Chapter 8 - Further counsel

Elanor stared numbly at her plate, caught between ravenous hunger and amazement at all that had transpired that morning.

She was seated at an immense table, upon which a feast had been prepared. The council had adjourned half an hour before, and Lord Elrond had led his guests from the terrace to an elegant dining hall. Elanor had scarcely noticed the architecture, her mind abuzz with a multitude of thoughts.

…you did hope that Sam would take the Ring… well at least that went right… how on earth did Gandalf get the Ring into my pocket… I wonder where he is… Indilwen would probably know… I'd like to speak with Elrond… Georgia would love this… far out, I miss them… everything here is so surreal and beautiful… I wonder if Middle Earth knows about chocolate… perhaps Gandalf invented it… I am going to kill him for doing that to me… I wonder why they didn't pick the rest of the Council today… maybe they'll do that later… oh gosh, I hope Sam can pull the quest off alright… I just want to go home…

Realising that people were bustling around her, Elanor drew herself back to her surroundings. She had been seated close to one end of the table. To her immense surprise, she discovered that Legolas was at her right hand. He noticed her looking at him and smiled.

"You appear to have a strange tale, Lady Elanor," he said to her, breaking the ice. "I would be most interested to hear of your travels, and of the land from which you hail."

Georgia is not going to believe this… She would strangle someone for the chance to have a one-on-one with Legolas Greenleaf…

Elanor hesitated a little, trying to phrase her sentences more like Legolas did.

"Thankyou, Legolas. I have—ah, journeyed—far to come here." Unsure whether to make something up about her past, she gave a small shrug. "I am from a land far to the south, where we have—ah, many… peculiar creatures."

I wonder what he'd do if he came face-to-face with a kangaroo or a cassowary…

"I fear I know little of the lands of which you speak—I have not travelled to the south, but I hope to learn more from your tales."

She gave a small laugh at that. "It is not so very different from here, I'm afraid."

Fortunately, she was saved from having to lie further. Elrond had reached the head of the table which stood upon the dais, not far from where Elanor sat. To his left and right were Gandalf and the tall-golden haired Elf she had noticed at the Council—Glorfindel, she had heard someone call him. Both appeared lordly and dignified, and to Elanor they seemed like kings of ancient legend.

They are kings out of a legend, silly!

From his seat of honour, Elrond bid them all to eat, and she found she could ignore her frazzling thoughts for a time. The food was more than enough to occupy her, thin and hungry as she was.

It startled Elanor somewhat to realise that Elves were not—as she had imagined—vegetarian. Their diet was wholesome and varied, but there was tender venison and roast chicken with the meal. The flavours were unfamiliar, but nonetheless delightful, and she happily engaged in light-hearted banter with the Prince of Mirkwood while they ate.

Stealing an occasional glance to the dais, she noticed that even Gandalf and the two mighty Elves had abandoned their solemn discussions to savour the food. Vowing to keep an eye on them, she did her best to enjoy her conversation with the Elf by her side.

Whilst Legolas was occupied dismantling a chicken leg, Elanor observed the remainder of the room. Her heart gave a leap of joy to see four hobbits at the table, Bilbo sitting with the rest. Merry and Pippin were as she had imagined them, with twinkly eyes and cheerful faces, and Sam seemed less woebegone after his startling announcement at the council. Boromir was listening raptly to a strange Elf a little further distant, whilst Gimli and Glóin were seated near the halflings. Of Aragorn she could find no sign.

Eyes wandering up the opposite side of the table, she paused as she sighted the most perfectly beautiful woman she could imagine.

That has got to be Arwen.

She was sitting on a chair beneath a canopy, in a delicate silver dress. Her hair was raven-black, and her eyes unclouded grey. Her skin was fair, and she had pearls and lace through her dark tresses. She was, in fact, a feminine version of Elrond, and made Elanor feel very small and plain. Like her father, she possessed a peculiar agelessness; she appeared young, but her face was wise and knowing, as if she had seen much.

And, if possible, she's even more perfect than Liv Tyler!

Elanor hurriedly turned her attention back to Legolas, not desiring to draw Arwen's gaze upon herself. She had not looked in a mirror for a month, and knew that she probably had dark circles under her eyes and a pimple outbreak on her chin. She'd never been particularly special at home, but at least she hadn't been ugly. Now, she couldn't help feeling a little resentful that she was so extremely ordinary.

I suppose it's every girl's dream to be the striking beauty of a story, she contemplated, thinking wryly of her romanticised childhood fantasies. But it's another thing entirely to be your plain old self in a world full of flawless Elves! At least they're polite, no matter what you look like…

Once her stomach was sated, she half-listened to Legolas' stories of his homeland whilst keeping an eye fixed upon the three figures at the head of the table. She would not let Gandalf slip away without answers this time—and had several questions she wouldn't mind posing to Lord Elrond.

