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curiouswombatGosh - it's been a month since I posted the last chapter - I plead a hospitalised husband, Christmas, a birthday and New Year... We are getting quite near the end, now, honestly.
The Valinor Trail, Chapter Twenty Two; Pause for Thought
Words; 2,990
Chapter Rated PG.
Disclaimer as Chapter One.
Previous chapters are here.
Chapter Twenty Two; Pause for Thought
“Death was my gift,” Haldir said and, for a moment, Tindómë could hear the echo in her mind of Buffy saying something similar. But she was fairly sure it had not been in the same context; Buffy probably meant it was her gift to vampires, that she killed them, or her gift to other people that she killed vampires and demons.
Actually, given when Tindómë remembered her saying it, perhaps she meant she had died as a gift to Tindómë, who had lived instead, or even that death had been a gift from the Powers of that world so that she could stop killing things and go to heaven.
Whatever, it hadn’t been as Haldir meant it; even though it would have been just as true…
Haldir was continuing.
“To deal death in defence of Lothlorien was my talent, the only talent I needed. And I was, most certainly, very gifted; I could deal death with my bow, I could deal death with my sword. If it was needed I could deal death with my bare hands. I knew, also, how to best use my wardens so that they, too, could deal death to anything that threatened.
“Even at the last, when we fought alongside the Rohirrim, this gift of mine allowed me to kill many, even when I used my wardens as weapons knowing that I may have dealt death to them, too.”
He paused for a moment. “I am at peace about those decisions, made that night, but I am glad that I will not need to send others to their death until the Dagor Dagorath.”
Another pause. “Perhaps, with Spike, death was my gift in another way. I hope I do not need to kill anyone else, personally, before the Dagor Dagorath either. But in killing him I gave him the chance of a new life in the future and so it was a gift. Yes?”
“Yes.” Tindómë had no problem in agreeing.
“But,” said Haldir, his tone lighter, “I will have to search my inner self to see if I have another gift, an unused talent, as I hope not to use the gift of death again for many ages.”
He smiled. “Perhaps I will take up writing poetry. Who knows, I may have a gift for that.”
Tindómë laughed. Haldir looked affronted – but not in a serious way.
“Is the thought of me being a poet so unlikely, then?”
“No,” she answered when she stopped laughing, “it is just that you and Spike may find you have more in common than you could have imagined!”
Then she became suddenly serious again, for that thought had reminded her of something.
“Where did we put Spike’s bag?” she asked. “There is something I think will be in there.”
Haldir went to the carved chest in the corner of the room and brought the bag to her. She was surprised to find her fingers shaking as she took it from him, and she needed to take a couple of deep breaths before she could open it.
……
Tindómë wasn’t sure why she had not already looked into the bag Spike had brought with him. Too painful, perhaps. But it felt right, now.
She didn’t recognise the bag, but then why would she? A lot of time had passed since they had last been in the same world. She hadn’t even been sure what the shiny flat devices had been that Spike had said there was no point in bringing; she assumed they were the many generation descendants of the cell phones and computers of the first years of the twenty-first century.
She took the bag and undid it. Good to see Velcro still existed, she thought. Haldir, however, was fascinated by this fastening material. Tindómë gave him something of a hard stare and told him, firmly, that he could look at the bag once she’d looked at the contents.
Hiding everything else in the bag was something soft and black. She took it out and realised it was a piece of, very worn, soft black leather about the size of a handkerchief. She looked at it blankly for a minute and then realisation dawned – it was a memento of a black leather duster! Perhaps the one she remembered, perhaps not, but she thought it probably was. She held it against her face and felt tears come. So many memories…
……
Haldir had expected that Tindómë would simply discard the piece of black leather she took from the bag; it was clearly just there to keep the other contents safe and dry. But instead she held it to her face and said nothing for a long time. Then he realised she was crying… again.
He shrugged and produced his handkerchief without saying anything. As he pressed it into her hand she looked to have just recalled where she was. She smiled and wiped her eyes.
“Lots of memories,” she said.
