The Game Begins
[Language of the Istari]
The old man blinked. Storm clouds erupted above him, rain lashed down on the barren landscape. Certainly it was the place for a decrepit old mortal to be.
But he was no mortal, and most definitely not a decrepit. He had arrived in Middle-Earth at the beginning of the Third Age, when many had thought that the shadow upon the world had been vanquished, and their watch slept. He knew he would not leave until the end of his task, whether he succeeded or failed. Yet, with all the power at his disposal, the Maia still felt the stiff muscles and aching joints of the body given to him.
At that moment, however, Gandalf (as he was called around these parts) was troubled. He had known that Sauron of old had not been destroyed, and upon arriving on the shores of this land he had felt faint whispers of his malice. Elrond Peredhil had told him that Isildur had failed, and that the Ring of Power survived still, though none knew where it was. And lately Sauron's whisperings had grown stronger, more persuasive. 'Ere long he would show himself. And highest on Gandalf's list of suspects is the Necromancer in Dol Guldur. Yet Saruman the White had assured him that Sauron was 'harmless' as long as the One remained lost.
Sometimes he felt that Saruman was getting increasingly arrogant nowadays.
But it wasn't Saruman that he was concerned about, either. What bothered him was that he could feel another evil, another power adding his whispers to the winds. And now it challenged him. Forbidden to fight power with power (for such a battle would only tear apart the whole of Arda), the struggle for Middle-Earth had become an intricate board game, somewhat resembling draughts. They had their own intricate set of rules, the most prominent of which concerns the use of their 'pawns'. Gandalf didn't like thinking of them as thus, though, for unlike his opponents he had personally met many of his key 'pawns'.
Who are you? Obviously, no reply came.
He had little choice but to accept. Gandalf had no doubt that this new player ultimately worked for Sauron, yet he wished he knew who the player was; it was easier to anticipate and counter the Enemy's moves if you knew whose hand was moving the pieces. And this new player had the advantage of knowing that it was Gandalf the Grey that he played against.
No matter now. The board had been set, and the pawns placed. In his mind's eye, the wizard saw fair Rivendell, and the crucial pieces he had there.
The game begins.
Attend.
~*~
[Sindarin]
Gilraen walked slowly through the living garden of Rivendell. Many elves took refuge in its cleansing beauty, and around her flowers bloomed with health and birds sang gladly. It was a place for healing.
But the beauty was lost on the woman. Reduced to a shadow of her former self by the death of her husband, Gilraen could only remember a time in her youth when the world was wondrous and she could still smell its sweet scent. It felt like those memories belonged to another one, from another time. Now, despite her youth, at times she would feel tired of life, weary of drawing the breath. Still, she had been a very stubborn young woman once, and though death came for all her race, she wasn't quite ready abandon the world of the living just yet.
"Ai!" A splash from a pond nearby got her attention, and she smiled. Elrohir grinned at her through his drenched and pond-weed filled hair. "Good afternoon, Gilraen!"
"Hello Elrohir. And Elladan," she added, spotting the older twin in the branches of a tree beside the pond. Elladan wore the exact same grin. "What are you two up to today?"
"Just… exploring the treetops," said Elrohir, getting out of the shallow pond.
"If you say so," she picked some of the pond-weed from the elf's hair. "Incidentally, I saw a flock of anxious elf-maidens scurrying around near the library. They seem to be wondering where Lord Elladan was. I had to convince your father that I would find you myself; he was ready to take them to the Bow to get some peace and quiet in the library."
Elladan grimaced. "Elbereth, why me?"
"There is a certain charm to being the married to the heir of Elrond of Rivendell," said Elrohir. "I am sorry to disappoint you, brother, but you aren't that good looking."
"I know, I only have to look at you to know."
"Elflings," Gilraen had a warning note in her voice. "I suggest you go to the Bow and stay there, for as soon as I get back to the House all the maidens in Rivendell will be scouring the Gardens for you."
The Bow was the brothers' favourite hideout, deep in the Rivendell woods amongst the higher trees. Gilraen didn't know where it was, but knew that if one couldn't find Elladan, Elrohir or Estel (and occasionally Glorfindel), they would be there. She suspected that Elrond had his own hideout, known only to him and Erestor, for the two elves were capable of disappearing for hours on end.
"Thank you, Gilraen," the twins beamed at her, before dashing off to their hideout. At one point in her 17 years of living in Rivendell, Gilraen had taken it upon herself to look out for the twins' well-being. Not that they really needed a substitute mother, but she was of the opinion that an all-male household virtually invited disaster. And as much as they missed their mother, the twins welcomed her ministrations.
"Just be back for dinner, or your father will have your hides!" she called after them. It had been a bit awkward at first when she was new-come to the Peredhil family, but over time she had become part of the picture, like a favourite aunt.
She turned her thoughts to Estel. Sadly, she knew that her son would always see his father as Elrond, not Arathorn. In almost every sense of the word, he was Elrond's son. In time the elf lord would tell him his heritage, and give him the name Arathorn and Gilraen had given him at birth, but to his dying day, in his heart, he would always be Estel, son of Elrond Peredhil. Gilraen had known her son's destiny the day he was born, her foresight warning her of the dark road before him, and the fact that ere long she would no longer be beside him.
Arathorn, you would have been proud of him.
~*~
[Westron]
"You understand what you have to do?"
"Yes, my Lord."
"You know the price of failure."
"Yes, my Lord."
"Remember, it is the heir that I want dead. Do not fail me."
~*~*~
