The wave thundered downstream, the sudden surge of foaming water quieting as it carried the black Riders and their horses away. The sound of the Nazgul's screams and the remnants of their chilling laughter faded away slowly to be replaced by the sounds of birds chirping and the swift sound of the Bruinen's clear water flowing over rocks. Only the memory remained and neither Frodo nor Aiedale would ever forget it. The sound of the Nazgul when they hunted was something that would always haunt the shadows of their memories.
Forcing herself to act, Aiedale nudged Asfaloth forward and out of the river. The horse scrambled up onto the opposite bank where there was an open strip of grass before that slowly changed into forest. River rocks dotted the ground and the grass was beginning to die as the nights grew cold once more. As the rush of adrenalin began to fade, Aiedale became aware of the fierce ache in her arm. Glancing down she noted the odd angle and the pain was a familiar one - during the ride that branch had either badly cracked or broken her elbow. The branch that had slammed into her arm must be the cause of it and it irked Aiedael slightly that she had been injured in such a way. To her, such injuries should not occur when one was riding a horse through a forest. What kind of person got injured like that? When the horse came to a stop, the Shadowhunter slipped off and, with her good arm, helped Frodo drop to the ground.
"What do we do now?" asked the hobbit as Aiedale loosened the girth and slipped the bridle. Asfaloth bickered his thanks and began to crop the slowly dying grass. Frodo stumbled little finding that he was strangely tired after his battle against the darkness. Wisely choosing to sit down, he choose a flat rock that had been warmed by the sun and looked with wide eyes at his only companion.
"We wait," answered the Shadowhunter, "the others have to catch up and I have to heal myself." As the hobbit watched with those wide eyes, Aiedale slipped her arm brace off and drew out her stele. The slight jiggling of the arm made Aiedale wince even as she quickly drew the stele across her skin. The sight of the suddenly straightening arm and the way the rune vanished into her skin like a ghost of a memory made Frodo openly gasp.
Looking up at him with a faint smile even as she put her stele away and pulled her sleeve back down, Aiedale felt he was due an explanation. "When I am injured I can heal myself using runes."
"Oh," whispered Frodo and he looked at her with unsure blue eyes. "I don't think I understand."
"It's complicated," said Aiedale. "Suffice to say that they are Marks. They're runes burned into my skin. Different ones do different things. That one healed me and some increase my strength or perfect my balance. Only Shadowhunters like me can carry them."
Making sure the blade underneath her arm brace was lying correctly once more, Aiedale glanced around. The river widened here a little and they now waited on a grassy floodplain. The deepest and swiftest part of the river was on the opposite bank. Had she not seen the thundering wave that had crashed down on them a few minutes before, she might have thought the river perfectly ordinary. Now, however, she was certain some power controlled it. It was just who controlled the power that had her worried. For if that power could summon a raging wave then what else could it do? The air before the wave and been charged, but she had put it down to the Nazgul and the power that swirled around them. Now she wondered if she had been mistaken and, in truth, she could still feel power though it was so faint as to be invisible.
Asfaloth snorted slightly and Aiedale smiled slightly as she moved over to the white horse and bang to rub him under his thick mane. His neck was sweaty and the horse seemed quite appreciative of the rubbing. Frodo chuckled as the horse reached around and began to itch Aiedale's shoulder in return, his entire body contorted as he leaned into the itch. The gentle nibbling forcing Aiedale's tense muscles to relax.
"He likes that," commented the hobbit with a smile.
Aiedale laughed, the sound coming easily and freely from her like silver wind chimes. "All horses like it!" she told the hobbit. "Ones like Asfaloth are particularly deserving." Smiling fondly at the horse she could not help but feel as if something had come to an end - some leg of a journey was over. The feeling made it possible for her to take a moment and enjoy the quiet river bank - to enjoy the gentle nibbling of the white horse as she scratched underneath his heavy, hot mane. To forget, for a time, the urgency with which she had to find a way home.
"You like horses then?" asked Frodo. He thought he had never seen her look so relaxed nor seen her face so peaceful. He hadn't even heard her laugh like that, a sound so carefree he almost wished she would make it again. The sound had reminded him of wind chimes on a summer day when a gentle breeze stirs the leaves on trees. It helped him forget for a moment to the heavy burden around his neck and the Nazgul's chilling words.
"I do," she told him even as her fingers moved closer to Asfaloth's withers, finding a new itchy spot that had the horse almost falling over in ecstasy.
