Barad Lomin
by Laura White, aka halavana
Chapter XVI
Private Life of Elves
Holly Starfoot never knew his parents. That is to say, he remembered
them in that sad, sweet way an adult remembers parents who were slain when
he was still a child. Flight from terror into deep sorrow overshadowed
brief moments of happiness. He remembered their looks of affection
and their hurried preparations to save his life, but he never knew them at
the depth Morfindel’s children knew their father and mother.
Frequently Starfoot looked with amused envy upon Morfindel
and his sons as they grew older together, jockeying for positions, in smithcraft
and skill at arms daring each other “can you beat that?” He yearned
for the bonding and friendship which at times saw the son surpass the father,
wishing he also might have had the chance to best his father once, and then
chose not to do so again, as Lachnir had done. Lachnir was indeed an
amazing elf. After Ciryafin’s death, Morfindel stepped aside and passed
lordship of Dor Luin to his firstborn. Lachnir held the reins in his
steady hands and Morfindel and Ormal served as chief advisor and counselor.
Before the debacle of Eregion, their roles were reversed to the extent that
only family knew who was the father, son or grandson. Though Morfindel
retained the title of king of Dor Luin, he spent many years in Eregion helping
his cousin, Celebrimbor, in the glory that was Ost-in-Edhil. Together,
as their craftsmanship grew, the cousins privately joked that Celebrimbor
was the high king of the dispossessed. But it was not to last.
The destruction of Eregion and the Battle of the Last Alliance changed everything.
So many battles. So much sorrow and loss...
In the First Battle of Beleriand, when the Western Host
of Morgoth poured from Angband, down the Sirion River valley between Ered
Wethrin and Dorthonion, Starfoot‘s elder brother led his brothers, sisters,
cousins and any other elf children they could find and fled with them into
Ered Wethrin to seek refuge. Their parents promised to join them, but
when the battle was over, the young elves found themselves orphaned in the
vast wilderness of Dor Lomin. They survived many hardships but all
the same would have come to a sad end had it not been for the arrival of
the Noldor from the West. They saw the flame of the burning ships at
Losgar and went to investigate. There they found two very tall elves,
Maedhros and Maglor, who stood separate from the others, with another elf
of less stature, speaking quietly. Starfoot remembered wondering how
elves so tall and splendid could appear so unhappy. Maglor first noticed
the newcomers, but the smaller elf first approached them. This was
Morfindel, third son of Caranthir, who had fallen into disfavor with his
father and now took refuge with his uncles until they could soothe the wrath
of their brother. He was about the age of Starfoot’s eldest brother
and the two immediately struck up a lasting friendship. When Morfindel
told his uncles of the plight of the young Teleri, Maglor welcomed them into
his household where they acted as servants for a time. And they were
glad to do it too, for service to such magnificent elves as these they considered
far better than perishing in the wilderness. They instructed the newcomers
in their language and told what they could of the land.
When Maglor first heard Starfoot sing, he took him on
as an apprentice. By the time the young Teleri discovered the truth
about the kinslaying at Alqualondë, he was so enmeshed with Maglor’s
family, he considered that the saving of the lives of his siblings might
atone for it in some way, and refused to hold it against the sons of Fëanor.
He accepted Maglor’s expressions of regret, and never spoke of it to anyone
again.
But all that was long ago, in the First Age. Now,
Starfoot was on his way to visit Eryn Vorn where he knew he would not find
Mirdan and Mirlin. He knew they visited Dor Luin at this time of year.
When Starfoot said he went to visit with the twins, he actually meant their
families. He would find his youngest sister and brother, Elenlilta
and Taseras, his last two blood relatives remaining on Middle-earth.
Elenlilta was wed to Mirdan. Taseras had taken to wife Iscaloth, one
of Orodin’s daughters.
