Ragnarok
The End of Eä
Yes, a Lord of the Rings fic. New series for me, but the muse wouldn't leave, so I had to humor it. I'm also hoping to make my FFVII muse jealous enough to come back and help me on Chi to Ase to Namida. I'm trying, and CAN is still a work-in-progress, so please bear with me.
This is what is known as "fan fiction," so I obviously don't own the characters or places. I do own the plot, however, and plagiarism will not be tolerated. If you want to borrow events or post this fic on another site, just ask; I'll probably say yes.
This fic starts just prior to the bearers of the Three leaving Middle-Earth. *ahem!* That was obviously a spoiler. If you haven't read all of The Lord of the Rings and The Silmarillion, stay far away from this fic! I doubt there will be any spoilers for The Hobbit. Also, my absolute favorite character is Elrond, so look to see the Peredhil and their friends all over the place. THIS IS BOOK-VERSE!
This will be a dark fic, violent, probably depressing, and (knowing me) may eventually contain some shounen-ai or slashy undertones. I currently have *gasp* no pairings set up for this fic, because the main plot is meant to operate independently to any sex, but please be advised that it may happen.
A note: If anyone knows of any good Sindarin or Quenya dictionaries, I would very much appreciate if you'd let me know. I don't know if I'm ready to try writing in Elvish, yet, but I may eventually feel the urge, and I don't want to be spouting nonsense. Especially since all I know right now is 'ada' and the prayer to Elbereth, and the meanings of most of the names of people and places. So maybe I know a little, but help is still appreciated, especially if said dictionaries also have grammar. Thank you and enjoy my sad little contribution to this amazing fandom!
Part One
Vision of the Future-to-Be
Elrond Peredhil knew it was a dream. He did. But knowledge did not let him escape it. Indeed, this was one of only a very few dreams he found himself unable to wake from at will, as well as unable to influence. Wearily, he turned to face the Dream, letting it say what it would. As if his resolve had been a signal, the Dream rushed at him, forcing its way into every corner of his awareness, and the Dream Was.
Imladris, from above. Growing closer and closer until it swept past beneath. Many miles of land also falling away behind, until Elrond at last alighted upon a familiar hill that was miles away from Imladris, but still considered part of that realm. He remembered standing on this hill many times in the past, especially during the long years of the Last Alliance. He saw his own back, touched it, and slid into his own 'body', joining with the events of the Dream.
Now it was as though the Dream had turned to a memory, for again he saw hosts of warriors, both Elves and Men, lined in ordered companies, arrayed as for war. Yet this was different, for in the days of the Last Alliance, there had been companies of Men, and companies of Elves; here, they were all mixed together, many kinds of weaponry and armor, the colors of kingdoms long gone or lost or only just born. There were even numerous Dwarves, several Ents, and what looked suspiciously like two Hobbits, one in the garb of the Rohirrim, and one in the uniform of the Tower Guard of Minas Tirith.
No Dream, then. A Vision of the Future-to-Be.
"Yes," a deep voice said behind him, and Elrond turned. A dark figure stood there, dark but splendid. A Light was in his face, and his eyes were older than any Elf's, even those who woke by Cuiviénen, and his countenance was stern. But Elrond knew this one, for often had Visions come to him when he was young, but that had been the First Age of the World, and the Valar had ceased to interfere in the affairs of Elves and Men in Arda since, save for the drowning of Beleriand.
"Námo," he whispered reverently, bowing. The Doom-sayer shook his head impatiently.
"No, Child. There is no time for formality, now. Watch. See this new thing which Eru has revealed to me."
"Elrond!" A golden voice lifted over the nervous rustling of many people in armor. Elrond also knew this voice and turned to it, his spectral form shocked, but the Elrond in the Vision only smiled widely as the other Elf jogged up to him. "Hey, you're facing the wrong way! The army's that-a-way!" The eyes in that pale golden face betrayed worry, but the good cheer in his voice was genuine.
"Gil-galad!" He held his hand out to the long gone Elven King, who took it. "I thought you were going to be fighting with the other part of the army."
Intricately braided hair swirled in a halo as the High King shook his head. "I promised that I wouldn't leave you to fight on your own again, didn't I? I won't break that promise, Elrond. Never."
Elrond smiled and squeezed his King's hand. "Well, then. Shall we get to it, then?"
Gil-galad nodded a grim light in his eyes. "We will make the Enemy wish he had never trifled with the people of Arda!"
Elrond-in-the-Future stepped forward, leaving Elrond-in-the-Now to face the Vala before him. "What is going on here?" he demanded, knowing that he should perhaps be more polite, but too confused to care.
