Title: Ringil: My Woodland Friends
Summary: A peak into Ringil's private life: her resting arrangements, her family, her friends, and a bit of her past. Set in Imladris, featuring the Green Elves living in the valley – as suggested in the Hobbit – and the rest of Elrond's household.
Rating: G/K (Perfectly safe!)
Warnings: none, except if you would count fluffiness as a warning…
Characters: the Green Elves, the peredhil twins, Glorfindel, Ringil, a Dûnedain chieftain's young son
Timeline: TA2920
Notes:
Thank you for those who have waited! Please forgive me for the lengthy waiting… My defense? Naw; unthinkable. :-[
I had the inspiration for this snippet at 4 AM in the morning, so sorry for the unexpectedly "sleepy" theme towards the end of the story. The inspiration simply hit me and I had to write it down…
I remember that I promised someone about another one-shot about Aragorn/Estel. I apologise for the one I intended the promise to… This idea simply could not wait to be worked on. *grimace* I feared it would vanish if I did not quickly put it down to words. I'm sorry…
There are some mentions about the Valar and Maiar. It would help if you have read the Silmarillion for this purpose, but if not, just ask me and I shall tell you the beings or stories belonging to the names or events.
The language in the dialogues here are Sindarin, the one the Elves in Middle Earth use daily. I make up a name along the tale; please tell me if it is not true since I don't have much knowledge of Sindarin words and wording. :-[ The dialogues are in Elven tongue unless told otherwise.
I borrow a song from the Hobbit here, with some tweaking along (Sorry!). The other song is my own; if you wish to borrow it, please tell me and give credit to me in your work.
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I pad on silent feet away from the outmost perimeter of the valley. If my twin sister or brothers had wind of my sojourn in the most vulnerable part of Imladris, they probably would explode with colourful tirades or chide me for being a hypocrite when next they see me. But, thankfully, none of them is here to catch me red-handed. I have long accepted that this is one of the benefits of my curse – my inability to sleep like anyone else from almost every race in this world.
The stars are twinkling brightly throughout the velvety sky. The moon is absent tonight. Probably Tilion is once again pursuing his unending love for Arien somewhere in another half of the globe. If only he would accept the fact that she does not love him back…
The thought is so funny in my head that I have to suppress a chuckle. It would not do, being caught snickering to oneself in the middle of an empty path.
But shaking one's head is permitted, I suppose, and so I do just that. My loose tresses shift pleasantly, lifted and ruffled also by the gentle late-spring's breeze. My warm scalp feels cool and refreshed afterwards, and this time I cannot prevent a grin from slipping across my face. Tonight is one of the peaceful nights in the valley; thankfully so, because I have spent the day chasing around and coaxing Aragast, the five-year-old son of Ithilion – the Dûnedain chieftain – to cooperate.
I do not have the heart to blame him. This was his first day from the long years he is going to have to spend in the hidden valley of Rivendell. Worse, his mother could not accompany him as dictated in the tradition, since their settlement has been struggling to recuperate after a particularly nasty warg-and-orc raid. Still, though, despite everything, he had had me tired out almost completely when I at last ssent him to his bed.
I sought refuge far from any immediate civilization, armed only with my twin long knives, gifted years ago by Thranduil alongside who knows how many gems and jewels despite my vehement protest, and a canteen of apple-flavoured water. I have chosen a set of plain, homy clothes for this particular occasion: a pair of knee-length dark-green woolen breeches, a short light-grey thick cotton tunic and a pair of light leather shoes.
I spent a time by the road branching to the valley, perched alone on the bow of a sturdy but gentle-hearted oak tree. I cuddled within the foliage and listened to the whispers of the leaves and the noises of the night creatures. For a time, I felt happy and peaceful, but not for long. It was weird having a night free of humanoid noises after a day full of them, I just realized then.
So here I am, slinking back to Imladris like a thief sneaking into his… or her, in my case… targeted house. This is not what I usually do. I would prefer running to walking, a favour that has earned me the name Runner in many places I have visited in my long journeys across Middle Earth. Yet now running would not buy me time to absorb what nature offers me this quiet night. That is why I am also going to be in search of some Green Elves to simply sit with as soon as I arrive at the Last Homely House. But it is if they permit me to do so in the first place, of course. I have nevvver mingled deep with them before this, and so I do not know what their reaction will be upon my request.
