"You don�t have to call me that." She softly replied for probably the millionth time, and I squirmed uncomfortably on my seat of stone as Arwen studied the board. True, I had spent all of my sixteen, or perhaps, seventeen, summers here in Rivendell and the princess was as dear to me as an elder sister. Still, it just didn�t feel right, to address her by simply her name. Perhaps it was the rather large age difference. But then again, elves didn�t age in the same way as men. Not to say that I was one or the other. Perhaps a little of both. One could never be quite sure about these things, and, of course, both my foster father and his friend who had discovered me as an infant in the shadow of a great tree could tell me any different. The bitter truth. We all know how those things work. I grinned grimly to myself, but Arwen did not notice.
Mindlessly, I ran my finger along the carefully carved elven letters of an inscription of an ancient dialect which somehow found its way onto the heavy copper bracelet which encircled my wrist. Strange that I would even keep such a trinket, as the elves preferred other metals to this, and besides, in my extensive education, I had never discovered what the words had meant, so I could be wearing a bracelet bearing the words the bearer of this is an ugly git for all I knew. Personally, I had taken a liking to my little bauble, and even if it had no other meaning to me, at least I was free of any arthritic pains.
"Check?" Arwen asked, suddenly derailing my train of thought, "Are you sure about this, Em?"
"When seeking advice, elves do not tell the truth," I quoted, "Nor do they lie." This brought a slight smile to her face, and I wondered if after spending so many summers in Rivendell, I could finally win a game of chess with Lady Arwen.
Yes, I spent only my summers in this elven city as well as the occasional visit if my foster father was to go off on �business� again . . . the frequency of these trips had began increasing as I grew older, but when I had finally dared to voice my question, he simply laughed kindly and suggested that I not meddle in the affairs of wizards. Not to say that I didn�t enjoy my stays in Rivendell and the House of Lord Elrond, whose elven children were as close to me as the siblings I never had.
Just that there was a single thing. Lord Elrond himself was always a little cold, but always civil towards me, although I hardly knew what could have caused the slight friction. Perhaps the fact I was always armed, even though within his house. I had to admit that this was rather odd, and possibly quite offensive, but ever since an unfortunate occurrence involving a rather large rat a few years before, I carried a delicate elven knife with me at all times although I had a bit of trouble convincing him that I absolutely needed it (Lord Elrond had dryly replied that Rivendell did not have any rats). Or perhaps it was not such a simple matter. But not meddling in the affairs of elves seemed to grant others long lives, so I never questioned his decision.
"It seems you are incorrect." Lady Arwen frowned, and gestured towards my knight and rook, "You should have mentioned check before you moved the knight, or after you moved your rook, and checkmate after the knight." Oops. Spoofed again. I nervously twisted one of my long and slightly curly dark chestnut lock about a finger nervously. "Congratulations, Emily, it seems you have conquered your first army. On a chess board." She gave me one of her dazzling smiles, her fair elven eyes regarded me kindly, and I thought that her betrothed, Aragorn, had to be one of the luckiest men who had ever walked upon Middle Earth. And I would have been quite honored to have known him a smidgen longer than Lady Arwen � if he didn�t like rats. I shivered slightly. Although I had not seen him for quite a few years now, I had heard of him from quite a large number of people, not minstrels, however.
"I hear you are heading up to the Shire in the fall," Arwen had begun to carefully pack her chess pieces into a carved oaken box, "To celebrate the elventy-first birthday of Bilbo Baggins. I hear Gandalf the Grey has promised quite a spectacular fireworks display." She laughed, "As if he�d ever disappoint!"
I shuffled slightly at the mention of my foster father, "Yes, I suppose he�d be here any day now." And suddenly realizing how rude I sounded, I flushed, and mumbled, "Not to say that I don�t like it here or anything . . ."
"Of course you didn�t." Arwen had finished sliding my own pieces into their box without me noticing at all, "But allow me to say this, my dear, I believe that you will be back sooner than you think."
"So some more unfinished business?" I shuttered again, "Father does seem to be busy."
"Five wizards in a large Middle Earth," She sighed, "I know how you feel. I wish that Aragorn were around more, as well."
"As long as he doesn�t bring any rats." I must have paled dramatically, as she reached over and squeezed my hand, "I don�t like them!"
"Emily," Arwen grew serious and slid the game pieces away from us, fixing her eyes on mine, "Has Gandalf told you about your Choice?"
"My which?" I frowned, "About Rivendell or following him? He advised me to not meddle with wizards."
"No, your Choice by birth." She looked slightly nervous, and shifty, "Not to say that you have to make it right away." I stared. Arwen sensed my dilemma, "Obviously not then. Pretend I did not say a thing. He always knew best."
"Yes . . ." An uncomfortable silence fell between us as though she had uncovered something best left undiscussed. I fumbled about for a suitable topic of conversation, and stared at the sun in the sky, "I suppose I�d best be going if I wish to be on time for my archery lesson." Arwen raised an eyebrow, a slight suggestion of surprise, perhaps awaiting my explanation, "It�s for the rats."
