High Princes of Tirion
by Nemis

A/N: Thanks go to Jane Austen. I stole an expression from her. ;))

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Chapter Nineteen     A Temporary Thing

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Not making a sound, Ereinion slipped into his study. With a shake of the head, he wondered why he was being silent in his own house, allowing the light of the stars to pull him towards the balcony. Opening the doors, he did not step outside, but instead collected a chair and simply sat down, inside, unseen. It was a ridiculous notion, he thought. Anyone seeing the open doors at this time of night would guess he was awake.

Ever since his return to Tirion he had buried himself in work, trying to forget what had occurred, or at least conceal it under a decent amount of paper.

But on moments like these, the occasional restless hour of the night, there was no escape.

Quite certainly there had been a reason for his hesitation during the contest some weeks ago. It was not the first time such a thing had occurred, and he doubted it would be the last time. Realistically, it was not that which had made him return. Or was run away a better way of phrasing it?

With a deep sigh he sat back, letting the quiet settle on him.

He considered if he would have stayed at Imloth, had he not reacted so strongly to the presence of the youngest lady of the house, a girl still.

There was no denying this question occupied his every thought recently. Her face would appear before his mind’s eye at the most inconvenient of moments, in the middle of council meetings, during leisurely walking through the garden, though most often the image would come to him in his sleep.

But possibly, Alian’s words ringing true, on the evening of his return, had startled him even more than that.

His behaviour that night had been inexcusable. How far would he have gone merely to banish whatever he had been trying to hide? Could he, in all honesty, claim he would have discontinued out of his own accord, had Alian not...

But she had seen it, felt it, guessed it, somehow. And confronted him with it.

Moving forward, resting his elbows on his knees he allowed himself to imagine how it would be, to run his fingers through silver hair, caress soft thighs, to press his lips against pale flesh...

His own reprimand followed almost at once, and he rose, as if it was possible to turn his back on the thoughts.

She has not even reached maturity yet, fool!

And even then, how could he justify this love? A love for the young girl he had played games with when younger, who he had told stories on dark evenings, who he had cradled in his arms when she had had a nightmare and could not find her father. A love that went beyond the one that was allowed.

He had missed some years of her life, true, years in which she had grown up, but how could things possibly change so much in so short a time?

Is it better not to tempt oneself? he thought. In which case, his departure had been the right decision.

Collecting a bottle of wine and a glass, he simply held both items for a while, staring into the night.

A rumble of thunder sounded, and almost as if that had been a cue, rain announced itself.

The weather often seemed to follow his state of mind.

Returning to his chair, he allowed the steadily falling drops to soothe him. That and the wine.

But it will pass, he told himself. A mere infatuation, nothing to worry yourself about... It will pass...

He tried to forget the other infatuation, in another life-time.

‘You had to die to get over that one’, he mumbled, pouring out another glass.

For that was something he could be certain of now. Even if he had harboured any love, any desire, for Alian at a certain point after returning from Mandos, it was gone. Possibly it had faded away a long time ago. Somehow it was the closeness they had once shared that held them together at present. A strange echo of love. For some reason he had been willing to settle for an echo of love, rather than find himself where he was currently; nowhere, suspended. But there was little else left, the choices had been made for him.

The breath of wind that had accompanied the thunder made the rain fall slightly less straight, and he could feel drops hitting his face. Placing the half-empty bottle beside the chair, together with his glass, he stepped outside. Closing his eyes, he hoped for more raindrops. They came, but he was unsure if there could ever be enough to extinguish the fever that had manifested itself in his body.

Lifting his face, he just stood there.

Fingon made to step into the study, since in his opinion he had waited in the doorway long enough. A cautioning hand on his arm made him hesitate. Meeting the Elf-lady’s eyes, she only smiled, before stepping inside in his stead.

Nodding to himself, the Elf-lord concurred. It would be a better approach.

Crossing the room, she never hesitated, taking advantage of that connection between them, one of those bonds that come from shared blood alone. By the Valar’s grace, the boy that she had given birth to so long ago had been returned to her. Though it sometimes sounded strange to her own ears, she knew it was present, the link between mother and son, as it had been before. Not exactly a link of blood anymore, perhaps, but it had been preserved in the feä. The essence of the continued fusing mind and body, no doubt.

‘Ereinion, ion-nîn...’ she whispered, placing her hand on the post of the balcony doors. ‘Come inside.’

Obediently, he stepped back, and then joined her on the threshold.

‘Suilad, Naneth.’

Shaking her head, she looked pensively at him.

