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Before doors engraved with runes writ in copper, Glorfindel paused. A single crease marked his smooth brow. "The customs of men are different in such ways. Guests in an elvish household would be shown straightaway to their chambers and left to their rest."

He had already said similarly, when Gilraen first inquired towards an audience with the Lord of Rivendell. "You are very considerate, lord. But if Master Elrond is available, and willing to see me, I would have it so." 'Better to embrace the inevitable than to dread the unknown, and sooner than later', Ivorwen always said -- 'mother knows best' being her second favorite.

"As you wish it then, my lady. Elrond sits within." Elladan stepped forward and pushed open the doors. Glorfindel lead them inside.

Lagging behind the Elf's wide gait, Gilraen peered about the chamber. Long and narrow, with windows along each wall shut behind heavy drapes, dimly lit by lamps hung from beams across the curved ceiling. While chairs rested between every window frame, one alone had its place upon a dais at the end of the hall. Elrohir stood beside that chair, and a figure that Gilraen guessed must be Elrond sat upon it, head lowered as if in deep thought, face hidden by shadow.

Sighing softly, Glorfindel went to the left and right wall to open the drapes of the furthermost pair of windows. Aragorn had been hiding behind his mother in this gloomy and unfamiliar place. Now bathed in sunlight he emerged from the folds of her skirt and smiled as he looked about, running to inspect and then test chair after chair.

"Greetings, father." Elladan walked ahead as his sire looked up at last.

Elrond gazed a moment at the assemblage before he stood and descended the stairs to meet them. He stopped first by his son. "Elladan, welcome you home." They did not embrace as Gilraen might expect, but each raised a hand to the other's cheek. Elladan lowered his face after a moment. Elrond's hand slid to the back of his neck; their heads touched briefly, then both straightened.

Then Elrond turned to Gilraen, and spoke in a clear voice, "And greetings to you, Gilraen daughter of Dírhael," he glanced at the boy scurrying across his hall, voice tinged with mirth to add, "and Aragorn son of Arathorn."

Reaching back to lessons from girlhood, Gilraen made as graceful a curtsey as her weariness and nervousness allowed. "I thank you, lord--" her mind became a wordless void. Aragorn pulled open another curtain. The flash of light helped. "You are so good to receive me and my son without forewarning, to meet with me like this." A better time to realize how she must smell like horses and look to have slept under one would have been before persuading Glorfindel to bring her here.

Elrohir had come from the dais to stand beside his father. The similarities between them distracted Gilraen from her own appearance. Like the twins, Elrond stood elven-tall and poised with the air of nobility; he too had thicker limbs in the manner of hearty Dúnedain. Not everything matched: though they shared the same ebony hair, Elrond's was sheared about his face, and his countenance reflected more memories dear and hard, in his eyes there dwelled deeper knowledge fain bought.

"What?" He had spoken unheard. Her cheeks burning, Gilraen bowed and said, "I beg your pardon, lord. What was that you said?"

"That sooner than you yourself, arrived word of your coming. Among other tidings." He took a breath and looked away, putting hand upon breast to meet her eyes again and say, "Gilraen, I offer my deepest condolences for your loss, indeed it is the loss of all our folk."

Able to nod, Gilraen did just that, and retrieved a note from the purse at her side. Elrond did not take it, did not even arch his eyebrow at her like Elladan, so she managed, "It's from my-- from Arathorn. Some of his last wishes, explaining things. Lord."

Elrond's head tilted to one side. She suppressed the suspicion that he tried to see any sense in her from another angle. "No one need be privy to your personal correspondences, good lady. I trust you shall relay aught of pertinence therein."

"Oh, but it is for you too, lord! He made me promise to bring it here, if--" still Elrond looked doubtful. Arms outstretched so he could not ignore, she unfolded the parchment herself as demonstration of how not personal, not intimate, and not private it really was. No sooner had she attempted to read the words aloud than the sting of budding tears threatened to burst forth beyond her control. Arathorn who would never write again had written it. Arathorn who would never return here had sent it. Dead Arathorn, slain Arathorn, who had never seemed so present, omnipresent, that Gilraen could not bear it.

Until she trusted her nerve enough to remove her hands that covered her face, she did not notice the note had vanished, or that Glorfindel rested his hand upon her shoulder in silent consolation.

