Title: The Tale of Marian
Chapter: 14/?
Rating: PG-13 this chapter.
Pairing: OFC/Haldir
Genre: Adventure/Romance/perhaps a little Angst
Timeline: AU, modern times.
Beta: Kara Tanner
Feedback: Welcomed, begged for, appreciated.
Warnings: None.
Author's Note: See Chapter 1 for disclaimer.
* * * * * THE TALE OF MARIAN
CHAPTER 14 – Nothing Gold Can Stay*
13 September
I had another dream about Lord Haldir last night.
I was lying in the warm sun on a grassy slope scattered with delicate
white and yellow flowers. A light breeze skimmed across the flowers
like waves on a summer beach, and the sky was a clear, bright blue.
It was peaceful and warm and perfect. I closed my eyes and waited for
the next puff of wind to fan my face. Something velvet-soft and
fragrant swept delicately across my eyelid and trailed down my left
cheek. I turned my head and opened my eyes to see him lying there
next to me on his side, his long legs crossed, his head propped up on
one hand. A gray cloak and dark tunic lay cast aside, and his broad,
bare chest and golden hair gleamed in the sun. In his other hand he
held the stem of a small yellow flower, which he now trailed with a
steady light touch across my other cheek to my ear and down my neck to
my collarbone and the scooped neckline of Allinde's green gown.
He raised his eyes from the flower to mine. In their blue-gray depths
was no trace of sorrow or burden, but open warmth and invitation.
I reached over to touch him, and opened my mouth to speak. But he
touched the flower petals to my lips and leaned in toward me with an
inviting smile. He moved the flower aside and replaced it with his
warm, full lips, and folded me into his embrace. Again I tasted the
faint flavor of almonds. My hands reveled in the smooth bare skin of
his back and shoulders and the tautly flowing muscles beneath. His
kisses moved from my mouth, first across my jaw and to the sensitive
place under my ear that made me arch into him, then across my
collarbone. When he reached the neckline of my gown he rolled me
gently onto my back and slipped the gown down off my shoulders until
it was tight around my upper arms so that I could only reach his hips
and the bare skin of his waist with my hands. With a teasing glance
that made my heart pound, he trailed the flower and his tongue down
the swell of my chest, ever so slowly sliding the gown lower and lower
until I gasped and strained for the ever-tightening fabric to release
my breasts. But he stopped and again raised his gaze to mine, his
eyes sparkling with mischief and flaring with controlled passion.
"Patience, amrún nín**," he chuckled, raising himself back and
allowing the breeze to cool the moist trail of his lips and tongue on
my chest. He tucked the flower into the cleft between my breasts and
kneeled over me, grasping my shoulders and pinning my legs between his
own as my arms were already pinned to my sides. When I wriggled and
opened my mouth to protest, he pressed himself fully on top of me and
silenced me with soft, firm, feverish kisses.
I woke up in the dark with the covers twisted tightly all around me
and my mind and body on fire.
* * * * *
I arrived early at the river this morning to disrobe and jump into the
water before he arrived. I was too self-conscious to undress in front
of him after my dream. But I needn't have worried - he didn't come.
Disappointed, I swam alone.
Bathing and returning to my rooms I scoured the front door, front
porch, wall, window and front railing for any sign of a cryptic elvish
note, but that didn't turn up either. I did, however, find two new
gowns laid across the back of my parlor chair which I also examined
for hidden notes without success. I shook them out for good measure
and felt the seams for "forgotten" sewing pins, just in case. Finding
none, I felt slightly guilty for my suspicions and took the gowns into
the bedroom to try them on.
I slipped on the first gown and looked in the mirror. Pulling it back
over my head and dumping it on the bed, I tried on the second one. I
raised my arms out to the side and then forward, turning sideways in
the mirror and trying to see the back over my shoulder. My faint
sense of guilt was turning in quick succession to disbelief, then
irritation, and finally to outrage. I alternately thought of and
discarded several tempting methods of torture, pacing back and forth
and throwing various expletives at my image in the mirror each time I
passed it. Finally I pulled the second gown off and changed back into
my pants. I grabbed my notebook, and with the gowns stuffed under my
arm, collected Bruno and went in search of Allinde.
I gave Bruno an earful as he dutifully trotted beside me all the way
to the library.
What did you do to that dog? I heard Allinde's voice ask as soon as I
walked into the warm, inviting room, and after a moment I spotted her
perched in the dim reaches of the ceiling high on a bookcase ladder.
I looked down at Bruno and belatedly saw that his ears were drooping
and his corkscrew tail, usually curled over his back, was uncorked and
trailing behind him. He obviously felt berated, and I only felt
slightly less agitated.
Oh Bruno, I'm sorry, I said and knelt down by the fire to scratch his
ears and mumble encouragements to him. I had let myself forget how
contagious anger and resentment could be, especially with children and
animals.
Bruno perked up a little. I stood back up and walked over to the
massive table, glaring at the piles of open books covering its
surface. The tabletop usually looked like books and notes had been
strewn haphazardly all over it, but I had learned Allinde's style of
research and knew that all of the materials were arranged in precise,
if mysterious order.
Tell me, Allinde offered, climbing down off of the ladder.
I dropped the gowns onto a chair. In silence, I removed my top and
slipped one of the gowns back on. I moved around the table so she
could get the whole effect, raised my arms and pivoted in a 360 like a
runway model, then slapped my hands down on my thighs for emphasis and
waited for her reaction.
Allinde stood open-mouthed and motionless, then sank into the nearest
chair.
How will you plot your revenge, she asked in amazement.
I haven't decided yet, I answered. There are so many possibilities.
That color is truly hideous on you.
You should see the other one, I said, holding it up for her.
She winced.
And the fit, it's so. . .
. . . unflattering in all the wrong places, I finished for her.
But, in a skillful, subtle way, I admitted, and folded the gowns back
on the chair.
Actually, Allinde corrected me, Vanimë is the finest seamstress in
Arda.. What did you do to so greatly anger her, if I may ask?
Nothing! I've barely spoken to her, I replied. But I'm beginning to
think that she sees me as some kind of threat.
Allinde considered this and then told me that wouldn't surprise her.
She said that Vanimë was very territorial. She could be either a fast
friend or a formidable rival; there was no middle ground. Did I
realize, she warned me, that I must stand up to her over this, or she
would feel free to plague me endlessly?
Oh, I'll stand up to her alright, I promised. But in a skillful,
subtle way, I added, thinking that if I merely confronted her with a
complaint she would act the innocent again and I would be left looking
ungrateful and demanding.
How, Allinde asked curiously.
I thought anxiously about how I had never been good at dealing with
catty women. I had thought elves would be beyond this sort of thing.
I haven't the faintest idea, I replied.
* * * * *
Suffice it to say that I was one of Gladrel's two least favorite
people this morning.
I was to meet her at the greenhouse devoted to growing vegetables for
the kitchen, and after a brief glance inside I decided that it would
be best for Bruno to wait outside. Nárwen was there, the elf I had
ordered to trade jobs with Curulas to make amends for his mistreatment
of the gardener in charge of this greenhouse. Curulas was spending
his first day as an assistant cook in the kitchens in Nárwen's place.
Nárwen was kneeling angrily between rows of leafy green vegetables,
burdened by an armful of plants and receiving a verbal thrashing of
some sort from Gladrel.
When Gladrel noticed me enter she quickly shifted targets, leaving
Nárwen noticeably relieved.
WHAT were you thinking? She accused me. Do you have any idea how
much damage she has caused in only a few hours time? I have never
seen an elf so insensitive to growing things!
Narwen retorted that she was a CHEF, not a weed-picker, instantly
sorry that she had drawn Gladrel's attention once more.
I believe, I interjected quickly before Gladrel could resume her
attack, that this is precisely the attitude that landed you here in
the first place.
If Curulas would grow the quality of vegetables that I require then I
would have no need for such an attitude, Nárwen sniffed, standing up.
What is your opinion, Gladrel, I asked, is Curulas a capable kitchen
gardener?
Gladrel said dismissively that of course he was, she trained him for
years herself before giving him this responsibility. But this one,
she complained, well, look - there she goes trampling the seedlings
again! She over-picks immature plants -
.-They are more tender, Nárwen interrupted.
- and changes the beds without my permission. That is why the cooks
aren't allowed to choose their own produce in the first place.
This elleth isn't capable of running this greenhouse, and I don't have
the time to spare to watch her every minute. Marian, you must get her
out of my gardens! She can make amends somewhere else - anywhere
else!
That would be fine with me! Nárwen added.
I glared at Nárwen and drew Gladrel aside.
Gladrel, please forgive me, I apologized. When I made this decision I
didn't foresee how it would affect you. But think about what an
opportunity this presents. If you teach Nárwen what you can in the
next few weeks - and I know firsthand what a superior teacher you are
- think how much more she will respect you and Curulas and the other
gardeners when she goes back to the kitchen; they will be so much
easier to work with.
And? prompted Gladrel, looking unconvinced.
And. . . and wouldn't it benefit at least one of your gardeners to
learn to train someone who is such a. . . a challenge? Curulas,
for instance? That way you wouldn't have to watch her all the time.
And, since I got you into this, if you like I could help during my
training each day as well. Come on Gladrel, can you live with this
arrangement for just a couple of weeks for the eventual benefits if
you have help?
Gladrel looked over at Nárwen, who was now eyeing the marigolds with a
pair of shears in her hand.
Don't you dare! Gladrel threatened, ready to bodily defend her
favorite form of organic pest control; they keep the snails out of
the lettuce! The radiccio is ready, if you must constantly pick
something. And leave some for the seeds this time!
