Chapter 4 - Rivendell

"Raining buckets."

"A real down pour."

"Enough rain to choke a frog and drown earthworms."

"Raining pitchforks."

"Raining sideways to Tuesday."

"A real gulley-washer."

"Raining cats and dogs."

Light laughter, muted by the steady din of the relentless storm, followed this last bit of descriptive imagery as the pair of border guards leaned against the bark of the tall elm tree near the ford of the Bruinen.

"Humans! What quaint notions they invent!"

"Aye. What do you suppose it means, raining cats and dogs?"

"Who knows. Maybe it is supposed to remind of the way a dog chases after a cat."

"Never in all my life have I seen rain that resembles that. Perhaps it is just meant to be funny, nothing at all to do with what rain is like."

"No, no, I think I understand it now. They mean the rain is interrupting their day or their plans; it is an aggravation, like a dog chasing a cat through the house would be."

A short silence followed as the second guard considered his cohort's explanation. Then he smiled and shrugged.

"At least that makes sense. Sometimes I wonder if the mortals understand anything at all about the weather."

"Well, who does, besides Lord Elrond?"

"Aye, you've a point; I admit that."

"And our sayings regarding the phenomenon are not so much better. Consider 'Nienna is weeping' or 'Manwë and Ulmo arguing up a storm.' Those are just foolishness, too."

"True, but only children say such."

"Nay, I've heard all kinds of rain quotations from mature elves, even First-age elders. What about 'Rain enough to make the river run backwards.' Now that is simply ridiculous." Both guards chuckled over it a moment.

"Raining hard enough to make a Dwarf clean."

"It's a good day for hunting Balrogs."

"Clouds as close as a brooding hen."

"That's not rain-based. You lose a point."

"It is too rain-based. You only get rain from such clouds."

"Doesn't matter, this game is for rain sayings not before-the-rain sayings."

"Fine, then, point to you." The chastised warrior ceded the round and fell silent, considering his next try more carefully.

His friend waited patiently for they had a long watch to stand and no one was about on such an uncharacteristically wet morning. There hadn't been rain so heavy in Imladris in more years than either one could recall. They wore their travelling cloaks and had their hoods pulled down low over their faces for the tree's branches provided little protection against the ongoing deluge. Visibility was severely reduced in the watery air and hearing much dampened by the omnipresent splashing of thousands of drops striking the churning surface of the Bruinen.

Even so, their keen eyes searched for travellers upon the grey-sheeted pathway on the opposite side of the ford. Any day a party from Mirkwood was expected and both guards were eager to meet these foreign Elves. Neither one had been to Mirkwood or met any Wood Elves, unless one counted the Galadhrim, not a comparison the folk of Lorien would appreciate very much.

"All right, I have one: 'Rain like mithril needles.' My grandma says that sometimes."

"Good! Here's another: 'Rain fat with winter's snow.' Made that one up myself."

"Lord Elrond must be in a foul mood."

"Was that supposed to be your contribution to this round?" asked the first with incredulous exasperation. His comrade generally had a sharp mind and was good company. "Mayhap the rain has your brain too wet to function properly. Say, that's a good one: 'Raining too hard to think straight.'" He smiled triumphantly as the second guard groaned.

"That was not meant to be my go; I was making a legitimate observation on the true cause of this unexpected precipitation. And it is unfair to take two turns in a row, you forfeit a point."

"Oh all right! Go on and have your say, then."

"Well I warrant it's enough water to douse dragon-fire, and no joke."

"Indeed! I believe you've solved the puzzle. Lord Elrond must have done this to aid the poor folk up past the 'shaws."

They shared serious looks as a garish streak of lightning cracked across the sky seconds ahead of the rumbling boom of its thunder. The pair remained sombre and quiet for a time, thinking on the cruel fate overtaking the humans just beyond their fair realm's boundaries. Another dazzling display of forking incandescence zigzagged overhead and the sound in its wake was like the crash and clamour of a rock slide. It was so loud they both startled and lifted their hands to shield sensitive ears. The noise seemed to echo in their heads for a minute or two and perhaps that is why neither one noticed the new sound until its creators were almost upon them.

