"Nu-harwe harya'min a'unquale [You would have me stay here to die]?" Gloredhel, youngest daughter of Elrond, exclaimed incredulously as her father paced back and forth upon the balcony of her room in Rivendell. "I will be alone, ALONE. All will have gone to Valinor; but not I...I must stay on in the hope of some miracle to save our race. We have been failed by all who were once our allies. There is no one left to save us, Father. I can not do it alone."
"And you will not be alone, Gloredhel," Elrond sighed sadly, sitting beside her. "Another has been given your destiny." He lightly touched the silver ring that hung around her neck. "You will see him today at the Council. After it is over, you must ride to Lothlorien. He will be there in later days, and you will see your fate unveiled."
Gloredhel knew not what to think of all that had been presented to her on this day; she was simply too small to comprehend any of it, only a minuscule player in a giant game of chance. She did not choose her fate nor did she want it. The elves were doomed if they remained, and no betrothed he-elf could change her mind about that.
~*~*~*~*~*~
The Council of Elrond was a call-to-arms of all the free people of Middle Earth; the hobbits (halflings! Gloredhel had only heard tale of them before, and now they seemed so very real to her...), dwarves, Men, and elves that gathered around the pedestal upon which the famed One sat eerily waiting were all of the strongest hearts and minds. Gloredhel sat beside her brother Elrohir, listening absentmindedly between speakers.
There was an elf across from her wearing the brown cloak of Mirkwood. It could only have been Legolas Greenleaf, son of Thranduil; a famed archer and warrior, of the fairest qualities ever seen in this world. She watched him intently, knowing that he was the one meant to share her destiny. His flaxen hair poured onto his strong shoulders as he slouched a little in his seat, feeling himself being watched.
Does he know? Gloredhel wondered with vague concern. Has he even been told of me? For I will not do any of the telling; I have sacrificed enough already for this cause without having to make myself the bearer of bad news.
Legolas raised his eyes to hers, meeting them quickly and deeply. Gloredhel knew that if he wanted to he could sense what she was thinking, and so she dropped her hints as subtley as she could, few and far between.
Legolas of Mirkwood, son of Thranduil, she spoke to his mind, her eyes flashing in the sunlight. Your journey has only begun here today. You are more than what you may think yourself to be...
The elf's eyebrows raised as he watched her stand quietly, unnoticed by the others, to leave. Glancing once over her shoulder, the dark-haired beauty disappeared into the ivory halls of Rivendell, her sad walk remaining in his mind as the Council wore tirelessly on.
~*~*~*~*~*~
"Ah, Estel," Gloredhel said softly with a smile as Aragorn approached her in the garden later in the evening. "It is long since I have seen your face, my brother." She reached up to touch his skin, as though to assure herself that he was real.
"My Glory," he laughed scooping her up in an embrace, "You are timeless, and yet always as a child in my eyes. How do you fare?"
She glanced at him as they sat amidst the night-blooming flowers.
"You know of my troubles," she sighed sadly. "You know what it is that I must do."
"I do. And I believe that you can do it, for you will not be alone in this."
"Ah yes, the stranger who is to be my King...I am not so sure that he and I are meant to rule together."
Aragorn picked up a small white flower and twirled it between his worn fingers.
"You must try," he said, looking at her with strong eyes. "Fate unfolds quickly and when least expected. In a moment we might be swept off of our feet and into another world, in only a moment the life of one can change. You are the hope of your people now."
He leaned over and kissed her forehead, standing up and looking to the sky.
"You know, Estel," Gloredhel whispered mysteriously as she too rose and began to walk into the night, "The same could be said for you. You are Hope. I can not succeed without your triumph. Will you not fight, Heir of Isildur?"
Aragorn smiled sadly, softly, as he watched her go, the hopelessness of his quest overtaking him.
"Hope?" He whispered to the dark, endless sky. "And where does one look for this hope? For surely it can not be found in the hearts of men, and that is who I am."