" `Quickly and with accuracy, he put an arrow into his target and drew another from his quiver. The Grey Archer caught sight of his quarry and let go his hold upon the string of his bow.' " Elladan flipped to the next page quickly, then peeked out from where he hid with Elrohir, making sure no one had come in to the bedroom he shared with his brother. Elrohir prodded him impatiently at the pause.

"If you're not going to do it, I'll read!" hissed Elrohir, pulling the folded parchment closer. " `Between the trees, the Grey Archer spotted his prey once again, and yet, it failed to cease it's movement. His interest captured, the Grey Archer shimmied down the tree to get a better look at his would-be kill. Knives now replaced bow, and the Grey Archer crept through the underbrush, hoping to close in without the rogue warg noticing him.' "

The twins stared at the pictures that accompanied the text, each in their own ornate frame, showing the Grey Archer's decent from the trees. The candle was beginning to dim – they had been beneath the bed reading for the better part of an hour, but only as they had decided to read the previous Grey Archer booklet before delving into the newest one that they had found tucked under the pillow of Elladan's bed.

"Let me again," insisted Elladan as the page was turned. "Oh, it's HIM. You read for HIM, I want to do the part of the Grey Archer!"

"You've been the Grey Archer all night, Elladan, allow me a chance!" pouted Elrohir. Elladan conceded, sliding the pages closer to Elrohir. "Before the blades of the Grey Archer could be put to use, he was disarmed by a cloaked elf. Upon the ground the dead warg twitched and groaned as death took it." Elrohir swallowed, then in his boldest voice, continued. " `So, I see you have come to make the kill.' "

" `I have come to keep you from being killed, young one. You should know not to wander into the forest thus. The Lord must be alerted to your disobedience.' "

" `I have sworn myself to protect my Lord. Is it disobedient, then, to hunt down such creatures as would threaten my Lord?' " Elrohir continued, in a much subdued voice, "The Cloaked Stranger came closer to the Grey Archer, sheathing his knives as he lifted his hands to his hood."

Quickly, two pairs of hands anxiously tore at the next page, whisking it out of the way in great excitement. " `If you truly wish to protect your Lord, perhaps then the time has come for you to join me upon that endeavor…' " Again, they scrambled to turn the page, and both gasped.

" `…my brother.' !" read Elladan, eyes and mouth wide open.

"I never saw that coming!" Elrohir exclaimed.

"Neither did I. I did not realize…I thought the Cloaked Stranger was a villain…"

"He is a villain!" Elrohir reminded his brother. "Remember in the pages from two years ago, remember when-" Elrohir stopped, hearing steps coming from the hall. "Erestor! He heard us! Quick, hide! Hide the book!"

Elladan blew out the candle, fanning the wisp of smoke that rose from it while Elrohir scurried to a large deerskin upon the floor, sliding the parchment beneath it, and leaping into bed before the door opened.

- - -

Outside, under the window on a little used ledge, Rumil sighed as he heard the door creak open. He had hoped to hear the entirety of the past week's labors. With little less than a month before his eminent departure back to the Golden Wood, he would no longer have the opportunity to sketch the adventures of the Grey Archer between lessons here in Rivendell with Master Erestor and Lord Glorfindel.

Perhaps he could still find time, he thought, as he slipped down the side of the Last Homely House to his own room below. During lulls in border patrol, on days when he was stationed in the city, he could sketch panels here and there. But none would read the tales with such passion, or such enjoyment, as the twins. Rumil would still be able to slip the stories in with packages to Rivendell for them to read – but no. Master Erestor had made it perfectly clear to one night at dinner that such use of parchment was wasteful. Besides, part of the fun had been the mystery – neither elfling had any idea who was writing and drawing the adventures, or who the Grey Archer and Cloaked Stranger really were.

"Such a pity it has to end." Rumil slumped into a chair once back in his room. There had to be some way to keep the adventure going.

Elrond peered over the shoulder of his pupil, nodding as he watched Rumil carefully finish the final sentence he had copied. "You strive for perfection in your writing."

"Nay, it is not writing, my Lord, it is art. Each word, each character, each stroke is not merely a copy of the original. It is an interpretation of the former. One can greatly affect the mood of the reader by the style chosen." Rumil placed the quill carefully back into the ink jar to rest. "I only hope the readers do not absorb my mood whence they read it." Testing the ink to see that it had dried, he carefully stacked the pages he had been working on.

Elrond frowned slightly. "You are troubled. Are you not looking forward to seeing your brothers once again, after so long a time here?"

"On the contrary, I am very much aching to see them both once more. Rather, I regret my imminent departure from your realm. Though born of Lothlorien, I think my heart shall belong always here in Imladris," admitted Rumil quietly.

Elrond nodded once again. "Your sister is much of that opinion as well. Though she frequents the Golden Woods to walk among the mellyrn and see her family, it is here where my Lady Wife always returns. Though, not only for my sake," chuckled Elrond in one of his rare bouts of laughter. Indeed, they had once been rarer still, but young Rumil usually seemed to lighten the hearts of those in Rivendell. When Rumil responded with a sigh, Elrond's frown deepened more than its former state, and his brow furrowed considerably. "If you might have been any other from `Lorien, I would gladly extend an eternal invitation for you to live here. I regret to say the most I may do for you is extend invitation whenever you might be given leave by your Lord and Lady to visit."

Elrond placed a hand gently upon the young elf's shoulder. "Consider the Last Homely House your home away from home."

