Chapter Summary: A few friends of Imrahil's come to visit and warn him of a possible threat. One of his friends meets Silmarien...
Shout outs:
Terreis – Haldir has no need to fear me...indeed, I would be willing to consider any arrangement you may come up with, but know that they are subject to...shall we say, rearrangement?
Haldir: I am still wary of you two...it is known that Angoliel and Terreis are the wreakers of havoc among Elvenkind!
Angoliel: But oh, what delight you have when we your people!
Mercury Gray – I am so happy that I could give you joy, little sister. I have an idea...I'll show you bits and pieces of my work, and I'll let you critique those, and give me ideas...but much of it will be a surprise for you. What say you?
Roisin Dubh – No no...Silmarien won't turn out that way. She's going to fight to keep herself fitting in gowns that are made in the fashions of Dol Amroth, but I'm pretty sure that when she gets back to Minas Tirith, she'll gain the pounds again. She likes the food in Gondor too much.
And thank you for your insight on the dog. I was told that a cur was a shaggy-looking dog, and when I looked it up, there were negative connotations. I will be mindful of it in the future.
Electric Fire – I have a renaissance costume that has a lace-up bodice. It's basically a corset. Very tight, but it looks fantastic. Don't worry about Silmarien. She'll lose weight, and it won't kill her, I promise. It will be funny, but she'll lose the weight.
Tough Cookie – So glad you're enjoying my work. I had decided not to go with the AU label. Anyone whose read the books (and you should read the books before you actually venture into fan fiction of it) would know that Boromir and Faramir never really had a little sister.
Justso – I used the appendixes of Lord of the Rings, and it said absolutely nothing about her age, so that's what I'm going by. I'm not using the internet at all for my research. The internet shouldn't be the main source of your research. And I don't think you should be giving lessons on how to use it to people who are in college and who are procrastinators...
Author's Notes: The song Mari sings in this chapter is a 19th century Shaker hymn. Public domain!
The morning was quiet and fresh kissed by the dew as the sun rose. The wildlife of the land cautiously stirred from their sleep, awakening slowly. Birds softly sang their wishes of "Good morning!" to each other, casting the notes to three hooded riders who traversed the land.
"Tiro! Dol Amroth!" one of the riders said, having crested a small hill.
"Ai, na vedui," another murmured, joining the first rider. "It has been a long journey, brother."
"It hasn't been helped by his presence," the first rider lowered his voice so that the third rider could not hear the exchange. "Why Father sent him along is beyond my comprehension."
"To keep you in line of course, Elrohir," the third rider smiled. Elrohir glared mightily at his companion. "We don't need a chaperone, Glorfindel," he muttered.
"I was not born with pointed ears for nothing, my lord," Glorfindel returned, unruffled by the glares he was receiving from the sons of Elrond. "Your father graciously allowed me time away from Rivendell. It was my desire to visit the southern lands of Arda as well as it was yours."
Rolling his eyes, Elladan softly whispered to his horse and the three continued to ride toward the City of Swans, with no halter, saddle, or gear, as was the way of Elven riding.
In the dining hall of the Prince of Dol Amroth, his family congregated for the morning meal. As Silmarien reached for dishes to fill her plate, Barahir slipped in some tasty morsels, until he was caught. His cousin slapped his hand away and spoke to him in an irritated hiss.
"I can fill my own plate," she whispered.
"But Mari, you've grown so thin," he teased. He had been amazed by his cousin's tranformation and delighted that she learned so quickly. But being of the opposite sex, he couldn't help but tease even the girl he loved. His wry grin disappeared when she glared at him.
It had taken Silmarien almost a month to be able to comfortably fit into the gowns she had been given. The fact that her cousin was trying to fatten her up again did not please her in the slightest.
Later that day, Lothiriel walked through the corridors on her way back to the gardens, having fetched a book to read. It was then she saw her old friend, Lord Glorfindel.
"My lord!" she cried out happily, her fair face lighting up.
"Mae govannen, hiril nin," Glorfindel smiled, kissing the young princess' hand, bowing in respect after the manner of his people.
"Lord Glorfindel, it has been a long time since last I saw you. Tell me of the north, the fair havens of your people!" Lothiriel asked, excited to speak to the elf lord again.
Glorfindel couldn't help but smile at his young friend. "What is it you desire to know, my lady?"
Lothiriel continued on her way to the gardens, this time on the tall elf's arm. "Tell me of the Elven cities...are they like the stone halls of Dol Amroth, or Minas Tirith?"
"Nay Lady Lothiriel, they are not like Dol Amroth at all. The Elves desire to live beneath the trees, not in place of them. The architects of my people design homes and cities to be built around the living wood, so that every room is open and airy. From nearly every window, one can reach the very gardens of one's home."
