He looked at the worn designs carved into the stone steps as he climbed ever upwards. He had seen the city of Rivendell grow from the first foundation stone of the Great House, and he had pegged the roof beams together himself for the earliest buildings. He, with others, had felled the timbers, carved the pillars, and tiled the roofs in the early days, yet he still marveled at Rivendell's cumulative beauty and size. It had grown steadily for centuries and then settled into a comfortable maturity that fit its wild and natural environment, and yet it still embraced its inhabitants. With his children under his roof he felt a release from worry for the time being, and he felt a kindred sense of age with the weathered beams and faded decorations this quiet evening. Some of his happiest days and saddest nights had been spent here beneath the shingled rooflines and along the open corridors.
The Great House had settled on its foundations, and life, for the most part these years, assumed a peaceful routine. Imladris had withstood besiegement from Sauron and survived, it had hosted the combined armies of the Last Alliance of Elves and Men, and had rebuilt itself after those ravening years, and now it dreamed in peace and prosperity. Time flowed past them in eddies and waves, seemingly to back up, then curl around itself as residents and guests lost track of all time except that marked by the sun and moon. Scholars noted the days and marked the seasons, while Rivendell basked serenely in its secret valley.
Elrond was aware of how the Ring of Power, Vilya, preserved and protected them all here deep in the valley. He felt a little shudder, as he always did when thoughts of the Elven ring crossed his mind. It waited deep in its cave for his attention and affection, but he left it secreted there, well away from any temptation. He stayed away from it as much as he could, though its siren call haunted him sometimes in the night, and drew him to the cave beneath the city. Its call was always at the edge of his mind, beckoning and enticing, and seeking his energy and life force even as it preserved them all against the passage of time.
He ran a trailing hand along the carved railings of this older section of the settlement; the twining leaves and vines were a favorite pattern. A similar design flowed around the sleeve cuffs of his robe. Faded and soft, it was a favorite older robe he had chosen for the evening. The rich colors were mellowed and softened; its embroideries were delicate and still glimmered slightly with metallic threads laced through. It suited his mood tonight; he thought he too felt a bit faded and comfortable this evening. He smiled at the weather- smoothed leaves carved along the railing and smooth feel of the worn wood.
Aragorn, with Elladan and Elrohir, had arrived at Rivendell yesterday, along with Glorfindel, escorting Arwen home from the Golden Wood. Elrond had asked his sons to stay a few days to rest, and share the news they bore. He wished to experience more than a hurried conference in the stables. Their drawn and tired countenances spoke of their long ride and they were all were mud-stained and weary after the journey. They agreed to rest a few days under his unwavering, but caring glance. Aragorn was convinced to stay a few days as well with a gentle arm around the shoulders and warm smile.
After the warm embraces of his dusty and tired children they adjourned to their chambers to unpack and settle in. Elrond and Glorfindel climbed the stairs to the great house deep in conversation and arm and arm. The homecoming group was welcomed by many as news spread of their arrival, Elrond's family was nurtured and embraced by the Household's staff and managers, and they enjoyed the love and guidance of many surrogate parents. The sad loss of their mother was somewhat compensated by the showers of affection they received from those around them. Aragorn received the respect and care due a trusted foster son of the Master of the House, and Glorfindel was well liked by all for his wisdom, grace and warm and loving nature.
Willowy Arwen, tough as whipcord, and as athletic as her brothers, and Elladan and Elrohir, all assumed the duties of their stations and more, and none doubted that the royal blood of men and the most esteemed lines of Elven ancestry formed their characters. Their intelligence, love of life and exuberant energies were nurtured and refined by Celeborn and Galadriel in the Golden Wood, and they were deeply influenced by their loving and encouraging father. He smiled as he strolled the open corridors as he thought of his friends and family at home again under his roof.
He realized he had slipped his hands into the deep pockets of the outer robe as he strolled the corridors. Another reason he liked this old robe was because it had roomy pockets. Tonight he felt a smooth pebble and several fragrant leaves that would scent his fingers as he touched them, treasures from the last time he had worn this robe on a riverside walk. He held the pebble in his fingers and caressed its cool surface. Red lines ran through the gray of the stone and he remembered it also had crystalline veins. It fit his grip perfectly as he turned it in his fingers. The leaves had dried but would still leave their spicy scent on his fingers.
