"Apologizing does not always mean that you're wrong and the other person is right. It just means that you value your relationship more than your ego."
-Anonymous

It took two or three days, but Amelia finally got confident enough about Rivendell's corridors to not ask for directions every time she left her chambers. She ended up taking a liking to reading her one book in the gardens, which were a mass of reds, yellows and orange colors, since it was the end of October. She had been summoned on the 24th of October, in the Third age of Middle-Earth and Gandalf had reluctantly told her that she could be sent home on the 24th of November, should she choose it. As if she had any other option.

On the 28th of October, Amelia finished reading one of her books for the fifth time and leaned back on the low, white bench, feeling pretty bored. Her books were good, but not good enough to entertain her for a month.

"I've seen you reading that book many times." A flowing voice spoke as Amelia heard soft footsteps nearing her and she looked to her left. Her answer died on her lips.
The woman in front of her had such an otherworldly, dazzling beauty that Amelia nearly asked her childishly whether she was an angel. Her dark hair flowed in waves down her back like the waterfalls of the valley, half of it held up by a net of diamonds. Her eyes shone prettier than any jewel and her fine, soft features reminded Amelia of the white statues in Rivendell. Amelia could only think of one person who had been described as having such a beauty.

"Lady Arwen." For the first time, Amelia remembered her manners and inclined her head towards the elf. The woman smiled and gestured to the bench with a soft hand.

"May I?"

"Oh, yes, please." Amelia agreed quickly and the Lady gracefully took a seat beside Amelia. Amelia shuffled slightly in her seat and Arwen Evenstar nodded at the book.

"You have read that one many times."

"Hm? Oh, yeah, it's… an old favorite of mine. A bit boring now though. I don't really have much to do around here." Arwen smiled kindly and it was like the clouds parting for the sun.

"Walk with me? I have something I wish to show you." Amelia nodded and linked her arm with the elf when she offered, feeling pretty lucky to even have had the pleasure of meeting her.
Whenever they passed other elves, they smiled and bowed their heads at Arwen without glancing at Amelia. She could see the reverence in their old eyes whenever the Lady of Rivendell walked by. She didn't blame them in the least.

"In here." The fair lady stopped in front of a large set of white doors with a willow carved in it and solid, silver handles. Hesitantly, Amelia pushed it open and her eyes nearly rolled out of her head at the sight.

Bookshelves, with intricate carvings of vines and runes, reached up towards the high ceiling, with many books of varying sizes and colors. Amelia understood that books were valuable, since it took time copying down a text with only pen and paper. For two seconds, she merely stood in the doorway and gaped, then turned her head towards the woman at her side and saw her looking at Amelia with a smile.

"Can I?"

"Go ahead." Arwen nodded and Amelia hurried into the library with a grin.

"And it has ladders? God, this is just like the Beauty and the Beast." She paused. "Better actually." It was true. Ladders made the highest shelves available. Tables and chairs, with candles, parchment, ink and quills stood around and Amelia correctly guessed that she was going to be spending a lot of time in the library.

Amelia discovered that, even though she preferred to be alone, speaking with other people opened up a lot of doors. She wasn't half as bored any longer when Arwen offered to take walks with her, she could read in the library for as long as she wanted, could take long baths in large tubs and walk out in the sunlight as October slipped away and early November took its place.

One morning stood out particularly clearly in her memory afterwards though. When she woke up and smelled the breeze coming from the crack in the doors leading out onto the small balcony, she knew. She could barely restrain her joy when she ran out of her chambers, grabbing her coat on the way and pulling it on, over her nightgown as she rushed down a staircase and out into an open courtyard.

She stood still there, her face turned towards the sky covered in clouds, feeling the snowflakes fall gently on her face and cover the world in white.

"Aren't you cold?" A small voice asked her and she turned to see Frodo standing halfway down the stairway she had rushed down herself. On his arm was a hobbit who looked like he was getting on in years, his curls the color of the snow and his face wrinkled. His eyes were locked on her and an odd expression rested on his face.

Amelia smiled and turned her face back up, so only the sky and its snow was visible to her.

"A bit. It reminds me of home."

"Snow?"

"Yes. And the cold. Most of the year it's just rain and sludge, but in winter…"

"You miss it."