Starfoot’s stay with the Woodman family lasted all of
two days. He found their going about the business of living so repetitive
and tedious, that he bade them farewell and headed south. Now, as he
approached the northern border of Eryn Vorn, his heart lifted and he began
to sing. Quickly, his song was joined by voices of elves, calling greetings
to him and asking for news. Someone handed him a viol, requesting to
hear him play. Messenger birds flitted back and forth between Dor Luin
and Eryn Vorn many times daily, but they were not nearly so satisfying as
a tale from an elf who had witnessed the events. Starfoot told all,
many times, and the tale grew in the telling for he remembered details and
answered questions and by the time he came to the woodelves dwelling deep
inside the forest, a steady stream of elves came and went to relate the arrival
of Starfoot to their friends and family.
He found his sister at her loom, weaving a fine gray-green
cloth for making clothing. She was delighted to see him of course and
stopped her work long enough to embrace him. Then they both sat and
talked, giving little heed to the others gathering around who wanted to hear
the story of Morfindel and the troll again.
“Do you remember how jealous I was when we first heard
of Lurisa?” asked Elenlilta, laughing after hearing of Lurisa’s visit to
Barad Lomin.
“How could I not?” responded Starfoot. “You and
your friends moped about for days. Thought I would never hear the end
of her presumed faults.”
“I never dreamed that one I envied so would give birth
to a son who was an even more suitable mate than the one I wanted.
I don’t think I could have done what Lurisa has done, would have sought the
Havens long ago.”
“Perhaps,” said Starfoot.
“So why are you here and not rejoicing in Dor Luin with
all the other folk?” asked Elenlilta, taking up her weaving again.
Starfoot hemmed and hawed, giving this or that reason
for remaining behind. Then he admitted that he did not wish to see
Keren and Brogan together so soon after their wedding. Not that he
was not happy for them. He just did not want to see them. Together.
“Starfoot, you still love Eärlina. Admit it,”
said Elenlilta. “Is it not true that you noted Keren’s resemblance
to her?”
“And watching her wed Brogan was too much like watching
Eärlina wed Ciryafin all over again,” laughed Starfoot, nodding in agreement.
“I know it. But at least I have resisted Daeron’s error. I have
neither betrayed her, nor gone off searching for her and losing myself along
the way.”
“You are too much beside yourself to lose yourself in
love,” laughed his sister. “But can you not find an elf maiden to suit
you, among all your followers? Too long have you pined for a love unrequited.
Surely there must be one who has caught your eye, at least.”
Starfoot laughed. “There are too many to choose
from. But you must admit, sister, that much good music has come of
my unrequited pining. Seems my best loved ballads are those written
about Eärlina, though she is never named in them.”
Elenlilta nodded assent and continued weaving silently
as he played for her.
“Where is my favorite niece?” asked Starfoot after a while.
“Boriel is with the little ones, gathering leaves and
pine needles for the press,” answered Elenlilta.
“And has she outgrown them, at last?”
Elenlilta chuckled. “Yes, she is now taller than
our little half-elven. And has passed them in knowledge also, but not
quite in wisdom.”
“Does she yet remember who she is?”
“I think not yet. Many things she knows without
knowing where she learned them. But it troubles her not for she remains
as silly as any elf child, much like her favorite uncle.”
Starfoot laughed. “Favorite uncle. I bear
that title only because she sees me so infrequently. And silliness
has its place.”
“True,” replied his sister, then added in a serious, questioning
tone, “Is there any sign that Morfindel will relent? Are their
fathers banished from Dor Luin forever.”
His smile faded as Starfoot thought a moment. “He
has said nothing of them for a long time. They shamed him by taking
wives of the Bornosse so carelessly.”
“But how could they have known?”
“They are his children’s children’s children yet did not
even seek his counsel. Granted, he was barely able to walk at the time,
being so sorely wounded after the battle for the Morannon, and nearly dead
from grief at the loss of Lachnir and Ormal. But they had no right
to interfere in the lives of mortals without seeking guidance when the consequences
could be so severe. Five of the women died in childbirth. The
others gave birth to children who never grew past waist high, though they
lived almost two whole yen. These still among us who chose the life
of elven kind never knew their mothers, yet their fathers are constantly
haunted by their memory.”
“But the Bornosse approved the matches. None ever
said they wanted to be elves, only to be more than they were.”
“Which makes it a sad irony that their chldren were less
than they wanted. But they have grown taller and fairer over the generations
of this age. Perhaps marriage with the line of Eärlina has caused
the growth.”
