The chamber was richly furnished, to the young elf's eyes. Thick carpets were arranged upon the burnished stone floor, and in the flickering light of a broad hearth he marked a large carven table laden with parchments and scrolls, and books lay scattered or sat in small piles upon it. He eyed the books eagerly and stepping through the open doorway he set his bare foot upon the deep soft carpet, and with a gasp of indrawn breath, he froze. For to his wonderment he descried shelves lining the shadowed chamber wall, crowded with countless books and scrolls, and he hurried across the room with wide eyes; but to his dismay he marked that though many had words inscribed upon their covers or along their spines, he could not -- of course -- interpret these inscriptions!
Reaching out he took a book from its shelf; it was bound in leather the friendly colour of summer beech leaves, and opening it he wrinkled his nose at the unfamiliar smell, dry yet sweet and musky it was, strange but not unpleasant. But the smooth cream pages were marked with rows upon rows of indecipherable runes. His brow furrowed.
How could he have been so witless? He angrily upbraided himself for his weak reasoning, for he had deemed that if books -- besides holding lore -- also imparted learning, then there would surely be a book that could teach him to read! Then the absurdity of his plight struck him, and he laughed aloud at his folly!
'Who are you?' asked a stern voice from behind. 'What is your purpose here?'
Legelion started in surprise, almost dropping the book he held in his hands. He clutched it protectively to his breast and turned to face his questioner. Before him stood a tall Grey Elf robed in silver and green, his grey eyes wary as he stared down his hawkish nose, and a frown creased his high forehead. The boy stood poised upon his toes, his knees bent, ready to flee at a moment's notice. The Elf marked his stance and held up his long hand.
'Peace,' he said softly, 'I will do you no harm! Whence come you, child?'
Legelion was silent. But not from fright, for he was not afeared; but rather from a sense of shame, for he was abashed at being so easily waylaid by this gilded scribe... or so he guessed this Elf to be. Besides, he was speaking Elvish in the Doriathrin fashion which was perplexing to the boy's ears.
He lit a bright lamp that stood upon the tabletop, scattering the shadows, and Legelion felt a thought brush across his mind, light as a feather and soft as a whisper; the grey eyes took in the elf-child's woodland garb, the crown of shed antlers upon his brow, his bare feet and the small blade girt to the boy's slim waist.
'A Wood-elf child, no less,' the elder Elf declared, changing his speech to the Silvan tongue. 'And what have we here?' He reached forth and plucked the book from the elf-boy's arms. 'Ah, "Composition of the Army of the Woodland Realm",' he read. 'All you could ever wish to know of the ordering of the Elvenking's host. Are you then a spy?'
The boy stood with his small feet planted wide, his wiry arms akimbo.
'Nay,' he retorted, 'I care naught for the Woodland host, and who among the Wood-elves would set a spy upon their own?'
'So you can speak!' smiled the Elf. 'What is your name, child?'
'My name is Methlegel Feveren son of Gellin son of Echeleb Túbeng,' he answered proudly, 'but I am called Legelion.'
'Well then, Methlegel Feveren son of Gellin son of Echeleb Túbeng, what has brought you hither, if not the secrets of this book?'
'My reasons are my own,' the boy answered, 'and you may call me Legelion!'
'I thank you. And you may call me Teithoron.' Again a thought whispered over the elf-child's mind. 'So, not a spy, but a thief! But wherefore would you take from me what is mine, and why a book? Why this book?'
In the lamplight the young Elf's face flushed pink beneath his sun-browned skin, and he cast his eyes down to gaze at his toes. 'It is a pretty green,' he said, and the scribe laughed aloud.
'You cannot read it, can you?' he realised. 'Then what use would you have for it? Would you use its soft white pages as green leaves with which to wipe your...'
His words were lost amidst the peals of laughter that issued from the boy, and Teithoron saw tears of mirth welling up in his grey-green eyes. Legelion, for his part, could not believe that a stiff-necked Grey Elf noble would -- could -- ever make such a jest, and thus his merriment redoubled. His high, clear voice resounded through the chamber, and he bent over gasping. When he arose, breathless, he saw that the scribe was smiling broadly, and he answered truthfully, for his heart was warming to the elder Elf.
'It is my desire to learn to read, and with the aid of your book I shall fulfil my wish.'
'You deem that a book can teach you to read itself?' He raised his brows. 'Is there a reason that you have this wish?'
'I seek to know the elven lore of the Elder Days and the Middle Days and of the Ages...'
'That is no small wish! And to become such a seeker of wisdom you will need a faithful guide.'
'Cethron is my Mother-name,' the boy smiled. 'I deem she forespoke this doom when she thus named me!'
'Indeed,' Teithoron nodded sagely, 'that is a mighty doom, foretold by one who best knows your heart.'
'And verily I shall have need of a guide. In truth, I had thought to beseech your aid, but it is said that the Grey Elves deem the Wood-elves to be "rude and rustic" and therefore was I counselled not to follow that path.'
Teithoron looked hard at the small elf-child, and he read there the earnestness of the boy's desire and the fortitude of his will. And in his heart he yearned for the days of old in Doriath when he had taught the stripling Iathrim, for there were no children now in the Elvenking's Halls, and too long had it been since he had heard their laughter or their song.
Yet his thought was of Thranduil, his liege-lord, for the king had oft decried the self-determination of the Green-elves of Mirkwood; and he knew this boy was a Green-elf for he was kin to Echeleb Túbeng, who he well knew from the king's councils. But the king's wrath and Echeleb's scorn he could endure, if there was some slim hope of unloosing the boy's latent talent; for he deemed that Legelion indeed possessed wit untapped, and this would be forever lost if the boy returned to his humble forest life, his desire denied and his dream forsaken.
'So be it,' he said at last. 'Rude and rustic you might be, but your heart is pure and willing, and your keen mind unfettered by doubt. Though this is no simple task that you have chosen to undertake, for the path to wisdom is long and arduous. Will you swear to me that you shall be steadfast and diligent?'
'You have my oath,' the elf-child swore, and with his hand upon his heart he solemnly bowed.
The scribe nodded, and with a gleam in his eye he added, 'And please promise to not steal my books!'
* * *
Legelion was uncommonly weary. Teithoron had begun his instruction forthwith, learning the certhas of the Angerthas Daeron by carefully inscribing the cirth in ink upon a clean parchment. And the scribe had delighted the elf-boy by teaching him to write his very own name:
Lying upon the soft pillows scattered over the matted floor of his home-tree Legelion now held this parchment, rolled into a scroll and clutched with both ink-stained hands against his breast; and even as his kindred sang in the beech glade without to herald the rising stars, he fell into the waking dreams of elven sleep.
* * *
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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