Erandur
ran. He had to. He had to catch
that rabbit. He had to catch that rabbit.
He had to run. Although he was desperate
for Barathon’s love, was even more frightened of his fury. Yes, you read
correctly. Erandur’s father was Barathon—the Barathon. His titles were
renowned: The hero of Tendor pass, Slayer of seventy Orcs, High Member of the
Mythrill guard. Yes… the Barathon. He had come back home to check on Erandur’s
younger sister, Gwilwilethel. She was only twelve-years-old after
all. But she was growing into a magnificent young lady. She was
intelligent, beautiful, graceful, and fair. A stunning child. With
traits that would have only increased with age... would have. Perhaps as
evidence that she may have been to perfect for this world—she was desperately
frail. She and Erandur were Barathon’s only legacy, all that he had left,
after the death of his older brother, Tûrin. A fact that Barathon,
made sure that Erandur did not forget. Why didn’t he and his
wife have more children? Well that story has much to do with why
Gwilwilethel was so precious to Barathon.
To begin
with, Erandur’s mother was Adanessa. She was, of all things, a
human. This explains why Erandur, indeed all his siblings were
half-elves. Now while it was not unheard of for an eleven man to take a
human wife, it was rare for a man of Barathon’s stature to do so. Indeed
so rare, that he had to seek the permission of the high council. All the
anxiety, all the fear that built in anticipation of the meeting, had been
wasted energy. It should come as little surprise that with just a single
meeting, permission was granted. That may sound impossible, but if one
met Adanessa, it would have been easy to see why he made that choice.
Simply put, she was incredible.
A
human so beautiful, so gracious in her charms, captivating in wit, and so… so…
so endearing—that this mortal woman captured the heart of an eleven mate. An
astounding feat when one considers that elves choose only one or two mates
during their lifespan. A span that far surpases that of humans. Now
also, one must understand that she too was captivated. So much so that
she dropped her human name, Addison, so that her love Barathon would have no
difficulty in his beckoning for her.
With the response would come reunion and the two could again flow
seamlessly into one.
Their
union, as their love was epic. At a curious Wedding of the Four Winds,
the marriage was held, not in his house—rather the land where he promised to
build their home for her, and all of their offspring. If that was thought
to be romantic, the ceremony itself only magnified Barathon’s love. The
guests included much of Barathon’s guard who intermingled with Adanessa’s
relations on the North side. To the west, ready to receive and shelter
the setting sun, stood Adanessa. Her simple, yet elegant dress was almost
outdone only by her beauty and a glorious silver head dress. At the
Eastern terminus where the sun rose stood Barathon, dressed in a simple cloth
uniform. To the south, acting as representatives to give away the
intendeds were Barathon’s leader, General Hirgon, and Adanessa’s dad,
Oliver. With the lifting of a green lantern, by the lantern bearer, all
parties converged in the middle. The vows were exchanged with hopes of
many children born. Then, suddenly, just as in the legend of the great
councilman Neurion and his eleven elders who brought peace to Celebdale, twelve
swans were released to fly free at the end of the ceremony.
The vows
must have been powerful, for nine months to the day after the wedding they were
blessed with their first born--Erandur’s older brother, Tûrin. As
Barathon had high hopes for this child, he was given the name victory. A
name that seemed fitting as the boy’s power and endurance were remarkable.
But, possibly due to his human side, Tûrin was always a ‘doer’, not necessarily
a thinker. Two years later, their union was blessed with yet another boy,
Erandur. For mere survival with an older brother, it should come as no
surprise that Erandur also possessed physical stamina. A stamina enriched
by an exceptional mind. His thoughts definitely displayed a maturity
beyond his years. Five years later, the final child, enered the world,
and this child, Gwilwilethel, had an important story all her own.
This
child would be blessed by elegance. As if in provision of foreknowledge,
throughout the pregnancy, Adanessa carried the countenance of radiant
splendor. Her gentility, grace, supple movements, and gentle words only
increased her apparent sheer magnificence. All in the village were awed
by her loveliness, and expectantly waited the glory of the newborn.
Perhaps this would be a reflection of the treasure within. Perhaps this
child would be the most beautiful child in the village. Or perhaps… just
perhaps, in a moment of either sheer pity, or malicious cruelty, the fates
allowed Adanessa a fleeting glimpse of glory.
Indeed,
Erandur could still remember the day. That fateful day.