The white stones which mark the path to the valley – one of which that I have chosen to follow – gleam dimly under the soft silvery light of the stars. It is a game for me to locate every stone and step on it instead of the grassy dirt in between. It is not easy, since the stones are sometimes half-buried under the soil, or covered by moss or mold, but so far I manage it with moderate success. I feel like turning into a young girl again…
I do not often feel like this, especially because my life has always been hard since the beginning. Thus I relish this experience, not caring that a foolish look must be displayed on my face at the moment.
Yes, my life has never been always easy. I ended up in an orphanage in my own world just after I was born, tucked in a shawl in a wicker basket. A letter was tucked also inside the basket, stating that I was born on Thursday, October 15th, 1987 at 3:25 PM, and that my name was Ardila… nothing else. For eight years, I grew up in the orphanage. I was labelled as a weirdow by my fellow orphans because of my silence, my thirst of knowledge, and my serene expression after attending a mass in the church beside the orphanage's complex. It was hard, especially since I was just a young child wanting only to play with my peers and to learn new things.
Then one day in my eighth year of moderately-miserable existence, another girl who was as old – or young – as me was suddenly dropped in the orphanage's common hall. She was newly-blind and unwanted, and I got the task of befriending and living with her… As might be imagined, it was not easy at all at first. We grew into a pair of informal twins, though, and the fact was only strengthened by her having the same birthday as I. Her name was Ariana, close enough to my own too.
Three years we spent in the orphanage together, until a pair of foreigner couple adopted us and brought us to their home in England. To common eyes, they were well-known and well-to-do aristocrats; but to a few people from a select community of wizards and witches, they were famous… or notorious, perhaps. Yes, magic flowed in their veins.
And it flowed in ours as well, it turned out, after we were swarmed by a pile of invitation letters to attend various magical schools around the world. Our quiet, carefree span of time with our adoptive parents stopped there; it was brief. The only good in the revelation was that we were blood-adopted by the couple a few days llater, making them our parents in blood and us a pair of blood twins. Well, we had a chance to explore a new world: a magical world – but it was also dangerous, not wholely enjoyable.
We were initially enthralled by our lessons in magic, both with wands and without, yet the happy times were tainted. We gathered and lost friends nearly at the same time during the course of eight years. We attended Hogwards, a school for witchcraft and wizzardry in Scotland during those years, and befriended many people, including a pair of elven twin children who had been accidentally wisked away from Alagaësia to our world by means of an unknown spell gone awry. But, given the war tearing the Wizzarding World apart starting from our second year in Hogwards, just when Harry – our adoptive brother – was enrolled in, loss of family and friends could not be avoided. Even in the relatively-peaceful Muggle World, we also suffered from losses. Well, I suppose this time it was our fault; perhaps we should befriend people other than soldiers who almost actively went into harm's way…
I shake my head. How can these gloomy thoughts enter my mind? Are my defenses that low? I have barricaded these pieces of memory in the deepest part for so long…
"Nethold?"
I freeze midstep. Young Stream. There is only one folk calling me by that name: some Elves who reside in Imladris with Nandarin blood in their veins. Of course, they should be up and about now, under the stars, amongst their beloved trees… But why do one of them venture this far from the Last Homely House?
I gaze about, trying to catch a glimpse of the caller. But I have known that it will be in vain eventually; I am doing it more as a reflex. Most likely, the Elf responsible for waking me up from my reverie has fled far – enough far so that my irritated shout would not prick his or her sensitive ears. They can be like children sometimes, those tree huggers.
Snorting in mild exasperation, I skip down the barely-discernable path, continuing my game half-heartedly, my mind half-way made up about revenge to the intruder. The thoughts flee my mind, however, when I hear the rushing sound of the Bruinen from afar. More than anything, the sound is what makes up home for me.
