Rivendell, in a time before the Great Ring's rediscovery ...
The cold wind swirled around the huddled riders, their cloaks snapped and waved in the damp gusts. Rain blew in and soaked their clothing; their boots were muddy and wet after a day in the wilds. Thunder cracked and echoed along the plains and rain lashed through the tree branches. Elrond, Legolas, and Findalor rode along the tree line, the heavy branches with their thick foliage sheltering them somewhat from the steady rain. In the darkening evening the lightening streaked across the sky in brilliant flashes, casting dancing shadows along the trail. They rode slowly, heads down and hooded to avoid the damp, as their sure-footed horses picked their way along the muddy path. The weather did not improve the mood of the tired riders and they were lost in their own thoughts.
They turned into the woods and sought the trail leading to the well-concealed path downwards into the deep valley. The trail was well hidden, snaking through the thick stand of trees. Carefully the nimble horses picked their way along the path that led homewards to warm stables. It was long past the call for the evening meal for the Elves, and the riders were hungry, wet and tired. All three were quiet and deep in their own thoughts, reliving various other damp evenings on horseback, other patrol circuits, other alerts or warnings to check on.
In the steady patter of rain Elrond's thoughts drifted back to his life at the Court of Gil-Galad, and the broad stony beaches near the Grey Havens. He could just hear the plaintive gulls and seabirds as they swooped in the air and cried out in the frequent squalls along that coast. He often rode long stretches along the beach on his favorite racing mare to escape the restrained and structured life at Gil-Galad's court. Her dappled gray coat and dark mane glistened in the rain and her rapid pace and frisky nature required his full attention as they raced along the beachside shingle. His first fine horse, and a gift from the High King, she remained a favorite in his memories. She had won race after race under his skillful guidance.
One particularly stormy evening Gil-Galad had escaped his duties and bodyguards and sought Elrond along the disserted strand. His horse pounded along the surf in an effort to catch up with Elrond riding full out in pleasure and freedom. As they rounded the curve of the beach Gil-Galad gained ground by cutting across the rising turf and catching the others as they slowed and turned in the foaming waves. The rain-lashed evening spent in the small cave above the sandy beach refreshed their spirits and their hearts, and caused them great grief upon their return to Court the next day. Elrond had learned to relish his time away from duties at an early age, and he fought to balance ever-increasing responsibilities with the call to abandon himself to nature and escape. He still indulged in lengthy or demanding rides to ease his mind when he felt constrained past endurance.
As his hood stirred in a gust he looked up and was brought back to the present. Long strands of hair drifted up and around in the wet breeze. He raised a hand to the watchman as they passed by the sentry station high in the trees, and then pulled the strands back from his face. Looking ahead he saw Findalor huddled against the rain in his cloak. Findalor was napping in the saddle this close to home, and after a double shift. He too had raised a hand in greeting to the watchman and then returned to his drowsy ponderings.
Findalor was rocked by the smooth gait of his favorite mount and his mind drifted in the half waking state that rested Elven minds. His twilight dreams had taken him back to the early days of Rivendell, when they had ridden the borders with great care and watchfulness. As the foundations for the Great House slowly rose and the walls were pegged together one by one, the Elven settlers huddled together in their new home at night for safety.
It was a wild and unlawful time, and bandits and mercenaries roamed the countryside. He remembered the night he and the patrol had sought out Elrond and Erestor and found them engaged with a troop of Orcs, wounded and outnumbered. Elrond, Erestor and Findalor became blood brothers that night in an impromptu ceremony that night, bonded together by events, need and friendship. Findalor often thought he had spent most of life riding the patrol circuit somewhere or other; he could do it in his sleep now. He had ridden this very path in those early days also; the natural lay of the land had invited little very adjustment by the Elves as they carefully worked to conceal the secret valley's edge deep within the woods.
Thankfully tonight's check of the furthest outlying patrol station had been uneventful, and only friends and traders had passed along the road. But troublesome rumors from Rangers and others still warranted careful checking, and Findalor was glad to have verified the true state of affairs himself. They had unexpectedly met with Aragorn and Elrond's twin sons at this farthest outpost. Those outriders were restocking and caring for an injured mount that day. They were worn and ragged after an extended patrol, and glad to have safe shelter and a warm meal with friends.
News they bore was worrisome, but unverified. It was the usual state of the times. Rumors of the worst possible futures were understood by the wise to be only the faintest reflections of what events were truly yet to come. Findalor noted that Elrond had taken his son's arms and shoulders with more than a fond fatherly grip as they came together in the camp. Grim and skilled warriors in their own rights, their father worried about their patrolling the wilds more than many understood. Aragorn and Elrond sat by the fire with heads bowed together and spoke in low voices for some time before the rains set in and the three mounted up for their journey home to Rivendell. As the trail passed a marking stone they began the descent into the valley.
