32 | Of Songs, Maps & Symbols

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Arwen Undómiel | The Evenstar

Location: Minas Tirith, Gondor, Middle Earth, Arda

Time: April 2981 T.A

Nothing sets the bar low than simply wading, a foot deep, in murky water inside a tunnel.

Not that she would openly complain, of course.

Arwen experienced her fair share of grime and mud in the last four months, and the sewage-like passageway was far from the dirt, soot, and blood of a battlefield and a fortress.

At least at that point, she didn't have to tell which one was the other, for the foul stench hit her nose as soon as they entered the underpasses of the mountain and into the sections of the city.

It was almost five days since they left Edoras, with her heart left behind as it fell and broke for her family and friends. The feeling was worse than when she and Boromir parted with Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli. As for now, she realised wherever she was going she could not turn back and run to those who would miss her. The bittersweet farewell between her brothers, sensing the frustrated anger in Elladan's face whilst smiling sadly upon the sorrows of Elrohir.

Even when they were apart: Arwen believed deeply that they would be thinking of her. Just as they all did for their mother and father, and their uncles and those they loved also.

And Aragorn...

She could not dare think of it.

The guilt was eating it with every dragging step they took.

If they arrived (or managed to) at the top of the city: all that would be left of her was a hollow shell before she could even take that step into the unknown.

But then she remembered once more, the words which Mithrandir spoke to her back all those months ago. All she could do was shut her eyes again, suppressing the aching feeling which crept upon her chest.

Perhaps there was another saying she needed to remind herself of a certain Ithron.

To follow her nose instead of wallowing.

She really hoped these were not sewage tunnels, or else she would either be scowling back at Boromir for putting up with such conditions or rather forcing her way through a dozen orcs. At least then orc blood would be better than unknown liquids. What was really on the top of her mind was actually how a certain Gondorian Captain knew of these tunnels.

"You said this was the secret way into the city?"

Arwen – despite it being too dark for such conditions – raised an eyebrow as the walls surrounding them were almost as close to her body by almost a foot long. The size did help to push through by holding onto the walls, but the more she felt it damp, the more she questioned how it even came to be flooded despite being at the bottom of the mountain. It only rained for a few days since they arrived and perhaps it continued to do so.

She heard Boromir reply with a slightly embarrassed tone.

"It was bigger than I imagined."

There was a snort that came from Tazhin's thoughts and she couldn't help but bit back a smile.

At the same time, Pippin had then commented that he didn't find it as small, causing Boromir to let out a sigh whilst Arwen grinned even more. Thankfully it was dim enough for the Gondorian Captain to not see the amusement.

Though partial of her enjoyment was seeing Boromir carrying their hobbit friend on his back. Despite their (mainly Tazhin's) protests for his shoulder, he won the argument when they first arrived at the deepest parts of the tunnels.

Hence why he was now piggybacking said hobbit.

Slight curiosity got to her, so she asked him: "How old did you come here by any chance?"

As she heard the sloshing and splashing of water, Boromir's voice echoed in front of both her and Tazhin: "Faramir and I used to explore the city when we were children. Whenever our mother was too tired or our father scolded us, we would escape and take these hidden passages." His voice was filled with nostalgia, something which seemed to rare from the Gondorian captain. "When we got older, we realised that these were supposed to be passageways in case the city walls were breached. We didn't believe of course, not with the great wall and then the city walls with the gates."

Her smile softened.

Hearing Boromir speaking of his childhood, it was something they had yet time nor even the conversation to cross the topic. But when it did arise, Arwen's heart warmed at the thought of it. She imagined a young boy, shorter than now with younger eyes and innocence and a sense of adventure. A freedom that everyone would once have. She could see him with his brother, running through the street of Minas Tirith and through here.

"Then the enemy closed in on us. Osgiliath fell and we were forced to flee behind the walls of the white city. And now...it's gone."

When the dismay crept up his tone, Arwen could not help but sense her heart cracking.

Beneath the exterior of a hardened and grown man: there was still the proud and honourable boy she could sense in his voice. A man who had lost his childhood too early because of a war they never deserved to live through and be in. How had life become like this? For them to all become a life of short childhoods and force them to become brave for the sake of others and their own security?

Just like Tazhin, leaving her people to choose to have a better life.

Even Pippin, who was barely grown, was here because he chose to be here.

In the midst of their individual lives, despite losing those they loved: it was their youth that they had lost the most of.

All Arwen could do was let the revelation seep through.

