The wizard started slightly, his eyes widening slightly as he realized that he had mistaken daughter for mother. "You are her daughter?" he demanded, ignoring the question asked of him. It was if he was transported back to that day...
"Yes. I am Aiedale Darklighter." Her eyes never flicked away from the wizard's intense ones and, unconsciously, one hand tightened around the edge of the table.
The wizard was silent for a moment as he gazed with those far-seeing eyes at the young woman. Her arms were hidden by the sheer blue fabric of the elvish dress she wore. However, he had no doubts about who she was or what she was. The marks of a Nephilim warrior were on her from the languid ease with which she had climbed the steps to the fearless way she met his eyes as if nothing had ever intimidated her. As it was she looked like a replica of the woman he had once met so long ago – the same hair, the same slender build and the same eyes. It was an icy blast from the past and the wizard felt as if the world had been sent spinning into a new direction. Why now? Never had he imagined this…
"Forgive me," he said in a quiet voice as he inclined his head in apology. "I met your mother once briefly many years ago. You look a great deal like her."
Aiedale raised a slender eyebrow and then, deciding the conversation was better held with her sitting down, she accepted the chair that Aragorn had drawn out for her. The man briefly rested a hand on her shoulder, but she did not look at him or acknowledge it and so he too took the empty seat to her left. In an even tone that was no less demanding then the wizard's she decided to keep it simple. "Explain."
Like mother, thought the wizard wryly, like daughter. Speaking gently for he knew that not just the Shadowhunter wanted answers, but all those seated at the table, he did his best to explain just how Ellissa had entered his life so many years ago. "I met your mother by accident. It would have been…oh close to a century ago. I found myself, quite by accident, traveling in the wild lands of the North. It was there, as I wandered, that I came across a young woman who seemed as capable with a knife as she was in the art of conversation. She told me - after I earned her trust in a fight with orcs - that she was from another dimension, another world where she was a warrior.
"According to her she had been hunting creatures similar to orcs when she had suddenly found herself waking up in Middle Earth. It was from her that I learned of your world, Earth, and then, not long after I met her, she decided to go her own way. Your mother was an independent spirit and when I explained that I had no idea how to return her to her home land she decided she would search for answers on her own." The wizard paused and then said, "I can only assume she found her way back home and that now you, her daughter, have also come here."
Before Aiedale could respond the dinner arrived, carried by silent elven servants who seemed to ignore the tense silence that hung over the table. Wine was poured and then the servants vanished again while Lord Elrond asked those he had invited to enjoy the meal. For these few, short minutes Aiedale had to endure the new flurry of questions that the wizard's words had created within her. How had her mother come to Middle Earth? Even more importantly: how had she returned? Had she even told the Clave? The way she had come to this strange dimension was terribly similar to the situation that had led Aiedale to waking up, alone, in this strange world. More than ever Aiedale found herself wishing that she had known her mother longer or at least could now turn to her and ask what she should do.
Gandalf broke the silence first, his eyes never leaving the girl who sat ramrod straight in the chair a few feet away. In a conversational tone he asked, "How is your mother? I counted her as a dear friend th."
Aiedale regarded the wizard evenly for a few brief minutes before deciding to answer with a question of her own if only to irritate him for once. "How much do you know of Nephilim?"
Before the wizard could answer Elrond asked with confusion. "Nephilim?" The grey eyes of the elf lord glancing curiously between the young woman and the wizard.
Aiedale barely contained a groan of annoyance at the question or the looks on everyone's faces - from the elves to the hobbits. They were all - even Aragorn who had a vague idea of what she was - looking at her with expressions of curiosity and she knew she would have to explain as best she could despite her wish for more information and more information right that second. Drawing in a steadying breath and trying to calm herself a little, Aiedale began at the start. It was a start, but even saying the words made her feel as if the world was crumbling. It should be impossible, all of it should be impossible. "As Gandalf has mentioned I am of another world, another dimension. In that world I am a warrior or a Shadowhunter. To be a Shadowhunter one must be a member of the Clave and have Nephilim."
