Deeper Waters

DEEPER WATERS
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By Capella


A springtime visit to Ithilien and Minas Tirith brings many a realisation.

A sequel to ‘Sea Longing’, ‘Seascapes’ and ‘Masks’, all of which are available on this site. You are advised to read the stories in order, as above, otherwise this one will make little sense. Several original characters appear here, having made their debuts in ‘Seascapes’.

The central characters belong, as we all know, to JRR Tolkien. No profit is made and no offence is intended by borrowing them in this way.

Thanks are due to Elfscribe, most wonderful beta reader, and Esmeralda, source of endless support and inspiration. It is highly encouraging to know that we are all equally obsessed with our beautiful elf.

The author, like most writers, greatly appreciates FEEDBACK. If you enjoy (or if you don’t, and have constructive comments to make) please find time to review.

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DEEPER WATERS


Chapter 1

Heledir shifted uncomfortably in his saddle and wondered how much further there was to go. He watched Imrahil’s back as the prince rode easily ahead of him, and asked himself just how it was that his master could sit so straight and unconcerned as the horses trotted along the rough, narrow path. For Heledir the ride was one long exercise in pain, as his seat and legs had not yet recovered from the long journey from Dol Amroth, only three days ago.

It had come as a surprise to him when Imrahil had announced that they would ride so soon for the realm of the Ithilien elves. He had quite expected to linger for a week or two in the fair young city of Emyn Arnen, before setting out again. They might instead have ridden direct to Minas Tirith, to pay their respects to the King, before disappearing into the forest. But it seemed that Imrahil could wait no longer to see his elven friend, and he had left his younger son Celaeren and the remainder of the party to enjoy Faramir’s hospitality, taking none but Heledir with him in his haste to depart.

It was not hard for Heledir to imagine why his master was so keen to visit Ithilien, although the secretary would never allow his mind to linger on the more private aspects of Imrahil’s relationship with Legolas. Since the moment he had set eyes on the elf, Heledir himself had been hopelessly captivated by the aura of wisdom and magic emanating from him. The night on the beach, when Legolas had read his thoughts and shown such concern for him, had been a turning point in Heledir’s life; and from that moment he would willingly have lain down and died for the wondrous elven prince. The fact that Legolas had brought so much joy to his master had only served to increase the secretary’s feelings of admiration and respect.

What Heledir could not understand was why he, of all the royal household, had been chosen to accompany the prince on this journey. There could be little need for his clerical skills on such a visit, and if Imrahil had needed counsel there were others more experienced than him, and far better horsemen to boot. He had asked the prince, as politely as he could without seeming negative – for after a life spent at the castle, this journey was the most exciting event ever to have happened to him – but Imrahil’s response, while gratifying, had left him mystified.

“ It is Prince Legolas’s suggestion that you accompany me, Heledir, although I deem it to be a worthy one. I believe he has something in mind for you.”

More than this the prince either knew not, or would not say.

The day was growing cool by the time the horses rounded a bend in the path where it dipped down to the river bank. On the other side the track climbed, and coming between two large rocks, entered a grassy space at the forest’s edge.

“I believe this must be the place,” said Imrahil, reining in his horse at the centre of the clearing and looking about him thoughtfully.

Heledir, his own steed stumbling to a halt behind the prince’s stallion, peered into the trees for any sign of life.

“Surely, not, Sire; there is naught to be seen here.”

He nearly jumped out of the saddle in shock when a silvery laugh greeted his words. “Then you do not know how to look, good Master Heledir.”

The secretary stifled a gasp as three figures glided out of the forest. The elf in front, apparently the speaker, stepped up to the horses with a smile on his face. He and his companions were tall, flaxen haired and marvellously fair, although none so pleasing to Heledir’s eye as Prince Legolas. They wore simple clothes in woodland colours, and all three carried bows and quivers across their shoulders. Heledir’s mouth fell open as he realised that one of the two silent elves was unmistakably a female; although as tall as her kin and dressed as they were, her graceful curves betrayed her sex.

As Imrahil leapt nimbly from his horse, it struck Heledir that even in such elegant company his master cut a fine figure. Tall and long-limbed as the woodland folk themselves, but with the powerful shoulders of a fighting man, Imrahil stood straight and proud. Tawny hair fell loose about his shoulders in waves, and his suntanned skin seemed to shine golden in the long evening light.

The first elf paused to take in the sight of the mortal prince, before speaking again, with the confidence of a leader.

