Healing Hope

Chapter Thirty-Four

A Light in Dark Places

“The world is indeed full of peril, and in it there are many dark places; but still there is much that is fair.”  Haldir

Haldir, Marchwarden of the Galadhrim, walked into the beautiful Hall of Fire, a place of amity if ever there was one.  Gathered in small, congenial groups were Noldor and Silvan elves from Imladris and his own homeland.  He examined the head table to be sure that all was in readiness for the Lord and Lady of Lórien.  No detail was too small to escape his notice when it came to their security. 

His eyes fell on the uppity Noldo who met them at the border of the hidden valley, and he could not repress the sneer that came to his fair face.  What caught his attention more than anything else was the marked lack of warriors present.  Haldir frowned; that fact did not bode well.  He still had not received an explanation as to why so many warriors were gathered to meet their party.  This was Haldir’s first time to accompany Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel to Imladris, but he rather doubted that they received such a reception every time they arrived.  He knew something was afoot the minute that shifty elf would not meet his eyes along the trail.  Lord Glorfindel could have explained, but he was no more forthcoming than the first one! 

“Oh no,” groaned Illuin, “look what the cat just dragged in.”

Mellow from the miruvor, Helcar began obediently searching the floor, eliciting another groan from Illuin.

“I was being facetious, you ninny,” explained Illuin, as he nodded his head in Haldir’s direction.  “That haughty Silvan had better not get in my way tonight or I shall have to take him down a peg or two!”

It was Helcar’s turn to react with derision.  “You would no more do that and embarrass our Lord than...than...well, I cannot think of what!”

“No,” admitted Illuin, I would not do anything here where it might reflect poorly upon this house, but there are ways, my friend.  Make no mistake about it,” he added for emphasis; “there are ways.” 

Helcar rolled his eyes and decided to change the subject.  “Ah, here are the musicians.”

In the corner, cosseted on one side by the enormous fireplace and on the other by the open terrace, the musicians were beginning to set up and tune their instruments.  This night the draperies had been closed on this side of the vast room to lend a softer, cozier aspect to the evening.  The velvet billows swayed gently as the nighttime breezes whispered outside.  The flutist, a determined elf at the most sanguine of times, could not help but recall the last formal dinner held in honor of King Thranduil.  He leaned over to whisper to the cello player beside him, I certainly hope we do not have a repeat of that last affair.  My lips were numb for a week after attempting to drown out that din!”

“You think that is bad,” replied the cellist, “my instrument still smells of pea soup!”

The flutist lowered his voice conspiratorially, “Who is that gorgeous Silvan over there....the one with the sneer on his face?”

“I would not know,” drawled the cellist.

O-o-O-o-O

“Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel,” announced the herald.  Around the hall, conversations ceased and all the elves came to their feet to honor the stunning pair.  As always, Galadriel seemed to float through the air, anchored to arda by only her feather light grasp of Lord Celeborn’s hand.  The Silver Tree, as Lord Celeborn’s name meant, was crowned with silver tresses that fell like a molten river streaming down his back.  Millennia of battles with the dark lord had forged a strength in the elf that reflected upon his firm features.  The power emanating from the Sindar fairly stole the breath away, and more than one elf was glad that this one was on their side. 

As the Lord and Lady of Lórien were being seated, Erestor, Elladan, and Elrohir made their way into the hall.  Eschewing the fanfare, they asked the herald not to make any announcement.  In truth, the trio felt conspicuous enough with their various bandages and slings, without drawing any more attention to themselves. 

After seating his lady, Celeborn walked over to greet his grandsons and the Seneschal.  Joy twinkled in his eyes as he saw for himself the condition of the twins.  “He ran his hand carefully over Elladan’s shoulder wound, as though assessing the damage within.  With a nod, he turned to Elrohir.  Celeborn’s eyes narrowed as his hand lingered on the younger twin’s cheek.  “Your father has not looked closely into your eyes this eve, has he?”

“Please do not say anything, “Daeradar,” asked Elrohir.  “Ada is much burdened of late, and my vision is truly getting better.”

Celeborn continued to gaze knowingly at Elrohir.  “You will retire early so that I have no need to disturb Elrond.”

The twin smiled his thanks to his grandfather, and with a short greeting to Erestor, the Elf Lord retired to sit beside his lady.

Almost immediately, Lord Elrond entered the room escorting his daughter.  As beautiful as Galadriel was, it was Arwen’s luminous beauty that drew soft sighs from the gathered throng.  Arwen Undómiel was much beloved by her people and her absence had been long for them.  Dressed this night in the softest of blue silk with a deeper, midnight blue mantle draped elegantly over her shoulders and secured by a mithril cord, she fairly glowed as she accompanied her father.

Erestor, with his left arm in a sling was a mirror image to Elladan, who was sitting beside him with his right arm in a sling.  Elrohir sat to Elladan’s right with bandages swathing his head.  They were a pitiful looking trio, but that could not dim their excitement at being allowed out of the healing rooms.

“I am so hungry I could eat a warg,” vowed Elladan.

Elrohir turned to look at him, frowning slightly as he attempted to determine which of the three Elladan’s he was seeing was the real one.

