhel, though with sharper features and almost a lithe and narrow stature. His clothes contrasted with his mother's as Lady Aredhel ran down the steps to embrace him – the black riding robes engulfing the white cloak over her.

Elrond didn't deny that slither of happiness: seeing both a mother and son reunite at least after so long. He wondered how much had they spent time in the Halls together. Did Lord Maeglin be allowed to join her in the Halls?

However, all whilst that occurred there was a feeling in him – his subconscious almost sensing that he should be aware of him more than he should. That same feeling even reflected from Vilya, thrumming like a sort of warning back at him when the said ellon strode beside his mother and introduced him to them.

That was when he felt it. That pull which he could tell. In the same way, when words left Celegorm Fëanorion's mouth forced an effect on anyone listening to it. And yet this felt almost stronger, like tree sap flowing over his mind and making it slow down to hear those words echo.

Elrond immediately hid it, just as Gil-Galad, Círdan and Celebrían did as they all shared the same pliable pleasantries.

He wasn't expecting Lord Maeglin to quickly bring his gaze directly to him and hear his words cut him like a knife.

That told him that Maeglin knew.

He knew who Elrond was and who he was to Elemmírë.

More importantly: what he was.

Elrond shouldn't have been surprised. Quite a lot of elves – those who weren't exposed to the rest of the other habitants of Arda – only knew of them though have yet to interact with one another unless during their visits to Númenor.

Though, to downright feel disgusted by them even if it was connected by blood made his blood grow cold. Without a reason to feel hatred or simply because of their indifference was not something trusted.

Either that or the elf who stood before him had a hidden agenda.

Yet: Maeglin dismissed him, causing his anger to dissipate into confusion and then suspicion.

In the words of Illyria Strange: what the hell just happened.

(To note: Elrond would never understand what hell meant and the number of profanities and terms that his wife used. But once he said or thought of it to himself, he could see why it helped the situation.)

He really had to thank Celebrían for being the best host. Trained by her parents, the Sinda-Noldo elleth was known to be a skilled mediator and politician. Because from the corner of his eyes, Elrond could tell that his friend was about to lose it and fight for his honour.

There was a clear reason as to why those two married.

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After Celebrían and Círdan escorted Lady Aredhel and Lord Maeglin along with their belongings and guards, he looked back to Lord Turgon before he and Gil-Galad offered him if he wanted to rest before the meetings began. Lord Turgon declined, assuring them that it was best now to speak.

And maybe that was why he was here: talking to his supposed great-grandfather in a room.

Alone.

Gil-Galad told them that he would join them later, insisting that Elrond would know more of the situation. Unfortunately (or perhaps predicted), there was an issue with the armoury and Gil-Galad was needed elsewhere to sort it out.

As he left the room, Elrond mentally glared back at his friend – spotting the wink and smile.

They sat there in silence for perhaps an eternity, only a tray of tea between them.

Finally, after that aching silence: Turgon spoke back.

"Do not mind my...nephew," Elrond watched him hesitate slightly before the older ellon continued, "But you do not seem surprised."

"I-no."

He wasn't really sure how to begin, whether to be open or not. In the end, Elrond decided to be honest.

"I admit I was expecting it," Elrond answered back, his hands clasped together on his lap.

Meanwhile, Turgon helped himself with some tea, leaning forward to pour himself and another as he spoke once more. But his voice seemed almost exhausted and sincere as if he had done this several times already.

"I do apologise. My sister insisted to come when word was agreed her son would be allowed out of house arrest. But only if Cirdan's household monitors him," Turgon tapped the spoon at the rim in a pattern before placing it down on the saucer. Before long, he reached out a cup to Elrond.

He stared at the cup for a moment, taking it with a thank you and a nod.

Looking back, Turgon's face turned serious as he spoke, "Most of the spies we suspected that arrived and were once known to have been in the circles of Morgoth have been either on house arrest or have been noted to always be accompanied."

Elrond watched as the Noldorin lord appeared, unsure how to respond. "You have been busy then," he said.

When those words lingered, he would hope he understood what he referred to. There was another note to which Lord Turgon was known, much as Lady Galadriel and Illyria were for their ability for reading minds. An ability which Elrond had grown up accustomed to it.

However, as time passed: he had come to realise that certain uses of it made him doubt their importance. Despite coming to find it useful and almost humorous – especially when watching his children bicker mentally at one another – he feared it may cause harm in extreme circumstances.

Extreme such as using it to interrogate to even torture minds.

His face tightened into a grim expression, almost a smile forming on the corner of his lips. Turgon revealed, "A gift that is unfortunately used in such...questionable things. But I have."

Elrond's stomach churned slightly, almost like the swirling vortex he made in his teacup. He questioned carefully, "You do not find it immoral? The practice of using it within that degree specifically?"

