Journeys

[Rían]

Mithlond, 1720 S.A.

Tyaron looked out over the sea. His long, dark hair lifted slightly away from his face in the breeze off the quay, the only thing moving around him besides the free-flying birds, the eternally moving water, and an occasional restless gesture of his hands. His deep gray eyes looked steadily across the water, glinting in the rising sun like so many bright memories.

He sighed and looked away, inland towards the settlement. Everything looked normal - yet normal for here, not normal for home.

"Home! Home!" he thought as he rose and started walking, unable to sit any longer. "Why am I still thinking of Gondolin as my home? Home is gone - I must find another home."

"Ata, ata, let us go! Let us go! Why do you tarry?" came the voice of a young child, carried to him on the morning breeze. The child's voice was urgent; obviously full of longing for their intended destination.

"Indeed, why do I tarry? Why should I not go?" came the thought suddenly. It had been stifled for a long time. First out of necessity; the survivors from Gondolin had needed the help of strong men in their first agonizing need, and although he hadn't escaped unscathed, yet he was less hurt than most, and for a long while, his life was one of constant helping of the sick and wounded. But slowly and steadily, the helpers became the helpless, and the wounded grew strong and became the healers in their turn, as the strong inevitably broke under their dual burden of their ceaseless activity and their denied grief.

But the bodies of the Firstborn were strong, and those who lived thought those dark days finally returned to health and vigor. Years passed; the cycles of Arda took their turn in the dance.

And Tyaron still wanted to go home.

He looked out over the water again. He knew his home eventually lay over the sea, and the sea-longing of the elves was in his heart, yet something still kept him on these shores. That something was the reason why he had fought, when it had come to fighting, against the forces that would mar and destroy. He had shed blood and not regretted it. Yet he had always had a feeling, when returning, that he had not yet returned home.

"Indeed, why do you tarry?" came a familiar voice - the voice of his closest friend, who had been watching him for some time.

Tyaron looked up in surprise. He had not heard Alagos' approach.

Alagos watched Tyaron's face with a smile. After all these years, he could read his friend's expressions well. First an impulse to deny his thoughts of leaving, then the realization that his friend would be able to see through this, then finally a resigned smile and his real thoughts.

"I don't know," he said simply.

There was quiet for a few minutes.

"Are you looking for something?" asked Alagos.

"I don't know that, either ... at least, I suppose I am, but I don't know what it is," answered Tyaron with a troubled expression. He glanced over at his friend, and an embarrassed smile spread across his face. Alagos laughed. Tyaron had always been the sure one; the one who saw what he wanted and went straight for it, while chiding Alagos for his uncertainty and his wandering ways, and now the shoe was on the other foot.

"Well!" said Alagos, crossing his arms across his chest and putting on a serious expression. "Perhaps I can help you this time! Let us look around. Are you looking for that?" inquired Alagos, pointing at a stone bench.

"No! I'm looking for a way to make you more serious!" returned Tyaron with a laugh.

"Well, that won't happen anytime soon - better give up on that! Now are you looking for, say ... " Alagos made a show of looking around critically. His gaze fell on a slender tree in the distance, with the sparkling sea in the background. He pointed it out. "How about that tree?"

Tyaron followed his friend's gaze, a witty response at the ready. But as he looked at the tree, the words died on his lips. The golden light of the sunrise on the tree had brought back a memory of golden leaves, and a fountain ...

Alagos looked at him thoughtfully for a moment, then looked back at the tree, and fell quiet himself.

"Not that tree ... but maybe ... one like it ..."

[Varnafindë]

«Do you remember the first time you took me to see Rivendell, Rameldir?» Elrond asked. They were sitting outside Elrond's house, looking at the river with its rapids and small waterfalls, and the trees growing along its banks. As always when there were just the two of them together, they didn't use titles.

Rameldir smiled.

«I do,» he said. «I had discovered it a few months earlier, and then one day we went there with Ainon, who knew the way better than I did, as he had travelled here many times. You were impressed with the small valley and how well hidden you found it to be. You said that if we ever needed a fortress in these parts of Middle-earth, this would be the perfect place to build one.»

«And you,» Elrond continued, «told me how the Lady Tindacallë, your friend, had said upon seeing it for the first time that it was not the place for a fortress. She said that it was the place for a friendly, homely house, where one could enjoy the beauty of the place, and relax and be safe, because it was so easy to defend. And I agreed.»

He sighed.

«First of all we needed it for a fortress, though,» he said. «When Sauron drove us north from Eregion, I tried to withdraw in this direction – and we found it, and it saved us. We couldn't have survived a siege anywhere else but in a place like this. In most other places we could so easily have been surrounded – but not here. That's probably why the High King wanted us to stay on rather than to come back to Lindon when the war seemed to be over – he doesn't trust Sauron, and he wants a presence in this area. He still does.»

«He does?» Rameldir asked. «When I saw that you had a letter from him the other day, I was wondering whether he was asking us to come back. I've been wondering what he makes of our little hamlet here – whether he thinks it has served its purpose now, or whether he wants us to stay on for a bit longer. The houses that we built during and after the siege, have served us well these twenty years – but they aren't exactly the quality we would choose for an Elven city. If he wants us to stay for another ten years, they should still be adequate – but not much longer than that.»

Elrond turned around to look at the other houses behind them.

«You are right,» he said. «Adequate, yes – that's what we built. But nothing to last – not like the Elven cities of old – nothing like Tirion back in Valinor, or even like Gondolin or Menegroth or Nargothrond. Not even like Lindon, to compare with something I know about. Unlike you, I haven't seen any of those others.»

«And even I have only seen Gondolin,» Rameldir replied. «And I was ten when I saw it for the last time – I only remember parts of it. The square with the fountain, where your father and I used to play – the trees, which were supposed to remind those who had seen them, of the Trees of Valinor – the King's palace, where my mother would visit Idril, her cousin, and where my father would serve in the King's Guard, like many others of the House of the Golden Flower. I only remember those things that were closest to me, Elrond. People tell us of our great past – but I don't remember it. And most of it you and I have never seen.»

They were both silent for a while, thinking of all they had been told. Then Rameldir spoke again.

«So the High King wants us here for a bit longer? Does he say anything about how long? Or is that dependent on Sauron?»

«Perhaps he is thinking about Sauron,» Elrond answered. «He doesn't say. He doesn't give a reason. But he wants a permanent stronghold here. And Sauron would be as good a reason as any.»

«Permanent?» Rameldir asked, raising his voice. «He commands us to stay here? He doesn't want us to come back?»

«It's an offer and not a command,» Elrond answered. «He offers me the lordship of this area, under him as High King, if I want to settle down here. He'll reorganize his army, and offer everyone the choice to be part of it either here or in Lindon. He told me to tell you about it before telling anyone else. So that's what I'm doing.»

Rameldir stared at his kinsman.

«What are you going to do?» he asked. «Have you decided yet?»

«I've been thinking about it ever since the letter arrived,» Elrond admitted. «And my mind is finally made up. I'm going to accept the offer. Your friend is right, Rameldir! This could become a homely house. A mansion, almost a small city in itself, with extentions and flats and guestrooms for scores of people. In times of peace it could be a centre for lore and arts, we could compile a library – and there would be training grounds for the arts of war as well. It could be a place to be reknown for its beauty, for its parks and gardens and forests – it could be a home, Rameldir. I could finally have a home.»

Rameldir knew. They had talked about this before. Not very often, because it was a sore spot for both of them.

Rameldir had been orphaned at the fall of Gondolin, and Tuor and Idril had fostered the little boy who was Idril's kinsman.

Elrond – well, hadn't he been orphaned when Eärendil went on his first voyage? He had hardly seen his father since then. And his mother disappeared when the settlement at the mouths of Sirion fell. Elrond had told – not entirely without bitterness – how the people who later took him and his brother, almost young men then, away from Maglor's camp, were talking about 'rescuing' them. But he hadn't seen it primarily as a rescue – he had been taken away from the only father figure he had ever had. It had taken him very long to settle down in Lindon. And then there was the war in Eregion, and his existence was broken up again. Rameldir could see how this could be a chance for Elrond finally to settle down.

But what about himself?

«So I'm free to choose?» he asked, his voice a bit more chilly than he had meant it to be. «I can stay here as the Captain of your archers, or I can go back to Lindon to be the Captain of Gil-galad's archers?»

«It's meant to be an offer either way,» Elrond said. «An offer of a new home for you here, if you want it. And even if you should choose that this is also your chance to go somewhere else and create a home of your own, without either of us, you will always be welcome as a guest in my home or in that of the High King. And if there is another war, we will call you back into our service.»

«I need time to think about it,» Rameldir murmured. «I was expecting us to be called back – not this. A new home – I hope you won't need my answer very soon, Elrond. I may need a lot of time to think.»

[Earniel]

Hallindel woke slowly. She knew it was later than her usual hour of rising, but the bed was comfortable and she had no pressing matters to attend to before noon. Outside her window the morning birds were busily twittering and chattering, generally making too much noise for her to go back to sleep.

“I’m up! I’m up!” Hallindel cried as she wildly pulled open the curtains, noticing with a little satisfaction that the movement startled the noisy birds. “But why should I wake up already when a few moments ago you all were still singing lullabies?” she added, laughing.

The birds, still twittering with mock-indignation, settled on branches a little further from her window. Hallindel whistled a few teasing notes at them and then let them be. She dressed and went downstairs, deciding on a short beach-walk before breakfast. Her dreams had been somewhat troubled that night, and she wanted to walk away the restless feeling.

The weather was fine, somewhat windy, but the sun shone warmly. There were gulls in the air and Hallindel tried to mimic their sorrowful cries on her flute. But she quickly grew tired of it when she couldn’t find the right pitch. And she was still too restless to engage in the experiment fully and so she turned back on the path to the settlement.

On her way back to her house, she passed the harbour. The harbour always contained at least a handful of boats, patiently bobbing on the tides, ever ready to depart in an instant to carry those who wished across. But sadly, Hallindel thought, neither the boats or the people ever came back. She spotted several of her brother’s friends, trying to mend a mast that had gotten damaged in the last storm.

“Where is Halweg?” she inquired after a wave and a greeting. “The forge, as usual,” the others replied. “As usual, indeed,” she repeated quietly. All too usual.

Forgoing breakfast once again, she walked briskly towards the forge where she found her brother working on an ornate belt-buckle, alternatively heating and hammering on the metal.

“Still hiding in your forge, Halweg?” she said as way of greeting. “Withdrawing once again in your comfort-zone?”
“Don’t you, Hallindel? You wear your comfort right there,” he said, indicating the reed flute that still hung around her neck. Mindful of the heat of the forge she took the flute off and put in a padded leather pouch on her belt. Her brother watched her do so with a smile.

