A/N: The title for this chapter refers to Elrond's ring, named Vilya, one of the Rings of Power made for the Elves.

Chapter 2: The Healing of Vilya

As they rode, the sun slowly dried Elrond's wet garments, yet he could not fully cast off the last echoes of the river's song. The other elves had recovered some of their earlier cheer, overcoming the disappointment of missing the hunt with the thought of the great feast that awaited them that evening. In two days' time, the Feast of Starlight would be upon them. Elrond's heart lifted at the thought. Then he remembered the woman and his mood grew sombre.

She was still lost in a deep sleep, despite the miruvor that had been given to her. When they had first set off she had been peaceful, but gradually her brow furrowed until she grew haunted and anxious. He had not looked back at her for some time, and did not now. He thought of all he knew about the river's enchantment, and how to combat its effect, while avoiding the detail of who it was he must heal.

Just ahead the sunlight suddenly intensified and they drew into the clearing spanning the cliff-edge that formed one side of the gorge marking the borders of the Greenwood King's Halls. He glanced back at the boy to see his reaction. The child's face was grave, but his eyes gazed at the delicate bridge and the intricately carved doors.

They dismounted and grooms came forward to take the horses to the stables. Then Elrond and the other elves crossed the bridge, the boy walking among them, the woman carried on a makeshift stretcher.

'Has the king returned?' Elrond asked one of the guards at the gates.

'No, my lord. He and his party are not expected for some time.'

Elrond smiled slightly at the guard's self-consciousness. 'No doubt you are wondering why my companions and I have returned so soon after setting out. In good time you will know, but for now, we have a woman with us who is gravely ill. Would you take us to a place where I can tend to her?'

At once the guard left his post and began to lead the way. Elrond took only the boy and the stretcher bearers with him. They made their way swiftly through the curving walkways of the Halls, passing beneath broad-spreading boughs and shimmering light. As they walked the boy drank in every detail, marvelling at the grace of Thranduil's domain. Elrond himself had only been to these halls once before, shortly after the end of the War of the Last Alliance, in which Oropher, Thranduil's father, had been killed. That time, an Age ago, the Mirkwood Elves had lived in palaces and halls throughout the forest, before the spiders had come and darkness had crept into the very veins of the forest's innumerable leaves. Glad though he was to visit these halls, Elrond thought of the end of his stay with little regret. In two weeks' time he would be returning to Rivendell. The heavy light of these caves swiftly grew oppressive after spending the greater part of an Age in the valley of Imladris, where bright water lay all around, under the open sky.

They had entered a new part of the caves, one given to residences. Their guide halted. 'This suite of rooms has long been empty; would they be suitable to your needs?'

'Of course.'

The woman was laid on a bed in an inner room, and the other elves departed, leaving Elrond with the boy.

'Will she recover?' asked the child. His solemn eyes were too old for him.

'Yes, though it may take some time. I will do my best to heal her.'

'With your ring?' Elrond was surprised that the boy had noticed it; the ring's nature was such that it was not easily seen.

'My ring has some power to heal, but it needs my hand to guide it.' The boy was quiet. 'Do you understand?

'Yes, lord.'

Elrond looked at him impassively; the boy reddened slightly and lowered his eyes. 'What is your name?'

'Nat, my lord.'

It was a name common to many dwellings of Men; but not a name of rank. There was a nobility about the boy's quiet gravity, however, that perturbed Elrond.

'You may stay if you wish, but the day will grow long. The river's enchantments are not easily lifted, and she was in its waters for some time.'

'I will stay.'

Elrond seated himself beside the bed and rested a hand lightly on the woman's brow. It was hot and damp beneath his palm; she had tossed about as they carried her through the halls, but now at his touch she began to calm. He closed his eyes and sent his mind to meet hers, seeking the source of her induced sleep and distress. He forgot his own apprehension as he lost himself in the work of healing.

Many hours had passed when he opened his eyes once more.

He saw the boy at once, sitting on the end of the bed, one hand resting absently on the woman's ankle. He had fallen asleep, his head bowing into his chest uncomfortably.

Elrond lifted the boy and carried him to a cushioned bench near the bed; that he might not wake alone.

Then he left.

