Rivendell II

Raven's POV

Rivendell made me wish I could turn wolf and follow the winding corridors, stairs, bridges and terraces with the help of scent and spoors. I never got properly lost in the wide-flung buildings clinging to the steep cliffs but I often took involuntary detours. The tiled floors, foreign statues and often abstract murals did not provide the sort of landmarks I could easily map. What I could navigate most easily were the open terraces that led to the rooms important for me. Though the route across the bridges and pillared walk-ways was usually longer and in cold and wet weather not the most pleasant I preferred it. That way I could avoid the strongly frequented corridors and halls. The wolf prefers territory and so I had quickly marked out the important parts and passes of the valley with his help. I could find comparatively unused passages between the stables, kitchens, our rooms, the library and the gardens. On my own, I avoided the Great Hall and the bathhouses, except if it was a time of day or night when very few people were there.

The main bathhouses were run by circulated duty, which meant, I discovered, that there was always fire-wood, water and towels provided for and you did not have to clean up after yourself. But then there were, on the lower level of the main buildings, earlier versions of the great bathhouses, small stone-rooms that were connected to outside cisterns, and not very often used. Here you had to make your own fire to heat water and empty and clean the tub when you were finished. I much preferred that version, mostly because it saved me from odd looks and the danger of conversation if I went to the main bathhouses.

Gildor also showed me the large ways and smaller paths out and around the valley so I could escape the bustle of the houses when I wished. The main-path across the bridge directly adjoining the great courtyard and the stables led zig-zagging steeply upwards out of the valley. There were plenty occasions where one could leave the path and disappear into the wild forest and look down at the houses and bridges of the opposite cliffs. Behind the forge a thin path led up into the cliffs of the house-side. These were steeper and sheerer than those of the other side, and I preferred to take that route. At the start the small path was well-trodden and after a while it forked to lead once around the whole valley. This was the way the scouts used to get to their posts and took on the few horsed patrols they led. Most scouting was done on foot and outside the paths. But where the path forked a much thinner trail led up further into the cliffs until it vanished in the raw stones. Several shelves at various heights could be reached from there, and so far exploration of that side of the valley kept me busy. I reserved those trips for the times when Gildor was occupied elsewhere and I had neither stable-duty nor anything else to do. He had, I gathered, refused to lead a scout-patrol of his own and instead joined an existent one. I could sympathize with the refusal to lead, but wondered why Gildor should be bothered by that. If there was anyone I considered a suitable leader it was him. But as night-scout and occasionally far-scout he was back at the valley more often than as captain, so I would most certainly not question anything of that. Even more so since I knew that the next time his patrol would be on duty or he would be asked to scout beyond the Rim I could go with him. Still, he had to attend the scout-meetings and plan their schedule, which took more time than I would have anticipated. In the clan, either the shaman, K'ashi or Koth'nakira as leader of the scouts and hunters respectively would ask for a handful of people willing to go out, go now, and it would be done. Here, lists and plans were drawn, routes distributed, and times for starting and return fixed. I committed the schedules to mind just to know when Gildor would be there and when not, but otherwise waited for him to pass on new plans. He would have taken me to the scouts' meetings and included me in the planning but I dared not.

As it was early winter, it was, at least for unfurred, cold, wet and windy. I had stayed unfurred for long times before, but now, knowing I could not change here, I longed for the wolf with an ache that surprised me. Not only for the comfort of thick fur, a light, sinuous body and easy mind, but also for his calm. I was used to days that were filled with things that had to be done if you wanted to live comfortably when unfurred. Now that I knew fire I liked it, though I preferred to be in control of whatever flames were near. So the days, or nights, depending what I wished to do, usually began with gathering new firewood, a trek to the nearest brook for water and a wash, and a brief meal. Then, if the season allowed it I would have to start gathering plant-things, and if not, I would hunt. I had to tan hides, twist sinew for bow-strings, make arrow-heads, shafts or other tools. There were no empty parts to the circle of nights and days. Here, with the day- or night-filling care for food out of my hands I had to scrabble for things to keep me from getting mad. To some degree it was a relief to sleep when and how long I wanted, with all the comfort and the amenities of the valley at my disposal, but it was strange and left me feeling even more out of place. The surroundings, the awareness of the people around kept me wary and alert whether I wanted it or not. Only when I retreated into the wolf's mind could I find calm and rest, and sleep without disturbing dreams.

