Summer of Hate
Rúmil of Lorien looked down at the rose marble floor as he stood in the receiving
chamber waiting for Lord Elrond, silently cursing his brother. Haldir had surely known
what trouble awaited Rúmil in Imladris or he would have come himself. Rúmil should have
suspected something when Haldir readily agreed to exchange assignments with him. The
floor was highly polished and gleamed brightly, reflecting Rúmil’s own frowning face and
long golden hair back up at him.
Lady Galadriel had sent each of the three Galadhrim brothers out of Lórien for the
summer season. Orophin had gone to Edoras, in Rohan. Rúmil had been elected to go to
Minas Tirith, in Gondor, and Haldir to the House of Elrond in Imladris. Rúmil had waited
for Orophin to set out, then begged Haldir to switch with him. Haldir had looked at him,
one eyebrow raised, a smirk lurking around the corner of his mouth.
“Why should I do that?” he had asked.
“Please, Haldir. I bet no one in Minas Tirith speaks Elvish. You know my knowledge of
the tongue of Men is...”
“Without existence?”
“I was going to say limited.”
Haldir had affected an exaggerated sigh then nodded. “Very well, Rúmil, but you will owe
me for this.”
At the time, Rúmil had not cared, but now he was beginning to think that Haldir owed
him, instead.
It had started off well enough. Rúmil had arrived in Imladris two nights past, on time and
in one piece, without encountering any trouble along the way. Elrond had seemed glad to
see him. In fact, he had seemed relieved that Rúmil had shown up instead of Haldir and
had thrown a banquet in his honor. There had been wine, food, singing, dancing... the only
sour note to the evening had been the presence of Elrond’s daughter, Arwen, who had
been glaring daggers at Rúmil all night.
Rúmil had been disappointed to learn that Elrond’s two sons had been sent to Lothlórien
for the summer, and would not be there to hunt and fish and ride with him. Arwen,
however, was still present and for some reason seemed to resent Rúmil’s presence. He had
attempted to speak with her, and even asked her to dance, but she had simply turned away
and ignored him, leaving Rúmil bewildered.
“What ails the Evenstar?” he had grumbled to Erestor, Elrond’s Chief Advisor, who had
been deep into his cups early on in the evening. Erestor had laughed and refilled Rúmil’s
wine goblet.
“Arwen harbors tender feelings for Haldir. I fear you will suffer greatly for coming in his
place.”
Rúmil had scoffed at this revelation. He had avoided Arwen completely the next day as he
lounged around in Elrond’s gardens, enjoying the fresh scent of the tall chrysanthemums in
the breeze, walking the carefully manicured paths, and trailing his fingers in the waters of a
reflective pond full of fat goldfish. By mid-afternoon he was bored out of his mind, and
almost wished he had brought a book with him.
Elrond had a library, Rúmil knew from previous visits to Imladris, but he had no idea
where it was, so he had scouted the palace for it. He supposed he could have simply asked
another elf for directions, but that would have robbed the task of all amusement. Besides,
he had too much pride to admit to being lost. By the time Rúmil found the library it was
very late, he was tired, and none of the books held any interest, so had left it
empty-handed.
Today had promised to be a repeat of the same, so he had retraced his steps to the library
and forced himself to choose a book. He did so, blindly, and toted it out to the garden to
read in the sunlight, taking a seat on one of the many decorative benches. The book turned
out to be a history of Imladris, written by Elrond, and it was covered with a thick layer of
dust. Well, one book was good as another to Rúmil’s mind. He wiped it clean on the edge
of his tunic and opened it.
A small moth flew out and tickled his nose, causing Rúmil to sneeze. The sneeze had
nearly drowned out the soft sound of feminine laughter. Startled, Rúmil nearly dropped
the book, and Arwen laughed at him again.
She stood before him in a lavender gown embroidered round with a golden pattern of
dragonflies. It was cut rather low in the front for this hour of the day, Rúmil thought, but
that did not particularly bother him. She noticed his staring, however, and crossed her
arms over her chest.
“I have never known you to be a scholar, Rúmil of Lórien,” she said, her voice haughty.
Rúmil slammed the book closed, releasing another cloud of dust, which caused him to
sneeze and her to laugh once more. He set it aside and stood up, pointing a finger at her.
As he did he noticed that he was quite a bit taller than she was, and this pleased him, as he
was doing his best to be intimidating. It was hard to do when tears were streaming from
his eyes from the dust and he could barely speak.
“I am certainly not a scholar, and do not accuse me of being one,” he choked out.
