Many Paths to Tread Will Soon Be Five Years Old!
An Anniversary is Coming!
Many Paths to Tread, the sister archive of this community, will be FIVE YEARS OLD on Sunday, July 27 ( Read more... )
Many Paths to Tread, the sister archive of this community, will be FIVE YEARS OLD on Sunday, July 27 ( Read more... )
Comments 37
Bombur strolled alone through the woodland, guided by the torches along the way, as well as the brightly lit lanterns that swung from the lower branches of the tall and shapely trees. He could hear pleasant songs not far in the distance, and the air was redolent with the aroma of enticing food. Soon he found himself in a large clearing filled with Elves, all crowned with garlands of leaves. There at the center was the King of them all, his crown of golden leaves glowing in the light of a bonfire, his countenance fair. He looked up and smiled delightedly at Bombur. "Ah, my dear friend, Bombur!" He gestured with a goblet and held up the roasted leg of a pheasant, "Do come and join us at our feast!"
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"I am so hungry," he said, "and this is all so delicious!"
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Another platter came around, this one filled with fruit and white cakes. He helped himself to some lovely cherries and strawberries as well as a couple of the cakes. How interesting! He wondered how the Elves had come upon cherries and strawberries ripe at this time of year? Perhaps they had a glass house handy or something of the sort.
The music grew louder, and many of the Elves stood to dance. Bombur grinned and used the cake in one hand to keep time to the music. The Elven-king was smiling and clapping.
Suddenly he had the oddest sensation of someone holding on to his arms and feet. It was only the briefest of feelings, and then passed away, but not before he heard a faint voice. "He's not getting any lighter, is he?" Was that Bofur? Was Bofur here? He saw no sign of him anywhere ( ... )
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When the dwarf and elf stopped, Bombur turned around to face the food that was spread out on the ground. "Let's see," he muttered. "I see my favorite food here!" Smiling broadly, he plopped back on the ground and gazed down at his favorite dish.
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Sam was completely distracted by his find. He gathered as many of the chestnuts as he could, filling his pockets and then his handkerchief with the unexpected bounty. Mr. Frodo and the others would be so happy to have them. Boromir stood nervously behind him; Strider'd asked the Man to guard him when he gave Sam permission to go back up their trail and collect his find. Suddenly, he heard the sound of an angry squeal, but before he could even turn, large hands snatched him up and plunked him upon a branch of the chestnut tree. Sam stared down in horror as Boromir drew his sword and prepared to face the charging boar.
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Sam watched, holding his breath in terror, as the boar charged straight at Boromir. With a sweep of his sword, Boromir deflected the charge and the boar ran past him. Quickly turning, the creature gathered itself for another attack. Boromir had but an instant to grasp the shield he wore upon his back, and set it before him to fend off attacks from the boar's fearsome tusks. Shield in hand and sword held high, Boromir did not wait for the boar's charge, but instead leaped forward to battle.
Sam cried out in fear, as Boromir's food suddenly turned on a chestnut, and he lost his balance. Down on one knee he went, and then the boar was upon him.
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"Aragorn, Gimli, with me!" he cried out. "Sam and Boromir are in danger!" He raced back up the trail without looking back. He didn't call out, hoping to take any attackers unaware. Sam's cries grew louder as he approached the chestnut glade, and when he burst through the trees he halted, frozen for a moment at the scene before him.
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Behind him he heard the others swiftly approaching. Time was of the essence.
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Elsewhere, his brothers would be coming to their own decisions...
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Mirkwood, or Eryn Lasgalen as it was now renamed, was not his only resort. He had a claim on the remains of Imladris as well, he knew, the realm where his daughter had ruled so long beside her husband Elrond. Elladan and Elrohir would not leave with their father, not now when they had been granted the right to defer their own decisions until after the more painful departure of their sister. I could find purpose there, he thought as he looked stubbornly beyond Anduin toward the east rather than to follow his wife's planned path north and west. I can still offer guidance and assistance here. And perhaps, if and when I should choose to join my beloved, I will be able to tell her of the great grandchildren that Arwen will bear. There is still life to be lived here in Ennor, at least for now.
