A Tale of Elves and Men: Galuvae's Journal
(( Catchup edition! I will spare my flist the spamming that my guildmates got though, and post all the catchup entries in one post.))
Today, I met Synnova, a Woman of the Dale-Lands and a friend of Oendir's. She appeared on his doorstep looking for him, but he was off visiting his cousin, and I was amusing myself with my wooden flute. Sometimes it seems that I alone of my kindred have no true talent for music, but still it amuses me to play sometimes - when I am alone and there is no one to hear, that is.
Synnova consented to sit with me awhile, and tell me tales of how she met Oendir. It was before Archet burned, and the man she described was not much like the one that I have come to know. She called him mischevious and meddlesome, a prankster who paid her extravangant court - or the show of such - and then belched in her face. She said that it was childish, not the behavior of a Man but of a boy. I wish I could have seen him as a Boy, before the losses he has suffered bruised him so.
She saw him change the night that Archet was attacked. When he first slew a Man, it changed him from a mischevious boy into a Man of more gravity. She said that Oendir's uncle - Rhienna's father - was killed that night, and the three of them left Archet together.
Then - altogether sudden and abrupt, I thought - she noticed that I was sketching a leaf in my book as I listened to her, and said she had seen another drawing in my book when I flipped through to find an empty page to note her tale upon. She asked to see it. Ai, it felt as though my cheeks would catch afire, though I tried to hide it, and I could do nothing except turn to my drawing and show it to her. I tried to make excuses, that I had only rendered it out of boredom when I could not sleep in Ost Gurath, but she only said that it was well done and then looked away. I think me that some understanding passed between us then, and both of us knew but would not say.
Synnova is one who has known battle and death, love and loss. Compared to her, I am only a child of willful stupidity who has never done a thing. She is kin to the Man Oendir becomes with every grim thing that befalls him. Could it be they would heal one another? I know not.
We spoke a little more - of Landuin's disappearance and of Akhbur. Synnova believes the Onua is fallen indeed, though she knows not the cause of the Warg's vengeance. She also did not wish to speak of Landuin, and soon rose to leave. She looked down on me with puzzlement, or agitation, some emotion I could not quite glean. But when I asked her of it, she would only say that perhaps Oendir refuses to understand that it is his tale I write, because he cannot understand why I should find his tale captivating.
Then she wished me good evening and left. I do not know how to sort out all I feel after this encounter... so I will turn back and write of less personal things, and record only the tale she told me.
Good historians should not mingle their hearts with their works.
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I thought it would be good to get a little distance and perspective. The little house and its occupant are becoming such a concern of my mind... to be fair, nearly an obsession, between my book and my wayward emotions. It is becoming a whole world unto itself and I feel the need to step away to see it clearer again. So I have gone to the Old Forest, about which many fell things are rumored, but about this is true: it is old, and it is awake.
So to these watchful, resentful trees have I gone, to learn and to seek and to listen and to sing. Perhaps it has simply been too long since the Forest was listened to. I see their anger directed at the little Shire-folk, who, while gentle, are surprisingly blind to much of the world around them. I do not plan to be here very long, but some nights I have the uneasy feeling that the forest simply wishes to keep me. Of course, an Elf will not be bound, not by a tree nor any other, without her own will, yet I find myself curiously turned about as I explore.
Mischievously or more sinisterly, I do believe the trees toy with me, and move their paths about as I walk. They are nearly as silent as my own kindred are, and I feel the urge to play with them as well. My own forest is bright and beautiful, but sedate and calm. I shall try to wend my way through the trees and toward my own goals, and we shall see if they may stop me!
I feel somewhere in the heart of this forest is a great duality of light and dark. I wonder what it is.
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Ai! For an Elf to admit defeat, after having warred with a forest! It is hardly to be borne!
The trees would turn about and I could not find my way. I did happen upon that center of which I wrote earlier, which focuses on a dark and angry creature shaped like a Willow Tree, though I believe it is much greater than that. Keeping it in check is a force of great brightness, the Eternal and Fatherless. To meet Iarwain Ben-Adar and speak to him and hear his rhyming! He and his wife were very kind to me, and I confess that I stayed far longer than I should have done. In truth, with such a wealth of knowledge offered to me, it was hard to think of going back out into that humiliating forest to spin about will-I-nill-I again.
Finally, I spoke of my misgivings to him, and he set about at once to guide me. The trees seemed reluctant to get up to any pranks with him, and soon I found myself blinking in the sunlight on the slopes across the river from Bree-Town. In some ways, I was sad to leave the forest, for I have missed the sound of leaves and the gentle sway of the wind, the creaking of trunks and the smell of leaves. But, it is not my wood and never shall be so, and so I do not love it well enough to stay. When I live again beneath a canopy, it shall be in Lorien.
It is quite a walk now back along the road to Durrow, and not entirely safe at that. However, there seem to be a good deal of friendly travelers upon the road, and many know the name of Coruhir, so I am safeguarded as I travel back home.
I do hope that Oendir has not been overly worried, for after his brother's disappearance, I hate the thought that he might have feared me gone as well. I did expect mother or even Oendir to send one of Silhann's ravens after me, but perhaps the forest is too dangerous for them. There were many dens of horrible spiders, and bats as big as ones head in places.
Still, if I have worried him, I will simply apologize. Most likely, he has felt a great relief that I have gone, and he can have his space to himself again without an Elf pestering him day and night! I shall do my best not to be too effusive in my greeting, for I have missed him dreadfully. It was hard to lay eyes on the places of beauty within the forest - and they were many - without wanting to turn to him and point them out. Someday, I should like to show him Lorien.
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Dark have been these days, and I unknowing, wasting them within the shadow of the old trees and the older spirits! I, who promised to stay at Oendir's side unless he sent me from it, abandoned him to satisfy my own curiosity at the utter height of his need!
His brother Landuin has been declared head by the Company, and they held for him a funeral in Annuminas. My own kindred attended, having received the news by raven's wing - the birds which feared or were unable to fly within the shadow of that dark forest to tell me as well.
Landuin's loss is a deep gulf in Oendir's heart, especially coming so soon on the heels of his wife's death, but when I returned to the house, that was not the grief I saw. He had shorn his hair, his beautiful, unruly black hair, painfully short. It is the custom, he told me, when a Man of Gondor grieves.
Rhienna is dead. His merry cousin, with her clever fingers and her stubborn passion. She fell from his grasp into the Brandywine river, and he could not prevent it. Ai, his brother and his wife left his life silently, but the cousin who was more a sister, left screaming while he watched. I grieve at the loss of such bright company, and cannot imagine the loss that Oendir must bear. The thought of my brother Tinhethu falling so is enough to pierce my heart, and I know he lives still.
And I, I was within the Old Forest playing truant when it happened! I was not there to comfort him, I was not there to help, I could not hold him while he wept as he once held
It is a great event in the story of Oendir's life, a tragic change that I should have been present to record. If my story is to contain enough truth to send West with my kin, it must be as complete as possible. I am remiss in my duties as both a historian and a friend, and nothing can repair that.
Oendir told me that he goes now to Eregion, and I am not to go with him. Selfish, to think of it as a punishment, but to think of him alone in the wilds with such grief in his heart is hardly to be borne. He wishes to be alone, and does not wish my company, my sympathy, and I must respect it.
