The characters are my own creations, the places and situations, though, are Tolkiens'. To him and God I give credit for this piece, though all mistakes I claim as my own.

Mîrgolodh was turning into a painful companion. That was how Celuant was coming to think of him anyway. Yet, unfortunately for him, the ellon clung to Celuant. Not literally, thankfully, the ellon was actually less likely to touch another than any in the Singing Woods Celuant had met thus far. Yet, the new young, once-noldo followed him now he was healthy enough.

Celuant raised his eyes from the riverbed to glance the other ellon's way. His heart did rise to see him now, garbed in green, skin shining as a elf's should, and a layer or more of flesh beneath the skin to even it out and hide the bones now, though he'd never be thick and soft of flesh, few elves were, neither would he be brawny as some were. The other elf studied now a bit of stone in his hand and opened his mouth. Celuant rolled his eyes and turned away. "This" was the problem.

"I like these stone. I do. They are fascinating and shine well enough. But they haven't the facets other gems have, and they've no real clarity to them at all."

"We gather them because they are hard, made good weapons, and need no heat to melt them for they can be fashioned into weapons without melting."

Mîrgolodh looked up at him still holding the stone in his hand. "You make beauty out of them too."

"As does Sarnin, but I make them thus so our people will request and carry them with them, not because it pleases me to do so. If you wish to help me with that, you may."

Mîrgolodh smirked as he interrupted. "You insisted I help you."

Celuant finally turned a steely stare upon Mîrgolodh, who flinched back under it. "I insisted, because we 'owe them!' They have given us things we could not provide for ourselves out here. Now we do the same for them!"

"Sarnin doesn't …"

"Because she knows no better! We do!"

Mîrgolodh flinched back again shutting his eyes and wincing away deeply. Celuant put his hand on his hips, hung his head, and sighed. This wasn't working.

He'd assumed their times as prisoners had made them both hard and appreciative of sharp pointy things one could use against those who had hurt them and 'would' hurt their hosts. He was wrong. Mîrgolodh was not hard. He was soft still more like Sarnin than he and more appreciative of beauty.

"You do not want this. Do you?"

Mîrgolodh looked up at him eyes open again. "To be your assistant?"

Celuant nodded. Mîrgolodh's eyes widened in a panic. "No, no, I do. I do!"

He took a step nearer Celuant holding out his hands and arms to him. Celuant raised a hand and hardened his eyes again. "No. You want to cling to me, because I understand. But I don't. You have more in common with the craftsmen of this place than with I. You love beauty too much to help me as I wish your help. 'Your heart' is not filled with hate as mine is."

Mîrgolodh looked down at the water his feet were now in. His glowing skin went sallow. His shining eyes went dark. "I do. And it is." He looked up and glanced around now, "Just … not here they're not …"

Celuant raised his own head and looked around them. The green growing over the edges of the cliffs rising around them were bright against the walls of an entirely different hue. He saw the beauty in them both the way their different shapes, and colors, and natures contrasted with each other to bring a strange harmony in The Song. Yet, it did not movie him not like it did this young one.

He looked back to Mîrgolodh now. "Go and find something you like in this new home of ours something you want to make into the focus of your new craft."

Mîrgolodh looked back to him wide-eyed. "Do you think I will find it, 'here?'"

Celuant nodded. "I do."

Mîrgolodh then gave him the brightest smile he had displayed yet in this place, then turned and disappeared right over the canyon walls. Celaunt gave a slight sigh as he turned back to his work alone.

. . .

It was nightfall when he heard him a strangely bright voice he'd barely heard before behind his back. "You have lost your assistant, Sarnhael."

Celuant took his time straightening to look up into the shining eyes of Melarbeth the quietest of Lathwinn's brothers, so far. Sarnhael raised an eyebrow at him. "You care?"

"I do."

Celuant shook his head and looked down to find the right stones in the river around his feet again. "Why?"

Melarbeth's voice lowered to its usual, serious octave. "Because I believe you about our people being in danger, and I believe you can help as you say. But I also believe like my sister and aunt. Others should not be 'forced' to help you do this. And, you have not forced the one you could have most easily manipulated to do so."

Celuant looked up and met Melarbeth's gaze. The other elf was smiling at him again. Then the Green elf asked him, "May I help?"

Celuant reared back on his heels. His eyes widened at the green Warrior before him. "'You' craft?"

The elf stepped off the boulder he had been squatting on and into the river. "Somewhat."

Celuant studied Melarbeth's clothing now noticing the extra shine to their various pieces, the ornaments sparkling out here and there on them. He'd assumed they were there, because this young one's aunt and sister loved him so much. But perhaps … "How do you think you can help me?"

Melarbeth shrugged. His smile grew a bit. "I have been watching you so closely, and so often, here, I think I can tell almost as well as you now, which stones you will choose. And mine two eyes joined with yours might make your labor go faster at least."

The other ellon wordlessly scoffed a bit, but then asked, "And just 'why' have 'you' been watching me so closely and so often?"

Melarbeth shrugged again. "Well, you're out here by yourself so very often, away from the other elves of our wood, and even the protection of the trees, aunt Sarnin and Lathwinn worried much about you. And it was decided among us, of me and all my brothers, I was the one you seemed to tolerate the company of best."

Celuant bent his head over his crossed arms, and laughed.

Only Melarbeth's great self-control that came from listening to his mother cry without upsetting her further by joining her that let him not react for this. It was the first time Celuant had laughed, he could recall since this ellon had come to stay with them. Lathwinn and Aunt Sarnin would love to hear of it.

For now, he watched and listened as it went on and on until the other elf shook his head. He looked at him, still grinned. Then he raised his shoulders, let them drop, and bent over at the waist again with his eyes on the water, or rather what lay beneath it. He said, "Let us see this acquired skill, then."

Melarbeth nodded. He spoke not back but watched the other ellon a moment more in stillness. This was also the first time he could recall the ellon from the north speaking his name, but then he did not often do this, push himself forward. And the one he used to think so much of as "stranger," and he was still more stranger than all others elves here to him, but Mîrgolodh, barely spoke to any of them at all except perhaps Sarnin, and Lathwinn, when she made him.

Still, Melarbeth's heart told them this was a change. After thinking thus to himself, he gladly set his eyes to searching the watery pebble bed beneath his feet though he still kept his other senses in tune with his surroundings to defend the stranger slowly becoming intwined with his home and family now.

What do you think?

God Bless

ScribeofHeroes