"Your parent's are 'Nephilim' then?" asked Glorfindel. "They are Shadowhunters?"
"Yes," said Aiedale. "Like their parents before them. In answer to your question, Gandalf," she said turning her gaze from the elf Lord to the wizard. "Both my parents," said Aiedale, "are dead. They died when I was young and I was sent to live with my aunt and uncle." It was simple to her - the words even and her face calm.
"I'm sorry," said Gnadalf. "You're mother was a remarkable person."
"I never understood why people always apologize. Shadowhunters never apologize for things that are not their fault." Aiedale's eyes gleamed and, yet, she did not move or give any sign that, inside, she was as tense as a coiled spring. To her, to all who had lost as much as Shadowhunters did, what mattered the most were not well-meaning comments, but listening if one wished to speak. You didn't need to say you were sorry. What mattered was moving on - moving forward.
"It is a way of empathizing," said the wizard casually. "Of saying that one is sorry for the pain and unhappiness the event must have caused you."
"I'm not unhappy nor am I in pain," returned the Shadowhunter. "I have a purpose and I have my brother. I have my cousins and I have a boyfriend. I am not alone."
"Killing is a purpose?" asked Glorfindel. "Seeking revenge through destruction is not any way to heal." The twin elven brothers, Elladan and Elrohir, shifted as they remembered the many years, the centuries, they had spent in such a place. Killing the orcs that had destroyed their mother and losing themselves in the endless fight - the endless pain as they struggled to find some sort of closure through war.
"My duty is to protect the mundanes of my world," said Aiedale as if she was reciting from a textbook. "All that stands between safety and destruction is the Nephilim. Personal feelings are irrelevant. We have been given a mandate from heaven."
"Do you have a choice?" asked Frodo. "About being a Shadowhunter?" Beside him, his face old but his eyes keen, was his uncle Bilbo. The elderly hobbit, like all at the table, looking at the young woman with curious eyes. Though his stare was no as intense nor as demanding, but rather as if Aiedale was telling a vey engaging story not explaining just what she was.
"No," said Aiedale as she twirled the stem of the crystal wine glass between her fingers. "But I would still choose this." Dinner was before them, uneaten and growing cold as the conversation became more important and distracting.
"Why?" asked the stunned hobbit. He could not imagine having someone tell him that his only duty in life was to fight and kill demons. Nor could he imagine being trained to do it until he became so proficient at it that creatures such as the Nazgul held little terror for him.
Aiedale laughed, a clear sound that echoed through the air like bells. "Because I am very good at it," she said and her eyes glittered in the candle light. She looked more dangerous than ever. Her beauty as sharp and deadly as the knives that were her preferred weapon – the mirror image of the woman that Gandalf occasionally thought back to.
From his silent place at the right of Lord Elrond, Erestor asked with a curious gleam in his grey eyes. "No mortals fight beside you?"
"There are families who have served Shadowhunters for years because they have the ability to see through the glamour. They can see the world as it is." Taking a sip of the wine she continued, "I have flirted with a few mundanes and I spend my days moving among them - never closer than that. I cannot say I know a single mundane like a friend."
Or did she? Wondered Aiedale as she resisted the urge to glance at Aragorn. Could she call that mundane a friend? Had the miles they had walked together in the company of the hobbits made them into friends or just reluctant allies? It seemed wrong to her suddenly to call him mundane. He was not ordinary and she had come to trust him. It was a subject for another time - maybe that night she would consider all the questions she had not had time to think of recently.
Gandalf snorted inelegantly, "Flirted?" With a stern look at the young woman he said, "From what I know of your people there are strict rules regarding love between mundanes and Shadowhunters."
"There are," confirmed Aiedale. "I was worried my aunt and uncle with my rebellious ways." A small smirk flitted across her face, "I dated the most ridiculously inappropriate boys just because I could." Before anyone could ask another question - inquire anymore about the life she guarded - Aiedale swiftly turned her eyes to the wizard and voiced one of her own, most pressing, questions.
