Eternity (A Vignette)

Title: Eternity

Author: Andariel666

POV: Elladan

Summary: A vignette from the I’m Your Fella Cinderella story. A musing of Elladan about love, life and fatherhood.

Disclaimers: I own nothing except for Tyrael, Ava and the plot. I sincerely wish I owned Haldir and the twins (I’ll let Jamie and Suzie fight over Legolas LOL), but I do not, for they belong to the Tolkien estate. The song at the end of this chapter is one that almost ALWAYS makes me cry, I love it, it’s beautiful. It’s Eternity by the British King of Pop, Robbie Williams, who I respect, adore, and support. Love ya, Robbie! I would recommend him to anyone who likes pop music.



~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~



My Nana chose her because of her eyes.



When I was a boy, I was told that you could always trust someone because of their eyes. That by looking into their eyes, you could tell leagues more than any conversation could.



I never understood what she meant at first. I did not understand how a person’s eyes could speak more than their mouths could. But I humoured her, for even though I understood her not, she was wise in her ways.



I finally understood her that fateful morning.



The morning, which would later mould my being into the one, I would keep for the rest of my immortal life.



It was a bright day, the sun a blinding orb that was white and painful to look at. It was around Yavie time, and the leaves were golden brown and littering the ground and the winds that carried them to new heights. Foragers, harvesters, they gathered their crops, and thus brought that scent that clung to such chores that was both refreshing and indescribable.



I sought to be an artist, and so I saw such details in things that my twin Elrohir did not. He admired landscapes, aye, but he would not pay as close attention as I. He did not wish for the art of drawing, for he leaned more towards the art of combat. He was young and impetuous, and would often be heard saying, “But Adar! I wish to be just like Lórien’s March Warden, Haldir! The warrior! The hero!”



He had been obsessed with becoming like Haldir after meeting the Elf, who at the time was rising rapidly through the ranks of the Guard, when visiting our grandmother Galadriel. I found him rather arrogant for my liking, though he was wonderful to play tricks on.



We both had our dreams, as separate as they were. We were very close, similar in many ways, yet we were thankfully allowed some differences. It was hard, being only one half of a whole. I had a bond with my brother – an almost telepathic bond, which made privacy impossible until we both eventually learned to build up walls around this gift that could be controlled and willed away should we wish it.



We were flanking our Nana to the town square, where Tíel was lining up elleths for her to choose one as her personal handmaiden. The last one had, unfortunately, died of a broken heart after some scoundrel by the name of Rathlorn or something similar had used her and thrown her away like a discarded kerchief.



‘Twas sickening how some Elves treated elleths.



Nana had been most aggrieved by this – for she had come to like the young maiden. And now, she had to choose another, to wean and to teach. I could see her green-blue eyes flickering with thought as she scanned the line of elleths, all in various degrees of shabbiness and health. One was close to being on her knees, her face screwed up in an attempt to hide her pain and discomfort. Nana had given Tíel a cold look, and ordered that the elleth be taken to a healer.



“They all appear so ill,” Elrohir whispered to me, shocked.



I agreed readily. These Elves were not fit in the least. Some were so slim that I feared the breeze would break them. For the first time, I realised how cruel their management was.



Did Adar know of this? If so, why did he allow it?



These females were sick, malnourished – and these were the ones who cooked our meals, made our beds, polished the stone floors to a shine. I clenched my jaw, and my brother and I shared a look, both vowing to one another to speak to Adar later.



Nana was also fairly unhappy about the states of the servants. Although her face seemed neutral, I could feel the annoyance, the tension radiating from her. She faced elleth after elleth, and seemed to see nothing she liked.



Every single one of them she faced, she looked into their eyes.



I was beginning to think she would never choose a handmaiden. My brother and I watched with trepidation. What if she did not choose a handmaiden? Who would serve her then? Would she just simply take a loose pick and remain unhappy at the maiden she’d have in her service?



My mother stopped, and stared at one of the elleths in front of her. The young Elf was only an inch or so shorter than my mother, and was thus around five inches shorter than myself.



