Imladris on midsummers eve 2850 Third Age, the private chambers of Elrond, High King of the Noldor.
Elladan: “Atarinya, why art thou so thoughtful? Thy countenance shows thy
common facial expression, but there seems to be a shadow of concern and sorrow
which darkens thy eyes.”
Elrond lifted his view slowly from an amazingly accurate almost three-dimensional
appearing map of Middle-Earth, which he had gazed on for several quiet hours
and answered: “Senya,” he paused for some, to Elladan nearly endless appearing
minutes, then Elrond continued “hast thou not felt that the shadow, whom, by Elbereth
we all hoped and prayed that he shall never be able to take shape again, has returned?”
Elladan lifted one brow and screwed his mouth: “Thou art implying, that the Dark One has
managed to create himself a new hroa and defiles Middle-Earth once again with his unhallowed
feet?”
“Thus reported Mithrandir, who took the inenarrable personal risk to infiltrate Dol Guldur.”
Once again Elrond stood in silence for long lasting minutes. His eldest son shared
his silence, even though words burned on his tongue which he struggled to withhold,
and waited patiently for his father to continue. “Mithrandir is above suspicion,
his words has to be trusted. So be it. Now thou will understand, why I am thoughtful senya.”
Once again Elrond gazed on the Map, while silence filled the chamber. But this time the silence was
accompanied with cold, which was even in the north untypical for midsummer-time.
Imladris a hundred and five years later, chamber of the high council, closed session.
Glorfindel, rising from is chair and his soft voice: “My King, fellow Lords, I admit it is a
sad but known fact, that due to the marring of Arda we fade while the aeons pass us by, a process
of sarcuva decline which we all thought could only be avoided by leaving Middle-Earth and crossing
Belegaer and the Heaven to reach Valinor.”
While he spoke, his view curved around, glancing on everybody in the council for some seconds.
“But behold, we know by fact, that the marring can be suspended and delayed. Granted, by the power of a very
particular artefact, but still it is possible. Therefore it might be thinkable and by all means possible, that the young
but yet honourable Lord Elladan might be right.”
Once again he glanced at every single one in the council and sat down again.
The words, which the Lord of the House of the Flower has spoken, seemed to last heavy in the air,
none spoke a word, the council remained silent for some time, then Cirdan, who very seldom attended
the high council spoke.
“Art thou suggesting, that we shall support the movement of Elladan and his abiders? How could
that be? Art thou not aware of the consequences? Thou, who hast sworn the infamous oath of
Féanor. Thou, who hast paid thy debt with thy death. I thought being reincarnated and sent back to
Middle-Earth would have made thee wiser!”
Glorfindel grinned self-ironic at Cirdan and responded: “The truth thou art speaking! But what, my
honourable Lord Cirdan, are we supposed to do? Abiders thou art calling the followers of Elladan, and thou
art right. But these abiders have grown to a mighty host. He meanwhile speaks for the vast majority of all
remaining Noldor and most of the Sindar in Eriador. Shall we try to forbid them, what they desire so much?
Shall we thereby risk an uprising and possibly a civil war? A kin-slaying anew?”
Once again there was a dead silence, Cirdan sighed and further remained silent.
Elrond rose from his throne-like chair: “My honourable Lords, this case is neither easy to advise to,
nor is it easy to decide. The seriousness of the consequences, irrespective of whether we support
Elladan and the vast majority of our people or not, even though I am the High King of our kin, we
can not forbid or hinder our people to do what they desire or they will do it in secrecy and this,
I foresee, will lead to kin-slaying and to a bitter end, which by all means could end up in Valinor
being concealed and we doomed to die, before we shall see the shores of the blessed realm again.”
He paused and took a deep breath, for his following words would be of gravest impact to him, his
people and Middle-Earth itself.
“We will support Elladan and the majority of the Noldor and Sindar in Eriador, which consider
themselves part of my Kingdom and me as their High King. Therefore I hereby state, that the host of
the abiders of Elladan are by now the army of my Kingdom and Elladan as well as Glorfindel will be
the generals in chief of our forces. Our primary target is to secure the people, and by this I mean
Elves, Dwarves and Men in Eriador and to cleanse the Hithaeglir off of the plague of the Orks.”
