Many thanks to daw the minstrel for beta reading this story!

Disclaimer

I neither own anything nor do I make money from it.

Summary

Two Elves, one of Lórien, the other of Greenwood the Great, both loving fathers, share a beautiful sunrise in a clearing of Greenwood near the end of the Second Age.

Some Years Ago in Greenwood

by Luineithel

The stars had already faded, yet Ithil still stood proudly in the twilight-sky. Sighing heavily, Hîthaldor looked longingly eastward. Because his mind had been too crowded to rest easily in Elven dreams, he had started wandering through the gentle trees of Greenwood the Great, hoping to find lightness for his troubled heart.

He might be just a simple captain of Lórien’s marchwardens, but nevertheless he felt as if all the sadness of Middle-Earth permeated his whole being. War was upon the free people of Middle-Earth; Elves, Men and even Dwarves would unite and face together the Darkness of Mordor.

Malgalad, his king and cousin [1] to the king of Greenwood the Great, had sent him here in order to prepare the joint forces of the Woodelves [2], a war-host that would be strong enough to stand independently, yet in harmony shoulder to shoulder next to Gil-galad’s host [3]. Hîthaldor was the first of many Lórien captains yet to come, who were to consult with Greenwood’s border-guard, planning a secure protection of the Southern borders during the absence of the majority of warriors. He had arrived two days before, spending every minute in the company of captains and counselors, and he would return home later in the day, yet, at the moment, he felt utterly alone. Although Greenwood’s trees were loving and filled his being with the gentle hymn of nature, his heart did not lighten; he was away from home, he realized not for the first time, and it seemed the great trees of Lórien alone would sing in perfect harmony with his heart. Yet regardless whether in Lórien, Greenwood, Imladris or even Gondor, it was always Anor, who would light the day and part it from the darkened night, and so Hîthaldor eagerly awaited her rising.

Full of anticipation he stood still, facing the eastern sky, when suddenly he caught movement in the left corner of his eyes. Gliding silently, looking almost unearthly, there was a warm shimmer moving through Greenwood’s trees, which were still covered in the night’s dark blanket, advancing slowly, yet aiming without doubt for the clearing in which Hîthaldor stood. He sensed no threat from it, and after only a moment the Lórien captain realized it was an Elf strolling through the wood, and he let go of his breath, which he had not noticed he was holding.

It was a strange Elf clad in green and brown [4], an Elf of Greenwood no doubt. His clothes were simple, though not without small embroideries around the collar and sleeves, yet it was the regalness and power flowing through every fiber of this Elf that made Hîthaldor think he must be a warrior of high station. Running mentally through the list of Greenwood captains he knew, the Lórien warrior realized he had never met this Elf before; nevertheless he was too enraptured by the dawning moment to care. Despite his height and broad shoulders that reminded Hîthaldor of the surrounding beech-trees, the strange Elf moved with an elegance and lightness that whispered of millennia spent on battle fields and ballrooms, and though he was identifiable as a warrior on first sight, oddly enough he was picking flowers.

What a strange hour to do that, Hîthaldor thought, for Greenwood’s flowers were still deep in sleep and closed, but once the other Elf had moved closer, the Lórien captain was witness to something even stranger; for shortly before the Greenwood   Elf even so much as touched a flower with his strong warrior hands, it woke and bloomed with all its power of beauty and seemed to become one with the Elf.

Hîthaldor was so engrossed in this picture of beauty and harmony that he did not realize the other Elf had reached the clearing until he noticed with a start, that the tall Elf stood right in front of him with a gentle smile on his lips. Elves had a great love of beauty and purity, which were both written clearly on the Elf’s face, but Hîthaldor also strongly sensed love and greatness shining from the other Elf as brightly as Anor on her highest peak; people loved this Elf and would die for him without a second thought, he realized.

“Your heart is heavy,” the rich tenor of the Greenwood Elf broke the morning’s silence; it was not so much a question as a statement. “But these trees do not soothe your soul.”

“My heart is burdened, indeed,” Hîthaldor answered truthfully, lowering his eyes, for he could hold the intensity of the other’s gaze no longer. Again facing the east he added after a moment, “I have hopes though, that Anor will not only light the day, but also my heart.”

Together they looked eastward for a moment in a warm silence.

