IN THE COMPANY OF ELVES
By Mahtala

Chapter 3: Something Not For Your Ears

Sérener motioned to me and began to lead me from the hall, away from the commotion. "Where go you, friend?" called Legolas, lifting his head from conversation with an older, dour-looking elf who was among the advisors to his father.

"Your father's decree is binding," Sérener replied. "She is to dwell with my family. My sisters will watch over her well. I shall return when I have led her to our home." We passed into the hallways, and as we traveled back up the path we had followed before, he spoke. "Only King Thranduil's kin live in these caverns. My family has built a house about a great oak not far from here, and in its branches; I think you will find it pleasing to the eye. There you shall dwell until we ride forth for Ithilien."

I was interested in something else. "You said you would teach me Sindarin," I said, quickening my pace to match his. "Couldn't we begin while we walk?"

"Very well, sister. To greet a friend, say mae govannen, meaning well-met ..."

I'd barely managed to correctly pronounce a few greetings and the word for brother" before we were at the ladder and travelling through the forest. . As the elf had said, his family's house wasn't far; the journey was made easier because there was a path I hadn't noticed before leading there. As he said, the house was constructed about the oak - about, around, and on. It was one of the largest oaks I had ever seen, its branches carefully trained to grow into the framework for covered platforms. "When the tree was young my father began building our home," Sérener told me, seeing my surprise. "It does not mind our presence, I think, for its branches have ever grown to suit our needs." There was a ground floor, too - built about the roots of the tree, it had cleanly swept dirt floors and an airy feeling. Although it was smaller than the homes I was used to, I could tell even from its outward appearance that it would be a comfortable place to live. "Melde, Varne, come meet our visitor," he called in my language.

"Speak not in the tongue of Men, muindor," came a high voice from the branches of the tree. "Or is our guest one from Dale, or a ranger of the wilds, or is he one of the Dwarves come to Eryn Lasgalen to collect on the King's debts?"

"None of these, but she speaks little elf-speech, and will only learn in time - not all at once from my noble and ever-talking muinthel," my new brother responded. "Come down and meet her!"

Down a narrow stair built around the tree came two lovely elf-maidens, almost identical, with the same tawny coloring as Sérener. "But you have brought us a human maid!" the taller one said, and I realized she was the one who had been speaking from above. The shorter one followed her, carrying a length of fabric that she was obviously embroidering. That's when it hit me: maybe this world isn't as women's-lib as I'd like it to be.

Oh, no. I'm horrible at sewing! And I haven't the slightest idea how to cook over an open fire, or what to put in bread, or anything. Looking back, the way I leaped to that conclusion seems bizarre – it was the first thing I began to be upset about, far before I became homesick, far before I started to worry that I would never make it back. But I had been thinking of the entire world as a wonderful lark, a dream come to life, and assuming that I'd be dropped right back off in my own home again sooner or later. I'd even supposed, in the back of my mind, that I was going crazy, and that everything I'd come across was a weird bout with solipsism. The simple thought of a world without feminism opened up a thousand other concepts: here there were kings – every ruler a dictator. Were there slaves? They couldn't have antibiotics, surely? Obviously there wasn't electricity, either.

I couldn't stop myself from thinking of horrible scenario after horrible scenario (all sorts of things could happen without modern equipment – almost anything at all!), but I knew I had to. I focused on Seréner's words to his sisters and swallowed the lump in my throat.

"The king has asked us to take her in, and forever count her in our annals as the daughter of Eldecco," Sérener told them, and proceeded to go through the story of that morning. So you see that we must address her in the common tongue of men, and also treat her with the same respect as any Edhel.

"This is all very well and good, but you have left our new sister standing this long time, and still clothed in Legolas's cloak only," Melde - the small one - chastised. "Now that I am married, I must see to these things all the time! You see how practical marriage has made me. She is as tall as Varne, but no taller, though even that is passing strange for a human woman; we will give her raiment."

Her - our - brother only smiled. "As I hoped, Melde." It was odd to think of anyone as a brother; I couldn't bring myself to do it. I used the word when we spoke, but from then on, I stopped trying to force myself. He was Sérener, and that was all.

"Now you must away to your duties."

"As you wish." He smiled again in a slightly bemused way, then left through the wooden doors we had come through. Varne and Melde looked at me expectantly.

"Well, I guess that's it then," I offered. "I'm getting very tired of wearing just this cloak. Can you help me?"

