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b2memTitle: Once Upon a Springtime in Doriath
Author Name: Robinka/![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
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Prompt: Your character gets caught in a spring rainstorm. What happens next?
Summary: A few glimpses at the everyday life of the Grey Folk of Doriath. There will be a spring rainstorm and characters stuck in it as my B2MeM prompt says, but here, you won't see heartbreak, sadness, death or that dreadful shadow that hovered over Beleriand. The Sindar deserve peace and quiet once in a while.
Rating: PG
Warnings: None
Beta: Shirebound. Thank you!
Author's Notes:
-- I've smuggled a little bit of Slavic mythology to Doriathrin tradition -- drowning an effigy (in Polish called Marzanna) was one of seasonal celebrations and symbolized rebirth of nature. It's still cultivated in some regions of my homeland.
-- The sport in which a horse pulls a skier is popular here in the mountains and is called skiring.
-- Súllinn and Miniel are my original female characters who feature in my other story Carmina Brethilia. You might want to check it out to find out more about them.
-- Lossel [Sindarin]: loss = snow, gel = joy.
I.
This season, winter was absolute in Beleriand.
Some folk muttered that it looked as if the old days, long before the Sun, had returned. Many of them remembered those times with harsh northern wind, skin-numbing frost and a layer of snow reaching well past one's waist. Back then no one would be surprised that winter had lasted well over forty days more than it should have. But nowadays, people became used to less ‘wintry’ winters. Some even grumbled that the Grey Folk, as a whole, had lost their resistance to harsh weather, that they had become weak and sensitive.
Well, let people talk, they would always do so, be it good or bad weather. If summer was hot, they craved rain; if winter was not overly frosty, they prayed for the Allfather to send more snow and cold.
And yet, forest routes were still covered with a thick coat of snow, a lot of the wildlife had not yet awoken -- with the exception of wolves, sleepless, always roaming the woods in hunger -- and folk outside Menegroth were running out of provisions and firewood. Many feared and expected that spring would not come at all.
There were also those who were glad. On the northern fences, patrolmen had little to do, save for lazing around the forest, along the Girdle, because no one -- not a single filthy orc -- dared to poke their nose out of their lairs. It was simply too cold. So the wardens busied themselves with hunting, salting and smoking meat, tanning animals' skins, repairing weapons, and drinking mead around the fireplaces while sharing stories of old times when it was too cold to do anything else.
In huts and hamlets scattered along the forest, people cursed and kept shivering from cold, as they observed the ice-bound river of Sirion.
As the days grew longer, but were still grey and bleak, in Menegroth the Grey Folk began to wonder whether they should perhaps start thinking rather about summer solstice than about their usual spring festivity.
On one slow evening, the fire was roaring in the hearth in the throne hall of Menegroth. Thingol and Melian played chess, Daeron strummed a harp with a lazy hand, Lúthien fed the fish in a huge, cylindrical bowl, and the sentinels at the door stood rigid as they should.
“My dear husband,” Melian spoke up from the board after she had moved one of her white pawns, “we should really think about spring fest, should we not?”
“Ehm...” She urged her husband when he neither moved any of his pieces, nor he replied, only sat staring at the board with his fingers touched to his lips, brows drawn together, and his hair hanging loose about his face.
“Why?” he queried seeming to wake up.
“Why what?” she asked.
“Why should we?” he added.
“Because it is our tradition,” Melian said.
“Have you been outside lately, Darling?” Thingol asked as he moved his knight and killed Melian's pawn. “Have you seen the snow?”
She sighed.
“Yes, I have seen it.”
“Would I not look foolish with the traditional straw doll that I should throw into the Esgalduin while the river is frozen?” Thingol shook his head. “Who would believe the winter is gone, then? No one.”
“Papa, you should put Daeron's snowshoes on the doll's feet and see if she can use them,” Lúthien said with a giggle. “Mama, there is more snow there than I can remember.”
“I know,” Melian replied, “I know.”
“There must be a reason behind it,” she said after no one had bothered to comment. Daeron still touched the strings of his harp, the sentinels tried not to look bored and attempted to avoid yawning in case someone glanced at them.
The fire roared and licked the blocks of wood.
“I remember,” Daeron stopped pulling at the strings, “some two hundred years ago, when Saeros and I set out to travel along the southern fences, we departed with snow and came back with rain.”
“Do tell!” Lúthien clapped her hands.
Daeron inclined his head gracefully, and after a nod at Thingol, having received his agreement, he started a quiet tune and began his tale.
II.
Saeros had insisted they should travel in a one-horse sleigh; he had said it would be easier. Daeron had opted for simply riding on horseback, just like any other traveler would do, but Saeros had stubbornly refused. The forest roads maintained by the Doriathrim were well kept and provided comfortable trips, he had reasoned with Daeron.
Finally, they had come to an agreement and left without further ado, heading southward. Daeron had agreed to accompany Saeros in that expedition plainly out of boredom and he was blissfully ignorant as far as Saeros' reasons to go out there were concerned. The king's advisor had avoided the topic, and Daeron had not pressed.
They had left once the winter was in its full, but soon the weather had begun to change and the wind had carried warmth and rainclouds.
So a few weeks after they had departed Menegroth, Daeron and Saeros realized they would go no further unless they tried to push the sleigh on mud and stones.
Huge raindrops banged at the ground, while two figures attempted to push the sleigh using the last remnants of rapidly melting snow. The horse, a beast that usually behaved and was good-naturedly inclined toward people, reared and pulled sharply at the reins, which did not make the whole task easier.
The rain fell with a wall of water, and the entire world nearly vanished from the sight.
“Are we moving yet, or are we watching one another?” Saeros yelled, trying, albeit not very successfully, to outshout the swish of the rain.
“Just shut up, Saeros!” Daeron shouted over his shoulder, asking himself mentally once again what in the name of all the Powers had plagued his mind when he had agreed to go with Saeros in the first place. “Push!!! Push that damned sleigh!”
The rain continued, heedless.
“Give the reins to me!” Saeros demanded as he walked over to Daeron.
