Death's Herald

Elara Potter-Black, Lady Blackmoor, died in an almost identical way to her grandfather, Harry Potter.

There was a Dark Lord, Elara became the favorite to kill him, and she united the Deathly Hallows to do so. It was quite unfortunate, then, that her grandfather and his two best friends who had known what that might do, were not around to warn her of the consequences.

Sure, only the immediate family knew how Harry Potter had stopped aging, only the immediate family knew it was some sort of curse, and only his two best friends and his wife knew that uniting the Hallows had caused it. Harry Potter had locked the items away, however, save the invisibility cloak. But that did not stop Elara from unintentionally gathering the items together. That did not stop her ability to summon them right before going to battle the latest Dark Lord. At least she had been out of school and an adult already before dying.

She understood this the moment she had touched all three items, mere minutes before dying as she killed the latest Dark Lord.

But she did not stay dead. No, instead Death himself came to take her away and give her a chance, a place to live in a world where there were other immortal, or near immortal beings. It may have also been due to the fact that no others in said other world would have the ability to unite the Hallows themselves.

Elara Potter-Black would always be the Master of Death in Arda, though it was more like Deathless, instead of Master of Death. He explained in the strange fog of the in-between the place where he at least taught her the languages she would need to interact with others. She was thankful for that, but ultimately displeased from being forever sundered from her family, her friends, and her world.

It did not help that Death, who was called Námo in Arda, informed her she would the only magic user of her kind in Arda, though other beings similar in power existed and would become known later. She snorted, and blamed it on her grandfather’s uncanny luck.

Death, Námo, had claimed her as he had once tried to claim Harry Potter, only Námo acted so that he could keep her as he hadn’t been able to do with Harry Potter.

Elára Potter-Black, Lady Blackmoor, became Death’s Herald. Just as the other Powers, who he called Valar, of which he was one, had their own Heralds, she was now named Námo’s Herald, and she really didn’t have much of a choice. Of course, the other choice was to linger in his Halls for the rest of the world’s time. So really, not much of a choice.

At least she still had her magic. At least Námo had seen fit to teach her the history of Arda, the languages she would need to speak, and a bit more as well. She was, after all, in effect a Maia herself now. She could hear the Song just as others could, could See just as others of her new order could. Though Elára’s Sight was somewhat due to inactive abilities of her bloodline.

When she was finally released into the world—Middle-Earth, Námo had called it—she decided she needed time to herself, to orient and integrate herself with this new world, to meditate on the Song she could hear in full now that she was no longer in the Halls of Mandos.

Also, she may have still been just slightly upset at her new situation. Even her grandfather did not have her amount of uncanny luck.

Ára Blackmoor, previously Elára Potter-Black, had recently—recent for immortal beings, that is— taken it upon herself to be the Guardian of the Dúnedain. They were worthy and noble men who had a history of grief and very bad luck. They were worth her time, and she knew when she took on the role, that someday the fate of the world would rest upon on of the Heirs of Isildur. So she took to traveling the wilds, instructing each Chieftain when he returned from fostering in Rivendell—a place she avoided going to at all costs, because she knew there were elves there who would See what she was if she met them, just as she avoided Lóthlorien— and she guarded them when she could, though still each man needed his freedom and experience of his own without someone constantly looking over their shoulders.

It was a neat arrangement. The Dúnedain kept the secret of their immortal guardian to themselves, and only the Chieftain’s House, those Heirs of Isildur and their closest councilor knew the truth of her being. Though no one knew she had once died and come from a different world as Death’s Herald.

In truth, it was a lonely existence, but a worthy one, and Ára had made many friends, and a family of a sort, even if they all passed beyond the circles of the world eventually.

All that changed however, when the magic she had placed on Arathorn, the latest chieftain, pinged so loudly inside her mind that she knew he was about to die.

She apparated, silently now, as she had been able to do for centuries, and made it only in time to avenge his mortal wounds.

She really hated orcs.

“Save them,” Arathorn gasped, blood leaking from the corners of his mouth as Ára leaned over him, tears in her eyes. “Take Gilraen and Aragorn to Rivendell, so that he might be fostered there as I was.”

Ára wanted to say no, wanted to remind him she did not step foot in Elven settlements due to her nature, even if by now there were other Maiar, clothed in old bodies and bound as they were. But she didn’t she knew Arathorn’s son would only be safe with the Elves. So she nodded and accepted her task with his last words.

“I shall see it done, my friend.”

After gathering Gilraen, Aragorn, and the few surviving Dúnedain of the ambush, she told them of their late Chieftain’s wish, and all made way to Rivendell.

It was lucky the twin sons of Elrond had come upon them, apparently killing the few orcs who had fled the fight once Arathorn had died and Ára had gone mad in her anger, because they at least could guide them all to Rivendell and quite easily.

Elladan and Elrohír did not know what she was. They merely thought she was the descendent of the first Ára Blackmoor, and really that was fine. The rest of the Dúnedain believed that of her also, if they weren’t the Chieftain or of his House. Some thought she had Rohirrim heritage, due to her pale, ash-blonde hair. But her bright green eyes, an inheritance from her grandfather in another world, were a trait not found on anyone else in Middle-Earth. This was, of course, due to her being Námo’s Herald, and essentially a Maia.

Ára had been lucky not to run into the Istari as long as she’d lived in Middle-Earth so far, but she had seen Mithrandír, who was called Gandalf, and who she knew from the Song as Olórin. She had known at once, merely by looking at him, that he was a Maia, clothed in the body of an old man, and a great deal of his power bound due to being chained in such a Hröa. She had silently apparated away, not wanting to chance that his Sight was good enough in his lesser form to conclude she was akin to him.

Of course, now that she was on her way to Rivendell with the twin sons of Elrond—and Elrond would be able to See her, she knew, as would the Lord Glorfindel—and with Gliraen and little Aragorn, she knew the time had come for her presence in Middle-Earth to become known to more than just the Chieftains of the Dúnedain.

The looks Gliraen had been giving to her on their trek-after dismissing the surviving men to go home, said Gilraen was aware of her fast approaching unmasking as well. Though at least she did not seem nervous. Gliraen was one of the Chieftains’ wives, one in a long line of them, who had ever counseled Ára to simply reveal herself for what she was to the people of Rivendell, or at least to Lord Elrond and his immediate family. But Ára had not wanted to.

