On Rare Occasions by DragonoftheNorth and TreeHugger

Epilogue

Alagaith was humming some odd tune that I judged to be Nargothrondian in origin with the harmony intoned quietly at certain melody breaks. I knew he was happy, happier than perhaps he could have imagined he would be here, and that pleased me. Watching him measure out the area that would one day comprise his front porch, facing west of course, I could see how contented he had grown, how much this meant to him – to have his own house, to be accepted.

They had chosen a cozy spot, not far from my tree house; a hilly place with a cave they told me one day would comprise the back of their home. You could hear the gentle rush of the river here, not far from some very good fishing places. It was a nice spot.

“Are you so very certain, Linlote,” I began shaking my head in bemusement, “that you want to live on the ground and in the ground like some dwarf? The trees are much better.”

I had been surprised, but only briefly, when Alagaith had told me where they had chosen to put their house. They were Noldor after all, and they were allowed some strangeness in their choice of dwelling places. Our own good king lived in a cave, but then he was Sindarin, and they could be odd as well.

Linlote looked up at me, pausing in his measuring.

“Really, Mordil,” he sighed. “You wood-elves are so very…impractical.” He shook his head and grinned. “Always thinking of the wild wargs that could come and eat you, but never of sprained ankles. I have sprained my ankles more often than I have had to face a hungry warg.” He winked jauntily, and I almost regretted my giving in and telling him the tale of Galion the Gallant rescuing me from the hungry warg.

“Yes,” I conceded with a grin of my own, “but a sprained ankle heals, being eaten by a hungry warg does not.” I chuckled a bit. “If it makes you happy to burrow into the ground, then I will let you.”

Alagaer, who had been looking at the various herbs that grew nearby, no doubt going over their culinary usefulness in his head, returned and put a warm hand on my shoulder.

“He is better at talking wargs out of eating him than at keeping his ankles from getting sprained,” he said, gazing affectionately at his son. “Have we never told you about the one little warg in the Misty Mountains that-“

Alagant hurried to his father’s defense with a “No, daerada. You said not to tell Master Tanglinna. Don’t you remember? You told me not to tell the warg story, or that of the Yule cake.”

Seven, who was leaning against a tree, chuckled at this innocent assertion.

I lifted one brow, gazing back at Alagaith.

“Keeping secrets are we, Linlote?” I would have to work those tales out of them, they had, after all, heard some of mine. “That is not very nice of you,” I continued. “I-“ My words died in my throat and I bowed hastily as Thranduil joined us, tipping his head, which was bare of any ornamentation for once.

The king looked about, not that there was much to see yet. I swallowed uncomfortably, glancing from him to Seven, who had straightened, looking instantly wary. This was not good. One did not simply bring an orc into our wood, even if it was a friendly one…not that anyone had heard of friendly orcs before Seven’s arrival in our lives. It was almost too preposterous. Elves and orcs…opposites in every way…or were we?

Thranduil was looking steadfastly at Seven, his eyes narrowed in a contemplative manner, and then he turned to Linlote.

“Good day, Master Alagaith,” he greeted, picking him as the most likely culprit for bringing an orc here in the open.

Linlote bowed, and though he kept his face composed, I could see the slight flash of uncertainty in his eye. “My king…. I believe you have not met my good friend Seven yet?”

Of course, he had not. An orc! An orc in Mirkwood, standing before the king as bold as you please! Ai! This was bad!

Seven bowed, very elegantly I must say, and I admit he did not look very Orcish in his beautifully embroidered clothing. Most of the orcs or goblins dressed in rather simple garments, not overly embellished with lovely threads depicting leaves or birds. I saw a look of concern cross Linlote’s face as Thranduil continued to study Seven.

Thranduil suddenly nodded, his face hiding what he thought. He is very good at that, and it is rather disconcerting.

“Welcome to our wood, Master Seven,” he said at last, and I could hear the slight tone of surprise in his voice. Surprise at speaking with an orc? Speaking civilly with an orc? Speaking with one at all? His eyes narrowed as he regarded the unfortunate friend of Alagaith once more. “I suppose we shall be seeing you here quite often.” It was not framed as a question, but I knew that Thranduil must be wondering how to handle yet another unexpected situation, this one in regard to an orc of all things!

