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Aranarth was nervous about going to Rivendell. Though like any of the blood of Numenor he had a respect for history, he wondered if the tales of the valley had been truly passed down accurately. He had met elves and men of all kinds, but none like the being rumored to live in these hills.
When taking refuge in Lindon, he had asked the elven lord Cirdan for tales of his the lord of the secret valley. Cirdan had said that Lord Elrond had been such a kind lad, and it was a pity that he had moved away, but of course he had to leave while he could still slither out the palace doors. That was far from reassuring.
But the truth was, Aranarth was out of options, and needed every ally he could get. Earnur of Gondor had helped defeat the witch king, but had no one to spare to help rebuild the kingdom of Arthedain, far from his land as it was. Perhaps the Dunedain of the north could have immigrated to Gondor, if they were willing to surrender their guardianship of the whole land, but Aranarth didn’t think he would be welcome with his own stronger claim to the crown. Cirdan and the elves of Lindon had already lost one ship helping Aranarth’s father Arvedui, and though the elf lord would not kick them out, Aranarth could already feel himself thinking more about centuries than years, his time relaxing to an elven sense. The Snowmen of Forochel he knew little about; they had helped his father but he could not envision living so far from any trees and where so little grew.
Aranarth would go to Rivendell, and see what aid he could find. Lord Elrond was a kinsman, even if very distant, and perhaps would be moved to help. A land with enough food for a dragon could surely house a few hundred Men for a short while, or perhaps just the ones too old to fight.
Aranarth packed what finery he had escaped with from Fornost. Better to approach as much of a peer as much as he could, rather than a beggar. With no crown, no city, and no throne, he was not a king, but he still led his people. Lord Elrond was not a king either, he eschewed the title - perhaps because he could not find a castle large enough. Aranarth quashed that line of thought, as it would do no good to begin the encounter terrified of his own imagination. He told his wife that if he was not back by midwinter he had met with accident, with no wish to travel the mountains in snow.
No one in Arnor had taken to the path to Rivendell in centuries, but Aranarth knew where to begin at least. He took the road down out of the Blue Mountains, through the land of the halflings, through the remains of his old kingdom, past the ruins of the witch king’s fell realm. It was a lonely journey, with only his pack horse for company, but Aranarth would not risk any of his people to the rumored monster.
When the land began to rise again he looked around for a branching path. He felt suddenly the urge to raise some token and shout his name, as his ancestor Beren had done so long ago, but the ring of Barahir had been lost with his father. He sang instead, the histories he knew in Sindarin, and the old lullaby his mother said had been passed down through the queens of Gondor since the days of Meneldil, and perhaps from Numenor itself. Whatever its origin, the words were in Quenya and hopefully would mark him as a friend. He had to focus not to slip to the more familiar syllables of Sindarin, but there was only one path to follow.
Until his feet stumbled, and he saw a trail leading down into a gorge that looked just like any other.
Aranarth resolved to follow the trail for no more than a day, unless he saw some sign. The great elk crashed through bushes in herds one after another, and often left trails that could be mistaken for a deliberate path. He had no wish to end up lost in the woods with no way to return to his people.
Luckily, someone met him while the afternoon sun was still shining through the trees. The elf welcomed Aranarth to the valley, not seeming to be concerned with how he had found it, or if he might mean danger.
Aranarth introduced himself, and asked if he might speak to the lord of the valley.
“He’s sleeping now, but doesn’t have any other guests to greet this evening. Do you want someone to find you as soon as he wakes up, or wait until after dinner?”
“After dinner would be just fine,” Aranarth said quickly. Lord Elrond would surely be in a more receptive mood to his pleas if Aranarth didn’t disrupt his normal routines. And might not eat him if he’d just had dinner.
Rivendell was a beautiful city, with wide corridors in the main hall, though the guest suite prepared for Aranarth was a more reasonable size. A bridge made of living tree roots crossed the canyon halfway up the sheer sides, connecting the path Aranarth had taken down to a trail that wound into the mountain tops.
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Aranarth left the feast hall and went to the second largest building in the valley. Erestor the steward had pointed out the way, and had assured him that Lord Elrond was very used to everyone else taking longer to get places than he did, and would not be impatient at Aranarth arriving at any particular time in the evening. But to close the door behind him, even in spring like now Lord Elrond didn’t like the cold night air in his nest.
Aranarth had fought in plenty of battles when it was too late to run. He went on.
The room inside the doors was vast indeed, the walls on either side father than he could shoot an arrow, the ceiling higher than tree tops. There was a lower wall scarcely a dozen paces from the door, tiled with irregular strips of a dusky purple against a pale grey. It seemed an odd color choice to him, not displaying any particular allegiance or showing a clear motif, but the color repeated on the archway above a high window.
Movement in the far corner of the room drew his eye. A hand longer than Aranarth's full height set down a bundle of leaves with a charred brand sticking out the end.
Aranarth suddenly realized the wall in front of him was the body of a snake. So long it crossed the whole room, and coiled up behind that as well - the odd lumps against the side walls moved too, they weren’t just odd architectural flourishes hiding smaller rooms. A snake bigger than dragons, as thick around as the watch towers on the walls of Fornost Erain.
