Written by Zhie.
Rated G. Completed July 17, 2003; Edited November 30, 2003.
The main character is Rumil, and also features Haldir and Orophin and elves of
Imladris.
“
‘Quickly and with accuracy, he put an arrow into his target and drew another
from his quiver. The Grey Archer
caught sight of his quarry and let go his hold upon the string of his bow.’
” Elladan flipped to the next page quickly, then peeked out
from where he hid with Elrohir, making sure no one had come in to the bedroom he
shared with his brother. Elrohir
prodded him impatiently at the pause.
“If you’re not going to do it, I’ll read!” hissed
Elrohir, pulling the folded parchment closer.
“ ‘Between the trees, the Grey Archer spotted his prey once again,
and yet, it failed to cease it’s movement.
His interest captured, the Grey Archer shimmied down the tree to get a
better look at his would-be kill. Knives
now replaced bow, and the Grey Archer crept through the underbrush, hoping to
close in without the rogue warg noticing him.’ ”
The twins stared at the pictures that accompanied the text, each in their
own ornate frame, showing the Grey Archer’s decent from the trees.
The candle was beginning to dim – they had been beneath the bed reading
for the better part of an hour, but only as they had decided to read the
previous Grey Archer booklet before delving into the newest one that they had
found tucked under the pillow of Elladan’s bed.
“Let me again.” Insisted Elladan as the page was turned.
“Oh, it’s HIM. You read
for HIM, I want to do the part of the Grey Archer!”
“You’ve been the Grey Archer all night, Elladan, allow me a
chance!” pouted Elrohir.
Elladan conceded, sliding the pages closer to Elrohir.
“Before the blades of the Grey Archer could be put to use, he was
disarmed by a cloaked elf. Upon the
ground the dead warg twitched and groaned as death took it.”
Elrohir swallowed, then in his boldest voice, continued. “ ‘So, I see
you have come to make the kill.’ ”
“ ‘I have come to keep you from being killed, young one.
You should know not to wander into the forest thus. The Lord must be alerted to your disobedience.’ ”
“ ‘I have sworn myself to protect my Lord.
Is it disobedient, then, to hunt down such creatures as would threaten my
Lord?’ ” Elrohir continued, in
a much subdued voice, “The Cloaked Stranger came closer to the Grey Archer,
sheathing his knives as he lifted his hands to his hood.”
Quickly, two pairs of hands anxiously tore at the next page, whisking it
out of the way in great excitement.
“ ‘If you truly wish to protect your Lord, perhaps then the time has
come for you to join me upon that endeavor…’ ”
Again, they scrambled to turn the page, and both gasped.
“ ‘…my brother.’ !” read Elladan, eyes and mouth wide open.
“I never saw that coming!” Elrohir exclaimed.
“Neither I. I did not
realize…I thought the Cloaked Stranger was a villain…”
“He is a villain!” Elrohir
reminded his brother. “Remember
in the pages from two years ago, remember when-“
Elrohir stopped, hearing steps coming from the hall.
“Erestor! He heard us!
Quick, hide! Hide the book!”
Elladan blew out the candle, fanning the wisp of smoke that rose from it
while Elrohir scurried to a large deerskin upon the floor, sliding the parchment
beneath it, and leaping into bed before the door opened.
Outside, under the window on a little used ledge, Rumil sighed as he
heard the door creak open. He had
hoped to hear the entirety of the past week’s labors.
With little less than a month before his eminent departure back to the
Golden Wood, he would no longer have opportunity to sketch the adventures of the
Grey Archer between lessons here in Rivendell with Master Erestor and Lord
Glorfindel.
Perhaps he could still find time, he thought, as he slipped down the side
of the Last Homely House to his own room below.
During lulls in border patrol, on days when he was stationed in the city.
But none would read the tales with such passion, or such enjoyment, as
the twins. Rumil would still be
able to slip the stories in with packages to Rivendell for them to read – but
no. Master Erestor had made it
perfectly clear to one night at dinner that such use of parchment was wasteful.
Besides, part of the fun had been the mystery – neither elfling had any
idea who was writing and drawing the adventures, or who the Grey Archer and
Cloaked Stranger really were.
“Such a pity it has to end.” Rumil slumped into a chair once back in his room. There had to be some
way to keep the adventure going.
Elrond peered over the shoulder of his pupil, nodding as he watched Rumil
carefully finish the final sentence he had copied.
“You strive for perfection in your writing.”
“Nay, it is not writing, my Lord, it is art.
Each word, each character, each stroke is not merely a copy of the
original. It is an interpretation
of the former. One can greatly
affect the mood of the reader by the style chosen.”
Rumil placed the quill carefully back into the ink jar to rest.
“I only hope the readers do not absorb my mood whence they read it.”
Testing the ink to see that it had dried, he carefully stacked the pages
he had been working on.
Elrond frowned slightly. “You
are troubled. Are you not looking
forward to seeing your brothers once again, after so long a time here?”
“On the contrary, I am very much aching to see them both once more.
Rather, I regret my imminent departure from your realm.
Though born of Lothlorien, I think my heart shall belong always here in
Imladris.” Admitted Rumil
quietly.
Elrond nodded once again. “Your
sister is much of that opinion as well. Though
she frequents the Golden Woods to walk among the mellyrn and see her family
there, it is here where my Lady Wife always returns.
Though, not only for my sake.” Chuckled Elrond in one of his rare bouts
of laughter. Indeed, they had once
been rarer still, but young Rumil usually seemed to lighten the hearts of those
in Rivendell. When Rumil responded
with a sigh, Elrond’s frown deepened more than its former state, and his
brow furled considerably. “If you
might have been any other from ‘Lorien, I would gladly extend an eternal
invitation for you to live here. I
regret to say the most I may do for you is extend invitation whenever you might
be given leave by your Lord and Lady to visit.”