With expressions revealing both amazement and amusement in equal parts, the border guards gaped at the shapes materialising out of the vague and rain shrouded air of the tree-line on the far shore. It was the party from Mirkwood, of course, every one of the thoroughly soaked Wood Elves brightly singing a bawdy song about the mishaps arising whilst making love amid rain slickened branches during an early summer shower.

The silvans had neither cloaks not hoods and their simple garments were so drenched it seemed their skin was green and brown. Their small packs sagged heavily on the straps supporting them and the fletching of the arrows in their quivers nearly wilted in the deluge. Long hair lay plastered close against their scalps, streams of water coursing down the braided locks like fluent fingers. The Wood Elves halted on the muddy banks as the final chorus was sung in laughing disharmony and then Filigod stepped forward, right hand upraised in greeting.

"Mae Govannen, mellynen," (Well met, my friends.) he called to the guards. "We are Aran Thranduil's emissaries, sent to learn of our western kindred. This must be the ford into the Hidden Vale, else you would not be standing watch here, and yet I fear we may not cross in this wild torrent." And that was so, for the Bruinen was rising swiftly and what should be a broad, shallow, sandy creek had transformed into a deep, swift, ruddy cataract. "Have you rope to steady our footing?"

"Suilad, Elves of Mirkwood "

"Greenwood!" shouted Legolas with a warning glare visible even through the thick curtain of rain.

"Your pardon," the offending guard gave a half-bow in apology and started over. "Suilad, Elves of Greenwood! I fear we haven't any rope with us. One of us will go for horses."

"Nay, no need for that," answered Filigod. "Send word ahead that will we cross further north and may be delayed a bit, but do not trouble your Lord for transport."

"Further north?" the guard scoffed and shared a look with his comrade. "There is no ford beyond this point. Around yon bend in the course, the Bruinen is overhung with cypress trees and the banks are rocky and steep beyond that. The channel is narrower, 'tis true, but too deep and too treacherous even for horses."

"We are not going into the channel, have no fears. Send word of our advance," called Filigod once more and then the Wood Elves filed away, disappearing back into the concealment of the dripping leaves as their leader began another light-hearted song.

For a minute or so the guards just stared at the empty shoreline, listening to the diminishing voices as the Elves departed. When the song was beyond their hearing, they faced each other with disbelief and uncertainty on their comely features.

"They are mad. No one can cross beyond this point even in good weather. We had best send for help at once," said one.

"Aye, you must inform Lord Erestor; he'll know what to do," agreed the other.

"Why must I go? Lord Erestor will not be pleased. I do not want to be the one to bring this news."

"You won the honour by losing the game and because I have already had to deal with Lord Erestor this day. I had to endure a lecture on the proper way to greet a Wood Elf just before I left for duty. As if he knows anything about how to greet a Wood Elf."

"Well maybe he does; Lord Erestor is a First-age elder. They say he knew some of the woodland king's kin in Doriath," argued the second guard.

"And just who are 'they' I'd like to know? Go along and find him, then, since you are so keen on his wisdom and knowledge where these silvan folk are concerned. I will stay here and count the bodies as they go floating off downstream," grumbled the first and with that unpleasant notion the two parted.

Their fears were unfounded, however, for the Wood Elves had no intention of getting caught in Bruinen's flood. They had rope with them, of course, for no silvan patrol ever went abroad among the trees without at least two coils of it on hand. Yet even with both pieces tied together the resulting length of the rope would be insufficient to span the river where the shallow ford usually permitted easy crossing. So naturally they would need to journey on to a place where the channel was narrower and the trees grew closer to the levee. Not more than a league around the curve of the land they located such a spot.

