CHAPTER 3

DAYS OF YOUTH

Menegroth

Pacing in agitation before the calm presence of his beloved sister, Aegnor berated her, “How can you, blood-kin of the House of Finwë, think to ally yourself with one of these Dark-Elves? What has he to offer that none of those possessed who sought to court you in Aman?”

Artanis (or Galadriel, as he heard the offending elf had named her) sat serenely against the tree trunk, smiling bemusedly at the self-appointed champion of her youthful days in the Blessed Realm.

Aegnor stopped in front of her and dropped unceremoniously to the ground, scowling face and clenched fists a perfect match for his foul mood.

Artanis spoke softly, “Were you the sky I should expect a fierce storm, brother, bringing turmoil, with bolts of fire and crashing thunder and torrents of water. Come sit by me.”

Unyielding as stone he remained, not willing to hear aught good about this rival for the affections of his sister.

Sighing, Artanis attempted to explain, “Simply put, my brother, he has shown me not what this land to which we came could become, but what it is already.”

Unswayed Aegnor retorted, “Your Vanyar suitors you claimed were exceedingly dreamy, those of the Teleri bound too tightly to the Sea; even the Noldor were unable to hold you long with your eagerness to be first in all things. Soon you will tire of this rustic elf and when you return to your senses, will see him as nothing more than a passing silver-maned fancy.”

“Aegnor,” she softly berated him, “Neither for his silver hair, nor his lithe body, nor his warrior skills, nor his vaunted wisdom do I find Celeborn utterly intriguing, but for his untamed spirit and serene confidence that we will one day be fëa-bound.  He neither pursues nor retreats, but seeks me as a rare gem. Celeborn is without guile and honest in all our dealings together, true of heart and fearless to call me to account should he deem it needful. In all of Arda there is none like him to be found.”

Shocked Aegnor blurted out, “Father will never allow such a match; that a Dark elf wed a Princess of the Noldor is unthinkable!”

With a bemused shake of her golden head, Artanis replied evenly, “Far too many leagues, and a Doom, separate me from the will of our father.”

“Always you were the stubborn one, Artanis, but think before you bind to one so far beneath you.”

”Beneath me? He, the Prince of Doriath, and I, a Princess of the Noldor, are well suited by rank.”

“Dark and Light do not mingle! Light overpowers Dark and not long will he consent to live as a shadow in your bright glory. Our eyes reflect the Light of the Two Trees; his only starlight,” Aegnor continued.

“Of all possible impediments this troubles me most,” admitted Artanis, “yet in Celeborn I find one who vies neither for power nor rule. He covets not the mastery of others, though they are drawn to his natural leadership, The reins he gathers in his competent hands guide, but they do not compel.”

Aegnor shook his head in disgust and, rising to his feet in a single graceful move, stalked off in a darker mood than when he arrived.

FA 368

Rounding the corner of the storehouse the child, long dark hair flying and slim legs carrying her swiftly, cast a quick glance over her shoulder and ran headlong into the legs of one of the trio of elves heading for the horse-yard, nearly sending him to his knees and landing her unceremoniously on the ground. Yelping with a mixture of surprise, pain and foreboding, she scrambled to her feet before addressing the object of her unintentional attack.

“Your pardon, sir, ‘twas from pursuing orcs I flee. They would take me prisoner in chains to the dread under-mountain fortress in the North; no fit place for an elf to house,” she blurted out in a breathless rush.

The melodic laughter in response to her announcement caused her to raise her head to face those who would dare make light of so dire a plight. To her embarrassment she looked into the smiling faces of three near matching elves; all golden, tall and lovely beyond words.

She had, of course, seen elves before, usually at a distance at festival times in the great hall, or riding through the streets, and most were dark of hair like her people though somewhat taller and seeming as beardless youths. But their King gleamed golden in lamplight or under sun though no crown or circlet adorned his head, the brightness flowing down his back catching both eye and heart.

“Elf-maid, my brothers and I stand ready to defend you. Step within our circle of protection,” said the elf with whom she had collided.

Without a word the three arranged themselves to form a defensive triangular barrier facing outward. The girl ducked willingly into her refuge. As the five ‘orcs’ loped into view she peeped out from the ring of elven warriors. Mutely the ‘orcs’ paused, uncertainty on their faces.

“Hold, fiends of the dark! Your quarry has now defenders. Fight or flee!” declared her champion.

