Othui Peth: Pâd-en-Tawar (Part Seven: Way of
the Great Wood)
"This is not advisable. Hear me, the practice of which we speak has
serious consequences for those involved. You are not an initiate and
therefore your participation is simply unacceptable."
"Yet if the ceremony is not performed the Wood Elf will continue to
suffer."
"As would any survivor of such trauma as you describe. That is not
sufficient reason to conduct a sacred rite without the proper kinfolk
to lend support. It is not just a singing of songs, Glorfindel, it is a
commitment."
"To what? This archaic religion? I am sorry, but that does not make
sense, Galdor. I can lend support without undergoing a conversion. The
warriors to be commemorated are deceased and Legolas…"
"Aye, Legolas. It is to Legolas this commitment would be made, not to
his creed. That is why this rite is reserved for close family: blood
kin or bonded pairs only. The young warrior will have to bear up until
he returns to Greenwood; let his own people aid him through this."
"I am not certain he will be going home anytime soon," the rough, smoky
voice of the grey-bearded wizard growled tersely. "What is the danger
in this ceremony?"
"It is not any physical danger as you may be thinking. The ritual
involves a level of trust Legolas has not bestowed on any here in
Imladris. To force him to do so is both unfair and detrimental, for the
other party cannot help but break this trust sooner or later, if only
in failing to comprehend its nature," complained Galdor of Mithlond,
First-Age elder and former Lord of the House of the Tree in Turgon's
City of Singing Stone.
"Are you implying I would betray this silvan's faith in me?" Glorfindel
began, growing red of face and preparing to unleash his formidable
wrath.
"Yes, Glorfindel, that is exactly what I am saying to you, to everyone
in this room," replied Galdor in stony tones that bore the weight of
surety and silenced the Balrog Slayer. For several uncomfortable
seconds, his assertion silenced the argument, afflicting the room's
other occupants with the tension of its awkward implications.
"That was a lifetime ago. Never again have I pledged anything beyond my
power to grant," mumbled the mighty re-born warrior. "Surely that must
attest to my scruples in such considerations as these."
"It does, Glorfindel; we are not here to impugn your character," Elrond
spoke at last, having listened with a grave and solemn mien, observing
the participants in the unexpectedly tense discussion.
At Galdor's insistence this impromptu conference had been called, for
he had come away from his meeting with the Balrog Slayer highly
agitated. The noble elf spoke now with such urgency that he must fear
real harm would befall the Wood Elf should Glorfindel's suggestion be
carried through. The Lord of the Valley sighed and rubbed his forehead.
"Yet Galdor has a valid point. Whether you betray him through ignorance
or intent, the consequences for Legolas will be the same. I believe we
are speaking of something more than the bond of comrades in arms or
between a mentor and his charge."
"Indeed that is so," Galdor inserted. "If you do this, Glorfindel, you
would be standing in the place of his family. You would become his
family, in a very real sense, and he must accept you thus."
"Lord Galdor, are you saying this rite would essentially bind the young
elf to Glorfindel?" demanded the wizard, for once frustrated by the
lack of directness in the elves' conversing, although such ambiguity
was a characteristic with which most of his own expository comments
were endowed.
"Have I not spent the last hour cautioning against this? Verily, it is
more that, in Legolas' mind, it is Glorfindel who would be tied to
him," the Lord of the Tree spoke with reluctance and exasperation
combined.
"Nay, we have but met this morn. How would he think that? You are
surely exagerrating, mellon vrûn (old friend)." scoffed
Glorfindel. He could not understand the elder Lord's reluctance to aid
the Wood Elf.
"Alas, rather than decorating the truth I am telling you no more than
is fitting for me to reveal. The newness of the acquaintance is but one
of my objections. How can we ask Legolas to accept you in such a manner
when all that he knows of you was probably gleaned from some
romanticised account in an illustrated book in his nursery?" Galdor
snapped and shook his head in frustration, turning away to stand upon
the balcony, for they were gathered in Elrond's private study.
