Ionnath Estel
Part 9
Posted: July 27, 2007
Title: Ionnath-Estel (The Sons of Hope)
Author: Kenaz
*****
The narrow hillside byway clung tight to the escarpments before descending the western slope of the Misty Mountains and opening out to reveal its first vista of Imladris: remnants of the morning's fog lingered low and heavy over the valley, and the spires of the Last Homely House pierced up through the brume, mimicking the surrounding summits. Legolas could scarcely stifle his gasp of awe. The pass widened like a gesture of welcome and swept down and around in a graceful arc to present tall gates that should have felt forbidding, yet instead, embellished as they were with intricate carvings of stars and vines, felt both bold and gracious. He was struck dumb by the beauty unfurling before him, so different from the dense forest of Eryn Galen and his father's stony halls. He felt both excitement and anticipation rising in his heart. He was desperately curious about this place and its people, and he could only hope that they would set enough stock in kinship to overlook the frosty segregation his own folk had employed since his grandsire's days.
A sentry at the gate bade him welcome and pointed him to a cobbled path, assuring him he would find the stables just beyond the first bend. He had expected to find a simple livery, but what he found instead was a grand complex of barns and paddocks. It looked more like a small village than any stable he had ever seen. And yet, for all its expansiveness, it did not appear pretentious or overly opulent; it seemed simply as if the residents of the valley realm wished their mounts to live in the same spacious comfort they themselves had been allotted. Legolas smiled; not only was his initial impression of this Noldorin enclave quite agreeable, but he rather envied his horse!
He left the gelding to nibble at a patch of clover along the paddock fence and poked his head apprehensively inside the great barn, where he found an Elf currying an exquisite stallion. Legolas took a moment to admire the beast with a mixture of appreciation and envy before he spoke. "I beg your pardon," he began, clearing his throat. "I was told by the guard at the gate that I should follow this road to the stables. Are you the ostler here, or may I attend to my horse myself?"
The Elf turned, setting down his currycomb and clapped the dust from his hands and breeches. If this was the ostler, he truly envied his horse! The creature before him was tall and broad-shouldered, solidly built. His hair was dark and glossy and his eyes a luminous grey. His features were finely sculpted and his smile wide and bright. He was, in a word, stunning.
"The ostler is down in the lower paddock." The voice was musical, yet of a deeper timbre than Legolas' own. "I would be happy to assist you. Come, follow me and I will see your mount put up. Have you come a long way?"
"Not so terribly far, and for the most part the road was straight and easy." Legolas unstrapped the surcingle holding his packs from the horse's back. "I come on behalf of Thranduil of the Woodland realm."
"Thranduil!" The Elf's brows rose skyward. "But this is indeed a surprise! We hear little from those parts... I hope all is well, and that he has not sent you with word of trouble."
"Nay, no trouble," Legolas responded quickly. He was encouraged by the response to divulge more. "And not a messenger, truly, but his son. I bring my father's good wishes and tokens of friendship for the sons of Elrond, in honor of their coming of age."
The Elf laughed aloud. "Indeed, my prince, your timing is impeccable! I am Elladan, and as it is my begetting day you have come to honor, let me welcome you to Imladris on behalf of both my brother and myself!"
Legolas' mouth fell wide in surprise. This dark beauty was one of the Peredhil twins? The tales of their comeliness had fallen well short of the mark! And what a fortuitous meeting, Legolas thought. He had made his first acquaintance with one of the very persons he had been sent to meet without pomp or pretense, and found him instantly affable, not to mention superlatively handsome!
"I must tell you," Elladan continued, eyeing him apologetically, "you have arrived rather early... no other guests are expected for a fortnight."
Legolas felt a twinge of embarrassment. "Aye. Since our houses have been long estranged, I dared not wager how my sudden appearance might be welcomed. If my presence here proved awkward, I did not wish to mar the festivities with it." He shrugged contritely. "I find now that my contingency plan was unnecessary."
The very notion that any but the most unrepentant blackguard would be shunned in Imladris appeared to shock Elladan. "Prince of the Greenwood, all are welcomed in the Last Homely House, and you yourself were expressly invited!"
Elladan's answer provoked him to sigh with genuine relief. "In that case, well met, Elladan Elrondion! I am Legolas...please, I hope that we might abandon formalities. My father finds the fanfare of titles amusing, and I agree they have their place, but I hope that place is not between friends... though I know I am presumptuous to name us thus at first meeting."
Elladan's returning smile all but stole his breath away.
"Let us not say presumptuous, but enthusiastic. I must present you to my father without delay. He will be quite surprised to meet you."
