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History Lessons: The Third Age  by Nilmandra

Chapter 11: Vilya

‘For in the days of Isildur the Ruling Ring passed out of all knowledge, and the Three were released from its dominion. But now in this latter day they are in peril once more, for to our sorrow the One has been found.’                Elrond, Council of Elrond, FotR

 

'The Three were not made by Sauron, nor did he ever touch them. But of them it is not permitted to speak. So much only in this hour of doubt I may now say. They are not idle. But they were not made as weapons of war or conquest: that is not their power. Those who made them did not desire strength or domination or hoarded wealth, but understanding, making, and healing, to preserve all things unstained. These things the Elves of Middle-earth have in some measure gained, though with sorrow. But all that has been wrought by those who wield the Three will turn to their undoing, and their minds and hearts will become revealed to Sauron, if he regains the One. It would be better if the Three had never been. That is his purpose.'

'But what then would happen, if the Ruling Ring were destroyed as you counsel?' asked Glóin.

'We know not for certain,' answered Elrond sadly. 'Some hope that the Three Rings, which Sauron has never touched, would then become free, and their rulers might heal the hurts of the world that he has wrought. But maybe when the One has gone, the Three will fail, and many fair things will fade and be forgotten. That is my belief.'

                                                                          The Council of Elrond, The Fellowship of the Ring

Evening, December 25, 3019 Third Age

Elrond watched the Company until the last glimpse of them was swallowed in darkness.    The elves gradually drifted away, until only his children remained with him on the porch. After a long silence, he turned to face Elladan.

His sons had been unusually quiet since he had announced the final members of the Company.  The few elves who had commented upon his choice of the two younger hobbits had found themselves on the receiving end of his ire, even if it was only in the form of a glare.  He knew the choice made no sense, yet he felt peace about it. Nonetheless, he could not logically explain the decision.

 His sons had not spoken to him of their wish to go with the Company, and he had not spoken to them of his consideration in sending them.  Reading the question in their eyes had not taken any mind reading skills, however.

“What did you see, Adar?” asked Elladan, his voice carrying no hint of accusation.

Elrond carefully measured his words. “I saw you with Estel before the Black Gates, along with others. Yet I had no peace about sending you.” He looked at Elladan closely, noting how carefully he was guarding his thoughts. “You may be meant to be there, just not with the Company.”

Elladan visibly relaxed. Elrond turned back to face the darkness that seemed heavier and deeper than it had ever been.  The vision of his sons before the Morannon had haunted his dreams, for he knew that he could lose them regardless of the outcome of the Quest.  Indeed, even if the Quest were successful, Estel could be killed, and Elrond suspected Arwen would choose to follow him into mortal death rather than spend eternity without him.  Of course, the Quest could fail and they would all die, for he held out little hope that any elves other than those currently in the Havens could escape.  More likely, the Elves left would die with Men and Hobbits and Dwarves under the shadow of Mordor.

His children did not leave him to his morose thoughts, however.  He felt Elrohir’s hand on his shoulder and turned to find the three of them standing arm in arm, hope in their faces. He completed their circle, and through his touch the four were joined in a communion deeper than simple thought sharing.  He felt their hope for the future, their love for Estel, their devotion to him and to Imladris, but also to Middle-earth – to Men and Hobbits and the Elves who remained.  Hope kindled anew in him.

“There are other forces at work here than just those of evil,” he said. “We will hold them in our thought, yet there is much work to be done here.  Imladris is safe for now, but the protection that has long held this valley secure will soon end.”

At his words, he felt Elladan’s hand close over his, pressing Vilya gently between them.  Vilya responded to the touch, its rhythm increasing in tempo to match Elladan’s song for a moment, then resuming its normal harmony with Elrond.  Elrond directed Vilya’s power not effortlessly, but unconsciously, with his own healing touch into Elladan. Unsurprisingly, he felt Elladan warm and strengthen through his touch.  On his other side, he felt that power flow through Elladan to Elrohir.

“What will happen to you when that protection fails?” asked Elladan.

Elrond met his son’s concerned gaze steadily. “That depends on whether the power is shorn away or falls under the dominion of evil. Either way, the effects could be abrupt or they be slow.  Only time will tell.”

Concern grew in Elladan’s eyes. “I am not sure we should leave you for any reason, Adar.”

Elrond lifted their clasped hands and covered Arwen’s.  “Each of us has a role to play, though what it is may not yet be clear.   If you are needed, you must go.  Glorfindel, Erestor and Arwen will stand with me.”

Elladan pondered his words for a moment.  “If the Quest fails, Adar, will you sail?  Will you take Arwen to the Havens?”

Arwen opened her mouth to protest, but Elrond spoke first. “We cannot see all ends, Elladan.  We will fight as long as hope remains and likely long after it has failed.  Our end may be here in Imladris, or it may be elsewhere.” He saw the protest rising in Elladan’s thought. “Do not ask for promises that cannot be made.   For an age of the world we have waited for this day.  We will fight as long as we must, or at least as long as we can.”

His words heartened Arwen, grieved Elrohir and subdued Elladan.  Elrond could not help but smile at their reactions.   He had pondered all of the ends he could conceive, and in none of them did Arwen willingly sail over sea.  Already a thread bound her to Estel; as long as he lived she would fight for Middle-earth. If he were to perish, still she would fight until her life was taken from her. Elrond remembered the day he had realized this. Pride in her had warmed him even as sorrow had abraded his heart. As painful as that was, he recalled the day he had found Elrohir sitting alone near the waterfall in despair.   The doting brother who had once plunged into danger to save his little sister had realized he could not stand between her and death this time.

Protective, fierce Elladan, though, would order the world to his liking and decide the fate of those he loved.  Elrond saw Elros in him, evidence of the mortal blood they had inherited from him.  He knew he could not hold on to any of them, yet one end he could conceive was the three of them all meeting their fate in Middle-earth.   While Celebrían still resided with them, this knowledge had existed yet never been more than a distant concern.  With their family now sundered by the sea, this knowledge felt at times like a heavy weight hung around his neck that threatened to suffocate him.  His beloved daughter would stay, but what of his sons?  Would he and Celebrían live alone as long as Arda existed?

“We will fight,” said Elladan, interrupting Elrond’s thoughts. He squared his shoulders and raised his chin, and the eyes that met Elrond’s were resolute. “Long we have been abroad with the Rangers of our own will, Adar, and left the defense of Imladris to your hands and Glorfindel’s.  We submit now to your will.  What tasks would you set before us?”

Elrond felt a mixture of pain and pride well up within him, for Elladan’s admission about whose errantry had guided them these many years was a confession of a deeper struggle that his headstrong son had battled since the attack in the Redhorn Pass.   He lifted his hand and rested it against Elladan’s cheek, smiling when his son leaned into his touch.