Even among the First-born Galdor was considered tall and he had to
stoop forward to press his palms upon the banister. He sighed and cast
his discriminating eye over the landscape beneath his feet. Not for a
full Valian year had he visited the son of Eärendil and his
reasons for choosing this specific time to pay a call were rapidly
becoming apparent. Perceiving that he was not the first author of the
impulse to journey hence was neither unexpected nor disconcerting to
him.
He watched the citizens going about their lives, coming away from their
tasks to share the repast with family and friends as the noon
approached. Galdor noted the fair tree-lined avenues bedecked in
autumn's fabric and the graceful gardens surrounding every house. He
smiled at an elfling getting scolded by her Naneth (Mother) for making
a tear in her dress.
Nothing has changed and yet everything is
different. There was a shadow over Imladris that had no
connection to the grey-bottomed cumulus clouds filling up the western
sky.
The ancient Lord was not given to stewing in anxious apprehension; like
Glorfindel, he would have action. He was here for a purpose and he
would not turn from it. If that purpose involved the Wood Elf's destiny
then so be it. His resolve strengthened, Galdor gazed upon the Hidden
Vale again. The sound of the waterfall, far enough away to shed a
soothing cadence similar to that of gentle summer rain, eased the
noble's worry and he nodded with a short satisfied grunt. Whatever evil
was stalking Middle-earth, Imladris was safe for the moment. He turned
back to his colleagues and resumed speaking, noting with a discreet
chuckle that no one had interrupted his short introspection.
Out of respect for my advanced years, no doubt.
"This is not a matter to be treated lightly. If Legolas is truly an
initiate, and from your descriptions of the indelible text I doubt it
not, then what you would ask of him is far more than he is able to
give. You have only just become flesh and blood, having been but a
legend
from a past Age; would you seek a hold upon Legolas' spirit none but
his kin or his bond-mate have rights to claim? Can you not see this is
detrimental?" Galdor turned to Elrond and pleaded the forest warrior's
cause. To his mind, it was unconscionable to do this, for Legolas would
relinquish a part of his freedom in sharing this ceremony under such
circumstances.
"How it is any more detrimental than if he undergoes the rites with, oh
I do not know, a brother, for example," fumed Glorfindel.
"A brother or sister is an excellent choice, already joined to his
spirit. A sibling would know him from the moment of birth up to the
present. They would have shared their entire lives and the place each
occupies in the other's feä would not intrude upon the separate
souls' growth. A brother or sister would not hinder him in future
matters nor take anymore of Legolas' heart than he or she already owns."
"By 'future matters', I assume you are alluding to his choice for a
life partner." Elrond sent his old mentor a wry smile. Galdor's
attempts at discretion were anything but amusing, for the fact that
merely discussing the Wood Elf's sexual disposition was such a taboo
was a serious warning in itself. Elrond did not intend to ignore or
make light of it.
"Aye. These are decisions that must not be made carelessly. Among the
culture we are discussing, choosing a mate for this elf is a very
private and delicate undertaking, one which his immediate family would
mediate. Add to this the weight of his status in a royal House and the
sensitivity of the situation is greatly compounded. We do not even know
who his Guardian is or why he has come away without…" the elder Lord
broke off with a gasp and had to snatch the railing to prevent himself
from staggering to his knees.
"What is it? Valar!" shouted Glorfindel, hurrying to his friend.
"Are you unwell, Galdor? Please, sit and take your ease. Tell me what
has befallen you," Elrond was likewise on his feet and at the ancient's
side in seconds, taking the old one's arm and guiding him to the settee.
"A vision! Nae, nae! (Alas, alas!) This one's fate has been overly
harsh!" the Lord of the Tree cried and collapsed onto the seat,
clasping his hands together and shaking his head as if overcome with
dread.
