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Lord Elrond wishes to speak with me. It is odd that I do not wish to speak with him, nor do I plan on seeking him out. As immature at is may sound: if my Lord wishes to speak with me this night, he will have to find me first. I care not. If he finds me, he finds me. There will be nothing I can do.
Although I would say the same for the Prince of Mirkwood, if he finds me, I will not openly avoid his questioning. Barely under four thousand years younger than myself he may be, but he is still a Prince among Elves.
My feet carry me to a clearing that I my mind registers as the practise range used by the elves that protect the borders of Imladris... as well as the few, like myself, that use the range for recreational purposes. I cannot count the number of hours I have spent here with Glorfindel practising the skill of the bow an arrow, as well as teaching it to others.
"Erestor are you lost?" A voice startles me. I snap my head around in the direction it came from and narrow my eyes slightly. I see the Mirkwood Princeling stood by a rock. His weapons are stood on the ground; leaning against said rock, save for his long bow and one sole arrow.
"Nay My Lord." I incline my head in silent greeting before moving closer to the royal Elf. My companion shakes his head, chuckling at what I can only assume to be my attitude to him.
"Erestor we are friends. Formalities are not needed now and you are well aware of that fact." He smiles brightly at me and I can't help the grin that works its way across my face.
"Very well. How fare you this night 'young Princeling'?" My grin broadened as the Prince scowls, a light blush tingeing his cheeks. Who am I to pass up such a delightful opportunity? My face is set in a mask of pure innocence; I even make my grin lack any sinful quality. The Princeling, however, is far from impressed.
"I gave you leeway to lose your formal tongue, not gain an insolent one." He grumbles. Most un-elf like, I must say. I start walking towards him, my feet marking nothing of my path as I go.
"Had you defined your meanings as such, I would have paid them heed. Alas, you did not, so can you truly blame me for letting slip this wondrous chance to see the grown Prince of Mirkwood blush?" The Prince sighs dramatically, realising he doesn't have an appropriately witty retort to grant me. I bow my head mockingly at him. "I will no longer refer to you as Princeling this night if that would please you."
"It would."
"Then it shall be so." I stop walking when I reach his side. I lean down and pick up the pair of white-knives he is known for carrying. I know for a fact that he is a master at using them defensively and the few opportunities we have had to spar with one another, I have had only praise to offer him for his technique. Whatever the outcome of the spar.
I turn my head to look at him, a questioning eyebrow cocked slightly.
"May I?"
He nods and I lean further to grasp the handles of the exquisite weapons.
I move a little away from the Prince and re-position my hold on the knives. The handles seem specifically designed for the palms of their owner so my grip is not perfect, but my positioning is far from flawed. I test the weight carefully; try a few practise manoeuvres before I launch into action. I dance a fierce, deathly dance. My moves are synchronised, perfectly timed and each thrust, turn and swing could mean death for any possible opponent.
I feel an odd sense of content here as I dance. It is not that I miss battle; I know my abilities are slightly more advanced than most and that I know I 'could' be of use to those on the border patrols... I simply do not want to put myself in a position where I would be watching my kin perish once more.
That thought makes me stop in my tracks. My arms still as the knives cross in front of me and my eyes are locked on the sharpened tips.
Once more.
I have been there before. And I do not want to go back.
"Erestor?" I can hear Legolas' voice. Completely different than Glorfindel's but equally melodic.
I school my features before turning to the Prince. My expression softens however at the concerned look on my friend's face.
"I am fine Legolas. I merely slipped into a memory." With a practised flick of both wrists, I offer the Prince the handles of both knives. He takes them without question and with a small smile.
"You dance well, Mellonamin." He speaks, voice laden with unabashed awe. The compliment causes my lips to twitch at the edges.
"I've been fighting a might longer than most, my Prince." I say as simple explanation.
"Too long." He says softly. "You hold within you many years of memory. I do not doubt that at least one of those memories, you wish you did not hold, yet you continue holding. You continue living."
He picks up his weapons and joins me. We start walking side by side towards the House of Elrond.
"You are still young Legolas, and although the Elves are leaving these shores, you have much to learn. You will gain your own memories, both pleasant and painful. Do not trouble yourself with mine."
"I do not hope to, I am merely here for you should you need to talk."
Coming from another at his age I would raise an eyebrow, smile indulgently and offer my thanks while attempting to keep the patronising tone from my voice. But with Legolas, I find myself truly smiling and my tone is of sincerity.
"Thank you for your kind words. They mean much to me." I say and he nods his head, trying, I know, not to beam at me. "The memories that surfaced today are harsh, but I have lived with them for many-a-millennia and I will continue living with them."
We draw to a halt outside my chamber doors, surprising not only myself but Legolas also. How had we managed to get to this point so quickly?
"Erestor before you go in..." The Prince hesitates a moment before seemingly coming to an internal decision. "I would just like to stress that I meant what I said earlier: I am here should you need to talk to someone..." he granted me a crooked smile, "Outside 'The Last Homely House'."
