Welcome to History Lessons: The Third Age.  This story is about half written and fully outlined, so I think I have enough to begin posting. I hope to post about a chapter a week.  Its a bit melancholic, but I have decided that this is appropriate.  The cast of characters is large, but the primary POV will be Elrond's.  This story is caught in what Verlyn Flieger in her book 'Splintered Light' calls 'the vision of hope and the experience of darkness' - a fitting description not only of Tolkien's work at large, but the experience of the elves at this time.  Please do let me know your thoughts - a little encouragement is most welcome.

Chapter 1: The Most Hardy of Living Men

“Then Aragorn, being now the Heir of Isildur, was taken with his mother to dwell in the house of Elrond; and Elrond took the place of his father and came to love him as a son of his own. But he was called ‘Estel’, that is ‘Hope’...” The Tale of Aragorn and Arwen, Appendix A, The Lord of the Rings

Imladris
Early Spring, 3017 Third Age

Elrond entered the darkened room silently, passing through the sitting room where sword, bow and quiver were set with care in the corner that had housed them whenever the occupant was in residence.  No clothing was scattered about, nor were any personal items loose on the table beside the comfortable chair.  Ithil’s light bathed the sleeping chamber in a soft glow, softening also the grim face of the one who lay sleeping upon the bed.

Moving closer, Elrond touched lightly upon Aragorn’s brow, and beneath his touch even the remaining wrinkle of tension fled from the man’s face. He was deep in sleep, completely relaxed, ‘boneless’ he would call it, though Elrond had oft wondered how the term could be used to describe one such as Aragorn.  He had soaked long in a tub of hot water, essential oils drifting pleasantly to soothe and relax his mind.  His favorite foods had appeared without request, for Cook did not forget the favorites of any of the House’s children. Well fed and clean, he had fallen upon his bed and drifted instantly into sleep.

Arwen had sat quietly by his side, having arranged his bath and brought wine to accompany his meal, making not even a demand of conversation upon the one she loved. His weariness ran to the core of his being, and she wanted nothing more than to ease him. For this Elrond knew Aragorn was grateful; Imladris remained the one place, he said, where he could safely let down all guard and allow his body and mind respite from the hard life he led.

Elrond’s fingers slid across the damp strands of hair, smoothing them away from Aragorn’s face. Though he wished to know more of his foster son’s thoughts, he would take no liberties in learning what lay beneath the surface of his mind. He had heard enough in the brief report that Aragorn and Mithrandir had provided before falling into their beds: That the ring found by Bilbo was likely the One Ring.  Events were being set in motion, Elrond knew, that could not be stopped or reversed.  Evil had been growing in the lands to the east, causing him to call Arwen home from Lothlórien, for soon not even the woods protected by her grandparents would be safe.  He expected that Aragorn’s story, when he was able to tell it, would show that time was growing short.

He finally sat on the edge of the bed, straightening the sheet over Aragorn. Hovering, his sons would call it, for that is what he did when one of his children was in such a state. He felt a soft touch upon his shoulder, and reached his own hand up to cover the deceptively delicate hand of his daughter.  She pressed her lips to his fingers, and he felt a pain deep within his heart. If indeed the One Ring was found, the events that he had long ago foreseen would soon come to pass. They would rise up against Shadow one last time; if they were defeated all would be lost for Men and Elves and all the free peoples of Middle-earth.  Yet if they won, he would lose his daughter. He felt her comforting presence surround him through her mere touch, and he knew that she sensed his sorrow.

“Never have I seen him so worn and weary,” said Elrond quietly, turning his own and his daughter’s thoughts back to Aragorn.  “Five hundred miles and nearly fifty days he drove Gollum north from the swamps to the Realm of the Woodland Elves. He pushes himself beyond what the hardiest of men might endure.”

“Each time he has come home to Imladris you have thought he appeared the weariest you have seen him,” replied Arwen.  “Yet events are building to a climax, where he must rise above all he has been and all he has accomplished to become who he was born to be. His road will not be easy.”

“The road of the Dúnedain has never been easy,” replied Elrond gravely. “He has never shirked from his duty or his birthright, since he has known of it. In time, he will face his greatest test.”

“Come, Adar, and sit beneath the stars with me, and tell me again of your first meeting with the child Aragorn,” she coaxed.

Elrond stood as she pulled gently yet persuasively upon his hand, and they walked on to the balcony that connected the family rooms together. There they found Elladan and Elrohir, recently returned from the north where they had aided the Rangers in clearing a den of orcs that had been preying upon travelers.  Both stood as their father and sister approached, and Elrohir took Arwen’s hand and seated her next to him.

Elrond could not help but smile at what appeared to be a gesture of love, for he saw the look of utter contentment cross Elrohir’s face when Arwen pulled him near and began to massage his head and neck.   He saw the bemused look upon Elladan’s face, and motioned for his son to draw near to him, that he might perform the same service upon his still stiff muscles.

As the twins drifted into a pleasant state of waking dreams, Elrond began to speak.

“When word came that Arador had died in the trollshaws, unease settled upon me, for his death was untimely and Arathorn had thought he had many years of his father’s leadership left to guide the Dúnedain. Arathorn had taken Gilraen to wife only a year earlier, and she was great with child when their Chieftain was killed.  Gilraen’s mother had supported the marriage, despite Gilraen’s youth, for in her foresight she had seen that the line must be continued; that there should be no delay.

“I feared for Arathorn, though I did not know why. Your brothers attached themselves to Arathorn’s patrol when he resumed his duties after Aragorn was born. Elladan sent word to me that it seemed as if all evil things had become attracted to that patrol, and each time they rode out heightened danger awaited them. Attacks by goblins and orcs, the increasing forays of trolls into Dúnedain protected lands – yet Arathorn would not send his Men where he would not go himself.

“For nearly a year this continued, and then the attacks lessened and a hard winter settled upon the mountains. Your brothers came home for a few months, while Arathorn returned home to Gilraen and Aragorn. They rode out together that spring, but were ambushed. Arathorn was slain by an orc arrow to his eye, and he died in Elrohir’s arms.”

Elrond saw a tear slide down Elrohir’s face. His son had taught Arathorn to ride and hunt as a young man during his fostering years in Imladris; to hold him in his death had brought the circle of his life to a close, and the futility of it had grieved them all. Arathorn had died a young man by Dúnedain standards.

“We knew then that Arador’s and Arathorn’s deaths were not chance occurrences, but that the servants of evil were seeking Isildur’s heir, seeking the heir of the one who taken the ring from Sauron, and we feared for Aragorn. . . ”

~ ~ ~* * * ~ ~ ~

Spring, 2933 Third Age

Elrohir gritted his teeth and with an anguished sob, pulled the arrow from Arathorn’s eye.  He was glad he had waited so long to do it, for he did not know if he could bear to see the damage he would have done on a wound still fresh. He cut a length from his undertunic and tied it over Arathorn’s head, covering his damaged eye.  He did not want Gilraen to see the horrible disfigurement.  The sounds of battle receded and Arathorn’s men began to return, some injured and others carrying one who had been killed.  Elrohir felt his twin’s hand on his shoulder and he clasped his own over it, accepting and receiving comfort, before they turned to the rest of the Dúnedain.  Grief was etched deep into their grim faces.  Elrohir released Arathorn’s body to Halbarad, now the leader of the Dúnedain, and turned his attention to the injured.

They camped that night a few hours to the south, in a site they often used.   Arathorn’s body was covered and set at the edge of the camp, and every one of the Men stood over or knelt at his side for a time that evening.  Elrohir had just sunk to the ground in front of Elladan, when he heard one of the Men speak.

“The hope of our people now rests on a two-year-old child,” he said mournfully.

“The rule of Chieftain has passed from father to son in an unbroken line from Elendil. Yet it may be in our time that the line ends, and the hope of the Dúnedain perishes forever,” replied another. “We must see that Aragorn survives to adulthood.”

“I do not believe that Arador’s and Arathorn’s deaths are coincidence or bad fortune.  I believe the enemy is seeking Elendil’s heir. In time they will find Aragorn,” predicted Halbarad soberly.

“Let us take him to Imladris now,” said Elladan softly.  “Elrond will keep him safe, and hidden.”

Silence fell on the camp, as the Men considered his words. Elrohir’s thoughts raced, and he felt the calming influence of his twin on his mind.  This will be no fostering, he thought. The enemy must not even know of the child’s existence.

The twins were silent as the Rangers discussed this.  Enough of them were present to make such a decision, and Halbarad was now their acting chief. Halbarad finally stood and regarded them gravely. “I will tell Gilraen she must do this,” he said resolutely.  He turned to the other Men. “We must remove the child’s name from our conversations and continue as if he does not exist. It is our best hope for his survival.”

* * *

“Elrond, your sons approach.” Elrond nodded to Erestor, capped his ink and stacked the papers he had been reading.  “They bring guests: a female rides with Elladan and Elrohir carries a child.”

“Ensure that a room is prepared for them,” he instructed needlessly, for he was sure Erestor had already done so.

He greeted them in the courtyard, where Glorfindel was lifting the woman from the horse.  Her eyes widened at the sight of Glorfindel, and she did not return his greeting, seemingly unable to speak.  Her gaze then drifted to the house and grounds, where lanterns were casting a warm glow about the front porch and courtyard, and Elrond thought she might swoon, but Elladan caught her arm and spoke calmingly into her ear. 

Glorfindel helped Elrohir slide from the horse, toddler in hand, but the child was less awed by Glorfindel’s presence.  He immediately reached out one chubby hand and took a firm hold on the warrior’s golden hair, pulling it to him. Unfortunately for Glorfindel, Elrohir did not realize Aragorn had claimed a prize.

“Elrohir!” called Glorfindel, his head tilting as Aragorn gleefully pulled as Elrohir stepped forward.

Elrohir stopped, unable to hide his grin as he pried Aragorn’s fingers from the golden braid. “No, Aragorn,” he said firmly when the child attempted to regain his pretty toy. Aragorn subsided immediately, burying both hands in the front of his tunic, but he smiled coyly at Glorfindel.

“Adar, this is Lady Gilraen and her son, Aragorn,” said Elladan as he guided Gilraen forward.

“Lady Gilraen,” greeted Elrond formally, bowing his head slightly.   “Please come inside; a warm fire awaits.”

She looked upon him, a bewildered expression on her face, and sorrow filled him. Word had come of Arathorn’s death that morning and Imladris was in mourning.  A young bride and mother, now a young widow in shock, she had been uprooted from her family and friends in her time of greatest need and sorrow, and Elrond knew without his sons needing to speak that the Dúnedain had sent their future Chieftain into hiding to keep him safe.

Elrond stepped forward and took Gilraen’s arm in his, unobtrusively but purposefully using his touch to calm and soothe her. She leaned heavily upon him, and he did not take her to rest by the fire in the Great Hall, but followed Erestor to the rooms appointed for her.  The suite was in the family quarters, and Elrond nodded his approval at Erestor for also reading the situation correctly.  Elves were soundlessly building up a fire and making the bed, bringing flowers from the greenhouse and hot water for tea.  Elrond eased Gilraen’s cloak from her shoulders and gently pushed her into a comfortable chair by the fire. He poured her a cup of hot tea, but although she took it, she did not drink but merely stared at the cup.  She sat there dumbly for a few minutes, while Elrond issued directives to the house staff.   He heard the cup clatter back to the tray and turned just as she looked up in fright.  “Where is Aragorn?” she cried, rising to her feet.

“With my sons,” he reassured her, again taking her by the arm to steady her.  “I just heard him laughing with Elrohir a moment ago. He is well.”

She crumpled in his arms then, a soft cry issuing from her lips followed by sobs of grief. He pulled her to him, holding her to his chest and stroking her back and hair. She cried until exhaustion overtook her, and Elrond laid her carefully upon her bed. Placing one hand upon her head and the other her breast, he pushed her deep into sleep.

At a motion of his hand, two female elves appeared, carefully undressing the mortal woman and clothing her in a comfortable nightgown, then covering her for a night’s rest.  They would sit in shifts with her through the night, not wishing for her to awake alone with her grief in a foreign place.

Elrond went in search of Elladan and Elrohir, following the sound of childish laughter to the kitchens. There he found Aragorn happily eating and chattering with Elrohir, while Elladan spoke quietly to Glorfindel and Erestor. He sat down beside Elladan.

“I am sorry we could not send word that we were bringing Gilraen and Aragorn here,” said Elladan.  “Halbarad also felt it was important that they leave immediately, and he and Gilraen’s father along with several others, escorted us to the borders of Imladris.  She is heartbroken, Adar.  She had only a few hours to prepare, not even seeing Arathorn buried before we left.”

“She is in shock,” agreed Elrond. “I believe that you did right. I am not surprised that Halbarad also thought so.”

Elrond watched as Elrohir played with Aragorn, coaxing him to eat while asking the toddler his opinions on many things.

“I am reminded of watching him with Arwen,” said Elladan softly.  “She adored him and rightly so, for he treated her as if all her thoughts and words were of the utmost importance. Aragorn slept some on the ride here, but when he was awake Elrohir kept him occupied.  When Gilraen’s father departed, he lifted her before me on my horse, but spoke not a word to us. He just rode off into the darkness. Aragorn did not notice his departure and that was as he wished; he did not want Aragorn to think he was leaving him.  He reminded Gilraen of how much he loved her and commended courage to her for he knew this exile would be long and difficult, but reminded her that the Dúnedain were entrusting their hope to her and the Elves. She is young to bear so heavy a burden.”

Elrond covered Elladan’s hand with his own and squeezed, but he had no words of wisdom to offer.  The choices had been made and though harsh, they were necessary.  “We will help her to bear it. The child will need a new name, at least until he is ready to take his place among his people. Too many visitors pass through Imladris for us to risk a slip of the tongue.  He is the hope of the Dúnedain; Estel we will call him.”

Elladan smiled, but sorrow darkened his eyes.  “Gilraen has lost much this night, Adar, and now the identity of her son.  She will agree, for Halbarad explained that this might be necessary, but I sorrow for her.”

Elrohir washed Aragorn’s hands and face with a warm cloth, then lifted the toddler in his arms. He sat next to Elrond with Aragorn in his lap. “This is my adar, Elrond,” he told the child.

Elrond could not help but draw Elrohir near and kiss him lightly on the head.  “Hello, child,” he greeted Aragorn.  “I think you were hungry. You ate well,” he complimented, motioning to the empty plate.

“Mama says I always hungry,” agreed Aragorn, laughing and appearing pleased by his good behavior. He quieted suddenly, sticking his thumb in his mouth and looking around him for a moment. “Where Mama?”

“Your mama is sleeping,” answered Elrond, playfully tugging the thumb from the child’s mouth, which made him laugh again.  “Would you like to see your mama and kiss her goodnight?”

Aragorn nodded, and without any hesitation let Elrond lift him from Elrohir’s arms.  As he walked from the room, Elrond heard Erestor say, “I win, Elladan. I have known your father much longer than you.  No child has ever cried or declined to be carried by him.”  Elrond could not help but smile. He would ask Elladan later what he had lost this time.

Holding his finger to his lips, a sign the child evidently understood, Elrond entered the chamber where Gilraen slept.  He sat on the side of the bed, carefully pulling the covers away from Gilraen’s face that Aragorn might see her.  The toddler bent over and kissed her cheek, then patted her hand.  When she did not respond, he frowned.

“Your mama is very tired,” said Elrond softly, drawing the toddler’s head to his own shoulder.   He thought about settling Aragorn into the bed next to Gilraen, but knew that she needed uninterrupted sleep and Aragorn was unlikely to allow that. “Would you like to stay with me a while longer?”

Thumb securely back in his mouth, Aragorn finally nodded.

Elrond took him to the sitting room attached to his own chambers, finding the twins and Glorfindel already present. He sat down with Aragorn in his lap and was a little surprised when the child sat so quietly, content to watch everyone around him.   The door opened and Erestor entered, a large box in hand and clothing folded over his arm.  He sat down adjacent to Elrond, set the box on the floor before him and then laid the clothing out on his lap. Lifting a short white gown, he held it up for Elrond to see.

“I am impressed you found something in such good condition of that size,” said Elrond as he fingered the gown.  “This will fit Estel quite well.”

As he spoke the name Estel, he hugged Aragorn, associating the word with the child. When Aragorn looked at him, Elrond said, “You are my Estel. Let us see what else Erestor has found for you.”

Elrond leaned over, digging through the box that Erestor had brought, and pulled out a cloth rabbit. He offered it to Estel, who immediately hugged it tight.  He chose a wooden toy next, an odd shaped thing with different shaped openings.  Grabbing a handful of wooden shapes, he showed Estel how one fit through one of the openings.  Estel took a peg and tried to push it into the same opening, and then sat up straight, curious, when it didn’t fit.  A moment later he had slid to the floor, taking various pegs and trying different openings.

“He is a very bright child,” commented Erestor.  “Watch how he tries each one based on what worked or failed the time prior.”

Elrond watched Estel play, his mind considering the implications of having a bright child growing up with a hidden identity in Imladris.  How would they raise him so that he did not question too much, yet would be prepared to handle his heritage when the time came? “He will need to be extraordinarily secure,” he murmured.

“Adar?”

Elrond turned at the sound of Elladan’s voice, meeting his son’s questioning eyes.  He smiled in reassurance, but avoided answering.  He paid little attention to the talk around him, instead watching Estel and allowing his mind to wander along paths of memory and recalled prophecy. Eventually the child’s eyes began to droop and he leaned against Elrond’s leg, relaxing and nearly falling over as sleep overcame him. Elrond caught him easily. He deftly undressed the toddler and pulled the nightshirt over his head, then cradled him against his chest.  Estel nuzzled against the soft fabric of his robe and then relaxed into deep sleep.

“I had a child’s bed moved into the room attached to his mother’s. Would you like to put him to sleep there?” asked Erestor, as he placed a soft blanket over Estel.

Elrond smiled, noting that Erestor had not offered to put the child to bed himself.   Erestor enjoyed children, but he preferred them out of the thumb sucking stage. Elrond could not help but recall how Celebrían would tease Erestor with threats of leaving the very young twins in his care.  It was enough to bring a look of slight panic into their friend’s eyes.

“No, I would not want him to wake alone, and I have set Gilraen into a deep sleep. I will keep him with me,” he answered.

Elrond noted the reaction of his sons. Elrohir’s eyes narrowed slightly in thought while Elladan’s widened in surprise.  He knew what they were thinking: others could sit with Estel during the night; the elves already watching over Gilraen would be happy to do so. Ignoring their questioning looks, he rose. “Sleep well, Elladan, Elrohir. You have also had a long and trying day.  Good eve, Glorfindel, Erestor,” he said, then walked through the door into his own chamber.

He pulled back the covers from his bed and laid Estel there, then prepared himself for sleep and lay down beside the child.  As Estel moved in his sleep, seeking something, Elrond pulled him close and felt the child snuggle against him.  Knowing some of the customs of the Dúnedain, he suspected the child was only recently weaned and still slept with his parents. Estel would take comfort in his presence. 

As he drifted on to the path of dreams, he could not help but think how right it felt to hold this child. In his dream, Celebrían appeared, and as he knew she would, she brightened visibly at the sight of the child in his arms. Fatherhood becomes you, she said as she linked her arm through his.  She had first said those words to him after seeing him with both of the twins in his arms for the first time.  He leaned over and kissed her, glad for these times when she seemed as present in dreams as she had been during her life in Imladris.

* * *

Elrond felt someone stir at his side, and it took him a moment to comprehend who was in his bed and why. Loneliness swept briefly over him as he counted again how many years he had slept without Celebrían at his side. He allowed himself a moment of remembrance of what he had lost, and a moment of hope for what he prayed would await him the day he landed in elvenhome: a wife restored, healed, and at peace, and himself complete again by having her at his side.

Turning his attention to the child sprawled out next to him, he pushed the unruly curls away from Estel’s eyes and then ran his hand down his arm, picking up the sturdy hand and examining each finger.  A sudden thought occurred to him: He had not asked if the child should have slept in swaddling, but the bedding was dry.   No sooner had he expended the thought when he felt a warm wetness spreading beneath his hand.

“Well, young Estel, I think I have been reminded of the most basic of parenting skills,” he said ruefully.  “And you slept through it. Celebrían would have thought of this, young one.  She would be laughing at me now, if she were here, for what she always referred to as my scholarly oversights.  In other words, my occasional lapse in practical sense.”

He gently shook Estel by the arm, but the toddler merely rolled over and pressed his wet body against Elrond, cuddling close.  Elrond could not help himself, and began to laugh.  Estel did awake then, his eyes widening in curiosity then fear, and finally some memory came to him and the fear left.  He sat up, pulling on his nightshirt uncomfortably.  “I wet,” he proclaimed, looking at Elrond as if he had somehow caused this thing.

“You are wet, Estel,” agreed Elrond.  “Would you like to become wetter and cleaner?  How do you like baths?”

“Mama heat water and fill tub!” he agreed happily.

“I think Mama might appreciate some of the amenities of Imladris,” mused Elrond.  “Come.” He pulled Estel to his feet, stripped him of his wet clothing, set him on the floor and held out his hand.  Estel wrapped his fist about Elrond’s finger and allowed himself to be led to the bathing chamber.  Elrond filled the bathing tub with warm water, then stripped and stepped in himself. He was just reaching for Estel when the child flung himself into the pool.  “Go swimming!”

Elrond lifted him so his head was above water, watching as the fearless child sputtered and coughed, the water being over his head clearly an unexpected thing.  He began to jump on Elrond’s knees, bending his knees to go underwater on purpose and coming up with a gleeful squeal. “Ai, you are going to be a handful, Estel.”

“I Aragorn,” replied Aragorn. “Your name?”

“I am Ada Elrond, and you are my Estel,” replied Elrond purposefully.

Estel looked at him seriously, clearly confused by the names, but he did not dwell on the topic. “Where Mama?”

“Mama is sleeping, but she will want to see you as soon as she awakes.  Let me wash you so you smell and look nice,” he replied, already soaping a soft cloth and scrubbing at the little boy.

Estel played happily, splashing in the water, and after Elrond dried him off he ran naked back into Elrond’s chamber.  Elrond was pleased to find the clothing Erestor had acquired stacked on a chair near the door, but ignored it as he dressed himself and brushed his hair.  Estel was running in circles around him, singing and laughing, and daring Elrond to catch him.   When he was ready, he merely held out an arm and scooped the child off his feet and upside down, wincing at Estel’s squeal of delight as he carried him to his clothing.

“Do you wear swaddling during the day?” he asked.

“No!” cried Estel, aghast.  “I am big boy!”

“Of course you are.  I knew it was a silly question.  Perhaps we will swaddle you at night, though?”

“Mama says yes,” sighed Estel.

“Then Mama is wise, and we will do what Mama says,” answered Elrond as he quickly dressed him, glad that part of his parenting skills had not departed.  “Let us go see if your mama is awake and if she is hungry.”

“I hungry!” cried Estel, clapping his hands.

Elrond took Estel by the hand, exiting his chambers and walking down the hall to the room where Gilraen slept.  He knocked lightly, and entered when Liriel, one of the elves who had sat the night at Gilraen’s side, opened it silently.  Gilraen sat up as he entered, looking as lost and dazed and as young as a child at that moment.

“Mama!” cried Estel, racing to climb up on the bed next to her.

“Aragorn,” she murmured, wrapping both arms about him and burying her face in his still damp curls.   Holding her son seemed to give her purpose, and after taking a few deep breaths she looked up at Elrond.  “Thank you for caring for him, my lord.”

“Please, call me Elrond,” replied Elrond.  He did not like having to immediately speak to her of unpleasant things, but some things needed to be said sooner than later, and he decided purpose might also aid Gilraen in dealing with her grief.  “Liriel will help you to bathe and dress, and show you to the dining room. If you wish, Estel may stay with you or I can take him down to breakfast now.  After that, we should speak.”

“Estel,” Gilraen whispered, and her eyes filled with tears, and Elrond knew that she had grasped the significance of the word and why it was being used.  She trembled and hugged her son close, but again took a deep breath and sat up straight, meeting Elrond’s gaze solidly. “So be it. I think Estel would rather go with you now than wait for me to dress,” she decided, as he squirmed in her embrace, anxious to get down and play. 

Elrond held out his hand to Estel, who took it and then leapt from the bed to the floor, trusting that Elrond would not let him fall.  Elrond steadied him only a little, then nodded to Gilraen.  “I will see you later.  Take what time you need.”

“Bye, Mama.  Come fast!” Estel commanded as he skipped from the room at Elrond’s side. Elrond looked back as he closed the door, glad to see Liriel sitting at Gilraen’s side. She would need time and strength and a strong shoulder in these first days, and Elrond knew that there was none better in Imladris to provide that than Arwen’s childhood friend. He did not think there was a kinder or more empathetic elf in his house.

No sooner had he closed the door than Estel dropped his hand and raced off down the hall ahead of him.  Elrond saw the object of Estel’s attention, and knew despite Elrohir’s looks of surprise as the toddler ran smack into him, crying “I got you!”  that his son was not surprised in the least.  He swung Estel upside down and flung him over his shoulder.  “I think you are sorely mistaken, Estel.  It is obvious that I have you.”

Estel kicked and squirmed, Elrohir’s hand smacking him lightly on his rear causing a howl and giggles. “Clearly we need to establish that I am in charge,” growled Elrohir, sending Estel into another gale of giggles.

Elrond followed at a more sedate pace, nodding to Glorfindel when the elf fell into step with him.  “Well, it does bring back fond memories,” commented Glorfindel.

“Fond memories?” asked Elrond, but he knew what Glorfindel meant.

“Yes, we have a child in the house again. A child who will make noise and messes and mischief and liven up the house as we have not seen in millennia,” he answered. Elrond read between the words to what was really being said: we will all help to raise him; he is one of this house now.

Elrond smiled, then clapped his friend on the back.  “Thank you, Glorfindel.”

~ ~ ~* * *~ ~ ~

“I recall that I was surprised by your actions,” remembered Elladan, tilting his head back to look up at Elrond. Elrond continued to massage the now relaxed muscles of his son’s neck, taking a rather silly pride in how Elladan could barely keep his eyes open. “We talked after you had taken Estel to bed, and concluded that you had decided to not only hide him, but raise him as your son.  You were careful to never call him Aragorn after that first meeting, and you never called yourself ‘father’ in the common tongue. You were Ada and he was Estel.”

Elrond sighed at the memory. “My decision was conscious and intentional, but still very difficult. I was blotting out his past, causing his memory of his father and family to fall away instead of teaching him to cherish those whom we had also loved.  We gave him so much love and attention that he fell into his new life easily.” He paused, closing his eyes. “Each moment that went by, when he did not ask about his papa or his grandpapa or grandmama, was like a dagger in Gilraen’s heart.  My heart ached for the pain that caused her.”

“She understood, Adar,” said Arwen softly. “Though you are right that her heart was broken and she never fully recovered.”

“She did give all her hope to the Dúnedain; she gave up all she was and all she had to do what was needed.  She also had no choice: her people expected this of her and she would no more shirk her duty than Aragorn would today,” replied Elrond. “Part of me is sorry she passed beyond the circles of this world before seeing Aragorn’s time come, for he very much wanted her with him; yet I also understand that her light had passed and she could shine brightly for him no more.”

 * * *

Elrond entered Aragorn’s room silently, a slight tug of concern leading him to check on this son who had now slept for nearly twenty-four hours straight.  He sat on the edge of the bed, resting his hand lightly on Aragorn’s head. Peace had entered this son’s mind during the night, his body finally rested and his mind restored.  Nudging at Aragorn’s thought gently, he pushed him into wakefulness.

“Father,” murmured Aragorn lightly, his eyes blinking open slowly. He stretched out long and lean on the bed, finally settling a smile on his foster-father.

“You have slept long,” said Elrond kindly. “I do not recall you ever being this worn before.” Aragorn grunted in reply, yawning and stretching again. “You need to eat and drink. Cook is busy preparing all of your favorite foods.”

“Cook should not go to so much trouble, but I know you will tell me it pleases him to do so,” replied Aragorn.  He sat up, and Elrond could not help but note how thin he was. “And then you would tell me that I am too thin, and I would be unable to disagree. Traveling with the creature Gollum was not conducive to eating or sleeping.”

“So I gathered,” replied Elrond dryly.  He moved to sit in a chair by the room’s small table as Elves entered bearing a platter of food.  For himself Elrond accepted only a cup of tea, but he watched with amusement and gladness as Aragorn ate like one would expect for a man who had subsisted on little for many days.

“Where is Gandalf?” he asked.

“He awoke late this morning and is speaking with Bilbo,” replied Elrond. “He is comparing details of what he learned from Gollum with Bilbo’s account of finding the ring.”

“He needs only to see the ring for final proof,” replied Aragorn gravely. “Mordor is aware now of The Shire and the name Baggins. If it is indeed the One Ring, it and its bearer are no longer safe there.” He sighed. “I must leave this afternoon.”

Elrond inclined his head in acknowledgment. Aragorn came seldom to Imladris, and his stays were usually short as his duties as chieftain and his workings with Gandalf consumed much of his time. “Elladan and Elrohir will ride out with you. They have chosen a new horse for you.”

Aragorn smiled gratefully.  “I will return for a longer visit soon, if possible,” he promised.

“Events have been set in motion that cannot be stopped,” replied Elrond. “Take all care, Aragorn son of Arathorn.  Your presence has long been hidden from Mordor, but if he learns of your existence, as he has long suspected, he will target you and you will be hunted as your fathers were before you.   You are the one person he fears as he seeks to regain what is his.”

Aragorn regarded him silently for a long moment. “I will take all care, my father.”

Arwen entered then, after knocking once on the door, and Elrond rose as she entered.  He kissed her as he stepped past her to the door, allowing them a moment alone before Aragorn departed.   He could feel the love that emanated from his daughter to this man she had pledged herself to, and he took comfort in knowing her devotion was real and sustaining. Only time would determine its end.

* * * * *

Special thanks to dawtheminstrel and Karri for beta reading this chapter.

Chapter 2: The Grey Pilgrim

Among many cares he was troubled in mind by the perilous state of the North; because he knew then already that Sauron was plotting war, and intended, as soon as he felt strong enough, to attack Rivendell. …. The Dragon Sauron might use with terrible effect. How then could the end of Smaug be achieved?  Gandalf, Appendix A, Lord of the Rings.

‘When you think of the battle of the Pelennor, do not forget the battles in Dale and the valour of Durin’s Folk. Think of what might have been.  Dragon-fire and savage-swords in Eriador, night in Rivendell.  There might be no Queen in Gondor. We might now hope to return from the victory here only to ruin and ash. But that has been averted – because I met Thorin Oakenshield one evening on the edge of spring in Bree. A chance-meeting, as we say in Middle-earth.’ Gandalf, Appendix A, Lord of the Rings

October 8, 3018
Imladris

Elrond pushed aside the stack of books and leaned back in his chair. The writing had faded on many of these original writings, and Curunír had taken the newer copies that the Imladris scribes had made midway through the Third Age for his own study.  In places where the sketches had faded, Elrond had called to the tiny remnant of Noldor jewel-smiths who still resided in his house to come and help him recreate their detail.  The lore of the rings of power had never been fully documented, for Sauron in his guise of Annatar, the Lord of Gifts, had convinced Celebrimbor of the need for secrecy.  In the years after Sauron’s treachery had been discovered, Celebrimbor had pieced out all he knew, but those records had been mostly lost when Ost-in-Edhil was destroyed.  Nonetheless, Elrond had learned enough to solidify what knowledge he already possessed.  Mithrandir had sent word that Frodo would be leaving the Shire in the last week of September, heading on the east road to Imladris.  Soon, the One Ring would be in their presence and some decision would need to be made about its fate.

He twisted Vilya upon his finger and sent his thought out over the valley, both actions unconscious. Mordor had awakened and evil was spreading from the East, with more people and beasts coming into the North with ill purpose.  Imladris remained safe, yet he knew it would not be so forever.  In time, the power of Sauron would be so great that even without his ring, if he were to turn his full fury upon Imladris or Lorien, they would not withstand the assault.  Elrond could not help but think of the times he had counseled the White Council to action, how his heart misgave him, and yet they had not acted or had acted too late.  This was, he knew, their final opportunity. If they failed to act now, the engines of Mordor would consume them all.

Not all, he reminded himself.  Many elves had chosen to sail, though most of the elves of Imladris were looking to him, waiting to see when he would take ship, for then they would know that no hope remained.  Yet, hope remains, he thought, as a picture of Aragorn appeared in his mind.  Elrond had known when he had first laid eyes upon the fatherless child that he was the one he had foreseen, the heir of Isildur that would rise to right the wrongs of his ancestors and restore the throne, or fail utterly and end the line of Númenor forever. He found, though, that to properly consider this estel, he had to separate Aragorn from Arwen, hope for Middle-earth from his own great sorrow.  Arriving victorious in Tol Eressëa, with Sauron defeated and a king again on the throne of men, would hardly be triumphant if he arrived without his daughter. Fleeing with her, assuming either of them would go, and knowing that no new age would rise in Middle-earth, was an ending to the land and peoples he loved that he could not bear to dwell upon. As he considered Arwen, he knew that he must put her wants and desires ahead of his own, and his father’s heart knew this to be right and true. She was not his; she belonged to herself, and her fate was her own to choose, just as he and Elros had chosen millennia before.

“Elrond,” interrupted Glorfindel as he entered the room, striding quickly to Elrond’s desk, “a message has arrived from Gildor.” He sat in a comfortable chair that hid in the shadows most often, yet when Elrond had once had it removed as faded and in need of repair, Glorfindel had carried it back into the room and placed it back where it belonged. ‘If you want to repair it, do so when I am next away, but the chair remains here,’ he had informed Elrond imperiously. At Elrond’s surprised look, he had added, ‘It is the only piece of furniture in this room that fits me.’ Elrond watched him fold himself onto the recovered and refinished chair, noting how well it did fit his long legs and tall stature. “While leading a company to the Havens, Gildor encountered Bilbo’s heir, Frodo, and two companions in the Shire.  They had twice been set upon by Black Riders, but escaped from them. Of the most concern to Gildor was news that Mithrandir was missing.  He was to arrive no later than September 22 in the Shire. The hobbits left without him on the 24th and were hoping to meet him upon the road.”

Glorfindel was back on his feet by the end of the message, pacing, concern written clearly on his face.  Glorfindel was one of the few people who knew Mithrandir as he was on the other side, and Elrond knew that Mithrandir had been the one to help Glorfindel back into life in Valinor after being released from the Halls of Waiting.

Elrond did not reply at first, but thought about what would keep Mithrandir from an appointment, from a promise.  Whatever it was, it did not bode well.   It also did not bode well to have hobbits astray on the road without guidance, carrying the One Ring.

“If they are keeping off the main road for fear of the úlairi, they may well become lost in the wild. We must send riders out to find them that can withstand the Nine and guide them here,” he finally said.

Glorfindel’s eye widened and then narrowed, his jaw twitching and his body tense, before he finally nodded his acquiescence. 

“Gildor’s wandering companies will have informed the elven realms and the rangers; all will be on watch for Mithrandir,” added Elrond.  “We must see to the hobbits, if we can.  Mithrandir can see to himself.”

Glorfindel smiled grimly. “I will go west myself and send others north and south.” He peered intently at Elrond. “They will come here in pursuit, and in time Sauron’s eye will be drawn back to Rivendell, as it has not been since Aragorn’s childhood.”

Elrond nodded in agreement. “For now I can keep them from this valley.”

Glorfindel accepted his answer and rose, for he had much to do in preparation for leaving Imladris.  After he had left the room, Elrond could not help but smile in remembrance of the time of which Glorfindel spoke.  That Sauron’s eye had been seeking the Heir of Isildur was not a mirthful memory, yet the events that surrounded the visit of dwarves and hobbit and wizard and their adventure, which did lead to the death of Smaug, could not be recalled without some laughter.

~ ~ ~* * *~ ~ ~

Early June, 2941 Third Age
Imladris

Elrond steepled his hands before him, resting his face against his fingertips as he considered the words he had just scratched into his records of Imladris.  Rumblings from the east had reached the ears of the Wise, and the Rangers had reported seeing strangers on the borders, increased orc activity in the mountains and evil beasts on the edge of the Wild, all seeking something. . . or someone.  It was clear that Sauron still sought Isildur’s Heir, should one exist. It was Mithrandir, after a visit to Thranduil’s halls, who had remembered the dragon asleep in the Lonely Mountain, and reminded them not to forget that Smaug was a servant of their enemy.  In time, Mithrandir warned, Sauron’s seeking would lead him to Imladris, and what could not be conquered through water and valley, forest and mountain, could be by air.  Elrond’s memories of the dragons breathing fire down upon men and elves in Beleriand in the War of Wrath and the horrors and death he had witnessed made him shudder.  To imagine such a fate for Imladris was unthinkable.

“Adar!”

The door to his study was flung open and Estel rushed in, his knock so quickly followed by his breathless call and entry that it hardly met proper protocol. “Look, Adar!” he cried. Elrond took the bow thrust at him, carefully examining the workmanship and markings, and he knew immediately from where it had come.   “Glorfindel says I am big enough!”

Elrond looked at the ten year old before him, his hair in need of a trim and his trousers and tunic again too short, and he stifled a laugh at what Gilraen went through to keep this child properly fitted in clothing.  “You are growing very fast.  Here, hold it up so I can see,” he instructed.

Estel took the bow and held it in proper position, drawing the string back slightly. “It is perfect for you,” Elrond agreed.

“It was Elrohir’s,” breathed Estel in wonder.  “He won a contest with this bow.”

“It was and he did,” said Elrond as memory flooded through him of the joy and tears that had accompanied that event.  Elrohir had won, surpassing even older children in his skill, and Elladan had been thrilled for him until envy had set in.   They had seen a side of Elladan that had seldom surfaced, and he had been cruel to his twin. Glorfindel had tucked Elladan under one arm and carried away the enraged child while Elrond had comforted the devastated Elrohir.  A mostly sanded out mark on the bow was a reminder of the damage Elladan had done. The twins had made peace soon after and Elladan had attempted to repair the damage he had done, but a mark had remained and Elrohir had not wanted anyone to fix it for him. “This will be a good bow for you.”

Estel cradled it lovingly in his arms, then looked up suddenly. “I have to go show Naneth!” He turned to run from the room, then skidded to a stop and turned to look at Elrond.  “May I be excused?”

“You may,” answered Elrond, and he smiled as the child walked to the door, but then heard his pace pick up considerably once he was out of Elrond’s sight.  If Estel were fortunate, he would not run into his mother or Erestor in the hall.

Another knock soon followed, and Glorfindel entered with a smile on his face and a twinkle in his eye. He looked at Elrond and laughed out loud.  “Do you recall the look on Elladan’s face when I turned him upside down and tucked him under my arm?”

Elrond laughed too, at the remembered incident but also because seeing the bow had reminded Glorfindel of the same event. “It took Celebrían to calm him down,” he remembered.  “I do not know what she said, but he was one contrite child when she was through with him.”

“I walked off with him, meaning to take him somewhere private, and then saw Celebrían coming from where she had watched the competition.  When he heard her voice, he went absolutely still and quiet.  She asked me to set him on his feet and then held out her hand to him, and he took it and walked off with her,” recalled Glorfindel.

“Elrohir was crushed by his brother’s word and the injury he did to that bow, but he wouldn’t let me repair it,” added Elrond.  “I often found it odd, because Elrohir does not hold a grudge. I finally concluded that he didn’t want the flaw removed so that he could remind his twin of it, but because it was part of the bow, part of its history.”

“Elrohir’s logic usually makes me think,” laughed Glorfindel. “Even as a child, he had a depth to his spirit that I found uncommon. But, that is not why I am here. Word has come from the western border that Mithrandir and a swarm of dwarves approach.  They should be here by nightfall.”

“Mithrandir had sent word that he might be coming through sometime in the summer with some friends. We shall, of course, feast in their honor,” said Elrond, his mind already filled with thoughts of whether Mithrandir intended to do as he said and bring the dwarves back to Erebor and chase out the dragon.  “Will you send Elrohir to me?”

“Yes,” answered Glorfindel, but before he could move, a knock sounded on the door as it opened, this time admitting the twins.

“Adar, Glorfindel,” greeted Elrohir as Elladan nodded.  He sat down in the chair next to Glorfindel, while Elladan perched on the arm. “Mithrandir approaches with a gaggle of dwarves.  Word is they are tired and hungry, having lost many of their provisions after an encounter with trolls.”

Elrond nodded, but before he could speak, Elladan said, “Which means they may stay for a while.”

“And it will be nigh impossible to keep Estel hidden from them for any length of time. He is much too curious,” continued Elrohir.

“So we think we should take him on a short trip,” finished Elladan. “Although we will not take him from Imladris. There is much danger beyond our borders.”

“But the waterfall should be both safe and far enough from the house and trails that none should see him,” explained Elrohir.  “Elladan can brag about how he saved my life, for he has not had a new audience for that tale in some time.”

Elladan grinned. “Elrohir can show off with his bow. Estel already thinks he is a master.”

“I am,” agreed Elrohir smugly.

“If you two are finished,” interrupted Elrond sternly, but a smile tugged at his lips and his sons both grinned at him. “I think it is a fine idea. Tonight, though, you will need to keep him occupied and away from the Great Hall.”

“Yes, Adar,” agreed Elrohir.  He rose, then turned back to face Elrond. “Why do you keep Mithrandir from meeting him, Adar?”

Elrond looked upon them for a few moments before replying, considering his words carefully. “I have foreseen things that have led me to believe that not even the White Council should know he dwells here, nor should Estel meet any of them until he knows of his heritage,” replied Elrond slowly.

“This is why you have moved the White Council meeting to Lorien,” stated Elladan.  “Does Daernaneth know that Estel is here?”

“Galadriel knows many things that have not been told to her. I do not know if this is one of them.  I have not mentioned Estel to her or to Arwen.  I trust in your letters you have been equally careful, as I asked.”

“We have,” replied Elladan.  “Letters are too easily intercepted.” He bounced to his feet.  “Let us go find Estel and tell him the good news.”

“Allow me to speak to Gilraen first,” reminded Elrond.

The twins departed, leaving Glorfindel sitting before him. “What are you contemplating, old friend?” asked Elrond.

“Whether I wish to entertain dwarves or camp with the children,” mused Glorfindel. “I trust you do not need me?”

“You may do as you wish,” replied Elrond with a smile.

* * *

Erestor opened the front doors wide, and Elrond watched as dwarf after dwarf stumbled wearily through. His eye was caught, however, by the last dwarf, small enough to be one of their children, but by age clearly no child.  A perian, he thought in wonder.   He smiled at the hairy feet and how quickly the hobbit moved at the mention of food, as well as the fond look Mithrandir gave the creature.

“Welcome, Gandalf,” he greeted, using the wizard’s common name in the north. “You look a bit bedraggled from your journey, my friend.”

Gandalf arched a brow at him as he stabbed his staff into the dirt of the garden near the front porch. “We are hungry and tired, but we have taken care of the trolls plaguing travelers on the road.”

“Then you have our gratitude,” replied Elrond graciously. He looked down at the hobbit, who bowed deeply before him. “Mae govannen, Master Elrond,” said the hobbit formally, his tongue twisting over the unfamiliar elvish words that Mithrandir must have taught him.

“This is Bilbo Baggins of the Shire,” said Gandalf, completing the introductions.

“At your service,” added Bilbo, bowing again.

“Mae govannen, Master Baggins,” replied Elrond. He smiled at the look of intense curiosity in the hobbit’s eyes, easily reading the hobbit’s desire to know of the elves, and added, “Elen síla lúmenn' omentielvo, a star shines on the hour of our meeting.”

“Thank you!” cried Bilbo breathlessly. He turned to Gandalf. “I think I am going to like it here.”

“Come inside,” said Elrond. “Rooms have been prepared and a light meal will be brought to you.  Guard your appetite, however, for tonight we will feast in your honor.”

Bilbo leapt up the stairs, anxious to see the house, and soon Elrond was alone with Mithrandir.  “So you intend to proceed with your plans?” he asked.

“I do, although they are not entirely my plans. I will see them to the borders of Mirkwood and then come south to join you.” He laughed, his tired eyes twinkling. “There is more to that hobbit than meets the eye.  I foresee that he will play a large part in the success of this adventure.”

Elrond looked up, sensing they were being watched, and as he did so he saw three heads disappear below the edge of the bell tower high above the house. He bowed his head, hiding his smile. “Come, Mithrandir, you do look in need of rest and a hot bath,” he said, taking the wizard’s arm.

Mithrandir accepted gratefully, and Elrond escorted him to the room he usually stayed in, private and with one of the finest views of the mountains.  Imladris was one of the few places where the wizard came to rest for prolonged periods of time, though he never settled anywhere, and Elrond was glad to make him feel as at home as possible.  Often he and Glorfindel would talk long into the night over a bottle of wine, but Glorfindel did not share those conversations with Elrond.

* * *

Elrond sat in his chair at the head of the table, Glorfindel on one side and Mithrandir on the other, and all around them sat the dwarves and the hobbit Bilbo.  They had related the tale of their travels thus far, and now were discussing the road yet to come, as well as what they expected to find when they reached the Lonely Mountain.  Elrond listened with interest, asking many a question about the Shire and about the home of the dwarves.   He was surprised when he felt Glorfindel fidgeting next to him, for he did not recall ever having seen the elf do so before.   He tilted his head toward Glorfindel, meaning to ask him if anything was amiss, but when he did so he could just see up to the narrow balcony that provided access to the upper reaches of the hall.  It took all of his self control not to laugh or otherwise acknowledge what he was seeing.

Only the three head chairs could possibly see the balcony, and then only if the occupant were of great height.  To this point, only Glorfindel had been aware of the presence of any visitors.  Seated all in a row on the narrow balcony were Elladan and Elrohir, with Estel in between them, the three of them partially hidden behind a sweeping drape.  Estel was dressed as a hobbit, Elrohir as a dwarf, and Elladan had found something meant to imitate Mithrandir’s long mane and beard. Trays before them were laden with food, and they were using hand motions and speaking without words in imitation of those below them. When they realized Elrond had seen them, all three waved and Elrohir blew him a kiss.

Elrond coughed lightly, turning his attention back to Thorin Oakenshield, who was speaking at length about the history of the dwarves since fleeing the dragon. He did his best to listen, which was more than he could say for the other dwarves or Bilbo, but he did risk one more glance upward. Elrohir was now standing as if delivering an oratory, his fake beard shaking with each silent word spoken, while Elladan blissfully smoked a fake pipe and Estel lay pretending to sleep but in reality stealing the choice bits off of Elrohir’s plate. Elrond tried to muffle his laughter, which made it sound like he was coughing, and Glorfindel patted him on the back.

When Thorin paused for breath, Elrond rose. “Thank you, Thorin.  We had wondered how the dwarves who had escaped the devastation of Smaug had recovered and where they had settled. Now, if you will follow me, we will retire to the Great Hall.”

Elrond and Glorfindel led the way, Glorfindel growling in his ear, “I will be taking this out of a few half-elven hides.”

Elrond laughed. “I did not specify how they were to keep Estel occupied this eve.”

Elrond excused himself after the opening song had been sung. He approached the twins’ suite of rooms, where he heard muffled sounds of laughter.  Silently entering, he found Estel rolling on the floor of their sitting area, tears rolling down his face as he laughed at Elrohir.  Elrohir had stuffed his shirt until he was as round as Bombur and he had borrowed a cloak and hood from the laundry where the dwarves’ things were being cleaned.

Elladan adjusted his hair and beard, then threw a pillow at Elrohir. “You are a sorry dwarf! I bet you can’t even swing an axe.”

“Yes, but I know the dwarven walking song,” said Elrohir smugly.

“Sing it!” laughed Estel.

Elrohir began to march in place, then deepened his voice and began, starting with the harmless but humorous first verses. He had just reached the racier verses, and Elrond’s mind was filled with a sudden vision of Celebrían sitting amidst a group of dwarves, gleefully singing along with them.  In front of their young children, though, Celebrían had altered and skipped parts, and Elrond smiled as Elrohir did the same for Estel.  By the third time the refrain came round, Estel had memorized the verses and joined in, marching with Elrohir.

Elrond turned as Glorfindel appeared next to him. “I am sure you are proud, Elrond, that Imladris being sorely lacking in playmates has not stopped your sons from providing Estel with the companionship he needs.”

Elrond smiled. “I would rather this than have them out hunting orcs.”

“Estel will keep them here, for a time,” agreed Glorfindel.  He scooped up a pillow that had landed near where they stood hidden in the shadows and threw it hard at Elladan, knocking his fake beard askew. When Elladan looked up in surprise, Glorfindel informed him, “That is for making me snort my wine.”

Elladan laughed and then caught Estel when he fell into his lap. “As much fun as that was, I think it is time someone went to bed. Tomorrow will be a long day.”

Estel sighed then brightened. “Will I be able to ride?”

“Yes,” answered Elrohir as he removed his hood, cloak and stuffing.

“Will we hunt?  Can I practice with my bow?”

“Yes and yes,” laughed Elladan.  “Were we this excitable, Adar?”

“Worse. There were two of you,” replied Elrond. He held out his arms to Estel, who rose and dashed to hug him. “Sleep well. I will see you off in the morning.”

Estel skipped off to the rooms he and his mother shared. Elrond had spoken with Gilraen, who had readily agreed to the trip. She had locked herself up with two of the House’s seamstresses to help her finish new clothing for Estel, who was outgrowing everything they made him.  Gilraen had shown them how to sew extra lengths into the hems of the garments, which could be let down as Estel grew.  ‘Do you have similar wisdom for feeding them?’ one of them had asked. Gilraen had laughed. 

‘No, there is no compensating for how much they eat,’ she had replied. ‘But we shared our clothing between families, so that usable garments were passed to a smaller child in need of them.’

Elrond had listened to them speak for a moment, glad that Gilraen had made friends with some of the younger elves, who were curious about mortals, and also found work she enjoyed to busy her hands.  He had shared other good news with her that had sweetened the bitterness of her exile.  The Rangers had avoided spending much time at Imladris since she and Aragorn had taken refuge there, but with Estel spending several weeks with the twins, Elrond had sent word to the north, to rangers he knew would be passing near Imladris soon.  Gilraen, normally somewhat solemn and serious, had burst into tears of joy at the prospect of seeing her kinsmen.

“We will join you in the Great Hall now, Adar,” said Elrohir, interrupting Elrond’s thoughts. “Allow us a few moments to dress.”

Elrond returned to the Great Hall strangely refreshed and contented, despite the circumstances that had led them here. Estel was secret and safe, and he and Mithrandir would meet with the White Council and recommend that Dol Guldur sit unchallenged no longer.

* * *

Two weeks later…

Elrond nudged his stallion into a trot as he rode away from the stables. The sun was warm and the sky clear, and all about him were the sounds and smells of summer. He breathed deeply of the mountain air and tuned his ears to the sound of running water, things he had come to take for granted, he decided.  His recent visitors had brought fresh eyes to the land, the hobbit in particular expressing his wonder and appreciation for all around him. Gandalf had led his hobbit and bearded flock of dwarves away the day before, all looking much better than when they had arrived.  Elrond had found the whole visit amusing.  Hobbits, it turned out, were creatures of comfort, who greatly enjoyed regular and frequent meals.  Second breakfast was now an accepted phrase within his House. The younger dwarves, Kili and Fili, had even taken up the habit, much to the dismay of their uncle, Thorin Oakenshield, who said keeping them fed was already enough of a chore.

The stallion threw its head back and whinnied, and Elrond tossed his own head, laughing in response.  “Yes, Alagos the Tenth, you may run,” he agreed, and he loosed the reins. Alagos flew forward and Elrond relished the feel of the wind blowing about him.  He impulsively removed the clip holding his hair in place, and it flew free as he flew free.

He felt a sudden change in Alagos, a rising excitement within him, and he sensed Glorfindel’s presence even as Alagos sensed the presence of the other horse.  “Ride, Alagos!” he encouraged as he leaned forward over the stallion, his black hair mingling with Alagos’s black mane.

They raced along, Elrond never ceding position to Glorfindel until he heard the warrior laugh and concede his defeat.  He slowed Alagos, allowing Glorfindel to draw alongside them. Glorfindel’s eyes were shining and his inner light radiating as it did when his joy overflowed.

“You look particularly pleased with life today,” greeted Elrond.

“I am,” answered Glorfindel with a laugh. “You look as if your visit with dwarves was not unpleasant.”

“It was not,” answered Elrond. “It was both amusing and likely profitable, if they manage to accomplish what Mithrandir hopes.” He paused as Alagos stepped carefully along a steep part of the trail towards the camp. “How are my sons?”

Glorfindel laughed again. “You will see them soon enough.”

Glorfindel dismounted when they entered the clearing near the camp, uncharacteristically allowing Elrond to step ahead of him.  Elrond suppressed a grin, but played along.  He could neither see nor hear any sign of Elladan or Elrohir, but the slightest of motions in some trees near the stream suggested Estel was nearby. He ignored it blithely, instead walking forward as if all were normal. A snap above his head caused him to look up, just in time to see a net falling over him, but Estel nowhere in sight.

He knew better than to turn or try to run, knowing the net would only twist and further bind him, but he was unprepared for the sudden impact of a ten-year-old child slamming into his legs.  He could have held his balance, but he decided to submit to the play and tumbled backwards, Estel landing on top of him.

“I caught Ada!” cried Estel gleefully. He straddled Elrond, bouncing playfully on his abdomen and tugging on the net. “Did you know where I was, Ada? Did I surprise you?”

Elrond laughed. “I admit you surprised me.  I thought you were in the trees. I did not realize you were springing a trap on me.” He looked up at the glowing face of the child, his skin tanned and kissed golden by the sun, and thought he looked stronger and healthier than he ever had before, though Elrond could certainly not say he had ever looked weak or unhealthy in the past. “I think living outside agrees with you, my son.”

“I like it here,” agreed Estel. “Elladan says I am an uncommonly good tracker, too.”

Elladan and Elrohir appeared as if ghosts out of a mist, suddenly present where they had not been before. Elladan stretched out beside him like a content cat, but Elrohir stood over him like a feline assessing his prey.  “Greetings, Adar,” he said pleasantly, but his gaze swept over him appraisingly. “What say you, Estel?  Should we hang your catch from the tree?”

Estel looked initially shocked, quickly glancing at Elrond in fear, but then he grinned. “No, Glorfindel would have my hide.”

“You are correct, pen-beren,” replied Glorfindel, and he stooped over, sweeping Estel off Elrond and tucking him under his arm, then removing the net. “Nice use of the net, though. You are the most cunning ten year old I have met.”

Estel grinned happily, and Elrond held out his arms to the child, glad when his cunning, uncommonly good tracker son wriggled to the ground and raced to hug him and then slid down to sit next to him.  Estel had always been a confident child, but Elrond was amazed at how much he seemed to have grown and changed in a mere two weeks.  He appeared about to sprout into adolescence.

Later that night, Elrond sat with Glorfindel, Elladan and Elrohir around the fire, Estel asleep in his bedroll at his side.  “He has hunted and fished, cleaned and cooked our meals, and done camp chores cheerfully,” reported Elrohir. “I expected no less, since we do all of these things and he would want to do them with us, but there is more to it than that, Adar. He thrives on this life.”

“He drank in all we had to teach him as if he had never tasted water before,” added Elladan. “It’s in his blood.”

Elrond brushed the tangled curls from Estel’s face, knowing full well what ‘it’ was. The blood of the northern Dúnedain ran deep and strong in this child. Their way of life was hard, yet something they embraced willingly and bore gracefully. Yet when Elrond looked at Estel, he saw a royal visage as well, for the dignity of Westernesse ran rich in his veins. Arathorn would be proud, he thought.

~ ~ ~* * *~ ~ ~

Elrond was drawn back from his memories of the past by the consequences of those events.  Estel had so loved his time spent living outside that the next spring, when Mithrandir and Bilbo returned, the twins had taken him again, and soon it had become a habit that Estel grew to expect. His skills in hunting and tracking grew in proportion.

Elrond had gone with Glorfindel to the meeting of the White Council, where Curunír had finally agreed that Dol Guldur should not sit unchallenged any longer.  Curunír himself had led the push to drive Sauron from his stronghold, and Sauron had gone.  What had become clear, however, is that Sauron was ready to leave and thus did not fight against them. He had instead gone to Mordor and openly declared himself.  They had indeed waited too long, a mistake Elrond did not intend to see repeated.

Smaug had been destroyed and not only had Mirkwood become clean again, but the Misty Mountains had benefited as well, with many of its resident orcs destroyed in the Battle of the Five Armies. In this Imladris had benefited, and in particular Estel, though he knew it not, for his safety seemed easier to assure and the twins had taken him farther afield as he grew.  When evil grew again just a decade later, with the return of the Nazgûl to Dol Guldur, Estel was ready to become Aragorn and face the growing dangers of the wild.

* * *

Elrond stood next to Asfaloth, having just packed a quick kit of supplies into a saddlebag. Glorfindel sat astride the horse, dressed simply, without armor or battle sword. It seemed incongruous to see the elf warrior riding out to battle the worst of Sauron’s servants armed only with his own presence. Yet, it was his mere presence that would fight them, along with help from the natural elements.  Fire and water could be used to advantage when needed.  The other riders sent out had gone earlier that morning, north and south, their purpose to drive away any of the Úlairi who had ventured in those directions.

Elrond could feel an almost static energy about Glorfindel, and when the elf-lord looked down on him he saw fire flash in his eyes and the inner light that always shone dimly flashed suddenly bright.  “You hope to engage them!” said Elrond suddenly, amazed at the transformation of the elf before his eyes.

“I do not fear them. They will flee before me,” said Glorfindel with grim enthusiasm.

“Go with all care,” replied Elrond.

He watched as Glorfindel rode off, and could only hope that he would come upon the travelers soon, for though he could not see them, he felt a growing sense of danger on the western road.

* * * * *

A/N: The more I have considered how secret the existence of Estel was, the more I have concluded it was very secret, known only to those in the House of Elrond.  Gandalf and Aragorn did not meet until Aragorn was 25 years of age, despite Estel being in Imladris for at least two of Gandalf’s visits there. Saruman did not seem to be aware of his existence either, and Sauron did not know for sure until Aragorn looked into the Palantir.  Had Saruman known, I think Sauron would have learned of it as well. Galadriel knew in time, though she may well have learned it from Arwen herself, when she returned to Lorien after Aragorn left for his thirty-year stint in Rohan and Gondor. The risk to Rivendell and Aragorn would have been great, as the quotes at the beginning show, if his presence had been known.  The events of The Hobbit are perhaps also seen in their proper context in those quotes, as the events of the Lord of the Rings might have ended very differently if not for them. Thus, the usual rule of secrets applies: tell the least number of people possible.

Pen-beren –  bold one
Úlairi        –  elvish word for the Nazgûl
Curunír      - elvish name for Saruman

Special thanks to Daw and Karri for beta reading this chapter.

Chapter 3: Man of Skill

But when Estel was only twenty years of age, it chanced that he returned to Rivendell after great deeds in the company of the sons of Elrond; and Elrond looked on him and was pleased…  That day therefore Elrond called him by his true name and told him who he was and whose son; and delivered to him the heirlooms of his house. Tale of Aragorn and Arwen, Appendix A, Lord of the Rings

Imladris
October 18, 3018

Elrond was drawn to the porch overlooking the northern cliffs and forests of Imladris.  He stood alone, casting his thought out as far as his reach extended. Nine days had gone by since Glorfindel and the others had ridden out, and no word had come from them.  For the last several days he had sensed the approach of evil, of the Úlairi, felt them just beyond the borders of the valley, but as yet they had not strayed near enough for him to act. So intent was his mind on the presence of evil to his west, that it took him several moments to notice that Vilya’s song had changed as it did when another of the Three was near. Hope grew in his heart that Mithrandir was coming. That he might arrive with the hobbits, having found them upon the road, would be the best circumstance of all.

In time he saw the wizard appear, moving quickly yet wearily, his hat askew and his gray robes travel stained and torn in places. Elrond walked out to meet him, his disappointment that the hobbits were not with the wizard reflected back at him when their eyes met.

“Are they here?” cried Mithrandir as they met.

“No, I had hopes you had caught up with them,” replied Elrond, and he watched as despair set in on the wizard’s face. “I sent out riders nine days ago, though.  Glorfindel is on the west road.”

Mithrandir’s shoulders sagged in relief. “Aragorn is with them. He met up with them in Bree, but they had trouble there with Black Riders. Aragorn is sure to have taken them far into the wild to avoid them again. I passed them at some point.”

“That Aragorn is with them is good news,” agreed Elrond, for none knew the wild better than Aragorn.  “You look in great need of food and rest.  Come back to the house.”

“I have been pursuing the Black Riders since I left Bree. I finally got ahead of them and tried to lead them astray at the Mitheithel, which is why I approach on foot from the north. My tale is otherwise one of betrayal and sorrow,” he admitted, and Elrond thought that every year the wizard had spent in Middle-earth weighed deeply on him at that moment.

“You may tell me after you have rested and eaten,” replied Elrond, his concern deepening.

They spoke no more as they entered the house, and when they reached Mithrandir’s usual rooms, they found them prepared and Miruvor provided.  Elrond left him to rest and returned to his study, his heart heavy.

Later, they sat together far into the night, and Elrond learned of the treachery of Saruman.

“His betrayal now casts a shadow upon all of his counsel. Who knows when he first fell to the lust of the Ring and a desire for power? How often did we counsel action and he counseled inaction?  The power of his voice would convince us in his presence, yet we always left with hearts heavy and burdened. It is dangerous to delve too deeply into the arts of the enemy, no matter how well intentioned one may start,” said Elrond bitterly.

“So you have always wisely counseled, yet wise words are of no use on a heart gone astray,” replied Mithrandir. He changed the subject then.  “I saw your sons at the end of June.  They rode south as far as Tharbad with me and then turned north.”

Elrond nodded his gratitude, for any word of his sons or Aragorn was welcome.  Elladan and Elrohir had been abroad for many months, and while he knew they were alive and well, he knew not where they were or what they might have encountered. Mithrandir fell quiet, and a sudden thought came to him. “Curunír,” he murmured quietly.

Mithrandir cocked his head at him questioningly. “His treachery,” replied Elrond. He looked hard at the wizard. “When Aragorn was brought to dwell in Imladris, we knew his identity must be concealed. You already feared Sauron would attack Imladris, and things in the North were worsening.  I foresaw a gathering where the child was discussed, and later he was taken from here and killed. I knew not if it was from some treachery or a slip of the tongue, but I decided none outside of this house would know of Aragorn.”

Mithrandir smiled gently. “I was here too often not to know that a child resided in your house. Whether I suspected who he was does not matter. I never allowed my mind to stray to such thoughts, much less raise them with you, for some knowledge it is better not to have.  Curunír’s treachery proves your foresight and action correct.”

Elrond studied Mithrandir, watching as the wizard drummed his fingers along the chair arm, looking over and over again to the west.  Galadriel had wished for Mithrandir to lead the White Council, and Elrond had witnessed the anger that had flared intently but briefly in Curunír’s eyes at her words. Mithrandir had declined, but Curunír had also overruled him as the head of their order.  When, Elrond wondered, had his lust for power begun?

“For many years we have watched time pass, wondering and waiting, and events are now moving so quickly they feel beyond our control,” mused Mithrandir, interrupting Elrond’s dark thoughts. “The time is at hand.  The fate of the peoples of Middle-earth will soon be known.” He peered intently at Elrond. “What of the elves?”

“The end of the elves is near either way,” replied Elrond softly.  When Mithrandir raised a brow questioningly at him, he continued, “I believe, from all I know, that if the One comes under Sauron’s dominion, our minds and hearts will be laid open before him, and we will wish we had never touched the Three.  If the One is destroyed, all we have made and protected will fail.”

“And their bearers?’ asked Mithrandir.

Elrond was quiet for a long moment. “I do not know,” he said finally.  “Vilya is part of me now, interwoven with who I am.   I will not return to what I was before I bore it.”

“No, perhaps not,” admitted Mithrandir. “But in time, the bearer may recover and heal from even such a wound.”

Elrond smiled. “We will hope so.” Melancholy overcame him then, as he wondered if the additional wound of losing his daughter to mortality would be more than he could bear.  Yet, if Sauron regained the One Ring, all would be lost, even for the elves.  The road west to the Havens would become impassable and few would be able to depart.  The rest would remain hidden, or fight unto death, for the Halls of Waiting were preferable to eternal slavery.

“Even as events move quickly we sit here waiting,” grumbled Mithrandir.  The wizard had risen and was pacing in front of the balcony, his eyes drawn westward.  Elrond’s mind wandered as he watched him, as he thought of Aragorn in the wild with the hobbits, their only estel as well.  He thought of the two-year-old child he had taken as his own, raising him in a situation, that while not ideal, still provided him with all the love a child needed to grow up strong and confident.  When assured that Estel was those things, he had given the man back his heritage.  Estel foster son of Elrond was again Aragorn son of Arathorn, Chieftain of the Dúnedain and heir to the throne of Gondor and Arnor, the Hope of his people. He remembered well the day he had given Estel back his name.

~ ~ ~* * *~ ~ ~

Imladris
Summer 2951

Elrond studied the message before him, finally looking up to where Elladan and Elrohir patiently waited for his decision.  Estel had been hunting with the twins for several years, learning the land of Imladris and the dangers beyond it.  On one trip they had ventured north and run into Trolls, and Estel had both followed orders and fought well, keeping his head in a tense situation.  They had next taken him with them on a patrol with warriors of Imladris to clear a den of orcs that were blocking the pass just east of Imladris. Glorfindel had pronounced the young man a levelheaded warrior who would be welcome in any patrol he led.  Estel had walked on clouds for days after that hard-earned praise, for he had always coveted Glorfindel’s favor.

Now word had come from the rangers, asking that a messenger be sent from Imladris to others of their people, for they were in need of aid. Elrond had dispatched a messenger at once, but Elladan and Elrohir intended to ride out to aid them as well, and they wished to take Estel. Glorfindel had offered to go with them.

Estel was twenty years old, no longer a child but an adult in the eyes of his people, though a very young adult.  Elrond could not compare him to the twins, who had grown as children of the Eldar, but as he looked at Estel he could see himself and Elros, who grew more in speed as the children of Men.  On the verge of manhood, he needed to be given opportunities commensurate with his abilities, and he needed to soon learn of his inheritance.

“Send Estel to me,” he said finally. Gilraen, he knew, would approve, for it was the way of their people.

Elladan grinned and went out into the hall, returning a moment later with Estel. He and Elrohir slipped from the room, but Elrond suspected they were listening just outside the door. Estel stood still and silent, but his eagerness was easily read in his eyes and stance. As Elrond studied him, he suddenly saw not a lean, tall young man but a man in his fullness of strength and being, with the crown of Gondor upon his head and the Sceptre of Annúminas in his hand.

To his credit, Estel waited silently until Elrond spoke. “Come,” he said, and Estel walked forward eagerly to stand before him. He took Estel’s hands in his own, and felt the rapid pace of the spirit of men coursing along in his veins.  “Elladan and Elrohir have explained to you that this mission is dangerous, more so than what you experienced thus far,” he stated, not a question, yet he expected an answer nonetheless.

“Yes, Adar,” answered Estel breathlessly.

“You may go, but I expect you to return safely home, with a good report of your conduct,” said Elrond solemnly.

“Thank you, Adar,” replied Estel, drawing himself up to full height. “I promise I will be a credit to this House.”  But despite his outward serious demeanor, Elrond could feel the excitement coursing through him.

“Go tell the twins the news. I believe they are waiting in the hall,” said Elrond dryly.

Estel nearly leapt to the door, but it opened before he could grasp the handle and four hands pulled him outside. “He said ‘yes’!” he cried.

“Of course he did,” said Elladan agreeably.  “You are ready, Estel.”

The voices faded with the footsteps, and Elrond heard Elrohir admonishing Estel to sleep well that night, as he would find this trail hard and uncomfortable.  Somehow, Elrond did not think Estel would mind.

Gilraen and Elrond saw them off before first light the next morning.

“Farewell, Estel,” said Gilraen as she embraced him, though she now had to look up to him. “Take all care and come home safely.”

Elrond watched Gilraen, saw the pride in her eyes as she watched her son mount his horse.  As her skills with a needle had grown, she had taken special care with Estel’s clothing, embroidering designs into his tunics and cloaks that held great meaning.  Many she explained to him, things about the land and stars, about the history of their people, all the while skirting the issue of who exactly he was. He had begun to ask questions, and Gilraen had finally sent him to Elrond.  ‘A time will come when we will tell you more of your ancestry,’ Elrond had told him. ‘I will deem when this time has come, my son. Have patience.’  The frustration in Estel’s eyes had been visible, but he had swallowed his questions and buried his desire to know more.  Gilraen saw each step in Estel’s walk to adulthood as a step closer to revealing his heritage, and it provided her with great hope.

Elrond provided the traditional farewell blessing and watched as Glorfindel led them north. Their horses would be left at the border of Imladris, for the Ettenmoors were not conducive to riding.  Elrond would spend many a night sitting alone under the stars, waiting for them to return. What he heard when they returned would change Estel’s life.

* * *

Elladan led the elves north along the narrow ridge, their passage slowed by the need to step carefully to avoid causing any of the loose rock to fall.  He could hear Estel, who was walking between Elrohir and Glorfindel.  He grinned to himself as he thought of how hard Estel had worked to try to make his footfalls as silent and with as little imprint as an elf’s. Glorfindel had reminded him that while being quiet and not leaving a trail were skills he could master, he needed to learn the skills men used to cover their trail as well, for they were not made like the elves.  Estel had been crestfallen until Glorfindel had told him of the many strengths of men.  Estel had come to the twins’ room after his lessons in awe, for Glorfindel had told him he had fought with men at Dagorlad in the Battle of the Last Alliance, and in Angmar, against the Witch King.  When Elladan told him that Glorfindel had also fought in Gondolin in the First Age and Ost-in-Edhil in the Second, the child had looked upon them in disbelief and then told them he was going to ask Ada Elrond.  When the twins had told him that Elrond had been in the War of Wrath in the First Age and with Glorfindel in the Second Age, he had gone to his mother instead.   Gilraen had talked with him late into the night, explaining how men and elves were different, and then tried to explain that his foster father and brothers were a mix of them both.  When she had come to the kitchen for some tea after Estel was sleeping, she had run into him and Elrohir.  ‘I wish I were tall enough to pin your ears for confusing Estel so,’ she had said in a tone that was only partially teasing.   Glorfindel had appeared then, taking each twin by an ear and pulling hard enough to raise them both on to their toes. ‘Will this do?’ he asked, a little too gleefully.

Gilraen had been awed and intimidated by Glorfindel upon first meeting him, but he had gradually put her at ease by the way he interacted with Estel. With both his hands occupied, she had taken the opportunity to reach up and tweak his ear.  ‘You started it,’ she accused.

She had smiled genuinely when he yelped, but then added, ‘Although, I am glad he is beginning to understand and take pride in his race too.’

Glorfindel released the twins and all three rubbed their tender ears. Gilraen had laughed at them, then said to Glorfindel. ‘Please do not tell him about what happens when elves die, at least not in the next few days.  I am not prepared to speak with him about the fate of men just yet.’

Glorfindel had taken her hand in his and kissed it, then said, ‘As you wish, my lady.’

Gilraen had blushed and laughed, her youthfulness showing, and the twins had carried a tea pot and cups back to her room, and insisted on serving her before leaving.  She had shooed them from the room, the pink tinge to her cheeks still present and a smile on her face.

‘I enjoyed that,” Elrohir had said as they settled into their own sitting room. “It is good to have a naneth in the house again.’

Elladan had laughed. ‘And since we never could pull anything over on our own naneth, we might as well try Estel’s!’

‘Adar and Liriel and others have made Gilraen comfortable here, but can you imagine how it would be if Naneth were here?’ asked Elrohir.

‘Yes,’ answered Elladan soberly. ‘For Gilraen’s sake, I have often wished it so.  Gilraen would be thriving here, not just content.’

Elladan heard Estel’s slightly heavier footfall again and smiled.  Gilraen had been eager for Estel to go on this trip. She had normal parental concerns for his safety, but she trusted them to keep watch over him.  She knew they were meeting the Rangers, and she knew that if Elrond allowed that, then the time for Estel to learn his heritage was drawing near.  She was appreciative of Elrond, grateful to him for being a father to her son, but she longed for the day when Estel became Aragorn again.

Raising his hand, Elladan signaled for a stop.  He continued on around a small bend and then climbed a scrubby oak tree growing off the edge of the trail.  In the distance he could see a lone man standing hidden in the shadows of trees on a high cliff.   They had found the Ranger’s guard in good time.  He sounded the Ranger call, watching as the man turned in his direction, seemingly trying to determine if what he had heard was real.  He repeated the call twice, while silently scolding himself for making it too soon.  After not running with the Rangers for a while, he forgot about their more limited hearing.  He climbed down and signaled to Elrohir to lead the others forward.

They reached the guard a few hours later, the treacherous paths requiring great care to traverse. Elladan greeted the man quietly, then stepped aside as the others followed him into the secluded area beneath the trees.  Devon was an older ranger, one they had fought with for many years, and Elladan was startled to see how much the man had aged in the last two decades.

Devon greeted Elrohir and Glorfindel by name, then turned to the final member of their group. He opened his mouth to greet him, then closed it abruptly as he realized, Elladan thought, that this was not an elf. 

“This is Estel, our younger brother,” said Elrohir finally, and Estel greeted the man politely.

With dawning recognition in his eyes, the man began to bow and Elladan quickly intervened, stepping between Estel and the Ranger, and grasping the man’s arm to keep him upright. “Tell us how you are faring here,” he invited.

“Trolls, orcs and wargs,” replied Devon wearily, dragging his eyes away from Estel with some effort. “We encountered hill-trolls several weeks ago near the East Road and thought we had routed them, for they fled northward.  We followed to ensure they did not return. We were returning south when wargs attacked us. Several of our men received serious bites, but we repelled the attack.  And of course, where the warg howls, the orc prowls. When we are not battling trolls, we are fighting orcs and wargs. We have come to believe they may be working together. We do not have adequate strength to defeat them or drive them back north.” He glanced over the four of them. “Halbarad will be glad to see all of you.”

“Elrond sent a messenger, as you requested,” added Elladan.

The man nodded gratefully.  “We will need to pull some of our people in from the west. Your help to hold our position until they arrive is appreciated.”

“We will camp here with you tonight and continue on in the morning,” decided Elladan.

“These hills are treacherous in the dark,” agreed the man. “Halbarad’s position is defensible for now.”

Elrohir opened their pack of provisions, sharing them with Devon, who appeared to have little. He took only a small portion, however, despite the hunger in his eyes.   Elladan watched as Estel looked at what the man rationed for himself, and took an equivalent amount for himself. The guard noticed it also, and Elladan could read his discomfort: the rangers were on rations in these hills, but Estel was young and still growing, and it was clear the man, who had been an age-mate to Arador, recognized Estel as kin to his former chieftain. Before Elladan could speak, Glorfindel said, “I find I am not hungry this eve, but this is too precious to waste.” He gave most of his meal to Estel and handed the remainder to the guard.

The two men looked at each other for a moment, each concerned for the other, and Elladan finally told them both to eat.  He was pleased that Estel had taken notice of and properly interpreted that the food supplies were low, and he was equally pleased that the older Rangers still looked after the younger ones.

The four from Imladris split the guard duty for that night, allowing the ranger a respite.  Glorfindel, Elladan and Elrohir rested, but did not sleep, yet woke Estel in the darkest watch of the night for his turn.  He took it willingly, but what interested Elladan most from his position of half sleep was how closely the ranger watched Estel as well.  The man lay as if sleeping, but Elladan could see the whites of his eyes. Elladan took great pride in Estel’s performance, thought it was no different than how he had performed at any other time.  This time was only different in that his own people were watching him.

They left at first light and reached the Rangers’ camp by mid-morning. Many years had passed since Elladan and Elrohir had last seen Halbarad, and he came forward eagerly to greet them.

“Mae govannen, Elladan, Elrohir!” he cried as the rangers parted and the twins stepped into the camp. “Much time has passed since you last arrived as hope unlooked for!  We are glad to see you.”

“Halbarad,” greeted Elrohir warmly as they clasped arms. “We are pleased to be here with you and provide what aid we can.”

Halbarad turned to greet Glorfindel, for his golden head was visible above the twins, and as the twins stepped aside he realized that another stood with them.  Glorfindel held firm to his hand, speaking to him, but Elladan could see the struggle the ranger was having as he looked upon his chieftain, now grown.  Eighteen years had passed since he had placed the two year old in Elrohir’s arms.

“Halbarad, this is our younger brother, Estel.  Estel,” said Elladan, motioning Estel forward, “this is Halbarad, leader of the Dúnedain.”

Estel gripped the hand offered him firmly, greeting Halbarad with curiosity and respect.

“Your . . . brothers and Glorfindel know most of those here,” said Halbarad, his voice suddenly hoarse, “but allow me to introduce everyone, Estel.” He touched Estel on the shoulder, motioning him into the circle of rangers.

Elrohir and Glorfindel moved among the men, sitting where space was made for them, but Elladan remained standing, leaning casually against a tree that allowed him a good view of the whole camp.  The rangers were normally grim-faced, seldom showing emotion, and Elladan felt a tug of joy and amusement stir in him as their impassivity fled.  They were openly curious, some struggling with emotions that ranged from joy to remembered grief to hope. Only one held himself back, actually moving to the edge of the camp while he gained control of his emotions, and that was Gilraen’s father.  Elladan had not met Gilraen’s younger brother, but heard Halbarad introduce him and saw the man’s open smile and invitation to Estel to sit next to him.

For Estel’s part, he did well at remembering the names and answered their questions well. He carried himself with a dignity one might expect of one elven-raised, yet by appearance was clearly one of these men he sat among.  He questioned them in return, about their fight in the north and how they kept Eriador safe, then their homes and families.

Elladan could see the wheels of Estel’s mind turning, and when Estel looked at him, he smiled in reassurance. Estel had figured out he was a descendent of the people of the northern Dúnedain several years earlier, and now he sat among them for the first time. His excitement was palpable.

They heard a call from the north, and the rangers all perked to attention, waiting for the approach of a scout.  A few minutes he entered the camp, worn and weary looking, but also very satisfied. He sat down in a spot cleared for him, and accepted a cup of hot tea. He took a few swallows, then took a stick and began to draw in the dirt.

“The trolls are camped out here, on this plateau north of the river.  The orcs have carved out a den in this series of caves on the hillside below them. The wargs I did not track, as they have already tasted my flesh. Late last night I saw the captain of the orcs meeting with the leader of the trolls.  I was left with no doubt that they are in league together.  I watched for only a short while longer, but the scouts I saw were instructed to search south to find us. They do not believe that we have fled,” he finished. “I did not see signs of any of their scouts in this area, however, so I do not believe they have located our camp.”

Halbarad laughed grimly. “They will have difficulty finding us, but I am not surprised that they did not believe our feint.  They know we will not give up so easily. Good job locating their camp.” He sighed and stood, stretching, and then looking to the north, to the hillside in question. When he turned back to face them, Elladan noticed his eyes settled on Estel again.  He could see the question in the dark eyes of the acting chieftain, wondering if Estel were a boy or a man, wondering if his upbringing in exile had prepared him to become one of them, much less lead them.

“Does Estel have adequate experience to scout with me?” Halbarad asked Elladan.

Estel’s gaze shifted immediately to Elladan, a hopeful light in them, and Elladan could almost feel Estel’s desire for him to say yes.

“He does,” answered Elladan. “You will find his skills quite adequate.”

Halbarad looked appraisingly one more time at Estel, then nodded his head, motioning for Estel to follow him.  Estel leapt to his feet, but looked at Elladan before following. Elladan beckoned him near.

“Remember all you have been taught and you will do well,” he said encouragingly.  “You will learn from Halbarad; he is an accomplished scout.  You have not encountered wargs before, so pay close attention to the methods Halbarad uses to avoid them detecting your scent.”

Estel nodded, his eyes flicking for a moment to one of the men who was still recovering from a warg bite.  Elrohir was looking over the wound, to see if he could provide additional aid.  “I prefer to avoid that,” he agreed. He smiled at Elladan, confidence in his face, and then he followed Halbarad away from camp.

* * *

Elladan and Elrohir sat among the men, most of whom they knew, and Elladan was impressed by their restraint. The name ‘Aragorn’ was never spoken, though many questions were asked about Estel – his personality and skills, what training and education he had been given - and several wished to know how his mother fared.  Only Dírhael asked what Estel knew, to which Elladan had replied, ‘Only that he is of the descent of the Northern Dúnedain.’

That had sobered the excitement among them, but Gilraen’s father had said, ‘Elrond would not send him among us if he did not feel Estel was ready.’

To this the twins and Glorfindel had just smiled non-commitally, but Dírhael had settled down next to his son looking very satisfied.

Halbarad and Estel returned at mid-morning the next day. Halbarad motioned for several rangers and the group from Imladris to join him, and he knelt down in front of a sandy area where he could map out what he had seen.  He sketched out the hill, much as the earlier scout had described it, but then he slid the sharp stick towards Estel. “Tell everyone what you saw and add pertinent details to the sketch.”

Estel took the stick. “The orcs have two ways in and out of their dens that we saw,” he said as he sketched the paths.  “I was able to get quite close to this back door and did not see any other openings.  To come south they must cross the river, and only one path leads down from their dens. It was well guarded, easy to defend and hard to attack,” he admitted.

Elladan looked at the position of the caves and the entrance Estel described and interrupted, “How did you make it past the guards?”

“I did not go that way,” replied Estel solemnly. He looked at Elladan impassively for a moment, but when Elladan raised an eyebrow, Estel smiled and added, “I climbed the cliffs and trees here.” He pointed at the map where he had ascended. “Halbarad stood guard for me,” he added.

“We are outnumbered,” said Estel when Elladan motioned for him to continue. “I counted sixty two orcs and eleven hill trolls. Scouts returned while we watched and reported that they had not located us. New scouts were sent out, but they headed farther west. We did not see or hear the wargs.”

“What options are before us?” asked Glorfindel.

Estel looked to Halbarad, but the ranger nodded for him to answer the question.

“We can evade them until reinforcements arrive, then lure them to a more desirable battlefield and engage them. This is likely the safest option,” replied Estel.  He paused for a moment, then took a deep breath. “We could also ambush them. It would be more dangerous, but if well coordinated it could be done.”

Several of the rangers looked skeptical. “Ambush them how?  They can retreat to higher ground and fight from these more defensible position,” said one, pointing to spots on the dirt sketch.

Estel nodded in agreement. “We would need to attack during the day, while they are sleeping, and ensure they did not escape.” He paused and ran his finger along the sketch, thinking. “If we climbed the cliff and blocked the back door of the cave, we could get behind them.  We would need to do this in sunlight and then smoke the orcs out and force them to fight in the sun.”

“And the hill-trolls?” asked Halbarad, his words serious but his eyes showed a mixture of amusement and respect.

“They would be more difficult, sir,” answered Estel. He looked at Elladan questioningly.

“Smoking the orcs out in daylight may work, and you have proved the cliff scalable,” replied Elladan.  “Think of what you know of the hill-trolls.”

“They do not like direct sunlight, but they do not turn to stone, either. Their skin is hard and scaly and it is difficult to penetrate even with arrows. They are very strong,” recited Estel. “So attacking at the highest point of the sun would be beneficial, but the trolls would still be hard to kill.”

“Trolls are not very smart,” reminded Elrohir. “They confuse when wakened and forced into the sunlight.”

“A net,” said Estel. He looked up at Elrohir. “Do you remember when I caught Adar with the net, at the waterfall?”

Elrohir grinned. “Your first trip hunting.”

Estel pointed at the path that led to the hill-trolls’ camp on the plateau. “If we were to block that path with a net or capture any that fled in that direction in the net, could we get close enough to kill them? Or even drive them over the cliff, if they are already confused?”

“We do not have a net,” said Halbarad.

“We can make one.  We have rope, elvish rope, which the trolls cannot break,” replied Estel.

Elladan looked up from Estel’s sketch to meet Halbarad’s gaze.  The ranger was testing Estel, just as he had tested him on the scouting mission.  Halbarad was as difficult to read as any ranger Elladan had met, but he could see that ranger had just moved from being pleased to being intrigued.

“I believe it might work,” interrupted Glorfindel.  He looked around the small group. “We know where they are and their numbers.  We know their weaknesses.  Given the options of traditional battle or using stealth and cunning to destroy them, I would try for the one least likely to leave us with casualities. A well planned ambush can lead to victory.”

Estel grinned at him and then looked around the small circle to see the reactions of the others. All eyes were on Halbarad, who looked thoughtfully at Estel.  “Let me see your net,” he said finally.

* * *

Elladan leaned against a tree stump, watching as Estel laid out the finished rope.  He had taken nearly all of the lengths they carried, as well as all the Rangers felt they could spare, and with Elrohir’s help had fashioned two nets large enough to cover a hill-troll.   He had spoken little, as his attention was rather on Halbarad, who was discussing ambush strategies with Glorfindel and the rangers.

Estel folded the net up and set it on a rock, then sat down himself. He had managed to move closer to where the conversation was taking place, and Elladan was amused to see that Estel’s habit as a child was only slightly more sophisticated as an adult.  Of course, he was no longer eavesdropping but he was still just as curious.

Halbarad was listing out the rangers’ assets, determining how many would need to be in position with bows and arrows to meet the orcs as they were smoked out of their den, and how many would be needed to fight the trolls. The wargs were an unknown threat, but without a leader to guide them, they would likely return whence they had come.

“I would place Elrohir and his bow here,” said Glorfindel, pointing at a prime position on the cliff they would scale to attack.

