He'd had a plan for Baranur's foal before she'd given birth, but twins were something special and his sons had been eyeing up the ponies for a while now, wanting one of their own. Another foal would replace Baranur's and he could give Elladan and Elrohir a special foal each.

2.
There were many who disliked having thirteen dwarves, a hobbit and Gandalf staying in Rivendell. They were different to what most of the residents were used to these days: they ate a lot, they were loud and their stories were often bawdy. Worst of all, Gandalf encouraged them. It almost seemed as if there were dwarves everywhere in the Last Homely House.

But Elrond welcomed them. He had seen mostly elves for many years, so he was delighted to meet dwarves again and to make the acquaintance of a hobbit. Rivendell would get used to their guests, he was sure.

3.
Elrond stood in the shadows of a nearby balcony watching Aragorn take his leave of Arwen. He'd had high hopes for them both, but separately. Now the time drew near when Aragorn would either be king or would fall and Arwen was bound up in his fate.

She was more precious to him than anything else in Middle-earth, save for his sons. Yet he knew he would give her up in the end, for Aragorn would need her at his side. And if Elrond took her from him she would never forgive him and he would still lose his daughter.

4.
There were still too many people around, so when Elrond spied a chance, he excused himself, grabbed Celebrían's hand and pulled her into a dark corner. "I want you all to myself," he said, once he'd reminded himself how much he liked kissing her.

She smiled. "You will later."

His only reply was a sigh.

"You are the Lord of Rivendell. All desire to share in your wedding day. And," she added, when he opened his mouth to protest, "you want to share your joy with them."

"You are wise," he agreed. But the night was still too far off.

He smiled upon seeing Arwen curled up in a chair in the corner. When she didn't acknowledge his entrance he assumed she was absorbed in her book. Her mother had done the same from time to time and Elrond had learnt it was best to leave her to it.

Since Celebrían left, Elrond and Arwen had found they had little to say to each other. Elrond couldn't say why their relationship had changed so much, so he was glad of a chance to spend some time with his daughter. Even if neither of them spoke it was enough to be in her presence for a time.

However, the accounts of Imladris were not very distracting and Elrond found he couldn't concentrate on them after a long day. After a while spent trying to read, but mostly staring out of the window, he realised Arwen hadn't turned a page in her book since he sat down. When he looked up he found she was looking off into the distance.

"Arwen?" he asked softly, and waited until her eyes met his before continuing. "Is something wrong?"

She shook her head. As she slid the bookmark inside the book and rested it on the table beside the lamp, Elrond waited for her to correct that statement. "It's too quiet."

He raised an eyebrow. It was early yet and outside the window the birds were singing as they gathered for bed. The Men chattering and the Elves' songs could still be heard, though they were further afield. It was not noisy precisely, but neither was it very quiet.

Arwen knew what his expression meant without him having to ask the question. "It's too quiet without mother here," she elaborated.

He nodded. He often felt the same. Celebrían's absence made the house feel too empty, despite the number of people in it. Yet he said nothing to Arwen. It was hard to offer comfort when he had none to give.

The silence stretched between them before Arwen stood and wandered over to the mantelpiece, frowning. "There always used to be flowers here."

"Violets." Leaving his papers on the chair as he stood, Elrond joined her. "They were your mother's favourite flower. They used to grow in the flowerbed by our rooms but they have not bloomed since..." he trailed off, certain she knew the gardens well enough to have noticed.

She ran her fingers over the space on the mantelpiece where the violets once stood. Elrond hated to see her look so sad and was frustrated at his inability to help her. However, he could bear this melancholy no longer and knew he was failing as her father by not finding a way of cheering her up.

"Perhaps we might grow something else in its place," he suggested.

Arwen's fingers stopped, but it was a moment before she turned to face him. "I don't know what would grow well in that patch, but I think it should be something bright."

Elrond smiled, liking the idea. "I know where we can find out." He held out his arm. After a moment she smiled and took it, and together they walked to the library. On a low shelf on the left was a book on flowers that Celebrían had often consulted. Elrond had frequently seen her with it and knew where it lived. He picked it and handed it to Arwen. "I believe the answer to your question is in here," he said.

She opened the book and flicked through it, looking at the drawings and the information that told her what type of soil they grew best in. Elrond peered over her shoulder, offering no comment, wanting Arwen to choose something herself. She didn't linger long over any page until she came upon the rose. "I have heard that they are trying to breed a purple rose in Lothlórien," she commented.

He raised an eyebrow. "I would like to see that." Celebrían had also been fond of roses, but none she had were purple. "But the soil and the light are wrong in the flowerbed where the violets grew."

"No, but I know where they could go." She handed him the book before moving over to the desk. There she began sketching the garden, noting what grew there now and what she would like to grow.

Elrond smiled as he watched her work. She had taken over many of Celebrían's duties out of necessity, but Celebrían's garden had, until now, not been something she had been interested in, beyond looking at it. Now Celebrían was gone, Imladris would never be the same again, but at least he still had Arwen. Perhaps if they worked on the garden together they would once again find something they had in common.

Boromir looked dubiously at the handful of flowers his brother held out. Their mother had often had flowers around to brighten up the place, and Faramir had taken that duty upon himself, and kept it up too. But this was the first time he'd picked them for someone, as far as Boromir knew.

"You can give them to Aerliniel," Faramir added, when Boromir didn't take them.

Boromir blinked. "How do you know about her?" He hadn't spoken of her to anyone for fear that Denethor would hear and keep them apart. Boromir knew she wasn't suitable to be the wife of the Steward but he didn't care.

