Disclaimer: All characters in this story, save my own, do not belong to me. They are property of J.R.R. Tolkien, and whoever else owns the copyright. I write this tale for entertainment purposes alone, and I am neither seeking nor receiving any profit from it whatsoever, lest it be in the form of confidence-building reviews, and extra practice in writing.
Sorry this took so long. Everything that could have gone wrong did. I caught a cold, my computer with the internet had to go in the shop (luckily I write on another one), and there were two consecutive, ten- second power shortages because of the cold - welcome to Canada. Even though it gave me a heart attack, at least my lovely computer was nice enough to do an emergency restore for me, and I didn't lose eight pages of work! But, needless to say, I'm stressed, and now save every five minutes.
Melui: You're a strange one you know that? :) I'm just kidding. You really think it was that good? Thanks, that means a lot to me! Thank you for the review, and for looking over this and the last chapter. I always make the strangest mistakes; I sometimes wonder where my brain is when I write...
Sirnonenath: I'm glad you like Dinnulín. She is an easy character to work with; she just seems to write herself. Though I must admit I was a bit concerned about her hugging so much, but when I thought back to all the time I spent watching kindergarteners during their lunch hour, I realized that she isn't too farfetched - I could hardly go a minute without one child or another latching onto me! Kids that age are so affectionate; I once babysat a six-year-old who, within a week, was calling me her mother and telling me she loved me. It was actually quite embarrassing. Especially with all the looks I got when I took her to the park! The answer to your question is at the end of the chapter. Also, I'm glad you like my other OC's; I worked really hard on them. Thank you so much for the great review!
farflung: Yes, Galion does seem to learn things the hard way when it comes to his alcohol. Then again, maybe he hasn't learned anything at all! Thank you for the review, they really make my day. And you'll be pleased to know that Lothwen finally makes her first appearance. I hope you like her!
Tara: I'm so sorry that I can't remember you! But don't take it personally - I think I was in a daze last semester, especially in that gym class from hell. I'm so glad it's over! If you see me in the hall at school, please say hi. Not knowing who you are is driving me mad and making me feel so guilty! Thank you for the review. I'm glad you could get over your Legolas daze long enough to read my story, but to help you through the later chapters (if you read them), remember he's only a little elf in this, and though I'm sure he's still a cutie, he hasn't matured into that bow- twanging, elf-embodiment of hotness quite yet!
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And now, without further ado....
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Chapter Four: "Does Anyone Else Find This Tea Tastes Strange...?".
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The palace kitchens were deathly quiet. The leaf-and-berry embroidered curtains ruffled in a soft, soundless breeze, and numerous pots and pans gleamed brightly on the walls.
Faelon shivered as he made his way silently into the room, his sister clutching tightly at the base of his tunic. "Where do you suppose everyone is, Dinnu?" He whispered.
The young maiden tore her eyes from the half-open pantry at the other end of the room. A dark shadow spilled ominously from it. "M-maybe they . . . were eaten?"
"Dinnulín," he said, looking concerned, "you're not afraid are you?"
"No!" She shouted, her voice echoing off the walls and making her jump. "I- I was only joking!"
"Of course you were," he smiled and shook his head. "How silly of me."
"Quite."
He took her hand and walked to the counter by the window, searching for the bottles of sweet tea that they had come to retrieve. "I don't think Galion would have put them in the cupboard," he muttered to himself as he walked about the room. He paused, and, feeling Dinnulín bump into him with a soft "oof," scanned the room. He took in the stoves, basins, and ovens - all deftly cleaned and bare of any objects. Then, at the far end of the room, close to a door-less portal leading into a hall, he saw a great oaken table, and, beside it, yet another small length of counter. Upon both surfaces lay five water skins. He looked down at Dinnulín, and the two moved stealthily closer, trying to make as little noise as possible.
When they arrived at the counter, Faelon plucked a small piece of yellowed parchment from atop the brownish skins, and quickly read it: "The note says that they're for Thavron," he said as he carefully replaced the paper. "Good, I had worried that that was what Galion had put our tea in. Could you imagine?" He laughed softly and looked to his sister, who had moved to inspect the skins on the table.
