In The Light of Telperion
"The one had leaves of dark green that beneath were as shining silver, and from each of his countless flowers a dew of silver light was ever falling...Telperion was the elder of the trees...the white glimmer of a silver dawn".
-Of the Beginning of Days, The Silmarillion
"..seated a little apart was a man with a fair and noble face... proud and stern of glance. "He is Boromir, a man from the South" " .
- The Council of Elrond, The Fellowship of the Ring
It was quiet in Rivendell. Beyond the distant flow of the waterfalls and the soft rustling of the leaves there was an unearthly, and yet soothing quiet. The members of the Fellowship were at ease, biding their time to give the Ringbearer a fair chance at healing from his Morgul-blade wound. Though his injury was still relatively fresh, Frodo was becoming stronger by the day, and it was hoped that soon he would be strong enough to begin the perilous journey into Mordor.
But in Rivendell, thoughts of the impending dangers were far from the minds of the Fellowship. Rest and peace were predominant as they enjoyed the calm of the gardens surrounding the house of Elrond Peredhil. The Elven-lord had retired to his quarters for the afternoon, still a little weary from his efforts in healing the young hobbit. His guests had Rivendell to themselves, to enjoy as much as they pleased until it was time to leave.
Legolas sat perched in the large, smooth branches of a tall tree, gazing at the rushing falls, their liquid melodies like music to his ears. He did not know why, but the sound of the water always drew him towards the falls. He could not explain this; having grown up in the forests of Mirkwood and relishing the quiet woods yet being so drawn towards the waters. He sighed pleasantly. His wrists felt odd without his archer's bracers, and his back curiously light, having been relieved of his quiver and bow. He glanced back towards the gardens, and smiled as he saw the tall figure of Aragorn striding across the quiet lawns. The Ranger's walk was slightly hesitant, as if he too was struggling to get used to walking without the weight of his long sword slung at his hip. Legolas turned back to the falls and closed his eyes, drinking in the sound of the rushing flow.
Aragorn approached a small arbor under a group of overhanging trees. He ducked to avoid the swaying branches, hung with small, round leaves. The figure sat on the bench looked up in surprise and mixed annoyance. Aragorn smiled briefly and tilted his head in respect.
"Boromir".
"Aragorn". The man returned the greeting but not the gesture. He sat, polishing the round surface of his shield with a methodical air, the domed centre flickering the dying rays of sunlight.
Aragorn noticed the look of worry on Boromir's face, though to others the man's face was almost unreadable.
"Rest, Boromir. Enjoy the peace of Elrond's gardens. The Ringbearer is not yet fully healed, and you should take time to wander on such a idyllic day, as there are hardships ahead".
Boromir looked up proudly.
"It is because there are hardships ahead, Aragorn, son of Arathorn, that I do not rest".
Aragorn sighed knowingly. He had not expected the man of Gondor to heed his suggestion, but nevertheless he left with a passing comment.
"You should at least walk through the gardens today, if only to stretch your legs. Shield polishing is hard work, and you seem to be in need of some repose from such chores, Son of Gondor", Aragorn remarked wryly before stalking off across the lawns in search of more sociable company.
Boromir snorted at this last comment. What did Aragorn think he was doing, telling him what he should be doing, anyway? He scrubbed the shield with greater energy. Rangers.
And yet that was a pleasant thought, to wander without destination through the cool and dappled shade of Rivendell, if only for a few minutes. Resting his shield against the bench, Boromir stole out quickly from under the arbor, checking to see if Aragorn was watching. Across the lawn near to the house he espied the Ranger lying on his back, arms behind his head, his eyes fixed on the sky.
Boromir walked off into the copse of trees, following the winding paths drawn by nature deeper into the trees. He grudgingly relaxed as the cool breezes fanned his warm face, and his normally grim features unwound until his good but proud face was set in a likeable expression of wonder as he took in the ambience of his surroundings, the branches of the trees swaying to a loose rhythm, showering the grass with coins of light.
Boromir closed his eyes momentarily, yielding to the lull of the leaves' rustling, thinking of the white tower of his home, the city of Gondor, resplendent in the sunrise and sunset of each day. The White City. He was indeed far from home, and it made his heart feel sick to think of the distance. He longed to return home, where he felt continually called.
A sudden noise in the undergrowth startled him and he emerged from his reverie, his hand reaching for the short sword that he knew wasn't there.
As his eyes adjusted themselves to the light again, a slender figure came into view, a silhouette against the powerful light behind it.
A gentle yet firm voice brushed off his defensive reaction.
"Be at peace, Son of Gondor, I am not here to attack you".
Boromir relaxed his hand and it fell to his side. He narrowed his eyes against the sun's glare. He was unable to pick out the features of his companion.
"Come out of the light", he commanded, curious in spite of himself.
The figure nodded assent and stepped forward into the shade of the overhanging tree that shadowed him. Boromir's eyes widened and he suddenly found himself momentarily speechless, his mouth forming words he did not know how to say.