Elrond placed a hand gently upon the young elf’s shoulder.
“Consider the Last Homely House your home away from home.”
Rumil smiled ruefully. “That
I shall, my Lord. I thank you for
your kindness as always. I must now
take my leave, or else be late for my lessons with Master Erestor.”
“Let me not keep you from your learning, then.” Elrond stepped back
so that Rumil could stand and gather the items from the desk.
“What histories will my advisor be telling you of this day?”
“Master Erestor has promised a lecture on Beleg and Turin, with an
emphasis of knowing your friends and knowing your enemies.”
Answered Rumil.
“Ah, yes. Be sure he tells
you about Anglachel, but then, I am sure he will not leave a single detail from
his lesson.” As an afterthought,
Elrond added, “And be sure he does not catch you drawing in class.
I see nothing wrong with it, as long as you can recall your lessons, but
Erestor tends to think it a nuisance.”
Rumil swallowed audibly, unsure of whether he should prepare an apology,
but Elrond looked up, smiled, and said, “He has made more than one complaint
regarding it to me, but I do not think you endanger the parchment supply, as has
been suggested. I only wish I might
see some of your drawings before you leave for Lothlorien.
If they are at all like your penmanship, they are sure to be
masterpieces.”
Rumil cringed, and turned sheepishly to face Elrond.
“You may agree with Master Erestor if you were to see any of them.”
Hesitantly, Rumil slid a page from his stack and held it out to Elrond.
The Lord of Imladris took the sheet with great curiosity.
“Rumil, these are superbly done. And
an ingenious idea, a story told with words and pictures upon the same page.
So these are the famous Grey Archer and Cloaked Stranger…I have heard
Elrohir and Elladan tell tales of them, but ne’er did I imagine them thus.”
“An uncanny resemblance to two you know?”
“Yes…I would have called them otherwise.” Elrond handed the sheet
back. “Do you have many more of
these?”
“Nay, though I have drawn thousands of pages since I came to stay
here.” Admitted the young elf.
“Do not tell me Erestor has taken them from you.”
“Nay again. Your sons keep
them under their care, safely tucked under bed and behind door.”
Rumil could not believe he was revealing all to Lord Elrond, but instead
of ceasing, he continued to explain when he began, how he stole away the
parchment needed, right down to the ritualistic hiding of the pages in the twins’
room. Elrond, for his part, was
entirely focused upon Rumil’s tale.
“So you see,” the Lorien elf finished, “when I leave, they will
know I have been the mysterious storyteller, as they won’t receive any more of
the story. They so enjoy the story,
and I too, in writing it.”
“If you keep writing the story, and send it here with the messenger,
perhaps someone here might find the time to get the pages to the twins.”
Suggested Elrond.
Rumil stepped closer to the elf lord.
“I would need parchment, as well.
That which is from Lothlorien is a different color.
They would notice the change.”
“When you leave Rivendell, take what you can carry with you easily, and
I shall have more sent to you as needed.” Promised Elrond.
Rumil beamed with excitement. “You do not know how grateful I am for
this, Lord Elrond. Is there
anything I may do for you in return?”
Elrond smiled as he shook his head.
“The years you have spent here and the time and effort you have put
into your studies are adequate to grant this request.
I wish only that you would have taken to Westron as your eldest brother
had.”
“Truly, it is a shame that Orophin and I do not share the proficiency
Haldir has with languages.” Rumil
agreed.
“Westron is not for everyone.” Elrond said simply.
“Although, Elladan and Elrohir speak it as well as they do our native
tongue. Soon they will be
instructed in other subjects as well. I
hope they will have as much talent and respect as my last pupil has had.” Elrond
placed a hand upon Rumil’s shoulder and smiled warmly.
An idea came to the younger elf. “How
long before you intend to teach them formally?”
“Not for another twenty, perhaps thirty years, at the least.”
“I could write you into the story.” Mused Rumil.
“Make you a great keeper of knowledge, from whom the Grey Archer and
the Cloaked Stranger would learn much…though, he isn’t really a cloaked
stranger now…”
“From what I remember, neither the ‘Grey Archer’, nor the
‘Cloaked Stranger’ were greatly fond of me.” Elrond reminded him.
“You can be the mysterious character – most good stories have one of
those in them – and your sons will absolutely admire your character.
When you are ready to begin instruction, I can reveal the character in
the story – and they will be completely in awe, they will be the two most
astute pupils you have ever taught!” Rumil continued to plot in his mind, but
remained silent to let Elrond think about his plan.
The Lord of Imladris sat down upon a seat near the windows, contemplating
what Rumil was scheming. A bold
knock upon the door shook him from reverie.
“It is Erestor, I am late for my lesson!” Rumil headed to the door,
but instead, found Celebrian standing on the other side with an assortment of
scrolls and packages.
“I would like to think I’m prettier than Erestor, and quieter by
far.” She crossed the room to hand her husband the deliveries.
“There is a note from father in amongst the correspondence. He planned to send Haldir and Orophin earlier than
anticipated. We should expect them
in a few days, not a month.” Rumil’s
expression became gloomier at these words, but he tried not to show it best he
could. Celebrian kissed Elrond
gently upon the forehead before turning back around to leave.
“Rumil,” she added, just before shutting the door, “I passed by the
offices of the council members just moments ago. One of them was cursing like a mad orc, though I can’t
imagine which it might have been.”
“I must take my leave, my Lord, Master Erestor is likely furious, and I
have kept him waiting long.” Rumil was about to follow after Celebrian, but
Elrond stopped him.