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There were drawings in Rivendell of the White City of Gondor.

Erestor used to show her sometimes the sketches he used to make, drawings of when he used to be her father's diplomat. Back when he would venture across the known parts of Middle Earth, disputing trades and investigating certain issues that would either be to do with the elven kingdoms or even personal matters such as expeditions her mother would time to time go for her interests. He would often note that he and her mother would work together to comprise books, cataloguing the history and knowledge of every bit they could.

Minas Tirith on paper could not compare with the grandeur of the real thing. Though almost accurate with the architecture and designs of the arches, towers, and paved roads: it was different than looking at ink lines on a page.

The tunnel which they exited led them halfway between the overall levels of the city, entering into some sort of back alleyway which was rather empty. Which was a good thing considering the news Boromir, Aragorn and Legolas spoke of: the majority of the city was evacuated as soon as the armies closed in.

But there was another thing which worried them most.

And that was the fact that it was too empty.

Mordor's armies should have already taken the city, preparing to lay claim before raging towards Rohan to fight at the front. Instead, all they could hear were the sounds of their feet hitting the cobble or the winds tunnelling through the streets. There were no lights on, and Arwen heard nor sensed with her magic any presence nearby. It was either no one was here...or they were somewhere else in the city.

Once Arwen had them dried off (courtesy of a quick spell her mother taught her), Boromir insisted they should find a room somewhere in the city where they could take shelter first. They didn't know who else was here and if there were enemies within the city, it would give them a good vantage point and a plan to then flee.

However: fleeing was far from Arwen's plans.

The only direction she had to go was up. Up to wherever the White Tree was.

By now, time was shortening and she felt within her fëa that something was bound to happen. There was no halting or delaying her choice.

However, it would seem Fate decided for her and her companions to take this journey with a little more difficulty.

As they sneaked through the quiet streets, Arwen could not help but gaze her eyes around her. The city should have life. Streets filled with people, with stalls and carts and children running about. Guards interacting with the city folk and the sounds of laughter and society intertwining upon the bustling winds.

Instead what was once a prospering place was merely a phantom of it.

Once they saw the coming gates which indicated the next level of the city, Arwen was cautiously keeping an eye around and in front until Pippin's voice called out.

"What do those flags mean?"

Arwen turned to the hobbit, peering back confusedly as both Tazhin and Boromir stopped walking.

"What flags?" Boromir asked.

When Pippin's hand pointed at the sides of the gate, Arwen spotted what he meant.

Hearing the fabric whip against the brickwork were black banners held upon the top balustrade. There was a symbol sewn upon the front in the colours: white and red. She could not describe it any harder but it almost appear to be the head of a horse along with spears crossing over them.

Though what it meant was something she did not know of.

Until she then felt the draining sensation from the Gondorian healer beside her.

With her mouth almost wavering, her hand almost shaking as she held her pack, Tazhin whispered, "We made a grave mistake." She said with more fear than she could ever hear, "We should never have come back..."

Her voice trailed off; a haunting aftermath as the winds picked up and her face almost paled.

Arwen crossed her glance over to her, asking through their mind what they meant. But all that seemed to be put off as Boromir's voice called out to insist that she was wrong.

He glared at Tazhin, hissing: "There may be more of us left here! Hiding somewhere! We cannot abandon them!"

Tazhin stalked over to him, snapping back quietly up to him, "You have no idea what you are up against!" She was visibly shaking now, her own mind clouded as Arwen's concern turned from the banners but to her friend instead.

Whatever she feared was notably who placed them in the first place.

With a calm tone, Arwen asked her the vital question.

"Tazhin, who are they?" She glanced back up before looking across at the three, "I saw how you reacted with the banners. You know who they are."

Then all of a sudden, she felt the ground beneath her rumble slightly.

With her ears twitching towards the direction of the noise, her eyes looked down the street.

The noise grew.

Arwen's instincts kicked in, grabbing Pippin's hand before she mentally ordered Tazhin and Boromir to hide. They raced towards a narrow slot between two buildings, letting the darkness engulf them as they got off the main road.

It was there she saw them. Figures of horses and men riding, galloping pass in great numbers as they passed through – unaware of them. But even then, the roaring hooves almost caused all of their hearts to freeze over, holding their breaths as they leaned against the walls. She had clung Pippin by her side so tightly that he might as well disappear under her cloak.

There were dozens, all going upwards until the last one passed over and she let out a large breath.

By the time they did so, Arwen and Pippin seemingly looked at the fear in both Tazhin and Boromir's faces as they both whispered one word.