...still, I will not leave him unguarded. I shall send a raven to Tinhethu. My kindred even now scour every hillock and cranny of Eregion, guarding the passage now that Moria stands open. I will beg my brother to safeguard this Man for me, for my family are all Elves of the forest and can move with more skill and subtlety than a Man can know. Oendir shall have his solitude, but he shall be safe as he has it. Else I know I will go mad, simply waiting. I know that if he should fall I
He set me also a riddle, perhaps given to me as a mercy, to occupy my mind while he is gone. The only other person to witness Rhienna's passing was a Man of Gondor, fair of skin but dark of eye and hair. Oendir could not recall more about him, other than his name might contain the Elvish word for hunter - faron - and so with these clues and nothing more, I will seek through Durrow, then to the other villages, to Bree-Town and further if I must. The Man pulled Oendir from the water and did not let him suffer the same fate as his cousin, and for that at least I owe him a very great boon. That will satisfy my heart. For my mind, I must also record the tale of Rhienna's passing. She was too bright a light, and too important to Oendir's tale, to let her story unravel without tying off the threads. I will find this Man and thank him, and get from him the tale of Rhienna's death, which I will never ask Oendir.
I promised also to care diligently for the garden, that garden which first brought me to Durrow. Spring, he said, would be coming soon. Spring, I told him, would not come until he returned, and then all the flowers would bloom for joy of it. He asked if there was anything he could bring me back, and I said only himself, safe and hale. Though he still persisted, I asked for a sprig of holly, for I believe I could coax it to grow here. Would that not be grand, a red-berried holly tree of Eregion standing here on this place? He only nodded and left, and went back to look at the flowers I have not yet thought safe to set in the cold dirt outside. Waiting Maiden, my favorite flower. I believe they are ready to root here.
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Not too long after Oendir left, I received a surprise visitation. Tinhethu had asked our uncle, Asthand, to fulfil my request, which puts me greatly at ease. Asthand has been guarding Eregion for ages before either of us were born,It will be not great matter for him to assure the safetly of one Man there. His wife is very young, but she was raised in Taur-e-Ndaedelos, and the Elves there have good reasons to be quick and quiet. Knowing they watch over Oendir brings a peace to my heart.
Tinhethu came instead to see me. I am not sure if this is my family's way of doing just what I have done for Oendir, or if Tinhethu himself only wanted to see me, but I was so happy to see him nontheless. The house seems both echoingly empy and constricting without Oendir here, yet I am loathe to leave it. Not because I fear he will return while I am gone - he has not been gone long enough for that - but because I have grown accustomed to the security he offered. For some reason, I am shy of going out of these estates and speaking to the other Men without the shield of his presence, though I have never been before. Of course, I have never been so isolated either, so perhaps there is nothing remarkable in my nervousness.
Tinhethu brought me gifts from mother, some herbs, tea, and a block of her beautiful scented wax with which she keeps the furniture in house and Hall smooth and shining. Just smelling it brought tears to my eyes, and I resolved to spend as many days as I needed gently rubbing it into as many surfaces as I could. Scent has its way of grabbing the memory by the throat and shaking it; that mixture of pine and lemon and honey and linseed tells me that I am home, and safe.
My brother teased me, reminding me that I had come from Lorien to Imladris to see him, and yet I left without a word to him and have not seen him since. It is true, and the two of us fell into comfortable patterns with one another, laughing and speaking of things as was our wont. My brother has ever been my closest companion, though he was more fond of travel than I, still he and had more in common than any other Elf we knew. I imagined that someday the two of us would read every book in every library that could be found. Neither of us had taken a spouse, neither of us had found love, and neither of us had great interest in doing so. We found other Elves pleasant enough, but nothing more; our minds were what we exercised and stimulated. I assumed he and I would always be together in this.
And yet, to my very great shock, Tinhethu has found love in this late day. Without telling me! And though I have no right to be, I grow indignant that he has taken himself out of our long ages of asexual contemplation of the world without so much as a word to me! It shakes me, for I thought the two of us would be unchanging somehow. Yet even in Lorien trees fall, new trees sprout, and here is my shy, patient brother, blushing to tell me. And he would take my hands gently in his own and look into my eyes and softly ask me if I have not done the same, and without telling him, for I have flown away like a redbreast seeking spring, and he finds me keeping house for a Man.
I wept then, and also laughed, for I had never dared to name this ache in my heart so boldly. He is right, of course. And strangely, my heart feels the lighter for admitting it. It is bound fast, and yet why should it trouble me? I cannot seek for its return, an yet that does not trouble me, either. Simply to know it, in my own mind, eases me greatly. It is what it is! Have I, who have promised to stay beneath the golden boughs of Lorien until each of my beloved trees whithers and falls, more to fear from watching another that I love fade away? If I can love trees and flowers, then why not a Man as well?
I know it shall never be mor than this, for his heart belongs to his wife and rightly so, and I will not trouble him with this, and yet, I am content with so much. It is enough that, here in the end of my people's time in this earth, I at least know what it is. I wil make no declarations, for they are meaningless. The knowledge is enough.
My brother and his companion stayed and talked with me long days before they left. They took with them such light and life as I had not realized I missed, and left me in the empty house again. Yet it was not the same, for my heart is light, and the smell of home fills the air, and the memory of my brother's words. I think I shall go to the Cask tonight and begin the task I am set, and see Miss Desmira, who I hope has been too busy to notice my long neglect!
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Lady Desmira is very kind to me, and does not tax me for my absence. Indeed, now that I have been to see her, I go often to the Cask, not only to seek for this Man whose name she gave me, but simply for her company, which is warm and nourishing to the spirit as a glowing hearth is to the body. I know that calling her Lady is an annoyance to her, but Miss seems strange and does not do her enough honor. To her own ears, I gladly call her so, but here in my own mind, she is ever a Lady.
My efforts in the garden is well-rewarded, for the old plants that died the last year have made the soil rich, and each of my transplantees has a packet of Imladris' soil about its roots to help. They have all taken root, the Glory-Vine begins to climb up the little lattice I have woven it, the Royal Trumpets grow so tall I fear their blossoms will tip them over when they come. Waiting Maiden and Heart's Desire grow side by side, and when they bloom it will be a riot of gold and red, heady sweetness and rich scent. In the garden, at least, I am sucessful, and I sing to the plants as I work. They will not notice the love-ballads I give them, but I am sure they appreciate the music itself, as woeful as my talent is. My mother's garden has always been a place of song and joy, and so too is mine. When Oendir returns, this place will be heavy with scent, and the humming of bees, and the waving richness of the petals.
Yet the garden does not need me to tend it as much as I do. I almost imagine the plants themselves sighing with relief when their pestering, but good-natured caretaker goes off to seek other company.
Lady Desmira has soothed my fear for Oendir's safety, saying that he is only seeking solitude to "clear the cobwebs," a phrase I quite like. I understand the urge, for I too have often sought such solitude in the highest and most distain telain until my mind was clear. I took to the Old Forest and now Oendir takes to Eregion. And when I described to her the Man I seek, the one who saved Oendir, she could give me a name to put with it. Farondae, she says, is a Man of Gondor who is often to be found at the Cask, or in the nearby village of Redstable, staying in a house of charity run by a Woman named Rosemead Locksley. I linger for a time here in Durrow, hoping that he will visit the Cask again, but I have the feeling that I will have to go and seek him out.
Desmira's company eases me in another way than even her good company, good food, and information can do alone. She knows. She took in my flushes and sighs and wringing hands when I spoke of Oendir and asked, with some surprise, if such a thing were possible. If she had seen such behavior in a young Woman, she told me, she would assume I was lovesick, but since I am an Elf, she must be wrong. Strange the dread and relief in admitting she was not! Yet it was difficult to explain, the way that Elves are bound to the souls of the one they marry (and sometimes even only the one they truly love, as Luthien was to Beren before they wed) and the weight it carries. I told her how, when I was young, I had always thought such unions romantic and pure, that they would bind themselves at cross-purposes to their destinies. She wisely told me that it is probably easy for one who thinks never to die to have ideas about the purity of death. She is likely right. And for me, both sensations seemed far out of my ken: death and love, and their mystery was as deep.
