When morning came Trevadiel were waiting outside the pavilion. "You are expected," she said to me. "When you have refreshed yourself, Ingarthael will speak to you. I will show you the way."
"Ingarthael?" I said, no doubt mispronouncing the name badly. "Expected?" I wondered if some mistake had been made. Who could be expecting me?
"She will explain when you see her," Trevadiel said, and left me to my confusion. Miss Adriellyn shrugged; she didn't know either, but told me to go ahead, as she had her own business to attend in Caras Galadhon. So I cleaned myself up, dressed in my finest tunic, and followed Trevadiel into one of the treetops, up a winding stairway built around the trunk, and from there into what looked like a workshop.
There were three Elves there, two women and one man, and Trevadiel gestured to one of the women. I bowed as well as I could and said, "Ingarthael? I were told you expected me?"
The Elf-maid nodded, but didn't say anything. The man beside her said, "We have many questions for you, Peace-Lover." I didn't bother to try to correct them about the meaning of my name, having learned not to bother in Imladris. I would later find this Elf's name was Istwë, and the other woman were Mírien, and the three of them had an odd way of talking. Ingarthael never spoke, but frequently wrote, and would nod to the others. Mírien and Istwë would speak in turn, and things you'd figure would be one thought would come half from one and half from the other.
"Ingarthael received a letter some months ago," Mírien said.
"From Imladris, describing your inquiries concerning a lantern," Istwë continued.
"She has been researching all that Mirwen told her, and we find the matter most curious."
I felt like my eyes must be wide as supper plates from my astonishment. Never had crossed my mind as Mirwen would have wrote a letter, but now they talked on it, it made perfect sense. As well as why they called me Peace-Lover. "Do you know anything about the lantern?" I asked eagerly.
Ingarthael only shook her head. Istwë said, "We concur with Mirwen that no such lantern ever existed. We've spoken to all those who dwell here in Caras Galadhon that might know of such a thing."
"There are some here whose memories reach back even farther than that of Lord Elrond Halfelven," Mírien said, matter-of-factly, without a hint of pride.
"No one heard either of such a lantern, nor of any legends like it," Istwë added.
"And the craftsmen here agree that it may not be possible for any hand save perhaps that of the Valar to craft an artifact like unto what you described."
"Or like what was described to you."
"There was once a craftsman of unsurpassed ability who created three star-gems which is as near as any could think of."
"But they are all lost, long since, and shall never be reclaimed. One is hung in the night sky."
"And they did not possess the power to unravel curses."
"Indeed, they were central to what might be the greatest curse ever woven by the Children of Ilúvatar, that shaped the events of the First Age."
I nodded, not surprised, not even disappointed, but still somehow saddened by this news. Some part of me had still hoped against hope that they might have a miracle waiting. "Indeed, we've been holding this lantern until the day someone came to claim it!" I had perhaps not dared to imagine them saying, with me then carrying it triumphantly to offer to the Thane, to the cheers of all of the people of Marton, my family foremost amongst them, eyes damp with pride in me. Or perhaps it were my eyes that were damp at the thought of it. I rubbed them and said in a wooden voice, "Thank you for looking into it."
Before I could turn to go, Mírien continued, almost as if I hadn't said anything, "The legend you were told is most curious." I paused, frowning, and turned back to face them.
"Indeed, there is something odd here, a mystery as yet unanswered," Istwë said, eliciting another nod from Ingarthael.
"Nor even asked yet," Mírien said.
"Finding the proper shape of a question brings you halfway to its answer," Istwë said.
"What question?" I asked, baffled.
"Indeed," Mírien agreed.
"Ingarthael makes a point of learning all the legends of the finest handiwork of not just the Elves but all other peoples."
"We have records here," Mírien said, gesturing to scrolls behind them, "of hundreds of relics, both real and fanciful."
"And some that are both," Istwë said. "Tales of weapons forged in the fires of Númenor, possessing powers long forgotten to most, but which accumulated new dominions of mastery in the imagination during the long years since. And others of the like."
"Indeed, we know tales from among your own people."
"Some that the Eorlingas have forgotten since, but we preserve them."
"And in none of these tales are there any lanterns of this like."
"Indeed, none at all."
I tugged on my beard, not sure what to make of this. "If it were just some fancy a minstrel took up that got wrote down and then folks forgot it were just a fancy…" I began, trailing off uncertainly.
"Then most likely we would know of it," Mírien said, plain as day.
"It is possible it might have been written down, put into an archive, and immediately forgotten," Istwë conceded.
"Possible, but very unlikely," Mírien countered.
"Tales that get written down, especially amongst your people, who do not love letters, are usually tales that have been told many times before they are set to parchment."
"And by that time, we already know them."
"Whence, then, came this tale?"
"It may be just as you say, no more than that it was written and forgotten."
"But we think there may be a greater answer to this question, if we could but shape the question clearly enough to see the answer through it."
"You must begin by telling us everything about how you came to be set upon this quest, even if it seems of no import."
"And everything you were told about the lantern, and the Curse."
I started to object, that I could not speak of the Curse to those not of my own people, but Mírien stopped me. "We know all about the Curse of Wyrgende," she said.
"See, here, this is the inscription upon the stone that stands near the river your people call the Entwash, where the curse was laid," Istwë said, holding a scroll.
"Please, begin with the day you were given this quest, and we will work both backwards and forwards from there."
This was only the start of two very long days of questioning. Food was brought in occasionally, and I was given a few minutes now and then to stretch my legs and walk amongst the star-lit platforms in the trees, and a few hours each night to sleep back at the pavilion. But otherwise, they asked me questions about everything I knew about the Thane, and a thousand more things of seemingly no consequence, about the days and months and years before the Thane set me on this undertaking. About the most ordinary things, for they felt sure that somewhere in the everyday matters, like a gem-stone in a quarry, was the one thing that would shed light on the mystery.
More than once, I grew weary and discouraged; after all, I already had my answer, and there was nothing in this to profit me. But each time, I squared my shoulders and continued. As a guest, given such courtesy in such a beautiful land, how could I not give them all the answers I could find to give? I couldn't imagine how tales of my ordinary days fishing or gathering firewood could be of interest to them, but their eyes remained bright, and Ingarthael's pen scratched out more curving letters than I dreamed could ever be written by one person, and still their enthusiasm remained unflagged.
At the end of the second day, I returned to the pavilion to sleep a few scant hours, thinking that the next day must be more of the same. I dreamed of returning home, of seeing Beoda, but in the dream, she only wished to hear the tale of our journey, and asked a thousand questions about it, about every step Kestrel took, and all I could do is yearn for her to be satisfied with the tale enough that I could take her in my arms.
