Far Horizons - Beginnings

The maps indicated that the land went on, but detail was singularly lacking. 

‘Why?’ Glorfindel asked with some exasperation.  ‘Even if you had no desire whatsoever to extend your holdings in that direction, surely you would have wished to know what was there!’

‘There are mountains high enough to be snow-capped,’ the representative of the High King shrugged, ‘and beyond them there is forest, through which winds a river wide enough to be seen from a distance.  There was no reason to seek further.  We have land enough and the sea.  Our resources are plentiful.  One day, perhaps, we would have chosen to explore – but, as it is, these lands seem to be meant for you. Our lords have consulted and the Valar are agreed.’

Elrond ran his fingers across the scroll before him.  ‘It is hard to know,’ he said. ‘There is little enough information on the space available – and nothing on the terrain, or the soil or the type of forest.’

‘We have done this before, Elrond,’ Thranduil told him somewhat impatiently. ‘Celeborn – and his lady,’ he added more grudgingly, ‘and you and many others among our peoples have seen our refuges torn down and moved on into the unknown only to start again.’

‘We have fled our homes in chaos, one step ahead of death,’ Celeborn pointed out, his voice cool, ‘and sought safety, only to be driven on to other temporary havens before finding sanctuary.  There is no need for that here.’

‘I will go,’ Glorfindel offered. ‘I will take selected elves with me to see if this place is suitable and prepare it for those who would join us.’

‘We will say nothing yet.  Any group must be gathered carefully, my friend, for it would be unwise to let this information spread freely,’ Elrond suggested.  ‘Let us first investigate this generous offer, so that we might know if these lands will sustain us.  Once we have seen this place, we will be better able to know how many will be needed in the first instance and how many may follow later.’

‘We are looking to build three realms?’ Celeborn asked dubiously.

‘As you have not invited my son to be present as Lord of Ithilien,’ Thranduil remarked somewhat frostily, ‘or, indeed, any representatives at all from Mithlond, I think that is probably so.’

Celeborn raised his eyebrows.  ‘I am inclined to consider that it would be wise to work to establish, in the first instance, a single central way-station, cousin,’ he insisted.  ‘And I believe that would be the most sensible option.  We will have time in plenty to expand.’

The representative sighed.  It seemed unlikely, he felt, that the lords of Middle Earth would be able to overcome their squabbles for long enough for them to achieve anything.  Although their words were not actively unfriendly, there was an edge beneath them that hinted at ages of rivalry.  ‘I have fulfilled my king’s command to bring you his suggestion, my lords,’ he concluded.  ‘I will leave you to your discussions.’  He bowed courteously, withdrawing a step or two before turning away and leaving them to it.

Elrond pressed his fingers to his temples.  ‘My lords!’ he said.  ‘Please. We will achieve nothing if we persist in these petty disagreements.  We have not asked Legolas to be here, Thranduil, for the same reasons that my sons are ignorant of our actions.  When there is something to say, we will involve them then. One realm, two, or five – it is too early for extended discussions on our ultimate goals.  We are currently assessing the potential.’

After a moment of fulminating silence, Thranduil nodded abruptly. ‘We need to organise ourselves,’ he admitted. ‘It is essential, nevertheless, for each to know where he stands – it will save arguments later.  Yet I am prepared to declare that I find the thought of any journey infinitely preferable to an age of marking time.’

Galadriel watched them from where she sat, turned away to the window, embroidery untouched in her lap.  It took a considerable amount of her well developed self-control to prevent her from joining them at the table, but she knew that, although Celeborn and Elrond would welcome her and Glorfindel would accept her without question, Thranduil would look on her participation as interference and this was no time to make matters more difficult than they were already, especially since she could make her point to her husband when she wished, with none the wiser.

‘Patience,’ Celeborn told her silently, his mental voice amused.

She closed her eyes and sent him an image of a grotesquely pulled face.  ‘I am being patient,’ she thought. ‘I am being so patient that I am about to scream.  You have spent three hours going over ground that was decided in the first three minutes.’

‘This is important, my lady,’ he said, adding with irony.  ‘It will be worth our small sacrifice of time.’

She sighed; then, assessing the mood of the assembled elves, rose and slipped quietly from the room to request food and wine, returning with several elves bearing trays of swiftly prepared snacks and full decanters. 

Thranduil nodded curtly as she poured wine into his goblet.  He was no fool, whatever she might think.  He did not believe for a moment that she would hold herself aloof from the negotiations being undertaken and he, in fact, felt a little insulted that she could believe that her silence made any difference to his understanding of her position.  ‘Do we have you to thank for this offer, my lady?’ he asked pointedly.

She looked at him in enquiry, but remained quiet.

‘The High King is your adar, Lady Galadriel,’ he elaborated. ‘Have you requested this of him on the behalf of we displaced elves of Arda?’

She smiled.  ‘Are you insinuating, my lord,’ she replied, her voice light, but honey-sweet, ‘that Finarfin is so keen to put space between us that he is willing to grant us sovereignty over lands so distant that he has not even seen them?’

Thranduil restrained his first urge to state that he would so choose, congratulating himself on his ability to be diplomatic when it was necessary.  ‘No, my lady,’ he said with exaggerated courtesy.  ‘But it is not impossible that he would consider your needs and that of your family to be of importance to him and seek out a way to grant you the independence to which you are accustomed.’

‘My adar is a good king and both wise and kindly,’ she told him, a tinge of wistful sadness in her tone.  ‘He does his best for all within the Blessed Realm.  I think he knows that we need the challenge of developing our own domains to help us heal and settle here in our hearts.’

Celeborn watched his wife as she glanced round to assure herself that all present were served, before turning and leaving the room, closing the door softly behind her.

‘She regrets the length and nature of their division,’ he said simply, meeting his cousin’s eyes.  ‘It is too easy to allow the face she shows to compel belief in her indestructibility – but there is more to her than that.’  

Without waiting for a response, he turned back to the map in front of them.

It was dark and the stars were studding the velvet sky, when, finally, they rolled up the map and sat back with their initial plan of action outlined.  Galadriel had not returned and her husband was slightly concerned that she had not expressed any interest in the development of the debates.  It was unlike her to accept willingly the decisions of others in matters that involved the well-being of any in her care and he was surprised at her continued absence.

Celeborn lifted a decanter and offered it to those at the table.  ‘It is well, I think,’ he said neutrally.  ‘We should make a good start.’

‘I shall enjoy investigating the opportunities offered beyond the mountains,’ Glorfindel replied with relish.  ‘And I agree that it is wise to draw on the range of experience offered by all realms.  The party need not, after all, be restricted as to size – the need for discretion is at this end.  Those named are noted for their skills – not just as warriors and scouts, but foresters and farmers, geologists and botanists, builders and healers.  They are all unattached and known to enjoy travel, so they should also be able to slip away for some months without causing conjecture. Among us all we should be able to ensure that decisions are made wisely.’

‘I wish that I, too, could go.’ Elrond spoke wistfully.  ‘It does not seem right to delegate such a matter – even to you, old friend.’

Thranduil’s glance was fierce. ‘You are not the only one, Earendilion.  This is one journey that it will not be easy to miss – even though it would be difficult to take part without revealing all.’

‘It would be observed,’ Celeborn said reluctantly, ‘observed and commented on and lead to wild speculation.’

‘It is no good,’ Glorfindel told them with mock sympathy. ‘You will just have to trust me.’

A tap at the door was followed by the entrance of a soberly dressed elf, who usually carried messages across distances greater than that between library and dining room. ‘Lady Galadriel suggests that you join her for dinner, my lords,’ he said simply, stepping back and closing the door after him as he withdrew.

‘I should return home,’ Thranduil remarked. ‘There is no need to continue our discussions at this time.’

Elrond quirked an eyebrow. ‘Join us, Thranduil,’ he insisted. ‘The conversation might drift over a range of topics.  I would not like to have you think we are making choices in your absence.’

‘We cannot spend all our time in each other’s company simply to prevent the possibility of private conversation,’ the Woodland King answered dryly.  ‘People will start to talk.’

‘Nevertheless, join us.’  Celeborn smiled as he requested his cousin to remain. ‘It is inevitable that there will be friction among us at some stage,’ he said, ‘but let us at least commence in harmony.’  

***

‘Did you not feel the need to discover what decisions have been made?’ Celeborn asked his lady curiously, after their guests had left.

She looked at him mischievously, her eyes dancing.  ‘I had no need, my lord,’ she told him.

‘Your gift of foresight?’ he enquired, slightly disapproving.

‘No, Celeborn,’ she laughed aloud. ‘My gift of seeing the obvious.  You have said and agreed nothing beyond what was stated within an hour of the discussion’s start.  It is a good idea; it is a little suspicious that the offer should be made; more needs to be known; you will work together – at least until you start to drive each other insane; Glorfindel will take carefully chosen experts to view the lands and develop a plan.  Am I right?’

He turned to her, drawing close and reaching out to touch her cheek.  ‘Perhaps,’ he remarked. ‘Perhaps not – I am not prepared to say.’  He slid a hand round her waist and held her firmly. ‘You will have to ask,’ he murmured as his mouth sought hers.

‘I can think of better things to do,’ she whispered, tangling her fingers in his silver hair, ‘than search out secrets that you will tell me anyway.’

‘My cousin can be very tiresome,’ he added, lifting his head. ‘I do not know what he thinks to achieve by excluding you.’  He turned her to guide her towards their rooms, his arm still clasping her.

‘He is lonely,’ she shrugged.  ‘It is a shame that his wife has not yet returned from the Halls of Mandos.  She was good for him.’

‘I wonder why she has not,’ her husband mused. ‘There are numerous elves who returned to greet their families as they landed.’

‘There are many,’ Galadriel said dryly, ‘who harbour unworthy suspicions and mutter among themselves about the wife of the Woodland King.’

‘Foolishness,’ Celeborn snapped. ‘Have they nothing better to do than spread vicious slander?’

‘Clearly not.  Yet it is hard to understand why some return, and others do not.’

‘Whenever I think I have worked it out, something will prove me wrong,’ the lord admitted.  ‘I have thought it is to do with the level of shock suffered by the victim prior to death – but it is guesswork and takes no account of the return of such as Glorfindel.’

‘It will help Thranduil to have this new venture to plan,’ his wife remarked. ‘He will enjoy setting us all by the ears.’

‘There are far better reasons for this, my love, than providing my cousin with entertainment. It will be worthwhile for all our peoples, be sure of that.’

Far Horizons 2 – Afield

Glorfindel eased himself in the saddle.  It was a long time since he had spent the best part of a week on horseback and he owned to himself regretfully that he should perhaps have spent rather more time getting himself in shape for the journey.  Supplies, assembly points for meeting others of the group, outline maps, specifications for suitable sites – all those things were important, but if he found, when they set up camp, that he was too saddle sore to ride on the morrow, his so-far efficient use of time would have been wasted.  Riding for a couple of hours in good conditions was no preparation for this.

‘My lord?’  Rindor enquired politely.

‘How much further are we planning to go today?’ he was asked.

‘In the region of an hour’s ride.  We are reaching the edge of the cultivated lands where we are due to join with a group who have come from further north.’  Rindor glanced at the golden-haired elf. ‘We are intending to take a rest day tomorrow, my lord, before we ride out into the area at the foothills of the mountains used mainly by hunting parties. The intention is that the schedules can be discussed and the new members of the team may have their roles clarified to them.’

Glorfindel sighed.  Grateful as he would be for the respite, he had not realised quite how tedious aspects of this venture would be.  He had already spent more hours in discussion than he cared to recall and it looked as if there would be many more.  Just for a moment he was aware of a wave of wistfulness for the simplicity of riding on patrol to defend the borders of Imladris.

‘I wish Elrond had been able to come,’ he said, half to himself.

‘Indeed, my lord,’ Rindor agreed with a heartfelt simplicity that brought a broad smile to the other’s face.

‘Do you lack faith in me?’ Glorfindel grinned as the aide became slightly flustered. ‘I am not entirely devoid of experience, you know.’

Rindor re-assumed the deadpan expression that he considered suitable for his position. ‘No, indeed, my lord,’ he said, refusing the opportunity to get involved in any debate about the level and range of skills displayed by the Balrog slayer.

Glorfindel turned to look at him seriously, wincing slightly as his movement reminded him of his desire to spend some time away from his horse.  ‘You are going to have to learn to use words other than ‘yes’, ‘no’, and ‘indeed’, Rindor,’ he remarked.  ‘And the sooner you stop concluding every sentence with ‘my lord’, the better pleased I will be.  We will be spending a considerable amount of time in each other’s company – and it will be much better if we are comfortable.’

‘Yes, my lord.’

As he started to roll up his eyes in exasperation, Glorfindel registered an undertone in the other’s voice that made him look instead into the pale face.  He lifted an eyebrow. ‘Maybe I will be able to survive your company after all, Rindor,’ he commented.

He turned his head to inspect the countryside through which they were now riding.  They had passed through the neat and ordered garden belt, where much of the farmland burgeoned, productive under the gentle sun.  Rambling farming communities had given way to smaller areas of housing, where elves grouped their homes at favoured spots among rolling green hills dotted with sheep.  Glorfindel found it interesting to observe numbers of elves involved in activities he customarily associated with Men.  Although food production had always, naturally, been a part of elven life, he could not recall it on the scale which it appeared to have assumed here.  But then, he mused, there had long been no need to expend their own energy in crop-growing. Their numbers had been too small and the goods too easy to obtain by trade. Here, of course, there had to be those willing to invest their labour in its production.  And that, he reminded himself, was something that had to be borne in mind when adding information to that irritatingly blank map.  It would be a serious error to set up new homes in places that could not sustain the elves who were looking to follow his choice.

The site chosen for their rest was clearly a regular stopping place, providing fresh water, sufficient shelter from the nearby group of trees and enough open space to pitch tents if necessary. Rindor recognised some of the figures by fires already supporting cooking pots, from which were coming savoury smells that reminded him how long it had been since he had eaten.  He hoped that the new arrivals had thought to cook in a quantity large enough to satisfy the dozen or so elves in Glorfindel’s party.

The elf lord grimaced as he dismounted.  ‘You would think,’ he remarked, ‘that after all these years the pungency of the smell that accompanies such expeditions would remain in my head, yet it is the first thing I forget.  I am tired, stiff, greatly in need of a hot bath – and all I can smell is smoke and sweat and the fragrance of horse.’

‘And stew, my lord,’ Rindor pointed out, his belly giving an involuntary gurgle.

‘Ah yes – and someone else’s dinner,’ Glorfindel agreed, removing the tack from his mount and setting about grooming him and checking his hooves before freeing him to graze nearby.

‘Welcome, Lord Glorfindel,’ a familiar voice greeted him.  ‘Would you care for a mug of wine while we await our meal?’

Glorfindel turned slowly. ‘Haldir?’ he said.  ‘I was not aware that you were joining us.’

‘My lord sent me a message,’ the former march warden of Lothlorien smiled. ‘He felt this was just the kind of project to appeal to me.  Experienced scouts from all the elven havens of Middle Earth were required – and I am nothing if not an experienced scout.’

‘I am glad to see you,’ Glorfindel said simply. He indicated the elf beside him. ‘Rindor,’ he said.  ‘Elrond has instructed him to dog my steps, recording everything I do whilst insisting I sign innumerable pieces of paper, so that the written record might remain complete.’

The two elves eyed each other critically.  Haldir was not inclined to think that a clerk would make a very satisfactory contribution to the project.  Paperwork was, he supposed, necessary, but those who produced it tended to take it up only because they were incompetent in more useful fields.  Rindor, on the other hand, was very familiar with the name of the march warden, but what he had heard was disinclined to give him much confidence in Haldir’s practical good sense.  A tendency to think with his weapons and work out the kinks later, or so the product of Elrond’s training had heard.  Useful in a fight, but not one to work in a consistent and disciplined manner according to a pre-arranged plan.   

Glorfindel was reminded of two dogs sniffing round each other suspiciously and his eyes brightened.  Perhaps there would be more entertainment in this situation than he had suspected.

‘Did I hear that you have planned to feed us?’ he said hopefully.  ‘I find that I am quite looking forward to a meal. A full plate and mug would make a pleasing end to the day. And if tomorrow is to be spent in talk, I would appreciate an evening catching up with old friends.’

‘Come.  Join us,’ offered the elf of Lothlorien.  ‘My lord warned me that you Imladris elves would need support on this venture.  I am glad we are able to help you.’

‘Just be grateful Elladan and Elrohir have not come with us,’ Glorfindel said. ‘Be sure that they would make you pay for such comments.  I, of course, am far too mature to take exception to your words.’

‘Where are they?’ Haldir enquired. ‘I confess to a touch of relief when I saw they were absent from you company.  It is difficult to challenge you properly knowing that they are my lord’s grandsons – I almost feel an obligation to keep them from harm.’

Glorfindel ran through a series of hair-raising encounters in his mind. ‘If,’ he said, ‘you have been keeping them from harm, I dread to think of what you might have done to them had you wished to make them suffer.’  Haldir shrugged as he continued, ‘They are busy with adult responsibilities – they have presented Elrond with daughters-in-law and made him a daeradar.  He chose not to involve them in this matter yet.’

A slow smile crossed Haldir’s face.  ‘I wish I had known,’ he grinned. ‘I would have come to visit.  It would have given me a great deal of amusement to watch those two dangling on the hooks of domesticity.’

The evening darkened, the shot silk of the sky fading to velvet and the mellow air freshening as a light breeze rose, causing the smoke of the fires to drift across the clearing.  The elf lord lifted his head to gaze on the stately dance of the stars, as he allowed his mind to go over the agenda for the following day.  The main problem, he felt, would be amalgamating the different groups: specialists and experts, practical workers and trained warriors.  He allowed himself a silent laugh.  It would be more than difficult, he decided – impossible, perhaps.  Abandoning his thoughts and consciously relaxing his tired muscles he allowed himself to drift along the dream path.

Looking round the group of elves the following morning, Glorfindel found that he recognised quite a few faces.  Not just among those from Imladris, who had accompanied him along the road so far, and some of whom had served under his direction for centuries, but also many of the contingent from Lothlorien and even some of those from Lasgalen were familiar:  battle hardened, experienced elves who would be valuable assistants and whom he could trust to work together harmoniously, even as he knew they would take every chance to tease each other when off duty.  Other faces were unknown – and uncertain.  It had never been wise or necessary to involve civilians in expeditions before, although no such excursion as this had been required in more than an age.  He found he was more doubtful about some here – but only time would tell if his instincts were correct.

He smiled at them, bright, charming, easy – a great lord, worthy of respect, but not one to fear.  ‘You know why we are here,’ he told them.  ‘We have been chosen to seek out new lands for those of our people who wish to accompany us.  We are looking for the closest thing to perfection – we have time and space enough to choose carefully and wisely. We have among us the mix of skills needed to ensure that we avoid obvious errors, but only by working together will we succeed in finding the best.  As yet,’ he continued seriously, ‘we know little of each other.  If we are to do what we should, we must spend this journey time learning to overcome any assumptions we may have carried with us from the past and discovering what each of us can offer to this mission.’  He paused.  ‘Is there anything that any here would wish to know?’

An immediate hush greeted his enquiry.  Typically, the muttering of which he had been aware the previous evening silenced the moment permission was given to speak.  Glorfindel waited, in the certain knowledge that some of those present knew how to nudge the restless into speech.

‘I have a question,’ Haldir drawled.  ‘Is Imladris leading this quest?’

Glorfindel smiled to himself.  Trust Haldir, he thought to be challenging even as he co-operated.  ‘Certainly not,’ he replied earnestly.  ‘I have been selected by Elrond, certainly, but also by Lord Celeborn and King Thranduil to be in overall charge, but I have no desire to spend every moment controlling your movements.  Command of different tasks will certainly be delegated – for example, I have every intention of asking you to take control of the scouts.  Rindor will organise record-keeping – I would offer the duty elsewhere, but I doubt that anyone else wishes for that role.  From information that Thranduil and Celeborn have given me, I believe that Aelindor would be the wisest choice to direct the foresters in their investigations.  Other suggestions have been made by your lords, who know you best – and yet others will be made as time shows which among you is most suited to take up which duty.’

Other questions came thick and fast.  Some were simple matters of fact, easy to answer; others required the careful wording of responses that might prove contentious.  On the whole, Glorfindel felt quite pleased at the quality of the elves he had been given to lead, but by the time he drew the session to a close, suggesting that everyone needed a break to think over what had been said and take some refreshment, he was exhausted. 

The meeting had proved, as he had suspected it would, less than easy, but it had also been illuminating.  It was not that the participants had different aims, but more that they had completely disparate ways of working – and of measuring success.  He would have little difficulty with the warriors – they were accustomed to doing as they were told, so that the rivalries between the elves of different realms would be minimised.  He could control those from Imladris and he knew that Haldir would be able to keep his small contingent in hand.  Thranduil’s warriors – well, they were a disciplined group.  He scarcely knew their leader, but Vondil seemed a sensible elf.  He rather thought that the farmers and foresters would take their lead from the warriors, but to his mind, the problem would come with the technical experts.  More – if his instincts were correct, the main problem would be with one particular elf.

‘What is your opinion?’ he asked his aide as he watched him expand his rough notes into the paper record being drawn up for the unfortunate lords compelled to sit at home and wait.

Rindor paused for a moment and looked up, answering shortly. ‘Neldin.’

‘Neldin?’

‘You were asking me who would be the most likely one to cause difficulties, were you not?  It will be Neldin.  He has already ruffled feathers this morning and we have scarcely had time to get beyond greetings.  He appears to be on the defensive – and he certainly does not seem to care for Nintaur.  Perhaps he could shed some light on the matter – they share a specialism, after all, and may have met before.’

Glorfindel nodded.  ‘I begin to see why Elrond appointed you,’ he remarked.  ‘There is more to you than neat handwriting.’

‘Why, thank you, my lord,’ Rindor said, infusing sufficient fulsome gratitude in his tone to make Glorfindel grin.  It was heartening to think that this journey might lead to him finding a good friend as well as providing him with the exciting prospect of valuable work.

‘Have you not finished with that yet?’ he asked. ‘If you do not hurry there will be nothing left for you to eat.  We can always make up the records later.  Come.’

Far Horizons 3 – At Home

Galadriel was quite clearly in a towering rage.  Even before she came through the door, Celeborn could sense the sparks flying and he was aware that everyone close enough to feel her mood had made a point of getting out of her way.  For a moment he considered following their example, but then he changed his mind.  If he had learned one thing about his wife, it was that her anger should never be allowed to fester. Bleed her of her fury and she would be able to laugh about it and take a more balanced view of its cause.  Let her brood and the results could be centuries of resentment.

‘And what has put you in one of your moods?’ he asked as he rose to greet her, his words deliberately anything but conciliatory.

Her eyes flashed blue fire and her golden flow of hair seemed to have developed a life of its own.  She was beautiful, he thought admiringly – dangerous, but beautiful. It was no wonder that her parents had not been able to subdue this aspect of her character.  As an elfling, and, at that, a little elleth at the tail end of a series of sons, she must have seemed delightful even in her temper.  By the time they realised what a tigress they had raised, it would have been too late to curb her.  Only long ages of self-discipline had enabled her to show a calm and reasonable face to the world.  He supposed he should feel honoured that, with him, she was able to expose her frailties. Only, sometimes, it did not feel like an honour.

‘I came that close,’ she told him through clenched teeth, shaking a hand with thumb and forefinger held with no discernable gap between them, ‘that close to slapping your obnoxious cousin across his offensive mouth.’

Thranduil, he thought.  He should have known. ‘I suspect it is just as well you did not,’ he replied.  ‘He is quite likely to have slapped you back.’

She seemed unexpectedly taken aback.  ‘He would not!’ she said and paused before adding menacingly. ‘He would not dare!’

Her husband smiled to see her distracted.  Lanced, he told himself with satisfaction. Now her anger was leaking away, he should be able to find out what had happened.  ‘I do not see why he would not,’ he mused.  ‘You are no simpering maid. If you hit him, he should have a right to retaliate.’

She stared at him through narrowed eyes, before deciding to drop the subject.  ‘I have tried,’ she informed him.  ‘As you requested, I have tried to appease him.  I have held back from your discussions, I have put forward no ideas, I have been behaving like an inoffensive, well-brought-up lady, no more and no less – and he is driving me insane.  I am not going to make any more effort with him.  He will have to accept me as I am.’

‘It is not like you, my lady, to give up so easily after such a small space of time.’ 

‘He called me a hypocrite, my lord.  He suggested that I was sneaking around behind everyone’s back trying to ensure that I would get my own way – but that I did not fool him.  I have grown weary of tolerating his impertinence.’

Celeborn threw back his head and laughed out loud.  ‘You should see the pair of you – like cats, hackles raised, hissing and scratching at each other.  It is ridiculous!  Continue your squabbles if you will.  It will give us all something at which to laugh.’  He approached her confidently and drew her down beside him on a sofa. ‘Your enmity affords your grandsons considerable entertainment – why should we not extend the pleasure to the rest of our acquaintance.’

Silenced, she looked at him, before, almost involuntarily lifting a gentle finger to run it over the finely braided hair above his ear.  ‘You are a cruel husband, my lord,’ she said.

‘And you are an outrageous wife, my lady.  I am the object of much pity.’

‘I fear that is probably true,’ she admitted, as he turned her chin towards him and moved deliberately to bring his mouth to hers.

‘It is misplaced,’ he insisted. ‘I married a redoubtable warrior, true, in the guise of a fair princess, but I fail to see why that should be something to regret. If Thranduil refuses to see your strengths, then that is his loss.’

She rested her head briefly on his shoulder. ‘It is so infuriating,’ she sighed.

‘May I return to my work now?’ he asked after a few moments.  ‘If you have quite recovered from your tantrum, that is.   You now have to go and coax our attendants from their hiding places or we will have no dinner tonight.’

‘Celebrian is coming,’ she said with clear pleasure.  ‘She is bringing Elrond and our grandchildren.’

‘In which case it will be important to have food prepared,’ he suggested. ‘They will not want to have to count on your skills to provide a meal.’

She ran her fingers along his jaw.  ‘You are quite as rude as your cousin,’ she complained. ‘I do not know why I do not find you equally irritating.’   The knowing look in his eyes was enough to make a faint flush stain her cheeks as she rose.  ‘Carry on with your papers if you must. I will see you later.’

She had clearly managed to placate the staff, he thought, as he looked with satisfaction at his family gathered round an elegantly laden table.  It was for this that he had finally persuaded himself to take ship and, at moments like this, he could not understand why he had waited so long.  Seeing Celebrian bright-eyed and mischievous leaning towards a relaxed, unburdened Elrond was worth the journey in itself.  His love for his daughter held an unchanging strength that warmed him when other fires faltered and at least a part of his dread of these lands was that she might not have found the healing she sought.  But there was more to his current content than that, he admitted.  He had grown accustomed to the wary defensiveness of his grandsons, to their dull expectation of being hurt, and to look at their faces; light, open, full of joy, was to see them as they should always have been.  He could thank their wives for that, he thought. No longer were they enduring the unrelenting pressure of dwelling in a dying land: they had been freed.  And then – there was Galadriel.  He smiled as he looked at her – cool, elegant, authoritative: who would see in her the hot-tempered, demanding, intelligent, ferociously independent lover and wife who had been keeping him on his toes throughout more years than he could count?  He had been astonished when he learned how deeply she had grieved for his absence and he was still amazed by the wholeheartedness of her welcome for him.

‘Well, Elrond?’ he asked finally, as his grandsons were cracking nuts between their fingers.  ‘Have you spoken to your sons?’

‘I have,’ he said, fingering the stem of his wine glass, twisting it and admiring the way the light caught the deep red wine.

Elladan looked at him, his expression enthusiastic and his eyes brilliant.  ‘Our own lands!’ he said.  ‘It is an opportunity not to be missed.  I only wish that Glorfindel had taken us with him – it does not seem right to be left out at this stage.’

‘Neither would it be right to deprive your son of his adar or your wife of her husband,’ his daeradar pointed out.

‘There will be time in plenty,’ Elrond added.  ‘We are not in the position of having to rush.  You and your family will undoubtedly be able to travel later, when the site is chosen and the environment more suitable.’

‘Can you see Elladan sitting peacefully at home whilst others have the fun, though?’ Miriwen laughed. ‘I would not wish to be the cause of his torment.  I am sure there will be need of envoys to travel back and forth.  If you wish me to survive, please allow my husband to be among them!’

Elrohir’s face showed clearly that, despite his reluctance to be apart from his wife, he, too, wished to be part of the project.  His wife smiled at him and took his hand.  ‘I must agree,’ she said softly. ‘Elrohir needs to share in this.  I will miss him when he is away, but I cannot keep him at home. It would be selfish.’

Celebrian smiled.  ‘It does seem a satisfactory compromise,’ she agreed. ‘You cannot leave home indefinitely – you are needed – but, if you liaise between us and the expedition, you will be able to involve yourself in both ends of the project.’

