Lindir's Adventurers 32
“Gildor,” Fellerien nudged the elf’s lanky form outstretched with his hands under his head.
“Mm?” Gildor was feeling very mellow. He had caught up with his friends here; he had had a long chat with Haldir about matters pertaining to their borders; he had even reported to Amroth officially with a precis of reports from his own intelligencers and Elrond’s. He had portioned out his people’s time, some to take leave, some to do Haldir’s bidding either at the border or faring further out.
Duty done, he had cadged a bottle from Haldir’s store of his brother’s ferocious gin. Redolent of the flowers it was made of, the aroma caught the throat. Gildor had relaxed with a judicious glass or two. By nature a sociable person, time on his own was a rarity, something to appreciate and enjoy. The trees were very good company for an elf all on his own for once and the forest floor wholly familiar to him. He was comfortable, he was at leisure, and he was in no mood to be interrupted.
Fellerien toed him again. He opened his eyes to find two elves awaiting his attention, a curious thing for it was unlike Fellerien to importune a fellow, or his companion, Gerrin.
“We were right. That little elf of Elrond’s we brought here? I swear he is full of some woe I know not of. He is wailing away in the King’s Clearing. Fetching quite an audience. I’d find out but I think it will come better from you. You had words with him on the way?”
“Ah?” Narrow-eyed, Gildor sat up, stretched and unfolded to his feet without delay. “King’s Clearing you say? I’ll go and see. Here, have some wine. Lindir won’t be wanting it - he ran into Orophin and drank enough to last him a month.”
He handed the bottle off to Fellerien, absently gave Gerrin his glass, then half-strode, half-loped away.
“He didn’t waste any time, did he?” Gerrin stared down the path. “I’m not sure I’ve seen Gildor hurry before if it wasn’t a fight...”
Fellerien was sniffing the bottle. He coughed and carefully recorked it. Lindir had been drinking that? “We met his brother, Lindir’s brother. He seemed a bit - a bit off, if you take my meaning. Not sure what’s going on there. We weren’t impressed. Plus which Lindir doesn’t really know many people here apart from us. He doesn’t usually carry on like that when he sings. Cheerful little tyke normally.”
He wrinkled his nose and gave Gerrin the bottle. “Mind you, anything could have happened if he’s been drinking with Orophin.”
***
Erestor’s eclectic escort made a striking party as they crossed Iornan’s path. Even preoccupied as he was, Iornan could not fail to notice them. Once more free to visit his brothers, pondering Tallath’s latest obsession, he heard them clearly as he crossed their wake. He gazed after them until his own trail took him out of sight.
Iornan rather liked Erestor, though during his year up north they had not known each other well. He seemed a bit like river water - often sparkling, usually in motion, more rarely quiet, at times tranquilly reflective. Impossible to tell whether the attractive surface hid shallows or less fathomable deeps. All Lindir’s talk was of the Imladris elves, of Erestor, and of Gildor and his wandering tribe.
For Lindir to enthuse about Erestor was no surprise.
That Tallath imagined Lindir and Arnedir could be suited seemed in contrast bizarre.
Yet Tallath was capable of it. He had always constructed his world-view and his hopes according to his wants rather than what was. He did not seem to perceive other people clearly beyond his own expectations of them.
Iornan had met one or two such oblivious people in his life, but none so lacking in occupation and pleasures. None suffering from such a gap between what they wanted and what they gave.
Iornan sighed. If Tallath had been able to change he could have learned differently long ago from their mother (whose joyous warmth Lindir inherited) and their father (a down-to-earth farmer, ever-present to the world around him).
Certainly, Tallath had never yet listened to him. His reason? Iornan was younger so Tallath ‘knew best’. And that meant Lindir should settle with his brothers nearby, just as their parents had been close to their parents and their children.
Iornan was beginning to see how in Tallath’s mind, Arnedir solved three moves with one throw of the dice. He was local; he liked Lindir and so might favour Tallath a little better in his business; he held traditional views about relationships.
This bee Tallath had buzzing in his head about proper relationships Iornan could only guess came from Tallath modelling his beliefs on what he knew: their parents were decorous, faithful and dignified.
Erestor - was none of those. Iornan supposed that Arnedir’s cold aloofness could be mistaken for dignity, his lack of visible partners for upstanding morals.
