A Silvan Feast by My Blue Rose
Mar. 26th, 2016 03:29 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
mybluerose1990.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
b2memB2MeM Challenge: 2012 Bingo, “Food and Drink of Middle-earth” G52: Local Cuisine; “Mirkwood's Favorite Son” O74: Legolas the Silvan; “Mirkwood the Great” G51: Celebration
Format: Short Story
Genre: General
Rating: G
Warnings: N/A
Characters:
Pairings: N/A
Summary: Legolas and Gimli celebrate a Silvan holiday in Eyrn Lasgalen.
A/N: Happy Easter!
49th of Echuir, 3020th Year of the Third Age:
“How long have we been traveling together?” Gimli muttered, looking distinctly uncomfortable.
The two of them were sitting on a reed mat in one of the larger glades near the southern bank of the Forest River. The clearing was full of small groups of Elves reclining on the ground. The sound of Elven voices and laughter echoed off the trees, mixing with the distant sound of a flute and the burbling of the river that was hidden by thick brushwood. In the center of the dell, a large fire sent thin curls of smoke into the air. The air was thick with the scent of roasted meat and the rich loamy smell of the forest floor.
“Since we departed from Rohan in Iavas,” Legolas reminded his friend, suspecting Gimli did not truly desire a reply. “So we have been together for more than two hundred days.”
“Over two hundred days,” Gimli repeated. “And you never mentioned this?”
Legolas shrugged. “Do your own people not have feast days that mark the year?”
They had arrived in Eyrn Lasgalen several days ago, just in time for the Vernal Feast. The feast was Silvan holiday that was held the day after the vernal equinox and marked the beginning of a six day celebration for the arrival of spring. Mettarë and Yestarë followed the Spring Festival and heralded the New Year. Legolas wore a chaplet of dried blue borage flowers and tunic dyed a light green with lily of the valley leaves for the occasion. Gimli had deigned to forgo his usual mail shirt but had refused to leave his axe in his chamber.
“Aye,” the Dwarf said. “But none involve so many eggs.” he gestured to the two large baskets piled with eggs that had been brightly dyed and decorated.
Legolas laughed and held up a bright green egg with a pattern of small white flowers.
“’Tis an ancient tradition that the Silvan Folk have practiced since before the Sun rose,” he explained.
“How are the designs made?” Gimli asked, inspecting one of his own crimson eggs, this one decorated with white dots that formed the outline of oak leaves.
“They are inscribed with a stylus and melted beeswax prior to dying.”
“So the wax repels the dye,” Gimli said, nodding. “But why are my eggs mostly red or grey while yours are green or violet?”
“Because my people think my highly of you than they do of me,” he quipped wryly. “Among the Silvan, red and orange symbolize courage and steadfastness. For the Sindar, grey represents peace and wellbeing as well as justice and nobility.”
Legolas sighed as he returned the egg to his basket. “For my people, green symbolizes fertility and family. I have been receiving green eggs since I came of age. I believe it is an encouragement for me to find an Elleth to wed.”
Gimli snorted.
“Pink and violet are symbolic of playfulness and whimsy and also joy and merriment. I fear am known for my lightheartedness.”
“I believe you mean insouciance,” Gimli stated dryly.
“That too!” Legolas replied, laughing.
An elleth approached them, bearing a basket and a large plate which she placed on the mat before departing with a smile.
“Hannon le!” Legolas called after her.
The plate contained a salad made from the young leaves of lady’s smock and yellow dock, sprinkled with sprouted goosefoot seeds and drizzled with birch syrup. Inside the basket were two cups and a myriad of stoppered flasks containing different wines. Legolas poured himself some of the strong and sweet rose hip wine that had been aged for several years. Gimli cautiously sniffed each flask before pouring himself a cup of the yellow cowslip wine. He sipped the light, sparkling liquid with a look of contemplation.
“The Silvan do not drink ale or beer, nor much grape wine as they had no knowledge of the cultivation of the vine until the Sindar came,” Legolas explained. “Yet their flower and fruit wines are excellent.”
“This is not bad,” Gimli proclaimed. “But I prefer my drink strong and bitter.”
“That does not surprise me,” he commented.
The Dwarf looked at him suspiciously, as if he suspected Legolas of teasing him.
“Try this,” Legolas encouraged, gesturing to the salad. “Here, I will show you how it is eaten.”
He took one of the twigs laying on the edge of the plate. It had a sharpened point and with it he speared several leaves. They were crisp and sweet, the birch syrup dressing giving them a mineral, slightly sour taste. Gimli imitated him, ineptly at first, but by the time they had finished the salad the Dwarf was as skilled as Legolas was. They were drinking their second cup of wine when a couple ellyn drew over to them. The Elves’ arms were arms laden with steaming food which they arrayed on the mat, with much laughter and unnecessary flourishing.
