Chapter 13

December 18th, 3018 (Third Age)

Elanor frowned pensively as she descended from one of Rivendell's upper floors. The stairway upon which she stood curved clockwise around a central oaken beam and resembled a creeper vine in full bloom. Her right hand drifted unfeelingly over the elegant carving, so consumed was she by her thoughts.

Despite the tranquility which pervaded the Last Homely House, Elanor felt a profound sense of disquiet. Only several days ago, the last of the scouts—Elladan and Elrohir—had returned, bringing grim tidings of which they would speak to none but their father.

Today, the Fellowship of the Ring would be chosen.

Elanor had been rather surprised to discover that the book timeline had reasserted itself; it was now, she knew, only one week until the Fellowship would set out. With that knowledge came a flood of anxiety.

…how much do I tell them? What if something goes wrong? Oh goodness, what if they don't survive… Boromir's not going to survive… how the hell am I supposed to save him? I'm not even going on the quest… thank gosh… I couldn't… I couldn't make it… and yet Boromir's going to die because of me… someone else could die too… and Elrond said I'd see the Ring again… No! I won't! I won't touch the thing… what if Legolas dies? Or Glorfindel? Oh man, it's like losing them all over again… I miss Tim… and Georgia… and mum and dad and Amanda and everyone! Why the hell am I even here? I just want to go home… but… Far out, what I would give to be with Tim today…

The thought of weathering a Christmas without her family and boyfriend was a disheartening one. There would be little to celebrate on the cold winter's day, knowing that it also heralded the departure of many of her closest companions in Rivendell. She would sorely miss her hours spent with Legolas and Glorfindel, and the twinkling smiles of the hobbits; she had even grown fond of Gimli—ever the patriot—sharing stories of his homeland and Dwarvish customs.

Geez, do I always have to keep losing the people that matter to me?

Sighing, Elanor turned left into another corridor, angling towards the open terrace which would once more play host to the gathering.

Approaching the intersection of another corridor, she was surprised to see Boromir emerge just ahead, moving in the same direction. Elanor hesitated a moment, knowing he had seen her and wondering if he would pause to be civil.

Boromir also seemed unsure of himself; his long stride faltered, and he half-turned towards her so she could catch up.

"Lady Elanor," he nodded coolly, falling into step beside her.

"Lord Boromir," she replied.

Can this day get much worse?

"I observed you riding the other day," Boromir proffered, after walking for a time in silence.

Elanor chewed her bottom lip, wondering how to respond to his statement. "I enjoy it," she said, after some rumination. She glanced across at him cautiously, attempting to read his expression. He merely stared straight ahead, though his face appeared heavily lined, as if he were plagued by worry.

"You ride astride—is that the custom of your people?" He did not look at her as he spoke.

"Ah… yes."

Now I see what he's getting at… Lady Elanor, the improper, all over again…

"It is certainly more practical," he managed. Elanor frowned, wondering whether she had merely imagined the disapproval in his tone.

"Indeed. Do all the women of Gondor ride sidesaddle?"

"We keep precious few horses in Minas Tirith, lady. The city is quiet, for those who dwell within it are far smaller number than it is capable of holding. The men of Gondor fight upon their own two feet, save for those who have great need of a mount. Riding is rarely practiced by the ladies of Minas Tirith."

Ah, yes… Gondor is decaying, isn't it… It would certainly suck to know your nation is so much smaller and less grand than it used to be…

"I would like to see Minas Tirith very much," Elanor admitted. She felt as if she owed him a certain degree of friendliness despite his surly manner.

"It is a beautiful city," he said, softly, as they rounded a corner and came within sight of their destination.

Elanor attempted to stem the tide of her frustration.

Why is it that he's as sullen as can be, and the moment he displays a sliver of emotion it's a bad time for me to try and draw him out?

Sighing, Elanor found she was profoundly relieved to arrive, for Boromir's mood merely accentuated their present awkwardness. He looked at her briefly as they passed onto the terrace, nodded in quiet civility, and departed. Exhaling slowly, Elanor scanned the gathering for a sign of a familiar companion.