Elves kill orcs or get killed by orcs. It was that simple…or it used to be. One never had to think on it before.

“With your permission,” Seven answered him, “I will gladly visit from time to time.”

I could see by the tension in his shoulders that Seven did not know what to make of this any more than I did. I did not think he had much chance to converse with elves outside of his own small acquaintance with Alagaith and his family, Fin and Gwin included, and certainly not with an elf like Thranduil.

Alagaer suddenly stepped forward, his hand tightening on my shoulder for just an instant.

“He will certainly be here very often,” he declared, almost as if he was daring Thranduil to gainsay him! “He is a good friend of ours, and has been for a long time.” There was the slightest pause and then, “I met him in the mines. He was lucky enough to escape at some point. Few of the other Avari who were there died. They were not as much a people of miners as we Noldor are.”

I gaped at him in amazement. What was he saying? Did he truly want to pass Seven off as an Avari? As an elf?? That was preposterous!

Thranduil’s brow rose, and I thought that for a mere second one side of his mouth quirked in an amused smile, but that couldn’t have been.

“An Avari, is he?” he said, addressing Alagaer, but then turned to survey the highly uncomfortable orc. “So…that is what they look like,” he added, his gaze shooting to me.

I felt rather like a startled deer caught in the hunter’s sight, but then I managed to nod. Of course, that is what the Avari looked like. There was some tale, wasn’t there, about the wild Avari….

“Of course he is an Avari,” I answered, trying to look as nonchalant about this as I could. If Alagaer managed it perfectly, then so could I. “It seems perfectly…obvious to me,” I finished, feeling slightly ill. Everything could fall apart over this; one did not invite orcs into our wood!

Oddly enough I felt a pang of fear stab through me, exactly like I felt when Thranduil and I had been younger and he had thought of some wonderful scheme that would undoubtedly get us into trouble of some sort – rather like his youngest son did now. Thranduil’s blue eyes gleamed as he turned once more to Seven.

“Well, we shall have to give a feast in honor of our visiting Avari, hm?” he said, smiling a bit too much. What was he thinking! I could almost hear what he was thinking! What was he saying! And he dared to laugh! What was he planning? “Yes, indeed,” he said, looking too pleased with himself for comfort, “a feast is called for.” The grin that spread across his features was most wicked and I felt my heart sink. “I shall speak to my wife-“ Ai Valar! “about arranging it. If that would please you?”

I stared open mouthed at him, scarcely daring to believe what I was hearing!

Seven looked even more unsure than he had before, and I was certain – absolutely certain! - that he must think us all mad, we Mirkwood elves.

“This would be a great honour,” he began, “but I do not know….”

If there is one thing worse than one elf bent upon mischief, it is two. Curse the Sindar and the Noldor! Alagaer joined the game, smiling every bit as wickedly as Thranduil was!

“This is too kind of you, my king,” he said, his eyes sparkling. “Speaking of feasts….Would you care for some…Avari music in the future? Master Seven is an accomplished singer, and your minstrels would certainly be delighted if he were to join them from time to time.”

Alagaith looked scandalized, shooting his father a warning look that was blatantly ignored.

Now that Thranduil had someone to match wits with, there would be no stopping them! This was bad!

“That would be…delightful, Master Alagaer” he rejoined, his eyes snapping with enjoyment. “I am certain my…minstrels-“ I had the feeling his minstrels were far from his mind at that moment – “would enjoy learning some…Avari tunes.” Thranduil’s smile widened, and I glared at him, and was blatantly ignored. “Lady Laureahiril is quite an accomplished musician,” he added. “Perhaps you should go speak with her about accompanying Master Seven.”

Laureahiril, the great matriarch of Tavor’s rather large Noldorin family, had often crossed words with Oropher and it had passed to his son to deal with her rather opinionated ways. I could almost hear him calling her the ‘old spider’ in his mind.

