I found myself imbued with a restless vigor all the rest of that day, and nothing to focus it on. I circled our common room, sticking my nose into everyone else's activities. On my second circuit I picked up one of Bombur's unfinished spring-work toys, earning a slap across the knuckles. On my third circuit, I spied Thorin's map spread out on a table. For nearly half an hour I stared at it, pondering the Woodland Realm that existed just outside its bounds, as well as this cryptic inscription:
West lies Mirkwood the Great-There are spiders.
"You've been studying this map for quite some time," Balin said, startling me from my thoughts.
I looked up into his warm, brown eyes and nodded. "I know this map isn't to scale, but the mountain seems close to the woods. I was wondering how many days travel it might be."
"From the edge of the woods to the mountain? Oh, it's not far. Choosing a route is the tricky part - do we go around the lake on ponies, or do we row its length?"
"Say we go around the lake," I asked. "How long would that take?"
"I'd say ... oh ... five or six days," Balin said.
"Five days is not long," I said, not mentioning that this pleased me. "What of this?" I asked, tapping the scrawled text: There are spiders.
Balin shook his head. "Those woods are perilous," he said. "Do yourself a favor and think no more of them."
"Won't we travel through them on our way east?" I asked.
"Goodness, no, I should hope not! Not if I have any say in the matter," Balin said, his voice cracking.
He retreated from the table, muttering under his breath about Gandalf putting strange ideas into our heads. Dwalin met my gaze from the other side of the room, where he'd apparently been watching this exchange.
"The Mirkwood is foul," he said as he approached. "Years ago, Balin and I traveled east with Thrain. We made the mistake of sheltering under the forest's eaves to escape a wicked rainstorm. Thrain disappeared during the night without a trace. We searched for him, but ..." Dwalin sighed, the regret plain on his normally stoic face. "Those woods do not haunt my nightmares the way they haunt my brother's, but I would not go back there again. Hope that you will never face the same terrors."
I found it hard to accept that the fierce and lovely elves we'd met could live in such a grim place, but I kept this thought to myself. Neither Dwalin nor Balin were easily shaken.
While the others made their way to bed that night, I sat on the balcony with my clarinet and played wistful mountain songs to the stars. My mind wandered unbidden to Fevelien's face, picturing the sharp planes of her cheekbones, the clean angle of her nose, and the deep caverns of her eyes. I could lose myself wandering into those depths, I thought.
Too restless to sleep, I wandered downstairs to the bath for a long soak. Much later, I climbed into bed where I eventually fell into fitful dreams. I labored ponderously, as if underwater, through the motions we'd practiced all morning. Fevelien danced beside me, her movements light and effortless. We spoke in a meaningless jumble of words. She held her hand out to me, but I couldn't lift mine to take it. A shadow fell between us as a troll lunged forward, swinging its club into my face.
I jolted awake. Sunlight streamed into my bed chamber from the window. Fili, having climbed up on a chair to sweep the curtains aside, stood over me in nothing but his braies.
"Wake up Bofur!" he shouted. "You don't want us to be late for our date with the elves, do you?"
"What time is it?" I grumbled, rubbing my eyes.
"Nearly half past nine. I hope you have some clean clothes to change in to," he said, wrinkling his nose in disgust at the sweat-dampened tunic and breeches I had tossed on the chair the night before. "These smell like sweaty arse."
I sat up and grabbed my pants from him, smelling for myself and groaning as I cast them back down. I had only one clean set of clothes at the moment, and they were far from my first choice to impress anyone. I'd had to patch the left knee of the breeches after a troll gnawed on my leg. The tunic's sleeves had been ripped nearly clean off along with my arms.
"Never mind me, go dress yourself," I scolded, whipping him across the backside with my musty pants. He took off cackling, and I slammed the door behind him so I could change in private. I didn't have time to fork my beard and plait it into a proper battle braid, but I wrapped and tied it a bit tighter than usual with the jasper beads.
Everyone had dressed by the time I emerged a few minutes later; all except Bombur. He sat on a divan in nothing but a towel, unhurriedly working his way through a plate of cheesy eggs. His hair and beard were still damp from the bath.
"You're wearing those?" he said, raising an eyebrow at my patched knee and shortened sleeves.
Kili jumped up, "Planning to impress them with your thick, hairy ..."