She was straining on her tiptoes to reach yet another small paper, and grunted in satisfaction as one last stretch allowed her to enclose it in her tiny fist. Straightening it out, Dinnulín stared at it, a look of deep concentration shadowing her fair face. Faelon watched in amusement as her brow furrowed, and a small pink tongue peeked from between her lips. "Um..."
"Can you not read it, tithen muinthel?" He asked as he walked up to her.
"No, it's not that," she looked up at him, putting out her palm for him to take the note. "It's too messy!"
Faelon took it and winced at what he saw. Upon the parchment were many black squiggles (what he supposed were failed attempts at letters) and tiny scattered blotches of ink. "Whoever wrote this was either greatly lacking in mind and dexterity, or he tried to write with his mouth," his brow furrowed in disgust and he moved to hold the paper with the tips of his thumb and forefinger. 'I certainly hope it wasn't the second.' "Well," he continued, his eyes moving across the parchment, "I think I can make out a bit. Yes! I believe that squiggle there says 'tea,' and those near the edge are most definitely 'waste my,' " he skipped an unintelligible few lines, nearing the end of the note. "Does that one say 'handkerchief'? How odd. Hmm . . ." he was silent for a moment, then: "And those near the bottom say 'impudent little' and . . ." his eyes widened and a blush rose on his cheeks. "Well! That was uncalled-for!"
"What?" Dinnulín asked as she gripped his tunic, eyes wide. "What does it say?"
"Never mind," he said quickly. "It doesn't matter anyway – this is the tea." He sighed sadly and was silent for a moment. Then, quite suddenly, a look of panicked horror came upon his face and, with a swift intake of breath, he went on in a high voice, "Ai! What are we going to do? We cannot serve Lothwen with such appalling things! And they will most certainly clash with the tablecloth, the candles...with everything!" He paused. "...Alas that such a terrible thing should happen..." Faelon trailed off morosely and slumped, dejected, into one of the chairs by the table.
"Oh, don't be sad, Muindor!" Dinnulín pleaded and clasped his hands between her own. "It'll still be a very fun party, and Lothwen won't mind about the skins. She hasn't cared about that stuff before." She smiled at him reassuringly, "And we can still get pretty glasses to put it in!"
"You're right," Faelon said, looking up to meet her eyes, "But I would have liked the tea to be in bottles. Like the wine at the feasts..." then, shaking his head lightly as though to clear it, he moved his hands from between Dinnulín's and grasped hers. "Still...we shouldn't let this ruin the party. What's life without obstacles, anyway? No. It will be fine!" He looked over her head, his face set in determination. "We shall get the most beautiful glasses in all of Mirkwood! And they shall be so lovely that the fair Lothwen will overlook these hideous skins and her face will shine with joy!"
"That's the spirit, muindor nín!" Dinnulín laughed and kissed him on the cheek. "I knew that you would think of something!"
Suddenly, Faelon shot up from the chair: "Legolas said that he was going to try to bring lilies and roses," he said excitedly as he went about the kitchen, searching through the cupboards. "But Lothwen likes daisies the most – I do hope he remembers – and so we should get glasses with flowers on them – to keep with the theme. Mayhap they should be green like the tablecloth? Or would that be too much? No, they should definitely be clear . . ."
Dinnulín smiled happily as she watched him. 'I'm so lucky to have such a wonderful muindor,' she thought fondly, giggling as Faelon pulled glass upon glass out from the cupboards, muttering about how they were just "not right." 'Eilianu's brother never plays with her. And he's not sweet and funny like Faelon is.'
"Faelon?"
"Yes, Dinnu?" He asked, turning to face her, a small cup in each hand.
"Le melin."
