History Lessons, The Second Age, by Nilmandra

Chapter 24: Imladris

“Adar, will you take this cast off?” asked Elrohir.

Elrond looked up at his son. Elrohir was sitting on a log, his casted leg stuck out in front of him, while braiding his hair. Fast fingers wove through the mane, but when they slowed to clip the braids, Elrond could see that fingernails were about half grown in on the fingers that had been missing them. Nearly a week had gone by since Elrohir’s dramatic improvement; time enough for an elf’s broken limb to heal. Elrond looked into the clear gray eyes of his son and saw acceptance of whatever answer his father would give. He smiled, for that alone told him how well Elrohir was doing.

“Tonight I will examine your leg,” he replied.

Elrohir smiled enthusiastically, then resumed whistling as he prepared himself for the day. Leaning back against the tree he was sitting under, Elrond watched as the camp was broken. Already cook had cleaned up his supplies and the guards had dismantled the tents. The horses were being walked in preparation for the coming march, and laughter could be heard coming from the general vicinity of where Glorfindel was. Celebrían held Arwen in her arms as she stood with her parents, looking south. While he could not hear the words being spoken, seeing his wife with her parents reminded him of the first time he had seen Celebrían.

“Adar?”

Elrond forced his gaze away from his wife and turned to his son again. Elrohir had a silly grin on his face. He lifted one brow quizzically when Elrohir did not continue

“You looked like Elladan does whenever he sees Lothriel,” replied Elrohir finally.

“Hmmm.” Elrond thought for a moment. “If seeing your mother makes me look like a lovesick lamb, and Lothriel makes your brother do it, who causes such a response in you?”

Elrohir laughed, but flushed pink right up to his ear tips. “No one, Adar.”

Elrond laughed as he stood, then tossed Elrohir his crutch. They walked together to Alagos, where Erestor took the crutch and Elrond helped Elrohir mount and then leapt onto the horse himself. As Elrohir settled back against him, he said, “Soon, Adar, you will have your horse back to yourself. I wonder if Alagos will be glad?”

In response, Alagos nuzzled the cast at his side and then neighed loudly. Elrohir patted the horse’s neck affectionately. “One more day, Alagos!”

Elrond was silent. While Elrohir’s enthusiasm was catchy, the memory of how close he had come to losing this child made him wish to never let him go. Yet he had learned not to hold too tightly to that which he could not control. Elrohir was his own person; he and Celebrían and their house had given each child wings to fly. Each time their flight led them home was a gift to be cherished, but he could not clip their wings.

“Look at the eagle, Adar,” said Elrohir, pointing to the large bird gliding lazily in the morning sky. “He has had a good night’s hunting and is returning to his eyrie. Someday I want to climb to one of their nests.”

“I suggest you ask their permission to visit,” replied Elrond seriously. “The eagles do not suffer fools kindly.”

Elrohir laughed. “This fool will ask permission. Have you ever met one of the eagles, Adar?”

Elrond watched as the eagle drifted further north into the mountains. “I have spoken to the Lord of the Eagles. They are magnificent birds, emissaries to Manwë himself. Seldom do they involve themselves in the affairs of Middle-earth, but they will at the direction of the King of the Valar and sometimes of their own curiosity.”

“In the War of Wrath, they acted at Manwë’s direction,” stated Elrohir, recalling the stories and tales he had learned as a child.

“Yes, that was at Manwë’s direction. But the great Eagles have come to the hidden valley, to see what the elves were building,” answered Elrond. “They were curious about us, for this was the closest we had lived to their lands and nests. They aided us, for which I will be forever grateful.”

“Aided you how?” asked Elrohir curiously. “I have never heard this tale.”

Elrond smiled at the memory. “Imladris was under siege for nearly four years, though the enemy did not know precisely where we were. The Eagles seldom paid attention to goblins and orcs and trolls, for they do not hunt them, but I believe they enjoyed aiding us against them.”

Elrond glanced at Elrohir, who had twisted slightly so he could see his father’s face. He laughed at the curiosity he could see emanating from Elrohir. “The story will continue tonight, and you must wait until then, or your siblings would be most unhappy with us.”

They traveled in silence, Elrohir gradually relaxing more and more against Elrond as he drifted off in some daydream. Memory filled Elrond, as a century fell away and he held again a small and eager child, wide eyed at tales of days gone by. A vivid imagination carried this son on the path of dreams to lands far away, and Elrohir would come to them with his own stories of Valinor and Beleriand, and of the lands far to the east where the elves first awoke. Elrond thought of the many times he would listen to his sons as they lay in their beds at night, when Elrohir would regale Elladan with his dreams put into words, made up stories in which the twins were knights of great honor and strength, valiant and proud. In the middle of the night, when Elrohir’s imagination caused him to awake fearful of those same enemies he had earlier battled, Elladan comforted him and chased away the nightmares by repeating the valiant and brave deeds Elrohir had told him about hours earlier. So alike they were, and yet so different.

Elrond felt Vilya press into his side as Elrohir shifted against him and his thoughts drifted back to the age of their storytelling. They had fled, unaided by hope, hiding in a valley besieged by enemies that stood between them and the west. They had withstood those who wished only to annihilate them, and spent centuries building Imladris into a remote outpost for the elves. When the opportunity came to defeat Sauron, Imladris had launched the armies of Men and Elves. No kings had returned from that battlefield. The One Ring was lost. Desire filled Elrond as he considered Vilya, and then his family and his house. For so long they had lived without hope in the dark years of the Second Age. Knowing, as he thought he did, that evil would ere rise again in the Third, he would use Vilya to preserve and protect what tranquility and beauty they had forged, and more importantly, to protect his family and his house. His hope.

He felt a nudge against his leg, and turned his head, his eyes focusing after a moment on the laughing warrior beside him.

“Really, my lord,” teased Glorfindel merrily, “if you are both going to daydream, I will assign a guard to watch over you.” Alagos snorted in disdain at the words, for he had kept them perfectly in step with the party, and Elrond patted his neck affectionately. Elrohir had started against him at the sound of Glorfindel’s voice, and now Glorfindel turned his attention to the young elf. “And where were you, Elrohir?”

“In the Eagle’s eyrie,” replied Elrohir without stopping to check his words. He blushed as Glorfindel laughed again, knowing he had just admitted carelessly daydreaming to his captain. Elrond felt him tense, waiting for the words to come, even in jest, that Glorfindel would look forward to teaching him some discipline when they were home again. But the words did not come.

“Perhaps I will take you on the next scouting trip into the far north, where the Eagles have their great platform nests. We can see them from a distance, though an invitation to visit is possible,” mused Glorfindel. He grinned as Elladan rode up next to them. “And we can probably even take Elladan along now that he is old enough not to try to jump from a nest and fly.”

Elladan laughed in remembrance. “We had just heard the tales of Uncle Elros and his jumping from the cliff to fly. I wanted to fly too!” He winked at Elrond. “I am still saving all the Eagle feathers I find in hopes of making my own wings one day.”

Elrond listened to the banter that followed, and thought of his life as a young adult in Gil-galad’s court in Lindon. He had at first been amused by Ereinion and Círdan, especially after Elros had sailed with his people to Andor. They had seemed to want to revert him to childhood, a childhood he had never had and therefore did not miss. Logically, he had known what they were doing. Gil-galad had explained it often enough: that after the carefree and innocent years of childhood came the years of exploration, where young elves explored their world, learning more deeply of nature, music, animals, lore or any subject that piqued their curiosity. While Elrond’s childhood years were spent at war and helping prepare the Men for their new life, now he had opportunity to do those things. Elrond had smiled, a bit smugly he now thought, for in his own mind he did not need special time to explore his world; he could still be Gil-galad’s advisor and do all of that. It was Círdan who had knocked him down a few pegs, in his gruffly loving way. Gil-galad was not quite a century older than Elrond, and he had not had the opportunity he was trying to gift Elrond with, nor could he take it now, in his position as king. Then Círdan had reminded him that he did not need to earn their love.

Those words had cut Elrond like a knife, laying bare his insecurities and his pride. Seeing his insecurities had come easily to him. He barely remembered the time he had spent with Maedhros and Maglor, yet he could recall his fear of being harmed by them, of wanting to please Maglor in particular, that he and Elros might gain his favor. Certainly he had done that with Gil-galad and Círdan, unconsciously trying to prove his worth to them so that they would never have cause to regret taking him in. In contrast, he had not recognized his pride for some time, but Círdan’s words had unlocked a part of his own mind that he had never looked at closely before. Gil-galad was not rejecting him by lessening his duties and encouraging him to explore and learn, but offering him a gift that he could not give himself even as a king. To accept what Gil-galad had offered seemed selfish to Elrond; yet when Círdan had explained it in those terms, he recognized the gift for what it was, and his pride as well.

He had come to know a little of how Gil-galad and Círdan had felt as he himself mentored Erestor. Erestor had parents who had seen to his upbringing, but even after he came into the service of the king Elrond had seen that all opportunities were open to him. Now as a father of young adults, Elrond felt keenly what Círdan had tried to explain to him long ago. While need might demand that they be trained as warriors, this would not be all there was to their life. If using Vilya could somehow help to protect Imladris, freeing his sons and other elves to explore their world and learn all they wished to learn, was that not a good thing? If the refuge of Imladris were safe, then the House could be as Celebrían dreamed – a place where any and all in need could come and find rest. He had once thought her dream lofty, but she explained that she was only expanding upon what he had already made. A sudden vision of Gil-galad teasing him and telling him to marry Celebrían came to his mind, and he felt his breath catch in his throat and his heart skip a beat in memory. Blinking back the tear he felt at the corner of his eye, he realized Gil-galad had never given him bad advice. Thankfully, he had learned to heed it.

“Adar, you are clutching your side like you are in pain,” said Elladan, interrupting Elrond’s thoughts. Elrond immediately released his grasp, and felt Vilya slip back to rest softly against his skin. Elrond felt Glorfindel’s eyes upon him, but Elladan continued, sparing him from having to meet his keeper’s gaze. “Enough reflecting on whatever you are reflecting upon, Adar. Erestor has determined we will make camp early, for we will arrive home tomorrow.”

Elrond laughed at the cheer that went up around him. Many were looking forward to warm baths and then a night in the Hall of Fire, listening to music and singing. Some, like Arwen and Elrohir, were looking forward to sleeping in their own beds. Arwen had been so tired this morning and Elrond was looking forward to returning her to her normal routine as well. She loved sunset and starlight, and had never liked waking early in the morning except for special days. The events of this trip, her injuries and he felt possibly a spurt of growth might all be contributing to one tired child. Elrohir wanted to be free of the cast, but Elrond felt sure that once it was removed and after one good night of sound sleep, he would be as healthy and normal as he had been prior to the trip.

Elrohir slid gracefully to the ground, pointedly ignoring Glorfindel’s hand held out to him for balance. His crutches were nowhere in sight, however, and though the cast was thickly made to prevent injury in subsequent falls, it was not made for walking. Elrohir hopped a few times, and Elrond felt a rising sense of trepidation as his son danced around on one foot. Elladan must have as well, for he suddenly charged at his twin, grabbing and tossing Elrohir over his shoulder. The casted leg stuck straight up in the air while his other leg bent and both hands flailed, playfully beating Elladan on the back.

“Adar, if you are going to remove this cast, you had better do it before this fool falls and breaks his other leg. Where do you want him?” called Elladan as he thwacked Elrohir hard on his backside, earning himself a yelp in the ear. Elrohir settled down immediately though, and instead took advantage of his position to play with Elladan’s hair and flick his ears, both of which he knew would annoy his twin.

Elrond dismounted, waving Elladan to the camp. He heard the sound of flesh hitting something solid, followed by another yelp and Arwen’s giggling. Elrohir began laughing, and Elrond followed the noise through the branches of a copse of trees to the spot selected for the camp. Elladan still held Elrohir, though there was no reason beyond the simple need to torment him. Arwen had spanked him and now Celebrían was tickling him. She had one of his arms pinned and Arwen was tugging on the other, leaving Celebrían with one free hand that Elrond knew from experience was enough to make anyone on the receiving end beg for mercy.

“Naneth!” Elrohir finally cried, breathless from laughing. “You win!”

“Of course I do,” agreed Celebrían, and she kissed his forehead as Elladan set him down. “Now sit.”

Elrohir sank gratefully down on to the blanket someone had laid on the grass, then sprawled out on his back, letting the sun that was filtering in from the trees high above him soak into him as he caught his breath. But this time, while others began preparing the camp, all of the family gathered near as Elrond prepared his tools. Propping the cast on his own thigh, Elrond began the tedious job of removing the plaster. As the cast split and he broke it away, Elrohir’s pale leg was revealed. No wound had reappeared, and the skin appeared as intact as it did the night it mysteriously healed. The lower part of the cast was broken off and Elrohir wiggled his toes with delight. Elrond bathed the skin with warm water, then massaged the muscles and manipulated the ankle and knee joints. One eye was always on Elrohir, and not once did his child flinch or give any sign of pain, though he did squirm when Elrond ran his fingertip along the bottom of his foot.

Elrond stood, then held both hands out to Elrohir, who took them without question. A huge smile crossed Elrohir’s face as Elrond pulled him to his feet. Elrond could not help but remember the first time Elrohir had stood after being hurt, nearly falling as nausea and dizziness and pain had overwhelmed him. This time, his eyes shone and his cheeks flushed in delight as he took a few steps. Elrond let Elrohir withdraw his hands as he began to walk, the few steps on the blanket and back, and then to the edge of the camp and back, and then he hopped and jumped and twisted as he made his way back, and Elrond caught him as Elrohir flung himself into his arms.

“Thank you, Adar!” he cried. He kissed Elrond on both cheeks and then hugged him again. Stepping back, Elrond could see that Elrohir’s eyes were alight with excitement. He took the shoes that his mother handed him and quickly slipped them on to his feet. He began to walk, then run, away from the camp. Elladan joined him, and Elrond knew that Elrohir would not be allowed to go further than he was able on his first day walking in nearly a month.

He watched as Elrohir ran like a deer, bounding in graceful leaps through the grassy area near their camp, whirling in circles and then racing forward again. Always Elladan stayed just close enough to keep an eye on him, allowing his twin to frolic and enjoy his freedom. Suddenly, Elrohir raced to his twin and grabbed him by the hand. As when they were children, they grasped hands and whirled in a circle, leaning as far back as their arms allowed, their heads flung back in wild abandon and complete trust of the other.

Elrond felt a hand slip into his, and turned to see silver hair spilled along his shoulder. He pulled Celebrían in front of him, wrapping both of his arms about her. She tilted her head back slightly, and as their cheeks touched he felt the warmth of her tears. His own mingled with hers as they watched their sons play and chase like elflings again.

* * *

Elrohir ran breathless into the camp, leaping lightly over a log and then melting to the ground next to his mother. He flopped his head and arm down on her thigh, then rolled to look up at her and his father. His gaze was met by tender smiles, and he could see tears still glistening in eyes filled with joy. He closed his eyes as his mother’s hand came to rest on his head, and he rolled back on to his side and sighed in pleasure as she combed out his tangled mane with her fingers.

“Are you happy, Elrohir?” she asked.

Elrohir could only nod. “How does your leg feel?” asked Elrond.

Elrohir smiled as he thought of how much restraint his father had to be using in not examining his leg. He laughed aloud, then rose to his hands and knees, crawling over Celebrían and squeezing his way in between them. Both moved to allow him space, and soon he was half sitting, his shoulders resting against his mother’s leg and his lower legs in his father’s lap.

“See for yourself, Adar,” he offered.

Elrond’s warm fingers played gently across his skin, feeling the area where the break had been and the muscles recently exercised, and Elrohir found himself treated to a rubdown like a favored stallion. He knew his spurt of exercise shouldn’t have been ended abruptly; and indeed, Elladan had made him walk for a while before sending him back to camp. He had wished to go with Elladan to help tend the horses, but his twin had said no and, knowing he was right and knowing he did not wish to argue with Glorfindel who would certainly take Elladan’s side, he had acquiesced. Now under his father’s gentle healing touch upon his leg and his mother’s loving hand upon his head, he surrendered himself to the path of dreams.

* * *

“Our colt is sound asleep,” said Celebrían softly.

“He does remind one of a colt,” agreed Elrond as he continued to rub the overused muscles in his son’s calves. “Joy emanated from him like light from the sun this evening. It is important to Elrohir, I think, to return to Imladris riding upon his horse or walking upon his own feet.”

“No peredhil likes to be carried,” agreed Glorfindel as he joined them.

Elrond glared at his captain, but Glorfindel’s cheery smile finally made him laugh. He had hated being carried after he was injured. Trust Glorfindel to remind him that he had been, and possibly still was, as stubborn and prideful as his youthful sons.

“Not so,” disagreed Erestor. He turned so his back was to Glorfindel, allowing Arwen to slide off him and on to Glorfindel. He looked back to see her held in strong arms, her legs stuck straight out and toes pointed, and one arm raised, like a dancer caught by her partner. She giggled at her pose, and then slid down to sit on Glorfindel’s lap.

“Adar, did you see Elrohir and Elladan dance in the grass?” asked Arwen, keeping her voice low so as not to disturb her sleeping brother. “Were they not beautiful?”

“I did and they were,” answered Elrond.

Arwen sat looking at Elrohir for a moment, then lifted shining eyes to her father. “Ada, I am so happy for Elrohir I think I might cry.” She turned and looked at Erestor solemnly. “Erestor already did, and he said it is normal to cry about such things.”

Elrond looked at his advisor, who flushed slightly. “Erestor is very wise, Arwen. He only gives good counsel, and that is good counsel for all of us.”

Glorfindel pulled Arwen back up against his chest and wrapped his arms loosely around her. She rested her chin against his arm, and tears of joy did dampen his tunic while Glorfindel softly sang a song of joy over dancing in green grass beneath a setting sun and starry skies. His voice had drifted off when cook approached.

“And now we must have dinner! Tomorrow eve’s meal will be cooked in a kitchen, bereft of the sweet air that flavors our meals cooked under open sky. Enjoy while you can!” he said cheerfully as he brought plates first to Galadriel and Celeborn.