"I've been watching you," Faramir admitted. "And her. She likes you too."

"Yes," he said. "I know." Now he was worried. If Faramir had been able to discern what was happening merely by looking, who else might also have noticed?

Faramir frowned. "She likes violets." He stretched his arm out and held them a little closer to Boromir.

Boromir wondered how his brother came to know more about Aerliniel than he did. "I'll take them to her. And then you and I are going to talk about spying on people." He'd been on his way to see her anyway and he was sure she would appreciate the flowers. Of course, he wouldn't tell her his younger brother picked them. He turned to go, but stopped when Faramir spoke again.

"When you come back will you go with me to the library?"

He frowned and turned back to face Faramir. "Why?"

"Father said I could only go if you went with me."

Now Boromir understood the flowers. His brother was more devious than he thought - he'd have to make sure to keep an eye on him. He hated to give up an afternoon spent in Aerliniel's company, but one look at Faramir's hopeful expression told him there were more important people to spend the afternoon with. "Of course," he said, smiling at his brother.

He knew why their father had come up with condition - it was because he didn't want Faramir to visit the library and knew Boromir would be busy. He could intercede on Faramir's behalf, except he had tried before and knew it didn't always work. Besides, this would give Boromir the opportunity to find out what Faramir was up to. So he added, "As long as you tell me everything you know about Aerliniel."

"I will," Faramir said earnestly and smiled.

Boromir smiled back and clapped Faramir on the shoulder. "One day you'll be the death of me," he muttered.

"How does he plan to catch it?" Elladan wondered, as the calf changed direction once more and Estel struggled to keep up.

Elrohir had no answer, merely another question. "And what will he do when he does? It's as big as he is."

At last Estel thought better of his methods and broke off the chase. The calf went happily back to running around its mother and Estel was panting hard by the time he reached the twins. "I don't know how to catch it," he admitted.

"You only had to ask." Elladan passed him the bucket he'd brought out with them. Although Estel had given it a curious look at the time, he hadn't asked what it was for. So Elladan hadn't said anything about it either.

Estel frowned at the bucket and then looked back over the field. The twins said nothing, waiting for Estel to work it out for himself. It only took a few seconds before he took off back towards the calf. This time, he didn't chase it, but stopped to let it smell the oats in the bucket. Then it followed him obediently.

"He won't make that mistake again in a hurry," Elrohir whispered to Elladan. Elrohir was right - he didn't.

~*~

One of the sheep had died while giving birth and despite the Elves' best efforts, none of the other sheep would adopt it. So it had to be hand-reared and the task of feeding it fell to Estel. Once the initial excitement had died away his mother often had to remind him that the lamb was hungry. After two weeks, and a stern talking-to by Elrond, he had settled into the routine.

For Elrond, it meant that if he wanted to talk to Estel, there were times of the day when he could be certain where to find him. It was evening when he entered the barn. "I hear you have had a busy day," Elrond said, settling himself on a bale of straw.

Estel nodded, only briefly taking his eyes away from the lamb and her bottle. "It's hard working with animals."

Elrond managed not to smile. That had been the reason for the lesson. "Now you appreciate how hard farmers must work."

"Everyone works hard, I know that," he said earnestly.

Elrond raised an eyebrow.

"Please don't make me do the jobs of everyone here."

Over the years Elrond had needed to conceal what he was feeling from many people. The practise he'd had meant he was good at it. Except with Estel, it seemed. At his imploring tone, Elrond had to cough to hide a laugh. "It is important you understand the place everyone has in Imladris."

"So I can decide what I want to be when I grow up?"

He hesitated. Estel would have no say in his future, otherwise there would be no future for all of Middle-earth. But he could not know this, and nor would Elrond burden a child with the knowledge that his actions were so important. After a short time he said, "So you can grow up to be a learned man."

Estel appeared to consider that before he nodded. "I don't want to be ignorant."

Now Elrond smiled. "I am glad, my son."

Having drained the last drops of milk from the bottle, the lamb lay down and went to sleep.

"You must give her a name," Elrond reminded him.

"I know." Estel gave her a fond look before walking out of the barn with Elrond. "But it's hard, knowing she will have that name all her life."

"That is why we take such care over names." Estel had had plenty of suggestions from others, but Elrond would not interfere unless asked.

"And I will think of one that's just perfect for her."

Elrond smiled. "Of that I am certain."

"This is rich soil, Mr Frodo," he said to the hobbit watching him.

"That's good, isn't it?"

Sam nodded. "It was too poor to grow much before. But now I can grow any vegetables you want."

Frodo thought about that for a minute. "I don't know, Sam. What do you think is best?"

Sam smiled and told his master his plans for Bag End's garden.

Dead Men
It was a blessing, not a curse. Isildur punished us in his anger, but we broke our oath for good reasons and now we've been rewarded. We still die, just as all Men do, but we continue to live afterwards. It's not the same and it took us some time to get used to it, but it's still life, even if we have to die to get it. Now it means we can do whatever we want, for there's no longer anything anyone can do to us. And they're too afraid of us in this form to try very hard.

Ghosts
Everything we thought before was wrong. It's a living death, not life. All we can do is wait and endure our own company. Anyone who comes near is scared of us and we love it and hate it. If only there was something we could do to change our fate. Isildur said we would be asked to fulfil our oath one day and we never thought we would want to. Now we wish we could, but can't believe that day will ever come. Already it's been several lifetimes and nothing has changed. This punishment is too harsh. We regret everything.

