The Valinor Trail. Chapter Twenty Four; Hunters
The Valinor Trail, Chapter Twenty Four; Hunters
Words; 1,995
Chapter Rated PG.
Disclaimer as Chapter One.
Previous chapters are here.
Chapter Twenty Four; Hunters
Tonight was the shortest night of the year. Midsummer. In Alqualondë the Ithilrim were preparing to celebrate. Food was being prepared and, above the tide-line, driftwood that had been collected for weeks had been skilfully built into a bonfire.
Ithilienne was sitting in the sunshine, sewing. She was not the most skilled of needle-workers, but the task in hand did not require anything more than simple stitches, and it had a pleasing significance. She was putting the finishing touches to her brother’s festive tunic.
The tunics that the ellyn kept for ‘the hunt’ of the solstice celebrations were made of pieces of different fabrics; velvets, satins, and lace, usually of more than one colour, often enhanced with jewels or metallic adornments. Sometimes they might have a whole new tunic made but, more often, the garments would change almost organically as new panels replaced worn ones. And Haldirin had a new panel of fabric to add.
Ithilienne had not, personally, seen this material before - but she had had a fair idea of where it had come from when he had asked her to do this for him. A few minutes ago Lithôniel had confirmed her suspicions when she came to join her. The silk was the colour of a heavy winter sky and, rather unseasonably, embroidered with snowflakes of silver over the shadow shapes of leafless branches. It must surely have been in the package Haldirin had received, when the ship had arrived, as Lithôniel had taken one look and said “Rhîwen.”
The fabric did, clearly, show winter - but Ithilienne knew this was not exactly what her aunt meant. Lithôniel recognised the fabric as a panel from the dress the Princess of Eryn Lasgalen had worn at the last Winter Solstice before the Ithilrim sailed. This was a ‘trophy’ piece; a gift that acknowledged pleasures shared. Ithilienne was sure, now, that another of Haldirin’s ribbons would be joining the collection in his kist. This piece of fabric was almost certainly a promise, rather than a farewell gesture, as he had been smiling when he asked her to sew it in for him.
The thought of trophy pieces brought a smile to Ithilienne. Yesterday she had sat in Lady Celebrían’s garden sewing as well; new pearl buttons to fasten the back of her own celebration dress, because three of the original ones had gone to Legolas to be added to the decoration of his festival tunic.
Legolas was happier, too. Whatever Gimli may have said to him seemed to have worked. He had thrown himself into the preparations for the solstice and was clearly intending to do all he could to live up to his reputation of being as skilled in this form of ‘hunt’ as he was with his bow.
As she thought of the night of enjoyment to come Ithilienne wondered, not for the first time, just how old these traditional celebrations might be and how they began.
…………………..
Tonight was the shortest night of the year. Midsummer. Under the shade of a tall aspen Tindómë and Lady Ferveren were discussing the hunt. It was a very different conversation to the ones, on the same subject, with Rumil and Orophin’s mother that first winter here in Aman.
“Is my younger son as successful as his brother was?” her ladyship asked.
“Well,” Tindómë answered, “I don’t know how successful Ardoron was at getting rid of his ribbons - but Legolas is certainly very good at it. Galanthir has to buy Legolas new ribbons more often than the other way around. And Galanthir is certainly very good, too…”
“I am pleased to know that Legolas took the tradition to Gondor with him, and now you have all brought it to the shores of the Sundering Sea. I think I would like to be there for a fire beside the sea, and dancing on the sand, at least once before we move into our own lands.” She paused and looked a little pensive. “I have never seen the sea…”
Elo! Of course she wouldn’t have seen the sea! Somehow this hadn’t occurred to Tindómë before, although it was obvious now she thought of it.
“Oh - you so should spend some time by the sea. Actually, I’m pretty sure it’ll take a while to get everything organised to move inland. Certainly I can see us having the Midwinter fire beside the sea.”
“So,” said Lady Ferveren, “if there are fewer trees, where do you get the wood?”
