First Sight

Ithilden allowed his horse to slow at the distant music of elven laughter and flicked his head in the direction of the sound.  That, if he was not much mistaken, was his naneth – and rather further from the Stronghold than he considered wise, especially since she undoubtedly had with her the irrepressible bundle of energy that was his little brother.

‘Shall I take your horse to the stables, my lord?’  Calith kept his face straight, but Ithilden could hear the smile beneath his serious tone.

‘Thank you.’  Ithilden checked behind him and nodded to the lieutenant to hand command to him – although what need the patrol would have of command in the league or so that remained of their journey, he did not know.  He considered leaving his bow and sword – it should be safe enough here: the trees and groves were well-frequented and the Home Guard kept a careful watch over these areas where their families roamed – but decided it would be easier to keep his weapons with him rather than slow the patrol’s passing.

The trees around him were delightfully familiar and sang in voices he had known since he was no older than Eilian, when his naneth used to bring him to the somewhat muddy grove through which the stream meandered so that she could pick watercress with other ellyth.  And, he rather thought, to let him play with elflings his own age. 

Naneth had never been too enthusiastic about having ellyn imported into the Stronghold to act as playmates, preferring to have him meet other youngsters on their own terms.  He grinned.  She had told his adar that he would have to spend enough time borne down by duty when he was old enough to support the weight of the chains – and that childhood was a time for freedom and joy.  She was, he had very little doubt, continuing the same teaching with Eilian.  And, almost certainly, with greater success.  Ithilden was sure he had never been such a giddy child as his little brother.

A snatch of nonsense song was taken up by other voices and the troop commander could not help grinning.  It felt a remarkably long time since he had heard his naneth sing about the frog and the grasshopper – not since he had become too big for expeditions like this.  He had not even realised that he still knew the words, but as soon as he heard them – he could not resist singing the grasshopper’s answer to the frog.

‘Ithilden?’  His naneth broke off, surprised.

He paused where the pathway opened out to the glade.  ‘We were riding back this way,’ he said.  ‘I heard you here and thought…’  He left the thought trailing.  If there was one thing he had learned about his naneth from her … more animated discussions with his adar, it was that it would be very unwise to give her any reason to think that he was being what she called overprotective – and he called sensible.  ‘I have not picked watercress in longer than I can remember.’ 

Lorellin grinned. ‘I doubt you will need a sword to make the leaves submit,’ she said, clearly seeing through his attempts at subtlety, ‘and you are unlikely to need to shoot at the minnows, but your aid will be very welcome.’

‘Ithilden!  Come and play!’ A small dark-haired elfling bounced in the ankle-deep water, splashing a pair of ellyth of about the same size who promptly began to protest.  Another ellon, slightly taller than his brother, and with nut-brown hair tied firmly back from his face, responded by kicking the water enthusiastically, spraying Eilian with sparkling droplets.  Eilian, of course, started to laugh and stamped his feet again.

‘Be careful.’  The naneth of one of the ellyth came forward and drew her daughter and the other elleth away from the ellyn.  ‘It is unkind to wet those who do not wish to play.’

‘My brother is not afraid of getting wet,’ Eilian boasted.  ‘He is a warrior.  He can shoot deer and boar and bears and squirrels and spiders and orcs and trolls and… and...’ 

‘Can he now?’ The elleth raised her eyebrows at Ithilden. ‘All at the same time?’

‘Gwaleniel?’ Ithilden asked.  A hint of colour flushed his cheeks.  ‘Is one of these little ones yours?’

The healer indicated a solemn-eyed elleth, her long braid tied with yellow ribbons.  ‘This one,’ she said affectionately.  The child was frowning at Eilian as if he was a rather badly behaved puppy. 

Ithilden laughed.  ‘I think she is as little impressed by my brother as her naneth was by his.’

‘Oh, I would not say that!’  Lorellin smiled at Gwaleniel.  ‘I think my son made quite and impression on you.  If not entirely favourable.’

Ithilden averted his eyes.  He was definitely outnumbered here - and rather began to wish he had continued his ride.   ‘I had no idea,’ he said, looking round the party of watercress pickers, ‘that there were so many elflings living near the Stronghold.  There must be a dozen or more – all within a year or two of each other.’

