Bravely he turned to face them. Rúmil had never enjoyed public speaking, or to be truthful, any sort of speaking; he preferred to work quietly patrolling the woods, and that had been the reason why he had never followed the path of his brother Haldir in traveling abroad. Those days were gone now. He had accepted Fingolfin's invitation, and all that came with it. So now, he stood before an assembly of Silvan elves, trying to convince them to send a few of their own to spend their precious time in the house of a commonly disliked Noldo, 'stealer of land,' as some dubbed him. To make matters worse, they were supposed to be in the company of Sindar, of whom only recently they had gained political independence. The murmurs raised upon that thought were nothing to the roar that the mention of joining more Noldor from different provenances raised. The Vanyar were too haughty for their tastes, worse than the Noldor, if possible. The Teleri seemed to be the only group that did not inspire objections.
Rúmil was tired. In truth, a part of him did not really believe in the project. Like Fingolfin and Galadriel, he wanted more union between the peoples of Aman, and a deeper meaning to his life and those reasons had led him to accept. It was just that strolling along in a rose garden hardly seemed to accomplish anything. He could see clearly in his mind the little groups continuing to do their own thing separately. He thought that it could be a far more profitable way of achieving the same goals would have been to send mixed groups to fully integrated and functional communities, like New Imladris. Elrond and his people had their own sustainability issues to deal with, though, and they could only receive very small groups at a time, too few to be effective in the medium term. And Rúmil could, of course, understand that as soon as those people returned home, the feeling of insularity would settle in again, and the time abroad would be reminded as nothing more than a quaint, somewhat pleasant experience.
So all in all, what effort was worthy? He had faced the same objections in other assemblies with other groups... What he needed was not the past and the grudges that these Elves carried. What he needed was the future. So when he finally faced them, to answer the questions that had poured while he wrote them in a black board in hasty tengwar, he made a decision. Fingolfin would probably not like it, but it was better to have a change of plans than a dead plan.
"My friends," he started, trying to ignore the flare of heat that spread from his chest. "You have only heard the first part of the offer I brought you." A few voices raised in dismissing sounds.
"I, a Silvan like yourselves, would not have devoted so much of my time and energy into this project, if I had not the deepest confidence in its worth." The conviction he managed to impress on the words despite the odds surprised him.
"A place of rest for those of us who were more battered by the fates at home is only a fraction of this. The true core are the children." A few eyebrows raised here and there, encouraging him to continue.
"Speaking frankly, we all know that our brothers from other races harbour some feelings and some less accurate impressions about our capabilities." Several grunts of displeasure were heard but Rúmil swallowed the knot in his throat and continued. "However, one of the greatest heroes, if not the greatest of this age that passed was the son of a Sinda and a Silvan. Were we so inept, would we have borne and raised such a fine elf as Legolas Thranduilión?"
Several voices raised in heated praise. Rúmil contained a smile. He knew he had found his mark with this group recently arrived from Mirkwood. He pressed on while they were receptive.
"I have had the honour of meeting in person this magnificent, brave Elf, may the Valar always protect him." Several heads nodded. The story of the Fellowship was well-known by now in both shores.
Rúmil finally allowed himself a tiny smile. "What I will say now you will loathe, I'm sure, but it has to be said. Legolas, the best archer of this age, arrived at the Golden Woods with a child's bow in his hand."
Several exalted voices protested, but Rúmil raised his voice and continued making himself be heard over the protests. "It is true, my friends. Ask him yourselves. And ask yourselves why am I telling you this."
A voice screamed from the back of the room, "You're jealous, that's why!"
Rúmil smiled and gently shook his head. "Wish I that it was so simple. I say this because it is time to look at some truths and ponder. We, the Silvan, for several reasons, have not invested our time in technological advancements. Our minds are not inferior to any of them. Unlike the Noldor, we did not have the benefit of being taught by the Valar. What tools we created, we resorted to our own ingenuity." A vague murmur of assent was heard. Relief washed over Rúmil, but he did not relent.
"We were not blessed with riches and time as the folk who came from these lands into Middle-earth. We were too busy hunting the next meal to design the perfect bow, or the perfect spear. Despite this, we excel in what we do. When given better weaponry, we yield beings like Legolas." Rúmil paused for an instant. The nervousness was all gone. He felt relaxed and yet completely alert, as when he was in battle. It was as if he was attuned with the universe.
"You may ask why I speak of war in a land of peace... you are right if you say that these are skills we need no more. But there is other knowledge to be acquired and explored. What I am offering here, is a chance for us to send our children to a place where they will learn from those who know more, no matter how painful it is for our pride to admit this, and see them thrive and excel amidst the children of other races. What I am saying is that we have a chance of proving every one wrong, and let them know that we are in no way inferior, physically or intellectually."