“I have skimmed the message from Lord Celeborn, and it seems your
brothers bring with them some horses taken in an attack against Lorien that are
not needed in the golden woods. I
will need to make sure preparations are made for their stay, as well as for the
feast for their arrival. I will
need you to see that there is ample feed for the horses they bring, as well as
room in the stables and staff for grooming and feeding them.”
Elrond handed the letter to Rumil to read, adding, “You will have to
tell Erestor his lesson is cancelled for the day, but be sure to take the
parchment you need before you forget. The
next few days will be busy ones, as I am expecting other visitors as well, and I
will have to count on you to keep your brothers and their party occupied during
their stay here.”
“Of course, my Lord.” Rumil finished the letter quickly, then darted
out of the room to Erestor’s office.
The sun was slowly rising in the
sky as the Grey Archer and the Cloaked Stranger headed south, stopping only
briefly to allow the horses time to graze and rest.
“I don’t see why I had to come with you to Rivendell.” Orophin
said, capping the wineskins he had refilled in the nearby stream.
“It is a silly place.”
Haldir raised a brow at him, awaiting further explanation.
When none was given, the issue was pressed.
“And what pray tell, makes Rivendell a silly place in my brother’s
eyes?”
“It is a silly place where they speak a silly tongue and hold silly
meetings. And they all live in one
big house instead of a tree. I
should think one would hold personal privacy in enough regard to wish to live
upon their own flet.” Orophin
tossed one of the wineskins to Haldir, and fastened the other to his horse.
“And they don’t have lembas.”
“Silly indeed. Do you know
how often Rivendell has been attacked compared to Lothlorien?
The elves there are not scattered as they are in the woods, it is easier
to protect one homely house than it is a thousand talans.
The bricks of the House of Elrond do not burn as easily as do the trees
of our homes. My own privacy has
been many times compromised in a tree with no door and no walls, and not only by
kin, but by snow and rain as well. Speaking
Westron allows them to converse with men, dwarves, and halflings alike.”
Haldir paused to catch his breath, and added, “They don’t have
mallyrn, so they can not make lembas.”
“If they imported the mallorn nuts they could.” Orophin countered.
“And would Westron-speaking house-dwelling meeting-holding elves in
Imladris eating lembas make it less of a silly place?” Haldir asked as he
mounted his steed.
Orophin frowned. “That it
would not. It would still be a
silly place.”
“Exactly.” Haldir agreed.
Orophin, not quite sure how the discussion had ended so abruptly, edged
his own horse to the stream to drink. “And
how long until we reach the silly city?”
“Two days. More if you
continue to shout and cause orcs to hear us.
More still if they also find us and bother us and cause me to toss you
into the stream.” Answered Haldir, rounding the rest of the horses up.
“Hold it, now. Why would I
be tossed into a stream if the orcs find us?”
demanded Orophin.
Haldir shrugged. “I’m
just warning you of the consequences ahead of time.”
Orophin shook his head. “It’s
a damned good thing we’re getting Rumil back so that I have someone sane to
talk to for a change.”
Haldir smirked, and turned his head to look at Orophin.
“You can always talk to Ada and Nana if my conversations do not please
you.”
“As I was saying, it’s a damned good thing we’re getting Rumil
back.” Repeated Orophin as they
continued their journey.
“You’re late.” Remarked Erestor, not bothering to look up from
behind his book as Rumil entered the room.
“Yes. That I am.”
Smirked the blonde elf, striding up to the front of the office where shelves
held books, both bound and not, as well as stacks of parchment, boxes of quills,
and jars of various colors of ink. “And
I’m leaving to help Elrond with a task. And
I’m taking this.” Rumil grabbed a large stack of the parchment from off the
shelf.
Erestor
blinked at Rumil in surprise. “With
that much parchment, why not take a few feathers as well?
And by all means, you may run out of ink in an attempt to fill each of
those pages.” Erestor retrieved
these things from their places, settling them upon the stack of parchment in
Rumil’s arms. “Perhaps some
different hues as well…I always thought your picture book would have done
nicely to have blue skies and green fields.”
These were added to Rumil’s supplies, as well as yellow, red, and
brown. “Would you like a box for
all of that?”
“I…well,
no, I…” stammered Rumil.
“Good.
Because I haven’t got one.” Erestor
sat back down behind his desk, lifting his book back up to eyelevel.
“Thank
you, Master Erestor.” Said Rumil meekly, but he received no reply as he exited
the room.
“Do
not worry yourself on his behalf.” Glorfindel suggested.
Rumil turned to find the golden-haired elven lord standing down the hall
not far away.
“Did
you hear all of that, Lord Glorfindel?” asked Rumil, readjusting his load.
Glorfindel
made his way over, under one arm a small worn bark case.
“Centuries of keeping office next to his, I never miss an outburst.”
Glorfindel held out the case to Rumil, adding, “I don’t have a box
either, but perhaps this might do.”
“Thank
you, Lord Glorfindel.” Rumil stooped down to set the paper upon the floor,
causing the rest of the items to slide off into a pile.
Rumil righted the jars, placing them in the bottom of the case, and found
there were spaces specifically for holding such items, as well as the
quills and paper. “I will return
it to you as soon as I reach Lothlorien.”
Glorfindel
waved away this thought. “I have
more than enough clutter for one lifetime, and an overabundance for two.
Keep it, Rumil, it will serve you better than it would me.”
Rumil
clutched the case tightly in one hand while nodding his thanks.
“Word has come that my brothers will arrive sooner than expected.
I will likely leave within a week.”
“Tis
a shame. Imladris will miss your wonderfully drawn stories.
Though, now with the Cloaked Stranger revealed, I do not know your future
plans.”