"Variags." [1]

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Perhaps she should have questioned it. Why their journey from Edoras all the way to Minas Tirith had been so quiet to then expect it to be safe as well. She might as well have believed she could walk into Mordor just as they did here.

Anyhow, this was not the time to argue with herself.

Especially in the middle of an argument already.

They did what they intended, staying at the same level they had arrived at. Hours had passed since the Variags had rolled over and unfortunately, there had been no light within the shadow they were in. There were men patrolling, two within each group as they marched between every alleyway and main road.

The building in which they took refuge seemed to be once a bakery, hidden atop a loft where there were empty crates and fallen sacks of old flour. They had few Lembas and other rations left, and all Boromir could advise was to keep in check and rest.

Arwen didn't dare to conjure any light. It was a risk to do so, not when how often they had walked between them already. Instead, she eased Pippin to sleep, encouraging the young hobbit to take a rest before they would think of something and move towards their goal.

As for the other two, Boromir had sat up against the wall, aching still from his wounds as he tried to think of a plan.

"The white tree is all the way up at the citadel; if Arwen tries to find where some are being kept: we may be able to set them free and fight our way through," Boromir suggested, turning to Arwen directly for her approval.

All Arwen could mind was how much this was a risk. She could sense others, yes. But to know who exactly they were within the city was difficult itself. She needed to use Astral projection to find them, perhaps discover a way to get through unannounced. But with how close they were to Mordor: she was terrified that the enemy sensed her presence between the thin veil of reality.

Her mind turned back to the conversation from a voice above.

Standing beside the small lookout window, nudged against the shadow was Tazhin. She kept darting her eyes back out to the street, her distress now visible in both her voice and mannerism.

"Whatever you are planning, it will not work." Tazhin stared at Boromir with seriousness. "They are not just Variags, Boromir. They are the leading clan of Khand. They are marked with a symbol, the symbol of a horse with three spears. The head is marked with ink. Every battle they win, they mark their skin with a symbol to show their strength."

Tazhin turned away, looking out.

"And the one we just saw ride past has exactly eleven."

Her words seemed unsettled, causing Arwen to grind her teeth as she then thought heavily about what they should do.

Tazhin's tales of her homeland were merely from a childhood perspective...but to hear the darker side was something she should have known. Her friend knew the true side of her people. How they had bowed to Sauron and had always tried to go against the people of the West.

And now they have taken it.

From Arwen's periphery, Boromir had rumbled, "What importance does that make?"

"What importance?" Tazhin's head spun back to them before she exclaimed quietly, "Never have I heard from my people to bear eleven markings! The most were possibly six!"

Standing up, Arwen glanced upwards as the two got closer whilst Boromir was about to retaliate.

But before he could say a word, Arwen interrupted them: "We will not be fighting them." She stated quietly, making the two look back down at her. "If we could possibly get somewhere close to the tree, I will be able to connect with it."

Tazhin almost made a scoffing noise, and Arwen couldn't help but sense the surge of heat rising from her chest.

"And if we are found? We will not be able to fight our way through."

A part of Arwen wanted to agree with it. The realistic part of herself.

But then she glanced down, where Pippin's head laid peacefully upon her lap.

Her heart panged.

She gulped, murmuring softly, "We have to try."

'For Frodo and Sam...' She thought, brushing the hobbit's hair behind his ears, and pleaded to Eru that this will be alright.

They had to try.

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Illyria Strange | The Eternal

Location: The Unknown South, Middle Earth, Arda

Time: April 2981 T.A

Have you ever seen anything so mesmerizing that you forgot to breathe the moment you laid eyes upon it?

It would seem this time it would be a first for her.

Because she had to remind herself to breathe when they finally saw it.

After a week of travelling and Elurín's never-ending scouting of what was ahead of them: they made it onto a cliff face which overlooked something she wouldn't expect. Well, none of them really did...but once she stood there and sucked it all in: it made so much sense as to why it was in that state.

Before them was a vast crater-like depression. She wasn't sure how big it was, perhaps the size of what Sokovia could have been. Maybe even larger by how at this spot it was difficult to see the end unless it was daytime. The depression however was not barren, quite the opposite of what the Fireplains were like. It was filled with lush greenery. Waterfalls cascaded from the cliffs in the distance as bird-like animals flew at their height.

Illyria couldn't help but admit it was beautiful.

