Imladris Revisited

By: DLR 2002

Disclaimer: I solemnly swear I am not making any money off this.

Elrond/OFC

Rated:PG

Chapter  31

Elrond and Aragorn watched Hilmrod as he brought the edge of the sword against the grinding wheel. 

The sparks flew as he pumped the foot pedal, moving the edge of the blade up and down.

"One would not know it was the same sword," murmured Elrond.

The new blade was much more ornate than the old one, bringing to mind the great weapons forged in Gondolin many an age ago.

"Yes," Aragorn agreed, "the rebirth of Narsil is reminiscent of a phoenix, rising from the ashes.  It is like a great fire."  He paused.  "I name it Andúril, flame of the west."

They stood a moment in silence.  Elrond laid his hand on his foster son's shoulder. " May it prove to be worthy of the hand who wields it."

Aragorn put his hand on top of Elrond's.  "The hand who wields it owes everything to the Lord of Imladris."

Elrond's grey eyes grew sad and distant.  "Nay, not everything.  Your lineage and inheritance come not from me, but from my brother Elros, first king of Númenor.  I am merely guardian and preserver, keeper of lore so that all is not forgotten."

Aragorn turned to face him.  "You are much more than that to me.  You are the father I never knew."

"I doubt that I have lived up to all the esteem you regard me with," said Elrond, sadly. "I knew not how to be a good father; I had no teacher, no guidance."

"How can you say that?"   Aragorn had tears in his eyes.  "You have been one strength in my life, especially since the passing of my mother. You are the only one that has always been there for me. You raised me and treated me as your own son.  Although, "he added, smiling ruefully, "we have not seen eye to eye on at least one issue lately."

"Ah, yes," said Elrond, greatly moved.  "That is a subject for another time."

Aragorn put both of his hands on Elrond's shoulders.  "I did not know my father.  But I did not miss him, because you were there."  He paused and took a deep breath.  He then turned to Elrond again.  "Could I have leave to address you as Adar?"

"There is nothing that would please me more," answered Elrond, tears in his own eyes.  "I only wish you had asked years ago."

"I wished to, "said Aragorn, "but I was far too much in awe of you then."

"And now?"

"Now," replied Aragorn, "I simply love you, Adar."

Elrond closed his eyes.   At that moment he felt a large piece of the pain he had carried inside himself for so long, heal and disappear, at last.

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Many members of Elrond's household came out to watch the Company leave.  It was cold and growing dark.  Those who were waiting on the steps were shivering, in spite of the warm clothing they wore.

During these last few days Elrond had spoken with each member of the fellowship in turn, alone in his study, giving words of advice, searching their hearts, strengthening their resolve.

He stood now, on the step in front of Frodo.  "Namárië,* Frodo Baggins," He lay his hand on the hobbit's brow.  "Nai tiruvantel ar varuvantel i Valar tielyanna nu vilya."*

Elrond turned to Gandalf and embraced him quickly.  "Mithrandir," he began, and then froze, looking into the wizard's eyes.

"What is it, Mellon-iaur?" Gandalf asked quietly, as Elrond continued to stare at him, his eyes wide with shock.

"Adar," whispered Arwen, concerned.  Elrond shook himself free of his daze.

"What?" persisted Gandalf. 

"It was nothing," said Elrond quickly.

Gandalf snorted.  "I do not believe that for a minute."

Elrond made an effort to smile.  "It was unimportant," he repeated, and then he looked at Gandalf.  "Gwanno ned sîdh."*

Elrond turned quickly to Aragorn and embraced him in silence, all of their parting words having been spoken earlier, in privacy.

Aragorn regarded Elrond for a moment, and then moved his eyes to Arwen, holding her gaze for a short while.  He then turned his back to the house of Imladris and led the Company into the deepening dusk.

Elrond stood still, silently watching them depart as the rest of his household retreated inside to the warmth.

Culurien put her arms around his waist and laid her head on his shoulder.  Elrond absently stroked her hair, winding it through his fingers.

"What did you see?" she whispered. 

Elrond did not answer immediately.  "You really do not wish to know."

"It was that bad?"

"Indeed."

"About Mithrandir?"

"Yes," he whispered.

She looked up at him.  "Perhaps you should have stopped him from going."

"Foresight of the future does not give one the power to change it.  One's destiny will prevail by one means or another."  He paused, deep in thought.

"Does he die?" 

"He falls into darkness and is lost to the company," Elrond replied, "but I have no sight behind the shadow and all is very hazy.  There is much of this vision that confuses me.  I will need to think on it a while."

"What is confusing?"

"Mithrandir is an Istar, a Maia," * said Elrond, frowning.  "It is not easy to slay one, perhaps even impossible.  He would have to be stripped of his power first, and then perhaps, it could be done."

"Who could take his power away?" Culurien asked.  "Saruman?"

"Nay, Saruman may be a more powerful Istar, but Mithrandir holds Narya, the Ring of Fire.  That would give him an advantage I think.  Any of the Valar, certainly, could do it, but there are none here in Middle-earth."

"Sauron?  Perhaps he?"

Elrond frowned.  "Nay, much of his power resides in the One Ring. Even should he regain it, I do not think he would have the strength for that."

"Maybe he does not die," Culurien said, hopefully.

"Maybe."  Elrond smiled, comforting her.

They turned and walked over the threshold, into Imladris, their refuge.  Elrond closed the heavy front door, locking out the ever deepening darkness of the world outside.

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*Farewell.

*May the Valar protect you on your path under the sky.

*Depart in peace

*Wizard, Holy one.