Chapter 16 - The Weary Road

3rd January 3019 (Third Age)

…it's even my birthday, and none of these people care… if I was at home… Tim…

Elanor clenched her jaw to stop herself bursting into tears once more. Her forehead was creased with annoyance and she longed to lash out at anyone and anything.

You're being a petulant child, a motherly voice reminded her.

Oh yeah? You see how it feels, having no one around, and the weather horrible, and being cold, and lonely, and just wanting to go home…

And hormonal. Don't forget hormonal.

How could I possibly forget that? came the sarcastic retort.

Scowling, she resisted the urge to stamp her feet upon the stone pavement. She would not allow herself to stoop to tantrums. She was twenty-two years old, had survived being transplanted to a different universe… and she desperately wanted to lie kicking and screaming on the ground until someone paused to listen to her self-pity.

Regrettably—or, perhaps, fortunately—the terrace upon which Elanor sat was uncharacteristically still. The frosty January day had driven many Elves indoors, for whilst they were resilient to cold, they did not cherish the grim light caused by the low-hanging clouds. Elanor had ventured out merely to be contrary, after Indilwen had kindly suggested she stay by the fire.

Yeah, and now you're freezing half to death. Good life choices.

Her face twisted into an ugly pout. More than a week had passed since Christmas and the Fellowship's departure into the wild, and Elanor had been plagued by a fit of bad humour. She had avoided feasts, scorned company, and been downright irritable. Even Elrond's request that she dine with him the night before had been greeted with sullen refusal, a fact which she knew had bewildered and hurt her foster-father.

Well if he actually cared, he'd bother to come find me. My real dad would come find me.

Caught unawares, Elanor felt several tears slip down her cheeks before she could stop them. They half-froze to her face, deepening the chill in her bones. Despite a warm cloak, she was growing colder by the minute as she sat still in what easily could have been minus 10 degrees Celcius. It had never dropped below zero at home.

Home.

I want to go back! she screamed. I hate it here, I want out! I just want out!

Unsurprisingly, her internal screeching had little effect. The courtyard remained as it was, surrounded by barren trees and light scatterings of snow. From the inside of the house she could hear the sounds of laughter and revelry; Elladan and Elrohir had stirred themselves to be as merry as possible over Christmas and the New Year, despite the sombre mood which had fallen upon many of the household. Regardless her earlier resolve to spend more time with the twins, Elanor had been so cloaked by her own misery that she had exchanged no more than a few—barely—civil words with them.

You're acting like a complete and total brat. Do you think Elrond wanted a kid like this in his household?

"I'm not a kid," she muttered, through gritted teeth. "I'm twenty-two."

"Twenty-two? A tender age, even amongst hobbits, Lady Elanor."

Angry and caught unawares, Elanor turned sharply to face the source of the voice. Bilbo Baggins stood to her right, having approached her from behind. The hobbit was also heavily wrapped, though he still shivered in the cold.

"Oh, you," Elanor said, feeling somewhat put out at the intrusion.

"Yes, 'tis I," came the cheerful reply.

She watched as Bilbo moved to take a seat beside her on the bench. He settled himself with a pleased sigh, before beginning to fill and light his pipe—evidently, he intended to stay.

Elanor sighed, wishing that he would go and leave her be. She did not want Bilbo's frank cheerfulness—or any kind of company, when she considered it. It was much more enjoyable to be alone with her gloomy thoughts.

Bilbo merely puffed on his pipe, as if it were a sunny Shire day and he had not a care in the world.

He's obviously out here to irritate me—he could smoke his pipe just as well inside! Elanor fumed, wishing he would go away. At length she became so frustrated by his silent presence that she burst out in annoyance.

"Look, Bilbo, I don't really want any company right now. Can't you go somewhere else?"

Quelling shame at her own abruptness, Elanor fixed him with an exasperated stare. Bilbo merely blinked, before smiling and taking another long draw on the stem of his pipe.

"I would love to oblige you, Lady, save that there is no other courtyard so sheltered from the icy wind. Lord Elrond would not have me venture into the harsher elements," he replied comfortably. Elanor could have sworn that his eyes held a merry twinkle as he uttered those words.

"Go inside then," she whined.

No response.

Rage boiled up within her. Aided and abetted by her feelings of despair and loneliness, the torrent of bitterness poured out in speech.