"They will be a while?" asked Frodo with a heavy sigh as he looked towards the opposite bank and the Road that his friends still traveled on. "Right?"
"I should think so," said Aiedale without looking back. "It was a long gallop on a very swift horse. You hobbits move slowly to." Her eyes twinkled slightly with her gentle teasing.
Frodo could not hold back his own chuckle, stunned by the suddenly light atmosphere between him and the girl. She seemed too unguarded and open; even as he still felt the cold despair of the Black Riders and the twisted desire of the Ring. "You are used to a faster pace?" he asked teasingly.
"Yes," said Aeidale. "Much faster!" Pausing in her scratching she gently stoked the noble face of the horse. Her fingers gently combed through the thick forelock and then smoothed the white hair above his eyes and across the broad forehead. As she did so she murmured softly in French, the words foreign to the horse, but comforting all the same. Just as they had urged him onwards they now told him what a good boy he had been and how special he was to race like he had. The meaning contained in them was all the horse really cared about, that and the fingers that stroked his face.
"What language is that?" asked Frodo curiously.
"One of many languages spoken in my land," said Aiedale. "It is a pretty language I think."
Frodo was about ask a question when, like a switch being flicked, Aiedale suddenly changed. Her face went dangerously calm - the same calm that she had shown that night on Weathertop. It was a dangerously deceptive hard sheen of ice just before it cracked under pressure. Her face was expressionless, but something burned at the backs of her green eyes. The hobbit went rigid, wondering what had caused such a dramatic change in the once relaxed girl.
Moving swiftly, Aiedale replaced the bridle on Asfaloth who snorted nervously at the sudden change. Tightening the girth with expert fingers Aiedale gestured at Frodo. "Come," she said tensely and the hobbit moved forward instantly without bothering to question her. He sensed that asking her anything would not get him anywhere and maybe only make the already tense warrior snap at him. Boosting him up onto the white horse, Aiedale followed and picked up the reins. Beneath them the elvish steed pranced a little as the hands that held his reins tightened. The sudden change making him nervous and upset.
"Someone is coming," whispered Aiedale into Fordo's ear. "More than one I think and I would rather we were mounted." inwardly Aiedale was cursing her slowed senses - she should have been able to sense these approaching horses long before. As it was they were nearly upon them and who knows what kind of riders might be on those horses?
Before Frodo could say or do anything, a group of ten horses emerged from the trees that grew not far from the river. Behind him Aiedale was tense and her arms were firmly placed on either side of the hobbit. The horses were beautiful, their necks arched proudly and they wore neither saddle nor bridle. Their riders remained seated on the spirited horses through skill and a mutual agreement between rider and mount. For, upon those horses, were ten elven warriors. Leading them, their black hair braided back and their grey eyes sparkling with a hard sheen were two identical elves. They were so identical that Aiedale guessed it would take time to tell them apart for they dressed in the same dark grey and their faces were mirror images. Behind them rode a collection of warriors, all were armed. Their hair - black and many shades of gold and silver - flew like banners behind them. Their perfection made them unreal. Their skin was lighter or darker, but always unblemished, their faces symmetrical, their eyes clear. There were no scars, no bent limbs, and no squints in those eyes. They were tall and elegant in their perfection. The most distinctive feature of them, however, was their eyes. For it was there, in those clear depths, that one could truly see the centuries they had lived. Memories swirled there like endless whirlpools.
"Who goes?" called out one of the twin elves as they brought their horses to a halt a few feet away from the elf horse and his two riders. Asfaloth had let loose a warm whinnying of greeting when the horses and come through the trees and it was clear that he, at least, was happy to see the group as were the other horses.
Frodo raised his voice feeling that it fell to him to answer - it was he who had been set with task and he would see it completed no matter how intimidated he felt by these proud elves that, to him, were the stuff of legends. "I am Frodo of the Shire and this is Aiedale."
"Frodo?" asked the other rider. "We have been sent looking for you. Tell us how you came upon Glorfindel's horse." The elf's keen eyes swept over them and took in the cold faced girl who sat so easily upon the stallion.
Drawing himself together Frodo explained of how he and his companions, including Strider,had met the elf lord. Apparently, from the faint widening of the elves' eyes the name 'Strider' was known to them and, when they heard of the desperate ride, they immediately urged their horses to the edge as if to see if any remains of the Nine could be seen. When Frodo fell silent one of the elf warriors spoke in a lilting voice.
