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The Rider: Not All Those Who Wander  by Branwyn

Elrond awoke gasping for breath and felt his heart breaking within his chest. The dream had been so clear. It was as though he had been Elros…feeling what he felt, thinking as he thought…a disconcerting feeling, after all these centuries. He looked down at his hands, unconsciously searching for nail prints in the flesh, but saw only the trembling of his uninjured hands. The lord of Imladris drew a deep breath and released it slowly, trying to steady his nerves, and recover from the experience of sensing his twin alive, and then losing him again, albeit only in his dream.

Elrond searched his mind for what might have triggered the dream, and paused and closed his eyes when he realized the date. Something so rarely marked by elves, yet he expected this date would haunt him all of his days even unto the Undying Lands.

Elrond got up from the bed, pulled on his velvet robe and tied the gold cord tight about his waist, then stepped into his house slippers. He shoved his hands into the pockets of the robe and moved out to the balcony where he could better hear the roaring of the waterfall. He had always found the sound to be soothing. He smiled briefly, thinking of the effect it had on his foster son, Estel, when he was a child. For Estel, the sound had been a constant aggravation, sending him scurrying to the bathing chamber to relief himself. Elros would have loved Estel. Ah, back to Elros.

Elrond soaked up the solitude of the very early morning and forced himself to relax and review the dream in his mind. The master healer had learned long ago that dreams could be keys to unlocking painful secrets in patients or ultimately leading to inner peace with themselves. Elrond had never set himself apart from others. If something was true for those he treated, then the same applied to him. But to learn from a dream, one must face it, replay it in their mind.

Alone on his balcony, in the predawn light, Elrond replayed his dream. He relived Elros' urgency and exhaustion and admired his devotion to his horse, but those were as fleeting thoughts. The two things that struck Elrond most vividly were how uncertain Elros had been that Elrond would meet with him and how unprepared his brother had felt for what lay before him. The former struck Elrond as a knife in the heart, but the latter…the latter made him think of Estel. Only days ago, he had told his foster son his true name and heritage, that he was Aragorn, the last in a line that began with Elros. Estel had been excited when his foster father presented him with the ring of Barahir and the shards of Narsil, but in recent days Estel had fallen silent and Elrond feared Aragorn, like the Elros of Elrond's dream, felt unprepared. "Dream" Elros was only unready to wed, but Estel appeared weighed down by many things. That was reasonable and to be expected. The real Elros had made his own choice, while Aragorn's fate seemed beyond his control.

Almost as though thinking of the young man had conjured him up, Estel stepped quietly into Elrond's room. "Adar, are you well? I was worried when you did not join me for breakfast. I knocked. Did you not hear me?"

"Nay, my son, my thoughts were on other things and I did not note the passage of time nor hear your knock. Come, join me." Elrond motioned his youngest son to him. When Estel reached his side, Elrond put his arm about the young man's shoulders and drew him close. "I was thinking of my brother Elros. It has been long since I told you a bedtime story, but there is one tale in particular that I would like you to hear, if you are willing."

"Of course I am willing, Adar." Elrond took pleasure in the fact Estel responded without hesitation. "If it is important to you, then I will treasure your sharing it with me."

Elrond took a moment to organize his thoughts and then began.





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