Ionnath Estel
Part 1
Posted: February 9, 2007
Title: Ionnath-Estel (The Sons of Hope)
Author: Kenaz
*****
The remote past now laid bare, they sat in awkward silence. Not knowing how to close the gulf between them, he considered his own narrative. A thousand scenes played out within his mind, and then a thousand more: accumulated illustrations of the black hours and the bright; his most humbling defeats and greatest victories alike.
Where does one begin to tell a story of three thousand years?
This time, he did look up, out the window and past the little garden to the eave of the wood beyond where a lone figure wandered like a specter among the tree-stems. As if summoned, the figure turned and nodded without a word.
At the beginning, he decided. I shall tell our tale from the beginning.
- Lothlorien, 149 Third Age -
They played at hunter as they did at home, but this land was new to them, and strange: no orderly and well-mannered paths radiated in precise spokes from formal courtyards; instead, wild trails curved hither and yon, lined with flowers they did not know, and they stopped to touch and smell each new bloom before tearing off again in search of phantom prey. Even the trees were mysterious, taller here than in their valley home, and never before had they seen anything so grand as a mallorn! Together they circled the boles, running hands over silvery bark and exploring the nooks and shelters made by giant roots.
The native curiosity and wonder of the Peredhel twins was subservient now to little legs, withy as willow-wands, that longed to stretch and run and test their mettle after weeks of arduous travel. There would be time for looking and learning later, and for quiet wisdom served up at their Granddame's knee. For now, with the late day sun drawing long shadows in their wake, it was the thrill of the chase that swayed them, and the passage of strange soil beneath their feet.
Intrepid, they fled further, leaping fallen logs as deftly as any stallion and, they believed, nearly as swift. But soon their passage was thwarted: a river bisected their course and stretched on before them; easy enough for a wilding creature to cross, but not so even the doughtiest of hunters. "We have no choice," one spoke grimly. "We must swim it, else we lose our quarry." His partner answered with a silent nod and watched as his companion knelt at the river's edge to test the water's chill.
Suddenly and without warning, the quiet of the forest was shattered by a barbaric roar: a foe as yet unseen now alerting them to his presence.
"Ho there! That stream is swifter than it looks, and colder as well. Best step back, bairns. I am of no mind to fish you out!"
Elrohir, startled by the unexpected noise, tripped over his own feet and landed with a graceless thud on his backside, cold mud and wet leaves slickening his breeches. He received a thunderclap of malevolent laughter for his injury. The evil one will forfeit his life for such an insult, his companion silently swore as the fallen comrade tried to regain his footing, succeeding only in losing it once again on the slippery bank. Elrohir's eyes smoldered with humiliation and his clothing grew sodden.
As his brother faltered, Elladan stood firm, glowering with as much ferocity as he could muster, raising his spear—a slim branch salvaged from a pile of firewood—in a posture of imminent assault. Their invisible watcher was an interloper, no doubt, who had been spying upon them with nefarious purpose. They would tie him up and drag him back to their Grandsire, and he would take the rogue away to King Amroth for punishment. He would beg for mercy and they would show him none!
If only they could find him. Even now the cursed villain mocked them from his hidden place with his laughter!
"Up here, wee faradrim."
Above them, comfortably perched on the wide limb of a sycamore, a young Elf sat whittling a piece of wood with a small knife, a haughty grin climbing his face. His eyes were piercing blue and full of mirth, and his hair was almost as pale as their Grandsire's, though lacking the latter's glints of mithril and steel. He wore it pulled back in a thick tail that trailed over his shoulder. One leg clad in coarse green wool dangled casually beneath him in the open air. He was the very picture of a Galadhel, and his voice was heavily accented with the rolling burr of the Silvan tongue, which sounded thick and strange to little ears accustomed to the lithe speech of the northern realm.
"Catch!"
