Chapter Eighteen: Imladris
Written by Carithawen
Writer's notes: A pleasant mixture of the original script, extended version, and a small pinch of my own stuff. : )
Frodo stirred in his large bed, finally waking after a long moment. Ah… back in the Shire on his own bed… Or so he wished, for when he looked around, he found the surroundings to be quite different than that of the Shire. "W-Where am I…?"

"You are in the House of Elrond," an old yet familiar voice answered him. "And it is ten in the morning, on October the 24th, if you want to know…"

Frodo turned his head in the direction the voice was coming from. "…Gandalf?"

"Yes, I'm here," replied the Istari, who was seated in a chair next to the side of the bed. "And you're lucky to be here, too… A few more hours and you would have been beyond our aid… but you have some strength in you, dear hobbit." He finished with a gentle grin.

But Frodo wanted answers. "What happened? Why didn't you meet us?"

The wizard only nodded slowly. "I am sorry… I was delayed…" He looked somewhat distant, as if he was thinking about something else.

"Gandalf…? What is it…?"

Gandalf replied with another grin, this one showing relief. "Nothing…"

Just as the young hobbit was about to utter something else, Samwise Gamgee ran into the room, and straight to Frodo's bedside. "Bless you, Frodo, you're awake!"

Frodo beamed with sudden happiness, as Gandalf continued. "Sam has hardly left your side…"

"We were that worried about you," Sam said, "weren't we, Mr. Gandalf?"

Gandalf nodded. "And, thanks to the skills of Master Elrond…" His eyes traveled up to observe the person that had just approached them. "…You are beginning to mend."

Frodo's eyes followed his to rest on the face of a male Elf, who was clothed in wealthy garb. Despite his long, jet-black hair, Frodo could see that he was no longer youthful. The hobbit was well prepared for the gentle, firm and deep, voice that spoke. "Welcome to Rivendell, Frodo Baggins."

* * *

Not long after, Frodo was reunited with his other hobbit companions, and soon dear old Bilbo, of whom he went with towards his lodgings to further discuss his book and catch up on long time passed.
Elrond observed Frodo from the balcony of the Last Homely House, turning towards the wizard and Elf maiden that were inside. "His strength returns."

Gandalf nodded. "That wound will never fully heal. He will carry it the rest of his life."

Elrond glanced at Carithawen before continuing. "And yet, to have come so far, still bearing the Ring, the Hobbit has showed extraordinary resilience to its evil."

"It is a burden he should never have had to bear," Gandalf replied. "We can ask no more of Frodo."

The Elf lord's eyes moved from Carithawen to Gandalf. "Gandalf, the enemy is moving. Sauron's forces are massing in the East. His eye is fixed on Rivendell. And Saruman, you tell me, has betrayed us. Our list of allies grows thin…"

"His treachery runs deeper than you know… By foul craft Saruman has crossed Orcs with goblin-men. He's breeding an army in the caverns of Isengard. An army which can move in sunlight, and cover great distance at speed. Saruman is coming for the Ring."

"This evil cannot be concealed by the power of the Elves. We do not have the strength to fight both Mordor and Isengard!" Gandalf's eyes lowered in thought as he wandered off onto the balcony. Elrond's gaze followed him. Gandalf. The Ring cannot stay here…" The Elf noticed several newcomers approaching the gates of Rivendell on horseback. "This peril belongs to all Middle-earth… They must decide now how to end it. The time of the Elves is over. My people are leaving these shores. Who will you look to when we've gone? When Carithawen has gone?" At this, Elfindel eyed him as he continued. "The Dwarves? They hide in their mountains seeking riches. They care nothing for the troubles of others!"

Gandalf turned to him. "It is in Men that we must place our hope."

Elrond face firmed. "Men?" He turned for him. "Men are weak… The race of Men is failing. The blood of Numenor is all but spent. Its pride and dignity forgotten. It is because of Men the Ring survives. I was there, Gandalf. I was there three thousand years ago... And Isildur took the Ring. I was there the day the strength of men failed…" He was silent for a moment, as if he was remembering that fateful battle. "It should have ended that day, but evil was allowed to endure... Isildur kept the Ring… The line of kings is broken. There's no strength left in the world of Men. They're scattered, divided, leaderless…"

"There is one who could unite them," Gandalf stated. "One who could reclaim the throne of Gondor."

Elrond glanced at Elfindel, who nodded slowly. He turned to the wizard again. "He turned from that path a long time ago. He has chosen exile…"

* * *

The blanket of night draped over the serenity that was Rivendell. Strider sat near a large statue that held the shards of Narsil, the infamous blade that cut the One Ring from Sauron. Next to him sat Elfindel, who was dressed in Rivendell attire. They were conversing softly over many a thing when Elfindel's ears caught the sound of faint footsteps coming from near the large statue. Her dark eyes shifted from Strider towards the sound, and Strider, seeing this, followed her gaze as well.

A slightly bearded Man, who bore the familiar attire of Gondor, approached the statue through the far-off shadows. He noticed a painted portrait of Isildur's battle with Sauron on the wall directly across from the state. He stood there observing it, until he caught the feeling of eyes upon him, and turned his head slowly to the Elf maiden and her comrade. His eyes tarried on the Elf for a long moment, never fully seeing an Elf maiden before, and the darkness only accented her beauty. After bowing his head slowly in respect, he turned his attention to the Man. "You are no Elf…"

"The Men of the South are welcomed here," Strider answered.

"Who are you?"

"We are friends to Gandalf the Grey."

The newcomer nodded, his eyes traveling to the Elf once more, then back to him. "Then you and I are here on common purpose… friend…"

Strider said nothing further, and he and Elfindel only watched as he ascended the platform to the display of the broken sword. "The shards of Narsil…" He picked up the broken hilt, observing it. "The blade that cut the Ring… from Sauron's hand." He slowly slid his fingers across the blade, and, in the act, cutting one of them, issuing a sharp, yet gentle gasp as he did so. "It's still sharp…" His eyes traveled to lay upon Elfindel and Strider once more, of whom Strider was eyeing him. "But no more than a broken heirloom…" He place the sword's hilt back in its place and began to walk off into the darkness once more. As he did so, the hilt fell, clanging onto the floor as it impacted. He turned as if to retrieve it, but does not, and continued into the shadows.

Strider raised himself off his small stool, and walked over to the downed handle, picking it up gently, and slowly placed it back in its place on the display with the other shards. He stood in front of the sword for a while as Elfindel watched him from behind. Her eyes then looked towards the far right, noticing the form of Arwen approaching. She then approached Strider from behind, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. He moved his head to the side to glance at it, and nodded once, but slowly. Elfindel removed her hand, and exited the Narsil memorial from where the Man had exited a moment before.