bold is used for emphasis
Chapter 1:
Iavas, Edge of Eryn Vorn, 141 F.A.
Shaking his head in disbelief at how the Valar could ever have chosen to pair two such different creatures, Faron stood at the edge of camp and watched his lady as she watched his lord. His lord, Gildor Inglorion, was an elf who had seen the light of the two trees. At times, Faron believed he could see the actual light of Teleperion shining from Gildor’s eyes and he wondered at all his lord must have seen during his long life. He wore the mantle of leadership with such ease, that it was obvious he was born to the role and had honed it through the ages, until he could convey his demands with few words and calm detachment. The Noldo was a strong leader, though never harsh or arrogant, and he had quickly inspired much loyalty in Faron’s band of wayward Silvan elves during their travels these last decades.
Upon hearing a sigh of frustration, Faron turned his attention to the more puzzling of the pair. Sídhiel was no full-blood elf, as was obvious from her round ears and overripe form. Even though she was quite young, having not yet attained even half a millennia of years, the Peredhel had managed to gain the trust and respect of Faron’s entire troop. There was something in her manner and bearing that the Sinda could not place, but all reacted to it, and listened when Sídhiel spoke. The Sinda wondered if her position and travels during King Elessar’s reign had so enmeshed her in the world of men that she had adopted a mantle of command to which even the Eldar responded.
As the tension between the pair increased, the entire band offered their unwavering, if unspoken, support for the Peredhel. This too, confounded Faron, for Sídhiel was mercurial, so unlike elf-kind. Her changeable nature caused her moods to shift direction swifter than leaves caught in a whirlwind. But, even though her emotions were so often alien to him, her passion and intensity for life inspired him and his brethren to defend their lady with their very lives. However, at this moment, she looked lost and vulnerable, her arms wrapped around herself as she gazed at Gildor from her vantage point among the trees. It was obvious that the pair had argued yet again, and Sídhiel was trying to decide how to approach Gildor.
Faron went to Sídhiel and said, “Just go to him, my Lady. He loves you, does he not?”
At his soft words, Sídhiel, started; having been lost in her own thoughts, she missed his approach. “Faron… “
“Forgive my intrusion, I did not mean to startle you. I just feel that you hesitate when you have no need to.”
In that instant, the lost child vanished, and a mischievous imp appeared. Teasing, she said, “I had no idea our Captain was such an expert in the ways of love. If that be so, then why has he ignored his own desires and not claimed the enticing Doron as his own?”
Faron blushed at her words, even though he knew she said them specifically to get a reaction. He stammered, “My… Lady… please. I wanted to help.”
Relenting at his discomfort, Sídhiel hugged him and said, “Ah, but you did. You pulled me from my self pity and reminded me that he will forgive me yet again, for he does love me.” Pulling away, she gazed into soft brown eyes. “But I was trying to aid you as well. You may believe you have forever to act upon your feelings for our scout, but do not assume so. Fate could be cruel and take him from you before he knows that you care. Do not let that happen.” Lightly kissing his cheek, she walked away.
Gildor surveyed the motley band as they efficiently set up camp and wondered yet again what insanity had convinced these Elves to follow him on this search. He pondered these last decades and realized that Sídhiel was right. This land no longer belonged to the Eldar, for it was becoming increasingly difficult to blend in and gather supplies and information. If this location yielded no more clues than the rest, Gildor must resign himself to the fact that his quest was futile. She may be right, but he was still loathe to admit it, and his stubbornness coupled with her willfulness, had caused yet another argument. As he settled with his back against a tree to await her arrival, his mind drifted back to the first time he began to look at her as being more than Erestor’s daughter...
Flashback to 250 years earlier...
Laer, Imladris, 2912 T.A.
As Sídhiel walked passed, Gildor grabbed her arm and pulled her from the path and into the trees, covering her mouth to prevent her from screaming. Her eyes glared icily at him as he withdrew his hand. “Forgive me for startling you, but I needed to speak to you.”
Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she pulled her other arm from his grasp, as she hissed, “So you must accost me to have a few words? I suppose this will not be a discussion of the weather, then, Híren?” Even though she had known him since she was very young, Gildor Inglorion was still an intimidating elf to Sídhiel. For some reason that she refused to delve too deeply into, he could set her nerves twitching with just a glance, but she would not reveal how he affected her.
“I could hold my tongue no longer,” he scolded. “We have many human visitors and you are wandering around dressed like a Haradrim concubine…” Gildor could not stop his eyes from wandering; the thin silk top barely concealed her ample cleavage, and even sheerer strips of brightly colored silk caressed her legs from a low waistband, leaving her stomach enticingly exposed. The material shimmered in the bright autumn light and clung to Sídhiel’s curves, emphasizing her build; she was more rounded with fuller breasts and hips than any elleth. He shook his head and pulled his eyes back to meet her angry blue ones. “The Rohirrim are a conservative folk and this…” waving his hand at her attire, “Reflects poorly on all of us. I am requesting, nay telling, you to change into more appropriate clothing. I do not know what thoughts, if any, are in your head, but whatever your intent, it is wrong.”
His tone attempted to quell all arguments, but Sídhiel had learned under the tutelage of Erestor of Imladris, and there was very little that could stop her once started. “Híren, if you had but inquired, you might have learned why I am dressed this way. But since you deem yourself my keeper, I will let you in on the secret…” she stopped and, with a mischievous gleam in her eye, reconsidered her words; she leaned closer, hoping he could not hear the pounding of her heart, “Ah, the Rohirrim… such raw power… and so sensual under their stiff demeanors… one intrigued me…” she stood on tip toes and moved closer still, breathily whispering past his ear, “and he finds it far more erotic when I am bound to his bed if I am arrayed thusly. So remember when you see me dressed in this manner, it will be for Ealdor’s pleasure.” With that, she raced away, peals of laughter trailing after her.
Gildor groaned at his body’s reaction to her words and he gritted his teeth at the realization that she had managed to wrest control of the situation from him. She was, indeed, Erestor’s iell. To make matters worse, when the evening’s festivities had adjourned to the Hall of Fire and Sídhiel was performing a sensuous dance in that self same costume, Gildor could not stop the erotic images from flowing through his mind. However, it was not the horse lord’s bed she was tied to.
End flashback...
Sídhiel quickly walked to Gildor’s side and quietly sat down next to him. Her leg brushing against his thigh pulled him back to the present. “Forgive me for losing my temper, again. I know how much this means to you…,” she said. The blond put an arm around her shoulder and pulled her close. Closing her eyes and resting her head on his shoulder, she reveled in the unique scent that was Gildor.
“Nay, it should be I that apologizes. I often forget that this is my search alone, and how hard this has been on you.” After brushing a wayward curl from her face, he continued, “Let us delay the discussion of our next course of action until we have thoroughly investigated this area. I feel there is something special about this swamp, but it will not easily reveal its secrets.” Gildor took her hand and held it as he gently brushed his lips against the knuckles.
The tenderness in his gesture filled her with warmth and reassurance. Turning, she kissed him lightly, but did not meet his gaze, for this place filled her with trepidation, and she did not want to reveal her fears to him. Gildor was already overburdened with guilt that Sídhiel was there at all.
Gildor heard the long forgotten song in his dreams. It swept him on currents of memory and emotion, recalling his youth. He was mesmerized by visions long thought lost and the sensations from his misspent early life still resonated deeply within him. The blond awoke, entranced, and silently began to follow its siren song, oblivious that he was leaving Sídhiel asleep in her bedroll.
Gildor followed the song for hours, somehow managing to find his way through the swamp’s treacherous pathways until he came upon a small hut, in a large clearing, surrounded by tall cypress, bay, and willow trees. As he was coming out of the trees, a knife was placed at his throat and a hand over his mouth, effectively ending the spell he had been under. Startled by the press of cold steel biting into his flesh, Gildor tensed, his eyes darting swiftly around the clearing as he assessed his chance of escape.