"You do not know how my mother returned to my world?" asked Aiedale and her desire for the answer made her clench her hands in her lap tightly. Her finger nails digging into the soft flesh of her palm as if the pain would help ground her.
"No," said the wizard sadly, "we parted company after two weeks of travel together and I could only assume that she returned to your land." The wizard paused and then continued, "What I can say to you, Aiedale, is that after extensive research I have discovered two things.
"The first is this: time travels differently in each dimension. Sometimes it is faster and sometimes it is slower. I suspect that Middle Earth's clock runs faster than your own dimension's clock for your mother was never missing for two weeks or longer was she? Nor are you a century old and that is the last time I ever saw your mother."
"Not that I ever heard," said Aiedale as a small frown crossed her face. She knew little of her either her mother's or father's early lives. But the idea that, maybe, time flowed differently in one dimension then in another made sense - remarkably. Fixing her eyes on the wizard Aiedale asked, "The second thing?"
"Ah," said Gandalf with a small smile, "this is the most interesting part. You see, when your mother tried to create a portal it did not succeed. The runes were not strong enough to create a gateway between dimensions. Now," continued the wizard, "your mother determined that the only power strong enough to do something of this magnitude was an 'angel.'" The wizard glanced at Aiedale's face and saw that she was lost in thought. Her green eyes withdrawn and then, suddenly, she nodded.
"It sounds plausible when explained like that," she said calmly, "though I cannot fathom why an angel would send Nephilim tumbling through space and time. There is no clear purpose or reason for such a thing." Her eyes glittered ever so slightly as if with amusement, "I suppose this means I will have to wait and see. If portals created with a stele have no effect and you have no way of returning me then I am stuck here until..." her voice trailed off and, for the briefest of seconds, she looked as if this news was actually hard for her to bear. For a few brief seconds the mask slipped and they saw how it hurt her and how the worry was almost too much for her to bear. Then it was gone and the cool face was more in place.
"Until," she continued, "such a time as an answer presents itself." From the look on her face it was clear that she would expect an answer - or would chase it out and demand it.
Elrond spoke then, the elf lord who had been so silent suddenly speaking up from his place at the head of the table. "You are welcome in Imladris," his eyes found Aiedale's and in them she saw kindness, even understanding. She wondered if he to, at one point in his long life, had been without a way to return home or even one to return to and knew a little of how she felt.
"Thank you my lord," said Aiedale with a small smile of acceptance even as her words fell with the ease of long association with formality. The dinner continued then, more normal conversation returning between the elf lords and the two hobbits. Aiedale remained quiet, responding only when spoken to, her mind elsewhere and it was with some relief that she rose from the table with the others. Aragorn once more offered to escort her to her room and, sensing it would be rude to say no, she allowed it after extending her thanks once more to Lord Elrond and saying good night to the hobbits and the other elves.
It was Bilbo's voice which called her back. The elderly hobbit sent her kindly smile and asked in his cheerful voice, "Do you enjoy telling stories my dear?" asked the hobbit. There was something about him, maybe a depth of understanding, that made Aiedale stop and truly examine him and not lump him in with the likes of Merry and Pippen. He looked at her as if he understood - as if homesickness was no foreigner to him and neither was loss. Frodo had a little of that look, but in the clear eyes of his uncle she saw it more clearly. There was not the same endless pool of memories like there was in the elves and wizard - he was younger and yet his mortality lent him a understanding that she found oddly comforting.
"I have never been much of a story teller," said the young woman with a small smile. Her words much softer then she had originally planned on being. Then, feeling as if the question deserved a better answer, "I have few stories to tell except for a few legends and old tales."
The hobbit let out a light chuckle and clapped his nephew on the shoulder, "Then we will have to share some with you. Good night my dear." With that the hobbit turned away and Aiedale wondered what awaited her in this place. Story-telling? The last time she had told a story was when her brother had begged her for weeks. But she said none of this. She just accepted Aragorn's proffered arm and allowed him to lead her away from the dining table on it's raised dais.