"…the Greenwood is falling into decay, and heavy is my heart at the thought. I remember many a century in which it flourished, and all was well. But alas, for these are not such pleasant times…"

"Many a century?" inquired Elanor, curious. "I know that the Elves are long-lived, but I had not thought so long as that… How old are you, if I might ask?"

Legolas laughed, the sound ringing out like a pure bell chime.

"We do not age and die, as fleeting mortals; we simply endure, unless we are killed in battle or lose the desire to live. This is why Elves pass over the sea, to Valinor, when they are weary of this existence. I have seen many lives of men since the day I was conceived."

"So… you're immortal?"

Legolas nodded slowly, as if this was blindingly obvious. "Yea, lady. An Elf is not considered fully grown until they reach five score years."

"I don't quite understand," Elanor said sheepishly. "Five score? Is that twenty-five?"

"One hundred."

They reach adulthood after a normal person would die…

"I see…"

"And how old are you, Lady Elanor? You are evidently considered full-grown by the standards of your race," Legolas inquired smilingly.

"I am twenty-one."

"You would be a child in the halls of my father," he grinned. Elanor smiled back. This Legolas was not what she had expected, but she liked him all the same. His face was clean-cut and kind, and his voice had a pleasant lilt to it. She enjoyed his conversation, for he was merry and engaging-if not the brooding, smouldering character that Peter Jackson had created.

You'd break the fangirls' hearts if you told them that, though…

"Yes, I would. And you would be impossibly old in the halls of my father; we only live to be less than a century, mostly," she retorted, playfully. "Though my great-aunt lived to be one hundred and three, and that was considered very old."

"The lives of humans are indeed fleeting," cried Legolas, sorrow creasing his brow. "I cannot imagine an existence so short!"

"But don't you get bored, living forever?"

The Elf held his hands open in a shrug, having finished his chicken leg. "There is much to learn, Lady Elanor. We have ample time to study and improve our skills. And then, when we are truly weary, we pass over the sea, to the Undying Lands."

"That would be nice," she murmured, a little absent-mindedly. Gandalf had begun to stir from his chair, and she watched as Elrond and Glorfindel also rose. They passed behind the rows of feasters and out of the dining hall. "I'm very sorry Legolas, but I must leave. There are people I must speak with, though it has been most—enjoyable… conversing with you." She gave him a warm smile. Unsure whether curtseys were the norm here, she bobbed her head politely instead and hoped she hadn't used any words that were glaringly modern.

"Likewise, Lady Elanor," Legolas replied, smiling. "We shall speak later, for I would hear more of your homeland."

"I would love to tell you some stories," she admitted, pleased by his interest. "Enjoy the rest of your lunch!"

Elanor slipped past the door through which the three men had disappeared and glanced up and down the empty corridor. She could hear faint voices, but couldn't tell which direction they came from.

Darn it… where did they go?

Shrugging to herself, she turned right and padded softly along. With a triumphant smile, she realised the sounds were getting louder, and finally paused outside a door. It had been left slightly ajar. Taking a deep breath, she peeped through…

…and nearly let out a squeak of alarm when someone pulled it open the remainder of the way with an abrupt jerk.

Gandalf.

He stood there in the doorway, smiling down at her.

"Ah, Miss Elanor—excellent timing. We were expecting you." With that, he gestured for her to enter the room.

It was a study of some kind, with tall bookshelves and comfortable chairs. The windows were wide and bright, and a small blaze crackled in one corner. Near the fireplace sat Lord Elrond and Glorfindel, as kingly and refined as ever—and seemingly unsurprised at her appearance.

Realising that she was gawping awkwardly at the threshold, Elanor hurried inside. She hesitated behind the circle of armchairs, but Elrond smiled reassuringly and indicated for her to sit.

"Lady Elanor," he said, in his clear, kind voice.

"Lord Elrond," she replied, with a weak smile. Turning to the golden-haired Elf, she repeated the gesture. "Lord Glorfindel."

"Lady Elanor."

Elanor stared uneasily at her hands, her mind whirling as she wondered what kind of civilities were expected when conversing with an Elf-lord.

Ohhhhhh dear.

How did they know I was coming?

I've put my foot in it now…

Am I supposed to curtsey? Or bow?

And is that the correct address?

Lord Elrond?

I'm in a meeting.

With Elrond.

And Glorfindel.

And Gandalf!

Oh gosh, I'm gonna kill him…

"Now," said Gandalf, rubbing his hands expectantly. "I believe that there are many things to discuss, things that cannot be spoken of openly—even before those allied against the work of Sauron."

Elanor gulped and attempted to dry her sweaty hands on the skirt of her dress. She felt immensely small in the richly upholstered armchair, with the gaze of all three men upon her, as if they expected her to perform great feats. The silence lingered like a weighty blanket.