‘However, although it is possible that you will be required to visit Glorfindel and his team, there are many others who can carry messages.  From you, my sons, we ask for more,’ Elrond said, knowing that his words were likely to be received with less enthusiasm.  ‘This matter will take organisation – and we need to bring more people into that aspect of the scheme.  You are no longer elflings, but lords of your people.  Your main role in this task will not involve exploration, but will have to be that of managing others.’

Galadriel laughed as Elladan gazed at his adar in silent, open-mouthed horror. 

‘Adar!’ moaned Elrohir. ‘It is one thing to manage warriors, but it is quite another to have to work on something of this size.  There will be all sorts of things – personnel, food, building materials, trading agreements, equipment, stock – and that is just what occurs to me instantly!’

‘I can see you will be of value to us, my daerion,’ Celeborn remarked.  ‘You clearly have a good head for this.’

‘Just as I clearly do not,’ Elladan said hopefully.  ‘I will be of far more use elsewhere.’

The glance his brother threw him was full of disgust.  ‘Thank you, my twin.  You have my support, too.’

‘Neither of you will escape,’ Galadriel informed them.  ‘You have rested long enough. It is time for your lives to develop purpose.’ 

‘Legolas said we would not evade this trap,’ complained Elladan.  ‘We knew that his adar would insist on him slaving away as his right hand, but we were hopeful that you would see us as being suited to other roles.’

Elrond shook his head and smiled at his sons with genuine amusement. ‘I have been too easy on you both.  You, Elrohir, have been working as my aide for some time – and you will continue in that task.  Elladan – your daeradar will be availing himself of your doubtful assistance.’

‘A major part of your role, Elladan and Elrohir, will be to develop links with the son of Thranduil,’ their daeradar consoled them.  ‘We need to work as a team in this, if we are to achieve the greatest success, and we feel that you are probably essential to that aim.’

‘Are you displaying low cunning here, my lord?’ Galadriel looked at her husband, a slightly cynical expression apparent.

Celebrian giggled.  ‘If Thranduil cannot bear to deal with you, naneth, then perhaps he will find it easier to work with my sons.  And at least it will keep you apart.’

‘I hate to suggest that the son of Oropher deserves this fate,’ she replied coolly, lifting her eyebrows.

‘My lady!’  Sirithiel protested. ‘Are you suggesting that Elrohir and Elladan will be inefficient?  Or that Legolas will not be competent?’

‘No,’ she relented. ‘They will do well – once they have resigned themselves to performing their duty.’

‘I have never understood,’ Sirithiel paused for a moment, as if wondering whether to complete her query, then continued, ‘why Thranduil is so hostile.  He usually seems to be very pragmatic – but he is most unreasonable when it comes to Lady Galadriel.’

‘It is a long story,’ Celeborn answered kindly after exchanging a look with his wife, ‘that dates back a very long time – and I doubt the cause is what you would imagine.’

‘It was my fault in the beginning,’ the lady admitted, ‘and we allowed it to get out of hand.  All the things that people blame for his bristling at the sight of me are doubtless true – I am of the Noldor, I am an Exile, I was subject to the curse of Mandos and I am certainly not the type of female he admires – but my true sin, the offence that has caused several ages of intense dislike was to say, in front of his adar, that he was just like my brother.’

‘You said he was like your brother?’ Miriwen said blankly.

‘Was that intended as an insult?’ questioned Elladan.

‘Which brother?’ Elrohir asked curiously.

‘Orodreth,’ his daernaneth answered simply.

‘I have never quite understood why Oropher should have found that simple comment so aggravating,’ Elrond remarked.

‘I believe he did not care for Orodreth,’ Celeborn stated.  ‘In fact, I am of the opinion that he loathed him.’

‘And anyone who had met Orodreth would undoubtedly have agreed that there was a considerable likeness between him and Thranduil,’ Galadriel added, an edge to her voice.  ‘Both in looks and character – which is, presumably, why my words so incensed his adar.  Oropher was most displeased when Celeborn and I wed and he made sure that Thranduil was kept aware of every failing of mine, whether real or imagined.’   She shrugged.  ‘I became the symbol, I think,’ she said, ‘of every slight or insult or offence committed by any Exile against any Moriquendi.  There is no reason behind it now – and, unfortunately, probably nothing that can be done to eradicate it.’ 

‘Actually, Naneth,’ Celebrian said reflectively, ‘there is an element of sibling squabbling about the way you and Thranduil behave. You really do fight like brother and sister.’ 

Galadriel shuddered. ‘Enough,’ she commanded. ‘I wish to hear no more on the topic.’

‘Tomorrow,’ Elrond announced, ‘we will hold a meeting to discuss the reports we have received from Glorfindel and others and consider the information and advice which has been sent.’  He smiled. ‘We have arranged for copies to be made.  As it would be as well for those involved to read and digest what has been said beforehand, I think we should draw the evening to a close.’  Celeborn offered him a sheaf of documents, leaving him to select one set before he proceeded to divide the remainder between Elladan and Elrohir. 

‘One between two,’ Celeborn stated dryly. ‘I am sure you can each share the facts and figures with your wife.  After all, that is what I do.’

Far Horizons 4 – Paper Chase

‘Do you think we could run fast enough and far enough to get away?’  Legolas spoke quietly as he pulled at the formal day robes his adar had insisted that he wore.

‘I am very much afraid that the answer is ‘no’.  We do not have a chance,’ Elrohir replied, his arms full of the stack of records Elrond had instructed him to bring to the meeting.  ‘Even our naneth and daernaneth have joined the conspiracy.’

‘We might have managed it without the elflings,’ mused Elladan.  ‘I could see Miriwen agreeing to run off to live in hiding in a far distant forest – perhaps.  But we are trapped, my brothers.  We will just have to get on with it.’

‘If you would care to join us?’ Thranduil asked pointedly, indicating the gleaming table piled with maps and scrolls of paperwork.

‘My lord,’ Elrohir replied with a courteous inclination of his head.

The Woodland King grinned.  ‘You show more promise in the field of diplomacy than your brother, Elrondion,’ he remarked.  ‘You have, at least, grasped that scowling is unlikely to win any points. Drag my son to the table, if you would, and let us consider what little information we have available.’

‘Glorfindel has sent initial reports, Thranduil,’ Celeborn said, ‘but I fear they contain little that we did not already know.  They were about to enter the pass when he sent our courier back, so they have not seen the lands in question.’ He indicated one of the documents.  ‘He seems impressed by the foothills, and acknowledges that the population is so small that he can understand why they have not proceeded beyond them.’

‘It is not,’ Elrond stated, ‘Glorfindel’s information that concerns me at the moment.’  He selected another document.  ‘There appears to be an increasing amount of resentment at the rumour that lands have been opened up to us rather than given to the landless offspring of ancient families.’

‘That is true,’ Legolas joined in conversationally without looking at the documents.  ‘Taryatur, my wife’s adar, was talking about it last time I took Elerrina to visit. Her brother and cousins care little – they have no desire to leave city living for a life in the forest – but there are others who fail to see why they should not be given the chance to exploit Valinor’s resources in preference to a crowd of jumped-up, land-grubbing Moriquendi.’

Thranduil closed his eyes and rested his forehead on his hand.  ‘It did not occur to you to mention this to me, my son?’

Legolas looked a little abashed.  ‘I did not think that it was important, Adar.  They are always complaining about something.’

‘In many ways,’ Celeborn said thoughtfully, ‘this is likely to be our greatest difficulty.  We must try to make everyone realise that it will be to their advantage if we take those who wish to come with us and migrate – as well as leaving more space for those living here, we will be opening up markets for them and, eventually, providing them with goods.  This is a situation from which everyone will be able to benefit.’

‘Our problem, I suspect,’ Elrond pointed out, ‘will not be with the lords – who understand our reasoning and are, in truth, quite happy to get us out from underfoot, but with those who look on exploration as something from which to obtain profit.’

‘Would it not be better to work openly?’ Elladan asked.  ‘Trying to hide things only makes people think that more is being concealed than really is.  If everybody knows – well, some might choose to come and others to complain, but at least they would not think they were being taken for fools.’

‘Naïve,’ Thranduil commented.

‘But he might have a point,’ Celeborn admitted.

‘We need reports from Glorfindel before we can let too much out,’ Elrond insisted. ‘We cannot begin to assemble our first pioneers without some idea of what they can expect.  Moreover, it will not really answer the complaints of those who believe that the land should not be ours.’

‘Could not Lady Galadriel be of some assistance here, Adar?’ Legolas enquired, his voice carefully neutral.  ‘She has the best contacts with the Noldor – and, come to that, with the Teleri.  Most elves respect her – either for her family or for her achievements.’

‘I think,’ Elrohir mused, ‘that the power of the distaff side should not be overlooked. I have discovered since I have been wed, that there is much that happens – is discovered, discussed and decided – that I had never suspected.  It would seem to me that wives and mothers make many of the most important decisions in our lives without our even being aware of it.  If we can harness that, we will successfully defuse most of our opposition, until it is little more than petulant posturing.’ 

‘Are you suggesting,’ Thranduil asked incredulously, ‘that we should fight discontent with gossip?’

‘And rumour with rumour,’ he agreed.

Thranduil turned to Elrond. ‘Did you have to bring your sons into this?’ he asked plaintively. ‘In the course of one meeting they have managed to complicate matters!  What they say sounds ridiculous – although I cannot currently think of any better options.’

‘Your own son has proved his worth in similar vein,’ Elrond pointed out. ‘And bear in mind that without them, we will be sitting round this table for uncounted years whilst others are involved in the more interesting tasks.’

The meeting, Elladan told himself, as he permitted the voices to drift into the distance, was not really lasting for days.  It just felt as if it was. The trouble was, he sighed, that talk never really achieved anything: all it did was point out the problems. None of what they said here would make any difference as long as they did not know what Glorfindel was finding. Their problems here with status-conscious stuffy elves defensive of their own imagined slights were only one part of the story.  Until they knew what was going on elsewhere, however long their discussions, they would not make any progress.  He did not realise when the conversation stopped and interest diverted to him.

‘It is just as it was when he was an elfling,’ Celeborn observed, as Elladan swung on his chair, attempting to balance his pencil on his finger.  ‘He is really very poor at concealing his disinterest.’

Legolas grinned wickedly as he leaned over and prodded his friend.  The pencil clattered to the table as Elladan saw the eyes on him and tried to compose his features into a look of deep consideration.  ‘I think perhaps,’ he said at random, ‘that it would be useful to send us to sound out our contacts among the different groups to see how extensive the discontent is among the younger elves.’

Thranduil raised his eyebrows in the intimidating way that always made Elladan feel as if he had barely escaped the nursery. ‘One would almost think that he had been paying attention.’

‘Almost,’ Elrond agreed with a certain resignation. ‘But not quite.’

‘I think you should both be thankful that Elladan has been allocated to me,’ his daeradar told them.  ‘At least your two aides have managed to remain awake.’

***

‘Are you really content to permit them to get on with matters in your absence?’ Celebrian asked her naneth. 

‘It is not as if they are going to come to any interesting decisions.’ Galadriel dismissed the meeting. ‘Let them get on with it – for now, anyway.’

A broad smile spread across her daughter’s face.  ‘I am looking forward to a long ride, Naneth,’ she said.  ‘It feels a long time since we have been able to go off on our own like this.  Family parties are wonderful – it seems only a heartbeat ago that I could not imagine being reunited with Elrond and you, let alone Adar and my sons – but it will be wonderful to be free.’

‘You are dressed for it,’ Galadriel remarked, observing the tan breeches and long tunic in soft green.  Her belt was weighted down by a beautifully decorated scabbard from which poked the hilt of a long knife and Celebrian had braided her long argent hair into a single tail.

Her daughter shrugged.  ‘There is no harm in being prepared – and I do not want to waste today perched side-saddle in flowing skirts.’  She looked at her naneth sharply. ‘And neither do you,’ she added.  ‘Your trailing gown is not quite what it appears, any more than you are.  I am just happy to be seen like this from the beginning, while you are hiding your intentions.’

Galadriel’s laugh was warm and easy. ‘I am known for it,’ she acknowledged.  ‘I will shed the disguise as soon as we have reached the outlying areas.’

Their horses were waiting for them, impatient to be free of the ordered greenery of the city, so that it took them little time to find their way to the wide water meadows by the river crossing that would lead them into the hills.  They splashed across, enjoying the silver spray of water and the freshness of the bright morning, before pausing briefly for Galadriel to shed her pristine white, removing the gown she wore over dove-grey breeches and shirt and bundling it into a tidy roll inside the blanket she carried.  She took a leather thong and bound her hair back from her face.

‘There,’ she said.  ‘Now let us ride!’

Galadriel was laughing as they ended their mad gallop across the wide grasslands, slowing the blowing horses to a cooling walk.  Her cheeks were flushed with colour and her eyes sparkled with sapphire fire, as she leaned forward, patting her mount appreciatively. 

Her daughter smiled to see her.  Long a queen in all but name, known and feared by many for her power, the real Galadriel was usually hidden behind a cool dignity and authoritative demeanour and she rarely allowed her wild hoydenish nature and wicked sense of humour to show – in fact, Celebrian thought, there were many who would swear she had neither.  It was good to see her enjoying herself as she had seemed unable to do during the long years during which she awaited with little hope the arrival of her husband. 

‘Shall we aim for the woods?’ Galadriel asked. 

Celebrian nodded and turned her horse to follow a narrow stream towards the beckoning grove of tall trees.  The shade stretched across the grass as if to draw them closer and they rode up to the smooth grey trunks of the ancient beeches.  They freed their mounts to graze, requesting them to remain close enough to come when called and paused only to tuck their possessions out of sight before leaping easily into the trees to share a perch on a high branch.

‘I do not know if I have ever asked you,’ Celebrian enquired idly, ‘did it take you many years to adjust to Adar’s way with trees?’

‘Oh yes,’ Galadriel smiled reminiscently, ‘I found it difficult at first – and the trees had no real wish to co-operate with me, even though your adar asked it of them. They accepted me in the end, though – and I think now they often forget that I am not a wood elf.’

‘Do you want to move to the new realm?’ her daughter asked seriously.  ‘I am worried that you will not want to leave all your family – you were divided for so long – are you sure that you will be happy?’

Galadriel stroked her daughter’s soft cheek.  ‘I am happy,’ she replied, her voice soft and warm.  ‘I was pleased to see my parents again and renew acquaintance with my kin, but I made my choice long ago.  I will go with the displaced elves of Middle Earth to seek a new home – but this time, I will not be divided from my kin by an impassable barrier.  The people with whom I most want to be – your adar, you and Elrond, your sons and their families – will be there too.’

Pausing and lifting her hand to touch the smooth grey-green bark, Celebrian tilted her head to listen.  ‘We are not alone,’ she murmured.

‘It is probably nothing,’ her naneth reassured her, turning her mind to the presence of others in the wood.

‘But we will not announce ourselves,’ Celebrian agreed.

‘I will ask our horses to remain out of sight.’

Celebrian suppressed a giggle. ‘We are nasty suspicious elves,’ she whispered.

‘Experienced enough to be cautious.’ Galadriel’s eyed twinkled, as they consciously withdrew against the sheltering branches. 

The two elves who strolled beneath the old tree to the edge of the woods clearly had no reason to think that there might be anyone else sheltering in the trees.  They were young, thought Celebrian – although that could mean almost anything in elven terms – and the fact that they were dressed in bright blue touched with scarlet suggested that they were not numbered among the Sindar or Silvan races.

‘Where are they?’ asked the slightly taller of the two, clearly irritated. ‘I could have sworn that I heard horses.  I really do not wish to be hanging around here – there is no knowing when some outsider might turn up and I, for one,  do not want to stick in anyone’s memory.’

‘We have no reason to hide,’ the other replied, his voice like enough to the other to suggest that they might be kin.  ‘We are not doing anything we should not.’

‘But that might not continue to be the case, fool,’ the first said disdainfully. ‘I have had enough of these newcomers, prancing around as if they are something special. They are here on sufferance, and it is about time they realised that.  Our elders all seem prepared to kowtow to them and let them take what they want – but it is about time they learned that we are not all spineless.’

‘They are coming,’ the second said, clearly relieved.

Half a dozen dark-haired elves, dressed in the bright colours and exaggerated fashions favoured by the young offspring of the wealthy families, dismounted from horses that sported elaborate tack decorated with the bells meant to ring sweetly as they sped along. They were noisy, and, thought Celebrian, remarkably unobservant for a group of conspirators, making no effort to check if they were safe and unheard.

‘Ho, cousin!’ one of the new arrivals called.  ‘Have you heard the latest?  My brother was hunting in the foothills, when a party of those dark elves rode through – they are definitely looking to grab what is on the other side of the mountains!  We cannot let them get away with it, Tarannon.  It is time someone taught them their place!’

‘Not here,’ the one called Tarannon replied with irritation.  ‘Surely you are not stupid enough to think we can shout this out at the tops of our voices!  Calion and I have a better place prepared.  Leave your horses and come further in where we are less likely to be seen.’

Galadriel eyed them intently as they passed into the wood, registering each of the proud, eager faces.  Too young to have experience of civil unrest, she thought, but too old to think that fomenting disturbance was no more than a game, they should have more sense than to involve themselves in schemes like this.

‘Fools,’ Celebrian said softly, as the trees stilled behind them.

‘But dangerous fools,’ her naneth added.

‘It is a pity that they did not use a few more names,’ Celebrian observed, ‘but nevertheless, they should not be too difficult to track down.’

‘If these bubble-brained ellyn are floating around on the top,’ Galadriel mused, ‘there will be much more dangerous people stirring the mix.  Those are really the ones who need to be identified.’

‘Their adars?’

‘Possibly – but not hugely likely.  If I were plotting, I would do my best to ensure that my offspring kept their heads down.  Although that could be a double bluff.’

‘So what do we do now?  Shall we slip off quietly while the brats are otherwise engaged?  Or shall we sneak through the trees and spy on them?’

‘We should, of course, go straight home and put this information in other hands.  You do realise that your adar would be extremely annoyed if we were to put ourselves in any danger, do you not?  Not to mention Elrond!’

Their eyes met. ‘So we go and take a look then,’ Celebrian suggested.

‘As long as the trees will hide us,’ her naneth qualified. ‘We will take no risks.’

Far Horizons 5 – Getting There

The view from the top of the pass had stunned Glorfindel.  The forest had rolled down the slopes and over the expanse in front of them like a green living ocean, fresh and filled with the song of the trees.  Open areas of lush green spread here and there where ancient deadfall had left gaps in the canopy, or lightning strikes had caused fires to leave clearings now flushed with new growth.  A pewter ribbon could be glimpsed snaking across the broad plain, making its way south and east.

‘The river could be useful for transport,’ Falas commented.  ‘Both in and out.  We do not want to have to bring goods over the mountains unless we have to do so. I do not suppose the map gives any idea of where the river meets the sea?’

Glorfindel lifted one eyebrow at the farmer. ‘What do you think?’ he asked.

‘I think not,’ Falas grinned. ‘It has not given us any useful information yet.  Why would it start now?’

‘Would it be possible to take a break here for a while?’ Rindor enquired.  ‘It would be a good time to begin to add some detail to the map – although we can do little to estimate distance yet.  We should be able to work from this point.’

‘I will send out scouts,’ Haldir offered.  ‘We can begin to find out what is here.’

‘Go out in a fan,’ Rindor suggested. ‘Keeping your teams in straight lines as far as possible and get them to make a record as they go.’

‘I know how to reconnoitre,’ the march warden snapped.  ‘Better, I am sure, than any pen-pusher can.’  He stalked off, summoning his teams of scouts and sending them off much as the other had suggested.

‘Have you done much map-making?’ Glorfindel enquired.  ‘You seem to know what you are doing.’

‘I am acting confidently, my lord, to conceal my ignorance,’ Rindor replied, straight-faced.  ‘There has been little need to make maps of virgin territory in my life-time.’

‘I had no idea you were so young,’ the golden-haired elf said pityingly.  ‘Perhaps we should have brought people of greater experience.’

‘Indeed, my lord,’ Rindor nodded.  ‘Although few have greater experience than yourself.  I am happy to surrender this task to you should you wish to do it.’

‘I think not,’ Glorfindel grinned.  ‘I will be satisfied with patronising you – and then taking the credit for your success.’  He turned to the remaining members of the company, who had settled swiftly to rest for as long as they were able.  Even those without training, he reflected, had learned rapidly to make the most of every opportunity to rest themselves and their mounts.  He approved of those who were quickly checking their horse’s hooves and freeing them to graze the short turf.  Neldin, of course, he noted with disgust, was sitting down, his face as long as a wet midsummer’s day, abandoning his horse to stand in the path.  He was pleased to see Falas go over to the beast and check him over efficiently.

‘The forest, my lord!’  Aelindor said in wonder as he gazed down over the wide view.

‘It is beyond belief!’

Glorfindel stepped over to join him, grinning broadly and with his eyes sparkling. ‘It appears to go on as far as the eye can see.  There will be enough space for us all.’

‘It is more than space, my lord,’ Aelindor told him.  ‘Even from here the song is pure and strong enough to fill my heart.  I cannot wait to be among the trees.’

‘There are trees there that are strange to me,’ Ruindel said softly.  ‘Trees I want to meet.’  He was silent as his eyes ranged over the woods.  ‘If you look down there, Aelindor,’ he pointed out, ‘there has been recent storm damage – possibly a freak whirlwind.  That might have left usable wood – and it appears to be reasonably close to the river.  It could be worth looking to set up our primary camp in that area.’

‘You are right,’ Aelindor clearly approved of the younger elf. ‘It is worth considering, my lord.’

‘I wonder if our engineers have any experience of building boats,’ Glorfindel mused.  ‘It would clearly be to our advantage to use the river – for food and exploration.’

Ruindel scratched his head.  ‘We of Lothlorien used boats to travel the Anduin, my lord,’ he remarked. ‘I know what they looked like – they were swift and light – but I would not have any idea how to make them.  Neldin might, but he mainly concerned himself with constructing flets and talans to complement the trees that bore them. I doubt he has much experience with water.’

‘In Lasgalen we used rafts more than boats,’ Aelindor offered. ‘They are good for transporting large amounts of cargo, but the river needs to be easy-tempered.  They do not have much flexibility – better at going downstream than up.’

‘Rafts would be easier to build,’ Glorfindel said, ‘but I believe we will be wanting to travel upstream – and take small parties of scouts rather than goods.’  He grinned, his eyes bright. ‘This is the sort of challenge that makes exploration so enjoyable,’ he admitted.  ‘You never know what skills will be useful.  You bring someone because he is a scout or a healer – and then find his biggest contribution is made because he used to make boats to sail in his bath!’

As the scouting parties began to find their way back to the group, Glorfindel joined Rindor to receive the reports on the terrain they had encountered.  It rapidly became apparent that the path leading down the hillside before them was the only obvious way to reach the valley, since sheer drops had ended each of the side trips.  Soon, the only party to return was the one that had taken that direction.

‘I suppose it is a good thing they have not yet returned,’ Rindor said quietly. ‘It suggests that this path is passable.  Although if it were not, it would explain a lot about why the passage of many centuries has left this land unexplored.’

‘That would be intensely frustrating,’ the elf lord replied. ‘Like being trapped before a window, enjoying a wonderful view, yet unable to find the door in order to get outside.’

As the afternoon began to wear down, the sun lowered itself towards the distant horizon, turning the silver river to molten copper and burnishing the green leaves.  The elves gathered what little wood they could find and began to prepare a hot meal, but it was clear to all that they would have a cold night.   

‘If Haldir and Gwathor do not make it back soon, they will have to put up with cold food,’ Glorfindel commented. ‘There is not enough fuel to keep the fire going much longer.’

‘Do you wish to send a party to seek them, my lord?’ enquired another of the Lothlorien scouts.  ‘It is unlike Haldir to miss a meal.  He can normally sense food from several leagues.’

‘Thank you, Alagsir!’ Haldir drawled, as he and Gwathor moved silently out of the dark. ‘I would hate to disappoint you – and I am feeling quite hungry.’

‘Turning up at inappropriate moments – did I mention that that is another of his skills?’ Alagsir said to the air as he handed over a well-filled plate.

‘You were not hard to spot here,’ Gwathor remarked rather disapprovingly.  ‘That cooking fire can probably be seen all the way to the far horizon.’

‘We have been assured that there is no-one here to see it,’ Rindor told him.

‘Such an assurance does not mean that what you have been told is true,’ Haldir informed him loftily. ‘The trees are not unaware of elves – they have not seen many, but they have seen them, as you would know if you Imladris elves had thought to enquire.  And even without the presence of elves, there will be creatures in the forests that do not need to be aware of us.  I am surprised that you permitted it, my lord.  You do not have an army at your back now.’

For a moment Glorfindel played with the idea of making it much harder for the other elf to look straight down his nose in such an irritating way, but he quickly discarded the idea.  The role of a leader, he reminded himself, was to use the skills available to him rather than to take personal exception to those offering advice.  ‘You have a point, Haldir,’ he said amiably. ‘I will leave it to you to instruct those of our party less familiar with concealment in techniques that might be useful.  However, the fire is now dying, and we will not have another until we are in a somewhat less open position. As soon as you have finished eating, you and Gwathor are to come over and report your findings to Rindor and me, so that we can make plans for tomorrow.’  He nodded pleasantly at the march warden and withdrew.

‘The stars look as if they have been polished to welcome us,’ Rindor remarked quietly as he stood looking out over the prospect before them.  Night had turned the forest into an expanse of black velvet that enhanced the midnight blue transparency of the cloudless sky stretching over them studded with brilliant points of light.

‘Very poetic,’ Glorfindel commented, as he absorbed the beauty of the night.  He turned as the two scouts left the group to join them, waiting for them to let him know what they had found.

‘The way is open, my lord,’ Gwathor said simply. ‘It is not an easy path, but it is not beyond the capabilities of the horses.’

‘But the interesting thing,’ Haldir added, watching carefully for the reaction, ‘is that the way has clearly not been open for very long.  I would say that, before the past winter, it would have been as difficult to descend by this path as by any of the other possible ways down.  There appears to have been some kind of landslip that, interestingly, opened a gap between two sheer walls and provided a remarkably solid ramp over a steep slope.’

‘That is intriguing,’ Glorfindel mused. ‘Although I suppose it could have been predicted.  After all we were told that this venture had the highest level of approval. If the Valar want us to have these lands, they would ensure that we had access to them.’ He looked sharply at them both.  ‘And what else do you have to say?’

Gwathor and Haldir exchanged stares, then Haldir shrugged.  ‘I think there may be some who already call the forest their home,’ he stated. ‘I cannot be sure, but I think the familiarity of the trees with elves is greater than can be accounted for by those who made that map.’

***

It was like sinking into the land, Glorfindel thought.  As they led their horses down the steep slopes, the trees came up to greet them; initially pines, small first and somewhat scattered, wind-blown into fantastic shapes, but rapidly becoming straighter and taller, until the elves felt that the landscape had grown as they shrank. It grew warmer, too, as they descended and the vegetation cut off the biting wind.  He kept alert to the sounds of the forest, but it seemed singularly quiet around him, as if the trees were observing them.  He saw little sign of large game, although squirrels chattered in irritation at them as they passed and bird chirped warnings of intruders.

Haldir led confidently.  He and Gwathor had clearly taken enough time here to discover a goal for the party that would provide what they needed to begin their search and Glorfindel had enough faith in him not to question his choice.

A horse squealed and the elf lord looked round to see that the more nervous of his group had bunched together so closely that one’s horse had nipped another’s. 

‘Spread out,’ he told them impatiently, wondering why any elf would think that he was safer when he was too close to use his weapons without slicing the head off one of his colleagues.  ‘There are warriors behind and in front of you,’ he said.  ‘You do not need to sit in each other’s lap.’

Beside him, Rindor grinned. ‘Did you not realise you had become a nursemaid, my lord?’ he asked innocently.  ‘Your task is to keep them safe while they demand a range of items they cannot have, complain about the lack of comfort and gripe about each other.’

‘Thank you, my pet pen-pusher,’ Glorfindel sighed. ‘And if, by the way, you are fit for nothing but paperwork, as Haldir appears to think, how is it that you seem to know not only how to deal with your horse, but you are also fully alert to your surroundings – not to mention that you carry an interesting range of weapons?’

Rindor placed a slender finger next to his nose.  ‘There is more to me than meets the eye, my lord.’

‘But none of it reaches your mouth, does it, my friend?’  Glorfindel met his eyes for a moment before giving a brief nod and urging his horse forward to enable him to consult with Haldir.

‘There is a suitable clearing not far from here,’ the march warden said. ‘We will be able to camp there while we begin to learn our way round this part of the forest.’

‘When we were looking down from the ridge, there appeared to be an area to the south west, near the river that might be of interest,’ Glorfindel observed. ‘Ruindel thought there might be useful wood – we were considering the possibility of boats.’