I threw an apologetic look at Linlote, feeling quite helpless to prevent…what I did not know. Amazingly, Alagaer looked quite pleased with the suggestion.

“I will promptly inform her, my king.” He bowed, his eyes still brilliantly filled with fun…and something else. The thought of visiting with the formidable Spider Queen, as Oropher had often called Laureahiril, had never left me feeling anything but unhappy and wishing the experience over as quickly as possible. So why did Alagaer leave so hastily and so happily?

Suddenly Alagaith grinned, and said rather enigmatically, “She will doubtlessly be delighted.”

Seven, on the other hand, looked most displeased and unhappy, but then no one had really asked his opinion. Almost as if hearing what I was thinking, and doubtlessly what poor Seven was thinking, Thranduil rounded on the orc once more.

“Does this suit you, Master Seven?” There was compassion in his eyes, but I knew that things had been decided by two much more…forceful personalities than Seven. There would be a feast whether the guest of honour wished it or not.

“I am honoured, my king,” he murmured graciously, but the look he shot at Alagaith spoke of the revenge on both Linlote and his wayward father.

“So Uncle Seven is staying?”

This was asked by Alagant who had been so quiet during this strange exchange. I turned to see him, beaming, his eyes sparkling with contained joy, his small body vibrating with happiness, and I could not suppress a smile from touching my lips.

“Very good,” Thranduil said, looking quite satisfied with the way things had turned out thus far. “I shall go now and speak to my lady-wife. Pray continue. Your house promises to be rather intriguing.”

Not just their house, I thought wryly as Thranduil took his leave of us to seek out Firithiel. I did not envy him that conversation! I had the strange feeling that he would relish it.

“I am sorry about that,” I said, the frown returning as I looked at Seven, who sat down on a nearby stone.

“Oh, this is not your fault,” he said, glowering at Alagaith, whose fault he obviously thought this was, or some small measure of it. “I should have followed your father’s wise suggestion to tie you to a tree when you were talking about going to Mirkwood….” He muttered.

Uh, oh. Very unhappy orc. This was…bad. I felt a grin tugging on my lips, and a laugh bubbled within my chest.

“Perhaps you should have,” I agreed amiably, “but then you would miss all this…Mirkwood fun…and the feast given in your honour, Master Avari.”

Really it was too ridiculous.

Alagaith was chuckling, not looking very guilty at all.

“Ah, Sharhur, dear friend….” He said with a smile. “You will like it here.” Suddenly he gazed at me. “ Mordil? What would be a good name for an Avari? I mean…Do you know any Avari names?”

In truth I did not, and Seven muttered, “Mad elves.” I could see a slight hint of a grin beneath his impressive Orcish scowl, and I smiled.

“No, I fear I do not know any Avari names,” I admitted. “I have never met an Avari…before now that is,” I added with a grin. “But perhaps something like …Avarfaug.”

Seven slowly shook his head.

“Avarfaug?” he repeated disbelievingly. “You do want trouble, don’t you?”

Alagaith laughed at the suggestion. “Avarfaug?”

Alagant, who was being more practical than the rest of us chimed in “At least it rhymes with Smaug.”

I chuckled at this. “Yes, it is all that dragon’s fault.” I suppose that was nearly true. If not for Smaug, none of us would have met.

Suddenly Seven sighed, looking mildly exasperated.

“Your knowledge of Avari names is less than perfect, isn’t it, my dear elves?” he asked, speaking slowly as if we were rather ignorant children. “I think I will go with…Eglahil.”

Alagaith blinked. “That is a real name, isn’t it?”

A real name? Seven knew Avari names? I stared at him thinking there was more to this orc than met the eye, but I already knew that.

What a silly conversation! Three elves trying to find an Avari name for an orc! It was a good thing no one could hear us.

“It sounds convincing enough,” a new voice behind me added, and I froze.

We had been caught!

Part the Last

This quiet corner of the woods seemed to attract unexpected visitors today.

I had not heard the First Swordmaster approach, and neither had the others, if their bemused looks were anything to judge by, but the First Swordmaster sounded oddly pleased with Seven’s strange idea. Perhaps my brandy dream had not been that much of a dream, after all?

