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Chapter Sixteen – A Confounding Welcome

Elrovail raised her gorgeous head as she stepped from out the private passage, drawing back her mantled shoulders to stand at her full impressive height.  She bestowed a perfunctory glance upon Ithinduil – to convey her smug indifference to his conscientious vigilance – before her falcon gaze fastened upon Hrassa.  Aurthôn’s instantaneous suspicion turned to anticipation when the dark-elf lady donned a disarmingly sweet smile of goodwill rather her usual cat-grin of condescension.  This aught to be interesting.  Since both Hrassa and Elrovail had served with the same family over long measures of time before and after the necessary exodus from Beleriand, he was sure the cogndîr knew the hiril all too well to be deceived by her.

“Hrassa!”  Acting startled, she feigned breathless shock at a supposedly unexpected meeting.  When obviously, she had come back to the parlor precisely because she had learned the Laiquende was here.  Which means you caught Celebrimbor, after all.  The long, slim fingers of one silver-chased hand coyly splayed over her swathed breast – drawing the eye directly to her heaving bosom.

“Elrovail!” he ecstatically exclaimed in return, leaping with unforeseen gusto into her melodrama.  Pretending to be overcome by the very sight of her, his right hand achingly griped his chest over his heart as his left hand reached out to her in adoring disbelief.  He took an awed-filled step towards her.  Her faux smile transformed into mock horror as she theatrically threw up her hands, desperate to keep him from coming any nearer – thus somehow causing her delicate scarf to sensuously slip from her bare shoulders and slide down to the floor like a snake from a tree.

“No! Stay back!” she pitiably cried.  “Giliath!! You are absolutely filthy!”  A barely stifled laugh was disguised by drawing a hand to her nose as if to fend off an offensive smell.

“Eh? What’s that you say?”  Hrassa raised his bent elbows, clownishly sniffing and looking himself over; even taking a contorted glance over his shoulder to check his backside.  “Oh, what’s a little muck?” he shrugged, facing Elrovail again.  Donning a toothy smile, he opened his arms to her in invitation.  “Come give us hug!”  But, an emotionally bruised expression banished the stupid smile when she rolled her eyes to the ceiling while waving her hand in front of her face apparently about to be overcome by his odiferous state.  “You mean you’re not overjoyed to see me?!”  His clinched fists flew to his temples in overwrought distress.  “Alas!” he lamented.  “You have always loved your pretty clothes more than you have loved me!”  Then in the next moment, he made a show of suddenly spotting her wrap upon the floor and commenced to retrieve it, putting on a florid courtliness meant to impress an admired lady and usually would.

“Fie!” warned Elrovail, taking a funny little hop backward over the coiled mantle when he began to stoop to where it lay at her feet.  “Do not dare to touch it, you grimy dog!  Just look at your master’s ruined raiment!”

“Aí, le um guldureth!” he cried out in insincere panic.  Falling away from her, he cringed; aghast and accusatively pointing a finger at her.  “You and your careless spells!”  Whereupon, he ducked his head and whimpered like a lost puppy with one hand a blur as he scratched behind his ear while his foot rapidly tapped at the same time in rhythm.

“Stop! Please stop!” begged a helplessly laughing Celeborn, who could hardly speak he was so genuinely entertained.  Aurthôn too had readily laughed at their antics, pleasantly astounded by this jovial rather than adversarial game.  Why could you not play so kindly with me, morhiril?  Laerlínath, still ensconced behind her maidenly mask, had hardly twitched.  Although, her wide eyes and closed lips threatened to crinkle at the corners.  The Lord had to wipe a tear from the corner of each eye before regaining his normal composure.  “You are giving these poor young people a terrible impression!”  He turned to Aurthôn and Laerlínath to explain.  “They have known each other from before the rising of the moon, but will indulge in the most... “ he turned to his unabashed minions, smiling affectionately at them, “– ridiculous – behavior to keep that friendship from becoming too staid.”  His twinkling eyes narrowed as he redirected his gaze entirely onto Hrassa, who responded with a look of innocent bewilderment.  “Even after being apart for such a long while.”

“Agh!”  Elrovail firmly planted her palms upon her shapely hips, replacing her affected repulsion with an exaggerated accusative gape.  Laerlínath remained placid, but Aurthôn continued to be openly amazed at this unusual degree of comedy on the maven’s part.