Right in the centre was shrapnel, a piece of what must be Ormal. It was almost the size of the Khōn, maybe even bigger if they were closer. And yet what shocked her was how it shone like some beacon, a faint pulse which reason why her soul pulsed at its sight.

"Great Yavanna..."

'Oh Yavanna would be impressed with this place,' She thought to herself, but loud enough to sense Maglor eye her before he moved to speak to Elurín.

Bilbo on the other hand was still gobsmacked at the landscape. If he reacted like this in Raj, his eyeballs would've popped out at this rate. She had to agree though: she had seen a glimpse of the multiverse and none of them compared to something that was nothing but a reminder of the most beautiful place Arda once was.

The remnants of the Ainur's first creation.

She wondered what Almaren would have been then. Would it have been greater than Aman was right now? And if so, why didn't they simply choose to stay in Arda and accept the brokenness of it? Was it wrong to like the asymmetry?

Well, at least she understood one thing: she and the Valar were a little different in terms of what was beautiful or not.

"This is the place," She confirmed under her breath, wishing then she had her phone on her to take a picture of this. Illyria then added, "I can sense its presence."

Glancing over at Maglor, he nodded before ordering for them to make their way down the cliff face and towards the centre. Though in Illyria's case, she could not help but hesitate again at his instructions.

Whatever this place was...it wasn't just her who felt unease now in the presence of Maglor Fëanorion. No. This place somehow knew it. Ormal knew how she felt and how she felt truthfully about him.

And how they both felt about this plan.

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Okay, perhaps she should explain why she even doubted this even after all this time.

After all of her proclamations and speeches towards not only Maglor but everyone who was in their company.

She couldn't describe it. She wanted to believe that the tale which Maglor spoke to her of was all true, because how could he lie about that? How does one be able to spin something, cry about it and then have your very soul emit the same pain over and over again? No one could replicate such pain unless there was truth behind it.

Unless Maglor was just that fucking good, then who should get an Oscar for such a performance.

At least then he'll be the first-ever elf to have an award only Leo Di Caprio was able to get only decades in the industry.

Maybe it was just her (maybe she's the drama xoxo) and her growing anxiousness. Because at the end of this argument: it was all down to her no matter what she told herself. She dreamt of this place. She drew it in her past life, always talking about the stars and the world that was between the known and unknown.

And being half-Aini practically sealed the deal when it came to pushing the boundaries of reality.

Her stomach only churned more, feeling more nervous but also a sensation of belonging in this place. How the earth beneath her shoes almost grounded her, letting the sensation of her being almost harmonize against the slow swaying of the trees and bushes. Streams of water were teeming of almost purity, letting in something she hoped would be within some Zen Garden than the middle of nowhere. Or the way the air just felt...right somehow.

It was familiar as if she once felt these many ages ago.

The company seemed to share the same thoughts too, panning their sights around them as they headed through the golden forest.

And when she meant golden: she meant that every tree had golden leaves. Mallorn trees to be clear, just like the ones that comprised Lothlorien. Some stretched above them as tall as buildings whilst others were mere saplings, their roots entwining within one another. Leaves fells around them, a golden shower through the canopy of the forest whilst she noticed how they complimented the flowers upon their path.

They seemed to be rare, as Maglor stopped to look at them with awe. As Illyria met at his side, she heard him mutter under his breath, "I have not seen these flowers outside Aman in thousands of years." He turned to her, explaining further what they were. "They only grow under such conditions."

They were called Elanor flowers, causing her to widen her eyes. [2]

Maglor didn't need to speak, already understood by the way she bent to pick one up – plucking it gently from the stem.

They were almost delicate in a way, appearance wise but there was a way how she sensed it might have been like this for God knows how long. How long had they been here must have been since the world changed.

Elanor...the name which stemmed from the Sindarin version of her name. It was also, from what she recalled, what Samwise Gamgee would name his daughter. And Illyria liked that thought better than the fact that it was a coincidence she would be met by flowers named after her at a place they had been wanting to find.

Yep...this is certainly not main character vibes at all.

Soon as she placed the flower into her dimensional pocket, she heard Bilbo babble about the beauty of the place. Illyria couldn't help but grin once more; at least now her hobbit friend was finding something he was comfortable with. And knowing him, he'd probably bring some seeds home to try and grow it back in his garden.

Maybe Elrond would like it back in Rivendell too.

There was then a rustling noise as Elurín Limroval appeared from trees, jumping from the branch above before he then told them what he saw.

"I scouted the area ahead; nothing seems to appear of a risk," he told them, letting himself show a little quirk on his lips.