Gladrel groaned and turned back to me. Only, she demanded, if you
start right now. I must attend to one of the other greenhouses for a
short time. Do not let her out of your sight. And whatever you do,
do not let her pick anything else until I get back!
* * * * *
After leaving Nárwen - who I had to admit was rather high-maintenance
- at Gladrel's mercy, I decided that I finally had time before meeting
Lindir for myself and Bruno to explore a third stream. Since two of
the remaining three forks on the rock shelf were waterfalls and I was
no rock-climber, that left me a choice of its final, relatively
horizontal channel which emerged from another dark, narrow cave, or
the stream that skirted the herb gardens near the kitchens and wound
its way around the back of the Hall below Haldir's study. As I still
had not been able to return to explore the enticing view I had seen
through the arbor of the herb garden, I turned in that direction.
Bruno followed along like a big, furry shadow; like a dog is supposed
to, as a matter of fact. This development continues to amaze me.
Confident that the kitchen was a good place to avoid at the moment,
Bruno and I skirted the herb garden by the path along the stream as
quickly as possible, and stepped through the gated arbor into a
wonderland.
Along one side of the rocky streambed the sheer wall of the cavern
curved and soared upward. Spread along the opposite bank was an
enticing and almost mystical-feeling garden of hedges and flowers.
Perfectly trimmed hedges of several types of shrubs, each a different
shade and texture of leaves and tiny flowers, swept around and
interwove with each other in intriguing patterns, forming slim,
winding paths that appeared and disappeared around each corner of the
hedges as they rose and fell at different heights. Exotic blooms in
varied hues were interspersed in beds and little flower-rooms between
the hedges. They spread their pale, delicate petals in the soft
afternoon light of the caverns, which on this more intimate side of
the Hall took on a low, hazy, twilit quality, making the beds of
flowers seem to glow faintly of their own accord. Over the low
portions of the hedges I could see tempting glimpses into other flower
beds both near and far, the vistas shifting and changing as I moved
along the paths. Around each corner where the hedges swept taller
awaited new, delightful flower-rooms, each holding some small
surprise: a birdbath, shrub, garden bench, or some other element or
design that made it unique and pleasing to all the senses.
Occasionally a small bridge or stepping stones led the path over a
slowly trickling stream of water that wound among the hedges and into
small fountains or sandy pools, the water cheerfully finding its way
down the gently sloping gardens to the larger stream by the cavern
wall. It was a masterful garden of soft edges, blending patterns,
mingling fragrances, gentle light, and soothing sounds. It was a
garden of dreams.
I wandered in and out and around with Bruno until I found myself
laughing and running, eager to see what awaited around the next
corner, and the next. Following the path through the flowers further
up the gentle slope, I reached a garden wall glistening with dripping
water and moss. Looking up the wall I saw a familiar railing and knew
that I was directly below the terrace of Lord Haldir's study. So this
was where his gaze fell when he was alone. Like an English knot
garden, the patterns of the weaving hedges and flowers would be
revealed from where he stood. And it would be enchanting and soothing
in the sparkling lantern light, in the quiet of the night. How
magical it would be to stand there beside him. Perhaps I would have
the boldness to ask him one evening.
This afternoon I had other ambitions. I worked my way back down to
the path alongside the stream, quietly calling Bruno until he came to
my side, smiling and drooling. My faithful companion, I whispered to
him, not even remotely interested in addressing him as "you dumb dog."
The path came to an end where the stream widened into a small pond
that nestled against the cavern wall and curved around near the upper
end of the garden. A spring issued from the wall and fell from a
carved shelf into the pond. I stared at the wall with my hands on my
hips, stumped as usual. It appeared to be another dead end. Even
Bruno seemed to be at a loss, snuffling and snorting around the pond
like he had found the scent of a rabbit and then lost it. Perhaps I
was taking the wrong approach. Maybe I would have to start from the
Linluin outside, if I could find it, and work my way in.
Well, Bruno and I could enjoy walking back through the secluded garden
again on our way back to join Lindir.
What are you doing here?
I recognized the challenge in Vanimë's voice before I turned aside
from the spring to face her.
This is Lord Haldir's garden, she said in a superior tone. The
flowers are rare and are not to be picked or disturbed. As she said
this she eyed me up and down as if I had stuffed blossoms in my
pockets and she expected to see stems sticking out of my socks. Then
she looked pointedly at Bruno, who did not seem to be bothered by her
at all. He could have at least growled.
Only Gladrel is allowed to enter without first asking leave, she
stated as though I had personally offended her. Her tone suggested
that even Gladrel's ability to come and go was barely acceptable.
Then what are you doing here? I shot back, my patience with this vain
elleth's games at an end.
I have Haldir's leave to enter when I find it necessary, Vanimë
countered smoothly, ensuring that I noticed by the emphasis she placed
that she had referred to Lord Haldir in a more personal way than by
using his title.
"As does Marian," came the resonant and commanding voice of the male
in question.
Lord Haldir emerged from around a nearby bend in the path, and my
breath caught in my throat, as usual. He was in formal robes of a
faintly shimmering blue as pale and dignified as the flowers around
us, and he wore the silver circlet of his authority on his strong
brow.
Bruno bounded over and greeted him with wagging tail. Thankfully,
Bruno was dry at the moment. Lord Haldir knelt down and whispered a
greeting in Bruno's ear, and Bruno cocked his head and barked once in
response, giving me a brief, unsettling feeling of deja-vu. Maybe
dogs understood elvish. Who knew?
"Vanimë," he rose and firmly addressed the startled but still dour elf
first. "Return to the Hall and inform Lindir that Marian will not be
joining him until dinner tonight. She and I have much to discuss." I
noticed that he had tempered the sternness of his words to her by
placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. I felt a twinge of
jealousy that I tried to shake off before she noticed.
Vanimë looked up at him and hesitated for only the instant that she
dared to do so, clearly not pleased at leaving us alone together.
Then she gave me a meaningful look, bowed her head slightly to Lord
Haldir and turned to leave.
Oh, Vanimë thank you for the gowns, I said from the safety of Lord
Haldir's skirts (figuratively speaking, of course). They are quite
unique, I added.
Vanimë stopped short and gracefully turned back to me. Will I have
the pleasure of seeing you in one of them soon? she replied, her
voice smooth as glass.
Just as soon as an appropriate occasion presents itself, I assured
her, at which she looked away and nodded to Lord Haldir again, leaving
swiftly down the garden path.
I imagine that most men and possibly most elves would have been
completely unaware of the subtle female signals that suffused this
conversation like vinegar poured into water, but I saw when Lord
Haldir caught my eye that nothing had escaped him.
I missed you this morning at the river, I inserted into the heavy
silence that followed. Is everything all right?
"You did not receive my message," he stated tightly.
I've received no messages from you that I know of, I replied. But, I
said when he frowned, I'd like to deal with that myself, if you don't
mind.
He looked speculatively at me, and then nodded. The silence resumed.
I'm sorry, I said next, thinking that he was angry at me for being in
the garden. I didn't realize that this garden was private. It was
just so beautiful and unique that I couldn't resist. May I ask who
created it?
"It follows my design," Lord Haldir said dismissively. "But it is not
for the garden that you entered here. That for which you have been
searching lies not beyond this wall.
You agreed as a condition of entering Methentaurond to accept my
authority without question. Why do you defy me, Marian?"
I looked up at him, seeing sadness and curiosity in his eyes, but no
anger. It dawned on me then how what I had been doing must look from
his point of view, and I realized I had made a very serious blunder.
If I had been trying to gain his trust, going behind his back had not
been the way to do it. Why hadn't I realized before I started out
that that was what I had been doing?
No, I said, oh no, you don't understand. I wasn't trying to. . . I
didn't mean. . . I only wanted you to see that I would keep your
secret if I knew, I pleaded uselessly, miserably thinking that by
trying to gain his trust I had only lost it completely. How could I
ever repair the damage I had done?
But instead of the disaster I expected, his eyes softened in
forgiveness, and he reached out and gently placed a hand under my
chin.
"So curious, so restless, so mortal to chafe against such boundaries,"
he mused out loud, shaking his head. "These are traits that would
serve you well if only you would focus them in the proper direction.
You would doubtless open Pandora's box if it was placed before you."
You would not? I asked him, truly wanting to know his answer.
"Only in dire need, if the necessity outweighed the consequences," he
replied more seriously than I expected, removing his hand from my
face. I felt that he was thinking of some other issue, something that
weighed on his mind, and I longed for him to tell me what it was.
"There is little in Methentaurond that is closed to you, Marian," he
continued, "except for those few things that concern the elves only.
You must stop this search: You will not find it. You waste your time
and ours, and risk injury that you can ill afford. Be patient,
Marian. I will show you the way soon, for the day draws near when you
must leave us for a time."
His words dismayed me. I knew that day would have to come eventually,
but I had become so at home here that leaving had seemed distant and
vague; an unwelcome appointment that I had pushed to the back of my
mind. I didn't feel ready yet. I didn't want to leave Methentaurond.
Most of all, I didn't want to be parted from him.
When must I go? I asked.
Perhaps he hadn't decided yet, or hadn't yet seen in me what he was
looking for, for a guarded "Soon," was his only answer.
"You will stop looking," he pressed. By his expression I knew that he
was neither pleased nor accustomed to giving direction twice.
I will stop - for you, I promised. I searched his face for any
response to my careful admission, but his expression remained
studiously neutral.
"I have come to know," he said in the slightly slower, more melodic
tone that I was learning meant that he was relaxing his guard a
little, "that your desire to solve mysteries lies not in the thirst
for power, as it does so many of the Followers, but in the delight
that the discovery itself holds."