"Look," Elanor began, her tone icy. "I don't want to talk to anyone right now, or be near anyone, or see anyone. I want to go home. I hate it here—it's cold and damp and I would willingly cut off my own right hand to get back to my family. It's all a huge mistake, and I don't want any part of it, understand? And," her voice rising in volume, "I don't want to be pestered by some stupid hobbit either!"

Her veins coursed with anger, numbing her to the sight of Bilbo's hurt expression. She could feel the blood throbbing in her ears, and longed to open her mouth and shout incoherently until she had no voice left. Instead, she stared at the ground before her feet, overwhelmed by the bellowing voices in her mind.

I hate it here! I HATE IT!

In her peripherals, Elanor saw the hobbit shift slightly and climb to his feet. He stood there for a moment, and she could almost imagine the look of quiet disappointment on his face.

"I take my leave, lady," he intoned coolly, before pattering away in a rustle of furs.

"Forgive me if I speak out of turn, my lord, but you ought to speak to her yourself." Erestor shrugged apologetically as he said these words, as if begging pardon for the blunt truth. Rather than anger, Elrond felt a rush of affection for his seneschal.

"Perhaps you are right, Erestor," he admitted, rising from his armchair and moving to sit at his desk, "and yet, I am reluctant to intrude. It is still but a short while since her arrival here, and the loss of her family. The grief in being parted from her companions may have spurred her to the threshold of her endurance."

As trustworthy as Erestor was, Elrond had refrained from informing him of Elanor's true origins; save for Glorfindel and Gandalf, all within Rivendell believed that Elanor's family had been killed in an orc-raid in the south.

The advisor nodded, acknowledging the truth of his words. "I do not doubt that the grief is still near to her heart. And yet—" He paused.

"And yet?" Elrond prompted.

Erestor shook his head and smiled wryly. "Forgive me Lord—it is not my place."

"Not your place to speak ill of one of my household?" the half-Elf chuckled. "Go on—I am not a blind father."

"I will say nothing further," Erestor maintained. "Though I would beg you to approach her. She secludes herself day and night, scarcely eating. She is polite only because her limited understanding of Sindarin forces her to be."

Elrond laughed again. "It is well, then, that Glorfindel was unable to proceed further with her education."

"Indeed." Erestor's expression saddened a little, for he was firm friends with the Elf-lord of Gondolin. The pair had long served Elrond's house, and were intimate with all within it. Elrond knew that Erestor felt the lack Glorfindel's presence as sorely as he did himself.

"I shall heed your advice, Erestor," he affirmed, smiling gently. "I thank you for your truthfulness."

Erestor bowed. "It is my duty, Lord."

After his seneschal had departed, Elrond sighed and wearily upon his desk. In truth, Elanor's behaviour had concerned and vexed him for some days. He had always believed her to be a steady, reasonable person, with wit and maturity beyond her years. Since the departure of the Company, however, she had been impudent and rude, scorning friendship and flouting civilities. None had spoken openly of her behaviour, but Elrond knew that Arwen and his sons were silently mystified by their foster-sister's childish behaviour.

It is indeed time to speak with the girl.

Summoning a member of his staff, Elrond bid the Elf to seek out Elanor and bring her to him regardless of her wishes.

How shall she respond to an outright demand?

I believe we shall discover that, he replied, grimly.

It was a full half-hour later before Elanor deigned to answer his summons.

She entered the study haughtily, and though her eyes were lowered Elrond caught glimpses of her harboured frustration. Wordlessly, she sat before him.

"I shall not mince words, Elanor," he informed her, realising that she would offer no speech. "You are not a child."

Her eyes flew to his face at this, flashing with barely-controlled anger.

"Aren't I? I'm expected to come to you like a child!"

"But days ago, you would have responded to such a summon with eagerness," Elrond spoke, his voice gentle. Her expression faltered a little at this, but she lifted her chin in defiance.

"So what?"

"Elanor!" he cried, exasperation in every line of his body. This was not the girl he had harboured such deep affection for, but a sulky child. "No orders shall I give you, for you are not under my command. And yet you act as if I wish you ill, as a young elleth scarcely half-come to age! What is the meaning of this?"

Elrond had endeavoured to make his voice firm, and was filled with alarm when Elanor crumpled into tears before his eyes.

Did I speak too strongly?

"Elanor," he repeated, reaching across the desk to touch her. Her face was upon his desk, her arms wrapped protectively about her golden head as she wept. "I am sorry, muin."

