Legelion padded soft-footed along the dolven passage; all was silent save for the far-off music of an underground stream as its swift waters spilt over high rocky cataracts and splashed into deep foaming pools below. His unshod feet made no sound upon the bare stone floor, cool cavern air caressed his nostrils, and his keen elven eyes peered into the gloom. Here the high walls were sparsely lined with sconces bearing sputtering torches, and it was a simple matter for him to avoid their dim flickering light; for he was a child of the Laegrim, whose skill in woodcraft had been honed over years upon years of dwelling aforetime in wariness and secrecy amidst the tall greenwoods of Lindon, ere the ruin of Beleriand.
He paused to get his bearings. The narrowness of the passageway and the presence of flaming torches told that he was deep within the caverns of the Elvenking's Halls; indeed, far too deep for his purpose. By his reckoning he must be wellnigh the dungeons -- or perhaps the vast cellars -- of the underground stronghold, and he guessed that the Iathrim would not keep their chambers in the nethermost parts of their abode. But still he lingered, for curiosity burned within his heart and he yearned to explore further. Nay, he decided, he would not go on... not today; his errand was his chief concern, and by his will he would forbear his wayward mind, eager though it was to lead him astray!
But whither should he seek? He knew what it was he sought, but he knew not where to find it. And though he would never admit it, he was, in fact, lost! For he had visited the Elvenking's fastness but once before, with Gellin his father, on the eve of the eleventh year since his begetting, but they had had not ventured further than the topmost halls. The elf-child grinned in the gloom, recalling his name-choosing thereafter, and his smile grew wider at the thought that it was yet another oronnad celebration that had brought him hither. Reaching above his brow, he proudly stroked the small antlered headdress with which he had been crowned a "young buck" during the feasting yestereve.[1]
For this was the thirteenth year since his begetting and he had now reached twelve years of age, and to the Elven-folk this number had great significance. At the feast Selcheneb had recounted the Cuivienyarna, the legend of the Awakening of the Quendi in the quiet of the world. She had told of the three Elf-fathers, Imin, Tata, and Enel, and their awakening beneath the stars; the finding of their spouses, Iminyë, Tatië, and Enelyë, who slept beside them on the green sward; and their discovery of the First Elves about the wide lands of Nen Echui on the eastern shores of the Sea of Helcar. These Unbegotten numbered one hundred and forty-four and were found in groups of twelve, and henceforth the Elves ever after reckoned in twelves.[2]
This tale filled Legelion with delight, and in his young heart was kindled a yearning to know more of the lore of the Elves. Thus he besought his kinfolk to recount around their feast fire such tales and songs of the Elder Days as they knew. But Selcheneb could only tell him that the Laegil were of the Clan of Enel ere the Great March, whereafter those who followed Elu Thingol to the West were called the Lindar, the Singers; but their kin fell away from the Journey and afterwards became the Danwaith, the Host of Dân. And of the Country of Balar his kin knew only of those tales in which the Laegil played some part, but of the greater history of that fair land little was known, for the Laegrim hid within their greenwoods and they seldom came forth.
Legelion was dismayed to discover that the Green-elves knew only the lore of their own clan, and Gladhron, his father's brother, said in jest that he deemed the elf-child had the mood of a loremaster. And at these words hope stirred within Legelion's heart and he declared that he would be glad to follow such a path, but Echeleb, his father's father, scorned his desire, saying that loremasters needed the knowledge of reading and writing, but there were none among the Green-elves who had such skills. For Laegren lore was shared in tale and in song, and not inscribed in books or upon scrolls. Indeed Legelion had seen but one book in all his short life: the treasured "Book of Entering"[3] that was in the keeping of Selcheneb, yet there were none who could read it; but it was said that it was written in the Ancient Tongue.
'But what of the Iathrim lords in the Elvenking's Halls?' he asked.
'Indeed,' said Selcheneb, 'the Grey-elven nobles of Doriath hold such arts in high esteem. Truly, the King retains a tegilbor, a scribe, whose only labour is the keeping of his chronicles.'
'Forsooth? Who is this Grey-elf?' the boy exclaimed. 'Perhaps he might be swayed to aid me!'
'Alas, I know not,' she replied. She glanced askance at Echeleb's disapproving frown. 'But I do not think he would be willing nonetheless, for ever have they deemed the Danwaith rude and rustic, and so also the Tawarwaith thereafter!'
At these words Legelion's heart grew hot within his breast, and he hardened then his resolve to indeed learn to read and write in the manner of the loremasters of yesteryear.
'I would guess then that this scribe has many books in his keeping?' he asked nonchalantly, carefully avoiding the eye of his father's father.
'A whole library, no doubt,' Selcheneb replied. 'It would surely be a marvel to behold!'
'Aye, it surely would,' the elf-child smiled.
* * *
[1] This isn't a Silvan/Laegren custom devised by JRRT -- I made it up for fun!
[2] The War of the Jewels, "Quendi and Eldar: Appendix: The legend of the Awaking of the Quendi (Cuivienyarna)"
[3] The Parma Mittarion (see the header image) was drawn by JRRT c. 1957 and is thought to have been intended as a book cover design. If so, whatever its contents might have been remains a mystery.
It should be noted that this tale is set in the 2977th year of the Third Age, when Legelion had but lately turned twelve years of age; also that these anecdotes are not in strict chronological order.
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