At least it was easy to adjust what I knew and was used to to the way of the valley. Sometimes I felt it would be good to be wolf, block out the cutting wind with comfortable fur, but then the practicality of the wolf won over. If I had the opportunity of warm dry rooms, why should I face the weather? It was much more comfortable to remain inside and watch whatever Gildor was doing. He explained the pictures and murals running along the corridors freely, but I refrained from probing for his personal attachment to the events shown. And I was careful not to mention Gondolin again if Gildor did not happen to touch on that time himself. Maybe if I waited until I had a comparatively extensive picture of Eldarin history some things would explain themselves or he would betray answers by small reactions whose meaning I could not place correctly yet. So far, we found it a good way to exchange bits of information trading like with like. It was easier than I had expected to tell more of wolf clan. I noticed Gildor was keeping to the same policy I did, seldom asking for my personal attachment to whatever customs or events I mentioned.

Also, we were in the library quite often. He was in charge of the maps, and I used the time to explore the uncountable books in the spiralling shelves that covered three storeys. Of course I could not read them properly, but still the things intrigued me. At first I thought Gildor was only ordering the stacked and rolled up maps, but then found that he was sorting out damaged and faded ones to make new copies of them. He did the same with the detailed maps heavily used by the guards and scouts that showed the valley and the adjacent lands. I watched, fetched maps and drawing supplies, and pinned papers to wooden boards so the would keep straight while being worked on, but still it took me several rainy days to realize that he was not copying someone else's ancient work but his own. Most of the maps did without names, but the larger ones included them. I puzzled over the script which made no sense if I added the sounds I had learned from my father to the letters Gildor used.

There were small booths that ringed the inner side of the library's main room on each storey which were used for reading, writing or copying things in peace. According to their size they held a wooden table and some chairs, as well as nooks in the wall where unfinished pieces could be left. We were in the one Gildor occupied with his stack of maps when a runner brought a small notice. I had curled up in the round window with one of the smaller maps of the valley and watched a grimly satisfied smile dawn on Gildor's face.

"What's that about?"

"Read for yourself" he passed the notice to me, and I took it slowly, turning it right side up. I could make out a few words, but faced the same problem as with the names on the maps.

"I cannot read that" I said finally, holding the paper out to him. This once he must have misjudged my reaction because he looked chagrined "You…I'm sorry, I didn't think-"

I shook my head, passing the paper back to him "I drove Niy'ashi mad when he taught me writing. But I have never seen these symbols. And it is Sindarin as well, I assume"

"It says only that there will definitely be a few forays next spring, after snow-melt. Whoever wants to go can report to Faranaur or Glorfindel who organise the groups"

"Forays?" I asked hopefully "And will you go?"

"Definitely. If we join one of the smaller groups, it will be easy for you to come as well. I don't think you enjoy the idea of going with the mounted ones. And they would not have you come fighting without armour as you do"

I shrugged. That would probably always remain a point of argument between us. Alright, Gildor's armour had merits, but I hated wearing stiff leather-plates. And I would have been unable to change.

A few days later a thin snow had started falling, driven by a cold wind. Everything was covered with a white crust and the less used corridors and open walkways were freezing. Gildor had put the map-business back in order to teach me reading and writing, which provided us not only with a time-consuming occupation but also a number of unexpected laughs. Quills were frail and impractical, either giving off great blobs of ink or scratching and drying up. I managed to break two of those until Gildor thought of giving me some of the graphite and coal pens he used for drawing. They were much more solid, produced a smooth, even line, and did not blotch. I found it easy to draw the symbols and write words, but the reverse, to see the symbols and remember what sound they signified, was more difficult. Gildor grinned and suggested next he could give the scout-reports to me for copying. If I could not read them I would not fall asleep over the boring contents. Seeing another chance for occupation I thought the idea had some merit still. I learned a considerable number of words that way, most of which required laborious explanations on Gildor's part – Ashi'kha had no equivalents for justice, candelabra or dais. He quickly realized we had better start out with things that had words in both our languages.

