Pride and Prejudice by Marta

Pride and Prejudice

Imrahil could hardly sit back in his chair. Twice now he had leaned forward in his seat, twice he had rested his hands on his knees instead of on the chair's arms, and he rather suspected he looked more like a lad over-eager for his first chance at sea than a lord of sixty years. Chiding himself, he willed his limbs to rest where propriety demanded, and he turned his attention toward his guest.

For his part, Elrond Half-elven seemed perfectly at ease. Resting his head against the wings of his high-backed chair, he held the ring up so that its twin jewels glittered in the late afternoon sun. He turned it around, tracing the etched lines indicating a swan's wing, and at last tried it on his finger to judge the weight. After a moment he took it off, set it on the low table before him, and turned his attention to Imrahil. "Among the elves, lovers exchange rings not unlike this," Elrond said, "to mark their devotion ere they are married. But surely that is not your meaning?"

Imrahil chuckled at that, first a bit cautiously and then more in earnest. "No, lord. I assure you, I intended nothing of the kind."

Elrond glanced down at the ring again. "Boromir wore a band like this, and no other. I noticed it during his time in Rivendell. But Faramir's fingers are bare. I took it for a marriage-band, or something of that sort."

Imrahil shook his head at that. Removing two rings from his right hand, he set them down on the table behind the one Elrond had been examining. "Lord Elrond -- "

"I'll not have the title," Elrond interrupted him. "I hold neither power nor authority over you, and your rank is on par with my own, if not above it. My name is Elrond, and naught else."

"As you wish," Imrahil replied. "To my house, at least, the least stable-boy of elven-kind is on par with a great lord of men."

"As that may be--"

Imrahil held up his hand to forestall him. "I will name you as you wish, or shall try to. It seems odd to me, to speak familiarly to one whose father sails the night sky. But you'll find most of my countrymen hold you in less esteem, and so will more easily call you what you wish. And that is the problem." Elrond cocked an eyebrow at that, but Imrahil left the question unanswered for the moment.

Faramir had spoken of the whispered charges that had filled the back corridors of Minas Tirith, in the weeks before Arwen's arrival: that the queen was an outlander, a wild maiden from the far North who knew nothing of Gondor's ways, and was of elf kind besides. Isildur's heir now sat on Anárion's throne, and that was insult enough to the old ways; that their king should choose a northern bride, and not one of Gondor's many marriageable daughters, only made things more difficult – for Aragorn, yes, and for all that must aid him in ruling the land, but for his new bride as well. And Imrahil would aid both king and queen however he could.

But for his plan to work, if he were to give Arwen her first toehold in Gondorian society, he must enlist her father's aid. He must earn her father's trust – and that seemed slow in coming. Very well; if the direct route led him to insult and confusion, perhaps a more roundabout approach would bear fruit. "The rings," Imrahil at last continued. "You'll notice the gold one, my wedding-band, is quite unadorned. Faramir will wear a similar band of silver when the king grants him leave to marry Éowyn."

"That is the Elven custom," Elrond said, "though my bands are different." Imrahil looked at him questioningly, so Elrond explained, "Celebrían's --my wife's-- father had a certain… aversion to metal rings. He told me once that they had marked his wife's soul, and he'd not sacrifice his daughter for Noldorin tradition. But most elves still trade golden bands with their vows, and wear silver before that." Reaching down to the table, he retrieved the two silver rings and compared them. "These seem the same to me. What is its purpose, if not to mark an engagement?

"Less formal and more practical than you seem to think," Imrahil replied. Elrond handed Imrahil back his rings, and Imrahil replaced them on his fingers. He continued, "All the men of my house wear it. It is not a signet ring; it carries no special authority in matters of state. But in Dol Amroth the merchants recognize it as proof of kinship, even when they do not recognize the wearer."

"So the next time I am in Dol Amroth, should I need a warm meal or a bolt of cloth, you do not want me to pay for it from my own purse? Speak plainly, Imrahil, for you make little sense."

Imrahil smiled, for it seemed that Elrond was right. He could administer a kingdom, inspire men before they rode into battle; he was an accomplished orator. Yet there was something about this elf that made his words lose their way between his mind and tongue. "The ring has a… a sentimental value for my family. It is a symbol of our ancient duty and privilege, for we rule the people of the swan; and it marks us as each others' kin besides. Boromir wore it far and wide, even to Imladris it seems, where no one save perhaps Mithrandir knew its significance. I am sure he never lacked for hospitality. Faramir would wear it, too, were it not for our law that forbids the steward from wearing the symbol of any house save his own. Indeed, I know it weighed heavy on him when he took up the white rod, and had to set the silver swan aside." Steeling himself, Imrahil met Elrond's gaze. "I would have you join my house."

At that, Elrond blinked, and for a long moment he said not a word. Outside, Imrahil heard a twittering bird in the garden. Elrond leaned forward and set his elbow on his knee, propping his chin in his palm. "Lord Imrahil…"

"Now which of us is holding to propriety?" Imrahil asked.

"I have a family. A house. A house I am very proud of. I have no need of another."

"I cannot deny that--" Imrahil began.

"You think only of your own house. You would add another great lord, and my sons' deeds during the war, to your house's glory?"

