She went then to the gardens of Lórien and lay
down to sleep; but though she seemed to sleep, her spirit indeed
departed from her body, and passed in silence to the halls of
Mandos.
The maidens of Estë tended the body of Míriel, and it remained
unwithered; but she did not return.
‘Of Fëanor and the Unchaining of Melkor’, The Silmarillion
Aragorn was only twenty years old when he had last been inside these private rooms, and the wave of memories as he entered was nearly overwhelming. It was here that he had learned his true name, and was given the ancient ring that Arwen now kept among her prized possessions. Entering the candle-lit chamber he was surprised to find the bed empty, but Arwen’s voice called softly from the farthest archway. It was not yet dawn, and as he stepped out onto the wide balcony, the starlight illuminated a couch upon which Elrond lay. The Elf-lord’s eyes were closed, and his face seemed pale and drawn. Although covered warmly, he shivered as if chilled to the bone. Aragorn found himself somewhat unnerved by the sight; he had never before seen his foster-father ill, or appear so vulnerable.
Arwen knelt on cushions beside her father, and Erestor stood nearby, his normally placid features troubled. As Aragorn stepped to Arwen’s side, someone came forward from the shadows.
“Gandalf,” Aragorn murmured. He always found the wizard’s presence comforting. “Can you explain what has occurred? Did the Nazgûl indeed find a way into Rivendell?”
The wizard shook his head.“Not as you might think. However, there is no fortress so inpenetrable that a determined assailant cannot find and exploit a flaw, and make his presence known.”
Indeed, we must believe that to be true, Aragorn thought. Unless we can discover such a flaw in the defenses of Mordor, Frodo has no hope of success in his Quest.
Gandalf nodded as if he had heard. “At least one of the Nine is a powerful sorcerer,” he continued, “whose power and malice I felt upon Weathertop. From outside the valley, he perceived a way to channel dark Power through the iron in the rocks of the cave much the same way the knife that wounded Frodo was prepared. It was an attempt once again to cast Frodo into Shadow… which may well have succeeded had this shard found his heart, or had he been trapped -- or lay unconscious and alone -- long enough for the splinter to travel through his body. This spell was an unusually strong one.” He looked at Aragorn approvingly. “Word has reached us of how hard you fought to save him... again. Many grave consequences have been turned aside this night.”
“The courage and skills of many were needed to make it so,” Aragorn said quietly.
“Agreed,” came a voice from behind him. Aragorn turned to behold Glorfindel, who approached holding something wrapped in a cloth. “I am glad to see you, Aragorn,” he said. “How do the hobbits fare?”
“They remain hobbits -- stubborn, exasperating, resilient, and altogether remarkable,” Aragorn replied with a straight face. He was gratified to see a tiny smile on Arwen’s face.
“Speaking of stubborn…” Gandalf gazed down at Elrond.
“Tell me of his condition. Is he fevered?” Aragorn sat on the couch and touched Elrond’s face, his eyes darkening with concern. “He is cold as ice! What has happened?”
“He has not been harmed physically,” Glorfindel said, “but he labored for many hours to hold back the waters threatening to flood the cave before we could reach those who were trapped.”
“Arwen brought me your message, but I do not understand in what way I may assist,” Aragorn said. “What is his ailment? If it is not physical, surely you and Gandalf together…”
“We have done much, and continue to do what we can,” Glorfindel said. He glanced briefly at Gandalf, and Aragorn sensed something being communicated silently between them. “Aragorn, this situation is unprecedented. Gandalf and I both feel that something else may be needed here.”
“It is not fire that can help Elrond now,” Gandalf added cryptically, “nor the connection to the peace of the Blessed Realm that Glorfindel can bestow.” His thoughtful gaze encompassed both Aragorn and Arwen. “You are earth and air, stone unshakeable and cool starlight. The future of Elrond’s blood and... the past.”
“The past…” Aragorn murmured.
Erestor spoke for the first time. “He speaks of your bloodline. Aragorn, you do not greatly resemble Elros physically, save for your eyes and bearing…” He stood a moment, lost in memory, then continued. “However, there is no question that within you lie waiting certain abilities that he used to great advantage when his people were in need.”
Glorfindel stepped forward, and handed the cloth he held to Aragorn. Once unwrapped, several long leaves of athelas were revealed.
“But you said that Elrond has taken no wound,” Aragorn said.
