[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine

The door to Athanar's rooms was closed. Eodwine stood before it, pondering. After a few moments he decided not to waken the eorl for the silly matter of the buffoon. Time enough for that later. Besides, the bread was gone and his wooden cup empty, and he was hungry. He made for the hall.

When he came into the hall he heard a harp, playing a song he did not know, coming from over by the hearth. There was a man there, with long dark hair, sitting before the fire. The music was dreamy and sad. The stranger knew well how to play. He was doing things with that harp that Eodwine wanted to learn. He was about to walk over when Rowenna came out of the kitchen and tapped him on the shoulder.

"Who is that?" she asked, wide eyed.

"I do not know. Let us make his acquaintance."

They walked over to him, Rowenna keeping behind Eodwine, as if she were bashful. Odd, coming from Rowenna, he thought. They stopped by the fire and stood listening. The stranger looked up and nodded with a kindly smile, then looked down again, continuing to play. Eodwine sat down and Rowenna followed suit.

Rowenna

Listening to the music, Rowenna felt coarse, as if she were not well born, not beautiful, not clever or refined in any way. This music, coming from those long, sensitive plucking fingers, was at once complex and imbued with simplicity. There was something about it that pulled at her heart, and she could not understand it. The stranger was so quiet, so at one with his playing, with his music, so .... she did not know how to name it! .... 'full of mystery' was as close as she could come.

The song came to an end, and glad as she was to be able to speak to the stranger, she was sad that the song was done.

"I greet you," Eodwine broached, "I am Eodwine of Scarburg, counselor to the eorl here. How are you called?"

"I am Laerdil, from Lorien. I go to the sea, to cross over, but before I do, I am walking in the lands of Men to see to whom Middle Earth is bequeathed." He turned to Rowenna.

"And how are you called, fair maiden?"

Rowenna blushed to be addressed so kindly by an Elf. Take me with you! Teach me! Let me bask in your presence! Such thoughts and others like them flitted through her mind. "I am Rowenna of the Folde. I am the ward of Eodwine."

"How have you found us to whom you have bequeathed Middle Earth?" Eodwine asked.

"In truth," smiled the Elf, "you are the first I have seen since I left my home. Though it is early to say anything of worth, I am welcomed warmly."

"How old are you?" Rowenna asked, then put her hand to her mouth, coloring. "I am sorry, I am being rude."

"No, child, you are so young, I would expect nothing else from you," Laerdil smiled sadly. "Indeed, you are both so young. I am old. I have lived in Lorien all my days, and seen little of Middle Earth; but I was old when Numenor sank into the sea. Indeed, I was old when the Kingdom of Numenor was founded."

"The First Age, then," Eodwine breathed in wonder.

"You do not look old at all," Rowenna said.

"We do not age as you," he answered. "It is said by your kind that our age is seen in our eyes. When I look in your eyes, fair maiden, I see the brightness of youth. It gladdens my heart that there is still such youth in this old world, and that it ever will be so. But not for me, nor for my kind."

The sadness in the Elf's eyes was so profound that Rowenna felt tears coming to her eyes, and blinked them away. What was this that was happening to her? She felt as if she were undone by merely being in his presence, but in a completely different way than in her dealings with Nydfara. He was a challenge between equals. This Elf was far beyond her. She could not take her eyes off him.

"I also play the harp," Eodwine said, "but your skill is great and I feel a simpleton with it after hearing you play. Would you show me what you do to make the sounds you make?"

Rowenna listened in silent awe as the Elf taught Eodwine a smallest piece of his knowledge.