Chapter 4
But I at last with weary feet
Will turn towards the lighted inn,
My evening-rest and sleep to meet.-JRR Tolkien
As he stepped through the stable door, his elven eyes adjusting rapidly to the dimness of the stable, he saw a pair of feet slip over the top of the ladder to the loft. He moved quickly to their horses' stalls, gathering the saddlebags to take inside. He set them down at his feet, and smiled as he thought of having a few minutes more to visit with Eleirien over supper. He straightened his tunic, and smoothed his hair. His sharp hearing caught the tiniest rustle and giggle overhead. He quickly pulled up the hood of his cloak, as a shower of straw rained down on him. As it settled, he stood stock still, listening, smiling to himself, but then the little mare shook herself. The straw flew off of her in all direcions, much of it landing on him. Then, quick as lightning, he vanished from the stall. A few seconds later, there was an indignant squeak, and he emerged from the loft with a pair of small boys in tow. They climbed down and stood before him, hands behind their backs. The blond boy hung his head, while the brown-haired boy scuffed one toe nervously on the stable floor. Caradorn stood, looking sternly at them, then he bent his knees and squatted at eye level to them. "Your mother needs your help today," he said, "Take these bags up to the blue room to your Aunt Eleirien." They looked solemnly at him with wide eyes, nodded their heads, and scurried out with the bags. Caradorn rose, brushing off straw, then chuckled heartily before he followed them back inside.
Meanwhile, Eleirien slipped off her cloak, letting it puddle around her on the cushions she sat on. She reached up, and began to undo her braided hair. With it mostly loose, she unpinned the band inside her tunic, carefully tugging the tunic back down. Instantly she regretted this, as the tunic was now straining tightly across her chest. She stood to look in the oval mirror on the wall, and frowned at what she saw. Sighing, she turned toward the door, eyes closed, and raised both arms to her nape to loosen the braid, working her fingers on her scalp.
The door silently opened, and Caradorn stood there, transfixed as he looked at her. A flush rose to his cheeks at the ecstatic expression on her face as she ran her fingers into her hair, lifting it loose from her head. It tumbled in long, glossy waves over her smooth chin and neck. The swell of her curved breasts strained against the tunic. Of their own accord, his eyes slid down to her hips and curvy thighs and back up again to her shining hair. His heartbeat quickened as she licked her rosy lips. Unbidden, his mind raced back to the feel of her hips across his lap, and heat flared through his body. A clatter of dishes from downstairs broke into his reverie, and he sprung, catlike, back to the doorway, bracing one hand on the frame to steady himself, as he tried to calm his racing blood. He turned and bent to pick up her saddlebag, just as Elei's eyes flew open. She blushed at the sight of him bending over, admiring the form of his legs as she stepped back hastily to sit, gathering her cloak over her shoulders. "Forgive me, milady," he said, as he stepped back into the room, "I fear I should have knocked." His cheekbones were flushed scarlet.
Elei's blush was apparent, too, as she said "'Tis nothing." in a husky voice. They avoided each other's eyes as she set her bag down next to the divan. A bustle of feet on the stairs heralded the arrival of the two small boys from the stable. Each precariously carried an ewer of water. One came into the room smiling at Elei and then looking solemnly up at Caradorn as he set the pitcher on the washstand. The second boy waited at the door, piping "This way, lord" and turning to lead Caradorn to the next door. Caradorn inclined his head, saying "milady" in a throaty voice as he stepped out with his own bag. Her eyes followed him.
Eleirien drew a deep breath in, and turned to study the boy who stood solemnly rooted to the floor. His head was topped with brown curls, and one chubby hand gripped the edge of the nightstand. The other hand was planted behind his back. Elei smiled at him, saying "I am your cousin Eleirien, your father is my uncle." He nodded. She smiled and turned deliberately away, arranging her hair, until she heard a faint spashing sound. She turned around slowly, saying "Thank you for bringing that." He nodded again and raced out of the room. She laughed at the cloth placed carefully over the top of the ewer.
The blond boy came back to her door, saying "Mama says your stew will be here, but d'ere's just time for you to change," then raced off downstairs. Elei closed the door and set to pulling out her few clothes from her bag. She held up the blue gown, and the memory of her first meeting with Caradorn had her blushing. Shaking her head, she set it aside and pulled on her shift and a green dress. She stood in the parlor, which had a few chairs by a square table. A knock rang out as she was pulling her brush through her hair.
"Yes" she called out.
"'Tis I, Caradorn."
"Come in" she called, heart fluttering. Her breath caught as he entered the room, his cloak over one arm. His broad shoulders and muscular chest were emphasized by the sheen of the gold-toned tunic he wore. Its finely embroidered collar was clasped at the hollow of his throat by a red-gold leaf pin. She took a deep breath to compose herself. He shot her a sidelong glance, admiring the rise and fall of her bosom as he walked over to the table with catlike grace. Marigold followed him in, bearing a tray. She waltzed over to the table and set out two large bowls, bread, fruit, and a flagon and tankards.
