Dust, Chapter Six; Going Home.
5 Sep 2011 07:56 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
So - after the last chapter that mostly featured Tindómë giving the twins a good talking too, this chapter mostly features Legolas, Galanthir and Haldirin.
Chapter Six, in which Haldirin is reminded of an incident long ago...
Chapter Six – Going Home

Across the moorland, past the mountains
O’er the rivers beside the new stream
Something tells me that I’m going home
Going Home. C & R MacDonald.
Now it was the Winter Solstice – another of the ‘lasts’, as Tindómë called them.
It was like being two people, Legolas thought. The Lord of Ithilien grieved that this was his last Midwinter here, with his own people, in this land that was now almost fully recovered from the depredations of the forces of evil. Legolas the elf, though, Legolas the bowman, one of the Nine Walkers, one of the Three Hunters; he could feel the sea pulling, pulling, trying to force him to wait no longer; to sail West now, this very night.
In fact, he thought, there were not just two ‘people’ pulling him in different directions. There was also Legolas Thranduilion and he feared that he would only see his father for one more time – and also felt as though he was being pulled back into being the Prince of Eryn Lasgalen.
Tonight he would have to pull all three ‘selves’ together. Rather ruefully he decided that there might even be a fourth ellon vying for supremacy in this hroar at the moment – and that one might well be the hardest to reconcile with the other three… He thought about this for a few minutes longer before coming to the conclusion that he was wrong. This other, newer, aspect of himself was not really in competition; it would be here if he could stay, although he knew he could not; it would be part of him as he sailed; and it might even be advantageous to the wishes of Thranduilion…
No point in further contemplation. He put on his celebratory tunic and began to work the ribbons into his hair. Exactly as many ribbons as there were single ellyth left in Ithilien – he and Galanthir had a last winter wager before sailing. There would be a last summer one, too. But surely that could not be their last ever.
He knew the ribbons, the kisses, the wagers, were a Sylvan tradition, but some of his father’s people must have been released from Mandos’ Hall and be living in the West now. A few, he knew, had sailed in the past years in that very expectation. Very few felt any degree of the Sea-longing, that he had fought for so long, but they made their way to the Havens, and took ship, in the hope of reunion with loved ones who might already await them.
So many of the elves of Mirkwood had died over the years; two thirds of Oropher’s warriors had died in the War of the Last Alliance; and so many others had died in skirmishes and other battles since.
Thoughts of Oropher distracted him from his braiding for a few minutes. He hoped against hope that, in the West, he might see his mother again – but the possibility that his grandfather might also await him… or was it more likely that Oropher remained still in the domain of Lord Námo? His fëa might have been too badly damaged by the realisation of just how many of his own people had been killed by his decisions. But maybe not.
Perhaps Oropher would be there at the quayside to greet his grandson. Legolas was not sure whether that was something to look forward to, or not! But nothing now, not even thoughts of his grandfather, could sway him or change his mind. The sea was calling to him loudly again now; to resist would literally be the death of him, he knew.
Hair finally completed, he straightened his shoulders, and went out into the chill air ready to give gifts and to feast.
After the tables were cleared he lit the bonfire. Tonight everyone stood around it, without dancing, for a very long time. Finally someone began to beat out a rhythm on a drum and, as other instruments began to join it, all eyes turned to Legolas.
He had made sure, over these past years, to lead the dancing with many different ellyth – sometimes a bound one, sometimes a single one. On more than one occasion it had been with Eriathwen – the Shield** – and she was amongst those who stood in the crowd around the fire. But tonight it could only be one elleth; and if Ithilienne’s face dropped a little when she realised that he was heading not towards her but her mother, standing beside her, then so be it.
Tindómë wore a red velvet dress. Yes, it was the very dress Rumil had given her to wear that first midwinter they had visited Eryn Lasgalen – elves were better than mortals, Legolas thought in passing, in keeping their favourite clothes for a long time. As they danced he mentioned that he recognised the dress and Tindómë laughed.
“And do you remember what you did to me, when you danced with me that first time I wore this dress?”
Now that was a challenge. As the dance came to an end he grabbed her around the waist and then swung her around and around, high above his head until her laughter echoed off all the surrounding trees.
He saw her daughter watching, and remembered doing exactly the same thing with her when she was an elfling – but not tonight, he thought, no, not tonight…
……………………………..
Before he set off with Galanthir and Haldirin to go to Eryn Lasgalen, Legolas spent a last evening with Rumil and Tindómë. He explained to them just why he had asked Haldirin to accompany him on this journey.