Rumil smiled ruefully. "That I shall, my Lord. I thank you for your kindness as always. I must now take my leave, or else be late for my lessons with Master Erestor."

"Let me not keep you from your learning, then." Elrond stepped back so that Rumil could stand and gather the items from the desk. "What histories will my advisor be telling you of this day?"

"Master Erestor has promised a lecture on Beleg and Turin, with an emphasis of knowing your friends and knowing your enemies," answered Rumil.

"Ah, yes. Be sure he tells you about Anglachel, but then, I am sure he will not leave a single detail from his lesson." As an afterthought, Elrond added, "And be sure he does not catch you drawing in class. I see nothing wrong with it, as long as you can recall your lessons, but Erestor tends to think it a nuisance."

Rumil swallowed audibly, unsure of whether he should prepare an apology, but Elrond looked up, smiled, and said, "He has made more than one complaint regarding it to me, but I do not think you endanger the parchment supply, as has been suggested. I only wish I might see some of your drawings before you leave for Lothlorien. If they are at all like your penmanship, they are sure to be masterpieces."

Rumil cringed, and turned sheepishly to face Elrond. "You may agree with Master Erestor if you were to see any of them." Hesitantly, Rumil slid a page from his stack and held it out to Elrond.

The Lord of Imladris took the sheet with great curiosity. "Rumil, these are superbly done. And an ingenious idea, a story told with words and pictures upon the same page. So these are the famous Grey Archer and Cloaked Stranger...I have heard Elrohir and Elladan tell tales of them, but ne'er did I imagine them thus."

"An uncanny resemblance to two you know?"

"Yes...I would have called them otherwise." Elrond handed the sheet back. "Do you have many more of these?"

"Nay, though I have drawn thousands of pages since I came to stay here," admitted the young elf.

"Do not tell me Erestor has taken them from you."

"Nay again. Your sons keep them in their care, safely tucked under bed and behind door." Rumil could not believe he was revealing all to Lord Elrond, but instead of ceasing, he continued to explain when he began, how he stole away the parchment needed, right down to the ritualistic hiding of the pages in the twins' room. Elrond, for his part, was entirely focused upon Rumil's tale.

"So you see," the Lorien elf finished, "when I leave, they will know I have been the mysterious storyteller, as they won't receive any more of the story. They so enjoy the story, and I too, in writing it."

"If you keep writing the story, and send it here with the messenger, perhaps someone here might find the time to get the pages to the twins," suggested Elrond.

Rumil stepped closer to the elf lord. "I would need parchment, as well. That which is from Lothlorien is a different color. They would notice the change."

"When you leave Rivendell, take what you can carry with you easily, and I shall have more sent to you as needed," promised Elrond.

Rumil beamed with excitement. "You do not know how grateful I am for this, Lord Elrond. Is there anything I may do for you in return?"

Elrond smiled as he shook his head. "The years you have spent here and the time and effort you have put into your studies are adequate to grant this request. I wish only that you would have taken to Westron as your eldest brother had."

"Truly, it is a shame that Orophin and I do not share the proficiency Haldir has with languages," Rumil agreed.

"Westron is not for everyone," Elrond said simply. "Although, Elladan and Elrohir speak it as well as they do our native tongue. Soon they will be instructed in other subjects as well. I hope they will have as much talent and respect as my last pupil has had." Elrond placed a hand upon Rumil's shoulder and smiled warmly.

An idea came to the younger elf. "How long before you intend to teach them formally?"

"Not for another twenty, perhaps thirty years, at the least."

"I could write you into the story," mused Rumil. "Make you a great keeper of knowledge, from whom the Grey Archer and the Cloaked Stranger would learn much...though, he isn't really a cloaked stranger now..."

"From what I remember, neither the `Grey Archer', nor the `Cloaked Stranger' were greatly fond of me," Elrond reminded him.

"You can be the mysterious character – most good stories have one of those in them – and your sons will absolutely admire your character. When you are ready to begin instruction, I can reveal the character in the story – and they will be completely in awe, they will be the two most astute pupils you have ever taught!" Rumil continued to plot in his mind, but remained silent to let Elrond think about his plan.

The Lord of Imladris sat down upon a seat near the windows, contemplating what Rumil was scheming. A bold knock upon the door shook him from reverie.

"It is Erestor, I am late for my lesson!" Rumil headed to the door, but instead, found Celebrian standing on the other side with an assortment of scrolls and packages.

"I would like to think I'm prettier than Erestor, and quieter by far." She crossed the room to hand her husband the deliveries. "There is a note from father in amongst the correspondence. He planned to send Haldir and Orophin earlier than anticipated. We should expect them in a few days, not a month."

Rumil's expression became gloomier at these words, but he tried not to show it best he could. Celebrian kissed Elrond gently upon the forehead before turning back around to leave. "Rumil," she added, just before shutting the door, "I passed by the offices of the council members just moments ago. One of them was cursing like a mad orc, though I can't imagine which it might have been."

"I must take my leave, my Lord, Master Erestor is likely furious, and I have kept him waiting long." Rumil was about to follow after Celebrian, but Elrond stopped him.

"I have skimmed the message from Lord Celeborn, and it seems your brothers bring with them some horses taken in an attack against Lorien that are not needed in the golden woods. I will need to make sure preparations are made for their stay, as well as for the feast for their arrival. I will need you to see that there is ample feed for the horses they bring, as well as room in the stables and staff for grooming and feeding them." Elrond handed the letter to Rumil to read, adding, "You will have to tell Erestor his lesson is cancelled for the day, but be sure to take the parchment you need before you forget. The next few days will be busy ones, as I am expecting other visitors as well, and I will have to count on you to keep your brothers and their party occupied during their stay here."