Quick meaningful looks passed from orc to orc; would these noble elves deign to indulge in such play? One, bolder than his pack-mates, stepped forward and in a childish growl dared the hoped-for invitation.

“Give her to us. She is small and of no use to such as you,” the diminutive orc snarled, sidling closer to the tall warrior.

“Those of elf-kind are not made to bear the deep dark of your lair. Crawl away to your vile lands. We protect the elf-maid and will not yield her,” said the elf.

The leader glanced at his followers, nodded and, yowling fiercely, lunged toward the elves, his horde close behind.

With a flurry of arms and legs the elves quickly ‘dispatched’ the odious creatures. The orc-horde squirmed helplessly in the grip of their enemies.

“Do you yield, miserable beasts?” spoke the elf.

“We surrender,” said their leader.

Clambering swiftly to their feet the defeated orcs grinned and bowed respectfully before loping off to find easier prey.

Turning now to the rescued maid the spokesman of the elves eyed her curiously.

“Since first you near felled me, then you accepted our protection, may we know your name, fair one?”

Dropping her eyes she said shyly, “Andreth, my lord, of the House of Bëor, daughter of Boromir, Lord of Dorthonion.”

After a pause she looked up into a pair of mischievous grey eyes, and a face alight with playful fun. But it was the eyes that held her gaze. Deep within them a light shone; silvered-gold, intense, and utterly beautiful.

Her guileless eyes, storm-cloud grey and bright with unabashed curiosity, caught the elf by surprise; he was also intrigued by this novel encounter. For a lingering moment, time swirled about them, as if they were in a place apart, each enchanted with the other, though nearly an age of Arda separated them in years. A gentle nudge from one of his fellow elves startled him back into the present, and with a blink of his eyes and merry laughter, time resumed its steady march.

Still smiling, he introduced himself, “Andreth of the House of Bëor, Aegnor I am named. My brothers I make known to you; Angrod, my sword companion, and Finrod, King of Nargothrond.”

Her grey eyes widened in alarm at the possible consequences of such behavior exhibited before such honored visitors.

“My true pardon is given to you, my lords. We, my playmates and I, had not thought to trouble you with our games. Please hold them without blame.”

Grinning widely Aegnor replied, “So novel and pleasant a welcome we have seldom received. Formality and ritual has its place, but there is far too little merriment in these lands. Childhood is too soon left behind, and with it much gaiety and the simple wonders of youth.”

Andreth glanced at his brothers to find them smiling indulgently as well.

“Then…you are not offended?” she queried hesitantly.

“Childhood is a time of great joy for our people and the innocent play of youth untroubled gladdens all hearts,” Finrod answered fondly.

Grinning Andreth resumed her game, “Truly it was welcome shielding you granted to one marked by orcs as easy prey. Though I can easily outrun them, they are not above laying snares for my feet.”

Crouching before her, Aegnor said seriously, “Andreth, maid of Ladros, know you not that as a babe a pact was made for your safeguarding?”

Instantly sobered, Andreth shook her head. The sun revealed burnished glints of deep red, adding a rich sheen to her dark brown hair. Almost Aegnor reached out to stroke the errant strands about her pretty face, his slight forward movement loosing a strand of silky golden hair from captivity behind his shoulder.

“Between us, your brother Bregor and I pledged each other to your protection. Within the keep he is captain; without it is mine to preserve your safety.”

With a look of astonishment Andreth blurted out, “That then is the reason for Bregor trailing me as might a hound. Rarely does he allow me to leave his sight within the keep; never without the walls.”

“Bregor honors truly his sworn vow. Though not known to you, I also keep honor with my oath,” Aegnor stated.

At that moment a light breeze ruffled the strand of golden hair and caught Andreth’s eye. Careful not to touch the elven hair, she nonetheless held her outstretched arm in such close proximity that another such puff of air would float the coveted treasure against her unmoving hand. But there was no obliging gentle wind.

She patiently waited and silently asked Manwë for a tiny breath of current. To her utter surprise, the gold on which she focused was lifted and placed across her open palm. Looking up into those surprising eyes, she realized that permission had been granted. Softly she stroked the silken glory, then released it with a sigh.

“We shall see you safe to the house of your father, child, lest roving orcs accost you yet again, as already my youngest brother has put us in your service,” Angrod said, laughing merrily.

