Canthui Peth: Gannen Nedhened (Part Four: Caught
in the Middle)
"…brazenly escorted his latest quarry to the family spa, flaunting him
right before my face. Well does Glorfindel know my habits and at what
time I may be found there."
"Mayhap he forgot. What is the silvan like? I heard he is fair of face
and fierce of mien."
"Fair enough, but he was not very bold when I saw him. The Wood Elf is
all enormous blue eyes and yellow hair, just like a certain Galadhrim
warden who should be lashed for his bold effrontery. No slight intended
upon the grandeur of your flaxen mane, Lindir."
"Nay, no insult is taken, Gildirn (Star-gazer - a nick-name for
Erestor). I am Sindarin, as well you know, and my colour derives from
my
father's distant connection to the Vanyar. But pray continue; what more
did you note other than the hue of his tresses?"
"I saw everything and there was nothing unusual about his physique, if
that is what you want to know. Well formed and properly proportioned,
yet
he is too slight for my taste and small enough to be called short. If
not for all the barbaric
tattoos one might mistake him for an elfling on the cusp of maturity.
In fact, the messenger is probably younger than Estel."
"Surely not! Aragorn is only eighty-seven years old; even were the
silvan twice that he would be little more than a babe."
"I cannot be sure of the exact number of coranar (years), but he barely
looks old enough to be off the breast much less running around in the
wilds."
"I thought you did not like him; now you sound as if you would make a
play for the youth. Is that your plan, Erestor? Will you vie against
your former love for the rodwen vaethor (virgin warrior)?"
The two elves sat in the comfort of a cluttered den filled with books
and parchment scrolls, maps and architectural diagrams, charts of the
heavens, a globe or two and several well-crafted telescopes and
spyglasses of assorted sizes and powers of magnification. It was
overall a brown room; seemingly every shade of the colour was
represented, from stark tan where the sun's gleam polished the pinewood
floor to the rich mahogany and walnut of the elegantly formed
furniture.
There was a desk, overflowing with documents and scrolls, ink
and quills, ledgers and log books enough to require a month's diligent
perusal to clear away. The chair tucked behind it was massive,
upholstered in tough deer hide stained almost black, patched and
repaired; its padded seat compressed into a perfect cast of its owner's
rear. Bookcases
lined the inner walls of the workroom and defined a narrow chimney with
a grate only large enough to burn coal inside it. The shelves, stuffed
with
tomes, remained the only tidy, organised component of the suite. A
collection of less formal chairs and sofas occupied an alcove just
beside the fireplace. This hearth dually
served the bedroom behind the wall it filled.
Erestor's cloverleaf shaped apartment was situated at the topmost
story of
the Last Homely House. Where the long winding staircase ended was
a triangular foyer. Three doors led from this landing: one to a small
bedchamber, the second to the cluttered office, and the third
opened on the room between them. This space was relegated to housing a
most magnificent observatory.
The ceiling of the central, high-domed
chamber was made of curved, heavily leaded, overlapping glass panes.
These were hinged at their bases and could be opened out and laid flat
upon the surrounding roof like the petals of a flower. An ingenious
platform occupied the floor beneath this unusual skylight and mounted
on this was a tremendous telescope. Due to a series of cleverly
designed levers and gears, the optical masterpiece could be raised up
through the opening with unbelievable ease and trained in any direction
upon the heavens.
Once lifted to its full height, the platform came level with a broad
circular, railed walkway. Utilising this, an observer could point and
manipulate the telescope into any angle or direction. The star-gazing
device was Erestor's pride and joy, for there was no other like it
anywhere in Middle-earth, nor in Aman, he believed. Upon this highest
point in the valley's centre, the Noldo Lord spent his nights,
examining the movements of the stars and mapping their circular tracks.
