Chapter 4

As Meereen walked through the morning light toward the Haladin camp as usual, an unusually relaxed atmosphere washed over him. The children's laughter grew louder, and the men polished their weapons with a rare joy. When Chief Barad saw him, a broad smile spread across his weathered face.

"Gurth-vir! Come!" Ballard called out in his newly learned, still awkward, words of Common. "Good things! Elves! Friendly elves!"

From Barad's excited description, peppered with Haladin words, Meereen learned that a hunting party had encountered a group of elves at the edge of the woodland further west. These elves, from the western coast, were friendly to the humans and even pointed out a safe campsite with abundant water. This news filled the entire Haladin tribe with joy.

"Elves...bonfire tonight!" Ballard struggled to express himself, his eyes gleaming with awe and anticipation.

Meereen's heart leaped. The elves, a race that existed only in legends and ballads, were about to appear before his eyes. He was filled with intense curiosity, yet also with an indescribable nervousness. The image of the elves, gilded in his heart by the legends, took on an almost sacred aura.

As night fell, the sky was dotted with stars, and the campfires at Haladin's camp burned brighter than ever. Food and wine were carefully laid out, and a silence filled the camp, a mixture of excitement, awe, and trepidation.

A clear, melodious sound, seemingly blending with the night wind, emanated from the edge of the forest. Then, as if blending into the starlight itself, several figures silently appeared at the intersection of light and shadow at the edge of the camp.

The leader rode a tall, majestic stallion with coats as bright as moonlight. As he rode his horse slowly into the glow of the campfire, the entire camp seemed to fall silent.

Meereen forgot to breathe.

Finrod Felagund, his beauty surpassed mortal imagination. His golden hair shone with the light of the moon, his features seemed sculpted by a master of moonlight and ivory, his eyes clear and deep like pools reflecting the stars. He wore robes the color of silver moons and a deep blue cloak embroidered with stars. He emanated a serene and noble aura, as if gathering the surrounding starlight. His attendants were equally handsome and distinguished.

The Haradin people bowed their heads and touched their chests in greeting. Ballard stepped forward and stammered a welcome.

Finrod dismounted gracefully, his movements smooth as flowing water. He responded kindly in the melodious Sindarin language, soothing the nervous Haladin. His eyes then fell on Meereen.

Among the rough, unadorned Haladin, Meereen stood out. He was a well-proportioned figure, his eyes filled with deep curiosity, keen observation, a calm composure, and a lingering melancholy. He stood there like a fragment of a star that had strayed from the earth.

At that moment, Finrod and the several elves who followed him, as they approached Meereen and their eyes fell upon him, felt an indescribable, visceral change. It was as if a stream of clear, sweet water silently flowed through their hearts, stained by the years and perhaps even the shadows of battle. The weariness of the long journey quietly dissipated, their spirits lifted, and a heartfelt, tranquil joy arose, as if pain and darkness had been temporarily pushed aside, leaving only peace and light. They all felt an inexplicable sense of comfort and ease, and their gazes toward Meereen became softer, even with a hint of fondness they hadn't yet realized. This strange feeling only deepened their curiosity about this unique young human.

Finrod's eyes flickered with intense interest as he took the initiative to walk towards Meereen.

"Suilad, hên. (Greetings, young man.)" Finrod greeted in Sindarin, his voice low and pleasant.

Meereen understood "Suilad", nodded slightly, and replied in the common words of Haladin: "Hello, noble elf." The pronunciation was awkward but clear.

Finrod switched to the slower, clearer Sindarin, using gestures. "I see you are different from them. Where do you come from? This forest seems to have welcomed you, yet it also trapped you."

Meereen struggled to understand, but Finrod's kindness and patience reassured him. He struggled to form words, interspersed with gestures, and described in fragments: coming from afar, falling, surviving in the forest, and the help of the Haladin, avoiding the core secret.

Finrod listened patiently, keenly sensing Meereen's unique understanding of nature and knowledge, as well as his underlying tenacity. When Meereen unconsciously drew intricate geometric patterns in the sand to explain the structure of the tree nest, Finrod's eyes lit up with genuine admiration.

