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Aearlinn	By : narcolinde Category: -Multi-Age > General Views: 8918 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Lord of the Rings (and associated) book series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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Aearlinn - Carth Dalt

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ The Banquet - Three Days before Ened Ethuil ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The home of Elrond Half-elven was admittedly not as imposing as the white-turreted castle of the Kings on the Seventh Level of Minas Tirith in Gondor, it was probably not as exotic as the Prince of Dol Amroth's sea-side palazzo on the coast of Belfalas, it definitely could not rival the magnificence of Turgon's mansion in the hidden city of Gondolin, but Glorfindel was fairly certain the Last Homely House was a veritable palace compared to the underground stronghold of Thranduil's court in Mirkwood.

Not that he had ever been there, but he had seen the subterranean dwellings of Menegroth, having lived therein before joining Turgon to found the hidden City of Singing Stone. Thingol's cavernous fortress had been grand in its own way, but Glorfindel had never enjoyed the absence of fresh air and sunlight. The Balrog Slayer was inclined to think that any structure delved within Mirkwood would be significantly less astounding. This being the case, he was always a bit disgruntled by the failure of Imladris' resident Wood Elf to generate a sufficiently appreciative response to the glorious Hall of Fire, the Grand Banquet hall, the impressively commanding Council Chamber, the six massive libraries, or even the sumptuous interiors of the ample residential apartments housed within Lord Elrond's compound.

Almost everyone who ventured to the peaceful vale, mortal and immortal alike, was struck speechless with awe and wonder when touring Imladris the first time. The city was patterned after the Noldorin ghetto in the kingdom of Lindon, established by Gil-Galad after the War of Wrath and the destruction of Beleriand. The architecture of the buildings, from houses to markets to stables and barns, was Noldorin, denoted by exquisite stonework, gracefully soaring arches sculpted in relief, open breezeways and colonnades, lush gardens and artful fountains. The interior landscapes were as luxuriously decorated with tasteful elegance, appointed with finely carved furniture, masterfully crafted tapestries and paintings, musical instruments, and all manner of wondrous things wrought by Elven hands.

Elrond's abode epitomised the predominant style. Being Noldorin, there was perhaps a tendency to display swords and daggers and other kinds of metal-works in excess, but in Glorfindel's opinion this did not detract from the beauty of the secluded domicile. The Last Homely House, when it came right down to it, was gracious, refined, dignified, opulent; anything but homely.

He was thinking along this vein due to the fact that the entire household was turned out in the full flower of Noldorin might and majesty, all to honour and impress the visiting human dignitaries from Dol Amroth and Gondor. The Steward and his entourage had arrived at midmorning. After the obligatory perambulation of the grounds and some light refreshment, the two Men had met in council with Elrond and Erestor, sealing the pact between their countries. The Steward's son, Denethor, would take to wife the Prince of Dol Amroth's daughter, Finduilas. The wedding would be held in Imladris in just two days. To celebrate the betrothal a grand feast had been prepared and the elite of Imladris' society were in attendance.

Legolas, after a subdued but rancourous debate with Elrond the previous night, had likewise agreed to be present and was seated not by the Lore-master's side but far down the long table. Below the humans, in fact, amid a group of Glorfindel's high ranking warriors and their wives. That was what the argument had been about. Legolas hadn't wanted to attend at all if he couldn't sit beside Elrond. He knew who the guests were and understood what they were, but he was elf-kind and could not comprehend the importance of these ephemeral beings. Why, the meagre seventy-six summers he had lived were enough to render most mortals weakened and failing with the shadow of death. For himself, Legolas considered death an indication of Men's kinship with the lesser beings of Yavanna's design rather than with the First-born Children of Iluvatar. How could it be fit to treat them with greater dignity than nearly all the Elves?

Elrond had chastised him, calling Legolas an ignorant and stubborn child, admonishing that he knew nothing of the mind of Iluvatar to so disparage the Second-born. Elrond was not called half-elven for nothing, he had sternly rebuked. When Legolas countered that 'not for nothing had Elrond chosen to be counted among the First-born', the son of Eärendil actually raised his voice in answer, castigating the archer's cheek and impudence. Regardless of the sylvan's personal prejudices against humans, Elrond had added, the feast was important to him and that should be sufficient to warrant the archer's dutiful co-operation. The Elven Lord had accused Legolas of being deliberately recalcitrant, refusing to adopt the manner and mores of the realm which sheltered him. Elrond had stated that the archer's persistent and overt rejection of Noldorin custom was personally insulting. Legolas, he had roared, seemed determined to remain a habitual embarrassment.