He was not so engaged at this hour of the day, however. Having returned
from his interrupted bath, Erestor had reported briefly to Elrond what
he had observed of the silvan's identity and then sought for the
company of his good friend Lindir in order to share a more descriptive
recitation of his impressions. He was sprawled across an overstuffed
leather armchair the colour of nutmeg, absently twirling a wineglass in
his fingers. Lindir sat primly on the long matching sofa, feet resting
on an embroidered footstool, as he sipped from his own goblet,
peering in speculative amusement at his agitated friend.
"I had not thought of that," mused the Noldo, eyes narrowing to a
predatory slit of eerie lightlessness. Lindir lifted his brows and
opened his mouth to respond when a rap on the door both belayed his
remark and preceded the entry of a formally clad servant.
"My Lord, Hîren Elrond (Lord Elrond) asks for your presence in
his study," stated the young page with a stiff bow that ended in an
abrupt step back as the ebony-haired Noldo leaped from his seat.
"Le hantëan; return to your duties, Lochgaer," (Red Ringlet)
answered
Erestor, already moving toward the door. "I shall endeavour to complete
the trite little tale for you another time, Lindir. Perhaps Elrond has
more news of the messenger's mission."
"I look forward to it! Yet I may be occupied later this day. I shall
seek you out if I chance upon any interesting observations of my own in
the meantime," replied the minstrel, rising to accompany his friend
from the suite. Yet Lindir found he was unwilling to move at the speedy
pace set by the Noldo Lord and soon Erestor and the page were out of
sight.
A low murmur of voices engaged in serious discussion met Erestor's ears
as he reached the hallway of the Elven Lord's private apartment. The
study door stood ajar and the advisor barely paused to knock before
pushing through it and striding forth into the room. He spied Elrond
standing on the balcony overlooking the western sky and the high craggy
cliff of the shielding wall. The scion of Eärendil turned to
acknowledge his kinsman with a slight nod but did not stop speaking.
"…are convinced the injuries are no longer a threat the archer's
health? I do not want to force the issue with him but neither would I
knowingly send a courier back over the mountains in less than hardy
constitution."
"Aye, the wounds are healed, not entirely so, but no longer is the
poison retarding the body's natural ability to complete the process.
With a short respite, the Wood Elf should be ready for anything." It
was Glorfindel who answered, of course. He eyed the Chief Advisor with
cold appraisal.
"Oh, but surely he had those wounds when he defeated the band of Orcs
hiding along the North Road," Erestor sneered. "I am certain we need
not spare any worry for his ability to survive the return journey."
"Nay, it is one thing for the archer to have battled his way through,
wounded and exhausted but driven by desperate necessity, and quite
another for me to deliver him into it again without assuring his
strength is fully renewed," admonished Elrond with a sharp look at his
kinsman.
"As you say, Lord," the advisor acquiesced.
"Erestor, I have asked you here to refresh my memory on the matter of
Thranduil's family. Please, be seated." Elrond indicated a chair near
Glorfindel, "What intelligence do we have on the number and ages of his
offspring?" and got right to the point.
"Ah, so Glorfindel has confirmed the nature of those artful
decorations? What tales we have on the history of the latter
generations of Oropher's House are not very reliable. Other than the
births of Thranduil's two sons, one shortly after his arrival in
Greenwood and a second following the dreadful losses at Dagorlad,
nothing more can be ascribed to fact." Erestor sat as he spoke,
ignoring the Vanyarin warrior. "However, his wife-mate is believed
departed for Mandos many centuries ago, a victim of poisoning from the
encroachment of the spiders at the end of Sîdh Tirithbant
(Watchful Peace). This silvan messenger, marked as a third son, is most
likely some bastard got on a serving girl or a courtesan, perhaps."
"Tell me, Erestor, what is it that makes you so vile of temper these
days?" demanded Glorfindel in indignation, for this was by far the
worst slur the Noldo had made upon the Wood Elf's personage yet. "Yon
messenger has never harmed you, of this I am certain. Is it the
connection to Thranduil? Does your bitterness stem from the…"
"My vileness, Glorfindel, my bitterness? What talk is this of slander
when you utter such to me?" Erestor rose, his face a livid mask of
outrage, and loomed over the Balrog
Slayer.
