~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

A birthday gift for Bodkin with her Camentur, Legolas' brother-in-law, and my Rostaro plus a few others of mine...

In the Dark

Camentur and Rostaro both knew better than to be skulking about the wild wood in the dark of night.  Seeing as neither was really all that good at skulking in the first place.  However, their imperfect skills were not going to dissuade either of them to stay out of the forest any more than demerits and punishment.  Nor possible expulsion for disobeying the Headmaster’s clear order against leaving the grounds of the academy, which they were told often enough they were very privileged to attend.  Not when they were so determined to spy on the esoteric festivities taking place in the wilderness preserve that marched over the hills surrounding the seminary.  For the visiting forest-folk reveling this night beneath the interwoven branches of the ancient behemoths under Oromë’s protection were not merely nor mere Moriquendi.

It was not as if these two, as pious young néri supposedly studying to enter into the service of the Valar, had never attended a fête held by Umanyar, thus making them overly curious about those sorts of people.  No, they were just plain ordinary curious about them.  Even though until the present, Camentur had participated in only one such event; given by Sindar from Lindon and a rather conventional and certainly tame affair.  As a matter of fact, before now he never had been very concerned by his lack of interaction with immigrants.  But, present circumstances allowed him to remedy that.  The Umanyar had begun coming to the great forest for special celebrations, and Rostaro’s interest in them had roused his.

Camentur’s father probably had not intended to give him an opportunity to misbehave.  His choice of school for his son was based on the elite education and the character-building rules that went with it.  That, and it was his old school.  Nonetheless, the end of the war with Sauron had brought a wave of survivors from Endor to Eldamar and its environs.  And with them came the return of many of their kin from the Halls of Waiting.  Elvenhome society was changing.  Camentur reasonably figured that his father’s prejudiced opinion about Umanyar had been formed from close proximity.  It was only equitable that he form an opinion of his own in the same way.

Rostaro, on the other hand, was quite familiar with the Sindar.  If one could say Umanyar Teleri were truly Sindar.  Actually, Camentur’s classmate was curious about Nandorin people.  A differentiation Camentur was unaware of before Rostaro became his geometry tutor.  Since then, besides the mathematics of the tetrahedron, he had learned a bit of their nomadic history; an interesting history which spanned the width and breadth of the Hither Lands.

Rostaro attended the academy on a scholarship.  Unlike Camentur, his friend did not need a parent with influence to get him into the right schools.  Nor have any need to engage tutors to ensure he maintained the necessary high scores to stay in.

It was just after the favoured son’s arrival that he met the reborn orphan.  A sullen Camentur had gone into the woods to explore after being warned against it, just to act defiant even if in a mild manner.  He came upon Rostaro sitting in a recently emptied venue, where a betrothal had been held.  The younger youth was hoping to ‘hear’ the trees talking, thinking that they might still be ‘chatty’ after an exuberant encounter with green forest-folk.  Of course, Camentur made fun of him.  Why, the very idea of trees chatting, especially with an Amanyar.  Or that they had anything important to say in the first place.  Absurd, and Rostaro too.  The mortified Rostaro had stomped off without saying a word.

He got Camentur back later; and Camentur admitted giving better than he had got.  As a matter of honor though, the young noble returned volley.  Which got him another provoking bombardment in return.  And just so, with them egging one another on and on, their odd friendship became fixed.  Brother Carnyo, the head librarian, said it best: they were both good young néri, who were a bad influence on each other.  They had discovered that they enjoyed making mutual mischief far too much, despite suffering the consequences, to ever become rivals or enemies.  Therefore, they had to become friends.

Thus it was that the current party of grey forest-dwellers were of great interest to the duo.  These visitors were not Galadhrim.  This minor branch of Lindar had resided less in twilight and more in shadow.  Even their fellow Sindar called them Dark.  They had little use for Caliquendi nor were they well-disposed to be observed by anyone at their rites.  So their Noldor escort had said in a stringent warning to the school faculty, and the Headmaster in a stern lecture to the student body.

Earlier that day though, Camentur and Rostaro were naturally together watching the long caravan’s passage on the narrow road into the hills.  On their walk back to the classrooms, Camentur commenced a report of every rumour he had ever heard about the former inhabitants of Nan Elmoth in Beleriand, including the rumour of blood sacrifices.  He proposed this as the reason why they did not hold their celebration on Tol Eressëa in the groves there.  Because the Prince would have had to arrest some of his close kin and, politics being what they were, wanted to avoid the embarrassment.

