Creation Song of Ilúvatar

A/N: Unfortunately my updates have been severely restricted by work. I have been out in “the field” as of late, trying to get as much research done here in the Southwest before I head to back to the headaches of graduate school. I hope to start posting with less delay come late September. Thank you all for keeping up with this story! I have not lost interest in it and hate that I have to wait so long to update. Fortunately I have chapters 25 and 26 completed (I know and not 23 and 24- my mind works in weird ways), and so once there I should post frequently!

Chapter 22: Legolas Strongbow

Elladan and Elrohir were secreted away behind a large beech, having a quiet but intense conversation.

“Did Adar mention to you that we were supposed to have sent notice to him of our whereabouts?” Elladan nervously prodded his equally nervous twin.

“No, he did not mention anything. We have conducted ourselves as we always have. Something is amiss.” Elrohir’s eyes grew wide with apprehension, “Do you think something may be wrong with Adar?”

Elladan paused to consider Elrohir’s question, “I too considered this, but we would have *known* if something was wrong with Adar. We always have, and he likewise. Although Glorfindel is right, things of late have been weighing more heavily on him. Maybe the Shadow bid him to have false tidings of us. But this still does not explain him sending Glorfindel for us. Never has this happened.”

Elrohir grunted disapprovingly, “Right you are. Glorfindel made me feel as if I were a mere child, without any wits about me. Whatever is wrong, I do not appreciate this for I still maintain we have done nothing wrong.”

“Well only mocking Glorfindel in that little tribute of yours and Legolas.”

Elrohir cringed slightly, “Let us go speak with him and make sure we clear the air from all the confusion that is muddling it.”

The twins broke from their huddle and returned to the feast that had picked up again. Glorfindel was seated next to Thranduil, and the two imposing Elves seemed to be lost in conversation.

But before the two could make their way to Glorfindel, Lotórie ran up to them, distress clear in her voice, “Elladan, Elrohir, you must come quickly!”

The two, clearly concerned with whatever Lotórie needed, momentarily gave up their path towards Glorfindel, paying their full attention to the elfling.

“Please come quickly. You must help me,” Lotórie implored.

“What is wrong.” Elrohir asked, his hand cupping Lotórie’s chin in a comforting manner.

“My cat ran into the woods where the spiders will surely eat her! Please you must help me find her,” Lotórie sobbed, tears welling up in her eyes.

Elladan asked, “Which way did your feline companion run, little one?”

“That way,” Lotórie cried, beginning to move in the direction of the path she pointed out.

“Let us be off then,” Elrohir announced. And so the twins ran after Lotórie who took them into the woods in search of her cat who had lost its way and was heading perilously towards the vicious bite of Mirkwood’s spiders.

Unbeknownst to the twins, there were no spiders in the vicinity which Lotórie headed. In fact there was no cat, no feline companion needing of rescue. All this distraction was a part of a plan, a plan that had Istawen waiting in the woods to announce that the cat had been found and returned safely just moments before the twins’ arrival. And that she, Lotórie’s mother was grateful that Elladan and Elrohir had volunteered their famous abilities in the search for her daughter’s friend. Oddly enough, the twins did not pause to recall that there were no cat tracks upon the path Lotórie led them on, that there were only the slight imprints of an Elf’s light feet, and clearly those of a female, that the tracks of the supposed returner of said cat were no where to be found, and rather incredulously the twins did not think twice of the fact that no one had crossed them on their path towards the cat, returning with Lotórie’s cat in arms. No, the twins did not stop to consider these facts. If they had they might have begun to become suspicious, but this night was proving to be more out of the ordinary than usual.

***

Rainiel, wanting to take advantage of her brother’s precarious and embarrassing positioning decided her plan needed further guidance, “Adar, do you not think it would be most fitting if Legolas was the one to tell the tale of Glorfindel to our guest?”

Thranduil chuckled, “Why yes it would be. It seems Legolas remembers his lessons well. Legolas! Put your learned knowledge to some use, and enlighten our dear guest with the tale of Glorfindel of the House of the Golden Flower.”

Legolas groaned, this was not his favorite way to spend a night of feasting, but he knew if he crossed his father, the repercussions would extend beyond a night of feasting. “Very well Adar,” Legolas finally answered, his tone weary and most unenthused.