However, their parents had also been deeply in love, or so Iornan had intuited from gentle looks and warm hugs. Tallath seemed to miss that nuance in his match-making for Lindir.
Iornan had more sympathy with Tallath’s aspiration to be taken into closer partnership with the horse-coper but the news Arnedir was proposing it seemed out of character. Iornan had not thought Arnedir so enamoured of Tallath’s work as to treat him as an equal.
His brother’s desires never quite kindled to the steady ambition that inspired hard work. Directed on the farm by their father, with the seasons to guide their endeavours, he had more or less done his bit with the rest of them if without verve. He had always wanted more, never quite content, but never had the drive to seek alternatives.
Of course, these days his yen for material security was understandable. With the loss of home and city and lands, they all lost their livelihood. They had travelled uncertainly on little means of sustenance, and lived on charity for a time thereafter.
The very shirt Tallath wore, befringed with intricate thread-work (green leaves and gold flowers worked on brown cloth) had been a gift on their arrival by one of the elves who had welcomed them to Lothlórien. When the fine garment wore out another would not be so easy to come by.
But - Lindir and Arnedir? Iornan never found it productive to tangle with Tallath but he had resigned himself to interfering if he must. Remembering the wood elves’ shuttered faces, the diplomatic paucity of comment from the Sindar he did his own rounds with, Iornan knew he should.
He could hear Orophin’s good-natured harangue fade into the trees and shook his head, wryly. He would find Tallath and he would put his foot down. Lindir should enjoy the rest of his visit in peace, and leave again with his blessing - with both their blessings.
Whether Erestor was the right elf for Lindir Iornan was not so sure. He rather felt that was a matter which lay altogether outside his purview. He knew himself to be one of life’s plodders. More blessed than Tallath, he had not found it hard to find happiness in whatever work he turned his hand to - back in the old days on the farm, and now among Haldir’s watches where he worked on approval.
Both Lindir and Erestor he suspected of considerably greater intelligence than most elves, not just himself. Lindir’s exuberance was as far beyond his own placid competence, his brilliance so different to Iornan’s steady perseverance, that there was no guessing what kind of person Lindir was suited to.
He sighed, heart-heavy, not far now from the tallan. He did so hate confrontations. Tallath was never amenable to persuasion.
“Mm?” Gildor was feeling very mellow. He had caught up with his friends here; he had had a long chat with Haldir about matters pertaining to their borders; he had even reported to Amroth officially with a precis of reports from his own intelligencers and Elrond’s. He had portioned out his people’s time, some to take leave, some to do Haldir’s bidding either at the border or faring further out.
Duty done, he had cadged a bottle from Haldir’s store of his brother’s ferocious gin. Redolent of the flowers it was made of, the aroma caught the throat. Gildor had relaxed with a judicious glass or two. By nature a sociable person, time on his own was a rarity, something to appreciate and enjoy. The trees were very good company for an elf all on his own for once and the forest floor wholly familiar to him. He was comfortable, he was at leisure, and he was in no mood to be interrupted.
Fellerien toed him again. He opened his eyes to find two elves awaiting his attention, a curious thing for it was unlike Fellerien to importune a fellow, or his companion, Gerrin.
“We were right. That little elf of Elrond’s we brought here? I swear he is full of some woe I know not of. He is wailing away in the King’s Clearing. Fetching quite an audience. I’d find out but I think it will come better from you. You had words with him on the way?”
“Ah?” Narrow-eyed, Gildor sat up, stretched and unfolded to his feet without delay. “King’s Clearing you say? I’ll go and see. Here, have some wine. Lindir won’t be wanting it - he ran into Orophin and drank enough to last him a month.”
He handed the bottle off to Fellerien, absently gave Gerrin his glass, then half-strode, half-loped away.
“He didn’t waste any time, did he?” Gerrin stared down the path. “I’m not sure I’ve seen Gildor hurry before if it wasn’t a fight...”
Fellerien was sniffing the bottle. He coughed and carefully recorked it. Lindir had been drinking that? “We met his brother, Lindir’s brother. He seemed a bit - a bit off, if you take my meaning. Not sure what’s going on there. We weren’t impressed. Plus which Lindir doesn’t really know many people here apart from us. He doesn’t usually carry on like that when he sings. Cheerful little tyke normally.”