While speaking, he had shifted his eyes away from me to contemplate
the bubbling spring. When he returned his riveting gaze to me, I felt
as though the very orbit of the planet had shifted in its wake.
"The elves safeguard a treasure that you have not yet seen. This
thing holds no power, but only delight that is now mingled with
sadness. Do you wish to see what lies beyond the wall, Marian?"
Yes, I responded, and he offered me his hand.
How right it felt to place my hand in his broad, warm grasp and follow
him back to the garden wall below the terrace. He led me into a
hallway lit only by lanterns, and Bruno followed, his nails tapping on
the stone floor, setting off tiny echoes. Set in alcoves spaced along
the walls, the lanterns danced and glittered on the arched, tooled
surfaces of the reddish-orange stone around us. This corridor was as
skillfully wrought but less lofty and more simply adorned than those
of the Great Hall, and I assumed that we were now passing through a
lower level of the Hall itself.
After a short distance we came to a domed space where several hallways
met. Still holding my hand in his, Lord Haldir chose the leftmost
hall. This was a narrower corridor whose carved walls and tiled
floors soon ended in an irregular but smoothly-floored subterranean
passage that appeared to be a natural hollow in the stone. Lanterns
still illuminated our way, their shimmering light now and again
alighting on stalagmites and stalagtites reaching for each other in
the cool darkness as we skirted carefully around them.
We turned a final corner in the dark passage and emerged at once into
a bright, soaring grotto, and I blinked and shielded my eyes in the
sudden brilliance.
Lord Haldir waited while my eyes adjusted. Soon I could see about me
and he intently watched my face as I looked around the grotto in
wonder.
"I have desired to show you this place since the day you came to be
with us," he said quietly, and we stood together, hand and hand in a
silence punctuated only by the twittering call of birds and the soft
hush of leaves in the mild breeze.
Here that body of water that must feed the spring in his garden
widened to encompass the whole of the roughly circular grotto, framing
the banks of a broad island in its center. A shaft of brilliant
daylight slanted down from a pantheon-like hole in the irregular dome.
This must have been the only place in Methentauraond that was open to
the sky above.
Nests perched upon shelves high in the dome, and occasionally a small
bird flitted through the column of daylight with a flash of color when
its wings touched the sun.
At the center of the island, partly in shadow and partly in the
sunlight that graced it from above, stood a lone tree, its expansive
branches arching out to fill over half of the grotto. Like the
carving on the entrance doors, the gray trunk of this magnificent tree
was at least as wide in girth as the largest redwoods I had seen. It
must have been thousands of years old, with branches the size of large
trees that grew out and then swept upward nearly to the dome above.
The leaves in the boughs above quivered golden-green in the faint
breeze, and golden flowers released an occasional petal to flutter
slowly down and feather the grassy glade below.
Squeezing my hand, Haldir led me silently over a graceful white
bridge. We stepped onto the island through green grass scattered with
fragrant white and yellow flowers. The flowers left an open swath of
green where I imagined the light from above would trace its bright
path as it arched from morning to night. They were the white and
yellow flowers of my dream. My pulse quickened, and I wondered what
meaning this place held for him.
"The flowers," Lord Haldir broke the silence to tell me, "are
reminiscent of the yellow elanor and the white niphredil, which
bloomed only in the starlight. They no longer grace the elven meadows
of Arda as they once did in the days of my youth, long ago."
Is this. . . a mallorn? I asked as we stopped near the base of the
gray and golden tree.
"It is the last mallorn," he said, touching the trunk reverently. "I
planted it from a seed I had cherished for centuries. "You see before
you some memory of Lothlorien the fair, though it is but a faded image
of the light and wisdom of ancient days."
But can't you plant more, I asked, sensing his deep sadness, from the
seeds of this tree?
"Nay, Marian. You behold only the living dead. It is female, and
needs the male of its kind to beget another. Yet no other mellyrn
remain. Its disappearance from Arda, like that of the elves, is
merely delayed."
Like the Cafẻ Marron in South America, I recalled out loud, that man's
incursions into the rainforest had doomed to oblivion except for the
cuttings that were sparingly taken by botanists to keep a few
specimens alive.
It is a confusion to us, I told him, which species disappear because
of the natural course of time, and which we are dooming by our own
actions.
Is it because of us that the mellyrn have disappeared? I asked,
dreading that we had caused him such grief.
"No," he replied. "As much as the elves of Lothlorien resisted it,
its time had passed, as had ours. One wisdom, if it is such, that
escapes us, is to learn to make it any easier to say goodbye." He
looked deeply into my eyes as he said this, and I wondered how many
meanings his words held. Would he regret sending me away?
Was it vanity for a time when the elves were masters of Arda, I
wondered momentarily, remembering Feanor and the Silmarils, that had
made him think so much more of the past than the present; that had
persuaded him to plant this tree here? No, I told myself immediately,
it was love, and sorrow: Sorrow that had deepened his wisdom, and his
beauty. Yet I still sensed some unrest, some concern that went beyond
these things. Was it because of me, I wondered guiltily. Or perhaps
I was only imagining it.
It is not easy for me to say goodbye either, I admitted, thinking both
of Kevin and of this elf that stood near me, his hand holding mine. I
had faded, for a time, after Kevin. But I had gone on, trusting that
the future held something for me. Now I was here, and I didn't want
to lose what I had found.
"What do you think of," Lord Haldir asked gently.
A poem, I said, somewhat embarrassed. But it is bittersweet, and not
as beautiful as the poetry of the elves.
"I wish to hear it," he urged, and pulled me down to sit with him at
the base of the tree, Bruno plopping down beside us to nap in the
grass.
"Nature's first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf's a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay."*
He smiled sadly. "The Followers are resilient," he said. "Callo, and
the rest of the First Born, we are perhaps wise and strong, but no
more resilient than the mellyrn. We cannot stay."
Men are too resilient, I argued. We adapt too easily, become
accustomed to things that are not good for us and come to accept them
as normal. Some of our children grow up surrounded by concrete. They
become adults whose hearts are hard, who have never seen nature or
know where food comes from beyond a grocery store. We survive, yet
too often we forget to live. The elves have never forgotten how to
truly live, Haldir.
"Your ancestors knew such things. It is to plant the seeds of such
forgotten wisdom that you have been brought to us, so that Men may
again honor Arda and learn to live anew. Yet we may not remain to see
how your future unfolds."
My husband and I went on a vacation, I told him, to the San Juan
Islands, in Washington. We had just embarked on a ferry into the
Sound, and a group of kids came up on deck to look at the seagulls
gliding and calling on the wind around the boat. Even while they were
goofing off, their faces held such amazement. Later I talked to one
of the adults with them, and found out that they were inner city kids
that had never seen nature like they were seeing it that day. I could
see it in their eyes, Haldir: I believe that it changed some of them
in a profound way. Not all of them, but some.
"Does this give you faith in the nature of man, then?" he asked me,
some of his scorn from the first day we met returning.
No, I stated flatly. But God told us to reach beyond our nature. He
would not have told us to do something if it wasn't possible. That is
what I have faith in.
"Do you have faith in yourself, Marian?"
I don't know, I said honestly. I think so.
"You must.
Now come with me," he rose and pulled me up with him, a smile
threatening to form at the corners of his mouth and his eyes. "Up,
into the tree."
What? I objected. I can't climb this tree; I didn't even climb trees
when I was a kid. Why, I can't even reach the lowest branches!
"I will assist you," he said, and offered me a thin gray rope ladder
that I hadn't noticed against the gray trunk of the tree.
"Today is a new day - you are no longer a child," he challenged quite
seriously. But I saw the sparkle in his eyes and knew that I couldn't
say no.
Do tell, I said sarcastically. I'm 45, I thought, and I'm climbing a
tree.
At least I wasn't wearing a dress, I told myself as I climbed the
ladder with him close behind me.
A really, really big tree, I reminded myself and clutched the thin
ropes as tightly as I could as we climbed higher and higher. Finally
we neared the top where the limbs spread to a wide, almost flat area,
and I recalled the talan in the carved doors nestled in just such a
spot as this. How I wished there was one here now. Haldir leaped
past me near the top of the ladder to stand perfectly balanced on a
wide limb, and waited for me to climb up beside him. Look ma, no
hands, I mumbled as I stood up and fought the vertigo that kept me
from finding my balance, looking down between the gaps in the branches
like I knew I shouldn't and trying to find something besides air to
hold on to. Chuckling, Haldir jumped forward easily, completely at
home in the tree even in his long robes, and held me steady, an
arrangement that I found quite pleasing.
We found a place in the cradle of the branches where the sun fell and
where I could sit without endangering my life. Haldir sat next to me
and we gazed out over the grotto for a time, watching the birds dart
through the branches below us and listening to the rustle of the
leaves. I felt that he was sharing something quite dear and private
to him, and that this rarely was so. Then he began to speak quietly
and soothingly in elvish, but it wasn't me he was talking to.
"Can you hear it speak?" he said to me, placing my hand against a
large bough of the tree.
No, I told him, afraid I was disappointing him, I can't. I sense only
strength, and great patience.
"The elves taught the trees to speak when we first awoke in Arda.
This tree now only whispers," he said in a regretful tone. Then an
expression came to his stoic face that made me realize that it was
difficult for him to say what he was going to say next. Still holding
my hand on the tree, the sparkle left his eyes. Had he lost hope for
the future?
"This tree is alone, with no others of its kind to commune with. Will
you grant me the favor of speaking to her when we are gone?" he asked
me in a low voice.
Of course I will, I replied, my eyes filling with tears. It was not
pity I felt for the tree, or for him. Rather, I felt for the first
time that he had dropped all of the walls around him and shown me his
heart, a rare intimacy that I treasured beyond words or feelings.