“Or something else. But no elf will speak of it
and all Bornosse who know are long dead. Morfindel once mentioned a
remedy he considered as ‘shameful’ as the original offense, but I have heard
nothing else about it.”
“And we will not, dear sister,” said Starfoot. “Few
can fathom the mind of our elven lord when he refuses to speak and neither
he nor Lurisa has spoken a word to me on the matter, other than to mourn
the dark legacy Fëanor bequeathed to his descendants. And that
have they done often. Enough gossip. Off to find my niece.
Will you come along or continue your weaving?”
“I am nearly done here. Just one more foot and I
will join you. Can you not think of a tune to last one more foot?”
Starfoot thought a moment, then launched into a weaving
tune. Elenlilta laughed at the quick tempo and once again sent the
shuttle back and forth in time with Starfoot’s singing. A foot later,
she finished off the cloth and sent it away with an elf maiden to be stored
until they wanted it. They ran as swiftly as elves will when pleased
with themselves and soon were approaching the place where many other elves
gathered sycamore pods and pine needles to be pressed into fuel blocks.
Suddenly, a young elf gave a squeal and raced to Starfoot, dancing and skipping.
“Well, if it isn’t my favorite uncle. What brings
you this far south? And don’t tell me it’s just to see me, because
I won’t believe it. I know about Keren Woodman and all that passed
with the goblins so tell me the truth.”
“You know all, do you?” laughed Starfoot. “Well
then what need have I for speech?”
“Plenty. I want details. Tell me about grampa
and the troll. And about his fight with the captain of the goblins.
And about his song that made the goblin caves collapse. And about gramma
making the bells ring to call everyone home. We heard the bells even
here. We’ve been hearing those bells ever so much in the past months
but the people of Barad Lomin have forgotten to teach their children what
they mean. Even I know that the low tolling is a warning of approaching
danger. If it clangs, then get your swords and spears for it’s at your
door. You need to make a song about all that and I shall help you.
We need to remind them so that the enemy never comes so close again.”
“If you ask Morfindel, he will say his song did nothing
but bear a request to one of the Valar, or maybe even beyond them.
It was the power he called upon that did the marvels. But it would
make a good lay,” said Starfoot
“It certainly would. When shall we begin?” asked
Boriel.
“When you finish your work,” said Elenlilta.
“Oh. Right.” Boriel looked somewhat shamefaced
briefly, then sprinted to catch up with her crew of “little ones” as they
scurried here and there, snatching up every bit of bracken in their path.
The autumnal gathering was over long ago, but the elves kept the forest floor
clear all year round. They did business with several families of mortals
nearby who preferred to use elvish fuel blocks instead of wood for their
fires. In return they provided anything the elves might wish: cotton
for weaving, wine, flour for bread. The little ones also tended mulberry
trees for silk worms, carefully guiding the butterflies as they laid their
eggs on the leaves and shooing away birds who might think of them as food.
The little ones were continually busy with activity.
“Where is Taseras?” asked Starfoot. “I expected
to see him and Iscaloth with you.”
“Iscaloth and Rowan Twig are spinning thread not far from
where you found me weaving. Taseras is on the eastern forest border
near the bay shore. We’ve news that a family of men has camped there
and we want to know what they’re about. The birds flitting about bear
more than simple tidings of your visit, brother.”
Starfoot chuckled, then grew serious. “Does anyone know
where these men come from? Are they of Gondor, or Dunland, or some
other place?”
“That is exactly what Taseras has gone to find out.
You might join them. They might appreciate your council.”
“Very well. Though our younger brother has rarely
ever done that.”
“Holly!” called Boriel. “We’re finished here.
Where are you off to now?”
Starfoot told her and she ran to them.
“Much good as that will do,” she muttered. “Taseras
thinks he knows everything since my father made him captain of the host of
Eryn Vorn.” A look from her mother told her to be silent so she changed
the subject. “Might I go along? They won’t let me walk the press
so there’s no more work for me here. The men might feel a little less
threatened if there is an elf maid along.”
