Chapter 7 The Last Fields of Lamedon
The next morning Siriondil was slow to rise. He was extremely sore, and his sleep had not come easily. The same cannot be said for Eladlín however, for young boys take to mornings with an almost unhealthy exuberance. "When do we leave?" he questioned fiercely, "When will we arrive? Oh, I cannot wait!"
"Patience is a virtue, little master." replied Siriondil.
Eladlín held his tongue, for Siriondil's words were always to be heeded. Mararion smiled gently. The young lad's words brought peace back to his heart. "Once we have finished eating, we will begin the day. We should arrive at the foot of the White Mountains by this evening. Do you have heavy cloaks?"
Siriondil shook his head. "Such garments are not needed for a sea voyage."
"You may wear mine." He looked down at Eladlín, who was busy munching at his lembas, "They shall be too big for Eladlín, but the more material he has on him, the warmer he will be."
"But what about you Mararion?" questioned Eladlín, "What will you wear?"
"Elves do not feel cold, unless it comes from the lifeless stone. I will be fine." He mounted Midheiliant and motioned to the others. "Come, we have a long day ahead of us."
Caranaur strode over to Eladlín, who mounted him gracefully. Siriondil leapt upon Tossgalenas without falling off (a rare event, to be sure), and Mithôl found her way behind the others. Tired of the slow pace Siriondil had set yesterday, Mararion nudged Midheiliant into a swift trot, and the other horses followed suit. Siriondil held onto Tossgalenas' mane as he was rocked about her back. This was going to be a long day.
A few minutes later, Eladlín broke the heavy silence. "Will you tell us a tale Mararion?"
"What do you mean by that?"
"My Mama told me one every day. I miss them so."
"Hmm..." sighed the elf, "I believe I know one that you would like. It is called the Last Elf, and it is set many years from now." He cleared his throat and began, "I am called the Last Elf by those who know only of my legend, and the Piper by my friends of old. Few now know the truth of my heritage, but here I shall reveal it. I am Sindarian by birth; a grey elf who has not yet seen the light of Valinor. I sit by the shore each day, for the passion for the sea lies deep within my heart. It is surpassed only by my love of Middle-Earth. Occasionally I will bring my pipes to my wet lips and play a sweet tune to please the waters. Many have asked me why I do not wander from my place by the sea, but they do not understand. I wish only to learn the ways of the world, and one day the sea, in a fit of joyful glee, will reveal it to me. It has said so many times, though never has my song roused it enough to speak freely. Yet one particular day I rose from my dwelling beneath the dunes to find my pipes missing. I mourned them dearly, for in my isolation they had become my dearest friends. Many months I spent in sorrow, for it was only by music that I was allowed to speak to the sea. Over those months I found the sorrow turn gradually to anger. Someone had stolen my pipes! To spite and anger me, someone had taken my speech and cast it into the woods. Each morning I rose with fury in my mind, and every night I settled with hate on my breath. The sea grew distant; for it seemed fearful of my rage. Yet I took no heed, for my mind was bent on my music. Once, in my travels, I chanced upon an old man. I demanded that my instrument be returned. In terror the man fled, and I pursued him to his village gates. There I sulked until nightfall when I vowed to find the man and force my pipes from his grasp. As I entered the village I spied a small boy who hooted like an old screech owl. My gaze softened and I spoke to him. 'Why do you hoot as an owl does? Why do you not speak the tongue of your own people?' He smiled and replied, 'But I do speak the language of men! I was only playing the flute I found one morning upon the seashore.' He held out his hands and there were my pipes! I snatched them from the boy and snarled, 'So it was you that took them from my cave!' The boy gasped, 'It is your flute? I did not know! I was hunting for seashells and I found them on the sand. I thought their owner had abandoned them.' He wrung his hands together and looked at me again, 'I am sorry for the wrong I have caused you. I meant no harm.' The boy spoke with truth in his heart and I could not find the words to fuel my anger. All those restless nights, and my tongue now failed me! I simply turned in the direction of my home without a word. The next morning I rose with the sun and blew gently through the pipes. But the seas tossed angrily and would not speak. This continued for many weeks, but finally I played a song beautiful enough to calm it. 'Why are you so cross with me?' I asked. In a loud roar the waves crashed violently upon the shore, but I discerned these soft words, 'We shall not tell you the truth of the world, not for many a year! In your anger you have forgotten that it is not the pipes that roused us, but your gentle spirit and your love of life.' With this they silenced, and I have not heard them since. Though countless years have passed and my kin have left these shores, I remain still. Perhaps one day I will regain my youthful spirit and the seas will be pleased again. I may only hope."
