See Chapter 1 for disclaimer.
THE TALE OF MARIAN
Chapter 9: Hikers, Helicopters and Satellites
4 September
I am exhausted, both physically and mentally.
We must have walked for nearly six hours in the forest but for a few
stops - up, around, down; down, up around - I quickly lost all sense
of direction. I was glad that I had pushed myself daily in my hiking
or I would never have had the stamina to keep up. As it was, I found
that walking blindfolded, even with such care as the elves led me,
demanded much more of me physically than being able to see around me
would have.
We had been walking most of the morning when the elf that was leading
me stopped quickly and drew me and Bruno a few yards to one side,
telling me warily to hold still. We waited silently.
What was happening, I asked, whispering. Was something wrong?
We are close to the edge of a clearing in the trees, he said quietly.
Then I heard it - the faint, familiar sound of a helicopter. The
unwelcome noise intensified as it drew closer somewhere overhead, not
low in the sky but loud enough to disturb the perfect peace of the
forest. I felt the elf's hand on my arm tighten. Perhaps sensing his
unease, Bruno didn't bark. Good boy, I whispered to him, and
scratched behind his ears. Then the disruption faded away, leaving a
silence that seemed deeper than before it had come. Bit by bit, the
small sounds of the forest returned. Someone whistled lightly ahead,
the elf let go of my arm and took my hand again, and we resumed our
journey.
I pondered the elves' reaction to the helicopter as we walked along.
I had never liked how loud and ominous helicopters sounded, and had
felt a small sense of intrusion when they had flown over my house on
occasion. At the same time, I loved flying, and I felt a
contradictory sense of excitement when such an event occurred,
sometimes waving and smiling up at them as they passed overhead. In
the foothills where I lived, a helicopter was a symbol of reassurance,
a reminder that help was nearby in the event of a wildfire or a lost
or injured hiker. This helicopter had probably been a forestry one,
no more threatening to me than an amateur pilot in a two-seater on a
Sunday joyride. But the elves had truly felt threatened. Their
concern for absolute secrecy, their need at all times to appear not to
even exist, made my heart ache for them. There were evidently few of
them remaining. I could just imagine how my race would treat them if
they were discovered - the military and the scientists would get hold
of them. They would be treated like aliens or criminals: removed from
their homes, jailed away from nature, studied, interrogated,
experimented on. It would be horrifying. They might never survive it.
I finally realized the full impact of the risk they had assumed in
order to confide in me, and in Adam. I resolved then and there to do
anything necessary to maintain their anonymity, with my life if I had
to. Yet, Lord Haldir had said that he didn't yet trust me. I now
had no doubt that they would be honor-bound for their own protection
to end my life themselves if the situation demanded it. I hoped I
would not inadvertently do anything that would force them to make such
a decision. I still didn't understand why swimming in the Linluin was
forbidden, and hadn't been offered an explanation. My situation felt
more than a little precarious: I knew nothing of their customs or
what seemingly innocent thing I might do next to cause offense.
Finally, at what seemed to be early afternoon, as my strength and what
was left of my good humor were about to give out, we stopped for a
long while to rest. Not having slept at all during the night, I
immediately laid down with my head on my pack and took a nap, praying
that I was not laying anywhere near a patch of poison oak. Bruno
huffed and lay down next to me. My blindfold was becoming quite
irritating, and I was feeling mildly claustrophobic though there was
no way that I would admit such a weakness to His Lordship.
I felt like I had just closed my eyes when Orodren awoke me, but the
warmer air told me that it was probably late afternoon. Opening my
eyes to the confines of the blindfold, at first my heart raced and I
felt panic coming on. I raised my hands to the cloth and could hardly
keep from ripping it off my head, but Orodren's hands on my own and a
quick reassurance from him that we were near our destination calmed
me.
Chagrined, I hoped that none of the others nearby had noticed,
especially Lord Haldir. I thanked Orodren quietly and he squeezed my
arm gently in reply.
I would have been just fine afterward, if it had not been for the
tunnel.
I had been talking quietly with an elf called Baronur, who was taking
a turn guiding me along the trail. He paused, and, putting his hand
on my head and instructing me to duck down, said that we must now go
stooped and single file. Following him forward a few yards, I
immediately felt the air become still and close, his voice become
hollow. Reaching to the side with my free hand, I felt cold stone.