"Kili." Thorin warned from across the room.
"Arms!" the young prince said incredulously. "I was going to say arms."
"Don't encourage him," Bombur sighed.
"Are you not coming with, or are you planning to train with us in your altogether?" I asked my brother.
"I'm about to dress; just let me finish my breakfast first," he said. "When did you bathe?"
"Last night." I said flatly, turning my head to avoid his reproachful gaze.
"Let me guess, you were too restless to sleep? Our stay has been very good for all of us so far. It would be a shame if someone were to undo that, nadad," he said.
"I have no intentions of making a fool of myself," I replied.
"Intentions, no, but mistakes do happen," he reminded me.
"I can control myself," I grumbled, stalking off to make my own plate of eggs. Truth be told, I knew my self-control would last only so long as Fevelien showed me no interest.
Finally all dressed and fed, we strapped on our boots and gathered on the steps outside. After incessant pleading from Fili and Kili, Thorin joined us carrying his sword from the troll cave. Even Bilbo was persuaded to bring his little blade.
We tramped off down the short, tree-lined path to the training yard, arriving just as the 10 o'clock chime echoed out around the gardens.
"Remember to address me as Borin in front of the elves," Thorin reminded us for the third time. He'd insisted on using a false name, one from the same branch of Durin's line as Balin, Dwalin, Oín, and Gloín.
"I still think you should go with Groín," Oín pleaded.
"Shosh," Thorin urged, as we approached the walled court.
This time, the gate stood propped open. Estel greeted us just inside with wide eyes. I barely registered him before Fevelien drew my gaze. She stood at the far end of the yard, radiating vitality as she stretched to one side, then the other.
She'd tied her hair back again in a loose bun, exposing her long neck. I wondered whether her skin was naturally bronzed or gained it's color from the sun, and imagined placing a line of tender kisses from her collar bone to the tip of her delicately pointed left ear. I looked away to refocus myself, and found Bombur staring at me through narrowed eyes.
Estel saved me from further scrutiny by catching sight of Bilbo and running up to him.
"Are you a dwarf boy?" he asked, excited to meet someone closer to his own age. Bilbo looked cross, especially when the rest of us chuckled.
"I'm a hobbit," he said. "And a full-grown one, at that."
"Oh, my mistake," Estel said, his face flushing. "I've never met a hobbit before. Or a dwarf child. What's your name? My name is Estel. Are you a musician, too?"
"Musician? No. I'm the, uh ... bookkeeper,'' Bilbo said, his expression softening.
This meeting spurred a whole round of introductions. I noticed Balin and Dwalin exchanging glances when the elves mentioned the Woodland Realm, and casually stepped behind Bifur to avoid them.
"The rest of us are all here for Gliriel," said Fevelien, smiling at Calearphen. "Meletheldi is what we call ourselves. Love-sisters."
"You're really testing that love lately, meletheldë," Calearphen said, hands planted on her hips.
"Where are the others?" Fili asked, as the rest of us selected practice swords from the weapon racks. "Do you not all train together?"
Calearphen snorted. "Fevelien and I are the only sword-maidens of the group. Rhaweth and Thaliel are expert archers, but the armor is mostly for show. There are many dangers on the road, not just trolls."
Her words drew understanding nods and murmurs.
"Dwarf women don steel and carry heavy mattocks should they need to travel," said Dori.
"Speaking of, are there no women musicians among you?" Fevelien said.
"Ooh, no, not among this particular group," I said, shaking my head. "Though my cousin Bimbur plays a mean fiddle. She didn't come along for this tour."
Bifur slid his eyes toward mine. I shrugged back in response. Someone needed to say something while everyone else stood there in a stupor.
"Mirkwood," Thorin said, "Seems a miserable place to live. I imagine you've faced dangers there as bad as any on the open road."
Calearphen and Fevelien shared a look before responding.
"You should know that it pains us to hear outsiders use that name," Calearphen said. "Our woods were once known as Greenwood the Great."
"Beauty still exists in the north where we dwell, where the beech trees grow," Fevelien added.
Thorin scoffed at this, "No one has spoken the name Greenwood in my living memory."
"We elves remember it in its glory," Calearphen said. "Before the woods were befouled, and the trees twisted to evil purposes."