Up into the trees they went, silent now as they prepared for the endeavour, and watched as Legolas scrambled out onto a slender limb stretching over the churning water far below. He did not hesitate, leaping lightly into the air and performing an artistic somersault of two and a half revolutions before grasping onto the corresponding limb of a tree rooted to the opposite side. This maneouver elicited a few whistles and some admonishment against showing off as he managed a tight bow, smiling back to his fellows. Then he took the combined rope from his pack and knotted it securely to the trunk, casting the remainder to Faron poised on the branch from which Legolas had launched himself.

In no time all the Wood Elves made it over the river, treading the taut rope as securely as if it had been a bridge an arm's reach wide. A few attempted to mimic their prince's acrobatics, one walking on his hands, another hopping one-footed across, and Mallavorn tried a mid-air spin that nearly caused him to miss his grasp upon the water-soaked rope. That earned him a round of laughter and friendly teasing. A fine show it was and each Elf gave fitting appreciation for his comrades' efforts until Filigod, last to cross, was over.

Now though the Wood Elves were officially within the borders of Imladris, they were still high up on the surrounding rim of rocky land that helped obscure the reclusive colony from unwanted notice. The heavily forested heights were not inhabited by the Noldorin Elves, however, and so the pathways were few and those that existed were made by deer and smaller game. None of those tracks led down into the valley directly. Undaunted, the silvans took to the trees once more, surveying the landscape from the dripping firs as they got their bearings. As it turned out, the canyon walls were quite steep and the torrential down-pour made the way dangerously slick. It required a slow and cautious descent for the Elves of the Greenwood, though they were more sure of foot than any of the First-born.

Once the floor of the valley was achieved, the silvan warriors realised they had no idea where in the realm they were. Was Lord Elrond's dwelling still the Last Homely House or would it now be the First? They paused briefly to discuss this and decided to simply approach the first abode they came upon and ask the occupants for directions. They could see lights a ways down the vale and made for them, arriving at the tidy cottage in about an hour's passing.

No doubt the Elves who answered the door were surprised to find ten wet Wood Elves on their doorstep, but they were polite enough not to comment on the strangeness of it all. While everyone in Imladris knew the strangers were soon to arrive, none expected them to randomly show up, unannounced and unlooked for, at their private homes. Once the introductions were over and the query made and answered, it was revealed that Thranduil's emissaries were in the far northernmost corner of Rivendell with the Lord's estate nearly a half day's walk away.

Thus it was that the border guard, using the well constructed road that ran right to the main gates of the Last Homely House, arrived far ahead of the visitors. He found the Lord's seneschal in his office.

"The Elves from Mirkwood have reached the ford," he said quietly, "and asked me to go ahead and let you know they would arrive as soon as they completed the crossing."

True, he down-played the situation somewhat, hoping to make his audience with Lord Erestor shorter, but for that we may freely forgive him. The Wood Elves were not really in any danger, after all, and would not have liked for a troop of Noldorin warriors to come and 'save' them from a simple walk under the weeping heavens. Lord Erestor waved him off back to his post, suspecting nothing amiss, and so began his protracted period of anticipation in the front courtyard of Elrond's estate.

Several hours later, Legolas and Faron led the way obliquely to the rear of the house, entering the grounds through the paddocks and the stable yard. Their song again preceded them and drew the attention of the off-duty warriors quartered in barracks close by. They peered from the lighted windows and doorways, not certain what to make of the quaint procession. The silvans smiled and waved in greeting, not wishing to stop their song, and the Noldorin folk returned amused and bewildered grins in reply. A couple of the more senior warriors, having donned cloaks and high boots, stepped forward to bar the way and finally the cheerful singing faltered.

"Where did you come from and where might you be going, folk of the woods?" asked one, friendly but cautious. He could not permit this bunch of unknown elves to walk into the Last Homely House as if they owned the place, though surely he knew these must be the expected party of Wood Elves. "Are you scouts sent ahead to ensure your princes' comfort?"