It had become ominously quiet after that outburst. No one in Rivendell was privy to whatever else passed between them.
Of course Glorfindel hadn't heard the argument, for he had his own house in Imladris, but Arwen had, her apartment being situated in the same wing as her father's. Elven ears being so sensitive, there was no privacy in the Last Homely House, only discretion and tactful courtesy. What Arwen heard she shared only with Glorfindel, for the two were now confederates in the cause of the lowly Wood Elf. The household staff, however, were not so inclined to refrain from telling tales. The Balrog Slayer suspected that even the humans knew of the discord between Elrond and Legolas.

No one had seen Legolas until just before the feast was to start when he slipped in through the kitchen, armed with his bow and quiver. Figwit, Lord Elrond's personal valet, had apparently been given the task of lookout and reported the Wood Elf's hurried flight to his chambers to get dressed for the banquet. Glorfindel stole a swift peek at the woodland archer, who managed to simultaneously project absolute misery and jittery nervousness. The reason was not difficult to ascertain, for one of the Gondorians was openly staring at him, an appraising leer moulding his patrician features. Denethor.

One look at Elrond confirmed that he was well aware of the situation but chose not to intervene. The row with his lover had obviously not ended peacefully. Glorfindel grimaced, wishing he was a little closer to Legolas in order to distract him. The seating arrangements were Erestor's domain as seneschal. He would not situate the Wood Elf as a member of the Lord's family, there was no question as to that. Arwen's place was at Elrond's right and beside her was Erestor himself. On Elrond's left sat the Lady Finduilas and of course next to her was her fiancé, Denethor. The Balrog Slayer was on the Man's right followed by the Prince of Dol Amroth and his party, while across the table sat Echthelion with his courtiers alongside. Then the table filled out with various nobles of the valley seated according to their degree of importance, followed by the most prestigious of Imladris' generals.

Erestor's reasoning for placing Legolas with these warriors centred on the notion that, since he served as a member of the patrols, he must have made friends among the soldiers. That Elrond could agree to this was a stark indication of how very little he understood about Legolas' life in the peaceful haven. Had either of them bothered to consult Glorfindel he would have told them this was a mistake. The Balrog Slayer was not proud of the fact that his openly expressed attitude of distrust and dislike was responsible for the low opinion of Legolas to which most of the warriors held. Thus the sylvan's proximity was utterly ignored; the others talked over and around him as if he was not there.

Their disregard couldn't go unnoticed and probably piqued the Man's interest. Denethor gave a soft guffaw and leaned sideways to whisper to Throrongil. "Can't say that's what I expected to see when I learned there was a Wood Elf here. I thought they were rugged and wild, but that looks more like a frightened child than a fearsome warrior."

Thorongil's brow furrowed as his eyes swept over the sylvan. "The Elves can hear you, Den, mind your speech. And don't underestimate him. It is said that even a child in Mirkwood is well trained in the art of killing." A vaguely troubled smile hovered around the captain's features and he shook his head at the Steward's son, whispering his comments back.

Legolas certainly knew he was the subject of their scrutiny but refused to acknowledge the Men's attention.

The worthy re-born soldier scowled in icy disdain at Denethor to underscore Aragorn's statement. The Man gave an uneasy chuckle and turned to converse with his intended. Glorfindel glanced down the table again and caught the Wood Elf's eye, giving a slight frown and a minute shake of his head in remonstrance. Legolas was fidgeting terribly, hadn't touched his food, and had just run his index finger around the inside of the high collar of his formal robes, tugging in a most uncouth manner. The young elf immediately put his hands in his lap, a faint bloom of colour tinting his pale features, and turned his face upward. Glorfindel's eyes followed and tracked along the perimeter of the ceiling in the Grand Banquet hall, admiring the gilded border of leaves and vines defining a frame for the masterpiece painted overhead: the arrival of the host of the Valar and their warriors on the shores of Beleriand at the end of the First Age.

The Balrog Slayer sighed; he could understand Legolas' discomfort considering how rude the guests were behaving. Really, the woodland archer was conducting himself remarkably well and hadn't done anything bizarre thus far. Once, during a banquet held for Cîrdan's regular state visit, which happened to fall in the fifth year of Legolas' residence, he had de-boned his portion of a roast grouse with his fingers, set all the succulent meat aside, put the bones in his crystal goblet and used his soup spoon to grind them into a fine powder. Then, he'd mixed that with the creamed squash on his plate, spread the vile paste on his bread, and consumed it with relish. For a second course, he'd eaten the petals from the day-lilies in the floral arrangement decorating his end of the table.

Things could definitely be worse.

He transferred his vision from the painting back to the Wood Elf and startled to see the odd expression of…disgust? Contempt? Glorfindel couldn't tell but it was definitely not a look that indicated admiration for either the subject matter or the artistry on display. A sudden flare of exasperation coursed through him. Anyone more observant than a toad couldn't fail to miss Legolas' sneering lack of appreciation for the complexity, the exacting detail visible in the work of beauty above his head. And now he was worrying his clothes again, pulling at the cuffs of his undershirt beneath the wide, belled hems of the sleeves in the royal blue velvet robe. It would seem he didn't feel any gratitude for the rich garments, either.