This odd glance of unexpected complicity was not the only remarkable thing about Vardamar today. Not only was he dressed impeccably in courtly robes, as was hardly his custom; there was also a mischievous glint to his eyes that I had never seen before. In fact, he looked like an elfling who has successfully hidden several large and hairy spiders in a squeamish aunt’s bed.

Mordil noticed none of this. He only believed that it had to mean trouble if his dour and brave old friend and an orc were in the same place.

"Vardamar,” he began, not sounding like his poised masterarcherly self at all, but rather as if he expected to find himself under the charge of befriending orcs that had been leveled at me so short a time ago. “He...that is..."

Puzzled, he fell silent; he had probably realized that Vardamar had not made any move to chop Seven into pieces, but had given him a nod instead. What is this, Linlote? his eyes seemed to ask as he gazed at me.

Before I could try to explain even half of it, Vardamar nodded pleasantly. "An orc turned Avari, I know, I know." He paused, studying our meagre house building preparations. "But this is not why I am here." Neither had he come to comment on our choice of building place: "I just thought you might all be interested in learning that the Rivendell folks have left."

This was unexpected. While I had known that the Rivendell elves were going to leave some time in the near future, I had forgotten the exact date, if it had ever been mentioned. In any case, it was a pleasant thought that I would not have to avoid the Hall any longer in order not to run into Eliant, pleasant, but strange and somewhat disconcerting at the same time. Here, I could avoid him and still watch his moves from afar; as soon as he was back in Rivendell, there was no way to know what he was plotting, planning and setting into motion… But for now, he seemed to be gone… Gone, just like that.

Mordil could hardly believe the welcome news, either. "All of them?" he enquired without speaking Eliant’s name.

Vardamar smiled, but it was a smile to chill even the bravest to the quick. "Yes. There have been reports of some unforeseen orc activity lately, you know." It was the first time I heard any of this, and I could not help doubting the veracity of this information a little; never trust a swordmaster who smiles like a warg! "Traveling swiftly is quite the only option they have. Ah, and they had to send their best scout ahead." I had never believed I would live to see the day on which cool, dignified Vardamar would rub his hands in glee, but he did now. "I recommended a path, you know."

Mordil frowned. "And who is their 'best scout'? Surely you don't mean..." And then, he understood; his eyes shone, and the swordmaster’s wargish smile was mirrored on his face. "Just what path did you suggest, Master Vardamar?"

Vardamar could look very innocent if he so chose. "Ah, you know... There is one quiet, little path down by the small lake southwest of here.” There was such a path indeed, and the lake in question was almost as beautiful as the pools of Ivrin had been long ago… Only that there had been fewer spiders’ nests around Eithel Ivrin. One of the first things Mordil had told me after I had moved to Mirkwood was that I should never, ever go fishing there, and that allowing Alagant to go even near that place would be even more careless than leaving him in the care of an orc.

Vardamar was still smiling innocently. “Very pleasant, especially at this time of the year”, he continued. “Only a bit spider-infested, but that should not stop a great warrior of Rivendell, should it?"

Any good and compassionate elf would have been shocked by this blatant admission of something ever so close to kinslaying… Any elf, excluding those who were present. I could not pity Eliant, not even if I imagined him surrounded by a multitude spiders or dangling from a tree before being turned into lunch. Perhaps I would feel slightly sorry weeks from now, if a foppish cap, a sword or a few bones were found near that path, but not now… No, certainly not now.

Mordil smiled. "You were quite right to send their best scout ahead of them. He is undoubtedly a great warrior indeed and should be able to handle anything he encounters there. You were very wise, Master Vardamar." Wise and utterly wicked! But also utterly right.

He bowed to Vardamar, his eyes shining with mirth, and after a moment, I imitated him, a nigh Feanorian smile on my lips. "Very wise indeed, my fellow swordmaster. Pray tell, was he wearing that lovely cloak of his, with the little bells?"

THE END

Thank you thank you to our readers and reviewers! It is over finally…for now. Eliant vs. a spider… Who might win: ))