I’m a Doorman at an Assassin’s Hotel

The tranquil morning in Rivendell exuded its usual solemn serenity, yet the atmosphere in the grand hall was heavy, like storm clouds gathering above. Frodo had been taken to the healing chamber, leaving Aragorn, Elaysa, Sam, and Lorne in the hall.

"He'll be alright, won't he?" Sam's voice trembled as he stood in the center, his worry etched into every word.

Aragorn nodded, his face clouded with concern yet his tone steady, almost reassuring. "Elrond is the greatest healer in Middle-earth. If anyone can save Frodo, it's him."

Elaysa leaned casually against the wall, her sharp gaze sweeping over the group. Her voice was calm yet piercing. "The real question is, even if Frodo survives, what then? The One Ring is in Sauron's grasp, and all he needs is time to fully regain his power."

The heavy doors of the hall creaked open, and Elrond stepped inside. His measured steps and solemn countenance commanded attention. He scanned the room before speaking, his voice steady and resonant. "Frodo is undergoing treatment, but whether his willpower can endure the process remains uncertain."

"Lord Elrond," Aragorn stepped forward, his tone resolute. "Sauron's strength is growing rapidly. We need a definitive plan to counter him."

Elrond's gaze lingered on Aragorn, a flicker of emotion betraying the weight of his thoughts. He turned toward the window, pausing as though grappling with an unspoken burden. At last, he spoke, his voice heavy with gravity. "I must confess something—I am torn."

"Torn?" Aragorn frowned. "What do you mean?"

"We have given all we can for the fate of Middle-earth," Elrond said slowly, turning to face the group, his gaze unwavering. "But the situation grows ever more desperate. Sauron's power rises while the light of the Elves fades. Perhaps... our mission is no longer to fight this war, but to preserve our people's future."

A stunned silence fell over the hall. Elrond's words hung in the air like a thunderclap.

"You mean the Elves intend to leave Middle-earth?" Aragorn's voice carried disbelief mingled with anger.

"Yes," Elrond said with sorrow etched in his tone. "Our days in Middle-earth are numbered. Even if we achieve victory, it will not halt the waning of our light. We can no longer afford to make sacrifices. Perhaps it is time for us to return to the West, to seek peace where it still exists."

Sam leapt to his feet, his voice trembling with fury. "How could you? Frodo has sacrificed so much for everyone's future, and you're talking about abandoning us?"

"Sam, calm down." Aragorn raised a hand to temper him, but his expression was equally grim. "Lord Elrond, this is not like you. Middle-earth needs your strength. Without it, we cannot stand against Sauron's darkness."

"Aragorn," Elrond said with a measured voice, "you are the future of Men, and it is Men who must fight for their destiny. The bond between the Elves and Middle-earth has perhaps reached its end."

"You're wrong!" Aragorn's voice rose, laced with indignation. "This is a battle for all races. If the Elves withdraw, we will all fall into ruin!"

"We are already on the path to ruin," Elrond said, turning back toward the window, his voice tinged with weariness. "Every Elf feels the passing of time, the inevitable decline. Sauron's shadow merely hastens what has already begun. We cannot afford to squander what remains of our strength on a losing war."

"A losing war?" Elaysa interjected, her voice sharp and resolute. "Declaring defeat before the battle even begins is the choice of cowards!"

Elrond's expression flickered for a moment, yet his voice remained calm. "Perhaps you are right. But I must consider my people. If the light of the Elves is extinguished, everything we have done for Middle-earth will mean nothing."

Lorne, who had been quietly observing, finally spoke up, his voice tentative but insistent. "I… I don't understand. Haven't you been fighting to protect Middle-earth's peace all this time? Why give up now?"

Elrond turned his gaze to Lorne, a flicker of complexity in his eyes. "Young one, some choices are harder than battle itself. This is not surrender, but the most painful decision I may ever make."

