Disclaimer: For full disclaimer, please see chapter 1.
A/N:
-Sorry guys, this is just a repost. I had a lot of trouble with this chapter and am hoping this will solve it. Knowing ff-net, it probably won't. Can't blame a girl for trying, though.-
Gods, sorry, I am late again. I caught some nasty bug in Dublin (or that's what I think) and am really sick now. I still went out on New Year's Eve, which was probably not the most clever thing to do either. Anyway, we had fun, watched the fireworks and consumed far too much alcohol. Just like any other year, I guess. •g• Be that as it may, I'm sorry for posting a day later than I'd wanted to, I just really didn't leave my bed yesterday. You're still getting the next update on Tuesday, so we'll be right back on track. •looks at nasty bug• You hear that?
I hope you all had a very nice Christmas and had fun at New Year's Eve. The weather was quite pleasant in Portugal and it's not been too bad here either, so I am not complaining. I still have a few things to do for my classes, but it's all working out somehow. So I am happy. •beams happily to prove the point• What did I want to say ... oh, yes. I have decided that the Rangers most likely lived in the Angle and close to it, most likely also in Minhiriath and perhaps also a bit further away. That is my interpretation of the clues Tolkien left us (which is essentially something along the lines of "No other Men beside those of Bree had settled dwellings so far west, or within a hundred leagues of the Shire. But in the wild lands beyond Bree there were mysterious wanderers.(...) The roamed at will southwards, and eastwards even as far as the Misty Mountains; but they were now few and rarely seen."(FotR, Ch. 9: At the Sign of the Prancing Pony), so if anybody knows different or better or just wants to discuss the question, they are very welcome to send me an email or two.
I must also apologise for the lack of Legolas in this chapter. The poor elf has been neglected lately, but this time I am trying to move the story along at a faster pace than usual and wanted to have the ranger explain his side of things. So, even though he isn't in this chapter, never fear: He will be in the next one and I will try not to exclude him again in the future. •pats strangely unaffected-looking elven prince on the head• Poor baby.
Okay, this was quite long, so now on to the story! Aragorn has a discussion with Elrond who tries to explain a few things, Meneldir is trying to decide which course of action is the right one, Isál makes a (nervous) appearance and the ranger is introduced! He also has a talk with Elrond, which makes no one really happy. It's a gift, I guess. •g•
Enjoy and review, please!
Chapter 4
For several minutes it was completely silent, the only sound to be heard the chirping of the birds sitting outside in the trees close to the window. Aragorn had sat down in the armchair recently vacated by Glorfindel and was careful not to look at his father. Whether it was because he was already suspecting what was going on – and a part of him surely was – or because he just didn't really want to discuss this, Elrond didn't know, but whatever the reason, he felt how his heart clenched in pain.
He had never wanted it to start for Aragorn like this, when he was frightened and confused and didn't know what was going on. His foster son wasn't stupid or naïve, however, so he must have some idea of what was going on and what his dreams really were – rationally, that was. People, however, were not prone to reacting rationally when faced with night terrors vicious and horrible enough to keep them awake for (if he were to judge by the young ranger's appearance) at least a week, and so it didn't really surprise him when all he could see on his son's face was fear and confusion.
Elrond sighed inwardly. No matter how many times he had already done this, it never became any easier. Telling someone that his or her life had just essentially been turned upside down was never easy, not even when that someone was one of the Dúnedain, and when the person in question was one of his own children…
The half-elf shook his head. He might have been anticipating and dreading this moment since the moment he had first laid eyes on his human son, but that didn't mean that anything, anything at all, about this situation was easy.
In the end, it was Aragorn who broke the oppressive silence. The young man raised his head from where he was staring at his tightly folded hands and looked at him, silver-grey eyes dark with uncertainty and a lingering touch of terror.
"It was a vision, wasn't it?"
"I do not know, my son," Elrond said truthfully. "But if your brothers believe so … they are rarely wrong about such things. And you are…"
"Yes, I know," Aragorn interrupted his father, something that was a very clear sign for his distress. Under normal circumstances, neither his brothers nor he would have dreamed about doing such a thing. "I am apparently old enough."
"Your father was older," Elrond began carefully, "and so was Arador, but that doesn't mean anything. Your mother's gift was strong, and so was her family's. It could have influenced the development of your own, but there is no way to be certain. It is hardly an exact science."
Aragorn had a sudden, very frightening mental picture of him being surrounded by scholars who demanded that he have a vision right now so they could monitor it. He quickly shook his head, trying to push back the hysteria that was once again rising inside of him. At least this was an explanation, he told himself firmly. It wasn't the kind he had hoped for, but at least it meant that he wasn't going insane.
With a weary sigh, he allowed his head to fall back against the back of the armchair, and had to employ most of his self-control in order not fall asleep immediately. After several heartbeats, a cool hand that touched his cheek brought him somewhat back to his senses, and if he hadn't been tired to the bone, he would have smiled. It could have been meant as a gesture of comfort or a means for Elrond to check his temperature – the healer in the half-elf wouldn't allow him to take even the slightest risk that it might be something else that was wrong with him.
"How long has this been going on, Aragorn?"
Everybody
seemed to be using his human name today, the ranger decided
testily.
"A week," he still answered, not opening his eyes.
"Maybe eight days, or nine. I cannot remember anymore."
For a second, it was completely silent, and Aragorn didn't even have to open his eyes to know that Elrond was frowning at him and his inability to remember something as simple as that.
"Over a week, then?" his foster father repeated, sounding rather incredulous. "Have you slept at all?"
"Of course I have," Aragorn said, opening an eye to give his father an emotionless stare. "Otherwise we wouldn't be having this conversation, because I would have turned into an incomprehensible, gibbering pile of goo on the floor."
Elrond gave him a look
that made the man automatically duck his head.
"I know the
limits of your people, Estel, as well as you do or even better. A
dúnadan can last a week with very
little or almost no sleep. Not much longer, though."
"Yes," the young man agreed with a small, jittery laugh. "I have come to realise that."
"Why didn't you tell me?" Elrond finally asked softly. "You can always come to me if there is something wrong, Estel, you know that. At any time of day or night."
"To tell you what, father?" Aragorn asked, raising his head and looking the half-elf in the eye. "I had no idea what was going on, I still have no idea what is going on! Valar, my mind is barely working quickly enough to keep up with this conversation, and you expect me to actually come up with something sensible? And what should I have told you? 'Ada, I am having the same nightmare over and over again, but, even though it is not my nightmare, it is terrifying enough so that I need several minutes to figure out where I am when I awake or who I even am, oh, and I think I might be going insane'?" He laughed again. "You are right. I actually could say something like that right now."
Elrond winced as if he had been struck, asking himself for the umpteenth time just where he had been this past week. How had he not seen this, how had none of them seen this?
"You are not going insane, Estel," he told the young man and reached out to touch one of his hands. "Surely you know that."