He must have looked sceptical because she went on to explain a little.
“All the time I remember Spike, since I was just a kid – uh a half-grown child – he wore a long black leather coat. I don’t know if this is part of that very coat, or a later one – but I’m sure he’s brought it because it was so much a part of his life.”
Well that made sense. Haldir waited to see what else the vampire had thought important enough to bring.
Tindómë produced the coloured likeness of the blonde female, that Haldir had seen when the first portal into Spike’s room had been opened, followed by the drawing he had seen then, too, of Tindómë and Haldirin.
She held the picture of the female out to him. “Buffy,” she said.
He knew there were pictures, in Alqualondë, that Rumil had drawn of Tindómë’s sister but he had not bothered to look at them. This was a very good image – it seemed to be neither an oil painting nor a water colour.
“There is not a lot of similarity between you,” he said after a moment or two. “She seems very small.” He considered for a little longer. “I can see that being so small might have been an advantage when she was a warrior of her people. No-one would expect such a tiny figure to be a warrior.”
To his surprise, Tindómë grinned and said “Yes! You get it! I don’t think that ever really occurred to Rumil or Orophin; they were just surprised at how tiny she was.”
Haldir found himself strangely pleased at that comment. He nodded in acknowledgement just as Tindómë made a rather sad sound and passed him another of the very impressive pictures. This was clearly Buffy as well, but she could no longer be considered a warrior; she was a little stooped, her face was lined and seemed to have... fallen in some way, and she clearly had less well defined muscles. Haldir recognised the effects of mortal ageing.
“I guess it’s a sign of just how much he did love her,” Tindómë said, her voice wavering slightly, “to want to remember her when she was old as well as when she was at her fittest.”
She put the two pictures to one side, along with the one of herself and the elfling Haldirin. Haldir decided he would ask about the skill and medium of the artist later.
Then came a book. A book with more pictures of the same quality. Tindómë sat heavily in a chair and began to turn the pages murmuring names. “Mom. Willow. Kennedy. Xander… Giles! Althanea. She taught me how to knit, you know.”
He did not know. Actually he did not know that Tindómë was able to knit. He was not totally sure he knew what knitting was.
In the end he asked her about the quality of the art work, as much to stop her descending into tears again as anything else – and then sat through an explanation of something involving metal salts and boxes with holes in them. It sounded like something much more suited to dwarves.
However it had the desired effect. Tindómë put the book of ‘photos’ to one side and took out another book before crying “Yes!” again.
“I had a wager with myself that this would be here,” she said, by way of explanation. “They are poems by a famous writer and when I was stuck there, and fading, Spike used to read them to me. When I came home he gave me his copy, but I knew he’d have got another, and here it is!”
She showed him, but the strange alphabet meant nothing to him. “I translated them for Rumil,” she said, “I can read you a little if you want.”
Having just expressed an interest in poetry Haldir felt it best to agree – although he was not sure that he would be interested in poetry written by strange mortals from another world.
Flicking through the book, Tindómë paused a couple of times before studying one page for a little then saying “Actually, it’s really sad that so many of these are either about growing old, or losing your beloved, or both. They must have become more important to him as time went on. I don’t think I can face some of them right now.”
She turned another page or two then said “I remember translating this one.” She took a breath then began.
“How heavy do I journey on the way,
When what I seek, my weary travel's end,
Doth teach that ease and that repose to say,
'Thus far the miles are measured from thy friend!'*
“That one is kind of relevant now, eh?”
More books came out of the bag. “More poetry, mainly,” she said. And then, “Oh Spike! You didn’t! ‘Lords and Ladies’ indeed!”
Haldir looked questioningly at her but she began to laugh, shook her head, and said ‘”I promise I will explain it, and read it, some time – but not now. I don’t think you’d get the joke right now…”
And then she put everything back in the bag and insisted they do something different.
…………………
Time continued to flow by them. Tindómë seemed happy enough with the chance to relax and did not seem to be fretting over much for Rumil.