"Some of us should return to Imladris with the Ring Bearer and his companion."
"Yes Lucian," said one of the twins as he looked to the opposite bank. "I think I will take some of you and find Glorfindel and Estel." The elf looked to his mirror image as if to ask if that plan was agreeable and, something about the way the other looked at the one who had spoken seemed to contain far more than simple agreement. It was as if, in that single slightly questioning look, the two elves's had an entire conversation. The one who had spoken nodded and then, with a elegant motion of his hand, he summoned half of the riders and led them across the river. Their horses splashing through the swift current before leaping up the opposite bank and disappearing into the dense forest.
The dark haired elf, his eyes as deep and clear as a mountain stream, rode his horse closer to Asfaloth. "Come," he said with a wave of his hand. "We shall take you to Imladris." As Aiedale nodded and the horses began to move away from the river and into the trees, the elf prince watched the strange pair curiously. Elladan son of Elrond, Lord of Rivendell who, by all rights, was truly the High King of the Noldor after the fall of Gil Galad, had never seen such a strange combination. The pale faced hobbit who bore, with remarkable fortitude, the One Ring sat before a girl who could not have seen her nineteenth birthday. Yet, despite her youth, there was something in those guarded green eyes that made him pause. There was aura of quiet power, a kind of sadness, like she had seen her destiny and knew it was only a matter of time before she could not otride the enmies that sought her.
Pushing those thoughts away the elf signal led his men forward even as he cast one last glance behind at the river he could just make out through the gaps in the trees. He hoped that his twin, Elrohir, would find the others and that, soon, he would be reunited not only with his mentor Glorfindel, but his adopted brother, Estel. Seeing the mortal man he had help rescue and raise would be a sweet meeting indeed and it made his heart a little lighter to think of it. He had a great many questions for his youngest sibling to, starting with how he had come across such strange companions as four hobbits and a mortal girl.
Aiedale had to admit: Rivendell was beautiful. Perhaps it could even rival the beauty of Alicante. The place did not seem real. The buildings seemed too delicate to support their weight and the entire city was perfectly matched to the graceful, proud elves that lived there. Even the air felt different as if the winds were actually whispering in her ear of the things it had heard during its travels. There was an air of peace to this place, the same kind of peace that hung around Alicante and the Shadowhunter found it soothing to her troubled mind. She remembered what Aragorn had said of the place during the journey through the Wild: Rivendell is a cure for all aliments both of the body and of the heart.
Sighing the young woman turned away from the floor-to-ceiling windows that lined one side of her spacious guest room. They provided a lovely view of one of the many gardens that were so lovingly tended and so beautifully layed out below her room. An overly large bed with cream colored sheets was on one side. A bookcase filled with beautifully bound books was beside a desk already prepared with cream colored sheets of paper and black ink. A door led to a bathroom where some sort of indoor plumbing allowed for a constant supply of warm water. Aiedale had already delighted in removing the dirt and blood from her body until she felt, at last, that she was fit for being seen. The elves, she had already found, were just as impervious to dirt as the Fey in her world. Something she found highly annoying and terribly unfair.
An elf maid had already taken her black gear away for them to be repaired and cleaned. Her various weapons were now stacked and ordered where she had left them on the bench at the foot of her bed. The gleaming blades and sparkling stele looking out of place in a world that had never seen their like before. A closet stood open to show a collection of elegant dresses that seemed to be both flattering and remarkably comfortable. Already Aiedale had chosen one of them when she had emerged clean and refreshed from her bath. The pale green gown she had randomly chosen complimented her rusty auburn hair and pale green eyes. The sleeves came to her wrists and hid, from all who might look, the runes that inked her skin as well as the numerous scars, large and small, that told her life's story.
She did not mind the dress. She even liked it a little bit, but it was hardly her style of dress. Aiedale had always been the kind who liked a little black dress. Simple and elegant - the kind of dress she could brighten up with a scarf or necklace. There were few of these knee lengths, beautifully cut dresses hanging her wardrobe back home. The elvish dress while pretty and flattering in all the right ways was, exactly that, pretty. Aiedale did not like pretty, she liked sophisticated and black, while simple, was the kind of color she could do anything with.
A memory swam across her vision...
