The Song of the Dance
folder
-Multi-Age › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
10
Views:
1,444
Reviews:
6
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
-Multi-Age › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
10
Views:
1,444
Reviews:
6
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own the Lord of the Rings (and associated) book series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
The Search
THE SONG OF THE DANCE
Chapter 3: The Search
Two sentries of the northern border sat together on a large boulder beneath Haldir’s city flet.
“Do you think he’s hung-over?”
“Haldir?” Orophin exclaimed. “Never. He’s far too responsible to have been drinking.”
“He’s never been this late before,” Rumil pointed out, watching the change of light in the forest as the sun cleared the unseen horizon.
“He’s never been late at all,” the other agreed.
“I am not late. I am simply not early.”
The brothers jumped in surprise, turning to stand in awe of their elder sibling.
“For shame,” Haldir criticized. “You return to the borders for watch-duty in a day but could not even hear my obvious approach? You are out of practice.”
Rumil began his argument. “We simply did not expect-”
“A Guardian must always expect. Enemies. Deception. Trespassersangeanger. There is no excuse for your slip. Either of you.”
The sentries bowed their heads at the reproach.
When Orophin looked up again, worry settled on his features. “Where are your things, Haldir?”
Seeing that he was indeed without his longbow, Rumil adopted his brother’s expression. “Do you not return to the border with us?”
Haldir shook his head, handing Orophin a scroll. “Nay I do not. Give that letter irstirst Lieutenant Thinthoron; he will stay on as your Captain this season as the Lord and Lady demand my services elsewhere. I shall see you at Midsummer.”
When they made no reply, Haldir waved at them. “Off with you, now. Or else you will be late!”
So, the brothers had no choice but to go their way, leaving a mystery behind with only a long march ahead.
***
After packing himself a few loaves of lembas, Haldir set off northward himself, in a slightly more western direction than his brothers had taken.
A swift jog cleared his mind and a day of such travel brought him to his destination by dusk. Here, near the northwestern edge of Lorien, the trees were shorter but grew closer together. A darkness hung here unlike the normal light of Lorien, though it was not oppressive, and Haldir smiled to hear the wind setting a thousand chimes to tinkling where they hung in copper and bamboo rods from the highest branches in the distance. It created a calming sort of music and he remembered it well from his childhood.
He walked silently within this dark-seeming forest, stopping at a certain point, a border undefined by any physical means. He peered through the trees, but the many low leaves obscured his vision and he could make out no disturbance in the oldest growth of Lorien.
Tipping his head to the breeze, he discerned through the sound of wind-rustled branches and far away chimes the distant tone of a light-hearted humming. He grinned.
“Old witch! Old witch! Let me come in!” he called out in a clear, ringing voice.
The far-off singing ceased and within moments, a figure swathed in green silks came sweeping through the trees. Long white hair fell past a humped shoulder to trail close to the forest floor. Great green eyes sparkled at the sight of him and a smile lit the ancient face. “Haldir, dearheart, it is you!” Arms opened to accept him in a warm embrace, heartily returned by the March Warden.
“Aye, Iarwen,” he sighed, holding her close. He smiled: she smelled the same as she had years ago, of hearthsmoke, ainereg, tea, and magic.
“You have been away too long,” she scolded kindly, stepping back to look at him, though both had remained the same over the course of time. His stately features were unchanged, though the deep violet eyes held, perhaps, a bit more wisdom. And she still hunched under the weight of a disfigured shoulder, but the clear beauty of her lined face was untouched by time. She sighed with a false air of indignation. “What do you need this time?”
When he only grinned, she laughed, a high warbling music to his ears. “Oh but for shame, it seems I must mind my manners after all: come in, come in!”
***
She was called Iarwen, Old Maiden, and her true name was long forgotten. She was a sort of beautiful old crone who concealed herself at this the far northwestern corner of Lorien, and few dared to seek her out, despite her age and wisdom. She had been old when Galadriel was a babe. She could remember the time before time. But Haldir knew her well.