His naneth took pity on him.  ‘Why do you not entertain the little ones, while we fill our baskets?  The work will go more quickly if we do not have to watch them all the time – and then you can escort us back home.’

‘Ithilden!’ his little brother demanded imperiously.

The troop commander crossed the glade obediently, shrugging off his quiver as he walked and placing it next to an untidy heap of small garments.  He unbuckled his sword belt.  ‘Let me take off my boots,’ he said mildly.  ‘Then we can see what we can find in the water.’

‘How much more shall we take today?  We should not overdo it.’ Isiwen smiled happily at the abundance of watercress.  ‘Much as I love it in fish pie – or as a soup – it does not remain fresh indefinitely, even standing in cold water.’

‘I like it wilted and served with poached eggs,’ someone suggested dreamily.  ‘It always makes me think of spring.’

‘As a stuffing for duck…’

‘None will be wasted,’ Gwaleniel said briskly.  ‘The healers can certainly put any excess to good use.’

Isiwen tipped a basketful of sprigs into the sack of bright green leaves and looked at the bulging bags with satisfaction before turning her attention to the elflings.  ‘Lord Ithilden will make a good adar one day, my lady.   My little Celuwen loves it when Eilian coaxes his brother into playing with them – she says he always makes their games more interesting.’

Lorellin looked at her grown son, paddling in the clear water with his little flock of elflings.   He had them collecting pebbles from the stream bed to play a game that involved knocking sticks into the water.  ‘I look forward to the day,’ she said gleefully.  ‘I will enjoy seeing Ithilden dealing with something he cannot control.’

Several of the ellyth wandered up the stream bank, clearly choosing to detach themselves in a game that was getting rather noisy and boisterous.  Ithilden abandoned his little group of novice stone-throwers and called them softly, crouching down when they seemed reluctant to return and indicating something in the grass beside the stream.  An elleth with hair of light-brown took a cautious step or two towards him and looked where he was pointing.  She stretched out her hand to accept the daisy he offered her and approached close enough to lean against his knee, watching intently as he joined a couple of flowers together.  Gwaleniel’s daughter squatted to pick her own flowers and studied Ithilden from the corner of her eye, attempting to copy his actions.  Almost before he knew it, Ithilden found himself in the middle of a bevy of ellyth, all competing to make chains of flowers.

Lorellin suppressed a desire to giggle.  He did like to keep things organised, this poor sweet son of hers!  He was never satisfied to sit back and watch others do things in their own way, but always sought to offer them something better – something more efficient and structured!  Yet, he was so sincere and well-meaning that it was almost impossible to resist him – although she suspected that his little brother might be able to manage.  She looked affectionately at her younger son as he played among the ellyn splashing in the water.  He would be her son, this one, in the way that Ithilden was Thranduil’s, she thought – closer to the forest, less controlled, more willing to see the lighter side of life.  He would be good for his adar and brother, offering them a view of something beyond duty.

Deftly twisting his daisy chain into a coronet, Ithilden placed it on one small head.  His gift was greeted with a crow of delight – and a demand for crowns of their own from the other elflings.  Gwaleniel’s daughter tilted her head as she attempted to squint upwards to see the flowers adorning her hair and then reached up to pat her crown back into place.  Lorellin smiled.  Perhaps, one day, she would convince Thranduil that they needed a daughter like little Alfirin to be a part of their family.

A loud splash diverted Ithilden’s attention back to the stream.  While most of the ellyn were playing happily according to his instructions, Eilian had decided that the small rounded pebbles were not dislodging enough of the little stones they were now using as targets.  He hauled another rock half the size of his head from the water, staggering under its weight, but still managing to swing his body enough to give it some momentum.   

Ithilden leapt up, unsteadying his group of admirers, so that the two leaning on him tumbled to the grass.   He jumped towards the ellyn.  ‘No, Eilian!’ he snapped.

The rock span, shedding drops of sparkling water, heading straight for Eilian’s friend, too busy seeking his own pebbles to notice the projectile flying towards him.

Ithilden judged the distance without even thinking and dived, taking the missile in his outstretched hand, aware of a brief moment of satisfaction before his body hit the water with a resounding splash.   He rolled painfully over the stream bed and sprang back to his feet as the wave he had displaced sprayed up to splash the elflings around him with cold drops. One of them – Siondel, he thought – stepped hastily back and slipped, sitting heavily in the water to stare at him open-mouthed. 