Her closet back home in her butter yellow painted room. Her iPhone blaring her favorite playlist of songs from her speakers as she considered the wide selection of clothes that she somehow amassed while her recently washed hair dried. The sounds of a summer night in Paris filtered in through the open windows and the curtains were pulled back...
Aiedale shook her head to clear the image from her mind. She did not need to think of those times right now and so turned her mind towards the hobbit she had helped reach this place. Frodo was most likely resting though she did not know that for certain. In fact, upon arrival, he had left with the elf lord who had led half of the group back to the haven while his twin went the other way. She suspected that he had been taken directly to the Lord of Imladris if only because of the burden he carried and the implications of it. The remaining members of their party were probably still on there way. Aiedale had yet to meet the Lord of Rivendell or find out where exactly the wizard, Gandalf, was. She had been shown to her room by a maid after leaving Asfaloth in the care of a stable hand who had hurridely stepped forward when the small party had trotted into the open courtyard. Now, feeling remarkably awake and well, she found the idea of lingering in her comfortable room to be a terribly boring notion.
Slipping a single seraph blade into her sleeve just to be cautious, Aiedale let herself out of her room and into the echoing corridor that was lined by identical doors. At one end was a balcony and she found herself moving towards it. She wanted to feel the wind in her recently washed hair and look out at the clear sky. The railing was delicate and yet it felt sturdy as she rested her arms against it. The dying light of the sun sent streaks of red and gold across the sky, the fading rays warming her pale face. The breeze gently teased her hair and she half closed her eyes, relishing the feeling and merely loving the feeling of being alive. In a life so used to upheaval and loss, it was a treasure to merely be able to stop and enjoy the beauty of the world - even if that world was not her own.
The peaceful air was broken by the sound of soft footsteps and Aiedale turned to see the elf who had led her and Frodo to Rivendell. He still wore the dark grey traveling clothes and the light pieces of armor, but he had shed his sword. He smiled and inclined his head politely when he saw her, his grey eyes inscrutable even as he drew close to her. In the tone of a host asking a guest if they needed anything, the elf asked. "How are you my lady?"
Aiedale was no foreigner to formality - many immortal Downworlders still spoke in the same manner as this elf. Aiedale's earliest lessons had been speaking in a way that they, and some Shadowhunters who appreciated a more rigid set of manners, would find acceptable. So, with a small incline if her head, the young woman answered smoothly, "I am well enough, my lord."
With a self-depreciating smile the elf said, "I am afraid we were never properly introduced Lady..." his voice trailed off suggestively.
"Aiedale," she answered. "Lord..." Her voice taking on a questioning note of it's own.
"Elladan son of Elrond. My brother is Elrohir," said the elf and then, with a gesture at the city before them he asked. "What do you make of Rivendell?"
Aiedale could not help but wonder that the son of this city's lord would engage her in small talk. So, careful to remain vague, she said simply, "It is very beautiful."
The elf was silent for a moment and then, just as he was about to say something more, an elf appeared at the end of the hallway. "My lord," called out the new arrival who seemed to be some sort of messenger. "Your father requests your presence in his study. Mithrandir is also there."
"Forgive me," said Elladan turning to Aiedale who had started slightly at the mention of the wizard she was seeking. "I must go."
"I understand," said Aiedale and she half watched as the two elves left her. So the wizard was here. A small bubble of hope grew within her as she turned once more to gaze out over the shining city. She could not wait to leave this place and retune to the life she knew best. Hopefully that moment would be soon and, closing her eyes, she relaxed against the railing and allowed herself to imagine what it would be like to once more be home. Aiedale imagined walking down the busy streets of Paris with her cousins and brother as they slipped through the crowds invisble to most eyes. She could imagine her aunt standing over a pot of bubbling stew in the giant kitchen or even the feeling of having someone Mark her before they left the Insitute on one of their hunting trips. She stayed like that, her senses still aware of all that occurred around her, even as her mind drifted to the small things that, until now, she had taken for granted.
As it was Aiedale did not have a chance to meet the wizard until the following evening. After spending some time on the balcony she and returned to her room where she double checked her weapons before, at last, finding a peaceful sleep. The next morning she choose another dress from the ones provided and then was led by the maid, Calthria, to the main dining hall where she had been given a seat next to a silent and elegantly dressed Aragorn. Soon after her arrival of the table he had slipped away on some business of his own and she barely got two words out of him.