It did not take long to spy a bright golden head which stood above all save Elrond's raven one. Feeling as if the free-spirited company of an Elf would do her good, Elanor made her way in that direction.

"Lord Glorfindel!"

The tall Elf turned to find the source of the call, his eyes falling upon the figure of a slender young woman. Elanor wore a gown the colour of the sea, floating gracefully about her form and drawing out the green in her eyes. Her bouncy golden curls were pulled back from her face and hung in ringlets down past the nape of her neck. She appeared remarkably hale and well, despite the sense of weary responsibility he had observed growing upon her over the previous days.

"Lady Elanor," he smiled, grasping one of her hands and planting a kiss upon it, as was custom.

She smiled back at him, brushing a stray strand of hair out of her face. "I haven't seen much of you lately, you've been so busy. Its much harder to muddle through Sindarin translations on my own."

"I fear such enjoyable pastimes are nearing their end," Glorfindel replied, his expression growing more serious. Elanor's own good humour appeared to fade at these words, and the creases of worry upon her brow were accentuated. He squeezed her hand in reassurance. "But come, for there is hope yet, and Lord Elrond shall speak to us."

As if at his command, the company began to find chairs, and Glorfindel took Elanor's arm and led her to a seat.

"Your hair is grown, mellon," he commented by way of distraction, as he sat down beside her.

Elanor gave a small chuckle. "You are not the first to remark upon it. The Prince of Mirkwood believes that I have influenced its growth myself, if you would believe it."

Glorfindel turned and surveyed her critically for a moment. "It is certainly a great deal longer than when you first arrived, mellon-nin." He grinned and reached out to flick one of her curls. "You appeared as close-shorn as a shepherd boy those weeks ago!"

Laughing, she swatted his hand away. "Well, it's grown over six inches since I arrived, which is a miracle! But if you think I was close-shorn, you should find the haircuts of the men in my world quite alarming."

Glorfindel smirked at that, and both fell silent as Lord Elrond rose from his chair.

He looks weary, he thought, feeling his amusement at Elanor's antics melting away in concern for his lord.

Little wonder! Such dark times have not fallen upon us since the Second Age!

Elrond's eyes roved the circle and came to rest upon the hobbit, Samwise. "The time has come," he said, gravely. "If the Ring is to set out, it must go soon. But those who go with it must not count on their errand being aided by war or force. They must pass into the domain of the Enemy far from aid. Do you still hold to your word, Samwise, that you will be the Ring-bearer?"

"I do," said he, the Westron speech much altered by his peculiar Shire accent.

"Then I cannot help you much, not even with counsel," said Elrond. "I can foresee very little of your road; and how your task is to be achieved I do not know. The Shadow has crept now to the feet of the Mountains, and draws nigh even to the borders of Greyflood; and under the Shadow all is dark to me. You will meet many foes, some open, and some disguised; and you may find friends upon your way when you least look for it. I will send out messages, such as I can contrive, to those whom I know in the wide world; but so perilous are the lands now become that some may well miscarry, or come no quicker than you yourself.

"And I will choose you companions to go with you, as far as they will or fortune allows. The number must be few, since your hope is in speed and secrecy. Had I a host of Elves in armour of the Elder Days, it would avail little, save to arouse the power of Mordor.

"The Company of the Ring shall be Nine; and the Nine Walkers shall be set against the Nine Riders that are evil. With you, Gandalf will go; for this shall be his great task, and maybe the end of his labours. For the rest, they shall represent the other Free Peoples of the World: Elves, Dwarves, and Men. Legolas and Glorfindel shall be for the Elves; and Gimli son of Glóin for the Dwarves. They are willing to go at least to the passes of the Mountains, and maybe beyond. For men you shall have Aragorn son of Arathorn, for the Ring of Isildur concerns him closely."

Lord Elrond's gaze rested upon him briefly, and Glorfindel nodded slightly. Gone was the might of the Elder Days, and the rules of Gondolin and Doriath and Nargothrond; and yet, the son of Eärendil was still to be considered mighty among the Firstborn. There was hope and strength yet in the Noldor, though less than Glorfindel would have hoped.

