Elrond picked out a dusty scroll from the shelf. "The Bedrock for the Arcane Arts," according to Orik, was a decent place to start. He had to personally permit Elrond personally since the dwarves guarded these secrets as jealously as they guard all their secrets.

"I might get an earful from mine father," he said to Elrond. "But he won't disagree with me, in the end. However, do not enter the Encesozro, the Holy Room. That room is for only a handful of dwarves, who have been specially chosen and trained for religious occasions, among other things. If you enter that room, we may both lose our heads."

So Elrond read, and in a silent corner of an empty library, he sat deep in thought. Was it possible that he had this ability? Magic, it would seem, was an ability to tap into a vague, but very much real, energy around the world, not some word the Aftercomers, and even the Adopted at times, used to wave away things they didn't understand.

He read so quickly that it might seem to an onlooker as though he were looking for a page, flicking through the irrelevant ones. But to an elf, and certainly a loremaster of the same calibre as Elrond, this was a sufficient reading speed.

At last, he came to the small, incomplete dictionary at the end, and a few seconds later closed the book. A thoughtful expression was on his face as he stared down at it. The book didn't go into detail about the nature of magic users, but considering that the battle under Farthen Dûr didn't consist of people spontaneously combusting, or turning into toads, or whatever confusing rumours mortal folk spread, magic was obviously an ability limited to certain people.

Reasonably, since he was from another world, he wouldn't be able to use magic. Something in the blood of the people here gave them that ability, something Elrond simply could not have.

And yet…

"At the very least," he said thoughtfully, "I should understand the basics, should the topic come up. It would be embarrassing for a loremaster to be unaware of lore."

Beyond that, if an issue came up regarding magic – say, a magical trap which needed cunning, not strength, to open – and he had no knowledge of magic, he'd be all but useless in that situation. And if he faced a magical foe unaware of the customs of a magical battle…

And so, picking up another book, he familiarised himself with the "ancient language," an apparent essential to the use of magic, and the language of the elves. Overall, it seemed a nice enough language, but Elrond thought it to be a bit rough on the ears. Not, as Galadriel had once demonstrated to him, as bad as Valarin, but he'd make a few alterations if he had the chance.

It redeemed itself, however, with a most interesting note: it was impossible to tell lies in the ancient language. Elrond had attempted to lie, trying to say "I am a dwarf" in the ancient language. He could not; it felt as though his tongue was paralysed. The sensation was quite curious, truth be told. He wondered if this language was taught to the rulers of all of Alagaesia; if it wasn't, it most certainly should, even just for moments of importance, where the truth is absolutely vital. A few key phrases, at least.

He was reading a book regarding grammar when a young boy – twelve, if Elrond guessed correctly – came up to him, eyes downcast and shaking slightly. A page, Elrond supposed.

"My—my lord Elrond, the Council of Elders wishes to speak to you," he said.

"I see," said Elrond, rising and returning the book. "Please, lead the way."

Elrond followed the young boy down a few of the city's layers; the library that Orik had guided him to was on one of the upper levels, inaccessible to most of the population. Indeed, very few people lived down there, mostly guards and recluses.

"Tell me, what is your name?" asked Elrond at last. The boy hesitated, nervous; memories of sordid tales of elf-folk arising in his mind, no doubt.

"Am—Amro—Amroth, milord," he said at last.

Elrond smiled at Amroth. "You've done your job admirably, Amroth. It is no easy thing to come this far down. Certainly not fun." Seeing the boy relax a little, Elrond said, "Tell me about the Council of Elders."

"Um, they're the, uh, representatives of the Varden," said Amroth. "I dunno much. I think they advise the leader of the Varden. There's five of them, I think."

"I see," said Elrond. "Do you know if they have actual power?"

Amroth frowned, and Elrond said, "Have you heard of any decrees from the Council; do they pass any laws? If they tell you to do something, can you ignore them?"

"Oh." Amroth tilted his head in thought. "No, not that I can remember. I don't usually, you know, pay attention to this stuff. I wait outside most of the time. But I don't think they do that sort of thing. If they tell me to go somewhere, to give a message or summon someone, I've got to do that. But other than that, I don't think so; Ajihad is—was in charge. Without him, I guess they couldn't do anything. But I don't know."