"Diole lle," he said quietly – thank you – and swiftly turned away.
* * * * *
Later we walked back through the lower corridors on our way to dinner,
once again entering the domed space where many passages met. Bruno
laid his ears back slightly and stared down one of the passages, or I
would not have noticed that one passage was guarded: Two sentries
stood motionless in shadowed recesses on each side of its arched
entry.
Where does that lead, I asked as we passed by. I thought I could
literally see the doors slam shut behind Lord Haldir's eyes.
"It is of no concern," he replied evenly, his expression unreadable
once more. "Come, the Hall lies ahead," he said and guided me into a
larger arched passage.
If he had said "that is the treasury," or "that leads to the wine
cellars," it would have satisfied my curiosity. Well, maybe not if he
had said it was a wine cellar, but something else practical or
mundane. Didn't he realize that by telling me I shouldn't be
interested, it only intrigued me more? More likely he simply took it
as a given that he would be unconditionally obeyed. After the offense
he had taken to my search of the streams, I wasn't about to flaunt his
authority again. But that passage bothered Bruno, and now, sitting
here writing of it hours later, it bothers me too.
We climbed a short, broad stairway into a larger upper corridor. Lord
Haldir sent an elf to take Bruno back to the stables, and we entered
the Hall. Several elves were already serving the evening meal, and
the tables echoed with low, rather irritated-sounding conversation.
As we seated ourselves I looked back toward where we had entered and
saw that it was the very archway through which Lord Haldir retired
after every evening meal.
Good evening Marian, Lindir greeted me and passed me a strange-looking
dish. Try the vegetables, he said with a plastic smile, you may find
them particularly interesting this evening.
I took the dish and served myself, becoming aware that several of my
dining companions had stopped their conversations to watch me.
Wondering what was afoot, I self-consciously took a bite of my food
and looked at Lindir again; Lindir, who had a carefully constructed,
exceedingly neutral look on his face. Instantly I knew I was in
trouble yet again.
Where is she! came the roar from the kitchens. A very large, very
intimidating and very incensed elf that I vaguely recognized as the
head chef burst into the Hall and scanned the crowd until he saw me.
He strode vehemently across the room, elves scattering before him like
shore birds escaping an oncoming wave and then closing in behind him
as he stopped to tower over me.
No one, he glowered, NO ONE alters the smooth, precise function of
this kitchen except for me. How dare you presume to steal one of my
best cooks away without my permission and impose this charlatan on us
all? Have you tasted this. . . dish? he accused, waving it under
my nose.
Mutters of agreement filled the Hall.
I glanced at Lord Haldir out of the corner of my eye. He was hiding a
grin in his wine glass and I knew that I couldn't expect him to step
in. This was my mess – would it ever end?
I looked around at the hovering, displeased elves that seemed to be
crowding forward.
Let's discuss this in the Council Chambers and not disturb everyone's
dinner, I said, and I patted the angry chef's arm and smiled
endearingly (I hoped) up at him, steering him toward the kitchen to
gather Curulas. The chef led me over and tore Curulas away from his
valiant efforts to cook more vegetables that doubtless would be eaten
by no one.
Not daring to look back until the doors of the Chambers had closed
behind us, I saw that Lord Haldir, Gladrel, and even Nárwen had
followed us into what I was hoping would be neutral territory. Lord
Haldir leaned comfortably against the Chamber wall, crossing one leg
over the other and propping a thumb expectantly under his chin,
pressing his index finger over his upper lip, doubtless to keep
himself from laughing. I narrowed my eyes at him and turned back
around.
You, the chef said, and you, he accused, pointing at both Curulas and
me, have in less than one meal destroyed my excellent and well-
deserved reputation. Some people are not meant to set foot in a
kitchen, and you, he pointed at Curulas again, are most definitely
not. The simplest dish befuddles him, he complained to me, throwing
up his large, flour-covered hands.
I cannot turn badly chosen plants that are delivered to me too late to
prepare properly into a perfect dish! Curulas defended himself. And
you are overbearing and impossible to please, he defiantly told the
Chef. It is because of Nárwen's poor management of the gardens that
the quality of the dish suffers, not my cooking!
And I hate to cook, he added accusingly at me.
If you had told me sooner what you needed for tonight, pitched in
Nárwen to Curulas, and hadn't changed your mind at the last minute, I
could have delivered the plants to you on time. And if you don't
listen to Turnaur tell you how to prepare them properly, it is your
own fault!
I was not consulted about this arrangement! It is not acceptable, the
Head Chef declared. You will remove him and restore Nárwen to her
rightful station at once, he demanded.
Everyone around me looked to Lord Haldir for support.
I looked over my shoulder at him also but he only raised his eyebrows
at me and continued leaning silently against the wall, making no move
to either overrule or help me. Fine, I could handle this just fine;
no problem. I glared at him again, took a deep breath, and turned
back around.
It seemed to me that Curulas and Nárwen were finally starting to see
their jobs from each other's point of view, which is what I had
intended. But one meal's worth of accusations wasn't going to repair
their relationship.
A fine headache beginning to form in my temples, I tried my best to
hide my nervousness. Turnaur, I said to the head chef, I know that
everyone here, especially you, wants to be the absolute best they can
be at what they do, or you all wouldn't be so passionate to have
things set right. And, I said to Curulas and Nárwen, I understand
that throwing you into new responsibilities without any preparation is
unsettling. But, I think you are all up to the challenge, and my
decision stands.
You have said it yourself, the Head Chef said to me as though he had
checked me on a chessboard, it takes months, even years, for me to
train a cook before they earn the position that Nárwen holds – the
position that Curulas has made a shambles of in one meal!
Well, I said in a disappointed tone of voice to the Head Chef, if you
don't think that you have the expertise to deal with the situation. .
.
Just one minute, the Chef protested, I have been training cooks for
millennia – I can teach anyone anything! Then the Chef realized what
he had said and sputtered. Checkmate, I thought gleefully. It wasn't
every day that I would be able to catch an elf off guard, so I did my
best to keep from embarrassing him.
In that case, Curulas, I asked quickly to cover the Chef's little
blunder, what do you need from Turnaur and Nárwen to do a better job
tomorrow?
Curulas looked amazed that anyone had asked him this, and took a
minute to think. Well to begin with, Turnaur could stop yelling at me
when I make a mistake, and if he could just let me ask a few
questions, give me a little more attention until I get the hang of
things – he's always paying attention to something else until it's too
late.
But if Turnaur isn't always available, who else would be the most able
to help you learn Nárwen's job?
Well, Nárwen I suppose, Curulas said reluctantly, looking anywhere
except at Nárwen.
Nárwen, I said, if Curulas helps you in the garden, will you help him
in the kitchen?
And, Curulas added, Nárwen needs to pick what I need – the right
quality, and deliver them to me earlier in the day.
Nárwen looked resentfully at me and then at Curulas, but nodded in
agreement.
Nárwen, do you need anything from Curulas to be able to do what he is
asking of you?
Nárwen replied that she needed Curulas to tell her what he needed
sooner so she had time to plan ahead and get Gladrel's approval.
Curulas reluctantly agreed.
Well, I said to the Chef, is there anything I can do in the kitchen to
help you in the next two weeks?
No! The Chef declared in horror, the less novices in the kitchen the
better.
What's on the menu for tomorrow then, I asked, turning to look at
Curulas and Nárwen. But I saw that they were already walking out the
door in animated conversation: I like red chard, declared Curulas,
but it has already bolted. What do you think about the broccoli,
Nárwen said, it would make a wonderful au gratin tomorrow night. . .
Thank you, I said to the Chef, I'm sorry I didn't include you in this
decision from the beginning. I know that both of them will benefit
from your support.
Your pardon, he surprised me by saying graciously. I allowed my
immediate needs to overshadow the rewards that this, ah, experiment
may bring. An elf of my years should show more patience.
I touched my hand to my heart in respect. I could see now why Lord
Haldir would have chosen a different lesson: My decision had affected
not just those I intended, but everyone in the caverns. Still, I felt
a burst of self-confidence that I had made the right decision by not
backing down, and I didn't feel the need this time to ask Lord Haldir
if he agreed. I looked toward him anyway and smiled, bouncing on my
toes a little, although I would rather have jumped up and down and
yelled "YESSSSSSS!"
He merely pushed himself away from the wall and noncommittally
followed the others out of the room. Suddenly I didn't feel like
celebrating anymore. What did I have to do for him to be satisfied
with me?
* * * * *
The rest of my evening was spent visiting a listless Callo and then
sharing the Hall with a large group of elves and some good bottles of
wine, listening to Lindir continue his tale of the Silmarils and the
elves in Beleriand striving against Morgoth. I brought one of my
notebooks and soothed my bruised ego by drinking wine and sketching
Lindir while he emphasized valiant elves in battle with dramatic
sweeps of his arms, or crouched down and lowered his voice, making us
lean forward in anticipation of what would happen next. Lindir was a
true raconteur; these elves had probably heard this story over and
over, but he made it come alive so that I believed I could see and
feel and hear it, even smell it happening before my eyes.
I had tried to find an opportunity to sketch Lord Haldir, but I
couldn't seem to catch him at a time when he was unaware of my
actions. I wanted it to be a secret, so that if I could do a drawing
I was satisfied with, I could give it to him as a present.
I lifted a half-empty bottle of wine to Lindir in salute as he
finished for the evening, and then stared at the lights of the Hall
filtering through the purplish-red liquid. It gave me an idea; an
idea of how I might approach my Vanimë problem in a subtle, skillful
way. Seeing that the Hall was emptying, I poured a goodly amount of
the leftover wine into some open wine bottles and carried them back to
my rooms.