"Of course, my Lord." Rumil finished the letter quickly, then darted out of the room to Erestor's office.

- - -

The sun was slowly rising in the sky as the Grey Archer and the Cloaked Stranger headed south, stopping only briefly to allow the horses time to graze and rest.

"I don't see why I had to come with you to Rivendell," Orophin said, capping the wineskins he had refilled in the nearby stream. "It is a silly place."

Haldir raised a brow at him, awaiting further explanation. When none was given, the issue was pressed. "And what, pray tell, makes Rivendell a silly place in my brother's eyes?"

"It is a silly place where they speak a silly tongue and hold silly meetings. And they all live in one big house instead of a tree. I should think one would hold personal privacy in enough regard to wish to live upon their own flet." Orophin tossed one of the wineskins to Haldir, and fastened the other to his horse. "And they don't have lembas."

"Silly indeed. Do you know how often Rivendell has been attacked compared to Lothlorien? The elves there are not scattered as they are in the woods, it is easier to protect one homely house than it is a thousand telain. The bricks of the House of Elrond do not burn as easily as do the trees of our homes. My own privacy has been many times compromised in a tree with no door and no walls, and not only by kin, but by snow and rain as well. Speaking Westron allows them to converse with men, dwarves, and halflings alike." Haldir paused to catch his breath, and added, "They don't have mallyrn, so they can not make lembas."

"If they imported the mallorn nuts they could," Orophin countered. "Clebri knows exactly how to make lembas. We wouldn't have to bring our own when we visited, then."

"And would Westron-speaking house-dwelling meeting-holding elves in Imladris eating lembas make it less of a silly place?" Haldir asked as he mounted his steed.

Orophin frowned. "That it would not. It would still be a silly place."

"Exactly," Haldir agreed.

Orophin, not quite sure how the discussion had ended so abruptly, edged his own horse to the stream to drink. "And how long until we reach the silly city?"

"Two days. More if you continue to shout and cause orcs to hear us. More still if they also find us and bother us and cause me to toss you into the stream," answered Haldir, rounding the rest of the horses up.

"Hold it, now. Why would I be tossed into a stream if the orcs find us?" demanded Orophin.

Haldir shrugged. "I'm just warning you of the consequences ahead of time."

Orophin shook his head. "It's a damned good thing we're getting Rumil back so that I have someone sane to talk to for a change."

Haldir smirked, and turned his head to look at Orophin. "You can always talk to Ada and Nana if my conversations do not please you."

"As I was saying, it's a damned good thing we're getting Rumil back," repeated Orophin as they continued their journey.

“You’re late,” remarked Erestor, not bothering to look up from behind his book as Rumil entered the room.

“Yes. That I am,” smirked the blonde elf, striding up to the front of the office where shelves held books, both bound and not, as well as stacks of parchment, boxes of quills, and jars of various colors of ink. “And I’m leaving to help Elrond with a task. And I’m taking this.” Rumil grabbed a large stack of the parchment from off the shelf.

Erestor blinked at Rumil in surprise. “With that much parchment, why not take a few feathers as well? And by all means, you may run out of ink in an attempt to fill each of those pages.” Erestor retrieved these things from their places, settling them upon the stack of parchment in Rumil’s arms. “Perhaps some different hues as well... I always thought your picture book would have done nicely to have blue skies and green fields.” These were added to Rumil’s supplies, as well as yellow, red, and brown. “Would you like a box for all of that?”

“I... well, no, I...” stammered Rumil.

“Good. Because I haven’t got one.” Erestor sat back down behind his desk, lifting his book back up to eyelevel.

“Thank you, Master Erestor,” said Rumil meekly, but he received no reply as he exited the room.

“Do not worry yourself on his behalf,” Glorfindel suggested. Rumil turned to find the golden-haired elven lord standing down the hall not far away.

“Did you hear all of that, Lord Glorfindel?” asked Rumil, readjusting his load.

Glorfindel made his way over, under one arm a small worn bark case. “Centuries of keeping office next to his, I never miss an outburst.” Glorfindel held out the case to Rumil, adding, “I don’t have a box either, but perhaps this might do.”

“Thank you, Lord Glorfindel.” Rumil stooped down to set the paper upon the floor, causing the rest of the items to slide off into a pile. Rumil righted the jars, placing them in the bottom of the case, and found there were spaces specifically for holding such items, as well as the quills and paper. “I will return it to you as soon as I reach Lothlorien.”

Glorfindel waved away this thought. “I have more than enough clutter for one lifetime, and an overabundance for two. Keep it, Rumil, it will serve you better than it would me.”

Rumil clutched the case tightly in one hand while nodding his thanks. “Word has come that my brothers will arrive sooner than expected. I will likely leave within a week.”

“Tis a shame. Imladris will miss your wonderfully drawn stories. Though, now with the Cloaked Stranger revealed, I do not know your future plans.”

Rumil stood staring at the elf lord, stunned upon hearing the words. “You know of the Cloaked Stranger? Of my stories?”

“Aye, and half of Imladris, I think. Erestor finds them now and again the twins’ room, and they are read late at night when the eldest of us are awake in the Hall of Fire in need of a new tale,” Glorfindel told him.

“Master Erestor doesn’t destroy them?” Rumil was still shocked by this revelation.

“Nay, he has oft mentioned that the drawings could use some color.”

