First of all, thank you all SO much for being so patient for this update! My final term at uni was very intense and I just didn't have time for fanfiction at all. However, that's all done now (I graduate on Thursday XD) and my muse has returned with a vengence.

Hope you're all doing well, and I hope you enjoy this chapter.

D.O.T

The years blurred into decades, time slipping past like a stream, and Faelwen suddenly found her fears becoming real. It became all too evident that darkness had indeed crept back into Middle Earth – sightings of orcs, wargs and goblins began to increase, and attacks on travellers also became more common. Arda was no longer the place of safety it had once been.

Subsequently, Faelwen frequently found herself unable to venture outside the valley of her home. Now that their little brother was no longer dwelling in Imladris and subsequently no longer required their guidance, Elladan and Elrohir spent more time abroad – hunting orcs in their unforgotten quest for vengeance – than they did at home, and with all of Glorfindel's guards being chiefly occupied with guarding Imladris and the surrounding valley, there was no one who could accompany her either to Lorien or to Mirkwood. Elrond had vehemently refused to allow her to travel unprotected, the memory of what had happened to Celebrien still far too painful, and so Faelwen had no choice but to remain where she was.

To worsen the blow, Haldir's visits to Imladris had began to become less and less frequent. As one of the esteemed Marchwardens, his main priority had to be the protection of his homeland, and so the pair of them had to simply be content with an infrequent correspondence and desperate dreams of a peaceful future.

The very atmosphere of Imladris had changed – it was no longer a place of merriment, but of solemnity. Although they had a new addition in the form of a Halfling named Bilbo Baggins, who was a jolly and companionable little fellow much inclined towards composing poetry and songs, it did little to lighten the gloom which seemed to hang over every one. Glorfindel and his men became grim as they were forced to defend the valley day after day from filthy creatures like orcs, Elrond and Erestor grew anxious; fearful of the future, Arwen pined for Aragorn, Faelwen for Haldir and even Lindir did not sing so much anymore. Quiet began to descend on the one lively valley, like autumn arriving after the height of summer.

October 3018

Faelwen was walking in the gardens one afternoon, simply enjoying the feel of the breeze on her face. It had been an unusual week – her father and Erestor had been even graver than usual, and had spent many hours closeted in the archives, poring over old scrolls and tomes; while Glorfindel had suddenly departed about a week ago, and had not yet returned. Faelwen was unsure of the reason for his departure; she had, rather childishly she admitted, eavesdropped on a worried conversation her father had had with Erestor and had overheard several phrases – 'the Nine were abroad', 'news from Gildor', 'Mithrandir not yet returned' – but had been unable to comprehend them. She had relayed the words to Arwen, but her sister had been similarly unable to make sense of them. However, the fact that their father was worried made them anxious in turn...

"Lady Faelwen! Lady Faelwen!"

Startled, Faelwen spun around to see Belcarach, a corporal in the guard sprinting towards her at full speed. Her heart sank as jumped to the conclusion that another soldier must have been grievously injured out on patrol; it was an all too common occurrence these days. Gathering up her skirts of her green dress – it was in the Mirkwood style, and had been sent as a present from Calanon at the last winter solstice – she ran up the path to meet him half way.

"Lady Faelwen, you must come quickly!" Belcarach cried urgently, great alarm in his face.

"What is the matter? Who has been hurt?" Faelwen asked quickly, clasping him by the upper arms as he skidded to a halt in front of her.

"My Lord Glorfindel's horse has returned alone, but there is an unconscious perenniath in the saddle," Belcarach said, as they both ran out of the gardens. "He was pursued by several riders in black, but Lord Elrond raised the Bruinen to repel them. The little one is gravely wounded, I fear – he looks as though he is but a breath away from Mandos's call. I am unsure where to find Lord Elrond, and I do not believe we have time to lose. He needs your help!"

"I will come directly," Faelwen said. "Show me where he is."

The two elves ran full speed out into the courtyard, where several members of Glorfindel's guard were gathered around a nervous Asfaloth and trying to calm the steed, who was pawing the ground anxiously. Two others had clearly lifted their unconscious visitor out of the saddle and placed him on a bench nearby, hovering over him in alarm. Faelwen sped over to them.

As the two guards stepped aside to make room for her, Faelwen looked down and analysed their visitor. Now used to the presence of Bilbo, who had been in Imladris for almost seventeen years, she was no longer surprised by the appearance of the creatures of Shire. This one had similar features; he was short, stout, curl-pated and with thick hair on the upper sides of his bare feet. However, the halfling in front of her also had an almost Elvish beauty to his face which she had not expected to see. Before she could notice any more, her eyes were drawn to a dark patch of blood on the shoulder of his travelling cloak.

At once, her nimble fingers were briskly but gently parting his clothing and pushing it off his shoulder, revealing a dark and ugly stab wound, around which the veins showed a stark navy in contrast to the perenniath's pale skin. The wound was also slightly raised, suggesting that perhaps there was something still in it. Very gently, she reached out to probe the wound with her sensitive figures.

