The Valinor Trail - The Last Chapter!
Sorry it's taken over a month to post this -I actually wrote about 2,000 words more but they were unnecessary waffle and it only really worked when I chopped them all out.
So - the end of the trail - although there are characters clamouring to lead the next story, so there will be more.
The Valinor Trail, Chapter Twenty Eight
1,600 words
This chapter rated PG
Thanks, as always to my husband who is counter of commas and sounding board for ideas.
The soft sound of waves caressing the shore before retreating back to the heart of the Sundering Sea was a good counterpoint to lovemaking, although not a rhythm to follow. Well, not for the first hour or two anyway. By now, though, they were content to lie joined together and move only gently; it was a pleasure to be back in their own bed.
It had been a pleasure to renew their bond those weeks ago, on bedrolls laid over the spiky shoreline grass, and a pleasure to join together in other places on their journey back to Alqualondë; especially on a flet in the last village he and Legolas had visited before their reunion with Tindómë, Haldir, and Lady Ferveren.
That had been a particularly good night. They had shared memories of their first night together in Lothlorien although, Rumil thought as his hand slid down Tindómë’s back to the valley between her buttocks, their love making on the flet near the sea had been more adventurous than on that other flet. He purposefully shared the memories with his wife and smiled as her movements became more focused, above him, and the rhythm quickened again.
…………….
Their arrival as a party of five, at that village whose inhabitants were in large part originally from The Great Greenwood, had been very telling. Lady Feveren had been recognised and welcomed with both great joy and reverence; it was clear that she was as important to these elves as Lady Galadriel or Lord Celeborn to the Galadhrim.
A feast was arranged at short notice at which the Queen of Eryn Lasgalen and her son had sat in positions of honour as equals. Someone had made Legolas’ mother a circlet of leaves; her son, similarly crowned, had gone into what Tindómë called ‘Lording mode’ and there was no doubt in Rumil’s mind that here were royalty of no lesser status that King Olwë and his queen.
They had left that village after a few days, and moved on to the next one, but word of the reborn Queen had gone ahead of them. At each stop they were feasted and feted, even at the villages inhabited mainly by Telerin Elves; it reminded Rumil of the Royal Progresses of Aragorn and Arwen.
Actually Rumil thought that he rather liked this Woodland Queen. An interesting idea in itself; one neither liked nor disliked Lady Galadriel - she simply was, like day and night, land and sea…
…………….
The Woodland Queen and her son were sitting outdoors with Celebrían, sipping wine, and watching the play of the sunlight on the sea. Legolas looked down the hill to the houses inhabited by the Ithilrim, on the outskirts of Alqualondë, and the memory came to him of a thought from that first year here. It had been the morning after the first time he had joined with Ithilienne and he had lain awake, listening to her breathing, and considering the idea of home.
He had thought, then, ‘This place is not home - but, for now, it will suffice.’
Alqualondë would not have to suffice for much longer. There was a new home waiting for the Ithilrim; for all the Silvan and Sindar elves who wanted it; with plenty of room for all.
Haldir had, of course, stayed in Alqualondë only long enough to greet Orophin before going to report to Lady Galadriel, as was only right. But in the days spent together on the journey here he had described forests almost beyond imagining, and further descriptions from Tindómë and Naneth confirmed that those lands would provide all they could need - and they were theirs. Lord Tulkas had told Tindómë so.
And, almost as if his thought had conjured her, Tindómë appeared walking towards them from the Hobbit Hole. (Ithilienne had recently pointed out, jokingly, that it was now more a Dwarf Dwelling - but no-one, really, thought of it as anything other than ‘the Hobbit Hole’ or ‘Frodo’s Smial’.)
As it was likely that the subject of increasing his mother’s wardrobe would soon become the main topic of conversation Legolas felt he could excuse himself, and head down the path his ‘small sister’ had just taken, to visit Gimli.
