A Star Shines On The Hour Of Our Meeting by Ysilme

1. Lindon

Prompt Fill Bingo Card: The Apothecary Garden: agitation/lavender

Read 1. Lindon

Elrond knew he was only dreaming, but he did not care. It was his father he was dreaming of; his foster-father whom he would never see again, and whom he had never dreamed of before. 

Maglor. 

Strange that he should dream of him now, but who could tell why we walk the dream-paths that we do? 
There he was, the man he had not seen since the sinking of Beleriand, standing on the parapet of an unfamiliar structure, with his back turned. Flames leapt up, engulfing him, fiery tongues reaching for the strands of his hair, encircling, devouring. 

“Atto! Atto!” 

But when Maglor turned at Elrond’s desperate cries, all he could see was flames in the shape of a person, changing into a huge ball of fire rolling towards him. 

With a start, Elrond woke, heart pounding, trying to get his bearings. The room around him was dark, but there was a strong scent of smoke, and something glimmered against the opposite wall. With a curse, he jumped up, grabbing the pitcher from his wash-stand, and doused the smouldering piece of fabric that lay on the floor in front of the fireside. The acrid smoke dissolved into steam, hissing loudly, before extinguishing and returning the room to darkness. Not full darkness; dawn was sending the first glimpses of light across a cloudy sky. 

Heart still beating, Elrond stepped up to the window, throwing up the panes, breathing in the crisp air, waiting for his breathing to calm down. Why had he dreamt of Maglor? He could not remember having done so ever before, and he rarely dreamt of familiar people anyway. Of past times and places, situations and incidents, yes; of the times when Elros and he had travelled with the last of the Fëanorions. But when people where involved, it was almost never just a dream, but more. Foresight, they called it. But how could he have visions of Maglor, who was dead and would not be reborn, cursed as he was? 

It must have been just a dream after all. 

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2. Lindon

Prompt Fill Bingo Card: The Apothecary Garden: lack of appetite/yarrow

Read 2. Lindon

“You want to do what?”

Gil-galad frowned at Elrond, his hand with a piece of bread halting in mid-air.

“Go and check that report of the lost wanderer along the coast. Or if you prefer, doing a patrol along the coast, inspecting the fishermen’s villages, counting the sea-birds. Call it what you like, I do not care. I will take two men and leave today.” Elrond spread the egg on his plate a bit further apart without eating. 

Gil-galad put the bread down and reached for the honey.

“You are wasting your time, Elrond. This is but a wild goose chase and you know it. And do eat up, will you. You are skipping far too many meals as it is.”

Elrond obediently speared a tiny bit of egg on his fork. “I know well that it cannot be Maglor. But do you not understand that I need to verify myself that this wanderer is not him, after these dreams I keep having?”
He set his fork down again with the uneaten bit on it. 

Gil-galad sighed. “Probably. All right, off you go then, frolicking around the countryside in the beautiful autumn weather. You will not give me a rest until I let you anyway.”

Elrond snorted at that, as they were currently experiencing a particularly cold and wet firith with temperatures around freezing. It had not yet snowed this year, but the weather conditions were nothing somebody would voluntarily choose for a field trip.

“Thank you. Anything you want me to take particularly note of? I am going to make myself useful and do a proper patrol of the area while I am at it.”

“I am sure I can think of something.”

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3. Lindon - The Coast

Read 3. Lindon - The Coast

Three

Dusk was about to fall when Elrond halted his horse, waiting for his escort to catch up. Ahead rose a steep cliff, the first major elevation of the Ered Luin, narrowing the beach to a thin strip covered with shingles and strewn with boulders of all sizes. He scanned the steep, solid, rock face for an overhanging or an opening, perhaps even a cave, but the cliff was disappointingly smooth. Blast! Some kind of shelter would have been most welcome after a rainy day and an equally wet night with their cloaks as their only protection. But even after reaching the rocky coast after days of passing through open land, things did not look promising for that night, as daylight was waning fast. 

“We had better make camp,” he remarked to the figure now catching up with him.

Angrend, one of Gil-galad’s personal guards assigned to him by the High-king himself and currently huddling under a sodden cloak, snorted. “Nice spot to make camp! Should ha’ been somethin’ better after last night!”

