Chapter 22 – River-Foot
Thankfully, she had returned to the camp just in time for the first meal of the Elves. The scent of food reminded Eroth that she had not partaken in supper the night before in favour of an early rest, the deprival of which she felt somewhat keenly as she approached the tents. Yet, as her luck often had it, Balthoron had apparently sought his daughter in vain during the missed meal, and was determined to fulfil the purpose at breakfast.
Tucking the food resignedly into her cloak – Legolas' blue cloak, as it seemed – Eroth started after her father through the gathering company. They stopped before Balthoron's tent and her father drew aside its covering.
"Eat your breakfast in here," said he as Eroth ducked through the entrance. "The First Advisor may be limited to the same way-bread of our travelling companions, but there is finer tea to be found at his table."
Balthoron was smiling; he seemed to be in good spirits. Loath to forsake his offer, Eroth drew out a piece of Lembas which had been distributed at the camp, and began to fill her flask with hot tea from the pitcher. She looked up as her father cast a searching glance through the curtain of the tent.
"What do you see?" she asked, bringing the flask to her lips.
Balthoron returned to his seat. His smile had faded. He was looking at her with wariness in his eyes, which had always bode ill after the long adventures of her childhood.
"The Prince seems to have appeared at about the same time as you: late."
Eroth tasted the tea, but the flavour was now lost to her. "I see."
His gaze was unrelenting. "What were you doing with Legolas Thranduilion when the sun has barely risen, lellig?"
A hasty draught of the strong brew scalded her. "We were merely by the river," replied Eroth quickly. "Watching the dawn. The mist was clearing."
The plight of the Dwarves had too been on their mind, but it was unlikely that her father would approve of such a topic. Somehow, however, Eroth sensed that Balthoron feared of worse from her time with Legolas than a discussion on Dwarves. He did not trust her.
Balthoron must have noticed the shift in her expression, for he rose and clasped a hand upon her shoulder. "Forgive a father's worry. Finish your breakfast; there are many matters we must consider."
The sun was setting along the western horizon. The crags ahead proved a treacherous sight; their jagged peaks reached like daggers into the crimson orb. But the traveller could not dwell on such majesty. Never straying from Nimrodel, he had worn through the evening riding west where the singing waters to his left would merge into the river Glanduin, far on the other side of the Misty Mountains. Silently, he thanked the Valar for providing him and other wanderers with another path.
A small, nameless valley cut through the Mountains. Though smothered with thorns and thickets, no darkness lurked there save for its copious shadows and inky nights, and the path allowed for a single horse to pass through if providence was on one's side and no rain had fallen. Many times had the traveller been obliged to risk this obscure way.
As the ellon stood and brushed the road's dust from his cloak. Calling for his horse, he contemplated the journey ahead. He would make for Imladris first, perhaps to see one last time the wonders of the great valley, before swerving East to the fair lands of Greenwood. There his journey would end.
Sirdal, his dappled grey steed, had approached to graze its warm nose against his shoulders. The ellon ran a hand along its tangled mane and mounted smoothly. He intended to reach the other side of the Misty Mountains before nightfall.
"Be swift, river-foot," murmured Pelior Dree.
It was time in the little town upon the lake to light its candles and draw the shutters tight against the evening cold, for the tables were laid with supper, and all who had endured wearily the bitter wind could at last find rest and strength for another day.
Swift and silent were the feet which now walked the streets; her path wound through narrow alleys and under bridges, straying ever where the shadows gathered.
She followed another. A tall figure stopped before a singular door, murmuring to those who guarded it, and ere long Balthoron was admitted behind its great bolts. Eroth drew back against the wall. With a smile, she slipped her fingers into the coil of pipes beside the brick; pipes which spanned from the roof of the house to the gutters on the pebbled ground.
"A meeting is secured between the Elves and the Master of Lake Town," Balthoron said, setting the pitcher of tea back upon the ground. "They are willing to listen. We will share with them our plans for the recovery of town and people."
Eroth laid the flask aside, her meal forgotten. "When may it happen, atar?"
"Before dusk. The Master invites us to supper."
"That leaves enough time for preparation." Eroth stood, biting her lip in contemplation. "I must go and fetch the map from Legolas."
"Eroth," her father spoke gently. "Do not rise with such haste."
The elleth stilled, her eyes narrowing. "You do not intend for me to come?"
"You still have much to learn."
Eroth would learn little if she spent her days idling in the vicinities of a tent. But her father's gaze was unwavering.
"I understand," she said softly, "I shall wait for further news."
"You will hear it."
If Balthoron had seen the smirk unfurling in her features, perhaps he would have taken more precautions. But he did not; and by evening Eroth was climbing up the walls of the Master of Lake Town. Not, either, without a companion.
"Thranduilion," she whispered as she reached the top of the house, where the pipes were no longer convenient to aid in her ascent. She grasped the ledge of the roof above. "He has gone in."
Her friend's fair features appeared above her. Legolas leaned over the slanted roof, offering his hand.