"Enough!" barked Elrond, scowling at each in turn. "I will not permit
your petty squabble to invade the tranquility of my domain. Be seated,
cousin," he said and awaited the seneschal's obedience. When both his
most trusted counsellors were at least outwardly peaceable, Elrond
favoured each with a warning glare from grey eyes swarming with the
fury of a gathering storm.
"Yet the error was mine. It was wrong of me to even bring it up, for it
does not matter what we may say about the messenger's status," he
continued, clasping his hands behind him and facing the pleasing
scenery once more. "Thranduil has made certain to declare him a son and
that is that.
"His age seems short, by both of your estimations. At most he would be
in his seven-hundredth year, if he is the late Queen's offspring, and
at least, well, that is anyone's guess. What say you, Glorfindel?"
"Not anywhere near seven-hundred, my Lord. I doubt he is past his
second century."
"And your opinion, Erestor?"
"I concur; I remarked to Lindir that he seems younger than Aragorn."
"Nay, not so immature as that," countered Glorfindel, "but certainly
much younger than any other woodland messenger sent to Lorien. I do not
think he is far from his Coll o Gweth (Mantle of Maturity - Coming of
Age), for he indicated he has not yet lost innocence."
"How did you learn that?" demanded Erestor.
"By asking."
A heavy silence followed this pronouncement as Elrond bent such a
steely eye upon them both that neither dared resume the bickering
contention.
"Then I doubt it not," declared the Lord of the Realm. "He is less than
five centuries, probably little more than two. Highly irregular for him
to be exposed to such rigours! The question bothering me concerns more
than his age; why would Thranduil risk his own flesh and blood just to
bring us tidings, even grave news such as this?"
"From what Legolas has told me, it is more to do with insufficient
forces to spare. I do not think anyone in the Greenwood is accorded
special consideration, regardless of rank or lineage," offered
Glorfindel.
"So you believe it was just his turn to go?" Elrond's tone made it
plain he did not believe this theory. He glanced over his shoulder and
delivered a repudiating grimace complete with arched brow and matching,
one-sided sardonic uplift of his lips.
"Nay, I did not say so. He told me he was charged to see to it because
he was involved in the events he must report. He believes himself
responsible for the situation and its consequences."
"I do not wonder the King found Legolas inadequate to the task, for one
so callow should never have been placed in a position of authority,"
sniped Erestor.
"You do not even know what the news involves! How can you make such a
claim?" exploded Glorfindel, rising and pointing down at his former
friend and lover.
"I do not need to know; one look at him is enough to tell he is in
severe disfavour at least from his King and probably from the silvan
populace in general. No loving father would deploy his youngest child,
one practically still dripping from the amniotic sac, on so doomed a
journey," Erestor answered with smug satisfaction, relaxing as
Glorfindel tensed. "It strikes me he was sent away to meet his death."
"You underestimate his ability; he dispatched a goodly troop of vermin
very near our lands. Every arrow found its target with deadly
precision. He was not awarded his name for naught and no doubt his King
is fully aware of this gift. You are deceived by your own prejudice,
Erestor; all the Athedrainyn are small in stature and thus more
youthful in appearance than their accumulated years deserve."
"I bear no disdain for this Wood Elf beyond that which I hold for the
race as a whole, and this is not bigotry but a justified distrust for
their wisdom and intelligence. My evaluation is based on personal
observations during the Last Alliance, not unsubstantiated hearsay or
rumour," remarked Erestor languidly, smiling up at his colleague's
irritated and highly coloured countenance. "As for the slain Orcs,
there is another opinion."
"Aye, as sorry and baseless a defamation as any I have ever heard. If
some other elves of Greenwood aided him, then where are they? Surely
even had they left him alone yester eve they would have resumed their
travel at dawn and would have reached the borders before now,"
countered Glorfindel.
