(AN: Posted a chapter from another story instead of this one [first time that's ever happened, I'm so embarassed]. So sorry if you get a warning that a chapter had been placed that's not there. This is the real chapter!)
(We meet some new characters [and an OC] here at Rivendell. Also, the future of Arnor [and all of Middle-Earth] is secured in something that happens here.)
Rivendell
3431 S.A.
As they passed into the courtyard of the main hall of Imladris, they were greeted by an Elf lord. Ageless he appeared, neither young nor old, yet his face was written with wisdom and experience beyond even that of many of the Elf-lords of this day. This was Elrond Peredhil, son of Earendil, brother of Elros Tar-Minyatur, leader of the refugees from Eregion and lord of Imladris.
"Mae govannen," Elrond greeted Gil-galad in their ancient tongue, then spoke to all in the Westron. "I saw your coming from afar, and was amazed. Methought the hosts of Beleriand had risen up from out of the sea to pull down Thangorodrim once again."
"Nay, but it is to the bringing down of the realm of his servant that we are come." Gil-galad returned. He then turned and showed those others who were with him. Elrond bowed to Cirdan, but came to a halt before Elendil.
"My lord," the High King of Arnor bowed. To their surprise, Elrond embraced Elendil with open arms, laughing as he did.
"We are kin, you and I," he said. "We need not stand on formalities." At this, Elendil looked surprised. "Do you not know that Elros, whom your people name Tar-Minyatur, was my brother, who chose the Doom of the Edain?"
Elendil returned with a smile.
"Though all the years pass between us," Elendil said. "The Men of Westernesse will never forget our greatest friends, our brothers."
At this, Elrond became grave and took a step back.
"These last few centuries have been proof to the contrary," he said. The shadow then passed, and he looked all them all in turn.
"My friends," he said. "You are welcome to me and my house, as are all Free Folk."
Such was their introduction to Elrond and the House of Rivendell. Here there lived many people of Eregion, refugees from that place when Sauron destroyed it almost two thousand years ago.
The months passed by swiftly, and Ohtar saw very little of Elendil, Gil-galad, Cirdan or Elrond. Isildur also would take secret council with them long into the night, allowing Ohtar to roam about this Homely House off of his duty.
It was on one such occasion, in the golden hours of the afternoon, that he happened to see a group of Elves walking by, singing in their ancient tongue. He was instantly enraptured by the beauty of the music, for it seemed to create in his mind images of Beleriand in its beauty and the great halls of Nargothrond. But it was also filled with sadness, for it lamented great loss: the loss of Valinor, the loss of the Trees and the loss of Beleriand.
"May I help you?"
As soon as the voice had spoken, the vision was gone and Ohtar found himself in the waking world. The Elves were gone, save for one, a lady clad in pale blue, with hair like midnight.
"My apologies, lady," he said. "It seems as though I were in a dream."
"Does it please you?"
"Hmm?"
"The singing of my people."
"Yes," Ohtar responded, but he did not smile. "I think. It is very sad, and filled with memory."
"Such is the way of my people," she returned. "Our eyes have too often been turned to the past, I fear that, for good or ill, the time of the Eldar is drawing swiftly to a close."
"I pray that day never comes," Ohtar said. "The world will be a little more dull without the Elf-kind."
She smiled. "Fair-tongued are the lords of the Dunedain."
"Oh, I'm no lord," Ohtar blushed. "I'm just a servant. Ohtar is my name, and I serve the lord Isildur, prince of Minas Ithil."
"I am Nenwe of Gondolin," she replied.
"Gondolin?" Ohtar queried. "But that cannot be. It was an age ago that it fell along with Beleriand into the sea, or so the lore-masters tell us."
"And so it was," she replied. "Yet I was born in Gondolin and raised in Eregion, which was my home until it was destroyed."
"B-But that would make you over three thousand ye..." He came to a halt, for he remembered that he was blushing. She certainly did not look that old: in fact, if her hair hadn't been pulled back away from her ears, he would have figured her for a Dunedain maid of sixty.
"Such is the life of the Eldar," she returned, a smile on her face. "To us, the other races are but children."
Ohtar always felt young, even now at the age of fifty-one. But this Elf-maid seemed proud of being as old as she was, and vaunted it before this fifty-year-old Dunedain 'child.'
Many more months passed, and the lords continued their planning and the Elven smiths of Eregion made weapons for the soldiers and armor to be matched. The sound of warriors being trained in the gardens and courtyards of Imladris interrupted the usual day sound of song and laughter of the Elves.
"We can train here for as long as you like," Elrond said to the men of Isildur's company assembled before him, for their daily rounds of training. "But it will make little difference. On the battlefield, the orc is your enemy. He will be unpredictable!" He attacked one of the nearest Dunedain, who rose up his shield to defend the blow. It pounded off the beaten wood and sheet metal, but Elrond did not look pleased.