Rostaro declared him an idiot and pointed out that if any sacrifices had happened and the Prince hesitated in his responsibility, Olwë or Ingwë as High King would have by now had the perpetrators imprisoned or deported.  But then, he pondered aloud, to where could they be banished?  And could such a willful crime be deterred in the first place?  The Numenoreans certainly had had little luck stopping the practice.  Although, it was facetious to compare latter-day Edain to Eldar...

Camentur cut off his pondering, complaining that he was quibbling.  There was, and always had been, a lack of moral fortitude to act rightly, whether or not it was pragmatic, on the part of the Teleri rulers and apparently on Rostaro’s part too.  To which, Rostaro heatedly claimed that he had taken the discussion to be purely hypothetical since the rumours were unfounded gossip and nothing more.  Where were the witnesses one way or the other?  Whereupon, Camentur suggested they were more than likely dead.  He suggested that they two, themselves being seekers of truth, should ferret out the facts, through a first hand investigation.

Rostaro’s less than swift response earned him an admonishment to show some guts.  But, his delay in taking up the dare was solely from taking the time to weigh the chances of their getting caught.  In the end, although the odds were not in their favour and there was a real risk of being permanently sent down, which he earnestly warned Camentur was the case, he agreed.  For the sake of knowledge and justice, they should do it.  They even clasped hands and shook on it, as honorable loremasters would upon forming an expedition.

When the edict to stay away was pronounced, Rostaro turned to Camentur and solemnly said that their expedition had just become a mission.  The truth should never be suppressed.

So now, here they were – a foolish pair to be sure but not really bothered by it – wrapped in their drab winter cloaks and hoods for better concealment, hoping to sneak up on, of all people, wood-elves.  They paused together at the head of the deer-track they would take to the suspected celebration site and shared a clandestine grin between them.

“Ready?” asked Camentur, as the instigator of this particular adventure.

“Ready!” replied Rostaro, as the accomplice in this particular adventure.

Fearlessly, or recklessly if that was how others were pleased to see it, they took off in a race into the dark interior of the forest, where few stars could be seen.

It was not long before a beryl of light could be seen between the thick trees; flickering as if live flames were at its core.  It became their beacon and grew in size and intensity as they drew nearer to the source.  Eurhythmic drumming became evident; slowly drowning out the nocturnal sounds of the forest.  Featureless hollows of black shadows, created by the bright emanation, aided in concealing their movements.  Familiarity with the terrain was their one true advantage, and they used it cleverly enough as they made their slow approach.  Nonetheless, it was more by luck than anything else that they were able to creep in closer than a person would expect inept young adventurers were capable.

Upon reaching the moss-covered trunk of a fallen tree, the uninvited guests halted.  The tree lay at a safe distance with an unobstructed view of the gathering; its large circumference would prevent them from being seen as they stood behind it, leaning comfortable against the cushioned bark.  With hoods pulled far forward and being careful to keep their heads very low, they peered cautiously over their curved blind to stare in wide-eyed wonder.

The perimeter of the roughly oval clearing was alight with large lichen lamps raised on stakes, along with torches.  Multiple strings of small lights were entwined in the heavy garlands swaged from tree to tree all way round.  These decorations had the effect of forming a great hall, wall-less and open-aired.  Concentric bans of dancers, joined by clasped hands, moved in and out from a central bonfire, undulating in synchronized steps.  The blaze was being stoked into a broiling-hot brightness that should have cooked the dancers, although they appeared unaffected save for the slight sheen of perspiration.  Those standing outside the ringed fire, at the two ends of the hall, swayed on their feet; some looking as if entranced.

All wore forest colors with flourishes of brighter hues, whether feathers or ribbons or flowers.  There were very few jewels.  And everything – the flames, the garlands, the lights, the dancers, the observers, the entranced, the leafy roof above, the trunk that Camentur and Rostaro hid behind, their chests and lungs – reverberated with the low thunder of a multitude of drums, from monstrous to hand-held.

