Chapter summary: "There were noted to be possibilities of both trauma induced and inherited ailments." That is what Elrohir had said, and it sent Elrond's world crashing down.

This chapter takes place between Chapter 10 (Part 4, Chapter 1) of Melancholia, after Elrohir has presented his project concept to the panel.

The words had been tumbling around in Elrond's mind for hours, and the whirlwind left no room for any other thoughts.

He had let them pass by without thought when Elrohir first said them, so engrossed was he in listening to his son's plans. But Erestor had sent Elrond a copy of his notes from the session so that Elrond could start trying to get approval from the council to use the fourth floor for Elrohir's Halls of Mental Healing, and when he had seen them written out in Erestor's neat print, it had made it so much worse.

Trauma induced and inheritance. Erestor had put a star next to it, clearly thinking the same thing that Elrond now thought.

They had wondered for so long what possibly could have been causing Elrohir's melancholy, which Elrond recognized so well from his own life. Elrond had never thought to consider inheritance as a cause. He had never heard of such a thing. He had never known to fear passing on his melancholy to his children.

I'm sorry.

He was seated in his and Celebrían's bedroom, on the floor, and the stone leeched cold through his boots and trousers in a way that made the coldness in his heart feel worse. He was curled up beyond the far side of the bed. He grasped at his hair, holding it harshly in his hand and tugging, trying desperately to ground himself with the pain. His hands shook.

Get a hold of yourself, Elrond.

The door opened. He could hear the swish of skirts and smell familiar perfume.

"Elrond?" Celebrían said. He did not respond. Celebrían came around the side of the bed. She sat beside him and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. He crumbled.

"Breathe, Elrond. It's all right. Everything's all right."

"It's not. It's not," Elrond choked, tucking his face against the spot where her neck met her shoulder.

"Breathe. We'll talk once your breathing is back to normal, okay?" Her hand was rubbing his back, and under her touch he felt his lungs begin to fill properly with air again. He sagged against her.

"Talk to me," she murmured. Her breath was warm as she kissed the top of his head.

"Elrohir had his presentation today. He's been researching what could have made him so sad."

"I heard," Celebrían said. Her voice was soft, patient. "Erestor said it went very well."

"It did go very well. He's so articulate. He's so clever, Celebrían," Elrond whispered. "He's so wonderful. All this has happened to him, and he's using it to help others. He is so brave."

"He is. He is like you," Celebrían said. There was something strange in her voice. Elrond did not ask why.

"Too much like me," Elrond said. "He found—he found out that many such illnesses are inherited, Celebrían. We had wondered for so long what could have caused these feelings in him. And now we know. I did."

"Don't talk like that," Celebrían said firmly. "There was nothing you could have done to predict this. And it is not like you would keep your melancholy if you had a choice in the matter."

"Still." Elrond said, and as he spoke his words got faster and faster, breathless. "He got it from me. I should've seen it sooner. I s-should've seen and spoken to him about it before it got so far. It got so close, Celebrían. He scared me so bad. You didn't see him."

"I didn't," she echoed. "And I will count myself lucky for that. And I know you will always blame yourself, wrongly, but I know that Rossë does not hold it against you. He loves you." He could hardly hear her over the thoughts, terrible realizations that came one after the next and screamed their accusations in the echoing chambers of his head.

"I-I've been so focused on protecting them from things outside," Elrond said, stumbling over the words in his haste to articulate them, for maybe if he freed them, they would stop their screaming. "But the real threat to him was in him already, and I gave it to him. I f-failed him. I didn't see it in time to help him."

"Elrond," she said, and she pushed him away just enough so that she could grasp his face in her hands, one on each side. The feeling of her warm fingers on his skin tugged him harshly back to reality.

"Do not talk like that," Celebrían said. "You yourself just said how clever and wonderful and brave our son is. You cultivated those things in him. And when you claim all of your parenting to this point has been a failure because he has his melancholy, you reduce him to that. He is so much more than that. You are so much more than that."

"I j-just wanted him to be happy," Elrond choked. "I wanted them to be happy, and to have a life that was easy. Neither of them will ever f-forget—" how Elrohir looked when he was sobbing with shards of glass in his palms.

"No, they won't forget," Celebrían said. She drew a strand of his hair back behind his ear. "And it's a sad thing that it happened. But there is nothing to be done about it now. This is not something for you to blame yourself with, or something that proves you have failed as his father. It is an opportunity for you to prove that you are the father he needs."

"I wanted them to be happy." His voice was small.

"Elrond, they are happy," Celebrían said. "They will be. One moment of tragedy does not mean they will be broken for the rest of their lives. They have our support to get through things, and Glorfindel's and Erestor's, too. And they have each other."

There was a hollowness inside of his heart as he listened to her. After a moment he thought about her words, allowing her calmness and surety to spread through him. His head went quiet.

He never wanted his children to suffer as he had. And he had thought that Elrohir had felt that same suffering. But it was more complicated than that, he realized. Elrohir's feelings may have been akin to his own, but Elrond had suffered endlessly and alone. He had hurt himself more times than Elrohir had—too many times to count—and Elros had never wanted to hear about it.

Now that Elrohir knew of all the support that surrounded him, perhaps he really would get better.

"I love you. I don't know what I'd do without you," Elrond murmured. He leaned down so that his forehead was pressed against Celebrían's, and her hands were still resting on his cheeks. She smiled.

"I love you too, Elrond."

A/N: Celebrían refers to Elrohir by his mother-name, Rossë, in this chapter.
This was originally part of the draft for a long Elrond/Celebrían fic that I've been working on for some time, but unfortunately I'm very dissatisfied with that draft overall and will probably start over with significant restructuring and changes. However, the good news is that some of the parts I am happier with will be up sooner than they would have been otherwise. Just as was the case with Never Alone, I'm changing this fic to unfinished, as it is likely that I will add more chapters in the future.