Chapter Two: A Quarrel
Her face burned with embarrassment. He glared at the minor lord who had made the joke and the man withered beneath his gaze. She sat still, flushed from the jest and embarrassed for having shown she understood what maiden women ought not know. "Won't you accompany me on a walk in the gardens, my lady?" he asked, and she almost leapt to take his hand, so eager was she to escape. Her palm was cool against his own, and when she moved he could smell the faint scent of rosewater and pine. He had watched her mature from the youthful girl who arrived a refugee in his city to this sedate woman in the flower of her ripeness.
"Gladly, my lord," she said, and the Quenya on her lips made him smile. She spoke with the ease of one who learned the Ancient Tongue while in the cradle, but her voice betrayed her heritage as a Sinda. He held her hand in his and led her from the Hall to the Gardens where the trees were in flower.
"I must apologize for my lord," he said. "He forgot he was in the presence of a lady."
"I am the unwed and Houseless daughter of two exiles," she said. "I should be grateful for my food."
"There are men enough who will marry you," he said. "It would not be hard to arrange a match, should you desire one." His stomach twisted and he wondered whether he had quite recovered from the spear that had pierced his side earlier in the year.
"I cannot imagine it is easy to find one whom I love and who returns my love in equal measure."
"A marriage based on respect, if not love, might suffice then," he said. "You are young yet, you cannot forever live in the shadow of your mother. The Lord Oropher has a son about your age."
"After living here how can I go and live in the forest?" she asked. The sentiment flattered him.
"I might find you a match amongst my lords," he said. "You're a citizen of this place, if you don't want to leave you oughtn't."
"The King is unwed, perhaps you should find him a wife." Did she wish to marry the king? He would not enjoy seeing her on the arm of so close a kinsman. To wed one's close cousin was almost a sin.
"Our illustrious lord has little interest in women," he said. "He's altogether enamored of his duty."
"He must have seen a similar quality in yourself," she said. "I don't believe I've ever seen you dance except when tradition dictated it."
"You yourself are not given to the circles," he said. "You sit alone as often as I do."
"Not many desire my hand," she said. "They're afraid of my heritage. My mother is the last alive who made the crossing east, and that unsettles your people."
"I think that is an excuse," he said. "I'm not sure you enjoy dancing."
"Of course I do," she said. "You needn't put your prejudices on me."
"I prefer nothing over dancing if my partner knows the steps," he said.
"The better to hide your mistakes, my lord?" she challenged, but it was sweet and insincere.
"I don't make mistakes," he said, and she looked at him dubiously. "I'll prove it. May I have your hand, my lady?"
"There's no music," she said, and he laughed.
"We have voices, the both of us, unless you need the drums to guide your steps?" She placed her hands in his and he began to hum a common song. After a beat they swept to the left, then to the right. Her feet wove between his and he sent her spinning from one arm to the next. She followed his lead with alacrity, her body flowed from step to step without faltering, and she matched him perfectly. He tried to recall the last time they had danced together, and found he couldn't. Her hair smelled of roses and the tang of damp earth ripe for growing. When he hummed the last few measures she collapsed into laughter, her breath coming in hitches.
"We're perfect," she said, and the use of the word we gave him pause.
"You're not terrible," he agreed, and she frowned in mock frustration.
"Not terrible? You tried your hardest to trip me."
"You matched all my steps," he acknowledged, and she laughed again. Her laugh was deep and throaty like her mother's, so unlike the mincing tinkles of the ladies of his court.
"Perhaps you matched mine, my lord," she said.
"We are well matched," he agreed, and he heard the partnership his words cemented.
"Yes," she agreed. "We are. You are unwed, my lord."
"I cannot marry while we are at war," he said. "I am gone more often than I am here, and my soul hangs in the balance each time I raise my sword. My life is not one suited to a wife."
"No," she agreed. "It would be an ill thing if your wife were to lose you for years on end. It might mean your children are deprived of their father." He imagined holding a babe of his own blood and could not quite picture it.
"I have kept you from your activities," he said. "I apologize, it will not happen again. I meant only to beg your pardon for the crudeness of my servant."
"I've heard worse," she murmured. "Thank you for your time, my lord."
He stepped backwards from his memories and looked out at the devastated forest. The scarred stumps and blacked ground stretched before his vision, disappearing into the smoke that lingered on the horizon. He did not believe that the Mights intervened without just cause, but he whispered a prayer nonetheless. Lords and Ladies, look upon this ravaging of your world. His sword felt heavy in his hands, as cumbersome as duty and as wearying as fate. One day, if peace ever came, he imagined he would take all the swords in his armory and melt them into molten iron. He'd cover the streets of his city in the metal, and the hooves of the horses would ring like bells.
He laughed to himself and looked at the long train of the army moving east, and found his thoughts torn between city and future. What awaited him in the black dust of the Shadowland? His kinsman, Celebrimbor, he who forged the Rings and realized too late the dangers of one called Annatar, had been flayed alive and impaled by a spear, a gruesome banner for the forces of the Enemy. Was that to be his fate? Would his corpse decorate the audience chamber of the Enemy, or provide sport for his underlings? And if that were his fate, was he to meet it having never known the ease of a woman's touch?