Reaching up, I scraped my knuckles on more rock mere inches above my
head, even bent over as I was. I pulled back on Baronur's hand and
came to an abrupt halt, causing the following elf to bump into me.
With elves close behind me and close ahead, and rock all around, there
was no escape, no room, no air. I began to imagine the roof closing
down on me. Taking deep breaths, I tried to curb the irrational panic
that was rising inside me, but it fed on itself. I gasped out loud, I
can't do this! I have to go back, please let me go back! I let go of
Baronur's hand, reached involuntarily for the blindfold and backed
into the elf blocking my way, who took hold of my arms, making me feel
even more confined. I am embarrassed to write that at this point I
was on the verge of completely losing it. My eyes swam under the
darkness of the blindfold. Outside, I had to get outside!
Lord Haldir had somehow slipped past Baronur, because the next thing I
heard was his sure, resonating voice reaching me through the pounding
of the blood in my ears, his strong hands on each side of my face.
"Marian! Marian, you cannot go back and you must not yet remove your
blindfold," he said evenly. "Come forward, we near the end of the
passage."
How much further, I asked in a voice that I was vaguely aware had
grown childlike and high, though he had somewhat lessened my panic.
"Twenty paces at most. Come," he repeated in a persuasive, non-
demanding tone that further calmed me and helped me to breath almost
normally again, and took my hand in both of his. "I will count them
with you."
"One," he began, and stepped forward, waiting patiently for me to
follow, and placed one hand on my head. Shakily I took a step. As is
so often the case, the first step was the most difficult. I followed
him, feeling progressively better, until at last we emerged to fresh,
moist air and the sound of trickling water.
"There is no further need for this," the Elf-Lord declared, and I
found myself outside between narrow clefts in the rock, face to face
with him as he removed the blindfold.
I blinked and shielded my eyes at the contrast between the bright sun
above and the shadows that we stood in. Feeling absolutely mortified
with myself, I looked down, holding back tears that were threatening
to form in my eyes. They must all think me the worst kind of coward.
I could just imagine what this haughty elf was going to say to me
next.
"Do not be ashamed," he said to my surprised relief. "The fault is
ours. If we had known of your distress we would have better prepared
you. Many of us suffered similar reactions long ago, when we first
chose, for safety and secrecy's sake against the growing tides of men,
to make this place our home.
This surprises you," he commented when I could see well enough again
to look up into his eyes. Blue! His eyes were a sparkling blue-gray,
dark and changeable as a stormy sea. He looked at me now with knowing
and at least some suggestion of tolerance. "The greater number of us
are, or were, Galadrim - we dwelt above the earth, at home in the
trees. We were not happy or. . . comfortable. . . below ground,
confined, like. . . dwarves," he said with distaste. "Of necessity
we have become accustomed to many things, though it is in the trees
that our hearts still lie."
Was this over-proud one, I wondered to myself, behind the resentful
words, admitting to a mere mortal that elves were not perfect?
Then the strangest thought came to me. That dragonfly girl or
whatever she was called, I asked, the one that lived up in the tree
for a year protesting old-growth logging, she wasn't one of you, was
she?
The elves behind us mumbled and looked around at each other
innocently. If she wasn't one of them, they certainly seemed to know
her.
"We would not bring the attention of mortals to ourselves in such a
way," Haldir commented briefly, then deftly changed the subject. "We
will reach the gates presently. But first, we thought it might please
you to see this."
He led me around the corner of the rock face and paused. The narrow
ravine that we entered was a delight in contrasts. At our feet a
small, shallow stream trickled lazily through the sandy gravel bed
onto which we stepped, meandering here and there through the shadows
cast by the rock walls around and above us and turning a bend out of
sight some ways ahead. A mere ten feet or so between the walls
allowed a gentle path to wind in the granular soil beside and through
the stream. The sides of the ravine rose above us some thirty of
forty feet to the sky and the trees above. From the base to the very
top the walls were scattered narrow rock shelves and fissures in which
were perched a multitude of small ferns cascading over the rock and
each other, in some places blanketing the stone surface so that it
could scarcely be seen. There were more varieties of ferns than I had
ever seen: Maidenhairs, brackens, and others delicate and fragile,
some as tiny as a fingernail, all dripping with cool moisture.