"Ow!" she exclaimed as he reached her. She'd tried turning round and the thorns had caught on her short skirt, trapping her. It was perhaps just as well that her skirt wasn't longer, for she would have been worse off. Yet he was shocked to see a skirt like it, even though her legs were covered.

"Do not move," he commanded, and she stood still, her eyes wide as he approached. Taking care not to get his own clothing entangled, he found only three thorns in her skirt and it took but a minute to free her.

"Thank you," she said, taking his proffered hand as he led her to the safety of the lawn. "Where am I?"

He was not surprised at the question, for Imladris was well-hidden, although it meant not many stumbled upon it with no knowledge of where they were. "This is Rivendell and I am Master Elrond."

She frowned and looked around. "Maria." Despite her distraction, it was clear that was her name. "I've never heard of anywhere called Rivendell."

This he was not sure he believed her, yet he was careful not to show that in his face or his voice. "Nevertheless, it exists."

"Oh, I didn't mean that." She looked up at him apologetically. "I just meant I don't know where Imladris is."

"As should be the case." Given what she had said, he did not enlighten her as to its location. Although she looked fair, he knew that not all that was beautiful was also good, so he couldn't trust her yet.

"How did I get here?" She started off across the garden and Elrond followed her, an amused look on his face despite himself. He guessed she was still a child and there had been few children in Imladris recently.

"I was just in the attic and..." She stopped and held her hand up, examining it. "This ring." She turned back to face him. "Sarah Jane told me not to touch it."

"Sarah Jane is a wise person. Rings you know not the origin of are often best left alone."

"It must have brought me here," she said thoughtfully. "So all I have to do to get home is to take it off." She did so and her shoulders slumped when nothing happened. "I don't want to be stuck here," she said in a small voice.

He gave her a reassuring smile. "I will do everything in my power to ensure that does not happen."

His words were rewarded by a smile.

"May I see?" He would be far more cautious of this ring than she and perhaps he could divine something of its purpose without leaving Imladris.

Maria held the ring out and Elrond reached out his hand to take it. But it stung him as his fingers touched it and he gasped, pulling his hand back. The ring fell to the ground. She bent down to pick it up and he grabbed her wrist before she could do so. "No," he said. "We don't know what it will do." Given the way Vilya was warming his finger, it was nothing good. Unwilling to leave it out here where anyone could come across it, he took a corner of his robe and used that to pick the ring up. The cloth between his hand and the ring reduced the stinging sensation to something bearable. "Come," he said, and took the ring into the house. Maria followed him.

Inside, he placed the ring on a table and bent down to study it. Maria's face came into his line of sight as she did the same thing. "There is writing on it, but those are not letters I have seen before." He looked up at her, hoping she knew.

"It's probably alien."

He frowned. "I have not heard of that race." If they had made this ring, then he would definitely like to know more about them.

Maria gave him a look he couldn't interpret. "No, aliens. You know, not human."

He did not know Men had such names for races that unlike them. But he would check on the origin of such a word later, it was not important now. "It is not the writing of any race I know. And I have seen the writings of all races in Middle-earth." All races that he knew of - it was possible this was from further in the east, but Maria didn't look as if she'd come that far.

"Middle-earth?" She seemed surprised at the name of the world. "I mean, yes, it's from a race on another planet, I think." She shrugged. "It must be."

He frowned - planet was another word he did not know.

"Somewhere that's not on Middle-earth," she clarified.

He returned to studying the ring. "I am not a master of languages." Even if he were it was impossible to translate such a short piece of writing with no context. Yet Vilya had clearly been trying to tell him something. That it was dangerous he understood, given what it had done to Maria, but he hoped for something more. He held the finger Vilya was on over the ring. He gasped and pulled it back as he heard a hum in his mind.

"What is it?" Maria asked.

Elrond shook his head for he didn't know. But now he was prepared for what would happen, he tried again. It was not a soothing hum, but it was one that spoke of home, albeit not Elrond's home. It was, perhaps, Maria's.

"Touch the ring," he told her, and his words sounded muffled through the hum. Elrond was glad to see Maria was well-trained for she did as she was told. Now the hum changed to images he could not interpret. But now he could understand the people he saw as friends.

He removed his hand and put the other to his head, for it had given him a headache.

"Are you all right?"

Maria sounded concerned, so he dropped his arm and smiled for her benefit. "I will be fine." He would find a soothing drink and a quiet room later. But he couldn't leave a young girl and a source of great power unattended in his house. "Does the name Mister Smith mean anything to you?" It had come into his head along with an image of something that shone.

Her eyes lit up and she smiled. "Oh, yes. He's Sarah Jane's computer."

Elrond had not heard of a computer, but if it was related to Sarah Jane, then this ring did speak of home. However, he could not tell if it spoke truly.

"Then the ring will take me home?" she asked. She reached out for it, and once again Elrond stopped her.

"The ring may trick you," he cautioned.

She considered that. "Do you have any other ideas as to how I can get home?"

He had to admit that he had none. But he did not want to hurt an innocent girl, if that was what she was. If she was a spy then she had seen nothing that she would be able to report back to Sauron. "No," he admitted. "But you are welcome to stay until I can discover more about it."

Her face fell at his answer. "I do this sort of thing all the time. I really don't want to be trapped in a strange place and I'm willing to try."

Elrond took a deep breath and considered it. He was unsure of the best thing to do. But if Maria was right and she had some knowledge of what had happened to bring her here, he may have to trust her. And trust himself and Vilya to guide her destination. "You may try it if you wish. But think hard on it, for it may take you elsewhere. Or take your life."