Like one of the race of Men, she dwelt in a low cottage on the ground, situated in a clearing surrounded by oaks and rowans and birch trees. From the ground beside the garden, a clear pool burbled up, winding in a small stream away to the west.
Haldir was guided within the homely hut lit by the happy yellow light of many candles and a small hearth fire. It was full of strange smelling herbs and old scrolls, and the scent of magic filled the air. A huge pale pink crystal, flat and reflective, stood in one corner. Haldir knew it was a diviner’s tool, but to him it seemed only a huge mirror. Plenty of dead things hung from the ceiling, things which had once been plants or birds. Crockery and ironware, tools of kitchen and hearth, lay sprawled about on sturdy tables scarred with age. Books - held together more with magic than by their bindings - lay along shelves beside hundreds of clear glass and crystal vials full of what he suspected were powerful potions and bits of bugs and other creepy crawlies. Iarwen moved about the place blending in so well with her surroundings. Both she and her home were marked by age but touched with a deep beauty.
Haldir felt it was like coming home, and when she handed to him a deep purple elixir that smelled of elderberry, he drank it without question, the sweet brew calming him into a welcome relaxation. “I have stayed away too long,” he mourned. “Your mothering touch is a welcome one, Iarwen; I have missed you.”
Sitting in ancient oaken chairs before the hearth, she eyed him curiously. “And I you. But we cannot always dote on each other; your duty lies not with me, Haldir. I am merely grateful for your company whenever it can be had,” she told him truthfully. “But I sense this visit is not for mere leisure and repose.”
Haldir sadly shook his head. “I come on a mission from the Lord and Lad
“
“My, my,” she marveled, “You have come up in the world. And here I’d thought the good Lady had forgotten me.”
“They did not send me to you,” he clarified, “but you are the only one I know who can help me.”
Iarwen smiled her mysterious smile. Haldir sighed, knowing he’d be seeing much more of that look if she had anything to say about it. “Enough with the mysteries, Dir. What do you seek?”
Haldir let out a hesitant puff of breath. Setting aside the empty cup, he leaned forward with the importance of his mission shining in the open depths of his eyes. “I seek one who can perform The Dance.”
Iarwen’s only response to this was a raised brow.
“To perform on the night of Byeltinyeh. Our Lady desires it.”
“Our Lady is good and wise,” was the immediate non-answer.
“Indeed,” he said, waiting for her to proceed.
Again, Iarwen smiled. “And why do you come to me?”
“Do not ask questions you already know the answer to, old witch,” he lightly rebuked her. “You are a mistress of the Old Traditions. You are the *only* one I know with any of the Old Knowledge, if Galadriel does not know. And she has told me herself that she does not.” Haldir frowned now as he spoke. “If you – you who know ancient secrets and brew forbidden potions, you who helped to teach and raise me as your own, you who know the mysteries of The Dance – if you cannot tell me who can do this thing, then I am at a loss.”
Rng tng the quiet trouble in his turbulent eyes, Iarwen shifted from her seat, coming to kneel before him and take his strong hands in her own. “Haldir, dearheart, you and I both know I’ve the knowledge but not the skill. Feagul, your most beautiful mother, left these shores long ago. And I have only ever had one student, one pupil bright and brave and talented enough to do this.”
For a halting moment, silence reigned as Haldir smiled grimly. “Then it is as I feared.”
***
When the old witch failed him, Haldir covered all the land of Lorien, seeking out the lonely, the wise, the old. He sought the families who followed the oldest traditions, the scholars who studied the oldest scripts, and the eldest among elves who remembered back to a time when such things had not been forbidden.
But this search was fruitless.
***
Five months after the Winter Feast, Haldir received another summons. The message delivered to his home instructed him to bring with him The Dancer in three days’ time to meet with the Lord and Lady.
