Disclaimer (which I forgot on chapter 1—oops!!): Middle-Earth, Elrond, etc.
belong to His Greatness Tolkien, not me, but Farior, Trialwen, Lutariel,
Erodir, and everyone else who doesn't appear in any of his stuff are mine.
The sun had past its high point in the sky by the time he was done. He'd cried through most of it, and Trialwen had just let him. When he finally finished, she said nothing for a long moment, then murmured, "I'm sorry. I know that sounds silly, but I am. There's nothing either of us can do to change the past, but, Farior—can't you face the future with the same bravery you faced the Dark Lord with? And—" her voice faltered, "—I'll help, if I can. If you want me to."
Farior was amazed. "But—why? Why would you want to help me?"
She laughed. "Because you need me to! Come, my friend, think about it. You're still an elf, and I'd help anyone in the state you're in, even a dwarf."
"I feel so flattered to be grouped among dwarves," he replied dryly.
Trialwen's smile widened. "You're already acting much nicer. You just made a joke."
"I did?"
"Yes, you did." She stood and brushed her hands off. "Has anyone shown you around Imladris yet?" Farior shook his head. "Then I'll give you a guided tour. Come on."
Rivendell was far fairer than Farior had ever believed it could be, incomplete though it was. Trialwen had lived there since its beginning, and knew all the most beautiful places and best views of the surrounding areas, still as wild as they had been before the elves colonized the area. She showed him all of it, walking at a slow pace so that Farior could keep up, but not so slow that he became offended.
Finally, they came to the armspractice chambers. Trialwen viewed the warriors inside with a sigh before turning away. "What's wrong?" Farior asked.
"I can't fight," she replied bluntly. "Not that I'd want to go off and kill people, but it would be nice to be good in self defense."
"But—that dagger—"
"Show and bluff, mostly. Plus, I like the way it looks." She smiled mischievously. "I usually use it for cutting herbs or mundane things like that. Now, my sister on the other hand—"
"Who's your sister?"
"Lutariel. She's that one right there."
Trialwen pointed to a short, dark-haired elf fencing with a much taller opponent. The small woman used her height to her advantage, darting in underneath her enemy's guard. She soon had him down with her blade at his throat.
From what Farior could see, Lutariel was even more beautiful than her sister was, and surprisingly delicate. She looked as if she'd be more at home sewing or waiting patiently to be rescued.
"Don't be deceived by her helpless-little-elf-woman act," Trialwen whispered. "She beat Gil-galad. She could probably break any of those other fighters out on the floor in half without thinking about it."
"Her?"
"Her. She tried to teach me to fight like she can—but I wasn't good enough. My largest failing."
Farior thought for a moment. "I might be able to take her. At least, I would've been able to before..." He sighed. "I can't fight at all now."
"Can't you use a sword still?"
"With this foot?" He slammed a fist into his left leg. "Forget it."
"What about mounted?"
He raised his eyebrows. "Riding? With this?"
Her eyes sparkled. "Come with me."
She took his hand and led him to the stables. "My brother works here. I'm sure he'll be able to figure something out."
"How many siblings do you have?" Farior asked incredulously. A fighter, a horseman, and a bardic healer, all in the same family!
"Just Lutariel and Erodir. Lutariel is the oldest, and Erodir and I are twins. Mother always said that it was hard enough to control Lutariel, and why did Erodir and I have to come along and beat each other up while she wasn't looking." Trialwen paused and considered. "Actually, the beating-up part was rather one-sided. If I were betting on a fight between me and a sick, one-legged, unarmed orc, I'd put my money on the orc." Farior chuckled.
As they came to the stables, she stopped him, put two fingers in her mouth, and whistled sharply. "Erodir!"
The doors opened, and a tousle-haired elf led two horses out of the barn, one of which began to nibble on his shoulder. He turned and glared at the offending beast, who put on an innocent air and tossed her head. Erodir grinned and turned to his sister. "What do you want this time, sister mine?"
"Courteous as always, Erodir," she replied sarcastically. "This is Farior, and I wanted to know if you could find a mount for him."
Erodir looked Farior up and down, and vice versa. Upon closer examination, Erodir was tall, even for an elf, with the shortest, messiest hair Farior had ever seen on one of his kind. He looked a bit like a masculine version of his twin sister, but his eyes were black and his clothes were not as fine. In fact, they were old, plain, and dirty, by anyone's standards. He was clearly the kind of person who spent most of his time working with animals, and perceptive. "The wars, hm?" he asked, nodding at Farior's injuries. The other nodded. "Well, with that foot, I don't think we'd have any horses fit for that now. Have to train one special, but we could do that, if you're willing to work with your mount." He stared more intently at Farior. "Were you mounted in the battle? Which horse did you have?"
"For the first half. My horse died under me. You probably won't remember him—Ralthosir."
"Won't remember? I trained Ralthosir! Bottle-fed him when his dam died!"
Trialwen laughed. "Erodir remembers every horse who's ever touched him, every one he's ever seen. He lives for horses. Lutariel says he's half- horse himself. I just say that he retains the smell of one."
"And I just say they're jealous. Lutariel can only ride chargers, and Trialwen rides barely better than she fights."
Trialwen stuck her tongue out at her brother and changed the subject. "When can you start training a mount?"
Erodir smiled. "You're in luck. Kalra foaled two days ago, and Elrond would probably let you have the colt, if Trialwen sweet-talked him. You can meet the youngster now, if you like." Farior nodded eagerly. "And if I can get one of my assistants to take these two ladies off to pasture. KALIERA!"
A young elf girl of about fourteen, covered in hay, ran out of the barn, pitchfork still in hand. "Yessir?" she asked.
"Take these two off to pasture, will you?"