“There!” Daeron threw the leather straps at Saeros' chest and darted past him to the rear of the vehicle. He pushed up his sleeves and braced himself against the sleigh.
“FOOOOORWAAAAARD!!!” he bellowed.
Saeros urged the horse. The beast whinnied, climbed to its hind legs, shook its head and stepped forward, pulling the offending weight a little bit. Daeron grimaced from the effort. The veins beneath the skin on his temple became visible and pulsed with a thudding sound.
“It's no use, Saeros,” Daeron objected after another while of pushing the sleigh and struggling with the horse. Daeron wiped his forehead with his forearm, though in truth, he realized, it was a comical gesture as the rain had washed any drops of sweat immediately and kept on falling regardless of their joint effort. “We need to unharness the horse and continue on horseback.”
Saeros pondered Daeron's words for a moment.
“Come on, trip advisor.” Daeron began unbuckling the harness from the pole. “I will need a helping hand here.”
Soon, the two commenced their trip, though in the opposite direction, on horseback, as Daeron had suggested, and they reached Menegroth as such, raising many questions as to where the sleigh had gone horseless.
Saeros wanted to forget about the entire event as fast as possible, but Daeron could not stop thinking about it -- it constantly bothered him, and he wanted desperately to do something. He pondered and wondered, sketched, painted, and designed, until next winter the entire population of Doriath was introduced to a new way of sport.
Mablung led a harnessed horse over to where Daeron stood waiting. Daeron had two wooden planks in his grasp, taller than he was, with a leather contraption in the middle of each of them.
“Say, Daeron,” Mablung brought the horse to a halt, “do you suppose you can slide on these being pulled by the horse?” He looked closer at the planks, noting they had sharpened edges. “I supposed you could also try sliding down a slope without a horse, while trying to keep your balance.”
Daeron glanced at Mablung and then at his new invention, then once again at Mablung, who gave him a smirk.
“Have your intellectual abilities increased since you were promoted for the captain of the palace guards?” he asked. Mablung laughed.
“That would be yes, since I have spent more time in such an enlightened company as yourself, Daeron the lore master.” Mablung winked. “Come, let me help you with these.”
Daeron attached the planks to his boots by the leather straps, and stood waiting while Mablung jumped on the horse's back and threw the long sling that was buckled to the harness in Daeron's direction.
“I am ready when you are,” Mablung said.
“All right, proceed.”
Mablung urged the horse to a trot at first, while Daeron was bracing himself atop the planks and holding the sling firmly in his grasp. His first attempts at sliding after the horse ended up with his bottom painfully on the ground, but soon Mablung was able to quicken the gait.
They rode down the straight road, the galloping horse carrying Mablung and pulling Daeron, who had an enormous grin of joy on his face and his cheeks reddened from the frost as he balanced on the sliding planks.
“I guess Lossel will be a suitable nickname for you,” Mablung commented when they both came to a halt. The folk of Menegroth, who had been watching the entire outcome gathered alongside the road, clapped their hands and cheered.
Daeron beamed.
“Come to think of it, if I can find two straight sticks long enough to use them to push myself against the ground, I could probably try sliding on the planks by myself,” he mused.
“I should tell Beleg,” Mablung broke in, “because these would be helpful to the wardens on the fences. I can imagine you can be quiet as a mouse once sliding. After you practice enough, I mean.”
“See, one rainstorm, and we have a storm of ideas,” Daeron answered as he detached the sliding devices from his feet.
“How so?”
“Saeros and I were caught by a furious rain last winter, or should I say stirring, because spring sprang soon afterward, and we could not use the sleigh any longer,” he related. “It made me think, and so here I am with these.”
“Oh, I see.” Mablung grinned. “My last watch at the northern marches, I remember, was surprising as much, with a lot of rain, too.”
“Care to share the story?”
III.
Mablung waited outside the headquarters of the marchwardens, sitting on the wooden fence that separated the square and the barracks from the paddock and the stables, waiting for his assigned patrolman to come out of the door. He whistled a soft tune, his legs swung to the rhythm, his quiver slung over his knee and his bow on the ground. He looked up at the sky when the first drops of rain fell. An unwanted shiver ran through him, and he inwardly urged Beleg to decide quickly who of the young wardens would accompany Mablung to his post, though Mablung had his own assumptions, thank you very much.
Finally, a cloaked figure appeared in the doorway.
The hood was drawn deeply over the head, the face almost completely hidden, save for the chin that told Mablung nothing when he slid to the ground from the fence.
“Hello,” he said politely.
“Hello,” the new one muttered.
“Shall we depart?” Mablung asked adjusting the quiver on his back and picking up his bow.
“Yes.”
Not a talkative one, Mablung thought, then proceeded toward the gate.
The rain increased, bashing at the sandy ground of the road.
“So I hear your name is Oropher?” Mablung picked up the talk. “Cúthalion told me a lot about you.”
“Errr, no,” came a quiet reply.
“No what?” Mablung asked, surprised.
“My name is not Oropher. He needed to return to the Caves 'cause he received an urgent message from his wife's midwife,” the young warden explained. Mablung stopped for a moment and looked at his hooded companion. “His wife, Oropher's I mean, gave birth to a son prematurely. So I heard.”
“I see.” Mablung scratched the top of his head, then drew his hood on. “Is the newborn in danger?”
“I have not heard back from Menegroth.”
“All right, then,” Mablung concluded. “What is your name, Warden, if not Oropher?”
“Súllinn, Commander.” The warden pushed the hood away from her face. “The name is Súllinn.”
When Mablung first flinched and almost lost his footing on the muddy ground, he rebuked himself for reacting as such, then he grinned, but composed himself quickly.
“I am as much surprised,” he said saluting, “as I am glad.”
“Are you not disappointed?” Súllinn asked.
“Why should I be?” he answered with a question, regarding her partly hooded head, the feathers of the arrows in her quiver that stood out from behind her shoulder, the bowstring crossing her torso, her long knife sheathed at her side, her knee-high boots, and back upward. “Come, we will be completely soaked before we reach the post.”
“I am somewhat new to the whole... warden thing,” she gestured, “as I was just promoted, and Captain said...”
