OF ELVES AND MEN

All Elves and Men in this tale are part of the legacy that J.R.R.Tolkien left to those of us who love his works. A special thank you I offer to Christopher Tolkien for his monumental efforts in bringing forth The Silmarillion, the twelve-volume set of the Histories of Middle Earth (HoME), and numerous linguistic treasures.

When Elves and Men met they had much to learn of each other; both of joy and sorrow.

THE PASSING OF BËOR - Chapter One

Light played over the elf reclining on the floor before the fire, propped up with several plush cushions, scroll in hand. Long golden hair unbound, clad in a simple blue tunic and soft cream trousers, barefoot, a goblet of pale yellow wine to hand, he was the picture of youthful ease; yet he had seen many times both glad and terrible.

A quick tap upon the heavy oaken door surprised him from his reverie. Without further delay the door swung open to admit an elf in a swirl of floor-length green over-robe, dark hair bound with silver ornaments, soft-soled grey shoes, a signet gleaming upon his hand. Puzzlement and concern written on his fair features caused the golden elf to sit up abruptly.

"Bëor?"

That single word passed between them, though filled with meaning beyond a mere questioning. At a nod from the dark elf-lord, the golden one flowed effortlessly to his feet, the scroll discarded unheeded in his haste. His friend had not appeared at meals for the past two days, which was in itself unusual, though he had sent a message that he wished to keep to his rooms.

Edrahil caught Finrod’s arm as he attempted to brush past. With a worried frown he spoke, "He fades."

"What say you, Edrahil?" Finrod retorted mystified, "Not three days hence we rode out together. No wounding he received nor was he deeply grieved."

"Ai, a thing beyond our healing takes him. Fëa struggles with hröa seeking to depart. Yet calmly he awaits you, untroubled by this unseemly thing." Edrahil stated in confusion.

As they traversed the short distance to the rooms of Bëor, the two discussed this latest anomaly regarding their friend.

"True, his hair has changed from deep brown to pale grey and his skin has taken the appearance of a wizened apple, but unchanged has been his eagerness for life," stated Finrod.

"How then to explain this sudden weakening, lord?" responded Edrahil.

Casting a deeply troubled glance at his steward, Finrod merely shook his head.

"Healers have attended him to no avail; perhaps he strayed too near a powerful working unaware," suggested Edrahil.

"Have you spoken with him?" asked Finrod after a brief silence.

"A cryptic 'it is my time' is all he offered, and then a request for your presence," said the perplexed Edrahil. "Shall I attend you, lord?"

Having reached the chamber, Finrod hesitated , then turned to his steward and requested softly, "You, and your harp , if you will."

With a slight nod, Edrahil turned away, moving swiftly toward his own chambers.

A quiet rap on the door alerted an elf within who admitted the casually attired King of Nargothrond. Stepping quickly to the bedside of his friend, he dropped to his knees, sitting back on his heels. Bëor rested easily on the low bed, a peaceful expression on his aged face. He smiled gladly when his eyes opened to find his liege-lord and dear friend at his side.

"My lord, I thank you for coming," said Bëor.

"My friend," said Finrod, "You look well, though other tale have I heard of late."

With a sigh Bëor spoke quietly, "The time of my passing has come, though delayed far beyond my hopes. Among my people it is cause for both grief and sharing of memories of the one who departs."

"You choose to leave Nargothrond?” Finrod asked in dismay. "Have we been remiss in hospitality or friendship? Has the longing for your own people overwhelmed you?"

Bëor smiled tenderly at the puzzled King. "My lord, my leave-taking is not because I weary of your hospitality.

Finrod waited patiently for Bëor to continue.

“Will you aid me?” Bëor asked.

“You have but to ask and if it be within my power gladly I shall do this thing,” Finrod responded.

Edrahil entered unobtrusively and taking a stool against the wall began quietly to tune his harp.

Bëor gazed with concern at this, his liege; how does one explain dying of old age to an ever-young elf king. At last with a heavy sigh he began with slow words, as if to a child. “Among some of my people it is a time of release; our bodies are not as those of you and your people. The house in which we dwell ceases to protect and shelter us. As did my father before me so shall I also depart Arda of my own willing and seek not to await the utter ruin of the structure,” he paused at the stricken look on Finrod’s fair face.

Finrod stared in disbelief and could find no words.

“Surely you have seen the changes, my friend?” Bëor stated calmly, “and my days have been longer than many and filled with joy in the knowing of you and your people. With no regrets shall I leave, for though we found not the land without Dark, I have seen in you a new Light that I had not thought to find. Your song led my people out of sorrow and into hope. With peace I shall soon enter onto the long road.”

Harp and voice faltered as Edrahil, too, grasped the finality of the words spoken by this trusted Man. Placing his harp to the side he joined his lord at the bedside.

Eyes glistening with unshed tears Finrod said, “You have not spoken of this before. Is it a hidden knowledge of the Edain?”

Bëor reached out a hand and laid it on the shoulder of the King. “My liege, my dear friend…” Bëor looked away from the expression of hurt on those youthful faces to calm his thoughts.

After several long empty moments Bëor began again, “When first you came to us we named you Nom, Wisdom in our tongue, for we were astonished that a beardless youth should have such infinite knowledge. Songs of lands unknown to us and events long past we believed were passed from father to son down the ages as are our own and you were as brief-lived as we.”

Again he paused and with a pleading look continued, “At first I knew not that you aged more slowly than the mountains, but after, I had not the words to give to you.”

Finrod could not bear thinking on soon parting from this Man who spent his short years in service to one not even of his own kindred. Bright as starlight a single tear trailed slowly down his flawless cheek.

Bëor went on, “Counsel from kin in messages urged me home before my leave-taking, and all warned of revealing our brevity of life; we do not want your pity nor your scorn. So I heeded the advice and where I should have trusted, I failed to keep faith with you.”

He struggled to rise. Edrahil helped him from the bed only to find him sagging to the floor, not in weariness, but in supplication. Bëor with his head bowed and arms outstretched begged of his dear friend, “Forgive my concealment in this matter, my lord. Too often when our people dwell overlong on the departure it becomes a great fear as we have no knowledge of our path. For some while I have felt the time drawing near, but delayed. But for the attentiveness of your healers, I might not have had courage enough to ask your presence and so passed beyond alone, as it is sometimes less grievous to those staying.” With a hint of a smile Bëor went on, “Lord Edrahil is exceptionally devoted to your well-being; even extending it to the protection of your joy. He notices the merest shift in kin or friend and seeks ever to shield you.”

The elf being discussed averted his eyes from his lord, but denied not the charge laid on him.

Finrod clasped both Bëor’s hands before speaking. For a time his roiling emotions undid him, but with great concentration he mastered himself and spoke the words Bëor needed to hear, “Bëor, naught of forgiveness is needed between us, my friend.”

Rising, Finrod lifted Bëor easily and placed him on the bed; one long-fingered hand brushing the grey locks from Bëor’s face.

“Wish you private faring forth?” Finrod queried reluctantly.

“You are ever welcome, my lord, but I would not trouble you if it would be too grievous,” Bëor said wistfully.

“I offer harp and song on your journey,” said Edrahil softly, “and my presence should it be your will.”

‘Gladly would my heart take wing with the sound of elven music.” Then in an earnest voice Bëor added, “My treasure I leave in your hands, Lord Edrahil, guard him well; better even, I am certain, than I ever could.”

Tears slipped down the elf-lord’s face as he picked up his harp and began to play a haunting threnody. Bëor lay back with a deep breath to listen, his eyes closing slowly, a smile upon his wrinkled face.

Almost inaudibly Bëor spoke, “A merry song, if you can Master Harper, to light my path.”

Edrahil paused, bemused at the request, then began playing a song composed by Finrod reflecting the sheer delight he felt at his first meeting with Men; wonderment, marveling, curiosity, and above all, love for these, the Other Children of Ilúvatar.

Finrod, immortal elven king, and Bëor, dying mortal liege, remembered that night filled with song, mysteries revealed, the dawn crowned with an unimagined radiance.

Bëor whispered low, “It is time.”

Finrod swallowing a sob replied, “Fare thee well, Bëor, friend of elves.”

With a deep slow breath Bëor relaxed into his last rest, while Finrod wept beside him.

*******

Notes:

fëa – roughly equivalent to spirit/soul

hröa – physical body

SO IT BEGINS - Chapter Two

FA 359

Along with the usual missives relating to the state of the leaguer on the various fronts, came a most welcome invitation. The King of Nargothrond smiled delightedly and sent word for his Steward to attend him at his earliest convenience.

Edrahil hastened to his King’s chambers to discover the details of this sudden summons. Barely pausing to rap lightly on the massive oaken door, he entered the spacious apartments, concern clearly written on his fair features.

Finrod came to his feet and closed the distance between them, extending the message scroll for his Steward’s perusal, then turning about and striding over to the ornate chest against one wall.

Raising the lid, he lifted from its recesses a small object; unwrapping it he cradled it tenderly in his powerful hands. Gazing down at the diminutive though exquisitely detailed toy dog, memories both sweet and painful intruded into his mind.

When first they had come to these Hither lands, many had hoped to establish realms of their own, following the defeat of the Enemy, but the reality was far different. Trapped in his nigh impenetrable fortress, they nonetheless suffered frequently from incursions and stealthy raids by the minions of the malevolent Vala, Morgoth, and so the vague dreams of sending for his beloved, Amarië, and the bringing forth of children faded from his hopes.

Now, however, there was one to whom he would bestow this precious gift; Bregor, son of Boromir, of the House of Bëor, newly established as Lord of Dorthonion. Swathing the toy in a cloth of soft wool and replacing it in the chest, he returned his attention to his steward.

Eagerly he spoke to Edrahil, “Make ready for a journey, dear friend. We go to celebrate the arrival of this child.”

Edrahil did not return the look of enthusiasm.

“My Lord…” he began, but was halted by a wave of Finrod’s hand.

“I know, Edrahil, now that we are responsible for so much, and so many, the freedom to hearken to the call of our desires has been supplanted by duty. Allow me to slip the fetters for a time.”

The almost pleading look on the face of his King was more than Edrahil could bear, and he burst out in merry laughter.

“Ah, Finrod, the elfling still dwells within you, both in expression and in longings,” Edrahil commented lightheartedly. “Consider, my friend. Winter is nigh upon us and travel increases the probability of hazards in already perilous lands.”

The look of disappointment on Finrod’s face tore at the heart of his Steward. As if seriously pondering the dilemma, Edrahil frowned before speaking with carefully selected wording.

“You had mentioned the need for a visual inspection of the lands between Nargothrond and the lands defended by your brothers, Orodreth at Tol Sirion, and Angrod and Aegnor on the Northern Marches. This would be deemed a worthy expedition. It could be extended to include a call upon the new Lord of Dorthonion,” Edrahil suggested. “Even your least daring counselors could hardly deny your obligation to determine the security of our borders.”

Finrod added thoughtfully, “And since we four would be gathered together it would be suitable to call upon our dear sister, Galadriel, strengthening our bond with Menegroth.”

Once more Edrahil laughed aloud, Finrod joining him.

“Nonetheless, Finrod, late spring would be the earliest such an expedition would be approved.”

Finrod with a rueful look nodded in agreement, and walked back to the table laden with documents, requests, lists, and assorted other items all relating to the governance of the extensive realm of Nargothrond. With a sigh he sat and continued his least favorite obligation: the wearying and often thankless task of maintaining and protecting a vast and varied domain and its diverse peoples.

*******

FA 361

As circumstances dictated, they were hindered the next sequence of seasons, spring and summer, autumn and winter by constant demands on time and resources requiring the personal consideration of both King and Steward. So it was not until late in the spring of the second year that the company of elves headed north.

Orodreth rode out from Tol Sirion with his personal shield-band and together they followed the River through the narrow mountain pass, skirting the Fen of Serech and along the rolling plains close by the high lands of Dorthonion. At the first of the hill-forts scattered among the gently climbing foothills of Dorthonion a messenger was sent hastily to alert the elven defenders to the imminent presence of the King and his entourage.

*****

Clear and bright was the horn-call from the woods announcing the imminent arrival of the elven company. Men hurried to the tall gates, some climbing to the top of the walls to watch for their guests approach; a cluster of children eagerly gathered near the entrance.

Bursting from the tree line came four tall, dark-grey horses each bearing an equally well-matched golden haired rider. Manes, high-lifted tails, long elven braids and cloaks streamed behind them, whipped by the passing wind. Fanciful headstalls with decorative reins adorned the elegant heads of the steeds, the riders clad in shades of greens and browns. Each stride seemed to increase the speed of flight over the open field and the men at first thought the elves fleeing from pursuit, so quickly they gained momentum.

Close enough finally for mortal eyes to see more clearly, the men observed the laughing faces and realized that it was a race for pleasure, not of fear. Cheering as one or another of the horses for an instant took the lead, the men on the walls called down to the gatekeepers to open the gates, and the children to stand aside.

Swifter yet the horses came, urged by the elves to greater speed, youthful enthusiasm and high-spirits obvious to all now, sweeping down upon the gate, wide now in welcome. Just as it appeared they would rush four abreast beneath the high arch, they swept aside, two to the right and two to the left, circling around to form up into pairs, and, at a smoothly decorous trot, made their entrance.

Sharp-eyed watchers called out that the rest of the company had emerged from the trees and, at a more sedate pace, were to join them soon. The armed escort and several pack animals made good time across the level ground. A double count of seasoned warriors hand-picked by Edrahil, steward-herald who now bore aloft the sun-tailed banner displaying the harp and flame of the King of Nargothrond, rode as guard and guide for the four sons of House Finarfin. 

Before long the gateway was alive with the sounds of greetings, both of elves and men, with glad voices calling out to each other. In a knot off to the side stood the children, the youngest restrained by their elders, awaiting the high treat that always was theirs when elves came to visit.

Leaping nimbly from atop their restive horses, the elves beckoned to the troupe of expectant young faces and placing the children upon their steeds, sometimes four of the smallest to a horse, led them to the pen designed to hold the animals of guests. Though not a few of the children squealed with delight or bounced with pleasure, the responsive elven horses displayed their usual calm manners while transporting such precious burdens, placing each hoof carefully and softly that no little one might be dislodged by accident.

Boromir, Lord of Dorthonion, strode briskly toward the holding pens to greet his King. Upon discerning which one was Royal among the tall golden elves, he dropped to one knee, and held his hands palm up and head bowed in the gesture of welcome for his liege-lord as was the common practice among his people. Long, slim fingers rested lightly on his dark head in acceptance, and in a richly-accented voice acknowledging the fealty of this Man, Finrod spoke, “Lord Boromir, son of Boron, son of Baran, son of Bëor, heart-friend of my realm, let us stand not on ceremony. This visit is one of celebration and giving thanks for the new life in your House.”

Boromir rose and clasped arms, warrior fashion, with Finrod, then beamed broadly and stated proudly, “My son, Bregor, is now more than two years with us and his sister joined him but five months ago. So dear friend it is with pleasure we will unite in celebration of both these children into my House.”

Finrod nodded knowingly, but his brothers nearly gaped at the startling news that children would come with such shocking proximity.

Golden heads bent toward each other, the brothers exchanged a thought, How can this be, this rushing forth of children? To fully nurture each child and enjoy the journey from babe to adult is the greatest deed an elf can accomplish, and the hurrying thereof would be a dreadful risk with so new a life.

*****

For the next few days men and elves alike busied themselves with the hunting of large game for the celebration feast, the young boys bringing in a fair collection of smaller game animals, the women and girls harvesting fruits, nuts, greens and grains. Together they prepared the bounty, the excess to be preserved for the cold winter months. To the surprise of many of the men, the four royal brothers, along with many of the elven warriors, happily displayed their aptitude for food preparation, turning out dishes varied and delicious as well as fanciful.