Above, the dazzling late afternoon sun slanted onto the upper face of
one side of the little canyon, casting the other overhanging wall and
the space below in which we stood into enchanting shadow. The wet
ferns above sparkled in the dappled, shifting light that slanted
through the trees above in the wind. All about was soft, cool, and
filled with dualities: light and dark, wet and dry, restfulness and
movement, peaceful quiet and the soft, gentle sounds of the water and
the trees.
I turned to see that the Elf Lord had been watching me intently.
"You sense in the olvar, the trees and plants, some small measure of
the Song of Iluvatar, as Lindir has told me. That is at least of some
comfort."
I worked hard to stifle a possibly inappropriate response regarding
how I felt about his comfort. Was he trying to test my patience,
weigh my level of maturity? So be it; I wouldn't give him the
satisfaction of making me lose my composure.
Then he turned deftly, almost militarily, his cloak and robes swirling
obediently around to follow his tall, erect frame, and led the way
along the stream. His feet and the others' made no mark or sound on
the path, while mine crunched and slipped in the gravel as I followed
along, leaving telltale footprints. We kept to the darker shadows
under the wall that overhung the stream, perhaps, I thout, to avoid
the intruding eyes of satellites that might pass overhead, but the
occasional stray shaft of sunlight broke through to glisten and play
on the pure silver-blond of the elf's hair, hair that surrounded his
head and shoulders like a heavy, liquid crown. How I longed at those
moments to stop him in one of the beams of sunlight and loosen his
braids, run my fingers through that lustrous mane, imagining how soft
it might feel, how warm the intimate nape of his neck would be beneath
it. . .
Shaking my head to knock some sense into myself, I continued to
follow, calling for Bruno, who had disappeared ahead as soon as we
emerged from the tunnel. Of course, he didn't come. Lord Haldir
turned around and gave me a look that I thought was rather mocking.
His name is not my fault, I said, and he turned without comment to
lead us on once more. Well, that certainly was mature, Marian, I
mumbled under my breath. I swear he heard me.
As we proceeded further along the stream I had a growing sense that we
were being watched, but I could see or hear no one. We rounded the
bend to see that the ravine continued on much as before, but at this
late time of day lay in deeper shadow. There was still no sign of
Bruno, and I called for him again.
About halfway to the next bend in the stream our small party halted
and turned to face the north wall of the ravine. I looked at the
wall, then at the elves in confusion. The uneven surface, covered
with ferns, looked no different to me than any other part of the wall,
and I wondered what their interest in it was.
Lord Haldir then stepped up close to the wall, ferns brushing his
shoulders. He took a step to the left. . . and simply disappeared.
I looked at Orodren for explanation. His only reply was to mime to me
that I was to follow Lord Haldir's example.
Feeling ridiculous, I stepped forward in exactly the same place, my
nose almost touching the wall in front of me. Then I reached
tentatively out with my left foot, my left arm held up beside me just
in case, and stepped to my left, sure that I was going to simply run
into the wall. Instead, I found myself behind it, facing a waiting
Elf Lord and a shallow but high depression closed to the sky above, in
which was tightly set a pair of tall, elegantly carved gray doors. At
their sides two lanterns glowed.
I grinned at Lord Haldir in delight, and stepped to the right and
back. I found myself out in the ravine again with Orodren and the
others, staring at what looked like an unbroken rock wall covered in
ferns. It was a perfect optical illusion. Even then, examining the
wall from different angles and knowing that the opening was there, I
couldn't see it.
I stepped back into the recess and the other elves followed.
I gave my attention at last to the tall wooden doors bathed in the
soft glow of the lanterns, their color blending perfectly with the
surrounding rock, their edges a barely perceptible line, with no
hinges or door knobs or pulls to be seen. It was the beautifully
carved design on their faces that emphasized and revealed their
function as an entrance. In the center was carved a great tree-trunk,
half on each leaf of the door. The trunk spread into ample, almost
horizontal branches which then bent upward, like supporting hands.
Indeed, born on the branches and hidden between the broad leaves
spreading in exquisite patterns across the doors were carved ladders,
stairs and suspension bridges leading to an expansive platform high
above the ground. On this platform, almost as on the deck of a ship,
was carved a great, open house of intricate design and pleasing
proportions, its organic columns and canopies seeming almost to grow
out of the tree itself, portions of its balconies and stairs seeming
to defy gravity. A couple, in robes similar to Lord Haldir's, was
shown standing on the platform hand in hand, carved rays radiating
from their forms like a halo. Galadhrim, I wondered? All around the
outer rim of the doors ran calligraphy of some sort that was
unfamiliar to me, in the way of Japanese or Arabic script, but
resembling neither. The artistry of the carvers, the skill and
craftsmanship of the doors and their fit in the wall were of amazing
quality.