“When Imladris or I have needed you, you have been here,” he replied. “Our wills have not been at odds.”  He breathed in deeply then, letting the crisp winter air cleanse him and turn him from his musings of the possible to the needs of the practical.  “Word must be taken to the Rangers that Aragorn’s journey to Minas Tirith and the quest of the Ring-bearer have begun. All must be on guard for what may come.”

Elladan visibly relaxed at his words, confirming Elrond’s suspicion that his son would stay in Imladris only if he bade them do so.  He would not.  

“We will not stray far and will return often, should you have need of us,” said Elrohir.

His sons departed to begin their own preparations, Elladan squeezing Elrond’s hand gently one last time. Arwen took his arm as he led her inside to the family sitting room. Elrond was unsurprised to find Glorfindel present; his protector had seldom been far from him in recent weeks.  When Glorfindel saw Arwen he rose to leave, but Elrond motioned for him to sit.  Moments later, Erestor entered with cups and a bottle of wine.

“Stay, Erestor,” said Elrond, when the elf turned to leave. “I think we would all do well with company this eve.”

They drank a toast to the Company, then fell into a companionable silence, and Elrond’s thoughts drifted to Vilya and how already he could feel Mithrandir’s presence lessening as he and Narya went south.  Lost in thought, he did not hear voices speaking in low tones around him until Elrohir sat down beside him.

“If Adar is willing I will tell the story, but his perspective would be more interesting,” said Elrohir. “Though perhaps he is so lost in meditation that he hears us not?”

Elrond smiled.  “I hear you.” He paused, trying to place what his son had said. “Tell what story?”

Laughter rippled around the room.

“I do not think Adar even noticed our entrance.  Really, brother, there was a time when our wit, charm and good looks garnered at least a nod from our sire,” teased Elladan.

“I believe that was actually a warning to you to be on your best behavior,” interrupted Erestor.

“It was Celebrían they feared displeasing,” added Glorfindel.  “Her disapproval was far worse than their adar’s wrath.”

“This was all before my time,” said Arwen, “as I do not recall any such occasions.”

Elrond smiled at his peacemaker daughter, but he appreciated the attempts to lighten the mood.

“I was lost in thought, but they were not morose,” he reassured them. “What did you ask, Elrohir?”

“Arwen asked when I first became aware that you were a keeper of one of the Three,” replied Elrohir, his tone serious.

Elrond stiffened reflexively, then looked around the room at faces of those who knew without doubt where two of the Three resided. He forced himself to relax and heard the collective sigh of relief, then realized they must have been discussing the rings even as he was pondering them himself.

Then he did something he very seldom had done over the millennia he had wielded Vilya: he slipped it from his finger. He heard his children gasp, and even Erestor caught his breath.  Glorfindel’s gaze upon him became intense, but he remained silent.

“This is Vilya,” he said, holding it up to them. “It is the Ring of Air, which you might guess from the sapphire if you did not already know. I believe that soon it may be visible to all, but for now only the other keepers of a ring of power can see a ring being wielded by another keeper.” He handed the ring to Arwen, who looked it over for a moment then passed it to Elladan.

“We have never spoken of the Rings before; not as a family and not among the chief advisors of Imladris.  Few outside this room know with surety that I am one of the keepers, though the Dunedaín and Elves suspect it.” He paused while Elrohir waved Elladan off and Elladan returned the ring to him. He turned the ring over in his palm studying it, then laughed softly and slipped it back on to his finger.  He looked up into Glorfindel’s knowing gaze.  “Seldom do I separate myself from it, for to do so lessens my sight and power over the valley. The effect is immediately dramatic, but becomes less so as I become accustomed to the feeling.”

“Why have you experimented so?” asked Elrohir.

Elrond turned his gaze from Glorfindel to Elrohir, knowing where his son’s thoughts lay.

“I can only speculate what would happen if the One were to fall into the hands of Sauron or be destroyed. I was seeking a better sense of how I feel without it while it still has power, for it is all I may extrapolate from as I consider what the effects would be on Imladris if the ring were to lose its power or fall under the dominion of the One,” replied Elrond, his voice trailing off. “And what the effect would be on me.”

“What would that effect be on you, Adar?” asked Elladan quietly.

Elrond had considered the answer to this very question on several occasions, usually in the quiet darkness of a long night after pushing the cares and concerns of his house and people and Middle-earth from his mind.  It seemed a cruel joke for his mind to turn unbidden to concern for his own fate. At times he even thought it selfish, yet he knew that discounting concern for himself was simply an attempt to avoid the subject.  What happened to him would be important to those who depended on him, and to those who loved him.  And to one who waited for him.

“If Frodo is successful, I believe Vilya’s power will end, possibly abruptly, and all that was preserved and made with its power will fade. We are tied to one another, Vilya and I. I suppose if its power ends, I will experience a great sense of loss, perhaps even a physical decline. Should Sauron take the ring from Frodo, all of the Ringbearers will come under his dominion. Whether we can free our thoughts and keep our bodies and souls from him, I do not know.”

“After Frodo succeeds, you will need to leave Middle-earth,” said Arwen softly. “Galadriel too. Neither of you will find healing for such wounds in Middle-earth.”

Elrond took her hand in his and brought it to his lips, kissing it gently. “I am sure we will sufficiently recover to either enjoy the days of the King, should Frodo succeed, or continue the fight against Shadow, should he not.”

Arwen looked at him with some new understanding, and Elrond recognized the set of her jaw. She was formulating a thought or making a decision, and he knew from long experience that little would deter her from whatever had entered her mind.

“What if Sauron regains his ring?”

Elrond looked up at Elladan’s words, but the question was not directed at him.  Both of his sons were looking to Glorfindel for an answer, for they correctly realized that he had long considered this possibility.

“Sauron will not have your adar,” replied Glorfindel.  He smiled at them, reaching to rest his hand on Elrohir’s shoulder. “A ring can have only one keeper, who must wield it with their own strength and wisdom, but they are not alone.”

“The keepers have keepers,” laughed Elladan.  “Daeradar will keep Daernaneth from harm.”

“And Frodo has Sam,” added Arwen, her brow furrowed in thought.  “And the last of the Three, Adar?”

Elrond smiled. “It is wielded wisely.” He watched in amusement as his sons and Arwen immediately looked to Glorfindel, but both Glorfindel and Erestor shrugged in response. 

“Keep your secrets, then,” said Arwen. “Elrohir, please continue. I wish to know when you learned Adar was one of the keepers.”

