Gilrean's faux-brown hair flowed behind her, whipping in the wind, as she rode beside her son, Estel. She was going home, even as he was leaving it. She was happy and content in Rivendell, but to her it was not home. She longed for her people, and the people of her husband. Estel asked many questions about where they were going, and what it would be like. He had never left the safety of Rivendell before, and he was thrilled to embark on what he imagined to be a great adventure. He also felt a great anxiousness and curiosity at the thought of discovering his roots and background.
At length, they came to a large, grassy field with a few clusters of huts sprinkled about the hills. A small group of people, all clad in gray and weather-worn clothes came forward to greet Estel and his mother. The boy watched his mother, looking for her reaction. Gilrean's face was bright and she was smiling widely as she gazed about the hills, and her smile grew even more as they approached the people greeting them.
"Gilrean!" cried one woman. "You've come back!"
"Marien!" Gilrean dismounted her white and gray-speckled horse and met the woman in a warm embrace. "Where is your husband, Drinian?" she asked, when they had parted.
"Off hunting. Not many of us are here at present: myself, and the other women and children, and a little under half the men. We've taken Drinian as our cheiftain for now, as he was Arathorn's first cousin." She shifted her gaze to the boy who had come to stand beside his mother. His short, wavy hair was nearly black and his eyes were sea-gray. "And you must be-"
"Estel," said Gilrean quickly, sliding her arm across her son's back. "My son, Estel."
Marien caught Gilrean's eye and nodded almost inaudibly. "My, he's grown. I havn't seen you since you were less than two years old. How old are you now, Estel, twelve?" He nodded. "Same age as my own son, Halbarad," she said, indicating the boy standing and watching a few feet off. "I'm sure you two will get on well. Perhaps you could show Estel around, Halbarad? Come and speak with me, Gilrean, for it has been so long, and there are so many things I wish to tell you and ask you."
----------------------------------------
The group of children wandered off together, hiking up and down the slight hills through the long, pale, wavy grass and Estel went with them. He soon learned them all by name. There were six altogether: a boy, Jacanhen, and a girl, Nillanoth who both looked to be about 8 or 9, Halbard whom Marien had spoken of, Tankista, a girl who must have been about 16, and Carhanon, a larger boy of around 18 years. These were almost all the children of the Dunedain; in addition there were a couple younger ones, and several older than Carhanon, but they were usually out with the men, tracking and hunting and protecting what was once Arnor.
"So. If your father was a Dunadan like us, where have you been all this time?" asked Halbarad.
"In Rivendell," answered Estel. "and Elrond raised me."
"Lord Elrond, Half-Elven?" asked Tankista, in awe.
"No," said Carhanon, smirking. "The other Elrond." Tankista smiled and looked at the ground, embarrassed, and her hand flew out to hit Carhanon softly on the shoulder. "Be quiet, you," she said, and he smiled back.
"What was it like, living with the Elves?" asked the younger boy, Jacanhen. "My father says they're the wisest, fairest, and oldest beings on Middle-Earth!"
"They are," Estel confirmed.
"They're queer," added Nillanoth shyly. "My father said they are always singing and stuff- and imagine being that old!"
"But that's what makes them so wise. They've seen 100 times as many winters and summer as we will ever see, even long-lived as we are, being of Numenorean descent. Lord Elrond says he can remember all the way back to the Second Age, before Gil-Galad or Elendil fell, and even further back to the days before his father Earendil journeyed westward to the Valar and repented, asking for the forgiveness of his banished people."
The two younger children were silenced by these words, for they seemed bold and impressive, though they caught little of its meaning, for they were unfamiliar with the histories before their Age. The others were silent also, but not from confusion, and were lost in thought and wonder, imagining what it would be like to have lived in those times and still walk in Middle-Earth.
"Can you fight? Did the Elves teach you?" asked Halbarad after a long pause.
"Yes, I learned from Elladan and Elrohir, mostly," he said with a nod. "Though my skills are not very great."
"Perhaps, perhaps not. Let's find out!" said Halbard excitedly, finding a good-sized stick to use as a sword. Estel hesitated for a moment, but the other children urged him to accept the challenge, and then he smiled and nodded. "Alright," he said quietly, picking up a stick of his own and turning to face Halbarad.
Halbarad sprang forward eagerly, and in one movement, Estel parried the blow with his stick, spun around quickly to face Halbarad's side, and held the edge of his stick against the boy's neck. "That doesn't count!" shouted Halbard indignantly. "It was too short, a fight ought to last a while."