Yet, I told her that I would not tell him. It would only add to the many burdens he carries, and grieve him. I am sure it would pain him to be unable to return my feelings, and it would make things awkward between us. And there is the matter of my book. The book that I continue to arrange and note and pry the tales from strangers at the Cask that fill out the corners of the picture I paint. I should not allow myself to be so inserted into the tale.
Then leave the tale, Desmira tells me, and be his friend.
I had to admit to her that I dared not. For the book is why Oendir let me stay, it is my reason to be here. His garden is planted, and will bloom without me; if it would bloom better for my presence, who would know it? Without the book, what is my excuse? I should have to admit to him why I wish to stay, and then this pleasant fiction we have built where we do not question any of this would come crashing down. He might ask me to leave, and I am sworn to do it if he does. As long as I have the book... I have it to hide behind.
I will not stand in the way of his happiness. If someday Oendir takes a wife again, I shall be graceful and eagerly include her in my tale, and when the tale is over and I can send it West, I will return to Lorien as I have always planned to do. But I am not yet ready to break this delicate web of silence with any truth. Strange, that Desmira brings all these words from me so easily, when even my brother had to tug.
We spoke of death and marriage, for with Men these things are always bound so. We spoke of the places Men may go when they die, what they might find there, what Illuvatar has prepared. I cannot speak at all to the mind of Eru, but I am certain that the mind which sang such a world would not give a gift unless it was spendid indeed. In the course of such speech, Desmira told me her own tale, though I had not pestered her for it, or even thought to ask. I will note it here as best I can remember, for it has bearing on those marriages of which Oendir spoke: the ones a parent might force a daughter to accept, and the daughters who might refuse.
Her sister, Jinny, met a man her father approved of, for he was an apprentice. She wedded him, and they bore a child. She died in the birthing, and the husband went away without a word to any, leaving his son behind. None know where he might now reside, if he still lives. Her parents took the boy and called him Harry, and he minds the stables at the Cask now. Desmira was 15 when he was born, and angry, for she never liked her sister's man, and now her sister was taken away and the man proved faithless. And the angry girl that she was saw that the choice before her was to marry another apprentice, as her father would have her do, and raise Harry and have more sons, and live and die in this way.
She met an older man, not so much older that it was a scandal, but an unsuitable man. He was full of ambition and tales. Oh, she told me, the things he would say to her. So she left with him, and defied her father and broke her mother's heart, for they had no right to ask of her what they had. They never wed, and the man died, but Desmira survived and went on. Some Men, she told me, do force marriages; and some Men escape them.
I wonder if I shall ever find a tale of love among these Men that does not end in death?
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I decided to stop waiting for Farondae to appear at the Cask and made my way to Redstable, seeking the house of this Rosemead Locksley. I can not thank Desmira enough for pointing me to her, for I found far more than I thought I would!
Rosemead Locksley is a lovely Woman, with short red hair and bright eyes and freckles across her skin that remind me of the marks on lily-petals. But more than that, she knew Oendir as a child! I thought that when Rhienna fell that I had lost any chance to learn more tales of Oendir's youth, and here is a woman who not only remembers him well, but is more than happy to tell me whatever tales I request!
First, of course, I asked Rosemead about Farondae, and she says that he is often at that house. She agreed to keep a letter for him for when she next saw him, so that we could meet and I could determine if he was indeed the one who saved Oendir's life. She asked me to come into the house while I wrote it.
The house itself is... amazing, confusing... I am not sure what I think of it! They provide shelter and food to those who need it. Not their own people, not thier own kin, anyone. Those who cannot pay or have nowhere to go. I do not think I have ever heard of such a thing. It looks a little like the hall of healing in Ost Gurath, but that was reserved for the Eglain and (grudgingly) their guests - but far more welcoming and bright, without the pall of despair that hangs over the Eglain. It is like an inn, like the Cask, except guests do not pay. Even the vermin in the walls are fed! I have no idea how she pays to run such a house, but it seems well maintained.
That was when I discovered that she grew up with Oendir and Rhienna in Archet. I said that I should surely opportune her for tales if she was not busy, and I offered her an exchange: if she had anything that I could help with in the house, then perhaps it would free her to tell me a tale or two of Oendir's younger years. She grinned in a most wicked fashion and said she would gladly tell them, whether or not I helped, and that she knew much that I would never hear from Oendir himself. She and I settled ourselves near the fire with knives and taters to peel and she regaled me.
Oh, how I laugh thinking on it! Rosemead's simple, open face lighting up with amusement and delight as she told me of the younger Oendir. That merry, meddlesome boy that Synnova knew for a while, but this boy is also pranksome. Not only is he chasing the girls and paying court to them in the most unsuccessful ways (apparently, young Women do not consider beaver pelts a proper courting gift and would rather receive flowers) but he was also quite fond of practical jokes. She told me of a time he stuffed a widow's back shed with cabbages, which he bought with all his pocket money. I am not sure exactly why that was so funny, but Rosemead laughed and laughed, describing how the cabbages "tumbled out like startled chickens." She told me how he once lured away the guard-captain's dog, shaved it, and painted it in spots. I should certainly warn Lonare not to leave his dog unattended near Oendir!
She said he was often solitary, too, wandering through the woods and staying out far too late. He did not speak of Elves, and mentioning them brought him sorrow, so they did not do it often. Somehow I wonder though, if he was looking for some sign of Iriyen out in those woods. Someday, I do need to get the rest of that tale from him.
And, most wonderful, Rosemead finally gave me the key I needed to retrieve the tale of finding Landuin! I feared that it would be long years before I could ask Oendir about it, since his brother is now gone again, but it happened in Imladris! Surely, some Elf there will remember seeing it, and I have only to return there and ask!
She spoke of Synnova, how the belch ended Oendir's efforts to court her but how Rosemead thought she had fallen for him anyway. Then she went missing (I shall have to ask Synnova about this when next I see her) for half a year, and in that period, Oendir met Onua and fell in love with her. Synnova was betrothed to Landuin, but it was always a strange and strained affair. Rosemead believes that Synnova never stopped loving Oendir, and I concur.
"It seems," I said, unwisely, for the maid's loose tongue had loosened my own, "that Oendir has gone from famine to feast." She did not understand the phrase, so I explained that there are all these stories of him chaing after girls without luck, for years, and then one woman after another falls in love with him, and pine away.
Her eyes widened and she asked if there was more than one, then? I could have cursed.
Still, Desmira said something to the effect when I spoke to her that I was not alone in my care and concern for Oendir, and so I was saved from a lie. I told her that Desmira had given me to understand that there may be more than one indeed. Of course, I assured her, everyone worries for him, so their feelings may be more platonic than pining.
I wish I could have known the merry boy that Oendir was. I wish I could have hidden in those woods and shown him the hidden things that Men rarely find. Perhaps I could have coaxed him from Archet before he was forced to kill a man, and taken him to Imladris to grow up in peace there. He would not have been the first to be given such a gift. And yet, his grief has tempered him into the man he is now... who am I to wish it gone? Who am I to protect him from his pain. It is only that I myself was protected for so long, perhaps. Still, I cannot help but smile fondly to think of the lad he must have been.
Meeting Rosemead was a boon beyond thanks. I left her with the note for Farondae and my promise to return soon.
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At last, I have met Farondae and gotten the story from him! He was indeed the one who saved Oendir, and when he arrived at the Cask, Desmira quickly offered the two of us a quieter place inside the inn itself where we could speak alone.
I took a seat near to one of the smaller hearths, as did he, and I asked him first whether he was the Man who pulled our Oendir from the river when his cousin drowned. He said that he was, to his sorrow.
