Chapter 12 - Iell

Elanor snorted in frustration and tossed her head. Her golden curls refused to stay put as the breeze tickled her hair, despite tucking it firmly behind her ears.

"Geez," she muttered, letting the tip of her sword drop to the grass. "Hold on a moment, Legolas."

The lithe Elf halted mid-stride and surveyed her with a smirk of amusement from several metres away. "Your hair has grown, mellon."

"It generally does that," Elanor replied sarcastically, grasping it all together with her hands and staring at him balefully. Legolas rested lightly upon the grass, his long form poised for action regardless of her cry for a respite.

"Does it?" he asked, sounding surprised.

She raised an eyebrow. "Yes?"

"A peculiarity of the race of men."

"I'm not a man!" cried Elanor. "All hair grows, even yours!"

Legolas laughed merrily. "Indeed it does not, Elanor, for my hair has remained unaltered since I came to adulthood."

Elanor drove her sword into the turf to free her hands, scarcely noticing the flicker of disapproval on Legolas's face.

"Your hair just stops growing?"

"Yea, lady. It reaches what length one desires and ceases. Your sword-"

"So you… imagine your hair that length? Or wish it? And then it grows to that length precisely?"

Legolas shrugged a little as he surveyed one of his brown locks, realising she would pay no heed to his warnings about placing a sword into the ground. His hair hung down to his belt, and was held back from his face by an intricate braid along each side of his head.

Rather like movie-Legolas…

"One's form is under the influence of one's mind."

"Hmm."

"Does your hair grow all the time? No matter what you want?" he asked, with childlike curiosity.

"Yes. I had a haircut just before I came here." Elanor frowned as she plucked at the end of one of the strands. "It's growing remarkably fast, though. I feel rather out of place with such short hair; even men grow theirs long in this land."

Legolas grinned. "Perhaps you have influenced it's growth yourself."

"Not likely," she responded, with a quirked eyebrow. "Do you have something I might tie it up with?"

The Elf reached into several pockets of his tunic before producing a thin strip of leather. Elanor received it with a smile and swiftly fastened her curls into a short ponytail about two inches long.

"Shall we continue?" she said, withdrawing her sword from the grass.

"With pleasure," Legolas smiled, retreating several metres and taking up his stance.

It had not ceased to amaze Elanor how cheerful and unruffled he remained even during sparring. She posed no challenge to the experienced Elf, and his careless demeanour certainly didn't boost her confidence skills.

Switching her sword to her left hand, Elanor advanced. Her right side was slightly stronger and more coordinated, but she enjoyed the feeling of weariness which came from sparring with both arms.

Legolas moved at an even pace, slowing his movements so she could keep up. Elanor swung at him several times, her blows raining from left and right. He was "tireless and swift", just as Tolkien had described him, parrying her blows with ease. He allowed her to continue for several minutes until her breaths became laboured. Then with contemptuous ease, he disarmed her.

"You know," he said, with a playful smile, "you would improve much swifter if you did not attempt to master the sword with both hands. The Eldar learn as you do, but it takes time; time which mortals do not have."

Elanor laughed, lifting up both arms and surveying the lean, knotted muscles forming upon them. "I know, but I'd rather not have one strong arm and one weak arm from using my sword right-handed all the time. Besides, I don't plan to ever actually fight."

"That is wise, for you would surely lose to any save the most dimwitted goblin," Legolas said, moving to retrieve her sword.

Elanor rose up in indignation, readying herself to protest. Legolas' blue eyes twinkled with amusement as he passed her the hilt of her slender blade.

"Yes, my lady?" he teased, bowing.

"I think I will cease there," she managed, unable to remain cross in the face of his unwavering good humour. "Besides, I was unable to speak with Lord Elrond as I must last night, and planned to seek him out this afternoon."

Legolas inclined his head once more. "As you wish. I shall practice with my bow for a time. Shall we continue tomorrow?"

"Oh, yes," Elanor nodded. "Perhaps we could go riding."

"You improve in that field swiftly," he smiled. "That is a good notion."

Elanor sheathed her sword, feeling a peculiar sense of pride that she was at least moderately capable on horseback. Perhaps if—when—she returned home she'd finally be able to best Georgia.

"I will meet you on the terrace at the eleventh hour," she said, surprised at how easily the peculiar telling of the time slipped off her tongue.