Halbarad nodded. “He alone will take out half of the troop,” he agreed.  “I will place my four best archers along this ridge.  We have several spears among us – I will place those men here, near the upper path. They can kill any trolls caught in the nets, as well as help drive them over the cliff edge, should we manage to shepherd them in that direction.”

They laid out the role of each person, placing sword, bow and spear in the best positions, each according to his skill.  Elladan was glad to see Estel placed between Glorfindel and Halbarad and their swords. He had been chosen as lead scout and would coordinate the two groups during the battle, a position he excelled at and enjoyed for the perspective it gave him.

The rangers broke their camp, leaving no trace of their sojourn there, and they made their way to the camp of the orcs and trolls.

 * * *

Elladan watched as the orcs moved about their camp in the evening dusk, most of them groggy after sleeping away the bright, hot day.  They had begun to leave their nests as the cliffs cast shadows over their den, sitting in the deepening shadows while waiting for the sun to set.  Now hunting parties were being organized to obtain food, and scouts were being sent out to search for the rangers.  Halbarad was keeping his men at a distance, waiting for Elladan’s call for them to move into position.

As he watched the orcs and trolls go about their daily activities, he found his mind continually coming back to Estel.   Elladan could not read his father well, but the fact that Elrond let them take Estel among the rangers spoke volumes to him. Estel had grown from a joyful and happy child to a thoughtful adolescent, and now, on the verge of manhood, he was intelligent and mature, handling himself with a grace beyond his years.  Elladan was proud of him, this man whom he truly thought of as his brother.  The thought of Estel learning of his heritage and taking on that burden both excited and sorrowed him. The man Aragorn would leave them, return to his people and eventually face great trial, if Elrond’s foresight were true; and they would watch and encourage him with pride and love.  Yet their relationship would also change, and Estel would no longer be their carefree younger sibling.  

Their father had never counseled them to guard their hearts with Estel, however, nor had he done so himself.  He had given his heart to this child just as he had to those of his own seed, and Elladan found himself humbled yet again at his father’s willingness to love and give, to make himself vulnerable to hurt and loss, for the sake of a child and the hope he represented to his people and to Middle-earth.  He was reminded of a conversation with Glorfindel once, about being returned to life after his time in the Halls of Waiting.  Glorfindel spoke of that time as a time of purification and healing, and how he was stronger now than he had been in his earlier life.  Glorfindel had looked then upon Elrond and said that his purification had also come through fire, the fires of pain and loss  – and he was like the finest gold left in the refiner’s cup after all the dross was removed. When Elrohir had asked about the healing needed to go with the purification, Glorfindel had smiled sadly and said that Elrond would not receive that until he reached elvenhome.

The hunting parties returned with game, and as the darkest hours of night fell, the orcs and trolls lit separate fires and cooked their meat.  Elladan made himself comfortable in the scrubby brush and rocks on the cliff he hid in, and waited patiently with only his thoughts for company.

The sun rose behind the cliffs and their enemy retreated to their dens as beams of light replaced the shadows in which they sat.  The orc scouts returned, the rangers having avoided engaging them, as the failure of any scouts to return would have raised suspicion among the orcs.   The lack of excitement as the orcs reported in confirmed for Elladan that none had spotted the rangers.

Elladan waited until several hours had passed, ensuring that all of the orcs and trolls were either sleeping or drowsy; even the guards who sat on the cliff side and just inside the den appeared drowsy and inattentive. He heard the call from Halbarad indicating all of the rangers were ready, and returned the call to wait.  He moved closer himself first, double-checking the count of the guards and listening carefully for any sound from within the caves.  He could see on to the plateau, and though the hill trolls were not in caves, their dens in the dense trees were quiet.  His nose twitched at the odors that did not dissipate in the still air, and he was glad to return to the high perch he had chosen for himself. Once there, he sounded the call telling the rangers to move into position.

Elladan watched as Elrohir climbed cat-like to the top of the cliff, the ranger archers moving into position around him.  Halbarad and Glorfindel led the swordsmen forward, but they would be unable to move into their positions until the guards were dispatched. He watched dispassionately as Halbarad and one of his rangers crept up behind the dozing guards and slit their throats, preventing any cry from escaping their lips.  A chirp from Halbarad called the rest of the rangers forward.  When waved forward, Estel took his nets to the winding path that led to the plateau where the hill-trolls slept.  Minutes later, the nets, Estel and Glorfindel were in place.  When Elladan could see that the cave entrances were covered and the hill-trolls surrounded, he sounded the call for the attack to begin.

Flaming brands were lit and tossed into the caves and troll dens. The ensuing silence was disconcerting, as neither orcs nor trolls awakened immediately.  When they finally roused and tried to escape, they were cut down by arrow and spear.  Two hill-trolls raced for the path, but were neatly caught when Glorfindel and Estel tossed nets down upon them.  Confused and angry, they fought and twisted, but stood not a chance against the swords that were drawn against them. Elladan grinned as Estel wrestled the bodies free of the nets, tossing the nets aside for future use before again drawing his sword and moving into hand combat.   The trolls were enraged and confused, many burned, and all weaponless.  Suddenly, Estel jumped closer to them, nearly in their reach, and Elladan could hear him taunting them.   He slowly began to move, turning their attention to him as Glorfindel and the rangers faded into the trees. A few minutes later, Glorfindel jumped down from a tree near Estel, further confusing the trolls, who had not seen him leaping from branch to branch above their heads.  They leapt forward after the two, and Elladan nearly laughed aloud as Glorfindel and Estel ran towards the cliff edge, disappearing before his eyes.   The hill-trolls followed, their enraged bellows ending as their solid bodies crashed on to the rocks far below.  Only two remained, and surrounded by rangers with spear and sword, they were soon dead.  Estel and Glorfindel reappeared triumphant a moment later, having jumped to a narrow ledge and held themselves flat against the cliff wall as the trolls fell past them.

Elladan turned his attention to the enemy, watching as his twin fired arrow after arrow at the confused and fleeing orcs.  Each arrow seemed to hit a target, and rangers continued to throw fire into the cave openings, ensuring that the interior remained inhospitable.

Suddenly, he saw an orc from the corner of his eye, hidden in the shadows of cliffs much lower than where Elrohir and the rangers were shooting, his bow drawn and arrow aimed at Elrohir.  His heart racing, Elladan whistled a warning to his twin even as he nocked his own arrow.  His shot was blocked, though, by brush on the cliff side that the orc was hiding in.   Elrohir dropped to the ground immediately upon hearing the warning, and the orc’s arrow sailed over his head.  Another orc appeared next to the first one, and Elladan realized there must be a third opening from the cave. He whistled sharply again, alerting the rangers, and saw several arrows flying from them toward the orcs.  The orcs were able to shield themselves in the rock, however, and thus far had not been hit. Elladan hissed in frustration at his inability to help from his current position.

A movement high above on the winding path caught his attention, and he saw Estel grabbing his nets and racing back down the path.  Glorfindel followed, and then Halbarad.  His heart nearly stopped as Estel began to climb to the edge of the cliff from the path, rappelling easily from a rope that Glorfindel threw to him.  Halbarad followed, anchoring also to the elven warrior who could easily support the weight of two men.

Arrows were still being exchanged between the two groups, when Elrohir suddenly motioned for the Ranger archers to fall back.  He had seen Estel and Halbarad, and knew that for them to drop their nets on the orcs below, the orcs needed to step out from the cliff wall.  Elrohir even made a sudden movement, drawing attention to his spot on the cliff, and two arrows flew immediately in his direction.  At that same moment, Halbarad and Estel dropped their nets on to the orcs.  The rangers shot arrows into the tangle of nets and orcs, then Halbarad and Estel finished rappelling down the cliff, Halbarad finishing the two orcs while Estel covered the cave entrance.   No further orcs came forth, but the two men quickly built a fire inside the cave opening, sending smoke billowing upward.

Elladan finally took a breath and forced himself to relax, but held his position, watching over the entire battle scene while bodies were counted. All eleven trolls were accounted for, and forty seven of the sixty two orcs.   The others were assumed still in the caves, and the fires were fed, increasing the smoke and decreasing the chance that any would escape. At Halbarad’s call, Elladan climbed down to the clearing where the ranger leader was gathering his men.

“A well planned ambush can lead to victory,” he said, grinning at Glorfindel as the elf untied the ropes from around his waist that he had used to lower the men down.  His gaze swept over his men. “Any injuries?  Elrohir, will you tend them?”

“I will tend to Elrohir first,” replied Estel.  He grinned gleefully at Elrohir as he pushed him on to a rock.  “I need to practice my healing skills.”

“It barely broke the skin,” replied Elrohir, rolling his eyes, but he let Estel remove his tunic to see the source of the blood staining it. Yet his expert eye watched with approval as Estel cleaned the wound and applied some standard antidote that treated the common poisons orcs often applied to their arrowheads, then bound the skin.

“It is only a flesh wound,” agreed Estel, “but I will check it later when I change the bandage.”

There were several other minor injuries, and at Elrohir’s nod and under his guidance, Estel tended to them as well.

“You have good hands,” grunted one of the older rangers as Estel bandaged his wound.

“And good nets,” added Halbarad. “Remind me to thank Elrond next time I see him for allowing you to perfect your skill on him.”

Estel laughed. “I would like to hear you tell him that.” He cocked his head at Halbarad.  “I have never seen you in Imladris.  Will you be visiting soon?”

Halbarad’s eyes darkened and he said gruffly, “I may soon, depending on certain events.” He did not elaborate, and Estel did not probe further. “This battle was quickly fought.  We will head south and camp with Devon tonight.”

* * *

Elrond watched them ride triumphant into the courtyard, Estel’s enthusiasm infecting the older warriors. They dismounted and Estel stepped forward to catch his mother in his arms and lift her off her feet to kiss her.  When Gilraen let him go, he stepped into his father’s embrace. Elrond could feel the energy and enthusiasm emanating from him, and he did not need words to know that Estel had performed well.

“Welcome home, my son,” he greeted him, stroking the unruly hair back from Estel’s face.  A fleeting thought crossed his mind that Estel had grown while he was gone, and then he released him. “Bathe and dress and come to the sitting room for dinner.  I wish to hear all that happened.”

Estel grinned in delight and let his mother lead him away.  Elrond turned to his sons, drawing them both into an embrace.  He felt the nearly healed wound to Elrohir’s arm but nothing else amiss with either.

“Well?” he asked them.

“Halbarad could barely restrain himself,” replied Elladan.  “I wish you could have seen their faces, Adar. They knew him immediately, they tested him, and they are well pleased.”

Elrond managed to smile before sending them to clean up and dress.  He returned to his own chambers and unlocked and opened a little used wardrobe that sat against the far wall of his dressing area. The shards of Narsil were carefully oiled and wrapped, lying on a shelf.  The ring of Barahir was nestled in cloth and tied in a leather bag, and the Sceptre of Annúminas was rolled in layers of velvet. Gilraen had given him other items that belonged to Arathorn for safekeeping, but they were for her to give to Aragorn.

He replaced the items carefully and closed the wardrobe and locked it again.  It had been locked since the day he found four year old Estel hiding inside, while his mother searched the house for him.  The hiding game had been his favorite game to play inside, a worthy diversion for a curious little boy on rainy days. Gilraen had loved it nearly as much, for she had learned the house well in seeking out her son.  The elves had smiled indulgently, most considering Gilraen as much a child as her young son, and willingly opened their rooms and hearts to their explorations.  Elrond had set some rooms off limits, but never his own, for he had always been available to his children.  Some of the memories he and Celebrían had most cherished and laughed at had been the untimely interruptions of small children crawling into their bed.  While that had never been a problem with Estel, he had locked up items he did not wish the child to stumble upon.

He sat in meditation until he heard movement in the sitting room, but before he could join whoever had arrived first, Glorfindel entered his chamber.  Pouring two cups of wine, he handed one to his closest friend and motioned for him to sit. They sipped in companionable silence for a few minutes, and Elrond realized that one of the attributes he most appreciated about Glorfindel was the elf’s ability to know when Elrond needed to talk combined with the patience to wait until he was ready to do so.

“I have been considering Estel since he rode out with you.  I have long thought I would know when the time was right for him to learn his true identity, and I know with a certainty that that time has come.  Yet I am hesitant,” said Elrond.

Glorfindel covered his hand, squeezing gently, and Elrond drank in the comfort offered.  “It is time for him to become Aragorn, Arathorn’s son,” he continued.

“When will you tell him?” asked Glorfindel.

“Tomorrow, after he has had a good night’s rest,” answered Elrond. “I will speak with Gilraen tonight.”

They heard Elladan, Elrohir and Estel enter the sitting room, their voices full of joy. The twins were good-naturedly teasing Estel about a net, and Glorfindel smiled and stood, offering a hand to Elrond. “Come and hear of the deeds of Estel, son of Elrond.”

* * *

Elrond laid out the heirlooms of the line of the northern Dúnedain on his desk, leaving them wrapped so as not to distract Estel or himself.  He had heard the tale of their fight against trolls and orcs, and saw that Elladan and Elrohir and Glorfindel included Estel in their confidences. By all accounts, so had the rangers. Though young, Estel was a man, and ready to learn of his ancestry and bear the burdens that accompanied that knowledge.  Elrond comforted himself in knowing that Aragorn would not bear the burden alone – his transformation to Arathorn’s son would not remove his memory of being Estel and having a father and brothers and friends like Glorfindel to aid him.

A knock sounded at the door, and Elrond rose, going to the door and admitting Estel himself.   His son was nearly as tall as him, his shoulders already as broad, but his face reflected his youth and innocence, along with a nobility of spirit and mind that showed his maturity.  He embraced him, holding him close for a moment, for he knew it was the last time he would hold Estel.  Estel had always been affectionate, and he hugged his father in return.

“Naneth said you wished to see me, Adar,” said Estel as he stepped back from Elrond.  When Elrond did not answer right away, he continued with concern in his voice, “Naneth cried this morning, and you look as if you might as well, Adar.  Is something amiss?”

“No, nothing is wrong,” Elrond reassured him, his voice calm and sure. “Come and sit with me, Estel.  I have something of importance to tell you.”

He held Estel’s hands in his own as they sat on the padded bench before the balcony doors.  “You are a son of my heart, Estel, and though not of my loins we are distantly related. The time is ripe, I deem, for you to know whose son you are.” He felt Estel’s pulse quicken and the pressure of his blood flow increase through the touch he had on the young man’s hands.  He gently rubbed Estel’s palm with his thumb, calming him slightly. “Through the generations of many fathers, you are the latest descendent of my twin brother, Elros, whom you know as the first king of Númenor, Tar-Minyatur. Your father was Arathorn, chieftain of the Northern Dúnedain, and Gilraen your mother was his wife.  You are Elendil’s heir, and heir to the thrones of both Gondor and Arnor.”

Estel had started at this news, but at Elrond’s piercing gaze and under his calming touch, he relaxed and again met Elrond’s eyes. “Your people, the northern Dúnedain whom you have recently met, sent you into hiding with your mother upon your father’s death, for the servants of Sauron have ever been seeking the heir of Isildur, son of Elendil.  In my house have long been fostered the chieftains in their youth and old age, but we could not let you know of your heritage, nor any who visited or passed through Imladris.  For your safety, your mother has endured exile from her people, and your memories of your father and grandparents and people were allowed to be forgotten.  I tell you today a name that may stir in your heart some memory, for you are Aragorn son of Arathorn and today you may take back your identity.”

Elrond paused, allowing the weight of this news to settle into Estel’s mind.  Estel gripped his hands tightly, seeking the support he had always found in his father’s presence.  “We will talk more, for you will have many questions. For now, I will give you some of the tokens of your house.”  He rose and stepped to his desk, retrieving the packages.

“Here is the ring of Barahir,” he said, “the token of our kinship from afar; and here also are the shards of Narsil. With these you may yet do great deeds; for I foretell that the span of your life shall be greater than the measure of Men, unless evil befalls you or you fail at the test. But the test will be hard and long. The Sceptre of Annúminas I withhold, for you have yet to earn it.”¹

Estel took first the ring, studying the workmanship and design carefully, then ghosted his hand over the hilt of Narsil in wonder. He then touched the silver rod delicately, not even closing his hand around its weight, and Elrond knew he grasped the significance of this heirloom.  “The ring and the sword are yours now, Aragorn, and shall not pass from your hand until you release them.”

Estel took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, then turned to Elrond again. “Thank you, Adar,” he said, though he paused over the last word, and Elrond felt the first pain in his heart.

“You are welcome, my son,” he answered purposefully. “There is more of which we must speak, when you are ready.”

Estel laughed shakily. “I need some time to consider what I have heard.  I have long wondered why the name of my father had to be kept secret. I even wondered if his name were held in shame, that no one would speak of it, though my mother assured me otherwise.  That I am Elendil’s heir brings me great joy and hope, yet I know not what to do with this knowledge right now.”

Elrond reached to his son, stroking his hair and then drawing him into his arms. Estel held tightly to him. “There is naught you need to do right now. This truth needs time to take root in your heart. Only then will you be able to see what paths you must travel and what doom is laid upon you.  I do not deny that the weight of your ancestry is heavy, but you, Aragorn, are now a man ready to face it, as you have aptly shown. Go and think, but see to your mother soon, for she has long awaited this day.”

Estel stepped back from the comfort and safety of Elrond’s arms, and drew himself up straight and proud, and Elrond saw Arathorn standing before him. As he left the room, Elrond heard him say softly, “I am Aragorn. Aragorn son of Arathorn.”

~ ~ ~* * *~ ~ ~

“You have dwelt long in memory, Elrond,” said Mithrandir.

Elrond roused to meet the wizard’s gaze, only then realizing that dusk had given way to night, and Eärendil shone brightly.  He had dwelt long in memory, yet he was glad Mithrandir had interrupted when he did – before Elrond’s heart had remembered the joy of Arwen’s arrival home. He sighed and pushed the thought away, and instead returned to the concerns of the present. The evil he sensed beyond Imladris’s borders had drawn even nearer, and he knew the time was approaching for him to repel them.

“Aragorn must get the hobbits across the Bruinen,” he said abruptly.  He stood, facing west, and cast his thought and Vilya’s power out across the land.  

“If the Úlairi cross the Fords, what then?” asked Mithrandir. “Frodo and the ring may find safety in Imladris, but for how long? The servants of Sauron will surround you and in time they will overcome you.”

Elrond faced Mithrandir impassively. “The Úlairi will not cross the Bruinen. They will not, at least, climb on her eastern shore.”  He smiled grimly. “My hope, however, is that they will try.”

* * * * *

¹Taken from Appendix A, The Tale of Aragorn and Arwen, The Lord of the Rings.

Curunír – elvishname for Saruman
Úlairi – elvish word for the Nazgul
Mithrandir – elvish name for Gandalf

Thank you to daw and karri for beta reading this chapter.

Chapter 4: Lord of Abomination

“Elrond is a master of healing, but the weapons of our Enemy are deadly.”  Gandalf, Many Meetings, FotR.

Imladris
October 20, 3018

Elrond closed his eyes, his hands gripping tightly to the rail of the porch banister. He could sense Mithrandir’s presence next to him, their powers rising in unison as they focused all of their attention on the river.  Vilya sang upon his finger, the river long under its control, but the presence of Narya provided a harmony that produced a song of greater intensity, powerful and terrible in its crescendo. Elrond could feel the water surge, rising in a foaming fury and slamming down upon evil cloaked and mounted.  A sliver of fear ran through him as he focused upon them, and his mind processed the fear for what it was: the main weapon of the Úlairi, but not a weapon that would prevail against him.  In that same moment he could feel Glorfindel’s presence, and the utter lack of fear in the re-embodied elf of Valinor. He felt the smug smile that tugged at his lips, and allowed himself to relish the dread and dismay of the servants of Sauron, for he could feel Glorfindel’s rage and fury as he chased the undead into the heart of the flood.

“Let us hope the hobbit Frodo was not washed away as well,” interrupted Mithrandir suddenly.

Elrond opened his eyes, his gaze roaming over the lands west of Imladris. The Úlairi had been kept from his valley; he knew this with certainty. “He was not,” he answered quietly.  He laid a restraining hand upon Mithrandir’s arm.  “My people are nearly to them. They will be here soon.”

Unease settled in Elrond’s heart at that moment, and he turned his gaze westward again. Evil had entered his valley, and he could feel its presence, slight but growing stronger in miniscule increments as each second passed.

“What do you sense?” asked Mithrandir.

“The presence of evil,” answered Elrond slowly. “Yet evil not strong enough to harm us, but to cause fear in the faint of heart, and tempt the strong of heart.”

“The Ring has awakened,” mused Mithrandir. “I dared not touch it, so great was the temptation before me. It was evil cloaked as a thing of light and mercy, yet I knew it to be wholly evil.”

Elrond shook his head. “It is more than that.” He paused, then turned on his heel and moved to the door.  “We must prepare.  Come!”

Pleased that Mithrandir did not argue or question, Elrond led the way to the healing rooms of the house.  Elves appeared to assist him, moving without needing words of direction to prepare hot water, linens and beds, and open the apothecary for whatever Elrond might request.  Once satisfied that all was in order for whatever might occur, Elrond sought the quiet of his study.

“Adar?”

Elrond did not respond to his daughter’s voice, but acknowledged her nonetheless. He felt her approach, then her hand was on his shoulder and she leaned over to rest her cheek on his head.  He did not try to hide the tear on his cheek, nor did he flinch when her fingertip brushed it away.  Arwen wrapped her presence around him, her feä touching his, and he allowed his guard to drop and his daughter to comfort him. She seemed to know when he felt Celebrían’s absence the worst, and he had long ago quit denying his pain before her.  He at times wondered from whom she had inherited her strength, and decided that though she was much like him in looks and temperament, her strength came from Celebrían, and Celeborn and Galadriel.  She had been the first to pick up the pieces of their shattered life, and she had been the one to comfort her brothers and father.  Her own comfort and strength had been drawn from her grandparents.

“What do you sense, Adar?” she asked softly. “The healing rooms are alight with activity.”

“Someone comes bearing a wound imbued with evil,” he answered simply.

Arwen sat down next to him on the armless couch, sliding her arm through his. “You have not been yourself since Glorfindel rode out,” she noted.

Elrond untangled his arm from Arwen’s, and wrapped it about her shoulders, pulling her close to him. “Watching my warriors ride out upon rescue missions does not lead to pleasant thoughts.”

Arwen leaned against him, then took his hand in hers and began to trace the line of his palm, much as she had done as a small child.  “I wish I had been here to wait with you, Adar,” she said softly.

Elrond bristled, tensing and nearly pulling his hand from his daughter’s, but Arwen tightened her grip. Silence grew between them, and Elrond knew that Arwen had won this battle long before he responded.  “I am thinking of Celebrían,” he admitted. He smiled at her, drawing her hand to his lips and kissing it gently. “I knew something was wrong immediately. I had had a hard time letting her go, though I did not know why; it seemed selfish of me, and so I only bade her to take care and return soon.” As he spoke to Arwen, Elrond was already drifting back in memory to those days, memories too personal to share with any other.

~ ~ ~* * *~ ~ ~

Imladris
Spring, 2509 TA

Elrond slid his finger lightly from the corner of Celebrían’s mouth down her neck to her breasts, delicately tracing each nipple before moving to her belly. She shivered beneath him, then reached up and pulled his head down to hers. When he kissed her, she tightened her grip about him, holding him against her as if in some battle.  He read the intensity in her eyes, but although she had initiated their energized play he sensed she wished for him to conquer.   She surrendered easily, and he saw to her pleasure, enjoying seeing her rise to the heights that he knew he could bring her to, and the look of bliss he could put on her face in release.  She sighed as he kissed her again, gently now, and when he rolled to lie next to her, she laid her head on his shoulder and pressed herself against his side in contentment.

“I will miss you,” she said softly.

Elrond turned on to his side, allowing him to see her face, and ran his finger along her jaw. “I do not want you to go,” he admitted.

Her face shadowed, and he bent forward to kiss the frown from her lips. “I want you to visit your parents and fetch Arwen; I just selfishly also want you with me. Forgive me.”

“And why, pray tell, should I forgive my husband for wanting to be with me?” she teased.

“Have I ever mentioned how well you change the meaning of my words to my advantage?” He kissed her again, his hands roaming across her body, making her gasp with pleasure.

“I like you advantaged,” she replied breathlessly. “And I will still miss you.”

He pulled her close, burying his face in her hair, and inhaling the sweet scent that was uniquely her. Together they drifted on the path of dreams, deeply contented with each other, and they held each other comfortably until dawn broke and Celebrían’s escort gathered in the courtyard.

Elladan was the captain of the mission, with six guards assigned to him to escort Celebrían through the Redhorn Pass, where an escort form Lorien would meet them.  Elladan and Elrohir would continue on with their mother to visit their grandparents, while the rest returned home.

As they entered the courtyard, Elrond could hear Glorfindel speaking to Elladan as the two reviewed the map of the route they would take, heading south out of Imladris on the west side of the Misty Mountains, then following the road over Caradhras, through the Redhorn Pass, where the Lorien guard would meet them. Once on the other side of the mountains, they would enter the area guarded by Lorien’s marchwardens and protected by Galadriel.

The Elves preferred this road, for it was safer than the High Pass just north of Imladris where goblins often established strongholds in the abundant caves.  The road through the Redhorn Pass would take them to Lorien in about ten days if the weather held.

“Take good care of your naneth and enjoy your visit to Lorien,” said Elrond as he embraced Elrohir.

“I have told Glorfindel to take good care of you with all of us gone,” replied Elrohir in a teasing voice.  “We will miss you, Adar.”

After saying farewell to Elladan, Elrond lifted Celebrían on to her horse, not because she needed the help, but because it was one more chance to touch her.  After a night of lovemaking, he always found his desire to be close to her the next day very intense. The group could be heard singing as they crossed the bridge out of Imladris, until they passed beyond the waterfall and their melody was lost in the loud voice of the water.

* * *

Eight days later…

Elrond was reading in his study when he felt Celebrían’s distress.  He concentrated on their bond, and was able to discern her fear and anger.  Fear seized his heart as he considered all that might have occurred to cause her such distress, and he concentrated on her, sending her his strength while trying not to distract her.  By his calculations, they were near the Redhorn Pass, soon to meet the escort from Lorien.

He began to pace, then walked out on to the balcony, following it to the south side of the house. He turned all of his thought towards the great mountain of Caradhras, but his power did not extend nearly that far. He clenched the balcony rail as he concentrated again on Celebrían, and he felt her anger and fear turn to panic for her life.  A moment later, she drew into herself, seeking him, and he felt the full onslaught of her terror.

He ran back into the house and into the hall, rushing to the front porch, intent on reaching the stables. He stumbled over a rug in his haste, quickly regaining his balance, and shoved past several elves who were entering the house.  If anyone spoke to him, he did not hear it.  He had reached the stables when someone rammed into him from the side, knocking him to the ground.  He rolled, ages of battle experience returning instantly, and leapt to his feet, only to be knocked down again.  His opponent landed on top of him, straddling him and pinning his arms to his side. He cried out as he heard Celebrían cry out in his mind, her pain and fear driving him to fight his captor.  A stinging slap to his cheek made his head spin, and he cried out, “I must reach her!”

“Elrond!”

Somehow, Glorfindel’s voice broke through his panic, and he followed the voice calling his name back to the present, though it meant distancing himself from Celebrían to do it.  Her panic increased as he withdrew.

“Elrond, you must reach who?  What is wrong?” asked Glorfindel, shaking him slightly.

“Celebrían,” he gasped.  “She is in terrible pain and fear.”

He went limp beneath Glorfindel, called back to Celebrían by her need for him.  He sent  all of his strength to her to bear what was being done, and he took as much of the pain as possible back on himself.  He knew he helped her, he knew she was better for his strength, and she clung to him through their bond, pleading for his help. Then, suddenly, she was quiet, and he felt her presence as he did when she slept, but nothing more.

The next thing he knew he was on his bed, and Erestor and Glorfindel were speaking in hurried whispered tones above him.  Sitting up, he was swinging his feet off the side of the bed when powerful hands grasped his shoulders, keeping him from rising.

“I have a troop preparing to ride out now, Elrond, and I will lead them.  You will stay here, and I have told Erestor he may chain you to this bed if needed,” said Glorfindel, his voice gentle at first, but growing harsh when Elrond struggled against him.  “Listen to me, Elrond!”

The tightening grasp of Glorfindel’s hands on his shoulders was painful, and the pain did as intended, turning his attention to Glorfindel.  “When you leave us, Elrond, where do you go?  To Celebrían?”  When Elrond nodded, unable to speak, Glorfindel continued, “Does it help her?”

“Yes,” answered Elrond hoarsely, and he released his grip on Glorfindel’s forearms, and felt a lessening of pressure in return, though Glorfindel did not release him. “I can bear some of the pain for her, and send her my strength.”

“If you ride out with us, you will not be able to do that,” said Glorfindel, more gently now.  “Celebrían needs you now in this way, and you must stay here to aid her. What of Elladan and Elrohir?”

Elrond had spared only a brief thought for his sons while overwhelmed with Celebrían’s distress, and he now turned to his bond with his children.  “Something is wrong, but they are not in terror like Celebrían. They must be separated from her,” he said, and his mind was filled with grievous thoughts of how that could have come to be.

“I am leaving now,” said Glorfindel. “Erestor has sent someone to the great eagles, to see if they know or will fly south and see what is amiss.  A messenger hawk has been sent to Lorien as well.  Stay here until we return.”  He turned to Erestor. “Do not let him leave, Erestor.  I charge you with the task of guarding him in the defense of Imladris.”

Erestor nodded, and when Elrond met his eyes, he saw again a fierce warrior and a cunning scout, and knew that even if he commanded Erestor to let him leave, his order would not be obeyed. Glorfindel grasped his hand, and then placed Erestor’s hand over it, ensuring that Erestor felt the invisible ring. “This is of great benefit to Imladris, and right now to Celebrían. It must not fall into the hands of the enemy, nor Elrond while he bears it – at any cost. You bear my duty in my absence.”

Erestor’s eyes had widened at Glorfindel’s words, but he nodded and bowed his head briefly in understanding of his new duties.  Glorfindel nodded to them both, and then he was gone.  Minutes later they heard the sounds of a troop of mounted warriors leaving in haste.

Exhausted, Elrond let Erestor push him back down on the bed, and accepted the Miruvor Erestor offered to strengthen and refresh him.   He again focused all of his attention on his bond with Celebrían, attempting to soothe and calm her fëa.  Suspecting she had been knocked unconscious, he found himself wishing her to stay that way, free of the pain her captors had been inflicting on her.  Yet, he knew that unconscious she could not escape her situation, nor fight her captors, nor call for help.  A mixture of fear and anger rose in him as he thought of his sons: fear that they were also harmed or in danger, and anger that they had not protected their mother.

Celebrían’s bliss of unconsciousness abruptly ended several hours later, and he was jerked forcefully into her pain, and he knew the vibrations pounding his soul were her screams. So her night continued, with brief respites from the torture inflicted on her, until finally even in her agony not another sound issued from her.  She withdrew into herself, clinging to Elrond through their bond, and the only comfort he could provide was his presence.

Yet even as he recalled this agony, Elrond had come to learn that what his sons had witnessed was far worse.

* * *

Elladan heard Elrohir’s call at the same moment that Garthon, the lead guard, was struck in the chest by an orc arrow. For the first time as a warrior, he was nearly unable to respond to his training; his fear for his mother overcoming all other rational thought.  He watched in horror as Garthon fell from his horse, then swung around to see Berein pulling Celebrían from her horse and pushing her into the cleft of the rock face for safety.  Then suddenly his bow was in his hands and he was nocking an arrow, seeking a target in the shadowed cliffs above them.   He fired arrow after arrow at the orcs that were descending down the sheer rock face by rope, moving with each shot so that the orc archers shooting down upon them could not hit him. His strategy was to draw the orcs’ fire away from the cleft where his mother was hidden, but his instinct was to move closer to her, to protect her and somehow get her away from this danger. Sliding along the cliff wall during a brief lull, he tried to note where each member of his party was.  Garthon had not moved, and now was pierced with many arrows. Elladan flicked his eyes away quickly, refusing to allow any emotion to surface at the death of this long time friend.  Berein and Nathrion were beyond Celebrían, Berein injured and unable to use his bow. His sword was drawn and a few dead orcs lay near him. They had made it down the cliff side, but he had killed them when they reached the bottom.  He could not see Elrohir, but he could not sense any harm to his twin.  He could not see the other two members of the patrol, the rear guard, and did not know if they were alive or dead.

Elladan stole a glance at his mother. Her face was pale and her eyes were wide with anger and fear.  She had drawn her short sword and stood poised with it, ready to defend herself. Her eyes met his briefly, and her gaze reflected her confidence in him. His heart sank as he scanned the cliffs again; his arrows were gone and any orcs that made it to the ground would need to be fought in hand combat.  Even as he watched, orcs rappelled down the sheer wall.

“Berein!” he hissed, as he ran swiftly past his mother. His sword ready, he took Berein’s place at Nathrion’s back. “Take Celebrían and stay ahead of us. I don’t see orcs, and Elrohir should be there.”

“There are many behind us,” panted Berein, giving his position up to Elladan. “I will do all I can to keep her safe.”

Elladan was unable to respond as a wave of orcs descended on him and Nathrion from the rear. He spared only one glance back at his mother, ensuring she was moving with Berein, and then focused all of his attention on the approaching orcs. Vastly outnumbered, he fought the losing battle. Suddenly, Nathrion slammed into him, hit with great force by an orc’s curved scimitar. Elladan fell on his face beneath his fellow warrior and wondered if Námo would be the next person he saw, and then felt a crushing blow to his head.  Darkness consumed him, and he knew no more.

* * *

“Elladan!”

Elladan’s head throbbed mercilessly as someone shook him, and he recognized his brother’s panicked voice despite the fact that his body did not wish to cooperate with his mind.  “Elladan, where is Naneth?”

Elladan grasped the hands that held him by the tunic, squeezing tightly to still them, and forced his eyes to focus on his twin.  Elrohir was covered in dust and what looked like soot, and his hands were bloody, but he did not appear to be otherwise injured. Next to him was Nathrion’s body, nearly cut in two by the sword that had felled him. He forced his gaze away as bile rose in his throat. “I sent her ahead with Berein,” he choked out.  “Did you not see them?”

“I was above, not ahead,” reported Elrohir numbly. He pulled Elladan to his feet, steadying him when he swayed with dizziness. “Orcs have tunneled into the mountain from somewhere to the south, and created openings where they can ambush travelers in the pass. I closed several of them.”

Elrohir whistled, and Elladan nearly fell over in surprise when their horses responded.  Orcs normally butchered any elven horses they managed to capture, and delighted in doing so.  He wondered why they had not done so this time. Somehow, the horses must have eluded capture. Elrohir instructed them to hide and wait.

Unable to aid Nathrion, Elladan allowed Elrohir to hurry them forward.  He averted his eyes as they passed Garthon’s body, and although he did not know the fate of the rear guard, his concern was with his mother.  They walked quickly until he gained his balance, and then they began to run.  A crumpled form ahead of them caused them both to catch their breaths, and Elrohir raced ahead of him.  He heard his twin’s low keening cry and thought his heart would stop even as he ran, but when he reached Elrohir and looked down, he saw not his mother, but the mutilated body of Berein.  His stomach, already queasy from the blow to his head, lurched, and he turned to the side and retched. He felt Elrohir’s arms supporting him, holding his hair back, but he could also feel Elrohir’s fear for their mother.

As he caught his breath, Elladan looked over the area where Berein had been killed, carefully avoiding looking at their friend.  There were two dead orcs that had been kicked to the side of the path. Elrohir walked a few steps ahead, picking up a cloak and blood stained sword that both recognized as belonging to Celebrían. Their eyes met, and though the words did not need to be spoken, Elrohir said, “The orcs have taken her.”

While Elrohir appeared frozen in place in horror at the thought, Elladan felt his legs begin to move without thought.  He began to scavenge for arrows as quickly as possible. “Move, Elrohir!” he commanded roughly, shoving at this twin when Elrohir did not join him. “We will need all the ammunition we can get.”

He watched as Elrohir began to stiffly move, gathering arrows, and the task seemed to clear his twin’s mind. Once each had a nearly full quiver of arrows, Elladan followed the obvious trail the orcs had left.  Of course, they likely thought they had killed us all, he thought morosely.  They ran lightly along through the pass as the sun set behind them.

“There are only two places for them to go,” whispered Elrohir. “Through the Pass and into the steep cliffs where we know they have lived in the past, but the Lorien guards would have checked their dens in the days before we were due to arrive.  Therefore, they had to go back up just like they came down.”

Elladan could hear the despair in Elrohir’s voice, could feel the emotions that threatened to paralyze his twin.  He considered what Elrohir had said about blocking the orc hovels above them. “How did you get up there?” he whispered as the orc trail ended horizontally and appeared to go up.

“Climbed,” whispered Elrohir. “Not here, though.  There is craggy face ahead where we can climb without equipment. Above there is a narrow ledge with plentiful hand and footholds.  We will approach from the left.”

Elladan chafed at the delay, but did not argue. His mind raced with what he knew of orc tortures and he silently begged his mother to survive whatever they might do to her.  Do not fade, naneth! he cried soundlessly.  Following Elrohir’s steps, he watched as his brother scaled the cliff face on a rough portion of the wall, noting the blood his brother was leaving behind from the burns and wounds on his hands.  The orcs will smell it, he thought dispassionately. He found a handhold and lifted himself from the ground. The orcs will know much more than our smell very soon, he raged.

Elrohir led them steadily upward, finally stopping on a small outcropping of rock. He pressed himself against the craggy cliff, and began moving slowly back towards the spot where the orcs had disappeared.  Elladan followed him, his mind racing between his thoughts of his mother and the path before him.  Elrohir had just motioned to him that they were nearing the entrance to the orc cave when they heard a faint scream.

Elrohir blanched, his hands gripping the rock, and when Elladan would have pushed past him in rage, his brother held him at bay.  “Guards,” he mouthed soundlessly.

Elladan clenched his fists as they heard another scream, followed quickly by more.  They came one upon the other, the orcs mocking and mimicking the sound.  Red haze filled Elladan’s vision.  The whoosh of Elrohir pulling an arrow from his quiver cleared his sight, and he realized that his twin was firing at the two guards.  They fell without a sound, each shot through the throat.  Elladan would have jumped ahead of Elrohir to scout the tunnel, but a firm grasp on his sleeve held him back.

“Stay behind me,” whispered Elrohir, his face white.

Elladan tugged his sleeve away, frustration rising.  Elrohir was suddenly in his face, his eyes flashing. “Control yourself,” he hissed. “You need a clear head to be of any help to Naneth.”

Before Elladan could respond, Elrohir had spun on his heel and begun the slow descent down the tunnel.  Their mother’s screams continued for a while longer, then abruptly ended, and they could only hope that her life had not been ended.   They walked and crawled through the passages, which turned and twisted, going ever deeper and further down into the mountainside.  They had not met any orcs coming up the passage, though at some time he would expect relief for the guards.

Elrohir stopped suddenly in front of him, and Elladan leaned forward so that their faces were nearly touching. “The cavern splits,” whispered Elrohir, his voice nearly imperceptible.  Elladan looked into the darkness, having to focus carefully to see the side passage.  “It is small; let us stay on the main one.”

Elladan nodded his agreement, and they continued for what seemed like hours.  Nightfall had come, he knew, but the blackness in which they moved did not change.  They had just reached a wider, more open cavern with sporadic torch lights placed on the walls when their mother’s screams began again.

Gritting his teeth so hard that the muscles of his jaw trembled, Elrohir moved in the direction of the sound.  They still had not met any orcs, though they had seen some moving in the distance.  Their mother’s cries led them to a large widened area of a side cavern.  The ceiling rose abruptly, and not only could they stand, they could see high above their heads.  The floor was not cleared, but strewn with boulders and in places, water stood.  Orcs were cheering in a circle around something hidden by a pillar of stone before them, and Elrohir ducked down behind a ring of boulders so they would not be seen.  Elladan followed, and they crawled until they came to the other edge of the cavern.  All the while they could hear their mother, hardening their hearts as much as they could to remain able to aid her, but Elladan felt Elrohir grip his arm as he came into clear view and he caught his twin as he nearly fainted.

Celebrían was hung from chains amidst the circle of orcs, nude and bleeding from many wounds.  Her silver hair had been pulled from her head in places and cut in others, and Elladan noted in his rage the orcs gloating over strands of silver in their possession.  The chief of the band was arguing with another high ranking orc, whose loincloth bulged with desire.

“If ya poke ‘em they die an’ the fun is over,” he roared.  He dragged his nails down Celebrían’s belly, eliciting a shriek of pain. “An’ I like hearin’ her squeal!”

“So lets poke ‘er with this,” growled another orc. He held up a short sharp blade, its shaft covered in the runes of Mordor. He poked it at Celebrían’s hip, drawing a drop of blood.

Elladan felt movement beside him and he grabbed his brother’s tunic with both hands, yanking him down beside him.  Elrohir’s eyes were wild and unfocused, his hands shaking.  Elladan felt the bile rising in his own throat and his breath coming in short gasps. They were sorely outnumbered, yet they could not watch their mother tortured or raped.

Celebrían had quieted, hardly jerking away from the shallow jabs of the Mordorian blade into her side and back, and only occasional moans were now coming from her.  Elladan knew she could not withstand much more, and he pleaded to the Valar to somehow free her or let him take her place.  He was trying desperately to formulate a plan, something that would drive the audience of orcs from the room before they took up their game of flinging stones and arrow heads at their mother again. A sudden cry from the cavern caused all of the orcs to roar and then, miraculously, run from the area.  Perhaps they have found the dead guards, thought Elladan, but he did not know if this would aid them or harm them. 

“She’s mine,” growled the chief to the orc he had been arguing with.  “Go an’ see what the noise is about.  Catch your own elf; there are more of them.”

The orc snarled. “I want a female.”

“She’s mine!” roared the chief again. “Go or I’ll string ya up next to her!”

Elladan realized that only a few orcs remained –the chief  and his guards and his adversary. “Now,” he whispered to Elrohir, who still looked to be in shock. He drew an arrow from his quiver and shot the chief through the neck. 

The orcs yelled and stamped around the fallen chief, apparently believing one of their own had done it, since Elladan had used one of their arrows recovered from the earlier battle.  He quickly felled another, and Elrohir shot the orc holding the blade.  The orc fell as he plunged the blade deeply into Celebrían’s hip.

Elrohir could take no more.  He jumped to his feet, firing over and over as he ran to his mother.  Elladan covered him, watching for more orcs to appear at the entrance.  He glanced up to see Elrohir lowering their mother’s tortured form to the ground and removing the chains from her bruised and bloodied wrists.  Elrohir removed the blade from his mother’s hip, tearing his outer tunic off and tying it securely over the wound.  Then, wrapping her in his cloak, he lifted her and ran. 

Elladan led the way out of the cavern, but the way they had come was blocked with orcs running out.  They needed to get out to the west of where they had come in, away from the battle with the elves they were fighting.  Elladan assumed it was the Lorien guards, who had likely grown concerned when they did not arrive.    He made the decision to follow a cavern to the left of the one they had come down. It led them up, and Elladan hoped they would come out on the mountain cliff near where their horses waited.

The journey out seemed to take longer than the journey in, but in reality Elladan knew they were making good time.  He could hear the barely audible voice of Elrohir comforting their mother, but she made not a sound.  Fresh air drifted down to them, and Elladan knew they were close. He slowed as the unmistakable odor of orc assailed his nostrils, and knew they were nearly upon the guards.

“I can smell ‘em again,” croaked the orc gleefully, looking away from them over the pass. “They’ll be passin’ by soon.”

Elladan shot the first in the neck, and then used his dagger to slit the other’s throat as he turned into the dark.  “We are the last you will ever smell,” he snarled as the black blood spurted on to the rocky floor.

He found their ropes already tethered to a large metal ring pounded into the cliff.  He hesitated, unsure if he should go first and ensure the way clear, or lower Elrohir first.  He could see nothing, but could hear the faint sound of the battle happening at the east end of the pass.   He quickly fashioned a harness. “I will lower you and Naneth first,” he said breathlessly.

Elrohir gave a low whistle, one that the horses could hear but mortals and orcs could not, as he allowed Elladan to tie him into the harness.   He held his mother snugly against him as he rappelled down the cliff face. Elladan followed a moment later, and to their relief, their horses waited. 

“Mount,” he ordered Elrohir as he gently took their mother from his twin’s arms.  Elrohir released her only reluctantly, mounting and then holding out his arms for her.  Elladan brushed a few strands of hair from his mother’s face and looked into her vacant eyes.  If not for the slow rise and fall of her chest, he would think her dead. “Hold on, Naneth,” he begged.  “We will get you home, I promise.”

He lifted her into Elrohir’s arms and leapt on to his horse.  They moved as silently and quickly as possible, encouraging their horses to go as fast as Elrohir could safely go while holding on to Celebrían.

Only a moment later, Elladan heard noises before them and behind him, and his heart fell into the pit of his stomach.  He saw Elrohir look back, terror on his face, and knew his twin had heard the same noises.  There was nowhere to hide in the pass; they must make it through it and into the rocky hills on the west side of the mountains to have any hope of escape.  Then, a familiar call from their rear sounded, and his heart leapt with joy.

“Daeradar!” he cried softly, and he spun on his horse to meet the riders coming up behind them.

Celeborn rode into view with his bow in his hand and his sword sheathed but hanging unhindered at his side.  He had clearly come from battle, though Elladan saw no injury on him.  Haldir and his brother Rumil rode on either side of Celeborn, with a host of Lorien elves behind them.  Even as Elladan and Elrohir stopped, Haldir waved a contigent of warriors on ahead of them to ensure the pass was clear.

His face pale and grim, Celeborn dismounted and strode to where Elrohir sat on his horse, still cradling Celebrían in his arms.  She was wrapped in his cloak, even her hair hidden, but their grief spoke plainly as to who they had rescued.  Taking her from Elrohir’s arms, Celeborn sank to the ground.

In a darkness lit only by torchlight, Elladan had been unable to clearly see the horrors the orcs had inflicted upon his mother.  As Celeborn pulled back the cloak, he could not stifle the cry that came from him. Already her blood was drying and sticking to the fine material, causing Celeborn to hesitate.  He rested his hands on her head and over her heart, the grief etching his face deepening as he did so.

“My daughter,” he whispered mournfully.  He kissed her bloodied forehead, but she did not open her eyes, and Celeborn’s voice transformed to one of command. “You must get her to your father as quickly as you can.  I will send an escort with you.  Did any others survive?”

“Two are missing; the rest dead,” answered Elladan dully.  “The missing guards were not with Naneth.”

“My people will clean out these dens for good and seal their entrances permanently,” stated Celeborn,  “while I return for Galadriel and Arwen. We will come to Imladris as quickly as we can.” He stood, caressing Celebrían’s shorn head one last time, then handed her back up to Elrohir, who still sat dumbly upon his horse. 

At a call from the front, he waved them forward.  “Go! The way is clear!”

Elladan mounted, and he and Elrohir set forth, surrounded by Lorien elves who looked with sorrow upon their Lord and Lady’s daughter.   He looked back once at his grandfather, who stood strong and still in the path, the look on his face speaking to the restraint he was using in not going with them.  Yet, he would not let any other bring this word to Galadriel and Arwen, nor let them pass this way without his escort.  As they rode forward, no longer in fear and danger, a heavy veil of guilt and shame settled on Elladan. His grandfather had not asked how this had come to be, nor in what way they had failed their mother that she had come to be so harmed.

They were joined midway through the pass by a Lorien guard carrying an injured elf.  Elladan felt a momentary joy as he recognized Hador, one of their rear guards.  Though badly wounded, he was alive. Off the side of the pass, against the cliff, lay the cloak wrapped body of the other.  Behind him, Elladan knew that the bodies of the others in their escort had been gathered, and the Lorien elves would see to their burial pyres. Tears stung his eyes, and he blinked them away.  This was the worst loss that Imladris had suffered in many a century, and it had come under his command.  He had to face not only his father, but also the families of his four dead warriors.

* * *

Thanks to daw and karri for beta reading this chapter. This chapter is cut in half due to length, and the second part will be posted in the next few days.

Chapter 4: The Lord of Abomination Part II

They traveled without rest until they were out of the pass, then stopped only briefly to water their horses.  Elrohir had used the water in his waterskin to loosen the fabric of his cloak from the wounds on his mother’s body, and Elladan forced him to drink from his own when he began to pour that water on to her as well.  “I will refill it after you drink, so you can tend Naneth,” he promised softly. Elrohir dutifully downed the water, then wet Celebrían’s lips and finally roused her enough to swallow some liquid. As soon as she was lucid however, pain from her wounds assailed her and terror filled her eyes, and she struggled against the arms that held her. 

“Naneth, it is me, you are safe,” crooned Elrohir, trying to keep his hold firm without causing her further harm.  His greater strength won out, and after several moments of trying to convince her the orcs were gone, she slid back into unconsciousness.

“Come,” commanded Haldir.  “We cannot rest here.”

Elladan bristled at the commanding tone of the Lorien marchwarden, yet he could not disagree.  Also, he had heard his grandfather giving orders to this elf that gave him charge of the escort. Clearly, his grandfather meant for the Lorien elves to lead and protect him and his brother too. Anger simmered in him at the lack of trust implied, trust he no longer deserved given what he had allowed to happen.  He mounted his horse stiffly.

They continued with only stops to water the horses through that day and night, and only when Elrohir nearly fell from his horse did Haldir call for a rest.  He dismounted and was at Elrohir’s side before Elladan could move, and when Elrohir would not give up his mother, he carefully helped Elrohir dismount with her in his arms. 

“I must care for her injuries now,” implored Elrohir wearily. “They begin to fester.”

Haldir looked with pity upon the broken form of Celebrían, then rested his arm comfortingly on Elrohir’s shoulder.  “Orcs have been tracking us; we could not stop until now. I will send the healer to you, but we can stay only an hour.”

Elrohir looked bleakly upon the elf, but when Haldir laid a thick blanket upon the ground, Elrohir laid Celebrían out upon it.   Supplies were brought to them, for most of their own were lost, and Elladan helped his brother tend their mother.  The cloak had to be carefully moistened and pulled gently away from her wounds, which they cleaned and bandaged as best they could.  Some needed far more help than they could provide, especially the deep gash to her hip.  Her right side was inflamed and tender from the top of her ribs to her thigh, and the slightest touch near the stab wound caused her to flinch. The long scratches inflicted by the orc across her belly and chest festered, the filth of his nails infecting the lacerations.  Elrohir’s tears wet the powders and herbs he packed on to the marks, but they did not have enough bandages to cover all the wounds, for little of her flesh was unmarked. 

“Her shoulder is dislocated,” murmured Elladan.

“I was able to push the left one into place, but the right would not go easily. I dare not try again now,” replied Elrohir softly.  “Adar will need to work the muscles and tissues to allow for it.”

They had done what little they could when Haldir appeared next to them. Beneath his stern demeanor his eyes were gentle, and Elladan realized that his pity extended to them. “We must go,” he said.

Elrohir nodded, then carefully wrapped their mother in his cloak again.   He managed to mount his horse, though it appeared to be more from the stallion’s efforts than his own.  Haldir lifted Celebrían before Elladan could, and settled her in Elrohir’s arms.

“He cannot carry her much longer,” said Elladan tiredly.

Haldir glanced at him. “His hands will need to be treated lest they scar. Will you allow me to tend your head?”

Elladan blinked and looked stupidly at the elf.  He lifted his hand to his head and felt the blood caked into his hair, and the lump on his skull.  He shook his head, then climbed on to his horse.

Haldir arranged his guard to surround the four from Imladris and then continued on. At nightfall, he conferred with his own scouts and then announced, “We will make camp for the night.”

Elladan felt a hand on the reins of his horse, and when he focused his eyes he realized it was Haldir.  “I said we will camp here,” he repeated himself.

“I heard,” he answered numbly, but made no move to dismount. He watched as two Lorien elves helped Elrohir, one finally taking Celebrían from him, while the other aided Elrohir to the site where camp was being made.  A soft bed of pine boughs and blankets was made for Celebrían, and when Elrohir finally nodded, they placed her on it.

“You will let the healer aid you now,” stated Haldir.

Elladan slid down from his horse and walked to the camp, grateful when one of the Lorien elves led his horse away to be fed and cared for. He sat down beside Elrohir, and then recalled Haldir’s words about his brother’s hands.  Elrohir had his arms crossed, with his hands tucked into the sleeves of the opposite arms.  He did not resist when Elladan pulled an arm free and looked at the hand.

Elladan was aghast.  The palms of his hands were raw flesh, the burnt skin ripped loose in their climb up the cliff and down the passage into the orcs’ den.   The healer appeared, and Elrohir did not make a sound as the elf cleaned the dead and infected tissue from the wounds, but when the elf produced lengths of linen to bind his hands, Elrohir protested, “No, for then I cannot tend my naneth.”

“You will not tend your naneth with open sores on your hands,” replied the healer stolidly.  When Elrohir would have pulled away, Elladan tightened his grasp on his twin’s arm. Yet despite his adamant actions that Elrohir be treated, he clenched his fists in frustration when the healer began examining the wound on his head.

“You need to bathe first,” pronounced the healer, and Elladan shrugged out from under his hands in annoyance. When the healer stood firm, Elladan rose to his feet and allowed himself to be led to the stream.  He washed his hair and scrubbed the blood from his scalp, the pain welcome.  Thankfully, the healer only rubbed some sort of healing balm over the gash and then left him alone.

When he returned, Elrohir was coaxing their mother to drink, but she did not come to full awareness this time.  Elrohir allowed the healer to change the dressings and bathe the wounds as he watched, helping where he could. “Now you both must sleep,” said the elf in a tone that would not be dissuaded. 

Elladan did not think he could sleep until Celebrían was home.

* * *

“Elladan, wake up.”

Elladan focused his eyes to see Haldir looking down upon him, and realized that the elf’s hand covered his own on the hilt of his sword. “A party from Imladris approaches.”

A feeling of overwhelming relief flooded through him, and he sat up. His father had come.  He gently touched his mother’s forehead, and the heat that radiated through to him caused him to draw his hand back in surprise.  Pulling the cloak back, he could see where her angry wounds were reddened and swollen, and he lightly touched the edge of one, and again felt that heat.  His father had come none too soon.

Lorien elves led the Imladris elves into the camp a moment later.  Elladan saw Glorfindel first, and the elf walked straight to him.  Behind him were others of the guard, but his father was nowhere in sight.

“Where is adar?” was his only greeting to his commander.

Glorfindel looked at him soberly.  “Elrond was in no shape to travel,” he replied, then knelt down by Elrohir at Celebrían’s side.

Elrohir had also just realized also that their mother’s condition was worse, though his bandages prevented him from feeling the heat radiating from her skin.  “We must get her to adar,” he told Glorfindel desperately.

Glorfindel pulled back the cloak, but he did not examine the wounds as Elladan might have expected.  He touched Celebrían’s head and looked on the ghastly wounds, then covered her back up and stood.  He looked at his guard, who had just finished entering the camp.  “We return immediately to Imladris,” he commanded.  At the surprised looks from the elves of both realms, he continued, “Her wounds are beyond the skill of any among us. We will ride straight through.”

Elladan mounted and found himself watched again by Haldir.  Some of the Lorien guard were returning to meet Celeborn and Galadriel, but the healer, Haldir and a few others were continuing to Imladris.  Glorfindel had purposefully paired him with Haldir for the ride home, and he would not argue with own captain. Glorfindel did not even allow Elrohir to ride by himself after watching him try to mount with his bandaged hands, and Elrohir’s arguments that he did not need his hands once on the horse did not sway the captain in the least.  Elrohir was seated before Athrenen, Glorfindel’s second in Imladris, an elf who had known him from birth. Elrohir’s better sense did not prevail, however, when Glorfindel had Haldir place Celebrían in his arms for the ride, and he struggled to dismount and go to her.  To Elladan’s relief, Athranen held Elrohir tightly and turned his horse to go. When Elladan caught up to them a while later, he found his twin asleep on the horse, his eyes reddened.

“He has carried her since he removed her from the chains she was hung from,” he explained, hoping the elf would understand.

Athranen nodded grimly. “I understand,” he replied, studying Elladan’s face in the moonlight for a moment.  His eyes suddenly reflected some understanding, and he continued, “You and Elrohir are not part of this patrol, Elladan, you are part of our mission. Do not fear that words or actions will lead to reprimand.”

Elladan swallowed hard, his mind swirling. Were they no longer fit to be warriors? He brushed the thought away.  It was unimportant when his real fear was that his mother might die, might forsake her damaged body, and her feä flee to the Halls of Waiting.  Slumping in his saddle, he fell in behind Athrenen and did not complain when Haldir drew near to him. 

* * *

The pace Glorfindel set pushed elves and horses to the brink of exhaustion.  Several times Elladan nearly fell asleep on his horse, and he scowled at how close a watch Haldir kept on him.  He fixed his eyes on Glorfindel’s back, noting how straight the elf still sat despite carrying Celebrían for hours on end.  He would not let Elladan or Elrohir carry her, and even kept some distance from them, and Elladan knew he did not want them to see how bad her wounds had become or hear her in her delirium. He knew anyway.  Elrohir had tried to argue one more time, but Glorfindel had curtly told him he could not hold himself up, much less another person.  Elrohir’s face had reflected his despair at that comment, and he had been silent ever since. Elladan looked over his shoulder at Elrohir, and felt a rush of scorn at how Elrohir seemed to have fallen apart. If Athranen did not keep a tight hold him, he would fall from the horse.  He clenched the reins in his hands, fighting down the anger inside. His twin was stronger than this.

“Water!” called Glorfindel, as they approached a small stream. He slid his leg over his horse, sliding to the ground without disturbing Celebrían, whom he held gently against his chest.  Elladan dismounted behind him, patting his horse’s flank and sending him to drink, while he moved to where Glorfindel was placing Celebrían in the shade.

“Elrohir, what is this?” came Athranen’s stern voice.  “Take off your tunic.”

Elladan turned to see Elrohir stumble to the ground, his bandaged hands making it nearly impossible to comply with the order, though when Elladan saw him stand still with his head bowed he knew that he did not intend to try. Fury rose in him, and he strode to where his brother stood.

Athranen steadied Elrohir. “Are you injured? What is this from?” he asked as he wiped something from his hand on to his trouser.

Elladan reached his twin, and without asking for permission, he pulled the tunic up and over Elrohir’s head.  Elrohir stiffened and a slight moan escaped him as the fabric tugged loose from his skin, and if Athrenen had not caught him he would have fallen to the ground.

“Elladan!” hissed Athranen, trying to stop him from ripping the tunic loose.

Elladan’s fury rose as he uncovered the wounds to his brother’s side. He yanked the tunic free, ripping the festering flesh further, then grabbed Elrohir by the arms and shook him violently. “Elrohir!  What were you thinking?  Are you trying to kill yourself?  Are Naneth’s wounds not enough for us to worry about?”

Haldir pulled him off his brother, restraining both arms behind him and pulling him away to the shade of a nearby tree.  Elladan did not resist as he was pushed to the ground. His keeper kept a firm grip on his arm, and though he wished to shake the elf off and remove him from his presence, he forced a calm over himself that he did not feel and relaxed. Haldir released him and thrust a waterskin into his hands.

Elladan drank, the motions rote, as he watched Glorfindel and one of the Imladris healers tend his mother and Athranen and a Lorien healer see to his brother.  He heard Glorfindel soothing his mother as she cried out in delirium, and then looked to see Elrohir lying on his uninjured side, his face buried in his arm, as his poisoned and festering wounds were tended. Elladan clenched and unclenched his fists in anger, anger at the orcs, anger at Elrohir, and anger at himself most of all.

Haldir had brought water to the Lorien healer, and he now returned to sit next to Elladan. “The wounds were poisoned. They were probably trivial when he got them, and he pushed them from his thought in fear for your naneth,” he explained.

“He knows better than to ignore battle wounds. It is not as if we did have healers among us who could care for them,” replied Elladan stubbornly.  “He jeopardizes getting Celebrían home quickly.”

Haldir raised a brow at him, disbelief on his face. Elladan could not long meet his gaze and looked away. “I did not know he was injured,” he finally whispered, but when Haldir laid a sympathetic hand on his arm, he jerked it away.

Haldir sighed deeply. “Elladan, we are still very close to this, but soon you will need to stand back and look objectively at what happened.” He raised his hand to cut off Elladan’s objection. “I have led many missions and seen many an elf die under my command. There is appropriate responsibility to take in such cases, but traveling in Middle-earth is not safe.  You cannot protect all your people, you cannot predict every action the enemy will take, and you cannot carry such anger and guilt without it destroying you.”

Elladan tried to speak, but Haldir held up his hand again. “I am speaking and you are listening, Elrondion.  I give you this advice: do not add to the grief of those around you.”

Anger warred with shame at the chastisement, for Elladan could see some truth in the words. A low cry caught his attention and he began to rise to go to his mother, but Haldir caught his arm.  “Stay clear of them until you have your anger under control,” he warned.

Elladan struggled briefly under that iron grip. “Elladan,” interrupted Glorfindel.

He went still, turning to meet his captain’s gaze. Glorfindel’s eyes flashed dangerously. “I want to reach Imladris by tonight.  Can you keep up this pace?” Before he could answer, Glorfindel waved him off. He stood and was surprised when Glorfindel stepped close to him. “Leave off Elrohir.  Mount up.”

Elladan did as instructed and remained silent when Haldir brought his horse up close to him.  He watched Glorfindel, who held Celebrían with a look of worry that chilled his heart.  He looked back at Elrohir, who sat before Athranen again, his eyes and heart closed to Elladan. When Elladan tried to draw his attention, Elrohir bowed his head. Frustrated and full of fear, Elladan let Haldir guide him back on to their trail.

They had just entered the rolling hills that hid Imladris so effectively from the enemy, their pace a slow walk as they carefully maneuvered the many hidden clefts and valleys that appeared at the step of a foot, when a screech over head broke the quiet. Elladan looked up to see one of the great eagles soaring high above them. It circled around them, dropping down with each turn, and then decided to land not far from them.  The huge bird looked at them all curiously, but his eyes rested on Elladan. Elladan dismounted and walked to meet him, bowing when he stood before the massive talons.

“Elladan son of Elrond,” identified the eagle when Elladan rose.  “Your father sent word of great need, asking if we would see what was amiss.  For Elrond we have looked; in payment of debt to you I offer my strength.”

Sudden realization dawned on Elladan as to who this eagle was, and the eagle bowed his head in acknowledgement.  He had rescued a fallen eaglet many years earlier, climbing to the eyrie and placing him back in his nest.  The mother eagle had returned soon after, at first filled with fury that her nest had been disturbed, but turning to gratefulness when her child told of his first failed attempt to fly. Tears filled his eye and he quickly blinked them away.  He nodded to where Glorfindel held Celebrían.  “That is my mother, poisoned and tortured by orcs. I must get her to my father as soon as possible.”

“I will bear you to Imladris,” offered the eagle, and he lowered himself to the ground so that Elladan could climb to sit on his back between his wings.  Elladan turned to Glorfindel, holding his arms out in desperation.  Glorfindel held Celebrían close for a moment, his eyes boring into the eagle, but he finally dismounted and carried Celebrían to them.  Elladan whispered his thanks to the eagle as he climbed on to his back, then took his mother from Glorfindel and held her tightly “I will not let you fall,” promised the eagle.

Elladan squeezed his knees about the eagle’s body, holding on to his neck with one hand while he pressed his mother to him, as the eagle ran smoothly forward, launching himself into the sky.  It was an event he had dreamed of his whole life, to soar with the eagles, and he allowed himself to feel the joy along with the hope of placing his mother into the healing hands of his father that much sooner.

* * *

Elrond would never forget the horror of seeing Celebrían when she was carried into Imladris. He had paced with worry for those last days, knowing she was unconscious or drugged, and all he could do was support her spirit. Several times he had tried to ride out, but Erestor had stood firm. Then, in the late afternoon, he had heard the cry of a great eagle and seen the bird circling to land in the courtyard of the house. He had rushed out to meet them, taking Celebrían from Elladan’s arms when the Eagle flattened himself to the ground so that he could easily reach her. 

“Thank you,” he said to the Eagle as he took his wife in his arms.  He pulled the cloak from her face. “Ai, Celebrían!” he cried softly as he looked upon her battered form. Nothing he had imagined was as bad as what had been done to her. He strode quickly to the Healing rooms, Elladan stumbling after him.  Elrond laid her upon a soft bed and removed the cloak from around her, and felt bile rise in his throat at the horrific sight before him.  She lived, but he did not know how.

For a fleeting moment he thought he could not treat her. He ghosted his hand over the bald patches on her head where her hair had been violently torn out, and the scratches that tore into the most delicate and sensitive flesh on her abdomen and chest.  The orcs’ cruelty had been designed to cause the most pain and humiliation possible.  Her right shoulder was still grossly dislocated, and now so stiff that putting it back in place would be difficult and painful. A sudden vision of Celebrían hung by her hands from chains flashed in his mind, and he saw the orcs surrounding her, abusing her and mocking her cries. He bowed his head and closed his eyes, his hands trembling.  Please, Elbereth, he pleaded, as he had many times over these last days.  But where he had been pleading for her life to be spared, he now begged for the strength and ability to heal her. He felt a presence behind him, and looked into the face of utter exhaustion.  Elladan did not speak, but his eyes spoke volumes.  Elrond was Celebrían’s only hope this side of the Halls of Waiting. He drew in a deep breath, steeling himself, and began issuing orders to the healers who surrounded him, and they began the tedious and painful task of treating her wounds.   The worst of them all was the hideous stab wound to her hip. The site of the wound was ulcerated and festering, and heat, swelling and redness radiated from it to cover most of her side.

“I do not know of any poisons that cause such an effect,” murmured Elrond, mostly to himself, but the healers around him nodded in agreement.

He lost track of the hours they worked, cleaning wounds and treating them with various remedies. A number of elves had their hands laid upon Celebrían, singing softly and surrounding her with melodies of healing and peace.  Ithil had risen when Elrond drew a sheet over Celebrían. “I do not want her left alone at any time,” he instructed the healers. “I have been into her mind, and what haunts her must be driven away with touch and song, where we can.”

As much as he wanted to just sit next to Celebrían and hold her hand and chase away her fears, he had other responsibilities that he knew must be tended as well. He had spoken only briefly with Elladan, but he knew that some of the elves in the escort had died.   Despite the exhaustion weighing heavily on him from the healing energy he had poured into Celebrían, he went to Erestor’s office, for he knew the elf would already know what there was to know.

Erestor looked up when he entered, but did not speak a word. Instead he rose and poured Elrond a cup of miruvor, and pressed it into his hand as Elrond sat. “Tell me what you know,” Elrond said tiredly.

“Four of the escort are dead. The Lorien elves saw to their funeral pyres and will send any personal effects with Celeborn and Galadriel’s escort.  They should arrive within the week.  Arwen will be with them.” At Elrond’s look of protest, Erestor continued, “They will have flushed out any remaining orcs.  Arwen will be safe.”

“Have the others arrived?”

“Elladan is speaking to the families of those killed now. The rest of the party will arrive soon. I have sent out fresh horses to meet them.  There are injured among them.”

Elrond struggled to form the words to ask his remaining question. “What happened?”

Erestor sighed.  “Celebrían’s guard scouted the pass, as they always do, but found it clear.  The orcs in their tunneling had tunneled out over the pass.  They had multiple openings, perfect for an ambush.  They attacked them from above, rappelling down the side of the cliff.  The guards were scattered and separated, two driven back from the others.  One was killed and the other left for dead; of the remaining party, all were killed or thought dead when the orcs took Celebrían.  Elrohir had been the lead scout and came back to find his brother unconscious beneath Nathrion, with a nasty wound to the head.”

Elrond found the lump in his throat too great to allow him to swallow; indeed, it was almost too large for him to breathe.  He had not only nearly lost Celebrían, but his sons as well.  Four dead, he mourned. Many centuries had passed since Imladris had lost so many warriors at once.

“Elladan and Elrohir climbed the cliff and went down into the orcs den.  The orcs were distracted by elves coming from the east. The Lorien escort had come forward when Celebrían did not arrive, and then Celeborn arrived himself with a large war party.  The twins were able to kill the remaining orcs and escape with Celebrían,” finished Erestor.  He paused, studying Elrond.

Elrond could only nod as he considered the horror his sons and wife had lived through.   And Celebrían is barely living.  He had to push the horror she had endured from his mind, or it would overwhelm him.   He slowly rose. “Let me know when the others arrive.”

Erestor stood, moving to the balcony at a sound in the courtyard. “They are arriving now.”

The met the patrol as it entered the ground, Elrond’s eye drawn immediately to the injured. Hador was being lifted down by the healer who had ridden with him. He found Elrohir next, seated in front of Athranen, looking pale and weary.  He stepped forward to meet his son, and Elrohir stepped into his embrace with his head bowed.

“Elrohir,” he greeted him softly, his hands quickly finding the injuries to Elrohir’s side, back and hands as he pulled his son to him.

“I am sorry, Adar,” whispered Elrohir hoarsely.

“Your naneth is resting,” answered Elrond.  “Come and let me see to you.”

“Take care of Naneth,” argued Elrohir tiredly. “I will be all right.” He would have pulled away from Elrond, but Elrond would not let him go.  He turned, keeping one arm around Elrohir, and was leading him to the house when Elladan appeared. To Elrond’s surprise, Elrohir stopped and stiffened.

“How is Naneth, Adar?” asked Elladan, ignoring his twin.

“She is resting,” replied Elrond, looking from one son to the other.  Unsure of what had happened between them, he made a decision. “Elrohir, I wish to tend your wounds. Come with me.”

Elladan’s face contorted with anger.  “Take care of Naneth, Adar. I will see Elrohir to a healer.”

Elrohir shrugged his father’s arm off. “I am fine, Adar. Please, spend your energy on Naneth.”

Elrond felt as if a shadow settled over him at the moment. He did not wish to argue with his sons, had not done so in many years, and yet he would not be gainsaid in this matter.

“Elladan, please come with me,” broke in Erestor, who had watched the proceedings.  “I need some information from you.”

Elrond watched as Erestor stepped between the twins, and Elladan finally allowed himself to be led away.  Elrond took Elrohir’s arm again. “Adar, please,” beseeched Elrohir.

“Elrohir, do not argue with me,” replied Elrond firmly. “I have said I wish to see to your injuries and you will allow me to do so.”  He took Elrohir’s arm with a little more force than he had planned and led him to the healing rooms.  As soon as they entered, Elrohir looked for and found his mother.  Rushing to her bedside, he knelt down beside her, covering her hand with his own, and Elrond saw the tears flowing down his cheeks.

Elrond sat down on Celebrían’s other side, resting his hand on her head.  She was still in the deep healing sleep he had pushed her into and he did not expect her to wake any time soon.  His intent was to keep her in this state until her terrible wounds were well into the healing process.

“She will continue to sleep for some time,” he told Elrohir as he walked to the other side of the bed. He took his son’s arm again and led him to a separate alcove.  Elrohir no longer resisted, and he allowed Elrond to help him undress and then remove the soiled bandages. As his son relaxed beneath his touch, Elrond could sense the flurry of emotions in his mind. Worry for his mother underpinned everything else, but a deep sense of guilt that he had failed her was present, and also pain at something that had occurred between him and his twin.  Realization dawned on him that Elrohir’s earlier apology may not have been empathy, but responsibility.

“The wound to your right hand is different than the burns to your left, which are healing.  What happened?” he questioned.

Elrohir rolled slightly so he could see him. “I do not know, Adar.”

“It resembles the wound to your mother’s hip,” added Elrond, watching his son closely.

Elrohir paled at the mention of that wound, but after a moment he said, “I used my right hand to pull the dagger from her.”

“Your hand was already wounded? Already open and bleeding?”

“Yes,” answered Elrohir numbly. “There was no time to think to do otherwise.”

“Of course not,” agreed Elrond. “But I think the knife was able to harm you because of the open wound.” He prepared a poultice much like what he had used on Celebrían’s hip, and wrapped Elrohir’s hand, then tended to his other hand, side and back. Bruises on Elrohir’s arm caused a moment of guilt as he thought he had grasped his son’s arm too hard, but both arms were bruised.  Looking closely, he saw the bruises were in the pattern of fingerprints. He decided to ignore them for now.

He finished, then sat on the side of the bed and stroked Elrohir’s hair.   Elrohir had drifted into a state of relaxation, but also of vulnerability.  “Speak to me, Elrohir,” he coaxed.  He decided to avoid the subject of what had happened to Celebrían and probed elsewhere. “What is wrong between you and Elladan?”

Elrohir shifted, trying to roll on to his wounded side, and Elrond quickly intervened to prevent him from doing so.  Just then, Elladan entered the healing rooms.  He looked from his mother, whom several healers sat near, to Elrohir and Elrond. His eyes narrowed and a cold look crossed his face. Elrond beckoned to him.

“Sit down, Elladan,” he instructed, pointing to a nearby chair. “How is your head?”

“Healed,” answered Elladan curtly. “Elrohir would be as well, if he had taken due care with his wounds.” He addressed his next words to his twin, who was awake though barely alert after his long day’s riding. “He knows better than to hide a wound and put others at risk because of it.”

To Elrond’s surprise, Elrohir did not answer. He tried to roll on to his side again, removing the bandages from Elladan’s sight, Elrond realized. When Elrond blocked him from doing so again, Elrohir turned his face away from his twin.  The despair about him was palpable.

“Elrond, I need to speak to Elladan in my office, now,” said Glorfindel brusquely from behind them.

Glorfindel was still covered in trail dust, weariness heavy about him and his eyes glittered dangerously as they met Elladan’s. Elrond nearly hissed in frustration. He looked down at Elrohir, then waved another healer over.  “Finish cleaning him up,” he instructed. “Glorfindel, will my study do?”

Glorfindel clenched his jaw, the muscles throbbing, as his anger grew. “I can handle this, Elrond. Stay here.”

“My study,” growled Elrond. He strode from the room, marched down the hall to his office and threw the door open.  When Glorfindel and Elladan entered, he shut the door firmly behind them. “What is going on?” he demanded.

Glorfindel ignored him and turned on Elladan, grasping him by the front of his tunic and pulling him up until they were face to face. “You have been given one order by me, Elladan, and a word of advice by Haldir, both of which you have failed to heed.  Lay off Elrohir, and do not add to the grief of those around you.  You have had nearly a full day to calm down and I arrive to find you still harassing Elrohir and creating turmoil for him, your father, the healers and Erestor. You are not helping your naneth this way.” Glorfindel paused for breath, his eyes flashing. He loosened his hold on Elladan slightly. “Haldir’s advice was sound, Elladan.  Please stop before you hurt anyone else around you or destroy yourself.”

Glorfindel released Elladan, and with a brief nod at Elrond, left the room.  Elrond watched as Elladan straightened his tunic, his hands shaking, and then sank into a chair. He leaned forward, burying his face in his hands, and Elrond heard him draw a deep shuddering breath.  When Elladan finally looked up and met his gaze, he looked repentant. “I am sorry, Adar.  Glorfindel is right. I am only adding to your grief. Please go back to the healing rooms.”

Elrond shook his head. “Tell me why you are upset with Elrohir.”

“I do not know that I can explain why,” answered Elladan. “He was strong helping to rescue Naneth, but then he became weak. He let others command him and he did not tell anyone about the wounds to his side and back. He did not really slow us down, but he might have.” He paused, but then continued in frustration. “Elrohir is stronger than this. He knows better. Why would he do this?”

“Elrohir is ill,” answered Elrond slowly. “The wounds to his hand resemble the wound to your naneth’s hip. The dagger he pulled from her poisoned him too, though obviously much less severely. I think his other wounds will not heal because of that.  I will know more as I treat him over the next several days.”

Elladan’s face fell as the weight of Elrond’s words settled on him.  “Adar, what have I done? I have failed Elrohir as I failed Naneth,” he said miserably.

Elrond strode forward quickly, kneeling beside his son and wrapping his arms around him. “From what I have heard, I do not think you failed your mother. As for Elrohir, you know he will forgive you; you need only to ask. You do need to let go of your guilt and anger, though. Do not let them destroy you.”

Elladan nodded.  “I must go to Elrohir.”

Father and son walked back to the healing rooms together. Elrond went immediately to Celebrían, but he watched as Elladan went to his brother.  Elrohir was asleep, however, and Elladan could only kiss his brow and gently stroke his hair. “Shall I take him back to our rooms, Adar?” he asked.

“No, I wish to monitor his wounds and that will be easier done here,” decided Elrond.

When Elladan continued to pace in the rooms, one of the apprentice healers brought a cot and placed it beside Elrohir’s bed. At a glance from his father, Elladan acquiesced and lay down to rest. The lights were lowered in the healing rooms, and Elrond found a comfortable position from which he could hold Celebrían’s hand.  He had no idea how many frustrating days and nights he would spend there.

~ ~ ~* * *~ ~ ~

Elrond felt a tug on his mind and turned his thoughts westward.   The presence of evil that he had sensed earlier had grown and was drawing near.  It was no threat to Imladris, though Elrond sensed it was a threat to the one who carried it.

“Elrond, you are needed,” interrupted Erestor.

Elrond walked on to the front porch with Arwen just as Asfaloth trotted into the yard, his bells strangely silent.  On his back sat Aragorn; in his arms a cloak wrapped hobbit.  Trailing a distance behind them was Glorfindel with three more hobbits in tow, their short legs running to keep up with Glorfindel’s long stride, and the elves Elrond had sent to meet them.

Elrond reached for the hobbit before Aragorn could dismount, and he knew before touching him that the evil he had felt resided inside him.  Soon it would overtake him.

“This is Frodo. He was stabbed in the shoulder with a morgul blade fourteen days ago,” said Aragorn in greeting. He slid from the horse, and the three other hobbits raced to gather around him and look hopefully upon Elrond.

Elrond spared at glance at the four of them as he turned to take Frodo into the house. They were all filthy and exhausted, and he heard the youngest appearing hobbit’s stomach growl. “Baths and food will be prepared for you immediately. I will come to you after I have seen to Frodo,” he said kindly.

One of the hobbits opened his mouth to protest, but Aragorn gently steered him away from Elrond. Elrond could not help but smile as he heard another of the hobbits gasp as he was introduced to Arwen, but he felt the urgency to see to Frodo and could not linger. Mithrandir passed him as he walked in. The wizard drew back the cloak from Frodo’s face and shook his head.  “It is worse than I feared.”

“Gandalf!” cried one of the hobbits.  “Where have you been? Why didn’t you meet us?”

“I will see to them first and learn what has passed,” said Mithrandir, and he continued out of the house to greet them.

Elrond could not help but compare Frodo’s wound to that of Celebrían.  Frodo’s arm and side were cold, though the wound itself seemed to have healed over. He pressed along the wound edges carefully, but while he could not physically feel anything amiss beneath his fingers, he sensed that the lingering cold and shadow that enveloped the hobbit stemmed from deep inside. Either something remains buried in the wound or he fades from the effect it has had, he contemplated. He carefully removed the rest of the hobbit’s clothing, allowing the other healers to help him bathe the layers of dirt from their patient.  “They were pursued by Nazgûl,” said one elf who had joined them late and already heard some of the story. “The Dúnadan took them into the wilds, through swamps and over the hills, until Glorfindel found them.”

He listened to the healers speak quietly around him, discussing what they had heard of the journey and the encounter the small group had had with the Nine.  Their voices faded as a strange discord rose within him, and he focused on Vilya for a moment, using his ring to determine the source of the disharmony.  It comes from Frodo.  He ran his fingers over the puckered wound again.  But not just from the wound.  He bent and picked up the hobbit’s clothing, and immediately identified the cause. Though he did not touch it directly, he felt the power of the ring through the fabric that held it.  It whispered its desire, its song striving to overpower that of Vilya upon his hand.  The discord rose in greater volume as he contemplated what lay before him.

Though he held the small coat motionless, the ring slipped from the pocket, landing on the edge of his sleeve on the bed.  It called steadily to him, whispering its promises of the healing and light it could help him bring to all peoples.  All of Middle-earth like Imladris.  Wounds healed, enemies subdued, people living in peace.  Elrond listened to the promises for a moment; his heart scarcely beating at the temptation before him.  It is wholly evil, he reminded himself. Will you be so easily misled? He sent all of his thought at the ring, forcefully proclaiming: I reject you.

“He worsens,” spoke one of the healers.

Elrond took a quill from the bedside table and slid the ring on to it.  “I need a chain,” he said quietly, looking around the gathered elves.  One held forth a gold chain from under his tunic, and Elrond nodded. The elf removed the token from the chain, slipping the item into his pocket and handed the chain to Elrond.  Elrond slid the ring on to it, fastened the clasp, and motioned for the elf nearest him to lift Frodo’s head.  He hung the chain over the hobbit’s head.  He was not surprised when Frodo’s breathing became more regular and deep, and the slightest of color returned to his face. He nodded for his assistants to continue.

Voices rose in song as the elves laid their hands upon Frodo, strengthening him and bringing peace to him through the melody they wove with his spirit.  Elrond rested his hands upon Frodo’s brow and heart, entering deep into a healing trance. Whatever afflicted Frodo would not be battled with typical wound healing techniques, but what healing they could provide remained to be seen.

When Elrond felt the hobbit was sufficiently strengthened, they dressed him in a soft nightshirt and took him to a comfortable bed, where the mountain breeze could drift over him through the open balcony.  Bilbo had long claimed that the air of Rivendell was the cleanest and freshest he had breathed, begrudgingly admitting it surpassed even that of the Shire.  As Elrond stood from covering Frodo with a light blanket, he caught sight of the ancient hobbit nodding approvingly from the door.

“How is my nephew and be straight with me,” said Bilbo, his voice quavering slightly.

“He is strengthened and resting comfortably, though he is not healed,” replied Elrond honestly.  “When he has rested we will need to see what harm is still being done to him and why.”

Another hobbit appeared behind Bilbo, then. He was sturdy and younger than Frodo, though not yet clean.  “I had to see him, Mr. Bilbo, I don’t care none what the elves say. I need to see him with my own eyes, if you understand.”

“Aye, Sam Gamgee, you do.  Well, there he is, though Master Elrond says he is not through yet,” replied Bilbo as he patted the hobbit on the shoulder.

Sam edged his way past the elves, maneuvering until he was between Elrond and the bed.  He lifted Frodo’s pale hand in his own brown one, petting it. “You’re in Rivendell, Mr. Frodo. Strider says Master Elrond can heal you, if anyone can.”

Elrond watched as Sam settled himself, apparently determining he would keep watch at the bedside.  He smiled, and bent down near the hobbit. “Master Samwise, a bath awaits you, and then a clean soft bed. On this night I must insist, as you are in dire need of both. Tomorrow you may sit watch over your master.”

Sam looked ready to protest again, as he had in the courtyard, but Bilbo stepped forward. “Come now, Sam. In this house Elrond is master and there is no use arguing with him. The elves will watch Frodo tonight.” 

“He hasn’t been sleeping good, or eating. You’ll have to watch him,” warned Sam as Bilbo ushered him from the room.

Elrond smiled at the admonishments, yet was warmed inside by the loyalty of this simple hobbit.  He had heard as they tended Frodo that Sam was his gardener, as his father had been to Bilbo before him.  Though he did not yet know why, he suddenly knew that Frodo would need Sam desperately, should he survive.

Aragorn came to him next, looking considerably better than he had when he arrived.  Elrond motioned for him to sit next to him, and he smiled when Aragorn folded his lanky body onto the settee beside him.  Aragorn studied the pale, drawn face of the sleeping hobbit for a long moment. “They are amazing creatures, Elrond.  Hobbits do not fade easily.” He lifted a wrapped package that he had brought with him, pulling back the edges so Elrond could see what was lying within.  “This is the hilt of the blade that the Witch King stabbed him with.  The blade disintegrated.”

Elrond took the package from his son’s hands, careful not to touch the metal directly.  Even without touch, he knew the metal was cold, and the light around them shadowed as he held it up.  He studied the runes. “This blade was created for the Úlairi, to create others to serve them. The runes speak of eternal enslavement of the spirit.  It is filled with the presence of the undead.” He looked from the hilt to Frodo, sensing even more clearly the cold shadow that surrounded the hobbit. “Some part remains inside him, though I cannot feel it, the same evil that emanates from this blade stirs within Frodo. If we do not remove it, it will take him and he will become like them.”

“Where is It?” asked Aragorn quietly.

“On a chain around his neck,” Elrond answered and he moved to stand at he bedside, lifting the collar of Frodo’s nightshirt slightly that Aragorn could glimpse the ring. “None shall remove it, nor touch it.”

Aragorn looked upon him thoughtfully, and Elrond knew that his son wished to ask if he had been tempted. He knew that Aragorn had made the decision years earlier to never take the ring into his possession should it come to him, for he feared that like Isildur, it would ensnare him. “It called to me,” he admitted. “While its promises are alluring, they are only an illusion designed to ensnare.” He studied Aragorn, sensing the man’s strength of will and character.  “You are strong, Aragorn,” he said, “strong enough that you would be a fearsome opponent with the power of the One in your control.  It would ensnare and destroy you through your desires for good, much as it would me. I would be a terrible lord with it in my power, and every vestige of self control and goodwill I have striven for would become perverted.  You have traveled with Frodo for many days and the ring remains in his possession. You are not and will not be easily led astray.”

Aragorn relaxed slightly next to him. “Its call was strong, but as the days progressed it grew less. The hobbits are strangely unaffected by it.”

“Bilbo gave it up willingly, though he needed Mithrandir’s aid to do so.  While I thought him unique, perhaps in the fiber of the hobbits there is little desire for power, and thus little hold it can have over them. That the ring has come into the possession of hobbits has been for the good of us all.”