“Unfortunately, one cannot take a forge along in a pouch,” he added.
“I’m sure you would have tried, if it were possible,” Hallindel quipped back.
“What else would you have me do, sister? Abandon all this and go West instead, as did Losseloth?”
Hallindel clacked her tongue in disappointment. “You know better than anyone that some wounds cannot be healed here,” she said softly. “You didn’t use to begrudge her her choice.”
Halweg’s shoulders tightened. “No," he said equally softly, “I did not.”

She suddenly grabbed his arm, pulled herself closer and lay her head on his shoulder, like she had done so many times before. “You’re still hiding, whether it’s behind words or in your forge. You hide away here, because you do not want to see the sea or hear the gulls,” she said quietly. “You do not want to remember that most Elves who come here, have already left in their minds and are here only to make matters official and leave physically as well. You do not want to go yet, so you hide away. So tell me, Halweg, is it truly only me who wants to go elsewhere that is not the West just yet?”

For a moment he stood speechless, but just when he breathed in to reply, her cry of warning cut him short.

With an annoyed growl, he pulled the buckle back out of the fire, where he had held it too long and now it was bending in the great heat.

“Hallindel! This is exactly why I asked you not to distract me when I’m working.”

“And when am I supposed to distract you otherwise?” she asked pointedly, but without anger, She put her hands on her hips and gave her brother a stern look. “I did not see you go home yesterday evening and I did not see you come here in the morning.”

She decided not to mention her rising late in relation to the latter. “You are nearly always in your forge, brother. I’m surprised those pinchers haven’t grown into your skin yet.”

He sighed, and as soon as he had put the buckle down, he threw up his hands in frustration. “Then what would you have me do, Hallindel? I can see you are trying to state a point but you tarry in the making.”

“Tarry is all you and I do! Yet I grow tired of waiting for something I know will not come soon. The vast expanse of Arda isn’t standing still while we dream here in Mithlond. Life out there isn’t standing still like it does in here. What will you say, when you do depart these shores and see Losseloth again, when she asks you what you have done with your years here? Will you say: I have made a thousand belt-buckles, seven hundred ornate spear-tips, six hundred and seventy rings and pendants but I never saw a single sunrise over Eriador or a heard the Elves sing in Lothlórien?”

“It would have been nine hundred ornate spear-tips, though...” Halweg began. He held up his hands in a sign of peace and smiled when he saw her eyes flash with indignation. “But is that what you want to see, Hallindel? A sunrise over Eriador and the songs of Lóthlorien?”

“Maybe, Halweg,” his sister replied. “Or rather, it is not only what I want to see, but what, perhaps, we need to. Both of us have seen the dark sides of war and destruction, even moreso than we liked. But there is calm and quiet now. Should we not bear witness to that as well, before it is gone again? Do you not want to see that as well?”

“I…do.” Halweg said hesitantly, as if the thought never had occurred to him before now.

Hallindel smiled. “Excellent!” She said. “I knew you would.”

“Where are you going?” he yelled after her, as she skipped up the stairs and left the forge.
“To find others whose song has not been sung in full yet!” she replied enthusiastically. She poked her head back through the doorway. “Why?” she asked with a mischievous smile. “Are you really sure you want to travel with me alone for many months to come?”

Her brother managed only a crooked, unsure smile as reply. Hallindel ran away, laughing gaily, leaving her brother wondering whether this was really what he wanted after all.

[Varnafindë]

He used to go for long walks along the shores of Lindon. Here he had taken to go for walks along the river instead. There was something soothing about the sound of water - although the sound of the river was very different from the sound of the sea.

Rameldir had expected to be called back to Lindon - back home - for a long time now. He had never thought that it would be a matter of choice. He was a soldier, although a captain - he was used to obedience, to show it to the few above him in rank, to expect it from all those under him. Now he was allowed to make his own decision for such a far-reaching choice as this. It was something of a novelty.

What did he want?

He didn't know. Going back to Lindon would be simple. He would fall back into the routines there. Some things would have to be new, of course - new lodgings and new staff, as those who were not going with him into battle had been released before he went. A captain going to battle needs to prepare for the possibility that he may never come back.

Who would miss him if he never came back?

Gil-galad hadn't seemed to miss him too much these years. They had been seeing each other, though, which might make a difference. Gil-galad surely would have mourned him if he had fallen in battle. But his cousin seemed to be satisfied with seeing him only occasionally. Although even he would know what it was like to be bereft of family at an early age ...

And it would be the same with the friends he had had. If he could visit them occasionally, that would be enough. His closest friend, Calimon, had moved away himself, actually. He lived on the other side of the Misty Mountains now.

What would it be like to accept Elrond's offer of a home here?

Rameldir stopped for a while, looking back along the river to the little hamlet where they had been living for all these years. They got on well enough together - and he was sure that Elrond would let him have a comfortable flat in the new mansion he was planning to build. Elrond had mentioned his plans to him only briefly after the evening when he had broken the news to him. He had accepted his need to think, and hadn't tried to get an answer from him. And Rameldir knew that his offer was genuinely meant.

Would he be feeling that he was living on Elrond's charity? No, he corrected himself. It wouldn't be charity - he would be in Elrond's service, just as he had been for these twenty years - he would be earning his keep. And if they could maintain the peace, as they had done for so long now - perhaps there would be the chance of peaceful pursuits again. He remembered with fondness the library of the High King's palace at Lindon. He wouldn't mind helping to recreate something resembling that. But would there be the feeling of dependence?

Rameldir sat down on a rock by the river. The sound of running water - water running off to somewhere else, somewhere he hadn't seen - enticed him in a way the sound of the sea didn't.

Would it be better to start from scratch somewhere new?

He realized that he didn't really know enough to be able to decide. He had travelled, yes, but only on errands for the High King, not to get to know the area anywhere. Not to try to find out whether this was a place where he would have liked to stay for longer - where he might like to stay permanently. That had not been an issue, and thus he hadn't even thought about it. Perhaps he ought to investigate, before making his final decision? He couldn't really see himself roaming about all over the place all by himself, though. Not for anything as vague as that.

He should try to talk to people who knew more about other places than he did himself. He could talk to Ainon, who had travelled a lot. He was sure that Ainon would prefer to stay at Rivendell, though. He had really taken to the place, and was already half settled here. He would probably advise Rameldir to stay as well - but he would give his opinion of other places, if Rameldir asked. Some investigation would be in order.

Rameldir rose and headed back for the hamlet. He would talk to Ainon after supper. No reason to delay it any further.

[Willow Oran]

He could see the whole of the valley from this eastern perch beside the highest of the waterfalls. The hamlet squatted far below and when he leaned back he could not see the huts at all, only the jewel toned meadows laced with veins of glittering foam, flanked by towering cliffs of banded stone, climbing, clinging evergreens giving the impression of a hanging garden, planted and forgotten. Hidden.

The trouble with hiding, the elf thought to himself, was that once you were in the habit, it was very difficult to stop. But stop you must, eventually. He could attest to that. Not that it had stopped him from hiding now, from what, even he was uncertain. Nothing, he decided, he had only wanted to think for a bit and there was precious little privacy below. No, the buildings they had managed were of little use for ought but surviving. He suspected even the nomadic Green-Elves of Ossiriand would have managed something of more sophistication, and then realized the comparison was useless. Neither the people nor the place still existed in recognizable form and he had never seen them when they had. He’d been hiding. So had they. It’d been hiding all around in those days. Useless in the long term, but now, again. How long had they been in this valley? Twenty years? Not so long yet; but how quickly twenty would become a century, a yen, three yen and all the while everyone insisting that they weren’t hiding, it was good here, beautiful, and look at all they had built, and then just as they’d get restless there would be another siege, then fear, then stay or go you’ll die either way. Depressing.

The elf inhaled sharply as a strong gust lifted spray from the falls to spatter over him. The cold water brought him back from lonely thoughts and he shook it from his eyes, scooting across the ledge to a dryer spot. Smiling ruefully he unfolded the now slightly damp letter which had prompted this bout of over-thinking. The ink had begun to blur but that hardly mattered, he had read it over enough already.

Too many curious relations, that was the problem. Gil-Galad was merely one more, even if he was currently the king. They were all quite bad at hiding their thoughts, each of them were wondering what he would do now he had returned, why he had returned in the first place. They could keep wondering, the elf thought stubbornly, it was no one’s business, well, Elrond’s perhaps, but no one else’s what he did, was doing here. There had been an opportunity, and desire, and then promises made to other cousins, well beloved. He had not thought to be once again hidden. Hm.

The elf realized that his fingers were tapping the stone restlessly and stopped. Hiding up here and thinking in circles would not help anything. He needed to move. Glorfindel stood, stretched and prepared to climb back down the precarious trail he had found leading up the eastern wall of the valley. He would talk to Elrond. Surely the Peredhel wouldn’t begrudge him time to see this new land before settling to keep his promises.

[Rían]

Alariel, from her vantage point in the branches of a tree by the quay, turned away from watching her brother and his friend to once more look at the interesting proceedings of the woman passing by.

She was a woman on a mission: that much was clear. She had first caught Alariel's eye an hour or so ago by the determined set of her head and the purposefulness of her stride - both unusual in this strange, dreamlike, halfway sort of place that she currently called home, for lack of a better word. The eyes of so many of the people here seemed to never quite be looking at things in the present; instead, they seemed to be looking either ahead or behind. The eyes of those looking ahead weren't so bad - they were just hopeful, or filled with longing and even excitement for the journey over the sea and the loved ones with whom they would be reunited. But the eyes of those looking back were what sometimes haunted her in the middle of the night, when her own eyes had that same distant look and she herself could not find rest.

Alariel shook her head, and a rueful smile crossed her face. When she had shared these thoughts with Alagos, her brother, he had laughed at her and called these thoughts just a silly fancy. He was one of the clear-eyed ones. But lately, his eyes had also changed. However, he wasn't looking ahead or behind - he was watching his brother-friend Tyaron. And watching him closely - as if he were waiting for something, and did not want to miss it.

The woman passed close by Alariel again, but this time she stopped, crossed her hands over her chest and heaved a frustrated sigh. Alariel recognized her as the sister of the jewel-smith Halweg, one whose eyes looked back far too often. As fellow survivors of Gondolin, Alariel and her brother knew Hallindel and Halweg, but only slightly, as they were in different houses and professions. Alariel's brother had been a famous archer in Gondolin, and he usually ran in the military circles, while Halweg was a swordsman but mostly, and foremost, a craftsman. And when Halweg came out of his forge, which wasn't often, he usually stayed with his friends who shared his trade.