Arwen pressed her lips closed and offered him her handkerchief, which he waved aside,
wiping his eyes on his sleeve instead. “I came to apologize for being so rude last night,”
she said in a meek tone.
Immediately Rúmil felt guilty. “It is all right,” he said.
“Is this your bow?” she slipped past him and picked it up from where it was leaning
against the bench.
“Yes.”
“Why do you carry weapons here?” she turned and stared at him, still holding the bow in
her slender fingers.
She plucked the string lightly and the bow hummed. Rúmil wanted to snatch it out of her
hand. He had never liked anyone else touching it. It was a hard-earned gift from Galadriel,
Arwen’s grandmother. Had it been another soul playing with it, Rúmil would have
protested.
“I carry it everywhere,” he said, moving closer to her, hoping she might return the bow,
but instead she reached over his shoulder and took an arrow from the quiver on his back.
“There is no need in Imladris,” Arwen said, fitting the arrow to the string. “It is very safe
here.”
“Is it?” Rúmil did not feel particularly safe, especially when she drew the bow and pointed
it at him. “Have a care, lady!”
She laughed again and turned away. “I will not shoot you, Rúmil. Fear not.”
Rúmil breathed a sigh of relief, but he was not sure he believed her. Still, in that moment,
with the sun shining on her raven locks, he noticed how truly lovely she was. Arwen had
grown up a bit since the last time he had seen her. Her hair flowed over her slender
shoulders in a dark river. It was studded with pearls and he wondered vaguely what held
them in place. The look of concentration as she aimed his arrow at some target he could
not see around the hedge gave her face a luster that accentuated her scarlet lips and
sparkling eyes.
Beautiful as she was, she still had his bow, and he still wanted it back.
“Arwen--”
“Would you like to see something?” Arwen released the tension in the bow without firing
the arrow and turned to look at him, a challenge in her gaze.
“I would like my bow back,” he replied.
“In a moment. Come with me, Rúmil.” She disappeared around the hedge and he had no
choice but to follow her.
Arwen kept a quick pace, and knew the many paths of her father’s gardens better than
Rúmil, so it took him a few moments to locate her. She had stopped in the middle of a
clearing where a great statue of a female elf stood up on a pedestal. Rúmil skidded to a
halt and bumped into Arwen from behind, causing her to nearly lose her grip on the bow.
He reached out to catch it but she recovered before he did.
“You great, clumsy oaf!” she cried.
“Have a care with my bow!” he growled back.
Her mouth dropped open, as if no one had ever spoken to her this way before. She looked
at the bow for a moment, then back at Rúmil. “What a foul-tempered beast you are,” she
said, but her tone was light. “Nothing like your brother Haldir.”
“You do not know Haldir very well,” Rúmil said. “May I have that back, please?”
“In a moment,” she replied impatiently, then she gestured to the statue. “Look at this
horrid thing.”
Rúmil looked at the statue again, wondering what exactly was so horrid about it. It
appeared to be a female elf, and rather a lovely one in his opinion, if a bit more buxom
than elf women generally were. She had one hand raised as if in greeting. He looked at
Arwen, then back to the statue, having no idea why she did not like it.
“Is it meant to be you?”
“Of course not,” she scoffed. “Do they not teach reading in Lórien?”
She tapped on the base of the statue with the arrow and he saw the name carved into the
pedestal.
“Nimrodel.”
“Very good. I was starting to suspect you had been misnamed, Rúmil of the Galadhrim.”
She referred to the fact that there had been before him another elf called Rúmil, commonly
known to be the inventor of written letters.
“So this is a statue of Nimrodel. The elf who was lost in the mountains on her way to the
Bay of Belfalas.”
“Oh, you are clever!” Arwen took a few steps back from the statue, knocked the arrow,
and drew the bow, causing Rúmil to hurry behind her and ignore her sarcastic comment.
“My father stands here for hours and stares at this.”
Arwen fired the arrow and it hit the outstretched hand of the statue, breaking it off cleanly
at the wrist. Both fell to the ground behind the statue. Arwen put the bow back into
Rúmil’s hand.
“What a great shot!” he gasped.
“Indeed,” said a cold voice.
Erestor came around the statue, holding the arrow, the hand of Nimrodel, and the book
which Rúmil had abandoned. He looked at the pair of them and his gaze fell on the bow in
Rúmil’s hand. Rúmil turned to look at Arwen, but she had turned nearly as pale and still as
the statue.
“Which one of you left this book outside?” Erestor said, glancing sharply at Arwen. She
immediately pointed at Rúmil. “Well?”