Forsaking my game, I dash along the path, only paying attention to the beckoning rumbles…
I nearly topple down the steep face of the cupping valley rolling like a barrel. I catch myself only in the last moment, and even then I end up landing on my bum, sliding down on loose soil half-a-meter down the shere slope! I growl under my breath, cursing the Elf for making me hurry; unjust, I know, but thoughts of a good tree nearby the river to nest pop up in my mind all of a sudden. The presence of the Green Elf has kindled the thought, and poke at my desire to burn brighter.
I rise gingerly onto my feet then dust myself as well as I can, squinting to see the right path meanwhile. It would not do to lose footing on this precarious ground, after all. When I find it, the matter is easier to solve. Soon I find myself half-skipping down the slope like a deer – except that a deer cannot dance or whistle softly like what I am doing.
I linger long on the mouth of the narrow bridge which arches above the rushing Bruinen. With a contented sigh, I drop to a knee and unlace my shoes one by one. A greeting to my beloved rever is proper, I think… however cold it must be to my human soles. `Make it a bit warm, would you?` I send a thought to the water in an innocent, sweet voice.
If one knew of what I am doing, one would think I am crazy. But well, I suppose that poor person would have a heart attack – if he or she is not an Elf – if one knew that my half-teasing comment to the water is answered.
`What are you doing here, my Seashell? Should you not be with your friends over there in the trees? I detect that thought in your mind since half-an-hour ago.`
The voice is male. It is characterised not only as one of the rushing river but also the thundering seas, gentle streams, chuckling springs and trickling rain. It sounds fatherly, warm to my heart.
Without ado, I plunge my feet into the current. I sit there on one end of the bridge, letting the eddies and varying currents play with my feet. A blissful smile graces my lips and stays there for a long while.
`I wished to greet you beforehand, Father.`
People often associate my fondness of water with the lengthy periods I spend by a river, stream, waterfall or lake. They are not far from the truth, yet I have another reason of why I seldom stray from a body of water anywhere I am. It is for the voice in the water that has just greeted me; one that would laugh with me, cry with me, chide me for an act of recklessness, admonish me against certain dangers in my act or a place I am about to be headed, or even plot a prank with me. He is a father figure to me, one that I readily love and would defend without hesitation against anyone who dares to mock him…
The latter, though, perhaps needs to be reversed, since he is far more powerful than I, and people – especially the Telerin Elves – would deem me insolent if I declared that he is my father before them. I have never tried, but that is what I think would happen if I did.
`You make me feel homesick and alone, Father,` I murmur. A rumbling chuckle the sound of a river flooding meets my physical and mental ears.
`I cannot show myself in a mortal form while there are so many alert eyes watching, daughter,` the voice of the water answers tenderly. `There would be a mayhem caused by my appearance, and I believe you do not want that to happen.`
I open my mouth physically as if to argue with him, but then he wraps me in a mental embrace, forestalling my remark. I sigh and bury myself into his spirit. If it is possible, I feel like in a perfect haven at the moment. All arguments vanish from my mind.
`You are cheating, Father,` I chuckle weakly when he rocks me in his embrace. `You know well my weaknesses.`
Again, the voice rumbles with a loving laugh. `How many hours have we spent together per day or night, my Seashell?` he teases me. I pout, mentally this time, just remembering that – if he is correct – I am under the watch of many eyes.
At length, realising that I would get sick if I lingered too long here in the open air with feet submerged underwater, I pull my legs together and wipe my feet on my breeches. I would get a new pair of clothes once I am back in my room anyway, I say to myself while lacing my shoes back. `See you later, Father,` I smile.
The river babbles up. A long, thin finger of shimmering water rises above the others and touches my left cheek. He has just kissed me. I repress a beam on my face and instead send one mentally to him alongside a hug.
I sprint across the bridge afterwards. I fear that the urge of going into the Last Homely House would be swept away by the strong currents of the river if I did not hurry up. "Nethold!" I hear someone call me from the clumps of trees not far away from the river, but I do not lessen my pace. I only wave my hand vaguely at the direction of the caller, signaling that I have heard the call, before slipping through the front doors of the slumbering house.
Unexpectedly, someone bars my way. I collide with the person just after hauling myself through the doors.
"Why hurrying?"
It is Glorfindel, arrayed in his night clothing and wrapped in a night jacket.
I exhale loudly, half-exhasperated and half-resigned.
