INNOCENCE
by Soledad Cartwright
Disclaimer:
The characters, the context and the main plot belong to Professor Tolkien, whom I greatly admire. I'm only trying to fill in the gaps he so graciously left for us, fanfic writers, to have some fun. Only Erestor's family belongs to me.
Rating: PG for this chapter.
Please read Warnings before the Prologue.
Author's Notes:
And this is where the story really starts: nearly two and a half millennia before The Lord of the Rings. But fear not, all the people you'll meet in this chapter are good old friends - presumed, you've read the *book*. Otherwise, this fic just isn't for you.
CHAPTER ONE: FIRST SIGHT
[The 10th day of *coirë*(1), in the year 532 of the Third Age]
It was a cool yet beautiful afternoon in Imladris - one that urges any self-respecting Elf to leave the house and take a walk among the trees that - true to the name of the last season of *loa*(2) - had barely begun stirring from their long winter sleep.
Not that any one who dwelt in this Elven valley actually would have to leave the house in order to feel the light breeze upon their faces - there were no doors in Imladris (save those of the secret libraries) to keep out the wind or the sunshine, and now, that the cold of the winter had broken, even the tapestries were removed from the tall, narrow windows that reached from the paved floors up to the arched ceilings and could also have been used as entrances to the different parts of the house.
Still, finished teaching his three now-grown children in the fine art of lore, the Lord of Imlardis felt like taking a stroll in his gardens, together with the Lady of his House and his heart, and Celebrían was easily persuaded, for she had lived in the Golden Wood for many long seasons and always felt more at home under the trees than among the stone walls of her husband's home. Therefore the Lord and Lady of the Valley put on some warm garment against the chilly freshness of the season and left the house.
Kingly they looked together, though they vere not called King and Queen: tall and proud and fair-faced as the nobles of the Eldar, to whom they belonged, usually are, though the blood of mortal Men that coursed in his veins gave Elrond Half-elven a stronger, broader build than most Elves had. Like a great warrior he was, strong and keen-eyed, his raven hair set in the ceremonial braids of the Nodlor, his white undergown and heavy burgundy velvet robe richly embroided with gold, and a delicately woven mithril ring adorned his brow.
Celebrían shone at his side like a silver birch compared to a strong oak, her silver hair braided to an intricate crown upon her head and covered with a silver lace netted with small gems, glittering white; yet her soft grey raiment had no ormnament save a girdle of leaves wrought in silver - and over that she wore a mantle of silver and blue. Fair she was as the twilight in elven-home, and all that dwelt in the walley loved her - but no-one as deeply as the Lord of the Valley to whom she was bound with a bond of never-ending love.
And so they strolled in companionable silence under the trees, for they needed no spoken words to understand each other, holding hands and summing qiuetly some old lay, when a young Elf came up the narrow stairway cut in the living stone of the hillside: Erestor, whom the Lord of the Valley had saved from the smoldering ruins of Ost-in Edhil, the once-beautiful city of Celebrimbor, the greatest Elven-smith of Middle-earth, save Fëanor himself.
Erestor's parents and siblings were slain by Orcs with most of the people of that town, and only by chance did he survive himself, to be found by Elrond, who had been sent to help by Gil-galad but arrived too late; and he brought the boy back to the newly-founded Imladris and raised and taught him as his own. It was not the custom of the Noldor to take children of lesser birth into foster care, but Elrond took pity of the terrified young elfling - and he never regretted it.
For Erestor grew up to become an acceptable scholar and a fierce warrior, determined to avenge the death of his family and the destruction of his first home, and after the Battle of Dagorlad, where he almost died from his multiple injuries, each grave enough to kill any less stubborn Elf, he was made the seneschal of the valley and entrusted to run Elrond's house, taking a lot of burden from the Lord's shoulders.