Rumil
stood staring at the elf lord, stunned upon hearing the words.
“You know of the Cloaked Stranger?
Of my stories?”
“Aye,
and half of Imladris, I think. Erestor
finds them now and again the twins’ room, and they are read late at night when
the eldest of us are awake in the Hall of Fire in need of a new tale.”
Glorfindel told him.
“Master
Erestor doesn’t destroy them?” Rumil was still shocked by this revelation.
“Nay,
he has oft mentioned that the drawings could use some color.”
Rumil
closed his eyes, hearing Erestor’s words once again. “Blue skies and green
fields – I should have caught that. But
Lord Elrond-“
“Doesn’t
really know about them, he’s too busy with things.” Glorfindel patted Rumil
on the shoulder. “But, then, I
suppose the reason you’ve boldly pillaged the parchment supply is because you
have told him and he approves.”
Rumil
nodded, his ears burning red. “I am needed by Lord Elrond now.”
Glorfindel
smiled with a nod. “Off you go
then. And do keep me informed upon the progress of your story.”
“That
I will, Lord Glorfindel.” Promised
Rumil.
The
Cloaked Stranger settled himself upon the ground, staring at first into the
fire, then into the eyes of the Grey Archer.
Together, the travelers readied their meal, keeping careful watch on the
surrounding areas. It was not long before the meal became tedious, causing one
of them to break into song.
“
‘I once met a fair young maiden
While
in the town of Bree
I
asked her at once to stop waitin’
And
climb up upon my knee
Later
that evening I bid her
Come
to my home in the tree
It
wasn’t until much later
I
found out that she was a he
That
very next morning I woke up--’ ”
“Dear
Varda, brother, I wish you would learn the language before you decided to sing
with it!” Haldir slammed his tin cup onto the grass, splashing water over the
rim. “Where did you learn such a tune?”
“It’s
a catchy one, isn’t it?” Orophin refilled his bowl with a broth they had
made and broke some lembas into it. “Can’t
quite recall, but I think it might have been Gildor.
He and Glorfindel both taught me so many songs.
It’s the only thing I can seem to pick up in Westron.”
“How
fortunate. We send you to Imladris for the better part of a decade, and
all you bring back is a wealth of knowledge in courting elf maidens and a
handful of lewd drinking songs.” Haldir poked at the fire with a stick before
adding it to the burning wood. “If
only you’d have stayed an extra year, you might have some erotic poetry you
could recite.”
“I
don’t know about that,” admitted Orophin, “But there was a short verse
Glorfindel liked that went along the lines of ‘There once was a Lord from
Imladris/Who was often known to give a kiss-”
“Stop!
I need not know the rest.”
Orophin
sipped the broth. “Why not?
It’s just a silly poem.”
“Do
you know what the silly poem says?” Haldir
asked him. When Orophin did not
reply, he added, “Nor do you know the words of that song.
And when you begin to think of some of it – Orophin, how many Lords of
Imladris do you know?”
“Well,
Elrond, of course.” Replied
Orophin.
“And?”
Haldir prodded. Orophin
shook his head. “There have been
no other, Elrond is the only Lord of Imladris.
Even that isn’t enough to make me silence you, I’ll admit, but he is
married to our sister, let us not forget.”
Orophin’s
eyes went wide. “Now I am very
curious to know what the poem says. Translate
it for me, Haldir, and the song, too.”
“Nay.
I am tired, and do not want to be alone in the forest when I tell
you what you have been whistling these past centuries, sometimes in the presence
of the Lord and Lady.” Haldir
checked the horses one last time before finding a comfortable looking tree to
lean against while he kept watch.
“The
tune actually works with a number of songs.” Orophin told his brother.
“So, it may have been that one I was thinking of, or, ah…” Orophin
thought for a moment, trying to recall the other lyrics.
“Or ‘Hobbits are small for a reason’ or ‘The King of Mirkwood
loves dwarves’ or—“
“Goodnight,
Orophin!” Haldir brought his arms over his head to block his ears with his
shoulders lest Orophin continue, which he did, struggling with the Westron words
which held little meaning to him.
“Or
‘Never tickle a sleeping dragon’ or ‘If you want a look in the mirror,
you’ll have to kiss me in the garden’ or-“
“Oh,
sweet Elbereth, let me sleep so I do not strangle him.” Whispered Haldir as
Orophin listed his repertoire.
It
had taken Rumil the better part of the day to complete the tasks Elrond had for
him, after which was supper, and an early bed as suggested by Glorfindel.
A party was arriving from Greenwood, Mirkwood as some called it now, and
Rumil was expected to attend certain formalities, being a representative of
Lothlorien.
It
was not until late afternoon that Rumil found the time to work on the next part
of the story, most of which consisted of adding Elrond into the cast of
characters. Until now, he had used
only residents of Lothlorien. Lorien
elves rarely traveled, and the chance that Elladan and Elrohir would run into
any was slim. The addition of an
outsider to the forest was odd to Rumil, and yet presented a challenge for the
young elf.
“May
I ask what it is you work on with such great intent?” Rumil looked up, careful
not to appear startled to the elf before him.
Prince Legolas of Mirkwood tried to sneak a look over Rumil’s sketch
board, then shifted his gaze to Rumil himself.
“The drawings you have done for your stories bear remarkable likeness
to those portrayed. We have a copy
of one of them in our Library at home.”
“You
what?” Rumil asked in disbelief.
“Forgive
me, I did not mean to upset you.” Apologized Legolas.
“We would have asked your permission first, but it seemed from what we
knew that your project was secret in nature, and as all of our correspondence
travels through Lothlorien to reach Imladris, we dared not take the chance to
destroy your cover.”
