Chapter 9 - A pleasant night, with a less-than-pleasant ending
(A QUICK NOTICE: some pieces of dialogue/poetry in this chapter are copied directly from The Fellowship of the Ring; full credit goes to Tolkien for these - I merely wished to include them to keep the fanfic with the feel of the original text.)
After much wandering, Elanor managed to find her way back to her bedchamber. The tranquil room with its comfortable bed seemed the most beautiful place in the world as she opened the door and stumbled inside.
The bed had been made since her departure that morning, and several items of clothing had been laid out upon it. With a girlish thrill, she hurried to inspect them. She had been provided with several new gowns, in blues and greens. They were flatteringly cut, and made of extremely soft fabric.
Real Elvish dresses…
Picking them up carefully, she carried them to the wardrobe and proceeded to hang them. They felt like liquid beneath her fingers, and she was half-afraid to wear them as she admired their exquisite stitching.
It was only early afternoon, but she was already longing for bed. The Council had been surprisingly draining, and speaking with Gandalf and the other Elves had only added to her exhaustion. She had no idea what had caused Elrond to initiate his display of paternal affection, but it was certainly flattering. She harboured a great deal of admiration for the proud Elf-lord, and hoped she would see more of him.
He reminds me of Dad.
The thought stung painfully, but she was unable to deny it's truth; there was a certain similarity in manner between Lord Elrond and her father.
Several tears slipped down her cheeks before she could stop them. Climbing onto the bed, she buried her face in the pillows and allowed herself the luxury of a heartfelt cry.
Oh goodness, I miss him… I miss the smell of Dad's cologne, and the sawdust he leaves round the house… come on Elanor, you're a grown woman, out of home for three years! Crying over your dad! And your mother! And Tim! And even that scoundrel Georgia, who caused this whole mess. Oh goodness, I'll never be angry with any of them ever again, so long as I get out of this place!
Eventually the tears subsided, and she sat up. Her eyes felt gritty and dry.
Rising reluctantly, she passed to her "bathroom" and splashed her face with cold water from the pump. Knowing she would want a bath later, she hefted the giant pot onto the stove. It took a few minutes of hard exertion to fill it to the brim, but she would be glad of it later. Stoking the fire and adding another piece of wood, she returned to the bed with her backpack.
"And now, Elanor Ravenscroft," she spoke aloud as she pulled out The Lord of the Rings, "it's time to refresh your memory."
"She is certainly peculiar," admitted Glorfindel, leaning back in his armchair, "but there is no malice in her glance—only sorrow."
"Boromir has informed you of their journey north, I presume?" Gandalf asked, as he pressed some dried leaf into the bowl of his pipe. The three men were once again seated around the fireplace, a air of companionship permeating the room.
"Briefly. I marvel at her endurance—she is hardier than I expected. Few could have continued as she did."
Lord Elrond smiled at this and glanced at his friend and counsellor. "A fire dwells in her bones, despite her size. She is at once both wise and helpless, clever and childlike."
"An apt description," Glorfindel smiled in reply, reaching for a goblet of wine which rested on a nearby table. "Though she is not small, meldo. She is taller than many women of the Eldar." Pausing, he grew serious for a moment. "Do you still believe her coming heralds great evil?"
"No, for there is no evil in her. She is but a result of the peculiar happenings, despite her presence altering the course of events," Elrond replied. "I heralded her arrival with great suspicion, but one glance at her countenance dispelled my doubts. She is to be welcomed, for she has a part to play in this coming struggle."
Gandalf lit his pipe with a great sigh of satisfaction before he spoke. "She will recover well under the influence of Imladris, and grow hale and fair once more."
"I long to see it, for she is pale and wan. Only her eyes retain their beauty—and yet seem overlarge in a countenance so thin. At first I believed her to be of Théoden's people, for she would look at home amongst the golden-haired Rohirrim. Her features are too finely placed for a woman, however, and yet she is no Elf," Glorfindel mused, slowly. "She is a curiosity whom I desire to know more of. I hope she shall converse more readily when she is better rested."
"Indeed she shall," Gandalf affirmed, comfortably puffing on his pipe. "She has a quick tongue, when she stirs herself."
Lord Elrond's brow creased, and both his companions turned to him as he spoke: "It gladdens my heart that Lady Elanor wins friends with such ease, for she shall need them ere the end."
The sun was shining directly in Elanor's window by she awoke.
She had evidently drifted off whilst reading, for The Lord of the Rings was lying carelessly on her chest, halfway through "Chapter 6: The Old Forest".
She could hear the pot of water on the stove boiling merrily, ready for her bath. Brain foggy from her nap, she forced herself to her feet. Her muscles still creaked stiffly, and she fervently hoped that the hot water would soothe them.
You'll have to do some exercise again soon, her brain reminded her pertly.
Oh, shut up.