"I see. Thank you." Not perhaps a wellspring of information, but there was sufficient information, Elrond thought.

They continued quietly for a few minutes longer, and then Amroth asked, "Why did you want to know?"

Elrond sighed. "Because I suspect I am about to return to the world of politics," he said. "And I must know what I can and cannot do." They reached a large convex door and stopped. "Politics, Amroth, son of Amloth, is a terrible thing. If I can give any wisdom, it is this: avoid it as much as possible, and if you cannot, make as many friends as you can, and never fail to be honourable."

Elrond pushed the door open, leaving the young lad shocked and, perhaps, uneasy once more.

Inside the chamber, Elrond found a large round table, the crest of the Dûrgrimst Ingeitum in the centre. The roof was a large, sky-blue dome, adorned with stars. Around the table sat five people, three men and two women. Across from Elrond sat Jörmundur, Ajihad's battle advisor. There were two men next to him on either side, one tall, and the other broad, bordering on fat. Next to the tall one was a woman with close-set eyes and pinched lips, and intricately painted cheeks. Next to the broad man sat a woman with a bundle of grey hair, bound atop a matronly face. The hilt of a dagger peaked out of her bodice. Elrond's eyes narrowed in displeasure at each of them.

"Lord Elrond," Jörmundur said, rising with a bow. "I am glad you could make it. These are my colleagues, Umérth and Falberd." These were the tall and broad men, respectively. He pointed to the woman beside Umérth, and then the one next to Falberd. "And Sabrae, and Elessari."

"A pleasure to meet you, lord Elrond," said Sabrae, leaning forward; Elrond smelled an oily, sickly scent waft over from her. The elf-lord was reminded vividly of walking through Mordor and coming across plants that smelled just like that.

Elrond bowed in response. "I greet you, councilmembers of the Varden," he said and took a seat. Sabrae's lip twitched in disappointment, whilst Elessari tried to hide a smirk.

"We have a few things we wanted to talk to you about, lord Elrond," said Jörmundur carefully. "Firstly, we heard that Gandalf has left. Do you have any idea why or where he's gone?"

"Indeed I do," answered Elrond. He sat silently, watching the elders wait for an explanation.

Umérth coughed, then said, "Can you, uh, can you tell us where he went?" He leaned forward, his large fingers intersecting.

"He went west, towards Orthíad, hoping to stop the Twins and rescue Ajihad and Murtagh," explained Elrond.

Unease spread through the council like a ripple. Sabrae, Elessari, and Umérth were perhaps the most uncomfortable, and their thoughts the most obvious; Elrond understood their minds as plainly as if they'd spoken their thoughts aloud – that cannot be allowed! We have a chance for greater power, and if Ajihad returns, we shall go nowhere! But if he returns and we did nothing, we shall surely be replaced. What can we do?

Falberd was the most practical, in a sense. He hoped the wizard could save Ajihad, for many secrets were at risk. Yet he doubted Gandalf could do it, and thought he should have remained with the Varden, where his powers could be put to better use. Perhaps, he thought, Ajihad's wounds would overcome him; maybe that might be for the best.

Jörmundur was the most loyal; he wondered if Gandalf could actually save Ajihad. If he could, a great many secrets would be safe from Galbatorix, which was the main problem. But there was also the hope that a friend may be saved.

"A pity," said Elessari, shifting in her seat. "We wished to talk to him about a few things."

"Arya said as much," said Elrond.

"What? And he left anyway?" asked Falberd, outraged. "Just who does he think he is?"

"More importantly, you knew, and you didn't stop him," accused Sabrae.

Elrond turned his gaze on Falberd and Sabrae in turn, and they looked down, in shame and fear. "Evidently it is different in this world, but where we are from it is perilous to one's health to hinder a wizard in their movements; if not immediately, then in the future. And Gandalf the Grey is not bound to me, nor am I to him; he is a friend and councillor, just as I am to him."