What a heady morning! One moment he was leading his horse into a fine stall replete with fresh hay, ample water and clean bedding, and the next he was practically sprinting at Elladan's heels to match his pace as they set across the courtyard toward the veranda of the large house Legolas had spied from outside the gates. He had been expecting to run a gauntlet of seneschals, counselors and heralds before gaining an audience with Lord Elrond Peredhel, not to be making a mad dash across the flagstones at the side of Elrond's son—- named as a friend, no less, he appended as a flush of pleasure burned across his cheeks.
Upon reaching the interior doors to his father's study, Elladan rapped only once before barging through, and the lord of Imladris looked up, quill poised above his parchment, with one brow arched in expectation.
" Ada, I have brought a visitor you must meet. May I present to you..."
"...A Thranduilion." Elrond rose from his seat, his sagacious gaze focused entirely on Legolas. "You share your father's face, my son."
"Legolas, my lord." He stepped forward and sank to one knee. "I am honored to receive such a hearty welcome."
"And we are most honored to play your host." Elrond gestured for Legolas to rise. "I take it you received our invitation? I must admit I had not expected it to be accepted."
"My father thought it fitting that a day of such great celebration might also mark the renewed acquaintance of our houses."
"King Thranduil is gracious and wise. I look forward to speaking to you at length when opportunity permits, but I can see that Elladan is eager to parade you about."
Elladan grinned widely and ducked his head. "Thank you, Ada. Come, Legolas. I would indeed show you our beloved home and bring you to my brother, unless you prefer to eat something first. You must be famished from your travels."
"Only for companionship," Legolas sheepishly replied. "I am unused to traveling alone, and I wager by the time we reached Old Ford, my horse was as tired of hearing my voice as I was."
They bowed to the Elf-lord and turned to the door, Elladan's hand settling fraternally on Legolas' back, steering him down the corridor and outside with a brief detour through the kitchens to purloin sweet rolls and apples. Informality ruled the day, much to Legolas' great pleasure, and in spite of the stately and often formidable beauty of their surroundings.
Stomachs sated, they ambled toward the training salles in search of Elrohir, whom Elladan said could be found often as not in the company of his close companion, Gildor Inglorion. They found the pair in the midst of a bout, stripped down to breeches and gambesons, their blades ringing. They paused in mid-stroke when Elladan called out, and when Elrohir turned to extend his hand Legolas momentarily froze.
"Oh!"
He quickly suppressed his insipid utterance. But by the stars, he had never seen such a thing! The same dark hair, the same grey eyes, the same mannish breadth of build, and the same unparalleled comeliness. It was as if Elladan had held up a mirror beside himself. Only through gawking like a boorish fool was he able to distinguish the slight differences between them.
Elrohir took no umbrage, but merely laughed. "Well met, Legolas! It is good to finally meet our kin to the East." Even his voice even had a similar tone and timbre to his brother's.
They exchanged pleasant banter for a few moments before letting Elrohir and Gildor return to their weapons. Once he had schooled his wonderment at seeing Elladan's double, Legolas sat down in the stands at his side and watched the match in earnest. He was impressed by their blade-work. Eryn Galen, he explained to Elladan, relied on archers and spearmen for their defenses, and if they took on a foeman hand to hand, they fought with long knives; lighter and smaller than swords, perhaps, but in a skilled hand no less lethal.
"Have you any training in swords?" Elladan asked him.
"Some passing knowledge. But that is due in large part to my station, and my father's belief that a prince ought to be well-rounded and skilled in many disciplines. My preference is for the bow."
Elladan nodded. "We have trained with swords since only since our fortieth year. Ada would not stint on our well-being, nor our ability to defend ourselves and protect those around us."
"He does not believe this peace will hold, then. My father feels that this is but a temporary reprieve, yet he is determined that Eryn Galen shall thrive while it can."
"Our fathers are in accord," Elladan replied, smiling with a hint of sadness.
The clash of steel on steel turned their heads back to the match. Of this pair, Gildor was clearly the master, but Elrohir held his own, moving deftly to evade cutting strokes and to wage his attacks. It was uncanny to watch him, looking so much like his brother, and Legolas stole occasional glances at Elladan just to assure himself that his eyes did not deceive him... and because it pleased his eyes to look upon Elladan.
When Gildor had, at long last, dodged, feinted, and lunged to press the tip of his blade to Elrohir's padded vest just over his heart, He and Elladan roared out their approval. In the quiet that followed, Legolas turned and looked rather abashedly at Elladan. "Forgive me for gawking earlier. It is simply that I have never encountered twins in all my years."
"And just how many years is that, by the by? I would wager you are not so many years older than my brother and I."
Legolas grinned and leaned back, shifting his weight back so that he was braced up by his arms. "I was born in the centennial year of my father's reign, so I am your elder by scant decades."
"Ah! A Son of Hope, then."
Legolas' brow furrowed. "Pardon?"
"Ionnath-Estel. That is what we are called here, all of us born in the wake of Sauron's fall."
