Disclaimer: To be discluded due to the obvious fact that I don't own anything, really.
Vibrant and Enthusiastic
"Swords?" Telerion asked as he heated the flames of the furnace for one of his coworkers.
"No," Padma replied and shook her head. The dark-haired, mildly soot-covered elf was confused.
"Knives?" He tried again.
"No." Padma shook her head once more.
"Axes?"
"Never even held one."
"Bows?"
"No."
"Arrows?" He asked, she shook her head. "Not even the fletching?"
"The what?" Padma responded and he arched an eyebrow at her.
"Shields? Armor?" Telerion prompted, a sly smile crossing his features as he thought he'd assumed what she made.
"Well…occasionally shields…more like walls, but never really armor." Padma shrugged and Telerion paused in his stoking to stare at her incredulously.
"You claim that you once were a weapons smith, correct?"
"Well…for lack of a better word of it, yes." Padma nodded for the first time that morning.
"If you do not make swords, knives, axes, bows, arrows, armor, and only partially shields," Telerion said and only after shields did he take n more breath, "how are you then a weapons smith? What is it you know to make?"
Padma grinned at him and said something very strange in English which he did not understand—nor would Glorfindel as there was not a word for it in Sindarin, Quenya, or Westron alike. In fact, the only two languages that even possessed such words to describe of what she spoke were Dwarvish and Orcish (that dialect most oft used by the Goblins under the mountain, to be precise).
"What?" Telerion did not even attempt to repeat this word for it sounded cacophonous and hard to his ears and would have, likely, irked his tongue to form it. Padma paused and considered the best way to explain—she would need to do this most carefully.
"Has the ground of Imladris ever shaken wildly and without prompt?" Padma asked and Telerion shook his head. It would have been a feat if even Lord Elrond had remembered the last earthquake at Imladris it had been so long back and ago. "Then have you ever felt the raw force of thunder on the mountain? When the ground moves and churns?"
"That I have known once or twice, in passing." Telerion nodded though it was apparent in his features that he hadn't the faintest idea what that had to do with any weapons of the world.
"I know of an art," (this was perhaps the wrong word, but Padma was only her third month in this place and was not yet well versed in vocabulary), "that will allow such great force as that to be captured and used."
Padma's face, undoubtedly, had lit up as she spoke of these things for she loved them so very much. She had loved explosives and modern weaponry to such a point that she'd even made a career out of it, not that this mattered here, of course. Telerion must have seen her face as she said this and assumed she was exaggerating—she was not, in fact, for the image gunpowder in her mind was all too clear—as he laughed aloud.
"And how would that be of any use in battle, youngling?" Telerion prompted her mirthfully and she smirked.
"It can burn flesh, bite the air and turn it harsh, gnaw at steel, break iron and walls, shatter armor, crumble the base of mountains, and rip trees from the ground, tossing them casually into the air!" Perhaps she was getting a tad carried away; Telerion looked a tad nervous with her in such a frenzied state. "And should it be designed within a weapon! No archer could compete with speed and strength of such things! Accuracy! Quick notching! Nothing would compare!"
True, the word notching was not accurate for the description of a gun, but the word 'reload' had yet to be fashioned in any of the tongues of Middle-earth.
"Calm yourself lady!" Telerion said in a cheerful but uneasy tone as he set his hand upon her shoulder. She looked up at him and, despite her enjoyment of such exciting memories, did as he requested and took a very deep breath. "You must later show me these things you speak of, but now it is midday and Glorfindel will soon be awaiting you."
Padma's eyes widened and quickly she tried to make herself more presentable. Telerion laughed at her, as a forge and smithy were hardly the place to try and—how had she phrased it the other day—tiddy one's self up? She ignored him, tried to get the soot off of the shoulder of her dress, completely unaware that the pole she had been leaning against was not black by any means of paint and had left her blue dress with a decided dark spot.
"Go youngling! Glorfindel will be there already and you are not half so presentable as he anyway!" Telerion teased and pushed her, lightly, towards the garden where she had taken to studying language with Glorfindel in the noonday sun.
"Yet thrice as presentable as you Telerion, Enwinarni!" Padma shot back with a smile as she disappeared around the corner and out the door towards the garden.
"Old am I?" Telerion shouted after her—it had taken him a moment to realize what she had called him in Quenya—"Oldest brother"—though the way she intonated it he did not like much. Still, it was amusing.
