Fan Fiction ❯ Vignettes and Sketches ❯ The Weight of an Elven Stare - Elrond ( Chapter 3 )

Name: Androgene

Website: http://www.angelfire.com/space/noir13

Email: androgene@lycos.com

Title: Vignettes and Sketches: The Weight of an Elven Stare - Elrond (FOTR)

Summary: The might of a person is measured by the weight of his stare, and an Elven stare is heavy indeed. Especially in one who has experienced much through the long Ages.

Date of Completion: 23 Feb 2003

Category: Drama

Rating: G

Warning: none

Author's Notes:

Yes, I am putting together a collection of short musings inspired by the books and the movies. In the books, the description of Elrond, especially his eyes, was striking and it inspired this. The weight of an Elven stare - it is a figurative speech. Look at it this way, aren't there times when you can't meet someone's eyes because the person is very overwhelming in personality? I imagine this is how one feel when comes face to face with someone like Elrond.

Disclaimer:

All Middle-Earth creations and LTOR belong to Tolkien estate. I made no money from this.

When Frodo first met Elrond, Lord of Rivendell, he was seized effortlessly by Elrond's compelling gaze and did not think to look away. For that few moments, the outside world faded away and he was only conscious of those eyes.

Those eyes...

In all the tales of Middle-Earth, in which Elrond played a part, none had ever spoken of his eyes. Perhaps the minstrels had never seen Elrond before composing those lays, or perhaps there were no words to describe that Elven stare.

Elrond's eyes were gray as a clear evening, ancient yet ageless, filled with wisdom and memory of many things both glad and sorrowful. There was a light in those eyes, like the light of the stars, though Frodo fancied it as well to be of the light of the Simaril that lingered still. Elrond's gaze was keener than a knife, heavier than a Morgul spell, and infinitely more compelling. It was a gaze that could and probably did see through the veils of the mind.

Frodo felt absolutely small and exposed under that gaze.

The strength of a person was measured by the weight of his stare, he thought somewhat incoherently, and Elrond's gaze was heavy indeed.

"Welcome to Rivendell, Frodo Baggins." Elrond greeted with a kind smile.

Frodo blinked.

It suddenly felt like summer when Elrond smiled, some of the heaviness of wisdom in those eyes lessening with the smile. It felt like a kind summer, of bright sunshine and cooling breeze, of flourishing trees and merry creatures. A summer of plentiful ease, though the awareness remained that such benevolence could easily but not lightly taken away.

Frodo's discomfort diminished suddenly from the warmth in the Elf-Lord's smile. The discomfort wasn't gone completely - Frodo doubted he would ever feel comfortable around him - but it was no longer pressing upon him.

It was a long time before he could look away.

The memory of those eyes was burned into his mind for the rest of his life.

It was not the physical nature of the eyes, but rather what was held within those clear gray orbs. In Elrond's evening gaze, there was the immense wisdom of one who had lived many ages, the assured strength born from facing many dark things and emerging triumphant, yet there was also the dignified humility tempered by knowledge of the burden and limitations of his power.

It was the weighty essence of the Elf-Lord himself Frodo had perceived, an intense concentration of power acquired through long years of summers and winters, distilled and refined so many times that its potency burned like a star. In those ageless Elven eyes, shone a soul whose depths ran as deep as the roots of the oldest tree ever to grow in Middle-earth.

Yet despite the kindness and warmth, the power and keenness, Frodo also sensed a melancholy and somberness within the Elf-Lord.

Elves were distinctly different from the mortal races and they perceive the world and time very differently as well. But Elrond was Peredhil. Though he chose the Firstborn as his kindred, surely he must still feel the passing of time even faintly.

What must it feel like to have the world ever changing around you? Frodo suddenly wondered. To witness the coming and fading of countless things doomed to be forgotten while you remained unchanging forever? How did it feel to be so eternal while those around you were merely candle flames?

Frodo shook his head, as though by doing so, he could shake off those thoughts. The burdens bore by someone such as Elrond was almost quite beyond his comprehension. He would do well not to ponder upon it anymore, lest it aggravate his headache.

Though, as he laid down to rest, he silently promised himself that when he returned to the Shire, he would write down his adventures like his uncle Bilbo. And he would be sure to describe the Elven Lord of Rivendell, with the proper care and reverence.

For, Frodo was suddenly convinced, someone such as Master Elrond should not be forgotten by the world.