Shores of Memory

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AUTHOR: LadySternchen

Shores of Memory

“Do you remember? The last time we sat here in this spot?”

There is a lot more emotion in his words than Elmo has planned, which rather annoys him.
He does not want to sound weepy. For once in their life, he needs to be the one who
gives his brother a sense of security. It has been enough hard work to get him to come to
the lake at all.

“I do. No sun, then.”

It takes considerable effort for Elmo to not roll his eyes, but he manages. At least Elu has
answered, and that must surely be worth something.

“True. The stars were reflected in the water, though. It was beautiful.”

This time, Elu remains silent, gazing out over the water with his eyes out of focus.
Dragonflies are darting over the surface, glittering blue and green, and a soft breeze
caresses the reeds that grow on the banks and in the shallow waters. It is the most
beautiful summer’s day.

If only that warmth could truly reach Elu, though, indeed Elmo wonders if anything still
can. Lúthien may have healed him upon her return, but there is no assuaging his grief.

Not truly.

Still Elmo has hoped, stupidly, childishly, almost, that their trip to the lake would somehow
stir Elu out of the oppressing terror of his guilt. The lake has been their retreat, once,
before all was tuned to evil, and Elmo’s mind has been wandering towards it a lot lately,
imagining how it would look in the changing seasons and the light of the sun. If only Elu
felt the same.

“That is how it was back at Cuiviénen.”

“What?”

Elu smiles a little, the first smile he has given Elmo in quite a while.

“The stars in the water.”

“I do not recall. Not really.”

There is understanding in Elu’s gaze even as he shakes his head, a look so painfully
familiar that Elmo feels his heart clench.

“I would not have expected you to. You were still so small when we left.”


“Not this small, surely. I remember your journey to Valinor well enough.”
“Do you? Or do you only remember the terror of being left behind? Those emotions stick
far better than actual memory.”

The words make Elmo flinch. Never once has Elu tried to deny how he has hurt Elmo by
leaving for Valinor, never sought to somehow justify his actions- actions that have, after
all, been perfectly justified. Yet there is also no plea for forgiveness in his brother’s tone,
no underlying desire to be told that it has all not been so bad. Such has always been Elu’s
habit, and for some reason, it makes Elmo want to protect his brother from the harsh
blame he puts upon himself, much more so than had Elu felt sorry for himself.

“I remember thinking that I could not survive a single day without you. There was no room
in my head for anything but the terror of you being gone. I so, so missed you.”

“I know.” Elu says simply.

“Mablung always made a point of ensuring that I joined the games. And over time, days
were filled again with play rather than longing.”

“But not the nights.”

“No. Not the nights. At night, I would cry for you. Poor Olwë grew quite desperate. And it
must have hurt him, too. I sometimes wish I could tell him that I never loved him less. But
you…”

There is so much Elmo might say to complete the sentence, but he does not. Elu knows
without him voicing it that he has been the most important person in Elmo’s life
throughout his childhood and youth, the one to give him the sense of security and love a
parent would give, while still remaining his brother with whom Elmo could play and brawl.

A sudden memory strikes, Elmo, and he laughs out loud.

“Remember how I always used to jump on your back?”

Elu snorts.

“Yes. I still marvel at how we managed to not end up in a fire or in the water or with us
both breaking our necks. You always caught me unawares.”

“I know. How, though? I did it every time you crouched somewhere. You might have
anticipated it after a while.”

In truth, however, Elmo knows full well that Elu could not have done that, even if it has
taken his becoming a father himself to understand that young children will always manage
to have surprise act for them.

Sudden pain pierces his heart at that thought. Galadhon. He misses his son so terribly
each and every day, a pain that cannot be remedied, that not even time would ease.
Galadhon’s death has changed his life so much, has brought so much sorrow. His own
grief is one thing, but there is also Thônwen’s, and the painful understanding that he can
do nothing to help his wife to overcome it, simply because there is no overcoming the
loss of a child. All they can do is hold each other and stay close in their suffering, but
never find comfort.

And also, Galadhon’s death has for so long cooled his relationship with Elu. He does not
want to blame his brother for his son’s death, knows that he is indeed guiltless, and yet…
and yet Galadhon has ridden to war following his king, a king who should have kept him
safe. For some reason, the fact that Elu has felt so guilty only made Elmo blame him
more, feelings that only he and Thônwen and Celebren and the boys should be allowed to
grieve poisoning his mind.