"I will be there."

Grinning at the Elf, Elanor gave him a friendly wave and turned back towards the house. One hand rested comfortably on the hilt of her sword. It was a light, slim blade, a gift from Lord Elrond a week before. Elanor treated it like a new toy, and was almost disappointed that the perfectly-tempered metal needed little maintenance. It reminded her somewhat of movie-Sting, though it was longer and straighter. It had an elegant cross guard and a hand-and-a-half hilt made of polished wood. She had been wracking her brains for an appropriate name for the beautiful gift, but couldn't find one to do it justice.

Climbing the stairs two at a time, Elanor entered Imladris by a back hallway. A pair Elves were moving swanlike down the corridor. Smiling, they halted in front of her and bowed. Elanor returned the gesture, pleased that Lord Elrond's lessons in etiquette had paid off.

"Indilwen has prepared a bath in your room, Lady Elanor," said one, in Sindarin.

"Thankyou," Elanor replied in the same tongue, fervently hoping she had understood the woman correctly. Her thanks must have been considered sufficient, for both Elves broke into smiles once more, bowed, and continued on their way.

Pleased at the idea of a bath before seeking out Elrond, Elanor hurried back to her chambers. She had been in Imladris for almost a month, and was becoming comfortably familiar with the beautiful Elvish house.

A whole month! A whole month without Tim, without Mum and Dad and Georgia… without my friends… goodness, what would Rita and Amelia and Amanda say if they could see me now!

She glanced wistfully down at her attire; a soft grey tunic which reached her mid-thigh, a pair of black breeches, supple leather boots, and a sword belt.

And the sleeves on this one are relatively normal! Imagine if they saw your droopy sleeves!

Absentmindedly traversing the path to her bedroom, Elanor's earlier good humour faded.

I miss them. I miss them a lot. This is lovely—lovelier than I could have imagined! But I've been away for… what is it… nearly two months?

Nearly two months.

Two months since she'd appeared on that horrible, desolate hillside in what she now knew was Cardolan, north of Eriador.

Two months.

Nearly two months since she'd stumbled upon Boromir; grim and weatherbeaten, and yet a sight that had filled her with profound relief.

The man you kissed!

Hey! We're sorting that out. Cool it!

Three weeks of walking; the thought of travelling anywhere else in Middle Earth filled her with dread. The days had been prolonged and hopeless. Only the fact that she had nowhere else to turn had kept her going; reaching Rivendell had seemed an impossibility as she had trudged through hills and plains.

Maybe I'll just stay in Rivendell forever…

You're going to get home, Elanor Ravenscroft! You're going to get home, and see Tim, and go back to uni…

…and what if I don't?

The question rang through her mind, echoing painfully as it rumbled through her consciousness.

…then dammit, I'll make a name for myself here.

Elanor was pleased to discover that her understanding of Sindarin was not completely groundless—Indilwen had indeed prepared her a bath. Attempting to shake off the morbid thoughts that troubled her, she stripped down to the skin and climbed into the fragrant water.

As she ducked underneath the surface, she realised that Legolas was right—her hair was growing, for now it brushed her shoulders. Pleased that she would be able to tie it up and braid it, Elanor hurried through her ablutions and picked out a clean tunic and leggings. This one was less utilitarian than her sparring attire—though it's sleeves were mercifully fitted—and made of the softest green wool. It was not as fine or elegant as any of her gowns, but it hugged her form becomingly as she fastened a belt about her waist.

Feeling fresh and suitably dressed for the afternoon, Elanor tugged on a pair of boots, grasped a carefully wrapped bundle, and set out in search of Lord Elrond.

His study being the most obvious place, Elanor directed her steps there. As she passed wide archways looking out upon the gardens, she noted that many Elves walked barefoot upon the grass. It was chilly—it felt like around fifteen degrees Celcius—but the Elvenfolk seemed remarkably resilient.

Turning left down a corridor, Elanor approached Elrond's study door and knocked gently. Hearing no sound from within, she cautiously tried the handle. It was unlocked.

On more than one occasion, Elrond had allowed her to relax in the study alone, so she had few qualms about entering. The room was utterly still and quiet save for the cheerful crackling of the open fire. It was panelled in a darker wood than Elanor's bedchamber, and the furniture was both elegant and inviting. Many embroidered cushions lay scattered about, and she spied Elrond's particular favourite resting in his armchair.