Rumil closed his eyes, hearing Erestor’s words once again. “Blue skies and green fields – I should have caught that. But Lord Elrond-“

“Doesn’t really know about them, he’s too busy with things.” Glorfindel patted Rumil on the shoulder. “But, then, I suppose the reason you’ve boldly pillaged the parchment supply is because you have told him and he approves.”

Rumil nodded, his ears burning red. “I am needed by Lord Elrond now.”

Glorfindel smiled with a nod. “Off you go then. And do keep me informed upon the progress of your story.”

“That I will, Lord Glorfindel,” promised Rumil.

- - -

The Cloaked Stranger settled himself upon the ground, staring at first into the fire, then into the eyes of the Grey Archer. Together, the travelers readied their meal, keeping careful watch on the surrounding areas. It was not long before the meal became tedious, causing one of them to break into song.


“ ‘I once met a fair young maiden
While in the town of Bree
I asked her at once to stop waitin’
And climb up upon my knee



Later that evening I bid her
Come to my home in the tree
It wasn’t until much later
I found out that she was a he



That very next morning I woke up--’ ”



“Dear Varda, brother, I wish you would learn the language before you decided to sing with it!” Haldir slammed his tin cup onto the grass, splashing water over the rim. “Where did you learn such a tune?”

“It’s a catchy one, isn’t it?” Orophin refilled his bowl with a broth they had made and broke some lembas into it. “Can’t quite recall, but I think it might have been Gildor. He and Glorfindel both taught me so many songs. It’s the only thing I can seem to pick up in Westron.”

“How fortunate. We send you to Imladris for the better part of a decade, and all you bring back is a wealth of knowledge in courting elf maidens and a handful of lewd drinking songs.” Haldir poked at the fire with a stick before adding it to the burning wood. “If only you’d have stayed an extra year, you might have some erotic poetry you could recite.”

“I don’t know about that,” admitted Orophin, “But there was a short verse Glorfindel liked that went along the lines of ‘There once was a Lord from Imladris/Who was often known to give a kiss-”

“Stop! I need not know the rest.”

Orophin sipped the broth. “Why not? It’s just a silly poem.”

“Do you know what the silly poem says?” Haldir asked him. When Orophin did not reply, he added, “Nor do you know the words of that song. And when you begin to think of some of it – Orophin, how many Lords of Imladris do you know?”

“Well, Elrond, of course,” replied Orophin.

“And?” Haldir prodded. Orophin shook his head. “There have been no other, Elrond is the only Lord of Imladris. Even that isn’t enough to make me silence you, I’ll admit, but he is married to our sister, let us not forget.”

Orophin’s eyes went wide. “Now I am very curious to know what the poem says. Translate it for me, Haldir, and the song, too.”

“Nay. I am tired, and do not want to be alone in the forest when I tell you what you have been whistling these past centuries, sometimes in the presence of the Lord and Lady.” Haldir checked the horses one last time before finding a comfortable looking tree to lean against while he kept watch.

“What? They're our parents; parents are to expect their offspring to do stupid things in their presence. Besides, the tune actually works with a number of songs,” Orophin told his brother. “So, it may have been that one I was thinking of, or, ah...” Orophin thought for a moment, trying to recall the other lyrics. “Or ‘Hobbits are small for a reason’ or ‘The King of Mirkwood loves dwarves’ or—“

“Goodnight, Orophin!” Haldir brought his arms over his head to block his ears with his shoulders lest Orophin continue, which he did, struggling with the Westron words which held little meaning to him.

“Or ‘Never tickle a sleeping dragon’ or ‘If you want a look in the mirror, you’ll have to kiss me in the garden’ or-“

“Oh, sweet Elbereth, let me sleep so I do not strangle him,” whispered Haldir as Orophin listed his repertoire.

It had taken Rumil the better part of the day to complete the tasks Elrond had for him, after which was supper, and an early bed as suggested by Glorfindel. A party was arriving from Greenwood, Mirkwood as some called it now, and Rumil was expected to attend certain formalities, being a representative of Lothlorien.

It was not until late afternoon that Rumil found the time to work on the next part of the story, most of which consisted of adding Elrond into the cast of characters. Until now, he had used only residents of Lothlorien. Lorien elves rarely traveled, and the chance that Elladan and Elrohir would run into any was slim. The addition of an outsider to the forest was odd to Rumil, and yet presented a challenge for the young elf.

“May I ask what it is you work on with such great intent?” Rumil looked up, careful not to appear startled to the elf before him. Prince Legolas of Mirkwood tried to sneak a look over Rumil’s sketch board, then shifted his gaze to Rumil himself. “The drawings you have done for your stories bear remarkable likeness to those portrayed. We have a copy of one of them in our Library at home.”

“You what?” Rumil asked in disbelief.

“Forgive me, I did not mean to upset you,” apologized Legolas. “We would have asked your permission first, but it seemed from what we knew that your project was secret in nature, and as all of our correspondence travels through Lothlorien to reach Imladris, we dared not take the chance to destroy your cover.”

“My what?” Rumil set his quill down after realizing he’d let it hang in the air and drip upon the page.

“The Lord and Lady. The speculation was that you did not want them to know of your stories. You portray them in an – interesting light. And your brothers as well.”

Rumil chewed at his lip. Many did not know of the birthright he and his brothers shared, and he was unsure how much he could trust elves from Mirkwood. He knew little about them, even if this one seemed friendly enough. “Yes, well, I thank you for keeping my secret safe.” Legolas grinned, and Rumil continued. “If I may ask, I am confused as to how you were able to come upon one of my drawings – a copy even, and the story itself.”