He wrinkled his nose and gave Gerrin the bottle. “Mind you, anything could have happened if he’s been drinking with Orophin.”
***
Erestor’s eclectic escort made a striking party as they crossed Iornan’s path. Even preoccupied as he was, Iornan could not fail to notice them. Once more free to visit his brothers, pondering Tallath’s latest obsession, he heard them clearly as he crossed their wake. He gazed after them until his own trail took him out of sight.
Iornan rather liked Erestor, though during his year up north they had not known each other well. He seemed a bit like river water - often sparkling, usually in motion, more rarely quiet, at times tranquilly reflective. Impossible to tell whether the attractive surface hid shallows or less fathomable deeps. All Lindir’s talk was of the Imladris elves, of Erestor, and of Gildor and his wandering tribe.
For Lindir to enthuse about Erestor was no surprise.
That Tallath imagined Lindir and Arnedir could be suited seemed in contrast bizarre.
Yet Tallath was capable of it. He had always constructed his world-view and his hopes according to his wants rather than what was. He did not seem to perceive other people clearly beyond his own expectations of them.
Iornan had met one or two such oblivious people in his life, but none so lacking in occupation and pleasures. None suffering from such a gap between what they wanted and what they gave.
Iornan sighed. If Tallath had been able to change he could have learned differently long ago from their mother (whose joyous warmth Lindir inherited) and their father (a down-to-earth farmer, ever-present to the world around him).
Certainly, Tallath had never yet listened to him. His reason? Iornan was younger so Tallath ‘knew best’. And that meant Lindir should settle with his brothers nearby, just as their parents had been close to their parents and their children.
Iornan was beginning to see how in Tallath’s mind, Arnedir solved three moves with one throw of the dice. He was local; he liked Lindir and so might favour Tallath a little better in his business; he held traditional views about relationships.
This bee Tallath had buzzing in his head about proper relationships Iornan could only guess came from Tallath modelling his beliefs on what he knew: their parents were decorous, faithful and dignified.
Erestor - was none of those. Iornan supposed that Arnedir’s cold aloofness could be mistaken for dignity, his lack of visible partners for upstanding morals.
However, their parents had also been deeply in love, or so Iornan had intuited from gentle looks and warm hugs. Tallath seemed to miss that nuance in his match-making for Lindir.
Iornan had more sympathy with Tallath’s aspiration to be taken into closer partnership with the horse-coper but the news Arnedir was proposing it seemed out of character. Iornan had not thought Arnedir so enamoured of Tallath’s work as to treat him as an equal.
His brother’s desires never quite kindled to the steady ambition that inspired hard work. Directed on the farm by their father, with the seasons to guide their endeavours, he had more or less done his bit with the rest of them if without verve. He had always wanted more, never quite content, but never had the drive to seek alternatives.
Of course, these days his yen for material security was understandable. With the loss of home and city and lands, they all lost their livelihood. They had travelled uncertainly on little means of sustenance, and lived on charity for a time thereafter.
The very shirt Tallath wore, befringed with intricate thread-work (green leaves and gold flowers worked on brown cloth) had been a gift on their arrival by one of the elves who had welcomed them to Lothlórien. When the fine garment wore out another would not be so easy to come by.
But - Lindir and Arnedir? Iornan never found it productive to tangle with Tallath but he had resigned himself to interfering if he must. Remembering the wood elves’ shuttered faces, the diplomatic paucity of comment from the Sindar he did his own rounds with, Iornan knew he should.
He could hear Orophin’s good-natured harangue fade into the trees and shook his head, wryly. He would find Tallath and he would put his foot down. Lindir should enjoy the rest of his visit in peace, and leave again with his blessing - with both their blessings.
Whether Erestor was the right elf for Lindir Iornan was not so sure. He rather felt that was a matter which lay altogether outside his purview. He knew himself to be one of life’s plodders. More blessed than Tallath, he had not found it hard to find happiness in whatever work he turned his hand to - back in the old days on the farm, and now among Haldir’s watches where he worked on approval.
Both Lindir and Erestor he suspected of considerably greater intelligence than most elves, not just himself. Lindir’s exuberance was as far beyond his own placid competence, his brilliance so different to Iornan’s steady perseverance, that there was no guessing what kind of person Lindir was suited to.
He sighed, heart-heavy, not far now from the tallan. He did so hate confrontations. Tallath was never amenable to persuasion.