High Princes of Tirion
by Nemis

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Chapter Twelve     Council

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Glorfindel strode through the room, hands behind his back. Elrohir’s house in Tirion was where they were all staying, and it was certainly very comfortable, but he simply did not have any eye for it at the moment.

‘If he were in love, I would be the last he would tell, methinks.’

Elrond, sunken back deeply in one of the comfortable chairs, sighed.

‘He knows this cannot be. He knew it then.’

Elladan was silently seated across the room, hand to his head, with no intention to join the conversation.

‘Perhaps everyone is simply overreacting,’ Celebrían offered, placing her hand on her husband’s shoulder.

Frowning Glorfindel looked at Elrond.

‘How fair is this towards Malthon?’

Celeborn, seated not far removed, looked up.

‘He is mature, as she is as well. It is not up to us to pass judgement. And what lies in their past has not always been fair.’

‘This is not a superior argument,’ Glorfindel commented wryly.

‘Then what would you tell him? Or her, for that matter.’ Celeborn replied patiently. ‘Especially since no one truly knows what has transpired yet.’

It was then that Elrohir entered, and all looked up at him. Being the closest to Ereinion, it seemed his opinion was most appreciated. But he would not speak of it, though he had listened.

‘I propose we return to the Halls, or we will miss the banquet,’ was all he said, waiting patiently for a reply from the others.

—~~*~~—

Entering the impressive halls, where most of the other guests were waiting until one of the hosts would lead them to where the banquet was held, Elrond could not help but try to find Ereinion, searching those who were among the assembled crowd. Though unsuccessful in finding the High Prince, he did find Alian and Malthon.

As Celebrían held his arm, Alian held Malthon’s, and in outward appearance there was nothing that separated either couple from the other.

Celebrían placed her hand on his arm.

‘Be still, El-nîn.’

It was Fingon, appearing from somewhere, who welcomed them, his face serious.

‘Elrond, you have a moment?’

‘Of course,’ he nodded, glancing at Celebrían, who gave an acquiescing nod.

Together, the two Elf-lords left the hall and entered a spacious but near-empty corridor, leading into the large house.

‘Both my father and I would much appreciate it if you attempted to speak with Ereinion.’

‘What do you mean?’ Elrond asked, frowning.

‘Ever since the ceremony, he seems preoccupied, we cannot be certain. He seems reluctant to speak at all. I fear we made a mistake asking this of him.’

Fingon opened a door and lead Elrond into a comfortable room, no doubt meant for the more private unofficial conversations taking place in these halls.

It was there also that Fingolfin stood, near Ereinion, involved in a rather one-sided conversation. Elernil was situated in a window seat, watching the two Elf-lords. His eyes met Elrond’s, who returned a heartening look to his grandson.

As soon as Fingolfin noticed Elrond’s entrance, he stepped away, again with no reaction from Ereinion. Nearing Elrond, the elder of the High Princes looked at him, studying his face carefully.

‘He will not speak to either of us, though I do believe he was speaking with Elernil not a moment ago. We do not know what troubles him.’

‘I might have an idea,’ Elrond smiled weakly, and in reply, Fingolfin nodded and made to leave, Fingon staying by the door. Ereinion turned, but was silent still, standing tall, hands behind his back.

‘Elladan no doubt told you?’ he asked at last.

‘He did,’ Elrond replied, nearing.

‘What do you think of this then?’

Elrond was uncertain whether they were going to speak the words, or whether they would continue to avoid naming the subject, as if somehow neither Fingon nor Elernil was to know of it.

‘I am not the one to judge,’ he said.

They looked at each other. Ereinion gave a shake of the head.

‘However much I am told I am no longer Gil-galad, however much I try to tell myself I am not, I cannot deny I have inherited that past, those memories. Part of me is him, while another part is definitely not.’

He watched Elrond observe him silently. A strange change from before. Somehow, Elrond made him speak, a waterfall of words that had been sadly arid when his grandfather had been here a moment ago.