Elrond laid his hand upon Aragorn’s shoulder, sending strength and peace into him. “Go and rest. I will stay with Frodo, and I will see that this is properly destroyed,” he said, motioning to the cruel metal which he had laid on the table beside them.

“You put me to sleep when you do that,” accused Aragorn with a smile.

Elrond laughed. “That was my intent.”

“Where are Elladan and Elrohir?” Aragorn asked suddenly.

“I know not. They rode out with the rangers several months ago.”

Aragorn had grown languid, his eyes drooping slightly as Elrond continued to rest his hand on his shoulder. “I have never seen Glorfindel as I saw him today. Had I known what he could become, I would have crossed him less as a child.”

Elrond laughed in memory, thinking of how this mortal child had adored the golden haired warrior with the light of Valinor in his eyes, knowing only his love and never understanding his power.  “Go and rest, or I shall send for Glorfindel to escort you,” he threatened.

Aragorn rose, but he stopped by the bedside and leaned over Frodo, resting his hand on the hobbit’s forehead.  “Hold on, Frodo,” he whispered, and then left to find rest.

Elrond settled into the quiet at Frodo’s bedside as night fell.  Arwen had come and gone, returning with the scrolls and tomes he had requested. “What can I help you to find, Adar?” she asked as she settled in a chair near the fireplace.

Elrond smiled at his daughter, glad as always for her presence at his side.  “I do not know what I am looking for,” he replied, yet he did wish for her company. “Bring your embroidery and sit with me.”

Together they sat through the long watch of the night, strengthening Frodo when his strength waned, and chasing away the shadows that haunted his dreams.

* * *

In the days of Arahad I the Orcs, who had, as later appeared, long been secretly occupying strongholds in the Misty Mountains, so as to bar all passes into Eriador, suddenly revealed themselves. In 2509 Celebrían wife of Elrond was journeying to Lorien when she was waylaid in the Redhorn Pass, and her escort being scattered by the sudden assault of Orcs, she was seized and carried off. She was pursued and rescued by Elladan and Elrohir, but not before she had suffered torment and received a poisoned wound. She was brought back to Imladris, and though healed in body by Elrond, lost all delight in Middle-earth, and the next year went to the Havens and passed over Sea.  Appendix A, Lord of the Rings.

Thank you to daw and karri for beta reading this chapter

Chapter 6: The Ring-bearer

For he is very wise, and weighs all things to a nicety in the scales of his malice. But the only measure that he knows is desire, desire for power; and so he judges all hearts. 

Gandalf, The Council of Elrond, FotR

Imladris
October 21, 3018

A stirring from the bed roused Elrond from his half-sleep and he moved quickly to Frodo’s bedside.  Shadow hung heavy over the hobbit. His breathing had grown shallow, his skin was a ghostly shade of grey, and his arm and shoulder were icy to the touch. Elrond sat on the edge of the bed and laid his hands on the frail form, pouring his healing strength into Frodo.  A moment later he felt the gentle presence of his daughter as she joined him, her hands imparting comfort to Frodo even as she added her strength to that which Elrond could provide.  Several minutes passed before Elrond felt Frodo had been pulled far enough back from the edge of the wraith-world for him to withdraw.  He felt the One Ring as he removed his hand from Frodo’s chest, and he exerted Vilya’s considerable power against it. The One was subdued, and Elrond intended to keep it that way.

He raised his eyes to look out the balcony and over the waterfall that poured out of the mountains to the east.  Anor was rising, visible only as a faint glow beyond the peaks. He had always enjoyed watching the sun rise, the shadows and dances of light as the bright glow burst through clefts in the rock and finally rose to tower above them unique each day. He sighed, then turned his gaze back to Frodo.  Hope remained that this hobbit, who had survived already for a fortnight with a shard of the morgul blade within him, would gain enough strength that they could attempt to remove it.  Yet he was weakened, pushed to the very edge of life in this world, and without the elves to hold his spirit here, Mordor would claim him. A battle raged inside him, with the shard seeking to pierce and claim his heart while Elrond sought to hold it at bay.  Elrond had determined that the unknown player in the battle was the Ring. While it wanted to return to its master and thus aided the shard to that end, Elrond’s sharp rejection and the conflict induced by being near Vilya caused it to cling to Frodo, lending him its strength, however unintentional.

Arwen pressed a cup of tea into his hand, and he sipped the warm liquid gratefully.  He was tired, having expended much of his energy tending to Frodo, and he would soon need to rest.  Mithrandir would arrive soon, and with the aid of the healers, he would provide relief for Elrond for a few hours.

“Drink, Frodo,” said Arwen softly as she wet his lips with drops of water, stroking his cheek until he opened his mouth slightly.  She had moved to sit next to him, his head in her lap, as she patiently dripped fluid into his mouth.

Her face was pale and sorrow was visible in her eyes, Elrond noted. She too was tired, having spent the night at his side. She had helped in the healing rooms since she was old enough to understand what her father did there, sometimes fetching items the healers needed and other times sitting at a patient’s side, holding their hand or reading to them.  Her mere presence was enough to bring a smile to most faces, and as she grew her beauty had distracted many a patient as their wounds were tended.  She will make a great queen, came the unbidden thought.

The door opened, drawing Elrond’s thoughts from the past and future back into the present.  Mithrandir entered, followed by Bilbo, Aragorn and Glorfindel. He had asked Glorfindel to gather this small group to discuss the Ring-bearer.  His long night of study and care for Frodo had led him to some conclusions which needed to be spoken and agreed upon before any more time passed.  He looked at each person, his gaze resting longest on his daughter, wondering if she should hear these discussions. He decided she should.

“Aragorn brought me the hilt of the blade used to stab Frodo,” he began gravely. “On it were written things both seen and unseen, of Mordor and Sauron and the world of shadow.  A piece of the blade intentionally broke off and stayed in the wound, and has been working its way to Frodo’s heart.  Should it pierce his heart, he will become a wraith, like the Nine only under their control.

“The One has only one true desire: to be reunited with its maker and be wielded by him.  It wants to return to Sauron, and the easiest way for that to happen is for Frodo to cross into the wraith world and become one of Sauron’s servants. That fate is eternal agony, much as it is for the Nine.”

Elrond paused as Bilbo’s face blanched and he shuddered.  Gandalf laid a comforting arm on the old hobbit’s shoulders, and Bilbo nodded for Elrond to continue.

“The One, in its malice, has aided the shard.  Frodo was nearly lost to us at the Fords, and only his call upon Elbereth likely saved him, for the One and the Nine are repelled by the hope of Varda, star-kindler.  Our enemy desperately needed to keep Frodo from Imladris, but was unable to do so. But, we hold Frodo here even now by only the weakest of threads.” Elrond paused for a moment. “The One, if not able to be reunited with its maker, would seek instead someone capable of wielding it.  It called to me as I treated Frodo; it has called to you, Mithrandir, in the Shire, and to Aragorn and Glorfindel on the road.  It has received only rejection.  I have noticed throughout this long night that rejection subdues the One.”

“What good does that do?” asked Bilbo haltingly.

“I believe,” Elrond replied, “that the shard is made by the same malice or craft that created the One Ring, a malice that knows only a desire for power. A heart that seeks power would be easily found by the shard. Frodo’s heart, like yours, Bilbo, does not seek power. This is why Frodo has managed to resist for so long: the shard has had only the weakest beacon to guide it.  The ring aided the shard, for it is power and it already had some power over Frodo, until Frodo reached Imladris.  The One subdued no longer aids the shard, and in fact, may now be hindering it.”

“How so?” asked Aragorn, his curiosity aroused.

“We have all rejected the One, and thus it is left where it has long rested: in the hands of one who is, by Sauron’s scales, powerless.  But better in the hands of the powerless than lost or forgotten.  The ring needs Frodo,” he explained.

“What if,” asked Bilbo, his eyes wide, “the shard claims Frodo?”

Elrond regarded the old hobbit steadily. “We must not let that happen. If we cannot heal him, we must do the unthinkable and prevent the Enemy from claiming him.”

The weight of Elrond’s words hung heavily upon all in the room, and he could see Bilbo working out the meaning of them in his mind, his lips moving slowly as he spoke silently to himself.

“So you mean to kill him,” said Bilbo finally.

“Better to die by our hand than to endure endless suffering,” replied Elrond quietly. “However, I do not foresee this circumstance being necessary.  With the One subdued, I hope to protect Frodo’s heart, then isolate and remove the shard.  He must regain some strength first. For his protection, one of us must remain with him at all times.” His eyes rested on Mithrandir as he spoke, and the wizard acknowledged him silently.  The additional conflict that Vilya and Narya provided against the One only they could wield.

“I would have gone to the Shire myself to get that ring. I would take it wherever you wish,” said Bilbo slowly, and tears filled his eyes. “I do not think I could kill my nephew.”

“We would not ask such a thing of you,” replied Elrond, compassion filling him for this hobbit he had come to love.  He would not tell Bilbo that he did not know if he could do this thing either.  Hands that had only healed for thousands of years were loath to cause any harm, much less death.  But could he let Frodo be claimed by Shadow? Forces greater than them were at work, as Mithrandir had reminded him only yesterday, and he prayed those forces would not allow them to be faced with such a decision.

Elrond met the eyes of each person silently, Aragorn nodding his understanding, while Mithrandir and Glorfindel communicated silently with him.  While Mithrandir indicated his agreement, Glorfindel said, ‘Your hands will not do this thing, should it be necessary.’ Elrond closed his eyes for a moment, humbled that his friend and protector would be willing to protect him even from this.  He looked last at Arwen.  She still sat on the bed with Frodo in her arms, stroking his hair while tears ran down her face. She sensed his gaze and lifted her eyes to meet his.  She nodded her understanding.

Aragorn walked to the bed and stood next to Arwen, resting his hand on Frodo for a moment. Then, taking Arwen’s face in his hands, he wiped the tears from her face and kissed her tenderly.  Elrond watched the display of affection and love between his daughter and foster-son with a mixture of pain and joy. That their love was true he did not doubt and he rejoiced that each had found the one they wished to bind to, but though he had tried to be happy for them, he could not convince his own heart that it did not hurt.  Only recently had they begun to show any affection for each other before him, and he had sworn he would do nothing to cause them pain.

There was a knock at the door, and Mithrandir opened it to admit Sam.  The hobbit opened his mouth to speak, then looked around the room, his gaze finally landing on Arwen. Speechless, he watched with hands twitching as she performed the duties he felt were his.

“Good morning, Samwise,” said Elrond.

Sam nodded shyly as he moved closer to Arwen, finally daring to touch Frodo’s hand.  “How is Mr. Frodo?” he asked, looking at Elrond.

“He fights still, and we fight with him,” answered Elrond truthfully.  He moved a comfortable chair next to the bed and motioned Bilbo toward it.  The old hobbit sank into the comfortable cushions, arranging himself so he could hold Frodo’s hand. 

His communication for Mithrandir was not for hobbit ears, though, and he made it silently, telling the wizard of the long night’s fight against shadow and darkness.  Wield Narya against the One. The immediate discord you experience will lessen, and It will choose dormancy. Send for me if he slips beyond what you can easily manage, he instructed. Glorfindel will stop in periodically.

Aragorn and Glorfindel slipped silently from the room as Mithrandir nodded his understanding, and Elrond waited silently as Arwen allowed Sam to take her place. Once he was settled, she kissed his head, stunning him into further silence. “You are a faithful friend, Samwise Gamgee,” she said.

Elrond held his arm out to Arwen, and they left Frodo to the care of his friends.  Elrond stopped at the door to Arwen’s chamber. “Rest, my daughter,” he said as he embraced her.

He entered the serenity of his own chambers, removing his robes and then stretching out on his bed.  The fight to keep Frodo in this world had drained him, and he needed the sleep that settled on him almost immediately.

* * *

“Elrond, wake up.”

Elrond was sure he had just closed his eyes when Glorfindel’s voice invaded his thought.   He sat up and looked out the window, but the sun indicated several hours had passed.   He combed his hair back with his fingers and rubbed his temples, then looked expectantly at Glorfindel.

“Dwarves from the Lonely Mountain have arrived,” he said grimly.  “They will not tell their tale to anyone but you, but they carry a message for Bilbo as well.  Erestor told them you could not be disturbed right now and sent them to rest. He has asked them to speak to you before seeking out Bilbo.  I would have let you sleep, but Mithrandir asked for you as well.”

Elrond rose immediately to his feet at that word, quickly making himself presentable before returning to the room where Frodo lay. A row of worried hobbit faces met his.

“Elrond,” greeted Gandalf, relief in his voice.

Elrond smiled at the hobbits reassuringly as he moved to the bed.  He rested his hand on Frodo’s forehead, then turned to Gandalf.  “I believe that Bilbo has chosen his favorite Shire foods for the midday meal. Gandalf, will you escort everyone to the dining room?” As he spoke, Elrond strengthened Frodo, who rapidly improved, his face becoming less pale and his breathing more regular.

Bilbo rose slowly to his feet, then patted Frodo’s hand.  “Come,” he ordered the younger hobbits kindly. Sam opened his mouth to protest, but Bilbo interrupted, “Do not argue, Sam. Master Elrond will see to him.”

“I am hungry,” added Pippin half-heartedly. He nudged at Merry, who only nodded as he looked at Elrond with worry in his eyes.

“Elrond’s cooks will be glad to remedy that problem,” said Gandalf as he shepherded the hobbits toward the door. 

Sam left only reluctantly, Gandalf’s hand on his shoulder pushing him gently out the door.  When the room had emptied, Elrond sat on the edge of the bed and laid his hands upon Frodo, touching upon the hobbit’s spirit and calling him back from the edge of the wraith-world.   Frodo was slow to respond, and at first made no attempt to answer the call.  Only when Elrond drew so near as to touch his own fëa to that of the hobbit did Frodo react, finally turning and allowing Elrond to pull him back.

Elrond turned his attention next to the closed wound on Frodo’s shoulder. Now that he knew what lay hidden within, he sought for it, pressing his fingers along a line from the shoulder wound to the heart.  He could sense the presence of the same shadow he had felt in the hilt of the knife in Frodo, but it dissipated under his skin and Elrond was unable to localize it to one spot.  He laid his hand upon the goal of the shard, Frodo’s heart, and pushed at the evil that encroached upon it, pressing it back. To his satisfaction, he felt the evil recede slightly, and he turned the full force of Vilya’s power upon it.

His next awareness was of Glorfindel’s voice. “Elrond, enough for now.” He opened his eyes, gradually drawing his mind back to the present.  “Frodo is much improved,” reported Glorfindel, smiling when Elrond finally focused his eyes on him.

He looked at the hobbit, who appeared now as if he were only sleeping.  His cheeks had the slightest pink tinge to them, and he yawned and moved slightly, making himself more comfortable. Relief filled him. He traced the invisible line he had drawn from the wound to the heart, pleased he had pushed the shard back a considerable distance.  He still could not localize it, but hope filled him that he would soon be able to.

“You must eat,” Glorfindel informed him.

“I will wait for dinner,” replied Elrond absently. A few hours of rest seemed more beneficial to him.

“It is time for dinner,” answered Glorfindel.  “Aragorn and Arwen will sit with Frodo this evening.”

Elrond stood slowly, awareness of his efforts and how long he had been at them now dawning as he found himself again weary.  He suddenly realized that Aragorn and Arwen were in the room, and he smiled when the saw new hope that Frodo would survive reflected in their faces.  They embraced him wordlessly, then stepped aside as Glorfindel guided him out of the room.

Dinner had been sent to his study, and Erestor was setting it out for him a table. He poured a cup of Elrond’s favorite wine and set that next to the plate, then lit the lamps near the desk for additional light.  Papers were neatly laid out on the table, and Elrond knew they were sure to be in perfect order, with all information available summarized for him.  He smiled gratefully at Erestor.

“Galdor has arrived from the Havens,” said Erestor as Elrond sat down. “Círdan sent you only a brief note, appointing Galdor as his representative for the decisions that need to be made.”

Elrond smiled.  Círdan knew of the major events in Middle-earth before they happened, proof again that forces greater than elves, men, dwarves and hobbits were at work.

“The dwarves have agreed to withhold their message from Bilbo for now,” continued Erestor. “I have made them aware that Bilbo’s close kin is ill and he is unavailable.  Glóin has indicated it is a warning from Dáin Ironfoot, that a messenger from Mordor had come seeking news of the hobbit and his ring.”

Elrond ate as he listened to Erestor succinctly summarize all the events happening in Imladris and the news they had received from beyond their borders.  With Black Riders to their west and news of Sauron’s messengers to their east, it felt as if shadow were surrounding them, closing an ever tighter noose around his hidden valley.

“Thank you, Erestor,” he said when his advisor had finished.  “Please let Glorfindel know to wake me if I have not appeared by midnight.”

Erestor nodded, and Elrond rose and walked down the hall that connected to his sitting room and private chambers. He entered his room, intent on seeking rest, and noted the reflection of Ithil’s light in the mirror above his dressing table.  He sighed, knowing that his weariness was reflected in his thoughts – thoughts of fear that he would be unable to heal Frodo fully, for the hobbit had walked too long in the world of the wraiths and become too entwined with the One Ring, for it too had aided his healing.  Helplessness, for he knew that the time for action was near, and he would need to step back and allow others to lead the way; others who were dear to his heart.

He walked to the bed, noting the rumpled coverlet, and for a moment he forgot that he had been the one to disturb the bedclothes earlier that day.  He saw silver hair spilling across the deep blue material and knew he had wandered on to the path of dreams, for there she sometimes appeared, and always she was his bright Celebrían, his comfort and support no matter how dark the days.  But as he sat down beside her, he realized her eyes were closed.

~ ~ ~* * *~ ~ ~

Elrond stood in the shadows of the chamber he had shared with Celebrían for centuries, watching as she rested in Ithil’s light.  Her eyes were closed, something he was now used to, but as the weeks and months had gone by it had become a sign to him of the state of her fëa. Her body was healed, yet it seemed as if her light, which used to radiate from her eyes, now was slowly dissipating from her skin instead.  She seemed to be growing steadily more translucent, her elven glow once golden and healthy now fading to a clear light.

He moved soundlessly to the bed, seating himself on its edge, and picking up her hand in his own.  She immediately wrapped her fingers around his hand, tugging unconsciously, even in sleep trying to pull him close to her.  Without releasing her hand, he turned and leaned back against the headboard, then gathered her in his arms and held her close.

She sighed softly and relaxed against him, and Elrond felt as if a vise gripped his heart and began to squeeze mercilessly. His touch still brought her comfort, she still longed for his presence, but he knew they were not enough.  The effort she put forth in trying to live was only draining her further.  She took no joy in her life anymore, yet he knew she wished to, for the sake of those she loved.  But Elrond knew the truth in his heart: if he did not let her go, grief would separate them and she would go instead to Mandos’s Halls.

He felt the tears begin to slide down his cheeks as he stroked her hair. The vise grip on his heart gradually released as he slowly came to accept the decision his mind told him he must make. While his heart cried out that he did not know how he could go on without her, his disciplined and rational mind reminded him that he would go on because he had to.  She will heal in the west, his mind whispered.  When you join her there, she will be your bright Celebrían again, your silver queen.

His heart remained anguished though. Concerned she would sense his distress, he tenderly settled her back on to the bed, noting her frown as she accepted the edge of a blanket to hold in lieu of his hand.   He slid from the bed, moving to the open terrace and out into the gardens. Celebrían’s gardens, he reminded himself.  He choked on an anguished sob, and then fled to the furthermost corner of the garden. An ancient beech tree welcomed him, and he sank against it in despair. “I should go with her; she should not face this alone,” he cried out softly.

He wrapped his arms about himself as he drew in great heaving breaths, as if that motion would somehow stop the pain. Instead he felt as if he were spiraling out of control. In his mind’s eye he could see Celebrían diminishing in the distance. He reached out to her, but to no avail. She did not reach back to him, but merely looked upon him with sadness.

“Elrond.”

Elrond started at the sound his name, his head jerking back with such force that he struck it hard against the beech tree. He actually saw stars and could not help the surprised cry that escaped him, but his vision cleared a moment later. Celeborn and Galadriel knelt before him, concern written clearly on their faces.

“She is no worse,” he said immediately, hoping to assuage their fears about Celebrían.

Galadriel sat at his side, facing him, one slender hand reaching to touch the back of his head.   The throbbing pain left him immediately. She slid her hand down his arm, taking his hand firmly in her own.  Celeborn had seated himself next to them, one hand resting lightly on Elrond’s arm. While he had thought he wished only to be alone with his tormented thoughts, he found himself suddenly grateful for their presence.  Their touch strengthened and comforted him. But she is their daughter, they have their own pain, he chided himself guiltily.

Galadriel ignored his thoughts. “What has brought you to such distress this night, Elrond?” she asked instead.

Confronted so directly, Elrond did not have time to strengthen his self control and could not stop the tears that formed and slipped from his eyes.  He drew in another deep breath, closing his eyes as he prepared for what he had to say. When he opened them again, he met their gazes solidly. “I believe that Celebrían’s only hope in healing lies in the West.  She needs to sail soon, or I fear she will slip from this life and into the care of Námo.”

“I also believe this to be true,” replied Galadriel gravely. Next to her, Celeborn was at first silent, his head bowed, but when he finally looked up, he appeared resigned.

“I know not the West or what healing it may provide, but I have no hope to offer my daughter. In my heart, I believe I know what you say to be true,” Celeborn said slowly. He looked Elrond straight in the eye, then. “I do not want my child to suffer any longer. Her light has gone out; joy resides within her no longer.”

Elrond blinked back tears as he heard a father’s anguish. He pulled his hand free from Galadriel and unconsciously twisted Vilya upon his finger. “I do not know if I can let her go without me,” he said finally. “She should not have to face this alone.”

Galadriel grabbed his hand again, squeezing the ring on his finger, at the same time she bared her feelings before him.  He could see into her heart, the pain and anguish and guilt and despair, because for all her power, she had not been able to protect her only child, nor heal her. “When you put this upon your hand,” she said hoarsely, “you committed yourself to either finishing the task set before us in Middle-earth, or dying upon her soil trying. Our work is not complete, Elrond Peredhel, and your time has not yet come to leave these shores.”

Elrond’s anger flared, but he calmed and instead sighed. “I know this.”

“She will not be alone,” added Galadriel softly. “My parents will care for her.”

Elrond thought back to the few times he had spoken with Finarfin, High King of the Noldor in Aman, during the War of Wrath. He recalled the elf’s bright countenance and gentle ways, his soft yet stern voice, and how he his presence had filled whatever space he occupied.  He had liked the elf.  The king had spoken to him as a blood relative, uncle to Turgon, Elrond’s great-grandfather. He knew Eärendil and Elwing, and had told Elrond he would bring word of him and Elros to their parents.  If he had taken that much care with a relative as distant as Elrond, then he could only imagine the care that Finarfin would show his own granddaughter.

“That eases my heart,” said Celeborn suddenly. He looked at Galadriel, a bemused look on his face. “I liked your father.”

A brief look of longing crossed Galadriel’s face, one that Elrond had seldom seen, and he could not help but wonder how often the sea-longing called her, and homesickness troubled her.  She smiled at them. “Finarfin’s gentleness and love will only be surpassed, perhaps, by that of Eärwen, my mother.”

“I will write to Círdan and ask for a place for Celebrían upon the next ship,” said Elrond after a moment’s silence.  “I will not discuss this with her, or our children, until we have received word from the Havens and a date is set.”

Galadriel and Celeborn both nodded, deferring to him. Elrond knew Galadriel would contact the great eagles as well, and word would reach Valinor, though he had never asked the specifics of how this occurred. He did not think she would tell him.

“Will you ask your children to sail?” asked Celeborn.

Elrond looked upon the ancient elf lord thoughtfully.  Did he wish his grandchildren safely away, or was he anticipating an even greater loss of those he held most dear? “I will, of course, offer them their choice, but my heart tells me that none of them will go,” he finally answered.

Celeborn appeared neither glad nor sad at this prediction, and Elrond knew that the question he had voiced weighed upon all of their minds.  He wanted all of his family safe and he wanted all of them with him. “This is what we must do,” said Elrond, speaking more to reassure himself than seek a response. He squeezed the bridge of his nose and rubbed his temples, his fingers snaking around to feel the large bump on the back of his head.

“This is what we must do,” repeated Galadriel, as Celeborn nodded. Celeborn rose gracefully, then extended a hand to Galadriel, pulling her to her feet.  Elrond leaned against the tree, closing his eyes for a moment and taking another deep breath.  When he opened his eyes he found the two watching him sadly.  He considered waving them away, to leave him for a few moments, but when they each extended a hand to him, he took them.  They pulled him to his feet, then embraced him for a moment.

They walked together back to the entrance of Elrond and Celebrían’s chamber, where Celeborn and Galadriel left him.  He entered the room, noting immediately that Celebrían had not rested peacefully in his absence.  The bed clothing was tangled about her, a blanket clenched tightly in her fists.  Her face was contorted in pain and fear, and he knew that memory had assailed her again.   He strode quickly to the bed, sitting beside her and pulling her into his arms.

“Celebrían, I am here,” he soothed. He smoothed her hair away from her face, running his hand down her arm and over her hip.  To his overwhelming relief, she did not shy away from his touch, but clung to him. Rocking her gently in his arms, he waited for her to calm, and eventually open her eyes.  He smiled at her tenderly, touching her cheek, masking his pain at seeing her dull and lifeless gaze.

“Please do not leave me,” she begged pitifully.

He pressed his lips to her forehead. “I will be here, Celebrían, I promise.”

He held her close until she calmed, then used their bond and his touch to send her into a dreamless sleep. He pushed the nightmares from her, barely able to tolerate even for that short time the horrors that she was reliving. Settling her next to him and ensuring they were touching, he then made himself comfortable and pulled a writing tablet from a bedside table. He carefully worded his missive to Círdan. He would send it by messenger to the Havens at first light.

* * *

“Naneth?” asked Arwen softly, not wishing to startle her mother. When Celebrían lifted her eyes to meet Arwen’s, she continued, “May I choose a gown for you to wear today?”

Celebrían pulled the ties of her dressing gown closer around her thin form, fingering them as if wondering if she must part from the garment. Instead of answering immediately, she turned to look out on the balcony overlooking the garden. It seemed to Arwen that she was lost in thought or entranced by the scent of the roses drifting up to her.  She still loved their smell, and roses were brought daily to her room.

“This blue is one of your favorites,” Arwen finally continued.  She carried it to where her mother stood, and was grateful when Celebrían turned back to her with a slight smile and began to dress. Arwen helped her with the buttons, then brushed her mother’s hair.   Her mother no longer flinched from being touched, and her body appeared healed, but Arwen was increasingly concerned with how thin she had become.  Not only was she thin, at times Arwen felt she could see right through her. She is literally fading away, she thought suddenly.

“Daernaneth is in the garden room. She asked if you would join her,” said Arwen, taking her mother by the arm and escorting her to the door.   They walked down the hall together, and Arwen was glad to leave her in Galadriel’s care, for she needed to speak to her father.  She felt a soft touch on her arm, and turned.

“Thank you, Arwen,” said Celebrían as she embraced her. “I love you, my daughter.”

Arwen’s eyes filled with tears, and she hugged her mother back, careful with what felt like an increasingly frail body. “I love you, Naneth.”

Arwen left her mother in Galadriel’s company, glad that Galadriel could get Celebrían to do things and respond to her when it seemed no one else could. She almost ran down the hall to her father’s study, knocking once and entering without waiting for permission.

She found Elrond sitting with his advisors, all of them turning to face her when she burst into the room. She felt color rise in her cheeks at her impropriety, and nearly backed out of the room, but stopped and drew up straight, fixing her eyes on her father.  He had already risen and stepped forward to her.

“Arwen, what is wrong?” he asked softly, taking her hands in his own.

“Adar, please, I must speak to you.  Will you be long?” she implored.

Elrond turned and beckoned Erestor to him, murmuring to him for a few moments, and then he took her by the arm and walked with her to a private area near the library.  He sat down on a comfortable settee, and she sat with a sigh next to him.

“Adar, I think Naneth is disappearing before our eyes.  She is . . .,”Arwen paused, “she is so thin, I can almost see through her.”

Elrond pulled her into his arms, and she drew comfort and strength from his embrace, as she had from her earliest memory.  She could not remember in her centuries of life anything that he could not fix. “I know,” he said finally. “I have the same concerns, Arwen.” He pulled back, looking her deep in the eyes, and then finally seemed to come to some decision. “I had meant to speak with you and your brothers in the next day or so, but I think you need to hear this now. I have not spoken to your naneth, though I will today.

“I believe, and your grandparents agree, that Celebrían will not heal here in Middle-earth. I fear that she will slip from us entirely in due time.  I have contacted Círdan and asked for a place for your naneth on the next ship. The messenger returned this morning with Círdan’s affirmation and proposed date.”

Arwen drew in her breath sharply, a cry escaping her and tears that had been threatening her all morning finally bursting forth as if in a flood. “No, Adar!” she cried. “No, there must be some way, some healing we have not tried!”

Elrond pulled her close again, letting her weep, and Arwen realized with a sudden certainty that he was right. She had just come to him with that very same concern that Celebrían was fading before their eyes.  She drew in a deep breath and sat upright again. “You are right, Adar,” she said, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief.  “I know you are right. I cannot bear to see her like this, and yet I cannot imagine not having Naneth with us.”

Elrond tipped her chin up. “You know that a choice remains before you; that when I sail you must also.  I cannot go now, as much as I want to be with Celebrían, but you need not wait for me, my daughter. You can sail with your naneth.”

Arwen felt as if her heart stopped beating and time itself stood still. The shock of knowing her mother must sail still weighed upon her, and now she must make the same decision? To go with Celebrían to an unknown land, or stay with her father and brothers and their home . . . “I . . I do not know what to say, Adar,” she finally managed.

“Do not say anything now,” replied Elrond firmly. “You have time to consider this. I have not spoken to your naneth yet, nor your brothers.  Go to your daeradar; he will keep you company while I finish here.”

“Daeradar,” repeated Arwen with relief.  She had needed to hear what her father told her, but she did not wish to be alone now that she knew.  She sat a moment longer in disbelief, noting that her father left for a moment and then came back.  He held out his hands to her, and she stood, accepting his embrace again. He held her for a long moment, and Arwen drank in the comfort he provided.  Her mind wandered, thinking of being apart from her adar, or her naneth, and suddenly she felt as if darkness was closing in on Imladris.  She could feel shadow encroaching, her father fighting it with all his power and might, and she felt desperately afraid for him, and ashamed that he was fighting it alone.

“Come,” he said, and they walked back to the door of his study.  Conversation among the advisors stopped as they walked through, and then Elrond was opening the door and escorting her into the hallway.  Arwen clung to his arm, not wishing to let him go face shadow alone, though she knew the thought was irrational.

“Arwen,” came a cherished voice.

“Daeradar!” she cried, and Elrond released her to her grandfather’s arms.  She noted the knowing glance exchanged between the two and remembered that her grandparents already knew.

* * *

Elrond stood with his head bowed for a few moments before rejoining his advisors.  He gathered his thoughts and strode into the room, taking his place next to Erestor, who quickly filled him in on what had been discussed.  As Elrond looked around the table, he noted the pity in the eyes of all present, and forced himself to a calm he did not feel. He knew they were waiting for him to speak.

“This meeting is adjourned,” said Erestor after the silence had dragged on for several minutes.  “I will be in contact with those who have outstanding items to report.”

The room cleared, and soon only Erestor, Glorfindel and Elrond remained.  Elrond finally pulled the letter from Círdan from his robe, and laid it on the table before his friends. They read it together, and Elrond was deeply moved by the sorrow that appeared on their faces.  Glorfindel stood, wrapping his strong arms about Elrond, and he felt the tears that ran down the warrior’s face and onto his hands.  Erestor covered his hand with his own, silent, but Elrond knew his grief was no less deep.  “I am sorry, Elrond,” said Glorfindel hoarsely.  “But if there is any hope, it is there.”

Elrond drew in a deep breath, steadying himself. “I have told Arwen sooner than I had planned, but her distress this morning was over her fears that her mother is slipping away before her eyes.  She is with her grandfather. I will speak to Celebrían next, and then my sons this evening.”

“Celebrían does not know about this?” asked Erestor, surprised.

“No,” answered Elrond shortly. “She cannot decide if she should dress in the morning, much less make an important decision about her future.  Celeborn and Galadriel made this decision with me. Celebrían will do what we will, for she has little will of her own right now.”

Elrond knew his voice sounded harsh, his words commanding. Before the attack on Celebrían, she would have taken umbrage at his word and tone, for she was not easily commanded.  Now she clung to him at night, and only survived her days.

“Take the twins away from the house to tell them,” suggested Glorfindel, his hands now massaging the stiff muscles of Elrond’s shoulders. 

“You think they will react poorly?” asked Elrond.

“Elladan will,” answered Glorfindel.  “His moods swing from anger and rage to near despair. Elrohir will help him to accept it, but he will need time.”

Elrond massaged his temples. He felt as if his head had ached since the day his sons had brought his wife’s battered and broken body home to him.  No matter how many times he had spoken to Elladan, tried to assuage his son of his guilt, inevitably the feelings returned. Elrohir had felt guilt as well, but was more contemplative and better able to temper his emotions. He managed his twin admirably, but Elrond knew even that burden weighed on his son’s heart. “I have failed them all.”

He heard gasps of disbelief, and only then realized he had spoken aloud. He waved his hand at Erestor, who cut off his words before he started. Glorfindel could not be dissuaded, however. “Do not let this despair destroy you, Elrond,” he said sternly.  When Elrond did not look up, he felt a strong hand forcing his head to turn and meet Glorfindel’s eyes.  “Look at me, Elrond,” he commanded.

Elrond bristled at the rough handling, but when he met Glorfindel’s eyes, he was taken back by the intensity of his gaze.  “We cannot fully know how heavily this despair weighs upon your heart, but you are strong, Elrond, and that has not changed. You will do what is right by Celebrían, and your children, and your people.  And you will let us help you.”

Elrond nearly broke down at that moment, wishing he could allow someone else to make the decisions, someone else to decide what was right.  He gripped Glorfindel’s arm tightly. “I will let you help me. Already, you have both greatly helped me,” he realized. He looked at Erestor, thinking of how smoothly Imladris had run while his attention was elsewhere.  And he did not even know the status of the security of the borders or whether the passes were safe; Glorfindel had worked with Celeborn and the Rangers to see to their safety.

“Spend your time with your family, Elrond, and do not worry about Imladris,” said Erestor kindly.

Elrond could only nod.

* * *

Elrond entered the garden room, which was sunny and bright, and had long been Celebrían’s favorite room in their home.  She and her mother were both working their embroidery, and Elrond saw that she had made progress.  Galadriel had been the one to suggest putting a simple task in Celebrían’s hands, something that would occupy her, but not require decisions beyond choosing a new thread color.  Having her hands occupied had helped Celebrían tremendously, given her some control in her life.

He leaned over and kissed Celebrían when she looked up to greet him, and warmth spread through him when he saw peace and serenity in her eyes. “The waterfall comes alive under your touch,” he said, admiring her needlework of Imladris. She smiled at him, looking nearly like the Celebrían of old.  “Will you walk in the garden with me?”

“I will,” answered Celebrían, and she rose gracefully and took his arm.

They walked in silence through Celebrían’s rose garden, moving slowly along the paths that meandered between flowerbeds and around the stream that wound through the garden.  Elrond finally crossed the small bridge and led Celebrían to their favorite sitting area, nearly hidden by trees.  Celebrían leaned against his arm and sighed, as she drank in the sight and scents of the treasured spot.  They had made many decisions together here.

They sat, Elrond taking Celebrían’s hands in his own. She remained silent, but her eyes were on him, as Elrond struggled to find the right words.  How would he say this without making her feel as if they were sending her away? That she had no hope here and none of her family could help? That they had decided her future for her?  He did not know the state of her mind at any given moment, to predict how she might react.

“Elrond,” she finally began, “you have something important you wish to say to me. I know my children are well, for I have seen all of them this morning, so this is not about them.  Please say what you need to say.”

Elrond was surprised at the clarity in her voice and thoughts, and a sudden misgiving assailed him. Yet he knew the moment was fleeting, and that such moments had dissuaded him too often.  Yet saying the words would begin something that he feared. “I am afraid,” he finally admitted.

“I have often been afraid lately,” conceded Celebrían when he paused. “When I can feel anything, that is.”

Her voice nearly broke, and Elrond rubbed her hands gently, comforting her.  “Celebrían, I love you more than anything in Middle-earth,” he began, his voice breaking as well.  Their eyes were locked together, and he could feel tears begin to slide down his cheeks. “But I cannot heal your spirit. You are becoming so thin that we fear you will one day just disappear before our eyes.” He paused, choking back a sob. “Celebrían, I cannot bear to lose you.”

Tears were running down Celebrían’s cheeks as well, but she made no noise, no sobs, and she did not speak when he paused. “Your parents and I have talked long about what else we might do to help you. But we lose hope. I think you need to sail West, Celebrían. If there is healing to be found, it is there.”

Celebrían had gone cold and rigid, staring at him, tears still sliding down her face.

“I cannot bear to be apart from you, but I would rather you were finding healing in elvenhome than in the Halls of Waiting,” he pleaded.

“You will not be sailing with me,” she said woodenly, a statement, not a question.

“I wish I were sailing with you, but I cannot leave until Sauron is defeated,” he replied softly, and the excuse sounded as inadequate to him now as it had when Galadriel had laid it upon him.

“And if Sauron is not defeated, then you will not come at all,” she intoned.

Elrond closed his eyes, breathing deeply, and then he felt Celebrían squeeze his hands. “Then I would be waiting for you, either for a ship or for your release from Mandos’s Halls,” she reasoned, her voice distant.

“One way or another, I will come to you,” he promised.

She relaxed slightly, and he took that as the beginning of acceptance. “Your grandparents will be there to meet you,” he said softly. “If Eärwen is anything like Finarfin, you will love them both. And finally they will meet their only daughter’s child.”

“And our children?” she asked solemnly.

“I will encourage them to sail with you,” he began.

“No,” she interrupted, her voice now small. “It must be their choice.”

She swayed slightly, and Elrond slid closer to her, pulling her into his arms.  She did not resist, but seemed to melt against him, and he began to rock gently. He did not know how long they sat like that, in silence, when Celebrían spoke again. “When?”

“In the spring,” he answered gently.

Her tears began to fall again then, followed by sobs, and Elrond felt as if his heart would break. Until now, Celebrían had shed many tears, but not truly cried, for the orcs had taken pleasure in her cries and she had stifled them in their horrid den, and ever since then as well.  Deep sobs wracked her frail frame, and Elrond held her as his own tears watered her hair, and he could not help but wonder if a new kind of healing had finally begun.

* * *

Elrond was worn and weary when he finally left Celebrían in her parents’ care.  She was exhausted, her voice hoarse from crying, and Elrond did not know if some peace would be found for her in sleep, or if orcs would return to mock her cries.  Galadriel had put her to bed and then sat beside her, one hand resting on Celebrían’s, ready to chase away any dreams that threatened her daughter.  Celeborn sat with Arwen in the sitting area, she lying with her head on a pillow in his lap, her eyes still red from the many tears she had shed.

Elrond had paused at the door before leaving them, guilt weighing heavily upon him as he considered he had destroyed the worlds of his wife and daughter today.  Now he needed to go talk to his sons, and he did not think he had the will or the strength to do so.  He had sent word for them to meet him at the waterfall, near the rocks where many an inhabitant of Imladris had sat in serious or romantic discussion with another.  He shed his robes and climbed to the area in a simple tunic and trousers.

Elladan and Elrohir were already present; Elrohir sitting on the rock while Elladan paced beside it. They had been out most of the day, but had heard of their sister’s tears when they returned to the house, and Elrond knew that grief hung heavy in the air of Imladris.  Elladan stopped pacing when he saw his father, and walked quickly to meet him.

“Is Naneth worse?” he demanded, his harsh voice belied by the shaking of his hands.

Elrond shook his head as he took Elladan’s hands in his own, holding on when Elladan would have yanked them free.  He maneuvered his son to sit next to his twin. “No, your naneth is not worse, Elladan, but I do have something I must tell you about her.”

Elrohir watched him intently; silent, but Elrond could feel Elladan’s restlessness. “Your naneth is not improving, and I lose hope that she will. I fear she is slowly slipping away from us, despite all that we have tried.” He took a deep breath, noting that the twins seemed to be holding their own. “Your naneth needs to sail West, for if there is healing to be found, it is there.”

Elrohir shut his eyes, pursing his lips together and clenching his fists as he fought to remain in control of himself.  Elladan did not even seem to try.  He jumped to his feet. “I cannot believe you are giving up, Adar!  You, of all people!  You never give up! There must be something else to try!” he burst out, again pacing. He stopped before Elrond, but when Elrond did not speak, Elladan dropped to his knees before him.  “Answer me, Adar!  What else can we do?”

Elrond felt his control slipping, a mixture of anger and sorrow warring within him, for Elladan’s words cut deeply, but beneath it Elrond could see a small child, fearful of waking and not being able to find his nana. He reached out and covered the hand that clenched at his leg, but Elladan shook him off.  Elrond felt his own tears start again, and fleetingly wondered how many tears he could shed in one day. Elladan saw his tears too, and they pushed him over the edge.

“No!” he cried.  He jumped to his feet, backing away.  “No!”  Then he turned and ran into the darkness.

Elrohir wept silently. Elrond moved to sit beside him, and pulled his unresisting son into his arms.  Elrohir clung to him for a moment, and then Elrond realized that his son was trying to comfort him.  “Adar, I am sorry.  I know you have done all you can, and Daernaneth and Daeradar too,” said Elrohir. “I cannot bear to think of life without Naneth, but I can see that she is slipping from us.”

Elrond knew Elrohir’s words were meant to temper Elladan’s, but he appreciated them just the same.  Elrohir’s eyes were dull, though, and he was trying to hide his own grief. Elrond felt a throbbing ache grow behind his eyes again, for he could not take away Elrohir’s pain, nor Elladan’s.

Elrohir seemed to hear something then, turning and looking off into the forest. Pulling away from Elrond, he slowly rose to his feet. He looked in the direction Elladan had gone again, and sighed deeply.  “I must go to Elladan,” he said softly, his head bowed.  Turning, he slowly disappeared into the darkness.

Elrond watched his son melt into the dusk, and then the full weight of the day’s events settled on him.  He felt as if he carried a burden beyond his means, and it was pressing him into the ground with such force that he could not even take a deep breath.  He gave in, sinking to the ground beside the rock. The cool surface of the stone felt good against his cheek, and he felt almost guilty for feeling that pleasant sensation when he knew that Elladan was raging in the woods, Elrohir was trying to comfort him while suppressing his own grief, Arwen was drawing her comfort from her grandfather, and his beloved wife was clinging to her mother… all over a decision Elrond had made without consulting either wife or children.   He felt helpless, unable to aid any of them. Indeed, he felt as if he were the last one any of them wished to see at the moment, as he had failed them all.

He twisted Vilya on his finger, feeling the thrumming energy it radiated into him and about him.  Its rhythms were his own now, the two chords creating harmony together.  Yet, even this power had not saved Celebrían.   A desire to remove the band and throw it into the waterfall came over him, and he rashly grabbed the ring and pulled it from his finger.  Flinging it hard against the rock, he watched it bounce and roll into the darkness.

Emptiness filled him, and if he had thought he felt worn and distressed by the day’s events already, he discovered he could feel worse.  Imladris closed in around him, his farsightedness about his valley and its inhabitants narrowing to darkness.   In despair, he curled up against the rock and closed his eyes.

He had no idea how much time had passed, recalling neither the flight of Eärendil that night, nor the setting of Anor and the rise of Ithil.   He did not hear if his sons passed by on their way to the house.  What he did know was when he was no longer alone.  He had not heard Glorfindel’s approach, nor did he know how long his friend stood and merely watched him. Not until he felt a shoulder brush his own and an arm reach around his shoulders did he know of his presence.

“Elrond, what have you done?” asked Glorfindel suddenly, sensing something wrong in Elrond the moment he touched him.

Elrond raised his head and stared at Glorfindel.  What had he done?  “What have I done?” he repeated dumbly. “Failed my wife and told her she must leave our home and I cannot go with her? Distressed and grieved my children?  You ask what I have done?”

Glorfindel moved suddenly in front of him, taking up his hands in his own and then running them quickly over Elrond’s person.  “Where is Vilya, Elrond?” he asked as the air seemed to grow chill and damp around them.

When Elrond did not immediately answer, Glorfindel began to search the area about the rock. He looked into the pool of water, but the water was too dark and the stars too dim for him to see the bottom.   “What did you do with it, Elrond?” he asked, his voice gentler as he knelt down beside him.

Elrond waved his hand into the area beyond the rock toward the path that led to the top of the waterfall.  “It is there somewhere,” he answered dully. “It has not gone anywhere.”  He could feel Vilya’s presence, could feel its desire to return to him.  The ludicrousness of being angry at the ring suddenly dawned on him, and he laughed bitterly.

He could hear Glorfindel scrounging around in the dark and a triumphant grunt when he at last found Vilya.  He returned to sit on the rock next to Elrond, and Elrond finally looked up when Glorfindel did not speak. His friend was turning the ring over and over in his hand, inspecting the stone and band. Elrond wondered for a moment if Glorfindel would wish to wear it, to feel Vilya attune to him, and to try to wield it.    “It is mostly undamaged,” Glorfindel finally murmured.  “A slight dent here that can be rubbed out.”  He looked at Elrond, as if seeing straight into his soul, and Elrond flinched.  He held the ring up before him. “You are ready to grab this from my hand, yet your anger is also directed at Vilya.  How do you feel parted from it, Elrond?  You are like a shadow of yourself right now, a mere shell.”

Anger grew within him, and Elrond nearly snatched the ring from Glorfindel’s hand.  But, although he raised his hand, he did not touch the ring. His hand hovered in the air, as if disembodied from him, and he was not sure if his own will held him back, or some other. It was Glorfindel who took Elrond’s hand in his own, and placed Vilya back upon his finger.

Vilya thrummed wildly at first, but gradually settled into their usual rhythm. The cold shadows that had surrounded him diminished and he felt his farsight and power over the valley return.  The heaviness that had been pressing him to the ground lightened as well, and he drew in a deep cleansing breath.  Glorfindel still held his hand, and he squeezed back gratefully.

“I do not think I will do that again,” he admitted, and Glorfindel smiled.

He looked at the stars, trying to determine how much of the night had passed, but finally had to ask, “How late is it?  Did my sons return to the house?”

“It is several hours yet until dawn,” replied Glorfindel, “and even the stars knew of your distress. Your sons have not returned, but they will by morning.”

Elrond could only nod.  They would not distress their mother by not appearing as they usually did.  A routine was too important, as they all knew.  “I need to return to Celebrían,” he said finally. “I told her I would not leave her alone.”  He knew Galadriel was with her, but that did not counter his promise.

Glorfindel rose gracefully and held out a hand to him.  Elrond felt himself pulled to his feet and stumbled, then moved stiffly as they began the descent back to the house. He felt as if every day of his long years was weighing upon him. Glorfindel slipped an arm around his shoulders, and Elrond felt himself strengthened and renewed at his touch.  He entered his chambers to find Galadriel rocking Celebrían in her arms, and Elrond knew the nightmares had returned.  Anger flared within him, and he wished there was some way to enter the dream and defeat the orcs, ending their torment of her forever.

Instead, he took Celebrían in his arms and held her close, wrapping both body and fëa around her.  She calmed immediately, and eventually released the grip with which she held him and relaxed in his arms.  He pushed her deep into dreamless sleep, though he knew it would take vigilance on his part to keep her there through the rest of the night.

When he spared a glance at Galadriel, he saw tears glistening in her eyes and her shoulders sagging, despair written in her ageless face. “I could not reach her,” she said softly.

Elrond stroked the silver head resting against his chest. He would be grieved beyond hope if Elladan or Elrohir or Arwen were in such a state and he could not help them. Yet he knew if not for the depth of the binding of their fëar, he would not be able to aid Celebrían as he did.  Galadriel rose, resting her hand on Celebrían, and Elrond covered it with his own.  There were no words he could say to ease a mother’s pain, yet he wished her to know how much Celebrían needed her parents right now, how much he and their children needed Galadriel and Celeborn here with them. Galadriel kissed his brow in response and then left them, but Elrond could not help but notice that her normal grace had departed.

“You will overcome this,” he murmured to Celebrían. Yet he feared sending her west without him, for what if no one could reach her?

* * *

Elrond was dozing in a comfortable chair on his balcony one afternoon a few weeks later when he heard the door open and heavy footsteps approach. He did not even rouse in response to the unfamiliar tread, for only someone approved by Erestor could have entered his chambers.  Only when he felt a hand come to rest on his shoulder did he look up.

“Mithrandir,” he said tiredly.

“Do not get up,” instructed Mithrandir as he took a seat next to him.  The wizard studied him carefully for a few moments. “I have seen Celebrían.”

Elrond only nodded. This was the first time Mithrandir had been to Imladris since the attack on Celebrían. Elrond only knew that he had been in the south. “I was heading to the Shire when I heard from the Rangers. I am sorry, Elrond.”

Elrond pushed himself upright, accepting the cup of wine the wizard handed to him.  “Galadriel said that Celebrían sails next spring.”

Elrond nodded again, sipping at the wine that was one of his favorites. Erestor had picked it, he knew, as Erestor had taken care of most of the affairs of Imladris, as well as Elrond. Mithrandir continued to talk, gently leading with questions, until Elrond finally allowed his fears to surface and spoke of Celebrían’s nighttime descent into the horror of the orc’s den, and how only he could reach her.

To his surprise, he saw Mithrandir change before him, the lines of his face smoothing and his hair darkening, while his eyes grew gentle. He reached out and took Elrond’s hand in his own, and Elrond felt the touch of his spirit. At the gentle probing, he opened his heart and allowed the Maia in. ‘We are spirits, Elrond, clothing ourselves in body merely so the Eldar may see and speak with us.  In the Gardens of Lorien, where even the Valar go for rest and refreshment, Celebrían will find healing. Her spirit will be reached by those who exist as spirit.’

Elrond felt himself surrounded by warmth and love, as if he were himself a young child lying in his mother’s arms in the sunshine of the most peaceful garden.  Mithrandir’s touch on his spirit was tender and gentle, yet also strong and confident.  An overwhelming sense of peace settled upon him as he was assured that Celebrían would be cared for. ‘Celebrían is strong in spirit. She will be healed, Elrond,” promised Mithrandir, “not just taken care of.’

Elrond felt an enormous burden lifted from him. While he knew the path would be hard for Celebrían, as well as those left behind, Mithrandir had provided reassurance that their decision was right and good.  While nothing would remove the pain and guilt of not going with her, he was soothed by the wizard’s words. ‘You are in need of rest,’ said Mithrandir softly, gently invading Elrond’s thoughts.  Elrond allowed himself to be pushed into sleep.

~ ~ ~* * *~ ~ ~

“Elrond, wake up.”

Glorfindel’s voice drew him from the deep rest of dreamless sleep, and he came to awareness feeling refreshed.  “It is midnight.”

“How does Frodo fare?” asked Elrond, though he already knew the answer.

“Slightly worse than he was when you last saw him, but much better than he had been,” replied Glorfindel.

Elrond smiled with satisfaction.  The shard had made a little progress, but had not recovered much of the distance that Elrond had taken from it.  He needed only to find it now, so that he could remove it.

* * * * *

Chapter 7:  Lords of Dignity and Power

“That is the purpose for which you are called hither. Called, I say, though I have not called you to me, strangers from distant lands. You have come and are here met, in this very nick of time, by chance as it may seem. Yet it is not so. Believe rather that it is so ordered that we, who sit here, and none others, must now find counsel for the peril of the world.”

Elrond, Council of Elrond, FotR

There are other powers at work far stronger.

Aragorn, The Breaking of the Fellowship, FotR

Ithil’s light was shining brightly in Frodo’s chamber when Elrond entered.  Mithrandir sat at the side of the bed, holding Frodo’s hand, but his shoulders were slumped and Elrond could sense weariness radiating from him. On the other side of the bed, Sam was snoring softly. Elrond had been touched each time he saw the faithful hobbit sitting at his master’s side and amused at the instructions and orders he had been given by the otherwise humble Sam.  His concern for Frodo caused him to overcome his natural reticence around the big people.  While he wouldn’t ask for anything for himself, he was quite demanding when it came to Frodo. 

Elrond touched Mithrandir gently on the shoulder, startling him.  The wizard sat upright with a groan, then patted Frodo’s hand before laying it down upon the coverlet.  He rose stiffly from his chair. “I believe I have kept the shard from regaining any ground, though your more acute healing sense may tell otherwise.”

Elrond bent over the hobbit and pulled the sheet back, gently probing along the shard’s path. It had not regained any distance, but the area appeared irritated again and the skin was cold and blue to the touch.  Even in sleep, Frodo flinched at the examination and tried to pull away, crying out weakly as he did so.

Sam awoke abruptly at the sound, jumping to his feet and leaning over the bed.  “What is it, Mr. Frodo?” he asked before fully opening his eyes.  He collided with Elrond, his head butting against Elrond’s arm. He appeared abashed, but then the sight of Frodo drove any embarrassment from his mind.  “What did you do?” cried Sam, grabbing at Elrond’s hand.

Elrond caught the sturdy brown hand in his own. “Peace, Samwise,” he soothed.  “I had to examine the shoulder, but will not cause Frodo further pain.”

Sam glared at him, but his drooping eyes and swaying form lessened the impact.  Elrond stood swiftly and caught the hobbit before he hit the floor.  He guided him gently to a comfortable chair and pushed him into it.  “You may stay, Sam, if you rest there,” he said firmly.  Sam appeared about to argue with him, but subsided when Elrond turned his most stern frown upon him.

“Wise choice, Sam,” laughed Mithrandir, stifling a yawn. “That frown has been perfected on countless persons before you.  Even Strider cowers before that look.” Elrond turned his ‘perfected look’ on Mithrandir then, who added, “As do I.  Rest, Samwise. I will see you in the morning.”

Elrond placed a pillow next to Sam on the chair, then tucked a blanket over the now unprotesting hobbit.   He laid his hand on Sam’s shoulder. “Rest well,” he murmured, and then smiled as Sam’s eyes slowly closed and he fell into a deep sleep.

Now able to tend to Frodo without interruption, Elrond sent Frodo to a rest beyond pain and turned Vilya’s power against the evil that indwelled him.

* * *

Elrond opened his eyes to see fading sunlight dancing across the mountains beyond his window.  The level of light identified the time of day as early evening, beyond the dinner hour, and he realized he could not account for his day.  He sat up slowly, and only then did he notice Glorfindel sitting in the chair near the balcony.

“What are you watching?” he asked when Glorfindel spared him only a glance.

He stood when Glorfindel waved him over, then stretched and walked to the balcony.  His rooms had a sweeping view of the valley, opening on to a private garden but overseeing from one end gardens available to everyone.  In those gardens, several elves were speaking to the dwarves who had arrived the day before.

“Wood-elves from Mirkwood,” said Glorfindel.  “They arrived a few hours ago. The blond and the dark haired elf to his right are Thranduil’s sons. ”

Elrond stared at the group for a moment, his mind wandering.  It was as if representatives of the kindreds of Middle-earth were spontaneously gathering to discuss the fate of Middle-earth.  “Why have they come?”

“Drink this,” ordered Glorfindel, holding out a flask of Miruvor. “You should probably be seated lest the breeze blow you over.”

Elrond obediently sat and took the proffered flask, though he doubted he looked as tired as Glorfindel inferred.

“They came seeking Mithrandir. With typical wood-elf reticence, they have declined to speak to any but him about their errand,” explained Glorfindel.

“I should go relieve him,” said Elrond immediately, then realized he did not know who was with Frodo. He closed his eyes, seeking within his own memories for the events of the day. 

Glorfindel laughed at him. “Mithrandir is with Frodo.  You brought him far today, Elrond.  Mithrandir predicts tomorrow you will cure him.  Arwen chased you away mid-day and you’ve slept ever since.”

“Thank you,” replied Elrond with a smile. He looked back out at the gardens, where the wood-elves and dwarves were still politely nodding at each other.  “Please ask them to stay. A decision about the fate of the One Ring must be made.  Elves and Dwarves and Hobbits and Men will determine what that fate is.”

Glorfindel rose, but paused near Elrond and rested his hand on his shoulder. Elrond smiled, knowing exactly what the elf was doing, but relaxed his mind and let his friend strengthen him.  “Mithrandir and I will join you for dinner in a short while.  Aragorn and Arwen will be with Frodo.”

Glorfindel returned with Mithrandir by the time Elrond had bathed and dressed. His appetite had returned, and he uncovered the platters Cook had sent with anticipation.  The mix of dishes was quite different than normal, and Elrond was not sure he could identify all of the items.

“Ah, Shire fare,” said Mithrandir as he breathed in deeply of the scents drifting from the table.  He winked at Elrond. “Some Dwarven ale was served as well, but you prefer wine, as I recall.”

Elrond took the cup of wine that Glorfindel had poured for him. “Celebrían would drink ale with them,” he remembered, but he buried the rest of the memories of those times that threatened to surface and distract him from the matters at hand.  “Tell me of our guests.”

“Dáin Ironfoot sent Glóin with a message for Bilbo, and to ask your advice,” replied Mithrandir. “Thranduil’s sons came with news that they were attacked very close to their stronghold, and Gollum escaped.  I have asked both groups to hold their news for now, while we focus our attentions on the hobbit, Frodo. I have told them that you will be calling a Council soon, where these and other important matters are to be discussed.”

“Who is the younger dwarf with Glóin?” asked Elrond as he tried a dish of something that appeared to be a fried mushroom.

“That is his son, Gimli,” replied Mithrandir.  “He was barely into his majority when the dwarves stayed here on their way to the Lonely Mountain, and Glóin would not allow him to come.  He is good-natured, as is his father.” He paused while he chewed a bite. “I missed this fare when I did not visit The Shire for long periods.”

Glorfindel snorted. “I would sleep often if I ate food such as this on a regular basis.”

Mithrandir laughed.  “Eating is the favorite past-time of hobbits; napping afterward follows a close second.”

Elrond listened as Glorfindel and Mithrandir debated the merits of hobbit habits, but his own thoughts drifted back to Frodo and what healing lay yet before him. From the moment he had laid eyes upon the gravely injured hobbit, he knew that the ultimate destination of the harm was his soul. All of his energy had been directed at preventing the shard from reaching its goal, and at protecting Frodo’s spirit as much as he was able.  He would never know if he could have done more for Celebrían.  Before then he had not treated a wound so poisoned that it attacked the very fëa, and she had already been greatly weakened by the torture inflicted upon her. Perhaps as time progressed he would learn things that would suggest his course for Frodo should have been different, but the costly knowledge earned centuries earlier had aided him.   The weapons of the enemy were imbued with his cruelty and malice, and Elrond did not know how many types existed, but that they sought to harm more than the physical appeared to be a common trait.  Tomorrow would likely be the day, as Mithrandir predicted, when he could find and remove the shard. Whether that would cure Frodo remained to be seen.

Mithrandir’s laughter interrupted his musings. “Lathron would not tell you the message?” he asked.  When Glorfindel shook his head and gave an exasperated sigh, Mithrandir laughed again. “He is perhaps the most reserved of all Thranduil’s family.”

“I would have obtained the information from Legolas,” added Glorfindel.

“Perhaps,” answered Mithrandir non-committally.  “He is not an elfling anymore.”

Glorfindel snorted. “He is still very young.” He laughed then, in memory.  “I do not think Elladan and Elrohir have seen him since our visit there many years ago.  Legolas was quite enamored with them, especially Elladan.  We learned how protective the wood elves were of their princeling.”

Elrond gradually tuned out their remembrances, as his thought moved from the Ring-bearer to the One Ring.  When Frodo was strong enough, a Council would be held and the fate of the One Ring discussed. He knew it was not by mere circumstance that representatives from each race had appeared, but a sign that higher powers were indeed at work amongst them.   He let his gaze linger on Mithrandir, thinking of the many long years he had labored in Middle-earth, waiting for this very time.  Elrond knew there was only one answer for the fate of the One.  It had to be destroyed and there was only one way to do that.  His fingers itched to take it to Mordor himself and drop it in the fire, but he feared having that close of contact with it.  He even considered what it would take to convince one of the great Eagles to bear the ring to its destruction, but he knew they would not involve themselves in the affairs of Middle-earth. 

He knew with a certainty that it was not the Elves who would end Sauron’s reign, but the hands of the meek and dispossessed.  Those same hands, if they won this victory, would also rebuild and rule Middle-earth.  He could lead these representatives through the long history of Sauron’s domination and Melkor’s before him, and he could convince them of what needed to be done.  He could provide advice, and he could outfit them for the journey.  But he could not take the journey for them, nor even with them.  They had to embrace these choices as their own, for they had the greatest stake.  Unlike the Elves, they could not sail west.  The future of Middle-earth was their future, and they had to shape it as they would. Yet he did have a stake, he reminded himself. The part of himself he would leave behind was the heart of that future.

“Elrond,” laughed Glorfindel, touching his sleeve lightly. 

Elrond finally focused on his dinner companions, who both appeared quite amused. “My apologies,” he said, chagrined. “I was thinking.”

“I would not discourage you from thinking, but if you are to cure Frodo on the morrow, you must rest,” said Mithrandir. “I take my leave. I will relieve Aragorn and Arwen at midnight.”

Elrond acquiesced, knowing that he would need all of his strength for one final push against the shard.  He returned to his chamber to rest, and found himself again on the path of dreams.  He did not like to relive the time he found himself in, reminded again of his failure to heal Celebrían, yet if greater powers were at work, then there was reason for him to remember these times and he would not resist.

~ ~ ~* * *~ ~ ~

Elrond tucked the blanket snugly around Celebrían and kissed her tenderly on the lips one last time.  Her gaze was one of complete faith and trust, and when he touched her mind he knew that at some level, she was anxious to depart, for the entrance to Mandos’s Halls lay open before her and if she stayed she would drift on to that path, no matter how hard he tried to keep her with them.  “I love you,” he whispered. “I will come to you as soon as I may.” He stroked her hair back and brushed a tear from her cheek, then reached deep inside himself, to his connection with her, sending her every bit of strength he had. Resist Námo, my love!  Please, if you can, hold on to this world until you reach Elvenhome, he beseeched her.  She had lost the ability to communicate back to him through their bond, but he felt a slight surge in her spirit, and he knew it was the best acknowledgement he could hope for.  He touched his fingers to her eyelids, closing them, and then pushed her deep into sleep.

He kissed her cheek, then sank to kneel next to her bed, burying his face in the coverlet. He had given her all the strength he could, yet he did not know if it would be enough to hold her nightmares and terror at bay. He feared the journey would be a torment to her, that she would relive those horrors on the voyage and without him there to aid her they would push her to follow Námo to peace. He wondered if he would know if her fëa fled to Mandos's halls after she sailed.  He clasped his hands together to keep them from shaking.  She could not stay and he could not let her go alone.  How was he going to force his feet to retreat from this cabin and leave the ship?

She does not go alone, he reminded himself.  Several elves from his house were also taking ship, including kin of the elves who died the day of Celebrían’s attack.  Amariel was one of these, and she sat now near Celebrían’s bed.  She had promised Elrond that she would see Celebrían into the care of her grandparents, and that Celebrían would not be left alone on the journey.  Elrond was grateful to her, yet he knew that he was the one who should be sitting at Celebrían’s side through the long journey and through her healing.  Nothing would assuage the guilt of sending her ahead without him.

He had not realized how much time had passed until Círdan appeared at his side.  He knew it was time to leave, but remained as if frozen, his mind unable to will his body to move.

"Elrond, it is time," said Círdan softly.

He lifted his head and breathed in deeply, then opened his eyes to look upon his wife one last time.  She was translucent, a frail vessel filled with clear light, but at that moment she looked peaceful.  He leaned forward and kissed her again, then stood and fled the cabin.  As he entered the fading sunlight on the deck of the ship, the world spun around him and he stumbled.  A gasp escaped him, and only Círdan’s firm grip kept him from falling.  Familiar arms surrounded him and held him close, the same arms that held him when he had nightmares as a young child, the arms that held him when Gil-galad had died. 

“I cannot do this!” he cried out in anguish. He clung for a moment to Círdan, accepting the comfort offered to him, and felt peace and strength enter him. “I must do this,” he added hoarsely.  Círdan offered no false words of comfort, merely held him until he regained control.

His children waited for him on the quay, watched over by Glorfindel and Erestor.  Celeborn and Galadriel stood nearby.  They had said their goodbyes, and although Elrond knew Celebrían understood that she was leaving them, she had shed hardly a tear at their parting for she simply did not have the strength.

Over the course of the year Elrond had come to understand more about the type of weapon that had been used to wound Celebrían so badly.  The blade knew only cruelty and fire, destruction and torment.  It was meant to cause pain and agony that extended beyond the body to invade the soul.  The memory of the torment had been carried inside her, taking root in her fëa. Reliving the torment weakened her even further. Only through the connection of their fëar was he able to relieve her agony, but though he could heal her body he did not have the power to heal her soul.  Yet he could not help but wonder if he might have been able to do more had he known that the weapon had attacked the core of her being. That was a question he needed to force himself to stop considering, for he recognized the behavior as being just as destructive as the questions his sons were asking themselves.

Even now, Elladan paced on the shore like a trapped animal.  Elrohir kept a close watch on his twin, yet his reaction was in many ways the opposite of his brother’s. He had withdrawn inside himself, keeping his innermost thoughts hidden.  He lay on the bench at Arwen's side, his head in her lap while she absently stroked his hair.  Tear tracks still stained his daughter's face. Elrond watched them, felt their pain and sorrow, and wondered from whence would draw the strength to go stand beside them and comfort them, and then watch the ship sail.

Círdan kept a firm grasp on his arm, guiding him off the ship and on to the quay. Elrond did not think he could have done it on his own.  He sat next to Arwen and then motioned Elladan to come sit at his other side.  His son came only reluctantly, and when Elrond took his hand he could feel the anxiety radiating from him.  Arwen’s hand was on Elrohir’s head, and he covered it with his own.  Connected to all of his children, he drew in a deep breath and lifted his eyes to watch the ship.  But while he meant to support them, his own heart began to pound, the sound of his blood rushing in his ears

As the ship began to move, he rose, and as it began to sail from the harbor he followed it to the end of the dock.  He reached out to it as it faded into the setting sun, finally lost to his sight as it passed from the Havens and entered the open sea.  He sank to his knees at the edge of the dock and bowed his head as the finality of her leaving settled on him.  She needed to go, he reminded himself. I should have gone with her! his heart cried.

Anor set and Ithil rose, and Eärendil had begun his nightly journey when Elrond finally stood.  He turned to walk back to the shore and saw Glorfindel and Círdan sitting at the landing, but all the others had gone. They rose as he joined them, and flanking him, they walked back to Círdan’s home.  Erestor awaited them in the sitting room.

“They are on the back balcony,” said Erestor. He led Elrond and Glorfindel there, handing them each a cup of wine.

Elrond stood at the entrance to the balcony for a moment.  Galadriel stood at the rail, staring west. Celeborn sat on a comfortable settee, his arm around Arwen.  Elrohir was on the nearby roof, his legs drawn up to his chest and his chin resting on his knees.  He stared west also.  Elrond did not see Elladan.

He felt drained. For months he had slept little, catching only short naps during the day when Celebrían was with her parents. His nights had been spent holding her, chasing away the nightmares that plagued her in his absence.  He wanted to believe that his efforts had slowed her fading, but in reality he had probably only made it less painful.  Watching her decline had been difficult for everyone, so much so that today there was an air of relief, though grief outweighed it.

He swayed slightly, but as he reached for a chair back to steady himself, his hand was caught by Glorfindel.  “Go to bed, Elrond,” he said softly.

Elrond looked at him dumbly, but allowed himself to be led to a bedroom.  He sat on the bed, numb, and only when Glorfindel clasped him on the shoulder did he realize his friend had been trying to get his attention. He undressed as directed and crawled into bed. 

“Círdan sent this.  Drink it,” commanded Glorfindel softly.

Elrond did not even question the contents, just dutifully drank the contents of the cup.  Sleep came quickly, and he was grateful for the escape.

* * *

They left for home the next day.  Círdan had invited them to stay longer, his concern for Elrond evident in his eyes, but Elrond did not think he could bear to look at the sea any longer. Sorrow hung heavily about them all, and there was little conversation beyond that which was necessary.  Glorfindel led the party, and Elrond was glad to see Elladan riding next to him.  His son was anxious and had been unable to sit still for long. He had not returned to Círdan’s house during the night, but had instead run along the beach until breathless, and then climbed the cliffs. He had returned in time to depart with them, a little calmer for all the physical activity, but already he chafed at the sedate pace that Glorfindel set.  As they entered the grassy rolling hills beyond the Blue Mountains, Elladan pulled ahead, loosening the reins of his horse to allow him to run.

Elrond could barely rouse himself to the concern he felt for Elladan, but he felt Erestor’s hand on his arm. “Elrohir will watch over him.”

Elrond pulled his eyes away from Elladan’s diminishing form to see Elrohir following at a slightly slower pace.  Elrohir would keep his distance, but keep his twin in sight too.  He relaxed.

He recalled little of the journey home, knowing only that they rode and rested at intervals, and Elrohir kept track of Elladan.   They rode into the courtyard of Imladris at dusk, but there was no merriment at homecoming.  Still, they were all glad to be home and grateful to rest in their own beds.

Elrond walked into his darkened chambers alone. Not a lamp or candle was burning, and Elrond realized that Erestor’s watch care over him had usurped the normal house help from their duties.  The routine over the last year had included minimizing the people who came into their rooms during the evening and night hours, for Celebrían startled easily and was more restless in the dark.

He tossed his dusty travel clothes aside and bathed, but he was tired and mostly just wanted to sleep.  He pulled the covers back on the bed and crawled in, then rolled to lay on Celebrían’s side of the bed. He buried his face in her pillow, inhaling her scent, and pain gripped his heart. He rolled to his side, squeezing the pillow to him, as a deep ragged sob escaped him. Months of pain, sorrow and grief poured from him as he mourned what he had lost.

* * *

Elladan had just raised his hand to knock on the door to his father’s chamber when he heard the sound of anguished sobs. He let his hand drop to his side and leaned against the door, finally sliding down to rest on the floor.   His father was crying. He had seen his father shed tears before, but never had he heard his father in such anguish, and for a moment he couldn’t breathe, so tight was the vise around his chest.  He had been so focused on his own loss and his guilt that he had not spared much thought for the effect on his father. He had seen his father watch the ship sail, witnessed his grief and sorrow, but his father had seemed strong to him, as if he had come to terms with the decisions he had made.  The pain he was hearing was too much for anyone to bear, and he wanted desperately to remove it.  He rose and reached for the doorknob.

“Give him a little time,” said Glorfindel softly from behind him.

Elladan jerked his hand away, surprised to have been caught off guard.  He spun around, but all the fight that had just risen in him fled and tears filled his eyes.  “He is in such pain,” he said in a tight voice.

“I know,” replied Glorfindel gently, and he stepped forward, wrapping his arms around Elladan.

Elladan tensed at the touch, afraid to accept the comfort offered, for he knew it would be his undoing.  He would fall apart, drown in the emotions that threatened to overwhelm him.  But as he pulled away from Glorfindel, he heard again his father’s distress.

“No!” he cried, his fists clenching, and then he spun to the window and pounded the wood frame.  He hit it again and again, glad for the pain. He felt Glorfindel’s hand on his shoulder and shrugged him off. He drew in deep gasping breaths of air, trying to calm himself, but he could still hear his father’s heartbreak, and he covered his ears and fled the room.

He fled to the solitude and peacefulness of the forest, finally collapsing on the pine needle carpet near the large rock where he and Elrohir often came to sit and think.  He calmed himself, forcing the sounds of his father’s grief from his mind.   He became aware of the presence of his twin as time wore on, but Elrohir was as usual, unobtrusive.  He sat nearby, but left Elladan alone.

Elladan awoke as dawn broke. He lifted his head from where it rested on his arm and stretched the kinks from his muscles. Across the small clearing, Elrohir was leaning against a tree. His eyes were focused but hooded, his thoughts hidden even from his twin.

Elladan rose without speaking and began the long walk back to the house.  A few minutes later, he heard Elrohir behind him. Rage he did not know he possessed rose in him and he spun around and grabbed Elrohir by the tunic.

“You do not need to follow me and hover over my every move!” he exclaimed angrily.

Elrohir did not react to him.  He did not grab his hands or push him away, or even answer him.  Elladan pushed his twin back and away from him.  When Elrohir remained impassive, he erupted and struck him.

He watched in horror as Elrohir fell backward from the force of the unexpected blow, his head slamming hard on the ground before he rolled on to his face.  At first Elladan thought he was merely stunned, but as he rushed to kneel at his brother’s side, he realized he had knocked him unconscious.

“Elrohir!” he called, as he turned him gently on to his back.  Blood oozed from a gash to his lip and abrasions to his cheek.  The marks of Elladan’s knuckles reddened Elrohir’s face.  “What have I done to you?”

He lifted his twin in his arms and ran toward the house.

* * *

Elrond had just stepped on to his balcony when he saw Elladan come racing toward the house with Elrohir in his arms.  His hands shook and he dropped the teacup he was sipping from, the china shattering on the floor about his feet.  Still in his dressing robe, he moved swiftly to the front of the house to intercept them.

Elladan had reached the front porch when Elrond met them, and Elrohir was just rousing. Elrond ghosted his hand over the injuries, calming as he determined that his son’s life was not in danger.

“Take him to the healing rooms,” Elrond instructed, and he stepped aside as Elladan hurried down the hall.

“What happened?” asked Glorfindel, appearing from his quarters barefoot and half dressed, his hair loose and his face reflecting his own weariness.

“I do not know,” answered Elrond as the weariness he had felt the night before returned, “but Elladan wears remorse like a mantle and the marks on Elrohir’s face resemble his brother’s fist.”

Glorfindel nearly snarled his frustration, and Elrond laid a restraining hand on the warrior’s arm.  “Leave it for now.”

He tightened the ties of his robe about him and followed his sons to the healing rooms.  One of the healers was cleaning the blood from Elrohir’s face, but stepped aside when Elrond entered.   Elladan sat against the wall with his head bowed.  Neither of his sons would meet his eyes.

“What happened?” asked Elrond as he examined the wounds, carefully feeling Elrohir’s head for cuts and looking for any signs of concussion.

“An accident,” murmured Elrohir, still not meeting Elrond’s eyes.  Only when Elrond forced him to meet his gaze so he could examine his eyes did Elrohir’s guard slip, and Elrond could see the depths of his pain mingled with confusion.

At Elrohir’s words, Elladan jumped to his feet and paced along the wall, his hand clenching and unclenching into fists.  Elrond could feel the tension radiating from him, and he was still weary enough himself that it grated on him.  “Elladan, please,” he began, but when Elladan swung around to look at him, Elrond saw the rage brewing in his son’s eyes, anger that had reared its head all too often these last months.  “Please go to your chambers and rest.”

Elladan’s eyes flashed as he looked from his father to his twin and back, and for a moment Elrond thought his son meant to defy him.  He finally strode forward to walk from the room, but as he passed his twin, the anger resurfaced and he leaned over to grab the front of Elrohir’s tunic and growled, “It was no accident.”

Elrohir not only did not resist him, he closed his eyes.  Elladan released him, pushing him back on to the mattress, unmoved by the slight grunt of pain from his twin.  He brushed past the healers near the door and did not look back.

Elrond took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment, then laid his hand on Elrohir’s chest, straightening the wrinkles Elladan caused while also imparting a sense of calm. “What happened, Elrohir?” he repeated.

Elrohir did not answer, instead closing his eyes and turning his face away.  A tear slipped down his cheek, and it took all of Elrond’s self-control not to cry out his own frustration and demand a response.  He finished tending the cuts and scrapes in silence, then rose. “You will need to spend the day here. I will return later.”

Elrohir again made no response, but curled up facing the wall as he withdrew into himself.

* * *

Elrond returned to his rooms to properly dress for the day. Once inside, he found he wished to return to his bed and find relief from the conflict outside his walls, but the room reminded him of Celebrían and that pain was still too near.  He pulled on appropriate clothing and fled to his study.

His desk was neatly organized, evidence of Erestor’s efforts the night before, and Elrond wondered if his advisor had rested at all.  He fingered the pile before him, but no matter how hard he tried to focus on the words before him, the image of Elrohir’s bruised face would not leave his mind.  Except for accidental training injuries, he could not remember one of his sons physically injuring the other.

He rose and went to the suite the twins shared.  The door to the outer sitting room was partially opened, and he entered without announcing his presence.   Elladan was sitting on the balcony, his legs draped over the side of the chair as he stared morosely at the horizon.

“May I join you?” he asked.

Elladan looked up at him, remorse again written on his face, and swung his legs down to sit upright. “Of course, Adar,” he answered, motioning his father to a chair.

Elrond sat, but did not immediately speak.  He looked out over the gardens and field, following the stream that emptied into the Bruinen beyond them, but the sight failed to bring him the joy it normally did. After a few moments he turned to look at his son, and found Elladan studying him.

“Why did you hit your brother?” he finally asked.

Elladan blew out a breath of air before replying. He did not deny it, and Elrond suddenly wished he had, wished there was some other explanation. “I do not know, Adar.” He paused, then added, “No matter how angry I get with Elrohir, no matter how much I push him, he will not respond to me.”

“Why are you angry with him?” asked Elrond.

Elladan rose and began pacing, much as he had done in the healing rooms.  Elrond dug his nails into his palm, the pain helping him to ignore the nervous distraction. “He accepts too easily,” Elladan burst out.  “He will not fight, not for himself or for others.”

Elrond raised a brow in surprise. “Did he not fight in the Redhorn Pass?”

“He will fight the enemy,” corrected Elladan.  “I mean he will not fight emotionally. He accepts what comes his way without question. I hate it, Adar.” His eyes flashed and he turned on his heel to look out over the valley.  “I have to fight the darkness, for if I do not, the darkness will surround and engulf me.” He turned back to face his father.  “Elrohir accepts it. He gives up.”

Elladan’s voice faded with those last words, and he pursed his lips together as if preventing himself from saying more.  Elrond let the silence stand between them as he considered his son’s words.  He could see where Elladan’s interpretation of his brother’s actions, or lack thereof, reflected more upon his own state of mind than it reflected Elrohir’s. Unfortunately, he could see where Elladan’s anger had clouded his mind to any understanding of Elrohir that Elrond might offer.  Elladan was not seeking to understand his twin; Elrohir was merely an easy target for the feelings of helplessness that manifested as anger.

“Each of us expresses our grief differently,” he finally answered. He paused, continuing only when Elladan met his gaze.  “You and Elrohir have always been different. He has been your closest friend and confidante since the day you were born.  Try to understand him, Elladan.  He hurts as much as you do.”  He stood.  “I must go check on him.”

Elrond left Elladan standing on the balcony, noting he had not even asked after his brother’s welfare, and returned to the healing rooms to find Elrohir much as he had left him. A healer sat nearby, ensuring Elrohir remained awake.   The healer rose quickly when Elrond entered and motioned him into the hallway.

“One eye is dilated and he experienced dizziness when he tried to sit up,” reported the healer.  “I asked him what happened, and he told me he thought he’d been in a fall of some sort.”

Elrond pushed his fears aside and managed to thank the healer for the report.  He sat beside his son, who suddenly looked very young and very lost.  Elrond examined him again, noting that one pupil had indeed dilated. He felt over the wound to the back of the head as well as the face, feeling the swelling and inflammation of damaged tissue.  As he probed gently at his son’s mind, Elrohir allowed him in, as trusting as a child. As he explored his son’s memory, he found Elladan’s anger and then Elrohir’s awakening in the healing rooms, but the time in between was shrouded in darkness.  He could sort through the darkened and tangled threads to piece together the explosive blow that Elladan landed on his twin, but the memory was veiled from Elrohir.  He pushed aside the guilt of having missed this earlier, for having assumed Elrohir’s reaction was to his twin’s anger.

“Elrohir,” he said gently, “what hit you in the head?”

Elrohir looked at him in confusion.  “An accident, Adar,” he repeated his earlier statement. “Elladan is angry about it. He might know. May I sleep now? I was awake all night, and I am weary.”

Elrond smiled and gently stroked his son’s hair.  “I will need to wake you periodically, but you may sleep now.”

Elrohir curled up and drifted into sleep, and Elrond motioned the healer over to sit beside him again.  He returned to the privacy of his study, intending to bury himself in the long neglected affairs of his house.  A glance out the window revealed his daughter sitting alone near the waterfall, sorrow in her face, and all of his intentions fled.  He bowed his head, burying his face in his hands, as he grappled to maintain control of his emotions.  Tears seeped through his fingers, wetting the papers on his desk, and he shoved them aside. Determined to go see how Arwen fared, he rose, but when he looked out the window again, he found Celeborn comforting her.   He rubbed his forehead as he felt a dull ache develop behind his eyes. 

* * *

Elrond saw Elladan rush into the house, wearing a look of grim enthusiasm and determination. Glorfindel followed at a distance, concern written on his face.  While Glorfindel stopped to speak to him, Elladan continued on to his chambers.

“The Rangers have reported an orc den they plan to clear near the Pass,” said Glorfindel, but though he spoke to Elrond, his eyes followed Elladan. “Your son plans to ride out to aid them.”

“He is in no frame of mind for that!” Elrond exclaimed immediately, concern mounting in his heart.   Several days had passed since he had knocked his brother unconscious in a fit of anger, and while Elladan had calmed some, Elrond did not think he and Elrohir had spoken about what happened.

“I agree,” replied Glorfindel.  He looked at Elrond thoughtfully. “Are you prepared to prevent him from going?”

Elrond breathed in deeply.  His son was at best unpredictable right now, and telling him what he could and could not do had the potential to cause a deep rift between them. Physically restraining him would be impossible.  Yet, letting him go could lead to his bodily death, for he was reckless and careless in his anger.  Elrond knew, however, that if words led to estrangement, Elladan would still ride out to fight.

“You are not just his father, you are his lord. As a member of your house, he can be commanded to obey you,” Glorfindel reminded him.

Elrond looked sharply at his friend. “Were I to do that, in his current state of mind, he may well take his leave of this House.”

Glorfindel smiled gently. “Then I am sure you will not object to me attending him on this mission.”

Elrond closed his eyes as relief flooded him.  He calmed his spirit, then opened his eyes to look upon the golden warrior. “I fear I have been remiss in expressing how much you mean to me, Glorfindel. Words can not convey how much I would appreciate you accompanying my son.”

Elrond waited to intercept Elladan while Glorfindel prepared, and was surprised when Elrohir appeared with Elladan.  Elrohir’s face was, as usual, impassive, while Elladan’s reflected his irritation.

“Adar, we have come to beg your leave to ride out to aid the Rangers in clearing the Pass,” said Elrohir before Elladan could speak.

“I will accompany you,” said Glorfindel as he approached behind the twins.  Elrohir did not react, but Elladan spun on his heel.

“I do not need one nursemaid, much less two!” he cried in frustration.

Elrohir glanced briefly at his twin, but ignored the outburst and turned instead to Glorfindel. “I am sure the Rangers will appreciate all the aid we can give them. I for one look forward to removing this blight from the landscape.”  He shouldered his pack and bow and with a quick bow before Elrond, walked out the door.

Elladan appeared less perturbed than he had been, and Elrond wondered if perhaps he had not considered that his twin might wish to go for his own reasons.  Glorfindel followed Elrohir, but Elrond laid a restraining hand on Elladan’s arm.

“I fear for you,” he began without preamble. “Your temper masters you and you become reckless and careless.” When Elladan opened his mouth to protest, Elrond held up his hand. “Do not interrupt me, Elladan.  I expect you to exercise self control, not endanger yourself or those you fight with, and come home safely to me.” He paused and gentled his voice. “If you have not reconciled with your brother, doing so before going into battle would be beneficial to you both.”

The look on Elladan’s face told Elrond that his son had not apologized to his twin for striking him.  Elladan had said he would speak to Elrohir when he had fully recovered, but Elrohir had not appeared to have regained memory of the incident. Elrohir had become even more distant from them, however, and Elrond believed that he had recalled more than he let on.

Elrond followed Elladan out into the courtyard. He embraced him, though Elladan held himself stiffly, and then Elrohir, who returned the hug though he remained emotionally aloof.  Then he felt the touch of Glorfindel’s mind on his own. I will take care of them, promised Glorfindel.  With that small comfort, Elrond watched them ride away.

~ ~ ~* * *~ ~ ~

Elrond awoke strangely refreshed from the dreams of what had been the lowest point in his long life.   The warm glow on the wall told him the sun had risen, which meant he had slept long.  He had left dreams of despair for a reality of confidence and strength.  While he did not know if Frodo would be altogether cured, he knew with sudden surety that he would recover.  Elrond bowed his head for a moment, knowing indeed that higher powers were at work in Imladris, as well as Middle-earth.

He arrived in Frodo’s room to see the now familiar row of concerned hobbit faces.  He smiled at them, knowing his confidence would infuse them, and watched with satisfaction when each face softened and smiled in return.

“This day will be long,” he informed them, “but profitable. Only one of you may stay at a time, for I will need space to work and my assistants to aid me.”

He watched as Merry and Pippin rose in deference to Bilbo, but Sam hesitated.

“We shall spell each other, Samwise Gamgee,” said Bilbo diplomatically.  “Besides, I will need my naps.  I will take the first shift.”

As Mithrandir departed for his bed and the hobbits filed with last longing looks at Frodo from the room, Elrond removed his outer robes and rolled up his sleeves.  He could see that the shard had made only a little progress, but the translucence that he had been watching grow had intensified somewhat.

