Lost Tales from Middle-earth

A Talk with Elrond

After rising out of her bed, still shaken by her dream, Rhaweth decided to get changed, for at the least she could be polite. She took a sky-blue dress and decided to leave her hair down. When she passed in front of the mirror that stood next to her bed, she was a different person than the one that entered the room at first. She had inherited her father's bright grey eyes, but her hair was red, as her mother's, Nerdanel, had been, and in the sunlight it seemed a brazier. Inside and outside she was more fiery than the Sun.

Only two of her likeness ever had been seen before. One, though she strived to not become like him, was Fëanor. The other was her uncle, Fairetyelpë, although he had been even brighter.

Fairetyelpë's was one of the deaths that had most pained her, of the ones of Elvëander, Glorfindel, Ecthelion, Fingolfin, Ecthelion, Gil-galad, Elendil and, although she hated admitting it to herself, Fëanor.

Always had she admired the elves that had been at all times peaceful, and she tried to resemble them, but she could not. The fire in her heart could not be quenched.

Her mind stopped wandering, and she got back to what she had been thinking.

Why had Galadriel sent her here? She had questions. Questions that needed answers. 

She decided to find the young Elrond. He may have been but a child in her eyes, yet he was held among the wise, and gave good counsel. 

Most of the time.

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Having been in Imladris many times before, though never long, she knew it, and swiftly found her way to the council room, where she knew he would be.

He stood in its center, in deep thought, and she did not wish to interrupt him, and started to leave.

"Wait." said the elf, "You can come forth. If I am not mistaken, you have a question upon your mind. I know that not long ago we had a disagreement, but we should put our differences aside and talk."

"Why am I here?

"Why are any of us here?"

"By the will of Illúvatar."

"Yes. Your cousin sent you here, for the One Ring has once again been found."

No. This was very bad.

"Nay, 'tis impossible! It was lost, three thousand years ago, when Isildur son of Elendil did not destroy it. The Ring fell into the river, never to be found again."

"But that is not what truly happened, Alcariniel."

"Do not call me that." she suddenly snapped "I have long ago forsaken that name and now am Rhaweth. Only my cousin can call me of my old name. None else, child."

"Long ago you say, but merely three thousand years ago, there was one who called you by your first name. If I can recall, his name was..."

"Do not say it." she interrupted him "For me the grief is still too near."

"I understand, but you know that you are to meet him again, ere the End of all things."

Her last words she barely whispered.

"I know."