Lúthien’s death has changed that. Since then, Elmo knows how devastating an uncle’s
grief can be, and also… by all accounts, Elu has risked his life too kneel by Galadhon’s
side amidst a raging battle, to ensure that Galadhon is not alone, and for that, Elmo truly
is grateful. After all, it means that his boy has spent his final moments comforted by one
whom he has dearly loved and admired.

Yet Elmo has never thanked Elu for that, or indeed openly told him that he does not blame
him, that he has done nothing wrong in this. But oh, the simple words just refuse to cross
his lips.

A soft touch of his hand brings him back to the present again, and he looks up only to
find Elu gazing at him, his head slightly cocked.

“Are you still with me?” he asks with a smile, and Elmo returns it, nodding.

He will not tell his brother what has just gone through his mind, but he shuffles closer to
him and lays his head upon his shoulder nonetheless. If he still knows Elu, this will answer
more than a thousand words might. And indeed, Elu puts his arm around Elmo’s
shoulders as well, and holds him close.

“So this is what we are doing? Still?”

And when Elmo does not answer, he adds: “You always snuggled.”

There is a hint of laughter in his voice that still not altogether hides the melancholy, and
Elmo nods without looking up.

“I was terrified you would leave again. And… I was terrified to see you sleep.”

“Aye. I think you still remembered seeing our father lying dead, even though your
conscious mind chose not to. Of course you were scared.” Elu replies gently.

Now, Elmo is not overly fond of being spoken to like he is still a frightened little elfling, but
today, this is exactly what he needs. Today it tells him that despite all that has befallen,
his brother is still his brother.

“It helped, you know. That you would let me sleep with my head on your chest so that I
could feel you breathing and hear your heart beating. It was the only way I could possibly
find sleep.”

This time it is Elu who nods wordlessly. There is no need to elaborate further, either, about
all the hardships of their youth, nor the ways they have found to deal with them.

“We did alright in the end, did we not?” Elmo sighs at last.

“One could say so, yes.”

They laps back into silence, leaning against each other. The sun has passed its zenith
now, travelling again towards the western ocean, making the shadows of the trees
lengthen on the mirror-like surface of the lake. Here, by the lake they have once called
their retreat, they have always been just brothers, with no royal duties coming between
them. Here, they have talked about their experiences and uncertainties as fathers, about
what they imagined Olwë’s life to be like, about their deepest worries and regrets and
their love-lives alike. Here, Elu is not his sovereign but only his elder brother. Not that this
makes any difference. If anything, Elmo is more fiercely loyal to his brother than he is to
his king.

But all that belongs to a time before Morgoth has decided to take a liking to Beleriand,
before he has brought war to their lands and with said war the death of Galadhon. And as
beautiful and peaceful this moment is, Elmo still senses in the depths of his heart that it is
but a goodbye, a final farewell before all the world falls into a new, more terrifying
darkness.

For so long he has thought that they could withstand it, that they might survive in their
little blessed realm under Melian’s protection. Not anymore, though. Not since Elu has
invited doom into Doriath.

As if his brother has read Elmo’s thoughts, he reaches beneath his tunic and withdraws
the Silmaril that he has carried against his chest, his slender fingers almost caressing the
jewel. It is a sickening sight that makes anger rise in Elmo’s chest, together with a desire
to seize the gem and cast it far far away.

“Did you have to bring that thing here?” he askes, annoyed. “Can you not let it rest for
one day?”

“No.” Elu answers simply.

“And there was I, thinking that I meant more to you than your stupid jewel.”

Even as he says it, Elmo realises how childish that has sounded, but he does not care- it
feels like a betrayal, almost.

“I am sorry.” Elu says evenly.

“I do not want you to be sorry, I want you to get that damned thing away from us. From all
of us.”

A deep sigh shakes Elu’s chest “If only it were that easy, Elmo. I know you despise me for it, and rightly so. But please do
not assume that this gem could ever be more valuable to me than you, or another living
breathing thing.”

“No?”

“No. It was laughable, really. Brideprice. Every time I think of it I want to fling this gem off
me. As if anything in the world could…”

He breaks off, which Elmo takes advantage of, before his brother can lose himself again
in assurances that he has not truly meant Beren to bring him the Silmaril in exchange for
Lúthien. Whatever Elmo has accused Elu of in these past years, that much has always
been clear.

“And yet you do not.”

Elu gazes into space for a while, then sighs again.

“No. Indeed I do not. Because this gem is also the reminder of what Lúthien and Beren
did. What they achieved, and I shall not lie and claim that I am not proud of her, of them.
And there is so much more. This is the light also that… that you should have lived in. We
all. It is a light that is now gone, as is Finwë with whom I first saw it, and how many
others. It is the light in which Olwë lived for so long. You know, maybe it would not be so
bad if I could hope to see it once more. But I cannot. The Trees are slain, and in the
Silmarils now lies the only remembrance of their beauty.”

