#just one of those hugs that heal and add years to one's lifespan

[manijardi]

The softest hugs ✨

[lemurious]

Like starlight turned to flame

for @alkarinqque for @officialtolkiensecretsanta 

Happy holidays and thank you so much for a wonderful prompt! Hope you enjoy what it turned to! <3

cw: death

They stand before Eönwë, huddled in cloaks that offer little protection against the rain pelting their bodies, and their hands seek each other.

Elrond can barely focus on the question and does not understand why Eönwë even considers their kindred to be a choice, when to him it has only ever been family. How could he think of himself as anyone other than an Elf, Noldor and Sindar mixed, as his grey eyes and black hair can attest, and secretly, while berating himself for excessive pride, he likes to tell himself that he got the better parts of both. The boundless curiosity and the compassion. The courage and the protectiveness. Everything he and his brother have managed to scrounge up from their two sets of parents lost to the iron law of the Valar, whose emissary is now looking down at them, waiting for their response.

Elrond tears his gaze from the figure in shining mail, seemingly immune to the downpour, back towards the disorienting sight of a sunken shore, their homes now lying under the wave. He wonders if their grief will ever fade. This year, it has kept returning like a tide, swallowing him in the heavy silence of their childhood being gone, forcing him to pace the hallway of their ramshackle house until he would give in and knock on Elros’s door, curl up in a chair next to his brother to watch the flames dance in their fireplace through the long winter night. Together.

At least they have each other, he thinks, for the last fleeting moment before Elros squeezes his fingers hard enough to hurt. Before Elros looks at the Herald of the Valar and says in a voice loud and firm: “I choose to belong to the kindred of Men, my lord.”

---

Idril has dragged her husband through the crumbling tunnels and foaming waves, from the only home they have ever known turned to ash and ruin, through the doom that has been hanging over her head since she was too young to remember, through the wrath of all the Seas encircling Valinor, and she will be damned if she has to lose him to something as simple as death.

She stands tall and straight, a circlet of diamonds on her head, the steel of her feet shining like silver, Curufin’s best work, her eyes ablaze with the light of the Trees that could never be quenched, not even by the darkness of Helcaraxë.

Idril Silverfoot, who has walked through ice and looked death in the face and then dared to be happily married anyway, stares right into the face of Mandos and demands that Tuor be allowed to join her as one of the Eldar.

After all, even the Valar have admitted that Tuor has brought hope to Arda, ignoring her part as usual, though now she is glad about it, because it helps her make her case to keep Tuor with her, immortal as he secretly believes himself to be anyway, having been raised among the Elves.

“Your plea has been accepted,” says Mandos, “but the balance shall be retained. One born from you will have to leave the Elvenkind and become a mortal Man instead.”

She attempts to argue some more, but Mandos is implacable, and in any case she cannot think far beyond the joy of having rescued her husband from what they both consider to be the Doom of Men – what cruel foolishness would it be to call it a Gift?

She already knows that they will not take her son, who has been cursed to ride the skies with a Silmaril in the front of his ship, a mortal body could never survive the slow, quiet destruction wrought by the fire imprisoned within the jewel.

Idril’s grandsons are all but lost to her, she has never met them, even their own mother barely knew them and could tell her little about them when questioned.

Idril has always been a survivor and she knows that it inevitably means making the kind of choices that could pull her apart if she is not careful enough. She only hopes that whoever will be born of her blood and destined for mortality will be strong enough to make their life a happy one in spite of all their losses.

---

Before the bleakness of the aftermath, there was the terror of the War, and just before that, a moment of respite, a time to set aside the fears, and learn to fight, and sing, and gather mussels on the shore.

A moment to hold the hands of the two Elves who have turned from captors into fathers in record time, to call their names to ward against the nightmares. A moment to feel like children again, like the sons of someone still within their reach.

Elros swears to treasure every one of these moments after the evening when, during one of his solitary strolls along the beach, a figure rises from the waves and introduces himself as Ulmo, the Lord of Waters.

Elros shivers in fear, frozen on the spot and unable to move even if the alternative is drowning. But Ulmo does not threaten to drown him, instead, he looks on as if with a great sorrow, and tells of yet another doom that the Valar have now hung above their heads.