Alariel and Hallindel knew each other better than their brothers knew each other, through their mutual love of music. But Alariel mostly played the harp, while Hallindel preferred flutes, and their paths had just not crossed very often.

Suddenly curious, Alariel purposefully shifted her position, causing Hallindel to look up at the slight noise.

"You in the tree and my brother in the forge - all is well!" she said with a wry grin on her face.

"At least I don't usually sleep in the trees!" answered Alariel with a laugh, which she immediately regretted upon seeing Hallindel's expression. "I'm sorry, that was ..."

"No, no, don't worry," said Hallindel. "So he did it again, didn’t he? I see I was right to chide him about it just earlier."

Both women were silent for a moment, looking out at the sea.

"Do you ... have you ever thought of leaving here?" asked Hallindel, suddenly curious to see if Alariel shared the feeling that had come upon her so strongly this morning.

Alariel climbed down the tree, dropped lightly to her feet next to Hallindel and shook her head. "I don't know why, but I'm just not ready to sail west yet," she answered slowly.

"No - I'm sorry, I meant leave here, but stay here - not sail. Just explore! Just see ..." she shook her head, grasping for words -or even notes- that would capture her sudden desire for travel better. Scolding Halweg out of his forge was somehow easier than explaining what exactly she wished to do.

Alariel turned away from the sea and looked thoughtfully into Hallindel's face.

"I have thought of leaving here - and I think my brother and his friend are thinking the same thing, although they haven't said so yet."

Hallindel tilted her head to one side and looked thoughtful as she considered this. Although she did not know them well, both were highly regarded in Mithlond. And while Halweg was an able warrior, it always was a wiser course on a long road to travel with a larger, abler company. Yes, those two would be good travelling companions.

Or rather, all three. For Alariel was a musician too, Hallindel recalled with some satisfaction. Her fingers drew music from the harp-strings that tugged the heart-strings at the same time. Suddenly, there was a promise of music unheard to this journey… Hallindel could almost hear it, and her heart beat faster.

"So," she said out loud, "if you think you can handle a somewhat single-minded jewel-smith and an overly cheerful flutist…”

She turned to face Alariel head-on, with an enthusiastic twinkle in her eye.

”How fast can you three pack?"

[Willow Oran]

Glorfindel jumped down the last few feet to the floor of the valley, landing at the back of the small collection of semi-permanent buildings that currently was Imladris. The earliest of these had been built of wood salvaged from the army’s supply wagons, those few that had kept up in the retreat. Rough longhouses for the most vulnerable. Time had remedied much, but though most of the elves and men who had come with the retreat had by now left for other homes or been moved into less desperately constructed houses, those first ones remained. In the last soldier’s transition from tents to huts, Elrond had laid claim to one of these vacated halls. Aligned east to west in the center of the hamlet, Elrond’s “house” was divided with walls of fabric into a central area dominated by a usually map covered table and four officer’s barracks. Close quarters, but it sufficed. It was here that Glorfindel dwelt.

Today he ducked through the doorway and found Elrond, a charcoal stick in hand, bent nearly nose to table over a tightly stretched, tacked down square of former tent wall and squinting in the dim light.

“Might that be better done outside?” suggested Glorfindel, after a moment of watching, “There is light outside, your eyes would thank you.”

“Mm,” Elrond did not respond, but made a mark on his improvised canvas.

Glorfindel moved closer, curious, “What are you working on? Elrond?” He shook his head at the lack of response and leaned in, raising his voice just slightly, “Elrond!”

“What?” Elrond straightened quickly, forcing Glorfindel to jump back to avoid being hit, “Oh. Sorry,” he said, focusing on Glorfindel, “I wasn’t - ”

“I haven’t been here long,” Glorfindel assured him, “But you were quite deeply focused. What is it?” It looked like a tangled series of boxes. Elrond must have just started whatever it was.

“A design,” said Elrond, “For a house.”

Glorfindel studied the drawing more closely, he supposed that with a bit more work it might begin to resemble a house, “A very rambling house,” he said, “For this valley?”

Elrond nodded, “I started drafting it just an hour ago, it is barely formed at the moment. There will be much talking before it gets completed.”

“Yes.” Glorfindel paused, remembering his earlier musings and wondering how to bring them up now, “So you are certain you want to stay here?” He asked.

“I did not need to think about it long when it came to it,” Elrond agreed, “Yes. And you? You disappeared before I could ask about the letter you received. What did Gil-Galad have to say to you?”

“Naught but formality,” Glorfindel said, with barely a moment’s hesitation, “Confirmation of my intentions here.”

“Ah,” this was not something they had spoken of in specifics before. Elrond was aware that Glorfindel was his kinsman, but Glorfindel had said only that he had been allowed to return to help in a general sense. Gil-Galad’s request would change that.

Glorfindel tried to arrange the necessary words in his mind and found he was not yet ready. He met Elrond’s waiting gaze, “Not yet,” he said, taking his cousin’s hand “Come outside, you cannot design a house out of sight of the place it will go in.” The crumpled letter he left on the table.

[Rían]

"Last night, she came to me, She came softly in.
So softly she came that her feet made no din.
She came up to me, then this she did say:
'It will not be long, love, 'till we wend away.' " **

Alariel let the last notes of the song fade quietly into the twilight, then got up, put her harp safely in its corner, covered it with its embroidered cloth, and left the room.

When she came back, she was carrying a much smaller lap harp. She sat back down and looked at Alagos and Tyaron, who were still gazing out the window into the steadily deepening evening sky. The stars were just coming out, and in the distance, they could hear the singing start.

Alariel took out the tuning key and plucked the lowest string. Her brow furrowed with concentration, she placed the key over the string peg and tightened it slowly, plucking repeatedly until she was satisfied with its pitch.

The decidedly unromantic sounds of a musician tuning her instrument broke the reverie of the men, and they turned their gaze from the stars in the sky to the woman in the room.

"What are you doing?" asked Tyaron.

"Why, tuning my harp, of course!" she replied, shaking her head at him teasingly. "You've seen me do this thousands of times!"

"Well, yes, but ... " He looked over at the larger harp in the corner, confused. The larger floor harp was a beautiful instrument and had a much better tone, as bigger harps usually do because of their larger soundbox.

"Well, I want to take a harp with us, and that one," she nodded her head towards the floor harp as she moved the tuning key to the next peg, "will be too heavy and awkward to carry."

The men looked at each other, confused. They had not yet mentioned their thoughts of leaving to Alariel - they had only just put words to those thoughts themselves this very morning. How did she know? But however she found out, both men had envisioned just the two of them traveling. Although there was peace in the land, still, travelling was not particularly safe, and they had thought to set out by themselves and leave their beloved Alariel safe at the Havens.

They looked over at Alariel, who was studiously tuning the small travel harp, then back at each other. "How did she know?" was the question that was evident on their faces, although it remained unspoken.

Finally Alagos laughed. "I should have known I couldn't hide anything from you, my sister!" he said as he rose and walked over to her. His hand caressed her cheek. "But seriously, we only just talked about it ourselves today, although it has been on both our minds for quite some time. I was going to tell you tonight, but your playing put me in such a pleasant dream that everything else passed from my mind."

Alariel smiled briefly at the compliment, then re-assumed the determined look that the men knew so well as she tackled the next string - the low A-string, which tended to have its own opinion about what pitch it should hold. After some expert adjustments, she leaned back, satisfied, once again the victor. She took a deep breath. She intended to carry her point with her brother and their friend as well as with the string.

"When shall we set out, then?" she asked casually, then answered the question she read in their eyes. "Yes, I want to go, and yes, I know it's dangerous, but I would rather really live and then die out there than go on not living here. I ... I just feel that there are things that we should see ..."

The room fell quiet, and they listened to the elvish singing coming from all around them, borne on the gentle night breeze.

Finally, Alagos the restless stirred. "Well, I suppose we can go any time now," he said. We've already spoken to Cirdan."

"I'm not surprised, brother!" laughed Alariel. "Our mother named you well! You are indeed like a windstorm - when it's something you want to do!" Tyaron, who had remained looking out the window, smiled at the teasing of the brother and sister.

"Well, I can move quickly, too," she continued. "And I, too, will live up to my name, for I have brought us good fortune - I have already found excellent travelling companions for us!"

This announcement took Tyaron's attention away from the window. "But you didn't even know ..." he began, confused.

"Oh, Alagos has been watching you, and I - I have been watching BOTH of you! And it seems that this call for a journey has stirred in other hearts, as well. Hallindel the flutist spoke to me this morning as I watched you two on the quay. She and her brother wish to journey, too, and we thought it would be a good thing to journey together."

"I know them only slightly, but I hear good of them," mused Tyaron, his strategy-minded brain already analyzing the possible make-up of the journeying team. "Halweg, her brother, handles a sword well." Then he added, perplexed, "But we don't even know where we're going yet!"

"Well, neither do they," said Alariel firmly, set on Hallindel and her brother joining them. The conversation with Hallindel this morning had favorably impressed her. "As long as it's away from here, I think they'll be fine - as will we."

Tyaron and Alagos looked at each other for a moment, read agreement in each other's eyes, and then turned back to Alariel.

"So be it, then!" pronounced Alagos, while the more taciturn Tyaron contented himself with a brief nod. Alariel smiled at Alagos, pleased with the way things were going. "When can they set out?"

"I'll go find out!" answered Alariel. Actually, she knew the answer, but she wanted to speak to Hallindel again and share the good news that they would be traveling companions. She put the lap harp into its carrying case and set it down in a corner near the door, then left the house on the first part of the journey.


(** these lyrics are slightly modified from a verse of "She Moved Through the Fair", an ancient Celtic tune that I've always thought particularly Elvish-sounding.)

[Varnafindë]

It turned out to be Ainon who sought out Rameldir first, though. After supper he asked if he could have a word with him, and Rameldir said that they could talk in his living-room. It would be good, he thought, to have more than just two rooms again, wherever he would end up getting - or building - a new place to live.

"Lord Elrond told us yesterday that the High King is reorganizing his army, and that we are free to choose between staying here and going back to Lindon," Ainon began. "When I asked him, he said that he didn't know yet which one you would choose - or whether you would even set up somewhere new of your own. So today I thought I ought to talk to you about it. Because if you expected to use me at the core of your new force - well, Lord Rameldir, I hope you don't mind, but I'd much rather stay here in Rivendell."

He stared at the table next to Rameldir, waiting for his reaction.

Rameldir was slightly taken aback. Why would one of his soldiers - albeit one of his best soldiers - feel the need to consult with him about these matters?