No one in Mirkwood has such luxury; not even King Thranduil dons garb as princely, I'd wager. Really, in some sense Elrond is right; Legolas appears to encourage the discredit others assign to him.

Glorfindel tried to meet the archer's eye again and failed. Legolas was purposefully avoiding his glance; he was sure of it. Not for the first time, he pondered how such a primitive being could express what was at best indifference and really closer to disdain for the opulent surroundings. It was not a new phenomenon either but a defining characteristic, notable since his first days in Imladris.

Of course, the Wood Elf had been so badly wounded and ill with grief when he first arrived that his lack of interest was understandable. Glorfindel's anger departed, recalling how terrible it had been for Legolas then. Never had he witnessed such an extreme reaction of fear and dread. The Wood Elf had been absolutely terrified and over wrought with sorrow, consumed by infection from poisoned wounds, and delirious for many days. He'd fought his confinement in the House of Healing, attempting to escape more than once, cursing the poor medics in his rough native tongue. He struggled against them so much that his wounds repeatedly tore and eventually Elrond ordered him bound to the bed with restraints.

At this, the confused and hapless sylvan became so despondent that it seemed he would fade even after the esteemed Lord's heroic sacrifice to save him. Legolas refused food and drink and eventually the Lore-master had to personally take over the tending, hand-feeding the morose creature and keeping watch beside him night and day. Many a time Glorfindel had come upon them, both crowded into the narrow cot, Elrond cradling the miserable patient close to his heart. Only then could Legolas find some hint of peace and rest, the renowned healer had hastily explained. Legolas condition, physical and mental, was so poor that it took nearly a year before the injuries healed. Glorfindel's expression became more sympathetic and when Legolas sent him a fleeting glance to see if he was still being watched, gave him a smile this time instead of another frown, even though the Wood Elf was again shifting about restlessly in his seat.

Legolas' sight shifted beyond Glorfindel and the Balrog Slayer turned to identify the new subject of his focus: Elrond. Glorfindel was not surprised by that but he was struck by the expression on his old friend's face and whipped his gaze back to Legolas. The sylvan visibly flinched, for the Lord of Imladris was glaring at his youthful lover, no doubt hoping to shame him into behaving with more decorum. That was a mistake, for abruptly Legolas shoved back his chair, rose so swiftly he knocked his plate of food to the floor, and nearly bolted from the room, causing a significant disturbance. Everyone exclaimed, the guests started murmuring, the citizens began making snide remarks, and Elrond had to stand up and apologise.

"Please, my honoured guests and friends, forgive this breach of etiquette and sudden departure. Perhaps he is unwell. Glorfindel, would you kindly look to the comfort of the afflicted Elf and make sure he gets to the House of Healing?" Elrond said.

"Of course, Hiren." Glorfindel held his annoyance in check as he rose and made a perfect bow to Elrond, but those who knew him well could discern from his very restraint how displeased he was to be the go-between sent to soothe his Lord's paramour. Elrond should be the one to follow Legolas and indeed was the only one the sylvan would obey.

A nearly imperceptible snicker directed his attention to one among the human dignitaries: Thorongil, captain of Gondor. The mighty warrior sent this mortal a narrowed stare promising chastisement in the very near future, for Thorongil was none other than Estel, Lord Elrond's foster son. Glorfindel had paddled the whelp's behind on more than one occasion and his expression warned he wasn't against utilising that method of punishment for this latest offence. He left the room with grace and dignity, following the Wood Elf, somewhat dismayed to hear footsteps behind him. He waited on the veranda as Estel hurried forward.

"Aragorn, you should not have left the banquet. This defection from the Steward's party will certainly be looked askance," admonished Glorfindel, fists on hips and feet firmly planted shoulder width apart; a stance from which he could pounce upon the wayward human with amazing speed and dexterity.

"Nay, Saelben, the feast has concluded. Dessert will be enjoyed amid the beauty of springtime in these magnificent gardens. Alae!" the man indicated the open archways nearby with a flourish, for the guests were indeed exiting the dining room and strolling in groups across the lawn. "I am interested in accompanying you for I have many questions about that Elf. Is it true, the news Gandalf told me? He is really bound to Elrond?"

"Have you ever known the old buzzard to lie?" snapped Glorfindel, but he quickly mastered himself as another Man joined them: Denethor.

"I hope I am not intruding," he said graciously but with a definitive note of imperious snobbery which clearly communicated that he really didn't care if he was. "Garden parties are not of interest to me; might I join you on this quest? That sylvan seemed highly disturbed, didn't he? I've heard they are fierce; mayhap you will need some assistance in detaining him."

