Rúmil Meets His Match

“Rúmil!” Orophin shouted poking his head in the door of his brother’s home. “Rúmil!”

“What is it?” asked Rúmil calmly, as he stepped out of the bedroom tying his leggings. He looked at Orophin still standing on the front landing. “Phin, why are you standing outside shouting for me? Come in the house.”

“I can’t. Katarwë is waiting for me at the head of your walk. I wanted to speak to you in private for a moment.”

“Well? Go on.”

“You’ll never guess what is happening to Haldir and Aura!” he said rather excitedly, making Rúmil laugh a little. It was almost as if he were still an elfling excited about the presents at Solstice.

“They are in love?”

“Well...yes. How did you know?”

“I have eyes Phin. Is there anything else?”

“She thought I was Haldir when I took a tray of food in to her a little while ago and asked if he had changed his mind about making her scream his name.”

“And how did you respond?”

“I simply told her I have always liked the way she screamed my name,” he stated, looking very proud to have come up with such a thoughtful reply.

“I’ll bet she was utterly mortified. I wish I had been there!”

“Hal went off on a rampage, thinking I was teasing her again. Well, I was just a little, but it was only because I could not let such a thing go. I probably should have, but I just couldn’t.”

“I am not sure I would have either,” he said with a grin.

“She still gives as well as she gets. She even made Haldir apologize to me. Can you believe it? Haldir, the Marchwarden, apologized!” said Orophin as a flying acorn struck him in the head. Katarwë had waited long enough, no doubt.

“I do wish I had been there!” Rúmil said with a laugh and then added, “I’m going to visit them in a few moments and will volunteer to bring them breakfast in the morning, so you don’t have to.”

“Thank you, dear brother. And I’m sure Katarwë will thank you too.” Orophin grinned again, ducking to avoid another acorn, which whizzed by his head. “Speaking of, she’s waiting and I think she may be getting...impatient.” Rúmil nodded and then Orophin began to walk back down the path.

Rumil shut the door and moments later, the screeching of an elleth filled the city. Rúmil looked out the window to find his brother carrying Katarwë over his shoulder and swatting her backside as he quickly walked home.

After slipping on his tunic and boots, he headed for his sisters house, planning to say a quick hello and then join the rest of the wardens in the dining hall.

~*~

Rúmil had wanted to mention the story Orophin conveyed to him, but each time Lorinaura and Haldir looked at one another, the desire became thick in the air. So much so, that he barely had opportunity to speak to them. When they began to gaze at one another as if he were not there, Rúmil could stand no more. He finally bid them farewell and made his way to the dining hall.

Just as he stepped into the large room, Lindar came up to him. “How does your sister fare, my lord?” he whispered.

“She gets stronger by the moment. The Lady is a miracle worker!”

“Well, we all knew that, sir,” Lindar remarked as he gathered his tray. “I’ll see you on the fields tomorrow?”

“Anxious to get started?” asked Rúmil, laughing a little. Lindar nodded his head yes and Rúmil answered, “Yes. I’ll be there tomorrow afternoon. I’m to meet Isillyë for a small poetic brunch. She apparently has much admiration for Rúphinhal.”

“Ah, and now I know the secret she has kept all day. She said she’d meet me in the morning before she left, but would elaborate no further,” he said with a great grin. “I can see I will have nothing to worry about if she is with you.”

“I had no idea you were interested in her. If I had, I would never have asked her to go in the first place. She is not one for polite conversation, is she?”

Lindar laughed at the comment. “She is fabulous most of the time, but when it comes to poetry, she fancies herself a little more knowledgeable than she really is. She reads Lorin Rúphinhal constantly and tells me her in-depth evaluation of each verse. I humor her, but I think most of what she says is nonsense.”

“Well, she may have just met her match on the subject. I am quite familiar with the bard, as well as his work.”

Lindar leered at Rúmil, a sarcastic smirk playing with his mouth and finally said, “Yes, I am sure you are, sir. Though, you’ll do well to keep your thoughts on him to yourself as Isillyë does not like to be told she’s wrong.”

