Hi! Welcome to Chapter 2. Thanks for all of the followers and favorites! I can't believe the response was that quick after only one tiny chapter!
And thanks sooooo much to Certh for being my first reviewer! You brought up a lot of interesting points in your review, and I gotta to say... I like you. I was not guessing that anyone was going to actually correct me on the spelling of Arathell, and truthfully, you are absolutely correct. Sindarin dictates that it should be spelt with one "l" and with the accent mark. However... Given that she is my main main character, let's just say that maybe I am a tad bit lazy? I don't know what that makes me in your book, but I hope it doesn't bother you. I just don't want to be adding in symbols every time I write her name. Writing it the way that I have is easier, unfortunately. I have a personal theory that that is why Tolkien's Fellowship members do not have names with accent marks in them... even if he wasn't writing on a computer at the time. ;) If it is any consolation, EVERY other character that Tolkien wrote with an accent will appear in my story with the accent. Just not my character. I hope that that clears things up for you! And thanks again for the WONDERFUL review. You made my day!
Disclaimer: I do not own anything from either the literary world or from the movie world.
Part One - Life Is Beautiful
Second Chance - Shinedown
"Tell my mother,
Tell my father
I've done the best I can
To make them realize
This is my life"
T. A. 420 – The Hidden Valley of Imladris
"Minas Anor has been finished," Elrohir relayed to his father. "King Ostoher has done it."
"I never would have expected the race of Men to make something so remarkable," Elladan added with a look of wonder. "Father, you must see it!"
Elrond raised an eyebrow at his sons and stood from his throne, walking to see the leaves dancing on their way down from the trees. "I believe that there will come a day where I will."
"Have you seen it in your mind?" Elrohir pondered, reaching to rest his hand on his father's shoulder. "I can assure you that it is better in person."
"There are more things on my mind than the magnificent architecture of Men," Elrond disagreed with a slight frown.
Elladan chuckled. "What could that possibly be?"
"Brothers!" a happy shriek announced, making Elrond frown. The other two pivoted on the spot with grand smiles and threw their arms around their youngest sister, twirling her in the air as she laughed with a tinkling chime that danced in the wind. "Oh, how I missed your presence!" Arathell exclaimed upon being set back on the ground.
"We were not gone for long, Sister," Elladan smirked.
"I am not accustomed to you being gone at all. Father has been intolerable," she bemoaned.
"Arathell!" Elrond snapped, directing his attention to his youngest. His arms folded across his chest in frustration, but she did not seem to mind much. She only looked coyly at the patriarch with a playful twinkle that was reminiscent of her mother's. "When will you ever learn respect?" he demanded.
"It was only a bout of teasing, Father," Arathell smiled innocently. "Has he told you yet of my latest crime?" she continued dramatically, holding a hand to her heart in mock shame.
"Whatever have you done?" Elrohir chuckled, seeing his sister's smile settle and her eyes acquire a serious look. Arathell had long since displayed her stubbornness amongst their family, and they knew well that when she was determined to do anything, she would find a way to do it.
"She desires to be trained in the art of war… which is not so outlandish, because all Elves are trained in this manner. But she wants to actually ride to battle," another voice entered smoothly. The final daughter of Elrond Peredhil entered with poise and grace and ease that exceeded that of her sister.
"Arwen," the older brothers smiled, embracing her while she returned it softly and without fuss. "What is it that you are speaking of?"
"If a man can wield a sword, I see no issue in a woman being learned in the trade," Arathell answered proudly, making the family silent. The smiles had disappeared from her brothers' faces and she knew that this was an area where she would have to do without their support. "We are in a time of peace besides," she carried on, trying not to become dismayed. "The likelihood of me ever actually riding into battle is therefore very slim." They remained silent. "I have not even aged a quarter of a millennium and I already tire of diplomacy and Imladris. How am I expected to endure the rest of my days, caged as I am in this prison called a palace?"
"Arathell, talk such as this is not becoming to a lady," Arwen snapped, her beautiful grey eyes glaring at her younger sister. "Bear in mind that your words do not only speak badly of yourself, but of me. Do you see my position as being unneeded and worthless?"