*****

Fall turned to winter and the warriors not on patrol had ample time to indulge in the making of wondrous gifts for loved ones far from the borders. Angrod teased Aegnor good-naturedly about the exquisite little figure he was creating, with joints that moved freely, life-like features, attired in a silken gown of a dark-rose hue, and a tiny green elf-stone on a golden thread about her neck. But when Aegnor severed strands of his own hairs to fashion the tresses of the petite beauty, Angrod questioned for whom this treasure was intended, remembering the elaborate details of dress and design his younger brother had lavished on the dolls he crafted for their sister when she was a child.

“For the child, Andreth, of the House of Bëor,” Aegnor replied evenly, “a begetting-day gift, though Men celebrate only the day of the birth.”

Angrod’s face brightened, “Ah, the young ‘elf-maid’ of Ladros! Artanis supplanted! Shall she become a sister for you to champion and to spoil, little brother?”

Briefly a frown marred the perfect elven features as Aegnor, suddenly disquieted, considered the light-hearted query. “She is a…remarkable child,” his voice softened with a note of affection.

“Over-long you have delayed marriage, Aegnor, if you have taken the young one to honor as a sibling. For your sake I shall endeavor to persuade Finrod that duty in Nargothrond or perhaps attendance at the court of our cousin, the High King, would benefit you. Many a fair maid sighed for your attention when last we made stay in each realm.”

“And as many cast a tender glance at you, Angrod, though whether for our golden heads or nearness to the golden crown of our brother who can say,” Aegnor retorted with a grin. “Not for me the tame elf-maidens of the royal Houses, but rather one with a bold, adventurous spirit like as in our sister, Artanis.”

With a sly goad Angrod added, “You mean Galadriel, the Radiantly-Crowned who has lost her heart to a Sinda Prince?”

Aegnor lost his smile at the quip and, wrapping the doll carefully in the heavy cloth and tucking it in his pack, he stormed off.

“Beware, brother, lest you shatter the forest calm with your temper,” Angrod called out after his retreating form.

*****

A fierce winter storm left the high lands of Dorthonion clothed in sparkling snow, allowing the party of four elves to make their way unhindered to the walled fortress of Ladros.

After a warm welcome by the guards, the elves were brought to the great hall to find a large gathering, with food and drink aplenty provided for all. Groups of men were engaged in a variety of indoor games in the farther corners and alcoves; women seated closer to the bright blaze on the hearth, fingers busy with sewing projects or the mending of still serviceable clothing, and swirling round-about the adults, energetic young ones scampered and darted in their often noisy play.

Threading their way through the throng, the visitors made their unhurried way to pay their respects to the Lord Boromir, who was warming his feet before the enormous fire. Upon spying the new arrivals, he leapt to his feet and heartily bade them join him. Angrod with a nod and a knowing smile freed their escort to participate in one of the strange games of strategy enjoyed by the Men, the two warriors having volunteered to undertake this journey in hopes of such entertainment.

Sprawled on a rug of silky fur, Aegnor feigned utter absorption in the spectacle of the flames blazing in the cavernous fireplace before him, while Angrod chatted amiably with Lord Boromir and Lady Anthel.

Highly attentive elven hearing discerned the racing feet of an exuberant child who skidded to a halt not far off, and with a startled gasp of recognition began a now stealthy approach, stalking his unwary prey. But the boy’s plot was foiled by the squeal of delight from his younger sister who at that moment spied the golden-haired elves.

Rushing his quarry, Bregor nonetheless managed to complete his capture, landing squarely on the elf’s midsection and pinning his arms to the floor. With an all too real grunted “oohf” Aegnor glared up at the boy’s flushed, grinning face.

“Surrender, Elf, or worse yet will you suffer,” the lad stated sternly.

“Prince Aegnor!” Andreth cried gleefully as she pounced on her brother causing Bregor’s knee to jab painfully into the elf’s stomach.

“Huunh,” was the only reply forthcoming from the trapped prince.

Gasping for breath, Aegnor spluttered, “Brother, will you come not to my aid?”

Angrod laughed loudly at the sight of his brother covered with a pair of squirming children. Before he could rescue Aegnor, another smaller girl leapt onto the pile driving the knees and elbows of her older siblings deeper into the belly of the distressed elf.

“Ahhhh!” Aegnor moaned. “Angrod, you would watch me with naught but laughter as I perish under this onslaught?”

