Part Four
Orophin sat in Haldir’s talan, thinking about what his brother had said about the
mysterious visitor. The thought of the drowned elf being Lord Amroth was nearly
unbelievable, but Orophin knew that Haldir rarely spoke lightly. What would this mean, if
it were true? Would Galadriel and Celeborn have to give up their seats to the king of old,
who had been ruler of Lórien before them?
Hardly aware of what he was doing, Orophin found himself humming the old ballad. He
went over the lyrics in his mind, searching for clues. Amroth had been lover to Nimrodel,
who had disappeared. They had meant to sail into the west, to the land of Aman, where
they might live together in peace, with no threat of war. He had waited for her on their
ship at the Bay of Belfalas, but she had never arrived. One morning while Amroth
slumbered, the ship had torn loose of its moorings and been swept away from Arda.
Amroth had leapt from the deck of the ship crying her name and swum back towards
shore, but neither of the pair had ever been seen again.
Orophin found himself envious of Nimrodel. He shook his head in wonder. Rúmil had not
been far from the mark in his teasing. Orophin felt something when he looked upon the
slumbering elf. He did not quite understand what it was, or why. If this truly was Amroth,
he would have to discard these burgeoning emotions. Amroth had loved Nimrodel, and
had he not, a king was far above the station of a Galadhrim, even one who was brother to
the Marchwarden.
“Will you please stop humming that song, Oro?” Rúmil said loudly. “I have asked you
four times already!”
Orophin looked up at his younger brother, shaking his head. He had forgotten that Rúmil
was there, a very difficult thing to do. “You had better put Haldir’s sword down.”
“It is so much nicer than mine, Oro,” Rúmil said, caressing the blade lightly. He twirled it
in his hand, thrusting it at the open window. Orophin had to admit that Rúmil had good
form, but he did not tell him this.
“He earned the right to it. Put it away before he comes back and beats you.”
Haldir had never beaten either of them in their lives, but the threat always hung over them.
They both completely respected their older brother, who was the only parent either of
them had ever known.
“Oh, he will be closeted up with Galadriel for hours, giving his little report,” Rúmil said,
still waving the sword around. He imitated the voice of their brother. “Orcs at the border,
my lady. Do not fear, I shall hold them at bay! Take that, foul beast!”
Orophin laughed loudly as Rúmil pranced about the talan, but the younger elf got carried
away in his merriment and thrust Haldir’s sword into the wall a bit too roughly. The point
stuck in and Rúmil leaned heavily on it. The blade slid half way in. Alarm crossed Rúmil’s
face as he tugged at it.
“Oro! I cannot get it out!”
“You had better,” Orophin said, but he did not get out of the chair to help his brother.
Rúmil put his foot up on the wall next to the sword and pulled at it, to no avail. He gritted
his teeth and pulled again. At last the weapon came free, but Rúmil went stumbling
backwards, staggering without control towards the door of the talan. Orophin leapt to his
feet to catch Rúmil before he fell down the stairs, but before he could get to him Haldir
appeared in the doorway -- just in time for Rúmil to collide with him.
Haldir grabbed the edge of the door but they still tumbled to the floor. At least they did
not fall down the stairs. Rúmil still held the sword aloft. He laughed. “Thanks, Haldir.”
“Get off, get up, and give me that back,” Haldir said in a low, dangerous tone.
Rúmil stood up and turned around, spots of color appearing high in his cheeks. He looked
terrified. Haldir got to his feet. Rúmil handed the sword to Haldir, smiling uncomfortably
at him. Haldir snatched it away, stalked over to his trunk, opened it, and threw the sword
inside. He rounded on Rúmil.
“How went your report?” Rúmil asked, backing slowly towards the door.
“Did I not tell you to leave my sword be?” Haldir said.
“Did you?” Rúmil pretended to think.
“I believe you did,” Orophin said helpfully.
Rúmil shot him an evil look. He looked back at Haldir, who crossed his arms over his
chest, still wearing a most foreboding expression. Rúmil turned around and ran out of the
talan. Orophin raised an eyebrow at Haldir, wondering if he, too, should follow. Haldir’s
expression melted slightly, and he shook his head.
“Will he never learn, Oro?”
“Oh, eventually he will,” Orophin said, smiling slightly, but then his smile faded as his
thoughts returned to Amroth. He looked at Haldir with questioning eyes. “Our guest. Is he
well?”
“Very well,” Haldir said, but his voice sounded grave.
“What is it, Haldir? Is he truly Lord Amroth? Has--”
“Peace, brother.” Haldir held up his hand to stay Orophin’s tongue. “You should speak
these questions to Galadriel, not to me.”
“In truth, you are easier to speak with,” Orophin said. “I fear I have asked her too many
questions already.”
“You carry the wisdom Rúmil lacks,” Haldir said.
“Only upon a rare occasion,” Orophin replied modestly. He looked around the room
again, tempted to sit back down in Haldir’s chair. He felt helpless. “Dare I go up there
once more? I do not wish to anger Galadriel.”
“He is awake,” Haldir said.
Orophin stared at his brother as if he had not heard him rightly. “Our guest?”
“Yes, Orophin, our guest.”
“I-- oh!” Orophin glanced towards the door, then back at Haldir, torn greatly between the
desire to run back over to the other tree and the desire not to bother Galadriel.
“Why do you lack patience in this matter?” Haldir asked him.
“I know not, Haldir. Since first I lay eyes on this elf, I have been... stricken.” There, he
had admitted it to Haldir, his raw and tender feelings.