"No, ada." Aragorn shook his head solemnly. "Right now, I know nothing for certain. All I know is that I see things I shouldn't, I couldn't possibly see, things I have no business of seeing. Things that are not mine, that have nothing to do with me or even with my darkest and most horrible fears. They are not mine, don't you understand? Doesn't any of understand how … how wrong that is?"
Exhaustion, confusion and fear were finally beginning to wear down the shields the young ranger had so tightly thrown up around him, and Elrond could almost watch how his control unravelling before his very eyes. Without consciously deciding to do so, Elrond moved over to his foster son's side and pulled him forward into a tight embrace. Aragorn was too weary and probably too shaken to resist, and Elrond bit his lip when he felt how rigid and tense the young man was in his arms. He could no longer remember how he had felt when he'd had his first vision, but he supposed that without his twin's presence he would have been terrified as well.
"Of course I understand, ion nín," he whispered to the young man he still held firmly enveloped in his arms. "Elbereth, of course I do! That is what makes them so horrible: They are not yours, not your memories or thoughts or subconscious projections. You witness things your mind can not classify or understand, and you feel emotions that are not yours. And in the beginning everything is so jumbled and confusing and terrifying that you can almost forget where the dream ends and where you begin, and what you are feeling and what the people in your vision. Believe me, Estel, I know."
"I have had … feelings … before, and dreams," Aragorn said softly, his voice slightly muffled by his foster father's robes. "But the dreams were about things that concerned me, or those I care about. And even when I … foresaw … something, it was more like a regular dream, only more insistent and real. But they were mine, not someone else's." He was silent for a moment. "I thought it would always be like that. I didn't count on anything like this."
"No one ever does," Elrond said with a small smile. It was the truth. He'd had this conversation with many of the heirs of his brother, and all of those who had had visions as strong as Aragorn's had been shocked by their intensity.
"I … I didn't know," Aragorn went on, weakly disentangling himself from his father's grasp. "I never imagined you – or the twins – having this kind of visions. I do not what I was thinking. I think I wasn't thinking at all. What a very naïve thing to do, I know."
The dark-haired elf
took a deep breath.
"It is not always
like this, Estel," he told the young ranger. "Real visions like
you had are rare, even for me. Feelings, dreams – yes, those are
common. I have got used to them over the past millennia. For the
twins they are rarer still; Elrohir is more attuned to such things
than Elladan, but they both have them from time to time. Sometimes I
truly do not know if I gave them a blessing or a curse."
"Right now it does not feel like a blessing," the man admitted.
"I can imagine that," Elrond said with a small smile that quickly disappeared again when he looked at his human son's haggard and pale features. "Can you tell me what you saw, Estel? The only way to deal with these things is to try and interpret them, to try and find out what they mean."
Sometimes, of course, you didn't figure out the meaning at all, or only when it was far too late to change anything or do anything about it. That was something the half-elf was not planning on telling the man; he was already shaken enough as it was.
"I … I do not know, ada," Aragorn said in a small voice. "The images are so … so dark and twisted that I cannot … I simply cannot…"
"Estel," the half-elven healer said, laying a hand on his son's forearm and squeezing gently. "Breathe. Just close your eyes and breathe, and tell me what you saw. Don't think; don't try to remember too hard. The images are there, at the back of your mind. I know that you do not want to think about them, that you do not want to relive what you see night after night, but it is the only way."
Aragorn didn't look too convinced, but he obediently closed his eyes and did his best to follow his father's instructions.
"There is fire," he finally said softly. "It … it is confusing; it looks like something like a campfire and something more, like … simply fire. There is blood, Valar, so much of it, thick drops that flow together and form a stream that never ends, that never will end…"
"Estel," Elrond interrupted him, noticing the way the young man's body tensed again. "Be calm and breathe. Even though they are not your memories, not your nightmares, they cannot harm you. You are safe here, and I would never let any harm come to you."
The man took a deep, shuddering breath, his eyes closing even more tightly, but he paused for a moment, clearly attempting to bring order into his chaotic thoughts.
"There is also pain," he went on. "No, that is not the right word for it. It is anguish, both mental and physical, and so strong that it steals your breath away. Then there are the feelings: Fear and terror and anger, too, all so intense that they almost seem unreal, like something no living man could withstand and live with." His eyes opened with a start. "Someone died, ada. I do not know who, or if it is the one who felt these emotions, but someone is dead. I just know it."
Elrond nodded slowly, wishing for the first
time that he could believe that his youngest son was
wrong or lying.
"There is something else, though, isn't
there?"
"Yes," Aragorn admitted. "A … star, or something that looks like a star. It's just that … I don't think it is real. I cannot describe it better, or understand it. I do not know what it means. I do not know what any of it means!"
Elrond
sighed, finding that he could hardly bear the hopeful look his son
shot him, as if he expected him to have all the answers.
"There
is no easy way to answer that, Estel. There is no such thing as a
book to help you interpret dreams or visions."
"Then why do I have them anyway?" Aragorn exclaimed, confusion and fear turning into anger. It was a reaction Elrond had been expecting, and so his expression didn't change a bit at the man's sudden outburst. "Why does anybody have them? What good does it do if you cannot change anything you saw?"
"I did not say that," Elrond said calmly. "I said that it is not easy to interpret visions of any kind and especially visions as fragmentary as the one you just described; I did not say it was impossible."
Aragorn looked at him for several moments before he lowered his head and took a deep breath. Elrond didn't have to possess any foresight whatsoever to know that the young man was wishing for a hole to hide in.
"I am sorry, ada. I did not mean to criticise you. I do not know what came over me."
"Well, I do," the half-elf retorted with a small smile. When Aragorn looked at him, clearly expecting to be scolded, he added, "You are exhausted, Estel. You haven't slept more than two or three hours a night for over a week, and when you slept, you were awoken by nightmares. One does not need any training in the healing arts to know that that is anything but restful. It is a miracle that you can still stand."
"Well, technically speaking, I am sitting at the moment."
Elrond gave him a dark look.
"You have
been spending far too much time with Elladan. Or with Glorfindel, or
with both, even though the mind boggles at that particular
thought."
For the first time in longer than Aragorn could
actually remember, he had to smile – a real smile, that was, not
one he plastered on in order not to make anybody suspicious.
"Elladan
and Glorfindel, in one room, when they're in that kind of mood –
my mind does more than boggle at that. It tries to convulse and sneak
out of my head through my ears."
Elrond smiled as well, but
his eyes remained dark and solemn. He did not intend to let the man
get away with trying to change the topic.
"I am sure about it.
But I am serious, Estel. You are exhausted to the bone. We can talk
about this once you are rested."
"Forgive me, ada, but there is no way at all I can rest before I know what is happening." Aragorn shook his head. "Half an hour will not make a difference now."
The half-elven lord nodded slowly. He hadn't expected anything else, mind you; if Aragorn was one thing, it was stubborn and determined.
