The Roads Not taken by Idrils Scribe

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An Unexpected Meeting

This scene was cut from 'Northern Skies' at some point after Chapter 14.

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The young Khandian was as brave as she was curious, to wander among the marble bookshelves this deep into the great library of Imladris.  

Elrohir knew that delegations from Khand and Rhûn had come to the valley. Negotiations with Arnor and Gondor were the crowning achievement to a long-year of diplomatic efforts to unmake Sauron’s influence in the East. Faint echoes of the whirlwind that was Elrond’s house abuzz with diplomats, courtiers and interpreters of every kindred had seeped into Elrohir’s seclusion in the family wing. That very morning Elladan had departed the twins’ rooms dressed in what Elrohir thought were frighteningly pompous robes of state, to attend the official reception over which Elrond and Celebrian would preside. 

Elrond had been apologetic, but firm when he explained matters to Elrohir. Imladris could not afford any gaffes or a potential repeat of the Yestarë incident while hosting representatives of three kings of Men in search of a fragile peace. Elrohir found himself relegated to a day’s calligraphy practice in the library. It seemed that this girl had suffered a similar fate.

She could not be a day above twenty, and Elrohir liked her on sight. Her sleek hair was as blue-black as a magpie’s wing, her keen eyes the colour of cinnamon, with a sparkle of daring mischief. Judging from the gold thread on the galloping horses embroidered around the collar and cuffs of her silk tunic she might be a well-to-do merchant’s daughter, perhaps even a noble. Above all she was Mortal, the first human being Elrohir had come face to face with since Glorfindel led him out of the gates of Tharbad. A sudden, soul-deep longing winded him like a physical blow at the sight of her, but she failed to notice.

Her delicate face lit up at the pages of calligraphy in bright red and blue ink Elrohir had spread out on his work table. To the discerning eye of an Elvish loremaster they were obviously beginner’s exercises, rows upon rows of identical Tengwar done on reed paper instead of precious vellum, but Khand’s nomadic tribes were not given to bookishness and Elrohir’s scribblings were likely the finest his unexpected visitor had ever laid eyes on. 

She tried her best to tell Elrohir so in Numenorean so halting it was barely understandable. Her first great journey abroad, then. 

Elrohir smiled warmly to counter the shock his words were about to cause. “Thank you for your kind words, young horse-mistress, and welcome to Rivendell.”

The Khandian girl was briefly struck silent with astonishment at being addressed in flawless Khandic by an unknown Elvish scribe. She did demonstrate a lordly upbringing by how quickly she recovered.

“And I thank you for so gracious a welcome. May I be so bold as to ask the name of my kind host? Mine is Vidumavi*, daughter of Vidugavia, of the Clan of the Golden Serpent.”

She raised her folded hands to her forehead in the traditional Khandic greeting, which Elrohir returned in kind. 

“I am Elrohir, second son of Elrond of Rivendell. What brings your clan so far west?”

Vidumavi’s eyes widened, and she folded in half like a jackknife with the depth of her bow.  The Khandic sign of great respect and submission briefly confused Elrohir. It was too much, from one young noble to another. Only then did the realisation strike that Vidumavi was ill at ease with Elves, and she clearly believed Elrohir was one. His elation waned as quickly as it had come. He nonetheless gestured for Vidumavi to take the chair next to his own, and the girl sat down eagerly. She was as keen to have a proper conversation with an Elf as Elrohir was for this unlooked-for fragment of the world he once knew. 

“Elrond’s people are truly hospitable, if even their princes afford such kindness to passing travellers.” Vidumavi said. “My father seeks to trade silk and jade for Elvish blades, and we have found the finest of those in your father’s house.”

Elrohir smiled, and delighted in the expression mirrored in Vidumavi’s face, all bluster and the untried confidence of youth. The daughters of Khand were not easily cowed.

“I have no steel to trade, but perhaps you will give me some news nonetheless? What word from Khand? Is Matharavi still Leader of All Clans?”

Vidumavi shook her head. Her posture relaxed as she launched into her tale. “He died in the autumn, may the Golden Sun have his soul. The Great Gathering convened on the winter pastures and the clans chose …”

“Elrohir!”

Ardil’s raised voice tore through the library’s hallowed silence like a knife through silk. His long legs ate up the tiles as he sprinted towards them from amidst the surrounding bookcases, face pale with shocked concern. For a heart-stopping moment Elrohir believed his guardian must have some urgent and terrible news to relay. In the next heartbeat Ardil inserted himself between Elrohir and Vidumavi. With a visceral jolt Elrohir recognised that particular stance. Ardil was among a highly select few who went armed in the inner sanctum of Elrond’s household. The warrior did not have his hidden knife in hand just yet, but he stood ready to draw it in the blink of an eye and slice Vidumavi’s throat to the bone. 

Vidumavi was princess of a warlike tribe, and she recognized her peril. She knew better than to startle backwards or make any brusque movement, and instead laid both hands on the polished oak of the tabletop, empty palms up. 

“I mean your prince no harm!” she stuttered at the irate Elf-warrior looming over her, reverting to her halting Numenorean. 

For a small eternity the three of them stood motionless as if encased in clear glass. Elrohir’s heartbeat drummed in his ears as he racked his brain on how to go about incapacitating Ardil long enough for Vidumavi to escape with her life. 

Erestor averted a tragedy when his sonorous voice echoed between the bookshelves in perfect Khandic. “I do not doubt it, Lady Vidumavi, but Lord Elrohir’s guard is rather thorough where his safety is concerned.”

Erestor emerged from the doorway of his private study. The formidable loremaster looked truly intimidating in his formal robes of a maroon velvet so dark it seemed almost black. Somewhere behind Elrohir’s back a door clattered and Istiel, one of the younger loremistresses, dashed in from the general direction of her own workroom with the pale, tight-lipped expression of one whose dire mistake has just been exposed by their superior. Clearly she was supposed to be keeping an eye on the girl.