"Maybe if you refrain from mentioning them . . ." She suggested, "You will stop worrying about it."
"Perhaps." I quickly sought my leave and wandered through the orderly maze of Rivendell, easily picking my way to the large open space of the western courtyard which was visible down a last flight of marble stairs.
Fearing that I was late (as usual), I quickly descended these, and was about to step onto the fresh grass when a breath of sharp air against my face told me that an arrow had just whizzed by. With a simple thunk, the offending projectile hit precisely the tiniest knot I had ever seen in the large oak tree standing there with a sense of innocence. From the opposite end of the field, my instructor and rather close friend, the fair Rivendell elven-lord Glorifield (twin brother of the other elven lord Glorfindel (the dude with the white horse)) greeted me as usual with a crisp, "You�re late!"
"I know!" I insisted, and stared at the arrow impaled so deeply into the bark of the tree, frowning as I recognized the familiar forest green and brown feathers of Mirkwood. Without turning around, I moaned, "Someone shot this arrow from Mirkwood and managed to hit that little knot? What I wouldn�t give for elf senses!"
"From Mirkwood! Oh no, just from over here." I glanced over the field and at the other end, a figure waved back. Arg. Show off. What was a Rivendell elf doing with Mirkwood markings, after all? The archer was not finished, "Elven senses? What do you mean, elven senses? You�re not an elf? You seem to be one."
I figured this to be a compliment, but I did not respond. Instead, I chose to answer the rather (unfortunately) familiar comment of my tardiness, "I�m sorry, I was involved in a chess game."
"They say that wizards are never late, and I had hoped that the theory would have extended to their foster children as well. But that is obviously not the case." I flushed again, and probably would have mumbled another apology, if Lord Glorifield had not interrupted with one of his large, quite loud but silvery elven laughs, "Do not worry. I do believe by this time lessons begin quite a few moments after they are scheduled to. But then again," He sighed, wistfully, "Elves do not have nor need a sense of time. You perhaps, may."
I sensed movement somewhere behind me and to my right, and before he even began I snarled, a little bitterly, "No. I am not an elf, and yes, I do need archery lessons unlike those who master the skill before half my age. But then again, you�ve had a few thousand years to do it."
"Then why are you here?" The friendly voice had lost that quality and sounded cold, chilling. I turned to face another young elven lord, fair in the way of elves, as they all were. So similar to the light haired Lord Glorifield, and of course, beautiful and elegant. Just another one of them. "You look far too young to be an elf-friend. We do not welcome outsiders."
"I . . ." For a moment, I was at a loss for words, perhaps from shock, "And who might you be, then?"
"An elf." He answered, his eyes fixed upon mine as Arwen�s had a few moments ago, but his were as stone cold as his voice, "Unlike you."
"Does it matter?" I frowned, and willed myself not to drop my gaze, "I don�t think it should."
"It does to me." Choosing to ignore the comment, I took my own, smaller bow and light brown feathered arrow of Rivendell, which Glorifield pressed into my hands. The younger elf turned to my instructor, "It�s a waste of time."
"I thought elves did not have any sense of time," I snapped quickly, "Then why does it matter?"
"Lord Elrond will hear of this." The elf snarled, and quickly turned, striding away from me. I stared after him, shaking slightly.
"So I just come for my lesson as normal and he almost hits me and he thinks I�m stupid because I�m not an elf and he . . ." I realized I was mumbling, and stopped abruptly, to Glorifield�s amusement, "I�ve never been so insulted in my life!"
"You could pass for an elf, if you wanted to," He avoided my half-question, "Why don�t you? For all you know, your parents could have been elves."
"Because . . ." I faltered, slightly, "I age at the rate of man . . . my senses are sharp, but are nothing compared to yours . . . I . . . There is nothing wrong with being a mortal man."
"I suppose not." Glorifield shrugged, but then gave me a little smile, "So you show up late and you think you can slack off? I don�t think so. Off you go," He shooed me off to the other end of the field and as I finally calmed down I realized I was standing exactly where that Mirkwood elf had been. Lord Glorifield waved at me to stop. What was he trying to prove?
In a smooth, fluid motion, I fitted my arrow and focused my attentions on that oak, that exact circle which was the thickness of another arrow . . . but a bit higher, and to the left . . . Although I may not have been elven enough for those keen senses, my aim was true, and to my amazement, the Rivendell arrow managed to splice the other in half, and embed itself within the tree.
"Wow. You must have been practicing." My elven instructor gulped, and I suppose I must have done so as well, running towards the tree, hardly believing my luck, "I don�t think Legolas is going to be happy about this."
"Who?" I asked, bending down to pick up the pieces of the Mirkwood arrow, not exactly wanting to leave them there, "I think I�d like to keep this. Souvenir, if you must."
