Prologue: The Valar's Visit

It was a dark, cold night in Rivendell. A grey torrent of rain splattered down on the Last Homely House, echoing the dreary mood of the Lord within. Elrond Half-elven sat in his study, gazing down at an open book on the desk before him and not taking in so much as a word. He felt absolutely miserable.

But why? The War was over; the Ring had been destroyed years ago. Arwen was happily married to the man she loved, and Gondor finally had a King again (who was in fact the man Elrond's daughter had wed). He shouldn't have been feeling that way, really…

But things were different in Imladris. The Elves were preparing to leave Middle-earth for ever; their time was now at an end. The Fourth Age was the Age of Men. Elrond, as the Keeper of Vilya, one of the Rings of Power, had accepted that. And Valinor was where his wife was waiting for him; she had fled over the Sea millennia ago. So why was he so cheerless?

"Ada?"

Elrond turned his head to look at the elf who had just opened the door, a tall, dark-haired figure with shining grey eyes. It was the Elf-lord's elder son, Elladan; that meant that his twin, Elrohir, could not be far off.

Elrond sighed gloomily. "Hello, ion nin." (my son)

"Is something wrong, Ada?" asked Elladan in concern. "You look so sad."

"I am," his father replied softly. "But I don't know why. Lately I've been feeling… well, empty. I can't really explain it – it's dark, and achy. Like hunger, but in the heart instead of the stomach… I just can't help but feel that I haven't done anything of importance in my lifetime."

"Don't say that!" cried a shocked Elladan. "You've done lots of important things! You fought in the Battle of the Last Alliance, you created this haven and kept it safe; you took care of Aragorn when he was just a child…"

"You healed Mother's poisoned wounds from that orc attack under Caradhras," piped up a voice similar to Elladan's, coming from the hall. A second elf appeared in the doorway, who looked identical to the first. And for good reason – it was Elladan's twin brother, Elrohir.

Elladan nodded earnestly at his brother's remark. "Right! And you healed Frodo when he was stabbed on Weathertop; you organized the Council, and brought Anduril to Aragorn so he could help Minas Tirith. You gave Gondor back its King."

Elrond forced a smile. "Thank you for trying, but I still feel like none of that was me. It feels like someone else did it all."

"We know it was you," said Elrohir sincerely. He placed a kindly hand on his father's shoulder; his brother followed suit.

This time Elrond's smile was genuine. "Hennaed." (Thanks.)

The twins nodded, backing out of the room. No doubt their father would like some rest; he had looked about ready to nod off in his chair.

As soon as his sons were gone, that's exactly what the Elf-lord did. His piercing blue eyes glazed over, and his ebony hair fell over his face as his head fell forward on his chest; he slid silently into the velvet embrace of a dream…

----

Elrond's vision was veiled in grey, as if someone had hung a smoky curtain around the world. He drifted for a moment in the silence, but turned at the sight of two approaching figures.

The first person was clothed in deep grey, just a shade darker than the mist that flowed around them. The hair that fell to the broad shoulders was like spun silver; two blue eyes in the ageless face bored into Elrond's heart.

The second figure's raiment was of black, as was the long, straight hair that framed the pale face. The eyes beneath the thin brows glinted like obsidian. Both figures' faces were grim.

Elrond gasped and fell to the ground – was there even ground beneath him? – when he realized that the two people before him were in fact the Fëanturi; of the Valar, Masters of Spirits. The first was Lórien, Master of Desires and Dreams; the second was Mandos, the Doomsman of the Valar.

Lórien then spoke, in a voice soft and soothing to the ear. "Elrond son of Eärendil, arise. We bear grave news to you this night."

"Have I died in my sleep?" Elrond asked apprehensively, standing up and gazing into the glittering eyes of Mandos.

"Nay, you are yet alive," Mandos replied. "But the word we bring is of an ill nature. Do you know of my wife, Vairë the Weaver?"

Elrond nodded. "Yes, my Lord." Vairë the Weaver created great tapestries depicting all things that had ever occurred in the world, and decorated Mandos' halls with them. But why was it important to him?

"We have come," said Lórien, "to tell you that you are in great danger. Many of Vairë's tapestries involve you, Elrond; and it is those tapestries that will be your doom.

"For even as I speak, you are disappearing from every tapestry of your existence, one by one. If the fading reaches you in this moment, you will vanish from the very design of the world, without hope of renewal."

Elrond's throat tightened; he found it increasingly difficult to breathe. But Mandos went on where his brother had halted.

"But even now there is still hope," said he. "The Valar and Valier have held a council; it has been decided that you shall be sent back through the ages to the very day of your birth. From there shall live your life through again. But there will be one difference; you shall remain in your present body, even as you are born and grow."

Elrond frowned at a vivid vision of himself, as he was (though much smaller), emerging with a pealing cry from his mother's womb. Lórien, having seemingly read the elf's mind, shook his head with a sudden laugh.

"Nay, not like that!" he cried. "You will be in two bodies; one of the present, and one of the past. One body shall remain unchanged as the other grows and matures from infancy. But you must not stray too far apart from yourself, for it would be disastrous."

Elrond nodded understandingly. "How will I get to the place of my birth?"

"We shall guide you there," the brothers spoke together. "Take our hands."

The elf did so, wonderingly; Lórien's hand was warm in his, and Mandos' was cool. For a moment all was still, and then the Spirit-Masters softly intoned strange words in an unknown tongue. Instinctively Elrond closed his eyes.

The Valar's chanting grew louder, and in a jolting instant Elrond felt himself being drawn forward (or was it backward?). After what seemed an eternity, and yet no time at all, his feet were on firm ground.

Once his head stopped spinning, the elf slowly opened his eyes…