***
So it was a fortnight before the Midsummer Festival when he again turned up on the borders to Iarwen’s ancient home, a proud but forlorn form on her ancient doorstep.
“I have a favor to ask…”
TBC
Chapter 3: The Search
Two sentries of the northern border sat together on a large boulder beneath Haldir’s city flet.
“Do you think he’s hung-over?”
“Haldir?” Orophin exclaimed. “Never. He’s far too responsible to have been drinking.”
“He’s never been this late before,” Rumil pointed out, watching the change of light in the forest as the sun cleared the unseen horizon.
“He’s never been late at all,” the other agreed.
“I am not late. I am simply not early.”
The brothers jumped in surprise, turning to stand in awe of their elder sibling.
“For shame,” Haldir criticized. “You return to the borders for watch-duty in a day but could not even hear my obvious approach? You are out of practice.”
Rumil began his argument. “We simply did not expect-”
“A Guardian must always expect. Enemies. Deception. Trespassersangeanger. There is no excuse for your slip. Either of you.”
The sentries bowed their heads at the reproach.
When Orophin looked up again, worry settled on his features. “Where are your things, Haldir?”
Seeing that he was indeed without his longbow, Rumil adopted his brother’s expression. “Do you not return to the border with us?”
Haldir shook his head, handing Orophin a scroll. “Nay I do not. Give that letter irstirst Lieutenant Thinthoron; he will stay on as your Captain this season as the Lord and Lady demand my services elsewhere. I shall see you at Midsummer.”
When they made no reply, Haldir waved at them. “Off with you, now. Or else you will be late!”
So, the brothers had no choice but to go their way, leaving a mystery behind with only a long march ahead.
***
After packing himself a few loaves of lembas, Haldir set off northward himself, in a slightly more western direction than his brothers had taken.
A swift jog cleared his mind and a day of such travel brought him to his destination by dusk. Here, near the northwestern edge of Lorien, the trees were shorter but grew closer together. A darkness hung here unlike the normal light of Lorien, though it was not oppressive, and Haldir smiled to hear the wind setting a thousand chimes to tinkling where they hung in copper and bamboo rods from the highest branches in the distance. It created a calming sort of music and he remembered it well from his childhood.
He walked silently within this dark-seeming forest, stopping at a certain point, a border undefined by any physical means. He peered through the trees, but the many low leaves obscured his vision and he could make out no disturbance in the oldest growth of Lorien.
Tipping his head to the breeze, he discerned through the sound of wind-rustled branches and far away chimes the distant tone of a light-hearted humming. He grinned.
“Old witch! Old witch! Let me come in!” he called out in a clear, ringing voice.
The far-off singing ceased and within moments, a figure swathed in green silks came sweeping through the trees. Long white hair fell past a humped shoulder to trail close to the forest floor. Great green eyes sparkled at the sight of him and a smile lit the ancient face. “Haldir, dearheart, it is you!” Arms opened to accept him in a warm embrace, heartily returned by the March Warden.
“Aye, Iarwen,” he sighed, holding her close. He smiled: she smelled the same as she had years ago, of hearthsmoke, ainereg, tea, and magic.
“You have been away too long,” she scolded kindly, stepping back to look at him, though both had remained the same over the course of time. His stately features were unchanged, though the deep violet eyes held, perhaps, a bit more wisdom. And she still hunched under the weight of a disfigured shoulder, but the clear beauty of her lined face was untouched by time. She sighed with a false air of indignation. “What do you need this time?”
When he only grinned, she laughed, a high warbling music to his ears. “Oh but for shame, it seems I must mind my manners after all: come in, come in!”
***
She was called Iarwen, Old Maiden, and her true name was long forgotten. She was a sort of beautiful old crone who concealed herself at this the far northwestern corner of Lorien, and few dared to seek her out, despite her age and wisdom. She had been old when Galadriel was a babe. She could remember the time before time. But Haldir knew her well.
