Elvenhome

by Soledad

Disclaimer: see in the Foreword.

Author’s notes: Like Galenbrethil and Findalor, Lindefal is borrowed from the “Coronar” series of The Tired Scribe, which is posted to the Library of Moria archive. He has a somewhat different personality here, but I kept his name and his former occupation as Elrond’s personal aide. Ivárë, who already appeared in Chapter 10, and Elemmírë are canon characters, but their bond is my doing.

The meal is based on the Chaucerian Feast found on the excellent website  “A Booke of Gode Cookery”. The idea of the “living” mural originally comes from my fellow writer Ro, although hers was a painting. The dining hall was inspired by the Great Hall of Hampton Court Palace – only with an Elvish flair. *g*

My thanks to Fiondil who found the canonical heraldric emblem of Tavrobel, so that I would not come up with something stupid on my own. ;)

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

28. The Rowan Tree Inn

They rode up one of the vertical roads unhurriedly, Elulindo walking next to his sister’s horse with easy grace. Celebrían noted with surprise by the fact that although he had spent his entire life on the Sea, he had not developed the characteristic, rolling gait that made mariners so easy to recognize. Well, at least mortal ones. She kept forgetting that she should not expect such things in a place populated solely by her own kind.

Upon reaching the gatehouse, the Noldóran’s banner was instantly recognized, of course. The gate guards saluted him in the manner as it had been wont among the warriors of Beleriand, in the First Age – which was not truly surprising, as they were clearly Sindar and braided their hair in Doriathrim fashion – and lifted the portcullis to allow the group entrance. Silver trumpets sounded high up in the gate tower, announcing the arrival of prominent visitors, so that the town leaders could prepare for them a proper welcome.

And indeed, by the time they reached the second ring wall, they found the gate there already open, and a small group of mounted town guards, clad in grey and green and wearing light mail shirts, was waiting for them. Upon the tabards they wore over their mail was emblazoned the heraldic emblem of Tavrobel: the three trees, the middle one taller than the other two, standing above a three-arched bridge (clearly the famous one of the town that crossed both rivers, the Afros and the Gruir), with three streams flowing through the arches. They were armed with swords and short spears, and upon their round shields was painted the same emblem.

Their leader, a Noldo of imposing stature, rode forth and greeted the visitors respectfully.

“Hail and welcome to Tavarossë, Arafinwë Noldóran, Queen Eärwen,” he spoke Quenya, out of courtesy to the Amanians, but Celebrían understood him well enough, having grown used to hearing the language more often than at home. “I am Carnistir, Captain of the Town Guard. The Council of Tavrobel sends their greetings and asks for a meeting – any time at your convenience if it pleases you.”

“Certainly, I would be more than pleased to meet the worthy leaders of Tavrobel,” replied Arafinwë politely. “We shall be staying in the Rowan Tree Inn for the next couple of days; if the Council could send word when they would want this meeting to take place, I am certain that we will be able to accommodate, from tomorrow on.”

“I shall see it done,” Captain Carnistir raised his spear to a formal salute. “Would your Majesties require an escort to the inn?”

“That would not be necessary,” said Arafinwë. “Admittedly, we do not visit Tavrobel often, but the town could not have changed so much in the last yén or two that we would get lost. We will manage.”

“As you wish, sire,” Captain Carnistir signalled the guards to clear the way, and the Noldóran and his escort entered the second circle of the town.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

They rode through that district without being stopped by anyone, although the news of their arrival had obviously spread across town already, for many of the inhabitants came out of their houses to greet them, or simply to catch a glimpse of them. Royal visitors must indeed have been rare here.

The population seemed to be fairly mixed. Most of them were Sindar, of course, but the Noldor were not much behind in numbers, and quite a few ash-blond, more heavily built Nandor could be spotted in the welcoming crowd. Browns and greens, muted blues and greys and a broad side of yellows appeared to be the preferred colours among them, with only the guards and town officials wearing white or silver.