“My
what?” Rumil set his quill down after realizing he’d let it hang in the air
and drip upon the page.
“The
Lord and Lady. The speculation was
that you did not want them to know of your stories.
You portray them in an – interesting light.
And your brothers as well.”
Rumil
chewed at his lip. Many did not
know of the birthright he and his brothers shared, and he was unsure how much he
could trust elves from Mirkwood. He
knew little about them, even if this one seemed friendly enough.
“Yes, well, I thank you for keeping my secret safe.”
Legolas grinned, and Rumil continued.
“If I may ask, I am confused as to how you were able to come upon one
of my drawings – a copy even, and the story itself.”
Legolas
sat upon the grass opposite Rumil. “Do
you know of an elf named Gildor?”
“Yes,
the traveler, he passes this way often.”
Rumil could guess some of what came next.
“He
has shared with us the stories. Not
the drawings, for the most part, but the writings, he shares in tales.
Upon request of my father, he was able to manage to have someone trace
copies of a few of the pictures. They
are stunning, I must say. The one
in the library of which I spoke is a rendering of the trees of Lorien.” Legolas smiled sadly. “Ada
loves to look at the trees. I think
he misses them, living in the caves now as we do.”
“I
will draw him another, not a copy.” Blurted out Rumil.
“And in color as well. Perhaps
two, if I have the time.” He added, realizing he would have no time to work on
the story by doing one drawing of Lothlorien, but finding himself compelled to
start this new task.
Legolas
clasped him upon the shoulder, then, as if deciding this was not adequate, gave
the young elf a hug. “It would
most certainly raise his spirits greatly. I
will not say a word to him, however, I know we leave shortly and you have other
tasks that may keep you from this one.”
“I
will draw Lothlorien for him.” Promised Rumil, setting a new sheet of
parchment before himself.
“Ah,
the Grey Archer.” Murmured Legolas as he spied the half-finished drawing Rumil
had discarded. “Although, I have
been enjoying the mystery behind the Cloaked Stranger.”
“You
are behind in the story, my friend, for the Cloaked Stranger has been
uncloaked.” Rumil told him, already at work on his drawing.
“Then
I must ask my pardon and take my leave to find an elf who is caught up on the
tale.” Legolas stood and was gone before Rumil next looked up from his work.
Trees grew closer
together now, and the path that the Grey Archer and Cloaked Stranger took was
more treacherous than the roads traveled thus far.
Wary, they were, of that which surrounded them, but playful also, as to
keep their senses about them.
“
‘There once was a Lord from Imladris/Who was often known to give a kiss-’”
“No.”
“To
every orc who stopped by-”
“Stop.”
“Until
one day he did lie-”
“Daro!”
“With
a lovely Lothlorien Orc miss.”
“Orophin!”
Haldir reached overhead to grab a branch from above, which he broke off and
threw at Orophin’s head. The
branch was caught and thrown back, causing Haldir to duck and curse.
“If I hear that once more, the next place you shall be reciting it is
in the Halls of Mandos.”
“If
you would tell me what it means, I would not continue to recite it.” Reasoned
Orophin.
Haldir
swung his left leg over so that he could ride facing Orophin.
“Think about it. Think
about the words you do know, and you should have a fairly good idea what
you’ve been saying all morning.”
Orophin
repositioned his right leg so that the two brothers now faced one another while
continuing to head to Imladris. “Well,
you’ve already told me it’s about a Lord of Imladris, namely, Elrond.”
“Correct.”
“And
something with orcs. And from how
you smirked when I first got to the fourth line, it probably has to do with
intimate relations he’s having. But
from your reaction to the fifth line, I’d say it’s not particularly
something pleasant. So Glorfindel
makes up poems about Elrond having intercourse with orcs.
I’m sure he doesn’t mean it.” Orophin laughed.
“You’ve
come quite close, so I’m going to let you have another hour or two to ponder
the poem. Tell me when you have it.”
Haldir moved so that he was once again facing forward while Orophin
settled himself upon his horse for a good long thinking session.
“How
fares your story, my brother.” Celebrian asked as Rumil entered onto the
balcony where he had been asked to breakfast with his sister and Lord Elrond.
“I
suppose you knew of the story already as well?”
Rumil found a comfortable place at the small table, choosing a seat that
overlooked the gardens below.
Celebrian
slid into the chair opposite so that she could monitor the door.
“What kind of parent would I have been if I didn’t know what my
children were reading? However, for
all my Lord Husband knows, I myself only just found out yester eve when he
explained things to me himself. And
that you intend to place him into your tales.”
“I
told him that I would. In exchange, I will be provided with parchment and
he will hide the stories for me when they arrive here. You
don’t think it’s a good idea?” Rumil poured tea for three, glancing behind
him when his sister did not answer.
“We
both think it’s a splendid idea.” Elrond approached Celebrian first,
greeting her with a morning kiss, then sat between her and Rumil.
“We have but one request. Rather,
my Lady Wife has but one request.”
Rumil
shifted his gaze to Celebrian, who was smirking rather reminiscently of the way
their eldest brother did – something neither he nor Orophin could ever quite
pull off. “Out with it.” He
said simply when she merely continued to study him with mischievous eyes.
“I
want to be in the story, too.”
They entered now
across the threshold of the Valley of Splendor.
The Grey Archer, as always cautious.
The Cloaked Stranger, indifferent as was his way.
Both appraised the sight, though not to their greatest liking, still
beautiful it was to them.
Orophin
rode into Imladris first – Haldir granted him this small request after Orophin
had been able to translate enough of the poem to know he wouldn’t be reciting
it at any family reunions. It
wasn’t far into the afternoon before Orophin had begun to learn the meanings
of the songs he was so fond of singing as well.