“I’ll take it under advisement and will see you midday.”

“I’m believe I’ll see you quite a bit sooner, sir,” he said and walked from the dining hall with his tray in his hands, laughing as he left his superior to wonder what on Arda he meant.

Rúmil shrugged his shoulders and then fixed himself a plate, eating most of it on the way back to his house. He was going to enjoy the night and let his mind fill with verse as he did on many beautiful evenings.

Having the beginnings to a plethora of poems by the time the evening was half over, he sat back in a chair on his balcony and considered the lovely historian who caught his eye and captured many of his thoughts. The moment he started to visualize her, the bulk of the poems finished themselves. It was as if she made him think more clearly, on this type of verse, anyway. He could not wait until he saw her to test a little theory of his. He believed that if he were actually in her presence, the rhyme would come forth in droves of couplets, forcing him to shower her with them. The thought made him smile.


~*~

Rúmil woke in the late morning and groaned. Visions of Yavannea in Thranduil’s bed riddled his reverie. The most disturbing portion was not the dreams, but the despair he felt upon waking. He did not have a reason for why an elleth he just met, one he saw only a handful of times and had barely spoken to, would affect him so.

Whatever the reason, he did not have time to ponder it now. He was quite late rising as it was and Haldir would be expecting him with a tray very soon. He could not wait to see Lorinaura again. Though he resigned himself not to bring up the incident Orophin spoke of on his own, making it look as if he did not mean to tease her, he was anxious to see her reaction, first hand.

With a basket in hand, he rushed to the kitchens to gather a tray and a few things for his picnic by the river. He found himself almost hopeful Isillyë would choose not to join him, for he still wanted to work on a small poem he was perfecting for Yavannea’s arrival back into the city. Sometimes when the verse really mattered to him, it took a few days to get it just right.

He left the basket on the front landing and knocked on Lorinaura’s door. No one answered, so he decided to place the tray on the table for them and then leave. When he entered, he heard Haldir and Lorinaura speaking to one another very softly. His name was mentioned a couple of times, so they obviously knew he was there and Haldir would most likely be out in a few minutes. Therefore, instead of leaving Rúmil decided he would make some tea for them all. Just as he finished, he heard them walking through the bedroom door.

“Haldir, I’m feeling much better. Would you mind taking a walk with me?” Lorinaura asked. “I’m sure many things have changed since I’ve been gone.”

“Not as many as one would think, but I would be glad to escort you anywhere, so long as you don’t tire yourself too much,” replied Haldir as he walked her to the kitchen chair, holding her hand.

What are you looking for, love?” Lorinaura asked Rúmil as she watched him rummaging through each cabinet in turn.

‘She called me ‘love’,’ he thought, ‘just as Yavannea had in the library.’ He supposed it was not an endearment after all, only an Imladris quirk. How very disappointing.

“Your cups. I’ve made some tea while the two of you have been…..well, um…you know. Doing what ever it is you were doing in there…..but I cannot for the life of me find your cups.” He was almost laughing by the time he finished speaking and had to close his eyes and turn from them in order to compose himself.

“And just what do you think we were doing in there, Brother?” asked Haldir as he reached around Rúmil to pull out three mugs from the cupboard just beside him.

“Oh, come now. You don’t really think Phin could keep what Aura said to him a secret from me, do you?” He smiled a great knowing smile at Lorinaura and poured them all some of the tea, silently thanking the Valar for the grand opening! “I brought fruit, bread and honey. As I recall you were particularly fond of honey, Aura. I hope that’s still the case.” Gods, it has been a long time since he had this much fun. How he had missed his sister!

Lorinaura nodded her head and smiled but he could tell she was already plotting revenge upon both he and Orophin for the comment. He should probably watch his step. Perhaps she learned a few new tortures while in Imladris.

“What did you say to Orophin, Aura?” asked Haldir.