Haldir found his thoughts drifting more than once to that conversation about gifts and talents. When he had told Tindómë that his particular gift was to deal death he had been telling the simple truth. But, as he had said, organising and leading the wardens of the Golden Wood had been part of that gift; and whilst he was glad that he had killed his last sentient prey, so to speak, when he had shot that arrow across the portal and into Spike, there were still going to be opportunities to use those other skills.
Yes, he thought, he could adapt his gift; he could lead the elves who would discover all that this great land had to offer. That would be a gift to share.
Although such a possibility had occurred to him during their journey he now had time to form it into more defined plans. By the time they returned to Alqualondë, or indeed just to Tirion, he would be able to put his ideas and suggestions so clearly that no-one would doubt for a moment that he should lead the venture to find homes for the different Silvan and Sindarin peoples.
Perhaps, he considered, this time at ease as guests of Lord Námo was to allow him to recognise that this was the new course his life should take. But, if so, there was yet no sign that His Lordship realised that Haldir knew his new course clearly, was already drawing up mental supply lists and plans of action, and they could begin their journey back. Instead, time continued to drift by.
…………………………….
*Shakespeare, sonnet number 50
** ‘Lords and Ladies’ is a book by Terry Pratchett that Spike mentions in Return of The Key. Those of you who know it will know why he might have brought it!
…………………………….
Haldir was right in that Tindómë was content to enjoy their surroundings, which had not changed again since the first time they had ventured out of The Halls of Waiting; not only was the weather fair but she also had the run of a very well stocked library. His Lordship had even recommended some volumes that told of historical events from different perspectives to those she already knew, and had expressed an interest in Spike’s Shakespearean sonnets.
She wondered how life was progressing in Alqualondë. Probably, she thought, with no major traumas. She actually gave more thought to why none of the elves ever seemed to write fiction…
…………………………….
Life in Alqualondë was, indeed, without major traumas. This did not mean, however, that nothing of interest had happened since Legolas, Rumil and Orophin had returned.
There had been a ship.
The second since the ‘Heart of Ithilien’, but the previous one had mainly brought more of the Galadhrim and some Teleri from the Grey Havens; of interest to Adar and Orophin, but less so to Haldirin and Ithilienne.
This ship, though, brought immigrants from Eryn Lasgalen, as well as some of the last few who had stayed in Eryn Ithil to ease the transition from elven woodland to one where mortals held sway.
For some the ship had meant joy and celebration such as Galanthir, and his recently restored sister, who were reunited with their parents. But there were no members of Legolas’ family.
There had been a package for Haldirin from Princess Rhîwen, which he had opened in private before putting it into his kist where, his sister knew, there was also one of his own ribbons from each solstice celebration since they arrived. Ithilienne did not pry but, remembering that he had taken one with him to Eryn Lasgalen the last time he had seen ‘his’ princess, she thought that, sometime in the future, there would be a lot of kissing, and more, required. She thought she would keep an eye open, though, to see whether he added to the ribbon collection at mid-summer. It would be a good sign, she decided, if it continued to grow.
There was a small envelope, sealed with blue wax, for Naneth when she got home. The wax bore the device that showed it came from both Lords of Imladris. There had been similar, larger, ones for Master Elrond and Lady Celebrían, and Celebrían had not looked too sad later – and so hopefully Naneth’s wouldn’t make her cry.
For Legolas there had been letters, too. But they had not made him happy. He had welcomed everyone by name, had smiled, ensured that everyone had somewhere to stay; he had done a very good job of what Naneth called ‘Lording’. But the smile did not reach his eyes.
Haldirin’s letter from one of Legolas’ family had made him happy and, she was almost certain, given him cause to ease himself more than once before ‘being swayed by the desires of the body’ with one or two friends. But Legolas’s missives had caused him to retire, as soon as he could, to his favourite tree.
Ithilienne had eventually climbed up to him, and he had not refused her company but, when she had suggested that they go starlight bathing, or simply join for pleasure, he had refused, saying he had not the heart right now.