“Soon we will march into darkness,” Hîthaldor said not without a sigh and for the smallest moment he wondered why he spoke so openly to this strange Elf.

“It is necessary or all of Middle-Earth, including our homes and loved-ones, will be covered in darkness,” the other replied gently, “but it is not the darkness you fear.”

“In Lórien my beloved wife and soul-mate is waiting for me,” Hîthaldor opened his heart without a second thought and his eyes shone with an intensity that could rival Elbereth and for the first time this morning there was a smile dancing on his lips. “With her is my beautiful son, Haldir, and I hope you do not take offence at my saying that I am eternally grateful to the Valar he is yet not old enough to join the war-host. I would gladly march into Mordor and give my life for them to live in peace, were it not for the fact that my wife is with child. My love for my family is eternal and it is because of them I feel my fear of darkness losing against the rising of courage, but it is also because of this love that I fear what will become of my still unborn child. Surely you know how unfortunate it is for an Elven child to grow up with only one parent [5].”

Again there was silence and Hîthaldor turned slightly, only to see the other Elf crafting a beautiful flower wreath with elegant and gifted fingers. “Do you have family?” the Lórien captain asked with genuine interest.

“I have a son,” the other replied and to Hîthaldor it seemed as if the glow of the other brightened even more. “He is the light of my life, the very reason of my existence, yet unfortunately he is old enough to follow me into darkness. But he is a great warrior, proud and with great strengths; even now he holds a wisdom far greater than I ever will.”

Another silence, then he continued, “He was a mere elfling, when he and his mother left the safety of our home in Neldoreth [6] to visit the halls of our king Thingol. They chose a fateful day and were attacked by the fleeing Naugrim, after those had brutally murdered the king for the sake of the Nauglamír [7]. The Silmaril –, it seems as if its light was too bright for our souls, for whoever was captured by it was not able to see Arda clearly anymore. Deeds and sacrifices were made, which would have not come to life under normal circumstances. And so the Naugrim fought their way out of the halls of Menegroth blindly, injuring my little son severely with their sharp, cold axes and killing his mother without so much as a second thought.” The voice of the Greenwood Elf had become tight and not without edge and Hîthaldor suddenly felt a dangerous power radiating from the other Elf. But it lasted for only a small moment and then the strange Elf went on with a sadness older than the trees of Greenwood, “For all the millennia that lie in between, he still misses his naneth.”

The flower wreath was finished, Hîthaldor realized, and the Greenwood Elf turned once again, facing him with his smile that embraced the Lórien warrior like an old friend. Eyes are the mirror of the soul, they say, and when Hîthaldor chose to look into the eyes of the strange Elf, he saw a beautiful soul. He saw a Greenwood warrior, tall and with broad shoulders, not unlike the Elf before him, with flowing long, blond hair and a bright honest smile. He saw the people of Greenwood and this Elf’s love for them as he saw the love reflected in the faces of the people. But Hîthaldor also saw great sorrow and almost desperate worry; he saw the wisdom in joining the war against Sauron, yet he also saw the lack of strong armoury [8] and sufficient money.

Realisation dawned on Hîthaldor and after the blink of an eye, maybe a lifetime he closed his eyes for a moment and then he felt like waking from a dream.

“Anor has risen,” the Greenwood Elf said softly.

Turning his eyes eastward once more, Hîthaldor was overcome by a new-born awe; silently Anor began the journey of this day, already touching everything with warm colors, lifting all out of darkness and filling the very air with a gentle tune of hope and fulfilled dreams. Closing his eyes, Hîthaldor opened his heart and became one with the music. It was not until he opened his eyes once more after a while, that he noticed, the strange Elf had vanished.

**********

Anor had just reached the highest peak of her journey of this day, when Malgalad dismissed his captains after a rather long and tiring council. Yet Hîthaldor remained, for earlier his king had motioned him to stay and now he wondered what it was his beloved king could wish him to do.

“So how was your stay in Greenwood the Great, Hîthaldor?” he was asked.

“As I have reported earlier at the council, my lord, the discussions with Greenwood’s captains were both insightful and fruitful. Several plans in order to protect our Southern borders have been made, securing –“, Hîthaldor answered eagerly, but suddenly he was interrupted by a short motion of Malgalad’s long hand.