"Why not sleeping, Laurë?" I counter, meanwhile trying to maneuver around his lean body. He chuckles and playfully blocks my way.
"Answer me first, sister, then perhaps I will let you go," he teases. I harrumph and, scowling petulantly, push him aside with a little force.
"Come on, Laurë. I will face Aragast again come morning. It wouldn't do, fraying my nerves even before then."
"Then let others tend to him," Glorfindel frowns, suddenly concerned. He snags a hand around my elbow and draws me closer to him. "You did not tell anyone." He sounds accusing now. I exhale once more. So much for a calm night.
"Unfortunately, everyone who wishes to care for him is usually busy, and everyone who does not tends to upset him – whether accidentally or not," I grumble under my breath, trusting his Elven hearing to catch the words and the sarcasm behind.
"True," he murmurs, mollified and – if my ears are correct – mildly embarrassed. "However," He draws me in a bear hug, "there are people who you have not asked – or thought to ask – who might help if only you put up a request to them." He winks, then lets me go.
"No." I shake my head. "Well, perhaps you are right, but I simply do not have the time to ponder about it, if the events just yesterday are to be counted." I pad away from him, farther down the main corridor.
His next words, silently spoken, halte me.
"I thought there was an enemy trying to cross the river. But then… It was somehow wrong. If the river had a spirit and could laugh, I would say that it was chortling over something terribly amusing."
I turn around slowly, my heart pounding. No one has ever questioned that particular thing. Glorfindel has never asked me about my relation to my father figure too.
"Why do you tell me that?" I ask in a careful, guarded tone, not bothering to conceal my agitation. I cannot lie to him; I have no reason for that anyway.
"I saw you, a mere shadow but one that I know for certain. You were there, very close to the water, unperturbed," he says simply. My stomach chills; my innets feel like plummeting down to the bottom of my abdominal cavity. My calmness against the menacing-sounding rumbles of the river must strike as odd – and maybe unnerving too – to anyone watching.
"Yes, I was there," I pronounce my words with deliberation, tasting the sourness of each word in my tongue and around my mouth.
"Who are you?"
I am taken aback. Glorfindel flinches. He strides up to me hastily and puts a hand on my left shoulder. "Forgive me," he mutters, fidgeting. "I did not mean to be rude… It is only that…" He pauses; gulping, if one asked me what he might be doing.
Then,
"Were you communicating with Lord Ulmo?" He sounds timid, too meek for his customary mirthful and powerful Elf-lord that he is.
"You don't seem like yourself," I comment drily, noting to myself how ironic it must sound. "And, to answer your question… Yes, I was. You could have known sooner if only you asked."
His hand falls limply to his side. I take the opportunity to stride away, fleeing his presence. I try to preserve my dignity by reducing a full-speed run to a light jog, but I suspect he knows of my intention despite my attempt.
I navigate down the corridor and various passages. My destination is in the small wing on the second floor of the large wooden edifice; there lies the living quarters of the family and close friends of Elrond and I. I often thank the lord of the valley's generosety for considering me and my company his family; but at times like this, when a closer chamber from the front hall would suffice me to hide in, I rue his kind gift.
I halte in front of the door leading to the room occupied by Elladan and Elrohir. Regular breathing is heard across the door plank when I press an ear against the wood. There are two sets of them, so the twins must be in a deep sleep.
Smiling to myself, I walk on to the adjacent room, my own, which is five doors down the corridor. There I slip through the unlocked door and pad to my wardrobe. There is no use lingering here – in a closed space – when my thoughts and heart are out there in the open, so I intend not to tarry before changing into a new set of clothing.
I sift through the piles of clothes and body accessories, most of which are generous gifts from various people, rather aimlessly. I intend to just let my hands decide another set of clothing for me to wear. At length, I pull out a pair of black cotton breeches from one of the piles, and not long after I find a cream-coloured tunic to match it.
Neyva, my hound, chooses the moment to slip through the gap I have made unintentionally on the door. She darts to my side and nuzzles my belly.
"I'm staying in the trees tonight," I inform her absent-mindedly. I scratch her right ear with a hand while the other is hugging my new pair of clothing close to my breast. She snorts her understanding and nudges me on the ribs, urging me to hasten. Her action makes me smile; it is the first since my confrontation with Glorfindel.