Eladlín spoke quietly. "Why did he not apologize? Would that have calmed the seas?"
"I do not know, but it is obvious that you are wiser than the old elf."
"What lesson is to be learned from the tale Eladlín?" asked Siriondil suddenly.
"I believe Mararion is trying to tell us that while we may grieve, we should not seek revenge."
"Aye, and what else?"
"I do not know." he replied truthfully.
"Never let your anger overpower your emotions. Consider the words of your mind before you act on your heart. It will not always lead you right."
"Aye." replied the boy. They entered a large plain devoid of trees and paths, and Eladlín felt an urge to run. Nudging Caranaur gently he lead him out beside the others. The horse understood the lad's desire, for he felt it as well. His stride lengthened quickly and soon the others were far behind. "Faster!" whispered the young boy. He took great delight in this feeling, with the wind rushing through his hair and the pounding hoof beats beneath him. The horse responded and they galloped across the field blurring into one being, even to Elvish sight. Mararion glanced back at Siriondil, who gulped audibly. "I, well, I will stay with Mithôl." he muttered. Mithôl shook her head slowly and Mararion grinned. "Suit yourself." he told him. He placed his hand on Midheiliant's neck and the horse shuddered and leapt off into the grassy expanse. Yet they could not catch Eladlín for his horse was light on his feet and, with only a small boy on his back, was not slowed in the least. Out of the corner of his eye, Mararion saw a spec of blackness on the horizon. It was not right, it was too unnatural.
"Eladlín!" he yelled. The boy's horse wheeled and pawed at the air. "Quickly! On the ground and do not make a sound!" Eladlín sensed Mararion's fear and did as he was told. Caranaur attempted to stand guard over him, but the shadow lit a fear deep in his heart, and he fled to the protection of the woods. The elf urged his horse on towards the spot where the boy lay, but he feared he was too late. The orcs would reach him first. "Hide!" he yelled. The boy scrambled for cover, but there was nowhere to hide in the plains. Mararion pushed Midheiliant to his limit, but the stallion's endurance was waning. Without warning, the orcs suddenly turned back and took flight into the woods. Something had frightened them, but he did not know what. Mararion slid off his mount and ran the rest of the distance to Eladlín. He cowered under a small bush, shaking for all his might. Mararion scooped the small boy up in his arms as the first sobs came. "Hush," he whispered, "They have left. You are safe." But Eladlín could not be comforted. Siriondil approached them at a run, having left his horse a ways back.
"Is he hurt?" he asked.
"No, simply scared." The boy's sobs quieted somewhat and he lifted his tear-stained face to Siriondil. He held out his hands and the man took the boy into his embrace. Mararion stood slowly and dusted himself off.
"I am sorry." he told them, "I should have been paying attention, but I allowed my mind to drift."
"It is no one's fault, Mararion," replied Siriondil, "There is nothing else you could have done."
"But there is something else I must do."
"What is that?"
"I must rescue Caranaur from the clutches of the orcs. I will not allow him to fall under their grasp."
Siriondil picked up Eladlín gently and cradled him in his arms. "I will see to him."
"Thank you. I will meet you at the south entrance to the field. If I have not returned within a day, turn back. These roads are more perilous than I first feared." By now the other horses had arrived and Eladlín was lifted onto Tossgalenas as Siriondil began the long walk across the field. "Lothron lîn bad n galen a malta." he whispered, "May thy paths be green and the breeze on thy back."
He turned to Midheiliant who shivered underneath his sweat. His sides had stopped heaving, but the white patches of perspiration chilled his bone. Mararion picked up the dried grass and wiped him clean. The horse nudged him lovingly and Mararion slid onto his back. "Come, my tired mellon. Caranaur needs our help." They set off at a slow gallop, disappearing into the horizon.
