A Breath of Fate

So, I’m sorry that it took so long for this chapter to come out. I recently moved to a different state and between being extremely depressed about it, lost my muse for awhile. I am back though and I do intend on finishing this story.

Thank you Phairesse for your review.

!!!!!!!!!!

Ingrel stared at the fine architecture of Mithlond; it was strongly built, to resist the tempestuous sea, but held a rugged beauty that could not be matched with the most graceful towers in Valinor. Ingrel supposed it was this very beauty that caused the Eldar of this place to fight so very hard to keep it. Since her arrival, Círdan had spent many evenings regaling her with tales of this land; accounts of doomed romance and fatal battles, brief happiness and unending sorrow. Yet, despite these dire consequences, many of the Eldar continued to live here, refusing to leave their homes. Círdan had said most of the Eldar who had traveled here from Aman were either dead or returned. Those left, save a few, were born on this soil and loath to journey to unknown lands.

Running a finger along the smooth stone of her open window, Ingrel could commiserate with her fellow Eldar. Despite her excitement at escaping the confines of her home, she had dealt with unusual amounts of fear and trepidation, as well as a distinct stab of longing for the gardens of Taniquetil. Turning away from the window, Ingrel contemplated her present, rather tenuous situation. Despite her assurances that she would be staying in Endor, Ingrel would not put it past Glorfindel to throw her on the next ship out of the ha.
.

Ingrel was not in anyway ready to leave Endor. She yearned to explore this wild land that her atar hailed from. Ingrel knew with every breath in her body that she was meant for this world of danger and excitement, it was in her blood. This ground had sired her parents and just walking on it sent thrills through her body and soul. She understood so well why her people had abandoned Aman and the Valar so long ago.

Fingering her emblem of Ingwë’s house, Ingrel wondered what her atar was doing. Was he standing with Manwë, looking for her? Or did he trust her to make the right decisions? Ingchucchuckled to herself. Ingwë had never trusted his daughter to make her own choices. It was part of the reason Ingrel had been so eager to leave. She loved her atar dearly, but he consistently suffocated her and was extremely overprotective. Even her brothers noticed and they had never been entirely interested in the life of their young sister. Oh, they loved her, but they were much older and had pursuits of their own. Ingil was married and Ingwion was interested only in hunting and wenching.

Her only true friend had been Mallelóte or rather Glorfindel as he was now called. He had understood her and pushed her to become her own person. And now, she thought with a pout, he was trying to send her home like an errant child. Well, we’ll just see about that! There was no way in Mandos that she, Ingrel, High Princess of all Eldar, daughter of Ingwë and Eldatári, High King and Queen of the Eldar respectively, Beloved of Manwë and Varda, Lord and Lady of the Valar respectively was going to go home because some Balrog Slayer thought he knew better then she. And she would tell him so too.

Sucking in deep breaths; Ingrel slammed her tiny fist down on her dresser. She was of the Vanyar, by Manwë, and a more stubborn and tenacious lot was never born. No Noldor was going to tell her what to do. Glancing in the mirror, Ingrel made sure her appearance was in order, and flew down the gilded stairs to the room below where Círdan entertained his guests.

!!!!!!!

Elrohir and Elladan’s first meeting with the daughter of Ingwë was one neither would forget. The young princess rushed into the room, pausing in the doorway, unaware of the picture she presented. The sun was halfway down the sky, its bright shafts of light petering through the window. One such ray shoneoughough the doorway, where Ingrel paused in her perusal of the room. She did not see the twins of Elrond, for they were masked by shadows. Her eyes settled on Glorfindel, who rose at her appearance.

“Who is that paragon?” Elrohir breathed to his brother who shrugged. Ingrel crossed her arms under her chest, her cobalt eyes flashing with suppressed anger. Her hair was wild around her face from her rush downstairs, her cheeks flushed from exertion and irritation.

“Glorfindel,” she said through gritted teeth. “May I speak with you in private?”

“Of course,” Glorfindel said with a stately bow of his head, hand to heart. Ingrel snorted.

“You have known me far to long to stand on such ceremony.”

Glorfindel moved to her and brushed his index finger across her emblem. “Normally it is well hidden, Ingrel.”

She blushed and tucked the symbol of her station back under her dress where its cool metal rested on her skin. “I have several issues to argue with you, Glorfindel.”

“Perhaps you would like to meet Círdan’s guests? Don’t be rude, Ingrel.”