“Now, now, Warden Súllinn, you will do just fine,” Mablung replied. “Let us move.”
So they did. And the rain was falling as if it wanted to hinder them on purpose. When thunder resounded in the air above them, or rather in the water above them, Mablung winced.
“We will not make it,” he stated. Súllinn looked at him and nodded her acknowledgment. “We need to find shelter.”
“Those wardens we are about to replace will not leave until we show up,” she added matter-of-factly.
“Yes.”
“Good.” She sighed. “This storm is rubbing me all the wrong way.”
“Are you afraid of it?” Mablung wondered, then realized that it might turn against him that he had said it aloud.
“No, not really, I am just trying to avoid being scorched to a chunk of charcoal,” Súllinn answered with a small smile. “The trees and branches around and above us, and I would like to find a rock to crawl under.”
“True. Let us not tarry then.”
Soon, the two soaked figures sat in the shadow of a hanging rock, where the water could not reach them and the storm was not a threat.
“Do you know that spot down the Esgalduin where the river meanders in the woods and there is a small pond?” Súllinn suddenly asked.
“The one a league or so southward from Menegroth?” He wanted to be sure.
“The same one.”
“I know, why?”
“I suddenly remembered something,” Súllinn said giggling under her breath. “Miniel and I went to the pond to have a girls’ day some time ago.”
“And...”
“We walked in on Beleg bathing in the pond.”
“Aaaaand...”
“Nothing. Just nothing.” She smiled mysteriously.
“Yes, right.” Mablung shrugged. When he turned away from Súllinn, he grinned mostly to himself and to the thick wall of water that he could see almost everywhere.
“I heard a lot about it, mind you, from the other party involved,” Mablung pointed out casually. “I know there was a storm brewing then, too.”
“Yes.”
“But, do tell,” he leaned forward and crossed his forearms on his knees, “since we have nothing better to do.”
Súllinn glanced at him and licked her lips.
IV.
“We have to hurry, Miniel, if we want to be there before dusk,” Súllinn told her friend. The short-haired woman huffed behind Súllinn's back, but obediently picked up her pace.
“Oh, you love to commandeer me around, Súl.” Miniel pouted when she caught up with Súllinn. Súllinn stopped abruptly, so that Miniel had to skid to the side to avoid bumping into Súllinn's back.
“What?” Miniel whisper-shouted.
“Someone is out there.”
“Where?” Miniel asked.
“Listen,” Súllinn ordered.
Splashing. Water drizzling and splashing. And yet more splashing.
“So much for a girls' day out,” Súllinn muttered as she set the picnic basket aside. “Get down, Min.”
The two women moved on all fours into the last line of the bushes that grew along the riverbank. Here, the small pond was not deep; the surface of the water reached a bit past Súllinn's elbow. Súllinn crawled into the thicket and pushed the twigs and leaves aside with one hand.
“Oh!” she whispered.
“What?” Miniel asked behind her back.
“Shhh...”
Súllinn gestured for Miniel to crawl closer. When the other woman stuck her head into the tangle of leaves, Súllinn caught out of the corner of her eye a bright blush spreading on Miniel's cheek.
“Min...?”
“Yes?”
“Are you blushing?”
“No,” she replied, indignantly. “Of course, not. You have dragged me here nearly cantering all the way from the Caves. I'm out of breath and simply hot.”
“Your breathing sounds even to me,” Súllinn noted with a smirk. “Come on, Min. Stop pretending. Everyone knows you fancy that delicious specimen in front of us.”
“Specimen, hmphhhh.” Miniel huffed.
“Look at that abdomen,” Súllinn whispered into Miniel's ear. Miniel blushed even more.
“You know well that I am not used to seeing as many naked men as you are,” Miniel commented. “I am not a cadet, I do not spend so much time with the marchwardens.”
“So?”
“So I may be blushing, that's all.”
Súllinn removed a strand of hair from her forehead and shook her head in disbelief. Everyone in Menegroth knew quite a different story of why Miniel might be blushing.
“You have been pining for him for ages,” Súllinn said with a flash of her teeth when she grinned at Miniel. “Don't deny it. I knew it when I first saw you gaze at him as if you were a puppy that looked into its master's face.”
“You see things that do not exist,” Miniel retorted. “You should go to the master healer.”
“Min,” Súllinn sighed, “you may say whatever you wish. I can see you are in love with Beleg. Perhaps you should just admire...” She pointed her finger at the pond beyond the cover of leaves and when her gaze followed the path of her finger, she noticed, mortified, no Beleg in the water.
Miniel gaped.
“Where is he?” she asked in a strangled whisper.
“Here.”
The voice resounded behind them.
Miniel and Súllinn tore themselves from the hole in the bushes and whirled on the ground to see a smirking Beleg, barefooted, clad in his dark brown leather leggings, bare-chested and dripping with water. His hair was bound at his nape and tossed casually over his shoulder, his eyes sparkling with what appeared to be mirth, even though he strove to maintain a serious, angry look on his face.
“You may look at this abdomen now more closely,” he addressed to a furiously blushing Miniel. “And you, Súllinn, do not seem a promising candidate for a forest warden if you allowed me to surprise you as such.”
“But, I...”
“We...” Miniel found her tongue finally. She rose from the grass and gave Beleg a quick bow. “We meant no offense, Captain. Please, forgive us. We'll be on our way. Súl, come, let us get back to the Caves.” She bent down and pulled Súllinn up by her sleeve. “Please.”
“Yes, Miniel is right, Captain.” Súllinn raised her head to Beleg while she scrambled up to her feet. “We will be going now.”
“I see,” Beleg mused as he folded his arms across his chest, “I ruined your picnic, Ladies.”
“No, not at all!” Miniel protested.
“There, there,” he laughed and waved his hands in front of him, “now, let us see what we can do with this.”
“How so?” Súllinn asked.
“Firstly, it is going to rain soon,” Beleg answered. “Secondly, we would not wish for that,” he pointed at the picnic basket that sat on the ground next to Súllinn, “to go to waste. I smell something really delicious.”