Had she been pushing off the inevitable all this time? Perhaps Ára had been, but some intuition told her that when she was unmasked for who and what she was, the Fate of Middle-Earth would be close to being decided. And maybe she was not ready for war again. And war it would come to, the likes of which had not been seen since the previous Age, when Ára had not existed in Arda yet.

As the group of five journeyed to Rivendell, which the Elves called Imladris, Ára was beginning to wonder if she had made the choices she had made simply due to her intuition of knowing she would have gone mad if she lived around the Elrondionnath.

“So, you have never been to Imladris, Lady Ára?” Ellandan asked, finally realizing that Ára spoke Sindarin just as well as Gliraen and the rest of the Dúnedain. She had after all, been speaking it longer than any of those men had ever lived. “It is the most beautiful and peaceful place in Middle-Earth, though our Nanananeth’s realm of Lóthlorien is magnificent as well.”

Ára shot a dirty look at Gliraen, who sat atop the horse beside her, Aragorn held in front of her tightly still. It had been Gilraen’s fault for outing Ára’s fluency. Gliraen merely rolled her eyes. She was a good friend, Ára had to remind herself. And Ára knew she would miss the woman more than she had missed others of her station when Gliraen passed.

“No, Lord Elladan,” Ára said with as much impassivity due to the formality as she could. Among the Secret Keepers, Ára had never had need to be formal, even if the rest of the Dúnedain were. “I have never had cause to visit Imladris before. And if it were not for my promise to Arathorn to take both his wife and son there now, I would probably not be going at all.”

Both of the twins looked sharply at her then, and Ára mentally cursed her impatient tongue. One would think, after living for as long as she had, that her annoyance would not gain such a foothold and destroy her brain-to-mouth filter, but no. Once a human, always a human, as Ára liked to think.

After a moment, the other twin took up the conversation. “Well, now you do. You will not regret it, I promise.”

“Do not make promises you cannot keep Elrondion,” Ára muttered under her breath.

This twin, Elrohír, must have learned other things from his father. He merely raised an eyebrow, and the look in his grey eyes was half-amused, half-concerned. Where Elladan was usually the louder, brasher of the two, the handful of times Ára had ever interacted with them. Which mostly consisted of them fighting orcs together by mere happenstance, Elrohír had always seemed the more reserved, patient of the twins.

He was also the one who seemed to have inherited a bit of his father’s fabled Foresight. A gift with which the line of Isildur had been blessed. Ára felt foresight was more of a curse, as those who were so gifted would usually only See negative visions.

“Oh, I do not believe myself to be wrong, Lady Ára,” Elrohír retorted, an amused half-smile quirking his lips.

Ára merely snorted in reply and the twins went back to conversing with Gilraen.

But Ára wondered what the eldest son of Lord Elrond could See, wondered if perhaps he had guessed at her true nature and simply chose to ignore the truth of her being. She wondered if he had always known, if he did in fact know, or if he had Seen in a vision something of her nature.

Well, there was nothing to do but continue on as she had, at least until they reached the Elven settlement.

Days later, Gliraen and Aragorn were looking rough and seemed exhausted. If the situation had been different and not as dire, Ára would probably have acted such herself due to the twins’ presence. But she had promised Arathorn to see his wife and son to safety, and so she could not afford to let her guard down. She placed wards each night they made camp, silently of course, and merely dealt with the piercing looks each son gave her every time. It seemed that even if they could not See her nature, they did have some sensitivity to magic.

But they said nothing, and for that Ára was thankful and predisposed to think more well of them. After the days of travelling, she had begun to understand that each Elf had a habit and ability to keep secrets and information quiet if they so wished. As much as they acted young, they were completely capable of being serious and acting as old as their years truly were as well.

In spite of herself, Ára liked the boys. And boys they were to her, being around a century younger. In Ára’s still mortal mindset, that made her older than them by much, even if Elves probably would believe the three of them the same age.

When they finally reached the border of Imladris, and Ára could tell it was the border due to the magical warding she sensed, Ára knew her cover was going to be blown, and blown rather quickly.

She inhaled sharply as her senses were pricked by the ward. Through it, she sensed the power of the Lord of Imladris, and what she instinctively knew to be a Ring of Power as well. She would never be able to mistake Lord Elrond for anyone else, due to her sensing him through his protections, and she knew instinctively that he had just felt her presence crossing his borders as well.

The twins both turned their heads at her sound, grey eyes as piercing as they were each night she set up wards when they made camp.

So, they had an idea to her sensitivity at the very least, and knew she had some power of her own. She wondered if they still thought her a mere human, perhaps a fair-haired line of Númenor, blessed with strange power. After all, the line of Isildur was gifted in both Foresight and Healing.

“We have crossed the borders of our father’s realm,” Elrohír stated, still looking directly at Ára. “We should be safe from here until we reach the valley proper.”

Ára merely closed her eyes for a moment, understanding her ruse with the eldest twin at least was very much up, and most likely the younger as well.

“That is good to know, Lord Elrohír.” Just because her secret was most probably not so secret anymore, did not mean she was going to speak of it now. Not ever, if she could help it.

She didn’t think she had much luck for that, however.

Gliraen was still quiet, still grieving, and nothing either Ára, or either of the twins could say or do would help that, and all three knew.

Still, Ára looked beside her to strike up a conversation, if part of the reason was to ignore the growing knowing looks and narrowed eyes of the Elven twins, well that was fine too.

“How long before we reach the valley proper, as the Lord has called it?” Yes, it was a question she could have easily asked either twin, but that would defeat both her purposes.

Gliraen hummed a bit before she responded. “From this place, not terribly long, perhaps by evening. Once we cross the river it will be but a short distance until we come into the Valley itself, and you will have your first proper view of the beautiful waterfalls and architecture you have never before seen.”

Ára tilted her head. “I have been to Gondor, and tarried in the White City many times. Is the beauty of Imladris so different than that of Minas Tirith?” She knew it would be, of course, but the indignant snorts from the twins and the twinkle which came back into Gliraen’s blue eyes made her seemingly curious question worth asking.

“Oh, yes,” Gliraen responded. “Quite different I would believe. I myself have never been to Minas Tirith, but I believe the beauty of Imladris would overwhelm that city many times over.”