If the weather was not incredibly foul we deferred those sessions to the outside, exchanging plant-names, beast-names, words for different parts of both as well as for weapons. I would never have dreamed of expecting him to learn a word Ashi'kha, but the teaching did not long remain one-sided. It was a curious feeling for me that he voluntarily would not only learn words of my language but actually use the phrases he asked for. By midwinter, I still puzzled with the reading but we could lead small conversations completely in Ashi'kha. At first it had always startled me to hear the familiar sounds in so strange an environment, but then it made me feel less and less isolated. And I felt even closer to Gildor for his efforts. I knew I was making a mess of many Quenya and Sindarin words with the sharp accent of Ashi'kha, but he never addressed that or told me to be more careful except when a word was only distinguished from another by hard or soft voicing. And he asked me to pronounce the Ashi'kha words he knew over and over so he could write them down for reference. I found it amusing when as a result I could not read my own language except with much puzzling over the symbols and sounds. Then I arrived at a word I knew, and only then realized that this was the first time ever that Ashi'kha had been written, and in Quenya symbols.

I watched him puzzling with some symbols he tried to assign to Ashi'kha sounds for a while, thinking of the murals in the corridors. Everything here was constantly worked on, repaired, expanded, just as the small stack of maps that currently sat on the desk. He made things much more practically – arrows, arrow-heads, pouches, things we used in our travels.

"You don't make anything, do you?" I asked cautiously "I mean, the way your people here make things. Jewellery and all that stuff, fancy boxes-. Except your maps and paintings, and you don't show those to anyone"

He looked up from his shifting through papers with rows of symbols that signified Ashi'kha words, giving me a long glance.

"What's the use?" he said then "There are enough artisans here that I don't have to add anything"

"Why not?" I persisted when he did not snap outright "Don't you want to? After all, you…you just wrack your brain to write down my words in symbols that I cannot read my own language!"

He laughed softly, but then said "I need that for my own reference. You have no idea how weird your language's sounds are"

"I could say the same of yours" I said wryly.

"Say that word for oak again. Slowly"

I sighed "Shin'nor. You know you make things very much Ashi'kha way? It is all things you use, even if you add fancy carvings. And by now you make them as my people do. I suppose you are the only one here who sometimes uses flint arrowheads"

"Maybe. What was branch again?"

"Noriar. You avoid an answer"

"Yes. What was rock? Hinyan or hintek?"

I grinned "Tell me why you…well, why you do this? Hunting orcs, travelling, while you could make maps here?"

"I do it because I want to. And I make maps because they are of some use. And so is travelling and orc-hunting. Hinyan or hintek?"

"Hintek is a small stone, he is a whole mountain. Arahe is a small mountain, a hill. Hinyan is a hoot-owl. They ask you why I am here"

I watched him note down some words, cross out, write again. When he did not answer I leaned forward and caught his hand "Don't they?"

Gildor glared at me "Yes"

I released him "And what do you say?"

He smiled sweetly "I tell them to mind their own business"

"Ah…"

"Hintekra?"

"Little stones. Sand. You walked shin'a'sha with me"

Gildor stopped writing again "I said I would"

"You broke more of your people's laws. For me. A wild notion of mine"

"I…had that same wild notion when Silmarusse was killed" he said "There is nothing like some sort of security, is there?"

I hesitated. I could have spoken about a quite different sort of security in other matters but refrained "I suppose" I said at length.

We had just packed up our things and left our library-booth when a small group of elves came into the hall, arguing softly. One of them hailed Gildor "If that isn't luck, Gildor we need your help. You know some orcish, don't you?"

Glorfindel was there, too, but I did not know the others. My first impulse was to slip back into the booth, but Gildor held me back "Most certainly not. And you need not hide from them" he whispered. I saw that differently, but had no choice now but to stay. They had a slip of greasy and soot-stained paper with them, which was I finally saw, covered in orcish runes. They placed it on a table and we crowded around. As they were all taller than I and I did not want to push to the front I did not see much.