Miniel blushed again. Súllinn giggled.
“Let me get dressed,” Beleg announced and turned on his heel.
III.
“So Beleg found shelter under the branches of a tree, and we sat down on our blanket, the three of us,” Súllinn finished her story, “and ate everything that Miniel had baked. We drank wine and had a good time.”
She glanced at Mablung who had an odd look on his face, absent, even dreamy perhaps, and she nudged him by the shoulder lightly.
“Are you still with me or have you gone down a dream-path?”
He blinked several times as if waking up from a dream indeed when Súllinn waved her hand in front of his eyes.
“Yes, yes, you were saying?”
“A warden caught off guard?” She sniggered. “Good we got stuck in the storm and are not on duty yet, otherwise I don't think we would hear the end of Captain's rant.”
“Súllinn,” he said as if to admonish her, and Súllinn drew her brows up to her hairline.
“Yes, Commander?”
“Nothing, nothing,” he muttered. “Do continue, please.”
“Not much to say,” Súllinn answered as she got to her feet, hunching a little under the rock. “Except that another sort of storm has been brewing since then, and Beleg became Miniel's frequent visitor.” She winked. “Of course, I was right, and so were the folk who thought she fancied him. It only took them both one spring rainstorm to realize.”
“Yes.” Mablung lifted his gaze to her face.
“Perhaps, we should check whether the rain has lessened?” she suggested. “I can hear it, but the sound is not that intense any longer.”
“Let us do it,” Mablung agreed.
As they stood at the edge of the dry ground underneath the rock, Mablung stuck out his hand and waited to see the drops of rain on the sleeve of his uniform and his glove.
“You are right,” he said. “We can move onward.”
“Good.” She smiled and gathered her belongings, handing Mablung his bow.
“Thank you,” he said very quietly.
“The storm has passed, apparently,” Súllinn stated when he led her from underneath the rock, between the trees and onto their path.
“I can't seem to have noticed that,” Mablung mumbled, and Súllinn could not really tell whether it was a reply to what she had said or a casual comment. Or maybe something of a different kind, she shrugged and followed Mablung through the forest to their post at the northern marches.
II.
“Did Súllinn notice anything?” Daeron asked Mablung.
“No, I don't think so.” He shrugged. “And if she did, she did not care to share it with me.”
“As if she ever would.”
“Your point being?”
“My point is: if she hides something from you, she will not share it, especially not with you,” Daeron offered as he held out his hands to underline the obvious. Mablung nodded slowly.
“Let us get back to the stables,” he pointed out to change the uncomfortable topic.
Daeron gathered his wooden sliding devices and propped them against his shoulder, supporting the ends in his curled palm.
“Say, Daeron, will you construct more of these?” Mablung asked. “They look quite useful.”
“I should probably think about it, since you again mention their usefulness,” Daeron answered as Mablung pulled the horse by the reins and began walking.
“You might want to talk with the mistress carpenter to see whether she can help you with this memorable invention of yours,” Mablung suggested. “Unless you already have done so.”
“I will.”
Daeron seemed to be thinking about something; he walked alongside Mablung without a word for a while until they reached the bridge over the Esgalduin.
“I think,” Daeron said when they crossed the gate, “if I ever go on a quest of any kind again, I should ask you to accompany me, Mablung.”
“Any time, anywhere, at your service.” Mablung saluted by way of goodbye as they parted. Mablung lead the horse toward the stables and Daeron carried his new 'snowshoes', as he began to think about them, to the carpentry workshop.
I.
Lúthien was clapping her hands. The fire was roaring in the hearth, and the sentinels at the door became alert, even more than usual, when Mablung came in, sweeping a deep bow before the royal couple and the princess. Then, he gave a graceful nod to Daeron.
The princess turned her gaze away from her parents when Mablung walked over to their small chess table and leaned toward her father to say something that was apparently only for his highness' ears. She watched the fish in the bowl and followed its movements with her fingertip pressed to the glass. Then, she glanced askance at Daeron.
He smiled. He had a very genuine, kind smile that reached his eyes and played in the corners of his lips. Lúthien sweetly smiled back, thinking how different it was from Daeron's half-casual, half-cautious smile he more commonly wore, and she decided that she liked it. Perhaps, she thought, if her folk could smile like that and more than they usually did, they could warm up their hearts and the winter would at last go away down the river with the cracking ice that bound the Esgalduin. And it would carry the straw effigy her father would finally throw into the grey waters. Then, she would be dancing in the glade in Neldoreth, under the moonlight, her feet barely touching the grass, a nightingale's song in her ears, and her own laughter filling with air with its music.
She could not wait.
Author Name: Robinka/
binkaslibraryPrompt: Your character gets caught in a spring rainstorm. What happens next?
Summary: A few glimpses at the everyday life of the Grey Folk of Doriath. There will be a spring rainstorm and characters stuck in it as my B2MeM prompt says, but here, you won't see heartbreak, sadness, death or that dreadful shadow that hovered over Beleriand. The Sindar deserve peace and quiet once in a while.
Rating: PG
Warnings: None
Beta: Shirebound. Thank you!
Author's Notes:
-- I've smuggled a little bit of Slavic mythology to Doriathrin tradition -- drowning an effigy (in Polish called Marzanna) was one of seasonal celebrations and symbolized rebirth of nature. It's still cultivated in some regions of my homeland.
-- The sport in which a horse pulls a skier is popular here in the mountains and is called skiring.
-- Súllinn and Miniel are my original female characters who feature in my other story Carmina Brethilia. You might want to check it out to find out more about them.
-- Lossel [Sindarin]: loss = snow, gel = joy.
This season, winter was absolute in Beleriand.
Some folk muttered that it looked as if the old days, long before the Sun, had returned. Many of them remembered those times with harsh northern wind, skin-numbing frost and a layer of snow reaching well past one's waist. Back then no one would be surprised that winter had lasted well over forty days more than it should have. But nowadays, people became used to less ‘wintry’ winters. Some even grumbled that the Grey Folk, as a whole, had lost their resistance to harsh weather, that they had become weak and sensitive.