“Of course it does!” Elladan called back from his position at the front beside his brother. “Imladris was built by the Elves, Lady Ára.”

“Is that supposed to be an explanation, my Lord?” Ára teased. She really did like the twins, even if their quickly figuring out she was more than she had seemed to them at first made her skin crawl.

“Of course,” Ellandan retorted with a smirk before turning his head back round to face front. “Anything built by the Elves is superior in this Age.”

Ára didn’t respond, merely hummed in thought. She’d had time enough to learn more details of the history of Arda than what Námo had taught her. So she knew of the building and the fall of the fairest isle of Man that had been, Númenor had been built by both Men and Elves of the West, and helped along by some of the Spirits, some Maiar. Sometimes, Ára wished Námo had taken her and placed her in the Second Age at least, where she would have been able to visit the island for herself, before they had fallen to the Dark Lord Sauron’s lies and deception. But it was not to be.

Perhaps one day she would see beauty and greatness which could not hope to stand in Middle-Earth when she eventually left this land for Aman, as all immortal beings would eventually have to go. That thought soured her mood, as she knew she would have to at least visit with the Power who had claimed her as his Herald once more. She was still upset with the Lord Vala, even after thousands of years, even after she had been left to her own devices for centuries before accepting the role as Guardian to the Dúnedain. She still wasn’t certain if that task was prompted by her so-called Lord, or if it was a purpose of her own devising, but the reasons why hardly mattered anymore. She had been fulfilling the role ever since the Dúnedain had set to being a wandering people, and she would continue said role until the King returned at last to Gondor and Arnor.

She shivered, her intuition telling her said King would come soon, possibly it was Gilraen’s little son Aragorn himself.

The Song of Arda hummed happily just then with her thought and she gasped aloud, stopping her horse, causing both Elven twins and Gliraen to stop and look at her as well.

“Are you well, my Lady?” Elrohír asked.

Ára simply shook her head, her gaze pinned on the toddler Gilraen was holding. She closed her eyes then and breathed deeply. When she opened them, she found Gilraen looking at her knowingly.

“So, he is to be the one, then?” Gilraen whispered.

“I believe so, if what I just felt in the Song is true,” Ára replied, uncaring any longer if the twins would understand more of her from what she said. They would find out soon anyway, she was now sure of that.

“I thought so,” Gliraen said, as she prompted her horse forward and the others did the same. The river was in sight now, though a bit of a distance away. It was early afternoon, and if Gilraen was correct, they would make it to the valley proper by late evening. “I had a dream while I was pregnant with him, and Arathorn, when I spoke of it with him, agreed with my interpretation.” Gliraen smiled sadly at that. “He had thought it would happen within the next century, you see, though he believed he would be too old to claim the Kingship himself, and would pass it down to our son. I suppose he was correct enough. He would have been far too old to become King if Aragorn was well and ready to be so.”

Ára didn’t respond, and was only thankful that Aragorn was asleep due to the exhaustion of riding for so many days on end. She wouldn’t have been able to say anything comforting in any case, and it was obvious the twins felt the same way, as they said nothing.

The rest of the journey was made easily, crossing the river being the most dangerous part, and even that went smoothly. When Aragorn woke he begged to sit with one of the twins, and as they were all safely within Lord Elrond’s borders, the twins were quite happy to pass them between each other and tell the little boy stories.

It was dark when they made it to the first bridge to enter the valley proper, and Ára was thankful for that as she drew in a sharp breath before sinking near boneless further into the seat on her mount. The protection wards around the valley proper were much stronger than those at the border, and much more complex as well. She wasn’t sure that even mortals wouldn’t be able to feel the sense of safety, peace, and home, so strong was the power and magic.

Luckily, one of the twins had spotted his father and picked up his pace while the other dismounted to guide Gilraen’s horse across the wide bridge. Aragorn had already been placed back with Gilraen, and Ára thought now the twins knew she was no mere mortal at the very least. She shouldn’t have been able to guide the horse along herself if she was.

As it was, Ára dismounted her mare and took the reins gently in her shaking hand. In minutes she would be face-to-face with the Lord of Imladris, and from what she could see, his two top councilors.

One was dark-haired and grave-faced by whatever it was that Elrohír was quietly saying to his father, and the other was golden-blonde and glowing, his expression grave as well. These were, if Ára had the correct information, Lord Erestor and Lord Glorfindel, the Chief Counselor and Captain of Imladris respectively.

So Ára was to come in sight of at least two Elves who would mostly likely See her nature as soon as they looked into her eyes. She shivered, and the thought of mounting her horse again and taking off out of the valley crossed her mind, but she didn’t. That would be too suspicious.

When Gliraen and Aragorn, led by Elladan finally crossed the bridge, Ára only a bit behind them, two other Elves came out to take their horses with quiet efficiency after Elladan helped both Gilraen and Aragorn dismount. Aragorn was quiet and slack-jawed, and immediately grabbed his mother’s hand.

Ára thanked the elf who took her mare with a nod of her head and squared her shoulders, straightened her back, cleared her mind, and shrouded it with heavy occlumency. She would at least look ready to face the Elven Lords who would See the most, even if in her mind she was still trembling.

The Lords looked to Gilraen first, and her son, as Ára stood behind both. The twins had come to stand beside their father, and even if their travelling garb was sharply contrasted by the fine robes and clothing the Eleven Lords wore, they looked very much the princes they were.

“Welcome to Imladris, Lady Gilraen, though I do wish it was under better circumstances. You have my sympathy for your loss,” Lord Elrond spoke. He shifted his gaze to Ára then, inhaling silently and his eyes widened slightly as he looked into Ára’s green gaze. “And welcome to you as well, Lady Ára. This is your first time here, is it not?”

Ára nodded, then bowed, though perhaps not as deeply as she might have under other circumstances. “Thank you, Lord Elrond. It is in fact my first time accepting the hospitality of your House, though I do wish I could have under other circumstances.” Her words were formal and fluent in Sindarin, though she wondered how Lord Elrond knew she would understand and speak his native tongue.

His reaction to her, minute as it was, told Ára he could See something of her nature, and that he was very experienced in controlling his emotions and expression.