Meanwhile, Siriondil had reached the south entrance. He lifted Eladlín from the mare's back and she wandered off to graze. By now the sobs had been reduced to sniffles, and Eladlín stood of his own will. Siriondil smiled as he undid Mith(l's pack. "Feel better?" he asked gently.
Eladlín looked up at him, the tears still staining his face. "What happened?" he asked, "Why was I all alone?"
"We came for you, but you were too far ahead of us. In terror, Caranaur fled to the woods. Mararion is searching for him as I speak."
"What were they? I felt so cold."
Siriondil shuddered involuntarily. "They were orcs, a people who were once elves. Taken by Morgoth and mutilated, they no longer resemble their lost kin."
"How do you know this?"
"My father told me of them, long ago. I never believed I would actually see one." Siriondil lifted a cloak from Mith(l's back. "Here, wear this," he said, tossing the heavy cloak to Eladlín, "It will warm you until I can begin a fire and prepare an afternoon meal." Eladlín walked away, as though he intended to help, but Siriondil stopped. "I will see to everything. Just rest. I do not want you wandering out of my sight."
Glad for the direction, Eladlín sat down and watched the wind tease the plains. Mith(l, having tired of grazing wandered over to him and stood guard as he rubbed her grey face. Siriondil watched them for a moment. Slowly Eladlín grew more drowsy until finally he fell asleep. Mith(l settled beside him, watching over the boy as a mother hen protects her chicks. Satisfied that he would not wake, Siriondil walked out into the plain to collect firewood. He returned to find both of them in the same position and Mararion still missing. His brow creased as he frowned. Surely it could not take this long...
Mararion found himself in a rather compromising situation. Caranaur was safe, but injured and unable to move quickly. He had a deep cut that ran along the length of his foreleg. Even though it was safely bandaged and the blood had stopped, Mararion could not leave him. Yet if they stayed much longer the others would be lost and he would be orc-bait. He leaned on an old willow tree, and it bent under his weight. He jumped back surprised. A small squirrel chattered angrily at him and ran away. Laughing softly to himself he turned towards the horses. They stood close to each other, for the chill of night was falling and they missed the warmth of the fire. "I suppose we shall just move slowly then?" The horses nodded in agreement and Mararion mounted Midheiliant. "To the fields my young friends." If they only they could reach the others by morning.
Siriondil woke suddenly and chided himself. He should not have fallen asleep, for there were orcs around! As he tended to the dying embers he found himself missing the soft-spoken elf. Or, at least, sleep. He crept over to Eladlín and held the boy gently. Eladlín, however, seemed oblivious to his presence and snored serenely. Clutching him for warmth, Siriondil's teeth began to chatter. Did the winds of the plains never cease? He heard a low rumble over the fields and snapped to attention. The orcs had begun their crossing. He kicked out the remainder of the flame and crouched down in the darkness that ensued. Hopefully their presence would go unnoticed.
The sun was rising in the east, that much Mararion could tell. Yet even the elf tired. He had rarely gone this long without rest. He dwelled not on it though, for he knew Siriondil felt far worse. Caranaur slowed with each passing step. The orcs had left during the night, that much was certain. He had heard their passage through the forest. But if he did not hurry, the others would depart as well. "Can you hurry?" he asked the horse as he placed a hand on its shoulder. The horse looked up at him and collapsed on the ground in exhaustion. Mararion looked for the end of the forest, but it was not in sight. "I will come back for you, astald-meldir (brave friend)." The horse responded to the Elvish by raising its head slowly. "Once more, Midheiliant. Fly with the wind." The stallion found a strength deep within his heart. He lengthened his stride and lowered his head. His powerful forelegs flashed forward, barely more than a brown blur of movement. Within moments they had reached the tree line and struck out across the great field. "Siriondil!" he shouted, "Eladlín!"
A sandy head looked up from among the brush, followed shortly by the brown one. Both wore grins upon their faces. "Mararion!" replied Eladlín, who looked delighted to see his friend. He started to run to him, but stopped in mid-stride. "Where is Caranaur?" he asked. Eladlín bit his lip. He hoped with all his heart the horse had not passed on. It would be all his fault.
