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.