Aranarth set his legs shoulder-width apart and kept his weight low. He had left his sword in his room, and in truth there was little he could have done even with it, but he could draw on his battle-instincts not to freeze in the face of danger. As much as he had hoped the accounts to be tall tales, they had not prepared him for the sheer size of Lord Elrond. Still, this was only one creature. And by all accounts had a human face - or elven face, he supposed - and that would be less terrifying than looking at a giant snake. Aranarth looked again at where he had seen the hand. He brought his gaze up the arm to the shoulder, and there was the neck and a face that looked reassuringly like a person. Lord Elrond looked slightly amused, and Aranarth supposed he had just stood there for nearly a minute waiting for the appearance of someone right in front of him and not hiding at all.
“Lord Elrond, I apologize for my discourtesy.”
“No apology is necessary King Aranarth, I know it has been long since any with less elvish blood than myself and my children has come to the valley.” Elrond’s voice was deep, but no louder than a normally sized person. “I had wondered if Men had forgotten Rivendell entirely, until Glorfindel told me he was recognized and received joyously.”
That was another thing, that Aranarth had nearly managed to forget with his worry about Lord Elrond’s size and appetite. “I thank you for their aid; I know Earnur is grateful as well, though it’s been years since we spoke. Without your warriors, the Witchking might yet rule Angmar still. I would ask you not to call me King though; I have not the right.”
“No? I heard of Arvedui’s death; is there a closer claimant?”
“There is not, but the kingdom is no more. I lead my people, but I am no king.”
“Very well, Lord Aranarth then. Have you come only to say thanks for a battle years past, long enough in the life of even those of Numenorean blood?”
“No, as churlish as it may be to ask for another favor in the same breath as thanks, I must. I hope you will at least listen, for the sake of our shared blood as kinsmen.”
Elrond smiled, and Aranarth saw sharp teeth longer than his hands. “I am glad to hear you greet me as kin, some find the family resemblance hard to notice.”
“We have tales of the founding of Numenor still, and they name you alongside Elros Tar Minyatur. And your eyes are much like those of my grandfather.”
“Really? It would have been nice to meet him, but I understand that kings have duties beyond visiting kin, and I rarely leave Rivendell.”
“Is it uncomfortable to spend all your time here - surely the room is small to you?”
“Oh, I leave the building, and even the town, at least when they are no strange horses to frighten. But beyond the valley has many travelers who would panic at a dragon being spotted; the Bruinien is too far from the shore for me to play the sea serpent and go visiting as when I was young.”
That brought Arthadan’s mind to another history, of Elendil and his sons fleeing Numenor, and how they saw great roiling in the water but nothing dared attack their ships. It was commonly held to be a blessing of Ulmo and Manwe on the faithful. “That is considerate.”
“Perhaps. Go ahead and make your request.”
“I do not wish to presume-”
“I will not kill you for asking, or reject your plea just for being overawed. Please, tell me kinsman of the aid you need.”
Arthadan admitted. “I mentioned that I felt I don’t deserve the title of king. My people are not secure as in your valley. Instead we are scattered across Arnor, with no cities and barely even towns. Some of those with weaker blood have already died this past winter, from cold that set in the bones and too little food or firewood, and I know more will this year. Lord Cirdan has been generous, but his city is elven and does not truly have space for Men, especially the young and the old for whom each passing year is momentous. I could not raise a child in such a land; he would not be a fit prince.”
“I have always found Cirdan to be kind even to those very different from himself."
"He still is. But his city is a place where elves go when they are weary of the world entirely, not a place of new beginnings such as there are with every new child. And any child of my house ought to learn the history of Numenor as more than tides and waves, though I do not begrudge Lindon for caring little of it."
"I think I see the shape of your request."
"Indeed you are renowned for your wisdom, so I will cut straight to the point. The people of Arthedain need somewhere safe to live until we establish a new stronghold, and I would ask you to let us stay in Rivendell as a favor to kin. They will of course work to the good of the valley as long as they are here, and I hope that a new place to live could be found soon."
"You consider the realm of a serpent to be less foreign than that of elves?"
"The realm of Tar-Minyatur's brother, who know the stories of our kingdom's founding and dissolution better even than I its lord? I would indeed."
Elrond thought for a moment. "The valley could support a few thousand men for a decade or two, if I do my hunting a bit further afield. I would need though to know that your people would obey my laws, even as strange as the might seem."
"What laws are those?"
"Do not lead outsiders into the valley, and do not leave a written record of the path in. I can mostly keep out those who mean harm, but it would become more difficult if there were thousands. Do no violence to any of the free peoples in the valley, man or elf or Numenorean or dwarf. Kill animals only for food, not sport. Any orcs spotted, dead or alive, should be reported to Glorfindel as the captain of the guard."
"That seems mostly reasonable, though I am afraid that no violence at all may be a tall order - especially with children too young to know better."
"I have seen Mannish children before, and drunk Men as well. If they do no permanent harm, I will not ask them for permanent restitution."
"Thank you."
"I would have one request though, in exchange for sheltering an entire kingdom."
"I have little left of the glory of old Arthedain, but I would give it all for the sake of my people." Arthadan hoped that Elrond was not going to ask for treasure. There was not gold enough in his pack to make even the thinnest circlet for a head so massive, nor anywhere that could be found without digging up old graves.
"This will not diminish you. I would teach your son history, so that he knows the stories of Numenor and before that even you have forgotten; and to teach his son and his son for as long as your kin dwell near Rivendell."
Aranarth did not want to tell his wife that he had traded a child for their kingdom. "I do not as yet have a child, and it is difficult to travel with infants on such long journeys."
"I have practiced patience, and of course your wife would come here with the rest of your people. She could stay with the child, and a few companions even if an elven city is strange."
"I can hardly turn down such a generous education. Thank you Lord Elrond."