I gave him all the thanks my kindred can offer, which may be quite great by the reckoning of Men. I offered him a token by which he may, at any time, ask for aid from myself or any of my kindred. It was a pendant wihch Nenuvyiel crafted for me when I was a child, a pale blue sapphire on a silver chain, set in a silver setting shaped like the cup of a mallorn leaf. It is well-known to be mine by the Elves who know me, and should he ask any boon and present it, I know that my kin, or those who know us and know we will pay the debt, will help him without question. He seemed surprised to be offered such a gift, and protested that it was not necessary, but I insisted that he take it and he did. Oendir is an Elf-friend and dear to my House, those who safeguard his life must have our gratitude.
I asked Farondae then if he would tell me the tale of how it came to pass that Rhienna fell. He asked me why I should wish to know, not knowing I suppose if he should give such intimate details to one not of Oendir's blood. I told him that I wrote a tale of Men, and that Oendir's tale was the skeleton on which all the rest hangs. Rhienna was too important a part of his life to slip unremarked from the tale, nor does she deserve such treatment, for she was merry and fair, and a good friend to all. At that, he agreed, for she seemed so to him in the short time he knew her, and he set about to tell his tale. I will record it here in as much detail as he gave me, and arrange it into the book where it should go.
"Oftentimes I cannot be found in the civilized reaches of Men. I prefer the wilds. The day I met Oendir and Rhienna was one such day. I was in a lovely ruin in the Brandy Hills--it reminded me much of home--and I was meditating when I heard their voices long before their steps. They were both filled with joy and happiness. I was cautious of them, at first. After all, I was unaccustomed to others coming to my quiet places, but Oendir quickly put my mind at ease with his tales of being a woodsman, and I believed him.
We made ourselves known to each other, and they both were kind enough to ask me to join them in exploring the ruin. We explored for a while, and dusk was setting. At the time, we stood between the ruin and a cliff-face, and I offered to them some of the jerky I carry with me. Rhienna lost her footing. Oendir...leapt for her, and grasped her hand. I leapt for him, and grasped his leg. There is no sound worse than that of a loved one lost. Had I not held Oendir's foot, he surely would have followed her.
I spoke with him for long enough to help him regain some sanity, and he thought to seek for her body at the river bed. I followed. After a moment of searching, he cursed the fates, and sought to swim up the river to where she fell. Not one sign was found, though that river connects to the Brandywine, and the current is strong. I do not know wither her body went, though to the depths of Evendim would not be surprising. I dragged Oendir back to the shore, and spoke what words I was able. Then he left."
It was there that we left Rhienna's tale, for it was all that I needed to know. Instead, Farondae spoke of himself, for he said he was long-lived and would carry the sorrow of that day with him far longer than other Men would do. For a moment I started, thinking he was one of those who carry Elvish blood, but he said it was not so, and I knew him for one of the Dúnedain instead. He was a messenger of Ithilien, and was called Cyllmanadh by them, for it was his duty to bring news of the fallen to their families. I found it strange that we should sit here and speak so, for the name given to him is doom-bearer, while my name means good fortune.
He said that he came to Bree-Land to deliver a grim message to a friend, and stayed because he thought the land so fair. Without thinking, I blurted that if he finds Eriador fair, then Gondor must be grim indeed! I apologized of course, for my comment was both rude and thoughtless, but while I find Durrow congenial and the folk I have met are numbered as friends, it is hard to think of the fairness of Men when the memory of the Lone-Lands and the back-ways of Bree-Town are still so plain in my mind. The world of Men is both beautiful and terrible.
Farondae said that he has met many fair folk, and he blushed to say it, so I think he has met a lady here in Bree-Land who holds his heart, and so he does not depart for home until he can woo her. It made me smile to think on it, and then I noticed that since he stopped telling his tale and I stopped noting it, I had been sketching Oendir's face into my book. Desmira is right, I am acting like a foolish young girl! I put away my charcoal and my book and said farewell to Farondae. We agreed to speak of more pleasant topics when we meet again in this place, though I warned him that I can question most mercilessly, and that he might have to call for Desmira to pull this prying Elf away! He made a gallant comment about the pleasantry of being questioned by a fair Elf, and we parted ways with good will.
The flowers are beginning to swell and threaten to bloom. If only Oendir would return!
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The flowers bloomed. The sun shone down. And I was in the garden when Oendir came home.
He came walking up the hill, dressed in bright green, his head uncovered and his arms bare. He smiled at me and I could not contain myself, but leapt up and rush to fling my arms around his neck. I was so relieved to see him again, walking with his usual limp, yes, but hale and whole aside from that, and looking so much happier than I had last seen him! It was then, of course, that he winced and let me know that he had been injured, but not greatly, in his travels. Frighteningly enough, he was attacked here in Durrow, not far from the Cask! It was to there that he made his way, and Desmira saw that he was treated and slept for the night. Blessed Woman!
I released Oendir from my embrace, lest I cause him more pain. I showed him the garden, where the flowers are opening and stretching to the sun, and he ducked into the house for a moment, coming back out without his bag, holding a small holly-sprout cupped in his hands, the roots packed with earth and wrapped in burlap. I was overjoyed to see it, for it meant that I had not entirely slipped his mind when he was clearing the cobwebs.
He seemed so changed, so much freer and lighter than he was before. He asked me if I thought the holly would grow here.
I told him that I thought she would root well. Place her in the sun and in time, she would forget the soil of Eregion and think of this as her home. Give a plant sunlight to stretch toward, and she will grow.
He smiled at me.
I did not think either of us were speaking of the tree.
Spring has come to Durrow.
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I was in the garden singing to the flowers when Oendir and Desmira both rode up. I was surprised, never having seen Desmira on a horse - or indeed, out of the Cask! - before now! She said that she had not been astride since the accident that damaged her leg, though she was thinking of buying another, and Willowsong was helping her relearn her seat. Willowsong is a dear old thing, and there could hardly have been a safer mare to learn on.
Oendir bent to smell the Heart's Desire, while I pointed the Waiting Maiden and the other flowers to Desmira. They are rooting and blooming well, and seem perfectly content to be here. I could not quite resist, when Oendir looked around to see how well the holly spirg is rooting, to ask him if he had taken Desmira on an adventure.
Perhaps one where a dog was shaved and painted?
Desmira laughed, saying of all the things she had never expected to hear uttered by an Elf, that was surely one!
Oendir only stared with wide eyes. "Who... told you that?" he asked.
It was all I could do not to laugh in delight, for he was so surprised. I feigned to be thoughful, saying I could not entirely be sure who had told me, because I had questioned so many while seeking these tales.
Oendir only kept staring.
I looked back to Desmira, who was amused with both of us, asking her if their ride had been nothing so mischvious, which she said it had not. Only to exercise herself and Willowsong. We heaped praises on that gentle beast, and then Desmira headed back to her Inn, across the grass and ignoring the path. Oendir murmured that surely she would wear a path in the grass, but I pointed out that would mean she was visiting so often, it would be a small price to pay.
I could still hardly keep from laughing, and he gave me another look. I had to respond, telling him he should not leave me alone for so long, because it gave me time to ferret out too many things. He only sighed and asked if I had spoken to Rose. I suppose he tallied up his childhood friends and found not many of them available for my questioning. I told him I had, and that she was a lovely woman. I told him I wish we could have known one another as children, for I think we would have gotten on well.
"Did you play such jokes?" he asked. And I told him of the time I found my brother asleep in Mother's garden and braided his long, silver hair into the Glory-Vine, so that he could not rise without uprooting it all. Luckily, he is a most patient Elf, and remained where he was until Mother came to free him. Oendir looked delighted at the tale, but suddenly yawned, complaining that he was suddenly unable to keep his eyes open. I shooed him toward the door, telling him to make for his bed before he fell asleep in my garden and I had to wrap him in trumpet-flowers.
"Lucky for me I've no hair anymore!" he said.
"I would bind your wrists and ankles then and train the flowers there," I told him, grinning, and then wished him sweet dreams.