Haldir nodded.  ‘I saw it.  I agree it would be worth looking at – but having seen the extent of the land available here, Glorfindel, we are barely going to make any impact on exploring it.  We could wander round here for years and see no more than a corner of the forest.  I do not believe my lord wishes to wait a century for us to return.’

‘We are only seeking somewhere to start,’ Glorfindel told him seriously. ‘A staging post, where we can bring new arrivals and they can adjust before moving on to new communities.  A large area near the river could be ideal – especially if we find there is a route from the river to the sea which can be used to transport what we need.’  He hesitated.  ‘Have you had any more sense of elves in these woods?’

‘No,’ Haldir said slowly, ‘but I do believe that the trees are more familiar with us than I would expect.  They are interested, but not amazed.  I hope we might be able to make more contact with them as we come to more deciduous forest – I find I get on better with oaks, beeches and birches.  Pines are a bit stiff and not very interested in their surroundings.’

Glorfindel raised an eyebrow.  ‘I will take your word for it,’ he said.

‘Another hour or two and we will be able to set up camp,’ Haldir stated, looking disparagingly at the elves trailing along behind them.  ‘Did you have to bring idiots with you?  We could get twice as much done with a couple of patrols of warriors.’

‘I suspect you are right,’ Glorfindel agreed with a touch of irony, ‘but, unfortunately we intend to have a society here that includes those who are not warriors – so it only seems right that we should consider some of those things that families might require. Like housing – and farms – and materials for weaving and healing – even ores and dyes.  Things to which warriors tend not to give much priority.’

‘Do you mean that?  Or are you just repeating what Lord Elrond said?’ Haldir asked cynically.  ‘Warriors are quite capable of seeking out all that is needed to make them comfortable – and they also obey orders without question.  We might well find ourselves missing that level of discipline.’

Glorfindel shrugged.  ‘They are all good at what they do,’ he said.  ‘We will just have to tweak them into shape – tactfully, Haldir.  It is not as if there are many of them. Show what you are made of, march warden!’

Haldir looked down at his nails and polished them with the forefinger of his other hand. ‘Perhaps that might be of some help,’ he considered.

‘Without violence, Haldir,’ Glorfindel instructed.

‘Spoilsport,’ the elf from Lothlorien smiled. ‘I have sent Domenion and Alagsir to seek some small game – I have had enough of trail rations, and there is plenty of evidence of rabbits, if nothing else.’

‘Do they know where we intend to stop?’ Glorfindel asked.

The look Haldir gave him was scathing.  ‘You have lost your touch over recent years, if you doubt that they will be able to track down a group containing these babbling incompetents.  They will not even need to try.’

‘Enough!’ Glorfindel was irritated enough to infuse his tone with warning. ‘It is our job to ensure the success of this venture, not to threaten it by our petulance. Lord Celeborn trusts you to represent his interests – and you will not do that by undermining any member of the team.’ He continued to hold the other’s eyes, until finally Haldir inclined his head in acceptance.

The trees were big, Glorfindel mused as they rode on, and they were getting bigger. However, he did not feel that this small introduction to the forest had been particularly encouraging.  Had he not known that it would take weeks to push forward even as far as the river, he might have been disappointed.  He did not know about pines being stiff, but he found this largely coniferous forest rather sterile and his natural wariness did not help him feel welcome here.  Yet.  He must keep reminding himself that they had barely scratched the edge of this magnificent gift.  He turned to inspect the trailing line following the path Haldir set.  He could not deny the elf’s point, he sighed.  He would give a lot for a larger, better disciplined party – but this was what he had, and he would make them count, he decided.

‘Here,’ Haldir said simply. 

He had chosen well.  There was water, grazing for the horses, space enough for them all.  ‘This should do well for now,’ Glorfindel approved, dismounting from his horse. ‘We will stay a day or two to map the immediate area and then move on.’  He turned slowly, inspecting the trees surrounding the small meadow, puzzled by something he could not quite define.

‘You feel it too?’ Haldir breathed in his ear.

Glorfindel glanced at him.  ‘I sense no danger,’ he said, ‘but we are being watched.’

Far Horizons 6 – Late           

‘Where are they?’ Celeborn asked in considerable irritation.  ‘Did Celebrian say anything to you, Elrond?’

The stars gleamed in the clear sky and the breeze stirred his silver hair as he leaned over the balcony to gaze across the wide expanse of garden.

‘She is not in any danger,’ Elrond replied.  ‘I know she is not concerned, but that is all. Can you not speak to Galadriel?’

‘Did Naneth not say what she was going to do today?’ Elladan was pacing impatiently.

Elrond shook his head.  ‘I do not believe I asked her,’ he said simply. ‘We were too absorbed in our plans to ask Celebrian and Galadriel how they intended to spend their time.’

‘If my wife is doing this on purpose,’ Celeborn said, his voice hard, ‘I will not be pleased.’

Elrohir looked startled.  ‘Would she?  It does not sound like Daernaneth!’

‘She is closed to me – I cannot think why that would be, unless she is wanting to make me worry about her.’

Elrond turned suddenly and headed for the stairs, arriving at the door just as it opened to let in two rather dishevelled ladies, hair escaping from long braids and clothes showing evidence of a swift journey.  ‘Where have you been?’ he snapped, grabbing his wife’s arm and giving it a shake.

‘Riding,’ Celebrian answered succinctly.  She looked at him thoughtfully and leant over to kiss his cheek. ‘We are all right, my husband,’ she told him.  ‘We were delayed, that it all.  Just let us go and change and we will tell you all about it.’

Celeborn stood half-way down the stairs, frozen in place and silent, staring at the two arrivals.  Galadriel winced. Even from a distance, even with her barriers up, she could feel the anger that radiated from him.  She had more than a feeling that news of the way in which she and her daughter had spent the afternoon was only going to exacerbate that rage.  She sighed.  There was little point in putting off the inevitable.

‘We will change later, my daughter,’ she said.  ‘Let us remove to somewhere rather more private and we will confess our doings.’

***

‘You did what?’ Elrond dropped the words into the shocked silence, his voice incredulous.

‘We tracked them through the canopy,’ Celebrian said reasonably.  ‘It was not difficult – they had no awareness of anything that was happening around them. We took every care, Elrond.  We did not follow them closely, we did not approach them, we waited until they had long gone before we withdrew from the wood.’

‘We needed to know more,’ Galadriel added. ‘We had heard enough to be aware that their words might be useful – we had two names, but it seemed a good chance to find out some additional information.’

‘And what did you discover?’ Celeborn sounded so serene that his wife looked at him sharply.  Only when he was very angry did he appear quite so untouched.  Half considering what would compose him, she also felt her own annoyance increasing.  Anyone would think that she was incapable of looking after herself. Perhaps it was time to remind her husband of her abilities and experience.

‘That they are fools,’ Galadriel said simply. ‘Their reaction is worrying – I do not care for their hostility to the idea of our developing new realms and I am not surprised that they wish to react with childish efforts at opposition, but they are not people I would expect to do more than sulk and throw tantrums.  I think it suggests that those with more intelligence are leading them by the nose.’

‘That,’ said Elrond coolly, ‘is not a report: it is a conclusion.’

His naneth-in-law glanced at him sharply and sighed to herself.  She hoped that her daughter was better at soothing Elrond than she was likely to be at placating Celeborn.  The evening was turning out to be quite uncomfortable, and she was growing tired of being censured for taking advantage of a chance that would be to their benefit. 

‘We waited until they were on the edge of hearing,’ she said patiently, ‘and then we asked the trees to let us pass as silently as possible to the place where they were gathered.  You know how good Celebrian is,’ she told her husband, ‘and I would not have continued had I not been certain that it was safe.  We only went as far as we had to in order to observe the group and hear the conversation – that was a good distance away, for they appeared to have little idea of concealment.  We listened to what they said and noted their names and faces.  When they left, we made no attempt to follow them and we did not leave until we could sense that all of them had gone. Then we returned to our horses – still travelling through the trees and made a point of quietly side-tracking several miles, so that it did not look as if we were returning from the wood.’

‘They said little that was any more illuminating than their first comments,’ Celebrian added.  ‘They were angry at what appeared to them to be favouritism and they want to stir up discontent among their friends, but I felt that, for some of them, that would normally mean little more than not inviting us to parties.  Some of them might get into fights when they have had too much wine, but – ,’ she hesitated, ‘they seemed to be working each other up into a more concerted opposition. They were quite vocal about what they would like to do.’

‘Not they, really,’ Galadriel observed. ‘Their strings were being pulled – quite cleverly, I thought – by the quietest one.  Minastan, the loud one called him.  But I do not think it is his true name.’

‘I am not happy,’ Elladan said tightly, ‘about your putting yourselves in a situation where you were at risk.’

‘I know it is not fair,’ Elrohir chimed in, ‘and that you are both formidable, but there it is!’

‘Oh, come now,’ Celebrian announced flatly.  ‘This is becoming ridiculous.  Anyone would think you were men, keeping your womenfolk out of sight and out of their business! We are both perfectly capable of looking after ourselves in a situation like this. They were elves, not orcs,’ she added deliberately.   She let the horrified silence hang briefly, then, before anyone replied, she went on, ‘If they had found us there, what would they have been able to do?  Nothing – we would have walked away untouched.  If you, my sons, had found these fools and followed them, you would be delighted with your own cleverness – and yet your danger would have been greater than ours.  You,’ she turned to Elrond and her adar, ‘would have been pleased to receive the information they brought, rather than standing there as if you were about to explode like Mithrandir’s fireworks.’

Galadriel looked at her daughter and reflected how astonishing it was, that even after centuries of thinking that you knew people inside out, they still had the power to surprise you.

‘You can talk in generalities until Ithil turns green,’ Elrond said, ‘but that does not change the fact that I never wish to see you in a position where you could be hurt.  I could not endure it again.’

Celebrian’s eyes softened as she took in the shadows in her husband’s face.  She took his hand and pressed it to her cheek.  ‘You cannot keep me in a glass case,’ she told him.  ‘I am more sorry for the injuries my wounding caused you and my family than I am for any suffering it caused me, but I cannot consent to being so protected that I cannot breathe.’

He drew her close and folded her in his arms, knowing that she felt him tremble beneath his enveloping robes, willing for her to know that she was both his strength and his weakness.  She held him warmly, offering comfort, but holding her own.

‘We only want to look after you, Naneth,’ Elrohir said softly.

‘I know, my loves,’ she said, stretching an arm towards him to invite her sons to join the embrace, ‘but you cannot diminish me in an attempt to keep me safe.’

Galadriel tilted her head to glance at her husband and was relieved to see that his fury seemed to have faded as he watched his daughter.  ‘And yet,’ she said reluctantly, unwilling to re-ignite the fire, ‘you cannot guarantee that elves will behave well just because they are elves.  I have known those whose desires overrode the principles they had been taught – and there is something about this that makes me uneasy.’

‘And that is – ?’ Celeborn prodded, turning thoughtful eyes on to her.

She relaxed, deciding that perhaps the battle had been averted, ‘It is being managed,’ she said. ‘I can see no reason for it.  Who would stand to gain if there is a public outcry about the grant of land?  Nobody. The Sindar will blame the Noldor and the Noldor will insult the Moriquendi.  There will be unpleasantness on the training fields and spiteful words at tea parties – but it should change nothing.’

Celeborn turned the desk chair round and sat, resting his elbows on the arms and steepling his long fingers.  ‘Where do we start to look?’ he asked. 

‘Some of them wore bright blue with scarlet trimmings,’ his daughter told him as she pulled her husband down beside her on the sofa, holding his hand firmly.  ‘At first we just thought it was a fashion, but it may have been more than that.’

‘Oh, them,’ Elladan commented disparagingly.   ‘They cannot shoot straight or wield blades better than novices, yet they look on themselves as a Valar-chosen militia of the oldest families.  I think they believe that their ancestry will protect them.’

‘Artamir’s sons are among them, are they not?’ Elrohir enquired.

‘And he is little better than they are,’ his brother sniffed.

‘I wonder,’ Galadriel mused, unbinding her hair and running her fingers through the shimmering waterfall, ‘if the time has come for you to spend rather more time visiting my adar.  He has scarcely seen your wives and children – this could be a good moment for you to get to know more of my kin.  And Legolas should really take his little ones to spend some months with Elerrina’s family.  It would be a good opportunity for you all to get to know who thinks what.’

There was a hollow silence.

‘You wanted to take a more active role in organising our migration,’ Celeborn remarked.  ‘This could be very useful.’

‘But the troublemakers are here,’ Elrohir pointed out.  ‘I cannot see that a formal visit to your adar’s court would help us to discover much about what is going on in the minds of the disaffected young.’

‘I suppose not,’ his daeradar considered. ‘Perhaps, then, you should both spend more time on the training grounds first and see what you can observe.  Perhaps Miriwen and Sirithiel would consider widening their social circle – and keeping their ears open.’

‘Elerrina,’ suggested Galadriel.  ‘She would be even better.’

‘They are a little suspicious of her,’ Elladan remarked, ‘but their eyes suggest they can see why she chose our pretty princeling.  She could easily convince them that she is not too happy about what is going on.’

In his seat beside his wife, Elrond allowed a smile to spread across his face as he turned his head towards his adar-in-law.

‘What is it?’ Celeborn was aware of a deep foreboding.

‘My sons are not the right ones to go to see Finarfin,’ Elrond informed him with amusement.  ‘They are right – they will be better here.  It might work if Celebrian and I were to visit, but I do not think we would gain the maximum advantage.  No, Celeborn, there is no doubt about it – I am afraid it is you who should go.’

***

‘I have regained control of my temper,’ Celeborn stated as he watched his wife brushing out the gleaming satin of her hair.

‘Good.’

He took the brush from her and slid it through the long locks.  Galadriel closed her eyes and allowed herself to enjoy the intimacy of the gesture.

‘Although I do not see why you felt the need to close yourself off from me so completely that I could feel no connection,’ he added.

‘Do you not?’ she asked in surprise.  ‘I admit I have little experience in spying – but I thought it best to be as quiet as possible, to turn my power inward to have the least chance that any among them could sense my presence.  I just forgot, once we were away from there, to reach for you.’

‘I suppose,’ he admitted reluctantly, ‘that is fairly reasonable.’

‘Oh, my love,’ she laughed, turning to face him, ‘have I robbed you of your reason to be cross with me?  You can shout at me if you wish.’

He touched her cheek, brushing strands of hair back.   ‘I know you are indomitable, my lady, but I do not want you exposed to risk. I do not wish my daughter to place herself in the way of further harm.’

Her fingers traced the fine line of an old scar that she knew lay beneath his tunic.  ‘I know,’ she said simply, ‘but we do what we must.  It is no different when it is you, or my grandsons, or my daughter’s husband.’

His hand caught hers, crushing her fingers in his tense grip.  ‘It is to me,’ he said.

‘We have stood side by side before, my love,’ she told him with firm sympathy.  ‘And I would have it no other way.  Let us not waste this time re-fighting old battles.’

‘Perhaps I can think of alternatives,’ he said, then sighed.  ‘I wish Elrond had not thought of sending me to visit your adar,’ he added.  ‘I can see the point, but I am reluctant nonetheless.  There is too much going on here.’

‘I would like you to know him better,’ Galadriel told him, leaning closer and placing her hand on his chest. ‘Even though you have an ulterior motive.  And you will like my naneth.’

‘Are you coming with me?’ he asked. 

She looked surprised. ‘Are you not assuming that I will?’

He kissed her gently.  ‘My lady,’ he reminded her, ‘I would not make so bold.  As you keep telling me – you are your own person.  Our paths travel together, but you make your own decisions.’

‘Sometimes,’ she sighed, ‘you remind me at the most inconvenient moments of things I have said. I will walk this path with you, my love, wherever it might lead.’

***

The brothers were not surprised to find their wives sitting together, comforting a wakeful elfling.  Nor were they surprised to find that they were a great deal more aware than either of them had been of nature of the troubles bubbling under the surface of the serene city.

‘It is not so much the land,’ Sirithiel said earnestly, ‘for I truly believe that most here would be horrified at the idea of being taken away from what they know and love – and most of those who have spoken to me find the dissidents a real irritation, but they say that the problems arise because they are bored.  This is not the first time something like this has happened.’

‘So how were they entertained last time?’ Elladan asked sarcastically.  ‘Parties? Tumblers?  A treasure hunt?’

‘A tournament, I believe,’ Miriwen told him.  ‘But I do not believe that would be very helpful now, since it is the treasure hunt that they feel they are missing.’   She stopped swaying on the rocking chair, looking down at the flushed pink face of her sleeping son.  ‘I think the most helpful thing would be to open up the exploration to anyone who is prepared to go.  If these mischief makers can learn to endure the hardships necessary to find a place in the new lands, then they will deserve to join us, and if they feel the need to run home to their parents, then they cannot begrudge us a life which they could not tolerate.’

‘By not excluding any, we give them nothing to resent,’ mused Elrohir.  ‘That could be the very simplest solution of all.  You could be right, Miriwen.  Now all we have to do is convince our elders.’

Far Horizons 7:  Fishing

Thranduil sat beneath the tree, relishing the dappled shade and the warm breeze as he watched his daughter-in-law play on the grass with his daerelflings.  Moments like these, he felt, were fleeting, but they almost made up for all the bad times. He concentrated on the episode, ensuring that every nuance was absorbed into vivid memory so that he could take it out at will and savour it.

A ray of light caught Eleniel’s face and made her pale hair gleam as she looked up and saw him watching her. ‘Daerada!’ she called and ran over to him, jumping on him, her little feet digging into his leg.

‘Oof, you are growing, little one,’ he told her, his hands grasping her slight body affectionately and lifting her over his head as he admired the round softness of her baby face. ‘Soon you will be too big for me to do this.’

She stretched down and took his braids in her hands. ‘Gee up,’ she told him. ‘Be my horse, Daerada.’

He was about to lower her, when another small body clambered up him and stood on his lap, twining warm arms around his neck.  ‘Me, Daerada, me too,’ Galenthil begged.

‘Which one shall I remove, Adar?’ Elerrina asked.  ‘Wait, Galenthil.  You can have your turn in a minute.’

‘Leave them, my daughter,’ Thranduil requested.  ‘I would keep them both.’  He hesitated as the two small elflings contested for space before settling and playing with the contents of his pockets. ‘Hold them all you can, child,’ he told their naneth gruffly.  ‘They are small for so short a time and leave your arms empty for an eternity.’

Elerrina promptly slipped an arm round him and kissed his cheek.  ‘Not always,’ she said.  ‘Eleniel will always have space in her heart for her daeradar’s hug – it is one of the advantages of having ellyth.’

‘Flirting with my wife?’  Legolas approached from behind the tree and Galenthil immediately abandoned his daeradar to demand that he be lifted up.  His adar obliged, blowing raspberries on the ellon’s exposed midriff until his son was dissolved in giggles.  Eleniel snuggled up to Thranduil and put her thumb in her mouth, twining one of his long braids round her fingers and watching her brother.

‘If you will abandon her to play with your friends, my son, I believe I am obliged to give my daughter the attention she is missing,’ Thranduil informed him. 

‘Play!’ Legolas shook his head.  ‘I would not call it that.’  He lowered himself gracefully to the grass, his son in his lap.  ‘It is remarkably difficult not to cause enormous offence to those who appear to be unable to hit the target with a single one of their arrows.  They seem to think that I am showing off.  Elrohir suggested I should change hands to handicap myself a little – but the difference was negligible.  Elladan seems to be getting on a little better – at least he has trained in a fighting style they recognise and therefore accept.’

‘Have you found anything useful?’

Legolas shrugged.  ‘The names given us by Lady Galadriel and Lady Celebrian made it easy to identify those they saw – and there are others.  We note their friends and acquaintances and then track down those whom they meet.  Elrohir is keeping records in some kind of strange network, with all sorts of different colours and layers.  I do not entirely understand it, but he says that it is proving interesting.  You might find it worth discussing with him.’  

‘Elrohir is very clever,’ Elerrina said meditatively.  ‘He looks so like Elladan that it takes a while to realise how differently his mind works.’ 

‘I will tell Elladan that you said he was stupid,’ her husband teased.  ‘I would not want to be you when Miriwen hears of it!’

‘I would be rude, except that it would be a bad example for the elflings,’ she replied with offended dignity.  ‘Adar,’ she turned to Thranduil, ‘I have had a thought that might be helpful, but I am not sure how you will take it.’

‘If you do not enquire, I will not be able to say,’ he said amiably.  ‘Try me.’

‘I want to invite my brother and his wife to stay for a month or two,’ she told him quickly.  ‘I know that Legolas will not be enthusiastic, but I believe it could be helpful.  I know Camentur is not involved in this unrest, but he has a lot of contacts among those who might be.  Nisimalote is sweet – and she knows everybody.’

‘I do not mind your brother,’ Legolas protested.  ‘He is quite sensible.  Nisimalote looks down her nose at me, but she likes the elflings, so she is not all bad.’

‘I hear a lot of ‘for a Noldor’ underlying what you say,’ his wife sighed.

Thranduil laughed. ‘Invite them, by all means,’ he said.  ‘All aid will be welcomed – even from those who are Noldor,’ he added, patting her cheek.  ‘After all, they cannot help it.’

***

The large room was people with elves in shimmering silks and embroidered brocades, most with dark hair twined to emphasise their long pale necks and the graceful carriage of their heads.  They still, however, Elerrina thought, managed to sound like parrots jabbering away in the trees.  She glanced around to check that her guests were adequately provided with the wine that Thranduil had told her would loosen even the best controlled tongue and to see that her forces were deployed among them.  Lady Galadriel was inclining her head courteously to listen to Artamir’s wife, which must be painful, Elerrina acknowledged, as Minyariel was the most self-important elf she had ever met.  Celebrian was sitting with a group, her silver hair standing out among the dark and she, at least, seemed to be enjoying herself.  Miriwen was laughing with one of the younger ellyth.  Elerrina tried to place her, but could not think quite who she was. She took a moment to track down Sirithiel, but discovered her standing quietly among the tall ferns watching the proceedings.  Nisimalote, however, was the star, Elerrina noted.  She had spoken to everybody, renewed her acquaintance with many, tracked down distant cousinship with others and discovered points of connection through marriages, friendships or business dealings with any still left unattached.

Elerrina circulated, putting into use the centuries of her naneth’s training.  If Nisi could do it, she thought, so could she, making a point of noting every jarring response or evasion.  Sirithiel touched her arm briefly as she stood in light conversation with a group whose main interest appeared to be fashion, and Elerrina excused herself.

‘I am so sorry, Elerrina,’ Sirithiel said softly, aware that elven ears were as interested in her words as she was in theirs.  ‘I would not have disturbed you, but Galenthil is very distressed, and I am afraid that we cannot make him settle.  If you could come for a few moments.’

‘What is the matter with him?’ Elerrina asked anxiously, leaving the room and closing the door on the chattering.

‘Nothing, really,’ Sirithiel murmured, ‘but I needed to talk to you.  Come to the nursery.’

As they approached the door, Elerrina could hear the sound of quiet sobs, but they did not appear to be the sounds of an elfling. When distressed, she found, Galenthil tended to get louder and louder until his screams were deafening.  Eleniel would cry for longer, but generally fell asleep before reaching this pitch of dull misery.

‘Thranduil has taken the little ones out,’ Sirithiel said quietly.  ‘This seemed the safest place of Nessariel – where there would be the least likelihood of listening ears.’

Elerrina looked swiftly at her friend, who shook her head.  ‘What is the matter, Nessa?’she asked gently, moving to sit down next to her distant cousin.  ‘You can tell me all about it.’ 

The elleth put her hands over her face as it to cut herself off from the world and came out with a sound that tangled itself in her sobs so that it was completely meaningless.

‘I will rejoin the party,’ Sirithiel suggested, her soft mist-grey eyes resting thoughtfully on the dark head.  ‘Nessa will be more likely to talk to you if I am not here.’

‘Let Nisi know I am going to be a while, would you Sirithiel,’ Elerrina asked. ‘She will be more than capable of keeping an eye on things and deflecting any attention.’

Elerrina sat still, stroking her cousin’s back, altering it occasionally to gentle patting, much as she would have soothed either of her babies, crooning so quietly that the noise was barely audible.  Nessariel continued to cry, but her sobs eased until they were little more than shudders, shaking her slight frame. 

‘What is it, cousin?’ Elerrina’s voice was encouraging.  ‘Tell me.  Even if there is nothing I can do, you will feel better for letting out your worries.’

‘Minyariel,’ Nessa sniffed. ‘She was just so horrible, Elerrina.  She has never liked me.  She told me to take my claws out of Tarannon – that she had a much better match in mind for him than me. Someone whose family was prepared to commit themselves, she said.  She said I was nothing and she was not about to let her son marry beneath him.’

Elerrina digested the words.  ‘Do you really want to marry Tarannon?’ she asked carefully.  ‘I would not have thought he was exactly your type.’

Nessariel gave a watery attempt at a smile.  ‘He has been around for a while, but actually,’ she sighed, ‘I do not know where she got the idea that we wanted to be betrothed – he is a good dancer, and he is nice-looking, but I cannot say that I would miss him much.  He has always been rather more interested in me than I am in him, if the truth were told.  But she was so – vindictive.  She frightened me.  She was smiling all the time she spoke, but her voice was like broken glass slashing at me – and then she just nodded as if we had been talking about the weather and went off to talk to Lady Galadriel.’

Elerrina looked at her thoughtfully.  ‘When did he start showing an interest in you, Nessa?’ she asked.

Her cousin shrugged.  ‘At your wedding.  I had known him before that, but that was the first time he asked me to dance.’

Elerrina continued to murmur soothing words, holding the shaking figure until she relaxed in her arms as the storm passed.   ‘Why do you not go away for a long visit somewhere else, Nessa?  Then you will be able to have fun without that evil witch watching you.’

‘My face must be a mess,’ Nessariel said regretfully.  ‘I will think about it, Elerrina. Do you mind if I stay here until everyone has gone?  I do not want anyone to see me like this.’

***

‘Good shot,’ Legolas told his brother-in-law approvingly.

Camentur shook his head.  ‘I cannot compete with you.’

‘That is true enough, I suppose,’ Elrohir said.  ‘But then few of us can.’  He aimed carefully, but his last arrow missed the bull’s-eye. ‘I am considered a fair shot, but Legolas has an unfair advantage.’

‘In what way is anything unfair?’ his friend protested.

‘You are just too good,’ Elrohir explained.

The visitor laughed. ‘That is clearly unfair,’ he agreed.  ‘Cheating, almost.’

‘I am glad you agree,’ Elrohir grinned, clapping him on the shoulder.  ‘Notice that you do not often see Legolas practising his blade skills.  He prefers to show off with his bow.’

A group of blue-clad elves pushed past, intent on claiming the space they were using. They were talking at the tops of their voices, clearly hoping that they would cause offence with remarks obscure enough to be ignored, but clear enough to be offensive.

‘Wait,’ Camentur instructed them.  ‘We will retrieve our arrows before you begin.’  He looked the others up and down, ‘Calion,’ he said, inclining his head. ‘How is your adar?’

Brought up short, the younger elf flushed slightly and nodded.  ‘Well, I thank you,’ he replied.  ‘Convey my good wishes to your parents.’  Elrohir watched with interest as Camentur made the other squirm, before releasing him to catch up with his friends.

While they were talking, Legolas went to tug his arrows from the target, before moving over to pull out those belonging to Camentur and Elrohir.  As he grasped the final shaft, he jumped to hear the sound of an arrow in flight, turning swiftly too late to avoid the missile entirely.

‘Legolas!’ Elrohir cried, racing towards his friend, as he stood pinned to the target, blood pouring from his arm.

‘It is a good thing he is such a poor archer,’ he said, surprisingly calmly, looking back at the dark-haired figure in his brother-in-law’s grip, ‘or I would be dead.’

‘Alternatively,’ the twin remarked conversationally, as he worked to cut the bolt free from the target, ‘he is a very good shot and meant to get your arm.’

‘Not him,’ Legolas sounded rather disgusted. ‘I suspect he did not even mean to fire.’

‘Sit down,’ Elrohir commanded him.  He turned to one of the elves who had run to help.  ‘Hold him here, if you will,’ he said.  ‘The head has gone right through, so I must cut the shaft to remove it with least damage.  Press to reduce the bleeding.’  He drew out his belt knife.

‘Are you sure you know what you are doing?’ the elf sounded rather queasy.

‘Please!’ Legolas sounded pained. ‘Elrohir has done this sort of thing many times.  Just be grateful that the arrow has not caught the bone.  That is nasty to watch.’

‘And nastier to suffer.’  Elrohir looked at him.  ‘Are you all right, my friend?’

‘Patch me up and take me to Elrond, will you, Elrohir. Please?’

‘You do not want Elerrina to see this?’ 

‘She is not accustomed to arrow wounds, my friend.  I would prefer it to be treated and neatly bandaged before she learns what has happened.’

Camentur crouched down beside them. ‘Can I do anything, my brother?’