From his earliest childhood he had carried small treasures here and there in secret pockets and pouches. Smooth pebbles from walks along the beach with his mother and brother Eros, and later when captive at the court of Maglor he had secreted a bracelet of his mother all the years he was there. He would stroke its milky gems in the darkness of night and weep with the weary sadness of a lonely child into his pillow, he was holding the bracelet as he saw her leap into the ocean from the cliff's heights, and he had just thrust it into his pocket when the soldiers of the invading forces plucked him up and rode away with him as hostage. Though Maglor was kind to the boys, their stay at his court was strained.
The bracelet still lay in a velvet pouch in the desk drawer in his study, next to the small carved box that held the faded ribbons and small bells from his wedding day. He was content to know the things were there, but rarely opened the drawer. Too many sad memories flew out when that drawer was opened.
Elrond climbed slowly up the shallow steps, unconsciously choosing the gentlest way upwards. The broad shallow steps curved and passed open rooms and other corridors. As he reached one of the highest balconies he sat on the broad bench that overlooked a rushing spillway of the river. Settling in, he leaned back and laid his arms along the back of the bench, and sighed. His shoulder was continuing to stiffen and bother him, but he put that pain out of his mind.
Relaxing into the evening, he felt the worn wood beneath him, the stone flags at his feet and the cooling breezes on his face. They were stronger at this height and above the river. He could hear the river's noisy song as it rushed over the stony bed and poured down the series of waterfalls along this side of the complex. The sounds were soothing and refreshing. He breathed deeply of the subtle scents and let the evening wash over him.
The rose of the sunset had darkened into purple and gray and the sounds of harp and pipe were faintly audible above the rush of the river. Dancers would be intertwining in chains and lines on the lawns; others would be finding grassy and secluded areas to snuggle or watch the stars come out one by one. A summer night like a thousand other summer nights at Rivendell, this season lent itself to the waking dreaming state that suited Elves at peace.
Elrond thought to himself that in summer his settlement was at its most spiritual, most like their cousins in the Golden Wood at Lorien. Rivendell slept through the cold damp winters, came to life in the intermediate seasons and gloried in the warmth of the sunny afternoons and the balmy nights of summer. Yet the two settlements were as far separate as they could be as well. Lorien dreamed through all the seasons with great detachment from the world, guarding its borders with savage intensity, while those resident at Rivendell tilled the soil, ground the grains, tended the animals and welcomed traders. Celebration of the change of seasons was ingrained in the life cycles of Rivendell.
He turned the stone in his fingers, feeling its coolness and round shape in a focused meditation. Lost in dreams he found himself on the seashore at Sirion with his mother Elwing and twin brother Elros. As children they had often wandered the beach and listened to the seabird's plaintive calls under their mother's watchful gaze. His father Earendil sailed long at sea leaving them ashore. Elrond knew the sadness in his mother's eyes reflected that of her heart as they dipped toes in the rolling waves and she looked out along the horizon for approaching sails. He saw that she watched the seabirds in flight with envy of their wings and soaring freedom.
Sitting in the strong breezes from the sea, he would sit leaning against her knees as she plaited a circlet for his head from sea grasses and tiny flowers found at the edge of the beach. As Elros raced down the beach with hunting dogs baying along side she would settle the woven crown upon his head and rest her hands on his shoulders. She dubbed him the king of the seashore and all the waves he could see with a kiss on top of his head. They tumbled in the waves and raced the tide as it swept in and out.
Elwing had often wondered at the strong personalities of her twin sons, as different as night and day she would say to them. Twins they were, but each independent and of a single mind. Elros had chosen the path of mortal man when he was allowed to choose, he was long passed away now and a name in the historical lineage of kings. Elrond had chosen his Elven kin when he was called forward to make his choice. He thought of his own dark haired twins, inseparable and of a like mind in every thought and deed. How strange life was in the flow of days.
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