“Still a bit woozy?” teased Elladan, noticing his twin’s attempt to focus. 

“Yes, but do not tell Ada, or I will be put right back to bed,” replied Elrohir.

“I will not say anything if you promise me you will let me know if you start to get worse,” said Elladan.

“I promise.  How are you doing?” asked Elrohir to the seneschal, seated on his right.

“My arm pains me like the fires of Udûn,” Erestor whispered, “but I would not miss being here for anything. I will keep your secret, Elrondion, if you will keep mine.”

Elrohir laughed merrily and agreed with all three Erestors.

The soft hum of conversation settled back over the hall as the musicians played and servers began bringing out tureens of soup and platters of bread. 

Mithrandir walked into the room and found his seat at the head table beside Lady Galadriel.  “Oh,” he delighted, “Maug soup!  I have not had this since I last ate with King Dáin.”  He picked up his spoon and began eating the dwarven delicacy.

Beside him, Galadriel was eying the soup with a look that might easily have frozen water.  Seeing her reluctance, Mithrandir enthusiastically praised the dish.   “The Maug is a type of horned worm found deep within the mithril mines.  It burrows in the veins and actually feeds on bits of skin and sweat left by the dwarves, or on guano and other grubs.  It is quite tasty, I assure you.”

“It is ...alive,” remarked the Lady of Light.  If possible, her face was even paler than normal.

“No, no,” assured the Maia, “that movement takes place only after death, while the blood still runs.  That is how you know it is fresh.”

Galadriel swallowed and turned quickly away.

“Ah,” continued the wizard, to no one in particular, “I must ask that delightful cook how she managed to get her hands upon fresh Maug!”

Arwen basked in the ambiance of this beloved room as she sat surrounded by her family.  Only one significant absence could mar the pleasure of this night.  With dreamy eyes, Arwen gazed around the room remembering the last time she had eaten here with her mother.  Her melancholy contemplation was interrupted by a hiss from down the table in her brother’s direction.

“What is that?” repeated Erestor, gazing at his soup. 

Elrohir was blinking wildly, his nose about three inches from the bowl as he attempted to focus on the contents.

“What is what?” asked Elladan; “and what are you doing, El?”

“I am attempting to ascertain what it is that is in this bowl.  It seems to be moving.”

“It is moving,” snapped Erestor.  “What has that contemptible cook done?”

“It is a new recipe,” said Glorfindel, coming up behind the Seneschal.

“A new recipe?” sputtered Erestor.  “A new recipe!  How dare she try a new recipe when the Lord and Lady from Lórien are visiting?”

Arwen’s attention was focused on Erestor and her brothers, and she chuckled at their hijinks.  “I have missed this…” her words froze as she turned back to her father.  “Ada, there…there are three horses looking in through the draperies!”

Elrond’s eyebrow rose only a little.  “That would be Celos, Celon and Fuinur,” he replied calmly.

Arwen’s faced reflected her confusion.  “And there is a kitten on the back of one of the horses!”

“That would be Fluffy,” said Glorfindel, sliding into the seat beside her.  The golden warrior took her hand and kissed it.  “In case I failed to say it earlier, it is good to have you home, my lady.”

Arwen looked from Glorfindel to her father, both supremely blasé about the appearance of the animals.  “Why are they here?” she whispered, as though speaking aloud of them would make them disappear. 

“They are looking for Estel,” said Elrond, eyeing his soup in a curious fashion.

“They are looking for Estel?” Arwen repeated.

The horses’ ears twitched when they heard that name.  Celos eyed the group searching for his young charge while Celon and Fuinur stood faithfully by his side. 

“Celos and Celon keep watch over him,” said Erestor absently, as his eyes searched the room for cook.  He would have a few choice words for that elleth when he found her.  He just knew that recalcitrant aesdan would pull something like this.

“Fluffy is Estel’s kitten.  He sleeps in a box in Celos’ stall,” added Elrohir.

“Did I hear you say a feline sleeps in a stallion’s stall?” inquired Celeborn, attempting to follow this bizarre conversation.

“And Fuinur was a gift from King Thranduil.  He has become friends with Celos and Celon,” added Elladan.  “What is this moving in my soup?”

From the serving entrance cook was carrying a fresh tureen of her newest creation.  As she entered the room she spied the horses calmly standing with their heads and necks inside the room. Fluffy’s tiny body could be seen sitting atop Celos.  The kitten’s purr was loud and proud. “I will not make that mistake again,” she muttered to herself as she carefully edged away from the animals.

From where he sat Erestor’s eyes finally found the one he sought.  “There she is!” he bellowed, leaping to his feet. 

So completely out of character was it for Erestor to raise his voice thusly that the room stilled and the faces of all at the head table reflected shock and surprise.

Cook, her attention on the horses, jumped so at Erestor’s outburst that she staggered backwards and tripped over the flutist’s robe.  She sat down in his lap and dropped the tureen, which splashed all over the cellist and his cello.

Attracted by the wiggling, Fluffy crawled down Celos’ leg and began stalking the maugs.