"I don't want to die, but the ring wants me to do it. It did the same thing to me in the attic." She looked young and unsure and despite his reservations about her possible intentions, her wanted to keep her here, safe.

"The ring may take you to other strange places that will not be so kind," he warned.

"I know." She stood up straighter. "I want to try."

"Then I will help you," he said, smiling at the memory of his daughter she had conjured up for him. For a moment he wished to keep her here, then at least she would be safe.

Maria picked up the ring and put it on. Elrond held his hand close to hers and put his thought into Vilya. The hum in his mind stopped suddenly and Maria disappeared in front of his eyes. He waited, but she never reappeared. With no knowledge of what had happened to her, he could only hope she was home.

~*~*~

Maria let out a cry as she landed on a hard floor. When she looked up all hurt was forgotten as she saw she was back in the attic with Sarah Jane, Luke and Clyde staring down at her. She jumped up, a smile on her face and hugged Sarah Jane. "It worked!" she said.

Then she hugged Luke and Clyde too and when she turned back around, Sarah Jane was no longer smiling. Maria knew why. "I'm sorry, Sarah Jane," she said. "I know you told me not to touch it, but it felt like it was calling out to me and I couldn't resist."

Sarah Jane's face softened. "Oh, Maria, it's my fault. I knew it might do that and I should have locked it away somewhere safe."

"I've learnt my lesson," Maria said, smiling now. "Next time a piece of jewellery asks me to put it on, I'll just say no."

At that, Sarah Jane laughed and hugged her again.

"Where did you go?" Clyde asked.

"You'd never believe me," Maria replied, grinning.

Clyde folded his arms. "Try me."

Maria managed to keep an almost-straight face for a few seconds and then burst into laughter. Of course she would tell them where she'd been and what had happened to her, but right now, while all four of them were laughing, she was just glad to be home.

"She will break many hearts in the future," Celebrían said with a smile.

"She will break mine," Elrond said quietly. Although he could not imagine how or why she would do such a thing. It was a vision he would remember, but not anticipate.

Yet their party was not without injury and Elrond left her side to tend to them. There were others who made sure they had hot water for bathing and good food to eat.

Celebrían saw to those who had not been to Imladris before and were looking round in wonder. She smiled and greeted them, and soon they felt as if Imladris had always been their home.

Elrond heard the question and leaned over the balcony to find out why Elladan was asking it.

"But you do it wrong," Elrohir replied. "You're supposed to grip it like this."

Both Elrond's sons held swords and neither had yet seen their father watching them from above. Elrond smiled as he watched them demonstrate the effectiveness of their different holds and try each others out. He resisted telling them they were both right. They would work it out on their own eventually and the knowledge would be sweeter for having been gained by themselves.

Elrond was also terribly upset that day. Arwen had been torn away from him and when he went to the West he would never see her again. He would not be there to see how she prospered, nor to greet his grandchildren.

But today he could be happy, tomorrow he would grieve.

Arathorn was wet and muddy, and undoubtedly cold and hungry as well, but he'd postponed his bath and meal to rush to Elrond and tell him the good news.

Elrond well understood this and greeted Arathorn with a smile and a handshake.

"We have called him Aragorn," Arathorn continued. "I will bring him to see you when he is old enough to appreciate it."

"I look forward to meeting him. Now, you must not neglect yourself in your joy."

Arathorn grinned and left. Elrond watched him go, wishing he could see more children in Arathorn's future.

The Rangers seeking sanctuary only required rest, not warmth. Elrond greeted them with a smile, made sure they were well fed and given cool beds. He healed the injured and heard the stories of orc activity.

All who dwelt in Rivendell walked with a spring in their step and no one could be sad, sick or worried for long with the twin kindnesses of Elrond and summer.

Haldir made his way through the throng using his bow to clear himself a path and ducking occasionally to avoid an arm, or a piece of armour that seemed to be thrown around casually. He felt frantic as he searched, in case he did not see the Man he searched for before the battle, but did not want this to show, so was forced to slow his steps. He had travelled nearly halfway across the busy camp before he briefly spotted his quarry entering one of the tents. He stopped for a moment for a better look and watched through the small gap, unminding of those around him.

Isildur was not particularly tall, certainly he was shorter than his father, yet he was still imposing. Even the long battles they had been fighting had not changed this, although his dark hair now hung around his head in clumps with dirt streaked through it and his eyes seemed much whiter. It had been weeks since any of them had a chance to wash or change their clothes, and cleanliness was now more of a fading memory for all of them. The skin of the Men had darkened and even the Elves were covered in ash for much of the time.

However, Haldir did not mind Isildur's unwashed state, for he could see the muscles in Isildur's arms flexing as he struggled to buckle the well-worn straps on his armour. He was reminded of softness between hair and the strength he felt under his hands when there was less clothing between them. After a minute Isildur turned his back, spoiling Haldir's view of one part of him but providing him with another. Haldir took a couple of deep breaths to steady himself and clear his mind. Upon doing so, he was reminded of those around him and hoped they had not noticed the way he had been openly staring at a Man. His admiration of Isildur was making him careless.

He realised there was no-one to help Isildur: the other Men around had problems of their own. He reassured himself he was unimportant to these Men and found his journey to the tent much easier than the far longer one he had taken across the camp. Still being able to think clearly, he closed the canvas flap behind him and placed his bow on the table inside, bringing himself into Isildur's vision. Their eyes met and Isildur's held no surprise in them. He smiled, not looking away, although Isildur returned to his troublesome armour.