Elrohir’s gaze met his, and Elrond looked at him long before nodding.  Elrohir looked next at Elladan, who appeared confused, and Elrohir flushed slightly.  “I knew of the ring long before Adar began to wield it,” he finally admitted.

Elladan laughed.  “Why does that not surprise me, brother?  You seemed to know or see things that I was oblivious to for a long time.  I seem to recall you knew of Adar and Naneth’s kissing habits long before me as well.”

“They were hardly discreet,” retorted Elrohir.  “And more than a little creative.”

Elrond felt all eyes turn to him and steadfastly ignored the amused questioning looks.  “Only you, Elrohir, could make me wish to hear a tale about the Ring to deflect attention from my personal life.”

Elrohir grinned.  “Sometimes such tales collide instead of deflecting.”

Elrond covered Vilya with his hand as he sent his thought out to the borders of Imladris. Mithrandir remained near enough he could still clearly sense him, and the Istar responded to him, a brief flash of encouraging thought as they trudged through the night.  Settling back on the sofa, Elrond allowed Elrohir to draw him into his story.

“I was just an elfling,” began Elrohir.

 

~ ~ ~* * *~ ~ ~

Spring, 143 Third Age

Elrohir ran down the hall, ducking into a doorway to avoid the light footsteps he heard approaching.  He held his breath as Erestor turned and headed down an adjacent hall, then darted out and continued.   In the distance he could hear Elladan’s laughter, and knew he was still being pursued.  The sound of his naneth and daernaneth talking drifted out to him from the family sitting room, and he flew past, entering his parents’ bedchamber instead.  Elladan would think to look under the bed, so he discarded that idea immediately and instead ran into the dressing area.

Two large wardrobes faced each other, one holding his naneth’s clothing and the other his adar’s.   He silently opened the door to the one with his naneth’s dresses, then wrinkled his nose and pushed the door until it was open only a tiny crack.  He liked the smell of roses, but did not wish to smell like one when he went to archery practice later that afternoon.

He slipped inside his father’s wardrobe instead, leaving the door slightly open so he could get out again.  He knew from experience the slight crack would not be noticeable. He slid to the floor and moved to sit behind the long robes.  A small chest was on the floor, so he curled up next to it, resting his arms on it and his chin on his arms.   He closed his eyes so he couldn’t see the darkness, intently listening for any sound of his twin searching for him.

He woke up a short time later.  He was not sure where he was at first, but gradually remembered the game he and Elladan had been playing.  Wondering if Elladan was still looking for him, he stretched his feet out, trying to open the wardrobe door just a fraction more.  The amount of light streaming in the windows might give him an idea of how late it was, but it also occurred to him that Elladan might be waiting just outside the door.

To his surprise, the door wouldn’t move.  He slid free of the robes, reaching upward for the slim lever of wood that could just be reached from the inside. He pushed up on it, but nothing happened.  He pushed on the door, but it wouldn’t budge.

“Elladan!” he called.  “You win!  Let me out!”

There was no answer.

He pulled the wooden chest from the corner of the wardrobe and placed it in front of the door, then stepped up on it.  Standing on his tiptoes, he ran his fingers along the top edge of the wardrobe doors, looking for another latch.  He knew some of the wardrobes in Imladris had upper latches too, because he and Elladan had played in many of them.

He thought he felt something high up on the top edge, but he couldn’t reach it.  He finally jumped, hoping to touch it, but he felt nothing and when he landed, his foot slipped off the chest and he tumbled to the floor amidst his father’s boots.  The chest also tipped over, and he quickly set it upright, then felt along the floor in the darkness for anything that might have fallen out.

His hand closed over a velvet bag tied with a string. He could feel something hard inside, thought he did not know what it was.   He was about to stick it back in the chest when he felt a slight vibration in his hand.

He sat down on top of the chest and opened the pouch, shaking that which was inside out on to his hand.  He felt the cold metal on his palm, but almost immediately it began to warm up.  Wrapping his hand over it, he realized it was a ring with a large stone set in it.  He wanted to know what it looked like, but it was too dark in the wardrobe to see.   He rubbed the stone with his thumb.  To his surprise, it began to glow.  A moment later he heard it hum and felt the vibrations against his skin.

“What are you?” he whispered.

In the soft glow of the light emanating from the ring, he could see that the stone was a deep blue. As he tilted the ring, what appeared to be stars twinkled at him. He caught his breath.  Was it a magic ring?  Was the stone like a Silmaril?  Why did his adar have it, and why did he keep it inside a dark wardrobe? “You are too beautiful to be kept inside,” he told it.

The ring was too large to fit on his finger, so he slipped it on to his left thumb.  It began to thrum louder, and a kaleidoscope of colors erupted before him.  He shrank back against the side of the wardrobe in fear.  The ring shrank to fit his thumb snugly. It was like it was trying to become part of him!  He grabbed the ring to pull it off, and the touch was like rubbing his feet on the carpet and then touching something metal. 

“Stop it!” he cried as he yanked his right hand back.

The ring quieted. Elrohir forced himself to calm his breathing, but now he was afraid to touch it. He reached out with his right hand and pushed at the door, but nothing happened.  He stood up and put both hands on the door and pushed with all his might. “Open!” he cried, panic in his voice. “Let me out!”

The door opened suddenly and he fell forward, landing hard on the floor on his hands and knees.   Tears streamed down his face as his fear gave way to relief. He looked down at the ring, but could no longer see it.  But he could feel it.  He covered it with his hand and sure enough, it was still there.   His fear returned with a vengeance.

He scrambled to his feet and ran for his father’s study.  

“Ada! Ada!” he cried, bursting in without knocking.  “Help me, Ada!”

* * *

Elrond was on his feet as soon as he heard the hysteria in Elrohir’s voice.  His son flew into the room and smacked into him, grabbing hold of his tunic and holding on as if his life depended on it.   He was shaking and crying, and Elrond was able to make out only the words ‘alive’ and ‘invisible.’

“Elrohir, what is wrong?” he asked, keeping his voice calm and steady in an attempt to calm his child.

“Take it off, Ada, take it off!” cried Elrohir.

Elrond picked Elrohir up and sat him on his desk, then took both of the child’s hands in his.  To his surprise, he felt something on Elrohir’s hand, but could not see anything.

“What is this, Elrohir?” he asked, forcing his voice to calm.

“Take it off, Ada,” begged Elrohir.  “I tried but it shocked me.”

Elrond pulled the thing from Elrohir’s hand, Vilya appearing as soon as it was free. Elrond could not hide the slight shake of his hand, and he sank into his chair, keeping one arm about Elrohir.