“Caun-anim!” Hrassa reproved, also taking bombastic offence at Celeborn’s practically calling them silly.  “We are only following you and your lady’s own refined example!”  Elrovail closed her mouth in smug agreement, adding a stiff nod for emphasis.  Aurthôn snickered, for Hrassa was not too far from the truth.  Over the year since the Lothlórien ladies’ arrival, attendance to his clerical duties had provided him several glimpses of the Lord and Lady joking together.  It was wise of them that they indulged in it only in private – more or less.

“Well then, you follow it very badly,” stated their prince, acting haughtily miffed.

“Well then, my lord,” announced Elrovail, “I shall endeavor to follow your example more closely.”  Aurthôn got the impression that Celeborn gave her a tacit, almost imperceptible, nod in approval of some other intention on her part.  Her teasing eyes turned maleficent; her now somber face hardened.  She pinned Hrassa under her raptor stare and, in a low condemning drawl, she pronounced him, “Deserter.”

“Elrovail... ” Hrassa sighed with a sad shake his head, stung and disappointed.  Aurthôn agreed.  She was supposed to be his friend – however that friendship manifested itself.  Yet, she had deliberately crushed anyone’s good will towards him.  And notably, with Celeborn’s consent.  In fact, Aurthôn felt a little betrayed himself, for Celebrimbor had apparently not intended to warn him of this complication.  Laerlínath looked to him, rightly concerned that the bowman’s earlier confessed disfavor might not have come from an act of disrespect but an actual crime.  Their close association with the cogndîr would reflect badly upon them and could lead to real trouble.  What was more, Elrovail’s accusation would be not only a test for those of rank who would call Hrassa friend, but for those behind the service door as well.  Certainly, they were keeping an eye and ear out to happenings in the parlor.  The green-elf might have to take refuge in Aurthôn’s home just to get a decent meal and clean sheets.

Visibly hurt at her issuing such an indictment, Hrassa nonetheless braced up and defended himself.

“You wound me unfairly.  Though, I admit, not without cause.  But still – without understanding.”  He looked deep into her eyes seeking sympathy, impressively unafraid of opposing her willful opinion.  “I wandered off.  I did not run away.”  Elrovail’s eyes looked past him to Celeborn, who again gave his affirmation albeit invisibly.  Her stony demeanor softened, but not very much.

“That explanation will carry little weight,” she warned.  “Despite our clever lord’s magnanimity in cosseting you here as a guest rather than keeping you jailed.”  Her familiar feline smile finally reappeared.  “Fortunately for you, I am taking personal charge of your stay.”

“Well then... “  He almost leered at her.  “I am really looking forward to a bath.”

“I asked you to stop,” the Lord reminded him with more threat than plea in his voice.  “This is Eregion, not Tol Galen.”  He took a breath then hesitated, as if to quell what more he might say on the subject, letting the breath escape in a sigh of futility.  “Elrovail, where have you come from, if you were not with Galadriel?”

“Oh, merely prowling about,” she replied with a dismissive but graceful flip of her hand and a quick glance at Aurthôn.  She angled her head to listen behind her, turning back to Celeborn when no sound came from the private passage.  “Qaurë was right behind me, but it appears he too has gotten himself lost.  Which is truly ridiculous considering he built this mole hill.”

“How in Arda did he find out so quickly?” Celeborn asked.  “Did you tell him?  How did you find out?”

“He told me,” she purred, amused with her prince’s apparent discomfort at not correctly anticipating the course of this disruptive news.

Aurthôn cleared his throat to beg Celeborn’s attention – here was chance to regain ground he had lost last week when he was the only one to miss a meeting called by the Lord because he was receiving his wife on her arrival.  When Celeborn indicated that he should say more, he efficiently explained.

“My lady and I were with Lord Celebrimbor earlier and encountered Lady Celebrían on her way to her lady mother.  She told Lord Celebrimbor about the cogndîr.”   He saw no need to elaborate on how it was that Laerlínath and he, and not his employer, had ended up in the room ahead of everyone.

“Humph, if he had deigned to attend tonight, why did he not just escort our daughter to her mother himself?” Celeborn asked no one in particular.  For many reasons, Aurthôn was not about to venture further explanation.  Other than she might consider Laerlínath already one of Galadriel’s ladies, he did not know why Elrovail remained silent too.