He knew that if he had not asked, then it was very likely that Haldirin would have travelled with Orophin and Lithôniel anyway – it was clear that he would want to see Rhîwen again even if all there was between them was friendship. If he travelled with Legolas he would be in the same forest as the princess for less time – but he would be housed in the royal apartments, and so it would be easy for him to spend more time with her.
Partly Legolas wanted to give them as much time together as he could because he was fond of both. But he admitted that he also thought that if the young couple realised that their fëar were destined to sing together, and Haldirin was sailing West, then Rhîwen might well put pressure on her family to do likewise. And Legolas would use any means at his disposal to persuade his father, and other family members, to follow him.
Which brought him to the other reason he had for asking Haldirin to accompany him – rather than suggesting Rhîwen come to Eryn Ithil ‘to see them off’. Although he thought Rhîwen’s parents, and especially her grandfather, might have forbidden that anyway, in case she chose to board and sail when the time came. No – he wanted Haldirin there, in the royal apartments in Eryn Lasgalen, for another reason too.
But it would be best if he did not mention that second reason to Haldirin just yet; and Rumil and Tindómë agreed completely when he explained his idea. Sufficient, they said, that Haldirin was happy and honoured to travel with Legolas and Galanthir, and was looking forward to seeing Rhîwen again.
……………………………..
They were ready to leave. It was less than a fortnight since the Midwinter feast and there was a hint of frost in the early morning air as the three elves pulled on their fur lined cloaks and mounted up.
Haldirin had made the journey north to Eryn Lasgalen a number of times; sometimes in the spring, or summer, but also in winter. The main difference between those journeys and this one was that they had all been made in large groups. To be just one of three was unusual – Haldirin was enjoying it.
The other two had travelled together many times but they certainly did not make him feel like an outsider. They both treated him as an equal and all the tasks of making camp, whether collecting wood for a fire or fetching water, were shared evenly between them. All three also rested and watched in equal measure – Legolas and Galanthir clearly regarded him as a capable companion and warrior.
As they rode they attracted little attention. Close to Eryn Ithil elves were a fairly common sight and, as they got further away, no-one seemed to take much notice of three horsemen in hooded cloaks carrying only fairly small packs thrown across the backs of their mounts.
On their third day of riding, Legolas said, “I have a desire to travel through the Riddermark again – and we three will be less conspicuous than the larger party on our return. What say you to crossing the Anduin and riding through the East Emnet and The Wold?”
“It is always a pleasure to see something of the horses of Rohan,” Galanthir said easily, “although it would be best if we could avoid almost drowning…”
Haldirin knew the tales of his own first trip to Eryn Lasgalen, although his memories of that time were only vague. “At least,” he said, “I am tall enough now to wade over unaided!”
They crossed the river, as they had on that earlier trip, at Sarn Gebir. Now a family lived in the buildings on the Rohan side of the river with horses in paddocks and full barns. The elves paused for an hour or two and discussed the weather and, inevitably, horses, with the Rohirrim.
Haldirin was not sure whether these Rohirrim were well used to passing elves, or so unused to them that it did not occur to them that their visitors were anything other than men. Quite possibly the latter, he thought – long hair worn partly loose and fur lined cloaks were the norm amongst these people – and they spent much longer looking at the horses than the riders in any case!
Somehow, when it began to snow once they were in Rohan, it seemed both inevitable and right.
The snow did not really slow them down all that much; it was not heavy and did not lie thick on the ground. At least it did not slow them down until Galanthir’s horse slipped on something, unseen under the thin white blanket, and began to favour one foreleg.
Although it did not seem to be badly injured, they now walked with the horses until it was almost dark, and then camped. The snow had stopped, and they simply made a small fire, then pulled their cloaks around them, and sat watching clouds scudding past the part hidden face of Ithil. Hopefully the horse would have recovered by morning.
It hadn’t. Galanthir felt the leg carefully again, as he had the day before, and said it was not particularly serious – but there was still some swelling and he would walk again. They took it in turn to walk as the clouds became darker and the snow began again.
“If I am right about just where we are,” Legolas said, “there is a farmstead only half a league away – with stabling, of course. A night in warmer quarters might benefit Brannonarth, and the Rohirrim would never deny comfort to an injured mount.”
“I think you are right,” Galanthir answered, “and we would hardly need to alter course at all.”
And so it proved. A small group of buildings soon came into sight. Two or three seemed to be houses, others were outbuildings, and there were paddocks surrounding all.