“Hmm . . . perhaps so, but I am looking forward to a warm bath and my bed,” murmured Elrohir as he sat up, wakened by the laughter and smell of the dinner. Elrohir blushed at the general laughter, but too many echoed the sentiment for any feelings of guilt at his discontent to tarry with him. “But I will miss stories around the camp fire.”

“We have this night, at least, to hear about the founding of Imladris,” suggested Elladan. He glanced at his mother. “Naneth, when did you see your Adar again?”

“After Sauron was driven from Eriador and Eregion, your daernaneth and I traveled north, hoping we could find the hidden valley. It was not easy!” she laughed at the memory. “But we were not there through the hard years.”

“The years of the siege were trying at times,” agreed Elrond. “We had limited resources, yet an increasing population as all who fled from Sauron joined us….”

~ ~ ~* * *~ ~ ~

Fall 1697

Elrond followed the hiss of low elven voices to find Glorfindel and Erestor in debate. The roar of a nearby waterfall drowned out their conversation, leaving only a scattering of words to be heard by those with keen elven hearing. Neither looked up as he approached.

“The rationing plan will have to change; it is as simple that,” said Glorfindel firmly.

“If the answer were really that simple, it would already be done!” snapped Erestor tiredly.

“The answer is that simple; however, I admit the administration of it is complex,” sighed Glorfindel. His voice softened. “Erestor, I could hardly turn them away.”

“I know,” acquiesced Erestor. He stretched slightly, running his hand through his hair. “Mortals require more food than elves. If all of these human children are to grow properly, we must provide them with more to eat.” He paused. “Did you see the smallest of the family?”

“I carried her myself,” said Glorfindel sadly. “I could feel every bone. She weighed no more than a quiver of arrows. They have been nearly two months in the hills, that mother and her four little ones. I am still in wonder that they are alive.”

“I have not even asked about our warriors. How do they fare? Do they need any provisions?” asked Erestor.

Glorfindel smiled. “In your despair at seeing more mouths to feed, you did not see the meat they sent back to camp. These hills are alive with rabbit and deer. While the guards cannot roam far, they are spending their time wisely. Soon winter will fall hard upon us, but until then they are locating nuts and berries and harvesting what they can carry. They need more baskets to do this adequately. The mortal women were already skinning the animals and beginning the work on the hides. That work is much a part of their daily existence.”

Erestor blinked hard, and Elrond stepped next to him, making his presence known and squeezing the elf on the shoulder.

“Already the women are down at the river’s edge, gathering reeds they can make into baskets. Several are willing to go out and harvest, but I will only say yes to this request if the areas are well protected,” he said.

Glorfindel nodded, then turned to the construction. “When will the framing be completed?”

Elrond laughed. “I have reminded our Noldor craftsmen that while they may enjoy sleeping on the snow, those with mortal blood will not tolerate such accommodations. Nor will I. By first snow we will have two structures finished and connected – one for sleeping and living and the other for the horses.”

“They cannot do anything without great thought taken for both function and beauty,” agreed Glorfindel. “But already the nights grow cool and the tents do not provide adequate warmth for the children. I have stated this, but the prevailing attitude is that the comfort and well being of these humans is not their concern.”

Elrond felt heat rise in his face. “That will not be the prevailing attitude any longer,” he stated. “I had not heard this, Glorfindel.”

“They are careful in your hearing, Elrond, though they do not count your heritage as those of what they consider lesser men. These humans were their neighbors and they willingly used their bridge at Tharbad, and there was respect between them. Tempers and hospitality wear thin, though, when supplies are short and the need of the newcomers is great.”

“They shall not be allowed to so quickly forget their own need,” replied Elrond, and anger welled in him as he considered how many soldiers of Lindon had died in Eregion. The elves were these soldier’s relatives and their people, and Elrond suddenly realized that in some way, he considered these Men his people too, even if these were not descendents of Elros.

“Glorfindel is annoyed because they have accused him and his warriors of seeking out refugees as they scout and patrol for the enemy,” commented Erestor dryly.

“I am not annoyed at the accusation, for it is true,” said Glorfindel disdainfully. “I am annoyed that they would wish to see anyone starve, suffer privation or be killed at the hands of our common enemy rather than share their rations and shelter with them.”

As Glorfindel spoke, a shadow appeared in the sky to the west, and the cry of an eagle sounded as the large bird circled lazily above them. Elrond watched fascinated, for several times now he had seen the eagles come this close. To his amazement, the eagle continued to drift slowly down, finally landing as near to them as his massive wingspan allowed. He folded his wings in close against his body, and then turned his head so that he might look at them clearly.

Glorfindel walked to the Eagle, placing his hand over his heart and bowing his head slightly. The Eagle acknowledged the bow by dipping his own head.

“My lord Eagle,” said Glorfindel. “You have our gratitude for your aid today.”

The Eagle nodded again, but his eye seemed fixed on Elrond. Elrond swallowed the awe rising in him and walked forward, also covering his heart with a hand and bowing.

“This is my lord, Elrond son of Eärendil, son of Tuor and Idril, daughter of Turgon of Gondolin,” said Glorfindel. “Gwaisael, Lord of the Eagles, has assisted us twice today, locating the woman and her children, and leading us to the orcs who lay in wait for them.”

The Eagle stepped forward until he towered over Elrond, his sharp golden talons within a few feet of Elrond’s feet, and then he bent over to look closely at him. Elrond felt his breath catch at being so near to the magnificent bird. The setting sun cast a ray of sun onto the golden head of the bird, seeming to reflect off each feather as the eagle slowly moved his head to peer at Elrond. His eyes were piercing, but Elrond met them steadily.

“Our fathers fought together in the Great War,” said Gwaisael finally. “He spoke of the bravery and daring of Eärendil in his ship of silver as he fought the dragons over Thangorodrim.”

“I watched that battle,” replied Elrond. “I know not which was your father, but it was the Eagles who turned the tide. You have my gratitude also for aiding the elves today in battle and leading them to the lost family. We will care for them.”

The great Eagle turned to look at the structure under construction on the grassy plain, and then at the tents and camp where elves and humans were busy with meal preparations. “Have you enough to eat?”

Elrond looked to Erestor, who nodded. “With what our warriors hunted today, yes.”

“We shall watch over you, Elrond son of the star Eärendil, and take note of the presence of your enemies. If you are in need, we will aid you if our hunting is profitable. Farewell, may your eyries receive you by winter’s start!”

Elrond bowed again. “May the wind under your wings bear you where the sun sails and the moon walks!”

The Eagle stepped back a few paces, then turned once he could do so without his tail feathers knocking Elrond aside. He began to run, then leapt into the air, the wind as his wings beat down so strong that had the three not been prepared it would have swept them from their feet. Gwaisail sailed out toward the river, then turned back into the northern mountains.

Elrond sensed Erestor at his side, and turning, he noticed the deep weariness in the elf’s eyes. Despite orders to rest, the elf did not. Responsible for the overall organization of the peoples who comprised the camp, Erestor had planned their living arrangements, food supplies and basic sanitary needs. He tried to ensure that Glorfindel’s warriors, holding back Sauron’s troops beyond the river, and the Noldor craftsmen working on their shelter had adequate supplies to do their work. Conflict had arisen, as could be expected, between what each group felt was most important. Erestor was one of the few who could see the smaller units as part of a greater whole, and Elrond had complete confidence in him.

“Where is the new family?” asked Elrond.

“Come, I will take you to them,” replied Erestor as the Eagle disappeared from their sight.

As Erestor led them back to the camp, Elrond noticed just the slightest favoring of his right leg. None but a trained healer would perhaps notice such a thing, but he watched long enough to determine that indeed, the elf was using consistent caution. They followed Erestor into the clearing ringed by tents and into the healing tent. There they found the mother sound asleep on a pallet, two small children spooned against her with only their tousled hair visible above the blanket covering them. Her oldest child, a boy of around ten, was lying on a pallet next to her, and her youngest was in the arms of Ethiriel, Eirien’s mother. Elrond moved past Erestor to kneel down beside her.

“She is so weak, my lord,” said Ethiriel softly. She shifted the child slightly so that Elrond could see her.

Elrond pulled back the blanket slightly. The infant’s eyes were closed and her breathing was slow but regular. Laying his hand over her chest and abdomen, he could feel how weak her spirit was.

“Her mother’s milk has nearly gone dry, but one of the other nursing mothers among the humans was able to spare a little milk for her. The other three children and their mother have eaten a light meal, but I do not know if the mother’s milk will return.”

Elrond smiled reassuringly at Ethiriel. “This child is small and weak, but with proper nourishment, I believe she will recover. There are also remedies we can use to stimulate milk once her mother is properly nourished.”

Ethiriel smiled with relief, her shoulders relaxing as she hugged the infant to her. Elrond stroked the infant’s head for a moment, then moved to sit next to the mother and her other children. He touched the head of each, sensing the state of their bodies and spirits and imparting his own healing energy into them. Already asleep, they merely fell into even deeper sleep that would last throughout the evening and night. Their bodies would relax and heal, and Elrond knew they would awaken hungry but refreshed.

Elrond then prepared another pallet, placed in the far corner from where the children slept. “Erestor, allow me to examine your leg,” he directed.

“My leg is without injury,” replied Erestor, turning instead to the tent entrance. Glorfindel had followed them in, and he now stepped between Erestor and the entrance. “Excuse me, Glorfindel.”

“I believe Elrond gave you an order,” said Glorfindel mildly.

Erestor flushed slightly, opened his mouth as if to speak, but wisely closed it and instead turned and walked to Elrond. He sat down stiffly on the pallet, and fumbled with his boot as he attempted to remove it. His face was masked, but Elrond could sense the pain Erestor was in. Brushing the elf’s hands aside, he removed the boot with as much care as he could.

Elrond was surprised to see the size of the wound as well as the lack of healing. Elves healed so quickly that even those injured in the fight for the city were for the most part returned to normal. Glorfindel appeared at his side with a basin of heated water, bandages and medicines, and as Elrond began to clean the area, Glorfindel pushed Erestor down on to the pallet.

“This is an arrow wound, poisoned,” said Elrond quietly. “When did you suffer it?”

“A week ago I encountered an orc scout. He managed to shoot an arrow into me before I dispatched him. I tended the wound, informed Glorfindel who changed the perimeter coverage to include that pass into the mountains, and returned to my other duties. It has just not wanted to heal,” he admitted.

“It never occurred to you to seek aid?”

“The wound will heal in time and there is much to be done in the meantime,” snapped Erestor. “Every day brings more to feed, more disagreement about how to proceed and more chance of snow.”

Elrond was reminded of a rooster with ruffled feathers he had once seen as a child living in Balar, upset after Elros had pulled his tail. He finished tending the wound, bandaged it and propped the leg up on a few rolled blankets.

“Dinner will be brought to you here. I will look at the wound tomorrow and determine when you may rise,” he informed Erestor.

Erestor’s eyes widened and he sat up abruptly. “No, my lord! I need . . .”

“To rest. It will be difficult, but we will manage without you for a day or two. You are not to call in those whom you wish to give orders to either, as you will disturb the children. Let the camp guards know he is not to leave this tent tonight, Glorfindel,” instructed Elrond.

Elrond nearly laughed at the dumbfounded look on Erestor’s face, but managed to contain himself and leave the tent. As he stepped back out into the open, he saw the cooks distributing meals. The elves were lined up, whereas the humans, primarily women and children, sat patiently waiting for whatever was left. He took a small boy by the hand and walked to the head of the line. The elves parted for him deferentially, but when he reached the cook he took the ladle in hand and filled a dish for the child.

“This is the portion for one his size. For the older human children, nursing mothers, and the elven younglings, this is the right amount,” he said, filling a second dish. “All other adults will share in what is left.” He set the dish in the little one’s hands, watching as the child carefully returned to his spot. He motioned for the other children to come, and called the human women by name. “Feed them first. Tomorrow Erestor will be reviewing the lay out of the camp. As winter draws near, those least able to tolerate the cold will be provisioned nearer to the fires and with more blankets. We must speed enclosing our shelters soon, for I do not want our little ones to suffer from the cold.” He smiled at the women. “I see you have already completed the baskets for collecting berries. We will send them out in the morning with the patrol, and Glorfindel will inform you of any patches where you may safely harvest. I am looking forward to blueberries in the venison stew.”

Elrond returned the ladle to the cook, who quickly filled a bowl and held it out to him. “I will return after the others have been served,” he informed the cook. He took the sizeable portion, however, and put it into the hands of Angren. “Eat and sleep well, little one.”

Elrond met the eyes of the elves whom he suspected were behind the insensitive comments about the mortals as he walked past, then turned to look back at the food line. A few of the elves had gathered up all of the children and mortals and were ensuring they were fed first. The children were eating hungrily, intent on their food, savoring it, not even talking or looking around. As Elrond turned back, he saw the eyes of the Noldor smiths fixed on the hungrily eating children, and he realized they had likely always been eating themselves or were even finished before the children ate. The sight of the children eating would move the hardest of hearts, and Elrond knew the hearts of these elves were not hard, merely preoccupied.

“The fireplace is coming along well and looks pleasing as well,” he complimented one worker as he moved past.

“We will complete an area inside for the children soon, my lord,” promised the smith. “They will be warm and snug around that fireplace before the first snow.”

“Thank you,” replied Elrond, grasping hands with the elf as he moved past.

Elrond walked back to the spot on the hill where they had met the Eagle. He knew he would need to tell of the conversation at camp later that night, for adults and children alike had all been bursting to ask him what the Eagle had said. Turning, he looked north to where the Eagle had flown, and then west.

“How long do you think we can hold this position?” he asked Glorfindel, who had followed him.

Glorfindel did not answer for a few moments, and Elrond knew any carefully considered answer from the warrior would be reliable. “The parties of orcs harassing us have decreased in both size and number,” he replied. “We have sent out scouts, and initial reports are that a great portion of Sauron’s army has entered Eriador and is approaching Lindon. Erestor’s line of scouts were under orders to retreat back to Lindon if they spotted the enemy; hopefully they have done that and King Gil-galad had warning. If we were to face the full wrath of Sauron’s army here, I do not think we could hold even this valley after winter’s end. By spring, they would be able to overwhelm us. As long as the numbers do not increase, and we do not allow the enemy to surround us by coming over the mountains through passes unknown, we can hold indefinitely, though it may be a lean existence. We would have to hunt a wider range to find adequate food, and that will thin the ranks of our warriors.”

“The winter may be lean as it is,” replied Elrond.

Glorfindel smiled. “The mortal women have been digging roots and gathering acorns and other edible nuts. They speak of harsh winters after a summer of bad crops, and then point out this is not a summer of bad crop as there is still much to harvest.”

Elrond could not help but smile. “Such optimism may help to feed our spirits through the winter as well.”

* * *

A/N: This chapter is split, as it has become way too long. The rest of the siege of Imladris will continue in the next chapter, which is about 2/3 done. Thanks to everyone for their patience!

Elrond's answer to the Eagle is borrowed from Gandalf in 'The Hobbit.'

Chapter 25: Imladris II: Years of Siege

Early Spring 1698

“You have a son!” exclaimed Elrond as he placed the red, squealing infant into a towel held by Ethiriel. She briskly rubbed the infant, stimulating him and drying him off all at once, while Elrond tended to the smiling, exhausted mother. Once she was comfortable on her pallet, Ethiriel placed the infant in her arms. “Congratulations.”

The woman held him to her breast, and tears streamed down her face when he finally latched on and began to suckle. “Thank you, my lord, thank you,” she wept.

“You did all the hard work,” laughed Elrond. He touched his palm to her cheek, looking her in the eye. “Your husband would be very proud of you, and very proud of the son you have birthed.”

She gripped his wrist tightly, leaning into his palm, unable to speak for a moment. “My son will carry his father’s name.”

“Then I may announce it?” asked Elrond.

She laughed. “I am sure they know now that I am through making noise and they heard his cry that he is here. Yes, please, Master Elrond.”

Elrond stepped around the heavy curtains that had been hung to separate the birthing area from the common sleeping room. Glorfindel had kept up the singing and several harps had been played, and it had gratified the young mother to have some sound other than that of her own labors, and soothed the rest of the room as well. The singing stopped as Elrond emerged, though the strumming on the harp continued.

“A healthy baby boy. His name will be Aldric, after his father,” he announced. “Tollyn did wonderfully, and is resting comfortably now.”

A cheer rose in the Hall, with clapping and calls of good will that they knew Tollyn would hear. Elrond accepted a cup of hot cider, made with the apples they had picked from the wild the previous fall, then sat down near Celeborn, who lifted his glass in celebration.

“The first child born in Imladris,” commented Celeborn. “Let us hope he lives to grow old in peace.”

Elrond sipped the liquid as he considered that. These mortals seemed to have little control over when they conceived their children, and indeed two of the women who had been found by Elrond’s warriors early in winter had been with child when found. The first had died with her child, and disappointment and melancholy had settled heavily upon the elves, unused to such things. The mortals had recovered faster, and it seemed each of them had a relative or friend who had also died in childbirth or had a child stillborn. Death was an accepted part of their life and culture. Tollyn’s husband had died of his wounds two days before Tollyn had been found. Their first child had died in her first year. To have this child born alive was a living legacy to the husband and child she had lost, and all of Imladris rejoiced with her.

As Elrond turned to answer to Celeborn, he saw a glint of light sparkle off a tear in the elf’s eye. Celeborn blinked it away quickly. “What are you thinking of this night?”

Celeborn smiled. “The birth of my daughter, Elrond. New life is a precious, wonderful gift.”

“I have heard that your Celebrían is as beautiful as her mother and is growing into the wisdom of her father,” said Elrond.

Celeborn laughed. “I am biased, Elrond. She is the most beautiful elleth to grace Middle-earth and certainly the most charming and wise as well. But you will have to judge for yourself. I do not doubt that Galadriel will find us as soon as she can make her way north from Lorien, where I hope they are safe.”

Erestor sat down beside them, a piece of parchment in hand. “This is a list of all of the horses in Imladris, their ages and what lineage is known. There are two stallions fit to sire their own lines.”