"If you prefer to stay here, you are of course free to do so," he answered. "In this case, you answer to the High King directly, not to me. And I don't know what I'll be doing. There are several other places I could go to, but I know far too little about them. I was actually going to ask you to tell me something about them - seeing that you have travelled about a lot more than I have."

"Tell you about the other Elven realms in Middle-earth, Lord Rameldir?" Ainon asked, staring straight at Rameldir now. "Surely you've been to most of them yourself?"

Rameldir smiled.

"Oh yes, in an official capacity," he said. "But coming on a state visit is very different from seeing their daily life. Please tell me what it's like to live in those realms. Which one do you know best? Apart from Lindon, presumably?"

"I see what you mean," Ainon laughed. "There are a few I could tell you about ... There is Edhellond, down by the Bay of Belfalas, where my parents seem to have finally settled. Then there is Lorinand, where my aunt lives with her husband and my two young cousins. She's my mother's sister, by the way, of the Nandor, while my father is a survivor from Doriath."

"A friend of mine also lives in Lorinand," Rameldir inserted. "Perhaps you remember Calimon? He moved there with his wife and daughter a few centuries back."

"Yes, I remember him," Ainon smiled. "Perhaps you should go visit him for a while? You cannot decide where to settle for good only by listening to me telling you about places, you know. You need to go there to see them for yourself. But I'll do what I can."

He told Rameldir about life both in Lorinand, Edhellond and other realms where he had stayed for a while. Rameldir listened, fascinated, asking questions and discussing the answers. He felt that he learnt a lot. But Ainon was of course right - listening was not enough.

"I really should ask Calimon for an invitation," he finally said. "Perhaps you would like to come with me - a companion on such a journey is good, and a guide is even better."

"I suppose I could do that," Ainon mused. "We could start in Lorinand - I think it's fashionable to call it Lorien these days, though - and then move on from there. I could show you what I've been telling you. But don't expect me to change my mind and settle with you! I'll return to Rivendell, whatever you decide to do."

"Fine," Rameldir smiled. "But tell me this - what then is your reason for staying here?"

"It's home," Ainon simply said. "I've done far too much roaming about. Travelling can be fun when I know I'm going back to something settled afterwards, and to some extent it has been like that since I came to Lindon and joined the High King's army. Before, I was just restless. But Rivendell is giving me something that Lindon didn't. There's something about the country here - the forest, the river, the valley - it's home in way that Lindon never was.
I've tried to accept that we might be called back some day. But I'm very happy that I needn't. I'll try to help you find a home as well."

"I'm grateful for that," Rameldir said. "Let's go and tell Elrond about our plans. I'm sure he'll give you leave of absence for a few months to come with me."

[Earniel]

Halweg could hear Hallindel in the kitchen. It still felt strange hearing someone else move about in the kitchen that wasn’t his wife, Losseloth. Even though Hallindel had often helped around the house when Losseloth was unable, his sister had her own apartment in the house of Lady Isandiel and usually stayed there.

Not so tonight.

She had dragged him from the forge, saying she would cook dinner for him and that he should consider what he would pack for the journey. She had already found suitable travel companions even though some of them –technically- still had to voice their agreement. Halweg was slightly stunned at the speed with which Hallindel tackled the journey. But then, his sister often gave into whimsical ideas or sudden plans, unpredictable as the sea. But unlike the sea, Hallindel never left something unfinished until the next tide and nearly always worked out her projects from start to finish.

Just like this sudden desire for travel. But no, not sudden, Halweg considered. It had been slumbering for quite a while now; Hallindel had only recognised it sooner for what it was.

Still, Halweg found he was not adverse to the idea. He was approaching it just as he would approach a job for a new jewellery-item or weapon: look up the needed materials, select the tools for it, consider the stores of firewood and ore, set up a time-table and get to work. He had decided to take some of his forge-tools along. Forges perhaps weren't littered frequently through out Arda, but on a long journey, one was better prepared for all eventualities. Hallindel would no doubt take her flute along so she had no grounds for protest, he thought with an amused smile.

But, he realised, he still had to ask her just where she had decided to go first. The world was large, large enough to fill many lifetimes with exploring. And while time was no issue for the Eldar; one couldn’t start hammering on a plaque of metal without knowing what one wished to forge. Likewise, Halweg had no wish to travel without having at least a direction to follow. He would have to ask her, but that could wait until after dinner.

Hallindel was humming to herself while cooking. Halweg recognised the song, it was one she always hummed when she was pleased with an accomplishment, be it a mastering a particular difficult musical piece or successfully hounding her brother out of his forge. He wondered if she even realised how the song gave her mood away.

The clanging doorbell interrupted his thoughts. Before he could move, Hallindel called up ‘I’ll get it!’ and went for the door, as if she wanted to head off any possible excuse he had to put off packing.

He was offered an excuse soon enough in the form of a ready dinner and a guest. Much was discussed during dinner, and it was well into the evening before the door of Halweg's house was opened again.

[Rían]

(* * * Joke post! * * *)


Hallindel opened the door.

"Hello! Hello!" chimed two high-pitched voices.

She looked down, then stifled a groan.

Two little elven maids with bright eyes and big smiles looked back up at her. Elven Scouts!

"We're selling chocolates for our Scout Troop!" they announced eagerly as they shoved a box towards her face. "Would you like to buy some?"


(* * * /Joke post! We now return to our regularly-scheduled RPG * * *)

(and thanks to Willow Oran for the Elven Scout idea! )

[Rían]

"Well, I suppose we're really off now!" said Alariel. She had just said good-bye to Halweg, and she and Hallindel, who had felt like an evening walk, were headed towards Alariel's home.

Hallindel chuckled. "Looks like it!" she agreed. "A bit sudden!"

"But not unexpected," added Alariel. Hallindel nodded thoughtfully. They fell silent, gazing at the ever-present sea.

After a while, Alariel broke the silence. "It will be strange to be away from the sea," she mused. "I'm so used to the sound. It just keeps going ... Sometimes I fancy that it takes a break when no one is noticing, though!"

Hallindel laughed. "I'd never thought of that!" she said, amused at the idea.

They drew up to Alariel's house and stopped. The night-singing flowed all around them on the breeze off of the sea. Neither woman moved.

"What are you looking for?" asked Hallindel, finally breaking the silence.

"I don't know," answered Alariel. "I think ... well, mainly I'll be looking after my brother and our friend! but I think I want to find something that reminds me of ... home."

"You remember well, don't you? I wish I did."

"Yes, I remember well ... which is very good, but also harder - I miss it more, I think, than those who were very young when we left."

"Yes, I suppose so," returned Hallindel. "Yet I miss the missing..."

Alariel smiled. "Then I shall tell you of Gondolin on our travels," she said. "We shall have plenty of time! And perhaps, in the telling, I'll find out what I'm looking for here."

Hallindel nodded. "I would like that."

Alariel bowed her head in acknowledgement, and the two women parted.

[Willow Oran]

Glorfindel had left Elrond happily making mind sketches above the middle meadow. Once outside, his cousin had proven easily distractible, ensuring that the topic of conversation had quickly turned to the proposed house and away from awkward questions of letters and words as yet unsaid. But that had soon drifted into silence and Glorfindel was now meandering back through the settlement. It was slow progress. This near to the evening meal people were returning, emerging from their work and gathering into, around the houses. At each one he passed greetings were exchanged and news heard. Almost to the longhouses, he narrowly dodged a collision between Lhunril, the youngest of the children to survive the retreat, and his knees, then sent the tiny girl along to her foster parents with a gentle reminder to be more careful running. It was good to see the smallest children looking healthy again.

Glorfindel sped his steps as he returned to Elrond’s house, intent on obtaining some quiet in which to continue thinking. He had thought he was ready earlier, to say what he ought to and request what he wanted to. He hadn’t been, once more he was being a verbal coward. Perhaps if he wrote it out... his hand was on the door-post when from behind him he heard an all too complicating call.

“Glorfindel!” Rameldir. Of course. Undisturbed thought was clearly not to be this evening.

Glorfindel turned, smiling. There was no reason not to smile. Rameldir was a dear cousin, had been a child in Glorfindel’s house in Gondolin. Glorfindel dropped his hand from the wood and looked up at his now fellow captain, “Well met, cousin,” he said, “and Ainon, I see. Are you seeking Elrond?”

“We were,” said Rameldir, “We were speaking earlier and I left him to think over my answer to a question. Having thought sufficiently, I wished to speak to him again. Is he inside still?”

“He isn’t,” Glorfindel started back the way he had just come, indicating that they should follow, “He is surveying a possible site for a great house. Has he told you of that idea? The design so far is mad, a labyrinthine city under one roof. Boxes everywhere.”

“Boxes?” Glorfindel grinned at the confusion in Ainon’s voice.

“Boxes,” Glorfindel confirmed, “He was drawing as the eagle sees and the result lacks detail. I put him out in the meadow to be inspired.”

“I hope you do not think the idea is mad,” Rameldir said, “I have already encouraged it.”

“I - ” Glorfindel left his answer hanging and silently walked, unsure. One large house... “It is different. It may become a little crowded,” he said, as Elrond came into sight, still deep in thought, “But a single house is most sensible for this place. This hidden valley is no Tumladen in size, and all the caves are shallow. It would not lend itself to an echo.”

“And is that good or bad, I wonder?” Elrond asked, turning to them.

"The difference is good," Glorfindel said. "It's hidden, but not sealed off. People will be able to come and go. And those living here will be able to help others in the region, not just see to their own needs."

"Unlike some others in the past, you mean?" There was a certain coldness in Elrond's voice. "Do not fear that I would deny anyone who knows the entrance to this place, the right to leave it. I want a home, not a prison. Even though I want it all under one roof."

"Speaking of leaving," Rameldir broke in, "Ainon and I have a request to make. If you don't want to listen to it here, we can go inside."

"Why?" Elrond asked. "I think here would be good enough. Are you going to say that you want to leave? The High King allows you to, you know - but I was hoping you wouldn't disappear too suddenly."

Glorfindel listened intently. Was Rameldir going to establish a place for himself? If so, should he still feel responsible for both of his cousins? If he had to choose, he should probably choose the one who was also the descendant of his King - but he didn't want to make any more choices now. Not right now.

"No, nothing sudden," Rameldir said. "And nothing definite, either. Not yet, anyway. But I've been thinking - and Ainon has been advising me - that I ought to see more of the other Elven realms before I make up my mind. I might travel to my friend Calimon in Lorien first of all, and then go on from there. Ainon says that he's willing to act as my guide - if you'll give us both leave of absence for such a journey."