The hobbits were also there and chattered together excitedly with a white haired hobbit whose eyes still twinkled with laughter. She was introduced to the hobbit, Bilbo, and listened with amusement as he spoke with Frodo's and the others animatedly about their home. Neither the Lord of Imladris nor the wizard had been at breakfast, but his Arms Master, Glorfindel of Gondolin, had along with Elladan and his twin brother Elrohir. She had found herself sharing polite words with them, but it was with a certain amount if relief that she escaped the table for the quiet gardens of Imladris. It was not that she disliked their company, but that she felt uncomfortable with the way they gently tried to pry into her past even if she was well aware that their questions were justified. When she spoke of who and what she was it would be at a time of her own choosing and not by answering carefully posed questions delivered in polite tones.
With a growing need to see the wizard, but unsure how to find him or even how to approach him, the young warrior contented herself with wandering the gardens of the city until, by some stroke of luck, she found the beautiful library that Imladris was, unknown to Aedale, famed for. It was there, at a window seat, that Aiedale spent her afternoon with her nose in a book about Middle Earth's history. Her mind, conditioned by years of intense study in all areas from language to history, relished the challenge of Middle Earth history. Besides the library was quiet and it had the same air that the libraries of her home did - that simple fact easing the persistent homesickness more than the young warrior fully knew at the time.
So, when it was getting on towards evening and dinner, Aiedale reluctantly left the comfortable window seat and carefully replaced the book back where she had found it. She was hungry for, during her wanders, she had missed lunch. Turning her feet along the way she and come, Aiedale retraced her way to the guest quarters and her room. It was just as she was rebraiding her thick hair, that a knock came at the door.
Calling out from her place by her bed she said, "Enter."
The door opened to show Aragorn. The man was changed and, while Aiedale had seen it at breakfast, she could only consider the vast difference between this man and the one she had traveled with. It was more than just a good bath - which he had sorely needed - or the elegant dark grey clothes he wore. It was as if a mask had been removed and she was able to see the man that he truly was and, during the long journey, had only allowed glimpses of. The man smiled and it lit his face up, making him seem both younger more kingly than ever. It was the glimpse that she had seen that night at Weathertop and she found it oddly comforting to think that she had been right – he was more than a common wanderer.
"Aiedale," he said, "I have not had a chance to speak with you at any length. However, your presence is asked for at dinner tonight. Lord Elrond has asked that you join him in a private dinner. Frodo and the others shall be there." Then, pausing, he said, "Gandalf will also be there."
Aiedale felt a smile creep across her face and she nodded her head swiftly. Quickly tying her hair and making sure that her dress, this one a deep blue with silver embroidery, was smoothed of any wrinkles she followed the man out into the corridor. As she took the proceeded arm she was once more glad that the dress had sheer blue sleeves that covered her marked arms. It felt strange, to a girl used to walking unescorted, to have her arm laced through another's even if it was only considered polite in this world. To her - raised to be independent and in a world where such acts were considered old fashioned - the feeling was strange and she tried to forget it by asking a question that had troubled her.
"Does Gandalf know of me?"
Aragorn glanced at his young companion, but found he could not read her thoughts. Her face was as distant as always and, in the fading golden light of the sun, she looked like an elf what with the dress. The hair, washed and combed out, caught the dying light and streaks of lighter red and blonde glimmered.
"Yes," he said hoping that his voice sounded reassuring. "Both Frodo and I have already spoken with both him and Lord Elrond of our journey here." Giving her arm a gentle squeeze he said, "I mentioned your difficulty to him, but did not speak of anything more. They are anxious to meet you and give their thanks for your assistance."
Aiedale nodded and then asked, "Why a private dinner?" They were walking through the open, graceful corridors and their footsteps echoed through them. On one side was a beautiful garden and doors lined the other. Carved arches supported the ceiling above them and lights were being lit as the sun's light faded robe replaced by cool evening.
The man shrugged ever so slightly, "A feast welcoming those who have come to discuss the One Ring will be held tomorrow. I do not know all the reasons for the decision." Yet the ranger could guess at a few, he knew that Gandalf had wanted a smaller gathering so that he could better become acquainted with the girl that both Aragorn and the hobbits had spoken so highly of. Even Elladan had expressed interest in her after speaking with her briefly and Glorfindel had added his own opinion.
