Story Downloaded from Open Scrolls Archive (https://www.openscrolls.net)

Title: The Fall of Night (#1478)
Author: CinnamonGrrl
Chapters: 3

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Archive: Tolkien
Category: Lord of the Rings
Description: Elrond, Haldir, and an old friend make a wager... can the twins and Rumil make a humourless young woman laugh?
Published: 30 Dec 2004
Updated: 08 Feb 2005
Warnings: none
Type: Angst
Characters: Elrond;Haldir;Rumil


Chapter 1 - Chapter 1

Author's Note: I wrote this story a year and a half ago, but never posted it here until now. I see various things I'd do differently, were I writing it at this point, but I think I'll leave it as is, as a way of seeing how I've progressed with time.

Hope you enjoy it, please let me know what you think :)



The Fall of Night Part 1



“They are so beautiful,” Lalaith murmured in awe as she helped her grandmother from the cart, her gaze lingering first on one elf, then another. “Nana, how is it possible?”

“Well, first of all, you’ve always been easily impressed,” Naurë told her with a grin, then sighed when no answering smile was forthcoming. Her granddaughter was ever solemn—an unfortunate inheritance from her Rohirrim mother. Naurë knew she shouldn’t have let her son marry a sourpuss from Edoras…

But even though it might be far too late to mourn her son’s poor choice of mate, she might still be able to hold some sway over her granddaughter. Ever since Elrond had invited her to Rivendell, she had been uneasy about having Lalaith accompany her. The girl was serious, and most naïve in the ways of the world. She didn’t understand the duplicity of Man, and Naurë feared the Elven predilection for flirtation and wit would confuse the straightforward, uncomplicated Lalaith into making bad decisions with her life.

And more importantly, with her heart. Naurë knew how susceptible Lalaith was to beauty—there was little enough of it in Bree these days, and even the old woman had to admit that the elves that surrounded them, tall and strong and so very handsome, were enchantingly beautiful.

“Beautiful is empty, Lalaith,” she told the young woman with uncharacteristic solemnity. “Beautiful loves no one, it will strip you until regret is all that is left.” She squeezed her granddaughter’s smooth, young hands in her own gnarled, aged ones. “Be you careful.”

That being said, Naurë peered past the girl with a gaze as sharp as they’d been three-quarters of a century ago, searching among the sea of blond heads for a dark one. “Elrond! My old eyes are gladdened to rest upon you.”

The elf stepped forward and bent without hesitation to drop a kiss on the withered cheek. “Naurë, you honour me,” he replied, and smiled. “Have you brought some of your family for me to meet at last?”

“I have,” she affirmed, and gestured to Lalaith. “This is my granddaughter Lalaith, youngest child of my youngest child.” The girl stepped forward and performed a curtsey

“She is named ‘laughter’?” he asked, the faintest touch of doubt in his voice as he looked thoughtfully at her. Her face was sober and her eyes, while intelligent and curious, held not the sparkle of wit and amusement that were ever-present in her grandmother’s.

Naurë sighed. “My son was blessed with an unfortunate sense of irony,” she replied. “Lalaith is a fine woman, but I despair of ever seeing her smile.” She leaned closer to the elf to whisper confidingly, “I even tried getting her drunk, but all she did was fall asleep.”

Elrond began to laugh helplessly. “It has been far too long since your last visit, meldisamin [my friend].”

“I agree,” she said, taking the proffered elbow and leaning upon it, allowing him to help her walk. She slid a sharp glance at him. “If you have missed me so, why then has this invitation been so long in coming?”

Elrond laughed. “I could make the excuse that elves do not so easily see the time slip by, but you would not allow that, would you?”

Naurë laughed too, a dry sound that drew the attention of many around them. “You know me well, my lord.”

“I doubt even an elf could live long enough to know you well, Naurë,” he demurred, and she barked out another laugh.

“Ha! I am but a simple woman, my lord,” she told him. “My needs and desires are few—a warm bed, a full belly, and—“ she squinted across the courtyard at an elf who had just entered on the other side. “Haldir?”

“Haldir is one of your simple needs?” Elrond asked slyly.

“Haldir is indeed simple,” Naurë replied, just as sly. “But I fear the only itch he would be able to scratch faded many years ago, along with any small beauty I might have had.” They both threw back their heads and roared with laughter.

“Why is it that you two always sound like witches cackling over an evil brew when you are together?” Haldir asked when he met them in the middle of the courtyard,

“We only cackle when we’re making fun of you, Guardian of Lorien,” Naurë told him with a grin.

“Then I must truly be a font of amusement,” the march-warden said, bowing over her hand. “Because the pair of you never fail to sound like a clutch of brooding hens.” His blue eyes flicked past to the girl standing behind them. “Are you aware that you are being followed?”

“This is my granddaughter, Lalaith,” Naurë said, “and you will not fall in love with her. One humourless stump in the family is quite enough, I could not bear it if I had to gaze upon your unsmiling face the rest of my few years.”