Elrohir threw his arms about his father’s neck, falling forward, and Elrond caught him and hugged him to his chest.  He rocked the crying child to calm him, though he felt far from calm himself.

“Elrond?”

Elrond looked up to see Glorfindel in the doorway.

“I heard Elrohir.  Is he injured?”

“Please find Galadriel and bring her here,” replied Elrond.

“I am here,” answered Galadriel.

Elrond opened his hand and showed her Vilya.  “Elrohir had it on his hand.”

Galadriel grew pale, her eyes darting from the ring to her distraught grandson. “Where is its pouch?”

“He must have been in the wardrobe. Look near there.”

Glorfindel went in search of the pouch, returning quickly with the velvet bag. He held it open and Elrond dropped the ring back inside.  He waved Glorfindel away.  Put it back in the chest in the wardrobe.  Then find a lock for the chest. We will need to find a new location for it, he instructed wordlessly.

He rose and walked to the sofa in the room, settling down on it while rocking Elrohir.  Galadriel sat down next to him, resting one hand on Elrohir’s back. Elrond lifted a brow in question. Galadriel shook her head.  “I do not sense any shadow about him.”

Elrond sighed with relief.  He also did not feel any evil about Elrohir. Galadriel’s confirmation eased his heart.

“Elrohir, what did you see?” he asked gently.

Elrohir hiccupped. “Stars,” he answered slowly.  “Then colors, pretty colors and patterns.”

“Did you hear anything?”

“It was humming. It wanted to go on my finger, but when I put it on it disappeared and began to tremble and vibrate,” said Elrohir shakily.  “I tired to take it off and it shocked me.”

“What happened after that?” asked Galadriel, still stroking Elrohir’s hair and back.

“I told it to stop, and it did.  I was locked in the wardrobe and so I jumped up and pushed really hard and it finally opened.”

Elrond looked at Galadriel in surprise.  “Did you say anything when you pushed, Elrohir?”

“I told it to open!” cried Elrohir.  “It did and I fell out, and when I looked at my hand, the ring was gone but it was really still there!”

Galadriel was intrigued. “What were you thinking about when you had the ring on?”

Elrohir was much calmer.  He sat up and wiped his eyes.  “How pretty it was.  There were stars in the stone, and I wondered why Ada would keep it locked in the dark when it was so beautiful.”

When they remained silent, he continued.  “I wondered if it was a magic ring or like a Silmaril. I wanted to see it, but it was too dark.  Then it started to glow and I saw the colors.”

“Did you hear any words or see anything scary?” asked Elrond cautiously.

Elrohir shook his head.  “I was hiding and I fell asleep and when I woke up, I was locked in.  I had not closed the door, Ada, I know better.  So I pulled the chest up so I could stand on it and see if there was an upper latch, but I fell and the chest opened and the pouch fell out.  When I went to put it away, it began to hum.” He looked pitifully at his father. “I just wanted to know what it was.” He looked down at his hands, then twisted the edge of his tunic. “It really wanted to come out of the pouch.”

Elrond hugged Elrohir close.

“Is it a magic ring, Ada?”

Elrohir met Galadriel’s eyes.  I cannot tell him what he experienced was not real. He will doubt himself and doubt me.

Galadriel nodded, but warned, he must not speak of this.

“It is a magic ring, but one that should not be handled.  I am sorry you found it as you did. I will make sure it is locked up from now on,” replied Elrond.

Elrohir blushed. “I am sorry I touched it without permission.”

“You are forgiven. However, you are not to speak of this to anyone but your daernaneth or me. Do you understand?”

Elrohir nodded.  “Is it a secret?”

“For now, yes,” replied Elrond.  His eyes met Galadriel’s again and she nodded. He turned back to Elrohir. “Are you still afraid of it?”

Elrohir grimaced. “Only a little.”

Elrond pulled Elrohir back against his chest, cuddling him as he used to when he was small, stroking his hair and imparting calm.  After a few moments he felt Elrohir relax and then drift as if into sleep.  He felt Galadriel’s hands on him, strengthening him, and he proceeded to do what he had never done before: he entered his son’s mind without permission, and not to heal.  He probed gently and unobtrusively until he found the beginning of the memory of the event. He moved quickly through it, for he did not want it to become as a dream that his son would experience in sleep. He noticed nothing Elrohir had not told them.  Then he purposefully clouded the memory, not removing it, but sending it into the grey mists at the back of his mind.

Elrohir continued to sleep peacefully after he withdrew, and Elrond relaxed against the cushions and calmed his own mind. 

“Did you remove the memory?” asked Galadriel.

“No,” replied Elrond slowly. “It is part of him, and I would not leave such a gap without good cause.  He will not remember it unless he has need or another experience with the ring.”

“The One is surely lost,” said Galadriel suddenly. “Elrohir saw nothing to indicate the ring was in the hands of anyone capable of wielding it.  Indeed, I would say Vilya was looking for a master.  It responded to Elrohir’s thoughts and desires, and his commands.”

Elrond looked at her sharply. “The One was not found on Isildur, but we do not know if it lies in an orc den, waiting for a master, or even in Sauron’s own presence, waiting for him to regain his strength.  It may be lost, perhaps it has floated down the river and is now in the ocean, but we do not know.”  He paused and shook his head.  “I was careless. I have not given Vilya thought for so long I did not think to lock it up.”

“A chance event,” agreed Galadriel. “Harmless this time, for which we may be grateful. I shall also lock up Nenya.  Elrohir meant no harm, but they are children, curious children.”

Elrohir yawned and his eyes came into focus. He smiled at Elrond.  “Hello Ada!” he said, grinning.  “Did you find me? I was hiding from Elladan.”

“I did find you. Apparently the wardrobe is too good a hiding place for your games.  Glorfindel is here to collect you for your archery lesson.”

Elrohir sat up and slid to the floor.  “Glorfindel, I am sorry I fell asleep and am late!”

“We are not yet late,” replied Glorfindel.  He held out his hand to Elrohir.  “Come, Elladan is probably already at the practice fields.”

Elrohir skipped from the room at Glorfindel’s side, waving back at them as they turned down the hall.   Elrond smiled. “He did not remember a thing.”

“No, but as you say, he may someday,” warned Galadriel.

“I will be watchful,” promised Elrond.

 

~ ~ ~* * * ~ ~ ~

“Elrohir!” cried Arwen, aghast. “I was under the impression you never got into mischief as a child. What if the One was not lost?”

“Did you really forget the event?” asked Elladan indignantly. “You never told me.”

“He was told not to tell anyone,” put in Erestor, with a hint of exasperation.

“We do not keep secrets from each other,” Elladan informed him. He turned to Elrohir. “Do we? When did you remember?”