Legolas sat upon the grass opposite Rumil. “Do you know of an elf named Gildor?”

“Yes, the traveler, he passes this way often.” Rumil could guess some of what came next.

“He has shared with us the stories. Not the drawings, for the most part, but the writings, he shares in tales. Upon request of my father, he was able to manage to have someone trace copies of a few of the pictures. They are stunning, I must say. The one in the library of which I spoke is a rendering of the trees of Lorien.” Legolas smiled sadly. “Ada loves to look at the trees. I think he misses them, living in the caves now as we do.”

“I will draw him another, not a copy,” blurted out Rumil. “And in color as well. Perhaps two, if I have the time,” he added, realizing he would have no time to work on the story by doing one drawing of Lothlorien, but finding himself compelled to start this new task.

Legolas clasped him upon the shoulder, then, as if deciding this was not adequate, gave the young elf a hug. “It would most certainly raise his spirits greatly. I will not say a word to him, however, I know we leave shortly and you have other tasks that may keep you from this one.”

“I will draw Lothlorien for him,” promised Rumil, setting a new sheet of parchment before himself.

“Ah, the Grey Archer,” murmured Legolas as he spied the half-finished drawing Rumil had discarded. “Although, I have been enjoying the mystery behind the Cloaked Stranger.”

“You are behind in the story, my friend, for the Cloaked Stranger has been uncloaked,” Rumil told him, already at work on his drawing.

“Then I must ask my pardon and take my leave to find an elf who is caught up on the tale.” Legolas stood and was gone before Rumil next looked up from his work.

- - -

Trees grew closer together now, and the path that the Grey Archer and Cloaked Stranger took was more treacherous than the roads traveled thus far. Wary, they were, of that which surrounded them, but playful also, as to keep their senses about them.


“ ‘There once was a Lord from Imladris/Who was often known to give a kiss-’”

“No.”

“To every orc who stopped by-”

“Stop.”

“Until one day he did lie-”

“Daro!”

“With a lovely Lothlorien Orc miss.”

“Orophin!” Haldir reached overhead to grab a branch from above, which he broke off and threw at Orophin’s head. The branch was caught and thrown back, causing Haldir to duck and curse. “If I hear that once more, the next place you shall be reciting it is in the Halls of Mandos.”

“If you would tell me what it means, I would not continue to recite it,” reasoned Orophin.

Haldir swung his left leg over so that he could ride facing Orophin. “Think about it. Think about the words you do know, and you should have a fairly good idea what you’ve been saying all morning.”

Orophin repositioned his right leg so that the two brothers now faced one another while continuing to head to Imladris. “Well, you’ve already told me it’s about a Lord of Imladris, namely, Elrond.”

“Correct.”

“And something with orcs. And from how you smirked when I first got to the fourth line, it probably has to do with intimate relations he’s having. But from your reaction to the fifth line, I’d say it’s not particularly something pleasant. So Glorfindel makes up poems about Elrond having intercourse with orcs. I’m sure he doesn’t mean it,” Orophin laughed.

“You’ve come quite close, so I’m going to let you have another hour or two to ponder the poem. Tell me when you have it.” Haldir moved so that he was once again facing forward while Orophin settled himself upon his horse for a good long thinking session.

“How fares your story, my brother?” Celebrian asked as Rumil entered onto the balcony where he had been asked to breakfast with his sister and Lord Elrond.

“I suppose you knew of the story already as well?” Rumil found a comfortable place at the small table, choosing a seat that overlooked the gardens below.

Celebrian slid into the chair opposite so that she could monitor the door. “What kind of parent would I have been if I didn’t know what my children were reading? However, for all my Lord Husband knows, I myself only just found out yester eve when he explained things to me himself. And that you intend to place him into your tales.”

“I told him that I would. In exchange, I will be provided with parchment and he will hide the stories for me when they arrive here. You don’t think it’s a good idea?” Rumil poured tea for three, glancing behind him when his sister did not answer.

“We both think it’s a splendid idea.” Elrond approached Celebrian first, greeting her with a morning kiss, then sat between her and Rumil. “We have but one request. Rather, my Lady Wife has but one request.”

Rumil shifted his gaze to Celebrian, who was smirking rather reminiscently of the way their eldest brother did – something neither he nor Orophin could ever quite pull off. “Out with it,” he said simply when she merely continued to study him with mischievous eyes.

“I want to be in the story, too.”

- - -

They entered now across the threshold of the Valley of Splendor. The Grey Archer, as always cautious. The Cloaked Stranger, indifferent as was his way. Both appraised the sight, though not to their greatest liking, still beautiful it was to them.


Orophin rode into Imladris first – Haldir granted him this small request after Orophin had been able to translate enough of the poem to know he wouldn’t be reciting it at any family reunions. It wasn’t far into the afternoon before Orophin had begun to learn the meanings of the songs he was so fond of singing as well.

“You knew all this time, and you let me bellow them at the top of my lungs! I now know why that band of men stayed clear from us as we passed,” huffed Orophin.

“It wasn’t what you were singing, but how you were singing,” explained Haldir. “Your voice is as gentle as stone and as sweet as the stench of an orc.”

Few second had passed between Haldir’s evaluation and his being knocked clear off of his horse. The two brothers wrestled upon the ground for many minutes, with no clear winner as they remounted, smiling playfully as they brushed dirt from their scraped arms and torn cloaks.

- - -

“What a sight you both are.” Celebrian shook her head as Orophin and Haldir dismounted, the younger running to embrace his sister, lift her from the ground, and spin her round not once, but twice. She laughed and returned his hug despite his ragged appearance.