Without any response forthcoming, Celeborn started to examine his sleeves and the front of his elegant tunic.  He pulled at his carefully draped mantle, looking closely for stains.  The low-hemmed, pinioned style robes he wore were far more traditional than either Celebrimbor’s or Aurthôn’s sleek attire of a short coat with long-legged hose.  If ever asked, he would have to admit that Celeborn could carry off what amounted to historical costume far better than most noble ellyn.  Something that requires greater confidence than what comes with an ordinary sense of fashion.  Such confidence might be attributed to either his being a prince or a performer.  But, Aurthôn figured it was from having to be both at the same time most of the time.

“Elrovail, am I not presentable?” the Lord asked.  Hrassa had quietly picked up her scarf and was gently shaking it out.

“You need a once over,” she offhandedly replied, apparently unimpressed with her lord’s petty concern.  Hrassa placed her wrap about her shoulders and she arranged it to her liking without offering him any thanks for the favor.

“Well, if you do not mind?”  Celeborn’s irritated tone called her to task – guarding the state of his wardrobe was her duty, was it not?  “And, if I may impose upon you, Lady Laerlínath.”  He spoke to that lady in a much gentler voice.  “Would you please inform the Lady Galadriel that we must await her here since our guest has come straight from the road?”  Laerlínath stiffened as if he had scolded her too – which caused Celeborn to blink at her curious reaction.  In that moment, Aurthôn was unsure what he could do to help her except to speak on her behalf.  Fool that I am for having promised to complain about the Lady to her husband!  However, before he could reluctantly open his mouth, Elroval enthusiastically leapt in between the puzzled lord and petrified young lady.

“Oh please you, my lord, allow me!  Laerlínath would be happy to look after you and her good husband can assist Hrassa.  There is a dresser in the alcove, sirs.  Laerlínath, there is the bell.  I shall stall Galadriel so that you all have some time to prepare!”  She hastened away even as she rattled at them and was through the curtains and out dais door before anyone could gainsay her.

Hrassa looked at Celeborn, who raised his eyebrows and shrugged.  Then, again addressed the pensive Laerlínath.

“I ask for your pardon, lady.  As kith or kin, all in this House do at times presume too much and can unthinkingly fall into inconsiderate behavior.”

Remembering the state in which he had earlier found her, Aurthôn knew his poor wife was quite relieved to deal with the Lord and not the Lady.  She immediately regained her composure, eager to undertake tasks she could more easily accomplish.

“My lord, no apologies are necessary – ‘tis my pleasure to aid you.”  She stepped over to the hanging bell rope, but Celeborn stayed her from ringing with a light touch on the arm and a querulous look.  To which she responded, “I believe Lady Elrovail simply wishes Master Hrassa’s arrival to remain a surprise.”

“Just Cogndîr please, my lady,” requested Hrassa.  Aurthôn had indicated the direction of the alcove to him with a sweep of his arm as an invitation to proceed.  However, they both hesitated when Celeborn asked Laerlínath another question; a suspicious note coloring his otherwise mild words.

“What do you mean by ‘a surprise’?  You came here with our daughter, did you not?  Celebrían was instructed to tell her naneth I was delayed with a guest.  Did not the Lady question her?”

“No, my lord, she did not.”  Celeborn drew back, slightly surprised.  “Lady Celebrían said she was sent to the Lady for punishment, which she was given, and then was immediately sent to bed without another word.  Her lady mother was...” Laerlínath paused, seeking the appropriate word, “... harried, at that moment.  I do not think the Lady knows who has come seeking her greeting.”

Plainly troubled by the idea that Galadriel might be unaware of Hrassa, Celeborn dropped his hand to his side and looked away, frowning.  He took a couple of slow steps towards the dais door before stopping in thought.  A bit disconcerted by this, Laerlínath jangled the bell.  A maid servant immediately entered from the service door, which she had probably been crouched by listening all the while.  Laerlínath asked her to please bring a basin and pitcher of heated water into the alcove with some towels.  A clothes brush and fuller’s cloth should be brought directly to her.  Mead and a tray of goblets were also ordered.  “You may remove those cups, but wash and return them,” she said, indicating the mithril wine bowls used to make her and Aurthôn’s earlier toast.  The maid left and Laerlínath turned to her husband and Hrassa.  Both still stood as they were, watching Celeborn thinking.

“Ithinduil, find Lord Celebrimbor and bring him here,” curtly ordered the Lord.  His bodyguard looked disbelieving of the clear command.  Only after a confirming scowl from his prince did he duck through the private entrance and down the dark corridor.