"Yes. And the people… Well. It's no use thinking about that now. Still got a while left before I can go back home." Frodo nodded and looked down at his large feet. The old hobbit accompanying him still hadn't said a word. "But that's nothing compared to how you must be feeling."

"I took on this burden willingly." Frodo answered slowly and Amelia couldn't help but think that the movies had portrayed him well.

"Sure. And that's great and all, but… Never mind. I didn't mean to make you sad, talking about home and whatnot." Frodo shook his curly-haired head and fidgeted with a button on his dark vest.

"I don't mind." Amelia frowned and looked down at him. He stood beside her, staring straight into the air, seemingly deep in thought.

"This is your first time here, then?" The old hobbit croaked. The question seemed weighted somehow and Amelia shrugged hesitantly.

"Well, yeah. Yes." She squinted. "Bilbo, right? Heard a lot about you." Her face scrunched up. "Too much, probably. Forget I said anything." Bilbo seemed as if he had been saddened by her words, but nodded and mumbled to himself. Then, rather abruptly, he patted Frodo's shoulder and muttered a hasty word of farewell before he turned away, leaving her and Frodo alone. Amelia frowned after him, thinking his exit to be odd, but then, she turned towards Frodo and cocked her head, changing the subject.

"You know, I think it's high time someone said it." She thought aloud to herself and Frodo glanced up at her. "I mean, you're a hobbit. Generally peaceful creatures, not suited for big adventures and such, likes food. And you've just accepted this quest-thing to save the world and all, so… just so I know that someone's actually said it… thanks." She looked into his light eyes. "For taking the Ring. I know… I don't think anyone else could have really taken it." She had nearly revealed that she knew everyone else would have messed up, but managed to hold her tongue. "All of this… must be pretty weird for you."

"And for you." Frodo added quietly and Amelia sighed.

"You have no idea, pal."

"Pal?"

"Oh, it means like… buddy or friend or something like that." Frodo didn't smile, but looked confused.

"So, I am your friend?" He seemed to think it was a little sudden.

"Remember, things are different in my world. Most people only need to have a few chats with another person to call them a friend."

"How peculiar." Amelia shrugged and didn't answer the hobbit. They merely stood in companionable silence, watching flakes of ice fall around them.

Amelia found that dinner in the hall of stories was one of her favorite times of the week. Eternal fires were lit in hearths set in the walls and long tables with dishes of all desirable foods stood in the hall. It even had a dance floor and one wall was completely open except for some pillars holding up the roof.
A late night, Amelia was watching Gimli, along with most of his fellows, drinking the evening away in their merriment and she cautiously took a sip from a mug of ale available to her. She nearly choked on it.

"What in the…" She exclaimed. She didn't see two of the dwarves glancing her way at her exclamation. An elf approached instantly, on alert.

"Is everything fine, milady?" He asked and Amelia glanced up. Then, she recognized him and she blew out a sharp breath.

"Is this how you Middle-Earth people drink? No offense, but this is about as intoxicating as a glass of water. If I'm going to drink, I'm going to need something stronger than this." The elf looked perplexed, but hurried off and Amelia's nose twitched briefly. She had already eaten and listened to an elven bard with a harp tell the tale of Túrin, son of Húrin that evening. She rarely got drunk, but she felt that she deserved getting a little tipsy after her amount of nights in such a foreign place without going mad. As the elf finished his tale of Túrin, which had been a saga all on its own, he strummed his harp gently and started to sing, his voice striking the perfect cords.

Eärendilwas a mariner
that tarried in Arvernien;
he built a boat of timber felled
in Nimbrethil to journey in;
her sails he wove of silver fair,
of silver were her lanterns made,
her prow was fashioned like a swan,
and light upon her banners laid.

Amelia didn't look at the elf as he continued the tale, as several stories had already been told. The Hall of Stories lived up to its name, she found, but then again, most of the tales and legends were well worth a listening to.

She saw Boromir walk into the hall, his eyes darting to the boisterous dwarves to the fireplaces to her and then to an empty table. He did not look at her as he passed by her and Amelia didn't look at him more than what was proper. She saw Aragorn stand in the doorway and for a second she thought that he would enter, but then he kept walking and Amelia was left slightly disappointed. It would have been nice to have someone to talk with and she doubted Boromir would indulge her after she insulted him at the Council.