"I do not know what to tell you, my son. You know that some of your people possess the gift – or curse – of foresight, and my brother's line more than the rest of the Dúnedain. For some of those that possess this ability, it manifests as 'feelings', as you described it; just vague notions about one thing or other that help them detect danger or make decisions. Others have dreams you have already been having for some time, especially when it concerns their family or those they care about. And some – very, very few of them – have 'real' visions like the one you had, either in the form of nightmares or while they are awake."
"What a lovely concept," Aragorn muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Is there anything to do about it?"
"To stop it, you mean?" Elrond asked, and the man nodded. "No, ion nín. You were born like this; it isn't something you can turn off or on. No one can foretell if these visions will fade, if you will have them for only a short time, or if they will occur more often and regularly. But…"
"But?"
"But," Elrond repeated, suppressing a weary sigh, "if your father's gift is anything to go by, and your mother's and her family's … I do not think it will fade. You are Isildur's heir and therefore Elros', Aragorn. Except for a handful of exceptions, all of your line have had some … abilities, some stronger and some weaker. Even amongst the lesser lines there have been many cases of men and women with strong gifts, and your mother's line is anything but a lesser one. So no, I do not think it will go away."
"I … I cannot deal with this," Aragorn whispered hoarsely, his hand wandering from the bridge of his nose up to his forehead. "I hardly know what is real anymore, what I am feeling and what the people in my dreams do. I cannot sleep, I do not dare to sleep, and my head is beginning to feel as if it wants to explode."
"That is, unfortunately, another side effect." The elf nodded solemnly. "How bad is the headache?"
Aragorn looked uncomfortable for a few
seconds, clearly wondering if he should employ a tactical lie or not.
He finally came to the conclusion that he had neither the energy nor
was sufficiently clear-minded to even try it, and finally allowed
himself to start massaging his temples.
"Quite bad."
"On a scale from One to Six that would be…?" Elrond prompted. He knew that he had been driving his sons to the brink of madness with his scale, but it was the only way to somehow figure out in how much pain they really were. If they were telling the truth, of course.
"About a Four," Aragorn answered. His foster father didn't say anything and only looked at him, and he added with a sigh, "Or maybe a Five."
Elrond would almost have blinked. Getting Aragorn (or the twins or Prince Legolas) to admit that anything hurt worse than Four out of Six was nearly impossible. The headache really had to be quite spectacular.
"We can do this later, Aragorn. I will ask Elladan to give you something to help you sleep. We can continue this conversation once you are rested."
"Will it always be like this?" Aragorn asked, ignoring his elven father's words.
Elrond didn't have to ask what the ranger was
talking about.
"No." He shook his head. "This is your first
'real' vision, Estel. With time and practice, you will get used
to them, when your mind figures out a way to process them."
"And until then this dream, this vision, is being shown to me night after night," Aragorn said bitterly. "And I can't do anything about it or, apparently, understand what it means."
"Not necessarily." Elrond shook his head. "As I said, it will get better; no one can say how quickly. And sometimes, they fade after a certain amount of time. Sometimes it helps when you talk about it with someone."
"I am sensing a 'But'."
"Yes." The elf lord smiled humourlessly. "But sometimes, they do not."
"Wonderful." Aragorn allowed his head to fall back against the armchair, barely noticing the way it connected with the wooden back. "Just wonderful."
"I am sorry, Estel. What you described could be virtually anything, anywhere. Unless there is something else you can tell me…"
"No." The man shook his head quickly, his face paling considerably. The mere thought of having to relive the dream once more was enough to make cold sweat accumulate on his forehead. "No, there is nothing else. I am sorry."
"Don't be, my son. It is rare to remember so many details so clearly the first few times." Aragorn didn't say anything and closed his eyes, and Elrond once again leaned forward, his fingertips touching the young man's white cheek. "Please, Estel. You are exhausted. Let us continue this conversation once you are rested."
For several moments,
Aragorn wanted to refuse. In the end, bone-deep exhaustion made the
decision for him, when he realised that he could hardly keep his
jumbled thoughts together.
"That … potion you mentioned," he
began softly, not opening his eyes. "Will it make me dream?"
"No, Estel," Elrond assured him with a smile. "No dreams. I promise."
"Then I will go," Aragorn said and opened his eyes with an effort. "I don't think I can stay awake for much longer anyway."
Elrond's smile widened and he was about to get up to fetch one of the twins, but before he could even move half an inch, a knock sounded on the door before it was opened. Elladan poked his head into the room, concern clearly visible on his face. Not for the first time Elrond asked himself just when his sons had learned to read his mind.
"Ada?" the twin asked softly.
"We will continue this at a later time," the elf lord said. "Estel needs to rest undisturbed for at least six hours."
Elladan processed what his father told him and
quickly came to the right conclusion.
"I see," he said,
stepping into the room and nodding at his father. "I will make sure
nothing disturbs the rest, and I would be willing to bet that Elrohir
is already preparing the potion."
"I am … right here, you know," Aragorn protested weakly.
"I know, little brother." Elladan smiled at him and grasped his arm. The fact that the man allowed himself to be more or less manhandled into a standing position and led into the direction of the door was testament to his weariness. "I know. Let's get you back to your room, shall we?"
Aragorn only mumbled something under his breath that could have been interpreted as words of thanks or a curse. Elladan, who seemed to be in a highly optimistic mood today, seemed to take it as words of thanks, only grasped his elbow more tightly either in order to make sure that his human brother would follow him or to steady him as he swayed on his feet. Before they could leave the room, however, Elrond called out the man's name, an unreadable expression on his face.
"Estel? That star you saw, what did it look like?"
The man blinked as he turned around to face his father. It took his addled brain several moments before he could formulate an answer, and Elladan exchanged a knowing look with his father over his shoulder. The man's last resources of strength were beginning to desert him, and if they didn't get him to lie down soon, he would collapse where he stood.
"It was … bright," Aragorn began hesitantly, closing his eyes as he tried to conjure a more detailed image. "There was light emanating from it, in long … long beams. Like rays."
"I see." Elrond nodded.
"Why?" Aragorn asked, slight suspicion in his eyes.
"I am not entirely sure yet," the half-elf answered. To somebody who didn't know him well, he would have appeared completely calm and unaffected, but both his sons could clearly hear the well-hidden, evasive timbre in his voice. "I will tell you when I know more. Elladan…"
"Yes, ada." The twin bowed his head obediently and gently turned his brother around towards the door. "Come, Estel. We shouldn't keep Elrohir waiting too long, and besides, if you collapse – which, by my calculations, will be happening in about three minutes –, I am not going to carry you."
Aragorn made an undecipherable noise in the back of
his throat, but allowed himself to be led out
of the door.
"Five minutes at the very least."
"Four, not a minute more."
'"Five. Would you like to bet on that?"