"Yessir."
Kaliera took the lead ropes from Erodir and trotted off. "Now," the stablemaster continued, "come and meet the little lass."
The sun had past its high point in the sky by the time he was done. He'd cried through most of it, and Trialwen had just let him. When he finally finished, she said nothing for a long moment, then murmured, "I'm sorry. I know that sounds silly, but I am. There's nothing either of us can do to change the past, but, Farior—can't you face the future with the same bravery you faced the Dark Lord with? And—" her voice faltered, "—I'll help, if I can. If you want me to."
Farior was amazed. "But—why? Why would you want to help me?"
She laughed. "Because you need me to! Come, my friend, think about it. You're still an elf, and I'd help anyone in the state you're in, even a dwarf."
"I feel so flattered to be grouped among dwarves," he replied dryly.
Trialwen's smile widened. "You're already acting much nicer. You just made a joke."
"I did?"
"Yes, you did." She stood and brushed her hands off. "Has anyone shown you around Imladris yet?" Farior shook his head. "Then I'll give you a guided tour. Come on."
Rivendell was far fairer than Farior had ever believed it could be, incomplete though it was. Trialwen had lived there since its beginning, and knew all the most beautiful places and best views of the surrounding areas, still as wild as they had been before the elves colonized the area. She showed him all of it, walking at a slow pace so that Farior could keep up, but not so slow that he became offended.
Finally, they came to the armspractice chambers. Trialwen viewed the warriors inside with a sigh before turning away. "What's wrong?" Farior asked.
"I can't fight," she replied bluntly. "Not that I'd want to go off and kill people, but it would be nice to be good in self defense."
"But—that dagger—"
"Show and bluff, mostly. Plus, I like the way it looks." She smiled mischievously. "I usually use it for cutting herbs or mundane things like that. Now, my sister on the other hand—"
"Who's your sister?"
"Lutariel. She's that one right there."
Trialwen pointed to a short, dark-haired elf fencing with a much taller opponent. The small woman used her height to her advantage, darting in underneath her enemy's guard. She soon had him down with her blade at his throat.
From what Farior could see, Lutariel was even more beautiful than her sister was, and surprisingly delicate. She looked as if she'd be more at home sewing or waiting patiently to be rescued.
"Don't be deceived by her helpless-little-elf-woman act," Trialwen whispered. "She beat Gil-galad. She could probably break any of those other fighters out on the floor in half without thinking about it."
"Her?"
"Her. She tried to teach me to fight like she can—but I wasn't good enough. My largest failing."
Farior thought for a moment. "I might be able to take her. At least, I would've been able to before..." He sighed. "I can't fight at all now."
"Can't you use a sword still?"
"With this foot?" He slammed a fist into his left leg. "Forget it."
"What about mounted?"
He raised his eyebrows. "Riding? With this?"
Her eyes sparkled. "Come with me."
She took his hand and led him to the stables. "My brother works here. I'm sure he'll be able to figure something out."
"How many siblings do you have?" Farior asked incredulously. A fighter, a horseman, and a bardic healer, all in the same family!
"Just Lutariel and Erodir. Lutariel is the oldest, and Erodir and I are twins. Mother always said that it was hard enough to control Lutariel, and why did Erodir and I have to come along and beat each other up while she wasn't looking." Trialwen paused and considered. "Actually, the beating-up part was rather one-sided. If I were betting on a fight between me and a sick, one-legged, unarmed orc, I'd put my money on the orc." Farior chuckled.
As they came to the stables, she stopped him, put two fingers in her mouth, and whistled sharply. "Erodir!"
The doors opened, and a tousle-haired elf led two horses out of the barn, one of which began to nibble on his shoulder. He turned and glared at the offending beast, who put on an innocent air and tossed her head. Erodir grinned and turned to his sister. "What do you want this time, sister mine?"
"Courteous as always, Erodir," she replied sarcastically. "This is Farior, and I wanted to know if you could find a mount for him."
Erodir looked Farior up and down, and vice versa. Upon closer examination, Erodir was tall, even for an elf, with the shortest, messiest hair Farior had ever seen on one of his kind. He looked a bit like a masculine version of his twin sister, but his eyes were black and his clothes were not as fine. In fact, they were old, plain, and dirty, by anyone's standards. He was clearly the kind of person who spent most of his time working with animals, and perceptive. "The wars, hm?" he asked, nodding at Farior's injuries. The other nodded. "Well, with that foot, I don't think we'd have any horses fit for that now. Have to train one special, but we could do that, if you're willing to work with your mount." He stared more intently at Farior. "Were you mounted in the battle? Which horse did you have?"
"For the first half. My horse died under me. You probably won't remember him—Ralthosir."
"Won't remember? I trained Ralthosir! Bottle-fed him when his dam died!"
Trialwen laughed. "Erodir remembers every horse who's ever touched him, every one he's ever seen. He lives for horses. Lutariel says he's half- horse himself. I just say that he retains the smell of one."
"And I just say they're jealous. Lutariel can only ride chargers, and Trialwen rides barely better than she fights."
Trialwen stuck her tongue out at her brother and changed the subject. "When can you start training a mount?"
Erodir smiled. "You're in luck. Kalra foaled two days ago, and Elrond would probably let you have the colt, if Trialwen sweet-talked him. You can meet the youngster now, if you like." Farior nodded eagerly. "And if I can get one of my assistants to take these two ladies off to pasture. KALIERA!"
A young elf girl of about fourteen, covered in hay, ran out of the barn, pitchfork still in hand. "Yessir?" she asked.
"Take these two off to pasture, will you?"
"Yessir."
Kaliera took the lead ropes from Erodir and trotted off. "Now," the stablemaster continued, "come and meet the little lass."