It is an interesting picture for the mind, is it not?
Today, I met Synnova, a Woman of the Dale-Lands and a friend of Oendir's. She appeared on his doorstep looking for him, but he was off visiting his cousin, and I was amusing myself with my wooden flute. Sometimes it seems that I alone of my kindred have no true talent for music, but still it amuses me to play sometimes - when I am alone and there is no one to hear, that is.
Synnova consented to sit with me awhile, and tell me tales of how she met Oendir. It was before Archet burned, and the man she described was not much like the one that I have come to know. She called him mischevious and meddlesome, a prankster who paid her extravangant court - or the show of such - and then belched in her face. She said that it was childish, not the behavior of a Man but of a boy. I wish I could have seen him as a Boy, before the losses he has suffered bruised him so.
She saw him change the night that Archet was attacked. When he first slew a Man, it changed him from a mischevious boy into a Man of more gravity. She said that Oendir's uncle - Rhienna's father - was killed that night, and the three of them left Archet together.
Then - altogether sudden and abrupt, I thought - she noticed that I was sketching a leaf in my book as I listened to her, and said she had seen another drawing in my book when I flipped through to find an empty page to note her tale upon. She asked to see it. Ai, it felt as though my cheeks would catch afire, though I tried to hide it, and I could do nothing except turn to my drawing and show it to her. I tried to make excuses, that I had only rendered it out of boredom when I could not sleep in Ost Gurath, but she only said that it was well done and then looked away. I think me that some understanding passed between us then, and both of us knew but would not say.
Synnova is one who has known battle and death, love and loss. Compared to her, I am only a child of willful stupidity who has never done a thing. She is kin to the Man Oendir becomes with every grim thing that befalls him. Could it be they would heal one another? I know not.
We spoke a little more - of Landuin's disappearance and of Akhbur. Synnova believes the Onua is fallen indeed, though she knows not the cause of the Warg's vengeance. She also did not wish to speak of Landuin, and soon rose to leave. She looked down on me with puzzlement, or agitation, some emotion I could not quite glean. But when I asked her of it, she would only say that perhaps Oendir refuses to understand that it is his tale I write, because he cannot understand why I should find his tale captivating.
Then she wished me good evening and left. I do not know how to sort out all I feel after this encounter... so I will turn back and write of less personal things, and record only the tale she told me.
Good historians should not mingle their hearts with their works.
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I thought it would be good to get a little distance and perspective. The little house and its occupant are becoming such a concern of my mind... to be fair, nearly an obsession, between my book and my wayward emotions. It is becoming a whole world unto itself and I feel the need to step away to see it clearer again. So I have gone to the Old Forest, about which many fell things are rumored, but about this is true: it is old, and it is awake.
So to these watchful, resentful trees have I gone, to learn and to seek and to listen and to sing. Perhaps it has simply been too long since the Forest was listened to. I see their anger directed at the little Shire-folk, who, while gentle, are surprisingly blind to much of the world around them. I do not plan to be here very long, but some nights I have the uneasy feeling that the forest simply wishes to keep me. Of course, an Elf will not be bound, not by a tree nor any other, without her own will, yet I find myself curiously turned about as I explore.
Mischievously or more sinisterly, I do believe the trees toy with me, and move their paths about as I walk. They are nearly as silent as my own kindred are, and I feel the urge to play with them as well. My own forest is bright and beautiful, but sedate and calm. I shall try to wend my way through the trees and toward my own goals, and we shall see if they may stop me!
I feel somewhere in the heart of this forest is a great duality of light and dark. I wonder what it is.
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Ai! For an Elf to admit defeat, after having warred with a forest! It is hardly to be borne!
The trees would turn about and I could not find my way. I did happen upon that center of which I wrote earlier, which focuses on a dark and angry creature shaped like a Willow Tree, though I believe it is much greater than that. Keeping it in check is a force of great brightness, the Eternal and Fatherless. To meet Iarwain Ben-Adar and speak to him and hear his rhyming! He and his wife were very kind to me, and I confess that I stayed far longer than I should have done. In truth, with such a wealth of knowledge offered to me, it was hard to think of going back out into that humiliating forest to spin about will-I-nill-I again.
Finally, I spoke of my misgivings to him, and he set about at once to guide me. The trees seemed reluctant to get up to any pranks with him, and soon I found myself blinking in the sunlight on the slopes across the river from Bree-Town. In some ways, I was sad to leave the forest, for I have missed the sound of leaves and the gentle sway of the wind, the creaking of trunks and the smell of leaves. But, it is not my wood and never shall be so, and so I do not love it well enough to stay. When I live again beneath a canopy, it shall be in Lorien.
It is quite a walk now back along the road to Durrow, and not entirely safe at that. However, there seem to be a good deal of friendly travelers upon the road, and many know the name of Coruhir, so I am safeguarded as I travel back home.
I do hope that Oendir has not been overly worried, for after his brother's disappearance, I hate the thought that he might have feared me gone as well. I did expect mother or even Oendir to send one of Silhann's ravens after me, but perhaps the forest is too dangerous for them. There were many dens of horrible spiders, and bats as big as ones head in places.
Still, if I have worried him, I will simply apologize. Most likely, he has felt a great relief that I have gone, and he can have his space to himself again without an Elf pestering him day and night! I shall do my best not to be too effusive in my greeting, for I have missed him dreadfully. It was hard to lay eyes on the places of beauty within the forest - and they were many - without wanting to turn to him and point them out. Someday, I should like to show him Lorien.
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Dark have been these days, and I unknowing, wasting them within the shadow of the old trees and the older spirits! I, who promised to stay at Oendir's side unless he sent me from it, abandoned him to satisfy my own curiosity at the utter height of his need!
His brother Landuin has been declared head by the Company, and they held for him a funeral in Annuminas. My own kindred attended, having received the news by raven's wing - the birds which feared or were unable to fly within the shadow of that dark forest to tell me as well.
Landuin's loss is a deep gulf in Oendir's heart, especially coming so soon on the heels of his wife's death, but when I returned to the house, that was not the grief I saw. He had shorn his hair, his beautiful, unruly black hair, painfully short. It is the custom, he told me, when a Man of Gondor grieves.
Rhienna is dead. His merry cousin, with her clever fingers and her stubborn passion. She fell from his grasp into the Brandywine river, and he could not prevent it. Ai, his brother and his wife left his life silently, but the cousin who was more a sister, left screaming while he watched. I grieve at the loss of such bright company, and cannot imagine the loss that Oendir must bear. The thought of my brother Tinhethu falling so is enough to pierce my heart, and I know he lives still.
And I, I was within the Old Forest playing truant when it happened! I was not there to comfort him, I was not there to help, I could not hold him while he wept as he once held
It is a great event in the story of Oendir's life, a tragic change that I should have been present to record. If my story is to contain enough truth to send West with my kin, it must be as complete as possible. I am remiss in my duties as both a historian and a friend, and nothing can repair that.
Oendir told me that he goes now to Eregion, and I am not to go with him. Selfish, to think of it as a punishment, but to think of him alone in the wilds with such grief in his heart is hardly to be borne. He wishes to be alone, and does not wish my company, my sympathy, and I must respect it.