A complement of other instruments began to slowly meld in.  Their whistling and thrumming, atonic horns, coalesced in a counterpoint to the relentless rhythm.  A seemingly but by no means dissonant theme emerged.  Wordless singing began, emanating from within and without the turning wheels of bodies; hundreds of voices swelling in volume, each finding it own line of harmony.

Camentur recognized what Rostaro had before described to him.  The light and music were a net, cast out to aptly draw in as many participants as possible.  For the more included, the greater would be the reward: a communal fervor that went beyond the sensual to become a shared state of grace; one achieved by effort, not bestowed by any Ainur.  This primitive mystery, more than anything else, was what piqued Camentur’s curiosity about the forest-folk of Endorë.  Still, he harboured enough uncertainty about the nature of ancient eldarin powers that he would never have come here alone.

Turning away from the dance and scanning around perimeter of the clearing, the first observation of note he made was that there was every indication of this being, paradoxically with such a great blaze at its center, a cold feast.  There were no other fires for cooking.  Nothing was tethered nearby for slaughter later, neither goat nor quendë.  He looked over at Rostaro, who happened to be looking at him.  His friend was obviously pleased at not having to say a word about what he would have otherwise pointed out himself.  Camentur good-naturedly shrugged.  In truth, neither had really expected any evil doings.

Rostaro was prompted to speak aloud, but Camentur could not hear over the increasing volume of the music; he indicated so with a hand cupped by his ear.  They brought their heads together in order to communicate.

“Camba, the music!  The instruments!  None are made of metal!  Or even glass!  They are only from flora and fauna and stone!”

Camentur enthusiastically nodded.  Another indication that the pending ceremony was indeed from the most distant past!  However, what he next noted truly excited him.  Rostaro did not hear his first exclamation, leaning over to catch what he was saying only after a sharp nudge in the ribs.

“Look!  Look over there!”

“Where?  What is it?”

“Just over there!  Standing by herself!  Vána’s Sweet Smile!  She is... she is utterly… gorgeous!”

“Hunh?  You mean a maiden?  Think you of nothing else?”  Rostaro was quite put out.  “We are here to observe, not to drool over the ellith.”  But, he still strained to see the nís who could so impressed Camentur, whom he acknowledged as a greater authority then he on the opposite gender.  “Just which one do you mean?  They are all lovely.  And some rather scantily clad at that... ”  A fact he did appreciate being brought to his notice.

“Her!  That one right over there!  Augh! She is the flame and ‘tis I who burns!”

“I still do not see this – ”  And then, he did see her.  Camentur had cause to effuse poetically.

Surely, she was noble-born.  And no young maiden, but a mature lady... no, a queen-in-waiting… like unto a Maia... clothed in a fana of night sky and moonlit waters... winging clouds and ancient stars.  Her long ebony tresses were a flowing veil that shimmered with silver and ruby threads.  Her face was the perfection of feminine features.  Her eyes scintillating jewels; her lips luscious and full.  Her flawless skin shone in the firelight like polished amber.  Her simple garment hid not her supple limbs and barely covered her shapely curves.  She wore no adornments; she did not need them.  The sway and swing of her hips as she moved to the music was mesmerizing.

Slim, pale hands slowly rose to lift her loose hair from beneath, seeking to cool her swan neck.  Her chest swelled and fell as she sighed and let the silky mane cascade from her splayed fingertips.

Beside him, Camentur groaned in admiration.  It alerted Rostaro to a mounting desire within himself.  Spying was a dangerous business, and they were loosing focus.  Something he was not normally prone to do.  Alarmed, he shut his eyes and pushed the wanton feelings away.  When he opened his eyes to gaze again at the lady, a shield of rational thought protected him from her beguiling charms.  She was still gorgeous... but now he could see her unobscured... and for all her radiance from being re-embodied... she was... dark.  Her sultry movements were deliberate.

Concerned for his more susceptible friend, he looked at Camentur.  Indeed, his friend was succumbing.  Rostaro snaked a hand out of under his cloak and in under Camentur’s cloak to pinch him – hard.

“Ow!!  What was that for?!”  He angrily rubbed the painful spot.

“She is a sorceress.  You were falling under her spell.”

“And you are an idiot!  There is no such thing!”  That was perhaps true amongst Amanyar.  But, Camentur had to concede that it could be true amongst Umanyar, and his friend knew more than he in that regard.