During the telling of the story, Elrond had pulled Elrohir close, and he stroked his son’s dark head as recalled the terrified elfling.

Elrohir nodded.  “Not until I was grown and Adar was wielding Vilya.” He shifted, looking at his twin again. “In a sense, I learned at the same time you two did. I did not recall the event from childhood until then.”

“That is why you did not need to see the ring just now.  You knew what it looked like already,” said Arwen.

Elrohir flushed again. “In a way that is true. But really, I just have never had any desire to touch it again. My memories of my attempt to ‘wield’ it, such as it was, are enough.”

“I had suspected that Adar had one of the Three, but I did not know until I saw him wield it to aid you,” said Elladan.   “Arwen and I saw you slipping from us and then felt the raw energy as Adar turned Vilya to your aid.”

Elrohir leaned into his father’s comforting caress. “I have been a grief to you at times, Adar,” he admitted ruefully.

“You have never been a grief to me,” replied Elrond. “Even the times you have dived into danger, when I feared losing you, I could not dispute your decision.” He fell silent as he remembered the incident in question. “That was the first time I wielded Vilya to enhance my healing ability. I feared losing you, and I feared using Vilya for such a purpose. I feared losing you more.”

~ ~ ~* * *~ ~ ~

1409 Third Age(1)

A great host came out of Angmar in 1409, and crossing the river entered Cardolan and surrounded Weathertop. The Dúnedain were defeated and Arveleg was slain. The Tower of Amon Sûl was burned and razed; but the palantír was saved and carried back in retreat to Fornost, Rhudaur was occupied by evil Men subject to Angmar, and the Dúnedain that remained there were slain or fled west. Cardolan was ravaged. Araphor son of Arveleg was not yet full-grown, but he was valiant, and with aid from Círdan he repelled the enemy from Fornost and the North Downs.   Appendix A, LotR

Glorfindel knocked on Elrond’s door, but entered without waiting for a reply. He tossed his gloves and cloak on to a chair, then unfolded his map and laid it unceremoniously on Elrond’s desk.   Well-worn and handled often in inclement weather, the map had traced the worsening situation in Imladris for the past twenty years.  Soon it would be unreadable.

“An army out of Angmar has taken the Last Bridge and crossed into Cardolan,” said Glorfindel without preamble.  He jabbed the paper with his finger. “Amon Sûl is surrounded.”

Elrond paled slightly. His sons at last report had crossed the Bruinen and engaged a band of orcs and men in the Trollshaws between the Bruinen and the Last Bridge.  His people were already spread thin: patrols in the east were battling orcs in the Misty Mountains; Celeborn led a patrol to their south, fighting with some of the Cardolan faithful against orcs and Hillmen.   Glorfindel had held the North against Angmar, holding a border some distance from where the Bruinen flowed out of the Mountains. 

Elrond studied the numbers and figures Glorfindel had sketched in around Amon Sûl.  Arveleg was outnumbered.  “He cannot hold,” said Elrond quietly.

“They will not last a week,” replied Glorfindel flatly.  “Erestor suggests they will not last three days.  The maneuvers in the Trollshaws were a diversion, not that they needed one with a force that size.”

“Pull Elladan and Elrohir back to the Fords,” said Elrond.  “Hold your position in the North.  If the Bruinen is breached to the north or west, Imladris will be found.” He paused, thinking. “Send Erestor to Celeborn. Celeborn must send word to Amroth that the need in the north is dire.”

“The need will be dire by the time Amroth receives word and sends aid,” said Glorfindel. He tapped his finger against the desk for a moment, then stood and walked to the balcony, his eyes drawn westward.  “Erestor instructed the watchkeeper on the South Downs to send word to Círdan.  Fornost will need whatever aid Círdan can send if Angmar marches west.”

“Angmar’s purpose becomes clearer,” answered Elrond thoughtfully.  “Rhudaur is defeated; Cardolan invaded.  Arthedain is next.” He stood and walked to stand near Glorfindel. “We are but a thorn, as is Círdan.  Whoever rules in Angmar knows well that the elves are near and he harries us at every turn, but his hatred is for the Dúnedain.”

“I believe I know who rules in Angmar,” answered Glorfindel quietly. He turned to face Elrond.  “He is called the Witch-King. He is garbed all in black, hooded, and has lived long years in Middle-earth.  His people fear him for good reason.  He is Úlairi; chief of the Úlairi.”

“Black Númenorian,” said Elrond grimly.  “That would indeed explain his hatred of the Dúnedain.”  He turned back west.  “The Dúnedain have grieved us with their infighting and clannish wars.  They have declined from a large and glorious people, escaped from fallen Númenor, to a small remnant that cannot even maintain Annúminas nor live at peace together.  They have destroyed themselves and their kingdom.  The Witch-King was able to take advantage of their in-fighting to establish his own kingdom in their midst and introduce lesser men into their ranks.  Unless a strong leader emerges, even the Arthedain will dwindle to nothing more than a nomadic people or fade to a race of lesser men.”

“Do you believe that is their fate?” asked Glorfindel.

Elrond let out a long slow breath. “No, I do not.  They will dwindle, but all is not lost. As long as a faithful remnant survive and the line of Elendil continues, there is hope.”

“What will you do?”

“We will continue to hold their history here in Imladris, so that even if they forget their own past, we may remind them of what they once were.  The heirs of Elendil will always be welcome here. A day will come when they will cease this struggle among themselves, reunite with their southern kin, and defeat the evil that plagues their lands. One must rise from Elendil’s line who can become the leader needed to reunite them.

“But for now what we will do is protect ourselves,” continued Elrond, his mind shifting back to the present.  “Pull the twins back and send Erestor to Celeborn. We are spread thin, I know.  Who else can we spare to defend the Bruinen?”

Glorfindel grimaced.  “I have sent all elves trained in warfare to our borders.  A few craftsmen remain, as well as a those needed to manage the stables.”

“Galadriel has organized all of the females into a defense corp.  They are on shifts guarding the house, stables and fields, and running supplies to the patrols,” added Elrond.

Glorfindel smiled. “I passed Arwen and Liriel delivering supplies to the north.”

“I sparred with her yesterday. I was impressed by her skills.  You have taught her well.”

“I still find it amusing that she did not want to train with you.  You taught her as a child, after all,” laughed Glorfindel.

“She wished for me to have a first impression of competence. Had I trained her, I would know of weaknesses or flaws that might have caused me to be overly protective.”

Glorfindel arched a brow at him.  “Celebrían explained it to me,” Elrond added dryly. 

Glorfindel sighed and stretched.  “I am going in search of food and will return north within the hour.”