The day
had begun like so many others. All that
the five year old Erandur knew before he was rushed out, was that there would
soon be a new baby in the house. While that was something to be excited
about… this gave him time to go to the creek with his friend Dûrion. For Erandur this was definitely something to
be more excited about. Once there,
something fantastical happened. What was the incredible moment? He
had seen three frogs down by the creek, with his friend Dûrion. Indeed,
he had almost caught one of them. The giggling, slippery struggle was
epic. Indeed, Erandur was convinced he
would have caught him… until in the excitement, his friend Dûrion had pushed
him off the rock. He couldn’t wait to tell his mother of the
adventure. Whistling a merry tune all the way home, he opened the door,
to a sight he would never forget.
A crowd
had surrounded his Mother’s bed. Two female elves desperately frantic in
movment cloistered themselves near the foot of the bed. His father
meanwhile sat near his mother’s head. One hand clutched his mother’s hand,
while the other gently and continually matted the sweat from her
forehead. As the eleven midwives emerged from behind a sheltered area
that encased Adanessa’s legs, Erandur was shocked. The aprons and arms of
the eleven midwives were covered in blood… so much blood Erandur had never seen
before. Stunned into silence, Erandur stopped his whistling. This
silence was only momentary as his mother began moans of unmitigated
anguish. As the midwives whispered to each other, his father became
urgent in his nervous matting of Adanessa’s brow. He began to whisper
into her ear “Everything’s going to be alright Nessa. Shhhhh…
Everything’s going to be alright.” Erandur, in a moment of confused
concern, softly muttered “Is everything alright Mama?”
Suddenly
aware of the presence of Erandur, while still focusing on his wife, Barathon
yelled, “Get out Erandur!” An action that was in sharp contrast to
Adanessa’s feeble and pained attempt to limply stretch an arm. In her
moment of pain, she longed to comfort her son… her Erandur. Well even
this diminutive gift was stopped by a midwife who knew that Adanessa needed to
preserve all energy that remained. This of course, provided little solace
to the confused boy who could only murmur, “But Mama…,”
This
however was more than the frustrated Barathon could take as he stood helpless
as his Adanessa was fading. Only tilting his head towards the midwives
Barathon ordered “Get him out of here!”, before turning back to his wife and
softly saying, “It’s okay Nessa, keep pushing,….” In rapt obedience, and
ever watching her patient, a midwife quickly moved to escort the young child
out. So urgently did she respond that she did not even wipe the blood
from her arm. Blood with its staining sink, was quickly absorbed by the fine
fibers of Erandur’s shirt when the nurse’s hand attempeted a hurried
guidance. An exit which had almost been acomplishShe had barely opened
the door when a blood curdling shriek filled the room. As Adanessa began
to howl in pain, the standing midwife anxiously cried for the other to return
to her station. With a shove on the back, Erandur was thrust out as the
door slammed behind him.
For two
minutes Erandur stood. Frightened and confused, he didn’t dare
move. It could cause something. Something that might complicate
whatever was happening inside. With his only source of information
arriving from the cacophony of sounds emerging from his house, Erandur only
caught a glimpse of the chaos. Cries, moans, thrashing… and then…
silence—an agonizing silence that lasted more than thirty seconds. An
epoch stretched to an eternity for a five year old boy. What is going on
Erandur wondered utterly confused.
A
reflective moment broken suddenly by the sharp piercing wail of a
newborn. It siren boldly announcing an arrival. The advent of a
child thrust from the warm but dying sanctum of its mother’s womb, and
propelled into the cold reality of life. One minute later, an
expressionless midwife, opened the door. At first, Erandur’s she blocked
entry as she wiped the blood from her arms with a cloth. As she moved
aside, Erandur could see that something was wrong. His mother lay
motionless. Her father, having thrown his body across her was
sobbing. Sobbing that exceeded that of the newborn baby. Wrapped in
a cloth, the baby was swayed back and forth by an anxious midwife. This
newborn appeared so tiny—so frail.
The
midwife holding the baby nervously moved next to Barathon. Wrought in
anguish, he remained over his wife. Whispering into her ear, fixing her
hair, and, before he stood, closing her eyes. Preparing himself, he
turned to look at the baby. All the grounding in the world though, would
not have prepared Barathon.
For the
beauty, the magnificence, the exquisite frailty of this child, broke Barathon’s
heart. This child would be a living testament to Barathon’s most valued
treasure Adanessa. As he carefully accepted the baby, the midwife
notified Barathon that it was a girl. As he looked deep into the
diminutive yet perfect eyes of this faultless child, Barathon was
awestruck. With one of his long gentle fingers, he stoked his daughters
face. For two minutes there was no movement in the house, no sound
uttered, save the intermittent smacking and cooing of the babe. Suddenly,
Barathon clutched the baby to his shoulder, and as he rocked it to and fro,
gently spoke, “I shall name thee Gwilwilethel.” Then pulling the baby far
enough away so that he could look into her eyes, “For you, my precious gift
from Adanessa, are my butterfly, my beautiful, tender, frail, butterfly.”