Taking a deep breath, “I thought it was you, Haldir. I don’t recall the exact wording, but it had something to do with me screaming your name.” She blushed slightly and Haldir apparently understood her meaning immediately. “Oh, do not look so morose, I’m sure Rúmil will be the only one he tells.”

“And I’m sure I will not hear the end of his ridicule for at least an age,” Haldir said.

Haldir walked with her to the couch and just before she sat, she leaned to him and whispered, “To make it up to you, I promise to scream your name at least once for every time the subject is broached. Would that be to your liking?”

Rúmil did not acknowledge the comment or the approving wink Haldir gave her in response. He just sat on the couch beside his sister and thought if she and Haldir kept this up, he would have to go quickly, before he said anything to get himself throttled by either of them.

He was trying hard not to stare at them, but the awe of the scene was too much. It seemed Lorinaura had captured his brother’s heart, once again. She even returned his smile, something few have seen in two millennia. Haldir’s standoffishness was much more relaxed even in this short of a time, just mere hours since bringing her here.

He was doing his best not to smile at their playful exchange and decided no one deserved a reprieve from the loneliness to which he became accustomed, more than Haldir. A respite from the joyless pleasures he sought when he could stand no more, was definitely in order and from watching them today, Rúmil knew they would be celebrating a binding, very soon. Haldir never did anything half way. Most likely he would wait until she was fully healed and comfortable telling him of her ordeal with the Orcs. Then, he would give himself to her, as it should be...as it was clearly meant to be.

“Then we shall begin the count at one,” Lorinaura said, pulling Rúmil out of his thoughts.

Haldir’s face flushed slightly and it was all Rúmil could do to keep his eyes averted and his own face straight, as if he had no idea of what she was speaking then thankfully another thought came to him. “I spoke with a sweet little elleth a few months ago who said she was your best friend.”

“Yes, she wrote me just after. She thinks you are quite nice. She also told me that though your lips never met, they have been ever present in her thoughts.”

“She did?”

“I can’t imagine why it would surprise you,” she said, laughing a little at him. “You made quite an impression.”

“Well, I’m glad, she made a good impression as well,” he said. “Then I went to the borders and she went to...Mirkwood.” His voice lowered in tone and a subtle scowl developed as he uttered the Woodland Realm’s name.

“Yes, the King fancies her from time to time. I think he goes out looking for scrolls for her to translate, just so he can summon her to him,” she said smirking a little.

“Sister! That is not something I wanted to know! Something about her intrigued me, and I really thought I had a chance with her, but now you tell me she is with Thranduil regularly. How am I to compete with a King?”

“She is ‘with’ no one...well, she may be with the king at the moment...I really don’t know, but I can tell you there is no love between them. She has been with several elves of like station. You should consider yourself lucky she looked twice at a warden. Besides, she only goes to Mirkwood for the fun. It has many adventures an elleth can’t get anywhere else. The hunts alone are enough to make me want to go.”

“I won’t have any more of this discussion,” Haldir said, his possessiveness becoming very evident, “Thranduil will not be getting his hands on you, my dear.”

“At least not until you have?” she asked.

“Alright then, I think I’ll be going now! You two obviously need to have a private discussion.” Rúmil finished his tea and headed for the door, kissing Lorinaura on the cheek just before he left. “I’m off to meet my date by the Anduin.”

“You have a date and are upset about Yavannea being with Thranduil? How typical of a male,” Lorinaura chided.

“It’s nothing, I can assure you. I just wanted to see what she was made of,” he said with an impish laugh.

“Which will you ask this time?”

“I think I’ll let her choose, though most likely it will be about the birds.”

“Ah, Faithful Father. My favorite. I wish I could be there to hear her response,” she said with a grin and then gave him a kiss on the cheek.

“I’m sure it will be quite typical,” he said with a sigh. “I’ll visit longer tomorrow if you don’t object.”

“I’ll look very forward to it,” she said as he pulled the door closed.