“Please, let me rephrase this,” the king said not without mirth in his voice, “for I actually meant to ask you about the discussions with my dear cousin, King Oropher.”

“King Oropher?”, Hîthaldor replied, becoming a little uneasy, “Well, my lord, I, err, I am not sure I have actually met him, my lord, officially that is, I –“

“I know he can be as hard and stubborn as his beloved beech-nuts that grow in his wood, and discussions with him come in as many different shapes as there are leaves in Greenwood,” Hîthaldor was interrupted once again, “yet whatever you said or did, captain, seemed to have impressed him – which is not an easy task, I might add. But to make a long story short, he suggests naming you the commander of the Southern border-guard in our absence. His message arrived just this morning and it was quite – err, what is the word I am looking for? – convincing.” Now the mirth in Malgalad’s voice was unmistakable, yet as only Elves can do, he changed from playful cheekiness to dead seriousness in the blink of an eye and went on, “I know nothing that would speak against it, captain. On the contrary it confirms an idea that was born in my mind long before. Therefore I would like to offer you this position. Will you accept it, Hîthaldor?”

Silence filled the council-room, for Hîthaldor was utterly confused. King Oropher suggesting himself, Hîthaldor Sîrúmolion, as commander of the Southern border-guard? Oropher? Commander? Thousands of thoughts crossed his poor mind, while at the same time it felt desperately empty. Then suddenly he caught his breath, his mind eased and it all made sense: Commander of the Southern border-guard – whoever was to hold this position would still face danger and threat in order to protect the realms of course, but also would have to stay home despite the war. Shakily Hîthaldor released his breath and with a smile born in the very depths of his heart, he said, “Yes, my lord, I accept.”

**********

Silently Hîthaldor accepted the scroll from the weary messenger. These were doubtless reports from the war-hosts, reports of darkness and death. Some of them took longer to reach the Elven realms than others, yet all of them were filled with a hymn of grief and sorrow. Only a few days earlier a message had arrived, reporting of Malgalad’s death in the Dagorlad as well as the death of over half of Lórien’s brave warriors [9], covering the realm with a heavy blanket of desperation and grief, throwing all Elves into a deep, seemingly endless state of mourning.

With shaky hands Hîthaldor opened the scroll and with a sharp stab in his heart he realized how terribly long this list was. A further look confirmed this to be a report on fallen Greenwood warriors [10]; whoever had taken this sad task of listing the names of faded friends seemed to have tried to numb his pain by occupying his mind with the hideous effort of writing this list in the correct alphabetical order.

Taking a deep breath, then another Hîthaldor slowly read each name on the list, paying each warrior his deserved respect. There were many Elves he knew, commanders and novices alike, captains and even healers, but regardless of whether he knew the Elf or not, Hîthaldor realized there was a unique soul behind each name as there were grieving loved ones left behind.

Hîthaldor was halfway through the list, when for the smallest moment life stopped; birds ceased singing, leaves stopped rustling and everything living was embraced by a cold silence: as he had been during his lifetime and now in his death in front of Mordor’s gates, Oropher’s name was safely surrounded by his loving Greenwood warriors.

When the name was pulled into obscure shapes by blurry vision, Hîthaldor realized, without shame or regret, that he openly wept for the passing of Oropher of Greenwood. He cried for an Elvenking he had never officially met and a realm that so dearly loved him; he cried for a son, who had lost his only parent; but most of all he cried for the strange Elf with the beautiful soul, with whom he had shared a beautiful sunrise not so long ago in a clearing of Greenwood the Great.

**********

It was in this night when Anor had long ended her journey, that Hîthaldor took his youngest son into a starlit night and under Elbereth’s careful watch he explained with soft words the significance of his son’s name. And although little Orophin did not understand everything his adar said in this night, in all those years to come, whenever he was asked the reason for his name, he answered with great pride, that he was named after an Elf with a beautiful soul, with whom his adar had shared a beautiful sunrise some years ago in Greenwood. [11]

The End.

