The Lady of Rivendell

Chapter 4

"Legolas."

"My lord," he bowed, from where he had been restringing his bow.

"Legolas, the burden of the quest you face is already heavy, but I am afraid I must add to that weight. I have a favour I must ask of you."

"Of course, Lord Elrond. Anything," he said without hesitation.

"My Allora, take care of her, would you?" he asked as Legolas followed his gaze to where the girl was standing dressed in travelling attire as she conversed with her sister who was tying a cloak around her shoulders. "When you live as long as I have, you learn very quickly what you value most and how valuable your treasures are. My Allora and my Arwen are worth everything to me. See to it that she is alright, would you? Well, as alright as she can be, given the circumstances."

Even if the Lord of the Elves hadn't asked, Legolas was but a humble servant to his Lady. He crossed his arm over his chest, his hand resting on his shoulder as he bowed. "It would be an honour and a privilege, My Lord. You have my solemn word that I will do my very best to ensure Her Highness' wellbeing."

Elrond seemed a little more at ease. "I have no doubt that you will not break your word, Legolas. I shall leave you to prepare. Excuse me," Elrond said as he and a servant made their way over to his daughters who were still in deep conversation.

"Allora, are you sure you want to do this?" Arwen asked as she draped the cloak over her sister's shoulders.

"Arwen, you know as well I as do that I do not have a choice. You have seen it so as Father has. This began as Father's battle, it will end as mine. I won't let the darkness of Sauron and the Ring fester for another 3000 years."

Arwen's smile was small. "Still, I had to ask. You are my younger sister after all."

Allora laughed. "But not for much longer. You are to become mortal, my sister. And you leave me to deal with stuffy council meetings and dreary old parchments to sign as I am to become heir to the Elvish people and their High Lady."

Arwen's smile remained. "I would not feel so comfortable leaving my people, if I did not know that they were in good hands. And relax, sister, I am not gone yet. And you will not have to endure those stuffy council meetings and dreary old parchments alone. I have seen it."

"Yes, yes, we know that Father will likely never leave me to do it myself those first few centuries," Allora said, missing the smirk that her sister gave her as she spied Legolas speaking to their father behind them. "But, Arwen, you do understand that if we succeed, Father and I will still leave these lands? He has seen that the time of Elves is over in Middle Earth. If you become mortal, I will never see you again."

Arwen gave her sister an adoring smile, one that only an older sibling could give as she tucked Allora's hair behind her ear.

"We have spent millennium together, Allora. And we shall see each other again, one day. And I know you are reluctant about my choice, but I wish I had the words to describe what love feels like to you. Aragorn-"

"Is the love of your life. He is the air you breathe and the blood that you bleed. He is the reason your heart beats. His soul is kindred to yours and his heart calls your name. I know. This is not the first time you have spoken those words to me."

Arwen's smile was warm as she regarded her sister. "But no matter the span of my life, you will forever be my morning star."

"And you will forever be my evening star."

"With the morning star comes hope."

"And with the evening star comes peace."

Their foreheads pressed against each other as their arms gripped each other tight.

"Take care, Allora."

"Take care, Arwen," she returned. "And I will try to take care of Aragorn, but I make no promises. You love him, you should know what he is like."

Arwen chuckled as she pulled away from her sister and adjusted Allora's golden crown that was braced on her brow.

"My daughters," called a voice and the girls turned to see Lord Elrond approaching them, a servant at his side holding a sheathed sword with an ornate hilt.

"Father," the girls greeted as his eyes settled on his youngest daughter.

"Allora, I must ask a final time, if there is any chance that I can convince you to stay behind? To come with us as we depart Middle Earth?"

Her smile was sad but determined. "I am my father's daughter," she said proudly. "I would love to come with you, but you know all the reasons why I cannot, why I must do this."

"Indeed, I do," Lord Elrond sighed. "Which is why I have brought with me, your parting gift."

And the servant held the sheath as her father drew the long sword from its sheath and held it up to shine in the light of the dawn, of the rising sun.

Allora gaped at the blade before her father presented her with the hilt and it fit perfectly in her two hands like it was forged to fit them. It was weighted perfectly as she admired the craftsmanship and the Elvish inscriptions on the blade. And power seemed to surge within her. She did not know if it came from within her or from the blade, but the light of the dawn and of the sun coursed through her as it begged to be released.

"I know you prefer your bow or your dual broadswords, but you made a valid point in the council meeting yesterday," her father began. "This began as my fight when I fought alongside Isildur, this will end as your fight as you fight alongside Aragorn. So, I present you with the longsword I fought with in that very battle 3000 years ago."

Her jaw dropped that time. "I did not think you still possessed it," she confessed.

Her father's smile was smug. "You are my daughter. I know all the kinds of mischief you would have no doubt started had you gotten your hands on this sword."

"You are right about that," Allora laughed, still beaming at the blade before Arwen stepped up to her side.

"Ask Father its name," she prompted, and Allora was flabbergasted. In the thousands of times she'd heard the story of the Battle of Mordor and in the thousands of questions she asked, she'd never inquired the name of her Father's blade. She knew Isildur's, everyone knew of Narsil, especially in Rivendell since the ruins of the blade were kept safe in their castle. But not of his.

Elrond's smile was pained but proud. "You are right in that you were born for this battle, for this sword, its name is Orothel."

"Morning Light," she gasped as she translated the Elvish name. "This is the sword of Morning Light, of Morrowdim. This is the sword of the dawn."

Her father nodded. "I named this blade over 3000 years ago. And while I had long forgotten its name when you were born, it would seem that fate had plans to put this sword in your hands one day. The sword of morning light for the morning star. Let it be a symbol of hope for your quest as the dawn brings hope to us all."

The servant took the sword back as he sheathed it, and Allora wrapped her arms around Elrond.

"Thank you, Father. For everything."

"You are most welcome, my Allora," he said as he held her tight, pressing a kiss to her head. "You have my love, my daughter."

"And you have mine, Father."

And so began Allora's journey as she left her only family behind.