He left Lorinaura in the care of his older brother and they seemed to have finally found their way. Rúmil knew she had always thought of Haldir as more than a brother….well, not really a brother at all. Though she told them all she was not their sister, she said it most and most emphatically, to Haldir.

Almost to the end of the walkway, he turned down the small cobbled path leading to his house. He had lived at the end of this trail since moving from Celeborn and Galadriel’s home, many centuries ago. Just after following his elder brother’s example, becoming one of the Lady’s protectors, he had this home built in near seclusion. He did not like living by himself at first; the solitude was overwhelming to one who shared a home with three siblings. Yet now, he could not imagine why he and his brothers did not kill one another while they were living under Galadriel’s roof. Though they looked much alike, only very slight hair color differences, they were leagues apart in attitude, style and temperament.

Rúmil was the artistic one. He was sensitive and talkative. Perhaps too talkative at times. He was forever driving Haldir crazy with his constant chatter. Orophin never really seemed to mind, and was silent most of the time they were on duty. Rúmil held a good portion of the she-elves attentions. Those who were not under whatever spell it was making them Haldir’s drones, that is. He never heard even one elleth speak of a night with his eldest brother and though he theorized occasionally, he did not truly want to find out what Haldir did to them to elicit such secrecy. It was all very odd.

Orophin was the jokester. He thought most everything held humor and most of the time, he was right. He could not be secretive to save his life and he tried to bind to the first she-elf with whom he joined. In fact, he was still trying to talk her into it. He was forever dragging Rúmil into one escapade or another, and most recently, Phin and Katarwë got into their heads that his middle brother needed a love interest.

In the first days of this little adventure, it was rather fun to see whom they would fix him up with next. However, by the time the different ellethin numbered in the teens, Rúmil grew board with the game. Still, if nothing else, Orophin was persistent and discovered great humor in all the creative ways he forced his brother to find to keep the lusty females out of his bed. The last time, he had to pry the elleth off himself, deposit her inside her house and then hold the doorknob so she could not reopen the door. There was, apparently, a fine line between bold and addled. He put a stop to the dinners and the dates the next morning.

Haldir, on the other hand, was relentlessly grim, for the most part. He joined in with Orophin in a few games when they were all much younger, but when Lorinaura left, so did Hal’s good humor. As Marchwarden, he was serious, yet just and always there for his men, if ever they were in need. However, he did not tolerate females well. The only exception was Katarwë and this was only because Orophin loved her. She was much like Lorinaura in her mischievous and daring nature. Perhaps she served to remind Haldir of something he gave up on long ago.

Shaking his head, Rúmil laughed a little and then muttered, “If he does not claim Aura this time, I will impale him with his own sword!”

Once at his house, Rúmil gathered a quilt and headed to a clearing by the River Anduin. On his way, he could not help but take in the beauty all around him. The trees, the foliage, and the flowers were breathtaking this time of year. Caras Galadhon was truly a magnificent sight. Yet now, with his older and younger brothers in love, he felt a little less than playful. This would be the perfect time for him to write in his journal, if his picnic plans go awry.

He spread the quilt on the ground under a large Mellyrn tree and took a few things out of the basket. With everything set up, he walked back to the gates and waited for Isillyë. He did not have to wait long. She was speaking with several of the apprentices, Lindar included, but when she saw Rúmil, she abruptly ended the conversation to join him.

“You could have finished your conversation, I would have waited for you,” he stated.

“I would rather find out more about Rúphinhal’s poetry. You did say you have met him, did you not?” Isillyë questioned as they walked back to the river.

“Yes, I did,” he said. “And to that I hold. I’ve had many discussions with him about various things.”

“Really?” she asked, her eyes narrowed and her tone suspicious.

“Isillyë, do you truly believe the Lady would trust me to guard this land if I were at all untruthful? I did not attain my position by lying. Especially, not about something as trite as knowing someone.”

“Of course. I apologize, my lord. It is just...I’ve never met an ellon who understood poetry and have met no one at all who was familiar with anything about Rúphinhal. He’s rather elusive.”

“All I can say is that I speak with him on a regular basis. I’ve even watched him compose.”