"Don't even think about accepting that bet, Elladan," Elrond told his oldest son as the door closed behind the two of them. "Your brother is not thinking clearly at the moment."
"Of course not, ada. The thought had never crossed my mind."
Another incredulous grunt could be heard from the young man as he was being led down the corridor. Elrond's smile that had spread over his features at his sons' banter quickly faded, however, and he leaned back into his armchair. This had been bound to happen; no matter what Estel seemed to hope, he had never had any doubts that the man would develop the abilities his father and the vast majority of his family had possessed. And he had never thought that they would be limited to random and rare dreams or vague feelings.
Elrond
took a deep breath and reached for his tea. The way this day was
starting, he would probably need it.
Meneldir
stopped his horse in front of the stables and dismounted, rolling his
shoulders in an attempt to loosen the stiffness in his back and neck.
He honestly didn't understand how wood-elves did it; he had never
enjoyed spending any amount of time in a tree – a dislike that made
patrol duty the tiniest bit bothersome. He knew that that little
quirk of his was unusual even for a Noldo, but he simply couldn't
help himself. Trees were a wonderful, beautiful creation of Eru
Ilúvatar and possessed a multitude of positive
characteristics, he was more than willing to admit that, but they
were simply not very comfortable.
Wood-elves had to be part monkey, he decided only half in jest as he led his horse inside and handed the reins to a stable hand. Or spiders, or woodpeckers – ah, no, maybe not woodpeckers. Rumour had it that there were no more woodpeckers in Mirkwood since they had all been eaten by the black squirrels. It was a claim that was firmly being upheld by Prince Legolas, and no one had until now managed to get a conflictive statement out of Lord Celylith.
The blond commander sidestepped one of the two warriors he had brought with him, waited for him to pass him and made his way out of the stable. How Silvan Elves managed to spend a large part of their lives in trees was not nearly as interesting as the question of just why a ranger would travel to Rivendell alone and in such a hurry. He was as curious as the next elf, and would – to himself, mind you – admit that he had been wondering about that particular question ever since they had encountered the man in the woods.
The ranger in question was still standing outside, a good ten or fifteen yards from the entrance to the stable, and was unhurriedly and methodically unloading his horse. One of his saddlebags was already sitting on the ground next to him, looking dusty and a little worse for wear. He had also removed the quiver and long bow he'd had been carrying on his back and was right now in the process of removing the second saddle bag. The man's dark hood was thrown back, exposing dark hair that reached past his shoulders.
Meneldir hesitated for a moment, curiosity and proper protocol warring inside of him, but in the end the former won. And besides, he reasoned, it would hardly be polite if he ignored his lord's guest and let him unload his horse all by himself, now would it be?
"Can I assist you?" he asked, stepping up next to the man and offering him his most harmless smile. After their experiences in Aberon and Donrag, he had to remind himself that not all of the Second People were like the inhabitants of these towns, and that the attitude that had served him so well there – namely scowling and threatening anybody with violence who would listen – was quite unnecessary in this case.
It wouldn't have impressed the ranger anyway, he reasoned. If the few he had met and Estel were anything to go by, it would take a lot more than a scowling elf to strike fear in the hearts of any of them.
"No, Commander, but thank you," the man replied in the same, polite tone of voice. His Sindarin was accented but still very good, his grammar and vocabulary flawless. "I am quite all right."
Meneldir shifted uneasily – he had never had the
patience for anything resembling diplomacy – and fumbled for
something to say.
"We have not yet been formally introduced, I
believe. My name is Meneldir, son of Celefaer."
The ranger
carefully set down the second saddle bag before he turned towards him
and gave him a slight bow.
"Greetings, Meneldir, son of
Celefaer. I am Haldar, son of Baranor, at your service."
"I am pleased to meet you, Haldar." Meneldir's smile grew more genuine very quickly. "If there is nothing else you need, I suggest we leave your horse in the capable hands of the stable hands. They do not appreciate being kept waiting."
"I have not lived this long by antagonising people with access to as many pitchforks as they want," Haldar told the elf with a smile of his own. "I have everything I need, Master Elf."
He led his horse over to the entrance to the stable and handed the reins over to one of the grooms with a few words of thanks and another courteous bow. In a few seconds, he had returned to Meneldir's side and had gathered his belongings. While the smile was still on his face, his dark eyes were reserved and serious.
"I do not wish to appear overly forward, Commander, but I have my orders. I must see Lord Elrond as quickly as possible. It is a matter of urgency and some importance also, I dare say."
"I understand." Meneldir bowed his head in understanding. "Come with me, please. I will endeavour to discover whether he can see you now."
They turned and hadn't taken more than a few steps into the direction of the main house when a voice made the elf stop in his tracks, calling his name. It was his superior, Meneldir quickly saw, who was striding towards them with large steps. Captain Isál was wearing a slightly wild-eyed expression that most inhabitants of Rivendell were familiar with by now.
"Commander!" the dark-haired elf exclaimed, coming to a stop next to them a few seconds later. "I have been looking for you."
"You have found me, sir," Meneldir answered respectfully, careful not to smile at his captain's expression. While Isál was usually a very fair and cheerful elf, he was also highly stressed at the moment and prone to unpredictable reactions. "May I present Haldar, son of Baranor, a messenger from the Dúnedain, who has come to speak with our lord." He looked at the man. "Haldar, this is Captain Isál, the captain of my patrol."
"My lord." The ranger inclined his head.
"Dúnadan." Isál mimicked his movement. "Welcome to Imladris." He quickly returned his attention to the other elf in front of him. "I met the warrior you sent ahead, Meneldir. Lord Elrond is ready to see our visitor at his earliest convenience."
The two elves turned to look at the
ranger, something that would have intimidated most mortals, but
Haldar only bowed his head again. He was clearly un-intimidated.
"I
am ready when Lord Elrond is, my lords."
"Wonderful." Isál smiled brightly and quite falsely. "Commander, will you show Master Haldar the way? Lord Elrond is in his study."
"Of course, sir," Meneldir acquiesced. Isál smiled again but didn't move from the spot. There was an expression on his face that was quite unreadable, but still rather disconcerting. "Is there anything else, Captain?"
Isál shot the man standing next to the other elf a quick look, but apparently quickly decided that his presence was inevitable. Risking Lord Elrond's wrath for having broken the laws of hospitality would be far worse than whatever was plaguing him at the moment.
"Have you by any chance seen Dólvorn, Meneldir?"
"Lady Gaerîn's brother, sir?" Meneldir asked quite unnecessarily. Isál looked at him in a way that suddenly made the blond elf glad for the ranger's presence, and he swallowed quickly. "No, sir, I have not. I thought he had already left Imladris."
"No, unfort…" The captain interrupted himself and tried again. "No, he has not. Lord Elrohir managed to … reassign… him to the scouting mission leaving the day after tomorrow."