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The late-morning sun shone brightly above the trees of Mirkwood, its warm rays passing easily through the young leaves and fresh spring buds to form shimmering pools of light on the earth below. The smell of flowers wafted pleasantly on the light breeze, while the distant sound of elvish song and laughter could be heard amid the jovial birdsong.Legolas breathed deeply as he made his way slowly through the forest, a lazy smile tugging at his lips and contrasting oddly with the faint grimace that shadowed his features. He carried what appeared to be a large, lumpy green sack that shimmered faintly whenever it caught the sun. It was slung over his right shoulder, forcing him to hunch slightly and making his steps fall short and slow. Yet, it was not as though it were excessively heavy; rather, it was the sheer shape and size of the thing that caused the young prince such trouble. The sack was much too long and bulky, nearly dragging on the forest floor albeit the thick wad of material clutched tightly in the boy's fist, and odd-shaped bulges were scattered about its surface, a few bumping painfully against Legolas' back, causing him to wince and squirm.
When the sound of the swift-flowing Forest River met his ears, he altered his path and headed towards it. Once it came into view, he did his best to increase his pace, eager to reach the party site. After what seemed like an eternity, he at last broke through the tree line into the small circular clearing by the river, and was greeted with a joyous cry of "Legolas!"
He smiled, letting the sack fall softly to the ground, and watched as a young black-haired elfling came running up to him. "Mae govannen, Dinnu," he laughed as she hugged him. "I see you three have started." He looked up and watched as Faelon and another young elf, dressed in black leggings and a sienna tunic, carried a table into the centre of the clearing. "When did Roccondil get here?"
"Just before," Dinnulín said and Legolas rolled his eyes. "He brought chairs and a table, and even a raft with tiny boats!"
"Tiny boats?"
"Aye," said the elf of their discussion. "Tiny boats," Roccondil moved up beside Legolas and, smiling cheekily, lifted the bag from the ground, only to put it down by his own feet. He had lengthy grey-blonde hair and deep brown eyes, and his face was long, thin and well shaped. His mother hailed from Lothlórien, and his father was a Noldor born and raised in Mirkwood, thus providing his contrasting features with a strangely exotic handsomeness. "I thought that we could put some candles in them and sail them down the river."
"Why?"
"For fun," he replied, looking at Legolas as though he were an idiot. "Why else?"
"It is about time, mellon nín," Faelon interrupted. "I was begging to fear that you would never get here, and that I would be forced to lift all of this furniture by myself!"
"I was helping you!" Roccondil said indignantly.
"You dropped the table on my foot, Roccondil."
"I lifted it off! And you're fine now anyway..."
Dinnulín giggled and moved to stand next to Faelon. "Did you bring the flowers, Legolas?" She asked, eyeing the green sack.
"Yes," he answered, taking his eyes from Faelon's foot and meeting Dinnulín's. "And I brought candles, too. The tablecloth is the bag."
"What?!" Faelon yelped. "Legolas! What are you doing putting it on the ground then? It's going to be filthy!" He grabbed at the sack and lifted it hurriedly into the air.
"It is fine Faelon," Roccondil said. "There is no need to have a fit."
Faelon ignored him and proceeded to inspect the bag. He looked up at Legolas, "Where did you get this? It is very fine. But...are those...rabbits and squirrels about the edges? That seems rather odd for a table cloth..."
"Yes, well, umm..." Legolas trailed off, fiddling with the hem of his sleeve.
"Legolas," Faelon said with a rising sense of foreboding, "where did you get it?"
"It's my adar's coverlet."
"What?!" Faelon choked out, eyes bulging.
"He won't miss it," Legolas said uneasily, watching Roccondil, who was laughing uncontrollably.
"Your adar has bunnies on his coverlet?!" He dissolved into a fit of giggles. "Ai, Legolas – is he going to kill you!"
"Well," said Legolas, looking once more at the bedspread-turned- bag, "it was the nicest sheet in the house, and I liked it better than the tablecloths." The material was indeed beautiful; it was a light, silken green embroidered with silver thread. Tiny leaves and flowers flowed along it, connected by slender vines, and miniature rabbits and squirrels bounded along the edges, adding a handsome finishing touch. "Besides, Lothwen loves flowers and animals, so it is perfect for her."
"But your ada will be angry, Legolas," Dinnulín said sadly.
"He is always angry with me. And even if he punishes me, it won't matter because it'll be worth it."
