Rivendell, in a time before the Great Ring's rediscovery ...

The cold wind swirled around the huddled riders, their cloaks snapped and waved in the damp gusts. Rain blew in and soaked their clothing; their boots were muddy and wet after a day in the wilds. Thunder cracked and echoed along the plains and rain lashed through the tree branches. Elrond, Legolas, and Findalor rode along the tree line, the heavy branches with their thick foliage sheltering them somewhat from the steady rain. In the darkening evening the lightening streaked across the sky in brilliant flashes, casting dancing shadows along the trail. They rode slowly, heads down and hooded to avoid the damp, as their sure-footed horses picked their way along the muddy path. The weather did not improve the mood of the tired riders and they were lost in their own thoughts.

They turned into the woods and sought the trail leading to the well-concealed path downwards into the deep valley. The trail was well hidden, snaking through the thick stand of trees. Carefully the nimble horses picked their way along the path that led homewards to warm stables. It was long past the call for the evening meal for the Elves, and the riders were hungry, wet and tired. All three were quiet and deep in their own thoughts, reliving various other damp evenings on horseback, other patrol circuits, other alerts or warnings to check on.

In the steady patter of rain Elrond's thoughts drifted back to his life at the Court of Gil-Galad, and the broad stony beaches near the Grey Havens. He could just hear the plaintive gulls and seabirds as they swooped in the air and cried out in the frequent squalls along that coast. He often rode long stretches along the beach on his favorite racing mare to escape the restrained and structured life at Gil-Galad's court. Her dappled gray coat and dark mane glistened in the rain and her rapid pace and frisky nature required his full attention as they raced along the beachside shingle. His first fine horse, and a gift from the High King, she remained a favorite in his memories. She had won race after race under his skillful guidance.

One particularly stormy evening Gil-Galad had escaped his duties and bodyguards and sought Elrond along the disserted strand. His horse pounded along the surf in an effort to catch up with Elrond riding full out in pleasure and freedom. As they rounded the curve of the beach Gil-Galad gained ground by cutting across the rising turf and catching the others as they slowed and turned in the foaming waves. The rain-lashed evening spent in the small cave above the sandy beach refreshed their spirits and their hearts, and caused them great grief upon their return to Court the next day. Elrond had learned to relish his time away from duties at an early age, and he fought to balance ever-increasing responsibilities with the call to abandon himself to nature and escape. He still indulged in lengthy or demanding rides to ease his mind when he felt constrained past endurance.

As his hood stirred in a gust he looked up and was brought back to the present. Long strands of hair drifted up and around in the wet breeze. He raised a hand to the watchman as they passed by the sentry station high in the trees, and then pulled the strands back from his face. Looking ahead he saw Findalor huddled against the rain in his cloak. Findalor was napping in the saddle this close to home, and after a double shift. He too had raised a hand in greeting to the watchman and then returned to his drowsy ponderings.

Findalor was rocked by the smooth gait of his favorite mount and his mind drifted in the half waking state that rested Elven minds. His twilight dreams had taken him back to the early days of Rivendell, when they had ridden the borders with great care and watchfulness. As the foundations for the Great House slowly rose and the walls were pegged together one by one, the Elven settlers huddled together in their new home at night for safety.

It was a wild and unlawful time, and bandits and mercenaries roamed the countryside. He remembered the night he and the patrol had sought out Elrond and Erestor and found them engaged with a troop of Orcs, wounded and outnumbered. Elrond, Erestor and Findalor became blood brothers that night in an impromptu ceremony that night, bonded together by events, need and friendship. Findalor often thought he had spent most of life riding the patrol circuit somewhere or other; he could do it in his sleep now. He had ridden this very path in those early days also; the natural lay of the land had invited little very adjustment by the Elves as they carefully worked to conceal the secret valley's edge deep within the woods.

Thankfully tonight's check of the furthest outlying patrol station had been uneventful, and only friends and traders had passed along the road. But troublesome rumors from Rangers and others still warranted careful checking, and Findalor was glad to have verified the true state of affairs himself. They had unexpectedly met with Aragorn and Elrond's twin sons at this farthest outpost. Those outriders were restocking and caring for an injured mount that day. They were worn and ragged after an extended patrol, and glad to have safe shelter and a warm meal with friends.