Estel shrugged. "I've been told it's best to stop the enemy as quickly as possible and conserve your energy in case more enemies come."
"Well, yeah, but. This is a duel, it's different."
Estel shrugged again.m"Alright, let's go again." And so they did. Again, and yet again. On the third try, the fight ended with Halbarad being knocked to the ground.
"It's really not fair though," he grumbled, sitting in a heap on the ground. "You were taught by Elves. And you're bigger than I am," His words were difficult to understand through his panting.
"Maybe you're right," said Estel. "I am a little taller than you."
But Halbarad shook his head. "No, don`t listen to me, I'm just being bitter. You didn't win because you're bigger than me- we're about the same size anyway. You did trick me though," he added with a grin. "You said your skill was not great. That was incredible. Could you teach me how to fight like that?"
"Of course," Estel replied, holding out his hand to help. "I'll try."
---------------------
Many of the Dunedain took turns keeping watch throughout the night and Estel insisted on staying up on one of the watches with some of his new friends. The younger two were off to bed, but Estel, Halbarad, Tankista, Carhanon, and a few of the older men, sat around a fire outside, telling stories to pass the time, and smoking pipeweed.
"What's that?" asked Estel as Carhanon lit his pipe. He rested it on his lips a moment and inhaled, before letting out a small puff into Estel's face. "Longbottom leaf. Bought it off a Bree-lander a while back. What, you've never seen pipe-weed? And they say Elves are so clever... No pipe-weed. Sheesh."
Estel shook his head, a little embarassed. "Well, you wanna try some or not?"
"Sure. Thanks." "Me too," said Halbarad. Estel took the long, carven pipe in his mouth and breathed in, and then gagged and started coughing uncontrollably. Halbarad, seeing his friend's reaction, took the pipe rather uneasily and gave a hesitant puff, which resulted in much the same way. Carhanon took the pipe back laughing.
"Don't let him tease you," said Tankista, leaning over to face them from Carhanon's other side. "He coughed just as bad the first time he tried it, which was only a year or two ago. He's just proud because he's finally mastered the art of it (though he hasn't really)."
Carhanon began to object, and he and Tankista argued and teased, their conversation soon leaving the two younger boys. Estel squinted in the smoke that still lingered about him, his eyes watering a little. He couldn't much see what art could be found in that, but he was comforted by Tankista's reassuring words. He was also relieved to know that he was not alone in his ignorance in this matter, and that Halbarad, though he had surely seen it before, was equally unaccustomed to it. Gradually Tankista and Carhanon's jabbering wore off, and Estel and Halbarad ceased speaking with eachother, for the realized that the entire company had fallen silent now, all but for one voice.
"And Isildur saw his father lying there, his shattered sword Narsil at his side, and knew that Gil-Galad had fallen as well, and his younger brothe Anarion. All the world seemed dark and hopeless. And then, he saw Sauron nearby, weary and wounded from the efforts of Elendil and Gil-Galad. And he took up his father's sword, and cut the One Ring, which stored all the power of the enemy within it, from Sauron's finger."
Estel listened excitedly. He knew this tale well, of course, but he had never heard it told in this way, with such passion and in common words instead of Elvish Songs. It occured to him suddenly, how much this tale must mean for these people, his people. For was not Elendil their first king, friend of Elves, leader of The Faithful, first King of Gondor and Arnor. This was the last remnant of Isildur's people, the Dunedain of the North, the last trace of Numenoreans, children of Elros. He looked around the circle at the grim, lean faces about him, weary and lonely, yet there was a light in their eyes and wisdom beyond that of other men, and they were all here together. Here, they shared a moment of pure contendedness and calm, leaning back and smoking, closing their eyes and listening to the ancient tales. Estel let out a peaceful sigh, and smiled, feeling for the first time, that he belonged.
"Estel? Hey, Estel, are you awake?"
He opened his eyes. "Yes, I'm awake. I was just thinking."
"Well, it's your turn to tell a story, if you wish to," explained Halbarad.
"Alright," he said slowly. "What... What would you like to hear?"
"Tell us a story in Elvish," said Tankista eagerly. "Any one you like. Tell us your favorite one."
"So long as it's happy and inspiring, and doesn't depress us all," added one man, laughing slightly.
Estel thought. "There are few tales of the Ancient Elves that have hope and joy, for most of them are sad and grim... I can think of one, which has been said to be a rare story of joy among so many of grief... Though, I am afriad, some may find it to be sad, as well," he warned. He took a deep breath and ran his hand through his dark hair. "I shall tell you, the Tale of Beren and Luthien...