"Far!" (Enough!) spoke Elrond with sufficient emphasis to cause both
his advisors to drop their heads in embarrassment. The Keeper of Vilya
eyed them both with undisguised displeasure, for he had long ago grown
weary of the ill-feeling lingering between the two. Even now, when he
felt the need to tend the injured hobbit, he was forced to referee yet
another dispute and attempt to fathom which of them had made a better,
or at least a less biased, assessment of the woodland messenger. From
his perspective, the hapless archer had become trapped in yet another
power-struggle neither of the counsellors could hope to win, for the
goal of each was merely to wound the heart of the other. He decided to
point this out to them.
"It is an imposition upon me, personally, to be forced to extricate
this guest from the cross-fire of your continuing contest to learn
which of you is the most pig-headed and arrogant. Cuthenin will have
much of note to report to his King, yet little of it will be favourable
to our realm and people if this continues.
"Erestor, there is no need to speak so harshly regarding this elf's
status for, even if your thoughts explain his situation, how is this a
thing he could will or un-will? Why make the son culpable for his
sire's errors? Thranduil claims him, that shall have to be good enough
for us, regardless if he wedded the mother or not.
"Furthermore, keeping his station secret is not so hard to understand;
we need not resort to assigning his motives to punishment and its
resultant shame. How often do Elrohir and Elladan go forth disguised,
lacking any
indication, whether on their persons or in their speech, of their
relationship to me and this valley? We all understand the reason for
such subterfuge; far more severe would any reprisals be should my sons
be captured by our enemies were their identities revealed. Far more
devastating to have their lives held hostage in exchange for my aid in
an unscrupulous cause, or even for possession of a particular article
which I wield."
"Your words are wise, My Lord," Erestor stood and made a deep bow to
his kinsman, cheeks stained with abashed discomfort to be so chastised,
and in front of Glorfindel at that. "I shall make no further reference
to the messenger's status among his folk or his worthiness to fulfil
his appointed task."
"Well said," approved the Peredhel Lord. He turned his attention to the
Balrog Slayer next. "Mellonen, your words say much to me, both in what
you have spoken and what you have held back. I take it you have been
entrusted with confidential communication from the silvan archer."
Elrond lifted his hand to forbid the words Glorfindel opened his mouth
to utter. "That is well; I am pleased you have earned the warrior's
trust, for the Wood Elves do not give it lightly. Mind that you treat
the allegiance with the respect it deserves, for this is the son of a
valourous and noble elf, no matter what Thranduil's detractors may
allege.
"Neither will I attempt to pry beyond the limits of your honestly given
word, as long as your intent is genuine. Yet I will not have an
impressionable youth come to harm due to some unresolved issues between
yourself and Erestor. If he is as young as my cousin's knowledge
suggests, then Legolas is in a most vulnerable period of development.
Should I deem it necessary, I will intervene in this budding friendship
at once."
The noble Vanya had turned the colour of a sun-ripened pomegranate upon
hearing this and straightened his spine to almost painful rigidity.
Elrond had come just short of warning him off a romantic seduction of
the silvan, as if Glorfindel was set on pursuing the ellon for the mere
thrill of relieving Cuthenin of innocence or to spite his previous
lover.
Or both.
He flashed an accusing glare at Erestor, for the advisor had obviously
wasted no time in reporting to Elrond upon leaving the baths. It was
likely his Lord's low evaluation of the Vanya's morals had spawned in
the clever-minded advisor's bitter heart. The Balrog Slayer took a long
moment to rein in his wrath over this oblique yet sharp rebuke. A deep
breath allowed him to steady his mind and relax his hands, which he
found had curled into angry fists quite without his knowledge.
Glorfindel bowed.
"My Lord, I will in every way possible honour the messenger's good
faith in me. It is not my wish to see Cuthenin suffer harm on my watch,
either."