"You�ve earned it." From the stairway which I had descended myself, the young elven lord gave me a rather particular look, and I wondered what he was doing there, and not ratting to Lord Elrond as he had threatened to earlier, "Satisfactory aim for a daughter of man."
"I�ll take that as a compliment." I carefully removed my own arrow, and when I looked up again, he was gone. "Oh." I muttered stupidly.
"I think we can call off practice for today." Glorifield was still grinning widely, "Right?"
"Well, no," I flushed, "I think that was more luck than anything."
"Modesty never did anyone harm," He shrugged, and tilted his head towards the gates of Rivendell, "Unless my elven senses have totally blown away with the crisp wind, I do believe we have received a visitor you�d be interesting in seeing."
"You don�t mean . . ." I grinned excitedly, and ran my fingers through my hair nervously, "Father, here? This early?"
"I won�t mention that if I were you." Glorifield rolled his eyes, leading the way across the field to what I assumed was a shortcut to the gates, perhaps a route I had not yet discovered, "More than once he has quoted at me, wizards are never late, nor are they early. They arrive precisely when they mean to. Arg. I�d bet he quotes that at everyone."
"I don�t think he�s ever said that to me, though." I muttered, half to myself, "To arrive now, when he means to? Why would it matter? He could have arrived yesterday, or tomorrow. It wouldn�t have made a difference to me."
"Hmm," With elven wisdom, he answered, "Perhaps, the universe does not evolve around you, Emily. There is more to this puzzle."
"Another puzzle for me to ponder," Absentmindedly, I had begun tracing the elven letters on my bracelet again, "Do you know anything about ancient dialects of elven?"
"Maybe." Lord Glorified answered cautiously, "Why?"
"I just wondered what these mean. Perhaps you would know?" I motioned to my wrist, "I didn�t want to wear something that read that the wearer is an ugly git or something."
"Well, as long as you know that you are not an ugly git, it does not matter what it says." He laughed, and I noticed that he carefully ignored answering my question. Furthermore, he had noticed that I had noticed. "I think you�d better ask the wizard about those. And if he will not answer, then it is for the best."
"I have a feeling someone knows something I don�t know. And that it is going to stay that way." I answered gloomily, and we remained silent.
The dark cloud was quickly swept from above me as I walked into the large cobblestone-tiled yard before the gates of Rivendell and my senses took in the sights I wished most to see. There, standing by a horse cart full of his famed fireworks was Gandalf the Grey, the robes of his order moving almost magically in the slight breeze. At first, he did not see me, as Lord Elrond was welcoming a most trusted elf-friend to his home, and I twiddled my thumbs behind my back nervously.
"Off to the Shire, already? Must you leave so soon?" The elven lord was saying, and the only father I had known nodded, "I suppose you�re here for her."
I shuttered as I noticed the coldness briefly instated in that simple sentence. Father nodded, and I took advantage of this lull in conversation to step forward, a little nervous at the coldness Lord Elrond always had shown in my presence. Lady Arwen gave me a friendly smile, and I noted that her brothers were absent. Probably off with Aragorn again. Wizards were always rather different, having the appearance of older men, but having the abilities and endurance of someone quite a bit younger, and Father was no different, wrapping his arms about me as though I were three . . . not that it really mattered . . .
"If this is not to be a social call, I must talk to you about your suspicions." Lord Elrond suddenly grew quite serious, and I stood a respectful distance behind Father, "It concerns us all." His eyes fell upon me, "Some more than others."
"We�ll have plenty of time for that later." Father touched his large wizard�s hat lightly, "I�m afraid we�d must be on our way or I will have to go down in the scrolls as the only wizard to be late. A quick bite, perhaps . . ."
"Time." The elven lord gave a grim smile, and shook his head slightly, "The sooner the better then. I respect your judgement."
I looked around at Elrond�s family, represented by only he and his daughter, Lord Glorifield . . . my elven friends of Rivendell . . . There was, however, one other, and I quickly hid the pieces of his arrow behind my back searching my mind for a little something to hum. The only thing my mind came up with was the little poem which came with the name Aragorn, something about reforging a broken blade. Somehow I didn�t think it was appropriate for the occasion, and unfortunately, my own name was a common one used with the daughters of men and did not come with poetry attached. What a pity.
"Come on, Em," Arwen was saying to me, "We�d best go gather your things . . ." She gave a little nod to Lord Elrond and together, we headed towards my rooms. I looked back and gave Father a little wave, perhaps of both departure of welcome, and for some reason that darn Mirkwood elf was smirking again. Maybe he wouldn�t smirk so much if I planted a tomato in the center of that pretty little face of his. Arwen turned and gave me a little look, "I don�t think that would be very nice."
"It�s just a thought! Just a thought!" I protested weakly, and to the sound of her musical elvish laughter, I prepared to leave Rivendell.