He came up the steep path slowly, for in spite of Elrond's healing skills and the more than five hundred years that had passed by since that vicious battle, he was still recovering from his injuries, if not bodily then certainly when his heart and his mind were concerned, and sometimes Elrond was concerned about him, for he had much less time to spend with his foster son since he had a family of his own, and at times it seemed to him as if Erestor were slowly fading away.
Celebrían shared her husband's concerns, though she believed that the main reason for the young Elf's often listless manner was the fact that he felt lonely. He was much younger and far too somber to have aught in common with his Lord's children, and no-one in the valley belonged to his own kindred, so he had no company and no friends, only his work.
Which, in Celebrían's opinion, was not enough to live for.
Often had she tried to break up the cocoon of loneliness Erestor surrounded himself, yet the young Elf was not easy to approach, in spite of his unfallable politeness. He wore his faultless manners as a shield against every one who tried to get close to him - against Elrond's family even more than others.
Mayhap there was a small matter of jealousy that he now had to share his saviour with so many people more dear to him than a mere fosterling, and slowly but deliberately he retreated from Elrond, too, closing the stone walls of his solitude tighter around himself with every passing season.
Elladan was the only one who could break through his protective walls every time and again, for Elrond's eldest, too, often felt alone and mismatched among his own kin, due o the heritage of his mortal ancestors that could be felt unusually strongly in him. They even became lovers for a short period and remainded casual friends after that, but there was no true common ground between them, since it was the company of mortal Men that Ellandan carved most, while Erestor only felt comfortable among fellow Elves.
Besides, Elladan always had his twin for company and support.
Erestor had no-one.
Therefore both the Lord and the Lady watched with a certain sadness the pale face of the young Elf that had not gained any colour, not even through the slow climbing, and Elrond asked kindly:
''Are we needed in the house?''
''Nay, my Lord... Lady Celebrían'', the young seneschal bowed slightly while addressing them. ''Not yet, at least. But message has come in that one of the Istari(3) shall arrive at sunset.''
Elrond lifted an already arched eyebrow. The Istari seldom visited his house in peacetime, and if one of them dropped in unannounced, that usually meant no good.
''Curunír or Mithrandir?'', he asked, hoping it would be the latter. Regardless of Curunír's great skills and wisdom (not to mention his powers), he always felt more comfortable with the Grey Pilgrim. Mithrandir had an easy way about him that made getting along with him most pleasurable.
But Erestor shook his head.
''Neither'', he said, looking a little amazed himself; ''according to the Eagle, 'tis Aiwendil who wants to have a word with the Lord of the Valley.''
Now Elrond was truly surprised. Aiwendil, or as Men called him Radagast the Brown, the third of the Istari in age and rank, had never set foot in his realm before. Indeed, hardly ever did he get incolced with the affairs of Elves and Men, living alone in Rhosgobel, near the borders of Emyn Galen, but avoiding even the Silvan folk under the reign of Thranduil (though of all Elves he still got along with the Tree Children(4) best), spending his time in the company of birds and other good beasts.
''Did he let known the purpose of his visit?'', the Lord of Imladris asked.
Erestor only shook his head again.
''Only his coming has been announced, my Lord.''
''Well then'', Elrond sighed and gave his wife a rueful smile, ''it seem we have to cut our stroll short, Lady Silverqueen(5).''
''It would be unwise to make one of the Istari upset'', Celebrían agreed, laughing quietly; ''for 'tis said that they are subtle and quick to anger. Let us return to the house.''
And so they did, and Erestor followed them dutifully.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
It was less than an hour left til sunset when a big, brown horse approached the eastern gate of the walley. An old man, clad in a rough brown robe, sat in its saddle, his long, grey beard covering his knees; and he wore a big, brown hood instead of a hat, in the manner of Dwarves.The long staff in his hand looked like a big, dired-out tree root, yet no-one in the valley doubted that it had considerable powers. For Radagast the Brown, called Aiwendil (the Bird-lover) in the tongue of Elwes, was a respectable wizard; a master of shapes and changes of hue - one that understood the speach of birds and beasts of every kind.
