As I made my way to the Lady's tent, I passed rows upon rows of different
sized and shaped tents. Some were squares, others rectangular, one was
even triangular (I won't ask about the queer elf that stayed in that one),
and most were twice my height. But there were two, just two that I could
easily see over.
Sitting in front of one of these was a little elf smoking a pipe. I say little elf because he had pointed ears, and he was in a settlement of elves, I didn't know that anyone else of a different race was here. He politely bid me good day, and inquired as to whether I had been in the party all the way from Minas Tirith. Never having heard of Minas Tirith until a few days earlier, I replied that I hadn't. I noticed there was a Rohirric sword on the ground behind him.
He followed my gaze. "It was a gift from King Théoden. My name's Meriadoc Brandybuck of Buckland in the Shire, by the way. Merry's just fine though. And you would be?" He stood up, and I hid the surprise on my face when he only came up to my waist.
"I'm Gliriel. It's a pleasure to meet you, Master Merry." I shook his upraised hand heartily, and said the greeting over in Rohirric, which seemed to please him slightly. Merry invited me to a thing called "elevenses," but I gratefully declined saying I had to see the Lady Galadriel.
As I walked away, Merry muttered something in his cute little accent about elves having an eternity to do things, yet for some reason were always rushing. When I turned a corner I could see Merry reclining in a chair and enjoying the day and his pipe.
Much like my father used to.
**
"I have to decide now?"
"Not now, but relatively soon. Those of us from Lórien will be across the Hithaeglir, the Misty Mountains, within the next week, while those headed towards Rivendell will head north and follow the Bruinen." Galadriel answered solemnly, her ice blue eyes fixed directly on mine, but she was not looking at them, she seemed to be looking through them. "Bear in mind, child, that our people, although they return to their homes for now, will soon leave Middle-earth for Valinor. As an elf, you will unhindered remain alive for thousands of years, but whether or not you go to Valinor, or even Lórien or Rivendell, is completely up to you."
I nodded slowly, digesting the paragraph of names and confusing information. Giving me time to think, a few days possibly, Galadriel dismissed me. I bowed and she spoke again as I opened the tent flap.
"Gliriel, do go easily on my poor Marchwarden, please." She had a strange air about her, as if she knew what I did not (she probably did), which made me feel slightly uneasy. But the smile on her face was infectious and I grinned in return.
**
Haldir finally got up off of his brothers as Gliriel entered. She smiled to him and impatiently waved her hand for him to move. Realizing what she meant to do, he stepped aside while pulling the blanket off of the two red- faced blonde elves. They each had the appearance of a tomato with sautéed onions as hair.
Gliriel laughed melodically at them, and knelt down to pull the cloth gag from Rúmil's mouth. "Does that teach you not to force feed me sleeping potion?" She smiled and untied the rope that bound the two elves together as Haldir freed his brothers' feet. He got a swift kick in the arm from Orophin, and the Marchwarden retaliated by swatting Rúmil's leg (he got the wrong brother intentionally). Orophin sat up, and as soon as Gliriel untied his hands he wrapped an arm around her waist and threw her to the ground. She squealed and pulled him down with her, only to have him land on top of her with one knee between her legs. His long blonde hair swished and fell into Gliriel's eyes and nose and she reflexively batted it out of her face. This was only a distraction though; she smirked and her knee shot up and hit him where it hurts. Orophin rolled off of her and gasped, grabbing the affected area, and in his lapse of attention to her, Gliriel grabbed him in a headlock with a triumphant squeak.
When Orophin's face again turned into a bright tomato, Haldir laughed and picked Gliriel up by hugging her stomach. She shrieked, her limbs flying wildly and was dropped onto Rúmil's stomach. Haldir then got his legs kicked out from under him by his older younger brother. Rubbing his backside, Haldir growled in mock anger and he and Orophin started brawling.
When Rúmil recovered from Gliriel suddenly being dropped on his stomach, he threw her off of and jumped in his brothers' fight, having been accidentally kicked by one of them. The she-elf scowled, and pounced on Haldir, whom she believed to be Rúmil, and proceeded to pull on Haldir's long hair
The four of them soon became an unidentifiable jumble of appendages, wrestling and grappling, pulling, pushing, kicking, biting, and hitting anything and everything that moved. They wrestled and scuffed about, until they became too exhausted to move.
Half an hour later, Haldir, all dignity of his title of Marchwarden forgotten, ended up lying next to Gliriel with his hand on her chest where he could feel her steady breaths as she slept, and her one leg was lying limply across his own. He, though tired, felt strangely content, and there was a dreamy sort of smile on his face. A smile that only one in love or one who is extremely fatigued would wear. Maybe both.
Somewhere nearby, a sleeping Rúmil held Orophin in a relaxed headlock, and Orophin's hands were in the vicinity of Haldir's neck, while Gliriel's pointed elbow was resting mere inches from Rúmil's back.
Oddly enough, Celeborn chose that moment to walk by Haldir's tent and seeing what was piled on the floor, he immediately kept walking. The Lord of Lórien was not at all surprised at what he saw. He nodded in affirmation to himself, and a new sort of lilt appeared in his step as he headed towards his tent.
