|
Athanar's nod matched that of the Elf.
"In the name of the Eorlingas I welcome you, Laerdil. Have you been given food at our board?"
"Aye, I have."
"Good. I would be honored if you would sit with the Lady and me as we break our fast, accompanied of course," Athanar added with a nod, "by Eodwine."
"I am willing," Laerdil said. Though his words were few, his mien was warm; but his eyes held years beyond their reckoning.
Athanar asked for the Elf's story and was told it as they were served and ate their meal.
"How do you find us, Laerdil?" he asked at length.
The Elf considered. "Very young. Often rash. In truth, you seem to me a wild plant in the field that grows quickly in the spring and flourishes for a time, and dies before it has had time to do more than spread its seed for the next spring. No wonder you are rash."
Athanar laughed. "If that is what you see, then I suppose that I see you as a tree with legs, with more time than one can know what to do with. Do you not grow bored or weary?"
"Indeed, I have grown weary of Middle Earth." The Elf looked more tired in that moment than he had as of yet. "It is time for me to pass into the west soon. If we leave Middle Earth to such as you, I guess that there is hope of a kind." He smiled kindly despite his dim praise.
|