Ionnath Estel
Part 4
Posted: April 13, 2007
Title: Ionnath-Estel (The Sons of Hope)
Author: Kenaz
*****
Lothlorien, 165 Third Age
By the time the rocky track of the Dimril Stair gave way to the sprawling valley of Nanduhirion, Elladan had abandoned all pretense that he was not counting the days, was not numbering the very hours, that he had spent in transit. There was little to distract him from his restless contemplation of the time that remained until his party reached their destination.
Earlier that afternoon, one of the outriders had given a shout, and Lord Celeborn had moved his horse ahead to confirm what the scout had seen: the verdant canopy of Lothlorien well beyond the mountain’s foothills. Elladan had silently begrudged the shrewd vision of his wholly Elven counterparts, not only because the tree line of the Golden Wood, once he had spotted it himself, remained deceptively distant, but because the others in the entourage had spied it well before his Peredhel eyes had it in focus.
His granddame softly smiled as she rode beside him on her grey palfrey, and he imagined she had ascertained the reason for his frustration.
"We will not reach the woods today," she told him quietly, "but perhaps you would like to ride ahead now with the scouts."
Elladan needed no further encouragement. Though both his mother and granddame had gone out of their way to avoid the perception of coddling him, he was well aware he remained a child in their eyes. He was unfailingly devoted to them, but his body and soul strained toward the maturity and dignity they were not yet willing to bestow. His grandsire at least had deigned to let him carry a sword, though it may as well have been a wooden toy, for he was thrust behind one of the guards at even the slightest whiff of danger. It piqued his pride though he knew it was love that drove their actions. After weeks of such careful handling he had begun to feel stifled by the company of women. He clucked his tongue and nudged his horse forward, loping ahead until he had fallen in behind his grandsire.
The apprehension that had nipped at his heels all the way from his valley home increased as the end of their long road grew near and he wished, not for the first time, that Elrohir were with him. Even now, he felt the sorrow of their parting and recalled the way his heart had lurched in his chest when his constant companion had announced that he would not go abroad.
Spring had come early to Imladris, and the muted, glassine tinkle of the Bruinen beneath her icy skin had swiftly become a glorious roar, the floes breaking apart with a resounding crack and rushing away, joined by runoff from the melting snows. Crocuses and daffodils had raised sleeping heads from the loam a full month before they were expected while tender green shoots of new grass had pressed up precociously through vanishing crust of frost.
And yet within the Last Homely House a melancholy chord had been struck when Elrohir had given his news with a desultory shrug.
"I am not of a mind to travel,” was all he immediately offered. “I would prefer to continue my studies here."
This much Elladan knew to be true. While he had dutifully absorbed most all the knowledge his masters sought to impart, Elrohir had thrived under the tutelage of their mentors. He found the legend and lore of Arda endlessly fascinating; the tales resonated for him in a visceral way, and he had vigorously devoted himself to his pursuit of the famous sagas and the arcane. But scholarship alone did not account for Elrohir's desire to remain in Imladris, and Elladan was stricken by the realization that for the first time in their lives, they would be separated.
"I will be terribly lonely without you," he had said, his voice quietly beguiling, but his twin had not been swayed.
"You will not be so very lonely, I wager. Haldir will keep you company."
The words were spoken gently enough, but a subtle accusation had lingered around their edges. He had never understood Elrohir's dislike of his friend, nor what Haldir had ever done to earn it, and he told his twin as much.
Elrohir had frowned, his annoyance prodding at Elladan like an accusatory finger. "I can still see you falling! I can still see your body on the ground, your arm twisted horribly beneath you. You were so still that I...I thought you were dead, Elladan!”
“It was not so grave an injury as that,” Elladan countered, taken aback by his brother’s vehemence.
“Nonetheless, and your pain was bought with the coin of Haldir’s foolish pride. You were so smitten with him, you could not even see that he cared more for impressing his ridiculous brother than attending to you.”
The impulse to defend Haldir from Elrohir’s condemnation was swift and instinctive. "That was years ago, and you dwell on it still? I broke my arm in a childish misadventure, and to read anything more sinister into it is absurd! If you would hold foolish pride to blame, then hold my own, for I cared more for impressing Haldir than for my own safety.
“Consider how we race our horses on across the moors despite father’s admonitions. Would you hold me to blame if you were thrown while chasing my tail? We should both count ourselves fortunate we have not come to graver harm in our time."
An incipient grin played at the corners of Elrohir’s lips. "You assume I would ever find myself behind you in our races.” But in the brief moment of Elladan’s laughter Elrohir's mouth resumed its intractable expression. “He knew full well of your idolatry. He should have been watching you more closely."