The corridors were shadowed as the man walked the young woman back to her chambers. They past a few elves, but most had retired to their rooms or were out enjoying the moonlit gardens. Neither the Ranger or the Shadowhunter spoke until, just as they entered the corridor on which Aiedale's room was until Aragorn found he could not remain silent. There was a question that he had not found the right time to ask and now, as they were both alone, he could not resist asking it.
"Aiedale," he asked, "the knife, the one on Weathertop."
She glanced at him curiously, "What about it?" They had come to a stop in front of her closed door and one of her hands rested on the door handle. Moonlight spilled through the open balcony at the end of the corridor and candles, every few feet, cast shadows on the smooth white walls and floor.
"What was it?" he asked. "That was no ordinary blade."
"No," she said with a smile, "it is not a normal blade. We call them 'seraph' blades." Turning the door handle she said, "Wait a second and I will show you one." Opening the door she darted inside and went over to the bench on which she had sorted her weapons and other gear. Picking up the only seraph blade she had left, she returned the empty corridor where Aragorn was waiting for her. The moonlight glinted off the silver embroidery on his tunic, his face lit up a little when he saw the blade in Aiedale's hands.
"Careful," she told him, "they are not meant for mortal hands to hold."
"Why did it blaze so?" he asked as he leaned closer to examine the blade in Aiedale's hands as she held it up for him to inspect.
"Because I called it by the name it knows," she said. "Each seraph blade has a name and each one only works a couple times give or take."
"Thank you for showing it to me," said the ranger and, just as he went to ask how she was coping with all the news Gandalf had landed on her, Aiedale cut across him. The look in her eyes told him she guessed what he was about to say and her words from earlier returned: Shadowhunters never apologize for something that is not their fault. No doubt she wanted no expressions of sympathy from him and her following words only confirmed that.
"Good night," she said and, while the words were no colder or warmer than any before, he sensed that she wished to be left alone. That she had had enough of inquisitive questions and shocking revelations. So he allowed the door to close and he turned away, perhaps he walk around his favorite garden for a time...
Lord Elrond of Imladris was gazing, without really looking, out at the valley in which his city was nestled. It was growing late, the moon was high in the sky and the stars were out in all their splendor. But his mind was on other topics. For once it was not full of worries for the Ring or how they were going to defeat Sauron - those thoughts had been briefly pushed away and replaced by others all of which centered around one person.
Aiedale Darklighter.
A frown crossed his face as he concentrated on the few things he had squeezed out of Mithrandir and the things that Aiedale herself had said. Gandalf seemed to think that the presence of the young woman was important and that her skills would tip the balance in their favor - maybe even help save them as the world grew dark with shadow. Already the elf Lord was surprised, if not a little impressed, by the girl who had stepped up with little hesitation to partake of a dinner planned especially for meeting her.
Elrond drummed his fingers on the top of his large wooden desk. The air had grown chill with fall and, while he did not feel the cold, he could feel the cold shadow of dread for what was about to occur spreading across the land. Even here, in the protected valley of Rivendell, the shadow was extending its tendrils and soon war would come here – war was already coming here. Now, on top of everything else, a girl from another dimension who seemed too old for her years and too ready to fight if she felt the cause was worth her time. By all accounts her prowess in battle sounded almost outlandish. According Mirthrandir the things that both Estel and Frodo spoke of were common to her kind – normal even. The elf lord sighed heavily; he did not know what to make of all that was occurring these days. Things were changing. The world was changing. He did not know to which side the dice would fall nor how it would it all end. His ability to see the future was clouded – too many variables and choices on which too much rested for his eye to sort out even a hint of truth.