Rising Angrod swiftly relieved his brother of the trio of attackers. “Truly Boromir, these members of your House took unfair advantage of a helpless elf. Call them to heel that they not abuse him further,” Angrod choked back a laugh.

Aegnor turned on his side and, curling his legs, he wrapped his arms about his middle, groaning in genuine discomfort. A worried frown on her pretty face, Andreth squirmed free of the strong arm holding her and dropped to the floor beside the hurting elf.

“Prince Aegnor, have we injured you?” Tears filled her eyes as she gently stroked his shoulder, “We did not mean to be so rough; we are just glad to see you again.”

Opening his eyes and wincing slightly, Aegnor begged, “Could you and Bregor and Beril achieve a less boisterous and painful greeting?”

Crestfallen Andreth sat back on her heels, a silent plea for forgiveness in her posture.

“Come, youngling, be easy. Worse hurts have I suffered.”

Andreth lay down facing her special friend, her grey-eyed gaze filled with concern. Aegnor, placing a hand on her shoulder, he whispered, “Within the pack at the feet of my brother can be found interesting objects.”

Eagerly Andreth scrambled to her feet, grasping the straps of the heavy sack and half dragging it back to Aegnor. Plopping down excitedly, she sat cross-legged before him, then leaned forward, awaiting the revelation.

“Bregor, Beril, join us,” Aegnor called out to her siblings. Scurrying around the long form stretched out in front of the fire, the three children sat in rapt attention.

Aegnor sat up, flinching just a bit as his bruised ribs protested the change of position, then rummaged through the contents of his pack as if searching diligently for something hidden in its confines. He smiled broadly as his groping hand closed on the gift for Bregor.

He withdrew a gleaming Elvish dagger secured firmly in a supple leather case, tiny green elf-stones studding the knife handle. Bregor stared in amazement at the elegantly crafted weapon. “Your Lord father will determine when you are responsible for the wielding of this blade,” Aegnor stated solemnly.

Hopeful eyes turned to his father; Bregor’s wordless plea might well have been spoken aloud. “My son, on the morrow you and I will explore your knowledge of the care and use of such a fine tool.” Boromir barely suppressed a grin at the look of dashed anticipation on the face of his only son.

Next Aegnor drew forth a pair of dainty slippers of soft deer-hide lined with squirrel fur dyed a beautiful shade of lavender and a matching gown of the soft, warm material favored by elven mothers for their young ones. These he presented to the wide-eyed Beril, who jumped up and impulsively hugged the elf before dashing off to show her mother the beautiful clothing ‘made by a real elf’.

Andreth sat expectantly, trying hard not to express her impatience. When Aegnor brought forth the gift for Andreth her mouth dropped open.

“Andreth, such is the likeness of a lady of the Vanyar, clad in the manner of the Noldor, who would be pleased to bear a Sindarin name.”

When Andreth sat unmoving, Aegnor with a puzzled expression asked, “Does she not please you, little one?”

“Ai, Prince Aegnor, she is too precious a thing for play.” Then another thought occurred to her. “Did she belong to your sister? Has she tired of her?”

“For you only did I craft this gift, Andreth.” Placing the doll in the trembling hands of the mortal child, Aegnor smiled fondly at the reverence with which the small well-formed hands examined every aspect of her delightful present. Cries of wonder greeted her discovery of the natural direction of movement of the diminutive limbs, neck, waist and even the perfect little fingers and a face elven-fair. As Andreth touched the radiant tresses, she bent for a closer look. A subtle fragrance caught her attention as she blurted out, “She smells just like you!”

Angrod, listening to the interchange burst into merry laughter at the utterance and subsequent reddening of his brother’s fair cheeks.

“She has traveled among my things; it is to be expected,” Aegnor made a flimsy excuse sending his brother into peals of mirth. Shooting a fierce glare at Angrod, he asked Andreth, “Will you provide a dwelling for this noble lady that she may keep you company while I, by oath given and duty bound, am far afield?”

Solemn eyes met and held his as Andreth nodded a silent assent.

FA 376

Fascinated with the display of enthusiastic youthfulness by the lad who sped lightly through the trees, the elf kept pace on a parallel course. Winded at last after a considerable distance, the adolescent human, breathing rapidly, paused in a small clearing and laughed aloud for joy. Arms raised high he spun about and danced gracefully about the meadow, brushing his hands against the tree-trunks, and tall flower stems before sinking into the waving grasses to sprawl on his back, eyes searching the brilliant blue sky strewn with dazzlingly white clouds.

