Carnen an Gwend
Part One
Laeglinien studied the boy walking down the sunny path towards her hiding place. He was whistling a merry tune, but he had the look of someone struggling against loneliness. There was an openness about his face that appealed to her, and his short, messy curls were the exact shade of the honey that her mother used to make cakes. As she watched, he stooped and picked up a small stone, bouncing it in his hand.
Just as she made up her mind to talk to him, the boy called out.
"Who's there? Better come out where I can see you!" He hefted the stone, and Laeglinien thought he might be trying to sound braver than he felt. She stepped on a twig and winced at the noise as she moved into view.
He gave her an appraising stare, making her wish she had brushed some of the dead leaves off her green linen dress. Squaring her shoulders, she put on her best smile and strode forward through beams of spring sunlight filtering down.
"Well met, friend! What are you doing out here all by yourself? Where are your parents? Do they work on the ships, too? My father does. He brings me here to show me which kinds of wood are the right kind. But I always get bored and run off to listen to the trees. He's working over there..."
She waved her hand vaguely behind her as she paused to catch her breath. Watching the boy blink at her, she shut her mouth abruptly. Naneth always told her she talked faster than the wind could fly.
He took a moment to process everything she had just said, then ran a grubby hand through his hair and ventured a tentative smile.
"Um, hi. I was just...walking, I guess. My father brought me with him, but he isn't a shipbuilder. He comes here sometimes so he can 'find words', he says." The boy rolled his grey eyes with a long-suffering sigh. "He's always saying weird things like that."
Laeglinien nodded with eyes wide and gestured at the pale birch trees all around them. "Maybe the trees have the words he's looking for and that's why he has to come here. I wonder if he can talk to them. I tried, but I don't know if they heard me or not. I'm Laeglinien, but Naneth calls me Fimbrethiel." She gave a pointed look at the silvery trees and grinned, but he didn't seem to get the joke.
The boy shrugged and said, "I'm Túrhavel, son of Dírhavel, of the House of Hador." He tried to give her a formal bow, but fumbled it halfway through.
She laughed with delight and clapped her hands together. "Do you want to race to the brook, Túrhavel? It's so much more fun when there's someone to run with. There's a tree right next to it that's good for climbing."
Túrhavel's eyes lit up at that and he jumped in as soon as she paused for breath. "I like climbing, too. I have to train up till I'm tall and strong. Father wants me to be a poet, but I'm going to be a warrior, like Lord Tuor and his cousin Turin. Father's always talking about Turin and his mighty deeds."
Laeglinien sighed, thinking of the one time she had seen Lord Tuor, before he sailed away. He had been so very tall and valiant, marching down the docks to inspect his new ship. He and Lady Idril had never returned from that voyage, and no one knew their fate. She slowly became aware of Túrhavel's hand waving back and forth in front of her face. Shaking the last of the memory away, she grinned at him, grabbed her skirts, and sped off down the path with her dark hair streaming behind her. Taken unawares, he got a late start and arrived at the little brook several moments after she did.
Breathless and laughing, she collapsed onto the mossy bank, and Túrhavel followed suit.
Biting her lip, Laeglinien peered at the boy hopefully with her pale green eyes. "Do you want to be friends? I'm 9 years old, but I think you would call it 8. I know all sorts of nice places I could show you, and I'm sure Atto wouldn't mind."
Túrhavel shrugged casually. "Yeah, I guess so. I'm going to be 9 in the autumn, too. Ever since..." He paused and looked away with a fierce scowl, but she could see that he was blinking back tears. "Ever since my mother died, Father makes me go everywhere with him. But he spends so much time thinking about his song, that he probably won't even notice."
He was clearly unhappy, so she reached out to pat his arm consolingly. It was hard to imagine either of her parents dying, or not paying any attention to her, but she hated to see anyone in such pain. He turned back and gave her a small, shy smile.
"Come on, Túrhavel. Let's go up the stream to the best climbing tree in Nimbrethil." She rose and offered her hand in invitation. He climbed to his feet and clasped her hand in his own, and they wandered off through the birches together.
Part Two: http://laurelinarchives.org/node/14916