Mithrandir hastily set aside his pipe and raced to the long side table
where the Elf Lord kept the wine and spirits. He poured a small cupful
of miruvor and pressed the First-Age elda to take it. He was pleased
Galdor did so and smiled warmly from his crease-crinkled visage when
the cup was returned empty.
"Speak of this vision, if you can," encouraged Elrond.
"I saw the battle in the mountain pass. Specifically, I saw the death
of one of the Wood Elves that accompanied Legolas. That this lost
warrior was his Guardian is now clear to me. This changes everything!"
Abruptly the elder Lord got up and began to pace the room, clasping and
wringing his hands together as he did so, severely perturbed in heart
and mind.
The others exchanged expressions of wordless worry between them for it
was beyond disconcerting to see steadfast Galdor this reduced to
anguished aggravation. They waited patiently for the venerable Noldo to
speak again.
"I do not understand what is happening here," he spoke in bewildered
tones and it seemed he argued with himself rather than to the three
people with him in the room. "The ways of our kind are not for the
sight and knowledge of outsiders. Yet the vision cannot be ignored." He
stopped again on the balcony and stared out unseeing over the majestic
view of the pristine valley.
When several more ticks passed without another word, Elrond cleared his
throat. "Galdor, could you not undergo this ritual with the Wood Elf,
for you are more than merely an initiate and surely that status…"
"Aye, my status," Galdor interrupted, gazing back over his shoulder at
the Keeper of Vilya with a tired smile. "The ceremony requires a
minimum of two to stand with the grieving one: a guardian and a
soul-keeper. As I alone here in Imladris, besides Legolas, know the
liturgies required to purge the sorrow-sickness, I must take the role
of the guardian. I had thought it was to be as proxy, not that I would
actually become this Wood Elf's Tirn'wador (Watcher-Brother: Guardian)."
He did not say that he was also one of the few remaining Sadryn
(Faithful Ones - like a Shaman or High Priest) left this side of the
Sundering Sea. Indeed, he had thought he was the last until the
unexpected appearance of this silvan bŷr (follower - a devotee or
believer).
Where there are followers there are Sadryn to guide
them.
He wondered for a few heartbeats who the Greenwood's Sadron was and
whether he or she was a refugee from Gondolin as well. He gave his head
a small shake; it really was not so surprising that Pâd-en-Tawar
(Way of the Great Wood) should be practiced amid the Wood Elves. In any
case, as Sadron it would not be proper for him to also be the elf's
Faer Hebron (Soul-keeper), for such was against the rules of his Order.
"Ah. That would delegate me as the soul-keeper." Glorfindel now showed
uneasiness in his voice for the first time. The ancient noble's
near-collapse had convinced him there was more at stake than he could
fully comprehend. Whatever acting as soul-keeper involved, the Vanya
warrior was not so sure he was prepared to undertake the job. "Why did
you not explain this earlier? I thought this was just a kind of
symbolic rubric designed to give Legolas the means to allay the guilt
and grief of his friends' untimely deaths."
"Have I not said these customs are forbidden to be shared with
non-believers?" scolded Galdor. "Now you hesitate and rightly so; it is
a grave responsibility that would fall upon us both. Frankly,
Glorfindel, if I am to be his Tirn'wador, I must insist on completion
of every aspect of Faras-Uin-Ind (Hunting of the Heart - formal
courtship), especially from an uninitiated elf of a foreign realm. Can
you imagine what Thranduil's response to this is likely to be?"
"What? I am not proposing to court him!" the Balrog Slayer was stunned.
"Indeed, we have gone a bit far afield, Galdor," added Elrond.
"Nay, I think that is exactly the point our clam-lipped friend has been
trying so hard to make without openly stating it," Mithrandir sent the
elder Noldo a shrewd glance and received a nod of acknowledgement from
the Lord of the Tree.