Elrond bent his head over the paper, eager to see what Erestor had done with his notes. “We will begin breeding this summer,” he determined. “Your estimates are very conservative, Erestor, but I think appropriate. I do not know how permanent this refuge will be, and do not want to add too much burden to what we must feed, but this number of foals a year from this spring seems reasonable.”

Erestor looked around the room with a satisfied smile. They were through the hardest part of the winter, and had suffered the deaths of only two, the mother and her child at birth. There had been a few lean days where the adults had gone without food, but the children and nursing mothers had always had food, even if the amounts were reduced.

A call audible only to elven ears was heard, and Elrond watched Glorfindel rise from his position among the children where he had been singing with them. Celeborn rose as well, throwing his heavy cloak over shoulders as he followed Glorfindel out into the cold. Elrond and Erestor waited, and soon another call sounded. Elrond’s brow furrowed in thought at the message: five adults and two children. Humans and elves fleeing Sauron’s forces continued to make their way north as word spread that a stronghold had been made. Elrond knew that once spring came, Sauron’s forces would make another push west to Lindon, and many who lived in the path would flee or be trampled along the way. He expected Imladris to swell with those seeking refuge.

A commotion was heard at the door, and a man stumbled inside, Celeborn holding tightly to his arm. He looked wildly about, but Celeborn pointed to the corner where the smaller children played. Casyn, the mother found with four half-starved children by the grace of the great eagles, rose. An inarticulate cry issued from her and she ran to him.

“Father!” cried Laran, the oldest child at ten summers. He ran to him, but stopped, a look of confusion on his face as he saw his father for the first time in many months. Elrond watched as he swallowed hard, then gently took his father’s arm and wrapped his own arm about his father’s waist.

Elrond looked at the man, wounds festering, his feet bleeding and his ears frostbitten, but tears of joy ran down the man’s face as his wife saw only the husband she loved, and she held him. Pulling her hands gently away from her husband, Elrond led her and her son to an area they had set aside for the treatment of the wounded while Celeborn scooped the man easily into his arms. “Come, we will care for him here.”

Celeborn laid the man on a pallet, then left, rejoining the other newcomers outside. Casyn was already preparing a basin of warm water and finding the soft cloths she knew would be needed, for she had aided Elrond with the injured and ill before. Laran knelt at his father’s shoulder, tears running silently down his face.

“We thought you were dead, father,” he sobbed. “I saw the orcs take you!”

“And I thought you dead, my son, for when I went in search of you I found not a trace,” the man spoke slowly, his breathing a little labored. “Godry and Veran rescued me, for they saw the smoke at Rhalid’s farm and suspected we would be next. They killed the orcs, and then we went to aid Tinen, for part of the orc band had gone to their farm. No one survived at either place, but then we went in search of you, and you were not to be found. I have been at Tharbad, which is only partially held. Then one day word came of the miracle of a woman and four children rescued by the elves. I came as soon as I heard this news, in hopes it might be my wife and children.”

Elrond and Casyn had listened to the story as they removed the man’s ragged clothing and began cleaning his wounds. Casyn finally sat back on her heels. “But how have you come to have such injuries?”

He smiled grimly. “I met up with a family burnt out of their farm and two elves, and they wished to find the refuge of the elves, if possible. We had to come through the lines of the enemy. I was rear guard, and we were nearly through when a misstep caused a rockslide, which alerted the orcs to our presence. My pack was lost, and one boot, and it was in the rockslide I injured my leg and chest. We did escape, and several days later we were found by the elves. The strange thing was the massive eagle I had only heard tales of before: we saw him each day and the elves in our group said to follow him. I think they led us to you.”

Elrond finished cleaning and binding the infected scratches and abrasions, and then bandaged the man and covered his frostbite injuries loosely. Warm medicated tea was brought to ease the man’s pain and bring sleep upon him, and Elrond allowed the man’s younger children into the room to see him before he drifted off.

Returning to the common area, his heart filled with joy as he saw the newcomers welcomed. Two were elves who had made the decision to sail west, only to find the way into Eriador blocked. Already they were surrounded by elves wishing news of kin and other realms, and among them was Celeborn, for they had come through Lorien. The family of humans was being cared for by Erestor, who had settled them among other families with children. The group had a dearth of fathers, and Elrond knew that this family, with a father, mother, a nearly grown son and daughter would be of great help. But the greatest joy was in the reunion of the father with his wife and children, and Elrond was not surprised to hear their tale of separation, rescue and reunion already being made into song by those with that skill.

In the distance, he heard the cry of the great eagles.

* * *

Early Summer 1699

Glorfindel sat on a rock at the lower edge of one of the area’s many waterfalls, this one creating a deep pool filled with cold water that trickled off into a stream that gradually intensified its flow to form another smaller waterfall further downstream. Already this site was a favorite of many of Imladris’s inhabitants. Many came to bathe in the refreshing waters, and now in the hot days of summer, the older children came to dive from the rocks and swim. Below the lower waterfall was a shallow pool where the mothers took their little ones to play in water only knee deep, and their cries of laughter and play helped Glorfindel to relax and organize his thoughts. Closing his eyes, he leaned back on the rock, letting the sun soak into him.

He heard Elrond’s approach long before the half-elf reached him, and he sat up to acknowledge the other’s presence.

“There are fewer battles, fewer scouts, and defending our perimeter has become more like a training expedition for elflings,” said Glorfindel mildly.

Elrond nodded as he sat down, but his eyes were drawn westward, as was often the case. “I wonder how Gil-galad fares in Lindon,” he finally said.

Glorfindel smiled grimly, for his thoughts had been led in the same direction. “Eriador is a large territory to cover. If Sauron believes that we are contained, then why not turn the full strength of his force to Lindon? Destroying the King of the elves, the havens from which the elves sail west, and perhaps regaining what Celebrimbor sent there would all be mighty prizes.”

“You think it is time to turn some of Sauron’s attention to his rear?” asked Elrond.

“It is more difficult to win a battle when your enemy is both behind and in front of you,” stated Glorfindel. He drew in a deep breath. “Turning his wrath back upon us may aid Lindon, and I do not believe it will destroy us. But if Lindon falls, Sauron will not forget we are here.” He paused, then slowly added, “Some here will not understand why you would put Imladris at risk, especially now when you have achieved some peace and stability for those who seek refuge here.”

Elrond’s eyes flashed, as Glorfindel knew they would. “The safety of the inhabitants of Imladris is a secondary goal; the primary has been and always will be to serve in the best interests of Gil-galad and his realm. We are an army and a stronghold in his defense first.”

“Then shall I prepare to lead a force out against Sauron?” asked Glorfindel. He watched as Elrond’s face lit at the prospect of taking on Sauron, yet he could also see the half-elf’s mind spinning through the necessities of maintaining the stronghold they had created. “I would take only a small force, for our method of attack would be ambush. You would need to keep a portion of the army here to defend the stronghold.” He could see his words take hold in Elrond’s mind, and knew Elrond would consent to him leading the force.

“Yes, and we will be prepared when you are chased back into the valley,” replied Elrond lightly.

Glorfindel laughed. “I never said I expected to win, merely that we would be a thorn in Sauron’s side. He will chase us and we will do our best to keep him occupied without forfeiting our lives in exchange.”

As Elrond walked back to the growing structure that was the house of Imladris, Glorfindel took advantage of the quiet pool to bathe, for he suspected it would be many days before he would again have such luxury. He dove off the rock, exhilarated as the cold water shocked his body. After bathing with the soaproot left there for such purposes, he swam to the rocky shore and climbed from the water.

“I brought you a towel,” said Athranen.

“Thank you,” replied Glorfindel, quickly toweling off and then dressing. “I hear we have you to thank for tonight’s meal.”

Athranen smiled. “I am improving with the bow, just as you said I would. Glorfindel,” he said, rushing into what he wished to say, “I want to go out with the patrols. I am becoming a very good shot, and I would stay near the rear.”

Glorfindel knew the young elf chafed under the restrictions placed on him, given tasks suitable for a child, when for months he, Angren and Eirien had helped in very adult ways. Eirien seemed content in her role in their small society, but she was the oldest female child amid few female adults and she naturally fit into a more adult position. Angren and Athranen had thrived under attention from Glorfindel and the warriors, and now took a greater role as hunters. While Angren still seemed content with that, Athranen looked longingly after the warriors each time they rode out.

Placing his arm around the young elf’s shoulders, Glorfindel steered him back to the house. “Our situation is about to change, Athranen. You will hear it this eve with everyone else. With this change I will need and expect more from you, but it will not be as a regular patrol member. We are not so desperate that we will put our children into battle lines just yet. You are too precious to us for that.”

Glorfindel selected his warriors and met with them first, allowing them time to prepare for the sortie he would lead them on. They would travel light, and he was grateful that the cooks had adequate stores of waybread for them to carry. Leaving them to prepare, he returned to the greatroom where Elrond had assembled the house.

Elrond stood before the banner of Gil-galad, which had been hung on the wall near the fireplace. While not dressed in the uniform of the herald of the King, he was dressed appropriate for his position. All eyes were intent on him. Glorfindel could not help but compare the commanding figure standing before them with Turgon and the man Tuor and Eärendil, for truly he was of their stature.

“Even as we entered Eregion, we knew that Sauron’s forces had entered Eriador. The spring of last year was heralded by another push of the enemy closer to Lindon, where they hope to destroy our king and the havens. Our spies tell us that Gil-galad has engaged and held the enemy, but they feared with a greater onslaught, they would be forced back to the sea.

“Many of you may have noticed that fewer and fewer of the enemy threaten our warriors and harass our borders. While this has led to an easing of our circumstance, and even an improvement of our situation, it is but a temporary reprieve. The forces that have threatened us now have been turned against Gil-galad in Lindon. If Lindon falls, Sauron’s eye will then again turn to us, for he will not suffer us to live. We know that against the legions of Sauron’s forces, we cannot long stand.

“While Sauron’s forces were split between holding us here and advancing against Lindon, they were effective in defeating neither of us. We shall, then, use the same tactics. They have chosen not to engage us, that they might focus on Lindon. Glorfindel will lead a sortie out to beleaguer our enemy at the rear. Those of us who remain will strengthen our defenses, for it is likely we will find ourselves again besieged by fall.”

Glorfindel looked to Elrond only several times during his announcement, instead choosing to watch the expressions of those listening. His tactic had been wise; he had subtly reminded everyone that despite the serenity of their summer, they were at war. The nods and intent concentration on the faces in the audience suggested that they believed in and agreed with what Elrond was saying. Those under his command would never have doubted that this was the right course of action; but Glorfindel noted that Elrond’s inclusive attitude and concern for the children had also reminded everyone else that they were part of the fight.

Elrond had finished and was answering questions when Glorfindel saw Athranen making his way to him. He smiled at the youngster, hoping to reassure him, for his conflict was easy to read.

“Glorfindel, please let…” he began, but Glorfindel raised his hand to stop him.

“I take only experienced warriors from the King’s army,” he gently reminded the youth. “I am counting on you here, Athranen. We go not with hopes of defeating Sauron’s army, only with hopes of turning some attention away from Lindon. I plan to return here with the enemy upon my heels, and I need to know that I leave staunch defenders here in Imladris to protect the innocent, defend this as the king’s stronghold, and aid us so that we can stop the enemy beyond the Bruinen. I have recommended to Elrond that you be named his junior lieutenant in defense of the grounds of Imladris. I have outlined your responsibilities.”

Glorfindel handed the young elf the parchment, and watched as Athranen unrolled it and began reading. He was to map the grounds, the passes into the mountains, the locations of the rivers and springs, and make recommendations for how to defend the grounds in the event the enemy made it across the final river and near the dwellings they had built. Glorfindel had seen what the young elf had done in Ost-in-Edhil, and was convinced he had the makings of a future commander.

“Well?” he asked, the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth hard to contain.

“Yes!” cried Athranen.

“Yes, what?” asked Glorfindel sternly, raising one brow in question.

Athranen snapped to attention. “Yes, sir!”

Glorfindel smiled. “You are now a junior officer in the king’s army. You are expected to obey orders from any senior commander, and to use care with the civilians. They and Imladris are now in your care.”

Athranen beamed, and Glorfindel could see the elf was trembling in excitement. While he wished to embrace the youngster, he instead extended his hand in the warrior greeting. Athranen took it firmly, his grip strong and sure. As Glorfindel left the Great Hall, he noted that Elrond had beckoned his new lieutenant to his side and was already dictating orders.

Glorfindel left at dawn, with two thirds of the remnant of the force left from Lindon. Imladris was left with the remaining defenders and the survivors of Ost-in-Edhil and the many humans that had joined them. Elrond saw them off with the traditional blessing, and they rode to war.

* * *

Fall 1699

“They are back!” announced Athranen after knocking on Elrond’s door and being called inside. “We saw the great eagles this morning, and now the warriors at the front have seen Glorfindel. They are pursued, but at some distance!”

Elrond rose, and touching Athranen lightly on the shoulder, directed him out of his office and back down the hall to the front porch. Gwaeseil had appeared not long after Glorfindel had left, his curiosity piqued about where the war party had gone. He had promised to look for them, and his flight this morning, circling something beyond their sight, had been correctly taken as a sign.

Elrond watched as the mounted warriors crossed the final river and climbed the steep bank, entering the grounds of Imladris. They were all bronzed by hours under the sun, dirty and in need of baths and rest, but Elrond counted twice and all had made it back. Glorfindel dismissed his elves and relinquished his horse to one of the young human boys before coming to stand before Elrond.

“Welcome back, Glorfindel,” greeted Elrond as they clasped hands. “I am glad to see that all of you have returned.”

“We practiced a different type of warfare, an assault and run strategy that annoyed, slowed and at times hurt the enemy, while allowing us to protect ourselves fairly well. It did what we had hoped though, for a good number of troops did follow us back here,” replied Glorfindel as he accepted a cool drink and then followed Elrond. He stopped speaking for a moment as his eyes looked over the new additions to the house.

“The thing added in your absence that you may appreciate most is the plumbing. They are still working on the heating of water, but this winter we will not need to bathe in icy streams or carry buckets of water indoors to heat them.”

Glorfindel looked down at his travel stained clothing and laughed. “I think we will bathe in the pool so as not to overwhelm their new systems!” He paused for a moment, as if sorting his thoughts to decide what to tell of the months they had spent in battle, then resumed walking in the direction of the pool. “We did not encounter many of the enemy as we traveled south. There were some roving bands of orcs looting and burning, and those we dispatched when we could. Rumor came that Tharbad had fallen, so we headed there next. Most of the Men who held the town and bridge had been forced to flee or were killed when large brigades of Orcs and evil Men passed that way in early spring. Many of Tharbad’s men had returned by the time we reached the city, and we spent some time helping them to strengthen the town and repair the damage. We then crossed into Eriador, and found the enemy taking the shortest road to Lindon. We caught up to them easily, for our horses were swift and we traveled light. We harassed them day and night, making them believe that we were of much greater size than we were. A large force was sent after us, and they are now several days’ march behind us. We left an easy trail until we reached the mighty rivers, but they will have as much difficulty finding Imladris as they did before. I expect that the majority of our time will be spent defensively this fall and into the winter.”

“We are prepared,” responded Elrond.

“This also was delivered,” said Glorfindel solemnly, and he withdrew from his tunic pocket a sealed message. “Erestor’s scouts are still spying out enemy movements and reporting back to Gil-galad. One of our scouts had run into one of them about a year ago, and they were relieved to know that we were alive and holding on here, but this was the first chance for a message to be sent. I have the military dispatches, but this was addressed specifically to you.”

Elrond took the message and carefully broke the king’s seal. He began reading, then stopped and folded the parchment before returning his attention to Glorfindel. Glorfindel’s eyes twinkled as he laughed, “Read the letter while I bathe. I am sure to be disturbing your senses as I am now!”

Someone had placed towels, fresh clothing and soap at the pool, and as Glorfindel gladly stripped and dove into the cool water, Elrond settled himself on to a nearby rock to read the letter. He read it through slowly once, and then again. Hope settled on him anew, for as he had suspected, Gil-galad had not been idle in these years of siege.

“Good news?” asked Glorfindel.

Elrond looked up at the much cleaner and better smelling warrior, but had to draw in a deep breath to steady his voice before he could answer. “Gil-galad says that twice Sauron has pushed to the line of the River Lhun and twice they have pushed him back, but he fears they cannot withstand a third assault. Already they are assisted at the Havens by Men from Númenor, and Tar-Minastir has promised to send more aid. Gil-galad expects ships of the Númenorian Navy to arrive yet this year. Of note, he says there were no conditions on the aid, but Gil-galad still does not trust the king’s son, Admiral Ciryatur. He closes bidding us to stand strong against our enemy.”

“It is well that we drew the enemy back to us, then,” remarked Glorfindel lightly. “Had the reinforcements we drew off reached the forces gathered there, their combined ranks may have overwhelmed Lindon, as we feared.”

“If Númenor does not come, then we have only purchased time,” replied Elrond softly. He did not repeat Gil-galad’s words, but with Glorfindel there was no need: he had seen the utter devastation of Eriador and Eregion. They could not hold out forever, nor could Gil-galad. Gil-galad had written other words as well, words that would never be read by any other. Words of his pride and love for Elrond, as a father to a son, a farewell in case they did not see each other this side of Mandos’s Halls.

“Come, I will show you the notes and give you a full briefing of all we learned and saw,” said Glorfindel. “By tomorrow afternoon, we will be engaged in battle.”

* * *

Winter 1699-1700

Elrond felt the blast of cold air and heard the heavier feet of Men and lighter step of elves as they carried in yet another wounded warrior. He could tell based upon the speed of their walk and the heaviness of their step if they carried the injured person, aided them to walk, or were merely coming in for meals or a break from the winter cold. He looked up from the warrior he was tending, but returned his attention to the deep sword wound that had slashed open the elf’s belly when he saw the women clearing a place for the newest patient.