And so Elladan discovered that Elrohir had not budged one inch on his assignment of blame. As he drew closer to Lorien, his twin’s absence was keen as a knife-blade on his skin. He wondered how Elrohir fared. A skyward glance at the track of the sun told him they would be stopping soon to eat and rest the horses; Elrohir would likely now have finished his lessons and would be bolting down his own meal lest he be late to his appointed time in the training salle. With Gildor Inglorion.
It galled him that he had not seen it sooner, that he had missed the signs that seemed so blatant in hindsight: the pronouncement that his mother and grandparents wished to go abroad for the summer coincided nearly to the day with the return of the Wandering Company, who had been absent from the valley for the better part of a decade. Elrohir had long been a favorite of Gildor’s for the rhapsodic attention he gave to Gildor’s stories. Upon Gildor's every arrival, Elrohir would drag him from the stables, still in his traveling cloak and begrimed with the dust of the road, force him into the nearest chair, and leap into his lap, demanding an immediate recounting of his adventures in the far-flung corners of Eriador and Rhovanion. Yet there had been no exuberant greeting when Gildor had of late returned, and no eager needling for wild tales. Instead, Elrohir had alternately paled and blushed when faced with his hero of old. Elladan’s confident and well-spoken brother devolved into a clumsy, stuttering wreck.
But Elladan had been engrossed in his sulk, which was amplified by his parents’ support of Elrohir’s proposed plan, and had paid little heed to his brother’s straits. And when, too late, he had realized the depth of his brother’s infatuation, Elrohir had skirted the issue.
"Go to Lorien, muindor," he had insisted, denying Elladan a full disclosure of his heart though Elladan had pressed for details with both gentle wheedling and bold assertions alike.
Elrohir’s parting words had been a stern warning delivered with a crushing embrace and in a voice tight with tears. "The summer will pass quickly enough, and if you will bring me tales of the Wood, I will willingly bear your absence. But so help me, Elladan, if Haldir brings harm to you, I'll see his pretty head shorn like a sheep and I'll string my bow with Galadhel flax for fifty years!"
Elladan’s own voice had failed him, and he could do nothing but cleave to his brother until his grandsire had drawn them apart and motioned for Elladan to mount his horse. Now, with the wooded realm in sight, the memory of Elrohir’s colorful oath made Elladan smile. He had no fear that Haldir would bring him harm. No, his concern was that his Silvan friend would have forgotten him altogether.
Two days more they traveled until they reached the eaves of Lorien, and Elladan was beside himself with anticipation. It had been some twenty-five years since he had seen the wood, and though he had tried to commit the sight of it to memory when last he had departed, he found to his chagrin that he could barely recall it at all, save for the indelible images of the little copse where he had hunted for arrow-staves with Haldir, the great telain of King Amroth, and the tree from which he had fallen. Little else remained in his mind save certain impressions of light filtering through branches, the gentle song of the streams so different from the loud laughter of the Bruinen, and the mild green scent of the elanor blossoms that did not grow in Imladris.
The forest was darker and denser than he remembered, and he realized now that their movements were being tracked. Imladris, too, had its hidden sentinels, but Glorfindel had shown him long ago where they stood their watches. Here, he did not know where to look. A whip-poor-will trilled out above them, invisible in the myriad branches, and its call was answered by another. Only then, when a living form seemed to step out of the very bark of a tree-stem, did Elladan realize it had been no birdsong, but a warden's call, and the Elf who appeared before them and now approached was none other than Haldir's father.
He bowed deeply to their party. As he spoke, Elladan compared the Galadhel's face to his memory of Haldir. The resemblance was strong; none would fail to see that Haldir was this Elf's son. But in spite of the similarities, the warden's face passed back and forth between neutral and stern, whereas Haldir's expression had been constantly in flux: now laughing, now scowling, now smug.
The party had begun to move again, the outriders falling in behind Elladan and his mother and allowing Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel to take the lead now that they were far from harm’s way. They matched their pace to the warden's strides, and after a time reached a small clearing.
"One of the others will accompany you through the Naith, as I have been tasked to remain at my post. We have well-stocked telain there, and you may rest yourselves and your horses for the night."
He gave a whistle and Elladan could hear whispers and a scuttling in the branches above. A rope ladder spilled down from some unseen tethering point in the trees beyond, and another warden in the grey uniform of the Lorien guard leapt down from the ropes and saluted.
It was Haldir.
In an instant, Elladan’s heart was in his throat. While he had thought of little else but seeing Haldir again for the length of their journey and beyond, he was not prepared to so suddenly be face to face with his old friend. Moreover, while he had always known that Haldir was older than he, he had never discovered just how much older. It had not occurred to him that when next they met, Haldir would actually be full-grown. He suddenly felt incredibly foolish; his wistful hope of idle days tromping the woods together unraveled in an instant.