As Tindómë explained drift-wood and drying it above the tide-line, before going on to talk about the first time she saw Galanthir, in the middle of Minas Tirith, dressed for midsummer as a true Silvan elf, the sun crept past its zenith and into the afternoon.
…………………..
Tonight was the shortest night of the year. Midsummer. In Lord Námo’s domain, Haldir was checking his bow and the fletching on his arrows. He was preparing for The Hunt.
…………………..
Somewhere a good deal deeper inside Lord Námo’s domain it might have been midsummer, perhaps, but there was little sense of time and so no-one knew or cared.
“Relax,” a voice was saying. “It is so much easier for you to contemplate both the good and the bad aspects of your life if you are relaxed. Your physical hröa may have been left behind, indeed, but your fëa remembers it and all your senses remain.”
“Yeah, yeah - I know,” Spike said. “As far as my brain knows I got my arms, I got my hands, I got my fingers, got my legs, I got my feet, I got my toes…. I got my liver. Pretty sure I’ve not got my blood… Bloody good song, that. Nina Simone.
“Hey,” he continued, “Elves should love it. ‘Hair’. The musical. Middle of the Twentieth century…”
“You may let me hear it later.” This time it was Lord Námo, himself, rather than one of the Maiar. “But at the moment you are, I fear, simply trying to change the subject. Now… relax…”
“I don’t do relaxed! In all of my unlife I was either the hunter or the prey. I didn’t dare bloody relax! I have no idea, any longer, how to relax!”
“Then, I think,” Námo said, “we need to spend time helping you to learn how to relax your body even though you do not, exactly, have a body at present.”
There was a pause. Spike already recognised the faint sensation that meant His Lordship was ‘rooting around’ in his memories.
“I would usually suggest, when we have met edhel with similar problems, that we start with music you associate with childhood and your mother. But,” he continued before Spike could begin to object, or possibly panic, “I can see this would not be a good idea in your case. But I think I may have found something to help…”
And, as the day beyond The Halls of Waiting progressed towards late afternoon, Spike actually did begin to relax, barriers broken down by surprise and amusement at the music that echoed all around him…
Relax don't do it
When you want to go to it
Relax don't do it
When you want to come
Relax don't do it
When you want to come
When you want to come… *
…………………..
At Alqualondë the Ithilrim were dressing for the evening. Clothes made of many colours and fabrics, embroidered, and highlighted with jewels, were being donned. Ribbons were worked into braids; leaves of gold, silver, or bronze, feathers both real and crafted, beads and clips, all joined them.
The ellyth were also getting ready.
Many, many, miles away Tindómë put on her formal dress, packed for the audience in the Máhanaxar, which seemed an age ago. If she didn’t have to ride in the Great Wild Hunt, but only join the celebratory feast, it seemed right.
The Queen of The Great Greenwood had returned to her room to find a dress of pale green silk embroidered with golden oak leaves, the emblem of her husband’s House, laid out for her to put on alongside a circlet of fresh oak leaves. Clearly, she thought, this was the correct wear for the night. It reminded her of dresses she had owned in the past. She hoped it was hers to keep and would not disappear in the morning….
Haldir cleaned his boots, tied back his hair, straightened his tunic, and followed Cambasion out to the horses.
…………………..
The fire was beginning to burn a little lower, the sky was tinged with the first light of morning, and soon it would be time for the ellyn to start jumping the fire.
Ithilienne began to extricate herself from her companions. She took ribbons from them both and Tharhîwon helped her tie them into her hair whilst his friend and lover, Nithdur, helped her straighten her dress and shook the sand from his leggings before putting them back on.
Somewhere fairly close at hand, Ithilienne thought, she had heard her brother indulging in a similar fashion with an elleth. She smiled. Being so distracted meant that neither Tharhîwon, Nithdur, nor Haldirin were likely to have lost all their ribbons before the fire-jumping began. She had been well kissed by Legolas, before she accepted the ribbon that was tied around her wrist, but no more; she would almost certainly win her own wager, with Merilwen, that the Lord of the Ithilrim would have lost all his ribbons before Haldirin or Tharhîwon.