‘Wait,’ Elrohir insisted.  He worked swiftly, removing the shaft and slicing the clothing away before bandaging the injury to slow the bleeding.  ‘We will take him to a better place before we close the wound,’ he said.

Legolas grasped his brother-in-law’s sleeve with his uninjured hand.  ‘What have you done with him?’ he asked.

‘This will need to go to the highest authorities,’ he said soberly.  ‘Even if it was an accident, it was one that should not have happened.  And if it was no accident, it came close to kinslaying.  I have sent him to his father to await the king’s judgement.’ 

Elrohir closed his eyes, unconvinced that Camentur’s action would lead to a satisfactory outcome.  ‘Will he not run?’ he said carefully. ‘It seems unrealistic to expect him to stay around without any restraint.’

‘Do you think so?’ Camentur considered.  ‘It is not usually necessary to confine wrongdoers in these lands.  Escape would not be honourable.’

Who shot Legolas?’ Elrohir asked simply, sighing at the naivety.

‘Did you not see?’ Camentur sounded surprised.  ‘He said he did not do it, but the one with the bow was Calion.  Artamir’s son.’

***

Thranduil closed the door quietly, but there was nothing quiet about the eyes that met Elrond’s.  ‘He could have been killed,’ he raged, his voice tight with fury.  ‘This is Valinor,’ he went on.  ‘Things like this are not supposed to happen.’

Elrond absorbed the anger, letting Thranduil relieve his anxiety.  ‘The wound is not serious,’ he said finally.  ‘He has endured many worse.’

‘He has not had an elf shoot at him before.’  The words froze them, until Thranduil walked over to a decanter and poured two glasses of rich red wine.  ‘It is not Dorwinion,’ he said, ‘but it is not bad.’

Elrond accepted the glass, swirling the dark wine round the bowl of the glass. ‘Galadriel said that she believes that this opposition is being managed.  Do you think Artamir has enough of a brain to be behind it?’

Thranduil sat wearily by the fire that brightened the dark room.  ‘No,’ he said.  ‘Elerrina has some suspicions of his wife, but I do not believe she has the intelligence, either.  And I still do not see what they expect to gain.’

The flames flickered, casting changing shadows across the library.  ‘I did not believe that arriving here would immerse me in the least savoury kind of politics,’ Thranduil said. ‘Nor yet that elves would take to tackling their political problems with the most stupid tactics of men.’

‘Elrohir is of the opinion that Artamir and his family are being set up as scapegoats for whatever trouble is intended,’ Elrond mused.  ‘He says that he feels the scheme is likely to work because Artamir believes that he is in control, so that, should it collapse around him, he will expect to receive the blame.’

‘Has he worked out who is pulling the strings?’

Elrond smiled.  ‘How odd – that is exactly the expression Galadriel used.  No, I believe he said that he is closing down on the most likely candidates.  He has had Legolas and Elladan performing various tasks for him that he says are illuminating and he wishes to speak to Elerrina about something that Sirithiel told him.’

Closing his eyes, Thranduil leaned his fair head back against the chair.  ‘I cannot wait to get away, Elrond,’ he said seriously.  ‘I am coming to think that is does not really matter whether Glorfindel has time to explore fully.  All we need is somewhere to start.  The longer we remain here, the greater the chance of something irrevocable going wrong.  I want to take my family and remove them to the safety of the forest as soon as possible.’

‘It will not be long, my friend,’ Elrond replied.  ‘We are making progress.’

Far Horizons 8 - Finding the Way     

It had taken several weeks to work their way towards the river, carefully and tediously mapping every inch of the way to a distance of several miles on either side of their path.  You would have thought, Glorfindel marvelled, that so much minutiae, so much time spent over so little, would have brought some level of closeness and understanding to the elves under his command.  Unfortunately, he sighed, days of careful work had not achieved the result he would have expected from the unexpected arrival on one orc.

The sensation of being watched had proved less than helpful, he thought.  It put them all on edge, and it had driven Haldir the point of insanity.  He had been unable to believe that a warrior of his experience could not find the observer, but despite his careful searches, no trace had been found and several little incidents with missing items and leaking supplies had to be put down to ill-chance rather than ill-doing.

‘One question I ask myself, my lord,’ Rindor said quietly in his ear, ‘is why elves have apparently not found their way here along the river.  It seems such an obvious way into these lands.’

‘And have you provided yourself with an answer?’

‘Have you travelled down the Anduin from Lothlorien?’ Rindor answered with an enquiry.

‘A waterfall?’ Glorfindel considered.  ‘That is a possibility.  It would deter all but the most enthusiastic.’

‘I believe we have climbed considerably since we left the plain,’ Rindor observed. ‘And although we came down from the pass, I think that overall we are much higher.  It could be quite spectacular.’

‘So do you think we will need boats?’

‘Small and manoeuvrable,’ the dark-haired elf said consideringly. ‘Light. If we send some to follow the river, they might need to carry the craft at times.  And it might be possible to climb down the falls and use boats to return to the inhabited lands.’

Glorfindel lifted his head as he caught some noise ahead. ‘What now?’ he asked in irritation, urging his horse forward.

Two elves were squared up to each other, hostility clear in their bearing, as others attempted to pull them back from their confrontation.

‘Leave it, Falas,’ one said. ‘He is not worth the attention.’

The farmer paid no heed, continuing to stare at Neldin with obvious resentment. ‘You are asking for trouble, you self-satisfied moron,’ he said viciously.  ‘And if you. . .’

‘What is the problem?’ Glorfindel interrupted sharply.

There was a sudden silence and the participants drew back slightly, unwilling to air their grievances before the powerful lord. 

‘It is nothing,’ Neldin growled. ‘Just a little disagreement.’

Glorfindel stared at him, deliberately making his gaze as intimidating as he could. ‘We do not need disagreements, Neldin,’ he said gently, but with the sharpened steel clear under the velvet.  ‘You have been having too many disagreements with too many people.  It will stop, do you hear me?’

‘Yes, my lord.’

‘Look at me!’ Glorfindel’s voice lashed sharply and Neldin reluctantly lifted his eyes to meet the glare.  ‘Do not think that because we are a small group here far from home that we have to tolerate you.  We can and will make your life a misery if you do not go some way towards working pleasantly with us.  Do you understand?’

‘Yes, my lord.’ Neldin replied stolidly, whilst wondering how his life could become any more miserable than it was already.

‘Good.’ Glorfindel continued to push forward, calling as he went, ‘Falas!’

The farmer pulled free of his friend’s grip and followed along the path laid for them by the scouts. 

‘Your reports to Rindor suggest that you doubt the land here will be fertile enough to support much in the way of farming,’ Glorfindel remarked. ‘Are you suggesting that the forest will be unable to sustain the population we wish to bring here?’

‘No, my lord,’ Falas answered, switching to the business that had brought him here.  ‘We cannot fell trees to create fields – and it would not help if we did, for the fertility of the soil would be short-lived.  Close to the river, where the spring flooding brings down alluvial soils and the moisture level is higher, we should find that food crops can be grown successfully, and gardens will thrive in the areas where the sun breaks through the canopy.  We can fertilise the gardens with stable manure and dung from our food animals, which will enrich the soil.  Initially we might have good results, as the soil is not used to growing crops, then there will be a dip before our methods of farming improve results.  Considering we will be harvesting the produce the forest provides – both plant and animal, we will be able to feed a reasonable number over the first few years, provided no disasters occur.’

With a slow nod of approval, Glorfindel remarked, ‘Well, that, at least, sounds promising.  Have you consulted with Aelindor about the trees and what they will provide?’

‘He is quite excited, my lord,’ Falas told him.  ‘There are apparently many useful trees that can provide not only wood and shelter, but nuts and rope and sweetening – and a variety of other things.  Thornen, too, is quite pleased, as there are several trees and plants that he has spotted that will give us medicines.’

Glorfindel smiled.  ‘This project is so overwhelming that I sometimes forget how much we have achieved already.  I look forward to sending reports back to our lords.  I would not be surprised to find that they make excuses to come here as soon as we have set up our staging post.’  He straightened his face and glanced at his companion, who stiffened, recognising that he was about to be quizzed on the earlier events.

‘Tell me,’ Glorfindel said simply.  ‘What is it about Neldin that sets everyone at odds with each other?’

‘If it were that simple to identify, my lord, we would have resolved it by now,’ Falas said dryly.  ‘It is almost as if he wants to cause disruption, if only because then we are all looking at him.’

A germ of an idea began to emerge.  ‘Would you say that Neldin might be involved in the damage and losses we have experienced?’

‘I would like to, my lord,’ Falas said reluctantly.  ‘It seems to me to be just the sort of thing he would do, but unfortunately we have already thought of it and he has been watched.  Whoever is responsible for playing pranks, it is not Neldin.  On at least two occasions he has been under observation and at some distance from what happened.’

‘Who set up the watch?’ Glorfindel asked suspiciously.

‘Rindor, my lord. Did you not know?’

Glorfindel nodded uninformatively.  ‘Continue to keep your eye on him, Falas.  And refrain from challenging him if it is at all possible.’  He dismissed the other elf to return to work. 

They had expected opposition, Glorfindel thought, but they had not anticipated it following the small band of explorers.  Was it possible that the group had been infiltrated by some of those determined to sabotage this venture?  Would anyone choose a spy as inefficient as Neldin, though – an elf who was so irritating that he would be immediately suspected of being the cause of any trouble?  Or, more likely, was Neldin there to distract attention from a much more dangerous opponent? Glorfindel considered each of the elves in the party.  He could not exclude any, he decided reluctantly, except probably Haldir and Gwathor, both of whom he had known long enough for them to have earned his trust.  He would have to be on his guard.

***

Some distance ahead of the main party, Haldir and Gwathor looked down from the trees to the wide expanse of the river, its silver surface appearing stationary, except here and there where flotsam drifted past swiftly enough to show the power of the water. 

‘That is a fairly substantial river – I think we have reached our first boundary,’ Haldir observed.  ‘Shall we now seek upstream or down?’

‘I will climb up and see if there is any obvious advantage either way,’ Gwathor shrugged.  ‘My instincts say downstream, but I could not tell you why.’  He disappeared quickly into the foliage, scarcely visible amid the dense leaves. 

Haldir gazed at the open river before him.  It made a change to see so much sky, he thought, and its vivid blue contrasted well with the water and the million shades of green that made up the forest.  The trees were happy here, their roots deeply buried in rich moist earth and their branches stretching freely towards the sun that fed them.  It was a fairly simply vegetative pleasure, though: they lived and grew to produce seeds that they then shed in the hope of new life.  The song echoed through them, but they had little concept of anything beyond themselves.  They were interested in the strange creatures that passed beneath them, but they could not understand creatures so quick in their movements, there one minute, gone seconds later.  Haldir wished he could reach more deeply into the trees’ awareness.  He felt sure they could tell him something important, if only they could grasp what he wanted to know.

Gwathor landed beside him.  ‘There are hundreds of scarlet butterflies up there,’ he said in wonder, ‘and tiny birds with iridescent wings seeking out long racemes of little cream flowers. It is if another world begins where the trees stop.’

‘I have seen fish jumping,’ Haldir mentioned. ‘There seem to be some suited to the size of the river in which they swim.’

‘This is not a bad place,’ Gwathor judged.  ‘I think I could live here.’

‘If only we could choose who would live with us,’ Haldir sighed.  ‘Did you see anything useful while you were admiring the wildlife?’

‘Downstream,’ Gwathor confirmed.  ‘I believe the area of open clearing is that way.’

‘Let us go, then, and retrieve the rest of the party,’ the fair-haired elf said reluctantly. ‘Once we have them dealing with their busy-work, we can get on with the exploration and ignore them.’

‘You are not courting, are you, my friend?’ Gwathor commented with apparent irrelevance as he grinned widely. ‘I am surprised!  I would have thought an amiable elf like you would have been snapped up centuries ago.  There must be some elleth out there who is longing to be drilled like a new and particularly stupid recruit.’

‘Peace,’ Haldir insisted with a reluctant smile.  ‘It is not that I have not had opportunities, you understand.  I just find debate tiresome and I have not yet found an elleth for whom it is worth enduring.’

‘I look forward to the day, Haldir.’

‘Then you have a long wait ahead of you, my friend.’

***

The watcher in the trees reflected on what he had seen.  They were not bad, these outsiders, although they were not as good as they would like to think.  Some of them seemed more closely bound to the forest than others, but they were all careful and respectful of the life around them.  What worried him, however, was that their conversation revealed that this was merely the vanguard of an invasion – and he was not at all convinced that his Lady would appreciate the arrival of uncounted elves disrupting her forest. 

He would have to return soon and report what he had observed, but first he wanted to see the invaders settled, so that they would still be in place when the Lady came to see for herself.

He slid through the trees; no more than a shadow, a slight shift of colour against the dappled light; as silent as a leaf drifting towards the ground.  He noted the blond lord look round and was impressed again by his awareness of change in his environment even as the watcher knew that he was safe from notice. 

One of those most closely attuned to the trees tilted his head as if listening, but the noise of the others distracted him and he turned away.  He seemed almost familiar, the watcher thought, as if some tenuous connection existed between them, but the feeling was too vague to grasp.

As he had expected, the blond elves led the rest in a more southerly direction, angling towards the river, but heading for the area where the forest thinned out.  He waited to see them settle, then left, heading northwards as quickly as he could to carry the news to the Lady.

***

Who would have thought, mused Glorfindel, that an expedition into the deep forest would have them debating endlessly about the design of small water craft.  Or, indeed, that Neldin would actually seem to have found something about which he knew.  Now that Nintaur and Neldin were actually involved in a task that required their skill, their squabbles had become productive and they seemed to enjoy the loud discussions.  The delicate frameworks they had constructed unnerved him and gave him no inclination to try them out on a river that seemed, at the least, unforgiving of error, but Alagsir and Ruindel appeared to have some confidence in the design and had managed to provide and treat sufficient hides to complete them. 

The small teams were bringing back information in plenty, he sighed, looking at the camp table before him, and it would not be long before somebody had to devise a method of constructing filing cabinets to store the stack of paper.

Rindor grinned at him.  ‘Paperwork is not your activity of preference, my lord,’ he commented.

A sour look rewarded him.  ‘And to think that I was delighted to be sent out here because I would evade all the endless meetings which Elrond is capable of arranging,’ he grumbled. ‘All I seem to do is sit here while you pile reports in front of me.’

‘There is some interesting detail emerging, my lord,’ the younger elf observed.  ‘The project is appearing quite viable.’

Glorfindel leant back and watched Elrond’s appointment to the group.  ‘I have wondered about you, my friend,’ he remarked.  ‘You seem an unlikely combination – explorer and clerk, researcher and swordsman.  And then I thought – there it was all the time.  You are indeed more than you seem.  What made Elrond send his spymaster with us? Would you not have been of more use to him amongst the grumbling malcontents at home?’

Rindor lifted his eyebrows and pinned the elf lord with his steel grey eyes.  ‘I am surprised it has taken you so long to place me, my lord,’ he said. ‘It is not as if Lord Elrond was attempting to conceal anything from you.  He just refrained from telling you everything.’

‘That is no novelty,’ Glorfindel grumbled.  ‘I sometimes think Elrond keeps secrets just for the fun of it.’

‘I am hardly likely to condemn an ability to remain discreet, my lord,’ Rindor laughed. ‘It is my stock-in-trade, after all.’  His face straightened gradually.  ‘He did not send me as a spy this time.  I think my lord knew how bored I was and looked on this as an opportunity for me to get some fresh air in my lungs.  However –,’ he looked speculative and let his words die away.

‘However,’ agreed Glorfindel, as they turned to look at the small number working within sight of his tent.

‘Irritating as Neldin has proved to be,’ Rindor murmured, ‘he has also shown himself to be generally harmless.  My feeling is that he has been placed here to divert attention from others, my lord.  I would like to know who placed him in our party – and to whom that person is connected, by marriage, financial interest, kinship or enmity.’ 

‘Neldin’s origins place him in Lothlorien.’

‘Which almost by definition should suggest that any whose presence should worry us will have no clear connection with the Golden Wood.’

‘I have known many of these elves for centuries, Rindor.’

 Rindor shrugged.  ‘That makes it tempting to exclude them from suspicion, my lord, but not necessarily sensible.’  He hesitated.  ‘I have been operating various systems so that people are watching each other – there are discrepancies appearing.  I would like you, my lord, to tell me all that you know of anybody here – however insignificant it might seem.’

‘I might.’ Glorfindel gave him a hard stare.  ‘But first I want you to tell me everything you have worked out so far – without any evasions.  The time for concealment has passed, Rindor, and, like it or not, we are going to work together.’ 

Rindor inclined his head, accepting the inevitable, but before he spoke a loud pain-filled cry made them turn their heads swiftly.  Glorfindel leapt up, automatically reaching for his sword, but Rindor started to move even as the crashing thud of a body falling through trees to hit the ground reached their ears. He led the way confidently, heading swiftly in the direction of the accident.

‘What happened?’  Glorfindel demanded sharply, grabbing the arm of a shocked-looking Aelindor.

‘He fell,’ he answered numbly.

The lord looked at him impatiently, but Rindor’s hand on his arm deterred him from making the pithy response that was on the tip of his tongue.

‘Who?’ Elrond’s spymaster said gently.

‘Haldir,’ Glorfindel told him, frozen with horror.  ‘It’s Haldir.’

He moved with deliberation towards the crumpled figure, attended by several elves where he had fallen.  Glorfindel was glad to see that Thornen was among them. This was a time when he could appreciate the worth of a healer trained by Elrond.

‘How is he?’ he said, sickly afraid to hear the reply.

‘He lives,’ Thornen replied briefly, ‘and if we wish that situation to continue, please stop asking inane questions and just do as I say.’

Glorfindel drew the spectators back to form a small ring far enough from the activity to be out of the way, yet close enough to do anything requested of them.  Their silence revealed their anxiety, however, and as Thornen’s understanding of the situation improved, he began to describe aloud what he was finding.

‘He is unconscious, which is all to the good at this point,’ he said. ‘Notice that most of the injuries are on the right side.  He does not look as if he tried to save himself as he fell – there are no injuries to the palms of his hands – they are on the outer surfaces.  He fell hard, but well,’ he observed in puzzlement, ‘almost with the limpness of an elfling, who does not realise that the landing will hurt.’  The healer looked up, a sudden hardness in his face. ‘I believe he may have been rendered senseless before he fell, my lord.  There is an injury on his head that suggests the impact of a stone or dagger hilt.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘It is my job to know these things, my lord.’  He continued his examination.  ‘The head injury is not serious.  He has broken his collar bone and fractured several ribs, but the worst damage is his leg.  It is a nasty break.  He will need to be cared for carefully for several weeks.’

‘Do you have what you need to look after him properly?’ Glorfindel looked at the helpless march warden. 

‘I will hope so, my lord,’ the healer responded dryly.  ‘For I do not know from where we would obtain further supplies of anything.’

Gwathor, who had been watching in growing horror, broke in.  ‘I do not understand,’ he said.  ‘You said he was struck.  Who could have done it?  And why?  Are you not going to discover who among us would attempt to do Haldir harm?  I, for one, will not be happy until whoever did this is found.’

The grim expression on Glorfindel’s face suggested that the scout was not the only one determined to get to the bottom of the incident.  ‘This matter must be resolved,’ he said determinedly.  ‘We have enough to do without distrust among us.’

A deep moan diverted their attention to the elf still lying where he fell.  ‘My head,’ he said faintly.

‘Do not try to move,’ Thornen instructed him.  ‘You have injuries that require treatment.’

‘I fell?’  Even in his pain, Haldir sounded incredulous. ‘Impossible!’

‘Do you remember what happened beforehand?’ Rindor asked insistently.

Haldir closed his eyes, a deep crease between his brows. After a moment he gave a tiny shake of his head. ‘It is fuzzy,’ he breathed. ‘I am not sure -.  I saw something.’

‘Leave him,’ the healer commanded.  ‘He does not need to be interrogated at this moment.’

‘Stay with him, Rindor,’ Glorfindel said decisively.  ‘At all times, understand me?’ He met the grey eyes and waited for Rindor’s nod of acceptance.

By the time Haldir had been treated and carried back to the most comfortable shelter they could manage, Glorfindel had come to a decision.  Petty tricks were one thing; this was quite another.  The saboteur had to be uncovered.  Of one thing the elf lord was certain – Rindor had nothing to do with the attack.  If he could start from that point, perhaps they would be able to identify who was responsible.

He took two cups of the steaming tea and joined his aide where he sat beside his charge.  ‘Well,’ he said, handing over the drink, ‘let us resume our conversation where we left it.  Tell me, Rindor.  If you do not know who our troublemaker is, at least let me know who it is not.’

Far Horizons 9:  Safety Lines 

Finarfin observed the elf who had captured his daughter’s hand.  It was rather ridiculous, millennia after the date, to find himself jealous of the ancient silver-haired lord. It was even more ridiculous to want to test him in some way to insist that he prove himself worthy of her love.   However, nonsensical or not, he was conscious that the feeling was there.

The look in his daughter’s eyes suggested that she was only too well aware of the emotions coursing through him, even as it warned him that he was to keep to himself any ideas he might have.  Moreover, he had to admit that she was clearly happy to be here with her husband by her side and, for that at least, he should be prepared to offer friendship – fully and wholeheartedly.  And he would.  Even though he found it hard to forgive him the years when she had suffered, bereft of power and passion and purpose, longing for a reunion that seemed ever less likely.

‘He is good for her,’ his wife observed quietly, for his ears only.

He was:  Finarfin had to agree.  She had been a wild and rebellious child when she turned her back on him and the Blessed Realm and headed across the vicious Grinding Ice to seek a life of her own choosing.  She had been a subdued, exhausted, triumphant, but above all lonely elf when she had returned with Elrond, Mithrandir and the Halfling with the news of Sauron’s defeat.  Her husband’s arrival had warmed her and completed the healing in a way of which nothing else was capable.

‘Send him to me, my daughter,’ he requested silently across the crowded hall.  ‘I would speak with him without your standing by his side to protect him.’

‘He would consider,’ she replied, ‘that I am the one who needs protection.’

‘Shall I say, then, that he does not know you well?’ he asked.

He felt her laugh with a softness he had not heard since she was an elfling. ‘He knows me, Adar.  He chooses to shelter me anyway.  And, on occasion, I choose to accept it.’

Celeborn appeared by his side, the gleam of starlight in him, polished with the strength of mithril.  ‘My lord king,’ he said politely, bowing his head.

‘My lord prince,’ Finarfin replied.  After all, nothing was lost in behaving with courtesy and since his son-in-law appeared not to care for titles, that was all the more reason to ensure that he was given them in plenty.  ‘I understand that Glorfindel of the House of the Golden Flower has ridden forth with a party to seek the homes for which you hunger.’

As he conversed cautiously with the king, Celeborn allowed his eyes to consider the elves before him.  Surely, somewhere among these, would be the answer to the trouble about which he was concerned.  Did he really need, he thought, to bring the matter to Finarfin, or would it be better to resolve it without him?  Galadriel met his eyes.  He could feel her encouraging him to reveal the problems and thought, with amusement, that if he did not, then she most certainly would.

The silver-haired queen inclined towards him, apparently listening to the meaningless small talk, before placing her hand on his arm.  ‘Cousin,’ she said, acknowledging him openly as kin to Olwe’s family.  ‘I believe that some matter concerns both you and my daughter, but I doubt that this is the best place or time for discussion. Perhaps you would take breakfast with us tomorrow in our private rooms.’

A slow smile lit Celeborn’s face. ‘My lady,’ he said. ‘Cousin – I would be honoured.’

The look that Earwen flicked at her husband was delightfully smug and made the king’s lips clench briefly.  He was aware of the flash of enjoyment in his son-in-law as he recognised the attributes of his wife revealed in her naneth and Finarfin suddenly felt a kinship to the elf who had his daughter’s love.

‘Manipulative,’ he said softly, but clearly.

‘Quite,’ Celeborn agreed.  ‘And devious.’

‘But remarkably successful,’ Finarfin sighed.  ‘I will see you tomorrow, my lord.’

***

Elerrina was paler than he ever remembered, Thranduil thought.  She had not reacted well to the idea that someone, here in the safety of Valinor, had deliberately injured her husband.  She had been almost as shocked by the cool response of all to the actual wound.

‘It is nothing,’ Legolas insisted, taking her hand.  ‘It will be fully healed within a few days.’

‘Truthfully,’ Miriwen assured her. ‘It is a clean puncture and is merely a flesh wound – painful, but not life threatening.  Elrond did not even find it necessary to come himself.  He knew that I am perfectly capable of dealing with it.’

‘How can you take it so calmly?’ she asked incredulously.  ‘It is an arrow wound. Calion shot him on purpose!  These people are willing to return to kinslaying to get what they want.’

Her brother cleared his throat.  ‘You do not need to become hysterical, little sister,’ he said reprovingly.  ‘Legolas himself thought the incident might have been an accident,’ he added, looking pleadingly at his brother-in-law.

‘Is that truly what you think?’  Thranduil raised his eyebrow.

‘I do not believe that Calion is capable of shooting accurately enough to be sure of wounding me thus,’ his son replied somewhat ambiguously.

With a slow nod, his adar informed them, ‘This is not my realm – I do not have the authority to deal with the accusation and even if I had, I would be obliged to leave the case to the hands of others, since my son is the victim of this incident.  Elrond has taken a full report from all those who would speak to him and a copy of the information has been forwarded to the king.  We will see what action Finarfin takes.’

His voice suggested that he would withhold judgement until such time as the king proved himself willing to behave impartially to Sindarin and Noldor alike. 

‘You show great wisdom,’ Camentur said with relief.  ‘Any action on your part would stir up further trouble, whereas King Finarfin is the lord to whom all these are sworn. They will have to accept his decision.’

***

‘You are an idiot!’ Artamir screamed.  ‘I am ashamed to have such a stupid fool as a son!  How did you begin to imagine that you could get away with such a reckless action?   All this time we have been working carefully and attempting to show these refugees for the inferior pieces of Moriquendi dross they are – and with one moronic move you have place our entire house in jeopardy!  You have shamed me and put your brother in peril.’

‘But, Adar -.’

‘Do not speak to me!  And stand up straight.  You are a disgrace, Calion.  I am inclined to disown you as my son without waiting for the king to decide to exile you.’

‘But, Adar,’ the nervous voice repeated.  ‘I did not -.’

His father lifted his hand and administered such a ringing slap across his son’s cheek that he had to step back to keep his balance.  ‘Do not lie to me!  You had the bow in your hand – you and only you.  Did you see anyone else? Can you tell me who is guilty, if not you?’

Calion lifted his hand to dab at the blood from the cut his father’s ring had opened, but he said nothing.  His shoulders sagged.  Did his pompous father not realise that, if he had shot the Arda-marred husband of Taryatur’s daughter, he would be only too delighted to claim the credit?  But he would not attempt to do such a thing – not now, when the time was not ready. 

Artamir squared his jaw and glared at his dejected son.  ‘You will ride to the king,’ he decided, ‘and throw yourself on his mercy.  If you arrive before that Thranduilion goes whingeing for vengeance, you might be able to pre-empt him.  Whatever happens, I do not wish to see you again until the matter is resolved, do you understand me?’

His son refused to meet his eyes. ‘If that is your command, Adar,’ he said stiffly.

‘I will not give you my blessing,’ his adar finished spitefully.  ‘You do not merit it.’

Calion bowed his head. ‘Farewell, Adar,’ he declared bitterly.

***

Elrohir leaned on the door frame, watching as Elerrina busied herself with Galenthil. ‘I do not understand,’ she said.  ‘Why are you so interested in this?  It is not unusual for ellyth to be distressed over ellyn – Nessariel did not seem to me to be saying anything that would account for you wanting to discuss the matter.’

As she brushed her fingers through Eleniel’s soft fair hair, Sirithiel looked thoughtful. ‘It did not feel right, Elerrina.  I know she is your cousin – but she did not seem truthful to me.’

Her friend stood and turned to her.  ‘Why not?’ she asked in surprise.

‘I saw her talking to Minyariel,’ Sirithiel answered softly. ‘It was not that sort of conversation – Minyariel was being as gracious as she ever is.  What is more, Nessariel was too tearful – and she recovered too quickly.  And why did she want to cry on your shoulder?  You are cousins, yes, but you are not close.  There were others she should have gone to first.’

‘I had not thought of it,’ Elerrina considered.  ‘You are right.  I wonder why it did not occur to me.’

Elrohir grinned.  ‘You have a tendency to imagine that pretty ellyth are innocent victims of evil schemes rather than their perpetrators.  If you think what Nessariel’s words achieved, rather than  feeling sorry for her – what do you see then?’

‘She accused Minyariel – and through her Artamir!’

‘No details – no proof – nothing concrete, but what was the outcome?  She left you convinced that Artamir is masterminding the opposition.’

Elerrina picked up her son and placed a loving kiss on his brow.  ‘There you are, my sweet,’ she said absently.  ‘What do you want me to do, Elrohir?’