Elladan saw him toss something from his aerie and he dropped his makeshift weapon to grab at it. He missed. The thing bounced twice and settled on the ground a few strides away before he could snatch it up. It was the carving the Wood-Elf had been working on, a squirrel with a high, scrolling tail. It was unfinished and had only one eye as yet, though the other had been picked in shallow outline. The acorn clutched in its front paws was still quite rough at its edges. But all the same, it was a handsome squirrel, and Elladan envied the skill. Ada would not yet let him or Elrohir touch a knife, save when cutting meat at their meals.
Above, with as much showmanship as ease, the Galadhel gripped the branch with his knees and let himself fall backwards. Elladan gasped. Half way through the arc of his fall, he released the branch and allowed momentum to flip him over so that he landed gracefully on his feet. At this, Elladan gaped with nothing short of unbridled awe. From his spot in the wet leaves, Elrohir sniffed irritably.
"Who are you?" the stranger asked, appraising them with the open fascination to which, even at their tender age, they had long been accustomed. He tucked away his blade before reaching down to tug Elrohir to his feet, then settled his hands on his hips. "You are too young to be wandering alone. Your parents must surely have warned you that our woods may confuse those who know not the paths. "
Elladan squared his shoulders and pulled his most determined face. "We are old enough to go where we please. We may do what we wish and go where we wish!"
"Aye," Elrohir added, spurred on by his brother's vehemence and hoping to give credence to the tale. He stood beside Elladan, the grimy trails of his fingers striping the front of his breeches where he had wiped his hands. "No one may stop us but the King himself. We are nearly princes!"
The slightly petulant—though not quite convincing-- upthrust of their chins defied the Galadhel to gainsay them. Their claims were sheer caprice; they had not been given permission to wander freely, but rather had taken advantage of the distraction of their elders upon their arrival to dash off unescorted, but this imperious Elf most certainly did not need to know that! Seen up close, it was clear that the intruder on their play was, though much older than they, certainly not full-grown, and this knowledge made them brave with their words.
"What is your name?" Elrohir queried. "Perhaps we will tell our Grandsire that you have spoken harshly to us. He will not like that, and he will punish you for it. He may even have you banished from Lothlorien!"
"I have not spoken harshly to you, wee menace!" the Galadhel rebutted, jeering at them as he added, "and almost princes? Why, you two have about as much of the princely to you as mice have wings!"
Elrohir glowered at the affront, but Elladan, reconsidering his position after further contemplation of the older Elf's daring acrobatics-- to say nothing of his woodcraft-- turned to his brother and leveled a warning look.
"If we are not back before dark, it is we who will be punished!"
"Your brother is wise, bratling," the Wood-Elf chided Elrohir smugly.
Elladan took a step towards the Galadhel, taking in his strange dress and demeanor with interest even as he put on a dauntless tone to avenge his twin's insulted honor. "He is no bratling; he is my brother, and you must call him by his name: Elrohir. But," he added conspiratorially, "he will not tell on you; I will not let him."
"Very well," the Elf sighed as if with great grievance and rolled his eyes before deigning to lay his leaden gaze on Elrohir again. "Your brother is wise, Elrohir."
The Silvan's 'r' rolled like the purr of a great, gravelly cat and Elladan tried to imitate it under his breath, succeeding only in making an awkward noise. The Galadhel laughed, not unkindly.
"And what is your name, bold one?"
"Elladan," he answered.
"Elrohir and Elladan," the Galadhel repeated, as if considering the words, and Elladan grinned brightly. Even his own name sounded new and mysterious when spoken in this Elf's woodland accent.
"Will you show us your trick?" Elrohir asked shyly over Elladan's shoulder, his ire quenched, and Elladan was glad, for he had nearly forgotten to ask.
The Elf looked up into the branches dubiously. "Nay, you are much too little for my tricks. I would be skinned alive if you came to harm. But my name, aye. That, I will give you. It is Haldir." He turned his bright eyes to the shifting colors of the sky. "The light fades now, and you will be hard-put to find your way in the dark. If luck is with you, you may just make it home without being eaten by a warg." When they did not move, he flapped his hands at them dismissively. "Make haste!"