As he rode in, many of the dwellers of the valley gathered before the houses and on the balconies to greet him, for he was known for his great knowledge in herb-lore as well, and many of the Elven healers hoped that they could have a word or two with him later. Yet it was not the wizard himself, regardless of his somewhat disheveled appearance (for he looked a little wild himself indeed, having spent so little time among Elves and Men), who caught their eyes.
It was his escort.
For he came not alone. Another horse, this one smaller and more finely boned yet strong and nimble, followed his big steed, and upon its bare back sat the youngest Elf the valley had seen for a very long time.
He most likely was not even full-aged yet - more a young elfling, truly, trough he showed no sign of the lankiness that was so characteristic for the youth of the Eldar, even Elrond's own children. Slim he was indeed, almost thin, yet he rode his horse with practiced ease, and in his long, slender limbs there was a strength one would not expect from a youngling built this narrowly. His long, silky hair had the pale golden colour of winter sunshine, and his wide, astonished eyes were greyish blue like the Sea in the shadow of long, dark lashes.
With other words, he was beautiful.
More than that: a rare gem of beauty even among the Fair Folk.
Yet his beauty came not from the pleasant outer shell of his being alone; there was an air of pure innocence upon him, an unblemished light that shone in those dreamy eyes that seemed to drink in all of the intricate beauty made by skilled Elven hands that Imladris could offer.
Glorfindel, who had came out with Erestor to greet the wizard, felt a dull pain in his ancient heart. This youngling reminded him of the long-forgotten, twilit days of his own youth, before the coming of the Sun and the Moon, when starlight was the only thing to shine in the darkness of Arda. He wondered where Aiwendil might have met this boy.
Erestor, as it was his duty, hurried to welcome the wizard, who dismounted and leaned heavily on his staff. He truly seemed old and weary, more so than Erestor (who alone aside of Glorfindel from Elrond's household knew who the Istari really were) would think it possible. Great hardness must it have been, indeed, to wear even a wizard out, for tough they might not have been young, they aged very slowly, and were able to endure harder times than even the Dwarves.
The youngling, too, sprang from his horse but stayed very close to the faithul beast as if he would trust him more than all these unknown Elves. He wore leggings and a soft leather tunic in brown and grey, in the manner of the Silvan folk, but no weapons, and aside from two thin braids above the delicately pointed ears, his hair was open and unadorned, falling over his shoulders like a pale silk curtain.
He looked around in a strange way - not particularly frightened, yet very shy as if he were not used to be surrounded by so many people at once, and molded his slim frame to the warm side of his horse, hands clutched in the mane of the animal.
/This one is more comfortable with beasts than with people - just like his mentor/, Erestor noticed with slight empathy. He did not like being crowded, either.
As it was his duty, the seneschal of Elrond's house came forth to greet the visitors of his Lord.
''Welcome to Imladris, Master Aiwendil'', he said with a slight bow; ''Your presence honours us. The Lord and the Lady of the Valley are awaiting you. Please follow me as I shall show you the way; your beasts will be taken care of.''
The wizard gave him a piercing look from under bushy eyebrows.
'Hmmmm...'', he grumbled, ''I was told you had very good manners. Now I see that Gandalf was right as usual. Well then... lead us the way!''
Erestor bowed again and went forth, leaving it to the younger Elves under his command to take care of the horses. The youngling, after a moment of hesitation, let himself be parted from his four-legged friend and followed them. They went through the wide, pawed courtyard, through several gardens and gracefully arched corridors, til they finally reached the huge, somewhat shadowy antechamber of Elrond's house, where the corridors leading tho the private areas of his family opened from.