‘I have known pain from a past life,’ he continued.

You know pain from a past life, he commented privately.

‘But with that pain also came friendship, love.’

‘You love her?’ Elrond asked.

He watched the High Prince, who seemed to contemplate the answer, as if it were the first time he considered it.

‘If she feels for me what she felt for Gil-galad long ago,’ he started slowly, ‘I do not think I can honestly claim to share such feelings.’

‘You could have simply answered “no”,’ Elrond smiled.

‘Yes,’ Ereinion replied, playfully pursing his lips, though his eyes still seemed devoid of any such playfulness.

‘But you kissed her?’

‘Uhm, I think rather she kissed me,’ the High Prince commented, sitting down. He looked up at Elrond. ‘I could be mistaken.’

‘If you have any knowledge left from that previous life, I suspect you know exactly who kissed who.’

‘Is she still here?’ Ereinion asked, his tone serious.

‘She is.’

‘Banquet started?’

Elrond raised an eyebrow.

‘What do you think?’

‘I suppose they did the we-have-to-wait-for-the-guest-of-honour-thing?’

‘I suspect Fingolfin did, yes.’

‘Are you hungry?’

‘I am,’ commented Elernil from the window. Ereinion smiled forgivingly.

‘Then we shall go.’

He rose and Elrond placed a hand on his shoulder, his voice quiet.

‘I do wish to speak of this with you further. For it evidently goes deeper than merely what you have spoken now.’

For a moment, Ereinion seemed confused. Then he resigned himself to the notion.

‘You... How long are you to stay in Tirion?’

‘As long as need be.’

The High Prince chuckled.

‘I would not dare to keep you here that long.’

Smiling, Elrond motioned Elernil.

‘We shall see.’

Together, they all left the rooms and joined the guests in the halls where the celebratory banquet was to be held.

—~~*~~—

Ereinion smiled as he entered, receiving a raised hand in greeting from the other end of the hall, where his grandfather was about to enter his office with a visitor. He paid little attention to whoever it was, instead taking the first hallway which he knew would lead him into the gardens.

For a moment he stood on the terrace, very still, closing his eyes and enjoying the light of Anar.

The past few months since his installation had gone well. Generally they had, he could not deny it.

He knew it had to do with the fact Elrond was near, and had a way of dropping by just when he needed to blow off steam.

Woe the day that he would decide to go back to Imloth with his family.

Stepping down from the flagged stones onto the more rugged path, he entered into the gardens.

He knew that if he continued, there was a seat, situated peacefully beneath the trees.

Quite caught up in thought, he reached his destination and found it occupied.

For a moment he contemplated leaving again, but could not bring himself to it.

Carefully, gently, he placed his hand on the shoulder of the lady.

Looking around he feared she would rise and depart, but instead he was treated on a broad smile.

‘My lord.’

‘My lady,’ he nodded.

Averting her eyes, the smile disappeared from her face and Alian shook her head.

‘I wish to apologise for what I did. I...’

Catching her hand he shook his head.

‘There is no need to speak of it. I know.’

Again she smiled, but weakly.

‘You are not the Ereinion I knew.’

Part of him wanted to say she was correct. Another to say she was wrong. He remained undecided on which part was closest to the truth.

‘I know he loved you. That much I can tell,’ he answered instead.

‘And you?’ she asked timidly, her eyes still not meeting his.

‘It does not matter. For however we look at it, you are married. But as you said, I am not Gil-galad. I am not the one you once desired.’

She nodded slowly.

‘I do understand.’

I do not. He smiled the thought away. ‘We never tried to be mere friends. Possibly we should.’

‘Yes,’ she nodded. ‘We should.’

Rising, Alian indicated she was going back. Ereinion offered his arm.

‘You are going to the Council now?’ she asked, taking it.

‘Indeed I am, I merely came to collect my grandfather on the way. He likes the walk.’

‘It is possible to reach the Council Halls through the gardens, is it not?’

He nodded.

‘From Fingolfin’s gardens it is indeed. I predict it shall be the way he decides to take.’

