"Santiel, you must at least wear the circlet" Ilune thrust the band of leaves wrought in silver, into her hand.
"Very well! But then we must go, I fear we will be the last to arrive" Forcing the band roughly on to her head, she rushed out of the door, Ilune trailing behind her. Ilune had been trying to persuade her to wear one of the dresses that had been sent up to her from the Lady Arwens personal dressmaker. Feeling uncomfortable enough in the circlet, she had insisted on remaining in her brown leathers, although she had brushed the mornings dust from them.
Still feeling her pride bruised from her trip the night before, she needed no more reasons to feel less like herself. So unaccustomed was she to the long and flowing dresses that she had struggled to not trip again that night. And to be teased in such a manner by a stranger, and a man! This had been the final straw in her temper. Smiling wickedly, she recalled the triumphant feeling of besting him this morning, feeling his resistance and his aggression ebb away beneath her as she had trapped his neck in her blades. And something else, a sensation that pooled in her stomach the like of which she had not felt before. She recalled his eyes looking into hers, angry and embarrassed. But there was another emotion, unreadable – but present.
Shaking off her errant thoughts, she put them away, to be re-examined at a later point. Straightening her back and pulling her shoulders back she marched out into the courtyard where the Council was already assembled.
"Ilune, I shall find you when I am done. You know you cannot enter" Her tone was apologetic.
"Tis no bother, the talk will be dull. I shall go and find a handmaiden to distract me, perhaps she can explain to me the customs of the people of Imladris" he lifted the corner of his mouth in a smirk and Santiel swatted him away, laughing.
"Please do not do anything to tarnish our reputation as ambassadors to our people!" She was only half teasing him, and he knew this.
"I am, as ever, a gentleman" He called back over his shoulder.
Walking in, Santiel took her seat to the right of Elrond. Arwen was already sat to his left.
"Time has little meaning to you, Santiel" Elrond leaned down and frowned at her.
"My apologies my Lord" Santiel bowed her head, in deference to his scolding. Looking back up, she let her gaze wander the room. Several Elves were in attendance, a group of Dwarves whom she eyed curiously, Ellessar – Aragorn to most was seated alone to one side. She nodded to the men from Dale who ha been all courtesy to her the evening prior. Gandalf was seated next in the circle, with two halflings on smaller seats next to him. Finally her gaze rested on the two men, she took in the White Tree of their armour, and the seriousness of their faces. This council will change the fate of Middle Earth, she mused. Her sparring partner from this morning looked at her from the corner of his eye, his face reddening under her scrutiny. Again she felt it, a pull. Perhaps I am hungry, she wondered, she had not eaten since the feast the night before. Elrond began to speak, introducing the gathering. She was busy listening to the birdsong from above when she realized he was coming to the end of the circle, the two men, and then her.
"Here, my friends is the hobbit, Frodo son of Drogo. Few have ever come hither through greater peril or on an errand more urgent." Santiel smiled down at the small, dark haired Halfling as Elrond moved on to introduce Boromir son of Denethor, steward of Gondor and his companion Leofred, son of Leonere, also of Gondor and captain of the citys' outpost guards. She drew in a sharp breath, shocked that she had saved the life of the Son of Gondor.
"And finally, the Lady Santiel, daughter of Celeborn and Galadriel, Lady of Lothlorien and sister of my Wife, a long journey she has made to bring us news of the borders of her land and the challenges faced by their armies." Elrond nodded to her as she regarded her audience. The taller of the men, Leofred, looked at her sharply – colour now draining from his face.
"Boromir" Leof hissed angrily "Did you know she was his sister?"
"It may have been mentioned to me in passing after you had retired last night" Boromir would not meet his eye.
Leof groaned and shook his head. Not only had he insulted a woman, but a Lady. A Lady who was the sister of their host, sister of the most intimidating elf he was every likely to meet. And daughter of a myth, a legend, a witch. Unaccustomed to feeling so dim witted, with such frequency, he kept his eyes fixed on a point in midair. He had spent many years journeying the lands, fighting in battle, standing ceremony at court, and yet never had he felt so out of place and small as he did right now. He could feel her eyes on him, the intensity of her stare. He could not wait to leave and be on their journey again, to never have to see this elf again, to never have to feel this way for as long as he lived. Trying to keep his emotions at bay, and not understanding why they were so strong, he tried to refocus on the conversation taking place, all the while feeling embarrassment and anger in his blood.
"…and Isildur cut the Ring from his hand with the hilt- shard of his father's sword, and took it for his own." Elrond had finished recounting the story of Saurons defeat. Boromir leapt to his feet beside Leof
"So that is what became of the ring!" Leof tugged on his arm and forced him back in his seat, however Elrond then called upon Boromir to recount his story and the reason for his attendance. Leof sat while Boromir explained the conditions in Minas Tirith and the dream that had come to him. Finishing his story he expressed his desire to seek clarity.
"And here in the house of Elrond, more shall be made clear to you" The grey eyed, dark haired hooded man sitting off by himself had stood and thrown off his hood, removing from his belt a sword in two pieces and laying it on the pedestal in front of Boromir. "Here is the sword that was broken"
Murmering broke out, Boromir looked stunned and Leof felt confused, who was this man? He had not realized he had spoken aloud until Elrond stood then and answered him.
"He is Aragorn, son of Arathorn and he is descended through many fathers from Isildur Elendils son" a hush then fell on the group as they thought over this new information. To some this was already known, but to others this was news indeed.
Leof thought hard about what this meant, here in front of him stood the King. The rightful heir to the throne of Gondor. This bedraggled, dark looking man. Looking at him more carefully, Leof looked at the weather worn lines on his face, the slight scarring on his jaw. The depth of his eyes and the broadness to his shoulder. Yes, he thought, he could be king.
He became aware of a commotion, looking away he saw that the dark haired Halfling had brought forth a golden ring and had placed it on the large stone table in the centre of the Council. He heard Aragorn telling Boromir of his part in this story and then the elder of the two halflings was stood, telling a strange story of creatures that dwell under mountains and riddles that went on forever. Drifting in and out Leof struggled to pay attention to the conversation around him. Perhaps he had taken a harder knock to the head than he thought, he wondered ruefully. Raising his hand to check his head, he caught the attention of the woman responsible for the lump he now found on the back of his head. She flashed her eyes to him and he felt his skin tingle in response. What dark magic is this, he thought, what power do these Elves hold with their eyes.
"Ash nazg durbatulûk, ash nazg gimbatul,…" Leof noticed a shudder of what seemed like pain pass through Santiel and her eyes grew wide and fearful. He felt an unfamiliar urge to make whatever was hurting her stop and he broke eye contact to glance at the wizard who was speaking in this foul tongue. The skies grew dark and the earth shook beneath them.
The wizard finished chanting, and Elrond admonished his use of the language of Mordor in his house. Thinking he should pay more attention, Leof resumed trying to pickup the threads of the conversation. But prickling the edge of his consciousness he felt the distress of the Elf.