If this be the task the Valar have appointed me, I shall see it done.

Elanor sighed softly, and Glorfindel glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. The traces of mirth had grown dim, replaced instead by a frown which made her look some years older than the girl she was. Her eyes were fixed intently upon Lord Elrond, though little pleasure did his words seem to bring her.

"Strider!" cried Sam, glancing to the tall Dúnedain Ranger.

"Yes," he said with a smile. "I ask leave once again to be your companion, Sam."

"I would have begged you to come," said Sam, "only I thought you were going to Minas Tirith with Boromir."

"I am," said Aragorn. "And the Sword-that-was-Broken shall be reforged ere I set out to war. But your road and our road lie together for many hundreds of miles. Therefore Boromir will also be in the Company. He is a valiant man."

Glorfindel observed that Elanor turned to Boromir at this. The stern man seemed unmoved by this proclamation, but the woman beside him only seemed to increase in her distress.

She is fond of him, I believe, though there is a rift between them… 'Tis little wonder she looks to him, for he is nearer her age than any save the hobbits…

"There remain two more to be found," said Elrond, interrupting his thoughts. "These I will consider. Of my household I may find some that it seems good to me to send."

"But that will leave no place for us!" cried Pippin in dismay, leaping to his feet. "We don't want to be left behind. We want to go with Sam."

"That is because you do not understand and cannot imagine what lies ahead," said Elrond, and Glorfindel observed that his grey eyes flicked to Elanor at this.

And once more she is correct.

He frowned. For a moment he was overcome as images flashed unbidden before his eyes… fire and ash… cries of anguish torn from desert-dry lips… a wall falling with agonising slowness, covering a score of childish bodies as it crumpled with a mighty roar… a flash of golden hair and a clear voice breaking in torment… a city in ruins, and a creature of darkness and flame…

Glorfindel blinked rapidly, attempting to dislodge the ghosts which tantalised his memories.

The hobbits know not what they shall encounter… the evil of this world is beyond their reckoning…

And yet, would you deny them their chance to make good?

"Neither does Sam," put in Gandalf, unexpectedly supporting Pippin and drawing Glorfindel back to the present. "Nor do any of us see clearly. It is true that if these hobbits understood the danger, they would not dare to go. But they would still wish to go, or wish that they dared, and be shamed and unhappy. I think, Elrond, that in this matter it would be well to trust rather to their friendship than to great wisdom. Even an elf-lord, such as Glorfindel, could not storm the Dark Tower, nor open the road to the Fire by the power that is in him." His blue eyes joined with Glorfindel's for a moment in mutual understanding.

"You speak gravely," said Elrond, "but I am in doubt. The Shire, I forebode, is not free now from peril; and these two I had thought to send back there as messengers, to do what they could, according to the fashion of their country, to warn the people of their danger. In any case, I judge that the younger of these two, Peregrin Took, should remain. My heart is against his going."

And yet he shall not forbid it, for Lady Elanor's words hold great sway with him.

As if she were his own…

"Then, Master Elrond, you will have to lock me in prison, or send me home tied in a sack,' said Pippin, emphatically. "For otherwise I shall follow the Company."

"Let it be so then. You shall go," said Elrond, and he sighed. "Now the tale of Nine is filled. In seven days the Company must depart."

Elanor excused herself from Glorfindel as best she could after the meeting had adjourned. Her stomach felt knotted, and she wished she could shake off the weighty feeling which pressed upon her shoulders like a tangible burden. Apologising for her hasty departure, she hurried to her room, snatched up her cloak, and departed outdoors.

At least Elrond listened to you and allowed Merry and Pippin to go…

Would he have forbade them anyway? Gandalf spoke in their defence…

Maybe you should have convinced him to make them stay… they could stop Saruman taking over the Shire and fix a whole lot of problems…

Oh, well done Elanor, you just willingly signed away the lives of some of those innocent hobbits who will die in the defence of the Shire. That's like, being an accessory in a murder case!

