Barad Lomin
by halavana
Chapter 16: 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.
