Nendir by Anérea

Elrond could see how the entrance to the valley could so easily be missed, yet the Man’s detailed directions turned out to be so clear, they had found their way as readily as if they had been there before. And the valley was just as he had described it: fertile, sheltered, and easy to defend.

As the bedraggled group of Elves and Men started setting up what would hopefully be a permanent camp, for a while at least, Elrond looked again for the Man. He had assumed at first he was one of Celeborn’s people, or a refugee from Ost-in-Edhel, but no-one seemed to know who he was or when he had joined them — and no-one had seen him after the last stream crossing.

::

 First the siege took up all his attention, then the building of Imladris and the planting of the food gardens and orchards and, over time, the Man faded into a vague mystery, although Elrond never forgot him.

Whether he had been lying camouflaged among the rocks at the bottom of the Bruinen all along, or whether the water had coalesced into a body, Elrond could not tell, but there he was, floating, looking up at him with eyes glinting like iridescent fish scales, his brass-coloured hair and beard twisting in the current with the waterweeds.

Elrond blinked, almost losing his balance as he took half a step back in astonishment.

“It was you!” he exclaimed, recognising the features, “You… you directed us to this valley, when we fled after the rout of Eregion!”

Although the man bore the traits of the ancient House of Hador, almost a thousand years had passed since the exhausted and bedraggled group of Elves and Men had first found their way into the hidden valley; he could not possibly be one of the Edain.

Recovering from his surprise, Elrond picked his way down the steep bank, joining the man where he had pulled himself out onto a rock, shaking water from his hair like a hound, clearly unconcerned about his lack of attire. After only a moment’s hesitation, Elrond found his own seat at the water’s edge, dipping his feet into the swirling water, enjoying the refreshing sensation of it playing through his toes.

Tilting his head sideways for a better look at the man, who was now mimicking Elrond and dangling his feet in the flow, he asked in calmer tones, “It was you, wasn’t it?”

He watched his companion as he took a deep breath, sighing it out before giving a small nod.

“Where—” began the Elf, then, shaking his head, a stream of questions tumbled from his lips, “Who are you? Where did you come from? Now, but also then. And where did you vanish to? Why … ?” He broke off, overwhelmed, unused to such a tumble of confused thought.

The man took another deep breath. Leaning back on his hands as he looked up the steep cliff of the valley towards the sky,

“You could say I am this valley," he mused "or — perhaps more accurately — this river, that has slowly carved the valley through the Ages.”

Chapter End Notes

To be continued...

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Inspired by Anne_Wolfe's artwork "Two Figures" in Chapter 2 of Anne_Wolfe's Scribbles and Drabbles Art (2022). Please click the link to view the artwork and give the artist some appreciation!

I found this piece very suggestive of deep and intense conversation, which is coming in following chapters...