The figure was a woman. Slender and beautiful, with long tresses of silky hair like the colour of silver, so light was its colour, so gemlike the tones in its multitude of strands. Her hair was drawn partly away from her face, leaving the remaining locks to flow like water over her shoulders.
But it was her eyes that made him gasp. Deep and glittering, a shade of green to rival the leaves around them, dark and searching, like the jewels of a mine. If Boromir had been more learned in Elvish lore he would have compared their colour to the leaves of Telperion, the First of the Two Trees of Valinor. But as it stood, Boromir was only a man, and could only stand in awe.
"Your words seem to have failed you, Son of Gondor", she remarked with a flickering smile on her beautiful face.
"I-I did not know there was another Elven maid dwelling in Rivendell", he haltingly apologised, cursing his clumsiness with uttering the simple sentence.
She laughed softly, a low, stirring sound that made him listen to it all the more intently.
"You call me an Elf, Captain?", she asked, brushing back a lock of hair swept forward by the breeze, "You have been away from home for too long, it seems".
As she tamed the unruly lock, Boromir noticed that her ears were not pointed as Elf ears were. She was not an Elf, not immortal. His heart skipped a beat at the recognition.
"You are a friend of-Lord Elrond?" The question sounded foolish the moment it left his lips, but he had to know.
She smiled slowly, and the sight of her warmed his heart, " Yes, I am a friend of the house of Elrond and of the Elves. I have lived among them for many years".
Boromir marvelled at this, for she seemed young and fair, untouched by the years that had hardened his own features and set his jaw in a serious and battle like grimace.
The woman smiled at his incomprehension, "Do not look so amazed, son of Gondor - my friendship with the Elven folk has won me the long years granted to them, though I am but mortal and will die a mortal death unlike my ageless brethren".
"An Elf-friend", Boromir muttered.
"Does it surprise you so to learn that there are men and women who live peacefully with Elves?"
"No, but I had thought that only Aragorn shared such a deep bond with the immortal folk".
Her eyes looked at him, almost penetrating his soul, her gaze was so piercing and honest. Boromir could hardly bear them looking into his own, wishing she would turn her attention elsewhere to prevent him from turning away first. Thankfully she did, turning her gaze to the ever moving canopy above them, admiring the pools of light that were revealed fleetingly by the branches.
Boromir gazed at her, taking in her slender form in her dark green gown, that was no competition for the green of her eyes. The sleeves of her gown tapered into wide strips of
material that flowed with every movement. Her cloak was drawn about her shoulders with a
silver brooch in the shape of a small flower that he did not know the name of. She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen in all his years of battle and roaming Middle-Earth, and yet she had the quietly brave stance of a seasoned warrior. He plucked up enough courage to address her again.
"You are a shield maiden, perhaps?"
She lowered her gaze to his again and her expression softened.
"No, not a shield-maiden of the Rohirrim am I... that is, not a shield maiden". She grasped the end of her cloak and drew back one side revealing a long blade in a scabbard at her hip. Boromir was impressed at this and his face revealed his admiration. The blade was slightly curved and its handle glinted silver wrapped in dark leather ribbons.
"You wield a sword?" he exclaimed.
The woman smiled again, "Yes. Though Rivendell is not the place for such weapons of war, I seem to be unable to cope without its presence".
Boromir nodded in agreement, "The absence of my own weapon has not failed to affect me also".
She replaced the cloak, hiding the blade, looking about her at the now silent gardens. The scent of niphredel became apparent in the cool evening air.
"I should leave you to your thoughts, Son of Gondor. I have intruded on them enough, I think". She turned slowly and made as if to leave.
"Please-" Boromir blurted out, reaching a hand out as if he would fain stop her from walking away. She turned back to him and fixed him with her calm gaze.
Boromir was at a loss for words again. He struggled to excuse his unmanly outburst.
"I don't mean to prevent to you leaving, but-", he fumbled with his wrist bracer, "I fear I may not look upon you again".
She blinked slowly at the statement. Turning fully round to face him she tilted her face upwards to the evening light. The last rays of dimming sunlight caught in her lashes as she spoke.
"My name is Lasmenel", she said simply.
"I am Boromir, son of Denethor, the Steward of Gondor", he replied.
"Forgive me", she said laughingly, "I have neglected to speak of my lineage. I am Lasmenel, daughter of Edomir and Ithiluin...perhaps we shall meet again, Boromir, son of Denethor, and walk under the light of the trees ".
"Their light cannot match that of your eyes", Boromir muttered under his breath. Lasmenel stopped, mid step, at the comparison.
"My name comes from another light, son of Gondor", she said softly, and was gone, her shadow vanishing under the approaching twilight, her dark green robes melting into the woods.
Boromir sighed, a sound that was both wistful and longing, and that expelled all his pent up emotion in one drawn breath. Turning reluctantly on his heel, he stole one last glance at the place where Lasmenel had stood, and walked back to his quarters, his heart suddenly filled with a heaviness he knew would not be lightened until he next saw her, the sword maiden with the eyes of an immortal.
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