The thought latched onto Amelia as she drank the dark, heavy wine that Lindir had brought her. Perhaps the alcohol had softened her up, because she finally stood up, when it looked like Boromir was nearing the end of his meal. She approached him cautiously, noticing that he was not carrying his weapon, yet the horn still hung at his belt.

"Hey." She started softly and Boromir glanced up at her, but didn't answer. She sighed. "This isn't easy for me to admit, but… what I said at the Council… Look, I was out of line, okay? And I shouldn't have talked to you like that, not after you helped me get here in the first place." Boromir was silent and Amelia shifted on her feet. "But I'm not apologizing. I meant what I said, I just shouldn't have said it. So… yeah. That's that." Amelia turned when it didn't look like Boromir was going to speak and walked away, back to her drink. She knew that, while Boromir hadn't refused her pathetic attempt at reconciliation, he hadn't accepted it either.

Amelia dumped into her seat again and rested her chin on her right hand, having lost what spurred her to ask for something stronger that night.
Something about Boromir unsettled her, and it wasn't his attraction to the ring, but rather the fact that the image she had had of him before arriving in Middle-Earth didn't match the man she had actually met. The Boromir she knew had been patriotic with a warm side, prone to a bit of lashing out, but with a fierce desire to defend Gondor from any enemy. The Boromir she had met seemed to be all of that, but seemed capable of respectful behavior, far more so than how he had been portrayed, but also capable of greater arrogance. When they had met he had seemed polite, bordering on caring, but still a guarded man to be near. Then the Council happened and that image of hers went out the window, but the man at the Council would be one that Amelia would have expected to accept her admittance of her actions being wrong grandly, perhaps rub her nose in it a bit. Yet he hadn't. Amelia didn't understand Boromir and it was driving her insane. As she stood up and made to leave, she heard that the bard had finally finished his tale of Eärendil, and she heard the final, haunting verse as she left the hall, feeling cold despite the fires lining the walls.

And over Middle-earth he passed
and heard at last the weeping sore
of women and of elven-maids
in Elder Days, in years of yore.
But on him mighty doom was laid,
till Moon should fade, an orbéd star
to pass, and tarry never more
on Hither Shoreswhere Mortalsare;
for ever still a herald on
an errand that should never rest
to bear his shining lamp afar,
the Flammifer of Westernesse.

No, Amelia definitely didn't like the son of Gondor one bit.

That night she dreamt of him, when she finally felt into an uneasy slumber. Not a coherent dream, but rather glimpses of sneers, the sounds of distant shouts, demands of the Ring and the shafts of black arrows and eyes flashing like polished flint.
When she jerked awake, a low scream dying on her lips, she cursed Boromir of Gondor for ever leading her down to the hidden valley.

The morning after, in the early hours of the dawn, as Amelia walked with her arm linked with Arwen's, whom she had begun to slowly trust and not just admire, she reluctantly asked whether it was possible for her to get any training with a weapon. Arwen agreed readily, but was surprised to learn that Amelia had never so much as touched a sword or a bow.

Amelia quickly found out that the blade wasn't everything that mattered in a sword. It's weight, its scabbard, its hilt, even its name meant something. Amelia couldn't even lift the first one that Arwen suggested. The second and third had strange, uncomfortable hilts that either felt uncomfortable or made the blade slip out of her grasp. Arwen had an astonishing patience with her.

"I never thought I'd actually even hold a sword." Amelia revealed conversationally as she looked at two thin, identical blades with black hilts. "It's been a long time since we fought with pointy things back home."

"You see us as old-fashioned, then?" Arwen didn't sound judgmental in the least. Only open and with a genuine curiosity.

"Yeah, but still… you've got things we don't. Like elves… and dwarves… and kingdoms in general. And the orcs, but I don't think that's a plus, exactly."

Arwen looked as close to stunned as one such as her could get without losing their grace.

"The orcs have yet to reach your lands, even after millennia?" Amelia got the feeling that she had said a bit too much and reeled to correct the fragment of damage.

"Yeah, well… yeah. I've never seen one myself either. You see?" Amelia cocked an eyebrow at her. "All of this, the… Council and sword and kingdoms and Gandalf wanting to bring me on that joyride of his… I can't. It doesn't matter whether I want to or not. How can I allow myself to slow them down by gawking at everything we see and being utterly useless in a fight? The worst thing I ever did was to hit my brother square in the jaw when he threw my laptop in the dishwasher…" Amelia trialed off, faintly aware that Arwen looked perplexed, but understanding too.