"I can't change if you stay there, puppy," I chide her gently. She flicks her tail but retreats to my bedside anyway.
In short, I have stood again on the front doors with Neyva prowling at my side. The only differences from last time I stood here some minutes ago are my fresh set of clothing, the presence of Neyva, and the absence of Glorfindel. I still keep my twin knives, slung to my either sides across my shoulders. I have also refilled my canteen, and am ready to spend the reminder of the night outside among the tree huggers.
Well, no… There is one thing I am not ready about, and that is what I find just when I am half-way crossing the lawn towards the small wooded area near the Bruinen.
"Nethold?"
"You again…" I comment exasperatedly, but there is a hint of fondness I cannot conceal from my voice. The Nandarin Elves are steadfast, even more so than their Ñoldorin counterparts – who are notorious for their stubbornness. I remember this particular Elf, because the said Elf is responsible for three times calling me tonight.
The – mildly – offending Elf hovers nearby a bit anxiously. I feel the slightest hint of guilt seeing him trapped in such an inconvenient situation, yet my mind is too muddled to produce a comforting gesture to placate him. I only wish to be in the trees now and be a tree hugger for once.
Surprisingly, as if reading my mind, the Elf offers a hand to me – timidly so! Why? – and we cross the lawn together. With each step he takes, he becomes less and less nervous; he even skips lightly on the last ones! He is truly like an Elfling – in spite of a feeling in the back of my mind which tells me that he is old even for an Elf. He does not seem to be perturbed at all by Neyva, by the way, although her head is at a level with his tall shoulders. The easiness in which he carries himself around Neyva's protective presence is rare to be seen, even among Elves. I bow to him – mentally – for that alone.
Upon arriving in a big old oak tree, I halte and Shift my knives to my back, preparing myself to climb up the tree. In just a minute, I am already settled on a big, strong bow not too far from the ground.
Soon Elves flock around me; not too close to be inconvenient but near enough for me to feel accompanied. I have a sliver of understanding about the old definition of the Elven kindreds now, finally, particularly about the part that deals with the Green Elves. Their sense of emotions and feelings are strong, and they are most attune to nature. In other times and perhaps to other people, those traits could prove a hindrance, but now I am enjoying them as a treat after a grueling day.
I do not often stay in Imladris, always involved in one matter or the other in wherever my feet carry me. When I do, I usually stay in my bedchamber for the night. This is, unbelievably, my first time trying to find solace out among the trees, mingling with the kind of Elves that I seldom interact with – at least here in Imladris. It is a novel experience, unfit for my already-harrowed state of mind, yet strangely in fact it does fit my mood.
The Elves do not engage me in any conversation. They sit still, perched lazily upon their chosen bows or tangled comfortably among some sturdy branches. Silence envelops us, but it is the warm, homy sort that makes everyone relaxes and forgets the day left behind. I find myself gradually succumbing to the aluring secure atmosphere. However, I ddo not fight the sensation back. Neyva is resting among the roots of the tree. She will keep vigil for me, I believe, and she is not a bad tree-climber after all.
I trust the lot. My breaths even out. A small smile plays on my lips. My grey eyes glaze over in meditation. My back slouches to the tree trunk behind. I trust them in such short a time that, vaguely, I wonder why. The thought is soon banished from my resting mind, nonetheless.
The culprit is a soft lullaby chorused gently by the Elves around me. I feel surrounded by the soothing voices and only now realise the clever placement of the Elves among themselves. There are Elves above, beside, behind, and even under me. Instead of feeling besieged, though, I feel like cuddled in a pair of huge, loving arms.
Dream peace in dark, sleep ease at night
The breeze on leaves, the stars shine bright
Tiny brooks, gentle streams, the moon spreads light
Evening is cold, we must be bold
Huddle in hope, shelter at home
Wait the night to pass by, the night to say good bye
And when evening is tired, the night grows old
Tears form above the sky high
And at the rise of golden sun we'll know why
We'll know why, for the answer is nigh
The beauty is nearby
So sleep now, sleep well, sleep tight
And at the rise of golden sun we'll catch a sight
We'll see, behold the tears of night
I am lulled into a deep meditation, one that I have never been often privy to since years ago. There was less time for myself while I and my company were still in our world, battling against the self-proclaimed dark lord Voldemort. The situation only worsened when we volunteered – quite rashly – to help in the war against the tyrant king Galbatorix in Alagaësia. Normally, my mind would raise the alarm, warning me to keep vigil because even friends can turn into foes… but not now. Now I feel simply content, at home, and generally at peace.