“The enemy will not have you, Frodo,” he whispered encouragingly.  “Today we will free you of its presence.” Even as he spoke the words, his hand brushed the One Ring. Not even Elrond would dare to remove that presence.

* * * * *

  Special thanks to daw and karri for beta reading this chapter.

Chapter 8: The Sons of Elrond

But to the wizard's eye there was a faint change just a hint as it were of transparency, about him, and especially about the left hand that lay outside upon the coverlet.

'Still that must be expected,' said Gandalf to himself. 'He is not half through yet, and to what he will come in the end not even Elrond can foretell. Not to evil, I think. He may become like a glass filled with a clear light for eyes to see that can.'

Many Meetings, Fellowship of the Ring

Elrond placed his fingers along either side of the thin white mark, but exerted no pressure. The decrease in temperature and a slight pulsation indicated the shard was beneath his forefinger. Using a knife with a fine blade, he carefully cut into the scar. He needed an opening no greater than the width of the fingernail of his small finger, for the shard was not large.   He ignored the blood that seeped from the wound, allowing other hands to absorb it into cloths.  Motioning for Mithrandir to draw near, he turned Vilya’s full strength against the shard.  He felt Narya’s song join Vilya’s, and their harmony became a powerful crescendo that caused the shard to move unwillingly to the open wound.

Glorfindel grasped the bloody splinter with small forceps as it appeared, and the metal hissed and steamed at the touch of the Mithril tongs.  He dropped it into a small box and when Elrond nodded to him, took it from the room.

“So small,” said Mithrandir softly.  “Was that all of it?”

Elrond nodded, his eyes never leaving the wound.  He could sense no further evil and the temperature of the skin was returning to normal beneath his hands.  The wound no longer bled.  He kept his hands in place around it and his concentration focused on it as Arwen gently cleansed the area.   When she stepped back, he again turned Vilya’s attention to the lesion.  Before the eyes of those watching, the wound edges knitted themselves together and closed, and the irritation and redness faded.  Elrond ran his fingers down Frodo’s shoulder and arm, pressing along the junctures where bones and sinews met, then lifted the hobbit’s hand and gently massaged the palm and each finger. Function and strength returned, though Frodo did not yet know it. 

Yet the translucence remains, he realized.  His hands shook slightly and he stilled them, but he could not chase away the sadness that pervaded him at this thought.  He smoothed Frodo’s hair back and gently probed his mind. The hobbit rested untroubled now, though the Ring hovered near the edges of his heart, as if staking its claim.   That Elrond could not remove, but he sensed no desire for power in Frodo’s heart and knew that that lack of desire was a power Sauron had not considered, and one his Ring could not easily conquer.   He drew Frodo up from the depths of unconsciousness where he had pushed him into a deep natural sleep, from which the hobbit could awaken naturally.

Elrond started to rise from where he sat at Frodo’s beside, then felt Arwen’s arm about him and realized he needed her support.  Slowly, Adar, she whispered in his mind. You have saved him.

Elrond’s ability to shield his own thoughts was diminished by the effort he had expended, and Arwen was dear enough to his heart to sense his thoughts immediately.  I see it too, but let us wait until he awakes before we judge. Hobbits are resilient creatures, she reminded him.

He let her boost his spirits, enough that he could smile when Bilbo clasped his hands and thanked him with tears in his eyes.  She stood at his side, her arm wrapped about him, as Aragorn opened the door to admit the rest of the hobbits, who nearly ran him over as they rushed into the room.  Elrond took comfort in seeing Frodo among his friends; Sam was already examining the wound and exclaiming over the lack of cold feeling to Frodo’s shoulder and arm.

“He’s sleeping natural like now,” said Sam gratefully.  He looked knowingly at Gandalf and then at Elrond. “I will stay with him tonight. You both look like you should sleep some yourself, if you don’t mind me saying so. You’ve been at this all day.”

Gandalf laughed. “Indeed we have, Samwise. We will entrust him to your care.”

Elrond watched as the hobbits sprawled out around Frodo, Pippin on the bed next to him and Merry lying at the foot, while Bilbo was in the comfortable chair next to him and Sam sat near his head.  They were a simple people, yet their loyalty and love knew no bounds.  Frodo was in the best of hands.

Arwen escorted him to his chambers, guiding him inside. She pulled the covers back from the bed and poured him wine while he changed, and he returned to his bedchamber warmed by a fire on the hearth and candles lit around the room.   Arwen turned as he entered, smiling, and taking him by the hand, she led him to a table where a light meal awaited them.   She ate with him in companionable silence, then said, “Now you must sleep, Adar. There are many people in Imladris suddenly, all of whom wish to speak to you.  You must rest and refresh yourself.”

He smiled at her indulgently when she held out her hand to him, but did as instructed and let her lead him to his bed.  She slipped his dressing robe from his shoulders, and when he was in his bed, she drew the covers over him and kissed his brow.

“It has been long since I have been tucked into bed like an elfling and instructed to sleep,” he informed her teasingly.

She studied him thoughtfully. “I promised Naneth, you know,” she said finally.

He looked up into a face that was a feminine reflection of his own, and was suddenly grateful she did not resemble her mother in looks, for he did not think he could bear to look upon a mirror of Celebrían in her absence. “What did you promise your Naneth?”

Arwen touched his face, then took his hand in both of hers, stroking his palm and rubbing each fingernail in turn. “It was one of her most lucid moments, not long after you told her she needed to sail.  She had those few days of strength, as you remember, when she made some preparations of her own. She sat with me one day in the garden and told me that it was not often that you truly needed to be taken care of, but those times would happen and I should be watchful for them.” She paused as tears filled her eyes. “I realized at that moment, Adar, how much we meant to her, that the only thoughts that could rouse her from those days of torment was her concern for you and for us. I promised her I would be watchful.”

Elrond drew her hand to him and kissed it, but did not attempt words, for from his heart his love overflowed to her and she drank it in and returned it.  “Sleep, Adar,” she commanded softly.

She glided from the room with a grace inherited from her grandmother, her blue-black hair glinting in the firelight before she disappeared from the room.  Warmth from her love still blanketed him, and as he slipped on to the path of dreams, he was reminded of the first time after Celebrían’s departure that Arwen had been ‘watchful’, as she termed it.

~ ~ ~* * *~ ~ ~

Elrond was drawn to the courtyard by the clamor of raised voices and pounding hooves.  He arrived in time to see Elladan’s stallion skid to a halt before the front porch, with Elladan on his back, grasping the bloody, limp body of his twin.   Glorfindel reached him before Elrond and pulled Elrohir into his arms, then paled visibly, sending Elrond’s heart into his throat.

Wordlessly they raced to the healing rooms, where Glorfindel laid Elrohir upon a table, He kept his hand over the bandage on Elrohir’s thigh, but blood dripped from between his fingers on to the white sheet below.

Elrond quickly determined that the leg wound was going to steal his son’s life first and turned his attention there.  As the healers gathered around Elrohir, lending him their strength, Elrond worked to repair the damaged tissues and vessels with a combination of tools and the power of Vilya.   Still, the amount of blood lost was appalling and the beat of his son’s heart had slowed to an impossible cadence.

He leaned over his son, pouring his healing strength into him, but felt no connection to his son’s fëa.  Fighting down panic, he took his son’s face in his hands and demanded, “Live, Elrohir!”

Elrohir’s spirit did not respond, and Elrond pushed all of his will and strength on to his son.  While your body yet has life, you will stay here! he commanded.  Never before had he been so harsh with Elrohir, or taken so commanding a tone.  Elrohir had always responded better to gentleness, and his desire to please allowed him to be cajoled with love from any mood.  But now as his body failed, his fëa prepared to flee.

Elrond suddenly felt the presence of another, of someone who had a closer bond with Elrohir than even he did. Elladan had stubbornly placed himself between Elrohir and Námo, blocking the road to the Halls of Mandos.  His sons were in a battle like none he had seen before, for despite the weakness of Elrohir’s spirit, he was not acquiescing to his brother.  Rather than siding with Elladan, Elrond placed himself to one side, calling to Elrohir as well, but more gently now.  He became aware of Arwen then, but she did not have a bond that allowed her to reach her siblings, and he instead allowed Elrohir to see her through him.

In a tone so humble it shocked Elrond, Elladan begged for Elrohir’s forgiveness and pleaded with him not to leave him.  Elrond’s heart nearly broke at the anguish in his son’s outpouring of grief and remorse. Elladan’s cry reached Elrohir too, and Elrond felt the first spark from Elrohir since his twin had brought him in. It was not with joy that he took back his damaged body, but with something akin to guilt.  But even this Elrond accepted gladly, for he would rather Elrohir find healing for his sorrow among his family than in Námo’s Halls.

As Elladan protectively surrounded his twins fëa, Elrond drew back to focus on Elrohir’s barely-alive body. The healers had been working on him continuously, and when Elrond turned his attention back to the physical wounds he found they had removed his son’s clothing and he could see how pale Elrohir had become, as if no blood flowed in his veins.  Elrond poured himself into his son, who now accepted his aid, using his own innate power enhanced by Vilya to strengthen Elrohir and heal his wounds.

When he finally looked around him, he saw Arwen and Elladan sitting at Elrohir’s head.  While Arwen stroked his head and sang to him, Elladan sat completely motionless and silent, his head touching his twin’s, his hands on Elrohir’s undamaged right shoulder.  Someone had managed to replace Elladan’s gore splattered clothing and wash his face, but though his hair was pulled back and tightly braided, Elrond could see dirt and blood spotting the strands.

As the minutes passed, he felt the beat of Elrohir’s heart strengthen and grow regular, and saw the slightest of color return to his skin.  Hours passed, and still they did not leave his side, for he waned without constant support.   Elrond orchestrated the song of Elrohir’s spirit, focusing it on making new blood and knitting up tissue. Through it all he was aware of Elladan supporting Elrohir’s fëa.

Elrond had lost all track of time and was pulled back to the present by Arwen’s voice.

“Elladan, drink this,” she said softly.  When he did not respond, she laid her hand on his shoulder, kneading the stiff muscles. He was rigid, having not moved for many hours. He seemed to resist her, but Arwen persisted, grasping his chin and pulling his head upright.  She held a flask to his mouth, and when the liqueur touched his lips he roused and drank as she directed.

Elrond took what she offered him, drinking gladly as he felt the Miruvor warm and strengthen him.  She moved next to Elrohir, patiently dripping in one drop at a time through parched lips, the fluid just wetting his mouth. She crooned to him, stroking his cheek and to Elrond’s relief, Elrohir turned into her hand, seeking that comfort.  It was the first movement he had made.

Hours passed into days. Neither Elrond nor Elladan left Elrohir’s side except under necessity, and Arwen tended to them all.  It was to her that Elrohir responded most, seeking her touch and comfort, and accepting the liquids she worked diligently to drip into him.

When hours uncounted had passed, Elrond felt Arwen’s hands cover his, then she gently but firmly removed them from where they rested on Elrohir’s chest.  Too weak to resist, he let her push him back on to the chair that someone had set behind him.  Across from him, Elladan struggled briefly against Glorfindel, but the warrior’s greater strength and iron will could not be resisted.

“You both must rest,” she informed them gently.

Elladan looked ready to protest, but Elrond spoke first. “Elrohir will live,” he agreed. “Others may now attend him.”

“I will stay here while you both bathe and rest,” said Arwen. When Elladan opened his mouth to argue, she added, “I will send for you if he worsens.”  As Glorfindel shepherded Elrond and Elladan from the room, Arwen organized the helpers to properly bathe Elrohir and then move him to a more comfortable bed in a quiet alcove.  Elrond stood in the door for a moment, watching her quiet efficiency, then he felt Erestor at his elbow, guiding him away.

* * *

Elrond was awakened by Elladan, who had entered unannounced and seated himself at the foot of the empty side of the bed.  The deep shadows under his eyes had lightened, but the shadows within had not. Elrond stretched, then propped himself up on the pillows and waited for his son to speak.

“I apologize to you, Adar, and ask for your forgiveness,” Elladan began. “I did not listen to anyone who warned me that I was causing more hurt and grief to the ones I love most. I have made life more difficult for you, and I am sorry.”

“I forgive you, Elladan.  I likely speak for everyone when I say that I hold no offense against you, but wish more to hear that you have forgiven yourself,” replied Elrond evenly.

Elladan’s eyes filled with tears. “I think I have, Adar, but I am so ashamed that I pushed Elrohir nearly to his death before my eyes were opened to what I was doing.”

Elrond felt his heart twist at those words, and a part of him did not want to know what had happened. Yet, if he was to help both of his sons, they needed to speak of it and he needed to listen.  “What happened?” he asked, opening the door for Elladan to bare his heart.

“We left here with Glorfindel and rode out with the Rangers. We went expecting battle and found it, and we fought well. I enjoyed it, Adar, I enjoyed killing each orc I came across.  I did not torture, but I showed no mercy. Elrohir enjoyed it too.  He would fire arrow after arrow, never missing. I think he killed an orc for each arrow he possessed.  Glorfindel watched us closely, but we were both careful to give him no reason for concern.

“Every orc that died was vengeance for Naneth.  Each time I looked upon one, I saw the merciless beasts that tormented her. I had to use every vestige of self-control I possessed not to become like them and enjoy hearing them die.  But I thought I was justified in bringing death upon them.” He paused and drew in a deep breath. “I still feel justified bringing death upon them.

“After our task was complete, we became aware of a great movement of horsemen out of the north, riding south east of the Anduin.  The Eagles said they rode to war, to the aid of Gondor, who was fighting the Balchoth and the orcs of Mordor. I wished to ride with them, for riding to war seemed both glorious and worthy. Glorfindel wished us to seek your leave, but I would not be persuaded. I said he should go home and bring you word while we continued on to learn the news.” Elladan’s voice faltered. “I think Elrohir wished to go home too.  We fight better together though, and so I goaded him privately into coming with me. I led him to believe I would go off on my own.

“We left Glorfindel and crossed at the Old Ford, joining the Northmen in their ride south. Gondor’s need was dire and Eorl’s coming brought them relief and salvation, for all would have been loss.   In honor of their aid, Cirion was to give to Eorl the land of Calenardhon. We left before the ceremonies, heading north through Lothlorien.

“Daeradar and Daernaneth had recently returned and were already aware of the war to their south and the deepening shadow of Dol Guldur.  A light had shone from the Golden Wood, pushing back the darkness and mists near that evil place when Eorl passed by. But while light shone from the Wood over the Anduin vale, a shadow rested still on our naneth’s parents.” Elladan’s voice broke, and he drew in a ragged breath.  “They wished only to comfort us, but Elrohir would not speak and I did not wish for comfort.  I am ashamed to admit that I argued again with Haldir and we left soon after, to the despair of those who love us.”

Elladan lowered his eyes then and paused.  “We came home through the Redhorn Pass.  Our daeradar rode with us to the east end, and I am sure he sent a patrol ahead to scout out the whole pass.  Riding through there was agony, Adar.  All of the rage I thought I had expended on the orcs in the High Pass and in Calenardhon returned to me, and I wanted to seek them out.  Unfortunately, I found my chance.

“We came across a patrol of orcs midway between the Hollin Ridge and home.  There were too many for us to challenge, and they had not detected us.  We should have skirted them and continued.  That is what Elrohir argued for.” Tears began to stream down Elladan’s face. “I challenged my brother, called him a coward, and asked how he could let our naneth remain unavenged. In a rage I rode forward to engage the enemy. I could see their captain and in my mind I saw a twist of silver hair tied into his. I did not see the orcs closing in behind me, encircling me, as I raced forward.  Elrohir protected my back, his arrows felling each orc in turn, while I challenged their captain. I removed his head as if I were slicing a ripe melon and I laughed as it rolled into the canyon behind him. Then I heard Elrohir’s cry, and I turned to see him fall.  The blow that nearly severed his leg killed his horse. I raced forward and grabbed him from their hands as they shouted their plans to sever his limbs and eat them before his eyes.  I held my fingers over the spurting blood until I had enough distance between us and them to stop and bind it.  We rode without stopping until we reached home.”

Elladan had begun his story sitting rigid and erect, but as his tears started he slumped in despair and Elrond reached for his son, pulling him into his arms.  The dam broke as Elladan himself was broken, and great heaving sobs poured forth.  In all of the centuries of his son’s life, Elrond had never seen his son like this. His heart was laid bare and his tears cleansed and purified his soul. Elrond let him cry until he was limp and quiet, then gently probed his son’s mind, which remained open and vulnerable.

“No longer will guilt possess you and anger rule you,” said Elrond quietly.  “I am glad to have my son back.”

Elladan was quiet for a long moment, and Elrond continued to stroke his hair, imparting peace and calm into his son. When Elladan next spoke, his concern was for his twin. “I fear for Elrohir, Adar.  I saw Námo open the doors to his Halls, and Elrohir would have gone willingly,” he choked out, rising up. “I fear that I have made Elrohir’s life unbearable to him.”

Elrond held up his hand. “Stop, Elladan.  You are responsible for your own actions. Elrohir is responsible for his.  He must face the consequences of his own choices, and his healing lies in his own hands.”

Elladan sank back down. “I hope he wishes to heal.”

“As do I,” answered Elrond softly.

* * *

Elrond entered the healing rooms early one evening several days later to see Arwen sitting at Elrohir’s side.  She was speaking to him, holding his hand in one of hers while stroking his hair with the other.   He felt his heart lift and relief fill him, for they had waited nearly a week for Elrohir to waken.

Too weak to hide his emotions or shield his thoughts, Elrohir’s eyes spoke his sorrow. Elrond laid his hand upon Elrohir’s chest and was pleased to find his heartbeat strong, yet he could feel that that heart beneath was still deeply wounded.  Elrohir looked at him silently, as if unable to find any words to greet a father he had not seen in many months.

“Hello, Elrohir,” he said gently, and leaning forward he kissed his son’s brow.  “Words are inadequate to express how glad I am to see you awake.”

“I do not remember much of what happened,” replied Elrohir suddenly, and Elrond could see him cloud his mind, though he could not shield it. He decided he would not be put off so easily.

“I believe you remember what is important,” said Elrond easily, but despite his casual tone, he felt Elrohir tense at the meaning of his words and knew his son understood.  He intended to strike while his son was vulnerable, for he knew if he allowed Elrohir to strengthen his will and mind with his body, he would close them out again. “Just as you remembered that Elladan struck you and knocked you unconscious.”

Elrohir’s eyes flicked to Arwen in search of support, but she took his hands in hers and met his eyes steadily. He looked away, over their shoulders at the room beyond, but there was no escape.  He finally returned his gaze to his father.  “Will you not speak to me, Elrohir?”

“Adar, I . . .” Elrohir turned his head away and studied the wall, but turned back when Elrond and Arwen waited patiently.  Tears appeared in his eyes when they both remained firm, holding him with loving but unyielding gazes.  “Adar, please.”

“Please, what?” prodded Elrond gently. When Elrohir caught his breath but did not speak, he asked directly, “Elrohir, do you think you are responsible for what happened to your naneth?”

Elrohir squeezed his eyes shut as tears slipped down his cheeks.  Arwen brushed them away, and he leaned into her hand.  She comforted him, but when he did not respond, she prodded him, “Do you, Elrohir?”

“What I think is irrelevant! I was the scout; it was my responsibility to make sure the path was safe before anyone ventured into the pass,” spat out Elrohir hoarsely.

“Your responsibility for the patrol is established, then,” agreed Elrond. “You failed in your responsibility. Why?”

Elrohir went pale at Elrond’s words, but the harshness of those words was belied by the gentle touch of father and sister upon him.  Still, he was shocked enough he could not answer.

“Were you complacent? Did you not take the risk seriously?”

“No, Adar!” protested Elrohir, horrified.

“What, then?” challenged Elrond, unmoved.

“There were no signs; they were high up on the cliff,” explained Elrohir. “I did not see any sign of them on my first trip through the pass. I . . .” His voice trailed off as a sob shook him.

“You are one of the best scouts in Imladris; Glorfindel says so,” added Arwen. “Would anyone else have done better?”

“Perhaps, by chance,” allowed Elrohir.

“So the enemy outwitted us. That has happened before, and it will happen again,” said Elrond calmly. “All that has ever been asked of any warrior of Imladris is that they perform to the best of their abilities.  Did you do that, Elrohir?”

Elrohir struggled with his answer, and Elrond could see his dilemma clearly: in honesty he would need to admit he had, but he was not ready to absolve himself of guilt. “Did you do that, Elrohir?” repeated Elrond.

“Yes,” hissed Elrohir in a low voice, his eyes again closed.

“That brings us to the heart of the problem, my son,” continued Elrond.  “I am aware of no one who holds you responsible for your naneth’s fate.  Your naneth certainly did not. I do not, nor your grandparents, or anyone in Imladris.  That leaves only you, Elrohir.  Why do you refuse to accord yourself the same grace I know you would offer to any other?”

“I do not know!” cried Elrohir, his chest heaving with ragged breaths and his jaw clenching in an effort to hold back the emotion that threatened to overwhelm him. Elrond squeezed the hand he had been holding hard enough to get Elrohir’s attention, and his son gripped it back as if it were a lifeline. 

He lightly probed at his son’s mind. “Will you let me in, Elrohir?” he whispered.

“It is messy,” gasped Elrohir, a grimace of pain flickering across his face as the wounds on his chest contracted with his breaths. He looked imploringly at Elrond,  and Elrond could see his misery. At the touch of his father’s mind though, Elrohir dropped his guard and bared his thoughts, as trusting as the day he had obeyed his father’s command to be born.

Elrond followed the zigzagging thoughts that rambled through the mind of his beleaguered son. He saw the points of connection that Elrohir missed, joining what seemed to be unrelated events together and providing a more coherent whole. Where confusion and despair pushed at the door to Elrohir’s mind, Elrond chased them away.  He saw something then which surprised him, and he wondered how he could have been so blind.

He first soothed his son, waiting until Elrohir’s breathing was calm and regular before speaking. Even then he considered waiting until Elrohir was stronger before pursuing what he had found, but he could see that the barriers Elrohir had erected would return quickly if not demolished now. “Speak to me of Elladan.”

Elrohir opened his eyes, a questioning look on his face though trust for his father remained visible in his eyes.  He considered the request for a moment, then said, “He let go of his anger for a while, but seeing Daernaneth and Daeradar and then riding through the Redhorn Pass seemed to trigger his rage again. He went in search of orcs to assault.  All sense fled from him, and he would have died.” Tears filled his eyes as he walked the paths of his own memories. Fear appeared suddenly on his face. “Where is he?  Is he injured?”

“He is uninjured. He sat with you this morning, until Arwen sent him to eat and rest,” replied Elrond.

Elrohir relaxed in relief. “I have tried to keep him safe, but I fear I have failed him yet again,” he murmured.

Elrond pounced on his words. “How have you failed Elladan?”

“I could not keep him from rushing into battle,” replied Elrohir simply.

“You said ‘again’; when did you fail him before?”

A shadow crossed Elrohir’s face and he tried to distance his thoughts, but Elrond held him firmly. “When, Elrohir?”

“He was my captain. His guilt is because of me.  He trusted me to scout the pass and relied on my word to enter it with Naneth. I caused him to fail,” replied Elrohir brokenly.

“Has Elladan said that to you?” asked Arwen cautiously.

“He has not needed to use words. His contempt for me is enough,” choked out Elrohir. When Arwen reached to caress his arm, he shrank from her touch.  “Do not pity me.”

“I do pity you,” said Arwen sternly. “I am also growing angry with you and Elladan.”  Elrohir grew distant, turning his eyes away, but Arwen did not let him go so easily.  She took his face in both of her hands and forced him to look at her.   “Elladan has treated you despicably, and for that he must answer. But you have accepted that treatment in some misguided sense of guilt and you must stop. I love you, Elrohir, and I want my brother back.”

The tears that ran down her cheeks moved Elrohir, but his immediate thought, easily read by Elrond, was that he was responsible for her sorrow and it added to his burden of guilt.

“Why have you followed Elladan? Why have you tried to keep him safe?” asked Elrond.

Elrohir turned his gaze from sister to father, which provided him with some relief from her sorrow but challenged him again to look inside himself. He looked nearly overwhelmed, and Elrond whispered in his mind, Let me guide you, Elrohir.

Elrohir clung to his father’s hand and forced his mind to relax. His trust was childlike in its simplicity, and Elrond was reminded of how deep their bond was, and the care needed to tend and nurture it to keep it that way.

“Do you love your brother?” he began.

“Yes,” answered Elrohir without hesitation

“Do you feel responsible for him?”

“Yes.” Slower this time.

“Do you owe him?

“Yes,” whispered Elrohir.

“For what do you owe him?”

“I . . . I owe him for the harm I have done to him, for failing him.”

“How do you intend to pay that debt?  With your blood?”

Elrohir’s eyes glistened with tears. “With anything I have to give.  With everything I have to give.”

“When will you have given enough? What price have you set?” continued Elrond.

“I do not know, Adar,” gasped Elrohir, as the weight of the burden settled on him.

“Perhaps,” said Elrond, his own voice breaking, “you might begin by forgiving each other? Then forgive yourselves.” His voice hoarse with emotion, he finished, “There can be no such debt between brothers, between family. There can be no continued attempts to atone for wrongs, attempts to redress injury caused by the enemy.”

Elrohir took deep breaths in an attempt at self-control, and Elrond could see the pain as his skin stretched at healing wounds. Yet he could see Elrohir’s stubborn resistance to his words, and soothing his pain would allow him to resist those words more. When Elrohir opened his eyes, Elrond could see the same cloud that had been present when their conversation had begun. Anger grew in him.

“Enough, Elrohir,” he said through gritted teeth.  He watched with grim satisfaction as Elrohir’s eyes widened in surprise, then filled with trepidation. “There is guilt aplenty to share among everyone who loves your mother.  There is pain and sorrow and grief for each of us.  Yours is not more worthy and your martyrdom is unbecoming.  You have become selfish in your grief. Let. It. Go.”

Elrond saw himself though Elrohir’s eyes, his eyes flashing and his words echoing in a staccato of anger. He felt Elrohir’s shock as the words stung him deeply, but as Elrond pressed his will on him, they had the desired effect.  The hurt gradually diminished as the cloud passed and truth dawned.

“Adar, I see,” he said suddenly. He took one of Arwen’s hands and one of his father’s. “Adar, Arwen, please forgive me.”

Arwen could only mouth ‘Forgiven’ as she kissed his hand.  Elrond, though, smoothed Elrohir’s hair back and said, “I forgive you. Will you forgive me?”

“What for?” asked Elrohir, confused.

“I expected you, even depended on you to look after your brother in his grief and anger. I did not see your pain, and I added to it,” admitted Elrond humbly.

He felt Elrohir’s heart lighten, as a deeper understanding settled in him.  He looked at Elrond with compassion, then suddenly realized a response was expected. “I forgive you, Adar.” Tears again began to fall, but this time they were not of sorrow and confusion, but of healing. 

“Am I welcome?”

All three turned to see Elladan standing in the doorway.

“Yes,” answered Elrohir immediately.

Elladan walked slowly to them, his eyes and thoughts for Elrohir only, and Elrond withdrew from Elrohir’s mind. He and Arwen both stood and stepped away from Elrohir’s bed as Elladan dropped to his knees beside it, taking his twin’s hand in his.

“Elrohir, I come to plead for your forgiveness,” began Elladan.

Elrohir’s tears still fell, but he tugged weakly on his brother’s hand. “Do not kneel before me.”

Elladan stayed where he was. Some unspoken communication passed between them, then Elladan said, “Adar and Arwen need to hear what I have to say, Elrohir. I need to speak these words out loud.”

Elrohir relented, relaxing into the pillows.

“I have treated you horribly, in ways I would not dare treat anyone else, though no one is dearer to me than you. I have struck you in anger. I have called you a coward and challenged your integrity.  I have created havoc around me and expected you to pick up the pieces, and then despised you for doing so. I did all of this in the knowledge you would forgive me, because you always do.  Everyone knows that Elrohir always forgives!  Only now do I see what a gift that is, one I do not deserve. I do not deserve your forgiveness,” said Elladan hoarsely. “I cannot even earn it, for there is no way for me to undo the hurt I have caused you.  I beg you, Elrohir, to forgive me and give me another chance to be your brother.”

Elladan was weeping openly when he finished, truly broken and humble, all vestiges of pride and anger gone.  Elrond, though, watched Elrohir intently.  He felt Arwen’s grip on his hands tighten as she also waited to see if Elrohir truly understood.

“I cannot not forgive you, Elladan, for I drove you to it!” cried Elrohir softly. He tried to rise and could not, and Elrond moved forward to assist him when he saw the flicker of pain cross his face. “I do see, Adar.” He turned back to Elladan.  “I wanted you to punish me. I wanted you to expend your anger on me, for I had failed you as well as Naneth. Each time you lashed out at me I thought part of my debt to you was paid, but you see clearer than me: I cannot ever pay off that debt. I cannot undo the hurt I caused. I forgive you. Please forgive me, Elladan.”

Elrond watched as Elladan rose and carefully slid his arms around his twin and held him. As Elrohir’s tears wet his tunic, his splashed on to his brother’s head.  Relieved, Elrond lifted his head as the terrible weight that had burdened him dissipated into the air, washed away by the gently falling rain outside the balcony.  The air smelled clean and fresh, and then the clouds cleared and the stars appeared, and he wondered if they had ever shone so brightly. Eärendil appeared, and as was his wont occasionally, he dipped low over Imladris. As the stars had known of the distress and grief of Imladris, on this night they knew of the love and peace that again resided there.

He felt Arwen at his side and wrapped his arms around her. In a manner much like her mother, despite being held she imparted comfort to him. From her poured a gentle stream of praise and love that encouraged him and uplifted him.  She depended on him, loved him, and there was no weight to that burden, only joy.

Looking at his sons, he saw the physical and emotional exhaustion in Elrohir.  He had not eaten or drunk anything to strengthen him, and the confrontation with his father and sister and brother had drained him. Yet when their eyes met, Elrohir’s reflected the peace of his soul.

Arwen read his thoughts and disengaged herself from him to obtain broth and tea for her brother.   When she returned, Elrohir let her feed him and care for him, for he knew it pleased her to do so, and he let Elladan hold him as he drifted into an easy sleep.  The Elrohir they had known, the brother who could not deny his siblings anything, especially his heart, was returned to them.

“Adar?”

Elrond focused on his daughter as her call invaded her thoughts.  She laughed softly, then took his hand. He looked at his sons, now both soundly sleeping, and allowed himself to be led from the healing rooms back to his own chambers.  She sat on the edge of his bed next to him, then bent to kiss him.  “Thank you, Adar, for bringing them home.”

“They brought themselves home,” replied Elrond. “We had only to wait.”

“You are the lamp that lit their path and the beacon that guided them home,” corrected Arwen.  “Always you have said that Celebrían was the light of Imladris and she was the warm fire and heart that made all feel welcome.  But yours is the light that guides those in need to your door and helps them to find their way.”  She stood and lowered the lamp on the table near his bed. “Pleasant dreams, Adar.”

Elrond felt Celebrían’s presence the moment he entered the Path of Dreams.  She walked to him bathed in a golden light that warmed his heart, and in her eyes was love without end. He wrapped his arms about her and felt her joy surround him.  “I am home,” sang their hearts.

~ ~ ~* * *~ ~ ~

Elrond entered Frodo’s room just after Anor rose. Sam slept in the chair at the bedside, and Elrond was careful not to wake him.  Mithrandir was already present, waiting in watchful silence.  Elrond examined Frodo’s wound, finding the skin warm to the touch, but the translucence remained. It was faint, and he thought it unlikely that any mortal would note the clear light that shone softly from him.

“What does that portend for his fate?” asked Mithrandir.

“Nothing evil,” answered Elrond, “but to what end it will lead him I do not know. Already his suffering has deepened his knowledge of the spirit, though he may not realize it yet.” He placed Frodo’s arm back down at his side and pulled the sheet up to cover him again. “He is stronger than he appears, yet care should be taken to not upset him with news or remembrances that may awaken his memories or the evil that hangs from his neck.  When he is strong enough, we shall hold council to discuss the fate of the One.”

Mithrandir lifted a brow in question. “Do you think he can be parted from it?”

“Yes, like Bilbo, with aid he could.” Elrond pondered the hobbit for a long moment, then visions filled his mind, of Orodruin and its fires, and the dark shadows of Mordor.  The smallest of beacons drew his eye, visible against the blackness of that land, though faint, but it grew in strength and proportion the closer it came to the red-hot fires that erupted from deep within the mountain. “The question is should he part from it at this time?”

* * * * *

 Thank you to Daw and Karri for beta reading this chapter

Chapter 9: The Evenstar

But Elrond saw many things and read many hearts. One day, therefore, before the fall of the year he called Aragorn to his chamber, and he said: "Aragorn, Arathorn's son, Lord of the Dúnedain, listen to me! A great doom awaits you, either to rise above the height of all your fathers since the days of Elendil, or to fall into darkness with all that is left of your kin. Many years of trial lie before you. You shall neither have wife, nor bind any woman to you in troth, until your time comes and you are found worthy of it."

And Arwen said: "Dark is the Shadow, and yet my heart rejoices; for you, Estel, shall be among the great whose valour will destroy it."

But Aragorn answered: "Alas! I cannot foresee it, and how it may come to pass is hidden from me. Yet with your hope I will hope.”

The Tale of Arwen and Aragorn, Appendix A, Return of the King

Anor’s light had just appeared, shining upwards from below the mountains and illuminating their peaks with a golden glow, when Elrond heard Erestor enter his chambers. He could smell the fragrance of the hot tea.  His mouth watered in anticipation, and he gladly accepted the cup Erestor handed him.

“Ah, you are recovered,” said Erestor with approval.

“I am,” agreed Elrond. “Somehow I think you know before I do.”

“I do,” answered Erestor.  “When your nose twitches in response to this particular tea, you are well.” He smiled at Elrond, then added, “Celebrían told me that.”

At the mention of his wife’s name, Elrond felt a slight shiver of anticipation run through him, as often happened now that he considered their reunion imminent.  Thoughts of Celebrían pushed thoughts of present failures and future separations from his mind.

“I expect Frodo will awaken at mid-morning,” said Elrond as he sipped his tea. “I do not want him stressed or stimulated today; therefore none but Samwise and Mithrandir are to be admitted to his room.  Mithrandir will assess his well-being. If he is well, then we will proceed with the feast tonight.  Make it early, however, as Frodo may wish to enjoy some time in the Great Hall - Bilbo is working on his latest verse, as you know – and I do not want him up too late on this first night.”

“Have you heard Bilbo’s latest verse?” asked Erestor, his eyes twinkling.

“I have,” replied Elrond dryly.  “Lindir has been so amused he has created the Ballad of Bilbo’s Verse. I have had to remind him to take some care where he sings it, as our dear hobbit understands considerable Quenya as well as Sindarin.” He paused, turning to face his advisor. “I understand you have been quite helpful in providing Bilbo with the information he needed.”

Erestor grinned. “His work is all his own. Despite knowing that there are those alive who could tell him the story directly, he has preferred to unearth his own evidence by exploring numerous tomes in the library. A useful pastime for an aged hobbit.”

“Indeed,” laughed Elrond, but continued more seriously, “An active and curious mind well cultivated is a blessing to a mortal in the fall of life.”

Erestor nodded his agreement. “I will finish the arrangements for this evening.”

Elrond entered his study to find his desk neatly arranged with information on each of Imladris’ visitors.  Dwarves from the Lonely Mountain, Elves from Thranduil’s realm in Mirkwood, and Galdor from Mithlond.  A tug on his mind and the thrum of Vilya led him to the balcony again, where he stood gazing southward.  The protections he had set about Imladris’ borders kept them hidden from outsiders. He knew when shadow threatened to overwhelm those protections, but with some work he also knew when those seeking aid approached.  Intent on the presence to the south, he did not hear Glorfindel enter the room and started at the touch on  his arm.

“I have a message from Elladan,” Glorfindel said, then smiled when Elrond brightened at the mention of his son’s name.  “They have come upon a man from Gondor, seeking Imladris.”

“For what reason?” asked Elrond curiously.  It had been long since he had had contact with any men of the southern realm, and Aragorn in the guise of Thorongil had not revealed his true identity or home during his sojourn there, though men had come into the north seeking news of him.

“To solve a riddle,” answered Glorfindel.  “I sent word back that they should allow him to find the way.”

Elrond nodded his agreement as he considered the southern Númenorian realm.  It was in the libraries of Minas Tirith that Gandalf had found Isildur’s account of the One Ring; it was in Minas Tirith that Aragorn would one day rule, should Sauron be defeated and the line of the kings restored.   One who came from that realm was surely seeking information that would involve both Aragorn and the One.  In the past, when men had come with questions about Thorongil, Elrond had not allowed them to find Imladris for Aragorn’s time had not come.  Yet he had foreseen that Gondor had a role to play in the events unfolding around them.  It was time for Isildur’s heir to be revealed.

“Do you wish me to arrange any meetings between you and our visitors?” asked Glorfindel after several minutes had passed.

Elrond had been considering how he wished to speak to each group.  Tensions existed at times between the races, and he would need to use care to ensure that his actions, intentional or unintentional, did nothing to heighten them. More importantly, he needed all of the races to set aside their own interests and look to the future of Middle-earth.   The best way to do that was to hold a council and let everyone hear the tale of the One Ring from its start to the present, each adding their own tales to the whole.  “No,” he answered.  “I will invite representatives from each group to a Council tomorrow. There the fate of the One will be determined and all of the races will be witness. ”

* * *

Elrond entered the dining hall with Arwen at his side.  She was serene and beautiful, and all eyes were drawn to her.   He sensed contentment in her, despite the fact that Aragorn had been lured from the feast by the news his brothers had returned.

My place this eve is with you, she answered, following his thoughts easily, though it is my choice as well. We have many guests, and I would honor Frodo and celebrate his recovery.  She was silent as he led her to her chair, midway down the table.  She would not sit in her mother’s place this night, but in her own.  He held her chair as she was seated, then walked to join Glorfindel and Mithrandir at the head of the table.

Elrond looked over the length of the table, then to the tables placed nearby.  Erestor and Arwen had seen to the seating arrangements, and he was pleased to see the delegations mingled together, so that the tables held a mix of elves, dwarves, hobbits and men.  The meal was in progress when he sensed mirth in Glorfindel and turned to look at him.  Following Glorfindel’s gaze upward, he felt warmth spread through him as he saw figures on the balcony above them. Elladan waved and Elrohir blew him a kiss as they jostled Aragorn between them affectionately, causing the grim ranger to smile, a sight they seldom saw now.  In the moment he watched them, Aragorn shrank from lean ranger into an eager and innocent child, content playing between the twins he considered his brothers as he watched a feast in honor of a wizard, thirteen dwarves and a hobbit. Elrond turned back to the feast with a renewed spirit.  His sons had been gone long, and he rejoiced in their return.

* * *

Elrond watched with amusement as Frodo and Sam sat near Bilbo, who was still glowing after reciting his verse before all present.  Lindir had teased him as expected, but Bilbo had dealt with the minstrel on enough occasions not to be lured into a discussion with the merry elf who would try to stump the elderly hobbit with tongue-twisting rhymes and words of many meanings.   Elrond had been pleased to be the one to present Frodo to his uncle as they entered the Great Hall after dinner, for the look of joy and contentment in Frodo’s eyes had warmed his heart. The hobbit’s long struggle against the shard of the morgul blade appeared mostly forgotten, and indeed, Frodo remembered none of his days in Imladris.  He appeared to be recovered, and though Elrond did not know his normal personality, the others seemed to believe that Frodo was restored to them.  The ring seemed to have little hold on him, which amazed Elrond, as the least softening of his own guard allowed him to hear It calling him.

A movement behind him caught his attention and from the corner of his eye he saw a strong hand come to rest on his daughter’s shoulder.  She raised her hand to cover it, the ring of Barahir on her finger this night.  Dressed simply but finely, she and Aragorn were a handsome couple and his sight drifted effortlessly into a vision of them so posed: Arwen radiant and great with child, and Aragorn with the winged crown of Gondor upon his head and a look of tenderness in his eyes as he beheld his wife. Pride filled Elrond even as sorrow pierced his heart, and he quickly blinked both away.

“Another guest will arrive in Imladris by morning,” said Aragorn softly. “Boromir son of Denethor, steward of Gondor, has been seeking Imladris for many days.”

“Have you learned more of his purpose?” asked Elrond. His memory had been drawn throughout the day to the last men who came from the south seeking word of a man from the north, a man called Thorongil. It had been many years in the reckoning of men, yet seemed as if only yesterday.  Those men had never found Imladris, nor the answers to their questions, at least not from Elrond’s people.

“He speaks of a riddle that involves Narsil and a Halfling bearing Isildur’s bane,” replied Aragorn quietly, his face grave.

Aragorn would have continued, but the doors had opened again and Lindir had begun a new song in honor of the latest arrivals.  Dressed identically in robes of midnight blue trimmed in silver, with thin Mithril circlets upon their brows and damp hair drawn back in braids similar to Elrond’s, his sons walked to him and bowed.   He nodded in acknowledgement, but was already reaching for Elrohir’s hand for in a simple touch he would assure himself that they were well.

“Greetings, Adar,” said Elladan. He reached for Arwen’s hand, but before he could take it in his own, she rose and embraced him.

Elrond rose also, embracing each of his sons, immediately treasuring the rare moment of having all of his children around him.   The musicians continued to play and the twins waited appreciatively until the welcome song ended. They were quickly surrounded by talk and laughter, but Elladan excused them with promises to return later.

Elrond led them to his study, where Erestor and Glorfindel soon joined them.   He smiled as Elrohir attempted to maneuver to sit next to his sister as he always did, for she spoiled him, but when both he and Aragorn attempted to sit in the same spot, Elrohir gracefully ceded the position.

“Sit here, elfling,” said Glorfindel, and Elrond realized it had been long since he had heard that moniker used for his son. For more than twenty centuries, Elrohir had argued over that name, then a day came when he seemed to just accept it.  Glorfindel had used the name rarely, though, since Celebrían’s departure.  In the time after Celebrían’s attack, when Elrond had been most concerned for the outwardly self-destructive Elladan, Glorfindel had feared more for the quieter Elrohir.   While Elladan had returned to his normal self, Elrohir remained quieter and more introspective than he had been.   Glorfindel was one of the few people who could draw him out, and Elrond was grateful to his old friend when Elrohir grinned in response to the affectionate nickname.

Elrohir settled next to Glorfindel, who put his talented hands to use on muscles stiff and hard from many days on a horse. As was usual between the twins when relating a long tale, Elladan did the speaking, though Elrond could sense the unspoken thoughts that passed between them. Elrohir was more apt to speak when there was little to be said.

“His name is Boromir, and he is the son of the Steward Denethor,” began Elladan, when his audience was settled.  “We found him wandering in the Angle, searching for Imladris.   In Tharbad they send him north, and travelers confirmed stories of the elves living in a northern valley, but none could tell him how to find it. The Dúnedain were less than helpful, when he could find any to speak to him.” A slow smile crept over his face. “One woman recalled the last time men from the south came north seeking information and gave him directions that ran him in a circle.”

Aragorn looked gravely upon Elladan at those words, but Elladan smiled, eyes twinkling, and continued, “We watched him wander for several days, but though clearly a fierce warrior, his senses are somewhat lacking.  He may well believe that mischievous squirrels throw acorns down upon weary travelers who rest against their tree-homes.”

Elrohir squirmed slightly at his twin’s words and Glorfindel pressed down firmly upon his shoulders, while Elladan laughed aloud.  He winked at Arwen as she fought to keep a straight face. “Yes, dear sister, you will be glad to know our brother displayed some of his customary orneriness. He recalls too well the men sent by Denethor, seeking news of Thorongil.”

Aragorn turned his gaze to Elrohir, but Elrohir laughed and said, “You will find Boromir quite hard-headed.”

Elrond watched the flicker of emotions reflected in Aragorn’s eyes, then the grim ranger finally smiled. He had grown so serious; the moments of levity rare.  His smile faded as he met Elrond’s gaze.

“You time has come,” said Elrond seriously after a moment’s silence.  At his words, the room went still and all eyes came to rest on him.  Aragorn removed his hand from Arwen’s, leaned forward, and nodded his acknowledgement.

“Tomorrow we will hold Council and discuss the fate of the One Ring.  It rests now upon a chain on the hobbit Frodo’s neck.  Even in Imladris he is watched for his protection, and it is best that few know what he bears.  For that reason, the Council participants will be limited and the meeting secret. The tale of Sauron’s Ring will be told in its entirety, and all of our visitors will add their part.  It is not by chance that they have arrived here now.  I believe your time has come, Aragorn, the future you have long prepared for.”

Elrond watched as Arwen slipped her arm back around Aragorn’s elbow, taking his hand in her own and gently massaging it.   He could feel the support she was lending him, the love flowing from her and into him.  The troth-plight between them had begun the weaving of a new tapestry, and from each of their lives had the threads been drawn. The room faded from his sight as he followed the strands, remembering how he had wished nothing more than to capture the slender cords that bound his daughter to the Eldar - to her family, to him -  as he watched Arwen loosen the filaments and prepare to weave them into a story of the Secondborn . . .

~ ~ ~* * *~ ~ ~

For the first time in thirty years, Aragorn dismounted in the courtyard, handing the reins to a groom, and turned to face the house. Elrond saw much in those few moments as he walked forward to greet his son: Estel the young man was gone, replaced by a ranger full grown in body and mind.  He carried himself with a confidence that could only be earned through the hard life of a soldier, yet dignity flowed from him befitting his lineage. His eyes reflected wisdom, and a moment after meeting Elrond’s, sorrow.

“Welcome home, my son,” he greeted him, embracing the man while ignoring the pain in his heart and the way Aragorn guarded his own heart against him.

“Thank you,” replied Aragorn. “I am glad to be home.”

Elrond watched as Aragorn drew in a deep breath, steeling himself to speak. For a moment he considered allowing Aragorn to put words to his thoughts and tell him of Arwen, but Aragorn had grown much in his time away and Elrond would not give him the upper hand in the conversation they needed to have.

“I wish to hear of your travels and we must speak of Arwen, but first you must refresh yourself,” said Elrond, speaking just as Aragorn opened his mouth.

Aragorn’s mouth snapped shut and he went still, Elrond’s words clearly catching him off-guard. Elrond felt a moment’s regret, but he brushed the thought away as quickly as it had come.

“Arwen?” ventured Aragorn.

Elrond masked his emotions, ruthlessly caging first his pain and then his anger. He is your son, he reminded himself, and you love him too.  He did not speak until he had mastered control of himself. “She has pledged herself to you, and forsaken the Twilight. You come home because it was your intent upon leaving the south, but now you come also to tell me that you have bound yourself in troth, though your time has not yet come.”

Aragorn bowed his head. “What you say is true,” he replied softly. “How did you know?”

Elrond smiled grimly, but dismissed the question with a wave of his hand. He would not tell of the pain that had come upon him unaware or the vision that had broken his heart, nor how he could now sense in Aragorn the thinnest thread linking him to Arwen, confirmation that his vision had indeed come to pass.

“I cannot fully comprehend what it is that I have asked of you, but I have more understanding now than I did in my youth,” he offered.

Elrond felt a strange mixture of anger and compassion for his son. He did not yet know what had led Aragorn and Arwen to take this step in Lothlorien, away from him, but he did respect the man for coming to speak to him immediately. He took Aragorn’s arm and guided him to the house. “Your room has been prepared.  Refresh yourself, and we will speak later in my study.”

 * * *

Elrond went to his chambers after escorting Aragorn to his rooms, turmoil broiling within him.  The nearly thirty years of preparation had not made this day easier; instead he felt as a kettle long left simmering that had now had its fire stoked, ready to erupt and boil over.  He took off his robe and flung it in the direction of his wardrobe, then paced unrestricted in tunic and trousers.

A carved wooden stand sat near his balcony; on it, a vase hand painted by Arwen. He picked it up, cradling it in the palm of one hand, while he traced the delicate vein of a leaf that appeared to grow out of the glass, reaching for the light.   The leaf began to grow and from it blossomed a flower that stretched toward the sun.  It was glorious in its color and beauty, and its scent filled the air. He drank it in, but then the flower began to droop and the edges of the leaf curled.   They grew brown and brittle, crumbling in his hand.

“I can think of a more suitable outlet for your frustration,” interrupted Glorfindel.

Elrond started, looking up into the face of his friend, then down to the broken glass in his hands.   He stared at them stupidly as shards fell between his fingers, shattering as they hit the floor. Glorfindel took the pieces that remained and set them aside, then patiently removed the slivers that had lodged in his skin. Elrond watched as drops of blood oozed from each one, the wounds healing before his eyes.

“Come,” said Glorfindel.  When Elrond did not immediately follow, Glorfindel grasped his elbow and led him out of the house to the armory. He did not resist, but then, the strength of Glorfindel’s hold left no question as to the futility of such an action.

A sword was placed in his hand; his sword, he realized.  Glorfindel led him to a practice field and led him through a patient warm up.  Elrond felt his heart speed up as blood rushed to his limbs, and he was the one who swung the sword in the first real blow.  Glorfindel was prepared, however, and parried him easily.  Elrond jabbed again, and again, and again, the exertion more than he had expended in many a century.  Glorfindel did not speak or show any emotion, but after a time he switched from a defensive role to an offensive one, and Elrond had to use all of his strength to defend against the rain of blows that descended about him. 

They battled for nearly an hour and Elrond was breathing hard, but he was pleased to see that Glorfindel looked less pristine than he had.   Glorfindel backed off, but Elrond did not take the offered olive branch.  Instead he took advantage of the lull and struck the warrior with the flat of his sword. Glorfindel’s eyes opened in surprise, then narrowed, and Elrond knew what was to come.  In a flurry of motion so fast that he could hardly catalogue the motions, he was knocked off balance, spun in a half circle, had his feet kicked out from beneath him and found himself looking up at a face framed in gold holding the tip of his sword to Elrond’s shoulder.

Only when Elrond released his grip on his sword and Glorfindel had kicked it away did his friend lower his own sword.  Elrond lay still for a few moments while he caught his breath, but when Glorfindel offered his hand, he took it and was pulled to his feet. He went where Glorfindel led him, but despite his acquiescence the grip on his arm was bruising.   He actually sighed in relief when they entered the baths.  No others were present, but Elrond felt Glorfindel might have had a hand in that as well.  He shook Glorfindel’s hand free, stripped and sank into the hot water.

“Good,” grunted Glorfindel.  “Whatever has not been beaten out of you can be steamed away.”

Elrond felt a flash of fury rise in him momentarily, but a raised brow on the warrior’s face dissipated his anger, and he managed a wry smile instead.  “Thank you,” he said.

“Now that you have Aragorn knocked off balance by telling him you know about Arwen’s choice, and increased his anxiety by making him wait until evening to speak of it, what are your plans for the actual conversation?” asked Glorfindel calmly.

Elrond felt a flush unrelated to the heat of the water creep up his face, and he tilted his head back against the edge of the bath and sighed.  When he finally looked at Glorfindel, he found that intense gaze still focused on him, the question clearly not rhetorical.

“I admit I want him off-guard,” he finally answered. “He has grown in body and mind. He will make a great king one day.  But I cannot let him have control in this conversation, or this situation.”

“For your own purpose, or other reasons?” probed Glorfindel.

Elrond reviewed his motivations, reviewed in his mind the visions he had seen.  “Both, perhaps, though the legitimate reasons make it impossible for me to change what I must say, and thus impossible to separate. They must not marry now; that much is clear to me.”

“If he fails and does not become king . . .” began Glorfindel.

“Do not dwell on such a thing,” interrupted Elrond. “There is no certainty that such an event would not include all of our deaths, or that any of us would escape these shores. That motivation alone is not enough for me to withhold my daughter’s hand.” He was quiet for a moment, then added, “And were it, she would show the spirit of her foremothers and do as she wished without my consent.”

Glorfindel smiled. “Galadriel and Celebrían would insist such characteristics came equally from her forefathers, I think.”

Elrond did not answer. Arwen was more like him in temperament than her naneth, but her stubbornness was definitely a female trait from both lines of her heritage .

Clean clothing was brought for them, and Elrond dressed slowly, not relishing the conversation he was about to have with Aragorn.  Glorfindel walked with him back to the house, and took his usual chair in Elrond’s study.  Elrond was surprised, but decided he was glad for the company.

“A piece of advice, if I may,” said Glorfindel.  “As long as I have known you, you have listened and tried to understand before passing judgment. Thirty years have passed since last you saw your son. Look past your anger and pain and extend that same courtesy to Aragorn.  What is done is done, unless you intend to ask them to break their troth.”

When the knock came at the door, Glorfindel answered it and greeted Aragorn.  He did what Elrond could not, and offered the traditional elven words of hope for the future marriage, then embraced the man he had helped raise.

Aragorn walked to him and bowed formally, and Elrond waved him to the same bench where they had sat when he told Estel of his heritage.

“Master Elrond, I . ..” began Aragorn, but Elrond held up his hand to stop him. He was determined to lead this discussion where he wanted it to go.

“Tell me of your travels first,” said Elrond. “You were traveling under the name Thorongil, I believe.  Men came from the south seeking knowledge of him.”

Aragorn’s head snapped up in surprise, but he quickly schooled his reaction. “Sent by Denethor, son of the steward Ecthelion, most likely.  He had his suspicions as to my true identity.”

With that, Aragorn launched into the tale of his service to the King of Rohan and the Steward of Gondor, his battles on sea and land and the victory over the Corsairs at Umbar.  He spoke of traveling deep into Harad, and what he had learned of the reach of Sauron’s hand there. He had seen much and learned much, and Elrond found himself enthralled by the stories even as he carefully stored away the information to consider in light of his long experiences in Middle-earth.  Only when Aragorn spoke of his admittance to Lothlorien did Elrond remember his anger.

“I did not know Arwen was there, nor did I realize why Lady Galadriel was preparing me as she did. I looked like a king,” he admitted, “and I felt like a king. I felt worthy of Arwen’s love. When she offered it to me, I took it, though I reminded her of what it entailed. I am not of the Eldar, and her choice meant forsaking the Twilight.”

Aragorn leaned forward, as if willing Elrond to understand. “I am sorry, my father, for I knowingly broke your command to me.”

Elrond again raised his hand, stopping Aragorn. His anger had dissipated more than he would have thought possible.  Neither Arwen nor Galadriel were aware of his words to Aragorn regarding his doom, and few of elven kind could resist Galadriel’s manipulations, much less a mortal.  Yet, Aragorn had known and understood his words, and done this anyway.

“What is done is done, and I would not ask you to break your troth and bring dishonor upon yourself and this house. Yet I appeal to you in this, Aragorn: you are a man in full strength of body and mind. You allowed your heart to rule that mind and body, and be led in a way that I as your father asked you not to go.  If you felt my judgment incorrect, you could have returned to Rivendell and spoken to me first.  You will meet others with less pure motives than Galadriel who will wish to convince you of what is right. They will use voices of honey that will attempt to lull you into complacency or turn you to their ways.  You say you renounce the Shadow? Then you must hold fast to your promises and commitments and not be swayed from your path.  If you change your path, you must seek good counsel and know that the new way is indeed right.  Do you understand?”

Aragorn appeared chagrined, and a light flush rose in his cheeks.  “In my happiness, I do not regret the result of what I have done, but I am ashamed of my actions. Will you forgive me?”

Elrond considered the request carefully. Aragorn did not yet have what he wished, only a commitment to that future.  He fully intended to hold him to the first part of that command he had given him thirty years ago. “I forgive you for disobeying the command I set before you as my son to not bind yourself in troth to any woman.”

Aragorn looked at him thoughtfully, his eyes reflecting his understanding when it dawned on him what Elrond had not said. “We may remain troth plighted only.”

"My son, years come when hope will fade, and beyond them little is clear to me. And now a shadow lies between us. Maybe, it has been appointed so, that by my loss the kingship of Men may be restored. Therefore, though I love you, I say to you: Arwen Undómiel shall not diminish her life's grace for less cause. She shall not be the bride of any Man less than the King of both Gondor and Arnor. To me then even our victory can bring only sorrow and parting – but to you hope of joy for a while. Alas, my son! I fear that to Arwen the Doom of Men may seem hard at the ending."*

Aragorn had looked Elrond in the eye as he spoke but bowed his head at the end.  Elrond could see the effort it cost him to think and not speak as he considered Elrond’s words.

“I know that your judgment is sound and we will wait for that end,” replied Aragorn finally.

Elrond could read in his heart the words unspoken, the desires to marry and the benefits of having Arwen at his side, the strength she offered, and the hope she provided. He waited until Aragorn looked up and met his eyes before responding. “Little is clear to me, but I do know that as shadow deepens, you will need no hindrances as you set forth into great toil and danger.  It must be as I have foretold: you must not marry until your time has come and you have been found worthy of it.  Your time has not yet come.”

Aragorn’s shoulders slumped slightly at his words, and Elrond took his hands in his own, automatically imparting his own strength to his son. Patience beyond what could normally be required of mortal men was being asked of Aragorn: to take no wife, to provide no heir, to allow the line of Kings to die with him if he could not reunite the kingdoms and take the throne.  The doom laid upon this man was great, and yet Elrond had never been more sure of his ability to succeed.  They had named him Estel as a hope based on trust that he would become the king who would change the world; he had grown into Amdir, a hope based on reason, for they could see him becoming that king.

“You are home, and tomorrow we will feast in your honor. Go now and sleep,” said Elrond kindly.

Aragorn had stayed only a week, desiring to find Gandalf and see to his people, and he had taken his leave of Elrond. Yet despite the love between them as a father and son and the forgiveness asked and given, a shadow had remained between them, for in their love for Arwen, one of them was destined to lose her.  

* * *

Aragorn had been gone only a few weeks when word arrived that Arwen’s escort approached Imladris.  Elrond had both desired and dreaded this moment for days, and he found himself grateful when the escort entered with Elladan at its head and Elrohir at Arwen’s side. That his sons were home lessened the despair he would have felt had Arwen come alone; yet as he greeted Elladan he felt his son’s sorrow too.

Arwen slid from her horse with Elrohir’s aid, and as she walked to him it seemed to Elrond that all other sights and sounds faded and he saw only his beloved daughter. With each step she took she diminished, and as she reached for him she faded into mist.

“Adar?”

He forced the vision from his mind and took her hands in his own and kissed them. A tear ran down her cheek as she looked upon him, but he found himself strangely unmoved.

“Welcome home, my daughter,” he murmured, his voice distant even to his own ears. “You must be tired; your chambers have been prepared.”

Arwen clung to his hands when he tried to release her to turn and guide her to the house.  He looked upon her, seeing Celebrían for a moment, then it was Arwen, and he was not sure which had the tear running down her cheek, and wondered if they both did.  

Suddenly his sons and Glorfindel came into his line of sight, and from behind him he heard Erestor’s voice, greeting his children and ushering them inside.  Elrohir hugged him, squeezing him so tightly that he was nearly knocked off balance, and then they were gone.

“Elrond, I think you need to lie down,” said Glorfindel quietly, and Elrond found himself in an iron grip yet again. Annoyed at the interference, he shrugged the hand off and turned to walk toward the river, but found himself pointed back at the house moments later, though he did not know how. 

“Drink this,” ordered Glorfindel.

Elrond took the offered flask and looked at it and then around him, unable to recall walking to his chambers.   He felt hands over his own, guiding the flask to his lips, but he looked up instead into the concerned eyes of his friend. “Drink, Elrond,” instructed Glorfindel again, and Elrond obeyed.

He felt immediately refreshed as the liquid spread through him, and the fog and cloud about him slowly dissipated.  Yet even as his mind cleared, the pain in his heart grew. Elrond closed his eyes, unconsciously rubbing his hand on his chest, as if that would somehow alleviate the pain deep in his soul. Instead, he breathed through it, letting the pain spread through him, though it did not leave him and he did not think it ever would.

“Where is Arwen?” he asked.

“Erestor escorted her to her rooms,” replied Glorfindel.  “Elladan came, but I asked him to give you a few minutes alone.”

Glorfindel had been hovering above him, but he now sat and waited for Elrond to speak.

“I did not think to ever experience that feeling again,” he finally said.  At Glorfindel’s questioning glance, he hesitantly explained, “When Elros made his . . . choice, the break between us was . . . great.  I was with the Valar and recall little beyond the pain, but it was some hours before I could . .. go on.” He paused, willing strength to his voice, which sounded hollow and thin to him.

“You felt that with Arwen?” asked Glorfindel, the concern in his face growing.

“Not the same, not as bad,” answered Elrond. “Her choice is made and her doom appointed, but it is not yet so.”

“Elrond, did you know when she made her choice?” pressed Glorfindel.

Elrond felt tears cloud his vision and he closed his eyes as he willed them away. He tried to answer and could not. How could he explain the strange sensation that had struck him on mid-summer’s eve, a sense that something was changed within Arwen? He had not known what that change was at first, but it had gradually dawned on him. She had made a choice that she had no other reason to make while Elrond still dwelled in Middle-earth, and he had quickly concluded what must have occurred. Visions that night of Aragorn and Arwen in the twilight, plighting their troth, had disturbed his rest, and seeing them both had confirmed the actions he had seen .

Strong arms surrounded him, and Elrond could feel Glorfindel’s sorrow through that touch. The sorrow was for him, for the loss and grief he had borne these weeks as he waited for his daughter to come home. “I did not know that your pain had begun not with the knowledge of what would happen in the future, but with the troth-plight itself,” he said raggedly. “For this reason they should have waited.”

“This is not why,” replied Elrond hoarsely.  Glorfindel sat back, anger now flashing in his eyes. “I do not know why, only that it was part of the vision of Aragorn’s destiny.  He was to take no wife and be bound in troth to none, long before I was aware that Arwen was the one he would desire. He must remain unfettered, free to risk all to see his destiny fulfilled.”

“And now?” asked Glorfindel.

Elrond pressed at his temples, which now throbbed in time with his heart. “Her hope strengthens and encourages him, and he believes because she believes.  He will toil long years in hope not only of his future, but because his eyes are fixed on her. She has become his beacon and a symbol of all he desires.”

“And if her heart should turn from him?”

Elrond laughed bitterly. “Until they are bound or I sail, she lives as one of the Eldar. Her heart will not turn from him.”

Glorfindel fell silent, but he did not immediately leave. Instead, he massaged Elrond’s neck and shoulders, offering his own strength and taking from Elrond some of the pain as well. Elrond had never allowed any other so close to his heart except Celebrían, but he was grateful for the support.

As had happened so rarely he could count the occurrences on one hand, Elrond did not dine with his children on this evening of their return. He sat alone as darkness shrouded Imladris, much as his world now had a deep shadow that lingered over it.

* * *

He sensed her presence long before she made herself known.  He could tell she was troubled and hurt, though her concern for him ran deeper than her own hurt feelings. He did not rise or turn to greet her, instead allowing her to come to him. He would not admit to her that he feared looking upon her, feared seeing her aged and grey, dissolving into mist, though he knew she might interpret his actions as rejection.

He felt her behind him, then she bent near, wrapping her arms about him and resting her cheek on his head.  His fëa automatically sought hers, yet their fëar did not join as they once had. Their bond was damaged and he knew that, as with Elros, it would weaken and grow thin, then one day snap completely and leave him with a gap in his soul that could never be filled.

I love you, Adar

Elrond felt her love surround him, strong and sure, yet tinged with sorrow for the pain she had caused him.   He could not resist her, and his heart responded in kind.  I love you, my daughter, more than I can say.

She sat down beside him, drawing his arm around her, and he held her close. He could sense her struggle, wishing to ask his forgiveness, yet both knew that she had committed no offense for him to forgive.  Her choice had always been before her; hers to make as she saw fit.  That her choice caused them both pain was not evidence that it was the wrong choice.

“Adar, where is Aragorn?”

“He has gone to find Gandalf, and see to his people,” replied Elrond as he absently stroked her hair.

“He wished to speak to you first, but I had thought he would remain here until I came,” she said softly.

“Aragorn’s road is still before him, and the end remains beyond our sight.”

Arwen pondered his words for several moments. “You have counseled that he rest not from that path,” she finally said, question in her statement.

“Aragorn’s time has not come,” replied Elrond. “His road must be walked without bonds, his companions only those willing to stand with him in his destiny but be not tied to it.  He must finish the race to receive the crown, and thence be dressed to receive his bride.”

Arwen went still, then took a deep breath and taking his hand in hers, began tracing his fingernails with the tip of her finger. “The bride price is set high,” she said bitterly.

“The bride price is fitting, for she will be no common bride,” replied Elrond. “She is rather a beacon on a hill, keeping him ever focused on the goal yet not hindering him from walking the narrow path.”

“Yet is there not strength to be found in two fëar bound together?”

“Bonded fëar become one in new purpose that may lead the single fëa astray from the path it can only walk alone.”

Arwen fell silent, though Elrond could sense the turmoil in her. They sat together in the twilight as she struggled with his words.

“A race run over the course of mortal life may win the prize only in senescence , a bitter end if one is without heir,” she lamented, but Elrond could see she acquiesced.

Elrond leaned forward to kiss her head. “Who is to count the suns of a mortal life, but the One who created the music of the Children and numbered their kind?

Tears slipped down her face at his words, and he gently brushed them away. “Estel, Arwen, estel.”

She wept then, her own tears of bitterness that she must give up all for the one she loved, and his tears mingled with hers as he thought of how long time would continue in Arda without her.

~ ~ ~* * *~ ~ ~

“What do you foresee, Adar?” asked Elladan, interrupting Elrond’s thoughts. The room came into focus, and he looked upon the faces of his sons and daughter.

“Much that is unclear, but what is clear to me is that the ring cannot stay here.  This may be our only opportunity to see its end, for if Sauron continues to grow in strength, he will eventually regain that which he lost.  To imagine such darkness over all of Middle-earth is beyond comprehension and not to be imagined.  The ring must be unmade or removed forever from his reach.  That is what we must consider tomorrow, that, and who must take the ring to its fate,” replied Elrond.

The hour was late when they retired, though Elrond knew he would find little rest that night. Instead he sat in the quiet darkness of his chambers, and reaching deep into his memories, he wove the tale in his mind of Sauron and Elves and Men and the Rings of Power, leaving gaps to be filled in by those who bore the missing pieces.

* * * * *

*Tale of Aragorn and Arwen, Appendix A, Return of the King

A/N: Also from Appendix A: “Therefore later, when all was made clear, many believed that Denethor, who was subtle in mind and looked further and deeper than other men of his day, had discovered who this stranger Thorongil in truth was, and suspected that he and Mithrandir designed to supplant him.”

How Denethor looked further and deeper to discover who Thorongil was is not said, but it’s a great plot bunny for someone.

Thank you to daw and karri for beta reading this chapter. Thank you to all who so patiently waited for this chapter... it was hard coming.

Chapter 10: The Company

'I will take the Ring,' he said, 'though I do not know the way.'

Elrond raised his eyes and looked at him, and Frodo felt his heart pierced by the sudden keenness of the glance. 'If I understand aright all that I have heard,' he said, 'I think that this task is appointed for you, Frodo; and that if you do not find a way, no one will. This is the hour of the Shire-folk, when they arise from their quiet fields to shake the towers and counsels of the Great. Who of all the Wise could have foreseen it? Or, if they are wise, why should they expect to know it, until the hour has struck? 'But it is a heavy burden. So heavy that none could lay it on another. I do not lay it on you. But if you take it freely, I will say that your choice is right; and though all the mighty elf-friends of old, Hador, and Húrin, and Túrin, and Beren himself were assembled together your seat should be among them.'

'But you won't send him off alone surely, Master?' cried Sam, unable to contain himself any longer, and jumping up from the corner where he had been quietly sitting on the floor.

'No indeed!' said Elrond, turning towards him with a smile. 'You at least shall go with him. It is hardly possible to separate you from him, even when he is summoned to a secret council and you are not.'

Sam sat down, blushing and muttering. 'A nice pickle we have landed ourselves in, Mr. Frodo!' he said, shaking his head.

The Council of Elrond, The Fellowship of the Ring

Elrond rose and the room fell silent, all eyes turning from the hobbits to him, many still reflecting a hint of amusement and kindled hope at Sam’s words.  Most had not realized the gardener was in the room, and those who had noticed his presence at the beginning of the council had forgotten it as the tales were told.  Elrond, however, had not forgotten.  The moment Sam had entered behind Frodo and Bilbo, he had known the hobbit was meant to be there.

“Many words have been spoken this day, and the full tale of the Ring told for all to hear. Our hope lies in secrecy. Speak of this to none outside of this room, and among yourselves only privately, for even in Rivendell all care must be taken. This Council is ended.”

Bilbo scrambled from his chair. “At last!  Surely lunch has been kept for us. Come, Frodo, and we will see.”

Elrond stepped in front of the hobbits. The Ring still hung on the outside of Frodo’s waistcoat. He had seen the loathing in the Hobbit’s eyes when he had drawn it forth, the shame when he had held it up for all to see.  Elrond did not touch It, but lifted the chain, and when Frodo held open his collar, dropped the ring behind the fabric.  He smoothed the wrinkles from the coat, using that moment to feel the healed wound on the hobbit’s shoulder.   The temperature was again normal, and no longer was there any feel of the evil he had felt from the blade. Yet even though the wound was healed externally, Elrond knew it would never fully heal. Frodo looked at him for a long moment, meeting his eyes fully, and Elrond felt the openness of his mind. He had spent days communicating to Frodo through his thoughts, though he doubted the hobbit remembered any of it, and he did so again now, brushing only the surface of his mind.  Frodo’s eyes opened wide in surprise, but at the same time he relaxed and allowed Elrond to send him comfort and strength.

He stepped back as Bilbo grabbed Frodo’s hand and began pulling him from the room. “I am sure they have waited the meal on us,” Bilbo was saying, “and Cook usually saves some of my favorite bread, which you will like.”

Elrond watched them go, Sam trailing along behind Frodo and Bilbo, all three now discussing which dishes they hoped would be served and whether adequate mushrooms would be in the soup and he smiled. 

“They are amazing,” said Mithrandir. “Trust a hobbit to volunteer to take the ring to Mordor, though he doesn’t know the way, and in the next breath turn all of his attention to his next meal.” He paused. “Yet it is that exact trait that will see him through. I think I shall join them.”

Elrond turned back to those who remained.  The dwarves had also gone in search of their meal. Boromir was examining the shards of Narsil and speaking quietly to Aragorn, while across the room his sons and Glorfindel were speaking to the elves sent by Thranduil.

The quiet Lathron, who had listened much and spoken little since his arrival, was deep in conversation with Elrohir. Elrond had spoken briefly with Lathron the day before, but the elf had delivered his message to Mithrandir and seemed to melt into the background thereafter, the two guards that had come with them remaining quiet and watchful behind him.  Legolas he had not yet met, for he had been latched on to by the younger hobbits, who had gladly shown him all about Imladris.  Elrond watched as Elladan approached the younger son with a gleam in his eye.

“Ai, Legolas!” cried Elladan in greeting.  “I wish to show you around Imladris!”

Legolas looked confused for a moment, then a grin spread across his face and he stepped forward to grip Elladan’s arm - tightly, by the slight narrowing of Elladan’s eyes. “Elladan Elrondion!”

“Not an elfling anymore,” said Elladan speculatively.

“Indeed not,” replied Legolas, eyes twinkling.

Elrond looked at Glorfindel questioningly, and the warrior laughed as he moved to stand at Elrond’s side.

“Elrohir invited a very young Legolas to visit Imladris one day, promising him an adventure.  Elladan, however, may have a different kind of adventure in mind for Legolas, for he has not forgotten it was Legolas who caused Elrohir to be thrown to the ground and restrained while injured. Now that Legolas is grown, Elladan will want to know if he is a worthy competitor,” explained Glorfindel. “I do not think bearing news of Gollum’s escape was what any of them had in mind.”

Elrond smiled and stepped forward. “Legolas, I am pleased to meet you.”

Legolas bowed, greeting him in return, “My lord Elrond” but Elrond barely heard the words. Instead, in that moment when their minds touched, a vision flashed before him: Legolas on a vast rolling plain, dirty and battle-worn, with Aragorn nearby as well as a dwarf, although the dwarf’s face was hidden from him.  The vision disappeared as quickly as it had come.

“I am glad to visit Imladris, though I wish we had not come bearing the news that we did, said Legolas. “It is beautiful here, and we are, of course, glad to see Bilbo again.”

“There is much we should discuss,” said Elrond, drawing Lathron into the conversation as ideas took shape in his mind.  “The fate of the Nine must be known before the Quest is undertaken and companions must be chosen to accompany Frodo.  You shall join us for lunch,” he invited.

Lathron nodded his acceptance for their whole party, but as their eyes met Elrond knew instantly that the elf had seen the vision too, and his eyes reflected both an intense pride and a profound grief.

* * *

Glóin sighed and finally lowered his eyes. He stood and walked to the balcony of Elrond’s study, his eyes looking east to his home. Elrond waited patiently until the dwarf had returned to his seat.

“A dwarf should be among the representatives accompanying Frodo on his Quest,” agreed Glóin.   He stared at Elrond long and sighed again. “I fear I am too old to make such a journey.”

“You have been on your Quest, Glóin son of Gróin,” replied Elrond with a smile.  He had taken tea with the dwarves after meeting with the elves, and known instantly that Gimli son of Glóin was the dwarf he had seen in his vision.  Yet he knew enough of the customs among the dwarves to know the decision on whom to send must come from the highest ranking among them. That was Glóin, and pride dictated that his own son should go, which was fortunate for Elrond. Had the dwarf been out of Glóin’s own line, convincing him would have been nigh impossible.

“Ai, then there is none other to send than my son, Gimli,” replied Glóin, pride and grief in his voice.

“No commitment will be asked of any of the companions to go further than they would,” reminded Elrond. “The call of the One is great and none can know the strength of their hearts until tempted.”

Glóin bristled. “Gimli will be faithful.”

Elrond only smiled, for he did not doubt the dwarves.  Their rings had held little power over them, save increasing their desire for gold and riches.  Yet Elrond did have other doubts. While it made sense to send Boromir south with Frodo, for their road was shared for many hundreds of miles, the desire he had seen kindled in Boromir’s eyes had discomfited him, despite the man’s later acquiescence and announcement that ‘Gondor would see it done’. While he saw honor and courage in the man, the man lacked insight into the strength of his heart.

Alone after Glóin had excused himself, Elrond took the opportunity to sit in silence, but his mind would not rest.  While the hardest decision had been made – sending the ring to its doom – there remained much to do.  Already Elrond felt as if his vision had lessened, that Shadow crept ever closer to Imladris. 

They could not send Frodo out without knowing if the Nine were still abroad and seeking him, yet he had to consider what to do if any of the Nine had escaped and were again searching for the hobbit.   They would be watching the lands around Imladris closely. He believed they had been unhorsed and would need time to return to Mordor, or wherever they called home, and find new mounts, which should give Frodo the time he needed to trek to Mordor.

Which led him back again to the companions he should choose for the hobbit: should they be great warriors, capable of protecting him from servants of the enemy? Glorfindel did not fear them, nor did some others of his household.   How many should they be?  Already in his mind he had chosen Legolas for the Elves and Gimli for the dwarves, representatives of their races and peoples.  Erebor, Dale, Laketown and the Woodland Realm stood poised on the brink of war, already pressured by Sauron’s servants from the east.  The fate of the dwarves was as tied to Middle-earth as the fate of men.   While the Moriquendi could sail west, leaving behind the troubles that men and dwarves could not, Elrond knew the Woodland Realm would outlast all of the other elven realms. It was important to include them both.

A knock on his door drew him from his thoughts, and at his bidding Erestor and Glorfindel entered the room.   Neither spoke, but looked expectantly at him.

“We must discover if the Nine are still abroad, as we discussed earlier,” he began. “I would find it unlikely the horses survived that flood.  If the Úlairi must return to the east and find new mounts, then we have time, time that we need for Frodo to gain strength and for us to plan for their departure. We should send out scouts in all directions, Glorfindel.”

“Who will you send with Frodo?” asked Erestor.

Elrond looked at the two before him thoughtfully.  There was no greater warrior than Glorfindel; no better scout than Erestor.  His own sons were formidable, as were other warriors he might find among those of his House.

“Samwise. Mithrandir. Boromir, for their path and his will run together for many leagues. Aragorn, for it is time for him to go to Minas Tirith.   I shall pick representatives for the elves and dwarves.” He paused, then decided he was sure. “Gimli shall be for the dwarves and Legolas for the elves. The rest I am still considering.”

“You have chosen Legolas, rather than an Elf of your own house?” asked Erestor, surprised.

“Perhaps,” answered Elrond non-committally.  “Whether he is the only elf or one of several remains to be seen.”

“I have already sent word to the Dúnedain, who will cover the lands west to the Shire, and sent scouts to the south along the river. I will send others north and east,” replied Glorfindel.

“My sons will scout Dol Guldur and bring word to Lothlorien,” interjected Elrond.  He paused as he thought of the consequences of informing Celeborn and Galadriel. 

He had not told them about Estel or the foresight he had had of Aragorn’s future.  They had learned of these from Arwen, when she returned there after meeting Estel as a young man. 

But the stakes were at their highest right now.  Galadriel, as keeper of Nenya, needed to know of the threat to her, both of the One being abroad and the high risk of it falling into Sauron’s hands - and the resultant dominion it would have over Nenya - but also of the loss of power that Elrond thought likely to occur if the Ring-bearer were successful.  In addition, The Golden Wood was near to one of the paths the Ring-bearer and his companions might take and could be a refuge for them if their need were great.   Lothlorien also needed to know of the heightened threat that would against it, for Elrond feared they were on the brink of war and the shadow of Dol Guldur already darkened the Anduin between them.

He had forced himself to consider the risk, however slight, of the ring in Galadriel’s hands.  Galadriel had long desired power. She had wished to leave Aman in search of lands to rule before Morgoth had stolen the Silmarils and Fëanor had led the Noldor rebellion. She had been the first to use her ring. Yet Elrond harbored no doubts that if tempted, she would reject the One.  He knew the sea-longing had grown in her steadily over the years, but, if anything, this thorn in her side had not weakened her resolve, but strengthened it.  He also knew that as Glorfindel stood by his side, Celeborn would be at hers. They would not falter now, but even if they did, their keepers would not fail them.

“Send scouts to Thranduil. Lathron and Glóin will wish to return home soon, but we will not wait on them,” finished Elrond.

“Even if we find no signs of the riders, the earliest Frodo and his companions might expect to depart is mid to late December, then,” noted Erestor.

“I do not expect that the hobbits will mind having these days to relax,” said Glorfindel.  “Perhaps we can entice them to learn some necessary skills during their sojourn.”

Elrond turned to Glorfindel at his use of ‘we’, surprised that Glorfindel would not be riding out with the scouts. The gaze that met his was steady and unflappable, and Elrond raised a brow in question. Glorfindel looked from him to Erestor. Elrond sensed that some unspoken communication passed between them, then Glorfindel spoke.

“I will not be leaving your side until the fate of the One is known,” explained Glorfindel. “As long as it is in Imladris it is a temptation to any who know of its existence. If Frodo fails in his Quest and the One falls into the hands of one able to wield it, Vilya places you at risk.”

Elrond smiled and tapped his quill against his desk. “You will protect Middle-earth from me and me from anyone stronger?”

Glorfindel did not take the bait. “I protect you. Period.”

“Yet you are one of the few who could ride against the Nine.”

“That is true,” acknowledged Glorfindel.

Elrond watched the flicker of emotion that passed through his friend’s eyes, including one he had seldom seen: hesitation. Glorfindel was nothing if not decisive. He had at times feared he had failed in his mission, when Elrond had been in the thick of battle or anyone of his family was in danger, but he had known and done what he thought was best. Now he seemed unsure.

“If the Úlairi remain near, then I will consider ceding my responsibility for you to Erestor. The risk to you would be greater if the Ring-bearer is dodging the footsteps of those who would return the One to its owner,” said Glorfindel finally, his face troubled. As he looked on Elrond, though, his eyes cleared and face brightened. “I do not think the Úlairi will be found.”

Elrond smiled. “We will hope not.”

A knock on the door interrupted them, and Elladan, Elrohir and Aragorn entered the room.  They were dressed for travel in warm, sturdy clothing, and Elrond’s heart surged with pride that he spoke of only through his eyes as he stood to speak to them.   He had spoken with them only briefly after the Council had ended, and while he had met with the wood elves and dwarves, they had planned their journey.  He listened as Elladan reviewed their plans – the three of them heading south along the mountains, then the twins would head east through the Redhorn Pass and on to Lothlorien, while Aragorn joined the Rangers who had followed the western shore of the Loudwater down to Tharbad.

“Expect our return by mid-winter’s day,” said Elladan.

Elrond walked with them to the front porch of the house, where their horses awaited them. He embraced them and spoke the words of blessing he had been speaking over them when they went out on errantry for centuries, reminders to use all care and return safely to him.  Then they disappeared into the dusk.

* * *

Laughter floated up from the gardens below, drawing Elrond to the window of his study. He watched as Legolas leapt into a tree, followed by the two younger hobbits, though they did not leap gracefully like the wood elf. Pippin swung back and forth from a low branch before swinging himself up and over the branch on his belly, while Merry scrambled up the other side.  Elrond quickly lost sight of Legolas in the fall leaves. Only when Legolas popped his head out from the branches and called to the hobbits did he see him.

Pippin looked speculatively at the distance between the branches separating him from Legolas. Twice he stretched a furry foot out, as if measuring how far he could reach.  Elrond knew the hobbit could not jump that distance, no matter how great his desire. Just as his paternal instincts passed words to his lips and he opened his mouth to call out a warning, he saw Merry reach over and swat his cousin up alongside the head and Legolas suddenly appeared, tucking the hobbit under his arm and jumping with him to the ground. Merry landed lightly next to them a moment later, and Elrond heard them arguing as they went off to show Legolas something up by the waterfall.

“They are the most lively guests Imladris has hosted in many a long year.”

Elrond turned at the sound of Glorfindel’s voice. “Hobbits are fascinating creatures. Those two are young and curious. They seem to have taken a liking to Legolas.”

“He also is young and curious,” replied Glorfindel, “though I doubt the hobbits realize he is also a deadly warrior.” He joined Elrond near the window. “A message has come from the Dúnedain; they have traveled the road to Bree and beyond and found no trace of the Nine.”

“No signs from the north or east either.  As soon as my sons return, if the news is good, the company will set out,” said Elrond.

“How many will you send?” asked Glorfindel cautiously.

Elrond hesitated. He noted the caution in Glorfindel’s voice and felt a glimmer of regret for having been so terse with the elf the last time he had asked. “Nine,” he finally answered. “Nine against the Nine.”

“Then you have two more to appoint,” replied Glorfindel.

Elrond felt Glorfindel’s gaze lingering on him. Mithrandir had been no better  - both had pestered him about who else might be sent.   He knew both had their own ideas as to who it should be, but Elrond had not asked them. He had spend hours in meditation, hours wandering the grounds of Imladris through the long cold nights, seeking wisdom from the stars, from his father, from Elbereth, but as his visions became clearer, his peace had diminished and disquiet had grown.

He could see Aragorn before the Black Gates, surrounded by his captains; men Elrond could guess the names of by their banners.  He had seen Legolas and Gimli. He could also see his sons. It seemed that the remaining two of the company should be Elladan and Elrohir. Indeed, it made sense to send them.  They knew the lands to the south well; they knew Men and Dwarves and Elves, and more of Hobbits than any other but Aragorn.  They were well acquainted with the history of the Ring; none other in the company understood the consequences of failure more.  They would protect the Ring-bearer unfailingly and Elrond knew the strength of their hearts. 

Though his sons had not spoken to him, they had also not shielded their hearts from him: they wished to be with Aragorn when his time came. Yet despite the sense it made, despite his vision, he had no peace about sending them.

“I do,” replied Elrond, answering Glorfindel’s question after silence had stretched out between them.

He turned from the window, walking back to his desk and the map that lay open there – a map he had no need to study for he knew it by heart.   As he ran his finger over Dagorlad to the Morannon, he nostrils were filled with the stench of Mordor, of the decaying bodies of Elves and Men and Orcs. He saw Elendil and Gil-galad challenge Sauron; saw Aiglos penetrate Sauron’s armor under the arm, toppling him upon the Kings of Elves and Men. He saw Isildur take up the shards of Narsil and strike at Sauron’s hand. He was again at the cracks of Orodruin, begging Isildur to destroy the Ring. Before his eyes, Isildur shrank in stature and before him stood a hobbit, holding the Ring up before eyes so tortured that Elrond shrank away, his voice fading. The heat of the mountain began to diminish and suddenly Elrond was at the Black Gates.  Before him stretched an army of Men, with their King standing upon a hill.  Not Elendil, but Aragorn, he realized. There also were Legolas and Gimli, Elladan and Elrohir.  But unlike the mighty army Gil-galad and Elendil had led three thousand years earlier, this entire army was less than the vanguard Elrond had commanded.

Fear filled him at the hopelessness of the scene before him. He was sending them to their deaths.

“Elrond!”

Elrond gasped and looked up into fierce blue eyes. Glorfindel gripped him by his upper arms, and he shook Elrond again, though more gently. “What do you see?”

Elrond slowed his breathing and calmed himself, then stepped back from the map and away from Glorfindel.  “I see only pieces of the puzzle, never a complete scene.” He paused and took a deep breath, then met Glorfindel’s gaze solidly. “I do not see enough to provide Frodo with guidance or wisdom, and what little I see does not give me hope.  Nonetheless, with hope or without it, we must go forward, for there is no hope if we do nothing.”

Glorfindel blew out an exasperated breath. “Sending it to the sea’s bottom or beyond the sea, to the Valar, could still be attempted.”