"He lies in the woods resting. We shall rejoin him soon, but first I needed to make sure you had not left."
"It is good that you did. Siriondil was preparing to leave for the mountains."
"The mountains?"
"I will hold to my word. Lord Elros' wishes will be carried out, even if it is the death of me." replied Siriondil as he loaded the last bag onto Mith(l.
Mararion gave a bemused grin. "Men are quite deaf."
"Aye. We hear only what we want to hear."
"And you have never met Beran!" exclaimed Eladlín. Siriondil laughed again. "The lad has a point."
The three companions strode out across the field leading the remaining three horses. By the end of the day they had rejoined Caranaur, who had recovered much of his strength. Mararion prepared a small fire and Siriondil had already settled for the night. Eladlín munched at his lembas, grimacing from the sweet taste. He missed meat and potatoes dearly. "Potato soup..." he murmured, remembering the taste of Laurelin's famous dish. It was the first clear memory of home that he had had in a long time. As he sat stroking Caranaur, he realized that he did not miss the Old World. Losing his mother would always be a source of great grief, but Papa had always been distant. He had simply not known how to love a small boy. "Besides," Eladlín told himself, "I belong here."
"Indeed you do." replied Mararion.
"How could you hear me?"
"My hearing is strong, and always has been."
Eladlín frowned. What ELSE had he heard? "What do you mean?"
"As to why you belong here?" Eladlín nodded, prompting Mararion to continue. "You have many elvish traits. Too many, if I may comment upon it. You were not meant for a life among men; you were destined for greatness amidst the elves." The lad began to speak, but Mararion silenced him. "Not now. You will understand one day."
"But I wish to know now! I am not a child, I do not need protection."
Mararion rose to his full height, towering over the child. "When your head brushes the leaves, as mine does, then I will consider you grown. Do not concern yourself with your past and future. You have a long life ahead of you. Embrace each moment, and realize what opportunity has given you. In the next month to come, I will lead you through the better part of Middle Earth. No other child has ever been given this opportunity. When I was a small boy, I was confined to my village. I did not leave its gates until much later in life."
Eladlín mulled Mararion's words over silently. Perhaps the elf was right. "Thank you Mararion."
"You will be welcome, if you will do me one favor."
"What is that?"
"Watch the camp for an hour. I am in dire need of rest, but I will wake swiftly if anything is amiss."
"Aye, I can do it."
Mararion settled himself on the ground and within moments his eyes slid out of focus, though they remained open. Eladlín watched him closely, for it was the first time he had ever seen an elf sleep. Once he was sure Mararion would not wake, he crept away and began to climb a tall oak tree. Mith(l snorted her dissent but Eladlín ignored her and continued his ascent. Reaching the top, he settled himself among the highest branches and watched the evening sky. A hawk soared above him and it cried softly as it searched in vain for food. "Hello." Eladlín whispered, afraid of scaring the creature. Instead it concentrated his gaze on him and slowly swooped down, landing gently on an adjoining branch. "Hello." Eladlín repeated. The hawk cocked its reddish head and watched him carefully. He reached out, his fingertips brushing the soft feathers. The bird leapt back in alarm and cried loudly. "Sorry." replied Eladlín, but the hawk took no notice. It began grooming itself carefully, but when it reached the spot Eladlín had touched, it paused and looked up at him. He held out his arm, and the bird flapped over onto him, careful not to scratch him with its sharp talons. Eladlín held out a hand to the hawk and began to pet it. It stood still for a few moments, almost enjoying the attention, before it swept of into the darkening sky. The lad watched it go with a wistful heart. He wished he could soar among the clouds. But to think such thoughts was folly, and Eladlín quickly caught himself. He watched the stars for a few minutes more before sliding down the trunk. Mararion awoke shortly and Eladlín slept, thinking of many things that night.
Actually, my little proverb-like tale really does have significance. I swear! It will come into play later on in the story, so don't forget it! (*winks*). lalala list of apologizes this time.hmm.only one! School has been absolute MADNESS, so sorry for the delay. But this is the first day of winter vacation, so another chapter will probably be out by New Year's, but don't quote me on that. Ok, I really have to get started on (yet another) chemistry lab. See you all next chapter! Don't forget to hit the review button!