Much to her surprise, Elenlilta said, “Of course.
And I’ll come along as well. Perhaps they will see that they have nothing
to fear. They are at least one family so I suppose there are mortal
women with them.”
“And maybe Taseras will not do anything stupid,” murmured
the elf maiden.
“When was the last time he did something stupid?” asked
Starfoot as they sprinted along.
“He forbade her to teach the little ones how to swing
from the tops of saplings after one of the poor dears was flung a hundred
feet. Nearly broke his neck, not to mention every other bone in his
body,” said Elenlilta in a confidential tone.
“Boriel, before you accuse your other uncle of doing something
stupid, be sure your own feelings are not clouding your judgment. Where
are your brothers?” said Starfoot.
“Already with him. They’re on watch, night and day,
for ever so long.”
The elves picked up their pace, running swiftly through
the trees toward the east.
********
Keren stretched and yawned as the first beam of sunlight broke through the
window of her room. Brogan slept soundly beside her, his face buried
in a soft feather pillow. He was not used to such luxury. Neither
was she, for that matter. Quietly, she slipped out of bed, dressed
and stepped into the main room of the cottage. The table was spread
with a light breakfast of bread, cheese and fruit. In the center was
a large volume from the Archives with a note placed on top from Lurisa, informing
her that this was the book she promised to bring the night before.
Keren would find the story she requested at the place marked by a thin silver
bookmark. Keren opened the book as she ate and began to read the following:
Lurisa and Morfindel
Being an account of the meeting of Queen Lurisa and King
Gelionwë as told by them to Orodin, chief scribe and Master of the Archives
of Dor Luin. (With marginal notes by Ereg Elendal)
Serving as a handmaid to Queen Melian was an honor, Lurisa supposed, but
being of an adventurous spirit, she chafed under the restrictions of the
realm of Doriath. She had been born there and by the time she reached
her age of maturity she and her companions had explored all of Doriath within
the confines Melian had set. Often they begged leave to travel
outside but her mother (Noldor of the house of Fingon) and father
(a Sindarin elf of Doriath) were content with their lives and ignored
the world outside and thought their daughter should do the same. Lurisa
and her friends were persistent, however, (obstinate really) and reluctantly
their elders granted permission as long as they did not go east. (avoid
the House of Fëanor at any cost!)...
Brogan yawned loudly at about this time and Keren laughed.
Leaving the book open on the table, she moved silently to the door of their
room. He had rolled over, but was not yet fully awake. She crept
up on him and leaped on the bed, tickling his ribs until he gasped for her
to stop. Then she kissed his nose.
“That was forward of you. And not very dignified,”
he said, trying to look stern.
“If you wanted demure and dignified, you should have married
someone else,” she replied.
He smiled and played with a strand of her hair.
“It’s my parents who want demure and dignified. I just wanted you.”
He smiled impishly. “And now I have you.” He rolled her over and kissed
her.
“It yet remains to be seen who has whom,” she laughed,
tickling his ribs again until he curled into a ball and grabbed her hands
to make her cease. “Aha!” she cried. “Now I know your secret!
You are ticklish!” They wrestled a while, then she nestled down beside
him, content. Both gazed at the cedar boards which lined the ceiling
of the cottage until Brogan spoke again.
“Wouldn’t it be marvelous to stay here? I know the
elves most likely wouldn’t stand for it, but all the same...”
“Morfindel said I could stay as long as I liked.
And Lurisa told us we could use this cottage all winter, at the least.
We could ask them. From what you’ve told me of your mother, I think
I would prefer my own house, rather than moving into hers. Though I
lived in my father’s house, yet I saw to its keeping. I’m not used
to answering to another woman.”
“Well, at least for the winter would be good. The
message of our betrothal has only just reached them, I suppose. No
harm in asking,” he said.
“So what shall we do today?” she asked. “I’ve just
begun to read the book Lurisa left for me. Shall I read to you?
Or are you hungry? Breakfast is ready.”
At that moment they heard a scratching at the door.
Presently the handle turned and the door opened to reveal the hound from
the night before balancing on her hind legs and pushing the door open with
a forepaw.
