The flow of the Bruinen was but a gentle trickling thing here at the fjording of the valley. In comparison, a roaring tempest tore through Elrond’s mind. He had gone on ahead of his army, thinking time alone would calm his mind, and his mood. He could not escape the thought that his kin marched toward a meat-grinder, and that their bright armour would soon to be stained by the ruin being wrought across Eregion.
He walked out into the crossing. All around him, the shallow waters churned cold and indifferent. The world did not think much of the war Sauron was waging, nor of the hearts of those resisting it seemed.
It was there, upon the far shore, that his eyes locked upon anothers' gaze. Their eyes were set in a face covered in dried blood. It was a fellow Elf just standing there. Their garments were torn and they bore the look of one who had run for many days through the wilderness. Unstopping. Their gaze pierced him, desperate and pleading; silently demanding the one thing he was sworn to uphold: 'Is there safety here? Can you protect us?'. Another Elf emerged from the undergrowth, and stopped. They seemed in worse condition than the last. The same gaze upon their face now also.
Elrond looked at them, his lips parting, but he had no answer to give to their voiceless plea. He was marching into the mouth of death, leading a warhost to violence. The terrible realisation that he could offer these poor soul nothing of comfort, of security, of refuge, broke something within him, and it was beneath the weight of their hollow eyes that he collapsed, his knees sinking into the shallow but oh so icy currents of the river. And he bowed his head into his hands, while his legs went numb.
He was a Captain of the Eldar, a herald of Gil-galad, yet a suffocating dread clawed at his chest. His heart had never truly belonged to the blade or the bow, but to the art of healing, to the quiet mending of the broken, to the restoration of the soul.
Now, as Sauron’s shadow devoured the west, Elrond felt utterly and agonizingly powerless. He realised he had come to the river alone to spare his men from seeing him in this state, and still, he could not escape the shame he felt for himself; those looking on added no further burden to him that he did not already feel.
What use was a healer's touch when hundreds were slaughtered in a single day? Hundreds more driven from their homes, and this was day after day after day. Was he merely leading his kin to an honorable grave? The river seemed to go quiet and the heavy silence of the Trollshaws pressed down upon him, offering nothing but the weight of his own despair. He seemed and felt utterly alone.
"Your hands were made to mend, Eärendilion, not only to strike".
A voice echoed in his thoughts. It was clear and radiant. Elrond lifted his eyes sharply, seeking the speaker, but only saw only thw refugees staring back at him; unspeaking, unmoving. A sudden tremor of wonder stayed his breath. He had not anticipated the use of ósanwë, the direct exchange of thought. It was a skill known to few in these darkening days, and mastered by fewer still.
It was the mind of Galadriel that had sought him out. They were not yet close in counsel nor companionship, though the blood of the high houses ran though them both, and each had long weighted the perils of the world at the seat of the High King. Yet her presence now brushed against his from far away with a sort of luminous intensity that felt altered, amplified, and slightly unnverving to behold. He realised it was not just Galadriel, but her command of Nenya which was extending her reach.
The surprise, and the sudden weight of understanding, left him silent for a moment. His cousin had grown more remote since she came into possession of the secret ring of power, though he knew this war had changed all of them regardless of such responsibilities.
"The world has need of more than swords if the designs of the Enemy are to be undone." her thought continued, and it seemed to Elrond that she almost stood before him, looking also upon the ragged refugees as if through his own eyes.
Elrond whispered at first, and then just spoke in his mind, "Eregion burns, Cousin, and those who flee have nowhere to run. No place is safe from his Shadow."
Yet even as the bitter thought formed, his eyes were drawn back to the water and then following the river to where it rose sharply, he noted how it carved deep, hidden folds into the untouched valleys of the Trollshaws; these were places few had ever walked.
"They need a refuge..." he murmured, a fragile hope stirring against the despair in his chest. "Could but a place of sanctuary be found for them. A place where those who fly from the storm might not merely find safe rest, but the healing of their spirits."
"It may be so" the thoughts of Galadriel returned, and her words seemed wrapped in meaning that was deeper and enduring. "And by your hand could such a place be wrought. You go to stay the ruin, but your true purpose may yet lie in what you seek to preserve."
Elrond closed his eyes, the icy currents of the Bruinen still flowed at his knees. "But my path lies forward, into the path of war; I cannot stand as a sentinel here forever. I possess no Great Ring of Power, as you do Cousin, to bind the years and command the wilderness to bar the foe."
