Elrond liked Christmas. His friends wondered how a man apparently single, no children, in his late thirties, could enjoy a holiday that cried FAMILY like no other. What they didn't know was that he did have a family, had had for years. None of them knew it of course but Elrond had a long memory, and he knew where most of his descendants were.
Few knew of course about their ancestor and sometime benefactor.
Over the millennia, Elrond had become a man of silent influence. He had stayed on Middle Earth because he knew ... If he went to Valinor, nothing there would change. People became frozen, physically, emotionally, never changing ... never growing. He believed Faramir would have liked this world, and Elrond could still see things here that reminded him of his beloved. Valinor would have nothing that spoke of the all too brief, wonderfully bright, painfully transient lives of men.
But here ... More changed in one decade here, now, than they had in a thousand years when he lived in Imladris.
It was true that, at times like this, he missed Faramir and their children far more keenly than during most of the rest of the year. But he also knew that Faramir would not wish him to grieve, and Elrond felt his beloved would have enjoyed a holiday like this.
Sitting in front of a fire, Elrond just had to close his eyes and he was back in Imladris, or in the castle of Prince Faramir, or the great halls of Minas Tirith. The smells, sounds, the feel came back. He could almost feel the weight of a sleeping child in his lap - a grandchild by then. Faramir and Aragorn would be having some political discussion - not "work" which had been forbidden by the wives, but discussing the age old politics of long dead kings and stewards.
Arwen would be feeding the very youngest of her children, with a seemingly older Eowyn keeping her company, as well as Eowyn's eldest, again with child and sure to deliver within a month. In those times, it was just another quiet evening with family, not the tinsel and mistletoe and presents affair it had become in recent years.
Elrond opened his eyes, back in the present. He lifted his eyes to the small painting he kept over the mantle. It was old now, well over a thousand years. When anyone asked, he said it was just over a hundred years old and it was of a great grandfather, always forgetting which it was. With his eternal memory, Elrond didn't need a picture to remind him, but it was wonderful to have one. He painted it himself, whenever the old one was too worn to be seen. The paints he made, though but as more and more of the actual materials he needed became unavailable, they hadn't lasted as long. Already a thousand years was long enough to need it repainted.
Elrond stood, moving over to the window, gazing at the snow outside. This was something else Faramir loved. His husband, the warrior, prince, father, lover, statesman, politician, student ... he'd never lost his childlike wonder at things like snow, and flowers. Were he alive now, even stiff and old as he was in later years, Faramir would have been the first out in the snow. They hadn't had snow angels then - angels were somewhat new to Elrond. But they had made snow men, forts, snowball fights ... Some things truly didn't change.
The once mighty Lord of Imladris made his way downstairs, taking a scarf and jacket - though he didn't need them - and made his way outside. The lawn was pristine, a thick white blanket of snow, still being added to. Thinking of his long departed Faramir, Elrond took a few steps, turned, and fell back into the snow, then began moving his arms and legs, clearing the snow before leaping up with an unnatural grace. Somewhere in the distance he could hear carols, and if he listened hard enough, jingle bells. Smiling to himself, he drew Faramir's name in the snow, knowing the still falling white would cover it before anyone thought to ask.
Yes, Elrond thought Faramir would indeed enjoy Christmas, and as long as Elrond remembered his beloved, he never really *would* be alone for any holiday, new or old.