Hair-braiding must have developed to a true form of art among them, if the elaborate hairdo of some of the ellith was any indication; most of the braids were of Sindarin fashion, or based on it, only a great deal more complicated. So intricate, indeed, that they needed almost no jewellery to wear – the natural crowns, woven by skilled hands, would outdo whatever the whitesmiths would create by far.

They all waved at the visitors happily and called greetings; mostly in Sindarin, but also in somewhat accented Quenya, but no-one tried to delay their progress. Mostly, they just seemed delighted to see the Noldóran and his Queen visiting them again.

Thus Arafinwë and his escort crossed the second district and rode through the open gate in the third, innermost wall, entering the oldest part of the town. There they left the road and turned into a quiet little lane that led directly to their destination: a three-storey building, built of white stone around a spacious inner courtyard, its front gate flanked by two huge, ancient rowan trees that likely gave the inn its name. In fact, the trees were obviously much older than the building itself, which was presumably raised so that the trees could be included.

The gate, the wings of which were masterfully carved of dark, polished rowan wood, stood open, so that they could ride straight into the paved courtyard. It had a marble fountain in the middle, also depicting a rowan tree. The water was falling from its branches from various heights, creating a lovely, enchanting music.

The entrance to the main building was a carved wooden arch, depicting two rowan trees with intertwined branches but without any actual door wings, on the opposite side of the fountain, while other, simpler doorways clearly led to the stables behind the courtyard. Grooms came running to lead their horses away while they were heading towards the main entrance, and servants took their travelling chests to bring them to the prepared rooms.

Celebrían, having seen some of the amazing Elven structures of the Second Age, was not easily impressed by grandeur, but as they stepped into the wide entryway of the Rowan Tree Inn, even she slowed down her pace. Although simply called an inn, this establishment had clearly been built with royal or at least nobly born visitors from the mainland firmly in the owner’s eye.

Beautiful tapestries, bearing the mark of Tol Eressëan (presumably Sindarin) artists, hung on white walls, and all archways, window-cases, railings and other fixtures were made of aged and polished wood, suitable to the place’s name. The tapestries depicted forests scenes, enclosed in a framework of ivy – a pattern that had once been very popular in Lindon. Celebrían remembered having seen wall hangings like these during her rare visits to Gil-galad’s castle.

Ellyn and ellith in rich attire floated about; most of them had clearly come from the mainland, as they wore more flamboyant colours than it was preferred on Tol Eressëa. Left from the main entrance was a dining chamber, which was where most of the guests were levitating, as the hour when most inns traditionally served the midday meal was drawing close. Ahead of them the hallway was laid out with a forest-green carpet that flowed up a staircase, presumably leading to the guest rooms on the upper floors.

Most Elves working in the inn seemed to be of Sindarin origins, although Celebrían could spot the one or other Noldo, too. One of those, wearing a knee-length blue tunic with blousoned sleeves, through the slashes of which a pale yellow shirt of fine linen could be glimpsed, hurried up to them and gave the Noldóran and the Noldotári his obeisance.

“Welcome to the Rowan Tree Inn, your Majesties. It has been a long time since you last honoured us with a visit.”

His voice sounded shockingly familiar; and so seemed his youthful, merry face once Celebrían have him a second look.

“Lindefal!” she exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”

The Elf who had once been Elrond’s personal aide, laughed at her merrily. “Why, I work here, my lady. Have been ever since I accompanied Galenbrethil on her journey to the West, in fact.”

“You work here?” Tirannë, the handmaid Meril had sent with them to see after Celebrían’s needs, repeated in surprise. “I always thought you owned the place.”

“No, he does not; he just behaves as if he would,” said someone behind them, and as they turned around, they saw a dark-haired Noldo coming in, looking amused. “But as a matter of fact, I do.”

Unlike most other people Celebrían had seen so far in Tavrobel, he was clad in dark colours: deep blues and dark greys, and his bright eyes revealed that he was old enough to have seen the light of the Two Trees. For some reason, an old, half-forgotten memory surfaced unexpectedly in her mind. She saw herself as a little girl, visiting Ost-in-Edhil with her father, admiring the work of the Mírdain.