Thorin bunched his eyebrows, and he may have continued arguing if Fevelien hadn't changed the subject.
"Show us your sword, Borin, for I can see it is not of dwarvish make," she said with an iciness that stopped Thorin abruptly.
His hand clasped the sword grip protectively for a moment before reluctantly unsheathing it. He offered it hesitantly to her, as if concerned she might take it and not give it back. She took it reverently.
"This is an exquisite blade," she said to Thorin, gazing intently at it. She ran her hands along its edge and tested it's weight and grip. "It's First Age," she said, voice full of wonder. "Gondolin, most likely. Have you shown it to Lord Elrond?"
Thorin shook his head and held out his hand, impatient to have the sword back.
Fevelien returned it to him, "You should," she said. "He could tell you more of it's history. You can tell us how a troupe of traveling musicians came upon such a weapon another time."
"In the trolls' cave!" shouted Kili.
Thorin scowled, but looked at the sword with a renewed interest.
"We can teach you how to wield it, at any rate," she said, drawing her own sword.
"We all know how to wield swords, lassie," Balin said.
The elves looked at each other and smiled. I felt myself smiling as well, and for a moment caught Fevelien glancing my way. Her eyes kindled a fire in my belly that leapt down into my nether regions.
"We will teach you how to wield them more effectively, then," Calearphen amended. "What instrument did you say you play?" she added.
"I didn't," Balin said, then cleared his throat. "I play the viol."
"Tell me you did not carry your viol here all the way from the Blue Mountains," Fevelien said.
"He did! Dwalin too," said Kili. "Though Dwalin lost his to the river, I'm afraid."
"Kili," Thorin growled under his breath. Convincing him to come this morning had taken all of Fili and Kili's resolve. He was clearly having second, third, perhaps even fourth thoughts by now.
"Fortunately, you will not need your viol to play this song," Calearphen said.
"It may help to think of your blade as a bow, however," Fevelien added.
"Song?" Dwalin said. He and Thorin both looked about to protest, but the rest of us had already begun to line up. The elves arranged us into two rows, putting Bilbo next to Estel in the front. There was quite a bit of grumbling as this was done, but all other noises ceased when Fevelien whispered "Glinno annin," to her blade. It's melodic hum filled the yard, and even Thorin looked awed.
We began by reviewing the movements we'd learned the day before. At first it felt like we had moved backward, but by the second repetition my body began to remember seemingly on its own. It took a while to catch everyone else up, especially poor Bilbo, who had to lunge and feint double-time to keep from being trampled. He clearly had never swung a blade in his life. Eventually, Fevelien pulled him and Estel out of line and instructed them to spar together on the side.
"I don't want the boy to miss out. I'll just sit and watch," Bilbo protested.
"Oh, but I would be honored to spar with you," Estel said eagerly.
"Go easy on him, lad," I called out. "We need our bookkeeper in one piece."
Bilbo looked unhappy when everyone, Thorin included, laughed.
Fevelien crouched down beside Bilbo and said, "I believe your blade also dates to the First Age. It will serve you well, bookkeeper."
"I hope I shan't be needing it," he replied with a sigh.
As we prepared to depart afterward - soaked in sweat once again - Thorin approached Fevelien with a keen spark in his eyes.
"Where did you learn these movements?" he asked sharply. "For I have seen them performed before, but not by elves."
"I learned here, from the elf Glorfindel ... as he did from my mother. The song of the dagorlind has been practiced by elves, dwarves, and men," she replied, meeting his gaze with her own unwavering eyes. "They sang together at the close of the Second Age."
The two stared each other down for a long time. I noticed Calearphen maneuvering her way silently through the group until she and Fevelien had Thorin flanked. Bifur cast me a worried glance, and I flashed him the hang back sign. She'd moved herself to back up her friend, nothing more.
"These ... movements could be performed with axes and hammers, then," Thorin said, still unblinking.
"Of course. But you would need to provide your own," she said.
"What dwarf travels without an axe to hew rock, or a hammer to work a forge?" he growled.
"Bring them tomorrow, then," she said, then raised her eyes to address the entire group, "All of you."
Thorin grunted, seemingly satisfied. He nodded and turned away from her to lead us through the gate. "We'll meet you here tomorrow at 10 o'clock. With hammers and axes."
