Young Thranduil's Confusion (Or, A Númenórean Poem Most Strange...) by Kaylee Arafinwiel

A Numenorean Poem Most Strange

Thanks so much to Grundy for the prompts, AfricanDaisy for the beta, and Nienna for the help with the title!!

Camp of the Edain, Elendur's tent, Mordor, War of the Last Alliance

"What are you doing, elfling?"

The heir of Isildur looked at his elven sword-brother, who happened to be standing by the shelves of books and scrolls the Prince kept in his pavilion.

He had selected a book, and was looking at it with eyes narrowed in concentration. "I thought you wouldn't mind if I looked at your books, Elendur," Thranduil replied.

"No more do I," Elendur agreed. Most of them, anyway, he added silently to himself. "What is the matter, then?"

"I can't read this one." Thranduil felt frustrated. "I can read," he added. "I can read Sindarin and Quenya, I can recognise Khuzdul and this isn't it. I've learnt Khandian, Rhuni, Near Haradric and Adûnaic, but this isn't the Adûnaic I know--and the pictures..."

Elendur snatched the book from Thranduil hastily, and one look at the illustration in question had his cheeks reddening. He looked back at the writing. "Ah. This is King's Adûnaic - old Númenórean as the Umbarim still speak it," he explained.

"Oh," Thranduil glanced sideways at Elendur. "The picture is...Aran Fingolfin, isn't it? There was his shield and banner covering him--" And not much else.

"Yes," Elendur said briefly. "The writing is a poem by a Númenórean, name not given, imagining themself as the Lady Anaire upon her reunion with the King, and Fingolfin's response to her."

Thranduil thought of the woman in the picture standing behind the kneeling Fingolfin, carrying what looked like a birch rod, and wrinkled his forehead. "Do they think Lady Anaire would want to hit him?"

Elendur stifled a snort. "To begin with. Now, be off with you, gwador-laes - and don't say anything to our edair or Uncle Elrond about this book."

As Thranduil departed, Elendur sat back with the book on his lap. His eyes were drawn down to the flowing script, and he started to read to himself. Feel here the dart of love all impatient to enter the mossy grotto between your thighs...

"Thank Eru the elfling can't read this," he muttered.