Smiling a little, Elanor padded forward and picked up the cushion. It was a deep crimson, embroidered with many flowers in a fine silver thread.

"I see you have found my mother's cushion."

Elanor nearly dropped the cushion on the floor in alarm. Jumping half out of her skin, she watched as a beautiful black-haired woman entered the room. A portrait of a silver-haired Elf had swung away from the wall, concealing a doorway. The newcomer pushed the portrait back into place before standing upright.

"Lady Arwen," Elanor stammered, hurriedly replacing Elrond's cushion and bowing low. "Forgive me for my presence; I was searching for Lord Elrond."

Arwen merely smiled and moved towards her, reaching over the back of the armchair to retrieve the cushion. "My mother was excellent at embroidery. This cushion was the last she made ere her return to Valinor." The Elf met her gaze evenly.

Elanor swallowed hard. Arwen was equal in stature to herself, but Elanor felt distinctly uncomfortable under her fathomless grey gaze. Arwen Undómiel was breathtakingly gorgeous, and more graceful than a dancer.

Wondering what to say, Elanor managed to stammer, "Lady Celebrían was beautiful." She had stumbled across many portraits of the former Lady of Rivendell, and had ceased to wonder at Arwen's perfect looks.

The latter smiled again, and placed the cushion artfully in it's place before returning her gaze to Elanor. "My father is on the terrace, through yonder door. It would please him to speak with you, Lady Elanor."

With that, Arwen nodded and swept fluidly out of the room.

Well, that was awkward.

Elanor had been involved in precious few encounters with the daughter of Elrond; Arwen had dined with them but twice, and in both instances a larger party had been in attendance. Elanor had never had direct contact with the flawless Elf-woman, preferring to bask in her perfection from a distance. The other Elves were beautiful, certainly, but Arwen was in a league of her own. Knowing that she was talking to the second-fairest Elf in all of Middle Earth—second only to Lúthien Tinúviel—made Elanor feel weak at the knees and hopelessly inadequate.

It's probably her Maia heritage. We can't all have an angel in the family.

Shaking herself and ardently wishing she'd dressed herself in something more fancy, Elanor proceeded to the portrait. Upon closer inspection, she realised that Arwen had left it slightly ajar, and pulled it cautiously open. She had not even realised that Elrond had a secret door leading out of his study.

Peering through, Elanor realised the opening led to a small balcony, almost overrun by creeper vines. At this time of year they had become dry and leafless, but she made up her mind to return here when spring had come.

Lord Elrond was seated at a slender desk in the middle of the balcony, his table spread with paperwork. He glanced up with a smile as Elanor entered.

"It gladdens me to see you, Elanor."

She grinned, glad that Elrond was less intimidating than his daughter. Pulling up a second chair which stood near the railing, Elanor studied the Elf for a moment. Whilst his face was tranquil, there was a sadness in his eyes.

"Is there anything you wished to speak of in particular?" he asked after a moment, watching her kindly.

"Ah, yes," Elanor replied, shifting a little. In her left hand she still held the bundle from her bedroom, and began to unwrap it to reveal The Lord of the Rings and The Silmarillion. "Did you get my note?" she inquired.

Lord Elrond held up the piece of paper he had been reading earlier in reply. "Whilst your alphabet is different from ours, I believe I have understood your meaning." He allowed the silence to hang for a moment. "You wish to know if I would set bounds upon the use of your foresight."

Sighing, Elanor held up the two books.

"I know everything. It's all in here. I've read both."

Elrond frowned deeply as he studied the two novels.

"Deeply as I wish to, my heart forebodes that great evil should come if I were to peruse these books."

"I think your foresight is correct, once again," Elanor said, the corner of her lip quirking. "Much of your destiny is wrapped up in these novels."

"And you also wish to know how much you ought to tell me?"

"That too," she nodded, placing the books back in her lap. "It is a fine balance—I think I owe you some information because of how much I changed in coming here. And yet… too much could prove disastrous."

Elrond clasped his hands together and rested his chin upon them, still frowning. "If I were to ask, would you tell me the outcome of the quest as detailed in Tolkien's literature?"

Elanor paused before inclining her head hesitantly. "I would."

