Chapter 3
"Imbalech"
The next couple of months were very busy for Sam. The work for a mayor of the Shire piled high on his desk and his troubles were quickly absorbed by sheer lack of time to think on them. Dinners, accords followed by suppers filled his appointment book. He would sit in his chair late into the night, a pen in one hand a pipe in the other and make a faint groaning sound. That was how the hour found him when there was a rapid knock at the door. Sam stood up alarmed. No respectable hobbits were out at this hour. Immediately all the habits of one who has had to stand guard returned to him. Without thinking he opened a dusty chest and pulled out a bundle wrapped in cloth. The knock came again and he threw off the cloth to reveal a very worn scabbard. He quickly unsheathed the sword to reveal a blinding blue light. He gasped and turned toward the door, only to find a figure in a dark cloak blocking the entrance. The sword clamored to the ground. The blue light illuminated the face of a young elf. Sam stood aghast.
"Explain yourself!" he stammered. The elf cast back her cloak to reveal long gold hair, a green tunic and a beautiful quiver of arrows which stood nestled behind her like a bouquet of white feathers.
"I am a messenger for the King Elessar," she said bowing low. "No! That's not what I meant," Sam shouted. "The sword- it glows in your company!"
"Oh," the elf laughed and reached to pick up the sword. Sam put up his fists.
"Don't you touch that-," he warned but the elf made no notice. She picked up the sword like a child and her eyes dazzled. The light became almost blinding. Sam could barley see her in light.
"You see, a sword like this glows when orcs are nigh," she sheathed it and the light vanished.
"But also when it is in the presence of its maker." Sam looked at her with astonishment. The elf smiled and her continence softened.
"Perhaps we can try our introductions again," she said. Sam nodded still in shock.
"I am Imbalech Greenleaf, sister to Legolas, of whom you've journey with. I am the Weapons Master of my people and am in the service the King, now that the Ringbearers have departed."
"Legolas!" was all that Sam could get out. His brain felt muddy with excitement, fatigue and fear.
"Yes, Legolas," she smiled. "May I sit down to deliver my message?" Sam looked up at her as if she was speaking elvish.
"Oh yes, yes of course, where have my manners gone?" he said snapping to. Hobbit courtesy can usually bring a stunned or shocked hobbit to his senses. Imbalech sat down and Sam tugged his large leather chair till it turned to face the ageless woman. He sat down and said matter-of-factly "what can I do for you?" The elf drew out a letter from her tunic's sleeve and handed it with a slight bow to Sam. Sam read it, thought for minute, looked up, read it again, and then thought for some time. Finally he spoke. "What does this mean?"
"King Elessar has granted your land freedom, but still offers you his protection,"she said graciously.
"Oh," and Sam couldn't help but chuckle to himself as to why men couldn't just say what they meant instead of cloaking it in beautiful words. Sam stood up and bowed.
"Please tell Strider, that we of The Shire are most thankful," Imbalech eyed the hobbit keenly.
"I take it by 'Strider' you mean the King?" Sam blushed.
"Yes, beg your pardon." Sam was tired at this point was really ready to show the elf to the door- even though she didn't enter through it. Imbalech leaned in closer to Sam and whispered.
"I have one more letter for you." she then slung off her quiver and preceded to open a secret compartment in the casing. She withdrew a stained and torn envelope and on bended knee handed it slowly to Sam. Sam was afraid to even take the thing into his hands as the paper glittered and gleamed under the filth like none he had ever seen before. It appeared to be made of some sort of iridescent leaf. He slowly untied the gold cord that kept the leaf shut and unfolded it to reveal a flowing golden script written on the inside of the leaf itself. His eyes widened and he whispered "Frodo."
There and back again
was all the letter said. Sam's heart thrilled. "Frodo," was all the could think. To have contact however cryptic was enthralling. His entire being was on fire. Finally his practical side got a word in. "What could this mean?" Sam thought. He looked to Imbalech.
"I have no answers," she said.
"But I do know somewhat of the letters whereabouts," she began.
"The letter is from the undying city of Valinor. King Elessar told me the letter was for your eyes only- it was a secret of great importance." Sam thought for a moment and then became worried.
"Who is there to keep secrets from these days?" he thought out loud.
"Surely, Master Samwise you do not think that with the passing of Sauron all evil has left Middle Earth?" Sam looked from side to side.
"This is not The West," Imbalech continued. "There is still much hardship to be had here. You can account for this can you not?" They met eyes for a second and then Sam sunk into his chair. The elf seated herself and studied him.
"You have been through much pain since he left," Suddenly Sam got angry.
"I may've been shocked, but that's a thing of the past!" he said standing up again. Imbalech was taken back by the hobbits quick change.
"I've seen my share of the world Ms. Greenleaf- and I know when it's time to move on. I have a family and somethin' to be proud of now, I don't need my past I don't need Frodo." Imbalech's eyes were wide. It was probably the first time in her eight hundred years that she had been referred to as 'Ms. Greenleaf'.
