Fellowship of the Dice

...Imladris was of old the name among the
Elves of a far northern dale, where Elrond the
Halfelven dwelt, greatest of lore-masters. Two months and six days since the horror of Carn Dum was unleashed.

The valley known as Imladris (Elvish for “deep valley of the cleft”) is one of the many gullies and ravines dug by the waters of the river Bruinen, the Loudwater, as they tumble down from the Misty Mountains to the east. Elrond the Halfelven came here in another age of the world, looking for a refuge for the High Elves of Eregion fleeing from the destruction of their land.

For centuries, the Elves dwelt in peace in the hidden valleys of the region, but their Lord always kept a watchful eye on the manoeuvres of the Enemy. The hosts assembled for the Last Alliance of Elves and Men mustered in Imladris before they were ready to move against Mordor, and Elrond was always a steadfast ally of the Dúnedain of Arnor in their wars against Angmar.

In the Third Age, Elrond chose to give protection to the Heirs of Isildur, and since the end of the North-kingdom the sons of the Chieftains of the Dúnedain have been raised in Rivendell, and the heirlooms of their house left in the keeping of its Master.

But five thousand years are a long time even for the Elves, and the sorrows they endured were many. With the passing of the centuries the number of the Elvenfolk of Rivendell dwindled, as more and more left Imladris to return West over the Great Sea. The house of Elrond became a sanctuary for the weary and the oppressed, and a safe haven where the memory of all that had been fair could be preserved from the injuries of time.

All those who are in grave need of good counsel or protection come looking for the Last Homely House. But the path to Rivendell is not for everyone to find...

Many weeks ago a company of men and dwarves and elves dared to travel to Carn Dûm on a fools errand and many of them paid for their folly. None the least was Aravule son of Arafae, Dúnedain of Cardolan. For months now he has been in the care of Elrond Half-Elven as his chief adviser Erestor. Long has the recovery been for the Man of the West, and great has been the effort put forth to save his life since the exploits among the vaults of the dead in the North of Rhudaur.

Aravule son of Arafel lays flat on his back. Terrible dreams have haunted his sleep. Rest has been fitful. Even after Lord Elrond had driven the terrible sickness from his mind and soul.

Images of his father Arafel, his brothers, Arphan and Arelan rushed through his mind has horrible ghosts and spirits beyond terror and naming. Aravule awoke in the middle of the night, each night, in a daze of panic and fear. But he could not move. He was paralyzed by the terror that visited him, the horror he had brought back from that place on the ill fated day.

The last days have been better, thankfully. No longer could he not fight to stay awake. He realizes that he would never truly forget, he would never defeat the nightmares. His eyes remain awake, but much of the strength had been sapped. He wondered if he would ever feel his virile self. He did not want to sleep, and yet his eyes were as anchors at sea.

There is a knock at Aravule's door, then Halleth, some of Hallec, comes in. "Ah, lad, you're awake. Lord Elrond said you would be." His tone is gruff, but it sounds like he's trying to be as gentle in his demeanor as he knows how. He settles into a chair by Aravule's bed. "I've been very worried about you. I'm glad to see you're beginning to pull through. How are you feeling?" The worry in Halleth's eyes is plain to see. He's less worried about Aravule's physical condition, which the elves, despite their cowardly ways, are adept at healing, then Aravule's spirit after the disastrous quest which cost the lives of his brothers and many of his followers.

"I am tired, so very tired." Aravule looks it. His eyes are heavy with dark 'bags' beneath them, as if he hadn't slept a day in ten. It was quite the opposite of course, but that did not seem to matter. "It is well that I see you with my own eyes, Hallec," the young ranger says, not expounding on anything else, such as his mental health.

Halleth looks grave. "Well, I suppose it makes sense that you are tired. Rest up, lad." He shakes his head and says, "I suppose I should stop calling you 'lad' and start calling you 'My Lord' now--you're the chieftain of the Cardolan bloodline now." He gnaws his lip, uncertain how wise it was to remind Aravule of that.

There is another light knock at the door.
Aerondil, enters. Before him, he carries a silver platter arrayed with various dried fruits. There is also a crust of bread and a silver cup and small pitcher.

"I do hope I'm not imposing, 'my lord," he says. His eyes are kind and mirthful even if his posture is impeccable, his broad shoulders earned at the smithy pulled back tightly. He gives a small chuckle as he sets the gleaming tray on Aravule's right.

"Here," says the elf. "Good food, and a healing broth recommended by Lord Elrond."

He nods to Halleth the Ranger. "I trust he continues to improve? You fellows are made of tougher stuff than some give you credit for. Telurin and I knew that, surely, before pledging to accompany you on that fools' errand...."

He looks thoughtful, as if acknowledging - at least to himself -awareness of at least part of the motivation of going to Carn Dumm. Treasure. Lore. Learning.

He smiles. "Go ahead. Eat. Master Elrond demands it." He gives a proper chuckle.

"Fool's errand? Thank you for your sentiment." Aravule closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. "If it was a fool's errand, you are the follower of the fool. What does that make the wise elf?"

The heir of Cardolan makes no motion to eat anything Aerondil offers. Have you come to lecture me further when I cannot depart from your grating voice? If I am to be judged, let the elf that advised against your fool's errand, not the elf that joined willingly."

Halleth winces but says nothing. He is not a peacemaker and the elf is responsible for himself, after sticking his foot in his mouth like that.

"A jest, friend," says Aerondil. "But perhaps it was misplaced. You are not yet well. But do eat. You need your strength. If my grating voice is unpleasing, then I will return to the smithy." He gives a bow and also nods to Halleth.

He turns and departs, quietly shutting the door behind him.

Aravule simply closes his eyes and wishes for peace. His mind swirls with images that cannot be forgotten. "I am simply not in a jesting mood, I suppose."

The ranger remains laying in bed without saying anything, and yet awake, his eyes remain closed.