"Meril says holler if you need more ." Marigold dimpled up at them and curtsied before she left the room, saying "Tuck in!"
Caradorn held out her chair as Eleirien sat, then sat across from her. Both tucked into the hearty stew. As they began to feel full, Caradorn poured a bit of drink from the flagon into a tankard. Peering down at it, he sniffed. Elei raised an inquisitive brow at him, and he held it out to her. She reached up her hand to take it. Their fingertips brushed past each other, and she wondered if she was imagining the sensation of heat. Gripping the tankard, she peered inside. "Well, no frogs in here." she said. His musical laugh rang out.
"No," he said, "but do you know this drink?" She sniffed it carefully and took a tiny sip.
"Only mead, and fortunately it seems my aunt has not drugged it to help me sleep." She rolled her eyes. "She means well."
Caradorn smiled. "Then I shall try it." He poured a sizable amount into his tankard. Taking a good swallow, he narrowed his eyes. "Hmm, rather strong. This might help you sleep, all on its own. Or, one might think your aunt is trying to intoxicate us. However, 'tis unlikely to affect me. Shall we get you some other drink?"
Eleirien felt, in spite of herself, as if this was a challenge to prove herself to be as sturdy as he. "No," she said stubbornly, "I will show my aunt that I can hold my drink."
Caradorn blinked in surprise at her vehemence, but he smiled and filled her tankard half full. "Take no offense," he said, "but I feel I will need some water."
He sprang lightly from his seat to call down the stairs, "Mistress Marigold?" She popped her head over the half kitchen door. "May we have a pitcher of water?" She bobbed and nodded.
Eleirien sipped at the mead, enjoying the sweet tangy flavor. A warmth spread through her veins, and she began to feel relaxed. Caradorn filled his flagon as full as he could, and drank, peering at her. "So... did you keep up with your brothers in most things?" he asked.
"Why yes," she said "how did you guess?"
"You ride astride, as do Elven warrior women, but not most human women in Dale. And, you seemed quite comfortable wearing weapons and warrior's attire." She cocked an eyebrow at him, smiling, as he went on. "Plus, you mentioned three brothers. Luinur has several brothers, and their one sister has been tagging along with them since her infancy."
"She sounds like someone I would like to know." said Eleirien. Caradorn drank more of his mead, and so did she.
"At least she has not become haughty, like some of our Silvan peers. They aspire to be more like the Sindar, the Grey elves, like my father." He sighed.
Eleirien looked vaguely into her tankard. "Your father?" she asked, "How about your mother?" As she spoke, Caradorn deftly poured water from the pitcher into the flagon, without her noticing. "I'd like some more mead." slurred Elei.
He smiled, and tipped the flagon into her tankard, saying "My mother is Silvan, a Wood Elf. Some in the court feel she is not fit to be Queen, unlike Legolas's mother, who was Sindar, a Grey Elf, like my father." As she drank her mead, he rose and paced to the door, saying "I must bid you good e'en, lady. You need your rest." He reached for the door latch, only to find it missing. "Milady, it seems your nephews have been at work." She looked up at him, puzzled as to why he looked blurry.
"What?" she asked.
"The door latch. I cannot leave. I do not want to damage your uncle's door." He sighed, and moved to pull up a chair next to hers.
She blinked at him. "Well, then, you'd best have a drink." she mumbled.
He smiled at her ruefully, shaking his head. "You, milady, are definitely intoxicated."
She nodded wobbily and drank the rest of her mead. Then she squinted suspiciously at him. "You..." she looked at his tankard, picked it up in one wobbly hand, and turned it upside down. Staring accusingly at the lack of a puddle under it, she set it down with a thump-upside-down. "You are not drunk!" she said accusingly. He looked at her, amused.
"Elves do not get drunk." he said. "Well, rarely. We can, but it takes vast quantities, or a terribly potent brew, to make us the least bit dizzy."
She stared vaguely at him, slowly thinking this over. Suddenly, she said "Ooh!" and half-rose from her chair, clenching her fists. "Ooh! How could you?! You!..." Her brows drew together and she glared at him with watery eyes. "You let me try to keep up with you, knowing I could get drunk while you could not?" She spat the words furiously. She turned as if to beat him on the chest with her fists, but stumbled and fell toward him. Caradorn, bemused, raised his hands to catch her as she landed face-to-face with him. He held her at arm's length, Elei leaning with her knees against his.
"What do you fear?" he asked, his face inches from hers. Blearily, she noted the fine suede gloves he still wore. "Did you fear I'd take advantage?" he asked. "Your father took my sworn oath to keep you safe. I will not harm you." His eyes locked on her lips and she stared at his, fascinated as they drew closer. "Mead is powerful, milady. Remember that." She felt his breath caress her face, and Elei leaned in toward his mouth...
There was a clatter at the door and an exclamation. Caradorn, still staring at her lips, sighed and pushed her carefully into her chair. He stepped to the door, calling "Help, our latch is broken."
Rory's curly brown hair appeared at the hole. His voice came through. "Yes, it's fallen out over here. Mari!" he shouted,"bring me my toolbag!"