She ladled water from the pot to the tub, revelling in the fact that she was no longer in drought territory and could have a deep bath if she desired. After topping it up with several cold buckets to make the water a bearable temperature, Elanor slipped out of the grey dress and into the tub for the second time that day.
It was luxurious simply to lie there, inhaling the sweet scent of the Elvish soaps. A fresh pile of towels had been provided—God bless Indilwen—and she remained submerged until the bathwater began to grow tepid. Reluctantly, she washed herself and clambered out.
Dressing quickly in one of her new gowns—an article of soft, leafy green with beautiful cream embroidery—she rubbed her hair dry.
Now all I need is a mirror…
Returning to the wardrobe, she opened various drawers until she encountered a hand-held looking glass. With some trepidation, she turned it to her face.
The person in the reflection was not quite Elanor. Her face was far thinner, and her cheekbones more angular. Her eyes were ringed with shadows, and there was a fierce set to her chin that had never been there before. Only her eyes were the same—wide, grey-green orbs, rimmed with uncharacteristically dark lashes for a blonde.
Well at least you haven't had an acne outbreak?
Walking to her bed, Elanor used the mirror to correct her wildly askew hair. The chin-length blonde curls were almost long enough to tie up. Adding a mental reminder to ask Indilwen for hair accessories, she placed the mirror on the blankets.
She was hungry, and she would not allow herself to have another meal in bed. The green dress was rather flattering, and she felt like a princess despite her bare face and gaunt frame. Dusk had come, and she was sure there would be food somewhere about.
Squaring her shoulders, she moved to the door and opened it. The hallway was empty, but she heard voices and laughter nearby. It did not take long for her to discover a busy thoroughfare.
The Elves were a joy to watch amongst themselves—Elanor had not known that they were such cheerful, light-hearted people. They seemed capable of being serious, but in ordinary situations they laughed as much as they spoke.
She also swiftly realised that the majority conversed with one another in some form of Elvish. The language was pleasing to the ear, but Elanor could not make head or tail of it. Unsure where to find food or familiar faces, she finally resolved to approach a male Elf who stood slightly to one side, and whom she recognised from the Council.
"Excuse me," she said softly as she approached.
"Ah, Lady Elanor," he replied, turning to face her and giving a brief smile and bow. "I am Erestor, one of Elrond's household. I was present upon your arrival in Imladris, though you have no memory of such events. I welcome you now, and glad is my heart to see you stand upon your own feet."
"Thankyou," she murmured, hoping fervently that he had not been privy to her helplessness.
"Is there aught you desire, lady?"
They're mighty caught up on this lady-business, aren't they?
"I am in need of food, and of company, if that can be found."
Erestor bowed again. "Certainly. There are some who wish to meet you. I shall lead you to them."
Profoundly grateful, Elanor fell into step beside him. Unlike Indilwen, who moved almost wordlessly, Erestor pointed out many things as they passed. Elanor marvelled at the beautiful murals that covered several walls.
"What are they of?" she queried, realising that finishing her Tolkien books was imperative.
"Many things, lady, though chief amongst them the Elves' war against Morgoth, and Sauron, his servant."
"Oh."
Sauron is Morgoth's servant? Which means that there's a bigger, badder version of Sauron out there? Oh goodness this is bad…
Pausing outside a pair of closed doors in a quieter part of the house, Erestor gestured for her to enter. "The Hall of Fire, lady. Here many songs and tales have been sung and told. But except on high days it usually stands empty and quiet, and people come here who wish for peace, and thought. There is always a fire here, all the year round, but there is little other light."
"It sounds lovely," Elanor smiled. "Thankyou for bringing me here."
"You are most welcome." Twisting his hand in a peculiar gesture of farewell, Erestor departed.
Hoping she would not disturb anyone, Elanor pushed the door open gently. It creaked a little, but made no other sound.
The great hall had carven pillars down both sides, and was lit with a warm, flickering light from an immense fireplace. Near the fire, she spied four figures sitting upon the ground. The faint sounds of talk and laughter echoed through the hall.
Creeping forward hesitantly, Elanor realised that she was approaching four diminutive people—hobbits.
Stopping several metres away, she cleared her throat. "Ah, hello."
Four slightly startled faces turned towards her. The oldest one softened after a moment, however, and he gestured to her with open arms.
"Unless I am greatly mistaken, you are the Lady Elanor," he said, rising.
"You are correct. And I believe that you are Mr Bilbo Baggins?"
The hobbit bowed low. "Quite so, lady."
Elanor's eyes moved over the other three hobbits, still seated. "Master Samwise I have seen too, though I have not met your other friends."
Merry and Pippin rose then, and introduced themselves in their high, polite voices. Sam, however, merely gave a curt nod.
He looks, almost… angry… as if I'm to blame for— well… for Frodo dying… oh goodness, how am I going to fix this one?