The thought startled him, momentarily. There were much more important things he had never experienced. He did not know what it was to stand on the northernmost part of the earth, where once the icy chain of mountains had connected his land to Valinor, before the Changing. He had never disappeared inside a forest for years at a time, to commune with the trees and live as his ancestors had. He had never kissed a woman in love instead of lust- he frowned at the track his thoughts led back to and went returned to sharpening his sword. The sound of the whetstone lulled him to dreaming, but he did not let his thoughts stray into hope. He saw with his clear internal vision the thoughts of those around him, he saw desires for lovers left behind, he saw the faces of children not yet grown. He broadened the scope of his thoughts and encompassed the far present as well as the near. He saw his city gleaming in the light of the sunset, he saw Galadriel in a pile of papers and her daughter at the harp, her tongue trapped in a thin, high note. He saw the Havens abuzz with shipcrafting, he saw the stars wheeling in the sky, each turn a year, each year a moment. He saw the Shadowlands with their great black gates, and he allowed his vision to take him to what might be. He saw the gates cast down and the high tower felled. He saw a field of corpses stretching from one horizon to another, and then his visions went dark. His heart fluttered in panic as he searched for the path back to the living world. He would not be the first to stray too far into conjecture.
"Elrond." The voice was soft and insistent, and he latched onto the words and followed them out, feeling foolish. He must have been distracted to lose himself so easily in visions. "Elrond." Behind his name he imagined he heard his true name, the name he had taken for himself and shared with none save the King, Glorfindel, and Galadriel. "Elrond." He opened his eyes and saw his General before him, stripped of his armor and at ease despite the heat and dust.
"Glorfindel," he acknowleged.
"My lord," he said, and the stiffness of his tone made Elrond stand. "The King has summoned you."
"He sent you to fetch me?" he asked, somewhat bothered. "You're not a page, you shouldn't be treated as though errands are your purpose."
"I would make haste, my lord," Glorfindel said. "It appears we're to lose the Sindarin half of our army." He stared at his advisor for a moment, and heard in the far distance the sound of shattering glass. Their forces were too small as things stood. If the Sindar abandoned them, they would not stand.
He made his way with all haste to the King's tent, and found a chilly silence which boded worse than screams. The lords of the forest sat talking in an obscure dialect he only partially understood, and he did not smile at what words he overheard. "Your Grace," he said. He knelt before the King, he bent his head and kissed the floor. He could be humble, if humility was required.
"I did not think the line of Lúthien could sire such a fawning dog," Oropher said, softly, coldly. "If you're so willing to bend the knee to powers greater than your own, little lord, you might as well prostrate yourself before the Enemy." Elrond and the King locked gazes, and Elrond read the stubborn anger in the King's jaw and cursed his lord's foolishness.
"I apologize for my excessive fealty," he said. "I do not make oaths lightly, my lord."
"Had I the promise of a kingdom for my service, I would not struggle to bend my knees. I have a kingdom, however, and I've no desire to bow myself before one whose fathers slaughtered mine."
"I have not asked you to bend the knee, Oropher," the King said. "I've merely asked that you accept our strategy."
"Why should I let an outsider decide the placement of my men? They're not your people. You won't have to comfort their women and children. I'm the one who'll be left that task. It's Sinda blood that will be shed for Noldo lives."
"My lord," Elrond said. "I can assure you that none of us here has any desire to see one drop of elvish blood go to waste. We will all fight and fall together as kin, not as tribes and peoples divided by our past."
"With the Sindar on the front lines, and the Noldo lords couched in splendor? Where will you fight, little lord? With your mother's people, or your father's?"
"I will fight with my people," he said. "I have the blood of all the free peoples in my bones. The days of Kinslaying are long past, Lord Oropher, and a new time is upon us. We have a greater enemy than each other."
"I won't sacrifice my men unnecessarily," Lord Oropher insisted.
"Nor should you, my lord," Elrond agreed. "What plan the King told you was merely preliminary. We must arrive at the Shadowlands before we can truly begin the division of troops, and when that does happen, I swear you'll have a place at the table, as will the dwarves and the men and the Noldor. No one tribe will bear the first crushing weight of the Enemy. We'll sustain his blows together, and like gold refined in a fire, we'll be made stronger battle by battle. We cannot win this war without your men, Lord Oropher. The Enemy cannot be defeated if some hold back."
For a long moment there was silence, and Elrond met the King's eyes. Ereinion looked wearier than he had ever seen before, and Elrond realized that his lord had ruled the collected peoples of the Noldor, all the quarreling tribes and nations and factions, for nearly three thousand years, without wife or kin to comfort him. He'd had the mantle thrust upon him when he was scarcely of age, and ever since he'd pretended, mightily and valiantly, that he knew what he was doing. He had none to guide him. Elrond, at least, had Glorfindel. His lord lived alone in a city of vipers, hundreds of snakes all waiting for him to slip that they might strangle him.
Lord Oropher met Elrond's gaze with his own green eyes, green as the forest, green as envy. "A greater lord might question your placement within the Noldorin Court, Lord Elrond. Diplomacy is an art few have mastered so readily as yourself. Your words have twisted my true meanings into obscurity, were I to refuse what you ask I'd seem cowardly, I must acquiesce to save face. Had I a daughter, my lord, I'd wed her to you. You're a man who knows how to rule." He dipped his head, but not towards the King, and left the tent.
Elrond turned towards his lord and found his eyes shut. "Would you have me kneel and profess my allegiance?" he asked, but the jest fell flat. It touched too closely to the truth.
"No need," the King said. "Whether you stand or kneel, you're perfectly capable of seizing my crown should you desire it. Lord Oropher's sentiment is one I've often shared. By blood you're closer to this throne than I."
"I'm not quite half-elven," he said. "And half of what I am is not Noldo. I could not be King of a people I have so little in common with."
"You disservice yourself with your modesty," the King replied. "When I'm dead, Elrond, I want you to take my mantle upon your shoulders. Find yourself a young wife and have a dozen sons, and rule our people as I know you can."
"You overestimate the strength of my spirit, Ereinion," he said, but the elf only laughed. Elrond sat at his feet, a dog beside his master, and they talked of other matters. His blood boiled with all the words that had been spoken, and he set his face against the flush of pride and crown-want that crept through his blood.