Staring back at him, Turgon's eyes narrowed but his voice remained calm, "When you are a leader during a war there is no good and bad. There is only survival." He pursed his lips before he admitted, "My techniques in mind reading only scratch the surface of interrogating minds. I am not like the Fëanorians, whom they use their ingolë for more...questionable practices."

"And yet you taught my wife how to do it, despite the methods she questioned herself."

Elrond blankly stared at him.

Because even if nobody would suspect him, the calmest and most compliant one of the known lords: Elrond still had a spine.

"You made her into your asset," He stated.

Sometimes, maybe whenever there was a flash of remembrance or a moment, Elrond often wondered what life his wife had before his time. Before she had become less of a warrior and more of a politician. He knew it wasn't just Lindon during the second age that lost Elemmírë's enthusiasm for governing and politics. That may be the reason because of the life she was forced to leave behind as well.

The life whom she was given was because of the elf in front of him.

By the way Turgon's confidence falter: Elrond knew that he had understood. Turgon knew what he had done to Elemmírë as she grew up, becoming an advisor for the sake of using her talents. The asset for the sake of a king's paranoia.

A huge exhale left his lips as Turgon placed his tea down. The age grew upon his façade, showing the truth in his grey eyes.

Turgon began, "I fear we were going to go there..." He looked back at him as he spoke, "Your wife...Elemmírë. She spoke to me before she left."

Elrond immediately frowned. "I was not aware of this."

No. He definitely was not.

Was that the reason why Illyria had gone to Forlond before leaving for Earth? What had she said to him? He really hoped she hadn't done something bad but considering the apologetic tone: it must have been enlightening.

"She asked of me...to help you persuade the rest of the Noldor and possibly all Eldar for a possible reformation of our people. That you spoke to her of thinking to change how – not only the Noldor – but the Eldar govern themselves." Turgon explained, adding as well: "If we are to survive and Arda is to be saved."

His hand clenched slightly, refraining from internally swearing at himself.

Out of all Eldar...

Sometimes he wondered how he managed to find the confidence to even marry that elleth/woman and if she was here: he could kiss or scold her right now.

Preferably kiss her, as he now realised what she had done.

Elrond cleared his throat before he responded, "It's not part of any of the important issues, but it has been something that we always spoke off even after the final war of Beleriand." He finished, "A reformation of sorts. To stop what's constantly a cycle."

"And that is?" The Noldorin lord questioned.

"A cycle of what is deemed leadership based on birth versus leadership based on their skill and character," It was his turn to place his teacup down on the table, straightening his shoulders as he directed the words to him. "We believe in passing leadership upon a family, and yet how do we know if that next heir shall be good to rule?"

This had been what not only his but Illyria's, Gil-Galad's and Celebrían's plans were since their arrival to Mithlond. And before that, he and Illyria began debating of it whilst back on Earth. Even then (to his shock), Fëanor Finwion joined as well alongside Maedhros, though Glorfindel remained at the sidelines during their conversations – telling him that he did not touch with politics ever since Gondolin.

And knowing his brother-in-law, Elrond knew that Glorfindel didn't like touching politics just as his sister did.

But now: now they wanted to expand their thoughts and interests. They wanted to see what people thought of it and how many were open to such plans.

In a matter of time, they would have to encompass those of the older generation.

As expected, Turgon's face grew blank as he asked, "You do not believe that some of us are worthy to rule?"

Elrond shook his head and answered, "No. It is the basis of many factors." He continued, elaborating further before Turgon could get the wrong notion. "But most importantly: if we base leadership on destiny or base it on the judgement of how well they could lead."

The Noldorin lord narrowed his gaze as he stated, "The Noldor was formed because we believed in Finwë Noldoran."

"And what of the others?" He questioned in return, "His son?"

Turgon's answer could have sent Fëanor scowling whilst Maedhros and Illyria would have smirked at the retort. "Albeit with perhaps some...emotional issues but he is quite good in moving people," He spoke, wryly inputting with a hint of sarcasm: "And sending them to their deaths."

Elrond bit the inside of his mouth, mixed between wanting to smile or to defend them. Instead, he continued his argument, "And what of the rest? Kings and lords of other kingdoms. Eventually, not all strength comes. It grows and wanes. Situations change."

"You speak of this as if you believe it yourself."

He did.

And never again would he wish to have to go through it again.

Whilst his fingers twisted the notch of his wedding ring, Elrond inhaled: "Ereinion and Celebrían could not have children during the war. Instead, they wrote a decree and if something happened: the crown of the Noldor shall pass to me. Just as when you passed, the only living heir that was male had been Ereinion, who was only connected through Angrod and thus through Finarfin."

A hum left Turgon's mouth. "I had read of that. There was a great divide of it when word spread upon Aman's shores," He peered back whilst he wondered, "What was their reasoning?"

Elrond replied, "That since I cross not only your blood but also of Elu Thingol, I am twice of royal lineage." He simply added, "Which was...ridiculous. Blood isn't everything."