Lord Erestor looked mostly bored, though when he welcomed Gliraen there was a soft sympathy in his dark eyes. Lord Glorfindel, however, was very different. He had welcomed Gliraen with much obvious feeling, and Ára knew this was because he had known and been friends with Arathorn, but his reaction to Ára herself was much like Lord Elrond’s

Glorfindel had been told alongside Elrond and Erestor of what occurred when Elrohír had quickly made his way ahead of the group to speak to them briefly before the ladies and the Dúnedain’s Heir made it even halfway across the wide bridge.

He, along with Elrond had felt their passage over the border hours ago, and felt it even more strongly once the group had first stepped onto the bridge. But the feeling of their passage was not alike to normal mortals when they passed the protections Elrond had placed around the valley. Instead, there was a heavy presence of Power which crossed with them, and both Glorfindel and Elrond knew that presence was neither the Lady Gilraen nor her son. It could only be the other woman with them, the fair-haired woman who was dressed and geared with attire and weapons like many ranger men were. He knew her instantly to be the fabled Lady Ára, whom the twins spoke of with near reverence for her battle prowess, and said to be a close councilor to Arathorn, and friend to his family. Both twins had intimated it was as if she was both Arathorn’s mother and sister, and she looked identical to the other Ladies who had held her position before her.

Pale, ash-blonde hair that would not have been out of place on one of the people from Rohan, but softer, longer, and with a subtle wave which stood apart from any of the Rohirrim. Her eyes, when Glorfindel finally found them, were bright emeralds, brighter than any mortal had the right to be, and he immediately Saw that she was no mere mortal, if mortal she was at all.

“Welcome to Imladris, my Lady,” he said to her after Elrond had finished his welcome, and Glorfindel bowed lower than he might have otherwise, for he could sense her power. It felt akin to what he could sense from Mithrandír—who he had known in Aman as Olórin. But he had never before met this Maia-like creature who stood tall and proud, a noble bearing as any of the Spirits he had met before.

He would certainly have remembered her.

She inclined her head, taking the sight of her too-bright—bright with the power of the Ainur— eyes from him for a moment. “I thank you, Lord Glorfindel.”

When he locked gazes with her once more, the breath nearly left his lungs, and the world around him grew hazy for a moment. She looked resigned, not joyous. He could feel she was in grief over the loss of Arathorn, but otherwise she was not happy to be in Imladris. He wondered why, even as he wondered why she had never come before, if Maia clad in body she was, for he was now very much sure she was. Though she didn’t seem to have the same constraints the Istari had been bound with, which was puzzling on its own. At least she felt fair and Light, so he was very sure she was not of Sauron’s ilk.

But why did she look so forlorn?

As the Lords guided them into the Main House, Ára’s thoughts were spiraling. Both twins had gone off on their own, probably to bathe, eat, and retire in their own rooms. That was fine with Ára , for she knew they would probably tell their father of what occurred in detail while traveling with herself, Gilraen, and little Aragorn. Lord Elrond had taken Gliraen’s arm and they spoke softly, he already offering to foster Aragorn before Gilraen could request it of him herself.

Lord Erestor had gone off alone as well, before anyone else had even stepped off the bridge, probably to prepare rooms for them. Which was just as well, as he had traded looks with both the other Elven Lords. Ára figured he could feel her presence too, though perhaps not as strongly as Lord Elrond or Lord Glorfindel.

It was Lord Glorfindel himself who had taken Ára’s arm to guide her into the House. They spoke little, Ára trapped in her thoughts and Glorfindel busy with his own. Ára had seen the look and nod he had bestowed to Lord Elrond after welcoming her to Imaldris, and figured that at least he trusted her for now, though knew she would be having heavy conversations with both Lords soon. It seemed though, as Lord Glorfindel finally stopped them at door, they would allow her to rest first, for which she was thankful.

“This will be your room while you guest with us, and someone should come around shortly to provide you with fresh clothing and guide you to the baths,” he said, finally dropping her arm. “If you should need anything else, you only have to knock on any door in this hall. Lord Elrond’s rooms are at the end of the hall with the tapestries depicting King Turgon and King Elu Thingol. Mine and Erestor’s are at the other end of the hall, and the twins rooms are between us.”

This stopped Ára short. Shocked, she asked, “We are to be housed in with Lord Elrond’s family?”

Lord Glorfindel merely smiled. “Yes. Lord Elrond views the Dúnedain as his cousins, through his brother’s line.”

Before she could think better of it, Ára replied. “But I am not a descendent of Elros, or of Númenor at all.”

Lord Glorfindel only laughed, his sky-blue eyes twinkling merrily. “Oh, this is true, and Lord Elrond knows this. However, you accompanied the Lady Gilraen and her son, and are you not called the Guardian of the Dúnadan?”

Ára simply closed her eyes, knowing her ruse was well and truly over before nodding. “Yes, I suppose I am.”

“In any case, you will all rest and refresh yourselves tonight, someone will come by with a tray for food, as I am sure you are all hungry, and then we will meet with Lord Elrond and Lord Erestor tomorrow morning to discuss the practicalities. Good night, my Lady.”

Lord Glorfindel bowed and left promptly, for which Ára was thankful at the moment, allowing her to enter the room. It was a beautiful apartment, done in greens, and fit for a queen, she thought. She sank heavily into one of the ornate chairs in the small sitting room and waited, head in her hands.

Glorfindel left the Lady and immediately made his way to Elrond’s study, where he knew he would find his friend and Lord. He didn’t bother to knock, simply opening the door and closing it softly behind him.

Indeed Elrond was already there, and so too was Erestor. Elrond was sat behind his desk, Erestor in one of the armchairs stationed in front of it, so Glorfindel sat in the chair beside Erestor and waited.

It did not take long for Elrond to speak.

“Gilraen and her son are in the apartment which is always set aside for the fostering of the Heirs of Isildur, though soon enough I believe I will move Gilraen to her own room. We have decided that Aragorn will be known as Estel from here on, to guard his identity, and few will know his true name and heritage, though all in the Valley will probably guess. We will not speak his name after tomorrow, and I am thankful he is young enough to take to the change, necessary as I believe it to be, easily.”

“And what of the Lady Ára, my Lord?” Erestor asked.

Elrond rubbed at his temples before eyeing both Erestor and Glorfindel. “She is not mortal, of that I am sure, as is Glorfindel.”