"We are going where it is dry!" called out Faron and his fellows laughed appreciatively.

"And our princes are before you now," Legolas announced. "There is one, Legolas the younger son," he indicated Faron, "and here is Celon'lir, Thranduil's heir."

With that introduction Mallavorn stepped forward with his most pretentious swagger and gave a courtly bow.

"Mae govannen, people of Imladris," he bellowed magnanimously to the elves huddled under the dripping eaves and crowded on the porches, turning and waving to all and sundry. "Take us to your leader." Behind him Filigod groaned softly and shook his head.

The two Noldorin warriors were nothing if not shocked to see princes so indistinguishable from any other soldier, and wetter than river trout to boot. They exchanged their dismay through a hastily shared glance and sought to correct any breach of proper etiquette, bowing low to Mallavorn.

"Suilad, Ernil Celon'lir," said one. "Please forgive this poor welcome; your party was expected in the main courtyard and even now Lord Erestor awaits you there."

"Oh no apologies are required, my good sir," Mallavorn appeased the elf. "We will be satisfied with a warm fire and mayhap a good hot stew."

"If I may, Ernilen," interjected Filigod sternly, frowning as Mallavorn turned to him with a smug and haughty simper. "Permit me to fetch Lord Erestor while you and the guards take shelter from the storm."

"An excellent proposal, Filigod; we concur," Faron stepped up and answered for his brother-in-mischief. He sniffed the air noisily, turning his head from side to side. "I smell fresh bread baking; where there is bread one finds a kitchen, and in a kitchen will be a fire. Lead on, my Noldorin guides, let us adjourn to the cook's domain!" he exhorted grandly and moved hastily out of Filigod's reach. The rest of the silvan warriors ratified his proposal with a loud cheer, Legolas foremost to back his friend, and the two Imladrian captains could do naught but comply.

A small crowd followed the silvan troop, who resumed singing as soon as they took the first step, slipping through the drenched and heavy air into the kitchen gardens, heading for the locus of the culinary aromas. Into the cheery building they marched, dripping with rain water yet still harmonising merrily, called a greeting to the cook and her staff, and hurried for the huge fireplace alight with a crackling blaze. There Filigod left them, with great reluctance and a silent prayer for peace he just knew would go unanswered.

No sooner was he gone than trouble started. As quick as you could blink, Legolas produced his rope again and with Faron's aid strung it across the width of the room. While they were so engaged, the remaining warriors stripped down and set about draping the saturateded garments over the impromptu clothesline to dry out. Legolas and Faron did likewise and in mere seconds the kitchen was filled with naked Wood Elves. They opened their packs and brought forth combs and amid a great deal of light-hearted chatter began the work of drying off and de-tangling their storm-mussed hair. Mallavorn called for towels and at first no one noticed that the request was not answered.

Elrond's conservative Noldorin kitchen staff gasped and gawked, robbed of speech, incapable of thought, eyes bulging in shocked, albeit appreciative, disbelief. That lasted until the soldiers poked their heads in through the back door and found the sight highly amusing. They piled inside the suddenly crowded kitchen and ringed the nude elves. In no time they set to whistling and leering and shouting out all manner of lewd comments and suggestions, making fun of such primitive behaviour, for the vision before them certainly seemed to prove the myths told of the Wood Elves' lack of civilised manners and morals.

"Ai Valar! They are shameless!" laughed one. "You there, just what do you think this is? Don't you know it's not decent to go around bare as a newborn babe?"

"Who cares; just look at that arse!"

"Of course he doesn't know. They live in the open like animals. They probably go around naked all the time in their dreary woods."

"Ooh, there's a pretty image! Come closer, fair warrior, give me a kiss and I'll give you a tumble!"

"Watch you don't get too close and burn any important bits."

"I'll be glad to help warm you!"