"But our society believes so." Turgon calmly responded, "Just as I am here as your great-grandfather. You are my child's grandchild and also one of my dearest advisor's loved ones. Blood does mean something..."

Which was something he expected.

That had been the main argument they had expected, their belief in blood and family. And yes: Elrond still believed it to be partially a strong connection when it came to leading those who support you because of it.

In his time, however, all terrible things occurred because of it. It had been blood that had caused fractures, what had forced those to fight one another. And to some miracle: blood had been the furthest thing to be known to have saved him. He had been raised by two people who were far connected from him and his brother. The love and knowledge he received had been from the least expected.

And the Noldor then? They were led by those who remained. His own brother: formed a bond with his own people and created a kingdom of his own. Not because of his blood: but because of who he was and what he did for the people. Just as Mereneth, a Teleri elf with only an ounce of Silvan in herself, was loved by the people of the Greenwood not for the marriage but through her love of them. Just as Galadriel and Celeborn did.

Every leader and king Elrond had seen and passed throughout the ages of Middle Earth, he noticed that the people who began their kingdoms had formed not through blood, but mostly to their belief in them.

Just as he did as well. Like Rivendell: it had been built by him and Elemmírë. However: it was the people whom he considered his kin and friends that made the city what it is.

'The people do not serve you,' Elrond recited, turning his head to him. 'It is you who serves them.'

There was a knowing expression on Turgon's face. A deep pondering in which the Noldorin lord wore as those words must have lingered in his head.

Gradually, there was a warmth coming from him.

'Indeed it is.' He thought back, his voice echoing from Elrond's mind before he audibly continued, "Leadership isn't all about blood or the nurturing of heirs to become what their fathers are. Or that destiny brought them to rule a kingdom." His eye bore into Elrond's as he said, "It is in fact the capability to define reality. To listen first and then to act upon it."

Turgon inhaled.

"I am old, Elrond. Not old by number but in mind," He placed his hands upon his lap as he admitted, "The years of Beleriand and the choices I made had turned me into what I am now. And I may never be so moved or be reasoned so easily..."

Once he trailed off, Elrond watched his eyes move across the room. Turgon looked out at the window, the waning of the stars reflecting against the ocean horizon.

As he returned to him, the corner of his lips twitched. "But it doesn't mean I shall refuse a challenge. I am still Noldo. We have yet to give up in such things...even in the chances of reformation."

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The day went smoothly to which Elrond was relieved.

Or so what he assured himself that smooth considered without feeling as if he was suffocating throughout the time. Even then, there were still times when he felt as if the air in the room had grown so thin that he held his breath as long as he could.

But it wasn't particularly because of the people he was talking to. No. His experience as a diplomat taught him how to talk and when to talk. Though, it didn't mean that Elrond was confident in every single moment of time.

It wasn't the meetings that made him on edge. It was something else. Something even he couldn't really describe or understand what it was. At first, he thought it could have been the ring, just as Vilya had been acting oddly for the past few weeks. Though, that was too simple to directly blame the elven ring of power and even a little bit dense of him.

No...it was something else. Something he hadn't felt in a rather long time.

The same feeling he had before Angmar had been at their doorstep.

With the certain battle with the Witch King.

Of course, Elrond hid it, practically squashed every bit of showing that unconscious feeling his fëa and mind were having once the doors of the rather spacious meeting room opened. He had been pacing by the round table in the middle of the room before then, having been the third meeting since his discussion with Turgon.

He still wasn't sure how he felt about Turgon's opinion on the matter. He didn't want to pull his hopes up believing the full support despite the truth obvious in the older Noldo's words. And if Illyria did have something to do with it (and most of the time Elrond betted between it being better or worse) it meant that it must have been genuine.

Still, he might have to consult with Gil-Galad and Celebrían just for clarity.

Elrond stopped walking and moved over to the spot he occupied, glancing toward the three new figures entering the meeting room. The first had been Gil-Galad, walking over to him with his usual confident smile and nodding curtly at him.

Following behind was Lord Turgon himself, still wearing the same clothing as before though now without the outer cloak due to the warmer conditions of Cirdan's home.

Besides the former king of Gondolin was another figure, his features almost bring Elrond to a halt. They appeared so alike, their gentle yet distinctive facial shape and features. Though with a slightly sharper jawline and perhaps more greyish eyes, it was certain he was Lady Galadriel's brother. The eldest more specifically.

Whilst Ereinion moved to Elrond's left at the table, Elrond greeted them formally with a welcomed tone, "Lord Finrod and Lord Turgon. Thank you for your time."

The former King of Nargothrond wore a polite smile, wandering his gaze over the table before he took the seat right across him whilst Turgon took a spot on his left. Elrond and Gil-Galad glanced at one another before the former sat down last – making Elrond enough time to calm the discomfort he felt.