"Your wisdom is like an uncut gem," Finrod praised softly, switching to beautiful Quenya. "Language is a bridge of communication and a key to wisdom. You long to understand the world, and I am willing to be the one to open that door for you. Will you learn the language of the Elves? Quenya or Sindarin?"

Meereen's heart beat wildly. Learning the Elven language! Touching the core secrets of the world! The temptation was immense. He looked into Finrod's sincere and wise eyes, his yearning for beauty and goodness overwhelming him. He nodded solemnly, "I... am willing. Very willing."

Over the following days, Finrod's group spent considerable time near the camp of Haladin. Each day, when Meereen arrived at the camp, Finrod would teach him. They would sit on rocks by the stream or by a starlit campfire. Finrod was a charismatic teacher, weaving Elven history, tales of the stars, and the geography of Middle-earth into his language instruction. Meereen absorbed his knowledge eagerly, his talent astonishing. From simple greetings, they gradually developed a basic and in-depth exchange. Meereen described the forest's flora and fauna, while Finrod spoke of the Western Sea, the glory of Valinor, and the Elves' love for the stars.

Every time Meereen approached, the elves felt a resurgence of that peaceful joy and dispelling of gloom, filling their teaching time not only with the brilliance of knowledge but also with a strange, intoxicating atmosphere of comfort. A true friendship quietly grew between the two souls. Finrod admired Meereen's intelligence, tenacity, and pure curiosity, while Meereen was deeply drawn to Finrod's wisdom, kindness, nobility, and love of knowledge. Finrod was like a warm, bright light, dispelling some of the gloom brought by the otherworldly trauma and loneliness in Meereen's heart.

When the day of departure arrived, the Haladin bid farewell to the Elves with gratitude. Finrod gave Meereen a gift: a small bottle carved from white, warm jade, intricately carved with vines, and sealed with a silver stopper.

"Melda hên," Finrod said in Quenya, his eyes gentle. "Herein lies the water of Nargothrond, pure and full of life. May it bring you comfort and strength when you are lonely or lost. Remember the starlight, remember our friendship. May the path guide you forward." He gently patted Meereen's shoulder. "When you become more proficient in the language, Nargothrond in the west welcomes you."

Meereen clutched the warm jade bottle tightly, his heart filled with gratitude and regret. He solemnly replied in Quenya: "Hantanyel, aran nín. (I thank you, my king.)"

Finrod and his companions rode away, their figures blending into the starlight of the forest, and distant music echoed in the air.

Meereen stayed at the Haladin camp for a while to calm his nerves. As darkness fell completely over the forest, he set out on the path back to the tree nest, carrying the alabaster jar and a heart full of thoughts. The warmth Finrod brought him and the shock of the elves' beauty filled him with a favorable impression of the elves, temporarily lowering his guard.

As he approached the tree nest, a faint, sweet, and decaying odor reached his nostrils. He immediately became alert. In the sparse starlight, he saw a few vibrant purple flowers and a few black leaves with eerie blue edges scattered on the ground below the tree nest. It was right on his path.

A trap, a poison trap, the method was insidious and hidden. Milin's heart sank. The feeling of being peeped in for days, and the strangely shaped animal carcasses near the residence, suddenly gave him the answer.

He approached cautiously, not touching. Concentrating his mind, he extended his thoughts. A faint warmth and an almost invisible silver glow emanated from his fingertips, brushing against the poisonous plants.

The small purple flowers quickly withered and turned black, turning into ashes. The blue light of the black leaves dimmed and disappeared, and the leaves curled up and scorched, turning the deadly trap into harmless residue.

Milin had just breathed a sigh of relief when a cold, hoarse voice, like the rustling of dead leaves, suddenly rang out from the dense shadows behind him: "Interesting. A mortal body can actually ignore my poison."

Milin's hair stood on end and he turned around suddenly, only to see a figure slowly separating from the shadow of the huge ancient tree.

This elf possessed the hallmark beauty of the elven race. He was tall and slender, his features chiseled from obsidian, his skin the cold white of long-sunless sunlight. In stark contrast to Finrod's radiance, akin to the radiance of the moon and stars, he wore a tight-fitting robe of deep dark green, as if woven from the shadows and twilight of the deepest forest. Over it lay a cloak of the same color, his hood casually pulled back, revealing long, raven-black, lusterless hair. His eyes, the color of the deepest forest lake on a moonless night, were dark and profound, gleaming with a cold, scrutinizing light, as if assessing the value of prey or examining some rare experiment. His mouth was habitually set in a cold, hard line, and he exuded a gloomy aura, like some indescribable bitter herb, that jarred with the vibrant energy of the forest.