Haldir shot her an odd look, and bowed over Lalaith’s hand as she curtseyed to him. “I do not think there is any fear of that, Naurë,” he said when he’d straightened to his full height, and graced her with one of his sweet, rare smiles. “You know my heart has always belonged to you.”

Naurë laughed then, a strong laugh that sounded remarkably young, and exchanged Elrond’s arm for Haldir’s. “You are good for an old woman,” she told him. “Even if you are shamefully dishonest.” He began to lead her away but she stopped and addressed Elrond. “We are not done yet, sir elf,” she told him, and he bowed.

“I am ever at your disposal, madam,” he told her with mock deference, and she cackled again as she and Haldir walked away, the tall elf shortening his stride to match her arthritic one.

Lalaith was feeling very close to being overwhelmed by her surroundings. Rivendell was amazingly lovely, its plants so green and lush, its river so silver and sparkling, its buildings so graceful and organic in the way they nestled into the trees and rocks.

And its people… she sighed with unconscious appreciation. Never in her life had she imagined that living creatures could be so exquisite, their every movement an exercise in liquid grace. She had always been considered somewhat attractive, but surrounded by these divine-looking elves she was feeling very self-conscious indeed, and tried to brush the travel dust from her gown with one hand as she attempted to smooth her wind-rumpled hair with the other.

“Do not fret,” said a deep voice, and she looked up to see Elrond smiling at her. “A bath awaits you. We are aware of the hardships of travel, and do you not judge you because of the dust.”

Lalaith nodded and slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow when he offered. “Your home is breathtaking,” she told Elrond. “Thank you so much for sharing it with us.”

“Naurë is always welcome here,” he said simply. “As are you.”

She nodded again. “You are most kind.”

“Not at all,” he insisted gently, pushing open a door and waving her through. “Her skills at healing have made her a valuable ally, and her personality has made her a valuable friend.” His gaze moved over her face a long moment. “You have much the look of her in her youth,” he said at last. “It is difficult seeing her…” Elrond’s voice faded away.

“So old?” Lalaith supplied. “Yes.” The last decade had not been kind to her Nana; the deaths of both her children had weighed heavily on a body that no longer boasted the strength and resilience of youth. “It troubles me, as well, that her last years are upon her.”

Elrond stopped at a door of dark, intricately carved wood with brass filigree framing the central knob. “Then glad I am that she has come to Rivendell one last time.” He opened the door and gestured inward. “This is your room; if anything is not to your liking, you have only to say it.”

“I’m sure it will be perfect,” she replied, and curtseyed her thanks. He bowed and left her, and she closed the door softly before turning to survey her surroundings. The walls were plastered a soft, creamy colour, and the fan-vaults reaching to the ceiling were shaped like tree branches. Coloured glass sparkled in the windows, and jewel-shades of light cascaded over the floor, which glowed with age and cleanliness.

Lalaith barely had time to notice the large, inviting bed against the far wall when there was a soft knock at the door. Answering it, she found a female elf standing there, her arms loaded with towels, a cube of soap, and crystal bottles filled with pearlescent liquid.

“I am Aerlinn,” she introduced herself. “I will help you refresh yourself, and then guide you to the hall for the feast.” She stepped inside the room and gestured to the elves behind her, who carried a large wooden tub. “For your bath,” Aerlinn explained.

Almost before she knew it, Lalaith had been stripped of her dirty travelling gown and pushed gently into the tub of steaming tub. Herbs and scented oils were poured into the water, making it silky, and Lalaith sank gratefully into it, sighing when Aerlinn began to wash her hair.

“Was the journey difficult?” Aerlinn asked companionably.

“Not difficult, but long,” Lalaith replied. She never wanted to get out of the tub, ever. “Nana travels well for her age, but still, it is hard to watch her be jolted in the cart, and harder still to see her pain in the mornings after sleeping on the ground.”

“I could not imagine the anguish you must feel at seeing your beloved family age and die,” Aerlinn said, and Lalaith knew the elf meant it kindly, but could not repress a wince at the bluntness of the words.

“It is part of life,” she said at last, scrubbing the last of herself with a soapy cloth. The entire room smelled of flowers and rain, but the turn of the conversation prevented it from being soothing. “It cannot be avoided.”

“It seems so hopeless,” Aerlinn murmured, sluicing clean water over Lalaith’s hair. “How do you bear it?”

Lalaith stood and let wash off the suds that clung to her body. “There is no alternative,” she replied with a shrug. “What else is there to do, but bear it?” She thought a moment. “It makes each day more precious.”

Aerlinn handed Lalaith a towel, and took one herself to begin drying the woman’s hair. “Humans are stronger and more resilient than I had thought,” she said at last, and smiled. It was like the sun breaking over the horizon. “I am glad to know you, Lalaith.”