From here, Haldir could do more than just watch. He took hold of the straps on the left of the vest, absently noting how one hole had been so stretched it was nearly to the next. There would be time enough to mend it later. Buckling them, he could not help but brush his hands lightly against Isildur's side through his shirt. Isildur squirmed as if tickled, and Haldir shivered at the touch and the memory of previous caresses. Though the armour had quickly fallen into place he did not move away. He would likely not get the chance to be this close again and he wanted to remember the warm feeling beneath his fingers. When he looked up at Isildur the Man had closed his eyes. Haldir did not stop and he felt Isildur's skin move with his breath, which had quickened with Haldir's touch.

At length Isildur turned: Haldir's too short moment of introspection was lost and he pulled away. The tent was large enough for many but Isildur was still close enough for Haldir to reach out and touch once more. Although Haldir did not dare move forward, he could not bring himself to step away and their hands brushed as they reached for their weapons. Haldir worked hard to fight the urge to close his fingers around Isildur's. He should not be here and the last thing he needed was more temptation to stay.

They faced each other but were both busy examining their respective weapons. Isildur took hold of his sword, testing its balance. The swish sounded perilously close to Haldir's ear and he could swear he smelt the sickening stink of orc blood on it. He knew Isildur was too good a swordsman to hit him so he still did not step back. Instead, he busied himself with his own bow. He knew it was fine - it always was - and his compulsive testing was purely nervous. Satisfied, he looked up to find Isildur gazing at him.

"Thank you," Isildur said.

Haldir inclined his head in response. "Good luck. And..." His voice cracked and he paused, swallowing and taking a deep breath. When he spoke again, Isildur had to lean towards him to hear. "Don't get killed."

Isildur smiled. "I'll try."

The next thing Haldir was aware of was the other's lips against his. For that moment it no longer mattered if they were discovered. All Haldir could hear now was his breathing and his heart, which beat faster. He could taste the lembas that had been the last meal for both of them; he could smell metal and earth; he could feel the handle of his bow pressing against his palms and digging into the skin. But most of all he could feel Isildur's lips and mouth and tongue; he never wanted to forget it. He only loosened his grip on his bow when he felt Isildur pull away. Opening his eyes, he found the scene was as before. He licked his lips, imprinting the familiar taste on his memory.

There was silence once more. Haldir tried to commit Isildur to memory but they were so close all he could see was his own reflection.

"I love you, Isildur," he said, taking one hand off his bow and placing it to grip Isildur's sword hilt along with him.

Isildur turned one hand over to press their palms together and interlock their fingers. The Elf knew his skin was roughed from many battles, yet it felt soft and smooth against the Man's bigger one.

"If I die, remember me when I am gone," Isildur told him.

Haldir nodded. There was something he needed to know but did not want his fears confirmed. "This war," he said, hesitantly, "was the best and worst time of my life."

"And mine," Isildur agreed, "in its own way."

Haldir continued, ignoring Isildur's interruption, although his heart skipped a beat at his words. "I will always remember you, even as you must forget me." He tried to pull his hand from Isildur's but the Man's grip was tight. Haldir looked down, not wanting to see the expression on his face.

"I understand the life you have to go back to and I understand no-one can ever know. But to me, this is real."

At that, Isildur allowed him to pull free. Haldir took a step back before he could look up once more.

"I wish-" Isildur began, but stopped when Haldir slowly shook his head.

"I should go," he said into the suddenly uncomfortable silence.

Isildur nodded, although Haldir could no longer tell whether he really wanted him to leave.

Hesitantly, Haldir turned away. He desperately wished they had more time but forever would not have been long enough. He paused in front of the entrance, his hand outstretched to open the tent flap. If he touched it he would forget the feel of Isildur, and the Man himself along with it. He heard a movement from behind and brought his hand back towards his side before finding the strength to resist temptation.

Voices passed by outside and Haldir knew that being discovered would be worse than him leaving, at least for Isildur. He managed one step outside the tent and the second a moment later, before he followed the other Elves to the battlefield. He had taken a few paces when the sense of Isildur's eyes on him were overwhelming and he looked back. Isildur was stood at the tent entrance and the pale sunlight reflected off Isildur's armour onto this face, lighting up his eyes. Haldir had never seen anything so beautiful.

Haldir blinked and did not open his eyes but the image stayed with him. He turned away. The result of this battle would either be the end of Middle-earth or the beginning of a new Age. Yet even the best outcome would take Isildur back to his wife and children, and a life that could not include Haldir.

In the distance he could smell the flowers that opened with the dawn. He saw the sun come over the horizon, and paint the sky in pinks and reds that reflected their battle the previous evening. The flash of a white tail told him a rabbit had dashed back its burrow, too fast for him to catch. Behind him, he heard grunts as the Men began to rise, in preparation for the new day.

He smiled, anticipating the pleasure of their company.

From his position, he could still hear the Men behind him as they talked and sang before bed. The songs were old and good, and he hummed softly along with them. The smell of their pipeweed hung in the air, but it was not so overpowering he would miss the stink of an Orc, should one come close.

He smiled. He had enjoyed their company, but he was glad of the solace, away from the bustle at the end of the day.

"What if you needed to trim some of the higher branches? Surely it would be easier if you were in the tree."

"Hmm," Sam conceded, but still eyed the tree dubiously. To him, climbing was as unthinkable as building a hobbit hole with more than one storey.