The troop commander dropped the rock and shook his stinging fingers.  A single muttered word escaped him, but he managed – thank the Valar – to curb his desire to bark at his brother in words more suited to a group of warriors far from the easily-offended ears of their naneths. 

‘That was not a very sensible thing to do, Eilian,’ he said reproachfully.  ‘You might have hurt your friend.’

‘Do it again!’ Eilian demanded, the grin on his face so wide that it looked as if the top of his head was in danger of falling off and his bright eyes shining with admiration.  ‘Gelmir did not see you properly – let him throw a stone, Ithilden, and do it again!’

The troop commander shook himself like a dog come in from the rain.  ‘I think not,’ he said firmly.  ‘You come and do something rather less likely to cause damage.  You – Gelmir – you can come, too!  And the rest of you.’

His brother opened his mouth to protest – as far as he was concerned, Ithilden was here to keep him amused, and nothing could be more amusing than having him tumble fully clothed into the water – but Lorellin decided that the time had come to rescue her firstborn before he lost any more of his dignity.

‘We are finished here now, Eilian,’ she said.  ‘It is time to pack up your things so we can seek our way home.  Perhaps Ithilden will help you scout the path.’

Ithilden met his naneth’s eyes protestingly.  He had had enough of elflings for the time being. 

‘You will have your sword and bow with you,’ she teased.  ‘I am sure that will be enough to keep you safe!’

He sighed and capitulated.  His naneth was a dangerous opponent, with her own ways of bending the males in her family to her will.  Little though he wanted to take charge of his brother, he was wise enough, he hoped, to know when defeat could not be averted.

A resigned-looking elleth had rescued and stripped the soaked elfling and was wrapping him in her cloak to dry him off, while Gelmir’s naneth rummaged in her bag to produce a spare pair of leggings and a well-used tunic for Siondel to wear.

‘And why do you not take off your tunic and wring it out, too?’ Lorellin suggested.  ‘There is no need to drip your way home!’

Instinctively, Ithilden opened his mouth, but closed it again without speaking.  He had absolutely no intention of stripping off his tunic or anything else in front of this gathering of ellyth, but telling his naneth that would only make her determination more difficult to resist.

A small hand tugged at the troop commander’s wet tunic.  ‘May I come, too?’  The elleth looked at him pleadingly.

‘Lord Ithilden will not want to be bothered with you, Celuwen,’ her naneth said hastily.  ‘You come with us.’

Ithilden, who had been thinking much the same thing, softened.  ‘I am happy to have you make one of the scouting party,’ he said gravely.  ‘Would any other of you young ladies care to come with us?’ 

The daisy-chain makers looked at him wide-eyed, but made no attempt to move.

His lips twitched.  ‘Well, if you are sure…’ he said.

He ran his hands over his clothes, squeezing what water he could from his tunic and breeches.  At least his boots were dry.  For the moment.  Until his tunic and leggings had time to drip into them, at any rate.  He detached the small hand from his and resumed his weapons, sighing as the leather pressed wet fabric clammily against his skin.

Eilian watched him, hands on hips, making no effort to find his own footwear.  ‘When I am bigger,’ he informed his brother, ‘I will have a sword.’

‘So will I,’ Celuwen chimed in.

‘You will not!’ Gelmir declared.  ‘You are an elleth.  Ellyth do not have swords – they are too weak.  We will be warriors, but you will have to stay at home and do the cooking.’

‘Find your shoes,’ Lorellin intervened firmly, ‘or you will both be helping us carry the watercress, while Ithilden walks with Celuwen.’

It was enough of a distraction – and two small whirlwinds began to toss aside shoes and over-tunics in their haste to find their own.

‘I doubt you will want a sword by the time you are big enough to lift one,’ Ithilden said consolingly to the child beside him, whose lower lip was stuck out surprisingly far.  ‘Most ellyth prefer to learn to use a bow and a knife – if they want to learn to hunt at all.  Many do not.’

‘I want one,’ she said determinedly.

Ithilden almost replied – then wondered why he was bothering to debate the matter with a child barely old enough to cut up her own meat.  By the time she was old enough to start lessons, she would undoubtedly have absorbed her naneth’s attitude to suitable behaviour for ellyth.  And, if she remained obstinate, that would be her parents’ problem and they could deal with it.