Well, let people talk, they would always do so, be it good or bad weather. If summer was hot, they craved rain; if winter was not overly frosty, they prayed for the Allfather to send more snow and cold.
And yet, forest routes were still covered with a thick coat of snow, a lot of the wildlife had not yet awoken -- with the exception of wolves, sleepless, always roaming the woods in hunger -- and folk outside Menegroth were running out of provisions and firewood. Many feared and expected that spring would not come at all.
There were also those who were glad. On the northern fences, patrolmen had little to do, save for lazing around the forest, along the Girdle, because no one -- not a single filthy orc -- dared to poke their nose out of their lairs. It was simply too cold. So the wardens busied themselves with hunting, salting and smoking meat, tanning animals' skins, repairing weapons, and drinking mead around the fireplaces while sharing stories of old times when it was too cold to do anything else.
In huts and hamlets scattered along the forest, people cursed and kept shivering from cold, as they observed the ice-bound river of Sirion.
As the days grew longer, but were still grey and bleak, in Menegroth the Grey Folk began to wonder whether they should perhaps start thinking rather about summer solstice than about their usual spring festivity.
On one slow evening, the fire was roaring in the hearth in the throne hall of Menegroth. Thingol and Melian played chess, Daeron strummed a harp with a lazy hand, Lúthien fed the fish in a huge, cylindrical bowl, and the sentinels at the door stood rigid as they should.
“My dear husband,” Melian spoke up from the board after she had moved one of her white pawns, “we should really think about spring fest, should we not?”
“Ehm...” She urged her husband when he neither moved any of his pieces, nor he replied, only sat staring at the board with his fingers touched to his lips, brows drawn together, and his hair hanging loose about his face.
“Why?” he queried seeming to wake up.
“Why what?” she asked.
“Why should we?” he added.
“Because it is our tradition,” Melian said.
“Have you been outside lately, Darling?” Thingol asked as he moved his knight and killed Melian's pawn. “Have you seen the snow?”
She sighed.
“Yes, I have seen it.”
“Would I not look foolish with the traditional straw doll that I should throw into the Esgalduin while the river is frozen?” Thingol shook his head. “Who would believe the winter is gone, then? No one.”
“Papa, you should put Daeron's snowshoes on the doll's feet and see if she can use them,” Lúthien said with a giggle. “Mama, there is more snow there than I can remember.”
“I know,” Melian replied, “I know.”
“There must be a reason behind it,” she said after no one had bothered to comment. Daeron still touched the strings of his harp, the sentinels tried not to look bored and attempted to avoid yawning in case someone glanced at them.
The fire roared and licked the blocks of wood.
“I remember,” Daeron stopped pulling at the strings, “some two hundred years ago, when Saeros and I set out to travel along the southern fences, we departed with snow and came back with rain.”
“Do tell!” Lúthien clapped her hands.
Daeron inclined his head gracefully, and after a nod at Thingol, having received his agreement, he started a quiet tune and began his tale.
Saeros had insisted they should travel in a one-horse sleigh; he had said it would be easier. Daeron had opted for simply riding on horseback, just like any other traveler would do, but Saeros had stubbornly refused. The forest roads maintained by the Doriathrim were well kept and provided comfortable trips, he had reasoned with Daeron.
Finally, they had come to an agreement and left without further ado, heading southward. Daeron had agreed to accompany Saeros in that expedition plainly out of boredom and he was blissfully ignorant as far as Saeros' reasons to go out there were concerned. The king's advisor had avoided the topic, and Daeron had not pressed.
They had left once the winter was in its full, but soon the weather had begun to change and the wind had carried warmth and rainclouds.
So a few weeks after they had departed Menegroth, Daeron and Saeros realized they would go no further unless they tried to push the sleigh on mud and stones.
Huge raindrops banged at the ground, while two figures attempted to push the sleigh using the last remnants of rapidly melting snow. The horse, a beast that usually behaved and was good-naturedly inclined toward people, reared and pulled sharply at the reins, which did not make the whole task easier.
The rain fell with a wall of water, and the entire world nearly vanished from the sight.
“Are we moving yet, or are we watching one another?” Saeros yelled, trying, albeit not very successfully, to outshout the swish of the rain.
“Just shut up, Saeros!” Daeron shouted over his shoulder, asking himself mentally once again what in the name of all the Powers had plagued his mind when he had agreed to go with Saeros in the first place. “Push!!! Push that damned sleigh!”
The rain continued, heedless.
“Give the reins to me!” Saeros demanded as he walked over to Daeron.
“There!” Daeron threw the leather straps at Saeros' chest and darted past him to the rear of the vehicle. He pushed up his sleeves and braced himself against the sleigh.
“FOOOOORWAAAAARD!!!” he bellowed.
Saeros urged the horse. The beast whinnied, climbed to its hind legs, shook its head and stepped forward, pulling the offending weight a little bit. Daeron grimaced from the effort. The veins beneath the skin on his temple became visible and pulsed with a thudding sound.
“It's no use, Saeros,” Daeron objected after another while of pushing the sleigh and struggling with the horse. Daeron wiped his forehead with his forearm, though in truth, he realized, it was a comical gesture as the rain had washed any drops of sweat immediately and kept on falling regardless of their joint effort. “We need to unharness the horse and continue on horseback.”
Saeros pondered Daeron's words for a moment.
“Come on, trip advisor.” Daeron began unbuckling the harness from the pole. “I will need a helping hand here.”
Soon, the two commenced their trip, though in the opposite direction, on horseback, as Daeron had suggested, and they reached Menegroth as such, raising many questions as to where the sleigh had gone horseless.
Saeros wanted to forget about the entire event as fast as possible, but Daeron could not stop thinking about it -- it constantly bothered him, and he wanted desperately to do something. He pondered and wondered, sketched, painted, and designed, until next winter the entire population of Doriath was introduced to a new way of sport.
Mablung led a harnessed horse over to where Daeron stood waiting. Daeron had two wooden planks in his grasp, taller than he was, with a leather contraption in the middle of each of them.