"If you're sure, Legolas," Faelon looked at him, his eyes questioning, "because it isn't too late to put it back. We could just use something else..."
"No, I don't care. This is perfect for the table."
Faelon nodded, defeated, as Roccondil took the sack from him and brought it to the table. Soon, the four elves were pulling out candles, candlesticks, and handfuls of flowers. Then, as Roccondil placed the silver candlesticks about the clearing, set and tied the raft in the water, and placed chairs around the table, Faelon showed Legolas and a very excited Dinnulín how to craft flower garlands: "There isn't much time, so you have to go quickly, Dinnu!"
It was mid-afternoon when the elves had finally finished decorating the clearing, and the four stood back to admire their work. In the centre was the large rectangular table covered with the King's bedclothes and laden with candles, dried fruits, bread, cheese, honey, and, in the middle, a round white cake decorated (a little clumsily, but charming nonetheless) with tiny icing flora and vines. Five chairs were placed around the table, with the one at the head decorated with ribbons and a silken pillow. Draped from tree bough to tree bough were beautiful (for the most part – Dinnulín's and Legolas' first few attempts were slightly lopsided) garlands of roses, lilies, and daisies. The raft, bobbing in the swift-flowing water, held five tiny boats with candles set into them. And all about the clearing the silver shafts of candlesticks glinted, waiting eagerly for the sun to set so that their full splendour could be shown.
"It's beautiful," Dinnulín's awed voiced broke the silence.
The three other elflings nodded in agreement.
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The young maiden searched the tree boughs as she walked down the forest path, a slip of parchment clasped in her hand. She paused a moment when the sound of running water reached her ears, and raised the note to read it once more.
"Meld Lothwen,
"How are you? And your family? I am well, though recently Dinnulín spilt berry juice on my favourite tunic, and I must admit that I am feeling a bit gloomy. But such accidents cannot be helped when one is around my muinthel, and that is most certainly not why I am writing to you.
"I am writing to ask that you meet me tomorrow, in the late afternoon, in the small clearing by the Forest River – you know, the place where Roccondil made Legolas wear your dress that one time. There is something that I wish to show you.
"Garo daw vaer, elei velui
"Faelon"
She smiled and stepped off the path, making her way towards the sound. 'I wonder if he has a begetting day gift for me. I hope so – his gifts are always so brilliant.' The year before, he had given her a tiny tree that he had said his father had brought back from a place called the Shire. He had given it to her in the winter, two months before her begetting day, because he had wanted her to see it bloom in the spring. Lothwen had waited impatiently for the two months to pass, and when the snow had finally melted and the birds returned from their travels, she had not been disappointed.
In the first weeks of spring, she had watched as tiny buds appeared on the thin boughs, waiting for them to open and greet the world. Finally, after what had seemed like an eternity, she had woken up one morning to a most wondrous sight. There, sitting on her dresser, was her little tree in all its splendour; the buds had opened to reveal stunning, tiny pink blossoms with a perfume so sweet that she felt gifted with a taste of Valinor. For weeks she had revelled in their scent, and it was with a sense of dread that she watched the last days of the season slip slowly away. She did not want to see the little flowers that she so loved wither and die. But when the last days of spring were upon her, she found that her fears were for naught; where she had expected sorrow and faded blossoms, she was met only with further joy, albeit bittersweet.
The tiny flowers did not wither and die. Rather, they simply fell. They fell from the boughs in graceful, dancing whirls, landing softly upon the floor. And whenever a strong breeze came in through her window, the tree would let fly a torrent of fragrant pink petals and she would stand amid them, basking in their beauty and in the feel of their softness against her pale skin.
And in the summer she was surprised yet again. For upon the branches where the beloved flowers had once dwelled were now small, plump red fruits that made her smile in delight when she ate them.
Lothwen smiled at the memories. Faelon had given her a gift of beauty that was truly everlasting.
Stopping suddenly, she blinked in shock. There before her, in the once-bare clearing, was a most strange and wonderful sight: Flowers and ribbons, food, candles, and beautiful decorations...
