Lathron awoke in a soft bed of white sheets, with sunlight streaming through the window. A tall, thin Elf man sat by his bedside, with flowing brown hair and a long, green robe. Like all Elves, he gave the impression of youth, but his eyes showed great age and wisdom. He smiled when he saw Lathron awake, but the boy flinched from him instinctively.
"Don't worry," the man reassured him, "you're safe now. I am Talagan Silvertongue."
"Where am I?" Lathron asked shakily.
"The refuge of Edhelion. The Longbeards found you wandering in the vale three days ago, and brought you straight to us. We are well learned in the arts of healing here, for we dedicate our lives to the study of the many tomes that have been amassed here over the years, but I must admit I have rarely seen anyone in as poor a condition as you were. Are you ready to tell me what happened?"
Slowly, the events of the past few months emerged inside Lathron's mind, and he began to tell Talagan of the Dourhands' attack on Oromarde. His voice broke as he spoke of his mother's last moments, but he carried on, describing the lonely months he'd spent travelling through the wilderness in search of Edhelion.
After Lathron had finished his tale, Talagan sat in silence for a while, staring thoughtfully at the floor. Finally he looked up at Lathron again. "You did well in coming to us. Your tale is indeed disturbing. I dislike the sound of this Skorgrím Dourhand greatly, and I wish there was something I could do to placate your loss. Until now, the Dourhands were a very minor Dwarf family," he mused. "Descendants of the Petty-Dwarves if I remember correctly. Their sudden warmongering is troubling."
He suddenly seemed to notice Lathron again. "My apologies, I was thinking aloud. You shall remain here for now, at least, until you are fully healed. Stay there until you feel strong enough to move. I'll have someone send food and water; you must be famished."
Talagan returned often over the following week, bringing with him news of the outside world. In return, Lathron told him of his life in Oromarde - of playing with his friends, exploring the woods and swimming in the river, the roaring fires in the Hall of Song on winter's nights. He told of how his father had been grievously wounded when he was still a baby, and passed over the sea, but his mother had remained to bring up their child. As he talked, he found it easier to get over the loss, and he healed gradually in body and spirit. Finally, he was able to stand, and began to walk, shakily at first, around the refuge. He explored the winding passages thoroughly, and discovered shelves after shelves of ancient books and scrolls. He also met with the other Elves at the refuge, of which there were few, and none who had lived there for as long as Talagan. Usually, he discovered, Elves visited Edhelion searching for ancient knowledge or wisdom, and never stayed long. Occasionally, Dwarves or Men visited the refuge as well, but there were only five Elves who had lived there for any length of time. They were the Lore-Keepers, and Talagan was the most learned among them.
Eventually, Lathron ventured outside, and after that he often sat reading in the gardens, looking across the Vale of Thrain to where the sun set behind the mountains. One thing never healed, though; the scars on his face remained even when the pain in his leg had long since faded. "Will they ever go?" he asked Talagan one day.
"They are beyond my skill to heal," replied the loremaster. "You will bear them forever, as a reminder of your past life, and your mother's sacrifice. You should be proud of them." Despite Talagan's words, Lathron couldn't bear to look at his reflection, and turned his face away when others spoke to him. An Elf at the refuge made him a new scarf, and from then on he wore it whenever he left his room. He could tell Talagan disapproved, but the old Elves never pressed the matter.
Two months after his arrival at Edhellion, Talagan took Lathron into the forest above the refuge. He was silent as they toiled up a steep, winding stair carved into the mountain slopes. It was spring, so the snow was melting from the trees, and the gullies sang with the trickle of meltwater. Birds sang among the rocks - pipits and thrushes - and Lathron saw an eagle soar overhead. Finally, they emerged from a narrow gully between two large boulders onto a high overhang. Far below them, the valley was spread out like a painting. The refuge nestled among the trees and rocks, and below that, the diggings of the Dwarves were visible. Lathron gazed out over this vista in wonder, before the sound of Talagan clearing his throat caught his attention.
"Your parents named you Lathron," he stated. "Do you know what that means in the Common Tongue?"
"Listener." replied the boy.
"Precisely. Your experiences have shown you to have the makings of a great woodsman - a hunter to rival the Elves of Greenwood the Great in skill. Do you know what the most important attribute is for a hunter?"
Lathron shook his head.
"He must be a listener. If you are willing, I will teach you to be a hunter - a listener. Would you like that?"
Lathron thought of his life in Oromarde, what seemed like a lifetime ago. He remembered his months in the wilderness, and the sneering face of Fírndall, still out there somewhere. Someday, he would find his mother's killer again, and when that time came, he wanted to be ready. Then, he looked out across the Vale of Thrain. Overhead, the eagle's piercing cry echoed down to him, touching his very being. In his heart, he felt a sense of purpose, and for the first time in months, he smiled fully, and nodded. "Yes. Yes I would. I will be a hunter."
Hello again.
Sorry if this chapter is a bit short. I write on an iPod mostly so it's hard to judge length. Those following will be longer and much more exciting, and probably less full of blatant nods to Michelle Paver. (There's the fandom references I was talking about.)
Please review, like, dislike, post over bedroom walls etc. I hope to establish a cult of loyal and devoted readers who will aid me in bringing about the zombie apocalypse...
Discount that last.
Lathron Aleniel, Elf Hunter, Firefoot Server.
Disclaimer: almost all of the names of people, places and general things are owned by Tolkien Enterprises, New Line Cinema or Warner Brothers, and are fictitious, or if real are used fictitiously and solely for the purposes of entertainment within boring disclaimers. The others are owned by me. Any similarities to any real life person, alive or dead, is probably almost but not quite certain to be entirely uncoincidental.