And so she had a ‘girls’ night’ with friends, preparing for Midsummer, whilst Legolas had sought out Gimli, saying his friend must be lonely. She did not feel rebuffed so much as sad that she couldn’t help.
She hoped Naneth would be home soon, she was so much better when Legolas was sad. But then she was still his only family here.
…………………………….
“Is it almost mid-summer?” Tindómë asked Haldir one morning.
He did not immediately answer but looked at the sky, then carefully at the trees and plants around them.
“Yes,” he decided eventually. “I fear you will miss your celebrations.”
‘One day,’ she thought, ‘I will get him to think of them as ‘our’ celebrations!’
“There will be others,” she said, out loud, as she thought ‘And how elven is that answer, dude!’
The same day Cambasion appeared and informed them that His Lordship wished them to attend him in his study. Very formal, Tindómë thought, considering Lord Námo had joined her there once or twice in the past weeks. Something must be afoot.
“It is almost Mid-summer,” His Lordship said, by way of greeting.
‘Ha!’ thought Tindómë. ‘I’m kinda happy we noticed for ourselves first!’
Lord Námo smiled.
“After Mid-summer it will be time for you to return to your family,” he said. “Lord Oromë had suggested you stay here until then specifically because he wished to invite you to join The Great Midsummer Hunt, Haldir.”
Tindómë glanced at her husband-brother. His face was, most un-Galadhrim-like, split by an enormous grin.
Lord Námo continued. “Tulkas says that you, Tindómë, are welcome to ride in it with him – but understands that you may prefer to simply join them at the feast later…”
Her grin probably matched Haldir’s. That was just right, she reckoned.
His lordship smiled too, probably at her response, and then his face became very serious.
“There was another reason to ask you to stay until now,” he said. “There is someone who was preparing to leave my halls. They will ride with you when you return to your family, to give them time to adjust, and learn from you of much that has happened since they became my guest.”
Before Tindómë had time to digest this news, the door at the back of the study opened and a figure walked slowly into the room.
“Elo!” gasped Tindómë.
This may not be anyone she had ever met before – but she had certainly seen their portrait.
Feedback, and the pointing out of any mistakes, is greatly welcomed.
The Valinor Trail, Chapter Twenty Two; Pause for Thought
Words; 2,990
Chapter Rated PG.
Disclaimer as Chapter One.
Previous chapters are here.
“Death was my gift,” Haldir said and, for a moment, Tindómë could hear the echo in her mind of Buffy saying something similar. But she was fairly sure it had not been in the same context; Buffy probably meant it was her gift to vampires, that she killed them, or her gift to other people that she killed vampires and demons.
Actually, given when Tindómë remembered her saying it, perhaps she meant she had died as a gift to Tindómë, who had lived instead, or even that death had been a gift from the Powers of that world so that she could stop killing things and go to heaven.
Whatever, it hadn’t been as Haldir meant it; even though it would have been just as true…
Haldir was continuing.
“To deal death in defence of Lothlorien was my talent, the only talent I needed. And I was, most certainly, very gifted; I could deal death with my bow, I could deal death with my sword. If it was needed I could deal death with my bare hands. I knew, also, how to best use my wardens so that they, too, could deal death to anything that threatened.
“Even at the last, when we fought alongside the Rohirrim, this gift of mine allowed me to kill many, even when I used my wardens as weapons knowing that I may have dealt death to them, too.”
He paused for a moment. “I am at peace about those decisions, made that night, but I am glad that I will not need to send others to their death until the Dagor Dagorath.”
Another pause. “Perhaps, with Spike, death was my gift in another way. I hope I do not need to kill anyone else, personally, before the Dagor Dagorath either. But in killing him I gave him the chance of a new life in the future and so it was a gift. Yes?”
“Yes.” Tindómë had no problem in agreeing.
“But,” said Haldir, his tone lighter, “I will have to search my inner self to see if I have another gift, an unused talent, as I hope not to use the gift of death again for many ages.”
He smiled. “Perhaps I will take up writing poetry. Who knows, I may have a gift for that.”