"I understand, but Gandalf, in a short span of time, proved his worth by uncovering the Twins' treachery," said Jörmundur in a placating tone. "We were hoping to utilise that intelligence and power. Obviously, that is impossible now. So, now we must ask you: what do you plan to do?"

"I intend to go Ellesméra," answered Elrond. "It is vital that I learn more about this world. I cannot see what paths fate will take me down, but I suspect I will return to the Varden ere long. Even if I did not wish to help, I would have little choice in the matter – if the Varden overthrow Galbatorix, we will have the chance to find a way home. If Galbatorix defeats the Varden, he will surely stop either of us from finding a way home. Gandalf and I have as much at stake as the Varden, if not more, for we have our own problems to attend to."

The council nodded quietly, his words no doubt what they expected, and Jörmundur said, "I see. And what of Gandalf? Does this mean he'll help the Varden, whether his mission is successful or not?"

Elrond smiled. "To guess the mind of Gandalf is to guess where lightning shall strike. He has told me his plan – to go to the woodland halls of the elves, and then to the Varden, to help you overthrow the king. He will not aid Galbatorix, of that I am certain, but it would not be beyond the realm of possibility for Gandalf to find someone more worthy of his help than the Varden, although that is quite unlikely."

Alarm spread through the chamber. Sabrae leaned forward, her perfume assaulting Elrond's senses. "Are you saying there's a chance he'll betray us?"

"Not at all," said Elrond, a little sharply. "That would imply he has allied himself to the Varden in the first place. He is nobody's ally at the moment; the most he could be accused of is understanding that the Varden is the only force that can challenge the king. Even in Middle-Earth, Gandalf's allegiance lies with no one; he has ties to no realm of any sort, and no single being holds his allegiance, only his friendship, which is surer than any oath or bond."

"So Gandalf can't be trusted, then," surmised Umérth, doltishly.

"That entirely depends on what you need his trust for," said Elrond, giving the little man a disapproving look.

Silence. He looked at each of the councilmembers in turn, a knowing look in his eyes. They each looked away.

At last, Jörmundur coughed and said, "Well, there's little use in discussing him now. Let's move on to the next thing: we wanted your opinion on the matter of a successor. However, now that we've learned Gandalf is riding to save Ajihad, perhaps we ought to postpone the decision."

"I would advise against it," said Elrond. "Ajihad was badly wounded in the tunnels; if he even survives the journey the Twins are putting him through, it would be just short of a miracle. No, even if Gandalf rescues him, a successor will need to be chosen. Ajihad would serve an advisory role at most."

"I see," said Falberd, leaning forward. Malice gleamed in his eyes. "That brings up something I wanted to ask you, lord Elrond. I don't know if my colleagues were particularly curious about it, but as Arya stated, you refused to go after Ajihad when he was captured. You insisted that the host retreat."

Elrond narrowed his eyes and turned his gaze upon Falberd. He was evidently trying to provoke a reaction of some sort. What was his goal? To reduce the appearance of power and wisdom that Elrond, by his very nature, had? Perhaps he thought that if Elrond was ashamed of his actions, he would be more subservient to the Varden in the hope of penance. He would have to tread carefully.

"Is that so? Those were her words?"

Falberd nodded. "Tell me, lord Elrond, is it customary for the… people of your homeland to abandon their leaders or friends in a moment of crisis?"

"Not at all," said Elrond. "If it is the custom for the Varden to throw away their lives in a hopeless battle, I apologise for my actions. The Kull severely outnumbered us, and the Twins were there as well. Perhaps a warrior as renowned as yourself would have fared better, lord Falberd, but I judged that going after them would have meant more deaths, and Ajihad and Murtagh would still be captured."

A ripple of unease spread through the council, accompanied by an undercurrent of amusement. Jörmundur and Elessari suppressed smirks.

"Anyway," said Jörmundur, raising a hand to prevent Falberd, who was turning a curious shade of red, from responding. "Lord Elrond, before we continue, it's necessary that we have your word that you won't allow this conversation to leave this chamber before the coronation. Do we have your word?"

