Chapter Text
When Tar-Míriel received Elendil’s report she dismissed him for the afternoon, too shocked to give him proper instructions. By evening all of Númenor was clamoring at his door for a sight of their Elf, and Elrond had escaped to the garden and treed himself. It was warm enough that Elendil let him hide out for the night while he batted aside well wishers, agreed to pass along greetings and accepted tokens on Elrond’s behalf.
By morning he was leaning against the doorpost and mentally preparing himself for the day’s patrol. Míriel summoned him at first light, pacing as she planned how to address the Dwarves.
“This is more than just a treaty. It’s a reestablishment of our disdain for the living trade. I would have Elrond stand with us if he is willing, but we must prove that we no longer hold ownership over him. I wish Baerôn was here to advise me. You told me Elrond had crossed over safely!”
“I doubt he was plotting to inconvenience the crown,” Elendil drawled. He’d put that Elf on a boat and seen him off, knowing that every vibrating nerve was relieved to finally see an end. Yet in the last possible moment fear for an uncharitable future had been doused with seawater and kicked into the depths with hands that grasped for the courage of choice, and now there was no sending Elrond back.
“Do not misunderstand me,” Míriel said, sweeping back and forth in flustered anticipation. “The light of the Valar shines on Númenor’s harbor and the people welcome Elrond with no ill will. If I had known he would draw his line in our sand, I would not have sacrificed our dearest and best to send him away.”
“If not for the sacrifices of those who considered the cost, he would most certainly be lost now, as well as Isildur,” Elendil said softly. “There would be no last harbor once the enemy chose to reveal himself.”
Touching the emerald ring on her hand, a symbol of her lost physician, Míriel’s calm visage was pained. “Death should not hasten that which time would unveil in due season. I rejoice with Númenor to see Elrond return. I only wish that he was not our only miracle.”
Elendil had no comfort that would ease the futility of loss. Gathering herself, Míriel mustered on as though the rebuke had never taken place. “The Dwarves will arrive in time for the summer harvest. I have chosen not to mention Elrond, should he not wish to be revealed. I would like to believe that Durin will rescind his father’s laws; however, as of yet I have no proof.”
“I will speak with Elrond,” Elendil promised. He had no doubt the Elf would wish to see his friend, but to be paraded before the Dwarves for a third occasion might prove beyond his endurance.
“We have three weeks to prepare,” Míriel stated, resuming her pacing with rapidly curling fingers. “I expect you to be there through the end of the ceremonies. Eärien as well, since she answered for your household in your absence. Please inform me if Elrond plans to attend.”
“Without delay,” Elendil assured her.
“Then please go inquire of him and don’t come back until tomorrow,” Míriel said, regarding him with mingled exasperation and pity. “You look exhausted.”
When Elendil shared the news, residual fear lanced through daunted grey storms and there went thin fingers to worry at Toban’s needlework. Just as quickly Elrond came back to himself, choosing to focus on the possibilities instead of past trials.
“Durin will come?” he said with quiet anticipation. “He is now king?”
“He wishes to renew the treaty under his own terms,” Elendil confirmed.
“Does he know that I’m here? Is he upset?”
“He doesn’t yet, and he will not be upset for long if he knows it was your choice,” Elendil answered. “You’re not required to attend. He can meet you on grounds of your choosing when you’re ready.”
Biting his thumbnail, Elrond swept across the room and paused at the window, turning abruptly on his heel. “I want to see him,” he decided. “Not as a…. and not as a castaway, either. As myself. I want him to see that I’m truly… that this was my choice.”
Ancient eyes were suddenly anxious and wavering. “I’d like to ask Toban for something to wear. I can pay you back from my first commission, the Sail Master promised he would —”
“Elrond, you’re a member of the household,” Elendil reminded him gently. “General expenses are my responsibility. Tell him what you want and I’ll handle the bargaining.”
“I have clothes,” Elrond argued futilely. “And I’ll have money once —”
“You’re not going to the ceremony in your work uniform,” Elendil chided. “Eärien doesn’t ask me every time she wants a new bolt of fabric. You can earn your own skiff, but household amenities are covered until you lay your own foundation.” And even then some. Anárion still wrote him on occasion for a little splurging money.