The airy room was pawed with hewn stones in the colours of deep copper and pale gold; stocky rectangular pillars held its broad stairways that led to the upper levels, high under the arched ceiling that was already half-hidden in the deepening evening shadows. There were several tall, narrow writing pulpits from the sort where scribes had to work standing, made of deep golden, polished wood, and tall, slender candlesticles of copper with honey-coloured, thin beewax candles upon them.
Among all these rich, golden and brown autumn colours the Lady of Imladris glittered like mithril, silver and white marble. As it was custom in the Houses of the Eldar nobles, Celebrían, the Silver Queen of the Valley, waited before the main stairway to welcome the guests of her husband's house.
''Elen síla lúmen omentielvo'', she said in Quenya, honouring both the old custom and the rare guest. ''Be your stay in our home a pleasant one, Master Aiwendil.''
''How very kind of you, my good Lady'', the wizard, clearly no friend of formality, responded. ''Indeed, I would have visited your fair house much earlier, had my labours been less numerous.''
Celebrían smiled, for she knew from her father how uncomfortable the wizard felt among people, and that he only mingled with Elves or Men when it was not to avoid for some higher cause. Then she turned to the youngling, who would not leave the side of the wizard, and asked him with a friendly smile.
''Do you have a name, young one?''
The elfling blushed and cast his eyed down. The old man gave him a gruff but friendly nudge, so he looked up again and smiled shyly.
''Lindir... Lindir of Rhosgobel, my Lady'', he said in a soft, musical voice, making the simple introduction sound like part of a song of great beauty.
Yet the name made Celebrían frown. To her knowledge, the Istari were not allowed to have offspring with the children of Arda; besides, the youngling did not seem as if he were of mixed blood.
'''Tis a long tale, Lady'', the wizard offered with a sigh. ''It is mostly on his behalf that I have come to ask Master Elrond's help.''
''Come then'', said Celebrían, ''he is waiting for you in the upper library.''
And she waved towards one of the open entrances on the left.
But the wizard lifted uncomfortably.
''If you do not mean, Lady, I... I would rather you could find someone to show my young charge around while I speak to your husband. There are matters I want not to discuss before him.''
Celebrían noded with a smile.
''I believe I know the right person for this'', she said, then she hit a small silver bell on the side of the staircase.
A few moments later a tall, dark-haired, maiden entered the antechamber. Though very young, she already was alike her mother in her beauty - yet with a strange, nearly invisible shadow upon her very being; the veil of her share in mortal blood; the same that made Elrond's features so strangely unique.
''Arwen'', said Celebrían with a fond smile, ''this is Lindir of Rhosgobel. He came with Master Aiwendil to our home, but we think the counsels of elders would be of little interest for him. Could you take him somewhere more pleasant?''
The fair maiden thought for a moment.
''I can take him to our watching spot above the waterfall'', she said. ''We still have some time left til sunset, so he would have a wondrous sight of our valley.''
''That is a nice thought'', Celebrían agreed. ''Where are your brothers?''
''They are with their horses'', Arwen replied; then, giving the shy youngling an encouraging smile, she added: ''but I think he would be better off with me first. The two are a little too brash for someone who knows them not.''
''That they are'', Celebrían laughed. ''Very well. I entrust the comfort of our young visitor to you, daughter mine.''
''I shall try not to disappoint you, mother'', smiled Arwen, then she turned to the youngling; ''Come with me, Lindir of Rhosgobel. I shall show you the best watching spot in the valley.''
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
That's all for today. I decided not to write monster chapters in this story. As for the other ones, got into a serious writer's block with both ''Riddles of Doom'' and ''Snow and Stones'', and I am acutally grateful for this idea to pop up, for so at least I can offer a little something to my faithful readers.
End notes:
1) Coirë is the Elven season of ''Stirring'', that follows the winter.
2) The loa is the seasonal solar year of the Elves, containing six seasons and five additional days that make the 365-day year complete.
3) The wizards.
4) Wood-Elves.