Legolas called out a greeting as they approached the buildings. Haldirin recognised the words from lessons, as an elfling, in the stables with Éowyn and her two Rohir bodyguards. As they walked slowly closer he brought to mind the other few phrases – perhaps this might be the time to put them to use!
Two men appeared from one of the outbuildings and called back and then stood, waiting, for the three Elves to approach. Legolas called again, this time in the Common tongue, and the men looked a little puzzled.
“Stallion, leg lame,” Haldirin called in his remembered Rohirric. He recalled Éowyn saying that, whist the Rohirrim did have a word for ‘horse’, they would never use it when speaking of an individual; it was too vague – he was glad he’d remembered the correct etiquette and the word for stallion.
Legolas nodded and commented that Haldirin seemed to have a better grasp of the language than he did.
“Only in as far as it applies in a stable,” Haldirin admitted, “but hopefully they will speak enough of the Common tongue for us to muddle through.”
So it proved. The men had probably been more puzzled about being addressed in the Common tongue than by the actual words. Brannonarth was soon in a stable, being closely examined by two men as well as by Galanthir, and there was general agreement that a bandage steeped in warm comfrey oil and a good day or two of rest were all that the stallion required.
The two other elven horses were much admired, the elves spoke equally admiringly of the other horses in the stable, and Haldirin’s knowledge of horse-related Rohirric seemed to help settle any unease on behalf of the men. The three travellers were invited to stay for a day or two, until Brannonarth was ready to continue, and led into the warm kitchen of one of the houses.
There were others in the kitchen who nodded when a quick explanation of why there were strangers stopping by was given. It was not until Haldirin, who had not put his hood up to walk across the farmyard despite it snowing again, shook his head to get the melting flakes out of his hair that he realised, by the gasp and also by understanding the Rohirric for ‘ear’, that the men had not realised the travellers were Elves.
They seemed more surprised than anything else – the young women nudged each other, a small child ran to hide in its mother’s skirts, and over in a corner a man, who Haldirin could tell was very old, muttered what sounded like “Well, well, well – you see…”
Soon it seemed as if all the inhabitants of the three dwellings were crowded into this one but the mood remained friendly. The kitchen was very crowded, by now, and the old man rapped on the floor with a stick and issued what were clearly orders. The Elves found themselves being shown into another room, opening off from the kitchen, where there were more chairs and less of everything else. Haldirin remembered such a room in Céolfrith’s house from his elfling days – they called it the parlour – and he had been told it was a room for meeting with friends and sitting, talking, during the long winter nights.
Once everyone who could fit into the room was settled, with the old man in the chair nearest the newly kindled fire, he asked to be properly introduced. Each of the Elves gave their names.
No-one showed any recognition when Legolas gave his, but then the old man said, “Legolas eh? That’s a good name. There was a famous Elf called Legolas once, you know. Fought alongside the men of the Mark way back in the days of the Ring War – or so the bards tell us.”
Legolas shook his head so slightly that only Haldirin and Galanthir would have noticed. He obviously did not want them to say anything – but imagine the men thinking that this must be a different Elf!
A man who looked a little like a full grown elf, so probably in the first strength of manhood, asked Haldirin politely if he could look at his bow. Haldirin passed it over and the man looked closely at the shape and the patterns carved into it before speaking in rapid Rohirric. He seemed quite excited. Someone else appeared, carrying something in a cloth, and the old man gave a sort of barking laugh that somehow carried the sense of “I told you so!”
The younger man carefully unwrapped… a bow. A child’s bow.
“We were told it was made by Elves,” he said, “the plaything of an elf-child. But we didn’t really believe it… except that it does look almost exactly like yours.”
As Haldirin took the small bow he was aware of both Legolas and Galanthir watching him carefully. It most certainly did look almost exactly like his bow. Not surprising as his father had made the one he now carried… and he knew, straight away, that Rumil had also made the elfling-sized bow.
The memory came to him then; a mortal child giving him a carved wooden horse and of carefully handing over his own small bow and quiver in return. Before he could say anything he saw Legolas shake his head slightly again.
“Yes,” Legolas said. “Yes, it is most certainly an Elven bow, made for an elfling.”
“Ha!” said the old man from the corner. “My Da told me he was given it by an elf-child who visited one snowy winter when he was a young one. But when he told the same thing to his grandsons…” he waved towards two men with grey hair and well weathered faces, “THEY thought they knew better and that it was just a tale to amuse children. I knew my Da was right – I always said it was an elven bow!”