In theory, any Elf could return from the Halls of Mandos at any time, since they were still alive in them, but no one ever did, save perhaps Glorfindel, and even that was unconfirmed, since Glorfindel avoided the topic with the utmost skill. From what Námo had told him, Elrond guessed that to release the 'dead' Elves or those having fled to Valinor would have upset the balance of power in Eä, so no one was allowed back to Arda if they had gone to Valinor since the First Age.
Námo the Vala shook his ancient, yet ever-young head. "Even Manwë and I do not know all that will ever come to pass. Eru reveals what he will, when he will. I have not received a new Vision from Eru in a long time, and I think not that I shall do so again."
Curious, Elrond tipped his head. "Why not? Surely, as the Valar are more enduring than even the Eldar you will eventually be given new Visions."
Námo shook his head. "Let me show you."
The Vision of the field in which that great Army was mustering vanished and was replaced by… "I don't see anything," Elrond commented, straining his eyes. There wasn't even light in this place. "What is this?"
"Nothing. This," the ancient Vala's arms lifted to gesture expansively at the emptiness around them. "Is nothing. It is the future I see now for Eä. The near future."
Elrond ceased his efforts to see into the blankness and whirled to face the Doom-sayer. "Do you mean…Eä is about to end?"
"So it would seem."
"Then what was that war?"
"A closer bit of Future."
"Why was Gil-galad there? He fell facing Sauron over three thousand years ago."
"Elrond." The Vala seemed stern and sad and angry all at once, his use of Elrond's name betraying his feelings. "Do you know how long I have known this new Vision? Over a decade now, not so long, but long enough. I had to beg Manwë to allow me to show you this, to show anyone this. For twelve years I have labored to gain permission to alert someone in Arda of this. And all the while, the Seals on Mandos have crumbled, slowly, bit by bit, and the power of the Valar is no longer sufficient to keep all things out of Valinor. News has come by way of birds, especially through those of your mother, of all that happened during the War of the Ring. Now, some Elves in Mandos, and some who merely dwell in Valinor wish to return to Arda, to old homes and friends. With the Seals broken, they may come and go as they desire.
"The first ship left Valinor this very season."
Elrond knew it was not befitting of one counted amongst the greatest of Elven Lords to gape, but he'd just had too many shocks in this dream. Vision. Whatever.
Námo sighed. "I have been forbidden to contact you more than once, Elrond Peredhil, but I feel you need to rest, to think on this. Despite this, I must show you all there is you need to know." The Lord of Mandos paused a moment, thinking, weighing black thoughts, and Elrond did not grudge him the time. He himself felt he could use a few decades getting used to the thought of all of Eä coming to an end. All Elves knew it would happen eventually, and that their fates were unknown beyond the end of Eä, but living knowing you would never 'die', that you had 'eternity' to Be was not an easy habit to shake.
The Vala suddenly shook himself, drawing Elrond's eyes back to him. "Come here, Child of Ilúvatar," he commanded, and Elrond was approaching before he had even considered it. Just as he was about to stop, Námo reached out and caught his wrist, pulling him closer. In all previous encounters with the Vala, or his brother Irmo, who showed him Dreams, they had never touched. It was an unwritten, unspoken rule, and the shock of having it broken made Elrond resist for a moment.
Námo pulled harder, and Elrond found himself pinned against the Vala's chest, staring up into those terrible eyes with awe and fear. The Vala's touch hurt, burning like nothing ever had before, yet it ignited Elrond's distant Maiar blood into frantic joy. The Vala traced a finger up the side of the half-Elf's face and murmured a gentle warning. "This will hurt, Child, but it is necessary." Their eyes met directly, and Elrond felt the Vala's mind on his.
Soundless and wordless, a scream welled up in Elrond's chest as the burning in his body made the leap to his mind. He felt scorched, stretched, and too terribly close to the Vala. He felt the other mind slide around within his, searching for Ilúvatar knew what. Finally, it settled and focused, so it no longer burned all of him, just one place in his mind, but the flame was all the more intense in that place, and his scream finally found its way to sound, even if it was still incoherent.
Then the touch abruptly withdrew, and Elrond sagged in relief against a body whose burning no longer seemed so bad. The Vala patted his back, holding him surprisingly soothingly. Elrond craned his head to fix eyes full of pain-tears on the dark eyes of the Lord of Mandos, and saw compassion and sadness there, and knew that the Vala had tried to make it as painless as possible, knowing it could never be enough.
"Wha—what happened? What'd you do?" he asked, trying to get his voice into working order.
The Vala sighed. "I cannot come to you again, unless Manwë changes his mind about this. But it is critical that someone in Middle Earth know what is going on. Thus, I have planted the whole of the Vision in your mind. It will not come to you all at once, but it will come, and it will guide you, even when you are not aware of it doing so."