Were the situation not so dire, and the topic so grave, Elmo might have smiled. It has
been long since he has heard Elu talk about anything with such passion and also… it is
good to know that he has reasons behind wanting to keep the Silmaril, that his refusal to
let it pass to Fëanor’s sons was not greed or spite. At least not just greed and spite.
Still, the situation is dire, and Elmo knows that this is perhaps his only chance to really
reach Elu, so he argues some more, saying:

“Was it not the light in Melian’s eyes that was for so long enough to appease your longing
for Valinor? Is your wife no longer…”

“Don’t. I love you, Elmo, but if you are to finish that sentence, I shall have to punch you.”

Elu speaks those words calmly, his tone betraying neither anger nor amusement, and yet
Elmo knows at once that this time, he has severely overstepped. Slights on his own
person Elu bears stoically and always has done, but anything that toughed Melian, or his
relationship with her he will still not take.

“ I… of course holding the Silmaril has done nothing to dampen my love for Melian. Do
you not think that is precisely why I love gazing into this light so much? Because it makes
me think of her as much as Lúthien and Finwë and Olwë. But this thing I have not hurt.
This thing I did not rob of the dearest.”

“And still you hurt her further. She fears for you, Elu, don’t you see?”

“Yes. And we both know she fears rightly. I brought the curse upon myself. I will die,
sooner or later, it is as simple as that. But seeing that doom has until now not come for
Fëanor’s sons, I am as yet not too concerned, and also, if I am completely honest with
you, I have little hope for any of us. I cannot imagine Morgoth leaving Beleriand and
letting us go back to living our lives, can you?”

An ancient fear creeps upon Elmo, chilling his heart, so that all of a sudden, the warm
summer sun does no longer reach him. Elu has spoken without the slightest trace of fear
in his voice, indeed without any indication that he has been talking about any graver topic
than tomorrow’s weather, and yet Elmo feels sickened. In this instant, he is again the
small helpless elfling that clings to his brother for comfort, more, whose brother is his
whole world, who is terrified to see said brother sleep, always fearing he might in truth be
dead and leave him, like their parents have left him.

“Then let it go. Let the curse go.” he pleads desperately.

Elu only chuckles, and Elmo wants to hit him for it.

“I do not think the curse works like that, Elmo. And even if it does, I cannot. I am sorry. I
cannot let it go.”

He rises, walking a few steps to the very edge of the water, the Silmaril still gleaming
brightly in his hand. Slowly, the dread feeling is subsiding, so that Elmo can now wholly
take in the situation, and for the first time hear the resignation behind Elu’s words.
He has given up.

Elu stands in the bright light of the day in his finely embroidered robes, his silver circlet
gleaming on his brow, the epiphany of the mighty elvenking he is, so fair, so graceful, with
the wind playing in his hair, an image that inspires awe even in Elmo who has seen him in
his least dignified moments. And yet he is nothing anymore but an actor, playing the role
he has so long held, perhaps fooling even himself. Beneath all the majesty and glory, his
brother is a broken man, frightened and hurting, and phrases like “will you not let it go
even for me, or for Melian?” die in Elmo’s throat. He rises instead in silence to stand
beside Elu once more, looking over the lake together with him. It is a while ere Elu speaks
again.

“Besides, it is not really true that Melian wants the Silmaril gone. I mean, yes, she does,
but to her the light is just as much a reminder of the home she once left behind, a home
that is now lost to her just as much as it is to me."

Elmo nods, little though he wants to. But there is no denying the truth behind Elu’s words,
as there is no averting what is to come. He can do nothing but wait and watch until fate
brings his brother to his knees- all he can do is to decide whether he wants to spend the
time they still have until then arguing or trying to ease Elu’s pain. Again, his thoughts
wander back to where his memory becomes murky, to fear and despair, when nothing but
his elder brother’s embrace saved him from the abyss. This time it is Elu who stands by
the edge of the precipice, and even if Elmo will ultimately not be able to hinder his fall, he
can at least let Elu know that he is loved. He therefore lays his head upon his brother’s
shoulder once more, and Elu presses a kiss into his hair and cradles him.

Maybe talking is just not for them, maybe they can both never put their feelings into
words properly, maybe those caresses are indeed the only language that works for them.
But it does work, and who is there to judge its rightfulness?