News they bore was worrisome, but unverified. It was the usual state of the times. Rumors of the worst possible futures were understood by the wise to be only the faintest reflections of what events were truly yet to come. Findalor noted that Elrond had taken his son's arms and shoulders with more than a fond fatherly grip as they came together in the camp. Grim and skilled warriors in their own rights, their father worried about their patrolling the wilds more than many understood. Aragorn and Elrond sat by the fire with heads bowed together and spoke in low voices for some time before the rains set in and the three mounted up for their journey home to Rivendell. As the trail passed a marking stone they began the descent into the valley.

Turning onto the stony path Elrond shifted in his saddle to glance behind him. The white horse's careful footfalls in the deep leaves were muffled. Legolas was hooded and quiet as well in the deepening gloom of evening. He was staying for a short time in Rivendell this early winter season, and had been out with Findalor on patrol. He had volunteered to join them on Elrond's ride out to the frontier post, and he had enjoyed the extended ride and chance to visit in the growing mist and crisp air. He was also glad to have had a chance to visit with Elrond's sons and hear the news from Aragorn, as he was gathering information on the wider world for his father Thranduil. At the end of the long day even his youthful energy was flagging after hours in the saddle, and he was lost within his own thoughts in the dripping rain like the others.

Legolas thought of his own experiences on patrol: in the dark woods of his father's lands, or through the lofty Mallorn trees of Lorien, or in the thick and tangled woods that protected Rivendell. He was measuring the personalities of those resident in Rivendell to those who elected Lorien or Mirkwood as home, and considered the idea that different types of Elves were drawn to each settlement. He himself preferred the cosmopolitan environment of Rivendell, with traders and craftsmen coming and going, and scholars bent over stacks of manuscript pages.

His father's settlement was structured and alert, they were ever watchful of their borders there, less refined somehow in their struggle for survival as an armed camp. Life on the lofty flets of Lorien defied description, and the ethereal inhabitants there drifted over the earth lightly and wreathed in otherworldliness. There, more than anywhere, did the spiritual nature of the Elves endure the strongest and wreathe them in mystical light.

Every Eleven settlement had its own atmosphere and unwritten rules for conduct, and he decided he fit best in the open environment of Imladris. He stirred himself and resettled his cloak across his shoulders as the horses started the descent into the valley; he was hungry and would welcome a meal and a fire after all day in the rain. He smiled at a glimpse through the rain of the towering rooflines, with smoke drifting from many chimneys. He was more suited to the harsh outdoor life than his city-dwelling friends, but he could appreciate a crackling fire and bowl of stew as well as the next Elf. He particularly was fond of the light and crusty bread so popular at Rivendell, and loaves of it always sat ranked beside the ovens with jars of jams and jellies for snacking and refreshment.

The welcoming lights of the rambling stables sent faint beams through the rain, still heavy at this lower level in the valley. It would be another wet winter it seemed by all accounting. They entered the central roofed courtyard thankfully, and leapt down, greeting the grooms coming forward to meet them. Shaking the rain from their cloaks and the weariness from their limbs, they stood upright and stretched, dripping on the well-worn flagstones of the stables. They exchanged tired smiles, all glad to be out of the saddle and home. Findalor and Legolas had joined Elrond on this journey coming off of the regular border patrol, and Findalor especially felt the long hours in the saddle as he stretched this way and that and moaned a bit in the motion. Legolas gave a good stretch too and brushed droplets from his tunic and leggings. His fine ashen hair settled onto his shoulders as he shook his head and wiped his face dry with a towel offered by a groom.

Glad to be home, Elrond clapped his friends on their shoulders, "Let's go see what we can find in the kitchen to eat, maybe that full house we are hosting left us a few morsels to sup on." Findalor just shook his head; he suspected the full house was part of the reason Elrond took such an interest in the afternoon's extended patrol. Time away from his many duties as Master of the House was harder to come by, and Elrond grew weary when deprived of opportunities to escape the daily routine. He had been the exemplary host for several nights, but the crowd and their demands grew tiresome after a while. Findalor thought the company of Legolas and their riding and conversations in the brisk open air, even in the rain, had lightened the mood of the increasingly withdrawn Master of the House.