Glorfindel and Aragorn both snorted in contemptuous outrage.

"Lord Denethor, I will forgive your obvious ignorance this once, yet do not so insult me again," rumbled Glorfindel and turned away to continue in the direction Legolas had gone.

"That was stupid, Den," said Aragorn and gave his comrade a pitying look. "Glorfindel of Gondolin is an Elf you want as an ally, not an enemy. Killed a Balrog, you know."

"Perhaps," the Steward-to-be shrugged insolently. "Who can say if those old legends are true; were you there? Was any Man? Nay, and I don't trust a history book just because it comes from Elves, as do you. Elvish history is filled with notorious villains and fantastic heroes. It is no different from the tall tales told of the Numenorians of old, and I know much of that is bunk."

"Oh? How's that; were you there to witness the downfall of your forebears?" quipped Aragorn. "What of Fornost, then? That battle was in our recent past and even you can't ignore that. Glorfindel it was who drove the Witch King from his lair at Carn Dûm."

"Pah!" Denethor spat upon the ground. "The account comes from the north men, uncouth Rangers, descended from Black Numenorean renegades! You would take their word for truth?"

"They are no renegades nor are they base," contended Aragorn, yet he kept his voice level for he knew Denethor was baiting him. It was no secret that he counted himself a Ranger. "You can trust to their honour and their allegiance to all who strive against Mordor. The Rangers work against the encroachment of the Shadow in lands where no other Men will raise a blade against Sauron's minions. Discount them not." He did not wait for any rejoinder and headed after Glorfindel.

To his dismay, Denethor continued to tag along. As long as he was around, Aragorn wouldn't be able to really talk with Glorfindel, for he couldn't permit his true identity to become known to the folk from Gondor. None of them had a clue that he'd been raised in Rivendell and was in fact Isildur's heir. He leaped into a run, Denethor right behind, so to catch up to Glorfindel. The Elf Lord was striding into the orchards, heading for the rugged country beyond and its tangle of woods. At the border of the city and the wilds he waited for them, frowning and muttering to himself.

"You two must go back. There is little hope that even I will be able to track That Wood Elf and it is certain that if strangers accompany me he will not permit himself to be found," he grumped, clearly not looking forward to a ramble amid the trees.

"Then why go at all? Surely he will return when he calms down," said Denethor.

"I must attempt the impossible for Lord Elrond wishes him found."

"Whatever for? It's clear enough the sylvan just didn't like the company. Or perhaps it is the surroundings that bother him. I've never heard of a Wood Elf living in a city. What's he doing here?" Denethor demanded.

"Den, you know perfectly well he was injured and Lord Elrond took him in to heal him. Gandalf told us so," hedged Aragorn. Denethor had a way of smelling out a lie, even a partial one. He was always first to discover court intrigues and his insights had frequently given Echthelion the advantage whenever this or that noble or foreign emissary tried to get the better of the Steward.

"Do you take me for a fool, Gil? You know what I meant. He's not injured anymore but he's still here. Not that I mind; gives me a chance to test all those myths about the secretive creatures. Mayhap that's why Lord Elrond keeps such a dangerous pet, as an intellectual endeavour. He plans to document as much fact regarding the natural history of the species as he can," the Steward's son reasoned.
"You speak as if referring to an animal," Glorfindel's tone was filled with his disapproval. "The sylvan Elves are also First-born and thus unworthy of your scorn. Go; return to the party and attend your Ladies in song and dance."

It seemed at first that Denethor would defy him, but then the Man's features took on a calculating expression that always made both his friends and adversaries wary. He smiled and bowed, saying: "My apologies, Lord Glorfindel. I have fallen prey to one of the many common characterisations spread abroad regarding the Wood Elves. It is said among Men that they are spurned by the rest of Elven society, that they are a savage and ignorant people, much like the wild woses." With that the human was content to leave, seeing he had scored over the imposing Balrog Slayer as a rapid flush of colour suffused the legendary Elf's cheeks, whether with anger or chagrin he couldn't tell and didn't care.
Glorfindel watched them retreat and for a second met Aragorn's baleful eye. The Gondorian noble's words had certainly found their mark. Legolas was treated just as he'd described: an inferior being, irrelevant to Noldorin life save as a curiosity to study or tease. That the human knew this indicated just how universal the idea was. Or how perceptive he is. Denethor bears watching for he has the manner of one who makes trouble for sport. Glorfindel was again beset by regret and a strong desire to find the sylvan, though he had no illusions that he would be successful. As yet, he hadn't had the chance to tell Elrond about the twins impending arrival. Were he to locate Legolas he would be able to explain and prepare the youth for the looming disaster.