The next morning Siriondil was slow to rise. He was extremely sore, and his sleep had not come easily. The same cannot be said for Eladlín however, for young boys take to mornings with an almost unhealthy exuberance. "When do we leave?" he questioned fiercely, "When will we arrive? Oh, I cannot wait!"
"Patience is a virtue, little master." replied Siriondil.
Eladlín held his tongue, for Siriondil's words were always to be heeded. Mararion smiled gently. The young lad's words brought peace back to his heart. "Once we have finished eating, we will begin the day. We should arrive at the foot of the White Mountains by this evening. Do you have heavy cloaks?"
Siriondil shook his head. "Such garments are not needed for a sea voyage."
"You may wear mine." He looked down at Eladlín, who was busy munching at his lembas, "They shall be too big for Eladlín, but the more material he has on him, the warmer he will be."
"But what about you Mararion?" questioned Eladlín, "What will you wear?"
"Elves do not feel cold, unless it comes from the lifeless stone. I will be fine." He mounted Midheiliant and motioned to the others. "Come, we have a long day ahead of us."
Caranaur strode over to Eladlín, who mounted him gracefully. Siriondil leapt upon Tossgalenas without falling off (a rare event, to be sure), and Mithôl found her way behind the others. Tired of the slow pace Siriondil had set yesterday, Mararion nudged Midheiliant into a swift trot, and the other horses followed suit. Siriondil held onto Tossgalenas' mane as he was rocked about her back. This was going to be a long day.
A few minutes later, Eladlín broke the heavy silence. "Will you tell us a tale Mararion?"
"What do you mean by that?"
"My Mama told me one every day. I miss them so."
"Hmm..." sighed the elf, "I believe I know one that you would like. It is called the Last Elf, and it is set many years from now." He cleared his throat and began, "I am called the Last Elf by those who know only of my legend, and the Piper by my friends of old. Few now know the truth of my heritage, but here I shall reveal it. I am Sindarian by birth; a grey elf who has not yet seen the light of Valinor. I sit by the shore each day, for the passion for the sea lies deep within my heart. It is surpassed only by my love of Middle-Earth. Occasionally I will bring my pipes to my wet lips and play a sweet tune to please the waters. Many have asked me why I do not wander from my place by the sea, but they do not understand. I wish only to learn the ways of the world, and one day the sea, in a fit of joyful glee, will reveal it to me. It has said so many times, though never has my song roused it enough to speak freely. Yet one particular day I rose from my dwelling beneath the dunes to find my pipes missing. I mourned them dearly, for in my isolation they had become my dearest friends. Many months I spent in sorrow, for it was only by music that I was allowed to speak to the sea. Over those months I found the sorrow turn gradually to anger. Someone had stolen my pipes! To spite and anger me, someone had taken my speech and cast it into the woods. Each morning I rose with fury in my mind, and every night I settled with hate on my breath. The sea grew distant; for it seemed fearful of my rage. Yet I took no heed, for my mind was bent on my music. Once, in my travels, I chanced upon an old man. I demanded that my instrument be returned. In terror the man fled, and I pursued him to his village gates. There I sulked until nightfall when I vowed to find the man and force my pipes from his grasp. As I entered the village I spied a small boy who hooted like an old screech owl. My gaze softened and I spoke to him. 'Why do you hoot as an owl does? Why do you not speak the tongue of your own people?' He smiled and replied, 'But I do speak the language of men! I was only playing the flute I found one morning upon the seashore.' He held out his hands and there were my pipes! I snatched them from the boy and snarled, 'So it was you that took them from my cave!' The boy gasped, 'It is your flute? I did not know! I was hunting for seashells and I found them on the sand. I thought their owner had abandoned them.' He wrung his hands together and looked at me again, 'I am sorry for the wrong I have caused you. I meant no harm.' The boy spoke with truth in his heart and I could not find the words to fuel my anger. All those restless nights, and my tongue now failed me! I simply turned in the direction of my home without a word. The next morning I rose with the sun and blew gently through the pipes. But the seas tossed angrily and would not speak. This continued for many weeks, but finally I played a song beautiful enough to calm it. 'Why are you so cross with me?' I asked. In a loud roar the waves crashed violently upon the shore, but I discerned these soft words, 'We shall not tell you the truth of the world, not for many a year! In your anger you have forgotten that it is not the pipes that roused us, but your gentle spirit and your love of life.' With this they silenced, and I have not heard them since. Though countless years have passed and my kin have left these shores, I remain still. Perhaps one day I will regain my youthful spirit and the seas will be pleased again. I may only hope."