Appetites were assured as the tantalizing aromas wafted through the air, so when at last all was ready and the tables laden with the array of foods there was a plenitude of eager feasters. Various beverages were provided; hearty Dorthonion beer, robust Ladros ale, pale-golden Nargothrond wine and, for the young, a flavorsome blend of fruit juices.

Dancing was favored among the later activities, with the elven males being much sought after as partners by the young women of Ladros. Having refrained from the latest dance, Aegnor and Angrod stood discussing the merits of the beer and ale provided by their hosts, when a sharp tug on one of his long festival-braids drew Aegnor’s immediate attention. Affronted, he whirled about to reprimand the offender, his frown turning to a delighted grin when he found his hair was grasped by a tiny human hand. Sparkling eyes alight with joy he bowed slightly to the young woman holding the babe while trying to untangle the minute fingers from the silky golden strands.

“Pardon, my lord,” the female blushed in confusion, “it would seem my daughter has seized upon a treasure and is loath to release her hold.”

“Ai, lady, I am captured by the beauty, as well as by the hand, of your daughter and would, if you will, bespeak this next dance,” Aegnor laughed gaily. “That she has laid claim to me is not in doubt.”

Happily the babe came to him, clinging still to her prize and as he moved fluidly in close proximity to her mother, Aegnor whispered words of praise for her endearing charms that instantly won his heart. Long had it been since he held so young a child and though dark-haired this little one brought to remembrance his sister, Artanis, the golden glory of their family.

Stopping short, he was barely in time to avoid a collision with a small lad whose glaring face and tightly crossed arms spoke of obvious anger. “Mine!” the boy growled, unfazed by the vast difference in age and height between them.

Smothering a grin, Aegnor still holding the babe, squatted down to face his accuser. The lad pointed to the child, “Mine,” he repeated.

“Certainly you are already fierce defender for this lovely lady. What say you we share in the task of protecting her from hurt and evil things, you within the fortress and I in the surrounds?” Aegnor offered.

Still not willing to trust this strange being holding his sister, the boy continued to ponder the wisdom of such a pact, taking in the stature and size of the other, then solemnly put his arm out warrior-fashion to clasp forearms with the elf. Smiling, Aegnor stood and together they faced the concerned mother.

“May I know the name of the babe I am to guard from harm?” Aegnor asked, with a glance at his youthful companion.

“Andreth, she is named, my lord,” then acknowledging her son she added, “Bregor, her brother, is her champion.”

A gleam of humor lightened his eyes as he queried, “Then you would be Lady Anthel, wife to Boromir?”

“You have my name though I have not heard yours as yet, lord.”

“Aegnor I am called, Lady, and this,” he included his brother in the sweep of his hand, “my brother, Angrod. Together with Orodreth we are the male siblings of Finrod, and sons of Finarfin. Our sister, Artanis, dwells within the guarded realm of Doriath.” An unhappy look crossed his fair face at the mention of her name, but he continued, “We travel on to visit her in Menegroth and its environs.”

Reluctantly Aegnor handed the child to Lady Anthel, the tail of his plait slick with moisture from having been tasted repeatedly by the time he returned her to her mother’s arms. Gazing at the tiny babe he uttered softly, “Artanis now has no need for the champion of her youth, but to you Andreth, I pledge my sword and heart and life, that you suffer no misfortune during the days of childhood and beyond.”

Bowing deeply he collected his brother and headed for the area of the archery contest.

CHAPTER 3

DAYS OF YOUTH

Menegroth

Pacing in agitation before the calm presence of his beloved sister, Aegnor berated her, “How can you, blood-kin of the House of Finwë, think to ally yourself with one of these Dark-Elves? What has he to offer that none of those possessed who sought to court you in Aman?”

Artanis (or Galadriel, as he heard the offending elf had named her) sat serenely against the tree trunk, smiling bemusedly at the self-appointed champion of her youthful days in the Blessed Realm.

Aegnor stopped in front of her and dropped unceremoniously to the ground, scowling face and clenched fists a perfect match for his foul mood.

Artanis spoke softly, “Were you the sky I should expect a fierce storm, brother, bringing turmoil, with bolts of fire and crashing thunder and torrents of water. Come sit by me.”

Unyielding as stone he remained, not willing to hear aught good about this rival for the affections of his sister.

Sighing, Artanis attempted to explain, “Simply put, my brother, he has shown me not what this land to which we came could become, but what it is already.”

Unswayed Aegnor retorted, “Your Vanyar suitors you claimed were exceedingly dreamy, those of the Teleri bound too tightly to the Sea; even the Noldor were unable to hold you long with your eagerness to be first in all things. Soon you will tire of this rustic elf and when you return to your senses, will see him as nothing more than a passing silver-maned fancy.”

“Aegnor,” she softly berated him, “Neither for his silver hair, nor his lithe body, nor his warrior skills, nor his vaunted wisdom do I find Celeborn utterly intriguing, but for his untamed spirit and serene confidence that we will one day be fëa-bound.  He neither pursues nor retreats, but seeks me as a rare gem. Celeborn is without guile and honest in all our dealings together, true of heart and fearless to call me to account should he deem it needful. In all of Arda there is none like him to be found.”

Shocked Aegnor blurted out, “Father will never allow such a match; that a Dark elf wed a Princess of the Noldor is unthinkable!”

With a bemused shake of her golden head, Artanis replied evenly, “Far too many leagues, and a Doom, separate me from the will of our father.”

“Always you were the stubborn one, Artanis, but think before you bind to one so far beneath you.”

”Beneath me? He, the Prince of Doriath, and I, a Princess of the Noldor, are well suited by rank.”

“Dark and Light do not mingle! Light overpowers Dark and not long will he consent to live as a shadow in your bright glory. Our eyes reflect the Light of the Two Trees; his only starlight,” Aegnor continued.

“Of all possible impediments this troubles me most,” admitted Artanis, “yet in Celeborn I find one who vies neither for power nor rule. He covets not the mastery of others, though they are drawn to his natural leadership, The reins he gathers in his competent hands guide, but they do not compel.”

Aegnor shook his head in disgust and, rising to his feet in a single graceful move, stalked off in a darker mood than when he arrived.

FA 368

Rounding the corner of the storehouse the child, long dark hair flying and slim legs carrying her swiftly, cast a quick glance over her shoulder and ran headlong into the legs of one of the trio of elves heading for the horse-yard, nearly sending him to his knees and landing her unceremoniously on the ground. Yelping with a mixture of surprise, pain and foreboding, she scrambled to her feet before addressing the object of her unintentional attack.

“Your pardon, sir, ‘twas from pursuing orcs I flee. They would take me prisoner in chains to the dread under-mountain fortress in the North; no fit place for an elf to house,” she blurted out in a breathless rush.

The melodic laughter in response to her announcement caused her to raise her head to face those who would dare make light of so dire a plight. To her embarrassment she looked into the smiling faces of three near matching elves; all golden, tall and lovely beyond words.

She had, of course, seen elves before, usually at a distance at festival times in the great hall, or riding through the streets, and most were dark of hair like her people though somewhat taller and seeming as beardless youths. But their King gleamed golden in lamplight or under sun though no crown or circlet adorned his head, the brightness flowing down his back catching both eye and heart.

“Elf-maid, my brothers and I stand ready to defend you. Step within our circle of protection,” said the elf with whom she had collided.

Without a word the three arranged themselves to form a defensive triangular barrier facing outward. The girl ducked willingly into her refuge. As the five ‘orcs’ loped into view she peeped out from the ring of elven warriors. Mutely the ‘orcs’ paused, uncertainty on their faces.

“Hold, fiends of the dark! Your quarry has now defenders. Fight or flee!” declared her champion.

Quick meaningful looks passed from orc to orc; would these noble elves deign to indulge in such play? One, bolder than his pack-mates, stepped forward and in a childish growl dared the hoped-for invitation.

“Give her to us. She is small and of no use to such as you,” the diminutive orc snarled, sidling closer to the tall warrior.

“Those of elf-kind are not made to bear the deep dark of your lair. Crawl away to your vile lands. We protect the elf-maid and will not yield her,” said the elf.

The leader glanced at his followers, nodded and, yowling fiercely, lunged toward the elves, his horde close behind.

With a flurry of arms and legs the elves quickly ‘dispatched’ the odious creatures. The orc-horde squirmed helplessly in the grip of their enemies.

“Do you yield, miserable beasts?” spoke the elf.

“We surrender,” said their leader.

Clambering swiftly to their feet the defeated orcs grinned and bowed respectfully before loping off to find easier prey.

Turning now to the rescued maid the spokesman of the elves eyed her curiously.

“Since first you near felled me, then you accepted our protection, may we know your name, fair one?”

Dropping her eyes she said shyly, “Andreth, my lord, of the House of Bëor, daughter of Boromir, Lord of Dorthonion.”

After a pause she looked up into a pair of mischievous grey eyes, and a face alight with playful fun. But it was the eyes that held her gaze. Deep within them a light shone; silvered-gold, intense, and utterly beautiful.

Her guileless eyes, storm-cloud grey and bright with unabashed curiosity, caught the elf by surprise; he was also intrigued by this novel encounter. For a lingering moment, time swirled about them, as if they were in a place apart, each enchanted with the other, though nearly an age of Arda separated them in years. A gentle nudge from one of his fellow elves startled him back into the present, and with a blink of his eyes and merry laughter, time resumed its steady march.

Still smiling, he introduced himself, “Andreth of the House of Bëor, Aegnor I am named. My brothers I make known to you; Angrod, my sword companion, and Finrod, King of Nargothrond.”

Her grey eyes widened in alarm at the possible consequences of such behavior exhibited before such honored visitors.

“My true pardon is given to you, my lords. We, my playmates and I, had not thought to trouble you with our games. Please hold them without blame.”

Grinning widely Aegnor replied, “So novel and pleasant a welcome we have seldom received. Formality and ritual has its place, but there is far too little merriment in these lands. Childhood is too soon left behind, and with it much gaiety and the simple wonders of youth.”

Andreth glanced at his brothers to find them smiling indulgently as well.

“Then…you are not offended?” she queried hesitantly.

“Childhood is a time of great joy for our people and the innocent play of youth untroubled gladdens all hearts,” Finrod answered fondly.

Grinning Andreth resumed her game, “Truly it was welcome shielding you granted to one marked by orcs as easy prey. Though I can easily outrun them, they are not above laying snares for my feet.”

Crouching before her, Aegnor said seriously, “Andreth, maid of Ladros, know you not that as a babe a pact was made for your safeguarding?”

Instantly sobered, Andreth shook her head. The sun revealed burnished glints of deep red, adding a rich sheen to her dark brown hair. Almost Aegnor reached out to stroke the errant strands about her pretty face, his slight forward movement loosing a strand of silky golden hair from captivity behind his shoulder.

“Between us, your brother Bregor and I pledged each other to your protection. Within the keep he is captain; without it is mine to preserve your safety.”

With a look of astonishment Andreth blurted out, “That then is the reason for Bregor trailing me as might a hound. Rarely does he allow me to leave his sight within the keep; never without the walls.”

“Bregor honors truly his sworn vow. Though not known to you, I also keep honor with my oath,” Aegnor stated.

At that moment a light breeze ruffled the strand of golden hair and caught Andreth’s eye. Careful not to touch the elven hair, she nonetheless held her outstretched arm in such close proximity that another such puff of air would float the coveted treasure against her unmoving hand. But there was no obliging gentle wind.

She patiently waited and silently asked Manwë for a tiny breath of current. To her utter surprise, the gold on which she focused was lifted and placed across her open palm. Looking up into those surprising eyes, she realized that permission had been granted. Softly she stroked the silken glory, then released it with a sigh.

“We shall see you safe to the house of your father, child, lest roving orcs accost you yet again, as already my youngest brother has put us in your service,” Angrod said, laughing merrily.

*****

Fall turned to winter and the warriors not on patrol had ample time to indulge in the making of wondrous gifts for loved ones far from the borders. Angrod teased Aegnor good-naturedly about the exquisite little figure he was creating, with joints that moved freely, life-like features, attired in a silken gown of a dark-rose hue, and a tiny green elf-stone on a golden thread about her neck. But when Aegnor severed strands of his own hairs to fashion the tresses of the petite beauty, Angrod questioned for whom this treasure was intended, remembering the elaborate details of dress and design his younger brother had lavished on the dolls he crafted for their sister when she was a child.

“For the child, Andreth, of the House of Bëor,” Aegnor replied evenly, “a begetting-day gift, though Men celebrate only the day of the birth.”

Angrod’s face brightened, “Ah, the young ‘elf-maid’ of Ladros! Artanis supplanted! Shall she become a sister for you to champion and to spoil, little brother?”

Briefly a frown marred the perfect elven features as Aegnor, suddenly disquieted, considered the light-hearted query. “She is a…remarkable child,” his voice softened with a note of affection.

“Over-long you have delayed marriage, Aegnor, if you have taken the young one to honor as a sibling. For your sake I shall endeavor to persuade Finrod that duty in Nargothrond or perhaps attendance at the court of our cousin, the High King, would benefit you. Many a fair maid sighed for your attention when last we made stay in each realm.”

“And as many cast a tender glance at you, Angrod, though whether for our golden heads or nearness to the golden crown of our brother who can say,” Aegnor retorted with a grin. “Not for me the tame elf-maidens of the royal Houses, but rather one with a bold, adventurous spirit like as in our sister, Artanis.”

With a sly goad Angrod added, “You mean Galadriel, the Radiantly-Crowned who has lost her heart to a Sinda Prince?”

Aegnor lost his smile at the quip and, wrapping the doll carefully in the heavy cloth and tucking it in his pack, he stormed off.

“Beware, brother, lest you shatter the forest calm with your temper,” Angrod called out after his retreating form.

*****

A fierce winter storm left the high lands of Dorthonion clothed in sparkling snow, allowing the party of four elves to make their way unhindered to the walled fortress of Ladros.

After a warm welcome by the guards, the elves were brought to the great hall to find a large gathering, with food and drink aplenty provided for all. Groups of men were engaged in a variety of indoor games in the farther corners and alcoves; women seated closer to the bright blaze on the hearth, fingers busy with sewing projects or the mending of still serviceable clothing, and swirling round-about the adults, energetic young ones scampered and darted in their often noisy play.

Threading their way through the throng, the visitors made their unhurried way to pay their respects to the Lord Boromir, who was warming his feet before the enormous fire. Upon spying the new arrivals, he leapt to his feet and heartily bade them join him. Angrod with a nod and a knowing smile freed their escort to participate in one of the strange games of strategy enjoyed by the Men, the two warriors having volunteered to undertake this journey in hopes of such entertainment.

Sprawled on a rug of silky fur, Aegnor feigned utter absorption in the spectacle of the flames blazing in the cavernous fireplace before him, while Angrod chatted amiably with Lord Boromir and Lady Anthel.

Highly attentive elven hearing discerned the racing feet of an exuberant child who skidded to a halt not far off, and with a startled gasp of recognition began a now stealthy approach, stalking his unwary prey. But the boy’s plot was foiled by the squeal of delight from his younger sister who at that moment spied the golden-haired elves.

Rushing his quarry, Bregor nonetheless managed to complete his capture, landing squarely on the elf’s midsection and pinning his arms to the floor. With an all too real grunted “oohf” Aegnor glared up at the boy’s flushed, grinning face.

“Surrender, Elf, or worse yet will you suffer,” the lad stated sternly.