The Balrog Slayer sighed, reflecting on all the time he'd spent resenting the Wood Elf's presence. Too easily he'd believed Elrohir's admonishments of sorcery and ill-intent upon Legolas' part. The Wood Elf couldn't possibly be happy amid the folk of Imladris, given the contempt with which he was regarded. That he didn't leave spoke profoundly to the strength of the bond formed between him and Elrond; a bond that clearly caused him as much pain as it did joy. Probably the anguish outweighs the pleasure, most of the time.

With these sombre thoughts, Glorfindel entered the woods. Long he roamed, hoping for some sign of Legolas' whereabouts, calling out now and again in encouragement, yet as the day waned to dusk he had to admit defeat. Not wanting to be late for the evening meal and wishing for an opportunity to at last speak with Elrond, he decided to cut across the paddocks and enter the estate from the stable yard. He was just crossing the Trysting Bridge, an ornate and secluded span over a small tributary of the Bruinen located in the farthest corner of Elrond's gardens, when a high pitched shriek shattered the normal quietude.

It came from the direction of the Spa, a wonderful spot enjoyed by nearly everyone in the valley, where a clear spring created a series of deep, mineral rich pools for soaking and an oxbow of the river yielded a most wondrous clay bog suitable for pore-cleansing and revitalising mud-baths. The Balrog Slayer broke into a run, but his ears informed him others had arrived already.

A tremendous clamour arose, a mixture of angry yelling, scoffing laughter, and crude jokes filtered through the air. Before he got within sight of the Spa, Glorfindel heard the nearly imperceptible sound of Elvish footsteps, the rhythm of the stride indicative of someone running full tilt, and the next instant Legolas burst through the hedge and careened right into the re-born warrior. They both went down but Legolas was up in an instant, streaking away again, heading for the trees.

"Legolas! Wait!" Glorfindel scrambled to his feet and set off after the Elf, deeply disturbed by what had happened. Not that he was injured by the impact or angry about being tossed into the dirt; nay, he was instead shocked by Legolas' appearance and frame of mind. The Wood Elf retreating into the distance was completely naked, caked from head to toe in mud, and sobbing in what could only be described as hysteria, absolute torment written on his agonised features. Before Glorfindel had gone far, more footsteps joined his and the Balrog Slayer was rather surprised to find Lindir racing beside him. "What happened?" he gasped between huffing breaths.

"Cruelty! Vicious, unwarranted cruelty!" seethed the usually gentle-spirited minstrel. He came to an immediate halt, grabbing Glorfindel and yanking him to a standstill so forcefully the warrior thought his arm might become dislocated. Lindir pulled his comrade to within an inch of his face and glared into the Vanya's clear blue eyes.

"I will see to Legolas. You go tell Elrond to meet me in his quarters; I will take Legolas there. Tell him to bring that cure he invented for Estel when the boy got tangled in poison oak. Hurry!" With that Lindir darted off again, seeming to know exactly where he was going, as indeed he did.

Glorfindel stared after him in open-mouthed wonder for a second or two before the garbled sounds of heated voices raised in anger met his hearing. He turned and raced back the way he'd come and soon reached the Spa. A sizeable group was collected in the normally restful place, among them several of the ladies from Dol Amroth, Finduilas included, as well as Echthelion, Denethor, Thorongil, and Adrahil. Scattered across the ground were all the sylvan archer's clothes. Elrond was there attempting to pacify the infuriated humans, especially Adrahil and Denethor who were both volubly declaiming against the Wood Elf and demanding satisfaction.

"It is a disgrace! My daughter has never been subjected to such an affront! How is it said that the Elves are the most genteel of beings when this is the behaviour we must tolerate?" fumed the Prince of Dol Amroth. His daughter was weeping quietly behind him as her maids tried to calm her down.

"I assure you, Lord Adrahil, this was not intentional," Elrond tried to explain but was cut off by the Steward's son.

"Indeed? How else can you explain it? Are we to assume the Elves, or at least the sylvans, deem it normal and decent to put such intimate actions on public display?" Denethor sneered. "I had heard it is so and now have I beheld it with my own eyes: the First-born are given to obsession with pleasures of the flesh!"

"However it may have seemed, this is not the case," insisted Elrond, keeping his tone and manner calm even though his wrath tempted him to strike the foolish oaf down. "The Spa was deserted when Legolas came here and in fact the ladies intruded upon him. I regret fair Finduilas observed his ministrations yet his intention was not to offend her."

"No, that won't do!" shouted Denethor, shaking his fist at Elrond so that his father had to intervene and get between them.

"Son, control yourself!" he admonished. "Step back and tend to your betrothed; lead her from this place. Her father and I shall get to the bottom of this."

"Father, they can hear far better than humans. He must have heard them approaching; you know how they chatter and laugh at silly nothings. He could have departed or at least covered himself before they came within sight," the younger Man railed.

"That's true!" stormed Adrahil, his anger firing up even higher while his daughter wept more loudly.