Dirty, rusty gold hair hung in unclean rattails around her, giving the impression that her hair was naturally wavy but just not clean.



She too was rather thin – malnourished. More robust than some of the maidens I had seen before her, but still unnaturally slim. Her jaw-line was strong, her high cheekbones accentuated by smudges of dirt.



Her eyes I could not see very well – but I could tell they were dark. I had never seen an Elf with dark eyes before – it was rarely heard of.



Her entire stance was one of defiance, despite her shabby, dirty white dress and her filthy hair. The full lips were straight and emotionless, but her chin was raised. She did not regard Nana with disdain or bitterness, nor did she drop to her knees to kiss her feet. Instead, she simply bowed her head slightly. That was it.



It seemed to be enough.



“What is your name?” Nana asked.



“Ava.” The reply was so short, so precise, and spoken in a voice that was strong, but with a slight rasp as though it had been abused through shouting or vigorous singing.



Nana studied her some more, seemingly oblivious to the sickly coughs and shuffling of the other servants, and of Tíel’s impatient gaze. Eventually, her lips pulled into a smile.



“I think this one shall do very well, Tíel.”



“So be it,” Tíel said, casting Ava a dark look.



It was not a look I liked very much, but Ava did not seem affected, and merely stepped from the line at Nana’s bidding. As they both moved closer to me, I finally caught sight of her eyes.



I understood what my mother meant.







In the eyes of my mother’s new handmaiden, I seemed to see her character laid before me like a detailed drawing. I could see that she succeeded in almost everything she did. I could see that she was perhaps quite brash, and independent. She did not see anyone as higher than her, but merely respected those that deserved it. She saw my Nana as such a person because of her caring and concern.



In Ava’s eyes, I saw an Elf who cared but did not feel comfortable showing it. She was practical, realistic.



All this in the depths of those dark brown eyes.



I was instantly intrigued. I realised that with clean hair and clothing, and with some meat on her bones, she would be beautiful. Yet she did not seem to realise this herself – perhaps it was a false modesty I sensed, but I did not think so.



Nana’s first steps towards initiating Ava’s service were cleaning her, clothing her, and giving her decent meals. I had been right in my assumptions – she was beautiful. Her hair was in fact a bright gold, similar to that of the Greenwood Elves, not the silver of the Lothlórien Elves.



She spoke to me rarely, and I, being headstrong and infatuated with her, as she grew more beautiful with every week, pursued her madly. If Nana noticed, she said nothing, but merely watched with her calm sea-coloured eyes.



My brother and I had begun to learn how to build up our mental shields, but he still knew about Ava. He was the only one who did.



I was obsessed with her. I drew her often, sometimes when she did not know and sometimes when she did. She appreciated the artwork, saying that her brother Eruonen painted beautiful murals and wove intricate tapestries.



I must have melted her heart somehow. My reckless pursuits, and my self-imposed task of trying to become more mature must have done something. For one night when I tried to kiss her, she kissed back.



And it was from there that our love grew, shining like Elbereth’s stars. She no longer denied me aside from when we were within range of others. At first, this did not bother me. But as I matured (which, in turn, helped Elrohir mature), I found it hurtful.



“Why do you hide? Do you not wish for this?” I had asked, upset and angry.



“You would be disgraced,” she had replied, attempting to hide her misery. “I am below you.”



This comment led to a brazen one from myself, and she soon did indeed find herself below me.



Seasons changed, as I drew her, loved her, and kept our relationship secret. I had tried my utmost to keep her mind from thoughts of dishonour and exile, as I ran my fingers through the golden tresses, traced the stubborn jaw. But I could feel pain in her heart.



Nana too became more silent. She and Ava had become very close. She asked for her handmaiden’s opinions often, and kept them close to her heart always. They would speak upon matters that most Elves would not think elleths would even consider. Many times, it was Ava’s brilliant mind behind plots that eventually were brought forth in the Council of Elrond and were used to their full advantage.