Haldir, standing outside the hall, heard the commotion and burst into the room, his eyes seeking his lord and lady.  The sight before him was more confusing than he could possibly imagine.  Arwen was laughing so hard that tears were streaming down her face.  Lady Galadriel was serene as always, but Lord Celeborn looked completely confounded. 

The elf’s shocked gaze slid down the table, taking in the looks of all the others.  Lord Glorfindel was smiling at Arwen.  Lord Elrond was looking at his soup in a most peculiar manner.  Elladan was attempting to talk to Elrohir who blinked his eyes in such an exaggerated manner that he rather resembled an owl, and Lord Erestor was red faced with outrage.

“Haldir,” called Mithrandir, “join us!  We have being served a dwarven delicacy!”

Haldir drew up as though something suddenly smelled extremely bad.  “Dwarven….delicacy?” 

From where he sat, Illuin gave a bark of laughter.  “It is almost worth looking at this disgusting soup just to see the look on Haldir’s face.”

“Oh Ada,” laughed Arwen, “I do not ever remember our meals being this entertaining.”

“Entertaining is an interesting way of putting it, daughter,” sighed Elrond, firmly pushing the bowl with its squirming contents aside, “but since Estel came to live with us, I have learned to expect the unexpected.”

O-o-O-o-O

The Mirkwood party started into the mountains as dawn was breaking over the summit, sending golden shafts of light beaming down as though beckoning the elves.  King and warriors alike were anxious to be home.  To the rest of Arda, Mirkwood might be a dark and gloomy place…a place full of evil, but to these warriors it was home; it was their home.  Each and every one of them had fought hard to hold back the evil encroaching upon their lands, and each had lost loved ones to the fight.

Estel rode in front of Legolas, wrapped so warmly in two cloaks that only his face was showing.  The cool air brought a rosy glow to his cheeks, and his silver grey eyes solemnly took in the surroundings.  His head tilted back as he tried to see the top of the peaks.  “Are we going all the way up there?” he asked, looking uneasily at the lofty heights.  “It is very high.  Can we fall?” 

Legolas gave him a reassuring squeeze.  “If we were not careful, we could; but our horses are very sure-footed.  We will not fall, Estel.  We must pass over the mountains before we can come to our home.”

“Where is your home?” asked Estel.

“It is Taur-nu-Fuin,” answered Legolas.  “We will follow the forest path running straight and true through the heart of Mirkwood.  Our forest is dense, the home of many animals.  At last we will come to a river.”

“Like the Bruinen?” asked Estel.

“Yes,” answered Legolas, “only it is swifter, and the water is very dark.  On the other side of it is my father’s palace cavern.  Around the outside some of our people live in telain or houses within the woods, but many reside inside the palace.”

“Will we have to swim across?” worried Estel. 

“No, little one,” smiled the prince, “we will not have to swim across.  We will cross a very strong bridge.”

“That is good,” sighed Estel, “I do not want to be in the water again.”  He gave a shudder.

Legolas realized that Estel would need to be helped past his fear of water after his arm had sufficiently healed.  “Do you like playing in the water with your brothers?” he asked nonchalantly.

Estel considered the question.  “Um hum,” he nodded.  “They play with me and help me keep my head above water.  They are going to teach me to swim when I am bigger, but I am not sure I want to learn now.  The water was scary.”

“Not all waters are as scary as the Bruinen.  Learning to swim in a pond is easier, and it is a skill that every warrior should have.”

“It is?” frowned Estel.  “You are not just saying that because you like to take baths are you?” he queried suspiciously.

Legolas laughed softly, “No, I am not just saying that.”

“Do you fight in the water?” asked the four year old.

“Not purposefully, but it is good to be prepared for any eventuality.”

Estel mulled over that statement while they rode, finally sighing deeply.  “Legolas?”

“Yes, tithen pen?”  the prince answered.

“Are there wargs in your forest?”

“Yes,” Legolas answered truthfully, “in places there are wargs.”

“But the spiders keep them away from the palace,” volunteered Falathar, riding beside them

Estel’s eyes grew wide as he looked at the warrior.

Legolas closed his eyes for a moment and then fixed his friend with a hard stare.  “The spiders will not get near you Estel.  Our warriors will keep them away.”

“They must be big spiders,” mused the boy.

“Oh, they are…oomph,” Falathar’s words were cut off by the kick he received from Legolas.  “They are somewhat,” he amended, “but they will not be anywhere close to you,” he added helpfully.

“Legolas?”

“Yes, Estel.”

“Are there monsters in your forest?”

The prince knew that the child was referring to the orcs that had attacked them while leaving Imladris.  He sighed.  “There are monsters in parts of our forest, Estel, but they do not come near to our palace, and that is where you will be.”

“My ada keeps me safe,” said the boy.

“And your brothers?” prompted the prince.

“Yes,” nodded Estel.  “My brothers are very brave.”

“You have a brother here with you, remember?” asked Legolas.

Estel smiled and snuggled back in the prince’s arms.  “I forgot.  My brother will keep the monsters away.”

“Yes, gwador, I will.” 

 TBC

Translations:

Aesdan: Cook