A shout from the courtyard caught their attention, and Elrond shrugged off the robe he had put on over his tunic and trousers.  He pulled a long smock off his chair and slipped it over his neck and tied it.  “Go with all my care, my friend.  I do not wish to see you in the healing rooms.”

Elrond met the elves carrying in wounded, only noticing that it was Celebrían holding an end of the litter when she spoke.

“Poisoned arrow to the thigh.  Orcs in the mountain passes,” she reported.  “All other injures are minor and being treated in the patrol.”

She caressed his arm as she passed him, then was gone, back to her duties.  At times she seemed everywhere at once, running the house but also serving with the guard and delivering supplies.  Galadriel was managing the defense of the grounds and supplying the patrols.  Elrond had never been more glad that she and Celeborn had remained in Imladris when evil had returned to the North.

* * *

Elladan shook the water from his hood without taking his eyes from the rocky outcropping he had been watching.  The men taking refuge from the weather were from Angmar. They were brutal fighters, but no match for Elven scouts.   The men grossly outnumbered them, however, which meant that the Elves relied on stealth attacks.  Thus far, they had managed to harass the Men and draw them further west. How long this strategy would last Elladan did not know.  He had seen the smoke of a large fire burning on the Great Road and learned from Erestor that Amon Sûl was surrounded.  With the Great Road blocked, Imladris was also now surrounded. He did not know if Angmar would tighten the noose about them, if indeed they knew they had a noose about the elves, or push further west in pursuit of the Arthedain. 

He sensed the presence of his twin before he felt the light touch on his shoulder.

Adar has sent word for us to pull back to the Bruinen.

Elladan nodded, unsurprised. 

Word has been sent to Lórien for aid. Until they come, we are to take no offensive action, only protect our borders. We must hope that Fornost holds.

They ceased speaking, even in thought, as they retreated from their position in the hills.  The rest of their patrol was spread out in pairs along a line that roughly followed the enemy’s path south from the Ettenmoors to the Last Bridge.  Elrohir had ordered them all to fall back several miles closer to the river, which would provide a natural barrier to defend.  A natural barrier enhanced in some way.   Elladan had long thought that if the Three had gone to Gil-galad, then it was likely that at least one of the Rings was now in Imladris. Some of the most powerful elves in Middle-earth resided there, including his grandparents, father and Glorfindel.  In recent years he had noticed some odd things about the Bruinen, about the way the waters rose at times for seemingly no reason, then fell again.  He had asked Glorfindel about it once, but the elf had said he had not noticed.  Elladan had not pushed the issue, but he had concluded that Imladris did not remain hidden solely by natural terrain.

“How close are we to Glorfindel’s patrol?” asked Elladan.

“If he has pulled back, then I think very close,” answered Elrohir.  They took cover from the rain under an outcropping of rock, and Elrohir pulled his map from his cloak.   “Erestor said that Glorfindel’s line was running from the cliffs north of the Bruinen to the the wooded grove where the river turns south.  Athrenen is battling orcs in the High Pass. Celeborn holds the South.”

Elladan did not need to see the map; he had it memorized.  He knew the grounds of Imladris as well as he knew the halls of the house.  They had fought with the Dúnedain enough these past years that he knew much of the territory of Eriador as well as the Misty Mountains from the High Pass to the Redhorn.   “Sometimes I am most amazed by how unamazed I am at the changes in the last century.”

Elrohir took his hand and squeezed it, imparting understanding and comfort through that touch and in thought.  

“I remember listening to the stories of the First and Second Ages, thinking of our parents and grandparents fighting in wars when they were so young themselves. All of our elders have known such times.  As odd as it may be to think such a thing, I felt left out. Untested, untried, unproven.  Adar always said evil would rise again. He knew the day would come when we would add our own tale to the stories and it saddened him. I did not understand, and even when we first rode out to engage the enemy, I was excited and anxious to prove myself.  Now when evil surrounds us, and I have seen the hearts of some Men darkened, I hardly remember what it was like not to live in such a time,” said Elladan.

“I will remember for us both,” promised Elrohir.  “Our innocence left with our ignorance; we too will now look upon the young and hope they never live through such a time, while knowing they likely will.”

“I am glad that Glorfindel convinced Adar not to lead Imladris’ defense,” said Elladan suddenly.

“Daeradar agreed. Together, he and Glorfindel can manage Adar. Daeradar said that Adar’s healing skills diminished considerably after the War of the Last Alliance, and shadow lingered on him for many years. A healer such as Adar should not wield a sword except in great need”

“Are you losing any of your skills?” asked Elladan.

Elrohir smiled at him reassuringly, but Elladan also felt him mask his innermost thoughts.  “My skills are not Adar’s.  Every warrior must be able to treat basic wounds, and every patrol needs one or two with slightly more advanced skills.  I am glad to be that to our patrol.”

Elladan accepted the answer, even though he did not believe it. 

* * *

Elladan splashed his face with cold water, looking with distaste at the flecks of blood drying on his trouser legs and boots. He felt rather than heard his twin’s distress, and looked upstream to see Elrohir scrubbing blood from his face. Blood matted his hair and had soaked through his tunic and undershirt.   Elrohir fumbled with the ties of his shirt, but the blood had soaked through and begun to dry, making it impossible.  With a grunt of frustration, he grabbed the neckline with both hands and tore the garment down the front. He flung it away into the bushes near the edge of the river and then waded out into the icy water and submerged his whole body.

Garthon stopped next to him, drying his hands on a cloth. “He was fighting a man with a sword when another jumped him from behind.  He flipped the second man over his shoulder and into the slashing sword of the first, which cut the second man nearly in half.  The body landed on Elrohir as he fell,” he explained.

Elladan’s heart froze at the thought of how close a call his twin had just had.  Worse, this skirmish had happened not far from the Bruinen, their line of last defense.   They needed additional warriors, but Elladan knew there were no more to send.

Before he could respond, he heard a call from the ellyth approaching with supplies and his gut tightened as he realized how close they had just come to walking right into battle.  No sooner had that call died away when he heard a second whistle, this time from the northern patrol.  Elladan had called for their aid when the band of Men had been spotted, if they could spare any to come. 

“Arwen!” he cried as he recognized his sister astride the lead horse.

Arwen and her company were quickly surrounded by warriors glad for supplies and news. Arwen slid from her horse and Elladan caught her in a joyful hug. He was about to tell her how close she had come to riding into battle and suggest they add a ‘clear’ signal that she should wait for before approaching a patrol’s camp, when she asked, “Where is Elrohir?”

Elladan pointed her towards the river. “Bathing. I am sure he will be glad if you have some fresh clothing in those bags.”

“Elladan! Mae Govannen!” came a call from across the river.