‘Be not like this.’

Momentarily he met her gaze.

‘It is nothing. Merely something I have to manage myself. Do not worry.’

Taking a deep breath, she caught his hand in hers.

‘Ereinion, do not pretend to fool me,’ she whispered, soft but resolute. ‘You can no more keep your face from speaking than your father can.’

His only reaction seemed to be to stare outside, where the rain continued to fall.

‘You know not what it is that troubles me, Naneth,’ he returned her whisper, casting down his eyes again.

She smiled gently and placed a hand on his arm, feeling his tunic moist with rain.

‘I could guess, even if I will not.’

Eyes flashed back to meet hers, but only for an instant. He stayed silent.

‘It is certainly not uncommon among our people to open our heart for another only once. No one can blame you for bestowing that honour upon someone who is not able to accept it.’

With dark eyes, Ereinion looked at her. He suddenly seemed strangely tired.

‘I do hope you do not believe this is about Alian.’

His mother looked at him for a long moment. When she did not speak at length, Ereinion smiled, a rare thing of late.

‘Alian,’ he whispered, ‘would have accepted me, had I not been so stubborn as to consider what we had together so very lightly. But that was a long time ago. I cannot deny I care for her deeply, but I do not love her. Not in the manner you think I do.’

The Elf-lady shook her head slowly, studying her son’s face, hoping to find some further explanation there.

‘Then there is someone else?’

Closing his eyes, Ereinion lowered his head and rested his chin on his chest.

‘I have every hope this is merely a temporary thing. It will pass.’

‘Why should you wish it to pass?’

She received no answer, but did not let it prevent her from asking further questions.

‘Someone you met at Imloth?’

Ereinion did not reply, but an almost unnoticeable squeeze in her hand seemed to be admission enough for his mother.

‘Does she know of your feelings for her?’

Snapping his head back, Ereinion looked at the Elf-lady in disbelief.

‘I... if I do not even precisely know what I feel, how would she?’

‘Ereinion...’

‘You do not understand,’ he urged. ‘I cannot put propriety at naught. I cannot allow myself to betray the trust that has been placed with me. I would betray both the lady it concerns as well as her parents, possibly her family. There is so much more at stake if I would speak up. If I remain silent, only I have to deal with the consequences. And most likely this is all a mere whim. I will be better in the morning.’

He smiled weakly at her.

‘Good night, Naneth.’

She looked at him a long time, but finally shook her head and kissed him on the cheek. For a moment, she rested her head against his shoulder, as much comfort as she thought he would allow. Then she left, her soft footsteps fading away, together with those who joined her at the door.

Suppressing a shiver, Ereinion was well aware of his mother’s desire for what was best for him. He had wanted to tell her how he truly felt, speak the words that were in his mind. There was love, yes, whether it was true love, or not, but there was also the feeling of defiling purity, a betrayal of innocence with thoughts alone.

Lowering onto the chair again, he rested his head in his hands. Outside, the rain continued its downpour.

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Two times had Elrohir been ready to step inside, and two times had he changed his mind before even placing a hand on the door-handle. He was to bring a simple message, but had also been burdened with a greater one, even if it was not that obvious.

With a growl that was to help him cross the threshold, he knocked shortly and entered the study.

Seated on a sofa, one leg resting over the other, a book in his lap, Ereinion looked up inquisitively. Elrohir demonstratively held up his gloves.

‘We are riding now.’

A nod, and a faint glimmer of a smile from the High Prince.

‘Ah, yes, of course. Give my best wishes to everyone.’

Taking some further paces into the chamber, Elrohir smiled, uncertain of how to proceed, but proceeding nevertheless.

‘I would much rather let you do that yourself,’ he started, meeting Ereinion’s eyes. ‘You cannot claim to be busy at present, and I do not think some days of absence would cause much trouble.’

He observed the other Elf slowly shut the book he had been reading, leaving it in his lap, as long fingers thoughtfully drummed the cover. The proposal was seriously considered, something Elrohir could not have hoped for. To describe the High Prince’s recent behaviour as being low in spirits was an understatement, and he had not been certain enticing Ereinion to come to Imloth would be received well at present, since Imloth could be partially blamed for the mood. But it was contemplated.

The drumming halted.

‘How long do you plan to stay?’

Keeping himself from grinning broadly, Elrohir shook his head.

‘Aurehen will be giving birth soon, if I am informed correctly. It was my intention to stay for at least three days, which would theoretically have you back in Tirion in time for the next Council meeting.’