“No,” answered Elrond sharply. “This problem belongs to Middle-earth.” He bowed his head. “This problem no longer belongs to us, Glorfindel. It belongs to Men.  They must make an end of it.” He looked at his old friend and saw the lack of understanding in his eyes.  “It is in their song, Glorfindel. It is different than ours. Men are not content to live in peace within the confines of Arda.  They must rise ever and anon beyond what their fathers have accomplished, shaping and ordering the world as they wish. For Men to take on the rule of Middle-earth and order it in the new age, they must unite and destroy Sauron.  This cannot be done for them.   They must prove their mastery of him, or die trying.

“If the Valar protect them, or the Elves provide them with safety and comfort in refuges, they will destroy themselves.  They do not find contentment in the beauty that is, only in the beauty that might be.”

Glorfindel bowed his head.  They had had this discussion before, though Elrond had perhaps been less impassioned in his defense of Men. He knew that Glorfindel blamed his mortal blood in jest, for while the elf knew that Men were different, he could not understand them.

“Does your blood ever conflict within you, the Man in you seeking beyond the contentment desired by the Eldar?” asked Glorfindel suddenly.

Elrond shook his head to clear it of the conflict caused by the sudden change in direction of the conversation.  “No.  Yes.  Perhaps,” he conceded.  “I do not know what it is not to have the blood of Men running within me any more than you can imagine what it would be like to have that blood.  Yet my choice was made two ages ago. I do not seek the freedom or gift of Men.”

Silence fell between them. Elrond sank down into his chair. “I see Elros more clearly as time passes, despite his departure beyond the circles of this world long ago.  His hopes, dreams and desires were a fulfillment of what Ilúvatar intended for Men. When Men crossed the mountains into Beleriand, they fled some great evil of which they would not speak.  Andor was more than a gift; it was a rebirth of Men.  Elros was an embodiment of what they were meant to be.”

Glorfindel sat on the edge of the desk, moving the map out of reach. “Aragorn restores what has been lost in this age, a rebirth of the dignity and glory of Númenor,” he said softly.

Elrond nodded. “That rebirth cannot be a gift this time; Men must earn it. Aragorn must earn it, for with it comes the whole of Middle-earth. Only a victory hard won will steer Men long into the future on the path of good.” His next words came slowly, the thought behind them long buried. “For many long years, I did not consider that any of my children would choose the freedom and gift of the Second-born. Only after Celebrían sailed and I saw in Elladan the desire to conquer and order the world, change it to his will, did I think that my twins might choose as I and my twin had chosen. I did not fear for Elrohir, for he is more like me, but in Elladan I could see Elros.

“Then Aragorn came to Imladris, and I knew immediately he was the child I had foreseen.  Hope grew in me that an end to this evil in Middle-earth was near, yet my love for that child was for his own sake, not for his future.  And while my heart was occupied with him, I suddenly realized that Arwen had been looking beyond Imladris for many years.  Discontent kept her from home, yet not even the tranquility of Lothlorien would silence the call on her heart for long. Galadriel tried to warn me, but I ignored her words. I was glad when Arwen was in the protected heart of Caras Galadhon, for Galadriel allowed none within her borders, unlike here, where many find refuge.”

He felt Glorfindel’s hand cover his own, and accepted the comfort it offered.

“Where Elros embraced the way of Men and shaped it to his will, Arwen has allowed her heart to wander, at times content, but always open and seeking.  She loves Aragorn and it is for him she makes this choice, but it is not only for love that she so chooses.  She knows that they will shape the world of Men together, and she desires this fate.  She allows this desire to roam freely within her, ever growing as the time draws near.” Elrond’s voice grew hoarse. “Yet she does not understand. Her knowledge is complete, but she does not understand that with the freedom comes the gift.”

“Elros infused the line of Men with the nobility of the Elves and grace of the Maiar; Arwen will renew that strain,” said Glorfindel softly.

“Arwen knows this,” replied Elrond. “She even takes some pride in this, though she may not recognize it as such.”

Glorfindel raised a questioning brow, but Elrond waved his hand, dismissing the conversation. He was not yet willing to speak of Arwen’s choice with anyone, nor admit that he and Arwen had discussed only that her choice was made and not the consequences of it. He had broached the topic with her once, but she had silenced him with a finger to his lips, saying that events needed to pass as they would.  Not long after, she had returned to Lothlorien, where she had stayed until Elrond finally called her home.  He could not help but feel that she was running from him and a discussion she did not wish to have. A little voice inside him reminded him how alike they were, for his sons and Glorfindel and others might say that Elrond avoided the discussion with them as well.

The play of fading sunbeams across his desk announced that nightfall was near, and Elrond rose. “I will be in the garden.”

* * *

Aragorn returned from the south next, his report bringing the count of dead horses to eight and adding a torn black cloak.  The tear was consistent with reports of what Frodo had inflicted with his sword. Aragorn had brought the garment back with him, but none would touch it with their hands. Glorfindel had lifted it with tongs, inspecting the damage, then taken it to be burned.  Elrond had watched him go, noting how brightly the elf shone at that moment, and how terrible he appeared.  One could understand why the Witch-King had once fled before him.

Snow had begun to fall outside the valley when Elladan and Elrohir finally returned.  They arrived late in the evening and came directly to Elrond.

“We saw no sign of the Nine,” began Elladan without preamble.  “The marchwardens reported increasing orc activity, but there was little activity near Dol Guldur.”

“The Company must leave soon then,” replied Elrond as he waved his sons to seats and poured them wine to drink. He sat down with them.

“We spoke at length with Celeborn and Galadriel,” continued Elladan.  He paused, as if seeking the right words.  Elrond smiled as his sons seemed tongue tied over how to relate the conversation, and he knew they were hoping to be diplomatic.

“You may cast your tale in verse if you wish, or merely tell it as it happened,” he said, laughing when his sons smiled sheepishly. “I have known your grandparents a very long time; their words will not offend me.”

“Very well, Adar,” answered Elladan.  “I am too tired for verse, unless Elrohir wishes to try his hand, thus you will have to hear it as it happened.” And he launched into their tale.

~ ~ ~* * *~ ~ ~

Elladan watched as an orc idly kicked at the dead wood scattered in the clearing, then tore a hunk of stale moldy bread with his teeth before walking the eastern perimeter of the clearing.  They had watched the orcs listlessly patrolling the black tower for several days.  He and Elrohir were as bored as the orcs, though their food at least was better.

Elrohir slithered up next to him, lying so close that their arms overlapped and heads nearly touched.  He heard the faint sound of Elrohir sniffing. “You smell just as bad as me, muindor.”

Elrohir grinned. “Not possible. Come, let us leave here.”

They backed down the small ridge, moving silently through the dead trees and the oppressive air, timing their departure so as to not be noticed by the guard whose line they had to cross. They moved faster once beyond the patrolled area, until they finally came to living trees near the Vale of Anduin.  The sun had just risen. At Elrohir’s low whistle, their horses came galloping to them. Elladan’s mount sniffed him suspiciously.

“If one must crawl about with the orcs, it is to one’s advantage to smell like one,” chided Elladan. “Stop turning your nose up at me; you have smelled worse before and will so again.”  The horse tossed its head as Elladan mounted. “Let us ride to the Anduin – I want nothing more than to bathe and rid myself of these foul clothes.”

They rode hard, knowing that they could reach Lothlórien by nightfall. They did not speak or stop for rest until they reached the river.  Elladan had his tunic off before he dismounted, and despite the cold air, he plunged into the water, his horse nudging him needlessly.  Elrohir followed more slowly, as usual preparing properly by obtaining soaproot and an absorbent cloth with which to dry off.  Then he stripped and dove into the freezing water.

“There is something about being so near to evil that makes me feel unclean all the way to my soul,” muttered Elrohir as he scrubbed his skin.  “Not even the dens of orcs have a feeling so pervasive, regardless of how much I hate them.”

Elladan dipped his soapy hair into the current before responding.  He carefully twisted his hair, wringing the water free, while he watched his twin.   Over five centuries he had forgiven himself for nearly causing Elrohir’s death, yet he still found himself watching Elrohir closely.  He had not spoken to his father of his concerns, but he had to Glorfindel, who had agreed with him.  Elrohir was noticeably different to his eyes, and he was surprised their father did not see it.  Perhaps he did and just chose not to speak of it, mused Elladan.  He tended to agree with Glorfindel’s theories, that the poisoned wounds that Elrohir had received, while very minor compared to what their mother had suffered, had changed him, affected him to the core of his being.

“As evil as it was, I do not think any of the Úlairi have returned there,” he finally answered.  “The guards were bored and undisciplined. We could have taken them out and tossed out anyone remaining inside the tower.”

Elrohir looked up at him, a slow smile spreading across his face. “I thought that as well. Perhaps one day. . .”

“We have been seen,” commented Elladan suddenly.

“We were seen when we crossed over Anduin,” noted Elrohir.  He looked up, searching south to the trees of Lórien’s eastern border near where the Celebrant emptied into the Anduin. “Daeradar.”

They dried and dressed, then rode further upstream to a ford where their horses could safely swim.  The current pushed them downriver, and they managed to exit the river near the Celebrant, where Celeborn waited for them. They dismounted and bowed before him, but he stepped forward and drew them upright and embraced them.

“The shadow of Dol Guldur rests on you still,” said Celeborn. “What led you there and what did you find?”

They began their walk to Caras Galadhon, the guards that had accompanied Celeborn walking a discreet distance behind them.  Celeborn kept one hand on Elrohir’s shoulder.

“We found nothing of interest at Dol Guldur,” explained Elladan. “Bored guards with little to eat and nothing to do. Though,” he hastened to add, “we did not enter the inner perimeter or the tower itself. The Nine are abroad, as you have may have heard, but they were swept away in the Bruinen.  We learned that eight of the mounts were found downstream. Scouts are looking for any sign of the Úlairi.”

Celeborn’s brow had lifted higher with each sentence Elladan spoke, and his eyes showed his surprise, but he refrained from questioning them further.  They walked in companionable silence into the heart of the city and climbed the stairs to the home of their grandparents.

Galadriel was waiting for them, a table prepared with dinner, and she greeted them and insisted they eat before speaking.  Then Elladan began, telling of all they had learned at the council.

When he finished, his grandparents looked at him with a measure of surprise that Elladan would not have anticipated. Surely Galadriel had foreseen at least some of this?

“So the creature Gollum was caught by Sauron, told of ‘Baggins and the Shire’ and then conveniently escaped. He was found by Aragorn and delivered into Thranduil’s keeping, where he conveniently escaped again.  Mithrandir has confirmed that the One has been in the keeping of a Perian in The Shire since the year the dragon was killed, yet was unable to have a timely message delivered there once he knew this; or better yet, send a few rangers who could escort the Perian bearing the ring to Imladris.  Thus, by the time the Perian set forth, the Nine were abroad seeking him, as they now had his name and knowledge of the Shire. Mithrandir was not there to aid them, for Saurman, who has betrayed us, had taken him captive. The Periannath, with Aragorn’s aid, made it to Imladris after being attacked by the Úlairi.  Elrond brought the wrath of the Bruinen down upon the Nine, unhorsing them.  A Council was held, though most of the Wise were not present, and Elrond decided that the Perian and his gardener should take the One and trek to Mordor, breach the Morannon and destroy the One in the fire?”

Elladan met his grandmother’s piercing stare unflinchingly, contemplating his response, when a sound broke the silence.  He looked at his twin, and found him shaking with laughter.

“Yes, Daernaneth, I believe you have summed up the course of events correctly,” replied Elrohir, his eyes twinkling.

Galadriel shook her head and sat back, quiet for a moment.  “What of Aragorn?”

“Aragorn is going to Minas Tirith. I believe Elrond will send him and Boromir, the messenger sent by his father, the steward of Gondor, along as companions to Frodo, as they will share the road for many miles.”

“Mithrandir?”

“Mithrandir told us he plans to accompany the Ring-bearer.”

Celeborn frowned at this.  “I see great advantage to Mithrandir accompanying the Ring-bearer. This is, as Elrond has said, the culmination of his task. Yet might his presence also attract the eye of Mordor to him?”

“Or be used to draw the eye of Mordor away from the Ring-bearer,” said Galadriel.

Elladan listened as they discussed the Quest of the Ring-bearer, used to them each asking a question and the other answering it, as they worked out between them the answers. He drew in a deep breath. “Should Frodo and his companions pass this way, will they find refuge in Lothlórien?”

“The Gap of Rohan would be the safer route in winter,” interjected Celeborn. “Should the snow fall even you two will have difficulty in the Redhorn Pass.”

“Frodo would not be turned away,” said Galadriel softly.

Elladan felt the tension grow, the air static with some spark that was occurring between them.  Celeborn’s eyes flashed with fire, while Galadriel’s darkened until nearly black, then it seemed stars appeared and sparkled brightly within them.   As their discussion grew more passionate, Elladan could sense the gist of their argument.  Celeborn did not want the One brought into Lothlórien.  If Frodo came seeking refuge, they would grant it outside of Caras Galadhon, in the woods under the protection of the Marchwardens.  They would provision them and send them on.  Galadriel insisted otherwise.  Frodo should be brought into the heart of the Golden Wood and refreshed, giving them both opportunity to assess any hurts, relieve weariness and provide counsel.   Elladan thought it plain to see that Celeborn’s position was solely based on keeping Galadriel and the One apart and that Galadriel would win the argument.  Then he realized this was not an argument, for they would agree in the end, but another discussion designed to ensure that all risks and possibilities were explored.

“You must trust me,” said Galadriel finally. “All these long years we have dwelt together, you have known the desires of my heart.”

Celeborn took her hand in his and leaned close to her.  “I have. And if the old desires should return?”

Galadriel smiled at him, and Elladan had to look away, for the love in her eyes was not meant to be witnessed by any but Celeborn. “Then you will do what you must.”

In the end, they did not answer his question, but Elladan knew that he could tell his father that Frodo and his companions would find refuge should they seek it in the Golden Wood. 

“Adar had one further message,” said Elrohir quietly.  “Should the Ring-bearer fulfill his quest, he believes the Three will be shorn of their power. Should the One fall into the hands of Sauron, the hearts and minds of the keepers of the Three will be laid bare before him.  He sends a reminder, discussed long ago amongst some of the Wise, for preparations to that end.”

Elrohir eyes were fixed on Celeborn as he spoke, and Celeborn nodded to him in acknowledgement.  Galadriel did not respond.

They sat in silence for a few moments, each lost in their own thoughts, then Galadriel stood, bringing her husband and grandsons to their feet.  “We will speak again before you leave tomorrow.  Now you must rest, for I see weariness in your eyes and remnants of Dol Guldur’s shadow on your hearts.”

They left in the morning after bathing in the hot baths, provided with fresh clothing and well fed.  They spoke to the wardens on the northern marches and then set a fast pace for Imladris.

~ ~ ~* * *~ ~ ~

Elrond studied his sons as they finished their tale.   He was well pleased with them. Everything he had just heard confirmed for him that of all the candidates for the final two companions of the Ring-bearer, his sons were the best choices.  Yet despite this conclusion, he hesitated to speak to them.

“Well done, my sons,” he said instead, and he stood, drawing them to their feet.   He kissed them each on the brow. “Go and sleep; we will speak tomorrow.”

Elrond sat in darkness as Ithil rose and Eärendil sailed his nightly journey. When the house was silent, he walked to the chamber where he knew Frodo slept, a room set apart from those of the other guests. Frodo did not know it, but he was in the quarters of family and close members of his house.  Entering, he stood in the moonlight, watching the hobbit sleep.  Burrowed under the covers, the hobbit’s faint translucence was less obvious to Elrond’s eyes, but present nonetheless.  As he had done nearly every night since Frodo’s arrival, he sat beside the bed and laid his hand upon the hobbit’s heart.  He found his sleep unencumbered by dreams or visions of what lay ahead, or what lay behind.  The Ring lay silent, its attempts to tempt Elrond having ceased some weeks earlier. Yet Elrond knew that if he were to drop his guard even the least bit, the seductive voice would resume.  He sent a measure of his strength to Frodo and filled his mind with peace.  He could only hope that the weeks of subduing the ring and strengthening the body and mind of the hobbit would be enough for Frodo to resist its call at the end.

The next morning, he called all involved in the council’s decision to him.  

He looked gravely at Frodo. 'The time has come,' he said. 'If the Ring is to set out, it must go soon. But those who go with it must not count on their errand being aided by war or force. They must pass into the domain of the Enemy far from aid. Do you still hold to your word, Frodo, that you will be the Ring-bearer?'

'I do,' said Frodo. 'I will go with Sam.'

'Then I cannot help you much, not even with counsel,' said Elrond. 'I can foresee very little of your road; and how your task is to be achieved I do not know. The Shadow has crept now to the feet of the Mountains, and draws nigh even to the borders of Greyflood; and under the Shadow all is dark to me. You will meet many foes, some open, and some disguised; and you may find friends upon your way when you least look for it. I will send out messages, such as I can contrive, to those whom I know in the wide world; but so perilous are the lands now become that some may well miscarry, or come no quicker than you yourself.

'And I will choose you companions to go with you, as far as they will or fortune allows. The number must be few, since your hope is in speed and secrecy. Had I a host of Elves in armour of the Elder Days, it would avail little, save to arouse the power of Mordor.

'The Company of the Ring shall be Nine; and the Nine Walkers shall be set against the Nine Riders that are evil. With you and your faithful servant, Gandalf will go; for this shall be his great task, and maybe the end of his labours.

'For the rest, they shall represent the other Free Peoples of the World: Elves, Dwarves, and Men. Legolas shall be for the Elves; and Gimli son of Glóin for the Dwarves. They are willing to go at least to the passes of the Mountains, and maybe beyond. For men you shall have Aragorn son of Arathorn, for the Ring of Isildur concerns him closely.'

'Strider!' said Frodo.

'Yes,' he said with a smile. 'I ask leave once again to be your companion, Frodo.'

'I would have begged you to come,' said Frodo, 'only I thought you were going to Minas Tirith with Boromir.'

'I am,' said Aragorn. 'And the Sword-that-was-Broken shall be reforged ere I set out to war. But your road and our road lie together for many hundreds of miles. Therefore Boromir will also be in the Company. He is a valiant man.'

'There remain two more to be found,' said Elrond. "These I will consider. Of my household I may find some that it seems good to me to send.'

'But that will leave no place for us!' cried Pippin in dismay. 'We don't want to be left behind. We want to go with Frodo.'

'That is because you do not understand and cannot imagine what lies ahead,' said Elrond.

'Neither does Frodo,' said Gandalf, unexpectedly supporting Pippin. 'Nor do any of us see clearly. It is true that if these hobbits understood the danger, they would not dare to go. But they would still wish to go, or wish that they dared, and be shamed and unhappy. I think, Elrond, that in this matter it would be well to trust rather to their friendship than to great wisdom. Even if you chose for us an elf-lord, such as Glorfindel, he could not storm the Dark Tower, nor open the road to the Fire by the power that is in him.'

'You speak gravely,' said Elrond, 'but I am in doubt. The Shire, I forebode, is not free now from peril; and these two I had thought to send back there as messengers, to do what they could, according to the fashion of their country, to warn the people of their danger. In any case, I judge that the younger of these two, Peregrin Took, should remain. My heart is against his going.'

'Then, Master Elrond, you will have to lock me in prison, or send me home tied in a sack,' said Pippin. 'For otherwise I shall follow the Company.'

'Let it be so then. You shall go,' said Elrond, and he sighed. 'Now the tale of Nine is filled. In seven days the Company must depart.' *

He watched in amazement as Merry and Pippin cheered at what they considered their good fortune, still in disbelief that he had just agreed to send them. He lifted his head to look above the hobbits and saw his sons leaning against the wall. They were smiling at the hobbits, then Aragorn joined them and the three departed together.

“If I were not witness to your decision, I would think insanity had gripped whomever told me of it,” said Glorfindel.

Elrond glared at him, but before he could speak he heard Mithrandir. “Sometimes, Glorfindel, one must be led by friendship and love, not by wisdom, for it is impossible to see all ends. It is not by might that this quest will be accomplished.”

Elrond let his words die on his lips, for he tended to agree with Glorfindel.  Wind swept through the nearby trees and he turned slightly to see the branches swaying.  Branches turned to arms and he saw Merry lifted high. He blinked and saw the hobbit sitting comfortably on the again straight limb, and then the old oak was empty once more. Elrond looked back at the hobbits, confirming they were all still present in the room with him, then he looked back at the tree.  His heart sped up when what seemed to be two eyes appeared, and the tree winked at him.

He turned back to Mithrandir and Glorfindel. The wizard had his hand on Glorfindel’s shoulder, speaking to him in a low voice. Glorfindel finally seemed to acquiesce to what Mithrandir was saying, though his eyes reflected his true thoughts.  Mithrandir seemed pleased enough with the decision for all of them.

Elrond was in his study when Mithrandir appeared.  He sat down, making himself comfortable, and stretched his long legs out before him.  Elrond noticed the state of his boots and made a note to himself to ensure they were repaired before he left.

“You say you see little of what is ahead.  What do you see?” asked the wizard.

“Bits and pieces, most of which I cannot connect and little of which I understand.  I do not know if these are scenes of what will be or only might be,” replied Elrond.

“This is no longer your fight,” said Mithrandir lightly.

Elrond looked at him sharply. They had discussed this before. He was a bystander now, someone who could provide guidance and provisions, but he was as the beams of his own house – necessary, but fixed in place and not useful anywhere but where they were.

“Yet you may receive wisdom or foresight of other actions that should be taken, of other aid you might send.  You will be glad for swift and trustworthy messengers then.”

Elrond had not spoken to Mithrandir about the details of the visions he had seen. The wizard had agreed to the companions Elrond had chosen without question, inserting only himself.  Peace slowly settled on him. 

“Come, you have an appointment with the shoemaker,” he said. “You will never walk to Mordor on those.”

* * * *

A/N:  References to the woodelves are based on my series set in the Woodland Realm. Lathron’s vision of Legolas occur in ‘May the Valar Protect Them’, when Legolas is missing.  Legolas met the twins in ‘Hunting’.   Someday, I may write the Quest and aftermath from the Woodland Realm’s POV, and thus had to include these little bits, irrelevant as they are to this story.

*From The Ring Goes South, The Fellowship of the Ring.

Special thanks to Karri for beta reading this monstrosity chapter.

Chapter 11: Vilya

‘For in the days of Isildur the Ruling Ring passed out of all knowledge, and the Three were released from its dominion. But now in this latter day they are in peril once more, for to our sorrow the One has been found.’                Elrond, Council of Elrond, FotR

'The Three were not made by Sauron, nor did he ever touch them. But of them it is not permitted to speak. So much only in this hour of doubt I may now say. They are not idle. But they were not made as weapons of war or conquest: that is not their power. Those who made them did not desire strength or domination or hoarded wealth, but understanding, making, and healing, to preserve all things unstained. These things the Elves of Middle-earth have in some measure gained, though with sorrow. But all that has been wrought by those who wield the Three will turn to their undoing, and their minds and hearts will become revealed to Sauron, if he regains the One. It would be better if the Three had never been. That is his purpose.'

'But what then would happen, if the Ruling Ring were destroyed as you counsel?' asked Glóin.

'We know not for certain,' answered Elrond sadly. 'Some hope that the Three Rings, which Sauron has never touched, would then become free, and their rulers might heal the hurts of the world that he has wrought. But maybe when the One has gone, the Three will fail, and many fair things will fade and be forgotten. That is my belief.'

                                                                          The Council of Elrond, The Fellowship of the Ring

Evening, December 25, 3019 Third Age

Elrond watched the Company until the last glimpse of them was swallowed in darkness.    The elves gradually drifted away, until only his children remained with him on the porch. After a long silence, he turned to face Elladan.

His sons had been unusually quiet since he had announced the final members of the Company.  The few elves who had commented upon his choice of the two younger hobbits had found themselves on the receiving end of his ire, even if it was only in the form of a glare.  He knew the choice made no sense, yet he felt peace about it. Nonetheless, he could not logically explain the decision.

 His sons had not spoken to him of their wish to go with the Company, and he had not spoken to them of his consideration in sending them.  Reading the question in their eyes had not taken any mind reading skills, however.

“What did you see, Adar?” asked Elladan, his voice carrying no hint of accusation.

Elrond carefully measured his words. “I saw you with Estel before the Black Gates, along with others. Yet I had no peace about sending you.” He looked at Elladan closely, noting how carefully he was guarding his thoughts. “You may be meant to be there, just not with the Company.”

Elladan visibly relaxed. Elrond turned back to face the darkness that seemed heavier and deeper than it had ever been.  The vision of his sons before the Morannon had haunted his dreams, for he knew that he could lose them regardless of the outcome of the Quest.  Indeed, even if the Quest were successful, Estel could be killed, and Elrond suspected Arwen would choose to follow him into mortal death rather than spend eternity without him.  Of course, the Quest could fail and they would all die, for he held out little hope that any elves other than those currently in the Havens could escape.  More likely, the Elves left would die with Men and Hobbits and Dwarves under the shadow of Mordor.

His children did not leave him to his morose thoughts, however.  He felt Elrohir’s hand on his shoulder and turned to find the three of them standing arm in arm, hope in their faces. He completed their circle, and through his touch the four were joined in a communion deeper than simple thought sharing.  He felt their hope for the future, their love for Estel, their devotion to him and to Imladris, but also to Middle-earth – to Men and Hobbits and the Elves who remained.  Hope kindled anew in him.

“There are other forces at work here than just those of evil,” he said. “We will hold them in our thought, yet there is much work to be done here.  Imladris is safe for now, but the protection that has long held this valley secure will soon end.”

At his words, he felt Elladan’s hand close over his, pressing Vilya gently between them.  Vilya responded to the touch, its rhythm increasing in tempo to match Elladan’s song for a moment, then resuming its normal harmony with Elrond.  Elrond directed Vilya’s power not effortlessly, but unconsciously, with his own healing touch into Elladan. Unsurprisingly, he felt Elladan warm and strengthen through his touch.  On his other side, he felt that power flow through Elladan to Elrohir.

“What will happen to you when that protection fails?” asked Elladan.

Elrond met his son’s concerned gaze steadily. “That depends on whether the power is shorn away or falls under the dominion of evil. Either way, the effects could be abrupt or they be slow.  Only time will tell.”

Concern grew in Elladan’s eyes. “I am not sure we should leave you for any reason, Adar.”

Elrond lifted their clasped hands and covered Arwen’s.  “Each of us has a role to play, though what it is may not yet be clear.   If you are needed, you must go.  Glorfindel, Erestor and Arwen will stand with me.”

Elladan pondered his words for a moment.  “If the Quest fails, Adar, will you sail?  Will you take Arwen to the Havens?”

Arwen opened her mouth to protest, but Elrond spoke first. “We cannot see all ends, Elladan.  We will fight as long as hope remains and likely long after it has failed.  Our end may be here in Imladris, or it may be elsewhere.” He saw the protest rising in Elladan’s thought. “Do not ask for promises that cannot be made.   For an age of the world we have waited for this day.  We will fight as long as we must, or at least as long as we can.”

His words heartened Arwen, grieved Elrohir and subdued Elladan.  Elrond could not help but smile at their reactions.   He had pondered all of the ends he could conceive, and in none of them did Arwen willingly sail over sea.  Already a thread bound her to Estel; as long as he lived she would fight for Middle-earth. If he were to perish, still she would fight until her life was taken from her. Elrond remembered the day he had realized this. Pride in her had warmed him even as sorrow had abraded his heart. As painful as that was, he recalled the day he had found Elrohir sitting alone near the waterfall in despair.   The doting brother who had once plunged into danger to save his little sister had realized he could not stand between her and death this time.

Protective, fierce Elladan, though, would order the world to his liking and decide the fate of those he loved.  Elrond saw Elros in him, evidence of the mortal blood they had inherited from him.  He knew he could not hold on to any of them, yet one end he could conceive was the three of them all meeting their fate in Middle-earth.   While Celebrían still resided with them, this knowledge had existed yet never been more than a distant concern.  With their family now sundered by the sea, this knowledge felt at times like a heavy weight hung around his neck that threatened to suffocate him.  His beloved daughter would stay, but what of his sons?  Would he and Celebrían live alone as long as Arda existed?

“We will fight,” said Elladan, interrupting Elrond’s thoughts. He squared his shoulders and raised his chin, and the eyes that met Elrond’s were resolute. “Long we have been abroad with the Rangers of our own will, Adar, and left the defense of Imladris to your hands and Glorfindel’s.  We submit now to your will.  What tasks would you set before us?”

Elrond felt a mixture of pain and pride well up within him, for Elladan’s admission about whose errantry had guided them these many years was a confession of a deeper struggle that his headstrong son had battled since the attack in the Redhorn Pass.   He lifted his hand and rested it against Elladan’s cheek, smiling when his son leaned into his touch.

“When Imladris or I have needed you, you have been here,” he replied. “Our wills have not been at odds.”  He breathed in deeply then, letting the crisp winter air cleanse him and turn him from his musings of the possible to the needs of the practical.  “Word must be taken to the Rangers that Aragorn’s journey to Minas Tirith and the quest of the Ring-bearer have begun. All must be on guard for what may come.”

Elladan visibly relaxed at his words, confirming Elrond’s suspicion that his son would stay in Imladris only if he bade them do so.  He would not.  

“We will not stray far and will return often, should you have need of us,” said Elrohir.

His sons departed to begin their own preparations, Elladan squeezing Elrond’s hand gently one last time. Arwen took his arm as he led her inside to the family sitting room. Elrond was unsurprised to find Glorfindel present; his protector had seldom been far from him in recent weeks.  When Glorfindel saw Arwen he rose to leave, but Elrond motioned for him to sit.  Moments later, Erestor entered with cups and a bottle of wine.

“Stay, Erestor,” said Elrond, when the elf turned to leave. “I think we would all do well with company this eve.”

They drank a toast to the Company, then fell into a companionable silence, and Elrond’s thoughts drifted to Vilya and how already he could feel Mithrandir’s presence lessening as he and Narya went south.  Lost in thought, he did not hear voices speaking in low tones around him until Elrohir sat down beside him.

“If Adar is willing I will tell the story, but his perspective would be more interesting,” said Elrohir. “Though perhaps he is so lost in meditation that he hears us not?”

Elrond smiled.  “I hear you.” He paused, trying to place what his son had said. “Tell what story?”

Laughter rippled around the room.

“I do not think Adar even noticed our entrance.  Really, brother, there was a time when our wit, charm and good looks garnered at least a nod from our sire,” teased Elladan.

“I believe that was actually a warning to you to be on your best behavior,” interrupted Erestor.

“It was Celebrían they feared displeasing,” added Glorfindel.  “Her disapproval was far worse than their adar’s wrath.”

“This was all before my time,” said Arwen, “as I do not recall any such occasions.”

Elrond smiled at his peacemaker daughter, but he appreciated the attempts to lighten the mood.

“I was lost in thought, but they were not morose,” he reassured them. “What did you ask, Elrohir?”

“Arwen asked when I first became aware that you were a keeper of one of the Three,” replied Elrohir, his tone serious.

Elrond stiffened reflexively, then looked around the room at faces of those who knew without doubt where two of the Three resided. He forced himself to relax and heard the collective sigh of relief, then realized they must have been discussing the rings even as he was pondering them himself.

Then he did something he very seldom had done over the millennia he had wielded Vilya: he slipped it from his finger. He heard his children gasp, and even Erestor caught his breath.  Glorfindel’s gaze upon him became intense, but he remained silent.

“This is Vilya,” he said, holding it up to them. “It is the Ring of Air, which you might guess from the sapphire if you did not already know. I believe that soon it may be visible to all, but for now only the other keepers of a ring of power can see a ring being wielded by another keeper.” He handed the ring to Arwen, who looked it over for a moment then passed it to Elladan.

“We have never spoken of the Rings before; not as a family and not among the chief advisors of Imladris.  Few outside this room know with surety that I am one of the keepers, though the Dunedaín and Elves suspect it.” He paused while Elrohir waved Elladan off and Elladan returned the ring to him. He turned the ring over in his palm studying it, then laughed softly and slipped it back on to his finger.  He looked up into Glorfindel’s knowing gaze.  “Seldom do I separate myself from it, for to do so lessens my sight and power over the valley. The effect is immediately dramatic, but becomes less so as I become accustomed to the feeling.”

“Why have you experimented so?” asked Elrohir.

Elrond turned his gaze from Glorfindel to Elrohir, knowing where his son’s thoughts lay.

“I can only speculate what would happen if the One were to fall into the hands of Sauron or be destroyed. I was seeking a better sense of how I feel without it while it still has power, for it is all I may extrapolate from as I consider what the effects would be on Imladris if the ring were to lose its power or fall under the dominion of the One,” replied Elrond, his voice trailing off. “And what the effect would be on me.”

“What would that effect be on you, Adar?” asked Elladan quietly.

Elrond had considered the answer to this very question on several occasions, usually in the quiet darkness of a long night after pushing the cares and concerns of his house and people and Middle-earth from his mind.  It seemed a cruel joke for his mind to turn unbidden to concern for his own fate. At times he even thought it selfish, yet he knew that discounting concern for himself was simply an attempt to avoid the subject.  What happened to him would be important to those who depended on him, and to those who loved him.  And to one who waited for him.

“If Frodo is successful, I believe Vilya’s power will end, possibly abruptly, and all that was preserved and made with its power will fade. We are tied to one another, Vilya and I. I suppose if its power ends, I will experience a great sense of loss, perhaps even a physical decline. Should Sauron take the ring from Frodo, all of the Ringbearers will come under his dominion. Whether we can free our thoughts and keep our bodies and souls from him, I do not know.”

“After Frodo succeeds, you will need to leave Middle-earth,” said Arwen softly. “Galadriel too. Neither of you will find healing for such wounds in Middle-earth.”

Elrond took her hand in his and brought it to his lips, kissing it gently. “I am sure we will sufficiently recover to either enjoy the days of the King, should Frodo succeed, or continue the fight against Shadow, should he not.”

Arwen looked at him with some new understanding, and Elrond recognized the set of her jaw. She was formulating a thought or making a decision, and he knew from long experience that little would deter her from whatever had entered her mind.

“What if Sauron regains his ring?”

Elrond looked up at Elladan’s words, but the question was not directed at him.  Both of his sons were looking to Glorfindel for an answer, for they correctly realized that he had long considered this possibility.

“Sauron will not have your adar,” replied Glorfindel.  He smiled at them, reaching to rest his hand on Elrohir’s shoulder. “A ring can have only one keeper, who must wield it with their own strength and wisdom, but they are not alone.”

“The keepers have keepers,” laughed Elladan.  “Daeradar will keep Daernaneth from harm.”

“And Frodo has Sam,” added Arwen, her brow furrowed in thought.  “And the last of the Three, Adar?”

Elrond smiled. “It is wielded wisely.” He watched in amusement as his sons and Arwen immediately looked to Glorfindel, but both Glorfindel and Erestor shrugged in response. 

“Keep your secrets, then,” said Arwen. “Elrohir, please continue. I wish to know when you learned Adar was one of the keepers.”

Elrohir’s gaze met his, and Elrond looked at him long before nodding.  Elrohir looked next at Elladan, who appeared confused, and Elrohir flushed slightly.  “I knew of the ring long before Adar began to wield it,” he finally admitted.

Elladan laughed.  “Why does that not surprise me, brother?  You seemed to know or see things that I was oblivious to for a long time.  I seem to recall you knew of Adar and Naneth’s kissing habits long before me as well.”

“They were hardly discreet,” retorted Elrohir.  “And more than a little creative.”

Elrond felt all eyes turn to him and steadfastly ignored the amused questioning looks.  “Only you, Elrohir, could make me wish to hear a tale about the Ring to deflect attention from my personal life.”

Elrohir grinned.  “Sometimes such tales collide instead of deflecting.”

Elrond covered Vilya with his hand as he sent his thought out to the borders of Imladris. Mithrandir remained near enough he could still clearly sense him, and the Istar responded to him, a brief flash of encouraging thought as they trudged through the night.  Settling back on the sofa, Elrond allowed Elrohir to draw him into his story.

“I was just an elfling,” began Elrohir.

~ ~ ~* * *~ ~ ~

Spring, 143 Third Age

Elrohir ran down the hall, ducking into a doorway to avoid the light footsteps he heard approaching.  He held his breath as Erestor turned and headed down an adjacent hall, then darted out and continued.   In the distance he could hear Elladan’s laughter, and knew he was still being pursued.  The sound of his naneth and daernaneth talking drifted out to him from the family sitting room, and he flew past, entering his parents’ bedchamber instead.  Elladan would think to look under the bed, so he discarded that idea immediately and instead ran into the dressing area.

Two large wardrobes faced each other, one holding his naneth’s clothing and the other his adar’s.   He silently opened the door to the one with his naneth’s dresses, then wrinkled his nose and pushed the door until it was open only a tiny crack.  He liked the smell of roses, but did not wish to smell like one when he went to archery practice later that afternoon.

He slipped inside his father’s wardrobe instead, leaving the door slightly open so he could get out again.  He knew from experience the slight crack would not be noticeable. He slid to the floor and moved to sit behind the long robes.  A small chest was on the floor, so he curled up next to it, resting his arms on it and his chin on his arms.   He closed his eyes so he couldn’t see the darkness, intently listening for any sound of his twin searching for him.

He woke up a short time later.  He was not sure where he was at first, but gradually remembered the game he and Elladan had been playing.  Wondering if Elladan was still looking for him, he stretched his feet out, trying to open the wardrobe door just a fraction more.  The amount of light streaming in the windows might give him an idea of how late it was, but it also occurred to him that Elladan might be waiting just outside the door.

To his surprise, the door wouldn’t move.  He slid free of the robes, reaching upward for the slim lever of wood that could just be reached from the inside. He pushed up on it, but nothing happened.  He pushed on the door, but it wouldn’t budge.

“Elladan!” he called.  “You win!  Let me out!”

There was no answer.

He pulled the wooden chest from the corner of the wardrobe and placed it in front of the door, then stepped up on it.  Standing on his tiptoes, he ran his fingers along the top edge of the wardrobe doors, looking for another latch.  He knew some of the wardrobes in Imladris had upper latches too, because he and Elladan had played in many of them.

He thought he felt something high up on the top edge, but he couldn’t reach it.  He finally jumped, hoping to touch it, but he felt nothing and when he landed, his foot slipped off the chest and he tumbled to the floor amidst his father’s boots.  The chest also tipped over, and he quickly set it upright, then felt along the floor in the darkness for anything that might have fallen out.

His hand closed over a velvet bag tied with a string. He could feel something hard inside, thought he did not know what it was.   He was about to stick it back in the chest when he felt a slight vibration in his hand.

He sat down on top of the chest and opened the pouch, shaking that which was inside out on to his hand.  He felt the cold metal on his palm, but almost immediately it began to warm up.  Wrapping his hand over it, he realized it was a ring with a large stone set in it.  He wanted to know what it looked like, but it was too dark in the wardrobe to see.   He rubbed the stone with his thumb.  To his surprise, it began to glow.  A moment later he heard it hum and felt the vibrations against his skin.

“What are you?” he whispered.

In the soft glow of the light emanating from the ring, he could see that the stone was a deep blue. As he tilted the ring, what appeared to be stars twinkled at him. He caught his breath.  Was it a magic ring?  Was the stone like a Silmaril?  Why did his adar have it, and why did he keep it inside a dark wardrobe? “You are too beautiful to be kept inside,” he told it.

The ring was too large to fit on his finger, so he slipped it on to his left thumb.  It began to thrum louder, and a kaleidoscope of colors erupted before him.  He shrank back against the side of the wardrobe in fear.  The ring shrank to fit his thumb snugly. It was like it was trying to become part of him!  He grabbed the ring to pull it off, and the touch was like rubbing his feet on the carpet and then touching something metal. 

“Stop it!” he cried as he yanked his right hand back.

The ring quieted. Elrohir forced himself to calm his breathing, but now he was afraid to touch it. He reached out with his right hand and pushed at the door, but nothing happened.  He stood up and put both hands on the door and pushed with all his might. “Open!” he cried, panic in his voice. “Let me out!”

The door opened suddenly and he fell forward, landing hard on the floor on his hands and knees.   Tears streamed down his face as his fear gave way to relief. He looked down at the ring, but could no longer see it.  But he could feel it.  He covered it with his hand and sure enough, it was still there.   His fear returned with a vengeance.

He scrambled to his feet and ran for his father’s study.  

“Ada! Ada!” he cried, bursting in without knocking.  “Help me, Ada!”

* * *

Elrond was on his feet as soon as he heard the hysteria in Elrohir’s voice.  His son flew into the room and smacked into him, grabbing hold of his tunic and holding on as if his life depended on it.   He was shaking and crying, and Elrond was able to make out only the words ‘alive’ and ‘invisible.’

“Elrohir, what is wrong?” he asked, keeping his voice calm and steady in an attempt to calm his child.

“Take it off, Ada, take it off!” cried Elrohir.

Elrond picked Elrohir up and sat him on his desk, then took both of the child’s hands in his.  To his surprise, he felt something on Elrohir’s hand, but could not see anything.

“What is this, Elrohir?” he asked, forcing his voice to calm.

“Take it off, Ada,” begged Elrohir.  “I tried but it shocked me.”

Elrond pulled the thing from Elrohir’s hand, Vilya appearing as soon as it was free. Elrond could not hide the slight shake of his hand, and he sank into his chair, keeping one arm about Elrohir.

Elrohir threw his arms about his father’s neck, falling forward, and Elrond caught him and hugged him to his chest.  He rocked the crying child to calm him, though he felt far from calm himself.

“Elrond?”

Elrond looked up to see Glorfindel in the doorway.

“I heard Elrohir.  Is he injured?”

“Please find Galadriel and bring her here,” replied Elrond.

“I am here,” answered Galadriel.

Elrond opened his hand and showed her Vilya.  “Elrohir had it on his hand.”

Galadriel grew pale, her eyes darting from the ring to her distraught grandson. “Where is its pouch?”

“He must have been in the wardrobe. Look near there.”

Glorfindel went in search of the pouch, returning quickly with the velvet bag. He held it open and Elrond dropped the ring back inside.  He waved Glorfindel away.  Put it back in the chest in the wardrobe.  Then find a lock for the chest. We will need to find a new location for it, he instructed wordlessly.

He rose and walked to the sofa in the room, settling down on it while rocking Elrohir.  Galadriel sat down next to him, resting one hand on Elrohir’s back. Elrond lifted a brow in question. Galadriel shook her head.  “I do not sense any shadow about him.”

Elrond sighed with relief.  He also did not feel any evil about Elrohir. Galadriel’s confirmation eased his heart.

“Elrohir, what did you see?” he asked gently.

Elrohir hiccupped. “Stars,” he answered slowly.  “Then colors, pretty colors and patterns.”

“Did you hear anything?”

“It was humming. It wanted to go on my finger, but when I put it on it disappeared and began to tremble and vibrate,” said Elrohir shakily.  “I tired to take it off and it shocked me.”

“What happened after that?” asked Galadriel, still stroking Elrohir’s hair and back.

“I told it to stop, and it did.  I was locked in the wardrobe and so I jumped up and pushed really hard and it finally opened.”

Elrond looked at Galadriel in surprise.  “Did you say anything when you pushed, Elrohir?”

“I told it to open!” cried Elrohir.  “It did and I fell out, and when I looked at my hand, the ring was gone but it was really still there!”

Galadriel was intrigued. “What were you thinking about when you had the ring on?”

Elrohir was much calmer.  He sat up and wiped his eyes.  “How pretty it was.  There were stars in the stone, and I wondered why Ada would keep it locked in the dark when it was so beautiful.”

When they remained silent, he continued.  “I wondered if it was a magic ring or like a Silmaril. I wanted to see it, but it was too dark.  Then it started to glow and I saw the colors.”

“Did you hear any words or see anything scary?” asked Elrond cautiously.

Elrohir shook his head.  “I was hiding and I fell asleep and when I woke up, I was locked in.  I had not closed the door, Ada, I know better.  So I pulled the chest up so I could stand on it and see if there was an upper latch, but I fell and the chest opened and the pouch fell out.  When I went to put it away, it began to hum.” He looked pitifully at his father. “I just wanted to know what it was.” He looked down at his hands, then twisted the edge of his tunic. “It really wanted to come out of the pouch.”

Elrond hugged Elrohir close.

“Is it a magic ring, Ada?”

Elrohir met Galadriel’s eyes.  I cannot tell him what he experienced was not real. He will doubt himself and doubt me.

Galadriel nodded, but warned, he must not speak of this.

“It is a magic ring, but one that should not be handled.  I am sorry you found it as you did. I will make sure it is locked up from now on,” replied Elrond.

Elrohir blushed. “I am sorry I touched it without permission.”

“You are forgiven. However, you are not to speak of this to anyone but your daernaneth or me. Do you understand?”

Elrohir nodded.  “Is it a secret?”

“For now, yes,” replied Elrond.  His eyes met Galadriel’s again and she nodded. He turned back to Elrohir. “Are you still afraid of it?”

Elrohir grimaced. “Only a little.”

Elrond pulled Elrohir back against his chest, cuddling him as he used to when he was small, stroking his hair and imparting calm.  After a few moments he felt Elrohir relax and then drift as if into sleep.  He felt Galadriel’s hands on him, strengthening him, and he proceeded to do what he had never done before: he entered his son’s mind without permission, and not to heal.  He probed gently and unobtrusively until he found the beginning of the memory of the event. He moved quickly through it, for he did not want it to become as a dream that his son would experience in sleep. He noticed nothing Elrohir had not told them.  Then he purposefully clouded the memory, not removing it, but sending it into the grey mists at the back of his mind.

Elrohir continued to sleep peacefully after he withdrew, and Elrond relaxed against the cushions and calmed his own mind. 

“Did you remove the memory?” asked Galadriel.

“No,” replied Elrond slowly. “It is part of him, and I would not leave such a gap without good cause.  He will not remember it unless he has need or another experience with the ring.”

“The One is surely lost,” said Galadriel suddenly. “Elrohir saw nothing to indicate the ring was in the hands of anyone capable of wielding it.  Indeed, I would say Vilya was looking for a master.  It responded to Elrohir’s thoughts and desires, and his commands.”

Elrond looked at her sharply. “The One was not found on Isildur, but we do not know if it lies in an orc den, waiting for a master, or even in Sauron’s own presence, waiting for him to regain his strength.  It may be lost, perhaps it has floated down the river and is now in the ocean, but we do not know.”  He paused and shook his head.  “I was careless. I have not given Vilya thought for so long I did not think to lock it up.”

“A chance event,” agreed Galadriel. “Harmless this time, for which we may be grateful. I shall also lock up Nenya.  Elrohir meant no harm, but they are children, curious children.”

Elrohir yawned and his eyes came into focus. He smiled at Elrond.  “Hello Ada!” he said, grinning.  “Did you find me? I was hiding from Elladan.”

“I did find you. Apparently the wardrobe is too good a hiding place for your games.  Glorfindel is here to collect you for your archery lesson.”

Elrohir sat up and slid to the floor.  “Glorfindel, I am sorry I fell asleep and am late!”

“We are not yet late,” replied Glorfindel.  He held out his hand to Elrohir.  “Come, Elladan is probably already at the practice fields.”

Elrohir skipped from the room at Glorfindel’s side, waving back at them as they turned down the hall.   Elrond smiled. “He did not remember a thing.”

“No, but as you say, he may someday,” warned Galadriel.

“I will be watchful,” promised Elrond.

~ ~ ~* * * ~ ~ ~

“Elrohir!” cried Arwen, aghast. “I was under the impression you never got into mischief as a child. What if the One was not lost?”

“Did you really forget the event?” asked Elladan indignantly. “You never told me.”

“He was told not to tell anyone,” put in Erestor, with a hint of exasperation.

“We do not keep secrets from each other,” Elladan informed him. He turned to Elrohir. “Do we? When did you remember?”

During the telling of the story, Elrond had pulled Elrohir close, and he stroked his son’s dark head as recalled the terrified elfling.

Elrohir nodded.  “Not until I was grown and Adar was wielding Vilya.” He shifted, looking at his twin again. “In a sense, I learned at the same time you two did. I did not recall the event from childhood until then.”

“That is why you did not need to see the ring just now.  You knew what it looked like already,” said Arwen.

Elrohir flushed again. “In a way that is true. But really, I just have never had any desire to touch it again. My memories of my attempt to ‘wield’ it, such as it was, are enough.”

“I had suspected that Adar had one of the Three, but I did not know until I saw him wield it to aid you,” said Elladan.   “Arwen and I saw you slipping from us and then felt the raw energy as Adar turned Vilya to your aid.”

Elrohir leaned into his father’s comforting caress. “I have been a grief to you at times, Adar,” he admitted ruefully.

“You have never been a grief to me,” replied Elrond. “Even the times you have dived into danger, when I feared losing you, I could not dispute your decision.” He fell silent as he remembered the incident in question. “That was the first time I wielded Vilya to enhance my healing ability. I feared losing you, and I feared using Vilya for such a purpose. I feared losing you more.”

~ ~ ~* * *~ ~ ~

1409 Third Age⁽¹⁾

A great host came out of Angmar in 1409, and crossing the river entered Cardolan and surrounded Weathertop. The Dúnedain were defeated and Arveleg was slain. The Tower of Amon Sûl was burned and razed; but the palantír was saved and carried back in retreat to Fornost, Rhudaur was occupied by evil Men subject to Angmar, and the Dúnedain that remained there were slain or fled west. Cardolan was ravaged. Araphor son of Arveleg was not yet full-grown, but he was valiant, and with aid from Círdan he repelled the enemy from Fornost and the North Downs.   Appendix A, LotR

Glorfindel knocked on Elrond’s door, but entered without waiting for a reply. He tossed his gloves and cloak on to a chair, then unfolded his map and laid it unceremoniously on Elrond’s desk.   Well-worn and handled often in inclement weather, the map had traced the worsening situation in Imladris for the past twenty years.  Soon it would be unreadable.

“An army out of Angmar has taken the Last Bridge and crossed into Cardolan,” said Glorfindel without preamble.  He jabbed the paper with his finger. “Amon Sûl is surrounded.”

Elrond paled slightly. His sons at last report had crossed the Bruinen and engaged a band of orcs and men in the Trollshaws between the Bruinen and the Last Bridge.  His people were already spread thin: patrols in the east were battling orcs in the Misty Mountains; Celeborn led a patrol to their south, fighting with some of the Cardolan faithful against orcs and Hillmen.   Glorfindel had held the North against Angmar, holding a border some distance from where the Bruinen flowed out of the Mountains. 

Elrond studied the numbers and figures Glorfindel had sketched in around Amon Sûl.  Arveleg was outnumbered.  “He cannot hold,” said Elrond quietly.

“They will not last a week,” replied Glorfindel flatly.  “Erestor suggests they will not last three days.  The maneuvers in the Trollshaws were a diversion, not that they needed one with a force that size.”

“Pull Elladan and Elrohir back to the Fords,” said Elrond.  “Hold your position in the North.  If the Bruinen is breached to the north or west, Imladris will be found.” He paused, thinking. “Send Erestor to Celeborn. Celeborn must send word to Amroth that the need in the north is dire.”

“The need will be dire by the time Amroth receives word and sends aid,” said Glorfindel. He tapped his finger against the desk for a moment, then stood and walked to the balcony, his eyes drawn westward.  “Erestor instructed the watchkeeper on the South Downs to send word to Círdan.  Fornost will need whatever aid Círdan can send if Angmar marches west.”

“Angmar’s purpose becomes clearer,” answered Elrond thoughtfully.  “Rhudaur is defeated; Cardolan invaded.  Arthedain is next.” He stood and walked to stand near Glorfindel. “We are but a thorn, as is Círdan.  Whoever rules in Angmar knows well that the elves are near and he harries us at every turn, but his hatred is for the Dúnedain.”

“I believe I know who rules in Angmar,” answered Glorfindel quietly. He turned to face Elrond.  “He is called the Witch-King. He is garbed all in black, hooded, and has lived long years in Middle-earth.  His people fear him for good reason.  He is Úlairi; chief of the Úlairi.”

“Black Númenorian,” said Elrond grimly.  “That would indeed explain his hatred of the Dúnedain.”  He turned back west.  “The Dúnedain have grieved us with their infighting and clannish wars.  They have declined from a large and glorious people, escaped from fallen Númenor, to a small remnant that cannot even maintain Annúminas nor live at peace together.  They have destroyed themselves and their kingdom.  The Witch-King was able to take advantage of their in-fighting to establish his own kingdom in their midst and introduce lesser men into their ranks.  Unless a strong leader emerges, even the Arthedain will dwindle to nothing more than a nomadic people or fade to a race of lesser men.”

“Do you believe that is their fate?” asked Glorfindel.

Elrond let out a long slow breath. “No, I do not.  They will dwindle, but all is not lost. As long as a faithful remnant survive and the line of Elendil continues, there is hope.”

“What will you do?”

“We will continue to hold their history here in Imladris, so that even if they forget their own past, we may remind them of what they once were.  The heirs of Elendil will always be welcome here. A day will come when they will cease this struggle among themselves, reunite with their southern kin, and defeat the evil that plagues their lands. One must rise from Elendil’s line who can become the leader needed to reunite them.

“But for now what we will do is protect ourselves,” continued Elrond, his mind shifting back to the present.  “Pull the twins back and send Erestor to Celeborn. We are spread thin, I know.  Who else can we spare to defend the Bruinen?”

Glorfindel grimaced.  “I have sent all elves trained in warfare to our borders.  A few craftsmen remain, as well as a those needed to manage the stables.”

“Galadriel has organized all of the females into a defense corp.  They are on shifts guarding the house, stables and fields, and running supplies to the patrols,” added Elrond.

Glorfindel smiled. “I passed Arwen and Liriel delivering supplies to the north.”

“I sparred with her yesterday. I was impressed by her skills.  You have taught her well.”

“I still find it amusing that she did not want to train with you.  You taught her as a child, after all,” laughed Glorfindel.

“She wished for me to have a first impression of competence. Had I trained her, I would know of weaknesses or flaws that might have caused me to be overly protective.”

Glorfindel arched a brow at him.  “Celebrían explained it to me,” Elrond added dryly. 

Glorfindel sighed and stretched.  “I am going in search of food and will return north within the hour.”

A shout from the courtyard caught their attention, and Elrond shrugged off the robe he had put on over his tunic and trousers.  He pulled a long smock off his chair and slipped it over his neck and tied it.  “Go with all my care, my friend.  I do not wish to see you in the healing rooms.”

Elrond met the elves carrying in wounded, only noticing that it was Celebrían holding an end of the litter when she spoke.

“Poisoned arrow to the thigh.  Orcs in the mountain passes,” she reported.  “All other injures are minor and being treated in the patrol.”

She caressed his arm as she passed him, then was gone, back to her duties.  At times she seemed everywhere at once, running the house but also serving with the guard and delivering supplies.  Galadriel was managing the defense of the grounds and supplying the patrols.  Elrond had never been more glad that she and Celeborn had remained in Imladris when evil had returned to the North.

* * *

Elladan shook the water from his hood without taking his eyes from the rocky outcropping he had been watching.  The men taking refuge from the weather were from Angmar. They were brutal fighters, but no match for Elven scouts.   The men grossly outnumbered them, however, which meant that the Elves relied on stealth attacks.  Thus far, they had managed to harass the Men and draw them further west. How long this strategy would last Elladan did not know.  He had seen the smoke of a large fire burning on the Great Road and learned from Erestor that Amon Sûl was surrounded.  With the Great Road blocked, Imladris was also now surrounded. He did not know if Angmar would tighten the noose about them, if indeed they knew they had a noose about the elves, or push further west in pursuit of the Arthedain. 

He sensed the presence of his twin before he felt the light touch on his shoulder.

Adar has sent word for us to pull back to the Bruinen.

Elladan nodded, unsurprised. 

Word has been sent to Lórien for aid. Until they come, we are to take no offensive action, only protect our borders. We must hope that Fornost holds.

They ceased speaking, even in thought, as they retreated from their position in the hills.  The rest of their patrol was spread out in pairs along a line that roughly followed the enemy’s path south from the Ettenmoors to the Last Bridge.  Elrohir had ordered them all to fall back several miles closer to the river, which would provide a natural barrier to defend.  A natural barrier enhanced in some way.   Elladan had long thought that if the Three had gone to Gil-galad, then it was likely that at least one of the Rings was now in Imladris. Some of the most powerful elves in Middle-earth resided there, including his grandparents, father and Glorfindel.  In recent years he had noticed some odd things about the Bruinen, about the way the waters rose at times for seemingly no reason, then fell again.  He had asked Glorfindel about it once, but the elf had said he had not noticed.  Elladan had not pushed the issue, but he had concluded that Imladris did not remain hidden solely by natural terrain.

“How close are we to Glorfindel’s patrol?” asked Elladan.

“If he has pulled back, then I think very close,” answered Elrohir.  They took cover from the rain under an outcropping of rock, and Elrohir pulled his map from his cloak.   “Erestor said that Glorfindel’s line was running from the cliffs north of the Bruinen to the the wooded grove where the river turns south.  Athrenen is battling orcs in the High Pass. Celeborn holds the South.”

Elladan did not need to see the map; he had it memorized.  He knew the grounds of Imladris as well as he knew the halls of the house.  They had fought with the Dúnedain enough these past years that he knew much of the territory of Eriador as well as the Misty Mountains from the High Pass to the Redhorn.   “Sometimes I am most amazed by how unamazed I am at the changes in the last century.”

Elrohir took his hand and squeezed it, imparting understanding and comfort through that touch and in thought.  

“I remember listening to the stories of the First and Second Ages, thinking of our parents and grandparents fighting in wars when they were so young themselves. All of our elders have known such times.  As odd as it may be to think such a thing, I felt left out. Untested, untried, unproven.  Adar always said evil would rise again. He knew the day would come when we would add our own tale to the stories and it saddened him. I did not understand, and even when we first rode out to engage the enemy, I was excited and anxious to prove myself.  Now when evil surrounds us, and I have seen the hearts of some Men darkened, I hardly remember what it was like not to live in such a time,” said Elladan.

“I will remember for us both,” promised Elrohir.  “Our innocence left with our ignorance; we too will now look upon the young and hope they never live through such a time, while knowing they likely will.”

“I am glad that Glorfindel convinced Adar not to lead Imladris’ defense,” said Elladan suddenly.

“Daeradar agreed. Together, he and Glorfindel can manage Adar. Daeradar said that Adar’s healing skills diminished considerably after the War of the Last Alliance, and shadow lingered on him for many years. A healer such as Adar should not wield a sword except in great need”

“Are you losing any of your skills?” asked Elladan.

Elrohir smiled at him reassuringly, but Elladan also felt him mask his innermost thoughts.  “My skills are not Adar’s.  Every warrior must be able to treat basic wounds, and every patrol needs one or two with slightly more advanced skills.  I am glad to be that to our patrol.”

Elladan accepted the answer, even though he did not believe it. 

* * *

Elladan splashed his face with cold water, looking with distaste at the flecks of blood drying on his trouser legs and boots. He felt rather than heard his twin’s distress, and looked upstream to see Elrohir scrubbing blood from his face. Blood matted his hair and had soaked through his tunic and undershirt.   Elrohir fumbled with the ties of his shirt, but the blood had soaked through and begun to dry, making it impossible.  With a grunt of frustration, he grabbed the neckline with both hands and tore the garment down the front. He flung it away into the bushes near the edge of the river and then waded out into the icy water and submerged his whole body.

Garthon stopped next to him, drying his hands on a cloth. “He was fighting a man with a sword when another jumped him from behind.  He flipped the second man over his shoulder and into the slashing sword of the first, which cut the second man nearly in half.  The body landed on Elrohir as he fell,” he explained.

Elladan’s heart froze at the thought of how close a call his twin had just had.  Worse, this skirmish had happened not far from the Bruinen, their line of last defense.   They needed additional warriors, but Elladan knew there were no more to send.

Before he could respond, he heard a call from the ellyth approaching with supplies and his gut tightened as he realized how close they had just come to walking right into battle.  No sooner had that call died away when he heard a second whistle, this time from the northern patrol.  Elladan had called for their aid when the band of Men had been spotted, if they could spare any to come. 

“Arwen!” he cried as he recognized his sister astride the lead horse.

Arwen and her company were quickly surrounded by warriors glad for supplies and news. Arwen slid from her horse and Elladan caught her in a joyful hug. He was about to tell her how close she had come to riding into battle and suggest they add a ‘clear’ signal that she should wait for before approaching a patrol’s camp, when she asked, “Where is Elrohir?”

Elladan pointed her towards the river. “Bathing. I am sure he will be glad if you have some fresh clothing in those bags.”

“Elladan! Mae Govannen!” came a call from across the river.

“Glorfindel!  You are too late!  We did not save any for you,” called Elladan back.

The elves were crossing the river, Glorfindel waiting until last, when Elrohir shouted, “Glorfindel, down! North, two bows in the trees!”

Glorfindel dropped, the elves in the river slid to the sides of their mounts and submerged, and Elladan stepped in front of Arwen with an arrow nocked. Several arrows were released at once from the elves, and Elladan watched with satisfaction as two men fell from the trees.  He kept his eyes on the spot where they had fallen, an arrow still nocked, watching for any movement.

“Elrohir!” cried Glorfindel suddenly.

Elladan spun to look east where Elrohir had been bathing, the anguish in Glorfindel’s voice filling him with fear.

Elrohir was not there.

Elladan felt his heart stop. Then he heard a splash and saw Glorfindel break the surface of the water a moment later, then dive again.  When he resurfaced, he had an arm abut Elrohir’s neck.  Two arrows protruded from Elrohir’s body, the water red around them. Glorfindel swam with powerful kicks to the riverbank. Elladan grabbed his twin and carried him up on to the grassy bank.

“He is not breathing!” cried Arwen

Elladan broke off the arrow shafts and turned Elrohir on his side. His twin made the slightest sputter and a trickle of water ran from the corner of his mouth. Once sure he was breathing, Arwen turned to his wounds. “Barbed and poisoned,” she spat. “We must get him to Adar.”

Shouts filled the air and Elladan turned to see a troop of Men approaching the river on horseback, some with bows at the ready, others with their swords drawn.  He scooped Elrohir up in his arms. “Arwen, to your horse!” he called.

Arwen leapt on to her horse, and he set Elrohir before her.  The other females were mounting as well, drawing their swords as soon as they were seated.  “Go!” ordered Elladan as he spurred her horse forward.

He did not watch them go, instead grabbing his own sword and racing forward to join the elves.  They would not lose the Bruinen!   He watched as the Men entered the water on their horses, boldly riding against the elves waiting for them.  Suddenly, the water began to rise and a great flood poured from the mountains.  He watched as some of the men were swept from their mounts and the horses lost their footing.  Those that tried to swim were overwhelmed by the rising water. 

The few men who had not yet entered the water drew back in fear, and the elves, though equally surprised, regained their senses first and began picking them off with arrows.

As quickly as the Men had come upon them, the battle was over.  Elladan felt Glorfindel at his shoulder, and they watched as the water finally peaked, coming within inches of their feet before receding slightly. 

“The water will not go down for hours.  Let us go see to Elrohir,” he said grimly.

Leaving their lieutenants in charge, they mounted and hurried after Arwen.    They came upon her party a short while later. It was stopped, and it was much larger than the one that had left the Bruinen.  Elladan slid from his horse before it had halted and ran forward to the circle of elves.

Elrond knelt next to his son, one hand on Elrohir’s head and the other his heart.  Elrohir was as pale as death and Elladan could see no signs of life, nor sense his twin in the bond they shared.  “No!” he cried as he dropped down next to Arwen.

Galadriel stood over them, her hands resting on Elrond’s shoulders. She stood as still and silent as a statue, her eyes closed. Elrond was also still, and Elladan turned his face to the heavens and cried out the grief of his soul.  Arwen grabbed his hand and squeezed, and he looked where she directed him.

Elrond’s hands were shaking.  He was nearly as pale as his son, yet power radiated from him. A glow emitted from his hand and passed into Elrohir.  The light grew stronger within Elrohir even as Elrond appeared to slump, and Elladan realized that it was Galadriel who kept him from falling.

He felt a flicker within his soul a moment before he heard a low moan issue from Elrohir.  His color returned and his chest slowly rose then fell and rose again.  Elrond slid into a sitting position and Galadriel knelt beside him, keeping her hand on him.

“The arrows are poisoned,” said Arwen softly.

She had aided their father for years in the healing rooms and knew what needed to be done.   Glorfindel aided her, holding Elrohir still as she carefully cut the barbs free and removed the arrowheads and cleansed the wounds.  By the time she was done, Elrond had recovered enough to take over.  Elrohir was loaded on to a litter and taken on to the house.

Elladan watched them go, wishing desperately to follow but knowing he could not leave his patrol.  He felt Glorfindel’s arm around his shoulders and leaned into that comforting presence.

“Which one is it?” he asked.

Glorfindel was silent for several minutes.  “Vilya, the Ring of Air,” he said finally.

* * *

Elrohir awakened in darkness. With great effort, he convinced his eyelids to open and discovered it was still dark, though less so. He took a quick inventory of his situation and found he was warm, dry, weak and in some pain, and memory flooded back over him. He tried to sit up, but the darkness became a swirling blackness when he tried.

“Suilad, sweetheart,” came the most soothing voice he knew.

“Naneth,” he whispered, and relaxed as she took one of his hands into her own and smoothed his hair back with the other. “Glorfindel?”

“He is still on patrol,” replied Celebrían.

“Not injured?”

“Not injured,” confirmed Celebrían.  “Your warning was in time.”

Elrohir let out a slow breath and felt a tear slide from his eye.  It was not for naught, then.

He opened his eyes as he felt the large, warm, strong hands of his father, a touch he recognized without sight.  His father pulled back the blanket that covered him and checked the bandages on his chest, then leaned forward and kissed his brow.

“Do we still hold the Bruinen?” he asked.

Elrond smiled. “We hold the Bruinen.”

Elrohir gripped his father’s hand, glad for this good news. A memory flashed in his mind.  His father was holding him, and he was scared. Had he been hiding?  Or trapped? No, he was injured.  He ran his free hand over his chest and abdomen, feeling the bandages that covered his wounds. Confused, he looked at his father, who covered his hand with his own.

“What is wrong, Elrohir?”

Elrohir felt something against his hand, something metal, and snatched his hand free. Elrond reached for him then stopped, looking at him curiously.  Elrohir kept his eyes fixed on his father’s face as he took his father’s right hand and felt over his fingers and thumb.

He felt the ring, felt the spark of it beneath his touch. It hummed and vibrated slightly in response to him, then quieted. How did he know it was there?  What was he remembering?

“Elrohir,” said Elrond quietly.

Elrohir turned his attention to his father, unsure if he had heard with his ears or in his mind.  May I enter?

Elrohir relaxed his thought immediately and allowed his father in.  His father was gentle and unobtrusive, taking him to the precise memory and removing it from the mists that still hovered near.  Elrohir was in the wardrobe, trapped, and then he found the velvet pouch that fell from the chest.   Elrond helped him to see the memory clearly, including falling asleep and then waking in his father’s arms, and not recalling anything of the event. I regret that I had to cloud your memory. I feared the enemy might perceive you.

Elrohir looked into eyes that loved him unconditionally, a father that loved him with a love so great he would gladly give his life for him. Elrond opened his mind to him in return for his son’s trust.  Elrohir did not enter far, only seeing what his father wished him to see. He saw the Bruinen rise and drown their enemy, though the memory was shrouded in some way, then saw his father kneeling over him and turning the power of the ring from destruction to the preservation of his life.  Elrohir could sense someone aiding his father, and his father cleared the mists enough for him to see his daernaneth.

Elrohir drew in a deep breath as he pulled back and let his father gently disengage their minds.  He touched his father’s hand and felt Vilya sing again for just a moment.  Vilya remembers you.  Elrohir blew out the breath slowly.  I love you, my son.

“I love you, Adar,” replied Elrohir, forgiving instantly.

“Your naneth wishes to feed and mother you. Indulge her while I go send word to your siblings that you have awakened.”

Elrohir watched his father go, then surrendered to the tender care of his mother.

~ ~ ~* * *~ ~ ~

“Adar, why was Vilya so obvious that time when you wielded it?” asked Elladan.

Elrond shook his head.  “In that case, it was obvious because I had wearied myself in raising the river and was pushed beyond my limits when I treated Elrohir.  I needed your grandmother’s support that day.”

“I wonder if experience plays a role as well,” murmured Erestor thoughtfully.

“How so?” asked Glorfindel.

Erestor flushed slightly and looked away, then finally shrugged. “I have seen one of the Three wielded before with that kind of light expended.”

“In healing?” asked Elrond, as he searched his memories for another time when he might have been less than careful.

“Yes,” replied Erestor.  He paused then added, “but it was not you wielding it.” He looked around the room, settling his gaze on Elrond.  

Elrond nodded for him to continue.  The time for secrecy had passed.

“Galadriel wielded her ring to heal Elrohir, long ago, on the banks of the Hoarwell,” explained Erestor.

“I knew it!” cried Glorfindel.  “I suspected Elrond at first, of course, but when you were as surprised as us at the healing, I settled on Galadriel.  Celeborn was furious with her, as you recall, and I assumed that was why.”

Erestor nodded in agreement. “He was the other witness.  We never spoke of it.”

“Adar,” said Arwen, troubled. “Have you used it to heal many people?  Many elves?”

Elrond sighed, for he had suspected someone might ask the question she seemed headed towards. “I have wielded the ring for so long that it has become a part of me, another part of the healing skills I possess. I have not healed many in the way that I did Elrohir that day.”

The room fell silent, and Elrond watched as each processed the information to its conclusion.

“If Vilya is enslaved, what happens to those who have been healed with the Ring?  And if Vilya fails and all created with it fade, what effect will there be on those healed with it?” asked Elladan finally.

Elrond was about to answer, was contemplating his thoughts on the matter, when Elrohir spoke, “I do not see that it matters.  I would rather be healed and living among you than spending the age in the Halls of Waiting.  I would not have you, Adar, second guess your decisions now.  What comes will come.”

Elrond closed his eyes as he recalled the phrase Elladan and Glorfindel were fond of: Elrohir always forgives.  In this case, he did not know if he would need Elrohir’s forgiveness, yet he was assured of it already.  He had thought long about Elrohir, for he had used the ring directly to aid Elrohir on several occasions, and Elrohir had once wielded it, even if the attempt had not been purposeful.  He knew that Glorfindel and Elladan worried over changes they had seen in Elrohir since Celebrían’s capture, but while Elrond saw the changes, he saw a greater measure of strength, courage and perseverance.

“I do not think that anyone healed with the aid of the Three will experience a dramatic effect in either case,” he said finally.  “They may feel more world weary, though we all may feel that at the end of this regardless.  I hope Elrohir is correct, that our decisions were, in the end, ones we all would have chosen even had we been able to see the consequences through to the end.” 

Elladan stood and stretched. “Come brother, I wish to find out what other things you have hid from me all those years. I am going to sit vigil at your side and see what I can learn as you talk in your sleep.”

“I do not talk in my sleep,” replied Elrohir in mock indignation.

Arwen rose, kissing her father good-night before following her brothers out the door. “I have heard you,” she informed Elrohir.

“As have I,” added Glorfindel.

Elrohir stopped and raised a brow at his father in question.  “Your secrets are safe with me,” said Elrond.

The door closed behind them, with Elladan teasing Elrohir, who thoroughly enjoyed it, and Arwen playing both sides, though she would end on Elrohir’s side, and Elrond felt a sudden pang as he knew this was one of the last times he would hear their banter.

* * * * *

⁽¹⁾ In 861, Eärendur, King of the northern Dúnedain Kingdom of Arnor, died, and his kingdom was broken into thirds due to dissension among his sons.   Amlaith, the oldest son, maintained that part of the Kingdom near Fornost in the North-west – essentially from Círdan’s lands in the west, to the Baranduin (Brandwine) in the south and along the North as far as the Weather Hills (before Weathertop).  This is called Arthedain.  Another son founded Rhudaur, which ran from Weathertop east to the Misty Mountains and north into the Ettenmoors.  Another son founded Cardolan, which encompasses the lands south of Weathertop, to the Greenway in the west and the Loudwater in the east (the Angle included).  These three brothers and their clans fought among themselves, even to the point of war, which hastened the decline of the Northern Dúnedain.  The line of Elendil (Isildur) remained only in the Arthedain, and Rhudaur and Cardolan mixed with lesser men (The Hillmen).  Rhudaur is eventually overtaken by the Hillmen, who were in league with orcs and Sauron.  The Witch-King founded his Kingdom of Angmar in the northern lands of Rhudaur, north of Rivendell. A faithful remnant does remain in Cardolan and allies with the Arthedain.

King Arveleg of the Arthedain, with help from the faithful of Cardolan and Círdan’s folk in Lindon, make forts in the Weather Hills to Weathertop (Aragorn took the hobbits along the trail used by these forts in FotR), along the Great East-West Road, and the southern part of the Hoarwell, from the Last Bridge through the Angle. 

In Rivendell, the situation is grim.  Angmar controls the lands to the North, in the Ettenmoors.  To their east, the Misty Mountains are overrun with orcs and hillmen all the way from Dunland to the far North in Angmar.  In the south, the Hillmen who are allied with the fallen Dúnedain of Cardolan control the area south of the Angle to Hollin.

It is said at this time Rivendell was besieged.  Appendix A, Lord of the Rings.

Thanks to daw the minstrel for beta reading this chapter, and to daw and Levade for letting me bounce ideas off of them.

Thanks to Daw and Karri for beta reading this (and letting my bounce ideas off them all week).

Chapter 12: Narya

Out he sprang, and even as I came behind, he burst into new flame. There was none to see, or perhaps in after ages songs would still be sung of the Battle of the Peak.' Suddenly Gandalf laughed. 'But what would they say in song? Those that looked up from afar thought that the mountain was crowned with storm. Thunder they heard, and lightning, they said, smote upon Celebdil, and leaped back broken into tongues of fire. Is not that enough? A great smoke rose about us, vapour and steam. Ice fell like rain. I threw down my enemy, and he fell from the high place and broke the mountain-side where he smote it in his ruin. Then darkness took me; and I strayed out of thought and time, and I wandered far on roads that I will not tell.

January 11, 3019, Third Age

Elrond spent the days after the Company had left in thought and meditation.  Often he cast his thought out over the mountains, seeking some connection with Nenya and Narya, some hint as to how the Quest progressed.  Yet it seemed that evil had extended its darkness ever closer to Imladris, for fingers of mist and gray shrouded much that he had once been able to see. 

In Imladris, life continued but it seemed as if all had their eyes and ears turned south, waiting expectantly for some sign of a change in the world.  Elladan and Elrohir had come and gone twice, bringing word of strangers and evil tidings from the south and east, but no news of Frodo or the quest.  Arwen sat often in the bell tower, but she would come to sit with him in the quiet after darkness fell, and they would wordlessly watch the hearth fire burn.

He was in his office one day, sorting papers and scrolls in an attempt to pass the time constructively, when Glorfindel called to him. Walking out on to his balcony, he saw Glorfindel far above him, atop the rocks near the high waterfall, beckoning him.  He shed his robes as he walked back in through his study, then strode quickly from the house.

“Adar, what is it?” asked Arwen.

Elrond heard the fear in her voice.  He slowed and waited for her to catch up to him, then took her arm.  “I do not know. Glorfindel has beckoned to me.  Come and you may hear what he has to tell.”

He led her up the path to the waterfall, then leapt on to a rock and held his hand out for her. She smiled at him in amusement, then lifted her skirts and tied them as she used to when she was a child and leapt nimbly up next to him.   They climbed to the top, where Glorfindel stood with feet planted far apart, golden hair blowing in the breeze.  He pointed south.

Elrond and Arwen both followed his finger along a line of sight down the top ridges of the Misty Mountains. Often these were hidden in mist, but the sun shone bright and clear above them today.  In the distance, a dark cloud rose about the tallest peak: Caradhras.

“What do you see, Glorfindel?”

Glorfindel looked down at them.  At that moment, Elrond was reminded of who his friend was: a re-embodied elf of Valinor. He existed in both the physical world and the world of spirit at the same time, and his vision far surpassed theirs.

“A storm on Caradhras.  I have been watching the skies south as well.  Last night the stars were clear and this morning the shone sun brightly off the mountain’s red face.  It is but a pale reflection at this distance, but present nonetheless.  Now clouds swirl about her peak, their darkness casting heavy shadows down about her sides. Snow falls and the wind howls.” Glorfindel studied the scene a while longer. “Yet the storm does not extend beyond her peak.  Caradhras is angry.”

“Are they near Caradhras?” asked Arwen, shielding her hand above her eyes to aid her sight. She had travelled through the Redhorn Gate enough times to know the fury of that mountain.  “Surely they continue south to the Gap of Rohan?”

“I do not know. My sight does not extend that far,” answered Glorfindel gently. “I cannot see them. If they have kept to their pace, they are near Caradhras. Mithrandir and Aragorn must weigh the risk of passing near Isengard against the fury of the mountain.”

Elrond twisted Vilya on his finger, allowing it to seek Narya, but he sensed nothing but grey mists, as was usual when Mithrandir was not nearby. “The only other route is to pass through Khazad-Dûm,” he added quietly. “I hope they do not take that way.  How dangerous a threat Saruman may be Mithrandir knows best.  How dangerous the Redhorn Gate may be we know too well. Yet the dark of Moria may be worst of all.”

Glorfindel grimaced. “Mithrandir will consider it, if he thinks it may aid them to pass undetected.  He believes the orcs of the mountains were mostly destroyed at Erebor.”

Elrond did not answer.  Estel had passed through Moria since The Battle of the Five Armies, and Elrond had trust in the instincts of this ranger-son: he spoke of an evil that ran deep.  Aragorn would not pass that way again except in great need.

They stood in silence for a while longer, watching the storm clouds darken and batter the mountains. The cold seemed to bear down upon them then, and though Glorfindel did not appear bothered, Elrond felt the chill and saw Arwen shiver. Slipping his arm through hers, he led her down the steep rocks and back to the warmth of the house.

* * *

January 26, 3019 Third Age

Elrond folded his hands in his lap and sat motionless as he watched Glorfindel pace before the window on the balcony.   The air had seemed heavy and still and cold since the storm on Caradhras, which had waxed and waned for nearly two weeks, finally ended. A silent tension, a mix of watchful anticipation and apprehension, had grown since.  What Glorfindel sensed Elrond did not know. He closed his eyes and let his thought wander out over the valley, but learned nothing.   He twisted Vilya unconsciously; this lessening of his sight was perhaps a precursor to what was to come.

Yet what he could sense concerned him.  Nenya was aroused and Narya was absent.   Nenya he suspected of being near the One. Of Narya he was unsure.  Mithrandir was difficult to detect even through Narya, and for brief periods in the past he had ceased wielding it and allowed Narya to go dormant.  The reason he would do so now, when Narya could be used favourably to subdue the One, eluded Elrond. 

He also sensed a new presence. He had been vaguely aware of it before, but now Vilya showed him darkness that could only be initiated by the master of the craft that had been used to forge it.  Elrond was now aware of Sauron, aware of his attempts to perceive the keepers of the Three. As yet Elrond had not pushed to see what he might learn, for he did not wish Sauron to inadvertently learn anything from him that might aid him against the Quest.

Glorfindel moved suddenly, breaking his precise stride and unclasping his hands from behind his back.  He stepped to the edge of the balcony and leaned out over it. Elrond was on his feet instantly.

“There,” said Glorfindel, pointing along the ridge of the mountains.  “An eagle.”

They watched for several minutes as the eagle grew in the distance. “He is not hunting.  His eye is not on what is below, but on the horizon.” Glorfindel leapt over the balcony edge, landing in the garden below. “He comes to Imaldris!”

Elrond followed by means of the door, nearly running over Erestor in the process.  The elf followed him.  By the time they had caught up to Glorfindel, his three children had joined him, and they watched the great eagle land.

The sorrow in his eyes rendered them momentarily speechless. Elrond nearly choked on his words when he finally managed to speak.

“Gwaihir,” he said, bowing his head.  The great eagle lowered his head in return. “What news has brought sorrow upon your heart?”

Gwaihir remained with his head bowed for several long moments. No one near dared breathe. Elrond’s mind formed a clear picture of each of the nine members of the Company, and his heart raced to consider that any of them might have been lost or captured by the enemy.  Or fallen to the power of the Ring.

He felt Arwen’s hand slip through his. Not Estel, then, for she would know.

“Mithrandir has fallen,” said Gwaihir finally.

There were gasps of grief and disbelief all around. Arwen wrapped her arms about him, and Elrond realized the wetness he felt upon his hands was his own tears. Next to him, Glorfindel had fallen to his knees, grief weighing upon him like a heavy stone hung from his neck.

“The eagles will remember him in song. Our children’s children will learn the Battle of the Peak, where Mithrandir defeated the Balrog of Morgoth on the pinnacle of Zirak-zigil,” continued Gwaihir.

At his words, every head rose and silence fell upon their grief.

“A Balrog?” said Glorfindel. “A Balrog where?”  He paused, turning his head sharply to look south for a moment.  “Moria!  That is what the dwarves awakened.  They went through Moria.”

Elrond felt Arwen tremble at his side. “And the others?” she finally asked, stepping closer to Gwaihir. “Frodo?  Has the One fallen into the hands of the enemy?”

Gwaihir lowered himself so that Arwen could see into his eyes. “Nay, noble lady, the Quest continues.  The Eight are safe in Lothlórien.”

Arwen exhaled slowly, bowing her head for a moment while she gathered her thoughts.  When she looked up, Gwaihir remained bent near, his piercing gaze fixed upon her.  “Elendil’s heir now leads them.  Watch over him and keep him ever in your thought, Undomiel.”

“Thank you, Gwaihir,” she whispered.  She reached up with one hand and dared stroke the feathers of the mighty bird along the side of his face. Gwaihir closed his eyes and accepted the comfort offered, pressing into her hand.  It appeared to Elrond as if a tear formed at the corner of the eagle’s eye, but then it was gone.

“Before I have rescued my friend, but on this day, there is naught to carry from the snowy grave but the lifeless body that clothed his spirit.” Gwaihir turned his keen eyes upon Elrond. “Not since the days of our fathers, when Thorondor fought with Eärendil against Ancalagon the Black and the Balrogs of Thangorodrim has there been such a battle.  Alas!  We were unable to even draw near enough to lend him aid. For more than a day we watched a battle worthy to be remembered in song.  Then Mithrandir cast down the Balrog upon the rocky crag and he was slain; but Mithrandir also descended into darkness and he is gone.”

Gwaihir bowed before them. “The wind has borne him where the sun sails and the moon walks. Surely his eyries receive him gladly at this the end of his journey.”

The eagle stood erect and balanced on one foot, holding the other out to Elrond.  Elrond saw the message attached to the great bird’s leg. He carefully removed it and the binding the bird had submitted to have attached to him, and massaged the area to remove the ligature marks.  “Thank you, my friend, for this and for the news.  Our grief is great.”

“The end is not known!  The eagles watch!” cried Gwaihir.

They stepped back as the eagle took several long steps and then flapped his wings, leaping into the wind and swooping down over the river valley before rising and circling to the northeast and his eyrie beyond the High Pass in the Misty Mountains.

Elrond did not wait to open the scroll.  He broke the seal of Lothlórien, unrolled it, and scanned the contents.   He was hardly quick enough, for Glorfindel, Arwen and Elladan were all reading over his shoulder, while Erestor and Elrohir waited impatiently.

“They attempted Caradhras, but were driven back by the storm. Crebain spies were watching the Gap of Rohan. Wolves that arrows could not kill attacked, and they were driven into Moria. A creature living in the waters beyond the west gate broke the doors behind them. In Moria, they found Balin’s Tomb and all the dwarves dead, as we suspected.  They have battled orcs and trolls, all of which were drawn to the One. On the bridge of Khazad-dum they encountered a Balrog, which Mithrandir fought.  The last the Company saw of him was when he plunged into the abyss. They thought him dead then. They are safe now in Lothlórien,” read Elrond quickly, paraphrasing and skimming through Galadriel’s missive. “She fears Boromir will be taken by evil; already his heart is corrupted by the power of the One. Aragorn leads them, though doubt has entered his mind.”

Elrond sighed.  For a moment he despaired. The idea of sending the ring to its destruction in the hands of a hobbit had not seemed quite so ludicrous when Mithrandir had led the expedition.  Could the Company succeed without him?  Could Aragorn rise to this test, for which he had long prepared?

Next to him, Arwen took a deep breath.  She had continued reading the scroll in his hand. “Is there naught we can do to aid them? If Estel wishes for his kinfolk, can we not send word to them?”

Elrond read to where she pointed on the scroll, to Galadriel’s testing of each heart and learning of each one’s desires.  “Aragorn desires, he did not command, though he could do so,” he pondered. “Yet even the rangers would not be enough, when an army is needed.” A vision appeared in his mind, but he shook his head.  An oath and a curse, long forgotten.  Surely it could not be resurrected now?  “Come back to the house,” he said finally. “I must think.”

Arwen turned to go with him, as did Erestor and Elladan. Glorfindel, however, stood still, only his golden hair blowing in the wind. He faced west, his eyes unseeing of what was near and instead focused on some distant shore they could not see. Elrond was momentarily caught between the need to grieve with his friend and the need to consider what he had heard and read, and the vision that had come unbidden to his mind. Opening his mind to his keeper, he shared in his grief.  To his surprise, Glorfindel remained as he was. I will join you in due time. Do not despair, Elrond. All is not lost.

Elrond turned to walk back to the house.  He looked back once to see Elrohir swing up into the low branches of the tree near where Glorfindel stood, and it comforted him to know that his son kept watch and shared in Glorfindel’s grief.