“Then perhaps you have insight into some of his work?” she asked.

“Perhaps I do. On which piece do you require insight?” he returned.

“Faithful Father,” she stated.

This was no surprise, as it was one of the pieces holding much controversy. The ellethin nearly always found this one full of metaphors, which Rúphinhal had not intended at all.

“I’ve always considered it no more than a piece of fluff.”

“Oh, you must be mistaken, sir!” she said excitedly. “Perhaps you don’t remember the verse.”

He grabbed the small book from her hand and looked at the cover. “Turn to page seventeen,” he commanded softly.

By the look on her face, she was very surprised. “Faithful father.”


“While the patient robin sings,
he listens for the dirt to bring
earthworms dancing underground,
making noises making sounds.
His head tilting ever slight,
he thrusts his beak with all his might
into the earth, into his meal.
This worm has but one appeal.
He feeds all four hungry babes,
then all at once, he flies away.
He’s heard again making song,
he’s seen again listening long
for movements far underground,
another meal to be found.
This faithful father is the best
at finding food for his nest!”


He recited the poem flawlessly and Isillyë gasped, revealing she may have just been struck with a disturbing thought. He might yet, be telling the truth.

“Here is our lunch, my lady,” he said and noted she was still a little shocked. “Oh come now, Isillyë, is it so hard to believe I could remember a poem?”

“No. Well, not now,” she said with a small smile, still squinting as if she were trying to read his mind.

“What do you think Rúphinhal was doing when Faithful Father was written?” This was the decisive moment. He knew what she would say before she uttered a word, but he had to ask the question anyway. It was a matter of principle and his way of gauging an elleth. Only three had passed this test and he considered them family already.

She sat down on the quilt and closed her eyes, smiling, as if to mull this over in her mind were a great pleasure. “I imagine he was watching or, at least, thinking about the trials and tribulations all fathers have in providing for their families. He likens the bird to an apt hunter, most likely an elf, who uses his heightened senses to kill his prey.”

“Well, that’s one interpretation,” he said with a great smile.

“It’s not yours?” she asked turning very serious.

“No, I see Rúphinhal simply sitting upon a balcony, watching a bird. I believe the work in your book is too lighthearted, overall, to interpret in such grandeur. I also think it is a very good piece...as far as couplets go.”

Sounding a little irate, she said, “I see. I suppose you are familiar with Rúphinhal’s other works as well?”

“Are you becoming angry?” he asked in utter shock, thinking this was a rather strange turn of events.

“Of course not,” she said in her ever present, condescending tone. “I just cannot imagine from where you get the nerve to think his writing is not grand! Have you ever taken the time to write anything of worth?”

“Yes, in fact I have,” he said, rather proud of himself. “Though my recent works have been somewhat...focused. Would you be interested in reading some of them?”

She looked to him, again, as if he were telling her many false tales. She certainly was not a very trusting little she-elf. “Do you sit upon your balcony and merely watch birds as well?”

“Would it surprise you to hear that I do?”

She rolled her eyes. “To tell you the truth, it would not.”

He could hear the sarcasm in her voice and though he usually liked this type of banter, he did not get the feeling she was teasing him in fun. He was beginning to grow weary of being called a liar and was certainly not going to let her mock his work. There were not many things he took seriously, but his writing came from deep within and he was not about to pretend the harshness in her voice was acceptable. “Tell me, why is it everyone must look so deeply into a poem and fail to see the obvious?”

“Are you saying I am imperceptive or just dense?” she asked, the ire creeping back into her voice.

With his voice as smooth as honey, he said, “Isillyë, I’m saying neither. You are, my dear.” She took a step back as if he suddenly grew horns. “I simply do not believe birds are any more than birds. If you wish, we could drop the subject and just agree to disagree.”

She stood with her book still in her hand. “I think the best thing would be for me to go! I was not eager to come this far away from the city in the first place!”

