[piosenniel]

Arvedui’s post

The cool mist that comes before the dawn flitted its way into the locked chamber, blending with the warm musk of the room and the dying embers of the fire in the woven iron grate. In the dew there was a cold sighing feel, as a wet cloth must seem to a fevered man. And the relief the grey air brought was not wasted on the figure sitting in an oaken chair, encircled by tomes and lost in thought. To the unsuspecting eye the form was a man in the middle of his years, seeming very young and hale, yet worn and burdened with the knowledge of age as well, fingering a hansom blue ring on his right hand, his gray eyes gazing to some far away place.

That was, until two soft thumps tickled his sensitive ears and brought his eyes sharply into focus.

Elrond Peredhil let out a groan of frustration at the end of his reverie and was rewarded only by a quiet chuckle from the opposite end of the room where the disturbance has come from. "Diran le (I see you), Elladan." He called out wearily to the lithe already moving out of the shadows behind him.

"Forgive us Adar, but even I must make some noise to enter a barricaded study." Answered a new voice to his right, now coming into the flickering light of embers.

"I wish you would take the hint that a locked room implies." Elrond replied mutinously, but already he was smiling despite himself.

"I believe Elladan received all our lessons on locks and their implications, father." The right-hand figure, a tall and fair looking creature with mischievous gray eyes, continued in a tone of complete innocence. "And you know his hearing can be very selective at times. A most strange affliction."

"Besides," said Elladan, speaking up for the first time, with an amused lilt to his voice, "You enjoy the intrusion."

Elrond shook his head and rose languidly to face the figures. "My perceptive sons, what am I to do with you?"

"Sending us into the wild in the company of a bunch of scruffy rangers seems to be your favored solution." Elrohir remarked offhandedly as he sank unto a polished stool.

"Arathorn is here, then?" Elrond asked, more sternly than before. He frowned and his mind began to work frantically again. It would be soon, but if he them bereft of...

"You are not pleased at this?" Elladan asked with a concerned note in his voice.

"Nay, nay." Elrond answered, sighing and then forcing a smile. "What news from the Angle?"

"Much of the same." answered Elrohir. "There may be orcs massing near Angmar, but otherwise not a lot to note."

"Oh, but he does have a son now," Added Elladan as an afterthought. "Named Aragorn."

Elrond nodded, a mixture of relief and happiness flooding through him. "That is well. Arathorn will need an heir."

"You foresee him being even shorter lived than Arador?" Elladan questioned, and Elrond paused before he answered, knowing of the friendship between his son and the Dunadan.

"A storm is coming." He answered grimly, keenly aware of an invisible weight pressing down on him, and deeply saddened by its presence. "And if it passes, Arathorn will not live to see the light on the other side."

"The darkness may not descend for many lives of men yet." Elrohir said, trying to be optimistic.

"True, but enough of this." Elrond waved his hand and batted away the subject, judging that he could ignore it until he could find another quiet dawn in which to lock himself away and think. "I suppose you both intend to go with him on whatever new venture he's planning?" He asked as a matter of form, sad to see his sons leaving Imladris again but reconciled to their going.

"Aye, so long as there are orcs, we shall hunt them with any who go with us." Elladan answered, a quiet fury evident in his voice.

Elrond gave a melancholy smile, half lost in a memory, and then placed his hands on his sons' shoulders. "Go then. Namarie, iynn nin. Nai hiruvalye man faroth!(My sons! May it be you will find the hunting good)" They embraced, and Elladan and Elrohir left, unlocking the door as they went. Elrond gazed after them, thinking with a sudden, brutal clarity that this hunt would be more than any of them bargained for. He sank back down into the comfort of the books surrounding his chair and knew that for Arathorn, and his son after him, the darkness had dawned, and a war was beginning.