...still, I will not leave him unguarded. I shall send a raven to Tinhethu. My kindred even now scour every hillock and cranny of Eregion, guarding the passage now that Moria stands open. I will beg my brother to safeguard this Man for me, for my family are all Elves of the forest and can move with more skill and subtlety than a Man can know. Oendir shall have his solitude, but he shall be safe as he has it. Else I know I will go mad, simply waiting. I know that if he should fall I
He set me also a riddle, perhaps given to me as a mercy, to occupy my mind while he is gone. The only other person to witness Rhienna's passing was a Man of Gondor, fair of skin but dark of eye and hair. Oendir could not recall more about him, other than his name might contain the Elvish word for hunter - faron - and so with these clues and nothing more, I will seek through Durrow, then to the other villages, to Bree-Town and further if I must. The Man pulled Oendir from the water and did not let him suffer the same fate as his cousin, and for that at least I owe him a very great boon. That will satisfy my heart. For my mind, I must also record the tale of Rhienna's passing. She was too bright a light, and too important to Oendir's tale, to let her story unravel without tying off the threads. I will find this Man and thank him, and get from him the tale of Rhienna's death, which I will never ask Oendir.
I promised also to care diligently for the garden, that garden which first brought me to Durrow. Spring, he said, would be coming soon. Spring, I told him, would not come until he returned, and then all the flowers would bloom for joy of it. He asked if there was anything he could bring me back, and I said only himself, safe and hale. Though he still persisted, I asked for a sprig of holly, for I believe I could coax it to grow here. Would that not be grand, a red-berried holly tree of Eregion standing here on this place? He only nodded and left, and went back to look at the flowers I have not yet thought safe to set in the cold dirt outside. Waiting Maiden, my favorite flower. I believe they are ready to root here.
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Not too long after Oendir left, I received a surprise visitation. Tinhethu had asked our uncle, Asthand, to fulfil my request, which puts me greatly at ease. Asthand has been guarding Eregion for ages before either of us were born,It will be not great matter for him to assure the safetly of one Man there. His wife is very young, but she was raised in Taur-e-Ndaedelos, and the Elves there have good reasons to be quick and quiet. Knowing they watch over Oendir brings a peace to my heart.
Tinhethu came instead to see me. I am not sure if this is my family's way of doing just what I have done for Oendir, or if Tinhethu himself only wanted to see me, but I was so happy to see him nontheless. The house seems both echoingly empy and constricting without Oendir here, yet I am loathe to leave it. Not because I fear he will return while I am gone - he has not been gone long enough for that - but because I have grown accustomed to the security he offered. For some reason, I am shy of going out of these estates and speaking to the other Men without the shield of his presence, though I have never been before. Of course, I have never been so isolated either, so perhaps there is nothing remarkable in my nervousness.
Tinhethu brought me gifts from mother, some herbs, tea, and a block of her beautiful scented wax with which she keeps the furniture in house and Hall smooth and shining. Just smelling it brought tears to my eyes, and I resolved to spend as many days as I needed gently rubbing it into as many surfaces as I could. Scent has its way of grabbing the memory by the throat and shaking it; that mixture of pine and lemon and honey and linseed tells me that I am home, and safe.
My brother teased me, reminding me that I had come from Lorien to Imladris to see him, and yet I left without a word to him and have not seen him since. It is true, and the two of us fell into comfortable patterns with one another, laughing and speaking of things as was our wont. My brother has ever been my closest companion, though he was more fond of travel than I, still he and had more in common than any other Elf we knew. I imagined that someday the two of us would read every book in every library that could be found. Neither of us had taken a spouse, neither of us had found love, and neither of us had great interest in doing so. We found other Elves pleasant enough, but nothing more; our minds were what we exercised and stimulated. I assumed he and I would always be together in this.
And yet, to my very great shock, Tinhethu has found love in this late day. Without telling me! And though I have no right to be, I grow indignant that he has taken himself out of our long ages of asexual contemplation of the world without so much as a word to me! It shakes me, for I thought the two of us would be unchanging somehow. Yet even in Lorien trees fall, new trees sprout, and here is my shy, patient brother, blushing to tell me. And he would take my hands gently in his own and look into my eyes and softly ask me if I have not done the same, and without telling him, for I have flown away like a redbreast seeking spring, and he finds me keeping house for a Man.
I wept then, and also laughed, for I had never dared to name this ache in my heart so boldly. He is right, of course. And strangely, my heart feels the lighter for admitting it. It is bound fast, and yet why should it trouble me? I cannot seek for its return, an yet that does not trouble me, either. Simply to know it, in my own mind, eases me greatly. It is what it is! Have I, who have promised to stay beneath the golden boughs of Lorien until each of my beloved trees whithers and falls, more to fear from watching another that I love fade away? If I can love trees and flowers, then why not a Man as well?
I know it shall never be mor than this, for his heart belongs to his wife and rightly so, and I will not trouble him with this, and yet, I am content with so much. It is enough that, here in the end of my people's time in this earth, I at least know what it is. I wil make no declarations, for they are meaningless. The knowledge is enough.
My brother and his companion stayed and talked with me long days before they left. They took with them such light and life as I had not realized I missed, and left me in the empty house again. Yet it was not the same, for my heart is light, and the smell of home fills the air, and the memory of my brother's words. I think I shall go to the Cask tonight and begin the task I am set, and see Miss Desmira, who I hope has been too busy to notice my long neglect!
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Lady Desmira is very kind to me, and does not tax me for my absence. Indeed, now that I have been to see her, I go often to the Cask, not only to seek for this Man whose name she gave me, but simply for her company, which is warm and nourishing to the spirit as a glowing hearth is to the body. I know that calling her Lady is an annoyance to her, but Miss seems strange and does not do her enough honor. To her own ears, I gladly call her so, but here in my own mind, she is ever a Lady.
My efforts in the garden is well-rewarded, for the old plants that died the last year have made the soil rich, and each of my transplantees has a packet of Imladris' soil about its roots to help. They have all taken root, the Glory-Vine begins to climb up the little lattice I have woven it, the Royal Trumpets grow so tall I fear their blossoms will tip them over when they come. Waiting Maiden and Heart's Desire grow side by side, and when they bloom it will be a riot of gold and red, heady sweetness and rich scent. In the garden, at least, I am sucessful, and I sing to the plants as I work. They will not notice the love-ballads I give them, but I am sure they appreciate the music itself, as woeful as my talent is. My mother's garden has always been a place of song and joy, and so too is mine. When Oendir returns, this place will be heavy with scent, and the humming of bees, and the waving richness of the petals.
Yet the garden does not need me to tend it as much as I do. I almost imagine the plants themselves sighing with relief when their pestering, but good-natured caretaker goes off to seek other company.
Lady Desmira has soothed my fear for Oendir's safety, saying that he is only seeking solitude to "clear the cobwebs," a phrase I quite like. I understand the urge, for I too have often sought such solitude in the highest and most distain telain until my mind was clear. I took to the Old Forest and now Oendir takes to Eregion. And when I described to her the Man I seek, the one who saved Oendir, she could give me a name to put with it. Farondae, she says, is a Man of Gondor who is often to be found at the Cask, or in the nearby village of Redstable, staying in a house of charity run by a Woman named Rosemead Locksley. I linger for a time here in Durrow, hoping that he will visit the Cask again, but I have the feeling that I will have to go and seek him out.
Desmira's company eases me in another way than even her good company, good food, and information can do alone. She knows. She took in my flushes and sighs and wringing hands when I spoke of Oendir and asked, with some surprise, if such a thing were possible. If she had seen such behavior in a young Woman, she told me, she would assume I was lovesick, but since I am an Elf, she must be wrong. Strange the dread and relief in admitting she was not! Yet it was difficult to explain, the way that Elves are bound to the souls of the one they marry (and sometimes even only the one they truly love, as Luthien was to Beren before they wed) and the weight it carries. I told her how, when I was young, I had always thought such unions romantic and pure, that they would bind themselves at cross-purposes to their destinies. She wisely told me that it is probably easy for one who thinks never to die to have ideas about the purity of death. She is likely right. And for me, both sensations seemed far out of my ken: death and love, and their mystery was as deep.