Lalaith nodded. “And I you, Aerlinn.” It was true. Lalaith knew little of elfkind, and this conversation had been most enlightening to her. She doubted she would enjoy eternal life, if it made a person so fragile that one couldn’t bear the most basic of facts.

Aerlinn opened the door and, in a show of strength at odds with her fragile beauty, dragged in the trunk that had been deposited outside. Opening it, she began to rifle through the clothing within. “Have you a particular gown in mind?” she asked.

Lalaith considered. All her garments were practical and sturdy, made for longevity, not splendor. Unfortunately, they looked it, and she felt a pang of dismay she hadn’t made more of an effort to outfit herself more attractively. Looking at Aerlinn, she saw too that the elf was wearing a gown of extreme simplicity, but the lines of it were very flattering. Perhaps during her stay in Rivendell, she could re-cut and re-sew her gowns…

She sighed. “The green, I think,” she said at last. “It’s the least ugly.”

Aerlinn giggled. “We are of a similar height and shape,” she said. “I will fetch you one of my gowns for tonight, and tomorrow we will see what can be done with these.” Her expression didn’t hold much hope.

“Oh, no—“ Lalaith began, but Aerlinn was already flitting from the room. Lalaith sighed and slumped onto the edge of the bed, rubbing a towel through her hair until it was mostly dry. She was combing out the tangles when Aerlinn returned.

In her arms was a gorgeous confection of a dress—light pink underdress with flowers and butterflies embroidered all over in white silk thread, and an overdress in coral velvet, embossed round the very full sleeves with ivy. “I could not dare,” Lalaith breathed, but Aerlinn waved aside her protests.

“It will look better on you than it ever did on me,” she said breezily, and tugged the underdress over Lalaith’s head. “Your dark hair will be much finer on the rose-pink than my pale mess.” She pushed a flawlessly smooth lock of platinum over her shoulder and reached for the overdress.

“Now for your hair,” she announced, and took control of the comb. “Braids, or no braids?”

“Perhaps just one,” Lalaith conceded, and Aerlinn’s nimble fingers began parting and sorting the heavy, barely-damp hair. She wove it into a loose but nevertheless intricate plait, and when she finally allowed the human to look in the mirror, beamed like a proud mother.

“I look…” Lalaith could barely speak, so amazed was she at the transformation.

“Breathtaking,” Aerlinn finished. “Now help me get ready,” she commanded, and Lalaith was more than happy to do so.

The elf had brought a gown of leaf-green silk that floated over the pearly-white lace underdress she donned. Lalaith helped her plait her hip-length silver-gilt hair into the traditional three braids. Declaring them ready to face the others, Aerlinn led the way out of the room.

*

Naurë was grateful for the hot bath, and sank onto the bed afterwards for a short nap. Feeling greatly refreshed when she awoke, she dressed with the help of an elf sent by Elrond for that purpose and was not surprised to find Haldir outside her door when she stepped outside.

“You will get a reputation for being a pervy old-lady fancier if you will insist on escorting me everywhere, Guardian,” she teased him as she leaned on his arm.

“But it will do wonders for your reputation, will it not?” he shot back.

“That it will,” she admitted with a cackle, and gripped his arm just a little tighter. She’d only met him once before, over thirty years ago, but their friendship had been instantaneous. In spite of his forbidding appearance and serious nature, she found he had a delightful, if sly, sense of humour than never failed to make her laugh even when the elves around them stared in puzzlement.

And he seemed to relish flirting with her, which was the best of all—no matter how Man liked to pretend that its old people were genderless and sexless, she knew that her mind was all too willing even if the flesh were weak. Ah, if only she were sixty years younger…

She spied her granddaughter being led into the hall by a lovely elf-maiden, and smiled. “I was almost as lovely as Lalaith in my youth,” she told Haldir proudly as he led her to a table.

“Beautiful is empty, Naurë,” he replied softly, helping her into a chair. “Is it not?” he asked when she started, and stared at him.

Naurë recovered, and grinned at him. “Stop reading my mind, Guardian.” Elrond was making his way across the hall. “Be you gone,” she instructed him.

He bowed and left, quickly replaced by Elrond. “So, you are feeling up to an evening of feasting and dancing?”

“Feasting, yes, indeed,” she replied, and allowed him to fill her plate with delicious food from the platters placed before them. “Dancing? I highly doubt it.” She peered more closely at him. “You are up to something.”

“I?” he asked, his handsome face entirely too innocent as he popped a morsel of bread into his mouth. “Whatever can you mean?”

“Elrond, I have known you for almost seventy years. You trained me as a healer; we have worked closely for over half a century. I always know when you are up to something.” She glared at him over the rim of her goblet.

He sighed dramatically and busied himself with buttering more bread. “Why could my apprentice not have been one of those particularly dull humans?” he asked no one in particular.

“Because you would have gutted me like a trout were I particularly dull, and well you know it,” Naurë retorted, snatching the abused bread from his hands. “Now, tell me.”

He turned to her excitedly, eyes sparkling with mischief. “My sons are returned home from their travails with the Dunedain.”