“Well met, friends! Prince Imrahil,” the elf bowed, and his companions nodded slowly to Imrahil, placing their right hands on their chests above the heart, “and Master Heledir.” To his astonishment, all three of the fair folk turned to Heledir and performed a similar courtesy. He half slid, half fell from the horse, his legs stiff and uncooperative, and stood at its side, thoroughly embarrassed.

Imrahil returned the greeting and added, “Well pleased am I to see you, to be sure. It has been a long ride, and I was not so certain that we had not missed our way. Could you take us to Prince Legolas?”

“That will not be necessary.” The familiar voice, so full of humour and warmth, rang out across the glade. Heledir turned to see Legolas walking lightly, quickly across the grass from the trees behind. He looked glorious, dressed in a cream coloured tunic and dark leggings, blond hair braided and gleaming, his smile so bright Heledir could imagine it illuminating the whole scene.

“Welcome, Master Heledir; I am happy to see you here.” The elf prince paused and touched his heart, inclining his head.

Heledir recovered himself enough to mimic the gesture, mumbling, “Prince Legolas.”

Then Legolas walked past him, and stood before Imrahil. For a long moment the two princes simply stared at each other without speaking. Each remained quite still, and the expression on both faces was intense. Heledir, for all he avoided dwelling on such matters, could feel himself flushing at the obvious heat between them. He tried without success to ignore the thought that formed unbidden in his mind: ‘They may as well fall into each other’s arms; it is clear enough how they feel about each other.’

Legolas and Imrahil did no such thing, of course. Blandly courteous words were exchanged, and the two clasped arms briefly, in the traditional warrior’s greeting. But each kept his eyes fixed on the other’s, and Heledir had no doubt that a great deal more was being said without audible words. He stole a look at the three other e, an, and was surprised to see their leader quite clearly suppressing a small smile of his own. It seemed that the fair folk were not as implacable as the secretary had always been led to believe.

At last Legolas stepped back, and smiled across to Heledir.

“You must be weary,” he said. “Let us take your horses, and we shall show you to your lodgings.”

The silent elves came forward and took the reins from the two men. Heledir was profoundly grateful for the fact that the elf-woman who led his horse away did not speak to him, but merely nodded; he was certain that he would have made an utter fool of himself in response. At close range, near enough for him to look into her glittering dark eyes, she was startlingly fair. Heledir suddenly felt acutely aware of his own ungraceful bulk, and his definite need for a bath.

Legolas addressed him again. “Meluinen here will take you to your room, Master Heledir. Take your time; relax, and bathe if you wish. We shall dine tonight when the moon is high. My people are preparing a feast in honour of our guests from the coast.”

The other elf, Meluinen, gestured towards the trees, and smiled broadly. “Come,” he said. Heledir moved as if mesmerised, but could not resist looking over his shoulder for a final glance at Imrahil and Legolas. It seemed to him that they looked like two figures from a great legend; both so tall, straight and still as they spoke together quietly. But as Heledir watched, Imrahil laughed happily and placed a hand on Legolas’s shoulder. The secretary quickly turned away, and followed his guide into the trees.

The smell of the forest was almost intoxicating, sweet and pungent with herbs and resinous sap. Heledir could feel his spirits soaring as he inhaled deeply of the heady scent. His heart beat fast with excitement as he strove to keep up with Meluinen’s lead along the faint track between the trees and bushes. Some of the plants were known to Heledir: tall pines, myrtles heavy with pale pink flowers, thyme and oregano creeping across their path. But other, less familiar varieties there were too; strange, twisted trees with feathery spreading branches, woody shrubs which released their spicy odours as he brushed past. He could have stood and looked around him to take it all in, but felt too timid to ask Meluinen to wait.

As they reached the edge of another clearing, the elf turned to him, and seemed to notice his breathless state for the first time.

“Forgive me!” he laughed. “I set too swift a pace for you, I fear. I am unused to the company of men, and tend to forget myself in the forest.”

There was no hint of mockery in the elf’s friendly tone, and Heledir felt his own shyness evaporating in response to the genuine warmth of his expression.

“No matter,” the man said, “I am eager to see your settlement. My legs are somewhat stiff from the ride, however, as I have little skill on a horse.”

Meluinen nodded. “I shall show you where to find the baths, before I take you to your lodging. A hot soak will do much to cure your ills.”

Heledir smiled weakly, a sudden desperate thought flitting through his mind. He could only hope that the elves’ bathing arrangements made some allowance for privacy, else he would have to resign himself to reeking of horse for the entirety of his stay.