So now the Ring was here. The One Ring of Power, Sauron's greatest treasure and an object he had hoped never to see again. Carrying that Ring was a hobbit and, despite all that he could not do, Frodo of the Shire was as resilient to the dark call of the Ring than most could ever dream of being. Maybe it was his devotion to the Shire – a love that the Ring could not understand and therefore could not undermine. Perhaps it was something about Frodo, something about all hobbits, that made them both easy to forget and yet, when push came to shove, stronger than many great heroes of men and elves. He had made the mistake of underestimating Bilbo when he and thirteen dwarves arrived at their doorstep and already Frodo had proved much.
And he rode in with Aiedale, murmured a voice in his mind, she and Estel brought him, and those that follow him, this far.
As he gazed at the window he wondered, not for the last time, what fate wanted with him and how the cards would be thrown when all was said and done. An image danced across his mind's eye of a girl standing in a guest bedroom of Imladris. Her hair was braided back and her dress fell around her in elegant folds. She was leaning on the window sill looking out at a quiet garden. Her face illuminated by a shaft of moonlight and her gaze calm, but there was grief in those eyes and open longing for something out of reach.
The image flickered and vanished. Elrond looked away. Past and present seemed to mix before his eyes. He saw what had been – both good and bad – and what would have to come. The fates a warrior girl, a Duendain Ranger, a golden ring and a dark haired hobbit were there. Hopes and fears mixed together - the courage of men when their home is threatened and, at the same time, the hidden weakness for a power that few mortals could resist. The fading light of the Eldar even as they turned their remaining strength to defeating this last evil no matter the cost and a once fair citadel of men where shadow crept ever nearer.
Elrond sighed once more. He was too tired to think of these matters now. Already he felt as if his mind was spinning in circles. Aiedale could keep her mysteries and what to do about the Ring would have to wait for the Council he had called in a few days. Besides both his daughter, Arwen Evenstar, and his foster son, Aragorn, were here and he wished to spend some time with the daughter who had been absent for so long and the son who spent his time walking difficult paths. Both of them may be determined to be bonded, but he would let time dictate the ending to it and not worry of this night when his heart was so heavy.
Rising from the comfortable chair he had spent many hours in ruling his kingdom, the elf Lord blew out the candles and opened the door back into the corridor.
Sleep would not find her that night. Her mind too filled with the words of the wizard to allow her the respite of sleep or the dreams that haunted her. So, as the sun rose fully and golden light spread out across the vast dome of the sky, she rose from her bed and dressed in her recently cleaned gear forgoing the jacket for the thin white shirt that she had been wearing underneath. Then, swinging from her large windows, she dropped onto the ground below where she landed with a soft thump in a patch of carefully tended flowers.
Wondering where she should go or if she wanted to go anywhere, Aiedale wandered the corridors and did her best to avoid the elves and their curious stares as she passed them in her strange clothes and face. She felt alone, so alone, and she half wished she knew where the hobbits – even Sam – were so she could enjoy company she at least was familiar with. The conversations the previous night had woken within her the few memories she had of her mother and father as well as only made her feel more trapped in this world. For trapped she was and not even a wizard could send her home. Yet, at the same time, conversation sounded so painfully annoying that she did not go seeking them out.
It was by accident that she ran into two of her traveling companions as she traced one long corridor close to her room. They were on their way to breakfast, but they quickly stopped and called out her name. It was Merry and Pippen, dressed in smart clothes and looking very cheerful, the two hobbits bounced up to her. For a brief moment she wished they would just go away – conversation was the last thing on her mind – but it was too late for that.
"How are you Miss?" asked Merry with a smile and a polite nod of his head.
"Well," she said and then expending more effort she smiled and asked. "How are you both?"
Pippen smiled that disarming, innocent smile up at her and said, "We have something we would like to say to you Aiedale." The Shadowhunter raised an eyebrow and looked between the two hobbits with interest.
Merry looked suddenly uncomfortable, "We just wanted you to know...well just that." He seemed to realize that his words were not making any sense and that Aiedale was regarding him with amused interest. "We, that is to say, Pippen and I, want you to know how grateful we are to you for everything you did." He smiled at her, uncertainty shining through his nervous smile and large, puppy-like eyes.
