Chapter Two: The Perils of Strolling
"Sweet Elbereth! So this is to be my end? Slowly drained of blood by the devices of this wicked needle until I faint from the loss and pass into the Halls of Mandos!" Exclaimed Andúnil, as she pricked her finger for the nineteenth time that afternoon. To say that she was exasperated would have been a grave understatement given the dramatic level of this, her newest vocalization of distress.
Normally she did not prick herself ever, she was, after all, an Elf, and one most adept at sewing. But in being an Elf, she was also quite susceptible to great indulgence in her favorite emotions, and could easily lose herself even unto her own end by way of malicious embroidery needles. Today the indulgence was particularily keen, and the emotion none other than raw surliness brought on by the loss of her lovesick sister to the infamous Tiniond's company.
"Well!" She huffed, setting her work aside carelessly, "that simply will not do! I shall take a turn out of doors and give the offensive instrument time to consider its trespasses!" With that she stood and yanked her evening mantle from its customary peg by the door, pinning it into place with a curtness that dared it to defy her. The warm light of the waning day cast a golden hue over the mellyrn that would have stilled the heart of even the hardest soul, drenching the boughs of Caras Galadhon in splendor. But even in this great beauty, Andúnil found fault, for her mood permitted not even a small allowance of good humor.
She left her modest quarters behind at a brisk pace that suggested an urgent errand moreso than a pleasuresome stroll, and began to descend toward the forest floor to escape the 'fearfully irksome' glare of the setting sun.
"You know, brother, I'm beginning to worry that we shall never get him married off," sighed Rúmil in mock concern. Orophin looked up from his carving only briefly to glance over, having a clear view into their quarters. There sat Haldir, earnestly engrossed in some sort of tome, resting comfortably in his favorite chair.
"I believe, dear brother," replied Orophin, looking back down at his work, "that this would distress him greatly if you brought it to his attention."
Rúmil could not suppress the snigger at thought of Haldir distressed over his marital status, wringing his hands and moaning plaintively over his fate. "Naturally we shall have to give him our aid, after all, he is our brother, it is our duty."
It was Orophin's turn to snigger. "What did you have in mind oh self-sacrificing one?"
Rúmil plucked the little carving deftly out of his sibling's fingers. Orophin snarled and made an unsuccessful grab for his stolen work. "Come now Orophin! I only want your full attention to explain the details, then you shall have your pretty rabbit returned to you!"
"It is a bird you half-wit!"
"Is it really?" Quipped the thief in apparent horror. Orophin delivered a quick blow to his brother's ribs, earning a grunt of pain from Rúmil who promptly dropped the little object and made a lunge for his sibling even as the younger Elf attempted to catch the carving. Both were thrown off balance for a moment, but managed to recover in time for a new succession of tackles. The little half-carved bird plummeted toward the forest floor, momentarily forgotten.
Orophin had only just managed to pin Rúmil on his stomach when an indignant shriek reached their ears. The brothers looked at each other in panic, both simultaneously realizing the implications of such a noise. They peered down from the limb on which they were perched, and winced at the sight below. There stood a red-faced maiden with murderously stormy grey eyes, glaring back up at them, a little piece of carved wood in one hand, the other balled into a fist.
"Might this be yours?" She growled in their direction, brandishing the bit of wood.
Rúmil quickly pointed to Orophin, "it belongs to him good lady!"
Orophin gasped at his brother's treachery and shot the offender a seething look before turning back to the frazzled Elf-maid. "It is mine, to be certain, for this lout is not capable of such masterful knife-skill, but it was he that stole it from my hands and dropped it upon ye fair one!"
It was Rúmil's turn to gasp in outrage. "I did no such thing you snake! Had you not assaulted me with your violent tantrums I would still have the crude creation in my possession!"
Andúnil observed as the round of arguing continued, each accusing the other of wrong to the point of such ridiculousness that she began to suspect they were not as sincerely contrite about the situation as they ought to be. Unnoticed by the brothers, she calmly snapped the carving in two halves and fired them sharply. The first struck Rúmil between the eyes, the second bounced squarely off of Orophin's nose. The former yelped, the latter squawked and they both came tumbling to the ground in an awkward heap.
"I find the fault to be joint, and thusly was the punishment, and so shall be the apology," she proclaimed as they sat up in bewilderment, each rubbing the particular area of his face that stung from the blow. Quickly they responded with the demanded verbal fee, and the maiden stalked off, but not before treating them to a final, withering glare.
"I think I'm in love," murmured Rúmil as he watched her form disappear among the trees.
"Masochist," grumbled Orophin, picking himself up off of the ground.
Andúnil's encounter with the bickering brothers left her in an even fouler mood than she'd set out in. Their wide-eyed apologies had done nothing to satisfy her temper, and she was seriously considering the notion of turning around to seek the pair out for a good thrashing when her bowed head collided with a rather solid object. She was sent reeling backwards in surprise, and only her natural surefootedness saved her from a most unbecoming tumble.
The second surprise of the moment was that the solid object which she had struck was not an object at all, but instead an Elf-lord, and one who seemed rather unaffected by being headbutted at that. He looked down upon her with a knitted brow, his hands clasped behind his back. It first struck Andúnil to be miffed that he would have apparently been perfectly satisfied to let her tumble had she been so inclined, but after that initial thought her irritation decreased quickly, for his beauty was of such a magnitude as to be uncommon even among elves. He was taller than any she'd met before, and his hair was a lustrous golden hue unlike the paler, silvery tresses of her Lórien kin.
"Sweet Elbereth!" She exclaimed, taking a step backwards.
"I beg your pardon my lady?" He spoke, his voice rich and masculine. Andúnil felt an unfamiliar but rather pleasant fluttering in her stomach.
"Surely you are one of the Valar!" She responded in awe, forgetting her pride quite completely.
The radiant being blinked. "I most certainly am not," he smirked.
"Oh!" Was the only reply she could summon, slowly regaining her composure even as embarrassment began to set in. They regarded each other for a few moments longer, the silence stretching into an awkward length. Andúnil's cheeks began to redden, though his face remained impassive.
"I am very sorry that I bumped into your, my lord," she said at last, the fluttering in her stomach now having escalated to a most unsettling degree, "and also that I called you a Vala," she added for good measure.
"I've been called worse," was his clipped reply.
Andúnil wasn't certain if she ought to laugh, but thought better of risking it, so instead she merely smiled, "I'm sure!" He raised an eyebrow at that and the redness faded from her cheeks, replaced by a horrified pallor. "I mean, I'm not sure! Or at least sure that-that..."
"Please," he interrupted, flicking his eyes skyward for a moment, "do not trouble yourself, I am not offended."
"Oh! Yes! Of course!" She tittered, the fluttering now too overwhelming to be born, "well, it was lovely meeting you my lord! Perhaps I shall see you again, good day!" She made a half-hearted attempt at an elegant curtsey, but it came out rather gracelessly.
"Indeed," he replied with a nod. Andúnil scurried off toward her rooms as fast as her feet could carry her. On the upside, all surliness and thoughts of thrashing had completely dissolved from her mind.