5) The literal meaning of Celebrían's name.
by Soledad Cartwright
Disclaimer:
The characters, the context and the main plot belong to Professor Tolkien, whom I greatly admire. I'm only trying to fill in the gaps he so graciously left for us, fanfic writers, to have some fun. Only Erestor's family belongs to me.
Rating: PG for this chapter.
Please read Warnings before the Prologue.
Author's Notes:
And this is where the story really starts: nearly two and a half millennia before The Lord of the Rings. But fear not, all the people you'll meet in this chapter are good old friends - presumed, you've read the *book*. Otherwise, this fic just isn't for you.
CHAPTER ONE: FIRST SIGHT
[The 10th day of *coirë*(1), in the year 532 of the Third Age]
It was a cool yet beautiful afternoon in Imladris - one that urges any self-respecting Elf to leave the house and take a walk among the trees that - true to the name of the last season of *loa*(2) - had barely begun stirring from their long winter sleep.
Not that any one who dwelt in this Elven valley actually would have to leave the house in order to feel the light breeze upon their faces - there were no doors in Imladris (save those of the secret libraries) to keep out the wind or the sunshine, and now, that the cold of the winter had broken, even the tapestries were removed from the tall, narrow windows that reached from the paved floors up to the arched ceilings and could also have been used as entrances to the different parts of the house.
Still, finished teaching his three now-grown children in the fine art of lore, the Lord of Imlardis felt like taking a stroll in his gardens, together with the Lady of his House and his heart, and Celebrían was easily persuaded, for she had lived in the Golden Wood for many long seasons and always felt more at home under the trees than among the stone walls of her husband's home. Therefore the Lord and Lady of the Valley put on some warm garment against the chilly freshness of the season and left the house.
Kingly they looked together, though they vere not called King and Queen: tall and proud and fair-faced as the nobles of the Eldar, to whom they belonged, usually are, though the blood of mortal Men that coursed in his veins gave Elrond Half-elven a stronger, broader build than most Elves had. Like a great warrior he was, strong and keen-eyed, his raven hair set in the ceremonial braids of the Nodlor, his white undergown and heavy burgundy velvet robe richly embroided with gold, and a delicately woven mithril ring adorned his brow.
Celebrían shone at his side like a silver birch compared to a strong oak, her silver hair braided to an intricate crown upon her head and covered with a silver lace netted with small gems, glittering white; yet her soft grey raiment had no ormnament save a girdle of leaves wrought in silver - and over that she wore a mantle of silver and blue. Fair she was as the twilight in elven-home, and all that dwelt in the walley loved her - but no-one as deeply as the Lord of the Valley to whom she was bound with a bond of never-ending love.
And so they strolled in companionable silence under the trees, for they needed no spoken words to understand each other, holding hands and summing qiuetly some old lay, when a young Elf came up the narrow stairway cut in the living stone of the hillside: Erestor, whom the Lord of the Valley had saved from the smoldering ruins of Ost-in Edhil, the once-beautiful city of Celebrimbor, the greatest Elven-smith of Middle-earth, save Fëanor himself.
Erestor's parents and siblings were slain by Orcs with most of the people of that town, and only by chance did he survive himself, to be found by Elrond, who had been sent to help by Gil-galad but arrived too late; and he brought the boy back to the newly-founded Imladris and raised and taught him as his own. It was not the custom of the Noldor to take children of lesser birth into foster care, but Elrond took pity of the terrified young elfling - and he never regretted it.
For Erestor grew up to become an acceptable scholar and a fierce warrior, determined to avenge the death of his family and the destruction of his first home, and after the Battle of Dagorlad, where he almost died from his multiple injuries, each grave enough to kill any less stubborn Elf, he was made the seneschal of the valley and entrusted to run Elrond's house, taking a lot of burden from the Lord's shoulders.