I have never seen a tree like this before, I started to say to him,
but at that moment Bruno came galloping into the recess where we stood
and right up to the Elf Lord, soaking wet and muddy from his belly
down and with a giant, panting grin on his big fuzzy face.
No! I cried at him, lunging to grab his collar, but it was too late:
He shook himself thoroughly, muddy water flying everywhere, including
all over me. Wincing, I looked at Lord Haldir's mud-splashed boots
and his robes and cloak whose fronts were now splattered with wet,
muddy stains. Finally, thoroughly ashamed, I looked up at his face,
where a single drip of mud sat on his cheekbone.
I swallowed hard. He had raised his chin imperiously and stood
glaring down his nose at me in what I was learning to recognize as one
of his most effective intimidating and disapproving poses. His eyes
flashed darkly with disgust that bored down into my very soul and. .
. something else, but what?
I am SO sorry, I forced out, horrified, quickly snapped the leash on
Bruno, who was of course innocently wagging his tail, and reined him
in.
With mud on both of our faces, the Elf-Lord's regal, offended pose and
his calculated silence suddenly struck me as extremely funny. I
squeezed my lips together unsuccessfully. I put my hand up to try and
cover the smile that was uncontrollably forming on my face. I
clenched both sides of my mouth to try and force my muscles back into
a look of serious regret. My eyes watered as the pressure built.
Dear God, I prayed, don't let me laugh out loud!
Glancing around at the other elves, I found that their condition was
much the same as mine, though much better hidden.
Turning back to Lord Haldir, I took my hand away from my mouth. I
don't know what gave me the courage or foolhardiness to do it, but,
carefully, I reached out with my thumb and wiped the mud drip off of
his face. I offered to make amends by cleaning his robes myself as
soon as possible.
His intense and flashing eyes shifted almost imperceptibly to more of
a hard glitter.
"We seem to be adding to your list," was his only dire comment, as he
turned toward the doors and, placing one hand on his heart and
sweeping the other out with hand up in a humble gesture, bowed before
them.
"Echuivo-honda mallorn, ad lasto-nin, panno-lin elu au nin!"1
Immediately two elves, invisible to my eyes until they moved, stepped
forward from the shadows of the recess, one from each side of the
door, and saluted the Elf Lord with a scimitar held before them. The
great doors opened inward as if by their own volition. Beyond the
doors, wavering in warm lantern-light, was a wide, vaulted passage
carved smooth in the rock. I could see more lanterns twinkling beyond
in a distant light like the dusk that was falling outside.
My heart skipped a beat as Lord Haldir turned ceremoniously toward me
and motioned for me to proceed.
"Adaneth elvellon, tulo-nin au honda edhelen."2
Even though I did not know his words, I understood from his resonant
tone of voice and the grave look in his deeply expressive eyes the
import of this moment.
Unused to such formalities, I searched for the right words to say to
him.
I am most highly honored by your welcome, I responded, placing my hand
on my heart and bowing my head in imitation of his gesture at the
doors, hoping I had sufficiently communicated what I felt inside.
Then I motioned that I would follow him.
He nodded slightly in cautious acknowledgement or satisfaction, and we
entered.
The long corridor walls were painted with scene after scene of gallant
elves in various activities. They seemed to be historical events,
battles, ceremonies, errantry, or images of heavenly landscapes and
glowing figures. They reminded me somewhat of French tapestries.
Peering closer, I noted that some paintings even seemed to hold men,
or small children.
We came to the end of the corridor where two more guards saluted Lord
Haldir. He acknowledged them with a small nod. Then, as we emerged
onto a great marble balcony, Lord Haldir took my arm firmly in his
own. I was appreciative that he did, for the view I found before me
made senses reel , my mouth drop, and my knees buckle.
"Behold Methentaurond, the Last Elf-Halls of the Great Forest, wrought
throughout the beginnings of this age!"
* * * * *
1Awaken, heart (center) of the mallorn, and hear me, open your heart
(feelings) to me!
2Woman (of the three houses) elf-friend, come into the heart of the
Elves.