“I see,” Elrond grew thoughtful and turned to Glorfindel, “Is this, by chance, a request similar to whatever it is you have been so studiously avoiding saying all day?”

Glorfindel hesitated, blushing slightly and feeling annoyed that this body was still so transparent in its reactions, “In part,” he admitted, “I... have been feeling restless of late. I never have traveled much, only on long marches to and from new homes or desperate battles. I would like to see more of Middle Earth than its northern beaches, our hidden valleys and history’s killing fields.”

“Put that way, I do not think I can refuse either of you!” said Elrond, surprised, for who would have thought a hero’s experience to have been so limited? “Rameldir, write to your friend and tell him there will be three of you traveling. All I ask is that you delay your departure till summer’s start. I wish to have the foundations for at least the central halls laid down by then and I will need help from both of you in the meantime.”

"Three of us - yes, I'll tell him that," Rameldir said, a bit taken back by this sudden addition to his travelling company.

But why not? There was safety in numbers, and perhaps this could be a way of getting to know his cousin better. Over the hundred years they had been around each other in Lindon, they had never become really close. At times - only occasionally, though - Rameldir wondered whether Glorfindel was trying to avoid him. Perhaps he was smothering his cousin with hero-worship? Glorfindel had been the great hero of his youth, the late Head of his House, and the one who had sacrificed himself to save them all.

Perhaps it's difficult for someone who has sacrificed himself, to come back and face those for whom he has sacrificed himself?

Rameldir remembered Glorfindel from his childhood in Gondolin, too, as one of the most important adults around, but the hero-status was something that had come only after the death-fight with the Balrog. Glorfindel had become quite the legend - and in the beginning it was strange to be around a legend and discuss with him what he thought of today's dinner. It was in fact easier when Gil-galad sent them to a battle together. Glorfindel the warrior fit the hero-role Rameldir was seeing for him.

And Glorfindel the warrior, Glorfindel the swordsman, would be a great help if they should meet with trouble. Rameldir never used a sword, and close combat with a dagger could be dangerous - and Ainon was no more than average with a sword, but one of his best archers. Traveling as a trio would make sense.

"And I'll tell him that we wouldn't come until summer," he added. "Crossing the mountains is easier then as well."

Elrond turned to Glorfindel, “Does this arrangement suit your wish?”

Glorfindel nodded, “It does,” he said. He did not say that it was not quite what he had envisaged when thinking of going wandering, but the permission to go was what he had hoped for and it was wiser to travel in a group. Even if this was not quite the group he might have chosen, Elrond had all but phrased it as a direct order. Devious of him. Perceptive.

There was an awkwardness here in Middle Earth, one Glorfindel had not anticipated when he had chosen to return. The innocence in which he had existed in the west was being worn away, cracked with every half-familiar face he encountered. He had found himself shying away from these reminders that while he had been safe, forgiven, other people, his people had continued to suffer. In battle, or around the very young, it was easier. Fighting was fighting, he was, if anything, better now than he had ever been in his youth, and children cared little for the past, it was merely a story to them while he was here.

He would be forced to face up to it, traveling with Rameldir. Well, he’d have two months to brace himself. It was probably for the best.

[Rían]

Evening came to Middle Earth once again, and the group of people around the travelers fell silent as the Evening Star rose slowly and surely into the sky. It was Tyaron's voice that finally broke the silence as he chanted in the ancient tongue of Gondolin:

"Éala Éärendel engla beorhtast
ofer middangeard monnum sended."

Alagos closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath, as a man does when he is wandering and famished, and the scent of sweet, ripe fruit comes to him, carried on a fresh breeze. Alariel reached out and took Tyaron's hand, and then her brother's.

Silence fell again. Eärendil rose higher into the darkening sky. From somewhere near the quays, the evening-songs started, then spread across the city like the kindling of beacon lights upon the hills.

CÃ*rdan spoke. "The blessings of Elbereth upon you all," he said in his deep voice. There was no more to be said; all had been said before.

The group bowed, then moved off amid soft calls of "Namárië! Namárië!" The singers in the twilight took up the call, at first surrounding the travelers with their music; then, as they passed through the city gates, seeming to gently impel them onwards from behind. As they walked, the night breezes first blended with the steadily-fainter music, then finally overcame it. The group walked on in silence; some occasionally looking back at the faint lights of the city, some only looking forward.

As they reached a turn in their path, Tyaron stopped and held up his hand. He turned for the first time and looked back at the lights of Mithlond, and then at each of the travellers. Then, in the tradition of warriors, he drew his sword, holding it high in the air so the starlight glinted off its sharp edge.

"For Gondolin!" he cried aloud. "And for the beauty of Eä, that lives despite the darkness!"

Alagos drew his sword. "Auta i lómë! Aurë entuluva!" he cried, joining his sword with Tyaron's as he repeated the words spoken so long ago at the Nirnaeth, when hope came out of the darkness. The night-birds flew into the sky in a rustle of wings; the very earth seemed to be listening.

Alagos reached out for his sister's hand. He brought it to his lips, kissed it, and pressed it against his heart. He looked at her with a question in his eyes.

"For love," she said softly, and he smiled at her. "And for beauty - and for Gondolin that once was, and lives on in our hearts: and indeed, lives on still in the beauty around us." She reached out and took Hallindel's hand. "And for friends," she added, "and music - and work that is well-done and strong, and done with skill of hand and from the heart," she continued, looking at Halweg as Hallindel took his hand.

The birds circled round and finally settled back into their nests. Tyaron and Alagos re-sheathed their swords. Alagos' hand unconsciously felt for his quiver and bow at his back, and, reassured, fell quietly to his side.

"May we find what we are looking for," said Tyaron, and, leading the way, turned the corner in his determined stride, followed by Alariel, Hallindel and Halweg.

"Nai elyë hiruva," said Alagos softly as he watched his friend disappear around the corner. He shook his head, took a deep breath, and hurried to join the group as they left the lights of Mithlond behind.




=============================================
Translations:

1. "Éala Éärendel engla beorhtast
ofer middangeard monnum sended."

this is from a group of Anglo-Saxon poems referred to as Crist, which inspired Tolkien. I'm using it here to represent the ancient language of Gondolin. Translated, it is:
"Hail Earendel, brightest of angels
sent over Middle-earth to men."

2. "Namárië" - farewell.

3. "Auta i lómë! Aurë entuluva!" - the cry of Fingon and the Elves at the Nirnaeth Aenoediad when Turgon opened the leaguer of Gondolin and came with an army of ten thousand to succor his brother and kin. Translated, it is: "The night is passing! The day has come!"

4. "Nai elyë hiruva" - from Galadriel's farewell; translated, it is: "Maybe even thou shalt find it."

[Willow Oran]

“Of course I will come back,” Glorfindel said, mildly indignant that Elrond should have asked, even jokingly, when he was aware that Glorfindel was not ready to talk about long term plans just yet, “I - ”

“Laurë! Catch me!” Warned by the sound of his nickname, Glorfindel turned just in time to catch Lhunril as she launched herself at him. She was in the lead of a group of children now finished with their suppers and free to play. Laughing, glad of the interruption, he swung her around before settling her against his shoulder and greeting Lhunril’s foster brothers, Dorochu and Idhor, and their friends, Faunuial, Naethbor, and Eirien. “Can Laurë come play with us now?” Lhunril was asking Elrond over Glorfindel’s shoulder, “Please?”

“Laurë,” Elrond’s tone was of a man hard pressed not to laugh, “may play if he wishes. In fact, he has been moping all day, and needs to run around - ”

“I have not,” Glorfindel protested halfheartedly.

“Ooh! Will you play hide and seek with us, Laurë?” Idhor asked, excited. It was always more fun if there was an adult playing to try and outwit...

“Ai, it is a little late in the day for hide and seek,” he said, heading off that idea quickly.

“Evenings are better for stories than games,” Faunuial declared, and the other children seemed to agree, for within moments they were all clamoring for a story. Glorfindel eventually agreed that, yes, he could tell them a story this evening, and soon the children (and two suddenly childlike lords plus a curious officer) were arranged on cloaks spread over the grass.

“What sort of story?” Glorfindel asked and waited.

“Tell us a story from when you were little,” Eirien demanded quietly.

“Yes, do.” Elrond’s voice was equally quiet, and even more a demand. Glorfindel racked his mind for a suitable tale. Something from when he was little... hah! Plenty of adventures and not one he would care to share with small children. Except... well, that one wasn’t so bad. It had been a relatively humorous incident despite everything.

“Very well,” Glorfindel said, “This happened in the far north, before the moon and sun rose, and although I think I must have been at least forty, I was still very small. My family and many others were crossing the Ice at the time. Now there are many reasons why the Ice was not a pleasant place to grow up, it was very cold and very dangerous and there was not very much to eat, but worse than all of those, if you were a child throughout the crossing as I was, is that it was very, very boring. Do you remember how on the journey here we asked you all to stay quiet and at the side of your guardians? Yes? Imagine having to do that all the time. My cousins and I often resembled lumpy, fur-covered packs more than children and it was only during the second half of the journey, when we had all grown just big enough to be too big to carry that we had any chances to run around or explore. This chance had not been foreseen or planned...” as Glorfindel drifted into the storytelling, the memory itself became clear, unfolding in his mind as it had happened...

“Please. brother...” Glorfindel and Itarillë watched hopefully as Aredhel attempted to charm Turukano, “Atar said there is land under the ice here, and Angarato has said his children may go. It is not very far... we would not even be out of sight really.”

It worked, Turukano sighed and gave in, “Fine, you may go, but stay close together and do not forget that if I let Itarillë and Glorfindel go with you, you must look after them. Make sure they keep a safe distance. Our brother said those animals are dangerous if disturbed.”

“Of course,” all three of them promised before running off to find their cousins, “We’ll be careful!”

Just a quarter mile from the edge of the camp later and six of them crouched behind a ridge of ice, Aredhel on one end and Arothir on the other with Itarillë, Glorfindel, Arothir’s sister Arindis and her friend, Glorfindel and Itarillë’s cousin Erufailon, in between.

“What are those things?” Itarillë was asking.

“They look like seals...” Arindis said.

“Seals aren’t that big!” Glorfindel exclaimed, “And look! These have tusks.”

“Nerwen wanted to try hunting them,” said Arothir, “I think she might convince people to, we need the meat... they look impossible to kill though. I bet that skin is thicker than armor.”

“Bet it isn’t,” said Aredhel, “Look how wrinkly they all are. I’ll bet even little Glorfindel could stick a spear into one.”

“I’m not little!”

"Quiet!” Erufailon shushed them all, “I think they can hear us.”