Eladlín spoke quietly. "Why did he not apologize? Would that have calmed the seas?"
"I do not know, but it is obvious that you are wiser than the old elf."
"What lesson is to be learned from the tale Eladlín?" asked Siriondil suddenly.
"I believe Mararion is trying to tell us that while we may grieve, we should not seek revenge."
"Aye, and what else?"
"I do not know." he replied truthfully.
"Never let your anger overpower your emotions. Consider the words of your mind before you act on your heart. It will not always lead you right."
"Aye." replied the boy. They entered a large plain devoid of trees and paths, and Eladlín felt an urge to run. Nudging Caranaur gently he lead him out beside the others. The horse understood the lad's desire, for he felt it as well. His stride lengthened quickly and soon the others were far behind. "Faster!" whispered the young boy. He took great delight in this feeling, with the wind rushing through his hair and the pounding hoof beats beneath him. The horse responded and they galloped across the field blurring into one being, even to Elvish sight. Mararion glanced back at Siriondil, who gulped audibly. "I, well, I will stay with Mithôl." he muttered. Mithôl shook her head slowly and Mararion grinned. "Suit yourself." he told him. He placed his hand on Midheiliant's neck and the horse shuddered and leapt off into the grassy expanse. Yet they could not catch Eladlín for his horse was light on his feet and, with only a small boy on his back, was not slowed in the least. Out of the corner of his eye, Mararion saw a spec of blackness on the horizon. It was not right, it was too unnatural.
"Eladlín!" he yelled. The boy's horse wheeled and pawed at the air. "Quickly! On the ground and do not make a sound!" Eladlín sensed Mararion's fear and did as he was told. Caranaur attempted to stand guard over him, but the shadow lit a fear deep in his heart, and he fled to the protection of the woods. The elf urged his horse on towards the spot where the boy lay, but he feared he was too late. The orcs would reach him first. "Hide!" he yelled. The boy scrambled for cover, but there was nowhere to hide in the plains. Mararion pushed Midheiliant to his limit, but the stallion's endurance was waning. Without warning, the orcs suddenly turned back and took flight into the woods. Something had frightened them, but he did not know what. Mararion slid off his mount and ran the rest of the distance to Eladlín. He cowered under a small bush, shaking for all his might. Mararion scooped the small boy up in his arms as the first sobs came. "Hush," he whispered, "They have left. You are safe." But Eladlín could not be comforted. Siriondil approached them at a run, having left his horse a ways back.
"Is he hurt?" he asked.
"No, simply scared." The boy's sobs quieted somewhat and he lifted his tear-stained face to Siriondil. He held out his hands and the man took the boy into his embrace. Mararion stood slowly and dusted himself off.
"I am sorry." he told them, "I should have been paying attention, but I allowed my mind to drift."
"It is no one's fault, Mararion," replied Siriondil, "There is nothing else you could have done."
"But there is something else I must do."
"What is that?"
"I must rescue Caranaur from the clutches of the orcs. I will not allow him to fall under their grasp."
Siriondil picked up Eladlín gently and cradled him in his arms. "I will see to him."
"Thank you. I will meet you at the south entrance to the field. If I have not returned within a day, turn back. These roads are more perilous than I first feared." By now the other horses had arrived and Eladlín was lifted onto Tossgalenas as Siriondil began the long walk across the field. "Lothron lîn bad n galen a malta." he whispered, "May thy paths be green and the breeze on thy back."
He turned to Midheiliant who shivered underneath his sweat. His sides had stopped heaving, but the white patches of perspiration chilled his bone. Mararion picked up the dried grass and wiped him clean. The horse nudged him lovingly and Mararion slid onto his back. "Come, my tired mellon. Caranaur needs our help." They set off at a slow gallop, disappearing into the horizon.