“We ran into a troop of orcs some ways back. We made short work of them,” Haldir explained as he approached Celebrian, and also Elrond and Rumil, who stood now some few feet away.

Elrond appraised their appearance, frowning. “You could not have encountered them far from here. Your wounds are still quite fresh.”

“I fell from my horse,” Haldir said quickly. “The path is quite rocky.”

“And Orophin?” Elrond asked, noting the younger had more than just scrapes, but cuts and bruises as well.

“I fell from my horse, too,” Orophin answered. “But, it was deliberate. I didn’t want Haldir to feel bad that he fell from his, so, I took a tumble to make it even. Guess I don’t fall well.”

There was an uneasy silence while looks were exchanged between everyone. Finally, Rumil asked, “So, what were you two fighting about.”

“He said I sing like an orc smells,” Orophin admitted. “And he wouldn’t tell me the meaning of a poem Glorfindel taught me in Westron.” Haldir shot Orophin a look meant to stop him from continuing, but Orophin was not facing Haldir. “And when I found out what it did mean, he spent the next hour laughing at me.”

“Was it the poem about your Ada and the swan or the one about Thranduil getting drunk?” questioned Elrond to the surprise of all.

“Neither. I mean, well, what I mean is-“ Orophin stopped as Haldir kicked his foot.

“What he means is that he was going to go to Glorfindel and demand that a end be put to these lewd limericks at once,” offered Haldir.

Elrond sighed. “Pity. There are some rather delightful ones he has penned.”

“Including one entitled 'The Arrogant Galadhrim',” added Celebrian. After another bought of silence, Celebrian acquiesced with a smile.

“There is no such poem?” Haldir guessed hopefully.

“There is no such poem,” confirmed Elrond. “Yet. Now then, though I hate to cut short the reunion of brothers and sister, I should think tending to your injuries should be addressed,” suggested Elrond.

Haldir and Orophin both conceded, but not before Orophin had passed a scroll to Rumil, somewhat to the surprise of the eldest brother. “It is from Nana, she said Celebrian could read it, but not us. That is why I carried it and not Haldir. She wasn’t sure that he wouldn’t peek.” Haldir crossed his arms in indignation as Rumil accepted the message.

“Thank you, Orophin. I suppose I shall not see either of you until this evening’s banquet?” questioned Rumil. “I did have an itinerary, but seeing as your condition probably could use rest-“

“I hope it was not a lengthy itinerary, Rumil,” interrupted Haldir. “We must leave in the morning. We are expected back as soon as we are able.”

“Oh.” Rumil’s hands fidgeted with the scroll they held. “I understand.” He waited until his brothers had left with Elrond before turning to Celebrian. “First they send them early, and now I am being forced back immediately. She knows I don’t want to leave, doesn’t she? She’s punishing me for something. Probably knows I don't want to leave Imladris.” Rumil’s eyes glistened with unshed tears as he looked to his sister for answers.

“Nay, Rumil, Nana would never invade your thoughts in such as way. She is kind and loving, she would not think to punish such a kind elf as you. Haldir and Orophin are of course a completely different matter, and I hope she tans their hides for ripping their riding capes in such a dreadful manner!” teased Celebrian, causing Rumil to smile briefly. “Let us see what she has written first, shall we?”

“She said you could see it, will you read it to me?” asked Rumil.

Celebrian unrolled the parchment as she broke the seal, and lifted it to read. “To my most loving and carefree elflings, Rumil and Celebrian, I trust you are both doing well in Elrond’s care. Many years now have I wished for you both to visit the woods and bring your light to help brighten the darkness that creeps across the whole of Arda. Soon, too, would I like to be in Rivendell once again, to see it in its splendor, and to see my grandelflings again. I hope when I next see them I might be able to tell them apart from one another.

“I apologize, Rumil, for the abrupt departure you are being forced to make, but times are dark and I fear our secrets will be revealed if you stay in Imladris any longer. I hope we will find some way for you to continue your writings and artistry so that you may continue your story. Do not allow your brothers to intimidate you during the journey home. May the Valar bless you both. All my love, Nana.’” Celebrian squinted. “Wait, there’s a postscript for Haldir and Orophin. It reads ‘To my bravest and boldest elflings, Haldir and Orophin, If you have read this, when you return I will know. All my love just the same, Nana.’”

“Is there no one who does not know of my story?” Rumil sighed.

“It seems, only Haldir and Orophin.” Celebrian rolled the scroll back up, handing it to Rumil. “It is the only reason I can see for her not wanting them to read this.”

“That is odd. That she would keep such a thing from them,” decided Rumil.

Celebrian refused to comment much further, mentioning only that “Nana does herself love a good joke now and again.”

- - -

Rumil excused himself from the evening festivities earlier than anyone could have anticipated. It was not because he was upset at having to leave Rivendell, as he knew he could not hope to stay at the Last Homely House indefinitely. He had, however, expected that he would have had enough time to complete the drawings he planned for King Thranduil’s Library.

It was not expected that he would have company. As Rumil drew the leaves on the mallyrn, two small elflings approached. Neither said a word, one drawing nearer to him on either side, until he had an elfling leaned upon each shoulder, intently watching his work. “What can I do for the two of you?”

“Tell us what it is that you are drawing,” answered Elrohir.

“For we have seen it before, and wish to know its name,” added Elladan.

“Where have you seen it?” questioned Rumil, continuing to draw. He bit his lip as he realized the answer to his own question.