Tindómë laughed. Haldir looked affronted – but not in a serious way.
“Is the thought of me being a poet so unlikely, then?”
“No,” she answered when she stopped laughing, “it is just that you and Spike may find you have more in common than you could have imagined!”
Then she became suddenly serious again, for that thought had reminded her of something.
“Where did we put Spike’s bag?” she asked. “There is something I think will be in there.”
Haldir went to the carved chest in the corner of the room and brought the bag to her. She was surprised to find her fingers shaking as she took it from him, and she needed to take a couple of deep breaths before she could open it.
……
Tindómë wasn’t sure why she had not already looked into the bag Spike had brought with him. Too painful, perhaps. But it felt right, now.
She didn’t recognise the bag, but then why would she? A lot of time had passed since they had last been in the same world. She hadn’t even been sure what the shiny flat devices had been that Spike had said there was no point in bringing; she assumed they were the many generation descendants of the cell phones and computers of the first years of the twenty-first century.
She took the bag and undid it. Good to see Velcro still existed, she thought. Haldir, however, was fascinated by this fastening material. Tindómë gave him something of a hard stare and told him, firmly, that he could look at the bag once she’d looked at the contents.
Hiding everything else in the bag was something soft and black. She took it out and realised it was a piece of, very worn, soft black leather about the size of a handkerchief. She looked at it blankly for a minute and then realisation dawned – it was a memento of a black leather duster! Perhaps the one she remembered, perhaps not, but she thought it probably was. She held it against her face and felt tears come. So many memories…
……
Haldir had expected that Tindómë would simply discard the piece of black leather she took from the bag; it was clearly just there to keep the other contents safe and dry. But instead she held it to her face and said nothing for a long time. Then he realised she was crying… again.
He shrugged and produced his handkerchief without saying anything. As he pressed it into her hand she looked to have just recalled where she was. She smiled and wiped her eyes.
“Lots of memories,” she said.
He must have looked sceptical because she went on to explain a little.
“All the time I remember Spike, since I was just a kid – uh a half-grown child – he wore a long black leather coat. I don’t know if this is part of that very coat, or a later one – but I’m sure he’s brought it because it was so much a part of his life.”
Well that made sense. Haldir waited to see what else the vampire had thought important enough to bring.
Tindómë produced the coloured likeness of the blonde female, that Haldir had seen when the first portal into Spike’s room had been opened, followed by the drawing he had seen then, too, of Tindómë and Haldirin.
She held the picture of the female out to him. “Buffy,” she said.
He knew there were pictures, in Alqualondë, that Rumil had drawn of Tindómë’s sister but he had not bothered to look at them. This was a very good image – it seemed to be neither an oil painting nor a water colour.
“There is not a lot of similarity between you,” he said after a moment or two. “She seems very small.” He considered for a little longer. “I can see that being so small might have been an advantage when she was a warrior of her people. No-one would expect such a tiny figure to be a warrior.”
To his surprise, Tindómë grinned and said “Yes! You get it! I don’t think that ever really occurred to Rumil or Orophin; they were just surprised at how tiny she was.”
Haldir found himself strangely pleased at that comment. He nodded in acknowledgement just as Tindómë made a rather sad sound and passed him another of the very impressive pictures. This was clearly Buffy as well, but she could no longer be considered a warrior; she was a little stooped, her face was lined and seemed to have... fallen in some way, and she clearly had less well defined muscles. Haldir recognised the effects of mortal ageing.
“I guess it’s a sign of just how much he did love her,” Tindómë said, her voice wavering slightly, “to want to remember her when she was old as well as when she was at her fittest.”
She put the two pictures to one side, along with the one of herself and the elfling Haldirin. Haldir decided he would ask about the skill and medium of the artist later.
Then came a book. A book with more pictures of the same quality. Tindómë sat heavily in a chair and began to turn the pages murmuring names. “Mom. Willow. Kennedy. Xander… Giles! Althanea. She taught me how to knit, you know.”