"Again, there is some truth--"

"Or is it--"

Imrahil reached over and clasped Elrond's hand in his. "Lord--Elrond--hear me." Releasing him, Imrahil continued: "I do not speak of your family. I know your history. Were you only responsible for preserving Isildur's legacy, that would by rights earn you a place more vaunted than my own family's. Were you only there when the Dark Lord fell the first time, the minstrels would request your stories in droves. Were you only the heir of Beren Erchamion, and Elwing the Fair, and the closest kin of Elros Tar-Minyatur, that should earn you a higher place in Minas Tirith's court than our king. But I am concerned not just with the truth of things, but with perception."

Elrond settled back into his chair. Imrahil would have taken that as an encouraging sign, a return to the composed elf-lord he had seen earlier, but Imrahil suspected Elrond was simply too composed a lord to let his irritation show. "Are your countrymen so poor judges of honor?" Elrond asked. "You make me wonder how I can let my daughter marry into your folk."

Imrahil grinned at that. "I cannot gainsay the king, and if your daughter is anything like mine, you shall not be able to change her mind." Imrahil thought he saw the peredhil's lips turn up in the ghost of a smile. "And we are not so bad as all that," he added. "But we are not elves, and we do not have long centuries to learn the hearts of our fellows. There are too many of us, and too little time. Reputation counts for much in such a world, as does family. The women of the court, who will be your daughter's friends or enemies -- their fathers have arrangements with other men of Gondor. Trade arrangements, defensive alliances, even past marriage-bonds. Lothíriel knows who she can rely on, and who she must approach more warily. But you have no such ties, and no wealth, no armies, no power in the way we measure it in Gondor. The ladies of court will have little reason to trust her, and will envy her position as well. Would you add more barriers to her path, if you could spare her them?"

Elrond picked up the ring once more and ran his fingers over the swan's amethyst eyes, her delicately crafted wings and talons. "It is a generous offer, truly. And yet…" Elrond released the ring and listened to the clunk as it hit the floor. That sound grated on Imrahil's ears, but years of diplomacy served him well, and he resisted the drive to pick up the ring himself. It was worth a moment's ignominy, if Elrond must at least make a decision on the matter, to pick up the ring or leave it where it laid. After a moment Elrond sighed heavily. "Estel has already claimed my daughter," he said. "Must Gondor claim my heritage as well?"

"We cannot lay claim in this matter, only add to what already is," Imrahil replied. Elrond nodded at that, but he seemed unconvinced. "I will make this offer to Arwen herself, if you prefer, but many will think her rank more genuine if it is inherited. If her father is a part of my house, even in name only, Arwen may fully rely on my family's history in her dealing with the ladies at court. That rank will be her birthright, not a gift acquired in her own life. What grace my house possesses will seem more fully hers, to those she must convince."

"She has little need for such grace," Elrond replied, a little drily. But then he added: "Still, I understand the need to keep up appearances. In many ways, better than you." Elrond rubbed idly at his left ring-finger, at skin molded over long years by a ring's band for all that the finger was now bare.

Imrahil remembered of a sudden a rhyme he had once learned from Mithrandir, Three Rings for the Elven-kings under the sky, and he wondered just who had borne those burdens. Perhaps… if this Elrond was a ringbearer… The very thought sent a shiver down his spine. Such power might explain the strange affect that Elrond had over him. But whatever else might be said of them, the ringbearers, who had so long hidden their burdens from Mordor's Eye, would certainly know a thing or two about the distinction between appearance and reality. In any case, it seemed that Elrond at last understood what Imrahil proposed with a bit more clarity. Pressing on, Imrahil said, "And there is the matter of Edhellond. I had thought to give it back to the Elves, and this seemed a fitting occasion."

"Edhellond?" Elrond asked with genuine interest. "The old colony of Galadriel's?"

Imrahil nodded. "Many of Gondor considers it ours, since your people have so long abandoned it -- consider it mine. But truthfully, I view myself more as Edhellond's steward than her prince. That land always seem destined for higher folk than us, and I held it in trust that I could one day return the land to the Elves. You could gift it to the king, if you have no interest in it; or Arwen might keep it as her own. It is a beautiful land, every bit the garden that Ithilien once was." Nodding at the wine canter on the table, Imrahil added, "This wine is from Edhellond's vinyards. And it would give you a reason to journey south, now and again, to see to your estates in these southern lands."

At that Elrond smiled, a bit wearily but a genuine smile nonetheless. "Such estates will fall to my sons. I will be leaving Middle-earth all too soon, and have tasks to finish in Eriador. But it eases my heart, to know my sons will have duties here."

He picked up the ring from the floor and looked it over once more. "It seems somehow fitting, that a son of the Sindar and the Noldor should be bonded at last with the Teleri."Elrond nodded, more to himself than to Imrahil. "Completing, in a way." He slipped it on once more and looked over at Imrahil. "I will wear your ring, within Middle-earth and beyond it, on one condition: will you fashion similar rings, for my sons?"

Imrahil guessed this was a maneuver on Elrond's part, as much to spare his pride as anything else; and Imrahil would gladly allow him that. In truth he had commissioned them already, and his chamberlain had already begun preparing a fitting celebration, where he could welcome these great lords into his house. "For sons of yours? Gladly."