“Say, Daeron,” Mablung brought the horse to a halt, “do you suppose you can slide on these being pulled by the horse?” He looked closer at the planks, noting they had sharpened edges. “I supposed you could also try sliding down a slope without a horse, while trying to keep your balance.”
Daeron glanced at Mablung and then at his new invention, then once again at Mablung, who gave him a smirk.
“Have your intellectual abilities increased since you were promoted for the captain of the palace guards?” he asked. Mablung laughed.
“That would be yes, since I have spent more time in such an enlightened company as yourself, Daeron the lore master.” Mablung winked. “Come, let me help you with these.”
Daeron attached the planks to his boots by the leather straps, and stood waiting while Mablung jumped on the horse's back and threw the long sling that was buckled to the harness in Daeron's direction.
“I am ready when you are,” Mablung said.
“All right, proceed.”
Mablung urged the horse to a trot at first, while Daeron was bracing himself atop the planks and holding the sling firmly in his grasp. His first attempts at sliding after the horse ended up with his bottom painfully on the ground, but soon Mablung was able to quicken the gait.
They rode down the straight road, the galloping horse carrying Mablung and pulling Daeron, who had an enormous grin of joy on his face and his cheeks reddened from the frost as he balanced on the sliding planks.
“I guess Lossel will be a suitable nickname for you,” Mablung commented when they both came to a halt. The folk of Menegroth, who had been watching the entire outcome gathered alongside the road, clapped their hands and cheered.
Daeron beamed.
“Come to think of it, if I can find two straight sticks long enough to use them to push myself against the ground, I could probably try sliding on the planks by myself,” he mused.
“I should tell Beleg,” Mablung broke in, “because these would be helpful to the wardens on the fences. I can imagine you can be quiet as a mouse once sliding. After you practice enough, I mean.”
“See, one rainstorm, and we have a storm of ideas,” Daeron answered as he detached the sliding devices from his feet.
“How so?”
“Saeros and I were caught by a furious rain last winter, or should I say stirring, because spring sprang soon afterward, and we could not use the sleigh any longer,” he related. “It made me think, and so here I am with these.”
“Oh, I see.” Mablung grinned. “My last watch at the northern marches, I remember, was surprising as much, with a lot of rain, too.”
“Care to share the story?”
Mablung waited outside the headquarters of the marchwardens, sitting on the wooden fence that separated the square and the barracks from the paddock and the stables, waiting for his assigned patrolman to come out of the door. He whistled a soft tune, his legs swung to the rhythm, his quiver slung over his knee and his bow on the ground. He looked up at the sky when the first drops of rain fell. An unwanted shiver ran through him, and he inwardly urged Beleg to decide quickly who of the young wardens would accompany Mablung to his post, though Mablung had his own assumptions, thank you very much.
Finally, a cloaked figure appeared in the doorway.
The hood was drawn deeply over the head, the face almost completely hidden, save for the chin that told Mablung nothing when he slid to the ground from the fence.
“Hello,” he said politely.
“Hello,” the new one muttered.
“Shall we depart?” Mablung asked adjusting the quiver on his back and picking up his bow.
“Yes.”
Not a talkative one, Mablung thought, then proceeded toward the gate.
The rain increased, bashing at the sandy ground of the road.
“So I hear your name is Oropher?” Mablung picked up the talk. “Cúthalion told me a lot about you.”
“Errr, no,” came a quiet reply.
“No what?” Mablung asked, surprised.
“My name is not Oropher. He needed to return to the Caves 'cause he received an urgent message from his wife's midwife,” the young warden explained. Mablung stopped for a moment and looked at his hooded companion. “His wife, Oropher's I mean, gave birth to a son prematurely. So I heard.”
“I see.” Mablung scratched the top of his head, then drew his hood on. “Is the newborn in danger?”
“I have not heard back from Menegroth.”
“All right, then,” Mablung concluded. “What is your name, Warden, if not Oropher?”
“Súllinn, Commander.” The warden pushed the hood away from her face. “The name is Súllinn.”
When Mablung first flinched and almost lost his footing on the muddy ground, he rebuked himself for reacting as such, then he grinned, but composed himself quickly.
“I am as much surprised,” he said saluting, “as I am glad.”
“Are you not disappointed?” Súllinn asked.
“Why should I be?” he answered with a question, regarding her partly hooded head, the feathers of the arrows in her quiver that stood out from behind her shoulder, the bowstring crossing her torso, her long knife sheathed at her side, her knee-high boots, and back upward. “Come, we will be completely soaked before we reach the post.”
“I am somewhat new to the whole... warden thing,” she gestured, “as I was just promoted, and Captain said...”
“Now, now, Warden Súllinn, you will do just fine,” Mablung replied. “Let us move.”
So they did. And the rain was falling as if it wanted to hinder them on purpose. When thunder resounded in the air above them, or rather in the water above them, Mablung winced.
“We will not make it,” he stated. Súllinn looked at him and nodded her acknowledgment. “We need to find shelter.”
“Those wardens we are about to replace will not leave until we show up,” she added matter-of-factly.
“Yes.”
“Good.” She sighed. “This storm is rubbing me all the wrong way.”
“Are you afraid of it?” Mablung wondered, then realized that it might turn against him that he had said it aloud.
“No, not really, I am just trying to avoid being scorched to a chunk of charcoal,” Súllinn answered with a small smile. “The trees and branches around and above us, and I would like to find a rock to crawl under.”
“True. Let us not tarry then.”
Soon, the two soaked figures sat in the shadow of a hanging rock, where the water could not reach them and the storm was not a threat.
“Do you know that spot down the Esgalduin where the river meanders in the woods and there is a small pond?” Súllinn suddenly asked.
“The one a league or so southward from Menegroth?” He wanted to be sure.
“The same one.”
“I know, why?”
“I suddenly remembered something,” Súllinn said giggling under her breath. “Miniel and I went to the pond to have a girls’ day some time ago.”
“And...”
“We walked in on Beleg bathing in the pond.”
“Aaaaand...”
“Nothing. Just nothing.” She smiled mysteriously.