At that, Legolas brightened and drew himself up again. "I have not heard that we were so named, but I am proud to carry such a title, and to be in such vaunted company! Fitting, too, that I should be born under such a banner who comes to you now with the hope of reconciling our peoples."
Elladan offered his arm to Legolas, who clasped it heartily. "Well, for my part, consider us reconciled."
The hunting was ripe in the woodlands just south of the Ford of Bruinen, and the river was brimming with all manner of fish: salmon, bass, perch and bream. A week after Legolas' arrival, Elladan had managed to secure his father's permission to mount a trip with Elrohir and Legolas into the land beyond Imladris' borders. Gildor had long maintained a small fieldstone homestead there that he readily offered up to the cause of diplomatic relations and youthful adventure.
Legolas and Elladan had become nigh inseparable in that time, and Elladan found that not only was the woodland prince whip-smart and well-schooled, but agreeable nearly to a fault.
That he was also a creature of uncommon beauty... well, that went without saying.
He caught Elrohir's questioning gaze on them often as they cavorted in the wilds, and it rankled him slightly. Why should his brother take issue that he had become fast friends with one as worthy as Legolas? The first night of their trip, they unloaded their packs in Gildor's little house, and Elrohir was quick to claim the wide bed for Legolas and himself, consigning Elladan to the little cot at its foot. He silenced Elladan's incipient protest with a sharp look.
"I am sure you will find the pallet perfectly comfortable, muindor."
It would have been unseemly to pout or to belabor the point, but he could not help but wish that it were he in the bed with Legolas, and not his brother.
In the morning, they had rigged up crude targets made of burlap sacks stuffed with straw and engaged in a lighthearted shooting tournament. Legolas had immediately proved himself an archer without parallel. He had a preternatural eye for his target, and his aim never faltered. Though both Elladan and Elrohir were excellent shots, Legolas was soon deemed the unassailable champion.
They declared their games finished, and Legolas obligingly dashed off to collect their shafts. He stopped to admire the tight cluster at the center of one target; his green fletched bolts were closely intermingled with the twins' blue and grey. He turned and grinned at them, pointing approvingly at their handiwork.
Elrohir gave a pained chuckle. "Aware, brother. Legolas' eye is keen for its target, and I speak of more than old sacks stuffed with straw."
The remark was met with and an oblique look and the infinitesimal downward twitch of lips. "You speak in riddles."
"Oh, I speak plain," Elrohir scoffed, "you simply choose to be obtuse." They watched Legolas moving without haste around the targets, plucking out their arrows one by one. "Would you have me treat you as a simpleton? Fine, then: Legolas has his eye set on you, Elladan, and only a blind man or a fool would fail to note it. You, meanwhile, seem keen enough to play the quarry. What is your intent?"
Elladan bristled at Elrohir's assessment. "I need not tell you he is uncommonly fair when you have eyes to see it. Nor need I tell you that he is kind and forthright, for you yourself have remarked upon it. Yet suddenly you urge caution when I merely seek to increase my acquaintance with him." He frowned at his brother. "Is this why you were so insistent that I be relegated to the pallet?"
Elrohir arched a brow and ignored his question entirely. "Increase your acquaintance? Is that all you mean to do?" He gave Elladan a knowing look. "It was not so very long ago that you were bemoaning Haldir's regretful response to our invitation, and begging Ada to manufacture a way to fetch him here. Are you so fickle, then, that your heart has turned in but a month's time? Is a daffodil no different from a goldenrod to you?"
"They are different flowers entirely," Elladan snapped. "And no, my heart is not so fickle." The hurt in Elladan's tone was mirrored in his eyes when he turned his head to glower at his brother. "The one whose company I would most gladly keep cannot keep mine, and who can say when our paths will cross again? And if our paths do cross, what depth of companionship might his conscience countenance? Am I to wither for want of attention? Should I forego the gift of marking my new stature at the side of a worthy friend in favor of pining for what I cannot have?" He threw up his arms in frustration. "You, Ada, our grandsire, Gildor... each of you has counseled me to restrain my hopes for Haldir, yet you chastise me when a new and comely jewel dazzles."
"Ah," Elrohir smirked, "so it is merely your head that is turned. That is a dangerous game, Elladan. Legolas does not strike me as one who would dally for mere sport. He is a tender heart, our Greenwood friend, and he has caught the eye of half the valley in less than a sennight, but has yet to show anyone but you anything more than diplomatic politesse. It is your company alone he seeks."
Elladan grunted. "Is it a crime that I am flattered by his attention?"
"Of course not!" Elrohir snorted at his brother's truculence. "But you must think as father's scion now, and consider that to injure Legolas' feelings or his pride carries greater implications by far than simply spurning any ordinary suitor. Our families have only begun to renew their alliance, and if your heart is what he seeks, it would be ill-done to let him think it more available than it is."