Immediately, she recoiled with a cry as though someone had slapped her across the face. It felt as though her blood had suddenly turned to ice and an iron fist had seized her heart. She shivered, feeling the colour drain out of her cheeks, and swayed unsteadily on her feet for a moment.

"My lady?" Belcarach placed a hand on her shoulder in concern. "Are you all right?"

"There is evil in this wound," Faelwen said, her voice strained and trembling. "This is beyond my skill to heal! He needs my father's help. Belcarach, can you get him up to the healing ward? I will find my father."

Belcarach hurried to comply, carefully gathering up the small form in his arms and proceeding gently up the stairs and across the terrace towards the healing rooms. Faelwen meanwhile, set off like arrow from the string, and sprinted through the corridors of Imladris, calling for her father. As she speedily rounded a corner, she collided roughly with Erestor, who was walking in the other direction with both her father and Mithrandir, who looked as though he had only just arrived, swathed as he was in his cloak and hat, talking urgently. As she stumbled backwards and fell ungracefully onto the paved floor, she found all three staring at her in surprise.

"Faelwen?" Elrond's eyebrows almost disappeared into his hairline as he helped her up, Erestor's expression mirroring his own. Mithrandir however, merely snorted with laughter at her unusual display.

"Ada, you need to come to the healing wards right now!" Faelwen panted, dusting herself off. "Asfaloth has returned, bringing with him a perenniath who is gravely wounded. I cannot bear to even touch his wound, it is an evil mark. He needs your help!"

As soon as the words left her mouth, Elrond muttered something which she could not quite catch to Erestor and Mithrandir and then he hastened off beside her; the two of them running through the corridors towards the healing rooms, where they found that the unconscious stranger had been laid out on the pale crisp linen of one of the beds.

Immediately, Elrond pushed the shirt from his shoulder and began to examine the ugly stab wound. As his fingers gently brushed it, he closed his eyes in despair.

"You were right, my daughter," he said seriously. "There is indeed evil in this wound. He has been stabbed by a Morgul blade."

Faelwen gaped at him, feeling the colour drain from her cheeks at his words. "A Morgul blade? But that's... that's not... can you help him?" she whispered nervously.

"With Vilya's power, he may yet be saved," Elrond said, gathering herbs and vials from a cabinet by the door. "It will be a difficult process though, and there is no time to lose. Can you prepare a tonic to cleanse the wound while I work?"

"Of course," Faelwen rushed to do as she was bid, her hands moving in a routine that they well knew, while her eyes never left her father's form. She watched, mesmerised, as Elrond placed his hand on the halfling's shoulder, closed his eyes, and began to speak aloud; words which she did not recognise or understand.

Faelwen's eyes widened as she perceived the stone which ornamented one of the Three elven rings begin to glow upon Elrond's finger. Her father seemed to suddenly grow in stature; his voice deep and kingly – suddenly bringing to her attention just how powerful Elrond really was. He seemed for a second to be surrounded by light, especially the hand which was touching the Halfling.

She bit her lip as her foster father stiffened and the small form under Elrond's hand began to tremble, the shuddering breaths which the Halfling had been taking suddenly getting harsher. Clearly the evil in the wound and the power in Vilya were engaged in a struggle.

Elrond's voice rang through the room again; even stronger and clearer than before. It sounded as though he was issuing a command. Vilya continued to glow, suddenly as bright as flame, and the halfling's breathing became steadier, his body relaxing back into the bed. Elrond withdrew his hand and opened his eyes, looking drained. He lowered himself into the chair by the bed and passed his hand tiredly over his eyes. Purging the evil from the wound had clearly taken a great deal of his strength.

"Ada?" Faelwen was at his side in a second, hovering in concern. "Are you all right? Will he survive?"

"Yes, Faelwen," he replied slowly, his voice sounding very weary. "It is done. The little one will survive. There is a fragment of the blade yet in his shoulder, though, that must be removed immediately."

"I will remove it," Faelwen assured him. "I can tend him. Please go and rest, Ada. You look exhausted."

"I must await Glorfindel's return," Elrond replied. "Mithrandir has brought the very worst of news and, given this turn of events, I suspect that Glorfindel also will bring grave tidings."

"Then you can at least sit in your study and rest while you wait," Faelwen argued. "I will let you know if there are any changes. Please Ada."

Seeing the stubborn tilt to her chin, Elrond acquiesced and departed from the healing rooms. Immediately, Faelwen began to set about withdrawing the blade fragment from the stab wound. Now that she was able to touch it, she managed the task easily, and stitched the wound neatly afterwards before applying a herb paste and dressing the injury. Briefly, she placed her palm against the wound, in the same manner as her father had done, and channelled her strength through to him. Though some colour began to come back to his face, the hobbit remained oblivious, wandering deep in unconsciousness. When she was certain that he was completely out of danger, she withdrew her hand and washed the dirt and grime from his small face; noticing how travel-stained his garments were.

"Ai, my little friend," she said aloud. "What dangers have you passed through?"