This being said, Barathon looked at his wife, and began to cry. Indeed so
deeply did Barathon love his passed wife, that five years later, when the
council voted that a mating of need, or a marriage to produce more children,
would be acceptable, Barathon rejected their plan. He had his sons, his
memories of a precious wife, and his butterfly.
Growing
up was difficult. Being in a military family is never easy. The
father, especially one of Barathon’s rank, could be called out at any
moment. Now when Adanessa was still alive, she was the support
system. However with her passing, the brothers and Gwilwilethel were
usually passed off to the families of one of his father’s soldiers. But,
when Tûrin reached the age of twelve, it was decided he was old enough to take
care of his ten-year-old brother, and five-year old, sister. Needless to
say, with the extra responsibility, the kids in this family were forced to grow
up fast. So with the passing of his older brother, Erandur took full
responsibility over the care of his 9 year old sister. So three years
later, by the time his sister’s sickness began the extra addition of also being
nursemaid, presented little difficulty. Indeed, his father was returning
soon to check up on his little butterfly—to make sure of Erandur’s care.
So in
preparation for his father’s arrival, beyond all else he was doing, Erandur
took most of the responsibility. He had arranged for the soups, the greens, and
to surprise his father, his favorite dish—mutton. Five rabbits had been caged
for the occasion. In bringing the cages into the house however, one of the
cages tettering balance came crashing down. His laden arms unable to stop
the svelt movement, the rabbit raced through the freedom that the open door
provided. Erandur feeling the fool, hastily set down the other
cages. Although at seventeen he was on the cusp of manhood, beneath he
was still a clumsy teenager.
Now the escape of this one rabbit may have gone by unnoticed. Indeed, now that it
had escaped Erandur had wished it would have gone unnoticed, but his sister had
made that impossible. How? She had written her father a letter. In that
dispatch, so proud was she of her brother’s labor, so excited was she about the
celebration, she listed out the entire meal to her father. Erandur knew that
rather than praising his efforts, his father, the oh so great Barathon would
once again just find another shortcoming. In other words he had to find that
rabbit.
Through the forest he ran. Branches ripped at his face and arms as he tracked
the movements of the frustratingly small animal. Then he saw his opportunity.
The rabbit ran into a cave. Relieved that he finally had the animal cornered,
Erandur slowed to a walk and caught his breath. As he walked towards the cave
he looked at his surroundings. He had never been in this part of the forest
before. It certainly was beautiful; he would have to remember this spot. After
all one of these days, he might just want to come back. After glancing around
his surroundings, he walked towards the mouth of the cave.
“Here little bunny, bunny, bunny.” Erandur said before he beginning to mimick
the tiny grunts of the bunny. Entering the cave, Erandur glanced at his
surroundings. The cave was a deep one. Indeed the rocky cracks and scraggly
floor continued well beyond his elven vision. Erandur was not worried; he would
use his gifts of eleven sight, and eleven smell to catch that…. Wait. Erandur
sniffed deeper. What was that smell.
Unsheathing
his dagger, Erandur turned to face the scent. It was a scent he had smelt
traces of before…possibly. Although foreign, his nostrils were
desperately confused. On one hand, the trace in the air seemed to trigger
an olfactory memory of danger. At the same time, however, this same scent
was strangely and desperately comforting. A brilliant twist of floral and
earthy aromas filled his nostrils. His curiosity piqued, he knew that he would
have to remember whatever creature this fragrance represented. For the scent of
the Rabbit was somehow intermingled. A light scuff on the floor signified
that whatever that scent was, was stealthily approaching.
“Who goes there?” Erandur challenged the darkness. Erandur could hear
gentle, almost muted movement in the background. Erandur nervously griped
the pliant leather handle of his dagger, “Who goes there?” Erandur cautiously
demanded. Suddenly, to his left came a shocking reply. “Who goes
there,” the disembodied voice responded with a glorious sing song tone. This
was followed by a bewitching laugh. Erandur was now totally confused. Confused
and caught off guard by the mystery, Erandur bumbled out “Err…umm…yes, who is
it?” Erandur waited for a response. The reply he received only furthered
his confusion. The faint scurrying of feet in the distant darkness.
