IN THE COMPANY OF ELVES
by Mahtala
Chapter 5: A Change Of Course
The next morning I woke with a start, feeling a stone digging into my back. I had rolled out of the padded sleeping area overnight, and I was lying on the cold, hard ground. Varne was standing over me with a wooden spoon, poking me. You kicked so much I kicked you out – but now you must come break your fast; Melde has made bannocks, she said. The youngest of the warriors are already full in their panoply and ready to battle any foes that might attack us; so come and eat and we shall be on the move.
At breakfast I didn't see Legolas, but he appeared before me just as Varne mounted her mare, leading Arod. He wasn't in full panoply, which I'd half-expected, but wore the same type of tunic and corslet I had seen him in every day since we set off on the journey. I had nearly decided to ride with Varne in your stead, I said, although no such thought had entered my mind.
It is well you did not, for Nilde could not have carried you both, he replied lightly, but his voice was troubled. Then there would have been a mischance, and I could hardly have forgiven myself. Well! We are to change direction now and ride along the forest to the Anduin; the way will be longer, but the orcs fear the woods, and there will be no chance of them overbearing us.
This he said as he lifted me up into the saddle. I was still a little weak and shaky from the previous day's exertion, so I put more weight on him than usual; he bore it easily. Though I would have liked to ask more about orcs – find out what they were, for one thing, because they could hardly be the fantasy ghouls I remembered from books – he launched directly into a discussion of elvish culture and idiom. It was not until he stopped to ask me what I would say the date was that I had a chance to speak.
I'd call today – oh, it must be the twelfth of June by now. I had to count backwards to the day I had intended to return to my apartment from the cabin. This is all well and good, Legolas, but you haven't told me anything. What attacked us? Why would they want to attack us?
In the elves' reckoning, we would say that it was the twenty-second day of Lairë, in the year thirty twenty, he said. Your June is not familiar to me.
The orcs! I said very loudly and directly into his ear. I had not before realized quite how pointed it was, and how the flesh turned outward, very different from my own. I don't care about June or Lairë or whatever you call it when I can't even understand your calendar, I continued impatiently. What I'd really like to know is what orcs are and why they want to kill us! My tone of voice was so petulant and childish that I knew I had to sound utterly ridiculous to Legolas, who had lived – how many years? Hundreds and hundreds – but just like I didn't care about what month it was, I didn't care what he thought of me at the moment.
If I could have seen his face, I would have seen him smirking. At the time I only had the vague impression that he was taking my petulance with good humor before he began speaking again. The orcs remain as the straggling tail end of the great force gathered by the Dark Lord Sauron, in a battle not a year past And that was how he began telling me of the War of the Rings and the return of King Elessar to his rightful seat in Minas Tirith – or Minas Anor, he said, for it might rightfully be called the Tower of the Setting Sun when its counterpart had been purged of Mordor's evil once more. It was a long tale in the telling, but there was a long journey ahead of us, and we made a game of it after that: he would tell part of the story in Sindarin and I would parrot it back to him in my own tongue, he would correct me, and then we would move on to the next part.
Right then, however, it was a very condensed version that I heard. He concluded it by explaining that the orcs that had attacked us were likely a part of the forces of Mordor that had somehow found theirs way into Rhovanion, and that they had no way of knowing how large the force was or how small – for there were many such bands wandering about, killing each other and anything in their path. Soon the land would be purged of them, as King Elessar consolidated his power and began the long work of scouring his kingdom and the outlying lands of the Dark Lord's influence; but as yet that hadn't been done, so we were forced to deal with them as well we could.
Obviously the orcs weren't very smart or talented, or else they didn't care much about their work; I remembered how poorly fletched the black arrow was, even to my untrained eye. So we follow the forest, I said, repeating his earlier words. How far?
It was impossible for him to draw me a map on horseback, though I think he might have tried if he'd had to. Fortunately, it was the maps and borders involved in history that had enticed me to study it. As a result of years of looking at diagrams of battles and borders, I was pretty much able to picture the things he described without seeing them on paper. I realized that our course meant it would be weeks until we reached Ithilien and the end of our journey.
Somehow, the thought did not bother me. Perhaps it had something to do with the clean, fresh smell of Legolas's hair, which lingered no matter how long we rode.