‘Shall we start?’ he said instead.  ‘Eilian, you and Gelmir go ahead.  I want you to look for anything that might be hiding in the bushes.  It is our task to keep the naneths safe.’

Eilian whooped and snatched up a stick about half as long as he was tall.  ‘This is my sword!  I shall call it … I shall call it Aglar!’

‘I want one too.’ Gelmir looked round under the trees, as they led the way along the narrow footpath, finally grabbing a stick that was neither as long nor as straight as Eilian’s. 

Celuwen tossed her head and then ran after the ellyn, leaving Ithilden to follow.  He shook his head.  This was not easy.  On the whole he thought he preferred dealing with warriors.  Cajoling infants into doing as he wished was much harder.

‘Wait for me,’ he called, increasing his pace.  They could move more quickly than he had expected, too.

Fortunately, though, they seemed incapable of remaining silent.  Otherwise, their sudden disappearance would have alarmed him considerably more than it did.  The bushes they had chosen as a hiding place stilled as the three elflings wriggled into place, but the giggles continued. 

Ithilden grinned.  He could remember hiding from his adar in much the same way.  ‘Oh no,’ he said clearly.  ‘I have lost Celuwen.  Her naneth will be very angry with me.  Gelmir’s, too.  I shall have to search for them.’  He bent down and pretended to examine the ground.  ‘I think they went this way.’  He stamped off the path, deliberately stirring up the leaves until he was some way away and then turned back to sneak silently up behind the hiding place.   They had done quite a good job of getting out of sight, he thought, but, if he was not much mistaken, that was Eilian’s bottom wriggling in irrepressible excitement.

He pounced, grabbing his little brother by the ankles and swinging him into the air.

Eilian screeched loud enough to wake the night birds, and flailed his arms, trying vainly to grab his brother’s sleeve. 

‘Put him down,’ Gelmir yelled, dancing on the spot, leaves falling from his hair.  He was still waving his stick, but seemed to have no intention of attacking.  Ithilden kept a wary eye on him as he dangled Eilian over a patch of nettles and pretended he was about to drop him.  He did feel that ellyn were not altogether to be counted on to know the difference between play and real peril.

A sharp pain in his leg almost made him drop his brother.  He had overlooked something.  Or, rather, someone.  Celuwen’s sharp little teeth targeted him again and he pulled away, stepping back into the stinging plants, automatically turning the elfling he held to clasp him more securely.  The elleth came at him again, a determined scowl on her face, clearly intending to fight on until she had rescued his captive.

‘You are dangerous,’ he declared, placing his brother as a shield between him and the aggressor.

‘Do it again,’ Eilian insisted, his eyes blazing with enthusiasm.

‘Oh no!’  Ithilden bent to rub his injured calf.  ‘Upsetting your protector is far too perilous.’

‘It is only Ithilden,’ Eilian declared, turning to the elleth with his hands on his hips.  ‘He would not do anything to hurt us, Celuwen.  Naneth would not let him.’

She continued to look at him suspiciously for a moment, and then ducked her head and smiled charmingly.  ‘I am sorry,’ she said, twisting the fabric of her dress between her fingers.  She looked enchanting – a delicate little elf-maiden who would not harm a fly.  But looks, he knew, were deceptive. 

He had had enough.  ‘I will race you home,’ Ithilden suggested.  ‘First one back gets a prize.’

‘What sort of prize?’ Gelmir narrowed his eyes. 

‘What sort of prize would you want?’

Ithilden knew Eilian well enough to be sure that he had thought of and discarded half a dozen impossible suggestions in the breath it took him to suggest, ‘A ride on your horse?’ he asked hopefully.

‘If Naneth says you may,’ he agreed.

‘Or cake, if she says no,’ his brother bargained.

‘Are you so sure you will win?’ Ithilden smiled.  ‘My legs are much longer than yours!  What will you give me if I beat you?’

Eilian’s smile dimmed only briefly.  ‘You will not,’ he said confidently.

He ought to, Ithilden thought as he let the three tear past him.  It was probably unwise to let them think that they could beat him in a race – it would reinforce the twisted view of the world that seemed to come naturally to the very young.  It would probably teach them a necessary lesson to have them trail in behind him – but where was the pleasure in defeating opponents a third his size?  He paused a moment to let the runners get further ahead and listened absently to the animated chatter of the ellyth coming closer as they brought home their harvest. 