At that particular prospect, Isál beamed like the morning sun that was slowly making her way over the horizon. The dark-haired captain had been almost pathetically grateful when he had heard that Lord Elrohir had indeed managed to ensure that his future brother-in-law would be leaving on a scouting mission for a few weeks. It did pay to have connexions, that much was sure, and not only Meneldir was convinced that, if Lady Gaerîn's and Captain Isál's first child should happen to be male, he would be gifted with the younger twin's name.
Meneldir shuddered at the thought of two Elrohirs running around Rivendell, especially if the new one should take on character traits of the older one.
"Well – no," the blond elf finally said, realising that his superior was still waiting for an answer. "I am sorry, sir. I have not seen him."
"Good," Isál told him, shooting a quick look over his shoulder. "Very good. If you should, you did not see me, understood?"
"Yes, sir." Meneldir nodded obediently. He had got used to such requests by now. "I did not see you, have no idea where you might be, have nothing but the highest respect for you and your immaculate character and nothing but scorn and incredulity for he who would suggest that you are anything but the paragon of virtue, chivalry and moral excellence."
If Isál noticed the irony that tinged
the other elf's words, he did not comment on it.
"Excellent,"
he said. He didn't exactly rub his hands, but it was a close thing.
"I will be going, then. Commander," he turned to nod at the man,
"Master Ranger. It has been a pleasure meeting you."
"Captain." The man nodded back.
With a last, somewhat shaky smile, Isál turned around and was gone. Meneldir watched him go for a few moments before he turned to their guest, an apologetic expression laying itself over his face when he saw the man's questioningly raised eyebrow.
"He is getting married in a little more than fifty days," he said in a manner of explanation.
The ranger only
raised his other eyebrow. Amongst the Dúnedain, it was
apparently unusual to turn into a mental
wreck before one's wedding.
"I …
see."
It was clear that he did in fact not see. Meneldir almost hung his head. That figured; he got to escort a guest to the Last Homely House only to scare him away by exposing him to the madmen who populated their fair valley. Lord Elrond would kill him.
"The captain has been … stressed lately," he tried again. "Trouble with the lady's family," he finished lamely.
This time, the ranger smiled at him.
"I think I
understand what you mean. My mother-in-law wasn't too thrilled
about her daughter's choice in husbands, either. She would have
preferred someone who stayed at home and tended the herds and fields,
I think."
"Understandable." Meneldir nodded while he began to lead the ranger over to the main house. "If you stay long enough, I might tell you the story of how my mother almost married me off to Lady Gaer… a most formidable elleth."
The man's thin smile disappeared as
quickly as it had come and he shook his head.
"I doubt that,
Master Elf. I will deliver my message and, if Lord Elrond does not
require my presence, will depart again as quickly as
possible."
Meneldir gave him a long look but refrained from
asking any more questions.
"I see. More's the pity,
then."
The man looked at him in a way that suggested that he didn't even know half of it, and the blond elf had to force down a shiver that wanted to trickle down his spine. He didn't need to possess his lord's foresight to know that whatever it was that had brought the ranger here, it was bad news indeed.
They remained silent for as long as it took them to reach the house. Meneldir needed some more minutes to track down someone who knew what guest room the man had been assigned – Rivendell's staff was frighteningly efficient that way – and then some more for them to reach it and leave his meagre baggage there. Haldar didn't even want to rest a while or freshen up before seeing Lord Elrond, and Meneldir's internal alarm system began to shrill more insistently. This really, really wasn't good.
In the end, everything had been taken care of and Meneldir was leading the ranger to Lord Elrond's study. Haldar had been in Rivendell a few times before, but never long enough to accustom himself with the main house's wide, sprawling corridors and sometimes rambling layout, and therefore gladly accepted the blond commander's help and guidance. They had just rounded the last corner when Lord Elrond's voice could be heard, sounding somewhere between amused and stern.
"Don't even think about accepting that bet, Elladan. Your brother is not thinking clearly at the moment."
Meneldir could almost see the innocent expression on the older twin's face and had to smile openly even in face of the serious countenance of his companion.
"Of course not, ada," Elladan's voice said, sounding earnest and obedient. "The thought had never crossed my mind."
A snort could be heard and Meneldir quickly saw who had uttered it as they drew nearer to the study: Estel was being led down the corridor by his elven brother and was obviously quite unimpressed by his innocent protestations. The blond elf's smile widened. This was a perfect opportunity to congratulate Estel on the part he had played in composing the by now infamous list Lord Erestor was so careful to hide. He wasn't sure if insulting the elf lord's filing system had been funny, daring or suicidal, but it had been one thing, namely brave.
Meneldir always recognised bravery, even the insane, suicidal kind.
"Estel," he began, quickening his steps and noticing that his companion did the same, "I have been meaning to… Manwë's breath, you look terrible, pen-neth!"
And he did. Estel was pale, red-eyed and grim-faced and looked as if he hadn't slept for ten days only to receive the news that his favourite pet, his favourite tree and his entire family had died. The only thing that seemed to be keeping the young man upright was Elladan's arm that was wrapped around his waist, and he looked at Meneldir out of glazed grey eyes that looked so tired that the elf asked himself immediately if the man used invisible sticks to keep them open. The hated term didn't seem to register in Aragorn's brain, nor did the presence of the ranger that looked at the younger man with an expression on his face that Meneldir, try as he might, could not decipher.
"That he does," Elladan finally answered for his human brother, stopping in front of them and hefting Aragorn's other arm over his shoulder. The man allowed himself to be manhandled in a way that would have had him growling under any other circumstances. "He needs some sleep."
"I dare say he does." Meneldir nodded at his young lord. "Is he all right, my lord?"
A shadow seemed to lay itself over Elladan's face and he looked down on his adopted brother, a strange sadness in his eyes. The man's eyes were slowly sliding closed, no matter how much he fought the process.
"No, Meneldir," the twin said quietly. "No, he isn't. With time and the Valar's grace, however, he will be." He smiled sadly. "His heritage is beginning to show, and once that happens, it doesn't go away."
Meneldir drew the right conclusions and looked at the young man with renewed sympathy. He had often thanked Eru, the Valar, his lucky stars or whoever wanted to listen that there was no one in his family who possessed Lord Elrond's gift, nor did anybody show signs of anything unusual. They were as normal and down-to-earth as elves could be, and no one was happier about it than him. The mere idea of seeing things and places he had no business of seeing, of feeling what other people thought or felt, was enough to make him shiver.
"I see," the blond elf said. "We are on our way to see your father, my lord; will he receive us now?"
Elladan quickly shot the ranger a searching
look, but didn't take the time to greet him properly since Aragorn
was beginning to slide towards the floor.
"I would think so."
He nodded at the ranger. "I am sorry, but I do not have time – or
a free hand, at that – to welcome you to
Rivendell as I ought to. I will make up for it."
"Do not worry, my lord," the ranger said, bowing politely. "There is no need for that. I am but a messenger."