Sitting up, Elanor stifled a sob. "Don't apologise, Elrond, for it's all my fault. I've been awful, and rude, and an absolute nightmare to live with. I just—" Her sobbing intensified for a moment, and Elrond was deeply concerned. Never had he seen her so distraught and unreasonable.

"Calm yourself, iell, for none condemn you," he said soothingly, as he rose from his chair and moved to kneel before her, eyes searching her face. "What troubles you?"

Elanor allowed him to grasp her hands and took a shuddering breath. "Everything's messed up," she moaned. "They've—they've gone. The Fellowship. That's all I know, all I am familiar—the books, the—" She moaned softly. "What use is there for me here, ada?"

Elrond squeezed her hands, silently thanking Eru that he had listened to Erestor's advice.

"You are beloved amongst us, elen."

Elanor sighed. "I don't deserve it. And even if I did, I still have no purpose here—you're all Elves, and I'm a human. As soon as the quest is done—oh goodness, I hope it succeeds—Arwen and Aragorn will marry, and you and all the Elves—you'll go to Valinor." Her voice fell to a whisper. "I can't go home, ada. There's no way I will ever see my family again, you said yourself there was no way I could get out of here. And you—all of you—will leave, just—" hiccup "—just like the Fellowship."

So that is what troubles her…

Do you not see in this moment an instance long ago, where a tall young adan stood before you, bemoaning his mortality?

Aye… that I could take them both to Valinor; but alas, for the Valar do not look kindly upon the Exiled, and would be less still inclined to favour us if we attempted to alter the will of Ilúvatar concerning the edain…

But Tuor—

Tuor was from a different age.

Elrond sighed, realising that the girl—like his other mortal charge—was indeed correct. He could not take her to the Undying Lands.

"And not only that, there are still so many things—things wrong with the quest, and—" Elanor had begun to cry again, "—and I never fixed them. I couldn't fix them, ada! I failed, if that was my job. I don't know what else I had to do here, because geez, I'm certainly no warrior." Elrond suppressed a smile. "Ada, Boromir shall die, and a whole other lot of stuff's going to go wrong, because I am a coward and couldn't think of anything to do about the Fellowship. I failed!" she cried, desperately.

Elrond breathed deep, overwhelmed by the magnitude of his daughter's concerns. His thoughts trailed off, swiftly replaced by others as his quick mind worked.

She is not without reason, for she has altered the course of Arda's history. And as she says, those who shall be most affected by her changes have passed beyond her reach…

You always discerned that she would not remain in Rivendell…

And yet I am reluctant to encourage her departure. She should fare poorly in the wild, even if she were in the company of those within the Fellowship…

She may be vital to the success of the company, Elrond Eärendilion. Would you, once more, seek to place your desires above the good of Middle Earth?

…I would not, he managed, a great weight settling upon his heart. I am loath to place a burden upon her, for she is repulsed by such a thing. And yet, if I do not…

Sighing, he took Elanor's hands between both of his. She had managed to calm herself, and the green eyes stared steadily into his own. She was not Elven-fair—nor would she ever be—though by the standards of Men she would be considered quite pretty. Tenderly, Elrond squeezed her fingers.

As if she read his thoughts, Elanor took a deep breath.

"You know that I have something else to do, don't you ada?"

Elrond gave the barest of nods, and she sighed in response. He could see that every part of her resisted, longed to remain in Imladris with her newfound family.

Alas, for she cannot remain. Her very presence in Arda signals something peculiar. If the quest were to fail, Elanor would feel the weight of responsibility for it's end.

Feeling exceedingly weary, Elrond wondered, How am I to tell her?

He was saved from this, however, as the girl observed him. Gradually, a sense of comprehension dawned upon her features, and she appeared to sink within her chair. Pressing her hands into his, she spoke with quiet resolution:

"When do I leave?"

Fortunately for me, I am having a relaxing weekend and have time to indulge in a big splurge of fanfic writing haha.

I would really like your opinion, however, on where this story is headed; Elanor has just realised she can't stay in Rivendell and leave the Fellowship to their own ends, because she possesses so much of the responsibility for what happens to them.

I have several questions I would *love* you guys to answer...

1. What do you think about Elanor leaving Rivendell to try and keep the Fellowship on track?
2. What do you think of Elrond's interactions with Elanor in this scene?
3. What do you think will happen when Elanor meets back up with her friends?

The first question is the one I'm most interested in the answers for, however.

Thanks again you all for the reviews and support! Much appreciated. :)

Finwe \o/