Meanwhile, Siriondil had reached the south entrance. He lifted Eladlín from the mare's back and she wandered off to graze. By now the sobs had been reduced to sniffles, and Eladlín stood of his own will. Siriondil smiled as he undid Mith(l's pack. "Feel better?" he asked gently.
Eladlín looked up at him, the tears still staining his face. "What happened?" he asked, "Why was I all alone?"
"We came for you, but you were too far ahead of us. In terror, Caranaur fled to the woods. Mararion is searching for him as I speak."
"What were they? I felt so cold."
Siriondil shuddered involuntarily. "They were orcs, a people who were once elves. Taken by Morgoth and mutilated, they no longer resemble their lost kin."
"How do you know this?"
"My father told me of them, long ago. I never believed I would actually see one." Siriondil lifted a cloak from Mith(l's back. "Here, wear this," he said, tossing the heavy cloak to Eladlín, "It will warm you until I can begin a fire and prepare an afternoon meal." Eladlín walked away, as though he intended to help, but Siriondil stopped. "I will see to everything. Just rest. I do not want you wandering out of my sight."
Glad for the direction, Eladlín sat down and watched the wind tease the plains. Mith(l, having tired of grazing wandered over to him and stood guard as he rubbed her grey face. Siriondil watched them for a moment. Slowly Eladlín grew more drowsy until finally he fell asleep. Mith(l settled beside him, watching over the boy as a mother hen protects her chicks. Satisfied that he would not wake, Siriondil walked out into the plain to collect firewood. He returned to find both of them in the same position and Mararion still missing. His brow creased as he frowned. Surely it could not take this long...
Mararion found himself in a rather compromising situation. Caranaur was safe, but injured and unable to move quickly. He had a deep cut that ran along the length of his foreleg. Even though it was safely bandaged and the blood had stopped, Mararion could not leave him. Yet if they stayed much longer the others would be lost and he would be orc-bait. He leaned on an old willow tree, and it bent under his weight. He jumped back surprised. A small squirrel chattered angrily at him and ran away. Laughing softly to himself he turned towards the horses. They stood close to each other, for the chill of night was falling and they missed the warmth of the fire. "I suppose we shall just move slowly then?" The horses nodded in agreement and Mararion mounted Midheiliant. "To the fields my young friends." If they only they could reach the others by morning.
Siriondil woke suddenly and chided himself. He should not have fallen asleep, for there were orcs around! As he tended to the dying embers he found himself missing the soft-spoken elf. Or, at least, sleep. He crept over to Eladlín and held the boy gently. Eladlín, however, seemed oblivious to his presence and snored serenely. Clutching him for warmth, Siriondil's teeth began to chatter. Did the winds of the plains never cease? He heard a low rumble over the fields and snapped to attention. The orcs had begun their crossing. He kicked out the remainder of the flame and crouched down in the darkness that ensued. Hopefully their presence would go unnoticed.
The sun was rising in the east, that much Mararion could tell. Yet even the elf tired. He had rarely gone this long without rest. He dwelled not on it though, for he knew Siriondil felt far worse. Caranaur slowed with each passing step. The orcs had left during the night, that much was certain. He had heard their passage through the forest. But if he did not hurry, the others would depart as well. "Can you hurry?" he asked the horse as he placed a hand on its shoulder. The horse looked up at him and collapsed on the ground in exhaustion. Mararion looked for the end of the forest, but it was not in sight. "I will come back for you, astald-meldir (brave friend)." The horse responded to the Elvish by raising its head slowly. "Once more, Midheiliant. Fly with the wind." The stallion found a strength deep within his heart. He lengthened his stride and lowered his head. His powerful forelegs flashed forward, barely more than a brown blur of movement. Within moments they had reached the tree line and struck out across the great field. "Siriondil!" he shouted, "Eladlín!"
A sandy head looked up from among the brush, followed shortly by the brown one. Both wore grins upon their faces. "Mararion!" replied Eladlín, who looked delighted to see his friend. He started to run to him, but stopped in mid-stride. "Where is Caranaur?" he asked. Eladlín bit his lip. He hoped with all his heart the horse had not passed on. It would be all his fault.