“Yes, right.” Mablung shrugged. When he turned away from Súllinn, he grinned mostly to himself and to the thick wall of water that he could see almost everywhere.
“I heard a lot about it, mind you, from the other party involved,” Mablung pointed out casually. “I know there was a storm brewing then, too.”
“Yes.”
“But, do tell,” he leaned forward and crossed his forearms on his knees, “since we have nothing better to do.”
Súllinn glanced at him and licked her lips.
“We have to hurry, Miniel, if we want to be there before dusk,” Súllinn told her friend. The short-haired woman huffed behind Súllinn's back, but obediently picked up her pace.
“Oh, you love to commandeer me around, Súl.” Miniel pouted when she caught up with Súllinn. Súllinn stopped abruptly, so that Miniel had to skid to the side to avoid bumping into Súllinn's back.
“What?” Miniel whisper-shouted.
“Someone is out there.”
“Where?” Miniel asked.
“Listen,” Súllinn ordered.
Splashing. Water drizzling and splashing. And yet more splashing.
“So much for a girls' day out,” Súllinn muttered as she set the picnic basket aside. “Get down, Min.”
The two women moved on all fours into the last line of the bushes that grew along the riverbank. Here, the small pond was not deep; the surface of the water reached a bit past Súllinn's elbow. Súllinn crawled into the thicket and pushed the twigs and leaves aside with one hand.
“Oh!” she whispered.
“What?” Miniel asked behind her back.
“Shhh...”
Súllinn gestured for Miniel to crawl closer. When the other woman stuck her head into the tangle of leaves, Súllinn caught out of the corner of her eye a bright blush spreading on Miniel's cheek.
“Min...?”
“Yes?”
“Are you blushing?”
“No,” she replied, indignantly. “Of course, not. You have dragged me here nearly cantering all the way from the Caves. I'm out of breath and simply hot.”
“Your breathing sounds even to me,” Súllinn noted with a smirk. “Come on, Min. Stop pretending. Everyone knows you fancy that delicious specimen in front of us.”
“Specimen, hmphhhh.” Miniel huffed.
“Look at that abdomen,” Súllinn whispered into Miniel's ear. Miniel blushed even more.
“You know well that I am not used to seeing as many naked men as you are,” Miniel commented. “I am not a cadet, I do not spend so much time with the marchwardens.”
“So?”
“So I may be blushing, that's all.”
Súllinn removed a strand of hair from her forehead and shook her head in disbelief. Everyone in Menegroth knew quite a different story of why Miniel might be blushing.
“You have been pining for him for ages,” Súllinn said with a flash of her teeth when she grinned at Miniel. “Don't deny it. I knew it when I first saw you gaze at him as if you were a puppy that looked into its master's face.”
“You see things that do not exist,” Miniel retorted. “You should go to the master healer.”
“Min,” Súllinn sighed, “you may say whatever you wish. I can see you are in love with Beleg. Perhaps you should just admire...” She pointed her finger at the pond beyond the cover of leaves and when her gaze followed the path of her finger, she noticed, mortified, no Beleg in the water.
Miniel gaped.
“Where is he?” she asked in a strangled whisper.
“Here.”
The voice resounded behind them.
Miniel and Súllinn tore themselves from the hole in the bushes and whirled on the ground to see a smirking Beleg, barefooted, clad in his dark brown leather leggings, bare-chested and dripping with water. His hair was bound at his nape and tossed casually over his shoulder, his eyes sparkling with what appeared to be mirth, even though he strove to maintain a serious, angry look on his face.
“You may look at this abdomen now more closely,” he addressed to a furiously blushing Miniel. “And you, Súllinn, do not seem a promising candidate for a forest warden if you allowed me to surprise you as such.”
“But, I...”
“We...” Miniel found her tongue finally. She rose from the grass and gave Beleg a quick bow. “We meant no offense, Captain. Please, forgive us. We'll be on our way. Súl, come, let us get back to the Caves.” She bent down and pulled Súllinn up by her sleeve. “Please.”
“Yes, Miniel is right, Captain.” Súllinn raised her head to Beleg while she scrambled up to her feet. “We will be going now.”
“I see,” Beleg mused as he folded his arms across his chest, “I ruined your picnic, Ladies.”
“No, not at all!” Miniel protested.
“There, there,” he laughed and waved his hands in front of him, “now, let us see what we can do with this.”
“How so?” Súllinn asked.
“Firstly, it is going to rain soon,” Beleg answered. “Secondly, we would not wish for that,” he pointed at the picnic basket that sat on the ground next to Súllinn, “to go to waste. I smell something really delicious.”
Miniel blushed again. Súllinn giggled.
“Let me get dressed,” Beleg announced and turned on his heel.
“So Beleg found shelter under the branches of a tree, and we sat down on our blanket, the three of us,” Súllinn finished her story, “and ate everything that Miniel had baked. We drank wine and had a good time.”
She glanced at Mablung who had an odd look on his face, absent, even dreamy perhaps, and she nudged him by the shoulder lightly.
“Are you still with me or have you gone down a dream-path?”
He blinked several times as if waking up from a dream indeed when Súllinn waved her hand in front of his eyes.
“Yes, yes, you were saying?”
“A warden caught off guard?” She sniggered. “Good we got stuck in the storm and are not on duty yet, otherwise I don't think we would hear the end of Captain's rant.”
“Súllinn,” he said as if to admonish her, and Súllinn drew her brows up to her hairline.
“Yes, Commander?”
“Nothing, nothing,” he muttered. “Do continue, please.”
“Not much to say,” Súllinn answered as she got to her feet, hunching a little under the rock. “Except that another sort of storm has been brewing since then, and Beleg became Miniel's frequent visitor.” She winked. “Of course, I was right, and so were the folk who thought she fancied him. It only took them both one spring rainstorm to realize.”
“Yes.” Mablung lifted his gaze to her face.
“Perhaps, we should check whether the rain has lessened?” she suggested. “I can hear it, but the sound is not that intense any longer.”
“Let us do it,” Mablung agreed.
As they stood at the edge of the dry ground underneath the rock, Mablung stuck out his hand and waited to see the drops of rain on the sleeve of his uniform and his glove.