And so Legolas began telling Lenmana the tale of Glorfindel, of his bravery in the fifth battle, where Fingon fell and Glorfindel fought bravely to defend and preserve the line of kings…

***

Thranduil cleared his throat, and soon enough all around him had quieted to listen to their king. With a slight smile, Thranduil announced, “We have been gifted with the presence of many unexpected guests this evening and of one has just agreed to sing us a song!”

The feasting Elves gathered murmured appreciatively as none other than Glorfindel was preparing to gift them with a song, no doubt a glorious tale from his long history.

Glorfindel cleared his throat and the Elves fell silent, in anticipation of the Elf lord’s song. And so began the song of Glorfindel, but to the surprise of all, this song contained no tales of his doing. Rather, Glorfindel sang a tribute to Mirkwood’s likewise golden-haired prince, but at first none could have foretold that his moving rendition would turn into a bawdy song worthy of mortal mouths that frequent taverns of ill repute.

Long ago, of lands in slumber, in Menegroth and Doriath’s wake

Roamed an Elf whose skill was none surpassed in all of Beleriand

Beleg Strongbow some recall, said to be friend of the truest make

Marchwarden of such fairland, always held his heart n’ hand.

Cúthalion, the Strongbow, died by his own sword, Túrin’s fate.

And the grief of the mortal sword bearer was forever sealed

So ended Beleg’s life, master of woodcraft like none of late

Remembrances of friendships past laying silent in northern field.

Yet there are some who claim Strongbow’s glories

And I sing this little melody to render clear

Such tall tales and half-hearted stories

Are spun from youthful folly- much too little fear.

Loyalties lay unrewarded upon lips too shrewd

With fair kisses merited by treacherous tales

Such actions begging to be exposed as lewd

By their own account- such delightful males!

And so young Princes who dwell in woodland realms

When much wine warms, should check tongue in cheek

For fair faces may be wrongly hailed to head up helms

Where only the brave may walk and not the meek!

So ends this song from he who is no liar

Be quick young Prince and head to shower

For in your sleep of babes, an accident did transpire

Courtesy of one Golden Flower.

As the song ended, one loud voice was heard laughing decidedly amidst the silent giggles.

Glorfindel bowed deeply to his greatest admirer, “My most humble appreciation, King Thranduil. I am pleased that my simple tune has so delighted you as I only hoped it would.”

“Glorfindel, your tongue is as colorful as your deeds,” Thranduil bellowed, and with the King’s hearty approval, the entirety of feasting elves gifted the pleased Glorfindel with applause and uproarious laughter.

***

Elladan and Elrohir returned to the feasting area after their foiled attempt to return Lotórie’s cat to her. To their delight they managed to hear the final versus in Glorfindel’s ode to Legolas, but their mirth was contained by the fact they had yet to speak with the ancient lord about their father’s concerns.

Elladan whispered to Elrohir, “Do you think Glorfindel might have a song or two for us in his vast repertoire?”

Elrohir snorted, “I would most certainly say he does, and they are probably more scathing in nature and colorful in tongue!”

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A/N: The tale of Beleg Strongbow can be found in The Silmarillion, particularly in chapter 21, “Of Túrin Turambar.” My hats off to all who write prose and poetry as I can so obviously not. I tried my best and came up with the simple prose that Glorfindel so wonderfully sang. He is a most gracious Elf as I know something of his own rendering would be much more refined, poetic and probably nastier!

Thank you reviewers, you ROCK!

Hanya the Bloody Angel: Rolling on the ground with Elladan in delight? Hmm sounds fun to me! I haven’t seen Blackhawk Down yet- yes I know I am missing out on MR. Bloom!

I Get Stalked by Snowmen: I certainly hope this chapter remains interesting, these elves certainly make it interesting for me!

daw the minstrel: *Glorfindel bows deeply, impish grin on his face* I think he knows all too well that he really is the Mighty one, but he is a little testy on the Balrog Boy name, he’s muttering something about how he’ll show you he’s no boy! ;-)

Mellon1: Yes the boys get caught and I do not think they realize the extent of how deep they are caught!

Coriandra: The elves do indeed enjoy themselves, a little too much if you ask me, but then they do have *all* the time in the world! Glorfindel does not take lightly to young elflings playing around. As for Lenmana I think he will see her more through his intellect as opposed to his younger and lustier counterparts.

Nilmandra: Glorfindel does know how to make an entrance doesn’t he? He asked that he be portrayed no other way, er actually he demanded it, but then again you probably know best with a certain Glorfindel lurking or rather strutting around in your home! ;-)