Elladan sighed wearily. "At times, your wisdom humbles me. Perhaps Ada would be better served by making you his heir and I your second." He knew he was being deliberately provocative, and to no good end. Elrohir was neither fooled nor riled. Indeed, the hoisting of his brow rendered his expression frightfully similar to their father's, heightening his sense of chastisement.
"I am no wiser than you, muindor," he placated. "I simply have greater perspective in this instance."
"Yes," Elladan acknowledged, the look of hurt returning to his face, shaded ever so slightly by petulance, "and the one you most desire is by your side. You need not question Gildor's interest or his devotion; it is easy for you to speak of taking the noble path."
Elrohir nodded guiltily. "You are right. I am fortunate in that, and well I know it. Do what you will with Legolas; I merely caution you to be gentle and forthright." He squeezed Elladan's shoulder and leaned in to whisper in his ear. "You are noble, Elladan. I know you will treat him honorably."
Just then, Legolas approached, arms laden with arrows, and Elrohir desisted from saying more. He smiled and excused himself, leaving Elladan alone with the source of his temptation.
Legolas watched him depart with a look of concern. "I hope all is well. It appeared that the two of you were having quite a weighty discussion... I did not intrude, did I?"
"No," Elladan quickly reassured him. "Not at all. But you are correct—it was a discussion of some consequence." Elladan sank down to sit on a little hillock and gestured for Legolas to sit beside him. He distracted himself for a moment sorting the arrows into piles according to their fletching. When he spoke again, his eyes remained on feathers of green and blue and grey.
"I have enjoyed your company immensely, Legolas. I feel that we are kindred spirits. It is not often that I have formed such an immediate rapport with another; in fact, only one other friendship can I count that has blossomed so fulsomely or with such alacrity."
"I feel the same, as I trust you have surmised," Legolas chimed. "Yet something weighs on your mind."
Elladan looked up. Eyes still bright with hope sat beneath a brow rucked in concern. He felt an indescribable pang.
"I have long counted a Silvan from Lorien my boon companion. For many years, only Elrohir has been closer to me. When last I saw him, I realized that my affection for him was no longer fraternal in nature. I... made my feelings known to him." He decided it neither necessary nor prudent to provide further detail.
Legolas drew in a sharp breath through his nose, and Elladan knew he had grasped the implications. "But he is Silvan. And he reacted poorly to your admission." With this inference, Legolas' tone darkened, as if he were affronted on Elladan's behalf. It was flattering to be the recipient of such gallantry, misguided though it was.
"I importuned him." He could not help but defend his absent friend. Even with the passage of time to dull the memory, Elladan remembered every sensation of that ill-timed, ill-starred kiss: his own clumsy overture; Haldir's lips parting for him; the thick rush of pleasure to his groin; the throaty growl rumbling like thunder an instant before sublime joy turned disastrous. "He responded very kindly, considering."
Legolas hand rose and hovered uncertainly for a protracted moment before coming to rest on Elladan's knee. Bright spots of color had risen on his cheeks, making him appear endearingly vulnerable. "Though I come from a Silvan realm, I am Sindarin by blood, and there are no such restrictions set upon me. Is that what Elrohir fears? That I would rebuff you as your friend did?"
Elladan nearly groaned at Legolas' complete misapprehension, though he certainly could not fault him for coming to such a conclusion. The slow, careful caress of Legolas' thumb across the inside of his knee left no room for doubt: Legolas was all but waiting for a signal to proceed and make his interest known. And were it not for the specter of Haldir in his mind, Elladan would have wholeheartedly embraced the prince's overture. But Elrohir had spoken true: his feelings for Haldir still ran strong, and even Legolas' potent presence could not blot them out entirely.
"No, that is not truly the crux of it. I do not believe he rejected me. Rather, I cannot say with certainty that he has. In Elrohir alone have I confided the depths of my feelings; he is concerned that I would dally with you while my heart still harbors thoughts of my companion, and that in doing so, I would be doing all three of us a grave disservice."
"I see." Legolas looked down, and there was no misconstruing the earnest disappointment on his face. "And will your friend be in attendance for your feast?"
Elladan shook his head. "No. He is a border guard, and his marchwarden would not give him leave. Even if it had been granted, he likely lacked the means to undertake such a journey. Elrohir knew how disappointed I was that he could not come, and he suspected I might choose to vet that disappointment on...well... a willing friend. He was..." Elladan cleared his throat quietly. "He was not mistaken in his suspicion."
A sidelong glance confirmed Legolas' guarded satisfaction. Pregnant silence welled up between them. Though admittedly a novice in ways of the heart, Elladan felt certain that Legolas was on the verge of offering himself up as a consolation, and in truth, he did not know if he possessed the wherewithal to refuse such an alluring offer. Lurking in the dimmer quarters of his mind was the ever-present concern that Haldir would evermore hold him at arm's length, and compounding that fear now was the thought that in staking his heart on the mercurial Silvan, he was foregoing a liaison of great potential with Legolas.