Elladan forbore to remark that Haldir was no full-grown Elf to levy orders on them, but the mention of wargs momentarily froze his tongue, and it was true even without the threat of fell beasts that they would no doubt meet with the displeasure of mother and grandparents alike if they were not soon returned. He made to hand back the little squirrel, but Haldir waved the gesture off.
"Keep it if you like. It is not very good, and I can make myself another."
Haldir ruffled his hair when he thanked him, a gesture that would have riled him coming from any other, but coming from the bold and dashing Galadhel, it made him feel pleased and not a little proud. But a few hours in this alien land, and already a friend had been found! As Elrohir tugged him impatiently toward the trail, Haldir winked and sauntered away in the opposite direction.
The sun made its final descent with startling speed, and soon their paths were blanketed in shade. The way that had been so clear in the light was no longer easy to see. As they walked, the trails seemed to veer in different directions than they had before, as if the woods sought to give them mischief, and after what seemed like quite a while, they were no closer to Caras Galadhon than they had been when they had started.
A tide of panic rose up in them as the noises of the forest, hardly noticed earlier, now took on eerie tones. What animals lurked here under cover of night? What threats awaited their next misstep? Shadows lurched around them; the silhouettes of branches grew skeletal hands that seemed to grasp and clutch. The trees were no longer benign sentinels, but fearsome entities closing in on every side. The night-songs of the birds were woeful and wary, and they heard sounds in the distance that might have been the cries of a hungry warg, save that they knew not what a warg sounded like. Their steps became timid, as if the ground beneath their feet might suddenly open like a giant maw to swallow them whole.
Elladan squeezed Elrohir’s hand in his own. It was sweaty and cold, his brother’s whisper taut with fear.
"We are lost, muindor!"
Elladan gripped his brother tighter and spoke with a surety he did not feel. "Haldir will find us." Oh, how he hoped he was right!
"Haldir?" His voice trembled as he called out, panic beginning a slow roil in his belly. "Haldir?"
"I am here." The light voice from behind made no attempt to mask its cavalier satisfaction. "Did I not say wee bairns should not be wandering the woods alone?"
"How did you know where we were?" Elladan sobbed and hurled himself at his rescuer who squirmed under the assault.
"I have been following you." He prized Elladan off his legs and held him at arm's length. "You are new here and have much to learn of the ways of the Wood, but I think you understand me now. My father is a watcher in these woods, and when my time comes, I will take the greys as well. A poor guardian I would be to let bairns go lost."
"You will be a very good guardian," Elladan confirmed, near breathless with relief. Elrohir was less sanguine, unconvinced that this oafish Haldir was not simply teasing them. All the same, when Haldir offered him a hand he took it, just as Elladan had taken up the other. Thus safely clutched, they let themselves be led back toward Caras Galadhon.
Once more back on a visible path, Haldir turned to face his wards. Truly, it was amazing to see two identical beings! Twins were creatures of lore, like oliphants or giant eagles. He knew such things existed, but never dreamed he would see the like. Yet as he observed them, he discerned subtle differences between them and catalogued them in his mind: Elladan's features were just the slightest bit bolder, Elrohir's frame the merest bit more slender. They were of some Noldor strain; that much was clear, for their hair was dark, their skin pale, and their eyes a glistering grey. Had they come from Imladris? From Lindon? And what business brought them, he wondered. There were few Golodhrim in Lorien, and most were refugees from Eregion who kept to themselves and did not deign to mingle much with their Silvan cousins.
He turned back to the younglings often as they walked, not only to observe them, but also to prove he knew the lay of his native land so well that he did not require his eyes to find his way. A moment too late, he marked the turn of their expressions to wide-eyed shock, and though he spun around as fast as he could, his motion was not quite spry enough to avoid impact with a tree which had sprung up suddenly and mysteriously in the middle of the path. It was no tree at all, of course, but a towering form topped by a face that looked down on him from its intimidating height with a too-familiar expression of admonishment.