"Surprise!" Came a chorus of shouts as four elflings jumped from behind the trees.
Lothwen yelped and started, the parchment falling from her limp fingers.
"Happy Begetting Day, Lothwen!" Dinnulín shouted excitedly, bounding towards her.
Lothwen caught the child up in a hug as the others came to greet her. She soon found herself in the middle of a chaotic elfling huddle, where she was repeatedly pulled into embraces from all sides and wishes of "Happy Begetting Day!" seemed to flow in a never-ending echo. She felt her face grow steadily hotter as she stammered out breathless thank-yous and realized, with a pang of alarm, that the corners of her eyes were tingling. 'Ai, get a hold of yourself!' She scolded, then froze in shock when some one, she knew not who, planted a soft kiss on her cheek. Her face flushed deeper.
It was to her relief that the small group parted and she stood before them, all the blood in her body seemingly having taken up new residence in the area above her neck.
"Wow," she stammered, "this is...I ...Faelon! You liar!"
"It was a surprise!" He laughed, raising his arms in defence. "I had to!"
"We were planning it forever," Dinnulín piped up. "They made me swear not to tell you!"
Lothwen smiled happily at the child, feeling suddenly awkward. 'Now what do I say? Ai, this is so embarrassing – why can't I stop blushing?!'
"Come, Lothwen," Legolas said, moving toward her and taking her hand. She looked down at it, blushing furiously. "You must see Dinnulín's garlands – she worked very hard on them."
He led her to a tree where the flowers hung the lowest, and she gasped dramatically. "Oh, Dinnulín, they are beautiful!" Lothwen said, turning to the young elf.
"They are? Faelon and Legolas helped. We worked for hours!"
"And it shows."
"Oh! I made you this, too," Dinnulín held up a wreath of daisies and placed it on Lothwen's head when she bent down.
"Thank you, Dinnu," she smiled.
Then she was taken by the hand once again, but this time by Dinnulín, and the group of friends made their way to the table. Lothwen stared at the mini-feast before her; all of her favourite foods were pleasantly arrayed so that each of them looked so delicious that her stomach grumbled lightly in anticipation.
"Faelon made it all," Dinnulín informed her. "He cooked all day yesterday."
Faelon blushed as Lothwen turned to look at him in surprise. "Dinnu helped – she decorated the cake..."
"I suppose I should have known it was you," she laughed slightly. "After all, you're the only one who can cook anything edible!"
"That's not true!" Roccondil said indignantly. "Remember when Legolas and I made pudding? And that bread once, too?"
"My point exactly."
"And just what is that supposed to mean?" Legolas raised an eyebrow, tilting his head regally.
"It means that my teeth still hurt and that the mere sight of pudding makes me want to - "
"Yes, Lothwen, that is quite a shame," Faelon interjected, "but you haven't seen Legolas' tablecloth. He brought the flowers and candles as well."
The maiden's eyes snapped to him, angered at the interruption, but they quickly softened and took in the aforementioned items. "Thank you, Legolas," she smiled as she looked at the candles and flowers about the clearing. Then her eyes rested upon the tablecloth. "Where did you get that? It is very fine," she reached down and rubbed the material between her fingers. "It doesn't feel like a tablecloth, though...it's almost like...I'm not sure..."
"My adar's coverlet."
"What?! Are you mad?" She looked at him in shock. "Legolas – don't you think it's time you stopped –"
"He won't miss it. It's fine –"
Lothwen's brow furrowed. "It is rude to interrupt people when they are speaking, Legolas."
"She is right, mellon nín," Roccondil nodded sagely. "Honestly, one sometimes finds it difficult to believe that you were raised in such a royal home and not in a cave by a pack of naugrim..."
"Shut up, Roccondil," Legolas grumped as Faelon laughed heartily.
Shaking her head, Lothwen turned to the river. "And what of the raft and tiny boats? Who brought them?" She asked, though she suspected she already knew the answer.
"I did," Roccondil said. "And I brought the furniture, too."