Accepting his lot, Elrond nodded and fetched his boots. “I won’t be long,” he promised, slipping past Elendil as if he was sentencing himself to the Worm.
Probably not the wrong analogy after all.
The Dwarven procession was far merrier than the two occasions before it. The same pomp and clamor for trade filled the harbor with an innocence Elendil never realized he was craving. Durin IV prowled down the gangway with a golden crown and gems studding his armor, with Disa proudly matching his steps with shrewd eyes and gold braids flashing in her hair. Each ruler towed beside them one unruly child; a lad and lass who were dandied up in velvet and soft boots and who looked like they never wanted to see open water again.
“May I present King Durin, Queen Disa, Prince Gamli and Princess Gerda,” Narvi announced, his tone lighter and fonder than the craftiness with which he’d introduced his prior king. “I trust the accommodations have been made for their rooms.”
Seven days of feasting and haggling and grousing over terms. Míriel looked like she was already staving off a headache. A headache that crippled tenfold when Durin looked past Elendil’s right shoulder and spluttered.
“What’re ye doing here?”
Elrond almost tripped backwards on instinct, fingers lighting to turquoise sleeves embroidered with the same golden stars as that favored cloak he had brought all the way across the sea in a gently folded bundle. Just as quickly as he stumbled he recognized the merit of such censure and stepped forward. “Durin.”
“Ye promised ye’d see him to the last shore!” Durin rounded on Elendil, betrayal crackling in wounded eyes. “I trusted ye with him and ye brought him back here when my back was turned!”
“Durin, I —”
“Stop!” Durin yelled at Elrond, despair warping into fury as quickly as smoldering iron burnt the skin. “I’m talking to the Queen and her Captain! Where is the honor of Númenor? Where is this ship ye promised? If I thought he’d be brought back in shame I’d have taken him back myself and hid him away until the coal dust settled. Ye didn’t just betray him — ye betrayed all of us!”
“Durin, I came willingly —”
“This party’s over!” Durin shouted, tearing off his cloak and throwing it at Míriel’s feet. “I’ll not trade with those who barter lives for rings and who turn back on their oaths when the smallest inconvenience —”
“For Aulë’s sake, Durin!” Disa cut in, tucking her children into her skirts as they started to cry. “Let Elrond speak! Do ye think he’d lie in front of the wee ones?”
“That is exactly what he’d do and this so called Sea Captain knows it!” Durin retorted savagely.
“Have I ever lied to you, Durin? Or to Disa?” Elrond stepping forth in vindication, the sunlight captured on circlet and flashing ring, and for a moment he seemed captured by light like a messenger from the gods. “Would I dishonor our friendship by retreating in shame when freedom was but one stroke away? Elendil fulfilled his promise and I have yet to succeed in mine. For I cannot rest on peaceful shores knowing that you are still grieving.”
Failure speared through blue eyes as self-recrimination warred with hatred for those who had done the wrong. “I’m grieving? Because ye were supposed to be safe and happy! And now ye’r here! Standing among them like a prized pony! Why?”
“Because I couldn’t bear to leave behind those I hold dear,” Elrond answered, lowering himself to one knee and smiling at the children. “I came back because I was given away freely, and I returned a slave to no one. I knew that one day you would change the law. … Admittedly, I didn’t think it would be quite so soon, and I’m truly sorry for the loss of your —”
“Don’t even say it,” Durin said with poorly concealed husk, swamping Elrond into an embrace and gathering a handful of his cloak as though he might shake the sense into him. “He was my father, but ye owe him nothing, not even yer pity. Now tell me this is real, swear it over yer bloody water or whatever it is ye call an oath, and maybe I won’t stab yer captain’s fool neck.”
“It’s Ulmo and Manwë,” Elrond said with a fond smile. “And you couldn’t reach it with an axe.”
“I can if I cut out his knees,” Durin proposed. He planted his hands on Elrond’s shoulders, waiting, and the smile that graced the Elf’s face held no fear.