It was obvious that Ava cared for my mother just as much as my mother cared for her.



It had been that night. It was that night that my heart felt the first cracks of being broken.



She had been sitting at a vanity, brushing through her silken hair, watching her reflection with morose eyes as the golden strands fell from the comb’s teeth to rest down her shoulders and over the white nightgown. She had been more and more depressed with each passing week, and no longer would my kisses bring her back to the light. She permanently wore her sad expression before her, but refused to speak of her ailment to anyone.



That night, I sat on the bed behind her chair, and drew her. She had paused long enough in her thoughts to glance at my reflection as I brought the charcoal stick over the parchment, and she had smiled a gentle, loving smile at me. My heart had risen with hope, as I rapidly concluded my drawing, which I considered to be the best yet.



She came to me, and I cupped her face, stroking her cheekbones lovingly. I loved her with all my heart, and had told her thus. I knew she loved me in kind, for she had told me so, over and over, as we either simply sat together and enjoyed the other’s company, or as we made love tenderly, putting our hearts and souls into our touches, our caresses.



We proved our love to each other then. It was slow, gentle, and languid. Yet it was fiery at the same time – unleashed love and passion binding us together. As I neared my release, I thought how I wanted this elleth to be mine forever. I wanted her to bear my child – wanted her to have my child. I wanted a family with her, a life, a love. I would fight for it if need be – I’d fight to the last.



I was startled, as we climbed down from that peak afterwards, to feel wetness against my cheeks. She was crying, my Ava. It was the first time I had seen her cry, and it tore my heart in two.



“What is wrong, melamin? Did I hurt you?” I was panicked.



“Nay, you did not hurt me,” she said, forcing her gentle sobs down so that she could speak. She raised tearful dark eyes to my face. Her fingertips brushed my cheekbones, my lips, and I smiled gently.



The smile was soon erased.



“Elladan, I…we cannot do this.”



“What do you mean, Ava?” I asked, feeling the first tendril of fear. “Do you not enjoy…?”



“I enjoy you very much,” she replied, without blushing, but with a few more tears. “But I cannot allow this to continue any more. We cannot be together, Elladan. It is not allowed…”



“I do not care!” I said, my voice growing loud.



“You should do!” She hissed in reply, looking miserable. “’Tis your honour, your respect, your reputation! It is you that has your head prepared for the platter, Elladan, not mine. I have no honour or respect or reputation. I would simply be flogged or exiled or…”



“You will not speak thus,” I said, frowning unhappily, trying to force her to look at me. “I am willing to risk being run from Rivendell by my own father, Ava. My heart has spoken! This is the will of the Valar, do you not see it?”



“I do not see it, and for a reason!” She retorted, eyes flashing. “Why would they allow such rules if they were to break them? My type should not mix with yours, and I was foolish to allow this to come this far.”



I flinched at her words. “Ava, please…”



“I love you, I do,” she whispered, planting a quick kiss on my lips.



I tried to deepen it, but she would not have it.



“I love you, and that is why I do this. I will not see a good Elf degraded because of me.”



“Please do not… what are you saying… I cannot be without you…?” My words came out in a torrent, a rambling of sadness and desperation, frantic tears building in my eyes.



“I am saying that I must leave you now,” she said, and I could hear the fight in her voice as she spoke. “And I cannot come back.”



With a quick movement, she was off the bed, climbing back into her nightgown.



“Ava, please do not say this. I do not care about such things! I want you and only…”



“No.”



That one simple word caused one of the built up tears to slide down my cheek. Her harsh gaze softened.



“I love you, I do this for you. You have a good life, Elladan. Do not take it for granted.”



Then she left.







For months after she left, I tried to win her back. But I may as well have been attempting to seduce a brick wall.



In fact, I may have actually had more of a reply from a brick wall.



Ava gave me the same civility and politeness that she gave to the rest of my family.



Gone were the intimate smiles, the telltale blushes. If I did not know better, I might have been fooled that we had never shared anything between us.



