How I Leave You

The Council of Elrond

 "Stop moving so much, elf."

Thorin's horse's movements are methodical beneath me. My back, thighs, shoulders... I was not made for this kind of traveling, and right now, I am in no mood, neither for being this sore, nor for Thorin's grievances.

"Stop complaining, then."

I stretch my back, trying to relieve my aching muscles.

"I said, sit still."

I can feel him pressed up against me from behind, and if it wasn't for all my hair, I'd probably be able to feel his breath against my neck, too.

"You know, if it's such an issue for you to have me here, you're more than welcome to walk."

All day, we have been traveling. All day, I have been in pain. The latter, mostly because Thorin has made it his sole mission to complain about everything I do.

Bath. I need a bath.

"Need I remind you, elfling, that this is my horse?"

Not for the first time, I'm relieved that he cannot see my face. He would likely claw my eyes out if he noticed how they rolled at his remarks.

"Fine," I say. "I'll walk."

"Wait." He reaches out and grabs ahold of me right as I'm about to jump off, his hand wrapping around the entirety of my arm. "You're in no state to walk. Not after what happened to you yesterday." With a sigh, he lets go of me. "Just— stop moving. Please."

Before I can remark on his use of please, which is likely the first time I've ever heard the word leave his mouth, Gandalf brings the company to a halt.

It seems we have reached a valley. No, this is not just a valley.

Rivendell.

"This was your plan all along, was it not, wizard?" Thorin's tongue drips with poison as we near the entrance of the high elves. "To seek refuge with our enemy?"

"You have no enemies among the elves, Thorin Oakenshield," Gandalf replies. "The only ill-will here is that which you bring yourself."

Turning to look at the wizard, Thorin briefly halts.

"You think the elves will give our quest their blessing?" He spits on the ground. "They will try to stop us."

"Of course they will." The rest of the company has paused, too, trying their best to look as though they're anything but eavesdropping. "But we have questions that need answering. So if this shall prove successful, we're going to need a good bit of charm, and no less luck." Gandalf suddenly turns to me. "Hence why we brought her."

As if cued, the rest of the dwarves turn in my direction, half of them puzzled to remember that I'm still here. That I haven't given up. Not yet, anyway.

"Fine," Thorin says, the only one not looking at me. "But make it quick."

In that moment, an elf descends from the stairs, his dress dragging behind him. His brown hair, braided on both sides of his face, flows behind him like it was made of silk.

"Ilwien. Gandalf. We heard you'd crossed the valley into our realm."

"Fenris," I greet back in Elvish. "It's lovely to see you again, but it's the council of Elrond we seek. Is he here?"

Behind us, a line of instruments pays a fanfare. Gates open. People gather. Drawing closer, a band of horses ride towards us.

"He is now."

Rivendell is every bit as beautiful as I remember it to be. Though it's been some time now—decades? centuries?—since I last stepped foot in the valley of Imladris, it's all the more wonderful to be back.