“You’re a clever creature,” said Brogan.
The hound sat on her haunches and made a noise like “haharrrrroooooooo.”
“I think she’s saying it’s time to get up. Get dressed,
Brogan. I’ll read to you while you eat,” said Keren.
“What’s this? No darling, dearest or sweet heart?”
“I’ll think of a pet name for you later, I’m sure.
But I like the name you have. What would you like me to call you?”
He looked at her a long while, smiled and said, “Brogan
will do, Keren,” and kissed her. They were soon distracted by the noise
of scratching and whining. The hound was trying to push the door closed
and get out of the room at the same time.
“Have we embarrassed you?” asked Keren.
The hound whined, but quit trying to close the door.
She looked at them with her nose up, ears down, wagging her tail furiously.
Brogan rolled out of bed and put on his clothes.
“I’ve seldom slept this late,” he muttered.
“Likewise,” said Keren.
They went into the other room and Brogan sat at the table
and began to eat. Keren took up the book and began to read. The
hound nosed about the floor under the table until Brogan noticed her and
tossed her a bit of bread and cheese, which she gobbled daintily then trotted
to the hearth, turned around several times and lay down to watch them.
Suddenly Keren stopped reading and began to laugh.
“This is so like Starfoot,” she said and continued reading.
“‘...Let us have no more such enchantments. Truly, you need none.
Though I would not sever the bond you created, it is a thing like kissing
a dwarf. Once in a lifetime is enough. Do not do that again.’
Lurisa laughed with puzzlement. ‘Kissing a dwarf? What know you
of kissing a dwarf. When have you ever...’ And here is Starfoot’s note
‘(we have all wondered at this statement and asked persistently
of its meaning, but our elven lord says only that he told Orodin once and
will not repeat the tale again. and Orodin refuses to help us find
the volume which contains the story. we are all quite mystified)’
This is intriguing. I also would like to know what Morfindel knows
of kissing dwarves.”
“Seems our elven lord has quite a past,” observed Brogan.
“And if even Starfoot can’t discover the matter, I doubt
that we shall,” said Keren.
Throughout the day they took turns reading from the book
and by evening had finished all the tale.
“It’s difficult to imagine the lady Lurisa as a handmaid,
but I suppose Queen Melian was a great one indeed,” Brogan mused as
he lifted the book and offered Keren his arm. “And I shall have to
remember the tale of kissing a dwarf,” he chuckled.”
Together, with the hound trotting about them, they descended
the path to the trail leading to the great hall. They were almost to
the trail when they saw two figures seated on the steps. Brogan put
a finger to his lips and Keren nodded and they would have turned about, except
the hound bounded forward, joyfully. The figures turned toward her
approach and seeing Keren and Brogan called a greeting.
“Down so soon?” asked Lurisa.
“I feel the need to check on my brother,” said Keren.
“And my captain,” said Brogan.
“No need to fear him, or Jack and his friends,” laughed
Lurisa. “We gave you until noon the day after tomorrow in which time
they must leave you in peace.”
Brogan smiled. “Must we leave them in peace?” he
asked, with a cunning look at his bride. She responded in like manner.
Morfindel laughed. “We have set you no rules.
Only that they must not disturb you.”
“Then let’s do deeds worthy of their vengeance,” laughed
Keren, nudging Brogan with an elbow. To the elves she said, “We’ve
come down to return the book. Your courtship was even more dangerous
than ours.”
“It was somewhat,” agreed Lurisa. She then offered
to take the volume from them but Keren said they wanted to go to the Archives
anyway and that they appeared to be in a serious discussion when she and
Brogan came upon them. They did not want to disturb the elves any further.
“You can not disturb those who are already disturbed,”
said Morfindel.
“We thought you so intent on our privacy that you weren’t
paying attention behind you.”
“In part,” said the elf lord.
“Actually,” said Lurisa, beckoning the newlyweds to sit
beside her on the wide step, “we are working our way through a disagreement.
Perhaps you may help us.”
Keren looked at Brogan, who shrugged and sat, offering
Keren a hand and she sat as well.
“Say on,” said Keren.