“Don’t be silly,” Aredhel argued, but in a whisper, “They have no ears.”

“Just because you can’t see them,” Glorfindel glared at her, still annoyed.

“You shouldn’t tease him,” Itarillë rebuked her aunt, “it isn’t his fault he hasn’t grown for so long.”

“Stop that!” Glorfindel was now glaring at both of them, “There’s nothing wrong with me!”

“Fine,” Aredhel grinned, “I’ll stop calling you little if you sneak up and touch one of those animals.”

“But we promised Turukano - ”

“I won’t tell him. Those things are so big they can hardly move, what are you scared of?”

“Nothing!”

“Then go on!”

“Fine!” Glorfindel ignored the frantic whispers of everyone else, telling him not to listen to Aredhel and to get back here right now, and climbed over the ridge, landing lightly on the ice covered beach gravel. The giant-toothed seals really were massive; and there were a lot of them, all piled into a huge mass of wrinkled, blobby bodies. Euch.
He scanned the mass until he found one that looked smaller than the rest and started creeping towards it. Slowly, he didn’t dare make a sound. The distance between him and the creatures decreased quicker than he would have liked. If he stepped too far now he would be standing on top of them. He lifted his hand. One of the creatures lifted its head, could those beady eyes really see him? He reached out towards the smaller creature, the one that was maybe looking at him snorted, reared up slightly. Glorfindel reached out a shaking hand and slowly stroked the hide of the creature at his feet. It was softer than he had expected, like good leather and darker than the hides of the creatures around it. It started at his touch, jerking up and grunting weirdly. Unlike the others, this one had no tusks. They hadn’t grown yet, Glorfindel could see now, and he let his hand linger just a little too long because now the larger creature was definitely coming at him and Glorfindel felt himself shoved roughly backwards by the force, falling to the ground, winded. Uh oh. As the creature reared back for another blow Glorfindel scrambled away and to his feet and ran as fast as he could back to his cousins.

“Did you get in trouble?” Dorochu asked.

Glorfindel laughed, “Unusually, no. I was not badly hurt enough to want to tell and Aredhel made the others promise not to tattle. Once they were assured I was all right they thought it funny too, so that was fine.”

“Why did it attack you?” Asked Naethbor, “You were just petting the other one.”

“I believe the one that attacked me was the mother of the one I pet,” Glorfindel said, “Letting myself be goaded into touching a strange animal was a very foolish thing to do. Take it as an example of what not to do,” he said, smiling, “Even if it did relieve the boredom for a little. It is getting late. Shall we escort these children back to their parents now, my lords?”

[Earniel]

Hallindel walked lightly, trying not to make too much sound while keeping in the shadows of the trees at the edge of the forest. Surely there should be enough dinners for five scuttling around here, she thought. There was open ground for feeding, and enough long grass and low bushes to provide for cover and nesting.

Yes, a little further in the grass, she saw the grey-brown head or a partridge bop up and then disappear again. She readied her sling. This time, she told herself, she would have to do better. The world had changed significantly since the last time she had been forced to hunt and fend for herself in the wild and Hallindel found herself sorely out of practise.

Just an hour earlier, she had botched her chance to have a nicely stewed hare for dinner. The stone had missed and the hare -and every hare in the vicinity- had bailed out. She had chided herself for assuming she’d be able to step into that life again and just expect to have her old skills with a sling back in the blink of an eye.

This time, though… Hallindel moved a little closer, keeping her eyes on where she had last seen the partridge.

She remembered, years ago, almost a lifetime ago, when she had been stalking the snow-white grouse in the snowfields, the year after the Havens were destroyed. That had required quite a lot more skill than this. But Aranwë had been a good teacher when the three of them had hid in caves in the mountain valleys, where the roaming werewolves of Morgoth couldn’t pass the thick layers of snow as well as light-footed Elves could. A tough time it had been back then, but not one without rewards. She wondered where her companions of those days were. Some of them she had never seen again after the war; would there still be any of them in the other Elven Kingdoms? Would she be able to meet some of those lost friends on this journey?

The loud clapping of the partridge’s wings broke her train of thoughts. Dwelling on past things, she had absentmindedly come too close to the bird. While cursing her own lack of focus, the slingshot in her hand came to life with a low hum as she swung it rapidly. Whether it was due to luck or her own anger, the pebble did not miss the target this time. And with a satisfied cry, Hallindel went to collect her winnings and returned to the camp and her current companions .

They had a cosy fire going already. Her brother Halweg was staring absentmindedly into the flames.

“Miss your forge already?� she asked as she sat down beside him and started plucking the partridge.
“No,� he said mischievously, “just hungry. You took long enough, I was starting to think you had forgotten all about hunting and had gone to play your flute against the song-birds.�

[Varnafindë]

"Oh no!" Eirien protested, "It's not all that late - there's time for one more story! Please?"

"I’m out of stories for now," Glorfindel said, smiling. Out of those fitting for the present company, anyway. His smile faded slightly as he was reminded of the many stories he had that were unfit for children. Never mind that he had been a child himself in most of them...

"Uncle Rameldir, then?" Naethbor pleaded, "Just one more! What happened to you when you crossed the ice?"

"You know I don't usually tell you stories," Rameldir said, feeling a bit embarrassed, "And I didn't cross the ice - I wasn't born then. Arindis and Erufailon were my parents, and as you just heard, when they crossed the ice, they were still young. In fact, it was something that happened during the crossing that made them such special friends ..."

"Although you don't tell stories, you write them," Elrond interjected, "So that's what you've been working on lately, then - the story of your parents? I've seen the light from your room at times when I would have expected you to be asleep, and I know that you exhausted our meager library long ago. The ink bottles are disappearing rather fast these days... Isn't there a chapter you could share?"

Rameldir glared at the Lord of Imladris. He had been hoping to have his writing left alone until he had polished it a lot more - and he hadn't even finished the Gondolin part of it yet.

"Oh yes!" the elflings squealed. "Read us a chapter! Something about crossing the ice! The bit about them becoming special friends! Please?"

Rameldir gave way.

"All right then," he said. "I'll read you that chapter. Even though it may need some improvement. I'll go and get my book."

He cast a last glare in Elrond's direction, but softened at the sight of the delighted children. He knew exactly which chapter he would read to them. The one with the happy ending - for his parents. The event didn't have a happy ending for everyone involved, though, which Glorfindel knew better than anyone else.

Glorfindel stared after him as he disappeared, and looked a bit concerned when he came back. He thought he knew what the story would be, even though Arindis and Erufailon hadn't told him in great detail – they had seemed to not want to revel in their happiness when they knew that it had been less happy for him. But that was long ago; now he wouldn't mind hearing what had really happened. Maybe.

Rameldir sat down, and as the children gathered closer around him, he began to read.

They were about halfway across the Helcaraxë when the ice itself became a problem.

It started with reports from those of the southern flank of the host: they could see water!

This was not good news. If they were close enough to the edge of the ice to be able to see it, they would be close enough to the thinner parts of it to be in trouble. Orders were given to change to a more northerly course, to get further off from the water.

Instead, the water came closer.

It was closing in on them, appearing further towards the north as well. After a few days Nolofinwë, Nerwen, and the other leaders of the host realized what was going on: this was where the main current of the strait was running. This was why the ice was much thinner and less reliable.

Arindis had seen the water, and she didn’t like it. She vaguely remembered – although she had been very young then, and she was still only about thirty now – that they had looked across a large stretch of water many years ago. The adults would look at a red glow at the other side of the water, and some would cry, and some would curse. She didn’t like it then – and she didn’t like it now either.

Her father, Angarato, hadn’t cursed or cried. He had talked to Nerwen, his sister, and they had both looked angry. So had the King, her grand-uncle. She had realized later that it was the red glow rather than the water which made them angry. She had begun to hear murmurs about the ships that had been stolen and burnt. So she hoped that the water itself wouldn’t make them angry now, and that there would be enough ice to take them across to Middle-earth.

Then, the storm began. Perhaps it was just bad luck, or a part of the curse upon the Noldor – or perhaps this area was more prone to storms because of the current. Either way, the storm was upon them, raging for days.

What they had begun to notice, became very obvious now: the ice was getting more rough. There were edges and ridges, as if waves of water had splashed across the ice, or blocks of ice had slid over its surface, and then frozen solid. They had to climb over piles of ice, and the strong wind made it difficult to keep one’s balance.

Erufailon tried to help his cousins whenever they needed it. Itarillë was the daughter of his mother’s aunt Elenwe, and Glorfindel was the son of Elenwe’s sister Lisseriel – his grandfather had married earlier than his younger sisters. Itarillë’s cousin Arindis also used to play with them, sometimes even Arothir, Arindis’ brother. Close to forty, Erufailon was older than all of them, making him feel a certain responsibility – when they didn’t all forget about it when having fun.

This was no fun.

On the second day of the storm the water was in front of them. Not open, like what they had seen when staring across at the red glow above Losgar. This water looked like a thick soup of ice. Large and small ice blocks were floating in the water, pressed northwards by the strong wind. The howling of the storm was only partly covering the noise of the blocks of ice being ground against each other, piled upon each other by the pressure of the wind working against the current.

The host made a halt to consider the situation.

“So we would have needed the ships after all,� Findarato said.

“No!� his sister protested, “on the contrary! Ships cannot cross that turmoil. The ice would pile up on them and press them down, crushing them and making them sink. The only way to cross that stretch is by stealth. Carefully crossing one sheet of ice at a time, until you reach the solid ice floor again on the other side.� She took a deep breath. “Don’t you agree, Uncle?�

Nolofinwë nodded.

“There is no turning back. Now less than ever,� he said. “There is nothing for it but to risk this.�

He gave orders to proceed with extra care. Only the smallest children should be carried. It would be safer for both parties if a child could walk on his own, being led by hand by an adult.

The King walked down to the water, where a large sheet of ice was being pushed against the more solid ice-shelf, rocking up and down with the waves and the wind. Cautiously he stepped onto it and began walking across. The others followed.

Erufailon shook his head when his father offered him his hand.

“No, Atar,� he said. “I can manage. Why don’t you help that family over there instead? They’ve got three children, younger than I.�

Many families were glad of an extra hand from those who weren’t leading children. This was the most dangerous part of the entire crossing and many families got separated. The sheets of ice would bend and break beneath them, sending father and son in one direction, and mother and daughter in another. Sometimes the ice sheet would not break, but would waver under the weight and slowly topple over, plunging people into the frigid sea.