The presence of Galadriel drew closer. It was steadfast and absolute, warm and terrifying. "You measure strength by the works of smithcraft alone, and therein lies a blindness you share with the Enemy himself. The strongest bulwark against the Shadow is not forged, it is felt. It is found in the gathering of the faithful, in the enduring bonds of kindred, and in your own rare grace to awaken such things in the hearts of others Eärendilion. Look upon those who stand on the shore. No words have passed between you, yet they look to you as their salvation. Not in desperation, but in hope. That is a kind of love the give you unquestionably which the Enemy can never understand, and a power he can never seek to command by any craft."
Elrond looked at them. His eyes softened as he truly saw the refugees through the meaning of his Cousin's words. They had fled from the great Shadow, yet a paradox took root in his mind around that. The Enemy sought to cover the world in darkness, but here, the deep and narrow valleys of the earth offered a different kind of shadow... a protective veil. Perhaps the shadow of these hills could be used to hide them, and the countless others who would surely follow.
He looked to the twisting course of the water. If they were to build a refuge here, it must not be a fortress of stone and iron. Instead, the valley's defence would be in its secrecy. The living landscape its veil. Its protection could be wrought by the river itself he thought. It could act as a silent sentinel that appeared to the world as nothing more than a wild, untamed mountain stream, until the moment it was called upon to bar such foes.
"So it may be," came Galadriel's voice again. It was warmer now, encouraging. "There are ways and means known to our kindred to place such enchantment upon the living world. You shall be aided in this, for you do not stand alone."
As her words filled his mind, the living pulse of the wilds seemed to beat through the very waters flowing past his knees. He felt restored, not just by his Cousin's counsel, but of the ancient grace she had awakened within his soul. Where once the cold current had brought numbness, there was now a rising warmth. The river, he realised, could be a treacherous torrent to their enemies, and a restorative balm to the weary. It held both doom and healing in its currents.
He stood, rising from the water and turning his gaze to his kindred on the far bank. No words were spoken, yet through his eyes, he returned to them a silent vow: 'You are safe here. I shall see to it.'
Confidence, quiet and enduring, surged back into Elrond's chest. Together, in the shared space of thought that still lingered between the two cousins, Galadriel spoke again, though her presence grew suddenly cold - she was caught in the throes of foresight.
"But heed this" she whispered. Her words heavy with the burden of sight. "For I see all manner of possibilities springing forth from this endeavour, and though the shape of things to come is uncertain, a time may come in the dimming of the world when even the mightiest enchantments falter, when the river falls silent and the valley is laid bare. At such a time, when the veil is breached and the waters fail us". A rare shadow trembled between them, "... when the sun will go up over the Bruinen, and its shores will be red with the blood of your people."
The terrible vision flickered between them, threathening to drag them into a possible future of blood and ash. But Elrond did not waver. The despair that had broken him only moments before was gone, replaced by the enduring truth she had granted him. He reached out to her, offering her the very anchor she had given him.
"Then, as you have said, Cousin, our deliverance will be felt, not forged. When the enchantments of the world grow thin, we shall rely upon the faith of our friends, the love of our kindred and the fellowship of those who refuse to bend or bow. We shall face such things together."
With a firm and deliberate focus of his will, Elrond reached into this unraveling vision and grabbed hold of Galadriel, pulling her back into the reality of the now. Though no further words passed by thought between then, a deep feeling did. A profound sense of kinship and mutual strength in one another. And so, their communion ended.
Elrond looked up to the stars that were beginning to pierce the sky as light faded. No longer a defeated Captain but the guardian of a sanctuary yet to be born.
- end -
Notes:
Thank you to Ellome for helping me on many parts - context, relationships and key details.
This takes place in the 2nd Age around the 1690s as Sauron wages his war across Eregion. We find Elrond on the move, leading his warhost back to the front lines via the northern routes through Trollshaws.
'Eärendilion' is a patrynomic name used by Galadriel here for Elrond, meaning son of Eärendil. With thanks to Ellome for suggesting it.
The lore points to 1693 as when Galadriel comes into possession of Nenya, while Imladris isn't founded until 1697. So this takes place sometime between, and ahead of the fall of Eregion itself. Rivendell wasn't built in a day etc.
We've assumed a few things here in that Elrond and Galadriel haven't fully developed their closer relationship as of yet, but this is part of that journey.
My reading around the enchantment of the Bruinen suggests that it may have been put in place upon Imladris' founding or much later, and could have had a direct hand by Gandalf, or just in its enchancement (the horses being a flourish added). Assuming there was some degree of enchantment placed around the close of the 2nd Age in this story.
Also, other things inferred from Elrond's broader disposition; perhaps quite liberally, but it feels right.
Not to put too fine a point on it, but Galadriel's foresight/vision is intended to be a reference to events underway in the Where Webs Whisper story campaign. Though the characters here may think upon it as a possible outcome in their immediate future. :)
