Thread: The White Horse
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Old 12-16-2002, 10:05 AM   #123
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1420!

As Marco entered the inn, he was surprised when an elf lady hurried past. He had only seen elves from a distance back in Dale, but even then he thought they were the most beautiful race in Middle-earth. This one that just swept by passed mere inches from his face! He was so tired that he didn't notice that he was gaping.

'Good sir, you look in need of a sheltering, hospitable establishment . . .' Marco was startled by a lilting female voice from behind him, though except for his gaping mouth, he showed little reaction. He turned into the face of the innkeeper this time. 'Garsh!' he thought, then realized his mouth was open. He rubbed his upper lip, hoping that she didn't notice.

'Come,' she continued. 'Let me call the cook to bring you a dinner, on the house, and introduce you to other patrons here. I believe that several here might be in need of your wares.'

'This is such a nice place!' he thought. 'With the free meal, I believe I can afford some more vittles for the journey later on. Probably even a tent, or something.' He smiled appreciatively at Bethberry, who led him to two elves (Wow! More of them!) and made some introductions before they went up to their rooms. Marco looked around, and thought that the place seemed to be stock full of elves. Master said they were dwindling, but apparently not here. Wow! Bethberry continued to introduce him, first to Parin (Now there's a pretty little dwarf lady, thought Marco who, being an apprentice from Erebor, learned how to tell the difference between dwarf men and women), then to the table Parin was headed to.

The table had another beautiful elf, a very comely human lady, and, Er, what! an old elf? He was led to a table near the wall, yet closest to the table of the Elves. 'This is Marco,' said Bethberry, 'and he is a swordsmith. Maybe there are some among you who would find his services useful.' He barely got their names, Lady Galadel of the Golden Wood, Miss Mariah and Dadrantor. . . Dadrantor intrigued him. An old elf? he wondered. I thought their kind stayed forever young. There were other guests, busy about their dinners, whom Marco also acknowledged with a weary nod of his head. Mainly he was hungry and gratefully turned to the free dinner which the old cook placed before him, but his eyes suggested he looked forward to discussion once his belly was full. Especially to that Dadrantor, he mused. How can an elf get so old?

'Well?' continued Bethberry. 'Any good stories that can lead to adventures?' Marco did not mean to eavesdrop, but a reassuring glance from Galadel and Dadrantor told him that he was not unwelcome to overhear their conversation; Mariah seemed intent to look down. The two elves kept looking at each others' eyes, and from where Marco saw things, they seemed to be playing Peekaboo; Galadel kept on startling Dadrantor with her sometimes pointed, sometimes amused looks. They might not always look young, I guess, but they certainly still behave as young children.

Marco's weariness was catching up on him, though, and as he finished the venison, he started to nod. He barely heard Galadel when she stood up and as she started to address those gathered in the inn. Her voice took on a different tone, as one who was about to tell a story. Marco struggled to keep awake and sipped at the somewhat nutty drink they called coffee. I wish there was something to keep me awake. Seems like a good ol' yarn starting.

When Galadel saw that she had the attention of most of the people she began her tale.

Somehow, Marco became more and more attentive as the tale grew on. Why, her words somehow wrench my heart and make me feel accutely, Marco thought. Then he observed Galadel give Dadrantor a look, startling the poor old guy. I can't believe it; they're still at it?

However, he forgot about the Peekaboo, as the tale wove on. It wasn't terribly long, but it seemed like he was experiencing the years and ages of the elves, so terribly sweet, so strikingly beautiful.

'Ahm, ho Marco!' said Dadrantor. Marco turned with glazed eyes at the old elf, who was now facing him; Galadel continued her tale.

'Huh?'

'I was wondering, can I look at that sword you have wrapped up there?' asked Dadrantor. Hesitantly, but with just pride, Marco unwrapped the double-edged blade and showed it to the elf. He didn't know that he was behaving out of character; he usually only showed the blade after at least nine requests. But Galadel's sweet voice was wafting through the air, like a thickness of sweet air.

Presently though, she stopped and stared at Dadrantor. It was Marco's turn to be startled, seeing his naked blade in the hands of someone else. Dadrantor looked back at her, sheathed the blade, and handed it back to Marco.

Marco was in the midst of fumbling with the blanket and the cords, when Galadel continued her tale. His hands fell limp on the sheathed blade on his lap as a dreamy look appeared on his face once again. Ahh, this is potent magic, like she is deliberately enchanting all of us!

Then suddenly, even Marco was startled to alertness. 'Where am I?' he asked aloud, but no sound came out of his lips. For all around him, he could see silver trees in a silver forest, with moonlight shining through the boughs. Moonlight? It seems too bright and clear to be moonlight. Where am I? He can still see the boards and benches and the people of the White Horse, but they seemed transparent and unreal compared to the forest all around him.

Yet the song. The song! It seemed to reverberate around him and through him. Galadel was singing.

Lórien! Ai, Lórellin!
A dor celeb a dor elei!
Tolo le na Lórellin:
Tolo le na Dol Lórellin!
A tolo le na dhor elei:
Tolo le na Dol Lórellin!


He didn't understand a word, yet he knew that he was seeing what the song spoke of. Then the scene changed, fading so gradually that it seemed like the same forest. Yet he was convinced somehow that this forest is a different one. Instead of silver trees and silver boughs, now he saw a wood with golden leaves amidst such verdant green and white star-like flowers strewn around. The quality of the light, too, had changed. Now it was golden, so soft yet clear and bright. Like a dream, yet so real, more real. He realized he heard Dadrantor singing this time.

Lórien! Ai, Lórien!
A eryn glaur a silivren!
Tolo le na Lórien,
Vi in eryn Lothlórien!
Oltho le elei Lórellin,
I main-elei Tol Lórellin!


Then he felt rather than saw both woods, the silver and the gold. He imagined that they phased in and out of each other, as day into dusk, as night into dawn. He knew rather than heard that Galadel and Dadrantor were both singing, so sad, so solemn, yet so joyful. Woe is me! Everything shall now seem less fair! I knew not what perils I put myself into when I came into this inn!

Lórien! Ai, Lórien!
A dor celeb a dor elei!
Tolo dan na Lórien:
Oltho elei Lothlórien!
Tolo le dan na dhor elei:
Oltho elei Lothlórien!

Tolo le dan na dhor elei:
Oltho elei Lothlórien!
Tolo le dan na dhor elei:
Oltho elei Lothlórien!


Then, the song ended, and everything was as it was. Marco was relieved to realize that he still found the aftertaste of venison pleasant, that the hearth was still cheerful, and that he was still proud of his sword.

'Ah, sir . . .' he said to Dadrantor, who took no notice of him but was instead staring at Galadel. Marco was deeply moved, and he burst into tears, but he was persistent. 'Sir, what IS going on?!'

[ December 20, 2002: Message edited by: Gryphon Hall ]
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