He had been apprehensive about introducing his mother to Gimli. Ferveren, however, had taken the unexpected friendship in her stride and had enamoured herself to the dwarf by thanking him for having watched her son’s back so well during the time of the Fellowship and the Ring War. He had, she said, doubtless saved her husband much sorrow and herself a meeting with Legolas before she left Mandos’ Halls rather than afterwards, and for this she was most grateful.
As he expected the dwarf was sitting on the bench that overlooked Sam’s garden; still kept more or less as it had been left by Tharhîwon.
“So,” said Gimli, “the lass has told me all about her journey, and the new lands that they found there, waiting. How long do you think it’ll take you to get organised and mount an expedition to go and see them for yourself, eh?”
A difficult question. For Legolas wanted to throw a few bits and pieces into a bag, pick up his bow, and set off right away to see these new forests for himself. But his friend was old now, even for a dwarf. What if Gimli should leave the circles of the world whilst Legolas was off exploring? He would never forgive himself should that happen.
“It might take some time…” he answered, purposefully vague, “I will need to wait until Lady Galadriel has had her full report from Haldir, as the lands belong as much to the Galadhrim, and then she is likely to want to discuss the implications with her parents as, of course, the Noldor King has her allegiance. There will be questions as to whether he is also King of the new lands. And then there will be preparations to make here before any expedition can leave…” he tailed off.
“Hrmph!” said his companion. “Well don’t take too long about it or I might not be able to travel!”
Legolas was taken aback. Gimli accompanying them had not crossed his mind. Surely he was too old for such a journey?
Before Legolas could think of the best way to phrase his reply Gimli continued.
“I hope you don’t think you are going to go gadding off without me? There are mountains, lad! Not only mountains that the Noldor mine but whole ranges, it seems, of which they know nothing! Don’t let me die, Legolas, knowing there are so many mountains that I have never seen…”
That shed a whole new light on things! Gimli should surely see his mountains before he died, if that was his wish.
“Then,” said the Lord of the Ithilrim, “we must either set off very soon, so that we are not held up by ice and snow, or wait only a few months until the thaw in Echuir*...”
Once Lady Galadriel knew why they were setting off for the new lands in such haste, Legolas was sure she would not object to being left to sort out the political implications… he breathed a sigh of relief and began to consider the practicalities.
…………
*Echuir - the season of early spring - February and March.
…………
In his halls, high on Taniquetil, Manwë smiled and raised his glass to his visitor.
“It looks as if your new companions will be joining you even sooner than we thought,” he said.
“I am looking forward to it,” Oromë said. “And I’m sure you will calm any ruffled feathers of the King of the Noldor as easily as you do those of your eagles.”
Manwë smiled again. “The King will not be a great problem,” he said, “and coping with any complaints from his people will keep him from boredom!”
He turned to the third figure. “And how is your unusual guest, cousin?”
“Interesting,” Námo answered. “I have to say that his choice of music certainly enlivens parts of my halls. We are still working on just what the balance is between evil deeds done on a one-to-one basis and fighting against evil as a force.
“I think it may be good for both him, and others, to consider this balance together. There are those in my Halls who cannot come to terms with the balance of good deeds and evil ones because there is no-one who does not know their name and even the Maiar have their own preconceptions about them.
“I do wonder if the introduction of a true outsider may benefit at least one of the fëa I have had with me for many yéni…”
…………
Cambasion, Maia in the Halls of Waiting, had discovered a distinct taste for the music preferred by this fëa from another dimension. He rather thought the fëa currently accompanying him might do so as well - he certainly looked more interested than Cambasion had seen him previously.
Into the valley, betrothed and divine
Realisations no virtue but who can define
Why soldiers go marching, those masses a line
This disease is catching from victory to stone…**
“What a riff, eh, Cambasion?” said the fëa who had brought the music into being by his thoughts.
“Could it be… Stuart Adamson?” Cambasion ventured.
“Bloody Hell! We’ll make a fan of you yet!” Spike answered. “Who’s your mate?”
“Ah. Let me introduce you. This is William, also known as Spike, and this is Nelyafinwë Maitimo, also known as Maedhros…”
……………………………………….. The end………………………………..