"We should still remain vigilant." The Wanderer still warned them all, "With the light and the state of this place, it does not mean darkness is absent."

Thank you for being morbid. It's not as if they came unprepared for unexpected creatures and dark lords at all.

Illyria refrained wanting to make a sarcastic remark but instead headed over to Bilbo who was still pocketing several seeds into his pocket. She asked him, "Bilbo, pass me the map could you?"

The hobbit took it out from his pack, handing it over to her before she rolled it out and rotated it.

"Illyria—!"

She could barely hear him shout at her as soon as she leapt up the thick branches, using her magic to levitate herself off the ground and upwards beyond the canopy. Maglor reached her through his mind, but she was already at the top the moment she sensed a presence next to her.

But her focus wasn't on him.

Instead, it was above her, looking at the clear darkened skies as the star brightened before her.

The same stars which directed towards the large remnant ahead of them.

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It was hard to describe what they were looking at.

Perhaps if she was thousands of metres tall and practically a stone giant, it would seem like a broken piece of window that someone stuck on the ground and let brambles, vines and plants grow around it, letting rocks hold it together from the bottom.

However, because of her unfortunate case of being human – it was like standing at the bottom of some hill made of glass, metal and rock.

A shard which must have comprised from the very lamp itself, fixated upon the earth as pieces of its magic and light spread across the very crater.

The trees encased around it, crawling upwards with vines made of silver and gold. The translucent yet white coating of the glass shimmered in various colours, illuminated by the moon. There was some sort of clearing surrounding it as well, with only roots connecting between the shard against the forest itself.

As if the shard of Ormal was the heart of this place, giving them the life they had.

This was every painting she saw back in her world. All of the fanarts she could imagine posted on Tumblr or DeviantArt could not compare to the real ass deal of how beautiful this was.

Goddamn Maedhros just had to throw her phone away.

Honestly: not cool.

"I saw this," She spoke, her feet pulling her through as she headed towards Ormal. "In my visions. The stars look almost the same as well."

With a hand reaching out, she let out a gasp as she felt a hum ripple through. Both within herself and the very surface of which she touched; Illyria felt as if she just came back home.

'Ormal...' Illyria closed her eyes.

She then felt a response.

Her mouth parted, breathing out as she felt the energy flow inside and out of her. A cycle of light filled her very being.

Once Illyria opened her eyes, she let go.

Ormal welcomed her, telling her that they had been waiting for her.

Waiting for her to be here.

Her wonder and thoughts were cut short as Maglor cleared his throat, causing her to look over her shoulder at the sorcerer. She noticed that the other elves have spread out, looking around and conversing whilst Bilbo sat down to stretch his legs. No doubt he would be sketching for his book whilst they were busy doing what they should.

Which was something she was not looking forward to.

"We should begin shortly," Maglor indicated, urging her to sit with him upon the stone clearing in front of her. "Time is running out and the sooner we attempt to find our way through the planes we should be able to find what Lúthien spoke of."

Illyria inhaled deeply, walking over to them before plopping herself down.

"I still don't understand. What are you looking for?" Bilbo then asked.

Maglor looked at her, which was his way of telling her it was her turn instead.

She answered him, "Light is just a form of energy, which is this sort of force around us. With enough power by connecting to the tree and the Gem, we could be able to not only charge me...but also find a way to get through Aman without detection."

God, she sounded like she was some Jedi explaining what the force is.

And you know what, it felt right.

Because what do you know: Maglor Fëanorion and Obi-Wan Kenobi didn't seem so far off. [3]

Both hermits. Both had wizard abilities and wielded blue-glowing swords.

If she had to make it even better, their trip to Raj would have been peak if Maglor did the go-to Jedi mind tricks at the guards. [4]

Oh man.

That would've been a hell of a better storyline than this piece of cra—

[Oops. Sort of sticking my toe out of the 4th Wall again. Sorry.]

"The Gem won't open a rift to Aman due to the Valar closing us in. If we are successful, it will allow more than the Noldor, but also the Arfanyarossë and the people of Endor to safely cross," Maglor explained, "Though I believe you know the purpose, but the how part is exactly what I must speak of."

As she placed her belonging far enough, Illyria furrowed her brows at him. "I thought we would be using the transcendence of planes?"

"Yes...but we will also need to be able to use what the Eldar possess as well." He elaborated, "In truth we all do. Every being of Arda possesses this ability and why the Valar fear for the Noldor to live through Dagor Dagorath."