Faelwen remained by his bedside all night, monitoring his condition, but the unconscious hobbit did not stir. He became no worse though; proof that her father's efforts had indeed been successful. Elrond returned around midnight, Mithrandir following, but she assured them that their small patient was quite well and that that she would happily remain in the healing rooms until he woke, insisting that they both needed rest more than she did. If nothing else, she was happy for the monotony of the past few days to be broken and to have something to dwell on besides worrying about Haldir and her brothers.

As though the Valar had been listening to her worries, Glorfindel returned to Imladris the following day, bringing with him – much to Faelwen's surprise – not just three exhausted hobbits, but Aragorn too! She watched their arrival from the window in the healing rooms; desperately wishing she could rush down and embrace her brother, but not wishing to leave her patient. She was also extremely curious as to how on earth Aragorn, whom she had thought was in the north travelling with the Grey Company, had come to be travelling with a group of hobbits!

She did not have long to wait for the embrace, at least...

"Fae?"

Faelwen felt her face break into a beaming smile as a much-missed voice sounded from behind her. "Estel!" Joyfully, she swung around and rushed to embrace the tall human standing in the doorway. "By the Valar, it is so good to see you! Ai, we have been so worried about you!" She kissed his right cheek, then his left, then his right again, before squeezing the air out of him.

"It is good to see you too," Aragorn chuckled, before his face grew serious again. He looked far leaner and graver than Faelwen remembered. "Fae, how is Frodo?"

"Ada managed to drive the evil from the wound," Faelwen replied, assuming that 'Frodo' must be their visitor, still smiling. "He progresses well; he needs rest now more than anything, but I will stay with him until he wakes, just to make sure that there are no unexpected developments."

"Thank the Valar!" Aragorn cried, relieved. "I was worried that the journey to Imladris might prove too much for him; that the wound might consume him before help could be reached."

"It very nearly did," said Faelwen. "But there is surprising strength in him for one so small of stature!"

"Indeed," replied Aragorn with a half smile. "You will find that there is much more to this one than meets the eye! Fae, there is so much I wish to ask and to tell you, but I must go to Arwen first. I wanted to check on Frodo immediately, but now that I know he is well, I must see Arwen, and then speak with Ada. I will return later."

"Yes, yes, go to Arwen." Faelwen laughed, shooing him out of the door. "You may be certain of a warm welcome! She has missed you."

Aragorn had barely been gone ten minutes when Glorfindel arrived, bringing with him one of the three hobbits who she had seen him returning with; a fair-haired, sturdy looking fellow with grave concern in his otherwise pleasant face. The moment he set eyes on his slumbering comrade, he rushed past her towards the bed with a cry of alarm.

"Mister Frodo!" he cried, clasping his hand and rubbing between his own. "Mister Frodo! He's still cold! Will he be all right, Master Glorfindel? Will he live?"

"You may be at ease, Samwise Gamgee," Glorfindel assured him with a smile, placing a hand on Faelwen's shoulder. "This is Lady Faelwen, Lord Elrond's daughter. She is a capable healer. You may rest assured that your Mister Frodo is in very good hands."

"He is on his way to recovery, my little friend," Faelwen told him gently, seeing that the distress in his face was great. "The blade fragment was removed before it could touch his heart and his wound is purged of evil. He merely needs rest and quiet."

The hobbit named Samwise bowed deeply, looking up at her as though she was Elbereth herself. "Thank you, my lady!" he exclaimed. "You saved him! Thank you, a hundred times!"

"I cannot claim the credit for that," Faelwen smiled in amusement at his vehemence. "He was healed by the skills of my father."

"Can I stay with him?" Samwise pressed anxiously. "Only I promised Mister Gandalf that I wouldn't leave his side! I promised to protect him, see, and I'd like to be here if he wakes."

"He will not likely wake for many hours yet, Master Samwise," Faelwen replied. "But if it pleases you to sit with him, you are very welcome to do so. You look gravely in need of rest yourself!" As Samwise began fussing over the sleeping Frodo's bedcovers, she turned to Glorfindel in confusion. "Glorfindel, what in Eru's name is going on?"

"Many strange things," answered Glorfindel quietly. "Mithrandir brings tidings that are grave indeed; news of treachery in the Wizard's order, and that the greatest weapon of the enemy has been found. That in itself is worrying, the fact that the servants of the Dark One were pursuing these hobbits is even more so. However, you will hear the full story from one who may do it better justice than I. Your father has summoned a great council to discuss the matter. Believe it or not, child, but the hobbit in the bed may well carry the destiny of Middle Earth itself in his pocket. Grave times are upon us, Faelwen, you mark my words. But now I must speak with your father, I will see you at dinner, my dear."

As Glorfindel, having delivered this thoroughly confusing account of events, hurried away again, Faelwen stared after him in bewilderment, her stomach sinking. She thought back to when she and Haldir had first asked for permission to get married. Elrond had refused, saying that there were dark days in the future, and that they would each have a different part to play.

Her gaze landed on the lifeless hobbits in the bed and she felt her heart clench as she wondered fearfully exactly what those parts would entail...

Reviews, as ever, are gratefully recieved! :)