“Are you so annoyed with me that you are going to leave?” he asked, not believing what he said could have possibly made her this irate. “Was it because I had an idea not in accordance with yours?”

“I have things to do. Don’t flatter yourself in thinking you could produce any emotion in me, at all,” she snarled, as she began to walk away and though she never looked back, he could hear her muttering, “And don’t think for a moment I believe you are acquainted with Rúphinhal!” She held her book out to her side so he could see it. “Someone with enough feeling to write poetry like this would have nothing to do with the likes of you, Marchwarden’s Second or not.”

‘Well, I guess she told me,’ he thought and then took a bite of an apple he had packed. Isillyë was nothing more than a pretty distraction and now, since she was gone, he pulled out his journal and began to write. He felt every poet poured his heart out in the serious poetry and he was waiting for the perfect mate who understood the implications of verse. However, so far, he seemed to only meet females like Isillyë, who were forever reading too much into the silly drivel, which sometime leapt to the page all on its own, and then thinking themselves deeper of mind than they really were.

He did not think he would be horribly difficult to please, having only three requirements of a mate. First, she must answer his question correctly. It was the same each time, though the poem discussed may be different. He wanted to know what Rúphinhal was doing when he wrote any particular piece. A small amount of insight was required for her to truly understand his heart, and this gauged her ability. All his potentials had failed this test and so he never had a reason to administer the second.

She must also be of like mind and have desire for the written word. Reading and writing were passions of his and he wanted his mate to feel the same. This led to the third and final test. She must write something, especially for him, without being asked or prompted in any way. This last test would be the greatest of all gifts and he realized if it ever did happen, he would want to be lost in her, forever.

With such stringent trials, he felt sure it would never come to pass, but sometimes he dabbled with the idea. He wanted love more than anything, but the mere thought of it sent chilled fear through him. For an elleth to hold power over him, as Katarwë did Orophin and now, as Lorinaura did Haldir, it was overwhelming to him. To be so vulnerable, humbled and weakened in the presence of another...it was terrifying. However, the utter horror of it was not enough to give up the search entirely.

He had no doubt Yavannea would be fun for a while, but perhaps when things did not work out, Lorinaura would see fit to introduce him to some of her other friends from Imladris.

“Well, we shall see,” he mumbled and then lay back onto the blanket, finding this particular spot inspirational. He stumbled upon it hundreds of years ago and loved it for its openness. Looking at the sky through many golden mellyrn leaves and watching the water flow down river relaxed his mind enough for the thoughts to drift at their leisure and come to life on parchment.

At this very moment, he could feel the stirrings of rhyme in his head. It was as if a word he could not quite remember, lingered on the tip of his tongue, yet it begged to be spoken. He found if he thought of something else, the idea would spring forth, so he let his mind drift to Yavannea. Upon closing his eyes, he felt the sounds of the forest envelop him. Soon, he could hear her voice in a bird’s song and could smell her as the scent of the elanor wafted in the breeze.

‘Ah. There it is. She is obviously my muse,’ he thought as the words came spilling out, haphazardly at first, but then, more ordered and finally, more passionate. All his work, lately, was about this one beauty and there were times, like this, his mind moved faster than his hand had skill. She would probably not be as wonderful in reality as she was in his imaginings and he was not sure what would be worse; finding that she did not live up to his expectations, or discovering that she did. The thought thrilled him and terrified him at the same time. Which ever she turned out to be, he thought he would at least be better for the experience, for she did seem different, somehow.

He sighed. In just a few more long weeks, he would find out if the little historian could be persuaded to... “Alright Rúmil, you must stop this line of thought! It’ll drive you crazy!” he yelled into the nearly silent clearing. “See, you are already talking to yourself. That is certainly a sign that things are going in the wrong direction.”

There was really no reason to continue in the journal now, this level of tension, while rather delightful when its object was nearby, was murderous to his creativity. Instead, he readied himself to plunge into the Anduin fully clothed if he let his mind wonder into such tempting places again today.