I was glad that I could wield an axe again instead of the falchion, and appeared to be in good company. We walked back through the garden in high spirits, all except Bilbo, that is.
"Even bookkeepers need to learn how to fight," Gloín said, attempting to cheer him.
"I prefer to use my wits. You all practice fighting, and I'll focus on keeping us out of fights," he added.
"Doesn't it feel good to swing your little sword at least, and to know you can use it if you have need?" Fili said.
Bilbo appeared to contemplate his question for a moment before answering. "I think I shall have a prior engagement tomorrow morning with a book and a pot of tea."
I stripped out of my sweaty clothes as soon as we arrived back in our rooms, tossed them in the laundry basket in the hallway, and lunched in my braies. An argument broke out over names as we ate.
"Did you hear how she emphasized Borin when she addressed you?" Balin said to Thorin. "I don't think she believed you."
"You should have used Groín like I suggested," Oín said.
"Or Fundin," Dwalin added, not wanting to leave his own father out.
"I introduced myself as Borin," Thorin said with a sigh. "I shall remain Borin for the rest of our stay here."
"That's all well and good, but the next time you use a false name, consider Groín, instead," Oín insisted.
And on it went. This fight was of no concern to Dori, Nori, and Ori, and even less so to Bifur, Bombur, and I, so we streaked down to swim in a warm, shallow stretch of the Bruinen. We scooped up handfuls of the smooth, colorful pebbles lining the river bed, holding them up to the sun to see what stories they could tell us. I was tempted to keep some to carve into beads, but to do so seemed a violation. I settled for landing as many as possible in Bombur's belly button while he floated nearby.
"Very mature, nadad," he said, plucking red, blue, and green jaspers from his navel.
We napped away the last of the afternoon along the river bank before returning to the house for dinner. A round piece of pink quartz fell from my belly and plinked down the steps as we climbed up.
"You'd better lock your door tonight, nadad," I said.
"There's a white one in there somewhere as well," he said, hustling to outpace my arm.
A soft knock at the door startled us from our meal. For a moment, I fantasized that it was Fevelien - until I remembered that I had thrown on only my braies before sitting down to eat. I froze in place as Ori, also in braies, opened the door to welcome one of Elrond's housekeepers. She bore a large, soft bundle that was (unfortunately) not large enough to block us all from view.
"Sorry to disturb you from your meal," she said, eyes wandering about the walls and ceiling to avoid the sight of us in our underclothes. "It has come to our attention that you, perhaps, may need some additional clothing. These garments may run a bit long, but we've found articles in your families' colors." She looked about awkwardly for a place to put them until Ori offered to take them himself.
"Would you like to join us for dessert?" he asked, only his hairy legs visible beneath the bundle of clothing. "We've baked raspberry and plum tarts."
"Oh, no, no thank you," the housekeeper stammered, backing away out the door as twelve nearly naked dwarves rushed forward at once. "Thank you for the offer."
Ori set the bundle of clothing down on the nearest unoccupied chair before he could be completely swarmed by everyone picking through the pile for their colors. Bifur reached the pile first and found two yellow tunics and one light green one - all of which would fit too snugly around our torsos - and soft brown breeches that looked very long. I took the smaller of the yellow tunics for myself and tossed the green one to Bombur. We tried them on at once, comparing the fits.
"It's a bit tight across your chest, try stretching your arms," Bombur said to me, stretching his tunic out over his rounded belly. Mercifully, the fabric did have some give to it. Otherwise, I might not be able to lift my arms overhead without the sleeves riding up my forearms. The pants left nothing to the imagination, and were too long by several inches. Fortunately, the long tunics concealed everything that the pants didn't. The extra length could be tucked into our boots.
"I'm going for a walk," I announced. I had already combed out my beard and felt ready for anything the evening might hand to me.
Bombur sighed. "I will go as well," he said, assuming I needed a chaperone.
"I could do with a walk," added Balin.
"As could I," Bilbo said, groaning as he rose on stiffened legs. "Note to self: no more exercising with elves."
Fili and Kili, always eager for anything, had already run for their boots.
"See if you can find Gandalf, will you," Thorin said. "He's made himself scarce these past two days and I want to consult him about the swords."
