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A deep shadow lay on Elrond’s heart as he gazed southward.
Far beyond mortal or elven sight, far from his aid, his sons fought a
deadly battle against despair, dread and darkness. In truth,
though only two were the sons of his blood and body, all three held an
equal place in his heart and his love. He feared for them.
The darkness had begun to encroach on him at dawn; an ominous shadow
that swallowed all three from his Sight. Had he been right to
send the words of Malbeth the Seer south with Elrohir? He could
do naught but wait; wait until they traversed the Paths and came at
last to Erech.
He stared south, oblivious as the sun wheeled overhead and the shadows
lengthened around him. The accursed darkness and unease lifted a
little as evening deepened, but he did not cease his vigil.
Somewhere a soft bell chimed the hour of midnight, and in that moment
he heard it – a distant horn echoing across the miles, ringing in the
hills and mountains. A chill wind blew on him, and he knew that
far to the south, beneath the Stone of Erech, the Dead had been
summoned.
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