FicWad

Chapter 3:

At last Pengolodh halted in front of a solid, red brick house which somehow managed to look stylish and classy. Elijah almost imagined a maid answering the door, and Deborah wondered, "Who lives here?"

Pengolodh knocked at the door, and it was answered by a tall young man with a heavy mane of golden brown hair. "Hullo, come in!" he said with a crisp English accent.

Pengolodh looked startled. "Oh, I'm sorry," he apologized hastily. "I think I've come to the wrong house - "

"Don't worry," said the young man. "If you're Philip Harver and you've come for Daryl Willow, he's in, but he's somewhat busy at the moment. He sent me to say that he'll see you directly."

"Thank you," said Pengolodh stepping inside. Elijah and Deborah followed.

The room into which they stepped was as stylish and elegant as the outside of the house had suggested. Pengolodh seemed unfazed by this and proceeded to take a seat on the gleaming brown leather sofa. After casting a questioning look at her brother, Deborah followed suit. Elijah remained standing.

They were not made to wait long. Before Deborah had time to ask again whom they were visiting, the door opened and someone entered the room.

Elijah and Deborah had considered themselves "used to Elves" because of their familiarity with Pengolodh. They had unconsciously assumed that their years of knowing him would accustom them to Elven-folk in general. What a surprise they had!

The Elf (for the figure standing before them could not be mistaken for anything else) was slightly taller than Pengolodh, though also very slender. His midnight-dark hair hung in a single thick plait down his back ("Doggone it, they've all got good hair!" thought Deborah) and the largest grey eyes imaginable surveyed Elijah and Deborah with curiosity. A flute was clutched in his slim, graceful white hands.

The finishing touch was the long flowing blue robe, simple and unadorned but vibrant in hue. Pengolodh had chosen to adopt the modern American style of dress; this Elf apparently had not.

Pengolodh rose to his feet. "Master Daeron," he said with a bow. Deborah and Elijah exchanged a glance. This was more than worth the outing, for there could only be one Daeron to whom Pengolodh himself would show such respect.

Daeron swept across the room and took him by the arms, talking rapidly in what Elijah guessed was probably Doriathrin. He had seldom felt more exiled from a conversation. He glanced at his sister and saw that she was probably feeling the same.

Pengolodh answered in the same language, and the two went back and forth for a few minutes. Then Pengolodh turned to the children. "This is the friend I spoke of," he said in English. "Daeron, maker of the Cirith and the greatest minstrel born to Arda."

Daeron flushed crimson, partly in embarrassment and partly because of the raptrous gazes with which the two mortals were regarding him. "You are a shameless flatterer," he said.

Pengolodh snorted. "Indeed," he said. "Celeborn is quite right; you underrate yourself. My good friends here will undoubtedly say the same."

"Maybe," said Elijah stepping forward. "I'm Elijah Hollowell, and this is my sister Deborah."

"Hello," said Deborah shyly.

"Elijah and Deborah," repeated Daeron. "These names are strange to me; pray what do they mean?" He pronounced Deborah's name in three syllables.

Elijah looked Deborah.

"Well," said she. "Elijah got a really great name. His name means 'my God is Yahweh.' My name just means Bee." She pouted, then brightened. "But I like the way you say it."

Daeron flushed again.

Elijah indicated the flute in Daeron's hands. "Were you, ah, in the middle of something?" he asked.

"Nothing of importance," said Daeron hastily.

"By the way," said Pengolodh. "who was that fellow who greeted us at the door?"

"He is - a friend of mine," Daeron's delicate fingers were suddenly twirling the flute.

Pengolodh raised an eyebrow, and Daeron lowered his eyes and shifted slightly. ("Poor thing!' thought Deborah. "He couldn't keep a secret to save his life! I wonder if he really meant to tell Thingol about the whole Beren deal.")

"Very well, my friend, keep your secrets," said Pengolodh. "Does he know that you are an Elda?"

Daeron hesitated. "Well. . . "

"Then he knows," said Pengolodh.

"He is a student of mine," said Daeron, almost defensively.

"I do not accuse you of foolishness, and neither do I question your judgment," said Pengolodh. "I was merely inquisitive."

"Then you teach?" asked Elijah with some excitement.

"Not ordinarily," said Daeron.

Elijah and Deborah shot each other disappointed glances. They would very much have liked to learn things from Daeron. He probably knew all manner of things that even Pengolodh didn't. After all, not everyone can boast of having invented an alphabet!

Pengolodh feigned injury. "What? Is it not enough that I have taught you all you know? Am I no longer good enough for you? This is a poor reward for ten years' labor!"

"Yeah, but I bet you haven't taught us everything you know," Elijah retorted.

"And besides," added Deborah. "you can't possibly know everything there is to know."

"Hardly respectful, that!" said Pengolodh reprovingly. But Elijah just grinned at him and Deborah giggled.