(Everything belongs to JRR Tokien and I am only jumping down the cracks in his narrative.)

DECISIONS

"Good evening, Adar." Elrohir stepped out onto the terrace.

One last glance to the south, and Elrond turned to smile greeting to his son. "You returned early. Where is your brother?"

"I left Elladan in the stables. I thought you would like to have this as soon as possible. Gildor brought it from Bree and we met him upon the road." He held up a small folded square of cream paper, sealed with red wax.

Elrond accepted it, noting that it bore the stamp of the Shire post office, and was addressed in a firm hand to "Master Elrond, c/o the Prancing Pony, Bree". The seal bore an acorn. "I see that Frodo's hand is much improved at least."

Elrohir helped himself to a glass of ginger cordial, offering another to his father. "I assumed it was from him. Does he say anything of import? I understand that things are more settled in the Shire nowadays."

Elrond took a sip, before sliding a finger beneath the flap of the envelope to crack the seal. For a few moments he studied the missive within, then set it aside to take up his glass once more. Elrohir raised a brow that so clearly echoed his father, that Elrond was forced to hold back a smile before offering, "He asks when I will be passing through the Shire."

"He has made his decision, then?" Elrohir would not meet his father's gaze.

"It seems so. I had hoped that returning to the peace of his home would bring further healing, but he says it has not. He sees his only hope in the West."

Still, Elrohir studied his half empty glass. "And have you decided? Will you sail this year?"

For some moments Elrond was silent, studying his son's face. "Your sister has conceived her first child this night. The line of Elendil continues."

Now Elrohir looked up, his eyes filled with joy. "Will you stay, then, until the birth?"

Elrond shook his head, returning again to plumb the southern sky. "No. Arwen has now sealed her fate. She will remain here, to renew the mortal line of my brother and the kings of Numenor. I will join your mother in the lands of our people."

"Do you see her future, then?" Elrohir looked to his father's hand, where Vilya was now worn openly upon his finger.

"Only dimly. Our paths diverge with every hour, and it is not given to me to know the fate of men."

Elrohir stepped closer to touch his father's shoulder. "She is still your daughter, Adar. Will you not see her safely delivered?"

Still Elrond looked to the southern horizon, and his son saw the shimmer of tears in soft grey eyes. "And will I stay for the next child, and the next? Perhaps you would have me stay to see her grand children and their children? No. I must leave now, or I will stay, as I have already stayed for these many generations of men. The time of the elves is ended and men must be free to make this land wholly their own."

Elrohir turned away. "Let me know when you have written your letters. I will carry them myself, to Bree and to Minas Tirith."

"There will be but one letter. I have already said my goodbyes to Arwen and I would not re-open that wound for her."

"I will visit my sister, nonetheless. I am yet half-elven," Elrohir replied firmly, to his father's straight back.

Elrond's voice followed him into the room. "That is a decision you and your brother have yet to make. All I ask is that you are not be too hasty in your choice."

His reply was the sound of a closing door.