“You will be asked to choose,” he says. “And if neither of you accepts the Doom of Men, Lord Mandos will choose for you.”

Elros has never considered himself of any kindred but Elven, but he knows that neither has Elrond, and more, that Elrond, if given a choice, would spend his entire life learning the Elven lore by night, healing the wounds left by the long sequence of wars by day.

Meanwhile Elros has to admit to himself that he does not have any passion save the vague but persistent wish to one day become a great lord and rule a kingdom, a prospect so dim, given his circumstances, that he keeps scolding himself for naivety.

He could become a Man, he thinks, but he feels so young when confronted by the enormity of the decision. So childlike. He just does not want to, which reminds him of his tears when he clutched his mother and watched her kiss him and his brother and walk away. The only clear memory he has of her.

He is too scared to accept this doom for himself. Could he do it for his brother?

---

“You have been deep in thought all day, and they do not seem to be pleasant thoughts,” says Maglor to Elros, who keeps lingering in the kitchen after dinner, long after Elrond ran off back to the library as always, and Maedhros went outside to try to repair the roof that has just started leaking again. “Would you care to share them with me?”

Elros shakes his head. He tells himself that he should not add to his father’s worries, though deep inside he is terrified that Maglor would make him choose. Or that Elrond would find out, and would then insist of taking the curse upon himself instead, and he would never, ever be able to forgive himself for dragging his brother into it. Yet he feels that if he had to face all of it alone he would crumble, and then the truth would come out anyway, with all its terrible consequences.

“Atya, have you ever regretted something you have not done? Especially, something that – that could have helped one of your brothers, though he would have never found out?”

Maglor looks shocked. He turns away and visibly struggles to compose his face before answering. “Too many times, kid. I should have… told my brothers not to follow our father. Should have stopped them at the gates of Doriath… Should have… should have stood in the place of the one my brother loved the most, on that muddy battlefield, for maybe then he would have lived and my brother would still be happy and carefree. Should have kept all my brothers from pursuing the Silmarils at any cost.”

“But you could have been killed!”

“I would not seek death, but it is not always a wrong choice to risk your own life to protect those you love.”

Elros suddenly lunges at Maglor, wrapping his arms around his waist, and hugs him tight.

“Thank you, Atya,” he sniffles. “Could you sing me a lullaby tonight, as I fall asleep?”

“Tonight and any other night, for as long as you wish,” Maglor replies, a little confused and worried about what has just happened. Well, it is a miracle those kids have managed to be as cheerful as they are, most of the time, given what they already had to live through.

---

Elrond lets go of Elros’s arm in disbelief. That is what Elros chooses to do? Has he ever really known his brother? And does it mean - does it mean that after such a brief lifespan of Men they will never again  -- he turns to look at Elros, to yell at him, call him a traitor.

He sees that Elros has gone deadly quiet, teeth clenched, staring straight ahead, but Elrond knows his brother and can tell that he is shaking in fear.

Elrond’s anger evaporates in an instant, as he pulls Elros into a massive hug and whispers in his ear: “It will be alright. I understand. It may not be my choice, but you will always be my brother.” He feels Elros relax with every word.

---

Mandos is kind. He gives Elros many times the lifespan of Men and lets him build a home halfway between his mother and his brother, though he misses his fathers the most, all of them, and all of them are lost – in the fire, in the sky, on the shores. Like the Silmarils.

Elros raises children of his own, and tells them that their siblings will be the strongest bond they will ever have, so they would better cherish it. They listen, these kids with dark grey eyes, too large in their faces, too solemn for their age. They had to grow up quickly, as befits the children of Men and the heirs of the High King.

Uncle Elrond visits every year and tells them stories, and teaches them the arts of healing, and stands with Elros on the tallest tower watching the stars fade into the West, awaiting one of them, forbidden for the other.

They whisper their memories to be kept for as long as one of them lives, and swear an oath to find each other, and all their parents, again, however long it took them and even if it meant going beyond the circles of Arda.

