A Familiar Stranger

With a relieved sigh, Elrond dismissed the diplomats from Mithlond. The council had been long, grueling, and now he had a headache. He leaned back in his chair for a moment, relishing the peace and tranquility of the comfortably furnished room, and stared out the window.

It was hardly a minute later when the door banged open and familiar footsteps approached. He sighed again. "What is it, my son?" He asked, still looking out the window.

Elladan shifted silently before speaking. "We were on patrol and we ran into this elf, wandering along the edge of the border near the Bruinen. We went up and inquired about his business in Imladris, and he said he had to speak with you. When I asked him his name, he just repeated himself. So we took his weapons and brought him here."

Elrond sighed for a third time as he rose from his chair. "Alright. I'll go speak with this stranger."

"He's in your study with Elrohir," Elladan replied, following his father from the council room.

Elrond turned down the next hall to his study. "And this person is an elf?"

Elladan nodded. "Yeah. But he's not like any elf I've ever seen."

"What do you mean?"

"He's got that same look as Glorfindel, sort of ancient-like, but a young face at the same time, and... well, sad too. I don't know... he's got quite a few scars, a long one down his cheek."

Elrond stopped suddenly outside his study door. "What color is his hair?"

Elladan gave his father a funny look before replying. "Uh... it's black?" He watched his father's face as all the color drained from it at an alarming speed. "Ada? Is something wrong? Why are you asking about his hair color?"

Elrond waved his hand slowly in dismission, as if he were in a trance. "Just take your brother and go. I must speak to him alone."

Elladan was beginning to look worried, curious, and somewhat afraid all at the same time. "Uh, alright."

He opened the door and followed his father in. Elrohir turned quickly and was about to question Elrond, but Elladan quickly shook his head and beckoned for him to come out into the hall.

The door closed again.

Elrond stood quietly just within the doorway, staring at the back of a gray-cloaked figure. The person at the window seemed to feel his presence and turned softly on his boot heel. 

"Elrond."

Elrond said nothing. A fist trembled at his side.

"You have a good place here."

Silence.

"Strong sons."

More silence.

"Many warriors."

Elrond just looked at him, his face expressionless. He felt... joy, sorrow, anger, regret... and knew not what to say.

"You are blessed by the Valar. That pleases me." The elf sat in a chair, leaned back and crossed his legs elegantly, still watching Elrond with a discerning eye.

"I heard about the Lady Celebrían," he went on in a gentler tone. "And of Elros many years ago... I wanted to come sooner."

The room was quiet but for the crackle of the fire on the hearth and the soft song of a bird outside the window.

A small smile ghosted Elrond's face. "At least now I understand your pain."

The elf did not return the smile. He hadn't smiled since Valinor. Smiles and laughter were for happy people. He looked at Elrond. "I want no pity. I merely want something which I gave you to keep for me all these years." He searched Elrond's face, the expression in his dark eyes almost fragile. "You still have it, don't you?"