To Rescue An Elf 8

To Rescue An Elf

Part 8

Posted: January 11, 2008
Title: To Rescue an Elf
Author: Inwë Sáralondë

Summary: The elves discover that Lothvaen is missing.

*****

“Where is Lothvaen?” Berendirith’s voice was sharp.

Caegaran shrugged slightly. “Outside,” he said.

“What do you mean, outside?” It was Rúmil who spoke. “Did you see him leave?”

“Aye.” Caegaran stared at the other two elves. “Oh, for Valar’s sake, he probably just went to relieve himself. Surely he is allowed to do that!”

“How long ago did he leave?” Rúmil asked quietly.

Caegaran paused for a moment. “Actually, it was a little while ago,” he admitted.

“You saw him leave, but you did not think to ask him where he was going?” Rúmil’s voice had taken on an edge.

“I told you, I just thought he was going out to relieve himself!”

“We need to search for him,” Berendirith said decisively. “I knew it was a bad decision on Celeborn’s part to allow the scribe to come with us.” The senior advisor turned his gaze to Rúmil. “I seriously can not for the life of me understand what your brother sees in Lothvaen. He may be an excellent scribe, but he truly does not come across as being intelligent. Mind you, it would not surprise me if Lothvaen was trying to pull a prank on us; it would seem the sort of thing he would do.”

“I suggest that you refrain from any further comments, Berendirith,” Rúmil said angrily. “I have not seen my brother so happy in a very long time. And your insulting of Lothvaen is unwarranted. Now, as you say, we need to search for him. You can remain here, or you can help us search. It is your choice.”

“Bah. As soon as we find him I will give him a piece of my mind,” Berendirith grumbled as he got up from the bench. “”Which way did he go?” he asked of Caegaran.

The Galadhel pointed. “That way.”

“He may be in the stables,” Rúmil said hopefully. “He could have just forgotten the time.”

“Forgotten his brain, more likely,” Berendirith muttered as he followed the two Geledhil outside. After quickly looking around, Rúmil headed towards the stables and went inside. Caegaran and Berendirith joined him and watched as Rúmil made his way down to Lothvaen’s horse.

“She seems spooked for some reason,” Rúmil said quietly, patting the agitated horse gently. “However, I do think that Lothvaen had been here.”

“Mayhap he has returned to the inn and is in his room,” Caegaran suggested.

“We will go and look,” Rúmil said, giving Lothvaen’s horse a final pat.

Quickly returning to the inn, Berendirith quickly climbed the stairs and almost barged into the room he was to share with the scribe, fully expecting Lothvaen to be there. When he saw, however, that the room was empty, the senior advisor’s heart fell slightly, and he proceeded back down the stairs. “He is not there,” he said.

“Then we will begin asking,” Rúmil said decisively. “Someone will surely have seen something.”

Yet the questions asked by the three elves elicited either negative responses or the shrugging of shoulders. The elves then moved outside, hoping that, despite the fact that night had fallen, someone would have noticed an elf wandering the streets. But to no avail. Helplessly, the three elves stared at each other, each wondering what they should do next.

“Did either of you notice anything out of the ordinary when we arrived?” Rúmil asked suddenly.

“Apart from the usual stares we receive every time we come to a human settlement?” Berendirith asked.

“Nothing,” Caegaran said in reply to Rúmil’s question.

Rúmil was thoughtful. “I have a feeling that our arrival generated interest in some who are not merely curious about elves.”

“What are you suggesting?” Berendirith asked.

“Slave traders,” Rúmil said quietly. “I think Lothvaen has been kidnapped.”

“What sort of foolishness is that!” Berendirith scoffed. “Slave traders, indeed. Do you truly think they would be that foolish to be this close to Lothlórien? We are close enough to provide aid should these people need it, and have done so in the past. No, that silly little scribe has wandered off somewhere, and is probably lost, the fool. We just need to continue asking, knock on doors if we have to. For all we know, Lothvaen is probably ensconced in someone’s home, annoying them with his twittering.”

Rúmil listened to what Berendirith said, his mien not changing. “The slave traders have become bolder of late, and are not afraid to take risks. I have heard enough reports to know this,” he said, his voice still quiet. “The fact that Lothlórien is nearby is no longer a threat to them, for they know they still have time on their side. By the time any elves arrive, they will be long gone. You may think that Lothvaen is in the town somewhere, but in the short time that I have known him, I can tell you now that it is not the sort of thing he would do. That, not to mention his horse being spooked, tells me a different story. The more I think of it, the more I fear that I may be right in my assumption, for I can think of no others who would take an elf…and one such as us would be highly prized indeed.”

Berendirith blinked. “Despite what you say, Rúmil, I can not believe that Lothvaen has been taken,” he said, though his voice held little conviction.

Caegaran, on the other hand, seemed to think otherwise. “I think Rúmil may be right in that Lothvaen has been taken, though I have my doubts that it was by slavers. It could just have easily been by someone who wants an elf as some sort of plaything.”

Rúmil looked a little sourly at his fellow Galadhel. “No one in this town would be foolish enough to kidnap an elf.”

“He could have been taken by someone who was a visitor to the town,” Caegaran argued. “’Tis just we can not presume it was slavers.”

“Beggin’ your pardon, sirs,” a voice said from the gloom, “but slavers do be about ‘ere. Reckon we lost four or five people to ‘em in the last year alone.”

The elves turned to the voice. “How can you be certain it was slavers?” Berendirith asked tersely.

“’Cause we ‘aven’t been able to find ‘em, that’s why. And it’s the young, pretty folk they’ve been takin’, too. Anyway, ‘aven’t you been listenin’ to your friend here?” the man replied, coming out so that the elves could see him. “Slavers are not afraid any more. They’re bolder, alright. And tricky. They know paths and hidin’ places that we got no hopes of findin’.” The man spat on the ground. “Nah, you can be sure slavers ‘ave got your friend. All I can say is, good luck in tryin’ to find ‘im.” The man turned and wandered off towards the inn, leaving the three elves staring after him.

The senior advisor rubbed his nose. “What do you suggest we do?” he asked a little tiredly.

“If we leave now, we may be able to catch up with them,” Caegaran said.

“Aye. But these people are very clever at hiding their tracks, and I suspect to try and find them now in the dark would be nigh on impossible.” Rúmil sighed. “Whether we like it or not, we will need to return to Lothlórien at first light tomorrow and put together a larger party to search for Lothvaen. One thing we can be certain of: all slave traders know where their best market is – the south.”

“And the land of the Haradrim,” Berendirith said grimly.

*****

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