What a want-wit he had been to assume that the heart's choices would be free and clear and easily made, or that the heart could be commanded to follow the rules of reason! He had not imagined that the right path could be such a thorny one, or that matters he had long perceived as black and white could reveal themselves in such a vast spectrum of indecipherable grey.
Legolas gently squeezed his knee before withdrawing his hand. "You must care greatly for this friend to bestow your heart upon him from afar, not knowing if he will return the gesture."
"I do." It occurred to Elladan then that he had never given Haldir's name, and he found that he did not wish to divulge it now. Did he withhold it to champion Haldir's privacy, or were his intentions less sterling? To speak Haldir's name aloud was to conjure his presence, and in that moment, the little hillock overlooking the shallows of the river was crowded enough with only the two of them. "I do not wish to impede our own friendship, Legolas. As I said before, you are the only other soul to whom I have so quickly cleaved. I feel that providence shines on our meeting."
"As do I," Legolas agreed vehemently. Determination was visible in the set of his jaw as he raised his head to meet Elladan's gaze. "I will not dissemble; you move me, Elladan. You intrigue me."
He took a breath and moved to speak again, and then seemed to think better of it. But after a long, hard look that sent a frisson coursing through Elladan's limbs, he started again. "I feel I should not speak to this, lest you think me guided by my own motives, yet my honor demands I not stay silent. I have spent the whole of my life among Silvans and Sindar alike, and the ways of the Wood-elves are as familiar to me as the ways of my own family." His gaze dropped slightly. "I do not presume to know your friend, nor is my intent to disparage him, but I daresay I am not of that mettle that I could withstand the rejection of my family if I contravened their laws. Do not judge him too harshly should he decide he cannot pay that forfeit."
Legolas' fingertips merely grazed his cheek, yet left a trail of fire in their wake.
"Gird your heart well, my friend, and know there is no shame in reclaiming it should the one to whom you have given it fail to rise to the challenge."
Elladan forced his breathing to remain still and even, though every nerve in his body entreated him to reach out and pull Legolas close. Legolas, for his part, made no move, but held Elladan firmly in his gaze; he would make Elladan take the next step, if there was to be one. Elladan caught the evanescent whiff of pine needles rising from that wheat-gold hair, swirling with the pleasant pungency of scorched firewood that clung to their clothing. He laughed uneasily to dispel the intensity of the moment, to tear his eyes away from that appraising gaze.
"I count myself lucky to have such a stalwart defender. I hope you will accept my offer of friendship."
"Aye," Legolas nodded. "Friendship."
Elladan rose to his feet, his heart still pounding from Legolas' brief touch and his probing stare. He thought he would feel relief that he had explained himself fully to Legolas, and relief that Legolas had agreed to be satisfied with his camaraderie. He had expected to feel deliverance, having unburdened his conscience.
So why, then, did he suddenly feel more disquieted than ever?
Haldir wandered along the paths that spiraled out around the courtyard without any particular purpose. Two days had passed since the retinue of Lorien had arrived in Imladris, and now, with his time his own, he found himself utterly at loose ends.
The other members of Amroth's entourage were Sindarin to a man; all were older than he by centuries, and all familiar with the valley realm. As soon as they had been billeted, they had settled in for their stay and then departed in search of old acquaintances and friends, leaving Haldir to fend for himself. While they had been civil enough on the journey, he had not thought himself entirely welcome in their ranks, though he could not determine the root cause—his youth, his inexperience, or his Silvan heritage: each seemed an equally plausible culprit, and combined, those factors had all but sealed his fate among them as one who might be numbered a compatriot, but never a friend.
He cared not—or so he told himself. His service in the retinue was but a means to an end, and already he had learned much he did not know, and might otherwise never have learned: how to shoot from horseback; how to gauge long distances by sight; how to ride in various formations, and the responsibilities of each position for mobile defense. He was beginning to believe that perhaps Amroth's sentinels had much they could teach Lorien's wardens, though knowing the marchwarden's opinion of them, it would be impolitic to suggest as much. Not the least of the lessons learned, he considered as he felt his inner thighs complaining, was how wearying it was for one unaccustomed to long rides to stay astride a horse for days on end. His muscles still ached deep beneath his skin, and he walked now to keep them loose and limber as much as to acclimate himself to the lay of the land in this novel place.
There had been no sign of Elladan since their arrival, and he had not known whom he might ask in order to find him. In Lorien, Elladan knew the location of Haldir's home and any of a number of his especial hiding places, and he had always been the one to seek Haldir out. But Haldir could not very well just appear in the familial quarters of Lord Elrond—even if he had known where they were, which he did not-- and ask if Elladan might come out to attend to him. He loitered often at the archery lists and on the training grounds, hoping to overhear some news, spoken in the crisp, clipped dialect of the northern folk, but talk seemed centered on discussing the myriad attributes of King Thranduil's son, who had unexpectedly arrived as his father's ambassador.