Yeah, I'm also letting the company set off in the first place, instead of taking the eagles straight to Mount Doom. Is that my fault too? her internal voice snarled as she stalked along the path. Not even the beauty of the evergreen trees could penetrate the unrelenting wave of accusations and taunts which assailed her.

Blundering across the grass, she fell upon the bench seat which had become her peaceful haunt in weeks past. Pent up tears caused her eyes to sting as she pulled her knees to her chest.

"Oh goodness, I just want to go home," she whispered. She allowed the tears to fall, her eyes scrunched shut and mouth pressed into her arm to silence her sobs.

The Fellowship would depart in a week.

One week.

Weeks of gratuitous study had left her as utterly ignorant of her function as when she arrived.

What the hell am I supposed to be doing here? Aren't heroines of stories supposed to have some overwhelming sense of purpose and duty?

But you're not a heroine. You're just Elanor.

The revelation stung. Middle Earth, with all of its mystery and grandeur, was not her home. Her home was a small, three-bedroom apartment in South Brisbane that she shared with her two oldest girl-friends from high school; her family were a collection of educated middle-class liberals who revelled in the modernity of the twenty-first century; her love was a handsome, dark-haired man who had laughed and cried and worked alongside her for many years.

You are not Elrond's daughter.

Elanor took a deep, quavering breath. The thought echoed like broken glass, shattering the air and causing her to physically recoil.

…he was as kind as summer…

Tolkien could have found no better description for Elrond Peredhel.

Elanor had revered him from the moment she had seen him, standing like a faithful sentinel with his broad shoulders, strong jaw, and kind eyes. His fatherly affection had won her, lonely and desolate as she was. He was not Dad, but she found herself loving him more with the passing days.

And, for the first time since she had turned up on that Eregion hillside, Elanor admitted that she would be devastated to lose this new life.

How is it possible that I can love and want Tim so much, and yet be terrified at the thought of leaving here? I'd give almost anything to hear his voice… and yet… I don't know that I could give up my place here… oh wow, what has happened to me? I've been converted…

Were Lord Elrond to stand before her and confess he knew a way to send her home, Elanor would have wept until her tears ran dry.

I can't choose. Oh man… I can't choose… what will I do if someone gives me the choice? Gosh, how could I give up either life for good?

Her stomach heaved, mimicking the tempest which seethed within her; a sickening longing for home fused with her hopelessness and acute concern for her newfound friends.

I wish none of this had happened. I wish I'd never met Gimli, or Legolas, or Boromir, or Elrond. I wish I'd never come to this godforsaken book world, and lost my old life. I wish I didn't have to watch those that I have grown to love walk into danger. I wish I could go home.

Do you really wish that? came a quiet voice, like a whisper from afar.

Elanor faltered, her eyes welling with fresh tears:

"No."

Darkness fell like an inky blanket over Imladris, driving Elanor indoors as her fingers numbed with cold. She had been unable to bear the thought of facing anyone throughout the day, instead slinking further from the house to avoid the presence of other wanderers. Red-faced and puffy-eyed, she had been deeply relieved to find her bath prepared when she returned to her bedchamber after dusk. A soak in the piping hot water of the tub had helped to ease her ruffled fëa somewhat. Her stomach growled insistently for nourishment, and yet she was unable to persuade herself to face the company of even the light-hearted Elves that evening.

Longing for his soothing reassurances, she had sought the company of the Master of Rivendell. Feeling rather like a child in her nighty and dressing gown, Elanor had padded furtively towards Elrond's study.

To her dismay, she encountered Erestor at the entrance to the corridor. He made no comment on her state of dress, merely informing her that Lord Elrond was closeted with Gandalf in a different wing of the house.

Elanor had responded politely to the Elf's words, before creeping to the door of Elrond's study regardless.