"You move too slow!" he said. "The orcs carry whatever weapons they can get their foul hands upon: one will attack with a sword..." He attacked again. "While another with an ax..." One of the Elven captains at his side joined in the throng, swinging his ax at Ohtar, who ducked to avoid the blow.
"Or the lance!" A spear-wielding Elf charged at a Dunedain, who kicked the spear aside. "Or the hammer!" An Elf with a blacksmith's hammer hit the unbalanced Dunedain in the back with the hammer. It struck the plate and mail, and he was not seriously injured.
"Balance is everything!" Elrond drilled on. "Balance will be your weapon against the enemy. Orcs do not have balance. They have goblins - shorter, quicker and more aggressive. They have black uruks: huge and tall, their armor is thick and their shields broad. They have Men, who will attempt to have some order in their ranks. They are unbalanced. We must face them with balance. A horde of orcs will crash against a well-trained phalanx of Eldar and Dunedain warriors, but not without balance!"
At this, Isildur walked up to the training yard. Elrond bowed with a curt nod, then gave Isildur's warriors back to their lord.
"Off with you, now," he said. "Have your board, you must be starving." One by one they began to disperse. "Ohtar, stay a while." As they left, even Elrond to oversee the other training groups, Isildur brought Ohtar aside to a deserted alcove.
"I need your help," he said.
"Well, I'm at your service, milord." Ohtar returned without question.
"I need you to ride to Annuminas," he said. "Return with my lady Elian."
"But, sire, we are preparing for war. We do not have time for..."
"Preparing indeed!" he exclaimed. "I've been in council with my father and the Elf-lords. They said that we will not be ready for another year or two. They say that patience is the key, that we must wait and build up our strength for our blow against the Enemy."
"Isn't that what prudence demands?"
"Anarion doesn't have time for prudence!" he replied. "The longer we wait, the more forces the Enemy will amass and the more likely it will be that Gondor will be over-run. Will we destroy our Enemy only to find our kingdoms in ruin upon our return?"
He sighed.
"As long as we're here, waiting to be ready," he said. "Might as well bring my Elian here. She would enjoy this place. It's perfect for anything, for food, sleep, story-telling, singing, or just sitting and thinking...or-or a pleasant mixture of them all!"
Ohtar smiled. "You seem smitten with this place."
"Ah, it reminds me of fair Ithilien!" His face fell at these words. "How my heart aches to think that, without Minas Ithil, that fair land will be at the mercy of our Enemy."
"My lord," Ohtar said, placing his hand upon his lord's shoulder. "My lord's brother, King Anarion, is a worthy lord, and Osgiliath is the greatest city of Gondor..." He then thought differently. "...apart from Minas Ithil."
"Nay, my friend, but you are right. For the Queen of Gondor's cities is indeed greater and fairer than even her maid-servant, Minas Ithil."
"Still, I have every hope that Anarion will hold the armies of Mordor at bay."
"Still," Isildur returned. "I would this small favor. If we are to be here for a long time, I would care to have my Elian with me." He sighed. "Elrond has said that Imladris has not fallen to an enemy, nor will it. She will be safest here."
That night, Ohtar saddled his horse and rode out of Imladris in secrecy. No need to sound the trumpets to say that a servant was going west to bring the beloved of his master to this place. He clad himself in a dark green cloak, the color of the woods, and rode in travel gear, with a sword and bow upon his person as his only armament. Then again, he was always better with the bow, so that was really all he needed. But arrows made poor blades, and it might just come to blows, should the worst happen.
He came to the waters of the Bruinen river, whose course had much lessened of late. The arrival of Gil-galad, it seems, had put the waters to rest for the time being. Thanking the Valar, Ohtar rode over the shallow ford and continued on his way.
Suddenly he became aware that he was being followed. With skill and speed second only to that of an Elf-lord, he drew his bow, fitted an arrow upon the string, bent the yew wood back and let a shaft loose directly behind him. There was a cry, but not the sound of an orc receiving a wound.
It was a woman's voice.
Drawing out his sword, Ohtar leaped off his horse and tried to follow his arrow, as best he could in the dark. He did not have to go far, for the light of a torch was coming from a wooded area near the ford. Here he saw a horse, standing at the side of a tree quite impatiently. It's rider was clothed in a gray cloak that faded between gray, green and the color of tree bark. It was also pinned to the tree by Ohtar's arrow.
"My apologies, lady!" Ohtar said earnestly. "But it is not safe to be wandering out in darkness." He removed the arrow from the tree and out of her cloak.
"No more safe it is to be deserting."
He knew that voice.
"You!"
"I have a name, you know." she returned. "I suggest you use it, coward."
