Part One
"This is a bleak place," Orophin commented as at last he and Rúmil beheld the Bay of
Belfalas from the top of the cliff. Neither of the two Galadhrim brothers wished to be
there, but they had been sent by Galadriel, Lady of Light, and would never have dared
refuse her will. They had traveled for many days on horseback to reach the shore where
Elven ships were built to ferry their kind from Arda to Aman.
Orophin suspected, in the back of his mind, that there would come a time soon when
Galadriel would order them all from Arda, and only then would he go into the west. Aman
was said to be a perfect land, a land of peace, and Orophin, Rúmil and their eldest brother
Haldir were warriors. What use did such a land have for them? Certainly Orophin longed
for peace among all races and peoples of Arda as much as anyone else, but he also felt no
desire to leave it, this, the only home he had ever known.
"Remind me why we are here again, brother," Rúmil said, his tone holding a hint of
petulance that nearly made Orophin smile. He had asked this question a good seventy-four
times already, and Orophin still had no better answer for him.
"The question in my mind was why did Galadriel not send Haldir instead of us? After all,
he is the Marchwarden."
"So you have mentioned at least seventy-four times," Rúmil replied. "Haldir is probably
occupied with one of the many duties he always brags about that keep him busy all day
and most of the night."
Orophin nodded silently. He could read beneath Rúmil's words to find shared feelings.
They missed the time they had once spent with their brother, before he became
Marchwarden and they Watchers of the Golden Wood. Haldir had certainly been less
grave and more fun, then. Orophin suspected that Galadriel had only given posts to
himself and Rúmil to keep them out of trouble, and so they might follow in Haldir's
footsteps.
Orophin and Rúmil were so close in age and appearance that they were often mistaken for
twins. In truth Orophin was slightly older, but Haldir had been born nearly half a century
before them. It was enough to have made the bond between the two younger brothers far
stronger. Their parents had sailed for Aman long ago, leaving the three of them in the care
of Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn, the rulers of the Elven city of Lothlórien.
Orophin missed Lórien desperately at the moment. He did not care for Belfalas at all, and
he only hoped they found what Galadriel had sent them for quickly so that they might be
off. He missed his talan high in the trees, the home he shared with Rúmil. Haldir had his
own, but Orophin preferred sharing. He would have hated to dwell by himself, and he
knew that Rúmil felt the same.
"I suppose we had better start searching," Orophin said at last. He dismounted from his
horse and stroked its nose. It whinnied softly and trotted off, likely in search of sweet
green grass. It would come again when he called it, Orophin knew.
Rúmil hopped down from his own horse. "I despise looking for something of which we
know nothing."
Orophin, too, wished that Galadriel had given them a little more to go on than to bring her
back the lost wisdom of Lórien. Lost wisdom? How did one lose wisdom? At least she
had told them that what she needed was to be found at Belfalas.
The day was fair, but the air over the bay was cold and windy. The water of the harbor
was choppy and the waves capped with white. From where they stood, the two brothers
could see the port in the far curve of the land. Two ships were docked there, awaiting
Elven travelers. The sight of them gave him Orophin a shiver. He turned his gaze to
Rúmil. The wind lifted his brother's long golden hair and teased it. His expression was as
serious as Orophin's own.
"Let us not question the ways of Lady Galadriel, for she has never led us astray," Orophin
said at last. Rúmil nodded.
"No, but she has sent us on a merry chase more than once. Where do you suppose we
should look for this…wisdom?"
"Truly, I know not, Rúmil," Orophin sighed.
"Perhaps this is one of those tasks in which we are merely meant to learn something, then
report back to her full of wisdom?"
"Perhaps."
"If that is the case, I am feeling wiser already, and might turn for home whenever you are
ready."
Orophin laughed. "And what will you tell the Lady that you have learned?"
"That I do not wish to sail into the west," Rúmil smirked.
"Fair enough," Orophin replied.
He walked to the edge of the cliff and looked down into the water. It splashed and swirled
on the rocks below, the sound soothing in hypnotic. Orophin put his arms out to feel the
wind against them. Oh, but it felt like he could just lean into the wind and fly. He closed
his eyes. His hair lifted into the breeze like a banner.
"No!"
Rúmil's cry awakened him from his reverie, and his brother pulled him backwards sharply,
so sharply that he stumbled and pushed Rúmil back as well. Orophin fell on top of his
brother, gasping for air.
"Why did you do that, Rúmil?" he said, disentangling himself and drawing himself to his
feet a bit irritably.
Rúmil looked up at him with eyes that were large and solemn. "I thought you meant to
cast yourself from the cliff."
"And leave you, little brother? Never," Orophin said with great fondness, trying to make
light of the moment. Deep inside he realized that he had been perilously close to doing just
that.
Rúmil got to his feet and brushed the grass from his tunic, looking at Orophin doubtfully.
He, too, walked to the edge of the cliff and looked down. "It is a far fall, even for an elf,"
he commented.
"Yes," Orophin agreed, and he wondered why the urge had possessed him, even for a
moment.
