Elrond swept into his office, sketching a bow as his guests rose.  “Dorhaur son of Dedhalin.”  He offered his arm, advancing, and the Ranger met him halfway, gripping him with a firm warrior’s clasp.  “Well met.”  He grinned and the Man returned his own, strong teeth flashing bright in his weathered face.

“And you, my Lord Elrond.”

For a brief moment, Elrond marveled at how the Man had aged since their parting, more than a year past.  Other Men would likely have noticed no difference, of course—Men were accustomed to change, in both themselves and in others, and its less noticeable manifestations often went unobserved by the Secondborn as they did not by the Firstborn.  Elrond was not unaccustomed to Men, of course—yet still it startled him, in some manner at least, nearly every time.

Best to just move on from those thoughts.  No good ever came of brooding. 

“I apologize for my delay.  I have been testing my gelding’s gait this morning—he acquired a stone bruise some time ago, and has been slow in healing.  It was some time before my sons were able to locate me.”  He smiled faintly.  “I fear we kept missing each other on the trails.”

Dorhaur waved away his apology.  “You were not to know we would arrive today.”

Elrond divested himself of his outer cloak and moved to cleanse his hands in the basin near the door.  “I trust that in the meanwhile, these two have kept you well entertained?”  Erestor and Glorfindel raised their goblets in near synchrony.  Dorhaur’s grin widened.

“Indeed, they have.”  The Man went to retrieve his own glass.  “You serve excellent wine, my Lord.  Rivendell is indeed rightly famed for its hospitality.”

Elrond laughed, motioning for Erestor to provide him a goblet as well.  “I hope that we may do justice to such a reputation with more than our wine, while you are among us.”  He claimed his own glass from Erestor and tilted it in salute to his guests before he drank.

Ah.  The Dorwinian red.  Thranduil did know his wines …

“My Lord.”  Dorhaur set aside his goblet and motioned his companions forward.  “May I present to you my sons—Duinath,” he nodded to the eldest, “Demedhel,” the next, “and Daelin.”  The young Men, who looked only a little like Dorhaur but very much like each other, bowed respectfully.  Elrond offered his arm gravely to each.  Awe and even fear warred with dignity behind their eyes, but Dorhaur’s sons, Elrond was pleased and not at all surprised to observe, conducted themselves well.  “My sons, the Lord Elrond Eärendilion, master of Imladris.”

The two eldest murmured greetings.  The youngest, whom Elrond noted was possessed of the same half-starved countenance as his own son and the same boney, coltish limbs which seemed to lengthen daily, merely nodded.  Dorhaur viewed them for a moment with barely concealed pride, then turned back to Elrond.

“These,” he nodded toward the Duinath and Demedhel, “have been invaluable to me this year—my right and left arms.  We would not be here without them.”

He fell silent then, and Elrond read the Ranger’s unspoken message that no more must be said of their mission before young Daelin.  The youngest of Dorhaur’s sons grimaced and looked away, but it was a resigned sort of protest, one that spoke of an old battle long fought and deemed rightly hopeless.  It was an expression with which he was recently and intimately familiar—Estel wore it nearly every day over some matter or other.  Elrond smiled faintly and moved to take a seat, indicating that the others should relax again as well.  “My own son should be joining us momentarily,” he informed them.  “Elladan and Elrohir have gone to fetch him.  He has been attempting to build a flet in one of our larger oaks, and has been absent since before sunrise this morning.”

Glorfindel snorted softly.  “Attempting would be the primary word …”

Elrond shot him a frown, unwilling that Estel’s (admittedly poor) building attempts should be discussed before Men upon whom the boy would no doubt wish to make a good impression.  Glorfindel grimaced and took another swallow of the velvety wine.  Dorhaur lifted an eyebrow.

“A flet?  I am unfamiliar with—”

“Dorhaur!”

A tangle of sweaty, muddy limbs and hair burst through the open office door, and Dorhaur rose, laughing, to catch Estel in a firm embrace.  The twins followed, their own road dust leaving them in little better shape than their brother.  Elrond went to embrace them, now that they were all on the ground rather than upon horseback, then returned to his seat, allowing a long while for Estel to assault Dorhaur with questions and with his own stories of the past year.  Dorhaur introduced his sons, whom Estel greeted with a wary politeness which exuded equal parts enthusiasm and—Elrond was amused to note—jealousy.  The older two greeted the boy easily but with a restrained sort of respect which Elrond suspected came from knowledge of Estel’s true name and role.  Daelin returned stare for wary stare, and it was clear from Estel’s body language that he did not quite know what to make of this other child of Men, older yet so near his own age.