I have an experiment to conduct tomorrow.
*"Nothing Gold Can Stay," a poem by Robert Frost.
**amrún nín – my sunrise
* * * * * THE TALE OF MARIAN
CHAPTER 14 – Nothing Gold Can Stay*
13 September
I had another dream about Lord Haldir last night.
I was lying in the warm sun on a grassy slope scattered with delicate
white and yellow flowers. A light breeze skimmed across the flowers
like waves on a summer beach, and the sky was a clear, bright blue.
It was peaceful and warm and perfect. I closed my eyes and waited for
the next puff of wind to fan my face. Something velvet-soft and
fragrant swept delicately across my eyelid and trailed down my left
cheek. I turned my head and opened my eyes to see him lying there
next to me on his side, his long legs crossed, his head propped up on
one hand. A gray cloak and dark tunic lay cast aside, and his broad,
bare chest and golden hair gleamed in the sun. In his other hand he
held the stem of a small yellow flower, which he now trailed with a
steady light touch across my other cheek to my ear and down my neck to
my collarbone and the scooped neckline of Allinde's green gown.
He raised his eyes from the flower to mine. In their blue-gray depths
was no trace of sorrow or burden, but open warmth and invitation.
I reached over to touch him, and opened my mouth to speak. But he
touched the flower petals to my lips and leaned in toward me with an
inviting smile. He moved the flower aside and replaced it with his
warm, full lips, and folded me into his embrace. Again I tasted the
faint flavor of almonds. My hands reveled in the smooth bare skin of
his back and shoulders and the tautly flowing muscles beneath. His
kisses moved from my mouth, first across my jaw and to the sensitive
place under my ear that made me arch into him, then across my
collarbone. When he reached the neckline of my gown he rolled me
gently onto my back and slipped the gown down off my shoulders until
it was tight around my upper arms so that I could only reach his hips
and the bare skin of his waist with my hands. With a teasing glance
that made my heart pound, he trailed the flower and his tongue down
the swell of my chest, ever so slowly sliding the gown lower and lower
until I gasped and strained for the ever-tightening fabric to release
my breasts. But he stopped and again raised his gaze to mine, his
eyes sparkling with mischief and flaring with controlled passion.
"Patience, amrún nín**," he chuckled, raising himself back and
allowing the breeze to cool the moist trail of his lips and tongue on
my chest. He tucked the flower into the cleft between my breasts and
kneeled over me, grasping my shoulders and pinning my legs between his
own as my arms were already pinned to my sides. When I wriggled and
opened my mouth to protest, he pressed himself fully on top of me and
silenced me with soft, firm, feverish kisses.
I woke up in the dark with the covers twisted tightly all around me
and my mind and body on fire.
* * * * *
I arrived early at the river this morning to disrobe and jump into the
water before he arrived. I was too self-conscious to undress in front
of him after my dream. But I needn't have worried - he didn't come.
Disappointed, I swam alone.
Bathing and returning to my rooms I scoured the front door, front
porch, wall, window and front railing for any sign of a cryptic elvish
note, but that didn't turn up either. I did, however, find two new
gowns laid across the back of my parlor chair which I also examined
for hidden notes without success. I shook them out for good measure
and felt the seams for "forgotten" sewing pins, just in case. Finding
none, I felt slightly guilty for my suspicions and took the gowns into
the bedroom to try them on.
I slipped on the first gown and looked in the mirror. Pulling it back
over my head and dumping it on the bed, I tried on the second one. I
raised my arms out to the side and then forward, turning sideways in
the mirror and trying to see the back over my shoulder. My faint
sense of guilt was turning in quick succession to disbelief, then
irritation, and finally to outrage. I alternately thought of and
discarded several tempting methods of torture, pacing back and forth
and throwing various expletives at my image in the mirror each time I
passed it. Finally I pulled the second gown off and changed back into
my pants. I grabbed my notebook, and with the gowns stuffed under my
arm, collected Bruno and went in search of Allinde.
I gave Bruno an earful as he dutifully trotted beside me all the way
to the library.
What did you do to that dog? I heard Allinde's voice ask as soon as I
walked into the warm, inviting room, and after a moment I spotted her
perched in the dim reaches of the ceiling high on a bookcase ladder.
I looked down at Bruno and belatedly saw that his ears were drooping
and his corkscrew tail, usually curled over his back, was uncorked and
trailing behind him. He obviously felt berated, and I only felt
slightly less agitated.
Oh Bruno, I'm sorry, I said and knelt down by the fire to scratch his
ears and mumble encouragements to him. I had let myself forget how
contagious anger and resentment could be, especially with children and
animals.
Bruno perked up a little. I stood back up and walked over to the
massive table, glaring at the piles of open books covering its
surface. The tabletop usually looked like books and notes had been
strewn haphazardly all over it, but I had learned Allinde's style of
research and knew that all of the materials were arranged in precise,
if mysterious order.
Tell me, Allinde offered, climbing down off of the ladder.
I dropped the gowns onto a chair. In silence, I removed my top and
slipped one of the gowns back on. I moved around the table so she
could get the whole effect, raised my arms and pivoted in a 360 like a
runway model, then slapped my hands down on my thighs for emphasis and
waited for her reaction.
Allinde stood open-mouthed and motionless, then sank into the nearest
chair.
How will you plot your revenge, she asked in amazement.
I haven't decided yet, I answered. There are so many possibilities.
That color is truly hideous on you.
You should see the other one, I said, holding it up for her.
She winced.
And the fit, it's so. . .
. . . unflattering in all the wrong places, I finished for her.
But, in a skillful, subtle way, I admitted, and folded the gowns back
on the chair.
Actually, Allinde corrected me, Vanimë is the finest seamstress in
Arda.. What did you do to so greatly anger her, if I may ask?
Nothing! I've barely spoken to her, I replied. But I'm beginning to
think that she sees me as some kind of threat.
Allinde considered this and then told me that wouldn't surprise her.
She said that Vanimë was very territorial. She could be either a fast
friend or a formidable rival; there was no middle ground. Did I
realize, she warned me, that I must stand up to her over this, or she
would feel free to plague me endlessly?
Oh, I'll stand up to her alright, I promised. But in a skillful,
subtle way, I added, thinking that if I merely confronted her with a
complaint she would act the innocent again and I would be left looking
ungrateful and demanding.
How, Allinde asked curiously.
I thought anxiously about how I had never been good at dealing with
catty women. I had thought elves would be beyond this sort of thing.
I haven't the faintest idea, I replied.
* * * * *
Suffice it to say that I was one of Gladrel's two least favorite
people this morning.
I was to meet her at the greenhouse devoted to growing vegetables for
the kitchen, and after a brief glance inside I decided that it would
be best for Bruno to wait outside. Nárwen was there, the elf I had
ordered to trade jobs with Curulas to make amends for his mistreatment
of the gardener in charge of this greenhouse. Curulas was spending
his first day as an assistant cook in the kitchens in Nárwen's place.
Nárwen was kneeling angrily between rows of leafy green vegetables,
burdened by an armful of plants and receiving a verbal thrashing of
some sort from Gladrel.
When Gladrel noticed me enter she quickly shifted targets, leaving
Nárwen noticeably relieved.
WHAT were you thinking? She accused me. Do you have any idea how
much damage she has caused in only a few hours time? I have never
seen an elf so insensitive to growing things!
Narwen retorted that she was a CHEF, not a weed-picker, instantly
sorry that she had drawn Gladrel's attention once more.
I believe, I interjected quickly before Gladrel could resume her
attack, that this is precisely the attitude that landed you here in
the first place.
If Curulas would grow the quality of vegetables that I require then I
would have no need for such an attitude, Nárwen sniffed, standing up.
What is your opinion, Gladrel, I asked, is Curulas a capable kitchen
gardener?
Gladrel said dismissively that of course he was, she trained him for
years herself before giving him this responsibility. But this one,
she complained, well, look - there she goes trampling the seedlings
again! She over-picks immature plants -
.-They are more tender, Nárwen interrupted.
- and changes the beds without my permission. That is why the cooks
aren't allowed to choose their own produce in the first place.
This elleth isn't capable of running this greenhouse, and I don't have
the time to spare to watch her every minute. Marian, you must get her
out of my gardens! She can make amends somewhere else - anywhere
else!
That would be fine with me! Nárwen added.
I glared at Nárwen and drew Gladrel aside.
Gladrel, please forgive me, I apologized. When I made this decision I
didn't foresee how it would affect you. But think about what an
opportunity this presents. If you teach Nárwen what you can in the
next few weeks - and I know firsthand what a superior teacher you are
- think how much more she will respect you and Curulas and the other
gardeners when she goes back to the kitchen; they will be so much
easier to work with.
And? prompted Gladrel, looking unconvinced.
And. . . and wouldn't it benefit at least one of your gardeners to
learn to train someone who is such a. . . a challenge? Curulas,
for instance? That way you wouldn't have to watch her all the time.
And, since I got you into this, if you like I could help during my
training each day as well. Come on Gladrel, can you live with this
arrangement for just a couple of weeks for the eventual benefits if
you have help?
Gladrel looked over at Nárwen, who was now eyeing the marigolds with a
pair of shears in her hand.
Don't you dare! Gladrel threatened, ready to bodily defend her
favorite form of organic pest control; they keep the snails out of
the lettuce! The radiccio is ready, if you must constantly pick
something. And leave some for the seeds this time!
Gladrel groaned and turned back to me. Only, she demanded, if you
start right now. I must attend to one of the other greenhouses for a
short time. Do not let her out of your sight. And whatever you do,
do not let her pick anything else until I get back!