“You knew all this time, and you let me bellow them at the top of my
lungs! I now know why that band of men stayed clear from us as we
passed.” Huffed Orophin.
“It wasn’t what you were singing, but how you were singing.”
Explained Haldir. “Your voice is as gentle as stone and as sweet as the
stench of an orc.”
Few second had passed between Haldir’s evaluation and his being knocked
clear off of his horse. The two
brothers wrestled upon the ground for many minutes, with no clear winner as they
remounted, smiling playfully as they brushed dirt from their scraped arms and
torn cloaks.
“What a sight you both are.” Celebrian
shook her head as Orophin and Haldir dismounted, the younger running to embrace
his sister, lift her from the ground, and spin her round not once, but twice. She laughed and returned his hug despite his ragged
appearance.
“We ran into a troop of orcs some ways back.
We made short work of them.” Haldir explained as he approached
Celebrian, and also Elrond and Rumil, who stood now some few feet away.
Elrond appraised their appearance, frowning.
“You could not have encountered them far from here.
Your wounds are still quite fresh.”
“I fell from my horse.” Haldir said quickly. “The path is quite
rocky.”
“And Orophin?” Elrond asked, noting the younger had more than just
scrapes, but cuts and bruises as well.
“I fell from my horse, too.” Orophin answered.
“But, it was deliberate. I
didn’t want Haldir to feel bad that he fell from his, so, I took a tumble to
make it even. Guess I don’t fall
well.”
There was an uneasy silence while looks were exchanged between everyone. Finally, Rumil asked, “So, what were you two fighting
about.”
“He said I sing like an orc smells.”
Orophin admitted. “And he
wouldn’t tell me the meaning of a poem Glorfindel taught me in Westron.”
Haldir shot Orophin a look meant to stop him from continuing, but Orophin
was not facing Haldir. “And when
I found out what it did mean, he spent the next hour laughing at me.”
“Was it the poem about your Ada and the swan or the one about Thranduil
getting drunk?” questioned Elrond
to the surprise of all.
“Neither. I mean, well,
what I mean is-“ Orophin stopped as Haldir kicked his foot.
“What he means is that he was going to go to Glorfindel and demand that
a end be put to these lewd limericks at once.”
Offered Haldir.
Elrond sighed. “Pity.
There are some rather delightful ones he has penned.”
“Including one entitled The Arrogant Galadhrim.” Added Celebrian.
After another bought of silence, Celebrian acquiesced with a smile.
“There is no such poem?” Haldir guessed hopefully.
“There is no such poem.” Confirmed Elrond.
“Yet. Now then, though I
hate to cut short the reunion of brothers and sister, I should think tending to
your injuries should be addressed.” Suggested
Elrond.
Haldir and Orophin both conceded, but not before Orophin had passed a
scroll to Rumil, somewhat to the surprise of the eldest brother.
“It is from Nana, she said Celebrian could read it, but not us.
That is why I carried it and not Haldir.
She wasn’t sure that he wouldn’t peek.”
Haldir crossed his arms in indignation as Rumil accepted the message.
“Thank you, Orophin. I
suppose I shall not see either of you until this evening’s banquet?”
questioned Rumil. “I did
have an itinerary, but seeing as your condition probably could use rest-“
“I hope it was not a lengthy itinerary, Rumil.” Interrupted Haldir.
“We must leave in the morning. We
are expected back as soon as we are able.”
“Oh.” Rumil’s hands
fidgeted with the scroll they held. “I
understand.” He waited until his brothers had left with Elrond before turning
to Celebrian. “First they send
them early, and now I am being forced back immediately.
She knows I don’t want to leave, doesn’t she?
She’s punishing me for something. Probably knows I don't want to
leave Imladris.” Rumil’s eyes glistened with unshed
tears as he looked to his sister for answers.
“Nay, Rumil, Nana would never invade your thoughts in such as way.
She is kind and loving, she would not think to punish such a kind elf as
you. Haldir and Orophin are of
course a completely different matter, and I hope she tans their hides for
ripping their riding capes in such a dreadful manner!”
teased Celebrian, causing Rumil to smile briefly.
“Let us see what she has written first, shall we?”
“She said you could see it, will you read it to me?” asked Rumil.
Celebrian unrolled the parchment as she broke the seal, and lifted it to
read. “To my most loving and
carefree elflings, Rumil and Celebrian, I trust you are both doing well in
Elrond’s care. Many years now
have I wished for you both to visit the woods and bring your light to help
brighten the darkness that creeps across the whole of Arda.
Soon, too, would I like to be in Rivendell once again, to see it in
its splendor, and to see my grandelflings again.
I hope when I next see them I might be able to tell them apart from one
another.
“I apologize, Rumil, for the abrupt departure you are being forced to
make, but times are dark and I fear our secrets will be revealed if you stay in
Imladris any longer. I hope we will
find some way for you to continue your writings and artistry so that you may
continue your story. Do not allow
your brothers to intimidate you during the journey home.
May the Valar bless you both. All
my love, Nana.’” Celebrian
squinted. “Wait, there’s a
postscript for Haldir and Orophin. It
reads ‘To my bravest and boldest elflings, Haldir and Orophin, If you have
read this, when you return I will know. All
my love just the same, Nana.’”
“Is there no one who does not know of my story?” Rumil sighed.
“It seems, only Haldir and Orophin.” Celebrian rolled the scroll back
up, handing it to Rumil. “It is
the only reason I can see for her not wanting them to read this.”
“That is odd. That she
would keep such a thing from them.” Decided
Rumil.
Celebrian refused to comment much further, mentioning only that “Nana
does herself love a good joke now and again.”