**Into The Valley, The Skids. Richard Jobson, Stuart Adamson.
If you read it you'll know why this is here - otherwise just accept it is vintage punk!
So - the end of the trail - although there are characters clamouring to lead the next story, so there will be more.
The Valinor Trail, Chapter Twenty Eight
1,600 words
This chapter rated PG
Thanks, as always to my husband who is counter of commas and sounding board for ideas.
The soft sound of waves caressing the shore before retreating back to the heart of the Sundering Sea was a good counterpoint to lovemaking, although not a rhythm to follow. Well, not for the first hour or two anyway. By now, though, they were content to lie joined together and move only gently; it was a pleasure to be back in their own bed.
It had been a pleasure to renew their bond those weeks ago, on bedrolls laid over the spiky shoreline grass, and a pleasure to join together in other places on their journey back to Alqualondë; especially on a flet in the last village he and Legolas had visited before their reunion with Tindómë, Haldir, and Lady Ferveren.
That had been a particularly good night. They had shared memories of their first night together in Lothlorien although, Rumil thought as his hand slid down Tindómë’s back to the valley between her buttocks, their love making on the flet near the sea had been more adventurous than on that other flet. He purposefully shared the memories with his wife and smiled as her movements became more focused, above him, and the rhythm quickened again.
…………….
Their arrival as a party of five, at that village whose inhabitants were in large part originally from The Great Greenwood, had been very telling. Lady Feveren had been recognised and welcomed with both great joy and reverence; it was clear that she was as important to these elves as Lady Galadriel or Lord Celeborn to the Galadhrim.
A feast was arranged at short notice at which the Queen of Eryn Lasgalen and her son had sat in positions of honour as equals. Someone had made Legolas’ mother a circlet of leaves; her son, similarly crowned, had gone into what Tindómë called ‘Lording mode’ and there was no doubt in Rumil’s mind that here were royalty of no lesser status that King Olwë and his queen.
They had left that village after a few days, and moved on to the next one, but word of the reborn Queen had gone ahead of them. At each stop they were feasted and feted, even at the villages inhabited mainly by Telerin Elves; it reminded Rumil of the Royal Progresses of Aragorn and Arwen.
Actually Rumil thought that he rather liked this Woodland Queen. An interesting idea in itself; one neither liked nor disliked Lady Galadriel - she simply was, like day and night, land and sea…
…………….
The Woodland Queen and her son were sitting outdoors with Celebrían, sipping wine, and watching the play of the sunlight on the sea. Legolas looked down the hill to the houses inhabited by the Ithilrim, on the outskirts of Alqualondë, and the memory came to him of a thought from that first year here. It had been the morning after the first time he had joined with Ithilienne and he had lain awake, listening to her breathing, and considering the idea of home.
He had thought, then, ‘This place is not home - but, for now, it will suffice.’
Alqualondë would not have to suffice for much longer. There was a new home waiting for the Ithilrim; for all the Silvan and Sindar elves who wanted it; with plenty of room for all.
Haldir had, of course, stayed in Alqualondë only long enough to greet Orophin before going to report to Lady Galadriel, as was only right. But in the days spent together on the journey here he had described forests almost beyond imagining, and further descriptions from Tindómë and Naneth confirmed that those lands would provide all they could need - and they were theirs. Lord Tulkas had told Tindómë so.
And, almost as if his thought had conjured her, Tindómë appeared walking towards them from the Hobbit Hole. (Ithilienne had recently pointed out, jokingly, that it was now more a Dwarf Dwelling - but no-one, really, thought of it as anything other than ‘the Hobbit Hole’ or ‘Frodo’s Smial’.)
As it was likely that the subject of increasing his mother’s wardrobe would soon become the main topic of conversation Legolas felt he could excuse himself, and head down the path his ‘small sister’ had just taken, to visit Gimli.
He had been apprehensive about introducing his mother to Gimli. Ferveren, however, had taken the unexpected friendship in her stride and had enamoured herself to the dwarf by thanking him for having watched her son’s back so well during the time of the Fellowship and the Ring War. He had, she said, doubtless saved her husband much sorrow and herself a meeting with Legolas before she left Mandos’ Halls rather than afterwards, and for this she was most grateful.