It was too cold to swim now, the harvest was in, and repairs were completed for the coming winter cold. Heavy rains discouraged riding for pleasure for most. Findalor had encouraged the long ride out today as a cure for too much work at home, and even through the tiredness he saw an improved mood in the dark figure he knew so well. Elrond brushed back damp strands of hair from his face and neck and turned to the stairs. They dashed up to the great house in the rain, and clattered into the kitchen like errant children, dripping and slipping on the floor, laughing while they caught their breaths in the warm fragrant air and scattered droplets of rain on those around them.

Greeted by laughs and teasing, they kicked off muddy boots in the hallway and hung damp cloaks near the door to dry. They moved about the kitchen checking under steaming lids and in crocks for their late repast. Past experience told them the kitchen staff ate as well, or better, than the guests upstairs, and their search soon gained them heaping plates and brimming tankards for their efforts. Throwing protective tablecloths over the stacked sacks of newly milled flour and corn, they clambered up onto stacked sacks and settled in, stocking footed and out of the bustle of the kitchen's evening business. They tucked into their food like hungry field hands.

The exercise of the long ride, plus the cold and damp, had sharpened their appetites, and they enjoyed the impromptu evening meal with gusto and appreciation. They settled back in complete comfort and abandon. Legolas had learned to relax in their company and be himself, unlike the restrained behavior required of him at home. He smiled and joked a bit between bites, his usual reserve lost in the warmth of the setting. Centuries of refinement, and elegant manners, faded before the simple joys of good food eaten simply with friends. The informal atmosphere and warmth of the kitchen with a crackling fire warmed their hearts and souls. Refreshed by the exercise, meal and good company, Elrond settled back against the hard sacks and rough wall and decided no place was better to be than here. The kitchen tabby crept into his lap and curled into a ball, content with just a scratch behind the ears and a soft place to nap. Her kittens rolled and played amidst the stacked sacks around them. Legolas was taking in the bustle of the kitchen and the pantries, the efficient, yet casual, nature of this part of the house never failed to fascinate and amuse him.

Findalor was refilling their tankards when Erestor came in with the first of the servers clearing up from the meal upstairs. Elegantly clothed with hair braided into a complex pattern, Erestor was looking his most stately tonight. Looking briefly at the muddy boots by the door he started to speak with the cooks. He stopped in mid-sentence and looked at the three sets of boots again, and slowly looked around the kitchen. Seeing the three seated in the distant corner, feet up and cozy amidst the rewards of a good harvest year startled him into silence, and with open mouth he stared at them. Walking across the room in a few strides, his hands crept to his hips in that old habit everyone knew.

Elrond and Findalor braced themselves for an upbraiding; their sidelong glances confirmed their sense of guiltiness. Legolas raised his eyebrows and waited to see what would happen next. No one would have dared to upbraid his father in his own house, yet the management circle at Rivendell often kept Elrond "in line" with a remark, or a downright scolding. Legolas suspected this flexibility kept things fresh and effective, and only extreme fondness, strong trust, and years of friendship allowed this interaction between the patient Master of the Great House and the others who helped manage the community.

Erestor, left alone to manage a houseful of guests with no host, and with foul weather keeping everyone in, was pressed to manage the evening to his satisfaction, and was cranky now because of it. To see the threesome before him smiling over tankards, damp, muddy and with empty plates stacked beside them was more than he could bear. "What? Where? When?" he sputtered, hands waving. Lindefal wandered through the kitchen just then and was drawn over by the gestures and expressions of the group. He knew a guilty look when he saw one; he saw plenty in his role as Aide of the Master's Chambers. He was clucking his tongue at the state of their garments and tangled hair. He did note the relaxed smile that played across Elrond's lips, and filed the fact that another strenuous horseback ride had restored the center and joy in life for the Master of the House.

Erestor began again. "Where have you been? Why are you here? Don't you know we have a dining hall full of guests upstairs?" He stomped a foot in incensed affrontage.