His hands clasped together as he placed them upon his lap.

"We shall be using the songs of power."

Illyria choked on her Star Wars Blue Milk [5]

[Sorry again. Currently having technical difficulties. We are on the last hurdles of Part 3 so I'm not surprised.]

Illyria choked out before she then began to laugh.

"Is there something wrong?" Maglor's eyes peered directly at her as he said heavily, "Illyria."

Her laughter died down as she noticed one thing: he was not kidding.

"...Oh shit, you're actually serious." She gaped at him, following on with a string of exclamations. "Maglor, I can barely get past the Astral Realm on my own! How am I supposed to transcend beyond that plane and use a Song of Power?"

If only Tolkien was fictional and the idea of singing wasn't some superpower.

But nope. Here was Maglor freaking Fëanorion was telling her she had to sing to stop the Valar from making the Noldor and those they didn't want out of existence.

For fuck's sake.

She couldn't even sing even if she was threatened.

Her mouth made a bunch of random and almost incoherent noises before she snapped back, "You could have told me!"

"Were you not paying attention to any of our lessons?"

Huh.

Maglor sighed.

"Well, I'm sorry, mister wanderer. I was a little preoccupied trying to change my fucking form into an Aini," Illyria scowled, inhaling sharply before swearing under her breath again.

Heck, she could beat up a fucking shark, kill a dragon or blow up the Death Star instead of this.

Nope. Goddamn destiny decided she had to get her singing socks on and get this show on the road.

"Perhaps we could break it into several steps?" It was Bilbo who had interrupted, thankfully.

He sat between her and Maglor, retelling with his kind yet ageing voice: "When I first began my duties for Erebor, I have to admit that I was overwhelmed with the various tasks and duties I had to do. And bless both Fili and Kili for helping me along with Ori, I thought they had made it worse for me than better."

Bilbo let out a laugh, and she could not help but twitch her lips.

"However, what did help me was something which Balin once spoke to me of. Something which he also told Thorin as well." He continued, "And that was: we cannot know if we can...if we do not do so. Only by doing the thing, you do not believe you can, will you learn to know if it is possible."

Illyria's shoulders began to relax as her annoyance dissipated, leaning into his words as he spoke.

"I may not be able to conjure magic or change myself into other beings, but I knew then that I could the moment I did it. Whether it be learning the rituals and cultures of the dwarrow or simply learning the differences between Khuzdul of Erebor to Ered Luin, nothing is impossible." Bilbo urged her, "Remember what I told you, Illyria Ettelëa. You are who you are. And none shall dictate who you are unless you let them."

As she felt her feelings soften, smiling back at the hobbit, all Illyria could do was share her love through his fëa. And after sensing a purring sense from beneath her: it would seem Ormal approved of Bilbo Baggins as well.

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Elrond Peredhel | The Lord of Rivendell

Location: Mithlond, Lindon, Middle Earth

Time: April 2981 T.A

There was something so melancholy about observing.

Of watching those go through the portals he conjured to the places that would take them east. To the war. A war which they all knew would dictate their position in this larger war they were fighting.

Elrond Peredhel could not help but tighten the grips of his fists, seeing the last of them disappear as they would arrive just outside the east of Mirkwood and headed towards Esgaroth and Dale. A war-torn land would await them, and to only hope that they would come on time for when the Easterlings and Sauron's forces would arrive.

As for the others, one part would arrive in Lothlorien upon the western side whilst the other would reach the nearest place Elrond could place them near Edoras. He could only hope that Rohan and Gondor had yet to ride to battle yet, but his certainty in his visions was close enough.

He tried not to dwell on it. He put off trying to look or even forced himself to stay distracted just to not see any sight for the sake of his own health.

But outside, none could see it. That the truth of the Lord of Rivendell was falling apart on the inside, caving in the very ability he had and had always let out. His doubt crawled within his mind, whether it would affect if he touched it. Just as he did all those centuries ago, as the more he saw his wife grow weaker, the north darkening and the world becoming more broken than ever before.

When the last of those disappeared and the portal disintegrated into orange dust, he slipped off the sling ring off his fingers before placing it in his pockets. Though not without inspecting it closely, seeing the familiar engravings upon the metal band connecting them. The first time he held it was the very moment he first met the reincarnated elleth he knew. Back when he never believed that he would see that same face after her death: young and free.

Once he finally pocketed the item, Elrond let out a deep breath before heading off through Cirdan's household.