"Good, I am satisfied." Elrond paced slowly out onto the balcony as he
spoke, absently twiddling one long tendril of his brunette hair between
his fingers. "Now then, I think it is clear we should not spread the
facts regarding his lineage among the populace of Imladris, for he does
not wish it known and I see no purpose in assigning him undue
attention. From preliminary descriptions, he shall receive enough of
that as it is.
"However, with the council convening in so short a time, it will be
necessary to share his true identity with the elves participating.
These shall be limited to the three of us plus Galdor and my sons
should they return in time. Mithrandir probably knows all about it
already but the mortals need not be informed." Abruptly he wheeled and
glowered at Erestor. "Unless your tongue has been even looser than
normal today. What have you said of the Wood Elf, other than your
insinuations regarding Glorfindel's inordinate interest?"
"I did not say…I merely noticed that he is of a certain type…"
stammered the advisor, now as red-faced as the Balrog Slayer.
"What does that mean?" fumed Glorfindel, rounding on the Noldo in
umbrage. "Not everything is related to your imagined betrayal and
unwarranted accusations against Rumil."
"Silence!" shouted Elrond. Both his counsellors jumped to hear him
raise his voice, an uncommon occurrence in Imladris. "I will not
tolerate this. Cease this juvenile argument and attend to the matter at
hand which, may I remind you both, is paramount to the future of all
the free peoples of Arda!"
"Gohenna nîn, Hîren," (Forgive me, my Lord.) Each murmured
quietly, duly chastened.
Elrond regarded them with such overt disappointment that their
lowered heads sank until their chins nearly rested upon
their chests. "Erestor? Please respond to my question."
"Aye, Lord. It is true I have remarked to Lindir of Legolas' youth and
beauty and Glorfindel's personal attention to his comfort. I have
spoken of his tattoos and the name Legolas and of his relationship to
the Greenwood's ruling House, but this only to Lindir and no other. He
is not wont to spread this news, for I informed him it is exclusive."
"Eglerio Varda," (Praise Varda) remarked the Peredhel Lord with dry
sarcasm. "Lindir is probably the only one of your friends capable of
discretion. I doubt he is the sole Elf with whom you shared your
thoughts."
Now Erestor wished he had a wizard's capacity to vanish into
nothingness or perhaps a magic ring like Bilbo's so as to become
invisible. It was too evident that the Lord of Imladris was cognisant
of his propensity for tongue-wagging and was not unaware of the often
spiteful nature of such converse.
"I may have mentioned Legolas to Elamrûn (Eastern Star) and
Ithil'wath," he admitted, "but not his relationship to Oropher's House."
"Oh? Well that is surprising. I would have thought this exactly the
kind of malicious rumour you would enjoy starting, knowing you were the
author of all the unpleasant speculations flowing among the
conversations in the Hall of Fire tonight," Glorfindel snarled in
disdain. When Erestor's countenance became a sickly shade of moonlit
mist, light dawned in the Vanya's thoughts.
"You were reserving that bit for a full audience! Did you mean to
publicly announce your scurrilous interpretation of the archer's
legitimacy?" It was clear Erestor could not deny this as he remained
silent. "Oh that is despicable!" spat Glorfindel. "And even with that
insult averted, Elamrûn will spread your seamy innuendoes
throughout the nobility and among the diplomats; word of it will no
doubt
reach the visiting mortals also! As for Ithil'wath, he needed no fuel
to feed his unreasonable resentment for the Wood Elf. You have quite
surpassed even your most vitriolic tattling!"
"Indeed. Yet I have limited the spread of this unsavoury depiction at
least partially, for I intercepted Elamrûn and cautioned him to
hold his thoughts private. I can only hope he had not had the
opportunity to meet with his cronies. As for Ithil'wath, I was not
aware your friends included the lower ranks of Imladris' guards,
Erestor," droned Elrond, fixing his advisor with the piercing light of
disillusionment.