"And we know we annoyed you," said Pippen without any of subtly displayed by his comrade. "But maybe you can forgive us? Maybe even friends?" His voice rising in eagerness and looking terribly similar to the young cousin she had left behind in Paris.
"Pip!" hissed Merry looking as if he might just throttle the young hobbit for his blunt words.
But the words had surprised Aiedale more than many things had these past few weeks and so her voice was temporarily stolen from her as she reeled mentally backwards. How could their brief acquaintance - made in such strange circumstances - have come to this point? She had saved their lives and she had stuck with them even though there had been nothing more than a faint promise of a wizard helping her home. They had been friendly, but kept their distance and that had been quite reasonable considering everything. These two certainly liked her more, and she them, then Sam. But that was it. She had been with them through experiences that had turned a faint trust into grudging respect then to something more - whatever this was. Yet now she had to decide on this : did she want to be friends with these cheerful, innocent creatures she had met up with and, against every instinct, helped to Bree and then onwards? Part of her did not want to make connections in a world she did belong in and, yet, the chances of returning to Earth were slim. Maybe it was time to set aside the aloof, cold Shadowhunter and show the world the other side of who she was. For she was a girl who loved to ride, to dance, to run across springy ground, to read while drinking a good cup of tea and who did not mind company when they were engaging.
They did, she thought as she looked at the pair, remind her so of her cousin and, to some extent, her brother. So, her heart saddened by these memories, she said. "I think I would enjoy being your friend."
The two let off a wild whoop of joy and began to dance around her as if this news was better than any they had received before. The sight of them made Aiedale laugh and the homesickness was left behind for a time as she was distracted by the hobbit's antics. Laughing she sent them off towards the breakfast table where they would, no doubt, eat enough food to feed a small army. Still, even as she wandered the gardens and corridors of Imladris, she did not feel quite so alone or desperate as she had before.
Noon found Aiedale still wandering the gardens of Imladris. Vaguely she wondered where the others were - Sam would be with Frodo who would probably be with his uncle. Aragorn could be anywhere and she had yet to meet an elf she knew. Choosing a seat on a bench she watched as the red, gold and yellow leaves of surrounding trees fluttered slowly to the ground. The sight reminded her of the trees in Paris, the flowering cherry trees, the towering oaks and many others that filled the parks and lined some of the more scenic streets. Surprised, Aeidale found herself blinking back tears at the thought of her home - of all that was there. She had at first hated Paris for it was so different from Alicante, but that hate turned to love as she came to discover the many hidden treasures and beautiful things that had been at one
Looking down at the smooth white pebbles of the garden path she fixed her eyes on one round stone until the tears receded. So much had happened these past weeks and there had not been time to think of the small things – things other than family or duty that she missed. Leaning back against the bench she allowed herself to think in the peaceful, still garden. She had been lost, found, chased, attacked, and had spent most of that time in a foul mood. Imladris was so beautiful, so soothing that she had found herself relaxing and that allowed the homesickness to flood her like a tidal wave. The tight, cold knot inside of her had grown and grown during that time even as she done her best to ignore it and be a Shadowhunter – push emotions aside until a better time to deal with had helped the Hobbits because it was what she was supposed to do and because she had hoped it would lead her down a path that would take her home. She had said yes to Merry and Pippen because they reminded her of her youngest cousin and brother. Aiedale missed them so much. She missed her mother and her father. She missed her aunt and uncle and the other warriors she had come to call comrade, even best friend, through the years.
Aiedale pressed one hand to her mouth and closed her eyes tightly even though the tears were leaking out anyway. She felt selfish and pathetic to cry like this, but it was too overwhelming and painful for her not to. It was as if her grief and homesickness was a tidal wave sweeping her out with it and crashing her against the iron hard cliffs of truth. Looking down at her hands she saw the scars and the runes hidden from everyone's eyes by glamour. She saw the stories behind each one and remembered the feeling of the stele as it bit into her skin. Each one a memory and she cherished those memories, the only link she had to her home was now those memories, her weapons and the pendant that always hung on her neck along with the heavy silver signet ring. They were things no one else could see – only her eyes and those who she told.
