mithril

I.

— PROLOGUE —

The regal Elf Lord, Elrond, steps back from the small figure he has just placed on the floor. His hands cross in front of his torso as he stops at the side of the Elf watching from the doorway. Together, the two Elves watch the human toddler crawl across the flagstones of the balcony. Elrond, in his many, many years of life, has met numerous children ( of Man, Elf, even Dwarf ). But never one quite like this child.

"She has no fear," his son, Elladan, notes. The Elf is right. It's a fact of the girl's character that very well might take her life from her before she reaches adulthood. Elrond frowns, sinking onto a bench next to his son.

"She is free of it, as she is free of other terrors Man creates. While we offer her sanctuary in Imladris, we must teach her the importance of the chains of fearfulness."

"Is it not better to be so free, father?"

"Have I not given her the name Léra?" Elrond answers. Elladan dips his head.

"Yes, and it does fit her."

The toddler pauses before the bars of the railing. Her sharp grey eyes overlook the valley that holds the elegant Elven house. Her small hands wrap around the smooth wood, tugging back slightly. When it doesn't give, she turns back to the two male Elves. One chubby finger points towards the valley and her mouth purses in an attempt to form words. Mere gurgles slip out instead.

Elrond rises. She watches him walk across the balcony, a smile emerging as he approaches. Elrond crouches before her. She tugs on the railing again, her other hand rising into the air in a silent request for him to lift her. The Elf scoops her into his arms, rising slowly. Without the obstruction of the railing in her line of sight, she claps and gurgles happily. The Elf Lord sweeps the curls of pale, silver-white hair away from her face. Hair so fine and so pale she looks rather like an Elf from the fair Realm of Lórien. It reminds him, achingly, of his wife, Celebrían, who hailed from that land of the plentiful mellyrn trees.

The Elf turns away from the overlook, taking the child with him. So free is her heart, so strong is her will, and it reminds Elrond greatly of the child's mother. She resembles the woman in every way, down to the paleness of her locks. A mother this child will never meet again, but a mother who gifted the girl with the nobility of her bloodline. The greatness of kings runs through her. She will represent the race of Man well. Better than others that would call themselves king in this age.

In Imladris, Léra will learn the tongues of Elvish, and the tongues of Man. Elrond will see to it that this child is well-versed in the history of Middle Earth and its many ages. She will learn music, the arts. And, if the human child desires, Elrond will ensure he knows how to fight. Just like he has raised generations of Dúnedain men, he will do the same with this girl. It is her right, as the eldest and only child of a Dúnedan. Not normal, for that Dúnedan was a woman, but he will do it all the same.

Léra will live long, by the graces of her ancestors. She might just be great. Maybe she will follow the Men before her and enter the Wild. Maybe she will prefer the elegant lifestyle of the Elves. Either way, she is still vulnerable, still mortal. Elrond will do all he can to raise her with the caution she must learn to adopt in life. To expect the unexpected in all things.

In spite of himself, Elrond is already quite fond of the girl. Her character is so strong and yet she is barely a year into her life. Perhaps, Elrond thinks, that is simply how mortals are. Their lives are not long, and while hers is longer than most of her kind, the day will come where her body fails her. Maybe they develop so quickly to make up for that. To ensure that their lives are as fruitful as possible. He sighs slightly as the small child rests her head against his chest.

"Lay down your curiosity for one night, winimo. You have many years ahead of you yet to explore to explore the wonders of this world. This is just one small corner." She responds to the familiar tongue of Man by wrapping her small hand around a fold in his golden tunic.

"I'll take her," Elladan offers, gesturing with his hand in the direction of the child's chambers. Elrond passes the child to him. He notes the care in his son's face as he gently takes the girl into his arms. He whispers something in Elvish to her as he walks away from the Elf Lord, the Sindarin lilting through the late afternoon air. Elrond folds his hands again, turning to stare out over Imladris. His home. And Léra's now, too.

For once, his foresight is silent on the topic of the child. He can neither feel nor sense what will become of her. Her future, her life, is a question to them all. Open to all possibilities. As much a mystery to him as it is to her. Elrond can only hope she will shape Middle Earth for the better, should the time come.