“Glorfindel!  You are too late!  We did not save any for you,” called Elladan back.

The elves were crossing the river, Glorfindel waiting until last, when Elrohir shouted, “Glorfindel, down! North, two bows in the trees!”

Glorfindel dropped, the elves in the river slid to the sides of their mounts and submerged, and Elladan stepped in front of Arwen with an arrow nocked. Several arrows were released at once from the elves, and Elladan watched with satisfaction as two men fell from the trees.  He kept his eyes on the spot where they had fallen, an arrow still nocked, watching for any movement.

“Elrohir!” cried Glorfindel suddenly.

Elladan spun to look east where Elrohir had been bathing, the anguish in Glorfindel’s voice filling him with fear.

Elrohir was not there.

Elladan felt his heart stop. Then he heard a splash and saw Glorfindel break the surface of the water a moment later, then dive again.  When he resurfaced, he had an arm abut Elrohir’s neck.  Two arrows protruded from Elrohir’s body, the water red around them. Glorfindel swam with powerful kicks to the riverbank. Elladan grabbed his twin and carried him up on to the grassy bank.

“He is not breathing!” cried Arwen

Elladan broke off the arrow shafts and turned Elrohir on his side. His twin made the slightest sputter and a trickle of water ran from the corner of his mouth. Once sure he was breathing, Arwen turned to his wounds. “Barbed and poisoned,” she spat. “We must get him to Adar.”

Shouts filled the air and Elladan turned to see a troop of Men approaching the river on horseback, some with bows at the ready, others with their swords drawn.  He scooped Elrohir up in his arms. “Arwen, to your horse!” he called.

Arwen leapt on to her horse, and he set Elrohir before her.  The other females were mounting as well, drawing their swords as soon as they were seated.  “Go!” ordered Elladan as he spurred her horse forward.

He did not watch them go, instead grabbing his own sword and racing forward to join the elves.  They would not lose the Bruinen!   He watched as the Men entered the water on their horses, boldly riding against the elves waiting for them.  Suddenly, the water began to rise and a great flood poured from the mountains.  He watched as some of the men were swept from their mounts and the horses lost their footing.  Those that tried to swim were overwhelmed by the rising water. 

The few men who had not yet entered the water drew back in fear, and the elves, though equally surprised, regained their senses first and began picking them off with arrows.

As quickly as the Men had come upon them, the battle was over.  Elladan felt Glorfindel at his shoulder, and they watched as the water finally peaked, coming within inches of their feet before receding slightly. 

“The water will not go down for hours.  Let us go see to Elrohir,” he said grimly.

Leaving their lieutenants in charge, they mounted and hurried after Arwen.    They came upon her party a short while later. It was stopped, and it was much larger than the one that had left the Bruinen.  Elladan slid from his horse before it had halted and ran forward to the circle of elves.

Elrond knelt next to his son, one hand on Elrohir’s head and the other his heart.  Elrohir was as pale as death and Elladan could see no signs of life, nor sense his twin in the bond they shared.  “No!” he cried as he dropped down next to Arwen.

Galadriel stood over them, her hands resting on Elrond’s shoulders. She stood as still and silent as a statue, her eyes closed. Elrond was also still, and Elladan turned his face to the heavens and cried out the grief of his soul.  Arwen grabbed his hand and squeezed, and he looked where she directed him.

Elrond’s hands were shaking.  He was nearly as pale as his son, yet power radiated from him. A glow emitted from his hand and passed into Elrohir.  The light grew stronger within Elrohir even as Elrond appeared to slump, and Elladan realized that it was Galadriel who kept him from falling.

He felt a flicker within his soul a moment before he heard a low moan issue from Elrohir.  His color returned and his chest slowly rose then fell and rose again.  Elrond slid into a sitting position and Galadriel knelt beside him, keeping her hand on him.

“The arrows are poisoned,” said Arwen softly.

She had aided their father for years in the healing rooms and knew what needed to be done.   Glorfindel aided her, holding Elrohir still as she carefully cut the barbs free and removed the arrowheads and cleansed the wounds.  By the time she was done, Elrond had recovered enough to take over.  Elrohir was loaded on to a litter and taken on to the house.

Elladan watched them go, wishing desperately to follow but knowing he could not leave his patrol.  He felt Glorfindel’s arm around his shoulders and leaned into that comforting presence.

“Which one is it?” he asked.

Glorfindel was silent for several minutes.  “Vilya, the Ring of Air,” he said finally.

* * *

Elrohir awakened in darkness. With great effort, he convinced his eyelids to open and discovered it was still dark, though less so. He took a quick inventory of his situation and found he was warm, dry, weak and in some pain, and memory flooded back over him. He tried to sit up, but the darkness became a swirling blackness when he tried.

“Suilad, sweetheart,” came the most soothing voice he knew.

“Naneth,” he whispered, and relaxed as she took one of his hands into her own and smoothed his hair back with the other. “Glorfindel?”

“He is still on patrol,” replied Celebrían.

“Not injured?”

“Not injured,” confirmed Celebrían.  “Your warning was in time.”

Elrohir let out a slow breath and felt a tear slide from his eye.  It was not for naught, then.

He opened his eyes as he felt the large, warm, strong hands of his father, a touch he recognized without sight.  His father pulled back the blanket that covered him and checked the bandages on his chest, then leaned forward and kissed his brow.

“Do we still hold the Bruinen?” he asked.

Elrond smiled. “We hold the Bruinen.”

Elrohir gripped his father’s hand, glad for this good news. A memory flashed in his mind.  His father was holding him, and he was scared. Had he been hiding?  Or trapped? No, he was injured.  He ran his free hand over his chest and abdomen, feeling the bandages that covered his wounds. Confused, he looked at his father, who covered his hand with his own.

“What is wrong, Elrohir?”

Elrohir felt something against his hand, something metal, and snatched his hand free. Elrond reached for him then stopped, looking at him curiously.  Elrohir kept his eyes fixed on his father’s face as he took his father’s right hand and felt over his fingers and thumb.

He felt the ring, felt the spark of it beneath his touch. It hummed and vibrated slightly in response to him, then quieted. How did he know it was there?  What was he remembering?

“Elrohir,” said Elrond quietly.

Elrohir turned his attention to his father, unsure if he had heard with his ears or in his mind.  May I enter?

Elrohir relaxed his thought immediately and allowed his father in.  His father was gentle and unobtrusive, taking him to the precise memory and removing it from the mists that still hovered near.  Elrohir was in the wardrobe, trapped, and then he found the velvet pouch that fell from the chest.   Elrond helped him to see the memory clearly, including falling asleep and then waking in his father’s arms, and not recalling anything of the event. I regret that I had to cloud your memory. I feared the enemy might perceive you.

