To Imladris

Imladris was changing. She had borne the messages of greater and lesser Elves for a dozen lifetimes of Men. In that time she had watched the character of the House of Elrond slowly shift, first this way then that, like a friend one has known through the years. A refuge for her people west of the Misty Mountains, a greater portion of its inhabitants stayed only for a season or a year or a century before continuing on the road west to the Havens and then onward to the Undying Lands. For some time it had nestled peacefully at the foot of the mountains, concerned only with the life and memories of Eldar. Now, however, there was clear sign that it looked outward again. Knights of Elrond watched the borders, or travelled on errands along the roads as they had before the assault on Dol Guldur nearly a century earlier. In addition, traveling companies of armed Elves could be seen among the houses of the valley, as well as camped nearby. While much of this could be explained by the influx of Orcs in the Misty Mountains and along the road through the Lone Lands, rumors hinted at other, darker reasons. Her own travels bore this out. A pair of Orc scouts had attempted to ambush her in the Weather Hills a week earlier. She possessed skill with the bow, but the Orcs did as well, and she had only just survived the encounter. A new sword, gift from the scholar Sergelon, waited in her room for the return journey. She had never felt truly comfortable with a sword, and had not worn one for some centuries, but she agreed with his prediction that the road was only going to get more perilous. And the messages must get through.