3. The Passing of Ages
Though it was a rough beginning by any relationship's standards. Berensul, a disciplined professor and a veteran soldier, would not stand for the tantrums that the confused child would throw. When Sorul realised that he had to get along with the elf, things became much easier and to Sorul's delight, it was much better than being in the school with others his age. Berensul treated him as if he were an full blooded elf. There was not a single time when Berensul brought up the matter of his heritage, Sorul was always the first make mention, and more importantly, Berensul treated him with respect and not pity. The two became good friends as Sorul grew.
Though life was stil hard for the half-drow, after the many painful trips to the infirmary, Sorul had managed to train his eyes to cope with sunlight. Sorul, being somewhat of an insomniac, was up all night aswell as all day, when about the valley of Imladris, he would often catch people looking at him as if - to put in Sorul's own words - 'he has two heads.' The decades upon decades of being an outcast had hardened his heart to stone. Not many saw much emotion from the half-drow, his face, grim, stern and unreadable, even when alone. Soemtimes he would see Thoneluil and others he once went to school with. The thing was, Sorul had grown suprisingly broad aswell as tall in his age. Along with his unorthodox appearance and unique heritage, he was quite an intimidating person. Even still, the rejection was painful. All Sorul's anger was vented through his fighting. Hours and hours of practise everyday, hand-to-hand, swords, it didn't matter. His ability as an all-round ranger has been the topic of many a conversation in all parts of Imladris. Scouting and tracking, stealth, hunting... from his first venture out he was above and beyond a few scout captains. Berensul once watched as, undercover of darkness, Sorul picked off two-dozen orcs. Not even the last orc standing had any clue of Sorul's constantly moving location.
But I digress... as usual...
Sorul argued and argued his case to join the Last Alliance in their march on Mordor, but there was no use, Elrond would not allow it. Why, Berensul did not know. It was definatley not any of the many reasons the half-elven lord had come up with. The massive argument came to a grinding halt with Sorul proclaiming that he will never fight for the good of the elves, and that's where it ended.
Much to the suprise of many, Sorul stayed in Imladris throught the climactic end of the 2nd Age. There was only one thing keeping him there... Berensul. His only friend and mentor had gone to battle, and Sorul prayed to the Valar that he would return alive. I personally would bet that if Sorul had the opportunity to choose between Berensul's return, or, the defeat of Sauron, the half-drow would choose the former. But I don't like to assume... erm, anyway...
When the free peoples of Middle earth return to their homes, Sorul was destroyed to find that his teacher would not return. As the 3rd Age began, Sorul's head was in dire straits. And if things couldn't get any worse, Gwendyll had departed for Mithlond, and then sailed over the sea ot Aman. Not even a good-bye for her son, who now had no one. Still, he remained grim, stern and unreadable, his reserve only breaking for matters that required anger or scorn. He became much trouble for Imladris and Elrond made his best efforts to keep Sorul out of the valley. Constant scouting trips, and orc-hunting. Sorul evetnually got the picture and disappeared from his scouting group one night.
From then on Arnor was his oyster, so to speak. He roamed the whole lands over and over, traversing mountain, earth and water. Once lesser men had settled in Bree, it became an especially appealing place for Sorul, for it was there that he found his love for pipeweed. Plus, men's ale tasted much better than elvish wine. It was around this time - 1300's - that Sorul made one of his rare visits to his home.
Of course there was no celebration of his return, but he was free to come and go, and that is what he did. He met Gandlaf the Grey, one of the Istari sent over to balance the forces of good and evil. It was not a long conversation but the old wizard seemed not to be like elves, and so that was good enough. It was also this particular time that had him wander into what was now the private gardens of Elrond's daughter, Arwen.
Sorul was paused midstep as he set eyes on her. His heart pounded and his knees were weak. She was beautiful. With a voice to match. Sorul drifted off in a haze as he watched her sing. Sensing another presence, she span around with a smile on her face but it was soon drowned in horror as she met the blood red eyes of Sorul. At that moment, Sorul felt like a deer caught in the headlights, his stern, cold barrier was dropped and he felt again, exactly how he felt when he was first branded with the name 'Dark Elf.' Suddenly guards came rushing in and seized Sorul, who's face turned to rage. Attacking the closest elf, he tried to escape but was quickly apprehended and after a commotion, Sorul was sent away from Imladris.
It was as if the evil that slept in Sorul's heart had awoken. It was the only explanation for his desicion to go north. No more than a week's travel had found him within plain sight of Angmar, home of the Witch King. Perhaps it was curiosity or maybe there was other things at work, but Sorul marched onward, and as if expecting him, the Witch King soon appeared, a rabbles of orcs, making themselves known in the vicintiy.
Even to this day, Sorul has never spoke of what words passed between himself and the Lord of the Nazgul. Sorul returned from the south, and under cover of darkness, the drow effortlessly made his way, unseen and unheard, to Imladris. His hybrid blood gave him the superior skills he needed to make his way throguh the valley and all the way to Lord Elrond's bedroom. But in the last moments, with Elrond at his mercy, he cried out and threw the Morgul blade, sending it plunging into the stout, wooden door.
Sorul was banished from Imladris and all elven realms forever.
"If he was truly evil he would have killed you," Gandalf offered, stood at the window, looking out onto the beautiful valley of Imladris.
Elrond ceased rubbing his temples and opened his eyes, giving Gandlaf a not-too-convinced look. "He could become a powerful enemy, Gandalf."
Gandalf however, looked a little more optimistic and shook his head. "He will be fine, Elrond. I will watch over him."