But I knew, if not by the memories, then by the cracks that were slowly appearing, branching over my heart, not far from shattering.



Elrohir felt my pain, as my twin and closest friend. He tried to console me, explained in more detail what Ava’s views were, but I would have none of it. Ava’s views were wrong. They had to be. Why would the Valar bestow us with such a marvellous relationship if it were not meant to be? She could not deny her love for me, for I knew it, felt it still.



But she never came to me, and I eventually stopped going to her. It was for the best part of a year that we avoided each other. I watched from afar, saw her wandering about wearing a large, long black tunic built up to act like a coat as well – the type of tunic built with a thickness and similar design to a cloak – which she called a ‘coat’ – made by Men.



I recognised the long black coat with the fur-lined collar as that of the warrior Orevon, who was a good friend to Ava. Orevon was a stable-minded warrior with a kind heart to those he cared for, and a frigid heart to rival Caradhras to those he cared not for.



I found her wearing of this garment peculiar, but I could not question her. I was no longer welcome to her.



When almost a year had passed since Ava left me in the room, crying bitterly, my Nana planned to travel to Lothlórien to visit my grandmother, Galadriel. Ava, of course, was to travel with her as her handmaiden, along with two guarding Elves.



Normally, my brother and I might have gone, but we had business to attend to, and mother reassured us that all would be well.



As they rode away upon their steeds, Ava looked back, her golden hair blowing in the breeze, her cheek brushing the fur collar of the black Man-made coat, and I saw a look of pure sadness in her eyes. It was enough to make my heart jump into my throat, and I started forward, but Elrohir caught my elbow.



“Nay, brother,” he said gently. “Do you think it wise?”



I paused, before shaking my head. Ava would not wish for me to make a scene, a fuss. Not here, not now. I would wait for when she came back. Perhaps there would still be time to rectify her words.



*



When I heard that they had planned to take the Redhorn Pass, I think I almost died from fear. The Redhorn Pass, at that point in time, was overtaken with Orcs! Even the two Elven guards with them might not be able to overcome the groups of dark filth that had settled there.



I could see in my mind’s eye, Ava and my mother screaming for help, the two guards dead on the ground. I was utterly scared. I instantly gathered Elrohir, and three other Elves, before we set out at top speed on the finest mounts available, heading for the Redhorn Pass with fear in our hearts.



Nana had left message with a young Elf who had failed to deliver it to Adar. Had Adar known she would take the Pass, he would have stopped her. But Adar had not known, for when Nana had left, Adar had been trapped in a meeting with a loathsome Elf from Greenwood.



The fear in my brother’s heart and mine was overwhelming. I could feel his fear as well as my own, intensifying the terror of the idea of those dear to us mangled by the evils that had settled at Redhorn Pass.



At the pass, we discovered the two guard Elves dead, lying with the bodies of the horses that had been taken. There was no sign of Nana or Ava.



We soon discovered why.



The Orcs had taken them into the caves, where they had made their dens. We killed the Orcs within moments, our rage spurring us on. My anger, after they had been killed, soon melted into sadness and horror.



They had tortured them. Their bloodied bodies were side by side, propped against the cold, moist walls of the cave, like something from a horror tale.



I felt myself sink to my knees in shock, before quickly crawling towards them.



My mother was quite badly beaten. She had also taken a poisoned wound, though it was not so bad. Not as bad as Ava’s.



Mother later explained that Ava had dove in front of her and taken the worst of the wound. Ava was seriously poisoned, in trying to save her queen. Her injuries were critical, and needed immediate attention.



We were closer to Lórien, so Elrohir told two of the Elves to take Ava there, whilst Elrohir, the other Elf and myself would ride Nana back to Adar, back to Lord Elrond, for his special, legendary healing skills at top speed. At first, I refused, but something in Elrohir’s eyes stayed me.



I later realised that he knew Ava would not survive, and only wished to lessen my pain.