"You may feel free to stay in the Master bedroom," Sam said catching himself.
"Bag-End is a hole of plenty." With that he led Imbalech down a few corridors and finally to a locked door. Sam took the key out of his pocket, unlocked the door and walked in. The room had been obviously unused for years, but was never the less in clean comfortable condition. Sam left and returned with a basket of fruit, bread and dried meats. He left them on a table in the rear of the room and turned to the bewildered elf.
"Is there anything else I can get for you Ms. Greenleaf?" he said as someone who wished to be alone right then more than anything in the world but covered it with a mask of hospitality. Imbalech shook her head and said nothing. Sam saw his polite exit and took it.
"Sleep well." and the door shut behind him.
Being an elf, Imbalech didn't truly sleep but would usually lie down and dream. However after the events of the evening she couldn't do that. She sat on the bed and looked around. The room was in good upkeep, but the feeling in the air seemed to be that of a withered dream. She could here the noiseless crying of the timbers and plaster, furniture and books. She walked over to the book case and studied the collection. Most of the books were in elvish, Qwenya, the modern tongue, but some Sindarian too. She mused through a book on the ancient weapons.
"What! No way did Firborn design Anduril- that Orc bladder.." she muttered to herself. She was busy contemplating the fact that the old history didn't give her her due credit for her early work when a large red book caught her eye.
"Could this be? The Red Book...." she picked it up and gingerly fingered its thin leaves. She didn't recognize the spidery handwriting at the beginning but flipping to the middle she saw the writing had changed to match that on the letter from Valinor. She skipped to the end and saw the handwriting had changed yet again. "Everything changes," she thought to herself. She had watched eight hundred winters turn to springs, she had seen the coming of Morgoroth, she had witnessed the wars of the Simirils and the return of Sauron and his fall. Her friends, her brothers and sisters had gone to war, some killed, some returned, but they were never the same. She herself being skilled beyond most in archery and probably beyond all in sword play had never chosen open war. She had thought of herself as the warrior behind all other warriors. Forging the weapons they swing, throw, and shoot. With each hammer fall she felt the parley of the enemy and let her hammer fall again and again until she had crafted the strongest blades that had saved and ended Elves and Men. They were strong for within them her own empathy and sorrow for the price of war was contained.
"My best work is gone...," she sighed, closed the book and entered a dream.
"Imbalech"
The next couple of months were very busy for Sam. The work for a mayor of the Shire piled high on his desk and his troubles were quickly absorbed by sheer lack of time to think on them. Dinners, accords followed by suppers filled his appointment book. He would sit in his chair late into the night, a pen in one hand a pipe in the other and make a faint groaning sound. That was how the hour found him when there was a rapid knock at the door. Sam stood up alarmed. No respectable hobbits were out at this hour. Immediately all the habits of one who has had to stand guard returned to him. Without thinking he opened a dusty chest and pulled out a bundle wrapped in cloth. The knock came again and he threw off the cloth to reveal a very worn scabbard. He quickly unsheathed the sword to reveal a blinding blue light. He gasped and turned toward the door, only to find a figure in a dark cloak blocking the entrance. The sword clamored to the ground. The blue light illuminated the face of a young elf. Sam stood aghast.
"Explain yourself!" he stammered. The elf cast back her cloak to reveal long gold hair, a green tunic and a beautiful quiver of arrows which stood nestled behind her like a bouquet of white feathers.
"I am a messenger for the King Elessar," she said bowing low. "No! That's not what I meant," Sam shouted. "The sword- it glows in your company!"
"Oh," the elf laughed and reached to pick up the sword. Sam put up his fists.
"Don't you touch that-," he warned but the elf made no notice. She picked up the sword like a child and her eyes dazzled. The light became almost blinding. Sam could barley see her in light.
"You see, a sword like this glows when orcs are nigh," she sheathed it and the light vanished.
"But also when it is in the presence of its maker." Sam looked at her with astonishment. The elf smiled and her continence softened.
"Perhaps we can try our introductions again," she said. Sam nodded still in shock.
"I am Imbalech Greenleaf, sister to Legolas, of whom you've journey with. I am the Weapons Master of my people and am in the service the King, now that the Ringbearers have departed."
"Legolas!" was all that Sam could get out. His brain felt muddy with excitement, fatigue and fear.
"Yes, Legolas," she smiled. "May I sit down to deliver my message?" Sam looked up at her as if she was speaking elvish.
"Oh yes, yes of course, where have my manners gone?" he said snapping to. Hobbit courtesy can usually bring a stunned or shocked hobbit to his senses. Imbalech sat down and Sam tugged his large leather chair till it turned to face the ageless woman. He sat down and said matter-of-factly "what can I do for you?" The elf drew out a letter from her tunic's sleeve and handed it with a slight bow to Sam. Sam read it, thought for minute, looked up, read it again, and then thought for some time. Finally he spoke. "What does this mean?"