“I have been calling you, iôn.”
Haldir's father had only just returned from a stint on the borders that morning and was still clad in grey from head to toe. On his back was strapped a long sword and a quiver of white-fletched arrows, and in his hand he carried an unstrung bow which was nearly as tall as he. Haldir looked sheepishly at his feet.
“I am sorry, Adar. I did not hear you.”
His father shook his head. “You did not hear me because you wandered quite far. Your dinner is cold.” His voice was stern, but not angry, yet still Haldir was embarrassed at being chastised in front of the little ones.
Fleet as a mouse before the strike of a cat's paw, Elladan thrust himself in front of Haldir.
“Please do not be cross with him! It is not his fault… we were lost, and he was helping us find our way.”
Haldir shifted his weight nervously as his sire's eyes lit first on Elladan and then on Elrohir. The Elf's mien became more benevolent as he beheld the twins, and after strapping his bow to his quiver, he bowed to them, touching his fist to his breast. Haldir found it strange to see his father, who bowed only to King Amroth and to his captains, give obeisance to two ornery bairns. Could they have spoken true in the woods? Were they indeed princes?
“I wager your family will be relieved at your return, my young lords. We were told to keep our eyes open for you. Come, we shall make better time if Haldir and I carry you.”
Lords! Haldir's jaw fell dumbly ajar as his father scooped Elrohir up into his arms. Oh, it had not been meet of him to call a royal child a bratling, and he silently cursed his sharp tongue. What if they spoke against him and called him cruel? No one would take a simple Silvan's word over some visiting Noldorin prince. And just what sort of punishment was meted out for the harassment of lordlings?
Elladan cut short Haldir's nervous musings with a sharp tug to his tunic.
"Let me ride on your back. You may be my horse!"
"An honor, I'm sure," he groaned, though in truth Elladan's eagerness relieved his apprehension some. He squatted down and let the troublesome child clamber up and wrap his arms around his neck tight enough to choke him. Jostling Elladan up to his waist, he set off at a jog behind his father, who was already long strides ahead. He faltered in his step as he realized his father had taken the path leading toward the grand mallorn in which King Amroth lodged his most honored guests.
Just as they reached the base of the great spiraling staircase that led to the majestic halls, a silver-haired Elf descended before them, his every step present and precise. He was grand in his deportment and decked in long robes of embroidered velvet fair beyond anything Haldir, who lurked cautiously behind his father, had ever seen, save on the figure of King Amroth. Haldir did not know him, but he was certain beyond all doubt that this Elf was someone ancient and revered. Even the trees seemed to straighten their stems in his presence.
“Daeradar!” Elrohir cried, wriggling free.
Daeradar? This mighty Elf was their Grandsire? Haldir felt himself grow slightly faint as he imagined this ancient one berating his impudence.
“Greetings, Lord Celeborn.” Haldir’s father bowed deeply. "We come bearing gifts.”
At the mention of that vaunted name, Haldir's stomach plummeted. The wee brats he had taunted were none other than the blood of Celeborn of Doriath, the very Elf who had fortified Lothlorien in the wake of Eregion's fall. And if these were the grandsons of Lord Celeborn, it meant that they were also the sons of Elrond Peredhil, Lord of Imladris. He drew closer to his father and then tried not to move, or even to breathe. He had oft heard that the guardians of Lorien had a gift for becoming invisible at will; he could only hope now that such a gift was hereditary, for he would have liked nothing more in that moment than to vanish himself.
Oblivious to Haldir's distress, the grand Elf returned the greeting graciously. “I hope they gave you no trouble.” He eyed the elflings with his brow most dramatically arched, spots of high color appearing on the tiny cheeks as the look of displeasure swept from one twin to the other. "They were not given leave to gambol about the woods without escort, but they are quick as otters and twice as slippery. They have made rather a mess of your uniform."