Like one of the race of Men, she dwelt in a low cottage on the ground, situated in a clearing surrounded by oaks and rowans and birch trees. From the ground beside the garden, a clear pool burbled up, winding in a small stream away to the west.
Haldir was guided within the homely hut lit by the happy yellow light of many candles and a small hearth fire. It was full of strange smelling herbs and old scrolls, and the scent of magic filled the air. A huge pale pink crystal, flat and reflective, stood in one corner. Haldir knew it was a diviner’s tool, but to him it seemed only a huge mirror. Plenty of dead things hung from the ceiling, things which had once been plants or birds. Crockery and ironware, tools of kitchen and hearth, lay sprawled about on sturdy tables scarred with age. Books - held together more with magic than by their bindings - lay along shelves beside hundreds of clear glass and crystal vials full of what he suspected were powerful potions and bits of bugs and other creepy crawlies. Iarwen moved about the place blending in so well with her surroundings. Both she and her home were marked by age but touched with a deep beauty.
Haldir felt it was like coming home, and when she handed to him a deep purple elixir that smelled of elderberry, he drank it without question, the sweet brew calming him into a welcome relaxation. “I have stayed away too long,” he mourned. “Your mothering touch is a welcome one, Iarwen; I have missed you.”
Sitting in ancient oaken chairs before the hearth, she eyed him curiously. “And I you. But we cannot always dote on each other; your duty lies not with me, Haldir. I am merely grateful for your company whenever it can be had,” she told him truthfully. “But I sense this visit is not for mere leisure and repose.”
Haldir sadly shook his head. “I come on a mission from the Lord and Lad
“
“My, my,” she marveled, “You have come up in the world. And here I’d thought the good Lady had forgotten me.”
“They did not send me to you,” he clarified, “but you are the only one I know who can help me.”
Iarwen smiled her mysterious smile. Haldir sighed, knowing he’d be seeing much more of that look if she had anything to say about it. “Enough with the mysteries, Dir. What do you seek?”
Haldir let out a hesitant puff of breath. Setting aside the empty cup, he leaned forward with the importance of his mission shining in the open depths of his eyes. “I seek one who can perform The Dance.”
Iarwen’s only response to this was a raised brow.
“To perform on the night of Byeltinyeh. Our Lady desires it.”
“Our Lady is good and wise,” was the immediate non-answer.
“Indeed,” he said, waiting for her to proceed.
Again, Iarwen smiled. “And why do you come to me?”
“Do not ask questions you already know the answer to, old witch,” he lightly rebuked her. “You are a mistress of the Old Traditions. You are the *only* one I know with any of the Old Knowledge, if Galadriel does not know. And she has told me herself that she does not.” Haldir frowned now as he spoke. “If you – you who know ancient secrets and brew forbidden potions, you who helped to teach and raise me as your own, you who know the mysteries of The Dance – if you cannot tell me who can do this thing, then I am at a loss.”
Rng tng the quiet trouble in his turbulent eyes, Iarwen shifted from her seat, coming to kneel before him and take his strong hands in her own. “Haldir, dearheart, you and I both know I’ve the knowledge but not the skill. Feagul, your most beautiful mother, left these shores long ago. And I have only ever had one student, one pupil bright and brave and talented enough to do this.”
For a halting moment, silence reigned as Haldir smiled grimly. “Then it is as I feared.”
***
When the old witch failed him, Haldir covered all the land of Lorien, seeking out the lonely, the wise, the old. He sought the families who followed the oldest traditions, the scholars who studied the oldest scripts, and the eldest among elves who remembered back to a time when such things had not been forbidden.
But this search was fruitless.
***
Five months after the Winter Feast, Haldir received another summons. The message delivered to his home instructed him to bring with him The Dancer in three days’ time to meet with the Lord and Lady.
***
So it was a fortnight before the Midsummer Festival when he again turned up on the borders to Iarwen’s ancient home, a proud but forlorn form on her ancient doorstep.
“I have a favor to ask…”
TBC