Grumbling, the old warrior dismounted, but obediently started to check the surroundings for a suitable space, which was better done on foot as the beach was strewn with small boulders, rock chunks, and large pieces of driftwood, too dangerous for their horses. 

They had followed the coast for most of the day, riding along the low cliff that separated the sandy beach from the open grasslands above, with a few small copses in-between. Their destination had been the high coast in the distance, but they had been held up by the crossing of the wide estuary of a tributary to the Baranduin in the early afternoon. It would have been wiser to spend the night at the last copse they had passed, Elrond thought ruefully and dismounted, even at the cost of losing a few hours of daylight. 

Now it looked like they had to make do with the lee of a large boulder. He really needed to listen better to his escort’s suggestions. A childhood roaming Beleriand with Fëanor’s last sons had taught him all kinds of useful outdoor skills, but choosing good camp locations was not among them. 

Elrond kicked against a weathered tree half-sunk in the sand. It broke apart, revealing a brittle but dry inside. At least there is plenty of firewood.

“There is a small hollow close, likely our best choice.” Senya, the other guard assigned to Elrond, had caught up as well after a short detour further inland. “No trees or cover, but sheltered from the wind and grown with heather.”

“Sounds good.” The heather, even wet, would provide a more comfortable bed than the hard sand. Before Elrond could call for Angrend, Senya whistled on their fingers, bringing the older guard quickly back to them. 

“I win,” Senya told him with a grin, “small hollow with some greens and stuff.”

“Good, ‘cause there’s nothin’ but rock and wet sand along the beach.”

“Lead the way, then,” Elrond ordered. 

Leading their horses, they made their way back along the beach until a narrow trench, sloping upwards where a rivulet that cut into the hillside. The ascent was steep but just about manageable for their steeds, and at the top the wind hit them with full force. The deep hollow, washed out by the rivulet, provided a welcome relief. 

“You win indeed.” Angrend clapped Senya on the shoulder. “I think that is the best place we have stayed so far.”

Indeed it was, Elrond agreed, no matter that they had no cover from above. The slightly concave walls of the hollow were covered with sturdy shrubs and tall enough so even the horses would stay out of the wind,  and the ground was flat enough to sleep comfortably. 

Following their usual routine, Angrend went gathering firewood, Senya saw to the horses, and Elrond started to make camp. In this, at least, the skills gained in his childhood served him well, and he had strung their tarp between some shrubs to create a simple shelter, and filled their pot with the makings of a stew, before Angrend came back up from the beach with an armful of driftwood, and started to make a fire. 

Grateful to be finally out of the rain they gathered around the fire, passing around a flask of mulled wine while they waited for the stew to cook. 

“I should have listened to your suggestion and stayed at that copse,” Elrond said by way of an apology. 

Angrend grunted. “Nay, ‘been far too early, better to ride on.” He poked the fire. “You doin’ fine, laddie, if you permit me sayin’ so.”

Elrond snorted, but could not hide a grin at the address - no matter his Noldor ancestry or status as the High-king’s herald, he was rather young after all, while his companions were likely the most experienced warriors his cousin had been able to find. Count on ‘Reino to let me have my trip, but set me up with a minder! He was probably supposed to take offence at such informality by a subordinate, but he knew better than to be offended by the occasional teasing and general indulgence of two veterans who doubtlessly would prefer the company of their brethren in the Lindon barracks and warm beds to trudging around the countryside with someone they believed to be an inexperienced stripling. 

When they were finally tucking into their evening meal, Angrend set his bowl down after the first few spoons. “Best camp food I’d ever had,” he said, licking his lips. “You definitely good at tha’.”

Elrond chuckled. It was the herb-lore of the trained healer, combined with the background of camp life with the last Fëanorions which now made for a tasty dinner: a rabbit caught earlier in the day turned into a rich stew with the help of a few handfuls of greens and some wild onions and some spices from his pack, rounded off with some seed cakes baked in the frying pan. 

“Why, thank you. I am glad to know I am doing at least something right.”

Senya spluttered into his bowl, and Angrend started to laugh outright. 

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