|
Léof
Léof looked at the Elf, startled. Did he read minds? Some of the old tales spoke of sorcery in the Golden Wood, and Léof was now much closer to believing them than he had been only minutes ago. But he saw no malice in Laerdil’s face, only honest interest, and his tone, too, had been neutral, so Léof tried to take the question at its face.
“It is true,” he answered. “I am the ostler here, and a better post I could not hope to have. I find horses to be… more dependable, and more honest, than most people – and I can be honest with them in return.”
~*~*~
Scyld
Listening to the various comments of Rowenna, Eodwine, and the others, and seeing now how Laerdil looked at young Léof, Scyld was beginning to formulate his own opinion of the Elf: he felt more than a bit like a bug in a jar such as young boys sometimes liked to collect, and he did not care much for the feeling. Given Thornden’s remark on the hearing of Elves, however, Scyld felt strongly inclined to keep his opinions to himself in such a public space.
He was also still uncomfortable with the queer emotions Laerdil’s music had caused in him, and with the emotions Rowenna had described. Then again, perhaps there was something about this Elf that opened people up. If that was so, perhaps he could use it. He just wasn’t quite sure how, yet.
“Well,” he said to Rowenna, resuming their conversation, “Middle-earth has seen enough sorrow just in our short lives; I can hardly imagine all of the sorrows he has had the chance to live through.” Personally, Scyld could not see the lure to live so long. Already, after just a quarter century of life, sometimes he wearied of the games and manipulations. But perhaps there were not bad Elves, as there were bad men. Though he had a difficult time imagining an Elvish Sorn, he doubted it. Better, he thought, to have a life miserable but short than long and sad.
|