The valley woke in sunlight, the waters of Rivendell flashing like silver threads between emerald slopes. The Riders stirred to warmth and birdsong, tended by gentle hands, their wounds bound in soft cloth, their bodies eased by food and rest. Yet even here, grief lay heavy.
At midday, Lord Elrond summoned them.
They entered a hall of flowing banners and carved stone, where Elrond sat beneath the great tapestries of his house. His gaze swept them, kind yet unyielding, and he bid them tell their tale. Haltingly, the Riders spoke of the battle on the plains the ambush, the fire, the blood. Of Brandt, no one spoke long, though his absence hung like a shadow over every word.
When they finished, Elrond inclined his head. "Great sorrow has walked with you. But you are not forsaken. Rest now, for this house is built for healing, and here you may find peace."
The Riders bowed, and were dismissed.
But as Edwen turned to follow, Elrond's voice called him back.
"Stay."
The hall emptied, leaving only them the Lord of Rivendell, and the heir of Rohan.
Elrond rose and descended the steps, his robes flowing like water. His eyes studied Edwen, not with judgment, but with a depth that reached into marrow.
"You bear yourself as one twice your years," he said, "yet your spirit is storm-tossed. I see sorrow pressed hard upon you, and the shadow of a choice unmade. You would carry it alone, but I tell you now you must not."
Edwen stiffened. "I am their commander. I cannot falter before them."
Elrond's hand came to rest upon his shoulder, firm yet gentle. "And so you come close to breaking. I have lived long, Edwen. I have seen many young ones men and elves both crushed beneath burdens they thought only theirs to bear. You are not the first, and you need not be the last."
The words broke something loose in Edwen's chest. His voice came rough, almost pleading. "I have already told them my mother, my stepfather. Even your daughter, last night, when grief overcame me. I thought speaking it aloud would lessen the weight. But it grows heavier still. My life stretches long before me, and all I see are graves."
Elrond's gaze softened, though sorrow flickered in its depths. "Ah. You have seen much too soon."
He led Edwen to a wide balcony overlooking the valley. Eagles wheeled high above, their wings catching the sun. Elrond gestured toward them.
"Do you see them? The eagle does not crawl among the rocks, fearing the fall. It soars, though the winds are fierce. That is what it means to be elf-born, Edwen. To endure, yes but also to rise. To hold memory not as a chain, but as wings. You will outlast many, that is true. But in that outlasting, you will also preserve beauty others would forget. You will carry laughter, and song, and love, long after the voices that made them are gone."
He turned, his voice low but firm. "That is no curse. That is your gift. Not all are chosen to be keepers of memory. You are."
Edwen's throat tightened, golden eyes burning. "But it hurts. It hurts so much."
Elrond's hand tightened on his shoulder, steady as stone. "And it will, again and again. But pain is not the whole of it. Your years are not only burden. They are space for joy stretched long, for love unending, for wisdom that grows like deep roots. Do not let grief blind you to that truth. You are young yet. One day, you will see it."
For a long moment, Edwen said nothing. He only stared at the sky, at the great birds wheeling in sunlight, and wondered if he could ever rise as they did.
Elrond released his shoulder at last, though his gaze lingered with something like fondness. "Come to me again, when the weight grows too heavy. Do not bear it in silence. No student of mine will be left to crawl when he was born to soar."
Something inside Edwen shifted then not healed, not whole, but steadier. For the first time since the plains, he felt that his grief had been seen not as weakness, but as the shadow of strength yet unshaped.
He bowed. "Thank you, my lord."
Elrond smiled faintly, as though he had heard such words many times across long ages. "Not my lord, Edwen. My student, if you will have it."
And in that moment, the heir of Rohan found not just shelter, but a mentor one who would teach him how to carry the long years not as a chain, but as wings.