They had been very kind to her, the famous jewel-smiths of the Second Age, entertaining her while her father was discussing things with Celebrimbor, and even inviting her to their table. One of them in particular: a silversmith who had been working on fine steel pens that, or so he had hoped would replace quills eventually. His name was…

“Master Aranwë!” she whispered. “They told Adar that you had made it out of the Fall of Eregion, but no-one knew what had become of you.”

The owner of the Rowan Tree Inn tilted his head to the side, scrutinizing yet clearly not recognizing her.

“Do I know you, my lady?”

“Once you did,” answered Celebrían with a fond smile. “Although I was but a very young elfling back then. You showed me those steel pens; I often wondered later whether you ever got them to work properly.”

Recognition dawned in the eyes of the ellon, and he smiled widely. “Little Lady Celebrían! Who would have thought! But not so little anymore, it seems.”

“Nay; I had time enough to grow up,” agreed Celebrían. “When did you Sail?”

“After the Battle upon Dagorlad; I lived in Aran Gil-galad’s court for a while, where I met Pengolodh again; we used to be friends in Gondolin, you see.”

“You were originally from Gondolin?”

This was definitely the day of surprises for Celebrían; but again, such were most days since she had arrived in the Undying Lands.

Aranwë nodded. “I am one of the few fortunates who got out. I was a member of the House of the Hammer of Wrath; only two of us survived, and even we only because Lady Idril ordered us to go with her and her family. In truth, I was more fortunate than most; for not only did I get out, I could also take my son and my grandson with me, and thus they were saved, too; the little one was not even of age yet.”

Celebrían was thinking furiously. Snippets of knowledge she had gathered about the inhabitants of the Lonely Island began to come together and form a coherent picture.

“You are that Aranwë, then,” she said. “You are Voronwë’s father, and the grandsire of Ilverin.”

“That I am,” confessed Aranwë. “Few in Middle-earth of the Second Age knew, as Littleheart left with Eärendil, and my son spent yéni in solitude, trying to overcome his terror from the Sea. For him, whose mother came from the Falathrim, being so afraid of the Sea was a terrible thing; but again, he had suffered from the wrath of Lord Ossë on his previous journey.[1]”

“But he did Sail, after all,” said Celebrían. “I met him upon my arrival.”

Aranwë shrugged. “Yea; Lady Uinen set him straight. She is very good at dealing with recalcitrant ellyn.”

Elulindo, who ought to know it best, nodded with great emphasis.

“That she is. Now, are we getting anything to eat today? I was out on the Sea all day and am starving.”

“You are always starving; and when are you not out on the Sea all day… or all night, for that matter?” returned Aranwë good-naturedly; the two of them clearly had known each other for a long time. Then the former smith of Gondolin turned to Arafinwë and Eärwen. “Midday meal is being served within a small hour, your Majesties. I shall leave you in the most capable hands of Lindefal here, so that you can get settled and refreshed first. We will meet in the Council Hall again in a day or two.”

“Does it mean that you are a member of the Town Council as well?” asked Aracáno, speaking for the first time since they had entered the inn.

“Why, certainly,” replied Aranwë with a brilliant smile. “Most of us, survivors of Gondolin, are. ‘Tis our hope that once our King is returned to us, he will find this place worthy to become his dwelling.”

With that, he bowed to the Noldóran respectfully and left. Aracáno stared at his retreating back with his mouth hanging open.

“Turucáno?” he said, when he finally regained the ability to speak. “They want Turucáno to take over leadership here?”

“Nay, they do not,” replied Lindefal quietly. “They are quite capable of governing our town together. But they would welcome Turgon, once the King of Gondolin, to dwell among them. I know I would.”

“You?” asked Celebrían in mild surprise.

Lindefal shrugged. “I have served his House all my life; for is my Lord Elrond not his only descendant who still dwells in Arda? Extending my loyalties would make no difference to me.”

“I wonder how they will react when they learn about Elenwë’s return,” muttered Aracáno. “It will mean a great deal to them, I assume.”

“What makes you think they do not know about it already?” Lindefal answered with a question of his own. “Or about your own return, for that matter?”