"I am sorry and yet I do not understand all this fuss over an
insignificant woodland warrior. It is not as if we have never made
these primitive folk the centre of such jesting before," the advisor
made a lame attempt at justification. This was a mistake, for Erestor's
dismissive tone brought Glorfindel too near the limit of his
forebearance regarding such prejudice for either Elf's comfort.
"That is beyond tolerance! Do not include me in your sordid idea of
amusement. As for this particular archer, the insignia of Oropher's
House should be sufficient cause for catering more to his good graces
instead of creating an enemy among the Elven King's sons."
"Exclude me from it as well, cousin, for I hope I am not unmindful of
the fact that Thingol is my great-great-grandsire. The Sindar are not
so far away from my lineage and this elf Legolas carries that blood. He
is almost a kinsman!" added Elrond.
Now Erestor was angry, for not only had he been exposed as an
incorrigible quidnunc but his words had been turned against him, made
to malign the Lord of his realm. Additionally, he must endure this
scathing denouncement from Glorfindel, who had long ago wronged him and
never paid for it. He kept his seething heart silent, however, for he
wished no further abuses to fall from Elrond's lips.
"Well, it cannot be helped. What you have spoken cannot be unspoken.
Legolas begins his stay in Imladris under notoriety but not debased as
the King's bastard. Let not the gossips have that to chew on; there is
more than enough to satisfy them when the accusations made by
Ithil'wath are added. Am I clear, Erestor?"
"Perfectly, my Lord," the advisor replied with a dip of his head and
his eyes upon the ornately patterned rug beneath his boots.
"Then we shall proceed as you suggested, Glorfindel, and refer to him
as Legolas Cuthenin when among the populace at large," Elrond
continued. "Further, I will have Legolas' report given at the council,
for I am convinced, as is Mithrandir, that his presence is not
coincidental. The Wood Elf is meant to be here at this time and I
believe his fate now intersects with the Ring's."
"Ai! He will not be well pleased to hear of this, Lord!" exclaimed the
veteran warrior. "He desires to return home as soon as possible. He
left his fallen companions in the mountain this weighs upon his heart
and mind grievously."
"It cannot be helped. I can little hasten the healing of Frodo's
wounds, for Morgul poison is both treacherous and tenacious. Frodo will
not be strong enough for the rigours of such debate for at least
another day. You will have to find means to convince the archer of the
importance of the cause before us. Say that I insist he remain, beg his
aid with the patrols, beseech his tutelage in archery; I care not as
long as he stays. As for this grief, it is no light matter."
"True. He needs to find an outlet for the shock of losing every elf
under his captaincy, even though these were but three in number. This
was his first trial of command," concurred the Vanya gravely.
"Most unfortunate. Mayhap Mithrandir knows something of silvan customs
in mourning the dead." Elrond shook his head and frowned. "As for the
loss of self-confidence, I feel you may allay that to large extent. He
is bound to be impressed by the opinions of a warrior of such renown."
Erestor could not stifle a scoffing snort at that remark and while he
gloated over Glorfindel's bristling displeasure, he was not happy to
have garnered Elrond's anew.
"Yes, Erestor? You wished to add something?" The Lord of Imladris
turned to his Chief Advisor, reproof in his cool tones and censure in
his icy glare. "Have you any knowledge of the ceremonies in the
Greenwood for honouring the deceased?"
"Nay, the Wood Elves are the most secretive of all elf-kind. Those
primitive rituals are not for outsiders. I do not believe any Noldorin
elf has witnessed a silvan burial. No one from Lorien, to my
recollection, has attended a funeral in the Greenwood for aeons. Mayhap
Lord Celeborn would know."
"That is not very enlightening," Elrond remarked drily, "and I doubt
Celeborn would be privy to their ways. Nevertheless, I will give
thought to Galadriel to inquire of him."