"And if the Elves leave, what will happen to the remaining Men, Dwarves, and Hobbits?" Aragorn's voice was low, heavy with the weight of his words. "Middle-earth will be consumed by darkness, and the name of the Elves will be forgotten."

Elrond remained silent for a long moment, his brow furrowed deeply. The struggle within him was evident, each word weighed against the burden of his centuries-long existence. At last, he sighed, the sound heavy with exhaustion.

"I need time to consider," he said quietly, his voice betraying the weariness in his soul. "Frodo's healing will take time, and so will my deliberation. In the meantime, prepare yourselves for what lies ahead."

With that, Elrond turned and exited the hall, leaving behind a heavy silence among those remaining. The weight of his words lingered like a shadow.

The pale moonlight bathed Rivendell's stone pathways, the cool night air stirring the leaves into a gentle rustle. Peaceful as it seemed, the night held an undercurrent of tension.

Aragorn leaned against a stone bridge, his eyes fixed on the shimmering water below. His fingers tapped rhythmically against the hilt of his sword, betraying the unease he carried.

"Aragorn," a soft voice called. Arwen emerged from the shadows, her steps as light as the moon's glow. Draped in a silver cloak, she seemed a part of the night itself. "What troubles you?"

Aragorn turned to her, his expression laden with conflicting emotions. Words failed him for a moment as he tried to articulate his thoughts.

"You don't need to hide your thoughts," Arwen said gently, standing beside him. Her tone was warm yet probing. "It's Father's decision, isn't it?"

Aragorn exhaled heavily before nodding. "Elrond's choice... it might be the right one. The age of the Elves is ending, and he seeks to protect his people. But if the Elves leave, Middle-earth loses one of its strongest defenders. And I... I would lose you."

"Lose me?" Arwen's brows knitted in concern. Her gaze searched his face, sadness mingling with understanding. "Aragorn, you know my choice."

Aragorn met her gaze, his voice tinged with both anxiety and pain. "Arwen, I can't bear for you to stay because of me. Middle-earth's future is uncertain, and your destiny lies far from this conflict, in the undying lands."

Arwen shook her head gently, her eyes resolute yet tender. "I have chosen to stay, Aragorn. To face whatever future awaits us, whether it be light or darkness. My life is bound to my love for you, and you are my choice."

"But..." Aragorn's voice faltered as he clasped her hand. "If darkness consumes us all, how can I let you face such a fate?"

"Aragorn," Arwen interrupted, her tone unwavering yet full of warmth. "I am no fragile Elf-maiden. I have my own will and my own choice. If Middle-earth needs me, I will stay. If darkness comes, I will stand beside you. My decision is not a sacrifice—it is hope."

Aragorn stared at her, a mixture of admiration and anguish in his eyes. He knew her resolve was as immovable as his own sense of duty.

"You're right," he said quietly, his voice carrying a note of reluctant acceptance. "But promise me, no matter what happens, you'll protect yourself."

"I promise," Arwen said with a soft smile, lifting a hand to touch his face gently. "And you must promise me not to lose hope, no matter how dire things may seem."

The moonlight enveloped them, casting their intertwined shadows onto the bridge. In the stillness of the night, their vows seemed to echo into eternity.

The morning in Rivendell was shrouded in a cool mist, with sunlight creeping over the mountains and casting shadows across the serene courtyard. Though the air carried a sense of tranquility, an unspoken tension loomed heavily.

Elrond sat alone at the long table in the council chamber, his fingers rhythmically tapping the wooden surface. His sharp gaze rested on the map spread before him, brows furrowed deeply as he wrestled with a difficult decision.

The doors opened softly, and Aragorn stepped in, his expression serious but resolute. "Lord Elrond," he began with a slight bow, "may I have a word with you?"

Elrond looked up, his eyes filled with a mix of emotions as they met Aragorn's. "What is it, Aragorn?"