"And my lord and father would have my hide if I failed to show a guest the respect and courtesy he is due," Elladan said wryly. "As I said, I will make good for it later. If you would excuse us now…"
Meneldir only nodded and bowed and stepped to the side, and a moment later the two brothers were moving down the hallway. He turned back to the man at his side who was looking after the two of them, dark grey eyes fixed on Aragorn's retreating form. There was something in his eyes for just a second before it was pushed back behind the protective wall that the man seemed to have erected to keep his emotions in check, and it took Meneldir several seconds to identify it: Fear. Real, stark fear that was subdued and controlled so quickly that the elf wasn't even sure he had truly seen it, but even when Haldar had wrestled it down and hidden it out of sight, dark traces of it still clung to his guarded face, and not for the first time the elven commander asked himself just why the ranger had come to Rivendell. And it wasn't fear of the young ranger – it would have been hard to be afraid of him in the state he was in at the moment – but rather fear for him.
If that look had been on anybody's face but a ranger's when he looked at Estel, Meneldir would have worried. Come to think about it, it also worried him when it was visible on the face of a ranger. Maybe it even worried him especially then.
Resigning himself to spending a worried day, Meneldir sighed inwardly and once again tried to attract the attention of the dark-haired human who was still staring after Estel even though the boy had turned the corner several moments ago.
"Haldar? If you would follow me, Lord Elrond's study is right over here."
The ranger tore himself out of what must have been a fascinating study of the floor tiles of the spot where he had last seen the younger man and shook his head. A sheepish look crossed his face that made him look much younger, and he smiled at the elf in front of him. This time, however, it wasn't a genuine smile, and Meneldir, who had been smiled at by his fair share of politicians and diplomats and knew when someone was smiling at you and meaning it and when not, inwardly narrowed his eyes. Before, it had only been his natural curiosity that had pushed him to discover the motive for Haldar's presence in Imladris; now, his warrior instincts that had served him so well over the past millennia were demanding his attention. This was not good at all.
"Forgive my inattentiveness, Master Elf," the man said courteously while they walked the short distance to Lord Elrond's study. "I was lost in thought."
Meneldir gave the man a calculating look, stopping in front of the large, carved wooden door that led to his lord's study. Protectiveness finally overriding the courtesy towards guests that had been drilled into him since he had been a child, he decided to voice what was bothering him, now before it was too late and Haldar would enter Lord Elrond's study. As Ingvaer, one of his men, had so accurately put it once: Estel might be a bothersome menace, but he was their bothersome menace. He doubted that Haldar, who was one of the boy's own people, meant him harm, but it never paid to ignore a bad feeling, especially if it concerned Estel. And if said bad feeling was proven right, the best course of action was usually running to the twins and telling them everything you knew, because they always found out when you were holding something back.
Always.
"Forgive my bluntness, Haldar, but I feel that I must ask you: What are you doing here?" The man started to say something, but Meneldir raised a hand and cut him off before he had even said a word. "I know that you cannot tell me your mission, and I respect that. That is between my lord and you. I have, however, a different question: Do you know Estel?"
The ranger didn't ask immediately and only looked
at him in a way that Meneldir could not decipher. He finally opened
his mouth to speak, an evasiveness on his face that
seemed almost automatic.
"I know of him."
Dúnedain
could give the Firstborn a run for their money when it came to being
elusive, Meneldir decided darkly.
"Is he the reason why you are
here?"
Haldar gave him a long look, clearly trying to decide
how much he could trust him. Coming from
any other man, it was something that would have insulted the
fair-haired commander considerably.
"Maybe," the ranger
eventually said, his eyes not leaving the elf's. "But, by
Elbereth's stars, I hope that we are wrong."
He would say no more, nor did Meneldir ask him to. After several long seconds, the elf raised a hand to knock on the door and opened it after the soft invitation from inside. Lord Elrond was standing behind his desk, a sombre look on his face as he gazed at the two of them. It certainly looked as if he had known who would be knocking on the door, and also as if he knew he wouldn't enjoy the conversation he was about to be having. Meneldir shivered inwardly. Today was turning out to be one of those days that you were better off spending in your warm bed with your blankets pulled tightly over your head.
"My lord," he still said valiantly. "I present you Haldar, son of Baranor, of the Dúnedain."
"Thank you, Commander," Elrond said with a nod in his direction while Haldar bowed deeply before him. "We have met. Welcome once more to Imladris, son of Baranor. I trust your brother is well?
The man's face darkened as he straightened
up, and this time Meneldir could easily identify the emotions
swirling in his dark eyes: Fear and pain and rage so black that it
would have stolen anyone's breath away.
"That is one of the
reasons why I was sent to Rivendell, my lord. I bring urgent tidings
from my captain."
"I understand." Elrond nodded, looking calm and collected. "That is all, Commander, thank you. You may rejoin your patrol once you have collected your men."
"Yes, my lord," Meneldir said obediently and gave the half-elf a quick bow. "Master Human. It has been a pleasure."
Haldar mumbled something similar, but his attention was almost solely fixed on the tall, dark-haired elf lord standing behind the paper-laden desk. Meneldir turned around without another word, walked to the door and stepped outside. When he turned back around to close the wooden wings of the door behind him, the elf lord and the ranger were still simply looking at each other, and while Haldar's face was inscrutable as always, Lord Elrond looked suddenly … tired.
The
door closed softly and without making a sound, and Meneldir leaned
against the dark wood, trying to bring order into his thoughts. Half
a minute later he pushed himself off and began to walk down the
corridor and into the direction the older
twin had taken mere minutes ago.
Elrond
slowly sat down behind his desk, his eyes not leaving the dark-clad
man in front of him. He wore no weapons save a small dagger at his
belt and his dark grey cloak was pushed
back, a concession to courtesy and to the heat, while the rest of the
clothes was made of durable cloth dyed in dark or green-brown
colours. The face, however, was basically the same he had seen the
last time the ranger had been here, even though that must have been
over twenty-five years ago, shortly before Arathorn's death.
Haldar looked older, though, his face more lined and care-worn even though his hair was still dark and untouched of grey. To Elrond, it seemed as if he had seen the man only yesterday, twenty years barely even registering with him, and the half-elf realised with a small stab of mixed surprise and dread how much older he looked already. 'Valar they age and die so quickly, even the Númenóreans.'
He motioned for the ranger to sit down which he did, looking slightly uncomfortable. Haldar had only been to Rivendell a few times, but Elrond still remembered his intense unease in enclosed spaces, something that must drive his wife and family to distraction or insanity.
"You bring ill tidings, westman."
It was a statement, not a question, and
Haldar could do nothing but nod his dark head in tired, sad
agreement.
"I do, my lord."
Elrond felt how the last, tiny part of him that was still hoping that this was nothing but an unusually sombre formal call shrivelled up and died, and for a moment, he felt every single one of his 6453 years. With a small sigh, he held out a hand, but to his surprise Haldar only shook his head, an apologetic expression on his face.
