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by Mirasaui

Summary: Gildor sends aid to a friend.
Disclaimer: This is Tolkien's sandbox in which I play.
Story Notes: Self-insertion, AU. The story is in reply to my friend Soledad's (aka Gildor Inglorion's) note of good cheer sent during my fight with cancer. Hirilen is Sindarin for My Lady. Rating: G.
Characters: Gildor Inglorion, Lady Mira
Any mistakes are my own.

The messenger smelt of horse and sweat for he had ridden hard and travelled a great distance to reach the wandering company. He knelt breathlessly before the golden-haired Lord of Edhellond and paused a moment before voicing his greeting.

"Lord Gildor, I trust the day finds you well. I bring tidings from the lands beyond the sea."

"Arise, my son," Gildor commanded, "for you have traversed a weary road. Refreshment will be provided as well as a soft bed upon which you may rest. I anxiously await your news, for it has been many centuries since I set foot upon those shores. But, your well-being is most important. Dine with me tomorrow and we will talk more of the happenings of the world."

The messenger bowed his head in respect then stood. He reached into his worn leather pouch and extracted a sealed parchment, handing it over to the tall lord.

"A letter was pressed into my hand before I left, my lord, a letter for your eyes only."

Lord Gildor smiled and dismissed the weary elf, turning the folded parchment over in his hands to reveal the wax seal. He walked to the shade of a nearby tree and sat upon the mossy ground beneath it, fingering the stiff note one last time before breaking the seal and lowering his eyes to read the flowing script upon the page.

"My Dearest Lord Gildor,

It was with great joy that I received into my household your lady healer and silver-tongued minstrel, Lindir. They and their entourage eased the suffering of the malady that afflicted me these past months. The skilled hands of your gracious lady worked wonders upon my body as Lindir's voice soothed my soul and restored to me the gentle disposition for which I am known. Never have I seen such grace and beauty as in those fair personages who so indulged my waking moments with their utmost kindness and care.

With much regret, I send these welcomed guests back unto your fold. In their hands are gifts to you, small tokens of my gratitude and thanks. There be wine from the Nappa valley of the west, orange-flavoured cognac brandy from French Paris, sacks of ground sassafras culled from the native trees of my humble realm, and a wrapped bundle of cane stalks, which when crushed will provide a liquid sweetener that may be used in your tea. May they afford you some small pleasure and fond remembrance of me.

I remain always, your friend and companion,

Lady Mira"

Gildor re-folded the parchment and placed it in a pocket of his tunic. A faraway look came into his eyes as he thought of the place he had visited so long ago. A land of mist-filled bayous and swampy marshes where large lizard-like creatures rested below murky waters, their noses indistinguishable from the algaed logs that floated on the water's mirrored surface. He remembered riding past waving fields of green cane down roads shadowed by large oaks. Massive trees whose boughs were burdened with heavy drapes of greying moss.

Brown-skinned natives cooked pots of a steamy, fragrant soup, unpleasant to the eye but steeped with herbs and spices native to the locale. Served with boiled rice and sprinkled with ground sassafras, the muddy-coloured liquor of the stew thickened. It was an exotic blend of herbs, greens, and fishes, hot on the palate both in temperature and taste but filling and delicious.

The peoples of the land were as varied as the scenery. Some dark and mysterious like the swamps, others stately and wise as the oaks. But all were friendly in their way and gracious to beings foreign to their land.

He remembered most of all a quiet town on the banks of a wide river where he spent the night in a soft bed in a modest house. Where he was wined and dined by the shy mistress and her lord and master and entertained by a golden-haired lad young in years and heart. It never hurt to make friends in his travels and he was glad he had brightened the days of one he had met so long ago.

He rose from his spot underneath the shady tree and hailed one of his people to let them know of the imminent arrival of Lindir and the others. He would rest this night and tomorrow would listen to the news of the messenger. Then with himself and his troupe of merry elves refreshed, he would resume his happy, wandering life upon the road.

Feedback or comments on this story are welcome - email Mirasaui


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