“Glad I am to hear of their safe homecoming, my lord, but I fail to see—“

He cut her off. “If there are two elves in Middle-Earth who can make a person laugh, would it not be those two?”

Naurë was beginning to see what he was about. “And you think to set them upon my poor, unsuspecting granddaughter?” She searched the room for Lalaith. The girl was, as Naurë feared, seated with Elladan beside her and Elrohir across the table, with the pretty elf-maiden close by. Naurë shook her head at her friend. “I feel naught but pity for them, because it is a thankless and hopeless task,” she said sadly.

Elrond cocked his head at her. “Would you care to make a wager on that?” he asked, entirely too casually.


Chapter 2 - Chapter 2

The Fall of Night Part 2



The next morning Naurë was sunning herself in the garden, enjoying the warmth on her face and the scent of flowers and greenery in the air when the whisper of footsteps in the grass alerted her to someone’s presence.

Opening her eyes, she saw Haldir fling himself down to recline at her feet, and knew that he’d made noise on purpose, so as to not startle her. In spite of his size and build, he was as silent as a ghost when he wanted to be, and if it had been his intention to sneak up on her, he would have.

“Good morn, Naurë,” he said to her, and plucked a blade of grass.

She nodded to him. “You are well?” she asked, her eyes sharp on his face as she recalled how deeply he’d drunk of Rivendell’s fine wine the previous night.

He slanted her a look, “Of course,” he said at last. “Am I ever less than completely perfect?”

Naurë rolled her eyes. Really, the arrogance of the elf was astounding. “If your head swells any bigger, there will be no room for aught else in this garden,” she told him severely, swatting at him.

He ignored her, as he always did when she was scolding him, and placed the blade of grass between his white, even teeth. “I would know what you and Lord Elrond were discussing so intently.”

“You would, would you?” she asked evasively, settling more deeply into the nest of blankets wrapped around her. Even this late spring day was not warm enough for her old bones. “The breeze chills me,” she complained, hoping to distract him.

Hazarding a glance at him, she sighed—it had not worked. He merely waited, his blue eyes watching her calmly. Elves were known for their patience, and Haldir was known amoung elves for his. He could wait for an age if he had to.

“Very well,” she said grudgingly. To Haldir’s credit, he did not smirk at her acquiescence as she knew he longed to. “Elrond has wagered that his sons can make Lalaith smile and laugh, and I have wagered they cannot.” She peered up at the clear sky, admiring the patterns made by the sunlight filtering through the leaves, so she did not have to meet his gaze.

Haldir discarded his soggy grass-blade and selected another. “I would agree with you, Naurë,” he said at last. “I doubt those two are up to the task of entertaining your granddaughter.” But her smile of satisfaction was not to last long. “If there were ever an elf in Middle-Earth suitable to the challenge, it would be Rûmil.”

“Rûmil?” Naurë searched her mind for some memory of an elf by that name. “I know no Rûmil.”

“My youngest brother,” Haldir elaborated. “And a more mischievous, amusing soul has never walked this earth.” He raised his eyebrows at her blatant skepticism. “Obviously, he is nothing like me.”

She raised a matching eyebrow. “You are plenty mischievous for my taste,” she told him sourly. “Any more mischief from you thirty years ago and I’d not be here to tell the tale today.”

Thoroughly unconcerned with her rebuke, he reclined to lay flat on his back and rested his head on his hands, closing his eyes in bliss as the light breeze caressed his face. “It was your own foolishness that roused that band of orcs,” he replied smoothly. “Had you but listened to me—in case you have forgotten, I have almost four thousand years of experience as a warrior—you would have had more of their poisoned arrows to study than ever you needed, but always have you been headstrong.”

“Wasn’t being headstrong,” she grumbled. “Didn’t want you to get hurt ambushing them.”

Haldir propped himself up on his elbow to stare at her. “So you thought that sneaking alone into their camp in the middle of the day was a better alternative?”

“It would have been,” Naurë insisted, “if you hadn’t come barreling after me shouting like a fishwife.”

“A fishwife?” he repeated, his baritone just a tetch higher in outrage. “Is that how you remember it, my lady? Because my recollection is that you were but moments from evisceration had I not ‘barreled’ in and distracted them.”

“By shouting like a fishwife,” Naurë finished complacently. “And you are certainly not showing much gratitude to the woman who saved your life with her healing skills.”

He snorted indelicately. “My life would not have been remotely endangered had your antics not resulted in me getting shot.” He rolled over onto his belly and pulled up several dozen bits of grass in rapid succession, the only hint to his agitation. “Do you know that it took thirteen years for those scars to fade?”

“The Guardian of Lorien was flawed for over a decade?” Naurë asked mockingly. “However did the ladies—and lords, if rumor be true, my fine elf—recover from that cruel blow?” She leaned forward and tapped a gnarled finger on the crown of his pale-blond head. “Moreover, how did the Guardian himself bear being the possessor of such an imperfection?”

