I AM SO SORRY I WAS AWAY SO LONG! Here is the next chapter, it took a LOT of research and studying to be as accurate as possible, so feel free to correct me, but do know that I tried. Happy reading:)
Chapter 9: The Council
When the sun was just beginning to set over the western horizon, a tall, slender elf found Thorin in his room and escorted him through several long winding halls to a veranda overlooking the valley. Several of the dwarves were gathered around a long table eyeing plates of leafy vegetables and running their fingers greedily over golden chalices.
"Ho, Thorin," Dwalin called as he stepped up onto the veranda. Thorin felt a small smile spread across his face, but he did not sit with his men and instead followed the elf onto a platform that extended out over the falls. Balin was seated across from him with Bilbo beside, but three chairs remained empty. The elf nodded his head and then departed, his long silver robe sweeping the ground without a sound.
"These are stately halls, that much is certain," Balin murmured as Thorin took his seat across from the old dwarf.
"If the elves moved any slower, my beard will have grown touch the floor by nightfall," Thorin grumbled. "They posses no sense of urgency. I'd say it will be another week by the time they have assembled the things we need to continue our journey."
"We are not all as hurried as you, Master Dwarf. What needs to be done will be done, perhaps in a less timely manner than you desire," a voice as strong as the flowing river said from behind Thorin. Turning to look over his shoulder, he laid eyes on Elrond who was closely followed by Gandalf. Thorin felt his hands clench into fists as the two figures stepped up onto the dais and took their seats in two of the remaining chairs.
"Not all of us can afford to waste the day away, Master Elf," Thorin whispered icily, fighting to keep his voice level.
"Pray, where can you be off to in such a hurry?" Elrond asked, but Thorin held his tongue. He will get nothing out of me he thought stonily, glaring at the golden garbed elf. Gandalf and Elrond took their seats and immediately several elves appeared with trays laden with fruits and vegetables. Thorin and Balin cast their eyes about for any sign of meat, but there was none. And how I am to replenish my strength on naught but greens he fumed, reluctantly reaching for the plate of peppers. Behind him, Thorin could hear the other dwarves shouting at each other and laughing over soft strands of music.
"We came across these blades while on our journey," Gandalf said, unbuckling his own sword from his waist and motioning for Thorin to do the same. The wizened old man handed Elrond Thorin's weapon as well as his own for inspection, watching as the elf clutched the swords between long, dainty fingers as if it was no heavier than a feather. After several minutes of inspection, Elrond's eyebrows shot upward.
"This is Orcrist, the Goblin Cleaver. A famous blade, forged by the High Elves of the West, my kin. May it serve you well," he said, handing Thorin his blade. Thorin held with sword in his hands, slightly disappointed to learn that such a fine quality blade had be forged by his enemies.
"And this is Glamdring, the Foe-hammer, sword of the King of Gondolin. These swords were made for the goblin wars of the First Age. How did you come by these?" He asked, returning Glamdring to Gandalf.
"We found them in a troll hoard on the Great East Road, shortly before we were ambushed by orcs," Gandalf answered smoothly. Thorin nodded in agreement, pleased that Gandalf had not hinted in the slightest about their quest. The less the elves know the better.
"And what were you doing on the Great East Road?" Elrond questioned, surprise mingled in his steady, river-like voice.
However, they were saved from answering when Elrond turned his head suddenly to smile at something behind Thorin. Both Gandalf and Thorin turned in their seats to see another elf escorting Nimroel up the walkway, his hand extended so that she could use him to support herself. It took a moment for Thorin to recognize the half breed. The last time he had seen her she was covered in dirt and many layers of black and crimson blood, hovering on death's doorstep. Now, the girl before him appeared vibrantly alive with flushed cheeks and eyes like molten gold. She wore a simple white blouse that stretched to her knees and her feet were bare. Thorin felt his temper spike when Gandalf, Elrond, and Bilbo all got to their feet in her honor. Even Balin raised himself halfway out of his chair.