"Don't bother; they probably can't even understand us."

"We understand you," said Legolas, more than a hint of menace in his voice. He and his cohorts had been just as shocked by this uncouth outburst as had the cook staff been by the unexpected exposure to so much wet, bare skin. The woodland warriors recovered their wits quickly, however, and grew angrier with every teasing taunt. "We are not animals. Nor do we feel shame for the bodies Eru gave us. Are we to stand around, cold and wet, until our garments eventually dry-out?"

"Nay, silvan elfling, but you should wait until you are in the privacy of your rooms to undress. Haven't you any manners at all?"

"I am not an elfling!" Legolas was on his feet and would have challenged this insult had his friends not quickly grabbed his arms to halt him.

"Oh? My mistake. In Imladris, only a child would flaunt himself so casually, especially with so little to flaunt," another voice jeered and all the spectators laughed at that. "Unless you are offering something?"

"Or maybe asking for something. Hoping for a little loving attention, pretty one?" .

"Seems you are the ones like animals, if the mere sight of unclothed skin inspires you to breed," sneered Legolas. "We silvans are a bit more evolved in choosing where and with whom such activities occur."

"Of course you are; that's why you've travelled all the way to Imladris. You'll be wanting a strong Noldorin stud to mount you."

"I'll be glad to accommodate you, wood sprite, just bring that fine tight arse closer and I'll breed you here and now."

That was more than the Wood Elves could stand. Faron and Legolas shared a grim glance and with a blood-curdling war-cry launched themselves into the knot of Noldorin soldiers, fists and feet flying. The other silvans joined them and a frenetic fight broke out in the kitchen. The cook and her assistants fled, calling for help and bringing half the household staff out into the vegetable garden between the main building and the kitchen.

It was a terrible row, for Wood Elves are fierce and proud and didn't take well to being propositioned like trollops or slatterns and likened to poorly endowed elflings. They were intent not only upon pounding such notions out of the Noldorin's brains but were determined to divest the soldiers of their garments, too. All the better to level the field and return the insults. Plus, there were numerous deadly objects at hand: cutting, chopping, and carving knives, cast iron pots and pans, fireplace tongs and pokers, and even logs of wood.

In no time everyone was armed with something and madly battering whatever body happened to come within range. A horrendous cacophony of shouting and cursing mixed with the bizarre sound of pots parried by pokers, knives screeching against cookie sheets held up as shields, and groans and cries of misery when some unfortunate soul took a direct blow or a glancing slice.

Hastening around the side of the house, Erestor met Filigod, whom he recognised from the grim victory of the Last Alliance, and together they pushed and shoved through the throng of normally calm and peaceable Imladrian citizens blocking the path. They were anything but civil in manner this night, shouting and gesturing like mortals at some crude sporting match and were stubbornly unwilling to cede their spots before the kitchen's entry. With much effort the two advisors managed to break through and stood upon the threshold just in time to see the battle come to its utter peak of frenzied mayhem.

The room was a writhing, flailing mass of naked and half-naked elves leaping over tables and swinging from the rafters, grappling and punching and wrestling under foot, slashing and parrying and fending off cauldrons, ducking flaming brands while pulling hair, biting, kicking, and screaming obscenities in so many different languages that the offending words were no more than a harrowing roar. Many wars had Erestor fought and likewise Filigod was accustomed to all manner of combat, but here was a spectacle the like of which neither had ever witnessed.

"By Elbereth!" boomed Erestor, absolutely incensed. "What is the meaning of this?"

"Have you all gone mad?" shouted Filigod beside him. "Stop this at once!" Frantically scanning the gyrating mass for Legolas, he caught sight of Thranduil's youngest and drew a relieved breath to find him still standing and not overtly bloody, his fighting stance perfect as he held one of the Noldorin warriors at bay with a frying pan and a log.