* * * * *
After leaving Nárwen - who I had to admit was rather high-maintenance
- at Gladrel's mercy, I decided that I finally had time before meeting
Lindir for myself and Bruno to explore a third stream. Since two of
the remaining three forks on the rock shelf were waterfalls and I was
no rock-climber, that left me a choice of its final, relatively
horizontal channel which emerged from another dark, narrow cave, or
the stream that skirted the herb gardens near the kitchens and wound
its way around the back of the Hall below Haldir's study. As I still
had not been able to return to explore the enticing view I had seen
through the arbor of the herb garden, I turned in that direction.
Bruno followed along like a big, furry shadow; like a dog is supposed
to, as a matter of fact. This development continues to amaze me.
Confident that the kitchen was a good place to avoid at the moment,
Bruno and I skirted the herb garden by the path along the stream as
quickly as possible, and stepped through the gated arbor into a
wonderland.
Along one side of the rocky streambed the sheer wall of the cavern
curved and soared upward. Spread along the opposite bank was an
enticing and almost mystical-feeling garden of hedges and flowers.
Perfectly trimmed hedges of several types of shrubs, each a different
shade and texture of leaves and tiny flowers, swept around and
interwove with each other in intriguing patterns, forming slim,
winding paths that appeared and disappeared around each corner of the
hedges as they rose and fell at different heights. Exotic blooms in
varied hues were interspersed in beds and little flower-rooms between
the hedges. They spread their pale, delicate petals in the soft
afternoon light of the caverns, which on this more intimate side of
the Hall took on a low, hazy, twilit quality, making the beds of
flowers seem to glow faintly of their own accord. Over the low
portions of the hedges I could see tempting glimpses into other flower
beds both near and far, the vistas shifting and changing as I moved
along the paths. Around each corner where the hedges swept taller
awaited new, delightful flower-rooms, each holding some small
surprise: a birdbath, shrub, garden bench, or some other element or
design that made it unique and pleasing to all the senses.
Occasionally a small bridge or stepping stones led the path over a
slowly trickling stream of water that wound among the hedges and into
small fountains or sandy pools, the water cheerfully finding its way
down the gently sloping gardens to the larger stream by the cavern
wall. It was a masterful garden of soft edges, blending patterns,
mingling fragrances, gentle light, and soothing sounds. It was a
garden of dreams.
I wandered in and out and around with Bruno until I found myself
laughing and running, eager to see what awaited around the next
corner, and the next. Following the path through the flowers further
up the gentle slope, I reached a garden wall glistening with dripping
water and moss. Looking up the wall I saw a familiar railing and knew
that I was directly below the terrace of Lord Haldir's study. So this
was where his gaze fell when he was alone. Like an English knot
garden, the patterns of the weaving hedges and flowers would be
revealed from where he stood. And it would be enchanting and soothing
in the sparkling lantern light, in the quiet of the night. How
magical it would be to stand there beside him. Perhaps I would have
the boldness to ask him one evening.
This afternoon I had other ambitions. I worked my way back down to
the path alongside the stream, quietly calling Bruno until he came to
my side, smiling and drooling. My faithful companion, I whispered to
him, not even remotely interested in addressing him as "you dumb dog."
The path came to an end where the stream widened into a small pond
that nestled against the cavern wall and curved around near the upper
end of the garden. A spring issued from the wall and fell from a
carved shelf into the pond. I stared at the wall with my hands on my
hips, stumped as usual. It appeared to be another dead end. Even
Bruno seemed to be at a loss, snuffling and snorting around the pond
like he had found the scent of a rabbit and then lost it. Perhaps I
was taking the wrong approach. Maybe I would have to start from the
Linluin outside, if I could find it, and work my way in.
Well, Bruno and I could enjoy walking back through the secluded garden
again on our way back to join Lindir.
What are you doing here?
I recognized the challenge in Vanimë's voice before I turned aside
from the spring to face her.
This is Lord Haldir's garden, she said in a superior tone. The
flowers are rare and are not to be picked or disturbed. As she said
this she eyed me up and down as if I had stuffed blossoms in my
pockets and she expected to see stems sticking out of my socks. Then
she looked pointedly at Bruno, who did not seem to be bothered by her
at all. He could have at least growled.
Only Gladrel is allowed to enter without first asking leave, she
stated as though I had personally offended her. Her tone suggested
that even Gladrel's ability to come and go was barely acceptable.
Then what are you doing here? I shot back, my patience with this vain
elleth's games at an end.
I have Haldir's leave to enter when I find it necessary, Vanimë
countered smoothly, ensuring that I noticed by the emphasis she placed
that she had referred to Lord Haldir in a more personal way than by
using his title.
"As does Marian," came the resonant and commanding voice of the male
in question.
Lord Haldir emerged from around a nearby bend in the path, and my
breath caught in my throat, as usual. He was in formal robes of a
faintly shimmering blue as pale and dignified as the flowers around
us, and he wore the silver circlet of his authority on his strong
brow.
Bruno bounded over and greeted him with wagging tail. Thankfully,
Bruno was dry at the moment. Lord Haldir knelt down and whispered a
greeting in Bruno's ear, and Bruno cocked his head and barked once in
response, giving me a brief, unsettling feeling of deja-vu. Maybe
dogs understood elvish. Who knew?
"Vanimë," he rose and firmly addressed the startled but still dour elf
first. "Return to the Hall and inform Lindir that Marian will not be
joining him until dinner tonight. She and I have much to discuss." I
noticed that he had tempered the sternness of his words to her by
placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. I felt a twinge of
jealousy that I tried to shake off before she noticed.
Vanimë looked up at him and hesitated for only the instant that she
dared to do so, clearly not pleased at leaving us alone together.
Then she gave me a meaningful look, bowed her head slightly to Lord
Haldir and turned to leave.
Oh, Vanimë thank you for the gowns, I said from the safety of Lord
Haldir's skirts (figuratively speaking, of course). They are quite
unique, I added.
Vanimë stopped short and gracefully turned back to me. Will I have
the pleasure of seeing you in one of them soon? she replied, her
voice smooth as glass.
Just as soon as an appropriate occasion presents itself, I assured
her, at which she looked away and nodded to Lord Haldir again, leaving
swiftly down the garden path.
I imagine that most men and possibly most elves would have been
completely unaware of the subtle female signals that suffused this
conversation like vinegar poured into water, but I saw when Lord
Haldir caught my eye that nothing had escaped him.
I missed you this morning at the river, I inserted into the heavy
silence that followed. Is everything all right?
"You did not receive my message," he stated tightly.
I've received no messages from you that I know of, I replied. But, I
said when he frowned, I'd like to deal with that myself, if you don't
mind.
He looked speculatively at me, and then nodded. The silence resumed.
I'm sorry, I said next, thinking that he was angry at me for being in
the garden. I didn't realize that this garden was private. It was
just so beautiful and unique that I couldn't resist. May I ask who
created it?
"It follows my design," Lord Haldir said dismissively. "But it is not
for the garden that you entered here. That for which you have been
searching lies not beyond this wall.
You agreed as a condition of entering Methentaurond to accept my
authority without question. Why do you defy me, Marian?"
I looked up at him, seeing sadness and curiosity in his eyes, but no
anger. It dawned on me then how what I had been doing must look from
his point of view, and I realized I had made a very serious blunder.
If I had been trying to gain his trust, going behind his back had not
been the way to do it. Why hadn't I realized before I started out
that that was what I had been doing?
No, I said, oh no, you don't understand. I wasn't trying to. . . I
didn't mean. . . I only wanted you to see that I would keep your
secret if I knew, I pleaded uselessly, miserably thinking that by
trying to gain his trust I had only lost it completely. How could I
ever repair the damage I had done?
But instead of the disaster I expected, his eyes softened in
forgiveness, and he reached out and gently placed a hand under my
chin.
"So curious, so restless, so mortal to chafe against such boundaries,"
he mused out loud, shaking his head. "These are traits that would
serve you well if only you would focus them in the proper direction.
You would doubtless open Pandora's box if it was placed before you."
You would not? I asked him, truly wanting to know his answer.
"Only in dire need, if the necessity outweighed the consequences," he
replied more seriously than I expected, removing his hand from my
face. I felt that he was thinking of some other issue, something that
weighed on his mind, and I longed for him to tell me what it was.
"There is little in Methentaurond that is closed to you, Marian," he
continued, "except for those few things that concern the elves only.
You must stop this search: You will not find it. You waste your time
and ours, and risk injury that you can ill afford. Be patient,
Marian. I will show you the way soon, for the day draws near when you
must leave us for a time."
His words dismayed me. I knew that day would have to come eventually,
but I had become so at home here that leaving had seemed distant and
vague; an unwelcome appointment that I had pushed to the back of my
mind. I didn't feel ready yet. I didn't want to leave Methentaurond.
Most of all, I didn't want to be parted from him.
When must I go? I asked.
Perhaps he hadn't decided yet, or hadn't yet seen in me what he was
looking for, for a guarded "Soon," was his only answer.
"You will stop looking," he pressed. By his expression I knew that he
was neither pleased nor accustomed to giving direction twice.
I will stop - for you, I promised. I searched his face for any
response to my careful admission, but his expression remained
studiously neutral.
"I have come to know," he said in the slightly slower, more melodic
tone that I was learning meant that he was relaxing his guard a
little, "that your desire to solve mysteries lies not in the thirst
for power, as it does so many of the Followers, but in the delight
that the discovery itself holds."
While speaking, he had shifted his eyes away from me to contemplate
the bubbling spring. When he returned his riveting gaze to me, I felt
as though the very orbit of the planet had shifted in its wake.