“I swear by Ulmo and Manwë, by these witnesses who stand forth between sea and sky, that I am here of my own free will and have been welcomed home with kindness. Now, will you let me greet your children or do you require another oath?”
Blinking back tears, Durin batted one thin shoulder. “Eight months and they still haven’t fed ye proper.”
“We’re working on that,” Elendil mumbled.
With an exasperated growl Durin waved at his children, who sprang free with tearful cries and thwacked into Elrond’s chest. The delighted smile and kisses he bestowed on them unfolded a vision of the future and Elendil could almost see that same happiness as Elrond swept up his own little ones with overwhelming pride.
Then Disa shuffled them aside, clasping Elrond’s face as a mother reuniting with the son who was proclaimed dead on the battlefield, and Elrond could not hide his tears any more than she could resist gathering him in to console him. It was a moment better shared in private according to Númenórean etiquette, but Dwarven adoration would not be pent up like a stone monument and there would be plenty more tears and joyful recounts when they stole Elrond away to prove he was the master of his own time.
“All right, then,” Durin said gruffly, retrieving his cloak and brushing it off with a sheepish glare. “Enough hysterics. Where’s that banquet ye promised? I’ve got an Elf to fatten up and ye’ve got some explaining to do. Don’t think I’m letting ye up easy, Sea Captain! I know who’s responsible for the bloody Iron Fortress falling into chaos!”
And so began the terms of peace, the Dwarven royal household setting the pace with Elrond squashed between them, and for once he seemed content to be paraded. For this was exactly where he always hoped to be; surrounded by his closest friends with the wind tousling his hair and sunlight painting his skin. He stayed close to Durin for the entirety of the ceremony, and when they parted once more there were no tears.
“I’m expecting him to be here when I return,” Durin warned Elendil. “And I expect him to be stouter. Ye can’t put a weed on a boat and expect it to pull a sail.”
“I’m fine,” Elrond insisted, and then choked when he was assaulted by a cuff to the ear and a slug to the thigh.
“I’ll look after him,” Elendil promised, casting Elrond a warning look that he had two ears and he’d better keep his thoughts to himself if he didn’t want the other one tugged.
“Aye,” Durin said with a relieved smile, sighing as if the sea had finally settled and the wind had turned his sails towards home. “I know ye will. But don’t think I won’t be checking in on him. I might leave a few of my own traders to haggle in the markets. Just to be sure.”
“I hardly need any more minders —”
“Ye don’t have a say in it so shut yer trap,” Durin growled. “Captain? I trust ye’ll send regular reports?”
“With each passing ship,” Elendil swore.
“And tell me how Disa and the little ones are faring,” Elrond entreated. “I’ll write to you every fortnight — any time I can send word with the merchants.”
“Write it in Khuzdul and I’ll make Gerda read it aloud,” Durin said wistfully. “She misses her favorite teacher.”
There was such longing in grey eyes and such potential for hope that Elendil almost pushed him forward to join them. Durin met his eyes and briskly shook his head.
Not yet. Not so soon, when warring family members would only see a hostage and a throne to be bartered. Not while the ports still sought profit and a free Elf was sport for the highest bidder. Someday Elrond would travel freely between Númenor and Middle Earth, looping from Khazad-Dûm to Eregion to Mithlond and back as one who was welcomed in every court. One day he might even establish his own sanctuary of freedom where forests met streams and rings of power sheltered the weary from those who would bring evil to green lands.
For now he was home, and healing would continue in slow days and companionable evenings. He was safe and welcomed and not idly would he wander along the shorelines, trying to find his place. When Elendil put an arm around turquoise-clad shoulders Elrond leaned into him with a lonely sigh, watching gold-trimmed sails fade into a cloudless horizon.
“Do you think the Dwarves will ever make peace with Eregion,” he wondered aloud. “I should like for him to meet Celebrimbor.”
Now there was a force that would tear Middle Earth asunder. “Disa and Celebrimbor under the same roof?” Elendil scoffed. “The Valar themselves could not save us.”