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.