Seeing all of their reactions, Nimroel cast the table a wide smile as she walked slowly up to the dais. Her steps were small, but still graceful, and she barely moved her upper body. Her wounds must be bothering her Thorin thought, casting her an apprising eye. He spotted bandages peeking out from under the collar of her blouse and a dark bruise marred her cheekbone.
"Welcome Nimroel," Elrond said smoothly, motioning with his hand to the final empty seat at the end of the table beside himself and Bilbo. The elf that escorted her helped Nimroel into her seat and then departed with a deep bow. Thorin felt his skin crawl being seated so close to the half breed.
"I pray that everything has been to your comfort?" Elrond asked.
"Yes, everyone has been lovely, thank you," she said with another broad smile. Thorin felt a small grimace mar his face as he watched her take Bilbo's hand and give it a small squeeze.
"And what of your injuries?"
"They are well. Your elves have tended to me most diligently, it is much more than I deserve," she replied.
"I will look at your wounds again tomorrow and see if there is anything more I can do. I believe that with some care I can have you healed in a week's time," Elrond said with a smile to match the Half breed's.
"A week!" Thorin exclaimed, interrupting the conversation. He saw Balin cast him a warning glance but Thorin ignored the older dwarf. "We do not have a week to spend milling about in the halls of elves."
"I did not know that your quest was more important that the life of one of your company members," Elrond said, and there was something dangerous in his voice that caused Thorin to remain silent. Turning back to Nimroel, he continued the conversation.
"I have been asked to hold council with Thorin and Gandalf at the conclusion of this meal, however, after I would speak with you if you feel well enough?" His voice was gentle, like the smallest of streams and there was something sympathetic in his gaze. Nimroel's face flushed in surprise.
"It would be my honor," she said, inclining her head as far as possible without bending her neck.
The meal continued in silence until everyone had eaten their share. When Bilbo took his last bite, Elrond got to his feet and everyone else followed.
"We have much to discuss as night draws near," the elf began, his stern gaze falling upon Thorin. He shivered but held his head high, determined that Elrond not see how bothered he was. "Nimroel, Nithron will guide you to my council room where you will wait for me. The rest of you may follow me." There was a series of scrapes as chairs were pushed back from the table and they all followed Elrond down the walkway.
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Nithron was waiting for Nimroel at the end of the walkway, a small smile spread across his face and his arm extended for her to hold. Nimroel smiled at him in return, and taking his arm, they moved silently through a series of long, winding hallways. In the final rays of the setting sun, the shadows became long and undulated, casting an eerie but no less beautiful light on the home.
"Elrond does not usually invite guests to speak with him. You are very lucky, Yelya," he said as he escorted her through a room full of rosebushes. The air was thick with their scent and Nimroel felt as if a small burden had been lifted from her shoulders as she moved through the thorny plants.
"I am honored," Nimroel replied, smiling in spite of herself. "Do you know what Lord Elrond wishes to speak of with me?"
"I do not," Nithron said as the left the rose room and stepped out onto a long breezeway that was elevated over several gardens below. "However, I would go so far as to assume that he wishes to speak to you of your lineage." Nimroel felt a small tingle at the base of her spine and the cool dark air was suddenly hard against her skin. My mother she thought with wonder.
"Did Lord Elrond know my mother?" Nimroel asked, her heart racing frantically under her ribcage. "Did you?"
"Yes I knew your mother," Nithron said, but he did not elaborate and so they fell into silence.
At last they came upon a room on the East side of the house. It had large, airy ceilings with vine-like pillars and a raised dais with a table perfect for discussion. A stairwell was to the right of the entrance and it led up to a balcony that overlooked the room. In the moonlight, the shadows were soft and Nimroel suddenly felt very small and very unimportant.
"Here is where Lord Elrond will meet you. I bid you goodnight," Nithron said with a bow and departed.