Though I secretly wanted another encounter like the one we'd had by the River Running, I did not get one. Legolas seemed to be always near me, scanning the horizon for birds or caring for his bow or repairing arrows, but there was never another exchange of words so meaningful. Neither did he call me or mell gwenn again, restricting himself to the more formal and, on occasion, On the road there was no sewing to be done, fortunately, but there were many other things to occupy my time; the few wagons we brought with us seemed to constantly be filled with dirty laundry, the fires needed tending, someone without more useful skill was needed to go off into Mirkwood and gather fuel. It was all very tiring.
Eventually we left the comforting presence of the forest, which had so far always loomed up to our right, and began to follow the Great River south. Here we were constantly on the watch for companies of orcs, always ready for the cry of to send us scurrying for cover, but it never came. It seemed an eternity on the road, picturesque as it was; I enjoyed the smog-free air and the freedom to drink from any freshet we came across, but at the same time I feared getting sick (what would they do? Use leeches to draw my blood – or give me liquor – or what?) and was mostly thankful that I hadn't any allergies.
Of course I didn't know how dangerous this world could be, if I was worried about illness. Even after the encounter with the orcs, I was blissfully oblivious. I watched the stars wheel by and the moon come out, feeling as though anything too terrible must be a world away; after all, was not the War of the Rings over and done with?
Eventually we pressed closer to the banks of the Anduin, with the hills of Emyn Muil on our left and the great roaring river on our right. We come near now to the Argonath and the Falls of Rauros, Legolas told me one day. I would be unsurprised if we did not meet more fellow-travelers from here; this was once a great river-highway. Flatboats would use it to travel down to the sea; but they would be obliged to portage around the falls themselves, and therefore they were always small and manned by only one or two men, suitable for carrying the smallest of goods or passengers only.
Indeed, as we approached the great stone feet of the Argonath, boats were in evidence in the lake beyond; there were mooring areas close to the dangerous area where a small boat might be pulled over the falls, with columns carved from stone to secure the boats. The most of them were on our side of the river, and soon we saw pale flashes in the woods ahead of us. Legolas called out – we were riding at the head of the party, as Legolas had spurred Arod ahead as soon as other travelers were in evidence. Haldir! Anann le ú-gennin!
A voice I had not heard before came from the trees; whoever it was spoke in the distinctive, slow rhythm of an elf. Mae govannen!
The elf that appeared was larger than any I had seen so far – not merely tall as all elves were, but also broad and well-built. He was fair like Legolas, much different from most of the folk of Mirkwood, and like Legolas carried with him an air of assurance. The two spoke for some time, and the rest of the party recognized the newcomer, for the most part; behind us, there was the hum of happy chatter. Although I had gained a relatively large Sindarin vocabulary and some fluency in the language while we traveled, I was unable to follow their discussion; they were too deep in conversation about maps and armies and occurrences, using words I had never heard before. The only one I recognized well enough to wonder about it was Macilme' – my own elvish name.
When their words ceased, Legolas shouted more commands in Sindarin. I was befuddled; he was still speaking so quickly that I didn't understand. What was that? I asked him, a bit put out. I'm still here, and I'm an Edhel now, aren't I?
I almost thought I had said something wrong, but he simply whispered to Arod to set us in motion once more and then turned his head back toward mine. Not quite Edhel, Macilme, he said, never Edhel until you are as long-lived as we; though the Ring-bearers have their places on the grey ships also, we do not call them Edhel but only elf-friend. But of our plans, you should know at least as much as they. We camp tonight with these good elves from Lórien, who have journeyed far to be with our company; the distance from here on we traverse with them.
Then the riders I was curious about my adoptive muindor, Sérener, who had ridden to Minas Tirith to warn King Elessar that the wood-elves were coming to Ithilien and Minas Morgul.
They have arrived in Minas Tirith safely, and in fact one of them is here to join us. He is called Calimon. Perhaps he is known to you?
He was not. I was silent for a reply; if the elves had taught me one thing, it was the value of silence, the way that sometimes no words are a better response than many. But instead of falling silent as well, Legolas spoke again. The good lady of Lórien gave them a choice – to go with her and the rest of their kin to the Undying Lands, or to linger a little longer here. Haldir and his company chose differently than I would have; I fear I shall never hear the sound of the mews again or see their pinions without dreaming of the day I set off; and yet
His voice trailed off, and I did not bother him any further. The camp was only a few hundred yards further, and I could see Haldir standing with other elves ahead of us in the forest. It was not worth the effort. I could see that this was just as much of a dangerous subject with him as my grandparents were with me, and I did not want to make him do anything embarrassing – not that I thought I could.