“Prince Aegnor!” Andreth cried gleefully as she pounced on her brother causing Bregor’s knee to jab painfully into the elf’s stomach.

“Huunh,” was the only reply forthcoming from the trapped prince.

Gasping for breath, Aegnor spluttered, “Brother, will you come not to my aid?”

Angrod laughed loudly at the sight of his brother covered with a pair of squirming children. Before he could rescue Aegnor, another smaller girl leapt onto the pile driving the knees and elbows of her older siblings deeper into the belly of the distressed elf.

“Ahhhh!” Aegnor moaned. “Angrod, you would watch me with naught but laughter as I perish under this onslaught?”

Rising Angrod swiftly relieved his brother of the trio of attackers. “Truly Boromir, these members of your House took unfair advantage of a helpless elf. Call them to heel that they not abuse him further,” Angrod choked back a laugh.

Aegnor turned on his side and, curling his legs, he wrapped his arms about his middle, groaning in genuine discomfort. A worried frown on her pretty face, Andreth squirmed free of the strong arm holding her and dropped to the floor beside the hurting elf.

“Prince Aegnor, have we injured you?” Tears filled her eyes as she gently stroked his shoulder, “We did not mean to be so rough; we are just glad to see you again.”

Opening his eyes and wincing slightly, Aegnor begged, “Could you and Bregor and Beril achieve a less boisterous and painful greeting?”

Crestfallen Andreth sat back on her heels, a silent plea for forgiveness in her posture.

“Come, youngling, be easy. Worse hurts have I suffered.”

Andreth lay down facing her special friend, her grey-eyed gaze filled with concern. Aegnor, placing a hand on her shoulder, he whispered, “Within the pack at the feet of my brother can be found interesting objects.”

Eagerly Andreth scrambled to her feet, grasping the straps of the heavy sack and half dragging it back to Aegnor. Plopping down excitedly, she sat cross-legged before him, then leaned forward, awaiting the revelation.

“Bregor, Beril, join us,” Aegnor called out to her siblings. Scurrying around the long form stretched out in front of the fire, the three children sat in rapt attention.

Aegnor sat up, flinching just a bit as his bruised ribs protested the change of position, then rummaged through the contents of his pack as if searching diligently for something hidden in its confines. He smiled broadly as his groping hand closed on the gift for Bregor.

He withdrew a gleaming Elvish dagger secured firmly in a supple leather case, tiny green elf-stones studding the knife handle. Bregor stared in amazement at the elegantly crafted weapon. “Your Lord father will determine when you are responsible for the wielding of this blade,” Aegnor stated solemnly.

Hopeful eyes turned to his father; Bregor’s wordless plea might well have been spoken aloud. “My son, on the morrow you and I will explore your knowledge of the care and use of such a fine tool.” Boromir barely suppressed a grin at the look of dashed anticipation on the face of his only son.

Next Aegnor drew forth a pair of dainty slippers of soft deer-hide lined with squirrel fur dyed a beautiful shade of lavender and a matching gown of the soft, warm material favored by elven mothers for their young ones. These he presented to the wide-eyed Beril, who jumped up and impulsively hugged the elf before dashing off to show her mother the beautiful clothing ‘made by a real elf’.

Andreth sat expectantly, trying hard not to express her impatience. When Aegnor brought forth the gift for Andreth her mouth dropped open.

“Andreth, such is the likeness of a lady of the Vanyar, clad in the manner of the Noldor, who would be pleased to bear a Sindarin name.”

When Andreth sat unmoving, Aegnor with a puzzled expression asked, “Does she not please you, little one?”

“Ai, Prince Aegnor, she is too precious a thing for play.” Then another thought occurred to her. “Did she belong to your sister? Has she tired of her?”

“For you only did I craft this gift, Andreth.” Placing the doll in the trembling hands of the mortal child, Aegnor smiled fondly at the reverence with which the small well-formed hands examined every aspect of her delightful present. Cries of wonder greeted her discovery of the natural direction of movement of the diminutive limbs, neck, waist and even the perfect little fingers and a face elven-fair. As Andreth touched the radiant tresses, she bent for a closer look. A subtle fragrance caught her attention as she blurted out, “She smells just like you!”

Angrod, listening to the interchange burst into merry laughter at the utterance and subsequent reddening of his brother’s fair cheeks.

“She has traveled among my things; it is to be expected,” Aegnor made a flimsy excuse sending his brother into peals of mirth. Shooting a fierce glare at Angrod, he asked Andreth, “Will you provide a dwelling for this noble lady that she may keep you company while I, by oath given and duty bound, am far afield?”

Solemn eyes met and held his as Andreth nodded a silent assent.

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Fascinated with the display of enthusiastic youthfulness by the lad who sped lightly through the trees, the elf kept pace on a parallel course. Winded at last after a considerable distance, the adolescent human, breathing rapidly, paused in a small clearing and laughed aloud for joy. Arms raised high he spun about and danced gracefully about the meadow, brushing his hands against the tree-trunks, and tall flower stems before sinking into the waving grasses to sprawl on his back, eyes searching the brilliant blue sky strewn with dazzlingly white clouds.

Ere long the youth arose and strolled off into the trees singing in a clear voice a mortal song of eager wind, soaring eagles, swift waters, leaping deer and darting fish, complimenting each theme with movements evocative of the element or creature so noted.

Not wishing to disturb this unique performance the elf kept hidden, but was aware, as the human apparently was not, that the scent of boar was strong and growing stronger. Pausing only long enough to ready his war-bow and quiver and unbind the long blade at his side, he deliberately disturbed a branch as he stepped from the tree-shade. Spinning around, long braid following, the lad faced the unexpected noise.

Aegnor stopped short as he realized this was a slender female dressed in leggings and a tunic probably ‘borrowed’ from an older brother.

“Have you no escort, my lady?” Aegnor questioned.

“These lands are guarded, sir, by warriors of Ladros,” was her confident response.

“The present danger is of natural beast, not fell creatures,” he said. “Boar distinguish not but perceived threat, and from the cries there are young ones likely under the fierce protection of their mother. Can you climb into the trees?”

Going pale with understanding of her plight, she merely nodded and leaped nimbly for the nearest of the pines, scurrying up it like a frightened squirrel and clinging high among the branches.

Aegnor slipped silently amid the trees hoping to coax the boar family away in the opposite direction. Much would he regret the taking of the life of a mother, but should she force the issue he was capable of dispatching her quickly.

Thankfully the she-boar took flight with her young ones and Aegnor returned within a brief time to coax the treed human down from her high perch.

Pulling pine needles from her hair she looked up into the face of the tall elf, hers flushed from embarrassment. That she had been caught far from the fortress, alone and dressed in male clothing was bad enough, but to be ‘rescued’ by one of the ‘gold-elves’ as she and her friends called them in secret, was doubly distressing. As two pairs of grey eyes met, she drew a sharp breath, then smiled merrily as she blurted out, “You have returned!” and then she blushed even more furiously at her childlike greeting.

Smoothing her hair then running her hands down the sides of her tunic as if dressed in a gown, she lowered her head and stated more formally, “Well met, Prince Aegnor, and fair day to you.”

Aegnor laughed gaily, “Between the two, I much prefer the former greeting to the latter.”

Instantly her head tilted up and with a mischievous grin, she taunted him, “Fleet are your kind, yet I will race with you back to the fortress walls. But as challenge to your greater speed and endurance, you must finish the course twice to my once to win.” Without waiting for a reply she dashed off, laughing over her shoulder.

Open-mouthed with surprise, it took Aegnor off-guard to be so boldly tested by the young girl. In the best spirit of his kind, after securing his weapons firmly in place, he sprinted after her, skimming past her easily to complete his first lap. On his return he faltered as he saw her lurch to the side and stumble to the ground.

Alarmed he sped to her side, raising her still figure. He moved her arms to encircle his neck to ease the carrying of her slight body, but in his concern did not notice her fingers were busy loosing his bow and quiver. Her laughter puzzled him as she inquired with great dignity whether this mode of travel suited him, as she preferred her own feet when running.

Setting her down gently, with a perplexed expression he asked, “You are unhurt, child?”

With studied decorum she announced, “Though but a child in your eyes, among my people I am near grown. Henceforth “Lady Andreth” you may name me.”

When he simply stared at her she provoked him further, “Quite careless you are with your weapons for so fearless a warrior and our race is not yet run. If you would show your fleet-footed prowess, Elf, you have not time for rescues, and had best resume your pursuit of the prize.”

Again she fled from him, leaving him bewildered by her unpredictable behavior. Within two long strides he felt the bow and quiver flop loosely on his back and during his hasty re-securing of them, he muttered aloud about the devious mind and cunning deceptions of this particular human female.

Andreth was within mere yards of the wall as Aegnor emerged from the tree-line. Andreth was sweating and panting as she laid both hands on the rough stone announcing herself the winner. He reached the wall only seconds after her. Chagrined that a mortal had bested an elf at a footrace (albeit by trickery and rule manipulation), he glared down onto her smug face.

Chuckling merrily she stated, “Safely you have seen me back to the Keep, though bringing up the rear.”

Abashed, he defended his honor, “Rear-guard is in most peril, Lady Andreth.”

“Come,” she teased, “Father will be pleased at your arrival…even if belated.”

*******

SUNDERING – Chapter 4

That season and those that followed found Aegnor often in the company of Andreth, but never without an unseen escort of elven warriors. For naught would he risk harm to this delightful young girl, and ever she was enthralled with the mysteries of the surrounding country.

Many were the veiled insinuations directed at her by her female friends, kindly meant as to one who is being courted. Blushing prettily and avowing nothing of the kind, she nonetheless hoped fervently that somehow the beautiful elf would declare his love and approach her father to arrange a match.

When patrol duties kept him from her side, she dreamed of being held in his arms and loved in the unknown manner of wedded couples. Busy fingers stitching a marriage coverlet, bride-clothes and a pale blue first-night shift occupied her days as she awaited his coming. And, in secret, she worked careful embroidery of her own imagining on a tunic of emerald green for her beloved, employing all her abilities to create a gift worthy of the elven prince.

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Lake Aeluin sparkled like a great blue jewel set amid dusky green folds of heather and scattered pine trees. Andreth and Beril had been permitted to travel with the joined forces of Elves and Men to visit the deep, clear waters rumored to have special attributes of healing wounds both of body and mind. Bregor rode now as a member of one of the high-land patrols and proudly escorted his sisters on this, their first visit to the remarkable site.

That evening as they encamped by the still, dark waters, after a tasty meal of venison, cooked until tender in a mixture of local roots and herbs and a handful of dried plums, some of the elves wandered to the waters edge to sing the stars into awakening. Their songs told of the time of the twilight birthplace of the Firstborn on the shores of Lake Cuivienin.

Andreth was entranced by the haunting wonderment in the ethereal voices lifted in praise of the scintillating lights sung into existence by Varda the Star-Kindler. Eyes closed, she was swept back in time. Thus it was that Aegnor found her, sitting on an out-jutting rock, her long, dark hair unbound, a look of rapturous delight gracing her lovely face. Behind her in the darkly gleaming waters, stars floated upon the still surface; one especially brilliant spark of light appeared to be tangled in the wealth of her tresses.

Lovelier than any elf-maid he had ever known she seemed to Aegnor at that moment. With a languid blink, Andreth opened her eyes to find Aegnor staring fixedly at her.

Stars fill her eyes, Aegnor thought dreamily, then within the space of a single beat of his immortal elven heart, he was filled with an overwhelming sense of belonging. A beatific smile wreathing his face, he felt the answering recognition flowing from the fëa of this beautiful young girl. Reaching out with a hand certain of his lady’s favor, Aegnor caressed her smooth cheek, trailing his fingertips down to stroke the pale column of her throat. Pausing, his fingers then brushed her slightly parted lips, and bending over her, he reverently touched his to hers. The shock-wave that rippled through them startled them apart, but their grey eyes, wide with stunned surprise, never wavered. Beloved, his fëa cried out, as his heart surrendered. So silver-clear and refreshing this sea of longing for the beginning of their unity; then followed the tiny flicker, which rapidly became a flood of breathtakingly pleasurable sensations that he had never known existed.

“Andreth, thou art beautiful beyond the realm of words.”

Thou. Andreth froze at the implication, that intimate personal term among elves. He loves me as I love him? Then her thoughts turned to the practical; Aegnor going to Boromir, her father, seeking her in marriage, the wondering or envious looks on the faces of her friends, the wedding feast and, only hinted at in hushed tones…the mystery shrouded bedding.

Caught by his intense gaze she noticed a different light within the depths of his eyes that had naught to do with star or sun or moon nor even the fiery light of the Exiles. Rather it glowed pure and silver-bright and seemed to pour into her, melting her resistance like warm spring sunlight on winter’s snow.

Barely had Aegnor spoken when a voice outside the sphere of their existence intruded into their timeless moment. “Aegnor? Andreth?” Bregor strode up with an easy familiarity, grinning at the bewildered pair. With a broad wink at his blushingly discomfited sister, he added, “Father may wish to be included in this scheme.” Grabbing them each by one hand he escorted the bemused couple back to the campsite.

Minas Tirith on the Isle of Tol Sirion

Aegnor came then to his brother, Finrod, to discern this change in his feelings for the mortal female, Andreth. When at length they drew apart into a convenient alcove Aegnor struggled over the wording.

"My brother, strange indeed the new-awakening sense of myself as male and she as female, as a flame kindled deep within that burned ever more fiercely and in her eyes an answering fire dwelt. Beauty there came to her then, in my beholding eye, that never yet have I seen in any maiden howsoever fair. A song of rare mystery was her spoken word, enwrapping my heart, her touch a blaze of radiant warmth. Seemingly entangled in her hair, a bright star shone, reflected from the face of Aeluin. Tell me, I pray thee brother, what manner of Working has been cast over my mind and heart."

Hiding his dismay, Finrod studied his youngest brother carefully before answering.

"Brother, that which you experienced, were it between two of the Eldar, would be the call of fëa to fëa, beginning the dance of awareness of the presence of your life-consort, the eventual joining of hröa to hröa, and in a time the begetting of children.

So that was ’recognition’ of fëa, Aegnor mused, dazzled by the intensity of the experience. How can I have known Andreth since her birth and yet I never ‘saw’ her?

Aegnor was delighted. “Upon my return I shall beg leave of her father to betrothal-pledge my lady, if she shares my thoughts. When long Peace comes we shall wed. Will you stand for me as King-and-sire when the Holy words are spoken between us, Finrod?"

His brother said slowly, "If both were Eldar such would be both my pleasure and duty."

Aegnor in confusion responded' "Yet she is not as we? Are the Secondborn so different?"

Finrod drew a deep breath to calm his roiling emotions. With grave concern he replied, “Alike we are as Children of the One, with soul and body and will to act; in form not unalike and often like-minded, as eagle and hawk."

Pausing he held the eyes of Aegnor before going on, knowing the blow to come with words lovingly spoken.

"Alas, eagle and hawk nest not together; neither do Firstborn and Aftercomers."

Aegnor, in confused trepidation, questioned, "Are we then not allowed?"

"For that I have no answer. By our laws and customs there is neither restriction nor approval, though perhaps the very absence of either bespeaks the lack of need for explanation," Finrod said. "Eagle and hawk seek not the other for a mate. Perchance the same holds true for Elda and Atan."

"Do they not bind also as do we? Even their children seem as ours.”

Again Finrod wished he could avoid revealing the hard truths to this, his youngest brother. "Seemingly they bind alike to us, but after loss of their bond-mate many will wed anew."

Aegnor gasped at this shocking revelation. “How can this be achieved without falling into a state of utter madness?”