The leaves were long, the grass was green,
The hemlock-umbels tall and fair,
And in the glade a light was seen
Of stars in shadow shimmering.
Tin£viel was dancing there
To music of a pipe unseen,
And light of stars was in her hair,
And in her raiment glimmering.
There Beren came from mountains cold,
And lost he wandered under leaves,
And where the Elven-river rolled
He walked alone and sorrowing.
He peered between the hemlock-leaves
And saw in wonder flowers of gold
Upon her mantle and her sleeves,
And her hair like shadow following.
Enchantment healed his weary feet
That over hills were doomed to roam;
And forth he hastened, strong and fleet,
And grasped at moonbeams glistening.
Through woven woods in Elvenhome
She lightly fled on dancing feet,
And left him lonely still to roam
In the silent forest listening.
He heard there oft the flying sound
Of feet as light as linden-leaves,
Or music welling underground,
In hidden hollows quavering.
Now withered lay the hemlock-sheaves,
And one by one with sighing sound
Whispering fell the beachen leaves
In the wintry woodland wavering.
He sought her ever, wandering far
Where leaves of years were thickly strewn,
By light of moon and ray of star
In frosty heavens shivering.
Her mantle glinted in the moon,
As on a hill-top high and far
She danced, and at her feet was strewn
A mist of silver quivering.
When winter passed, she came again,
And her song released the sudden spring,
Like rising lark, and falling rain,
And melting water bubbling.
He saw the elven-flowers spring
About her feet, and healed again
He longed by her to dance and sing
Upon the grass untroubling.
Again she fled, but swift he came.
Tin£viel! Tin£viel!
He called her by her elvish name;
And there she halted listening.
One moment stood she, and a spell
His voice laid on her: Beren came,
And doom fell on Tin£viel
That in his arms lay glistening.
As Beren looked into her eyes
Within the shadows of her hair,
The trembling starlight of the skies
He saw there mirrored shimmering.
Tin£viel the elven-fair,
Immortal maiden elven-wise,
About him cast her shadowy hair
And arms like silver glimmering.
Long was the way that fate them bore,
O'er stony mountains cold and grey,
Through halls of iron and darkling door,
And woods of nightshade morrowless.
The Sundering Seas between them lay,
And yet at last they met once more,
And long ago they passed away
In the forest singing sorrowless."
-----------------------------------
Note: The song of Luthien and Beren was written by Tolkein, not me.
At length, they came to a large, grassy field with a few clusters of huts sprinkled about the hills. A small group of people, all clad in gray and weather-worn clothes came forward to greet Estel and his mother. The boy watched his mother, looking for her reaction. Gilrean's face was bright and she was smiling widely as she gazed about the hills, and her smile grew even more as they approached the people greeting them.
"Gilrean!" cried one woman. "You've come back!"
"Marien!" Gilrean dismounted her white and gray-speckled horse and met the woman in a warm embrace. "Where is your husband, Drinian?" she asked, when they had parted.
"Off hunting. Not many of us are here at present: myself, and the other women and children, and a little under half the men. We've taken Drinian as our cheiftain for now, as he was Arathorn's first cousin." She shifted her gaze to the boy who had come to stand beside his mother. His short, wavy hair was nearly black and his eyes were sea-gray. "And you must be-"
"Estel," said Gilrean quickly, sliding her arm across her son's back. "My son, Estel."
Marien caught Gilrean's eye and nodded almost inaudibly. "My, he's grown. I havn't seen you since you were less than two years old. How old are you now, Estel, twelve?" He nodded. "Same age as my own son, Halbarad," she said, indicating the boy standing and watching a few feet off. "I'm sure you two will get on well. Perhaps you could show Estel around, Halbarad? Come and speak with me, Gilrean, for it has been so long, and there are so many things I wish to tell you and ask you."
----------------------------------------
The group of children wandered off together, hiking up and down the slight hills through the long, pale, wavy grass and Estel went with them. He soon learned them all by name. There were six altogether: a boy, Jacanhen, and a girl, Nillanoth who both looked to be about 8 or 9, Halbard whom Marien had spoken of, Tankista, a girl who must have been about 16, and Carhanon, a larger boy of around 18 years. These were almost all the children of the Dunedain; in addition there were a couple younger ones, and several older than Carhanon, but they were usually out with the men, tracking and hunting and protecting what was once Arnor.
"So. If your father was a Dunadan like us, where have you been all this time?" asked Halbarad.