They sing many songs. After a while, I lose track of what they are singing about. I do not know either how many songs they have sung. I am satisfied in only listening as though from afar through a hazy fog.
I find myself woken up in almost the same manner, believe it or not. Before this I have never thought that one could wake up a person with pretty singing! Well, the gay tune in their new song could be accused of being the culprit, nonetheless, if I think further… Soon, I listen attentively.
I cannot suppress fits of low sniggers upon discerning the ironic lyrics.
Sing all ye joyful, now sing all together
The wind's in the tree-top, the wind's in the heather
The stars are in blossom, the moon is in flower,
And bright are the windows of Night in her tower.
Dance all ye joyful, now dance all together
Soft is the grass, and let foot be like feather
The river is silver, the shadows are fleeting
Merry is May-time, and merry our meeting.
Sing we now softly, and dreams let us weave her
Wind her in slumber and there let us leave her
The wanderer sleepeth. Now soft be her pillow
Lullaby, lullaby, alder and Willow
Sigh no more Pine, till the wind of the morn
Fall Moon; dark be the land
Hush, hush, oak, Ash, and Thorn
Hushed be all water, till dawn is at hand
"What time is it, my friends?" I laugh softly in the end of their song.
"Just before dawn, sleepy one. Are you feeling better now?" an elleth to my right answers in a warm, teasing tone. My laughter grows louder and bolder.
"I reckoned that there was no moon tonight. Why was there a moon in your waking lullaby?" I chortle. "And I wasn't sleeping in a bed with a pillow underneath my head!"
We laugh together. Then, with an even louder laughter in the Elves' part, the elleth hands me a pillow which, I just notice, she has been hugging. She grins good-naturedly at me and quirks an eyebrow in a comic way. "It was your fault not asking for one," she giggles.
I force a petulant pout upon my lips. It is a feat, considering that my lips rebel to the command of my mind, wanting to turn up instead of down.
"Thank you, my friends," I finally say in the most solemn tone I could master after the fits of laughter have subsided. "I feel refreshed… Now I am ready to begin the day." I grimace remembering what I will likely have to do when Arien climbs up from the eastern horizon.
"We are not acquainted with the ways of the Men. Yet we can assure you that we are willing and ready to help… as long as the aid you ask of us does not include minding the young human directly," the ellon perched to my left declares in a tone graver than the one I can manage at the moment.
I blush, remembering my confrontation with Glorfindel. The Elf who has just spoken happens to be the one that called me three times some hours ago. He was probably present when I argued that the people who do not help simply do not wish to.
Again, as though he could read my mind – or can he? – he smiles warmly at me and winks. "You did not know us well enough to suspect of our intentions correctly. Besides, in fact neither of us offered assistance to you before, so we did not fault you for thinking that way."
I blush redder. "Umm…" I scratch my head. I am thinking fast of how to escape this uncomfortable situation – in my part – without offending them.
"I have to go. It has been nice nesting here with you." All right. I am stumped. Hopefully they are not going to be offended…
On their knowing nods and smiles, I chuckle sheepishly. I scuttle down the tree, then run back to the Last Homely House without so much as a broad grin and a wave of hand to the Elves-invested trees. Neyva bounces after me, worf-ing and woof-ing with her tail wagging – my overgrown puppy, she is.
My chest, which felt so heavy yesterday, now feels as if there were a balloon blooming inside it.
After extricating myself from the 'magic' of the Green Elves back there, I realise that today is Elladan and Elrohir's twentieth begetting day. I and my comrades have prepared gifts for them for this special day with help from Glorfindel and Erestor. Last night I worried that my dark mood would spoil this day, though. But thankfully now the problem has been cured – and by the most unexpected lot too! My current mood is even lighter than it is in the last two weeks.