“Aurthôn,” Laerlínath gently called.  “Would you please take Cogndîr Hrassa into the alcove?”

“Yes, of course,” he responded, coming back to himself.  “Sir?”  Again, he indicated the alcove, this time walking over and pulling aside the gauzy curtain to encourage the green-elf to enter.  Much like Elrovail had done earlier, Hrassa looked for reassurance from Celeborn, who distractedly nodded to his bowman.  It seemed that the Lord was going to permit Elrovail another of her jests and would have Celebrimbor included in it.  Hrassa went unsmiling into the alcove.  Once inside however, his dour attitude lightened.

“Do you speak any Nandorin, Master Aurthôn?” he asked congenially as he slid his bow and quiver from off his shoulder and handed them over.  His long knife he slid into the quiver while Aurthôn held it steady.  His removed his belt with its pocket and stone knife attached and gave that to Aurthôn as well.  His cloak he threw over the back of a chair.

“Yea, after a fashion,” Aurthôn replied in that language as an example.  “Let’s just put this stuff over here for now.”

“Ha! Very understandable despite the accent!”  Hrassa then commenced speaking in Nandorin as well.  “I shall have to watch what I say.”

“Thanks.”  He would take the amused criticism as a compliment.  Pronunciation being the slipperiest difference between any quendi dialect.  Hrassa began unfastening his doeskin tunic.  “Not that closely, I am afraid.”

Getting a better look around the chamber than the first time he was inside, Aurthôn found that the furniture followed the latest trend in gendering neutral objects.  And not just occasional chairs, but utilitarian pieces as well.  He could not understand however why this new style sought to make anything feminine drastically smaller.  The ladies were not child-sized, after all.

A servant, a different maid than had taken Laerlínath orders, brought in the water and towels, arranging them upon the diminutive dresser in the corner.  She opened the top drawer and left it open so as to display the assortment of sundries inside.  Looking through the collection, Aurthôn found a leaf of soap and set it out beside the basin, along with a comb.  I wish I had known earlier to look in here for Laerlínath’s sake.  The ladies were well-prepared to repair a ruffled appearance.  He also found both a small clothes brush and a boot brush.

“May I be of further assistance?”  The resentment in the serving elleth’s voice caused Aurthôn to turn around to look at her.  The household staff were usually a friendly and accommodating lot.  Her disapproving stare was directed solely at Hrassa.  So, Elrovail’s accusation had indeed been heard and rapidly passed along, just as intended.

“No, thank you,” replied the Nando, as he pulled his tunic over his head.  Either he was ignoring the servant’s scorn or was unaware of it.  The maid also neglected to show the proper respect as she left.  Neither called her on it, though; letting her go since she clearly desired to be gone.  “Master Aurthôn, there is a clean shirt in my bedroll.”  Hrassa straightened out his tunic and laid it across the nearby a chair atop his cloak.  They exchanged places and Hrassa proceeded to thoroughly wash his face and neck before going on to his well-muscled arms and chest.  Aurthôn took the rolled blanket and laid it open on an upholstered bench.  He pulled out the shirt and held it up by the shoulder seams.  As he supposedly shook it out, he surreptitiously looked through the gauze curtains to check on his wife.

Laerlínath was brushing the Lord’s clothes with short, brisk strokes – the same way she had brushed off his own clothes just before they had kissed and left their apartment for what was suppose to have been a gay evening together.  However, what made him stop and stare so hard at them was Celeborn again wearing that enchanting smile with which he had earlier charmed Laerlínath.  And this time, his wife was smiling back in the unguarded manner she usually reserved for family.

“How do you find our city, lady?” Celeborn asked her.  She paused in mid-stroke and lifted her bright eyes to his beaming face.

“A very exciting place, my lord.”  She is so very much at ease with him!  Whereas, even after a decade, he was still nervous in the Lord’s presence.  “I had thought my adventures ended when I passed through the gates.”

“So you do not think that now?”  He pulled his beautiful starlight hair aside as she progressed around to his back.

“No,” she laughingly replied.  “Oh my, what a perfectly lovely handprint!”

“Let me know if ever you do.  I would not want you to suffer such dreadful ennui that you would contemplate leaving us.”  An attractive blush bloomed over her cheeks.