Anger flared in his eyes before they cleared of all emotion, like a window being shuttered. “Your deftness in angering me has not abated with the years,” he said finally, turning his attention to shredding the grass before him. “You remain one of the few who can.”

Naurë flattened her palm on his head, feeling the silken strands snag on her rough calluses. “Haldir,” she said, and smiled at him when he looked grudgingly up at her. “You know how dearly I prize any ability I have in stirring you.” It was the closest she would come to an apology or an admittance of her affection for him.

But before he could answer, a shadow fell upon them. “I see by the way the march-warden is mauling my grass that you are squabbling again,” Elrond commented, a faint smile tilting a corner of his mouth. “Who is winning? You are well-matched; I would say it is once again a draw, is it not?”

Haldir decided to get over his tendency to sulk and pulled gracefully into a cross-legged sitting posture. Snatching up the wrinkled hand that lay on Naurë’s lap, he kissed the age-spotted back of it with aplomb. “As it always is,” he said gallantly, and let his own mouth quirk a little at the arch look she gave him.

Elrond dropped to the ground on Naurë’s other side. “What has you bickering on such a fine morning?”

“Haldir but berates me for the foolishness of my youth,” Naurë said with a laugh. “I was a mere lass of sixty-two, a widowed grandmother, but he would have you think me an untried virgin on her first journey out of the city.”

“And now you are ninety-four, and still not more appreciably wise,” Haldir shot back. “Do you wonder why I—“

Elrond held up a hand and the other elf fell silent. “Haldir, I know how you fear for Naurë’s safety, but do you not see how she is ready to beat you about the head and shoulders?” Indeed, the old woman had a certain glint in her eye that bespoke of great violence to come if only she could lay her hands on a stout cane. “I beg you, let there be peace.”

Haldir smiled a smile of most unconvincing pleasantness. “Naurë,” he said, “You know how dearly I prize any ability I have in stirring you.”

Naurë’s only response was to flounce as best as an elderly woman could while seated and swathed in a half-dozen fuzzy blankets, and turn pointedly away from the blond elf to face the dark one. “How pleasant to see you this morn, Elrond,” she said amiably, dimpling at him.

It was most unnerving, he thought, how she could appear such a sweet, matronly grandmother, so harmless. Only those who knew her well, like himself and Haldir, could know how deceiving appearances could be…”I have come to settle the prize for when I win our wager.”

Naurë smirked. “I think you mean my prize, for when I win.” Haldir rolled his eyes.

Elrond waved his hand airily. “I concede only that you have a chance—albeit, a slim one—to win. I have every confidence in my sons, and the susceptibility of your granddaughter.”

She quirked a brow. “You forget that I know Lalaith her whole life. I birthed the girl, and raised her when that fool of a mother of hers ran off with that silk merchant from Rhûn.” Naurë tilted her head to one side, looking very like an inquisitive, bright-eyed bird. “Not even the most mischievous, amusing soul to ever walk this earth could make her laugh.”

The gleam of competition lit Haldir’s eyes. “You are as subtle as an arrow through the neck, Naurë,” he murmured, finally leaving off his mutilation of the lawn when Elrond eyed him with ire. “What are your terms?”

Naurë grinned; it was a most untrustworthy and actually quite worrying smile. “If your Rûmil can make my Lalaith smile, I will continue my silence about that embarrassing little incident with those dwarves…”

Elrond’s eyebrows disappeared into his hairline as Haldir scowled in the fierce way that had frightened many an orc. “I would hear this tale,” the lord of Rivendell declared.

“You and scores of others,” Naurë murmured. “But no, I must have some scrap to bargain with.”

“Then tell me what scandal you hide to wager against me?” Elrond pressed.

“No scandal, fine sir,” she replied, eyes atwinkle. “Merely a few apothecary recipes of which you are less than proud.”

He frowned. “You cannot mean… no! You cannot mean to reveal…”

“The aphrodisiac, yes,” Naurë told him as Elrond blushed furiously.

“You developed an aphrodisiac?” Haldir asked, incredulous. “You?”

“Yes, I,” Elrond practically snarled. “Human physiology interests me.”

“Especially the sexual aspects of it,” Naurë added helpfully. He only glared at her.

“I was interested in what stimulated human arousal, if it were anything like that of elfkind.” Elrond folded his arms across his chest, looking for the world like he was having a grand pout. “The aphrodisiac was developed almost by mistake.”

“Almost,” Naurë emphasized between wheezes as she laughed. “But not quite.”

“You will tell no one,” Elrond told Haldir, eyeing him fiercely.

Haldir only raised a brow and smirked. “You can hope,” he replied genially, to which Elrond frowned darkly.

“Come now,” Naurë said, a hand patting the arm of each elf. “Haldir is the most honourable elf ever born; you know he would not divulge your shameful secret.” Her assurances were somewhat diminished by her most inelegant giggles.

