oom for Milliways - keeping a promise
It had been a step, nothing more. Or not even a step - more like a pause, a heartbeat as his right foot hung in the air, suspended above the doorstep into the library.
And then his right foot came down on the floor and the dust drifted up in the rays from a sun that hung just as low on the horizon as it had done before he had walked through the door to his library and ended up in Milliways.
No time had passed, it seemed. It seemed impossible.
But he had made a promise and he intended to do his best to fulfill it. He would ponder the significance of the bar and his own visit to it in due time.
At the evening meal, both his sons joined him at the table reserved for the master of the house. As every evening before this, after they had returned from Gondor, their conversation never strayed far from the meal and the weather and such. Every pause hovered above their hands and then went away, uncaught. The time had not yet come to speak of things that mattered.
Elrond rose early and went to his study, busying himself with brewing draughts and mixing herbs.
When the Moon rose high above, the Sons of Elrond met one another in the hallway and passed some time in conversation. One remarked that Father had seemed less drawn and the other agreed, relaying that he had asked their sire how he would spend his time this evening and been told that he needed to prepare some soothing mixtures for a sick human boy.
They both stood a little while in silence, looking out of the window at the moonlit scene below.
All things returned to the Gift it seemed. But Father needed something to do and now he had found it. That was good.
They bid each other good night and retired. As did the Master of Rivendell when he had finished the task at hand to his satisfaction.
And then his right foot came down on the floor and the dust drifted up in the rays from a sun that hung just as low on the horizon as it had done before he had walked through the door to his library and ended up in Milliways.
No time had passed, it seemed. It seemed impossible.
But he had made a promise and he intended to do his best to fulfill it. He would ponder the significance of the bar and his own visit to it in due time.
At the evening meal, both his sons joined him at the table reserved for the master of the house. As every evening before this, after they had returned from Gondor, their conversation never strayed far from the meal and the weather and such. Every pause hovered above their hands and then went away, uncaught. The time had not yet come to speak of things that mattered.
Elrond rose early and went to his study, busying himself with brewing draughts and mixing herbs.
When the Moon rose high above, the Sons of Elrond met one another in the hallway and passed some time in conversation. One remarked that Father had seemed less drawn and the other agreed, relaying that he had asked their sire how he would spend his time this evening and been told that he needed to prepare some soothing mixtures for a sick human boy.
They both stood a little while in silence, looking out of the window at the moonlit scene below.
All things returned to the Gift it seemed. But Father needed something to do and now he had found it. That was good.
They bid each other good night and retired. As did the Master of Rivendell when he had finished the task at hand to his satisfaction.