He came up the steep path slowly, for in spite of Elrond's healing skills and the more than five hundred years that had passed by since that vicious battle, he was still recovering from his injuries, if not bodily then certainly when his heart and his mind were concerned, and sometimes Elrond was concerned about him, for he had much less time to spend with his foster son since he had a family of his own, and at times it seemed to him as if Erestor were slowly fading away.
Celebrían shared her husband's concerns, though she believed that the main reason for the young Elf's often listless manner was the fact that he felt lonely. He was much younger and far too somber to have aught in common with his Lord's children, and no-one in the valley belonged to his own kindred, so he had no company and no friends, only his work.
Which, in Celebrían's opinion, was not enough to live for.
Often had she tried to break up the cocoon of loneliness Erestor surrounded himself, yet the young Elf was not easy to approach, in spite of his unfallable politeness. He wore his faultless manners as a shield against every one who tried to get close to him - against Elrond's family even more than others.
Mayhap there was a small matter of jealousy that he now had to share his saviour with so many people more dear to him than a mere fosterling, and slowly but deliberately he retreated from Elrond, too, closing the stone walls of his solitude tighter around himself with every passing season.
Elladan was the only one who could break through his protective walls every time and again, for Elrond's eldest, too, often felt alone and mismatched among his own kin, due o the heritage of his mortal ancestors that could be felt unusually strongly in him. They even became lovers for a short period and remainded casual friends after that, but there was no true common ground between them, since it was the company of mortal Men that Ellandan carved most, while Erestor only felt comfortable among fellow Elves.
Besides, Elladan always had his twin for company and support.
Erestor had no-one.
Therefore both the Lord and the Lady watched with a certain sadness the pale face of the young Elf that had not gained any colour, not even through the slow climbing, and Elrond asked kindly:
''Are we needed in the house?''
''Nay, my Lord... Lady Celebrían'', the young seneschal bowed slightly while addressing them. ''Not yet, at least. But message has come in that one of the Istari(3) shall arrive at sunset.''
Elrond lifted an already arched eyebrow. The Istari seldom visited his house in peacetime, and if one of them dropped in unannounced, that usually meant no good.
''Curunír or Mithrandir?'', he asked, hoping it would be the latter. Regardless of Curunír's great skills and wisdom (not to mention his powers), he always felt more comfortable with the Grey Pilgrim. Mithrandir had an easy way about him that made getting along with him most pleasurable.
But Erestor shook his head.
''Neither'', he said, looking a little amazed himself; ''according to the Eagle, 'tis Aiwendil who wants to have a word with the Lord of the Valley.''
Now Elrond was truly surprised. Aiwendil, or as Men called him Radagast the Brown, the third of the Istari in age and rank, had never set foot in his realm before. Indeed, hardly ever did he get incolced with the affairs of Elves and Men, living alone in Rhosgobel, near the borders of Emyn Galen, but avoiding even the Silvan folk under the reign of Thranduil (though of all Elves he still got along with the Tree Children(4) best), spending his time in the company of birds and other good beasts.
''Did he let known the purpose of his visit?'', the Lord of Imladris asked.
Erestor only shook his head again.
''Only his coming has been announced, my Lord.''
''Well then'', Elrond sighed and gave his wife a rueful smile, ''it seem we have to cut our stroll short, Lady Silverqueen(5).''
''It would be unwise to make one of the Istari upset'', Celebrían agreed, laughing quietly; ''for 'tis said that they are subtle and quick to anger. Let us return to the house.''
And so they did, and Erestor followed them dutifully.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
It was less than an hour left til sunset when a big, brown horse approached the eastern gate of the walley. An old man, clad in a rough brown robe, sat in its saddle, his long, grey beard covering his knees; and he wore a big, brown hood instead of a hat, in the manner of Dwarves.The long staff in his hand looked like a big, dired-out tree root, yet no-one in the valley doubted that it had considerable powers. For Radagast the Brown, called Aiwendil (the Bird-lover) in the tongue of Elwes, was a respectable wizard; a master of shapes and changes of hue - one that understood the speach of birds and beasts of every kind.