Haldir was not terribly impressed with her words, either. “And now that you have revealed your terms, Lady, I suggest you say what you expect of us.” Under his breath, he grumbled, “Most honourable elf ever born; does she think me stupid? I know she flatters to get her way.”

“Actually, haughty Guardian, she means that; often has she said it,” Elrond informed him, and he looked up to see Naurë watching him with an indulgent smile. “But I agree with Haldir; great is my apprehension to hear what you want of us should we lose.”

Naurë’s smile turned bittersweet, and she dropped her gaze to her hands in her lap. “I am not long for middle-earth, friends,” she said at last. “My last years are upon me. Indeed, this could be my last.” She looked up to find them watching her soberly. “I fear for Lalaith. Her mother is gone this last score of years; her father is dead. My daughter also is gone, and her son is a merchant; ever is he aboard a ship bound to the Corsairs for trade. He could not make a home for Lalaith.”

She took a shuddering breath while they waited patiently for her to continue. “Lalaith is talented in the healing arts, but has none of the demeanor needed to deal with patients. I fear she scares them with her intensity and sobriety. She will not be able to continue my healing practice; she will not be able to support herself. I fear she will simply marry any man who will give her a home, and though she is not a fun woman, she is a good woman, and my grandchild. I would not have her come to that end, in a loveless marriage of convenience and desperation.”

“I would not have that either, meldisamin,” Elrond murmured, his keen eyes never leaving her face. “What would you have us do?”

“I would have you give my Lalaith a home, after I am gone,” Naurë told him, then glanced at Haldir. “Or you, should your Rûmil prove himself best suited to making her laugh.”

“A wager is not necessary to ask this favour of us, Naurë,” Haldir said quietly. “You know you have only to ask it, and we would take her gladly.”

“Ah, but this way it feels less like an imposition and more like a business deal. This way, I can live with my bruised pride,” she informed him, attempting a smile.

“Your Lalaith has a home with me as long as she wishes,” Elrond said. “Even if my Elrohir and Elladan fail.”

Haldir nodded. “And with me, even if my Rûmil fails.” His mouth quirked in a half-smile. “Unlikely as that is.”

Naurë had to turn away, staring fixedly at the waterfall in the distance, to hide the tears that sprung to her eyes. “Much do I love you both,” she whispered. “It pains me deeply to have to leave you.”

“Hide not your tears from us, Naurë,” Elrond said. “For we are pained by it also.” She turned back to see the elves watching her, tears in their eyes as well. She reached out and grasped their hands, squeezing with as much strength as she had. “This promise is made, this bond is forged.”

“It is done,” Haldir agreed, and squeezed back tenderly, feeling the fragility of brittle bones under parchment skin.

“It is done,” Naurë repeated. “I am much eased by it.”

Elrond smiled crookedly. “Then shall we return to the hall? For this outpouring of emotion has quite depleted me; I am starving.”


Chapter 3 - Chapter 3

The Fall of Night, Part 3

The workroom was large and airy, quite unlike any other Lalaith had seen. Tall windows with scenes in coloured glass filled the space with light, and the high, arched ceiling made her voice echo most pleasingly. It would be a delightful venue in which to sing, she decided. If only her throat could produce a sound that was not like that of a very sickly raven…

Lalaith sighed, and set to work. She stood before the large table, a wicked-looking pair of shears in her hand, trying to decide which of her gowns would be first to get the chop. Aerlinn stood beside her, her gaze alternating between the gowns on the table, and her new friend, who was eyeing the gowns in a rather predatory fashion.

“You are not nervous about ruining them?” Aerlinn asked. “We are not seamstresses.”

“Indeed not,” Lalaith replied, and selected the green one, which had previously been identified as the least ugly the night before. “Money is ever tight with Nana and I; we are always remaking our clothes to get another year’s wear from them.” She ran the shears up a seam, parting the front from the back, and sighed. “And it is not as if they could get any worse.”

“That is for certain,” Aerlinn agreed, her voice quiet as she accepted the piece of fabric and began to run an iron over it, smoothing out the wrinkles and creases left by the seams. “We shall make a masterpiece of it! None shall be able to resist you!”

Lalaith glanced at the elf, and removed a sleeve from the gown. “My grandmother is always saying the same, that none can resist me, and yet here I stand, unwed and a virgin. You will forgive my skepticism, I hope?”

“Well,” Aerlinn ventured, “You are somewhat… forbidding… in demeanor. Little do I know of Men, but much do I know of Elves, and laughter and a smile go far in attracting them.”

“Men are much the same as Elves in that respect, then,” Lalaith said. “But Nana is to blame for it, as she has ever told me to be myself, and never to change who I am to please a man.” She turned to Aerlinn, hands filled with fabric. “This is who I am. Humorless, serious, with never a smile. Perhaps there is someone who will not me me as I am; perhaps not. I will not wait for him.”