Haldir nodded. “I thought as much. Guard your heart, Orophin. This is a matter of great
complication.”
“I will,” said Orophin, but he wondered if it were not already too late.
“Galadriel is expecting you.”
“She asked for me? Why did you not tell me immediately!”
“She did not request you to come, she simply expects it,” Haldir explained. He sat down
on the edge of his bed and Orophin became aware of how weary his brother was. after all,
he had just returned from a patrol of five days.
“Rest well, Haldir,” he said, making for the door.
“I will see you for the evening meal,” Haldir said, pulling off his tunic. He lay down on the
bed and closed his eyes.
Orophin turned and sprinted down the stairs. He forced himself to slow his pace as he
approached Galadriel’s tree, to walk up the stairs with dignity. He looked around for
Rúmil but there was no sign of him anywhere. Halfway up the stairs he spotted Lord
Celeborn descending. He stopped and greeted him respectfully. Celeborn smiled at him,
but something about his expression gave Orophin a chill. They exchanged no words as the
Lord of Lórien passed him by.
Orophin paused at the edge of the platform where Galadriel sat inside with the elf of the
waters. His heart pounded so loudly that surely all the wood could hear it. His mouth felt
dry. He willed his feet forward, but they stayed as if stuck in glue until he heard Galadriel
call out his name. Slowly he entered the room, trying to keep his breathing even and
steady.
Yes, he was awake. Orophin was vaguely aware of Galadriel smiling at him, but his gaze
centered on the elf he had found in the sea. He was sitting up in the bed, his long golden
hair flowing over his broad shoulders. His skin was paler even than that of Galadriel, but
he seemed to lack some of the ethereal glow that dwelt in elven flesh. His eyes were wide
and blue, but seemed empty. The sadness in this elf reached out like a tentacle and filled
Orophin with a nameless dread. He twisted his lips in a smile and Orophin tried to smile
back but could not. It seemed all he could do was stare.
“I owe you thanks, Orophin,” he said in a melodic voice. “Lady Galadriel tells me that you
and your brother pulled me from the waters.”
“No,” Orophin said gently, “Your thanks should be given only to our lady, for she sent us
to find you.”
“Modesty suits you, Orophin,” Galadriel said. “This is Amroth.”
Despite his conversations with Haldir, the news came to Orophin like a thunderbolt. “So,
it is true then. You are the lost king of Lórien.”
“Lost, perhaps,” Amroth replied. “A king I may have been once. Now, I am simply a guest
here, a grateful guest who humbly accepts the hospitality and care of the Lady Galadriel.
Leave it at that, my friend. I am no more than you. Indeed, she tells me you are a great
warrior, and among the most trusted of her people.”
Orophin felt his ears go hot, as they always did when he was embarrassed. He looked at
Galadriel and she nodded slightly. A thousand questions came to his mind, but he knew
not if he should speak any of them.
“Orophin is dear to me, indeed,” Galadriel said to Amroth. Slowly she stood up. “There is
a task I must see to. I believe you are well enough to do without me now.”
Amroth reached up and took Galadriel’s hand, bringing it to his lips with an exquisite
tenderness that filled Orophin with envy. His eyes sought hers and the look which they
exchanged was one that Orophin could not understand. It simply brought to him more
questions. Galadriel left the chamber, and it seemed infinitely darker within. Orophin stood
still, feeling awkward.
“If you wish me to leave you in peace, I shall,” he said.
“No, for I find I should prefer your company to my own,” Amroth replied. “Please, sit
down. Speak with me a while. I am intoxicated by every elven voice, for beneath the
waves I suffered only the silence of a tomb.”
Orophin sat slowly, moving into the chair vacated by Galadriel. “Were you truly under the
water for... for many, many years?”
Amroth nodded slowly. “So it may seem. I knew not the passage of time.”
“What do you remember?” Orophin asked boldly. “What happened?”
“I remember very little at present,” Amroth said slowly. “It comes to me, bit by bit. Small
fragments of memory. I remember leaping into the sea. I remember losing hope, giving
myself up. I expected death, but death abandoned me.”
“Forgive me, but I am glad this is so,” Orophin said.
“I am not,” Amroth said. He looked at Orophin with a wisdom in his face that betrayed
how ancient he truly was. “I still long for death.”
“No!” Orophin said with a violence that surprised even himself. “Do not say such a thing.
Galadriel would not have sent Rúmil and I to you in vain. You are meant to live.”
“You are so young,” Amroth said compassionately.
“That does not make me a fool,” Orophin protested.
“No,” Amroth agreed, “But perhaps it means that you have a long way still to travel on
the road of understanding. I gave up my life, but my decision was rejected. I have a duty
remaining. When it is fulfilled, I will pass into the Halls of Mandos and be reborn only into
Aman. My time in Arda should have ended long ago.”
He spoke gently, but still Orophin felt as though a knife had been stabbed into his heart.
“What is that duty?” he asked slowly.
“I do not know.”
Good, Orophin thought. Let him never know. Let him stay here, for I cannot explain how
I feel just to be near him.
“You know so little of me, Orophin,” Amroth said. Orophin wondered if Amroth had read
his thoughts, or simply his expression.
“I know the legends, the ballad--”
“There was a ballad?” Amroth seemed amused. “Well, I suppose there would have been.
Yet a ballad of the days of yore is simply that. It takes much more than this to truly
understand another.”
“I wish to understand,” Orophin said fervently. “I wish to know you.”
Amroth nodded and smiled slightly. “You shall. I have not doubt of that. By the end, you
shall know me very well.”