"The elves safeguard a treasure that you have not yet seen. This
thing holds no power, but only delight that is now mingled with
sadness. Do you wish to see what lies beyond the wall, Marian?"
Yes, I responded, and he offered me his hand.
How right it felt to place my hand in his broad, warm grasp and follow
him back to the garden wall below the terrace. He led me into a
hallway lit only by lanterns, and Bruno followed, his nails tapping on
the stone floor, setting off tiny echoes. Set in alcoves spaced along
the walls, the lanterns danced and glittered on the arched, tooled
surfaces of the reddish-orange stone around us. This corridor was as
skillfully wrought but less lofty and more simply adorned than those
of the Great Hall, and I assumed that we were now passing through a
lower level of the Hall itself.
After a short distance we came to a domed space where several hallways
met. Still holding my hand in his, Lord Haldir chose the leftmost
hall. This was a narrower corridor whose carved walls and tiled
floors soon ended in an irregular but smoothly-floored subterranean
passage that appeared to be a natural hollow in the stone. Lanterns
still illuminated our way, their shimmering light now and again
alighting on stalagmites and stalagtites reaching for each other in
the cool darkness as we skirted carefully around them.
We turned a final corner in the dark passage and emerged at once into
a bright, soaring grotto, and I blinked and shielded my eyes in the
sudden brilliance.
Lord Haldir waited while my eyes adjusted. Soon I could see about me
and he intently watched my face as I looked around the grotto in
wonder.
"I have desired to show you this place since the day you came to be
with us," he said quietly, and we stood together, hand and hand in a
silence punctuated only by the twittering call of birds and the soft
hush of leaves in the mild breeze.
Here that body of water that must feed the spring in his garden
widened to encompass the whole of the roughly circular grotto, framing
the banks of a broad island in its center. A shaft of brilliant
daylight slanted down from a pantheon-like hole in the irregular dome.
This must have been the only place in Methentauraond that was open to
the sky above.
Nests perched upon shelves high in the dome, and occasionally a small
bird flitted through the column of daylight with a flash of color when
its wings touched the sun.
At the center of the island, partly in shadow and partly in the
sunlight that graced it from above, stood a lone tree, its expansive
branches arching out to fill over half of the grotto. Like the
carving on the entrance doors, the gray trunk of this magnificent tree
was at least as wide in girth as the largest redwoods I had seen. It
must have been thousands of years old, with branches the size of large
trees that grew out and then swept upward nearly to the dome above.
The leaves in the boughs above quivered golden-green in the faint
breeze, and golden flowers released an occasional petal to flutter
slowly down and feather the grassy glade below.
Squeezing my hand, Haldir led me silently over a graceful white
bridge. We stepped onto the island through green grass scattered with
fragrant white and yellow flowers. The flowers left an open swath of
green where I imagined the light from above would trace its bright
path as it arched from morning to night. They were the white and
yellow flowers of my dream. My pulse quickened, and I wondered what
meaning this place held for him.
"The flowers," Lord Haldir broke the silence to tell me, "are
reminiscent of the yellow elanor and the white niphredil, which
bloomed only in the starlight. They no longer grace the elven meadows
of Arda as they once did in the days of my youth, long ago."
Is this. . . a mallorn? I asked as we stopped near the base of the
gray and golden tree.
"It is the last mallorn," he said, touching the trunk reverently. "I
planted it from a seed I had cherished for centuries. "You see before
you some memory of Lothlorien the fair, though it is but a faded image
of the light and wisdom of ancient days."
But can't you plant more, I asked, sensing his deep sadness, from the
seeds of this tree?
"Nay, Marian. You behold only the living dead. It is female, and
needs the male of its kind to beget another. Yet no other mellyrn
remain. Its disappearance from Arda, like that of the elves, is
merely delayed."
Like the Cafẻ Marron in South America, I recalled out loud, that man's
incursions into the rainforest had doomed to oblivion except for the
cuttings that were sparingly taken by botanists to keep a few
specimens alive.
It is a confusion to us, I told him, which species disappear because
of the natural course of time, and which we are dooming by our own
actions.
Is it because of us that the mellyrn have disappeared? I asked,
dreading that we had caused him such grief.
"No," he replied. "As much as the elves of Lothlorien resisted it,
its time had passed, as had ours. One wisdom, if it is such, that
escapes us, is to learn to make it any easier to say goodbye." He
looked deeply into my eyes as he said this, and I wondered how many
meanings his words held. Would he regret sending me away?
Was it vanity for a time when the elves were masters of Arda, I
wondered momentarily, remembering Feanor and the Silmarils, that had
made him think so much more of the past than the present; that had
persuaded him to plant this tree here? No, I told myself immediately,
it was love, and sorrow: Sorrow that had deepened his wisdom, and his
beauty. Yet I still sensed some unrest, some concern that went beyond
these things. Was it because of me, I wondered guiltily. Or perhaps
I was only imagining it.
It is not easy for me to say goodbye either, I admitted, thinking both
of Kevin and of this elf that stood near me, his hand holding mine. I
had faded, for a time, after Kevin. But I had gone on, trusting that
the future held something for me. Now I was here, and I didn't want
to lose what I had found.
"What do you think of," Lord Haldir asked gently.
A poem, I said, somewhat embarrassed. But it is bittersweet, and not
as beautiful as the poetry of the elves.
"I wish to hear it," he urged, and pulled me down to sit with him at
the base of the tree, Bruno plopping down beside us to nap in the
grass.
"Nature's first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf's a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay."*
He smiled sadly. "The Followers are resilient," he said. "Callo, and
the rest of the First Born, we are perhaps wise and strong, but no
more resilient than the mellyrn. We cannot stay."
Men are too resilient, I argued. We adapt too easily, become
accustomed to things that are not good for us and come to accept them
as normal. Some of our children grow up surrounded by concrete. They
become adults whose hearts are hard, who have never seen nature or
know where food comes from beyond a grocery store. We survive, yet
too often we forget to live. The elves have never forgotten how to
truly live, Haldir.
"Your ancestors knew such things. It is to plant the seeds of such
forgotten wisdom that you have been brought to us, so that Men may
again honor Arda and learn to live anew. Yet we may not remain to see
how your future unfolds."
My husband and I went on a vacation, I told him, to the San Juan
Islands, in Washington. We had just embarked on a ferry into the
Sound, and a group of kids came up on deck to look at the seagulls
gliding and calling on the wind around the boat. Even while they were
goofing off, their faces held such amazement. Later I talked to one
of the adults with them, and found out that they were inner city kids
that had never seen nature like they were seeing it that day. I could
see it in their eyes, Haldir: I believe that it changed some of them
in a profound way. Not all of them, but some.
"Does this give you faith in the nature of man, then?" he asked me,
some of his scorn from the first day we met returning.
No, I stated flatly. But God told us to reach beyond our nature. He
would not have told us to do something if it wasn't possible. That is
what I have faith in.
"Do you have faith in yourself, Marian?"
I don't know, I said honestly. I think so.
"You must.
Now come with me," he rose and pulled me up with him, a smile
threatening to form at the corners of his mouth and his eyes. "Up,
into the tree."
What? I objected. I can't climb this tree; I didn't even climb trees
when I was a kid. Why, I can't even reach the lowest branches!
"I will assist you," he said, and offered me a thin gray rope ladder
that I hadn't noticed against the gray trunk of the tree.
"Today is a new day - you are no longer a child," he challenged quite
seriously. But I saw the sparkle in his eyes and knew that I couldn't
say no.
Do tell, I said sarcastically. I'm 45, I thought, and I'm climbing a
tree.
At least I wasn't wearing a dress, I told myself as I climbed the
ladder with him close behind me.
A really, really big tree, I reminded myself and clutched the thin
ropes as tightly as I could as we climbed higher and higher. Finally
we neared the top where the limbs spread to a wide, almost flat area,
and I recalled the talan in the carved doors nestled in just such a
spot as this. How I wished there was one here now. Haldir leaped
past me near the top of the ladder to stand perfectly balanced on a
wide limb, and waited for me to climb up beside him. Look ma, no
hands, I mumbled as I stood up and fought the vertigo that kept me
from finding my balance, looking down between the gaps in the branches
like I knew I shouldn't and trying to find something besides air to
hold on to. Chuckling, Haldir jumped forward easily, completely at
home in the tree even in his long robes, and held me steady, an
arrangement that I found quite pleasing.
We found a place in the cradle of the branches where the sun fell and
where I could sit without endangering my life. Haldir sat next to me
and we gazed out over the grotto for a time, watching the birds dart
through the branches below us and listening to the rustle of the
leaves. I felt that he was sharing something quite dear and private
to him, and that this rarely was so. Then he began to speak quietly
and soothingly in elvish, but it wasn't me he was talking to.
"Can you hear it speak?" he said to me, placing my hand against a
large bough of the tree.
No, I told him, afraid I was disappointing him, I can't. I sense only
strength, and great patience.
"The elves taught the trees to speak when we first awoke in Arda.
This tree now only whispers," he said in a regretful tone. Then an
expression came to his stoic face that made me realize that it was
difficult for him to say what he was going to say next. Still holding
my hand on the tree, the sparkle left his eyes. Had he lost hope for
the future?
"This tree is alone, with no others of its kind to commune with. Will
you grant me the favor of speaking to her when we are gone?" he asked
me in a low voice.
Of course I will, I replied, my eyes filling with tears. It was not
pity I felt for the tree, or for him. Rather, I felt for the first
time that he had dropped all of the walls around him and shown me his
heart, a rare intimacy that I treasured beyond words or feelings.
"Diole lle," he said quietly – thank you – and swiftly turned away.
