[Envinyatar]

Two brothers on the eve of battle

Lord Elrond did not sleep. There was much yet to be seen to; final discussions with his captains; reports gleaned from the many scouts he had sent out; the disposition of the Elves from Lorien; and that of the Dwarves who had offered their axes and their aid.

Even now, he neared the small encampment of the Children of Aulë. Walking softly through the cloud darkened night he paused, his eyes taking stock of these new allies. For a moment, the clouds thinned in their veiling of the moon’s light, revealing his tall form. In the pale light, his face seemed ageless, though in it were written the memory of many things both glad and sorrowful. His hair was dark as twilight shadows. And even now the clouds parted and it seemed a circlet of silvered moonlight was set upon it. His eyes, hidden in darkness by the late hour were grey and clear. And when the moonlight fell across the planes of his face, his eyes glinted with a deep light, like the light of stars. For one brief moment he seemed already a mighty Lord, and as hale as any tried warrior in his prime.

Then the darkness obscured the light once more, an ill wind blowing from the east drove the clouds before the pale, ringed moon. The last sliver of light caught the Elf’s lips as they twitched with a smile. He bade the captain who walked with him to stay for a moment; he had something to attend to. The captain, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword, watched with a furrowed brow as Lord Elrond made his way through the small party of Dwarves. One, he noted, who’d been set to guard, rose up as Elrond approached and spoke with him. The captain’s hand tightened now about the grip of his blade and then as quickly relaxed as the Dwarf gave a small bow to Elrond and a few quiet words were said between them.

-----

Elrond approached the two Dwarves he’d noted, wrapped snug in their bedrolls, side by side. One, he knew was deep in sleep; the other trying his best to seem so. He crouched down by the posing sleeper, his Elven brows arched, a stern look on his face.

‘Bror Stonecut!’ he whispered, his eyes glinting as the Dwarf struggled up from his blankets. ‘Did I just see you meddling in some way with one of my warriors?’ He lifted his chin, pointing over to where Skald lay, snoring softly. ‘Whatever has been done by you, I would hope will not interfere with his ability to fight. Will it?’

Before Bror could muster an answer, the merry sound of soft laughter broke up the serious demeanor of the Elven lord. ‘I, too, have a brother, my Dwarf friend,’ he went on more quietly. ‘And many’s the time we have played pranks of all sorts on one another. It lightens my heart, in these grave days, to see that other brothers hold true to the tradition.’ His eyes glimmered in grey pools of his own long memory.

‘But, we stand on the eve of a great battle. And one that I fear will go hard against this small band. Make sure that when your brother wakes, and you’ve had your laugh, you make full amends. Nothing is stronger proof against one’s foes than the close heart and strong arm of a brother.’

His captain had come, and now bent down to whisper in Lord Elrond’s ear. Several of the scouts had come in – those who had managed to get close to the city. They brought alarming news. The attack had begun . . .