Golden Days

Estel sat in the gardens of Imladris. This was his favourite spot, on a bank covered with elanor beside a clear spring, which gushed from the rock. A large tabby cat sat upon his lap, purring loudly and serving as a convenient book rest for what Estel always thought of as a book of golden stories, a precious volume belonging to Master Elrond, which he was only occasionally allowed to borrow. Today was one of those occasions. Estel was recovering from a broken collarbone, which he had suffered falling out of a tree he was climbing. Reading the tales felt like days on the open road leading to adventures in which the boy would lose himself completely.

Today, he was reading his favourite story, that of Luthien and Beren. He did not know why, but it spoke to him more than any other story he had heard. He knew that they were Master Elrond’s great grandparents, but it was more than that, which appealed to him. They were so brave to take the Simaril from Morgoth’s crown! He found the romantic bit thoroughly boring, but even so wondered what made Beren so special that Lúthien would choose to become mortal to be with him. Moreover, could any maiden really be as fair as she?

Estel was so engrossed in the story that he had quite forgotten that his injury had forced him to miss sword practise, which he loved.

Gilraen wondered where her son might be. She had wept to see her Aragorn, or Estel, as she tried to remember that she must call him, in such pain from his broken bone a few days before. Master Elrond had assured her that it would soon heal, but still she fretted. Now it was almost time for the noonday meal and there was no sign of her son.

Gilraen pulled her cloak about her and went out in the gardens. It was there she came across her son, so engrossed in his book that he did not notice her approach. A thrush sang sweetly in the treetops. The sunbeams danced, turning the spring water to sparkling crystal. The elanor blossoms were so thickly clustered that the bank appeared to be carpeted with shining gold.

Gilraen stood for a moment drinking in the beauty of the scene. This was not home, nor could it ever be. She missed her family, her friends, and her neighbours, their village and the woods and fields surrounding it. At this time of year, the daffodils would be out. Arathorn used to bring her great bunches of the blossoms.

Yet, if she must be in exile, could there be any fairer place to be than here? Master Elrond treated them as honoured guests and her boy thrived. He was loving, brave, and intelligent.

She called out to her son. The cat leapt from Aragorn’s lap and the boy got to his feet, his lighting up at the sight of his mother.

Laughing, he ran to meet her.