* * *

Elrond returned to his study, forcing thoughts of Mithrandir aside as he considered the vision he had seen. He pulled maps from the narrows shelves that housed them, checking each label until he found the one he was looking for.  Opening it, he spread it across his desk.

Memory filled him as he fingered the lettering drawn by kings now dead. Someone had retraced each mark and letter, preserving the knowledge of not only their battle plans and strategies, but seemingly the heartache and anguish and courage of the hands that had drawn them.  The smudge of Isildur’s fist had faded, yet Elrond knew with certainty that he traced the exact whorls and lines of Elendil’s son’s hand with his fingertip. Isildur had slammed his hand down upon the map, then jabbed his finger at the mountains north of Erech, near the spot labelled Dwimorberg. He told how he had laid a curse on the king of the men of the mountains, that neither he nor his people would ever find rest until they had fulfilled their oath and fought with Men against Sauron.  Isildur had several times said that the difference in arms, had those men fought, could have turned the tide of battle much earlier. 

Elrond did not think so.  Sauron had fallen to Gil-galad and Elendil, not to a battalion of armed men.  Yet the oath remained unfulfilled and the curse in place, and the Dúnedain had not forgotten, at least not in the North.  Malbeth the Seer, who had served Arvedui, the last king of the Arthedain, had foretold that the day would come when one out of the North would, in his need, call upon the dead to fulfill their oath and be set free of their curse.  He had commended the knowledge to Elrond, in the hopes his prophecy would remain in keeping with the other heirlooms of the northern kingdom. 

Elrond had taught the prophecy in verse to Estel, and when he had reclaimed his name and gone south, he had gone to Dunharrow and found the path in question.  Upon returning he had told Elrond many things about his journeys. When Elrond asked him about Dunharrow, Aragorn had shuddered and replied that only at great need would one attempt to pass the doors, for evil flowed from within.  They had not spoken of it again.

He traced his finger over the mountain path.  Aragorn was in Lothlórien. For what reason did Elrond feel so strongly the need for him to venture where the living dared not go?

“Over the land there lies a long shadow,
westward reaching wings of darkness.
The Tower trembles; to the tombs of kings
doom approaches. The Dead awaken;
for the hour is come for the oathbreakers;
at the Stone of Erech they shall stand again
and hear there a horn in the hills ringing.
Whose shall the horn be? Who shall call them
from the prey twilight, the forgotten people?
The heir of him to whom the oath they swore.
From the North shall he come, need shall drive him:
he shall pass the Door to the Paths of the Dead.”(1)

“Adar?”

Elrond looked up at the sound of Arwen’s voice. She walked around his desk to stand next to him. “What about the Paths of the Dead?” she asked.

When he looked at her in surprise, she continued, “You spoke Malbeth’s prophecy.  Estel is in Lothlórien.    The missive indicated he was torn between continuing to Minas Tirith as planned or going with Frodo to Mordor. Why would he go to Rohan?”

“I do not know,” admitted Elrond after a moment. He suddenly thought of the vision that had flashed in his mind upon meeting Legolas: Legolas, Gimli and Aragorn were racing across a vast rolling plain. He closed his eyes and tried to picture the scene again.  The details gradually came into focus and he set aside the three and focused instead on the land around them.  There were few landmarks, yet Elrond had travelled Middle-earth enough to recognize that the landscape could well be Rohan.  “I do not know what need may come upon him; I know only if he has need of haste and aid, he has the right and the power to call forth the King of the Dead.”

“If Aragorn desires his kinfolk, then we should take that message to them.  We shall deliver Gwaihir’s news, for the Rangers would wish to know,” interrupted Elladan.

Elrond looked up into eyes that burned with desires of their own.  He looked from one son to the other, and found the same desire mirrored in Elrohir’s eyes.  He had seen this passion in them both before: a want and a need to go to war, to fight against evil.  There was nothing reckless now, though, in their hearts.  As knights they seemed to him, ready to stand next to their king. Was that also not both the right and the responsibility of Aragorn’s people?

A vision replaced the image of his sons in his mind.  He saw again Aragorn at the head of his captains before the Black Gate.  Elladan and Elrohir were there, along with others he did not know: Men of Gondor and Rohan and Dol Amroth, and also of the Northern Kingdom. Their numbers were small compared to the army before them.  Hopeless it seemed.  Yet their faces were steadfast and resolute, each of them.  They were there for a purpose.

Elrond blinked, forcing his thoughts back to the present.  Knights remained before him.

“Take word to the Rangers.  Tell them Aragorn has summoned his people, that he has need of them in the South,” he said quietly.  “Return with them first to Imladris. We will endeavour to learn where best you may find Aragorn.”

The spark in Elladan’s eye told Elrond his son had caught the nuance in his words.  His sons quickly embraced him, then left.

“Good night, Adar,” said Arwen, as she kissed his brow. “I have work yet to do.”

Elrond watched as the door closed behind his children, then turned to the quiet figure in the corner.  Glorfindel had come in with Elrohir, yet had not spoken.  Elrond could feel his friend’s grief, deeper even than his own, yet also an undercurrent of something deeper still.

He pulled a bottle of wine from the sideboard and poured two cups.  The room had grown chill, so he built up the fire. The glow it lent to the room did more than warm the air; it warmed his heart. He thought of the many times Mithrandir had sat on this couch in front of this fireplace, warming the hroä he had been given. He handed Glorfindel a cup and sat down beside him.

“Your thoughts run deeper than the Ilmen that separates Middle-earth from Aman.”

Glorfindel sipped his wine before answering. “My thoughts run the breadth of Middle-earth to Aman. I wonder if Olórin is in the presence of Manwë right now, and how he answers for himself and his mission.”

Elrond hardly dared breathe.  Mithrandir had told him only the briefest of details about himself and his life over the sea.  He knew that Glorfindel had known the Maia in the days before he had returned to Middle-earth, but Glorfindel had never spoken of that time.  The Ainur were not Children of Ilúvatar.  They were spirits, bound to the world until it ended.  In that way, they were like the Eldar, for they could not leave the world until its end.  Yet they were spirits, clothing themselves in a body only for the sake of interaction with the Eldar.  Yet here in Middle-earth, Mithrandir had accepted some limitations upon his person, including that of a hroä similar to that of Men, a hroä he could not take on and put off at will. What happened to his spirit when that hroä failed? 

“Mithrandir, Mithrandir, why did you go into Moria?” lamented Glorfindel.  “You left before completing your task, Grey Pilgrim. How could you know a Balrog awaited you?”

Glorfindel sighed.

“The Maiar who chose to follow Morgoth, who have taken on form as Balrogs and other creatures, what is the fate of their spirits when that form meets bodily death?” asked Elrond.

“The Eldar do not know for certain,” replied Glorfindel carefully. “Each Maia is in the service of a Vala; it is believed they would return to the one they served. For those who take on physical form and use that form for their purpose, the loss of the hroä renders the spirit so diminished that any less powerful than Sauron himself would be unable to take on physical form again.”

Elrond closed his eyes and bowed his head.  “Mithrandir – Olórin – has thus spent himself in service to Middle-earth? He shall now be only a diminished spirit?” he said, and grief welled up anew in him. 

“I do not know,” replied Glorfindel hoarsely. “Such a fate would be grievous for one who came at the will of the Valar and served faithfully. Surely Manwë will be just and merciful.”

They sat in silence for some time, lost in their own thoughts. Darkness fell upon Imladris, and it seemed to Elrond that the night had never been so black.  The stars were dim and Ithil hidden, and he wondered if they mourned too. Then Glorfindel began to speak.

“When I first met Mithrandir in Middle-earth, I felt I should know him . . .”

~ ~ ~* * *~ ~ ~

Glorfindel met the twins at the bridge.  Elladan came first, leading his horse across the narrow stone walkway.  Behind him walked an elderly man, clad in long grey robes and a long grey beard that reached to his mid-chest.  A blue hat covered long grey hair, worn loose and hanging to the mid-point of his back. He walked with a staff, yet Glorfindel sensed he did not carry it as an aid to walking, as the aged of men were wont to do, but as part of his travel ensemble.   A step or two behind him, Elrohir followed.

“Mae govannen, Elladan! Mae govannen, Elrohir!” called Glorfindel as they approached.

Despite the presence of the stranger, Elladan hugged him joyfully.  The old man stepped aside and motioned Elrohir past him, then watched with twinkling eyes as Glorfindel caught Elrond’s other son in a hug as well. 

“You have been missed,” he said warmly.  “Welcome home.” He looked up at the Man then, and their eyes met and Glorfindel smiled.  “Welcome to Imladris, traveller!”

“Mae govannen, Glorfindel,” replied the old man slowly, his eyes never leaving Glorfindel’s. 

Glorfindel felt a spark of recognition in the gaze that had settled on him.  He searched the depths of his memory, but could not place the man.  He was old in the reckoning of Men, yet Glorfindel’s memory extended ages further than the oldest of Men.  There was something different about him, something very un-human.

“Glorfindel, this is Mithrandir,” said Elladan in introduction.  Before he could say more, a cry from the house caught his attention. He turned back to Mithrandir, his reluctance well hidden, but the old man laughed and motioned him to go.

“Do not keep your naneth waiting, young one!”

Celebrían and Arwen had appeared at the gates, impatience driving them from the courtyard. Hand in hand, they ran to long missed sons and brothers. Glorfindel watched with a smile tugging at his lips as Celebrían was swung around by Elladan, her laughter ringing out over the valley. Arwen, more sedate than her mother, was greeting Elrohir.

Taking the reins of Elladan’s horse in hand, Glorfindel turned to call Elrohir’s mount, only to find Mithrandir patting the mare’s nose.

“This one knows me well, let me ride on her back for many days,” said Mithrandir.  “An agreeable mare, unlike that beast you guide.”

Glorfindel threw his head back and laughed. “Elladan and his stallion are a good match.”

Mithrandir raised a bushy eyebrow. “Elladan indicated you thought so.”

They led the horses to the gate, the family having already disappeared inside. “You have travelled far with them, then?”

“From the Havens,” replied Mithrandir.

Glorfindel was intrigued to know who this stranger was, not the least because he felt he should know him.  He forced himself to stifle the questions that lingered on the tip of his tongue. Whatever story this Mithrandir had to tell, it should be told to Elrond first.

They entered the courtyard to see the twins speaking animatedly to their parents and grandparents. Elladan quickly remembered his place as Elrond’s son and came to meet them as grooms led their horses away.

“Mithrandir, this is my father, Elrond Peredhel, the Lord of Imladris,” he introduced them. “Mithrandir has travelled from the Havens with us. He arrived there after visiting King Beleg in Fornost and was also a guest of Círdan.  When the time arrived for us to depart, he asked to accompany us. Círdan wished for him to meet you.”

Glorfindel noted an easing in Elrond’s posture and guard at Elladan’s words.  Indeed, he too had wondered at the twins’ ease with this stranger.  If Círdan had sent Mithrandir with them, then it was likely he knew far more about this stranger than did the twins.

“Mae Govannen, Mithrandir,” greeted Elrond warmly.  “Welcome to Imladris. Please come inside and be refreshed. We shall feast in your honour this eve.”

He introduced Mithrandir to Celebrían, Arwen, Celeborn and Galadriel. Glorfindel caught Galadriel’s keen glance upon the stranger, and the appraising look that Mithrandir gave her in turn.  Celebrían, though, soon had Mithrandir’s arm and was leading him off to rooms appointed for him. None could resist the charm of the Lady of Imladris, nor did any forget the gracious welcome that made even a stranger feel as if they had arrived at home when they crossed the threshold into the House.  The strain of long travel melted from Mithrandir’s shoulders under her touch. 

They remained silent until the melody of Celebrían’s laughter faded down the long corridor.  As Elrond led his children away, Glorfindel sought Galadriel.  He could see that she was as curious as he was, yet she waited for him to speak.

“Do you know of this Mithrandir?” he asked.

“I do not,” she replied guardedly.

Glorfindel studied her for a moment. As was usual with Galadriel, he would have to play the first card. “I can not recall him, yet I feel as if I know him. Or at least of him, and he of me.”

Galadriel pursed her lips.  “There is more to Mithrandir than an old man wandering about Middle-earth. He did not reveal anything of himself just now; I could not see into his heart as is so easily done with most humans. He is not a Man.”

“Then I suppose we must wait for him to reveal himself to us,” said Glorfindel. He grimaced. “Patience does not suit me.”

Galadriel laughed. “Nor I.”

* * *

Glorfindel watched Mithrandir entered Elrond’s study on Celebrían’s arm, laughing at something she said. He kissed her hand and she kissed his cheek, then she left them to their discussions.  Mithrandir looked at each person in the room, holding them with his gaze for a moment, then he settled his gaze on Elrond. “Thank you for your welcome, Master Elrond. Imladris is all that your sons purported it to be.”

Elrond nodded and motioned to a couch.  “I am glad you find the accommodations comfortable.” He paused, then smiled. “Now we are hoping you will satiate our curiosity: for what reason did you seek Imladris?”

Mithrandir laughed.  “Círdan said you were forthright!” He looked again at each of them, but said nothing more for a moment.  He reached into a fold of his robes, but did not withdraw his hand.  He merely sat motionless.

Elrond and Galadriel did not. Elrond half rose from his chair, while Galadriel drew herself erect, looking at the stranger with wonder in her eyes. Glorfindel looked to Celeborn, but the elf raised a brow in question to him as well.  Whatever was happening was between those three.   As Glorfindel pondered what connection Elrond and Galadriel held in common, the thought came to him like ice water thrown in his face.  The Rings!

What could Mithrandir know about the Rings?  Could he have deceived Círdan?  Sauron was vanquished and unable to take fair form – but could he have sent another? Glorfindel shook that thought from his head.  Círdan had not been deceived in the long ages he had dwelt in Middle-earth.  Ulmo and Ossë kept him informed; Glorfindel was sure of it.  Who was this Mithrandir?

Elrond rose. His expression was grim and his eyes darkened in anger.  Glorfindel was on his feet instantly.

“Peace, Glorfindel,” said Mithrandir softly.

He sat back against the couch, his hands in the open now, relaxed. The elves did not relax so quickly, however.  Mithrandir took something from his hand, then, and opened his palm for them to see it. Before anyone could speak, he held up his hand for silence.

“I would assume that even here in Imladris the Three are not openly discussed.  None should know that Círdan has entrusted this to me.”

“Who are you?” demanded Elrond.

Glittering eyes focused on Elrond. “Much of who I am, I have forgotten.  Gradually I remember and learn much of what I once knew. I am sent from over sea  - myself and four others of my kind. The message I bear is that you are not forsaken. The King of the Valar holds you ever in his thought, and from his high throne on Taniquetil he watches.”

Stunned silence filled the room.

Galadriel rose and stood before Mithrandir.  He did not cower beneath her piercing gaze, but returned it in full measure.  “How do we know this to be true?” she finally asked.

“You, dear lady, see furtherr and more clearly than any other in Middle-earth.  In your eyes the light of the Trees still shines.  Do you not trust your own heart?”

“I see in spirit a likeness to one who has also seen the Light of Valinor.  In physical form, I know that none like you exist in that fair land.”

A deep bubbling laugh burst from Mithrandir.  “Aye!” he cried, and plucked at his beard and robe.  “Hardly would this be my choice of raiment! One might say that the Valar find amusement in their assignment of hroä and garments. Nonetheless,” he added more soberly, “this raiment is good and necessary for many reasons.  In this land, I am an old man who shall grow older still, albeit slowly.”

“The Valar expect Sauron to rise again, to regain his form and again attempt to defeat the free peoples of Middle-earth,” stated Elrond.

Mithrandir nodded. “I as yet know little of your long history on these shores, nor do I know what the Valar in their wisdom have foreseen. I am here to shepherd and to steward.  No people do I claim as my own, nor lands nor wealth.  What powers I have are cloaked, and I must live as one of the children of Ilúvatar to fulfill my mission. My deepest wish is to complete the task set before me and return to my own home.”

“Your task?” asked Galadriel.

“Sauron defeated,” replied Mithrandir.  He paused, then smiled. “Our presence was to be secret, our disguises to have allowed us to blend in with those who live here, our work to kindle hearts to fight against evil when their own fires wane.” He looked sadly at them. “The time of the elves is nearly over; the time of Men is coming. Yet it is the Elves who will hold in safekeeping the history and the wisdom needed to see the dominion of Men come. The final battle against Sauron will be led by Men, by a child of Lúthien, but it is the Elves that will succour Men to that time.”

“The might of Men is strong in the South, though it wanes in the North. Their people grow as ours dwindle.  How then shall we succour them?” asked Celeborn.

“In wisdom and lore, forgetting not your history and theirs,” replied Mithrandir, “though perhaps on occasion in strength of arms.”

“Why do you tell us this, if your presence was to remain secret?” asked Glorfindel.

“From first glance you knew I was more than I seemed.  I will live longer than any Man, though they will not be here to know it.  To not tell the truth would be to attempt to deceive you.  Would you attempt to deceive the Wise of the Eldar?”

Glorfindel smiled. “I would not.”

They heard the bell announcing the feast, ending their discussions.  In the Great Hall, Glorfindel watched Mithrandir with Elrond at dinner, and the easy friendship that was quickly forming between them.  Yet he still felt a nagging sensation that he was missing something.

* * *

Glorfindel was sitting on the rocks near the tall waterfall, one of his favourite places to sit and think.  Mithrandir had been with them for several months. He had spent much time in conversation with Elrond, but also with other elves of Imladris.   In addition to learning about the history of Men and Elves and Dwarves in Middle-earth, he had met some curious little people, Harfoots they called themselves, travelling over the mountains from the lands between the Anduin and Greenwood.  Worn and tired, they had accepted the hospitality, safety and comfort of the Elves and stayed for two weeks. They spoke of a new shadow over the Greenwood, which also garnered Mithrandir’s interest.  Already he spoke of a desire to travel south, to Gondor, and perhaps up through the Greenwood, to meet Thranduil and his wood elves.

Glorfindel found no guile in Mithrandir.  He was honest and sincere, open to their thoughts and ideas, unobtrusive in his approach and learning.  Trust had grown between him and Elrond, as well as with Galadriel and Celeborn.  Glorfindel couldn’t say he did not trust the wizard, as he had called himself to the little people, yet he felt there was something between them that remained hidden.

“Ah, Glorfindel,” interrupted a voice from below.  “Elrond said this was a likely place to find you.”

“Suliad, Mithrandir,” greeted Glorfindel.

The wizard seated himself on the rock next to Glorfindel, then laughed when Glorfindel moved so that the sun was not blocked.  “You still like the feel of the sun on your face,” he teased. As he spoke, he laid his hand on Glorfindel’s arm.

Glorfindel turned and looked at the wizard. That touch, those words… He blinked, and suddenly Valmar became visible and he remembered that first feel of warmth on his face, of the sun.

“This time I am clothed, though,” he said, and then laughed and caught Olórin in an embrace.  “My old friend!”

“I am sorry, Glorfindel.  I have forgotten much, but slowly my memory returns. So you are here with Elrond, as appointed by Manwë and sworn to Eärendil.  I am glad to see you.”

“Your sacrifice is great, Olórin,” said Glorfindel seriously. “You have taken on a form that is less resilient than even one of the Eldar and come into a world that is growing ever darker.”

“I am more resilient than I appear. Do not fear for me!” replied Mithrandir.  He looked out east, over the mountains.  “But times are indeed growing darker, and they will grow much darker still.  We each have a part to play, for good or ill.”

Glorfindel stood.  “Come,” he said, holding out a hand to the grey wizard.  “This discussion should continue with a good bottle of wine and a warm fire. I can provide both.”

New hope filled Glorfindel at that moment.  The Valar had not forsaken them, and Manwë had sent the wisest of his servants to aid them.

~ ~ ~* * *~ ~ ~

Elrond smiled as Glorfindel’s voice faded, and he reached out and took his friend’s hand, squeezing it and offering what comfort he could. 

“Mithrandir will be sorely missed by all.  He has been our leader in all things drawing to this time. Should we succeed without him, the victory still belongs to him.  Yet I fear that without him even our best plans may go astray,” said Elrond sadly. “With hope or without, all we can do is continue on as we had planned.”

* * *

Elrond was alone in his sitting room in the dark hours before dawn several nights later, his mind unable to find rest.  His thoughts had become tangled in the shadow that now seemed so close as to be creeping within the bounds of Imladris. Sauron had taken the offensive; that much seemed clear. Whether Saruman was under his control or striving in parallel was not clear, but danger now hemmed in the few refuges left in Middle-earth.  Gwaihir had returned with news that the enemy was moving.  Gondor and Rohan, Lothlórien and Mirkwood, Dale and Erebor; all were either threatened or had danger gathered at their borders.  The Shire was soon to lose its guardians, as was Bree.  Imladris was well enough hidden that Elrond knew they would hold out for a while, but eventually he too would fall.  As the remnant of Men and Elves fled west, so too would evil pursue them and eventually the Havens would fail.

The darkness began to press on him. The air became heavy and dense and cold, and Elrond felt Vilya stir. The door that separated him from evil was being tested. Beyond his realm an eye became visible, a blood red orb that was seeking this way and that, seeking him, grasping into the darkness for the door to his mind.  Twice before he had seen the eye. The first time he had fled from it. The second he had allowed it to roam closer to him, testing its power. He knew that as yet the Eye could not see him, that it had no power to breech the door.

He took a deep breath.  This time he would test its will.

He pulled back the barriers that kept the Eye from penetrating into the protections he had placed around himself and Imladris.   The Eye looked to and fro, seeking, but it knew not what it was looking for. Its press was not directed.   He could not yet see the Three.

The Eye turned from him then, and Elrond thought something else had drawn its attention.  He realized in that instance a weakness that Sauron might not have counted on: when the eye turned its attention from seeking for the Three, Elrond could see beyond the Eye to the other concerns that filled its thoughts.  Sauron was mobilizing his resources, planning his assaults.  He was building his armies, preparing for a war that he could win by might, with or without his ring. He was confident, brazen even, in his plans.  He feared only one thing, as the Wise had long suspected: that one capable of wielding his Ring would rise up against him.  He had to strike first, decimate the peoples who would resist him.  He was seeking the Company, watching the approaches to Minas Tirith for he suspected that to be their destination: the last stronghold of men capable of holding any defense against him.

Elrond pressed forward, seeking to learn all he could.  A sudden wisp of cold stung him, followed by a fiery flash that seared, and he jerked back, pulling his mind and thoughts clear as the Eye returned to him.

He wrenched Vilya from his finger and clutched his fist around it, maintaining contact so that Galadriel would not sense emptiness.   Drawing in a deep ragged breath, he stilled his shaking hands.  A sudden desire rose in him to stand before the Morannon with the others he had seen in his vision, to stand before Sauron himself and draw his attention from the unthinkable that would happen under his very eye!

In that moment, it became clear to him what advice he needed to send south.

* * *

The Dúnedain began arriving in the second week in February.  Elladan and Elrohir had found Halbarad within a week of departing Imladris, and at his bidding they had ridden west to bring word to the Rangers guarding the Shire and Bree.  Halbarad had gone through the Angle and north to the Ettenmoors.   Those that could be found had been directed to Imladris.

As the rangers were directed to food, baths and rest in preparation for their journey, Elrond learned what had occupied nearly all of Arwen’s time since her brothers had left.   Erestor had said she had put all of Imladris to work, and Elrond saw now that his words were not in jest.

Dark grey cloaks woven of a warm yet light wool were hung in rows along the wall of the Great Hall.  Each one had pinned to it a silver brooch in the shape of a rayed star – the sign of Númenor and their proud heritage.  Stacks of shirts and trousers were set nearby, garments kept in Imladris for the rangers, along with helms of burnished steel.

“Weapons have also been found. Each Man will have spear, sword and bow. As they arrive, Angren is refurbishing what they have and replacing them, as necessary.  All of the smiths are working on these, and the forge light burns day and night,” said Glorfindel.

Yet perhaps the greatest sign of Arwen’s thought lay in what she had prepared for the Men.  Lembas were not oft made in Imladris, and this was one of the few times that Arwen had undertaken to prepare them since Celebrían had passed over sea.  Packages had been prepared for each ranger, to strengthen them on their long journey.  Lembas were not meant for mortals, for they were thought to increase their desire for the long life of the Elves and Elvenhome. Elrond realized Arwen would never again prepare them.

He turned at the sound of her voice. She was greeting Halbarad, who had just arrived.

“You will stay here and eat and refresh yourself first,” she said firmly. “I have a gift and message for Aragorn that are nearly prepared. I would be pleased if you would bear them to him.”

“Are not Elladan and Elrohir coming?  They said they desired to ride to the war with us,” said Halbarad in surprise.

“My brothers will ride with you, but my gifts should be borne to Aragorn by his own kin, his own people, for they are for the future of Men,” replied Arwen softly.

Elrond stood in the shadows, watching his daughter as she stood among the Rangers, soon to be her people too.  Halbarad kissed her hand, then went where she sent him, for he would not dare argue with the Lady of Rivendell, the lady who might soon be his Queen. She turned back to the supplies, calling directions to those arranging and sorting and preparing for the long journey.  She moved among Men and Elves with ease, and he suddenly wondered if she had thought about what it would mean to live among all humans, as their queen. At that moment her eye caught his. She fell silent and met his appraising glance with her own.  The soft curve of her jaw hardened with the determined look he had first seen when she was an infant and had flung off her swaddling and crawled after her brothers.

He softened his gaze, relaxing his thoughts that she might easily read him.  She was in his thoughts, but his intention was not to deter her.  He allowed his pride to flow forth instead.

She finally smiled, but the determined look never left her eye.

 * * *

February 14, 3019

The evening star had just appeared when Elrond retired to his rooms. The Grey Company would depart the next day, near dusk.  Halbarad had not wished to wait even a day, but Arwen had brooked no argument.  Well prepared and rested, they could travel faster.  More often of late, Elrond had come across her lost in thought, and he believed she was watching over Estel from afar, lending him her strength and will as she was able.

He stilled and calmed his mind, then turned his attention to Vilya. Wielding it, he cast his thoughts out as far as Vilya would allow him sight.  Shadow had crept nearer again, its grotesque black fingers bent and clawing to bare and darken all that Vilya had kept beautiful.  Directing those fingers was the Eye, now ever present, seeking and searching for those it longed to enslave.

By habit, he reached for Nenya and Narya. 

Nenya was afire, in use, fully wielded. Elrond delved as close as he was able, carefully, for he did not wish to draw the attention of the Eye.   He felt another presence, this one of great evil, though unwielded, and immediately knew that Frodo was near.  Frodo was with Galadriel, of this Elrond was sure.  He felt her grow, wielding Nenya with all her might, as if showing her strength.  Trepidation filled him.   Was she resisting the temptation of the One, or yielding to it?

As suddenly as it had begun, the power faded.  Elrond smiled.  She had resisted.

Elrond continued to smile as he considered what Galadriel might have seen in Frodo. She had tested his heart.  Had the hobbit tested hers? Had she discovered a strength dissimilar to her own, yet nearly as powerful?   Frodo did not desire power, as Elrond had learned.  The One found this inconceivable, that someone could possess it and not desire it.  Men would take it and use it.  The Elves would not, but not out of some innate goodness that Men did not possess. No, it was by long experience and perfect memory that the Elves had learned how power and lust corrupt. 

The dwarves had not fallen to the rings, either. Elrond had long pondered this.  Was it because they were not Children of Ilúvatar?  Annatar had imbued each ring with the power to enslave each race, but he knew clearly only the Children of Ilúvatar. The dwarves were not made by Eru, not created with the desire for power and to order the world and all that it contained to their own will?  Indeed Men possessed the greater measure of such desires, and had so been easily ensnared.  Elves desired beauty – to create it and to possess it – and had thus been ensnared by the promises of Sauron in fair form.  The Dwarves were created by Aulë, who himself did not desire power. He desired only to create.  His children, though adopted by Eru, were made in his own likeness, with his own desires.  They also desired to create, and the only power the rings had held over them was the desire to create more, and to possess their creations.  Sauron had once served Aulë; had he learned so little of him and his children?

But hobbits were different.  Unexpected. Had the Ainur simply been unaware of their presence, as Olórin had once mused?   Or had Iluvatar woven them into his song, a hidden surprise, part of his own thought and unknown by the Ainur? They were simple people, desiring peace to live a simple life in simple times.   And it was those very qualities of simplicity that lent them the great strength to do what Elves and Men could not.  A way must be made for them.

Without thought, Elrond turned his thought to Narya. He sensed the presence of the one who bore it, and at first thought it unusual that the grey mists that normally surrounded Mithrandir had dissipated to a fine white cloud.  Then a feeling of dread settled slowly into the pit of his stomach.

Narya had been, in a sense, dead. Unwielded.  Who now bore it? He quickly withdrew his thought from Vilya, for he did not know who possessed Narya and might perceive him.

It was in the dead of night that he felt Nenya stirring, Galadriel risking exposure by seeking him.  She would ask the eagles to go where Mithrandir’s body lay. Then she also withdrew.  There was nothing to do now but wait.  Again.

* * *

February 15, 3019

Elrond sat in silence, waiting.  He could hear the sounds of horses being prepared in the courtyard below and knew when dusk came his sons and the rangers would depart, perhaps never to return.

The soft knock at the door he had been expecting finally came and his sons entered. They were dressed for travel, but not as warriors riding into battle nor were they garbed like the rangers. They were dressed as the sons and emissaries of Elrond of Imladris.   Dark blue cloaks trimmed with dark braid covered simple but elegant tunics and trousers.  Silver clasps held back shining hair, and another ornate silver brooch fastened the cloak at their throats.   He rose, and they stepped forward and bowed.

“My heart swells with pride even as it grieves your leaving,” he said.  “Watch for Gwaihir. The Company leaves Lothlórien within the next day.

“Two messages I give you for Aragorn: The first is that the days are short. If he is in haste, remember the Paths of the Dead.”

“Aragorn is far from Dunharrow,” replied Elladan quietly. “Would not seeking that path lengthen the days?”

Elrond shook his heads.  “Sauron’s army grows in numbers and strength.  Soon he will unleash the full fury of his hatred at Gondor. The days to raise an army to stand against him are short.  Malbeth’s prophecy may provide Aragorn with the aid he will need.” He held out a silver horn to Elrohir. “This came to me when the Northern Kingdom failed.  It is part of the prophecy.  Keep it safe!

“The second message is this:  Sauron’s defeat will not be won by force of arms, but by force of arms you may engage him, draw the Eye away from his own land, and allow Frodo to complete the task set before him. He does not suspect that any would wish to destroy his Ring.  Set a trap for him, bait him to leave his land unattended.  Make the way clear for Frodo.”

Elladan looked at him in stunned silence.

Elrond girded his thoughts. “I know you wish to go, to fight with Aragorn.  Even if you succeed, you may all be crushed. Sauron may be defeated, but like Mithrandir in his fight with evil, you may be destroyed in the process. Yet this is the best hope for Middle-earth.  Better that we destroy evil, even if none are here to see the birth of the new age.” He paused, then added slowly, “I would go myself, but this is not my battle.”

Elladan gripped his hands, but it was Elrohir who spoke.

“Thank you, Adar,” he replied.  “We do wish to go, and would rather die valiantly in the fight than wait here.  This is not your fight; it is ours.  We will stand proudly next to Aragorn, whether we die with him or no.”

The door opened and Arwen entered the room.  In her hand she held a standard covered in black and tied with many thongs. Elladan reached for it.

“Is it finished? May we look?”

Arwen shook her head.  “It is a new banner for a new kingdom. Aragorn should be the first to see it.  When first unfurled, it will announce that the heir of Elendil has come forth.  A black standard that absorbs all light, it is a sign of power and strength and authority.  When it waves under the sun, the devices of the North and South will call together all who will swear allegiance to the new king. All who stand against the Dark Lord will unite beneath it, and so will be born the Fourth Age of this world.”

As she spoke, Arwen’s eyes glittered and she seemed to grow in stature before them. She was a Queen, worthy of the greatest kingdom of men that would exist, and not even her father or brethren would gainsay her.

“Who have you chosen to bear your banner?” asked Elrond.

“Halbarad,” she replied, “kinsman and captain in Aragorn’s absence, and he has consented.”

Elrond drew his children together and embraced them.  Unable to speak, he simply led them from the room.

They joined the Grey Company in the Courtyard.  The elves had turned out to farewell them, and Elrond spoke the blessing of the Valar upon them as they rode out.

Silence settled again upon Imladris.  If Elrond had thought the emptiness unbearable when the Company had left months earlier, he found this departure even more intolerable.  Mithrandir was lost, the Company in peril, the North was now unguarded, and he had sent that which was more precious to him than his own life south with advice that set them up as sacrifice before their enemy.

Far above, the clouds parted and Eärendil shone down upon them.

* * * *

(1) Taken directly from The Palantír, RotK

A/N:   These are extensive.  Read at your own risk!

The two passages that led me to really delve into what was known in Imladris were the statement that Elrohir made to Aragorn when they me up with him in Rohan about taking the Paths of the Dead, and then later, when Gandalf is counselling the Captains of the West and proposing the strategy to draw Saruon's eye from his own land, to provide Frodo a way, Elrohir says he and Elladan will go on for this is the advice they brought from their father.  That led me to look at what Elrond knew, how and when he learned of it, and what led him to send his sons south with advice that was essentially suicidal.

Timing is the first issue that I had to reconcile. Mithrandir fell on the bridge of Khazad-dum on January 15.  Frodo and Company arrived in Caras Galadhon and spoke to Celeborn and Galadriel on January 17.   Galadriel asks where Mithrandir is, because he is cloaked in grey mists when outside the gates of Lothlorien.  Does she always sense grey mists when Mithrandir is outside of Lothlorien, or just this time? One could postulate that she means she can never sense Mithrandir as more than grey mists when he is not in the borders of Lothlorien.   How can she sense even 'grey mists'?  I would guess through the power of the Three.  Gandalf bears Narya and Galadriel has Nenya.   Thus, when the Company arrives in Lothlorien, Gandalf is still alive and Galadriel can still sense grey mists.

Gandalf battles the Balrog to the top of Zirak-zigil, appearing on that peak on Jan 23 (8 days after the Fellowship last saw him!). He defeats the Balrog and dies himself on Jan 25.  Gandalf implies to Aragorn, Gimli and Legolas later in Fangorn that none saw that battle, but then laughs and says the Battle of the Peak may long be remembered in song.  Well, the only logical creatures who could witness the battle are the great eagles.  The eagles make several appearances in the story - bringing news to Mithrandir and Galadriel as well as being sighted by Legolas and Aragorn.

When Gandalf dies on Jan 25, the eagles may well have witnessed it.  Logically, they could bring word to Lothlórien and to Imladris, for their eyries are near Imladris.  Timing wise, this makes sense.  I considered messengers being sent from Lothlorien, but if they left when the Fellowship arrived (even though Galadriel still sensed the 'grey mists'), they could not have made it over Caradhras, as the storm raged for two more weeks after the Fellowship passed through Moria.  If they left after Galadriel knew that Mithrandir had died, the messengers might have made it on foot but they could not have done so on horseback due to the deep snow.  This makes it nearly impossible for messengers to travel north to Imaldris, then for Imladris to send word to the Rangers, gather the rangers, and have them make it to Rohan by March 6th.  The eagles are so clearly involved in Tolkien's story, it just seems logical they brought word to Imladris.

Now, when Gandalf falls into darkness and wanders out of place of time, it is possible that Elrond and Galadriel through their Rings, which may have connected the bearers, knew when Narya no longer had a keeper.  This could well have told them both when Mithrandir died, in place of or in addition to receiving word from the eagles.

Then on Feb 14, a number of things happen.  Frodo looks in the mirror.  Galadriel rejects the One Ring.  Gandalf is sent back.   Mithrandir says he strayed out of thought and time.  Time exists in Aman and the Halls of Waiting, so he likely wasn’t there.  He wandered long on paths.. and ‘Authority’ with a capital A sent him back (per Tolkien’s letters).  I think one can speculate that Olórin strayed beyond the power of the Valar (who exist in time) to a place beyond the Circles of the World… and the ‘Authority’ who sent him back was none other than Ilúvatar himself.

In Tolkien’s world we know there are no coincidences.  No chance meetings either.  So, are Galadriel’s rejection of the One Ring and Gandalf’s being sent back to his own body somehow related?  I think they might be.  Had Galadriel claimed the One Ring, the Quest is over and there is little reason for Gandalf to go back.  Perhaps he is sent back because hope again lives. I do little with this idea here, but I may later.

So, what did Elrond know?  He can know many things if the Eagles are keeping him informed.  We know that shadow has crept near and his vision is limited – he says that to Frodo when the Company leaves Imladris.   But why does he give the advice to his sons that he does? Where does he get that information? 

The essay on Osanwe speaks about how foresight is either 1) information already in the mind of the person who speaks it or 2) is revealed to him/her.   How can knowledge be revealed?  I suppose the Valar could do it  - that might be how the Mirror works.  But Galadriel tells Frodo that she too has seen the Eye and it is seeking her but the door is still closed.   How can the eye be seeking her?

We know that the Three would fall under the dominion of Sauron should he regain the One.  But, the Ring-bearers can see the Eye – Galadriel and Frodo both do.  I would think Elrond likely did too.  So could Sauron have show them things, revealed information that he did not intend?

Remember when Aragorn looks into the Palantír of Orthanc?  He wrenches the control of it to his will ... and he says that Sauron showed him things he did not intend.  In that case, Aragorn saw the ships of the Corsairs.   Apparently Sauron takes a risk when he takes on a powerful person who has the lawful/legal right to things like palantiri  - and the Three.  He might give away information.  I love that idea, that Sauron reached too far, too fast, and gave away part of his strategy.  He is doing too much … and he is finite – he can't give all of them all of his attention all the time.   Thus, I speculate that Elrond and Galadriel could also obtain glimpses of what Sauron was up to when he revealed himself to them.  The three keepers give amazingly consistent information – their advice on the Paths of the Dead, the Grey Company, and drawing Sauron out with force to make Frodo’s way clear, are consistent among all three despite their not being together.

This scenario would provide Elrond with the information he sent south with his sons.  He knows Aragorn needs an army that he doesn’t have.. and the prophecy of  Malbeth sits out there.  The days are short, he tells Elrohir to tell Aragorn.  Short for what?  Short to reach Minas Tirith?  Yes, due to the arrival of the Corsairs. Perhaps Elrond had seen the ships too. But time is also short to raise an army. The Paths of the Dead is a two fold answer – an army awaits and they have a shortcut to get to the Corsairs.  

The advice to draw Sauron’s eye out from his land, the second piece of advice Elrond sent, fits as well if Elrond saw Sauron’s might.  He may have seen armies gathering in the black lands around the Eye, or perhaps he too saw the ships of the Corsairs.

When Gandalf is sent back to his body ‘naked’ – ‘naked’ means he was sent back as a spirit to re-inhabit his severely damaged body.   If Elrond and Galadriel knew when Narya was unwielded (no live person bore it) then they likely knew when someone alive again bore it.   Sending Gwaihir makes sense, to see who has the body, to see who has Narya.  How exciting to find it is Mithrandir and he is alive!

Last, the rangers were brought in haste.  They had to be dirty and tired and unprepared.  Yet they are dressed identically in somber but what sounded like elvish clothing to me.  I decided Arwen would take on the role to prepare them and to send her standard south.  I have lots of ideas as to what the devices on the Standard represented… we’ll get to those later.  I like her making a prophecy on the standard.  It is first unfurled in the Paths of the Dead, all black, no device to be seen.  It is shown at Erech, and on the Corsairs ship, then on the Pelennor.  Can you imagine seeing the banner of the re-united kingdom when the ships of the enemy came into sight?  How cool.

Elrond sent advice south with his sons that make it seem like he knew what was going on.  Hopefully this scenario works to explain the who, what, why, where, when and how it might have happened.  Other scenarios may work too; this is just what I have come up with after long thought (yes, obsessive thought, even).  

Also, the part about what happens to the spirit of a Maia when a body it has long inhabited is destroyed comes from the essay Osanwe-kenta.

Thanks for reading.

Thanks to daw the minstrel for beta reading this chapter.

Chapter 13: Seven Stars and Seven Stones and One White Tree

Gandalf said: ‘This is your realm, and the heart of the greater realm that shall be. The Third Age of the world is ended, and the new age is begun; and it is your task to order its beginning and to preserve what may be preserved. For though much has been saved, much must now pass away; and the power of the Three Rings also is ended. And all the lands that you see, and those that lie round about them, shall be dwellings of Men. For the time comes of the Dominion of Men, and the Elder Kindred shall fade or depart.’

The Steward and the King, Return of the King

March 25, 3019

The skies to the south were dark, the mountains fading into blackness. Still he stared, as he had done for many days now, waiting.  Waiting for a sign, waiting for a message. He twisted Vilya, but did not attune himself to it, for he knew what he would see: the Eye, mocking him and trying to draw him to it.  Yet he also could not remove it, as Erestor had suggested.  With it he still protected Imladris, as Galadriel still protected Lothlorien.  Three times the enemy had come upon the Golden Wood and three times they had repelled the attack.  What strength he had been able to lend her through Vilya he had given. Still his power was like grains of sand passing through an hour glass: all the strength he possessed he had given, yet Galadriel had only been able to draw from it in tiny increments that bolstered her power with Nenya.

Gwaihir had brought news of the victories at Helm’s Deep and the Pelennor Fields. All of Imladris had rejoiced. Arwen had opened the Hall of Fire, quiet and dark since the Company had departed, and the elves had danced and sung in honor of Rohan and Gondor.

“The kingdoms of Men may have grown weak, but strength does remain,” Arwen had said with pride. “They will prevail.”

Her hope had inspired many, and the elves had looked up in hope, rather than south in worry or west in longing.

Elrond leaned against the carved pillar and covered Vilya with his right hand.  Frodo was close to his goal. He had been able to perceive the hobbit since he left Lothlórien.  The One Ring had come more alive as Frodo had come nearer to the fires which forged it. Elrond could only imagine the burden on the hobbit’s mind, for he had not the power or strength of his own to direct what the One showed him. The very qualities of Frodo’s character that allowed him to bear the One to its demise - his humility, his simplicity - were being destroyed.

Elrond closed his eyes and turned his face upward.  Should Frodo survive, he had to trust that healing could be found for the damage done to his soul. Should Frodo survive . . .  Elrond smiled.  For several days, when all hope had fled, his thoughts had not been of recovery, but of how they might end well – even if none were left to sing of it.

And now his sons stood before the Morannon.  Would they live to see Sauron destroyed, if Frodo succeeded?

He felt Vilya stirring. Turning his attention to it, he sensed Galadriel, for Nenya was also aroused.  He turned his mind to Narya and found Mithrandir in a state of watchfulness.  The Three were stirring, then, in response to the One.

Suddenly the One sprang to life, wielded, and Elrond let forth an involuntary gasp.  He grasped Vilya, ready to strip it from his hand, as he heard the ring claimed. Frodo? Frodo!

“Hold strong, Frodo!”

Elrond felt an iron grip on his shoulders, then hands shook him.  He felt fingers clawing at his hand, pulling at Vilya, but the ring now gripped his finger.  Vilya’s grip loosened slightly as the One wavered. Fear filled Elrond.  Frodo now battled more than his own will.  The One was taken from him, claimed again. Had the servants of the enemy found him?  Did Sauron himself now have the ring?  Elrond shook off the hands restraining him and tried to twist Vilya from his finger, but its hold was relentless.

Visions of fire filled his mind.  The Eye was red and wide and glowing, and Sauron roared in his rage.  The fleeting thought filled his mind that he was about to reap the eternal fate that he had long feared; his mind laid bare and enslaved, his old life burnt away and forgotten.

Then a lick of fire as sharp as a knife pierced him and all went dark.

* * *

“Adar, please . . .”

“Elrond, can you hear . . .”

Elrond struggled toward the light and warmth and sound of voices he loved calling him.  He felt old and weary, tired as if he had fought a great battle.  Finally forcing his eyes open, he looked up into the tear-stained face of his daughter.  She cried out in relief and leaned down to embrace him, but someone gripped her arms, holding her back.

“Elrond, speak to us,” commanded Glorfindel.

Elrond turned his head slightly in obedience to a tone he had long before learned to heed.  He met Glorfindel’s gaze as solidly as he was able. “The One is destroyed,” he said, and though in his mind he sounded strong and convincing, the voice he heard was weak.

Glorfindel’s stern look melted into relief, and he released Arwen. She sank down next to him, tears streaming down her face.  Elrond accepted the hand Glorfindel held out to him and allowed himself to be pulled into a sitting position.

“Enough,” he gasped, when Glorfindel would have pulled him to his feet.

The sound of the door being flung open distracted them. “I heard Arwen,” said Erestor as he rushed around the desk. He glanced at Elrond, but something out the window caught his attention. He stepped out on to the balcony. They all heard his sharp intake of breath.

Elrond rose with aid from Glorfindel and Arwen, and the three of them joined Erestor on the balcony.  To their far southeast, smoke and ash filled the sky. A sudden wind came from the west.  They watched in amazement as the rising plume was slowly and gradually pushed eastward.

“What happened, Adar?” asked Arwen after a few moments. “What of Frodo?”

Elrond shook his head. “I do not know his fate.”

He turned inward, seeking for his bond with his sons.   Despite his diminished and bewildered state, he thought the bond was intact.  Arwen squeezed his arm. “I think Estel is well,” she said. “And my brothers?”

Elrond could only nod at her.   Her face grew concerned. “Adar? Perhaps you should sit down.”

Elrond looked again at the plume rising in the distance, then tried to cast his thought out to the borders of Imladris. The land seemed to contract and the light grew dim, and he at first thought that evil was spreading.  From a corner of his mind came the reminder of the good news that the One was destroyed, and with it, Sauron.   He tried to reconcile that fact with the shrinking borders and darkness. Confused, he concentrated his thought on that which was nearer to him. The land began to shift and sway, then roll in waves. He reached out with both hands to grasp the balustrade on the balcony, but the beam was gone.  He gasped as he fell forward into the darkness.

* * *

Elrond awakened in darkness, but at least the ground was no longer moving. He was covered by a warm blanket.  He shifted under the weight atop of him and realized it was several blankets.  He should be too warm, but found he was quite comfortable.

He heard the scrape of flint on steel and then a small flame appeared. He tensed, but it did not grow or consume him. It danced and flickered, casting a warm glow on the face behind it. Glorfindel set the candle down on the bedside table, then removed the stopper from a small flask and held it out to him.

Elrond freed a hand from the blankets, surprised at how cool the air felt, and took the flask. Grasping the silver flask helped to still his hand, and the Miruvor helped to strengthen the rest of him.  Glorfindel took it back, then sat down on the edge of the bed.  Elrond looked into the eyes of his old friend, and saw concern and pity, but also relief.

“How long?”

“Eärendil has sailed and the morning star has not yet appeared,” replied Glorfindel.

“The weather has grown cold.”

Glorfindel gave him a bemused smile. “It is a little colder.  You were shivering.”

Elrond fell silent. He could not recall all that had occurred, no matter how much effort he expended trying to piece together events.  He tried to extend his thought out over the valley, but felt himself sinking into a dark chasm. He had nearly forgotten Glorfindel was with him until the elf picked up his hand and clasped it firmly. “Elrond, come back to me,” he commanded.

Glorfindel’s tone brooked no disobedience, and Elrond felt a spark of memory.  Glorfindel had spoken that way to him recently.

“And you had better listen again,” said Glorfindel, his voice both amused and worried.

Elrond smiled as his thoughts cleared, and he focused on his friend and keeper.  “I am listening.”

“The One is destroyed. Vilya is likely shorn of its power. I have considered removing it from your hand, but I did not know if that would harm you more.  It is visible now, Elrond.”

Elrond pulled his left hand from under the blankets. The flicker of candlelight reflected off the gold band, and stars glinted in the face of the sapphire. He often forgot how beautiful the ring was.

“Twice now you have slipped away. Where were you when I called you back?” asked Glorfindel.

Elrond was momentarily confused. What had he been doing? Without thought he did what he always did to assess the well being of Imladris: he cast his thought out over the valley.

“No, Elrond, stop,” commanded Glorfindel.

Elrond blinked and shook his head.

“That power is gone,” reminded Glorfindel gently. “I can read your thoughts as easily as I would a guileless child. That which protected your mind as well as extended the range of it is gone. When you reach out to assess the valley, something I am sure you did unconsciously and often, you drift from us into . . . into what, Elrond?”

“Darkness,” answered Elrond after a moment. “When I try, I spiral down into the depths  . . . the depths of my own weakness.”

“You must now train your mind not to do that,” coached Glorfindel. “And we must build up some defenses for your thoughts, although that can wait.” He suddenly smiled, and the room lit around him. “First though, we will rejoice and you will rest some more.  The reign of Sauron has ended.”

Elrond returned the smile, but he could force it to last only a moment. There were no words to describe the emptiness and loss in his heart.  He had wielded Vilya for so long, it was so entwined with his own innate power – indeed, had exceeded it – that he felt as if his heart were shredded, flayed, and the wounds that had been left behind could not be stitched closed, nor were the gaps small enough or few enough to simply be rewoven.  Healing would take time. A very long time.

His mind drifted to Galadriel, Frodo and Mithrandir. What effects would there be on an elf of Valinor, a hobbit and a Maia? Had Frodo succeeded after all?  He thought of the plume of ash and smoke rising in the east. A sudden terrible thought settled on him: what had happened to Frodo at the end?  Had the ring been taken from him?  Had his life also been claimed? What if Frodo had cast himself into the fires of Mordor? He had claimed the ring, then the ring was destroyed. His thoughts raced, but he could not logically process his own questions.  Frustration filled him.

He heard his name spoken softly and then felt gentle hands on him, pushing him into sleep.  He did not resist; he had no strength to resist.  The cowardly thought occurred to him that perhaps when he next awoke, there would be answers.

* * *

“Adar.”

The voice was beloved. It was also insistent, calling him from the depths of sleep to the present. Excited, yet unhurried.  It took all of Elrond’s will to force himself to consciousness and open his eyes to see his daughter.  She smiled at him, her joy flowing like silver light down on him.

“Frodo lives, Adar,” she said. “The eagles saved them from the mountain’s doom. He and Sam are with Aragorn, in Ithilien.  Elladan and Elrohir are also there.”

Elrond felt tears well in his eyes. Unable to control them, he wept unashamed.  His fears that they had sent the hobbit to his death, even if he had been willing, had weighed deeply on his soul.  He had known Frodo was the one to take the burden, yet that had not lessened the regret of what they had sent him to.  Against the power of Mordor, he had succeeded. His sons were alive, Aragorn was alive.

He closed his eyes as a vision unfolded before his eyes.  Aragorn, crowed and seated upon the throne of the Reunited Kingdom of Gondor and Arnor.   The white tree blossomed in the courtyard, and beside it sat his daughter.  Her gown flowed loose about her, but when the wind blew it wrapped against her figure, accentuating her swollen belly. Joy and pain mingled in his heart.

He opened his eyes again at the touch of Arwen’s hand upon his cheek.  She was radiant. He took a deep breath, then smiled and sat up.  “We have much to prepare,” he said.

* * *

May 1, 3019

Elrond watched as Arwen walked slowly down the hall toward him.  They had not slept. Their journey prepared for, they had spent some of the eve in the Hall of Fire, where the household had sung in honor of the Evenstar.  She had then gone from room to room, touching the familiar things of her home.  She had spent particularly long in Elrond’s chambers.  Overcome, he had left her to her memories of her mother.

He knew she had taken portraits of their family and home.  She had the perfect recall of the Elves, and thus no need of such things for herself.  He had wondered if these were for Aragorn, or for her future children, but he did not ask.  She had packed and prepared as one who had no intention of ever returning.  Sadness filled him at the idea of his grandchildren never seeing the home of their mother and childhood home of their father.

She looked at him gravely. “I am ready, Adar.”

She took his arm and they walked out the door of the Last Homely House.  On the front porch, Bilbo sat wrapped in a warm blanket, dozing.   He had wavered on accompanying them to Gondor. He clearly wished to go, but it was obvious to all that he was no longer able to make such a long journey.

“I would see you wed Aragorn,” he had told Arwen. “But I am too old, fair lady.  You will tell my nephew to write up the occasion for me, so I can include it in my book, won’t you?”

Arwen had regarded him lovingly. “Indeed, Master Bilbo.  Before you know it, Frodo will cross over the bridge and tell you all about it.”

Bilbo jerked awake at Arwen’s touch on his shoulder.  He got slowly to his feet and bowed carefully, then kissed her hand.  “Farewell, my lady.”

“Farewell, dear Bilbo.”

She kissed the forehead of the ancient hobbit, eliciting a faint blush across his cheeks.  Elrond knew she did not expect to see the old Halfling again, for even now he was advanced in age.  A remnant of Elrond’s house would stay behind with him, to maintain the house and guard the borders from the threat that still existed in the mountains.

Elrond looked around at the grounds.  It was unlikely that even Elvish eyes noticed a change in the weeks since Vilya had lost its power, but Elrond knew. Glorfindel had prepared Athranen for the change, informed him that the protections that had long kept Imladris safe were gone.  They would need to increase their vigilance, for Sauron’s demise had left the goblins leaderless, and they roamed in small bands, seeking food and the means to their own survival.

Glorfindel led them from Imladris as the first light of the sun appeared behind the mountains. They walked their horses out of the courtyard and across the narrow bridge.  The rest of their traveling party awaited them with wagons laden with supplies and items Arwen wished to bring to her new home.  Elrond’s memory was drawn back to the founding of Imladris, for not since then had he seen so large a company of elves, males and females, laden with goods. Only now they were heading south.  They would pass the Redhorn Gate and go first to Lothlórien, where Celeborn and Galadriel awaited them.  The wagons would continue south through the Gap of Rohan, for the road was easier.  They would meet in Rohan and continue on to Gondor.

The mood of the company was joyous. The minstrels carried their instruments. Some had already left their mounts and walked or danced alongside the horses, who seemed to delight in those sharing the footpath. Arwen had been quickly surrounded and drawn into the heart of the party, where they sang of her future.

Elrond watched her for a long time. She had stopped and looked back at Imladris only once, at the point where it could last be seen before disappearing into the valley that hid it so well. She had paused for only a moment, then resolutely turned and continued forward.

When they stopped to camp that night, Elrond dismounted quietly and allowed a young elf to lead his horse off to care for it.  He had planned on caring for Alagos himself, but the insistent young elf had tugged gently on the reins until Elrond had released them.  Many years had passed since last he had came this way, so he took advantage of the time to walk along the river flowing from the mountains with spring snowmelt to join the Bruinen.

He had expected a guard to trail after him, but was unsurprised when Glorfindel fell into step next to him.  From Frodo’s arrival in Imladris to the destruction of the One, Glorfindel had not been far from his side.   In the last few weeks, Glorfindel had allowed him time and space to become accustomed to the loss of Vilya. In addition to acclimating to that loss, he had exercised control of his mind, learning anew to guard his thoughts. He girded his thoughts now as he turned to acknowledge his friend.

Glorfindel studied him thoughtfully, then said gently, “Your weariness extends beyond the physical.”

Elrond grimaced. “If I am that obvious, then my attempts have been for naught.”

Glorfindel took his arm, and Elrond felt the tingle of power course through him. It grieved him to need it, but he knew he would not make it through this time without aid. With Glorfindel’s power undergirding him, he could return to his people with the strength they expected from their lord.

The days passed. Arwen stayed near him some of the time, but they spoke little. The laughing, singing elves would draw her back to them, and he encouraged her to go, for it brought joy to his heart to see her so joyful.

They crossed through the Redhorn Gate, and traveled into the Golden Wood, where they found Celeborn and Galadriel waiting for them.  Arwen dismounted and ran to them, and they embraced and held her long.  Elrond followed more slowly. Galadriel released Arwen and came to meet him.

None stood near them as they met. She wore Nenya openly, as he did Vilya.  But Elrond barely noticed Nenya; indeed it was Nenya’s keeper that caught his attention. Elrond was stunned to see that already she had diminished.

“Why are you surprised?” she asked, laughing lightly at him.

He could not read her thoughts, yet it seemed her own abilities had not lessened, as she seemed to see right into and through him.

She sobered. “I am diminished, Elrond, and the sea longing rages in my heart with renewed strength. I cannot stay long now,” she said bluntly.

He looked away, for she had spoken in the first minutes of their meeting the truth which weighed heavily on his own heart.

“You cannot stay either.”

Her words cut him like a knife, even though she spoke a truth he already knew.  He just did not wish to admit it to himself. She stepped to him and he felt the touch of her hand on his cheek, turning his face to her.  He gritted his teeth as he met her eyes.

He saw sadness.

His anger fled. He took her hand and dropped the barriers that were not sufficient to guard his thoughts from her under normal circumstances, much less now.  “I have grown weary,” he admitted. “It is a new feeling, and not one I enjoy. I would see my daughter’s children.”

Galadriel turned and they looked to where Arwen stood with Celeborn and Glorfindel.  “They are discussing us, of course,” said Galadriel as the three lowered their gazes. She took his arm, and dropped her guard with him at the same time. “Let us dispel their concerns.”

As they walked forward Elrond could sense the turmoil within Galadriel. While he struggled with a world-weariness that weighed upon his soul, she battled to withstand the call of the sea. She was stronger than him, though, and he thought there was less outward sign of change.

I am stronger than you. My innate power is greater and the loss of Nenya’s power has less effect.  You have less innate power and wielded the most powerful ring. The effect on you is as I expected.

Elrond would have pulled away, but Galadriel held tightly to his arm.  Your thoughts are easily read, Elrond.   He felt comfort and peace flow over him, and his anger, which had just flared again, dissipated. I have been humbled by Celeborn’s care. Let go of your pride and let those who love you protect and comfort you.

Celeborn looked appraisingly at him, then exchanged a significant glance with Glorfindel.  Elrond clenched his jaw again, but Galadriel squeezed his arm and he felt his annoyance melt away.  His fall from being a person of strength to one in need of aid was a blow he found devastating, and it took all of his wisdom and humility to accept this change.

They had entered the Golden Wood through burnt and deforested lands. Haldir led them along the edge of the wood, showing them where each attack had occurred. The Imladris elves mourned the death of so many of the trees, but already new growth was evident.  They reached Caras Galadhon that evening, and the celebration began immediately.  Never had so many elves of Imladris and Lorien been together in an age.  Wine flowed freely and music played the night through.

They stayed a week, refreshing their mounts and supplies. Elrond crossed the Anduin with Celeborn and Galadriel and stood on Amon Lanc. Already new grass was sprouting where Dol Guldur had once stood.

“The trees already begin to recover,” said Celeborn joyfully as he led them among the twisted darkened branches.  The most damaged trees had been destroyed when Dol Guldur had been cast down, but Celeborn showed them on others where withered bark had renewed, and how he could again hear the song of trees long silent.

Elves appeared from the trees as they passed, as quiet and unobtrusive as all wood elves, and Celeborn called many by name.  “Many of these are from the Golden Wood, but some are from Thranduil’s realm in the North.  The battle came right to the stronghold, but they prevailed and are greeting spring knowing that the forest will no longer be shadowed.”

The shadow over Mirkwood was gone; Greenwood the Great it would be one day, Elrond knew, and Thranduil’s people would be there to see the transformation.  As they crossed back over the river, he turned to look back at the healing forest. Hope filled him, yet he felt distant from it.  Such hope no longer belonged to him, he realized.

They left the Golden Wood with their numbers swelled.  Their travel was slow, with patrols scouting far ahead of them. Several times they returned having been involved in small skirmishes with roaming orcs.   As they skirted Fangorn they saw the scarred and damaged land near the forest edge, and many felt the murmurings of trees recently awakened.

Crossing the Entwash, they entered the realm of Men.  The rolling plains of the Riddermark were a welcome sight after the brown lands, and they passed small farms and villages. Some were burnt and empty of life, and they could only wonder if those who had lived there had escaped those who had come to destroy them.  Occasionally they would see smoke rising from a chimney, and when they passed by, men, women and children with hair the color of straw would come out to watch them.  The people remained well armed, and cautious, but small children with wide eyes gaped at them in wonder.  The elves brought music and song with them that drew even the most haunted visages near and caused them to relax and smile.

Resilient.  That was the best word to describe these hardy people, Elrond decided.  The effects of war grew more vivid the further south they traveled.  They learned that the army of Rohan had just recently returned home.  They had gathered their families from Dunharrow and Edoras and Helm’s Deep, and were moving back to their homes.  Elrond saw men with limbs missing or crippled, but the women and children that pressed near to them did not seem to notice.  Indeed, the women and children far outnumbered the men, and it appeared that many a barely grown boy was managing the family farm. Those who still had husbands and fathers were among the fortunate.

They had broken camp one morning, intending to turn southeast and make for the Great West Road, when Elrond heard a shout from the head of their party.  Cheers and song filled the air. Then Arwen flew past him, riding fast to the front of the column.  He followed her, hearing her joyful call before he caught up to her.

She was pulled from her horse by Elladan before she had a chance to dismount and swung around before being set down so that Elrohir could greet her. Elrond had stopped his horse to watch the greeting, Celeborn and Galadriel stopping slightly behind him. Though he knew his sons lived, seeing them left him speechless.

Elladan walked to him, covering the short distance in just a few long strides. He bowed low before him, and Elrond finally broke from his stupor.  He slid from Alagos and stepped into his son’s arms.

“Ai, Elladan!” he cried out, embracing his son.  He could not restrain hands trained to first check his progeny for injuries, but he found Elladan well.  Well and strong. His son radiated strength.

“Adar, we feared for you,” admitted Elladan quietly. He stepped back and held Elrond at arm’s length, studying him. Before he could speak, Arwen slipped under Elladan’s arm and Elrohir embraced him gently, as if he were a fragile artifact that might break.

The twins greeted their grandfather heartily, but Elrond noticed that their grandmother received the same cautious treatment that he had.  She accepted this deference gracefully, though she exchanged a knowing smile with him. Patience, she reminded him, though he thought she was reminding herself as well.

“Éomer, King of Rohan, invites you to the golden halls of Meduseld to rest and refresh yourselves before continuing on to Minas Tirith.   Edoras is straight south. We will arrive by evening meal, which will be in your honor.  In the meanwhile, we will tell you all that has happened since we left Imladris,” announced Elladan.  He grinned at Arwen. “Aragorn sent messages, and I have sketches for you.  He awaits you with barely contained excitement.”

Arwen’s eyes shone at her brother’s words, and Elrond had to look away.

They mounted and Elladan fell in between Elrond and Galadriel.  He told them of all that had happened, from their meeting Aragorn at Helm’s Deep, riding the Paths of the Dead, traveling up the Anduin in the Corsair’s ships and the battle of the Pelennor Fields.  He told them of the demise of Denethor, and how Aragorn had called Faramir, Eowyn and Merry back from the Black Breath.  Elrond was amazed to hear Glorfindel’s prophecy fulfilled, with the Witch King falling to the sword of a woman and a hobbit.

“Aragorn is a ranger no more,” said Elladan, and Elrond noted that ahead of them, Arwen fell silent and fell back slightly to listen.  “He is Elessar, King of Gondor and Arnor. All of the peoples of Gondor accept the return of the king to their lands. His command of the dead and his authority before the Black Gates are examples of the truth of his claim, though many now recall the saying of old that the hands of the King are healing hands.  Faramir called him king when he awakened from the Black Breath, and Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth and Theoden King of Rohan swore their allegiance to him.  Eomer calls him brother.  His claim has been accepted as far north as Dale and Laketown, and the Men of Harad and the Easterlings have come to him to sue for peace.”

Elrond watched Elladan speak, his pride in Aragorn clear.  “You can be assured, Adar, that he is now worthy of Arwen.”

Though most elves could hide their surprise, Elrond heard the sharp intake of breath around him. Arwen had turned in the saddle to look at her brother; Celeborn reaching out one hand to steady her.  Elrohir remained facing forward, his shoulders rigid.  Elrond drew in a deep breath before turning to face his son; he felt Galadriel’s cool presence upon his mind, yet she spoke no words.

“The weight of destiny has burdened Aragorn’s shoulders from birth. Should he have wished to wed a woman of the Dúnedain, I would have placed the same restraint upon him,” he answered calmly.  He noted with an unbecoming satisfaction that Elladan colored slightly at his words.  He met Arwen’s eyes then, noting the stiff shoulders and guarded look. He held her gaze as he spoke. “Aragorn is worthy. He is a fine man, and I have no doubt he will be a fine king and leader, as Arwen will make a worthy queen.”

A hint of a smile crossed Arwen’s face, relief perhaps, and she turned to face forward again.  Elrond could feel Elladan’s gaze on him, but he remained silent. They rode along that way for some minutes before Elladan spoke again. “My apologies, Adar.  My words were not intended to create discord.”

“What was your intention, then?”

“Merely to express my pride and admiration for the man Aragorn has become, and to add my blessing to the upcoming marriage between him and my sister,” answered Elladan boldly.

“Then there is no discord,” answered Elrond coolly.

He lied though, for the discord was now deep within him, and he found it nigh impossible to shake the growing melancholy from his heart.  The joy of seeing his sons had fled, and the impending knowledge of having to hand his daughter over to the realm of Men forever cleaved him like a knife separating bone from marrow.

“Elrond, I am sorry to bother you with trivial matters,” came a voice from behind him. “Will you spare me a few minutes to address some issues which have arisen?”

Elrond guided his horse from the column, joining Erestor at the side of the path. Erestor dismounted and motioned for Elrond to do the same.   Elrond was deeply grateful to his advisor, but also wary of what problems had arisen that this most competent of elves could not manage.  Erestor began walking forward at a leisurely pace, his horse trailing along behind him, and Elrond fell into step beside him.

“What is the problem?” he asked guardedly.

“I am undecided as to whether you should wear your formal blue robes to greet the Rohan King, or the green.  The green would match their colors more closely, which may seem presumptuous.”

Elrond stopped in surprise and was rewarded with a firm thump on his shoulder as Alagos butted him from behind.

Erestor arched a brow at him. “Etiquette is important, even after days of long travel.” He smiled.  “A break from Elladan also seemed warranted. He would do well to remember that you are still lord of your people.”

Elrond resumed walking, regaining his composure before speaking. “You are a worthy advisor, Erestor.”

Erestor laughed.  “Of course I am!  I do not know Elladan’s intent, Elrond, though I do not think he intended to insult.  Nonetheless, his words came across that way.”

“And I did not respond well,” finished Elrond.

“Your words were appropriate,” corrected Erestor. “It is your emotions you can no longer restrain. Your normal reserve would have smoothed that over before with nary an eyelash blinked. Elladan and others will need to learn to take more responsibility for their choice of words, that is all.” Erestor paused, then cautiously added, “It is not just you; Galadriel is not as inscrutable as she once was.”

Elrond laughed. He was at least, in good company.  “The time of the Ring-bearers is over. Our power is gone and our strength diminished. All we can do now is end well.”

“I will remind you, if I must, that you end victorious, not in defeat.   You have ended well. Now you will turn over the sceptre with grace to new leaders in a new age.”

By the time they escort rested at midday, Elrond was restored to good humor.  Erestor returned him to his family, thanking him for his assistance. Elladan stood as he walked to join them, his face pinched and pale.

“Is all well, Adar?” he asked.

Elrond smiled, but decided to keep Eresor’s secret. “The issue is resolved.” He took a seat next to Elladan. “You were telling me of Aragorn entering the city. Please continue,” he encouraged.

Elladan relaxed and smiled in relief.   Elrohir and Arwen settled in next to them as Elladan continued the story.

* * *

The setting sun lit the hall of Meduseld brilliant gold.  They had been able to see the Golden Hall from far off, so bright was its façade in the fading light.  The minstrels had taken up a song, and their fair voices rose in the clear air.  As they came near, the gates of the city opened and a man and woman rode forth.  Behind them rode an honor guard bearing the banners of Rohan.

Elrond, Celeborn and Galadriel rode forward to meet them, flanked by Elladan and Elrohir.  The King of Rohan wore no helm, and his hair flowed in golden waves down his back.  He was broad and strong, and very young.  Pride shone in his eyes. He dismounted, then took the woman’s hand as she gracefully slid from her horse.

They were Éomer and Éowyn, Elrond knew, nephew and niece of Theoden, who had died upon the Pelennor Fields.  His gaze rested upon Éowyn. Slim and tall, golden hair flowed to her waist. There was pride in her bearing as well, but it was tempered by sorrow. The faintest hint of shadow still clung to her. Glorfindel would wish to meet this shieldmaiden who had felled the Witch-King of Angmar.

Elrond was amused to notice that the siblings, while meeting their gazes with all politeness, were trying to see beyond them. Looking for Arwen, looking for the one Aragorn, whom they knew, would marry.  He motioned behind him with an insignificant wave of his hand, but Erestor knew exactly what he meant.   They dismounted and their horses stepped aside, and a moment later Arwen rode forward. Elrond held her hand as she slid from her horse.

Elladan and Elrohir had clearly coached the young king and his sister, for they stepped forward and greeted their guests in the manner of the elves.  Then Éomer left some of his men to aid the elves in setting up their camp on the open field, while he led them to Meduseld.

Celeborn immediately took to Éomer, and with his grandsons he walked with the young king, asking him about the Riddermark and how they fared after the war.   It was clear to Elrond’s eyes that his sons had been aiding Éomer in a number of ways.  They had returned to the Riddermark with Éomer and Éowyn and been with them for a month.  The people of Rohan looked upon them in awe, but they were also comfortable with them.  Elrond saw guards report in to Éomer, and noted that Elladan also listened to the reports and added his opinions.

Behind him, he could hear Arwen and Éowyn speaking. 

“You are beautiful,” said Éowyn quietly.

“Thank you,” answered Arwen. “You also are beautiful, as well as renowned.”

“Oh,” answered Éowyn, momentarily speechless.

“My brothers tell me that you and the hobbit, Meriadoc, fulfilled the prophecy regarding the Witch-king.  Glorfindel will wish to meet you.”

“Which one is Glorfindel?”

“There,” answered Arwen, and Elrond turned to see her pointing the golden haired elf out to the mortal woman.

At that moment, Glorfindel turned and met their eyes, and a warm smile crossed his face and he shone as he always did when happy.  He nodded at them.

“I think I may faint,” murmured Éowyn.

Arwen laughed.  “He has that effect on many, including elves!  But do not fear him. I have known him since before I took my first steps.”

“You have known Lord Aragorn long also?” asked Eowyn shyly.

Arwen nodded. “Aragorn was called Estel, Hope, and raised by my father. I was not there, but in Lorien with my grandparents.  I met him the day he learned he was Elendil’s heir.”

“Oh!” cried Eowyn.  She seemed dumbfounded for a moment, and Elrond was struck again by how so very young she was, even by mortal reckoning.  She was blushing, looking from Elrond to Arwen. Elrond purposefully averted his gaze to appear as if he was focused on something else as they rode up the hill.  “But then you are older than he?”

“Much,” replied Arwen gently.  She reached out and took Éowyn’s hand. “I was born when the third age of this world was still young, and Elladan and Elrohir before me.”

“But then, why Aragorn?” Éowyn finally managed.

“I loved him the moment I laid eyes upon him.  He was young and proud and full of life.  Full of vigor and purpose. When next I saw him, he was grown into full strength of a Man, and my heart chose him. Age is of no consequence when there is such love.”

Elrond felt tears prickle at his eyes and was glad he was looking purposefully off into the distance.

“Éomer said your betrothal has been long.”

“It has,” agreed Arwen. “Such were the conditions set by my father, who has the gift of foresight. He knew that Aragorn must rise above all of his ancestors before him, since Elendil, and have no hindrances.  Thus we have waited.”

She spoke without any hint of accusation or anger, and Elrond could feel her loving gaze boring into his back even as he felt the incredulity of the woman Éowyn.

“Will Aragorn live so long then?  Will he be blessed with the life of the Elves?”

“No, the men of Númenor are mortal. I have chosen to bind my fate to that of Aragorn. Such is the choice of my kind, for I am half-elven. Both Aragorn and I are of the children of Lúthien.”

“Oi,” came Éowyn’s half cry, as her quick mind connected the points of what Arwen had just told her.

A moment later Elrond felt a touch on his sleeve as Eowyn prodded her horse forward to ride next to him. He turned to look upon her and saw the pity and sorrow mingled in her gaze.  He found himself inordinately touched by her compassion, but when he would have spoken to comfort her, he found himself unable to articulate any such words.  He squeezed her hand instead, thanking her in that small gesture.

It was later that night that he learned why Arwen had told Éowyn so much.  Elrohir had told her of Éowyn’s love for Aragorn, of the gilded cage she had fought and how she had begged to ride the Paths of the Dead with them.  That he did not love her had crushed her.  Though she had found her own love in Faramir, meeting Arwen and finding her so open and honest had helped establish a relationship between the two, as Elrohir had known it would. Already the foundations of friendship had been built.

Elrond spoke little, yet took great pride and comfort in watching his children as they feasted with the Rohirrim that evening.  Elladan and Elrohir moved about the Hall as ones well accustomed to it, singing songs and drinking ale with the warriors they had fought with over the last months. Éomer had begun the evening tongue tied at speaking to Arwen, but it had taken her little time to win him over, much as she had his sister.  The humans flocked to the half-elven trio, their dark heads lost amidst the gold.

He turned in amusement to watch Glorfindel.  He sat next to Éowyn, whose nervousness had fled after a few minutes in the warrior’s presence.  Last Elrond heard, they were exchanging war stories of fighting the witch-king.  Now Éowyn was speaking more seriously, and Glorfindel listened intently.

The elves were enjoying this young and untamed people.  They were in many ways very different from the grimmer and more stoic men of the Northern Kingdom.  More passionate. When Éomer spoke, the walls shook. That his people loved him there was no doubt. When his sons had told him of the love Aragorn bore for the young king of Rohan, Elrond had no trouble believing it.  He was glad Gondor had such an ally as Rohan.

Most of the elves returned to their camp on the plains, but Arwen readily accepted rooms in Meduseld.  Elrond graciously accepted accommodations with his sons, suspecting the idea had come from them. Glorfindel and Erestor also would stay in the Hall, as would Celeborn and Galadriel.  Éomer and Éowyn seemed pleased, as did their advisors and staff, and Elrond was reminded that this was the first diplomatic visit for the new king.   Elrond watched Arwen led away by Éowyn, both of them laughing as they turned the hall and disappeared from sight.

Some personal items had been delivered, along with some of the wine they had brought with them, and Elladan poured three cups.  Elrond raised a brow in question as his son took a sip, but Elladan laughed.  “It covers up the taste of the ale.”

“We have told you all that has happened since we left you. Now we would hear of you,” said Elladan.

Elrond put down his cup and studied his sons before responding.  The change in him was ongoing, and he had not yet come to terms with the direction that change was heading.

“Let me begin by asking your forgiveness for my curt response to you earlier,” he began.

“No, Adar, my remark was poorly worded.  I should have used more care not to imply what I did,” interrupted Elladan, color rising in his cheeks.

“Yet I could not help but notice your reaction to the comment,” said Elrohir softly. “You have heard a millennium of tactless comments, but I have never seen you react with ire.”

Elrond felt the now too usual reaction to being questioned – a feeling of irritability so unlike him that he was still taken aback by it.  He felt Elrohir’s hand cover his own and focused his eyes on his tender hearted son.

“I am sorry, Elrohir,” he said. When Elrohir began to interrupt, surely to argue against the need for an apology, he waved him off. “Do not interrupt,” he pleaded.  Elrohir sat back, stunned, but quickly regained his composure.  He grasped Elrond’s hand with a firm and steady grip that actually did help him continue.

He told them of the destruction of the One, how he had known Frodo had claimed it and knew when it was no more.  He spoke of having to retrain his thoughts, for he had wielded Vilya for so long that it was a part of him.  Like a man who had lost a limb, there was a phantom pain where the appendage used to be, and he had to retrain himself to do things without its presence.

“Yet, it is more, as you suspect,” he finally admitted.  He rose and walked to the window, looking west, as he seemed to do often now.  He turned back to them, then sat down and sipped his wine.  “I am unsettled.  There is great hope in the land, yet I feel distant from it.” He took a deep breath. “A weariness grows upon me unlike anything in my experience.”

The wine in his glass shimmered and he set it down. Elrohir took his hands again and stilled their trembling.  His son’s face was troubled and sorrow was in his eyes.

“This is why Glorfindel and Erestor do not let you out of their sight,” murmured Elladan.  “I wondered what they feared.  Daernaneth, too.  Celeborn stays near her.  She grows distant and the sound of the wind and the birds draws her sight ever westward.”

“The sea-longing,” replied Elrond absently.   He sipped his wine.

“What happens next, then?” asked Elrohir finally.

“Next?” asked Elrond. “We go on to Minas Tirith.  Nothing is to mar the happiness of your sister and brother.”

Elrohir opened his mouth to speak, but a curt nod from his twin cut him off.  He instead took a drink from his cup.

Elrond noted them watching him and forced a smile and look of interest to his face. “Tell me how you have spent your time here, in Rohan. I note that young King Éomer looks to you with confidence and his Men also.”

Elladan settled back against the bed cushions and began to speak.  It took Elrohir a moment to relax as well. As usual, he spoke little.  Elrond drifted a bit, hearing Elladan and taking in the details of his story, but also talking advantage of what he felt was a respite from speaking about a future for which he had no answers.

* * *

They left Gondor the morning after next.  Their stay in Rohan was short, enough time for a brief rest and to learn of what they might expect on the road south.   

The journey was uneventful, taking them several weeks of easy travel.  The elves traveled lightly and quietly, bothering not even the wild men in their forest. The signs of summer grew with the passing of time as well as the passage south.  Then one morning the sun rose and his sons prepared their banner, and the day they had long awaited with both joy and sorrow was upon them. They came that morning to Amon Din and Elladan rode out to meet the guards.  They would send word of the arrival of the elves to the city.  In the late morning they came to the North gate of the Rammas Echor.  Here they rested to prepare themselves for their entry.

Crossing the vast field would take the rest of the day. The air bristled with excitement as the passed the great stone wall, and the city came into view.  It shone in the early evening sun, at times becoming nearly blinding.  They passed evidence of the great battle that had taken place, of mounds still blackened and of graves covered in new grass.  But of these losses and great sorrows none spoke, for this day was one of new beginnings and new hope.

Great banners were hung from the city walls, but most impressive was the one that flew high above the White Tower of Ecthelion: Arwen’s banner of black bearing the white tree of Gondor and the seven stars and crown of Elendil.  High and true it blew in the wind, a crown for the city, and as it came into view the elves began to sing. They alone remembered when Elendil’s devices had last been so displayed; they alone remembered when Men had been strong and of one kingdom.   They had succored Elendil’s people and sheltered his heirs for the best part of an age. Now they lived to see prophecy fulfilled and the Elessar, raised in their own house, rise to heights greater than any since Elendil.

As pride filled the hearts of all, pain pierced the heart of many.

Arwen rode quietly in their midst, surrounded this last day by father and brothers and grandfather and grandmother.  Her eyes never left the banner. Pride and determination flowed from her in waves.  

It was Glorfindel who first realized what it was she watched. 

“The Sickle of the Valar journeys even in sunlight,” he said suddenly as he rode up behind them.

Arwen’s face lit with delight.  “Perhaps not in pure mirror, but the symbolism remains: in both light and darkness, for so long as the reign of Aragorn and his House lasts, Men will remain allied with the Valar and those who follow the paths set by Morgoth should take warning.”

All were now watching the banner and they realized what it was she had done:  the gemstones she had shaped and set in the pattern of the seven stars of the Valacirca ⁽¹⁾ were attached by their points to the fine black cloth made of Hithlain thread. In a mirror of how the sickle moved across the night sky, the sun reflected through them in daylight, casting the Sickle upon the walls of the city.  The great crown set above it crowned the city with mithril and gold, and the jewels that formed the fruits of the tree and embedded the crown were of great worth: some of the final remnant brought from Valinor with the Noldor exiles.

“Is that an elfstone set in the crown?” asked Galadriel.

Arwen smiled.  “It was shaped by the elves, as Estel was shaped by the elves.  It is the cornerstone of the gems encircling the crown, as Estel is the cornerstone of the new realm. It is not the Elessar, for he bears that himself, but only a representation thereof, as the banner is only a representation of those who rule under it.”

She paused, her face shining as she gazed into the dazzling light.

“If the Valar have indeed blessed Men, then a White Tree again grows in the Court of the Fountain. Descendent of Nimloth, from Celeborn, from Galathilion, fruit of Telperion.  Though far apart, so Gondor will be bound to Valinor through the seed of a tree given in friendship long ago upon the shores of Númenor. So also it is a sign of the promise given by Elrond to Aragorn, a promise soon to be fulfilled.”

As she spoke those words, she reached out for Elrond and he knew her thoughts.  She knew he could not stay to see the years of the king, and he felt her grief, her love and her acceptance.  As he blinked the tears from his eyes, he heard the clear call of silver trumpets announcing their approach.

He felt the strength of Glorfindel flow into him, and Celeborn and Galadriel as well.  Their party fell into form, with his sons leading with their banner unfurled between them.  They rode proudly and precisely, holding the banner high.  Then Glorfindel left Elrond and followed them, along with all of his House.  Behind the banner of Imladris, the banner of Lorien also flew tall. 

Elrond unfurled the cloth from the Sceptre of Annuminas, the last of the tokens of the Northern Kingdom.  With it the Northern Kingdom was reunited with the South, and the keeping of the memory and history of the North was transferred to the Reunited Realm, where it belonged.  No longer would the Elves succor Men in their youth and old age; no longer would they remember for Men their lore, lest it pass away.

They rode forward as the great throng of elves approached the gates and then stepped aside, until none stood between them and Aragorn.  Behind him stood Mithrandir, looking younger and more vibrant than he had when he had arrived in Middle-earth.  On his other side stood Faramir, steward of Gondor. 

But beside him, Arwen had eyes only for Aragorn.  Elrond looked upon this man and remembered his son, their Estel, whom he loved.  Gone was the ranger, and before them stood one in likeness to Elendil – tall and proud and strong.  In his eyes was a love for Arwen that comforted Elrond’s heart, even as it broke.

He dismounted and stepped forward, and Aragorn bowed before him.  Elrond kissed his brow and raised him, and placed the Sceptre in his hand. 

“Great deeds you have done, and the most difficult of tests you have passed, Aragorn, Arathorn’s son.  The Sceptre of Arnor you have earned, and today I surrender it to you.  You now hold all of the tokens of your heritage.”

He bowed before his son, and a great cheer arose from the crowd.  Turning to his daughter, he took her hand and turned as she walked forward. He placed her hand in Aragorn’s. Then words failed him, as had never happened before in the long years of his life.  Instead he smiled upon their joy, and clasped his hand over theirs.

The cheers and call of trumpets drowned out any sound around him as Aragorn knelt before Arwen and kissed her hand.  Then he rose, and took Arwen on his right and Elrond upon his left, and together they began the ascent to the Citadel.

* * * * *

⁽¹⁾And high in the north as a challenge to Melkor she set the crown of seven mighty stars to swing, Valacirca, the Sickle of the Valar and sign of doom.   The Silmarillion

And all eyes followed his gaze, and behold! upon the foremost ship a great standard broke, and the wind displayed it as she turned towards the Harlond. There flowered a White Tree, and that was for Gondor; but Seven Stars were about it, and a high crown above it, the signs of Elendil that no lord had borne for years beyond count. And the stars flamed in the sunlight, for they were wrought of gems by Arwen daughter of Elrond; and the crown was bright in the morning, for it was wrought of mithril and gold.

The Battle of the Pelennor Fields, RotK

Thank you to daw the minstrel for beta reading this chapter

Chapter 14: The Wedding

They rode in an open carriage up through the seven levels of the city. As they emerged from the tunnel into the twilight, Elrond heard a barely discernable cry from Arwen and turning, he saw the reason: a small white tree, already covered in blossoms, in the Court of the Fountain.

Aragorn raised Arwen’s hand to his lips and kissed it. “Joy filled me when I saw it. I knew then that what I had waited for all the years of my manhood was about to come to fulfillment.”

The stars dimmed as Arwen smiled, so great was the joy pouring from her.

The carriage halted, and a black and silver clad guard placed a step at the threshold then stood back and bowed as Aragorn stepped forth. Aragorn took Arwen’s hand as she descended, and never had she appeared more regal or elegant to Elrond’s eyes. He followed her from the carriage, taking in the white tower gleaming in the moonlight, the lush grass, and the fragrance of the blossoms on the white tree. An honor guard lined the path, and Elrond was struck momentarily by the youth of one of them. He studied the young man, wondering how he had come to be in the guard, for surely Gondor had not recruited children for such a position.

Celeborn and Galadriel alighted from their carriage with Elladan and Elrohir, and it pulled out of the way as more carriages approached. Those who had ridden up and left their horses on the sixth level were emerging from the tunnel. The air was buzzing with the reunions of friends and the excitement of being in the beautiful city and the events soon to take place.

Elrond’s eyes sought for and quickly found the members of the Company. He heard Gimli’s booming voice, and followed the sound to the gruff dwarf as he bowed before Galadriel, who greeted him warmly. Next to him stood Legolas, and Elrond smiled when he saw the elf smile fondly at the dwarf. So what Galadriel had told him was true – they had indeed become friends. Walking up behind the elf and dwarf were three smaller figures, and Elrond suddenly knew who the youth among the guard was. Though he had heard they were all well, seeing them with his own eyes brought relief to his heart. Mithrandir, Aragorn and Boromir all had reason to travel near Mordor; these ones had not. Though each was a willing volunteer, their fates had rested heavy upon him.

Frodo saw him at the same time. A smile crossed his face as Elrond walked across the stone court to meet him. As they came near, Elrond inclined his head to the hobbit; enough of a bow, he deemed, for Frodo to know the honor with which he held him, but not enough to draw attention he knew the hobbit would not want.