"Would you mind if I joined you?" she asked, instead, hoping he would not be openly hostile.
"Please, do," cried Pippin, with a blithe smile. "We have far too much food, even for us."
Grinning back, Elanor adjusted her skirts and sat down on the floor. The hobbits had spread a thick rug upon the stonework, and a sumptuous picnic was spread before them.
"Have some chicken, Lady, and some pie," Merry said, heaping the goodies upon a plate and thrusting them in her direction.
"Thankyou," as she took the plate. "Would you mind not calling me Lady Elanor, though? Its very formal, and at home my family just calls me Ellie."
"A nice, hobbit-like name, that," put in Bilbo. He was a wizened figure, with a cloud of grey hair and stooped shoulders. His brown eyes twinkled, though she could see the sadness rooted there.
"I suppose it is," Elanor replied. "I would very much like to see the Shire, someday. Could you tell me about it?" This last part she directed at Sam, intending to draw him out.
He was very close to Frodo… it's natural for him to mourn him…
He merely watched her balefully. "I don't think you'd like it—'tisn't grand or magnificent, but full of simple, hard-working folk."
Feeling somewhat stung by this pointed comment, Elanor shrugged. "I come from a place not unlike that, and I think I'd enjoy visiting a lot."
Sam made no reply to that, but his lack of conversation was not missed. Merry and Pippin seemed determined to be cheeky and jolly despite the sadness that lingered amongst the company of hobbits, and she couldn't help but laugh at their antics.
The halflings certainly knew how to eat, and Elanor gladly tucked into pies, cakes, tarts, dishes of roast vegetables, and generous servings of meat. There were also several jugs of mead, and she found that it had an extremely pleasant taste. Merry and Pippin grew boisterous under the effects of the drink, and were soon begging Bilbo for a song.
"A song, lads?" cried the old hobbit. "I believe I shall oblige you!"—for he had had several glasses of mead himself. Clearing his throat, he began:\
Eärendil was 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.
In panoply of ancient kings,
in chainéd rings he armoured him;
his shining shield was scored with runes
to ward all wounds and harm from him;
his bow was made of dragon-horn,
his arrows shorn of ebony,
of silver was his habergeon,
his scabbard of chalcedony;
his sword of steel was valiant,
of adamant his helmet tall,
an eagle-plume upon his crest,
upon his breast an emerald.
Beneath the Moon and under star
he wandered far from northern strands,
bewildered on enchanted ways
beyond the days of mortal lands.
From gnashing of the Narrow Ice
where shadow lies on frozen hills,
from nether heats and burning waste
he turned in haste, and roving still
on starless waters far astray
at last he came to Night of Naught,
and passed, and never sight he saw
of shining shore nor light he sought.
The winds of wrath came driving him,
and blindly in the foam he fled
from west to east and errandless,
unheralded he homeward sped.
There flying Elwing came to him,
and flame was in the darkness lit;
more bright than light of diamond
the fire upon her carcanet.
The Silmaril she bound on him
and crowned him with the living light
and dauntless then with burning brow
he turned his prow; and in the night
from Otherworld beyond the Sea
there strong and free a storm arose,
a wind of power in Tarmenel;
by paths that seldom mortal goes
his boat it bore with biting breath
as might of death across the grey
and long-forsaken seas distressed:
from east to west he passed away.
Through Evernight he back was borne
on black and roaring waves that ran
o'er leagues unlit and foundered shores
that drowned before the Days began,
until he heard on strands of pearl
when ends the world the music long,
where ever foaming billows roll
the yellow gold and jewels wan.
He saw the Mountain silent rise
where twilight lies upon the knees
of Valinor, and Eldamar
beheld afar beyond the seas.
A wanderer escaped from night
to haven white he came at last,
to Elvenhome the green and fair
where keen the air, where pale as glass
beneath the Hill of Ilmarin
a-glimmer in a valley sheer
the lamplit towers of Tirion
are mirrored on the Shadowmere.
He tarried there from errantry,
and melodies they taught to him,
and sages old him marvels told,
and harps of gold they brought to him.
They clothed him then in elven-white,
and seven lights before him sent,
as through the Calacirian
to hidden land forlorn he went.
He came unto the timeless halls
where shining fall the countless years,
and endless reigns theElder King
in Ilmarin on Mountain sheer;
and words unheard were spoken then
of folk of Men and Elven-kin,
beyond the world were visions showed
forbid to those that dwell therein.
A ship then new they built for him
of mithril and of elven-glass
with shining prow; no shaven oar
nor sail she bore on silver mast:
the Silmaril as lantern light
and banner bright with living flame
to gleam thereon by Elbereth
herself was set, who thither came
and wings immortal made for him,
and laid on him undying doom,
to sail the shoreless skies and come
behind the Sun and light of Moon.