Gazing about the clearing, Lothwen smiled softly. They had all pitched in. All of them had helped to give her the best begetting day she had ever had. Even little Dinnulín, who was only fifteen, had contributed. A warm feeling rose from her stomach, and, spreading throughout her body, rested within her heart.
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The sun was beginning to set, and after a few too-short hours of fun and games, the five elflings had at last sat down to supper. Legolas watched as Lothwen passed an empty plate to Faelon, who handed it to Dinnulín, who plopped it neatly in front of Roccondil. Lothwen was a peculiar girl, he thought. Her long hair was such a light brown it bordered on blonde, and it fell, pin-straight, down the length of her back. Though it was the style for young maidens to braid their hair before bed, so that it fell in wavy streams down their back, Lothwen never did. "I have no use for such things," she had once told him, and the brown-gold tresses remained straight, albeit the braid she would usually wear to keep them from her face.
"Thank you," he said as he accepted his own plate. He remembered how he had been surprised at her dress when she had arrived – he was so used to seeing her in a tunic and leggings at archery practice and in the hours afterwards, that he seemed to have forgotten that Lothwen was, in truth, a girl. And the fact that she often swam, played, and competed readily with he, Roccondil and Faelon did not help matters. Thinking back, he laughed lightly at the many memories of a young maiden with flowers in her hair shouting maniacally at them that she was "the great Orc Queen" while chasing them with a sword ('Well,' he amended, 'a stick.').
At the moment, Lothwen wore a pale blue dress with small daisies embroidered on the hem and sleeves; it was simple, but still beautiful. 'Much like herself,' Legolas thought as he placed a honeyed bun on his plate. Lothwen rarely wore trinkets or fancy garments, nor would she do anything particularly elegant with her hair, if one discounted the flowers and small braids...
"Legolas...?"
"Is he off in his own world again?"
"I think so. Try kicking him, Dinnu..."
"Roccondil!"
"What? It works for me."
Legolas blinked and looked up from his plate, an untouched bun in his hand. "What?" He asked intelligently.
"Can you please pass me the tea?" Lothwen said as though she was tired of repeating the sentence.
"Oh!" He grabbed hastily at a water skin from the pile beside him. "Yes, sorry," he blushed and handed it to her.
"My thanks," she said exasperatedly, and poured the tea into five glasses and passed them around.
"A toast," said Faelon, rising from his seat, "to our dear friend –"
"And partner in crime!" Said Roccondil with a smirk, lifting his glass.
"Well, in your case perhaps –"
"And Muinthel Einior!" Dinnulín crowed happily, her arm straining as she tried to raise her glass as close as possible to Faelon's without getting up.
"And infamous Orc Queen!" Legolas said through a grin fit to split his face, eyes alight as he lifted his own glass.
The entire table erupted in helpless laughter.
"To our dear friend, partner in crime, Muinthel Einior, and infamous Orc Queen," Faelon paused, and gazing at Lothwen with mirth-filled eyes, went on warmly, "may you have a most wonderful begetting day!"
Then the five elves touched glasses and brought them to their mouths to sip.
"Does anyone else find this tea tastes strange...?" Roccondil asked with an odd look on his face.
Legolas watched as Lothwen lowered her glass, looking as though she were about to agree with Roccondil, when he saw her eyes fall on Faelon; the young elf looked positively crushed. "No, it tastes fine to me," she sipped it again. "In fact, I think it is perhaps the best tea I have ever had." Faelon beamed at her as both Legolas and Dinnulín nodded firmly in agreement.
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When their meal had come at last to an end, Lothwen was ushered away from the table to sit under a flower-laden tree. Moments later, an excited Dinnulín rushed over to place a gift in her lap, and before Lothwen knew it, there were three more about her feet."You have to open mine first, Lothwen," said Dinnulín, her eyes twinkling happily.
"All right," Lothwen said as she untied the white lace and removed the green cloth. Inside was a strange, lumpy brown ball with a large puff at one end. She lifted it curiously, and four little legs fell from within its folds, followed closed by a round-eared head. She looked at it, and then her face broke out into a delighted smile, "Oh, Dinnulín, it's adorable!"
"Do you like it? I made it myself...well, my Nana did help a little."