"
THE TALE OF MARIAN
Chapter 9: Hikers, Helicopters and Satellites
4 September
I am exhausted, both physically and mentally.
We must have walked for nearly six hours in the forest but for a few
stops - up, around, down; down, up around - I quickly lost all sense
of direction. I was glad that I had pushed myself daily in my hiking
or I would never have had the stamina to keep up. As it was, I found
that walking blindfolded, even with such care as the elves led me,
demanded much more of me physically than being able to see around me
would have.
We had been walking most of the morning when the elf that was leading
me stopped quickly and drew me and Bruno a few yards to one side,
telling me warily to hold still. We waited silently.
What was happening, I asked, whispering. Was something wrong?
We are close to the edge of a clearing in the trees, he said quietly.
Then I heard it - the faint, familiar sound of a helicopter. The
unwelcome noise intensified as it drew closer somewhere overhead, not
low in the sky but loud enough to disturb the perfect peace of the
forest. I felt the elf's hand on my arm tighten. Perhaps sensing his
unease, Bruno didn't bark. Good boy, I whispered to him, and
scratched behind his ears. Then the disruption faded away, leaving a
silence that seemed deeper than before it had come. Bit by bit, the
small sounds of the forest returned. Someone whistled lightly ahead,
the elf let go of my arm and took my hand again, and we resumed our
journey.
I pondered the elves' reaction to the helicopter as we walked along.
I had never liked how loud and ominous helicopters sounded, and had
felt a small sense of intrusion when they had flown over my house on
occasion. At the same time, I loved flying, and I felt a
contradictory sense of excitement when such an event occurred,
sometimes waving and smiling up at them as they passed overhead. In
the foothills where I lived, a helicopter was a symbol of reassurance,
a reminder that help was nearby in the event of a wildfire or a lost
or injured hiker. This helicopter had probably been a forestry one,
no more threatening to me than an amateur pilot in a two-seater on a
Sunday joyride. But the elves had truly felt threatened. Their
concern for absolute secrecy, their need at all times to appear not to
even exist, made my heart ache for them. There were evidently few of
them remaining. I could just imagine how my race would treat them if
they were discovered - the military and the scientists would get hold
of them. They would be treated like aliens or criminals: removed from
their homes, jailed away from nature, studied, interrogated,
experimented on. It would be horrifying. They might never survive it.
I finally realized the full impact of the risk they had assumed in
order to confide in me, and in Adam. I resolved then and there to do
anything necessary to maintain their anonymity, with my life if I had
to. Yet, Lord Haldir had said that he didn't yet trust me. I now
had no doubt that they would be honor-bound for their own protection
to end my life themselves if the situation demanded it. I hoped I
would not inadvertently do anything that would force them to make such
a decision. I still didn't understand why swimming in the Linluin was
forbidden, and hadn't been offered an explanation. My situation felt
more than a little precarious: I knew nothing of their customs or
what seemingly innocent thing I might do next to cause offense.
Finally, at what seemed to be early afternoon, as my strength and what
was left of my good humor were about to give out, we stopped for a
long while to rest. Not having slept at all during the night, I
immediately laid down with my head on my pack and took a nap, praying
that I was not laying anywhere near a patch of poison oak. Bruno
huffed and lay down next to me. My blindfold was becoming quite
irritating, and I was feeling mildly claustrophobic though there was
no way that I would admit such a weakness to His Lordship.
I felt like I had just closed my eyes when Orodren awoke me, but the
warmer air told me that it was probably late afternoon. Opening my
eyes to the confines of the blindfold, at first my heart raced and I
felt panic coming on. I raised my hands to the cloth and could hardly
keep from ripping it off my head, but Orodren's hands on my own and a
quick reassurance from him that we were near our destination calmed
me.
Chagrined, I hoped that none of the others nearby had noticed,
especially Lord Haldir. I thanked Orodren quietly and he squeezed my
arm gently in reply.
I would have been just fine afterward, if it had not been for the
tunnel.
I had been talking quietly with an elf called Baronur, who was taking
a turn guiding me along the trail. He paused, and, putting his hand
on my head and instructing me to duck down, said that we must now go
stooped and single file. Following him forward a few yards, I
immediately felt the air become still and close, his voice become
hollow. Reaching to the side with my free hand, I felt cold stone.
