Many words were exchanged in the seconds after Rhavanielle passed out on the floor of the smithy. The first were exclamations of sympathetic shock. Then many others followed in amazement. For when the scholar's head landed, she suffered naught but a cut on her brow and a slight bruise. But more interesting to those at hand was the loss of the kerchief she wore over her hair. When the boy Hereward made fast to turn her over, her blade like ears protruded from her long brown-red hair and were noted by all. Hereward gasped and stared. Ceawlin stammered prayers to Béma. Sæðryð grabbed Rhajawyn and held her tightly with the instinct of a mother protecting against the caprice of the elves.
“An elf!” Sæðryð exclaimed needlessly. Sfeithi covered his face with a heavy sigh. Now we're for it, he thought. Gorm alone kept his head and rose to his feet.
“What's the matter, then?” he asked jovially. “Did you think they were just some old legend meant to frighten bad children?”
Rhavanielle opened her eyes to see Sfeithi smiling down. “What got into you, silly lass? Too much ale while you were working the kitchens?” he chuckled. “Your secret is safe within the smithy. But it won't stay so long. Hereward the apprentice is a youth and the youth of the edain are not wont to keep long any secret no matter what the penalty!”
Rhavanielle lay upon the straw mattress of Hereward which was situated adjacent to the smithy room itself. Rough wood posts and wattle and daub walls formed the interior and every manner of household tool hung from wood pegs. Behind Sfeithi the elf saw Sæðryð peeking half in fear and half in curiosity round the door frame. She heard a girl child's voice, “Make her fix it, poppa!” The very sound of the voice made the walls seem to close in all over again. Sfeithi's countenance went rigid with alarm and she felt his palm lightly slapping at her cheek. Felt her body once more responding to her will. She sat upright looking anguished.
“Enelyë!” she shouted. Tears streamed from her eyes. Sfeithi was becoming alarmed by the elf's sudden and seemingly total loss of self control.
“Rhavanielle! My friend! It is Sfeithi. What is the matter with you? Control yourself or we'll end up dead!” growled the dwarf. His instinct was to clamp a hand over her big stupid elfish mouth but he restrained himself out of the kindness that was in his nature.
Sæðryð's face at once disappeared but was replaced by Ceawlin's. Ceawlin was no warrior, but he was known to be a courageous man who had slain a great warg with an axe once that had got inside a horse barn belonging to the Thegn. He still bore the deep scars on one thigh from the beast's fangs to show for it. He looked down at the tall fair girl in the simple blue dress sitting red eyed on his apprentice's tick. She was certainly harmless seeming, he thought. Elves were supposed to be phantoms of the forest of the north that lured men to their doom to be strangled by the evil trees that served them. Once they had befriended men, it was said. But for some reason the kindreds had become long estranged and no sane man would approach the sorcerous wood to the north of the plains of Rohan.
“What is a forest spirit doing here serving ale in the poorest shire in all the Mark?” he asked her. Sfeithi and Gorm looked to Rhavanielle. Their carefully built disguise had blown away like the down from a thistle.
“Where is Enelyë? Bring her to me!” wailed the elf. She sagged against Sfeithi who was in spite of himself deeply touched. He had comforted widows before and this felt much the same.
“Who is this Enelyë? Someone in the Thegn's household?” asked Ceawlin, his face sagging in confusion.
At this moment, the red headed moppet made her break. The pendant clutched tightly in her balled white fist, Rhajawyn broke free from her mother's arms and dashed into the apprentice's little room. In a flash, Rhavanielle had gathered the startled girl into her arms in a tight embrace. Ceawlin's protective impulse rose but for a fraction of an instant, but it was clear the elf meant his babe no harm.
Blubbering in elvish, her shoulders heaved as she hugged Rhajawyn. The girl for her part returned the embrace like one returns the embrace of an auntie who is known to be a little off her nut. Rhajawyn's green eyes looked to the dwarves for an explanation, but they offered only shrugs in reply.
An awkward silence was broken when at last Rhavanielle released the child who promptly sat upright in the elf's lap. Some semblance of who and where she was seemed to creep back over Rhavanielle.
“Aiya! How is this possible? What cruel wizardry...?” she stammered.
Sæðryð had had quite enough magic and mystery. “How is it possible? That's my daughter, you old wood sprite! Give her back to me or talk to her proper! Her name's Rhajawyn.”
Rhavanielle blinked once. “Your daughter?” she said, staring at Rhajawyn.
“Yes my daughter. I oughtta know. She came out of me. And this here is her father,” she said gesturing to Ceawlin. “Who's daughter do you think she might be?!” said Sæðryð a bit defensively. It was not known to Rhavanielle or the dwarves, but Rhajawyn's crimson hair was far more common among the Dunlanders of the Gap and much cruel teasing had been directed at both child and mother.
Rhavanielle felt the air going out of her. But in a way she found much easier to master. A feeling of deep shame and sadness came over her and her milky freckled skin seemed to grow a shade paler in the light that filtered through the narrow windows. The elf sighed and fixed her gaze on Rhajawyn. “I am sorry, small one. For you are the very image of my first born. Lost long before there were even men.”
Rhajawyn felt an instant bond with the elf, who shared her emerald eyes. “And that is Enelyë?” asked the girl. Rhavanielle nodded once glumly. Rhajawyn raised her hand and opened it, revealing the strange pendant.
“Can you fix this? They told me it's a magical elvish charm. Maybe an elf can fix it with elf magic?” she asked quietly.
Having been so thoroughly shocked once already, Rhavanielle was this time more resistant but her face still twitched with alarm. “How came you by this?” she asked, fixing Rhajawyn's eyes with real elf magic. Rhajawyn felt herself in the presence of something greater than she had known. As though the stories of Béma had somehow come to life and she was in the presence of one of His heavenly court.
Again, Sæðryð interjected. This time more helpfully. “It's always been in my family. They say from the time of Eorl. That it was taken from the hoard of Scatha and given as a boon to an ancestor of mine. Is it really elvish?” Sæðryð's anger had vanished. She had never considered the thought that someday the old treasure's mystery might be explained. Or that it might be mended.
Rhavanielle nodded. “It certainly is elvish! For once upon a time, in another age, my husband made it.”