Well.  It was just as well, perhaps, that Dorhaur had included his youngest in their party.  Elrond was curious to see how the next days would progress.

Finally, Elrond held up a hand.  “There will be time for further conversation later.  I suspect, however, that we have business to discuss?”  He lifted an questioning eyebrow.  Both Elrohir and Dorhaur nodded agreement.  “Very good.  We have business to discuss, and while I would not dream of keeping all of you from bath and meal, it is well, I think, that I hear at least the basics before we part.”

Dorhaur nodded.  “It is, my Lord.  We have great need of your counsel.”

“Indeed.”  That the entire party had traveled to Imladris to consult mean both information of import and a situation which might prove … difficult.  What had Dorhaur and his sons discovered, festering there among the Dúnedain?  Elrond kept his tone calm, and looked to his youngest son.  “Estel, perhaps you may show young Daelin to his room and bath—Lilán will know where they have been prepared.”  Estel’s face fell and his jaw tensed, but Elrond interrupted before the boy had time to offer any manner of protest.  “Estel!  There will be more time for visiting later.  Do as I ask.”

The grey eyes moved from one face to another, searching, and Elrond knew his son suspected that whatever the topic, it at least partially involved him.  He remained impassive, however, in the face of that silent inquiry, and after a long moment Estel reluctantly nodded.

“Yes, Ada.”

The boy turned to Daelin, who appeared to be losing a similar silent argument with his own father, and motioned awkwardly toward the door.  Slowly, Dorhaur’s youngest son sighed and followed Estel, sending one last pleading glance to Dorhaur as they approached the hall.  The Ranger pursed his lips, shooed both boys into the hall with a sharp flick of his wrist, then waited silently until they had exited and Elladan had closed the door firmly behind them.

When Elrond returned his attention within, he found Dorhaur eyeing him with no little degree of apprehension.  “I hope I have not presumed overmuch, my Lord.  Daelin is young, but his sense of duty is as strong as any thrice his age.  If sworn to silence, he will not speak of what he sees or finds here.  I vow it.”

Ah.  Elrond nodded slowly.  That, in fact, had not been his primary concern.  “Indeed, I would not have presumed otherwise of any son of yours, my friend.”

He did not miss the pride with which the sons of Dorhaur looked upon their father, hearing such words from the lord of Imladris.  Dorhaur, for his part, seemed only relieved.  “I thank you.”  The Man hesitated, then added, “He is good lad.  It seemed a hard thing, after a long year of knowing that he alone of our family was upon the outside of some important undertaking, to also tell him that his brothers would journey to see famed Rivendell, yet he would not.”

“We approved as well, Adar,” Elrohir spoke.  “It was—”

“You seem under the impression, all of you, that I disapprove,” Elrond interrupted mildly, swirling the velvet wine in its goblet and watching the light catch its currents.  Silence fell, and he looked up to varying degrees of amusement and disbelief.  Biting back a smile, he shook his head and straightened.  “Indeed, it is well that Estel have some interaction with someone his own age, at some point well before he returns to his people.  Think you not?” 

Tension drained from the room, and nervous chuckles rippled throughout.  Elrond looked to Dorhaur under the cover of the mild chatter that rose around them.

“I am curious whether your Daelin knows of Estel’s true name.”

Dorhaur shook his head.  “It seemed best to keep the knowledge among those who needed to know.”

Elrond nodded slowly, considering.  “I would agree—and yet, if our sons spend any amount of time together, I wonder if it is best that he does know.  Estel is, you may well remember, curious and intelligent, and your Daelin seems likewise.”  Dorhaur indicated his agreement.  “It may not take much for the two of them to work out together what one alone may not.  It may be better if Daelin knows outright that such is not a topic for speculation.”

The Ranger took a long breath.  “I see your point, my Lord.”

“Hmm.”  It seemed unfair, in truth, that Estel’s companion should have such knowledge when the boy himself was still unaware.  It created a certain … imbalance.  Life upon Middle Earth was, however, far from fair, and Elrond was more concerned with his son’s safety than with such niceties.  He considered for a moment longer, then shook his head.  “That will be a question for later, I think—allow me to consider on it over the course of the afternoon.  We will speak again this evening, perhaps.”  Dorhaur nodded, and Elrond raised his voice.  “For now, tell me what brings you here.  What have you discovered, then, that requires my counsel?”