"There must be a reasonable answer," insisted Aragorn, tugging at Denethor's elbow. "Come, let us escort the ladies elsewhere. Finduilas could use a restorative and you will accomplish nothing more here."

Denethor gave the Man a horrific scowl but a glance at the Lady of Dol Amroth confirmed that she wished more than anything to leave the scene. Indeed, it was likely she would swoon from the shock of being exposed to such a lurid display if she didn't partake of some invigorating tea and fast. She looked so young and fragile that his heart at once softened and his anger fled. The Steward's son hurried over and gently took her hand, tucking it into the crook of his arm. With quiet and comforting words he led her away, the maids and Aragorn trailing behind. Most of the gathered Elves began to disperse, but several only retreated slightly, wishing to remain close enough to glean more details. The three Lords suddenly noticed Glorfindel's presence and turned to him as if expecting he might have the answers they all desired.

"Lord Elrond, Lindir has requested your immediate aid. Please retrieve the salve made for Estel that summer he became entangled in the undergrowth during the hunt. I know not the specifics but the minstrel was most insistent that you join him in your apartment; the situation is an emergency," said Glorfindel.

That was enough for Elrond. His eyes grew very large and his face paled as he gave a quick nod, gathered up his robes, and sprinted back toward the Healing Wing of the compound. The two Men watched him go, plainly dissatisfied, and faced the Balrog Slayer with stern expressions.

"What can you say to this, Lord Glorfindel?" demanded Echthelion on his future law-daughter's behalf.

"Forgive me, Steward, but I was not present. Please tell me what happened and mayhap I can decipher this unpleasant riddle," suggested Glorfindel.

It was Adrahil who answered, heaving a great sigh before he started. "My daughter was told by Arwen of the wonders of this secluded Spa. The journey here was trying, for her constitution is not robust. Add to that her nervous anticipation of the pending nuptials and you can imagine her agitated emotional state. Finduilas decided to forego the rest of the party in order to spend time in the rejuvenating waters of the spring and the cleansing properties of the clays. She of course would never go alone and thus her maids accompanied her.

"When the ladies arrived, they found the grotto occupied. The Wood Elf was kneeling beside the mud hole, stark naked, slathering the slippery stuff all over himself, rubbing it most vigourously between his legs and all over his fully exposed genitals, keening and moaning in his hedonistic revelling. Needless to say, the ladies were horrified and screamed as if a marauding band of Orcs had set upon them. That frightened the reprobate Elf and he fled just as we came upon the scene," the irate father concluded.

"What my son said bears considering," added Echthelion with dire disapproval. "I realise the Wood Elf did not plan this, yet he surely could have prevented it. The Lady's honour has been compromised and I fear my son will claim the right to settle the matter in a duel of combat."

"That would be unwise, Lord, and you would find yourself less one son and heir. Another means of resolving the dispute must be chosen," Glorfindel shook his head. He'd seen Legolas fight and in this the legend of the Wood Elves did not hold up to the reality. Of all the able soldiers that served in Imladris' ranks, there was no warrior so fierce or fearless as the sylvan archer. "Besides, I am sure there is something very wrong. Lindir's request was quite specific and I feel obliged to tell you it is for Legolas he has demanded Elrond's help."

"Illness among the First-born?" scoffed Adrahil. "Please, I know more than most about the nature of Elves."

"Then you must realise how unlikely it would be for a sylvan to behave as you have accused," countered Glorfindel pointedly. "They are the most fastidious and shy of any folk I have ever encountered, or at least Legolas is, as I have known no other Wood Elves."

"Aye. So it is said of my ancestral grandmother, Mithrellas. Seldom would she even come forth from Galador's house and then only to gaze upon the sea and mourn. She expired there, alone amid the dunes." Adrahil's face was downcast and it was obvious he was abashed to have discounted his heritage so flagrantly. He lifted contrite yet inquisitive eyes to his host. "What can be amiss with that young warrior? Is he aggrieved, as was the first Lady of Dol Amroth? Yet, if so, how to explain such strange behaviour, for it is not like the symptoms for any type of grieving I have read about."

"I know not, Lord Adrahil, though you may have hit upon an important point. His brother died during an Orc attack; I know he must still mourn for him. Legolas was stabbed with a poisoned blade in the same battle and nearly perished of it. Mayhap some remnant of the taint lingers and troubles him still. His tale is an intriguing one. Come, I know you would like to ascertain your daughter's present condition and mayhap you might wish to hear the Wood Elf's history," coaxed Glorfindel. He was eager to return to the house and find out what was happening in Elrond's apartment. Both Men agreed with him and together they returned to the Last Homely House.

