Disclaimer: So Not Mine. I do this only for enjoyment, not for money, which will tell you something, because I have none.
Author's Note: So the HP characters had their say, now the LOTR ones wanted a go to. Or at least the Peredhil did. Wait, do I ever write anything else?
There were inherent problems with bearing a Ring of Power. The first was the weight of such an enormous responsibility. Elrond had always wondered at Ereinion's trust of him, the night he had bestowed Vilya upon him. It had nearly brought the Lord of Rivendell to tears, that one so great should honor him so well. It had been an easy thing at first; for nearly 2000 years Elrond had born the Ring in secret, never daring to place it upon his finger, or even to let it touch flesh. He wore it in a cloth pouch around his neck, to ensure its safety.
But the defeat of Sauron by the Last Alliance had changed many things. Galadriel had been the first to dare to place a Ring upon her finger. Elrond had been more cautious, but the feeling of power when first he had worn the sapphire had been nearly overwhelming, and extremely addictive. Círdan had cautioned him against its use; advising that the more it was used, the more dependent the bearer became on its power. And so Elrond had been weary in the early years, but as time passed, and no rumor of Sauron's return was heard, he had become more daring.
It was not long after Arwen's birth when he first came to recognize the fading in the valley. There came a year when the leaves turned russet in the fall, and did not green again come spring. And he knew that is was permanent. At first he had only pondered the idea. Healing was a gift that had always come naturally to him, but he had never attempted to direct Vilya's power to enhance it. He was not certain such a thing was possible, but as the seasons passed once more, and spring did not return again, he found the courage to make the attempt. And somehow, it had worked. He had restored for a time the lush green forest of old, and as the year passed and fall approached, he watched with amazement as the leaves were slower to turn, and winter did not come at all.
It was some years before he realized the full consequences of his actions. A journey to Lórien in Arwen's fiftieth year had proved nearly disastrous. The family had stayed in the Golden Wood all winter, and when they returned over the mountains in the spring it was to find snow still lingering in the valley, ice at the ford, and trees cast down by the winter storms. And Elrond had known then, that in one single act he had bound himself forever to the dell. The Ring and its Bearer could not leave, or the timelessness and the calm that both bestowed would vanish. It had been a hard blow to accept, that home had suddenly become a prison. But the next winter, when the snow did not return, he had accepted the decision. His life had been one marked by sacrifice, and this was simply one more duty that was expected of him.
But it was a sacrifice that did not truly pain him until the summer when Celebrían was captured in the Red Horn Pass, and Elrond was unable to ride to her rescue. He had sat on his balcony, watching the courtyard for three days without rest, until his sons had returned with their mother's battered body. And every second of the wait he had cursed his life, and the fates that had chosen it for him. And he had hated himself, for placing the lure of a Ring of Power before aught else.