Reaching up, I scraped my knuckles on more rock mere inches above my
head, even bent over as I was. I pulled back on Baronur's hand and
came to an abrupt halt, causing the following elf to bump into me.
With elves close behind me and close ahead, and rock all around, there
was no escape, no room, no air. I began to imagine the roof closing
down on me. Taking deep breaths, I tried to curb the irrational panic
that was rising inside me, but it fed on itself. I gasped out loud, I
can't do this! I have to go back, please let me go back! I let go of
Baronur's hand, reached involuntarily for the blindfold and backed
into the elf blocking my way, who took hold of my arms, making me feel
even more confined. I am embarrassed to write that at this point I
was on the verge of completely losing it. My eyes swam under the
darkness of the blindfold. Outside, I had to get outside!
Lord Haldir had somehow slipped past Baronur, because the next thing I
heard was his sure, resonating voice reaching me through the pounding
of the blood in my ears, his strong hands on each side of my face.
"Marian! Marian, you cannot go back and you must not yet remove your
blindfold," he said evenly. "Come forward, we near the end of the
passage."
How much further, I asked in a voice that I was vaguely aware had
grown childlike and high, though he had somewhat lessened my panic.
"Twenty paces at most. Come," he repeated in a persuasive, non-
demanding tone that further calmed me and helped me to breath almost
normally again, and took my hand in both of his. "I will count them
with you."
"One," he began, and stepped forward, waiting patiently for me to
follow, and placed one hand on my head. Shakily I took a step. As is
so often the case, the first step was the most difficult. I followed
him, feeling progressively better, until at last we emerged to fresh,
moist air and the sound of trickling water.
"There is no further need for this," the Elf-Lord declared, and I
found myself outside between narrow clefts in the rock, face to face
with him as he removed the blindfold.
I blinked and shielded my eyes at the contrast between the bright sun
above and the shadows that we stood in. Feeling absolutely mortified
with myself, I looked down, holding back tears that were threatening
to form in my eyes. They must all think me the worst kind of coward.
I could just imagine what this haughty elf was going to say to me
next.
"Do not be ashamed," he said to my surprised relief. "The fault is
ours. If we had known of your distress we would have better prepared
you. Many of us suffered similar reactions long ago, when we first
chose, for safety and secrecy's sake against the growing tides of men,
to make this place our home.
This surprises you," he commented when I could see well enough again
to look up into his eyes. Blue! His eyes were a sparkling blue-gray,
dark and changeable as a stormy sea. He looked at me now with knowing
and at least some suggestion of tolerance. "The greater number of us
are, or were, Galadrim - we dwelt above the earth, at home in the
trees. We were not happy or. . . comfortable. . . below ground,
confined, like. . . dwarves," he said with distaste. "Of necessity
we have become accustomed to many things, though it is in the trees
that our hearts still lie."
Was this over-proud one, I wondered to myself, behind the resentful
words, admitting to a mere mortal that elves were not perfect?
Then the strangest thought came to me. That dragonfly girl or
whatever she was called, I asked, the one that lived up in the tree
for a year protesting old-growth logging, she wasn't one of you, was
she?
The elves behind us mumbled and looked around at each other
innocently. If she wasn't one of them, they certainly seemed to know
her.
"We would not bring the attention of mortals to ourselves in such a
way," Haldir commented briefly, then deftly changed the subject. "We
will reach the gates presently. But first, we thought it might please
you to see this."
He led me around the corner of the rock face and paused. The narrow
ravine that we entered was a delight in contrasts. At our feet a
small, shallow stream trickled lazily through the sandy gravel bed
onto which we stepped, meandering here and there through the shadows
cast by the rock walls around and above us and turning a bend out of
sight some ways ahead. A mere ten feet or so between the walls
allowed a gentle path to wind in the granular soil beside and through
the stream. The sides of the ravine rose above us some thirty of
forty feet to the sky and the trees above. From the base to the very
top the walls were scattered narrow rock shelves and fissures in which
were perched a multitude of small ferns cascading over the rock and
each other, in some places blanketing the stone surface so that it
could scarcely be seen. There were more varieties of ferns than I had
ever seen: Maidenhairs, brackens, and others delicate and fragile,
some as tiny as a fingernail, all dripping with cool moisture.