It was those eyes! Milin was instantly certain that this was the presence that had been watching him from the shadows for days! That cold, evaluating gaze!

Fear instantly gripped his heart, his instincts clamoring for flight, but reason warned him that escape might be the most dangerous. He forced himself to stand still, staring at the man warily, his hand quietly tightening around the stone axe. Yet, the favorable impression Finrod had brought him toward the elves didn't completely fade; instead, a strange tug of war developed. The elf before him was undoubtedly dangerous, but his handsome appearance, his elven identity, and the mastery of poison revealed in his words, instilled in Meereen a wary curiosity alongside his own. What kind of elf was he? Why was he so different?

"Who are you?" Meereen asked in Sindarin, trying to keep his voice steady.

"Eol," the elf said simply, his voice cold and unwavering. He took a small step forward, his dark gaze sweeping across Meereen, lingering particularly on the hand he had just neutralized the poison. "A 'human' who can neutralize poison and rapidly heal wounds, what are you?" His tone was undisguised, a touch of curiosity and interest.

Milin's heart trembled. "I am just a lost man." He answered carefully.

"Lost?" Eol uttered a short, cold sneer, a look almost mocking on his handsome face. "Would Finrod Felagund condescend to teach a common lost man Quenya? Would he grant him the waters of Nargothrond?" His gaze was sharp as a knife, as if to pierce through the disguise of Meereen. "Your very existence is a mystery that should not exist in the border forests of Doriath."

Meereen was silent, and he could not explain.

Eol didn't seem to expect an answer. His dark gaze wandered over Meereen, his cold curiosity growing stronger. "I'm drawn to puzzles," he said slowly, his voice thick with metal. "Particularly those that involve ancient powers and defy convention. There's something special about you." He paused, as if savoring Meereen's reaction. "There's a light deep within your soul. A light, however faint, that can dispel shadows."

A chill ran down Meereen's spine, and at the same time, a slight tremor awoke in his heart at the strange description.

"I am not completely worthless to you." Eol changed the subject, a subtle, spider-silk-like allure in his voice. "I know the oldest secrets of this forest, the paths the stars never recorded, the language metal and gemstone sing in the darkness, and even how to make a fleeting life touch the edge of eternity."

He lifted his hard chin slightly and looked directly into Meereen's eyes. "And your 'trait' may open a new door for me. You thirst for knowledge, don't you? Finrod taught you the songs of light, but I," his lips seemed to curl up in an extremely tiny, cold arc, "can lead you to see the truth beyond the songs."

Meereen's heart raced. Eol's words had struck a chord. He thirsted for knowledge, especially knowledge that might explain himself and touch upon the very essence of the world. Finrod's teachings were like sweet spring water, but the "truth beyond song" Eol described was like forbidden fruit, gleaming alluringly in the darkness. His thirst for knowledge, mixed with a lingering fondness for his elven identity and a twisted curiosity, began to overwhelm his fear of Eol's danger. He needed to know more to understand and protect himself. Perhaps this dangerous elf truly could provide the answers Finrod could not?

"What... do you want?" Milin's voice was slightly shaken.

"Once a month," Eol's voice cut like a cold wire. "On the night of the new moon. Here. You bring your 'traits' for me to observe, and I share the knowledge you crave." His dark pupils shrank slightly. "Of course, this depends on your performance and my mood."

It was a dangerous undertaking, like walking on the edge of an abyss. But the balance within Meereen had already tipped. He took a deep breath, as if drawing in the forest's courage to combat the chilling air, and nodded. "Yes. On the night of the new moon."

Eol hummed with a hint of satisfaction, his voice devoid of emotion. He said nothing more, his figure swallowed by a thick shadow, silently retreating into the deeper darkness and disappearing.

Meereen stood alone in the silent forest, a chill running down his spine. The starlight and warmth brought by Finrod seemed still in his heart, the warm touch of the jade bottle in his palm, but Eol's cold shadow and seductive whispers had already entwined him like vines.