"I am sorry, my lord, but I have brought you no letter or missive."
Elrond
arched an eyebrow and withdrew his hand.
"That is … unusual.
Very unusual, even."
"Yes, my lord," Haldar agreed. "It was thought prudent to put nothing in writing, after everything that has happened. We would not risk letting that which I have come to tell you fall into the wrong hands."
"And whose hands would that be?" Elrond wanted to know.
The man smiled
mirthlessly.
"If we knew that, my lord, we wouldn't be having
this conversation."
Elrond believed him without hesitation. He did not know what all this was about, but there was a dark light shining in the man's eyes that very clearly said that the owner of said hands would be missing them and a few other major body parts if the Dúnedain were to learn of his identity.
"Tell me your message then, son of Baranor. The Enemy's spies are growing more numerous and cunning with each year that passes, but Imladris is yet safe. No word you speak shall leave this room; you have my word on it."
"I know," the man said, nodding his head earnestly. "You have kept our people's most valuable secret for more than twenty years and many more before it; there is no one we would trust with this more than you."
Elrond gave him a sharp look. Aragorn's identity was a well-kept secret, as the man had said, maybe one of the most well-kept ones Rivendell had ever seen. It was in fact so well-kept that only Elrond, his family (including the Lord and Lady of the Golden Wood, of course) and the council knew about it, and he had personally made sure that the same was the case amongst the Dúnedain. Elrond possessed some power and so did others in his realm, but they were no match for the Dark One should he turn his attention openly towards Rivendell in search of the last of Isildur's heirs. He had twenty-one years ago decided that the only path open to them and Aragorn was complete secrecy, and it was a decision he still stood by.
And to his knowledge, Haldar hadn't been privy to this particular secret, so in his eyes there was only one possibility why he should know it anyway.
"You have seen him?" he asked curtly.
"My captain informed me before I left, thinking that I'd better know everything so I might fully understand the importance of my mission," Haldar explained. "But yes, I just saw him. He looks just like his father."
"Yes, he does," Elrond agreed. "But he has his mother's eyes." The half-elf was silent for a moment before he raised his head again and gave the ranger a slightly milder version of the look. The man wasn't used to it, he reasoned, and there was no reason to scare him away. If nothing else, it would be impolite. "What news are you bringing me, dúnadan?"
Haldar
sighed tiredly, leaning back in his high-backed chair. His eyes
looked dark and old as he gazed at Elrond.
"The Dúnedain
beg your help, Lord Elrond. Any and all information or … hints …
you could give us would be welcome."
"The Men of the West are always welcome in my realm, Haldar. I made a vow to my brother many, many ages ago and later to Elendil whom I called friend, and I will keep it until I no longer draw breath or journey into the West. Until then the Rangers will always find help in these halls." Elrond smiled slightly. "If you would tell me what has happened, however, I would be much better able to aid you."
Haldar bowed his head, a faint, almost imperceptible blush creeping up the sides of his face.
"Forgive me, my lord. That was rather foolish." He took a deep breath. "It started several months ago; we are not completely sure when. Rangers have gone missing, for a lack of better term. At least seven until now, maybe as many as eleven, and all from the area north of the confluence of the rivers. We are reasonably sure that the rest of the Angle has remained quiet, but from Minhiriath we have heard no word. We haven't been able to get news from all of the camps there, but normally the others would have sent word to us if anything like this would have been happening there as well."
Elrond didn't say anything for a few moments, his forehead creased in deep thought. Not all of the Dúnedain were rangers, of course; too large a force would have been impossible to support by a people without a state or a large, stabile community to call upon. There were larger and smaller settlements, some fortified and some not, all over the south of Eriador, even though the vast majority of them were located in what the Men of Bree called the 'Angle': The lands lying between the two rivers Bruinen and Mitheithel. There were also some in what the Rangers called Minhiriath, the lands "Between the Rivers", in this case between the Baranduin and the Gwathló, and some even farther away. This land was far more inhospitable and dangerous than the Angle, though, and so primarily military camps of the Rangers were located there while the rest of the Dúnedain preferred to remain in the Angle and its relative safety or close to it.
The half-elf's frown deepened. Even though the Rangers were fierce and experienced fighters, it was not impossible to imagine them falling prey to illness, accidents or their enemies while they were in their camps beyond the Gwathló or wandering the reaches of Eriador. But seven – or, Elbereth's stars above, eleven! – of them disappearing from practically under his nose, from the Angle where they had their fortified settlements and had settled for centuries?
Ten minutes ago he would have declared it impossible.
"Eleven?" he asked incredulously. "How is that possible?"
"We are not sure." The man shook his head. "Over the past five months, eleven rangers have failed to check in as they ought to have done, all travelling alone. Even considering that some of them might be unable to make contact with us, have passed out of range or are otherwise occupied, seven are most certainly dead. The deaths of two more are likely, and two more have failed to check in with anybody in more than two months. Those two had been meaning to travel to Bree and then on to the Shire while all the others had been stationed in the Angle or in camps located as far to the south as Tharbad, so we believe that they might still be alive."
"Your brother," Elrond said with sudden insight. "He is one of them, isn't he?"
"Yes, my lord," Haldar said tonelessly. "He was supposed to carry some dispatches to the guard at Sarn Ford, but he never reached it. He should have reached the post five days ago at the very latest. The guard there was informed of what is going on and immediately sent word that he had not arrived."
"He might have been held up. Travelling to Sarn Ford can be dangerous at any time of year," the elf lord offered. He didn't look as if he was very convinced of his own words.
"My brother is dead," Haldar said. His voice was devoid of all emotion and sounded hollow more than anything else. "He is sixty-five years old; he isn't some green novice. He has travelled that particular route many times in the past and knows the dangers of it. He would have found a way to send word to us or Sarn Ford, or leave some clues along the way if there had been a reason for him to abandon his mission. There is only one explanation: He is grievously injured or dead. And between being dead and being grievously injured in Minhiriath where there are few human settlements and even less friends there is no difference."
Elrond was silent for a few seconds, finding that he couldn't argue with that logic. As much as he would have liked to believe that Haldar's brother might still be alive, he knew as well as the dark-haired ranger that the chances were slim, if not non-existent.
"What about the others?" he finally asked. "The seven rangers you spoke about, did you find their bodies?"
"Yes," Haldar said grimly. "Parts of them."
"Parts of them," Elrond echoed, disbelief on his face.
"Yes." Haldar nodded. "We found no clue as to who killed them; too much time had already passed when we put the pieces together and sent out search parties."
"Valar," Elrond breathed softly. "Those are ill tidings indeed."
"We do not know what is going on," the ranger went on. "The captains are divided. There are no obvious ties between the dead warriors; they weren't part of the same guard or even the same company. Their families live in different villages and they were stationed in different camps and at different posts. No one knows what is going happening."