He moved forward again, next to Rúmil and followed his brother's gaze. A glimmer of
light beneath the waves made his vision blur. Orophin rubbed his eyes.
"Oro! Did you see that?" Rúmil gasped.
"There's something down there," Orophin whispered. "Come, we have to get down the
cliff!"
"What is it, do you think?"
"I sense life."
Scaling the cliff was not easy, but they had fine, strong Elven rope with them, and securing
it to a tree they were able to go lightly down to the rocky beach below. The bay seemed to
calm lightly as they drew near, two sets of sharp eyes searching the water for what they
had seen from above. Rúmil leapt anxiously from rock to rock, but Orophin moved slowly,
combing the area methodically.
Again they saw it, a flash of wet gold, glowing beneath the waves which began to ebb.
Orophin sucked in his breath. The gold was the hair of an elf. There was an elf beneath the
waters, tossed in the spray.
"Rúmil!"
Rúmil turned and looked to where his brother was pointing. His blue eyes grew round.
"We must fish him out!"
Rúmil began to remove his clothing, but Orophin did not bother. He leapt into the waves,
heading for the glimmer of golden hair. He knew this elf was alive, but barely so. The sea
was more alive, the plants on the shore more alive. This elf was at Mandos' gate… yet he
was not past saving.
The water was rougher than Orophin had imagined, and it took all his strength not be lost,
himself. He sank down beneath the waves, his hair flowing about him in a fine web. He
opened his eyes and felt the sting of salt water, but he pressed on. And then there was the
elf, glittering and pale, eyes closed, suspended in the water.
Oro threw his arms around the other and kicked upwards as strongly as he could.
Reaching the surface, he drew in a great, gasping breath. He pulled the other elf's head out
of the water, but he did not seem to be breathing. Orophin swam for the shore. He could
see Rúmil by the water's edge, stripped down to just his leggings, but Orophin had the
situation under control.
"Pull him out," he gasped, pushing the unconscious elf towards his brother. Already Rúmil
was reaching for the stranger, bringing him up on the land. Orophin climbed out after him
as Rúmil laid the body of the other down on the rocky shore, using his own tunic to pillow
the elf's head.
"Is he dead?" Rúmil gasped.
"Nay, but I am not certain he is alive, either," said Orophin, fighting to catch his breath.
Rúmil knelt by the elf, pushing on his chest to expel water from his nose and mouth. He
bent and blew of his own breath into him, but the other remained still and cold. "Oro! He
breathes not!"
"Try again," Orophin gasped.
Rúmil's hands came down hard on the chest of the third elf. Water jettisoned from his
mouth, and he drew in a wracking breath, tossing his head and coughing, though his eyes
did not open.
"He lives," Rúmil said excitedly.
Orophin drew himself up on his knees beside the third elf. Slowly he examined the face of
the stranger, trying to determine something, anything about him and why he had been
drowning beneath the waves. Although wet, the stranger’s hair seemed to be nearly as
long as his and Rúmil’s. Orophin would have bet the closed eyes were blue, but he would
not know this for certain for some time. Like most elves, his age was indeterminate. His
smooth features gave nothing away, but Orophin sensed that he was old, very old.
Orophin drew his fingers over the face of the elf, sensing that he was indeed breathing,
living. His wet skin felt strange to the touch. It made Orophin shiver, and he quickly
withdrew his hand.
“I think,” he said slowly, “That this is who Galadriel sent us to find.”
“What makes you say that?” Rúmil asked suspiciously.
“A feeling.”
“Oh, I see. A feeling,” Rúmil said in an exaggerated tone. “I hope that will be enough for
Galadriel. Your feeling.”
Orophin lifted his head and looked up at his brother, his expression blank. He narrowed
his eyes in slight disapproval, something he rarely did as far as Rúmil was concerned, and
he nodded his head slightly.
“Can you not feel it, too, Rúmil?” he asked quietly.
Rúmil was shamed into silence. He slid closer to the stranger on his knees, looking down
at the still form with intense concentration for several long minutes. Finally he shook his
head. “Nothing, Oro,” he whispered. “Nothing comes to me.”
This was strange, even to Orophin. They were usually in such harmony, especially as far as
their senses -- the five earthly ones and those that reached beyond as well -- went. He
reached out and put a hand on his brother’s shoulder to reassure him.
“Then perhaps in this you must simply trust in me.”
Rúmil nodded. “I suppose we must take him home.”
“I would we could waken him, but he is very far gone. Only Galadriel, I fear, will be able
to bring him back.”
Orophin looked down at the stranger again. His features were soft and inviting, his lips full
and tender, his nose straight, his brow noble. He was tall, his body lithe and long. He was
entirely naked, and Orophin felt that his clothing had perhaps been destroyed by his time in
the water. He was beautiful, Orophin though, feeling an odd twinge of something akin to
desire deep inside himself. Had Rúmil not been sitting there, he might have bent and kissed
the unconscious elf.
He looked from the stranger up at the cliff and sighed. Getting him up to the top was
going to be an arduous task indeed.
“We can do it,” Rúmil assured him, as if he had read Orophin’s mind. Orophin nodded.
“Let us see to the task, then.”