As he expected the dwarf was sitting on the bench that overlooked Sam’s garden; still kept more or less as it had been left by Tharhîwon.
“So,” said Gimli, “the lass has told me all about her journey, and the new lands that they found there, waiting. How long do you think it’ll take you to get organised and mount an expedition to go and see them for yourself, eh?”
A difficult question. For Legolas wanted to throw a few bits and pieces into a bag, pick up his bow, and set off right away to see these new forests for himself. But his friend was old now, even for a dwarf. What if Gimli should leave the circles of the world whilst Legolas was off exploring? He would never forgive himself should that happen.
“It might take some time…” he answered, purposefully vague, “I will need to wait until Lady Galadriel has had her full report from Haldir, as the lands belong as much to the Galadhrim, and then she is likely to want to discuss the implications with her parents as, of course, the Noldor King has her allegiance. There will be questions as to whether he is also King of the new lands. And then there will be preparations to make here before any expedition can leave…” he tailed off.
“Hrmph!” said his companion. “Well don’t take too long about it or I might not be able to travel!”
Legolas was taken aback. Gimli accompanying them had not crossed his mind. Surely he was too old for such a journey?
Before Legolas could think of the best way to phrase his reply Gimli continued.
“I hope you don’t think you are going to go gadding off without me? There are mountains, lad! Not only mountains that the Noldor mine but whole ranges, it seems, of which they know nothing! Don’t let me die, Legolas, knowing there are so many mountains that I have never seen…”
That shed a whole new light on things! Gimli should surely see his mountains before he died, if that was his wish.
“Then,” said the Lord of the Ithilrim, “we must either set off very soon, so that we are not held up by ice and snow, or wait only a few months until the thaw in Echuir*...”
Once Lady Galadriel knew why they were setting off for the new lands in such haste, Legolas was sure she would not object to being left to sort out the political implications… he breathed a sigh of relief and began to consider the practicalities.
…………
*Echuir - the season of early spring - February and March.
…………
In his halls, high on Taniquetil, Manwë smiled and raised his glass to his visitor.
“It looks as if your new companions will be joining you even sooner than we thought,” he said.
“I am looking forward to it,” Oromë said. “And I’m sure you will calm any ruffled feathers of the King of the Noldor as easily as you do those of your eagles.”
Manwë smiled again. “The King will not be a great problem,” he said, “and coping with any complaints from his people will keep him from boredom!”
He turned to the third figure. “And how is your unusual guest, cousin?”
“Interesting,” Námo answered. “I have to say that his choice of music certainly enlivens parts of my halls. We are still working on just what the balance is between evil deeds done on a one-to-one basis and fighting against evil as a force.
“I think it may be good for both him, and others, to consider this balance together. There are those in my Halls who cannot come to terms with the balance of good deeds and evil ones because there is no-one who does not know their name and even the Maiar have their own preconceptions about them.
“I do wonder if the introduction of a true outsider may benefit at least one of the fëa I have had with me for many yéni…”
…………
Cambasion, Maia in the Halls of Waiting, had discovered a distinct taste for the music preferred by this fëa from another dimension. He rather thought the fëa currently accompanying him might do so as well - he certainly looked more interested than Cambasion had seen him previously.
Into the valley, betrothed and divine
Realisations no virtue but who can define
Why soldiers go marching, those masses a line
This disease is catching from victory to stone…**
“What a riff, eh, Cambasion?” said the fëa who had brought the music into being by his thoughts.
“Could it be… Stuart Adamson?” Cambasion ventured.
“Bloody Hell! We’ll make a fan of you yet!” Spike answered. “Who’s your mate?”
“Ah. Let me introduce you. This is William, also known as Spike, and this is Nelyafinwë Maitimo, also known as Maedhros…”
……………………………………….. The end………………………………..
**Into The Valley, The Skids. Richard Jobson, Stuart Adamson.
If you read it you'll know why this is here - otherwise just accept it is vintage punk!
Click to view