To my intense surprise, when the campfires had been laid and I was only needed to stir a rabbit stew (There's only one thing to do with a brace of coneys, Melde had said, as Varne ran away so as not to be assigned the task of skinning and gutting them; in the end Melde had done it so cleanly that I had forgotten what a distasteful task it was and only admired how fast her knife worked), Haldir came to speak with me.
Legolas Thranduilion has told me of your role in the prophecy of the elder Macilme, and your true name, he said, standing just within my personal space and putting me off my game with his size. I had thought that between sleeping in close quarters with Varne and riding Legolas' horse, I had become immune to such tactics, but it was evidently not so. My company has been honored to know your true name, and not be reduced to calling you Lótë,' as I understand your name is to be given to strangers.
Yes? I was surprised to see that you knew Legolas, but I guess this is a small world, isn't it, I blurted unthinkingly. Stupid! I kicked myself. Speaking like you'd just – just met him on the bus, or something! He must think you're insane. I'm sorry. This world is so different from mine –
He raised one eyebrow, giving more and more of a patronizing vibe. It must be. Tell me, has Legolas seemed well these weeks?
That opened the one topic of conversation we could both discuss easily, our one mutual acquaintance (though later I was to learn that he in fact knew Sérener and all his kin as well as many other elves of Mirkwood, having visited there on business of the Lady of Lórien in the past). We got on quite well after that, the topic leading to others; he certainly gave me no reason to be put off.
No, what disturbed me about our conversation was not Haldir's demeanor – after I got used to his sarcastic, imperious ways, he was not so different from many of my friends back home: knowledgeable and intelligent and very aware of it. It was the feeling I got whenever he criticized Legolas, the impulse to defend him. You're ridiculous, I thought to myself; you're so protective of your friends. You should back off; he's a hundred years older than you, he's a big boy, he can take care of himself. And Haldir is probably right when he criticizes, anyway. Certainly he was correct that Legolas should have had me ride with Varne or perhaps with Melde's husband; the leader of such an expedition should not be tied down to a helpless, hapless human. But even knowing these things in my conscious mind, I still had a hard time preventing retort after retort from coming out of my mouth.
As I looked idly at Haldir's profile, I considered that it was not as fine as Legolas's before I stopped myself. Once that line of thought had been opened, I couldn't stop myself from comparing everything else about him to Legolas too; he always came out the loser. Stop this! I thought. Stop it, stop it, stop it! You're only going to make an ass of yourself acting like a silly infatuated little girl. Because that was what I felt for Legolas – infatuation, whatever that syndrome was that hostages got when they started identifying with their captors. It wasn't that Legolas had captured me, but I was certainly not free to go
When Haldir finally sauntered away from our campfire, Varne looked up from where she had been busily knocking the dust out of our sleeping rolls. If you can convince Haldir Anustonion to come by very often, muinthel, I will say you are by far worth the effort it takes to teach you cooking and cleaning and sewing! she exclaimed.
Oh, shut up, I snapped, and banged the spoon on the bottom of the stewpot in a display of temper.
-----End Chapter 5-----
LEAVE A REVIEW OF THIS CHAPTER @ THE GUESTBOOK!
BACK | HOME | NEXT
Author's Notes: Haldir's parentage is not given in J.R.R. Tolkien's works; therefore, I made up a father for him (Anuston) and probably mangled his second name in an attempt to follow precedents (Anustonion). Although in the original books Lórien was unknown to the elves of Mirkwood, there was some discussion between them after the fall of Sauron, so assuming that there would be improved understanding between the two communities is not too far a stretch.
The syndrome Emma refers to at the end of the chapter is Stockholm Syndrome. I use some fairly archaic words in this chapter, so here are the ones you might not recognize: to be in full panoply is to be in a full suit of armor – for elves, this is lighter than others', but you get the picture. To a boat is to carry it over land. A is a type of seagull. A is a bird's wing. A is a rabbit. Sindarin words and phrases used in this chapter are: Suil (hail), Anann le ú-gennin (I have not seen you for a long time), Edhel (elf), and muindor (brother).