“We are contemplating a new daughter, and are unable to
agree upon her hair color,” said Lurisa.
“And her eyes,” added Morfindel.
“A daughter?!” gasped Keren. “Why? With seven
children already, and all their children, and children’s children... You’ve
unnumbered descendants, myself among them. Why do you want another
child?”
“That was also my question at first,” conceded Morfindel.
“Keren, really. You have looked upon my beloved,
and yet you ask why I so willingly bear his children?”
Keren looked Morfindel in the eye a long moment then turned
back to Lurisa. “Now that you put it that way, I see your point.
Had Mrs. Green the chance to look upon him bare chested, she would no doubt
do more than go on and on about what a lovely thing he is.”
Morfindel blushed. Brogan laughed.
“There!” laughed Lurisa. “Cedartoes has that which
will bring the color to your cheeks!”
Quickly Keren changed the subject. “I knew elves had powers
beyond mortal kin, but can you really determine so many things about your
child?” she asked.
“Within limits,” said Lurisa. “Son or daughter is
easy. The rest is more a matter of sorting out what we do not want
and even then there will be surprises. It is an arduous undertaking
requiring great concentration, and most elves do not go to the trouble.
But with elves such as this one,” Lurisa patted Morfindel on the knee, “bringing
a new elf into the world is not a thing done casually. He has within
him the ability to bring forth another Fëanor, and one such elf is enough.”
“Perhaps another Caranthir,” said Morfindel, “but no one
could produce another like my grandfather. The same judgment applies
though. One Caranthir was enough.”
“Well then,” said Brogan, “I suggest that your daughter
have the mother’s hair and the father’s eyes.”
“I’m in agreement with that,” said Keren.
“It seems a fair compromise. I wanted her to look
like him, and he wants her to look like me. Perhaps I will agree to
that, for I do so love your eyes, my love.”
“As I love everything about you,” Morfindel said quietly.
Brogan cleared his throat. “Well, now that’s decided,
perhaps you two would like the cabin for a while?”
“Thank you, but that is your place, as long as you want
it,” said Lurisa. “We have our own quiet retreats.”
“As long as we want it,” murmured Keren. “We had
thought on wintering here.”
Morfindel’s eyes focused on some point far in the distance,
then he shook himself and said, “Winter here, by all means. And after
that, stay on. In days to come the Dunedain will need places of refuge.
And the Bornosse are ready to unite with others outside Dor Luin. But
they require leadership. I have long thought upon moving to Mithlond.
Or Imladris. Other elven smiths I have known reside there, though none
of my kin remain.”
“Leaving?!” said Keren.
Morfindel smiled. “Not in your lifetime. Or
even that of your great grandchildren perhaps. But as elves count time,
it will be soon. Too soon, I fear. Make your home here if you
wish.”
Brogan sat, open mouthed, looking from Keren, to Lurisa,
to Morfindel and back to Keren. “I wish to make our home here,” he
said at last. “My brothers have complained about how crowded our father’s
estate has become with their families, and dreaded the day when I should
marry. They need dread it no longer. By your leave, Morfindel,
we will live in Ciryafin’s Cottage. And even perhaps one day establish
a village bearing his name.”
Morfindel smiled again and nodded. “That would please
me greatly.”
Keren laughed. “How quickly things change.”
She turned to Brogan and said, “what of that mischief we thought to plan
for Argus and Jack?”
“We’d best set to it,” Brogan laughed and addressing
the elves said, “by your leave, my lord, my lady.” He stood and offered
Keren a hand, which she took, though she looked at him as if to say she did
not need it. Arm in arm they made their way down the remaining steps.
The hound, who had been sniffing and exploring nearby, woofed and trotted
behind them. Brogan turned, stroked her ears and asked the elves if
she had a name. They said she did not yet, since she was quite a young
hound, having just turned a year old.
“What was that name your brother used to call you?” Brogan
asked Keren.
“Teli.”
Brogan leaned his hands on his knees. “Well, my
good hound. Does the name Teli suit you?”
The hound wagged her tail, hahoooing happily, for being
a hound bred and tended by elves, she understood his speech.
