the weft between the world
Title: the weft between the world
Pairings: Various minor pairings that aren't named
Warnings: None
Word Count: 1177
Disclaimer: If I owned the hobbit, Elrond would be quietly amused at all times.
Summary: Everything happens in Rivendell.
“My love! My One! My only!”
“My darling, come to me! I've missed you more than life!”
The two dwarves fall into each other's arms and Elrond smiles, his heart ever warmed by such a sight.
“What was it this time?” the elf lord asks his steward. Lindir is standing by his side as usual and Elrond sees no obvious obstacles as he looks his new guests over. But if these dwarves could have loved each other freely, they wouldn't be in Rivendell.
“A feud, I believe,” Lindir tells him quietly, careful not to disturb the reunion going on in front of them. “Their families in the Iron Hills have been feuding for generations and could not stand that their children fell in love. But the pair should be able to make a new home elsewhere now that they've broken free.”
“Good,” Elrond answers. He much prefers those tales with happy endings over the alternative. He's seen too many lost souls waiting for their beloveds and second chances that simply never come.
“Once they've settled down, take them to the east wing,” he orders his steward. “We should have plenty of free rooms now that the latest expedition has set off for Moria.”
“Of course, milord.”
“And while you're at it, do ask them how exactly they knew the way to Rivendell.”
Lindir smiles, letting out a low chuckle at the elf lord's words. Both elves know that these dwarves won't have an answer. No one has ever had an answer in all the years they've asked. It's a private joke between them now, that their once hidden valley has become a haven for the lost and brokenhearted, a way station for all weary travelers.
Elrond knows exactly when the change began. It began with a grey wizard and the bedraggled company of Thorin Oakenshield. One group in need of shelter found their way through his protections and in so doing, lay the road for a thousand travelers more.
Perhaps he should blame Gandalf and curse the names of Thorin's Company. But Elrond knows the dwarves of Erebor didn't pass that tale around. Thorin and his kin had too much pride to admit to needing shelter or running for their lives.
Even if that weren't true, there is no single path to the elf lord's valley. The Last Homely House can't be found just with directions, not as long as his wards stand.
And yet, somehow the knowledge spread that all those in need of succor are safe in Rivendell.
So Elrond leaves Lindir watching over their new arrivals and heads inside to check on the other souls beneath his roof. There are three more pairs of star-crossed lovers eating breakfast with his children while a hobbitish family reunion takes up the western hall. Two blue-robed wizards are holed up in the library, poring over ancient tomes while their gathered warriors practice in the courtyard down below. The elf lord will offer his expertise this evening to help interpret any portents and guide their quest towards victory.
For now, Elrond leaves them to their studies and goes to the Halls of Healing, where he's pleased to find its occupants are nearly hale again. This young trio was too injured on arrival to explain what had happened but the signs upon their skin told the story far too well: another goblin ambush on the road. Elrond will need to send out his scouts as a reminder soon. If any of the bandits are still nearby, they will quickly learn not to raid near Rivendell.
“Thank you, milord, truly,” one of the young humans tells him, a fresh white bandage stark against his skin. “We just wanted an adventure, a bit of excitement before we went back to farming. But those goblins came out of nowhere and we were overrun.”
“I thought we were dead,” his friend chimes in from the next bed over. “I was praying for somewhere safe and then we fell down on your doorstep... Actually, where are we anyway?”
“You are in the High House of Rivendell,” Elrond answers, laying a hand on the lad's shoulder. “And I promise that you are indeed safe here. Once you are fully healed, I'll see if we can find a more heavily armed group traveling in your direction to send you on your way. It would not do for you to be attacked like this again.”
The young men thank him profusely but Elrond refuses all offers of repayment for his hospitality. He doesn't need these lads' last copper when the autumn leaves are turning, and that means the caravan from Hobbiton to Erebor will soon be passing through. It's become something a tradition for those merchants to hold a feast in Rivendell, bringing enough to feed his people three times over and fill his stores besides.
For while the elf lord's guests never stay in Rivendell - each remaining only long enough to find their path again - this doesn't mean that they forget what this valley did for them. Gifts trickle in with travelers, some return to lend a hand, and should his people need assistance, Elrond has no fear that the call would go unanswered by their friends.
How could the elf lord fear when he's seen the pivotal moments of a hundred lives play out before him, a thousand different memories captured here within his walls? Rivendell has been the site of love and heartbreak, friendships formed and families broken, and he's sent a hundred heroes on to face their greatest foes. Indeed, Elrond has celebrated victories and wept for terrible defeats, patching up the survivors and mourning every soul who would not be seen again.
The elf lord collects a cup of tea from the kitchens, before sitting in the window to watch over his domain. From his perch, he can see Lindir leading the two dwarves to the east wing as he requested. His steward will take good care of them.
Later on when they've recovered, Elrond will meet with his new guests and ask to hear their stories. He'll record the path that brought them here and the hopes that bind them, just as he has done so many times before. While the elf lord and his kin remain, no one who has passed through Rivendell will be forgotten in the end.
Elrond is pulled from his memories by a tug upon his wards and when he makes his way to the entrance, the elf lord discovers a very familiar sight. A bedraggled dwarf and hobbit are holding tightly to each other, both looking near exhaustion and ready to collapse. Although Elrond has never met these souls before this moment, he knows their desperation; he's seen those expressions so many times before.
“Greetings, my friends,” the elf lord tells them, holding out his hands in welcome. “I am Elrond Half-Elven and I know you've traveled long and far. But you need run no longer for you've now reached Rivendell.”