"Suilad, son of Elrond!" Haldir called casually from his distance as he raised his hand in greeting.
Elladan bit the inside of his cheek. It should not have surprised him that Haldir did not greet him by his given name; after all, there were many in Imladris who saw him daily and still sometimes mistook him for his brother, or his brother for him. But that Haldir had failed this test pained him with unexpected force; that Haldir had furthermore greeted him with perfunctory courtesy rather than the familiarity to which he was accustomed only compounded his disappointment. He returned the gesture half-heartedly and let his horse drop back to the rear of the group, putting as much distance between himself and Haldir as he could. But in spite of himself, he stared at the Galadhel from the back of their convoy with unrestrained fascination.
The promise of strength and vitality Elladan had noted in his friend all those years ago had been realized: he was tall and broad of shoulder, his features further refined, yet narrower and more acute than his warden-father’s and Orophin’s. His hair, which had always been tucked into a thick, lop-sided tail, more often than not bearing bits of leaves or errant pine needles, was now worn in the austere fashion of the Galadhrim warrior: pulled back neatly at the crown and tightly plaited on the sides to prevent its interference with shooting. The Imladris guards were neither so formal nor so uniform with their hair; as long as it was kept tidy and out of the way, Glorfindel did not impose a particular style on his men. Elladan wore his own in a simple braid; he saw little point to foppish styling. Haldir moved with the efficient precision of a soldier, wearing his uniform as if he had been born to it. Elladan supposed in a sense he had; he could not imagine Haldir’s father encouraging any another path.
They walked until nightfall, reaching their destination, a halfway point between the northern border and the City of Trees, just as the woods became steeped in darkness. A mallorn stretching high above the ground housed three telain, each one large enough to hold a company twice the size of the Imladris contingent. All were well-stocked with furs and food, and the ground was rich with forage for the horses, who were pleased to be turned out for the night. Elladan dismounted with a distinct lack of grace. His feet hit the ground hard, and the shock rattled up his legs. Haldir was seeing to his mother and granddame, so he busied himself helping the outriders to unburden the horses and carry their packs up to the flets.
Even with his back turned, he was aware that Haldir was watching him. He cast a surreptitious glance over his shoulder to confirm it: Haldir was there, waiting. Yet he hung back for a long moment, even after catching Elladan’s eye, and walked toward him all too cautiously, uncertain, it seemed, of his welcome.
“Well met, Elladan,” he said softly, almost a question. “It is good to see you. Though with such a dour expression, you look more like Elrohir than yourself.”
Elladan gave a small, tired smile. "I thought you had mistaken me for him."
"When have I ever mistaken you for Elrohir?” Haldir asked, sounding genuinely affronted.
Elladan shrugged. “It happens often enough. And it has been many years.”
“Yet still I knew you in an instant, despite how changed you are. You have grown, Elladan."
The smile that crossed Elladan's face at that pronouncement was no longer small and tired. “I should certainly hope so.”
Haldir grinned broadly and then shifted, adjusting his cloak and the strap of his quiver. Neither of them seemed to know quite what to say to the other. Elladan was reminded of two hounds sniffing each other out, determining friend or foe.
“How long will you stay?” Haldir asked, likely as much to fill the silence as anything else.
“For the summer, and perhaps into autumn. My mother rhapsodizes that there is no place more beautiful than Lorien when the leaves change their colors.”
Haldir cocked his head and regarded him fondly. “When last I saw you, you had autumn leaves in your hair. Bright red and gold.”
Elladan remembered; Haldir had put them there. He reached out tentatively and touched the leaf-shaped brooch that closed Haldir’s cloak at the throat. “I did not expect you to be grown and commissioned when next we met. I can hardly ask now that you make good on your old promise.”
Haldir’s face went blank and Elladan was instantly crestfallen. Haldir had forgotten. The chagrin that sat hard on his features made it brutally clear.
"Forgive me, Elladan,” Haldir faltered, “but Orophin was right to tell you all those years ago that my head was full of nothing but acorns. Tell me, what promise did I make you?"
Elladan’s eyes searched the ground and he shook his head fiercely. "No matter, I…"
"Stop, wee fool," Haldir chided. "Would you punish me further for my forgetfulness?"
Elladan allowed hint of his smile to return. "No, but it will sound childish, now that you are grown."
"Little menace," Haldir growled, and gave his shoulder a rough nudge. “You are still a thorn in my side. Speak.”
The playfulness in Haldir’s voice was encouragement enough. "You promised me that when next we met, we would have adventures together as we did when we were small." He looked away when Haldir did not answer immediately, and visibly cringed when Haldir laughed out loud.
