Whispers In The Stream by just_jenni

---

Chapter 1-Winter Winds

---

“I am a guest of Lord Caranthir,” said Haleth, handing her worn and faded cloak to the butler who stood waiting. She looked at the thin Elf with his hand outstretched, and thought him a passionless creature. He neither smiled nor spoke, but simply nodded, took her cloak and glided silently away with it. He neither directed her nor asked her to follow him, but left her standing as a lone sapling tree whipping in the wind upon an insurmountable hilltop. She glanced up at the sweeping staircase before her, grand and resplendent with its marble banister and intricately carved gold railings, and her youthful apprehension was stilled by the sight of the figure that descended the stairs.

“My Lady Haleth,” the tall Elf-lord responded, smiling at her with what she perceived to be uncharacteristic sweetness. She detected with surprise a note of playfulness in his voice. The only other time she had met him, he had seemed to be in a foul mood. Of course, there was reason for that, but it nevertheless precluded her first impression of him. She had been awed by his majestic height and impossibly handsome appearance, but he had also been austere and unsmiling that day. She had thought him haughty and proud, yet appropriately so, since that first meeting had occurred under trying circumstances, following the deaths of her father and her brother.

“Do you mock me, my lord?” she asked him, her cheeky vitality returning. Somehow his presence comforted her. She extended her hand and the Elf took it in his graceful fingers and bent low to kiss it. When he raised his handsome head he stared at her as if he wished to ask her a question.

“Mock you, my lady?” he asked, his finely-arched brows lifting. His grip tightened around her fingers, as if to reassure her that she was managing everything well.

Haleth’s stance and visage softened. She removed her hand slowly from his grasp and sighed. “I am not a lady,” she replied, “and yet you persist in calling me so. I have not your standing among the peoples of Thargelion and I never will have it. Not even among my own kin, I fear.” She did not know why she felt a stab of pain when she spoke these words. A fleeting sense of loss of her family and perhaps awareness of lost opportunity swept over her, leaving a feeling of sadness in its wake.

“I am sorry,” said Caranthir. “I meant not to upset you by my greeting.” A puzzled note was in his voice. “I meant only a gesture of friendship. But I do not share your low opinion of yourself. Neither do your people, of that I am sure. I feel that they would gladly have you as their leader were you but to ask them. News of your brave deeds has reached me.”

Haleth walked away from him, putting the distance of a few steps between them. She felt confused by him. She was a mortal woman and he was an Elf, a strange being to her, not that much unlike mortals in some ways, but in others very different from the people she knew. He had been her savior and she was acutely aware of this. She would love to depend on him, but he seemed so remote, although more so in the beginning of their acquaintance. Now she was taken aback by his solicitousness.

Haleth struggled constantly with conflicting feelings. Part of her still wanted to feel protected by the men in her life as her father and brother had done when they were alive, but another desired to feel the exhilaration of being in command, with no one else to claim lordship over her. Taking the reins and leading her tribe was an important and challenging task that the largest part of her strove to master.

“Why have you called me here today?” she asked, changing the subject and walking away from him toward the window. She looked out at grey skies that lent a silvery cast to the green meadows. There was no breeze stirring in the trees, and everything—the trees, the shrubs—had a look of stiffness to it, as if apprehensively awaiting the winter.

He regarded her with his dark brows furrowed, but a gleam in his eyes that looked like a twinkle. His elegant lips curved upwards. “I will explain. The winter season approaches. Already the snow begins to fall upon the evergreens. Soon, harvesting will stop, the people will retreat indoors out of the cold, and the only activity in the region will be the Dwarves who undoubtedly will still be laboring in the mines.”

Haleth turned to him, a few lines of puzzlement creasing her fair, even features. She was a young woman in her twenties, her face not yet lined from the aging that either afflicted or graced humans, depending on how you looked at it.

“I desire to begin a tradition here,” continued Caranthir. “I thought it might be a welcoming gesture to hold a winter festival in these lands when the days become their shortest. It is a gesture designed to bring everyone together—your people—the Dwarvish folk—my own Elves—and we will share our food, our wines and spirits, our stories, songs and histories. I believe such a series of gatherings will enrich all of us and serve to make each winter season pass quickly and without the hardships that have been experienced in the past when some of us have been deprived of warmth, food and shelter.”

“A noble cause,” said Haleth, looking upon Caranthir with admiration and some measure of surprise. “However, I did not take you for the type of person who enjoyed frivolity,” she said, and regretted her words immediately for their shallowness in light of the grand gesture he had been attempting to make.

“Do you like the idea?” he asked, ignoring her remark. He was beaming. She thought he looked happy.

She did not wish to appear too enthusiastic in her response. “It may perhaps come to pass that such a gathering would have a good result,” she said stiffly.