Idleness turned his mind to dour ruminations: what was his purpose here? He wished to bid his dear friend well at the dawning of his maturity, of course, but what more? It was a question that had rattled him from the moment he had set out from Lorien, when this strange journey had suddenly become real to him, rather than some imagined flight of fancy. He desired Elladan, but did he dare act on those desires, knowing full well the censure and revilement that would attend his exposure? And there was no question he would eventually be exposed, whether by accident or malice. One could only be so careful and for so long, and already he was under scrutiny, from his own father not least of all.
But perhaps his concern was moot. What if all that Orophin had once prophesied had at last come to pass, and he had come all this way only to discover that Elladan considered their friendship a mere vestige of his youth? He was his father's successor now. It had been easy to forget—or rather, to ignore—in the midst of Elladan's effervescent companionship that his friend was the rightful heir to the Noldorin crown, and only by his father's refusal to succeed Gil-Galad as High King was he not accounted royalty. Perhaps in coming in to his own, he would decide that a lowly Silvan border guard was an unworthy companion, and Haldir's friendship something best relegated to quaint memory. The thought galled him terribly. He swore that he would not show his devastation should this eventuality come to pass. Not when the knowledge of his spectacular failure would be sung with such relish by his detractors, those that delighted in naming him Elladan's lackey... or his catamite. He supposed he ought to be grateful in this case for the disinterest of Amroth's sentinels. They were entirely too indifferent to him to carry the tale of his humiliation home. The waiting, boredom, and loneliness made him feel foolish, like a motherless pup waiting for scraps at the scullery door.
Thus, he was determined set out and explore. If nothing else, he would be able to tell Rúmil of the beauty of Elrond's land, just as he had promised he would.
The gardens of Imladris were glorious. Where Lothlorien's glens were curvaceous and wild, Rivendell's were strikingly formal. Flower beds laid out in the shapes of runes unfolded in orderly ranks bordered by lush green grass and pale quartz pebbles; reflecting pools ringed by flag-lilies held turtles and carp; a pergola limned the far perimeter of the terrace, beckoning visitors to stroll beneath the leaves and vines that draped its latticed roof. He answered its stately summons as the afternoon sun attenuated the shadows of the columns across the lawn.
The columns were interrupted now and then by niches set with stone benches, and Haldir eyed one near the farthest end of the walk that was bathed in light. The stone was quite warm under his tired legs, and the rays of the descending sun fell pleasantly across his face as he sat, contemplating how he might pass another evening in a land full of strangers.
The deliberate chatter of two approaching voices drew his attention, as it was meant to; their delivery was just a little too loud to be conversational, it seemed, and served better to engage the interest of anyone around them. Haldir had little patience for such displays, but all the same he squinted against the glare to look. The interlopers both had the dark hair of the Golodhrim, twisted and plaited into fussy styles that Haldir thought more fitting for young maids than mature gallants, and their raiment was finely crafted, yet ostentatious. The Elf standing to the left wore snug breeches of fine calfskin and black leather boots fit to the knee. His doublet was plush velvet with a dagged hem, trimmed effusively with braid. A gilded blade encrusted with jewels dangled from a fancy sword-belt at his waist. Haldir could not imagine that it was balanced enough, with all its ornamentation, to be particularly useful. His companion wore a long surcoat of fine brocaded silk closed with gold pins. They passed him slowly and their conversation halted. They raked him with vague glances through narrowed eyes and settled together on another bench nearby, resuming their conspicuous laughter.
"Did you see Amroth's folk arrive?" The dandy in breeches angled his head so that Haldir was certain to hear each word. "My sister said that one of his guardians is a Wood-elf. I could hardly credit the tale until someone else confirmed it—I wonder if Amroth thought to give him a sword, or if he was armed with a sling and a bag of rocks?"
Haldir's body entire immediately seized at those derisive words. To hear himself, his king and, by extension, the whole of his realm maligned by a couple of frivolous fools was infuriating; to know that the insult had been specifically meant for his ears made it as humiliating as it was vexing.
The Elf's silk-clad companion snorted. "I wonder that the guards agreed to quarter him in the garrison. They ought to have just pointed him to the nearest tree! Though I hope someone has shown him how to use a fork and knife else he might leap onto the table and try to tear the leg from a roast with his hands!"