“There are many types of wounds,” Glorfindel replied. “Aragorn, we have taught you much about this plant, but your visits to Imladris have been too brief to complete your education. There is more to learn, and the need is now great; the time has come for you to move into a realm which you have barely begun to explore. Elrond’s spirit wanders in confusion; his very life hangs in the balance.”
At his words, Arwen emitted a muffled sob. She bent her head, and her dark hair covered her face as a curtain. All Elves knew the fate of Finwë’s first wife, who had spent herself in birthing Fëanor. For a long span of time her body had lain as if asleep, but her spirit had fled, never to return.
Glorfindel knelt swiftly, taking both her hands in his.
“I know what it is that you fear,” he said to her. His voice was quiet, but so full of power that she raised her eyes to his, and found in them a blazing light. “The tragedy of long ago will not be repeated here,” he continued steadily. “We will not permit it.” He regarded Elrond, his eyes seeing beyond physical bounds. “Your father has spent himself for great good, but was grievously weakened and is in danger of losing his way. Even now, he struggles to return to us, further weakening him.” He drew Arwen to her feet. “My child, you, too, have abilities stronger even than you know. We believe that your bond with Aragorn can strengthen him in a difficult task. Have you the courage to cast yourself with him into the darkness?”
“I do,” Arwen said, her voice now steady. She joined Aragorn on the couch beside her father. Hand in hand, they listened carefully to Glorfindel's words.
~*~
Elrond awoke on his stomach, coughing and spluttering, and with a roar in his ears so thunderous he could hear nothing else. As he got to his knees, gasping for breath, his fingers sank into something cool and wet. Startled, he opened his eyes to discover that he was kneeling on moist earth just a few feet from a roiling pool of water. The sound was that of a tremendously high waterfall, so close he could reach out and feel its spray. His hair and garments were sodden, and he shook with cold. He had no idea where he was, and for a moment could remember nothing of recent events, save that he had been struggling to stay afloat in a seething torrent and seemed to have barely survived.
The sky seemed dim, with neither stars, Moon, nor Sun to guide him.
Where am I? How did I get here?
Feeling too weak to stand, he crawled away from the wet ground towards a flat, dry rock, where he sat shivering, trying to gather his thoughts. He knew every inch of Imladris, and as he concentrated on his surroundings, he recognized certain landmarks.
That stand of trees is familiar, and the formation of those boulders over there always reminded me of…
I am outside, he realized in amazement. This can only be the base of the southern cliffs, where once a mighty waterfall spilled. Have I stumbled into the past? His confusion intensified when, with a wrench of loss, he discovered that Vilya was no longer on his finger. But the barrier he had set up to protect the valley was still in place; he could sense it pulsing before him. There could be no conclusion other than that he was on one side of it, and Vilya on the other. Who, then, was wielding it?
Even as his thoughts whirled in frightening paths, his self-discipline came, as always, to the forefront. He calmed himself with an effort, and as his mind cleared, a rush of memories returned.
I had been trembling with exhaustion, knowing that I would not endure another hour, when Gandalf brought the news that I could rest… that all were safe. I remember nothing more. The flood would have been instantly unleashed. This waterfall… could it be…
He looked up in wonder at the powerful, clean surge of water. It was as if the valley was purging itself of any vestige of evil left by the Nazgul’s effort to breach it. His gaze fell upon the newly-formed pool, and he smiled to see gems and crystals lining the bottom, carried by the flood from the cavern to this, their new home.
Crystal Pool it will be called, he mused, a flash of foresight coming unbidden. When Imladris is but a memory, visitors will find this place and marvel at it, never knowing how or when it was formed.
I must be dreaming. Or have I… died? Where is the Sun? The Bruinen must lie only a few miles to the west. But even if I reach the Ford, will I be able to cross? Will the protective barrier keep me from Imladris? Will my own presence somehow cause another flood to rise up and sweep me away, such as the one I directed Vilya to unloose to sweep the Nazgûl away from the Ring-bearer?
There were no answers. He staggered to his feet, occupying himself with plotting the best way to cross the river that now flowed from the pool and tumbled away to the south. He needed to walk a long way before there was a place shallow enough, but even so, he lost his footing in the swift current and was once again drenched in icy water. Shivering violently, he finally made it to the other side. He stumbled ahead, but after what seemed a long while he had to admit that he was barely moving.
