“One moment, if you please, Elunwe,” Saelril said, a tight-lipped smile on her face. “I still think we take a chance on this elf,” she whispered in Tatharem’s ear. He had approached the two scholars as they stood discussing their plans on the cobblestoned street of the small fishing village, and to their surprise, boldly admitted that he had overheard their conversation and wished to help.
His hair was dark and his jerkin was a dull brownish-black color, possibly boar hide tanned from the galls of a particular oak tree. It was not stiff, but flexed with his lithe movements, the seams stitched together with what looked like animal sinew. A heavy cloak of rough wool was fastened at his throat with a wooden toggle. He spoke heavily-accented Sindarin; his speech and his clothing marked him as someone from far beyond the usual borders.
“The captain will be right out, Elunwe,” Tatharem said, stepping forward. “He is most curious to meet you.”
Elunwe glanced toward the heavy wooden doors. “Would you rather meet with your captain alone?” he asked.
Before they could answer the doors swung open and Captain Culufinnel stepped onto the porch, his sharp eyes instantly locking onto the stranger. “Good morning,” he said, his tone even but cautious. Tatharem gave him a respectful nod, silently cursing her hair. She wished her long ashen curls were straight and manageable rather than floating like a puffy cloud around her shoulders; she had entirely given up on styling it after the troublesome short hairs around her face refused to lie flat and cover her high forehead. “Hair has ways of its own,” she had sighed to her reflection in the mirror. A little oil combed through it might have helped, but Tatharem was not in the habit of altering her style of hair-dressing, as it had always seemed to be a great deal of effort over nothing.
Elunwe stepped forward, unblinking. “Well met, Culufinnel. I am Elunwe of the East.”
“Far east,” Culufinnel countered, his eyes narrowing slightly. “East of East.”
“Not as far as that,” Elunwe replied, a brief, enigmatic smile on his lips. “Near Rhûn.”
Culufinnel paced a slow half-circle around him as he appraised his physique and weapons. “Tatharem tells me you offered your services as a guide.”
“We encountered Elunwe here but two days ago,” Saelril interjected, stepping between them to ease the tension. “We have been discussing...certain matters.” She exchanged a knowing look with Tatharem.
“You claim to be well-traveled,” Culufinnel said to Elunwe, his voice dropping slightly. Then he looked directly at him. “How many times have you crossed the Hithaeglir?”
“Though the lands west of the Hithaeglir are relatively new to me, I have crossed the mountains five times, Captain,” the East-Elf answered smoothly. A few of my kindred have made such journeys, when the need arose. My folk are Avari, as you no doubt realize–but of the Second Kindred—the folk of the Tatyar.”
“And which route will you take?” Culufinnel pressed.
“Not the paths under the mountains, that is certain. I would cross at the High Pass.”
Culufinnel nodded slowly, acknowledging the choice.
“Goblins are easier to dispose of than fire demons,” Elunwe noted, casting a wry glance at the ladies.
Tatharem spoke up, her voice carrying a quiet pride. “I know all the passages and wendings of the Trollshaws, and all lands around Eregion and within it.”
Elunwe turned and bowed deeply to her. “That is helpful.”
“But once I reach the Vales of the Anduin—well...” Tatharem trailed off, looking toward her companion. “We have never been to the place which is now called Taur-nu-Fuin. Have we, Saelril?”
Saelril shook her head slowly, a sudden shadow of doubt clouding her pleasant features. “I haven't been to many places beyond Imladris.”
“I have studied many maps,” Tatharem emphasized.
At this the captain frowned. Sensing his growing concern, Elunwe spoke up. “Captain, I have visited many places in the East. I have visited both the Golden Wood and the Greenwood. I have encountered many enile, and a few Elf-friends.” He held out his bow, inviting the veteran soldier’s scrutiny. “The style may be a little different to what you are used to. But it is just as effective.”
Culufinnel stepped forward and held the weapon up, inspecting the grain of the wood, and pulled the string back slightly, placing his ear close to it. The scholars watched the display with rapt interest, while Elunwe stood perfectly still, waiting.
Satisfied, Culufinnel lifted his head and handed it back. “Yes,” he said, relaxing a fraction. “The bow speaks of much use, of many enemies vanquished.”
“Alas! There are enemies in many parts of Arda.”
Culufinnel looked at the two scholars, his expression turning solemn. “If you wish to travel through the Greenwood, know this: do not stray off the path, and in several days you shall reach Felegoth, once passing the Forest Gate.”
Elunwe nodded. “Thranduil still rules there, I believe?”
“Indeed he does, and is much beloved by his people,” Tatharem answered. She caught herself almost smiling at Culufinnel in apology for the interruption, but she suppressed it.
“I would meet with him again. He has wisdom about him,” Elunwe said, and seeing their surprised faces added quickly, “I do not intend any disrespect. I hardly know King Thranduil, but we met once–when his father still lived.”
Culufinnel sighed at the grey-haired scholars. “If you believe this journey is worth it, I have no issue with Elunwe's offer to guide you there.”
“Discovering the truth is always worth it, Captain."
Culufinnel inclined his head to her. “Of course, Tatharem. But your lives are even more important.”
“Tatharem speaks the truth,” Saelril chimed in with excitement. “It is an important quest, our research, which seems to grow more intriguing by the day.”