They simultaneously turned back to look at her again, both intrigued by the idea she was more than supremely lovely.  At a signal indiscernible by them, the music concluded and the dancers halted.  All bowed their heads.  A sole tenor voice began a plaintive, soaring song; the lyrics of which were not understood by either youth.

The dark lady had become motionless along with everyone else.  However, as the singular song crested, her head tilted back.  Of a sudden, her arms winged upward; so swiftly her hair went flying around her.  She seemed to transform; becoming like unto a black-winged raptor; dangerous, taloned, and hungry.  Both youths gasped in shock.  Her flashing eyes snapped in their direction.  Startled, they instantly ducked behind the tree trunk, folding up right down to their feet.

“Did you see that?!  Was that real?” gasped Rostaro.  “Maybe that is why everyone is so wary of Eöl’s people!  Are they hunters of their own kind?!” he pondered with delicious fright.

“Do you think she saw us?” urgently whispered Camentur.  His fright was flavorless ash.  He answered not Rostoaro but himself and as he wished to be answered.  “No... no... I do not think so.”

With a rhythmic fanfare of drums, the music and massive chorus struck up again in an emphatic short reprise.

Rostaro rose, eager to peek over the trunk once more.

“Do not!” warned Camentur.  “Orosta!”  He bounced up and put his hands on his friend’s shoulders, trying to drag him back down.  The music ended; only the drums continued, in a steady low, rhythmic beat.

“Aññolë!” hissed Rostaro.  “She has gone from sight!”

Camentur looked; she had indeed disappeared.

“Because you do gaze in the wrong direction, my little dumplings,” said a voice behind them.

With a sharp inhale of surprise, both youths jerked around to collapse into a protective squat with their backs to their now useless cover.

She stood with palms on hips and feet apart, which only emphasized her voluptuous figure.  The flat line of her alluring lips slowly curled at the corners.  She eyed them as if they were prey.  Rostaro froze as would a stalked fawn.  Camentur nervously stroked his hands over his bent knees, readying to flee.

“Stand,” she dispassionately ordered in Sindarin.  “Remove your cloaks.”  Her smile somehow changed from avian to feline.  “I want to see what you look like under all that shapeless cloth.”

Each rose to his feet.  They helplessly obeyed.  Bewildered by his total lack of will, Camentur looked to Rostaro, only to see that his friend was no more capable than he of refusing.  They unfastened their cloaks and let them drop to the ground; off came the hoods.

“My, what a hansom and strapping pair you are... “ she purred.  Her eyes were jet set in opal.  She walked forward; stepping up to them with her hips tauntingly rocking in rhythm to the beat of the drums.  Her thin garment clung to her glistening body; her female scent wafted around her.

Camentur struggled to keep his composure.  Beside him, Rostaro was an unblinking statue.  For the first time, he regretted getting his younger friend involved in one of his foolish pranks.

After looking them both over as if they were painted pottery for sale in a market stall, the lady picked Camentur.

“Tell me your name.”

He stammered, unable to get past the first syllable.  She laughed at him and tugged on one end of his untied shirtlace.  It came into his thoughts that she might next tell him to strip down.  His face turned crimson.  But perhaps blood flowing unchecked to his face was a fortunate thing.  Else, he might have embarrassed himself even worse.  Again, she laughed, then barely flicked the end of his nose with the tip of a manicured fingernail.

“Quetë, nercë.”

This cruel insult to his budding adulthood effectively squelched Camentur’s uncertain lust, as well as his self-esteem.  Nonetheless, he was relieved that she would pass on him.

“Now for you, mallos... “ she said; her purr deepening to more of a growl.  However, her new victim did not quiver at the sound of her voice as had the last.

Rostaro did not move, because he was thinking.  She had spoken to Camentur in Quenya.  She understood Quenya.  He should not speak the fitting epithet that sat on the tip of his tongue.  Silence would be wiser.  Camentur could not resist her words.  Could he?  Exercising the few lessons he had been given, he made to fortify the weak shield-wall of objectivity surrounding his mind.  He envisioned his inner landscape of feelings blanketed in snow and ice.  An amateur defense to be sure, but now he felt he might defy her will.

“Tell me your name.”

He could have refused.  He did not want her to use his name.  But, she would just ask Camentur.  He wanted her to leave his friend alone.

“Tell me your name,” she impatiently repeated in Quenya.