The area set aside for the wounded had grown dramatically over the fall and into the winter months, and at times it seemed as if every warrior had spent some time on the pallets and cots there. He finished dressing the wound of the elf and turned him over to the care of those who were assisting him. They would bathe him and make him comfortable, and Elrond was confident the wound would heal. Turning, he walked to where the newest patient had been placed.

“Master Elrond, please come see to Glorfindel,” said Athranen as he looked up and saw him approaching.

Elrond kept his face impassive and calm despite the leap of his heart at hearing that his friend was injured. The young elves and human children were all drawn to the golden warrior, and the look of fear on Athranen’s face spoke volumes of what the elf meant to him. As he stepped to the cot, he saw that the young elf held Glorfindel’s hand, but clearly Glorfindel was the one doing the comforting.

“The wound is not serious, Elrond,” Glorfindel informed him.

Elrond pulled the folded cloth from Glorfindel’s thigh, noting the deep gash that bled heavily, yet did not endanger the leg. Another cut to his chest was long and shallow, angry and red, but not life threatening. “These wounds are hours old,” commented Elrond as he began his examination.

Glorfindel relaxed under his touch, and Elrond could feel Glorfindel’s complete trust and confidence in him through their skin contact. With their minds open to each other, they could communicate without words, but their conversation was comforting to others. Elrond could sense the tension in Athranen as he waited for Glorfindel’s doom to be pronounced, and he lifted his head and met the child’s eyes. “The wounds are not life threatening. Glorfindel will recover quickly.”

Athranen sighed in relief, then quickly masked his reaction as he fell into his role as junior officer. “I will return to making arrows, Captain,” he said formally, and Elrond could not help but notice that even standing at attention the young elf was far more relaxed than he had been moments before.

After he had left, Glorfindel continued to speak as Elrond tended him. “Erestor has scouted south and into the mountains. He sends word of movement of new troops that he thinks will arrive with Spring.”

Elrond paused for a moment, then resumed cleaning the gash on Glorfindel’s leg. Glorfindel’s words carried a message he had not missed: they could not withstand much more. If more enemy troops arrived before aid came from Lindon and Númenor, then it was only a matter of time before their warriors were chased back over the Bruinen and their enemy found them.

“I have spoken to the craftsmen of Ost-in-Edhil. All of the males will begin assisting you in the defense of Imladris. All can handle weapons at need and have taken you as their captain. The women and older children I will instruct in defensive fighting,” said Elrond, speaking even as his fingers deftly stitched the skin together on either side of the gash. “Casyn has asked me to instruct her and the other mothers in ending their children’s lives as quickly and painlessly as possible, that they might have knowledge and tools should the need arise.”

Elrond felt Glorfindel tense beneath his hand. “Elrond, that is a thought I can barely force myself to consider.”

“You are mighty in war, Glorfindel. You cannot imagine defeat, but these young mothers can. They would rather their children die by a hand holding the knife in love than be tortured and mutilated in horrible death before their eyes by servants of Sauron,” he replied evenly. “I will teach them, even as I teach them to call upon the Valar should need come upon them.”

The thought of these children he had grown to love being harmed by anyone was enough to shadow Glorfindel’s usually radiant face. “I must rest, but then we will continue to develop our strategy. Even the strongest enemy has a weak point, something that can be exploited, and we will find it. Imladris will hold,” he finished.

Elrond finished bandaging the leg as Glorfindel lapsed into silence, and he tended the chest wound without words as the need for rest overcame this hardiest of elves. His eyes became unfocused beneath half lowered lids, and Elrond paused to concentrate his healing power into his friend. He felt the muscles beneath his hands relax, and finishing his task, he covered Glorfindel with a blanket and left him to sleep.

A quick walk about the area set aside for the wounded revealed that all were being well tended or were resting quietly, and Elrond slipped off to his study. There he opened the maps that he and Erestor had been detailing, showing all the passes into the mountains, the streams and their sources, and every geographic feature they could mark – caves, large rock formations, and identifiable trees. Imladris was not easy to locate, and it was likely the only way the enemy would find them would be by following those trying to reach the haven. Even now, Erestor and his scouts were mapping the ways to Imladris and away from it – to caves in the mountains or through passes that would take them east to the Anduin and the forest of Greenwood. They would defend Imladris as long as possible, but they would also be prepared to flee at a moment’s notice. Elrond let his eyes drift westward on the map to Lindon, and wondered if the city still stood.

* * *

Late Spring 1700

Elrond heard the call of the guard from the infirmary. He continued tending the man on the pallet before him, carefully removing the barbed arrow from the man’s shoulder. He had had to cut the wound larger to remove the arrow without the barbs causing further damage, and the man’s hands were gripping the sheet tightly and his face was grey and sweat covered. Exhausted himself, Elrond had tried to ease the man’s pain, but he had been unable to provide the comfort he normally would. Herbal mixtures to ease the discomfort had been mixed and given, but Elrond knew that for a human they merely took the edge off the pain. He completed the work as quickly and efficiently as he could, and when he slathered the salve on to the wound, he heard the man sigh in relief and relax. “I am sorry for your discomfort,” he said quietly, and now that he was free of the task, he gave a little more of himself to ease the man’s pain.

He heard the guard enter the Hall and looked up as the elf beckoned to him. The elf was a seasoned warrior, yet his normal mask had fallen and his eyes held a deep sadness.

“A message from Erestor,” said the guard. “There are platoons of orcs one week south of here.”

Elrond nodded and took the sketch Erestor always sent showing placement and numbers. Dismissed, the guard left with what appeared to be the weight of the ages upon his shoulders. Elrond studied the sketch Erestor had sent, and laid it next to the one they had received from scouts operating west beyond the river. They had also reported troops moving eastward, and Elrond could not help but wonder if Lindon had fallen. Based on their time estimates, the two forces should arrive within just a few days of each other. Elrond closed his eyes and covered his face with both hands, lightly massaging his temples and the ache that was forming there. Gil-galad had not sent help in time.

* * *

Erestor rode as if Sauron himself were in pursuit, though in truth, it was the desire to get word to Elrond and all of Imladris as quickly as possible that spurred him on. Never had he seen so great an army gathered in one place, and the sight was overwhelming. He pushed his horse hard, but the stallion had seen the same sight that Erestor had, and seemed willing to give every ounce of his strength to bring the news back to their commander. As he reached the top of a ridge, a look-out point from which he could see for miles, he looked west. There, to his amazement, was another great army. He could feel his heart beating furiously in his chest, and after a moment’s rest he nudged his horse back into a run.

He reached Imladris at dusk. An orc platoon that had been harrying Imladris warriors each night was just appearing, and Erestor had to bypass the battle that was beginning, to make it behind the elves’ front line and then pick his way along searching for the clues of the path to Imladris. All of the warriors used care to ensure they left no signs of passage and concealed the path, which was nearly impossible to find even without their efforts.

Fording the river, he dismounted and led his horse up the steep bank and narrow path that led to the grounds of Imladris. He had heard the whistles signaling his arrival, and Celeborn, Glorfindel and Elrond were awaiting him on the front porch of the house. Erestor could not help but smile as he saw flowers growing in a bed by the porch, as well as cut and placed in containers at the entrance to the house. His smile faded, however, when he looked into the shadowed faces of his friends.

He turned the care of the horse over to one of the young stable boys, patting the animal and whispering his thanks as he sent him to a well deserved meal and rest. Clasping hands with each of those waiting for him, he followed them inside.

“You have ridden hard to bear whatever news you have learned, but it can wait a few more minutes while you take refreshment,” said Elrond.

Erestor looked at the three closely, and saw the deep weariness within them. They expected the news to be terrible, and therefore waiting was only a slight delay to confirm their fears. “Have something sent for me. Is there any wine left?”

Erestor was amused to see Elrond’s brow rise at his request, but the half-elf nodded. “I have reserved what is left for the wounded, but a bottle can be spared.”

“Good, for we will all need it when you hear the news,” replied Erestor stolidly.

He saw the table in Elrond’s study spread with maps and outlines of strategies for both defense and escape, and with a sweep of his hand he pushed them to the side and spread his own map out before them.

“There is a massive army located here,” he said, pointing to the southern portions of the river Greyflood. “There is also a force moving east along here,” he continued, showing a nearly straight line from Lindon to Imladris. He looked up into the faces of the elves around him, and saw despair, and knew they were not noticing the markings on his map. Suddenly, Glorfindel’s face lit up like the sun breaking through the clouds after a storm. “Those are ships you have drawn! Ships, coming up the Greyflood? Is that possible?”

Celeborn began to laugh. “It is possible! They have come before, and cleared the channel to their liking and left a small harbor here, named Vinyalondë. Númenor has come!”

Erestor smiled. “They have more than come. King Tar-Minastir landed at the Havens and with Gil-galad, they have routed Sauron’s forces and sent them scurrying back southeast along this road. The reinforcements I sent word of had just reached Tharbad, and were joined by those retreating from Eriador, and the men of Tharbad fled in fear when the ships first appeared, thinking more enemy had come upon them. Admiral Tar-Ciryatur, the King’s son, chased Sauron’s army east and battled them here in Calenardhon and then harried them all the way to Dagorlad. What few survived have fled here,” he pointed to the dark lands east of the Anduin, “to Mordor.”

“Gil-galad leads a force of Elves and Men eastward,” explained Erestor, turning their attention to the west. “The army the scouts saw coming was being chased, and is about to be crushed between us and the king.”

Elrond was speechless, Celeborn sat back on his chair, laughing with relief, but Glorfindel leapt to his feet. “Indeed they will be crushed between us! By your leave, Elrond, I will lead our troops out to meet them.”

Elrond was starting to say that he would join him, when a guard rapped on the door and called ‘wounded arriving!’ To Erestor’s surprise, there was no hesitation on Elrond’s face. He waved Glorfindel on as he rose to his feet and followed him to the door. He stopped there, and turned to face Erestor. “Your news could not be more welcome, Erestor, nor your rest more deserved. Eat and then sleep, for tomorrow, perhaps, you will see the victory.”

Erestor nodded, then watched as the three retreated. Already he could hear Glorfindel and Celeborn planning their strategy, and looking down he realized they had taken his map. He heard movement at the entry of the door, and Casyn appeared.

“Welcome home, Erestor. A bath has been prepared for you and a tray sent to your room. Our food supplies are low, but there is bread and cheese and meat for you,” she said quietly.

Erestor saw the shadow upon her face, and knew that the news must be conveyed to everyone soon, for the despair was palpable. Rising, he took her hand in his and kissed the rough skin of her knuckles gently. “Thank you, Casyn, and in return I bear to you first of the house the good news. I will come to share it with all of you in the Great Hall once I have bathed: Sauron is defeated and in retreat to the east, chased by mariners who sailed up the Greyflood south of Tharbad. Gil-galad, king of the elves, and a force of Men from the island of Númenor have routed them through Eriador and are chasing another army eastward from those lands. Glorfindel and Celeborn ride out to meet them. The army between them will meet their defeat crushed between the forces of elves and men. Have hope, Casyn, for your children will live and you will see a time of peace.”

Tears had filled her eyes as he spoke, and she pulled up her apron to dry them. Suddenly, she flung her arms about his neck and hugged him for a moment, then ran from the room.

After eating and bathing, Erestor went to the Great Hall. The greater portion of it was still an infirmary, and outside of the curtains that separated the areas, the children and other house residents were about their evening activities. No uninjured warriors were present, and Erestor knew that Glorfindel and Celeborn would be preparing them for the assault they would lead in the morning. After checking on Elrond and ensuring that all was in control with the wounded, he gathered the others around him, holding Tollyn’s two year old son after the toddler had squealed in joy and flung himself at Erestor’s knees upon seeing him, and delivered the good news. Amidst the tears and laughter, thanks were given for help that had arrived after all hope had been lost.

* * *

The battle began in earnest the next evening, and continued for several days and nights. Elrond had ceased counting the number of wounded brought to him, moving from injured warrior to injured warrior with nary a break. Tollyn, Casyn, and Ethiriel were all assisting him, along with young Eirien and others of the older children. As much as it pained Elrond to see the children helping clean up blood and gore-covered bandages, their help was needed and he stepped aside as Casyn’s older daughter poured more sand on the blood–slick floor around him. Athranen, Angren and Casyn’s oldest son and another boy were carrying in the wounded on stretchers. Word had come with one of the injured warriors that the fighting was heavy, for Sauron’s forces were desperate to escape the large army pursuing them. Glorfindel and Celeborn may have engaged too soon, thought Elrond, though in these times they were lacking the intelligence to do more than what seemed right at the time.

As morning drew near on the fourth day after the fighting started, Elrond bound the last wound and carried the Man to a pallet where he might rest. Casyn and her oldest daughter were slumped against the wall, the child sound asleep in her sleeping mother’s arms. Both had traces of blood on them from their work. Looking around, Elrond saw that many of the house had literally dropped where they had been standing. He poured himself a small cup of miruvor and drank it slowly, feeling his strength replenish slightly from the restorative. As his mind cleared, he noticed the uniform of the man he had just tended, and realized he had not even looked the warrior in the face, for his wound had been to the back of his shoulder. He rose and walked to the Man, and gently turned him on his side. His face was pale and his hair black, and he was very tall and powerful appearing, and it hit Elrond that this was a man of Númenor. He had known many during his time in Lindon, for the Men of Númenor often visited or came as ambassadors of their King, but he had grown used to the look of the Men who lived in this part of Middle-earth – shorter lived and of lesser stature, though he knew they were distant kin of the Men who had founded Númenor. He felt a smile cross his face at what this injured man represented: the forces of Gil-galad and Tar-Minastir had reached the army led by Glorfindel and Celeborn. The battle must be over, or would be soon.

Elrond picked up the exhausted women and children one by one and placed them on pallets, then lay down himself near the entrance, where he would be sure to hear any new arrivals. The Path of Dreams was quickly found and he drifted off.

The smell of breakfast awakened him several hours later, and he rose even as the exhausted humans and elves and warriors still slept. The cooks were preparing what could only be described as a feast, though he learned most of it was for evening meal.

“Erestor has sent word and supplies for a feast this evening!” the cook whispered excitedly as he handed Elrond a breakfast plate. “Supplies we have not seen the like of since we left Lindon!”

Elrond sat and ate, realizing as soon as he had smelled the food how hungry he was. “You have hardly eaten these last few days,” scolded the cook. He smiled though, as he heaped another helping on to Elrond’s plate.

Elrond finished and took the opportunity to wash up and change clothing, placing another sleeveless smock over his tunic and trousers in preparation for another day of treating the wounded. He returned to the Great Hall as others were beginning to stir, and began assisting the injured. Soon, all of his aides had eaten and changed, and once the wounded were all fed and cared for as well, they prepared the room for the next onslaught.

By mid-day, no more wounded had arrived and Elrond finally walked out of the house. From the front porch he could see the banners of the king in the distance, and tears filled his eyes. Nearly a half hour later, Gil-galad himself strode across the lawn to the house. Erestor, Glorfindel and Celeborn had all escorted him and his captains, and among them Elrond saw captains from Númenor as well. He walked forward and bowed to his knee before his king.

“Rise, Elrond,” said Gil-galad, and Elrond could hear joy in his voice. He rose, and then Gil-galad grasped his arm and then embraced him.

Elrond thought of the many years he had spent in the company of this elf he considered father and king, of the strength of his arms and the strength of his character, and in his joy found himself nearly at a loss for words. He pulled back and met the dark grey eyes of the High King of the Noldor. “Welcome to Imladris, eastern outpost and refuge of your realm and army,” he greeted him.

Many of the inhabitants of the house had poured out of the doors, eager to see the king that none of the humans and only some of the elves had ever met. Elrond watched as Gil-galad went from person to person, family to family, greeting them and thanking them for their service. Gil-galad knew many of his own soldiers by name, those who had left Imladris and marched to the aid of Eregion. Some of the elves of Eregion had lived in Lindon, and these thanked Gil-galad for sending them Elrond. The humans could not easily meet his gaze, and so Gil-galad used care in greeting them. As was customary with his charm, soon every youngling was crowded around him much as they flocked to Glorfindel.

Elrond led him indoors, showing him the house and what the craftsmen of Ost-in-Edhil had accomplished. Imladris was no mere house, but the beginning of a work of art, with beauty on par with function in importance. Gil-galad toured the infirmary, visiting with the injured and assuring them that their sacrifices had not been in vain, but had helped secure victory in Eregion and Eriador. Finally, they settled in Elrond’s study with a bottle of wine provided by Gil-galad.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, enjoying the quiet and the smooth taste of the fine wine.

“The best you have had in several years, no doubt,” said Gil-galad with a smile.

Elrond only nodded, for he was still gathering his thoughts. Finally he said, “Your arrival could not have been more timely. We heard rumor that armies were approaching from the south and west, and feared Lindon and the Havens had fallen. Joy replaced our despair and hope filled our hearts when we learned that Númenor had come, and that you led the force east.”

“I am only sorry it took so long,” replied Gil-galad soberly. “When we had gone nearly two years without word, we began to fear you had all perished. Círdan and I considered that we would encourage all the remaining elves to sail, if we could get word to Lorinand and Greenwood, for we knew that we too could not withstand Sauron’s might alone. Númenor was beset with difficulties, yet Tar-Minastir’s word was good, and even over these last two years he had sent forces and supplies to the Havens.”

Gil-galad paused and looked around the room, finally settling his gaze on Elrond. “We will need to gather council here, and determine how we wish to use Imladris and who should govern it.” He paused. “I will tell you what I see, however, Elrond. I see my herald no more, but in his place a lord in his own right, one who has forged a realm from the wilderness and gathered to him all that would come, Men and Elves, and all of them look to him as Lord.” He raised his hand as Elrond moved to speak. “My wish will be for you to remain here as my Vice-Regent, for though I am loathe to part from you, I foresee that your place is here.”

Elrond sat back in his chair, silent, watching Gil-galad. The king had never been able to sit still for a whole meeting, and even now he walked about, speaking with tongue and hands as he laid out his reasons.

“What about Celeborn and Galadriel?” he finally asked.

“They shall have their say,” answered Gil-galad without pause. “But I do not think they will object. Galadriel is sure to arrive soon, and we will hear her word on the matter.”