“I did,” Rúmil admitted.
“May I remind you that you are a guest in this house?” Erestor said impatiently. “I can
only imagine what Lord Elrond will say when he discovers that you have repaid his
hospitality by neglecting and vandalizing his property, and setting a bad example for his
daughter.”
Rúmil did not think that anyone needed to set a bad example for Arwen. She was doing
well enough on her own. However, this was not the moment to point this out to Erestor.
He looked over at Arwen, hoping desperately that she would confess at the least to having
shot the statue, but she simply bit her lip and said nothing. Erestor had seized Rúmil by the
ear, confiscated his bow and quiver, and marched him into the palace. Now he stood
waiting for Elrond, who was no doubt apprising the damage made to his statue.
When Lord Elrond finally entered the chamber, Rúmil looked at him guiltily. Should he
tell Elrond what really happened? Or would the Lord of Imladris refuse to believe ill about
his daughter? Elrond turned to him with a grave expression.
“Rúmil, what am I to do with you?” he sighed.
Rúmil bowed his head. It was easier to apologize than attempt to explain the truth.
“Forgive me.”
“What would cause you to do such a thing?”
“I forgot that I had taken your book outside when Arwen and I went to look at the
statue,” Rúmil replied honestly.
“The abandoned book is of more importance to Erestor than to me,” Elrond said. “And I
believe you know that this was not what I meant.”
“The broken statue, then.”
“Yes. Why did you shoot it, Rúmil?”
Rúmil had to think about this for a moment, since shooting it would never have occurred
to him. “It was an accident,” he said finally.
Elrond looked at him in disbelief. “Truly.”
“That is as close to the truth as I can come,” Rúmil sighed.
Elrond was silent for so long that Rúmil wondered if he had forgotten what they were
speaking about. Finally he shook his head. “I will keep your bow safe until it is time for
you to go home,” he said at last.
“Thank you,” Rúmil said in a hollow tone.
Three months without it? It would surely grow dusty. And he would fall out of practice!
The string would have to be replaced. What a cost for protecting the reputation of the
vastly undeserving Arwen. Truly, he would have told on her had he thought there was any
chance of Elrond believing him. Rúmil stood pouting until Elrond dismissed him.
“I trust this will be the last discussion of this nature that we have while you are here,”
Elrond said.
“I give you my word,” said Rúmil -- but it turned out merely to be the first of many such
conversations.
When Arwen plucked a bunch of her father’s best chrysanthemums, she told him that
Rúmil had presented them to her. A vat of dates went missing, and handfuls of them
mysteriously turned up in Rúmil’s pockets. Erestor’s best robe was found floating in the
reflecting pool just as Rúmil returned from feeding the goldfish.
Elrond bore all this with dignity, but eventually he put Rúmil to work in the gardens to
“keep him out of mischief.” As he plucked weed after weed and planted seed after seed,
Rúmil silently cursed both Arwen and Haldir. A shadow fell over him as he worked while
thinking murderous thoughts. He looked up and saw Arwen standing over him, dressed in
a pale blue gown that was unfortunately very becoming. She was beautiful. Rúmil knew in
that moment why he had not even attempted to convince Elrond that it was not he who
was behind all of the pranks. He stood up and looked thoughtfully at her.
“What will it take to get you to stop?” he asked softly. His voice held no malice, only a
slightly weary note.
“Stop?”
“I am sorry, Arwen, that I am not Haldir.”
“I do not know what you mean,” she stammered, having the good grace to blush.
“I think you do.”
Her cheeks turned scarlet. “Actually,” she said, “I am rather glad you came instead.”
Arwen flung her arms around Rúmil and pressed her mouth to his, nearly knocking him off
of his feet with the force of her embrace. His eyes widened, then closed as he gathered her
tightly to him and kissed her back. Yes, this was payment enough for what he had endured
for the past six weeks. She was honeyed wine against his lips, intoxicating and sweet.
At last she drew back, gasping for breath.
“Why did you do that?” he asked.
“Because you have been loyal to me. You never laid the blame for my actions at my door,
no matter how much I taunted you,” she admitted.
“You know,” Rúmil said, still holding her against him, “There are ways to play tricks on
others without my taking the blame.”
“Really.” She sounded intrigued.
“Let me teach you.”
“Yes,” she agreed, “I think there is much I might learn from you, Rúmil.”
Rúmil thought silently that there was much he might learn from Arwen as well, but he
spoke not of it, merely kissed her again and mused on how much more prospect the
summer suddenly held.
