(So side note first thanks for everyone who is reading this fanfic. Also I know some of you are wondering why I'm having a lot of chapters focusing on him dealing with emotions. Well he lost a lot in one go and he was human in his past life but in this fanfic Edward die get his brothers body back. Remember he is only 17 years old when brother hood ends. See, he has seen a lot as a kid so he and lost a lot from is past life. after being reborn growing up with a loving mother and then getting a little baby sister . That really hit home to him. After that his real first taste of command he lost a great deal of troops and friends almost all at once. All of that adds up you know? I try to write my heroes in away that can relate to people and write them that respects the original characters creators in this fanfics. So yes this arc is setting up the romance but most importantly helping Edward heal and grow into a elf that can learn to be a better leader and come to understand what his place is in this world without hiding his true feelings. This is to show you how people will crack when we don't tell others about what is bothering us and dealing with it in a healthfully way.Remember it is not wrong to feel pain or sadness . But we need to go to someone for help and let it all out before we can heal. After all last time I checked we are not robots . When we don't get help we can hurt are self or others because of are pain.. In the end remember you are all special and loved. One of my personal hero, Fred Rogers once
said "All of us, at some time or other, need help. Whether we're giving or receiving help, each one of us has something valuable to bring to this world." Love you all and thanks for reading this:) now back to the story.)
Night in Rivendell was quiet a quiet so complete it almost felt unnatural to men used to the wind and the cries of distant beasts. The Riders slept soundly, their bodies eased by rest. But Edwen did not.
Sleep dragged him into darkness.
The plains stretched before him again black with fire and blood. He saw Brandt running toward him, his face alight with determination, only to be swallowed by the enemy's blades. He heard the cries of the Riders, each voice he had lost, calling his name as they fell one by one. And when he turned, he stood alone among corpses, his hands red, the apple Brandt had given him crushed in his fist.
He woke with a cry, drenched in sweat, his breath ragged.
A figure sat nearby, waiting. Elrond.
"You dreamed," the Lord of Rivendell said, his voice calm but not unkind.
Edwen sat up, his head bowed, ashamed. "I cannot escape it. I close my eyes, and they are all there. Every face I led to death."
Elrond rose, beckoning him. "Come."
He led Edwen through the sleeping halls, out into the night air. The valley lay silver under starlight, waterfalls whispering softly. Elrond guided him to a quiet glade where white blossoms drifted on the water.
"This place," Elrond said, "is where we remember our fallen. When grief rises too strong, we come here. Not to drown in sorrow, but to lay it down."
He plucked a blossom and set it on the stream. It floated away, carried gently into the night.
"Mortals grieve with fire and tears. Elves grieve with memory. We do not forget, Edwen but neither do we let memory consume us. We set it adrift, knowing it will return when called. That is how we endure centuries of loss. Not by hardening our hearts, but by learning to carry grief lightly."
Edwen's throat tightened. "I don't know if I can."
"You can," Elrond said, his hand steady on his shoulder. "You must learn. Or grief will hollow you."
For a long time, Edwen stared at the blossoms drifting on the current. At last, he bent, plucked one, and set it in the stream. His lips moved soundlessly as he whispered Brandt's name.
Something eased within him. Not gone never gone but less suffocating.
Later that morning, Edwen wandered the gardens, weary but calmer. And there, beneath a willow, he found Arwen.
She sat with a book in her lap, but her eyes lifted when she saw him. She did not speak at first, only closed the book and made space for him beside her.
He sat, awkward and uncertain, but grateful. For a while, they said nothing. The quiet was not heavy, only gentle, like the hush of leaves in the breeze.
At last, she spoke. "You dreamed again."
He startled, but she smiled faintly. "Your face says more than words."
He lowered his eyes. "It is foolish. To be elf-born and yet undone by shadows of memory."
"It is not foolish," she said softly. "It is honest. And honesty is rare enough among our kind."
Her hand brushed the grass, not quite touching his. He felt the warmth of her presence, the calm of it, and something inside him loosened.
"You are not alone, Edwen," she said. "Not here."
For a moment, he let himself believe it.
They did not touch. They did not speak further of grief. They only sat together as the morning sun rose over Rivendell, two souls finding comfort in silence knowing that time must pass, wounds must heal, before hearts could truly reach for one another.
But the seed had been planted, and it stirred quietly in the light.