Even sitting down there was an air of elegance and sophistication in Finrod, even more than what Elrond first described Turgon to wear. Maybe it was the adorning robes he wore or the brighter light in his eyes, brightening the golden waves past his shoulders. Even Noldorin: there was more Vanyar blood shown in physical form?

But inside? They won't know until they begin.

"It is no matter." Finrod dismissed easily, his tone almost comforting them as he continued, "Most of the time now is just spent training and rather trying to gain agreements. Now, I have heard from my cousin of a proposal of a sort?"

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Just as the Noldorin lords left the room, Elrond quickly loosened his shoulders whilst letting out a breath.

Was it relief or exhaustion? He wasn't so sure anymore.

Everything seemed to blend now for the past few days, especially with so much work increasing. The date for the departure was slowly moving closer by the minute and he could hope that in the next couple of weeks they were bound for Rohan, Lothlorien and Dale.

Except for the fact that he hadn't been able to form a portal yet: which was perhaps the most vital thing he had to do before then.

Unfortunately, just as he was about to get up, Vilya pulsed slightly and he glowered internally down at the ring. Elrond inhaled once more. Sauron had yet to attempt another seize at his prize since his last, causing him to worry more if the dark Maia was waiting for the opportunity. But the times the ring had been responding to him it had yet to feel that stabbing feeling in his heart.

Which reminded him about Celebrían and Celebrimbor and the little project that Illyria had set them.

When that project would need him, he had yet to be confronted by it.

Once he was prepared to leave the room, Elrond suddenly sensed a movement from the windows. Rotating his head, he realized immediately who it was.

Perched on the balustrade was Mereneth, sitting idly with her legs swinging. Why he wasn't surprised wasn't the most important thing that popped into his head. He was more surprised (and slightly impressed) that she had been able to sit still in silence for Eru knows how long. Because someone knew what the Teleri elleth was like was that she was not one for patience or sitting still.

As Elrond simply looked at her with disbelief, she jumped off from her spot and sauntered up to him.

Her face lit up into a mischievous grin. "Somebody is jealous." Mereneth's song-like voice paused as she corrected, "Not you and Ereinion, of course, but the blonde princeling."

Elrond sighed, placing his papers into his satchel.

"You shouldn't be eavesdropping Mereneth." He told her with slight strictness, but that only caused the silver-haired elleth to roll her eyes. But then the sentences finally registered in his head, making him raise a brow. "And blonde princeling?"

She shrugged, "What? He's blonde and a prince."

Elrond stifled a chuckle, shaking his head whilst Mereneth defended, "And I wasn't! I just arrived a little too early because I wanted to ask a favour. It's about the dwarrow."

Well, this was not how he thought this conversation was going to turn out.

Usually, or from what he remembered; she would often ask him to get supplies from him. From time to time beg him to persuade Gil-Galad to let her go on a hunting trip to practically blackmailing him from the number of times she had seen him simply wait for Illyria at the library even if he was at the other side of the city.

(Elrond would never admit that last part and if anyone else knew apart from his friends he would go red in embarrassment.)

Nevertheless, he listened to Mereneth whilst he went over to the other side of the table. Pouring himself a cup of water, he raised his brows. "What about them?"

"I'd like to be the one to gain their support."

Elrond choked on his drink.

Did he hear that properly?

"Honestly, I'm not Thranduil, Elrond!"

Guess he did.

"I swear I had this conversation with Celebrían," Mereneth exasperated, hands-on-hips as she sent him another glare.

Twitching his lips, he placed his cup down before he spilt anymore and picked up a handkerchief. "No, you're not. But you certainly need to consider your words whilst I try and drink, Mereneth." As he wiped the table clean from the spilt drink, Elrond returned to business and questioned, "You want to do this? You understand that Dior, Nimloth and Oropher will be furious with you."

Mereneth's face softened; a memory must have passed her mind before she fiddled with the hem of her sleeve.

"I may love the Sindar, my son, Thranduil and the people of the Greenwood. But I lived a different life. With Círdan and the Falathrim. I had no quarrel with the dwarrow then." Her words echoed around the room as she breathed in, "And I want to help you. You and Illyria's plans in saving this forsaken world we live in. Where we are united or at least not having swords at people's throats."

There was no lie in her words, as Elrond listened and he formed a small smile. As much as his friend had always been so chaotic and childish sometimes (and perhaps why Illyria and she always found each other someone as sisters), deep down she had a large heart. A heart which always sought out the best of people and has always been allowed to be open-minded. He remembered the first time he met her, surprised that someone older than him had such joy and enthusiasm despite the marred world.

And he – and Illyria especially – were not wrong. Mereneth was too stark to Thranduil that they almost fell into common ground. Mereneth did not share the calmness and laid-back demeanour of the Teleri, sharing more of her father's personality. Stubborn, arrogant, and prideful, both also, unfortunately, bore heavyweight as their parents' heir and duty.