Rumil
excused himself from the evening festivities earlier than anyone could have
anticipated. It was not because he
was upset at having to leave Rivendell, as he knew he could not hope to stay at
the Last Homely House indefinitely. He
had, however, expected that he would have had enough time to complete the
drawings he planned for King Thranduil’s Library.
It
was not expected that he would have company.
As Rumil drew the leaves on the mallyrn, two small elflings approached.
Neither said a word, one drawing nearer to him on either side, until he
had an elfling leaned upon each shoulder, intently watching his work.
“What can I do for the two of you?”
“Tell
us what it is that you are drawing.” Answered Elrohir.
“For
we have seen it before, and wish to know its name.” added Elladan.
“Where
have you seen it?” questioned Rumil, continuing to draw.
He bit his lip as he realized the answer to his own question.
Elrohir
sat up, placing his arm upon the log Rumil had his back to, and his head upon
that. “If we tell you, you mustn’t tell anyone else.”
Elladan
did the same on the other side of Rumil. “It
has been our secret for many years.”
“Share
it with me, and I shall keep it for you both.” Rumil had kept many secrets for
the twins, and part of him wondered how they had managed to keep from sharing
this one with him for so long.
“We
receive messages.” Began Elrohir.
“From
the Valar.” Added Elladan.
“We
don’t know for sure if that is who sends them.”
“Who
else could it be? They appear in
our room as if magic, and the drawings are flawless.”
And so Elrohir and Elladan told their tale to Rumil.
And he listened carefully, hanging upon every word of praise they spoke,
committing to memory each question they had, taking into consideration what they
liked best and least of that which they had read.
The amount of feedback was tremendous, but reasonable considering he had
first begun writing the story some twenty years ago at least.
When finally they had finished, Rumil told them all about the picture he
had drawn, describing in detail the Great Mallorn, the flets, and who the
Galadhrim were, all without once making a connection between Lothlorien and the
stories of the Grey Archer and the Cloaked Stranger.
“Can
you tell us about Mithlond?” asked Elrohir.
“Mithlond?”
repeated Rumil.
“Or
show us – can you draw it?” Elladan asked.
“I
could try.” Admitted Rumil.
“And
Mirkwood – I’d like to see Mirkwood.” Elrohir spoke again.
Rumil
squeezed his eyes shut. “Legolas
has described it for me this evening at dinner.
I shall do my best.” Rumil opened his eyes and began to sketch on a
fresh sheet, one curious elfling on either side.
In the early morning hours, as three horses and three riders were being
readied, an elf gracefully made his way across the courtyard, an elfling at
either side. “My Lord!” shouted
Erestor, catching the attention of Elrond, as well as the three Lorien brothers.
“I thought it might be appropriate that Elladan and Elrohir be allowed
to say their partings to Rumil, as he is likely not to return for some time.
And,” added Erestor, with something of a glint of vengeance in his eye,
“as it has been many a year since they were introduced to Haldir and Orophin,
perhaps they might again be presented, now that they will be old enough to
remember them.”
No
words were spoken as to the significance between the three brothers and the two
– it was deemed unnecessary for the twins to be aware of other kin in these
dark days. Rumil stepped in front
of his brothers, and knelt down so that he was on the same level as the elflings.
“I shall miss-“ Rumil swallowed hard, realizing how deep his sorrow
truly would be to leave not only Imladris, but these two, whom he had seemingly
adopted as his own brothers. “I
shall miss you both.” Rumil hugged them both fiercely, and they him.
“Remember
how I had told you I had brothers of my own?” Rumil asked when he had
detangled the twins from him. They
both nodded simultaneously, eyes wide with excitement and curiosity.
“I would like you to meet my elder brother Orophin, and our eldest
brother, Haldir.” Rumil stood as
he presented his brothers to the twins, whose wide eyes were now paired with
gaping mouths.
“The
Grey Archer…” trailed Elrohir, eyes focused upon Orophin.
“…and
the Cloaked Stranger…” Elladan whispered as he peered up at Haldir.
“I’m
sorry?” Haldir knelt so that he was eye level with the twins.
“I didn’t quite catch what you said, young one.”
“My
brother said nothing.” Elrohir asserted, giving a short bow.
“We are pleased to meet you, Haldir and Orophin o Lorien.” Elladan bowed as well, though throughout the formal
farewells, the twins continued to sneak peeks at the oldest of the brothers.
At
last, the brothers began their journey home, the Grey Archer and the Cloaked
Stranger leading the way to the Golden Woods.
“I
told you it was a silly place.” Orophin said to his brother.
“A silly place, with silly elflings, and silly songs that they make up
so that guests will remember them and be made to look silly when they sing them
in their native lands.”
Haldir raised a brow. “I
take it you were able to speak to Glorfindel about the limericks?”
“And Glorfindel!” Huffed Orophin.
“He’s the silliest of all, making up such songs.”
Orophin turned round to pose the question of the silliness of Imladris to
Rumil, but noted the worried look the youngest of them had.
“What is the matter, my brother?” asked Orophin, pulling his horse
back to where Rumil rode. “You
seem as if you’ve…lost something.”
Rumil’s horse had slowed considerably since they had left, causing him
to lag far behind. The young elf
was also looking in the direction they had come every few seconds, and in his
lap held gently but firmly was a roll of parchment.
“Haven’t really lost anything, just looking for something.”
“Something, or someone?” wondered Haldir aloud as he, too, joined his
youngest brother.
“Aye.” Rumil gave
another look back, and as he did, so did Orophin and Haldir.
“Who are we looking for?” asked Orophin, scanning the trees behind
them. They were answered by their horses, which jerked suddenly,
halting their journey.
“Ride properly, and you may just find him.” Grinned a youthful
looking elf clad in the greens of the forest.