His pale hair was braided back, perhaps having interfered with his climbing, and the darkness smeared shadows beneath his brow and at the hollow of his cheeks. He regarded her warmly, his eyes a brilliant hue unshaken by gloom. "Vedui mellon nin." (Greetings my friend)
Legolas' appearance was of no concern to her. She was no swooning elleth. Eroth clasped his fingers and he pulled her over the ledge. Slates on the roof clinked. The friends froze in their actions. When they were assured that the streets below remained deserted and, once again, silent, Eroth drew back her legs from the edge of the roof, and the manoeuvre was complete.
"This is no kitchen larder," Legolas said softly. "We must be very cautious."
"Of course not." Eroth replied, dusting the dirt from her palms. "This time I am not assigned the role of the look-out. Now, head over there Thranduilion, and give a signal if someone approaches."
Sitting back on her heels, she gestured towards the circle of brick jutting from the roof; a chimney. It would provide excellent vantage over the street. However, Legolas remained stubbornly seated.
"What makes you think I am willing to go?"
"Because," Eroth whispered, "my father is attending the meeting. I have the unequivocal right to remain listening."
"If I was not mistaken, you received explicit instructions from your father to avoid the meeting."
"And I did." She smirked. "Hiding on their roof does not mean I am a participant to their discussions. Now my Prince, we are no longer in your father's realm, so go and stand guard."
"Peace, Dree." Contrary to her hopes, Legolas moved closer, a glint in his eyes. "If we bicker much further the contents of the meeting will be lost to us. Let us listen together."
The Elf had the audacity to lean over and press a fleeting kiss to her cheek. And just when Eroth had been so sure that it was finally fading, the sensations from the prairies broke like tides upon her skin and left an ache in her heart akin the hollows in cliff-side rock. It was curious that such small gestures provoked these inexplicable reactions. She would ponder over it later. When Legolas pulled away a slow smile graced his lips, for there was a flicker of light below them. Someone was lighting a candle in the room within.
Their previous dispute far from her mind, Eroth beckoned Legolas to the edge of the roof. The slates were loose there, teetering over the shadowed face of the house. They would be able to better hear the conversation there. She bent low and listened with her palms pressed to the cold stone. "Chairs drawn," she whispered. "They are merely saying greetings. Civilities always wile away the time."
"Anything else?" Legolas asked.
"Listen for yourself Thranduilion." Eroth grumbled, tilting her head to catch the murmured speech below. "Grievances are uttered…the Master seems respectful."
Gingerly, she leaned an elbow against the slate and rested her cheek upon her hand. "Ah – that was not so respectful."
Legolas met her gaze, troubled. He was relieved to find that there was a dancing light in her eyes. It seemed that conversation within was taking a fascinating turn. "Accusations are placed," Eroth explained. "Rather skilfully too. My father is defending our purpose. He offers the aid of the Elves."
"So the matter is introduced," Legolas murmured.
"Hush," Eroth hissed. "This is of importance."
Legolas watched the elleth's fingers clench and unclench upon the curved slates. Her eyes flickered towards him briefly, grey-black in the dim light. The elleth was wielding her uncanny ability to concentrate all efforts on a single task; provided that she favoured doing so. He wondered if she still wove tales from the dust during the tedious botany lessons. Yet Eroth was intent now, determined upon discerning the information that would hint at the contents of the days ahead. Legolas could understand that. When she tired of staying in the same position, he would take over the post as eavesdropper. After all, the elleth had told him, their cause was noble, and pride brought the fall of many.
The ellon drew his eyes away from the gathering dark. Eroth was sitting up, rubbing her elbow gingerly, though there was a look of triumph in her eyes. "It is agreed that Men and Elves possess a common purpose."
Her smile faded a little. "It is taking rather a long time for such a simple pact."
"Come here mellon," Legolas drew her back where the slope of the roof was less dangerous. "I will tell you the rest."
"Finally you come to my aid," Eroth said. "I was beginning to believe that the words of Greenwood's ellyth are true, and that your heart cannot be moved in any way."
"Dree," he said, amazed. "When did you begin to listen to idle blather?"
"You act as if you were unaware of your admirers."
Legolas shot her a look fully expressive of his perplexity. "Oh, Elbereth," Eroth muttered, looking down at her hands.
Legolas arched an eyebrow at her eccentric moods, before he leaned down to catch the gentle murmur of voices below. The meeting had progressed to a discussion over the allotment of aid efforts between the company and the men of Lake-town. He could picture the terse silence in the room, with its lambent candlelight and ancient tapestries, and in the high-backed chair Balthoron's grave gaze, his head tilted birdlike to the side.
"The Master here prefers the Elves to work on repairing the buildings," he said quietly. "He insists that there are not enough men willing to undertake such a project. Balthoron prefers that we manage the resources. Settle those who are without a home, and distribute food and necessities." A slight pause. "They are reiterating their points."
"They will reach a negotiation somehow," Eroth replied wearily. She was twisting her fingers into the fabric of her shirtsleeves.
"It is difficult to resolve when priorities vary."
Eroth smiled faintly, tipping her head up towards the darkening sky. There was a hazy moon, blistered and thin. Smoke from the chimneys unfurled into the night, dancing with the starry cinders, and her eyes followed its patterns with wonder. Legolas smiled and bent his head to continue the task. Even though botany's tedium was a distant memory, Eroth had not stopped weaving tales in her head.
Translations:
Lellig – my daughter