“If you would be so kind as to follow Mistress Istiel, she will direct you to a number of very interesting histories of your people.”

Erestor’s remark was no mere suggestion and Vidumavi rose as if her chair had caught fire, casting a fleeting glance at Elrohir as she was shepherded away. Ardil did not relax until the door of Istiel’s study had closed behind the hapless loremistress and her charge.

“Elrohir, are you well?” Ardil’s eyes darted up and down Elrohir’s body as if he expected to find a mortal wound hidden somewhere. 

Elrohir was in no mood to be coddled. “What possessed you!? She meant me no harm, we were only talking!”

Ardil’s eyes and mind flashed with a hot anger born from terror. His hand came down heavily on Elrohir’s shoulder. “Sitting alone and unarmed with Dark Men is far from harmless. Have you lost your mind? She is a Variag, for Bannoth’s sake! What did you say to her!?”

Erestor intervened. “Have no fear. I overheard the whole exchange, and not an inappropriate word was spoken. Elrohir, where did you learn Khandic?”

Elrohir withstood the temptation to answer him with a churlish ‘In Khand’. “I travelled in those parts when I was a caravan attendant.”

Erestor took this information in stride while motioning Elrohir towards the open door of his study. “Come inside. I want to talk to you.” 

Erestor turned towards Ardil. “Master Ardil, my thanks for your timely intervention. Please discreetly inform Lord Elrond of the incident. Make sure Elladan is reassured that his brother is well. I will rejoin the reception shortly. Saelbeth will walk Elrohir to his rooms when we are finished.”

Ardil turned away grudgingly.

Elrohir had never set foot in Erestor’s study before. The space was much grander than Lindir’s homely abode, with tall south-facing windows interspersed with marble columns. The view of the Bruinen’s falls and the valley beyond was marvelous, but the room’s true wonder lay inside. The windows spilled a wealth of midday light onto spectacular frescoed seascapes covering the walls. The Sea seemed an unusual interest for the chief councillor of a mountain stronghold, and Elrohir filed the thought away to ask Elladan later, once this upbraiding was over. 

Opposite Erestor’s grand mahogany desk stood a round table with eight chairs, and it was there that he sat down beside Elrohir. His assistant, a good-natured Noldo who had been introduced as Saelbeth, brought strong black tea seemingly unasked before withdrawing in silence. Elrohir’s throat was parched, but he left his untouched. Trying to raise the fine porcelain cup to his mouth would betray his shaking hands. When Erestor finally spoke he did not seem at all angry or upset, but Elrohir knew well enough that reading an Elf so ancient was far beyond his abilities.      

“Ah, Elrohir… I am glad to discover another Khandic speaker among the household. Our specialist in the eastern tongues of Men sailed West after Dagorlad, leaving us short-staffed. Tomorrow you and I should take some time out of your lessons to converse in the language. I will brief you on the latest developments in the East. There has indeed been a fraught succession. Now that I know you take an interest I will keep you informed.”

Erestor paused to sip his tea and give Elrohir an uncharacteristically warm smile over the rim of his cup. “There is no need for you to mingle with your father’s guests. We will gladly answer any questions you may have about the goings-on outside Imladris.”

Elrohir had no interest whatsoever in conversing with Erestor in any language on Eru’s earth. “Am I a prisoner, that keeping me away from outsiders is worth holding a girl at knifepoint?”

“Ardil never drew his weapon.” Erestor’s benevolent facade did not slip, but his voice brooked no argument. “Commendable, given that we would have had a major diplomatic incident on our hands if he had. His response was entirely justified. Bear in mind that he carries the final responsibility for your safety. That girl might not have been as unarmed as she seemed, and women from Khand are as quick with blades as their men. The mere fact that she was able to wander in here and come face to face with you is highly irregular. Your father will not have you exposed like that, for good reason.”

The argumentation made precious little sense.

“Elladan is meeting Vidumavi’s father as we speak. Is his daughter more dangerous than he?”

Erestor shook his head. “Your brother’s conversations with our Easterling guests are well supervised exercises, part of his education in diplomacy. You will receive that same training in the future. These Variags of Khand may be guests in your father’s house, but historically they are not our allies and you cannot be allowed to risk your own safety and that of this entire realm in unsupervised exchanges with any of them. If knowledge of foreign affairs is what you seek, your father will be overjoyed to see you take an interest. He will gladly answer your questions.”  

Erestor was not a man to be crossed with impunity. Elrohir fell silent, eyes on the fine inlay of the tabletop and mind as impassive as he could achieve.

Erestor’s expression became gentle. “I look forward to teaching you, once all this is past. You will become a great help to your father. Have but a few years worth of patience, until you are well.”

 

*Tolkien's Vidumavi was from Rhovanion instead of Khand, and she lived over a millennium after this story takes place. I used the name because it is among very few canonical names we have for non-Edain Mortal women.

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Chapter End Notes

Why was this particular road not taken?

I wrote this scene to show the reader the usual goings on in Rivendell, and Elrond and Celebrían's responsibilities as rulers of an Elvish realm. It does achieve just that, but at the cost of Elrohir seeming more like a prisoner held against his will than a son of the house. Holding their son captive seemed OOC for Elrond and Celebrían. I also felt it made Erestor look creepy, and portrayed Ardil as ruthless and violent.
Elrohir could not trust any of them again after this, at least not in a believable way, so Elrohir's Khandic friend was sadly cut from Northern Skies.

What do you think about the scene itself and the OC? Would you have liked to see them in the story? Please consider leaving me a comment.

See you soon for another road not taken,
Idrils Scribe