Erestor could not help feeling irritated by the open annoyance Elrond
displayed. To his mind, the Lord of the Valley should back his kinsman
rather than the Balrog Slayer, yet never had Elrond made any mention in
sympathy to Erestor of the broken relationship. Yet now he would
protect the tender feelings of a common Wood Elf and mock his cousin's
ignorance of silvan ways. How could Erestor be faulted for lacking the
information his Lord required? Never before had the superstitious lore
of the forest-dwellers been of interest to anyone in Imladris. It
rankled that failing to understand burial customs of such lesser elves
put him in a poor light. Still, he said nothing.
"Lord, if I may, I believe the comprehension we seek can be gleaned
here in Imladris," asserted Glorfindel. Both Noldor turned questioning
eyes upon him and he continued. "There are certain prayers and
incantations inked upon Legolas' skin that come from a place far
removed from Greenwood. I have seen such marks on elves belonging to
the House of the Tree, of which Galdor was once the mightiest Lord. He
will know what needs to be done and I will bid him instruct me."
"Truly? You are saying the Sindar which Oropher led across the
Hithaeglir originated in Gondolin?" Elrond was intrigued.
"Well, originated at Cuiviénen, surely, but journeyed thence to
Beleriand. Many survived the wars with Melkor and fled with Turgon to
Gondolin. After the fall of the city, these elves made the long trek
back. A multitude was the host of Sindarin elves Oropher salvaged from
the destruction of Doriath. Among these must have been a remnant few
from Gondolin and they must have preserved the old ways, for Legolas
bears the evidence of it."
"Fascinating! I admit to heightened anticipation in meeting this
unusual elf. Pursue that link and keep me informed of Legolas'
disposition." Elrond voiced this dismissal with a smile and then met
his Chief Advisor's gaze a final time. "Thank you for your input,
Erestor; I am sure I can depend upon you to surmount personal
reservations in order to accommodate the many divers peoples among us
during this pivotal moment in history. The success of this perilous
venture may depend on such co-operation, and our example will be an
invaluable instruction for the mortals to heed."
The two counsellors bowed low and left the Lord's study together,
proceeding in stony silence along the corridor. At the juncture of a
winding, narrow, downward stairwell, Glorfindel turned away to descend
but Erestor would not let him go without a parting jab.
"If you seek Galdor, try the suite reserved for Celeborn on the second
floor," he offered, "though I know not why you need his aid. You no
doubt have ample ideas on how to distract the silvan from his sorrows."
Glorfindel halted and glared over his shoulder, yet he decided any
retort would please Erestor and give him some sense of victory, and so
he resumed his pace without further conflict.
Now that was entirely unsatisfactory to Elrond's Chief Advisor and he
was struck with the desire to locate the Wood Elf and see what manner
of reaction he could raise from him.
Someone needs to warn the youth
regarding the fickleness of Glorfindel's affections, ere his heart is
wounded. Assuming the silvan would be quartered along with the
Lorien messenger, Erestor turned to follow a different passageway. As
luck would have it, this carried him through the wing wherein the
dwarven Lords were staying and he was waylaid by one of the lesser
Naugrim chieftains. He was forced to endure a lengthy diatribe alleging
effrontery from among the humans from Gondor and had to intercede in
order to prevent a formal claim being lodged against the foolish
nobleman. He was thus delayed nearly two hours.
By this time Erestor decided he would postpone his encounter with the
Wood Elf until after the midday meal, which would be ready in short
order. He doubled back and ascended to the third level of the family
wing, taking a back corridor that was a shortcut to the twisting spiral
up to the roof and his private apartment. There was little of interest
in this area of the house, for its rooms were mainly for storage.
Therefore he was astounded to round the corner and nearly run upon the
archer, leaning casually against the wall by the opened door of a small
storeroom. The elf heard his step and looked back, presenting a cheek
marked with a vivid, new, swelling bruise of deep violet. Curiosity was
overcome by indignation, however, and Erestor could not constrain his
tongue from voicing it.
"This area is reserved for the Lord's family. What are you doing in
here?" He demanded in condescending tones and nearly fell over when a
second and then a third head peered out from the confines of the
closet. The Lord's twin sons had returned at last and, as was their
nature, informed no one. They stepped into the hall and flanked the
messenger.