Their combined remonstrance halted the erring elves almost as one. Almost. Faron ceased sparring and lowered his carving knives, allowing his opponent to take advantage of the lapse and swing at his head with a bulky cauldron. Faron ducked neatly, but as he was poised almost back-to-back with Legolas, the heavy pot crashed right into the younger prince's head, sending him reeling. Seeing his nemesis thus disoriented, the Noldorin warrior seized the moment and swept out his leg to upset the stunned Wood Elf. The tactic worked beautifully. Legolas sprawled backwards and fell with a tremendous thud to the floor, striking his head again on the edge of the brick hearth. He was knocked senseless and every eye turned to him in horror, every heart stilled for a short, breathless second as a bright scarlet ribbon began trickling down his face.

Filigod and Erestor did not hesitate, leaping into the momentary quietude before the sight of the inert and bleeding figure became the catalyst for a renewed attack by the loyal silvan elves. Together they shoved everyone back to reach the unconscious elf and knelt beside him. Filigod again breathed a grateful prayer to Orome, who was supposed to watch over Wood Elves, for on cursory examination Legolas' skull did not seem to be fractured. The pronounced bleeding was the result of a long jagged gash where his head had connected with the raised bricks.

Erestor grunted as he stood up, a strange sound comprised of equal parts disdain and appreciation for the naked, senseless form prone beside the hearth, unaware of course that the injured elf was Thranduil's son, and gazed about until he spotted two Noldorin soldiers still clothed sufficiently to be decent. He motioned for them to approach.

"Carry him to the healing wards and then confine yourselves to quarters. Lord Glorfindel will prescribe fitting reprisals for your unseemly behaviour," he ordered. "The rest of you return to the barracks immediately for the same reason. I assure you all, Lord Elrond will hear of this."

Under his piercing gaze of absolute disgust, the Imladrian warriors shrank silently out the way they had come in, not daring to utter any complaint or comment. Nonetheless, every one of them held rancour in their hearts for the visitors, for to their minds these foreign elves had caused the ruckus and brought them this doom. It would be fair to say many wordless oathes of vengeance were sworn that night.

"As for the rest of you, permit me to quote your King: 'treat them as you would your own'. That being your sovereign's wish, you, too, shall suffer the consequences of such disorderly, orcish antagonism of your fellows. Your punishment begins with setting this kitchen to rights. Once that is done, Filigod will escort you to the barracks to which you have been assigned. What manner of sentence you receive shall be left to the discretion of Glorfindel," Erestor's disapproving voice droned, his eyes searching the bedraggled, bruised and bleeding knot of shamefaced silvans. He scowled in distaste, refusing to speculate on why they were all naked. "And for Manwe's sake, get dressed! Which of you are Thranduil's sons?"

Before Filigod could answer, Faron spoke.

"I am Legolas, Thranduil's youngest, and there is Celon'lir, Greenwood's heir." Faron felt terrible, for had he not lowered his guard Legolas would not have been exposed, defensively speaking, and that sneaky Noldo soldier would never have gotten a chance to hurt him. He knew how much Legolas hated to be bested and how he dreaded being confined indoors. Now he would be sequestered by the healers until they were satisfied the damage was repaired, and if they learned who he was, they would only keep him bed-bound longer. Thus, though Faron knew the wise thing to do would be to relinquish the identity swap, his heart bade him to obey his prince's will. He kept talking to prevent Filigod from contradicting him. "The fallen elf is my cousin and best friend, Faron. I would go to him, sir, and ensure he is well."

Erestor was about to agree, for he saw no reason not to, but even as he opened his mouth his Greenwood counterpart beat him to it.

"Nay, Ernil Daid (Secondary Prince). Lord Erestor is correct; you Adar wishes you and your brother to be treated the same as any other warrior here. No special privilege may be extended, even in this case. Your cousin will be fine under the competent care of Imladris' skilled healers. When they deem it is wise and Glorfindel grants leave, then you may visit."