Elrond sat again in that lone chair, Arathorn's letter held limp in one hand while his other clasped the armrest. If he had looked at her, she might have despaired, for his eyes were changed -- whatever transpired behind them, she could not fathom.

The voice of Elrond resonated throughout the hall. "Gilraen, hearken to me. I welcome you and your son into my home, for I am the Lord of Rivendell, and that is my privilege. Thus, Arathorn son of Arador had neither the obligation nor the power to beseech me that which is mine alone to grant, and that which has already been granted."

He sighed. In a low tone he continued, "That it has come to a state of ambiguity between our houses grieves me to learn. So swiftly do the memories of Men fade, and what once was certain dwindles ever to doubt. But it will be undone." When his eyes next found Gilraen, he smiled, and spoke as one who comforts a child afraid of thunder. "Do you not know? Whether youthful or aged, ever the Heirs of Isildur have found sanctuary within Rivendell, ever have Lords and Chieftains, Masters and Pupils, Wives and Mothers of the free people in the wide world sought here counsel or harborage or reprieve and received it, and lo! never complained. Is it such ancient history, of what I speak, hmm? Do not answer! I am that old." He laughed fair and strong.

For the first time in the longest week of her life, Gilraen relaxed. "That is indeed as most of our elders say. For his part, Arathorn remained utterly confident thereof. To others it is a matter of speculation, even disbelief. If you would know, or do not already, there are rumors of a rift between Rivendell and the Angle that caused relations to diminish, long ago. So as you say, lord, some doubt."

At length Elrond leaned forth, elbow to knee. "What dost thou say, Gilraen?"

She swallowed. "That-- I am with Arathorn, in all things."

"Forsooth! Fair spoken." He rose and descended the stairs light of foot, as though freed from some weight. "Arathorn himself spent a measure of his boyhood in my care; your trust in him, in the wisdom of his forefathers, is well-placed. For nine-hundred, fifty and seven years, my own trust in them has been redoubled which each of their wives that I meet." Careful to use the original creases, he refolded Arathorn's letter and presented it to her. "Welcome to Rivendell, at last."

Those memories of girlhood lessons gripped her, and having no better idea, Gilraen knelt. Slipping the missive away, she took Elrond's hands and kissed them. "I thank you, lord, with all my heart. But I have not spoken enough of my own mind, for this I came prepared to pledge on behalf of my son and myself: that until our debt is repaid, my services be devoted to you and your household."

"I hear you," said Elrond gravely. "This then is my charge: that for the kinship we share, you shall regard my home as your own, and that so long as you abide here, it is not without joy for you."

Gilraen looked up, incredulous. His eyes, keen as starlight, did not waver, and she found herself grappling for the courage to oppose him, to insist.

"A warning, good lady, for I have battled and won this same challenge since millennia past –- but strive with me if you will," said the ancient voice, and Gilraen heard laughter bubbling under the words, as a river that churns even beneath ice. She could not but smile. "Arise! In later days, we will meet again to discuss matters of import. Now, see to your own comfort, and that of your son." As Gilraen stood, Elrond passed a hand over her eyes. "Be in peace," he said, and inexplicably, she was.

Elrond moved then as if to return to his seat. Blinking out of her reflection, Gilraen realized where she yet stood, realizing next what she looked at.

Glorfindel stood within view, his smile broad and knowing. Motionless, Elrond faced the dais, head atilt and expression unknowable as he watched the child sitting contentedly upon his chair.

Aragorn's heels barely reached the edge of the seat, though his legs were fully stretched, and with arms extended he could just touch his hands to the armrests, where they held on more than rested. His pride in himself was obvious, just as his delight to have everyone's attention. This appeared to be his favorite seat in the chamber –- and he had sampled them all. Looking to Elrond, he smiled, innocent and sincere.

Thinking to fetch her son, Gilraen went forward, but dared venture no further than the foot of the dais' stairs. Suddenly Glorfindel laughed. "The child fancies himself a ruler, I think."

Elrond flinched as if startled. Gilraen saw his eyes widen. Each step separated by a longer pause, he ascended the stairs, and after a pause longest of all, Elrond knelt before his own throne.

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