Finrod continued, "It is but one manner of difference between our peoples, Aegnor. Whether begetting of children may ever occur in such a pairing, Elda and Atan, is not known."

"Why then should I be drawn to her? If it be against our nature I would seem a twisted and uncanny thing indeed," Aegnor stated in something akin to horror.

Pity for his brother nearly overwhelmed Finrod.

He spoke softly, "Atani are mortal, my brother."

"And what of that; we all may die of wound or grief, yet the bond remains beyond the Halls," he retorted.

"You dwell near the Ladros stronghold and must surely have seen the changes in Men; the sicknesses that take adult and child alike though no wound is the source, the slow withering of strength, hair once dark faded to grey, vision dimmed or lost," said Finrod. "Their lives span not even a single yen, ere they depart Arda for a place unknown."

Aegnor stood frozen in place, not really comprehending what he had just heard. Dazed, he remembered Men, his friends, who had died in recent years. But they must surely have perished in skirmish or ambush, he assumed, just as had some Elves, while holding fast the Leaguer of Angband. Finrod must be wrong. He must!

"This cannot be true!" Aegnor cried out.

"Come then and you shall learn somewhat of the Atani," Finrod said as he led the way out of the fortress.

*******

Several days later they and their escort arrived at a human settlement and were warmly welcomed. While the others visited with friends in the settlement, Finrod with Aegnor behind him made for the edge of the human community. The large cottage Finrod wished to visit was located on the outer perimeter with a spacious garden in which four human females, one scarce more than a babe, now tended the plants. Upon his call all the ladies turned about to see the one attached to such a pleasant voice, and were startled to see a pair of tall, golden-haired Elves regarding them.

With careful steps one of the females approached the Elves. Her face was alight with joy, though a maze of wrinkles wreathed her smile, the hair of her head white as the winter-furred fox.

The aged woman spoke respectfully, "Welcome noble sirs. Would you wish water or wine and a place of rest from your travels?”

Finrod said, "Our thanks for your generous offer, sweet lady, but to meet you and your family is the reason for our journey."

Blushing like a young girl she responded, "These are my blood-kin, gentle sirs, my daughter (she indicated a younger woman with few wrinkles and a mere touch of grey in her hair), and her daughter (this to a very young woman, plain, but youthful) and my three-times daughter (with that she stooped cautiously to lift the little one for their inspection)."

Finrod complimented her on all her daughters, and then asked to know, if she would, the number of sun-years she had lived.

Proudly she lifted her head to them and stated, " Four score and six and hale and healthy through them all. I never lost a child; I bore six strong sons and two lovely daughters for my husband, nor ever suffered a long illness. Our family is long-lived, and I hope to go on several years more before my days end."

Finrod bowed his thanks, unobtrusively nudging his brother to copy his example. He could tell Aegnor was trying hard not to believe the words of the old woman and the effects of time on face and body. No word by mouth or mind passed between them.

The two elves rode back through the encampment and gathering their band headed back along the trail for some time without communicating. Finrod halted, then led Aegnor away a short distance to allow the younger Elf to ponder the implications of his recent lesson.

Finrod offered his advice with great reluctance, "Should you not return to her she may well choose another, a male of her people, and together they would live their brief lives in harmony as the One surely intended."

The grief-stricken face that stared back at Finrod brought tears to his eyes as well. Aegnor broke the silence, his voice unsteady, "Finrod… I… I…" Then in a rush of words, "How do I not love Andreth?" And he began to weep. "So easily then do they forget their love? Breath and sight are empty of joy without her, life a torment to deny my eyes and heart nearness to her, yet you bid me trouble her no more? If not to the Halls they go when they flee the hröar, then whence? There would I go and await her coming. Better swift death by orc-blade or warg-maw than to be riven from her side that another one might take the place that should be mine."

Finrod held Aegnor as his brother sobbed hopelessly until the tears subsided. He spoke quietly, "Aegnor, for her sake and yours I beseech thee not to return to her side."

Aegnor merely shook his head against the pain of love banished, his mind numbed in despair. At last in defeat Aegnor uttered his own Doom, "Never will my heart-song be sung to another. For Andreth I shall await, be it even unto the breaking of Arda Marred! By the name of the Holy One with my oath I bind myself to Andreth, though words of uniting may be unsaid, and hröar never joined and ever parted." Then he slumped against the loving strength that was his eldest brother.

*****

Returned to the Northern Marches was a much changed elf. Fiercely he fought and harried every orc, foul creature or any other minion of the Dark Lord. Gone was the joyful abandon in battle. Pitiless he had become in his quest to assuage his own anguish. Fixing his embittered heart on the dread, reeking plumes from Thangorodrim, he willed the treacherous Vala to emerge from his lair, to be hewn down and trampled underfoot.

Idle time he spent not in the crafting of beauty, but in the perfecting of sword skill and honing his archery arts to an unerring accuracy. Angrod grieved the loss of his merry-hearted brother, but had neither answers nor remedy for the strange malady.

*****

Days passed with no word from Aegnor. Instead of the gaily cheerful banter of her female friends, she now endured the pitying looks from some and knowing glances from others.  Perhaps he is on patrol or kept overlong by his brother, the King, she reasoned to herself, but she remained unconvinced.

Days, threaded together like beads, formed a necklace of a week, and weeks into a net of months, and neither message nor messenger arrived to relieve her troubled thoughts. Did I mishear his words, she wondered, not for the first time. Are the firstborn as fickle as I hear of some Men?

Elves had visited from time to time, but of the golden brothers none spoke; they closeted with Boromir and stayed not to share table and hearth.

So the arrival of a party of elves in the early spring did not elicit any eager hope in Andreth’s wary heart as she mended usable garments for the fatherless children of those who died defending the lands and people of Dorthonion.  

It was, Anthel explained, the duty of the Lady, her daughters and their maidens to provide for the less fortunate among their Lord’s people, as Anthel often demonstrated by taking food to the aged, the widowed women or permanently lamed men. But of greatest comfort was the time spent listening to their outpouring of grief or simple daily routines, and bestowing on them soothing words or a touch that said they were valued and not forgotten.

Bregor burst into the quiet room announcing as he entered that there was among the dark-haired elves, one of gleaming gold. “Aegnor?” she queried hesitantly.

“Sister, I know not, but that they have an urgent message for father.”

Bregor saw for the first time in many months a smile that lit her face, and prayed to the Valar that the news included an offer of marriage. Father had noticed the quenched flame of his eldest daughter and berated himself for a fool in allowing the friendship to develop between the Prince and Andreth. With Beril he would take more care; already she was promised to Hathol of the House of Hador. Though intending to secure a match for Andreth with one of the tall, blonde Men, he was without success. Andreth excused herself early from the Hall each evening, claiming weariness and extended only the required courtesies to their guests.

Bent on assuring himself that Beril would not follow in her sister’s folly, the wedding had taken place before the departure of the Hadorion. Andreth altered the bridal clothes in her heavy, ornate coffer to fit her daintier sister, but the tunic for the Prince would never be worn by her soon-to-be brother. Broader in chest and arms, the clothing, designed for the slim elf, would have split at the seams. So with loving hands and hot tears she laid it back to await a day that might never come.

With trembling hands she placed the small cloak she had been stitching on the lid of a nearby chest, and followed her brother to the Hall. The evening meal was served before the meeting ended. As they entered, Andreth sat breathless, sending fervent prayers to the Valar that there was news of Aegnor, if not his actual presence.

Her shoulders slumped as she recognized Angrod, who’s grim face foretold naught of cheer. At the long sideboard the elves chose an assortment of easily carried food items and a leathern flask apiece, acknowledged the Lord of Ladros and proceeded to leave.

Andreth sat transfixed and unnoticed. Bregor, however, intercepted the elven party and bowing before Angrod, asked quietly, “Have you word of your brother? My sister grieves his long absence.”

“Three brothers are mine. Finrod is much at Nargothrond, Orodreth keeps watch at Tol Sirion and Aegnor is given to bringing destruction and woe to the great Enemy.” Angrod answered without a change in his somber expression. “Does she wish a message carried to one, or all?”

“If you will linger I shall inquire of her intent.” Then Bregor continued, “Father sends her to stay with the Hadorion in hopes she will wed with one of their House like our sister, Beril. Andreth desires, though, to become a wise-woman and gain knowledge from a kinswoman, Adanel, one of the Wise among our people,” Bregor admitted unhappily. “No longer will I be near to defend her as once was my free-sworn duty.”

Bregor motioned to Andreth to join them. Slowly she covered the distance which seemed to yawn chasm-wide and insurmountable. Bowing her dark head she asked of her brother, “How may I serve you?”

“Would you send a message to one of the brother’s of Prince Angrod?” Bregor answered.

Pale-faced and glistening-eyed she gazed up at the serene elf as if waiting for a hint of some shared emotion.

“Lady Andreth,” Angrod spoke low and softly, “Is there aught you would say to my brother were he present?”

Drawing a ragged breath, Andreth responded, “The woods are voiceless, the deep pools without reflection of star, the airs stilled; life has ebbed away from these sorrowing lands, and I go to return no more.”

Angrod stood patiently in case there was more, but with a brief nod of her head, Andreth turned from him and walked away with brittle pride lest she run headlong and weeping from his presence.

TBC (4 of 8) 

A BITTER ENDING - Chapter Five

FA 455

An immeasurable onrush of flames spilled forth from the mouth of Thangorodrim.  Aegnor gasped at the magnitude of the destructive forces sweeping across the plains, obliterating in a few heartbeats the lives of elves and horses along with all vegetation, and drying myriad small pools and slaying their inhabitants. Close behind thundered wave upon wave of fell creatures completing the destruction. Thick clouds of acrid smoke further hindered those yet protected by the gentle hills rising up to the tableland of Dorthonian.

Taken unaware by the devastating suddenness of the attack, elves and men had mere moments to prepare for the onslaught, the horror of the slaughter stunning them into inaction. A battle hard-pitched they fought, but in the confusion of swirling smoke, accentuating the deep night, many brave warriors fell.

Aegnor confronted the enemy fiercely, exhorting his fellow elves not to give ground, as the hill fort they defended was in a direct line with the Edain fortress of Ladros which for many years had been the residence of the mortal woman, Andreth. In fury he spent his strength and skill, bringing down many a savage opponent; in each he sought revenge against the Morgoth.

Overrun at last, the remaining elves and men fled to the forest, attempting to escape, while inflicting the greatest possible hurt to their enemy.

Aegnor found himself ringed by brutal orcs, and though he had become easy prey, they held back from the kill, choosing now to torment him. Lightening swift though he was in his own defense, yet by sheer numbers and carelessness of their own safety, they closed in about him. Still he fought, struggling to keep his footing on the gore-sodden ground.

Unable to break free, he was at the mercy of his assailants, and they made sport of him in their pitiless manner. Suddenly some of their number were flung violently aside, allowing the mortally wounded elf to sag to the ground. The orcs drew back as a great menacing presence stepped into the ring of death and, grabbing a fist-full of blood soaked golden hair, yanked Aegnor upright.

“Thrice vermin! Yellow-head elves belong to me!” it bellowed. “Hold him”, the fearsome voice ordered, and Aegnor’s arms were grasped in the vise-like grip of two huge orcs.

With a cold rage Sauron growled at his enemy, “Half-bred Vanyarin spawn! Feel my hatred in your immortal flesh.”

With that the Maia drew a mighty black sword besmeared with poison and smote his enemy. Searing agony from blade and vile toxin brought forth an anguished groan from Aegnor. A second time Sauron struck, laughing aloud at the futile attempts of the elf to free his arms as he cried out in torment.

The sounds of conflict faded as other orcs pursued their prey farther into the woods, but Aegnor neither heard nor cared. His body convulsed as the excessive amount of poison within him overcame his ability to withstand its influence.

As sight, sound and feeling diminished, he beheld before his mind’s eye a blessed lake and a slender maiden with stars entwined in her dark hair and reflected in her grey eyes.

“Andreth, I shall await thee at the end of Arda. Thee alone to love, I pledge troth,” Aegnor cried brokenly to the vision.

With a last ragged breath his unseen, radiant fëa sprang forth from the ruined hróa in which he housed, drawn to the comfort beckoning from afar, where his waiting would not cease till all was remade. But he refrained from headlong flight, struggling mightily against the insistent drawing, to seek at the last the presence of his beloved.

*****

An ancient crone lay abed tended by a young girl who wept by her side.

“The night is filled with horrible sounds, my lady,” sobbed the girl.

“Hush child. Courage is what you need and not vain tears,” the old one declared.

“But I am so afraid. What will become of us if the creatures overrun us?” The girl would not be stilled.

“We live or we die,” the aged woman said simply. After a long pause she added, “Though for some living is empty of life.”

“What do you mean, Lady?” queried the girl.

“Life apart from love has little joy. Purpose, may be for some a restorative, but an empty womb, unfilled arms and a solitary heart cannot be satisfied with aught else.” As Andreth spoke, tears trailed down cheeks engraved by age and sorrow.

Then in a whispered breath she continued, “Not once did he return.”

“Who did not return, my Lady Andreth?” This was a tale she had not heard.

“My beloved,” Andreth stated.

“Did he die in the battles, Lady?

“When last I heard, he was well, but that was long ago. My hope is that he fares well,” Andreth added.

Hesitantly the maiden asked, “Would you tell your tale?”

Andreth blinked back more tears and gazed at the lovely young girl at her side. “Give not your heart to one of the beautiful ones. Their fates are not ours. Duty, honor, kin-oath among them is of greater worth than love.”

“You loved an elf, Lady Andreth? Is such a pairing possible? I was told they are altogether too different for the wedding, and have no fancy even for the bedding of Mortals.”

“Ask not of me, child, I could not say. But hear this. Had he been willing I would not have said him nay, but would have turned from hearth and kin and dwelt unheeding at his side.”

For a time silence reigned in the small room, save only the fire crackling in the hearth, though in the distance the cries of battle drew ever closer. The withered face of the woman seemed almost at peace, her eyes closed, her gnarled hands relaxed atop the thick coverlet.

Startling her companion she gasped as if in grievous pain, then uttered a name, “Aegnor!”

Andreth’s eyes flew open wide, her hands outstretched as if grasping at a thing unseen. Keening in grief she struggled to arise.

“My lady, what disturbs you! I see nothing!” her helper cried.

“Slain! My beloved is slain!” she moaned, “Beautiful, golden Aegnor, ever-young, undying, has flown from this world!”

 The young woman leapt up in fear. “How know you this, Lady Andreth? No messengers have come and no tidings have I heard. Perhaps it is an evil voice in your mind.”

Andreth stilled then and appeared to be listening intently.

*******

On a silent wind the fervent fëa of Aegnor drew near, and cried out to his beloved.

Andreth, I shall await thee at the end of Arda. Thee alone to love, I pledge troth.’

‘Aegnor?’

‘To the Halls of Waiting I am drawn. There I shall abide. It is rumored that your people pass through the Halls ere they leave the Circles of Arda. Seek for me when your time comes, my love.’

‘To what end, Aegnor? Will I feel your kiss or your arms about me, our bodies joined, our child growing in my womb? Will we share a life together woven of ordinary days as we could have had but for your stubborn sense of duty?’

‘Beloved Andreth, rail not against what cannot now be altered. Know that I kept thee as if thou wert my betrothed, openly, not in secret among my people, enduring much scorn and derision for my choice. For a brief moment our love was perfect and whole, and in that time is all my joy.

‘And what memory had I to recall? A lover’s caress to cheek and hair, a quick in-draw of breath, a tender smile, unspoken love in your bright eyes, a single sweet kiss, and then naught but bitter, lonely years.’