Filigod's tone left no room for argument and he stared coldly at Faron. He was not about to disobey Legolas' order but neither would he abet the scheme. Filigod was sure Legolas would waken in a disoriented state and unwittingly give away his true identity. Thus, he would not be able to accuse anyone, meaning Filigod, of betraying him. This was an important consideration as far as the advisor was concerned, for the younger prince's temper was spectacular.

Faron glowered, his cutting glance clearly promising some odious retribution, but he turned away to sort out his garments from the tattered mass of clothing strewn about the room.

Next Filigod called Mallavorn over to his side and the warrior came at once, choosing to take the one leg he had just stuffed into his damp leggings out instead of shoving the bare one in. He stood before the two councillors, an expectant expression filling his eyes, one of which sported a stunning black and swollen bruise, tunic hanging open and lower half exposed. Filigod stifled the urge to shake him and took a calming breath.

"Ernil Vain, (Pre-eminent Prince), isn't there something you would like to say to Lord Erestor?" he prompted. Filigod regretted mentioning it at once, seeing the look of pure befuddlement wash through Mallavorn's one open eye.

The vain warrior's brow creased as he tried to think of what Filigod might be hinting at. What would Celon'lir do on such a visit? He almost laughed out loud, imagining the disrespectful and flippant reply the crowned prince would make, all the words correct and proper but their meaning skewed by tone and demeanour to the side of pure insult. With effort he stifled the irreverent snort and mastered himself. He knew he could never successfully render such an insolent salutation. His head hurt ferociously and he could hardly put two thoughts together in a coherent sequence. Mallavorn cleared his throat and faced Lord Erestor, who was watching him with bland appraisal, and attempted a dignified smile.

"Mae govannen, Lord Elrond. My esteemed Sire sends his greetings and felicitations, charging me and my brother to do our utmost to further the bonds of friendship between our respective realms." He tried to bow and nearly fell over, stomach rolling dangerously as Filigod grabbed his elbow and righted him. Mallavorn moaned and delicately palpated a contusion at his temple.

"Very nice, Ernilen, except this is not Lord Elrond," corrected Filigod, taking pity on the addle-pated warrior. "What Celon'lir means to do is offer the apologies of our warriors for their part in this regrettable incident of violence," he said to Erestor.

"Well, well, I suppose that will have to suffice," murmured Erestor, not sure if he wished to frown or grin.

This was certainly not a very good start for Thranduil's offspring and the night's events were sure to become a favourite story in the Hall of Fire. Such humiliation as this would be nearly impossible to counter and the woodland elves were sure to be subjected to much scorn and derision from the Imladrian guard. Indeed, he could hardly wait to tell Elrond. Erestor decided to smile; the long hours in the rain had been worth it after all.

TBC

© 29/12/2006 Ellen Robey

Disclaimer: Main characters and settings originally created by JRR Tolkien. Just for fun, no money earned. OC's and story are erobey's.
Elvish names and such:

Guanunig (One of a pair of twins)
Celon'lîr (River Song - Thranduil's eldest)
Ûrrusc (Fire Fox - Thranduil's nephew)
Tuiw. (Sprout - a pet name for Legolas)
Faron (Hunter - also Thranduil's nephew)
Mallavorn (Black and Gold - one of the warriors)
Filigod (Little Bird - Thranduil's councillor)
Condir O Gladgalen (Mayor of Greenwood - Filgod's Official Title)
Giliach (Star Crossing - Cel's false identity while in Lorien)
Tôradar (brother-father: uncle)
Hîren Adar (My Lord Father)
Hîr Adar mín (our Lord Father)
Ernil (Prince)
Ernil Vain, (Pre-eminent Prince)
Ernil Daid (Secondary Prince)
ion-an'weath (son-by-bond - son-in-law)
aurlinn (day-bird, a wood thrush)
Minya'mmë (grandmother)
thêl dithen. (little sister)
muindor laes, (baby brother)
nâr (rat)