“I sense some reluctance in your response,” he replied. “And I do not understand it. I do not see that there would be any harm in bringing such diverse peoples together for a celebration. It should serve to unite us all if future need requires us to come together in defense of our lands and our peoples. In time of war against our common enemy we should stand united.”

“Do you think war is inevitable?” she asked, changing the subject once more.

“We Elves know that it is always inevitable,” he replied.

Haleth turned away from him. She began to consider her future.

The first festival was a success. The Elves had organized the celebrations to run seamlessly, from the start of the winter solstice and lasting about a fortnight afterwards. Haleth looked around her at Caranthir’s great halls. They felt warm from the many people bustling about and the lighting of many candles. A couple of Dwarves, laughing merrily, passed her carrying mugs of ale and large, soft buns stuffed with salt pork. The fragrance of the meat wafted past her nose, making her realize how hungry she was. She had foregone eating anything in favor of exploring the different rooms in Caranthir’s mansion. She was enjoying looking at the splendid decorations, the small glowing candles affixed to special ropes of silver strung about in the rooms, small trees brought indoors, planted in huge pots and decorated with colorful ribbons. On them were placed various jewels, bells, and tiny carved wooden or metal figures of birds and animals or trees and flowers, attached to their branches with silver wire.

She saw some of her own Men sitting around a table, enjoying a conversation over ale and the smoke of their pipes. She felt thirsty when she smelled the ale but did not stop to ask for some. Finding the pipe-smoke cloying, she fled this room and emerged into a wide hallway. In one corner she noticed one of her kinswomen standing enthralled in front of an Elf in Caranthir’s guard, a strong-looking Noldo with dark, gleaming braids, bent over the woman, talking to her closely and making earnest gestures. Haleth felt a pang of loneliness in her heart and turned away from the couple with a sigh.

She almost bumped into Caranthir in her haste to escape the crowded room. He had approached in silence behind her.

“Come,” he said. “Let us go for a walk. You look in need of fresh air.” He took her hand and led her toward the main hallway and the front door.

“But my cloak, my lord,” she protested. “I will need it and I have left it with your butler. Outside it is freezing, and I cannot go as I am dressed.” She glanced down at her raiment of brown and green tunic and leggings that fully covered her but was not heavy enough to withstand the wintry winds outside.

“Come and see. I have something for you,” he said, and led her around a corner to a small parlor in which stood a small yew tree planted in a barrel. Beneath it was a tiny table, upon which sat three parcels, each wrapped in a colorful scarf. Caranthir picked up one of these parcels and placed it in her hands. “Here is a gift for you,” he said.

Surprised, she unrolled the parcel to find that it was a new cloak of brown wool trimmed with green velvet. It was thick, beautifully made, and much nicer than anything Haleth had before owned.

“M-my lord,” she stammered. “I-I cannot accept this from you.”

“It is to show my friendship and goodwill towards you,” he said. “We are friends, are we not? I wish to reward your friendship with a gift. It seemed like a good time to do it, as we are in the midst of our feasting. Exchanging gifts seemed an appropriate gesture.”

“Thank you,” said Haleth humbly, and looked into his eyes. She saw an expression of deep interest and a spark of affection in their grey depths. “You have a generous spirit, my lord,” she said. “I feel ashamed that I cannot return it. I have nothing for you to reciprocate your kindness.”

“Do not concern yourself with such a triviality,” he said, fixing the cloak around her shoulders, and wrapping the new shawl about her head and neck. “Perhaps we could begin a tradition, to be continued the next time we hold a feast such as this. The exchange of gifts could become a favorite thing; to be done every year, but only if the people wish it.” He took Haleth’s arm and led her down the hallway to a door that led outside.

“Perhaps, my lord,” Haleth replied. “But my people are not wealthy, such as yours and the Dwarvish folk. We cannot afford to give such grand gifts as you have given me.”

“I am sure that people will give of their free spirit,” said Caranthir. “If they cannot purchase, or commission something to be made, they will make a unique gift with their own hands, or give something beautiful that they have found, perhaps.” He held open the heavy oak door for Haleth, and she stepped out onto steps of flagstone leading to a walkway of granite that wound through the gardens.

“I don’t know,” she said. “Perhaps.”

“That brings me to a subject I have wished to discuss with you for some time,” he said.

They had been walking for several minutes outdoors in the gardens surrounding Caranthir’s palatial house, with its vegetation dormant in the winter season. The stark grey limbs of tree and bush, skeletal and brittle-looking, stood against the white of the snow cover. They passed a row of tall cedars, their treetops iced with fluffy white snow. The feet of the Elf and the mortal left dark patches in the light covering of whiteness that lay upon the pathway as they strolled. The air was still and damp. With no breezes to break the silence, all was as quiet as a sigh.