“But-but no-one recognized me!” exclaimed Aracáno.

Lindefal grinned from ear to ear.

“Not many can still remember you, my Prince, ‘tis true. But some of the older ones do. They just did not want to overwhelm you. We are used to deal with Reborn here on Tol Eressëa; we know how to tread carefully around them,” he clapped his hands, suddenly all business. “Well enough of this or you shall come late to noon meal, and that would make Master Halmir very unhappy. He does not take it kindly when his meticulously prepared dishes grow cold. Come with me, I shall show you your rooms.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

He led them to the west wing of the inn that seemed even more opulent than the entranceway, with walls painted oyster-shell white. Forest-green carpets, thick enough to sleep on, covered the main floors and hallways, climbing up the staircase that led to the rooms prepared for the noblest visitors. Murals in muted colours adorned the walls, depicting ancient battles, breath-taking seascapes and tranquil landscapes, and water lilies, fragile like spun glass, had been chosen for simple yet exquisite alabaster vases.

Their rooms were of the same rich yet tasteful décor: airy chambers, their walls panelled with polished wood and their floors paved with small, flat stones in colourful patterns. The beds were wide and comfortable, canopied and curtained with heavy brocade. Chests and clothespresses stood ready for their belongings, and a small side door led from each room to a long, narrow bathing room with several wooden tubs.

Lindefal waited in the hallway ‘til they refreshed themselves, and then he led them back down the central stairway and to the dining hall that they had glimpsed earlier. The room was filling with guests already, and was probably the most impressive place in the entire inn: at hundred feet in length, forty feet in width and sixty feet high, it occupied most of the ground floor in the central building, and it could have been the great hall of a royal castle.

Its hammer-beam roof was clearly designed by a master carpenter of extraordinary skill, and its side windows were of stained glass in a geometric pattern. The high table, meant for the most important visitors, stood on the left side of the entrance, on a slightly raised dais. This was the narrow side on the room, and the guests sat with their backs to the wall, under a beautifully carved wooden canopy, on high-backed chairs.

The long tables for guests of lower ranks run in two parallel rows along the longer walls, with people sitting on benches on both sides. A small, open fireplace – basically just an open cage of wrought iron – was in the middle of the hall; the smoke of the fragrant wood burning in it went straight up to the ceiling and left through a cleverly hidden shaft there.

The most remarkable feature of the dining hall was, however, a large mural that dominated the back wall, opposite the high table. At first Celebrían thought it to be another window, one opened to an actual glen behind the building, because of the intricately inlaid frame of silver and dark wood. At second sight, however, she realized that it was an actual mural, depicting a quiet forest scene on a starlit night. By some magic, however, it seemed alive. Every time she looked at it, there would be subtle changes: branches would lift, stars would appear or disappear, and a flock of night birds would show up among the branches.

For a moment, even a dancing maiden could be seen on the glade, but when Celebrían looked again, the maiden was gone. This was definitely not an ordinary mural.

“Nay,” said Lindefal, smiling, and Celebrían realized that she had spoken out her observations loud. “This is the work of one of the greatest Vanyarin artists from Aman; one who was taught by the Valar themselves. Come with me; I shall introduce you to her.”

He ushered them to the high table, where the places of honour had been reserved for the Noldóran and his Queen. Celebrían got to sit on Eärwen’s side, with Aracáno on her left; for on Arafinwë’s right the two other most honoured guests had been seated. They were both Vanyar, and in one of them Celebrían recognized Ivárë, the ancient minstrel whom she had already met at the Feast of Double Mirth.

Well, if had listened to him in open-mouthed awe while he was singing the most sacred song ever written among Elves could mean the same thing as had met, that is. She could barely take her eyes off him. Even after all the living legends that she had met in Elvenhome so far, sitting at the same table as Ivárë was something of a shock. And so was, frankly, his appearance.

By Vanyarin measures, the ancient minstrel’s clothing was fairly subdued. He wore an ankle-length, azure blue undertunic of fine linen, the cuffs and neck of which were embroidered in silver thread and pearls. Over this was a cream-coloured velvet tunic that came to just below his knees and was adorned with very thin embroidery in blues and greens on the hem and the wide, trailing sleeves.