He almost caught up with them – made it a close enough race to have the elflings giggling triumphantly, but let them win.  Celuwen was a fast little runner, he noted – Eilian had been hard-pushed to beat her and had put enough effort into coming first that he was red-faced and breathless.  Gelmir had done enough to finish close behind, but appeared to have known from the start that he was not going to beat the other two – and seemed happy enough with the situation. 

‘Well run, my lord.’ 

Calith would have to be standing close enough to see the troop commander arrive behind three elflings, damp, dishevelled, muddy and with leaves in his hair.  In fact, Ithilden noted, the green was littered with warriors – all of them doing their best to conceal their grins.  

His aide inspected him carefully, and his silence spoke louder than any comment could have done.  ‘The king wished to speak with you when you returned…’ He paused, ‘but it might be as well to delay the meeting until you have changed.’  Calith managed to keep his face straight – the elf clearly had a career ahead of him in diplomacy if he wanted to pursue it – but Ithilden knew him well enough to recognise that the sparkle in his eyes was the equivalent of someone else rolling on the ground consumed with laughter.

Ithilden nodded. ‘I will see to it,’ he said.

‘Naneth!’ Eilian turned to the ellyth emerging from the woods behind him.  ‘Ithilden says we can have a ride on his horse!’

‘Did he?’  Lorellin raised a quizzical eyebrow at her firstborn.  ‘You will enjoy that, my sweet.  But not today, I think – your brother has other things to do.  It is a treat you can look forward to for another day.’

How did they do it?  Within a few moments of reaching the green the disposal of the watercress had been arranged, the elflings gathered and brushed down and the ellyth were disappearing towards their homes, looking as neat and in control as they doubtless had when they set off on their quest. 

Gwaleniel paused briefly, her daughter still wearing her daisy-chain coronet.  ‘You should have someone look at your leg, Lord Ithilden,’ she said. ‘You are limping.’

The troop commander smiled non-committally.  There was absolutely no chance whatsoever that he was going to seek any attention for a wound delivered by a small elleth while in his care.  There was taking care of yourself and looking a total fool – and he knew which one would be the result of taking that set of puncture wounds to a healer.  He was giving up any attempt to try to deal with elflings – he had enough trouble with one little brother and had realised that he certainly was not up to dealing with them in larger numbers.  Perhaps his naneth was right – perhaps the ability to take these little terrors in her stride did qualify her to deal with greater dangers.  Not that he had any wish to find out.

‘Come on, my son.’  Lorellin tucked her hand through his arm and stretched out her other hand to Eilian.  ‘I think you need a bath before you sit down to eat – and, if you are very good, I will let you share a tub with Eilian.’

Ithilden drew a deep breath and released it slowly.  ‘If you do not mind, Naneth,’ he said carefully, ‘I will deny myself the – er – pleasure.  I feel a need to be alone for a while.  And then,’ he snatched at Calith’s message, ‘I have to see Adar.’

She looked at him for a moment and then leaned closer to place a gentle kiss on his jaw.  ‘Do not worry so, my son,’ she recommended. ‘Today is a jewel on the string of your life – one you will take out and cherish as the years pass.  They come all too seldom, days like these, and often we do not recognise them as we are living them.  Do not rush to file it away in a dusty box like some dreary letter.’  She patted his cheek, then released him to sweep her younger son in her arms and carry the giggling youngster to the bridge over the river.

Ithilden watched her go.  Was she right, he wondered?  She had been telling him every since he could remember that he needed to take more joy from his life – that the problems that absorbed his attention would still be there tomorrow, but that the chance of something more important might have passed.  He smiled.  He had enjoyed himself – gained more respect, perhaps, for those who had to deal with elflings every day, but enjoyed himself certainly.  The ellyth and their daisy chains – the ellyn splashing in the water – Eilian’s claims that his big brother could do anything.  He could have ridden past, gone to his office and tidied away a little more paperwork, gone to a sober meeting with the king and listened to the protracted debating of … nothing much.  But he was glad he had not.

He increased his pace and pursued his naneth across the grass.  Suddenly, the thought of sharing a tub with his little brother did not seem such a bad idea after all.