Haleth felt her heart beating fast. “Yes, my lord?” she asked, her voice echoing among the cedars.

“Yes. I have had in mind to suggest another idea to you,” Caranthir said slowly, as if he were choosing his words with care.

“You seem to be full of ideas, my lord,” she said, joking.

“Yes,” he said again. He sounded serious. “I have been thinking to ask you if you will consider staying here in Thargelion.”

Haleth felt a tightness in her chest when she heard this question. It was almost as if she anticipated it in some deep recess of her mind and dreaded that he might ask it.

“You were thinking of asking me to live here?” She repeated his words with a look of stunned surprise, regardless of the fact that she expected it.

“Yes, Haleth, but not yourself alone,” he said with a smile. “I meant your people as well.”

She blushed and stopped walking. She stood still, slightly swaying. “What is your reason for this generous offer?”

He turned to look at her. “Your people are strong and resilient,” he said. “They are good-hearted and valiant, and my heart is full of sadness to see them suffer from poverty and deprivation. A nomadic life is extremely hard, and many wandering people die without proper shelter and food. If you stay here you may help us in protecting our borders and you will share in the wealth of this region, as do the Dwarves. We will all benefit from such an association. You and your people need not feel that I offer you charity.”

She listened to his words but her spirits were low, as if she were not happy with hearing them. She looked at him closely. He was so beautiful, as were all of his race, but to her he had more than the outer beauty that Elves possessed. His inner beauty was such that it shone from his eyes for her, and he was surrounded by its aura. Perhaps others could not see it, but she could and she was smitten but would not admit it to herself. Courageous as she was, however, she could not enquire directly of him if he felt that romantic interest may be growing between them.

At his suggestion, a few months before this she had made the decision to apply for leadership of her tribe and she had been accepted as such. She blossomed under the responsibility of this role, and had matured greatly in the past few months. But she was still young and possessed the uncertainty of youth in matters of love.

Yes, she felt she was in love with him. And while his kindness to her was revealing of his nature, so was his offer for her people to stay on his lands and live among the Elves. But she knew not if he loved her in return, and thought that he only had concern for her people because of his generous spirit. And she knew not if his love of wealth and beautiful things had caused him to make his offer to her, thinking as he may have, that the addition of Men to his realm would serve to make his wealth increase. Ultimately, she did not believe that she meant anything special to him, other than as an oddity, her people to be pitied. She sighed.

“I don’t know, my lord,” she said, her words slow and deliberate. “I shall have to think upon your offer. Let me speak at length to my kinsfolk. We had planned to be gone when the spring thaw comes, and move on to Doriath, where most of the people of our race have gone to live. But I will put before the people of my tribe your offer, and let them determine which choice would be the better one for us.”

He nodded. He stepped forward and took her hands in his. His bright grey eyes sparkled at her. “Would you stay for me, Haleth?” he asked.

“My lord, what is your meaning?” she asked, throwing back her head and gazing up at his handsome face.

“Do you not feel that there is something special between us?” he asked.

Her heart was beating very fast. She took a deep breath and summoned forth all of her courage and decided to tell him. “I do feel it,” she whispered. “But I do not know if it is your Elvish beauty that overwhelms and bewitches me, or if it is truly meant to be that I should love you.”

“It is easier for Elves, perhaps, in these matters,” he said. “Our lives are long and we have much time to ponder our future. Never before have I been in love with an Elf-maiden. But you truly bewitch me, Haleth.” He bent toward her. He was more than a head taller than she, although she was tall for a human female.

She felt the initial thrill of his lips upon hers. They were delicate, exquisite. She placed her hand on his cheek, and it was as smooth as silk. No stubble grew there as it did on the males of her own race. Her hand moved to his hair that fell long, thick and radiant. So much more of it did he possess than did her people. She felt stunned by the unique presence that emanated from him, through his lips to her own, and she felt wrapped in his Elvish glow, his spirit touching hers and enveloping her in its tranquility as her new cloak, his gift, warmed her with its fine quality. She broke free of his embrace.

“Oh, that I had your long life,” she gasped. “I would gladly spend every day of it with you. But my life is destined to be short, and I will not spend it loving you and thinking every day that soon I shall die and leave you alone. What kind of love affair would that be?” she asked.

“Brief, yet intense like the forge-fire,” he replied, pulling her back to him, holding her hands tight against his chest, his hands wrapped around her wrists. “Would it not be worth discovering?”

“Oh,” she whispered. “You tempt me, my lord. But I have everything to lose.”

“Haleth.” He cupped her face in his hand, and gazed at her with his deep grey eyes. “It is I who will lose. Yet I would gladly enter into this short life of love with you. But my name is Caranthir. Never again call me ‘My Lord’.”