Turning onto the stony path Elrond shifted in his saddle to glance behind him. The white horse's careful footfalls in the deep leaves were muffled. Legolas was hooded and quiet as well in the deepening gloom of evening. He was staying for a short time in Rivendell this early winter season, and had been out with Findalor on patrol. He had volunteered to join them on Elrond's ride out to the frontier post, and he had enjoyed the extended ride and chance to visit in the growing mist and crisp air. He was also glad to have had a chance to visit with Elrond's sons and hear the news from Aragorn, as he was gathering information on the wider world for his father Thranduil. At the end of the long day even his youthful energy was flagging after hours in the saddle, and he was lost within his own thoughts in the dripping rain like the others.
Legolas thought of his own experiences on patrol: in the dark woods of his father's lands, or through the lofty Mallorn trees of Lorien, or in the thick and tangled woods that protected Rivendell. He was measuring the personalities of those resident in Rivendell to those who elected Lorien or Mirkwood as home, and considered the idea that different types of Elves were drawn to each settlement. He himself preferred the cosmopolitan environment of Rivendell, with traders and craftsmen coming and going, and scholars bent over stacks of manuscript pages.
His father's settlement was structured and alert, they were ever watchful of their borders there, less refined somehow in their struggle for survival as an armed camp. Life on the lofty flets of Lorien defied description, and the ethereal inhabitants there drifted over the earth lightly and wreathed in otherworldliness. There, more than anywhere, did the spiritual nature of the Elves endure the strongest and wreathe them in mystical light.
Every Eleven settlement had its own atmosphere and unwritten rules for conduct, and he decided he fit best in the open environment of Imladris. He stirred himself and resettled his cloak across his shoulders as the horses started the descent into the valley; he was hungry and would welcome a meal and a fire after all day in the rain. He smiled at a glimpse through the rain of the towering rooflines, with smoke drifting from many chimneys. He was more suited to the harsh outdoor life than his city-dwelling friends, but he could appreciate a crackling fire and bowl of stew as well as the next Elf. He particularly was fond of the light and crusty bread so popular at Rivendell, and loaves of it always sat ranked beside the ovens with jars of jams and jellies for snacking and refreshment.
The welcoming lights of the rambling stables sent faint beams through the rain, still heavy at this lower level in the valley. It would be another wet winter it seemed by all accounting. They entered the central roofed courtyard thankfully, and leapt down, greeting the grooms coming forward to meet them. Shaking the rain from their cloaks and the weariness from their limbs, they stood upright and stretched, dripping on the well-worn flagstones of the stables. They exchanged tired smiles, all glad to be out of the saddle and home. Findalor and Legolas had joined Elrond on this journey coming off of the regular border patrol, and Findalor especially felt the long hours in the saddle as he stretched this way and that and moaned a bit in the motion. Legolas gave a good stretch too and brushed droplets from his tunic and leggings. His fine ashen hair settled onto his shoulders as he shook his head and wiped his face dry with a towel offered by a groom.
Glad to be home, Elrond clapped his friends on their shoulders, "Let's go see what we can find in the kitchen to eat, maybe that full house we are hosting left us a few morsels to sup on." Findalor just shook his head; he suspected the full house was part of the reason Elrond took such an interest in the afternoon's extended patrol. Time away from his many duties as Master of the House was harder to come by, and Elrond grew weary when deprived of opportunities to escape the daily routine. He had been the exemplary host for several nights, but the crowd and their demands grew tiresome after a while. Findalor thought the company of Legolas and their riding and conversations in the brisk open air, even in the rain, had lightened the mood of the increasingly withdrawn Master of the House.
It was too cold to swim now, the harvest was in, and repairs were completed for the coming winter cold. Heavy rains discouraged riding for pleasure for most. Findalor had encouraged the long ride out today as a cure for too much work at home, and even through the tiredness he saw an improved mood in the dark figure he knew so well. Elrond brushed back damp strands of hair from his face and neck and turned to the stairs. They dashed up to the great house in the rain, and clattered into the kitchen like errant children, dripping and slipping on the floor, laughing while they caught their breaths in the warm fragrant air and scattered droplets of rain on those around them.
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Coranar 10. Distant Evenings by The Tired Scribe
Story notes: SERIES NOTE: We're back. This is story # 10 in the seasonal series called "Coranar", or "sun-round" in Elvish. To catch up seek out these stories at this site: The Cleft in the Curve, Coranar #1, A Good Thing, Coranar #2, Shooting Stars, Coranar #3, Days of Harvest and Pain, Coranar #4, The Abyss, Coranar #5, A Perfect Day, Coranar #6, Winter Joinings, Coranar #7, Gifts from the South, Coranar #8, Rings of Power Coranar #9.
The Coranar series:
1. The Cleft in the Curve
2. A Good Thing
3. Shooting Stars
4. Days of Harvest and Pain
5. The Abyss
6. The Perfect Day
7. Winter Joinings
8. Gifts from the South
9. Rings of Power
10. Distant Evenings
11. Friends and Lovers
12. Fiery Circles