Elrond considered this, as he had not allowed himself to do in the past. He had focused only on survival, and made sure in his heart that he never took greater honor than what his position in service to the King required. Yet, he found that his heart now resided here, and he also foresaw that his future was tied to Imladris. He smiled.

“A room has been prepared for you,” he said, interrupting his own musings. “This evening we will feast, thanks to the provisions you sent ahead.”

Elrond rose to escort the king to a private room, one of just a few that were completed, and again Gil-galad looked him over with a flicker of emotion on his face – and Elrond saw there paternal pride and love and something he could only describe as loyalty.

“Well done, Elrond. I meant it when I said that there was no one I trusted more to lead in my stead, and you have fulfilled every expectation I could have had. Yet when you left, I felt as a father might feel sending his son to almost certain death. When I arrived, my plans had you returning to Lindon with me. Now, however, I find that you have outgrown even the ideals I had set for you on this mission: you are the lord of Imladris. I find it is instead time to let you go.”

Elrond felt the warm arms wrap around him as his eyes again filled with tears. While Gil-galad had always been affectionate with him, never before had Elrond felt this strong a paternal pride. “I can only promise to continue as I have done, as you have taught me, in fealty and allegiance to you as my king…and as one who has been as a father to me.”

On that early summer’s night, a fire lit the night sky of Imladris, and gathered about it and the waterfalls and the streams and in the fields and lawns, up to the front porch and all the way to the river, the elves and men of Lindon and Eregion and Númenor feasted and sang and danced together. As the stars appeared, Glorfindel drew forth his harp and gathered the children around him, and he sang of Elbereth and how through the stars she watched over each one of them.

High in their mountain eyries, Gwaeseil and his eagles watched over the son of the star that fought Morgoth with their fathers, and sent word of the victory to their Lord, Manwë.

Chapter 26: The Last Homely House

Nearly a month had passed since Gil-galad and his combined forces of Men and Elves had arrived in Imladris. While the warriors of Imladris were resting after their exhausting winter of siege, the warriors of Lindon were scouring the lands and flushing out any survivors of Sauron’s army. Elrond reviewed the report that Gil-galad had dropped on his desk: it appeared that very few had survived.

He rose and walked to the balcony that had been recently completed. He wondered if he would ever grow used to the view, and decided he would ensure he did not. The waterfalls seemed to sing as they cascaded to the streams below, and the acoustics of the cliff walls created a harmony that played in an echoed unison. The overall effect was one of serenity, a feeling that time stood still and the cares of life passed by outside of their valley. Now that the worries and hardships of war were passing into memory and he knew that the king wished him here, he found his heart turned to this land.

Elrond knew that Gil-galad had spoken to Celeborn and Glorfindel, the leaders of the Mírdain, and others of the population of Imladris about Elrond remaining to lead Imladris. Glorfindel had told him that in Gil-galad he saw a natural skill, similar to that of his father Fingon, uncle Turgon and grandfather Fingolfin, to speak to and lead people where he wished them to go. In this case, Glorfindel had admitted, it seemed that Gil-galad had merely learned that others wanted what he did as well. Still, Elrond would wait until the Council met formally. Galadriel should have a say in the matter, and though Celeborn had already spoken his piece, no decision would be made until it could be properly debated.

Already the inhabitants of Imladris were deciding their own futures. Most of the humans would stay through the coming spring before moving on to build homesteads and start their lives anew. In addition to the swelling population of warriors from Lindon and Númenor, many of the race of Men who had been chased from their lands in Eregion and Eriador had come to find Imladris, seeking news of their kin. Elrond looked out over the grounds and beyond them to the river, and it seemed as if there were camps as far as his eyes could see.

Giggling caught his attention, and he turned as pattering feet flew across the floor. He caught the armful of child just as the small boy flung himself into his arms.

“Hello, Aldric,” he greeted the toddler. Aldric buried his face in Elrond’s tunic, pulling apart the closures as if trying to crawl inside. “Are you hiding?”

More giggles issued against his chest, causing a slightly wet, tickling sensation, and then the small head popped up and nodded in agreement. “Mama is looking for me,” he announced.

“And why would you be hiding from your mama?”

“Nap time,” said Aldric, grinning. “No naps!”

“I would agree you do not look tired,” teased Elrond. He could hear Tollyn’s voice in the hall, but he did not recognize the male voice in conversation with her. He cuddled Aldric to his chest, and despite both of their assertions that he was not and did not appear tired, his eyelids drooped immediately and he snuggled against Elrond’s chest. Walking into the hallway, he saw Tollyn in conversation with a young man who had arrived a few weeks earlier, searching for his own wife. He had learned she had died, as he had feared, several years earlier. While he had seemed devastated by the news, Elrond recognized the look in the man’s eyes as he looked now upon Tollyn. They were earnestly speaking of the future.

“I will go and begin rebuilding. My brother and his family will live nearby, and there are others considering moving there as well. I would like you to be by my side, Tollyn. I can promise to love and protect you, and together we would raise more sons, strong boys like your Aldric, and daughters too, and have a prosperous farm,” said the man.

Tollyn listened with wide eyes. “The elves have said I can stay here with Aldric, as I am without family.” She paused, her gaze lowered; then she lifted her face to his. “But I would like to live with my own people, and have other children and my own home. Casyn says you are a good man, that you treated your wife well, and you would do right by Aldric.”

“I would, Tollyn. He shall be as the son that died in the womb of my wife, as my own firstborn. You would make me a fine wife, and bear my children, and in time we would grow to love each other.”

Tollyn turned her head at that moment, and her eyes met Elrond’s as he walked slowly to them. Her face flushed red as she realized he had likely overheard her words.

“Aldric has fallen into sleep, despite all his wishes to the contrary,” said Elrond quietly. “I will walk with him a while outside with your leave, for I find a certain contentment in holding a sleeping child.”

Tollyn nodded in a combination of embarrassment and relief, and Elrond continued down the hall and out the front door. Once outside, he wandered the path that led to the waterfall and pools, avoiding the delighted shrieks of the human youngsters playing in the shallow pool they so loved, and heading further up and into the deeper trees where quiet prevailed. There was something intensely soothing about holding a sleeping child, and he found his thoughts drawn to the life this mortal boy faced. As hard as it was for Elrond to comprehend Tollyn marrying this man she had just met, he reminded himself of how fleeting were the years of these mortals, with life spans far less than those of the Men of Númenor. In the customs of these people, they did remarry, quite often very soon after the death of a spouse, for a widower needed a mother for his children and a wife to keep his home, and a widow needed a father for her children and a strong man to run the farm. Not all widows and widowers remarried, but most did, and Elrond knew that Tollyn would miss the life she had known, and she would miss the physical comfort of having a husband. He smiled, for the elves indeed found the humans less restrained in their bodily desires and they did need to marry. Caressing the mop of brown hair lying over his arm, he decided the man would likely be a good father to this child.

“You look entirely natural in that position,” came an amused voice.

Elrond looked up to see Gil-galad seated on the rocks high above the waterfall. The king grinned and jumped to a rock many feet below him, and then leapt to the ground. He looked upon the child, tickling its foot and then laughing as the child squirmed in his sleep. “The first child born in Imladris, I hear.”

“He was indeed,” answered Elrond. “His birth brought joy to Elves and Men alike, and even in that tough winter, we celebrated his arrival.”

“Hmm…” said Gil-galad, looking thoughtfully at them both.

“My lord!” called Athranen from the path below them. “The Lady Galadriel has arrived!”

“Just as expected,” laughed Gil-galad. After Athranen had run off, Gil-galad turned to Elrond and whispered, “Do you think she has reorganized Lorinand and is providing counsel to King Amdir?”

Elrond laughed, and though he did not answer, he thought Gil-galad likely right. She had run Balar during the War of Wrath, and begun planning the settlement of Lindon and mapping the lands at the war’s end. He had no doubt that all the elves of Lorinand now loved her, for that happened wherever she went, and if she had demurred to Amdir to his satisfaction, he likely would have let her run his kingdom in return.

They rose and began walking back to Imladris, with Gil-galad called ahead by his own advisors, and Elrond walking slowly so as to not jar the child in his arms.

Galadriel was indeed just arriving, walking into the courtyard with a number of other elves following her, when Elrond heard a cry of delight and then saw a female elf fly past Galadriel, silver hair streaming out behind her, and fling herself into Celeborn’s arms.

Celeborn lifted her from her feet, swinging her around, in a display so careless of who might be watching that Elrond knew that the beautiful elleth could only be his daughter. He watched as Celeborn set Celebrían down, his hands moving to touch each side of her face as he looked into her eyes, then run down the silver ribbon of hair to her shoulders, and then down her arms to take her hands in his own. He raised those hands to his lips and kissed them, and then Celebrían wrapped her arms about him again and held him tight.

Abruptly, Elrond found, to his own embarrassment, that he wanted to hold Celebrían in his arms, he wanted to feel her pressed up close against him, and he wanted to run his fingers through her shining strands of hair. He felt his body respond as he thought of her and quickly squelched those desires. He could not help but laugh at himself as he considered that just a short while earlier he had been considering that mortals needed to marry so that they had an outlet for their desires. Perhaps this is my mortal blood, he thought, bemused.

He could not turn his eyes away from the reunion happening before him. He watched as Galadriel approached her husband much more sedately than her daughter had, and publicly she and Celeborn merely held hands. Elrond knew that the bond between them was powerful and words were not needed to communicate their thoughts and feelings. Celebrían, on the other hand, remained attached to her father’s side, her arm wrapped through his. Her smile lit her face, and she was radiant. Though he had read of instances with the Eldar of love at first, he had never thought to experience it himself. Although Beren beheld Lúthien and was enchanted by her at first sight. And Elu-Thingol loved Melian from the first time he saw her, but I have heard she used her powers on him. Tuor loved Idril, perhaps not from first sight, but not long after. Perhaps it is an inherited trait.

“Elrond!” Forcing his eyes away from Celebrían, Elrond turned to meet his king’s gaze.

“Would you like to meet Celebrían, or do you plan to just stare at her?” questioned Gil-galad, grinning.

Elrond felt his face flush, despite his best attempts to stop it. Even in his chagrin, he found himself intrigued that he could not mask that emotion. Before he could answer, though, he saw Gil-galad step forward to greet the reunited family. Celeborn and Galadriel greeted him, then introduced Celebrían. Gil-galad raised Celebrían’s hand to his lips, kissing it, then holding her hand in his own. To Elrond’s continued amazement, he felt a stab of jealousy, another emotion seldom experienced and one that he also had a difficult time suppressing. A small cry interrupted his thought, and he realized he had tightened the grip on the toddler in his arms and awakened the child.

He soothed Aldric while Gil-galad spoke with Celebrían and Galadriel, and Elrond overhead the pleasantries exchanged about their trip north from Lorinand. He heard they had passed through Moria again and spoken with the dwarves, but they had not gone into the ruins of Ost-in-Edhil. Elrond listened as he shifted Aldric to his shoulder, where the child nuzzled into his neck and wrapped his chubby hands around Elrond’s hair.

“Celebrían, this is Elrond Eärendilion.” Elrond heard himself introduced as he tried to extricate his hair. He immediately stilled his hands, but found himself unable to properly bow and greet the lady before him. To his chagrin, Gil-galad was grinning, Celeborn appeared amused and Galadriel raised a brow at his predicament.

“Lady Celebrían, welcome to Imladris,” he managed, and he bowed slightly, the child in his arms giggling at the movement.

Celebrían laughed at the child’s joy and stepped forward to stroke the little boy’s hair. “And who are you, little one?”

Aldric tipped his head back to see her, releasing a handful of Elrond’s hair in favor of touching Celebrían’s face. This she allowed; then she encompassed his hand in her own and leaned forward to kiss him on the forehead.

Elrond felt his heart leap and his mind reel at her closeness, and it took all his effort to answer. “This scamp is Aldric, the first child born in Imladris. His mother is within, and he is meant to be napping.”

“Are you disobeying your adar?” teased Celebrían as she pulled Aldric’s hand to her and shook it gently, making him laugh again.

Elrond was sure his heart stopped, and he had to pause as he quickly considered his response. “Unfortunately, his father was a casuality of war, thus he has belonged to all of us during his time here. And much beloved he has been,” he added as he tickled the child, increasing his giggles.

From the corner of his eye, Elrond saw the look of approval on Galadriel’s face. Celebrían had blushed slightly and Elrond had felt her withdraw from him, but as he continued to speak as if no mistake had been made, she relaxed and though it was perhaps only his wish that it be so, she appeared to look at him differently now that she no longer thought the child was his. Their eyes met a moment later, and he did not mask the interest he knew his gaze held, for she was young and not experienced at hiding her own feelings. He found her eyes held the same interest.

“Master Elrond, thank you for watching Aldric,” said Tollyn breathlessly as she ducked nearly behind Elrond to greet him and retrieve her son. “My lady,” she whispered, bowing to Celebrían, but her eyes lifted beneath her lashes as she could not help but look at the beautiful elf before her.

“Mama!” cried Aldric. He flung himself at her, wrapping his arms about her neck and hugging her tightly. “Bye, Elrond!” He waved as his mother led him away, and Tollyn looked back over her shoulder once, still awed at being in Celebrían’s presence.

Elrond straightened his tunic, brushing lightly at the drool spots that wet his chest where the child had nestled against him. He felt a jolt of energy as Celebrían’s hand brushed against his as she fixed the braid on his right shoulder that Aldric had mussed. He held his breath as she deftly fixed it, then patted it down lightly against him.

“It was kind of you to watch the little boy,” said Celebrían, a light flush creeping up her cheeks as she pulled her hands away and stepped back from him.

“Suilad, Elrond,” greeted Galadriel, stepping to her daughter’s side. “I am glad to find you well and so many of our people safe here with you.”

“Lady Galadriel,” replied Elrond, and this time he was able to bow properly. After a brief discussion of those who had survived, he asked, “May I show you to your room, or would you like a short tour of Imladris first?”

Galadriel smiled, her eyes boring deeply into him, and Elrond girded himself but allowed her probe of his thoughts. She then turned to her daughter. “Celebrían, I prefer to rest and refresh first. You may, however, tour the grounds with Elrond now if you so desire.”

Celebrían brightened at the prospect. “Thank you, Naneth.” She turned to Elrond. “I would like to see Imladris, Master Elrond.”

With Celebrían at his side, Elrond led Galadriel with Celeborn at her side to the rooms he had appointed for Celeborn earlier. He waited in the hallway as Celebrían refreshed herself, and a few minutes later she appeared at the door, her father at her arm. As Celeborn turned his daughter over to him, Elrond caught the look of bemusement on the elf’s face. As he took Celebrían’s hand in his own, he saw Celeborn lean back against the door jam, arms crossed over his chest, and watch while they walked away.

He laughed at himself as he realized he had fallen in love with the most beautiful and charming elleth he had ever met, and she happened to be the daughter of two of the most powerful elves in Middle-earth. That she appeared interested in him as well made him feel nearly giddy with desire.

* * *

“Sauron is defeated, but not dead. His has in his keeping the One Ring as well as some of the rings made by the elves. He will rebuild his armies and seek to destroy us again. It is only a matter of time,” concluded Gil-galad.

Gil-galad sat down, looking at each person seated around the table and tallying the consensus of their agreement. Elrond could easily see there was no disagreement, even among the Númenorian representatives present. The Men of Númenor were proud of the relief they had brought to the peoples of Middle-earth, yet unafraid of any future retaliation against them by Sauron.

“Sauron may be able to build armies and fight a ground war, but he has no ability to build ships and cross the seas,” the Númenorian captain had replied.

“Imladris is strategically placed and well hidden, and I wish to maintain it as a stronghold here in Eregion. I will need to choose a Vice-Regent to serve here,” added Gil-galad after he found his prior conclusions uncontested.

“Imladris has been led by Elrond since he founded it, and I believe he is the best person to lead it into the future,” said Celeborn.

“Many of the survivors of Ost-in-Edhil plan to stay in Imladris,” said Galadriel calmly. “Those were our people.”

“For the past three years they have lived under his leadership,” replied Celeborn. “They are content to continue this way.”

Galadriel nodded, then turned her gaze upon Elrond again. “I have foreseen that the futures of Elrond and Imladris are woven together. I also believe that Elrond should lead Imladris.”

All eyes settled upon him, and Elrond said, “I too have foreseen that my future lies in Imladris. If my king desires that I remain here, then I do so gladly.”

Gil-galad smiled. “I name Elrond as my Vice-Regent to Eregion, then.” He turned to Celeborn and Galadriel. “What are your plans? Will you return to Lindon?”

Galadriel nodded. “That is our decision, at least for now. We would like our daughter to have the advantages that Lindon can offer.”

Elrond felt his heart jump at the mention of Celebrían, then fall as he considered that she would soon be leaving. Yet, he knew the time was not right for him to seek permission to court her. His time was not his own, and he too knew that they would again face Sauron in war. He had enjoyed the time they spent together, usually under the distant but watchful eye of her parents or Glorfindel, which neither of them had found constraining. Elrond was used to Glorfindel’s constant presence, and Celebrían to her parents, and they usually forgot they were among others.

He found Celebrían full of joy and as merry as any elf could be. She would sing at times, other times they would talk, but she was equally content to sit in the quiet stillness and watch a sunset or lie beneath the stars as they appeared in the night sky. The first time they had seen Eärendil together, she had wrapped her arm through his and sung a ballad of Gil-estel she had learned as a child. Elrond had blinked back tears at the beauty of her voice.

Elrond suddenly realized that the meeting had adjourned and nearly everyone had left the room. Gil-galad and Glorfindel were watching him with looks of amusement that he was growing used to, for they had caught him with his thoughts elsewhere entirely too often lately.

“Celebrían will be leaving for Lindon soon,” said Gil-galad.

“She will enjoy life in Lindon,” replied Elrond quietly. “That experience will be unlike any she has had before. She will blossom there.”

“You do not intend to speak to her?” asked Gil-galad gently.

Elrond looked away. “No. Celebrían is very young and the time in Lindon will bring her pleasures that life growing up under the threat of Sauron could not. My place is now here, for you are right that Sauron will rise again. Our fight with him is not over.”