“Well, come along Teli. My mistress and I may have
need of you...” Brogan’s voice trailed off as they continued down the path
with the hound running in circles and leaping into the air, yapping joyfully
any time Keren or Brogan spoke to her.
Morfindel stretched his legs and rest his elbows on the
step behind him and sighed. Lurisa reached to caress his arm and found
his wrist cold to the touch. She looked more closely and found a leprous
white mark. She motioned for him to show her his right palm and inspected
his throat, finding the same unhealthy looking blotches there as well.
They were not so noticeable before, but now that the ent draught had returned
his skin tones to their original color, the marks of the enemy stood out
all too plainly.
“Perhaps we should let Cedartoes continue his ministrations?”
she suggested, and would have risen to her feet but he prevented her, pulling
her close to him and taking her in his arms.
“There is time enough for that,” he said. “Cedartoes
will find us when he is ready.” They were silent a long while, until
Morfindel asked, “Are you sure about this? Our children are my greatest
joy, but to bring forth another, after all this time, and with the enemy
gathering strength again...”
Lurisa put a hand to his lips. “One more daughter.
Our last. I know what you fear,” she said, gently brushing her fingers
across the mark on his throat. “But no shadow shall touch this child,
for she shall sparkle as the stars at twilight, and the dew at dawn.”
And then she kissed him.
*******
Argus was dumbfounded. He always knew exactly where he left that belt,
but it was not there. He almost accused Jack of playing pranks on him
but the young elf seemed to have similar problems. The evening had
been going well. He was visiting with several men of the Bornosse and
a few dwarves and was going to show them the belt because his eldest son
made it for him, and he was proud of the leather work. But he could
not find it. Jack came along asking if anyone had seen his favorite
wine goblet. Sam and Gil had also managed to misplace various objects they
used frequently and all within the last hour. Most strange.
Then there was this hound. The Bornosse always had
a pack of their hounds with them: long, lean things faster than any Argus
had seen before. But this one answered to none of them. She sat
on her haunches and watched them puzzling over where he could have put that
belt, or where Jack might have left his goblet, and Sam and Gil might have
misplaced their personal items. If anyone approached her, she stood,
wagged her tail and woofed amicably, but would permit no one to come too
close, dancing on her hind legs, leaping and prancing about. At first
the elves paid her no mind, but then Jack looked closely at her, and began
to laugh.
“Sam, Gil, do you not recognize that hound?” he asked.
“She is one who stays at Ciryafin’s cottage...” said Sam,
paused, then began to chuckle.
“Ciryafin’s cottage,” mused Argus. “Wasn’t that
where...” And he too began to laugh. “My sister has learned too
many tricks from her brothers. And Brogan has been my partner in too
many pranks. I should have been more cautious.”
“Not really,” said a voice from the shadows. Brogan
and Keren stepped out bearing the various missing objects and returned them
to their owners. “Not only have I found a wife,” continued the knight,
“but also a partner in mischief. Beware, my captain. Our hound
is an accomplished conspirator.”
The dwarves and Bornosse, who had been privy to Argus’
plans to spy on his sister and her newlywed husband, broke into appreciative
laughter and congratulated the couple on their success at turning the tables.
Keren invited them all up to the cottage, which was quite warm and cozy,
for a late meal and round of drinks. Most of them graciously declined,
for the Bornosse women were preparing food already. But a few accepted
and, with Argus, Jack, Sam and Gil, followed Brogan and Keren up the trail,
the hound prancing along after. When they came to the path, they paused
and Brogan went ahead calling softly for he wanted to see if Morfindel and
Lurisa were still seated on the step where he and Keren left them.
But the elves were gone.
*******
The worst was over. Lurisa cradled Morfindel in her arms as he slept,
his face nestled against her neck. Deep sleep was a rare thing among
elves, only occurring with small children and those seriously injured or
ill. Or after drinking a very strong ent draught. Most elves
could drink ent draughts and be little affected. A slight tingle in
the extremities, a giddy sensation for a while, a good sleep and then awakening
refreshed. But those who had been touched by the dark lord, as Morfindel
had been, and a dozen or so others who dwelt in Dor Luin, at times suffered
extreme discomfort. Morfindel would not call it pain, nor would any
of the others. Compared to the agony they suffered in the cruel hands
of the enemy, all else was mere discomfort. Though they escaped the
dark lords, either Morgoth or Sauron, they were rejected by their own kin.