Perplexed, Erandur again gripped his dagger, “Hello?” he voiced to the darkness
to the left.
The
response he received was totally unexpected. Now the elegant voice emerged from
the darkness directly to his right, “Greetings to you, my visitor.”
Erandur spun to engage this mystery, to try to catch a glimpse of that which
baffled him. From the darkness, a shadowy figure softly began to reveal
itself. As the figure slowly moved into his sight, all of Erandur’s bewilderment
changed into captivation. For a figure so glorious, so elegant, and so
enchanting emerged from the shadows. It was an elf, an elf like he had
never seen before. She appeared to be only two inches shorter than he.
Dressed in a plain appearing, but elegant, white under dress, with an open
front black overdress. On her head she wore an elegantly crafted sliver
headband. Her short white hair contrasted in beautiful elegance to
her dark skin of her sharp jawline. The intensity of the gaze from her white
eyes struck Erandur to the very core.
Although
taken aback, he knew he still had to appear unchanged. But to approach,
he had to find something to talk about. A feat made almost impossible by
her bewitching beauty. Taking his eyes off her captivating face, he fumbled to
place the dagger back in its scabbard as he tried to absorb more of this new
exotic vision before him. It was then that he noticed that which he had
sought—the rabbit. She held it in her arms gently stroking its
coat. Now armed with a topic for discussion, he intently approached.
“Greetings, my names Erandur,” Erandur said as he stepped forward with extended
hand. She met his step with an advance of her own. “Good meeting you Erandur,
my name is Ireth.” she said continuing to pet the rabbit in her arms. She
gazed upon Erandur’s extended hand with an impish smile. Erandur
continued to hold his hand extended. Glancing again into his eyes she
tentatively began to extend her own. When their hands met the welcoming
warmth served to assure each other of the refuge to be found. Erandur looked up
into Ireth’s eyes again. “Well me lady, it seems you have captured my rabbit,”
Erandur, leaned forward to take back the rabbit. “Uh not so fast Mister,” Ireth
replied as she drew back, “I’m the one who has him now, so I guess he is my
rabbit.”
Believing she was joking, Erandur placed his hands on his hips, “Such
inscrutable logic…well what if we work a quid pro quo—this for that.”
Intrigued, Ireth drew closer to Erandur, “Humm…what could you possibly give me
that would make me give up this rabbit.” Erandur, transfixed in her eyes, said
“Tell you what, I’ll give you some of the mutton, and I’ll bring back the fur
for you.” Ireth coquettishly took a step back. A step so small—so slight,
that it would be barely discernable…unless you were Erandur who picked up on
every clue.
“I don’t
know Erandur, that sounds like a good deal, but how do I know you will come
back?” Erandur started to feel his pockets while he joked, “What after knowing
me for a few moments, you don’t trust me?” Ireth giggled and slightly moved
forward, “I’m waiting Erandur.” “Now hold on…hold on…” Erandur could find
nothing in his pockets and started patting around his body. Ireth shifted back,
“Well if you can’t offer…. Wait!” Ireth pointed to a ring on Erandur’s
hand. “I will give you the rabbit, if you leave that ring for me to hold
till you return.”
He took a ring off his finger. She wants this ring. This ring.
Erandur hesitated. This was the ring his father had given him. Well actually
it was a ring that his Mom had given his Dad, and his Dad gave to Tûrin and
after… well after his passing, Barathon had given it to him. Actually the
moment of the gift was on his fifteenth birthday.
He had
struggled with his brother’s death for more than three months. His father was
also grieving the loss. He still remembers that day. The party had
gone along smoothly. In the solace of his friends where he could take
refuge in the meshing out his emotions he had made some progress. Indeed,
when he returned to his home that evening, he had forgotten some of the
pressures, if only for a moment. He opened his door and saw his father
seated by the fire. “Hey Dad,” Erandur quietly said from the
doorway. “Hello Son,” Barathon said as he gazed into the fire, “it’s time
for your gift from me.” Erandur quietly moved towards the fireplace,
remaining silent until he stood next to his seated father. Looking at his
father’s face he could see evidence of fresh tear trails that flowed down his cheek.
While Barathon’s right hand wiped the trails from his right cheek, the left
hand was tightly gripped, around…around something.