Elrohir looked into eyes that loved him unconditionally, a father that loved him with a love so great he would gladly give his life for him. Elrond opened his mind to him in return for his son’s trust.  Elrohir did not enter far, only seeing what his father wished him to see. He saw the Bruinen rise and drown their enemy, though the memory was shrouded in some way, then saw his father kneeling over him and turning the power of the ring from destruction to the preservation of his life.  Elrohir could sense someone aiding his father, and his father cleared the mists enough for him to see his daernaneth.

Elrohir drew in a deep breath as he pulled back and let his father gently disengage their minds.  He touched his father’s hand and felt Vilya sing again for just a moment.  Vilya remembers you.  Elrohir blew out the breath slowly.  I love you, my son.

“I love you, Adar,” replied Elrohir, forgiving instantly.

“Your naneth wishes to feed and mother you. Indulge her while I go send word to your siblings that you have awakened.”

Elrohir watched his father go, then surrendered to the tender care of his mother.

~ ~ ~* * *~ ~ ~

“Adar, why was Vilya so obvious that time when you wielded it?” asked Elladan.

Elrond shook his head.  “In that case, it was obvious because I had wearied myself in raising the river and was pushed beyond my limits when I treated Elrohir.  I needed your grandmother’s support that day.”

“I wonder if experience plays a role as well,” murmured Erestor thoughtfully.

“How so?” asked Glorfindel.

Erestor flushed slightly and looked away, then finally shrugged. “I have seen one of the Three wielded before with that kind of light expended.”

“In healing?” asked Elrond, as he searched his memories for another time when he might have been less than careful.

“Yes,” replied Erestor.  He paused then added, “but it was not you wielding it.” He looked around the room, settling his gaze on Elrond.  

Elrond nodded for him to continue.  The time for secrecy had passed.

“Galadriel wielded her ring to heal Elrohir, long ago, on the banks of the Hoarwell,” explained Erestor.

“I knew it!” cried Glorfindel.  “I suspected Elrond at first, of course, but when you were as surprised as us at the healing, I settled on Galadriel.  Celeborn was furious with her, as you recall, and I assumed that was why.”

Erestor nodded in agreement. “He was the other witness.  We never spoke of it.”

“Adar,” said Arwen, troubled. “Have you used it to heal many people?  Many elves?”

Elrond sighed, for he had suspected someone might ask the question she seemed headed towards. “I have wielded the ring for so long that it has become a part of me, another part of the healing skills I possess. I have not healed many in the way that I did Elrohir that day.”

The room fell silent, and Elrond watched as each processed the information to its conclusion.

“If Vilya is enslaved, what happens to those who have been healed with the Ring?  And if Vilya fails and all created with it fade, what effect will there be on those healed with it?” asked Elladan finally.

Elrond was about to answer, was contemplating his thoughts on the matter, when Elrohir spoke, “I do not see that it matters.  I would rather be healed and living among you than spending the age in the Halls of Waiting.  I would not have you, Adar, second guess your decisions now.  What comes will come.”

Elrond closed his eyes as he recalled the phrase Elladan and Glorfindel were fond of: Elrohir always forgives.  In this case, he did not know if he would need Elrohir’s forgiveness, yet he was assured of it already.  He had thought long about Elrohir, for he had used the ring directly to aid Elrohir on several occasions, and Elrohir had once wielded it, even if the attempt had not been purposeful.  He knew that Glorfindel and Elladan worried over changes they had seen in Elrohir since Celebrían’s capture, but while Elrond saw the changes, he saw a greater measure of strength, courage and perseverance.

“I do not think that anyone healed with the aid of the Three will experience a dramatic effect in either case,” he said finally.  “They may feel more world weary, though we all may feel that at the end of this regardless.  I hope Elrohir is correct, that our decisions were, in the end, ones we all would have chosen even had we been able to see the consequences through to the end.” 

Elladan stood and stretched. “Come brother, I wish to find out what other things you have hid from me all those years. I am going to sit vigil at your side and see what I can learn as you talk in your sleep.”

“I do not talk in my sleep,” replied Elrohir in mock indignation.

Arwen rose, kissing her father good-night before following her brothers out the door. “I have heard you,” she informed Elrohir.

“As have I,” added Glorfindel.

Elrohir stopped and raised a brow at his father in question.  “Your secrets are safe with me,” said Elrond.

The door closed behind them, with Elladan teasing Elrohir, who thoroughly enjoyed it, and Arwen playing both sides, though she would end on Elrohir’s side, and Elrond felt a sudden pang as he knew this was one of the last times he would hear their banter.

* * * * *

(1) In 861, Eärendur, King of the northern Dúnedain Kingdom of Arnor, died, and his kingdom was broken into thirds due to dissension among his sons.   Amlaith, the oldest son, maintained that part of the Kingdom near Fornost in the North-west – essentially from Círdan’s lands in the west, to the Baranduin (Brandwine) in the south and along the North as far as the Weather Hills (before Weathertop).  This is called Arthedain.  Another son founded Rhudaur, which ran from Weathertop east to the Misty Mountains and north into the Ettenmoors.  Another son founded Cardolan, which encompasses the lands south of Weathertop, to the Greenway in the west and the Loudwater in the east (the Angle included).  These three brothers and their clans fought among themselves, even to the point of war, which hastened the decline of the Northern Dúnedain.  The line of Elendil (Isildur) remained only in the Arthedain, and Rhudaur and Cardolan mixed with lesser men (The Hillmen).  Rhudaur is eventually overtaken by the Hillmen, who were in league with orcs and Sauron.  The Witch-King founded his Kingdom of Angmar in the northern lands of Rhudaur, north of Rivendell. A faithful remnant does remain in Cardolan and allies with the Arthedain.

King Arveleg of the Arthedain, with help from the faithful of Cardolan and Círdan’s folk in Lindon, make forts in the Weather Hills to Weathertop (Aragorn took the hobbits along the trail used by these forts in FotR), along the Great East-West Road, and the southern part of the Hoarwell, from the Last Bridge through the Angle. 

In Rivendell, the situation is grim.  Angmar controls the lands to the North, in the Ettenmoors.  To their east, the Misty Mountains are overrun with orcs and hillmen all the way from Dunland to the far North in Angmar.  In the south, the Hillmen who are allied with the fallen Dúnedain of Cardolan control the area south of the Angle to Hollin.

It is said at this time Rivendell was besieged.  Appendix A, Lord of the Rings.

Thanks to daw the minstrel for beta reading this chapter, and to daw and Levade for letting me bounce ideas off of them.





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