With most of the elves gone, the bustling life surrounding him had dwindled. A few remained, mostly comprising of several guards and servants keeping the house coordinated whilst others were preparing to move supplies upon the ships. They would no doubt have a few weeks more - unless the war in the East would lay siege – which would be another problem.

But Elrond didn't think further about that.

He knew deep in his heart that it was coming to an end, moving due to Morgoth's actions. The dark Ainu's silence indicated this – implying to all of them that he was simply getting ready to unleash hell upon them once Sauron has cut most of them down.

Though with Maedhros' careful planning, execution and collaboration the Noldor had accepted: their numbers and tactic may aid them. His foster uncle calculated this fairly, knowing that without certain people they would not be able to outsmart the dark lord at a reasonable amount.

It was always careful planning...until Maglor Fëanorion arrived.

He would like to think that he still had hope for him, that he would make sure Illyria would be alright along with Bilbo Baggins. That he would come home and after all of this: Maglor would stay. The part of him, still clinging to the yearning of the past, still wanted his foster father. A part that still reminisced over the happy moments he recalled or the memories of his emotions even uttering his name.

But he remembered his face: seeing how much he had changed. How his aura was a various number of layers. And underneath them were the layers of his time gone, a mystery comprised of a heavy sad smile and eyes glowing an eerie blue.

Maglor's sadness was buried, only lining the little looks or the slight twitch of his expressions.

And it worried him.

Not about him though...but for him. Because whatever happened in his long life: he had to always pick himself up, whether alone or not. And it caused Elrond's heart to break more.

But he hoped. Elrond would always hope he would come home. That he would always know that he wasn't alone. Even if it meant it would be a struggle to, he would always be patient.

As Elrond strode through the open walkways overlooking the city, he halted at a little alcove. Underneath one of the gazebos was someone he had yet to see today. Or so he expected to stand with a certain Noldorin lord and lady of Gondolin. Though considering the situation, he should have thought of the other side, knowing again who he was to them.

He really pleaded to Eru that he wasn't noticed, but even a second too late he saw the elf's eyes glance up at him.

Elrond had to quickly adjust himself, clearing his voice. "Forgive me, Lord Maeglin."

He was about to excuse himself, but the ellon merely gestured to the seat across him. Maeglin insisted, "Please, you are welcome to sit."

The urge to compel somewhat shocked him, but Elrond suppressed it enough.

"It is alright, I shall be heading to see Lord Círdan at this coming hour." He paused, curiously adding on: "Though, I did not see you when they left."

He wasn't sure why he moved closer, but his feet somehow shifted. Not long before he was just several feet away, Elrond noticed that he was not simply sitting down to watch the landscape. Instead placed on the small round table was a book – more like a journal. The pages were half empty, with an ink pot and quill placed aside once Maeglin let out a response.

"Ah no, war...war is something which is not my preference." Maeglin shook his head, looking away with a slight twitch on his lips. Though not long before he then turned his gaze up to his. "You must have known the stories of Gondolin."

The air grew stale as he realised what he had said.

Elrond tensed but easily showed his discomfort.

"My apologies. I have forgotten," He bowed his head slightly.

However, Maeglin almost brushed it off.

In a way, he was almost...amused.

"It is not death I worry...it is the idea that what we leave behind," Maeglin looked down, his hands closing the book slowly as he continued, "Whilst most beings have one life, the quendi are fixated onto this world. Death is but a façade to us. Only its process which gives us the most significance."

Elrond could not help but thinned his lips. He was not expecting such a comment...or for the topic of the conversation to continue.

Yet he continued to fuel it. He replied softly, "Death is only but a part of life."

"And death is fate." Maeglin's gaze met his, a stiff and halting stare that caused his heart to grow cold. "It is fate to every mortal. It is a shame though, that your wife has gone that path. It must pain you to know."

As the words lingered, his fingers curled. His chest grew tight as his breath hitched. He couldn't show his anger at that comment, knowing how vital it was to keep the peace here. How fragile they all were.

That is why Elrond merely ground his teeth, before inhaling in as he turned away, "I think I must go, my lord."

When he finally curtly lowered his head, hoping to brisk himself out of this trap he caught himself in, he turned around and began to walk away.

"You know what will happen, Elrond Peredhel. I think we both know it is coming.

Elrond lifted his head but never turned back.

"Of what."

"The inevitable choice." Maeglin's words echoed into his ear. "That we are bound to be soldiers in a game."

Elrond remained silent.

"...And they have yet to make their grand move. Once they do so: we cannot go back."

