Chapter 4:
"My Lord," the servant bowed to Elrond, "A lone grey elf arrived just moments ago and wishes to speak with you."
Elrond raised an eyebrow, "A silvan you say? Whereof, Mirkwood?"
The dark haired elf shrugged and, gracefully, bowed and left the room as a white haired elf came in. Elrond looked thoughtfully at this dark skinned and dark eyed elf that bowed nervously and cleared his throat.
"Elrond Peredhil, I am Bronwë Uinnadrolion of Ered Mithrin, and I was sent by a distant kinsman of yours to deliver a message," he paused, waiting for Elrond to acknowledge this, and began the message, "Oh lore master of Imladris, my distant uncle by Elros Tar-Minyatur. My name is Mornhir son of Dúrhir, whose lineage can be traced father-to-son to the third child of your brother, the first King of Numenor.
"There is need, Lord, for the aid of Imladris in the repelling of the bands of orcs and wolves which threaten to slaughter the inhabitants of the Grey Mountains and the last remnants of the Numenoreans in those parts. Desperate times are upon us and we shall soon be lost if we do not receive aid from our ancient allies and kin."
Here the elf stopped and looked down, sadness upon his fair face, and he would speak no more until Elrond pried from him the news that, after Bronwë had received the message, Mornhir was slain by an orc dart as the camp they rested in was attacked in the night.
Elrond took this news gravely; it had been long since he had heard of the descendants of his nephew Melannen, and now the last of that line was dead.
"This is sad news, mellon. Did he leave any children after him?"
Bronwë shook his head sadly, "No, lord, only a foster-daughter named Gaila."
Elrond sighed, his heart sank and, for a moment, he felt his age press down upon him.
Six thousand years and nearly two ages to the date had passed since his much-loved brother had met the Doom of Men and still his heart ached for Elros.
"How fared the people after this raid?"
Bronwë shook his head, "They were valiant but few survived; I saw them to the Forodwaith where they had friends and kin among the men of Forochel before I set out for this place. Mornhir wished it so I travelled here first, though the Mirkwood was closer. He sent messages to the King of that place too, but they are of little or no importance now."
Moving to the great bookshelf of his study, Elrond looked over the many covers until he found the book he wanted. It was thick, and on the pages were drawings of men and lists of names along with dates of birth and dates of death.
The elven lord smiled as he found the last filled in page, a picture of Arvellas…
Elrond held up the picture for Bronwë to see, "This was have been Mornhir's great great grandfather, if I am correct. He was killed quite young and only had one son, but that son was lost and I could find no more intelligence of my nephew's line. This is sad now to find that it is ended."
The grey elf bowed, feeling his own throat constrict at the great lord's pain, "Lord, he was a good man and he fought bravely even after he had been wounded many times in battle, it is because of him that any survived. Ai, it is because of him that I am not in the Halls of Waiting instead of the Halls of Imladris."
A smile appeared on the seven thousand year old half-elf's face and he held the book and a pencil out to Bronwë. Understanding what Elrond meant, Bronwë took the profered book and sat down in a soft chair and began to sketch Mornhir's face upon the last page.
When he was finished Elrond dismissed him and he was escorted to rooms where he rested and prepared for the banquet that was to be held that night.
Back in the study Elrond looked down at the face of the dead adan for a while before closing the book sharply and loudly and replaced it to its place on the shelf.
For hours Elrond went through his other books of kin until he came to one portrait and left it open on his desk.
When he had gone and left to prepare for the feast a servant entered to clean and found a book left on his desk, it was opened on an ancient portrait of four smiling elves – Eärnendil, Elwing, Elros and Elrond Peredhil.
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Bronwë Uinnadrolion sat near the centre of the long table, directly across from the most unlikely person he had ever thought of meeting in Imladris, Bilbo Baggins!
The humorus old halfling, hobbit as he called himself, intrigued Bronwë to no end.
"Well, mister Uinnadrolion," The small creature had said to him when they were introduced, "you must tell me of Ered Mithrin, I am writing a book, you know, and I want to put in as much as possible. So, tell me, are there any hobbits there?"
Now, as the meal was mostly done, the elderly Bilbo's head was beginning to lean further and further down towards his chest as sleep came to fall heavily upon him.
As gently as he could, Bronwë and a Rivendell elf tenderly moved him to a soft chair next to the fireplace. With a smile, Bilbo awoke and thanked them before nodding off again into whatever hobbits have for dreams.
"He is a most unique character, that one is, mellon," the other elf commented with a loving smile.
"I am Bronwë Uinnadrolion of Ered Mithrin," Bronwë introduced himself with a bow.
" And I am Síladan Aglargelion, I wander between the woods and the sea, but my home is here in Imladris," Síladan returned his bow. "I must ask, Bronwë, if this is your first time past the Grey Mountains?"
Bronwë cocked his head to the side and the corners of his mouth twitched, "Am I that obvious, mellon?"
Síladan threw back his head and laughed a great hearty laugh, "Oh, cousin," he managed to gasp through his laughs, "you would not believe if I were to tell you…"
But he never finished that sentence for at that moment two cloaked and hooded figures darted into the hall, one tall and one so short Bronwë wondered if this was yet another of the amazing hobbits.