"Was that all? I thought perhaps I had vowed something rash!” He threw his arm fraternally around Elladan’s shoulders and gave him a rough squeeze. “Of course, Elladan. My tour does not end until the dark moon, but I shall gladly make time for you once I have returned. Though you might help me think of what you would like to do…I wager I can no longer coerce you into finding wood for me, or weeding my mother's vegetable garden."
Elladan’s body flooded with grateful relief. "Set me to work, I will not mind! It was only Elrohir who ever groused at being your scullion, and he is not here to denounce you."
Elladan had been on the verge of explaining his brother’s absence, but the sudden appearance of his grandsire at his shoulder stopped him short. He watched Haldir’s trickster grin vanish behind a façade of bland discretion, saw his back stiffen as he assumed the alert posture of a guard at attention.
"You will have time enough to talk on the morrow,” his grandfather said, breaching their close confederacy. “We rode long and hard today, and you are still young, Elladan. Take some rest now, for the King awaits us in the morning, and I would not have him think our arrival was forestalled by my own grandchild."
Elladan glanced at Haldir apologetically. He would have liked more time to speak with him, but truth be told, he was exhausted. Haldir offered a brisk bow, his features not losing the careful mask which had appeared there with his grandsire’s arrival.
“Good night, Haldir,” Elladan said warmly, letting Celeborn shepherd him up to the talan.
“On the morrow, Elladan,” Haldir replied, and Elladan did not have to turn to see the hint of a smile his tone implied.
Well, this had been a bounty unlooked for!
Of all the unlikely visions to cross his path, he had least expected this one: partially occluded by the liveried guards on their thick-barreled horses, Elladan of Imladris, looking unaccountably shy. Haldir’s first instinct had been to dash up to his friend, tug him off his mount and tackle him, mussing his hair or giving him a rambunctious knuckling to the ribs, but he was no longer a child and could not behave like one, as much as he wished it. Particularly not in front of such esteemed guests.
Haldir had not forgotten the eldest of Elrond’s sons, and had often wondered how Elladan fared as the years passed, though he had long since ceased to wonder when and if he and Elladan would meet again, for he had neither means nor reason to leave Lorien, and Elladan was not yet old enough to travel abroad without his family. Besides, his mind had been occupied more fully of late: with his training, first and foremost; with his new duties in the guard… and with things darker, rawer, and more insidious in their advent.
But now Elladan had returned, and seemed eager to take up their old acquaintance once more, in spite of Orophin’s prediction that Elladan would in time find him too rustic, an unworthy companion. Orophin had been mistaken, Haldir thought with satisfaction. He still had a friend in the young Peredhel.
Lord Celeborn, however, was as intimidating as he had ever been. Haldir had taken his words to Elladan as a reproof, and it was not until the great Sinda's hand cupped the back of Elladan’s neck and rested lightly there that Haldir understood him to be teasing. Unnerved nonetheless, he had offered an abrupt valediction and stepped aside so that Elladan could be herded away. Haldir had never known his own grandsire; a Silvan warrior of some repute, he had died on the dusty wastes of the Morannon years before Haldir had been born. He wondered if he would have been so imposing, if it were some trait of the ancients that made them forbidding and grave, or if it was simply that Lord Celeborn had yet to forgive him for Elladan’s accident.
All was quiet as the weary party slept, and Haldir silently made his circuit of the mallorn and its surroundings, bow in hand. There was little likelihood anything would disturb them this far within the woods, but Haldir would take no chances with their safety, nor with his own reputation: Lord Celeborn did not sleep.
But in the late hours, with little else to occupy his mind, his thoughts turned again to Elladan, and from thence to darker paths.
The Peredhel had grown up uncommonly fair. He was nearly of a height with Haldir, and his dark hair had grown long and thick. His limbs, too, were gracefully attenuated, though his youth showed in their whipcord slimness, and his hands and feet were slightly too big for him, like the paws of pup. He was still more than a decade shy of his fiftieth year, by Haldir’s reckoning, and it would be those final years that granted him the breadth and bulk of maturity. He wondered if the Peredhel's mannishness would show itself at the last, for to look upon him now, no one would think him ought but a full-blooded Elf.
Yes, any creature with eyes to see would say Elladan was fair. But it was not a beauty Haldir could indifferently appreciate; it was a beauty that made his breath catch in his throat. Even now, he found himself circling the tree with his eyes cast upward, hoping for even a partial glimpse of pale flesh and grey eyes in a lively sparkle.
And that… that would not do.
It was bad enough that he harbored in silence a perverse attraction to his own kind, but that he should look upon young Elladan, scion of the House of Elrond, with his deviant gaze was positively shameful.
He is a child, and I will remember him as such, he tacitly vowed.
But his disobedient eyes again strayed upward to the talan where Elladan slept, and there they met the knowing, steely gaze of Celeborn, who sat vigilantly perched on the wide deck, watching.
*****
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