"Faranaur's far-scouts chased orcs beyond the Rim two days ago, but never got them" the one who had hailed Gildor explained "They returned to the deserted camp from where they had chased them, and found a scroll there. This is what was in it, but of course we can't say if they are new orders or already long outdated"

Glorfindel pointed at two runes "I know that one means chief or captain. We suppose that these are mountain and cave and stand for Moria. It would then come down to something like the captain is ordered to be in Moria"

"I know that this signifies one of their troops" another elf, night-scout by the black clothing, put in "It usually means a small group of about ten. The captain is ordered to bring his group"

Gildor stared at the paper for a while "This one is…ago, or passed, gone. And the other two could mean dark and devour…no, wait, devourer, it's a noun. This one is a number…three, I think. It would mean three times the dark-devourer passed – whatever that means"

"Maybe a title? One of their great captains? Sauron himself would hardly be called on as devouring the dark-"

"No, certainly not" Glorfindel agreed. I tried hard to listen because they spoke Sindarin. Gildor's lessons were already paying off because I understood most of what was said. The puzzling went on a little, then I plucked up my courage and moved to stand beside Gildor for a look at the parchment.

"My" he said suddenly "I am dense. Can't you make something of this, Raven?"

"I can" I said after a breathless moment that froze me in irrational shock at being addressed in front of all these strange elves. I dared not take up the paper because my hands shook and so I only turned it around on the table. I had sneaked through orc-caves long enough with Niy'ashi that these symbols were less hard to read than a Quenya poem.

"But I can only translate it into Quenya. It is…I don't know Moria, but you say it means Black Pit, and this means black cave under mountain, yes. The whole reads…Korgul, chieftain of the long-fangs: Skarka scout-captain is ordered to bring his group in…into Moria before…the snow falls. The…this would mean door, or opening…is shut when the night-eater has passed three times from then"

"It is far outdated then" the one who had hailed Gildor said with some disappointment "It has been snowing for a long time. Faranaur said the orcs eluded them in the snowdrifts near the gate-stream, where their horses foundered in the covered cracks"

"That is…the most fascinating demonstration of orcish reading I have had up to now" Glorfindel said slowly.

"I have to make up for not being able to read Quenya" I said, only then realizing it might not be proper to speak that way to an obviously higher ranking individual here.

One of the others laughed "You teach him your sharp tongue, too, Gildor?"

"You better tell me what made their camp so special that they had written orders" Gildor returned "And a scroll-case this size seems strange-"

"Their wargs carry these things" I said, managing to sound neutral "There are two hoops to fasten it to a…collar"

Gildor glanced at me sharply, but mercifully did not pursue the subject.

"But there were no wolf-tracks" someone objected.

"No. The orders must have been issued long enough before the snow fell. Otherwise would have been a bit…useless"

"Sounds logical, but what makes you sure it is 'Nighteater'?" Glorfindel asked "That goes beyond mere translation"

The wolf did not tell you when it would have been better to lie "My people call the sun by the same name" I said.

Everyone around the table turned to stare at me. My heart missed a beat. I dropped my gaze to the table and inwardly kicked myself. I could feel Gildor beside me taking a breath.

"And what is the word in your language?" he asked then, ignoring the others.

"Roch'ir" I said softly "But it means just the same"

"That place you live is near to Mordor, isn't it?" someone asked.

Gildor shot a sharp look at him "Think well what you are implying, Rawegil"

"I imply nothing, Gildor" the scout returned.

"It would be about four of your weeks for us from the winter-camp" I forced myself to say "Five, from the summer-camp. And several moons from where we are when we stay further east. Less, would we make for it with a will. We do not go there. Its inhabitants come to us"

"You have trouble with orcs in the far east?"

I glanced at Glorfindel and shrugged uncomfortably "Sometimes"

I wondered if there passed some sort of signal between him and Gildor, but he only nodded and then picked up the notice "Well, they are out of reach now. In the winters here even the orcs don't venture out. Come on, you scouts, we have the next patrol to organize"

Gildor breathed a small sigh of relief when we were left alone again "Do yourself a favour, Raven, and do not tell them such things yet"

7