Mercyside

Reaching the steps, the two found Lord Elrond there, waiting patiently, gazing out at the city bathed in gold. Glorfindel, who was considered by her father to be just as high in status as him, bowed slightly to her father, showing his respect. Elrond nodded in return, thanking him for escorting his daughter. Glorfindel unlinked his arm from the elvish princess’ arm, bidding her farewell. She smiled at him, thanking him quietly as he trekked back down the stairs, away from her.

A’mael watched him go, silently wishing he had stayed so she wouldn’t have to bare her fathers lecturing alone. She knew, somehow, that he was going to try and convince her to attend the ball that was in two days time. Preparations were already being made, and like every year, A’mael dreaded it. The elves of Rivendell did not celebrate things often, but the change of winter to spring was one of them. Every time the Spring Equinox came to pass, Rivendell hosted a grand feast and ball. Elves from all of Middle Earth came; King Thranduil, his son Legolas, and others from the Greenwood would be arriving soon, along with Elves of Lothlorien. Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn would certainly be there.

A’mael was surprised the pair was not in Rivendell already, along with a host of guards and other elves, being as they had to travel from beyond the Misty Mountains. Perhaps they’ll all come tomorrow. A’mael hoped so, Legolas was interesting to talk to. Maybe she could pass her time talking to him, avoiding the lords and elves who wanted to dance. It wasn’t that she couldn’t dance; A’mael was a talented dancer, she’d been taught long ago. Elves were graceful by nature, no matter their endeavors, but when A’mael danced, it was as if she was floating above the floor, and she never messed up… until she was in front of people, or dancing with someone she did not know, and then, it was if she forgot everything she’d ever learned about dancing.

She tripped over her feet, she finished turns wrong, and was just generally as ungraceful as physically possible. This was the main reason she dreaded the Spring Equinox; it was just another chance for everyone to remind her of how unwelcome she was among most of her people. A’mael could usually persuade her father not to make her go, but this time she had a feeling she would not be so lucky, for Lord Elrond had begun to notice how dearly she sought solitude. She was his daughter and though she was not his by blood, he loved her dearly. Whether she liked it or not, she was a princess of Rivendell, and he would not allow her to shy away from her people.

“The ball for the Spring Equinox is in two days time, A’mael.”

“I am aware, father. I do not wish to go,” A’mael replied, her voice quiet.

“I thought you would say that. My dear, it is your obligation as my daughter to attend these gatherings, especially one such as this,” Elrond replied. A’mael nearly scoffed at his words. The older and far wiser elf did not miss the look of annoyance that passed over her features, ones that were very much like her mothers. After Amaeria’s death, the elvish lord had willingly taken the child under his wing, as Amaeria had asked him to, should anything happen to her, and so, Elrond had raised her as if she were his own, and he’d loved her the same.

“Why?” A’mael questioned. “Why must I go? I hate these social gatherings.”

“I cannot imagine why,” Elrond replied, his voice matching his daughters. This topic had become a common argument over the years. “You love to dance,” Elrond added.

“I do,” A’mael spoke. “But I can’t dance in front of people. I make a fool of myself.”

“And you make that out to be a bad thing?”

”I fell, the last time I went, do you not remember,” A’mael retorted.

“Vaguely,” Elrond answered with a hint of amusement in his voice. “It’s been so long since you’ve gone, my dear.” Seeing her father smirk, A’mael let out a quiet laugh, sitting down on the steps, trying not to mess up the dress she wore.

“You have a good memory, father. And our people do too.” Lord Elrond sighed, sitting next to his daughter on the steps.

“What troubles you, my child,” Elrond asked, genuinely worried. Something was bothering A’mael, he could see it in her eyes.

“This will just be another chance for everyone to remind me that I am not welcomed here,” A’mael explained.

“What gives you that idea, A’mael? You are more than welcomed here, this is your home.”

“The shadows cling to me, I am not like them. The animals flee and the men waver when I am near. The people of this city know I am different and therefore, I am not welcomed.”

“What does it matter what they think?” Lord Elrond questioned. A’mael turned to him; she hadn’t expected her father to reply that way.

“So, you are different. Dwarves are different as well; does that mean that they are not welcome here?” the Elven Lord questioned.

"They may be welcomed, but it doesn't mean they are liked."

“That is not the point, A’mael.”

“My point is,” Elrond continued. “You are just as welcome here as anyone else; you belong here, and it should not matter what anyone else thinks. Everyone has their talents and gifts, and you are no different, and besides, a shadow cannot dance unless it has the light.” A small smile came to A’mael’s face hearing that, but it quickly fell.

“Easier said than done, father,” A’mael said softly, hugging her legs to her chest. With a sigh, she rested her head on her knees, thinking over her father's words.

“Glorfindel tells me you have a talent for battle tactics and a blade,” Elrond started, changing the topic. A’mael perked up at this, smiling.

”It would seem so, yes,” A’mael chimed, unable to help her smile. One thing she’d always enjoyed growing up was watching her father train his men, which was probably why she enjoyed spending so much time around Glorfindel. Well, there was that, and the fact that he was always pleasant company.

“I’ll make a deal with you, A’mael. If you go to the ball and you at least try to enjoy yourself, then I will speak to Glorfindel about training you to use a sword and, if you want, a bow.” A’mael’s face immediately lit up and she sprung forward, wrapping her arms around her father. Elrond smiled, hugging his daughter.

“Do you really mean that,” A’mael asked skeptically with a smile.

“Why, of course, my dear, an elf is always true to their word.” A’mael let out a laugh, hugging him again.

“Thank you, father.”