"I do not think Mithrandir brought you here to fight." She slowly remarked and Amelia snorted.

"Yeah, I know, he… he brought me for my brains, not my brawn and good thing he did, because I don't have much of it either."

"This one."

"Huh?"

"Try this one." Arwen took a blade, held in its scabbard, from a rack and held it out to Amelia like an offering. She took it hesitantly from the elf and, remembering a trollhoard in ascene in a movie, pulled the blade slightly out of its scabbard to eye it carefully. She didn't know the first thing about swords, but it looked like a fine one, the kind one would expect an elf and not a human girl to bear. Its shape reminded Amelia of a straight katana. Faint inscriptions adorned its blade and its hilt was a pale, golden color. It felt light, akin to holding a heavy stick.

"I mean… I like it. I think I do. I mean, I can actually lift it, it feels nice to hold… not too shabby."

"Its name is an old one, one that I will not utter here, for it is not one the Eldar speak without grief." Arwen told her and Amelia cocked an eyebrow at her again. "Here, we call it Aeglos, Snowthorn in the tongue of men." Amelia nodded in approval of the name.

"Snowthorn. I like it. What's it's… I mean, all you elves just love stories, so… this sword has to have one." Arwen nodded slowly, a rueful smile resting on her face.

"It was forged by Eöl, for his wife, whom he took by force. It was a hollow gift, for even though she knew how to fight, she did not like it and his offering brought her no joy." Arwen sounded like she was reciting an old story and knew the lines by heart. Amelia grimaced.

"Charmer, that one. But it's a good sword… I think. I'm not good at… swords. But I like it." Arwen nodded solemnly.

"Then you shall have it." She offered and Amelia's eyes widened.

"But… this thing must be worth a fortune!" She exclaimed loudly and heard another person enter the armory, which was one of the only places in Rivendell lit by torches and not natural daylight. She turned her head and saw that it was Gimli, who immediately went over to the limited supply of axes, apparently to finally get a replacement for the one he had shattered so hastily. Amelia found slight amusement in that, knowing that he would have to be truly in need to search for a weapon of elvish make.

"Lost gold replaces itself, with time." Arwen talked softly, as if she spoke about more than just money. "But a gift is not just itself; it is a memory when hope seems lost, of better times beneath the trees. Please, honor the valley by accepting this and hopefully carry it to a brighter fate than what awaited its first owner."

Amelia felt that she should ask what, exactly, had happened to the wife of Eöl, felt that she should make it clear that she wouldn't be able to bring a sword back home, since she'd probably get arrested if she swung it around, but she was hesitant and didn't want to seem rude and ruin her fragile new friendship, as opposed to her feelings about every other bond she had formed since October 24th.

"Look, I'm grateful for this, you… I really am, but I'll be going home again in a few weeks. I can't bring a sword with me, as much as I might want to." Arwen's face fell ever so slightly and Amelia instantly felt bad for disappointing her. Then, she had to refrain from grimacing. Her devotion to the Evenstar surprised even herself at times.

"What you said, about returning…" Arwen began hesitantly, as if she feared she would scare Amelia off. "Your mind is set?"

"Yeah. I mean, yes. I can't stay."

"Cannot, or will not?" The simple question made Amelia stop and frown, thinking hard.

"I don't know." Amelia finally responded to the question, a bit stiffly. She hated uttering that phrase whenever she had to. Arwen nodded sagely and Amelia was glad to see that she didn't seem to be unable to understand her.

"And yet your mind strays to what would happen if you remained, even joined the Fellowship on their journey." Arwen gestured to the sword. "If you are so intent on returning to a world without swords, then why request that you learn how to use one?" Amelia opened her mouth to retort, but nothing came out. Arwen smiled and held up both of her hands. "Peace, my friend. I did not mean to cause you melancholy or dark thoughts and you still have time. Our scouts still report nazgûl on our outskirts. The Fellowship, however many they be in the end, will not leave before those reports cease and change for the better. Come, let us get back to the matter at hand. I would gladly help you in learning how to wield a blade."
Amelia nodded hesitantly and noticed that Gimli was scrutinizing her, his dark eyes gleaming in the dim room. She gave him a hard look and strode out of the room after sheathing her sword with a snap.