"I believe you foretold that Master Gamgee would take the Ring," Glorfindel said, finally. He had a similar air to Elrond, though he was evidently the dark-haired Elf's junior. "Is it not so, Gandalf?"

Gandalf nodded. "Only this morning, Elanor spoke of Samwise as one who might bear the Ring."

Silence returned after this brief statement, seeming put out to have been overridden. Anxious to speak, but not wanting to appear impolite, Elanor cleared her throat nervously.

"How did the One Ring end up in my pocket, Gandalf?"

The wizard chuckled at that. "I merely wished to see how you would react, good lady. As it were, you handled yourself with great composure. Forgive me for not informing you of my actions."

"It was a bit of a shock," Elanor admitted, staggered by Gandalf's boldness and flair for the dramatic, but struggling to remain angry with him.

"Indeed," he replied, looking thoroughly unrepentant. "Now—to Master Gamgee. Lord Elrond?"

Elrond's brow was furrowed in contemplation as he looked up at Elanor.

"Gandalf has informed me of your knowledge of future events, through the aid of a book. Firstly, from whence does this book come? Is it a reliable source? I will not place the fate of the Free Peoples of Middle Earth upon an unfounded claim. And secondly, do you truly believe Samwise Gamgee may bear the Ring?" The Elf-lord's grey eyes rested on her steadily. Elanor felt a fervent desire not to let him down.

Still feeling rather nervous to speak in such a lofty circle, she paused before beginning. "The first question is easy to answer: as far as I have seen, the book is extremely accurate. I'll have to read through it again to check, but nothing has contradicted it. The second—"

"Do you mean that you possess a copy?" cried Glorfindel, looking both horrified and intrigued.

"…Ye-es," Elanor finally admitted. "But it is hidden. And it may well be of no use now—Frodo dying has changed the entire story."

"Such a book is certainly not to be bandied about," agreed Gandalf. "But we may discuss that later. Please, continue."

Elanor sighed, unsure who to look at while she was speaking. "The second question is not as simple. In the original story, Sam accompanied Frodo, for—well… as long as the quest continued," she finished, somewhat lamely. Irrespective of the changes made to the book, it hardly seemed wise to confess that the quest had succeeded in the original when it hung in the balance now. "I'm sure you at least, Gandalf, can see the effect that the Ring had on Gollum, and on Bilbo. It certainly influenced Frodo, and Sam stuck by him fiercely. He was loyal, and less easily corrupted than some of the others. But he didn't carry the Ring for a prolonged period of time. I'm sure that he's good-hearted, but I simply can't guarantee anything. He may have the strength to do what Frodo did, but he also may not." Feeling wretched as she met Elrond's gaze, she looked down. "I'm sorry. If it weren't for me, this wouldn't have happened."

"Do not mourn your own coming," the Elf said gently, smiling as she glanced up at him through tears. "This was not of your making, but rather the work of Morgoth in his pride. Since the foundation of the world, his evil has spread, and this is but one result."

Who in heaven's name is Morgoth? she wondered. Tonight would probably be a good time to reread The Lord of the Rings… and maybe that other book Georgia had…

"However," Elrond continued, "the glory of the Elder Days is not entirely spent. There are many still who shall fight."

Elanor's heart thumped queerly. He continued looking at her while he spoke, and all her nervousness was overcome by a desperate desire not to be chosen to be part of the Fellowship. It went against all her understanding of how a heroine should react, but she would not undertake the quest to Mordor—not even if the portal home was at the top of Mount Doom.

"Lord Elrond—I am not going to be one of the Fellowship, am I?" she asked, in a small pleading voice. She kept her gaze fixed upon him, though she sensed Glorfindel and Gandalf watching her also.

Elrond's studied her thoughtfully for a moment. "You shall remain in Rivendell, for a time, to learn and recover."

Well that couldn't be any more ominous if he'd tried.

"So I won't be chosen? To go on the quest?"

"Certainly not," said Gandalf, firmly. "You are weakened and weary, and ill-equipped to travel as we must. I do not doubt your fortitude, but you should only be a hinderance amongst the company. You could not keep pace with us, nor should any expect it—you had best remain behind."

Elanor bristled a little at Gandalf's low estimation of her.

What did you expect though, silly? Do you want him to take you with him? Do you want to go through Moria and through the marshes and to Mordor? You'd be picked off at the first sign of orcs, and that would be your only use, as bait—you don't have the Ring and you certainly can't fight!

Breathing deep, she nodded.

"You are right. I will enjoy resting here."

For a time… came the smug voice again. That sounds like you're off on some kind of adventure later, doesn't it?

Gandalf smiled. "Excellent. We shall have to announce those to accompany Samwise presently, Elrond."

"You've chosen them already?" asked Elanor.