“Frodo Baggins,” he greeted him, looking him over carefully. “You look well.”

Frodo smiled. “I am well, disappointed only that Bilbo did not come.”

Elrond rested a hand on the hobbit’s shoulder as he led him away from the crowds to a quiet seat beyond the White Tree. “He wished to come, but I am afraid the long journey was beyond him. He looks forward to seeing you, and of course wishes me to remind you to keep good notes for his book.”

Frodo laughed, then looked around at the gathering and shook his head. “He would have enjoyed this.”

“Is that your young cousin I see standing in the guard of the Citadel?” asked Elrond, directing Frodo’s gaze to where he could see the young guard now laughing at ease with the others.

“Indeed it is. He has grown taller than any hobbit I know, as has Merry,” replied Frodo. “Ent-draughts are to blame, I understand. I am afraid I still have much to learn of the whole affair of the war before I can tell Bilbo. I have been taking notes.”

Elrond lifted the hobbit’s mutilated hand gently between his own, his healer’s fingers exploring and soothing at the same time. Frodo tensed only for a moment, then relaxed and allowed the examination, such as it was. His eye, though, had fallen upon the ring on Elrond’s hand.

“Could you see It?” he asked in a quiet voice.

Elrond nodded. “It was seeking us all the time.” He turned slightly to meet Frodo’s gaze, though he did not let go of the hobbit’s hand. “We were fortunate to be able to remove ourselves from It, to draw back and shut that door.”

Frodo looked away, pondering his words, and Elrond felt a sudden gratitude that despite the loss of Vilya’s power, his healing and insight had existed before he wielded it, and still existed now. He soothed the hurt that existed deep within Frodo, and took his first glimpse of Frodo’s spirit. He found it in much the same condition as his own. Outwardly Frodo appeared well, for he did not yet realize the extent of the damage done to the core of his being. Elrond had no doubt that disquiet and discontent would grow.

“Does any power remain in it?” asked Frodo, interrupting Elrond’s thoughts.

Elrond turned his hand to look upon the sapphire. “If any does, I cannot tell. The loss was so great that I no longer have a point of reference.”

Frodo’s eyes widened as his understanding grew, and Elrond smiled. He laid Frodo’s hand back upon his knee and then looked up at those walking to them.

“Peregrin Took. I would say you will go home dressed much finer than any sack I could have found for you,” said Elrond.

Pippin grinned as he strutted for a moment in his finery, but then his face grew more serious. “Several times I wished you had tied me in a sack and sent me home, for all the good I was doing,” he admitted. His seriousness fled as fast as it had come. “I am a knight of the King now, I hope you notice.”

Before Elrond could speak, Merry elbowed him and Frodo laughed, “We know, Pippin, we all know!”

The time for visiting was cut short, though, for there were wedding plans to discuss. Elrond excused himself from the hobbits feeling a little lighter of heart. What he had learned of Frodo he tucked away in his mind for further thought.

Aragorn led them to a comfortable room inside the King’s House. Wine and a light meal were prepared and waiting for them. Elrond listened as wedding plans were discussed. It seemed to him that Gondor was using the wedding as an opportunity to celebrate a new beginning – the city was more prepared than one might have expected for having been besieged only months earlier. The wedding itself would be simple, following the customs of the Elves and the Northern Dúnedain, which were not far different from the customs of Gondor.

Despite all that had occupied Aragorn’s time since coming to the city, he clearly had put much thought into this day and to what he thought Arwen might want. Elrond knew that Arwen was prepared; she and Galadriel had spoken long on their journey. Aragorn’s concern for her happiness touched him. He had eyes only for her.

Elrond watched them together, lost in thought. They glowed in the presence of each other. He could not help but remember how he felt when he saw Celebrían the morning of their wedding day – he recalled little of the day itself – the feast, the decorations, the preparations – but he recalled well the pure joy he had felt when he spoke his vows to Celebrían and she to him, and of their joining, which there were no words to describe.

He realized he was happy for them. Soon they would know that same joy.

“Who will stand with each of you for the ceremony?” asked Mithrandir. “Might I assume that Galadriel will stand in place of Celebrían?’

Aragorn and Arwen both looked up and around the table. Arwen spoke first. “Galadriel will stand in place of my mother.”

Elrond met Aragorn’s eyes and read his heart. “If Aragorn so wishes, I would be honored to stand for Arathorn.”

Aragorn nodded in acceptance. “As the father of my youth, there is none I would rather have at my side than you.”

Many smiled to see Mithrandir take such an interest in the proceedings, but only when he was satisfied with the details did he say, “All that is left now is for all to have a good night’s rest.” He rose. “Until morning, then.”

Laughter rippled about the room at being so dismissed, yet the hour was late. Aragorn led them to their chambers, a spacious apartment with multiple sleeping rooms that opened onto a comfortable sitting room. They found Glorfindel and Erestor sipping wine on a balcony off the main room.

“Come, Aragorn,” said Elladan suddenly. “There are certain brotherly rituals that must be observed on this the eve of your wedding.”

Aragorn laughed, his gaze resting on Arwen. She stepped forward and took his hands in hers. “Go, my love. Galadriel and I have to prepare my gown.”

Aragorn kissed her hands and bowed, then walked to the door, the twins close behind him. He stopped though, and turned to face Elrond. “There are things for us to discuss yet,” he began.

“I have some thoughts, but they may wait until morning,” replied Elrond. He raised a paternal brow of warning at his sons, but before he could speak, the twins trapped Aragorn between them and led him through the door. “Good night, Adar,” they chorused. Elrond could hear them laughing down the hall.

Arwen and Galadriel disappeared into Arwen’s chamber, and Celeborn poured himself a cup of wine and joined Glorfindel and Erestor on the balcony. Elrond stood alone in the middle of the room for a moment. He did not wish to speak to anyone, for weariness had again settled on him. He felt strangely isolated, a feeling he had recognized and grown accustomed to on the journey south. Life was moving forward around him, while he seemed to shrink further away from it. He was swept along with the current, yet no longer in control of where it led him. He entered his chamber, changed into a loose tunic and went to bed.

He found himself on the path of dreams despite his weariness. He saw Celebrían immediately, waiting to meet him. He hesitated, for she looked so pure and radiant that he did not wish to sully the glow about her with the shadows that burdened him. She did not hesitate, but lifted her skirt and ran to him, though it appeared to his eyes that she glided on air. When she wrapped her arms about him, he felt her strength flow into him.

He meant to resist, for he did not wish to burden her. When she had left the shores of Middle-earth her spirit had been weak and fading, and he had given her all the strength he could for the journey. What he sensed now was a spirit not recovered to what it had been, but a spirit stronger than it had ever been. She surrounded and enveloped him, pouring strength and love into him as if she had a limitless supply. Where his heart was frayed, she soothed it, but there was no healing. He searched her heart for the same wound and found it.

She allowed him to find it, he realized. She was being upheld by others. There is no point in mending a wound that is soon to be rent further asunder, came the message. His heart sank. He did not fear pain, but he wanted this day without blemish for their daughter. And the one you called son, Celebrían reminded him.

Her words were spoken with love, in agreement. Five hundred years they had waited for Aragorn, for Estel, but in their victory they had lost their daughter. The sweet with the bitter, for all victories cost something of great value. He needed to hide his pain and be joyful for them. There was so much he wished to say, but as he spoke to her, offered his apologies and begged her forgiveness, the hum of her love drowned out his words. She lay down beside him and held him close until morning came.

* * *

Elrond woke with the dawn feeling refreshed in a way that he had not for many weeks. He dressed and entered the sitting room to find everyone else already gathered. Many a worried eye followed him, to which he smiled in reassurance. He was ready for the day, as unusual as it might be.

“Adar, I volunteer to have the father-in-law talk with Aragorn,” announced Elladan.

Elrond raised a brow at the gleam in his son’s eyes. Though a more informal custom among the elves, it was a treasured one, a time of letting go of one’s child and setting expectations while making the new member of the family feel welcome. It was also a time of humor, not so much in the talk but in the build up to it.

Elrond had considered this on their journey. He was the father of the bride, but also the surrogate father of the groom. Aragorn was part of their family already. They had helped his mother raise him; if he were not the kind of person they wished Arwen to marry, they had only themselves to blame. On this day, he would act on Aragorn’s behalf in presenting a gift to Arwen. He would act on Arwen’s behalf by speaking with her future husband. He was unwilling to give up either responsibility to any other.

“No,” he answered, laughing and shaking his head. He smiled at them. “I assume he kept you two in line last evening?”

Elrohir laughed, while Elladan feigned offense. “I am hurt, Adar, at your lack of confidence in us.” Then he grinned. “Aragorn has become too grim and serious as it is. You will not need to make him more so.”

“Elrond was much the same way,” said Celeborn. “I had pity on him that day, though even if I had not, his only thoughts were of Celebrían and I doubt he heard anything I said regardless.”

Elrond smiled at the memory. He finished preparing his breakfast from the fruit and pastries spread out on the table in the corner and sat down next to Celeborn. “We spoke that day?” he asked.

Celeborn gave him a withering look, but then smiled. “We were in a situation somewhat similar to yours. We were involved in your youth and upbringing and lived in your house for many years. There was little to say to you except to welcome you formally into our house.”

“I will be sure to speak to Aragorn when Arwen is out of his sight, so that I might have as much of his attention as possible,” replied Elrond.

He ate while listening to the banter about him. He was glad for the activity, for somehow it helped him focus on all that was to come. When he saw the sun’s midmorning glow creeping in the windows, he knew it was time. He wondered yet again how he could feel like he was marching to a death knell, all the while seeing such joy around him. He rose and returned to his chamber. Glorfindel followed him.

“What do you expect to happen today?” asked Glorfindel.

Elrond stopped in his tracks, finally turning to face his friend after a long silence.

“I do not know,” he admitted. “I am as prepared as I am able to be.”

“You must not try to bear this alone,” warned Glorfindel.

Elrond clenched and unclenched his fist several times, warring with his pride, before answering, “I will not.” He took a deep breath. “Stay near to me.”

Glorfindel nodded, then walked to Elrond and placed his hands on Elrond’s shoulders. Elrond felt strength flow into him, a soothing golden glow. “When you have need, let that light be your guide,” instructed Glorfindel.

Elrond nodded, speaking his gratitude without words. Then Glorfindel left him, and Elrond went to meet Aragorn.

He found him in the king’s chambers, in his sitting room. Externally, he appeared calm and composed. Yet Elrond could still easily read him, and found barely constrained excitement and passion. There was even a touch of anxiety present; a strange thing to perceive in this very confident man.

Aragorn rose as the guard escorted Elrond inside. Elrond did what he had not done publicly the day before and embraced him warmly. Aragorn accepted and returned the embrace, then pulled back and studied him carefully.

“How do you fare?” asked Aragorn.

Elrond smiled. “I fare well, Aragorn. My sorrow diminishes in the light of your joy and Arwen’s happiness.”

Elrond wandered around the room, admiring the tasteful décor and the many works of art that graced the walls. This room spoke of the long history of men in Middle-earth, but also of their past in Númenor. One particular painting caught his eye, and he walked to it. He reached into his pocket and drew forth a pendant, and held it up to a painting.

“Is that the same jewel?” asked Aragorn in wonder. He took the white jewel and held it to the canvas, near where it hung from the neck of a Dúnedain woman.

“It is,” replied Elrond. He smiled at Aragorn. “I spoke only a partial truth yesterday when I placed the Scepter of Arnor in your hand. This is the last token of your heritage in my possession. Gilraen gave it to me when she left Imladris.”

Aragorn looked at him questioningly, a slight shadow crossing his face at the mention of his mother.

“This has passed from mother to daughter-in-law from the time of Silmariën all the way to your mother. She came to see me before she left Imladris. She knew that many years would pass before your time came, and even then she knew she would not be there to see it. She asked me to stand in Arathorn’s place on the day you wed, for I had been the father of your youth, and she gave this into my keeping. I told her I would, if you so wished it.

“When she learned that you and Arwen had troth-plighted, she wrote and released me from my promise. I told her of my conditions, and that if this day came and you so wished it, I would be honored to stand by the man I had helped raise.”

“I do so wish it,” replied Aragorn solemnly. “Many things have come to pass, some directly by your hand and others indirectly with your guidance, and I know that I stand here today because of the sacrifice of many. In my joy, I do not forget the pain I have caused you.”

“I will not deny my sorrow, Aragorn son of Arathorn, but you are not the cause. With loves comes the risk of pain. I tarried long in Middle-earth, waiting for one who had been foretold. I must admit I had my doubts as I watched the North Kingdom fail and many hearts turn to evil. There was little strength left in the Dúnedain, but only a little strength was needed. A remnant survived. Then suddenly you were in my house, long before the time of fostering, a two year old child, fatherless, hunted, and the hope of Men rested on you. All motivation begins with duty, but it did not take you long to capture my heart and soon I loved you as my own son. All the while I knew that one day I must give you up, return you to your own people, and I had to prepare you for that day and for your future.”

Elrond reached out and smoothed Aragorn’s hair back, a familiar paternal touch.

“I know Gilraen’s death weighed heavy upon your heart. Do not think her weak. She was so young when she came to us, full of grief, and in exile. Imladris was a beautiful prison to her. She never felt like she truly belonged, and when she returned home, she felt she no longer belonged there either. She was weary of life, yet she never once regretted her decision. She was a warrior who fought her battles with great stamina and perseverance. You get your strength of character from your mother as well as your father.”

As Aragorn’s eyes glistened, Elrond changed the course of the conversation. He held up the jewel again.

“Legend tells that this was a gift of the elves of Tol Eresseä to Númenor. Some power dwells within it, to comfort and to heal, and it fills the senses with the wonder of the west. It was given as a token of friendship, a sign that the bearer was an elf-friend. On behalf of Arathorn and Gilraen, I will give it to Arwen.”

Aragorn took the gem in his hand and caressed it, closing his eyes and allowing his other senses to be filled with that wonder. He frowned and opened his eyes. “But will it bring Arwen comfort, or despair for what she has forsaken?”

Elrond felt the pain in his heart grow. “I do not know. I trust Arwen will set it aside if it pains her or otherwise put it to good purpose.”

Aragorn covered his hands, jewel and all, and smiled. “Now do you change roles and lecture me on being a proper husband?”

“Elladan and Elrohir have prepared you for that, I assume,” replied Elrond dryly. He sat and motioned for Aragorn to sit beside him. “Whatever intimation they have made is the worst you will experience. I have no doubts about the kind of husband you will make. I will follow Celeborn’s lead instead, and tell you what I have learned of being a husband.”

To Elrond’s surprise, Aragorn visibly relaxed.

“Cherish your wife, for she is a most valuable person. Know that her family feels that they have entrusted to you their most precious treasure. Listen to her and treat her like your partner. She has wisdom and experience that will complement your own.” Elrond paused, closing his eyes, girding himself for the next part he wished to say. His pain must have shown on his face, for he felt Aragorn again take his hands. Warmth and healing spread through him. He opened his eyes and looked into what had become a noble face. Aragorn’s eyes were filled with compassion. “The hands of the king are hands of healing,” murmured Elrond. He composed himself, then continued, “The Gift of Men is far off in your future, my son, and I do not wish to dwell on such a topic on this your wedding day. But that is my last word of caution to you: I do fear the Doom of Men will be difficult for Arwen at the end.”

Aragorn squeezed his hands. “I will treasure this advice, as I have all the advice you have given me. I will not forget your fears for Arwen.”

Elrond rose. “I shall go to her. The feast is due to begin shortly.”

He left the King of Gondor and returned to the apartments assigned to the elves. He knocked on Arwen’s door and was granted admittance by Galadriel. He walked into the room to greet his daughter. He watched her for a moment as she fixed the gems that hung from her headdress, then she turned to face him and took his breath away. He went to her, kissed her hand and bowed before her.

“You, my daughter, are breathtaking,” he managed.

For she was. Her dress and hair were stunning, but more than any outward adornment, she shone from within. A sudden vision appeared before him, of Celebrían on their wedding day. Then silver faded to ebony, and Arwen again stood before him. “Your naneth would be so happy for you, so proud of the woman you’ve become.”

Arwen smiled sadly at the mention of Celebrían, and Elrond knew she had been much in her daughter’s thoughts this day. He gave her the white gem, explaining its origin to her. She held it in her hands.

“Power remains in this gem,” she said. She did not put it on, but instead tucked it carefully away.

“Will you be well today, Adar?” she asked.

“I am and will be well,” replied Elrond. “Do not worry. This is your day, yours and Aragorn’s, which you have long awaited. Today that is all you must concern yourself with.”

He left her to finish her preparations, and returned to his own chamber. He dressed in the clothing he had brought for this day, elegant robes of sapphire blue trimmed in silver. He placed his circlet on his head. He carried no devices, but elves serving as his standard bearers would carry the flags of Imladris. Galadriel and Celeborn would, he knew, be similarly turned out in the dove-grey and white of Lothlórien, with their banners prominent. The people of Gondor would know their new queen came of her own fine lineage.

He stepped on to the balcony of his room, which overlooked the Court of the Fountain. Aragorn had chosen this site for the ceremony, for he wished for the White Tree to be visible; a sign of prophecy fulfilled. A canopy was set up and decorated in the colors and devices of Gondor and Arnor. The banners of Imladris and Lothlórien flew in the breeze on the bride’s side.

“Adar, it is time.”

Elrond turned at the sound of Elladan’s voice. He had been so lost in thought he had not heard his son come in, and he chastised himself for allowing his defenses to be lax.

His sons stood side by side, identical in every aspect of dress and appearance. He smiled in approval. A short rap on the door preceded Glorfindel’s arrival. His costume and appearance was as day to their night. He glowed in gold, white and blue, a mixture of the colors of his house and that of Imladris.

They met Arwen, Galadriel and Celeborn in the sitting area, and Arwen and Elrond led the way to the feast, walking out the door and through the outer court the short distance to the entrance of Merethrond, the Hall of Feasts.

They entered to music and much talking, but the voices fell silent and only the musicians continued as they walked to the head table. There Aragorn waited. As was tradition, the head table was a mix of both families. Those of the northern rangers still in the city stood behind chairs, but also Faramir and Imrahil as representatives of Gondor, and of course, Mithrandir. Arwen walked to Aragorn with Elrond and her brothers behind her.

Mithrandir spoke words of welcome, then the feast began.

Elrond spoke little. He listened to those who sat near him, reading hearts as well as words. There was much joy to be found, even among those who had suffered and lost loved ones. He was glad for what he saw and heard, for each one spoke of hope for the future. It was clear to his eyes that Arwen was immersed in this future, giving herself over to it fully.

When the feast had ended, Mithrandir led them outside to the wedding canopy. The sun was still high, and it shone upon them from a cloudless sky. Many people of the city crowded the terrace, erupting in cheers and song as their king and soon to be queen walked among them. Silence fell when Mithrandir stopped at the canopy and held up his hand.

Elrond took his place at Aragorn’s side, while Galadriel stood at Arwen’s. Celeborn stood just beyond Galadriel, her arm wrapped in his. Elrond sensed Glorfindel’s presence at his side, and his sons beyond them. Family, friends and official representatives of Gondor gathered around.

Aragorn and Arwen faced each other, and Aragorn began. He removed the silver ring from her finger and tucked it into his pocket, then spoke, “With Manwë as my witness, I wed thee, Arwen, and take thee for my wife. I will love, honor, protect and serve thee until time ends.” He slipped a gold ring on to her finger.

Arwen took his hand and slipped the silver ring from it and placed it in a fold of her dress specially designed for this purpose. “With Varda as my witness, I wed thee, Aragorn and take thee for my husband. I will love, honor, cherish and serve thee until time ends.” She slipped a gold band on to his finger.”

As Arwen spoke, Elrond felt the pain growing within him as his bond with his daughter strained and pulled from one of elvish life to that of mortal. He was suddenly aware of the presence of others in his mind, of Galadriel and Celeborn and Glorfindel, but they faded as he sensed Celebrían in a way he had not for over 500 years. The pain eased a little and his mind cleared as he heard Galadriel speak.

“Before Eru our daughter has spoken. Let her be joined for eternity to Aragorn, raise with loving care and joy any children that He entrusts to them, and live with her husband in honor and truth. Aragorn becomes a son of our house from this day forward.”

With Celebrían supporting him and Glorfindel’s light surrounding him, Elrond spoke.

“Before Eru our son has spoken. Let him be joined for eternity to Arwen, raise with loving care and joy any children entrusted to them, and live with his wife in honor and truth. Arwen becomes a daughter of our house from this day forward.”

“Before Eru we pronounce our children wed. They may now live together as husband and wife and consummate their bond,” finished Celeborn.

Aragorn took Arwen in his arms and kissed her deeply, and the ring of family and friends around them parted. The newlyweds turned and walked forward through the opening made for them. Behind them, Mithrandir announced in a loud voice, “Behold the King Elessar and Queen Arwen Úndomiel!

Cheers of blessing and long life rose in crescendo as the King and Queen of the Reunited Kingdom walked among their people.

Elrond felt Celebrían’s presence dissipate somewhat, and he steeled himself against the growing ache in his heart. Glorfindel unobtrusively moved closer to aid him, and then Celeborn and Galadriel closed the gap that Aragorn and Arwen had just walked through to stand with them.

I sensed her, too. Her presence was strong and healed and whole, came Galadriel’s thought.

Elrond clasped his hands together to keep them from shaking. When we met on the Path of Dreams, she wrapped me in her presence and I felt her strength. But never in conscious waking have I experienced her this way since she departed.

Others are supporting her, people of power, replied Galadriel in his mind.

Elrond recalled how the Valar had cared for him after Elros made his choice. Perhaps they were supporting Celebrían, and through her, him. It comforted him to know that Celebrían did not face this alone.

They turned their attention to Aragorn and Arwen, who were now walking among their friends. Music again played, and impromptu dancing had begun. Wine and ale flowed. Elrond was pleased to see the elves of Imladris and Lothlórien joining in the celebrations, mingling with the humans, and with the hobbits. He watched the ease with which all three of his children melded into this society, but Arwen in particular. She has come into her own, he realized. She is in her element. Despite the pain in his heart, peace about her choice settled on him.

* * *

Aragorn and Arwen retired from the festivities quietly, aided by the twins and Faramir, who knew all the means of slipping away unnoticed. The celebration would continue long into the night, though already guards had begun sending some home to their beds as ale loosed their tongues and restrained their thoughts.

Elrond waited until they were gone, then also slipped into the night. He found Celeborn and Galadriel already in the sitting area and others on the balcony, watching as the stars grew bright and Ithil rose to its zenith.

“Eärendil flies low this night,” said Celeborn. “See how bright he shines.”

Elrond moved to the balcony and watched as his sire passed overhead. He had often wondered how much Eärendil knew of the events occurring in Middle-earth. Many people below in the Court of the Fountain were also watching his voyage, their voices rising in awe at what they were seeing. That he would choose to shine so bright over Minas Tirith on this night of all nights was a sign to the Elves that he did indeed know of the events of the day.

“Eärendil’s heart was with Men,” said Celeborn softly beside him. “On this night, he sees the long sundered lines of his sons reunited in the birth of a new age.”

“It is comforting to know that he will continue to watch over Arwen and Aragon and their descendents long into the future,” replied Elrond finally.

He left them on the balcony and went to his own chamber. The maids had been busy despite the celebrations, and he found the candles lit, warm water waiting for him to wash, wine to drink, and the bed plumped and prepared for sleep. He undressed from his finery slowly, then loosened his braids, brushed his hair and washed. For several months now he had found himself needing sleep in quantities he had not needed since he was a child. He was actually grateful for that, for he knew that those afflicted with the sea longing often couldn’t find rest. Celeborn said Galadriel often wandered in the night now, the wind and stars providing comfort when nothing else would.

And she was not the only one. Galadriel said Legolas was also so afflicted and was learning to tolerate it, for so long as he must.

He poured a cup of wine and set it on his bedside table, then settled himself to read from the comfort of the pillows. He had been reading poems and lays of the deeds and victories of the elves of Middle-earth, and their friendship and alliance with Men. They anchored him, reminded him of all they had fought for these many years.

He was deep into an account of Gil-galad, much of which he had written himself, when a sudden emptiness overcame him. He forced himself to breathe, for he felt like he was suffocating. He dropped the book as grief filled him.

Arwen had consummated her wedding bond; her fëa was now bound to a mortal and sundered from him and the elves. He grasped at the final threads that bound them, learning the feel of them, their kind and texture and strength. They were all he would have until her death.

Celebrían’s presence blossomed in his mind in the next moment, and he gathered himself enough to blow out the candles, set aside his book and follow her to the Path of Dreams. Sleep came easily, despite the pain and grief in his heart, and he found her waiting for him. She wrapped her arms around him and held him close, and together they grieved what they had lost.

* * * * *

A/N: All of the history of the white jewel is made up. A personal note here: it is that white jewel that led me to fanfiction. When I read the books, I wanted to know what that white jewel was, where it got its power from, why Arwen had it, and why she gave it to Frodo. I searched the Internet for an answer. I read pretty much everything Tolkien had written and didn’t find my answer. So, three and a half years later, I’m finally making up my own! It will unfold in the next chapter.

I’ve always planned on having Elrond stand for Aragorn’s father in the spirit of LACE. I think that is one of the most bittersweet things to have him do, showing that despite his own pain, he nonetheless loves Aragorn too.

From Appendix A: Then Aragorn, being now the Heir of Isildur, was taken with his mother to dwell in the house of Elrond; and Elrond took the place of his father and came to love him as a son of his own. Though Elrond gave Estel back to his people, and he became Aragorn, son of Arathorn, Elrond remains the father of his youth.

Thank you to daw the minstrel for beta reading this chapter

Chapter 15: Queen of Elves and Men

But the Queen Arwen said: ‘A gift I will give you. For I am the daughter of Elrond. I shall not go with him now when he departs to the Havens; for mine is the choice of Lúthien, and as she so have I chosen, both the sweet and the bitter. But in my stead you shall go, Ring-bearer, when the time comes, and if you then desire it. If your hurts grieve you still and the memory of your burden is heavy, then you may pass into the West, until all your wounds and weariness are healed. But wear this now in memory of Elfstone and Evenstar with whom your life has been woven!’

And she took a white gem like a star that lay upon her breast hanging upon a silver chain, and she set the chain about Frodo’s neck. ‘When the memory of the fear and the darkness troubles you,’ she said, ‘this will bring you aid.’

Many Partings, RotK

Elrond came to wakefulness slowly. He felt like he was being lifted from a deep fog, the mists clearing as the sun’s bright light burnt them away. He lay still for a moment, watching the sun’s rays dance across the wall. Then his body’s internal sense of time seemed to reset itself and he realized it was long past dawn.

He sat up abruptly, then closed his eyes as the world spun around him.

“Take your time. Nothing pressing waits on you,” said a voice from the corner.

Elrond blew out a long breath and opened his eyes, focusing immediately on the figure in the corner. Annoyance filled him.

“How long have you been there?” he asked.

“Not long,” replied Mithrandir. “You awakened in response to my entrance, if that eases your mind.”

“It does not,” said Elrond tersely, but his ill humor fled quickly. It seemed too much effort to hold on to such a feeling when he had to focus on managing the deep emptiness in his heart.

Mithrandir rose and walked to the bed, then sat down in a chair beside it. Elrond was still amazed at the change in the wizard, for seemingly the old man had been burnt away on Zirakzigil, replaced by this lighter being. His movements flowed with new grace.

Mithrandir’s keen gaze bored into him, and Elrond recognized the power of the Maiar.

Finally uncloaked, his true nature would be obvious even to one who had never seen such beings in their natural state. His eyes rested on Narya, visible on the wizard’s hand.

“What effect on you, Mithrandir?”

The wizard reached out with his right hand and took Elrond’s from where it rested on the coverlet. Vilya did not respond as it once had to the presence of another of the Three, noted Elrond absently.

“No, nor does Narya,” replied Mithrandir at length. “Its power has diminished as well.” He smiled. “Were I still Gandalf the Grey, I may have found that lost more significant, though still less than you or Galadriel.”

“Or Frodo,” murmured Elrond.

“Yes,” added Mithrandir, “or Frodo. Then you see it too.”

“The damage is deep, far deeper than he knows. His disquiet will grow, and eventually it will consume him.” Elrond’s voice sounded dull even to his own ears, and his pronouncement of Frodo’s fate so flat and emotionless that he winced.

“Much like yours,” answered Mithrandir gently.

Elrond would have pulled his hand away, but Mithrandir tightened his grip. “You have said to me that the time of the Elves is ending, that soon they will leave these shores. What plans have you made?”

Elrond closed his eyes again, the pain in his heart constricting his breathing. His thoughts swirled in turmoil. How could he leave his daughter? Yet how could he stay? How could he bear to be apart from Celebrían any longer, now that his work here was done? Would she want him to come, or stay with Arwen? With great effort he corralled his thoughts.

“I do not think that decision must be made today,” he finally said.

He opened his eyes and focused on the wizard, willing his word to be the final one on the matter, at least for now.

Mithrandir laughed. “I did not ask for your decision. I asked what plans had been made thus far.” He released Elrond’s hand, and Elrond felt abandoned, so great had been the strength flowing into him. “Take your time rising. Glorfindel guards your door.” With that, he left Elrond alone.

Elrond sank into the pillows and brooded in silence. He reached inside himself and felt for his bonds with his children. His sons he sensed as he normally did - dimmer perhaps considering their nearness, but it was clear they were well – but his daughter was already only a faint memory of what had once been. Within his heart was a dull ache, his pain echoing in the empty place she had once filled. Fragile threads tying her to him were present, and much as he had done during the night, he explored them, memorized them, already fearing the day they would disappear.

He instinctively reached his hand across the sheets, seeking Celebrían, and his heart thudded a dismal beat when she was not there. She had seemed so real last night, so close even during the wedding the day before. He drew in a deep ragged breath, struggling to gain control of himself. He felt like he was sinking into a black abyss.

Then golden light surrounded him and he felt the familiar presence of Glorfindel. He trustingly followed that presence back to the present, and soon was looking up into concerned blue eyes. Concern faded, replaced by a warm smile.

“It is time you were up,” said Glorfindel lightly. “You must be hungry, and your sons would do well to see you.”

Elrond took the hand offered to him and let Glorfindel pull him upright. The world began to spin, but as he focused on Glorfindel he felt his surroundings settle. Warmth and calm filled him as he trusted in what the elf offered him.

He rose to his feet under strength not his own and drank in all Glorfindel could give him. He chose when to release the elf’s hand and move about on his own, washing and dressing knowing that aid was only a short distance away. When he returned, he saw the approval in Glorfindel’s eyes.

Following Glorfindel from the room, he entered the common room to find many of his House about, despite the lateness of the day. He was aware of the surreptitious glances directed his way, then humbled as strength flowed into him from seemingly casual touches to his arm by those with that gift, and brushes against his mind from those more powerful. He would be a poor leader indeed if he would not accept the help of his people when it was offered.

As Galadriel’s mind touched his, he heard the call of the sea. She was buffeted by strong winds and rolling waves that tugged at her relentlessly. Yet he could feel her strength despite the loss of Nenya’s power and the growing restlessness within her. But she cannot stay came the unbidden thought.

Galadriel did not respond to that. She smiled at him, sadly he thought, and then moved closer to Celeborn. The silver elf took her hand and Elrond sensed the immediate calming of her spirit at the touch of her spouse.

“Good morning, Adar.”

Elrond felt Elladan’s touch at the same time that he heard the words, and he turned to greet his son. To his credit, Elladan did not ask after Elrond’s state of mind or body. Elrond took the cup his son offered to him and sat down to eat the food that had seemingly appeared out of nowhere. He found he was not hungry, but he ate a few bites to satisfy his sons and Glorfindel. An interruption came, however, sparing him the need to rearrange the remaining morsels on his plate.

“Arwen!”

“Aragorn!”

Elrond stood as they entered the room. They were immediately surrounded, the low voices of the elves rising in joy. As bodies filled the space between where Elrond stood and the door where Aragorn and Arwen greeted their friends and family, the area seemed to expand and they diminished into the distance. His eyes met Arwen’s. Gone was his daughter, and in her place was the Queen of Men, bound and bonded to their race and their fate.

Numb and empty, he reached for the back of the chair next to him. While steadying himself physically, he attempted to gain control of his emotions. He felt Galadriel’s sea within him, the wind and waves tossing him like a ship lost in a storm. He both loathed and feared this weakness, and it helped only a little to remind himself that he had known such a time would come.

A beacon appeared, burning through the clouds and mists of turbulent waters to guide him to safety. Then he was back in Minas Tirith, surrounded by elves with their feet firmly planted on dry ground, and hidden beneath the wide sleeve of his robe, Glorfindel’s hand covered his.

Again steady, he tried to remove his hand from between the chair and Glorfindel so that he could go and greet his daughter and son-in-law, but Glorfindel clasped his hand tighter. Then Mithrandir appeared behind Aragorn, whispering in his ear. Aragorn spoke quietly to Arwen, who nodded. She cast one more fleeting glance upon her father before Mithrandir shepherded them from the room.

A cup was pressed into Elrond’s free hand, and he drank the miruvor contained within it. It revived him, but the strength and healing was far less than what Elrond anticipated. In that moment, despair filled him.

He heard the sound of voices around him, then Glorfindel took his arm and guided him from the room, speaking words that sounded like nonsense, about scrolls and history. Then he was in the chamber appointed for him, and he sank on to the bed, closing his eyes to the world around him. He felt Glorfindel’s gentle touch again and went unresisting to a sleep where rest would be found.

* * *

When Elrond next awoke, he first glanced around the room before attempting to move. Glorfindel reclined on the narrow balcony, his feet resting upon the balustrade, his hands cupped behind his head, drinking in the sun. Elrond had no idea what the time was, and he had to ponder for a moment before he remembered what direction his room faced to know if it was the morning or evening sun in which Glorfindel was basking.

He rose carefully this time, but while he felt more fragile, he also felt steadier upon his feet. As aware as he was of Glorfindel’s presence, he realized anew how comforting it was, and how comfortable he was with it. He could be weak in the presence of this friend and protector.

He walked to the balcony and looked over the square, watching as elves and men mingled beneath the setting sun. Near the White Tree, Lindir led a group of elvish minstrels. Interspersed among them were human minstrels, and Elrond realized they were teaching one another. As he listened, he could make their words, and realized Lindir was explaining some of the ways elves recognized the different mortal contributions to a particular song. He felt a smile spread across his face when he saw Frodo sitting nearby, laughing.

“I imagine Bilbo will be quite proud to think he taught Lindir a thing or two, especially after being told hobbits and humans were all sheep to him,” mused Glorfindel. He looked appraisingly at Elrond. “I have asked that a tray be sent. You must be hungry.”

Elrond raised a brow. “Sleeping has hardly roused my appetite since noon, my friend.”

Glorfindel’s face grew grave. “You have slept long, Elrond, and it has done you much good. Do not cast that look on me,” he warned, and Elrond obediently relaxed his mien at the sudden presence of the stern warrior.

“How long?” he finally asked.

“It is the third day since the wedding,” Glorfindel informed him. He paused for a moment as Elrond let that fact settle in his mind. “Only a handful of times have I feared for you since I have known you, Elrond Peredhel, and this is one of them. Therefore I am going to be blunt: you cannot stay in Middle-earth. Neither can Galadriel, and I think perhaps there are a few others who are in need of the same healing. Your work is accomplished; it is time for you to go to Celebrían.”

Elrond felt a searing pain as a vision of Arwen flashed in his mind. As quickly as it had come, he felt the pain and vision chased from him. Awareness came back to him quickly, and he looked into the face of Glorfindel, down on one knee before him, grasping his hands firmly. “You should not have seen Arwen that morning. She should not have come.” When Elrond would have protested, Glorfindel shook his head. “Her grandfather warned her that you might not be able to bear her presence when your fëar were so newly sundered. She did not heed that advice, but she now understands.”

“Do not be angry with her,” rasped Elrond, his voice suddenly hoarse with unshed tears.

“I am not angry with her,” replied Glorfindel evenly. “Arwen has wished to order events in the way that she sees fit, a trait from childhood.” He laughed softly. “A very human trait, I might add.”

Silence fell. Elrond lost himself for a moment in his memories of a daughter who had tried to do exactly as Glorfindel said. Only when he met Glorfindel’s gaze did the elf continue. “She understands now,” he repeated.

Elrond read into the words spoken the real meaning that Glorfindel was conveying. “Her happiness is marred,” he said slowly.

“She knew that her joy would be found in a cup of bitterness,” replied Glorfindel. “Knowing it and experiencing it are very different, as you well know.”

Elrond bowed his head as the implication of that took root in his heart. Would his very presence bring sorrow or joy, or both, to her? “I should speak to her,” he murmured.

“In time,” answered Glorfindel. “Aragorn and her brothers and grandparents are with her; she is not alone with her sorrows. Already today I saw a new depth to her, for from suffering is born an understanding of grief. She is strengthened, not diminished, as one would expect of the daughter of Elrond.”

“There are few in Gondor not acquainted with sorrow,” observed Elrond.

“And yet they too know great joy,” reminded Glorfindel. “Why should their queen be any different? Humans are this strange mixture of perseverance and hope despite the overwhelming grief and sorrow of their short existence.”

Glorfindel rose in response to a soft knock at the door, and when he returned he had a tray laden with food. “This is perhaps enough to feed a half dozen,” he laughed. “I asked for your sons to be found and sent to you; perhaps they can aid you in making the cooks happy. You will eat, though, and then sleep again, for tomorrow there are some who need your opinions and others your assistance. Our days here are short.”

Elrond did not have time to ponder those words, for another knock on the door was followed by the entrance of his sons. He watched as the concern in their eyes lessened as they saw him. Elladan took up his customary position nearest the door, guard and protector, while Elrohir sat at his father’s knee, offering his love and support. They entertained him with the stories of the last few days and all they had seen and heard, and he was grateful for the respite from his own pain and cares. He noted the looks shared between Glorfindel and his sons, but was too weary to concern himself with what they meant.

* * *

The next day was overcast and stormy. The servants tending the quarters of the elves kept closing the doors and windows, and the elves would prop them open again, positioning them to limit any raindrops entering the rooms while still allowing the inflow of fresh air. Elrond watched as Glorfindel again propped open the door to the balcony. Something caught the elf’s eye, for he did not move away, but remained watching. Curious, Elrond joined him.

On a low edge of the wall overlooking the great precipice to the Pelennor below, he could see two figures. One he would recognize anywhere: Arwen, her summer cloak blowing in the wind. Her dark hair she had restrained. She seemed unaffected by the unusual chill in the air as she sat watching the far off white-blue flashes of lightning of the approaching storm. Next to her was a smaller figure, a hobbit, wrapped in his Lórien cloak. If Arwen were not next to him, he might have blended into the white-gray stone of the wall.

Only when the winds grew violent and rain drops had begun to spatter the ground did the two climb down from their perch and return to the King’s House. Elrond watched until they were out of sight, passing through the arched entrance and into the gardens.

He had not spoken to her since the night of her wedding, now four days past. He had spent the day as Glorfindel had said, seeing to those in need of his aid. There were several in the Houses of Healing with wounds that had not healed. All of them, Elrond had found, were suffering from more than physical wounds. The Black Breath lingered, casting deep shadows upon their souls and slowing their healing. He had tended them all with Elrohir at his side and Glorfindel lending him strength.

With all the grace he possessed, he had allowed his son and Glorfindel to shepherd him back to his chambers when he had finished, like an elfling in need of a nap. He had bitten his tongue and restrained his annoyance, and was glad for it when Elrohir had wrapped his arms about him for a moment. He had seen his son’s tears of sorrow, sorrow for him, for the state he was in, for letting them take care of him. Elrond had seen deeper, to sorrow for the sister he and his twin would lose, despite the love for a foster brother who was now a true brother of their house. Mortality would cleave their house in half, and those tied to the fate of Arda would live long with that sorrow. Elrond had let Elrohir comfort him, for that was the only comfort he could give to his son.

Now he wished to see Arwen. He was just about to excuse himself and seek her out when there came a knock at the door. He had opened it before Glorfindel could stand.

“Elrond, Arwen wishes to speak with us,” said Celeborn. The silver elf gave a nod to Glorfindel, including him in the invitation.

Elrond followed Celeborn to the same room they had met in to discuss the wedding plans. Mithrandir and Galadriel were already present. Aragorn had deferred the position at the head of the table to the Maia, and sat to his right with Arwen at his side. Where Aragorn was dressed and groomed as a king about his day, his bride was windblown and flushed from her time out in the storm. She rose as they entered, taking a step forward only to have Aragorn take her hand, in comfort or restraint, Elrond was not sure. Their eyes met and he saw her lower lip tremble, and he read her fears. He smiled and held out one hand to her, and she rushed to him.

The room faded as she clutched him, and he almost felt rather than heard her desperate whispers in his ear. “I am sorry, Adar. I did not know. I did not understand.”

Strength came to him. He bowed his head, touching it to hers, and spoke directly into her mind. No apologies, my beloved. There is no pain I would not bear for you.

In comforting her, he was comforted. He felt both of their hearts and minds calm, and then she was looking up at him, and in her eyes he saw her bonded love for Aragorn and the hope of mankind. He released her, then guided her back to her chair, holding it and seating her. Aragorn stood still, his keen eyes moving from his wife to his father, and he bowed to Elrond before resuming his seat.

Elrond took a chair next to Galadriel, who sat upon Mithrandir’s left. The wizard looked at each person at the table in turn, then settled his gaze on Arwen. “Lady Arwen,” he said with a nod.

All eyes were upon her, but Arwen’s gaze was fixed on Elrond, and he could feel her need for him to understand what she wished to say. The new distance between them made her slightly unsure, and he exerted his will to her, encouraging her to begin.

“I have made a request of Mithrandir, for his aid in attaining permission for a gift to be given to Frodo,” she began. She looked down for a moment and Elrond saw Aragorn cover her hand and clasp it tightly, his wedding band visible. “In Imladris, when Frodo awakened after recovery from his injury, already the damage done to his soul was visible. The shard within him had caused his body to begin to consume itself, for then the shard would find his very soul, until then hidden from it. The shard was defeated, yet the clear light we had seen within Frodo continued to grow. His spirit was still free, but damage had been done and the process of his spirit consuming his body could not be stopped. We wondered then what his fate would be.”

Arwen had stood as she spoke, and now she rested behind Aragorn, one hand on his shoulder. “When Gwaihir brought him from Orodruin, there was little light left in him. The burden of the ring had scarred not only his body but his soul. Even free of it, he suffers.” Arwen took a deep breath and settled her gaze on her father and grandmother. “Much as the other Ring-bearers suffer. I cannot fully understand how a hobbit fades, but Frodo is fading. His spirit is more restless and weary than he understands. He believes he needs only to return to his beloved uncle and home, yet you, Mithrandir, agree that he will not find rest there.”

“No,” agreed Mithrandir, “he will not. But he does need to see Bilbo and return to the Shire.”

“But not forever,” continued Arwen. “The rings are the works of a Maia and the Elves, and it is because of Men that victory was not found three thousand years ago. But what share do hobbits have of that burden? Do we not owe the Ring-bearer whatever kindness and rest we can provide?”

“What is it that you have in mind?” asked Mithrandir, though Elrond knew the wizard knew the answer.

“The only hope for Celebrían my mother was the healing to be found in Elvenhome. Can not the Valar make an exception for the Ring-bearer and allow him passage over sea, to find healing?”

“Life in Elvenhome will not give Frodo the life of the elves,” reminded Mithrandir in a gentle voice.

“Of course not,” replied Arwen as she walked to kneel at the wizard’s side. “Nor would he wish it, for it is not their way or their fate. But could not he spend out his life among the elves he loves, healed and free of the burden that wearies him so?”

“Hobbits do not like to be alone. Even Bilbo wished often for his kin,” reminded Mithrandir.

“Then send Bilbo too,” pleaded Arwen. “He was the Ring-finder, and you have said that the memory of that burden still lingers upon him.”

Mithrandir sat back in his chair, deep in thought. Arwen remained beside him, quiet for a few moments, then Elrond saw her jaw take on the stubborn curve he knew so well. She straightened her back and took Mithrandir’s hand firmly. “He shall have my place. I gift it to him, my passage on the ship.”

She rose and drew a long chain from a hidden pocket in her gown. From it dangled the white jewel passed from the mother of the heir of Elendil to each consecutive bride. “This was a gift from the elves of Tol Eresseä, a sign of their friendship to Men. When my grandfather Eärendil sailed from Sirion in search of Valinor, he carried with him a token that granted him passage where none with mortal blood had been allowed before. Let this be Frodo’s token, a sign that we send an elf-friend, one to whom we wish the Elves to grant friendship, much as they did to Men long ago.”

All eyes turned to Mithrandir. He sat silent for a long while, before finally turning to Arwen, who still stood next to him. “There are many reasons why the Valar should grant your wish.” A strange smile crossed his face. “Did you know that we were not aware of hobbits? From the mind of Eru they were created, but not in the song that told of the coming of Elves and Men. A surprise to us, and yet not a surprise that the One would make small simple creatures who embodied the most humble of traits: to eat and drink and till the earth and love their children and live at peace.” Mithrandir paused, then shook his head and fixed his gaze again on Arwen before continuing.

“In honor of his service is one good reason. That you would send him in your place is another. The fate of the half-elven has long been a wonder and mystery to all in Valinor, perhaps to all who do not share the mingling of mortal blood. To choose your fate and doom is a gift beyond reason, and one most would never dare to accept. Only one who had made such a choice, perhaps, could give such a give as you offer, Arwen Undómiel. You may offer Frodo your place.”

Arwen nearly fell over in surprise. Elrond had seen in her earnest plea only the hope that Mithrandir would listen and the others would support her. She clearly had not expected an immediate response. Mithrandir laughed. “None other could offer the gift that you do, daughter of Elrond, but you are not the only one with eyes that can see.”

At that moment, it seemed to Elrond that Mithrandir changed, becoming greater than they had yet seen him, and he could not help but wonder what paths the Maia had wandered when he strayed, as he had told them, out of thought and time. Had he been in the presence of the One? Had he learned of fates and ends beyond the knowledge of this world?

“Thank you, Mithrandir,” said Arwen, and she bowed low before him.

Mithrandir stood and took her hand, bringing her upright again. He bowed his head and kissed her hand, but spoke no words that they could hear. Yet some communication passed between them. A grace passed over Arwen, bringing her peace and even greater dignity. He took the white jewel from her and held it in the palm of his hand, as if feeling its power, then he said some words over it in a language Elrond had not heard before. He gave it back to Arwen. “You will know when the time is right to give this to Frodo. Say only that the rest of the gift is before him, should he choose to accept it.”

Then their gathering was ended. Mithrandir departed, saying he had other business to attend to.

“I would not question Mithrandir, but I would very much like to know how he obtained that permission,” said Aragorn pensively.

Galadriel laughed, but did not answer, and Aragorn winked at Arwen and added, “I also would not question the Lady of Light, but I deduce she knows some part of that answer.”

Elrond did not doubt that was true also, as he had long suspected Galadriel had had some means of communicating over sea. Laughter rippled around the room at Aragorn’s comment, but none answered him, and indeed, he was wise enough to expect no answer. When Elrond looked in Arwen’s eyes, though, he saw need of his answer, of reassurance. He offered her his arm and they walked off together.

“I could not speak with you before, Adar, but as your daughter I spoke on your behalf. I told Mithrandir earlier that if Frodo were granted passage, he would not be alone, that as Bilbo has been part of your house, Frodo too would be welcomed.”

Elrond smiled his reassurance. “As my daughter, you spoke rightly. You know they would indeed be welcomed.”

“I am sorry I could not speak to you of this before,” she continued, but her voice quavered slightly and she paused, “but it was thought best that I did not see you for a while.”

Elrond laughed. “You may say it as it was really said. It was thought best that I did not see you. They were probably right.”

Arwen stopped and turned to face him. She ran her hand down his temple, pushing his hair behind the point of his ear. She traced a finger along his jaw, studying him all the while.

“What is it, Arwen?” he finally asked.

“You are fading,” she answered simply as a tear ran down her cheek. “I see it in Frodo, perhaps even in Galadriel. But I see it worst in you, my adar. I did not want to believe that my choice could cause this.” Her voice grew faint. “I may have been the only one closing my eyes to the truth, though in indulging me you took some of my denial upon yourself.”

“One cannot force another to see,” he replied gently. “Elros could not force me to see long ago. You have made your choice, and you, perhaps, would have faded had you denied your heart. I would rather bear my own pain than yours.”

“Never did I mean to cause you such pain,” she whispered. “For so many years we have waited for this day, and now that it is here I wish to stop time, that I might have longer with you. But I cannot stop time.”

“You can not, daughter, nor do you really wish to. The Elves stopped time, or slowed it at least, and now that our power to do so is gone, we must watch that world crumble and decay around us. That time is over. A mortal life is too fleeting for such fancy. You must choose now to live fully in the present.”

Despite the sadness written upon her heart, a gleam came into her eye at his words. A spark of light and hope and joy for what was yet before her. That was what he wished her to think upon and fill her mind. Elrond looked up to see Aragorn watching them and with the slightest nod of the head, beckoned him to them. With a deft turn of conversation honed by years of experience, he sent them off on that high note.

He turned to find Glorfindel, Galadriel and Celeborn waiting for him. In their ageless faces was written the same message: it was time to go home. Without need for words, they returned to their chambers.

Elrond retired early, glad for the solitude and quiet. Upon the writing table in his room he found several sketches. One was a charcoal drawing in Elladan’s unmistakable hand, of Arwen and Aragorn beneath the white tree. The other was a painted portrait of Arwen dressed for her wedding. A smaller portrait was inset in the lower left corner – a young Arwen just budding into adulthood. So alike, yet so different. Had she always been so strong-willed, so determined to make her own way? He looked closer at the smaller portrait. He recalled that dress, the scroll in her hand…

He sat down upon the bed as memory flooded over him.

~ ~ ~* * *~ ~ ~

Early Spring, 289 TA

Elrond entered the family dining area to find everyone waiting for him. He caressed Celebrían’s shoulder as he moved behind her to his own chair. She covered his hand and squeezed it as he sat down, and as was usual at her touch, he felt his toes tingle.

“What news?” she asked.

He smiled at her, making her wait just a moment longer. He loved that she still got as excited for news as any child. “King Eldacar sent word that another child has been added to his house.”

Celebrían blew out her breath in exasperation. “I know that! Tell us details. Another boy?”

“After four sons, his son Arantar finally has a daughter,” reported Elrond.

Celebrían clapped. “How his wife longed for a daughter! She is well?”

“The messenger says as proud as any mother could be. Four little princes are already fawning over their princess,” reported Elrond.

“We must send a special acknowledgment,” said Celebrían. She turned to Arwen. “You and I will plan this gift.”

“Will they have a special naming ceremony?” asked Arwen.

“Whatever they do will be private,” replied Elrond. “Only for the king’s heir is the public ceremony normally held.”

Arwen looked at him pensively. “Surely for a long awaited daughter something special will be done,” she mused.

Already she was far away from them, thinking, and her jaw was set in that way it always was when she was making her mind up about something. Celebrían smiled indulgently, but across the table Elrond could see Elladan’s eyes twinkling.

“Certainly we should do something special, Elrohir,” said Elladan seriously. “We must send a note immediately telling the princes exactly how much trouble a younger sister can be. She will bat her eyelashes at them, and they will become slaves to her every whim. We must warn them!”

Arwen turned a serious gaze upon her brothers. She smiled suddenly, and it was as if the stars had twinkled through the blackest night. “I will need you two to help me,” she announced.

Elladan raised a brow at Elrohir, but Elrohir reached over to casually pull on his twin’s braid. “Yes, Arwen. Whatever you need us to do, we will do gladly.”

Elladan groaned and covered his face with his hands. “See, Adar, bewitched. I must warn them.”

* * *

Elrond thought no more of Arwen’s words until a few days later when the messenger was preparing to leave Imladris. He went in search of wife and daughter, and found them in the garden room, sewing.

“Arwen, the messenger will be returning to Annúminas tomorrow. Will you have your gift prepared in time?” he asked.

“Oh no, Adar. This will take us some days to finish,” replied Arwen.

“I will send only our well wishes then, and let them know that a gift will follow at the hand of our usual messenger,” replied Elrond, smiling. He turned to leave when Arwen’s words stopped him cold.

“Oh, no messenger needed, Adar. I will take the gifts myself.”

Elrond turned back around to see his daughter’s innocent face looking up at him intently. At his look, she added, “I was going to seek your permission to go, of course, Adar. I know I must have an escort.”

In the chair across from Arwen, Celebrían had dropped her needle and thread. She looked from Arwen to Elrond to Arwen, and then laughed. Elrond sent her a quelling look as he heard her words in his mind. She is your daughter, Elrond Peredhel.

“Arwen, dearest, that is a very nice gesture, but I was not planning a trip west this summer,” he reasoned.

She smiled reassuringly. “Oh, I know, Adar. I will go on behalf of Imladris. I am almost an adult now and should take up some responsibilities. Elladan and Elrohir will accompany me.”

“Your brothers have agreed to this plan?” he asked incredulously.

“Elrohir said whatever I needed from them, they would do gladly,” replied Arwen.

Elrond closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. The twins had certainly had no idea what she was planning, for she had formulated her plan right there at the dining table, he was sure. When he opened his eyes he found her watching him, concern on her face.

“Adar?”

When had she stopped calling him Ada? Perhaps it had been several years, but he suddenly wished for her to be a small child he could simply tell ‘no’ and distract her to something more suitable. Arwen was no longer very easily distracted.

“Your naneth and I need to speak of this, and I need to learn from my scouts and messengers if the roads are safe. We will let you know our decision,” he replied. When she opened her mouth to protest, he raised a brow and used his best parental look, the one none of his children argued with.

“Yes, Adar,” she replied instead.

* * *

Elrond returned to his study shaking his head. So intent was he in his thoughts that he nearly ran into Glorfindel. “Are you contemplating some perplexing problem?” asked Glorfindel good-naturedly.

“My daughter,” replied Elrond as he pushed open his door.

Glorfindel laughed and followed him into the room. He sat down in front of Elrond’s desk and grinned at him unabashedly. “Now what has she done?”

Elrond scowled at the golden elf. “Quit enjoying this. It is serious.”

Glorfindel bit the smile from his lips, but his eyes continued to twinkle. “Do explain.”

“Arwen plans to deliver the gift for Eldacar’s new granddaughter .. herself.”

Glorfindel began to laugh. “She is your daughter, Elrond.”

“It seems to me I have heard far more stories of Celebrían doing impulsive things that I ever recall doing,” argued Elrond.

“Knowing Arwen, this is hardly an impulsive decision,” replied Glorfindel, grinning. “If we were to ask her, she would say that a daughter should be graced with the same attention as a son, and she feels it is her responsibility to assist you - and this is one way for her to do so. Now, were she like Celebrían, I’d be more concerned about her riding off with my warriors on patrol, disguised as one of them.”

“I will wait several days and then tell her no,” said Elrond with a long sigh.

“Why?” asked Glorfindel.

“If I say no immediately, she will think I did not give her idea due consideration. If I wait a few days . .. .”

“No, why can she not go?” clarified Glorfindel.

Elrond looked at Glorfindel incredulously. “You cannot be serious! I was not planning a trip west this summer and she cannot go alone.”

“You speak as if those are the only two options. Send your sons with her,” said Glorfindel. At Elrond’s look, he added, “I will go with them.”

Elrond looked up as the door opened and Celebrían came into the room. She winked at Glorfindel, then came around to sit on the edge of Elrond’s chair. He looked up into her eyes and recognized defeat. He sighed.

“She looks upon this as acting as your emissary, on her first diplomatic mission,” explained Celebrían.

“Celebrían, she is not quite 50 years old. She has not even come of age.”

“One more summer is all,” coaxed Celebrían. “And King Eldacar is not likely to have another granddaughter next year.” When Elrond did not respond, she continued, “Ask Erestor to accompany her as well. With Glorfindel and her brothers for protection, and Erestor to guide her in diplomacy, she will be in good hands.”

With all of them gone, we will have much privacy where I can remind you of how much I love you, she whispered in his mind.

“Behave yourself,” he warned her.

Glorfindel howled and Celebrían grinned.

* * *

“Of course I will accompany her!” replied Erestor. “I am thrilled that one of your children is interested in the diplomatic arts. She has much natural skill.”

Elrond ignored the reaction of Glorfindel and the twins. Erestor looked over the three like a cat about to pounce. “I am in charge of this mission, am I not, Elrond?”

Elrond laughed. “In all regards except safety on the trail. There you must defer to Glorfindel.”

“I relish the opportunity to keep you three in line,” said Erestor, grinning.

Elrond left the four to discuss the trip while he went to tell Arwen they had decided to let her go. She took the news in stride, having completely expected to be allowed to go.

“I will ask Erestor to instruct me on my duties,” she said formally. “I will represent you well, Adar.”

Elrond held out his arms to her and she came to him, hugging him tightly. Despite her outward demeanor of control and calm, he could tell she was both excited and apprehensive. “I have no doubt at all about that, Arwen. I have much faith in you.”

The group left in late spring, with plans to return in the fall. Elrond and Celebrían rode with them to the Last Bridge, where they camped together one final night before moving on. It was Arwen’s first time crossing the bridge since she had fallen from it as a child, and Elrond had been touched to see Elladan and Elrohir dismount and walk on either side of her over the expanse.

They watched until the group faded into the distance, then returned home. Elrond had felt bereft with all his children and chief advisors gone, but Celebrían had encouraged him to think differently.

“My parents are visiting the wood elves, our children and Glorfindel and Erestor are visiting Men, and the family quarters are virtually empty. There is little requiring your attention, despite the lack of help. I can think of many good ways to spend our time.”

Elrond had read books set aside for long years waiting for time and taken up his harp again, causing Lindir to rejoice at having a new student for the summer. Elrond laughed much at the young minstrel, for he had been playing more years than Lindir had been alive, but he did learn much from those skilled hands and apt mind. Celebrían had resumed painting, and spent much time singing and working around the house. Yet for all the joy of the carefree summer, both found their gazes often turning westward.

“I miss them,” said Celebrían one day. She sank down in the grass next to him, and he set aside his book and drew her into his lap. “How long do you think, before they are home?”

Elrond pulled a scrap of parchment from his pocket and handed it to her. “This came while you were out wandering.”

Celebrían read the note and cried for joy. Then she leapt to her feet. “I have so much to do!”

Elrond laughed as she ran off to the house, for surely there was nothing she needed to do at that moment, but her mother’s heart would not be satiated until her children were returned to her. For all that she had persuaded Elrond to let Arwen go, she had missed her daughter dreadfully.

Nearly a week later they had crossed the narrow bridge and entered through the gates into the courtyard of the House. Elrond had felt their presence grow stronger throughout the day, and already had brushed the mind of each of his children, assuring himself they were well. They were well indeed, and anxious to be home. Glorfindel, Erestor and the few other elves who had accompanied them fell back as three horses were spurred forward. Arwen slid from her horse and raced into their arms.

As Celebrían fussed, Elrond felt a sudden pang in heart, wondering what in the world had persuaded him to send this mere child off across Middle-earth. She was so young! They would never have sent their sons out before they were of age. Then Arwen stepped back and looked at him, and he saw in her eyes a new maturity and grace.

Her brothers flanked her, and it was Elladan who spoke. “Adar, we present to you the new family diplomat. I think King Eldacar would give her his whole kingdom if she desired it, and armies would ride at the nod of her head. She enchanted them all.”

Arwen laughed, grinning up at her older brother. “Nonsense!” she replied. “We did need to leave, though, before the Men of Arnor drove us out. They claimed none could interest even their wives and sweethearts into speaking to them so long as these two were present.”

Elrond finally looked up over the three dark heads and ignored their banter, seeking instead the verdict of his chief advisors. Glorfindel and Erestor looked amused, but their looks were also appropriately serious. Erestor dismounted and walked forward. “You can be proud of all of them,” he announced. He smiled at Arwen, who blushed slightly. “As your emissary, Arwen was the picture of dignity and grace. They loved her. Eldacar said this princess of the Elves would one day be queen of us all.”

~ ~ ~* * *~ ~ ~

“Queen of Elves and Men,” said Elrond, and the painted parchment in his hand shook.

He glanced out the window, where the sun was breaking through the storm clouds. Aragorn had reported that Éomer of Rohan would be arriving soon to escort the body of Theoden home to the Riddermark for burial. The elves had discussed this day while in Rohan, and planned at that time to return north with them. The hobbits were anxious to return to the Shire. It was time for them all to return home.

The sound of the sea filled his mind and the wind whispered Elvenhome.

* * * * *

As Queen of Elves and Men she dwelt with Aragorn for six-score years in great glory and bliss.

Appendix A, The Tale of Aragorn and Arwen

'Still that must be expected,' said Gandalf to himself. 'He is not half through yet, and to what he will come in the end not even Elrond can foretell. Not to evil, I think. He may become like a glass filled with a clear light for eyes to see that can.'

Many Meetings, FotR

Thank you to daw the minstrel and Karri for their help with this chapter.

Chapter 16: Cup of Sorrows

The Third Age ended thus in victory and hope; and yet grievous among the sorrows of that Age was the parting of Elrond and Arwen, for they were sundered by the Sea and by a doom beyond the end of the world. When the Great Ring was unmade and the Three were shorn of their power, then Elrond grew weary at last and forsook Middle-earth, never to return. The Tale of Aragorn and Arwen, Appendix B, Lord of the Rings

August 9, 3019

Edoras

They had been two days in Edoras when Arwen came to his chamber near dusk. Elrond knew that Arwen would not ride with them further, and their parting was near.

He held out his arm to her and led her from Meduseld to the top of the far hill beyond the Golden Hall. The evening sun had fallen behind the peaks, and the cooler night air blew in from the mountain passes to their south. Stars had just begun to twinkle overhead, and in the distant sky, Elrond could see Eärendil beginning his nightly voyage. Arwen carried a blanket, which she spread out beneath one of the few trees where they might sit and speak in private.

Elrond leaned back against the tree, and Arwen rested against his shoulder, her head tucked neatly beneath his chin. They sat in silence for a long while, and Elrond allowed himself to simply enjoy being with her.

“Adar,” she finally began, and she took his hand in hers, rubbing each fingernail much as she had done as a child. “I have spoken to Daeradar. He said that on the road home you will be discussing a date when you will sail.”

Elrond tensed at her words, but then forced himself to relax. “Yes, we will.”

He felt her draw in a deep breath of air. “Then tomorrow is the last day I will see you.”

Elrond felt as if she had kicked him in the chest. He had spent many a sleepless night considering how long he might stay in Middle-earth in his current state. He was weary of his life here, but not ready to let her go. He wished to see her children, his grandchildren, and see the realm of Men established. Perhaps they would come to Imladris on the way to or from Annúminas, which Aragorn would surely re-establish in the North.

“No decision has been made yet on when we will leave,” he finally answered. He stroked her hair back and kissed the top of her head.

“No, Adar,” she replied, but her voice broke and she breathed in a shuddering breath. “Tomorrow is the last day I will see you.” She clutched his hand tightly. “You must go soon. Naneth is waiting, and you need each other.”

“Arwen …” He removed his arm from around her and sat forward, touching her cheek gently when she did not look at him.

“You think you will stay to see our children born, and then you will stay to see them grown, and as the years advance it will become more and more difficult for you to leave. You will fear for me when the end of our mortal days draw near, and all the while you will be fading. Better we part now, my adar, for I do not want to watch your spirit consume you, until you are like one of the houseless. And you must not be here when my doom comes.”

Elrond slumped back against the tree in resignation, for he had played out all of those same arguments in the long hours of the night. He knew he could not stay; he knew that if he tried, he would become so weighted with grief and weariness that he might not make the passage. Mithrandir had risked their long friendship by trespassing where he had not been invited and reading his thoughts, and bluntly informing him that if he remained in Middle-earth, he would hinder Arwen when her mortal years had come to an end.

Arwen leaned back against him and pulled his arms around her. He could feel her tears falling upon his hands, and his own tears anointed her head.

“I have given letters for Naneth into Erestor’s keeping,” said Arwen when they both had regained some control.

“I have pictures for her of your wedding. She had looked forward to that day for so many years,” replied Elrond hoarsely.

“I hope she is whole and healed,” said Arwen wistfully. “I picture her that way, smiling again, teasing you, shining like she did. Oh, she loves you, Adar. You know, I dreamed that one day I would look upon someone the way she looked upon you. And the way your eyes followed her wherever she went – I wanted someone to love me like that in return. I feel blessed that I found that kind of love.”

She relaxed even more against him. “Now Elladan and Elrohir are finally free, free of their responsibility to fight against darkness. They will see Naneth again, see her as she used to be, and they will finally be healed.”

Elrond laughed softly. “You, my daughter, have always organized your world as you wished. What do you see in your own future?”

She lifted his hand and kissed it. “Children, a houseful of children. A city at peace. Annúminas restored and the Northern Dúnedain living as they were meant to live, not as wandering guardians but honored and respected people of the king. And Aragorn,” she paused, her voice trailing off. “We have waited for so long, perhaps we will now be given two years of great joy for every one we waited. A long and glorious life together.”

Long by mortal standards, thought Elrond, and yet the brevity of that time is what had made him think he could stay for those years. He listened to her talk, about plans and hopes and dreams for everyone and everything she knew, and he realized there was both nothing to say and everything to say.

“What of you, Adar? What do you hope for in the Blessed Realm?” she asked.

He smiled as tears prickled his eyes. “Seeing Celebrían healed and holding her in my arms again,” he answered after a moment. “That is all I have wished for in that future for many years.”

Arwen squeezed his hand. “No one in all of Middle-earth or Valinor deserves peace and happiness more than you,” she said intently. “You must promise me that you will find it, Adar.”

He laughed softly. “I can promise only that I will try.”

“It has been your example of endurance that has most sustained me,” she said. “I sometimes had to remind myself that the person of Elrond who was my father was the same Elrond of all the old tales, the one who sustained and continued on, no matter what blows he was dealt. It seemed too much for one life, and yet you never gave up. When you made Aragorn wait, it seemed a harsh sentence to one of mortal years, yet I knew I must trust you, when you had waited for this mortal man for thousands of years.”

“Many times I thought Elros was the braver of us, for he chose the unknown. In Elladan I saw him again, always seeking beyond the horizon. You were as determined, but much more careful and reasoned. I did not know my foremother Lúthien, but your grandparents said that in your eyes was the same will that drove her to seek her own fate. It wasn’t until I held you in my arms that I understood the desire to lock you away in a fortress.”

Arwen laughed as she considered the image. “Did Naneth fear that one of us might make the choice of Lúthien and Elros?”

“Celebrían would have snuck you the key to the tower and helped you escape, despite her own fears,” answered Elrond, unable to keep the irony from his voice. “She could be as ferocious as a mother bear when it came to her children, but she would use that same ferociousness to ensure her children were given their wings to fly, if they so wished.”

“And you, Adar?” she asked in a low voice.

“I am letting you go reluctantly,” he admitted hoarsely. “My love is more possessive, my cup more bitter, but you have your wings and I will not hinder your flight.”

“Or in this case,” she added gently, “you will take that step off the shore and release your hold on these lands.”

Elrond released her and stretched out his hands before them. “I trust they will obey me on the morrow,” he said.

Arwen took his hands and pulled his arms back around her. “Tomorrow is soon enough.”

They sat long in silence, watching as the stars grew bright and Eärendil passed overhead. Then Arwen sighed and said, “You will finally meet your sire. I wonder what he can see, what he knows of his descendents that walk here in Middle-earth. I wonder if he will shine as bright over Imladris when you no longer dwell there.”

Elrond had often wondered what Eärendil knew. He wondered if Celebrían had met Elwing and Eärendil, and others of their family lineage. He felt a pull on his heart as he thought of Celebrían. Her presence grew stronger and stronger, much as it had done on the day of the wedding, until he could feel her with him. He was afraid to breathe, for fear she would disappear.

He brushed his daughter’s mind. He felt her curiosity and then she dropped the barriers and invited him in. He waited, pondering how to guide Arwen to Celebrían in his mind. He led his daughter to that part of his heart reserved and held by Celebrían, and felt her joy blossom as she sensed her mother’s presence.

In that moment, much was said, most of it without words. Love, acceptance and pride flowed from Celebrían to Arwen. For Arwen, it was that last chance to express her love and say her farewells, and know that her mother accepted her choice.

Elrond sought nothing from either of them, focusing all of his being on allowing them that time together. He realized in one faltering moment how weak he was, for the intensity of the experience overwhelmed him. Just when he thought he would fly apart, he felt a soothing touch upon his fëa, a cool caress from a hand that belied the strength behind it. It had come from beyond Celebrían, and it eased them all apart.

Elrond regained awareness moments later to find himself in Arwen’s arms, his daughter looking up in awe. She searched the heavens for a moment, then focused on him, bending over him and kissing his forehead.

“You have given me a priceless gift,” she breathed. “But now you must rest.” When he would have argued, she smiled and said, “I command it, Adar.”

Elrond rested until the first light of the sun appeared in the east. They rose and walked slowly back, watching as the sun turned the roof of Meduseld to gold. No words had been spoken between them during that final long watch of the night, and Elrond realized there was not enough time in Arda to say all he wanted, and yet nothing was left to be said.

The household was stirring when Elrond stopped in the garden behind the Hall and faced his daughter, taking her hands in his one last time.

“Be well, my daughter. May your life with Aragorn be long, glorious and full of joy. I leave a part of my heart with you, the part you have owned since first you were conceived. Know for all eternity how much you are loved.”

He managed to speak his words before tears silenced his voice. With tears streaming down her face, Arwen replied, “I love you dearly, Adar. Go to Naneth and be at peace. My children’s children will sing of my love for you.” Her voice broke. “Thank you for giving me wings.”

He held her close for many minutes, until the sound of bells filled the air, announcing breakfast and preparing for the burial of Rohan’s king. Amidst the sound of children’s laughter as they ran through the garden, they entered Meduseld to prepare for the day.

* * *

Théoden had been laid to rest and the feast was over, but the joy and celebration of the troth plighting of Faramir and Éowyn would continue long after they had left. The elves had offered their blessing, and Elrond had watched with paternal pride as his three children had congratulated the steward and shield maiden on a match that would further tie Gondor and Rohan together.

Elrond knew that Arwen had said her farewells to her grandparents the evening before, as well as to many of the elves that had traveled with them from Imladris and Lothlórien, and he watched now as her brothers flanked her and led her aside. They spoke and held her, and he saw her bow her head, overcome. Then Elrohir tipped her chin up and kissed her forehead, and she threw her arms around them both. Then Glorfindel was there, speaking to her one last time, bowing before her and kissing her hand in a manner that reminded Elrond of how he had sworn to protect her on the day she was born. He turned away before he lost his tenuous hold on his emotions.

Soon all were mounted save Aragorn and Merry and Frodo. Merry was still speaking with Éomer and Éowyn, and Frodo with Arwen. Aragorn finally shepherded the hobbits to their ponies, kissed Arwen goodbye, and then walked beside Frodo’s pony as they joined all of those waiting to travel north.

Mithrandir led them away from Edoras with a host of the Rohirrim before him as honor guard. Elrond waited until all had gone before him, and none remained but his sons and Glorfindel, and Aragorn and his knights. Arwen stood alone, stoic. Their eyes were locked. With great effort, Elrond uncurled his hands from the reins and held them palm out to her. With what felt like a death knell beating in his heart, he nudged his horse imperceptibly, and the stallion turned and walked away. He fixed his eyes on the horizon before him, and did not look back.

* * *

August 21, 3019

Isengard

Elrond was in his tent when he heard a soft voice ask for admittance. He stood and walked to the flap, pushing it back. “Estel,” he said in greeting, reverting out of habit to the name they had given him as a child. “Come in.”

Aragorn entered, handing Elrond a cup of wine. They sat on the cushions spread on the ground next to a small open chest.

“What are you reading?”

“Fairy tales,” replied Elrond. He handed the book to Aragorn. “Or so they will seem to Men one day. I meant to leave it with Arwen, for your children. Accounts as told by those who woke at Cuiviénen, and of those who walked in the Blessed Realm in the light of the trees, before evil came.”

Aragorn took the ancient book, paging through it. “I recall some of these stories, but you never read them to me out of a book.”

Elrond laughed. “I had no need. But they were written down, lest a day come when none would be left who remembered them.”

“May that day be far off,” replied Aragorn. At Elrond’s nod, he tucked the book into a pocket of his tunic. “Tomorrow we reach Isengard, and I will go no further. Gandalf has said he will see the hobbits to Bree at least.”

“If there is danger on the road, I will send an escort with them as well,” promised Elrond.

Aragorn hesitated. “Do you believe that Frodo will sail with you?”

Elrond closed his eyes. The sound of the waves and wind filled his mind as he cast his thought to the sea. “I believe so, though he has not given it due consideration yet. Bilbo will go gladly, I think, when so offered the chance. Once Frodo has returned to the Shire and learned that it cannot heal him, and he knows his dear uncle intends to go, he will come.”

“I owe him much that I cannot repay, as I do you. Knowing that he is in your care comforts me deeply.”

Elrond smiled, seeing again Estel, his son, and not Elessar, the King of the Reunited Kingdoms.

Aragorn pulled a packet from his breast pocket. “I know that Arwen’s choice was her own, yet I wish those who love her to know that she will be cherished for all of her days. What the elves lose, Men gain, and we are renewed and restored through the sacrifices that she and Frodo have made. She sees her fate and Frodo’s intertwined, as part of the birth of this age and the hope of mankind. She is right, for her foresight is great, as I would expect of your daughter.” He paused, then pulled one letter out and placed it on the top. “I wish I could have known Celebrían, but at least I hope my words show my gratitude to her.”

Elrond took the letters, noting there was one for each member of Arwen’s family, including those on the trail with them now. He looked at Aragorn in question.

“Hold them until Valinor,” said Aragorn softly.

They heard voices outside the tent, and then Elladan, Elrohir and Glorfindel entered. The three had spent much time in conversation together, sometimes with Celeborn and occasionally Mithrandir. Elrond had given little heed to their conversations as yet, for Arwen still filled his thoughts. He knew that Celeborn was not yet ready to sail, and it had brought him some comfort to know that Arwen would not be entirely without kin, even if Celeborn was not likely to visit Gondor.

Elladan playfully shoved Aragorn over so he could sit between them, and Elrohir sat on his other side. Glorfindel sat across from them, but did not speak.

“I feel as if I should ask you what mischief you’ve been into,” said Elrond finally. “This is the same look you have worn since you were old enough to walk and wished to tell me what you had done or hoped to do, but were unsure of the answer you would receive.”

Aragorn laughed, and Elrond remembered how he had delighted in hearing tales of these two he thought of as older brothers. The poor child had truly not grasped that they were millennia older than he for many years.

“We do have something to tell you, Adar,” replied Elladan. He looked long at Elrohir before continuing, then took Elrond’s hand. On his other side, Elrohir rested a hand upon his leg. “We were not going to mention this quite yet, but we wish to tell Aragorn.” He took a deep breath, and Elrond felt a growing sense of dread come over him. “We are not ready to take ship.”

“Yet,” added Elrohir immediately.

Elrond felt blackness surround him and for a moment his heart forgot to beat. Then his thoughts swirled around him. What if they never came? His chest tightened. Celeborn. He would not stay forever from Galadriel. He would bring them. But Celeborn was not half-elven. Elrond’s children had to sail when he did, or cease to live as the Eldar.

He could hear them speaking, but the words were to his mind like some foreign tongue he did not know. Mithrandir said. Mithrandir he recognized.

“Adar!”

Elrond focused on Elladan. He still lived in the youth of the Eldar. Elrond reached out one hand to touch the silky black hair untouched by grey and relief filled him.

“Adar, did you hear what I said?”

“You are not coming,” replied Elrond slowly.

“Yet,” clarified Elladan. “Mithrandir obtained permission for us to delay our choice. We will come, Adar.”

“We cannot leave Arwen, Adar. Nor Aragorn. You and Daernaneth must go, but we are not weary. We would see Aragorn’s kingdom come into fullness, and keep Imladris as haven for any of the elves who remain,” explained Elrohir.

Elrond turned to Elrohir. Elrohir would come. But Elladan? The vise on his chest tightened. Would he tie himself to the mortal world and bind his fate to it? He would not sunder from his twin, Elrond was sure of that. If they were each led differently, which one would sacrifice his choice? If they saw their brother and sister pass beyond the circles of the world, would they follow if none of the Eldar remained to remind them of those waiting?

“Did you tell Arwen?” asked Aragorn suddenly.

“Yes,” replied Elladan. “We were going to tell Adar first, but she was so heartbroken at their parting that we told her we would stay, at least for a while.”

Elrond replayed the parting of sister and brethren in his mind. Arwen had not looked joyful at the news.

“She was not,” murmured Elrohir, easily reading his thoughts. “She did not wish to cause you any more pain.”

Elrond sensed Aragorn’s growing discomfort at being present in the face of his pain. “We will have you for the rest of Arda. I do not begrudge any of you this time together,” he managed. “Arwen will be glad to have her brothers near. Aragorn will find some way to tolerate your influence on his children, I am sure.”

He smiled a genuine smile at Aragorn’s reaction, and felt the relief of all of his sons.

“That wood elf is going to return with others of his realm. We cannot let our sister’s children have only that influence of elvendom,” teased Elladan.

Aragorn held up his hands. “I will never take sides in an Elven argument. I will be glad to have all of you near. Already I miss the counsel of Mithrandir and Elrond and they have not yet departed.”

The three continued their banter for a few more minutes, and Elrond allowed it to lift his spirits, though he felt as if another part of his heart had been ripped from him. Then Aragorn rose. “I must speak to the hobbits yet tonight.”

Elrond rose with him, but when Aragorn began to bow, speaking his name, Elrond instead took his hand and drew him near. “May your life be long and blessed, my son.”

Aragorn embraced him tightly. “Fare well, my father.”

Aragorn departed, and at a nod from Glorfindel, the twins followed.

“You knew what they were planning,” said Elrond tiredly.

“I did,” admitted Glorfindel. “They were torn, wishing to leave with you and wishing to stay with Arwen and Aragorn. Mithrandir offered the solution.”

Elrond laughed bitterly. He turned his cup over, watching as the last few drops of wine splattered into the dirt, absorbing and disappearing almost instantly. He looked at the empty cup, thinking his heart was as empty and hollow. For a moment he contemplated not taking ship, staying with his children, at least until his sons were ready to sail.

“There is no need,” said Glorfindel gently.

Elrond looked up at his friend. He was weary to the core of his being, and knowing he sailed with none of his children left him grasping for a life line, lest the sea of despair swallow him utterly. Yet Glorfindel did not seem perturbed.

“No need for what?” he finally asked. He could not follow the trail of his own thoughts.

“There has been no easy way for your sons to tell you this. They knew they would cause you pain, but they also did not wish Arwen to think she remained alone, despite her choice. They will stay and I will stay with them,” replied Glorfindel.

Elrond had felt like he had sunk to the lowest valley possible, and now he felt like he had been jerked up from the depths into light and air, and the shock was nearly too much. The cup fell from his hand. Then Glorfindel had his arm, easing him to back to the cushions. “I am sorry, Elrond.”

Elrond began to laugh silently, but soon tears spilled from his eyes. He felt Glorfindel’s arms surround him, anchoring him in reality. Then Glorfindel began to sing softly and Elrond’s mind was filled with visions of the Blessed Realm. He saw the havens at Alqualondë and the white peaks of Taniquetil, the gardens of Lórien and the isle of Tol Eresseä, and his heart longed to behold them.

As his heart calmed, a revelation came to him. “Those are your thoughts, your memories!”

“They are,” replied Glorfindel. “I want nothing more than to go home. They are the best assurance I can give you that we will come one day.”

As Elrond’s strength returned, he saw again in his mind Glorfindel kneeling before Arwen at Edoras. “You told Arwen you would stay.”

“I told Arwen I would stay with her brothers,” amended Glorfindel. “Though, I am arrogant enough to think she and Aragorn might occasionally enjoy my presence. Arwen did not want to cause you more grief, and she knew her brothers’ staying, even with the permission of the Valar, would grieve you. She knew doubt would assail you.”

“It grieves me to have become so weak that my children fear for me like this,” admitted Elrond.

“Your sons will come,” said Glorfindel intently. “Their hearts are not called to make the choice Arwen has made.”

“Not yet,” said Elrond. “You do not know what the years will bring, or what effect their sister’s mortality will have on them.”

“Then Celeborn and I will at least remain to provide them with good counsel,” replied Glorfindel. “There have never been any guarantees, Elrond, that they would survive the Black Gates or the Paths of the Dead, but you sent them anyway. I know you know you cannot hold them, but in your heart, let them go again. They will return to you in time.”

Glorfindel began to sing again, and Elrond slowly relaxed and then drifted off into sleep. He was unaware when a light blanket was tossed over him, or his sons returned. But when he woke, he looked upon their faces and knew he would not lose them.

* * *

September 12, 3019

After speaking with Treebeard and parting from Aragorn, Elrond found his heart turned to Imladris. He longed for the comfort of his House and People. Still, he was loath to separate from Celeborn and Galadriel, who would be traveling over the Redhorn to their home. Now that they were alone, they had much to discuss about their plans.

When would they leave? Who would go? Would Círdan sail? Was this the last ship, and what help would those who came later need?

“What of you, Mithrandir?”

Mithrandir smiled. “I sail with you,” he replied. “I have much to do in the time that remains. I must go to see Círdan myself and then back to the Greenwood, to speak to Thranduil.”

“How much time does remain?” asked Elladan.

“The fall after next, I think,” answered Mithrandir slowly. He shifted his gaze to where the hobbits slept. “Frodo will understand by then.”

“Once he knows that Bilbo wishes to go, and I believe Bilbo will, then the desire will grow in his heart,” said Elrond. “As the opportunity arises, I will speak to them both.”

Mithrandir turned a keen glance upon him. “Your words will be of the most value to them. Bilbo has lived long in Imladris. He trusts you. They will have greater comfort if they go as part of your House.”

Elrond knew this was true. He heard laughter and looked up, but none of the others seemed to have heard it. Then he withdrew inside of himself, aware suddenly of the source of the music he had missed and longed for. Celebrían’s presence had come and gone often over the last few weeks. It was like being on the Path of Dreams with her, only while awake. He could feel her delight at having the hobbits join their household. Frodo would find a kinship with her in their suffering, perhaps.

At that thought, Elrond sobered and the laughter faded from his mind. He felt her loving touch caress his soul: I am well, my love. He instinctively turned his gaze to the west, anticipating the day he would see her again and the image of her broken form would fade from his memory forever. Yet fear remained and gnawed at him, that what was in his mind was enhanced by the Valar and Celebrían was not well, and he would find her as he had left her, and guilt that she had endured all those years without him would drown him in a flood of despair.

Elrond realized silence had fallen about him and returned his attention to the present. Looks of amusement, concern, love and reassurance met his gaze. He made no attempt to dissemble before this group, his friends and family.

“Pardon me,” he finally said with a small smile. “What did I miss?”

“You miss your wife, but that will be remedied soon enough,” replied Mithrandir, eyes twinkling. “Tomorrow we part. I will send word from the Havens once I have spoken with Círdan.”

Mithrandir stood, nimble and spry on his feet, and Elrond again marveled that the old man they had known truly had gone, reborn in some new ageless form. The elves did not part for their tents, however. Elladan finally stood and walked off into the darkness, only to reappear a few moments later with a large basket holding bottles of wine and cups.

“If we are loath to part and wish to spend the night in remembrance,” he said, and winked at Elrond, “we might as well have some refreshment.”

* * *

September 21, 3019

Elrond nudged his horse slightly, stopping the stallion at the peak of the final hill that plunged steeply to the valley where Imladris was nestled against the base of the mountains. Lanterns flickered about the house, casting a golden glow that warmed his heart even as his breath misted white in the cool evening air. Voices rose in song, welcoming them home.

“Lead us home, Alagos,” said Elrond softly, and the horse whinnied his answer, flicking his mane and tail in anticipation of his own warm stall, oats and rubdown.

They were met in the courtyard by those who had stayed behind, elves taking their horses and unloading their packs, preparing baths and refreshment for each traveler. Many years had passed since Elrond had been on the receiving end of the hospitality of his house in this manner, and for as great as the hospitality of Rohan and Gondor had been, there was nothing like coming home.

He watched the hobbits rush by him. That they did not take time to wash or change did not surprise him, but that they bypassed all refreshment did. Frodo just wished to see Bilbo.

“Have food and ale sent to Bilbo’s rooms,” he said to the kindly elf pressing a cup of wine into his hand.

She smiled. “Cook has already begun preparing the trays.”

Elrond felt a surge of contentment at the quiet efficiency of those around him. His pack and cloak were whisked away, and he wandered slowly down the hall to his chambers. He stopped at his door, closed his eyes, and loosed his mind to wander the paths of memory. He was drawn back nearly an age, when he again stood before this same door. He was about to enter when from the corner of his eye he saw a blur of pink ribbon tying back a long mass of black hair. The small person to whom they belonged disappeared through the door next to his. Arwen’s chambers. He let go of the handle to his door and followed her. His eyes adjusted quickly to the darkness, the shadows turning into furniture and the ghostly movements becoming gossamer curtains blowing in the breeze.

The room was cold, and he realized that only part of that had to do with the temperature of the night air. The space had the same basic furnishings it had always had, but the personal touches, the things that made this space uniquely hers, were gone. He walked further in, ghosting his hand over the carved wood back of the sofa in the sitting area as he passed into the sleeping area. The ornate bed with its silk hangings, nondescript in color in the darkened room, faded to a small child’s bed, brilliantly dressed for a tiny elleth who loved bright colors.