"Aiedale?"
The voice made her jump and she automatically tensed. The voice belonged to Aragorn and she found herself looking up into his grey eyes that, at this moment, were looking at her with concern. Glancing away Aiedale did her best to stop the flow of tears, to stem the tide of grief, and she was partly successful. Only a few tears rolled down her face now and she was able to reply to him in a reasonably steady voice, "Aragorn." The wave was held at bay for a little while longer, but she was only holding it together through sheer force of will.
The next thing she knew the man had slipped down beside her on the bench. His hand slipped around her shoulder and drew her closer. For a second she wanted to fight it, but a part of her wanted the comfort and so she did not resist but allowed herself to find the comfort his steady presence offered her pained heart.
"What troubles you?" he asked her softly.
A bitter laugh broke out of her, "You know what." Her words sounded harsher than she had intended them to be, but to her the question was silly. Aragorn knew; he had been there last night to hear Aiedale's hopes for a quick return home be dashed.
"I am a friend," he said mildly, "tell me."
As much as she did not want to invite more tears, more pain, she could not fight it forever now that she had allowed a little of it out. So, looking away from him, she murmured the words that had haunted her for the past few weeks in this land. "I miss home. I miss my friends, my brother, my cousins, and my city, and…" Aiedale forced herself to stop and breathe for saying all that she missed would not get her anywhere. Aragorn got the general meaning besides.
"What is wrong with that?" asked Aragorn in a soft voice that was attempting to be soothing. "There is no shame in weeping Aiedale. You have lost your home and those you love."
"But…" murmured Aiedale and then she found herself crying again. The tears coming fast again and she felt Aragorn's grip tighten around her shoulders until she was crying into his soft tunic. Aragorn's gentle words, the kind of soothing words she had received from her aunt and briefly from her mother, were her undoing. The emotions she had bottled up for so many long days seemed to pour out of her, and it shamed her to be so weak but she could not stop them. She cried for what she had lost by falling into this world, for the memory of parents she had barely known and for all that was wrong – utterly wrong – with this entire picture. She gave it free rein and felt it blow through her until, like all things, it came to an end and a small measure of peace took its place.
"Thank you," she murmured and Aiedale did her best to master the embarrassment that made her want to blush furiously. She could not meet his gaze, unwilling to see pity or any other sympathetic emotion that she found highly irritating no matter her emotional state.
But the ranger just smiled sadly and his eyes looked older than ever before. With one hand he brushed a tear that traced its way down her cheek and smiled a little. "Sorrow cannot stay locked away forever," he said, "and whatever you may think there is nothing weak about you."
"I have seen much," she murmured and in her eyes the ranger saw things that he could not guess at. There was nothing young about her and she spoke of death and pain as if they were old comrades. Then she shook herself and it was if by shaking herself a dark cloud lifted from her. Once more she was the girl he remembered and it surprised him to see it – the way she could turn away from the dark shadow of her life. One day he would ask her of it – one day he would ask how she had learned to move on with such efficient practicality. For his heart had seen many breaks, especially these last years when his people had struggled to survive, and despair was a cold shadow behind him.
"Come," he said, "the mid-day meal is soon and you were not at breakfast." He rose and offered her a hand, calloused by weapons, but she did not mind. He was a friend and, as much as she might not like saying it, this mundane seemed to be different than the rest. Perhaps she was right to give him her trust and show him, like the hobbits, the girl that lay beneath the armor and training.