“Rostaro... “

“How sweet... Rostaro...” she cooed.

That was it.  He swore he would give her absolutely nothing more – no reply, no response, no reaction.  If this sorceress meant to break him, he was not going to let it be that easy for her. 

“Naught to say?  Cat got your tongue?” she chuckled.  Clearly, she had discerned his intention.  But, she made no attempt to sweep away his flimsy defenses.  Instead, she lifted his chin with the knuckle of a bent index finger.  “Interesting… “

He did not fight back, but neither did he quail at her touch.

“You are not afraid of me… “  Of a sudden, her eyes softened and the malevolent smile faded.  Her perplexed gentleness scared him more than her cruel humour.  “You should know better.”

Camentur gulped as he watched the lady bend her mind against Rostaro; knowing that he would not have been able to bear those lancing eyes cutting into his private thoughts.  He wanted to aid his friend; to pull this creature away from him.  But, he was unable to break whatever it was that bound his voice to silence and his arms to his sides.  She held Rostaro’s raised chin perfectly still as her face, her mouth, came closer and closer to his.  Camentur despaired for his friend’s innocence.  At the same time, he was shamefully grateful that it was not him the dark lady wanted.

Suddenly, they were saved.

“What do you think you are doing?!” cried a sanctimonious voice.  A tall nér strode out from of the long shadows.  “Is this how you begin anew?  By seducing children?!”

The lady broke off her penetrating stare at Rostaro and slid a glance over her shoulder.  She drew in a slow breath between clenched teeth; her entire body filling with imperious ire.

From her expression, Rostaro anticipated a striking blow would be dealt to the brother servant.  For that was what this rescuer was.  After being taught by many of that kind, he could easily recognize a servant of the Powers when he saw one.  But, this toron was not from the seminary; he had to be part of the escort.  At the moment attack seemed eminent, the lady calmed herself; changing from a lunging panther to a domesticated mouser. 

Camentur rejoiced when his friend was let go to limply fall back against the tree trunk.  The lady turned to the irate nér, exhibiting a disdain more typical of a pampered housecat than an elda.

“No need to be jealous, Menelmo,” she said with hauteur.  “He is intriguing, but nothing to take home for dinner.”

Her food metaphor sent a chill down Camentur’s spine.  He looked to Rostaro, worried for him after his ordeal.  Although his friend labored to catch his breath like a swimmer that had stayed submerged unto the end of his endurance, Rostaro seemed alright.  He did not look back at Camentur though; his attention was fixed on the lady and the nêr.

“But still, you interrupted,” she complained.  “How impolite.”  Her eyes glittered and his glowed.

“I owe no apology for acting righteously,” he declared.  The contesting sparks that flew between them were almost visible.

She abruptly turned back to Rostaro, her hand reaching out to cup the side of his face.  He turned to stone.  It appeared she would place a kiss upon the opposite cheek, but her lips slid past, and she whispered something directly into his ear.  Rostaro’s lips parted.  She pulled back, trailing caressing fingertips along the underside of his jaw; again tilting up his chin as if to position it for a better kiss than what had been eschewed for the sake of words.  She held his eyes; smug satisfaction and a conniving smile playing across her face.  Then, she drew her hand away, with an almost theatrical flair, and stepped back.

Whatever had bound him, Camentur felt come loose and drop away.  He leapt to shield his motionless friend with his own body, but the lady’s attention no longer rested on either of them.

With a cat-like saunter, she walked over to the nér.  For a long moment, they stared unflinchingly at each other.

“Get you back with the others!” he harshly ordered.

Camentur was in awe of the fellow’s steely courage.  Rostaro saw new reason to respect all Their servants.

“Gladly,” she softly breathed, contemptuous of his command.  Stepping around the rooted toron, she began to slink away, without a backward glance.  But like her scent, her voice floated in the air.  “Their adventure has ended without any harm done.  They have learned their lesson.  Send them home, and let us all forget about this meaningless encounter.”  She melted into the long shadow of some trees, fading completely from sight, into the darkness.  And did not reappear in the lighted gap between that stand of trees and the next.

Camentur’s breath caught.  Rostaro had made mentioned of this trick of becoming unseen, but to witness it with his own eyes!  Beside him, his friend stared, still expressionless.