Elrohir sat up, placing his arm upon the log Rumil had his back to, and his head upon that. “If we tell you, you mustn’t tell anyone else.”

Elladan did the same on the other side of Rumil. “It has been our secret for many years.”

“Share it with me, and I shall keep it for you both.” Rumil had kept many secrets for the twins, and part of him wondered how they had managed to keep from sharing this one with him for so long.

“We receive messages,” began Elrohir.

“From the Valar,” added Elladan.

“We don’t know for sure if that is who sends them.”

“Who else could it be? They appear in our room as if magic, and the drawings are flawless.”

And so Elrohir and Elladan told their tale to Rumil. And he listened carefully, hanging upon every word of praise they spoke, committing to memory each question they had, taking into consideration what they liked best and least of that which they had read. The amount of feedback was tremendous, but reasonable considering he had first begun writing the story some twenty years ago at least. When finally they had finished, Rumil told them all about the picture he had drawn, describing in detail the Great Mallorn, the flets, and who the Galadhrim were, all without once making a connection between Lothlorien and the stories of the Grey Archer and the Cloaked Stranger.

“Can you tell us about Mithlond?” asked Elrohir.

“Mithlond?” repeated Rumil.

“Or show us – can you draw it?” Elladan asked.

“I could try,” admitted Rumil.

“And Mirkwood – I’d like to see Mirkwood,” Elrohir spoke again.

Rumil squeezed his eyes shut. “Legolas has described it for me this evening at dinner. I shall do my best.” Rumil opened his eyes and began to sketch on a fresh sheet, one curious elfling on either side.

In the early morning hours, as three horses and three riders were being readied, an elf gracefully made his way across the courtyard, an elfling at either side. “My Lord!” shouted Erestor, catching the attention of Elrond, as well as the three Lorien brothers. “I thought it might be appropriate that Elladan and Elrohir be allowed to say their partings to Rumil, as he is likely not to return for some time. And,” added Erestor, with something of a glint of mischief in his eye, “as it has been many a year since they were introduced to Haldir and Orophin, perhaps they might again be presented, now that they will be old enough to remember them.”

No words were spoken as to the significance between the three brothers and the two – it was deemed unnecessary for the twins to be aware of other kin in these dark days. Rumil stepped in front of his brothers, and knelt down so that he was on the same level as the elflings. “I shall miss-“ Rumil swallowed hard, realizing how deep his sorrow truly would be to leave not only Imladris, but these two, whom he had seemingly adopted as his own brothers. “I shall miss you both.” Rumil hugged them both fiercely, and they him.

“Remember how I had told you I had brothers of my own?” Rumil asked when he had detangled the twins from him. They both nodded simultaneously, eyes wide with excitement and curiosity. “I would like you to meet my elder brother Orophin, and our eldest brother, Haldir.” Rumil stood as he presented his brothers to the twins, whose wide eyes were now paired with gaping mouths.

“The Grey Archer...” trailed Elrohir, eyes focused upon Orophin.

“...and the Cloaked Stranger...” Elladan whispered as he peered up at Haldir.

“I’m sorry?” Haldir knelt so that he was eye level with the twins. “I didn’t quite catch what you said, young one.”

“My brother said nothing.” Elrohir asserted, giving a short bow. “We are pleased to meet you, Haldir and Orophin o Lorien.” Elladan bowed as well, though throughout the formal farewells, the twins continued to sneak peeks at the oldest of the brothers.

- - -

At last, the brothers began their journey home, the Grey Archer and the Cloaked Stranger leading the way to the Golden Woods.

“I told you it was a silly place,” Orophin said to his brother. “A silly place, with silly elflings, and silly songs that they make up so that guests will remember them and be made to look silly when they sing them in their native lands.”

Haldir raised a brow. “I take it you were able to speak to Glorfindel about the limericks?”

“And Glorfindel!” huffed Orophin. “He’s the silliest of all, making up such songs.” Orophin turned round to pose the question of the silliness of Imladris to Rumil, but noted the worried look the youngest of them had. “What is the matter, my brother?” asked Orophin, pulling his horse back to where Rumil rode. “You seem as if you’ve... lost something.”

Rumil’s horse had slowed considerably since they had left, causing him to lag far behind. The young elf was also looking in the direction they had come every few seconds, and in his lap held gently but firmly was a roll of parchment. “Haven’t really lost anything, just looking for something.”

“Something, or someone?” wondered Haldir aloud as he, too, joined his youngest brother.

“Aye.” Rumil gave another look back, and as he did, so did Orophin and Haldir.

“Who are we looking for?” asked Orophin, scanning the trees behind them. They were answered by their horses, which jerked suddenly, halting their journey.

“Ride properly, and you may just find him,” grinned a youthful looking elf clad in the greens of the forest. “Suilad, Rumil. I trust these are the brothers of which I have heard you speak.”

“Aye, Legolas, that they are. Brothers, my friend Legolas, an elf of the Greenwood.” Rumil introduced each brother, then bowed from atop his horse as he handed the roll of parchment to Legolas. “I did not take the time to draw the two images of Lothlorien as I had said I would.”

“You are more than generous to have spent your last days in Imladris remembering Lorien instead of-“ the prince stopped, awestruck as he found not one rendering, but four drawings rolled loosely, each accented with a different color. Haldir and Orophin edged closer to get a better look. “Blue to highlight the waters of Mithlond... red as the brick of the Last Homely House... golden leaves upon the mellyrn... and green trees in my own dear homeland. But you’ve forgotten the orcs in Greenwood,” jested Legolas good-naturedly. “I thank you, and I am sure my father would have thanked you personally if you would have presented these to him.”