As he rode in, many of the dwellers of the valley gathered before the houses and on the balconies to greet him, for he was known for his great knowledge in herb-lore as well, and many of the Elven healers hoped that they could have a word or two with him later. Yet it was not the wizard himself, regardless of his somewhat disheveled appearance (for he looked a little wild himself indeed, having spent so little time among Elves and Men), who caught their eyes.
It was his escort.
For he came not alone. Another horse, this one smaller and more finely boned yet strong and nimble, followed his big steed, and upon its bare back sat the youngest Elf the valley had seen for a very long time.
He most likely was not even full-aged yet - more a young elfling, truly, trough he showed no sign of the lankiness that was so characteristic for the youth of the Eldar, even Elrond's own children. Slim he was indeed, almost thin, yet he rode his horse with practiced ease, and in his long, slender limbs there was a strength one would not expect from a youngling built this narrowly. His long, silky hair had the pale golden colour of winter sunshine, and his wide, astonished eyes were greyish blue like the Sea in the shadow of long, dark lashes.
With other words, he was beautiful.
More than that: a rare gem of beauty even among the Fair Folk.
Yet his beauty came not from the pleasant outer shell of his being alone; there was an air of pure innocence upon him, an unblemished light that shone in those dreamy eyes that seemed to drink in all of the intricate beauty made by skilled Elven hands that Imladris could offer.
Glorfindel, who had came out with Erestor to greet the wizard, felt a dull pain in his ancient heart. This youngling reminded him of the long-forgotten, twilit days of his own youth, before the coming of the Sun and the Moon, when starlight was the only thing to shine in the darkness of Arda. He wondered where Aiwendil might have met this boy.
Erestor, as it was his duty, hurried to welcome the wizard, who dismounted and leaned heavily on his staff. He truly seemed old and weary, more so than Erestor (who alone aside of Glorfindel from Elrond's household knew who the Istari really were) would think it possible. Great hardness must it have been, indeed, to wear even a wizard out, for tough they might not have been young, they aged very slowly, and were able to endure harder times than even the Dwarves.
The youngling, too, sprang from his horse but stayed very close to the faithul beast as if he would trust him more than all these unknown Elves. He wore leggings and a soft leather tunic in brown and grey, in the manner of the Silvan folk, but no weapons, and aside from two thin braids above the delicately pointed ears, his hair was open and unadorned, falling over his shoulders like a pale silk curtain.
He looked around in a strange way - not particularly frightened, yet very shy as if he were not used to be surrounded by so many people at once, and molded his slim frame to the warm side of his horse, hands clutched in the mane of the animal.
/This one is more comfortable with beasts than with people - just like his mentor/, Erestor noticed with slight empathy. He did not like being crowded, either.
As it was his duty, the seneschal of Elrond's house came forth to greet the visitors of his Lord.
''Welcome to Imladris, Master Aiwendil'', he said with a slight bow; ''Your presence honours us. The Lord and the Lady of the Valley are awaiting you. Please follow me as I shall show you the way; your beasts will be taken care of.''
The wizard gave him a piercing look from under bushy eyebrows.
'Hmmmm...'', he grumbled, ''I was told you had very good manners. Now I see that Gandalf was right as usual. Well then... lead us the way!''
Erestor bowed again and went forth, leaving it to the younger Elves under his command to take care of the horses. The youngling, after a moment of hesitation, let himself be parted from his four-legged friend and followed them. They went through the wide, pawed courtyard, through several gardens and gracefully arched corridors, til they finally reached the huge, somewhat shadowy antechamber of Elrond's house, where the corridors leading tho the private areas of his family opened from.