Haldirin could feel his head spin as he tried to work it out – this very old man was the son of the child he had played with? The time, that seemed quite short to him, had seen that small boy grow to adulthood, then to old age and, doubtless, dusty death – leaving a son… grandsons… great-grandsons and, looking at the number of small children, great-great-grandsons. It was harder to take in than the aging and death of people like Lady Éowyn, Boromir, or Aragorn.
Galanthir took the small bow as if to look at it more closely. In doing so he looked Haldirin in the eye and swiftly squeezed his arm; he clearly understood what the younger ellon was feeling. Now he was distracting the men by discussing the bow with them.
Then Haldirin heard the very old man say to Legolas, “And my cousin, my father-sister’s daughter, had a cloak pin from her mother that she gave to her own daughter. It had belonged to an Elven princess. Maybe her brood will believe that, too, when they hear of your visit.”
“I hope they do,” Legolas said, “for I am sure it is correct.”
And Haldirin suddenly remembered his mother giving a cloak pin to a woman, and even hugging her, before they had mounted their horses and ridden away.
Haldirin got a chance to talk freely with Legolas late at night – all three ellyn stood outside in the crisp, cold, air and spoke quietly after the mortals had all gone to their beds.
“It is easier,” Legolas said, “to simply agree that there was a ‘hero’ called Legolas, that it is, indeed, the bow of ‘an elfling long ago’, the cloak-pin of ‘an Elven princess from years gone by – right back in the days of Good King Éomer,’ than to explain that I fought in the ring War, that you were that elfling, that it was your mother’s gift. To them these events are so long ago that they cannot really imagine that length of time.”
He sounded sad, almost weary.
Galanthir, as Haldirin realised he often did, broke the mood. “Of course they thought Tindómë was some fabulous princess because she told them Legolas was her brother,” he said, “and he was still famous then… if only for his Royal blood making him too high and mighty to cavort in the hay with Rohirric warriors!”
Legolas rolled his eyes and smiled. “You are only jealous,” he said, “because no Rider ever tried to bed you…”
“Ah,” Galanthir retorted, “it was too late by the time I had finished defending the Greenwood – you had put them all off. Had I known of the Rohirrim, when I accompanied you to Imladris then, I might have insisted on staying with you rather than taking your letter back to His Majesty.”
Haldirin had overheard this conversation before – but never been part of it.
“Had you been there, Haldirin,” Legolas said, “they would have, in your mother’s words, ‘hit on you’ more than him anyway – they always seemed to prefer blonds…”
It felt very good to be included.
Then Legolas changed the subject slightly. “Of course it was not really Tindómë’s cloak pin anyway – she had lost hers in the river at Sarn Gebir – it was your father’s. He will be pleased to know that both his handiwork and his cloak pin are still treasured after what is, for mortals, a very long time.”
He paused for a moment or two, and then went on, “But do not tell your mother. Tindómë would be better not reminded that the young woman she befriended briefly, around the time she came of age, will have been dust since around the time she conceived Ithilienne. If we need to mention anything of today to her, best that she knows only that it was spent with some of the Rohirrim…”
Legolas’ voice tailed off and when Haldirin looked at him it was obvious that, although not asleep, his eyes looked into a far distance; he looked across time as well as across the plains of Rohan.
Haldirin thought of all those mortals that Legolas had held dear – much dearer than the years-dead woman had been to Naneth – all of them also turned to dust. Well, he corrected himself, Pippin, Merry, and King Elessar might take longer to turn to dust in the strange, cold, house of the dead in Minas Tirith… But, whatever, it was most certainly time that both his mother and her gwador left this place. This place of mortals who stole a little of their fëa each time they died.
It was certainly time for both to sail West.
…………………………………………………………………
Chapter notes - The events described in this chapter, when the bow and the cloak pin were given as gifts, can be found in A Winter Tale.
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Disclaimer as Chapter One.

Art work for this whole story is courtesy of
ellynn_ithilwen.
Again - please do tell me if the links don't work or you spot a typo etc.!
Next chapter is here.
Chapter Six, in which Haldirin is reminded of an incident long ago...
Chapter Six – Going Home

Across the moorland, past the mountains
O’er the rivers beside the new stream
Something tells me that I’m going home
Going Home. C & R MacDonald.
Now it was the Winter Solstice – another of the ‘lasts’, as Tindómë called them.
It was like being two people, Legolas thought. The Lord of Ithilien grieved that this was his last Midwinter here, with his own people, in this land that was now almost fully recovered from the depredations of the forces of evil. Legolas the elf, though, Legolas the bowman, one of the Nine Walkers, one of the Three Hunters; he could feel the sea pulling, pulling, trying to force him to wait no longer; to sail West now, this very night.
