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.