"Come on up, Sam," Frodo called, having scrambled up the tree while Sam was thinking. "There's a great view from the top."

Sam sighed and gave in. Sometimes it was simpler that way. "All right then," he said, "but just this once."

Elrohir grinned. "Try it and see."

Estel did and, as predicted, he only managed to skip the stone over the water three times before it sank.

Elladan followed and his stone did twice that. He stared at the river. "I've done better."

"It *is* possible," Elrohir said, "but you have to believe."

Estel tried again, with no improvement.

"And practice," Elladan added.

"I will practice, then, and prove to you it is impossible for us mere mortals to do what you do."

"I look forward to it."

~*~*~*~

"It's just not possible to skim a stone that many times," Merry complained.

Aragorn grinned. "Try it and see."

Merry did but, despite many attempts back in the Shire, his stone only skipped three times.

Pippin tried to show off but could only manage four. "I've done better," he sighed.

"It *is* possible," Aragorn said, "but you have to believe."

Merry had another go but his stone sunk after two skips.

"And practice," Aragorn added.

"I will practice, then, and prove to you it is impossible for us mere mortals to do what you do."

"I look forward to it."

An image came to him from a story he had been reading. He imagined himself to be the warrior in it, who was quick with a blade and could defeat any enemy. It was no longer Faramir facing an unbeatable foe, it
was Daermaethor who won every fight.

When they began, this time, it was Faramir who got a hit in first.

Daemaethor - literally great warrior in my dodgy Sindarin (ie entirely got from Dragon Flame)

Frodo begins the passage of the Dead Marshes at dawn. Entmoot continues. Aragorn meets Gandalf the White. They set out for Edoras. Faramir leaves Minas Tirith on an errand to Ithilien.

Théoden fought hard for thought. As much as he tried, though, it slipped through his fingers. Yet there was something important he could not remember. He must, he knew, but could not recall what it was about. Éomer was not there to remind him, he knew not why. Éowyn spoke to him but he could not hear the words. He thought Gríma might know, but Gríma told him there was nothing, and to let him worry about it. Gríma was always right so Théoden tried his best to put it out of his mind, but it occupied all his thoughts.

2nd March

Frodo comes to the end of the Marshes. Gandalf comes to Edoras and heals Théoden. The Rohirrim ride west against Saruman. Second Battle of Fords of Isen. Erkenbrand defeated. Entmoot ends in afternoon. The Ents on Isengard and reach it at night.

The day had been long and hard, as had all of their days since they left the rest of the Fellowship and struck out on their own. Sam wished for the others to be here, to help him watch over Frodo, and so someone could watch Gollum all the time.

In his dreams Gollum cut their throats, carried off the Ring and all was lost. When he awoke he berated himself, for there had been ample opportunity for Gollum to do that very thing. So he did not sleep because he feared what might not be there when he awoke.

3rd March

Théoden retreats to Helm's Deep. Battle of the Hornburg begins. Ents complete the destruction of Isengard.

Éowyn was finding bravery was harder in the face of war. She did not fear battle, nor fighting or dying for Rohan. But she did not want any more death, not of Théoden or of Éomer, for they were all she had now Théodred was gone.

She was scared that though Théoden was healed, his counsel was no longer sage and Aragorn was right. They could not lose, not just for Rohan but for the whole of Middle-earth. She was frightened they might fail and they all might lose far more than just the lives of the ones they loved.

4th March

Théoden and Gandalf set out from Helm's Deep for Isengard. Frodo reaches the slag-mounds on the edge of the Desolation of the Morannon.

Even as he enjoyed the spoils of Isengard, Pippin still found time to worry. They no longer knew of the rest of the company, save Gandalf, and had no way of receiving news, unless anyone came to Isengard, or they could convince the Ents to take them from here. Except they had no way of knowing where anyone else was, what they were doing, or how to get to them.

He thought about saving some of the pipeweed to take home but did not know if he would ever see home again and Merry was no help on the subject.

5th March

Théoden reaches Isengard at noon. Parley with Saruman in Orthanc. Winged Nazgul passes over the camp at Dol Baran. Gandalf sets off with Peregrin for Minas Tirith. Frodo hides in sight of the Morannon, and leaves at dusk.

As they rested, Halbarad looked at the staff that was his responsibility to bear. He longed to unfurl it and fight under its banner but he would not. He knew what it represented, what it said, who it was for, but the choice to use it was not his.

He had not seen his kinsman for some time and although he thought they would have heard if Aragorn was dead, he had no way of knowing. Elladan and Elrohir cautioned optimism but someone had to consider the worst, and the burden that would be his if it came to pass.

6th March

Aragorn overtaken by the Dúnedain in the early hours. Theoden sets out from the Hornburg for Harrowdale. Aragorn sets out later.

Faramir shivered, despite the warmth of the fire and the hot meal in his stomach. Things were going badly; he could feel the evil that surrounded them, getting closer all the time.

He knew this day would come. Boromir rejoiced in it, for battle was a chance for glory; fighting evil was what he did best.

Faramir just wished it had come sooner and he was now living in a new world, for better or worse, for at least it would be over. Now they were just waiting, counting the dead, and the darkness only grew with each passing day.

7th March

Frodo taken by Faramir to Henneth Annun. Aragorn comes to Dunharrow at nightfall.

Merry missed Pippin bitterly. In all their travels they had not been parted and now he faced a second day without his cousin. He had faith that Gandalf would protect Pippin, maybe even better than he could, but Merry was not there with them and could not know Pippin was safe.