I take a time stretching on my bed, my body sprawled haphazardly atop the covers with my feet, shoes intact, dangling over its edge. Then, after a time, I take a shower and meanwhile list what we have to do for the surprise begetting-day celebration for the peredhil twins. The last fruit of Lorelin has just been piloted up the vast expanse of the sky when I emerge out of my room, garbed in a light-grey ankle-length dress embroidered with dark-green vine patterns without my knives and water bottle. My twin Ariana is there, waiting for me, a knowing smirk dancing on her lips.
"Did you suggest those Elves to drag me to their trees?" I ask her, suddenly suspicious. She snickers and shakes her head, but the twinkles in her unseeing eyes proves my suspicion anyway.
"I was there too," she says at last when my precarious mood threatens to roll downhill again. I inhale sharply, taken aback. Guilt overcomes me.
"Sorry. I should've known," I manage weakly. She snorts and shakes her head again, this time more firmly, as if to emphasise her point.
"I'd be downright spent too if I were you yesterday," she confesses. It is a feeble comforting argument to me, or so I think. My mood now really plummets down.
And that is what makes her angry.
"Stop trying to please everyone. Mind yourself for a while," she snaps impatiently. Her tone, more than everything, catches me off guard. She is always the calm, composed sort; not that I am easily riled up in other situations, but here I admit I am not at my best state of mind. Thus, it surprises me how she loses her composure so easily. Perhaps she had a rough day too? That only serves me another wave of guilt…
"Talk to your father," she advises in a calmer tone after a lengthy, uncomfortable silence. I shift uneasily.
She quirks her eyebrows. Her face becomes so comical that I burst out laughing. But soon the laughter dies down as I notice how serious she is.
"I can't," I tell her. "Laurë questioned my relation with him."
"You told me you wouldn't mind telling anyone that he's become like your own father," she counters. I gulp and look down to my feet – which Neyva has chosen to be her temporary pillow.
"It feels different, doesn't it, experiencing it in a scenario in your head and in the real world?" There is no accusation in her voice, only plain statement denoting the reality, but somehow it stings me more effectively than a harsh rebuke.
I drag a heavy sigh then look up, meeting her eyes – both the physical and inner ones – squarely. `Perhaps I ought to think more clearly after this,` I admit ruefully to her through our mental link. She sends an amused feeling across our bond but otherwise does not react to my admission. That is what I like from her: her silence – ponderous, judging and calm at once. The Ariana I knew all those years ago has matured considerably, rendering her almost unrecognizable if traced from her past self; the changes in her are more significant than those of me. The only thing that marks her as the girl that I met when I was eight is her sight impairment, though now she acts and behaves not at all like a sight-impaired person.
"See you later, sister, down there in the garden – if our plan succeeds," I murmur, overwhelmed by emotions. I kiss her cheek, then poke Neyva's colared neck gently with a finger. "Come on, big puppy. We have a big day ahead."
Downstairs, near the dining hall, I come across Glorfindel and Aragast. The boy is standing close to the Vanya, seemingly afraid of something; his hand never leaves Glorfindel's. When I ask why he looks so frightened, Glorfindel answers it for him. "He broke one of the vases in the gallery. He was caught sneaking into the kitchens for some snack. I have no idea how he could outrun a grown-up Elf, but he did, and he sought sanctuary in the gallery hall. There the cook caught him at last and he broke that vase in his haste to actually conceal himself behind it. Now not only the cook but several dozen others are upset. The vase was Ereinion's favourite brought here from Lindon by Elrond on Erestor's request."
"Erestor and Elrond must be upset too now, yes?" I ask uselessly. He snorts. We sigh.
Great. The day is now utterly ruined… just like the vase.
Surely I can mend the vase, though?
I hum to myself and turn away to another direction. Neyva follows close to my legs, her breath warming my back. We hasten to the gallery hall.
But there, singing softly to herself, I find Luna – one of my companions, a fellow witch – mending the vase the Muggle way. "Hi, Dil," she greets me without looking up from her work. "Don't worry about this vase. I'll be able to mend it eventually."