Elrond nodded wearily against Námo's chest, eyelids drooping, as his overloaded mind attempted to escape. The Vala smiled slightly, tenderly. "I suppose I should let you go, now. Do wake up, first, though, Elrond. Your screams have the whole of your household at your bedside trying to wake you. Even though it is a reaction only a Man would have, I fear Glorfindel is going to have a heart attack if you don't at least open your eyes, soon."
Elrond's lips twitched in wry humor at the thought of his golden-haired friend so beside himself, but felt a pang of remorse for the worry he was inflicting upon him, and resolutely set about waking himself up. As Elrond faded from the Vala's arms, however, Námo said one last thing to him.
"The Valar have no children, Elrond; all of Arda is our collective child. Aulë has his Dwarves, and Yavanna her plants, but that is all. Yet, I feel that, of all beings in Arda, you are the one I would call Son, were it up to me to decide such matters."
Elrond smiled sweetly as the Vision shredded around him. "Truly, I am blessed…"
Elrond's eyes opened (betraying how far away he had been from the waking world; Elrond seldom slept with his eyes closed) to find what seemed like every Elf left in Middle Earth in his bedchamber. It was really only the twins, Glorfindel, and Erestor, but it still made him feel ridiculous. Especially when he saw the joy on Erestor's customarily serious, bookish face, the near-to-passing-out relief on Glorfindel's noble features, and the twin tear-trails on his sons' usually happy-go-lucky faces.
He wanted desperately to tell them something that would calm all of them down so he could go back to sleep, but the reality of the situation suddenly smacked him in the face. Well, the head, for it suddenly throbbed painfully, a short flash of the Vision passing before his eyes.
Elrond had shoved everyone aside and made a mad dash for the wash room before he even realized he felt the need to cough up all he had ever eaten in all six-thousand-several-hundred-and-some-odd-years of his life.
*
Elrond sighed, trying to force his wandering attention back to the paper work that kept Imladris running smoothly. It really wasn't working, though, and Elrond at last allowed his restless gaze to wander across the rest of the contents of the desk at which he sat.
There was his old sword, laid across the desk top, and he knew his spear to be propped against the wall nearby. He hadn't so much as swung his sword in practice for almost the whole of the Third Age, but today he had felt the need to actually go out and spar. Glorfindel had been startled, to say the least, when Elrond showed up on the practice fields with Anor only just beginning to rise. Elladan and Elrohir had been even more shocked when their father had bested both of them and drawn against Glorfindel, despite his atrocious lack of recent practice. It had been immensely satisfying—for as long as it had lasted.
As the day wore on, however, Elrond had been forced to retire to his working chambers to do the day's work. He had ordered some food at about mid-day, hoping the change in activities would help focus his wandering mind, but had only picked listlessly at the meal. It still sat, nearly untouched, on the desk by his elbow. He really ought to have eaten it, but he wasn't hungry. In fact, he felt like laying his head upon his desk and sleeping the day away. And maybe the day after that, too. He had been feeling that way for the past week, since he had awakened from what had been designated in his mind 'The Vision.'
Elrond, being a healer, recognized the symptoms of deep depression. He was grateful that at least he wasn't eating; starving he could deal with, but eating until he was the size of the hills he could not. Of course, he knew that he had perhaps another couple days before everyone who knew him realized that something was very wrong. As it was, Glorfindel undoubtedly suspected something already.
Elrond just couldn't wait until his far-too-perceptive mother-by-law arrived. As much as Elrond respected her—despite the great differences in opinion they had had over the centuries—Elrond sometimes despised her ability to peer into the hearts and minds of others. He knew her influence over him was limited because of the blood of the Maiar that ran in his veins, but she could still manage to guess at the place to prod him to hurt the most. Mostly, he was sure, she did it unintentionally, only because her Sight could not tell her enough to know when to back away; that, however, didn't make him feel any better about having to face her soon, with the Vision first and foremost in his mind.
Originally, Elrond was supposed to be leaving with her for the Havens, then to Valinor, but with these new developments, he knew he could not leave Arda. Not yet. As tired as he was, as loud as the Song of the Sea had grown in recent decades, it had all paled into insignificance next to the stunning power of The Vision. Elrond knew at last that he would not leave Middle Earth. He would stay and see this thing through to the End.
Literally.
Elrond surfaced from his bleak thoughts to realize that nearly three hours had passed by him without his noticing. Losing time was not all that uncommon amongst the Elves, but Elrond knew this to be a mannish symptom of his dark mood, and resolutely pushed it aside. Instead of trying to return to work, though, he turned his thoughts toward the problem of the twins. They would take the loss of their Grandmother hard, and were also anticipating their father's departure. They knew their Grandfather had flatly refused to leave Middle Earth, leading to one of the most spectacular fights in a marriage that had been for longer than Elrond had lived. Of course, they had made up almost immediately, and Celeborn was even coming with Galadriel as far as Imladris, but the twins had been shaken by the recent upheavals in their family.