Three days past. They were a busy three days in Imladris. Many representatives of the different races of Middle Earth converged on the elven kingdom. There were dwarves from Erebor, a group of wood elves from Mirkwood led by their prince, the son of Gondor's ruling Steward and a representative of Cirdan the Shipwright of the Grey Havens. A council had been called and many were seeking answers to the spreading darkness. They came at odd hours of the day and night, all appearing weary as if they had traveled a great distance in a very short time which, for many of them, they had. Only the Silvan elves, fair and bright eyed, seemed to be ready for anything and Aiedale watched with curiosity as they entered Imladris from a high balcony. They reminded her of Faeries with their shining hair and keen eyes though they held none of the dark, twisted malevolence that the Fey concealed beneath their fair faces.
During these days Aiedale did her best to keep herself busy if only to prevent her mind from turning once more to home. She spent long hours in the library reading and conversing with Erestor who, when he saw the eagerness with which she read, took her under his wing. The elf Lord enjoyed teaching and was more than happy to find such a willing audience who seemed to actually enjoy learning the history of a land as ancient as Middle Earth. Aiedale found herself eating meals with the hobbits and her relations with them warmed quickly – even Sam was heard to remark that she was a 'far sight nicer then he had thought.' Aragorn had invited her to the sparring field where she joined him and his foster brothers, Elladan and Elrohir, along with Glorfindel for friendly spars. She often found herself explaining a technique or move that they had never seen before. It was strangely comforting to spar like this and it amused her to surprise them with her speed, strength and the unique style that she called her own. As she came to find out the Last Homely House east of the Sea was a cure to all weariness, fear, and sadness. The longer she spent there the more she found herself relaxing as she only had in Alicante.
She encountered the wizard a few times during those days, but only shared brief words with him. He seemed to find her curious, but she found him to be one more painful reminder that home was just out of her reach. So she refused to be lured into his question/answer conversations and enjoyed thwarting his every attempt with cool ease. Aiedale had always been a good hand with words and she had practiced giving half answers in council meetings with all sorts of Downworlders and even Nephilim. As well as the wizard, Aiedale met Aragorn's love the daughter of Elrond. Arwen was as beautiful as she had heard and just as kind. It pleased the Shadowhunter to think of the Ranger loving this passing fair elf Lady who clearly loved him just as much right back.
The night of the feast was clear and the stars seemed particularly bright like diamonds scattered across the inky blackness. Aiedale was dressed by the elf maid who had been set to attend her and the dress she was presented with was finer than any she had ever worn. It was deep green that complimented her rich auburn hair and light green eyes. The cut was simple, but like all elvish dresses it was elegant without even trying. After thanking the maid she found herself walking down the corridors toward the hall where meals were held. She was half looking forward to it – she enjoyed parties but this one would be of a different feel than any she had ever attended before.
And it was. The feast was merry and the food all that any hobbit or Shadowhunter could ever desire. Many eyes looked at the high table where Aiedale was sat. Word of who she was and what she had done for the hobbit had spread and many had seen her spar. Now, dressed as elegantly as any elvish princess, she was a topic of many whispered conversations though she was unaware of it as she laughed and allowed herself free rein to enjoy herself among those she had come to know.
Stories and dancing followed along with much music. Then, only because of the Council the following morning and not because of any real tiredness, Aiedale retired to her room. She had danced long into the night with the Twins, Glorfindel and the hobbits. Not since the party in Alicante after the war with Valentine had she enjoyed herself as much and her dreams that night were not troubled but full of joy. The morning, she knew, would bring with it many dark and troubling things but they did not trouble her then. There was time to worry some other time.
Hello again! Here is another chapter and I hope everyone enjoys it...we are getting to the Council scene soon!
As always: big thanks to everyone who follows/favorites/reads/looks at this story.
Review Replies:
Lady Archer: No - it really is nice to get a little bit of a move on from readers. I will warn you though, this story might not be updated as frequently when school starts again :( but I will try! I am so glad you enjoy this story and it is a real pleasure to write it!
nagozualdean: haha glad you like the cliff :) another chapter for you and thank you for the review!
wasseckb79: yes he does :) hopefully you have an answer in this chapter!
silverhawk88: Hopefully I can keep putting a spin on things! It's fun that way :) thank you for the review!