"Well we live here, do you not remember?" jibed Elladan.
"I do not think he was speaking to us, muindor, (brother)" corrected
Elrohir. "We invited Legolas to join us."
"For he has lost his pack in a harrowing battle and has need of spare
clothing while his own is laundered and mended," continued the elder
twin, gently touching the slashed stain upon the shoulder of the
courier's shirt.
"Mayhap you can aid us; where are the garments Estel outgrew in his
twentieth year? We are of a mind that they will fit our guest better
than anything we have in our closets," Elrohir stated and placed a hand
upon the archer's shoulder in a gesture that spoke volubly of
protective comradeship.
Erestor stared from one to the other in open displeasure and included
the silvan in his exasperated scrutiny. It seemed to be the day for
this elf to be the cause for making him appear foolish among his
kinfolk. He compressed his lips thinly and took a moment to compose his
mind before saying anything else. He inhaled a breath and let it out
slowly.
"How generous of you both, and highly appropriate; I am sure Elrond
would approve such kindness," he said awkwardly.
"Kindness? To me it seems a simple courtesy and the least of favours
considering what I have heard from the night patrol," Elrohir frowned,
disliking his kinsman's cold attitude.
"Well said. And I would not wish to unsettle the rest of the guests at
mealtime by having them view the gory evidence of our mutual troubles,"
concurred the Chief Advisor, realising he needed to adjust his mood or
stand another scolding, this time in front of the Wood Elf and from
elves he had tutored long ago. "I believe the trunk you seek is on the
third shelf at the back of the closet. It is the one with the painted
scenes depicting the Valar and the Making of Arda."
"Ah! Of course, that was in Estel's nursery. How did I forget?" laughed
Elladan and disappeared inside once more as the others tuned
their attention to the sounds of his rummaging. Elrond's eldest soon
sounded an exclamation of satisfaction. "Ha carnen!" (It is done!) His
arm reappeared ahead of the bulk of him, bearing a folded,
paper-wrapped bundle. "Here, Legolas; I believe these will suffice.
See, Toltharil (Fetcher) even labelled the set: 'silk shirt, white, six
palms (1 palm = 4 inches); brown sueded leggings, eight palms; indigo
over-tunic, six palms. These measurements are fairly close to yours, I
would warrant." Elladan exited fully and stood beside his brother as
both evaluated the archer's slender frame.
"Le hantëan," said Legolas with a bow and accepted the package.
"Nay, I am thinking even these are too broad of girth and too long in
the shanks. He will need a belt of some sort," argued Elrohir. He
shifted his hold to the archer's forearm and tugged as he proceeded
down the passage. "Follow me, our apartment is just one floor above.
There you may change clothing in privacy and we will deliver your
tattered garb to the laundry staff."
"Oh, I am able to tend to such things; there is no need to trouble the
Lord's employees on my behalf," Legolas had never been catered to by
servants before and was a bit rattled, uncertain if he was expected to
acquiesce or demure. He decided on the latter, reasoning that
messengers were not considered guests and the Lord's sons were merely
being polite, for they could not know of his lineage and rank.
"What nonsense!" retorted Elladan, moving alongside and taking the
Wood Elf's other arm. "You are our guest and we will not allow you to
work in the laundry while you are here!" So saying he smiled at the
young silvan's uncertainty as Elrohir laughed merrily.
"Aye! How our Adar would scold us if he learned of such. You will just
have to adjust to our ways, Legolas, for Imladris is not like the
Greenwood." With that they escorted the silvan down the hall and away,
leaving Erestor to tidy up the disarrayed storeroom.
TBC
Note: My thanks to those who
have
reviewed and those who are reading my
story! I am deeply appreciative. I hope you will all allow the
liberties I am taking in making this Legolas very young. Please
remember this is all AU! If anyone is so moved to comment, let me know
how Elrond's personality comes through?
Cheers,
Fred
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