Delicate beams of sunlight shone through soft green leaves onto a by black elder, box and rowan tree
surrounded clearance, which was embedded between wavily hills that were rising towards the
southern remnants of the Ered Luin. A balmy breeze carried a smell of salt and seaweed to the noses
of the two slender elven figures who stood on the clearing low-voiced engrossed in conversation.
„Well Elladan, what are thy plans for the upcoming campaign? What art thou going to do?”
The words from Glorfindel seemed to rain like silver crystal raindrops through the air.
His spider-weblike appearing golden hair breezing in the wind.
“The goal is like crystal before my eyes, but..”
Elronds eldest son took a deep breath and stretched himself against the leaven roof,
then he shrugged his shoulders and sighed.
“..Alas! How can we accomplish our means?”
The Lord of the House of the Flower smiled and in his smile Elladan recognized knowledge and
foresight but concern and caution as well.
“As for me, I would advise to divide our host into two separately operating forces. One, under your
noble command should be rallied in Harlond, which then should be its base of supply, from which it
shall follow the shores of Belegaer to the south, Lond Daer being the goal of your army.
Many of our Sindar brethren still roam and live in the forests of Minhiriath and Enedwaith and they
will appreciate and support your advance to secure our culture and the preservation of the authority
of our High King there. Since they love their freedom the most, they will even more so delight in
your coming, inasmuch as you will stand for exactly that, securing and ensuring it.”
While he was speaking he off-handedly grasped his goblet from the beautiful carved stone, where it
stood and filled it in a catlike seeming elegant manner with mead out of a cruet made of blue glas.
“And thou? What wouldst thou do while I march my force to Lond Daer?”
Elladan asked and followed Glorfindels example.
“Me?” Glorfindel set his goblet aside “Oh the other force will be lead under my humble command
from Imladris along the flanks of the Hithaeglir to the remnants of Ost-in-Edhil. Thou surely
comprehend the background and significance as well as the opportunities these first steps of a
pincer movement are entailing.”
Elladan took another slight sip of his mead, nodded deliberately and turned his face southwards.
She slowly fell down. While she was falling, she was completely delivered at the mercy of the
wind. Where she might land was hardly to estimate. Her filigreed body drifted here and there
and as she finally reached her destination, the fuzzy snowflake melted on the slightly browned
skin of a Hand.
The grey-cloaked figure seemed to have not even recognized the melting of the
snowflake on the back of his hand, he was talking and, as it was his habit, his hands
underlined his words here and there. “Dost thou really think that the white council will
ever meet again?” From underneath his brows he examined his opponent expectantly,
while he lit his pipe once more.
Elrond wrinkled his nose, he had never liked the smell of the grey Wanderers habit, but due to
the respect Mithrandir deserved, Elrond had never mentioned his dislike of the smell of burning
pipe-weed.
“Of course not,”
he gave Mithrandir a thin smile
“but I do hope it may meet again in the years to come, because I think it will be needed.”
Mithrandir nodded slightly “As before, as yet and as always, but these are no news to us, dost thou
think not?” The Elv answered not but remained in silence, which seemed to concentrate around
him. The left brow of the wizard rose, forming a pointed triangle of grey hair. For nearly half
an hour Elrond stood quietly and for the same amount of time Mithrandir was observing him
patiently but sharp and with a thoughtful expression around the corners of his mouth.
At last the High King resumed to speak and broke his silence.
“Elladan is marching his army south. He has thereby started our campaign to secure the borders
of Eriador and to secure peace for all its inhabitants, Elv, Dwarf and Men.” He glanced at Mithrandir
and a laughter which sounded like honey-sweet accords on a harp filled the air
“well and of course our beloved and somehow very special Hobbits.”
