NORTH: News From the South

SUMMARY: A letter is read bringing news from a loved one far away.

****

"Can anything good come from the North?" the captain of the guards muttered in an absent-minded manner as he scribbled the information into his ledger.

I smiled at the Gondorian, who never looked up. "Odd. Where I come from we ask the same question of the South."

The man looked up, seeing me for the first time since the interview began. He was older than I, his hair more grey than brown and cut ruthlessly short. His eyes were blue and held no warmth in them. An old scar, running from his left temple down his cheek and disappearing beneath the collar of his uniform, completed the picture of a hard-bitten soldier.

"What do you mean by that?" he spat, and I had the impression he was spoiling for a fight. Recording the names of possible recruits for Gondor’s army was a thankless, if necessary, job. I had to wonder, though, why he, a captain, was doing the work normally left to his subordinates.

I shrugged. "It is just that historically many of my people’s woes seem to come from the south," I said without any heat. He must have seen something in my eyes, though, for the captain leaned back as if to avoid a blow. "When I was a child," I continued softly, "a mysterious plague swept through our villages, nearly decimating them. It came from the south. I almost died."

The captain gave me a considering look and took a deep breath. "Nothing to do with Gondor," he declared, the scar puckering his lips into a leer that I took to be a scowl.

I shook my head. "Gondor is not the only country that lies south of my homeland," I stated and stole a glance towards the east where dark mountains loomed in the far distance before settling my gaze once again upon the Gondorian. By his set expression as he gave me a nod I knew he understood my meaning. For a brief moment we were in accord with our belief that nothing good ever came from the benighted land.

He leaned forward, picking up his quill and dipping it into the inkwell. "What was your name again?" he asked.

I smiled, though he never saw. "Thorongil," I said, "lately from Rohan...."

****

"‘And so I am now in Minas Tirith and am slowly learning my way around this incredible city,’" Gilraen read to the interested Elves in Elrond’s study. "‘Gilhael says if I don’t stop gawking like a country lad at all the sights, birds will start building a nest in my mouth.’"

Elrohir burst out laughing, "That sounds like Gilhael," he said and the others joined him in laughter.

"Estel certainly has a way of describing his experiences so you think you’re right there with him," Elladan said and everyone else nodded.

"I remember the first time I saw Minas Tirith, Minas Anor as it was known then," Glorfindel said as he took a sip of wine. "Except for the location it could have been Gondolin or even Tirion in Aman."

"The sons of Elendil wrought mightily in the early years of their exile from Númenor," Elrond stated with a sad smile. "I was most impressed by their efforts."

"So, anything else our youngest has to say?" Erestor asked Gilraen, casting a fond smile in her direction.

She scanned the rest of the missive and shook her head. "Just that the meeting with Lord Ecthelion went well and he was glad to renew his friendship with Lord Denethor. He will have finished his training as a Ranger and already have been sent to Ithilien on patrol by now." She sighed, looking somewhat wistful and the Elves remained respectfully silent.

Elrond leaned over and patted her knee. "He has already shown that he is capable of taking care of himself, Gilraen," the Lord of Imladris said gently, "and Gilhael watches his back. I have no fear for him."

"Yet, he moves ever closer to Mordor and to danger," she protested, her grey eyes now dark with a mother’s worry where before they had been bright with delight at sharing her news with the rest of Estel’s family.

"He will do well, Gilraen," Glorfindel said with grave confidence. "He was trained by the best and he has matured into a responsible leader of Men."

Gilraen nodded, mollified. She glanced again at the letter, a small smile on her lips as she re-read her son’s words. Then she sighed and looked up at Elrond. "I wish I could let him know how proud I am of him and how much I love him and miss him."

Elrond gave his sons a diffident look. "Are you not planning to travel to Mirkwood in three days?"

Elladan nodded. "And then to Lórien to visit with Daeradar and Daernaneth," he said.

"Perhaps you could take a slight detour," Elrond suggested, giving them a meaningful look.

The twins raised identical eyebrows and their smiles were nearly identical as well. "Estel will think we’re checking up on him again," Elrohir said with a wicked gleam in his eyes.

"You will be merely passing along his naneth’s message," Elrond said, giving Gilraen a smile, her own smile one of gratitude. "He cannot object to that."

"I don’t think it would be wise to enter the city, though," Elladan said musingly. "The people of Gondor have not seen any Elves in too long a time."

"Go to Ithilien," Glorfindel suggested.

The twins gave him jaundiced looks. "Ithilien is a rather large area to look for one person," Elrohir said.

The former Lord of the House of the Golden Flower of Gondolin stared cooly at his lord’s sons. "Then it will offer you the opportunity to put all that you have learned from Erestor and me to good use."

Elrond stood then, placing a hand on Gilraen’s arm. "Come, Gilraen. Let us compose our letters to our son."

"Our letters?" Elladan asked in amusement.

Elrond gave him a cool stare that was a match to the one Glorfindel had given them. "Of course," he said with a disdainful sniff. "Gilraen is not the only one who misses Estel."

There was a slight pause and then Glorfindel suddenly stood. "I think I’ll go write a letter to the lad myself," he said to no one in particular and strode out the door with purposeful strides.

When Elladan and Elrohir left Imladris three days later they carried with them a pouch bulging with letters written by the Elves of Imladris for ‘Young Estel’ and his cousin Gilhael, but the four most important letters from Estel’s ‘family’ they carried inside their tunics, next to their hearts, for safekeeping.

****

All words are Sindarin.

Daeradar: Grandfather, i.e. Celeborn.

Daernaneth: Grandmother, i.e. Galadriel.

Naneth: Mother.