Gil-galad furrowed his brow. “Elrond, it is clear to me that you love Celebrían. Why did you let me name you Vice-Regent now and assign you to Imladris when you knew that Celebrían would leave for Lindon? I could have arranged for you to return there as well, at least for a while.”

Elrond felt anger rising within him and it took him a moment to contain his feelings. “We spoke of the need to maintain a stronghold in Imladris before I met Celebrían. You indicated you wanted me here, and I foresaw then that my future was in Imladris as well. Did you think that I would so easily shift and change, shirk my duty and responsibility? If I am meant to be with Celebrían, then she will one day return and in a time of peace I will seek to bind with her.”

“No, Elrond, I have never known you to shirk your duty or responsibility,” replied Gil-galad sternly. “If anything, they rule your life to the exclusion of all else. However, I would not consider you spending some time in Lindon, now or in the future, a shirking of your duty.”

Elrond felt heat rise in his face and he lowered his gaze. “I look forward to visiting Lindon, Gil-galad.

Gil-galad laughed and held his hand out to Elrond. As he pulled Elrond to his feet, he spoke to Glorfindel. “Part of your job, Glorfindel, is to prevent this level of seriousness. He needs more joy in his life.”

Glorfindel only smiled.

* * *

“Naneth, when will we be leaving for Lindon?” asked Celebrían.

“We will return with the king and his army,” answered Galadriel. She smiled at her daughter. “You will enjoy Lindon, Celebrían. The sea is beautiful to behold, as are the Havens and the ships of Círdan. Many of the buildings are brick, as are the streets of the city. There are beautiful fountains and gardens, a grand library and music amphitheater.”

Celebrían glanced out the window of their sitting room, where the sound of running water was ever present. The forest was deep green and set against the nearly golden, sunlit cliffs of the Misty Mountains. She loved the gardens here, even if they were young, and already a library had been started, though it had few books at this time. Deer roamed the grounds, along with fox and squirrels, and there were otters in the streams.

“Naneth, Elrond has not spoken to me,” she said in a troubled voice.

Galadriel sat down beside her on the window seat. “He has not spoken to you about his feelings for you?”

Celebrían shook her head. “I am sure he loves me, as I am sure he knows I love him. But he does not speak of it.”

Galadriel put her arm around her and pulled her close, and Celebrían leaned into her and waited for her mother to answer, for she was sure she would receive an explanation.

“I will tell you something about Elrond that I think you should understand, Celebrían. I have known him since he was a small child full of quiet determination to know all that he could know, and to please Gil-galad and Círdan, who raised him. His sense of duty is very strong. Right now, his duty is to Imladris and to the king. You know that Sauron was not defeated, and as before, he will rise again to build his armies and attempt to conquer Middle-earth. I do not think that Elrond will express his feelings for you until a time has come when that threat does not exist.”

Celebrían heard the small cry of frustration escape her before she could contain it, and her mother’s raised brow confirmed she had heard it too. “Naneth, there could be peace now for a hundred years or many hundreds of years. I do not wish to wait that long!”

“What is a hundred years to an elf, Celebrían?” asked Galadriel, and Celebrían was glad to hear some amusement in her voice. “You will come to Lindon with us, and experience all the wonderful things that the city can offer you. There you will meet many new Elves, perhaps other suitors that you will wish to entertain.”

“I do not want other suitors,” snapped Celebrían.

Galadriel laughed. “Well, you will know that for sure once you meet other elves. Nonetheless, you will have opportunities. Elrond will be here, Celebrían. He is steadfast. If he loves you today, and I believe that he does, then he will be here for you when the time is right for you to be together.” She paused, looking into Celebrían’s eyes for a moment. “I also suggest you think on what it would mean to be married to one who is bound also to his duty. That duty may need to come before you. Could you be happy with that?”

“Yes, Naneth,” whispered Celebrían. “I learned about duty from you and Adar, and I have not forgotten what it means to be responsible for our people. Nor have I forgotten that you would have stayed but left to keep me safe.”

Galadriel stroked her hair. “You may be called to keep your children safe while your husband fights one day too, Celebrían. In all of your life you have lived under the curse of the Noldor, a curse that will not end as long as we reside in Middle-earth. Sauron will rise to power again, and we will fight him again. If you wish to stand by Elrond’s side, then you must make his duty your duty too.”

Celebrían brushed away the tear sliding down her cheek. “I have never asked you, and you have not said if Elrond has, but would you approve of him for my husband, should he ever decide to speak his feelings?”

Galadriel laughed again. “Yes, we would approve, child.”

“I should go to Lindon,” said Celebrían suddenly. “I would wish to be a good wife to Elrond, Naneth, should he ever ask. In Lindon I will learn more, that I might converse with him. Adar says that Elrond is a Master of Lore, and I know so little.”

“Elrond knew little when he was your age,” said Galadriel, smiling. She paused for a long while, then spoke again, “Elrond does not need for you to know as much as he does, Celebrían. What Elrond needs is for his wife to love him. He has suffered many losses in his life, a life still young by the reckoning of the Eldar, and I foresee more losses to come in his future.”

Celebrían sat up straight, holding tight to her mother’s hand. “Do you see me in that future, Naneth?”

Galadriel smiled, sadly it seemed. “I do foresee some of your future, daughter, but it is not for me to predict.”

“I love Imladris, Naneth. I would like to see it become a refuge for anyone, of any race of Middle-earth, who came seeking a place of safety or rest or rejuvenation. A haven in Eregion for the Elves, but also for Men in need, or Dwarves, or others that I cannot foresee.”

A knock at the door interrupted their conversation, and Celebrían jumped to her feet. “I was to meet Elrond to walk in the garden!”

She opened the door to see Glorfindel, who smiled at her with a radiance she had seldom seen before. “Lady Celebrían, Elrond begs your forgiveness, as he was called to tend an injury and will be late joining you. May I escort you to the garden in his stead, and he will join you there in a short while?”

“Yes, Glorfindel,” she answered. With a wave to her mother, she left the house more light-hearted than she had been in the several days since learning they would be leaving soon. They entered the garden in companionable silence.

“I must remember to send rose cuttings or bring them next time I come this way,” she said absently as she bent to sniff a wild daisy. “There is adequate light here and with some protection they would survive the winters, I think.”

Glorfindel smiled as she talked, thinking aloud about what kind of garden she would make. He nodded every so often, attentive to her words but saying little. “Glorfindel, you are very quiet today,” she said finally.

“I am enjoying seeing the rose in front of me blossom,” he answered.

Celebrían looked at the ground, but quickly realized he was speaking of her and blushed. Glorfindel laughed, then placed a fatherly kiss upon the top of her head. “Celebrían, you are a ray of sunshine. You have brightened Elrond’s life, and I am thankful for that.”

Celebrían turned to look him in the face, but if anything, he radiated his sincerity. She looked down, unable to meet his gaze any longer, for she wished to ask questions of him, about Elrond, that she knew she should not ask. For a moment she considered how she might phrase the questions to make them appear more innocent, but quickly discarded that thought. She felt his hand at her cheek a moment later, lifting her face to meet his. She realized that looking upon Glorfindel, at that moment, was different than looking upon any other Elf she knew. He was transparent, innocent yet wise, and she knew she would not play any game with this elf, ever.

“I love him, Glorfindel, and I think he loves me. Yet, he does not speak to me and my naneth does not believe he will, not now, when he knows that Sauron will again rise. I will go to Lindon with my parents, and learn and grow and mature. But I will be waiting, all the same.”

Her words, too forward, were met only with a look of tenderness. “I do not have the gift of foresight that your naneth has, or even Elrond. But, someday, there will be a rose garden here, tended by your hand, and in it you will wander with your husband and your children – your own refuge within the grounds of Imladris, the place where Elrond will be only a husband and an adar. I, for one, will enjoy calling you the Lady of Imladris,” he finished, and he raised her hand to his lips and kissed it.

Celebrían impulsively threw her arms about his neck and hugged him. He hugged her back, then set her back on her feet and turned her around, and there stood Elrond. “Elrond!” she called, and with a final smile at Glorfindel, she nearly danced forward to meet him. “I was telling Glorfindel how beautiful a rose garden would be on this spot. I will be sure to send or bring some cuttings next time we visit.”

Elrond’s eyes were fixed on Glorfindel, and something passed between them that she did not understand. Elrond soon relaxed though, and turned his attention to her, and Glorfindel faded into the background as they walked in the garden and time stood still.

* * *

The supply wagons were packed and assembled on the far side of the river, and the army returning to Lindon had already begun to move slowly west. Only Gil-galad, Celeborn, Galadriel and Celebrían remained of those who would leave.

“Erestor, you are sure you do not wish to return to Lindon for the winter? We will be sending supplies and many soldiers who go home now will be returning here with their families in the spring,” said Gil-galad.

Erestor shook his head. “No, sir.”

Gil-galad embraced him and Glorfindel, then nodded for Elrond to walk with him. “Perhaps he will recover better here, surrounded by the water and trees. Watch out for him, Elrond. I expect you to come to Lindon, perhaps next fall,” said Gil-galad sternly.

Elrond laughed. “I will come then. It is still my home, and I wish to wander the library and determine what I want to bring back with me,” he replied.

Gil-galad laughed and patted his tunic pocket. “I have your list of books and scrolls for the scribes to copy, and the long list of goods we will send back in the spring.” He pulled Elrond to him. “Be well, my son.”

Gil-galad waited while Celeborn and Galadriel said their farewells, and Elrond knew he would miss the wise influence that Celeborn had had on Imladris. He had been involved in every stage of her planning and founding, yet always deferred to Elrond. He had told Elrond that their time of leadership of Eregion was over. Elrond could only wish he would someday have that grace and dignity to let go of something he had poured himself into.

Everyone watched when Elrond took Celebrían by the hand and led her away to say his farewell privately. He drank her in, memorizing the curve of her face, her smile and the brightness of her eyes. He took her face in his hands and kissed her on the forehead, then lowered his head so their foreheads touched, and they rested against each other for a moment. “Farewell, Celebrían. May our paths cross again soon.”

“Farewell, Elrond,” she replied. Elrond could see her struggling, wishing to say more but not knowing what to say, and he placed his finger over her lips. Her heart spoke clearly, and his own heart answered, and no words were spoken because they were not needed.

He watched her walk back to join her parents and Gil-galad, and they left the courtyard, made the crossing over the stream and headed up the hill, soon disappearing from sight in the rolling hills that hid Imladris so effectively.

He turned and walked back to the house, and it seemed as if the sun hid as he realized how much he would miss her, despite only knowing her a short time. He turned and went instead to the garden. The sun suddenly shone brightly again, and it was as if Celebrían’s spirit was still present here. He sat on the garden bench until night fell.

~ ~ ~* * *~ ~ ~

Night had fallen by the time the story was complete, and it was Elladan’s groan that broke the ensuing silence.

“Adar, I know you said you did not say anything, but I kept expecting you to, right up until Naneth left! But you really did not!” he exclaimed.

Laughter filled the camp, and Elrond laughed with them. “Fortunately, your naneth knew. Apparently, a number of people had told her what they thought I felt.” With that, he glared at Glorfindel, who merely laughed.

“You were transparent, Elrond. Everyone knew you were in love,” replied Glorfindel.

“It is odd to imagine you so young, naneth,” said Elrohir. “You have always been so confident and self assured, and it seemed that you had some doubts.”

“Oh, Elrohir,” laughed Celebrían, “I was normally very sure of myself. But when it came to your adar, well, I had never been in love before. Your adar was older and more experienced in the world, and I was so young and ignorant. But I loved him with all of my heart and soul, and your daernaneth was right, that is what was important.”

Arwen was still held in Glorfindel’s lap, and she turned to look up at him now, her small fingers idly playing with his braids. “You were very nice to my naneth, Glorfindel. I think she is as beautiful as a rose, too.”

“Of course she is, sweetheart,” answered Glorfindel. “As you are as well, for you are like your naneth.”

“I wish we had some of his charm!” laughed Elladan, as Arwen beamed.

“I am glad to know how Imladris came to be,” said Elrohir slowly. “I knew that it was founded in war, but it is different to know how much sacrifice was made to create it, how long you survived not knowing when the wrath of Sauron would come upon you, and how you kept on going, even when you thought all hope was gone.”

Elrond bent to kiss the dark head of this son still nestled between him and Celebrían. “Hope is often found in unexpected places.”

Celebrían rose and plucked her sleepy daughter from Glorfindel’s lap, to prepare her for bed, and Glorfindel took out his harp. The sounds were sweet and joyful, and the stars seemed to shine more brightly upon them.

“Adar, are the stars brighter near Imladris, or am I imagining that?” asked Elrohir.

Elrond paused to look up into the sky as Eärendil flew overhead.

“The stars are brighter over Imladris,” confirmed Celeborn.

* * *

They crossed the final bridge, entering the grounds of Imladris to the cheers and singing of the household. It appeared as if everyone had turned out to greet them, and as they dismounted in the courtyard, Liriel ran forward with a squeal to greet Arwen. Elrond smiled as the two small elleth hugged and danced in the courtyard, then raced into the house. Erestor was busy organizing and giving orders, asking about the progress of the new Last Bridge and the status of preparations for the summer solstice celebration, which would be in two nights. Glorfindel and Athranen were speaking to Angren and checking on the patrols and security of the grounds. Elrond took Celebrían by the arm, and led her off to the garden. They entered the tranquility of their private family garden, finally stopping at the spot where a bench had been carved and placed to overlook the main beds of the rose garden. He cut a fully opened rose with his knife, stripping it of its thorns, and then turning, he tucked it into Celebrían’s hair above her right ear.

“This is the exact spot where Glorfindel told you that he could see us here together, and this is the first rose bush that you sent that next spring with those returning to live here. This is home, Celebrían. I love you.”

“I love you too, Elrond,” she replied, pulling him to her and kissing him gently. “Even if you did wait fifteen hundred years to tell me.”

Elrond smothered her words with his mouth, and they both quickly forgot the years they had waited to be together.

Epilogue: The Third Age

Elrond entered Arwen’s room, dark except for the moonlight streaming in the open windows, and sat next to her on the edge of the bed. She was sleeping, her eyes half closed, and her chest slowly rising and falling. Picking up her hand, he studied the fingers, again perfect, despite being badly broken before. In her other arm she tightly held her doll, given to her by her brothers, lost in the stream, and returned to her on the banks of the river that had nearly claimed her life. He smoothed back her hair, then leaned forward and kissed her forehead. Before having children, he had wondered at Elu-Thingol locking Lúthien in a tower. Once they were conceived, though, he had understood perfectly the desire to keep them safe from all harm, and his daughter most of all.

He rose and walked to the balcony that overlooked the waterfalls and the rose garden below. He saw the flash of silver of Celebrían’s hair as she tended her roses, a task she had always performed herself, a task she found relaxing and rewarding. Her voice drifted up to him, and he could not help but smile and hum with her, and it seemed as if the roses turned to the sound of her voice and lifted their petals to drink in her song. He recalled how Glorfindel had aided her at times, and told her how Yavanna had sang to the Two Trees and they had grown in response. Celebrían had always hummed and sung while she worked, but now she sang to the plants. She looked up suddenly and saw him on the balcony, and she smiled at him. He reached out to her with his thought, filling her with his love and he felt her in his mind, encircling his fëa and lifting his heart. She had complemented his own skills in reaching Elrohir when their son had drifted from them, and while he had always known she would do whatever she could to aid their children, he was also intrigued by the power they, with Elladan, had been able to extend together. We should explore that together, she whispered in his mind. Then she suggested a few other things that made his heart pound a little faster and his anticipation for the night rise.

Leaving Arwen’s room, he stopped at the suite that Elrohir and Elladan shared. They had arrived home in high spirits, visiting with their friends and the warriors they patrolled with. Elrohir had retired when Arwen had been put to bed, and Elrond could see that his son was tired. He raised his hand to knock on the door, but stopped, not wishing to wake Elrohir if he was sleeping. He pushed it open quietly and moved silently to Elrohir’s room.

To his surprise, he found Elladan sitting at Elrohir’s beside. A sketchpad in hand, Elladan was drawing with a charcoal pencil. He looked up and smiled as Elrond entered, and Elrond moved to see what Elladan was drawing. It was a sketch of the bridge falling, beams splintering and falling to the river below, the wagon striking the water, and Elrohir leaping in after it. Momentarily speechless, he could only stare at the scene that Elladan had brought to life.

“I am sorry, Adar,” said Elladan quietly.

Elrond caught Elladan’s hand as he reached to flip the pad closed, and instead took the drawing in hand. Leaning against the chair, he studied the sketch, thinking of the memories that those who witnessed it must work through. Elladan often painted or sketched, and it seemed to Elrond a perfect way for his son to work through his memories.

“This is a fine sketch, Elladan,” he finally said. “I feel as if I were there, though I am glad I was not.” He looked up at his son, then reached to embrace him. “Have I told you how proud I am of how you handled yourself and took care of your brother and sister?”

Elrond felt the slight hiccup in his son’s chest and heard the deep intake of air; then Elladan whispered, “Yes, Adar, you did. But I am glad to hear it again.”

He pulled back and waited for Elladan to continue. “I do not understand, Adar. We’ve had nearly a week of good travel, and Elrohir was so full of joy yesterday. Then tonight, it was like he just collapsed.”

Both of them looked at the soundly sleeping Elrohir, comfortably sprawled on the bed amidst soft pillows and silky sheets. His eyes were closed, which Elrond knew bothered Elladan greatly, for he saw it as a measure of Elrohir’s well being.

“This is normal, Elladan. We have all been stressed, and our bodies adjusted to deal with that. Then suddenly we came home, and everything was as we left it. Life has continued here as if nothing happened; yet our lives have been changed by all we experienced. We wanted nothing more than to return here, and the normalness of it does overwhelm us. Our bodies now must adjust to that instead, and it is another big change. Elrohir is truly resting now. I would not be surprised if he sleeps heavily for a few days.”