Sometimes Elrond wondered what would have happened if that faithful day at Imladris never happened. Would the prince of the Greenwood have ever loved deeply another? Would the lady of Lindon ever know her hidden heritage?

One thing was for certain, their tragic end would not have happened.

And perhaps for some that may have been better than death. But not for him or for any of those close to Mereneth and Thranduil. Elemmírë once told him that she would have rather seen their love be free than to see it wither (even if she couldn't stand Thranduil).

With another inhale, Elrond picked up his belongings. "I will ask for someone to help you. Celebrimbor is rather busy with Gil-Galad," He mentioned to her, walking beside her towards the doors. "And I know that Lord Voronwë is busy with Círdan and Aranwë with the ships."

"And Celebrían is busy helping Lord Finrod with the aid towards Lothlorien," Mereneth formed a soured look, pursing her lips tightly.

Elrond stopped as they exited, an idea that immediately popped up in his head.

However, was this idea good?

Uh, that would be debatable.

Nevertheless, he looked at Mereneth and simply replied, "I think I know who may help you."

She quickly rose a brow all whilst inside: Elrond's head was flashing warning signs on what in Arda he was about to insinuate.

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Speaking of things that he insinuated, there was one in which he hadn't (and didn't want to) expect.

Though considering how their first meeting occurred, Elrond should have anticipated it.

It had only been the end of the day since their introductions: and within those short hours actually seeing one another – there was no doubt in his mind that there was one thing he was certain of.

And that was Lord Maeglin.

He had been giving Elrond that hidden glare every single moment.

And no, Elrond wasn't going mad nor growing paranoid like Turgon.

If he did he might as well laugh at the irony of it all. But it was paranoia, it was the genuine truth that he could almost sense him watching him, well: everywhere. Between meetings to even having luncheon with Celebrían, Gil-Galad, Círdan, Finrod, Aredhel and Turgon: The Noldorin lord watched him like some hawk. Perhaps a raven of some sort.

Or it might just be Vilya acting up again, which hinted that he needed to go to Celebrimbor sometime to consult on his own creation. However, Celebrimbor would be coming until the next coming day, hearing from Celebrían that he had gone back to Forlond to work on another project he was tasked with by Maedhros. Glorfindel would come back down on the same day to update on the progress as well as the final meetings.

Alright, maybe Elrond needed to take his mind off. To just simply not think about anything that could worry him even more. What could be better than to have a walkabout the city? He knew Mithlond too much to forget where places were so it would not be a bother to get lost.

Oh, how wrong he was.

By how wrong, he meant it on how his walk was supposed to make him relax. Celebrían insisted on joining her and Mereneth for some evening boat ride since Mereneth wanted to take her old boat for a ride (which he was surprised at how it was still intact after so many centuries). He declined politely, telling her that he'd rather keep what was in his stomach than out for tonight.

So his walk consisted of walking from the coastal streets before going back to the large house on the hill. He even remembered passing through that street that was lined with grapes, remembering one time that Elemmírë used to walk through just for the sake of plucking them from their vines.

That fond memory could have elevated his spirits...hadn't he bumped into the very person he was trying hard to dodge. As subtly of course, Elrond was still a lord and he would do so with elegance.

Unfortunately, elegance wasn't something in which this Noldo was implying, especially when he simply just appeared right in front of him. He just entered the main road heading towards Cirdan's when he found him.

Elrond didn't even know it was him until he rose his head as he quickly began, "Apologies, my lord..."

When he finally met their dark eyes, a cool essence dripped down his spine as he poised himself stiffly in the middle of the road.

With instinct, he shielded his mind before he politely greeted him, "Lord Maeglin."

The ellon before him responded in a cool yet verging cold tone, "Lord Elrond."

Subtly at its finest.

In that case, Elrond was going to proceed in his own way – which was to simply act as if nothing was going on and the elf in front of him hadn't followed and bumped into him on purpose (even if Elrond could've sworn he had).

Because that is one thing Elrond was good at: and that was to plainly knock a peg down at anyone wanting to have a go at him with simple courtesy and kindness.

"May I assist you in some way?" Elrond inquired, maintaining his tone neutral but concerned enough. "Directions perhaps? I was not aware that you would be allowed..."

He stopped as soon as he realised how much he had just spoken.

In a gradual change, Maeglin's cold look changed into what seemed to be...apologetic. How his eyes softened slightly as his face grew meek and solemn.

"I..." He opened his mouth but shut it a second later. Maeglin inhaled before he closed his eyes for a moment, opening them to show his dark irises against the dim lighting around them. "I perhaps have stepped out of line and showed an utmost disrespect to you, my lord. What happened this morning was inappropriate."

Elrond felt as if he had just been swallowed a melon. Surely he had heard what he said? Unfortunately, he had no time to react and immediately hid his shock, clearing his throat as he hurriedly replied, "I no..."