Elrond wondered what he should do to help them. The fact that he was staying would help, but both Elladan and Elrohir would miss their Grandmother immensely. Of course, as soon as his thoughts turned to the twins, they also turned to Arwen. He wondered if there was any way to take back the bitter things he had said to her at their last parting. He wondered how Estel was doing. How was Mithrandir, whose name no longer fit? How were the Hobbits? Poor old Bilbo was going out to the Havens—would Frodo also go? How were Legolas and his bizarre Dwarven friend, Gimli?
"El-rond!"
Elrond was shaken from his thoughts by the sudden exclamation of his name right in one sensitive ear. He clapped a hand over the abused sensory organ, and fixed the offender, Glorfindel, with a look that would have frozen a slavering horde of wargs in their tracks. Glorfindel, however, merely grinned irreverently at his lord.
"Glorfindel," Elrond stated, his voice taking on a menacing undertone without any effort on the raven-haired Elf's part. "There was no need to shout right into my ear. I am not deaf. You have obviously been associating with the twins too much, for you have suddenly come to remind me of Elladan on a bad day."
The Elf with the fantastic deep-golden hair dropped his smile instantly. "Oh, really? If you are not deaf, Master Elrond, why then did it take fully five tries to attract your attention?"
Elrond tried not to betray his surprise. He hadn't heard the other Elf at all, not until nearly having his eardrum blown out. Deep down, he knew he ought to have heard the other approaching, and the old war horse that still slunk around in the back of Elrond's mind was very unsettled by the idea that he would never even hear the enemy coming. There was a war coming on, that only he knew about, and he was too preoccupied with the thought of the End to even register the presence of another being in the room.
Frustrated with himself, and not particularly caring if Glorfindel knew it, Elrond slammed a fist down on his desk, growling curses in more languages than most people even knew existed. One golden hand suddenly covered his, and Elrond looked up into Glorfindel's worried eyes.
"What is the matter that disturbs you so?" the other asked, then leaned over to glance at the document before him. "Surely it can't be—feast preparations? Well, that may be tiresome and frustrating, but surely not this much! Are you worried about leaving the twins to this?"
Elrond almost laughed at the ridiculous question. "Nay, nay, that is certainly not it. I won't be leaving the twins to anything." At Glorfindel's puzzled glance, Elrond sighed and decided to let the cat out. "I will not be leaving with Galadriel."
Glorfindel's eyes flew wide. "Honestly? But Elrond, you told us all months ago that you would be leaving Middle Earth! Why this sudden change of heart? Has something happened?"
Elrond sighed, and started to order his thoughts so that he might tell the other Elf of The Vision in a coherent, rational fashion, but stopped suddenly. He knew that he could not tell Glorfindel just yet. Glorfindel had been loyal and true to him for thousands of years, and it hurt to be unable to speak to him, but Elrond realized that the first one he had to tell was Galadriel herself. Perhaps she would even stay—though, his heart said she would not—but he had to try her first. After that…Glorfindel would have to be among the first to know; also Celeborn, Thranduil, the twins, and the Kings of Men would need to find out soon.
Elrond looked back up at his age-old friend. "Yes, Glor. Something has happened and nothing will be the same again. I cannot say it yet, but I swear to you, I will tell you as soon as I may." He gazed into confused, but assenting, Elven eyes and smiled fleetingly. Then he took a deep breath. "Send messages to the Lords of Mirkwood, Rohan, and Gondor. Invite them to Imladris for a council of great importance. And try to get a message to Gildor, as well. Also, if you can think of any way to get representatives of the Dwarves here cordially, please do so. You might try Gimli, through Legolas of Mirkwood."
Glorfindel's eyes were wide at the magnitude of the task suddenly laid before him as if it were a simple task anyone could do. There, Elrond thought. That'll teach you to go yelling in people's ears!
"My Lord, what am I to tell them this 'important council' is about? Thranduil, especially, will resent any implication that he is at your beck and call. And the Dwarves also."
Elrond rose and swept across to the doorway, readying himself for the task of ordering Imladris for all that was to come. As he reached it though, he turned to face Glorfindel, his face set as stone, and the remembered light of the silmarilli blazing in his eyes.
"You may tell them to consider the message a war warning," he whispered, and the color ran out of Glorfindel's face, before he scrambled up and shot out the other door, calling for message riders to be brought to him, and a good scribe. Elrond also left, his mind busy with thoughts of weapons and armor and the last time Imladris had been ready for war.
*
Questions and comments are welcome. PLEASE review (not that there should be problems getting LotR fans to review)!