In The Light of the Valar (LOTR) (ELROND

3: The Weight of Words

Elrond stood at the large oak desk, fingers hovering over the parchment that awaited his ink. Outside, the afternoon light spilled in through the tall windows, casting long beams of golden light across the room. Peace had graced Lindon for some time now, and with it, the monotony of court life had settled over him like a well-worn cloak. Day in, day out, the duties of a scribe, an advisor, and a diplomat filled his hours, but lately, there was a restlessness he could not name.

Still, he was nothing if not devoted to his duties, and today was no different. A request had been made, or rather, a command. Ereinion Gil-galad, the High King, had asked him to write a letter to his daughter, Lúthien Faelivrin. She had been away from Lindon for many years, and now, the king required her presence at court. Yet it wasn't a simple summons. It was personal, imbued with the longing of a father who missed his daughter. And Elrond had been tasked with conveying that sentiment.

He picked up the quill, its tip gleaming with fresh ink, and paused.

How does one write a letter to someone they've never met, on behalf of a king, no less?

Elrond knew of Lúthien only by name, spoken in the hushed tones of court gossip. Her absence had always been a mystery, her adventures in Middle-earth the subject of much speculation. But beyond that, she was an enigma to him. Her father's request made clear the urgency, yet the tone of the letter required delicacy—a balance between authority and affection.

He sighed, setting the quill down once more. This would not be easy.

The first draft came quickly, but as soon as the words were down, he found himself dissatisfied.

Lady Lúthien,

Your presence is required in Lindon by command of King Gil-galad. He bids you return at once, for matters that concern your family and your role here at court.

Elrond frowned, the quill scratching against the paper as he crossed out the lines. Too formal. Too distant. It sounded like a summons to a stranger, not a message from a father to his daughter.

He pulled a fresh piece of parchment from the stack and began again, choosing his words carefully.

Dearest Lúthien,

Your father, the High King, desires your swift return to Lindon. He speaks often of you, and it is clear to all that your absence weighs heavily upon his heart. There are matters of great importance that require your attention, but more than that, your father longs to see you once more.

Elrond sat back, eyes scanning the lines. Better, but still not quite right. The sentiment was there, yet it felt as if it were teetering on the edge of emotion, not quite plunging into the depths he knew Gil-galad would want expressed. The High King wasn't just a ruler; he was a father who missed his child. The letter needed to reflect that.

Another crumpled draft joined the growing pile on the floor.

Elrond rubbed his temples, frustration creeping in. This wasn't a simple report, where every word could be calculated, weighed, and measured for political effect. This was something far more delicate, and he was not used to such deeply personal affairs. In truth, he had no idea what kind of relationship Gil-galad had with his daughter. That was part of the difficulty.

He dipped the quill in ink once more and stared at the blank page in front of him. The light from outside had dimmed slightly, a cloud passing over the sun, casting the room into softer hues of amber and gray.

What could he say that would make her feel the weight of her father's longing without pressing her too hard?

Lúthien Faelivrin,

Your father, the High King, bids you return to Lindon as soon as you are able. It is not only the matters of state that require your presence, but the heart of your father that longs for his daughter's company once more. Your absence has been deeply felt, and he desires nothing more than to have you by his side again.

He paused, reading the words aloud under his breath. This felt closer. More balanced.

A small smile tugged at his lips as he imagined Lúthien reading the letter. What would she think of this? He didn't know her, yet the image of her—a warrior, a traveler—flickered in his mind. What would bring her back to court? Would it be duty? Love for her father? Or something else entirely?

Satisfied with the phrasing, Elrond carefully folded the parchment, sliding it into an envelope sealed with the wax of the king's crest. He rose from his chair, feeling the ache in his legs from sitting too long, and made his way to Gil-galad's chambers.

The High King's study was filled with the soft murmur of parchment being turned and the occasional clink of metal as his advisors arranged maps and reports. Elrond approached, bowing his head as he extended the letter.

Gil-galad looked up from his desk, a flicker of curiosity in his eyes as he took the envelope. He opened it carefully, the wax seal breaking with a soft crack. The silence that followed was filled only by the soft rustling of the parchment as the king's eyes moved over Elrond's carefully chosen words.

For a moment, Elrond wondered if he had missed something. If perhaps, after all that effort, he had not captured the king's intent. But then Gil-galad smiled.

"Perfect," the king said, his voice warm, if not a little wistful. He handed the letter to one of the guards nearby, who bowed before leaving to dispatch the message.

Elrond exhaled, tension he hadn't realized he'd been holding leaving his shoulders. It was not often that he doubted his skill with words, but this had been a rare exception.

"She will come," Gil-galad said softly, as though speaking more to himself than to Elrond. "She must."

Elrond nodded, unsure of how to respond. The king's gaze turned distant for a moment, as if recalling memories from long ago. Then, just as quickly, he returned to the present, his sharp eyes back on Elrond.

"You have my thanks," Gil-galad said, his tone once more that of the king and not the father. "There is much to prepare for. When she returns, I will need you by my side."

"Of course, my lord," Elrond replied, bowing his head once more.

As he left the study, the weight of the letter no longer in his hands, Elrond couldn't help but wonder what this woman—this Lúthien—was like. What kind of person had Gil-galad raised? What sort of daughter had ventured into Middle-earth, leaving the safety and serenity of Lindon behind? And most importantly, what role would she play upon her return?

He did not yet know the answers to these questions, but something about this task—the simple writing of a letter—had stirred something deep within him.

The peace of Lindon was a fragile thing, he knew. Perhaps it would not last forever. Perhaps her return would mark the beginning of something new.

For now, though, all Elrond could do was wait.