'How is she?' Elrohir asked.

'Sleeping, as she will for some time yet. But I have hope that her mind is healing. There is nothing more I can do for her; she must mend her memories herself.'

Elrohir looked as though he were about to ask something, but fell silent. Then he said cautiously, 'Thranduil wishes to see you.'

Elrond frowned. 'Is something wrong?'

'Perhaps it is nothing, but there has been talk of an orc pack venturing into the forest.' He paused.

Elrond knew that pause meant nothing good. 'And what else?'

'There is a Man, alone. Dark of skin, wearing the garb of the Haradrim.'

Elrond turned away from his son, concealing his unease. It could not be coincidence that a Harad had been sighted on the same day that the woman and the boy had been found by the Enchanted River. 'Long has it been since last I saw any from Harad venture so far north.' It had not been so long, however, since he last saw Haradrim in their native land, but this he had never yet spoken of, and did not speak of now.

'Where is Thranduil?'

'In the throne room.'

'Then I shall not tarry any longer.'

As he passed swiftly through the halls, Elrond's thoughts dwelt on the matter of the Harad. He could not deny that the presence of the Southron in Mirkwood troubled him more than that of the orcs. But perhaps such trepidation was justified; orc packs were fairly common in Mirkwood, while Harad Men were not. And then there was the matter of the woman…

He felt a slight unease at what Thranduil would have to say about his uninvited mortal guests. The Mirkwood elves were not known for their hospitality; they largely kept themselves to themselves, rarely leaving the forest, and few strangers ever ventured near. Elrond was visiting Thranduil for diplomatic purposes, hoping to strengthen the ties between the elves of Imladris and those of Mirkwood. He had little optimism that anything concrete would result. There had long been mistrust between Thranduil's people and the Noldor, elves among whom Elrond had lived for many years, becoming captain and herald of their king, Gil-Galad. Thranduil's father, Oropher had once been so reluctant to fight under the command of the Noldor king, that he led his company forward into battle before Gil-Galad had given the signal. As a result, many Greenwood elves were slain in battle, Oropher himself among them.

The doors to the throne room opened, and Elrond went through, heading directly towards the throne, in which Thranduil reclined. His pale hair gleamed around his shoulders; a rich burgundy robe flowed to his feet, pooling on the dais. When he spoke, his voice rang softly through the hall, rich and melodious.

'I am told you returned from the hunt several hours ago – and in the company of a mortal woman and child. Why did you bring them here?'

'The woman had fallen into the Enchanted River while attempting to cross it. I thought it right to bring her here where I could heal her.'

Thranduil watched him, and Elrond feared his own voice had not been as neutral as he desired. Then the Mirkwood King sighed and turned slightly in his throne. 'It has been many decades since a mortal last set foot in these halls. How long do they intend to stay?'

'I have not asked. But I doubt it will be long.'

Thranduil regarded him. 'And what do you make of the news of the Harad?'

Elrond replied after a moment. 'We might do well to watch him for a time, and so learn his intentions. If he is merely passing through, I cannot see any use in detaining him. If he lingers, he should be approached – with caution. It is unlikely he is a trader; most trade with the Haradrim has been broken off since they fought with Gondor. Determining the man's motives for coming here may well prove prudent.'

'You counsel is wise, as always, Elrond Peredhil,' said the elf-king, a rare smile playing across his lips, though it did not quite touch his eyes. 'And now, let us talk of lighter things.'

That night, when the feast was over, Elrond found himself taking a route which led past the woman's rooms. Food had been brought to her and the child; the elf who had served them had reported that the woman was still asleep, though so calmly and quietly that there was little cause for alarm. The boy had refused to leave her, even when invited to join the night's festivities.

He had reached the outer door. He paused for a while and listened; only the soft sound of breathing reached his ears. Without warning he found himself remembering a pale face looking down at him through the bars of a grille, watchful and wary. He pushed the memory away at once, startled by its clarity. But as he silently returned to his rooms, the memory of her did not leave him. Soon she would wake; and it would be her turn to see him for the first time in fifteen years. He did not know whether the thought made him feel dread or anticipation.

Haradrim, also known as Southrons, are a race of Men from Harad, a desert land south of Gondor.