"He lies in the woods resting. We shall rejoin him soon, but first I needed to make sure you had not left."
"It is good that you did. Siriondil was preparing to leave for the mountains."
"The mountains?"
"I will hold to my word. Lord Elros' wishes will be carried out, even if it is the death of me." replied Siriondil as he loaded the last bag onto Mith(l.
Mararion gave a bemused grin. "Men are quite deaf."
"Aye. We hear only what we want to hear."
"And you have never met Beran!" exclaimed Eladlín. Siriondil laughed again. "The lad has a point."
The three companions strode out across the field leading the remaining three horses. By the end of the day they had rejoined Caranaur, who had recovered much of his strength. Mararion prepared a small fire and Siriondil had already settled for the night. Eladlín munched at his lembas, grimacing from the sweet taste. He missed meat and potatoes dearly. "Potato soup..." he murmured, remembering the taste of Laurelin's famous dish. It was the first clear memory of home that he had had in a long time. As he sat stroking Caranaur, he realized that he did not miss the Old World. Losing his mother would always be a source of great grief, but Papa had always been distant. He had simply not known how to love a small boy. "Besides," Eladlín told himself, "I belong here."
"Indeed you do." replied Mararion.
"How could you hear me?"
"My hearing is strong, and always has been."
Eladlín frowned. What ELSE had he heard? "What do you mean?"
"As to why you belong here?" Eladlín nodded, prompting Mararion to continue. "You have many elvish traits. Too many, if I may comment upon it. You were not meant for a life among men; you were destined for greatness amidst the elves." The lad began to speak, but Mararion silenced him. "Not now. You will understand one day."
"But I wish to know now! I am not a child, I do not need protection."
Mararion rose to his full height, towering over the child. "When your head brushes the leaves, as mine does, then I will consider you grown. Do not concern yourself with your past and future. You have a long life ahead of you. Embrace each moment, and realize what opportunity has given you. In the next month to come, I will lead you through the better part of Middle Earth. No other child has ever been given this opportunity. When I was a small boy, I was confined to my village. I did not leave its gates until much later in life."
Eladlín mulled Mararion's words over silently. Perhaps the elf was right. "Thank you Mararion."
"You will be welcome, if you will do me one favor."
"What is that?"
"Watch the camp for an hour. I am in dire need of rest, but I will wake swiftly if anything is amiss."
"Aye, I can do it."
Mararion settled himself on the ground and within moments his eyes slid out of focus, though they remained open. Eladlín watched him closely, for it was the first time he had ever seen an elf sleep. Once he was sure Mararion would not wake, he crept away and began to climb a tall oak tree. Mith(l snorted her dissent but Eladlín ignored her and continued his ascent. Reaching the top, he settled himself among the highest branches and watched the evening sky. A hawk soared above him and it cried softly as it searched in vain for food. "Hello." Eladlín whispered, afraid of scaring the creature. Instead it concentrated his gaze on him and slowly swooped down, landing gently on an adjoining branch. "Hello." Eladlín repeated. The hawk cocked its reddish head and watched him carefully. He reached out, his fingertips brushing the soft feathers. The bird leapt back in alarm and cried loudly. "Sorry." replied Eladlín, but the hawk took no notice. It began grooming itself carefully, but when it reached the spot Eladlín had touched, it paused and looked up at him. He held out his arm, and the bird flapped over onto him, careful not to scratch him with its sharp talons. Eladlín held out a hand to the hawk and began to pet it. It stood still for a few moments, almost enjoying the attention, before it swept of into the darkening sky. The lad watched it go with a wistful heart. He wished he could soar among the clouds. But to think such thoughts was folly, and Eladlín quickly caught himself. He watched the stars for a few minutes more before sliding down the trunk. Mararion awoke shortly and Eladlín slept, thinking of many things that night.
Actually, my little proverb-like tale really does have significance. I swear! It will come into play later on in the story, so don't forget it! (*winks*). lalala list of apologizes this time.hmm.only one! School has been absolute MADNESS, so sorry for the delay. But this is the first day of winter vacation, so another chapter will probably be out by New Year's, but don't quote me on that. Ok, I really have to get started on (yet another) chemistry lab. See you all next chapter! Don't forget to hit the review button!