The airy room was pawed with hewn stones in the colours of deep copper and pale gold; stocky rectangular pillars held its broad stairways that led to the upper levels, high under the arched ceiling that was already half-hidden in the deepening evening shadows. There were several tall, narrow writing pulpits from the sort where scribes had to work standing, made of deep golden, polished wood, and tall, slender candlesticles of copper with honey-coloured, thin beewax candles upon them.
Among all these rich, golden and brown autumn colours the Lady of Imladris glittered like mithril, silver and white marble. As it was custom in the Houses of the Eldar nobles, Celebrían, the Silver Queen of the Valley, waited before the main stairway to welcome the guests of her husband's house.
''Elen síla lúmen omentielvo'', she said in Quenya, honouring both the old custom and the rare guest. ''Be your stay in our home a pleasant one, Master Aiwendil.''
''How very kind of you, my good Lady'', the wizard, clearly no friend of formality, responded. ''Indeed, I would have visited your fair house much earlier, had my labours been less numerous.''
Celebrían smiled, for she knew from her father how uncomfortable the wizard felt among people, and that he only mingled with Elves or Men when it was not to avoid for some higher cause. Then she turned to the youngling, who would not leave the side of the wizard, and asked him with a friendly smile.
''Do you have a name, young one?''
The elfling blushed and cast his eyed down. The old man gave him a gruff but friendly nudge, so he looked up again and smiled shyly.
''Lindir... Lindir of Rhosgobel, my Lady'', he said in a soft, musical voice, making the simple introduction sound like part of a song of great beauty.
Yet the name made Celebrían frown. To her knowledge, the Istari were not allowed to have offspring with the children of Arda; besides, the youngling did not seem as if he were of mixed blood.
'''Tis a long tale, Lady'', the wizard offered with a sigh. ''It is mostly on his behalf that I have come to ask Master Elrond's help.''
''Come then'', said Celebrían, ''he is waiting for you in the upper library.''
And she waved towards one of the open entrances on the left.
But the wizard lifted uncomfortably.
''If you do not mean, Lady, I... I would rather you could find someone to show my young charge around while I speak to your husband. There are matters I want not to discuss before him.''
Celebrían noded with a smile.
''I believe I know the right person for this'', she said, then she hit a small silver bell on the side of the staircase.
A few moments later a tall, dark-haired, maiden entered the antechamber. Though very young, she already was alike her mother in her beauty - yet with a strange, nearly invisible shadow upon her very being; the veil of her share in mortal blood; the same that made Elrond's features so strangely unique.
''Arwen'', said Celebrían with a fond smile, ''this is Lindir of Rhosgobel. He came with Master Aiwendil to our home, but we think the counsels of elders would be of little interest for him. Could you take him somewhere more pleasant?''
The fair maiden thought for a moment.
''I can take him to our watching spot above the waterfall'', she said. ''We still have some time left til sunset, so he would have a wondrous sight of our valley.''
''That is a nice thought'', Celebrían agreed. ''Where are your brothers?''
''They are with their horses'', Arwen replied; then, giving the shy youngling an encouraging smile, she added: ''but I think he would be better off with me first. The two are a little too brash for someone who knows them not.''
''That they are'', Celebrían laughed. ''Very well. I entrust the comfort of our young visitor to you, daughter mine.''
''I shall try not to disappoint you, mother'', smiled Arwen, then she turned to the youngling; ''Come with me, Lindir of Rhosgobel. I shall show you the best watching spot in the valley.''
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
That's all for today. I decided not to write monster chapters in this story. As for the other ones, got into a serious writer's block with both ''Riddles of Doom'' and ''Snow and Stones'', and I am acutally grateful for this idea to pop up, for so at least I can offer a little something to my faithful readers.
End notes:
1) Coirë is the Elven season of ''Stirring'', that follows the winter.
2) The loa is the seasonal solar year of the Elves, containing six seasons and five additional days that make the 365-day year complete.
3) The wizards.
4) Wood-Elves.
5) The literal meaning of Celebrían's name.