"Watch your tongue, Elf!" he turned his sword in her direction. "I am on an errand for my lord and am no coward!"
"Indeed?" she asked. "One that takes you away from your lord in the middle of the night, fleeing from Imladris under cover of darkness?"
"Yes," Ohtar said. "I am in haste. Return to your master or stay out of my way. I must complete this task."
He leaped back atop his horse and rode on through the darkness, his mission and charge still ahead of him.
Daylight dawned over the Troll-shaws. Ohtar was asleep against a tree, his cloak wrapped about his body for warmth. His horse stood nearby, grazing off the grass. There was no sign of the Elf-lady, at least none that his skills could discern.
He awoke, as per natural for those who are day-dwellers. Though his time of travel must needs be the night, so that he could be awake and alert to defend himself against those creatures that roam in the night. For trolls were not the only dangers here in these lands.
Regardless, he rode on through the land and came to Amon Sul in three days time with no opposition. He told the captain left in charge of Amon Sul to send any available troops to Imladris while he rides north-westward to Annuminas.
After four days of riding, the whitened walls of Annuminas looming over the grey lake of Evendim rose up on the horizon. Ohtar's heart lifted at the sight of the capital. With renewed haste, he rode through the city streets and made his way to the palace. To any who attempted to halt his advance, he said only thus:
"I am in haste, on an urgent mission for the Lord Isildur. Let me pass!"
At last he came to the quarters of Her Lady Elian, queen of Minas Ithil. He pushed the doors open and knelt before the lady.
"My lady," he began. "I bring news from my lord Isildur, prince of Minas Ithil, your lord and husband." He panted lightly as he spoke. "Tell your maids to get your things in order, for we shall depart at once for the refuge of Imladris."
"Is Arnor in danger?" she asked, whispering to Ohtar so as to not alarm her ladies.
"In these times," Ohtar replied. "I know not which place is spared from becoming a frontier of this war." He then spoke up. "But my lord Isildur wish your presence in Imladris at once."
She nodded. "I will prepare at once."
In a short time, the lady of Ithil and three of her maids were prepared. A wain they commissioned, along with a lady's carriage: into the first went their belongings and the lady's dresses and into the carriage the lady and her servants. Ohtar led the carriage, which was driven by an old gray-beard, while the wain was driven by a guard from the city.
Now the difficult part would come. Three days from Annuminas to Fornost Erain, then about a day's march to Amon Sul and six days to Imladris meant that a march of ten days lay ahead of them. Ohtar knew that Isildur had one of the Stones - perhaps the Ithil stone (was that why he ran back into the City while it was besieged?). If he could only use it, Ohtar mused, then perhaps he would not have cause for nervousness.
They met with no resistance on the road to Fornost Erain, nor at Amon Sul. They changed their horses at the stables for fresh ones, save for Ohtar. His horse, named Turin after the ancient champion of men, was of noble stock and did not tire easily.
That evening, the shadows were growing long and they were on the road, with trees overhanging their path.
"Milord!" the old man said to Ohtar. "We should stop for the night."
"Not here," Ohtar called back. "We're not out of troll-country. If we stop here, we might be way-laid."
"So what shall we do, then?" the old man queried. "I'm not used to sleeping at day and riding at night."
"We keep going," Ohtar insisted. "We have to clear these trees. It will be harder for trolls to escape the sun on the open moorlands between here and the Bruinen. There we can rest in p-"
Before he could continue, a tree suddenly fell down in the road before them. Turin neighed nervously, and Ohtar looked to his sides. He hadn't noticed that it was later than he had thought it to be: the sun had already gone down far behind the Ered Luin in the west.
The roaring of trolls sounded from the trees. Ohtar knew that they were trapped.
"To arms!" he alerted the elder and the wain-driver. "Protect the carriage at all costs!"
Suddenly, another something came growling from the right. Ohtar was thrown from off Turin's back as a wolf leaped on the carriage, knocking the old man off just as he was taking out his sword. A hideous snarl came from the wolf, followed by the old man's cry for help. Drawing his own sword, Ohtar drove it through the wolf's body.
Just then, a boulder grazed his armor and he fell forward. The trolls were advancing. One of them had turned over the wain, looking to see if there was anything of value inside. The other had picked up the old man by the leg and was picking him up for the kill. Ohtar struck out, but his sword broke against the stone-hard hide of the troll's legs. A kick from the stubby, toe-less foot sent him back to the ground.
An arrow came out of nowhere, striking the troll in the throat. Then another and another, flying fast as hail, always aiming for the head of the troll closest to the carriage. One arrow pierced its eye, and it sent the beast flailing about. One of its large hands nudged the wagon, which was enough to tip it on its wheels, almost sending it over. But the troll was now stumbling back toward the trees. The other one, as if in fear, ran off, abandoning his comrade.