"King Elessar has granted your land freedom, but still offers you his protection,"she said graciously.
"Oh," and Sam couldn't help but chuckle to himself as to why men couldn't just say what they meant instead of cloaking it in beautiful words. Sam stood up and bowed.
"Please tell Strider, that we of The Shire are most thankful," Imbalech eyed the hobbit keenly.
"I take it by 'Strider' you mean the King?" Sam blushed.
"Yes, beg your pardon." Sam was tired at this point was really ready to show the elf to the door- even though she didn't enter through it. Imbalech leaned in closer to Sam and whispered.
"I have one more letter for you." she then slung off her quiver and preceded to open a secret compartment in the casing. She withdrew a stained and torn envelope and on bended knee handed it slowly to Sam. Sam was afraid to even take the thing into his hands as the paper glittered and gleamed under the filth like none he had ever seen before. It appeared to be made of some sort of iridescent leaf. He slowly untied the gold cord that kept the leaf shut and unfolded it to reveal a flowing golden script written on the inside of the leaf itself. His eyes widened and he whispered "Frodo."
There and back again
was all the letter said. Sam's heart thrilled. "Frodo," was all the could think. To have contact however cryptic was enthralling. His entire being was on fire. Finally his practical side got a word in. "What could this mean?" Sam thought. He looked to Imbalech.
"I have no answers," she said.
"But I do know somewhat of the letters whereabouts," she began.
"The letter is from the undying city of Valinor. King Elessar told me the letter was for your eyes only- it was a secret of great importance." Sam thought for a moment and then became worried.
"Who is there to keep secrets from these days?" he thought out loud.
"Surely, Master Samwise you do not think that with the passing of Sauron all evil has left Middle Earth?" Sam looked from side to side.
"This is not The West," Imbalech continued. "There is still much hardship to be had here. You can account for this can you not?" They met eyes for a second and then Sam sunk into his chair. The elf seated herself and studied him.
"You have been through much pain since he left," Suddenly Sam got angry.
"I may've been shocked, but that's a thing of the past!" he said standing up again. Imbalech was taken back by the hobbits quick change.
"I've seen my share of the world Ms. Greenleaf- and I know when it's time to move on. I have a family and somethin' to be proud of now, I don't need my past I don't need Frodo." Imbalech's eyes were wide. It was probably the first time in her eight hundred years that she had been referred to as 'Ms. Greenleaf'.
"You may feel free to stay in the Master bedroom," Sam said catching himself.
"Bag-End is a hole of plenty." With that he led Imbalech down a few corridors and finally to a locked door. Sam took the key out of his pocket, unlocked the door and walked in. The room had been obviously unused for years, but was never the less in clean comfortable condition. Sam left and returned with a basket of fruit, bread and dried meats. He left them on a table in the rear of the room and turned to the bewildered elf.
"Is there anything else I can get for you Ms. Greenleaf?" he said as someone who wished to be alone right then more than anything in the world but covered it with a mask of hospitality. Imbalech shook her head and said nothing. Sam saw his polite exit and took it.
"Sleep well." and the door shut behind him.
Being an elf, Imbalech didn't truly sleep but would usually lie down and dream. However after the events of the evening she couldn't do that. She sat on the bed and looked around. The room was in good upkeep, but the feeling in the air seemed to be that of a withered dream. She could here the noiseless crying of the timbers and plaster, furniture and books. She walked over to the book case and studied the collection. Most of the books were in elvish, Qwenya, the modern tongue, but some Sindarian too. She mused through a book on the ancient weapons.
"What! No way did Firborn design Anduril- that Orc bladder.." she muttered to herself. She was busy contemplating the fact that the old history didn't give her her due credit for her early work when a large red book caught her eye.
"Could this be? The Red Book...." she picked it up and gingerly fingered its thin leaves. She didn't recognize the spidery handwriting at the beginning but flipping to the middle she saw the writing had changed to match that on the letter from Valinor. She skipped to the end and saw the handwriting had changed yet again. "Everything changes," she thought to herself. She had watched eight hundred winters turn to springs, she had seen the coming of Morgoroth, she had witnessed the wars of the Simirils and the return of Sauron and his fall. Her friends, her brothers and sisters had gone to war, some killed, some returned, but they were never the same. She herself being skilled beyond most in archery and probably beyond all in sword play had never chosen open war. She had thought of herself as the warrior behind all other warriors. Forging the weapons they swing, throw, and shoot. With each hammer fall she felt the parley of the enemy and let her hammer fall again and again until she had crafted the strongest blades that had saved and ended Elves and Men. They were strong for within them her own empathy and sorrow for the price of war was contained.
"My best work is gone...," she sighed, closed the book and entered a dream.