He stood there long, very long. Only when he felt his wife's departure from beneath the last of the mellyrn did he drop his gaze, at last allowing the pain to pass through him. How long it would be before he saw her again he ( ... )
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‘What do ya reckon is in it?’ One of them muttered as he planted his hands firmly against their cargo.
‘Ah yea know Nonny. Knowing the Captain, probably more books for the King’s library.’
‘How many do those elves of Lindon gather then? It really makes me wonder betimes.’ Nonny bent closer to see if he could make out what was inside the crate.
‘Why wonder? Who knows what gifts are bestowed this time. Only good for a good fire I’d say.’
‘Enough has been burnt on our isle of late,’ Captain Anárion interrupted them as he jumped on board. ‘Nor do I think that the High-King would approve of such actions from a crew he holds in high honour.’
Both sailors nodded sternly and exchanged a glance once their captain strode past them.
‘No, Nonny, don’t you even dare to pry one open. I still remember the ruckus you got us into the last time... Nonny!’
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'Right, Nonny, that's two weeks of deck-scrubbing duty for you--and one week galley duty for you!' he said, turning to Nonny's companion.
Nonny's friend cringed. But Nonny himself stood frowning.
'Those are never books,' he muttered.
'Who cares?' said his friend angrily. 'Look what trouble you got us in!'
Meanwhile in the most seaward tower of Mithlond, Galdor stood looking out. He did not usually keep watch himself, but Cirdan had been anxious lately, plagued by foresight... When would Anarion arrive?
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But the one sailor contemplating its protective crate was not always wise. Not yet was the one resting inside ready to be revealed, not while the one whose actions had led to the sinking of Númenor struggled through Lord Ulmo's realm back toward his own. Too long had he sought to see this symbol of the accord between the descendants of Elros and those who dwelt in the Undying Lands destroyed. Its parent had been slain cruelly and burnt upon the altar in Zigûr's temple. This one had been rescued at great cost to Lord Anárion's brother--nearly his very life! But still the small life sought some experience with open sunlight and rain once more.
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'But surely the best person to take care of it is yourself, Grandfather,' Anarion had protested. Or his brother Isildur, he thought, who had rescued the seed from the fire--but Isildur was still only just recovering from his wounds.
'I will not always be there, I fear' Amandil had answered sadly.
And he had taught Anarion how to nurture and cherish the seedling before he had sailed off into the sunset.
And now Anarion, too, had departed Numenor, but east, not west, and carried the seedling with him. The Elves would give him advice how and where to plant it, he expected.
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'See, we have managed our dramatic entrance!' he said with considerable satisfaction.
Maedhros grinned, not too obviously, because that might have spoiled the drama a bit. Already they were getting close enough so that he could see the expressions on people's faces and he was beginning to scan the gathering crowd for friends and relatives--and for possible difficulties.
He caught sight of Aredhel, arriving at not entirely dignified speed. As usual, she stood out in her white dress.
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‘Do keep your hound in check before he slobbered all over her, Turko.’ Turgon spoke drily, yet the mirth he tried to show in his words did not reach his eyes.
‘I... am… quite...’ Aredhel tried to shove the big dog aside, but failed to do so.
‘Huan, down boy. I am just as glad to see her although I would prefer to see her not like this.’ Celegorm instructed and pulled Huan away from her.
Maglor could have sworn that the hound scowled at his master and decided to alight as well to greet his cousins.
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'I shall do my best to make up for it, Ar-Feiniel', said Maglor, giving her such a courtly bow that it sent her off into a peal of laughter.
Then she sobered. She bent down, patted Huan on the head, and said to Celegorm, without looking at him: 'I thought you weren't coming.'
'I...ah...changed my mind,' said Celegorm awkwardly. He flushed a little.
Aredhel looked up at him and smiled.
Maglor caught sight of a Sinda who bore a great bow watching them all curiously from the crowd. He looked as if he could use that bow, too. Maglor wondered who he was.
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