He did not know. Actually he did not know that Tindómë was able to knit. He was not totally sure he knew what knitting was.
In the end he asked her about the quality of the art work, as much to stop her descending into tears again as anything else – and then sat through an explanation of something involving metal salts and boxes with holes in them. It sounded like something much more suited to dwarves.
However it had the desired effect. Tindómë put the book of ‘photos’ to one side and took out another book before crying “Yes!” again.
“I had a wager with myself that this would be here,” she said, by way of explanation. “They are poems by a famous writer and when I was stuck there, and fading, Spike used to read them to me. When I came home he gave me his copy, but I knew he’d have got another, and here it is!”
She showed him, but the strange alphabet meant nothing to him. “I translated them for Rumil,” she said, “I can read you a little if you want.”
Having just expressed an interest in poetry Haldir felt it best to agree – although he was not sure that he would be interested in poetry written by strange mortals from another world.
Flicking through the book, Tindómë paused a couple of times before studying one page for a little then saying “Actually, it’s really sad that so many of these are either about growing old, or losing your beloved, or both. They must have become more important to him as time went on. I don’t think I can face some of them right now.”
She turned another page or two then said “I remember translating this one.” She took a breath then began.
“How heavy do I journey on the way,
When what I seek, my weary travel's end,
Doth teach that ease and that repose to say,
'Thus far the miles are measured from thy friend!'*
“That one is kind of relevant now, eh?”
More books came out of the bag. “More poetry, mainly,” she said. And then, “Oh Spike! You didn’t! ‘Lords and Ladies’ indeed!”
Haldir looked questioningly at her but she began to laugh, shook her head, and said ‘”I promise I will explain it, and read it, some time – but not now. I don’t think you’d get the joke right now…”
And then she put everything back in the bag and insisted they do something different.
…………………
Time continued to flow by them. Tindómë seemed happy enough with the chance to relax and did not seem to be fretting over much for Rumil.
Haldir found his thoughts drifting more than once to that conversation about gifts and talents. When he had told Tindómë that his particular gift was to deal death he had been telling the simple truth. But, as he had said, organising and leading the wardens of the Golden Wood had been part of that gift; and whilst he was glad that he had killed his last sentient prey, so to speak, when he had shot that arrow across the portal and into Spike, there were still going to be opportunities to use those other skills.
Yes, he thought, he could adapt his gift; he could lead the elves who would discover all that this great land had to offer. That would be a gift to share.
Although such a possibility had occurred to him during their journey he now had time to form it into more defined plans. By the time they returned to Alqualondë, or indeed just to Tirion, he would be able to put his ideas and suggestions so clearly that no-one would doubt for a moment that he should lead the venture to find homes for the different Silvan and Sindarin peoples.
Perhaps, he considered, this time at ease as guests of Lord Námo was to allow him to recognise that this was the new course his life should take. But, if so, there was yet no sign that His Lordship realised that Haldir knew his new course clearly, was already drawing up mental supply lists and plans of action, and they could begin their journey back. Instead, time continued to drift by.
…………………………….
*Shakespeare, sonnet number 50
** ‘Lords and Ladies’ is a book by Terry Pratchett that Spike mentions in Return of The Key. Those of you who know it will know why he might have brought it!
…………………………….
Haldir was right in that Tindómë was content to enjoy their surroundings, which had not changed again since the first time they had ventured out of The Halls of Waiting; not only was the weather fair but she also had the run of a very well stocked library. His Lordship had even recommended some volumes that told of historical events from different perspectives to those she already knew, and had expressed an interest in Spike’s Shakespearean sonnets.
She wondered how life was progressing in Alqualondë. Probably, she thought, with no major traumas. She actually gave more thought to why none of the elves ever seemed to write fiction…
…………………………….
Life in Alqualondë was, indeed, without major traumas. This did not mean, however, that nothing of interest had happened since Legolas, Rumil and Orophin had returned.
There had been a ship.