Elrond had watched Elladan’s reaction to the explanation and saw the comfort he gained. “Your naneth is out tending her roses. Elrohir and Arwen are soundly sleeping. You are sketching. I am hovering over all of you. We all are adjusting in our own way and we will feel as we usually do in a short while. Keep sketching, Elladan.”

Elladan settled back into his chair, and Elrond moved to sit at Elrohir’s side. He smoothed the blankets away from Elrohir’s face and rested his hand against his son’s cheek. He noted the healing finger nail beds, and could not resist the urge to examine the area where the leg was broken. Content that Elrohir was merely tired, he rested both hands on Elrohir and concentrated on pouring his own healing strength into his son. A smile crossed Elrohir’s face and then he sighed and relaxed into even deeper sleep.

With a final caress of Elladan's head, Elrond left his sons’ room. As he walked into the corridor, he felt the slight thrumming of Vilya at his side. Drawn by a compulsion he did not understand, he paused, touching the pouch still beneath his tunic, and then pulled it free. He opened the velvet bag and slid the ring on to his palm. Light seemed to twinkle from within the sapphire, reflecting on the gold band near the stone. It seemed to Elrond as if the ring were glowing in its own light.

A noise in the hallway caught his attention and he closed his hand about the ring, then slipped his hand into his robe. Vilya’s vibrations coursed through him, increasing in force and speed and then diminishing, as if trying to attune themselves to Elrond’s own rhythms. Filled with wonder, he turned and strode down the hall and out of the house, following the path to the high waterfall. He quickly climbed the rocks, remembering as he did so coming upon Gil-galad at this spot so many years before.

He felt a smile tugging on his lips as he recalled telling his children of his and Celebrían’s meeting the night before. Gil-galad had, in every letter they exchanged, managed to bring up Celebrían as a topic of conversation. She had blossomed in his court, as Elrond had known she would, and Gil-galad would tell him how her many suitors finally abandoned their courtship of her, for she always would tell them that her heart had already been given to another. Glorfindel had faithfully tended the roses Celebrían sent, reminding Elrond at every turn that she would return one day and expect to see her roses. Yet Glorfindel had not let him tend her flowers, either. In retrospect, Glorfindel had been wise. Had Elrond been the one to tend the garden, it would have been his. Instead, Glorfindel had stewarded the garden for Celebrían, fully intending to give it over to her when she finally came.

They had both been so sure, Elrond remembered. He had been less so, though not less sure of his love for Celebrían. He had known that Sauron would rise again and a battle unlike any since the War of Wrath would be fought against him, and Elrond was not sure that his future with Celebrían would be in Middle-earth. Darkness had settled heavily on Middle-earth in those years after Númenor had helped them defeat Sauron. Tar-Ciryatur had, within only a few years of his success in chasing Sauron to Mordor, returned to Middle-earth and begun building settlements. No longer just friends to the Men of Middle-earth, the Númenorians now held themselves as Lords, exacting heavy tribute and tariffs instead. They became known as the Dark Númenorians, and though they troubled the elves little in the next centuries, few elf friends remained. Númenorian ships could be seen in the south seas, but seldom did they come to visit the Havens at Lindon.

Imladris had grown though, thought Elrond as he surveyed the grounds from his position high atop the waterfall rocks. Many of the soldiers who had lived there during the years of siege returned with their families, providing a place of solitude and quiet far different than Gil-galad’s realm in Lindon. Gil-galad found Imladris too quiet for his liking, remembered Elrond. He came on occasion, rested and relaxed as one might on holiday, but he would grow restless and soon return to Lindon. Elrond had to admit that he had wondered if Celebrían would also grow to like the culture of Lindon, and find the tranquility of Imladris too quiet for her liking as well.

And yet, when he had traveled to Lindon, he found himself searching for her from the moment he entered the city gates. At such times, little could gain and keep his attention. Then, when he finally would see her, little could remove his attention from her, though he did not often speak to her. Glorfindel teased him endlessly, and as time went on, Elrond was sure that not only was Gil-galad in conspiracy with the golden warrior, Celebrían was as well. Glorfindel treated her like a queen, and the two were often seen reviewing sketches and making plans, though they would become silent and cover their work if Elrond approached. Jealousy had arisen in him time and time again, and he found himself having to follow the same advice that he had given Arwen. He had finally submitted himself to Glorfindel, admitted his jealousy of the time he spent with Celebrían, and prepared himself to be rebuked. Instead, Glorfindel’s expression had softened and he had apologized, reassuring Elrond his only intent for Celebrían was for her to be Elrond’s wife one day. Elrond had sputtered, reminding Glorfindel ‘do not raise her hopes about when that might be! We know not what perils lie before us as Men gain dominance in Middle-earth and Sauron gathers his strength!’ Glorfindel had merely smiled and answered that Celebrían was not easily misled.

Gil-galad would pair them at every opportunity, which Elrond had not minded in the least, then discuss the joys of elflings and how comfortable Elrond had appeared with a babe in his arms. Not even glares from his cousin Galadriel would cause Gil-galad to cease his matchmaking. Celeborn, however, said little, though Elrond had concluded that the bemused look on the elf’s face was becoming permanent.

And Celebrían had indeed grown into a lady, comfortable at court, comfortable with visitors from other realms, educated in the politics and economics of the realm, and yet unaffected by all of it. He had seen her meet with representatives of Númenor, attend tense discussions of their intentions in Middle-earth, and then braid her hair and shed her formal clothing to play with the elflings in the fountain in the center of town. His love for her grew each time he saw her, each time he thought of her, and when he would make ready to return to Imladris he would practice his betrothal request, silver ring clenched tightly in his hand. Yet the time would never seem right and he felt no peace to ask her, and so they would part, words unspoken, and the patient love in Celebrían’s eyes would nearly break his heart. Somewhere in his chest of mementoes was that scrap of parchment with his written and rewritten request for Celebrían to marry him.

Peace had endured in the westlands for many long years, years in which the elves were content, and even the Men far from the coasts were largely unaffected by the doings of the men of Númenor, good and evil, in the south. Rumor came of Men long-lived, their bodies fading to invisibility, yet remaining cloaked and alive, and they were called the Ulairi, and the Elves learned with horror that these were the Men to whom Sauron had given the Nine. Then Umbar was built in the far south, a trading city for those faithful to the kings of Númenor and his imperialist designs and plans to become King of the Earth. But Pelargir became the port of the faithful Númenorians, and the first haven of those who were still called elf-friends. Elrond recalled how the relations between the Elves and Númenor had waxed and waned in the Second Age, at times less when a king rose to power with views and policies that seldom concerned more than the island nation, and at times more, when a king who sought to reaffirm and strengthen old alliances ruled. Elrond heard of how dark the days had grown, with only the brief rule of Tar-Palantir as a ray of light in that ever-darkening world. When he had died, his rule should have been passed to his daughter Miriel, but instead her cousin Ar-Pharazon had forced her to wed him and taken the kingship for himself.

He recalled meeting in Lindon with Gil-galad, Círdan, Glorfindel, Celeborn, Galadriel and others, as they learned that Sauron had submitted himself to Ar-Pharazon and been taken to Númenor as prisoner. Galadriel had predicted then that Sauron would soon usurp the rule of the king, and the doom of Númenor was at hand. Indeed it was, for Ar-Pharazon had been manipulated by Sauron to attack Valinor, and in doing so he had brought the doom of Númenor down upon all. Elrond’s thoughts drifted back to Elros, and his excitement at the beginning of the Second Age over the gift of land they had been promised, of Andor, and the recognition of the blessing upon them by the Valar. That such evil could come from his twin’s line was beyond comprehension. Elrond was suddenly glad for Elros, glad that he was now beyond the circles of the world and did not have to see what doom his descendents had brought upon themselves.

Word came to Círdan to prepare, that Númenor would be destroyed, thrown down and swallowed by the sea with all of her people. Middle-earth was not unaffected, with great waves slamming into her shores, altering the coastlines and the courses of rivers. Círdan had moved his ships up the Lhune as far as was possible, yet still many were damaged or lost, his havens were badly damaged and a considerable portion of the low-lying city destroyed. While the elves had lamented this destruction, they were unsettled by the other news that Ulmo had provided to Círdan: The Straight Road was now hidden, bent, and only with the guidance of the Valar would any ships now make the passage west. Mortal flesh would not withstand the journey unaided. Círdan would need to time such voyages carefully, and only with Ulmo’s aid would they find the way.

The elves had been gratified when they saw the nine ships sailing from the west, and they learned that some of the house of Amandil had survived the destruction of Númenor. Elendil had been full of grief over the loss of his father, for they had not heard if he had reached Valinor or what his fate had been. Yet the brave Elendili had settled into Middle-earth, building the kingdom of Arnor inland in Northern Eriador and the kingdom of Gondor in the south.

Though Sauron had been in Númenor at its fall, he again survived and his spirit returned to Middle-earth. He had been weakened, but his ring was still with him and his kingdom in Middle-earth undiminished. Also undiminished was his anger at the Númenorians, in particular Elendil, who had survived its fall, and it did not take him long to strike. When Sauron had attacked the great cities of Gondor, Elendil had taken counsel with Gil-galad in Lindon, and the plans for the Last Alliance were born. For both kindreds knew that if Sauron was not defeated now, his strength would grow and his dominion over Middle-earth would increase until he ruled all.

And so Elendil and Gil-galad had gathered their huge forces and marched east to Imladris, and once again Imladris had become a military encampment. Their forces had stayed there for more than two years, while word was sent to Oropher in the Greenwood and Amdir in Lorinand, and to Elendil’s sons in the south. The dwarves in Moria also came, though some of their estranged kindred fought upon Sauron’s side. From all over Middle-earth came contingents of soldiers, gathering together in the south or along the route that Gil-galad and Elendil would follow south, joining their ranks to his. And Elrond had gone too – again the Herald of Gil-galad.

Elrond fingered Vilya, twisting the band in his hand and feeling the ring respond to his caress. He recalled the day Gil-galad had entrusted it to him. For seven long years they had laid siege to Barad-dûr, challenging Sauron in his own stronghold. King Oropher had died early in the war, in the first assault upon Sauron; and his son, Thranduil, had replaced him, proving less reckless and more willing to participate under Gil-galad’s command. Amdir had died also, and in the sixth year of battle, Anarion, Elendil’s younger son had also fallen. But it was in the seventh year, late one evening, when Gil-galad had called Círdan and Elrond to his tent. Spread out across his table were his final strategies and plans, worked out by the commanders earlier in the evening. They had all gone to their tents and to rest, for the assault the next day was to be their strongest push yet. Their warriors were tired of battle, deprived of adequate food and sleep, and longing for home. Elrond had just collapsed on to his cot when a camp guard summoned him back to the King’s tent. When Glorfindel had risen to follow him, the guard had stood in his way, indicating that the king wished to speak to Elrond alone. Elrond recalled how Glorfindel’s eyes had narrowed and his muscles tensed, but he had finally stood aside as Elrond went forward. Elrond could have hardly rebuked him; the warrior fought valiantly under Gil-galad, but Elrond was his first and foremost responsibility, and not even Gil-galad could supplant that. Elrond’s life was owed several times over to Glorfindel.

He had entered Gil-galad’s tent to find the king seated in his customary seat at the table, a small wooden box before him. Círdan had stood next to him, his face grim. Gil-galad had beckoned Elrond to join them, and waited until both Círdan and Elrond were seated before speaking. He had finally opened the box, and drawn forth two pouches, laying one before each of them.

“Long have these been in my keeping, yet on this night I am compelled that they should be so no longer. Before you, Círdan, is Narya, the Ring of Fire. Before you, Elrond, is Vilya, the Ring of Air. I entrust these to you, to hide them until such time when they may be wielded safely, or until their power is diminished and they become nothing more than a trinket. Remember now that they are under the dominion of the One. Do not bear them; keep them hidden,” said Gil-galad quietly.

Elrond felt Círdan shift next to him, and he looked up at his mentor. Círdan’s eyes were bright, and he seemed tense, a muscle in his jaw twitching. He held Gil-galad’s gaze with his own, and Elrond looked from one to the other, suspicion growing in his mind as to the source of the battle playing out between them. Gil-galad looked away first, turning instead to Elrond.

“A piece of advice for you, Elrond, my son, if you will listen: when this is over, go home to Imladris and marry Celebrían. Make her your lady and serve the realm together, as you have these long years. There is happiness there for you, if you will accept it.”

“Gil-galad,” began Elrond, hesitating slightly, “it appears as if some foresight has come to you, some foreknowledge of what lies before us.”

Gil-galad looked upon him, his eyes bright with unshed tears, and his voice broke as he spoke. “A long day is before us. Sleep, Elrond. Speak to Glorfindel, for he will wish to know.”

Recognizing his dismissal, Elrond rose and began to slowly walk from the tent. He stopped at the tent opening, turning to look once more upon Gil-galad. The king’s head was bowed, his long black hair falling loosely about his face. He looked vulnerable sitting in casual leggings and tunic, without armor or spear, without his head held high and his booming voice calling orders upon the field. He watched only a moment longer, enough to see Círdan reach out and take Gil-galad’s hands in his own. Leaving the tent, he felt a deepening dread settle upon him, a feeling of doom, of darkness cloaking him and hiding the sun from his eyes.

“Elrond?” Glorfindel’s voice interrupted his spiraling thoughts as he entered the tent.

Elrond still clutched the pouch in his hands, and Glorfindel had only to look upon the bag to know what was contained within. “Why does he give you this?” he demanded.

“I do not know what has come upon him,” answered Elrond slowly. He turned the pouch over in his hand, feeling the wrapping within, but not the ring itself. “I fear some foreknowledge of his defeat, or capture, or….death…has led him to this, but he would not speak further of it.”

Glorfindel had left the tent immediately, and Elrond later learned he had spoken to Círdan and Gil-galad. Glorfindel had not repeated the words spoken, and strangely, Elrond did not wish to know them. Instead, he had lain upon his cot until dawn had come, and his mind had led him upon a path of memory filled with the fair face of his king and foster father.

They had begun their assault early in the day, making a mighty push past Sauron’s forces until finally, only Sauron stood before them. He was dressed all in black, a powerful imposing figure, and it was hard to imagine him in his fair form as Annatar. Since the destruction of Númenor and the body he had worn there, he had been unable to take any fair form, for great had grown the deceit and malice in his heart. Many had fallen on their ascent up the mountainside, until finally Elendil and Gil-galad stood side by side before Sauron. With a roar that shook the mountainside, Sauron had raised his arm, the One Ring bright upon his finger. In that moment, Elendil and Gil-galad had charged at him, Narsil and Aeglos shining as beacons in the darkness and gloom of Orodruin. Elrond remembered the scene as if it were playing out before him again, memories surfacing that he had ruthlessly squelched within him since returning home to Imladris. Elendil had struck first, his sword striking the thick armor of Sauron’s breastplate. The king of men had shouted his pain as Sauron landed a great blow to his back, felling him and knocking him to his knees. Narsil broke beneath him as he fell, and Sauron kicked the broken sword to the side. Gil-galad had immediately driven Aeglos into the underarm of Sauron’s upraised arm, into the slight area where no armor could be worn without limiting the movement of the arm. Sauron had roared in pain, yanking Aeglos free and throwing it down the mountainside. His wrath then fell upon Gil-galad, and they wrestled, Elendil joining in as he regained his feet. Several times, Isildur, Elrond and Círdan tried to approach the battle, and each time they were driven back by bolts of fire that issued from Sauron. Finally, Gil-galad and Elendil upended the mighty Lord, and Sauron fell, landing heavily upon Gil-galad.

In that moment, Isildur rushed forward and grabbing the hilt of Narsil, he sliced the hand off Sauron’s outstretched arm, with which he had tried to balance himself when he fell.

Sauron made a sound unlike anything that Elrond had ever heard before, or since, and his body suddenly went limp, and Elrond knew that his spirit had fled. His body, bereft of a spirit and imbued with the mighty powers of a Maia, consumed itself, until naught was left but the armor he had worn.

Elrond had heard cries and shouts, and only now did he become aware that some of them were coming from him. A loud keening was emanating from Círdan, who had reached the fallen. Such heat was generated from them that he had to use his sword sheath to move the remains of Sauron aside. Beneath the dark lord, little remained of Elendil, and even less of Gil-galad. Círdan and Elrond both dropped to their knees next to the now smoldering ruin, and Elrond remembered little of those few moments in his grief. When he next looked up, he saw Isildur clutching the One Ring in his hand, the metal still hot from contact with Sauron, while staring in shock at his fallen father.

“Destroy it, Isildur!” shouted Elrond suddenly. “Where it was made, in Orodruin!”

Through tears of grief, Elrond rose to his feet and stepped around the bodies to Isildur, holding out his hand to pull Isildur to his feet. “We must do this now!”

Isildur had followed him to the cracks of doom, leaving Círdan with bowed head over the remains of Gil-galad. Yet, once near the fire, Isildur had looked upon Elrond, his face pale and his eyes wide. “I cannot,” he finally replied. He looked lovingly upon the ring. “This I will have as weregild for my father’s death, and my brother’s. Was it not I that dealt the enemy his death blow?”

“Sauron is not dead, and for so long as the ring survives, he will survive! His power will again grow, for his power is tied to the ring! Destroy it, Isildur, I beg you!”

Isildur looked at the ring again, holding it aloft over the fire and it seemed he willed his fingers to let go of the metal ring, his hand trembling; then his whole arm began to shake, until he finally could not withstand the trial and dropped his arm to his side. “I cannot,” he replied, and he tucked the ring into his pocket and walked slowly from the fire.

Elrond fell to his knees again, his anguish too much to bear, his king’s death in vain, and he screamed his agony to the mountain. Gil-galad, foster father, friend and king: dead to this world, and in the Halls of Mandos.

He felt arms wrap around him, pulling his head to the white beard that had so intrigued him as a child. Gasping for breath, he looked up to see anguish equal to his own in Círdan’s eyes. Where he had lost a father, Círdan had lost a son. Círdan pulled him to his feet, and with an arm about his shoulders, led him back to where the kings had fallen. There, Isildur had gathered up the shards of Narsil, and his father’s helm and breastplate, then begun his descent down the mountain. He would not look Elrond or Círdan in the face.