‘And yet you wedded not a male of your people, my beloved. Believing yourself spurned, you did yet cling to a love unavowed.’

‘None other was Aegnor.’

‘Nor yet for me was another Andreth.’

‘And now all is lost! Your life in futile battle, mine nearly spent in the ravages of age. You to the Halls to dwell as no more than mist, and I…I know not whither. What good thing did ever we share?’

‘Though your heart may be cruelly shut to my words, hear these at the last. Andreth, daughter of Boromir, of the race of Men; thee I wed fëa to fëa, even  if not hróa to hróa; this bonding to endure beyond the Circles of Arda, within the Halls of Waiting, and on to the far side of the remaking of Arda. Ilúvatar hear my oath of bonding.’

‘Have I no say?’

‘Without your consent, the bond will fail. Take now all that is mine to offer you.’

‘If I nay-say, would you one day leave the Halls to rejoin your people?’

‘For me there is no turning aside. For love of thee, Andreth, I forsake all else. You alone hold this heart you think is stone.’

‘Wearied I truly am from a life apart from your love. Yet before death takes me I would grasp this moment to love and be loved. To this bonding I will enter with hope that it shall be fulfilled, for love of Aegnor, son of Finarfin, of the race of Elves; by Ilúvatar, I so pledge.’

‘My beloved wife, Andreth, I must go now, for the darkness surrounds me. Look for me. Remember me.’

‘My beloved husband, Aegnor, I will follow soon. Wait for me.’

*******

“My Lady, are you hearing voices again?” gently the young woman touched her hand.

“My beloved husband, Aegnor, I will follow soon. Wait for me,” Andreth murmured.

“Lady Andreth, do you dream?” The young woman was near distraught with uncertainty.

Slowly opening her eyes Andreth focused on the walls, then glanced to her companion. “Ah, child, in the end love is all that endures. Love well and love true.”

“A fortnight from now I am to wed, lady,” she blushed, “He is a worthy man and a valiant warrior.”

“May your union be blessed with healthy children, and your wedded years filled with joy,” said Andreth, then with calm resolve she continued, “It is now, however, my time to journey on alone. Would you sing me the Elvish song I taught you to ease my path?”

“With great pleasure, my Lady, though I grieve at your departing.”

“Though you may lament, I go to a new beginning. Fare thee well, child.”

A song of Valinor sung in the fluid Sindarin tongue with the voice of a Mortal woman wove a soothing presence within the room as Andreth drew her last breath. Lifting lightly from the outworn body, her fëa freed itself to be borne away like a wisp of smoke on a tide flowing into the West.

TBC

TIME RENEWED - Chapter Six 

Among the flood of battered fëar seeking healing and shelter in the vast Halls there was one that shone with eager hope. Námo stayed the newly released fëa, bidding it part from the wounded throng.

The Lord of Mandos spoke with wonder, “How is it that you wear the sheen of beginning and not of ending?”

The glimmering fëa answered with a gamut of colors, spun of the joy of acknowledged love, spiraling about the Vala like a living rainbow. It then halted, quivering in wordless plea for understanding.

With a blink of his eyes, Námo gave permission for the form of speech permitted on rare occasions to an unsettled fëa.

“Lord Námo, a boon I would ask of thee,” the fëa answered.

“You come to a place of rest and of healing. Why ask you more?”

“For another I plead.”

“In due time this one may yet come by grief or dire wounding.”

“She is of Men, my Lord, and but newly wedded.”

“Then she will pause in the region of Mortal fëar ere she leaves the circles of Arda. It is not for me to direct her course, but offer brief rest only.”

“Hear me, I beg. It is to me she is bonded, fëa to fëa only. Brief was her life, though infinitely precious to me. Sworn am I to remain within these Halls until the breaking and remaking of Arda for the sake of my love for her. Never now shall we abide as bonded mates through the long ages to come, and I will have no other. True she remained to me for her short span, forgoing union with husband, the joy of children, and embittered by the loss.”

The bright radiance dimmed to a dull grey, as it hung motionless before the Vala, awaiting an answer.

“The Gifts of Ilúvatar to Elves and to Men cannot be altered,” Námo stated. “Go now and find what peace you will.”

A gentle, feminine voice forestalled him. “Imploring spirit, by what name were you known among your people?”

“Aegnor, son of Finarfin, of the House of Finwë.”

There was a pause before she continued, “An Exile.”

“Unworthy though I am, this one thing I would entreat you for the sake of my wife.”

“Joining of hröar completes the binding, Finarfinion,” Námo interjected. “If re-housed, you may choose a mate among your own people.”

“I will not break my troth-vow with Andreth.”

Nienna queried, “Then what favor do you desire?”

“Tales speak that the region set aside for those Mortal fëar borders that of the Firstborn. A long moment I would beseech of thee to bid her farewell ere she flees the confines of Arda, and to renew my vow to her.”

The two Valar conferred for a time, while the silently pleading fëa flickered faintly.

Námo turned his head and announced, “The Mortal comes.”

“Is it then too late?”

“Námo, bid her tarry yet awhile that we may consult with Manwë. Perchance he may solve this dilemma,” Nienna urged him to action. Then she spoke kindly to Aegnor, “Bide here, bright spirit, and await an answering.”

*******

Faint was the song calling him, the music a delight. Drifting on the flow of notes, he found himself nearing a barrier as wide as the sea and as narrow as a silken thread, alive with the noise of hurrying waters. From beyond the gapless wall, the song wove its melody, as familiar as his own breath and as strange as lands of the unexplored territory East of the Ered Luin; it beckoned to him. Pressing himself against the flood-wall, he was repeatedly rebuffed. The song wavered, then weakened, and despairing he cast out from his being a cry of yearning, pleading with the unbreachable barrier to shape an entrance. To his surprise a small opening appeared through which he darted swiftly.

He emerged into a land of shadows and deep night.  Amazed, he approached the source of the exquisite music. A dark haired maiden sat beside a night darkened lake, the light of stars in the water and mingled in her hair. A gasp, born of a beloved memory, broke from his throat and with astonishment he put hand to mouth, that he not alarm the one seated on a large rock.

Yanking his hand from his face he stared in disbelief at the visible affirmation that he was indeed clad in a body of flesh and bone. It was exactly as he remembered his hróa before his death. His death! How could this be? He vowed never to be re-housed!  With sudden realization that he had betrayed his beloved Andreth, he groaned aloud.

The maiden turned about to face the unheralded sound, and cast a curious glance at him before speaking, “I was bid wait. Have you brought word?”

Somehow all he could do was to stare at her, unmoving, unspeaking, as though frozen in that fractional moment.

“Are you the Lord of this place?” her vision hindered by the night about them, she peered at him.

“Your song drew me. Forgive the intrusion,” he apologized.

“It is lonely here. Would you keep company with me awhile?” she requested.

Reluctantly he approached the female who gazed at him hopefully. At that instant he recalled another lake and a single perfect moment that pierced his heart.

Turning away he cried out to the Powers in his distress, “Tempt me not with another! My pledge is given!”

“Fear not, fair one,” she uttered firmly, “Neither do I wish for other than kind words. My love is sundered from me till all is made anew, but still he holds my heart.”

“Your voice is known to me, Mortal, have you a name?” he queried.

“Andreth, my lord.”

“Daughter of Boromir, of the House of Bëor?” he faltered.

“In life I was so called,” she confirmed.

 “Andreth,” his voice was only a whisper. “Gladly will I tarry.”

On swift feet he closed the distance between them hoping that she would recognize him. She had turned back instead, to focus on the dark waters, but beckoned him to sit nearby and did not acknowledge him further. Bright starlight reflecting on his golden head caught her eyes, but again she refused to direct her full attention toward the newcomer.

“Golden-haired also was my love. Do you perchance know aught of the sons of the House of Finarfin? Much would my heart be eased to hear any tidings,” Andreth sighed, “the youngest especially.”

Aegnor was bereft of words and so reached and gently clasped the maiden’s hand. She flinched at the contact and attempted to free herself.

Andreth reprimanded her companion, “My wedded lord only will I ever suffer to touch me. Keep a goodly distance, sir, or depart.”

To her alarm he did not break the fragile link and instead boldly grasped her hand.

Now she grew angry and drew her hand from his with a quick tug. Her tone spoke of unequivocal outrage. “Why do you disregard my warning? Who are you to take such liberties? Think you to supplant my lord husband by forced attentions? I thought you elf-kindred, yet you behave in the manner of the most base and unprincipled of Mortals. Go now and trouble me no longer with your…” Leaping to her feet and stepping back she finally turned to scrutinize her tormenter, and froze in mid-tirade. Mouth agape she stared at the apparition before her.

“Andreth.” Her name on his lips surprised them both.  In a single stride he closed the gap between them and stretched out his hand, palm-up, to her. Tears blurred her eyes as she reached to him.

“Aegnor?”

He nodded and smiled roguishly. “My lady-wife, well met.”

“You are surely come? This is not a…a dream or vision of my wishing?” Andreth stammered in disbelief. Then, aware that she felt the contact with strong, slender hands encased in smooth supple skin, warm and alive, she blurted, “Do we live again? How can this be possible?”

“Truly I cannot say, beloved; a gift from the Valar, perhaps even from Ilúvatar himself.”

Eyes shimmering with unshed tears, she lifted her other hand to cup his cheek, then hesitantly stroked the golden flow of hair spilling down his chest. She sighed deeply for the sheer pleasure of the contact. Looking up into his face, which dazzled her with its beauty, tears of joy fell unnoticed. He bent his head to kiss her tenderly on the brow, then raised her hand to his lips as well.

“The likeness of Tarn Aeluin!” Aegnor uttered in wondering tones. “Are we returned to the beginning, which was an ending, to begin again?”

*******

Aegnor explored the shoreline with Andreth at his side, until at last he found a place that strongly reminded him of their last time together in life, and he drew her to stand by him as they had that day when all the world seemed to sing in the glory of the first realized drawing together of fëa to fëa. Once more the light of stars, undimmed, shone on the waters and tangled in the dark strands of her long unbound hair. This time he did not refrain from his impulse, and stroked her hair and face with deliberate, loving affection.

“No other oath will I honor now save to love thee, my lady-wife, for as long as we are given, if thou wilt have me,” vowed Aegnor, “Fëa and hróa thine alone and, if the Valar grant it and it please thee, a child.”

Bowing her head, Andreth wept away the bitter tears and regrets of a life bereft of love. Aegnor cradled her as she released from her heart the grief that had so long beset her. In his clear, enchanting voice Aegnor sang to his love, one of the myriad songs of his creating, in memory of a love undeclared by a heart fully given. 

*****

Through the night hours they sat and spoke softly one to the other of memories and dreams and hopes unfulfilled till the dawning of the first day in a world refreshed, free of demands and duties.

Wandering through the woods the next day, they found at length, beneath a stand of fragrant pines, a pavilion of moss green material, ingredients for a simple meal and makings for a fire conveniently stacked nearby. With companionable ease, they prepared fire and food, sharing both tasks and conversation. Friendship renewed, they set the camp in order.

Peering into the spacious tent, Andreth found a thick pile of bedding neatly folded, and two plain chests. Opening one she passed her hand over the topmost of the assortment of male clothing it contained. Turning her attention to the chest on the opposite side, she discovered an array of feminine articles.

Atop the rest lay an under-shift of pale green with ribbons of a darker shade to lace up the front. Lifting it up she blushed to see how transparent it appeared. Clearly it would hide nothing. She had never owned such a dainty and daring item and hurriedly replaced it in the chest just as Aegnor poked his head in to see what delayed her.

He also inspected the contents of the chests and grinned broadly when he held up the foam-green gown, for among elves it was called the bonding-gown. Noticing Andreth’s pink cheeks, he then drew forth from his chest the male equivalent, a mid-thigh length tunic in a pale chestnut color, with silver bindings, also for easy frontal opening.

Letting down the privacy hangings on either side of the pavilion, they shed their time of singleness and clothed themselves as befitting the culmination of their binding. Aegnor prepared the bedding and took a deep breath, attempting to achieve a calmness he felt not at all.

“Andreth?” he called affectionately. He could hear her rapid breathing and the tempo of her wildly beating heart.

When at last she pulled back the hanging, and hesitantly stepped forth, it took all his vaunted elven discipline to maintain his distance. Let her come to you, he told himself, as he witnessed the indecisiveness of her movements. She had not as yet looked up, as if afraid of what might confront her innocent gaze.

“Fairest lady, wilt thou join now with me, hróa to hróa, completing the betrothal-vow given and received?” he uttered in a voice hushed with restrained desire.

Eyes downcast she edged closer to him, looking first at his long, slim bare feet. Slowly she followed the trail up along lightly muscled calves to the heavier shaping of male thighs clearly revealed through the thin fabric of his tunic. And there she closed her eyes and slowly reopened them to behold a pale elegant neck and slender, but well muscled, shoulders and chest. She followed the arm down to his waist and, once again, her modesty forbade further sight.

His strong slender fingers cupped her chin and tilted her head up to gaze in rapt wonder at her face. When her eyes refused to open he leaned forward and kissed each lid tenderly. Her shyness warmed him. The careful draping of her waist length hair cast forward to hide her loveliness, stirred him profoundly. Reaching forward he parted the veil of her hair and lightly fingered the ribbon.

She gasped as she felt his touch and wide-eyed she stared at him, panic and passion warring within her. His smile, filled with a matching desire, tipped the scales on the side of passion.

Sliding his hands down her back to stop at her slim waist he paused, then bent his lips to hers in a tentative kiss. Her tension melted and, drawing back a step, her smile turned to laughter.

“How chaste is the passion of elves!” she teased.

Grinning he retorted, “Timid as a doe, then bold as an untamed mare; is this the way of mortal women?”

“For a moment I had forgotten you have always been my dear and trusted friend. What have I to fear? Why should I tremble at your ardor? The unknown with you was always a great adventure. As we explored the lands round about Ladros, let us investigate this new territory,” Andreth rejoiced in her new-found freedom.

Aegnor laughed with her as she spun away from him, hair and gown swirling gracefully.

“Teach me of the pleasure of wedded life with an elf, my love,” Andreth spoke boldly, standing with her hands braced against her slender hips in a daring gesture of demand.

Aegnor sank gracefully to the bedding and beckoned Andreth to him. She danced within reach then retreated, repeating the tempting maneuver until he could bear it no longer. Lightning fast he leapt up and captured her, one arm around her waist, the other tangled in her dark tresses, and pressed his mouth firmly against hers. Leading her to the bedding, he laid her gently down.  He then rolled onto his back and waited.

Sitting up she now studied the virtually unclad quiescent male form.

Startling him, she exclaimed, “You have no body hair!”

 “I am an elf,” he stated with feigned dignity.

 Andreth grinned at this seemingly haughty remark. “Though males seem to have much in common, be they elf or man.” Then another thought occurred to her. “There are also rumors of the stoic nature of elf-kind about which I have serious doubts. Would you care to demonstrate this attribute?” she taunted him.

“Even among elves there are limits to our ability to endure beyond our capacity,” Aegnor responded evenly.

Andreth gazed into the alert eyes of the elf as she traced with her finger tip the outline of one sensitive, curved ear tip. His eyes closed for a long blink and opened to expose their grey depths darkened with desire. “My dear elf, you are showing little self-control. Please concentrate!” she mocked him playfully.

She trailed her fingers lightly down his chest, across his abdomen, but with a sudden change of tactics, she boldly clasped his sleekly muscled thigh.

His ragged gasp and hands clenching at the bedding was answer enough.

She leaned over him and kissed him, and he pulled her down to press against him.

“You win, Andreth, I can resist you no longer,” he conceded.