Haldir's father glanced down his side at the muddy marks left by Elrohir's dirty breeches and chuckled.
“If only mud were the worst this garb had seen!" His expression became serious once again. "I must beg pardon, however, for my son waylaid them.” He reached behind him and hooked a finger in Haldir’s collar, drawing him reluctantly before the Elf-Lord. He awkwardly mimicked his father’s bow.
Lord Celeborn eyed him mildly and bade him introduce himself.
“I am Haldir, my Lord.” His voice came out in an undignified squeak, and he felt his own face turn an unfortunate shade of red.
Lord Celeborn inclined his head. “Well met, Haldir. I thank you for taking care of my grandsons. I hope they did not plague you overmuch.”
“We did not plague him!” Elladan protested. "May Haldir come and visit with us tomorrow, Daeradar?”
"Perhaps, if he has time to spare," he replied noncommittally. Haldir allowed himself a slight sigh of relief. "I am sure he must have many chores to attend to. But no more talk. Your Naneth has decreed that you are to go straight to your beds without supper."
On the heels of this unwelcome news came a chorus of indignant squeals, but Lord Celeborn was unmoved. "I am certain your growling bellies will remind you quite emphatically why it is you must not wander off without permission. Now bid your protectors goodnight and be off with you."
"Good night," the defeated Elflings murmured, sketching neat little bows in perfect tandem.
Just as they began to ascend the stairs, Elladan turned and dashed back down again, heaving his arms around his champion's waist, wooden squirrel still clutched tightly in one hand, and Haldir let out an embarrassed grunt, stiffening under the precipitous charge.
"Why, what is this?"
Elladan looked up and grinned. "I only wished to thank you once more."
Such overt affection was strange to Haldir, and he was unsure how to return it, though the sweet grasp of those little arms suffused him with unexpected goodwill. He reached down and gave the untidy head an awkward pat before disentangling himself.
"You are most welcome, Elladan."
Elflings are wily creatures, doubly so when twinned, and triply so if they claim as well the blood of Men and Maiar. Peredhil children are persistent and not easily demurred; the innate wisdom granted them by their vaunted ancestors mingled with a stalwart tenacity of mannish heritage and the natural impatience of youth to craft a creature seemingly insensible of the word 'no.' Every interdiction was perceived as a challenge, every 'impossible' as a dare, every refusal as a goading to try again, and harder. Fortunately, their preternatural comeliness and charisma rendered refusals of any stripe few and far between.
Thus, in true Peredhel fashion, Elladan was not in the least dissuaded when Haldir had no time for him the next day, nor when he begged off the following afternoon, claiming to be overtaxed from his chores. Elladan was dogged in his pursuit of his new friend, and after many days of ever-weakening excuses, Haldir looked down at the pup's eager face and could not bear to turn it away again.
"Well, faron-nin," he sighed, resigned. "It seems you have snared me."
And so it was that each day he was able, until the blazing aurora of leaf-fall called his family back to their valley realm, Elladan hunted his favorite quarry.
And sometimes… sometimes, Haldir gamely allowed himself to be caught.
* * *
Faradrim = Hunters
Daeradar = Grandfather
Muindor = Brother
Golodhrim = "Deep Elves," the Noldor
Iôn = Son
Mae govannen = Well met
Faron-nin = My hunter
*****
According to The Laws and Customs Among the Eldar, "not until the fiftieth year did the Eldar attain the stature and shape in which their lives would afterwards endure." So… at 10 years of age, the twins are roughly the equivalent of 6 year old mortals, or thereabouts.
Some sources suggest that Caras Galadhon was not built until late in the Third Age, after Celeborn and Galadriel took over the stewardship of Lorien, but lacking any other named settlements with the Golden Wood, I decided for the sake of familiarity to let it stand here. Tolkien gave no definitive date for its creation, so it's not entirely out of the realm of possibility that it existed and was populated prior to Celeborn and Galadriel's tenure.
*****
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