Arindis was clinging to her mother’s hand as they climbed from one ice sheet to another. Had she ever thought it difficult to walk on the rough surface earlier? It couldn’t compare to this. This ice was in constant movement, pushed ever northwards by the storm. Around them the wind was howling, only interrupted by cries of fear. Once, too near for comfort, she saw the corner of an ice sheet break off under the feet of a mother carrying her child. The father set down the child he was carrying and jumped into the water to rescue his wife; she screamed in panic and clung to him, pinning his arms so he couldn’t move – and they both went down. Erufailon’s grandfather lifted up the remaining child and let him weep.

It was impossible for the host to camp. They just pressed on. When a group was on a large sheet, strong enough to be trusted, they might rest for a while, perhaps even sleep a little if the wind allowed the ice to stay level. A guard was needed at all times, though, in case the ice should start breaking. Most of the time the ice didn’t stay level for long. There was little chance even to eat properly.

They were nearing the end of this awful area when the worst happened: Arindis’ father and brother had just crossed onto a new ice sheet. The wind was getting stronger. Her mother had just crossed over and was about to pull Arindis after her, when a large block of ice pressed itself in between them.

The ice-sheets were drawn apart.
So were their hands.

The ice on which Arindis was standing was crushed. A few yards away her father, who had grabbed his wife’s hand when she nearly lost her balance, could only watch helplessly as his daughter disappeared into the waves.

“Mother!� Arindis screamed, but stopped as her mouth was filled with water. She tried to swim, to find something to climb onto, but the wall of the big block of ice was too smooth, there was nothing for her to get a grip on.

Suddenly there was someone next to her in the water. She turned her head.

Erufailon.

He grabbed her arms, shaking her off when she tried to cling to his.

“No, don’t,� he said. “Relax. I can pull you.�

She looked into his eyes, feeling her initial panic subside. She trusted him.

It still took her all her self-control to stay still while he went behind her and got a good grip under her shoulders. But when he pulled her through the water, she relaxed, feeling safe in his strong arms.

Erufailon had dived after her as soon as he saw her go down. He knew the risk – he had also seen the results of panic – but he didn’t have time to consider, he just knew that he had to try to save one of his friends.

He told her to stay still, and she obeyed. He was relieved, now he could maneuver her towards the other ice sheet, where her parents were waiting. He put one arm around her and used the other to pull himself onto the edge of the other ice sheet. Arindis’ father was there, taking his arm, supporting him as he climbed out of the water, pulling Arindis with him. She turned to him and embraced him, before she let her father embrace her, and then turned to her mother and wept out her fright and relief in her arms.

Angarato took Erufailon’s hands.

“You – “ he began, words failing him. “You saved her – I don’t know how to reward you. Thank you – if you hadn’t …�

He paused, regaining control over his speech.

“There is nothing I can do for you right now,� he said. “But when we get safely across to Middle-earth – let it not be said that I forgot what you did.�

“It was no more than I had to do,� Erufailon protested. “I was lucky enough to be able to help. Perhaps I myself got help from the Valar. Perhaps they haven’t completely abandoned us after all.�

The storm subsided as they got to the other side of the current and were back on solid ice again. Arindis hardly left Erufailon’s side. Her eyes were shining whenever she looked at him.

Erufailon appreciated the new closeness of their friendship. He had been impressed with her conduct in the water, how she kept her head clear enough to do as she was told – and he was glad of the trust she had shown him in letting him do what he needed to do.

Others had been less fortunate, they heard. Erufailon’s cousin, their friend Glorfindel, was still unconscious. His father had managed to pull him out of the water, but had died later from exposure and water in the lungs. His mother perished in the water.

Even Turukano had lost his wife. He had saved his daughter, Itarillë, who had fallen in – but when he tried to save Elenwe as well, the ice came crushing down on them, and he barely saved his own life, thus not orphaning his daughter completely.

The host was lessened when it carried on.

Rameldir closed his book, casting a furtive glance in Glorfindel’s direction.

[Willow Oran]

Glorfindel was far away, so deep in the story and the non-memories that went with it that he did not even notice Rameldir waiting for his reaction or the children following Rameldir’s look until, “Laurë?”

“Huh?” he re-focused on the present to see several curious faces looking at him expectantly.

“Laurë, why were you still unconscious when the storm went away?” Glorfindel kicked himself mentally for not paying better attention and thinking ahead to what questions might be asked.

“I... don’t really know,” he said, “I don’t remember much of anything that happened from just before the ice broke underneath us to the time I woke up and people didn't tell me much.”

“Because you were little?” Lhunril asked, yawning.

“Exactly,” Glorfindel confirmed, “Now, are you all going to thank Rameldir for reading to us before you go home to bed?”

This was met by a chorus of sleepy affirmations and thanks after which the six children were sent up the path to their homes. The older elves followed at a distance, lingering in the evening light, thinking.
Eventually, when Ainon had left them and Elrond had gone ahead to his home Rameldir said, “I suppose it must have been very boring, listening to a story you would have heard from the source.”

“What?” Glorfindel stopped walking, surprised, “No! It was not boring at all, it – I had not heard it before. Not the details.”

“Really?”

“Really,” he answered the incredulous exclamation, “We did not talk about it, um. Your parents told you the last parts? About mine?”

“No,” Rameldir said, clearly confused by the questioning, “I had to ask Galadriel. She filled in many of the less romantic parts.”

“Ah,” Glorfindel fidgeted, “They... nobody would ever tell me how or exactly what... just the results and how many days of memories I was missing. Thank you.” He didn’t wait for Rameldir to respond to this blurted confession but fled up the path to the house he shared with Elrond and slipped inside.

When Glorfindel finally slept that night, he slipped into dreams to the sound of slow breathing heard through a thin wall. The sounds of other people breathing, that was what he remembered most from crossing the ice. Forever afterwards, whether sleeping safe behind stone walls or alone and under the stars, he woke in dreams to the weight of warm furs and the sound of soft breaths beside him but tonight it was reversed, he left that comforting sound and dreamt a different memory, one of waking in lonely silence.

Stifling quiet, a tent set aside for people recovering, why was he here? Right, the floating ice, he must’ve fallen in. He couldn’t move, he was wrapped so with what felt like the weight of a live bear and not just the pelt, hadn’t someone told him those furs were only for the elves about to die from the cold? Perhaps he had better be still then and wait for – there, people walking, stopping outside, he waited but no one came in. Talking:

“-said he might wake up today.”

“Doubt it. They were under water too long...”

“Is that why nothing’s been decided yet?”

When he could stand again Glorfindel stood and shook his head ‘no’ when asked if his parents had said who he should stay with if they died. It was a silly question, everybody knew they hadn’t ever thought of that and now,

“He’s too young to head his own house.”

“His uncle can look after those families, he’s already started to.”

“Yes, but you can’t expect him to do that and raise a foster son, not in these conditions, not when his children have been grown for so long.”

“Let Irime raise her grandson.”

“Irime has little patience for the demands of children, that’s why she only had one.”

And on and on and on while Glorfindel sat apart from his extended family and tried to pretend that he couldn’t hear. When they started on the second round of excuses, Glorfindel quietly left, going in search of the one cousin he hadn’t seen since being deemed ‘well.’ He found Itarillë sitting outside the tent she shared with her parents, despondent. He stood facing her.

“My mother’s dead,” she told him, not looking up.

“Mine too. And my father.”

“I know,” she said, “Mine’s in there. He’s sad. He said it feels too empty in there with just us.”

“Everyone else is saying they have too many people to take care of already. Nobody talked about you.”

“They think we’re too sad to be bothered.”

“Are you?”

“Don’t be stupid,” she snapped, then turned and spoke into the tent, “Atar, Laurë’s staying with us now.”

That night he fell asleep to the sound of soft breathing.

[Rían]

It was midnight. Alagos, who had the watch, walked around the border of their little encampment, softly humming a melody that intermingled with the sounds of the little spring that ran nearby. He turned for a moment to look at his sister, and smiled to see her nestled between the protruding roots of a large tree that overhung the camp. From her earliest moments, she had loved trees - and on that dreadful night in Gondolin, had been far outside of the city, high up in a tree with some friends, waiting in silence (for that was the custom of the Gondothlim on the eve of the great feast of Tarnin Austa, or the Gates of Summer) for the light in the east to come ...

But the lights had come from the north ...

Alagos turned quickly around and looked north. The only light in the north came from the stars, and he released the breath that he hadn't realized he had been holding.

They were now a month away from Tarnin Austa - plenty of time to reach Imladris, which was where they had decided to travel to first. Plenty of time, that is, if they didn't delay overmuch on the journey. And by the pace that Tyaron was setting, Alagos knew that he intended to reach Imladris before the eve of Tarnin Austa. Tyaron wasn't overtly rushing the group, but he was always the first to suggest moving on.

Alagos glanced over at his friend. Tyaron was lying quietly in a patch of soft spring grass. But even as Alagos watched, Tyaron moaned softly and moved his head quickly back, as if in response to a pain in the back of his neck.

Alagos moved quietly over to where Tyaron lay. It was at the edge of the camp, with a good view of the surrounding terrain and some cover in the shape of some boulders and an overhanging tree. Alagos smiled; Tyaron rarely fully relaxed his guard.

Alagos moved next to the tree, blending into its form and making himself invisible to any eyes that might be searching. Then, with his back to his friend and the night breeze in his face, he began to sing. His song was quiet - barely audible above the noises of the night - and it wove itself easily into the breeze that blew softly over the small group. Tyaron's moans grew quieter and less frequent, and finally stopped.

The moon rose, and its light shone in the bright eyes of the watching elf. A small mouse scurried around Alagos' feet, looking for spring buds on the ground. With a satisfied squeek, he found one and sat up on his haunches to take a taste before stowing it in his already-distended cheeks. The rising moon glinted off his grey coat.

Alagos nudged the mouse towards a bush. "You had better watch out, Master Mouse!" he whispered. "The light of Lady Ithil shows off your pretty coat, but Mistress Owl will have no regard for it - she cares only for filling her pantry!"

The mouse scampered away, and Alagos looked up to see Tyaron standing next to him.

"Why don't you rest now, brother," he said quietly to Alagos. "I ..."

"Have the dreams started already?"

Tyaron nodded. "Yes ..."

Alagos shook his head quizzically. "But it is early for them to start, though, isn't it?"

"Yes - I'm not sure why ..."

Alagos reached out and put his hand under Tyaron's dark hair, feeling for something at the back of his neck. Tyaron pulled away with an impatient gesture, but not before Alagos had felt the heat in the raised scar.

"Just go - I'll be fine," said Tyaron. "And ... thank you for singing. It ... it held off the worst of it. But I awoke anyway, so ... " He shrugged.

The moon rose higher into the sky. Finally, Alagos nodded and moved off.