"And the minstrels," Lothiriel asked excitedly. "Are Elven minstrels like ours in Dol Amroth?"
Here, Glorfindel smiled. This was the princess he had always remembered – lively, lovely, and full of questions. She had never been to Rivendell or any other elvish city and hoped one day to visit Imladris. Glorfindel had promised to escort her back to his city when she was old enough for her father to allow it.
"The minstrels of my people have fair voices indeed. But I have heard the songs of Men also. They have honor and talent in their own right."
At that moment, the strain of a song was heard at the other end of the garden, accompanied by the plucking of lyre strings. Glorfindel paused in his stride, tilting his head.
"I have not heard that voice sing before," he mused. Lothiriel smiled.
"That would be my cousin Silmarien, from Minas Tirith. Come, she is practicing!"
The lord of the House of the Golden Flower followed the princess and soon saw her cousin, sitting on a bench beneath a tree. A book lay beside her, propped open by a small stone as she sang the poetry. Silmarien's deft fingers strummed the lyre with practiced ease, but she was obviously just starting to practice singing as well as playing. Her voice faltered and hesitated more than once. Her dark eyebrows knit together as she fought to gain mastery over the minstrel's craft.
Seemingly determined to learn to sing and play, Silmarien began her song again, much to the delight and amusement of the visiting elf lord.
My life goes on in endless song
Above earth's lamentation
I hear the real, though far off hymn
That hails a new creation
Through all the tumult and the strife
I hear its music ringing
It sounds an echo in my soul.
How can I keep from singing?
While though the tempest loudly rolls
I hear the truth, it liveth!
And though the darkness round me close,
Songs in the night, it giveth.
No storm can shake my inmost calm
While to that rock I'm clinging.
Since love is lord of heaven and earth,
How can I keep from singing?
When tyrants tremble in their fear
And hear their death knell ringing
When friends rejoice both far and near,
How can I keep from singing?
In prison cell and dungeon vile,
Our thoughts to them are winging.
When friends by shame are undefiled,
How can I keep from singing?
Glorfindel applauded the efforts of the young woman, smiling. "You are well on your way to becoming a proficient," he complimented. "Continue to practice, and you will sing and play very well."
Silmarien's gaze finally fell upon him, as he had been very quiet during her song. Glorfindel was sure he had never seen anyone's eyes become as wide as hers did in that moment. The Daughter of Men stood, setting aside the instrument.
"You are an elf," she whispered reverently. "I have never seen an elf before!"
Glorfindel smiled. It had been some time since he had walked among the Followers and still longer since he had met anyone who had never seen any of his kindred.
"How then, do you know that I am Elvish?" he asked, his normally serious nature cracking under the slight tease.
"Do not elves have pointed ears?" Mari asked, still in awe of this tall, noble being. Glorfindel nodded solemnly, smiling.
"You are quite right. But I forget my manners, good lady. I am Glorfindel of Imladris," he said, bowing.
Silmarien frantically looked at her cousin, who stood behind him. Lothiriel mouthed the word "Rivendell," and the lady of Gondor finally understood.
"Lord Glorfindel of Imladris, I greet you. I am Silmarien, daughter of Denethor, Steward of Gondor," she courtsied.
The elf lord from the forgotten city of Gondolin gallantly took her hand and kissed it. Silmarien was blushing too fiercely to notice the keen interest in his eyes, or the soft smile on his lips. The two would not meet again for many long years.
"My lord," Elladan bowed, smiling at Imrahil after he had been announced to his host.
"Ah, the Twins of Terror," Imrahil laughed, getting up from his throne to greet his friends, the sons of Elrond. The title the two had won came from their fierce battle lust and the valor of their warrior hearts.
"Lord Imrahil, we greet you with joy, and yet our tidings bode ill news," Elrohir said sedately.
Imrahil's smile lessened somewhat. "Do orcs come down from their northern mountains, that you are so grim, sons of my friend?"
"The danger is much nearer to you, my lord," Elladan said. "We came to give you the news that the Corsairs are becoming restless. On our journey hither, we saw a ship traveling westward. It is my guess that they are in search of gold."
"Fear not for us, my friends. Now that we know that the pirates are prowling, we shall be more wary in our watch!" Imrahil said, clapping the twins' shoulders.
"Tolo, mado go nin!"
Elvish Translations –
Sindarin
Tiro! – Look!
Ai, na vedui! – Ah, at last!
Mae govannen, hiril nin – well met, my lady
Tolo, mado go nin! – Come, dine with me!
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