Elrond rose to meet them and they threw back their hoods, two Dunadan girls stood there panting, bloodied, and travel stained.
Quickly Elrond and Glorfindel took them from the room to the study nearby and the room was left in a shocked silence.
Many looked over to Bronwë, since he was also a new arrival they assumed that he must know them, he didn't and showed this by shrugging at Síladan.
It didn't matter, the banquet was over and now it was time to say farewell to the company who was leaving tonight for the Grey Havens and the Uttermost West.
A song began softly and picked up… a beautiful song in Quenya, the High tounge, and the stars waxed in the sky as the travellors departed on horseback, calling goodbyes to those that they would not see again until they joined them in the West, or else in the Halls of Mandos.
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(Cut back to Lhydell and Adair, two days after their sleep on Amon Sul. They are close to Rivendell and only a few hours away from crossing the Loudwater.)
'There is something coming behind us!' Lhydell suddenly thought.
She looked behind her and saw in the distance a man on horseback coming hard and fast after the two rangers.
"Adair, we are pursued," She shouted, spurring Pathia into a gallop as the taller girl looked behind in alarm.
"We will split up, make strait for the ford, I will draw him off and loose him in the trollshaws," Adair called ahead to her companion, then slowed the pace of her mare and veered north towards the shady forest.
Lhydell was soon out of sight and their pursuiant close and coming, sword drawn, after Adair. Shouting a challenge, Adair pulnged into the trollshaws and dodged trees and rock as the cloaked assailant followed close behind.
For long Tabinith held out and had a far lead, but eventually she became weary from such a long journey and this breakneck speed on the uneven and trecherous forest floor became the best of her and, catching a hoof in an uplifted root, triped and sent Adair flying above the mare's head and into the high braches of a tree with a painfull thud.
The cloaked man soon came to the injured mare and looked around for her rider.
'Eru be thanked!' Adair thought with relief from her precarious position of dangling from a high limb in the tree where she was hidden by leaves and remenants of branches that she had broken through, 'he cannot see me!'
Just as she thought that the hooded man called out in a tounge she knew not but it sent shivvers down her spine and threatened to make her loose her hold on the tree. Tabinith, her poor horse, whinnied and shrieked as the cloaked rider approached her.
There was a moment when the rider dismounted and walked to the panicing horse when Adair could not see what was going on but she discovered it soon enough when the poor horse's shrieks were suddenly silenced as his sword sliced the mares head clean off.
Adair turned away and swallowed the scream that had risen in her throat.
The rider seemed to be sniffing the air, much the way Lhydell and she had done not quite five days ago; Adair sniffed the wind, but kept her eyes rivited upon her assailant.
The air smelt faintly of the tree she held on to, but more overpowering was that foul metallic smell. The stench of blood and grime made the frightened ranger gag, but not a sound did she make…
It was a long time before the hunter gave up his quary and took off, quickly, in the direction that Lhydell had ridden off to.
With an agonized sigh of relief, Adair dropped to the ground where the sight of the decapitated horse greeted her and the runes cut into her side that read 'You are in the tree, adan.'
Adair stared at the words and began to shake, 'It knew where I was all along!'
A movement behind her made her spin and draw her sword quickly; ignoring the blaze of painfull protest her bruised and possibly cracked ribs gave.
Both predator and prey were caught offguard as the elf's bow aimed at Adair's chest and her sword point nearly touched his chin.
"Adair," a familiar voice called, it was Lhydell, "it's okay, and the wraith is gone."
With a groan, Adair lowered and leaned upon her sword as the small girl ran forwards.
The tall elf didn't lower his bow but turned in a slow circle and watched with bright eyes for the smallest sign of the wraith.
"How… why… what…" Adair gasped at her friend who looked with disgust at the mauled horse.
"I met my good friend… um… excuse me," Lhydell called to the strange elf, "I didn't catch your name. I am Lhydell Uinaerien and this is my companion Adair Ithilwen."
Finaly, lowering his bow, the keen eyed elf turned to them and smiled faintly, "I am Seregnen of Rivendell and am the Ford's guard. I came as quickly as I could when I saw the wraith give chase to you two that I had been watching for some time. I met Uinaerien near the Ford and we rode back quick for you,"
Seregnen tossed back his hood and his odd red and white hair and deep green eyes took both rangers aback, "You are most luck that this was not Nazgul, but only a lesser wraith. If it had been you most certainly would not have survived and I would be of no help either, I am no elf lord that might ride openly against Sauron like Elrond or Glorfindel."
Adair, a chilled feeling running down her neck like cold sweat, shivvered as he said that.
"What do you mean? What was that…. that wraith you say?"
Seregren whistled and his horse and the small Pathia appeared nearby, "We musn't speak here, we must not linger. Ride on to Rivendell and tell lord Elrond what has happened, I will make tracks to the Ford. Take my horse, Ithilwen, it will be much faster than two on that poor little pony."
Adair, though she was concidered tall for her people, had difficulty reaching the sturrips on the towering elf's saddle and had Lhydell give her a boost.
"Make for Imladris and be wary, do not stop until you have reached Elrond," Seregnen cautioned as they hastily made for the hidden city.