I chuckle and draw the younger elf into an embrace he returns warmly. We stand stationed in this position for a few moments before I draw away, keeping my hands settled on his shoulders while his hands remove themselves from their position clutching my robes.
I smile at him and he returns it happily.
"I offer you the same invitation my Prince. Should you ever need to talk, I will be here to listen." I lay my hands either side of his face and draw him close to me. I lean forward and place upon his forehead a light kiss. "You are wise beyond your years." I say. "I am proud to call you my friend."
"And I you."
He sends me one last smile before he pulls away from me completely and walks down the dimly lit corridor and away from my chamber doors.
I shake my head fondly, turn around, unlock and open my door. I walk in the room and close the door behind me.
Inside I see my customary living space. A small room by comparison to most in the... well, I suppose one could call my home a Palace of sorts, but it does me well enough. Two fair-sized arm chairs are stationed by the already- lit fire place with a small table (a stack of documents, a quill and a vial of ink on its surface) separating them. The walls, I decorated with numerous art works I've collected over my long years, most of which were made by Elrohir, Elladan and Arwen.
I see the two other doors on the wall opposite the fire place; one, I know leads to my bed-chambers and the other to my private bathing room. They two, have art work on their walls.
I walk over to a table that holds on its surface a decanter, three quarters full of a golden liquid, and two wine glasses of Elven design. I pick up the decanter, remove the stopper and pour myself half a glass of the substance I know as a honeyed wine that was given to me as a gift from Glorfindel.
I pick up my glass and bring it to my lips, taking a small sip. The sip is enough to remind me why I like this wine so much. Its sweetness lingers on my tongue as the liquid flows easily down my throat. But after a few seconds, the back of my throat is hit with an almost, but not quite, acidic tang that balances the sweetness perfectly.
I smile in satisfaction and turn around, walking towards the table that is situated between the two arm chairs. I set my glass quietly on the table top and take a seat. I sit with my legs folded under me, but slightly to the side so I'm almost leaning against the arm of the chair. When I'm comfortable, I reach down to grasp the stack of documents.
As soon I am sitting comfortably with the documents in my lap and my glass in hand, there is a soft knock at my door. I sigh and place my glass and the documents back on the table. I uncurl myself, walk towards the door and with another sigh, I open it.
When I see who knocked, I want to close it again but I know it will do me no good. I inwardly groan.
"Mae govannen, Lord Elrond." I say, both my tone and my face schooled.
Hope you enjoyed the chapter as much as I did writing it... despite all hitches along the way. Review!
Thank you!
A Counselor's Musings – Dance.
Lord Elrond wishes to speak with me. It is odd that I do not wish to speak with him, nor do I plan on seeking him out. As immature at is may sound: if my Lord wishes to speak with me this night, he will have to find me first. I care not. If he finds me, he finds me. There will be nothing I can do.
Although I would say the same for the Prince of Mirkwood, if he finds me, I will not openly avoid his questioning. Barely under four thousand years younger than myself he may be, but he is still a Prince among Elves.
My feet carry me to a clearing that I my mind registers as the practise range used by the elves that protect the borders of Imladris... as well as the few, like myself, that use the range for recreational purposes. I cannot count the number of hours I have spent here with Glorfindel practising the skill of the bow an arrow, as well as teaching it to others.
"Erestor are you lost?" A voice startles me. I snap my head around in the direction it came from and narrow my eyes slightly. I see the Mirkwood Princeling stood by a rock. His weapons are stood on the ground; leaning against said rock, save for his long bow and one sole arrow.
"Nay My Lord." I incline my head in silent greeting before moving closer to the royal Elf. My companion shakes his head, chuckling at what I can only assume to be my attitude to him.
"Erestor we are friends. Formalities are not needed now and you are well aware of that fact." He smiles brightly at me and I can't help the grin that works its way across my face.
"Very well. How fare you this night 'young Princeling'?" My grin broadened as the Prince scowls, a light blush tingeing his cheeks. Who am I to pass up such a delightful opportunity? My face is set in a mask of pure innocence; I even make my grin lack any sinful quality. The Princeling, however, is far from impressed.
"I gave you leeway to lose your formal tongue, not gain an insolent one." He grumbles. Most un-elf like, I must say. I start walking towards him, my feet marking nothing of my path as I go.
"Had you defined your meanings as such, I would have paid them heed. Alas, you did not, so can you truly blame me for letting slip this wondrous chance to see the grown Prince of Mirkwood blush?" The Prince sighs dramatically, realising he doesn't have an appropriately witty retort to grant me. I bow my head mockingly at him. "I will no longer refer to you as Princeling this night if that would please you."
"It would."
"Then it shall be so." I stop walking when I reach his side. I lean down and pick up the pair of white-knives he is known for carrying. I know for a fact that he is a master at using them defensively and the few opportunities we have had to spar with one another, I have had only praise to offer him for his technique. Whatever the outcome of the spar.
I turn my head to look at him, a questioning eyebrow cocked slightly.
"May I?"
He nods and I lean further to grasp the handles of the exquisite weapons.