Elrond frowned. "My people, indeed, all Middle-Earth, have had ill dealings with vows. I am hesitant to take any unnecessarily."

"I would hardly think it unnecessary, lord Elrond," said Elessari. "If word gets out, there might be chaos. Dissidents may decide to assassinate the candidate before there's any hope of protecting them. Goodness knows what might happen—"

Elrond raised his hands. "I understand, you need not sing that tune – it would be torture enough to my ears, even though fair voices sang it. Very well, I give you my word that I will not let this conversation leave this room ere your candidate has been announced as the next ruler of the Varden."

"Thank you, lord Elrond," said Jörmundur, breathing a discreet sigh of relief – a contrast to Elessari, who was clutched her dress so hard a few seams tore; she had a sudden twitch in her left eye. "With that out of the way, we understand you met Nasuada. What is your opinion of her?"

Elrond's eyes narrowed a fraction. He should've guessed there'd be someone keeping an eye on him. An understandable action; he was more upset that he neglected to think of this.

Well, at any rate, they likely didn't know that he and Gandalf anticipated this. It would be best if it stayed that way, since then he'd be effectively free to talk. Well, once he spoke with Nasuada about it. Best to make certain she knew, rather than guess.

"I confess, I only met her for a brief moment," answered Elrond. "I would say she was a bit young to lead the Varden. Surely an older, more experienced individual should take the lead. Especially since events are now moving apace: war is all but certain, Galbatorix can, at the very least, guess with a far greater degree of accuracy the home of the dwarves and the Varden, a rider and dragon have emerged and are headed to Elvenland, where the elves will no doubt be aroused from their isolated state. Would it be wise to let an inexperienced individual lead the Varden?"

"Nasuada might be less experienced," said Sabrae. "But she's been working with the Varden almost her entire life, helping her father in his work, and sometimes without his knowledge."

"Yes, I've seen her grow up from a young babe to the woman she is now," said Elessari, smiling a wistful smile that didn't even approach her eyes. "She might be a bit light-headed at times, but she's beloved by the Varden, and eager and usually quite capable of leading them. Now, of course, we will be here as well, guiding her as best we can."

Elrond tilted his head slightly. "Perhaps you are right. But why not one of you? Surely in a time of such turmoil, with war brimming at your gates, an individual such as yourself, Jörmundur, who was Ajihad's right-hand man, would prove an ideal candidate. Or perhaps lord Falberd, renowned and capable warrior as he must be, would be better suited to leading the Varden in a time of imminent war."

It seemed as though everyone at the table turned into statues; like the stone giants of the Misty Mountains, or the Ents of Fangorn Forest, they moved stiffly, discreetly eying Jörmundur and Falberd, wondering what their answers would be. The two Elrond singled out glanced at one another before Jörmundur spoke.

"I was Ajihad's military advisor, nothing more," he answered slowly. "Ruling the Varden will take skills that I simply don't possess. And we on the council only have power if we all support one another. If one of us attempts to put ourselves above the other, we'd surely crumble." Falberd remained silent.

Smiling ever-so-faintly, Elrond said, "I understand. There is a very delicate balance of power. No one on the council could wield the power of the council – it must be wielded through another. Hence Nasuada. Moreover, you would need a scapegoat, should one of your plans go awry."

Jörmundur started. "I… That's not quite how things are, lord Elrond. We merely—"

"There is no need to explain further," said Elrond, holding up his hands. He smiled his most pleasant smile. "Nasuada has my vote."

Nodding uneasily, Jörmundur said, "That is good to hear. Uh, if there's nothing else…" He looked at the other members, who shook their heads and remained silent. "Then that is all, lord Elrond. We will appoint Nasuada as leader the day after tomorrow, at the twilight hour."

"Yes, to add a bit of, how do the dwarves say it? Zuruki orukuzin," said Sabrae, with a small dramatic flair; Jörmundur cringed slightly. Elrond was unfamiliar with the phrase but decided not to ask.

"Quite," drawled Jörmundur. Then he said, "I think that will be all for now, lord Elrond."