‘I would like you and Nisi to draw her into your company more.  It will not seem odd – you are bound to want to protect her from nasty cruel Minyariel, and Nisi will want to spend as much time as possible with her kin.  And then I want you to be gullible. Accept what she tells you – rage at what angers her, show your doubts about your kin by marriage, reveal little details that we want to pass on.’

The green eyes gazed into his.  ‘It sounds as if it could be rather fun,’ Elerrina observed cautiously.

‘It takes intelligence and a good memory to do it well,’ Elrohir admitted.  ‘And it can have repercussions.  It should not matter to you too much – you will not be here in years to come, but Nisi might find that she comes under some suspicion.’

‘I will do what I must,’ Elerrina said with determination.  ‘Nobody is going to harm my husband and get away with it.’

Sirithiel smiled.  ‘Well said, my friend,’ she approved.  ‘I, too, will do anything I can, Elrohir.  I do not think they will be able to hide from us.’

‘Good,’ he replied, wondering with a qualm just what kind of sleeping dragon he had roused in these well-brought-up, gentle ellyth.

***

‘I am concerned,’ Celebrian said flatly, walking in on Elrond and Thranduil.

Her husband stopped his account of the information he had gathered and sent on to his wife’s daeradar and turned to her enquiringly.

‘If they have descended to physical attacks, I am worried that the elflings might be at risk,’ she elaborated.  ‘They must realise that in them we have a weak spot – someone will be bound to exploit it.’

Their stillness suggested that this was an aspect of the situation that had not occurred to Thranduil or Elrond.

‘Surely not,’ Elrond frowned.  ‘Things have not descended to the point where infants will be used to gain political advantage.’

‘Would you care to risk Elrin’s safety on that?’ she asked.  ‘Or would you take a chance that Eleniel and Galenthil will be excluded from any threat?’ she added, turning to Thranduil.  ‘We no longer live in enclosed communities where all present owe us their loyalty.  Anyone can approach us – and Elerrina and Sirithiel, particularly, have no concept of protecting themselves from danger.’

‘You are right,’ Thranduil accepted without hesitation. ‘However small the chance, it is there and measures must be taken to guard against it.  Have you any ideas?’

Celebrian smiled at him approvingly.  His long centuries of defending his realm without the aid of a ring had given him a much stronger need for practical solutions than Elrond, who was still considering the justification for any suspicion.

‘What I do not suggest is surrounding ourselves with armed warriors,’ she told him.  ‘I cannot imagine anything more likely to enrage those who are currently neutral.  But I do know that there have always been some ellyth in Lasgalen who have trained to serve as protectors, just as there were in Lothlorien.’

‘How did you know that?’ Thranduil asked suspiciously.  ‘It is not supposed to be general knowledge.’

Celebrian laughed.  ‘How do you think?’ she said.  ‘Adar allocated me my first protector when I was little older than Eleniel.  I had at least one close to me until I married and went to Imladris – and after that, until Arwen was grown.  Then Lithiwen wed and I decided to dispense with their service, although I imagine Adar reinstated it after -.’  She stopped briefly before continuing, ‘You do not imagine that they were unaware of each others’ existence, do you?  Laerwen was guarded by them, and so was Legolas until he was old enough to pass into the care of the novice masters.’

‘It is a long time,’ Thranduil said slowly, ‘since their service has been required.  What makes you think that any still exist?’

‘Apart from the one who already serves Elerrina as her nursemaid?’ Celebrian enquired dryly. ‘I do not know.  I hope.  And I am optimistic that Adar will know of some he can ask to join my household.’

‘I think you might be aware,’ Elrond said, ‘that there is already one who appears to be rather more acquainted with the skills required of a warrior than those of a seamstress.’

Celebrian smiled.  ‘Well, Miriwen insisted that she wanted to care for Elrin herself,’ she pointed out, ‘and until now there did not seem to be any need for protection to be more than nominal.’

‘Perhaps,’ mused Elrond acceptingly, ‘when Sirithiel has a child, it will be possible to transfer her to the nursery.’  He regarded his wife seriously.  ‘Our daughters-in-law need to be told, Celebrian,’ he told her. ‘Both the possibility and the solution. They are not elflings – and neither am I.’

Her touch on his mind was both warm and apologetic. ‘It did not seem important,’ she said. ‘At first, I thought you knew and thereafter it grew increasingly difficult to mention.’ She grinned.  ‘Take it up with Adar,’ she suggested.

***

‘Are you convinced that Calion is responsible for your injury?’  Elladan asked.

‘It would seem so,’ Legolas commented.

His friend raised his eyebrows enquiringly. 

‘No,’ Legolas conceded, shifting uncomfortably.  ‘He is incompetent and a fool, but he is not that stupid.’  

‘Did anyone other than Camentur see him fire?’

‘I do not believe,’ Legolas considered, ‘that Camentur said that he saw him fire.  He heard the arrow and saw Calion, and no other, with a bow in his hand.’

Elladan linked his fingers and put them behind his head, leaning back on to them. ‘I am not certain,’ he said.  ‘Calion is certainly hostile to us, but he is a follower – I truly cannot see him taking this sort of action.  Although,’ he added, ‘it would seem that his friends are quite happy to sacrifice him to save their own skins.  According to Adar, the High King is unlikely to be gentle with him.  He tends to make an example of those who deliberately endanger other elves.’

‘I am not at all certain that would be helpful.’  Legolas sat up and gazed at the bright sunlight through the window.  ‘I really do not know why I am being confined to my bed – I have escaped my room before with far more serious wounds.  And, although it is pleasant to spend time conversing with you, Elladan, I do not require a minder.’

‘It is simply to keep Elerrina happy, I think,’ his friend stated, dismissing his complaint.  ‘Miriwen has no worries about you, but says a day of rest will do you no harm. Make the most of it – your wife will soon become accustomed to your habit of coming home covered in blood and with assorted broken bones, and begin to find it an irritation rather than a cause for tender loving care.’

‘Thank you,’ Legolas replied with heavy sarcasm, ‘if I find I need advice, I will be sure to come to you.’  He paused.  ‘We will need to ride to the king’s court, will we not?  He will want to speak to us before coming to a decision.’

‘Probably.’  Elladan looked keenly at his friend.  ‘What will you say?’

‘What can I say?  I do not know who fired.’  He inspected at his hands. ‘But I do not think that will save Calion from being convicted.’  Raising his head, he turned serious eyes on his friend.  ‘I would ask for mercy for him,’ he said.

Elladan nodded slowly.  ‘I thought you would,’ he remarked. ‘Although I do not believe your adar will be pleased. And neither, if it comes to that, will your wife.’  

***

Galadriel admired the cool elegance of her husband’s attire.  The dove-grey silk of the robe was understated and the clothing beneath, in soft greens and greys, toned beautifully, whilst at the same time being clearly practical, as suited a meeting set for the early morning.  Only his face contrasted with the image he conveyed.  Celeborn was obviously not impressed at being put on display before he had eaten.

‘Is it really necessary to dress up?’ he asked in irritation.

Her smile answered him.  ‘You will be able to shed your robe once the formalities have been observed,’ she consoled him.  ‘It is better to start the encounter well.  It is my adar’s right to dispense with protocol, after all.  Are you ready, my husband?’

Celeborn turned to look at her and softened as he took in her sparkling eyes. ‘I suppose I can endure it,’ he commented, ‘since the prospect appears to give you so much pleasure.’

‘I have seen little of my parents since I arrived in these lands,’ Galadriel admitted. ‘At first I was not ready to be reminded of the past– there are too many missing faces – and later, I had no wish to return to my childhood.  They did not understand altogether, but they were prepared to wait.  After all, time is of little concern here.’  She took his hand and lifted it to her cheek. ‘I wish them to know you, my lord, and see what I see.’

‘That might not necessarily be a good thing,’ Celeborn observed, shifting the grip on her hand and drawing her arm through his as they left their rooms.

Finarfin was waiting.  His wife thought that she had not seen him in such a state of nervous anticipation for many centuries and wondered briefly if her daughter was also busy calming her husband in preparation for their meeting.

‘They are late,’ the High King snapped.

‘They are not,’ Earwen returned.  ‘They are on time.’ 

One of the warriors standing on ceremonial guard at the door tapped to signal the arrival of invited guests and the door opened to let in Galadriel and Celeborn. 

‘Let us dispense with formality,’ Finarfin said immediately, catching the reproachful look his son-in-law sent to his wife.  ‘Please, shed your robes – unless you feel more comfortable with them,’ he teased, keeping his face sober. ‘We will eat as family, nothing more.’

Earwen put her arm around her daughter’s waist and kissed her cheek before leading her towards a wide balcony overlooking the blue waters of the bay.  ‘I love to spend as much time as I can watching the water when we are staying here,’ she said.  ‘It is always the same, yet always different.  But,’ she continued, ‘it is framed by trees and vines and the homes of those who live here.’  She turned to inspect Galadriel.  ‘You are happier than you were when last we met.  I worried for you – you were turning inward and I feared that you might choose to leave us.’ She smiled wryly. ‘But you have found purpose.  Will you be happy in these new lands, my daughter? Will you not miss the sea?’

Shaking her head, Galadriel replied softly, ‘We will not be divided, Naneth – only distance will be between us and that can be crossed at will.  We need the challenge. What we do not need,’ she said a little louder, so that her husband and adar looked towards her, ‘are those who are scheming against us.’

‘I have not been told of this,’ Finarfin stated, raising his eyebrows.

‘There is little to tell, my lord,’ Celeborn countered swiftly.  ‘It is all very vague – it consists of loud bluster and quiet hostility.  It is a situation where nothing can be proved, until it is too late – and then everybody sits back wishing that action had been taken earlier.’

‘Then tell me what you suspect,’ the king said, as they served themselves before sitting at the table. 

As they sat drinking tea and considering what had been said, a courtier entered unobtrusively.  Finarfin looked up in irritation.  ‘I said we were not to be disturbed,’ he reminded the soberly-dressed elf. 

‘I know, my king,’ he replied.  ‘That is why I have chosen to bring you this missive myself, rather than put it in the hands of a servant.  I judge that both you and Lord Celeborn would wish to be informed of this immediately.’

The king put out his hand and took the package, looking at the broken seal on the letter.  ‘From Elrond,’ he stated in surprise, unfolding the paper and reading.  He froze, his body stiffening as the words sank into his mind.  ‘You were right,’ he told his advisor.  ‘This was too important to wait.  Summon my council for late this morning, would you please.  I will discuss the contents with you then,’ he added, nodding dismissal as he handed the letter to his son-in-law.

Earwen and Galadriel waited impatiently for the two elf lords to decide to impart the information that was clearly upsetting both of them.  On reaching the bottom of the page, Celeborn looked up at the king.  ‘Shall I, my lord?’

Finarfin nodded briefly, turning his eyes to his daughter’s face.

‘Something has happened,’ Galadriel said with conviction.

‘Legolas has been shot,’ Celeborn announced succinctly.  ‘Apparently the chief suspect is Artamir’s son, Calion.  It is not, at it turns out, a serious injury, but it could have been.  I think the potential threat has just become real.’    

Far Horizons 10: Justice   

Calion Artamirion stared at the King’s House, built of a white stone that reflected the light, tall towers roofed with slate of gleaming pewter, the road leading between solid pillars into a broad courtyard.  Warriors guarded the entrance, but their presence appeared largely ceremonial, for no-one was refused entry and elves passed freely in and out of the wide gateway.

He swallowed convulsively; his throat far drier than it should be after his easy journey.  This was not the first time that he had ridden into this yard, but it was the first time he had feared the reception he would receive.  He knew that, had he or his brother been injured in such a way, his father would already have been before the king demanding vengeance.

His horse left to the care of the stable hands, Calion attempted to bat the dust of the road from his clothes.  Part of him said that he should take the time to change into his formal court robes, but the larger part told him that it would be pointless and that the sooner he faced the king, the sooner the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach would leave him.  One way or another he was here to face the king’s justice and he might as well get it done.

As soon as he gave his name to the court officials, he knew that word had reached Finarfin.  Despite the large number of people in the hall, they drew away from him as if afraid to be associated with him.  He was left standing in an empty circle, forcing himself to keep his head up and his face unmoved as he felt a trembling weakness creep into his limbs.  He could feel the eyes on him as a hundred hissed conversations debated his actions, not one of them doubting his guilt.  

‘Come with me.’  A dark elf in a dark burgundy robe demanded authoritatively. 

Calion managed no more than an enquiring look.

‘The High King will not see you until the offended parties arrive,’ the official explained. ‘He will hear both sides of the case at the same time – he does not wish to give anyone the opportunity to cry favouritism.  A room has been prepared where you will remain until Legolas Thranduilion is able to travel.  What you require will be brought to you, but you will remain confined until that time.’

The guest room was comfortably furnished and no prison, but Calion’s heart sank as the door closed behind him; the solid click of the latch sounding to him like the echo of doom.

***

‘He came voluntarily?’ Celeborn said in some surprise.

‘He said that his adar sent him,’ the official confirmed.  ‘He also said that he was innocent of any attempt to harm Thranduil’s son.’

‘It seems a foolish thing to say.  He must be aware that he was restrained within seconds of the attack with the bow still in his hand,’ Galadriel remarked.

‘So foolish that it makes one wonder,’ her adar mused. ‘Although I will come to no conclusion until I have spoken to those who witnessed the situation.  Matters appear to be sensitive and haste would not be sensible.  Elrond says they will be able to travel in a few days.  Calion will just have to wait.’

***

‘Elerrina was not happy, was she?’ Elladan said, as he rode close to Legolas on their way to court. ‘I mean, Miriwen was not thrilled to have us leave, especially after Adar and Thranduil gave us all their big talk on ensuring that they and the elflings were safe, but your wife was seriously on edge.’

His friend glanced his way.  ‘Of course, she had not just seen me injured, been warned that she and the infants might be in danger and then lost me, Adar and her brother to this journey – I’m surprised she did not insist on coming with us.’

‘She and Nisimalote and the little ones will be safe staying with Naneth.’

Drawing a sharp breath, Legolas gave a brief nod.  ‘They had better be,’ he said.

Elladan’s look was concerned.  ‘I told you that you were riding too soon.’

‘I want to get this over, my friend,’ the blond elf replied, shifting uncomfortably.  ‘Behind us and forgotten.’

His adar heard him and turned to exchange glances with Elrond.  ‘That will take a long time,’ he said soberly.  ‘The sooner we get this migration moving the better, Elrond.’  He hesitated. ‘I would like to send our sons to see what progress is being made.  The feeling seems to me to be developing a nasty edge and I think it would be a good idea to get them away for a while.’

‘They have been digging in too many ants’ nests,’ Elrond agreed. ‘Perhaps it is time to draw back and see what they have stirred up.  I would be happier to have them out of the way.  Their wives and elflings will be safe enough – we can guard them more easily than we can our sons.’

Thranduil laughed.  ‘We could not keep them safe when they were young enough for us to command – now they would listen politely and then go on and do as they thought best.  They want to go and see what Glorfindel is doing – I say, let them think they have won this concession.’

The road was well-travelled and the weather good, but the party felt little urge to take advantage of the conditions, lingering along the way and allowing other parties to pass them.   When, finally, they saw the King’s House before them, they drew to a halt and gazed ahead of them with reluctance before urging their horses forward.

‘Well – I do not suppose we can delay this any longer,’ Legolas sighed. 

***

Finarfin sat on his imposing throne, raised above the waiting elves on a dais, looking every inch a king.  His hair, flowing over his shoulders, reflected the light and darkened the forbidding expression on his face.

‘I have heard what you have to say,’ he judged, his voice cool and impartial. ‘The evidence is circumstantial.  All deny having seen the arrow fired -,’ his eyes wandered to those of Calion’s cronies with frosty disdain, ‘yet all agree that only Calion was armed.  He protests his innocence, yet none support his contention.  I fear that there is only one conclusion to which I can come.  You are guilty of an offence that, with less good fortune, would have caused the death of another.’

Calion closed his eyes and lowered his head, trying to absorb the horror of what was happening to him.  Finarfin would not sentence him to death; elves did not kill other elves. That principle was unbreakable: all knew of the horror of kinslaying.   The penalty for this was worse than a swift death – he would be exiled from all he knew and his name would be expunged from the records.  It would be as if he did not exist; none would see him, speak to him, provide him with aid.  He would be taken to the borders of the civilised lands and abandoned with no more than a knife to help him survive.

‘My lord king.’

The light but determined voice made him open his eyes.  Legolas Thranduilion, his arm still in its sling, stepped forward to a place before the throne and dropped elegantly to one knee.

‘I would ask a boon of you.’

The hall became quieter than ever.  What might be the request of the injured party in a situation such as this?  He was a prince of Middle Earth, a world where orcs and evil Men roamed freely.  The onlookers speculated swiftly as to what kind of demand he might make in revenge for his wounding.

‘Speak,’ the king commanded.

‘I would ask that the king shows mercy to Calion Artamirion.  I request that he should not suffer the penalty which the court is entitled to inflict.’

Finarfin ignored the rustle that went round the room and watched with interest as Thranduil’s face reddened and his jaw clenched.  Clearly his son’s plea did not sit well with the Woodland King. 

‘Why, Prince of Lasgalen?’ he enquired.  ‘There are few who would consider that you were being unreasonable should you ask for the full punishment that the court may exact to be imposed on your behalf.’

Remaining on one knee, Legolas looked up at the fair face of the king.  ‘I doubt, my lord, this action was intended.  The outcome outweighs the thought behind it.  I would not have the sentence compound that.’

Finarfin remained silent, considering the elf before him before turning his eyes to inspect the condemned.  Calion was regarding Legolas with bemusement.  How was it, his face seemed to say, that, at the point when his friends and his adar’s allies abandoned him, his chosen enemy should be the one to intervene on his behalf.

‘So be it,’ the king decided.  ‘As you have asked for clemency, I will grant it.’  He turned his frown back on the shaken offender.  ‘However, penalty will still be paid.  You, Calion Artamirion, will serve for a century as bondsman to Legolas Thranduilion, who will be your sworn lord.  You are his to command and you will obey him absolutely.  Do you understand?’

Considering the faces before him, Finarfin decided that he was unable to tell which of the young elves before him appeared more horrified by his decision. 

***

‘It is quite clear that you are Lady Galadriel’s adar!’  Thranduil snapped, too annoyed to pay any regard to the courtesy owed to the High King. ‘What in Arda made you come to a decision like that?’

‘Your son could withdraw his request for mercy,’ Finarfin suggested calmly.

‘You know he cannot!’ Thranduil turned his glare on Galadriel as she stood watching with interest.

‘I know he will not,’ corrected the king.  ‘He decided on his course of action long before he came before the court.  You will just have to live with the outcome.’  He looked at the other with amusement.  ‘You are very like my sons,’ he remarked casually. ‘Do not jump to the conclusion that I have decided this simply to annoy you – I do have reasons, which I am sure you can see if you think about it.’

‘I see your reasons,’ Thranduil replied grimly. ‘But I am the one who will have to live with your methods.’

‘It need not be that bad,’ Galadriel commented. ‘Calion must serve your son.  Nothing says that they need to be in the same place.’

The fire in Thranduil’s eyes would have blistered paint.  ‘If you believe that Legolas will command the little – fool – to keep his distance, then you do not know my son!’

Galadriel met his gaze disdainfully, reminding him that he could not intimidate her. ‘If you thought he would happily send Calion into exile, then neither do you!’

‘Peace,’ her adar insisted. ‘This takes me back to when you were in the nursery, my daughter. If you persist in squabbling, I will send you to your rooms.’

From his vantage point by the window, Celeborn laughed and his wife and cousin both turned scathing looks on him before turning their backs on each other.

Finarfin met his eyes and raised an eyebrow, only to have his son-in-law reply with a brief grin and a shake of his head.  ‘I am concerned about the ill-feeling that seems to be growing,’ the king said.  ‘I think it may be time for me to pay a visit to my granddaughter’s house.   Perhaps my authority will help the disaffected realise their duty – and the presence of my guard will ensure the safety of my family until you have had time to put other measures into operation.’  As Thranduil narrowed his eyes, Finarfin smiled.  ‘Do not take me for a fool, my lord,’ he added softly.  ‘I have been a king in these lands for a very long time.  Even here, the improvident do not survive.’

‘Well,’ Earwen broke in.  ‘I do not care why we are to visit my daughter and granddaughter.  All I hear is that I am to spend some time with my great-grandsons and their families – and become acquainted with that little elfling of Elladan’s.  I cannot think of a better way to spend some time.’

‘Perhaps Thranduil is concerned,’ Galadriel observed sharply.  ‘If Elrond’s house is kept secure, then his own might be made more of a target.  He would not care to see his family endangered.’

‘I can ensure the safety of my household,’ Thranduil snapped.

Her adar frowned at Galadriel thoughtfully, before continuing.  ‘Have you yet received reports from your exploratory group?  I am of the opinion that the announcement of the opening of these lands should be made as soon as possible and that small groups of skilled elves should be making their way towards the chosen site.’

Celeborn looked at him quizzically. ‘You know the chosen site, my lord king?’ he enquired, acid sharpening his voice.

‘How would I know that, my son?’ the king returned smoothly.  ‘I believe there has been little time for word to reach you yet.’  He flicked some unnoticeable fluff from his robes.  ‘However, I am aware that Glorfindel is decisive – and I am sure he will be anxious to get things moving swiftly.’  He looked up and smiled blandly. 

‘We are of the opinion, my lord king,’ Elrond spoke quickly, ‘that our sons should be sent to discover what progress is being made.’

‘Not alone,’ the king raised one hand to cup his jaw, tapping his forefinger thoughtfully on his lip.  ‘They will need an escort.  An escort I would trust with my life – and theirs.’  His eyes were piercing, Thranduil thought, suddenly finding an unexpected respect for this Noldor king. ‘But yes, it would be wise to remove them from the mix.  We will see to it.’

***

Legolas looked helplessly at the stiff figure on one knee in front of him, head bent, clad now in a hastily-adapted version of the green livery worn by the guard of the Woodland King, before lifting his eyes to regard the grinning twins behind his new bondsman. 

‘Oh, stand up!’ he said with exasperation.  ‘There is no need for you to kneel every time you see me.’  He watched as the other rose, his eyes still averted from the fair-haired prince. ‘I will make it an order, if that is the only thing that will stop you,’ he added. ‘It is unnecessary and embarrassing – and I will not have it.’ Legolas looked helplessly at his friends.  ‘This was not my idea,’ he continued,  ‘and I do not want to have you in my service – but there seems to be little we can do about it, so we need to work out some way in which to deal with it.’

‘But first,’ Elladan remarked coolly into the ear of the elf in front of him, ‘I am going to issue you with a warning.  I will be watching your every move,’ he said.   ‘Any threat to my friend, or any member of his family, or household, or race – and I will have a knife at your throat faster than you can say Feanor – understood?’

‘I have given my word,’ Calion said awkwardly.  ‘Before the High King, I swore that I would serve loyally for the term demanded.’

‘What value can be placed on the word of an elf who would deliberately injure another?’ Elrohir asked with deceptive mildness.

‘Enough!’  Legolas snapped.  ‘This whole situation is difficult enough, without you two making it worse!  Can you imagine how Calion’s adar and brother are going to react to this?’

‘My adar disowned me before sending me to the king,’ Calion told them. ‘He did not wish his house to be tarnished by my crime,’ he added bitterly. ‘In public, my brother will accept his command.  The one who will cause trouble will be my naneth.’

‘Nevertheless,’ Elrohir commented, a little touch of compassion stirring in him, ‘it would be one thing to have you sent beyond reach, when they could pretend nothing had happened.  It will be very different to have you placed in front of them, serving a sentence as a bondsman.  Much harder to ignore.’

‘Which is, of course, the point,’ Legolas sighed. ‘I am afraid that you are being held up as an example, to remind both sides what might happen if we refuse to learn to get on with each other.’  He inspected the slight, dark-haired elf.  ‘And we will get on,’ he said grimly.  ‘I will be trusting you to protect my family, on the assumption that you understand better than I do from what they will need protection.’

‘Is not that a little impulsive?’ Elrohir said dubiously.

‘He will not be alone in his duty,’ Legolas pointed out. ‘There will be others involved – some of whom he will know and others whom he will not.’

‘Set a thief to catch a thief,’ Elladan quoted, eying Calion narrowly.  ‘Calion must have information that will be useful to us.  The first thing you can require of him is that he tells you all he knows.’

‘I know little,’ he replied harshly.  ‘I do not expect you to believe me, but I have never been party to any secrets worth knowing.’ He looked at Legolas seriously.  ‘I am sworn to your service now, my lord, and I will perform my duty to the best of my ability, but I will not break my word. I am disgraced in the eyes of the world, but I hold to my honour.’

‘We will see about that,’ Legolas concluded. ‘This will not be easy for you,’ he added with some sympathy, ‘but I do not believe it was intended to be.  We will have to see how things develop.’

Far Horizons 11:  Meetings 

The frail looking craft appeared too delicate to be safe on the broad and relentless silver ribbon of the river, but appearances, Glorfindel thought, were apparently deceptive. Alagsir and Vondil thrust them through the water confidently, keeping close to the bank, where, they informed him, the bend of the great river made the current rather slower.  The golden-haired elf was prepared to take their word for it.  Little, he decided, would tempt him to risk himself in what looked a dangerous pursuit.

Fortunately others amongst them were less cautious.  Only Domenion and Ruindel had admitted openly that, unless it was a choice between certain death and venturing on the water, they would infinitely prefer to stay among the trees, but Glorfindel suspected that there were others who would be much happier to remain on dry land. However, enough had volunteered for training to ensure that parties could be sent to investigate the possibilities offered by the river. 

His conversation with Rindor had proved interesting.  Whilst failing to identify who had been planted to sabotage the venture, between them they had the possibilities narrowed down.  Glorfindel consequently felt no hesitation in sending four of his small party downstream to map the course of the river.  The two happy boatmen, together with Aelindor and Falas had the attributes needed to carry out the task and could be trusted to get along with each other while they did it.

‘Take care,’ he instructed them.  ‘We have no idea what dangers might be along the way – and we have learned that it is possible to travel a great way downstream, but that it is much harder to return.  Return in no more than two weeks, whether you find anything interesting or not – this is not the time for an extended exploration.’

Alagsir looked at him patiently. ‘We know, my lord,’ he said. ‘We will travel downstream for no more than five days and then work our way back.  We have enough essentials and we can supplement the food by fishing and hunting.’

Glorfindel grinned.  ‘I feel like your naneth,’ he informed the group.  ‘Do not forget to wash your hands before meals,’ he said, ‘and do not stay up all night talking.  You need your rest.’

Falas returned his smile.  ‘You sound like my naneth, too, my lord,’ he remarked. ‘I will reply as I would to her – do not worry.  We will not do anything you would not like.’

‘But as I recall,’ observed Glorfindel, ‘that promise is immediately followed by forgetfulness – and the doing of a great many things of which your naneth should never learn.’

The other elves laughed.  ‘Two weeks, my lord,’ Alagsir confirmed, and the small boats set off smoothly through the water.

‘I wish I was going,’ Rindor said quietly in Glorfindel’s ear.  ‘It should prove interesting.’

The leader of the expedition turned and patted his aide’s shoulder. ‘I am sure we can find some much more interesting things for you to do, my friend,’ he said cheerfully.  ‘I do not believe there are enough written records yet – you must have been slacking. And Haldir can help you while he is incapacitated, while I take on some of his tasks.’

‘Thank you, my lord.’ Rindor sounded disgusted.  ‘I am not even certain that Haldir is able to write.’

‘He just likes to keep it quiet,’ Glorfindel confided.  ‘He is terrified someone might ask him to sit at a desk.  We have him captive – he cannot escape until Thornen takes him out of that magnificent contraption designed to keep his leg straight as it heals.  He will be obliged to co-operate or we can withhold his treats.’

Rindor snorted.  ‘Do not tempt me, my lord.’

Glorfindel grinned.  ‘It is just his manner,’ he said.  ‘Bite back.  He is embarrassed and frustrated – and he takes it out on you because he sees you as a prissy perfectionist clerk.  The sort of person who will tell him he has used up his allocation of arrows for the month and he must not indent for more.’

As they strolled back along what was now a clear pathway from the river, they observed some of their party at work on tasks to establish a comfortable staging post, where elves could rest safely in the trees in a community designed to help them settle into the forest.  Nintaur was directing the positioning of wooden platforms being hoisted into the trees, as Neldin scrambled above, efficiently applying finishing touches.  It all looked rather garish and new, but it would not be long, Glorfindel thought, before the bright new wood faded to silver-grey and the flets became part of the forest.

‘It reminds me of Lasgalen,’ he commented, ‘in safer days, when most lived in the trees.  It is less grand than the Golden Wood, where the Lady held court. I am not sure,’ he observed, ‘how she will take to life here.  It seems rather too rustic for her.’

