Not Quite the Lord of the Rings
Part four, Elves Among Us

Jack O'Neill took a long look at Morlothiel as the others set down their gear and prepared to talk. She was about as tall as Daniel and lean as can be, dressed in clothes made mostly from animal skins. Her belt, boots, quiver, and parts of her garments, however, were well made and ornately stitched. Her sword, when Daniel asked to see it closely, was wrought of a fine metal that seemed to absorb light, and inscribed with a flowing script that not even the worldly Teal'c could recognize. She carried a longbow of dark, beautifully carved wood. The string was made from long strands of woven golden hair.

More interesting than her garments was Morlothiel herself. For one so thin she seemed quite strong, and her skin was clear and smooth. Her age was unguessable; she looked fresh and tender as a teenage girl, but she bore the confidence and wariness of a seasoned soldier. The only things that set her apart from human norm were her large, luminous eyes and her gently pointed ears. Her face held a quality of both common beauty and alienness. Her voice was the timbre of spring water running over rounded stones.

Daniel began their conversation by asking her what her people called themselves.

"I am of the Eldar."

"Elder? You don't look that old," said Daniel. When Morlothiel stared at him, he held up a placating hand. "That's a joke... a sample of Tau'ri humor."

Morlothiel smiled. "I understand. Your witticisms are not unlike those of the Dark Elves; we who enjoy the ironic as well as the absurd."

Daniel glanced over at O'Neill and, with a wink at Carter and Morlothiel, said sotto voce, "Looks like we've come to the right place!"

Daniel was in his element. He began asking about customs and propriety and etiquette. The Elf answered him patiently. Carter sat beside him and offered her support, but her eyes were also on the gear and clothing that Morlothiel was wearing. Though the Elf had indicated that there was little to fear with the sun shining so brightly at mid-day, Teal'c and O'Neill took up sentry positions, close enough to listen to the parley and yet see all around them clearly, or as clearly as the thick foliage permitted.

Morlothiel sat completely relaxed, looking at one of the team's P90's, which she had refused to take into her hands but had asked them to set on the grass before her. In exchange, she had offered Daniel her sword, with which he promptly cut himself.

It was a mere nick on one finger, but it bled a lot. Carter dug into her pack for a bandage and some antiseptic, but Morlothiel took Daniel's hand in her own. She spoke a string of ringing words and then breathed on the cut; whereupon the bleeding stopped and the flesh drew together, leaving a faint mark like the after-thought of a scar.

"Wow." Carter swabbed at the place where the cut had been, wiping away Daniel's blood. He winced in anticipation of the sting of antiseptic, but there was no pain. "It is completely healed!"

Morlothiel tipped her head in a short bow. "Merely a charm of the blade. It was wrought so that it would bring no harm to its wielder, nor shed the blood of friends. It was made for me by Waylan, the Smith of Forlindon."

"I know we've only just met," said Daniel, "but I like to think that we are friends."

"We are; but my sword does not know you yet. Now it does." She regarded him for a moment, then threw back her head and laughed.

"Ah, that must be a sample of Elf humor," O'Neill said in an over-loud mutter. Morlothiel acknowledged him with a regal nod.