Translations

Ithil – moon

Anor – sun

Naugrim – dwarves

Arda - earth

Naneth – mother

Sîrúmolion – son of Sîrúmol

Adar – father

[1] Malgalad of Lórien can probably be equated with Amdir (Tolkien, Unfinished Tales, Harper Collins Publishers Edition, page 335). I just prefer the name Malgalad. It is not a canon fact that Malgalad and Oropher are cousins or related in any other way; nevertheless there are very few canon facts on Oropher and his family; therefore I invented a background for them. So in “my own little universe” Malgalad and Oropher are first cousins, since I like the idea of two Sindarin Elves – cousins no less – passing eastward to go “back to the roots” and establishing two kingdoms.

[2] “He [Oropher] therefore assembled a great army of his now numerous people, and joining with the lesser army of Malgalad of Lórien he led the host of the Silvan Elves to battle.” (Tolkien, Unfinished Tales, Harper Collins Publishers Edition, page 334).

[3] “Also they [the Silvan Elves] were independent, and not disposed to place themselves under the supreme command of Gil-galad.” (Tolkien, Unfinished Tales, Harper Collins Publishers Edition, page 334).

[4] I am sorry, I just could not resist J ; the quote is from: Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings, The Fellowship of the Ring, Harper Collins Publishers Edition, page 234.

[5] “Yet it would seem to any Eldar a grievous thing if a wedded pair were sundered during the bearing of a child, or while the first years of its childhood lasted.” Tolkien, History of Middle Earth, Volume X, The Later Silmarillion Part One, Morgoth’s Ring, Of the Laws and Customs Among the Eldar, page 213.

[6] Again this is not canon, but something I have invented for Oropher’s background: He lived with his wife, Alquarwen, and Thranduil by Thingol’s leave in Neldoreth, a beech-wood in the Northwest of Menegroth in Doriath, between the rivers Mindeb and Esgalduin.

[7] The Nauglamír is a famous necklace made by the dwarves in the First Age for Finrod Felagund. In the Second Age Húrin found it in Nargothrond and gave it to Thingol, who had his Silmaril worked into it. This led to a fight between Thingol and the dwarves from Nogrod, who claimed the Nauglamír (though actually it was the Silmaril, they desired). The fight led to Thingol’s death by the hands of the dwarves (Tolkien, Das Silmarillion [The Silmarillion], Klett-Cotta Edition, pages 314–317).

Alquarwen’s and Thranduil’s presence is not canon.

[8] “The Silvan Elves were hardy and valiant, but ill-equipped with armour and weapons in comparison with the Eldar of the West;” (Tolkien, Unfinished Tales, Harper Collins Publishers Edition, page 334).

[9] “Malgalad and more than half his following perished in the great battle of the Dagorlad […].”(Tolkien, Unfinished Tales, Harper Collins Publishers Edition, page 334, 335).

[10] “Oropher was slain in the first assault upon Mordor, […]. […] when the war ended and Sauron was slain (as it seemed) he [Thranduil] led back home barely a third of the army that had marched to war.” (Tolkien, Unfinished Tales, Harper Collins Publishers Edition, page 335).

[11] On Elvish Naming Customs (Tolkien, History of Middle Earth, Volume X, The Later Silmarillion Part One, Morgoth’s Ring, Of the Laws and Customs Among the Eldar, page 214 - 217): It was the father, who named the child soon after its birth (so-called essecarmë); often the name was fashioned after the father’s name or that of a relative. Also the child could later choose a name for itself, though this seemed to be only a Noldorin custom. Furthermore the mother of the child could add a name (amilessi apacenyë – name of foresight as well as amilessi tercenyë – name of insight), yet – as far as I understood it – this was not a requirement.

I always found it astonishing that there are two Elves, Oropher and Orophin with such similar names, hence I came up with this story. The meaning of the name Oropher is uncertain, but there are some, who translate it with “tall beech-tree” (oro – hill or rise; feren/ fernë/ later –pher – beech). Though to me this translation has a somewhat bitter taste, for the words are in Quenya and I always pictured Oropher as a 100% waterproof Sinda, I nevertheless like it, since it emphasizes my picture of Oropher: tall with broad shoulders, just like a beech-tree. The meaning of Orophin I do not know; therefore I thought it would be nice if his father fashioned his son’s name after Oropher in order to show a closeness to him, to honour him, maybe even in remembrance of him.

I also pictured Hîthaldor fashioning the name of his first-born after himself: Hîthaldor – Haldir.

As mentioned above I named Hîthaldor’s father Sîrúmol, whose name was later fashioned into Rúmil for his third son.