‘Will she come?’ Rindor enquired with a little surprise.  ‘I would have expected her to sit and wait until it is developed to her liking.  I cannot imagine her among these trees at this point, where little exists for her comfort.’

‘She will come,’ he was assured. ‘She is far tougher than you youngsters would suspect – and she has spent too many long years apart from Celeborn.  And she will have us jumping to her bidding before she has been here a week.’

Haldir was resting beneath a canvas awning intended to keep him dry and sheltered from wind and sun, but he was not relaxed.  In fact, Glorfindel decided impatiently, the only part of him not twitching was his broken leg, splinted and held immobile.

‘There you are,’ the march warden snapped as he approached.  ‘About time!  Come closer so that I do not have to shout.’

‘I perceive that you are again in a good mood,’ Rindor remarked sharply, ‘and displaying the respect that you owe Lord Glorfindel.’

‘Peace,’ Glorfindel murmured.  ‘We have known each other a long time – too long to stand on courtesy.  What is it, Haldir?’

‘Turn round, Glorfindel.  Keep your hands away from your weapons and keep a smile on your face.’

Glorfindel lifted his eyebrows.  ‘That sounds like a threat, Haldir.’

‘Just do it!  And it wouldn’t hurt if you sat down – you would appear less of a danger.’

Ignoring the final request, Glorfindel turned toward the direction indicated by the march warden.  At first there appeared to be nothing to see and he glanced back with a puzzled frown.

‘Can you not feel it?’ Haldir asked quietly.  ‘The trees are singing their presence.’

Glorfindel looked back to the majestic trees bordering their clearing, attempting to open himself as far as he could to the song of the forest.  He could hear what Haldir meant, he thought, although it clearly was not speaking to him in the same way that it was to the Wood Elf.  He inspected the branches carefully and was not very surprised when a shadow of green and grey detached itself from the proud trunk of a solid oak and permitted the elf lord to see him.

‘There are elves here, Haldir,’ he whispered.  ‘The forest is already inhabited.’

His feeling of surprise was compounded with regret.  Surely, if the territory had already been claimed, then it would no longer be possible for Glorfindel to continue the exploration, or for the elves of Arda to carry on with their plan to migrate to the forest.  Finarfin could not have known – though that was hardly surprising, Glorfindel thought, as his own party had been sitting here for a period of weeks now, and they had not known either. 

The elf stood on his branch easily, his bow over his shoulder and his arms folded, showing clearly by his stance that he was not threatening to attack.  Although that, Glorfindel thought, need mean nothing, as clearly the trees could be full of these invisible elves, all with arrows pointed at his heart.

He spread his hands in a gesture of friendship.  ‘Welcome,’ he said, hoping that the elf before him spoke Sindarin sufficiently well to understand him.   ‘Would you care to join us for some tea?’

Rindor almost choked in his attempt to push down his laughter.  ‘Tea,’ he said.  ‘Yes, Nana, what a good idea.  Have we any cupcakes to go with it?’

The elf considered them, then sprang lightly to land easily on the grass before them. ‘Tea would be pleasant,’ he said softly in lightly accented Sindarin.  ‘It is interesting to speak to you after all this time,’ he continued, his eyes raking Glorfindel critically before turning to inspect Haldir.  ‘We have been watching you since you arrived. You seem respectful of the forest and the trees like you, so we decided to make contact.’

Glorfindel raised his eyebrows.  There seemed to be little to be said in response.  ‘We are glad to meet you.  Some among us have felt your presence.’ 

He inspected the other elf as he approached.  He was tall and slender, his dark hair braided in unfamiliar patterns and his skin seemed a little more olive in tone than Glorfindel’s own.  His eyes – well, grey eyes were customary among elves, but these seemed tinged with the green of lichen on beech bark.  He was confident, Glorfindel would give him that, considering that he was walking into a camp of armed elves who had no reason to trust him, although, looking round, Glorfindel admitted that few of his small party appeared to be anywhere near and it was, moreover, quite possible that this stranger was well guarded.

‘I am Glorfindel,’ he said simply.  ‘We have brought a party to look at the possibility of moving west of the mountains to come to the forest.’

The other regarded him.  ‘It would seem to be more than a possibility,’ he said. ‘There would be no need for you to be building a settlement if you had simply come to look.’ He turned his eyes to study Haldir as he lay on his pallet.  ‘Your healer appears thoroughly competent,’ he remarked.  ‘That fall could have proved fatal.’

‘You saw it?’ Rindor snapped to alertness.

‘Not I,’ the other replied, ‘but I was told of it.’

‘May I speak to the one who witnessed it?’

‘Later.  It would not be appropriate now,’ the unnamed elf insisted with amusement.  ‘This is a diplomatic encounter – not an investigation.’  He turned back to the group’s leader.  ‘Glorfindel,’ he said.  ‘I am Tineithil.’  He looked pointedly at the other two elves making up the group.

‘Rindor, my aide,’ Glorfindel said in response.  ‘And Haldir, our chief scout.’

‘Haldir,’ Tineithil repeated, inclining his head.   ‘It is not usual to see those with golden hair among the forest elves.’  He appeared to be considering their features with unusual interest.

‘There are some,’ Haldir informed him, ‘among those of the Golden Wood, and fewer who come from Eryn Lasgalen, but fewest of all from the halls of Imladris.’

‘Eryn Lasgalen,’ Tineithil repeated, turning the words over slowly.  ‘I believe I have heard the name.  There are those among us who made their home there before they passed to Mandos – and also some few who crossed the seas in search of healing before finding themselves here.’  He looked keenly at Glorfindel.  ‘You, too,’ he said firmly, ‘are among those who have been returned to life.’

‘I am,’ Glorfindel confirmed, ‘but many centuries ago – and I have lived another life since then.’  His voice informed the other that he had closed the subject.

Tineithil smiled.  ‘Then let us begin to learn what we seek now,’ he said, ‘and consider whether it may be achieved.’

***

The current carried them swiftly.  Falas grasped the sides of the small craft.  They had done their best, but he could not help remembering that none of them had built a boat of any description before.  However good the attempt, there was little between him and this rather intimidating river – and they would not know if the boat would hold up to the demands put on it until it chose to come to pieces.

‘Relax,’ Vondil told him as he paddled to keep the craft as close as was safe to the bank of the river.  ‘Clutching the edge will not keep us afloat.  I want you to watch the forest – and tell me what you see.’

Falas reluctantly drew his hands away and turned to the dark fringe of trees bordering the water.  ‘It is hard to see anything,’ he replied.  ‘The sun is behind the trees and the water is too bright.’

‘That will change,’ his companion said.  ‘This afternoon it will open up the edge of the forest – I do not believe it will reveal any dangers, but we need to mark as much information on the maps as we can.  For now, look for the shape of the land and for any streams joining the great river.  We need to pay attention to the amount of time we travel – we have worked out our rough speed going downstream and we can use that to tell us our distance from base camp.’

‘There is more to scouting than I had believed,’ Falas admitted. ‘I had thought it was all tracking – and seeking orcs.’

‘There is not a great call for that these days,’ Vondil replied dryly. ‘We can make a living taking unskilled hunters to chase the big game that hides in the forests, but it is a poor way to spend your days and I do not relish spending centuries acting as the eyes and ears of spoilt city-dwellers, who seek to kill game for pleasure.  I shall be glad to come here.  It has felt like home from the moment we crossed the mountains.’

‘It is the same for me,’ Falas agreed.  ‘You would think that the great productive farms of the plains would be a delight for me – but they are as alien to me as the cities are to you.   I prefer the small market gardens and the harvesting of the forest’s bounty.  Now I know this place is here, I would come even if King Thranduil decided to remain behind.’

‘Which he will not,’ Vondil said. ‘This is what he needs – for himself as much as for his people.’

‘It is the same for my lord,’ Alagsir said softly, their craft brought close enough by the current for conversation to be possible.  ‘He could not be content where he is now – I do not know how my lady has endured it for so long.’

‘She is not a Wood Elf – nor even Sindar,’ Aelindor shrugged.  ‘She lives with the forest, but she is not of it.  The lady will come because Lord Celeborn will not be able to stay away.’

They drew over to the bank as the sun dropped behind the trees beyond the river, turning the long length of the river to molten copper.  A small stream bubbled in surprise as it encountered the force of the water and the strong roots of willows arched above the level of the flow to prove that spring floods had swept their supporting earth away.  Vondil drew the small boat along the muddy bank to take it from the water.

‘Surely we could tie them to the roots,’ Aelindor suggested. ‘They would be safe there.’

‘Probably,’ Vondil agreed. ‘But they will be safer out of the water – just in case.’

As they ate the rations they had brought, they compared the maps they had been sketching and were pleased to find considerable agreement between them on features and distances. 

‘We can add detail as we return,’ Alagsir suggested contentedly as he lay back on the soft moss beneath the trees,  ‘as well as taking the information inland a mile or two from the banks.’

‘Not too far,’ Vondil added. ‘We do not have the leisure.  We are seeking that waterfall that Lord Glorfindel suspects acts as a boundary and getting the information back.’

Falas yawned. ‘This boating is surprisingly tiring,’ he remarked.

‘You can talk,’ Vondil snorted. ‘All you did was sit and draw.’

The farmer grinned. ‘It took a lot of concentration,’ he pointed out. 

‘We had best sleep in the trees,’ Alagsir suggested, ignoring them, ‘just in case anything is out there.’

The days followed a similar pattern.  Without discussion, the two scouts had agreed that they would all be safer if they took charge of controlling the craft and the mapping project was left in the hands of the others.  Aelindor had proved himself to be as skilled with a fishing line as Falas was at identifying the various fungi adorning the trees and they had eaten well without requiring the scouts to hunt.

On the fourth day, Alagsir had found himself a little ill-at-ease as he paddled the boat along the bank.  ‘Is it my imagination,’ he asked Vondil, ‘or do you agree that the water is pulling us along rather more vigorously?’

Falas peered at the river, moving smoothly eastwards.  ‘There is nothing to see,’ he said, ‘but listen.’

‘The force is increasing,’ Vondil concluded.  ‘I would suggest that we continue on foot.’

‘It reminds me of the water above the falls on the Anduin,’ Alagsir commented as his eyes raked the bank in search of a suitable place to direct the boats.  There, ‘he said.

They lifted the boats out of the water, placing them safely among the bushes, and took their packs.  ‘This is too much like hard work!’ Falas complained.  ‘I had become accustomed to the river carrying the weight.’

‘It will get you in training for our return,’ Aelindor teased. ‘You have clearly been taking it too easily.’

It was not a path – it was nowhere near as clear as that, Alagsir decided, exchanging glances with Vondil, yet neither did it feel as if no-one had ever been here before. The trees felt as if they were – withholding judgment.  The presence of elves did not surprise them, yet they were not welcoming.  It reminded Alagsir of visits he had paid to Lasgalen in the bad old days, when the forest was wary of those it did not recognise.

They moved swiftly, climbing as the roaring began to increase in volume until they came out from the trees on to a rocky shelf.  As they looked, a shimmering rainbow of light arched above a break in the rock as it danced in fine mist of spray.  They were drawn forward almost involuntarily.  Turning back towards the forest, they could see a lake of molten silver lipping at the rock wall on which they stood, while facing east the land cut away, dropping as though it had been sliced, and the ear-numbing insistence of the waterfall filled their minds.

‘How close can we get?’ Falas asked, as he continued to move along the ridge.  ‘I want to see it properly.’  He stopped suddenly as the prospect opened up in front of him.

The water gushed out, arcing over the falls, all white froth and spray, plummeting some hundred feet before it hit the first of the broken rock walls that shattered it into dizzying cascades before allowing it to drop again towards the forest below.  Even from this height the elves could see the foaming white water tumbling down the rock strewn river bed to conceal itself once more in verdant forest.

‘Well,’ remarked Vondil.  ‘We have found the point where the river enters the populated lands, but I do not believe we will find it of much assistance.  I cannot see any way in which we will be able to work around this waterfall.’

‘Although that is not a bad thing,’ a strange voice added clearly from some distance away.  ‘At least, we have never found it so.’

As they turned, the scouts were cursing themselves for allowing the apparent emptiness of the forest to let them drop their guard.

‘There is no need for you to go for your weapons,’ the voice continued with amusement. ‘I will not hurt you.’ 

The sight that met their eyes was so unexpected, Vondil conceded, that his weapons would have been of no use whatsoever.  Orcs he was accustomed to fighting and he could defend himself against Men – but he had no defence that would prove effective against the slight dark-haired figure of a smiling elleth.

***

‘What have you discovered for me, Tineithil?’ she asked, bright with curiosity.  ‘Who are these strangers?’

Her envoy bowed his head.  ‘They were surprisingly open, Lady,’ he told her. ‘They spoke of Eryn Lasgalen as you said they might, but they also mentioned Lothlorien and Imladris.  They wish to move to the forest – some among them are clearly Wood Elves, although others are not.  They are not many,’ he shrugged, ‘and they would be welcome, but they seem to be the advance party of a far greater number.  I am not certain that we should encourage them.’

‘That is not what I was asking, my friend,’ she scolded, ‘as you know full well.  The ones with golden hair – who are they?’

He acknowledged her with a grin, but paused before gratifying her. ‘The one who leads them has the light of one who has returned from Mandos, although he would not speak of it.  He called himself Glorfindel.  The other, the one who fell, goes by the name of Haldir.  Do you know them?’

The light faded from her face before she replaced it with an affectionate smile.  ‘I know Glorfindel,’ she said.  ‘He is most welcome among us.  The other – no, his name means nothing to me.’

‘Will you demand that they accept you as their Lady?’ Tineithil enquired.  ‘This is your realm.’

She waved her hand indifferently.  ‘There is space for all,’ she said, ‘and I have no desire to rule.  Ours is a much more relaxed community – and I am no queen among you.’  She considered what little she had been told.  ‘I think I will visit Glorfindel,’ she told him.  ‘Perhaps it is time for us to come out from the trees and make ourselves known.  I am sure there is much that Lord Glorfindel of Imladris can tell me of what I wish to learn.’ 

Far Horizons 12: In the Open      

Calion eased himself to his feet.  If the contact of his head with the wall had not partially stunned him, he did not think he would have been able to endure this beating without at least attempting to fight back, but, as it was, all he had been aware of was the pain.  They had been gone some time now, he thought, snatching the muffling cloth from his head as they went. 

This was not the first time and it would not be the last, but it had definitely been the worst – so far.  He was not surprised that the loyal members of Thranduil’s household found him despicable, or that they wished to ensure that he suffered as much as possible, nor was he surprised that senior members of the staff were apparently happy to turn a blind eye to what was happening.  His possessions, few though they were, were regularly damaged, his bedding left dampened, his food, until he had learned only to eat what he had taken from communal pots, adulterated in one way or another.  He had learned to bathe and clean his clothes only at times when he could be fairly sure the facilities would be either completely empty or occupied by those whose presence would be some guarantee of safety.

He allowed the wall to support him as he caught his breath.  His ribs ached, but not, he thought, enough to any to have been cracked.  His hand, however, was another matter.  He was fairly sure that there were some broken bones there – although he suspected any such injury was unintentional. It would be hard to conceal an inability to use his fingers.

The spinning in his head steadied and he pushed himself upright.  The stables, he thought somewhat muzzily.  He was to go to the stables.  He followed the corridor to the garden door, stepping out into the bright sunlight.  His eyes closed involuntarily as the bright light sliced into his aching head, then, with an effort, reopened them and began to walk along the path connecting the house with the training yards and stables.

Had he not been concentrating so hard on reaching his goal, he would have observed that the Woodland King was in the courtyard.  He hissed to himself as he stopped by the door to the tack room and attempted to sidle in surreptitiously.  Thranduil, he suspected, would be only too happy to add to the beating he had just received, and he had done his best to avoid putting himself anywhere where the prince’s adar might see him.

Thranduil caught the movement.  His first thought was that someone should teach the brat that sometimes boldness was less noticeable than subtlety, but his second glance brought a frown to his face.

‘Stand still,’ he snapped, stepping towards the stiff figure.  He took Calion’s chin in his long fingers and turned his head.  ‘What happened?’ he asked.

‘I fell,’ Calion replied stolidly.

‘Of course you did,’ Thranduil agreed, amused at the lack of originality.  ‘Now remove your tunic.  Now!’ he commanded, as Calion hesitated.

Only as Calion attempted to obey did he realise how extensively he hurt.  He managed to draw the fabric up, then found he could not move his arms to pull it over his head.  Thranduil gave a brief grunt of irritation and grasped the tunic, pulling it free, then took a sharp breath at the evidence of abuse before him.

The fresh injuries were bad enough: red, swollen, raw-looking welts and patches across Calion’s back, arms and belly, but even more shocking to the king were the bruises in various stages of fading that told him that this had not been an isolated incident. This was not fighting.  This was bullying.   He had wanted the lad to suffer, he thought with some guilt, but not like this.  This, he decided, was appalling and would stop at once.

‘Come with me,’ he ordered.

Once he had Calion in the healer’s hands, Thranduil descended on the members of his household like the wrath of the Valar.  Galion sent messengers scurrying round to drag every possible person into the Hall to hear what their lord had to say – and none of it was pleasant.  He made sure that his audience cringed as his disgust at the treatment of his son’s bondsman was made clear and he made a point of spelling out in simple clear language that henceforth Calion was to remain unharmed and be treated with the same level of courtesy as any other member of the household. 

‘He is to be left alone, do you understand me?’ he concluded.  ‘I will be watching and listening to ensure that is so.’  Thranduil’s contemptuous glare seared those present. ‘I will not ask who is responsible for this – because Calion himself asked me to leave it. This,’ he hissed, ‘is not a sign of approval from me, and it is certainly not a sign of weakness from him.  You know who you are – and you may consider yourselves fortunate.  Any further incidents will impel me to seek you out – and, if Calion has been indentured to my son for deliberately causing him harm, then I will make a point of inflicting a similar punishment on anyone who chooses to injure him.  You would not enjoy being condemned to the service of Lord Artamir – I would guarantee it.  Remember that.’

He swept from the room and made his way to the nursery, where Elerrina’s nursemaid was stitching at a small dress as her charges slept.  Thranduil watched her for a moment as he continued to fume.

She pushed the needle through the fabric and put it back in her sewing box before standing up and bobbing a curtsey.  ‘My lord?’ she said enquiringly.

‘Hithien,’ Thranduil said.  ‘Tell me that you did not know how that ellon was being treated.’

‘Ahh,’ she replied.  ‘Your staff were generally of the opinion that, since you had not intervened, you approved of their conduct.’

‘They have been disabused of any such ideas,’ he said bleakly.

‘Then they will not do it again,’ she remarked.

‘I want you to watch him,’ the king told her.  ‘Keep him safe.  No-one suspects you of being anything other than an innocuous elleth.  One who is not very good at sewing,’ he added, looking at the smocked dress she had set down.’

She grinned.  ‘One cannot do everything well,’ she answered primly.  ‘You will have to assign him to the duty of guarding your daerelflings, my lord,’ she said.  ‘I cannot be in two places at once.  And I think that you will not find it easy to persuade Elerrina to consent – she is of the opinion that no punishment is too bad for him.’

‘That opinion may change when she sees his injuries,’ Thranduil commented grimly. ‘He needs to be set other duties until he heals, so it will not seem strange to send him to the nursery.  And Elerrina has been raised to be obedient to authority – she might not like it, but she will not refuse to do as I say.’

Hithien nodded.  ‘I will keep an eye on him,’ she agreed.  She looked at Thranduil quizzically.  ‘He seems to me,’ she said, ‘to have a fair amount of courage.  He has been spoiled, of course, but he is not beyond redemption.’

Thranduil raised his eyebrows.  ‘I am not terribly interested in his ultimate fate,’ he told her.  ‘But he will not be abused while he is in my charge, of that I am determined.’

***

‘Perhaps,’ Minastan said smoothly, ‘your adar was right to disown your brother.  After all, we really do not need to have suspicion put Artamir’s way.  And even I find it incredible that Calion can have done something so stupid.’

‘My brother,’ Tarannon scoffed, ‘was, is and always will be a complete idiot.  I am not in the least surprised that he shot at that Sindar – I am only astonished that he managed to hit him at all.  He is about as useful as an elleth with a bow.’

‘It is not impossible that he could be of more use to us where he is now,’ Minastan mused.  ‘With the High King resident in Elrond’s house it will be almost impossible to get at any of them – there are simply too many eyes.  Thranduil, on the other hand,’ he considered, ‘has no extra guards on his family.  Have you made any effort to contact your brother?’ he asked briskly.  ‘It might be useful to have someone on the inside.’

‘I am not having anything to do with him!’ his brother exclaimed. ‘Adar would have kittens – he will no longer acknowledge him as a son.  He said that he will not have a son serving as a bondsman to anyone.’

‘This is more important than any of that,’ the older elf insisted.  ‘Remember that you are doing this for the cause.  These Moriquendi are taking our birthright – they think they can come here and take over – that yellow-headed moron came swanning in and took your promised elleth.  We cannot allow that!  It is up to us to show them.’

Tarannon shrugged. ‘I am still not going to have anything to do with Calion,’ he said. ‘He is a disgrace to our House.  If you want his help, you will have to sort it out yourself.’

Minastan sighed to himself.  It was like trying to run in treacle, he thought.  Every time he thought he had stirred up Tarannon and got him moving, he would slow down and stop again in a lump of false pride and injured dignity.  Although, perhaps, he was not the right one to contact Calion.  After all, he considered, if his own brother were to come up to him after abandoning him to this humiliation and ask for his help, he knew what his own answer would be – and it would not be polite.  He cast his mind over the others involved in the conspiracy and allowed himself a mental roll of his eyes.  The trouble was – they were all morons. They were the sort of idiots quite happy to chase at shadows and bark at blowing paper, who were incapable of adding two simple digits and obtaining a correct answer.

‘If you are afraid -,’ he said, flicking Tarannon with a lash he knew would be likely to get him to jump.

Tarannon stuck out his jaw, but refused the goad.  His predictability was only outweighed by his obstinacy, Minastan decided.  In fact, the whole family was obnoxious.  It was a shame, he reflected, that it had been Calion who had been caught out, since he was the only one who showed a glimmer of intelligence – although, under these circumstances, perhaps intelligence was the last thing he should want.

‘Very well, then,’ he shrugged.  ‘I will speak to one of the others.  This is a chance to make Thranduil’s House pay – and we would not want to miss it through cowardice.’

When even this comment failed to rouse Tarannon from his huff, Minastan dropped the subject.  There would be time later, he decided, to try another tack.  If one thing was certain, it was that Tarannon and his like were no match for the wiles of Minastan Terendulion.

***

Celebrian joined her daughter-in-law in the arms of the stately beech at the edge of the lawn.  Their eyes met and Celebrian laughed softly.  ‘Hush,’ she said.  ‘I know I am not dressed for climbing trees, but I am sick of being granddaughter to a king – and I have decided to hide for a while.’  She drew a breath of air scented with the fragrance of growing wood and green leaves.  ‘Adar and Elrond know where I have gone,’ she added guiltily.  ‘It is not Daeradar, or Daernaneth,’ she sighed after a while.  ‘I would be happy to spend days in their company – it is the rest – courtiers and officials and sycophants.’

‘Did you not grow accustomed to it in Imladris?’ Sirithiel asked softly.

‘Not really – Imladris was always more of a home than a court,’ Celebrian sighed, ‘and I am delighted to say that Elrond was always more a healer than a king.’  She opened her eyes and twinkled at her son’s wife.  ‘Even Naneth is becoming irritated,’ she said gleefully.  ‘Sparks will soon be flying, I have no doubt.’  She settled herself comfortably in the welcoming embrace of the tree, stroking the rough bark with her fingers.  ‘What drove you to take refuge up here?’

‘Oh,’ Sirithiel replied, a slow flush colouring her pale cheeks, ‘I was just thinking.’

Her naneth-in-law focused on her and a warm smile spread over her face.  ‘Elrond said that you were worrying too much,’ she beamed.  ‘All we had to do was discover a conspiracy, have Legolas shot at and bring the court of the High King to our home – and you were distracted enough for nature to take its course.  Does Elrohir know?’

Sirithiel nodded.  ‘He knows – but I do not want to tell everyone just yet.  I would rather be sure that all is going well.’

‘I can understand that, my daughter,’ Celebrian agreed, taking Sirithiel’s hand and patting it approvingly.  ‘I will say nothing without your consent.’

‘There is just one thing,’ her daughter-in-law said anxiously, drawing the hand closer and placing it over her womb. 

‘Oh, my dear.’ Celebrian concentrated her attention on the song within as it harmonised with Sirithiel’s own life force.  ‘My dear daughter,’ she continued, ‘you are quite right.  You are expecting twins.’  She leaned closer and hugged her daughter-in-law.  ‘Twin ellyth,’ she said.  ‘What joy you have before you.’

***

If Galadriel were one of the wildcats that had been found in the warm grasslands of Arda’s southern lands, she would be lashing her tail, Celeborn thought.  And any sensible prey animals would be getting out of her way.  Unfortunately, he sighed, the sheep surrounding them were not sensible and they had not had his years of experience concerning her moods. 

‘My lady,’ bleated one of Finarfin’s Council, ‘I am sure that if you had more experience of how things are done in these lands -.’  Celeborn almost winced – patronised for her gender, accused of ignorance and reminded of her millennia-long absence.  Not bad for half a sentence.   ‘You would understand that we cannot interfere in the internal workings of a great House.’

Galadriel turned to inspect him.  It might have worked, her husband decided, if the Councillor had been possessed of enough intelligence to spot the warning – but then, had he any sense he would not have started this in the first place.  Finarfin, he observed, was also watching his daughter with interest.  It had probably been some time, Celeborn reflected, since he had seen one of his advisors go up in smoke – but entertaining though it would be, it would not be a tactful move.

‘If you are prepared to allow noble houses to foment rebellion purely because custom prevents you from interfering, my lord, then you are a fool,’ Celeborn said coldly.

Finarfin glanced at him with amusement, which went some way to countering the sharpness of Galadriel’s glare. 

‘I, however, my son,’ he stated gently, reminding his Council of Celeborn’s status among them, ‘am not a fool – and I do not hold to custom when it is clearly to the disadvantage of all.  My great grandson has provided enough detail for an investigation to be started and started it shall be.’

The discussion drifted on to topics which Celeborn found to be of little interest.  He suppressed a sigh.  Courtesy compelled him to attend these meetings here in Elrond’s house, but his heart carried him outside where his daughter was enjoying the brightness of the day. 

‘You do not have to stay,’ Galadriel told him silently, ‘Finarfin would not object if you were to ask to withdraw – I think he is only testing you to see how much you will endure before you snap.’

Celeborn smiled inwardly.  ‘You have recovered your temper?’

‘No thanks to you, my lord,’ she replied with a mental toss of her head.  ‘I looked at him and thought that at least I would never have to endure his company again once we have established our new home.  He is not worth my wrath.’

‘That has never stopped you,’ he reminded her.  ‘But I thought your adar would be shocked if he saw you rip his advisor to shreds.’

‘Probably,’ she acknowledged. ‘I was much younger when my brothers and I left – and although not exactly an easy elleth, I was certainly much less practised in the use of power.’

They rose as the Council bowed and withdrew.  ‘At last,’ Celeborn sighed as Galadriel smiled.

‘The announcement of the opening of the lands will be made at tomorrow’s reception,’ Finarfin remarked.  ‘I think you had both stopped listening by that point.  You, Thranduil and Elrond will be given the right to accept or decline to take any who wish to apply for leave to go – at least in the early stages until you have established yourselves.  Thereafter, I suppose, you will retain the right to refuse to accept into your lands those whom you feel will not be suited to live among you.’

Galadriel lifted her eyebrows.  ‘I admit my attention declined, Adar, but I am certain that the endless discussion such a decision would have needed would have penetrated my boredom.’

He grinned.  ‘I confess that I am lying, my daughter.  That decision was imposed on my Council before we arrived here.  I did no more than remind them that tomorrow is the date upon which we settled.  Your naneth has been busily supervising the arrangements for the large public gathering at which the formal declaration will be read and my consent given.  All you need to do is dress up and attend.’

***

Nessariel waited in the shade of the small stand of young birches.  He was late.  He had promised that he would meet her here, but, if he were much later, she would have to go back, or she would be missed.  He would be angry with her if anyone realised that she was not where she was expected to be and there would be a penalty exacted for her carelessness.

‘Please come,’ she breathed.  It would not be the first time he had left her standing and waiting.  She had told herself time and again that she should not indulge him and that, as long as she remained in hope of his eventual arrival, he would take her for granted, but she could not make herself leave.  Every time she stayed beyond hope: sometimes he came and more often he did not.  And every time she meant to tell him that she would not tolerate it any longer – but she knew she would.  He meant more to her than she did to him, she admitted.  She would take whatever terms he offered; however few the minutes, however grudged the time – and whatever he demanded of her, she would do. 