Pausing momentarily, Aragorn finally spoke. "Last night, I overheard your decision… your intention to lead the Elves away from Middle-earth. It is your right, and the choice of your people. But if you leave, the resistance against Sauron will be halved. Without Rivendell's support, his shadow will spread even faster."

Elrond's gaze did not waver. "You know why I hesitate, Aragorn. The mission of the Elves is complete; our time in this land has come to an end. You, the race of Men, are the inheritors of Middle-earth."

"Precisely," Aragorn said, his voice low but firm. "Which is why we need your help. Sauron's power is unmatched, and no single force can stand against him. If the Elves retreat, hope for this land will be lost."

Elrond rose from his seat and walked to the window, his eyes scanning the tranquil courtyard and the mountains beyond. "Do you understand the dilemma of a leader, Aragorn? Every decision I make affects countless lives. I cannot afford to gamble with their future."

Aragorn took a deep breath, his expression solemn. "I do understand. But avoidance is not the answer. If you leave, Sauron's darkness will not stop. It will follow you, even to the Undying Lands." He paused, his voice growing steadier. "The fate of Middle-earth demands everyone's effort. We cannot afford to retreat."

Elrond turned, his deep-set eyes fixed on Aragorn. "You are a stubborn man, Aragorn." His tone carried a hint of weariness but also a trace of admiration.

Aragorn did not back down, his gaze unwavering. "This is not stubbornness, my lord. It is conviction."

Elrond slowly nodded, his gaze lingering on Aragorn before he turned and walked toward the far end of the chamber. In the soft morning light, his figure appeared worn but still commanding.

"I need to consult with the other leaders," he said, his voice low and measured, as if each word bore the weight of centuries of leadership. "This may be one of the most difficult decisions I have ever faced."

As Elrond's figure disappeared down the hall, Aragorn's eyes remained fixed on the door. The sunlight streaming through the tall windows cast a cold brightness over the chamber, illuminating every corner yet leaving the air heavy with an invisible weight.

Aragorn exhaled slowly, trying to steady his thoughts. Yet, deep inside, a gnawing unease remained. If Elrond ultimately chose to withdraw, the strength of the Elves would fade into history, leaving humanity to face Sauron's growing power alone.

"Aragorn," a familiar voice called softly from behind. Turning, he saw Arwen standing a short distance away, bathed in the morning light that lent her a radiant, almost ethereal quality.

"Arwen," he said, his voice low and laden with conflicting emotions.

"Father will make the right decision," she said, stepping closer, her gaze gentle but searching his face intently. "But what about you, Aragorn? Do you still believe in the future?"

Aragorn lowered his head slightly, considering her words before meeting her eyes. "I have never lost my faith. I just fear that the road ahead… will be too hard to bear."

Arwen smiled faintly, her expression soft yet resolute. "Middle-earth needs you, Aragorn. You are Isildur's heir, the hope of Men. My choice to stay is not just for you, but for this land. This is my home, and I am willing to fight for it."

Aragorn clasped her hand, his gaze softening. "Your choice fills me with guilt. Arwen, I never wanted you to be caught in this war."

"This is my fate, Aragorn," she said gently, her eyes gleaming with unshakable determination. "None of us can escape our destinies. But if I must face it, I would rather stand beside you than watch from afar."

For a moment, neither spoke. Their gazes met and held, an unspoken understanding passing between them in the serene morning air. Time seemed to pause, though both knew the road ahead would be fraught with peril.

"I will do everything I can to make your choice worth it," Aragorn said, his voice low but resolute, as though swearing a lifetime of devotion.

"I have never doubted you," Arwen replied with a soft smile, tightening her grip on his hand. "No matter what the future holds, we will face it together."

As the morning sun rose higher, casting golden rays over Rivendell, the tranquil beauty of the Elven haven seemed to belie the storm brewing within. Both Aragorn and Arwen knew that the decisions made in the coming days would shape the fate of Middle-earth. Together, they braced for the trials yet to come, bound by love and the hope that even in the darkest hour, light might prevail.