"Sister, I would not do you the dishonor," Arathell rushed, waving her hand away simply. "You are much too quick to take my words as insult. The desire to rule runs in your veins, and you enjoy the feel of it, and there is no shame in that. Perhaps it would be easier if I felt it as you do so that you would not be angered by my wishes as you are. But that is something that I simply do not want. I do not want that power. I have never wanted it."
Elrond stared at his daughter with a frown. "It is not a woman's duty to defend her home," he enunciated.
"How do you know that I see it as a duty?" she rebutted with a fire in her eyes that they all knew would not so easily die.
"You would seek war for the pleasure of taking a life?" Elrohir demanded, looking paler. "Even Men do not have tendencies such as this."
"I want to explore and see Middle Earth!" she disagreed. "I want to see Minas Anor as you describe it. I want to sleep on the soil and encounter peoples of other cultures. There cannot be shame in such a desire."
"You are a daughter of the House of Elrond, not a ruffian," Elrond told her firmly.
"I do not intend being such a ruffian, if that is what you are implying," she said dryly, feeling her confidence wane in the wake of her family. "I simply meant to say that I do not want the life that Arwen does."
"And what is it you believe I want?" Arwen replied stiffly.
"The closest thing you want to adventure is finding love. It is respectable and honorable," Arathell answered. "You would risk your heart sooner than you would risk your being. I however, am the exact opposite."
"Elven traditions do not hold in this manner," Elladan said tightly, grasping his sister's arm. "Pleasures of the heart are favored over –"
"Maybe I do not wish to fall in love," she countered.
"You are young," Elrohir said gently. "Love may come to you yet."
"It is a sickly disease that incapacitates its victims. How beneficial can it be to worry over another and to be jealous regarding their actions, only to be told that you are insufficient in his wants and needs? Why can I not rely on something that is real, like a sword to keep me alive?"
"Love does keep you alive, Arathell," Arwen berated. "It kindles the desire to live."
"Love inspires grief and a broken heart and death," Arathell snapped.
"Why do you speak like this? You have not experienced it for yourself to speak wisely on the matter," Elladan mentioned, running a hand through her precious hair.
"Books can give answers to questions no one else will," she said sullenly.
"Then turn back and study your books!" Elrond exclaimed with a huff that startled his kin. "My answer is no and it shall forever be no! You will not be a warrior and you will do as I say! You have no choice in this matter."
His daughter swiveled to stare at him with hurt eyes. She looked to her brothers, looking for any type of support, but found none. Fighting tears, she pushed past her family and ran to her chambers, closing the doors roughly behind her.
She ordered the maids to bring her dinner to her room that evening, and the evening after that as well. For fifty years, the woman remained in her room by no law but her own.
Her mother, always doting on her youngest, could do nothing to rouse her daughter from the darkness of her mind. Fifty years would never be looked at by an Elf to be a long amount of time, but her family ached for every day she remained within the confines of her room. Her stubbornness, it was described, could rival that of the Dwarves, for which they were not close to by any means. None could understand the cause for her stubbornness either, believing her to be fainthearted and childish. A woman in armor would never be something that they would be able to understand. Even the lesser Elves of the city could not grasp her desire to witness lands beyond her own. Nevertheless, the people of Imladris would speak with partial annoyance and excitement when they would see a wisp of her gown in the balcony of her chambers. After the first thirty years of her solitude, they took to calling her Shadow, the occasional tint of her smoky gray gowns only making the name spread faster.
T.A. 470 – The Hidden Valley of Imladris
Her family was well aware of the name she had been given, and Elrond cursed them for so quickly turning on royalty and ridiculing her. Deciding put an end to the whispers of his deranged and unruly offspring, he made his way to her room, stopping outside the door. He had once sworn to his wife that he would not engage his daughter in conversation until she decided to succumb to his demands, fully believing he could outlast her spirit. He waited for fifty years and could not foresee an end to her obsession. It was time that she came back to the world she had abandoned.
"I hear you, Father," he heard her and blinked when the door opened in front of him. His daughter stared up at him with a shroud over her eyes and mind. Fifty years was nothing to an Elf, but to Elrond, he felt broken at seeing the dramatic changes his daughter had gone through in her isolation. "Do you breathe loudly with anger or with fear? Forgive me, but I cannot remember how to tell the difference," she mocked, turning her back and walking further into the room and sitting on her bed with a defiant look of boredom plastered on her face.