---

When time comes for him to leave, Elros does not even feel cheated, just ready. His children have long grown up, he has become a grandfather and a great-grandfather so many times he finds it difficult to remember all the names.

He calls for Elrond, who has been at his side for days, and suddenly there is a shadow on the other side of his bed, and a familiar voice begins a lullaby Elros remembers from his childhood. “Thank you, Atya,” he murmurs as the colors begin to fade.

In the end, he did not even have to lie, Elros thinks. It was his choice, perhaps for a different reason than Elrond might have guessed, but it was, truly, his, and it brought him the kingdom he did not dare to dream of, and the family he could have never imagined, loved even fiercer because of their mortality, like a flame that has its own beauty compared to the starlight.

He would make his choice a thousand times over, Elros admits to himself as the walls fade into the mist, and he feels more than hears the voice of Mandos rumbling in his ears, assuring him with the sadness of one who is forced to deal in law, and not in love, that he will grant the brothers their own oath in recompense for the ones he has bestowed upon them, that it will not be their final farewell.

[silenceerased]

Hugs (Pt 1)

Prompt: Your hugs heal people but it comes with a great cost. It decreases your own lifespan by 5%. Only the richest of the rich come to see you. You have cured clients with cancer, aids, incurable diseases, and more. However, those poor children dying in the hospital, the urge to help them eats you alive. You are getting depressed as you can’t stand this injustice any longer. You set out to visit a hospital for children with terminal illnesses. You write two words on a piece of cardboard: “Free hugs”. (Changed it from 5% to making it depend on the severity of the problem being healed)

“What am I up to now, Sys?” I asked aloud, exiting the large mansion.

“You’re at 53% life capacity, sir,” the AI responded into my earpiece. “Would you like me to call you a cab to your next appointment?”

I sighed. “Are there any immediate emergencies?”

“No, sir. Two smokers, one of which you’ve treated in the past.”

“Alright then, Sys. Do me a favor and let my manager know I’m taking the rest of the day off. Just add the two to my list tomorrow,” I responded as I walked off the property and onto the sidewalk. I wasn’t in any mood to deal with any more men who decide it’s fine to not give a shit about their health just because I’m around.

“Good plan, sir,” she commented while working on the email. “Would you still like a cab?”

I took a quick look around the neighborhood, revelling in the peaceful morning of a usually busy city. “Nah, Sys. I think I’ll just take a walk around.” I spotted a small bakery across the street. “Maybe get a bite to eat.”

“Alright, sir. I will send the message to Ms. Evans now. Enjoy your morning and be sure not to eat too much sugar.”

“Thanks, Sys,” I laughed. Of course it would be an AI that would care most about my well-being. I crossed the street to enter the bakery and I was immediately greeted by a warm room and delicious aroma. “Mm, that smells good.”

“I’m glad you think so, dear,” an elderly woman replied as she walked into the storefront from the kitchen. “I’ve never seen you around here before.”

“Yeah, I just came here for work. I’m not from around these parts,” I said as I eyed the wonderfully sugary goods in the glass case. “Is there anything you’d recommend?”

She gave me a kind smile and answered, “The cheese danishes are my daughter’s favorite. She used to ask for one for breakfast every day before going to school.”

I let out a small smile of my own at the clear fondness in her voice. “That’s a good enough review for me. I’ll take two to go.”

The woman, who was named Ellie James according to her nametag, put two danishes in a brown paper bag and placed them on the counter. “That’ll be $7, Mr…”

“Peter is fine, Mrs. James.”

She smiled again. “Okay, then. That’ll be $7, Mr. Peter,” she joked, giggling a bit to herself. “And you can just call me Ellie.”

I couldn’t help but laugh with her. I handed her the right amount of money before asking, “So, what’s there to do around here? I’m taking the rest of the day off and I’m looking for a nice place to relax.”

Ellie pondered for a moment before saying, “It’s a pretty quiet neighborhood. Very residential. Just filled with rich folks and nice cars. But there’s a nice little park just a few blocks away. It’s near a children’s hospital.” She grabbed another danish and put it in a bag. “I was actually just on my way there to visit my daughter and granddaughter.”

