LOTR and its world belong to JRR Tolkien, to whom we are all indebted as writers of fantasy and dreamers of elves, goblins and golden rings.
And Autumn Came
Chapter One: Of Visions and Nightmares
No one ever told me that grief felt so much like fear—CS Lewis
The rumblings of a retreating storm bid farewell to the wet August dawn. Shallow puddles littered with leaves collected in between the cracked marble slabs, and a cold breeze slipped through the broken colonnade taunting a cluster of delicate, yet wild, lilies huddled around the base of a headless statue. Each year the vines inched nearer, methodically erasing history.
A narrow soot colored feline sprang atop the cracked pedestal, ignorant of its etched lettering, and looked down at the rotting oak felled by lightening years before. Raising a gray paw to his lips, he turned his attention to the doorway. As anticipated, a pair of tiny brown eyes peeped around the splintered doorframe and the fastidious predator hurled himself to ground in pursuit. The habit prone mouse tore over the mossy marble and scampered across the rotten tapestries, smashed furniture and moldy books—the dwarf vandals had used water to loosen the mithril embellishments from the leather bindings. Wet paws trampled through faded stories of ancient battles, a sketch of an unfinished fountain and a somber list of 'letters left to write.' The mouse doubled back and skirted along the warped edge of a tottering bookcase, behind him the cat scattering the debris as he pounded across the shelves. With a mighty leap the rodent flung himself from the bookcase to the windowsill. The hungry cat disappeared through the broken glass and the bookcase crashed to the floor.
His eyes snapped open and his hand clutched at the pounding in his chest. Frantically, he bolted upright and struggled to slow his breathing—as if oxygen might dispel the dark vision. The cold marble stung his feet and he pulled his long velveteen robe around his shoulders. With time, the pounding in his chest abated and he drew his shaking hands to his face. Pressing his thin fingers into his temples, he allowed a labored sigh to escape his lips.
A scattering of stars graced the dark blue canopy of the early morning. A disoriented mockingbird sang out in the darkness and in the distance a small dog barked. The isolated garden received the master of the house warmly and Elrond sank down on the top of the steep stone steps. "Glory, do you ever sleep?"
"I can't say I do." Glorfindel filled his glass with red liquor and toasted the dark haired elf with the near empty bottle. Reluctantly, Elrond accepted his friend's offer and prayed that the potent alcohol might vanquish the shadows and hasten the dawn. Glorfindel chuckled and raised the bottle to his lips. "You seem to be developing some of my bad habits."
"I do not plan on making sleepless nights part of my routine, nor do I wish to incorporate toasting the moon, stars and dawn with any sort of regularity." Elrond held the glass at arm's length hoping that the new perspective might yield a secret or two concerning the sour liquor's origins. "This is terrible."
"I know." Glorfindel shrugged. "But I didn't want it to go to waste. A ranger gave it to me. It was a token he received from a traveler passing through Lake-town and, considering the noxious taste, the traveler probably stole it from a band of destitute orcs who in turn stole it from dwarves." He laughed at his own creativity. "Tell me, why are you awake? I know it is not for my early morning wit."
"I had a dream that I know someday will come to pass." Elrond let the mockingbird respond before continuing. "Do you ever have such visions?"
"No, my friend, I have been blessed and am not troubled by premonitions." He took a final somber gulp and set the bottle at his feet before leaning back on his bony elbows. "Nightmares always, but only of things past." His smile vanished with the words and then returned with a wink. "Per chance it was no more than a vivid dream, a by-product of rich food and old age."
Elrond set the empty glass on the step and made certain that it was balanced before taking his hand away. Glorfindel had a habit of bringing back the finest and oldest crystal in the house in shards and Elrond wished not to contribute to his delinquency. "You may be right."
"Probably not, my lord. Tell me of your vision and I will attempt to translate it in such a way as to send you back to your bed chamber."
He debated articulating his dream. "I saw the end of this world. I smelled the decay. I felt the sadness. We were gone—dead to this place, but my heart lingered. The years will grow darker from now until that day comes." He looked sideways at his friend. "Translate it, Glory, tell me that it was an excess of tarts and brandy that burned such an image into my mind."
"I doubt you'll be easily swayed, my lord. All beings have your dream. All things end, it is only natural. For every summer there is a winter and for every spring there is an autumn. It is the way of time."
Elrond wished not to give any more words to his visions. "Fair enough, Glory." He patted Glorfindel's shoulder and got to his feet mindful of the crystal goblet. The tension faded in his eyes. "I pray Celebrían returns swiftly from her journey, then perhaps I shall not be inclined to eat so richly and you will not have me disturb your meditations with my anxieties."
Glorfindel rose and steadied himself before bowing. "My lord, your anxieties are the anxieties of your people. As always, I am grateful that you value my word and know, my lord, that I shall stand beside you into the darkest days of the winter and your love Celebrían shall be at your side throughout the autumn."
A painful smile touched his lips as he nodded. For once he did not believe his friend's counsel. "I pray that it is so."