"We cannot force any to go, for it is not an easy task," put in Glorfindel, gravely. "But I would wish to hear your recommendations, Lady Elanor—let us test your foresight."

"Like, the original Fellowship?" she clarified.

"Yea, lady."

"Oh, that's easy: Frodo—no, wait, not anymore… well… Sam, Gandalf, Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, Boromir, Merry and Pippin. Though you've only got eight there, and I suppose you'll have to pick an extra person now."

Because of me.

Glorfindel gave her a gracious smile. "You are mostly correct, Lady Elanor. Though we cannot allow the halflings to go—Meriadoc and Peregrin must return to the Shire."

"Oh no," replied Elanor, for the first time feeling somewhat confident. "Merry and Pippin are very important to the story. I'm sure they have to go."

Gandalf looked like he wanted to protest fiercely, though Elrond's face was as smooth as ever.

"Do you think it wise, lady, to send two defenceless Shirelings into the wild?" the latter asked, calmly.

"Maybe not. If this was the original story, I would be able to guarantee their safety—and the necessity for them to go. They may be small, but they affect the outcome of this war of yours."

"Then I shall allow it," Elrond nodded. "Though only if they themselves seek out this task; if they remain silent when the time arises, some other shall have to shake the foundations of Arda in their stead."

"Fair enough," Elanor acceded, with a faint grin. Gandalf was—well, sassy and bold seemed to be the only way she could put it—but Elrond and Glorfindel were incomparably different. They were as steady as the earth, but both possessed a merry twinkle in their eyes—something which made the Elves a great deal more likeable than their lofty and solemn movie-counterparts.

"Who shall the ninth member be?" Elanor asked, wondering whether they would choose another Elf.

"I should willingly devote myself to the cause," replied Glorfindel. "Many ages of men I have dwelt in this house, but should the quest to destroy the Ring fail, even Imladris will no longer be a place of refuge and of comfort."

Well that could certainly change the outcome of a lot of things, thought Elanor, startled. But… I did always think that they might've done better with another Elf… and Glorfindel is kind, and powerful and will do what is best… yes… maybe it won't be so bad after all…

"You think deep thoughts, Lady Elanor," mused Elrond with a grin, startling her.

"Oh," she said, cheeks becoming hot as she realised she'd been staring into space. "Sorry."

"Such matters are of little importance. There are many things to be done—first and formost among these is the collection of information. We must learn much before the Fellowship may set out. In the meanwhile, all shall rest—you included, Lady Elanor." Lord Elrond stood and took a step towards her chair. He seemed very tall as he stood over her.

"Yes, Lord Elrond," she replied meekly, feeling like a child again. She was somewhat startled when he reached out and grasped her chin gently between his thumb and forefinger. In a normal situation, she would have recoiled at the touch. Instead, she met his gaze wide-eyed.

Elrond's voice was lower and full of fatherly kindness as he spoke: "The trials you have endured are written on your countenance, and I wish to see you well ere long," he said. Releasing her chin, he grasped her hands and gently pulled her to her feet. "Go and rest, for you are greatly troubled." His voice dropped to a whisper only she could hear as he stared into her eyes: "Do not think your task is done, however; there is much that you are yet to accomplish—and far that you must travel. You long for your kindred, but it is not within my power to grant you this wish, greatly as I desire to. The Ring shall leave Imladris and you shall remain—but it is your fate to see it again."

Dread gathered itself into a sickening ball at the base of Elanor's stomach at his words, and she simply nodded. Elrond stood close to her, his grey eyes watching her own keenly.

"If I have to," she replied, feeling rather silly and emotional with tears staining her cheeks. He smiled at that.

"Go, for now we shall speak of things that are of little interest and importance to you. Do as you will in the coming days, and do not hesitate to speak with any that you meet. My home is at your disposal, my lady," Elrond informed her. Glorfindel and Gandalf had also risen, as he spoke with her.

"Thankyou," Elanor whispered, tears spilling from her eyes.

She moved towards Gandalf, who took her hand warmly and pressed his lips it. His beard tickled her fingers and his blue eyes held compassion.

Glorfindel—much to her surprise—took her gently by the shoulders and planted a kiss upon her forehead.

"Márienna," he said, smiling down at her. "Towards happiness, lady."

Then, feeling extremely bewildered and emotional, Elanor allowed herself to be led by Lord Elrond out of the room. When they reached the doorway he bowed, and with one more smile closed the door between them.

I finally feel like I'm managing to tie up some of the loose ends of this story - that Elanor's getting her thoughts more in order. She's missing home like crazy still, but there's a lot less spontaneous sobbing!

Hope you've enjoyed this latest instalment as much as those before it!

Chapter 9 is already in the works - expect it soon.

QUESTION OF THE DAY: If you had to remove and replace one member of the Fellowship, who would it be and why? And who would you fill their place with?

Finwe ^_^