Elrond rose and left, silent.

Outside, Elrond found a bench and sat down, pinching the bridge of his nose. Ajihad was right, his advisors had grown corrupt. He couldn't be wholly blamed; if he chose his own advisors, that would be seen as suspicious and corrupt, and he'd lose the faith of the people. But this… well, at least he had wisdom enough to make his own decisions, and not just bow to the whims of the council. The fact that most of them were unhappy at Gandalf going after the Twins was, in its own way, good news.

As for Nasuada… she seemed strong-willed, intelligent, and certainly capable. Elrond would still, back in Middle-Earth, opt for a more experienced leader, but Nasuada would still be an excellent leader. She displayed a remarkable knowledge of the rest of the world, and although she didn't mention it explicitly, Elrond guessed that she knew much of her father's plans.

But would she have the skill to evade the council's machinations?

"Perhaps," muttered Elrond, deep in thought. "Perhaps."

Elrond was halfway to Nasuada's chambers when a dwarf stopped him. He had a tight grip on his spear.

"King Hrothgar summons thee," said the dwarf sharply, a cross look on his face. Elrond inclined his head and followed the dwarf. He could guess what this was about.

He followed the dwarf silently through the halls and corridors of Tronjheim, noting once more the different expressions. Even amongst the dwarves, they were different: some, who had long beards, and greyer ones, scowled at him, ever a hand on their dagger or axe, whilst others who were younger looked at him with apprehension and curiosity.

Soon, the elf-lord stood before the great doors of the king once again. The dwarf knocked on the doors, and they swung open silently. The dwarf stood to the side, and Elrond thanked him in passing.

The king sat before him, Volund lying across his knees. His brow and lips were knotted in anger, his head bowed. Elrond stopped a few metres from the throne and bowed his head.

"Hail, King Hrothgar," he said.

The king looked up at the elf. "Lord Elrond. I am told mine son gave you leave to study magic in our library."

"He did," said Elrond. King Hrothgar made a low, rumbling sound, then said, "I am unhappy that he did so, most of all without asking mine permission. You are going to Ellesméra, lord Elrond – you need not learn from us, and risk seeing that which is secret, nay, sacred, to us.

"However, Orik told me it would be better if you had some understanding of the ancient language, ere you meet with your own kind," continued Hrothgar. He sighed deeply. "This I understand, and you have helped us greatly; and so, though I dislike it, and if the clans hear of this they shall be wroth, I shall countenance this. No word of this matter shall reach the other leaders of the clans through me, and I will defend the matter, if, and only if, you give your word you will not willingly search for anything that is secret to us, and if you chance to see them, you will not share it, willingly or not, to any other outside the dwarves. This you must swear, by the most sacred vow you can make, by the measure of your people."

Then Elrond frowned. It was a day for swearing oaths, it seemed. Loathe he was to swear so soon, and so profound an oath.

"A terrible price the dwarves place upon their knowledge," said Elrond gravely. "You do not know of what you ask, King Hrothgar. An oath of the magnitude you ask has been sworn twice in known history; the ramifications of the first oath, the Oath of Fëanor, haunt Middle-Earth to this day. If an oath of such binding power is the price only to learn magic amongst the Dwarves, then I must wait until I reach the elves."

Hrothgar nodded and was silent for a time. Then, leaning forward, he said, "Then, perhaps, you would be content to take up another offer, lord Elrond?"

Hello once more, my dear readers. Thank you again for your immeasurable patience. I hope this new edition to my story is up to scratch.

So, we're back with Elrond in Tronjheim, battling with the council. I hope it wasn't too boring. I barely knew what I was doing, but hey, here we are.

Winterwolf23543: I'm glad you like it. Your point about the vampire and magic is somewhat entwined. I found I had to introduce another element to Alagaësia, in order for the story to work. That is, Gandalf almost certainly won't end up kicking Galbatorix's ass. Who knows, maybe there'll be a moment when Galbatorix and Gandalf meet and fight, but I doubt it. Also, the vampire won't be the only extra villain to show up ;)

Flameis: you're very welcome!