Goodness, I hope no one's in here…

Feeling somewhat apprehensive, she opened the door. The room was quite dim, save for the golden firelight which spilled from the crackling hearth. Her own bedroom seemed cold and lonely in contrast, and after a moment's hesitation she shuffled to Elrond's armchair and curled up upon it.

It was far easier to push aside her morbid thoughts as she lost herself in the primeval flickering of the flames. She did not know how much time passed before she was alerted by the gentle creak of hinges.

As she turned towards the study door, it swung gradually open. Silhouetted against the light of the hallway was a tall masculine form; not the one she sought, however, but Glorfindel.

Elanor could not make out his expression as he closed the door softly behind him.

"Erestor informed me you were here alone," he said gently, taking an armchair opposite to hers and seating himself with his usual feline grace. As he drew near to the fire, Elanor noted the gentle concern upon his face.

"I am well, mellon," she whispered, though she sounded small and pitiful even to herself.

Glorfindel said nothing, for which she was profoundly grateful. His pity would have riled her almost as much as harsh speech. Instead, they dwelt in silent companionship which warmed her heart to him. Elanor wrenched her thoughts from her troubles, fixating herself instead upon the fairytale stories of Middle Earth's history.

"Glorfindel?" she said, at length.

"Yes, Elanor?"

She looked at him intently for a moment before speaking: "I read about Glorfindel, Lord of the House of the Golden Flower," was all she said.

The Elf inclined his head slightly. "You have delved deep amongst the history of Arda, mellon." He gave her a small smile, and Elanor refrained from pressing him; she had no desire to test his friendship through wanton curiosity.

Glorfindel allowed the silence to return for a time, before he shifted in his chair and smiled wryly. "I guess your mind, mellon-nin. You desire to know if the Elf is I."

Elanor shrugged. She would not deny it.

"Your supposition is correct," he said, plainly. Sighing, he leaned his head back against the armchair. "I was summoned from the Halls of Mandos, after—the Valar desired that I return to Middle Earth."

Elanor pondered this, and marvelled that she had not asked Glorfindel of his origins before. Absent-mindedly she toyed with the soft material of her dressing gown.

Glorfindel's here, and I'm in my pyjamas… that's weird…

And yet, she did not care particularly.

"I thought you had something hidden," she admitted, quietly. "For a time I believed you were a servant to Lord Elrond, but recently—" She shrugged. "Upon closer acquaintance, I… you seemed…" Unable to find words, Elanor turned to him. "I read that you are equal in strength to one of the Maiar."

The firelight flickered strangely in his eyes, but his countenance was unchanged.

"Such information must come from those books of foresight that you possess, melda," he replied with a hint of humour, "for I have oft scoured Elrond's library myself, and should certainly have removed such information should I have stumbled upon it." He gave a quiet laugh. "You are wrong upon one point, however—I am, in truth, a servant of Elrond. I do his bidding, as I did that of his grandsire before him."

"Turgon," Elanor whispered, recalling then the King of Gondolin.

Imagine seeing that place… far out, he's lucky…

"Aye." Glorfindel surveyed her for a moment, looking thoughtful. "Have I ever told you that you remind me a great deal of Princess Idril?"

Elanor laughed softly, though it sounded wooden to her ears. "No indeed, friend. Would you tell me of her? Even the combination of Lord Elrond's library and my own sources leave much to the imagination."

"If you desire it," Glorfindel nodded. He appeared pleased to have stirred her interest, and Elanor was willing to oblige him.

What if he dies on the quest…

Shut up!

She resettled herself in her chair as Glorfindel began to speak of the majesty of Gondolin, stronghold of the Noldor. Her heart stirred with longing, so greatly did she desire to see Beleriand and the ancient fortresses of the Elves. He described the majesty of the Eldar, lingering fondly upon memories of Ecthelion, Lord of the Fountain.

His life is also a sad tale…

The First Age was not all glory and honour and brave deeds… there were many wars, many lives lost… it is not so different from now…

Elanor brushed a tear from her cheek roughly, adamant that she would not succumb to her emotions again. The conclusion of the Elf's tale—the battle with the Balrog—he left unspoken. The pair sat in quiet for some time, staring into the fire.