A deep voice brushed past his ear, “Why have you been hunting me?”
Sidhiel stirred from her slumber, for something had woken her. Gaining her senses, she felt, more than heard, singing, but the language was unknown even though the song deeply moved her. Listening, she looked around the campsite and realized that Gildor was not only gone from her side, he was nowhere to be seen in the small camp. Stretching her mind to reach for her mate, she quickly encountered a wall separating her from him. Misgiving flared in her and she immediately determined to follow him. Realizing that none in Faron’s group would allow her to trail Gildor alone, she quickly grabbed her pack and snuck out of the camp.
Doron was stretching his legs when an Arctic Loon began to sing, or at least that was what bird he thought was creating the haunting song that called to him. The scout resisted its lure and determined to wake his captain, for it was most strange that a bird from the far north would be singing here, so far south, and in the dead of night.
Faron instantly awoke at Doron’s light touch. Sitting up, he worried that something was wrong, but Doron did not seem agitated, just confused. “Doron? Is something the matter?”
“Faron, I swear I hear an Arctic Loon. Can you not hear it? It is calling to me. Do you not think it most odd that a northern bird would be here and be singing in the night? I felt I should alert you in case this is the work of an enemy.”
Faron relaxed at Doron’s words, figuring simply that the scout was overtired and not concentrating. Cocking his head to carefully listen, he said, “Doron, the only bird I hear is a Common Loon. Are you certain you did not doze off?”
Stung by his captain’s words, Doron replied stiffly, “I would never sleep on duty. I am certain that what I heard was not a Common Loon. Besides, no Loon sings at night.”
Faron realized he had hurt Doron’s pride and that was exactly the opposite of what he desired. “You are right, of course. Please, forgive me. I will go with you to check this out.”
Carefully listening, and attempting to determine a direction to begin searching, both elves were confounded as they heard the song and felt its lure, but it seemed to have no distinct direction from whence it came. “Since I can get no bearing on the sound, mayhap we should begin where you were when you first heard it.”
“This way, then.” Doron’s words were clipped and his back stiff as he led Faron to his earlier position.
By this time, Ithil had set and it was hard for even keen elven eyes to discern much in the darkness. As soon as they left the immediate campsite, the song stopped. Faron was determined to heed Doron, so he opted to continue even though they could no longer hear the call. After scouting their environs for an hour, and finding no sign of enemy, nor of any Loons, Faron touched Doron’s arm to stop the scout. “Doron, I know not what we heard, but I do not believe it meant us harm. We should return to camp. Rest yourself and I will finish the watch.”
“I am quite capable of seeing to my duties, Sir.” Doron was aching inside at the thought that his captain did not think him a worthy sentry.
“Peace, mellon nín. I do not doubt your ability. I had some sleep this night, you have had none. I only want you to be rested for we will investigate this further by Anor’s light. Please, take your rest.” I wish I had my lord’s ability with words! Or even my lady’s humor. It seems every word I say only causes him more doubt.
Relenting, Doron replied, “Aye, hannon le, Faron. I am most tired.”
“Goodnight, Doron. Rest well.”
No matter how many millennia had passed since Gildor had last heard that voice, his body still reacted in recognition and shuddered at the realization that he had at last found what he sought. When the hand was removed from his mouth, Gildor answered, “I have been seeking you for decades, but you have been most elusive.” As the pressure from the knife lessened, the blond turned to face his captor. “Do you not recognize me, melethron?”
Flint grey eyes widened and thin lips curved slightly upward. “Gods! Is it really Gildor Inglorion standing before me?”
At Gildor’s blinding smile, he was gathered into a strong embrace.
Translations:
Iavas – autumn
Eryn Vorn – (dark forest) forest by the sea in western Minhiriath
Ithil – moon
Anor – sun
mellon nín – my friend
melethron – lover (male)