* * * * *
Later we walked back through the lower corridors on our way to dinner,
once again entering the domed space where many passages met. Bruno
laid his ears back slightly and stared down one of the passages, or I
would not have noticed that one passage was guarded: Two sentries
stood motionless in shadowed recesses on each side of its arched
entry.
Where does that lead, I asked as we passed by. I thought I could
literally see the doors slam shut behind Lord Haldir's eyes.
"It is of no concern," he replied evenly, his expression unreadable
once more. "Come, the Hall lies ahead," he said and guided me into a
larger arched passage.
If he had said "that is the treasury," or "that leads to the wine
cellars," it would have satisfied my curiosity. Well, maybe not if he
had said it was a wine cellar, but something else practical or
mundane. Didn't he realize that by telling me I shouldn't be
interested, it only intrigued me more? More likely he simply took it
as a given that he would be unconditionally obeyed. After the offense
he had taken to my search of the streams, I wasn't about to flaunt his
authority again. But that passage bothered Bruno, and now, sitting
here writing of it hours later, it bothers me too.
We climbed a short, broad stairway into a larger upper corridor. Lord
Haldir sent an elf to take Bruno back to the stables, and we entered
the Hall. Several elves were already serving the evening meal, and
the tables echoed with low, rather irritated-sounding conversation.
As we seated ourselves I looked back toward where we had entered and
saw that it was the very archway through which Lord Haldir retired
after every evening meal.
Good evening Marian, Lindir greeted me and passed me a strange-looking
dish. Try the vegetables, he said with a plastic smile, you may find
them particularly interesting this evening.
I took the dish and served myself, becoming aware that several of my
dining companions had stopped their conversations to watch me.
Wondering what was afoot, I self-consciously took a bite of my food
and looked at Lindir again; Lindir, who had a carefully constructed,
exceedingly neutral look on his face. Instantly I knew I was in
trouble yet again.
Where is she! came the roar from the kitchens. A very large, very
intimidating and very incensed elf that I vaguely recognized as the
head chef burst into the Hall and scanned the crowd until he saw me.
He strode vehemently across the room, elves scattering before him like
shore birds escaping an oncoming wave and then closing in behind him
as he stopped to tower over me.
No one, he glowered, NO ONE alters the smooth, precise function of
this kitchen except for me. How dare you presume to steal one of my
best cooks away without my permission and impose this charlatan on us
all? Have you tasted this. . . dish? he accused, waving it under
my nose.
Mutters of agreement filled the Hall.
I glanced at Lord Haldir out of the corner of my eye. He was hiding a
grin in his wine glass and I knew that I couldn't expect him to step
in. This was my mess – would it ever end?
I looked around at the hovering, displeased elves that seemed to be
crowding forward.
Let's discuss this in the Council Chambers and not disturb everyone's
dinner, I said, and I patted the angry chef's arm and smiled
endearingly (I hoped) up at him, steering him toward the kitchen to
gather Curulas. The chef led me over and tore Curulas away from his
valiant efforts to cook more vegetables that doubtless would be eaten
by no one.
Not daring to look back until the doors of the Chambers had closed
behind us, I saw that Lord Haldir, Gladrel, and even Nárwen had
followed us into what I was hoping would be neutral territory. Lord
Haldir leaned comfortably against the Chamber wall, crossing one leg
over the other and propping a thumb expectantly under his chin,
pressing his index finger over his upper lip, doubtless to keep
himself from laughing. I narrowed my eyes at him and turned back
around.
You, the chef said, and you, he accused, pointing at both Curulas and
me, have in less than one meal destroyed my excellent and well-
deserved reputation. Some people are not meant to set foot in a
kitchen, and you, he pointed at Curulas again, are most definitely
not. The simplest dish befuddles him, he complained to me, throwing
up his large, flour-covered hands.
I cannot turn badly chosen plants that are delivered to me too late to
prepare properly into a perfect dish! Curulas defended himself. And
you are overbearing and impossible to please, he defiantly told the
Chef. It is because of Nárwen's poor management of the gardens that
the quality of the dish suffers, not my cooking!
And I hate to cook, he added accusingly at me.
If you had told me sooner what you needed for tonight, pitched in
Nárwen to Curulas, and hadn't changed your mind at the last minute, I
could have delivered the plants to you on time. And if you don't
listen to Turnaur tell you how to prepare them properly, it is your
own fault!
I was not consulted about this arrangement! It is not acceptable, the
Head Chef declared. You will remove him and restore Nárwen to her
rightful station at once, he demanded.
Everyone around me looked to Lord Haldir for support.
I looked over my shoulder at him also but he only raised his eyebrows
at me and continued leaning silently against the wall, making no move
to either overrule or help me. Fine, I could handle this just fine;
no problem. I glared at him again, took a deep breath, and turned
back around.
It seemed to me that Curulas and Nárwen were finally starting to see
their jobs from each other's point of view, which is what I had
intended. But one meal's worth of accusations wasn't going to repair
their relationship.
A fine headache beginning to form in my temples, I tried my best to
hide my nervousness. Turnaur, I said to the head chef, I know that
everyone here, especially you, wants to be the absolute best they can
be at what they do, or you all wouldn't be so passionate to have
things set right. And, I said to Curulas and Nárwen, I understand
that throwing you into new responsibilities without any preparation is
unsettling. But, I think you are all up to the challenge, and my
decision stands.
You have said it yourself, the Head Chef said to me as though he had
checked me on a chessboard, it takes months, even years, for me to
train a cook before they earn the position that Nárwen holds – the
position that Curulas has made a shambles of in one meal!
Well, I said in a disappointed tone of voice to the Head Chef, if you
don't think that you have the expertise to deal with the situation. .
.
Just one minute, the Chef protested, I have been training cooks for
millennia – I can teach anyone anything! Then the Chef realized what
he had said and sputtered. Checkmate, I thought gleefully. It wasn't
every day that I would be able to catch an elf off guard, so I did my
best to keep from embarrassing him.
In that case, Curulas, I asked quickly to cover the Chef's little
blunder, what do you need from Turnaur and Nárwen to do a better job
tomorrow?
Curulas looked amazed that anyone had asked him this, and took a
minute to think. Well to begin with, Turnaur could stop yelling at me
when I make a mistake, and if he could just let me ask a few
questions, give me a little more attention until I get the hang of
things – he's always paying attention to something else until it's too
late.
But if Turnaur isn't always available, who else would be the most able
to help you learn Nárwen's job?
Well, Nárwen I suppose, Curulas said reluctantly, looking anywhere
except at Nárwen.
Nárwen, I said, if Curulas helps you in the garden, will you help him
in the kitchen?
And, Curulas added, Nárwen needs to pick what I need – the right
quality, and deliver them to me earlier in the day.
Nárwen looked resentfully at me and then at Curulas, but nodded in
agreement.
Nárwen, do you need anything from Curulas to be able to do what he is
asking of you?
Nárwen replied that she needed Curulas to tell her what he needed
sooner so she had time to plan ahead and get Gladrel's approval.
Curulas reluctantly agreed.
Well, I said to the Chef, is there anything I can do in the kitchen to
help you in the next two weeks?
No! The Chef declared in horror, the less novices in the kitchen the
better.
What's on the menu for tomorrow then, I asked, turning to look at
Curulas and Nárwen. But I saw that they were already walking out the
door in animated conversation: I like red chard, declared Curulas,
but it has already bolted. What do you think about the broccoli,
Nárwen said, it would make a wonderful au gratin tomorrow night. . .
Thank you, I said to the Chef, I'm sorry I didn't include you in this
decision from the beginning. I know that both of them will benefit
from your support.
Your pardon, he surprised me by saying graciously. I allowed my
immediate needs to overshadow the rewards that this, ah, experiment
may bring. An elf of my years should show more patience.
I touched my hand to my heart in respect. I could see now why Lord
Haldir would have chosen a different lesson: My decision had affected
not just those I intended, but everyone in the caverns. Still, I felt
a burst of self-confidence that I had made the right decision by not
backing down, and I didn't feel the need this time to ask Lord Haldir
if he agreed. I looked toward him anyway and smiled, bouncing on my
toes a little, although I would rather have jumped up and down and
yelled "YESSSSSSS!"
He merely pushed himself away from the wall and noncommittally
followed the others out of the room. Suddenly I didn't feel like
celebrating anymore. What did I have to do for him to be satisfied
with me?
* * * * *
The rest of my evening was spent visiting a listless Callo and then
sharing the Hall with a large group of elves and some good bottles of
wine, listening to Lindir continue his tale of the Silmarils and the
elves in Beleriand striving against Morgoth. I brought one of my
notebooks and soothed my bruised ego by drinking wine and sketching
Lindir while he emphasized valiant elves in battle with dramatic
sweeps of his arms, or crouched down and lowered his voice, making us
lean forward in anticipation of what would happen next. Lindir was a
true raconteur; these elves had probably heard this story over and
over, but he made it come alive so that I believed I could see and
feel and hear it, even smell it happening before my eyes.
I had tried to find an opportunity to sketch Lord Haldir, but I
couldn't seem to catch him at a time when he was unaware of my
actions. I wanted it to be a secret, so that if I could do a drawing
I was satisfied with, I could give it to him as a present.
I lifted a half-empty bottle of wine to Lindir in salute as he
finished for the evening, and then stared at the lights of the Hall
filtering through the purplish-red liquid. It gave me an idea; an
idea of how I might approach my Vanimë problem in a subtle, skillful
way. Seeing that the Hall was emptying, I poured a goodly amount of
the leftover wine into some open wine bottles and carried them back to
my rooms.
I have an experiment to conduct tomorrow.
*"Nothing Gold Can Stay," a poem by Robert Frost.
**amrún nín – my sunrise