Not only had she managed to keep Thar out of the hunt, for at least an hour, but Ithilienne had also promised to spend the hours after dawn with Legolas, making use of any pent up lust accrued whilst kissing as many ellyth as possible to the point where they both felt ‘a stirring of the loins’… So Merilwen’s attempts to lure him out of the hunt for a while would almost certainly have failed.
Yes - the drum beats had changed, and the Lord of the Ithilrim was about to jump the fire with all his hair flowing free. Ithilienne felt a tap on her shoulder, and Merilwen silently handed her a handful of silver coins, with a grin. A good night, Ithilienne thought, in many ways; and with a good deal more pleasure to come.
…………………..
Haldir had no idea how long he had ridden or how far he had ridden. He was not sure exactly what they had brought down during the hunt, although he remember raising his bow to shoot game birds at one point. He had no idea who might have gathered up their kills; but he knew there were hounds running with the horses and expected they might be used for that purpose.
All he was sure of, as the horses slowed and came to a halt, was the sense of exhilaration. He could see a fire, smell food, and hear the insistent sound of drum beats. One of his companions reached up, tucked a couple of feathers into Haldir’s hair, and gestured towards the fire.
Across the clearing he thought he saw Tindómë, with Lady Ferveren and Nessa, but he did no more than note their presence as the rhythm of the music took him over and he joined the dance.
…………………..
Somewhere, in a large forest clearing beside a clear lake, figures were dancing around a fire to the beat of drums. They were dressed in clothes made from panels of different colours and fabrics. But these clothes were mainly in shades of greens, greys and browns.
Tucked into their hair were feathers, leaves, and the occasional flower.
Neither Tindómë nor Lady Ferveren were sure whether all the members of this hunt were Maiar, or whether some were elves; and, if elves, then where they might be from. But they looked at the wildly whirling figures in their ‘camouflage’ and knew that at some time in the very distant past the Silvans had, most certainly, ridden with Lord Oromë’s Hunt.
…………………..
*Holly Johnson et al.
As ever, feedback is good for my fëa, and please do point out anything my beta or I have missed.
Words; 1,995
Chapter Rated PG.
Disclaimer as Chapter One.
Previous chapters are here.
Chapter Twenty Four; Hunters
Tonight was the shortest night of the year. Midsummer. In Alqualondë the Ithilrim were preparing to celebrate. Food was being prepared and, above the tide-line, driftwood that had been collected for weeks had been skilfully built into a bonfire.
Ithilienne was sitting in the sunshine, sewing. She was not the most skilled of needle-workers, but the task in hand did not require anything more than simple stitches, and it had a pleasing significance. She was putting the finishing touches to her brother’s festive tunic.
The tunics that the ellyn kept for ‘the hunt’ of the solstice celebrations were made of pieces of different fabrics; velvets, satins, and lace, usually of more than one colour, often enhanced with jewels or metallic adornments. Sometimes they might have a whole new tunic made but, more often, the garments would change almost organically as new panels replaced worn ones. And Haldirin had a new panel of fabric to add.
Ithilienne had not, personally, seen this material before - but she had had a fair idea of where it had come from when he had asked her to do this for him. A few minutes ago Lithôniel had confirmed her suspicions when she came to join her. The silk was the colour of a heavy winter sky and, rather unseasonably, embroidered with snowflakes of silver over the shadow shapes of leafless branches. It must surely have been in the package Haldirin had received, when the ship had arrived, as Lithôniel had taken one look and said “Rhîwen.”
The fabric did, clearly, show winter - but Ithilienne knew this was not exactly what her aunt meant. Lithôniel recognised the fabric as a panel from the dress the Princess of Eryn Lasgalen had worn at the last Winter Solstice before the Ithilrim sailed. This was a ‘trophy’ piece; a gift that acknowledged pleasures shared. Ithilienne was sure, now, that another of Haldirin’s ribbons would be joining the collection in his kist. This piece of fabric was almost certainly a promise, rather than a farewell gesture, as he had been smiling when he asked her to sew it in for him.