Entering again, they were confronted with Malthon and Fingolfin, who were apparently already waiting.

As by routine, Ereinion cleared his face of emotion and straightened his back.

‘My Lord,’ he spoke, his voice treacherously stabile, and he bowed his head shortly in Malthon’s direction. With a smile at Alian, he watched her join her husband.

Malthon bowed his head as well, but said nothing. Ereinion tried to ignore it, turning to Fingolfin.

‘Daeradar, we must go if we are to arrive on time.’

The eldest High Prince smiled and nodded.

‘He is right,’ he said to Malthon, smiling at Alian. ‘I do look forward to our next meeting.’

Bowing away, the two High Princes indeed exited to take the garden path.

They spoke little, two pairs of hands behind backs, two bent heads, as if the garden around them was not alive and populated with a collection of trees and flowers the likes of which was even rare on Aman.

‘Be ever so careful, Ereinion,’ Fingolfin finally said.

‘Yes.’ was the only reply.

—~~*~~—

‘I do not think the honourable High Prince is one to speak in this aspect...’ The golden-haired Elf-lord said, looking positively smug as he gazed at the youngest High Prince.

Ereinion sat deeply back in his chair, which stood next to that of his father.

Keep your tongue, Ereinion, he is only trying to draw you out, he told himself.

‘... For he has only been here a short while and knows very little of the way of things here.’

There was a murmur, and Ereinion was uncertain whether it was of approval or opposition.

This was what he had watched them do for all the while he had been in Tirion after leaving Imloth.

Listening to endless debates about trivial things, housing and building, fountains and sculptures, sometimes trading. And hearing each of them indirectly tell how much wiser and more experienced they were from any other.

Fingolfin gave a warning smile, as only he could, and turned to Finrod, who sat comfortably observing as most.

‘Lord Finrod, if you keep the members of your house in check, I will do likewise.’

With a playful nod, Finrod relayed the smile to Gildor Inglorion, who it was that had uttered the words, with an air as if Fingolfin’s words had been spoken in private and not out in the open.

Smiling broadly, Gildor stepped back and seated himself, yet another council member stepping up for his chance to voice an opinion. The youngest High Prince was spared further remarks concerning his “inexperience”, as the debate turned to harvesting.

Was there a need for this Council? Ereinion wondered, in an attempt to not let his mind dwell on Gildor’s comments. And more importantly, was there truly need of him as a member?

Totalling 144 seats, one hundred and forty one of them were meant for Lords and Masters of lore, leaving three for the High Princes. Previously only two.

In a way, the council was not an organ of Elvish society, not even in the political sense. It had no authority, though Finarfin was careful to keep up the appearance that it had. In a way, it was merely meant to give some the idea they were still involved in decision-making, as they had long ago been in Middle-earth.

Any decision made within these halls, was simply advice.

It was true that the High King did not lightly disregard any voice coming from the High Council. It was also true that he had no obligation to keep to anything coming out of these halls.

Official decisions, the conclusion of a debate, consisted of two parts. The first was formed by the opinions of the 141 elected members. It was a shared opinion, and it was usually with great effort that it was united enough to be brought into the open. The Council did like its discussions.

The second proportion was the say of the three High Princes, which was far less problematically reached, though never taken without due consideration.

The two opinions, accompanied by all arguments opposing and supporting, were presented to Finarfin, as well as to the public, which was free to read and submit any comments, suggestions and complaints, which would in due time be discussed again. And again... and again.

Thoughtfully, Ereinion sat forward, looking about the room.

Over the past days, he had seriously started to doubt the whole necessity for it.

In Middle-earth, in Lindon, this had made sense. There had been danger, there had been little, even no, other guidance. But here...

He folded his arms. Next time, he would think of bringing a book.

—~~*~~—

‘You do not mind staying?’ Elrond asked, as Celebrían replaced one of the books on a shelf. She smiled and looked at him.

‘For the fourth time, El-nîn, no, I do not mind.’