Maeglin patiently looked at him as he tried to reciprocate whatever whiplash he just received. Though from all he got, Elrond felt no lie within his words. They felt true and he couldn't help but have the instinct to just respond appropriately.

As he recollected himself, Elrond calmly continued, "No. You have no need to apologise, Lord Maeglin." He paused, "Perhaps there was some slight misunderstanding and I assure you: you have no worry. You have not offended me either way."

"That is good," Maeglin responded in a relieving voice, slightly forming a quirk on his lips. "I am glad that I have not caused any trouble."

When he smiled, Elrond still felt the uncertainty but he quickly assumed internally to himself that he wasn't going to confront that. At least now he was no sort of opponent. No. The only opponent there were those rallying against Middle Earth.

But now, Elrond didn't know how to continue this (still) tense conversation, which was now verging into awkwardness as they stood in the main street.

"I have heard from my uncle of your propositions," The younger Noldo began, causing Elrond to sober up and eye him. "They are quite interesting."

Nodding, he politely replied, "In which part do you feel is...interesting?" Elrond clarified, "I know from your previous experience that Gondolin was run in a similar fashion as what we chose."

"I think allowing those who follow to have a voice to choose who their leader is quite an improvement to what we have currently," Maeglin spoke, beginning to walk towards the direction of Cirdan's villa. Elrond followed beside him, hearing him continue: "Yes, we choose our leader but they are currently defined by the blood they share. Why not allow others to stride up to such a challenge and lead a certain aspect of governance?"

As they continued down the road, his words trickled into Elrond's mind. This was what he believed in, what he and Gil-Galad and Celebrían supported. If there was a chance for a group to lead their people instead of one figurehead then perhaps it would allow more ideas and solutions to be created. The Eldar all had varying cultures, ideas, and beliefs. Having the diversity would therefore give them so much more. Integration; sharing of ideas and cultures.

Maeglin continued to explain what he thought of it and soon Elrond had unexpectedly had a full conversation with the Noldo. And to his surprise: he was quite interesting to speak to – ignoring all the questionable things he once did. There was never a moment where Elrond almost felt hesitant or almost repulsed by him.

Which then questioned him even more.

This was not the elf who betrayed an entire city all those years ago.

And Elrond – deep within his mind – was very concerned about it.

"I am sorry that I babble," Maeglin finished as they neared the street heading to the main gates. They stopped at the crossroads. "I have quite a strong interest in politics and reformations. Ideas such as yours have allowed me to make most of the time."

Elrond blinked before he answered, "It is quite alright, my lord." He averted slightly, peering towards the skies before he asked, "Sometimes we get lost in such things."

"Indeed," Maeglin nodded before he bowed once more. "I shall bid you goodnight. Thank you for listening and taking some time."

"Not at all," He replied, feeling the cool breeze land another cold shiver down his throat. As Elrond looked back at him, he then felt the iciness return.

Maeglin's smile, despite appearing genuine: yet to reach his eyes.

Once he bid him farewell, Elrond let out a breath – watching his concern as the younger Noldo left to enter the gates. Now he was just confused and suspicious of whatever just happened. Why did Maeglin come up to him so unexpectedly? And if not, almost so accurately?

He felt his hand prickle slightly and he hissed slightly at the sting. 'Why must you react now?' Elrond questioned himself.

Though as he was about to follow as well back inside, there, riding just adjacent to the road, was an ellon – their steed on a lead. With their noticeable golden braids and familiar appearance, Elrond rose his brow before their eyes went to him.

Fingon Ñolofinwion approached him, a warm smile forming on his face. "Mae govannen, Elrond Peredhel," He greeted him.

With a gentle nod, Elrond couldn't help but respond with a rather relieving smile, "I wasn't aware of your arrival, my lord."

In return, the oldest child of Fingolfin formed a tired smile – somehow quite cheerful despite the strained eyes. So this was the Noldo who enamoured his foster uncle since their youth. No wonder why. Elrond had to admit that when he first laid his eyes on him he understood why, especially with how far and yet alike they were.

He was confused as to why Maedhros was so uncertain of reuniting with him. The ellon in front of him seemed quite sincere, even if he was dead as well.

A perfect match indeed.

"I am here for the rest of the final meetings before your departure as my father could not make it and is busy with arrangements in Forlond," His smile morphed into a concerned face, analyzing Elrond as he advised, "You shouldn't be alone despite you knowing this city more than I. I am afraid that I have been hearing such unpleasant things as I arrived."

Well, it would seem that whatever they've been doing hasn't been helping. Even for someone who hasn't come to Mithlond at all, Elrond began to worry if whatever that has been going on had begun to show openly to others. Was it like this back in Forlond and Harlond as well?

"And what do you hear?" He questioned.