With nowhere else to go a few had gathered to Morfindel and his woodelves
of Taur-im-Duinath at the end of the First Age. Though that was long
before Morfindel fell into Sauron’s hands, he showed compassion upon them
when no one else would and they had remained with him ever since.
A desperate search for some relief drove them to try anything,
regardless of what others thought of it. Much debate over whether or
not an elf should drink ent draughts ensued. Some of the most wise
said it interfered with elves natural aging process and no one could know
what long term affects it might have. Others said the benefits to their
suffering companions outweighed the risks. And while they debated,
Cedartoes continued to distill and administer his draughts to any who requested
them. He seldom waited for Morfindel to ask, however.
This very evening the ent, with his bucket and dipper, found
them on the path. It was time to do battle, he said, for he would not
long suffer the enemy to torment any he claimed as a friend, and he had called
Morfindel friend for a very long time. The ent inspected the white
blotches on Morfindel’s skin and began to hroom and boom, cursing the enemy.
When he was finished venting his wrath at the dark lord, he bade them follow
him to a secluded place high in the mountains where the air was quite cold
and the snow deep at this time of year. Once inside a grove of tall
cedar trees, where Morfindel and Lurisa often resorted, Cedartoes handed
the dipper to the elf lord and let him drink. Within the space of an
hour, a fiery red outline appeared at the edges of the white marks and Morfindel
began to pace about, flexing his fingers, rubbing his wrist and throat as
he often did at such times. And they argued. Any little thing
came out in the first few hours after Morfindel drank an ent draught, and
Lurisa and Cedartoes always wanted to hear, for he never complained about
anything they did at any other time. He wanted her near, but not too
close, for his tempter flared more easily when the draught first began to
work and he did not trust his ability to restrain himself. For this
reason Cedartoes remained nearby. The ent joined the banter and they
enjoyed a time of jokes and puns in every language they knew to distract
him a little. When Morfindel grew weary of pacing and jesting and arguing,
Lurisa and the ent sat him down and took turns massaging the white blotches
until the angry red border engulfed the white marks and began to replace
them with normal flesh tones. Morfindel was a proud elf, and disliked
such attention, but accepted it because it sped the process. When the
last speck of white faded, Cedartoes left them to themselves, moving off
a few yards and settling himself in the ground, treelike.
“There is a darkness in me that resents everything and
everyone, even you. Sometimes especially you,” he told her apologetically
on this night. “Forgive me for my harsh words earlier.”
“Have I done anything to displease you?” she asked.
“If so I want to know it.”
“No. It is just that I depend upon you so.
I wish not to think of my life without you, yet I dislike such dependance.
And I am weary of lordship and the weight of responsibility that goes with
it. I wish you would no longer call me your lord. To anyone.”
“And what shall I call you then?” she asked. “Do
you wish so mundane a title as husband?”
He laughed. “Mundane. The more the better.”
She smiled at him, pleased to hear him laugh in his discomfort.
“Then I shall accept no other title from you but wife. Will you not
rest in my arms a while?” She guided him to a tree and sat with her
back resting against its trunk between large roots...
Lurisa felt a tickle on her neck, the flutter of an eyelash.
Morfindel sighed and snuggled closer, then he lifted his head and looked
into her eyes.
“We had a small controversy over our new daughter,” he
said.
“That we did my love.”
He picked up the end of one of her braids and tickled
her nose with it. “All I request is that she have your hair.”
“You remember the trouble it took to give the twins my
hair? Quite laborious...”
“It matters not,” he said and kissed her
“Hmmm. Kiss me like that again, and I shall agree
to anything you ask.”
He smiled, said, “In that case...” and kissed her again.
They paid no heed to the slight rustling sound about them.
It was only the huorns Cedartoes tended closing ranks to give them privacy.
Any passerby would see only an impassably dense grove and would hear only
the sigh of a light breeze through the branches.