Ingrel resisted the childish urge to stick her tongue out at her friend. “Of course, Glorfindel.” Her tone was sickly sweet, and Glorfindel knew she was furious at him for his high handed behavior.

“Elladan, Elrohir,” Glorfindel said, beckoning to them. Elladan was the first to step forward, his brother still dumbfounded by his paragon. Ingrel gasped as the Elda from her nightly dreams stepped into the light.

She opened her mouth to speak when Elrohir gained control of his faculties and also stepped forward. Ingrel felt her heart stop. “There are two of them?” she whispered.

“They are the twin sons of Elrond Peredhil of Imladris. They are here to see their mother off to Valinor.”

“Elladan, Elrohir, might I introduce the High Princess Ingrel formerly of Taniquetil.”

Both Eldar bowed their heads, hand to heart and Ingrel returned with a curtsy. “It is a pleasure to meet you both,” Ingrel somehow managed, though her mind was awash with confusion. How could there be two? It could not be possible!

“You wished to speak with me, Ingrel?” Glorfindel prodded.

She shook her head, backing out of the room. “Maybe another time.” Her head was pounding and the last thing she wanted to do at the moment was engage in a verbal spar with Glorfindel. Right now, she needed to rest and try and solve this new problem. Which was the Elda who called to her in dreams?

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Elrohir and Elladan exchanged glances as Ingrel fled the room. “What was that all about?” Elladan asked Glorfindel.

The fair headed Elda shrugged. “I have absolutely no idea what took hold of her. She fled like she had seen Melkor himself.”

“Strange creatures these Vanyar,” Elrohir added. Arwen nodded from her seat on a chair.

“Don’t let Grandmother hear you say that, though.”

Elrohir shrugged. “Grandmother is more Noldor then Vanyar.”

“And you know so many Vanyar?” Elladan asked. Elr slr slanted his twin a dirty look, but refrained from commenting.

“Will you go after her?” Arwen asked.

Glorfindel shook his head. “Ingrel is not one to be pushed.”

Elrohir nodded, knowing his own amil was the same way. Thinking of her brought a fresh wave of pain and grief. Tomorrow morning she would set sail for Valinor and Elrohir knew he might not see her for a long time, perhaps until the end of days. He was not sure if he would set sail for that unknown island. Middle Earth was his home and he was loath to leave its shores.

Celebrían had never been to Aman, but her amil had spent hours plying her with tales of Tirion, Taniquetil, and Tol Eressëa. She had woven stories of grand festivals and parties. Cities of unparalleled beauty held schools of all sorts of trades. And Grandmother Indis would take her favorites to Taniquetil where Ingwë himself stayed and the Vanyar would entertain with dancing and singing long into the morning hours.

Elrohir sighed and resumed his seat. He could not blame his amil for wanting to leave. She had suffered a horrible experience, was lucky to be alive. If it had been him, Elrohir didn’t think he would have the strength to remain either. He gld atd at his sister who sat quietly, sewing flowers into a dress. Whenever Arwen was upset, she would turn to sewing or weaving. He ached to make his young sister feel better, but only time could heal her wounds.

Suddenly unable to stay in the room, Elrohir stood and made his excuses. He made his way down the unfamiliar halls and somehow found his way outside. Walking down the sandy path, Elrohir found himself on the beach. He stared out at the grey seas, storm clouds forming in the distance. A fierce wind blew, bringing the bitter salt scent of the sea. Elrohir did not like the ocean and it did not stir a longing in his heart. Maybe he was too young, or maybe he was not meant for what lay beyond. It was confusing, and there was nothing he hated more. Elrohir was not used to being confused. He had always been brilliant, taking to his studies like a bird in flight. Of the twins,was was the most understanding of Elven and Human nature. It was irritating that he didn’t know his own mind.

The wind blew again, the hint of rain in its gusts and Elrohir decided to return to Círdan’s house. Perhaps he would immerse himself in a book. For some reason, he felt a need to read of his Great Grandfather Tuor. The man’s story soothed Elrohir whenever he was depressed or unhappy. Perhaps because of all the stories of the Eldar, it had a happy ending. Although Gondolin fell, Tuor and Idril were never separated and allowed to depart into the West together. Elrohir knew this, because Glorfindel had repeatedly told him the tale until he eventually wrote it down.

Taking one last look at the storm tossed seas; Elrohir took the most direct path to his rooms and perhaps some peace of mind.