"Valar, this is suddenly very complicated," groaned Elrond. He had no
wish to be party to what was, for all intents, a hastily arranged and
strange sort of bonding between the Elven King's youngest son and his
obviously reluctant Master-at-Arms. "Mayhap the situation is less grave
than Glorfindel believes. After all, he has spent very little time with
the silvan and a certain amount of sorrow is normal and even healthy in
healing the heart."
"Agreed." Glorfindel stated with overweening vehemence. "Elrond, mayhap
you would find some moment to be in his company, even if but briefly,
for your instincts as a healer are unparalleled. If you determine his
soul is in no danger, then nothing further need be done. He will return
to his folk and undergo the purging under the trees of his homeland."
"Aye, the midday meal is being served even now. I shall speak with him
for I have reason to express thanks for his efforts on our country's
behalf before he leaves." Elrond nodded and joined the ancient elf on
the balcony.
But Galdor said nothing, for he knew what Elrond would learn. His
vision had been intensely vivid and the depth of the archer's pain was
more than many could endure without fading. He sighed, worried about
the implications yet certain there was little choice under the
circumstances. They could either return to Thranduil a son bound to an
outlander or a bid the King come and collect his youngest child's
corpse.
"And yet I say again, he may not be returning home for many long days,"
murmured Mithrandir with a faraway look in his inscrutable onyx eyes.
None of the elves would hazard a response to this for one of Gandalf's
hunches was nearly as good
as certainty, and thus the three Lords of the First-born kept silent
regarding their own opinions as they exited the comfortable elegance of
Elrond's suite.
It was perhaps not so unusual for the principals in the current events
to arrive at the refectory at nearly the same time, for the midday meal
provided a welcome break in a given day's travails and an opportunity
to meet with friends and family and discuss plans for the remainder of
the daylight hours and the starlit ones to come. Indeed, the dining
hall was already filled with numerous elves attached to the Last Homely
House as well as four of the doughty Rangers, for this was a casual
meal and none stood on ceremony or rank.
Thus, into the crowded chamber strolled Erestor and Lindir, gossiping
in a friendly manner, appearing from the direction of the singer's
rooms. The three Lords and the Istar were mere minutes in time behind
them, descending from Elrond's study still solemn and serious over
their concerns regarding the Wood Elf. Aragorn strode in from the
kitchen, having paused therein to wash up a bit after completing his
assigned duty to ensure the hospitable disposition of the lowly talan
in Glorfindel's backyard.
Through the main arch arrived the coterie of dwarves and a similar
entourage of finely dressed nobles from Gondor. There was an
uncomfortable moment before the matter of who should enter first was
resolved by the sudden and quick advent of four scurrying Hobbits who
barged right between them in haste to get to the food. Well that
awakened a shared dread of missing the meal entirely should they argue
over the order of entry and the Men and Dwarves politely took turns.
Last of all approached the twin Lords of the realm, flanking their
youthful guest. They were chatting amiably although it was clear
the Wood Elf was finding it difficult to get a word in as his vision
switched back and forth from one to the other.
Aragorn, who had been watching for them, espied the trio first and
hailed his brothers from across the room. He motioned for them to join
him at table and effectively focused every eye on the breathtaking
sight. The three elves advanced into the hall, two adorned with the
lofty grace and lordly elegance bestowed by nature and enhanced by
upbringing, the other just as surely an aboriginal adherent to Eru's
original design for the silvan race, and around their conjunction arose
an unaffected perfection none could deny.
The Chief Advisor and the minstrel observed Thranduil's messenger with
ambivalence and open appreciation respectively. The dwarves called
boisterous greetings to 'Axe-Foot' that caused more than a few twitters
of anxious laughter amid the immortals. The humans trained disgusted
sneers upon the archer, having heard the new arrival was the paramour
of a much elder and highly placed noble of Elrond's House. Such
flagrant social climbing by means of bed-sport, and between males, was
unacceptable to human morals. The elf was lower than a harlot but
garnered just as much interest and for the same cause.