Ava managed to hold on until Lórien. The March Warden, the Elves said, who Elrohir had looked up to when he was younger, did not reveal his horror openly on his face, but it was all in his eyes. It made me want to weep when I heard it, how the unshakable, stern Captain of the Galadhrim Guard had looked upon my love’s broken body, and his eyes had mourned for her.



Grandmother had done her best, she really had. But it was no good. Her wounds were fatal, and that her heart was saddened did not help. Ava died upon the healing bed, her beautiful brown eyes staring up at the ceiling with the glaze of death over them.



*



Adar managed to heal Nana, but she was not well in the heart. The attack gave her nightmares, haunted her. And Ava’s death gave worse pain to her than the beatings she took at the Pass. She had lost a good friend, a friend who had died for her.



To heal herself, she decided to take a ship to Valinor.



The day she left, after she had said tender goodbyes to Adar and Elrohir, she turned to me, and cupped my cheek. Tears spilled from her eyes, as she whispered,



“I am so very sorry, Elladan. I am sorry that I could not help you, or her.”



And with that, she kissed my forehead, before departing from us.



Elrohir must have told Adar about Ava, for Adar spoke to me, and said that should I ever wish to speak of anything, he was there. I appreciated it – but it could not bring Ava back.



All he gave me back was Orevon’s tunic-cloak, which my grandmother had sent back for some unknown reason. Something told me she knew much. Perhaps I should have returned it to Orevon, but nay. I kept it with me, thinking of her when she last wore it.



My heart was breaking slowly but surely.



I cared for nothing. The news that Allieth was marrying? I did not care. The news that Orevon had a baby entrusted into his care? I did not care. The news that working conditions had improved for servants? Well, I did partially care about that, as I remembered how haggard they were.



How haggard Ava was.



Being a twin, it meant that I shared Elrohir’s strength. Elrohir gave me his strength, and that was perhaps all that kept me alive for a further 18 years. Eighteen years is, in fact, nothing to an Elf. But broken hearts do not calculate time.



I was expecting to fade, and was lying in wait until Elrohir’s added strength would fail to hold up my weight. For eighteen years, the light in my eyes was dead, and I found nothing to live for.



One day, whilst walking aimlessly throughout Rivendell, I spotted a small figure hunched over, dark hair curtaining it from view, as it sobbed.



So, there was another in Rivendell who shared my woe. The only difference was, that this was a child. A very young one, by the looks of things.



My heart went out to the child, and I carefully wandered over to it, deducing that it was female. I picked her up carefully, feeling her go rigid with shock. I carried her over to the bench, where I sat and placed her carefully upon my lap. She was a rather lean child, almost gangly, and quite light.



I brushed her hair away from her face gently. “Come now, Lisse’corm, what ails thee?” I murmured softly.



The Elfling looked up, her eyes watery with tears, and I froze. Her eyes were golden – like no eyes I had ever seen before. They looked like the colour of the honey served with bread at breakfast. Looked like the colour of the polished armour of Elves. I could see that her knees were scraped and bleeding lightly. I had not seen such an unhappy child in a long while.



She seemed surprised, her golden eyes wide, momentarily forgetting her tears. Before I could do anything, she pressed closer, hugging me tightly as though I were a lifeline.



I was surprised that she sought my comfort so willingly, and I hugged her back, sensing a familiarity with her somehow. I stroked her hair lightly, whispering soft comforts in her ear.



“What is your name, nessaer?” I asked gently.



“Tyrael,” was the mournful reply. I had never heard a name like it before. It seemed to just roll off the tongue.



“And why are you so sad?” I asked her, continuing to gently stroke her hair. Had she lost someone dear, as I had? Was she alone in the world?



“It is my birthday.”



I was surprised. I had never heard of an Elfling who did not feel joy upon their birthday.



“But Tyrael…I thought birthdays were a time of joy?”



“Nay, my lord. For my birthdays are spent without my Nana or my Ada. I have neither, only my adopted Adar.” The girl sniffed a bit, and I sighed inwardly.



So she had lost someone close to her. She had no mother, no father. No wonder she considered birthday’s banes.