While Telerion mused over being such a klutzy mortal's adopted brother figure, albeit an old one, the klutzy mortal had just managed to trip over a bench in her rush and nearly tumbled down a set of stairs. Fortunately most of the elves about and abound had learned that, with a mortal around, their quick reflexes were needed very often to compensate for the lack of handrails in Imladris. These skills would carry over very well in the near future, when they received another mortal into their midst.
"Thank you!" Padma said, gave a short bow to her casual rescuer who had snagged the collar of her dress as she was about to go headlong down the stairs, and quickly went off. Needless to say, she arrived in the small rose garden looking considerably less eloquent than anyone meeting and Elf lord should.
"How many today?" Glorfindel asked in perfectly impeccable English—his accent made him sound vaguely Romanian, which was a very strange thing to say about an elf.
"Only two!" Padma retorted in her best Sindarin and Glorfindel laughed. "What are we to do today?" Padma quickly switched back to Westron, as that was the language she had originally intended to learn.
"As you, I am sure, are well aware, it is very nearly the time of year for celebration of the Autumnal equinox." Glorfindel motioned up at the gold and ruby leaves upon the trees.
"What day is it?" Padma asked, abruptly, her confusion and panic apparent on her face.
"We are upon the thirtieth day of Narbeleth," Glorfindel responded unemotionally, as he always tended to. Padma quickly ran the numbers through her head and counted on her fingers—that left four days until Halloween!
"I'm terribly sorry, please continue," Padma said with a smile.
"At the celebration of the equinox," (Padma was still astounded that this was a word, but said nothing as she was still dealing with the names of the months), "I held hope that you would tell for us a tale of your land? Or perhaps sing a lay?" Glorfindel smirked at the awestruck shock that wormed its way into Padma's expression.
"You want me to tell a tale at your celebrations?" Padma blinked a few times and stared at the ground in front of her.
"Certainly," Glorfindel replied. "Lord Elrond suggested it, for he was certain our guests would enjoy it, and, I must say, I am rather excited about hearing a new tale after so long." Glorfindel smiled at her with a look that was decidedly against his character—he very nearly looked like Elladan or Elrohir. It was quite disturbing. "Would you care to…check your grammar with me beforehand? I would not mind listening to a story twice."
"What kind of story should I tell?" Padma, who had paled considerably when she realized that there, would be more elves arriving as guests, turned to Glorfindel with a look of sheer terror on her face. "A tragedy, a comedy, a fairy-story, a true story, a war story, a horror story, an ancient fable, or a contemporary tale?" Padma was starting to hyperventilate.
"Calm yourself!" Glorfindel, much like Telerion, commanded and set his hands on her shoulders to ground her to reality. He stared her straight in the eyes and she seemed to calm down considerably. "It cannot be so much of a great dilemma as you make it out to be."
"But it is!" Padma stared at him incredulously. "I've heard stories from you and the others—true I didn't understand most of them, but they were fabulous tales!" Padma took a deep breath as Glorfindel shot her a reprimanding look. "The story I tell you will be the first you'll ever hear from my land…. What should you think if I tell it wrong, or poorly?"
"I am certain," Glorfindel paused to accentuate his point, "that what ever you should choose to tell will be far better than last year." He was baiting her, she knew it, but even she couldn't resist something so obviously interesting.
"What happened last year?" Padma squeaked as she fought down her panic.
"Elladan and Elrohir." Glorfindel's tone was so deadly serious that Padma actually fought back a laugh, if he had said that to her before she had known the language she would have wagered he was talking about some devil upon the earth.
"I can only imagine," Padma muttered through a laugh. Glorfindel's face became as cold and deadly serious as steel—he resembled the grim reaper in this state of ill amusement.
"No you cannot." Glorfindel shook his head and his eyes widened as the memories came back to him. "I dare not speak of it, it is a cursed thing!"
"Like Macbeth?" Padma asked in English and Glorfindel arched an eyebrow.
"If you wish for more of an explanation, speak with Lord Elrond, and swiftly lest the two of them take to volunteering." Glorfindel released her shoulders, cast a wary glance over his shoulder, and quickly left the garden. He was so seriously unnerved that he looked as though he expected his memories to materialize and become reality once more. This disturbed and conversely gave hope to Padma—she would not have a difficult act to follow! Naturally, she got up that very moment and was off to seek Lord Elrond.
"Last year's story?" Elrond asked as he turned from his books. His expression darkened and his back stiffened considerably at just the very mention of it. "My dear sons did a most…vibrant…and…enthusiastic," he paused and the scathing meaning behind his adjectives sank in, "recreation and retelling of the fall of Gondolin."