"And your answer would be?"

"That the quest succeeds."

"Indeed?" Elrond cried, his frown vanishing as a look of astonishment replaced it. "It is more than I believed possible. And yet," he continued, the amazement fading a little, "much have been altered, as you said. The quest still hangs in the balance."

"…yes."

Elanor watched him silently. She had great respect for Lord Elrond's wisdom, not merely because Tolkien had written of him as a mighty sage. As she sat there, Elanor was reminded of a passage she had read but recently: "He was as noble and as fair in face as an elf lord, as strong as a warrior, as wise as a wizard, as venerable as a king of dwarves and as kind as summer."

And that about sums him up.

"I think there is little else that you may speak of," he said finally, startling Elanor out of her reverie. "As you say, much may have changed, and you have already voiced those who shall embark upon this quest. Their route is of little concern, for Gandalf knows as well as I the roads of Middle Earth. No," Elrond concluded, "I would ask no more of you."

Elanor was rather pleased at this pronouncement. There was little she could tell him short of handing the novels over and letting him read.

"And what if I were to change events?"

"The fabric of Arda has already been rewoven," Elrond said. "You are part of the pattern of Middle Earth—any action you might take shall be of little consequence. If you believe certain things should remain unaltered, I would allow you to do so without hindrance. You are wise, iell."

Elanor met the Elf-lord's smile with one of her own. "Thankyou," she said, softly.

Elrond reached out and cupped her chin, drawing her eyes to his. "You may consider yourself one of my household as long as you desire it, elen."

Tears flooded Elanor's eyes, spilling down her cheeks and onto Elrond's fingers. He merely brushed them away, all the while fixing her with a gaze that spoke of quiet affection.

"I—I don't—" she began, knowing that one of the most powerful Elf-lords in Middle Earth had essentially offered to adopt and care for her. "Thankyou," she said, again.

Elrond withdrew his hand, his smile tinged with deep sadness. Elanor felt another rush of tears as she realised that he was processing the loss of Arwen.

Eternity is a long time to be parted from someone you love.

Someone like Tim?

Now is not the time to bring that up!

"Elrond, I know—I know about Arwen," she managed, sniffling miserably as she realised that they may well be in a similar predicament. "And—I'm sorry." She placed one hand atop his. His fingers were long and slim, but still dwarfed hers.

Elrond met her gaze, and for an instant she thought his eyes glimmered with tears. The impression was gone a moment later, however, and he squeezed her fingers.

"The world is indeed full of sorrow."

Giving him a watery smile, Elanor attempted to rub away her tears. "I know." Gathering herself, she paused thoughtfully. "What was it you called me earlier? My Sindarin is still pretty rusty."

Elrond grinned. "Elen. Do not wonder at its foreign sound, for it is not Sindarin, but Quenya, the tongue of the High Elves. They are not altogether dissimilar, for the Sindarin translation is el—star."

"Oh."

"Your name—Elanor—means sunstar in Sindarin."

Elanor gaped, dumbfounded. "Really?"

"You share your name with a flower which grows in the Woods of Lórien, the home of Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn. Was it not mentioned in the book you possess?" he asked, seeming a little surprised.

How the heck did I miss that?

"It might be," Elanor admitted, sniffing again. "I didn't notice it though—that's so bizarre! My parents named me after an Elvish flower!" She laughed.

The Evenstar and the Sunstar… is it possible to get any more ironic? Arwen is like… the antithesis of me!

Smiling, Elanor continued with her query: "But elen was not the word I meant. You called me something else too, I just can't remember it."

Elrond rose and stretched his mighty shoulders before replying.

"Iell," he said, softly, grey eyes looking down into her green ones. "It means daughter."

#thefeelsarereal

When I last reread Rings, I was super struck by how moved and devastated Elrond was at the loss of Arwen, and her choice to remain mortal. So I wanted to include something of that in my fic, and show some of his deep sorrow.

I gotta admit, Elrond is one of my favourite characters in the Tolkienverse; tbh, most of the Human-Elf line is... Tuor and Idril, Eärendil and Elwing...

Anyways, there's that. Chapter 12. :)

I hope you like it, leave me a review! I'm just about to start another week at uni but I'll do my best to upload another chapter in the next few days or so.

Thanks so much for everyone's support!

Finwe