The Exile's Daughter

The Long Fight Begins

Time is a strange thing to the elves. It both passes with lightning speed and lingers excruciatingly. So it was that my first two months in Rivendell went by, both slowly and swiftly.

I was busy, or so Elrond and Aragorn told me, because I had to gain weight and recover the strength that I'd lost. My leg wound also healed, leaving only a neat, red scar in place of the infected gash. It would turn white in time, and become barely noticeable, not that it mattered to me. What was a scar in comparison to that which I had so narrowly avoided?

My grief was a heavy burden to carry, and I spent a lot of time asleep, which I had been told was perfectly normal. More alarming were the moments where I could not seem to focus on anything but what had happened. I sat for ages sometimes, staring into space and reliving the horror, my heart pounding and my hands shaking, until Legolas, Aragorn, Glorfindel, Elrond, or one of his children, found me and calmed me down.

For this reason, the days crawled by. It was all I could do on occasion to drag my focus away from the terror of these flashbacks. However, meeting so many new people, making friends with those around me, reading carefully through histories of the third age, which Elrond provided me with constantly once he discovered my enthusiasm for history, and taking in all that I had been told – this made the time go far quicker.

Bilbo even gave me some of the notes he had written about his own adventures, which were always accompanied by a cup of tea, a large plate of whatever took his fancy, and an hour-long explanation. I didn't mind; it was sweet of him, and he was as good a storyteller as I had ever met.

Though Aragorn had said I should have news about the deaths of my family, the sons of Elrond had come back with almost nothing. They had told me, at least, that the men had been from Dunland, and both elves and Dúnedain rangers were searching for them. There was little hope of finding those men, I supposed, unless I went and searched for them myself, or else happened across them on my future travels. I tried not to think of this.

However, the sons of Elrond had brought many things of value back to Imladris. Most of the items they had salvaged were in my chambers, but my father's famous harp now stood in the room which housed the shards of Narsil, the blade that cut the Ring from Sauron's hand in the final battle of the Last Alliance. Tapestries depicting the histories of elves and men adorned the walls, and it seemed fitting to have Maglor's harp with them, even though Elrond had offered it to me to keep. What would I do with it, after all? I had never been a great musician. Not like him. Besides, every time I looked at it, I could see him, sitting there for hours on end and playing to entertain us all on a long winter's evening. The sound of it echoed through time and haunted me night and day, with my mother singing to accompany it, my brother and I clumsily dancing to the sweet sound, making our parents laugh. I did not want to see it in my bedroom, to be reminded constantly of that which I had lost, the gaping hole in who I was.

Other items which had been returned to me included my brother's weapons. His bow and quiver stood in my chambers, but his dagger now hung on my belt in its black leather scabbard. Somehow, I felt braver with it brushing against my thigh, as if he was with me, protecting me from harm. It reminded me of why I had undertaken the task fate had set. Perhaps his weapons could give me the courage to do what must be done.

That morning, I was walking with Legolas, hot tea and oats filling our stomachs. We were nibbling on toast as we went. The second stage of my healing was to begin today – I had regained almost my old strength, but I was now to begin training to build myself up for the inevitable role I would play alongside men in the coming years. We were trekking into the woods and training with weapons. I had no idea where we were going to start, but I was eager nonetheless to finally learn what I must know. It had been a relief when Aragorn had at last declared me well enough to start training. Sitting around did not suit me, and long, tiring days would take my mind off the horrors I'd witnessed.