Tyaron watched as Alagos walked quietly over to the tree where his sister lay, then turned to watch the north.

[Varnafindë]

Rameldir was about to express his surprise that Glorfindel had been kept in the dark about his parents' fate, when his cousin just thanked him and left.

Or fled.

Rameldir stood there, staring after him as he disappeared. He hadn't had any notion that the other did not know this story already - he might not have assented to read it if he had. But perhaps it was time for Glorfindel to meet with his past - he wouldn't have thanked him if he had resented the reading, would he?

And now they were going to travel together, too ...

Galadriel had been more forthcoming with adding details about his mother than about anyone else. Being closer family, she probably knew more about her than about the others - but she had been very short and matter-of-fact when she told about Glorfindel. He had been brought up by his royal uncle, had begun to take up his duties as Head of his House at quite an early age, and had been one of the first to move from Nevrast to Gondolin with Turgon when the hidden city was finished.

Erufailon and his parents had also stayed with Turgon at Nevrast, while Arindis had gone with her parents to Dorthonion. At the Mereth Aderthad, the Feast of Reuniting, the two young friends had met again.

They had told Rameldir how this was when they had begun to realise that what was between them, was something for life. Erufailon eventually asked Angrod for his daughter's hand in marriage, and Angrod granted it willingly. There had been an engagement feast and a wedding - and then they had lived at Nevrast until Turgon asked them to move to Gondolin.

Glorfindel was there already. Erufailon had fought under him in the Nirneath Arneodiad - the Battle of Unnumbered Tears.

Rameldir needed to talk some more to his cousin.

The next day he managed to find a moment when Glorfindel was alone in his rooms. He knocked and was admitted, and soon got to the heart of his business.

"I realize that Elrond and I both gave you some unexpected information yesterday," he said. "I guess I wouldn't have suggested that you travel with Ainon and myself, but Elrond didn't put it as a question for either of you or me, did he? Perhaps he thought that we needed the company of a good swordsman on a dangerous mission - and he would be right about that. Neither Ainon nor I are very good with a blade, as perhaps you know, and there's always the risk that we might need to use one. So adding a companion skilled with a sword makes sense. I hope you don't mind too much."

Glorfindel had been sitting at his makeshift desk, writing or sketching, Rameldir did not see, for Glorfindel put it away the moment he entered. “Should I mind?� Glorfindel asked when Rameldir had finished, “It is a sensible arrangement for traveling. The suddenness with which Elrond decided it does not bother me, if that’s your worry, I am accustomed to such declarative decision making. He is much like his grandmother in that way, do you remember?�

“A little...� Rameldir replied, “She was a good foster mother, I suppose I have fewer memories of her than I believed. I was only twenty-five when she sailed.�

“Oh,� Glorfindel drummed his fingers on the desk and chewed his lip, “I’m sorry. He is though. The listening and then deciding and declaring that that decision shall be so without any pause – Idril did that often, from very early on. It’s how I came to be fostered by Turgon. She just decided while everybody else was debating.�

Rameldir sat down on a trunk, fascinated, “And nobody minded? What about your house? Did you lead it even that young?�

“What?� Glorfindel jerked up, horrified, “Oh, no! That would have been a disaster. My uncle, your great-grandfather, looked after it for the remainder of the journey. At that point it was mostly shepherding people along the safest path and making certain that the results of any hunts were divided fairly. Those were the basic duties of all the lords of our people while on the ice. The older princes were tasked with overseeing them and then all the able adults were on a rotation for hunting. On the ice I was mostly just expected to be obedient to my elders, which meant everyone in our extended family, but to Turgon especially as I was his dependant. Once we started settling into kingdoms more complicated laws started to be applied again. Eventually I did have to sit down with both my uncles and work out the legalities of the situation. I’ll have to do something similar with Elrond soon, traveling will delay it.�

"I see ..." Rameldir said, "I suppose it wasn't needed before, when we might break up and go back to Lindon any time - but now that there will be a permanent settlement here, there will be legal affairs to take care of."

He laughed.

"Rather you than me," he said. "I've never been much into making or understanding of laws. Not the finer points. As a descendant of Finwë on my mother's side, I was a prince of sorts - but by the time I was old enough to have any royal duties, I was on the Isle of Balar with Gil-galad, and he already had his legal advisors. I became an advisor as well, but only in military matters. How to use the archers in battle - and for hunting Orcs when necessary - that sort of thing. Even if I settle somewhere on my own, I cannot see myself ruling a realm anywhere. I'd rather leave that to others. You have had some experience in leading your house - I haven't."

"I suppose it is a bit different from leading the archers in battle," Glorfindel admitted.

"I remember you as one of those whom it was my duty to obey," Rameldir mused. "Not that I can remember you ever giving me any specific command, I was only ten when ... you know - but you were one of the important adults of my world. Like the King, and like my father. It was the same thing again, about being obedient to my elders - and you were one of them.
The strange thing was that eventually Eärendil became one of them as well. He was three years younger than I - but the mortal blood in him kicked in so soon, and he matured such a lot faster than I did. When his parents sailed, he was already getting married, and he took over whatever responsibility for me that might still be needed. I lived in his house, I sometimes baby-sat the twins - I only rarely remind Elrond of that, though - but then Eärendil started sailing as well, and even his closest family didn't see him much. And then after that the sons of Fëanor attacked us, and Cirdan's people rescued me, and then Gil-galad took care of me until I came of age."

Glorfindel smiled sadly, and said nothing for a long time. There was nothing he could say, except, “I am sorry. If I could have been there... I have been told by everyone from the Valar on down that I should not feel guilt for having died, that it served a purpose and that nothing that happened to those who survived me was my concern. I believe them less and less.�

Rameldir began to respond, instinctively, that he was wrong, but Glorfindel cut him off, “Had I been there, you would not have been allowed to neglect half your education as a warrior. It is one thing to prefer the bow, but you don’t even own a sword. How on earth did you get away with that? Was it common in those years for people to not learn all the weapons they could? Was there no one to teach it properly?�

“No!� Rameldir stood, uncomfortable, “It is just... surely you remember, you had not died yet, mother was cut down in front of me... I cannot hold one. Even knives are bad enough.�

Glorfindel stared, disturbed to hear this. He opened his mouth, shut again, frowned and stood, coming over to Rameldir and making him sit again, next to him. “Rameldo...� he began, reverting to quenya, “My parents drowned, but that does not mean I never learned to swim. A sword is just a tool. You do not ever have to use one if you prefer not to, but you should be capable of it.�

“I cannot become capable of using something I cannot touch!� Rameldir replied, his eyes wide.

Glorfindel stood again, hand on his cousin’s shoulder, “You will be. You’re going to start learning from me first thing tomorrow.�

“You cannot just command me to pick up a weapon I fear, Glorfindel!�

“Consider this one last obedience owed,� Glorfindel said, voice stern, “I am amazed no one ever gave you this order before. It is part of healing, facing that which makes us afraid. You should have been made to do this long ago.�

"You do not know what you're asking of me," Rameldir whispered, hiding his face in his hands. "If - if I show you, will you then leave me alone?"

"I'm not sure I know what you mean," Glorfindel answered. "What do you want to show me? Go ahead and do so - but I make no promises ahead."

Rameldir rose to his feet, clenching his teeth and blinking rapidly.

"Lend me your sword," he said. "Let me just hold it for a few moments. I won't try to wield it or do any of those things I need to learn first - just let me hold it for a few moments. Then you will see why I stopped even trying."

Glorfindel hesitated. Then he went over to the rack where he kept his weapons, selecting his second favorite sword, currently in need of sharpening. Less dangerous.

He went back to Rameldir, pulled the sword out of its scabbard and handed it to his cousin, who received it with trembling hands.

As soon as Rameldir's fingers closed around the hilt of the sword, his eyes glazed over. He stared at something that Glorfindel couldn't see, making small moaning noises, sweat beads forming on his forehead. Then he turned his head, looking over his shoulder, stared with ever widening eyes into the distance - and then suddenly screamed 'No!!!', flung the sword away, and flung himself down on the couch. His shoulders were shaking as Glorfindel sat down next to him.

"I see them," Rameldir whispered. "I know that I'm here and that they aren't, but I see them still. I hear my mother running behind me, and then I don't hear her steps any more. I turn around to look for her, and she is there, shouting to me not to stop, just to keep running to Tuor. She turns, drawing her dagger at the Orc right behind her - her pathetic little dagger ... I run, and Tuor picks me up, and I turn my head to look for her - and the Orc lifts his sword and ..."

His voice failed.

"And when you let go of the sword," Glorfindel asked, "the vision is gone?"

Rameldir just nodded, not yet trying to sit up.

Glorfindel was silent for a while. This was different from what he had expected. It would be a process that would be slow and take a long time - but a process that was unavoidable.

Finally Rameldir sat up, trying to smile, but failing.

"Now," he said, "perhaps you see that what you're asking is impossible?"

Glorfindel shook his head slowly, and asked, "This happens every time you hold a sword?"

"Every time," Rameldir confirmed.

"And when did you last try to hold a sword?"

"No idea. Several centuries ago."

"You said you have problems even with knives?"

"If they're large enough," Rameldir sighed. "Ordinary cutlery is fine, but I don't think I could be a cook and cut a roast. My dagger causes me problems every time I have to use it."

"But it doesn't give you a vision quite like this?" Glorfindel raised an eyebrow.

"No," Rameldir admitted. "Well, it's the same vision, eventually - but with the dagger, it doesn't come immediately. It comes as a nightmare the following night."

"So there's a pattern to it," Glorfindel murmured. "And when did you last use your dagger?"

Rameldir thought for a little while.

"A couple of years ago," he said. "We were chasing down a band of Orcs just outside Rivendell - you were there too, do you remember? That's the last time we've had them that close. Some of them tried to flee, and were hit by our arrows - but some of them turned against us. You made short work of them eventually, but both Ainon and I had to draw our blades to defend ourselves before you could reach us."

"I remember," Glorfindel mused. "I even remember wondering why you would prefer a dagger over a sword, but I didn't realise then that the dagger was your only blade. And you had a nightmare that same night?"

"As always," Rameldir nodded.

"Well, this cannot go on," Glorfindel declared. "It just confirms what I said earlier, that it should have been dealt with long ago for it puts you and everyone with you at risk. You will turn up here first thing tomorrow, like I said - but I won't teach you right away how to wield a sword. First you need to learn how to handle that vision. Perhaps we can even make you able to control it. Eventually."

Rameldir stared at him, his eyes large with surprise. Then he nodded.

"As you command, my lord," he said. "I will come."