"I have packed them into the Hall of Fire for another evening of song with this inclement weather, but they all have asked to see you as soon as you were located. I have made excuses and apologized all evening for you, and here you sit" He looked at Findalor, "And I suppose you had a hand in all this?" Findalor shrugged. Legolas just smiled under scrutiny. Erestor was greeted by quiet looks and smiles, and raised eyebrows; they knew he would sputter himself out in a bit and then really want to know where they had been and what they were up too.

Centuries of friendship made this group all too comfortable with each other, and Legolas was beginning to understand that this was part of the nature of life at Rivendell. Thunder cracked and rolled, and the downpour increased. The shutters of the small high windows of the kitchen pantry were opened a bit and let the fresh air and noises into the warm space. Still scowling, Erestor took a tankard from Findalor, and carefully gathering up his heavy velvet robes, took a seat next to them on the long row of grain sacks. Kittens clambered up his long robes and batted at his silver buttons. He carefully removed them and piled the furry bunch into Findalor's lap, then leaned back against the wall. "So, who's first to tell their tale?" he asked. " It had better be good."

The kitchen slowly filled with servers and dishwashers, and the friendly background clatter of everyday life contrasted with worrisome tales from patrols, rumors and news from the south. The evening grew late as they spoke among themselves. As the kitchen staff finished their chores, and the bread bakers came in to start their early morning baking chores, and the group gathered plates of cheese and loaves of bread, and retired to Elrond's chambers for more discussion.

Lindefal awoke in the pre-dawn hour with a start. One of his familiar dreams where he was wandering lost in a wood had haunted his thoughts and disturbed his rest. He moved his arm from the awkward position it was lying in and rolled to his side. From the far edge of the large square bed he blearily looked across the sleeping figures near him and out into the dimly lit room. The flickering light of the dying fire cast dancing shadows and lights in the room. He thought he remembered where everyone had landed late last night, but he was not certain now, many tankards of foamy ale last night muddled his thoughts this morning.

He saw still damp cloaks thrown here and there across a chair or railing, and muddy boots lined up by the fire. He was reminded of the early days at Rivendell as the Great House rose on its stone foundations, and the residents sought shelter where and with whom they could in the half finished rooms. Strange bedfellows were welcomed then for warmth and safety in the uncertain days early in the settlement's founding. Times were much different today when the luxuries of the world could be found in the many rooms and along the corridors of Rivendell. He chanced a look around the room in the dancing firelight.

Legolas's fair hair spread over his shoulders as he slept leaning on crossed arms at the small desk near the fire. Tankards and plates of cheese and bread surrounded him on the wooden desktop. Findalor slept sprawled in a large cushioned chair by the balcony, stocking feet stretched out before him. A glance at the foot of the bed revealed Erestor lying wrapped in a delicately woven blanket with his richly embroidered velvet robe thrown across his legs. He had at least shed his embroidered shoes, and his colorful leggings showed beneath the twisted robes. His chest rose and fell in deep sleep, his satiny dark hair lay in soft swirls across his shoulders. Lindefal could not help but wonder at its tidy nature when compared to Elrond's midnight strands. His long and tangled hair curled and wreathed across the snowy linens.

Dark strands of his hair covered his face as he turned in his sleep. Elrond had collapsed in bed also partially clothed; however his leggings, still damp from the rain, lay hooked on the carved post of he bed. His loose tunic lay unlaced and dragged open, baring a broad shoulder, and the puckered scar from an attack centuries ago was visible in the dim light of the flickering fireplace. He moved and gently embraced the sleeping figure beside him, and his long fingers lay curled in thick auburn hair. Delicate scars still laced those fingers, scars from centuries ago, souvenirs of the aftermath of the great battle with Sauron and the legions of the Last Alliance of Men and Elves. Many of the trials of his long life were written across his body in fading scars, in a lingering sadness resident in his eyes, and in his wisdom earned from centuries of interaction with all the races of Middle Earth.

Elrond absently moved his hand along the sleek ribs and long flanks in a drowsy and comfortable manner. Lindefal did not quite remember when these other sleepers he saw had joined them in the night. Closing his eyes he tried to make the room stop spinning, he buried his head in the layers of soft pillows bunched under his neck. He wondered again why Elrond's pillows were the best in the whole settlement. He thought he had graced enough beds here and there to compare pillows effectively. The fabric was likely no softer than others, yet it seemed so; the embroidery no more delicate than other fine needlework in the settlement, but the patterns intertwined and mesmerized his bleary eyes. The scent was light and fresh, yet others also perfumed their linens. He decided it must be their location that made them so wonderful. He breathed in the scents of fresh air, mossy greens and something faint that tugged at his memory.