I move a little away from the Prince and re-position my hold on the knives. The handles seem specifically designed for the palms of their owner so my grip is not perfect, but my positioning is far from flawed. I test the weight carefully; try a few practise manoeuvres before I launch into action. I dance a fierce, deathly dance. My moves are synchronised, perfectly timed and each thrust, turn and swing could mean death for any possible opponent.
I feel an odd sense of content here as I dance. It is not that I miss battle; I know my abilities are slightly more advanced than most and that I know I 'could' be of use to those on the border patrols... I simply do not want to put myself in a position where I would be watching my kin perish once more.
That thought makes me stop in my tracks. My arms still as the knives cross in front of me and my eyes are locked on the sharpened tips.
Once more.
I have been there before. And I do not want to go back.
"Erestor?" I can hear Legolas' voice. Completely different than Glorfindel's but equally melodic.
I school my features before turning to the Prince. My expression softens however at the concerned look on my friend's face.
"I am fine Legolas. I merely slipped into a memory." With a practised flick of both wrists, I offer the Prince the handles of both knives. He takes them without question and with a small smile.
"You dance well, Mellonamin." He speaks, voice laden with unabashed awe. The compliment causes my lips to twitch at the edges.
"I've been fighting a might longer than most, my Prince." I say as simple explanation.
"Too long." He says softly. "You hold within you many years of memory. I do not doubt that at least one of those memories, you wish you did not hold, yet you continue holding. You continue living."
He picks up his weapons and joins me. We start walking side by side towards the House of Elrond.
"You are still young Legolas, and although the Elves are leaving these shores, you have much to learn. You will gain your own memories, both pleasant and painful. Do not trouble yourself with mine."
"I do not hope to, I am merely here for you should you need to talk."
Coming from another at his age I would raise an eyebrow, smile indulgently and offer my thanks while attempting to keep the patronising tone from my voice. But with Legolas, I find myself truly smiling and my tone is of sincerity.
"Thank you for your kind words. They mean much to me." I say and he nods his head, trying, I know, not to beam at me. "The memories that surfaced today are harsh, but I have lived with them for many-a-millennia and I will continue living with them."
We draw to a halt outside my chamber doors, surprising not only myself but Legolas also. How had we managed to get to this point so quickly?
"Erestor before you go in..." The Prince hesitates a moment before seemingly coming to an internal decision. "I would just like to stress that I meant what I said earlier: I am here should you need to talk to someone..." he granted me a crooked smile, "Outside 'The Last Homely House'."
I chuckle and draw the younger elf into an embrace he returns warmly. We stand stationed in this position for a few moments before I draw away, keeping my hands settled on his shoulders while his hands remove themselves from their position clutching my robes.
I smile at him and he returns it happily.
"I offer you the same invitation my Prince. Should you ever need to talk, I will be here to listen." I lay my hands either side of his face and draw him close to me. I lean forward and place upon his forehead a light kiss. "You are wise beyond your years." I say. "I am proud to call you my friend."
"And I you."
He sends me one last smile before he pulls away from me completely and walks down the dimly lit corridor and away from my chamber doors.
I shake my head fondly, turn around, unlock and open my door. I walk in the room and close the door behind me.
Inside I see my customary living space. A small room by comparison to most in the... well, I suppose one could call my home a Palace of sorts, but it does me well enough. Two fair-sized arm chairs are stationed by the already- lit fire place with a small table (a stack of documents, a quill and a vial of ink on its surface) separating them. The walls, I decorated with numerous art works I've collected over my long years, most of which were made by Elrohir, Elladan and Arwen.
I see the two other doors on the wall opposite the fire place; one, I know leads to my bed-chambers and the other to my private bathing room. They two, have art work on their walls.
I walk over to a table that holds on its surface a decanter, three quarters full of a golden liquid, and two wine glasses of Elven design. I pick up the decanter, remove the stopper and pour myself half a glass of the substance I know as a honeyed wine that was given to me as a gift from Glorfindel.
I pick up my glass and bring it to my lips, taking a small sip. The sip is enough to remind me why I like this wine so much. Its sweetness lingers on my tongue as the liquid flows easily down my throat. But after a few seconds, the back of my throat is hit with an almost, but not quite, acidic tang that balances the sweetness perfectly.
I smile in satisfaction and turn around, walking towards the table that is situated between the two arm chairs. I set my glass quietly on the table top and take a seat. I sit with my legs folded under me, but slightly to the side so I'm almost leaning against the arm of the chair. When I'm comfortable, I reach down to grasp the stack of documents.
As soon I am sitting comfortably with the documents in my lap and my glass in hand, there is a soft knock at my door. I sigh and place my glass and the documents back on the table. I uncurl myself, walk towards the door and with another sigh, I open it.
When I see who knocked, I want to close it again but I know it will do me no good. I inwardly groan.
"Mae govannen, Lord Elrond." I say, both my tone and my face schooled.
Hope you enjoyed the chapter as much as I did writing it... despite all hitches along the way. Review!
Thank you!