Then with great gentleness he wooed his mortal wife.

“Yet one thing more I would learn, my lord,” she whispered in his ear, “Ere we join together.”

He paused wholly unwillingly and sought her eyes before he said as lightly as possible in his current condition, “Another test of the reserved manner of elves, my love?”

“You said ‘…and, if the Valar grant it and, if it please thee, a child.’ Is this achieved as among Men?”

Puzzled Aegnor replied, “Husband and wife determine together the begetting day for the child. How other would it be?”

“Among my people it is mere chance, not choice, that brings forth a child, sooner than we might wish at times. In the East lands on occasion a child would come of an unwilling forced union, between two strangers who never dwelt together as wedded couple, or from two who sought the pleasure of bedding only. It is not often done so, but it is not unknown.”

Aegnor sat up in shock. “Can this be true? Even the wild creatures have set roles for the begetting of their young. Ungoverned behavior such as you describe must be a great burden. That you feel no troubling to marry again after the death of a mate, I have been told, but to couple as animals with little or no regard for the other is unimaginable.” He shuddered at the thought.

Andreth sat up as well and with loving hands caressed the tensed body next to her. “Let us not trouble ourselves with the deeds, or misdeeds, of Men,” she steered the conversation back to her original inquiry, “How is it that Elves can choose the time of begetting? Would it be as with Elves or Men with us? Can you know when the moment occurs?”

Laughter bubbled from Aegnor as he relaxed under the combination of her teasing hands and spill of questions. “Truly, I had not thought such a normal event would seem strange. But in answer: we are made thus by Ilúvatar and know no other way. I know not if we may even be permitted a child; with an elf-wife yes, with a Mortal…?” His voice trailed off in uncertainty.

Shyly now, where she had been bold, she lowered her eyes and quietly stated, “I wish very much for a child with you, my lord.”

Startled yet again, he responded, “With this, our first joining?”

Smiling she asked, “Is it not possible?”

Aegnor sighed, “Possible? Perhaps, though never have I heard of so soon a begetting. Does it occur so in Men?”

“Silly elf, it is not at all uncommon among Men, but then we do not bind fëar as do elves.”

“Andreth, my beloved, this first joining is unique to an elf and deserves to be set apart from all other couplings between husband and wife thereafter. My ability to beget a child with you may well depend on the strength of the fëa bonding.”

“I am curious about this ‘elven-bonding’ I hear of from your lips. Would you bring them closer that I might hear in my heart and body what your mouth speaks?” She coaxed him to resume their loving with fingers as well as speech. He succumbed readily to her wishes.

Loosing the ribbon he spread back the sheer fabric and began the introductory education of his betrothed wife. By the time he shed his own ornamental tunic, she was well-schooled as to certain of the arts of elven love-making.

With his lips barely brushing hers Aegnor slid gently within her, felt a barrier yield to his inward pressure, only to be stunned at the muted yelp from Andreth. Stilling instantly, he looked intently at her face, before withdrawing and, with an effortless push, he rolled onto his side, still watching her closely.

With a self-conscious smile she explained, “It is merely the opening of the gates of womanhood and the certain sign of purity; a brief wounding only. Is it not so with an elf-woman?”

“Until betrothed there is no call for sexual desire among elves, and never an unwed union. What indeed would be the purpose?”

Andreth laughed wistfully, “Oh, Aegnor, is it so simple for your people to refrain from the mere pleasuring of one another for the satisfaction of the body?”

From his perplexed expression she concluded that to him it was utterly foreign in concept, much less in deed. She stretched invitingly. “Since we are pledged to each other, I would entreat you to finalize our union…my husband.” The last words were a shaky whisper, as his fingers trailed lazily over her breasts.

Prior to resuming the breathtaking journey towards the consummation of their marriage, Aegnor consulted with his lover-wife. “Need you rest for a space?”

In answer she drew his face to hers, then with a slight twisting motion, brought his ear within easy reach of her mouth. The uncontrollable tremor that passed through him caused her to grin. Softly she spoke into his captive ear words of encouragement, “Aegnor, partake of the feast I have set before you.  As my lord and my love, I invite you.”

Again he entered her, this time meeting no obstructions, and her obvious enjoyment dispelled any lingering concerns from his mind. With unhurried delight he brought them through the time of her intensely pleasurable physical surrender and to the moment of his own liberation from restraint.

“Andreth, wife of my heart, now become the wife of my body. Receive within you the evidence of my love for you. As the gate of a mortal woman stands guard to her purity, so with a male elf a shield in the mind is set that is not lowered until the wedded union.” As he released himself into her, he sought her fëa.

Thou radiant fëa, hear my call. Mingle your light with mine, embrace my light with yours.

 As with our fëar, so now with our hróar; the binding we complete. A single being create of us Ilúvatar that we dwell forever, each in the other. 

Though single in hróa, we shall be bound in fëar, Andreth and Aegnor, a tapestry woven of our love.

Andreth silently voiced her amazement. 

Aegnor? Welcome, my husband! Be all as you have said, my lord. 

*****

Time flowed gently the next few days with rising of sun and moon as elf and mortal found great joy in the simple pleasures of attending together to daily life. Foraging nearby, they found an abundance of wholesome foods.  A clear stream at the edge of the site provided plentiful water and seasoned firewood lay round about in profusion. There was even a small cache of tools, including an axe, knives for various uses, a hunting bow and arrows. The lack of a powerful battle-bow and arrows, long gleaming sword, shield or other means of defending themselves troubled Andreth.

“Aegnor, is this land protected by one such as the Queen Melian, that we have no need for weapons?” she asked with trepidation.

“Meldanya, greater powers than those of Melian guard these lands. Even so there dwell no fell creatures within these realms, near or far,” Aegnor responded.

Taken aback she stammered, “Where…is this place? That it is not Dorthonion I well know, but I thought it a safeguarded country of Elves.”

“Tol Eressëa it is called among my people. The Lonely Isle. Many seasons, those of my father’s House would dwell here amid kin of my mother. The scent of the sea and the distant cry of the seabird bespeak the evidence. All living things, and even the scent of the air and the song, differ from Aman.  Only lightly was this isle graced by the Light of the Two Trees.”

“A strange name, my lord. Why is it so named?” Andreth queried.

“For long it rose alone in the midst of the great Sea. Ulmo took it then for a ship to bring Elves from Middle-Earth to Aman, where now it stands sentinel for the Blessed Realm, alone once more, belonging to no land, though most especially loved by the Teler-folk,” he replied. 

*****

So with their basic needs met they turned to journeys of exploration, both of the country round about and of their wedded union.

She discovered that the fëa bond seemed to satisfy to a large extent the urge to join in body which seemed to preoccupy those wedded mortal pairs she had observed.

“Aegnor, how is it that our coupling is notably less than other married pairs I have observed and yet I feel in all ways content?” Andreth queried as she reclined against his chest.

Laughing softly, Aegnor wrapped his arms about her and answered kindly, “Have your people no awareness of the joys of fëa-binding that extend beyond the physical?”

“Never having been wed to a man, I can give no certain facts, but I have no evidence that it be so among Men. Can you explain the difference?” Andreth asked.

“Gladly, meldanya, though a practical demonstration would better satisfy your curiosity.” Aegnor grinned at the prospect of this novel lesson, and once again marveled at the rare pleasures and discoveries with this, his lover-wife.

“Close your eyes,” he said, and began the experiment.

She closed her eyes and sighing happily, relaxed in his embrace, awaiting with interest this intriguing new aspect of their bonding.

“What feel you now, love,” Aegnor whispered in her ear.

“You tease, my husband and, though light your touch, you caress my cheek with your hand.”

Aegnor smiled fondly as she leaned her head to deepen the welcome caress.

“Truly?”

When she reached up to verify her feelings, naught but her own skin did she encounter.

Amazed she opened her eyes and looked down to where both his hands rested over her abdomen.

“How was that done?”

“Fëa-touch.”

Andreth shook her head in wonderment and chuckled, closed her eyes and waited. This time the sensation was easily noted as his fingers lightly brushed her hip and her questing hand found evidence of the fact.

“Both are a joy, my love. A lesson well worth the learning,” she stated breathlessly. Still glowing with growing passion, she was unprepared for the last exercise as his hand tenderly cupped her breast and his fëa simultaneously caressed her fëa.

Gasping with pleasure she barely managed to speak, “Aegnor…”

Responding to the mounting desire of his wife, Aegnor acceded to her longings with equal enthusiasm.

*******

Much later Andreth gazed at her utterly content husband. “And for you, dear one? Teach me that I may return fëa-touch in kind to you?”

He was quiet for a long moment, then replied gently, “Alas, my beloved, already I have tried to encourage your response. It would seem not to be learned, but rather a Gift to Elves.”

At her crestfallen expression he continued, “Pleasures unforeseen and fresh we share aplenty. Mourn not what we are denied.”

Though she was disappointed, she nodded slowly and stroked his face, “You forgo much to have a mortal maid to wife, my lord. May it never be a burden too heavy for thee.”

Cupping her face in his powerful hands, he fixed her eyes with a penetrating look and, opening his fëa to her with a transparent vulnerability, finally he spoke in hushed tones, “Bright star of my life, in thee alone I found a fëa that enthralled me. Thy love, sweet and true, is a meet solace for any loss so minor. Agony it was for me to farewell thee without the words of love spoken that burned in my heart, never to experience the ecstasy of bonding and wedded life joined to thee.”

“Twin calls to kin and duty, and the dread hope that thou might wed among thy own people were I absent, kept me from thy side. Even had all reason been cast away, our life together would have been fraught with danger and separation from those we best loved. For thee I would forsake all, but to know that ere we had well begun thou would decline to an unwilling acceptance of the Gift to Men, caused my heart to quail.”

“Memory, clear as the Light of the Two Trees, is a gift to the Elves, and to hold forever the image of thy vital beauty, a treasure to my fëa. Thy shame at the fading before my loving eyes for that which thee couldst not alter, I could not bear. Though elves may die, decay of flesh we know not, and can scarce abide the waning of lesser beings; all good beasts and growing things.”

“Rather would I keep pure my heart and body, than accept the love of another, though she be Elf-kind, radiant as the sunrise, kind as summer, beautiful as glimmering stars, holding the promise of unguessed delight. For in thee all these joys I found in full measure.”

He fell silent, gauging her reaction to this confession of his regretful decision.

Tears trailing down her cheeks, she grasped his strong warrior hands in her smaller, soft pair and drew him to her. Embracing him she wept quietly against his chest. They rested so for some few moments. Then turning from Aegnor she walked a short way off and began to speak as if to the brilliant blue sky above their heads.

“My love has always been in thy keeping, my husband, though bitterness and anger at thy supposed betrayal drove me near mad. And so I earned the title “Wise” for my delvings into pursuits of the mind and those close-guarded secrets of our kind. These latter drew the curious interest of Finrod, King of Nargothrond, but never the welcome converse with Finrod, brother to Aegnor. Often would thy brother, the king, seek me out for speech of hidden things, yet no word of thee brought he to ease my sorrow.”

 “One time only he spoke of you.”

She related the words:

 “Thus spoke Finrod, 'Adaneth, I tell thee, Aikanar the Sharp-flame loved thee. For thy sake now he will never take the hand of any bride of his own kindred, but live alone to the end, remembering the morning in the hills of Dorthonion. But too soon in the North-wind his flame will go out! Foresight is given to the Eldar in many things not far off, though seldom of joy, and I say to thee thou shalt live long in the order of your kind, and he will go forth before thee and he will not wish to return.'”*

“Then other hurtful words he gave to me, fanning my despair to new heights, yet of comfort I found he had none to soothe me.”

“Unmindful of what thou would suffer in return for such brief love, flames of anger and loss overwhelmed me and, resentful at thy abandonment, Her tone spoke of unequivocal outrage. I spurned all proffered consolations, preferring that relentless pain inflicted by thy Sharp Flame. Better the fading memories of thy silent, distant love kept inviolate than to wed and bed another, and bear children that were not of thee and me. Not for me a loveless, and an empty, marriage.”

Aegnor spoke quietly, “Finrod told me of thy love… and thy anger with me. Can we not put the past behind, dear love?”

A feather-light touch stroked the crown of her head, hands coming to rest on her tense shoulders. Raising a hand to accept his terms, she was surprised to find nothing but her own shoulders.

Twirling about she saw that Aegnor had not moved toward her, but stood rooted in place awaiting her answer. A brief frown furrowed her face as she contemplated the advantages and disadvantages of fëa-touch.

Lingering resentment smoldered still, and with a voice harsher than she intended she muttered, “Do not play love-games, Aegnor.”

Shamefaced he responded, “You need only deny me, beloved, I shall not force thee.”

“How is this done, Elf? We mortals know only honest touch,” she flared in unreason.

“Deny me,” Aegnor repeated, unable to explain more fully.

How?”

He pondered the teaching of this technique, then brightening he suggested almost flippantly, “Feign I have become an orc.”

Almost instantly he clutched his head as a sharp lance of pain shocked him, his fair face even paler as he winced.

“Control...we must work on your control.”

Contrite and concerned Andreth came to him and put her hands over his in appeasement. His wan smile, however, urged her to retort pertly, “So, Elf, you also are vulnerable.”

“Doubt not that of Elves and Men, none can do me worse hurt; my mind was full open to thee in trust and love.”

Andreth drew his head down and claimed the lips of her dearly loved husband, forgiving the past in that unguarded moment. Joy filled them both with the unconscious (on her part) restoration of fëa contact.

Aegnor sank gracefully to the ground, sat cross-legged, then smiled up at Andreth inviting her to join him. She sat in the space between his legs drawing her legs up close to his and leaned back against his comforting warmth. Twisting slightly, she pressed her ear to his chest to listen to the steady, rhythmic beating of his loving heart. He bent to place a kiss on her dark head, peace and harmony restored.

*Morgoth’s Ring - page 324

TBC

LIFE ANEW - Chapter Seven

Andreth hungered to learn all the things he would teach her, so many pleasant hours were spent in the study of Quenya and Tengwar and with Aegnor relating tales of the history of Arda. These last astounded her as he spoke of many events long past from personal experience. Her people had only vague rumors passed from one generation to the next, and much of that was darkened by doubt and nameless fears.

One day during their meanderings, Aegnor coaxed a wary doe close enough to Andreth for her to feel the snorted breath on her fingers. Andreth commented wryly, “A useful talent, bringing the hunted to the hunter.”

“Only to enjoy the nearness of wild creatures do we woo them so tenderly. Yavanna gave them for beauty as well as food, and grieves each small death be they fleet of foot or rooted into the good soil of Arda. Trees are her particular favorites so their felling is not without considered cause. When prey her creatures are to us, we lure them not to their end, but remember always to give thanks to Yavanna for her bounty. A horn is sounded ere ever the hunt begins.”  

*****

After a season, rich with the song of summer’s beauty and of exploring the immediate region, Aegnor saw the love Andreth felt for the country and determined to expand their travels.

“Andreth, there is a sight of great wonder I would share with you, though it will be a journey of many days,” Aegnor offered.

“At your side even the most ordinary of days is a marvel to me. Where you lead I shall follow,” Andreth said smiling fondly at the elf who was her husband.

“We travel light,” he said, and went to gather their gear.

For days they wandered through meadows adorned with brightly colored flowers, fragrant in the warm sun, deep woods of ancient grandeur alive with sound of bird and beast, and across meandering streams. Also there were fields of ripening grains, groves of trees bearing fruits and nuts, plantings of vines heavy with grapes, and what appeared to be casually arranged garden areas, with vegetables, melons and other bounty from the good earth. 