"But the captains have a suspicion, do they not?" Elrond pressed the man. "Otherwise you would not have come here so quickly. You know that I would have sent word to you if I had even the slightest suspicion of something like this going on practically under my nose."
Haldar rubbed his forehead and
seemed to slump into his chair, even more than he had done when the
conversation had turned to his missing brother.
"Yes," he
admitted after a few seconds. "Yes, they do. They think that
whoever is doing this is … searching for something, for information
most likely. Or," he paused meaningfully and raised his eyes to
look at Elrond, "for someone. I came to warn you, and my
chieftain."
"No," Elrond shook his head automatically, feeling how his heart dropped into his stomach. "No, it cannot be. Except for your captains and very few other people, no one knows who Aragorn really is. Even after what happened the last time he visited the camps of the Dúnedain…"
"It is not common knowledge amongst the people, no." Haldar shook his head. "Everybody thinks that Arathorn's son died with his parents and that the line was broken. But that doesn't mean that somebody couldn't find out."
"It is impossible," the elf lord declared flatly. "You cannot mean to tell me that the Enemy has learned of my son's identity! Your people would talk no sooner than my council and the few elves beside them who know Estel's true name. He could not have discovered his identity, he simply could not."
"As you said, my lord," the man sighed, "the Enemy's spies grow more numerous and cunning every year. Somebody might…"
"No, Haldar," Elrond interrupted him, all colour having drained from his face. His voice was calm and very steady, and his features set and stony. "If Sauron had learned about Aragorn's identity and whereabouts, he would have sent one of his servants, most likely even one or more of the Úlairi, here to Rivendell. My guards would have noticed something over the past months, I would have noticed something. It is not possible."
"Then, my lord, we have no explanation," Haldar said. "It is as mysterious to us as it is to you. All we do know is that someone or something is killing our warriors, and that we have no idea who it might be or how to stop them."
Elrond looked at the man, still feeling how his heart beat wildly in his chest. The Rangers were a proud people, and, for all their ties to Rivendell, they would not beg his help in this way unless they were convinced that it was the only way. Or, he added grimly, convinced that all this was somehow connected to his youngest son.
And try as he might, he couldn't convince himself that they were wrong.
"How can I help you, then?" he asked. "You have only to ask, you know that. Even if you are wrong and this has nothing at all to do with Estel – and, Eru, how I wish it were so! –, I would do everything in my power to aid you. I honour my promises and keep my vows, and I will not allow my brother's people to be threatened in such a way if there is anything I can do about it."
The man's chin lifted proudly.
"I thank you for your offer, my lord, but the Dúnedain can take care of their own. We will find the ones responsible for the deaths of our people and we will show them what happens to those who threaten the Rangers in such a manner! But," he added with a small, wry smile, "we need information. Whoever is behind this, he is good. We have found no trace, no leads, no trails – nothing. We are stumbling around in the dark while more and more of our people are killed. The captains send me to ask you if you have any information that might be useful to us, any at all. The Rangers are keen-eyed and perceptive, but we are no match for the Firstborn."
Elrond sat back in his chair,
pressing his hands together. His feeling this
morning had been right: Today was turning out to be a horrible
day.
"No reports have reached my ears, Haldar. To my knowledge,
there is nothing unusual going on." Except for Legolas, Aragorn and
the twins attracting the usual chaos, that was. "Nothing that would
explain what you just told me, at least."
Haldar briefly
closed his eyes and exhaled, sadness and disappointment laying itself
over his features before it was pushed back and quickly subdued.
"I
see," he said tiredly. "I thank you, my lord. I shall…"
"I will, however," Elrond went on, holding up a hand, "have Lord Glorfindel call together all the captains and commanders of the border posts, patrols and scouting missions that have returned in the past six months. If there is anybody who knows anything about this, anything at all, we will discover it."
A large smile
spread over the man's guarded face that made him look much
younger.
"Thank you, my lord. I would have
hated to return to my captain with the news of my failure."
"I hope you will not have to," Elrond told him with a small smile of his own. Only somebody who knew him well would have noticed the worry and concern hidden behind it. "It might take several days to get all of them together, though. Have you been shown to your rooms already?"
"Yes, my lord," Haldar said with a nod. "Commander Meneldir was so kind to take me there before accompanying me here. I should be able to find my way."
"Then I suggest we adjourn this conversation until tomorrow. I will see you tonight in the Hall of Fire, I trust?"
It looked as if the
man wanted to decline the offer, but then courtesy seemed to override
exhaustion and the dark cloud of grief and anger that hung over his
head that was almost solid enough so
that one could see it with the naked eye.
"Yes,
my lord. I will be there."
"I am looking forward to seeing you there, then," Elrond told him with nod. Haldar took that for the dismissal it was and stood up, but before the man could leave the room, Elrond spoke up again, his eyes sympathetic. "What about your sister-in-law and the rest of your family, Haldar? How are they coping with your brother's disappearance?"
Haldar, who had
already turned towards the door, stopped dead in his tracks. He
didn't move a muscle for a few seconds before he turned around, his
face carefully expressionless.
"My sister-in-law is a dúnadan,
my lord. She knew the risks when she married a ranger, knew that, one
day, he might not return home. She does her
duty, as did he."
"I am sure she does," Elrond said gently. "But such knowledge does not make a loss like this any easier."
Haldar looked at him, eyes dark and full of pain.
For a moment, he looked as young as he really was in Elrond's
eyes.
"No," he eventually. "No, it never does."
He gave half-elf a bow and turned around, and a moment later he was gone, closing the door softly behind him. Elrond was left alone in his sun-filled study, looking out over the peaceful valley of Rivendell and feeling how darkness crept up on him, a darkness he had been fighting all his life.
The next time he saw Glorfindel he was going to hit him, he decided dazedly. He just had had to say it, hadn't he?
TBC...
ada (S.) - father (daddy)
ion nín (S.) -
my son
elleth (S.) - elf-maid
pen-neth (S.) - young one
dúnadan
(S.) - 'Man of the West', ranger
Úlairi (Q.) - The Nine;
the dark servants of Sauron also known as the Nazgûl
(Ringwraiths)
I
just thought about the whole "dúnadan" thing again.
I mean, when Haldar was talking about his sister-in-law, he says she
is a 'Man' of the West, which of course she isn't. But I couldn't
find any proof that the female form, namely dúnadaneth, was
used at all. So I decided to use "dúnadan" as we
would use "English" or "French". Know anything
about that? •shrugs• Ah well. So, the next chapter will be here
next Tuesday, so stay tuned! Reviews will be considered late
Christmas presents and will be cherished, loved and made into
wallpaper. I'm not kidding you. •g•
Additional A/N:
I apologise to (•anonymous•), Clone Trooper, Kuramagal and Greenleaf's Girl for not including them in my little group email. So, remember, if you leave a review, either log in (and have a valid email address on your profile page) or, if you review anonymously, leave your email address! Thanks a lot, and sorry again!