The neck of the tunic was round, and on the front of it was emblazoned the device of the Minstrels’ Guild: a diamond-shaped panel in dark blue, with a silver harp in the middle of it. The tunic was girdled by an intricately woven leather belt, the clasp of which was in the shape of two silver leaves linked together. The minstrel’s hair was braided in a complicated fishbone pattern, but he wore no jewellery at all.

If possible, the Vanyarin lady on his side – clearly his bondmate, and that doubtlessly for a very long time, even as Elves counted the years – was clothed even more modestly… for a Vanya anyway. She wore a simple, sleeveless overgown of heavy silk, dyed the same creamy colour as Ivárë’s tunic. It was split in the front, right below her breasts – where it was also belted with a chain of interlinked golden leaves – so that the undertunic of deep rose silk showed through. The blousoned sleeves of said undertunic were embroidered with gold thread and small topazes on the broad cuffs and the high collar.

The bodice of the overgown was emblazoned with the emblem of the Poet’s Guild: a golden quill in a teal blue roundel. Her golden hair was bound in a glittering net of pearls and sapphires. Her eyes, deep and dark blue like a mountain lake, reflected the remembered light of the Two Trees. Her skin, like that of her bondmate’s, had the barely visible golden hue of all Vanyar.

She was seated directly on Arafinwë’s right, with Ivárë on her other side, and next to Ivárë sat Elulindo, now wearing a formal robe of white brocade, shot with silver and richly sewn with white pearls. He was the one to handle the introductions, dismissing Lindefal with an imperious gesture.

“Your Majesties,” he said to Arafinwë and Eärwen formally, “allow me to introduce to you Master Ivárë, head of the Minstrel’s Guild and an old friend of my father’s. And with him is his lovely wife, Mistress Elemmírë, who leads the Poet’s Guild In Vanyamar and dwells in Lord Manwë’s house on Taniquetil – unless she chooses to honour us with a visit. She is also the artist who crafted that extraordinary mural we are facing.”

The King and Queen of the Noldor already knew the Vanyarin celebrities, of course; the introduction was mostly made for Celebrían and Aracáno’s sake. Aracáno, who had been very young at the time of the Darkening indeed and thus did not truly remember them, nodded in polite disinterest, but Celebrían had to consciously remind herself to close her mouth.

“Elemmírë?” she repeated in absolute awe. “The Star-Jewel, who wrote the Lament for the Two Trees?”

The famous author of the Aldundénië turned to her in pleasant surprise.

“You heard of me?” she asked. “I did not know that my work was known in the Outer Lands as well.”

Celebrían smiled. If she only knew…

“There may be a few reclusive Wood-Elves who refuse to even speak Sindarin and thus know very little beyond their forests, but save for them, every Elf in Middle-earth learns your poems in childhood,” she replied. “In the Hall of Fire, in Imladris, they are recited or sung in original, but the Sindarin translations, too, have been made with much respect and love.”

“Have they now?” Elemmírë switched to Sindarin, which she spoke surprisingly well, though with a definite accent. “I would like to hear how my poems sound in the Grey Tongue; the subtle shifts of meaning must be intriguing,” she turned to her bondmate. “Do you believe that the Sages in the Tower may have a written translation? Then one of the local minstrels could perform it. I would not dare to do so myself; my Sindarin is passable at best.”

Ivárë shrugged. “I am fairly certain that they have. Pengolodh is nothing if not thorough,” he glanced at Celebrían and Aracáno. “Perhaps the young ones would be interested in a visit to the Tower, while their Majesties are battling the Town Council about trade contracts and the likes.”

Everyone laughed at that, and after some discussion Celebrían agreed to go with the two Vanyar to the Tower of Tavrobel on the next day, while Aracáno opted to accompany his uncle and aunt in the Council Hall. With that decided, the topic of future plans was set aside, and the noon meal was also ready to be served.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Given what she had seen of the Rowan Tree Inn so far, Celebrían expected the meal to be worthy a King’s table – and she was not disappointed.

