#white oliphaunt 2023

“And I’ll be the princess, and you can be my knight. But you can’t have serve any  Ladies other than me because Ammë wouldn’t like that. But you can be my protector, you know, so nothing evil will get to me. But they’ll probably have to eventually so you can rescue me.” Idril nodded firmly, bouncing up and down on her toes.

Turgon gave his daughter a wry smile. Occasionally Idril seemed to understand the severity and weight of their flight across the Ice. But other times, such as now, his daughter acted as if her mother was simply visiting a relative for afternoon tea. She was just so young to have experienced everything she had. If playing this silly game gave Idril even a measure of normalcy, Turgon was more than willing.

“Why can’t I be the princess and you be the knight?”

Idril considered this. “Well, I suppose you could be, but I don’t want to be a warrior, and I don’t think you’d make a very good princess, anyway.” She paused and added, “Sorry, Atya.”

“Aww,” he said but grinned to ensure she knew he was jesting. “All right. What are you the princess of, then?”

Idril gave him a look that only a few small elflings could have managed, the one that eloquently expressed just how completely dense she thought grown-ups were. “Nevarast, of course. What a silly question.”

“Well, you could be the princess of all of Beleriand if you wanted, my dear. Like – whatever her name is. The maia’s daughter.”

“Luthien,” Idril supplied promptly. “I hope I get to meet her someday. A real princess. I think we could be very good friends.”

“Who said that you aren’t a real princess?”

“Of course, I’m not a real princess, silly. I’d have to marry a prince, or you would have to be a king.” Idril nearly rolled her eyes, a gesture that she had to have learned from Aredhel. “I just like to pretend to be a princess.”

“But you are a princess,” Turgon said almost enthusiastically. “Your great grandfather was High King of the Ñoldor in Aman.”

“Atar,” said Idril, surprisingly high-handed for her tender years, “This doesn’t have anything to do with our game.”

“I beg my lady’s pardon,” Turgon said and dropped his head in wounded supplication. 

“We’re starting,” Idril announced and struck a pose. “Lord-“ another pause. “Would I call you Lord Turukáno or Lord Atya?”

“Lord Turukáno is fine.”

“All right. Lord Turukáno, then, approach the throne? ---this is the throne,” she said, pointing at the chest she perched on top of. “So that you know.”

“Of course,” Turgon said and approached the throne and knelt – even if he was still several heads taller than his daughter this way. “My lady.” he adopted his most officious voice, something similar to his father’s or grandfather’s, and Idril giggled – “What is your pleasure this day?”

“Good,” she said, pleased, “You’re good at this – I mean. You are meant to report back on the success of your quest.”

“My quest? What was my quest?” Turgon looked up briefly with a perplexed smile. Idril frowned at him.

“I don’t know, you make it up! I shouldn’t have to do everything.”

“Oh,” he said. “I only thought you might have had something in mind-“

“You’re breaking up the story!”

“Sorry.” Turgon ducked his dark head down again. “My – quest, my lady. Of course. The quest – succeeded admirably, though our brave comrade Lord – Lord Laurefindil has-“

“What about me?”

Idril squeaked, then jumped, then beamed. “Glorfindel! I mean – Lord Laurefindil, you may approach the throne – I’m sitting on it. You can be a knight, too! I’ll knight you. Queens can do that, right?”

“I thought you were a princess,” Turgon murmured, offering Glorfindel a glance that said please play along. 

“Well, princesses probably can, too,” Glorfindel allowed. “And what happened to me? What’s this quest?”

“You were mortally wounded,” Turgon said humorlessly, “And I’m getting to the quest's purpose. Try to look a little more mortally wounded, Laure.” Glorfindel promptly flopped to the floor. Idril giggled again. “Now. Our brave comrade Lord Laurefindil has been gravely wounded, but we have brought back the – the rare wild kittens, even though the savage Laiquendi did their best to stop us. Their weapons were no match for our speed and skill.”

“And modesty, too,” Glorfindel murmured, Turgon scowled at him.

“A kitten?” Idril asked. “Why would I want a kitten?”

“Because you like them, Itarildë ” Turgon exclaimed sheepishly and more than a little exasperated. “It was the first thing I could think of. You still like kittens, don’t you?”

“Oh,” Idril said, “All right,” and promptly readjusted to her role. “Say not so, brave Lord Turukáno! Never should our knights have to pay for their bravery with their lives.” She snuck a look sideways. “But he’ll be okay, right?”

“My lady,” Glorfindel announced from his place on the floor- wiggling away from Turgon’s boot when he huffed at Glorfindel’s actions– “The balm of your tears would heal any wound.” Idril stared at him blankly for a few moments and then brightened.

“Oh – oh! Of course, Lord Turukáno-“

“Very formal,” Glorfindel offered, sounding amused.

“Be quiet. You’re supposed to be at death’s door.”

“Does death have a door?”

“Lord Turukáno, I thank you for the wisdom of your council. Now, if only the Valar will help me save this worthy knight!” Idril hopped off the chest and hurried over to Glorfindel, where she sat cross-legged and pretended to cry.

She stopped a few moments later and poked Glorfindel’s shoulder. “Fin? –I mean, Lord Laurefindil?”

Turgon didn’t realize he was holding his breath until he let it out when one of Glorfindel’s blue eyes opened slowly, then the other, and then he was blinking and lifting one hand to his brow as though he were horribly faint. “—my lady,” he said in a voice that was nearly a perfect facsimile of their cousin Canafinwë. Idril jumped to her feet, clapping her hands.

“It worked! It worked!” She pranced over to where Turgon was still kneeling and kissed his cheek. “My brave, brave lords! You are the best knights ever, and if I do marry a prince, then you’ll be my guard all the time.”

“Of course, my love, Turgon said patiently. “That’s just how it’ll always go.”

“Did I walk into something I shouldn’t have?” Glorfindel murmured from the floor, and Turgon shot him a look while Idril scrambled back onto the cedar chest.

“Just go with it,” Turgon mouthed, and Idril knocked her knuckles on the chest.

“Are you listening, Atya- Lords Turukáno and Laurefindil?”