Awakening

When the vim of life returned to him, granting Aragost the spark of vitality that set his limbs to locomotion, it was to the sight of golden rays painting an entire room with their warm glow. The light of the sun was always one of the most beautiful things one could look upon, and as he felt it upon his skin, and saw the way it turned what might have been a simple room into an enchanting chamber with nothing but its touch, he could feel just for an instant the sort of awe the ancient Elves must have felt when they first crossed the seas and stood before the Two Trees and saw their light, of which the sun he knew was but a poor replacement.

What he could see of the land beyond his room was a place of great beauty and verdure, with forest trees that must have stood in place for centuries found between white wooden structures constructed out of gentle arches and easy slopes, and much of it open so that the light of the sun and stars above could enter in and illuminate all rather than use the harsh light of a flame.

The bed he lay in was soft as a cloud, and the sheets over him of a finely made linen that made him feel warm and snug, and yet did not feel overly heavy atop him as one crafted from a fur pelt might. Pushing it aside, he found himself dressed in clean robes of an elven fashion, and all of this combined helped him realise where it was he now awakened.

Imladris, known also as Rivendell and the Last Homely House, the Domain of the Lord Elrond, who might have been High King of the Noldor of the West, had he so chosen to lay claim to the title after the **** of Gil-Galad in battle with Sauron at the close of the Second Age. The count of Elves who could claim to be nobler than he would not even fill the fingers of one hand, and even they would likely have bowed and sworn oaths of fealty if the lord of Rivendell had asked for them. But he had not taken such a title even though it was his due, and so the lands he ruled extended barely beyond the extent of this valley, and though all who passed through it heeded his words and advice as if he were a King, that was where his power ended.

That Lord Elrond, was also to be found within view. Across a short walkway could be found a beautiful Elven maid looking every part as desirable to look upon as the recently changed twins had become, and could be no other than their sister Arwen, jewel of her Father's eye. Arwen stood in conversation with two others. One was with great ease seen to be the Lord Elrond. The other was an Elven male, who stood with golden hair and seemed to shine with a light of his own that was noticeable even while bathed in sunlight, as if even that valiant orb knew that this Elf was one to be treated with utmost respect. Aragost could suspect who such a figure might be, but dare not allow his thoughts to even touch upon the conclusion lest they summon his attentions.

Looking on Elrond himself however, it was remarkable how familiar he did seem for a man that he had never met. But perhaps that was to be expected. The Lord Elrond was one of two brothers, and was in fact Half Elven, and as such gifted with the ability to choose between the Immortal life of the Eldar, or the Mortal one of Man. His Brother Elros had made the alternate choice, and lived a mere 410 years to his brother's over 6000, but he had lived most of them as the First King of Numenor, and his Blood ran true all the way too the current heir of Isildur, who lived now in hiding from the ever reaching grasp of the enemy.

Aragost had never visited Rivendell before, but he had been to the ruins of Annuminas and seen the Hall of Kings, where could be found a legion of statues depicting the Kings of Arnor and even some recreations of the Kings of Numenor from before the twisting of Ar-Pharazon and the Isle's downfall. On so many of those statues were faces that looked much aligned to the one of Elrond himself, the family resemblance obvious even through the medium of stone and the passage of ages.

Whatever was being said between the three elves though, the eyes of one caught his wakefulness, and they did move to separate, though he observed that the Elven Lord took hold of his daughter's arm as she made to move away and muttered some silent words. The Evenstar inclined her head to her father, and slipped his grasp before retreating into the grander halls of the house, while the Lord himself made for Aragost. He moved at his own pace, for nothing could ever choose it for him, and so the Ranger was allowed a brief moment to make himself ready. He spied his book upon a table, with quill and ink set nearby in place of charcoal pen, almost as if there was something out there that desire the changes he had been making, and was trying to facilitate more. It was strange to consider, and not long did he have to do so.

"It is good to see you well Ranger. My more adventurous daughters carried you hear several days prior and informed me that you had done them great service. You have my thanks, and the hospitality of my realm, small as it may be." The could have been King offered with such humility that it almost disguised how grand a gesture such truly was. "You shall want for little during your stay. Though my daughters made haste to return to the field once they had ushered you unto my care, they assured me they would return my the next moon with their task completed, and that they would have words for you then."

"My thanks my Lord." He replied, bowing low to make clear his deep respect and reverence for the Elf before him. Even with all of his nobility ignored, he had still fought upon the slopes of Mt Doom, participating in the war that had banished the Great Enemy for millenia, and that alone made him worthy of such respect. "I shall endeavour to not try your patience."

"I appreciate you doing so, but tell you there is no need. This is the Last Homely House, and is always ready to welcome guests, whether they stay for hours or decades." The Lord offered a small smile before departing, his part as host played to perfection and now it was time for him to play the part of lord elsewhere.

Aragost was left alone, within a location of absolute safety, surrounded by elves of centuries or millennia of life, all blessed with elven longevity and vitality that made them look young and fit and lean. And the ink and quill drew his eye. He had heard rumours that the halflings of the West, had a concept of a writer's retreat. A welcoming and well stocked household they would withdraw too when trying to work in order to help with the process of crafting a novel, whether it be a humorous cook book, or a grand adventurous tale. He felt almost like such an opportunity had been granted to him as if by divine boon. Peace, isolation, and all of his needs fulfilled, allowing him to focus all attentions on his work.

The book was opened, and the quill quickly daubed in ink. Now was the time to write his first additions to the book not born of spontaneity, but with planning and forethought. If he sharpened his wits and applied them now, he could reforge the world entire as easily as a dwarven smith reshaped metal. There was the Great Enemy to thwart. There was his own desires to sate. And perhaps the simple act of changing things might illuminate the way to a better tomorrow for all of Middle Earth and beyond.

The quill was now his weapon, and it was time for him to strike.