Fingon made a grim face as he responded, "Unfortunately, things against my family." With a sigh, he gravely continued, "Against the Fëanorians. There are those who hate them. And hate those who support them. I'm worried a riot will come in all of Lindon and it'll truly break us."

A sharp inhale came out of his mouth. Elrond murmured, shaking his head, "The people are getting impatient. They want things to be over." He sent Fingon a sympathetic look as he continued, "I understand not all wish for this to come, but it is something we cannot turn back now. We all want this to pass."

They all did. Every elf despite who they were and where they lived wanted this to be done. Nobody wanted war and yet they were all forced by the hand to do this. For the sake of keeping everybody alive.

But how could they if everyone was slowly descending into madness?

"They need someone to be inspired. And I am glad and expect that you and several others have done so," Fingon assured him. "Even if it is not reciprocated or as effective as others anticipated."

Inside, Elrond wanted to scoff and laugh. Whatever he's done, it seemed as if it hadn't been improving anything at all. "All means in helping," Elrond replied.

Shaking his head, Fingon spoke, "You are too modest. Maedhros supports you and my brother believes you are fit for such a challenge." He smiled kindly, the gold strands within his hair shimmering under the lamps lined in the street. "Also your wife does tend to be proud with whom she calls family."

Remembering that very conversation Illyria once had with the same person before him, Elrond wondered what the two had spoken about. Had it been about the same topics? Or had it been about him or Maedhros?

"I am aware," Elrond thinned his lips before he spoke, "I just wish both Maedhros and my family do not need to be so far at such a time."

As they continued to walk down alongside Fingon's horse, the same Noldorin lord told him in return, "Whatever he said: do not take it to heart, Elrond." He smiled, "Men are strong. So much stronger than what we all believe them to be. And I know you are strong, Elrond Peredhel. Even stronger than I when it comes to the heart. And both our kind's abilities to see other's strengths show we are capable of seeing such light."

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

He wished he believed Fingon's words.

But then those dreams came up again that night, and this time it wasn't about Dagor Dagorath. It was something even he couldn't understand.

There was blood. A lot of it.

Blood spilling on marble. Blood upon a column and then another at the edge of a blade held by bloody hands. Though which hands – he didn't know. It wasn't just the blood as well. There was light. A blinding light that Elrond almost felt it burn his skin. Almost similar to the same aura as Illyria and his children bore. But stronger.

Then afterwards he woke up in the same state: beads of sweat all over him that he even had taken off his shirt for the worry of him dreaming the same nightmare again.

Even he had removed Vilya off his finger, deciding to wear it around his neck whilst he had hidden the sling ring in a locked box in his room.

There was another option he could have done: don't sleep.

But despite having elven blood, even a day without sleep cost him. And he needed to be awake and fully prepared today in order to get through his plans. It simply didn't help the fact that the memories of his encounter with Maeglin were still embedded in his head.

When Maedhros returns, he was going to have words with his foster uncle for tossing so much at his plate.

At least today it wouldn't be so eventful as yesterday, as he planned several hours to practice with the said relic that was in his hands.

Elrond didn't wish to be the one to have to rely upon it, but his wife had asked him to do it. The other candidate was supposed to be Glorfindel, though with the strained relationship between the siblings – Elrond was stuck with the said burden.

Thank Eru that at least Glorfindel was willing to help him with it, or else he would be practically fearing at the spot if he couldn't even conjure a simple portal – no less conjuring somewhere dangerous at all. Even then, he did not dabble in sorcery. Elven sorcery perhaps, but only for the sake of healing other methods if needed.

So after breakfast and a brief meeting with the healers at the healing halls, Elrond returned and spent the first few minutes going through the notes and books which Illyria and Stephen Strange provided. Honestly, from what it says – it was rather simple.

Right?

As he was eyeing (or more like scowling) at the relic that was placed in the middle of the small table between the loungers and armchairs, he heard the door open – revealing his good brother dressed in riding clothes.

Elrond formed a sincere smile, noticing the slight tiredness in his friend. He greeted him whilst gesturing to sit, "I have not seen you in some time."

With a widened grin, Glorfindel walked across the room to greet him before gracefully sitting down on the lounger. They spoke for a moment, asking each other how things were and what things they ticked off from Maedhros' long list of things to get through.

Surprisingly Glorfindel was on track, almost making Elrond raise his brow suspiciously in return. His friend was not one who stuck to plans well. Like sister and brother.

But from what Elrond knew, since both the former governor of their house was back in Forlond, he understood why – making him internally chuckle at how much those two had to be organized about just to keep them on track with everything else. Without Hestondur, the House of the Golden Flower would not be able to function as it was.

Opening his satchel, Glorfindel whipped out the list he had copied from Maedhros' list.

"We've been busy. Hopefully, according to this, we'll be on track on whatever plans we should be completed before their return." At that moment, the door opened – revealing two new figures heading inside. Glorfindel was the first to turn his head, politely greeting them, "Lord Celebrimbor. Ereinion."