In fact, he thought, there were not just two ‘people’ pulling him in different directions. There was also Legolas Thranduilion and he feared that he would only see his father for one more time – and also felt as though he was being pulled back into being the Prince of Eryn Lasgalen.
Tonight he would have to pull all three ‘selves’ together. Rather ruefully he decided that there might even be a fourth ellon vying for supremacy in this hroar at the moment – and that one might well be the hardest to reconcile with the other three… He thought about this for a few minutes longer before coming to the conclusion that he was wrong. This other, newer, aspect of himself was not really in competition; it would be here if he could stay, although he knew he could not; it would be part of him as he sailed; and it might even be advantageous to the wishes of Thranduilion…
No point in further contemplation. He put on his celebratory tunic and began to work the ribbons into his hair. Exactly as many ribbons as there were single ellyth left in Ithilien – he and Galanthir had a last winter wager before sailing. There would be a last summer one, too. But surely that could not be their last ever.
He knew the ribbons, the kisses, the wagers, were a Sylvan tradition, but some of his father’s people must have been released from Mandos’ Hall and be living in the West now. A few, he knew, had sailed in the past years in that very expectation. Very few felt any degree of the Sea-longing, that he had fought for so long, but they made their way to the Havens, and took ship, in the hope of reunion with loved ones who might already await them.
So many of the elves of Mirkwood had died over the years; two thirds of Oropher’s warriors had died in the War of the Last Alliance; and so many others had died in skirmishes and other battles since.
Thoughts of Oropher distracted him from his braiding for a few minutes. He hoped against hope that, in the West, he might see his mother again – but the possibility that his grandfather might also await him… or was it more likely that Oropher remained still in the domain of Lord Námo? His fëa might have been too badly damaged by the realisation of just how many of his own people had been killed by his decisions. But maybe not.
Perhaps Oropher would be there at the quayside to greet his grandson. Legolas was not sure whether that was something to look forward to, or not! But nothing now, not even thoughts of his grandfather, could sway him or change his mind. The sea was calling to him loudly again now; to resist would literally be the death of him, he knew.
Hair finally completed, he straightened his shoulders, and went out into the chill air ready to give gifts and to feast.
After the tables were cleared he lit the bonfire. Tonight everyone stood around it, without dancing, for a very long time. Finally someone began to beat out a rhythm on a drum and, as other instruments began to join it, all eyes turned to Legolas.
He had made sure, over these past years, to lead the dancing with many different ellyth – sometimes a bound one, sometimes a single one. On more than one occasion it had been with Eriathwen – the Shield** – and she was amongst those who stood in the crowd around the fire. But tonight it could only be one elleth; and if Ithilienne’s face dropped a little when she realised that he was heading not towards her but her mother, standing beside her, then so be it.
Tindómë wore a red velvet dress. Yes, it was the very dress Rumil had given her to wear that first midwinter they had visited Eryn Lasgalen – elves were better than mortals, Legolas thought in passing, in keeping their favourite clothes for a long time. As they danced he mentioned that he recognised the dress and Tindómë laughed.
“And do you remember what you did to me, when you danced with me that first time I wore this dress?”
Now that was a challenge. As the dance came to an end he grabbed her around the waist and then swung her around and around, high above his head until her laughter echoed off all the surrounding trees.
He saw her daughter watching, and remembered doing exactly the same thing with her when she was an elfling – but not tonight, he thought, no, not tonight…
……………………………..
Before he set off with Galanthir and Haldirin to go to Eryn Lasgalen, Legolas spent a last evening with Rumil and Tindómë. He explained to them just why he had asked Haldirin to accompany him on this journey.
He knew that if he had not asked, then it was very likely that Haldirin would have travelled with Orophin and Lithôniel anyway – it was clear that he would want to see Rhîwen again even if all there was between them was friendship. If he travelled with Legolas he would be in the same forest as the princess for less time – but he would be housed in the royal apartments, and so it would be easy for him to spend more time with her.
Partly Legolas wanted to give them as much time together as he could because he was fond of both. But he admitted that he also thought that if the young couple realised that their fëar were destined to sing together, and Haldirin was sailing West, then Rhîwen might well put pressure on her family to do likewise. And Legolas would use any means at his disposal to persuade his father, and other family members, to follow him.