~ ~ ~* * *~ ~ ~

“Ada!”

Elrond looked down into the eyes of his knee high daughter. She held her arms out and said, “Up!” in an imperious tone that was adorable only in one so young.

He picked her up, kissing her before settling her on his arm. She smoothed her hands down the sides of his head, arranging his hair just so. Then she yawned, a yawn so great she had to press both hands against his chest to hold herself upright.

“Sleep in my bed, Ada,” she said proudly.

Elrond’s heart filled with pride at his young daughter’s dance with independence, but he held her a little tighter too, for he was not sure he was ready for her to take this step. The twins had been much older when they had moved to their own chambers, and even then the idea had been suggested to them.

He walked to her bed and sat down upon the edge of it. She twisted in his lap, kicking her feet upon the mattress. She ran her hands across his arms, which were clasped in front of her, then pulled them apart and leapt forward on to the bed. She rolled on to her side, clutching her pillow to her. She smiled at him, then her eyes darted to the door.

“Nana, see my bed!” she cried, forgetting her nana had dressed the bed and shown it to her earlier that day.

“It is a beautiful bed,” agreed Celebrían. She held out her arms to her daughter as she walked to the bed and Arwen jumped to her feet and reached too, then was quickly scooped up and kissed. “Let us prepare you for sleep.”

She pulled a nightgown from the wardrobe, Arwen’s favorite – with lace and ribbons woven across the bodice and hem. Elrond watched in amusement as Celebrían deftly undressed the child. Elrohir had been fairly attentive and easygoing, but changing Elladan meant having to hold him in one place, which at times was more than the impatient youngster could stand. Arwen was somewhere in between – more cooperative than Elladan had been, but only when she wished to be.

“No swaddle!” said Arwen stubbornly.

“Yes, swaddle,” replied Celebrían firmly. “You would not want to have an accident on your pretty nightgown, would you?”

Arwen chewed her lip, arms crossed over her chest as she considered her mother’s words. Elrond could easily see the battle going on in her very young and immature mind, too young to understand the consequences of actions. When Celebrían raised an eyebrow and cast a stern look upon her daughter, the child acquiesced. Elrond would have laughed, but then that raised brow would have been turned on him.

Swaddled and dressed in her nightgown, Arwen held out her arms to her mother and snuggled against her shoulder when Celebrían picked her up. A rocking chair had been moved into the room, though it was not the one from their chamber. Celebrían made herself comfortable and unfastened her bodice, but Arwen pulled away.

“No nurse, Nana.”

Elrond watched as Celebrían pondered how to respond to this. Arwen resolutely held her mother’s gaze, arms crossing over her chest again and her back rigid. Celebrían finally acquiesced, closing up her gown. Arwen relaxed at her victory and looked longingly at her bed.

“Sleep in my bed, Nana,” said Arwen.

Celebrían leaned back in the chair. Arwen was pushing her, and Elrond was curious to see how far Celebrían would allow her to go. “Are you sure? Perhaps we should start with a nap in here first, so you can get used to it.”

Arwen frowned. “I am big,” she insisted.

“Indeed,” sighed Celebrían. She looked to Elrond, then shrugged. I suppose she must try this for herself.

Elrond pulled back the covers from the bed, and Arwen slid to the floor and ran to it. She climbed up without help and flung herself down, hugging the pillow, then rolled over on to her back and smiled up at them. Celebrían placed her favorite doll in her arms and Elrond tucked her in. Excited though she was, when they began to sing to her, she drifted quickly into peaceful slumber.

Elrond would have stayed in the room, to comfort her if she awakened alone and scared, but he felt Celebrían tug on his arm and rose. She wrapped her arms about him and kissed him. Come, my love.

Elrond hesitated. What if she wakes alone?

Celebrían smiled and tugged on his braid. We will be in the next room, through an open door, with lanterns lit. She will find us, or call to us.

Elrond still hesitated. He did not think Arwen of suitable age to sleep alone in a separate room. He did not want her to awaken alone and be frightened.

He felt Celebrían’s gentle touch, her hands tracing along his jaw, pushing his hair back over his ears and then pulling his head down slightly to touch their foreheads together. She is not old enough, and she is going to awaken and be lonely or afraid. Thus she will learn. You must let her take this first step, try out her wings of independence, and let her fall. She will get back up and decide if she is ready to fly again, or prefers to nest with her ada and nana a while longer. She paused and kissed him tenderly. Her stubbornness is nearly as endearing as yours.

Elrond tried to scowl at her, but smiled inadvertently instead. I am not that stubborn. And I would always choose to nest with you.

A mischievous light lit her eyes. And I with you. Come read to me. I think our fledgling will return sooner than you think.

They entered their own chamber, leaving open the door to Arwen’s room. Celebrían sat down upon a bench in front of her dressing table and reached up to undo her hair. Elrond was at her side before she could undo the first clasp.

“Allow me to wait upon my lady,” he offered. He loved taking down her hair, running his hands through it, seeing her look of utter contentment beneath his touch. Of late, Arwen had decided this was her responsibility. She was thrilled to help her nana, brushing her hair and even attempting her own styles, which Celebrían wore with pride. Elrond had seen Celeborn and Galadriel laughing at the sight, and learned Celebrían had done the same to them as a child. So far, Arwen had been content to merely undo his braids. He imagined a day would come when he would wander about Imladris in pink ribbons too.

He removed the clasps and smoothed out her hair, then began to brush it. She had been sleeping with it in one long braid at night since Arwen was born. “Shall I leave it loose?” he asked. His preference, of course, but Arwen tended to tangle in it.

She lifted her arms up and wrapped them around his neck, pulling his head down to her. She kissed him. “Not yet, dearest.”

Elrond laughed. “You are so certain she will not sleep the night through in her bed?” He sat down beside her, though facing the other direction on the bench. She was always beautiful, but motherhood enhanced it. She glowed in the glory of it. He cupped her full breast gently, the slight touch enough to elicit a drop of milk. “You will be uncomfortable by morning,” he said.

Celebrían smiled. “Not likely,” she answered. “She is not used to sleeping with an empty belly.”

Elrond did not doubt her. He might be known as one who could read the hearts of people, but he had learned that no one predicted their child’s actions better than a mother. He braided her hair and tied it off, then slipped one of the nightgowns she wore when nursing over her head.

They dimmed the lights, but left more burning than normal, and Elrond browsed through a volume of poetry. With Celebrían settled against him, he began to read to her. Nearly an hour had passed when they heard the first stirrings from the other room. There was no crying, but Elrond hardly expected that. Arwen was a very determined child, and even if afraid, unlikely to face the fear with tears, though they might come later. They could not see her over the footboard when she entered the room, but she had recently taken to climbing over the end of the bed, using the carvings as footholds. Soon two small hands appeared, then her head popped up. Seeing them awake and watching her, relief flooded her face. She dove over the top and scrambled to them. Worming her way between them, she touched Celebrían’s cheek gently and said, “Nurse, Nana?”

“Of course, sweetheart,” replied Celebrían. She opened her gown and Arwen quickly settled into position.

Ah, but where will she sleep? mused Elrond.

Right here, as she always does, came Celebrían’s murmur in his mind. The empty belly is only part of the story. It is the easiest excuse for her to come back. She stroked the dark head nestled against her breast. I am not ready to give up my baby yet, nor are you, and for at least a while longer our baby she will be.

Elrond rose and undressed, then slid back into bed beside them. Arwen was finished nursing and nearly asleep, and he lifted her like a limp rag doll and settled her on his chest. She snuggled against him, falling quickly into sleep. Celebrían’s breathing became deep and slow next to him as she too fell into slumber.

“I see I must cherish every moment with you, for soon you will fly from my grasp,” he whispered. “But not yet, my Arwen. Not yet.”

~ ~ ~* * *~ ~ ~

Elrond opened his eyes to the darkness. He still sat on Arwen’s bed, though it was again an elegant four poster dressed in silks. He felt the cool breeze caress his cheeks, and realized they were wet. Brushing away the tears that lingered there, he rose. This room would bring him no comfort.

He walked back to the hallway, closing the door firmly behind him, and entered his own chamber. The scent of roses drifted to him, though it was too late in the season for that. He looked about the room, but saw no filled vases. He suddenly could think of nothing but Celebrían, nothing but his desire to be with her again. The room seemed filled with reminders of her, though it was the same as when he had left it.

Mindless of any matters that might require his attention, he stripped off his travel worn garments and buried his face on Celebrían’s side of the bed. Her scent was there, as if she had slept there recently, and he had to fight down the growing disquiet in his heart. He needed her. Together they had given their children wings, releasing them in steps to adulthood. Ai, Celebrían, we would bear this better together! Do you ache as I do, knowing she is parted from us forever? She has flown from us, and one day her wings will bear her where we cannot follow. My love, I cannot bear this without you! Together we conceived her and to us together she was bound, our child. Apart, our two halves are less than whole. Already separated from you, I now feel torn asunder!

His breath came in gasps and he trembled. What Mithrandir said was true – he also would find no rest or contentment here. Galadriel would find the Golden Wood was no longer home, and Frodo would yet discover that the Shire had been saved, but not for him. In that moment his world broke, and he understood intimately what those who fled their bodies for the comfort of Mandos’s Halls felt.

You, my darling, have only to hold on for a short while longer.

Elrond heard the words as if spoken by someone in the same room with him.

Coming west will not cure your pain, but you will start on the path of healing, and I will be at your side.

As I was not at yours! he berated himself.

He heard her laugh, though her voice was stern and firm. Stop, my love. I will not listen to such self-recriminations against one I love. We each did what we had to do, and I will not judge and say which road was more difficult. Just come to me.

“Elrond?”

Elrond released his hold on the bedcovers and looked up. Glorfindel sat on the edge of the bed beside him, and Elrond felt the warm weight of the elf’s hand on his back. Grief gave way to anger. “Am I allowed no privacy?”

Glorfindel handed him a handkerchief. Elrond took it begrudgingly, wiping his eyes and breathing in deeply until he had regained control. “How many time have I had to apologize to you in the last six months?” he asked.

Glorfindel laughed. “Your sons have been standing guard over you since you went into Arwen’s room. They grieve with and for you, Elrond, but not even they dare enter to offer you comfort. Comfort is perhaps not welcome, but allow me to guide you. Take a bath, put on fresh clothes, and eat.” Glorfindel paused, sniffing the air. “Celebrían is very present this evening. A gift from the Valar, Elrond. Go make yourself presentable for her, and let her provide you comfort.”

Elrond looked closely at Glorfindel, but the elf seemed sincere. “You sense her presence too?”

“Very much so,” replied Glorfindel softly. “Her spirit is strong, enhanced in some way that makes me think she is in the presence of the Valar. I do not have the knowledge of the Maiar, or the wisdom of the Valar, and would not presume to claim an understanding of Ilúvatar’s plan when he created Elves and Men, but I will say this: the half-elven have played important roles in the unfolding of Arda’s history. Arwen was chosen for her fate, much as you were. Not even the Valar can understand your pain, but what they can do to ease it, they will. I know not how Celebrían’s presence came to be so obvious, so strong, but do not question such a gift. You have only to accept it.”

“I should be providing comfort to my sons,” said Elrond finally.

“Your sons are well and strong, Elrond. Trust in them. There is no greater gift you could give them than to start ceding responsibility of Imladris to them, while allowing them to care for you.”

Elrond paused as Glorfindel’s words took root in his heart.

“Use this time to gradually release your hold on everything in Middle-earth, even your sons. They will fly too, but eventually their hearts will turn west, and the winds will carry them swiftly to you at the appointed time.”

“I do not feel particularly wise right now,” said Elrond as his thoughts swirled around him.

Glorfindel laughed again. “You are wise, but right now you are also weakened. I think I can withstand your temper until you sail. And when I join you one day, when I am still shadowed by Middle-earth and you are again strong and wise, you can endure my temper.”

“I do not think I have ever seen you in a fit of temper,” said Elrond.

“I am saving it all up for then,” replied Glorfindel with a grin.

Tears threatened his eyes, but Elrond managed to retain control as he answered, “I forget after all this time what led you back to Middle-earth and to my side, but I am grateful. I could ask for no truer friend than you.”

“I came to serve, but I grew to love you, Elrond Peredhel. It was clear to me that you were important to the plan of Middle-earth. It seemed the more you were entrusted with, the more you proved yourself worthy. I served you to ease your burden, for much was expected of you. But you are more than lord, you who could have been king. You are friend, and always will be.” Glorfindel paused and then squeezed his shoulder. “Go.”

Elrond laughed through his tears, and rose, discarding his clothing as he went to where a bath had been prepared for him. As he sank into the hot water, he relaxed his mind, seeking Celebrían.

I am here, my love.

* * * *

A/N: I picture Arwen as about 15-16 months old in the flash back. Though elves have a long childhood, coming of age at 50 years they “learned to speak before they were one year old; and in the same time they learned to walk and to dance, for their wills came soon to the mastery of their bodies” (Laws and Customs of the Eldar, HoME X)

Regarding the fate of the twins, all we know is what Tolkien told us in Letter 153: . . . Elrond passes Over Sea. The end of his sons, Elladan and Elrohir, is not told: they delay their choice and remain for a while.

As Frodo stood upon the threshold, Elrond wished him a fair journey, and blessed him, and he said: ‘I think, Frodo, that maybe you will not need to come back, unless you come very soon. For about this time of the year, when the leaves are gold before they fall, look for Bilbo in the woods of the Shire. I shall be with him.’

Many Partings, Return of the King

Chapter 17: The Dominion of Men

October 1, 3019

The air was cool and crisp and the sun shining brightly; a perfect day, Bilbo had proclaimed, for a walk about the gardens. Elrond had noted the old hobbit’s words at the breakfast table, and arranged for Erestor to take Sam, Merry and Pippin to a grove of apples where they might pick from the late season harvest. He listened from his study for the sound of hobbit voices and the light thunk of the walking stick Bilbo was sure to have with him. He had just heard them set off slowly on the path and risen to follow them when he was interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Mithrandir,” he greeted the wizard. “I was just going to join Bilbo and Frodo in the garden.”

Mithrandir gave him an appraising look, then lifted his hand and motioned for Elrond to continue. Elrond smiled as the wizard settled himself on the balcony in the sun, clearly intending to wait for his return.

Elrond walked slowly through the gardens, following the sound of hobbit voices, glad for the laughter he heard from both.

“Elrond,” called Bilbo in greeting.

Elrond nodded as he drew near then sat down on a bench adjacent to where the hobbits had settled. Bilbo stifled a yawn, but Frodo turned a keen gaze on Elrond.

“In Gondor, Arwen gave you a gift,” he began. Frodo’s hand rose to cover his chest, and Elrond knew the white jewel of the Dúnedain hung about his neck.

Bilbo brightened and looked to Frodo. “She did? You did not tell me. If it is important, I must include it in my book.” His eyes gleamed, alert and full of anticipation. “What is it, my lad?”

Frodo pulled the chain from his shirt and lifted the white jewel for Bilbo to inspect. The old hobbit whistled under his breath, reverently touching the stone. As his fingers caressed the smooth surface, a look of surprise crossed his face. “There is some power in this jewel, Frodo!”

Both hobbits looked to Elrond for an answer.

“There is indeed,” he replied. “That jewel was made in elvenhome, across the sea. It was a gift from the Elves of Tol Eressea to Númenor, and has been an heirloom of the North Kingdom for more than an age of the world.”

“Aragorn,” whispered Frodo.

“It has been passed from Queen to Queen for many generations. Aragorn’s mother Gilraen left it in my care for Aragorn’s bride one day.”

“Why would Arwen give it to me?” asked Frodo finally.

“The jewel is related to the second part of Arwen’s gift,” replied Elrond gently.

Bilbo gasped. “There is more? What else did she give you?”

Frodo fell silent. Elrond waited for several minutes, then reached with his mind to the hobbit, feeling about the surface of his thought. He sensed hesitation and some confusion. Frodo finally met his gaze, and Elrond smiled. “May I explain?”

“Please,” answered Frodo in relief.

Elrond took a deep breath, realizing that his words applied to more than the hobbits before him. “Frodo bears the scars of many injuries: of a Nazgul’s blade, of the sting of Shelob, and the hurt caused by the One, which has damaged his soul in ways incomprehensible to any mortal.”

Frodo’s eyes never left him as he spoke, and Elrond held his gaze, noting Bilbo’s reaction only from the corner of his eye and through his senses that allowed him to encompass all of them.

“You and the Lady Galadriel bear the same damage,” said Frodo softly, a knowing look in his eye.

“We do,” admitted Elrond. “As Ring-bearer, you have new sight to see deeper and further into the hearts of others.” He paused, allowing Frodo to consider his words, then continued, “Healing for such wounds is not to be found in Middle-earth, not for any of us. The second part of Arwen’s gift, offered by permission of the Valar, is that Frodo may sail with us into the uttermost West, to elvenhome, where he might live out the rest of his days in what peace and healing he may find there.”

Bilbo gasped and paled, and Elrond reached with one hand to steady the old hobbit. “As Ring-finder, this gift extends to you also, dear Bilbo. You should have each other, a companion of your own kind.”

“Me?” gasped Bilbo. “Sail with the elves to Aman?” He struggled to his feet. “When do we leave?”

Elrond laughed at the hobbit’s excitement, but he kept an eye on Frodo, for it was the younger hobbit’s reaction he hoped for. Indeed, Frodo’s attention had left Elrond and turned to Bilbo, for Elrond’s announcement that Bilbo might also sail was the first he had heard of it. As Elrond had hoped, Bilbo’s ready acceptance and eagerness sparked a desire in Frodo’s heart.

Elrond felt Bilbo’s hand rest on his arm, and he looked into eyes filled with sudden compassion. “You will be reunited with your wife, the Lady Celebrían.”

Elrond’s heart leapt at the mention of her name. “Very soon, Bilbo. I have waited long for this time. She will be glad to welcome two hobbits to her home.”

Bilbo sat down again, shaking his head in wonder. “I will meet your wife, who has not walked these shores in five hundred years.” He sat up straight, his walking stick slipping from his hands and clanging to the bricks below. “Will the kings of old be there? Elu-Thingol? Turgon of Gondolin?”

Elrond laughed again. “I do not know, Bilbo! I look forward to meeting them, too, should they be there.”

Frodo’s brow furrowed in confusion. “The old kings are dead, are they not?”

Bilbo grinned. “My lad, you have not been listening. An elf cannot really be killed, not forever.”

Elrond held up his hand, stopping the hobbit from beginning the re-education of his nephew. Knowing Bilbo, he would cast it into verse and take weeks to retell the stories. “We were speaking of the gift,” he reminded them. He turned back to Frodo. “The jewel is meant to be a token for your passage, a sign that you are an honored elf-friend, should you decide to come. Neither of you must make your decision immediately. I understand that you must return to the Shire, to your home. Bilbo must consider if he wishes to take this last journey.” He rose. “I will leave you now, to think and take counsel with each other. If you have questions, Frodo, I am always here for you.”

Frodo did not respond, but nodded, and Elrond rested his hand upon the hobbit’s shoulder for a moment, imparting calm and strength as he did so, before leaving. He returned to the house and his study, where he found Mithrandir still seated in the sun on the balcony.

“Well?”

“I think Bilbo would leave in the morning, should we allow it,” replied Elrond. “He will come. Frodo’s heart is drawn west, but he does need to return home before his head will acknowledge what his heart already knows.”

Mithrandir nodded, then smiled. “There are many in the West who would do well to have a hobbit in their care.”

Elrond looked up sharply, but Mithrandir laughed. “They shall remain in yours, for you have already learned patience. But there are others who many need temporary custody.”*

Mithrandir laughed again at his own words, but did not explain what was so funny.

* * *

Early Spring, 3020

Elrond left the trail at the point where it began to slope through the canyons west of Imladris and picked his way up the rocks, finding careful hand and foot holds as he scaled the steep wall. He finally reached the flat rock that he knew was the highest pinnacle one could climb to, and stood on the edge.

He had a glorious view of Imladris. He could see the house and gardens, stables and outbuildings, the expanse of lawn where so many celebrations had been held and the rivers and waterfalls that formed the backdrop he so loved. The bridge and steep and winding path that rose to the east were below him, and he could see far west. At one time, he had been able to see the fire burning far off on Amon Sûl.

“The view is still breathtaking,” murmured Elladan.

Elrond smiled at his son, who had climbed up behind him, then reached down to offer Elrohir a hand as he completed the climb.

Together they stood, surveying the realm of their people.

“All of this land, from the Havens to Dale and south to Gondor will be under the Dominion of Men,” said Elrond finally. “The Shire will remain under the protection of Aragorn and his sons, but in time Elves and Dwarves and Hobbits will be as Fairy Tales to Men. Even Orcs and Trolls and Dragons will become as tales that none remember,” said Elrond evenly. “The New Age is nearly upon us.”

Beside him, Elladan shifted. He began to speak, but then stopped. Elrond turned to him and smiled in encouragement to continue.

“What does this mean for Imladris?” asked Elladan.

Elrond gazed off into the west. “It will pass to Men. To Aragorn’s children, my grandchildren. The Elves will leave to Men a legacy of beauty, grace and wisdom, as well as the places we once dwelled. The land will not soon forget that Elves once lived here, and Men will be blessed because of it.”

Elrond felt Elladan’s shoulder press against his, and then Elrohir slipped an arm through his on his other side. He looked from one son to the other. Elladan was strong and straight, unbending against the wind. He would soar with the eagles if he could. Elrohir was more like a willow, able to bend with the breeze. He would not fight against the tide of times, but move with them. Elrohir turned to meet his gaze, and as his son bared his thoughts before him, Elrond saw already the stirrings of the sea deep in his soul.

“Have you spoken to Estel of this?” asked Elrohir.

“No,” replied Elrond. “I thought you two might do that, after we have sailed. Aragorn will wish to know Bilbo and Frodo’s decision.” He paused, then smiled at Elrohir. “Your sister will welcome your presence, then, I think.”

Elladan remained silent, and Elrond turned to him. “What are you thinking, Elladan?”

“I am thinking of what Imladris will be like when Elves no longer dwell here, when you, Adar, no longer dwell here. It will no longer be the Last Homely House east of the sea, but a memory of it.”

Elrond looked out across the valley, his love of this place warring with the weariness in his heart and the call of the sea that was upon him. “I am glad I will not be here to see it,” he admitted. “I have wished to stay, to see Aragorn come into his inheritance and restore the Kingdom of Men. But now I am glad it will come after me.”

Elladan looked at him gravely. “I am glad you have come to this conclusion, Adar. We have been concerned that you would try to stay, when it is obvious to us that you can not.” He smiled gently. “And Naneth is waiting for you, Adar. We cannot wait to see her.”

Elrond returned the smile, gladness rising within him at Elladan’s words. More tempered was his reaction to what he had seen in Elrohir. He hoped the sea would not become an unbearable burden to him. He thought of Thranduil suddenly, for the realm of the Greenwood would last long after the other elven realms were bereft of the Eldar. His son Legolas had had the sea longing awakened in him on the Quest, and a day would come when the sea would part them. For Elrond, the awakening of the sea longing meant his son would be drawn to him.

He turned his thought back to Elladan. “The concerns of Imladris will soon cease to be my responsibility. They will fall to you, and to the relationships you establish with Elessar and the Northern Kingdom. Starting today, I will begin to cede my responsibilities to you two, and focus primarily on the needs of those who sail with me. Erestor and I will assist you, and Glorfindel will be your primary counselor. There is much for you to consider.”

Elrond had kept his eyes mostly on Elladan as he spoke, relying more upon the touch of his mind to Elrohir, whose arm was still wound through his, to gauge his reaction. Elladan’s eyes grew bright, for he enjoyed new challenges. This task would appeal to him, a chance to shape the passing of Elvendom in Middle-earth to Men.

Elrohir’s heart, however, was still focused on Elrond’s earlier words, on returning to Gondor to see Arwen. Elrond was pleased, for he foresaw Elladan in a position of command and leadership, while Elrohir would excel in diplomatic relations. He would do well in working with whomever Aragorn appointed.

A shadow appeared in the sky and Elrond looked up as a great eagle slowly circled above them. He raised a hand in greeting, and heard the eagle cry out in return before continuing north to its eyrie. Manwe’s messengers. Was their mission now accomplished as well? Would they stay to watch the affairs of Men?

The days were still short and the sun was already passing into the west. Elrond looked out once more over the hidden valley where he had spent an age and a half of the sun, committing the view to memory. He did not know if he would make this climb again.

Elladan led the way down while Elrohir came last, and Elrond smiled and allowed this expression of the protectiveness they had shown for him for the last year.

* * *

Late Summer, 3021 TA

Elrond entered his study to find Erestor staring at a pile of paper. His hands were clasped in his lap, and he leaned back in his chair as if he had been giving the parchment long thought. His brow was furrowed in a frown unlike anything Elrond had seen for years.

He pulled a chair up in front of his desk and stared at the pile too. Finally, he reached for the top paper only to have Erestor slap his hand down on top of it, holding it in place.

“Leave it,” growled Erestor.

Elrond smiled. “Is there a reason why you are abusing the parchment with both glares and beatings? What is in this stack anyway?”

“Plans for those who remain behind,” replied Erestor quietly. “My best estimations on what they will need for supplies, what stockpiles will remain here in Imladris and what they should trade for; a brief history of our interactions with the Dúnedain and dwarves, as well as what knowledge we have of Men in Dunland and the south.” He looked up at Elrond finally. “May I admit I worry for them?”

Elrond forced a smile back to his lips. Taking a deep breath, he answered, “Yes, you may. But we are not allowed to speak of our worry to them. I predict they will miss you terribly and manage on their own.” He sighed and a genuine smile came to him. “We are passing the standard, Erestor, giving wings to eagles who proved their ability to fly long ago. We have loosed them to fly from this nest for many centuries. We just are no longer maintaining the eyrie, but turning it over to them. They are well taught and have been left as prepared as we can make them.” Elrond ducked his head and grinned. “And we do not leave them entirely alone. Glorfindel stays with them.”

Erestor snorted. “That does not comfort me. Glorfindel can manage the defense of Imladris, but he has never managed the house, and his version of diplomacy usually means taking two swords to the training field and beating out the differences with them.”

“You must admit it normally works,” drawled Glorfindel.

Elrond glanced to the door, where Glorfindel lounged against the door frame. Glorfindel was not looking at him, though, but at Erestor, who glared back at him. Glorfindel’s gaze was gentle, however, and soon Erestor looked away.

Glorfindel pulled up another chair and sat down next to Elrond. He tugged the stack of papers from under Erestor’s hand and began to page through them.

“You have laid a good foundation for Elladan and Elrohir to work from,” he said after a moment. “They – we – will be fine. They are not elflings, but competent elves. Warriors, yes, but do not discount the long years of training in healing, diplomacy and administration that they have spent at your sides. They have already made plans with the rangers to include Rivendell in their defenses, as well as use the House for their needs.” He paused. “I have heard that Halbarad’s widow may come serve as housekeeper.”

Glorfindel straightened the stack, then placed it on the far edge of the deck, out of easy reach of Erestor or Elrond. “Have we heard decisions from all in Imladris now?” he asked.

Erestor grumbled under his breath and reached across the desk, pulling the stack back to him and removing the fourth document. Glorfindel grinned as he took the parchment and skimmed the contents. “There are so few staying I am surprised you do not have the names memorized. You could have simply recited them instead.”

“The list is for you, Glorfindel. I have no need of it,” groused Erestor.

Glorfindel grinned again, but then grew serious. “Are you prepared?”

Elrond shifted restlessly, and noted Erestor doing the same. His sons and Glorfindel had become used to their irritability. “Yes,” he finally answered.

And they were. Word had come from Mithrandir that Frodo would join them when they reached the Shire. He had sent to Círdan the same list of names that Erestor had on his desk, ensuring room for all, along with some items of historical items that Elrond wished to bring with him on the ship. Eyebrows had been raised at some of the things he had chosen to keep, but they were physical reminders of things he wished to share with Celebrían. All that remained in Imladris were the people and what they would need on the trail west.

His restlessness had grown as the day of departure had drawn near. The Wandering Company of Gildor Inglorien had appeared a week ago, accompanying Galadriel and Celeborn and the many elves of Lothlórien who were sailing. They were rested and ready to continue.

Music drifted up from the gardens.

“Come,” said Glorfindel. He stacked Erestor’s parchments and set them aside, then stood. When Erestor hesitated, Glorfindel walked around the desk and tugged gently on the chair back. Erestor rose and Glorfindel herded them from the room. “A last night of song and remembrance.”

* * *

Elrond mounted his horse, noting the young human boy who was assisting with the horses. He had noted several men and women in Imladris that he had not seen before, acknowledging them graciously but asking no questions. He had left the Great Hall in the early hours of the morning, returning to his chambers. He had spent his marriage night in that room, and his children had been born there. He had nursed Celebrían through the agony of her illness there, and shed many of his own tears on that bed when she had gone. Young Estel had spent his first night in Imladris there, while his mother recovered from the shock of Arathorn’s death. He had said goodbye to those rooms, then walked through the House, then out to the stables and around the grounds and gardens. It was autumn now, and the leaves had begun to take on their fall colors. A fitting time, it seemed to him, to say goodbye.

Now he looked around at all those who would be traveling with him. They waited on his word. He decided to speak it with action, and gently nudged his horse forward. With his sons flanking him, he led his people out of the valley.

He looked back only once, as they crossed the ridge where the House would disappear from his view forever. Smoke wisped from the chimney, dissipating in the west wind. He turned his back and continued.

The journey was uneventful. They saw few people on the road. They passed through the forest near Bree during the night, avoiding the town, and entered the Shire. Bilbo perked up at seeing his old home, and as expected, they found Frodo waiting for them. Elrond and Galadriel greeted him, both immediately sensing his weariness and restlessness. Gandalf had said as much, during one of his rare late night meetings with Frodo in the woods. Tale had come to them of the harm done to the Shire, and they heard more from the hobbits of the troubles that had come upon their land and how the four travelers had helped to settle them.

Círdan met them at the gates to the Havens. The ship was ready, a beautiful white ship, larger than some of those that had sailed in more recent times. Many had sailed in the two years since the War of the Ring ended, but this would carry the last of the Eldar. The Silvans would remain in their forests, and Glorfindel and Elrond’s sons in Imladris, but few others.

Mithrandir was there with Shadowfax, and the hobbits were glad to see him. There were few goodbyes spoken, for few were leaving loved ones behind, and soon most had embarked.

The sun was low in the sky. Elrond turned to his sons, his heart suddenly skipping a beat as he realized the time had come when he must say goodbye. Elladan and Elrohir stood side by side before him, and Elrond wondered how anyone could think they were identical. Their faces and bodies were indeed similar, but the projection of their fëar and their personalities were as dissimilar as any other two siblings might be. He knew he had to memorize them, though he doubted he could learn more in these few minutes than what he had learned in the millennia he had been blessed to have them in his house. Nonetheless, he could not stop the hands that rose to trace a hairline, a jawline, the curve of a lip as it rose in amusement.

Then all four of those arms were around him, and as their strength surrounded him, he knew that he was parent in name only. How was it he had learned this with Arwen first, and not seen it with his sons?

“We are only giving you a head start,” said Elladan tenderly.

“Time for you and Naneth to practice …things … in private until we arrive,” teased Elrohir.

Elrond bowed his head against their shoulders, laughter shaking all three of them at memories of days long past. Even as Elladan held his head comfortingly against him, he turned a stern voice upon his father. “You have grown thin and brittle, Adar. I expect when our smiling faces show up on your doorstep in Valinor you will be healed and whole, with Naneth at your side and your heart lighter than it has ever been in Middle-earth.”

Elrond could not respond. He had felt old since he was a youth himself, fighting in the War of Wrath, and since Vilya’s loss of power he had felt weary beyond hope. Thin and brittle, breakable. Could he become as his sons wished, as he wished?

“Yes, you can and will,” replied Elrohir, and he smiled at his father’s look of surprise. Elrond saw both sadness and love in the eyes that met his. His ability to shield his thoughts had remained diminished, and Elrohir, always so sensitive and perceptive, was reading them as easily as Elrond had read his when he was a child.

As he looked upon them in that moment, he no longer saw the wonderful adults they had become, or even the gangly adolescents who had amused the house with their delight in the world, but infants in his arms. He recalled the pride he had felt leading to their birth, which had become as nothing when he helped each from their mother’s womb.

~ ~ ~* * *~ ~ ~

Spring, 130 Third Age

“I have all the grace of a waddling warg,” sighed Celebrían, but the smile on her face was luminous as she waited for Elrond to come to her aid.

Elrond had been unable to remove the smile from his face since the day he had felt each of his sons move inside Celebrían, had connected with each tiny fëa and felt a joy unlike anything he had felt before. They had laughed as her slender form grew round, for if anything, she only looked more perfect to his eyes, like the ripest fruit on the tree, a flower in full bloom, and she shone in her radiance. Extending his hand to her, she grasped it and allowed him to pull her to her feet.

“Please do not insult my wife so,” he admonished. “She may have little sense at the moment, attempting to tend roses - which her beauty far overshadows, I might add - when she should be sitting in the shade with me, but I will tolerate no such criticisms of her.”

She leaned forward to kiss him, but her belly prevented her lips from reaching his, which reduced her to helpless laughter. He turned her in his arms, so her back was to him, and reached one arm to support the weight of her pregnancy while the other pulled her hair to one side, exposing her neck and ear to his questing lips. She gave a moan of pleasure, then turned her head to capture his mouth as she had originally intended. “It is not the same,” she complained.

He drew slightly back, one brow rising in amusement, for she had never complained about his lovemaking before. Her brow was furrowed and she was scowling as she tried to get comfortable in his arms. “Celebrían?” he questioned.

She pulled his head down and whispered in his ear. He felt his face grow warm as he considered her words. “I suggest we return to our rooms for that,” he finally answered, as blood rushed other places as well. “I am happy to oblige without question on all points but the last, for which I will insist on examining you first.”

She smiled at him. “That may be just as good. Come!” She turned toward the house and the private entrance to their quarters, and Elrond smiled to watch her go. She was waddling! She turned, attempted to place her hands on now non-existent hips, but had to settle for folding them across her belly instead.

“No warg waddles like that,” he informed her.

“Elrond,” she said in a warning tone.

He lifted his hands in supplication. “Your wish is my command, my lady,” he answered, and he walked quickly to join her.

Her entire pregnancy had been a joy. While Elrond had tended other elves in the birthing process, he had not known what those elves had experienced on a daily basis. Celebrían was vibrant and alive, easily aroused and more demanding of his touch than she had ever been. Her emotions varied, she laughed and cried sometimes over the same thing, but the emotions were nurturing. She would come into his study and march to his desk, and place his hands on her belly to feel the twins wrestling inside her. She would laugh with joy, and then cry with joy, and he no longer tried to determine when she would do which or why, for it followed no pattern and did not really matter.

She had gone out to tend her roses despite his wishes that she stay in the shade, and he had not argued, for he had known she would tire and not last long at the task. Her attention was not easily held by one activity, and she had tended over the last several days to sort baby things and arrange blankets and linens which needed no sorting or arranging from the last time she had done it. He had seen mother rabbits nesting, and knew that Celebrían was doing the same. A year had not gone by since the twins’ begetting, but he suspected they would be born early – he rather hoped so, as he did not know how much larger his wife could grow.

She tugged him to her as they entered their chambers, and he acquiesced, helping her to remove her clothing and let the warm breeze drift over her bare skin. She smelled different than normal, and she was so intense in her desire for his touch that he was surprised it took him so long to determine what was happening. He gave in to her immediate demand, fondling her breasts and kissing her, enjoying the sounds she was making, all the while moving her to their bed. Unable to lay any way except on her side for some weeks, she rolled to that position, content as long as his hands were on her. Husband turned to healer then, for he felt the rising intensity within her, and used his healing touch to soothe her mind even as he stroked her body. Her sighs of relief and delight in climax were followed by a contraction that doused their bed.

She looked at him in shock, trying to sit up and unable to, and he laughed and leaned down and kissed her again. “You will hold them in your arms this day,” he informed her.

“Today?” she cried. “But, it has not been a year! I do not have everything ready. They must wait.”

He rubbed her belly and breasts, and the slight contractions he had felt earlier increased again at the stimulation. They were not enough to be truly painful yet, but told him that she was progressing. “Everything is as ready as it needs to be,” he informed her. “Except for this bed, which will need to be changed. How does a warm bath sound?”

“Will you be there with me?” she asked, smiling, her outburst forgotten.

He could not help but laugh again. “I am yours to command. Let me get you settled and arrange for a clean bed first, however.”

He entered their bathing chamber and turned on the taps, then chose what essential oils he thought would be most beneficial to a mother about to give birth. When he returned for Celebrían, she had drifted nearly into sleep, so he scooped her into his arms and carried her to her bath. Once she was comfortable and relaxed, he again left the room, this time in search of Galadriel.

He found her in the hall outside their chambers, patiently waiting.

“Her water has broken and the contractions are slight but consistent. She is in a warm bath now,” he informed her. “Would you ask that our bed be changed?”

“I will prepare everything. Go back to your wife while I arrange your rooms,” replied Galadriel, a light of excitement in her eyes.

When Elrond and Celebrían emerged from her bath, Celebrían was in full labor and the room was prepared for birth. Their carefree moods had changed, with Celebrían fully concentrating on her labor and Elrond concerned with a child who would not turn into proper birthing position. His eyes met Galadriel’s, and without words his concerns were communicated.

“We will walk for a bit, and when you want to rest, I will help you to the mat,” said Elrond, and so they began the long process of walking and resting. Celebrían withdrew inside herself, focusing entirely upon their sons and her body, and Elrond would touch her mind and bear her pain as he could, and as she allowed. He would remember that time of communion forever, for never had he felt so close to Celebrían and both sons as he did during those moments.

They had just entered their room from the garden when a strong contraction shuddered through her, and she turned to him. “I have an overwhelming desire to push. It is time.”

Elrond helped her to kneel on the mat, and he was surprised when she automatically went to a hands and knees position. “This is different than I told you, my love, for our first son is breech. Stay on your hands and knees, as your body is telling you.”

Galadriel then took over support her daughter, for though it pained Elrond not to be sharing his wife’s burden, his concern for their sons meant he needed to focus on the delivery. Celebrían leaned into her mother’s touch as Elrond examined her. To his amazement, one foot had appeared.

“Push as you feel need and relax in between,” he said to Celebrían, caressing her hips, and then he turned his attention to their child. He massaged Celebrían’s belly, encouraging their sons, promising to aid them, and several pushes later their first son’s bottom had delivered, along with most of the body, the other leg and one arm. Alarm grew within him, for the shoulders and the other arm remained with the head in the birth canal, and he could see the cord straining from the belly.

“Do not push, Celebrían, hold for a moment!”

He turned all of his attention to his sons, calling to him silently by the names he and Celebrían had chosen but not yet announced. Lower your arm, Elladan; it is time to come into the world. Come, Elladan, come and meet us. A sudden vision flashed in his mind, and he saw into the womb, saw Elladan holding tightly to Elrohir’s hand, which was stretched above his head. Elladan, let go of Elrohir’s hand. We will not forget him. He will come right after you. Still the twins held to each other tightly, and Celebrían’s moan as she fought not to push as her body wished passed into Elrond’s mind. He turned his attention to Elrohir. Elrohir, let go of your brother so he might be born. Your mother needs you to help her, not fight against her, he coaxed the infant. Suddenly, Elladan’s arm dropped down and the cord went slack. Elrond encouraged Celebrían in the touch of their minds to push then the infant’s shoulders twisted, and Elrond gently guided the baby forward and out.

Celebrían slumped into her mother’s arms, unable to rest on her own hands anymore, and then looked for her child. Elrond quickly clamped the cord, and handed the infant to Celeborn, who had sat unobtrusively nearby until now. Celeborn sat on the floor next to Galadriel, holding their grandson for Celebrían to kiss and nuzzle.

Celebrían had only a short break, however, and a groan escaped her as another contraction gripped her. Elrond had used those few minutes to console Elrohir, and to convince him to place his arm back where it belonged. The infant had done as requested, and Elrond felt the trusting hold this child’s fëa had upon his own. He also felt his wife’s weariness, and her inability to support herself on her hands anymore.

He stood and lifted Celebrían to her feet, and she clung to him for a moment, unsure of what was happening for she was so withdrawn inside herself that she did not hear what was being said. When Galadriel was in position at the end of a bench, Elrond lowered Celebrían into a squatting position before her, and Galadriel took full support of her daughter’s weight upon her thighs. Celebrían relaxed under their soothing touch, and then the urge to push came. As Elrond felt the push, he called to Elrohir and the child easily slipped from his mother’s body and into his father’s waiting arms. At the same moment, Celebrían let forth a triumphant yell and then rested her head in her mother’s lap, panting as she strove to catch her breath.

“One push? He came with one push?” she said suddenly.

Galadriel laughed and stroked her daughter’s head. “One push. You are done; the hard work is over.”

As soon as she was cleaned and tended, and comfortably settled on cushions, both sons were placed in her lap, on cushions appropriately placed so that both might suckle at her breasts. “So Naneth says the hard work is over,” she murmured, lovingly caressing each dark head. “Why do I think this is not true, my stubborn one?” she crooned to her first born.

As she spoke, Elladan reached out his hand, and when it met empty air, he loosed his hold on his mother’s breast and let forth a cry that Elrond was sure could be heard all over the valley. Elrohir had not yet begun to nurse, still just nuzzling at Celebrían, and at his brother’s cry he began to squirm and reach to where the cry came from. When he could not find what he was seeking, he joined his cry to his twin’s. Celebrían seemed unbothered by the crying, gazing thoughtfully at her sons as she stroked their downy heads. Her touch helped, but did not calm them.

Galadriel and Celeborn both just watched, Galadriel quietly cleaning up the room as she kept one eye on her daughter and grandchildren. Elrond moved cushions to sit beside Celebrían, and she leaned against him gratefully, drawing strength from him as she had done throughout the pregnancy.

“This is how they tried to be born,” he said with a smile. He shifted Elrohir slightly, and the child’s arm dropped beneath her breast, then wrapped as far as that tiny arm could reach around it. Celebrían smiled as realized what he was doing, moving Elladan into the mirror position. Their hands clasped between her breasts, and silence fell on the room. Elrond guided each small mouth to a nipple, and they latched on and began to suckle vigorously, causing Celebrían to jump in surprise. “Painful?” he asked, concerned.

“A little, but not terribly so. It is just a slightly different sensation,” she replied out loud, then breathed into his ear, “You don’t suck nearly this hard.”

Elrond laughed at the twinkle already back in his exhausted wife’s eyes, and whispered back, “My intent was met by different gain,” to which she smiled knowingly, for she had liked the end gain of such play. When the twins were finished nursing, he let Galadriel and Celeborn take them, and put Celebrían to bed. He pushed her into a healing sleep, and sat beside her until she was completely relaxed beside him.

“You must rest now too,” said Galadriel firmly, pointing to a comfortable chair set between the bed and window.

“We will watch . . .” interrupted Celeborn, already heading for the door with a sleeping infant in his arms.

“. . .and hold your sons,” finished Galadriel.

She placed Elladan in his arms, and then took Elrohir from Celeborn and settled him next to his twin. Elrond smiled at her, thanking her wordlessly, and as they left the room he sat in silence, the only sound the light breathing of his beloved Celebrían, and the nearly imperceptible smacking of lips as Elrohir apparently dreamed of his next meal.

As he held them, he could not believe he had been so blessed. He had two sons, two perfect children, and all the time in Arda to get to know them. He caressed Elrohir’s cheek, and watched as the child’s head turned, his mouth opening, seeking the stimulus. He sucked on Elrond’s fingertip for a moment before lapsing back into sleep. Shifting them slightly, he drew back Elladan’s swaddling just slightly, freeing the hand that had just thumped against his chest. The tiny fist moved through the air, and Elrond caught it in his hand, and felt his heart melt when the fingers uncurled to clench at his finger.

“You are my seeker, grabbing on to life, taking what you want and you will pull your brother along with you,” he murmured to Elladan. “You are already like Elros, your spirit is so like to his I feel like I have known you forever.”

He turned to Elrohir, who nestled against his twin. “You will be my curious one, easily contented as long as your thirst to know all you wish to know is sated. You are so like to me that I must remember to let you be you.” He looked over them both, and then to Celebrían, then leaned forward to kiss each small forehead. “You cannot know how blessed you are in Eru’s choice of a mother for you. I still cannot believe she chose me, and now she has given you two to me. Undeserved love, undeserved grace.” His eyes filled with tears, and he felt as if his love was trying to burst forth from him.

“Fatherhood becomes you,” said Celebrían softly from the bed.

He looked up to see her watching him, her eyes heavy with sleep, a smile curving her lips as she looked on them with utter love. She was lying on her side, one hand pillowed against her cheek, and silver hair loose around her. She was beautiful, even when exhausted. Carefully standing, he made his way to the bed, lying down beside her, both infants asleep on his chest. She snuggled closer to him, still too round to get as close as she would like, but close enough to feel him pressed against her, and able to touch her sons.

“I love you, Celebrían, forever,” he reminded her.

“I love you, and you are mine, Elrond Peredhil, forever,” she answered possessively, yawning, then admonished him as she drifted back into sleep, “Take good care of my sons.”

~ ~ ~* * *~ ~ ~

“Adar,” said Elrohir, interrupting his thoughts.

Elrond focused his eyes, gazing on his sons who watched him with a mixture of amusement and concern.

“I promised her I would take good care of you,” he said hoarsely.

“And you have, Adar,” said Elrohir, though he had no idea what path of waking dreams his father had been on. He wiped away the tears that ran down Elrond’s face. “We could not ask for more, nor have expected better.”

“It is time, Adar,” said Elladan.

Elrond followed his son’s gaze out of the protected area in which they stood to where the hobbits were saying their goodbyes. Merry and Pippin had raced from the trees, down the slope and to the harbor as if their very lives depended on it. They were saying goodbye to Frodo and Bilbo, and when Gandalf finally motioned for the hobbits to board, Elrond knew he must also.

He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. “Not goodbye, Adar, only a fare well until we next meet,” said Elladan, his voice as cheerful as he could make it.

With a final look at them, Elrond turned to the waiting ship.

Galadriel had boarded, and Bilbo and Frodo, and only Círdan remained, waiting for him. Celeborn was standing motionless, watching where Galadriel had just disappeared from his sight. Elrond lightly touched his arm. Celeborn turned to him, his eyes reflecting the long years of his life.

“Fare well, my son. Go to my daughter and be well,” he said softly.

Elrond clasped his arm. “We will be waiting for you.”

Elrond sensed no restlessness in his father-in-law, no call of the sea upon him, only grief at the parting from those he loved. Celeborn turned and walked away, joining his grandsons.

He looked for Glorfindel last. His golden hair shone in the setting son where he stood next to Círdan. His friend and protector took his hands and smiled at him.

“Glorfindel,” he began, but then words escaped him. How did he thank this elf who had stood by his side for two ages, who stayed behind with his children?

“Elrond,” replied Glorfindel, smiling. “I promised your father I would serve and protect you. Such has been my honor. I will bring your sons, in time, and I will watch over your daughter. Go and be healed, my friend. Your long labors in Middle-earth are finished and your beloved awaits you.”

Glorfindel embraced him and Elrond held on to this comforting presence that had stood by his side through the best and worst times of his life. Then Glorfindel released him to Círdan.

“It is time,” said Círdan.

Elrond felt the warm weight of that fatherly hand on his back, and he boarded the ship. Círdan followed him, and the gangway was moved away. Elrond watched as the ship slowly moved away from the shore. Suddenly Galadriel was at one side, and Frodo on the other. The faces of Celeborn, Glorfindel, Elladan, Elrohir, Sam, Pippin and Merry gradually faded into the shadows as the sun set and distance increased.

“This is the end, then,” said Frodo softly.

Elrond laid a hand upon Frodo’s shoulder. “The ending of our time here, but it is also a beginning,” he replied. “There is hope for all of us in elvenhome, Frodo.”

As he spoke the words, Elrond realized the promise of them, of the hope they brought, not a hope based on wishful thinking, but on a joyous and confident expectation of a promise made. Estel, in the language of the elves. A trusting hope in the promises made to them. He turned and looked west, where the sun was sinking slowly into the sea. “Come,” he said gently. “Let us now watch what is before us.”

* * * * *

* Gandalf laughed. 'A most unquenchable hobbit! All Wizards should have a hobbit or two in their care – to teach them the meaning of the word, and to correct them.’ (The Two Towers)

Author’s Notes: Long again, but I know some enjoy these.

There were a few things that I thought were important to cover as Elrond prepares to sail. First is this notation from letters 246 (see below) about conversations that Frodo would have had in Rivendell that helped him to understand the gift that Arwen offered him, plus someone had to tell Bilbo, and it made sense to me that it was Elrond who would have spoken to them. Gandalf likely did too, but I am not writing from his POV.

The second important thing is around the theme of the Dominion of Men. There are two references in HoME XII and one in Letters (there may be others as well) that speak to Aragorn and Arwen and/or their children being the heirs of ‘Elfdom’ – and beyond the symbolic things, HoME XII specifically mentions the Elven Realms. Had Elrond passed the standard, so to speak, to his sons if their fate were that of the elves, would be to ignore the theme of the Dominion of Men and the end of the time of the Eldar. To pass the standard to his sons, if their fate was that of men, complicates the HoME passages that speak to the heirs being through Arwen’s line.

I read an interesting argument that Tolkien’s letter stating that the sons of Elrond ‘delayed their choice and remained for a while’ holds an implication that they chose to be Elves. If they stay, they are men. If they make the choice, it implies change, and that would be to sail. A ‘while’ is some length of time, but not normally ‘forever’, so the implication is that they chose to be elves and sail. Now, one can argue the other side too, but I like this one better, LOL. So, if they choose to be Elves, then it makes no sense for Imladris to be left to them or for them. There may be inadequate inhabitants to defend and care for it, so it will fall into decay unless Men are brought in. That is one model, of course, and other writers may choose other scenarios. But I like the idea of the twins as stewards of Elvendom, stewards to Aragorn and Arwen, helping to orchestrate the passing of the baton from the Eldar to Men.. and how fitting that the half-elven would serve in this final role of bridging the two worlds.

Regarding the birth of the twins in the flashback, some may have noticed that while the ‘current’ story is progressing forward to the end of the Third Age, the flashbacks have been going backwards to the beginning of the Third Age. I’ve already shown Elrond and Celebrían’s marriage, so we are mostly done with flashbacks. The rest of the story will mostly be the wrap up of the end of this time.

I wrote this birth of the twins scene fifteen months ago, and published it on my LJ on Father’s Day 2005! So if some recognize it, you’re not crazy. :D It has more detail than a flashback might need, but I had other intentions for the scene when I first wrote it. If you don’t like medical reasoning/stats, quit reading here.

For the twins to be holding hands in the womb, they had to be monoamniotic – sharing the same sac – which sort of fits with a previous story of mine, where the twinning was a confusing experience for Elrond and Celebrían due to how late it happened (the two fea were still one and then split). Monochorionic-monoamniotic twins are rare and have a higher rate of complications than twins each having their own sacs. Being elven, I figured E2 would be careful not to compress each other’s cords or twist up too much. :D

Statistics on breech births suggest that up to 30-40% of twins have at least one twin born breech. One of the highest success rates for uncomplicated spontaneous vaginal breech deliveries is the hands and knees position, as it is gravity neutral and can take pressure off the cord. Many women take to it naturally, when left to their own devices. It also can ease back labor. Squatting is one of the most common birth positions in the world (except here, where we like to defy gravity for some reason) and can work for both spontaneous breech and head down delivery. Interestingly enough, a surprising number of women feel heightened sexual arousal when pregnant, and orgasm can occur in some birth positions due to pressure on the clitoris… and a few case reports associate orgasm with the breaking of the water and helping to initiate labor. Not stuff a lot of women talk about with their docs, I’m sure, but it was an interesting article and hey, this is fantasy and I thought Celebrían should have a good experience.

Last, my apologies for the long delay. Real life has been a bear. The last chapters are mostly written, so they should go up in a timely manner.

HoME XII:

Aragorn became King of Arnor and Gondor in the name of Elessar. He played a great part in the War of the Ring in which at last Sauron and the power of Mordor was destroyed. He wedded Arwen Undomiel daughter of Elrond and restored the majesty and blood of the Numenoreans. The Third Age ended with the departure of Elrond in 3022 [> 3021]; and the descendants of Elessar through Arwen became also heirs of the elf-realms of the westlands.

'Became King Elessar of Gondor and Arthedain, aided in the overthrow of Sauron with which Third Age ended in 3019. He wedded Arwen Undomiel, daughter of Elrond. His descendants became thus heirs of the Numenorean realms, and of Luthien and the Elf-kingdoms of the West.'

Letters

131: We are to see the overthrow of the last incarnation of Evil, the unmaking of the Ring, the final departure of the Elves, and the return in majesty of the true King, to take over the Dominion of Men, inheriting all that can be transmitted of Elfdom in his high marriage with Arwen daughter of Elrond, as well as the lineal royalty of Numenor.

246: This is a long letter, and one that should be read in its entirety to understand more about Frodo’s accomplishments and fate. I wondered how he came to understand what Arwen offered him in Minas Tirith, and found this comment: Already on the journey back from Rivendell he suddenly saw that was not for him possible. Hence his cry ‘Where shall I find rest?” He knew the answer, and Gandalf did not reply. As for Bilbo, it is probable that Frodo did not at first understand what Arwen meant by ‘he will not again make any long journey save one’. At any rate, he did not associate it with his own case. When Arwen spoke (in TA 3019) he was still young, not yet 51, and Bilbo 78 years older. But at Rivendell he came to understand things more clearly. The conversations he had there are not reported, but enough is revealed in Elrond’s farewell. From the onset of the first sickness (Oct 5, 3019) Frodo must have been thinking about ‘sailing’, though still resisting a final decision – to go with Bilbo, or to go at all. It was no doubt after his grievous illness in March 3020 that his mind was made up.

Thank you to daw the minstrel for beta reading this chapter

Chapter 18: The Straight Road

Still round the corner there may wait
A new road or a secret gate;
And though I oft have passed them by,
A day will come at last when I
Shall take the hidden paths that run
West of the Moon, East of the Sun.

As the ship passed beyond the harbor, Frodo help up the phial of Eärendil’s light. It blazed brightly for a moment, a final farewell to Middle-earth, then its light faded and it became nothing more than a simple crystal gem. The land disappeared from sight in the east and the sun from the west, and finally Elrond turned from the rail. The elves had gathered together midship, singing of Valinor and the West, but Bilbo and Frodo had stayed at his side, mesmerized by the sound as much as they were seeking the comfort of his known presence in this unknown time.

“Come, Bilbo,” he said gently. “You may as well be rocked to sleep in your bunk as on your feet.”

Bilbo started from his standing slumber but was tired enough that he did not even ask the time, as he usually did. Elrond kept his hand near, guiding the ancient hobbit to his berth on the main deck of the ship. A small cabin had been prepared for the two mortals, who would need to sleep each night, and though Bilbo seldom admitted it, nap throughout the day as well.

Elrond saw Bilbo settled then left the hobbits alone. He returned to the deck where Galadriel still stood, and found himself bathed in the light of Vingilot. Never had he seen the star so low. He looked up into the piercing light, seeking as he had since he was a child a look at her captain.

And saw his father.

He gasped, truly surprised for the first time in a millennium. He saw a face not unlike his own, but evoking more a memory of Elros. Proud and stern, Eärendil’s face was awash in the light of the Silmaril bound to his brow. He stood motionless, watching the ship below him, but his piercing gaze landed on Elrond and he recognized him. His face softened perceptibly and he slowly lifted a hand in greeting.

Elrond was so stunned it took him a moment to respond. He felt small and shadowed next to that glorious light, but finally his thoughts settled and he raised a hand in return. The ships gradually passed, Elrond moving from the front to the back of the ship, keeping Eärendil in sight a moment longer. He felt a warm hand on his shoulder and realized that Círdan stood beside him. He too was watching above, and he also raised a hand in greeting.

When Vingilot had passed and the night had again settled around them, Círdan said, “That is the first time I have seen his face since he left the harbor at Sirion, never to return.”

Elrond grasped the railing tightly as his world spun around him. “I did not remember his face,” he admitted.

Círdan’s hands covered his, gently loosing them from the rail and pulling him away. “Hardly surprising, giving your tender age when he sailed,” he replied, his voice strangely gentle, the usual hint of gruffness gone.

Elrond looked up at the sound of laughter and saw Mithrandir, who seemed younger, much younger than Gandalf the Grey but younger than Elrond remembered him even at their first meeting.

“I have seen Eärendil in more recent times, and he looks as he always has. One of the joys of sailing with you, Elrond, will be the number of times I witness your surprise. While you look forward to meeting your own parents and so many others, you have no idea how many can hardly wait to meet you,” said the wizard.

Galadriel joined them, and Elrond sensed already a lessening of the turmoil of the sea within her, now that she rode on the wind and waves herself. He looked out over the water, and then back at the three watching him.

“May I admit that I feel five years old again?” he finally asked.

“As long as you keep your hands off the beard.” Círdan’s eyes twinkled.

“And you do not try to touch the sea,” added Galadriel. At Mithrandir’s raised brow, she amended, “Admittedly, that was Elros who felt the need to lean overboard and touch a wave, but Elrond would have tried, given time.”

“Come to the cabin and rest and refresh yourselves,” invited Círdan. “The day has been long.”

He led them to a cabin where Elrond found his travel chest, along with items belonging to Mithrandir and Círdan. He was glad for the privacy, for he remained weary and still rested more than he had previously been accustomed.

Cups of wine had been set out for them. Elrond brought one for him and one for Galadriel, and joined her on the padded bench near an open window that looked out over the water. The sea calmed her.

Círdan opened a chest beside his berth and removed a smaller, ornate box. He pulled forth an item wrapped in cloth and gave it to Mithrandir. “As we discussed,” he said quietly.

Mithrandir unwrapped the sphere, the Palantir of Elostirion.

“I sent word to Aragorn with Elladan and Elrohir,” explained Mithrandir. “We had discussed that we would return this seeing-stone to Valinor and the master stone. They will let him know that we indeed have it.”

“No longer will Men look west at what was,” said Galadriel. “Their future is before them, and soon even the history of Númenor will be forgotten, regarded only as a fairy tale that few believe.”

“Indeed,” replied Mithrandir. “This stone has only ever looked west and is of little value to Men now. More importantly, Men will grow in both ability and desire, ever seeking beyond themselves and achieving what seems to us to be impossible. They will rise to great heights and fall to great evil before Arda ends. It is best if this view of a land prohibited to them is removed from their sight. We are the last guardians of this Palantir, and it is fitting that we return it to the land where it was made.”

Galadriel slipped something from a pocket in her gown. She opened her hand, palm up, and held out before them the ring of Barahir.

“At our parting, Aragorn returned this to me. He asked me to return it to my brother, in acknowledgement of a debt long paid. No longer will Elves and Men come to each other’s aid. Our long friendship with the noble houses of Men has ended, sundered forever by the sea.”

Elrond’s eyes stung as he looked upon the ring. What Aragorn had done was fitting and showed great wisdom and maturity, but memory filled him: of the long years he had held that ring in preparation for one of Isildur’s heirs to rise and restore the kingdom, of giving that ring to Aragorn when he told him of his heritage, and of seeing it on Arwen’s hand for these last years, a sign of her betrothal to Aragorn and her hope in him.

That they sailed in search of the straight road had been a sign of the finality of their lives in Middle-earth, but these tokens were signs of a sundering of the kindreds. Pain grew inside him, for though he had always known his heart was with Elves, Men had been his people too and their blood flowed in his veins.

“Drink.”

Elrond lifted the cup that he had been holding and obediently put it to his lips, but only when a hand tipped it up did he drink. The fluid immediately revived him, and he realized it was no ordinary wine, but cordial designed for such purpose. Weariness still weighed heavily upon him, but he again felt able to bear up under it.

He focused again on his companions. Mithrandir was on his feet again, looking west out over the dark sea. Galadriel had returned the ring to her pocket, and she too looked west. Both had come from Valinor and were going home. Círdan however, was watching him.

“I think I will rest,” said the old mariner, effectively excusing Mithrandir and Galadriel from the cabin. They took their wine and left, moving to a quiet seating area outside the cabin.

Elrond shed his outer garments and crawled into his bunk, drawing a light blanket over himself. He was surprised when the curtains that allowed for privacy fell shut behind him, leaving only a small opening near the edge. He noticed that Círdan had not laid down to rest but sat at the small table, a writing tablet in hand. Elrond thought no more about it as he found the path of dreams quickly and Celebrían waiting for him.

* * *

Some days later….

“We will enter the straight road today.”

Elrond turned at the sound of Círdan’s voice. Anor was just rising out of the sea, and it warmed his face despite the cool morning breeze. Círdan’s white hair glinted gold in the sunlight, and his eyes in anticipation.

His own heart leapt in response. He turned back west, scanning the horizon as if he might see the Straight Way, even though he knew he would not.

“Near dusk,” continued Círdan, as he came to stand at Elrond’s side.

Excitement built as word spread that this would be the day. As evening fell, they gathered at the bow. A chair had been placed there for Bilbo, for he had insisted he wished to see the change, should there be anything to see.

“Pay close attention now, my lad,” the old hobbit admonished Frodo.

“Of course, Bilbo,” replied Frodo with a smile.

Lindir, however, could not let the comment pass by. His eyes gleamed with humor as he asked, “Pay close attention to what, Bilbo? We will be sure to wake you so you do not miss anything.”

Bilbo snorted. Elrond waited for him to insist that he did not nod off and require awakening, but the hobbit just waved Lindir off. “Make your jests if you will, Lindir. We will be glad to call you to the bow when the passage happens, if you are so lost in your music that you miss it.”

Lindir grinned and Bilbo’s eyes twinkled, and Elrond could not help but smile as he set a tray with tea on a table next to the hobbit. He placed an extra blanket about the hobbit’s shoulders and looked down into grateful eyes. “Drink your tea and stay warm, Bilbo. There is a chill in the wind.”

He heard a call from the crow’s nest, and followed the elf’s line of sight to where he saw a dark protrusion arising from the sea. It was not tall, and was often lost from sight when waves washed over it. The peak of Meneltarma.

The seas became rough. Elrond kept one hand on Bilbo’s shoulder. Mithrandir stood at the ship’s rail, watching the horizon intently. They rode the great crest of a wave, then sank into the valley it had left. The craft shuddered under the force of the seas, and Elrond’s concern for the hobbits grew, for it was said that mortal flesh could not make this journey unaided. Then as suddenly as the seas had risen, they calmed. Elrond looked to the raised captain’s platform and noted that Círdan’s hands were not on the wheel. He followed Círdan’s gaze from the horizon to the wheel, which suddenly turned slightly of its own accord.

Before them, the horizon blurred. The sky turned light gray, blending with the water until it was impossible to tell where the water ended and the sky began. It was like looking through a silk gossamer curtain that flowed lightly in the wind. Then they were entering into the grey curtain, and no one breathed or moved as the mists swirled about them.

They drifted through the mists, though the winds had diminished and the air was still. There was no sound. Elrond looked down at the water, and found no ripple or wake from their passage. It was as if they were floating, sailing along in something purer than air with guidance and power from something beyond them.

The mists thinned, but the skies about them darkened. Sound returned with the lap of the water against the sides of the boat. Elrond stepped closer to the rail, and looking down he saw treacherous rocks all along the side of the ship. Waves crashed upon the rocks, and Elrond could see the deeper shadow of land. Suddenly a tower rose out of the mist on their port side. So close were they between the tower on one side and the rocks on the other that it did not seem possible to navigate the ship safely through the narrow channel.

“Before you is Tirimbrithla, the Tower of Pearl,” said Mithrandir calmly, “and the Enchanted Isles run north and south of it. These were set in place as part of the defense of Valinor, at the end of the Second Age. No ship may pass the enchantments without the aid of the Valar.”

His words had a calming effect on them all, but most especially upon the hobbits. Elrond felt some of the tension leave Bilbo’s shoulder, yet still he kept a hand on each of them.

The ship was carefully navigated through the shoals, though with no aid from Círdan or his mariners. The shadows began to lighten and then it seemed as if before them there was a wall of silvered glass. The sea began to sing, faint at first but growing louder as they approached the curtain before them. The skies grew light, and then whether they passed through it or the veil dissolved Elrond did not know, but it was gone and the sun shone brightly upon them and the tower of Avallónë rose before them amidst the rolling green hills of Tol Eressëa.

“My dream!” gasped Frodo. “I dreamed of this!”

“Much has changed,” said Galadriel softly at nearly the same moment.

The two looked at each in surprise, and Galadriel laughed. “I am returning to the land of my birth. Three ages of this world have passed and much has changed,” she explained. “Of what did you dream, Frodo Baggins?”

“Only of this moment,” replied Frodo. “In Tom Bombadil’s house. I had nearly forgotten.”

“I hope you included it in your book,” interrupted Bilbo. “Seems to me an important detail.”

“I included it; I just did not know until this moment the meaning of the dream,” explained Frodo. He smiled, but neither he nor Bilbo took their eyes from the westward shores.

Elrond grinned as Bilbo began quizzing Frodo about his experiences and what he put in his book and what he did not. Galadriel had stepped closer to the rail, her hands white upon it. It was one of the only signs of any emotion that might be apprehension, anxiousness or excitement that Elrond had ever seen in her. He left the hobbits and stood next to her, covering one of her hands with his own, and she twisted her fingers to grasp his hand.

“Three ages of the world have passed since I have seen my naneth. I know not what emotion prevails – joy at seeing her, hope that she will have forgiven my leaving . . . and fear that she will pity me,” said Galadriel softly.

Elrond could not help but notice how her chin thrust out stubbornly at her words, and he lightly caressed her hand. She accepted the comfort, and he sensed when she lowered the barriers she had erected around her own thoughts and mind, allowing him to see her vulnerability. Returning home after such an absence… Elrond suddenly wondered if her brothers again walked in Valinor, if she was in fact the last of her house to return.

As I wonder also, her thought drifted to him. Will they be returned from Mandos’s Halls, strong and confident? Will I be just the wearied younger sister, tired and thin and brittle, lost in their shadow?

Elrond turned to face his mother-in-law. He knew his face and thoughts reflected his disbelief at her insecurities; yet he understood them completely. You apparently need a reminder of a few facts, and as your son I am determined that you will hear them now, he directed his thoughts to her with mock sternness. She smiled, indulging him, yet needing to hear his words. You alone of your siblings survived the First Age and the destruction of Beleriand. You alone succeeded in settling a peaceful realm, and becoming one of the Wise of Middle-earth, a leader of not only your own elvenkind, but of the elves of the Moriquendi. You married and raised a child. You have fought Sauron, and held on to the bitter end to see him defeated. You have seen through to the end all that you began; you have faced trials and tests and passed them all. You have used your powers wisely, and allowed them to depart from you gracefully and humbly. There is no shame in returning weary from a fight well fought.

He watched as tears glistened in her bright eyes, yet none dared slip down her cheeks. She leaned into him, drawing comfort from him, and she silently thanked him. He realized at that moment what a tower of strength Celeborn had been for her, and what she had left behind. Galadriel had radiated power, but supporting and girding her had been the limbs of a tree unbent by the strongest storms.

“The Havens of Avallónë!” called Círdan from his perch at the helm, and Elrond straightened, his eyes searching as the harbor came into view. He could see elves on the shoreline, but none were distinct yet to his eyes.

An excited murmur spread amongst all those on board at Círdan’s call. Elrond heard them moving about him, sensed when Erestor came to stand at his elbow, but he could not draw his gaze away from the shore. He felt a tug on his heart, distracting him, and he brushed it aside until the insistence of it forced him to look inside himself. Celebrían!

He cried her name to the wind, and felt the growing presence of her in his mind, until he thought he might swell and burst. So overwhelmed was he that he could not even properly communicate with her; that had been lost during her time in the orcs’ den and their long separation. Her Valar-aided support of him at Arwen’s wedding and the days after still paled in comparison to the restoration of their bond. Now he could hear her gentle voice flowing within him, welcoming him, loving him, and he was the one unable to respond.

He paced in the few feet of space he had at the rail, barely noticing the amused looks of the elves who stepped out of his way. Somewhere in the recess of his mind he heard Frodo asking Mithrandir if something was wrong with Master Elrond to make him act so, and Mithrandir’s answer that a long separation from his beloved wife was about to end.

There were many flashes of colors moving on the shore, but he heard a whisper in his mind that directed him to look elsewhere. “There!” he cried aloud, and Galadriel followed his thought to the beautiful elf who stood with twilight blue ribbons wound through her hair, crowned with a garland of white flowers.

“Celebrían,” breathed Galadriel, relief in her voice. Elrond realized her eyes were on others standing behind her daughter, and it took him only a moment to place the regal elf who rested one hand on his wife’s shoulder.

“Finarfin, High King of the Noldor,” he answered quietly.

“My adar,” agreed Galadriel, and she trembled.

Elrond’s eyes never left Celebrían as Círdan docked the ship at the main gangway. She had not ceased speaking to him, though he had not managed to say much in return. She had not asked about their sons, she focused only on him, and the pain of having to tell her was growing in him.

I know, her thought settled in his mind.

He jerked his head in wonder, and she smiled at him.

The gangway was secured and the gate at the rail opened. Mithrandir stepped forward and then held out his arm, beckoning them to go before him.

“It is time,” said Círdan from behind him. “The others are waiting for you.”

Elrond looked around him and saw that all were waiting for him and Galadriel to descend first. He took his mother-in-law by the arm and they stepped past Mithrandir, who followed with the hobbits. He tried to resist the urge to run, but when he saw Celebrían lift the edge of her skirt and begin to run to him, he abandoned all pretense of dignity. She flew into his arms as he stepped off the gangway.

“Elrond!” she cried, her delight and joy surrounding him. Then, to his amazement, he felt her feä, strong and confident, wrap about his own, encircling and girding it with power and strength that he would not have thought possible ever again. He was surprised and nearly overwhelmed, but Mithrandir’s words came back to him: she will be your strength. Humbled, Elrond hid nothing from her, erected no barriers against her, and let her strengthen him.

“Celebrían,” he finally said, drawing away from her. “Arwen. . ..”

“I know,” she said gently.

“Elladan and Elrohir have promised . . .”

“I know,” she interrupted. She pulled his head down and kissed him. “I love you, Elrond.”

Elrond fell mute, all his prepared words explaining the state of their family and how it had come to be that way now unneeded. He felt Celebrían’s interest in another reunion and turned with her to watch it. Celebrían was smiling at her grandfather, who held his only daughter and wept unashamedly at having her in his arms again. Galadriel looked comfortable there, and Elrond realized that she too had given up any pretense and in humility had allowed her parents to comfort and welcome her.

“Your adar,” began Elrond, but Celebrían put her fingers to his lips to silence him, and Elrond resolved to ask her how she knew all of these things at a later time. Then he suddenly realized that he knew nothing. Stepping back, he held Celebrían at arm’s length and studied her intently. She lifted her brow and winked, her eyes twinkling in suggestion, and he felt a surge of desire for her that startled him.

Her eyes were clear and her fëa was pure again, no longer shadowed by the evil that had marred both her body and her spirit. She was whole and healthy, more perfect than had been possible in marred Arda. He wanted to know more, but her thoughts interrupted him again. I am whole and I am your Celebrían, the wife you remember and longed for. Suffice it for today to say that it was for you that I held on through healing, so that when this day came I would be well and strong for you. It is enough, my love. I want to take you home now and chase away the weariness that shadows you.

Elrond realized at that moment that it was enough. There was much he wanted to see and people he wished to meet, but nothing sounded better than going home with his wife. He looked around them, watching as elves surrounded those who had disembarked and then melted away into the crowd. These folks were of his house, had been his responsibility, and they were going off to places he knew not, and he wondered when he would see them again.

“It is expected that new arrivals stay in Avallónë for a few weeks, to settle and learn the whereabouts of family and friends. Some will choose to stay in this city, others will move elsewhere on Tol Eressëa. Some will make their way to Tirion and Alqualondë, and other areas of Aman,” explained Celebrían.

Galadriel stepped towards them, and Celebrían ended her explanation by throwing her arms about her mother. Elrond moved forward obediently at Finarfin’s gesture, and found that the elf he had met on the battlefield in the War of Wrath had not changed in the ensuing ages. The same gentle voice and hands greeted him, and he was grateful that those hands had been available to Celebrían.

“Finally you have come,” said the king, forgoing all formalities. He introduced Elrond to Eärwen his wife but did not introduce the many others of his household that were gathered behind him. “There is time enough for that,” he said with twinkling eyes. “It was said once that many could claim you, and you will find that true here, Elrond Peredhel. Your lineage is traced back to each of the elven kindreds, and they along with the peredhel and even a stray human await their chance to meet you. But now you will go to the home Celebrían has prepared for you and the members of your house that will remain with you.” The king suddenly smiled. “Well, perhaps there is one you should greet now.”

Elrond had lost sight of Círdan upon landing, but saw the ancient elf when Finarfin stepped aside and inclined his head to a reunion happening behind them. He wondered who Círdan was embracing, for he was not the sort to show affection so readily. Círdan released the elf and turned. “Elrond!” he called, a smile on his face of pure joy.

Elrond was speechless. He knew the elf, yet he did not. The slender dark haired figure before him had gathered all the elves of Middle-earth to him, ruled them and inspired them, and died at Sauron’s hand before Elrond’s eyes. Gil-galad. Ereinion Gil-galad. He had been tired and weary; he had foreseen his own death and yet faced it bravely. This elf was innocent and carefree, perfect in form, with no evidence of the wounds and burns that had destroyed his hroä.

“Has he lost his tongue? Elrond is speechless? I did not think it possible!” said Gil-galad to Círdan, his tenor voice melodic.

Elrond began to bow, to drop to his knee before his king, but Gil-galad grasped his arms and held him upright. “So tired and weary, but you won at last,” he said softly, and then he kissed Elrond’s cheek and wrapped his arms about him. Unable to form coherent words, Elrond just held on to this beloved figure of his past and let Ereinion speak instead. “I am nearly as lost as you,” Gil-galad admitted after a moment. “I have not been long out of Mandos’s Halls and am still learning my way.”

“In all my thoughts of elvenhome, I did not allow myself to hope that you would be here,” said Elrond finally. “Though one would think that knowing Glorfindel would have made me consider that you might have also returned.”

“Where is your shadow?” asked Ereinion, glancing around them.

“In Middle-earth, with my children,” replied Elrond hoarsely, his voice nearly breaking.

Gil-galad’s face softened as he considered Elrond’s words and the pain Elrond could not disguise as he spoke. “You will find peace and healing here, Elrond. I see you have already found your wife. I am glad you finally took my advice and married her.”

Elrond felt Celebrían’s arms slip around his waist, and he turned so she could press against his side. Her touch strengthened him immediately, and he was again amazed at how strong she had become. “Now it is time to for us to take our people home. I am looking forward to meeting your hobbits,” she said firmly.

Elrond looked up in surprise at those words, and then turned to see that indeed some of those of his house were waiting for him. He saw the weariness in Frodo’s eyes and the light of adventure that shone through Bilbo’s, though he was nearly dozing on his feet, and anxiousness in the eyes of other elves born in Middle-earth who did not have direct kin present. The contentedness of being needed washed over him, and he smiled at them. Celebrían stepped forward as hostess, as if she had never been apart from them, welcoming them to the house of Elrond in Tol Eressëa. Many a tense face was eased as each felt his place established, and Elrond realized his own was included. Celebrían had established his place as well.

Elrond watched as Bilbo’s eyes lit up when Celebrían turned her attention to them.

“Lady Celebrían,” greeted the old hobbit, and he bowed with a sudden grace that belied his aged body.

“Bilbo and Frodo Baggins,” she replied, giving each her hand in turn. “We are so glad you have come. Food and rest await you, after just one more short journey this day by carriage.”

They were interrupted by the clear call of a horn, and turning to the sound Elrond saw two magnificent figures approaching. Silence fell over the crowd, and even those who did not know who the two were recognized them as Valar in their hearts. Elrond instantly bowed before them

“Rise!”

Elrond looked up as the herald of Manwë commanded. Manwë and Varda had stopped before the White Tree Celeborn that bloomed in the courtyard of the Havens. They beckoned Mithrandir to them.

“Olórin,” said Manwë in a deep voice that Elrond felt in his heart as much as he heard it. “Welcome home. Well done, my good and faithful servant, steward of Middle-earth and emissary of Ilúvatar himself. Welcome home, my friend.”

Mithrandir had remained bowed on one knee before the King of the Valar, but he met the gaze of Manwë with joy. Manwë drew him to his feet, and Gandalf the White, Mithrandir, faded before their eyes. No longer embodied as an old man, he was suddenly ageless and more beautiful than any elf. Varda took his simple white robe and replaced it with a flowing mantle of some weave Elrond did not recognize. Then his view was blocked by others similar in appearance who surrounded Olórin, greeting him, including one clothed as a female who met Elrond’s gaze with a look filled with both joy and sadness.

“That is Melian, mother of Lúthien,” said Celebrían softly. “She came to welcome Olórin home, but also to see you, son of Elwing. I am to bring you to the Gardens of Lórien, where she resides, once you are settled.”

Elrond nodded to the Maia in acknowledgment, and she held his gaze for a moment longer before turning back to the reunion before her.

“Will we see Gandalf again?” asked Bilbo.

Elrond rested a hand on the hobbit’s shoulder, guiding him to the waiting carriage. “I do not know if you will see Gandalf again, but I think we will see much of Olórin.” He smiled at the hobbits. “Come, I am as curious as you to see our new home.”

* * *

Elrond looked at the long line of carriages and wagons following them on the winding road that led out of the city and into the hills. A particular carriage caught his eye, for it followed after a gap in the line, and seemed to lead its own entourage.

“Is that not King Finarfin’s device on that carriage?” he finally asked.

Celebrían smiled. “He hoped that Galadriel would wish to come home with him and Eärwen, but expected she would wish to spend at least the first few days with us. His claim might be greater than my own, for he has been apart from her far longer, but I said that I too hoped for my naneth to be with me.” She laughed lightly. “I think Naneth will need more than a few days to slip back into life in the Noldor Court.”

Across from them, Bilbo had nodded off on Frodo’s shoulder, and even Frodo was dozing. Elrond let out a long slow breath and felt some of his weariness release his soul and dissipate from him. He felt Celebrían’s fea surround him and surrendered all of his mind to her. Do you feel the change within you already, my love?

He realized he did. It was difficult to describe the change, but he tried. I feel unguarded, or perhaps rather like there is no reason to be guarded. Evil does not reside here.

Earwen says evil has scarred even this land, but it is difficult for those of us who have lived in Middle-earth to see it, so slight it seems. But you have identified what it took me long to articulate: there is a peace here that runs deep. Never did I realize how on guard we all lived until my soul was truly free.

Elrond glanced at the hobbits, but both appeared to be sleeping. He turned slightly so he could see into Celebrían’s eyes. She looked up at him, and he could read the peace and joy of her soul in her gaze. He felt her hand on his cheek, her thumb brushing against his lip. Tears sprang to his eyes and he blinked them away. “You really are well,” he whispered.

She pulled his head down and kissed him. “I am well and whole and healed, and soon you will be too.”

She threaded her arm through his and relaxed against him, her head tucked beneath his chin, and utter contentment spread through him.

The rolling hills gave way to a deep valley. A river ran through it, falling through a series of three waterfalls and disappearing below ground, rising to the surface further downstream before emptying into the bay. A large house sat on a plateau between the first and second falls, with outbuildings behind it and on the level of the lowest falls, a large field. An easy road led to the house.

“It is not Imladris, of course, nor is it meant to be,” said Celebrían softly. “But it is peaceful, and there is much to remind us of home. Finarfin showed this land to me. There are other areas on the mainland that are also beautiful, one that Eärendil in particular thinks you might like, but Gil-galad and I thought it best that we start here and let you decide where you wish to lead later.”

The carriage stopped and Celebrían pushed open the door and jumped lightly to the ground. She held her hand out to him and when he took it, she led him forward. They stood together before the house and Elrond knew it was home.

“We have arranged only to have the main house built. There is much room to grow, should we wish to expand. If some things look familiar,” she said laughing, “do not be surprised. The main architects are well known to you, for they helped to build Imladris. They were so glad to hear you were coming!”

Elrond was nearly speechless. Elves were disembarking from the carriages, milling about the grounds, but all waited while Celebrían led him inside. He stopped though, when she would have taken him to their chambers. “I would see Bilbo and Frodo settled first,” he said.

Celebrían smiled and took him by the hand, pulling him with her. “Our chambers are in this hall,” she said. “The hobbits’ suite is here.”

An elf had led Bilbo and Frodo to their rooms. They were on the ground floor, with a round door that led into a cunningly built ‘hobbit hole’. Their rooms opened on to their own garden, which must have reminded them of Bag End, for they were exclaiming over it.

“How did you know they were coming, much less all of this about hobbit homes?” asked Elrond incredulously.

Celebrían grinned, clearly enjoying his reaction as well as that of the hobbits, who had come back in and were gaping openmouthed at her. “I will keep my secrets,” she teased, but then admitted, “at least the few I have! I mostly do not know. The information was sent by messenger from Eonwë.”

Elrond saw the hobbits had been well provided for, and as Celebrían spoke he realized such a welcome had been provided to all. He let her lead him back to their chambers. Tears came to his eyes again at how well she knew him. A writing desk sat before a sunny window, and from their bed they would feel the morning sun upon their faces. The carved wood of the headboard was filled with scenes of their life in Middle-earth, and his vision blurred and his breath caught in his throat as he traced his finger along the design.

“Elrond?” she asked softly.

Through his tears, he looked down into that long missed and much loved face. “I have longed for you, but the ache had grown dull for I could not have survived it otherwise. Now that I am in your presence, now that I am receiving your love again, I realize how much I have missed you,” he said hoarsely, his voice breaking.

She embraced him, wrapping her arms and her spirit around him. “I love you, Elrond, and you are mine,” she said fiercely. “Nothing will separate us again.” She drew back and studied him. “You need to rest, my love, then I will have dinner brought to the room and a bath prepared.”

She helped him undress, then led him to the bed, settling him comfortably among the pillows. She removed her gown but left her chemise in place. She sat down beside him and he slipped his fingers under the shoulder strap, brushing it from her shoulder. The scar on her shoulder was gone. She understood immediately what he was doing, and in one fluid motion she pulled the garment over her head. He smoothed a hand over her flank, barely touching her, and she covered his hand and pressed it firmly against her. He took a deep shuddering breath, relief filling him that the pain was gone, the wounds were healed. He looked at her naked form, beautiful, and for once the image of her battered body did not haunt his mind..

She moved behind him, her hands starting with his head and hair, releasing the strands from their braids and combing through them with her fingers, massaging his scalp and face as she worked. His neck and shoulders were rubbed until no knots remained, and he did not know when she maneuvered him into a lying position, he knew only that he was boneless and without strength when she finished with his toes. She wrapped herself around him then, holding him, and she kissed away the tears that still fell from his eyes. She did not ask why he wept, and he did not think he could explain it. Yet for each tear that fell, a grain of weariness was washed away, and a strand of his soul freed.

The End

* * * * *

Author’s notes:

The only Stone left in the North was the one in the Tower of Emyn Beraid that looks towards the Gulf of Lune. That was guarded by the Elves, and though we never knew it, it remained there, until Círdan put it aboard Elrond’s ship when he left. But we are told that it was unlike the others and not in accord with them; it looked only to the Sea. Elendil set it there so that he could look back with Straight Sight and see Eressëa in the vanished West.

Appendix A, footnote 2, LotR (Thank you to Karri for helping me to locate this passage).

There King Finrod Felagund, hastening from the south, was cut off from his people and surrounded with small company in the Fen of Serech; and he would have been slain or taken, but Barahir came up with the bravest of his men and rescued him, and made a wall of spears about him; and they cut their way out of the battle with great loss. Thus Felagund escaped, and returned to his deep fortress of Nargothrond; but he swore an oath of abiding friendship and aid in every need to Barahir and all his kin, and in token of his vow he gave to Barahir his ring.

Of the Ruin of Beleriand and the Fall of Fingolfin, The Silmarillion

The idea that Aragorn returned the ring to Finrod via Galadriel borrowed with permission from Perelleth (see her ‘Droplets’ tale ‘The Ring Goes West’)

Thus in after days, what by the voyages of ships, what by lore and star-craft, the kings of Men knew that the world was indeed made round, and yet the Eldar were permitted still to depart and to come to the Ancient West and to Avallónë, if they would. Therefore the loremasters of Men said that a Straight Road must still be, for those that were permitted to find it. And they taught that, while the new world fell away, the old road and the path of the memory of the West still went on, as it were a mighty bridge invisible that passed through the air of breath and of flight (which were bent now as the world was bent), and traversed Ilmen which flesh unaided cannot endure, until it came to Tol Eressëa, the Lonely Isle, and maybe even beyond, to Valinor, where the Valar still dwell and watch the unfolding of the story of the world.

The Akallabeth, The Silmarillion

And these isles were strung as a net in the Shadowy Seas from the north to the south, before Tol Eressëa, the Lonely Isle, is reached by one sailing west. Hardly might any vessel pass between them, for in the dangerous sounds the waves sighed for ever upon dark rocks shrouded in mist.

Of the Sun and Moon and the Hiding of Valinor, The Silmarillion

But either in his dreams or out of them, he could not tell which, Frodo heard a sweet singing running in his mind; a song that seemed to come like a pale light behind a grey rain-curtain, and growing stronger to turn the veil all to glass and silver, until at last it was rolled back, and a far green country opened before him under a swift sunrise.

Fog on the Barrow Downs, FotR .