Nimroel stood very still at the entrance to the room, uncertain if she should sit at the table and wait or even if she was allowed to move. Without knowing how she knew it, Nimroel understood that many important events had taken place in this room. Holding her breath, she took one silent step forward, and then another. When at last she stood in the center of the room, Nimroel exhaled, feeling a knot that had gathered between her shoulder blades loosen.
She made her way towards the stairs and began the ascent towards the balcony, allowing her fingers to trace lightly over the stone balustrade. At the top, murals covered each archway, stretching several feet over her head. The first showed a multitude of soldiers, both men and elves, marching through a desolate, black country. The next held a battle between men and orcs. Their expressions of pain were so genuine that Nimroel quickly moved on. In the third panel, a man lay on the ground, his face masked with grim determination, holding a broken sword above his head pointed at a dark figure that could only be Sauron.
"I was there that day," a solemn voice said from behind Nimroel. "The day Isildur cut the one ring from Sauron's hand." Nimroel turned sharply to see Elrond standing at the top of the stairs, his hands clasped before him in a thoughtful manner.
"Lord Elrond," Nimroel said hastily, turning and bowing as deeply as her back allowed. She grimaced as she felt the cuts on her back and shoulder reopen. When she stood straight once again, she saw that he had moved around her to stand before the statue of a woman draped in many layers of fabric. She was holding a platter with something that glistened silver in the moonlight.
"And here is Narsil, the blade that was broken, which Isildur used to cut the ring from the Dark Lord's hand." Elrond smiled at her and motioned her forward. Nimroel silently approached until she stood before the statue.
Despite Nimroel's limited knowledge of swords, she recognized that she was gazing upon one of the most finely wrought swords in all of Middle Earth. The blade glistened as if it had been forged only the day before, and the leather on the hilt was well worn and polished. Once again, Nimroel felt very small standing before such an important artifact.
"But come now," Elrond said, stepping away and leading Nimroel back towards the stairs. "You did not come to look upon old relics." They made their way down the stairs and up the dais, taking seats at the table. Nimroel shivered as the old stone chair pressed against her skin.
"I would first like to ask how much you know of your mother," Elrond began after several minutes of silence.
"Only that she named me before passing and that she was killed by wargs while journeying with my father," Nimroel said quietly. "This too was hers," she said, pointing to the pearl ring on her finger. Elrond nodded but said nothing. Nimroel sat in silence, waiting impatiently for the elf lord to speak.
"Your mother's name was Nimrondel daughter of Rimrodel," Elrond began, sucking in a deep breath as if to prepare himself for a speech. "She descended from a long line of Eldar, whose great grandfather four times was of the Ñoldor and who was with me at the founding of Imladris. Her family ever dwelled in Imladris although her brother Edvair traveled to Lothlórien and there he still lives."
Nimroel felt as if she had turned to stone. Although much of what Lord Elrond had said made no sense to Nimroel, she nonetheless felt suddenly whole. Nimrondel she thought with wonder, allowing the name to roll around her tongue. And Edvair, her brother!
"I have living family member?" Nimroel whispered faintly.
"Yes, you would call him your Uncle I believe. He has not been seen here since he left for Lothlórien long ago." Elrond smiled in a comforting manner.
"And what of my father?"
"Of him I know little," Elrond said uneasily. "His name was Korinth and he was a captain of Gondor who was sent to the East in order to find one Thorongil who had aided Gondor in a previous time of need."
"But how did he meet my mother?" Nimroel asked, now greedy for information.
"I cannot be certain, however, I believe they happened upon each other while your mother traveled east to Lothlórien and your father west to Bree. Your mother was away for many years, during which time I believe that she continued on her journey to visit Edvair and then met once more with your father."
"And then they were wed?" Nimroel probed. At her question, the look of unease spread further across Elrond's face.
"I do not believe they were ever wed," the Elf Lord replied slowly. Ice seemed to seep into Nimroel's heart and her breathing became shallow.