"I love it," Lothwen said as she turned it about in her hand. The edges were stitched seamlessly to prevent the stuffing from escaping, but aside from that, the little creature appeared quite bedraggled. Its ears were not the same size, nor did they rest parallel on the top of the head, and the black button eyes were uneven. It had a small cloth nose, but no mouth. Lothwen ran her fingers along the fluffy tail made of teased threads of yarn, laughing at the odd-looking squirrel. It was both ugly and adorable at once, and she found herself charmed by its strangeness. "It is adorable."
Dinnulín beamed as Roccondil handed over his own gift. "Thank you," Lothwen said as she placed it in her lap and removed the red bow from the haphazardly wrapped box. She gasped. Lying in the box atop a red silk cloth was a beautiful wooden bow. She lifted into the candlelight, turning it reverently in her fingers. About the shaft raced tiny carven horses, manes and tails flowing behind them in an unseen wind, and near the top was her name, etched delicately in the smooth wood. "It's beautiful," she whispered as her eyes took in the handsome gift.
"My adar showed me how to carve it," Roccondil said as he watched her. "There are also arrows and a quiver that he gave me in the cloth."
"Thank you, Roccondil," she said again as she took out the aforementioned items. "This is..." Lothwen trailed off, taken aback.
"It's nothing," he said as Legolas handed her a long, thin box.
She took the gift and slowly unwrapped it. It was an ornately carved wooden box, decorated with small flowers and songbirds, and opening it, she found it filled with a soft green material. She picked it up, and a tiny silver flute rolled out onto her lap. Vines twined around its length, the sparkling golden leaves catching the candlelight. Raising the delicate instrument to gain a better view, she saw her name engraved near the mouthpiece and smiled. It seemed to be a going trend. "Thank you, Legolas. It is very beautiful."
"I know you don't know how to play it," he said, a slight flush upon his cheeks, "but my naneth taught me...and I thought you might like to learn too..."
Lothwen felt a sharp pang in her heart, "I would like that, Legolas," she said, and, before she could stop herself, moved to embrace him. "I will treasure it always."
"Umm, well, y-you're...welcome," he stammered, surprised at the contact. "But Faelon hasn't given you his gift yet!"
Lothwen blushed, surprised at herself as well, and looking to Faelon, she took his gift. She removed the ribbon and cloth from the thick, heavy parcel. Her eyebrow rose when she saw that it was a large brown tome with slightly yellowed pages. The leather-bound cover creaked as she pulled it gently open.
"It's a book about plants and gardening," Faelon said, blushing and fidgeting with his tunic sleeves. "It lists all kinds of beautiful trees and flowers, where they grow, what they do, and how to plant and care for them. A-and it has the most wonderful drawings. I thought you could use it for your garden..."
"Oh, I see," she smiled. "This is brilliant – I'd been wondering how I should plant my cherry tree, and what flowers would go well with it. This will definitely come into good use. Thank you, Faelon."
"You're welcome," he smiled. "Shall we go have some more tea? I don't know about you, but I am quite thirsty."
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A few hours later....
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"Roll - roll - roll - roll,
"roll-roll-roll-roll-rolling down the hole! –"
"Roc'dil – tha's too many rolls!" Lothwen yelled angrily.
"How d'you know? You coun'en' 'em?"
"Maybe I am!"
"Now, now!" Faelon staggered up, but was quickly pulled down again by Legolas. "There's – oof! – n-no need to squibble! Jus sing th'song!"
The prince collapsed into a fit of helpless giggles, "No squib'ling! Ha ha ha!"
The five elflings were now sitting upon the raft in the Forest River, watching as their tiny candle-lit boats floated about on strings. Among Lothwen's gifts at their feet lay three large empty water skins (the glasses sat forgotten on the table).
"Down th' swiff dark sssream you go
"Back to lans y'once dinnoh!
"..."
They fell silent, at a loss for what came next. Finally, Dinnulín seemed to come out of a slight stupor, and yelled, throwing her fist into the air and inadvertently punching Faelon: "Heap ho! Spass pump!"