Glorfindel nodded. “Yes, I sensed much power within her, and she feels akin to the Maiar I met when I dwelled in Aman. But her heart is pure, of that I am sure. Though she is also both similar and different than the Istari.”

Erestor shook his head, confused. “I don’t understand. Of course, I sensed less than either of you, to be certain, but even I could feel her aura. Why would there be a Maia guarding the rangers of the north? Was she not supposed to belong to a bloodline which guarded the Chieftain and his heirs and House?”

Glorfindel simply laughed. “Perhaps the rumors of identical daughters is now found to be what it is. I believe she is the same Guardian from when the Dúnedain began wandering.”

Elrond nodded, face grave. “Yes, I as well. But I do not understand her purpose, and even less do I understand why she has never seen fit to grace our halls, or any of the Elven realms. It is as if she did not wish to be found out. The other Istari have all come into contact with the Elves, even the Ithryn Luin, before they went east. So why does this Lady Ára hide from us?”

Erestor nodded, agreeing. But Glorfindel shook his head. “Perhaps she was supposed to only do what she has done. Can any of us know her directives or task? She is not sided with the Dark Lord, that much I could See and sense, even if she did appear to be resigned and wary of meeting with us. Perhaps her purpose was to only be closeted with the rangers, and only now that Arathorn has passed to the Halls of Mandos as he has, as Aragorn is himself too young to lead his people and in great danger, has she come at last to be recognized by the Elves.”

Elrond’s gaze turned distant in thought and said nothing.

“I just do not understand her purpose, that is all,” Erestor said. “And it is obvious the Cheiftans at least have known of her nature for a long time, perhaps from the very beginning. And they said nothing. I do not understand that either, and more do I not like it. Why would they have kept such a secret even from us, their closest and most staunch allies? Their Chieftains have been fostered in Imladris for most of this Age, even before the fall of Arnor, and the passing to the Stewardship of Gondor!”

“Be calm, Erestor. You bring up sound points, but I agree with Glorfindel. I sensed her as she passed the protections of Imladris, both times. She has no ill intent, though she guarded her mind fiercely when we finally spoke, little though we did. I believe she is merely cautious and wary, and truthfully, she has had cause to be. I know the Istari are not aware of her, though Mithrandír might have some insight of them all, as he is the one who comes into contact with the rangers most often, and mostly their Chieftains. If he has met this Lady Ára and said nothing of it to me, or anyone else, then there is nothing to worry about. If he has not, then perhaps she was not supposed to reveal herself.”

“I still do not like it, though you are correct. I too sense no ill intent from her.” Erestor sighed. “I simply do not understand, and you both know I do not like what I do not understand.”

Both Glorfindel and Elrond laughed softly at that.

“Well, perhaps we will have the time to understand, now that she is here. If her purpose is indeed guarding the line of Isildur, she will best be able to do that in Imladris, if we are indeed fostering Gilraen and Arathorn’s son.”

“It is getting late,” Elrond said. “We shall all speak tomorrow, and perhaps have a private meeting with the Lady Ára herself after we make arrangements for Gilraen and my new foster son.”

“So you plan to adopt him in truth into the House of Elrond?” Erestor asked?

Elrond’s gaze turned distant once more as he nodded. “I forsee that as being the best path. I Saw it as soon as I laid eyes on the boy when they crossed the first bridge.”

“Well, goodnight then my friends!” Glorfindel smiled before rising from his seat and exiting the study. He still felt a bit hazy from his first meeting with the Lady Ára, and a bit giddy as well. He had known the Valar had gifted him with more Power after he had been reborn and sent back to Middle-Earth, and he had even had instances of such power manifest themselves several times since. With the Witch-King, and when he had met each of the Istari. He had disliked Saruman on sight, though dearly liked Mithrandír. Radagast he liked well enough as well, though he had barely any contact with the Brown Wizard, and he had never met the Blue Wizards.

What then, did this mean, this feeling, of his potential relation in regards to the Lady Ára?

Ára had slept very well after bathing and eating. The clothing she was sent was very fine, almost too fine, and she suspected that either Lord Elrond or Lord Glorfindel had said something to whoever procured the sage-green dress and matching slippers. The food was decent, cheese and fruit and bread, and substantial enough to cure her hunger, but nothing extraordinary due to the late hour in which it was given.

But the bath, that had been the best part of the entire evening. She had waited until very late to head to the baths, asking directions from the elleth who had come to her rooms, a bundle of clothing in one arm, and a plate of food balanced in the other hand. Ára had been insistent in that she needed no help with bathing, and quietly and quickly thanked the elleth before getting her out of the apartment’s sitting room. Once the girl who called herself Oroneth  left her alone, Ára had quickly eaten, then began to remove the multitude of weapons still strapped to her body.

Ára’s bow and quiver had already been placed next to the chair she had sunk into earlier, and Ára removed her sword, two long knives, and four daggers, two from her boots, one from her arm, and one from her sword belt when she had gone into the bedroom and placed them on the chest at the end of the bed. She would have placed them on the bed itself, but the pale blue silk bedding would have been dirtied quite easily and so Ára refrained.

Ára had stripped out of her traveling garb until all she wore were her under tunic and trousers, and shucked the rest of her clothing into the basket next to the chest at the end of her bed. She figured that even if it wasn’t meant to be a laundry basket, she could use it for such tonight, and ask where she could wash her clothing tomorrow when she met with the Lords, as she knew she would.

The baths had been empty when she finally got there, and it seemed as if it was Lord Elrond’s family’s personal bathing house, as she could see lables on the shelves naming to who each of the bottles lined upon them belonged to. Oroneth had given Ára a small bag of toiletries, along with a wooden comb, with the bundle of fresh clothing she had left with Ára, and that small bag, along with the chemise and dressing gown was all Ára took with her to the bath house.

The water was clean, probably refilled after Gilraen and her son had taken their own baths, but also cold due to Ára waiting so long. That was a small matter, as Ára simply flicked her wrist at the water and soon steam was rising from the large, stone bath. Ára was always so thankful for her magic, and always more so when she was alone and could use it to her heart’s content. She normally shied away from using any Power, even around the few who knew of her nature, as she understood it only marked her difference to everyone else even more starkly than her coloring.