Yet, I told her that I would not tell him. It would only add to the many burdens he carries, and grieve him. I am sure it would pain him to be unable to return my feelings, and it would make things awkward between us. And there is the matter of my book. The book that I continue to arrange and note and pry the tales from strangers at the Cask that fill out the corners of the picture I paint. I should not allow myself to be so inserted into the tale.
Then leave the tale, Desmira tells me, and be his friend.
I had to admit to her that I dared not. For the book is why Oendir let me stay, it is my reason to be here. His garden is planted, and will bloom without me; if it would bloom better for my presence, who would know it? Without the book, what is my excuse? I should have to admit to him why I wish to stay, and then this pleasant fiction we have built where we do not question any of this would come crashing down. He might ask me to leave, and I am sworn to do it if he does. As long as I have the book... I have it to hide behind.
I will not stand in the way of his happiness. If someday Oendir takes a wife again, I shall be graceful and eagerly include her in my tale, and when the tale is over and I can send it West, I will return to Lorien as I have always planned to do. But I am not yet ready to break this delicate web of silence with any truth. Strange, that Desmira brings all these words from me so easily, when even my brother had to tug.
We spoke of death and marriage, for with Men these things are always bound so. We spoke of the places Men may go when they die, what they might find there, what Illuvatar has prepared. I cannot speak at all to the mind of Eru, but I am certain that the mind which sang such a world would not give a gift unless it was spendid indeed. In the course of such speech, Desmira told me her own tale, though I had not pestered her for it, or even thought to ask. I will note it here as best I can remember, for it has bearing on those marriages of which Oendir spoke: the ones a parent might force a daughter to accept, and the daughters who might refuse.
Her sister, Jinny, met a man her father approved of, for he was an apprentice. She wedded him, and they bore a child. She died in the birthing, and the husband went away without a word to any, leaving his son behind. None know where he might now reside, if he still lives. Her parents took the boy and called him Harry, and he minds the stables at the Cask now. Desmira was 15 when he was born, and angry, for she never liked her sister's man, and now her sister was taken away and the man proved faithless. And the angry girl that she was saw that the choice before her was to marry another apprentice, as her father would have her do, and raise Harry and have more sons, and live and die in this way.
She met an older man, not so much older that it was a scandal, but an unsuitable man. He was full of ambition and tales. Oh, she told me, the things he would say to her. So she left with him, and defied her father and broke her mother's heart, for they had no right to ask of her what they had. They never wed, and the man died, but Desmira survived and went on. Some Men, she told me, do force marriages; and some Men escape them.
I wonder if I shall ever find a tale of love among these Men that does not end in death?
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I decided to stop waiting for Farondae to appear at the Cask and made my way to Redstable, seeking the house of this Rosemead Locksley. I can not thank Desmira enough for pointing me to her, for I found far more than I thought I would!
Rosemead Locksley is a lovely Woman, with short red hair and bright eyes and freckles across her skin that remind me of the marks on lily-petals. But more than that, she knew Oendir as a child! I thought that when Rhienna fell that I had lost any chance to learn more tales of Oendir's youth, and here is a woman who not only remembers him well, but is more than happy to tell me whatever tales I request!
First, of course, I asked Rosemead about Farondae, and she says that he is often at that house. She agreed to keep a letter for him for when she next saw him, so that we could meet and I could determine if he was indeed the one who saved Oendir's life. She asked me to come into the house while I wrote it.
The house itself is... amazing, confusing... I am not sure what I think of it! They provide shelter and food to those who need it. Not their own people, not thier own kin, anyone. Those who cannot pay or have nowhere to go. I do not think I have ever heard of such a thing. It looks a little like the hall of healing in Ost Gurath, but that was reserved for the Eglain and (grudgingly) their guests - but far more welcoming and bright, without the pall of despair that hangs over the Eglain. It is like an inn, like the Cask, except guests do not pay. Even the vermin in the walls are fed! I have no idea how she pays to run such a house, but it seems well maintained.
That was when I discovered that she grew up with Oendir and Rhienna in Archet. I said that I should surely opportune her for tales if she was not busy, and I offered her an exchange: if she had anything that I could help with in the house, then perhaps it would free her to tell me a tale or two of Oendir's younger years. She grinned in a most wicked fashion and said she would gladly tell them, whether or not I helped, and that she knew much that I would never hear from Oendir himself. She and I settled ourselves near the fire with knives and taters to peel and she regaled me.
Oh, how I laugh thinking on it! Rosemead's simple, open face lighting up with amusement and delight as she told me of the younger Oendir. That merry, meddlesome boy that Synnova knew for a while, but this boy is also pranksome. Not only is he chasing the girls and paying court to them in the most unsuccessful ways (apparently, young Women do not consider beaver pelts a proper courting gift and would rather receive flowers) but he was also quite fond of practical jokes. She told me of a time he stuffed a widow's back shed with cabbages, which he bought with all his pocket money. I am not sure exactly why that was so funny, but Rosemead laughed and laughed, describing how the cabbages "tumbled out like startled chickens." She told me how he once lured away the guard-captain's dog, shaved it, and painted it in spots. I should certainly warn Lonare not to leave his dog unattended near Oendir!
She said he was often solitary, too, wandering through the woods and staying out far too late. He did not speak of Elves, and mentioning them brought him sorrow, so they did not do it often. Somehow I wonder though, if he was looking for some sign of Iriyen out in those woods. Someday, I do need to get the rest of that tale from him.
And, most wonderful, Rosemead finally gave me the key I needed to retrieve the tale of finding Landuin! I feared that it would be long years before I could ask Oendir about it, since his brother is now gone again, but it happened in Imladris! Surely, some Elf there will remember seeing it, and I have only to return there and ask!
She spoke of Synnova, how the belch ended Oendir's efforts to court her but how Rosemead thought she had fallen for him anyway. Then she went missing (I shall have to ask Synnova about this when next I see her) for half a year, and in that period, Oendir met Onua and fell in love with her. Synnova was betrothed to Landuin, but it was always a strange and strained affair. Rosemead believes that Synnova never stopped loving Oendir, and I concur.
"It seems," I said, unwisely, for the maid's loose tongue had loosened my own, "that Oendir has gone from famine to feast." She did not understand the phrase, so I explained that there are all these stories of him chaing after girls without luck, for years, and then one woman after another falls in love with him, and pine away.
Her eyes widened and she asked if there was more than one, then? I could have cursed.
Still, Desmira said something to the effect when I spoke to her that I was not alone in my care and concern for Oendir, and so I was saved from a lie. I told her that Desmira had given me to understand that there may be more than one indeed. Of course, I assured her, everyone worries for him, so their feelings may be more platonic than pining.
I wish I could have known the merry boy that Oendir was. I wish I could have hidden in those woods and shown him the hidden things that Men rarely find. Perhaps I could have coaxed him from Archet before he was forced to kill a man, and taken him to Imladris to grow up in peace there. He would not have been the first to be given such a gift. And yet, his grief has tempered him into the man he is now... who am I to wish it gone? Who am I to protect him from his pain. It is only that I myself was protected for so long, perhaps. Still, I cannot help but smile fondly to think of the lad he must have been.
Meeting Rosemead was a boon beyond thanks. I left her with the note for Farondae and my promise to return soon.
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At last, I have met Farondae and gotten the story from him! He was indeed the one who saved Oendir, and when he arrived at the Cask, Desmira quickly offered the two of us a quieter place inside the inn itself where we could speak alone.
I took a seat near to one of the smaller hearths, as did he, and I asked him first whether he was the Man who pulled our Oendir from the river when his cousin drowned. He said that he was, to his sorrow.