Elrond followed carefully, observing her books strewn across the floor with no particular pattern. He looked at his daughter, now 161. The last he had seen her, she was only 111. Her hair had grown, the lack of sun darkening it from its previous honey color to chestnut. It did not curl like Arwen's or Celebrían's. It was straight and thick, much like her brothers'. Her eyes had never become the wise grey that the Elves revered. They remained a dark chocolate, deep and treacherous always with a darker thought buried within them. Her skin was paler than the other's as well, resembling a full moon in a clear night sky.
"You finally gather the courage to see me after fifty years and yet you still have no words to give me?" she taunted, arching a perfect eyebrow at him.
The lord snapped out of his thoughts and frowned. "I see that the years have not taught you anything regarding etiquette," he mentioned, picking a book off of the floor.
She frowned and stood to take the book out of his hands, resting it back on the floor. "Why would it if I had no one to practice on, Father?" she replied. "Who could have shown me? Elves cannot grow wise without the direction of others, after all. Even our race must learn to pick ourselves up after we stumble." She looked up at him and he was still unable to read her expression. "Who should give me direction, Father, because surely, it cannot be you? You do not love me as you love my kin."
Elrond sighed and reached for her hand, which she promptly snapped away. She walked to the edge of her room, just before the balcony with only her bare feet basking in the sun's warm glow. "I wish you would not speak that way."
"I have not grown wise enough to remedy that trait, and I severely doubt that I ever will," she replied harshly. "Why are you here?" she demanded with a brusque voice that no longer held the love and affection he once remembered from his daughter. She sounded more like Arwen, but even she held more tenderness than his youngest at present.
He swallowed. "You are very stubborn, my Arathell," he started. "People accuse you of being a decedent of Dwarves."
"That is too low an insult even for me," she said with a mirthless chuckle. "If anything, I believe that I resemble you more than mother. Clearly, you carry the ability to be stubborn just as well."
"Clearly," he said quickly, "you would have outlasted me."
"Yes, because that was my goal all along," she snapped, turning to face him. "You have yet to state your purpose. In case you cannot tell from my scattered books, I have things to clean and then make a mess of again, so if you could hurry, I would be much appreciative." He sighed and reached for her, watching her stiffen at the sight. "Father, forgiveness is not earned through one embrace."
"How is it earned then, if you know so much of it?"
Her brows furrowed, allowing him to see her emotion for the first time in fifty years. "You let me wait for fifty years for a man I call Father. I read in novels of the love that transcends through fathers and daughters and found myself wondering what was wrong with me that I could not evoke my father's love as these women had done. You would not see me because I had dreams that defied your logic and the customs of our people. Tell me, Father: are customs more important than retaining your own daughter? If so, I believe that this apology is void and our interaction must continue being nonexistent."
He rested his forehead in his hand. "You are still very headstrong," he commented.
"But fainthearted according to others that lurk outside my window, looking for a glimpse of one they call Shadow. I have lost my identity as Lady of this realm and have become a story told to babes. A Lady wanting to throw away her pricy tiara in favor of a sword and blood. What a fool I must be. Fancy that it only took fifty years for this to happen. One would think that an Elf would be more resilient to time and all of its symptoms," she said with a grimace.
"You still crave a sword then?" he asked, looking up at his daughter.
"Neither fifty years nor fifty hundred years would quench this craving, I assure you," she said with a laugh. "Is that why you are here? To appease me?" she teased.
He stood from her bed and moved swiftly across the room to take her shoulders in his hands, squeezing them tightly to prevent her from leaving. "My daughter, even I know that appeasing you would take more than giving what you want. I have hurt you in my absence, and I will do what I can to make things right once more. Your brothers and sister grow weary of my stubbornness, as well as yours. But… if battle is what your heart truly desires then I will not be the one to command it otherwise. Your brothers have agreed to take on the task of teaching you. This is something I refuse to take part of, but as I said… if you insist, then a Lady must not go wanting, especially one of my House."
Again, listen to the music if you feel so inclined. This one is a particular favorite. :) And please leave a review! I'd love to hear from you.
Love you all lots!
- LM