“I see,” I said quietly, and felt Tyrael tighten her grip on me.



It seemed she would never let go, and I smiled weakly down at the dark head, some of my previous sadness melting away. She was a sweet thing. I leaned away from her slightly, gripping her chin and raising it to look at those cat-like eyes once more.



“Such amazing eyes. I bet they attract much attention.” I smiled at her.



“They call me a demon,” Tyrael replied in a droll voice that reminded me of my brother. I felt a pain stab at my heart. The youngling was being treated cruelly by peers. Peers, who would not allow difference, would not allow hearts to make their own choices.



“Ignore them, Tyrael. Do not allow others to govern your life and make decisions for you, or you shall regret it. You may let the opportunity of a lifetime escape your reach.”



I thought of Ava, of her smile, her sometimes-prudish ways. How she would laugh at me in the early days when I pursued her. Despite her early mockery, I loved her still. But she had left me, because of her peers. Now we would never have a chance together.



The girl, Tyrael, was studying me intently. I felt naked, stripped bare under the child’s gaze.



“You have lost someone, my lord?”



I barely acknowledged that she had been perceptive enough to pick up on such a thing at an obviously young age. But I did not reveal my mild amazement, for my mind was instantly whirled back to the elleth who I had loved.



“Aye, I have. Not too long ago. Still it pains me to think of her.”



That look she had given me as she rode off with my mother…that heartbroken, saddened look. Had her heart indeed been breaking as mine had? I shook myself, before glancing back down at the Elfling, wiping away some more of her tears.



“Who is your guardian, Lisse’corm?”



“Orevon.”



Orevon…I cringed inwardly. The warrior had lost what little outward social behaviour he had when he had heard of Ava’s death. Now, it was rumoured that the only one he smiled at was the child he had adopted. I should have made the connection sooner…



“Ah, indeed. Well, birthday girl, I feel I must return you to him, for your wounds need disinfecting, and you should celebrate your birthday in peace, with one whom you are close to. Do you agree?”



“Aye,” she nodded.



And as I carried her towards Orevon’s house, I felt an odd feeling of responsibility and fatherly love course through me. The child had needed me, and I had given to her. In turn, she had somehow given me something back.



This child was prejudiced, alone, and unhappy. As I carried her, I decided to keep watch for her. Fading could wait. I would make sure that this child, who shared in my pain in different ways, would grow up to be a fine elleth. And as I thought this, I could have sworn that I heard my grandmother’s voice in my mind.



Love her, it said. She will be important to you, just as she will be important to another who needs love and security. Watch over her, and all will be well.



*



And so I watched Tyrael over the years. Watched as she grew, and broadened, not just in the hips and chest like most elleths, but also in the shoulders – it appeared that she had been training in combat skills.



She gained curves, but also muscles. All through it, her eyes remained the same, and it seemed that her spirit did as well.



Orevon was a warrior, and so he was often called away on duty. When this happened, Tyrael was left with a wretch of an elleth named Layadwen, who, when Tyrael would not bend to her whims, disliked the she-Elf and began treating her in a poor way.



Still, I observed from the distance. Tyrael seemed to be able to handle herself well against Layadwen, and always lay in wait until her adopted Adar would return to her.



Except that one day, he did not return. He perished in a war, his body brought back to Rivendell. I was in the crowds when it returned, and was horrified to see Tyrael staring at it, at her Adar’s waxen body, her eyes wide, her mouth open, her face completely ashen.



I wanted to do something when she was left with Layadwen, but Adar refused. I was angry with this, but I could not counter his words, for he was Lord of Imladris, and I was simply his son.



Elrohir had come to learn of my silent watching of the golden-eyed hellcat, and sometimes, he too joined me. He had apparently met Tyrael several times, including one time when she displayed her ‘archery skills’ and her arrow pinned Elrohir to a wall by his tunic sleeve.



I felt my old self coming back to me after some time. Elrohir, Arwen and Adar’s work paid off, and I was slowly returning to the joker I used to be. My fading had reversed itself, as I studied the child who had held much on her shoulders and still managed to grow up into what appeared to be a budding warrior.