As she combed her now dry hair in the early morning, Ára had to praise whoever mixed the shampoo and conditioning creams she’d been given to use the night before. Her hair was softer than she had felt it to be in quite a long time, the only comparable times being when she visited Minas Tirith and bought the expensive solutions from the fourth level of the city, and it was tangle free. Ah, the miracles of good hair creams.

Dressed in a finely embroidered elven dress, hair hanging free and long down both shoulders and her back, tall as Ára was, she was shocked at the overall image that looked back at her in the mirror. She could even pass for an Elf, dressed and clean as she was. Ára did not often have the chance nor even the desire or purpose to look into a full-length mirror, and on the rare occasions she looked at her face into a smaller mirror within Gilraen and Arathorn’s own home, she was usually half-dirty, and her hair either braided back or tied up into the old pony-tail style she used to wear before Námo took her and placed her in Arda.

Staring back at her now, she looked very much like she imagined other Maia could look if they chose to take on a Hröa. Her skin was glowing softly, almost not enough to notice, but she knew other Elves and Maiar Spirits would, and her eyes were bright and filled with light. Light she knew only those who had seen the Two-Trees in Aman, or that the Ainur possessed. She had never really noticed the bright sheen in her eyes, and perhaps she had always sub-consciously dimmed it to appear more human-like. Perhaps it was finally being in an Elven settlement, feeling the Power of its protection and the sense of peace and timelessness which Imladris offered that brought most of her full nature to bear in sight.

Ára almost thought to dim that light, but then refrained. She was sure she was already outed as not being of mortal kind, the least she could do was not try to hide her nature. She would not volunteer information, but she would not lie either. But she would never tell of having been essentially remade in the Halls of Mandos before being brought to Middle-Earth. Perhaps Lord Glorfindel might one day earn that story, if he vowed never to tell anyone, as he was the only one on this shore who had gone through the Halls. But she would not be telling anyone anytime soon.

A soft knock interrupted her thoughts and Ára knew the time for confrontation and reveals had finally come. She hoped at least Gilraen and Aragorn’s situation would be dealt with first, though, as it would have a direct impact on what she decided to answer and how fully.

“Come in,” she called, as she turned from the mirror and walked to the sitting room in the apartment.

As Ára cleared the door to the bedroom, shutting it behind her, she already knew who had been sent to fetch her. She could sense Oroneth’s presence, as she had met the elleth the night before and Ára had keen senses for auras and souls.

“My Lady, Lord Elrond requests your presence in his study.”

Ára turned around to face the elleth, and Oroneth gasped. Ára sighed internally, knowing the inquisition was to start now, with this maid being only the first to question her.

“You are an elf, my Lady?”

Ára shook her head. “No, Oroneth, I am not.” Ára could have lifted her hair aside to show her more rounded ears to Oroneth, but decided not to. It wasn’t really the elleth’s business, and there were more important things to do now. “When does Lord Elrond expect me?”

The swift change back to business, brisk as it was, made Oroneth straighten her posture and clear her face. So, Ára thought, the elleth was probably not very young if she could control herself that well.

“Now, if you are ready, my Lady. I was charged to lead you there.”

Ára nodded. “Very well, I am as prepared as I can be.”

Oroneth turned and Ára made to follow her, a step behind and beside the elleth.

“Lord Elrond has bid me inform you that breakfast will be served in his study for his guests, Lord Glorfindel, and Lord Erestor.”

“That is well. Will Gilraen’s son also be joining us this early?”

“Little Estel will be watched over by Lord Elrond’s sons, so he is not awake at this hour.”

Estel, Ára wondered? Why would they…

“I see.”

In short order, Oroneth led her to an unassuming, off-white door. It was a quick walk, having only taken them down the hall of Lord Elrond’s living quarters, and a right turn. At least she would be able to find herself back to her room quite easily.

Oroneth knocked only once before the door was opened by Lord Erestor, who looked at Ára with wide eyes. Internally Ára smirked. Perhaps allowing most of her nature to be visible would be fun.

Oroneth curtsied and turned away silently while Lord Erestor stood aside and motioned Ára to come in the room. Inside, already seated, were Gilraen and Lord Glorfindel in front of Lord Elrond’s large, oak desk. Lord Elrond himself was seated behind, and so Ára decided to sit in the other armchair next to Gilraen instead of the small couch next to Lord Glorfindel, who was also looking at her with wide, eyes, though his were knowing and also filled with mirth.

Ára didn’t even see Lord Erestor sit next to Lord Glorfindel as she turned her gaze to Lord Elrond, after nodding a silent hello to Gilraen. He also looked upon her with widened grey eyes, and they too held a similar knowledge as his captain’s, before he smiled slightly.

It was, however, Gilraen who spoke first. “You look different, Ára. If I did not know any better, I would assume you were as elven as the Lords here.” Her tone was teasing, though also held a hint of surprise as well. Of course, Gilraen had never seen as much of Ára’s nature as she was seeing now, but she was the only one in the room whom Ára had told her secret to. Aragorn was to find out when he was older, or perhaps a bit sooner than he normally would, now that they were all in Imladris.

Ára nearly snorted as she turned to look at Gilraen, but could not suppress the small smirk that came out. “Of course I do. Why do you think I never went to Imladris or Lóthlorien before?”

That did make Gilraen laugh, as both women could tell the Lords had been speculating about Ára since the night before. Gilraen was sharp, and very intelligent. It was part of the reason Ára liked her as much as she did. In part, she reminded Ára of her grandfather’s friend, Hermione Granger. The two looked nothing alike, Gilraen was much taller than the older woman had ever been, but the keen glint in their eyes was near identical, and Gilraen was a quick-witted as the older woman had ever been, even if Gilraen was only in her twenties.

Lord Elrond cleared his throat and both Gilraen and Ára brought their mutual attention back to the Lord.

“Yes, that will be something we would like to discuss,” he said, grey eyes piercing, but a small quirk upwards on his lips. “However, I would first like to address, in more detail than we did last night,” he nodded to Gilraen, “of you and your son.”

“Of course, my Lord,” Gilraen replied.

Elrond waved her off. “Please, at least when we are in private, you may dispense with titles.” He smiled fully then, humor shining in his eyes. “I am really not all that attached to them, to be honest. If I could get away with it, I would be a simple healer and a scholar, and leave the leading of people to others older and wiser than myself.”