From the spark of understanding that glinted in Aiedale's cool eyes he saw that she had guessed at the true reasons and he inwardly smiled though he resisted the urge to comment on it. Coming to a stop at an open arch that led to a wide dais upon which a table set for dinner was placed. Carved arches rose gracefully around the table and supported a domed ceiling and the steps up were polished marble. The dais had the air of privacy and, like all elvish structures; it was elegant and graceful. Already all of those who had been invited to the small gathering were there and Aiedale recognized a few. Frodo, in dark green, was chatting animatedly with his uncle Bilbo. Beside the aged hobbit was Glorfindel who sat with his golden hair thrown backhand his bright eyes shining with that proud, ageless look. The dark-haired twin sons of Elrond were also present along with a dark haired elf that, Aragorn murmured in her ear, was Erestor the Chief Advisor of Lord Elrond. Beside the advisor was a man in dark grey robes. His eyes were keen and he had a long white beard along with bushy eyebrows. An air of power, of sharp intelligence, was in those eyes and she knew that this was the wizard she had long looked for. He was shorter than the elves he sat beside, and his broad shoulders made him seem more like a wise king of ancient legend. Then, at last, she looked to the head of the table and saw Elrond son of Eärendil whose face, while ageless, bore the memory of many things. He seemed to be both kingly and yet strong, like a warrior in the fullness of his strength. She had read of this lord in the history of this land and now she found herself gazing with interest at the elf that had been at the heart of so many events.
For a brief second Aiedale did not want to climb up and take a seat among such lords as these. She felt even more out of place than ever before for use was both the youngest and the only one of Nephilim blood. It had been easier to forget the differences between her and the hobbits, even Aragorn, when she was in the wild but now they came back to her. The power that had been granted her merely because of birth was not something anyone here could ever really understand.
Aragorn felt her hesitation and, with a gentle tug, he encouraged her forward. He understood her trepidation and it made him smile slightly to think of a girl who was unafraid of Ring Wraiths balking at the sight of a dinner table. For all her strength and composure she was still human enough to feel nerves.
As they mounted the steps everyone turned to look at them. Smiles, warm and welcoming, were sent her way from the two hobbits. Elladan added his own warm smile and even nodded his head in greeting even as Glorfindel did the same while the eyes of Elrond and Erestor looked at Aiedale with barely masked curiosity and interest. However, as Aiedale came to a stop and Aragorn politely drew her chair out from the table, a voice rang out in surprise.
"Ellissa?" asked Gandalf in such surprise that everyone turned to look at the wizard who had, in his shock, risen half-way from his chair. His eyes gazing with such intensity at the young woman that Aiedale found herself shifting uncomfortably. He looked as if he had seen the last thing on Earth that he had expected to see. As if the young woman standing very still was a ghost of someone he had once known. "Ellissa?" asked the wizard again and this time his voice was questioning and his gaze searching as he looked at the young woman who had yet to sit down. The elves, hobbits and Aragorn watched the scene with amazement and confusion.
However, Aiedale suddenly found herself staring at the wizard. For the name 'Ellissa' was known to her. It was her mother's name and, as she had often been told, she looked exactly like her mother had at seventeen. Hearing it again made her freeze and this was the last place – the very last – that she had ever expected to hear it spoken and this was the last person she would have expected it from. So, her voice demanding and her eyes fearlessly meeting the wizard's as her need for an explanation overcame any shyness, Aiedale asked, "How do you know my mother?"
Ugh this took forever - I am so sorry. I hope to get another one to you soon so that you don't get left hanging at this cliff hanger ;)
As always: BIG thanks to everyone who has read and commented on this story. I love hearing from you and I hope that people enjoy this story.
Review Replies:
LadyArcher: here you are :) I am sorry it took so long and thank you for telling me to hurry! It was a bit of block for me on this chapter and it took a little bit for me to keep going. So THANK YOU! :) hope you like this one! My grammer and spelling is a constant battle - I am glad you don't mind it too much.
guest: An update! Thank you so much for the review :) I am glad you enjoy it! It is fun to write.
Dennisthepinkgoldfish: haha I thought about that comment for a while...I am glad you found it funny! Thank you for the review :)
MissleNdn8: You will have to wait and see what her attitude is ;) I can tell you that Aiedale will take the viewpoint of an outsider - she is a foreigner and will have a different perspecitve then those who have fought the Shadow for many years. I hope to get to the start of the Council meeting or maybe the end in the next chapter. Thank you!