Which brought him to the other reason he had for asking Haldirin to accompany him – rather than suggesting Rhîwen come to Eryn Ithil ‘to see them off’. Although he thought Rhîwen’s parents, and especially her grandfather, might have forbidden that anyway, in case she chose to board and sail when the time came. No – he wanted Haldirin there, in the royal apartments in Eryn Lasgalen, for another reason too.
But it would be best if he did not mention that second reason to Haldirin just yet; and Rumil and Tindómë agreed completely when he explained his idea. Sufficient, they said, that Haldirin was happy and honoured to travel with Legolas and Galanthir, and was looking forward to seeing Rhîwen again.
……………………………..
They were ready to leave. It was less than a fortnight since the Midwinter feast and there was a hint of frost in the early morning air as the three elves pulled on their fur lined cloaks and mounted up.
Haldirin had made the journey north to Eryn Lasgalen a number of times; sometimes in the spring, or summer, but also in winter. The main difference between those journeys and this one was that they had all been made in large groups. To be just one of three was unusual – Haldirin was enjoying it.
The other two had travelled together many times but they certainly did not make him feel like an outsider. They both treated him as an equal and all the tasks of making camp, whether collecting wood for a fire or fetching water, were shared evenly between them. All three also rested and watched in equal measure – Legolas and Galanthir clearly regarded him as a capable companion and warrior.
As they rode they attracted little attention. Close to Eryn Ithil elves were a fairly common sight and, as they got further away, no-one seemed to take much notice of three horsemen in hooded cloaks carrying only fairly small packs thrown across the backs of their mounts.
On their third day of riding, Legolas said, “I have a desire to travel through the Riddermark again – and we three will be less conspicuous than the larger party on our return. What say you to crossing the Anduin and riding through the East Emnet and The Wold?”
“It is always a pleasure to see something of the horses of Rohan,” Galanthir said easily, “although it would be best if we could avoid almost drowning…”
Haldirin knew the tales of his own first trip to Eryn Lasgalen, although his memories of that time were only vague. “At least,” he said, “I am tall enough now to wade over unaided!”
They crossed the river, as they had on that earlier trip, at Sarn Gebir. Now a family lived in the buildings on the Rohan side of the river with horses in paddocks and full barns. The elves paused for an hour or two and discussed the weather and, inevitably, horses, with the Rohirrim.
Haldirin was not sure whether these Rohirrim were well used to passing elves, or so unused to them that it did not occur to them that their visitors were anything other than men. Quite possibly the latter, he thought – long hair worn partly loose and fur lined cloaks were the norm amongst these people – and they spent much longer looking at the horses than the riders in any case!
Somehow, when it began to snow once they were in Rohan, it seemed both inevitable and right.
The snow did not really slow them down all that much; it was not heavy and did not lie thick on the ground. At least it did not slow them down until Galanthir’s horse slipped on something, unseen under the thin white blanket, and began to favour one foreleg.
Although it did not seem to be badly injured, they now walked with the horses until it was almost dark, and then camped. The snow had stopped, and they simply made a small fire, then pulled their cloaks around them, and sat watching clouds scudding past the part hidden face of Ithil. Hopefully the horse would have recovered by morning.
It hadn’t. Galanthir felt the leg carefully again, as he had the day before, and said it was not particularly serious – but there was still some swelling and he would walk again. They took it in turn to walk as the clouds became darker and the snow began again.
“If I am right about just where we are,” Legolas said, “there is a farmstead only half a league away – with stabling, of course. A night in warmer quarters might benefit Brannonarth, and the Rohirrim would never deny comfort to an injured mount.”
“I think you are right,” Galanthir answered, “and we would hardly need to alter course at all.”
And so it proved. A small group of buildings soon came into sight. Two or three seemed to be houses, others were outbuildings, and there were paddocks surrounding all.
Legolas called out a greeting as they approached the buildings. Haldirin recognised the words from lessons, as an elfling, in the stables with Éowyn and her two Rohir bodyguards. As they walked slowly closer he brought to mind the other few phrases – perhaps this might be the time to put them to use!
Two men appeared from one of the outbuildings and called back and then stood, waiting, for the three Elves to approach. Legolas called again, this time in the Common tongue, and the men looked a little puzzled.
“Stallion, leg lame,” Haldirin called in his remembered Rohirric. He recalled Éowyn saying that, whist the Rohirrim did have a word for ‘horse’, they would never use it when speaking of an individual; it was too vague – he was glad he’d remembered the correct etiquette and the word for stallion.
Legolas nodded and commented that Haldirin seemed to have a better grasp of the language than he did.