Aerlinn took the dress pieces with a sigh. “I hope there is, for it pains me to see my ne friend alone.” She ironed in silence a long moment while Lalaith started dismembering the brown dress. “I wonder… perhaps we could dye these, and improve their colour.”

“Think you I am not aware of your change in subject?” Lalaith asked wryly. “I am; but I will go along. This brown is a most disgusting colour.”

Aerlinn eyed it for a long moment. “I do not think there is aught we can do to salvage that one,” she sighed at last. “Unless you will wear black. But this,” she said, and lifted a light blue gown from the table. “This, we can put into a bath of brighter blue. Your hair and skin can take the colours of jewels; these pastel tones will do naught for you. The green, as well; we shall dye it the colour of an emerald.”

Lalaith’s eyes lit with excitement. “Let us begin!”

Aerlinn left the room to arrange for the dye baths, and Lalaith tossed the remnants of the brown dress over her shoulder and began to cut apart the blue gown. “I cry mercy!” begged a laughing voice from behind her. “What have I done, to merit such a missile sent my way?”

Lalaith spun around, huge shears held threateningly in her hand, to see an elf in the doorway, a piece of brown skirt draped over his shoulder while a sleeve fell over his head, covering one eye. The rest of the hideous gown lay in a heap at his feet. “I am sorry,” she told him, and set the shears down before coming to pluck the offending bits of material from him.

“Quite alright,” he told her. “If a lovely woman does not fling something at me at least once a day, I count my time poorly spent.” He followed her into the room, watching as she folded the discarded bits of dress and dropped them onto the seat of a chair.

Lalaith surveyed the elf before her. He was tall and slender, like most elves, with pale hair and blue eyes, also like most elves. But those eyes were sparkling at her with a truly formidable amount of humour and mischief. She was usually greatly alarmed by men like that; she felt no differently with this elf.

Last evening’s meal with Elladan and Elrohir had been an exercise in discomfort for her, as they had spent the whole of the night laughing and joking and smiling, and expecting her to do likewise. Their disappointment in her was palpable, and she had been glad for the meal to end so she could escape to her room. Lalaith had no doubt she would disappoint this elf, as well, and turned sadly to the table.

“I am Rûmil,” he said, and she looked back at him. He held out his hand, and she placed hers in it. He brushed his lips over her skin, and Lalaith felt a shiver of heat travel from where his mouth had touched up her arm and down her spine.

“I am Lalaith,” she replied, then blushed at the breathless sound of her voice, knowing he had noticed. Embarrassed, she pulled her hand from his light grasp and turned back to the table. There was only the smallest tremor to that hand as it picked up the shears and parted a sleeve from the bodice.

“Do you know where Haldir is?” Rûmil asked her after a moment. “I seek my brother, and was informed he is likely with Naurë, who I am told is your grandmother.”

Lalaith looked up to find him watching her carefully, and she set the shears down before she could destroy the dress with her trembling. “She told me at breakfast that she would sit in Elrond’s garden until lunch, and after that meal, would be working in his study with him.” Oh, his eyes were so very blue, like forget-me-nots, and fixed so intently upon her…

“If she has spent any time with Haldir, she is doubtless ready to drink a bottle of wine all by herself,” Rûmil said, grinning, revealing even white teeth. Lalaith nodded. “Nana is always saying that he is the only elf that could drive her to drink.”

Rûmil laughed. “Many is the time he has made Orophin and myself take to the bottle,” he agreed.

“Orophin?”

“Our other brother, and the eldest.”

“Are you the youngest?” Lalaith thought he looked younger than most other elves she’d seen.

“I am,” he confirmed. “One of the youngest elves in Middle-Earth, actually. Only the Evenstar is younger than I.”

Lalaith cocked her head to the side as a memory swam its way to the surface of her mind. “Nana told me once that she and Elrond were studying the fertility of elves,” she mentioned, and cut the faded, ragged trim off the bodice of the blue gown. “It fascinated them how few and far apart elvish offspring are.” She glanced up at Rûmil. “You have two brothers; Elrohir and Elladan have a sister. Families of three are rare in elves, and considered quite large, are they not?”

“Too large, if you are one of them,” Rûmil replied. “I have ever longed to be my parents’ only child.” He sighed dramatically. “At least I can console myself with the knowledge that their first two sons were merely practice, and that they achieved perfection with their third attempt.”

She, of course, remained silent, merely watching him, and after a moment, his smile faltered. But there was no disappointment on his face. “You are a serious one,” he said at last, and flicked a fingertip over her cheek, brushing an errant wisp of hair behind her ear. “No matter; I am silly enough for two.” He held out his elbow. “I think Aerlinn has deserted you, fair one. Will you let me bring you in to lunch?”

Her belly chose then to voice its opinion, and grumbled noisily. She blushed again.

“Yes, indeed, sir stomach,” Rûmil said, bending slightly to address Lalaith’s midsection. “We attend to your needs right away.”

“You are very silly,” Lalaith informed him as they left the room, her hand tucked firmly into the crook of his arm.