“If that’s the case, then may I accompany you on your trip on this fine day?” I asked with an exaggerated bow.

She laughed heartily. “Oh, you silly thing. That would be lovely. Just let me tell my assistant that I’m off to visit the hospital.” She went back into the kitchen.

I took out a danish and examined it. It was still warm and flaky and smelled like heaven. I took a bite and groaned. This was damn good. I needed to make an effort to come here whenever I was in the city. “Hey, Sys,” I called out to my trusty personal assistant (if you could call her that).

“Hello, sir. Enjoying your danish?”

“Very much so,” I said in between bites. “Can you search up the children’s hospital Ellie was talking about?”

“Of course, sir. Give me a moment.” I let her do her thing as I finished off my first danish. “Okay, sir. It’s called the Children’s Hope Hospital. It offers care for all children but is known for taking especially difficult cases. Many rich donors from this neighborhood fund the hospital so patients generally pay little to no fee.”

“I bet they only do it for the tax deduction,” I grumbled.

“Don’t forget the good publicity, sir.”

“Ah, yes. That too,” I rolled my eyes. “Would it kill these people to actually do things out of the goodness of their heart?”

“Ironic that you would say that, sir,” Sys chimed in. “Considering your circumstances.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t think any of them would actually die if they helped out more.”

“Alright, dear. Are you ready?” Ellie’s voice brought me out of my mood and I gave her a small smile.

“All ready. Shall we go?” I offered her my arm, getting a giggle from the woman.

“How charming,” she said, grabbing onto my elbow, before leading me out of the bakery.

The walk to the hospital was pretty short, but it gave me enough time to talk to Ellie.

“Do you mind me asking about your family?” I asked after a few moments of silence.

She let out a small hum. “Ask away, dear.”

“How old’s your granddaughter?”

“Ella’s just 8 years old,” she answered quietly. “Her mother named her after me, you know.”

“Ella’s a beautiful name,” I said. “Is it serious?”

Ellie looked down. “She’s been in the hospital for 6 months. To this day, the doctors say they’re not 100% certain about what’s wrong with her, but without being hooked up to machines, her lungs wouldn’t be strong enough to work on their own.”

“Oh.”

A tense silence fell upon us. I wasn’t sure if trying to further this subject would be a smart idea, so I kept quiet. After a while, she broke the silence. “She’s being so strong about it, you know. Ella, I mean,” she said fondly. “Despite everything, the first thing she does when she sees me is ask how my leg is doing. I tripped a month before she was hospitalized, sprained it and everything. Of course it’s healed up by now, but she always asks. She’s there, bedridden constantly, but she always asks.”

I felt my eyes water a little but blinked back the tears. “She sounds… very kind. What a great kid.”

“The best.”

Before I knew it, we were at the entrance to the hospital.

“Thanks for walking me all the way, dear.” Ellie smiled up at me. “The world needs more young men like you.”

I laughed uncomfortably. “It was no problem. I was happy to keep you company.”

“Well, I best be off. You come visit the bakery more often, alright?” she asked.

I grinned. “Of course. Where else will I get the best cheese danishes in the world?”

She laughed as she entered the hospital, leaving me alone on the sidewalk. The smile dropped off my face as I stared at the glass door. Young men like me? With all that I can do but don’t?

I’m brought out of my thoughts by a ringtone in my ear. “Hello?”

“Peter.” Great. It’s Evans.

“What is it?” I said, not in the mood to talk to anyone, especially not her.

“What’s this email about moving your appointments? You know you can’t just do that!” she all but screamed into the earpiece.

I winced at the volume. “I just wanted a break. Geez…”

I could almost feel the glare burning through the phone. “You can’t just decide how to change your schedule. Months of planning have gone into this.”

“Fine, Erin,” I conceded. There was no point in arguing the terms of my contract. “I’ll have Sys call a cab for me.”

“Thank you, Peter. I’ll see you there.” She hung up.

I sighed. “Sys, you heard all that, right?”

“Yes, sir. The cab will be there shortly,” she responded.

I looked at the glass doors again. Yeah, young men like me? As if we need anymore of that.