Chapter 24 Crowned with Stars
The months passed at a phenomenal speed. The threat from Darken had faded, Glorfindel's suspicions had gradually subsided, and during these months, Nienor had enjoyed a semblance of peace. She had Darken's trust, which gave her time to do what she needed to do. She was confident that Aradan would be safe, and the child she carried would be born peacefully in Imladriss. Afterward, she would deal with the ring.
Elrond wore his white shirt with long sleeves, his hair was braided and fell down his back. The sword he held was long, slightly curved, and the handle was covered in wood with golden engravings. His movements were fluid and precise as he fought against an invisible enemy. It was as if he were dancing, his sword slicing through the air.
Nienor watched him closely, imagining him on the battlefield. She knew of his strength, his prowess in combat, having heard about it many times, and she had no doubt. But now she pictured him facing Darken. She shuddered because she was afraid. Tears blurred her vision. She was scared. Elrond did not deserve all this, and no one here deserved it, but soon they would all die at the hands of Darken's army. Few would survive, reduced to slavery, their valley turned to ashes. Elrond humiliated, his sons also killed. And all because of her. No, she had to succeed and take the ring. Then she might prevent this massacre, with luck, Darken would be the only one to die. Darken and Farewell too. She had to decide, but fear paralyzed her.
And then, there was the life growing within her. She wished it were all just a dream so she wouldn't have to live through the pain she was in today. But it was inevitable, unless Darken died, unless the war never started. Nip it in the bud.
'What good wind brings you, my sweet?' Elrond's voice pulled her from her thoughts. He stood in the center of the room, the point of his sword on the ground. He was breathless, but he smiled at her.
'I heard noises, so I came to see if everything was alright,' Nienor replied, returning his smile. She approached him, took the sword he held, and raised it to eye level. The blade was shiny, with elvish engravings that read 'Idril i hel en aran Gond dolen' – 'Idril, daughter of the King of Gondolin.'
'Who is this?' Nienor asked, holding the sword upright.
'Idril was my grandmother. It was her sword, forged in Gondolin.'
'She must have been a strong woman,' Nienor said, handing him back the sword.
'She was, indeed. Hadhafang has seen many battles, perhaps too many.'
He took the sword and read the inscriptions on the silver blade once again.
'I wish she won't see any in the future,' Nienor murmured, her gaze lost in the gleaming reflections of the blade. 'Yes,' she added, 'may no sword be drawn again for war… Ellena will be here soon, any day now, and I want her to grow up in peace.'
Elrond's face lit up, 'Ellena?' he said, the smile in his voice.
'Crowned with stars,' Nienor translated.
'Of course,' Elrond murmured, his gaze locked with Nienor's. He had placed his hand on her belly, and he closed his eyes. 'Soon, she will be here, meleth-nin.'
'Soon,' Nienor agreed, covering his hand with hers.