Maeglin said nothing more aft that, or maybe it was because he had rushed faster than his heels could do so. By the time he was far enough, Elrond had no choice but to rush against a column, leaning his back against the cold surface as he closed his eyes and left out the breath he held. Vilya was burning in his hand, only soothed by the Vibranium cuff in the same arm.

It took him a few moments to recollect himself before he left for his actual destination.

He had not known during that time: that a pair of dark eyes were watching him in the shadows.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

"You are conflicted, my dear mellon."

Elrond sat across the Teleri lord, hearing the sound of tea poured into his cup. After placing the pot down, Círdan himself sat across the table, letting his hands placed over the cup he held before taking a sip.

He knew Círdan since he came to Lindon, back before Lindon was barely a kingdom of elves leftover Beleriand. Where they were simply refugees, choosing to remain on the shores of Middle Earth instead of going to the path they were sought to. The ellon had always been kind to him, even when there were moments Elrond did not deserve such attention and care. He was what he believed a grandfather would be like, a person filled with years of experience and stories. Wisdom that had been passed on and carried by those he spoke.

Círdan never disregarded him. He had been nothing but helpful, always giving him advice in times that were needed and even in times when Elrond felt there was no need for it. The wise mariner always was there, for everyone. He partially raised Gil-Galad and Mereneth when their parents were gone. Elemmírë never denied coming to him for a conversation or even a small chat on their crafts or tales. When his children were much younger, Elrond took them to meet him and all he remembered was how his heart swelled to see Cirdan's eyes well up with tears.

He was always there. Always welcoming.

And why he did not mind it to share so openly of his thoughts and griefs with him.

Elrond took a deep breath.

"In truth, I doubt if I should have gone with them. That I should be the one leading," He spoke, his voice still feeling hoarse after moments ago. "But I know my place is here for now. Especially when I hold one of the rings."

He gazed down at his hand atop the table, the jewel reflecting slightly against the light.

There was an expression on Cirdan's face. A look of understanding. Like him: he once bore a ring of power as well.

"Always still learning to this day, my friend. Even I, years I have walked this earth and yet I learn a new piece every day," Cirdan's face softened as he implored, "Do not doubt that you are simply here because your story is complete, but rather that you are still growing to this day and treading a different path to the rest."

He looked back up at him, wondering what he meant by it.

"How does one know...of the path we take?" Elrond asked.

Círdan placed his tea down.

"How does one know? Indeed, we never know. Only that we can continue and to remember we cannot turn back, only to look and reflect. And reflect, we shall always do so. But to never let our past overrule ourselves and to not let the uncertainty of the future dictate us from never going forward." He spoke openly, his words filled with deep heart and revelation. "Even us, the quendi, will always be learning. We will always follow onward even if we believe that we are done. And you are far from complete in your journey, Elrond Peredhel. There is still light within your path...and a light that you must complete with the darkness within the fold."

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[1] - Variags: Mercenaries who lived in Khand. But in headcanon, they were a certain group of the Khandish clans who supported Sauron in terms of military and helped with invading Gondor. The flags were inspired by Game of Thrones, notably mixing the Martell House and the Stark-Like side figure of a horse (not a wolf).
[2] - Elanor (the flower): Star-like flowers which grew in Lorien, Aman and once grew in Numenor.
[3] - Obi-Wan Kenobi: Jedi Master, Space Jesus, he is awesome and he is on the same podium as Elrond when it comes to Zaddies I love.
[4] - Jedi Mind Tricks: Basically persuasion telepathy. The scene referenced is from A New Hope, where our heroes are stopped by Stormtroopers.
[5] - Blue Milk: Also known as Bantha Milk (which is a sort of animal), is the drink Luke Skywalker drinks in the originals. I've been watching/obsessing a lot about Star Wars lately. Go watch Andor if you guys like that sort of thing.

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A/N: I know it's been so long and I'm so sorry. I've been too obsessed with Legend of Zelda: Tears of the kingdom and I haven't written or read since.

As of this chapter, we finally go back to Arwen and Co and there might be a setback on their plans. As for Illyria, she finally opens up about the fear and burden that is on her shoulders. Which is a lot for a 23-year-old who had been bombarded of memories and duties of an elf she didn't have a choice to be reincarnated.

The same goes for Elrond, who is also struggling as well with his choices and if he is doing it right for his family or for his people. Yeah I'm really making this family go through everything.

Don't get me started on my plans for Elladan and Elrohir.

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Edited: 19/06/2023