‘You are still here,’ he whispered disapprovingly from the dark, as if this was a test she was bound to fail, either by leaving before he graced her with his presence or by remaining when caution would have sent her home.

‘I was just about to leave,’ she apologised, longing for the sweet moment when he would take her in his arms and press his kiss on her lips.

He touched her, trailing his fingers down her cheek and lingering on her mouth before brushing down her throat.  She shuddered, a moment of ecstasy to reward her for her hours of tedium. ‘I am glad you waited,’ he said, taking her head between his hands and leaning in to take possession of her mouth.  ‘I need more information,’ he told her, moving back and gazing at her, even as his hand ran down her back and pulled her close to his warm body.  ‘I have a task for you.’

She shivered.  Every caress had a price, it seemed, but it did not matter.  Whatever it cost her, she would pay. 

Far Horizons 13: Joining the Party   

The buzz of excitement at the public announcement had swept round the assembled elves and within minutes Thranduil, Celeborn and Elrond were being besieged by those who thought that the experience would be good for their sons.  Before many more moments had elapsed they had resorted to a standard instruction – ‘put it in writing’.

‘It would seem,’ Thranduil said acidly, ‘that most here have been looking for an excuse to send their spoilt brats away to learn the realities of life away from the cushions of family and wealth.’

‘Have you noticed, however,’ Elrond added, ‘the complete absence of ellyth from the proposed travellers? If we are not careful, we will end up with an all-male group, all of whom would starve within a year’s turn as none of them knows how to do anything useful.’

‘Fortunately,’ his friend added, ‘I feel no duty to oblige any here by taking on the training of their sons.  I am inclined to give the next person to ask a straight ‘no’ – and follow it up with my reasons.’

‘We could take them,’ Celeborn said quietly, ‘and just send them off to explore.  I doubt whether many would return – and those who did would, I suppose, have come to merit their place among us.’

‘Are you suggesting sending them to certain death?’ Finarfin tutted in his ear. ‘Would that not be a form of kinslaying?’

‘No, my lord king,’ his son-in-law replied.  ‘I would not do anything to harm them.’ He grinned.  ‘Nor would I encourage them to harm themselves.  I would even make a point of informing them of the dangers of the wild and telling them what skills they needed to survive – and offering them instruction.’

‘Whereupon they would sacrifice themselves on the spears of their own arrogance.  Tempting, my son, but I cannot allow you to wipe out the finest flowers of our noblest houses,’ Finarfin said.

‘Have you observed,’ Galadriel murmured as she joined them, ‘that there are some who appear very disgruntled by this news?  And there are others who are smiling too much?’

‘Artamir seems unable to make up his mind,’ Thranduil observed.

Galadriel laughed softly.  ‘He will be torn,’ she agreed.  ‘He will be furious that he has been overlooked, worried that he has been cheated of something that would bring him profit,  relieved that no-one expects him to leave his comfortable life and delighted that his son will be removed from Minyariel’s sight.’

‘Perhaps I should suggest to Legolas that he leave Calion here – in some role that means he would have to be in regular dealings with his adar’s house,’ Thranduil mused, surprising a giggle from the lady.

‘That would be rather pointless, though,’ Elrond suggested, ‘since we would not be here to be amused by it.’

‘I would suggest,’ the king remarked amiably, as they watched the crowd, ‘that you retire early from this gathering.  At the moment my presence is protecting you from those who wish to accost you, but I am obliged to spread my attentions around – and you would prefer to be away from here, I am sure.  And I would advise you to send your sons off on their visit to Lord Glorfindel before the news has had time to sink in to some minds.’   He looked at Thranduil sharply, a keen intelligence in his eyes.  ‘It would be as well to leave Artamir’s son here this time, I feel,’ he added.  ‘Just as a precaution.’

Thranduil inclined his head slowly.  ‘I believe you are right,’ he said.

***

Elladan’s eye sparkled with excitement.  ‘You mean it?’ he asked somewhat incredulously.  ‘I thought you wanted to keep us here working on the plans rather than send us off with the advance party.’

‘This is not all it seems, is it?’ Elrohir put in.  ‘Why do you feel that we would be safer in a small group travelling west?  Surely there are more guards here and better security.’

‘You have been stirring up too many buried resentments,’ their adar told them firmly. ‘It will be better if you are out of the way for a month or two.  And you are not,’ he insisted, ‘going on your own.’

‘Legolas, I should imagine,’ Elladan suggested. 

‘His wife’s brother, too,’ Celeborn said. ‘And Thranduil has four or five of his guard who will accompany you.  A few of Lothlorien’s archers might be useful and your adar has some of his people he wishes to send out to Glorfindel and Rindor. There will be some fifteen to twenty of you.’

‘It is not quite what we had in mind,’ Elrohir said reflectively.  He shot a quick look at his adar and daeradar.  ‘Can you guarantee my wife’s safety?  And that of Miriwen and Elrin?  For I will not leave here unless I am assured that they will be safer in my absence than they would be if I were here.’

‘We will take every precaution,’ Elrond assured him.  ‘They will be guarded night and day, whether they want to be or not.’

‘We will go.  But first,’ Elladan insisted, ‘you will need to know everything that Elrohir has worked out.  Otherwise you will not know who to watch.’

***

Elladan pushed forward as quickly as conserving the strength of the horses would allow.  The party behind him spread out a little, but he remained alert and reined in enough to keep them in the formation that would offer maximum protection to those his elders felt were most under threat.  They had ridden hard and fast since they left at first light, but he would not allow more than a brief respite for the horses until the last minute – and then he would select a spot off the usual beaten track for them to set up camp.

Leaving Miriwen and his son had been hard: this was the first time he had ever separated from them in anxiety, and he was ever more surprised at the boundless courage that thousands of elves had displayed in countless conflicts over the centuries.  His wife had accepted his adar’s word without question and, decided that, if Elladan had to make this journey, then she would send him on his way with a smile.  Sirithiel had clearly found it harder to release Elrohir and it had taken his brother some time to put her tears out of his mind. 

Two more days hard riding, he thought, and they would be able to relax a little, for then he would be fairly sure that they would be ahead of any pursuit.  He glanced back at the guards Thranduil had provided and was glad to see them scanning the area on either side of the road.  It would take more that a few decades of safety to blunt their instincts, he thought.  Celeborn’s archers, too, seemed alert to every movement.  Elladan was less sure of his adar’s contribution to the group – they looked rather nondescript, riding quietly with saddlebags stuffed with papers, but it would be foolish to underestimate them.  Finarfin’s guards were impeccable – smart, efficient and rather out of place.  The only ones who appeared to have no sense of caution were the two young Noldor riding behind Legolas’s brother-in-law.  Minalcar and Ambantor seemed to be looking on this trip as a pleasant excursion and they were already beginning to complain about the discomfort of a long day in the saddle.

Elrohir turned to them impatiently.  ‘You did not have to come,’ he said shortly.  ‘You were warned that this was no elflings’ picnic.  If you cannot keep up, then you had better turn back now.’

Legolas raised his eyebrows.  Elrohir was normally the most good-natured of elves and it was unlike him to snap – but then, he had been the most reluctant of them to make this journey.  ‘We will be stopping soon enough,’ he told the inexperienced duo. ‘Make the most of what time you have, for we will not be taking a rest day yet awhile – we need to get well on our way.’

Camentur eased himself in his saddle.  ‘It has been many years since I have contemplated a week or two on horseback,’ he remarked pleasantly. ‘I am going to suffer for this.’

‘You will toughen up,’ Legolas grinned.  ‘And Elrond provided us with some good salve.  You might even come to enjoy yourself.’

His brother-in-law shrugged.  ‘It is not what I saw myself doing,’ he said, ‘but when the king insists, there is little to be said.’

By the end of the second day, Elladan noted, the complaints had dried up, mostly because those who felt they had the right to moan were now too sore and exhausted to express their displeasure.  Elrohir had given the salve to Camentur and ensured that it was applied where needed, but he refused to cosset Minalcar and Ambantor, both of whom, Elladan was amused to see, now appeared to look on his twin as a particularly unpleasant novice master.

It was worth noting, however, Elladan decided after some days, that Elrohir’s lack of sympathy had probably done them both a favour.  In not much over a week, the two rather indulged young elves had become leaner and fitter and they had learned to take criticism in silence.  And that in itself was a good thing, since it had stopped the remainder of the party from inflicting on them all the petty teasing that was usually the lot of the naïve in such a party.

‘They have been trained well,’ Legolas said quietly to him as they saw to the horses shortly after dawn one morning. ‘Ambantor is good with the bow – and he just takes it for granted, he makes no boasts about his skill.  Minalcar is less confident, but they work as a pair.  They are rather old to be at such a level of immaturity, but they have potential.  It is just the way they expect to have someone trailing along behind them, picking up their arrows and cooking their meals, digging their latrines and washing their clothes.’

‘I suppose it is what you are used to,’ Elladan shrugged.  He glanced at Legolas and grinned.  ‘How did you cope when you first went out on patrol?’ he asked. ‘We were used to camping out, and Adar and we had prepared camp food and cleaned up after ourselves – I thought we could do everything we were likely to be called upon to perform – but it had never occurred to anyone to show me how to get my clothes clean.  In the end we took laundry lessons from an old veteran of Dagorlad who took pity on us.’

Legolas laughed.  ‘Much the same – although my cooking skills were pretty non-existent.  Adar was usually too busy to take me out on those kinds of trips, and it was never safe enough for elflings to go camping without adults along.  And I had no idea how to mend any clothing that got damaged.  I had always just abandoned my clothes in whatever condition they happened to be, only to retrieve them later, clean, mended and ironed, from my cupboards.  I could not believe how much time I ended up sitting with a needle, trying to pull together the ripped edges of my tunics.’

‘At least we had enough sense not to whine,’ Elrohir commented as he joined them.

‘Can you imagine how Glorfindel would have reacted?’ his brother asked him.

Elrohir smiled wryly.  ‘We would have been condemned to carry out every dirty job for the rest of the time we were on patrol,’ he said. 

‘How old were you when you first started to ride out against orcs?’ Camentur enquired.

The three friends looked at each other.  ‘Just after we came of age, I suppose,’ Legolas said.  ‘Although I had encountered orcs before that – and I spent more time on my early patrols clearing the forest of spiders than fighting orcs.’

‘We rode on the border patrols,’ Elladan told Camentur.  ‘We fought orcs on occasion, but much of the time it was simply that – patrolling the borders.’

‘It is no wonder that you have little patience with those of us who have led long lives of perfect safety.’  Camentur watched the two young Noldor see to their horses.  ‘We have not had to learn much of what seems automatic to you,’ he said.  ‘Give us the benefit of the doubt from time to time.  We will learn – and so will you.’

The cold freshness of the windy pass led them down into the humid warmth of the forest as Elrohir and Legolas took charge of tracking the original party as they move south-west through the trees.  Finarfin’s guard seemed somewhat less comfortable as they moved into unknown territory and Minalcar seem slightly intimidated by the sheer size of the trees. 

Elladan found it more entertaining, however, to watch Thranduil’s guards and the archers of Lothlorien, who all relaxed into purring contentment as the throbbing song of the forest soothed tensions they had not realised existed.  Legolas frowned slightly at elements of the song, but the soft gleam of him brightened as the music of the trees revitalised him.

‘They speak of elves that are not just those who came with Glorfindel,’ he told his friends, ‘and there is something about a Lady.  I think that we may have come to a forest that is not entirely empty.’  He rubbed his nose thoughtfully.  ‘I can sense watchers, my friends, although the trees will not reveal them to me.’

‘I would be surprised if it were empty,’ Elrohir shrugged.  ‘There must be thousands of Silvan elves who have ended up in the Blessed Realm – none of them would have endured the city life for more than a few days.  I am sure there will be many living quietly in the forest, but we should be able to come to some accommodation – there will be room enough for all.’

Elladan’s mouth dropped open.  ‘It never occurred to me,’ he said in amazement. ‘How long have you thought this?’

‘Ever since the subject came up.’  Elrohir grinned at his brother. ‘Really, Elladan!  Do you think that land simply sits there empty and unused?  Just because Daernaneth’s Adar believes the land is uninhabited, that does not make it so.  Birds get here and animals and the rivers will be full of fish. And where there are forests, there will be elves.  The Noldor cannot resist changing things and they find it difficult to imagine an inhabited land that looks exactly like an uninhabited land.’

‘You impress me, my twin,’ Elladan said simply.

‘Come,’ Legolas insisted.  ‘We are almost there.  Let us go and find Glorfindel.’

As the party continued with a different kind of caution from they had exhibited on the other side of the mountains, shadows in the highest branches observed them, noting the differences between each of them and carrying back to their leaders the news of fresh arrivals.

***

Tineithil lifted his head and listened to a chittering song.  ‘There are others coming,’ he said.  ‘Twenty three elves. Some in the uniforms of guards.  Five fair-haired, the rest dark. They will be with you within the day.’

A smile spread across Glorfindel’s face.  ‘Are two of them exactly similar in their features?’ he asked.

‘You expect that level of detail?’ Tineithil enquired.

Glorfindel replied with a simple lift of his brows.

The Silvan elf shook his head.  ‘I do not believe we have ever found a need to develop a signal for twins,’ he said.  ‘You will have to wait and see.’

‘You seem overly interested in hair colour,’ Rindor observed. 

Tineithil smiled.  ‘Is that so?’ he said.  ‘Perhaps it is just the strangeness of seeing those with golden hair.  Wood Elves are generally quite dark.’

Rindor did not reply, but his eyes lingered on the elf in front of him and Glorfindel made a mental note that he must press the spymaster to let him in on whatever idea had just occurred to him, when his attention was diverted to the dispute taking place under Haldir’s canopy.

The visitor looked amused.  ‘It seems that your patient is anything but,’ he remarked to the grim-looking healer.  ‘Surely Haldir is not yet sufficiently mended to rise from his bed.’

‘He is not,’ Thornen agreed.  ‘Fortunately, his injury is such that he will not be able to disobey my instructions for some time yet.  Whatever he says,’ he added pointedly.

‘I do not wish to remain on this bed any longer,’ Haldir snapped.  ‘I have endured enough of the company of clerks and healers and I wish to get back to doing something useful.’

‘You are lucky,’ Tineithil crouched beside the low pallet, ‘to have survived at all.  You fell far further than was safe – if you had landed on any other part of your body the force of the landing would have caused irreparable injury.’

‘Wood Elves do not fall from trees!’

‘They do if they are hit on the head,’ Tineithil told him.  ‘A sling and a river pebble – and it was that far,’ he said, holding his fingers up, a small gap between them, ‘from making it irrelevant whether the fall would kill you or not.’

‘Your witness?’ Rindor said softly

‘Loareg.’  Tineithil whistled a brief call.  A shadow detached itself from the trees and moved into the light, remaining cautiously at a distance from the strangers.  The new arrival was slight and young – and wary, approaching only when Tineithil insisted.  He remained as distant as courtesy allowed.

‘Loareg,’ Tineithil repeated, ‘tell Glorfindel and Rindor what you saw.’

The green-grey eyes slid sideways to inspect the fair-haired elf lying on his bed, his leg bound.  ‘There is little to tell, Adar,’ he said.  ‘This one was moving through the trees – he seemed to be following something or someone, but he was not quite cautious enough.  The elf on the ground heard something and turned.  He used a strip of leather he took from his belt and the stone was in the air before I had time to move.  This one lost his grasp as the stone struck and tumbled to the ground.  I would have helped,’ the young elf said defensively, ‘but others arrived quickly and there was no need.’

‘Did you see the one who did it?’ Rindor asked gently, so as not to disturb the narration.  ‘Would you recognise him again?’

‘Of course I would,’ the youngster said, half offended at the suggestion. ‘I am not a fool.’

Tineithil cast his eyes up in exasperation.  Glorfindel caught the expression and grinned.  Parents throughout the world and across time all seemed to use it as their children insisted they had achieved maturity; just as their young needed to assert, far too often and far too stridently, that they could look after themselves and that they were more than ready for the demands of adulthood.

‘Who was it?’  Rindor prodded gently.

‘I do not know his name,’ Loareg pointed out, ‘but he is one of those who are building the flets – the one who usually works in the trees.’

‘Neldin?’ said Glorfindel incredulously.  ‘I thought we had eliminated him.’

Rindor kept his eyes on the youth in front of him.  ‘Apparently not,’ he murmured.

***

Glorfindel was waiting when the party arrived, and he admitted to himself that he would be more than a little pleased to be welcoming Elrond’s sons to the project.  He had never found the elleth he wanted to wed, so he had never had elflings of his own, but these two were as close to him as his brother’s children would have been and he had regretted the need to leave them behind.  If he discovered that they were not among the new arrivals, he was afraid that he would be quite disappointed.

He was not destined to suffer regret this time, he discovered, as the twins, accompanied as usual by the milk-fair son of Thranduil led the group through the trees into the clearing.  He made himself inspect the remainder of the group before going to welcome them and his eyebrows lifted at the appearance of so many who were clearly warriors.

‘What have you been doing to be escorted here by the king’s guard?’ he asked.  ‘Are you so unpopular now that your family felt the need to be rid of you?’

Elladan grinned.  ‘That is no way to greet us,’ he complained.  ‘We spend weeks in the saddle to bring you provisions and dispatches only to have you accuse us of being exiled from our homes!  I will have you know that only the most severe need made our elders agree to have us come here.’

‘And a lot of persuasion from some very agile tongues, I daresay,’ their former arms-master added.  ‘I am glad you have come.’  He clapped the twins on the back and smiled at Legolas.  ‘You are most welcome.’  He hesitated before remarking, ‘We have more to talk about than you could have known.’

Elrohir shot a sober look at him, replying, ‘We, too, have a great deal of information.  I am of the opinion that we should allow the rest of our party to take some rest while we go somewhere private to share what has been happening.’

‘I think Rindor had best join us,’ Glorfindel told him.  ‘It will save us having to repeat ourselves.’

‘And Camentur,’ Legolas sighed.  ‘Since he appears to have been delegated to represent the High King.  Just find someone to keep the ellyn out of our hair while we talk.’

It took some time for each side to provide the details required by the other, since Rindor’s experience in providing succinct reports and Elrohir’s brevity were not enough to satisfy the rest of the group.  Glorfindel demanded details of the attack on Legolas and an explanation of their research into who held which grudges and who was sufficiently malevolent to conceive of a conspiracy, nodding thoughtfully as Elrohir went into his thought processes.  Legolas requested more information about the Wood Elves who made the forest their home, sifting through the small amount revealed by Tineithil.  Camentur seemed most interested in the petty sabotage and the fresh suspicion that had fallen on Neldin as the chief perpetrator and the author of the attack on Haldir.

Rindor sat back and attempted to follow all the lines of discussion, keeping his mind open as he stored and filed all the information and inferences.  He felt eyes on him and looked up to see Elladan watching him with amusement.

‘You are still searching for the answers?’ he asked.  ‘I am surprised that you have not yet worked it all out.’

‘There are too many pieces that refuse to fit,’ Rindor shrugged.

‘Then turn them upside-down,’ Elladan suggested.  ‘Maybe we are looking at all this in the wrong way.  Maybe this is not some major Noldor conspiracy.  Perhaps there is something else behind it.’

Rindor’s eyes drifted out of focus as the mass of facts and suspicion floated before him.  ‘Perhaps,’ he agreed, thinking again that his lord’s first-born made a point of concealing a very good brain behind his boisterous exterior.   

‘There are Wood Elves watching us from the trees,’ Legolas said softly.  ‘I think that we might be about to receive a visit of some importance.’

‘The Lady?’

Legolas looked up and smiled.  ‘I do not think she will come to us,’ he said, ‘but she is observing us closely.  She will summon us when she is ready.’

***

In the majestic oak in Legolas’s line of sight, the Lady put her hand to her throat to subdue the choked sound that was all she could utter.

‘I do not yet know who he is, my Lady,’ Tineithil murmured.  ‘There are others who are fair –archers, who have joined Haldir, whom they seem to know.  This one is different.  The trees sense him and they would sing for him if we would let them.’

‘I know him, Tineithil,’ the Lady breathed.  ‘Even after all this time, I know him.’  She gazed at the hair of soft gold and the long lean body, absorbing the planes of his face and his sweet smile.  ‘Come,’ she commanded.  ‘You will continue to learn about them as we watch.  The time is not yet.’ 

Legolas narrowed his eyes at the trees as he felt the observers withdraw.  He, too, could wait, but he wanted to know more about the presence he sensed in this forest and he was not prepared to wait too long.

Far Horizons 14: Loyalties   

‘Take this,’ Hithien commanded.

Calion obediently picked up the basket and slung the rolled up blanket over his shoulder.  ‘Should we be taking the elflings out?’ he said doubtfully.  ‘Lord Thranduil said every precaution needed to be taken.’

The nursemaid looked at him impatiently.  ‘They might feel we are going on a big adventure, but you should be aware that we are only going as far as the trees on the other side of the lawns, Calion.  I cannot imagine the little ones will come to much harm within earshot of the house.  They need air and sunshine – and, frankly, so do I.’

The weeks that had passed since the opening of the new lands had been, admittedly, tedious.  Thranduil, Elrond and Celeborn had been inundated with visitors, all requesting a place among the early parties, and they had been increasingly hard-pressed to come up with tactful responses.  However, the excitement seemed to have pushed the more aggressive opposition into the background, and the complete lack of incidents had made the continual caution seem less than necessary. 

Calion’s presence in the nursery had become accepted as a safeguard almost despite itself. Elerrina had, as Thranduil had thought, been horrified at his ill-treatment, but he had under-estimated the fury that she would feel at the idea of her husband’s attacker being posted to protect her elflings.  Her adar-in-law had been forced to put his foot down in a way that she had not seen before and Calion had endured a very uncomfortable week or two until Elerrina had come to accept his presence.  In fact, he thought, only Hithien’s calm air of authority and Galenthil’s immediate liking had managed to bring Elerrina round.  It had probably not helped that he had been acquainted with Prince Legolas’s wife since they had both been elflings, and that he had frequently been in her bad books for pulling those gleaming chestnut locks when she had been ordering him around rather too enthusiastically.

He sighed.  This picnic was her idea, but he still remained unconvinced.  He had little knowledge of the reasons behind the opposition, but he was of the opinion that the venom was too powerful to have disappeared so easily.  He could perhaps live with being proved right – but not as far as the safety of these little ones was concerned.  However, Elerrina, with that friend of hers, were not to be gainsaid.  He and Hithien, Elerrina and her brother’s wife would be plenty of protection for three elflings, they insisted. They would be in the grounds.  What could go wrong?

Well, he was more aware than they were of how normality could suddenly spin out of control and become disaster, but they were unlikely to pay much attention to him.

‘I would feel happier if I were armed,’ he remarked.

Hithien laughed.  ‘You might,’ she agreed, ‘but few others would.’

Surion skipped over to them.  ‘Are we nearly ready?’ he said impatiently. 

‘We are waiting for your naneth and Aunt Elerrina,’ Hithien told him.  ‘You would not want to leave without them, would you?’

The bright-faced elfling groaned.  ‘They are talking, Hithien,’ he protested. ‘They can keep talking for ever.  Can we not just go on ahead?’

‘We should wait for them, Surion,’ Calion told him.  ‘They will be disappointed if we do not.’  And, he thought privately, the less time they spent in the woods without guards, the better pleased he would be.

A maid popped her head round the door.  ‘Hithien,’ she said.  ‘Lady Elerrina says that they will be delayed – Lady Nessariel has arrived and she is weeping again.’  She cast her eyes up impatiently.  ‘Lady Nisimalote and she will join you as soon as they can.’

Hithien nodded acknowledgement and the head disappeared.  ‘That elleth is a wet hen,’ she remarked.   ‘Whatever difficulties she is having, she should do more about them than cry.  It is hardly surprising that she seems to have so few friends.’

‘She never used to be this bad,’ Calion shrugged.  ‘I will never understand ellyth.’

‘Of course you will not,’ Hithien agreed.  ‘You are an ellon.  It is beyond your capabilities.   Right, elflings,’ she smiled at them.  ‘We are to set off first and be the advance party.  Your naneths will join us once we have set up the camp.’

‘You are not really an ellon,’ Surion confided in him, as he took his free hand.  ‘You are much too old.  I do not know what you are doing in the nursery.  When I am as big as you, I want to be a warrior, like Legolas.  He is a very good archer, you know.’

Calion winced, but managed to answer calmly.  ‘So I am told.  Perhaps one day I will be able to see for myself.’

They meandered through the gardens at the pace set by Galenthil and Eleniel who wandered along with their hands in Hithien’s, chattering like sparrows.

‘Legolas saved my life,’ Surion told him proudly.  The elfling, Calion decided, was suffering from a serious case of hero-worship.  ‘When I was really little, I fell in the water – you know, where the waterfall is – and he jumped in and rescued me.  We were swept on the rocks and he got hurt, but I was all right, because he protected me.’

‘That was a very brave thing for him to do,’ Calion told him seriously. ‘You are right to be proud of him.’

‘That was before he married my aunt,’ Surion added.  ‘But I am glad he did, even though Daeradar was angry and shouted a lot, because it means I can come and visit.’

Hithien glanced over her shoulder at the two of them.  ‘You will like Legolas as you come to know him, Calion,’ she said.  ‘He has a generous nature.’

‘He has already been as generous as I have any right to expect in my situation,’ Calion replied in the neutral tone he was coming to perfect.

‘Here we are, elflings,’ Hithien said cheerfully, glancing round the small glade with a critical eye.  ‘I do not know why your naneth insisted on coming to picnic here, but it is pleasant enough.’

‘It is a little gloomy,’ Calion criticised.  ‘I would have thought the beech glade would have been lighter and more welcoming.’  He released Surion’s hand and drew the blanket from his shoulder. ‘Here,’ he said.  ‘You take this corner and help me spread it out, so that your naneth and aunt have somewhere to sit where they can keep the dirt from their gowns.’

‘Ellyth,’ Surion sighed.  ‘That is what my adar says.’

Calion and Hithien laughed.  ‘Get used to it, Surion,’ Hithien told him.  ‘You have many years ahead of you of pandering to the whims of ellyth.’

‘Can I climb the trees?’ he asked, ignoring her words.

‘If you can, but do not expect me to send Calion to rescue you,’ she warned him.

‘I am good at climbing trees,’ he boasted.  ‘Legolas has shown me.  I can get all the way to the top.’

It was quiet in the glade and the buzzing of bees in a nearby nest was the loudest sound.  Even the birds seemed to be quiet in the warm afternoon and the leaves moved limply in the fitful breeze.

‘I do not know what has become of the ladies,’ Hithien said after a while. ‘They should have arrived by now.’

‘Nessa seems to need a lot of consoling these days,’ Calion shrugged, ‘too much, really. Do you think we should return to the house?’

Hithien shot him an amused look.  ‘You are not comfortable with this, are you? What do you think might happen?’

‘Probably nothing,’ he said edgily, ‘but – you are right – something feels, I do not know . . . set up about this.  We have been brought to the outskirts of the grounds, it is just us, we are unarmed – and it is too quiet.’

Rising gracefully to her feet, Hithien looked around her more carefully, listening to the song of the trees.  He was right, she acknowledged.  It was too quiet.  The subtle, busy sounds of a warm afternoon had faded, as if the small and unconsidered creatures that made them were hiding from a coming storm.  ‘Someone is coming,’ she said. ‘We need to get the elflings out of here.’

‘You go,’ he said urgently.  ‘I will try to hold them.’

She shook her head. ‘They will ignore you,’ she said, ‘and come straight after the little ones.’  She smiled at Surion. ‘I hope you are right about the trees,’ she said softly, ‘for I want you to climb as high as you can and hide in the branches until I come to find you.’

‘I can do that,’ Surion beamed.

‘Take Galenthil,’ Hithien commanded Calion, ‘and pretend we are all here and talking.’  She whisked Surion out of the glade, Eleniel in her arms.

As she returned, two sturdy staves in her hand, she heard Calion leading the ellon in a singing game, but he was looking round warily, and as he saw her, he nodded towards the thick brush running towards the wall.

‘You left Eleniel with him?’ he murmured doubtfully.

‘She is nearly asleep – and she has asked the trees to hide them.  She will be as safe there as here.’

Galenthil continued to sing and clap.  ‘Sing, Hithien,’ he told her.

‘Here,’ Hithien said softly, handing the staff to Calion.  ‘Do not fight like a lordling – this calls for street fighting.  If you break his arm, he cannot use his sword and if you crack him across the knee, he cannot run.  If you fight in a way they do not expect, it will give you an advantage.’

Calion barely had time to glance at her before the masked elves appeared between the trees.

‘Just give us the elflings,’ one hissed, his voice clearly disguised.

Calion let Galenthil slide to the ground between him and Hithien. ‘No,’ he said defiantly.

‘Where is the elleth?’ a second voice demanded.

‘She is not here – she is coming with her naneth,’ Hithien lied, pushing a wailing Galenthil on the shoulder to make him lie down. 