End
Pairings: Various minor pairings that aren't named
Warnings: None
Word Count: 1177
Disclaimer: If I owned the hobbit, Elrond would be quietly amused at all times.
Summary: Everything happens in Rivendell.
“My love! My One! My only!”
“My darling, come to me! I've missed you more than life!”
The two dwarves fall into each other's arms and Elrond smiles, his heart ever warmed by such a sight.
“What was it this time?” the elf lord asks his steward. Lindir is standing by his side as usual and Elrond sees no obvious obstacles as he looks his new guests over. But if these dwarves could have loved each other freely, they wouldn't be in Rivendell.
“A feud, I believe,” Lindir tells him quietly, careful not to disturb the reunion going on in front of them. “Their families in the Iron Hills have been feuding for generations and could not stand that their children fell in love. But the pair should be able to make a new home elsewhere now that they've broken free.”
“Good,” Elrond answers. He much prefers those tales with happy endings over the alternative. He's seen too many lost souls waiting for their beloveds and second chances that simply never come.
“Once they've settled down, take them to the east wing,” he orders his steward. “We should have plenty of free rooms now that the latest expedition has set off for Moria.”
“Of course, milord.”
“And while you're at it, do ask them how exactly they knew the way to Rivendell.”
Lindir smiles, letting out a low chuckle at the elf lord's words. Both elves know that these dwarves won't have an answer. No one has ever had an answer in all the years they've asked. It's a private joke between them now, that their once hidden valley has become a haven for the lost and brokenhearted, a way station for all weary travelers.
Elrond knows exactly when the change began. It began with a grey wizard and the bedraggled company of Thorin Oakenshield. One group in need of shelter found their way through his protections and in so doing, lay the road for a thousand travelers more.
Perhaps he should blame Gandalf and curse the names of Thorin's Company. But Elrond knows the dwarves of Erebor didn't pass that tale around. Thorin and his kin had too much pride to admit to needing shelter or running for their lives.
Even if that weren't true, there is no single path to the elf lord's valley. The Last Homely House can't be found just with directions, not as long as his wards stand.
And yet, somehow the knowledge spread that all those in need of succor are safe in Rivendell.
So Elrond leaves Lindir watching over their new arrivals and heads inside to check on the other souls beneath his roof. There are three more pairs of star-crossed lovers eating breakfast with his children while a hobbitish family reunion takes up the western hall. Two blue-robed wizards are holed up in the library, poring over ancient tomes while their gathered warriors practice in the courtyard down below. The elf lord will offer his expertise this evening to help interpret any portents and guide their quest towards victory.
For now, Elrond leaves them to their studies and goes to the Halls of Healing, where he's pleased to find its occupants are nearly hale again. This young trio was too injured on arrival to explain what had happened but the signs upon their skin told the story far too well: another goblin ambush on the road. Elrond will need to send out his scouts as a reminder soon. If any of the bandits are still nearby, they will quickly learn not to raid near Rivendell.
“Thank you, milord, truly,” one of the young humans tells him, a fresh white bandage stark against his skin. “We just wanted an adventure, a bit of excitement before we went back to farming. But those goblins came out of nowhere and we were overrun.”
“I thought we were dead,” his friend chimes in from the next bed over. “I was praying for somewhere safe and then we fell down on your doorstep... Actually, where are we anyway?”
“You are in the High House of Rivendell,” Elrond answers, laying a hand on the lad's shoulder. “And I promise that you are indeed safe here. Once you are fully healed, I'll see if we can find a more heavily armed group traveling in your direction to send you on your way. It would not do for you to be attacked like this again.”
The young men thank him profusely but Elrond refuses all offers of repayment for his hospitality. He doesn't need these lads' last copper when the autumn leaves are turning, and that means the caravan from Hobbiton to Erebor will soon be passing through. It's become something a tradition for those merchants to hold a feast in Rivendell, bringing enough to feed his people three times over and fill his stores besides.
For while the elf lord's guests never stay in Rivendell - each remaining only long enough to find their path again - this doesn't mean that they forget what this valley did for them. Gifts trickle in with travelers, some return to lend a hand, and should his people need assistance, Elrond has no fear that the call would go unanswered by their friends.
How could the elf lord fear when he's seen the pivotal moments of a hundred lives play out before him, a thousand different memories captured here within his walls? Rivendell has been the site of love and heartbreak, friendships formed and families broken, and he's sent a hundred heroes on to face their greatest foes. Indeed, Elrond has celebrated victories and wept for terrible defeats, patching up the survivors and mourning every soul who would not be seen again.
The elf lord collects a cup of tea from the kitchens, before sitting in the window to watch over his domain. From his perch, he can see Lindir leading the two dwarves to the east wing as he requested. His steward will take good care of them.
Later on when they've recovered, Elrond will meet with his new guests and ask to hear their stories. He'll record the path that brought them here and the hopes that bind them, just as he has done so many times before. While the elf lord and his kin remain, no one who has passed through Rivendell will be forgotten in the end.
Elrond is pulled from his memories by a tug upon his wards and when he makes his way to the entrance, the elf lord discovers a very familiar sight. A bedraggled dwarf and hobbit are holding tightly to each other, both looking near exhaustion and ready to collapse. Although Elrond has never met these souls before this moment, he knows their desperation; he's seen those expressions so many times before.
“Greetings, my friends,” the elf lord tells them, holding out his hands in welcome. “I am Elrond Half-Elven and I know you've traveled long and far. But you need run no longer for you've now reached Rivendell.”
End