He blamed himself. Pippin had grown up much since they left the Shire, but he was still Pippin. Merry never wanted that to change but he wished he had not trusted Pippin so much and watched him more. Then maybe they would be together and Merry would feel safe.

8th March

Aragorn takes the 'Paths of the Dead' at daybreak; he reaches Erech at midnight. Frodo leaves Henneth Annun.

The company marched on cautiously and in near-silence. The place seemed more and more like a tomb; one from which there would be no escape if Elrond's words were wrong. Legolas never once questioned Aragorn's judgement in coming here, though, despite his own misgivings.

The Paths of the Dead were well-named, for it felt as if they contained no other living thing and the land might yet claim recompense for their steps here. However, Legolas knew this path to be a necessary one. Hope was fading and faith was all they had left to cling to in these dark days.

9th March

Gandalf reaches Minas Tirith. Faramir leaves Henneth Annun. Aragorn sets out from Erech and comes to Calembel. At dusk Frodo reaches the Morgul-road. Théoden comes to Dunharrow. Darkness begins to flow out of Mordor.

Bilbo knew something was wrong, how could he not? Although Rivendell seemed as timeless and unchanged as ever, the elves within it did not.

He remembered Frodo being here, being ill and being in much danger. But since coming here his memory had got much worse and much of what happened last autumn was hazy.

Still, he knew the danger was not yet past and was one that threatened them all. He knew he was safe for now, but not for how much longer that would last. However, he entirely trusted the elves he lived with to keep him safe.

10th March

The Dawnless Day. The Muster of Rohan; the Rohirrim ride from Harrowdale. Faramir rescued by Gandalf outside the gates of the City. Aragorn crosses Ringlo. An army from the Morannon takes Cair Andros and passes into Anorien. Frodo passes the Cross Roads, and sees the Morgul-host set forth.

From high ground Elrond surveyed the land and saw Rivendell looked the same as it always did. He knew it to be a trick, though; the rest of Middle-earth could not escape as Imladris uniquely had so far.

He wished he could keep all of the people safe but that job was trusted to another. He only had to protect his home. Yet his task in this was so big that sometimes he wondered if it were even possible. All he could do was try his best to carry on and trust to Hope that his best had been enough.

11th March

Gollum visits Shelob, but seeing Frodo asleep nearly repents. Denethor sends Faramir to Osgiliath. Aragorn reaches Linhir and crosses into Lebennin. Eastern Rohan is invaded from the north. First assault on Lórien.

Haldir loosed first one arrow, then another, and another, until he lost count. They had not been unprepared for this: the whole of Middle-earth fought once more and it would have been madness to assume Lórien would escape.

But it had been so long; so many years that even the Elves had trouble remembering their last battles. Their peace had only been transitory and so they had enjoyed it while it lasted.

Now it seemed nothing could protect them and the elves of Lórien would fight with the other good peoples of Middle-earth against the darkness that threatened them all.

12th March

Gollum leads Frodo into Shelob's lair. Faramir retreats to the Causeway Forts. Theoden camps under Minrimmon. Aragorn drives the enemy towards Pelargir. The Ents defeat the invaders of Rohan.

Gandalf worried for there was much to be concerned about. He knew not how Frodo and Sam fared, could only trust they would not be led astray. He could tell Denethor had already resigned himself to a loss and Faramir, though he knew it not, along with him. Pippin was doing his best to be brave but it was much to ask of a young hobbit, even though he had come so far. Aragorn had faced many similar situations and Gandalf hoped that all he had learnt was enough to carry them though and be enough to save them all.

13th March

Frodo captured by the Orcs of Cirith Ungol. The Pelennor is overrun. Faramir is wounded. Aragorn reaches Pelargir and captures the fleet. Théoden in Druadan Forest.

Treebeard was happy to return to his roots in Fangorn, knowing the Ents had done their part to save the land. He was glad the two hobbits had brought news of events outside the Forest to them, in time for them to avenge Saruman's killing of the trees. Afterwards they had gladly gone to the aid of the White Wizard to save the people of Rohan from the Orcs that surrounded them.

Treebeard knew the war was only just beginning, yet it would be over so quickly most of the Ents would probably barely notice it had happened at all.

14th March

Samwise finds Frodo in the Tower. Minas Tirith is besieged. The Rohirrim led by the Wild Men come to the Grey Wood.

Denethor despaired. All was lost, it was merely a matter of time before the others recognised it. All that was worth living for died with Boromir. Then there had been some hope they might prevail. Now all of Gondor was reduced to Minas Tirith.

There were so many orcs, trolls and others that the Men of Gondor could not hope to win; could never win. He knew it in his heart and in the stones that showed him the future they would be facing. A future so terrible he did not know how he could bear to live in it.

15th March

In the early hours the Witch-king breaks the Gates of the City. Denethor burns himself on a pyre. The horns of the Rohirrim are heard at cockcrow. Battle of the Pelennor. Theoden is slain. Merry wounds the Witch-king of Angmar, and Eowyn gives the killing blow. Aragorn raises the standard of Arwen. Frodo and Samwise escape and begin their journey north along the Morgai. Battle under the trees in Mirkwood; Thranduil repels the forces of Dol Guldur. Second assault on Lórien.

Éomer did not know how he could bear it. When Théodred talked of when he would be king, Éomer had been content to be by his side. Never did he imagine he might be king himself, and not so soon.

