This tale comes out of notes I made when I was writing my Dolengil tales of what was happening with Elrond while the War of the Ring took place as Tolkien does not mention the elven lord until after the War.
Here then is a look from Elrond's POV of the events following the departure of the Fellowship.
My House, so recently a beehive of activity is now nigh on empty and silent.
The Fellowship has left today on their journey South and in my heart my spirit wars between hope and despair.
Hope that this precipitous journey to Mordor is successful and despair that on such small shoulders the fate of all of Middle Earth must rest. And against all expectations, if the Ringbearer survives, in what condition will be his soul when his journey is concluded?
I pray I can at least aid in his recovery.
Are we sending off not only a small hobbit with eight companions, expecting a miracle but are we also sending someone willingly to an unending procession of nightmare and horror? A journey that for him, will never end, come what may?
As the last member slipped out of the courtyard and crossed the Bruinen I looked to my Undomiel, her heart writ large in her eyes as she followed the mortal form of her beloved and my foster son Estel.
By the Valar! Though small this tragedy is compared to the destruction of the One Ring, it is yet one more shadow on what must be my last days here.
Undomiel did not glance at me, though I saw the telltale streak of tears on her cheeks as she and her ladies passed out of the courtyard and into the House. Her eyes touched me not, yet I felt their burn nevertheless.
I almost reached out to her, but I stilled my impulse. This is a dark hour for her and I, and I must leave her to sort out her thoughts.
My steps were heavy as I walked slowly back into the House and into my study here.
I stare at this page, my quill held over the parchment.
A sinking sensation courses through my spirit as I acknowledge that I must prepare myself for any and all ends, and that ultimately, I will be leaving Imladris.
For no matter the outcome of this roil of Darkness and Sauron's return, I and my kin must leave.
It is, at last, the time of Men.
An end for which I have worked since the death of my beloved Elros. And this means I must leave what has been my home for almost two millenia.
I look around my study as I sit here, all the familiar objects I have seen untold years. Some newer than others of course, and some much much older than the Vale in which my House sits.
I find I cannot sit quietly and I must move about the room, my thoughts milling like a paddock of disturbed horses, moving this way and that.
I walk to the wall opposite my desk and stare at the last tapestry Celebrian wove...it is unfinished and is a view of her favorite garden.
Unfinished.
Oh my Celebrian! Our lives are both unfinished! I must wait out the execution of my duties that I swore to on the deathbed of my brother that I would complete: the succor and aid of his line of Men and to see them established in strength and glory ere I left.
It has not been easy to ever be the one to whom people come to for healing and hope. I have dispensed what I could, when I could.
But it has always assailed me in the deep watches of the night that those who came to me for healing might have been startled to know that the healer himself needed balm as well.
And these years without you my Celebrian, existing with half a heart, have been the hardest of all. The children will never know how grateful I have been for their presence and love.
And so I have thrown myself into work. Work to aid the Dunedain, to help the strangers seeking counsel and healing. To actively maintain a network of information and vigilance through the auspices of the White Council.
These things have kept me busy and have helped me no end to preserve my purpose in the face of the growing darkness that all the Eldar and Istari have felt.
The Ring! To have returned in the unexpected and unlooked for possession of my dear friend Bilbo Baggins of the Shire!
The unlikeliness of it all certainly preserved it from unfriendly eyes these many years.
And for his cousin Frodo, as merry a hobbit as I have met, a worthy heir of dear Bilbo, to have him bravely stand forth at the Council and declare his williness to carry the loathesome thing all the way to Mordor, did more to give me hope than anything in these dark days.
His coming to me wounded and half-swallowed by the evil of the Morgul blade tested my healing skills as nothing has since the Second Age.
And when Estel, exhausted and footsore told me what he had done to aid the young hobbit, my heart quailed as I understood the nature of his injury.
But I prevailed and though I have sent this little one off surrounded by a goodly company of companions in as good health as my abilities could devise, I still feel misgivings about his carrying the burden.
Through his recuperation here, I have struggled with my thoughts regarding the fate of that insidious trinket.
I have the strength and the knowledge to get this pernicious evil to Mordor and yet I send a halfling. An adult in his society but a mere child in the eyes of my people.
But I know too, that I would not do as a Ringbearer as I am already the bearer of one ring, The Ring of Power would corrupt me much sooner than the halfling's pure heart.
The pull of that awful golden band was nigh on painful for me as I tended to the wounded Frodo. It was like a thorn embedded deep in the skin, aching constantly and crying out for removal.
Frodo had no idea how hard it was for I, though wise and ancient, to fight the flaring of desire to take the ring from his small hand and cure the evils of this world.
I am more than thankful that Mithrandir, yet another ringbearer, was here to help me fight the pull of the One as I strove to save Frodo's life. His considerable strength bolstered me, especially when removing the Morgul shard proved so elusive.
Frodo Baggins is more amazing than I had imagined.
I can only pray he succeeds, while I, here in Imladris can do what I can to ensure the safety of my people and those in the North.
Until I heed the call to Valinor.
And leave my beloved Rivendell behind to decay in graceful solitude, a faint legend among the foothills of the Misty Mountains, an ever fading memory of mythical things.
My home.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~to be continued~~~~~~~~~~~~