We trod out into the twilight, that magical hour when the sun sets and the moon rises. The only person I cared to locate was Fevelien, but I wasn't about to advertise this.
"What are your intentions, nadad?" Bombur said to me as we walked at the back of the group. Fili and Kili jogged ahead, while Bilbo and Balin held the middle.
"I honestly don't know that I have any," I said. "Why can't I simply enjoy getting to know her?"
"Because we'll be leaving soon, and nothing can come of it," he answered.
"I'm all right with that," I said.
"Are you?" he asked.
"Of course," I answered, not knowing whether this was true.
"Hang on a moment," Bilbo interrupted. "We're not just going for a walk, are we?"
He groaned when I didn't respond. "Oh come on! This is the second time I've been dragged out looking for this elf! And why? Because you're feeling 'squirrelly'!"
"No one's dragged you," I said. "And I'm not 'squirrelly' - whatever that means."
"I don't understand you," Bilbo sighed.
"Neither do I, nor most of us," Bombur added. "I wish I could, sometimes. Why this elf, for instance? You know she could kill you instantly if you gave her a reason."
"That's part of her appeal," I admitted. "But trust me, I have no intention of giving her a reason. I'd like us to be friends."
"Word of advice, lad." Balin said, looking back at me with a sad smile. "Don't count on the friendship of elves."
"I'm too old for you to be calling me 'lad,'" I grumbled.
Bombur sighed. "Friendship is too much for you to hope for, I'm afraid, " he said. "Content yourself with the training she's willing to offer."
"How old do you suppose she is..." Bilbo wondered aloud, "since her mother fought during the Second Age?"
I didn't answer him. I'd assumed she must be older than me, potentially by hundreds of years. Her age didn't concern me the same way mine did, though.
We circled around the gardens, watching the moon climb higher as the sky faded from peach to violet to deep indigo to jet black. The stars shone like diamonds as we turned back to our rooms, and finally spotted Gandalf. He sat on a rocky outcropping high above us. We climbed a long set of winding stone stairs to reach him. He appeared to wake abruptly from a trance as we reached the top.
"There you are Gandalf," Bilbo said. "We've been looking all over for you!"
"Have you now?" the wizard said, smiling at me. "I've heard you've met some of Rivendell's other guests."
"Yes, by chance we have," I said, turning to take in the valley laid out below. Flickering lights lining each wing of the house glowed like hot embers in a forge. One of those lights could be her window. "A group of elf maids."
"Such meetings in Rivendell are never by chance," Gandalf replied.
I wasn't quite sure what he meant by this, nor whether his words were a warning or blessing.
"We've been sword training with them. You could join us tomorrow with that blade you found in the troll cave," Fili added. "We even convinced Thorin to join in today."
"Oh, well that is good to hear," Gandalf said, then grimaced. "I'm afraid I'm not cut out for that type of training, I'd only slow you down."
"Gandalf, did you know that Thorin's sword dates to the First Age?" Bilbo piped up.
"I suspected it might. Yours and mine as well," he said. "Who told you so?"
"One of the elf maids ... Fevelien," I said, trying not to sound any particular kind of way when I said her name, despite feeling a lightning bolt strike my gut when I did.
"Hmm, yes, she knows much of blades," Gandalf said, his eyes glinting.
"Oh, so you've met her?" I asked.
"I've run into her a few times over the years," he answered.
"What about Calearphen, the very tall one with copper hair?" Kili asked.
"Yes, I've met her, as well as some of the others," Gandalf said.
"And none of them are in the habit of murdering dwarves?" I asked. "Bombur is worried," I added in a whisper. Bombur sighed, clenching his fists against his hips.
"They said Lord Elrond would know more about our swords," Bilbo said, ignoring me.
"I find that I agree," Gandalf said. "Perhaps we should join them for dinner one night. That would be more to my taste than sword training. I assure you that none is likely to murder you, though a few have never encountered dwarves before and will be shy."
See, none of them will murder us, I said to Bombur with a gesture.
None is likely to murder us, he replied.
Notes:meletheldë (singular) / meletheldi (plural) = love-sister(s); close female friends who love each other platonically (Quenya)
braies = medieval undershorts (Old French)
nadad = brother (Khuzdul)
dagorlind = battlesinger (Sindarin)
shosh = quiet/hush (Khuzdul)