“It is the bane of my brothers’ existence,” he admitted. “But I consider it my duty, as they are both somber, responsible, and restrained at all times.”

They continued chatting as they made their way to the feasting hall, unaware of three pairs of eyes watching their progress. Naurë’s were speculative; Haldir’s smug; Elrond’s somewhat grumpy.

“There you are, Lalaith!” exclaimed a feminine voice, and Aerlinn joined her friend and Rûmil at their part of the long table. “I am sorry I did not return, but—“

“I distracted her with my looks, wit, and charm,” Elrohir said from behind the elf-maid, darting a kiss on the side of her neck before plopping himself onto the long bench. Aerlinn blushed faintly and sank down beside Lalaith.

“Or what you think passes for looks, wit, and charm,” Rûmil retorted. “I confess myself unaware you possessed any of these.”

“But you are renowned for your obtuseness, cousin elf,” Elladan said from across the table. “A balrog could roost on your head and you’d think it a fetching hat.” He filled a plate with the choicest bits from the platters and handed it with a flourish to Lalaith, who nodded her thanks.

Rûmil only arched an elegant golden brow. “Tis only jealousy that makes you say such things,” he replied with false hauteur. “You begrudge me my escort of this lovely maid to our meal.”

Elladan heaved a dramatic sigh. “The child speaks the truth,” he admitted. “I ache with envy that ‘twas not my arm she had.”

“Child?” Rûmil inquired, playing up his outrage. “I am over a thousand years old, Elladan; hardly am I a stripling.”

“A mere babe,” Elrohir declared with an elegant wave of his hand. “I am surprised Orophin and Haldir permit you to leave the nursery.”

“Indeed,” Elladan agreed. “They either have great confidence in your ability to keep yourself alive—which I doubt—or else they are supremely uncaring if you manage to get yourself killed. Knowing your brothers, I find this last infinitely more likely.”

Rûmil heaved a great sigh and turned to Lalaith, who had been watching their banter with wide eyes. “Do you see, fair one, what a pitiable state one can be brought to? Their advanced years make them senile; their humour is weak and feeble, as are their intellects. Truly, it is a sad day.” And he smiled angelically at her.

She blinked at him, quite unable to speak. “I think it is time for us to eat,” she said finally, at a loss for anything else to say.

Elrohir, Elladan, Rûmil, and Aerlinn all laughed, to Lalaith’s amazement. “She is a harsh taskmistress, is Lalaith,” Rûmil said at last. “But we have been given our orders. It is time to eat!”

Across the hall, Naurë frowned into her goblet. She was well acquainted with the expression on her granddaughter’s face; it was infatuation, pure and simple, and it was directed at Haldir’s brother. He was very handsome, she would admit it. His hair was the pale-gold of finest ale, and his dark blue eyes brimmed with intelligence and good humour. Haldir and Orophin had raised him after their parents died, so she doubted not that he was a fine elf, strong and brave.

But he was an elf, and that fact caused an ache in her heart for her granddaughter. Nothing good could come of a woman falling in love with an elf; she would age and wither, and he would remain hale and beautiful always. She would die, and he would sink into despair.

“Why so grave, meldisamin?” Elrond asked from beside her. “If aught is to your displeasure, I will have the kitchen staff beaten.”

Naurë tried not to laugh, but it was impossible. Elrond was known across middle-earth for his kindness as lord of Rivendell. “Yes,” she said, surprising him. “Have them beaten; I would like to see this.”

He slumped into his chair a little. “I hate when you call my bluff,” he muttered grouchily.

She tossed a grape at him; it pinged off his forehead to land in his lap. “Then do not bluff with me.”

He retrieved the grape and popped it into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. “You did not answer. Why so grave?”

Naurë’s gaze travelled across the hall to land on her granddaughter and the elves with whom she sat. “Lalaith has that look on her face,” she said at last. “It worries me.”

“What look is that?” Elrond studied Lalaith; the girl looked somewhat baffled by the swift repartee that flew around her, but that was not unusual. His sons were quite a handful even when it was just the two of them; paired with Rûmil, the three could be considerably daunting.

“The look of love,” Naurë whispered, drawing her friend’s attention back to her.

“Love?” he asked, surprised. “Surely not. She has only known them a day…”

“Not for your handsome boys,” she told him, a wry smile on her lips. “For Rûmil.”

And he looked again, and saw she was right. While Lalaith’s eyes were bright and curious when fixed upon his sons, when they turned to Haldir’s brother, they changed… a light came into them, a softness. Celebrian, Elrond’s wife, had long been gone to Valinor, but still he could remember that same light in her eyes when she looked at him.

“Can it be possible?” he said at last. “He only arrived this morning; she can’t have known him more than an hour.”

“That is all it needs, sometimes,” Naurë replied, eyes locked on her granddaughter. She smiled then, a smile of such aching sadness that Elrond felt embarrassed, as if he were intruding on some private moment. “Just the one look.”
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