“Mae govannen, Rumil. I
trust these are the brothers of which I have heard you speak.”
“Aye, Legolas, that they are. Brothers,
my friend Legolas, an elf of the Greenwood.”
Rumil introduced each brother, then bowed from atop his horse as he handed the roll of
parchment to Legolas. “I did not
take the time to draw the two images of Lothlorien as I had said I would.”
“You are more than generous to have spent your last days in Imladris
remembering Lorien instead of-“ the prince stopped, awestruck as he found not
one rendering, but four drawings rolled loosely, each accented with a different
color. Haldir and Orophin edged closer to get a better look.
“Blue to highlight the waters of Mithlond…red as the brick of the
Last Homely House…golden leaves upon the mallyrn…and green trees in my own
dear homeland. But you’ve forgotten the orcs in Greenwood.” Jested
Legolas good-naturedly. “I thank
you, and I am sure my father would have thanked you personally if you’d have
presented these to him.”
“I did not want to be rude to Lord Elrond.
For all his hospitality, I had not a gift to present him with.” Rumil
admitted, adding to himself in his mind, ‘Yet…”
“You live with orcs in your forest?” questioned Orophin.
Legolas rolled the drawings once again.
“Well, it isn’t as if we invited them there.”
“We kill the orcs in our forest.” Orophin remarked.
“We kill the ones in our forest as well.
Obviously.” Legolas tucked the scrolls into his saddlebags.
“But they are numerous, and what with the giant spiders hanging
overhead, it is more of a challenge.”
“Your talans are infested with giant spiders?
Dreadful.” Orophin shivered slightly at the thought of giant rogue
spiders crawling from flet to flet.
Haldir had come around so that Orophin was between him and Legolas as he
leaned over and whispered, “He doesn’t live in a tree, Oro, he’s one of
those cave-dwellers.”
“I would live in a tree if I could.” Countered Legolas.
“I did in fact live in a tree once.”
“So, if this forest of yours is infested as you say, and you’d rather
live in a tree as it were, why not just go find another forest to live in?”
suggested Orophin.
“Because it is my home.” Defended Legolas.
“If all the trees in Lothlorien were to suddenly die and fall over,
would you merely find another forest, or find a way to sustain yourselves in
Lorien?”
“Trees of Lorien fall?” scoffed Haldir.
“Perhaps you have never seen the Great Mallorn.”
“I told you he was the mean one.” Came a small, yet muffled voice
from a clutch of young trees not far away.
“He’s taunting the Prince of Mirkwood, that can’t be good.”
“And the Grey Archer…he seems so much more noble in the stories.”
Another voice answered, so similar, and yet from a different source.
“Prince of Mirkwood?” questioned Haldir with arched brow, but in the
moment he had looked to where the voices came from, Legolas had gone.
“Oh, good, you scared him off. And
I was really interested in what he had to say.” Pouted Orophin.
Rumil and Haldir were making their way to the area where the voices had
come from as the pounding of hooves alerted them to further visitors.
“Have you seen Elrohir and Elladan?” called out Glorfindel as he
approached upon Asfaloth. Not far
behind was Erestor, a none too pleased look upon his face.
“Seen, no. Heard, yes.”
Answered Rumil, reaching behind the trees to catch a elfling in an attempt to
escape. Haldir caught the second, who seemed not to put up a fight
after the first was captured.
Glorfindel dismounted as he came past, leaping to the ground and taking
up a heroic stance, to which Erestor rolled his eyes mightily as his horse
trotted to the scene. “The two of
you should not wander.” Reprimanded Glorfindel.
“The forest is dangerous, and your parents are worried.”
The twins both looked down at their feet, which was harder for Elrohir,
considering Haldir had hold of him under his arm. Rumil nudged Haldir, coughed, and gave a stern look at the
manner in which Haldir held onto Elrohir.
“What?” Haldir placed Elrohir into a standing position in front of
him, placing a hand upon the elfling’s shoulder as Rumil had done with Elladan. “We used to carry you around like that all the time when
you were his age.”
“That explains many things.” Added Erestor under his breath.
“Must we go back now?” Elladan made his saddest face possible.
“We missed Rumil already, and he said we could visit him sometime in
Lothlorien.”
“Sometime, but not this time. His
parents miss him, and he must return to be with his family.”
Glorfindel explained.
“But we want to come with him.” Pleaded Elrohir.
“We’re like part of his family, too.”
‘You don’t know how right you are.’ Thought Rumil.
“We will see one another again soon.
My parents worry about my return, as do yours for your return. Another day, little ones.
Remember,” added Rumil, “We are the children of the Valar.
We are all of one family. And
we have all the time in the world to see each other again.”
This finally seemed to satisfy the twins, and after once again saying
goodbye, they rode back to Imladris with Glorfindel and Erestor.
“I heard them say that Cloaked Stranger thing again.
And, something about a Grey Archer.
I tell you, Haldir, this is a silly, silly place.”
Orophin said, shaking his head.
“It is a beautiful, wondrous place.” Rumil countered, riding now
between the other two.
“What a day it has been, and not even have we yet stopped for lunch.”
Remarked Haldir. Turning to
Rumil, he asked, “So, my brother, are you anxious to return once again to your
home?”
Rumil took one final look over his shoulder, unable to make out the path
back to Imladris, or the cliffs that marked where the valley was hidden. “Yes. I look
forward to the day when I shall return.”
Notes
Besides being written for the challenge, this was written
also for Monty, who complained about Rumil’s extremely small part in ‘Lorien
Origin’. This story works off of
the idea that the Lorien brothers are the sons of Celeborn and Galadriel, though
none of them were born, exactly. Read ‘Lorien Origin’ for details on that.