The wooden trays and bowls contained traditional Silvan fare. In one tray were two small trout that had been fried in beechnut oil and marinated in a mixture of vinegar and ground seeds: coriander, celery and mustard. One bowl held a steaming pile of pit roasted celandine roots that had been mashed with buckram leaves. Another tray held a roasted boar hock, slathered with a thick red sauce made from water elder berries. The other bowl had a hearty venison stew, thick with wood ear mushrooms, pignuts, and knotgrass seeds.
“How are we supposed to eat this when they have given us no plates or trenchers?” Gimli asked, doubtfully eyeing the retreating Ellyn.
“At Silvan meals everyone eats from the same dish,” Legolas said.
Gimli grunted at this and inspected one of the elegantly carved spoons that had been placed in one the bowls. Legolas reached for the trout platter and broke off a piece, carefully picking out the bone before placing it in his mouth.
Gimli stared at him. “You eat it with your fingers?”
Legolas nodded.
“Do you not have forks?” Gimli asked, sounding incredulous.
“Forks were invented by the Noldor. The Silvan seldom use them,” Legolas said.
“Even the Men of Dale use forks,” Gimli muttered, using the spoon to taste the stew.
The Sun was low in the sky by the time they finished. A few Elves in their glade were playing flutes and harps and one ellon pounded a rhythm a pair of small drums. Some of the Elves were dancing near the fire pit, whirling with their partners in time to the beat of the music. Legolas was finishing the flask of dandelion wine and contemplating whether to join the dancers. Giving his friend a considering glance, Legolas asked the Dwarf what he thought of the food.
“It was of surprising quality,” Gimli admitted. “I think I enjoyed the boar the most. Of course the meal would benefit from some strong ale.”
“Of course,” Legolas smiled. “You shall have to attend a Sindarin feast, I believe you would enjoy the barley wine my father’s folk brew.
Gimli nodded contemplatively. “Only if you agree to sample the distilled drinks my people create.”
Legolas laughed. “I will agree to try anything you suggest, as long as you do the same.”
Gimli snorted. “I suppose I can agree to such a deal. However, you might regret it once you taste Dwarven brandy. It is far stronger than this,” he held up his cup of elderflower wine.
“Then we are we agreed?”
“Aye, I will try whatever food you suggest so long as you do likewise.”
Raising his cup in toast, Legolas declared, “Then let us drink to that!”
Format: Short Story
Genre: General
Rating: G
Warnings: N/A
Characters:
Pairings: N/A
Summary: Legolas and Gimli celebrate a Silvan holiday in Eyrn Lasgalen.
A/N: Happy Easter!
49th of Echuir, 3020th Year of the Third Age:
“How long have we been traveling together?” Gimli muttered, looking distinctly uncomfortable.
The two of them were sitting on a reed mat in one of the larger glades near the southern bank of the Forest River. The clearing was full of small groups of Elves reclining on the ground. The sound of Elven voices and laughter echoed off the trees, mixing with the distant sound of a flute and the burbling of the river that was hidden by thick brushwood. In the center of the dell, a large fire sent thin curls of smoke into the air. The air was thick with the scent of roasted meat and the rich loamy smell of the forest floor.
“Since we departed from Rohan in Iavas,” Legolas reminded his friend, suspecting Gimli did not truly desire a reply. “So we have been together for more than two hundred days.”
“Over two hundred days,” Gimli repeated. “And you never mentioned this?”
Legolas shrugged. “Do your own people not have feast days that mark the year?”
They had arrived in Eyrn Lasgalen several days ago, just in time for the Vernal Feast. The feast was Silvan holiday that was held the day after the vernal equinox and marked the beginning of a six day celebration for the arrival of spring. Mettarë and Yestarë followed the Spring Festival and heralded the New Year. Legolas wore a chaplet of dried blue borage flowers and tunic dyed a light green with lily of the valley leaves for the occasion. Gimli had deigned to forgo his usual mail shirt but had refused to leave his axe in his chamber.
“Aye,” the Dwarf said. “But none involve so many eggs.” he gestured to the two large baskets piled with eggs that had been brightly dyed and decorated.
Legolas laughed and held up a bright green egg with a pattern of small white flowers.
“’Tis an ancient tradition that the Silvan Folk have practiced since before the Sun rose,” he explained.
“How are the designs made?” Gimli asked, inspecting one of his own crimson eggs, this one decorated with white dots that formed the outline of oak leaves.
“They are inscribed with a stylus and melted beeswax prior to dying.”
“So the wax repels the dye,” Gimli said, nodding. “But why are my eggs mostly red or grey while yours are green or violet?”