Sitting in front of one of these was a little elf smoking a pipe. I say little elf because he had pointed ears, and he was in a settlement of elves, I didn't know that anyone else of a different race was here. He politely bid me good day, and inquired as to whether I had been in the party all the way from Minas Tirith. Never having heard of Minas Tirith until a few days earlier, I replied that I hadn't. I noticed there was a Rohirric sword on the ground behind him.
He followed my gaze. "It was a gift from King Théoden. My name's Meriadoc Brandybuck of Buckland in the Shire, by the way. Merry's just fine though. And you would be?" He stood up, and I hid the surprise on my face when he only came up to my waist.
"I'm Gliriel. It's a pleasure to meet you, Master Merry." I shook his upraised hand heartily, and said the greeting over in Rohirric, which seemed to please him slightly. Merry invited me to a thing called "elevenses," but I gratefully declined saying I had to see the Lady Galadriel.
As I walked away, Merry muttered something in his cute little accent about elves having an eternity to do things, yet for some reason were always rushing. When I turned a corner I could see Merry reclining in a chair and enjoying the day and his pipe.
Much like my father used to.
**
"I have to decide now?"
"Not now, but relatively soon. Those of us from Lórien will be across the Hithaeglir, the Misty Mountains, within the next week, while those headed towards Rivendell will head north and follow the Bruinen." Galadriel answered solemnly, her ice blue eyes fixed directly on mine, but she was not looking at them, she seemed to be looking through them. "Bear in mind, child, that our people, although they return to their homes for now, will soon leave Middle-earth for Valinor. As an elf, you will unhindered remain alive for thousands of years, but whether or not you go to Valinor, or even Lórien or Rivendell, is completely up to you."
I nodded slowly, digesting the paragraph of names and confusing information. Giving me time to think, a few days possibly, Galadriel dismissed me. I bowed and she spoke again as I opened the tent flap.
"Gliriel, do go easily on my poor Marchwarden, please." She had a strange air about her, as if she knew what I did not (she probably did), which made me feel slightly uneasy. But the smile on her face was infectious and I grinned in return.
**
Haldir finally got up off of his brothers as Gliriel entered. She smiled to him and impatiently waved her hand for him to move. Realizing what she meant to do, he stepped aside while pulling the blanket off of the two red- faced blonde elves. They each had the appearance of a tomato with sautéed onions as hair.
Gliriel laughed melodically at them, and knelt down to pull the cloth gag from Rúmil's mouth. "Does that teach you not to force feed me sleeping potion?" She smiled and untied the rope that bound the two elves together as Haldir freed his brothers' feet. He got a swift kick in the arm from Orophin, and the Marchwarden retaliated by swatting Rúmil's leg (he got the wrong brother intentionally). Orophin sat up, and as soon as Gliriel untied his hands he wrapped an arm around her waist and threw her to the ground. She squealed and pulled him down with her, only to have him land on top of her with one knee between her legs. His long blonde hair swished and fell into Gliriel's eyes and nose and she reflexively batted it out of her face. This was only a distraction though; she smirked and her knee shot up and hit him where it hurts. Orophin rolled off of her and gasped, grabbing the affected area, and in his lapse of attention to her, Gliriel grabbed him in a headlock with a triumphant squeak.
When Orophin's face again turned into a bright tomato, Haldir laughed and picked Gliriel up by hugging her stomach. She shrieked, her limbs flying wildly and was dropped onto Rúmil's stomach. Haldir then got his legs kicked out from under him by his older younger brother. Rubbing his backside, Haldir growled in mock anger and he and Orophin started brawling.
When Rúmil recovered from Gliriel suddenly being dropped on his stomach, he threw her off of and jumped in his brothers' fight, having been accidentally kicked by one of them. The she-elf scowled, and pounced on Haldir, whom she believed to be Rúmil, and proceeded to pull on Haldir's long hair
The four of them soon became an unidentifiable jumble of appendages, wrestling and grappling, pulling, pushing, kicking, biting, and hitting anything and everything that moved. They wrestled and scuffed about, until they became too exhausted to move.
Half an hour later, Haldir, all dignity of his title of Marchwarden forgotten, ended up lying next to Gliriel with his hand on her chest where he could feel her steady breaths as she slept, and her one leg was lying limply across his own. He, though tired, felt strangely content, and there was a dreamy sort of smile on his face. A smile that only one in love or one who is extremely fatigued would wear. Maybe both.
Somewhere nearby, a sleeping Rúmil held Orophin in a relaxed headlock, and Orophin's hands were in the vicinity of Haldir's neck, while Gliriel's pointed elbow was resting mere inches from Rúmil's back.
Oddly enough, Celeborn chose that moment to walk by Haldir's tent and seeing what was piled on the floor, he immediately kept walking. The Lord of Lórien was not at all surprised at what he saw. He nodded in affirmation to himself, and a new sort of lilt appeared in his step as he headed towards his tent.