Those very hands clenched into fists now, and Haldir's stomach roiled at the slights he was impotent to avenge. He sat stalk-still and seething. What would his king—or Elladan, no less—think of him if he were to begin brawling with complete strangers in the middle of the courtyard? Besides, to engage them would only confirm their belief that Silvans were savages. Oh, the grumblings of the Noldor elite were not new to him, but even the refugees of Eregion, who had for centuries held themselves aloof from the Silvans, would not dare speak such insults aloud. He knew full well he was being goaded, and it took every ounce of his restraint not to leap up from his seat and deliver the blows these curs seemed so desperately to desire from him.
"Are there to be Wood-elves at the feast then?" The first Elf quipped. "Why waste good northern vintage and pheasant on brutes accustomed to coney and mead?" At that, the pair burst into gales of laughter.
Oh, that was quite enough! Haldir could countenance no more. He rose to his feet and taken his first stride towards his detractors when a new voice rose up from further down the colonnade, a voice colored by an unfamiliar accent, clearly accustomed to being heard....and obeyed.
"I did not quite comprehend that last part. Would you care to repeat it?"
The laughter immediately ceased, and the discourteous duo paled. They abruptly stood as the Elf approached them, cowed by his flinty grin. Haldir inclined his head reflexively as the Elf neared him; there was something about his presence that demanded respect, and Haldir would have believed him to be Lord Elrond himself if he had not been possessed of the most radiant head of golden Haldir had ever chanced to lay eyes upon.
The first Elf bowed low. "Lord Glorfindel. Forgive us, we were merely having a private jest."
Haldir's eyes bulged when his intercessor was named. Glorfindel the Reborn was even more glorious, even more imposing, than the stories described.
"A private jest," the golden one repeated. That his tone was light and genial only seemed to underscore the depth of his displeasure. "A private jest maligning a king and his people, delivered within earshot of one of his guardians." The doubleted Elf at least had the decency to blush at that. "It is indeed fortunate for you that the protectors of Lorien have more sense than to quibble with vainglorious halfwits over their honor."
Some mumbled excuse issued from the silk-clad Elf, but for once, Haldir could not hear him. In any case, Lord Glorfindel handily preempted him.
"I have seen goblins taken down with cruder implements than stones and slings, and I have seen cravens arrayed in mithril and mounted on destriers costing more than the worth of your house entire turn tail and flee from battle to cower under their beds." He eyed the first Elf's decorative weapon and snorted derisively. "A sword is only as good as its wielder, and I would sooner fight beside a Silvan with a sling and boiled leather armor than be shamed by a simpering coxcomb with a jeweled blade he can barely lift, let alone master."
The Elf's face had been scored by unflattering splotches of pink, but to his credit, he bore his dressing-down silently. Haldir imagined that had he been on the receiving end of such a keenly honed tongue, he would have wanted nothing more than to turn tail and flee like a craven himself. But Lord Glorfindel had only just begun. He turned his ire now on the second Elf, whose lips were indignantly pursed.
"And it is easy enough to sneer at foreign visitors, you who have never once in your short life stepped beyond the confines of the hidden valley. Where was your family when the Silvans fought and died at our side at Mordor's gates?" He trailed his eyes up and down over the sumptuous silks of the Elf's vestments. "Trembling behind their looms, one imagines. Yet you dare disdain one who has the courage to defend his home?" He clucked his tongue as if scolding a child. "You know nothing except your cloistered enclave, and your safety here was bought with the blood of far nobler souls than either of you."
"I am sorry that we have offended you, Lord Glorfindel," the first Elf offered weakly.
"It is not to me that you ought apologize." He turned to Haldir. "Come here, friend. These wastrels have a few more words for you."
The elves muttered lame apologies without meeting Haldir's eyes and then departed with as much haste as they could summon while retaining what little dignity the great lord had allowed them to keep. Glorfindel then turned to regard him with a heartily apologetic expression.
"I am sorry that you were the recipient of such inexcusable rudeness. I hope you understand that they are not representative of Imladris on the whole."
"Nay, my lord." Haldir inclined his head again, his fury already subsiding. "I know another of your denizens who count me as a friend rather than as a rustic. Or rather, he counts me a friend in spite of my being a rustic."
Glorfindel laughed. It was a lyrical sound. "Tell me, what is your name? I have not seen you previously in Amroth's escort."
"No, my lord, this is my first time to ride in his guard. In truth, I am a border guard by trade. My name is Haldir, my lord."
Glorfindel blinked, his face momentarily bereft of expression, and then his smile widened. "Haldir of Lorien. Your name is known to me; Elladan has spoken of you often. He was under the impression, however, that you had tendered your regrets."
Haldir nodded. "I had. I was not given leave to make the journey, but Lady Celebrían interceded on my behalf, and King Amroth assigned me to his guard."
"I see," returned Glorfindel with a cautious grin. "I should have seen her hand in this; it is a delicate but wily extremity." Haldir thought he noted a flicker of concern cross the ancient warrior's features before he spoke again. "Elladan will be very surprised to hear of your arrival."