This caused Lord Glorfindel to snort before laughing fully. “Thousands of years later, and you still cannot fathom being one of The Wise, my dear Lord Elrond.”

Elrond shot a quelling look at Lord Glorfindel before he too laughed shortly and smiled.

“No, my friend. I simply have come to understand the amount of paperwork inherent with the role.”

This caused Lord Erestor to snort once, though he said nothing.

Turning back to Gilraen, Elrond continued. “As I said last night, I will foster your son, as I have fostered many of those descended from my brother. However, I would also like to adopt him.”

Gilraen nodded, he had said as much the night before Ára guessed. But perhaps they had not spoken over-long. “What exactly does that mean, Lo- Elrond?”

Elrond brought a hand to his chin, though he kept eye contact with Gilraen. “It would mean, along with him adopting a new name, which I insist on to protect him most of all, that he would be counted among my household, as my son, my child, just as Elrohír, Elladan, and Arwen are my children. He will be educated as they were, though perhaps with more emphasis on Men and their kingdoms. He will, in short, have the education a prince would need to become king, with all the skills therein. The most important, however, is that he will always be able to call Imladris his home, whether I rule here or one of my sons does.”

Gilraen smiled, tears brightening her eyes, and nodded. “Thank you.”

Elrond folded his hands, placing them on his desk, and smiled kindly once again. “Of course, this means you are welcome to call my home yours as well, and we will set up an apartment for you too. I will assume you want Estel to live with you until he is old enough to have his own rooms?”

“Yes, thank you.”

Ára remained silent, along with Lord Erestor and Lord Glorfindel as Lord Elrond and Gilraen spoke more. The discussion wasn’t short, but it wasn’t over-long either. Lord Erestor would be teaching Aragorn, newly christened Estel— and the name change made sense to Ára, even as she mourned Aragorn’s temporary loss of his heritage due to the decision, as he would not be told the truth of his bloodline until after he was at least of age— and Lord Glorfindel, along with Lord Elrond’s sons and other members of the Guard, would train Estel in weapons, woodcraft, and war.

The breakfast they ate while holding the discussion was a simple fare, though better than the late supper which Ára ate the night before. More fruits, cheesses, and breads. Gilraen was the only one to take any meat. Even if Ára could have done so, and she knew Elves did eat meat while in the wilds or traveling, if they did not have lembas or other rations, Ára was aware that her nature was known, at least in part, and did not want to offend the Elven Lords.

Gilraen had noticed Ára’s abstinence if the look she’d shot Ára was any indication but thankfully said nothing. Ára assumed, sharp-minded as Gilraen was, that Gilraen understood exactly Ára’s reasons for forgoing the meats.

Throughout the morning, Lord Elrond had sent both Lord Erestor and Lord Glorfindel in and out of the room to make the arrangements discussed. If Ára had not seen the planning and council sessions the Dúnedain held, she would have thought it the smoothest session she had ever been part of, due to how quickly and easily everything was arranged.

Near the lunch hour, however, Ára knew it was her turn to be the subject of discussion, and she dreaded it. Of course, Gilraen was aware of Ára’s purpose and nature, for the most part, even if she did not fully understand, due to her young age and being mortal, but now Gilraen would for the first time see how those immortal beings, and some of the Wise would see Ára and her situation.

“At last it comes to you, Lady Ára,” Lord Elrond said once both Lord Erestor and Lord Glorfindel had been back in the study for a time.

Ára said nothing, merely raising an eyebrow, though she caught a near silent laugh from Gilraen.

Lord Elrond looked both stern and amused due to it. Stern, for Ára’s sake, and amused due to Gilraen’s amusement. He said nothing of that however.

“I shall be blunt,” he warned. “What reason has one of the Spirits been so closely tied with the Dúnedain, specifically the line of Isildur, for the better part of this Age?”

Ára wanted to both groan and laugh. The room was very silent then, as she thought of how to answer. But before she could, Gilraen interrupted, teasing.

“I told you that sooner or later you would have to come out of hiding, dear,” she said, as if she were the older of the two and Ára had not had centuries upon centuries of life over Gilraen.

Ára snorted, deciding to try and be good-natured, merely due to Gilraen’s presence, and answered the woman, not the Elven Lord seated across from her.

“I was not hiding! I am friends with Gildor, as well you know Gilraen. If he has seen fit not to speak of me to anyone he comes in contact with, and I know he has been to Imladris many, many times over the centuries, than that is not my fault.”

This statement seemed to shock all three Lords in the room.

“Gildor Inglorion knows of you?” Lord Erestor finally spoke up.

Lord Elrond looked both surprised and amused, as did Lord Glorfindel. Ára simply felt smug. Sure, she avoided elves, but Gildor was in a class all his own, and he was also a demanding ellon. He had also met more than one Maia, and knew her nature before Ára could attempt to hide it, the first time they had crossed paths. He had sworn not to reveal her to anyone, until she revealed herself, after she explained why. It would not do to have the enemy, or any of the dark forces, come to know of her existence, while she guarded the remnants of those of the greatest Houses of Men.

Ára sighed. “Yes, he does. We crossed paths many centuries ago, and have stayed in contact as we are able since then. He, like Gilraen, teases me about my so called hiding, though that has served its purpose.”

Lord Elrond merely raised an eyebrow.

“And what purpose was that?” Lord Glorfindel asked.

Ára shot him a look filled with so much contempt then that he blinked in surprise. “As Captain of Imladris, and with your unique history, I would have thought that to be obvious.”

Lord Glorfindel blinked again and his brows furrowed before his eyes cleared in understanding.

“If the enemy knew there was someone like myself guarding the line of Kings, even more attention would be drawn to them. Of course I have failed, as evidenced by Arathorn’s passing.” Ára shot an apologetic look at Gilraen, who had teared up some, but the woman simply waved it away.

“You cannot have been by his side, nor any others, every hour of every day. And once Aragorn, Estel, was born, you were better placed to ride beside him and myself, as he was obviously incapable of protecting himself. If we had known the Heirs of Isildur were being so zealously hunted, perhaps we would have taken more precaution in our movements, but even then, you would have been near my son, not my husband.”

Ára nodded, for Gilraen spoke the truth, but it did not lessen her guilt. They had all known the Heirs of Isildur had recently been hunted arduously, as Arathorn had come into contact with more orcs lately than his father had in his younger years. It was truly good fortune that Gilraen’s son had survived the ambush.