He need not have worried. After waving his arm towards the long low building at the baf thf the clearing - “Our gathering and dining hall, and our other public rooms,” - Meluinen took him a little way up the slope to one side. The bathing house was wooden, like the hall, and built in a similar style; simple, but elegant in shape.

“There are hot and cold pools at the back,” the elf told him, “for those who like to bathe together under the stars. And private rooms within. If you need anything, you will always find one of us tending the fire in the boiler room at the end.”

Something about the phrase madeediredir turn to his guide and raise an eyebrow in question.

“Aye,” said Meluinen. “We divide such tasks amongst us. We are a small group, and none of us could truly be counted a servant. It is a simple life we share, but a good one.”

“And these buildings? You worked ther her on these too?”

“Yes, all of us, including Prince Legolas himself. He has much skill in wood-carving.”

Heledir reflected that it was indeed no surprise that his master and the elf prince found such pleasure in each other’s company. Had circumstances been different, he was quite certain that Imrahil would love nothing more than to throw himself into a project such as this one, alongside his people. Dol Amroth’s prince was nothing if not steadfast in his role as leader, but those close to him knew well that he chafed against the formality of his position, and sought no aggrandisement at the expense of others.

The secretary looked around in delight, trying to imagine how the glade must have looked during the building process, with Prince Legolas at the centre of a hive of elven activity. The vision in his head contrasted sharply with the scene before him now.

“It is very quiet,” he said.

“You wonder where my kin are?” asked Meluinen, adding cryptically, “Just because you cannot see them, it does not mean they are not there.” He raised his voice and called out in a strange Elvish language.

Immediately, three or four elves responded with a gale of laughter, and then broke into a song with a cheerful, lilting melody. The sound seemed to be coming from the trees behind the bath house, although Heledir could see no sign of anyone there.

“They sing a song of welcome for you,” Meluinen said. “You will meet them later. One is the sister of my wife; she is most eager to make your acquaintance.”

Heledir looked at him suspiciously, but the elf’s face was quite unreadable. The man decided to keep his bemusement to himself, although a dozen questions were vying for position in his mind.

A little way beyond the bath house they came to a tiny building, hardly more than a hut, nestling amongst a group of olive trees. Meluinen stepped up and opened the door with a flourish. His voice, however, was apologetic.

“We have not yet built anything grander to accommodate our guests. But we have tried to make it comfortable, and fit for a scholar such as yourself.”

Inside, the cabin was perfect. A low bed ran along one wall, topped with a soft cream blanket and scattered with cushions, their covers woven in shades of blue and green. Along the opposite wall, under the window, stood a long, narrow table, with a simple chair and an open cupboard beneath. Between the bed and the table a plain blue rug covered the narrow strip of floor. On the table a number of items were carefully arranged: an oil lamp, already glowing; a mirror in a wooden frame inlaid with a pattern of leaves; a pitcher, bowl and goblet of engraved grey metal; two branches of white blossom in a small silver vase, a sheaf of clean paper, and a blotter, ink pot and quill.

To his shame, Heledir felt tears pricking at his eyes. Since his mother’s death some years before the Great War, there had been no one to show such concern for his comfort, or to offer him anything so beautiful. He blinked, and realised that Meluinen was still waiting expectantly at the door.

“It is wonderful. Thank you,” said the man, trying to keep the emotion from his voice as he turned to the elf.

Meluinen looked at him curiously, but merely said, “I shall leave you now, to rest or bathe as you choose. It will be some two hours before we eat; but if you seek company or have need of anything before then, you will find me in the Hall.”

Once he was alone, Heledir sat on the chair to take off his boots, before stowing them neatly under the table beside his pack. He pulled his tunic over his head, then folded it carefully and placed it in the cupboard along with his belt. Moving to the bed, he stretched himself out full length, testing it. As he had suspected, it was utterly comfortable, and had his head not been so full of thoughts and impressions, he could happily have slept there for at least two days. As it was, he knew that there would be no true rest for him until he had given his mind some peace.

With a gleam in his eye, Heledir rose from the bed once more and went to sit at the table. He moved the objects there around a little, until everything was arranged to his satisfaction. With one piece of paper pulled from the pile and laid before him, he inspected the quill carefully, and found it sharpened to his liking. He dipped it in the dark blue ink, let the excess fluid drip back into the pot, then brought it to the page and began to write.


To be continued.....