Ere long the youth arose and strolled off into the trees singing in a clear voice a mortal song of eager wind, soaring eagles, swift waters, leaping deer and darting fish, complimenting each theme with movements evocative of the element or creature so noted.

Not wishing to disturb this unique performance the elf kept hidden, but was aware, as the human apparently was not, that the scent of boar was strong and growing stronger. Pausing only long enough to ready his war-bow and quiver and unbind the long blade at his side, he deliberately disturbed a branch as he stepped from the tree-shade. Spinning around, long braid following, the lad faced the unexpected noise.

Aegnor stopped short as he realized this was a slender female dressed in leggings and a tunic probably ‘borrowed’ from an older brother.

“Have you no escort, my lady?” Aegnor questioned.

“These lands are guarded, sir, by warriors of Ladros,” was her confident response.

“The present danger is of natural beast, not fell creatures,” he said. “Boar distinguish not but perceived threat, and from the cries there are young ones likely under the fierce protection of their mother. Can you climb into the trees?”

Going pale with understanding of her plight, she merely nodded and leaped nimbly for the nearest of the pines, scurrying up it like a frightened squirrel and clinging high among the branches.

Aegnor slipped silently amid the trees hoping to coax the boar family away in the opposite direction. Much would he regret the taking of the life of a mother, but should she force the issue he was capable of dispatching her quickly.

Thankfully the she-boar took flight with her young ones and Aegnor returned within a brief time to coax the treed human down from her high perch.

Pulling pine needles from her hair she looked up into the face of the tall elf, hers flushed from embarrassment. That she had been caught far from the fortress, alone and dressed in male clothing was bad enough, but to be ‘rescued’ by one of the ‘gold-elves’ as she and her friends called them in secret, was doubly distressing. As two pairs of grey eyes met, she drew a sharp breath, then smiled merrily as she blurted out, “You have returned!” and then she blushed even more furiously at her childlike greeting.

Smoothing her hair then running her hands down the sides of her tunic as if dressed in a gown, she lowered her head and stated more formally, “Well met, Prince Aegnor, and fair day to you.”

Aegnor laughed gaily, “Between the two, I much prefer the former greeting to the latter.”

Instantly her head tilted up and with a mischievous grin, she taunted him, “Fleet are your kind, yet I will race with you back to the fortress walls. But as challenge to your greater speed and endurance, you must finish the course twice to my once to win.” Without waiting for a reply she dashed off, laughing over her shoulder.

Open-mouthed with surprise, it took Aegnor off-guard to be so boldly tested by the young girl. In the best spirit of his kind, after securing his weapons firmly in place, he sprinted after her, skimming past her easily to complete his first lap. On his return he faltered as he saw her lurch to the side and stumble to the ground.

Alarmed he sped to her side, raising her still figure. He moved her arms to encircle his neck to ease the carrying of her slight body, but in his concern did not notice her fingers were busy loosing his bow and quiver. Her laughter puzzled him as she inquired with great dignity whether this mode of travel suited him, as she preferred her own feet when running.

Setting her down gently, with a perplexed expression he asked, “You are unhurt, child?”

With studied decorum she announced, “Though but a child in your eyes, among my people I am near grown. Henceforth “Lady Andreth” you may name me.”

When he simply stared at her she provoked him further, “Quite careless you are with your weapons for so fearless a warrior and our race is not yet run. If you would show your fleet-footed prowess, Elf, you have not time for rescues, and had best resume your pursuit of the prize.”

Again she fled from him, leaving him bewildered by her unpredictable behavior. Within two long strides he felt the bow and quiver flop loosely on his back and during his hasty re-securing of them, he muttered aloud about the devious mind and cunning deceptions of this particular human female.

Andreth was within mere yards of the wall as Aegnor emerged from the tree-line. Andreth was sweating and panting as she laid both hands on the rough stone announcing herself the winner. He reached the wall only seconds after her. Chagrined that a mortal had bested an elf at a footrace (albeit by trickery and rule manipulation), he glared down onto her smug face.

Chuckling merrily she stated, “Safely you have seen me back to the Keep, though bringing up the rear.”

Abashed, he defended his honor, “Rear-guard is in most peril, Lady Andreth.”

“Come,” she teased, “Father will be pleased at your arrival…even if belated.”

*******