He tried to think back to last night, with not much luck. He then tried to remember the day's schedule. After all he was the secretary to the Master of the Great House, the Aide of the Master's Chambers, the Assistant Librarian, and who knows what else, and if anyone should know what was going on today it should be him. He vaguely remembered that besides a houseful of guests there were no scheduled meetings or tours or lessons to be taught, or any of the many other tasks he coordinated. The scholars knew the way to the library below, the traders had finished trading and the guests could entertain themselves in the daylight-it seemed to have finally stopped raining. Erestor and Findalor certainly seemed to think the world would go on without them this morning.

Lindefal ran a careful tongue over his lips and tasted the sweet and distinctive flavor of that cream Galenbrethil had made up for Elrond...something exotic and rare from his days at the Court of Gil-Galad...now what was it called again...he could not think clearly this morning. This was the vague scent that he remembered. He slowly raised a finger and touched his lips; the subtle fragrance was on his fingertips as well. Did he remember seeing the violet pot of mystical cream on the delicately carved table by the bed last night?

He opened one eye for a peek, and yes, it sat there innocently. The beautiful glaze of the pot was both a coded disguise and a hint of the pleasures contained in the delicate cream held within. The elements of the cream interacted with cells, blood, and psyche, enhancing the senses of both the toucher and the touched, and it reactivated with friction and moisture. The interaction of the cream with Elven auras was particularly unique and enjoyable, vague yet desirable, and never forgotten. None could describe the sensation, the scent or the feel, but the name was always greeted by a smile from those who knew its properties. If he could just remember what that name was...

Looking down the bed at Erestor's robe he seemed to remember the touch of the velvet with its many tiny buttons in excruciating pleasure as it dragged across his flesh slowly and softly. The rich color seemed to remain in his mind when little else did. He shifted again, a bit stiff and sore, annoyed he did not remember how he got that way. He thought he remembered a kiss here, a bite there, was that Elrond or Erestor there above him, behind him? What had Findalor said? He could not remember. With Galenbrethil away with students gathering medicinal plants, Findalor had rejoined his friends and had enjoyed their company nights and days lately.

Judging from the state of the sheets, blankets and sleepers, they must have had a good time. He wrinkled his fastidious nose in disgust of the morning after mess, and wondered when he might be able to actually rise from the bed and bathe. Of course the linens would have to be changed and laundered... his mind drifted away from tasks and back into a dreamy state.

He frowned and wondered when the others in the bed had joined them. He looked deep into large brown eyes nearby. A long furry black and white tail thumped a greeting on the sheets, and the intelligent and patient eyes looked back at him, hoping for a treat. The tawny hunting dog stretched out alongside to Elrond awoke at this action, and turning its long head, it watched through slanted eyes from the warm and soft place, unwilling to move. Elrond's hand moved slowly down the dogs' long side in another caress of the soft coat, followed by a pat and scratch of the ears. Both were content to lie there and laze in the soft bedding. The black and white hunting dog lay its long and delicate head down and watched patiently. Even the hard working hunting dogs were pampered and welcomed in the open chambers of Rivendell. Their loyalty was fiercer and more undying due to these deep bonds of affection between Elves and dogs.

Unable to remember any pressing business before midday, unable to stir himself at this early hour, unable to get a rise up at the idea of dogs in the bed, and surrounded by the gently breathing sleepers, he thought of other nights spent together with these friends. Time spent in other soft beds, or in bitter cold on rocky grounds, perched in trees, or seated around campfires. He thought of deliciously cool evenings dancing by the river on the lawns below and of nightmarish long evenings reconnoitering the barren plains of Dagorlad.

Another little lick of the lips brought a smile to his face, and he closed his eyes, smoothed the pillows beneath his head and shifted to fit the pile of pillows just so. He drifted away into the misty dream world of Elven existence. Life would be there waiting when they finally rose to meet it.


End