“You are right,” he said. “We can move onward.”
“Good.” She smiled and gathered her belongings, handing Mablung his bow.
“Thank you,” he said very quietly.
“The storm has passed, apparently,” Súllinn stated when he led her from underneath the rock, between the trees and onto their path.
“I can't seem to have noticed that,” Mablung mumbled, and Súllinn could not really tell whether it was a reply to what she had said or a casual comment. Or maybe something of a different kind, she shrugged and followed Mablung through the forest to their post at the northern marches.
“Did Súllinn notice anything?” Daeron asked Mablung.
“No, I don't think so.” He shrugged. “And if she did, she did not care to share it with me.”
“As if she ever would.”
“Your point being?”
“My point is: if she hides something from you, she will not share it, especially not with you,” Daeron offered as he held out his hands to underline the obvious. Mablung nodded slowly.
“Let us get back to the stables,” he pointed out to change the uncomfortable topic.
Daeron gathered his wooden sliding devices and propped them against his shoulder, supporting the ends in his curled palm.
“Say, Daeron, will you construct more of these?” Mablung asked. “They look quite useful.”
“I should probably think about it, since you again mention their usefulness,” Daeron answered as Mablung pulled the horse by the reins and began walking.
“You might want to talk with the mistress carpenter to see whether she can help you with this memorable invention of yours,” Mablung suggested. “Unless you already have done so.”
“I will.”
Daeron seemed to be thinking about something; he walked alongside Mablung without a word for a while until they reached the bridge over the Esgalduin.
“I think,” Daeron said when they crossed the gate, “if I ever go on a quest of any kind again, I should ask you to accompany me, Mablung.”
“Any time, anywhere, at your service.” Mablung saluted by way of goodbye as they parted. Mablung lead the horse toward the stables and Daeron carried his new 'snowshoes', as he began to think about them, to the carpentry workshop.
Lúthien was clapping her hands. The fire was roaring in the hearth, and the sentinels at the door became alert, even more than usual, when Mablung came in, sweeping a deep bow before the royal couple and the princess. Then, he gave a graceful nod to Daeron.
The princess turned her gaze away from her parents when Mablung walked over to their small chess table and leaned toward her father to say something that was apparently only for his highness' ears. She watched the fish in the bowl and followed its movements with her fingertip pressed to the glass. Then, she glanced askance at Daeron.
He smiled. He had a very genuine, kind smile that reached his eyes and played in the corners of his lips. Lúthien sweetly smiled back, thinking how different it was from Daeron's half-casual, half-cautious smile he more commonly wore, and she decided that she liked it. Perhaps, she thought, if her folk could smile like that and more than they usually did, they could warm up their hearts and the winter would at last go away down the river with the cracking ice that bound the Esgalduin. And it would carry the straw effigy her father would finally throw into the grey waters. Then, she would be dancing in the glade in Neldoreth, under the moonlight, her feet barely touching the grass, a nightingale's song in her ears, and her own laughter filling with air with its music.
She could not wait.
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Date: 2014-03-24 11:29 pm (UTC)They do indeed! I really liked this, especially the format you used to write it, with each tale leading into the next, lovely.
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Date: 2014-03-25 02:30 pm (UTC)Thank you so much for taking the time to read this silly story and to leave a lovely review. I'm happy to hear the story works for you.
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Date: 2014-03-25 02:57 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-03-25 02:38 pm (UTC)Thank you so much for reading and leaving a lovely comment. I admit I've been pretty nervous about this story -- it's my first posting since a long hiatus in Tolkien fandom, so I'm freakishly happy to hear it's alright.
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Date: 2014-03-25 03:01 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-03-25 02:40 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-03-25 03:12 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-03-25 02:49 pm (UTC)And there are no better times to share stories :)
Thank you so much for stopping by to read and for leaving a nice review :) I do appreciate that! And I'm glad the structure of this story works for you.
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Date: 2014-03-25 03:52 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-03-25 02:58 pm (UTC)Thank you very much for giving it a chance and leaving a lovely comment. Miniel and Súllinn are delighted as well :D
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Date: 2014-03-25 04:15 am (UTC)I love that your last line gives us a hint of not only things to come but also echo Thingol and Melian's meeting as well. Very nicely done!
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Date: 2014-03-25 03:16 pm (UTC)Thank you so much for reading and for letting me know that you like this silly story :) I do appreciate that a lot.
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Date: 2014-03-25 05:17 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-03-25 09:40 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-03-25 08:35 pm (UTC)<3
Ali
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Date: 2014-03-25 09:41 pm (UTC)Big great fat (((hugs)))
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Date: 2014-03-25 08:52 pm (UTC)Your two women here are a riot - I love their dialogue as they lay spying on abdomens and I laughed out loud when Beleg caught them and had heard everything. ;) Also laughed at exasperated long married couples in the high halls of Menegroth.
Thank you so much for sharing this - it is a pleasure to read your sindarin shenanigans again!
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Date: 2014-03-25 09:50 pm (UTC)Yes, spying on bare abdomens of forest wardens might be highly addictive ;)
I'm happy that my idea for this silliness works and I'm happy to hear that you like it. Thank you so much for dropping in and reading. And leaving a wonderful comment :D Thanks!
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Date: 2014-03-28 04:20 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-03-28 07:38 am (UTC)Oh that's good! He never disappoints ;)
Thank you so much for taking the time to read and for letting me know it was worth reading. I appreciate that a lot.
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Date: 2014-03-29 11:03 am (UTC)I enjoyed the glimpses of the back stories of Beleg and Miniel and Mablung and Sullinn and the contrast between them a great deal--but I also enjoyed the various friendships between the characters here as well as the budding romance.
I also liked Daeron a lot in this story. So he invented other things besides runes. And the snowshoes proved rather more popular than the runes, it seems!
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Date: 2014-03-29 06:59 pm (UTC)I'm very happy to hear that you liked the story :D Thank you a million for taking the time to read and for leaving a wonderful review. *dances happily*
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Date: 2014-04-02 12:52 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-04-02 06:20 am (UTC)