Above, the dazzling late afternoon sun slanted onto the upper face of
one side of the little canyon, casting the other overhanging wall and
the space below in which we stood into enchanting shadow. The wet
ferns above sparkled in the dappled, shifting light that slanted
through the trees above in the wind. All about was soft, cool, and
filled with dualities: light and dark, wet and dry, restfulness and
movement, peaceful quiet and the soft, gentle sounds of the water and
the trees.
I turned to see that the Elf Lord had been watching me intently.
"You sense in the olvar, the trees and plants, some small measure of
the Song of Iluvatar, as Lindir has told me. That is at least of some
comfort."
I worked hard to stifle a possibly inappropriate response regarding
how I felt about his comfort. Was he trying to test my patience,
weigh my level of maturity? So be it; I wouldn't give him the
satisfaction of making me lose my composure.
Then he turned deftly, almost militarily, his cloak and robes swirling
obediently around to follow his tall, erect frame, and led the way
along the stream. His feet and the others' made no mark or sound on
the path, while mine crunched and slipped in the gravel as I followed
along, leaving telltale footprints. We kept to the darker shadows
under the wall that overhung the stream, perhaps, I thout, to avoid
the intruding eyes of satellites that might pass overhead, but the
occasional stray shaft of sunlight broke through to glisten and play
on the pure silver-blond of the elf's hair, hair that surrounded his
head and shoulders like a heavy, liquid crown. How I longed at those
moments to stop him in one of the beams of sunlight and loosen his
braids, run my fingers through that lustrous mane, imagining how soft
it might feel, how warm the intimate nape of his neck would be beneath
it. . .
Shaking my head to knock some sense into myself, I continued to
follow, calling for Bruno, who had disappeared ahead as soon as we
emerged from the tunnel. Of course, he didn't come. Lord Haldir
turned around and gave me a look that I thought was rather mocking.
His name is not my fault, I said, and he turned without comment to
lead us on once more. Well, that certainly was mature, Marian, I
mumbled under my breath. I swear he heard me.
As we proceeded further along the stream I had a growing sense that we
were being watched, but I could see or hear no one. We rounded the
bend to see that the ravine continued on much as before, but at this
late time of day lay in deeper shadow. There was still no sign of
Bruno, and I called for him again.
About halfway to the next bend in the stream our small party halted
and turned to face the north wall of the ravine. I looked at the
wall, then at the elves in confusion. The uneven surface, covered
with ferns, looked no different to me than any other part of the wall,
and I wondered what their interest in it was.
Lord Haldir then stepped up close to the wall, ferns brushing his
shoulders. He took a step to the left. . . and simply disappeared.
I looked at Orodren for explanation. His only reply was to mime to me
that I was to follow Lord Haldir's example.
Feeling ridiculous, I stepped forward in exactly the same place, my
nose almost touching the wall in front of me. Then I reached
tentatively out with my left foot, my left arm held up beside me just
in case, and stepped to my left, sure that I was going to simply run
into the wall. Instead, I found myself behind it, facing a waiting
Elf Lord and a shallow but high depression closed to the sky above, in
which was tightly set a pair of tall, elegantly carved gray doors. At
their sides two lanterns glowed.
I grinned at Lord Haldir in delight, and stepped to the right and
back. I found myself out in the ravine again with Orodren and the
others, staring at what looked like an unbroken rock wall covered in
ferns. It was a perfect optical illusion. Even then, examining the
wall from different angles and knowing that the opening was there, I
couldn't see it.
I stepped back into the recess and the other elves followed.
I gave my attention at last to the tall wooden doors bathed in the
soft glow of the lanterns, their color blending perfectly with the
surrounding rock, their edges a barely perceptible line, with no
hinges or door knobs or pulls to be seen. It was the beautifully
carved design on their faces that emphasized and revealed their
function as an entrance. In the center was carved a great tree-trunk,
half on each leaf of the door. The trunk spread into ample, almost
horizontal branches which then bent upward, like supporting hands.
Indeed, born on the branches and hidden between the broad leaves
spreading in exquisite patterns across the doors were carved ladders,
stairs and suspension bridges leading to an expansive platform high
above the ground. On this platform, almost as on the deck of a ship,
was carved a great, open house of intricate design and pleasing
proportions, its organic columns and canopies seeming almost to grow
out of the tree itself, portions of its balconies and stairs seeming
to defy gravity. A couple, in robes similar to Lord Haldir's, was
shown standing on the platform hand in hand, carved rays radiating
from their forms like a halo. Galadhrim, I wondered? All around the
outer rim of the doors ran calligraphy of some sort that was
unfamiliar to me, in the way of Japanese or Arabic script, but
resembling neither. The artistry of the carvers, the skill and
craftsmanship of the doors and their fit in the wall were of amazing
quality.