Galdor remained reserved and withdrawn, seeing exactly what he expected
for the signs of the sorrow-sickness were obvious to him. Now that he
beheld Legolas in person, the ancient Lord was eager to get the young
elf away and do what he might to smother the smouldering grief before
it kindled into a consuming pyre. He did not like to think of such a
one fading from Arda.
Likewise, Elrond frowned as his worry increased tenfold. His instincts
screamed for him to get the elf out of all the commotion and away from
the stressful impact of so much unwanted attention, give him a sleeping
draught and tuck him into bed for the next two tours of Anor. Beside
him Mithrandir clucked his tongue in sympathetic dismay, for he had
reason to believe this untried warrior would be integral to the success
of their efforts to defeat Sauron and wished not to lose him before the
mission had even started.
Glorfindel, however, drew in a shocked breath and marched rapidly
across the room as soon as he realised Cuthenin was there, for his
sharp eyes had noted the livid mark left by Ithil'wath's staff. Rudely
he shoved aside elves, men, and dwarves to intercept the archer as he
was escorted to Aragorn's table by Elladan and Elrohir.
"Cuthenin!" he called as he came closer and presented a questioning
grimace when the Wood Elf looked in his direction. Once he was near
enough Glorfindel reached out and drew the forest warrior from the
twins' protective hold. Exhibiting considerable care, he lifted the
silvan's chin with his fingertips to better examine the vivid purple
bruise marring one high cheek and the eye above it.
Cuthenin did nothing to inhibit the contact.
"Valar! What has happened?" the Balrog Slayer transferred suspicious
eyes to Elrond's sons, first Elrohir and then Elladan.
"Nay, do not try to make us the guilty ones," laughed Elladan. He
shared a glance with his brother confirming their unified surprise over
this rather possessive behaviour on their mentor's part. Both looked at
Legolas with renewed curiosity, for while the rumours were rampant the
twin Lords had centuries ago learned to discount most of the hearsay
that originated from Erestor's rooms.
"Aye, we have been watching out for our guest, Glorfindel, which is
more than you can say," added Elrohir.
"Nay, he was well enough when we parted yet now you bring him hither
bearing fresh injuries," accused the Vanya noble.
"It is nothing, just a slight bruise," assured Legolas, shivering
minutely as Glorfindel's fingers softly palpated the swollen contusion.
"It will be gone by the morrow."
"I think it needs tending nonetheless," fussed the re-born warrior, but
his voice had taken on a soft timbre that surprised even him. Exactly
when he had developed this strong protective instinct toward the youth
he could not define. "At least we should apply a compress soaked in
athelas and aloe."
"Truly, there is no need," replied Legolas, yet he did not pull away
and met the warrior's scrutiny with open gratitude. He could not deny
the pleasure this gentle attention generated and while one cheek was
too darkly marked to testify to it the soft blush stealing upon the
other readily did so. "If you think it best, however…"
"Good! I shall tend the injury after the meal. You must be beyond
famished; how long has it been since you consumed anything other than
way-bread and water?" As he spoke Glorfindel transferred his fingers to
rest upon the silvan's shoulder and there they remained.
"It has been a few days," the Wood Elf shrugged but not so strongly as
to dislodge the comforting weight of the Balrog Slayer's hand. "I do
not feel hunger often and prefer light repasts."
"Truly? No favourite foods indigenous to your homeland that we can
learn to prepare for you here?"
"Nay, well, perhaps there is something, yet I have no notion of how to
make it."
"Tell me what it is; I will see if our fine chef can devise a near
substitute."
"It is a sort of bread, or pie, filled with sweet wild blueberries."
"But those are very different, a pie versus bread."
"Aye; I told you I know nothing of culinary matters!" the Wood Elf let
loose a lightly musical laugh that was a fairer sound than any other in
the room and stopped every single conversation.
All eyes sought the source of the enchantingly uplifting voice and
smiles were hard to suppress upon discovering its not surprising
origin. None of this did the pair of golden-haired elves notice.