It was too soon. Théoden was only just returned to them and Éomer needed his wisdom yet. Governing Rohan was a hard pursuit on its own, but they were fighting a war - although the battle was over Éomer knew this was not the end of it. It was no consolation that he had run out of kin to lose.

16th March

Debate of the commanders. Frodo from the Morgai looks over the camp to Mount Doom.

Aragorn gazed at the standard he had fought under, almost unable to believe it was his standard. He ran his hand over it, feeling the rough material and the smooth threads beneath his fingers. In his mind, he pictured Arwen making it, stitching her love into it. He yearned for the day when he might see her again, but he knew there were more tests he had to pass before that day could come. He knew what he must now do, and that it might prove to be a greater trial than any of the ones he had already faced.

17th March

Battle of Dale. King Brand and King Dain Ironfoot fall. Many Dwarves and Men take refuge in Erebor and are besieged. Shagrat brings Frodo cloak, mail-shirt, and sword to Barad-dur.

Gimli looked out over the Pelennor Field, which was gradually being cleared. There was still evidence of battle, as it was taking time to clear away the bodies on both sides. The damage of the Easterlings weapons were still imprinted in the depressions in the ground.

Despite this, there was an air of jollity in the city, for many thought to be dead come morning were still alive.

The war was not yet over, though. Only once Frodo had completed his task would Middle-earth be free of the shadow. Gimli had sworn to help and he would not stop now.

18th March

The Host of the West marches from Minas Tirith. Frodo comes in sight of the Insenmouthe; he is overtaken by Orcs on the road from Durthang to Udun.

It had been three days now since Thranduil and his people had prevented the evil that grew in the forest from gaining a bigger foothold. He wished they had been able to do something about it sooner, yet they had lost too many trying and he was now in mourning for a good many more.

And yet it was still not done. They had merely repelled the forces there, not destroyed them for good. Now they had to regroup and find a way to do the deed, for the evil could not be allowed to lurk here for much longer.

19th March

The Host comes to Morgul-vale. Frodo and Samwise escape and begin their journey along the road to the Barad-dur.

Arwen felt useless. While she had been making Aragorn's standard she had at least felt like she was contributing. Now she had to wait in Rivendell, hope it made a difference and hope that she would be able to see Aragorn again.

Her choice was already made and she was looking forward to life with Aragorn in Minas Tirith, should he prevail. Should the forces of good lose then all was lost. Yet, if they won and Aragorn was killed then she really did not know what she would do or whether she would be able to live without him.

20th March

Celeborn took a turn around Lórien, as he had done every day since it was attacked. Both times the guards had held, although chatting with them now, they were quiet, tense and worried. Not to mention they were fewer than before.

Celeborn knew how they felt. But for how much longer would they be able to hold Lothlórien? Another attack they would survive, he was sure. They could not afford to take too many losses, though, for another attack after that would surely defeat them. All they could do was wait and fight and hope Sauron fell before they did.

21st March

Frodo tried his very best to think of the Shire but his memories of the good times he'd had there just slipped through his mind. He was tired, worried and he ached. With every step he took the journey grew ever harder.

He envied Sam for having the choice of doing this and for being able to sleep without the Ring in his dreams. Every night it showed him the same thing: Frodo could have all of Middle-earth if he wanted. He so badly wanted to go home and if it weren't for Sam's words he would have forgotten why.

22nd March

The dreadful night. Frodo and Samwise leave the road and turn south to Mount Doom. Third assault on Lórien.

Galadriel was saddened as she heard the fight for Lórien around her. Every elf in the wood had been drafted to help in whatever way they could, for they needed all of them to survive this night. The situation grew more desperate with each passing day and each attack. Not even Nenya could help them.

That they had lasted this long was a testament to the courage of the Lórien elves and her skill with the ring. But even its power was not enough to disparage the evil that threatened them, and she feared for the safety of her home.

23rd March

The Host passes out of Ithilien. Aragorn dismisses the faint-hearted. Frodo and Samwise cast away their arms and gear.

Elrohir could not help but admire Aragorn. Often, in his mind, he had seen Estel as the child he had been when Arathorn was killed. Now, though, Aragorn was assuredly king of Gondor. It only remained to him to safeguard the life of Frodo, and in doing so, the rest of Middle-earth.

As much as he had worried over Estel as he grew up, he was glad he no longer felt any need to. He had faith that Aragorn would achieve what was necessary, and the number of warriors he had brought with them to fight was proof of that.

24th March

Frodo and Samwise make their last journey to the feet of Mount Doom. The Host camps in the Desolation of the Morannon.

Elladan scoffed at those who would turn back from the path Aragorn had put them on. He was right, there was no place here for the faint-hearted. If he had been in charge he would have made sure they carried on, as the warriors they should be.

But it was not his place. Aragorn had made his decision, as was his right. The two of them often had different views and Aragorn had learnt from his mistakes in the past, so Elladan did not say anything. He knew Aragorn's plan would come right in the end, for they often did.

25th March

The Host is surrounded on the Slag-hills. Frodo and Samwise reach the Sammath Naur. Gollum seizes the Ring and falls into the Cracks of Doom. Downfall of Barad-dur and passing of Sauron.

There was a change in the air, the land and the water. The sun shone bright and colourful flowers turned to face her. The water bubbled and flowed clear, tasting sweet to those with need of it.

Even those that did not know what happened could feel the difference of a place without evil. All over people sang and laughed, even if they thought they had no reason.

Tomorrow there would be much clearing up to do - evil could not be vanquished with one stroke. But the tide was turned, the good would win and peace would reign again.