It started with blankmanger, or white food, as it was called in Middle-earth: a traditional white pottage of cooked and ground capon, rice and almond milk, seasoned with honey and fried and slivered almonds. It was served with small bowls of gode broth, thickened with various sorts of cooked and ground meats, livers, bread crumbs and eggs, and seasoned with pepper, cloves, ginger and saffron. A selection of barley and wheat breads and light ale completed the first course.

The second course began with meat pie, flavoured with dried fruits, salt, ginger, pepper and honey, followed by chickens with marrow bones on toast.  After that came a stuffed goose, with vegetables cooked in butter and closed with wine.

By the third course, Celebrían felt as stuffed as the poor goose had been. Fortunately, this course only consisted of leaf-thin wafers, baked apples and pears seasoned with cinnamon, fresh grapes and walnuts, and for the ones with an iron stomach, gingerbread, cut in small triangles. Honeyed wine and small, fried cakes rounded up the opulent menu that would have been enough to feed half a Dúnadan village in Eriador.

“I only hope this is not how we are always expected to dine,” Celebrían murmured to Lindefal, who was overseeing the serving of the meal and just stepped to her to refill her cup. “I would die from overfeeding in the first month.”

Lindefal laughed. “Oh, no, most of us just eat as we did back in Middle-earth. But it does not happen every day that we would host a King and his Queen in the Rowan Tree Inn. In fact, as far as I can remember, this is about the fourth time that your grandsire would stay under our roof.”

“That is a relief,” Celebrían tasted her wine and was glad that it proved not too sweet. “You still know what I prefer, I see.”

“Why of course,” exclaimed Lindefal, not quite affronted, but it was a close thing. “I was Elrond’s wine steward for more than an Age, after all!”

“Wine steward… and so much more,” said Celebrían fondly. “You have been gone for yéni, but he still misses you.”

“And I miss him; and Erestor, and Glorfindel, and Lindir, the twins and Lady Arwen, and everyone else in Imladris,” Lindefal smiled wistfully.

“Why did you Sail, then?” asked Celebrían carefully, afraid to tear open old wounds. “You never suffered from the Sea-longing, did you?”

Lindefal shook his head. “Nay, I did not. But Galenbrethil would not remain in Middle-earth after Findalor was slain, and as she had no kin in the West, I could not let her Sail alone. She has always been like a sister to me; I could not abandon her when she needed me most.”

“You are a good friend,” said Celebrían softly.

Lindefal shrugged. “I am trying; and besides, I had no kin left in Middle-earth, no family aside from Elrond and you – I could afford to leave.”

Celebrían gave her an inquiring look. “Did you ever regret your decision?”

“No,” answered Lindefal. “Admittedly, I do feel homesick from time to time, but who does not? But life on Tol Eressëa is good, and now that we have Findalor back again, ‘tis almost like old times. Moreso with you having come.”

“I did not truly have a choice,” Celebrían sighed.

Lindefal gave her a sympathetic smile. “Which one of us ever truly does? Now, I must see after my duties. But we shall talk later in length, I promise.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

With that, he returned to the kitchens to see if everything had run its due course, while the servants began to clean the tables. The guests relocated to the inner courtyard of the inn, where low, semi-circular benches stood around the fountain. There Elulindo and Ivárë – who, it turned out, had been old friends, very old friends indeed, since the Great Journey – relived memories older than the Sun and the Moon, to every ellon’s great entertainment, while the ladies were listening to Elemmírë, who told them about her life in Lord Manwë’s house.

It seemed that she would spend most of her time on Taniquetil – the Elder King was generally fond of poetry and liked hers in particular – and only came to Tol Eressëa for short visits.

“Ivárë and I have been together through all Ages of Arda, and we expect to stay together under the End itself,” she explained simply. “Times apart no longer truly bother us.”

Celebrían silently wondered if she would ever feel that. Or, in fact, if she truly wanted to get used to being separated from Elrond and her children.

She suspected that the answer would be a sound no.

~TBC~