“Thank you for your concern, Captain Culufinnel,” Tatharem said, her voice softening. “As my sister-in-scrolls has just said, it is important. And intriguing. And it concerns you, and your family's history.” She leaned in slightly, a twinkle in her eye. “Are you not curious to know your forebears?”
He hesitated, genuinely surprised by the question, and opened his mouth to reply, but Elunwe broke in:
“As I mentioned, I am an experienced guide east of the Mountains, and there are very few enemies I cannot best,” he asserted. “I shall keep us far away from orc camps and Balrogs.”
Culufinnel stared at the Avar. It was not with blustering heat that Elunwe spoke, but with the eagerness of a triumphant hero, one who had overcome many dangers. He was no rogue nor rascal, this East-Elf, but he may be getting himself into difficulties by meddling unasked with the affairs of other people. Some folk, like his brother Parnard, made matters worse by getting involved in everything that happens around them.
“That is good, Elunwe,” he answered, not knowing what else to say. He turned his gaze back to Tatharem, a rueful expression on his face. In the presence of these first-rate scholars and their single-minded devotion to their studies, Culufinnel felt a twinge of embarrassment at his lack of formal education.
He was far from unintelligent—merely untutored–yet possessed a masterful grasp of battlefield strategy and how to wield all manner of weapons. He knew how to aim, accounting for wind and elevation, and knew how far an arrow or spear would drop over distance. He knew how to coordinate volley fire and how to pierce a heavy shield. He knew when it was best to drop that weapon and seize the next. He knew what to do when the front lines collapse, when to lock shields in a phalanx, how to parry a blow so it would slide harmlessly off his guard, and when to deliver the counter-blow. He knew exactly which angle to deliver a mortal blow. He kept a cool head in the chaos of battle and knew how to knock mounted riders from their horses, how to keep enemies at bay to control the pacing of combat, and when to call a retreat.
Restless at hearing grim tidings of frequent attacks by orcs and other servants of the Enemy, he left home at the earliest opportunity to enlist in the King’s army. The military camps where he was stationed offered no libraries; in fact, the only books he had ever read were a few well-worn volumes concerning military stratagem and soldierly comportment.
“Tatharem,” he replied slowly, his voice heavy with regret, “I must admit I never once thought about my forebears, in all my days.”
“Perhaps we should explain more, Tatharem?” Saelril suggested.
Culufinnel held up a hand to stop her. “I know what it is you seek. You seek to find some remnant of the Third Kindred.”
Saelril smiled. “Yes–but of late we find more twists and turns than expected.”
Tatharem allowed a tiny, knowing smile to touch her lips. “That is exactly so. Twists and turns. We shall report back all we find,” she promised.
Culufinnel’s brow furrowed. He didn't like the sound of 'twists and turns'—it hinted at ambushes and hidden traps. “I hope I hear good news,” he muttered. “Good news of your return.”
“I suspect we shall be able to deliver that,” Saelril said cheerfully.
Before Culufinnel could voice his doubts, Elunwe spoke with absolute certainty. “They shall return safely. I have never yet lost anyone I have guided and I do not intend to start now.”
In her characteristically imperious yet dreamy way, Tatharem stared at the captain. “Do not be concerned.” She gave him a mysterious, fleeting look.
Culufinnel took a deep breath and found himself saying, “You will take the High Pass route to Imladris.”
“Indeed,” Elunwe confirmed, slinging his bow over his shoulder. “From Imladris to the far side, and on to Felegoth. I spoke with Lord Cirdan five days ago. He knows me.” He looked between the Captain and the two scholars, and seemed suddenly restless. “Is there anything else we should be aware of before we depart? Or is there any scouting we can do en route for you?”
Culufinnel stood in silence considering the vast, dangerous road ahead. He had no real authority over the scholars, and was particularly anxious to avoid annoying the ladies by telling them that they would be better off not traveling east, and staying put in town. After all, life is not without its dangers, he reminded himself–and the highways were not without brigands. Soon the weather would change. Snow drifted thick upon the craggy cliffs of the Hithaeglir, even in the summer-time.
“There have been reports of trolls wandering the roads,” he announced, his face darkening. He saw Saelril give a sober nod. “Beware any groups of Men. I do not need to say anything more.”
“Men are not my favorite race,” Elunwe remarked dryly. “Though some are better than others.”
“They are best avoided,” Culufinnel insisted, his frown deepening. “Even one or two. Where there are few, many are close by.”
Elunwe sighed, looking toward the horizon. “Part of my folk's concerns are what will happen after most Elves depart, and we are the only ones left. Men tend to be destroyers.”
“There are many rogues and bandits traversing the roads north and east,” Culufinnel warned. “They are a scourge upon the small folk.”
Elunwe’s eyes brightened with recognition. “You speak of the Shire-folk? They love the land, and care well for it.”
“If I did not have so many pressing matters here to attend to, I would personally see you to the border of the Ered Luin,” Culufinnel murmured, his sense of duty warring with his inclinations.
“My thanks, but it is not necessary,” Elune replied swiftly, and perceiving that the meeting had reached its end, added, “It has been an honor to meet you, Captain Culufinnel.”
Culufinnel snapped off a quick, crisp salute. “May we meet again, Elunwe.”
“I shall make sure our Loremasters record your name as a ‘friend,’” Elunwe promised, returning the gesture with a deep bow.