“Only in as far as it applies in a stable,” Haldirin admitted, “but hopefully they will speak enough of the Common tongue for us to muddle through.”
So it proved. The men had probably been more puzzled about being addressed in the Common tongue than by the actual words. Brannonarth was soon in a stable, being closely examined by two men as well as by Galanthir, and there was general agreement that a bandage steeped in warm comfrey oil and a good day or two of rest were all that the stallion required.
The two other elven horses were much admired, the elves spoke equally admiringly of the other horses in the stable, and Haldirin’s knowledge of horse-related Rohirric seemed to help settle any unease on behalf of the men. The three travellers were invited to stay for a day or two, until Brannonarth was ready to continue, and led into the warm kitchen of one of the houses.
There were others in the kitchen who nodded when a quick explanation of why there were strangers stopping by was given. It was not until Haldirin, who had not put his hood up to walk across the farmyard despite it snowing again, shook his head to get the melting flakes out of his hair that he realised, by the gasp and also by understanding the Rohirric for ‘ear’, that the men had not realised the travellers were Elves.
They seemed more surprised than anything else – the young women nudged each other, a small child ran to hide in its mother’s skirts, and over in a corner a man, who Haldirin could tell was very old, muttered what sounded like “Well, well, well – you see…”
Soon it seemed as if all the inhabitants of the three dwellings were crowded into this one but the mood remained friendly. The kitchen was very crowded, by now, and the old man rapped on the floor with a stick and issued what were clearly orders. The Elves found themselves being shown into another room, opening off from the kitchen, where there were more chairs and less of everything else. Haldirin remembered such a room in Céolfrith’s house from his elfling days – they called it the parlour – and he had been told it was a room for meeting with friends and sitting, talking, during the long winter nights.
Once everyone who could fit into the room was settled, with the old man in the chair nearest the newly kindled fire, he asked to be properly introduced. Each of the Elves gave their names.
No-one showed any recognition when Legolas gave his, but then the old man said, “Legolas eh? That’s a good name. There was a famous Elf called Legolas once, you know. Fought alongside the men of the Mark way back in the days of the Ring War – or so the bards tell us.”
Legolas shook his head so slightly that only Haldirin and Galanthir would have noticed. He obviously did not want them to say anything – but imagine the men thinking that this must be a different Elf!
A man who looked a little like a full grown elf, so probably in the first strength of manhood, asked Haldirin politely if he could look at his bow. Haldirin passed it over and the man looked closely at the shape and the patterns carved into it before speaking in rapid Rohirric. He seemed quite excited. Someone else appeared, carrying something in a cloth, and the old man gave a sort of barking laugh that somehow carried the sense of “I told you so!”
The younger man carefully unwrapped… a bow. A child’s bow.
“We were told it was made by Elves,” he said, “the plaything of an elf-child. But we didn’t really believe it… except that it does look almost exactly like yours.”
As Haldirin took the small bow he was aware of both Legolas and Galanthir watching him carefully. It most certainly did look almost exactly like his bow. Not surprising as his father had made the one he now carried… and he knew, straight away, that Rumil had also made the elfling-sized bow.
The memory came to him then; a mortal child giving him a carved wooden horse and of carefully handing over his own small bow and quiver in return. Before he could say anything he saw Legolas shake his head slightly again.
“Yes,” Legolas said. “Yes, it is most certainly an Elven bow, made for an elfling.”
“Ha!” said the old man from the corner. “My Da told me he was given it by an elf-child who visited one snowy winter when he was a young one. But when he told the same thing to his grandsons…” he waved towards two men with grey hair and well weathered faces, “THEY thought they knew better and that it was just a tale to amuse children. I knew my Da was right – I always said it was an elven bow!”
Haldirin could feel his head spin as he tried to work it out – this very old man was the son of the child he had played with? The time, that seemed quite short to him, had seen that small boy grow to adulthood, then to old age and, doubtless, dusty death – leaving a son… grandsons… great-grandsons and, looking at the number of small children, great-great-grandsons. It was harder to take in than the aging and death of people like Lady Éowyn, Boromir, or Aragorn.
Galanthir took the small bow as if to look at it more closely. In doing so he looked Haldirin in the eye and swiftly squeezed his arm; he clearly understood what the younger ellon was feeling. Now he was distracting the men by discussing the bow with them.
Then Haldirin heard the very old man say to Legolas, “And my cousin, my father-sister’s daughter, had a cloak pin from her mother that she gave to her own daughter. It had belonged to an Elven princess. Maybe her brood will believe that, too, when they hear of your visit.”