I am so weary, he thought. I must… I must…
Unable to take another step, Elrond fell to his knees. But just as his thoughts were blurring and he feared the darkness would claim him once again, a sparkling, scintillating fragrance enveloped him. A voice -- not heard in millenia, but achingly familiar -- urged him on a few more yards. With the last of his reserves, he was able to crawl around a large boulder... and nearly wept with joy at what he saw.
Athelas.
He slumped to the ground next to the bed of fresh green plants.
How came athelas to be here? I grow this precious plant in my gardens, and those of my brother’s line who are fostered in Imladris are taught to use it. But outside of the valley, it is found only in those places where his descendants made their homes. They never settled this far east, and Elros left us before Imladris was even founded. Elros… He looked about, but saw no one. Of course he is not here. Unless I have died indeed, and his spirit has come to escort me onward?
He could not explain how, but his brother's voice had called him here. The beloved and long-missed presence was still all about him, and was infusing hope and energy through his mind and body.
Elrond breathed deeply of the healing herb, feeling strength growing in his limbs and heart.
I do not believe it is my time to greet Lord Mandos. I live. I must find my way back. Nothing will keep me from returning to Imladris… to my daughter and sons and those who depend upon me.
He reached out with his mind, and felt Vilya respond. And then, he knew not how, the Ring of Sapphire was once again upon his finger. He smiled.
I am grateful to you, my brother. A brief rest, and I will be ready to go on.
~*~
“Enough,” someone whispered in his ear, and Aragorn realized that the same voice had been speaking to him for several minutes. He slowly grew aware of his body, one hand on Elrond’s brow, the sound of birds singing, a cool breeze against his cheek. He opened his eyes to a scene flooded with light. It was past dawn, and the Sun was climbing into the sky.
Arwen leaned against him, her head on his shoulder, and Gandalf was whispering into her ear.
“Your bond is as strong as we hoped,” the wizard said, meeting Aragorn’s gaze. “She was able to support you on your long journey.”
“But she will be all right?” Aragorn asked anxiously. Arwen's eyes were closed, and she seemed barely conscious.
“She will be all right,” Glorfindel assured him. He kissed Arwen on her brow, then clasped Aragorn on the shoulder. “Well done, children. Elrond has strengthened enough to recover on his own.”
Aragorn sighed in relief, and looked up to see Gandalf watching him closely.
“How do you feel?” the wizard asked.
Aragorn took a deep breath of athelas-infused air, then let it out slowly.
“A bit lightheaded,” he admitted. “It is easing.”
“What do you remember?” Erestor asked curiously.
“I called to him,” Aragorn said wonderingly. “I found him near a river. I do not believe he saw me, but I tried… I tried to reach him…”
“You succeeded,” Erestor said proudly. “What you did was enough.”
“What I did…” Aragorn chuckled softly. “I do not know exactly what I did. But I will never forget it.”
“Now that you have travelled this path once, son of Arathorn,” Glorfindel said, “you should no longer need assistance should you need to do so again.”
Son of Arathorn...
“Did my father ever…”
“He was most skilled,” Glorfindel replied quietly.
“All of us were grieved that he did not live long enough to teach you what he knew,” added Erestor, “or to see you grow into the man you have become.”
“I am grateful to you, my teachers,” Aragorn said. Arwen murmured his name, and his arm tightened about her.
“Morning is upon us, and I am weary,” Gandalf said, stretching, “I want to check on those 'exasperating' hobbits before I sleep.”
“Frodo is not to walk on that leg yet, Gandalf,” Aragorn warned. “Do not let him wheedle you into allowing it.”
“Wizards cannot be 'wheedled',” Gandalf declared.
Aragorn just smiled knowingly. He gathered Arwen into his arms and rose to his feet in one smooth motion.
“She needs to rest,” he said gently.
“I will stay with Elrond until he wakes,” Glorfindel said.
“As will I,” Erestor insisted, his weariness lifting as his lord stirred slightly for the first time since he had collapsed. “Gandalf, please convey our greetings to the hobbits.”
Aragorn left with Arwen, and after a few moments Gandalf also left the balcony, more relieved than he had dared reveal. He had not relaxed until that moment when he sensed Elrond regain full control of Vilya.
I might have needed to... but no, I will not dwell on that. The Lord of Rivendell has returned. But it was close… so very close.
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