Winnowing

A grey had descended on the sanctuary of Imladris. Not the dull and dreary grey of a drippy day, but a near silver grey, brought on by the morning sun trying to penetrate the mist. Thinner patches of the mist were dappled with color where the fall leaves peaked through in reds and oranges.

Lord Elrond Peredhil stood on a front balcony, looking out over his home. He breathed deeply of the morning air, allowing the sweetened damp to fill his lungs and clear his head. The Lord of Imladris smiled. He had not felt so lighthearted in many days. He had recently returned from many days in Gondor with the newly-wedded Aragorn and Arwen. The parting had been hard for him, but he had know for so long that this was coming, known that his daughter had embraced mortality, that the actual leave taking had not caused him half the anguish he had felt in earlier years. They were happy, his daughter and his foster son, and he truly did want Arwen’s happiness. Elros had been happy in his mortal life as well, and as much as Elrond missed his twin, he did not begrudge him what he had found among the humans.

They sky was still pale above him, and the morning birds had just begun to sing. Soon others in the household would begin to stir and go about their business. Many had left for the havens, but there were those who were not ready to depart, and who loved the Last Homely House as much as Elrond did. And there were those, like himself, who had a certain attachment to some mortals that yet lived. Elrond would not linger long enough to see his foster son die, but he knew there were those who would. And maybe some to offer comfort to his daughter before they finally sailed westward.

Elrond closed his eyes against the thought and tried to concentrate on the birdsong around him, the rustling of leaves, and the slow plodding of horses hooves. A dark brow arched as the Lord turned his head toward the sound. He was not expecting visitors today, and he frowned slightly as his keen ears discerned that it was only a solitary horse, still some distance away, and not a horse of elvin breeding who would have been far lighter on its feet.

The Lord of Imladris went back into the house and donned a more formal robe. He glided gracefully down the steps and to the main entrance of the Last Homely House, peering into the mist and waiting to see who his visitor was.

Slowly, a shape began to emerge, a being on a white horse, clad in dark greens of the woodland realm. Elrond cocked his head slightly, his brows furrowing with concern as he noted how the slim figure was bowed over in the saddle. Then his breath caught in his throat.

“Legolas….”

At his name, the Prince of Mirkwood’s head came up. Elrond’s worry increased as he took in the sight. Legolas was dirty, something not at all common among elves. His golden hair hung limply around his face and his normally piercing blue eyes were dull. Overall, the Prince looked worn and lost. The Elf Lord opened his mouth to express his concern, but something stopped him, perhaps the utter exhaustion that showed on the other elf’s face.

When Legolas was close enough, Elrond approached and gently took the horse’s rein. “Welcome, Prince Legolas,” he said, softly.

The Elf-Prince nodded, “I thank you for your welcome,” his voice was soft and his eyes lifted to meet Elrond’s. “I wish to beg the hospitality of the Last Homely House for a small while.”

“As long as you wish, Legolas, please, come in and refresh yourself.” Elrond whistled and a stablehand came running to fetch the Prince’s horse. Legolas looked as if he might fall as he dismounted, but instead he landed solidly on the ground before Elrond as his mount was led away.

“Treat him well,” Legolas said, softly, “for he has traveled far with me.” The hand nodded and Elrond took the Elf Prince’s arm and led him into the Last Homely House East of the Sea.