"You too are sent to Middle Earth for some peculiar purpose, like me," she murmured absently, tucking her slippered feet beneath her. "Though," she added with a half-hearted grin, "I didn't come back from the dead."

Glorfindel gave a light laugh, the sound of which gladdened Elanor's heart. "The will of the Valar is not mine to question, though I hope I may play some part in Master Gamgee's journey."

"You going on the quest solves a lot of problems, you know," Elanor said, wresting her emotions into submission. "I mean, in Khazad-dum—" She broke off, somewhat horrified that she had almost given away the secret about Gandalf's fight with the Balrog.

Her abrupt halt did not pass unnoticed. Glorfindel turned to her, interest upon his face. "You speak of Moria, lady. I did not know that Gandalf intended to pass that way."

Elanor sighed.

You're an idiot, giving things away just because you're feeling nostalgic and sad and reminiscing with an ancient Elf about destiny and all that soppy rubbish!

Thanks, you're a real encouragement!

"I should not have spoken of it," she said, hoping that he would not press her further, and sensing the approach of tears.

But… Glorfindel is more powerful even than Gandalf, or so Tolkien wrote… he has defeated a balrog… what happens if they get to the bridge and Glorfindel just takes over the situation and Gandalf doesn't become Gandalf the White? Then what? The whole quest could fail!

"And I would not force confidence with you," Glorfindel assured her, "though you test my strength of will sorely."

"I'm sorry," she said, truthfully. "Though now I think of it, there are several things I should warn you of. Don't speak of this to the others, not even to Gandalf. Promise?"

"I shall take an oath, if you desire." He turned towards her, saying, "Speak, lady, for your knowledge and foresight interest me."

"The Fellowship will take the road under the mountain, through Khazad-dum," Elanor said, slowly, monitoring Glorfindel's reaction as she spoke. "Lord Elrond bid me share what information I deemed necessary, and I must tell you this: you will face trouble in Moria, but do not interfere with Gandalf. There are certain—things—which must occur, however tragic they seem at the time." The Elf's face registered some dismay at this, and Elanor hurried on falteringly. "Things will all be right in the end, so don't worry. But there will be—look, it's going to look hopeless and awful and you'll all be sad, but it has to happen," she finished, struggling to verbalise the importance of her warning. "It's imperative you don't interfere, even… even though you are one of the mightiest Elves of this age."

Elanor watched him nervously, hoping he had gleaned the unspoken meaning of her words.

Glorfindel merely smiled. "Your foreknowledge has been faultless thus far, melda. I shall adhere to your wishes, though it puzzles me exceedingly. Lord Elrond's sight is veiled by the cloud which descends upon us, and I welcome any wisdom you may bestow."

Thank the heavens.

"Good," Elanor replied, feeling both relieved and exhausted in an overwhelming rush. Another surge of affection filled her for the golden-haired Elf. He possessed joy and sensitivity in equal measure, and she was glad she had warned him about the balrog—even if her message was indecipherably cryptic.

The Elves of the First Age were incredibly powerful… I mean, Fingolfin battled Morgoth, who was even more powerful than Sauron… and he injured him…

Elanor studied Glorfindel as he rose to tend the fire, his almost-six-and-a-half-foot frame moving with all the litheness of a cat.

…and here before me stands a remnant of that age…

Her inner voice chuckled, and surprised her with a measure of encouragement:

Perhaps the quest isn't doomed to failure after all!

Of Glorfindel - my personal take on him is that he has sort of submitted himself to Elrond as a servant, a friend and advisor, after the Fall of Gondolin. The Valar wanted him to return to help aid the war against Sauron, and he's also got a debt to pay to the Peredhel line.

But, there you have it! Chapter 13!

I'm sorry it also took so long - I had it finished over 24 hours ago but silly went down just as I wanted to upload it, and so I have been eagerly awaiting an opportunity to share this one with you all. It is long, so I hope you can get through it!

Reviews are (as always) welcome!

And Chapter 14 is half-done. :3

Finwe