"So, I was conceived out of wedlock?" Her voice shook around her words and she felt a flush creep up her neck. Surely not. Despite her elvish and human heritage, her hobbitish mannerism were taking control. To be born out of wedlock…the shame would be unbearable.
"Nimroel, you must understand several things before you judge your parents," Elrond said, his voice soothing as the strongest currents of a river. "It is tradition that Elves marry at the age of fifty, without exception. To the Eldar, the uniting of the soul and the body are one and the same, and once married the union is for eternity."
"I don't understand – " Nimroel interrupted, but Elrond held up his hand for silence.
"When you mother set out for Lothlórien, she was sixty-five and unwed. I do not know the why she failed to marry, but I believe that it was simply because she preferred the company of her rose garden to that of other elves. Now it is a common belief among our people that Elves who fail to marry at the age of fifty or who fail to marry at all meet ill fates."
"But what do elvish customs have to do with my parents?"
"Everything, Yelya," Elrond said gently. "Consider this; your mother was extremely young by our standards and already a social outcast among her people because she was unmarried. She set off to find her brother, who I believe she thought would care for her without judgment, and along the way she meets a young captain who is immediately taken with her. He knows nothing of her social degradation and for perhaps the first time in many years she feels truly cared for."
"So you mean to tell me that I was not even conceived out of love, but only out of loneliness?" Nimroel fought to keep her voice calm and failed. As a child she had always pictured her parents happily married and well respected among both races, spending their days traveling among men and elves and helping to heal the hurts of society. The knowledge that her parents had not been married, and may not have even loved each other cut Nimroel to the core.
"No, I feel quite certain that your mother loved Korinth," Elrond assured her firmly.
"But how can you know?" Nimroel shrieked, the hysteria she had felt inside her brimming over. Without realizing it, Nimroel was on her feet and moving around the table to the edge of the dais where she paced along the edge. Her back seared from the sudden movement, but she ignored the pain in her fear. "You yourself said that you knew little of my father, how can you know that she loved him?"
"Because your mother brought him here when she was with child," Elrond stated simply.
"And what does that prove?" Nimroel demanded, anger seeping into her voice. How could Elrond remain calm? Her image of her parents had just been shattered and yet he remained unfazed.
"Your mother understood that returning to Imladris heavy with child while unmarried would result in an uproar and she would be ostracized."
"So she was a fool as well as lonely," Nimroel spat, turning on her heel to pace the other direction.
"No, Yelya," Elrond said, this time a hint of anger seeping into his voice. He collected himself with several breaths before continuing. "In my experience, I have seen people do illogical things out of fear or pride or anger. Each of these feelings is a strong driving force behind actions, but perhaps none are as great a force as love. Your mother knew that her return to Imladris would result in her loosing not only her family, but her home as well, and yet she returned despite these truths in order to give birth to you in a safe environment. She sacrificed her entire lifestyle out of her love for your father, and for you."
Elrond fell silent and Nimroel continued her pacing. His words had soothed her slightly, but she still felt on edge. She loved him… and me Nimroel thought to herself, and the words had a profoundly calming effect.
"They still were not married," Nimroel finally said, speaking her final unhappy thought.
"I do not believe they underwent any form of ceremony as is the tradition of men, however, they were wed in the manner of the elves. As I said before, to elves the unification of the body is the unification of the soul. When your mother and father came together to conceive you, they were wed through elvish tradition. I believe it is the most they could have hoped for under given conditions and that they considered themselves married in full."
"Given conditions?" Nimroel repeated. At this question, Elrond smiled.
"Ah, well you see, your mother was immortal and your father not. It would be difficult to marry someone who could not spend eternity with you."
Nimroel considered this for the first time. Her mother must have been miserable with the knowledge that one day Korinth would pass away, leaving her alone. For a moment, Nimroel was gripped with pity for her mother, who was doomed to lose her people and the man she loved. Seizing the silence, Elrond continued.