He thought of opening a bottle of wine, and then decided it was probably not the best idea, now. After taking off his boots and rolling up his leggings, he waded into a shallow part of the river to get a drink. Water this cold, even on his feet could squelch anything.

He walked back to the quilt to retie his boots, laughing a little at the thought of Haldir. He would have never asked a female on a date. To do such a horrid thing would require...well...speaking. This made him laugh again. For someone who did not talk to females, he was certainly rattling on with Lorinaura. One more reason to think she had tamed him after all this time.

After finishing his lunch, Rúmil packed everything up and headed back to the training fields. Venting some of the pent up tension on the archery range would do him good. Besides, Lindar would surely still be there waiting for him with his bow in hand.

By the time Rúmil arrived on the fields, there were several wardens already honing their skills, none of whom had ellethin waiting for them at home…or elsewhere, for that matter. Rúmil almost laughed. It served him right to be tense and alone. He should have gone with one of the she-elves who waited at the southern gates for him. He certainly would not make the mistake again. If Yavannea could go romping with Thranduil, without a second thought, he could certainly find a warm bed, as well.

Lindar, as expected, was already at practice, using one of the farther targets. His form was perfect, except at the last moment he dropped his arm. Rúmil leaned to the young elf as he nocked another arrow and whispered, “This time, put your shoulder into the draw, not your forearm. You have to keep your elbow up or you will never hit your target”

Lindar loosed the arrow and hit the target dead center.

“I spoke with Celeborn yesterday evening. Did he give you a trial day?” asked Rúmil.

“Two weeks from today, milord. I feel as if I’ll never be ready,” he said, rather frustrated at not holding the proper form in front of one of the highest-ranking wardens.

“I’m glad Celeborn headed my request. Two weeks is not a lot of time, but from what I see right now, you’ll pass. No worries, just keep your elbow up.”

Rúmil heard Lorinaura’s name mentioned by a group of wardens and so excused himself from Lindar’s company for a moment. As he walked up behind them, he found their tone very odd. They apparently did not notice him on the field; else, surely they would have stayed their tongues.

“I saw them on the landing near the southern gate not an hour ago. I have never seen anything like it. Haldir was actually groping her as if they were lovers instead of siblings,” said Eärlan. “It was disgusting.”

“You should have seen them when they came out of the main stair alcove. I truly couldn’t help but stare…then he glared at the ellethin walking just in front of me. I thought for sure I was going to get another month’s duty until I realized the four sweet, little she-elves had averted his attention,” said Helkor. “It was rather sickening if you ask me, the way he pinned her to the alcove wall and the look on her face, when they finally emerged, was comical.”

Celtraen chimed in. “What interested me was the way they both strutted up the stairway,” he said, “and she had the nerve to look me in the eye after such an unabashed display of affection. I’ll bet Haldir was utterly mortified.”

“She actually touched his face at one point,” noted Beltuin. “I’ll wager he gave her a good spanking. No female has ever dared be so brazen with the Marchwarden.”

“I’ll take you up on that wager, Beltuin. The winner takes the loser’s duties for a year. Sound fair to you?” retorted Rúmil, pushing himself between Eärlan and Helkor to stand in the center of the discussion. “I’d also wager if he overheard you speaking ill of Lorinaura, you may all well be on the fences for the next hundred years without respite. You may well be there anyway.”

“Rúmil, we were merely commenting on the sudden change in our Marchwarden. None of it was meant to disparage him in any way,” Eärlan explained.

“Oh, I must have gotten the wrong impression when you said it was disgusting how my brother touched the elleth he loves. Perhaps you would like to elaborate for me, so my understanding will improve,” retorted Rúmil.

“She’s your sister, is she not?” said Helkor, a look of revulsion set upon his face.

“Though we were raised together, we do not share the same parents!” he replied anger welling from deep within him. “And she is Celeborn’s foster-daughter. You would be wise to cease your discussion on that basis alone!”

“But…” Beltuin started.

