(Note: I choose option to senince I didn't see any voting. Don't worry he will be involved later on with the hobbit story but it will be middle of it probably when they get to Rivendell.)
Morning in Rivendell came soft and pale, like the breath of dawn itself. A thin mist clung to the valley as sunlight spilled down from the peaks, gilding the towers and waterfalls in silver-gold light.
Within the great hall, Edwen Elric Éorendilson the golden-haired heir of Rohan stood before Lord Elrond, dressed in the deep green and gold of his mother's house.
"You have made your decision," Elrond said quietly, though the knowing in his eyes said he had seen it long before.
Edwen inclined his head respectfully. "Yes, my lord. Rohan calls to me. My people need their prince, not a broken soldier hiding behind Rivendell's peace." His voice softened. "You gave me time to heal, and I will never forget that. But my mother's banner still flies, and I must answer it."
Elrond regarded him with the calm, deep gaze of one who had watched many ages pass. "You have changed, Edwen. The boy who came here carried the weight of ghosts. The man who leaves carries purpose."
A faint, self-deprecating smile crossed Edwen's lips. "You've a poet's way of saying I've stopped brooding."
That earned a quiet chuckle from the elven lord. "Perhaps. Or perhaps you've simply learned that pain is not lessened by standing still."
They walked together toward the balcony overlooking the river. Mist curled around the distant falls. Edwen drew a small tube of parchment from his satchel and unrolled it on the railing a neat, detailed map marked with routes, circles, and symbols.
"I've been working on this," he said. "Stone roads and fortified waystations stretching from Rohan to Rivendell. And here"he tapped a spot along the route"iron tracks. Rails. Steam-driven engines to carry goods, soldiers, and travelers swiftly between our realms."
Elrond studied the sketches with fascination. "You would bind the lands of elves and men with craft and fire."
"Aye," Edwen said. "Trade. Communication. Safety. There will be forts, outposts, and even resting houses for travelers. If darkness rises again, we'll stand as one not scattered and unready."
Elrond looked at him long and thoughtfully, pride flickering in his ageless features. "You build not merely walls and roads, but bridges between worlds. The hammer and the crown, indeed."
Edwen smiled faintly at the phrase one that had begun circulating among the elves during his stay.
Then a familiar, musical voice interrupted gently:
"Are you planning to leave without saying farewell, Edwen Éorendilson?"
Arwen stood at the far end of the hall, clad in a traveling cloak of deep emerald, the emblem of Rivendell stitched in silver thread at her breast. Behind her waited a retinue of elves healers, craftsmen, guards, and attendants. Some bore satchels and trunks; others carried the banners of the House of Elrond.
"I see you've been busy," Edwen said, amused.
"I thought you might need a little help rebuilding a kingdom," Arwen replied with a faint smirk. "And perhaps someone to stop you from trying to do everything yourself."
Elrond smiled, though his gaze lingered on his daughter with a trace of melancholy. "You have chosen to accompany him, my child?"
"I have," Arwen said firmly. "Rohan will need more than stone and steel. It will need healing, guidance, and beauty."
The High Lord nodded slowly. "Then take with you what aid Rivendell can offer."
He turned to Edwen. "Among those who go are builders, healers, and teachers elves who will serve under your guidance, in the name of alliance. Let this be the first bridge between our realms."
Edwen bowed deeply. "You honor me, my lord. I'll see that they are protected and treated as family."
Elrond stepped forward, resting a hand upon his shoulder. "Then go with my blessing, Edwen Elric Éorendilson, son of Rohan. Let the hammer strike true and the crown rest easy upon your brow."
By midmorning, the valley stirred with departure. The banners of Rivendell shimmered beside those of Rohan as the combined host assembled on the lower bridge: thirty hardened Riders, their armor polished and proud once more, and a graceful company of elves bearing supplies, scrolls, and instruments of healing and craft.
Edwen mounted his horse at the head of the column, Arwen beside him on a white mare draped in green silk.
He looked once more upon Rivendell, its gleaming halls cradled in mist and sunlight. "You gave me peace," he murmured softly. "Now I'll see if I can return the favor to the world."
Arwen smiled gently. "Then let us bring light to the plains, my lord."
With a sharp whistle, Edwen raised his hand. The Riders fell into formation, the elven banners catching the wind.
As the host began its journey south, the sound of hooves and song echoed through the valley a sound of renewal, of hope reborn after ruin.
And beneath the morning sun, the heir of Rohan rode home not just as a warrior or a builder, but as a prince who would forge a new age with both hammer and crown.