The Walls Will Serve by Himring

Chapter 3

In the Second Age, Elrond visits Tol Himling.

‘Is this it?’ asked Elrond.

‘Yes’, said Arminas. ‘I was sent here, several times, with messages. I know the shape of that hill-top, even if not much else is left.’

In fact, that seemed to be rather an understatement. There was nothing else left, as far as Elrond could see. He got out of the boat and stepped onto the island of Himling.

As he walked across the beach, he wondered whatever he was doing here, in this place in which he had never set foot while Maedhros was still alive. But, he confessed, he was prevaricating, lying to himself. It was perfectly obvious why he would be visiting Himling now that Elros had died and taken their shared memories of Maedhros and Maglor out of Arda with him.

Only, there was nothing here. Wherever he went, there was nothing but bare rock, no trace of masonry, not a scrap or fragment to show that here, once, had stood one of the most powerful fortresses in Middle-Earth. The War of Wrath had smashed the walls and clawed at their foundations. Afterwards, the storms and the waves had done the rest.  Here and there, in nooks and crannies protected from the harsh sea winds, tough grass and small bushes were struggling to survive.

Elrond returned—having walked all the way around the island—to the beach where Arminas had set up camp. There was a stream of fresh water there that emerged from the rock face and, dividing into small runnels, meandered among the pebbles before flowing out to sea. It occurred to Elrond that this spring might well be all that remained of mighty Gelion.

Arminas had caught and prepared a pair of sea bass. They ate in silence.

Then Arminas asked, cautiously: ‘How long were you planning to stay?’

‘I have seen enough’, said Elrond. ‘We can leave again any time you wish.’

As they got back in the boat, he bent down and picked up a small pebble.

‘You could have taken a larger stone’, said Arminas to him after a while, when they were well out to sea again.

‘I was afraid a larger one might sink the boat’, said Elrond.

Arminas looked at him closely to try and see whether he was joking, but Elrond gave him the bland stare he had adopted when he did not wish to discuss the Sons of Feanor, and so Arminas said nothing more.

***

Around Elrond, the people of Imladris were rejoicing. This first winter in the valley had been hard, but now spring was on its way and the refugees felt a surge of hope and confidence.

Elrond took a deep breath and silently dropped a small pebble into the gravel on the banks of the Bruinen. Looking up, he found he had not been quite discreet enough. Erestor was watching him.

‘Erestor’, said Elrond softly. ‘Come over here and have a look. Can you tell which one was the stone that I just dropped?’

‘Whatever will you ask me next?’ said Erestor. ‘I’m a librarian, not a mineralogist.’ Nevertheless, he came and stood beside Elrond and peered intently at the stones. ‘I cannot spot any difference at all between them’, he said, quietly.

‘Good’, said Elrond. ‘That is good.'

Chapter End Notes

Written for Gwailome.