I swallow my words back to my throat. I cannot decide which is worse: knocking the precious vase incidentally or subjecting the poor thing as a huge, interesting puzzle to piece up by the excentric member of my company – whose notoriety has since long spread all over the valley.
I give up in the end and stride away. Luna continues her work as if I were not there.
Just outside the long corridor, I come face to face with the freshly-awakened peredhil twins who each bears a look of interested puzzlement.
"What happened—" one asks.
"—To the vase, actually?" the other finishes.
I smile weakly. "Haven't Laurë told you?" I roll my eyes at them. Then, half-heartedly, I add, "Don't ask me. I won't repeat it."
"Why so gloomy?" Elrohir, the more emotional of the two, queries in concern.
"Not because of the vase, I hope? Ada has given up to the reality – not that he had a choice in the first place, I suppose," Elladan chimes in.
I shake my head regretfully and pause, weighing the choices I have. Finally, however, I surrender and resolve to steer away the conversation from the topic of the vase. "Happy begetting-day, brothers. If compared to Men, you are twenty now," I say softly, then halte, breath held, waiting for their response.
At first, there is none. Then, when they have processed the information, a broad smile spreads in the faces of each twin. They hug me in unison. "Thank you," they say and kiss me on the cheeks. "We even did not realise it until you told us!"
"I and my friends prepared a small celebration for you, but it's ruined now," I confess lamely.
"What? Ruined? Did the celebration have something to do with the vase?" Elrohir blurts incredulously. I burst out laughing despite the situation. Elladan knuckles his brother's temple playfully.
But it is Elladan who speaks for us both. "Silly brother."
We exit the gallery hall laughing, earning several weird looks and sidelong glances from the passing Elves. I explain to them my old plan and, to my pleasant surprise, they promptly help me make some adjustments to it. I should not be surprised, perhaps, given their vivacious nature when dealing with friends in a casual day…
Aided by the Green Elves, my new friends, we manage to find a beautiful, startlingly pristine clearing just within the perimeter of the valley for our purpose. Late into the morning, I find myself trooping with my comrades and Elrond's family – including Erestor and Glorfindel, the honorary uncles of the lord's children – to the designated clearing. Little Aragast tails after us because there is no one in the Last Homely House who would take care of him for the day, but he is to spend an extra lesson of reading as a punishment while we are lazing around. The rest of the company spend the afternoon picknicking and frolicking among the trees and bushes. Some, like I do, venture a bit farther to the side to a small waterfall coming out of an underground spring.
My new friends have chosen the spot well. They have even gone so far as to help us carry the picknick baskets! And we get a bonus from them – even after their great assistance – when they entertain us with soft music from their flutes or throats. I feel in debt to them.
The thoughts of debt and how to pay it are pushed away once I settle down on a mossy boulder by the waterfall, though. Neyva lies down beside me on a bed of spring grass and takes a nap. Albeit, I am too enthralled by the beauty of the dainty mass of tumbling clear water to be tempted to rest. The dappled sunlight falling on the thick curtain of water makes it glitter and, sometimes, create dots of dancing rainbow. I take a mental note of this place and how to reach it, intending to come back as often as possible in the future. I can flee here when the problems become one too many, or…
Who is watching me?
I turn away from the tiny fall, my small smile dissolving into an equally-small frown.
"Nethold."
The frown moves back into a smile. Never have I welcomed the caller this happily. I should ask about his name, his family, his favourite pastimes…
I shake my head. My smile grows. I beckon him with a hand gesture, my charcoal-coloured orbs sparkling. When he emerges from the shadows of the trees and comes into my full view, I find my smile and gleaming eyes mirrored by him.
"Do you like this place?" he asks in a gentle tone, seeming to grow old and fatherly before my naked eyes. I give him a goofy grin. At least to me, it tells everything.
Apparently, it conveys just as much to the Elf.
We settle down together in a companionable silence, communing ourselves with the nature – he with the woods and I with the waterfall and stream. Dimly, I hear the other tree huggers singing and playing music; the voices and sounds filter through the branches and leaves. Conversations drone in the background, cut at times by peals of laughter or exclamations of surprise and mock annoyance.
It is as I wanted.
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Author's blabbering:
Good? Bad? Stuffy? Too fluffy? *look around* *duck under the desk*