"In Rivendell," answered Estel. "and Elrond raised me."
"Lord Elrond, Half-Elven?" asked Tankista, in awe.
"No," said Carhanon, smirking. "The other Elrond." Tankista smiled and looked at the ground, embarrassed, and her hand flew out to hit Carhanon softly on the shoulder. "Be quiet, you," she said, and he smiled back.
"What was it like, living with the Elves?" asked the younger boy, Jacanhen. "My father says they're the wisest, fairest, and oldest beings on Middle-Earth!"
"They are," Estel confirmed.
"They're queer," added Nillanoth shyly. "My father said they are always singing and stuff- and imagine being that old!"
"But that's what makes them so wise. They've seen 100 times as many winters and summer as we will ever see, even long-lived as we are, being of Numenorean descent. Lord Elrond says he can remember all the way back to the Second Age, before Gil-Galad or Elendil fell, and even further back to the days before his father Earendil journeyed westward to the Valar and repented, asking for the forgiveness of his banished people."
The two younger children were silenced by these words, for they seemed bold and impressive, though they caught little of its meaning, for they were unfamiliar with the histories before their Age. The others were silent also, but not from confusion, and were lost in thought and wonder, imagining what it would be like to have lived in those times and still walk in Middle-Earth.
"Can you fight? Did the Elves teach you?" asked Halbarad after a long pause.
"Yes, I learned from Elladan and Elrohir, mostly," he said with a nod. "Though my skills are not very great."
"Perhaps, perhaps not. Let's find out!" said Halbard excitedly, finding a good-sized stick to use as a sword. Estel hesitated for a moment, but the other children urged him to accept the challenge, and then he smiled and nodded. "Alright," he said quietly, picking up a stick of his own and turning to face Halbarad.
Halbarad sprang forward eagerly, and in one movement, Estel parried the blow with his stick, spun around quickly to face Halbarad's side, and held the edge of his stick against the boy's neck. "That doesn't count!" shouted Halbard indignantly. "It was too short, a fight ought to last a while."
Estel shrugged. "I've been told it's best to stop the enemy as quickly as possible and conserve your energy in case more enemies come."
"Well, yeah, but. This is a duel, it's different."
Estel shrugged again.m"Alright, let's go again." And so they did. Again, and yet again. On the third try, the fight ended with Halbarad being knocked to the ground.
"It's really not fair though," he grumbled, sitting in a heap on the ground. "You were taught by Elves. And you're bigger than I am," His words were difficult to understand through his panting.
"Maybe you're right," said Estel. "I am a little taller than you."
But Halbarad shook his head. "No, don`t listen to me, I'm just being bitter. You didn't win because you're bigger than me- we're about the same size anyway. You did trick me though," he added with a grin. "You said your skill was not great. That was incredible. Could you teach me how to fight like that?"
"Of course," Estel replied, holding out his hand to help. "I'll try."
---------------------
Many of the Dunedain took turns keeping watch throughout the night and Estel insisted on staying up on one of the watches with some of his new friends. The younger two were off to bed, but Estel, Halbarad, Tankista, Carhanon, and a few of the older men, sat around a fire outside, telling stories to pass the time, and smoking pipeweed.
"What's that?" asked Estel as Carhanon lit his pipe. He rested it on his lips a moment and inhaled, before letting out a small puff into Estel's face. "Longbottom leaf. Bought it off a Bree-lander a while back. What, you've never seen pipe-weed? And they say Elves are so clever... No pipe-weed. Sheesh."
Estel shook his head, a little embarassed. "Well, you wanna try some or not?"
"Sure. Thanks." "Me too," said Halbarad. Estel took the long, carven pipe in his mouth and breathed in, and then gagged and started coughing uncontrollably. Halbarad, seeing his friend's reaction, took the pipe rather uneasily and gave a hesitant puff, which resulted in much the same way. Carhanon took the pipe back laughing.
"Don't let him tease you," said Tankista, leaning over to face them from Carhanon's other side. "He coughed just as bad the first time he tried it, which was only a year or two ago. He's just proud because he's finally mastered the art of it (though he hasn't really)."
Carhanon began to object, and he and Tankista argued and teased, their conversation soon leaving the two younger boys. Estel squinted in the smoke that still lingered about him, his eyes watering a little. He couldn't much see what art could be found in that, but he was comforted by Tankista's reassuring words. He was also relieved to know that he was not alone in his ignorance in this matter, and that Halbarad, though he had surely seen it before, was equally unaccustomed to it. Gradually Tankista and Carhanon's jabbering wore off, and Estel and Halbarad ceased speaking with eachother, for the realized that the entire company had fallen silent now, all but for one voice.
