Wanderer

22 - Only A Dream

Elwing

 I wake up violently.

 I roll into a sitting position and gasp myself into sanity.

 “It was just a dream…all just a dream!” I lay back down. But my pillow is wet. I uncurl my stiff fist, and pry the remains of a tattered letter from my hand. Dear Elwing, I am so, so sorry…

Never mind. And in that instant, I remember. The pain hits me like a blow. No, Ëarendil, no! Don’t do this to me!

 I feel the tears coming again, so I re-read Ëarendil’s letter, fighting sobs the whole while.

 The unfortunate thing about tears is that they have to stop at some point, and no matter how badly I feel, I will need to get up. I decide to jump the gun and do it. I push the bedclothes back and wearily hoist myself out of bed. I take a long time in the bath, washing my hair several times, and wrapping myself in a robe when I get out. I brush my hair and let it dry, and then get dressed.

 In the kitchen, Ëarendil is cooking something, which I suppose was bacon at some point, but looks charred beyond recognition. I almost laugh when I remember how incompetent he is in the kitchen. I remember not to just in time.

When Ëarendil sees me, he doesn’t speak. He just ushers me over to the table, where I can see Elrond and Frond are patiently sitting. I sit down, and Frond moves his chair over to sit beside me. I find control over the tears again.

 Elrond pours me a cup of coffee, and then one for himself. Frond begs for coffee too, until Elrond pours him a glass of milk and then adds coffee to it until they are half and half. Ëarendil finally serves me a plate of bacon, perfectly cooked, and toasted bread and eggs as I like them. He serves the boys in a similar manner, but on his own plate, there is nothing but a heap of ridiculously overcooked bacon. I eye the charred mass with interest.

“I like mine overdone,” Ëarendil says unexpectedly.

 “You didn’t like it that done. I used to cook yours only five minutes longer.” I am even more surprised to hear myself answer.

“What’s happening?” Frond blurts out. “Why are you so sad? And why is Círdan here?”

 Ëarendil looks tired. He touches his forehead, and then pushes his hand back through his hair.

“The Silmaril is leaving the earth, and I am taking it.”

Elrond chokes on his coffee and puts his mug down with a clatter. Frond frowns, a bit slower than Elrond.

“No!” Elrond stands up. “You can’t do that! I mean…it’s just…it’s just…” His eyes widen with a new thought. “Oh Valar, are you coming back?”

“Probably not.”

“What about us?” Frond’s voice is shrill. He’s figured it out.

 “Erenion has offered to apprentice you, Frond, in the Capitol. Elwing plans to go there as well. Elrond, I expect that you would wish to go as well and get a job, because Jade has moved there as well. She was accepted into the Elite.”

 “And you’re letting him go?!” Elrond fires the question at me.

“I didn’t know until last night.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“There’s nothing I can do.”

“What?”

“There isn’t.”

 Elrond turns back to Ëarendil. “And Alaytar…”

“He’s coming with me.” Ëarendil says wearily.

“No, no, no!” Elrond shouts. “You can’t do this!”

 “Well, I am.” Ëarendil flares. He stands up, pushing his chair back. “I’m going. I told you already. I am going. I don’t want to, but nobody cares what I think.”

He carries his dishes over, and storms out. The screen door slams behind him.

“I guess I had better go pack.” Elrond goes to his room.

“Is Erenion going to apprentice me, or will it be someone else?” Frond asks.

“I don’t know.” I say. “I didn’t see the letter.”

 “Will you talk to him?” Frond asks me pleadingly.

“I will,” I say. “But I don’t think it will do much good.”