The wizard laughed not, but smiled knowingly. Then the smile went like it had come:
“I assume thou hast send forth emissaries to Bree to inform them about your movements and to make
sure, that evil shall not rise from the regained activity of thy people?” he asked with a grave voice.
“Glorfindel left Mithlond two weeks ago and by now should have ended the mediations.”
Elrond replied.
"He will thereafter take command of our host here in Imladris and march his army south to Ost-in-Edhil."
Mithrandir lit his pipe again, leaned back and blew a ring of smoke in the air, which was grey
at its birth and turned blue while it was rising up in the air. The snowfall increased and more
snowflakes fell down on them.
Ai na vedui Dśnadan! Mae govannen!
The barroom was crowded as always after sunset. A waitress, while being constantly called at to serve some beer, bring the dinner or without any reason besides being wanted to stay and engage in a conversation of a very particular kind, closed the shutters to lock the night and the freezing cold of the winter out. Several four-armed candlesticks and the flames of the huge fire, which crackled and guttered in the fireplace, semi-lighted the barroom.
The smoke of pipe-weed hung deep in the air.
It was loud.
Most of the attendants were locals some of them regulars, who used to meet for a couple of beers after their daily work was done. Some pedlars talked about their latest more or less successful bargain and how the prices of the local products might develop in the next season. This years harvest had been a mess, even in the Shire were the pipe-weed growers had driven the prices to an insane level. Well actually that was due to the high inner-shire demand for it.
”Those Hobbits don’t give a copper for the export!”
”What trade is really about to give them is beyond there grasp!”
”If only they would sell the seeds of the pipe-weed, thus we could grow it elsewhere!”
Exclamations like these were characteristic, as was the amount of beer and self-consumed Old Toby.
While the pedlars were a common sight in Bree, some but few of the other travellers were not. A
very peculiar fellowship of travellers was it, that attracted the most attention onto itself. In fact it
was no fellowship but one dark-cloaked figure who sat on a bench in the shadows of a corner far
from the fireplace. For a while the man had sat there on his own appearing not to take part in the
noisy Life in the barroom. On his own till the slender Elv had come and sat down next to him.
The contrast could not have been greater, while the former was cloaked and leaned back in the
shadows the latter was dressed in a silk-like white- and gold-coloured garment and some sort
of light seemed to fill the air around him.
“Thou still like to disguise yourself, don’t thou?”
The laughter which accompanied the words found its reply in a self-ironic smile
of the figure in the shadows.
”Far hast thou come, Aragorn, since thou were just a boy playing in the gardens of Imladris.
And yet thou still seem to like your own way of playing games.”
”It is not a game and thou shall know this!” ,
once again the Dśnadan grinned at Glorfindel,
“but besides that, what makes thee visit the Prancing Pony?
I can’t believe it’s just thy yearning to see me again.”
This time the clear elven laughter rose so much so that some of the guests at tables nearby turned
their heads to see where it came from and what its reason might be. Neither Glorfindel nor Aragorn
seemed to mind them at all.
After a while Glorfindel nodded slightly.
“Of course thou art right my dear friend.
I have to speak with thee concerning grave matters!”
”Art thou talking about the latest changes of the behaviour and the policy of thy people?”
The Noldo slightly lifted his left brow and smiled again.
Aragorn smirked: “Thou hast not to be afraid that I might dislike the way things are
developing, in fact I believe it is time for a turn of the tide! So tell me, what is my
stepfather up to do?”
Long lasted their low voiced conversation, but none of the attendants was able to snatch a bit of it.
After all was said Aragorn nodded thoughtful.
”Be assured that my people and I will support and assist thy people. Let Elrond know,
that our alliance is strong and vivid! But I recommend, if I may, to send messengers to
the Dwarves and to the realm of Thranduil as well. Thus we can adjust our efforts and
may not fail in our attempt to bring peace to Eriador!”
”I assume thou had mediations with the Dwarves for thyself?"
Aragorn nodded affirmatively.
"So be it!”
Glorfindel replied and he was glad.
[TATW AAR] Vammė sintiė lį yonta! - We won't fade no more! (updated June 12th)
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