"This reason is another that I believe your mother truly loved Korinth. Despite her immortality, she chose to be with a mortal. I think you and I can both agree that only love could drive this doomed unification."
"Where did she go when she left Imladris?" Nimroel asked.
"She set out with you and your father for Gondor where I believe they planned to raise you among men. As the only elf in the white city she would be prized and respected, although singularly alone, and you would be treated as royalty. At the eventual passing of Korinth, I imagine she planned on passing into the West, and you would be given the option of journeying with her or remaining in the world of men."
"But they were attacked while journeying to Gondor?" Nimroel stated, filling in the final gap in the story. Elrond inclined his head and Nimroel fell silent.
So now she understood her heritage in full; her head was bursting with questions about her parents. What were they like? What did they eat? Did they wish for me to be a boy or a girl? However a growing sense of loss and mourning for her parents who she had never known was overcoming her. Nimroel bit her lip and hunched her shoulders in an attempt to ward of the sudden grief that threatened to consume her. The sudden movement of her shoulders sent a rippling down her back and she staggered, grabbing the railing to remain upright. Her back burned and she felt one of the cuts begin to bleed once more under her wrappings. Suddenly two strong hands gripped her forearms and Nimroel vaguely recognized Elrond beside her.
"I think it best if you sit down," he said gently escorting her away from the edge of the dais and into a chair before he once again took his seat. They waited until her fit of pain had subsided before continuing.
"There is one other thing we must discuss," Elrond began, lacing his fingers before his face. Nimroel cocked her head to the side but said nothing. "It is the matter of you being half-elven." Nimroel nodded but said nothing. She knew of her unique blood, but it meant nothing to her.
"I think, forgive me, you do not understand. Do you know anything of half-elven?" Elrond asked.
"No."
"I assumed so. There has been eleven other half-elven, or Peredhil, in the history of all three ages of Middle Earth, you being the twelfth." Nimroel felt her eyebrows stretch across her forehead in surprise; this was news to her. "The tales of their unification are well known by the Eldar, but I would have been shocked if you knew anything of them through your minimal teachings. This may come as a surprise to you, but I too am half-elven."
"One of your parents was mortal?" Nimroel asked before she could stop herself.
"No, both of my parents were Peredhili, although the story of my lineage is a long one for another time," Elrond said with a small smile. "No, for now we must speak of a choice that you have."
"What choice?"
"At the conclusion of the conclusion of the War of Wrath, Manwë determined that the half-elven must choose between eternity and the gift of men, or more simply, between immortality and eventual death."
Once more silence dropped. Nimroel closed her eyes and gripped the sides of her chair in order to keep herself from spinning away. Immortality or death…immortality or death. The idea was incomprehensible. How could she make that choice? How can that choice even be an option? It seemed impossible that she would be given the option between the two. Nimroel attempted to focus on the cool stone of her chair as a method of grounding her mind.
"So I must make this choice?" Nimroel asked weakly after an uncertain amount of time.
"You can put it off for a little while, but eventually yes, you must choose."
"And which did you choose?" Elrond laughed at this question.
"You ask is if my decision mattered."
"Your choice does not matter," Nimroel murmured, "but it seems to me that if you could survive such a decision, than so can I." Elrond smiled at this comment.
"I chose eternity, to learn and grow and protect my people. But understand this, there are both good and bad to either road. I cannot say for certain which you should choose, for it is a decision you must make. And know that once your decision is made, it cannot be changed, so choose wisely, Yelya."
"I have much to think about," Nimroel replied.
"That you do. In the meantime, though, I suggest sleep. I find it is always helpful when faced with a great decision."
Nimroel nodded and got to her feet, following the elf lord down from the dais to the entrance where Nithron was waiting for her. As her feet traced the hallways blindly, Nimroel's mind was whirling. Immortality or death… immortality or death…immortality or death.