The two elves broke into a good-natured banter, sometimes slipping back into their language and only occasionally remembering my presence. I'm sure that I would have complained and worried and voiced all my thoughts to them, but it's difficult to carry on a conversation with someone who isn't speaking your language, and interrupting them seemed wrong, somehow. I was swept up the staircase and to the very top "floor" of the oak, which was walled in nothing more than leaves and heavy canvas. There they threw open a trunk that was almost the only furniture in the bare room, besides a mirror and low bench, and began dressing me, holding up one garment after the other. My preferences seemed to have little to do with the choosing, but eventually they did decide on some clothing, and that was enough for me. Together they brushed out my hair, which was almost dry, and commented that it looked almost like theirs; then they ordered me out of the cloak and into a greenish kirtle. Varne - who I had secretly labeled as a little impulsive and outspoken, unlike the other elves I had met so far - was just about to take me out the door and off to meet her friends and kin when Melde stopped her.

"Did you look at her feet, Varne?"

"Why would I -" she glanced at them, quickly seeing Melde's point: they were dirty, bruised and bare. "Well then, we go to the bess-lin first, and give her my second pair of slippers. They should look well with that gown." Hooking the slippers from beneath the bench, she took my hand and led me down the stairs - but as we left, I saw Melde pocket a small bottle of what I guessed to be medicine before she followed.

The bess-lin, I soon discovered, was a bathing pool, made with clever dams in the river that I had crossed earlier. There Melde helped me wash my feet and pick out the splinters, and gave me some ointment to use on them. I wouldn't have minded a long, hot shower, but I didn't mention it, realizing that this was the best I was going to get. Instead, I poked around the pool as long as possible. It was much later, and we were sitting on a small footbridge - I was teaching them to play Pooh sticks, because they had never run into that sort of game, it seemed - when we heard voices in the underbrush nearby.

"Shhh!" Varne whispered, setting her stick on the bridge instead of dropping it into the water. "There's somebody there - male voices, near the women's bathing pool! Who would presume so far?"

"We should go," Melde whispered back. "Who knows who they are? It could be any man or elf of the wood." She glanced at me. "What say you, Macilme? Do we listen? My sister has a talent for getting into trouble."

I darted my eyes between the two. "It can't be anyone that horrible, if they live in the wood – I don't think the guards I ran into would have let someone dangerous in. Let's listen!"

Varne led the way as we crept off the footbridge and down into the cover of brush; it had obviously been planted to shield the bathing pool from prying eyes. Soon I could hear the voices too. "It's Legolas and King Thranduil," Varne said, needlessly – for they had a distinctive timbre to their speech that I could not have forgotten easily.

"Translate for me, will you? I can't understand."

"When I understand their speech myself, then I shall interpret," she replied. "They are very quiet, even considering their humors – ah, I can make it out now. Legolas wants to be the emissary to the Glittering Caves to tell them of - of our move to Ithilien?"

Of course! Sérener had left the King's plans out of the story he had told his sisters. "I'll explain that all later. Sérener must have forgotten to tell you," I whispered back. "Just keep translating."

Melde picked up the thread of conversation instead, though. "The King says there will be no emissary to the Glittering Caves. Sérener our muindor will go to King Elessar, and he will send others ahead to Prince Faramir of Ithilien to herald our coming - Legolas will lead our people there, and he does not wish to. The King will follow him later -" There she stopped, her mouth forming an O of surprise.

"What are they saying?" I asked her, excited now. Anything that could elicit that expression had to be fantastically interesting. "What?"

"That is not for your ears," Melde replied, shutting her mouth and turning away from the sound.

"Varne!"

She glanced at Melde, and finally said, "I agree with my sister. We should not have listened."

I was about to protest further - after all, what good was listening to private conversations and risking trouble if you aren't going to figure out what's going on? - but Melde cut in, asking me to tell them what the King had meant about traveling to Ithilien. That story took some time, because I tried to leave out every bit of the prophecy, and they kept pressing me for more information. I eventually told them all I knew, asking again what King Thranduil had said when I was finished. It was as though a light had gone off: even Varne had gone quiet and contemplative, not reacting to my prying. I had just about given up when we left the pool and ran smack into Legolas.

"Macilme," he noted, cutting off the end of the word as though it was bitter in his mouth. I wondered why he didn't simply call me Emma, if he was so opposed to the nickname. "My father wishes to speak with you in confidence once more."

-----End Chapter 3-----

Author's Notes: Regarding the Tolkienverse in this chapter, Eryn Lasgalen means "Wood of Greenleaves," as Mirkwood was renamed after the fall of Sauron; however, since this renaming took place only two years prior to our story's beginning, the name Mirkwood was debatably still in common usage, especially among Men. Sindarin words used in this chapter are: mae govannen (well met), muindor (brother), muinthel (sister), Edhel (elf), and bess-lin (literally, wife-pool; translated as women's bathing pool).

Thank yous as usual to Oliphauntine, Klose and Andy!