“You two!”  They jumped at the toron’s authority abruptly being turned on them, as shocked as rabbits cornered by a fox.  “You will confess your indiscretion to your Headmaster!  Go!”

They bolted.  Camentur, in the lead forging a path; Rostaro snatching up both cloaks before racing after.  They crashed their way to the ridge of the next hill and did not stop their stumbling run down into the valley until they reached the campus fence.  Only then did they pause to catch their breath; before sneaking back inside their dormitory the same way they had snuck out.  Camentur kept under his covers until the morning sun drove away the night, choosing to miss the morning meal in favour of rising in sunlight.

After the greeting of the dawn, the two friends briefly discussed what to do.  They argued, finally agreeing not to turn themselves in.  Rostaro was sure the toron who had saved them would not inform the Headmaster.  He thought the dark lady’s last words just needed some time to work.

All morning, Camentur kept expecting for them to be brought into the Office, but it did not happen.  Oddly enough, the frightening event was dissipating into a creepy memory.  By afternoon, it was as if he had dreamed it.  But, he had a feeling that he would never forget entirely.  At the end of day, after last classes, when everyone was washing up for the evening meal, he and Rostaro went into the mud-room to talk outside the echoing lavatory.  Camentur wanted to know what the lady had whispered in his friend’s ear.

“Sorry, Camba.”  Rostaro shrugged.  “I shall not say.”

“Why ever not, if we are going to forget anyway?”  Camentur playfully punched his arm.  “Tell.”

“No, I do not approve of sorcery and will not perpetuate a spell by repeating it.”

“Oh, just listen to you!”  He donned a broad smile.  “It was a love spell, then?”

“No!  Nothing like that.”  Rostaro punched him back, only a little harder.

“Do not act naïve with me, Orosta.  You are not going to enter into orders, anymore than I am.”  His smile turned to a lascivious grin.  “She really liked you, as if you did not know.”

“Do not even imply that!  She was laughing at us!”

“If not a love spell, then just tell!”

“I thought she meant the toron.”  He eyed his friend sharply.  “But, maybe she meant you... “

“O Tulkas, I am scared.  Come on and tell already!  Look here!”  He held up his hand, palm in the air.  “Even if I remember after tomorrow, I promise never to repeat it to anyone else.  But I also swear that I will never stop asking until you spill.”  He absolutely would pick at Rostaro until he learned what was said, and Rostaro knew it.

“Alright, alright,” was his friend’s sudden decision.  “Might as well get it over with.  Maybe saying the words will free me from thinking about them until I do forget.  Listen close for I shall say them but once.”  He took a fresh breath.  “She said: ‘You could easily have been mine.  When he asks, tell him just that.’  And that was all she said.”

Camentur blinked.  That was it?  What a disappointment.   Just another taunt, this one for the brave toron.  But, the brother servant had sent them off without any questions.

Rostaro shrugged again.  His brow beetled with misgiving.  He did not understand what the lady had been about, and he was disturbed by the possibility, then and now, that there was something else hidden in her words.

“You are so lucky that the brother came and pulled her off you.”

Rostaro frowned.  Camentur was nodding and knowingly grinning in that annoying fashion of his.

“Oh, yeah.  She wanted you!”

“Did not!”

“Did so!  No doubt about it!”

“Shut up!”

“Make me!” 

Camentur was dealt an open-handed slap to the head.  And promptly bestowed a similar blow upon Rostaro.  The silly exchange continued and laughing migrated back into the noisy lavatory, where in no time at all it escalated into a mock brawl, drawing in several other students and encouraging many others to cheer and shout for a winner.  It was the two original opponents who were first to fall into the undrained tub of collected waste water, then were joined by others until the tub was full of students.  The entire filthy contents was spilled onto the floor and flowed out into the hall.  That was when the First Instructor came rushing in to see what the clamour was about – and slipped.

So, they made a visit to the Headmaster’s office that day, after all.

- = -

 ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

“Quetë, nercë.” – Hush, little man. (Be silent, small male.) Quenya

Aññolë – Sh*t – a very strong smell Quenya

mallos – golden bell, the name of a flower Sindarin

toron – frater/brother Quenya

quendë/quendi – elf/elves Quenya

elda/eldar – elf/elves Quenya

ellyn/ellith – male/female elves Sindarin

nér/nís – male/female elf Quenya

néri/níssi – male/female elves Quenya