I gave him all the thanks my kindred can offer, which may be quite great by the reckoning of Men. I offered him a token by which he may, at any time, ask for aid from myself or any of my kindred. It was a pendant wihch Nenuvyiel crafted for me when I was a child, a pale blue sapphire on a silver chain, set in a silver setting shaped like the cup of a mallorn leaf. It is well-known to be mine by the Elves who know me, and should he ask any boon and present it, I know that my kin, or those who know us and know we will pay the debt, will help him without question. He seemed surprised to be offered such a gift, and protested that it was not necessary, but I insisted that he take it and he did. Oendir is an Elf-friend and dear to my House, those who safeguard his life must have our gratitude.
I asked Farondae then if he would tell me the tale of how it came to pass that Rhienna fell. He asked me why I should wish to know, not knowing I suppose if he should give such intimate details to one not of Oendir's blood. I told him that I wrote a tale of Men, and that Oendir's tale was the skeleton on which all the rest hangs. Rhienna was too important a part of his life to slip unremarked from the tale, nor does she deserve such treatment, for she was merry and fair, and a good friend to all. At that, he agreed, for she seemed so to him in the short time he knew her, and he set about to tell his tale. I will record it here in as much detail as he gave me, and arrange it into the book where it should go.
"Oftentimes I cannot be found in the civilized reaches of Men. I prefer the wilds. The day I met Oendir and Rhienna was one such day. I was in a lovely ruin in the Brandy Hills--it reminded me much of home--and I was meditating when I heard their voices long before their steps. They were both filled with joy and happiness. I was cautious of them, at first. After all, I was unaccustomed to others coming to my quiet places, but Oendir quickly put my mind at ease with his tales of being a woodsman, and I believed him.
We made ourselves known to each other, and they both were kind enough to ask me to join them in exploring the ruin. We explored for a while, and dusk was setting. At the time, we stood between the ruin and a cliff-face, and I offered to them some of the jerky I carry with me. Rhienna lost her footing. Oendir...leapt for her, and grasped her hand. I leapt for him, and grasped his leg. There is no sound worse than that of a loved one lost. Had I not held Oendir's foot, he surely would have followed her.
I spoke with him for long enough to help him regain some sanity, and he thought to seek for her body at the river bed. I followed. After a moment of searching, he cursed the fates, and sought to swim up the river to where she fell. Not one sign was found, though that river connects to the Brandywine, and the current is strong. I do not know wither her body went, though to the depths of Evendim would not be surprising. I dragged Oendir back to the shore, and spoke what words I was able. Then he left."
It was there that we left Rhienna's tale, for it was all that I needed to know. Instead, Farondae spoke of himself, for he said he was long-lived and would carry the sorrow of that day with him far longer than other Men would do. For a moment I started, thinking he was one of those who carry Elvish blood, but he said it was not so, and I knew him for one of the Dúnedain instead. He was a messenger of Ithilien, and was called Cyllmanadh by them, for it was his duty to bring news of the fallen to their families. I found it strange that we should sit here and speak so, for the name given to him is doom-bearer, while my name means good fortune.
He said that he came to Bree-Land to deliver a grim message to a friend, and stayed because he thought the land so fair. Without thinking, I blurted that if he finds Eriador fair, then Gondor must be grim indeed! I apologized of course, for my comment was both rude and thoughtless, but while I find Durrow congenial and the folk I have met are numbered as friends, it is hard to think of the fairness of Men when the memory of the Lone-Lands and the back-ways of Bree-Town are still so plain in my mind. The world of Men is both beautiful and terrible.
Farondae said that he has met many fair folk, and he blushed to say it, so I think he has met a lady here in Bree-Land who holds his heart, and so he does not depart for home until he can woo her. It made me smile to think on it, and then I noticed that since he stopped telling his tale and I stopped noting it, I had been sketching Oendir's face into my book. Desmira is right, I am acting like a foolish young girl! I put away my charcoal and my book and said farewell to Farondae. We agreed to speak of more pleasant topics when we meet again in this place, though I warned him that I can question most mercilessly, and that he might have to call for Desmira to pull this prying Elf away! He made a gallant comment about the pleasantry of being questioned by a fair Elf, and we parted ways with good will.
The flowers are beginning to swell and threaten to bloom. If only Oendir would return!
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The flowers bloomed. The sun shone down. And I was in the garden when Oendir came home.
He came walking up the hill, dressed in bright green, his head uncovered and his arms bare. He smiled at me and I could not contain myself, but leapt up and rush to fling my arms around his neck. I was so relieved to see him again, walking with his usual limp, yes, but hale and whole aside from that, and looking so much happier than I had last seen him! It was then, of course, that he winced and let me know that he had been injured, but not greatly, in his travels. Frighteningly enough, he was attacked here in Durrow, not far from the Cask! It was to there that he made his way, and Desmira saw that he was treated and slept for the night. Blessed Woman!
I released Oendir from my embrace, lest I cause him more pain. I showed him the garden, where the flowers are opening and stretching to the sun, and he ducked into the house for a moment, coming back out without his bag, holding a small holly-sprout cupped in his hands, the roots packed with earth and wrapped in burlap. I was overjoyed to see it, for it meant that I had not entirely slipped his mind when he was clearing the cobwebs.
He seemed so changed, so much freer and lighter than he was before. He asked me if I thought the holly would grow here.
I told him that I thought she would root well. Place her in the sun and in time, she would forget the soil of Eregion and think of this as her home. Give a plant sunlight to stretch toward, and she will grow.
He smiled at me.
I did not think either of us were speaking of the tree.
Spring has come to Durrow.
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I was in the garden singing to the flowers when Oendir and Desmira both rode up. I was surprised, never having seen Desmira on a horse - or indeed, out of the Cask! - before now! She said that she had not been astride since the accident that damaged her leg, though she was thinking of buying another, and Willowsong was helping her relearn her seat. Willowsong is a dear old thing, and there could hardly have been a safer mare to learn on.
Oendir bent to smell the Heart's Desire, while I pointed the Waiting Maiden and the other flowers to Desmira. They are rooting and blooming well, and seem perfectly content to be here. I could not quite resist, when Oendir looked around to see how well the holly spirg is rooting, to ask him if he had taken Desmira on an adventure.
Perhaps one where a dog was shaved and painted?
Desmira laughed, saying of all the things she had never expected to hear uttered by an Elf, that was surely one!
Oendir only stared with wide eyes. "Who... told you that?" he asked.
It was all I could do not to laugh in delight, for he was so surprised. I feigned to be thoughful, saying I could not entirely be sure who had told me, because I had questioned so many while seeking these tales.
Oendir only kept staring.
I looked back to Desmira, who was amused with both of us, asking her if their ride had been nothing so mischvious, which she said it had not. Only to exercise herself and Willowsong. We heaped praises on that gentle beast, and then Desmira headed back to her Inn, across the grass and ignoring the path. Oendir murmured that surely she would wear a path in the grass, but I pointed out that would mean she was visiting so often, it would be a small price to pay.
I could still hardly keep from laughing, and he gave me another look. I had to respond, telling him he should not leave me alone for so long, because it gave me time to ferret out too many things. He only sighed and asked if I had spoken to Rose. I suppose he tallied up his childhood friends and found not many of them available for my questioning. I told him I had, and that she was a lovely woman. I told him I wish we could have known one another as children, for I think we would have gotten on well.
"Did you play such jokes?" he asked. And I told him of the time I found my brother asleep in Mother's garden and braided his long, silver hair into the Glory-Vine, so that he could not rise without uprooting it all. Luckily, he is a most patient Elf, and remained where he was until Mother came to free him. Oendir looked delighted at the tale, but suddenly yawned, complaining that he was suddenly unable to keep his eyes open. I shooed him toward the door, telling him to make for his bed before he fell asleep in my garden and I had to wrap him in trumpet-flowers.
"Lucky for me I've no hair anymore!" he said.
"I would bind your wrists and ankles then and train the flowers there," I told him, grinning, and then wished him sweet dreams.
It is an interesting picture for the mind, is it not?