Well, the place was in an uproar, or as near to one as any Elven domicile can be. The house was a-buzz with much rumour and gossip. Everyone from the noble guests to the scullery maids was discussing the case and several attempted to draw close enough to the venerable Lord's chambers to overhear what was said. From the suite wafted the muffled sounds of strife as the sylvan alternately moaned in evident pain and expounded volubly in his native language. Elrond's voice could also be picked out, patiently attempting to comprehend the responses to his questions, and frequently Lindir's melodic speech supplied the interpretation. Most of the actual words spoken in Sindarin were couched too low to make out, especially since the musicians engaged for the feast were set up in the Hall of Fire, playing merry dancing tunes quite loudly, so to shield the conversation as much as possible.

Fortunately, Erestor was not about to sit idly by while chaos erupted. He tactfully pronounced the festivities at an end, citing Finduilas' frailty as the cause though everyone could hear the clamour coming from Elrond's rooms. The seneschal shooed the valley's nobles back to their own estates and ordered his staff to tend their duties. Not one to leave anything to chance, he ordered Faelon, his personal secretary, to stand guard in the hallway outside the door, so to discourage any curious Elves or Men from eavesdropping. He charged the gardener with defending the open veranda from onlookers hoping for a glimpse of what was happening in the bed chamber. Finally, Erestor collected anyone lingering conspicuously about and herded them into the famous Hall where tales and songs of old were sung.

There Glorfindel escorted the Men, for it was learned that Finduilas and her fiancé were there. Apparently, the Lady found the Wood Elf's caterwauling unbearable, as her guest rooms were situated near that area of the house. She was reclining on a chaise, a cool, damp cloth upon her brow and Denethor's hand protectively clasping hers. Aragorn and Arwen were seated nearby, conversing soberly, the Evenstar turning in the direction of the singer's rooms every now and then when her sensitive ears picked up a particularly strident groan from the Wood Elf. There was no doubt, seeing the concern on her lovely features, that she believed Legolas to be in acute distress and not at fault in the unfortunate encounter at the mud-hole. Aragorn rose upon spying Glorfindel and approached him as the mortals converged upon the drooping Lady of Dol Amroth.

"What news?" demanded the Balrog Slayer ere the Man could speak.

"Nothing. Elrond and Lindir have not left the suite. Arwen tells me the sylvan is in dire straights," answered Aragorn.

"I can tell you what Faelon has learned," inserted Erestor, joining the two as they ambled away from straining ears and took up a corner behind the musicians. The trio bent their heads together the better to insure their speech remained private.

"Go on, then, explain what caused him to behave so," Glorfindel impatiently cajoled his friend.

"Legolas repeats over and over that he cannot bear the pain, that his very skin is on fire. Elrond was heard to admonish him to cease scratching for he had rubbed his body raw unto bleeding. Add to this that the affliction seems most concentrated in the groin and crotch and one shudders to imagine what agony he is in. Legolas begs to be set free of the house. Elrond refuses, of course, and has been attempting to alleviate the suffering with various treatments. Nothing seems to be helping and Legolas is near to breaking, as we can all tell. Elrond will have no choice but to drug him, but you know how that frightens Legolas. He doesn't like to be unconscious and vulnerable." Erestor's tale was both sobering and perplexing.

"Does Elrond say what caused this strange condition?" asked Aragorn, ever intrigued by any unusual pathology.

"Nay, he hasn't even begun trying to determine the source of the irritation in his endeavour to ease the symptoms," Erestor frowned. "It is quite peculiar, for he was just fine this morning. I saw him in the garden at dawn just before Elrond and I had our morning tea."

"Was he eating anything?" Glorfindel knew all about the slug incident and suppressed a shiver of revulsion.

"Nay. He was tending his pond plants in that little bog he made by damming up one of the brooks. Wading around and singing, picking dead blooms from the water lilies. I heard him making frog noises and that is usually a sign that he is in good spirits," replied Erestor. "I took it as a good omen, considering the conflict last night."

"Frog noises?" Aragorn asked, somewhat stunned to hear such a thing pronounced as if it was the most usual activity in the world. He looked from one to the other of his old mentors and if their serious countenances were any indication, they certainly didn't deem the statement outlandish.

"Aye, he claims to be able to communicate with just about every kind of living thing, no matter how simple," expounded Glorfindel. "I asked how that worked with the slugs, but he got rather offended and said Pedethryn Dailt do not have Voices, of course."

To this Aragorn made no comment, though he was thoroughly intrigued, for at that moment the Steward of Gondor approached them, angry no longer, concern written on his visage.

"I come at my future law-daughter's bidding. Finduilas is mortified that her startlement has caused such a furore. She realises she intruded on the sylvan whilst he was trying to mend whatever is so tearing at his reason just now. Aye, even we humans can pick up his cries now and again. Please, won't you set her heart at ease, sir? Will the Wood Elf be well again? Come, I beg you, and reassure her. Finduilas fears that had she not sent him from the Spa, mayhap the Elf would not be suffering."

