“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.