I was happy.



Until I learned that Layadwen had given up on her. The bitch had placed Tyrael under my father’s service – working in the kitchens. Naturally, I implored father to reconsider her occupation within our house, for I knew how foul the kitchens were for I had to pass through a passage that led through them often, but he paid no heed. He said that the kitchens were the only place in which he could place her.



And so, for the next few hundred years, I spotted a miserable Tyrael every time I passed through the kitchens.



Some times, I would speak to her. But most times, I left her alone, for she seemed to enjoy solitude, and often hid in dark hidey-holes in the kitchen whilst the work went on around her.



One day, the mouse that was Tyrael turned around and roared. I was surprised to see a more boisterous, outspoken, and joking elleth in place of the miserable one. I heard that it had been an Elf to do this to her, one who had shown her kindness. I hoped this was true. They mentioned the name of the Elf – Rathborn.



It seemed familiar from somewhere…



*



I watched as Tyrael re-braided Haldir’s hair, hair fingers working the silver-gold strands in the Lórien style, as though she had done it for years. The stoic March Warden simply sat there, smiling slightly, speaking to her. I could see the love in his eyes, and I smiled.



It had only been recently that I remembered where I had heard the name Rathborn. But back then; I had misheard his name, thought it to be Rathlorn. My heart bled at the thought that Tyrael could have been like Nana’s old handmaiden, at the hands of that cur.



But Haldir had proved that he was not as stiff as he seemed to be…which might not have been a good thing for Tyrael! But nay, he had proved himself well thus far.



To discover that she was my daughter had been complicated. Mainly because I had been inclined to agree from the first, because I had always felt fatherly toward her, had loved her as my own. And it rectified the problem of her loving Haldir who, when she had been a servant, was considered above her status. It was history repeating itself, and it pained me to think that either she or Haldir – or Legolas and Kalia – would have to face the same prejudice as Ava and myself.



Tyrael being my daughter answered many unanswered questions. I knew now that she, Ava, had worn Orevon’s tunic-cloak to hide her bump. I knew that the baby had been sent to Rivendell by my grandmother, for she hoped that either my child or I would recognise the other and make things right.



But neither of us did.



Yet, now that she was of the line of Imladris, things would be smooth sailing. I had watched Haldir when he heard, and he had been surprised, but not necessarily eager. I realised straight away that he would most likely have forfeited his position for her, and I liked him even more for it.



She would have someone to control her. How I had been frightened by her antics at the tournament! She had almost lost her life by strapping her breasts down. Not to mention she had faced Haldir in the tournament – one of the strongest, and more muscular Elves around. And not just the tournament – milder jokes, accidents and sheer lunacy reached my ears.



Aye, Haldir would do her good. And she would do him good. Perhaps remove the stick from his rear.



Tyrael finished braiding his hair, and he gripped her wrist, pulling her down beside him for a gentle hug and a kiss on the forehead. I allowed my charcoal to run across the paper, drawing the scene.



‘Twas something to treasure forever, like the sketches of Ava and the rest of my family.’



I would forever hold onto them, forever study them. They were my life.



Tyrael laughed, drawing my attention. Haldir’s shoulders shook with restrained laughter, at a joke shared only between them.



Aye, despite his habit for jealousy, overreaction, strong sexual hunger, temper, and amazing arrogance, he was a good Elf. I looked down at the picture I had drawn, smiling slightly. I had Tyrael now, and when I could not be there for her, she would most likely have Haldir or Kalia.



I would, of course, have to test Haldir’s intentions, being the good father…



But I knew, somehow, that they would be together for eternity.



Yesterday when we were walking

You talked about your ma and dad

What they did that made you happy

What they did that made you sad

We sat and watched the sun go down

Picked a star before we lost the moon

Youth is wasted on the young

Before you know it’s come and gone

Too soon



You were there for summer dreamin’

And you gave me what I need

And I hope you find your freedom

For eternity

For eternity