The thought of trophy pieces brought a smile to Ithilienne. Yesterday she had sat in Lady Celebrían’s garden sewing as well; new pearl buttons to fasten the back of her own celebration dress, because three of the original ones had gone to Legolas to be added to the decoration of his festival tunic.
Legolas was happier, too. Whatever Gimli may have said to him seemed to have worked. He had thrown himself into the preparations for the solstice and was clearly intending to do all he could to live up to his reputation of being as skilled in this form of ‘hunt’ as he was with his bow.
As she thought of the night of enjoyment to come Ithilienne wondered, not for the first time, just how old these traditional celebrations might be and how they began.
…………………..
Tonight was the shortest night of the year. Midsummer. Under the shade of a tall aspen Tindómë and Lady Ferveren were discussing the hunt. It was a very different conversation to the ones, on the same subject, with Rumil and Orophin’s mother that first winter here in Aman.
“Is my younger son as successful as his brother was?” her ladyship asked.
“Well,” Tindómë answered, “I don’t know how successful Ardoron was at getting rid of his ribbons - but Legolas is certainly very good at it. Galanthir has to buy Legolas new ribbons more often than the other way around. And Galanthir is certainly very good, too…”
“I am pleased to know that Legolas took the tradition to Gondor with him, and now you have all brought it to the shores of the Sundering Sea. I think I would like to be there for a fire beside the sea, and dancing on the sand, at least once before we move into our own lands.” She paused and looked a little pensive. “I have never seen the sea…”
Elo! Of course she wouldn’t have seen the sea! Somehow this hadn’t occurred to Tindómë before, although it was obvious now she thought of it.
“Oh - you so should spend some time by the sea. Actually, I’m pretty sure it’ll take a while to get everything organised to move inland. Certainly I can see us having the Midwinter fire beside the sea.”
“So,” said Lady Ferveren, “if there are fewer trees, where do you get the wood?”
As Tindómë explained drift-wood and drying it above the tide-line, before going on to talk about the first time she saw Galanthir, in the middle of Minas Tirith, dressed for midsummer as a true Silvan elf, the sun crept past its zenith and into the afternoon.
…………………..
Tonight was the shortest night of the year. Midsummer. In Lord Námo’s domain, Haldir was checking his bow and the fletching on his arrows. He was preparing for The Hunt.
…………………..
Somewhere a good deal deeper inside Lord Námo’s domain it might have been midsummer, perhaps, but there was little sense of time and so no-one knew or cared.
“Relax,” a voice was saying. “It is so much easier for you to contemplate both the good and the bad aspects of your life if you are relaxed. Your physical hröa may have been left behind, indeed, but your fëa remembers it and all your senses remain.”
“Yeah, yeah - I know,” Spike said. “As far as my brain knows I got my arms, I got my hands, I got my fingers, got my legs, I got my feet, I got my toes…. I got my liver. Pretty sure I’ve not got my blood… Bloody good song, that. Nina Simone.
“Hey,” he continued, “Elves should love it. ‘Hair’. The musical. Middle of the Twentieth century…”
“You may let me hear it later.” This time it was Lord Námo, himself, rather than one of the Maiar. “But at the moment you are, I fear, simply trying to change the subject. Now… relax…”
“I don’t do relaxed! In all of my unlife I was either the hunter or the prey. I didn’t dare bloody relax! I have no idea, any longer, how to relax!”
“Then, I think,” Námo said, “we need to spend time helping you to learn how to relax your body even though you do not, exactly, have a body at present.”
There was a pause. Spike already recognised the faint sensation that meant His Lordship was ‘rooting around’ in his memories.
“I would usually suggest, when we have met edhel with similar problems, that we start with music you associate with childhood and your mother. But,” he continued before Spike could begin to object, or possibly panic, “I can see this would not be a good idea in your case. But I think I may have found something to help…”
And, as the day beyond The Halls of Waiting progressed towards late afternoon, Spike actually did begin to relax, barriers broken down by surprise and amusement at the music that echoed all around him…
Relax don't do it
When you want to go to it
Relax don't do it
When you want to come
Relax don't do it
When you want to come
When you want to come… *
…………………..