Haldir immediately leapt upon the opportunity Glorfindel had presented. "Might I speak to him, my lord? I have not seen him, and I did not know who to ask. I did not wish to make a nuisance of myself."
This time, Haldir was certain that Glorfindel's smile had briefly wavered. "I am afraid he has gone on a sojourn. A representative from Eryn Galen also arrived unexpectedly, and both Elladan and his brother have devoted themselves to renewing diplomacy between Imladris and the Greenwood."
Ah, yes. The illustrious son of Thranduil he had heard talk of. Haldir beamed proudly to cover his disappointment. "I would expect no less of him. ‘Tis for this he has been groomed."
This seemed to relieve the Elf-lord, and his smile returned in full. "Considering that our guests from Arnor and Lindon are anticipated any day now, I imagine they will not stay away much longer. I warn you, he may have time for little more than a perfunctory greeting until the festivities begin."
Haldir nodded. "Aye, I understand. I can occupy myself well enough." He knew, however, that his voice betrayed a touch of uncertainty. He could see from Glorfindel's sympathetic expression that this had not gone unnoticed.
"Have you plans for the evening meal?"
Haldir shook his head. "I assumed I would take it in the garrison with the others."
"Dine with me, then," he offered, anchoring his hand to Haldir's shoulder and turning him toward a smaller path that drifted off to the West. "I would hear news of the Golden Wood, and I have already asked Gildor and some of his wandering companions to join me. Have you met Gildor yet? He is always good for a wild tale or two. You will like him, I am certain."
Haldir tried not to smile too broadly as he followed Glorfindel down the path. Before them, the sun melted in ribbons of persimmon and gold, and for the first time since his arrival, Haldir felt welcome indeed.
Elladan closed the door to Gildor's house and sauntered unhurriedly to where Legolas and Elrohir were cinching their packs to the horses. He had quite enjoyed this excursion, and was in no rush to return home, where he would be required to doff his easy mien—not to mention his terribly comfortable but terribly filthy hunting gear-- and don not only his finest clothing, but his most officious demeanor.
Legolas' company had been a pleasure, albeit a pleasure closely overseen by Elrohir's eagle eye. They rode close together, and Legolas' leg often brushed up against his own, and in those moments, meaningful glances passed between them that were either condoned or ignored by his self-appointed guardian. Elladan felt his heart race at each fugitive touch.
The threesome returned amidst much hustle and bustle; more guests had arrived in their absence, and the final preparations for the feast and all the attendant activities were well underway. Elladan's stomach leapt a little; he was both eager for and dreading the event. In a fit of high spirits, the threesome had devised a system of subtle hand gestures that they might employ if they became mired in tedious conversation, or were waylaid by overly enthusiastic suitors, and they each agreed to give aid to their fellows should the necessity become evident. When Elladan, who rode at the trio's center, began to blather on excessively about the various greetings they would need to make, who should be acknowledged, and in what order, Legolas, who had been riding on his right, suddenly brought his horse around and moved to position himself to his left, separating him from his brother. When Elladan stopped in mid-sentence to regard Legolas with curiosity, he noticed that Elrohir had been subtly making the agreed-upon sign for aid. He feigned great offense and pulled a face at his brother and Legolas, now partners in crime and howling gleefully.
Their laughter served to catch the attention of Glorfindel, who had been giving some men from Arnor a tour of the training grounds. He met them at the gate to the stable with effusive greetings for all.
"You have come just in time," Glorfindel told them. "Lord Círdan and Lord Galdor have arrived, and it seems that they have half of Lindon in tow. Erestor is attending to them at present, as his father is in the entourage, but you will need to be present when they are presented to your father."
"Think you that we might have time to refresh ourselves and change our clothing?" Elrohir swept out his arm to invite a discerning look at the grimy condition of their wardrobe. "I imagine in our current state, we are less than fit to be introduced to esteemed company."
"Yes," Glorfindel wrinkled his nose at the smell of horses, game, and woodsmoke. "But do not tarry. Erestor can only be expected to entertain them for so long."
Elrohir nodded curtly and hurried his horse toward his stall with Legolas following close behind. Elladan would have filed in behind them, but Glorfindel grabbed him by the arm.
"King Amroth and his folk arrived four days ago."
Elladan wondered at the sobriety of his tone. " Ada did not feel it necessary that we be present at his arrival; we have an avuncular enough relationship with him that he dismissed the need of a courtly greeting."
"Yes, he said as much," Glorfindel shook his head impatiently. "But there is something you ought to know. There was a new face in Amroth's advance guard." His grip on Elladan's arm tightened ever so slightly. Elladan made a gesture of confusion.
Glorfindel looked up over Elladan's shoulder to watch Legolas maneuver his horse into its stall before returning his eyes to Elladan's. His stare was pointed and direct.
"Elladan, he has brought you Haldir."
*****
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