“So you were sent to guard the line of Kings, then?” Lord Elrond intoned thoughtfully. It was both a question and a statement.

Ára shook her head in denial, however, because while that had become her purpose since the time of Wandering, it had not been assigned to her originally.

“No, not at first, no. I was sent to Middle-Earth at the end of the Second Age, shortly after Sauron had been defeated at the end of the Last Alliance.”

This caused all in the room to straighten, even Gilraen. For Ára had never told Gilraen, or anyone, really, of her initial years in Arda.

“Why then, surely we could have used help during that war?” Lord Erestor barked out, somewhat angry and shocked.

“You could not have,” Ára retorted confidently. “I implore you to remember the War of Wrath,” even if I did not exist, then, Ára thought to herself. “My…Power, such as it is, would have torn enemy and ally apart, if I had truly let go in that battle, and there is no telling if I would have been able to stand against Dark Lord of Mordor himself. It may yet come to that, but that was not to be my purpose, regardless.” Ára paused, turning to look at the wall behind Lord Elrond, eyes distant in thought.

“Perhaps I could have stood toe-to-toe with him, fallen as he was, but I am unsure. I know there would have been much more damage to the world, however, if I had been involved in that war, and I was not present on these shores at that time, regardless. I have often wondered, over the centuries, why I was not put here then, to pit myself against him, but I do not know the minds of the Powers, and certainly not the mind of The One. Would history have played out differently if I had been? Almost certainly. But who is to say that instead of a Dark Lord you would have had a Dark Lady instead?” Ára shook her head.

“If my understanding of the Rings of Power,” here, Ára glanced towards Lord Elrond’s hand, briefly, where one such ring was worn, before turning her burning gaze to Lord Erestor with such strength that the ellon recoiled slightly, “is any good, then I would have been the one the One Ring called to most. Lord Elrond himself did not take by force that which Isildur cut from Sauron’s hand and took for himself, and there was a very good reason for it. Otherwise, I am sure, the One Ring would either be in his hands, or have been unmade then.”

Here, said Lord interrupted. “She is correct, Erestor. If taken by force or theft, if not given over by free-will, the One Ring will corrupt absolutely. It is, in part, why Isildur could not throw it into the fires of Orodurin at the end.” Lord Elrond sighed, and rubbed at his temples. “I would not have any Maia Spirit hold onto that Ring, for in the hands of those with great Power, would the Ring be even more dangerous. As it is, it has been lost.”

Ára nodded in thanks for his understanding and continued to speak, still looking at the scowling Lord Erestor. “There is enough darkness in this world, and I know myself well enough to understand that what Power I do hold, and it is not small, would have only added greatly to the dark taint in Middle-Earth should I have possession of that Artifact. Would I be tempted? I do not truly believe so, as the shadow throughout these lands is enough to make me feel sick, and doubtless the One Ring is corrupted enough to put the collective shadow upon the lands to shame. But, I would not want to find out.” Ára’s visage darkened in remembrance as she turned to stare at the wall again.

“I have fought against the forces of Darkness before,” she said, remembering the last war of wizards she had been involved in before her death and rebirth into Arda. Before her remaking, such as it was. “I have dealt with dark artifacts, destroyed them, and destroyed dark forces before. But never have I had experience with such the likes of the One Ring which Sauron poured a part of himself, a shard of his very Fëa into.”

Gilraen gasped while the three Lords shuddered.

“What do you mean, part of his Fëa, Lady Ára?” Lord Glorfindel asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Ára faced him then. “Please, as Lord Elrond counseled Gilraen earlier this morning, dispense with the formality of titles. Simply Ára will do, thank you.” At the Lord’s nod, Ára continued. “The only way, to my understanding, for that Ring to have gained its great Power and near sentience, was to have been imbued with part of Sauron’s soul. Others have done similar things. Fëanor himself poured part of his soul into the Silmarili, and when the Lady Varda hallowed them… Well, she did not understand then, no one did, what might happen due to such a thing.”

This made all fall silent in pondering for a time, due to the darkened mood and atmosphere.

“Well,” Lord Elrond finally started, “as interesting a discussion as the crafting of Fëa-imbued items might be, I believe we have other business to discuss. Lady Ára—“

“Please, just Ára will do,” Ára sighed.

Lord Elrond nodded. “The same to you, then. I assume, with Gilraen’s son placed here, that you would not oppose a similar arrangement for yourself?”

Ára’s lips curled in amusement. “Are you offering to adopt me, my Lord?” she drawled.

Elrond barked out in surprised laughter. “No, not at all. I would think that strange indeed. A maia for a daughter!”

Ára smirked. “Well, you are of Melian’s bloodline. Perhaps it is I who should adopt you, cousin from afar.”

At her statement, Elrond’s smile turned wistful but happy. “Cousin indeed, and one I find who has been watching over my own long-nephews and nieces. Perhaps we shall adopt each other, my Lady.”

Ára laughed this time, and she knew then she would come to like Elrond very much indeed.

“Though we look nothing alike, dear cousin, how shall we convince your people of our shared relation, distant though it be?”

“I am sure if Elrond simply states he has found a kinsman, the people of Imladris will accept it as fact, even though you do truly look nothing alike, fair as you are and dark as he is!” Lord Glorfindel exclaimed with a wide grin and shining blue eyes.

Gilraen was laughing silently next to her, and even Erestor had an amused smile on his face.

“Hmm, I suppose I can slum it in the house of my newfound cousin, especially since my most recent charge shall be dwelling here as well,” Ára concluded.

Elrond barked laughter again, and even Gilraen snorted. “Slumming indeed, my friend,” Gilraen mused. “In such a fine house as this, how will you ever find the ability to become dirty and smelly?”

All in the room laughed, and that was that. Ára was to live in the House of Elrond, and though it was mostly a joke, Ára could tell Elrond had also been serious about claiming her as a distant cousin. She supposed she was, as a Maia. Ára had never met Melian, or indeed any other Maia, before the Lord and Judge of the Dead had shucked her off to Middle-Earth, but she was aware that the Maiar spirits counted each other as brothers, sisters, and cousins. As family.

In that way, she supposed she had found family again, here in Imladris, and she smiled happily.

It had been a long time since she counted herself part of a family in truth.