Gently
Erandur placed his hand on his father’s shoulder, “Father.” Barathon
continued to look into the fire. “Dad?” Erandur uneasily questioned
as the sense of foreboding rose in him. The two then remained fixed, with
Erandur quizzing gaze at Barathon while he…he merely stared into the
fire. This frozen moment lasted for two minutes, until finally Barathon
spoke, “Fifteenth birthday….” Barathon brought his right hand to his face
to wipe his eyes, ending by pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb
and index finger. “Fifteenth birthday…You know who else had a fifteenth
birthday, Erandur?” Erandur’s heart filled with dread. He knew they
were about to enter a form of the same conversation they experienced ever since
the day after Tûrin’s funeral. “Tûrin, Dad. Tûrin had a fifteenth
birthday.” Barathon moved his hand up, rubbed his head twice, then with
eyes closed, brought his hand to his forehead to rub it twice with his ring
finger. “Yes.” Barathon continued to rub his forehead silently
while Erandur anxiously awaited the end of this haring. Stopping his
rubbing, Barathon now leaned his head into his hand and continued his speech,
“Anyway, on his fifteenth birthday, I gave him a very special ring that…” at
this point in his speech, Barathon had to stop to compose himself. When
his soft reaction was fought back, Barathon continued, “…your mother, Adanessa,
had given me. It was very important to me, and your brother knew
it. Everyday he wore it Erandur. Every day….” At this point
Barathon stopped to look into the fire, and Erandur, now crestfallen, joined
his gaze into the flames.
Erandur
knew his father was right. He remembered how proud his brother was of
that ring. How daily he wore it, and once a week, even if it was not
dirty, he would lovingly polish and clean it. His father’s sudden
movement staggered Erandur back into reality. Standing, but still looking
into the fire, Barathon now softly began to pound his fist into the
mantle. “So zealous was he about wearing it Erandur that it was still on
his abandoned body when my guard brought him back to Celebdale.”
Barathon’s fist now increased its tempo and power in its beating of the mantle,
as he began to clench his jaw. These words struck Erandur harder than any
fist could have. For the next few moments, both stood transfixed by the
fire, while Barathon’s fist maintained a steady rhythm against the mantle.
When it finally did slow, and stop soon thereafter, Barathon raised his left
hand to the mantle. “Anyway Erandur, Happy Birthday.” Barathon said as he
opened his left hand, turned and prepared for bed. All without looking at
Erandur. Erandur, reached up on the mantle, and put the object on his
finger. He knew what it was. It was Tûrin’s ring. He vowed he
would wear it, not so much for his father, but rather in memory of his
brother.
Now this
ring was to remain a hostage. Erandur hesitated before handing it over.
From appearances, the ring appeared to be quite plain. It was an
unadorned, uncomplicated simple silver ring. Appearances however, can be
deceiving. Engraved on the inside, however, was a message: "Rinn
amin." So despite the history behind the ring, Erandur knew
this Ireth was too intriguing to loose. Not only that, but he could not,
disappoint his father. So Erandur began to show the ring to Ireth.
“See this ring says I will return to you.” Erandur said, as it was too
big for her svelte finger, Erandur took off his silver chain and hung the ring
on it. “Wear this around your neck, and it is my promise that I shall return to
you.” Erandur then placed the necklace around her neck. Ireth picked up the
ring and looked at it. Turning it over in her hands she looked up at Erandur
smiled and said “Now Erandur, how do I know it is not me that is supposed to
return to you.” Erandur, emboldened by the fact they were still talking said
“No Ireth, this message is my vow. My vow to you, I will return.” Ireth now
stepped close to Erandur, “Well Okay Erandur, you’ve convinced me, you get your
rabbit back, and I better see you in two days with that fur and mutton.” She
reached out and rubbed his arm. “I’ll have that fur and mutton for you tomorrow.”
Erandur said as he fought to keep the rabbit under control. “Well alright then,
Erandur, I’ll see you tomorrow.” Ireth said as she escorted Erandur to the
door. “Until tomorrow Ireth, it was lovely meeting you.” Erandur said as he
walked out the cave mouth.
The struggling rabbit in Erandur’s hands made little difference. He was on top
of the world. On top of the world…for about two seconds. Then he began to
ruminate over the conversation. “Lovely meeting you…quid pro quo, who the heck
talks like that?” “She must think I’m an idiot.” Ahh but her laugh…her eyes…her
voice. Ireth what a glorious name. I found a way to come back tomorrow.
Little did Erandur know, but in the cave Ireth was feeling similar feelings.
She had no idea that elves like Erandur existed. His look was so unique. His
muscles were larger than that of the average elf. His long brown hair
beautifully hung from his head. His shoulders were broader, legs thicker,
step surer. She knew he would keep his word, she knew he would return on
the morrow. She was happy. Erandur, she thought, Erandur. Absent-mindedly she
began to twist the ring that hung around her neck.