The second since the ‘Heart of Ithilien’, but the previous one had mainly brought more of the Galadhrim and some Teleri from the Grey Havens; of interest to Adar and Orophin, but less so to Haldirin and Ithilienne.
This ship, though, brought immigrants from Eryn Lasgalen, as well as some of the last few who had stayed in Eryn Ithil to ease the transition from elven woodland to one where mortals held sway.
For some the ship had meant joy and celebration such as Galanthir, and his recently restored sister, who were reunited with their parents. But there were no members of Legolas’ family.
There had been a package for Haldirin from Princess Rhîwen, which he had opened in private before putting it into his kist where, his sister knew, there was also one of his own ribbons from each solstice celebration since they arrived. Ithilienne did not pry but, remembering that he had taken one with him to Eryn Lasgalen the last time he had seen ‘his’ princess, she thought that, sometime in the future, there would be a lot of kissing, and more, required. She thought she would keep an eye open, though, to see whether he added to the ribbon collection at mid-summer. It would be a good sign, she decided, if it continued to grow.
There was a small envelope, sealed with blue wax, for Naneth when she got home. The wax bore the device that showed it came from both Lords of Imladris. There had been similar, larger, ones for Master Elrond and Lady Celebrían, and Celebrían had not looked too sad later – and so hopefully Naneth’s wouldn’t make her cry.
For Legolas there had been letters, too. But they had not made him happy. He had welcomed everyone by name, had smiled, ensured that everyone had somewhere to stay; he had done a very good job of what Naneth called ‘Lording’. But the smile did not reach his eyes.
Haldirin’s letter from one of Legolas’ family had made him happy and, she was almost certain, given him cause to ease himself more than once before ‘being swayed by the desires of the body’ with one or two friends. But Legolas’s missives had caused him to retire, as soon as he could, to his favourite tree.
Ithilienne had eventually climbed up to him, and he had not refused her company but, when she had suggested that they go starlight bathing, or simply join for pleasure, he had refused, saying he had not the heart right now.
And so she had a ‘girls’ night’ with friends, preparing for Midsummer, whilst Legolas had sought out Gimli, saying his friend must be lonely. She did not feel rebuffed so much as sad that she couldn’t help.
She hoped Naneth would be home soon, she was so much better when Legolas was sad. But then she was still his only family here.
…………………………….
“Is it almost mid-summer?” Tindómë asked Haldir one morning.
He did not immediately answer but looked at the sky, then carefully at the trees and plants around them.
“Yes,” he decided eventually. “I fear you will miss your celebrations.”
‘One day,’ she thought, ‘I will get him to think of them as ‘our’ celebrations!’
“There will be others,” she said, out loud, as she thought ‘And how elven is that answer, dude!’
The same day Cambasion appeared and informed them that His Lordship wished them to attend him in his study. Very formal, Tindómë thought, considering Lord Námo had joined her there once or twice in the past weeks. Something must be afoot.
“It is almost Mid-summer,” His Lordship said, by way of greeting.
‘Ha!’ thought Tindómë. ‘I’m kinda happy we noticed for ourselves first!’
Lord Námo smiled.
“After Mid-summer it will be time for you to return to your family,” he said. “Lord Oromë had suggested you stay here until then specifically because he wished to invite you to join The Great Midsummer Hunt, Haldir.”
Tindómë glanced at her husband-brother. His face was, most un-Galadhrim-like, split by an enormous grin.
Lord Námo continued. “Tulkas says that you, Tindómë, are welcome to ride in it with him – but understands that you may prefer to simply join them at the feast later…”
Her grin probably matched Haldir’s. That was just right, she reckoned.
His lordship smiled too, probably at her response, and then his face became very serious.
“There was another reason to ask you to stay until now,” he said. “There is someone who was preparing to leave my halls. They will ride with you when you return to your family, to give them time to adjust, and learn from you of much that has happened since they became my guest.”
Before Tindómë had time to digest this news, the door at the back of the study opened and a figure walked slowly into the room.
“Elo!” gasped Tindómë.
This may not be anyone she had ever met before – but she had certainly seen their portrait.
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