At every new sight she would pause, eager to hear of this wondrous land. Aegnor delighted in her pleasure, seeing each scene anew through her eyes. She questioned him when they passed neither villages nor settlements as to those who tended the plantings. He smiled and asked if she longed for the company of others.

“With you alone I wish to explore, meldanya, though if it be your desire we are not afar from a holding,” Aegnor offered.

“The most of my life I spent among my kin, close and far, yet longed only for your presence; naught has altered,” Andreth returned solemnly.

Clasping her hand he led her into the trees, seeking seclusion. On his cloak under the low overhanging branches of a stately evergreen tree, they loved with tender passion.  

*******

Two days later the scent of the air changed enough for the lesser senses of the Mortal woman to detect an utterly strange characteristic.

Slowing to inhale deeply, she turned to her companion with a quizzical expression on her lovely face. Aegnor simply smiled and led her to the top of a small hill. Glints of blue teased her vision as they made their way to an opening in the woods. Her gasp of astonishment delighted him.

“Aegnor, I cannot see the farther shore! How is this lake named?”

“Sea it is called; the hither shore borders the expanses of Beleriand and many others beside. Ulmo abides in this watery domain, and Ossë,” he replied.

Eagerly they descended the sometimes steep slope to the fine-grained sandy beach. Crystal blue waves lapped gently up the smooth shore, beckoning the pair closer. Andreth reached down, scooping a handful of water, but upon tasting the salty liquid, looked up at Aegnor in distress.

“Do you also drink of this water?”

“Many and varied are the other values of water. Mariners, fisher-folk, sea-birds and children of all our peoples love the realm of Ulmo. Come, woman of the high country of Dorthonion; discover the Sea.”

So, shedding their clothing, they trod hand-in-hand into the water.  

*****

Later, Andreth wearied from the day’s jaunt and the unaccustomed physical exertion of frolicking in the sea, woke from a refreshing noontime slumber to the sound of splashing water and joyful laughter. Slipping on a simple tunic, she headed in the direction of the voices, only to halt abruptly at the sight of several elves, mostly adults, sporting in the gently swelling blue waves.

Lowering her eyes quickly she stood frozen in startled embarrassment after realizing that the swimmers, among them her husband, were completely unclad! Almost as an afterthought she noted to herself that though there were the usual differences in the sexes, they were remarkably similar in general appearance.

The gentle caress of her husband’s mind disconcerted her even more, but she did not respond to his unspoken invitation to join them in the pleasantly cool waters. Sensing her distress, he raced swiftly to her side.

“Andreth,” he softly uttered, “What troubles thee?”

Shaking her head in silent confusion, she looked up to find her Aegnor had come naked from the Sea.

“Is this customary?” Andreth queried hesitantly.

“To swim in the Sea?” Aegnor was baffled at this turn of the conversation.

“Together…males and females…at the same time…?” was her stumbling explanation.

“Earlier, my love, we were the swimmers. How then is this different?” he answered in a perplexed tone.

“But we are a wedded couple.” Still she avoided the, to her, obvious problem.

“There are two wedded pairs, two brothers and one sister of two of the couples, and the nearly adult female child of one pair.”

“But Aegnor, they are unclothed!” she finally blurted out.

“Why would they wish to wear garments when swimming?”

“Certainly you are aware of the physical differences between males and females, Aegnor?”

Thoughtfully he sought for an answer which would ease her apparent, though thoroughly puzzling, discomfort.

“Among our family…” he paused to consider, “Galadriel, usually tall; Uncle Fëanor, greatly muscled from forge working; Cousin Caranthir darkest of skin; Allindë, the betrothed of Maglor, willow slim; my own brother, Finrod…” he stopped in mid breath seeing the look of consternation on her face.

“Aegnor! Have they no thought to the enticement they might offer to another?”

 “Enticement, beloved?” he was truly at a loss to understand her distress.

When did this elf become so blind to the opposite sex? she thought to herself.

It was not merely swimming, but a darting about, leaping clear of the water, in what seemed a game of toss-and-catch with a small silvery object. The occasional bumping into, grabbing of ankle or wrist, dunking under water, and a variety of tricks to keep the glittering prize from another, revealed far more shiny wet elven skin than Andreth could endure.

A gentle chuckle emerged from Aegnor’s throat as he perceived her mind’s quandary.

“For us, the hróa is but a housing; dearly it is loved, but when shed, there yet lives the light within, the fëa. Immortal light draws us, not that wherein it shelters. Once bonded, none other is desired,” Aegnor stated.

Aegnor pensively studied Andreth as her mind grappled with yet another vagary of normal elven life.

Taking her hand, he led her from sight of the happily frolicking elves to where his clothing lay.

“Be not troubled, meldanya. Come, we shall find more pleasant pursuits.”  

*******

At last she deemed the time right to again broach the subject so close to her heart, so in the midst of a tale of life as one of the sons of Finarfin she interjected, “Aegnor, would you explain the manner of begetting children among elves?”

Bemused by her abrupt change of topic, he paused to eye her attentively. With a grin he then asked, “Do you wish a child, love?”

“If you are agreeable,” she offered. “But I still want to know how elves achieve the desired results.”

“With elves, all is conscious and voluntary, though perhaps most on the part of the female. If times are unsettled or dangerous even by choice she may not prepare for the beginning of a child. The male only releases that which is specifically for begetting when both are in accord and willing.”

“Since the beginning of this…time, I have not had a woman’s sign, Aegnor. Perhaps we are not permitted to have a child,” she said sadly.

“Though never healer-trained, with our bond I may learn somewhat of your readiness and ability to bear a child.”

Her hopeful look was consent enough, and bidding her lie down flat and concentrate on the fëa bond, he placed one hand over her abdomen and in a slow circular motion pressed down firmly. Sensitive fingers located each ovary and probed gently. Andreth flinched at the second contact. She felt the cessation of pressure and opened her eyes to find her elf-husband smiling down at her.

“Shall we beget our child, Andreth?”

“How can you tell?”

“Through our bond, and by your body which signals a movement within.”

“You have not said if you wish a child, Aegnor,” Andreth said reluctantly.

“Since my sister was born, I have wanted to hold a child brought forth from the womb of my wife in my arms. Let us prepare for this special event.”

“What must be done?”

Aegnor smiled in anticipation before answering, “It is, I gather, the same with elves as with humans, Andreth, though elven parents will abide together quietly until the uniting within you. Then will come the first note of the song of the unborn fëa, a time of unmatched joy for elves, when three sing together.”

“We shall rest together after the time of coupling until the completion of begetting to encourage and nurture the fëa of our child. Food and drink we will have close at hand.”  

*******

Their preparations completed, they reclined upon the comfortable bedding and leisurely approached the moment they had each long awaited.

“Beloved, which do you choose, male or female?”

Andreth blinked in confusion. “How can I choose? It is not until birth that the gender is known.”

“Not among the elves. It is the male who may select within his body, though great concentration is required. Usually it is decided by mutual agreement of both husband and wife. And if unchosen, when the newborn fëa enters into Arda it can be easily discerned by the parents.”

Open-mouthed Andreth mulled over this remarkable opportunity. Then with a quirk of a smile she teased, “How long have I to make this momentous decision?”

In all seriousness Aegnor answered, “A day, perhaps two, since it would seem you are not able to choose a begetting.”

Nodding, she gazed at her beautiful husband. “A son, my lord, if it please thee.”

“Let it so be, my lady.”  

*******

For the better part of the day of the begetting, they rarely left their comfortable nest under cover of the pavilion. With song and tales and many words of love they passed the hours.  Andreth was curled snugly back against her husband with his arm draped over her, when she felt a faint tingling sensation directly under the long-fingered hand that rested on the bare skin over her womb.

Without moving Aegnor spoke in whispered tones, a mixture of reverent awe and utter joy, “Welcome, my son.”

Andreth trembled with barely repressed joy as, through their bond, her elf-husband shared the awareness of the tiny spark that was their child.  

*******

Over the next few days Andreth noticed that Aegnor never strayed far off. At first she thought it was the newness of this happy time, but frequently he would come to her and hold her close while placing his hand over the snug inner nest of their son, whispering to mother and child of his love for them. Each time he wrapped her in his embrace, she felt flooded with peace and serenity unlike anything she had experienced before.

“Aegnor, is our bond of fëa like that of married elves?” Andreth finally asked during one of those close times.

“Not being bound to an elf-woman, I have not the knowledge. We shall explore the limits if you so wish, my wife.” Aegnor agreed willingly.

During the course of the following days they discovered that unlike an elven couple, Aegnor alone could initiate the contact, both with Andreth and for the nurturing of the growing child. Andreth could then join with him in communing with their unborn son, that bond greatest in strength when his hand rested directly on her skin.  

*******

Though never did they see any others, on occasion a gift would be placed in open sight. Mostly they were items of clothing or bedding for the child, but some were intended to honor the newly wedded couple. All were useful, beautifully designed, lovingly crafted.

As her belly rounded to accommodate the increasing life within her, Andreth turned more and more to the comfort and strength she could draw from her husband, reveling in his tremendous energy which seemed of boundless capacity. How, she wondered on a day when her need had been great, did mortal women cope with this joyful yet wearying process. Within the encircling arms of her husband, his hand caressing the tight skin over a womb burgeoning with life, she drifted into sleep.

Dreams of incredible intensity and detail she experienced then, so real that even flavor and scent were a part. She awakened to her husband nuzzling her hair and telling her that they had a visitor.

“Such dreams, Aegnor, never before have I known,” she murmured sleepily. Then the scope of his announcement penetrated her bemused brain and she sat up abruptly, her head bumping Aegnor painfully.

Rubbing his chin, Aegnor commented ruefully, “Mortal, you exact a costly toll for inattention.”

“My beloved,” he went on, “it is the custom of elves to stand when greeting guests.” With ease he lifted Andreth to her feet to prevent her straining to rise, her girth being now over-large. Bowing, Aegnor still with an arm around Andreth, made known the visitor.

“Andreth, I present to thee my father, Finarfin, of the House of Finwë, King of the Noldor in Aman.”

With mouth agape she stared at the imposing elf standing silently before them. To her mind, a mythical character out of legend had stepped from the pages of history. Richly clad in green and silver, crowned with a silver circlet agleam with a myriad of sparkling green gems which adorned his frowning brow, and clasped hands, he appeared a most regal, haughty, and terribly intimidating elf-lord.

Andreth pressed back against her husband, yearning for the security of their bond in the face of this singularly unresponsive elf.

“Father, I present to thee my lady-wife, Andreth, of the House of Bëor.”

“You are of the race of Men, Andreth?” Finarfin’s question seemed a challenge.

Sustained by the assured love of Aegnor, she bowed as much as she was able and dared to speak. “Mine is the honor to greet thee, Lord Finarfin, and extend welcome to the father of my own dear lord,” Andreth spoke with a boldness that was far from her. The quiet laughter in her mind commended her for her forthrightness.

A slight inclination of his noble head was all the answer he gave, but he inspected Andreth with a leisurely scrutiny, his gaze coming to rest on her swollen abdomen.

She straightened under his appraising look and with unruffled dignity stated simply, “Our son, Lord Finarfin.”

“I would offer to aid thee when your time comes, daughter,” Finarfin said with a hint of a smile, and then to his son, “Others also wish to meet your unusual wife.”

Aegnor shook his head with regret, “Welcome is the offer to attend us, as the arrival of our child draws near and our time is spent in preparation. Andreth tires more readily than an elven-woman and I would not take from her the support of her husband, even to greet those folk who wish to make her acquaintance.”

“As you will it, my son,” said a now smiling Finarfin.

Finarfin half-turned to take his leave, but then hesitated, and faced Andreth. “A request I would make of thee, daughter. May I greet the unborn child of my son?” It is a pleasure I had not thought to enjoy for many great years, if at all, and eagerly I await him.”

Andreth considered his appeal, then reaching out she grasped his large warm hand in hers and slid it through the opening in the front of her gown designed to allow her husband the closest contact with their son. Pressing his hand against her protruding belly she leaned back on Aegnor with a wordless plea that she might share this moment with them.

Aegnor sensed her intentions and through him she linked with the child and perceived the intense joy and tender love of the older elf, and the warm reception of that attention by their son.

Finarfin looked intently into Andreth’s eyes as through the unborn child he plumbed the strange manner of their bonding. With a swift look of pity, he imparted love and strength to all three before breaking the treasured connection.

“Her day is nearing; will you accept the aid of those who would sustain and strengthen you both?” Finarfin offered.

“Greatly would I be honored by the presence of thee and mother at the birth of this child,” Aegnor stated humbly, “though I did foresee the need for some aid regardless. Andreth will require all my support at the bringing forth.”  

*****

Andreth became increasingly more uncomfortable as the days lengthened into a week, then two, with still no sign that the birth was imminent. Though the babe within her made known its presence, forcefully at times, she knew that the normal span of pregnancy had been surpassed, and she began to fear a difficult delivery.

Aegnor remained close by and often the only peace she could find was wrapped in his loving arms with both his hands covering the unborn son they both yearned to meet.

“My love,” Andreth stated plaintively, “More days have been accomplished than are normally needed for one of my people to bring forth a child. Yet he seems in no great hurry to join us.”

Aegnor chuckled, “Perhaps the child is more elf than human, beloved, and wishes to take in full measure the days of utmost bliss.”

Velvet smooth was the voice that sought their attention. Looking up, they saw a serene silver-haired elf near their open shelter.

“Children, have thee need of me?” the elf-woman asked.

Aegnor drew a faltering breath, then said, “Mother…thou art most welcome.”

Andreth struggled to stand, but in the end had to rely on her husband to raise her to her feet. Incapable now of even the smallest bow, she inclined her head to the guest. Aegnor furnished the introductions.

“Andreth, I present my mother, Eärwen, daughter of Olwë of the Teleri, Queen of the Noldor.”

“My Lady Eärwen, I am honored to meet thee, though I cannot guest thee as thou deservest,” said Andreth.

“Sweet child, it is for thee that I come. Wilt thou allow my experience with childbirth to aid thee?” Eärwen smiled kindly as she spoke.

Andreth sighed in relief and nodded.

“Lie back, daughter, that I may examine thee.”

Aegnor helped Andreth to find a reasonably comfortable position and sat at her side holding one hand, stroking her hair soothingly.

Eärwen expertly examined the immensely gravid human, all the while softly singing which helped Andreth to relax. Sitting back on her heels, Eärwen looked from her son to his wife, a strange expression on her beautiful face.

When she spoke it was slowly, concerned, “Your son is neither elf nor man, neither immortal nor mortal; he is a blended being. He wishes to remain yet a while within the fastness of your womb, daughter, but is troubled by your unease. I brought also a lotion to reduce the tightness of your skin and would willingly attend you until he comes forth.”

Andreth glanced at Aegnor, who nodded his acceptance, before she replied, “Lady Eärwen, most kind is your offer. Gladly would we receive this aid.”  

*******

Between them Aegnor and Eärwen tended the uncomfortable mother-to-be, giving Aegnor time to replenish his own depleted energy.

Andreth had not before realized what a strain it was for the father of an elf-child, until she saw her husband deep in sleep, eyes closed, long shapely limbs loosely sprawled, golden hair in disarray, noting also as she did so that he had lost weight during the past few weeks. Lying next to him on the bedding, she longed to caress his face, but did not wish to waken him, and so kept silent vigil and drank deeply of his beauty both in form and in face, and wondered which of them their son would resemble.  

*******

The first pain caught her as she took her third step toward the stream where she enjoyed wading knee-deep in the cool waters. Aegnor was instantly at her side; her mental cry jolting him from all sense of calmness. His hands automatically cradled her swollen belly and he crooned and sang softly to the soon-to-arrive child.