Indeed, the small-talk concerning pastries was hardly a topic that
would generate interest from anyone, excepting the Hobbits perhaps,
were it not for the wide notoriety of the speakers' alleged
relationship. Even Elrond listened with intense focus and likewise
Galdor and Gandalf took note of every nuance of the interaction, for
there was much more being conveyed than a casual conversation about
victuals. The elves needed to talk to each other and it mattered little
what the subject was as long as each could hear the other's voice.
The elder Elven Lords traded glances nearly identical to those which
had so recently passed between Elladan and Elrohir.
"I think I have tasted such a thing myself, once very long ago," Elrond
decided it was time to join their discussion, eyes rather bright and
twinkling with a smile that simply refused to be squelched. Despite the
dreadful circumstances surrounding their acquaintance, it did his heart
good to see the accord between his Master-at-Arms and the silvan
warrior. He waited until Glorfindel and Legolas turned to acknowledge
him. "Is it small, with a thin skin of cooked dough on the outside,
coated with a sugary glaze? And inside it is stuffed with warm and
gooey blueberries?"
"Aye, just so!" exclaimed Legolas in amazement, smiling back. He had
not thought it would be a commonly known commodity, nor did he
comprehend to whom he was speaking. "Wherever did you sample fruit
pockets?"
"In Lindon, young one," answered Galdor, "early in the last Age. They
are a favourite of mine, also. Mae govannen! You are the messenger from
the Woodland Realm?"
"Aye, my Lord. Legolas Cuthenin le suilanna (Legolas Cuthenin greets
you)," he said and dipped his head politely.
"Galdor o Mithlond. Buiam Tawar. (We serve the Great Wood)," answered
the Noldo so quietly only those directly beside him could hear.
The effect on the silvan was immediate and dramatic. Down on his knees
Legolas dropped as a shocked gasp fled his lungs. "Tawar mín
beria, Sadron. (Tawar protects us, Faithful One.)" The hushed words
issued from his reverently lowered countenance as his fist rested above
his heart.
This unexpected obeisance precipitated an excited murmur of commentary
from the dining room's occupants at large.
"Erio, bŷr, erio!" (Rise, follower, rise!) commanded the elder Lord
with a warm smile and reached for the warrior's arms to speed the
process. It was a very solemn face that hesitantly lifted to meet his
eyes and Galdor squeezed the archer's biceps in encouragement. "Allow
me to present the Lord of the Valley, Elrond Peredhel, and here behind
us is Mithrandir, whom you may have seen wandering amid the Woodland
King's halls from time to time."
"My Lord Elrond!" the Wood Elf made another deep bow, swallowing in
nervousness over having been so familiar with the renowned Elf Lord
just moments ago. "I am honoured to meet you and am humbly grateful for
your indulgence toward my errand."
"Mae govannen, Legolas. Your task is perhaps more important than you
know. And it is I who must express gratitude for your obliging
demeanour considering the deplorable lack of goodwill you were showed
on arrival." Elrond smiled broadly, dark brows arched and grey eyes
gleaming. The youthful messenger was fully composed, if a bit flushed,
upon straightening up and the Lord of Imladris silently applauded the
's tutors in courtly decorum.
"Nay, my Lord, it was but a simple misunderstanding," assured Legolas.
"The issue has been resolved."
"Hah! We can attest to that! Ithil'wath has been duly enlightened,
Adar," crowed Elrohir.
"Or at least he will be once he regains consciousness," added Elladan,
laughing a bit at the guardsman's expense.
"Good, I am glad that is settled," nodded Mithrandir. "You did not hurt
him too badly?"
"Nay! I did not wish to harm him, truly." Legolas faced the wizard with
no small amount of dread, for it was Gandalf's trust he had failed to
keep in letting Gollum escape the Greenwood. He was relieved to find
the Maia smiling gently with no trace of displeasure upon his features.
"Well he meant to injure you," stated the Istar, gesturing at the livid
bruise.