“I hope they do,” Legolas said, “for I am sure it is correct.”
And Haldirin suddenly remembered his mother giving a cloak pin to a woman, and even hugging her, before they had mounted their horses and ridden away.
Haldirin got a chance to talk freely with Legolas late at night – all three ellyn stood outside in the crisp, cold, air and spoke quietly after the mortals had all gone to their beds.
“It is easier,” Legolas said, “to simply agree that there was a ‘hero’ called Legolas, that it is, indeed, the bow of ‘an elfling long ago’, the cloak-pin of ‘an Elven princess from years gone by – right back in the days of Good King Éomer,’ than to explain that I fought in the ring War, that you were that elfling, that it was your mother’s gift. To them these events are so long ago that they cannot really imagine that length of time.”
He sounded sad, almost weary.
Galanthir, as Haldirin realised he often did, broke the mood. “Of course they thought Tindómë was some fabulous princess because she told them Legolas was her brother,” he said, “and he was still famous then… if only for his Royal blood making him too high and mighty to cavort in the hay with Rohirric warriors!”
Legolas rolled his eyes and smiled. “You are only jealous,” he said, “because no Rider ever tried to bed you…”
“Ah,” Galanthir retorted, “it was too late by the time I had finished defending the Greenwood – you had put them all off. Had I known of the Rohirrim, when I accompanied you to Imladris then, I might have insisted on staying with you rather than taking your letter back to His Majesty.”
Haldirin had overheard this conversation before – but never been part of it.
“Had you been there, Haldirin,” Legolas said, “they would have, in your mother’s words, ‘hit on you’ more than him anyway – they always seemed to prefer blonds…”
It felt very good to be included.
Then Legolas changed the subject slightly. “Of course it was not really Tindómë’s cloak pin anyway – she had lost hers in the river at Sarn Gebir – it was your father’s. He will be pleased to know that both his handiwork and his cloak pin are still treasured after what is, for mortals, a very long time.”
He paused for a moment or two, and then went on, “But do not tell your mother. Tindómë would be better not reminded that the young woman she befriended briefly, around the time she came of age, will have been dust since around the time she conceived Ithilienne. If we need to mention anything of today to her, best that she knows only that it was spent with some of the Rohirrim…”
Legolas’ voice tailed off and when Haldirin looked at him it was obvious that, although not asleep, his eyes looked into a far distance; he looked across time as well as across the plains of Rohan.
Haldirin thought of all those mortals that Legolas had held dear – much dearer than the years-dead woman had been to Naneth – all of them also turned to dust. Well, he corrected himself, Pippin, Merry, and King Elessar might take longer to turn to dust in the strange, cold, house of the dead in Minas Tirith… But, whatever, it was most certainly time that both his mother and her gwador left this place. This place of mortals who stole a little of their fëa each time they died.
It was certainly time for both to sail West.
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Chapter notes - The events described in this chapter, when the bow and the cloak pin were given as gifts, can be found in A Winter Tale.
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Disclaimer as Chapter One.

Art work for this whole story is courtesy of
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Again - please do tell me if the links don't work or you spot a typo etc.!
Next chapter is here.
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Date: 05/09/2011 07:08 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 05/09/2011 07:43 pm (UTC)I wonder if Éowyn's role might have been played up, or played down?
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Date: 05/09/2011 09:32 pm (UTC)Typos as per request:
"looking a the horses" (at)
"too high and might" (mighty)
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Date: 05/09/2011 09:45 pm (UTC)As for the Rohirric episode - I'm so glad it works as I actually 'set it up' over 18 months ago when I wrote the chapter of The Winter Tale in which the bow and the cloak pin were gifted.
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Date: 19/09/2011 09:58 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 19/09/2011 11:01 pm (UTC)It was interesting to realise how many generations had passed since Haldirin gave his bow to Elfheard even though I had 'planted it' there on purpose when I wrote that, ready for this story. And it seemed right, once I did get here, for the men to not even consider that this might be the very same Legolas. Right, too, for Legolas to realise that if it had unsettled Tindómë to realise that Álith had become middle aged whilst she was still very much a young mother herself, then to have the reality of Álith being long dead brought home to her would hurt her all over again.
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Date: 14/10/2011 11:56 am (UTC)And am amused, for reasons of my own, to note Tindome's red velvet dress... ;-)
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Date: 14/10/2011 08:55 pm (UTC)And it is surprising just how well red velvet dresses last!