"And Isildur saw his father lying there, his shattered sword Narsil at his side, and knew that Gil-Galad had fallen as well, and his younger brothe Anarion. All the world seemed dark and hopeless. And then, he saw Sauron nearby, weary and wounded from the efforts of Elendil and Gil-Galad. And he took up his father's sword, and cut the One Ring, which stored all the power of the enemy within it, from Sauron's finger."
Estel listened excitedly. He knew this tale well, of course, but he had never heard it told in this way, with such passion and in common words instead of Elvish Songs. It occured to him suddenly, how much this tale must mean for these people, his people. For was not Elendil their first king, friend of Elves, leader of The Faithful, first King of Gondor and Arnor. This was the last remnant of Isildur's people, the Dunedain of the North, the last trace of Numenoreans, children of Elros. He looked around the circle at the grim, lean faces about him, weary and lonely, yet there was a light in their eyes and wisdom beyond that of other men, and they were all here together. Here, they shared a moment of pure contendedness and calm, leaning back and smoking, closing their eyes and listening to the ancient tales. Estel let out a peaceful sigh, and smiled, feeling for the first time, that he belonged.
"Estel? Hey, Estel, are you awake?"
He opened his eyes. "Yes, I'm awake. I was just thinking."
"Well, it's your turn to tell a story, if you wish to," explained Halbarad.
"Alright," he said slowly. "What... What would you like to hear?"
"Tell us a story in Elvish," said Tankista eagerly. "Any one you like. Tell us your favorite one."
"So long as it's happy and inspiring, and doesn't depress us all," added one man, laughing slightly.
Estel thought. "There are few tales of the Ancient Elves that have hope and joy, for most of them are sad and grim... I can think of one, which has been said to be a rare story of joy among so many of grief... Though, I am afriad, some may find it to be sad, as well," he warned. He took a deep breath and ran his hand through his dark hair. "I shall tell you, the Tale of Beren and Luthien...
The leaves were long, the grass was green,
The hemlock-umbels tall and fair,
And in the glade a light was seen
Of stars in shadow shimmering.
Tin£viel was dancing there
To music of a pipe unseen,
And light of stars was in her hair,
And in her raiment glimmering.
There Beren came from mountains cold,
And lost he wandered under leaves,
And where the Elven-river rolled
He walked alone and sorrowing.
He peered between the hemlock-leaves
And saw in wonder flowers of gold
Upon her mantle and her sleeves,
And her hair like shadow following.
Enchantment healed his weary feet
That over hills were doomed to roam;
And forth he hastened, strong and fleet,
And grasped at moonbeams glistening.
Through woven woods in Elvenhome
She lightly fled on dancing feet,
And left him lonely still to roam
In the silent forest listening.
He heard there oft the flying sound
Of feet as light as linden-leaves,
Or music welling underground,
In hidden hollows quavering.
Now withered lay the hemlock-sheaves,
And one by one with sighing sound
Whispering fell the beachen leaves
In the wintry woodland wavering.
He sought her ever, wandering far
Where leaves of years were thickly strewn,
By light of moon and ray of star
In frosty heavens shivering.
Her mantle glinted in the moon,
As on a hill-top high and far
She danced, and at her feet was strewn
A mist of silver quivering.
When winter passed, she came again,
And her song released the sudden spring,
Like rising lark, and falling rain,
And melting water bubbling.
He saw the elven-flowers spring
About her feet, and healed again
He longed by her to dance and sing
Upon the grass untroubling.
Again she fled, but swift he came.
Tin£viel! Tin£viel!
He called her by her elvish name;
And there she halted listening.
One moment stood she, and a spell
His voice laid on her: Beren came,
And doom fell on Tin£viel
That in his arms lay glistening.
As Beren looked into her eyes
Within the shadows of her hair,
The trembling starlight of the skies
He saw there mirrored shimmering.
Tin£viel the elven-fair,
Immortal maiden elven-wise,
About him cast her shadowy hair
And arms like silver glimmering.
Long was the way that fate them bore,
O'er stony mountains cold and grey,
Through halls of iron and darkling door,
And woods of nightshade morrowless.
The Sundering Seas between them lay,
And yet at last they met once more,
And long ago they passed away
In the forest singing sorrowless."
-----------------------------------
Note: The song of Luthien and Beren was written by Tolkein, not me.