Ohtar rose to his feet as their rescuer appeared.
"It's not like the Dunedain," Nenwe said. "To be caught off their guard like that."
"You again?"
"I just saved your life," she said. "And the best you have to say is 'You again'?"
"My apolo..."
"Your apologies, I know." she returned. "They're not needed."
"You were following me?" Ohtar queried.
"Elrond's orders," she began. "He has the gift of foresight. He said that your mission was of the greatest importance, that the fate of Middle-earth clung to the success or failure of your task. I'm here to see that it succeeds."
"My thanks," he nodded. "Though if I had known that you were so armed, I would have spoken less harshly before."
"It is not banned that women should learn to bear arms," Nenwe said as she lowered her bow and approached them. "But neither is it taken lightly that women should enter battle. We are the healers and life-givers of our people: to lose us is a greater loss than the loss of a single man. For if the sons of Feanor would have slain Elwing in their siege of Doriath, neither you nor I would be here today, and the race of Numenor would not exist."
Ohtar was stunned at the enormity of this situation. Their whole existence, it seemed, depended on such small, seemingly trivial things as whether this person survived or no. It seemed too great a burden for mortals to make, to decide who gets to live and who must die in order for the greater order of things to be achieved. It belonged to none, or, if anyone, to Eru Illuvatar.
In the morning, they journeyed on. Nenwe rode ahead with her bow and Ohtar took the carriage. The old man, having been mauled by the wolf, he buried on the side of the road beneath a pile of stones. The wain-driver was unscathed, and continued with them on their journey.
As they approached the Bruinen, they saw that it was raging once again. Ohtar knew not how they could get across. He was not familiar with this land and knew not the way to the fords, nor had he the power to command the River to stay its course and allow their passing.
To his surprise, he saw a man sitting by the river's edge, whistling to himself a merry tune. The fellow's clothing was quite outlandish: a hat with a single feather in it, a bright blue jacket and two mud-caked yellow boots upon his feet.
"I say, adar," Nenwe greeted. "What brings you here?"
"Huh? Oh, there ye are!" he said, laughing as he rose from his spot. "I've been lookin' for ye now for a fair while."
"Is that why you are outside of your own land?" Nenwe continued.
"Quite right, milady," the gentleman bowed. "But other things bring ol'Tom away from Goldberry and the Withywindle. Things are changing in the world down south. Good, harmless creatures are bein' turned over ta' dark wickedness. But I'm nay fighter, just a keeper."
"Who is this?" Ohtar asked, stepping down from the carriage and approaching Nenwe.
"Show respect!" Nenwe hissed, then spoke aloud again. "This is Iarwain-ben-Adar."
"Old Orlad?" Ohtar queried, recognizing the name. "But I thought he was just a legend, some hermit living in these lands back when it was all but a forest."
"Legend?" Orlad laughed. "Heh! I've been here a'fore the first ships, a'fore the seas was bent, a'fore the west-lands was lost, and ol'Tom'll be here once the grass grows long over your barrow, sonny. I am the Master, after all."
"If you are the master," Ohtar said. "Can you make us a path to cross through this river?"
"Loudwater, here?" He pointed to the river. "Oh, why didn't ye say so in the firs' place?" He stood up and, to Ohtar's surprise, began singing to the river.
Loudwater, calm your wrath
Hold, for none but friends pass
Into your wells and cisterns go
Till elven voices bid you flow
At once, the flow of the river began to lessen, until, once again, there was a path for the wains to carry them across the river.
"Many thanks, Orlad!" Ohtar smiled.
"T'was nothin'," he shook his head. "Off with ye, now. Ye'll find no dangers on the road to Rivendell now. Stars guide your path an' all. Can't take ye all the way, Tom has his house to mind, and Goldberry is waiting!"
With a tip of his hat, he danced off into the woods, singing and laughing as he went.
(AN: Good ol' Orlad, who never made it up to Peter Jackson's standards of acceptability [but nulling the valiant sacrifice of the men of Gondor and Rohan by making the Dead Men of Waw show up to the Battle of Pelennor Fields was okay].)
(Yes, it was crucial to the fate of Middle-earth that this mission be carried out. For those who have the book, look at the genealogies of the Kings of Arnor and the Chieftains of the Dunedain: you will see why it was important.)
(As for the trolls, as I said before, the Silmarillion said that all races, even of birds and beasts, were divided, with some on the Alliance and some for Mordor [only the Elves were solely for the Alliance]. I had to make a way for the trolls to be both evil and "neutral good". They were afraid of the great host, and gave them a 'peace offering' as a way of saying 'leave us alone'. But these trolls were under Sauron's control and so attacked. Sorry, no Olog-hai until the Third Age.)