I have never seen a tree like this before, I started to say to him,
but at that moment Bruno came galloping into the recess where we stood
and right up to the Elf Lord, soaking wet and muddy from his belly
down and with a giant, panting grin on his big fuzzy face.
No! I cried at him, lunging to grab his collar, but it was too late:
He shook himself thoroughly, muddy water flying everywhere, including
all over me. Wincing, I looked at Lord Haldir's mud-splashed boots
and his robes and cloak whose fronts were now splattered with wet,
muddy stains. Finally, thoroughly ashamed, I looked up at his face,
where a single drip of mud sat on his cheekbone.
I swallowed hard. He had raised his chin imperiously and stood
glaring down his nose at me in what I was learning to recognize as one
of his most effective intimidating and disapproving poses. His eyes
flashed darkly with disgust that bored down into my very soul and. .
. something else, but what?
I am SO sorry, I forced out, horrified, quickly snapped the leash on
Bruno, who was of course innocently wagging his tail, and reined him
in.
With mud on both of our faces, the Elf-Lord's regal, offended pose and
his calculated silence suddenly struck me as extremely funny. I
squeezed my lips together unsuccessfully. I put my hand up to try and
cover the smile that was uncontrollably forming on my face. I
clenched both sides of my mouth to try and force my muscles back into
a look of serious regret. My eyes watered as the pressure built.
Dear God, I prayed, don't let me laugh out loud!
Glancing around at the other elves, I found that their condition was
much the same as mine, though much better hidden.
Turning back to Lord Haldir, I took my hand away from my mouth. I
don't know what gave me the courage or foolhardiness to do it, but,
carefully, I reached out with my thumb and wiped the mud drip off of
his face. I offered to make amends by cleaning his robes myself as
soon as possible.
His intense and flashing eyes shifted almost imperceptibly to more of
a hard glitter.
"We seem to be adding to your list," was his only dire comment, as he
turned toward the doors and, placing one hand on his heart and
sweeping the other out with hand up in a humble gesture, bowed before
them.
"Echuivo-honda mallorn, ad lasto-nin, panno-lin elu au nin!"1
Immediately two elves, invisible to my eyes until they moved, stepped
forward from the shadows of the recess, one from each side of the
door, and saluted the Elf Lord with a scimitar held before them. The
great doors opened inward as if by their own volition. Beyond the
doors, wavering in warm lantern-light, was a wide, vaulted passage
carved smooth in the rock. I could see more lanterns twinkling beyond
in a distant light like the dusk that was falling outside.
My heart skipped a beat as Lord Haldir turned ceremoniously toward me
and motioned for me to proceed.
"Adaneth elvellon, tulo-nin au honda edhelen."2
Even though I did not know his words, I understood from his resonant
tone of voice and the grave look in his deeply expressive eyes the
import of this moment.
Unused to such formalities, I searched for the right words to say to
him.
I am most highly honored by your welcome, I responded, placing my hand
on my heart and bowing my head in imitation of his gesture at the
doors, hoping I had sufficiently communicated what I felt inside.
Then I motioned that I would follow him.
He nodded slightly in cautious acknowledgement or satisfaction, and we
entered.
The long corridor walls were painted with scene after scene of gallant
elves in various activities. They seemed to be historical events,
battles, ceremonies, errantry, or images of heavenly landscapes and
glowing figures. They reminded me somewhat of French tapestries.
Peering closer, I noted that some paintings even seemed to hold men,
or small children.
We came to the end of the corridor where two more guards saluted Lord
Haldir. He acknowledged them with a small nod. Then, as we emerged
onto a great marble balcony, Lord Haldir took my arm firmly in his
own. I was appreciative that he did, for the view I found before me
made senses reel , my mouth drop, and my knees buckle.
"Behold Methentaurond, the Last Elf-Halls of the Great Forest, wrought
throughout the beginnings of this age!"
* * * * *
1Awaken, heart (center) of the mallorn, and hear me, open your heart
(feelings) to me!
2Woman (of the three houses) elf-friend, come into the heart of the
Elves.
"