“I did not want to be rude to Lord Elrond. For all his hospitality, I had not a gift to present him with,” Rumil admitted, adding to himself in his mind, ‘Yet...”

“You live with orcs in your forest?” questioned Orophin.

Legolas rolled the drawings once again. “Well, it isn’t as if we invited them there.”

“We kill the orcs in our forest,” Orophin remarked.

“We kill the ones in our forest as well. Obviously.” Legolas tucked the scrolls into his saddlebags. “But they are numerous, and what with the giant spiders hanging overhead, it is more of a challenge.”

“Your talans are infested with giant spiders? Dreadful.” Orophin shivered slightly at the thought of rogue spiders crawling from flet to flet.

Haldir had come around so that Orophin was between him and Legolas as he leaned over and whispered, “He doesn’t live in a tree, Oro, he’s one of those cave-dwellers.”

“I would live in a tree if I could,” countered Legolas. “I did in fact live in a tree once.”

“So, if this forest of yours is infested as you say, and you’d rather live in a tree as it were, why not just go find another forest to live in?” suggested Orophin.

“Because it is my home,” defended Legolas. “If all the trees in Lothlorien were to suddenly die and fall over, would you merely find another forest, or find a way to sustain yourselves in Lorien?”

“Trees of Lorien fall?” scoffed Haldir. “Perhaps you have never seen the Great Mallorn.”

“I told you he was the mean one,” came a small, yet muffled voice from a clutch of young trees not far away. “He’s taunting the Prince of Mirkwood, that can’t be good.”

“And the Grey Archer... he seems so much more noble in the stories,” another voice answered, so similar, and yet from a different source.

“Prince of Mirkwood?” questioned Haldir with arched brow, but in the moment he had looked to where the voices came from, Legolas had gone.

“Oh, good, you scared him off. And I was really interested in what he had to say,” pouted Orophin. Rumil and Haldir were making their way to the area where the voices had come from as the pounding of hooves alerted them to further visitors.

“Have you seen Elrohir and Elladan?” called out Glorfindel as he approached upon Asfaloth. Not far behind was Erestor, a none too pleased look upon his face.

“Seen, no. Heard, yes,” answered Rumil, reaching behind the trees to catch a elfling in an attempt to escape. Haldir caught the second, who seemed not to put up a fight after the first was captured.

Glorfindel dismounted as he came past, leaping to the ground and taking up a heroic stance, to which Erestor rolled his eyes mightily as his horse trotted to the scene. “The two of you should not wander,” reprimanded Glorfindel. “The forest is dangerous, and your parents are worried.” The twins both looked down at their feet, which was harder for Elrohir, considering Haldir had hold of him under his arm. Rumil nudged Haldir, coughed, and gave a stern look at the manner in which Haldir held onto Elrohir.

“What?” Haldir placed Elrohir into a standing position in front of him, placing a hand upon the elfling’s shoulder as Rumil had done with Elladan. “We used to carry you around like that all the time when you were his age.”

“That explains many things,” added Erestor under his breath.

“Must we go back now?” Elladan made his saddest face possible. “We missed Rumil already, and he said we could visit him sometime in Lothlorien.”

“Sometime, but not this time. His parents miss him, and he must return to be with his family,” Glorfindel explained.

“But we want to come with him,” pleaded Elrohir. “We’re like part of his family, too.”

‘You don’t know how right you are,’ thought Rumil. “We will see one another again soon. My parents worry about my return, as do yours for your return. Another day, little ones. Remember,” added Rumil, “We are the children of Iluvatar. We are all of one family. And we have all the time in the world to see each other again.”

This finally seemed to satisfy the twins, and after once again saying goodbye, they rode back to Imladris with Glorfindel and Erestor.

“I heard them say that Cloaked Stranger thing again. And, something about a Grey Archer. I tell you, Haldir, this is a silly, silly place,” Orophin said, shaking his head.

“It is a beautiful, wondrous place,” Rumil countered, riding now between the other two.

“What a day it has been, and not even have we yet stopped for lunch,” remarked Haldir. Turning to Rumil, he asked, “So, my brother, are you anxious to return once again to your home?”

Rumil took one final look over his shoulder, unable to make out the path back to Imladris, or the cliffs that marked where the valley was hidden. “Yes. I look forward to the day when I shall return.”

Elrond sorted through the packages that had been brought to him from the messenger. It had been two months and a shipment of parchment to Lothlorien since Rumil had departed, and the Lord of Imladris wondered if perhaps the duties Rumil acquired in the Golden Woods kept him from his hobby. The final parcel declared otherwise, and Elrond tore the wrapper from it, seizing the parchment pages from within.

“ ‘The Grey Archer sat quietly upon his branch that overlooked the Northern borders of his home. In the distance, a figure upon horseback rides in silence, appearance hidden by cloak and mask.’” Elrond turned to the next page, continuing to read with excitement. “ ‘ ‘Daro!’ calls the Grey Archer as he leaps from his hidden spot. ‘You may come no further, stranger, until you have presented me with your name.’"

“ ‘My name is my own, which I give to those I choose. You may call me--’” Elrond smiled as he studied the new character, grinning now as he noted the dark hair that hung over the stranger’s back, then turned to the next page. The entire panel had been used to present the new addition to the stories, a majestic looking figure, still masked, but practically perfect as far as Elrond was concerned. “ ‘-- the Peredhel.’ ”