“Because my people think my highly of you than they do of me,” he quipped wryly. “Among the Silvan, red and orange symbolize courage and steadfastness. For the Sindar, grey represents peace and wellbeing as well as justice and nobility.”
Legolas sighed as he returned the egg to his basket. “For my people, green symbolizes fertility and family. I have been receiving green eggs since I came of age. I believe it is an encouragement for me to find an Elleth to wed.”
Gimli snorted.
“Pink and violet are symbolic of playfulness and whimsy and also joy and merriment. I fear am known for my lightheartedness.”
“I believe you mean insouciance,” Gimli stated dryly.
“That too!” Legolas replied, laughing.
An elleth approached them, bearing a basket and a large plate which she placed on the mat before departing with a smile.
“Hannon le!” Legolas called after her.
The plate contained a salad made from the young leaves of lady’s smock and yellow dock, sprinkled with sprouted goosefoot seeds and drizzled with birch syrup. Inside the basket were two cups and a myriad of stoppered flasks containing different wines. Legolas poured himself some of the strong and sweet rose hip wine that had been aged for several years. Gimli cautiously sniffed each flask before pouring himself a cup of the yellow cowslip wine. He sipped the light, sparkling liquid with a look of contemplation.
“The Silvan do not drink ale or beer, nor much grape wine as they had no knowledge of the cultivation of the vine until the Sindar came,” Legolas explained. “Yet their flower and fruit wines are excellent.”
“This is not bad,” Gimli proclaimed. “But I prefer my drink strong and bitter.”
“That does not surprise me,” he commented.
The Dwarf looked at him suspiciously, as if he suspected Legolas of teasing him.
“Try this,” Legolas encouraged, gesturing to the salad. “Here, I will show you how it is eaten.”
He took one of the twigs laying on the edge of the plate. It had a sharpened point and with it he speared several leaves. They were crisp and sweet, the birch syrup dressing giving them a mineral, slightly sour taste. Gimli imitated him, ineptly at first, but by the time they had finished the salad the Dwarf was as skilled as Legolas was. They were drinking their second cup of wine when a couple ellyn drew over to them. The Elves’ arms were arms laden with steaming food which they arrayed on the mat, with much laughter and unnecessary flourishing.
The wooden trays and bowls contained traditional Silvan fare. In one tray were two small trout that had been fried in beechnut oil and marinated in a mixture of vinegar and ground seeds: coriander, celery and mustard. One bowl held a steaming pile of pit roasted celandine roots that had been mashed with buckram leaves. Another tray held a roasted boar hock, slathered with a thick red sauce made from water elder berries. The other bowl had a hearty venison stew, thick with wood ear mushrooms, pignuts, and knotgrass seeds.
“How are we supposed to eat this when they have given us no plates or trenchers?” Gimli asked, doubtfully eyeing the retreating Ellyn.
“At Silvan meals everyone eats from the same dish,” Legolas said.
Gimli grunted at this and inspected one of the elegantly carved spoons that had been placed in one the bowls. Legolas reached for the trout platter and broke off a piece, carefully picking out the bone before placing it in his mouth.
Gimli stared at him. “You eat it with your fingers?”
Legolas nodded.
“Do you not have forks?” Gimli asked, sounding incredulous.
“Forks were invented by the Noldor. The Silvan seldom use them,” Legolas said.
“Even the Men of Dale use forks,” Gimli muttered, using the spoon to taste the stew.
The Sun was low in the sky by the time they finished. A few Elves in their glade were playing flutes and harps and one ellon pounded a rhythm a pair of small drums. Some of the Elves were dancing near the fire pit, whirling with their partners in time to the beat of the music. Legolas was finishing the flask of dandelion wine and contemplating whether to join the dancers. Giving his friend a considering glance, Legolas asked the Dwarf what he thought of the food.
“It was of surprising quality,” Gimli admitted. “I think I enjoyed the boar the most. Of course the meal would benefit from some strong ale.”
“Of course,” Legolas smiled. “You shall have to attend a Sindarin feast, I believe you would enjoy the barley wine my father’s folk brew.
Gimli nodded contemplatively. “Only if you agree to sample the distilled drinks my people create.”
Legolas laughed. “I will agree to try anything you suggest, as long as you do the same.”
Gimli snorted. “I suppose I can agree to such a deal. However, you might regret it once you taste Dwarven brandy. It is far stronger than this,” he held up his cup of elderflower wine.
“Then we are we agreed?”
“Aye, I will try whatever food you suggest so long as you do likewise.”
Raising his cup in toast, Legolas declared, “Then let us drink to that!”
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2016-03-27 05:51 am (UTC)