Gil-Galad strode in first, holding half a dozen of scrolls and greeting Glorfindel and him with a smile, but then out a sigh. Plopping everything within his hands, the former High King muttered about the endless maps he had to go over again. There were new ones which the cartographers had created since Illyria's arrival. Though Elrond had to admit: they were not as intricate and accurate as of the ones Elemmírë used to make.

Meanwhile, Celebrimbor glanced over to Glorfindel, smiling slightly in his direction before he placed his own belongings which consisted of a pack filled with what sounded to be books, tools and possibly the device which Illyria gave. Elrond shared a knowing gaze before he focused back on the notes in his palm.

His friend just had to emphasize whatever he was doing, planting himself down beside his spot. Gil-Galad asked, "Elrond, are you ready?" From the corner of his eye, he spotted him lean over to skim through the paper. "You have read the notes correctly, right?"

Elrond turned his head across his shoulder and questioned back, "Who between us is the one conjuring the portal?"

Raising his hands, Gil-Galad kept silent whilst Elrond turned to stare back at the ring on the table.

'Right, let's get this over and done with.'

With a sigh, he closed the book and stood up – taking the sling ring from the table and headed over to the empty space that was between the lounge and the doors.

Perhaps they should have done this outside in the courtyard but this would do.

Once he slipped the two bands of bronze upon his middle and index finger, Elrond already felt the strange feeling thrum from the ring. Its power felt new and yet strikingly familiar; perhaps it was due to his own exposure to Earth's magic.

Elrond then eyed in front of his, peering with concentration as he held his arms out – palm facing the door whilst he held two fingers with his other free hand.

Hearing footsteps behind him, Gil-Galad hummed and noted back, "Illyria says that you just need to think where it is." He then suggested to Elrond: "Try making a portal where Celebrían is."

Glancing across to him, he raised a brow. "And where is she?" Elrond frowned. "Ereinion."

Gil-Galad was terrible at acting innocent, even his twin sons and Estel could do better at it. "Just with Mereneth or so what I remember from her usual day outs," He answered with a slightly higher tone before he quickly ushered him, "Come on."

Such impatience. He wondered who was younger between them both if his dearest friend was very much like this.

Bringing his right hand closer to him, Elrond inhaled gently before he exhaled. He then began to move his hands in a circular motion, holding his left hand out in the same direction as Illyria and Maedhros did – thinking only of searching for the certain Sinda-Noldo.

Ten seconds passed and yet nothing happened.

Was he doing it correctly? Surely he was?

He continued, keeping the speed of his circle motions as steady as possible.

As the next ten seconds passed, stress began to build up as he began to concentrate harder – his eyebrows creasing further.

Suddenly there was a small spark of gold.

Elrond kept going, watching as the sparks of gold began to increase. In a few seconds, the small ring expanded, sensing the small breeze of wind entering from the portal. Though as the breeze turned into a full image of what seemed to be the location of where Celebrían was, what was now in front of them was a fully corporal portal.

Behind him, he heard Celebrimbor mutter in disbelief, "By Elbereth..."

By Elbereth indeed...

...He just conjured a portal.

Something he had never thought of doing in his entire life.

Elrond had been in such a shock – mostly as himself at whatever he just did – that he didn't realise a smaller figure passing through. Her face was in full fury.

Right in front of the portal was very angry Celebrían Noeneth.

Feeling a pat on his shoulder, Gil-Galad's face was in a mix of awe and giddiness, laughing out loud: "Elrond the Wizard has a nice ring to it." He waved to his rather enraged wife, "Hello, meleth nin-Ow!"

His mind snapped back into reality when he realised where exactly Celebrían was, the pit in his stomach dropping mixed with annoyance at the person who suggested it in the first place. Why did Elrond trust him to even suggest something appropriate?

Celebrían looked livid, and it did not help when both Glorfindel and Celebrimbor were watching this all unfold with amusement.

Unfortunately, their amusement wouldn't last long as the wrath of Galadriel's daughter aimed at them, causing them to clear their throats – hiding their laughter with a cough.

And truthfully, Elrond couldn't really help but smile despite his shame.

"That is for making Elrond make a portal just as we were going into the baths together!" She scolded them, "And you boys. You better get back to work. All of you."

Elrond, along with the rest simultaneously replied, "Yes Celebrían!"

Whereas for Gil-Galad, who was still cradling his arm after that (rather painful) slap, called out: "Yes, my dear!"

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A/N: I love this chapter so much. Finally giving Elrond more spotlight and really making use of his time in Lindon with the rest of...well his extended family. I always wanted for both Turgon and Elrond not just to meet but to try to bond. Also with Fingon and Elrond, I knew that would be a really wholesome one especially when it comes to knowing Maedhros and Illyria and their own close friendship.

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Edited: 03/02/2023