Elrond took in a deep breath and let out a sigh as he sat down in one of his particularly regal, red velvet chairs. He massaged his right temple and closed his eyes at the thought of it all. Padma's hopes, however, were rising exponentially as she saw this reaction from the most noble of Elves.
"It took nearly half a dozen fortnights to clean the oil, timber, and melon out of the hall." Elrond stared down at the carpet and frowned. "As for my fine, imported silk curtains and the rich tapestry that was once upon the stage…the burns were impossible to repair."
Despite the fact that Padma had never heard of the fall of Gondolin, she was beginning to get a picture of the events in her mind. Her spirits had risen to an ultimate high as she heard Elrond mutter something about 'by Elbereth' and 'never again shall we have cantaloupe.' She decided right then and there, with little thought.
"Lord Elrond, sir," Padma began and the Elf Lord lifted his eyes to stare at her—his expression still tainted by the images of the last celebration. "I would be most honored to tell a slightly less…chaotic and destructive tale for your guests and yourself this year. It is the least that I can do."
"Wondrous!" Elrond exclaimed (well…less 'exclaimed' and more 'said in a jubilant voice' but that was truly as close to an exclamation as Elrond of Rivendell was ever going to get) as he swiftly stood up from his chair. Padma bowed to him and he smiled down at her as he excused her. As she was passing the corner she could have sworn she heard him whisper something along the lines of 'Thank Eru!' but she could not be certain.
Only a few hours had passed since Padma had left Elrond in his library, and she had come no closer to determining what story she would tell. She was on the verge of shouting at something when she was nearly terrified out of her wits as two rather irritated elves appeared in her midst. Elladan looked more than irked—he had his arms crossed over his chest and was glaring at her from the only entrance into the garden she was sitting in. Elrohir, on the other hand, looked more vexed as he leaned on the tree she was sitting under and glared down at her.
"Good day, my lords," Padma said with the most sincere smile she could muster.
"Indeed." Elrohir clicked his tongue.
"How is it, Padma," Elladan began speaking in his most formal of tones—they must have felt seriously slighted, "that only a year after the most lively celebration ever in Imladris, the performers from that particular show are replaced so callously?"
"Replaced?" Padma asked, feigning innocence. Elladan and Elrohir were the most infamous pranksters in all of Elvendom. Definitely not figures that anyone wanted to make enemies of and she was on the verge of that very thing. "Whatever do you mean?"
"You dirty liar." Elladan hissed in a most effeminate way as his face went aghast.
"You know full well of what we speak!" Elrohir cut in and Padma was beginning to get worried. They wouldn't hurt her physically, not intentionally, but they could make life very difficult and embarrassing.
"It is true!" Padma admitted it. She stood up abruptly, though it did little good as they were still head and shoulders over her, and backed up against the tree. "But perchance you two would aid me? I hear you are ambitious thespians."
"Where did you hear that?" Elrohir paled and stepped back a bit.
"It was all Orophim's fault! He got drunk! I was after the girl—it was totally one-sided!" Elladan shook his head and motioned defensively with his arms. Padma just stared at them blankly and noted this information away for later use against them.
"Thespians," Padma repeated for their sake. "Theatrical performers."
"Oh!" the two of them said in unison and a great wave of relief flooded over them.
"It looks to me, 'Roh, that this little girl needs some help—should we grace her with our combined presence?" Elladan shot his twin a smug look and Elrohir looked Padma over.
"Do you wager she can handle our astounding abilities as renowned thespians, 'Dan?" Elrohir asked and the two of them looked, mischievously, at Padma.
"Lords Elladan and Elrohir, I withstood Halloween for many a year in a neighborhood filled with rambunctious, demanding toddlers." Padma smiled wryly. "I do believe I am prepared for all you could throw at me."
Padma was, of course, totally unprepared for anything they could do but the challenge was there nonetheless. Fortunately, the twins instantly forgot this challenge. Unfortunately they posed her a very dangerous question—one that would have grave results for all of Elvendom until the ending of the world.
"What, exactly, is this Halloween?" the twins asked in unison and Padma clapped her hands over her mouth.
Author's Notes: I'm terribly sorry, everyone! This chapter and, it is well likely, the next are a bit slow. I need to set up the plot ahead and introduce all of the key characters to Padma—sort of. Everything will pick up very quickly after the celebration show. Then the action and whatnot shall commence!
The site didn't display the url…but I get all of my OC names from 20,000-Names . com, it is a very useful site indeed. I highly recommend usage of it.
You've read—review?