Eärwen approached with her usual smooth gliding pace and placed her hands over those of her son, adding her voice to his.

When the contraction had passed Eärwen suggested that an easy stroll would encourage the birth, and then left them to make the needed preparations.

Shortly afterwards, Finarfin arrived carrying a large bundle of birthing cloths, as well as a restorative draught and a basin for bathing the newborn. Efficiently and without haste, he built a fire and set water to heat.

Throughout the birthing time Aegnor gave unstintingly of himself, bearing much of the pain for his beloved wife, and cloaking both mother-to-be and child with comfort and encouragement and song.

Finarfin poured his considerable strength into replenishing his son’s noticeably depleted reserves of energy, while Eärwen, with gentle hands placed on Andreth’s greatly distended abdomen, sang softly of welcome and love to the unborn one.

*******

After the babe slid easily from his mother’s body, both his parents relaxed, visibly drained, deeply wearied, but profoundly happy. Eärwen chuckled quietly as she tended the newborn. Finarfin continued to sustain his son with a potent infusion of his own great strength.

Wrapping the little one snuggly, Eärwen handed him to his mother who gazed with wonder at the newest member of the House of Finwë. Hazily focused grey eyes sought her face and as Andreth pushed back the covering on his head, she immediately understood the amusement of his grandmother. Dark-haired like his mother, he nevertheless had a distinct peculiarity of his father, for the hair stood up stiffly upon the small head.

Aegnor leaning forward to share the humor, laughed aloud to see the very trait that had so amazed his family, though as it grew in length, his hair smoothed down into a thick, golden mane.

“What shall you call him, my love,” asked Andreth.

With a puzzled look Aegnor replied, “Is this the custom among Men?”

“A son is usually named by his father; a daughter by her mother. How is it with your people?”

“Commonly there are names given by both father and mother,” Aegnor stated.

Smiling at her husband, Andreth said, “Have you given thought to his name?”

“The name I would choose for our son is one in honor of a valiant warrior and treasured friend. Bregor Aegnorion of the House of Finwë, we greet you.”

Andreth was round-eyed with surprise, then tears began to fall as she remembered the deep love of Bregor; brother and champion, the fierce protector of her childhood.

“Well chosen, my love” she said simply.  

*****

Bregor was a treasure of unending joy and wonder for Aegnor and Andreth. He utterly captured their hearts from the first satisfied expression on his mother’s face, as the babe discovered that milk came from the warm, soft mound on her chest.

Andreth, in the drifting time between sleep and waking, murmured softly to their son as she felt him gently nuzzle her full breast in search of a meal. Of their own accord, her hands reached out to cuddle him closer, but she awakened instantly when she did not feel him.

Anxiously she sat up and found herself gazing into the laughing grey eyes of her husband, who held Bregor securely with one large hand. Stretching out his other hand he collected a drop of milk from her breast, placing it on the seeking lips of their son.

“What our son requires, I cannot provide as yet, sweetlling. Though his call was strong, I feared you would not arouse,” Aegnor chuckled as he rubbed his chest. Evidence, wet and slick, that the babe had tried to suckle his father caused Andreth to giggle.

Then her amusement turned to amazement as she puzzled, “His mouth was on my breast, Aegnor, yet when I awoke he was in your arms.”

“Your fëa he sought, when he found not your hröa,” Aegnor stated matter-of-factly, “As any elf-babe would do when he hungers.”

“It was his fëa-touch I felt?”

“He knows not but our songs, my love, and so is drawn to them when he has needs,” Aegnor said.

“Then it was not his lips, but his hunger, I felt?”

“Is this not the way with mortal children, Andreth?”

Tears spilled down her cheeks as she wept silently. Aegnor, bewildered by her sudden change of mood, handed her the babe which she immediately settled on the crook of her arm, guiding his mouth to the milk source he sought with such fervor. A look of complete contentment replaced the distress as she gazed at their child, one tiny hand clenched tightly around her finger.

“Aegnor, now I begin to understand the words Finrod spoke to me.”

Aegnor waited patiently for her to continue, stroking the dark up-standing hair of the infant, then cupping the face of his wife in a tender gesture of uttermost love.

“It is so different among Men, dear one; they wed; they couple together; for some, even a little time of growing closer, then they begin the tasks of daily life. Joinings may be few or many in hopes of a child, though until the woman feels within herself the changes in her body, it is unknowable.”

“Until the imminent birth, little notice is taken but by those concerned with bringing forth the babe, women with experience of the birthing customs. Rarely does the father attend, and then usually only as a troubling of an already difficult trial.”

“After, the mother is attended by women of her House until she can once again resume her normal routine. So it is for each birth; some close together, others separated by years, each the fruit of a chance meeting between the married pair.”

“When in need of food or cleaning it is the voice of the little one that calls to us, Aegnor. Never had I thought it to be so different with the Eldar.”

His face solemn, Aegnor spoke. “Yet our son, young Bregor, felt not your fëa-touch.”

For a moment, Andreth was dismayed, then smiling brightly she stated, “He is for certain, then, the son of his father, and I would have him no other.”  

*******

Education for the little elf was varied and exciting. Days or weeks, even at times months were spent with different artisans, craftsmen, and those who provided services for others, that he might fully comprehend the diversity of elven life. Andreth learned much alongside her son and Aegnor joined in those pursuits with which he was less familiar.

Part of each summer was spent among the Telerin villages, fishing, swimming, boat building, and Bregor’s personal favorite activity, singing, which seemed to be not a thing apart, but interwoven with life. Noldor craftsmen, lore masters and musicians introduced him to the arts of jewels, metals, languages and the instruments of music. There stayed with them for a time also a pair of Vanyar who shared the love of beauty of the Valar, their majesty and grace and hidden things of the Powers open to those who dwelt nigh them. From the fierce heat of the forge to the liquid splendor of dancing amid the raindrops, Bregor spent his days. His thirst unquenched, he seemed to possess an endless desire to learn.

And so the following years were filled with joy and laughter, peace and contentment, much of it in the company of the merry elves of House Finarfin.

TBC 

FINAL PARTINGS - Chapter Eight

Brushing and plaiting her long, dark hair was a favorite luxury in which Aegnor would indulge willingly, to the pleasure of them both. But the glint of light on a single silver hair stopped him in mid-stroke.

“Aegnor?”

With out preamble he stated, “Meldanya, we shall visit my atar. Questions are roused that I would have answered.”

Only a short walk separated their modest dwelling from the sprawling airy structure that House Finarfin called home while residing nearby.

“Atar?” The urgency in Aegnor’s voice startled the King, stilling his heart with foreboding. Long had he known this day would intrude into the peaceful life of these two dear children, yet he held at bay the dread thought, as if by his strength of will he could defy the unalterable Doom. Near panic now filled the eyes of his son, though untroubled curiosity graced the face of the one he called his daughter. Rising to his feet, he padded to the archway opening to gaze out onto a flower-flecked meadow and drank deep of the beauty before him, pondering the brevity of mortal life.

“Long have I known this day would come, and long wished it otherwise.” Finarfin’s voice was laced with sorrow. “Manwë, who instructed me in the ways of Men, advised against the delay, but at my insistence he relented. For the years of your bliss, I have no regrets; only now, being the bearer of cheerless tidings, do I grieve.”

Turning to face Andreth he held his hand out to her. She stepped forward and clasped his large warm hand, giving it a gentle squeeze of encouragement as though she knew already the topic was too painful to broach for this kind-hearted elf-king.

“Daughter of my heart, doubt not that you are in high favor with lord Manwë. A Gift unsurpassed thou hast been given, one never so bestowed ere now.” Tears sparkled in his grey eyes and with a heavy heart he continued, “And yet, as Manwë had revealed to me, the Gift of Ilúvatar to Men cannot be withheld.”

Pausing, he studied the mortal woman. A knowing expression flittered over her features as she closed her eyes. A lone tear coursed down her cheek, then she looked Finarfin squarely in the eye and nodded, unafraid and accepting.

Still she had to ask, her voice unsteady with emotion, “Will it be as before, when bent and stiff and unlovely with age I breathed my last; must I leave my beloved to remember tottering steps, wrinkled skin, bleary eyes, and trembling voice?”

“This at least will be allowed, that you remain hale and un-aged. When the time draws nigh, weariness and longing for rest will foreshadow your end. You may choose to lay down your life or to go on, but the pleasure of living will elude you and the decay of flesh will be upon you,” Finarfin intoned without emotion, for fear he could not bear even to say the words.

The choked sob behind her nearly undid her resolve, but she spoke softly, “For thy silence, for thy love, I thank thee, my father. The Gift, I deem is not an end, rather a time perhaps of waiting. If memories there be, they will be of love and song and this peaceful land.”

Aegnor came up behind her and wrapped Andreth in his arms. Leaning back, her head resting on his chest, she breathed deeply. Turning within that encircling realm of comfort, she gazed joyously at his breathtakingly beautiful face. Reaching up she stroked his cheek and brushed away the tears that flowed unheeded onto her gown.

“Aegnor, my husband, grieve only a little. Beyond hope we found a recompense for the years stolen by war and time.” Entangling her fingers in the wealth of his hair unbound in golden splendor she went on, “Once only in that time were my fingers surprised by this joy.” Pulling his head down, she placed her lips lovingly on his, “Once only did our mouths meet in such sweet conversation.” Stepping back she took his hands and pressed them against her breasts, “My body ached for thy touch.” Hugging him firmly she added, “Empty were my arms throughout the lonely and bitter years of my life.”

 “Each day with thee has been a dazzling sunrise, each word of love a gem of surpassing beauty, dwelling in a land free from evil and death, a life of joy and wonderment, a son as fair to behold as is his matchless father…” her voice faltered and breaking free of his embrace she spun about demanding of Finarfin, “What of our son?”

Hands held up as though to off-ward a blow Finarfin reassured Andreth, “Your son shall have the choosing, being neither fully Man nor Elf; this decision Ilúvatar has permitted.”

Andreth turned again to her husband, grasping his hands with hers, “So, my love, he may choose to stay with thee, this child of our begetting. With the whole of my heart I wish it for thy sake, my beloved.”  

*******

Bregor did indeed choose the longeval heritage of the Eldar, much to his mother’s delight. On Tol Eressëa, a special ceremony was devised for this unique event and many elves from Aman attended the festivities.

Manwë, regally clad in shimmering blue, was the one empowered to effect the actual transformation, speaking with the authority of Ilúvatar to transmute the Elf-Man.  Varda, radiant in sparkling silver, also gave her blessings to the highly honored family. Several of the other Valar gathered round for this was a gift undreamt even among the greatest of the Ainur. As it was near the shore, Ulmo deigned to appear. The exuberant arrival of Ossë caused a minor aquatic disturbance, but he was in such high spirits that no one could forbear forgiving him for the sudden wetting of festive finery.

After all had respectfully gathered round about, Manwë spoke a blessing upon the young Elf-Man. Following his words, there came a sudden wind, divinely created expressly for the re-fashioning of Bregor. Around him alone was the airy breath felt. His ruffled hair betrayed the unseen influence, and all fell silent in awe of the wonder of this gift granted by Ilúvatar.

Andreth noted the transformation of her only son. Body hair vanished and rounded ear tips now tapered upward to match those of his father. Heavier musculature was pared to a sleekly powerful design. His skin took on elven sheen, and his dark hair gleamed with added luster.

When the wind subsided, all marveled at the fresh beauty of the Elf who stood before them.  As he stepped forward to approach Manwë to give thanks for his intervention, it was noted that every movement had now a flowing grace. Even his somewhat roughened voice was smoothed and melodic.

For Andreth, this act sealing the lives of her husband and their son was both a relief and a dread, for she knew that her final leaving would grieve both in the most secret places of their immortal elven hearts. Yet they would be there to sustain each other when the inevitable time came to pass.

*******

It was many years later and far beyond the normal span of her kind before Andreth felt the first signs of the wearying. At first she kept it hidden from Aegnor, but inexorably it grew more demanding.

One bright morning, as she lay comfortably against Aegnor’s chest listening to the steady beating of his loving heart, she realized she could delay no longer.

“Beloved…” her voice faltered and her hand resting lightly on his thigh trembled, “the time of our parting draws nigh.”

“Do you think I did not know, Andreth? My fëa roused at the moment your fëa slowed.”

“I am less brave than I had hoped, Aegnor. Now that my days are ending, I wish them prolonged.” She began to weep.

He held her close, singing softly the song of his fierce yet tender love for her. With touch of hand and fëa he soothed her mortal fears.

“Aegnor, let us be as leisurely lovers once more ere all pleasure flees from this body that still desires you.”

He rose, leaned down to raise her to her feet, then scooped her up in his arms and strode off toward their favorite bower, her head resting on his shoulder.  

*******

“Andreth…Andreth?” the beautiful voice called her name, but she could barely respond.  Warm drops of rain fell on her face as she felt lips touch hers in a last farewell.

Rest.

She was so tired, wanting only to slide into the waiting stillness. Reluctantly her eyes opened to focus hazily on the grief-stricken faces of two magnificent beings.

Faintly she felt an urgent call in her inner self. Fëa-touch. The sensation was remembered briefly.

“Aegnor?” her voice was a mere thread of sound. “Bregor?”

“We are here by you, beloved.” It was Aegnor who answered for them.

“There is a Light! See there are beings made of the Light!” her weakened voice shook with wonder. “They beckon me to follow.”

Aegnor and Bregor each held one of her hands as Andreth smiled on them with something akin to pity. “Peace my beloved husband, Aegnor. There is joy also at this leave-taking. Bregor, son of my hope and our love, tell your children of me. Do not grieve overlong. My journey is bright with promise and eagerly I go forth. Fare well and live with joy for my sake.”

Her eyelids fluttered, then she closed them and reached out to the ethereal beings. Even the glorious beauty of the elves pales in comparison to these messengers.

Her last fëa cry was to her beloved, Aegnor, as she felt a burning wound within her, then agony sharp as a knife blade. Wordlessly crying out, she clutched for the severed strand of their bond, but it eluded her.

Immediately the messengers of the Light gathered her close and wiped away her tears, comforting her before guiding her gently into the midst of the dazzling brilliance.  

******

Aegnor crumpled to the ground, his face a mask of anguished loss. Bregor knelt beside him weeping openly.

Finarfin entered the chamber bringing with him wine laced with a strong drug for pain of the spirit. He handed the goblet first to Bregor, who appeared as one in a daze. He only held it, staring at the contents without comprehension. Finarfin helped him drink then led him to a low couch to lie down.

His grandson tended, he turned his attention to his unconscious son. Raising the golden head he roused Aegnor enough to swallow most of the fluid, then carried him to another bed near Bregor.

Before dimming the lamps Finarfin looked on the still form of the only mortal he had ever known and reflected back on her uncommon strength and strange ways. Her lips were lifted in a peaceful smile, the skin unblemished by time. Only the silver strands in her dark hair gave evidence of Mortal aging.

Settling her hands on her unmoving abdomen, he kissed her still warm brow, before departing to make preparations for the last physical journey of this unusual person who, with her staunchly enduring love, had returned his son to him and blessed both Aegnor and Finarfin with Bregor, the child of their love.  

*******

Now is told the full tale of the love of an immortal Elf for a mortal woman of Men. For such love is doomed to sundering, not to reunite until the end of Arda when the world will be made anew. It also gave me time to explore the expanse of differences between the them and to marvel anew over the incredibly rich and varied world brought to us by J.R.R Tolkien

I wish to humbly thank my friend and beta, Alassiel, not only for her skills as a beta, but also for her continuing encouragement to complete this story.