From Evereven's lofty hills
where softly silver fountains fall
his wings him bore, a wandering light,
beyond the mighty Mountain Wall.
From World's End then he turned away
and yearned again to find afar
his home through shadows journeying,
and burning as an island star
on high above the mists he came,
a distant flame before the Sun,
a wonder ere the waking dawn
where grey the Norland waters run.
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.
gut on him mighty doom was laid,
till Moon should fade, an orbéd star
to pass, and tarry never more
on Hither Shores where mortals are;
for ever still a herald on
an errand that should never rest
to bear his shining lamp afar,
the Flammifer of Westernesse.
Elanor was spellbound by the chanting verses, and applauded enthusiastically when Bilbo had finished.
"That was beautiful!" she pronounced, sipping some more mead. Her stomach was feeling pleasantly warm, and her cares felt far away.
Bilbo bowed again, several tears on his weathered cheeks. "I am flattered—I had intended to recite it for Frodo, but—"
Elanor's heart wrenched at his words, and she placed a hand over his.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, and he met her gaze with an understanding nod.
"Another!" bayed Merry, thrusting his tankard carelessly in the air.
But Bilbo could not be persuaded.
"What about you, Sam? Any songs from the Shire to share with us?" Elanor asked, turning to where the sullen hobbit sat. Her smile died away as she realised that Sam had slipped off.
"Never mind him," burped Pippin. "We're all sad about Cousin Frodo. But Sam's mighty protective, and he has a long memory." Leaning over and patting her comfortingly on the shoulder—a peculiar thing coming from a person of 130cm—he belched again. "We don't blame you for it though, Ellie. Mister Frodo would've liked you."
Unsure whether to cry or not, Elanor gave him a playful shove back. "Thanks Pippin."
"Have some more mead," he grinned, his eyes slightly glazed.
Is that a good idea?
Hesitating, she finally took the jug with a shrug and a smile. "That I will."
Several hours later, Elanor wandered out of the Hall of Fire. It was still fairly early in the evening, about nine o'clock. Her mind buzzed pleasantly, and she felt a little unsteady on her feet. The mead was particularly potent, and she had forgotten how long it had been since she'd had a substantial amount to drink.
Should you be wandering around Rivendell drunk, Elanor?
I'm hardly drunk… how many drinks did I have… five? Six? Must be closer to seven… but that's irrelevant!
She smiled blissfully to herself as she tripped along, eyes blurring a little as she tried to focus on anything.
…it's dark in here… and quiet… I wonder where all the people are…
Her last question was answered as she stumbled round a corner, her fingers brushing the panelled wall. Without warning, her face collided with a broad, firm chest. Losing her balance, she fell backwards awkwardly, and landed hard on her tailbone.
"Ugh," she groaned, letting her head fall back onto the stone floor.
"Lady Elanor!" cried a deep voice, reaching down to her. "Forgive me!" One hand slipped beneath her neck, and the other beneath her waist, pulling her up until she was sitting.
Blinking vaguely, she attempted to bring the face of her rescuer into focus as he crouched before her.
"Boromir," she said at last, smiling stupidly. "It's good to see you!"
He studied her for a moment before replying.
"And you, lady."
Elanor watched, a grin playing at her lips.
How did I miss the fact that Boromir is really, really hot?
The dim light hung mysteriously in the lines of his angular face as he gazed at her. His nose was straight and his jaw was perfectly cut. His grey eyes glistened in the torchlight, full of curiosity—and concern.
Now why would he be concerned about me? I'm fine! her internal voice giggled.
His face was surprisingly close to hers, and on a sudden impulse she grasped his chin—and planted a kiss on his mouth.
Several sensations hit Elanor all at once. She was acutely aware of the bristles near his mouth, of the shape and taste of his lips, and the fact that, for an instant, he was kissing her back. He reached behind her head, fingers slipping through her hair. Then, gently, he pulled away.
"That was nice," she mumbled.
Wordlessly, Boromir released her and stood. She grinned upwards, holding out her hands for him. He grasped them and drew her to her feet, but released them quickly.
"You should return to your chambers, lady," he said, his voice ice. "You are not fit to be wandering the halls in this state."
And with that, he slipped past her and continued on his way down the corridor.
Da da da DAAAAAA!
There's your first glimpse of romance in this story, though I will leave you with one piece of advice: *NEVER ASSUME* that things that I hint at will actually come to pass... ;)
BUT I felt like you had to have some kind of fun hehe, so I agreed to sacrifice poor Elanor for your sake, and let her get rather drunk (something she has not done since her early days of university... especially not with hobbits!)
Please reserve passing judgement on the Elanor-Boromir situation as yet - I hope you recall that Elanor does, in fact, have a boyfriend. You can't blame her for her actions while she's inebriated!
QUESTION OF THE DAY: Your favourite non-canon Lord of the Rings ship? :)
Finwe :D