The others quickly joined in.
"Down theggo, down thebbump!
"Pass the russes, pass the ree's,
"Pass the marsses wave'n weeds,"
"Wait!" Lothwen yelled, slapping her hand over Faelon's mouth, causing him to knock heads with Roccondil. "'Ere, play som'n!" She thrust her flute at Legolas.
"Awwight," letting go of his boat's string, he took the instrument, moved it to his lips and tried to play the song's tune. It came out as a garbled squeal and the four elves clapped their hands over their ears. All five boats drifted quickly away.
"That was terrbble Leg-lego- wa ebber you name iss!" Roccondil said gravely as Faelon practically shrieked with laughter.
"Ai!" Dinnulín sobbed, causing the others' heads to whip around. "My boot!"
"Wha –?" Lothwen began, looking for a boot in the water, her eyes dazed and face flushed. Then: "The boats!"
"Untie us! Untie us!" Roccondil yelled, shoving Legolas forward.
The young prince slammed face-first onto the wood and crawled clumsily to the rope, and, after a few tries, managed to lift the loop from the stake on the bank. The raft immediately swept forward in the fast current.
Taking a large swig of the 'tea,' Roccondil threw his arm outward and pointed after the tiny boats floating ahead: "Affer 'em!"
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"Le melin." – I love you. A huge thank you goes out to Sirnonenath for helping me with this one – at first I thought it was "Im melleth le." Elvish gives me a headache..."Adar" - Father
"Ada" - Daddy, dad, papa...
"Muinthel einior" – Elder sister. Once again, my thanks are sent to Sirnonenath for her help.
"Naneth" - "Mother," or when used as "Nana," it's mommy, mom, mama...you get the idea.
"Meld Lothwen" - "Dear Lothwen"
"Garo daw vaer, elei velui" - Literally, "Have a good night time, sweet dreams."
"Naugrim" - I'm not entirely sure if this is plural or not, so "Dwarf/Dwarves"
"Tithen muinthel" - "Little sister."
"Muindor" - "Brother"
"Mae govannen" - "Well met."
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As per request, here are the translations of the elvish names:.
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Eilianu – Rainbow. She's Dinnulín's friend, but has not been seen as of yet.Faelon – Just; having a good soul.
Roccondil – Friend of horses, in Quenya (His mother named him -, so it's not in Sindarin).
Lothwen – Flower maiden.
Dinnulín – Twilight pool.
Dínendír – Silent male. It sounds odd in English, but I didn't want his name to be just Dínen (I thought it sounded better this way).
Thavron – Carpenter.
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Sorry if my Elvish seems a little odd, but I found so many contradicting sources that I just went with what seemed to be in the majority and what I felt sounded best. If anyone knows that I'm most definitely wrong, please tell me and give me the website that you got your information from. I'd be happy to fix any mistakes – after all, I'm no scholar in the languages of Tolkien; I'm simply a girl doing her best to write Elvish.I put most of these names together by myself, so I may have done it wrong, but I still like them. Faelon and Roccondil I got from a list where a girl translated people's English names into Elvish, so a huge thank you to her. I was going to make up my own names for the elflings, but I had already planned out their personalities with those, (I hadn't, at the time, been able to find a list of simple Sindarin words on the 'net), and I couldn't bear to change them. To whoever wrote that list - I hope you don't mind and as soon as I find the link again, I'll put it here.
Also, I hope that three large water skins of wine was enough to get elflings drunk, because I know how hard it is for the adults.
And, lastly, that song at the end was a horribly butchered rendition of that found in:
Tolkien, J.R.R.. The Hobbit. USA: HarperCollinsPublishers, 1999. 170-172.
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Wow. This chapter was hard to write. It took so long, and I was sorely tempted to post it in parts, but I promised you Lothwen and plans going astray, and I'm nothing if not a woman of my word, so I gritted my teeth and did it. I hope you enjoyed it and that, if you had any expectations, it met them.If you have any questions, comments, helpful hints, or whatever, please review!
And next time, Thranduil finally makes an appearance.
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Thanks for reading,Ethelewen.