Folding his hands behind his back, Elrond looked down for a moment.

‘I cannot predict for how long we shall be in Tirion.’

‘It would be nice if we were here during winter,’ she commented, still busying herself with books, ‘I recall spending a winter in Tirion when I had only just arrived, and much enjoying it.’ She paused a moment. ‘At least as much as I was able to enjoy anything then.’

Elrond smiled and Celebrían descended the stepladder, a volume of poetry clasped underneath an arm.

Once back on solid ground, she placed her other arm around his waist.

‘It might be good for Celebriníel as well. A change of surroundings, so to speak.’

Following her example and resting a hand on her waist, Elrond kissed her brow.

‘I am glad for that.’

She smiled at him.

‘How is Ereinion?’

‘Busy, or he pretends to be,’ he replied, taking the volume from her hand and leaving it on the table.

Grinning, Celebrían wrapped both her arms around his waist, looking up.

‘And you have no ambition to take a seat in the Council, herven?’

Moving some strands of hair back, he grinned as well, letting his hands slide over her back.

‘I have few ambitions nowadays... I merely wish to please my wife.’

Very gently, he teased her, offering lips and then retreating, and Celebrían played along.

‘And is this an ambition which you feel you are fulfilling?’ she asked, now denying him a merging of lips.

‘Tis not easy to discern...’ he whispered, bending forward to kiss her neck, lingering slightly longer then was needed. ‘For not always am I able to...’

Chuckling, she kissed him, her hands finding their way inside his robes.

‘And your wife is always hard to please, is she not?’

‘Aye, Lady,’ he replied. ‘It seems you know her?’

Mischievously, his fingers began to test laces and fastenings.

‘Perhaps we should speak of this ambition in private, my Lord,’ Celebrían whispered with a smile.

‘Possibly that would be for the better,’ Elrond assented hoarsely.

‘Yes,’ she nodded, giving in to another kiss.

‘Hmm.’

—~~*~~—

He laughed merrily as she mischievously pressed her lips against his stomach before meeting his eyes.

Her flesh, as his own, was still warm and clammy, due to their exertions, their breaths back to normal by now.

She had settled between his legs, her arms around his waist, her head resting just above his abdomen, as he sat somewhat upright, resting comfortable against a pillow that he had placed against the headboard.

He was reminded of the young lady he had first met when she had travelled with her mother to Imladris, his Imladris.

She still played the games she had played when they were just married, still had the same playful look in her eyes.

It had been gone, after... she had not shown the expression during her last year in Middle-earth.

But it had returned, he had recognised it, the first night they had spent together, here on Aman. Somehow, it seemed as if they had always been so, and that whatever happened in Middle-earth was like a dream, almost as if it had never been.

It was the most comforting sign to him, if he even needed one after all these years, that she had indeed healed. Still present, somewhere, in both their minds, it did not matter any longer. It was not something which was worth dwelling upon.

Elrond smiled and ran his fingers through her silver hair.

‘So,’ she said, languidly allowing her hands to touch and travel his chest, ‘if my husband does not wish to become a council member, why is it he spends so much time in assembly with Glorfindel and Finrod?’ she kissed him just above the navel and elicited a content sigh from him.

‘Ah no, we spoke of another matter entirely. A matter that will require my absence for several days, perhaps.’

Moving up to meet his lips, Celebrían observed him curiously.

‘Soon? What is it you have in mind?’

‘I wish to speak with Ereinion, but as long as he is in Tirion, there is a small chance it will actually happen,’ he answered, stroking her back.

‘Where shall you go?’

‘Finrod says he has a plan. He and Glorfindel are preparing everything.’

Celebrían smiled.

‘They did not tell you?’

‘They did not.’

Bending forward, she softly bit his lower lip.

‘Poor boy.’

‘Yes,’ he said, trying to hold back a grin. ‘I need to be comforted.’

‘Of course you do,’ she answered, kissing him deeply, feeling his hands occupy themselves with less innocent touches.

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