Elrond knelt beside Gil-galad, recognizable only by his armor. His spirit had long since fled, and what of his body had not been consumed with Sauron’s was slowly turning to ash, as sometimes happened when the fiery spirit of an elf departed. Elrond reached several times to touch the armor, still hot, then finally clenched his hands against his sides. There was no body to tend, to take to burial, to mourn.

Suddenly Glorfindel was at his side, and Elrond abruptly realized he had not seen his protector in some time. A flash of anger sparked in him, but it died as quickly as it came: Glorfindel’s presence would not have saved Gil-galad. The three descended the mountain, noting that Sauron’s orcs and agents had fled when his spirit had departed, and only some of the fighting men remained. Celeborn and Thranduil were driving these back to the marshes, where so many bodies, of Elves and Men and Orcs already lay, there to find their final resting places.

It wasn’t until they reached camp that Elrond, in his deep grief, realized that Glorfindel was limping and very pale. It was Círdan who pushed the elf on to his cot and began to remove his armor, revealing an ugly wound to the abdomen and another cut than ran along his leg. The armor across the abdomen had acted to staunch the blood and hold the deep wound rigid.

Pushing his grief aside, Elrond began to tend the wound. “How did you end up with such wounds beneath your armor?” he snapped, the seriousness of the wounds nearly overwhelming him. He could not lose another friend on this day.

“Close combat, knocked aside,” answered Glorfindel unsteadily, the pain causing a sheen of sweat on his face and chest, his face gray.

“Elrond!” said Círdan tersely. Elrond felt Círdan’s hand come down over his own trembling fingers, and he snapped his head up sharply. Looking to Glorfindel, Círdan hissed, “Get a hold of yourself.”

Elrond felt as if he had been slapped, or had cold water splashed in his face. He had concentrated on the wound and forgotten the patient. His hands shook and he considered for a moment sending for another healer. “You would trust no other,” Círdan informed him dryly.

Taking a deep breath, Elrond concentrated his thoughts and healing energy on Glorfindel, lessening his pain and calming his spirit. He felt his own calm return, his own strength, and with that came the knowledge that he would survive without Gil-galad. When he had completed his work, he took a cloth and cleaned the dirt and blood from Glorfindel, the soothing motions helping him as much as making Glorfindel comfortable. When done, he cleaned the grime from himself and changed into fresh clothing.

Círdan sat at the table, turning the pouch in his hands over and over. Elrond sat down across from him, sipping from the goblet of wine that Círdan had poured for him. “Did Gil-galad foresee his death?” he asked quietly.

Círdan looked up at him. “He foresaw something, though I am not sure he knew exactly what. He left us both letters, as well as these rings, so clearly he felt his death was a possibility.”

Elrond took the letter that Círdan slid across the table to him. He fingered the seal, but did not break it. He was not ready to read what was within

“It is time to go home,” said Círdan, and he suddenly looked old to Elrond’s eyes. “Celeborn said Sauron’s armies have dispersed like smoke in the air.” Círdan paused, blinking back tears of grief that again threatened his eyes. “Wars will be until the end, but I do not think I shall stray far from the sea until I pass into the west.”

Elrond clasped the calloused hands in his own, drawing comfort from one who had taught him as a child, and giving what comfort he could to one who had loved Ereinion as much as he had. Together they sat as dusk fell and darkness settled heavily about them in their grief. Yet outside, rejoicing could be heard as Men and Elves and Dwarves celebrated their victory

Now, years later in Imladris, Elrond blinked back the tears threatening to spill from his eyes, emotion that overwhelmed him whenever he allowed his thoughts to dwell upon Gil-galad. The world had changed. The leaders of the great Second Age realms had all fallen. In the Greenwood, Thranduil would lead his father’s people. In Lorinand, Amroth had been named King when Amdir fell. Isildur had taken up his father’s crown at the feet of Barad-dur, leading his people back to their realms in Arnor and Gondor. Yet Gil-galad left no son to take up his rule. He left you, Elrond reminded himself, a son in heart as well as distant kin. Yet he had no desire to be king of a fading people, for the Wise knew that the time of the elves was ending. The Noldor were a dwindling people; so many having died or sailed as the new age had begun. Their last king would remain Gil-galad, bright star of the Elves of Middle-earth. Círdan was lord of the havens, as he had been since the Valar first led the Elves on The Great Journey. Yet Rivendell will have no small part to play in this age or the birth of the next, Elrond reminded himself. He had foreseen this, as had Galadriel, Círdan and others. There shall be my home until I too pass into the West.

He lifted his head and looked out upon the grounds of Imladris, and the house where his people resided. Instead of seeing the scene as it was on this night, he saw again the twinkling lights that had greeted him when the returning army of the Elves had passed the final mountain pass and laid eyes upon her. For seven years he had been away, and the sight of Imladris would have been welcome regardless, but if anything, the land and house had grown in beauty. He had at first smiled, thinking Galadriel had undertaken to order Imladris as she had other homes before. But the touches were of a simpler beauty than he had come to expect from Galadriel, more homey and welcoming. When they had entered the courtyard, he had seen Celebrían on the porch waiting to greet them. His heart had skipped a beat as their eyes met, and he knew the longing in his heart was easily read through his gaze upon her. She had then caught sight of her father, and she flew to meet him in a manner reminiscent of how Elrond had first seen her over a thousand years earlier. More constrained now, and more graceful, yet the love and joy upon seeing Celeborn alive and whole had been as moving as the time prior.

But she came to him next, and she wrapped her arms about him and pressed him close, and he felt some of the despair that had darkened his heart since Gil-galad’s fall lift. Next to her bright spirit he felt dark and shadowed, the grief in his heart still fresh and its wound still deep. She pulled back and gazed at him for a long moment; then she raised her hand and smoothed his hair back from his face. In her touch he felt such tenderness that he thought his heart might break. While he drew comfort from her, he also felt his grief rise within him until it felt as if he were choking on it. Abruptly, he pulled away from her. Celebrían flinched at his reaction, lowering her hand, but she did not back away from him. Instead, she twisted her arm through his, taking his hand in her own, and he felt her thumb gently rub against the inside of his wrist and the edge of his hand. Able to contain his emotions, he relaxed under that light pressure, and soon felt her touch warm and soothe him again.

Elrond smiled at the memory; how well Celebrían had adjusted to his pain, altering how she gave him comfort but not withdrawing from him. Having loved her from afar for many long years, he felt that love change at that moment, suddenly seeing the depth of the elf she had become. She had not faltered against his pain, but surrounded and enveloped him, supporting him without smothering him. He had seen her repeat this ability many times in the running of Imladris and the raising of their children, and it had taught him something about letting go, about letting other make their own choices and decisions, letting them be who they were while loving them wholeheartedly. He remembered once thinking this must be what mothers did; therefore his lack of a mother had not prepared him for this, but he had to remind himself that Celebrían had these qualities before becoming his wife and bearing his children.

Yet it had taken him a long time to allow Celebrían fully into his heart, and even longer before he afforded her the same grace she had so willingly given him.

Elrond remembered entering his chambers in Imladris, staring at the furnishings as if he were an alien in a foreign land. Yet they had not changed. He had felt numb, deadened inside, and despite the war’s end, he felt a deep melancholy settle upon him. Círdan had led the remnant of Gil-galad’s forces back to Lindon after only a few days rest. Like Elrond, Círdan was also numb, and he had admitted to Elrond that no other death had penetrated his heart with anguish as Ereinion’s had done. Returning to the Havens would be a blessing, he had said, for the sea would soothe and calm him, yet he did not know how he could bear to look upon Lindon’s palace and fountain and squares, and know that Ereinion Gil-galad would never return there. Elrond had felt fortunate at that moment that he would not need to live daily with that visual reminder of loss.

Celeborn and Galadriel had stayed in Imladris, choosing not to return to Lindon where they had resided for many years. Whereas Círdan and Elrond had parted with an unspoken agreement that none should take up the throne of Gil-galad, Galadriel had come to him several weeks later.

“You are the heir of Gil-galad, and last surviving male of the line of Finwë here in Middle-earth,” she had said. “The kingship of the Noldor is yours for the taking, Elrond Peredhil, by birthright as well as Gil-galad’s design. Will you take up the throne?”

Elrond had not moved during Galadriel’s question, yet he looked within her with the same seeking with which she had perused his intentions at different times in his life, the most recent having been his intentions toward her daughter. For though the kingship of the Noldor did not pass to female heirs, she was the last surviving grandchild of Finwë, and more than capable of ascending as Queen of their people. Yet, he saw no such desire in her, nor did he see any clear motive for her question.

“I will not,” he finally answered.

“Power is before you and yet you will not take it?” she questioned again. “The blood of all the kindreds of Elves and the Three Houses of the Edain flow in you; many titles you might claim, and yet the one before you, you will set aside so easily?”

Elrond rose, recalling the words that Gil-galad had spoken to him regarding Galadriel’s desires to leave Aman and seek Middle-earth, to seek her own fortunes and lands to rule. He looked out over the balcony, allowing the soothing music of the cascading water to refresh him.

“The age of Men is coming,” he finally replied, “even as the time of the elves in Middle-earth begins to fade. Our people have no need for a king. Yet, I foresee that our time here has not ended. My home and future are in Imladris, and only here will I lead them. Círdan will rule the havens until the last ship sails.”

Galadriel walked forward to join him at the balcony, and for a long moment they did not speak. “Círdan has the Ring of Fire, and the Ring of Air resides now with you,” she stated matter-of-factly.

Elrond did not respond, nor did she seem to expect him to.

“The One is in the hands of Isildur, and yet it is too powerful for him to wield. To bear it upon his finger would cause him great pain, and so he only carries it now. As its power diminishes, he will place the ring upon his finger, and the Race of Men will rise to heights unforeseen even as the dignity of Númenor becomes a mere memory. Our new enemy will not lie with Sauron or the East, but with those whom we have called friend, with those whom we have fought with and aided, as they have fought with and aided us. Isildur will destroy himself and all that Elendil dreamed of for their realms in Middle-earth. They will become too strong for us to fight, and too powerful for us to ignore. The Elves will become subject to them, or else flee from their tyranny to the West.”

Elrond had felt his stomach clench at her words, and he could feel the muscles of his arms ache in contraction as he squeezed his own hands tightly behind him. Counsel had been taken before they parted from the Men, with Círdan and Celeborn and Glorfindel, and these very fears had been discussed. Attempts at conversing with Isildur had been rebuffed. Still unable to meet their eyes, the young king had assured them he would rule as wisely as his father had. His ignorance of the power of the One to enslave him and turn his good intent to evil was obvious to them, but Isildur did not recognize his own ignorance when it was shown to him. “Already he is under its spell,” Celeborn had said sadly.

“I did not force Isildur at Orodruin,” he said slowly, unable to find regret at his lack of action despite his extreme regret at the outcome. “Nor will my taking the title of king alter his actions. He has gone to the south, to Gondor, and even among his own men we have found those with the same concern, who watch his actions for us. No foresight have I been given to guide my thoughts on this.”

“Nor I,” admitted Galadriel. “The One still holds dominion over the Three; not even now dare we use them.” She paused for a moment, watching an eagle circle lazily overhead. “I also do not wish title or crown, Elrond Peredhil. Gil-galad shall be our last king, and those of the Wise who remain will rule as a Council in the matters of the Elves.”

Elrond had inwardly smiled, for among the High Elves left in Middle-earth, she was the most powerful. Adding her voice to those of the males who took counsel together at Dagorlad sealed their decision. Thranduil and Amroth had been informed of their decision, yet Thranduil had masked any emotion or thought at the idea of a Council and merely nodded his understanding.

Only three years later Ohtar had appeared, injured and bedraggled, one of only three of Isildur’s party to escape the orc attack at the Gladden Fields. Carrying the emblems of Isildur’s house, he had reported that none had found the One Ring on Isildur when his body had been recovered. Lost in the Anduin, as it remained to this day.

Isildur’s wife had taken the other emblems, along with her surviving child, young Valandil, who was just leaving childhood, and left to return to their home at Annúminas. For over two hundred years, they had received no word or foresight of the One, and both he and Galadriel had noticed a slight change in the rings they possessed. The most noticeable effect had taken place during their rescue trip, when the rings had come alive. Yet both had noticed less obvious changes prior to this.

Elrond looked up, again letting his eyes roam over his house. In time, his grief had become manageable. Celebrían had waited patiently through that trial as well, and finally, with the blessing of her parents and Círdan, they had married and been blessed with children. Glorfindel and Erestor had remained with him, as his chief advisors but also as close members of his family and house. For Glorfindel it had been an assigned mission from the Valar, yet his love and loyalty were not items to be purchased. And Erestor, who had found healing for his broken heart and splintered soul in Imladris, had chosen to stay where he was at peace. Now, inside the house, his children were sleeping, or in Elladan’s case, watching over one who was. Celebrían was in the gardens, and other elves were spread throughout. He had seen what Galadriel had done with Nenya; the healing effect on Elrohir had been miraculous. He looked down at the ring he held in the palm of his hand. It suddenly gleamed, as if noticing his attention had turned to it. Turning it over and over in his hand, he felt it begin to thrum, again trying to match its own song to his. He thought of the good he might do for his people, for his family, for those who came to Imladris in need. Gil-galad had told him this time would come, when the rings could be used for the good of the Elves. For this reason, he had not destroyed the two entrusted to him by Celebrimbor.

Elrond took a deep breath, then placed the ring on his finger.

To his surprise, the beautiful gleaming ring disappeared from sight, yet Elrond knew it was still there. Secret it would remain, for none but he would be aware of its presence. Yet, present it was. He could feel its weight, but he felt the presence of the ring as well. Now with its rhythms matched to his own, he felt a sense of power never before experienced. The stars seemed brighter, the perfume of the flowers at his feet more intense. The song of the waters cascading from the falls suddenly seemed to have a greater depth of range, and, even in the dark, the colors about him were imbued of many more hues than his eye had before detected. All of his senses were heightened, his vision and hearing more acute, and he felt as if he could reach his arms about all of Imladris at that moment.

Just as he was considering how he might first wield this new power, he heard the sound of an elf approaching. Celebrían came into view on the path below him, and she looked up at him with a smile.

“I have found you, my husband,” she laughed softly, and he could not help but remember the promises she had whispered to him earlier in her husky voice.

Elrond jumped from his position, landing on a flat rock some feet below him, and Celebrían climbed up to meet him. He took her hands in his own, but felt her wince slightly at the same time as he felt the thorn in her finger.

“You are injured, my wife!” he answered, and then he leaned forward to kiss her. Her lips yielded beneath his, and his body hardened as she pressed soft breasts against him. He could feel every contour of her body, the scent of roses still lingering about her and accentuating the fragrance he associated with her. All of it seemed of a greater intensity than normal, and he found his sexual desire for her suddenly heightened as well. Recognizing this as an effect of the ring, he pulled back from her and sat down on the rock, then reached up to pull her down into his lap.

She wiggled slightly, deliberately stimulating him more, and he nearly groaned aloud. “Behave, Celebrían,” he scolded playfully, then added, “At least until I have removed this thorn from your finger.”

She stilled after one more defiant wiggle of her hips, and Elrond drew in a shaky breath to regain his self-control. He saw the long sliver imbedded deep along the knuckle of her first finger, even the tip buried beneath the skin, and knew he would need his tools to remove it properly. He gently ran the tip of his finger over the light brown mark, pushing only slightly to see if the tip would appear, but to his amazement, the whole sliver emerged. A drop of blood followed, and he scooped water from the pool lapping at the side of the rock, washing it away. He again lightly touched the area, confirming that it was gone, and he watched as a slight glow emitted from his finger and the opening healed and closed itself.

He was trembling with the realization of what Vilya had just done, the potential for its powers growing in his mind, when he was drawn back to the present in a delightful manner. “Thank you, Elrond,” purred Celebrían as she twisted to face him, tilting her hips forward and into a position that took his breath away. Her nimble fingers were already at work on his clothing when she added, “You have brought me great relief, and I think it only fair that I provide you relief from your…uncomfortable state.” Elrond’s sense of pleasure increased until sound and vision were forgotten, and stars exploded in the night sky.

Some time later, when he had recovered enough to stand, he scooped his exhausted wife up in his arms, and carried her back through the garden to the private entrance of their chambers. He deposited her gently on their bed, removing her disheveled clothing and then his own. He felt Vilya on his finger, and considered removing it, thinking he should experiment wielding it in small doses. He decided to put that logical decision off until morning when he felt Celebrían in his mind, her fëa seeking his, and realized that his pleasure was not the only one heightened. Grinning, he crawled into bed and pulled Celebrían to him.

* * *

Glorfindel watched Elrond carry Celebrían into their chambers, and he felt a weariness and heaviness descend upon his own spirit. He had suspected that Elrond would experiment with the ring, and in his heart he knew this had happened. He had been on his way to the waterfall when he saw Celebrían reach Elrond first, and he could see that Elrond was already stimulated before Celebrían reached him. His initial stimulation had not been sexual, but sensual, as all his senses were heightened. What had followed had been only a natural progression of events. While Glorfindel felt only joy for Elrond and Celebrían for the physical expression of their love, he knew that Vilya was awake and in use, and the stage was set, for good or ill, for its continued use into the future.

He settled into the garden that he had helped start for Celebrían so many years earlier, and though he knew it unnecessary, he kept watch over them from afar. While he had watched over first Elrond, then his growing family, tonight he added Vilya to the list. It was now part of Elrond, something that gave him the ability to do good but also had the potential to harm or destroy him. Glorfindel must protect it, but also be willing to part Elrond from it and destroy it, if needed. His heart heavy, he lifted his eyes to the stars as Eärendil passed overhead. I swore my fealty to you, to protect your son, and I will, he reiterated his promise. As was usual, Eärendil brightened over Imladris, making all the other stars appear brighter than normal, and peace settled about Glorfindel’s heart. He began to sing softly, words of promise and love, and throughout Imladris, elves gave thanks that their lord and his family had returned home to them.

The End

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Chapters 20 - 23