At Alqualondë the Ithilrim were dressing for the evening. Clothes made of many colours and fabrics, embroidered, and highlighted with jewels, were being donned. Ribbons were worked into braids; leaves of gold, silver, or bronze, feathers both real and crafted, beads and clips, all joined them.
The ellyth were also getting ready.
Many, many, miles away Tindómë put on her formal dress, packed for the audience in the Máhanaxar, which seemed an age ago. If she didn’t have to ride in the Great Wild Hunt, but only join the celebratory feast, it seemed right.
The Queen of The Great Greenwood had returned to her room to find a dress of pale green silk embroidered with golden oak leaves, the emblem of her husband’s House, laid out for her to put on alongside a circlet of fresh oak leaves. Clearly, she thought, this was the correct wear for the night. It reminded her of dresses she had owned in the past. She hoped it was hers to keep and would not disappear in the morning….
Haldir cleaned his boots, tied back his hair, straightened his tunic, and followed Cambasion out to the horses.
…………………..
The fire was beginning to burn a little lower, the sky was tinged with the first light of morning, and soon it would be time for the ellyn to start jumping the fire.
Ithilienne began to extricate herself from her companions. She took ribbons from them both and Tharhîwon helped her tie them into her hair whilst his friend and lover, Nithdur, helped her straighten her dress and shook the sand from his leggings before putting them back on.
Somewhere fairly close at hand, Ithilienne thought, she had heard her brother indulging in a similar fashion with an elleth. She smiled. Being so distracted meant that neither Tharhîwon, Nithdur, nor Haldirin were likely to have lost all their ribbons before the fire-jumping began. She had been well kissed by Legolas, before she accepted the ribbon that was tied around her wrist, but no more; she would almost certainly win her own wager, with Merilwen, that the Lord of the Ithilrim would have lost all his ribbons before Haldirin or Tharhîwon.
Not only had she managed to keep Thar out of the hunt, for at least an hour, but Ithilienne had also promised to spend the hours after dawn with Legolas, making use of any pent up lust accrued whilst kissing as many ellyth as possible to the point where they both felt ‘a stirring of the loins’… So Merilwen’s attempts to lure him out of the hunt for a while would almost certainly have failed.
Yes - the drum beats had changed, and the Lord of the Ithilrim was about to jump the fire with all his hair flowing free. Ithilienne felt a tap on her shoulder, and Merilwen silently handed her a handful of silver coins, with a grin. A good night, Ithilienne thought, in many ways; and with a good deal more pleasure to come.
…………………..
Haldir had no idea how long he had ridden or how far he had ridden. He was not sure exactly what they had brought down during the hunt, although he remember raising his bow to shoot game birds at one point. He had no idea who might have gathered up their kills; but he knew there were hounds running with the horses and expected they might be used for that purpose.
All he was sure of, as the horses slowed and came to a halt, was the sense of exhilaration. He could see a fire, smell food, and hear the insistent sound of drum beats. One of his companions reached up, tucked a couple of feathers into Haldir’s hair, and gestured towards the fire.
Across the clearing he thought he saw Tindómë, with Lady Ferveren and Nessa, but he did no more than note their presence as the rhythm of the music took him over and he joined the dance.
…………………..
Somewhere, in a large forest clearing beside a clear lake, figures were dancing around a fire to the beat of drums. They were dressed in clothes made from panels of different colours and fabrics. But these clothes were mainly in shades of greens, greys and browns.
Tucked into their hair were feathers, leaves, and the occasional flower.
Neither Tindómë nor Lady Ferveren were sure whether all the members of this hunt were Maiar, or whether some were elves; and, if elves, then where they might be from. But they looked at the wildly whirling figures in their ‘camouflage’ and knew that at some time in the very distant past the Silvans had, most certainly, ridden with Lord Oromë’s Hunt.
…………………..
*Holly Johnson et al.
As ever, feedback is good for my fëa, and please do point out anything my beta or I have missed.