"Gladly will I do so," stated Erestor, for he did not feel it was a breach of confidence to divulge that whatever was ailing the Elf was unlikely to have been cured by the sylvan's frantic applications of mud. The four joined the clutch of people hovering around the fainting Lady, who was weeping again.

"Hush, daughter," pleaded the Prince of Dol Amroth. "Look, here is Lord Erestor to report on the unfortunate Elf. Will you not sit up and hear him?"

"I will, Father," she sniffed, lifting her arm away from its position draped over her red-rimmed eyes. She pulled herself more upright with Denethor's aid and gazed imploringly at the erstwhile seneschal.

"Whatever is wrong with Legolas, my Lady, he is in the hands of the very best healer in all of Arda. His condition is most piteous, as we all can discern, yet I'm quite certain it has nothing to do with running him off from the Spa," consoled Erestor with a kind smile.

"That I believe also," added Arwen, "and I know Legolas wouldn't want you to blame yourself for what has happened to him. He will be satisfied if you forgive him for causing you such a fright."

"Forgive him!" exclaimed Finduilas, wringing her hands and twisting her damp handkerchief. "There is nothing to forgive. He was there first and couldn't know we planned to barge in. I was embarrassed, yet I'm sure he was more so."

"He could have spared you both that humiliation," intoned Denethor, still holding to his suspicions, yet for the sake of his Lady, spoke without his former wrath evident.

"No, I think you're wrong. Whatever is afflicting Legolas is terrible enough that it distracted him from his surroundings," Aragorn disagreed.

"I thought Wood Elves were always in tune with their environment," countered Denethor.

"So they are," nodded Erestor, "but his senses were diverted by this unknown bane assaulting his body. We don't really know the full extent of its impact. Besides, his subconscious wouldn't have alerted him, for what danger could Lady Finduilas and her maids present?"

Denethor could not deny the logic in this and remained silent, though his belligerence did not abate.

For an instant the lovely music was overborne by a particularly frightful wail of agony and everyone winced in sympathy. Finduilas covered her ears and began weeping again. Denethor patted her shoulder consolingly and Arwen squeezed Aragorn's hand, close to tears herself. The Prince of Dol Amroth muttered something about putting the Elf out of his misery. Glorfindel and Erestor exchanged grim looks. Echthelion took a great swallow from his goblet of wine and then tapped the Balrog Slayer's arm.

"You promised to relate the tale of this benighted creature. Come now, we dearly need the distraction," he said.

"Aye," Glorfindel nodded. "Be seated and I shall begin. I caution you, though, that it is not a pretty story. Mayhap the fair Lady should retire rather than attend."

"Nay!" Finduilas exclaimed through her sobs. "I could never rest easily while the Elf suffers so. Please, mere recitation can be no worse than what we are forced to hear now."

With her adamant assurance that she would endure, Glorfindel drew a chair forward and proceeded with the narration.

TBC

Carth Dalt: Slippery Deed

Saelben: Wise one

Alae!: Behold!

Pedethryn Dailt: Slippery Walkers - closest Sindarin translation Legolas could give for the Nandorin equivalent for 'slugs and/or snails'

Nîth Chall: Shadowed Youth

nârion: son of a rat

hecilo: outcast (Quenya)

Ened Ethuil: Mid-Spring

Aegas Mírdan: Mountain Peak the Jewel Smith, an Elf of Rivendell

Muindoradar: brother-father, Uncle

Minya'mmë: first mother, grandmother

Aearen: my ocean

Nín'ódhel: my Deep Elf

Thenin: True. (Yes.)

Man le presta, Aearen?: What troubles you, My Ocean?

Alnad, alnad, Nín'ódhel: Nothing, nothing, My Deep Elf.

Advae?: Better? (Well again?)

Pan vae: All right

Ringe: cold

NOTE: If you're reading this, my apologies for the cliff hanger. This is an unannounced upload, so the few of you who find it will just have to bear with me. This is the second draft of this chapter and I know it is way too long, but I can't seem to find the best way to break it. So, the past will be revealed in the coming chapter, which should be much easier as it was initially written as the beginning of the story many months ago. Anyway, there are some important things going on in this chapter and Legolas' age has now been revealed. The cause for his terrible 'illness' should fit in the next chapter, too. Again, I'm sorry if you found this early, but I have to get the finished stuff uploaded before I can move on to the next part. Strange quirk, but it also helps me find errors when I see the chapter in a fresh format after staring at and re-reading the same text file over and over. My sincere thanks to everyone who has found the story and sent me encouragement, whether in reviews or by signing the guestbook. You folks are very kind!
© 05/29/2007 Ellen Robey

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Aearlinn

Aearlinn - Carth Dalt

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ The Banquet - Three Days before Ened Ethuil ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~