The room was dead silent. People looked at each other with unease but none dared to voice their thoughts. Finally a woman stood up timidly. "When you say children... My daughter is forty-two now..."
Rúmil jumped at the chance of starting the discussion. "When I say children I mean our young ones who want to learn, even those who may be of age already."
Another question came from the middle of the room. "So what would they learn, exactly?"
"Everything they want – to read and write and count for the younger, trades for the eldest, poetry and music, if they are so inclined..."
"Will we be able to see our children? I don't want my boy to grow far from his own."
"You'll be able to see them whenever you want. The roads are safe, and all the villages are within a days walk, two in the worst cases. And, you can inclusively live with them, if you remember the first part of the offer."
Other questions rained. Rúmil improvised as he went along, never letting doubt take hold of him. Now he was sure that they were on the right track, and that something worthy could be extracted from Fingolfin's dream.
The elf who had told him he was jealous of Legolas posed the last question. "Why is this Noldo lord doing this? What is the plan? To turn our children in a bunch of little Noldor?"
There was a distinct cooling in the room's atmosphere. Rúmil took a deep breath. "Your doubts are not unjustified," he started.
The other rudely interrupted, "Damn right they're not!"
"But," Rúmil continued unfettered, "You have no cause to worry – he only means to atone for his past arrogance and contempt regarding our people and the Sindar. The plan is to have each race learn the best from the others for their own improvement. This by no means implies that we have to stop being ourselves. Again, at the risk of repeating myself, you have the example of Legolas, a Silvan-Sinda who took a bow developed by the Sindar under the advice of a Noldo, my Lady Galadriel, and used it for the profit of all. He now lives in Ithilien, side by side with men, many Silvan Elves and those from other races, and is building a wondrous city. He did not stop caring for his people or being what he is, the best of the Silvan and the Sindar."
The Elf grunted unsatisfied, but his protest was quieted under the applause that followed. That, Rúmil had not expected, not even when he had realized that the battle had been won. He felt his cheeks redden as he bowed in thanks. He bid them good evening and left the room as quickly as decency allowed, promising to return in a few days to set up the final details.
He rode back to Fingolfin's house as fast as he could, trying to reach it before it was too late in the evening. For the first time, he felt he had been successful, but he knew he still had one final battle – to convince Fingolfin.
Fingolfin received him despite the late hour and the protests of his servants. He wore a plain thin cotton nightgown and a robe that had seen better days. The clothes did not detract in anyway on his beauty or his regal posture, but they were not what Rúmil had expected to see. They sat in Fingolfin's study, overlooking the rose garden with a single candle lighting them.
Rúmil, so brave and eloquent before, in front of the audience, now felt that words were slippery as live fish. Still he told Fingolfin what he had done. Fingolfin sat back in silence, looking outside. Rúmil wondered if his heart was so loud that he could hear it too.
Still gazing out the window, Fingolfin took a hand to his chin and rubbed it. Then he rose and walked to the window. "A school, eh..." he murmured.
Rúmil could not read a definitive positive or negative reaction in the tone. Still anxious, and trying to defend his idea, he said, "My lord, think about it: dozens of girls and boys together, learning together, working together, growing together... this is the best way to ensure that there are long lasting friendships between all the peoples. And I wouldn't be surprised if many mixed marriages would arise."
Fingolfin vaguely nodded. He repeated "A school," still immersed in his thoughts. Then he turned abruptly and walked briskly to Rúmil, clasping his arms. "A school, you say! You're a genius!"
Rúmil smiled faintly, somewhat confused. "Not really, my lord. It was just an idea in the heat of the moment and they seemed to like it. I thought that the first children could stay in all the spare rooms of this palace and later on other rooms could be constructed by their own hands with what they learned."
"No, no, this is a great idea," Fingolfin protested, letting go of his arms and walking to the cupboard behind them. "Let's celebrate with some of this Miruvor my grandniece sent me." He handed Rúmil a glass full to the brim and sat on the opposite chair. "Now all you have to do is to convince all the others," he said with a wink before downing the strong liquor in one gulp.
In the matter of a few days, Rúmil's speeches had developed a sort of patina, yielding them an aura of reachable utopia. He visited new villages, revisited others, presenting the new offer. To the Silvan he repeated the same arguments; to the Sindar, slight variations of them. To the Noldor and the Vanyar, he reminded them of their reputation for being conceited in the first case and too pious in the second, challenging them to broaden their own horizons, and proving themselves as worthy as they said they were. To the Teleri, he reminded them of the evils of staying alone and trusting too much their own resources. After two months, he had more than enough children to come to Fingolfin's gardens in the Fall and start their schooling.
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