Side conversations ceased, and Elladan motioned for Dorhaur to speak.

“As we had previously suspected, my Lord, the traitorous segment is quite small—fewer than twenty strong, at this time.  They take all care to grow their movement with stealth, in order that they might avoid discovery by the current leadership.  Indeed, had we not the information from Baradhald, it is unlikely that any would yet suspect.”

“Twenty.”  Elrond sighed.  “It is more than we might wish, and yet far fewer than I feared.”

“Indeed.”  Erestor exchanged a glance with Glorfindel, and Elrohir leaned forward.

“There is, however, a complication.”

A complication.  That might mean anything.  Elrond lifted an inquiring eyebrow.  Glances passed between his sons and the Men, and then Elladan spoke.

“Rendis, son of Restor.”

Elrond bit back a curse, dousing the words with a significant swallow of wine.  The name hung in the air for a long moment, and then he asked, “Are you certain?”

“Very.”

“What, then, do we know?”

Again a pause, and then Dorhaur motioned to his second son, pride and frustration warring in his voice.  “It was Demedhel who discovered the link.  Perhaps he should speak.”

“It would be wise.”

All eyes turned toward the young Man—no more than twenty years, surely, and already the bearer of such tidings and responsibility.  Demedhel son of Dorhaur took a long, nervous breath, exchanged a quick glance with his brother, and began.

The hallway outside of Elrond’s office was silent, free of noise and general traffic.  Indeed, the lord of Imladris had placed his office in its current location precisely because it was out of the way—he was far less likely to be disturbed by external noise when so few people had reason to travel the hallway in question.  Estel and Daelin eyed each other for a long moment, both disappointed to be left out of the discussion within but neither willing to admit it.  Finally, Estel sighed.

“I guess we should go find your room.”

He turned and started down the long hall toward the guest quarters.  After a moment Daelin caught up to him, hands shoved deep in his pockets.  Estel glanced covertly at the other boy, curious but hoping that he would not be caught out in his surveillance.  Daelin’s eyes met his and both looked quickly away, studying the artwork hung on walls and tucked in niches along their path.  The hall opened onto a wide, covered patio, with view of the eastern gardens and then the forest beyond.  Estel wondered how old the other boy was—he was not taller than Estel, but a shadow of fine hair darkened his upper lip.  Estel looked away again, wondering if Dorhaur had already taught his son to shave.

None of the Elves grew facial hair, and his mother (of course) did not shave.  He wasn’t certain who would teach him, and did not wish for a beard all the way to his knees …

“What is a flet?”

“What?”  Estel frowned, startled from his vague ponderings on Dwarven beard braiding.

“Your …”  Daelin trailed off, looking faintly confused, then continued.  “Lord Elrond said that you were building a flet.  What is that?”

Estel hesitated, glancing across the patio in the direction of the forest—and his flet.

If it could be called that.

“Do you … want to see it?”

He was not certain that he should offer—Elrond had said to take the other boy to his room.  But, the adults were in counsel, and might be for hours …

Daelin, too, hesitated, glancing back toward Elrond’s office as though his thoughts were much the same as Estel’s.  Then, he nodded.  “Might as well.”

Estel hadn’t truly expected the other boy to agree.

“All right.”  He stepped gingerly out of the hall, leading Dorhaur’s son across the patio.  At the edge of the gardens, he stopped.  “It’s not a … it’s not a real flet.  Not a good one, anyway.  I’ve not been able to get the frame right—it keeps tilting to one side.”

Daelin considered these words for a moment, then shrugged.  “Well, whatever they’re all discussing in your father’s office, I do not think that either of us will be allowed in anytime soon.”  The other boy offered a tentative grin.  “I’ve helped with building sheds and barns and done some repair work on our house—perhaps this flet of yours will not be so different.”

Estel stared for a moment, then felt an answering grin tug at his lips.  Perhaps it would be more fun to work out the details with someone else, rather than simply wait for his brothers or one of the other Elves to show him how it was done.  He stuffed his hands into his own pockets, nodding toward the expanse of forest beyond the gardens.

“It’s this way, then.  Come on.”

finis

A/N:  *sigh*  I don't know why it won't say 'epilogue' instead of 'epilogue 2' ... but there's nothing missing, no worries. :-P

Anyhoo ... This story started out in my mind as a quick little jaunt, and grew into something more complex and far better (I hope) in the telling.  I want to thank everyone who has come along for the ride—it’s been so much fun for me, and I hope it’s been for you as well… :-)