Setting aside the brush, she picked up the fuller’s cloth and set to on the palm print.  Swiftly victorious, she skillfully swept the cloth over the rest of Celeborn’s silky tunic, restoring the exquisite material to an eye-blinking finish.  Setting aside the fuller’s cloth, she walked around to the lord’s back again to needlessly help smooth his long hair into place to hang straight.  Aurthôn unconsciously ground his teeth.  His grooming done, Celeborn accommodatingly struck an elegant dancer’s pose so she might fully inspect her work.  She slowly circled him, looking for any flaw in his appearance.  No need for more than one circuit surely!

“Do I pass?” asked a bemused Celeborn after Laerlínath’s third turn around.

“No,” she playfully frowned.  “But, I guess it will have to do.”  The Lord smiled, enjoying her audacious attempt at his brand of humor.

“My deepest thanks for your spirited – if unsuccessful – efforts, Lady Laerlínath!”  The lavish bow he gave her was received with flattered amusement.  Aurthôn drew an aggravated breath through his nose.

“It’s alright,” Hrassa unexpectedly whispered into his ear, causing him a little jolt.  The cogndîr stepped back and took his shirt from Aurthôn’s hands.  “He’s very married.”  The teasing grin he wore grew wider.  “I’m the one you have to watch out for.”  Aurthôn did not care for this remark and did not bother to hide it.  Hrassa stepped back further, displaying a challenging wariness.  Then, he relaxed and laughingly smiled.  “Sorry, friend, only joking!  Franuilos, what’s happened to people’s sense of humor these days?”

“Sorry,” Aurthôn relented with some chagrin.  “My only excuse is my wife and I have not been reunited for very long.  But, in a way, you’re right,” he admitted.  “People here do tend to be too careful of what they say and how they say it.  A problem of always being thought to mean an insult before a jest.”

“Ah, my first lesson in modern etiquette?”  The bowman fluidly donned the moss-green shirt.  It fell over his shoulders and hung down past his hips amazingly free of creases.  Aurthôn had been distracted when he had it in hand, but the material had felt unlike would be expected of so simple a garment; pleasingly thick and soft between his fingers.  The particular cut of it made Aurthôn wonder how old the shirt might be.

“Not really,” he replied, although with a bit more cynicism than Hrassa’s question.  “General caution has merely become common practice as our country is rather prone to violence.”

“Not near as bad as Tharbad, believe me.”

“Aurthôn... “  Laerlínath was at the alcove entrance, her face modestly turned away, speaking through the curtain.  “Do you require the clothes brush or aught else?”

“No.”  He felt too embarrassed by his jealousy to talk at length with her just then.  “Thank you, but there is all we need in the dresser already.”

“Very well.”  She went away and he purposely took up the conversation where left off.

“I doubt you need any instruction.  You’ve obviously attended court before.  I’d venture to say all the great courts?”  Hrassa nodded.  Aurthôn handed him the boot brush and he gave his retrieved belt a perfunctory brushing.

“Never Gondolin, though.”  He handed the brush back and fastened on his belt.  “And I’d liked to have seen that city before it fell.”  He took the offered clothes brush.

“Who wouldn’t?”  Aurthôn hooked a footrest with his foot and scooted it over to Hrassa for his convenience.  “Which was more impressive – Menegroth or Nargothrond?”

“You can’t compare them that way.”  Aurthôn helped lift Hrassa’s shirttails so he could start to brush his leggings from the waist down.  “Both were caves, yes.  But, they were different from each other – one Sindar; the other Noldor.  As this place is very different from Forlond and Harlond.”

“I agree with you completely about that.”  He let go of the shirt, which instantly straightened itself out.  “What is your shirt made from?”  Hrassa continued brushing down to his knees, then setting a foot upon the footstool, worked on down to his shoe.  His leggings and footwear appeared very similar to what the Galadhrim warriors wore.  Finished with one leg, he switched to the other, making quick work of that one too.

“I think it has to be some sort of hithlain.  The Lady made it for me and she said – “

A shrill chirp of sound jumped out of the still open private passage.

“Celebrían?!” the Lord and the Cogndir exclaimed together, both heads simultaneously turning towards the dark doorway.

TBC

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Author’s Notes:

All elvish is in Sindarin unless otherwise indicated and underlined means I put it together myself – corrections and comments are welcome!

cogndîr – bowman Nandorin

ellon/elleth – elf male/female

le um guldureth – ‘you wicked witch’ - you evil sorceress

giliath – stars (collective form of gil)

morhiril – dark lady