‘Hmm, yes,’ Ereinion replied, staring at the bookshelves across the room. ‘It would indeed.’

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‘But look who dashes through the hallway there.’

Mîrlinde smiled as Celebriníel halted and turned. Aurehen and Celebrían chuckled.

Sighing with exasperation, Celebriníel neared the three ladies and dropped onto the sofa beside her mother. She looked up at Mîrlinde.

‘Will Elernil come with Elrohir?’

Moving some of the young Elf’s hair behind her ear, Mîrlinde nodded.

‘Elrohir said he would. Tirion was calm, neither of them will be needed.’

‘Perhaps the Wise have discussed all,’ Aurehen offered.

‘It doubt it,’ Mîrlinde replied with a grin. ‘They always find something. But truly, Elrohir said that even the Council meetings have been reduced in number to twice a week. Then again, they usually are when summer is at its high.’

‘Especially the Wise appreciate the high of Laer,’ Celebrían smiled knowingly.

Aurehen changed position, grimacing as she pressed her hand against her back.

‘Leaving Laer as it is, I imagine you welcomed Stirring with much relief in Middle-earth.’

Handing her daughter-in-law a pillow, Celebrían smiled playfully.

‘Yes, with Elrond being gloomy in winter, the change of seasons was very welcome.’

‘I thought Ada liked winter?’ Celebriníel frowned.

Celebrían nodded, but could not suppress a laugh.

‘He does now, when there are no companies of Dwarves in his house, or packs of hungry Dúnedain. Or those eternal messengers arriving carrying letters. Aman is a different place, compared to that. Different things to enjoy.’

‘He changed?’

‘Surroundings changed, I think he simply adjusted.’

‘Elrohir changed,’ Mîrlinde said thoughtfully. ‘There was a restlessness about him that he left in Middle-earth, or at least on the ship that brought us here.’

Celebriníel lost most of her interest at that point, too preoccupied with the thought of visitors. Perhaps she could ride back with Elrohir and Elernil to visit the library in Tirion. It would be a nice change from the rather uninteresting surroundings of Imloth.

Rising from the sofa she smiled a wordless apology to her mother and continued her way again, into the direction of her father’s study. Soon, her grandparents would arrive also, she knew, which would at least provide some disruption of this monotony. Her grandfather would no doubt be looking forward to inspecting her progress, and she could ask his help with some of the complex manuscripts Elrohir had brought from Tirion last time.

Her father had offered his help, but spending time in too close proximity of Arinmîr, who after all was her father’s student, did not appeal to her much.

No, her grandfather would do better, she smiled, stepping into the library. After a short scan of the area she decided her father was neither here, nor in the adjoining study. This left few other options. Her eyes fell on a stack of papers neatly lying nearby. Not more than a glance was necessary for her to see what was written on them. With a broad smile she left the papers where they were for now, and stepped onto the balcony.

Elrond had comfortably seated himself there some time ago, keeping an intent eye on the road while giving his thoughts the liberty to wander where they wished.

He had heard his daughter enter the rooms beyond, had listened to her move some papers which still lay on the table, documents which held clarifications on the manuscripts he knew she was examining. Somehow she had been reluctant to ask for his assistance, and he had watched her work at times, uncertain whether she would accept his help.

‘Ada?’

He looked up to find her smiling at him, her face radiant as ever.

‘Briníel?’

‘Thank you.’

‘My pleasure.’

Extending an arm to her, he was pleased to see her catch his hand before sitting down beside him, resting her head against his shoulder. Pensively, he stroked her hair.

‘Quite interesting subject, I have to say.’

‘Oh, it is,’ she said with a nod, her eyes fixed on the same road as his were, her fingers playing with one of the buttons of his tunic. ‘They are late.’

‘Yes, they are.’ Elrond replied simply.

Too much alike, he thought privately, the two of us. It was strange to see his own ways in her manner, not entirely speaking her mind, but her answers telling him more than enough. As no doubt his answers revealed a great deal to her.

‘Daeradar and Daernaneth, you think they will arrive tomorrow?’

‘Knowing your grandmother, they will be right on time.’ Narrowing his eyes, Elrond nodded into the direction of the road. ‘But there we have three riders, which is one more than expected, but does explain their delay.’

Sitting up, Celebriníel frowned.

‘Who is it?’

‘Unless I am very much mistaken, the third rider is Ereinion.’

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Laer: summer, period between modern June 1st and August 11th

Stirring: spring (also Sindarin “Ethuil”), period from April 8th to May 31st

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