"I do not think so; this is from Minui Dram (First Blow)," Legolas
corrected, immediately sensing, but not comprehending the cause for,
his audience's bewilderment.
"Aye, but why did you let him hit you first? I am sure even Ithil'wath
was shocked when you did not block him," Aragorn entered the
conversation, stating what his brothers were also wondering.
"You let him do this?" Glorfindel could not hold back his disbelieving
disapproval.
"It is the way when sparring," Legolas gazed at each in turn, seeing
they were as confused as he was. "The elder fighter sets the level of
force to be permitted during the match. Is it not so here?"
"Certainly not!" exclaimed Elrond, appalled that a more experienced
warrior was allowed to strike down a less-skilled opponent,
uncontested, with the first blow.
"Indeed, in Imladris fighters are paired as equally as possible. It is
unseemly for a more knowledgeable warrior to have an unfair advantage.
As for those instructing the novice warriors, never would such tactics
be permitted." Glorfindel clearly did not condone the Woodland Realm's
training methods.
Legolas did not like hearing his country disparaged and naturally his
opinion differed, yet he was the youngest in years and a visitor among
these noble and legendary folk. It would be wrong for him to contradict
his elders and his host publicly. He set his jaw and drew his shoulders
back straight and proud, however, in silent protest.
"Mayhap we should try these techniques," offered Elladan, seeing the
woodland Elf's displeasure at having to hold his tongue. "for Legolas
easily defeated Ithil'wath, one of Imladris' finest swordsmen."
"Aye, and without rest after a long and tragic journey, while still
recovering from serious injuries," added Elrohir, grinning to see the
amazement spreading across Legolas' features.
"Not to mention having consumed nothing more than way-bread and water
for six days," continued Aragorn, earning an exasperated smile from the
Wood Elf.
The three brothers had made certain to speak loudly enough for everyone
to understand them, mortals and immortals alike, and in response the
chamber was quickly buzzing with animated converse over the fight. Even
the Men of Gondor regarded the silvan with more respectful expressions.
"And finished the uncouth Noldo off with his bare left foot!" concluded
the gruff and booming voice of Gloín. "Hail, Axe-Foot!" he
called, waving at Legolas, as his kinfolk laughed and slapped the table
with their palms, chanting out 'Axe-Foot' and 'Hammer-Hands' three
times in their deep, sonorous voices.
"Well now, there seems to be a story to tell," said Elrond, smiling at
the messenger. "We shall join you three, if that is acceptable, and
hear of this unusual style of training and the skills it imparts."
"Of course, Adar, we would be pleased with your company," responded
Elladan, answering for his brothers as eldest.
Another table was dragged closer to accommodate the eight comrades and
without further ado everyone sat down to enjoy the meal. Legolas was
relieved that no one expected him to do anything but eat as the twins
and their human brother took turns telling of the morning's events,
complete with a colourful description of the archer's arrival amid the
Dwarf Lords. In fact, every time he paused to take a breath or try and
correct a point here and there, either Elrond, Glorfindel, or Elladan
prompted Legolas to try something else from the board.
Legolas found himself seated between Glorindel and Galdor with Elrond
directly across from him, next to the wizard, with the twins at either
end of the combined table and their mortal brother on the Elf Lord's
right hand. Truly, he was too overwhelmed to do more than issue
monosyllabic responses to their questions and comments. Yet ever his
eyes wandered to Galdor and found the kindly albeit concerned gaze of
the elder Elf upon him. Near the end of the repast,
the former Lord of Gondolin leaned close and whispered for his
ears alone:
"Boe ammen peded firn na adeden cuil." (We must speak of the dead to
renew life.)
An expression equal parts relief and trepidation passed over the
younger Elf's features and, seeing this, Glorfindel placed a consoling
hand upon his shoulder.
TBC
NOTE: My continued gratitude to those who are reading and especially
those reviewing! I appreciate every comment given. This story can also
be found on FanFiction.net and LotRfanfiction.net.
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