“Enough!” Rúmil shouted at them and the training field suddenly grew very quiet. Rúmil clenched his teeth trying very hard to keep his temper in check, “I will hear no more of this drivel! You will not pour scorn on my brother! He has worked harder and longer than any of you ever thought to work. He’s earned the respect of the Galadhrim by way of his actions in many trials and battles! I will not tolerate your ignorance leading to any type of insubordination!” He then lowered his voice to a quiet growl. “You either cease this now or as the Marchwarden’s Second I’ll relieve you of your duties...permanently.”

“We apologize, my lord. We meant no harm to either the Marchwarden or his lady,” said Eärlan, very wisely, his face hardened as if he wanted to say much more but did not.

“Your apology is accepted. Haldir won’t hear of this from me, but I warn you, if I hear another word…”

“You won’t,” said Beltuin, daring to interrupt him, but to the warden’s credit, nothing but honesty was on his face.

“Very well then. I bid you to enjoy the rest of your reprieve in a more conducive manner.” As he turned to leave, he noticed young Lindar hit the center of his targets with eleven of the twelve arrows he fired. No doubt, he dropped his elbow just before the one missed. “Very nice, Lindar. Perhaps tomorrow you would allow me to aid in your preparation. I’m afraid I’m not in the best of moods at present.”

His eyes grew wide, “My lord, you help none of the other apprentices, why would you want to do this for me?

“We need more wardens who are willing to spend so much time in their skills training. I’ve been watching you improve over the past several years. Haldir and I have both noticed your efforts,” Rúmil said with a smile, realizing the mere mention of Haldir’s name would lift the young elf’s spirits like nothing else. In fact, he and Haldir have been keeping a close watch on Lindar. He was the most improved of the new apprentices. “I’m sure you would have no trouble on your own, but I’m glad to give you a few tips and Orophin will be here as well.”

“I don’t know what to say. I’ll take any opportunity to learn from you,” he said graciously and Rúmil thought he might break out into a dance right there on the field. “Thank you.”

“Until this time tomorrow, then.”

“Aye, my lord. Thank you,” he reiterated.

It was nice to be appreciated. Most of the apprentices were the sons of well-established wardens and were fairly unimpressed by the station of Marchwarden. They were never blatantly disrespectful, but most of the apprentices carried themselves with a definite air of superiority when they were around any of the other wardens. It was as if they had some sort of unspoken lock in gaining a position in the Lady’s guard since their fathers were wardens.

Many of them would not even make it through their first trials and he planned to challenge a few of them himself. As the Marchwarden, Haldir could not seem biased toward one apprentice or another, but Rúmil did not have that concern. One of his duties as second in command was to make sure only the best gain their pins.

Lindar was awestruck every time Haldir, Orophin or himself came upon him. He would go far. All three brothers saw the fire in the young elf’s eyes and knew Lindar harbored the same passion to serve the Lady, as they did, themselves. Therefore, he was glad to help him prepare. Actually, he did not think he would have anything better to do for the next two weeks.

Walking along the wide dirt path leading back to the main stairs, he stopped in the weaponry shed to see if Celeborn posted the itinerary for the next few weeks. To his surprise there were rosters asking for volunteers to patrol the southern fences and for a trip with the Lord and Lady. Over the past several months, since the fellowship passed through, there had been several Orc sightings. For now, none entered the forest beyond the border patrol, but just in case problems arose, they put more elves at the fences, for longer periods and had even broken them up into eight groups, each spending four weeks at the border and four weeks home. Four weeks at home was an eternity when there was nothing to do.

“Oh, why not?” he muttered to himself and then wrote his name at the head of the list. He thought about it for a moment and wrote Orophin’s name as well. There was never a time Orophin did not want to volunteer for extra duty. He would tell him of it later in the week. Katarwë would certainly not be through with him yet. She usually held him captive the first few days he was within the city, only letting him out to gather food. After three hundred years of this, it still amazed Rúmil they acted as giddy as elflings when they saw one another.

Shaking his head in wonder, he could only snort a small laugh and then head back up the stairway. Deep down, thinking it must be nice.