‘One will do for now,’ the third said.

‘You surely do not think that you can protect him between you,’ the first elf spoke again. ‘We are armed – and you have sticks.  Save yourself the pain – hand him over.’

Without even thinking, both of them raised their staffs.  With luck, Calion thought, the noise would bring Thranduil’s guard.  He knew they still watched him – that could, for once, be useful.  ‘Scream,’ Calion whispered to Hithien.

‘You scream,’ she said as she stepped left and swung her solid staff at the first of the two elves targeting her. She evaded his attack easily and brought the wood down heavily on his forearm.  The sound made Calion wince, even as he drew a breath and yelled.  At least now it would be two against two.  Hithien followed up the blow with a swift kick that caught the pained elf on his kneecap and brought him to the ground, rolling away from the small figure they were protecting.   Her second attacker pulled back.  This elleth was clearly not as vulnerable as she appeared.

‘Come on,’ she said, daring him to make a move, her bright eyes fixed on him.

He feinted, before coming at her with his knife, stabbing up under her guard.

Calion moved round Galenthil, making it harder for his opponent to get between them to grab the elfling. As the one in front of him raised his blade, Calion narrowed his eyes.  This was no different to the training grounds, he told himself.  He held his staff as if it were a training sword, encouraging the one before him to strike at him, pulling back to make him overreach himself, so that he could swing the thick end round and make contact with the back of the other’s head.  He dropped instantly and Calion turned in time to watch Hithien push her second attacker away with a vicious prod of the staff in his belly that curled him up ready to meet her knee. His nose broke, spreading blood over his face. As he fell she considered him and administered a judicious kick beneath his ear and he fell silent.

‘Is that it?’ he asked, panting.

‘It would seem so,’ she answered, keeping her attention on the undergrowth.  ‘Bind them.  This one will not be unconscious for long.’

Calion kicked the sword away from his attacker and took up the knife.  ‘There is blood on this, Hithien,’ he said.  ‘Are you hurt?’

‘It is not serious,’ she told him.  ‘Cut strips from their clothes and tie their wrists and ankles.’ 

He started with the one writhing with the pain of his broken arm and kneecap, ignoring the pained cries, before moving on to Hithien’s second victim and his own more deeply unconscious assailant. 

Hithien bent down and began to reassure the deeply distressed elfling at her feet, taking him in her arms just as three of Thranduil’s guards rushed into the clearing, their swords ready. 

‘Just in time to clear up,’ the nursemaid said, smiling sweetly at the three suspicious elves.  ‘Take Galenthil, will you, Calion.  I will just go and coax Surion to bring Eleniel out. I think we will abandon the picnic.  There seem to be too many people about today.’

Calion threw down the knife and folded the elfling in his arms, softly crooning comforting songs, only now realising that he was shaking, although whether with anxiety or reaction he could not tell.

***

Elerrina could not take her hands off her elflings and Nisimalote crushed Surion into her arms. 

‘I cannot believe it,’ Elerrina quavered. ‘It was just a picnic in the grounds.  I cannot believe that someone would try to abduct them.’

Thranduil stood, too angry to speak, his arms folded in front of him.

‘They were very brave, my lady,’ Hithien said calmly.  ‘And remarkably sensible.  Surion and Eleniel took refuge in the trees – which agreed to hide them.  Galenthil remained with us.’

‘You risked my daerion?’ Thranduil snapped.

Hithien raised her eyebrows, clearly not intimidated.  ‘He is too loud, my lord.  It is a little difficult to hide someone who is making that much noise.  As fights go, it was not the most difficult – they were not expecting opposition and they knew they both outnumbered us and were better armed.’

‘How did they know where to find you?’ Nisimalote asked softly, looking suspiciously at Calion.

‘I do not believe that is terribly difficult to work out, my dear,’ Thranduil snapped. ‘Who thought this outing was a good idea – and who then kept you both from joining it by turning up in tears?  Who suggested that it would be such a shame to stop the little ones enjoying their treat?’

Elerrina stiffened. ‘Nessa?’ she said incredulously. ‘But she is my cousin!’

‘She is my cousin, too,’ Calion pointed out, immediately wishing he had remained quiet.

Thranduil narrowed his eyes and gazed intently at his son’s bondsman.  Calion stiffened, but attempted to meet the stare unmoved.  ‘By which you are suggesting that her motives might not be as clear as she would like us to think?’ the king enquired softly into the silence. ‘Answer me, ellon!’

‘But he is not an ellon,’ Surion whispered to his naneth. ‘He is quite old.’

Calion suppressed a slightly hysterical desire to laugh, which did not seem the wisest reaction under the circumstances.

‘It is your brother who has been upsetting her,’ Nisimalote observed pettishly.  ‘And your naneth who has been pushing them apart.’

Calion frowned.  ‘Nonsense,’ he said.  ‘Naneth would be only too pleased if Tarannon were to marry Nessariel, but she is not interested and neither is he.’

‘Interesting as these insights are,’ Hithien interrupted, ‘I believe it is rather more relevant to learn the identity of the attackers.’

Thranduil shook his head.  ‘Hired,’ he said.  ‘They believed they were recovering elflings kept from their naneth by a disapproving family.  They are not happy about the deception.  The identity of the one who hired them is spurious – she stole the name and details of one who is indeed involved in family conflict, substituting only this house and my grandchildren’s descriptions.’ He sighed.  ‘It would seem we are little further forward.’ 

‘This must go to the High King,’ Hithien stated.

Thranduil frowned at her.

‘The authority is his,’ she insisted.  ‘It is his right to investigate – and judgment will be better coming from him.  Lady Nessariel must be questioned, too, and I do not believe you will find it easy to remain detached.’

‘You are right,’ he admitted, ‘although I do not like it.  I will see to it.’  He turned as he reached the door and inspected Calion.  ‘You did well,’ he said approvingly, then left.

***

Celebrian shivered.  ‘They did what?’ she said incredulously.

‘Three of them,’ Elrond repeated wearily.  ‘They knocked out two of the patrolling guards and came over the wall, whereupon they tried to take the twins.  Hithien had managed to hide Eleniel – and then she and Calion fought off the attack.’

He was surprised when Celebrian grinned wickedly.  ‘They must have found Hithien to be rather unexpected,’ she remarked.  ‘She looks so feminine, but she kicks like a horse.’

‘I think Calion found her even more astonishing,’ Elrond said meditatively. ‘He keeps looking at her out of the corner of his eye.’

‘How is Elerrina taking it?’

‘Badly,’ he shrugged.  ‘As you would expect.  She cannot bear to let the elflings out of her sight – which is why my conversation with Thranduil took place in the nursery. He has decided that custom should be set aside and has both increased and armed his guard – despite advice to the contrary.’

‘That does not seem a very good idea,’ Celebrian said seriously.  Perhaps Adar should speak to him.’

‘He was badly frightened, my love,’ Elrond sighed. ‘I do not think anyone will be able to change his mind on this.  Threats to him he can take in his stride.  Threats to his family are quite another matter.’

Her face changed.  ‘I can understand that, my husband,’ she told him. ‘Are we quite sure that our own will be safe?’

‘They are as safe as we can make them until we get to the bottom of this matter.’  He took her gently in his arms.  ‘Believe me, my love,’ he said, ‘the security of my family is of prime concern to me.’  He rested his cheek against her hair.

‘Why do I feel,’ she asked, her voice slightly muffled against his robes as she listened to the beating of his heart, ‘that this is the prelude to something that is not going to please me?’

As he remained silent, she slipped her hands beneath the enveloping fabric to make closer contact with his lean muscled back and lifted her head to look at him. He dropped a light kiss on her nose and hesitated.

Her eyes twinkled.  ‘I have not seen you so nervous since you were keying yourself up to go and speak to my Adar,’ she said.  ‘It cannot be that bad.’

‘You know what I am going to say,’ he admitted.

‘That I cannot want my daughters and grandson guarded and not be willing to tolerate it myself,’ she agreed.  ‘They are two sides of the same coin.  I do not like it, but I understand – if you will also understand that I want you to be protected as well.’  She laughed at his expression.  ‘Do not tell me that you are a brave warrior and that you will be safe just because you are male,’ she scolded.  ‘Being a warrior did not save Legolas from injury.’

‘I will concede,’ he smiled, drawing her close.  They enjoyed each other’s warmth in silence.  ‘I wonder how your naneth will react to Celeborn’s demands,’ he mused.

***

Lord Celeborn had decided against a tactful approach.  It would not work and would probably only serve to fuel his wife’s wrath and make the confrontation worse.  He had told her simply that circumstances required that she be guarded.  He was waiting with interest to see how she would respond.

Galadriel continued to work at her embroidery in silence, the light from the window reflecting from her golden hair and the flashing needle as she placed stitch after careful stitch.  The silence extended to the point where it became uncomfortable as each challenged the other to break it.

Finally, the bubble of amusement that was rising in her made her lift her eyes to meet his.  She ran her needle through the fabric and, setting it aside, rose to join him.

‘Very well,’ she said tranquilly, watching for his reaction.

It was no more that a fractional tightening of his eyebrows, but she had the pleasure of knowing that she had surprised him.  ‘I doubt that those who would use elflings in a game of this kind would be prepared to challenge you, my lady, but I would rather be assured of your safety,’ he told her.

‘I understand,’ she replied and smiled.

His frown deepened.  This was not the reaction he had expected – he was clearly failing to understand something important.  He tried again.  ‘It is not that you are incapable of taking care of yourself, my lady, but I wish to keep danger from you wherever possible.’

Her smile widened. ‘I appreciate your concern,’ she informed him.

His eyes narrowed suspiciously.  How had she got him to the point where he was almost apologising to her for the need to have her protected?  This conversation had started with him in command, yet, with scarcely a word, she was now gaining the upper hand. He placed his fingers under her chin and turned her head so that their eyes met.

‘You,’ he said with conviction, ‘are evil.’

She laughed.  ‘And you, my lord, deserve me,’ she informed him.

‘Do I?’ he queried.  ‘Perhaps you are right.  Let me see.’  He leaned closer, sliding his hand to the back of her head and touching his lips to hers.  She melted in his arms, unexpectedly yielding, and held him close.  ‘H’mm,’ he sighed, ‘perhaps I have got what I deserve.’  He looked at her soberly. ‘But remember, my love, that I wish to keep it.’

‘I will endure your guards,’ she told him, ‘and I will look after them carefully for as long as is necessary.’

‘Thank you,’ he replied, ‘I think.’

***

Minastan paced.  How had something so straightforward gone so awry?  It should have been a simple task.  Nessariel had done everything he told her.  The place, the time, those present – all were as they should have been.  Yet all had been thrown into confusion because he had underestimated the nursemaid.

Now they had Nessa – and she was probably the only person who could connect him to the scheme.  It remained to be seen whether she was capable of holding her tongue, but he did not care for the idea of having to trust to her strength of mind.  He would have to come up with a plan.  Quickly.

Far Horizons 15:  Unravelling 

The elleth looked them over thoughtfully.  ‘We have had word,’ she said, ‘that you are to be made welcome.  I have come to invite you share our fire and eat with us this evening.’   She stopped and waited for a response.

Aelindor bowed slightly.  ‘Thank you,’ he said simply.  ‘You must excuse our surprise.  We had no idea that there was a community nearby.’

She continued to watch him.  ‘Not so much a community,’ she said after a moment’s thought.  ‘Just a group of us.  We have been keeping an eye on you for a couple of days.’

‘And who was watching us before that?’ Vondil demanded.

She smiled noncommittally.  ‘Another group of us.’

‘Big groups?’ Falas asked eagerly.  ‘It will be much more interesting to move here if there are communities willing to welcome new arrivals.’

She looked rather forbidding.  ‘It is not my place to decide whether you will be permitted to live in these forests,’ she told him.  ‘That right belongs to the Lady.’

‘Who does not, I take it, owe allegiance to the High King,’ Alagsir ventured.

She shrugged.  ‘Are you coming?  I could quite happily leave you here to admire the waterfall if you prefer.  However, if you choose to come, I suggest you stop asking so many questions.  We are to welcome you, not tell you all our secrets.’

‘Are you perhaps,’ Aelindor enquired, ‘permitted to go so far as to tell us your name?’

‘I am,’ she told him, ‘but courtesy demands that you should tell me who you are first.’

He flushed slightly.  ‘I am a forester – formerly of Mirkwood, or Eryn Lasgalen as it has also been named.  My name is Aelindor.  Beside me are Falas and Vondil of the same realm and our companion is Alagsir of Lothlorien.’

‘I am Domeniel,’ she said, ‘of this forest. You are Wood Elves?’

‘I am,’ Aelindor shrugged. ‘Falas is part Sindar.  I am not sure about the others. You would have to ask them.’

She walked them down from the bare rocky ridge and melted back into the forest. Vondil was impressed by the ease with which she blended into the muted greens, golds and greys of the forest.  Even knowing where she was, she was difficult to observe, seeming to fade into the mottled shade. 

‘Are you able to journey through the trees,’ she asked impatiently.  ‘It is tedious to plod along the ground when we could be in the canopy.’

‘If you would care to lead the way,’ Vondil told her, sounding slightly offended.  ‘We will follow you.’

Domeniel look at him with amusement.  ‘I will travel slowly enough for you to follow,’ she said kindly, catching Aelindor’s half-hidden grin as she leapt into a nearby oak.

He had been annoyed, Vondil admitted to himself.  It was not right for a chit of an elleth to patronise one who had fought from the trees of Mirkwood for longer than she had been in the world.  However, he was forced to admit that, had she wanted to be one of Thranduil’s scouts, she was ideally qualified.  Within moments she had disappeared among the branches, both silent and invisible.  She deliberately gave them several minutes to be aware that they were unable to follow her without her consent and then emerged, standing so that the light caught her.

‘Do you have a problem?’ she asked lazily.  ‘I thought you were Wood Elves.’

‘But these are your woods, my lady,’ Alagsir pointed out. 

‘I am no lady,’ she sniffed. ‘Come, I will travel at your pace – this time, at least.’

Vondil was aware of a twinge of nervousness.  He must be very sure to keep track of their path, for it this elleth wished to lose them in unfamiliar territory she would be able to do so without difficulty.

What surprised Falas was how close the other party were.  Domeniel led them down into a small gap between the trees, where a delicious fragrance of hot stew drifted from the smokeless fire.  There were four of them; all dressed in muted shades of green and brown and grey that made them barely noticeable except when they drew away from the foliage.

‘Adar?’ Domeniel said.  ‘I have brought them.’

The elf by the fire stood slowly and turned round, allowing a slow smile to spread across his face, but he said nothing.

Vondil stared incredulously, his mouth half-open.  ‘Dumir?’ he said in amazement. ‘It cannot be! You passed to Mandos at Dagorlad.  Am I seeing things?’

‘If you are seeing things, then I am seeing them, too,’ he replied.  ‘It is good to see you here, my brother.  I came to myself again these many centuries ago – and all my new home lacks is the presence of so many dear ones.’  He glanced at Domeniel who was staring at Vondil, her expression closed.  ‘You have met your niece, my brother. Allow me to introduce you to her brothers and their naneth.’

***

It was as if, Aelindor thought, someone had taken up the forest, turned it round and put it down again.  It was no longer virgin territory, full of strange plants and haunted by the invisible shadows of alien elves.  It was now the home of family – like, but unlike, and close to the heart, despite time and distance.  Vondil, he could see, was in a state of confusion.  His brother, whose death in battle had been so shattering an experience that his parents had sailed to prevent his naneth from fading.  Not an uncommon story among the families of Lasgalen.  His own family had undergone similar tragedy, save that his grandfather’s death had been enough to leach the heart from his grandmother, so that no voyage from the Havens could have saved her.  His adar had been left, scarce grown – so young indeed, that even the need of those fell days had not been enough to persuade his daeradar to take him into battle – to be responsible for the care of his younger brother and sister.

Falas sat down next to him.  ‘It is beyond belief,’ he said.  ‘This has given me hope of reunions I no longer expected.’

Aelindor looked to him enquiringly. 

Falas shrugged.  ‘I was optimistic when we landed and I looked for them – but they were not there and nobody knew anything of them.  My parents and sister sailed when the Watchful Peace ended – Naneth said that she could not bear to go through it all again.  I stayed – I was not ready to leave the trees and I hoped I could do something to help hold back the Shadow.’  He stopped speaking and stirred the leaf litter with his finger. ‘I believed they would be waiting for me – but, when I found others who had known them, nobody knew what had become of them.’  He drew a deep breath.  ‘Adar was not one to stay among crowds – he would have liked it here.’ 

From across the small glade, Domeniel shot him a sharp glance before returning to the study of the elf her adar had claimed as his brother. 

Her naneth brought bowls of stew to the two elves.  ‘You are from the Greenwood?’ she asked, looking at them carefully.

‘We are,’ Aelindor said softly.  ‘This is an unlooked-for happiness.’  He nodded towards Vondil who was sitting next to his brother in bemused silence.

‘But it is always a shock,’ she said.  ‘It takes time to come to terms with the return of elves who have been long absent from our lives.’   

‘You have seen this before?’ he asked.

‘Many times,’ she agreed.  ‘Sometimes it works – to the benefit of all, but at other times,’ she shook her head, ‘the farewells have been made and it is not possible to move past the long good-byes.’

‘People learn to live other lives,’ Alagsir offered. ‘They cannot become the elves they were before the sundering.’

‘That is true.’  Her eyes were sad. ‘Sometimes not even all the love and grief and centuries of longing can bring husband and wife back together, for all the depth of their bond. The distance between other kin can be even harder to bridge.’  She looked at the elf of the Golden Wood.  ‘Do not expect too much,’ she suggested. ‘If you are offered the chance to start again, make it that – a beginning.’  She gathered the wooden bowls and returned to the fire.  ‘There is more if you want it,’ she offered.

‘That would be very pleasant,’ Falas said, coming closer and dropping a hand on Vondil’s shoulder.  ‘I am always open to the offer of more.’

***

The forest was hiding something from him, Legolas knew.  The trees were apologetic about it, seeming almost to hang their heads when he asked them for more information.  They refused, however, to break the confidence of the one who had imposed their silence on them.

‘I knew we should have brought him from the beginning,’ Glorfindel said quietly, nodding in his direction as Legolas communed with the welcoming song of the forest. ‘Haldir is good, but he is not the Prince of Eryn Lasgalen.  Only Thranduil himself would be better able to sense the mood of the forest.’

‘Why did we leave them behind?’ Rindor asked.  ‘I was surprised that Lord Elrond did not pack his sons off with us.’

Glorfindel shrugged. ‘Husbands and adars,’ he said. ‘I suppose they have different responsibilities now.’

‘It is not funny.’

The two elves turned towards Haldir, who was scowling at the twins.

‘I do not know about that,’ Elrohir teased.  ‘What do you think, my brother?  Here we have an elf who has spent all our lives boasting to us of his prowess in the trees, especially when compared with that of we unfortunate sons of a Peredhil.  And what has he done?’

‘I would have loved to see it,’ Elladan filled his tone with regret, ‘if only so that I could have described the sight to Daeradar.   Can you not just imagine his face at the image of his march warden cartwheeling from a tree?’

‘I will not be pinned to this contraption for ever,’ Haldir menaced them.  ‘You will suffer for every word you utter.  If you have any sense at all you will leave the subject now.’

‘Whoever accused the sons of Elrond of having sense?’ Glorfindel interrupted.  ‘Certainly not anyone who has the dubious pleasure of knowing them.’

Elladan grinned. ‘You know you love us really,’ he said, putting his head on one side and batting his eyelashes exaggeratedly.

‘Enough,’ Glorfindel aimed a pretend whack at the back of his head. ‘Stop annoying the patient.  We have more important things to discuss.’

‘That is a good thing,’ Elrohir said.  ‘I hate to break up the party, but I am afraid that we are unable to stay here too long – we must make sure we cover all the necessary business as thoroughly as possible.’

‘It is not that we would not stay to brighten your days,’ Elladan explained, ‘but Elrohir needs to get back within a reasonable time, or his wife is unlikely to forgive him.’

‘Naneth would be rather displeased, too,’ Elrohir added, as he waved to attract Legolas’s attention.  ‘That elf has been away with the forest song since we came down from the pass,’ he added. ‘Perhaps he should not be allowed to move here – it is doing very little for his intelligence.’

Haldir snorted, then coughed in an attempt to conceal his amusement. ‘Of course, you would not understand the bond between a Wood Elf and the forest,’ he said haughtily.

‘Nor yet between a Wood Elf and the ground,’ Elladan said amiably.

‘I believe that is called gravity, my twin,’ Elrohir put in.

‘Be serious, you two,’ Glorfindel chided them, before falling silent, his face unusually sober. 

‘I have put enough elves around us to be sure that we can talk in privacy,’ Rindor murmured.  ‘As long as we keep our voices low, what we say should stay between us.’

‘Then let us get on with it,’ the expedition’s leader sighed, ‘before anybody else comes to join us.  We want to trap any conspirators before they can do any more harm.’

***

Neldin looked over his shoulder nervously.  He could not get over the feeling that he was being watched, and yet, try as he might, he had never managed to catch a single glimpse of anyone who seemed to have the slightest interest in him.  Ever since they had arrived in this cursed forest, the sensation had been there, like a prickling in the back of his neck.  It had been preventing him from carrying out many of the small acts of sabotage which he had planned – the petty irritations that stopped people resting and spoiled their food, yet were hard to pin down and could go undiscovered for days.

It had seemed such a clever idea; to make himself known and dismissed as of no importance before instigating the campaign intended to make this expedition fail, only somehow, it did not seem to be working out like that.  He seemed to have to be working increasingly hard to ensure the success of a project that he was desperate to see in the dust.  Now, if he could only make one of these wretched flets collapse – preferably when Lord Glorfindel was standing on it, stamping his feet and telling everyone what a splendid job they were doing completing all the back-breaking labour, as he sat in the sun signing his name on a few pieces of paper.

The problem with that as a scheme was that he, Neldin, had been the one that everyone had watched up here in the trees, fixing the platforms in place.  He needed someone to take the blame – and he was a bigger fool than he thought if he could not pass the responsibility on to the shoulders of these green elves who had crawled out of the foliage and announced themselves as the true owners of the wood.  Why would anyone suspect Neldin of the Golden Wood, the argumentative but generally good-hearted engineer, who had been proved by Elrond’s clerk not to be the saboteur?

Neldin grinned to himself as he knocked out the pegs that held the sections of flooring together.  That was the trouble with the elves of Imladris, he decided.  They thought so highly of their own brilliance that they were unable to see when they were being led by the nose.  He looked critically at the wooden floor that was now held together by little more than good will.  That should be almost enough.  And, if the local elves were not ready to take the blame, then he would see what he could do to push suspicion over to those Noldor puppies who had come with the lordlings.  A few of these wooden pegs in their saddlebags could probably establish a nice little clan war to heat up everyone’s blood.

Tineithil touched his son’s shoulder and shifted his head to indicate the whereabouts of the leaders he wished to see.  Loareg slid away, the leaves not even moving as he brushed past them.  If his son were quick, Glorfindel himself might see what was happening and the fool would be caught in the act.

Neldin rubbed his neck and rolled his shoulders, tucking some of the pegs in his tunic in case he wanted to use them later. The others, he thought, would be best left here, in the hollow where a branch had been ripped away by the storm that had done so much damage.  He had better hurry with the last few pegs.  He had been here long enough.

Looking at the guards, clearly spread round the groups of elves talking quietly by Haldir’s shelter, Loareg could tell they would be reluctant to let him through, so, shrugging, he slipped through the undergrowth, a shadow in the dappled light.

‘Lord Glorfindel,’ he said, as soon as he was within range of a low voice, ‘my adar says that you are to come.  The one who injured the fair elf is up to his tricks again.’

They stiffened in a way that would have made him laugh if he were prepared to let anything about these intruders amuse him.  ‘Elrohir,’ Glorfindel said.  ‘If you and Legolas would accompany Loareg.’

‘You will not come yourself?’ the ellon asked him in surprise.

‘Not this time, Loareg.’  Glorfindel looked at him in a way that made him feel uneasy, similar to the way his naneth made him cringe when she felt he had been rude.  ‘Do you have time to discuss this now?’

‘Come,’ he ordered, concluding without thought that it would be wise to withdraw before the elf lord decided to express his opinions more freely.

He was surprised how quietly the two sent with him managed in the trees and he was even more astonished when, without apparent planning, they separated to make it possible to them to act in concert to take the one setting the trap.  Loareg turned his eyes to the flet.  One more peg was knocked free, slipping between the fingers of the elf on the platform.

‘What are you doing, Neldin?’ a sharp voice demanded from the ground.  ‘How did this get down here?’

Loareg listened with interest to the expression that the other elf muttered before he smoothed his face and called out with concern, ‘There is a problem here, Nintaur.  Someone has been interfering with the platform – come and see for yourself.’

The younger elf sprang into the tree and approached the high platform.  ‘What has happened, Neldin?’

‘It must be those Forest Elves, creeping around the way they do,’ Neldin said.  ‘I am sure they are trying to get rid of us.  Look – the pegs have been removed.  Anyone climbing up here could have been thrown to his death.’

From his vantage point Loareg released a hiss of breath, but before Neldin had time to do more than freeze, a cool voice spoke from a nearby tree.  ‘A good story, Neldin,’ Elrohir said in a tone of mock approval, ‘but unfortunately there is no truth in it – we have been watching you for long enough to be quite sure of that.’

Neldin erupted from his position and threw himself past the surprised Nintaur, kicking him out of his way, before leaping to the neighbouring tree and disappearing in the foliage.

Elrohir cursed fluently.

‘Stop wasting your breath, my friend.  Get after him,’ Legolas called as he threw himself in pursuit.

Loareg grinned with excitement and chased after the blond elf, followed by his adar and the dark one.  They moved swiftly, leaving Elrohir behind as the trees helped the Wood Elves chase their prey.

Neldin headed in a straight line, too panic-stricken to realise that his chances of escape were non-existent.  When the broad width of the river appeared in front of him, he stopped, swinging indecisively on the swaying branch, but the nearness of the pursuit gave him little time to decide and, with an anxious glance over his shoulder, he flung himself into the water and began to swim.

‘How do we get him out?’ Elrohir panted as he drew level with Legolas and the two local elves.

‘I do not believe we can,’ Legolas said sadly, as he watched the current pulling the desperate elf downriver.  ‘He swims at least as well as I do – and I know that I could not fight the strength of this river.’

‘We will follow the river,’ Tineithil told him.  ‘If he manages to escape the water, he will be too exhausted to fight.’

‘I will accompany you,’ Legolas insisted.  ‘Elrohir – would you go back to the camp and send some of Adar’s guards?  If he survives, we will want to have him kept securely, so that he can be questioned.’ 

Elrohir opened his mouth to protest, but then nodded.  ‘I will return with them, Legolas,’ he informed his friend, ‘and so, I daresay, will Elladan.’

‘Hurry, then.’  Legolas leapt into the trees to follow Tineithil, who was already speeding down the bank, his eyes on the figure struggling against the force of the water. 

Loareg looked at him with interest and joined the chase.

***

‘What are your plans now?’ Dumir asked.  ‘You used your little boats to come down the great river, but you will not find it so easy to take them back.  The current is very powerful.’

‘We are working our way back to the camp,’ Vondil shrugged.  ‘We have allowed more than double the time – and we will travel a short way at a time, investigating the forest as we go.  Lord Thranduil wants maps to help him decide who should come to these lands – how many and what skills they will need.’

‘Has the Prince sailed then?’  Dumir said in surprise. ‘I find it hard to imagine him leaving the Greenwood.’

‘He has been King for many long centuries since Dagorlad, my brother,’ Vondil stated.  ‘He held the forest beyond all reason, fighting the forces of the Dark Lord and holding back the Shadow, but the time of the elves is gone, Dumir.  He no longer had any reason to fight.  Yes, he has sailed.  He found his son waiting for him and is building a new life.  He would wish to come here to start again with a forest kingdom in the purity this land offers.’

Dumir digested his words.  ‘Who else wishes to bring elves to the forest?’

‘Lord Celeborn – do you remember him from his fight to hold Eregion against Sauron?’ Alagsir asked.  ‘And Lord Elrond, of Thingol’s line, who was herald to Gil-Galad, the High King.  Their people wish for their own place and have been granted the chance to come to these lands.’

‘Nobody knew,’ Aelindor said apologetically as Domeniel sniffed in irritation, ‘that there were elves already in residence here.  I do not know what will happen now.’

‘I remember Celeborn,’ Dumir said thoughtfully. ‘He is cousin to Thranduil, is he not?’

‘He is,’ Alagsir, shrugged.  ‘And his daughter became Elrond’s wife.’

Dumir nodded slowly.  ‘I am glad it is not my problem,’ he said. ‘It will be for the Lady to decide.’

***

By the time Elladan, Elrohir and the four guards jogged along the riverbank and caught up with the others, the chase had lost its urgency.  Neldin was still visible in the water, but his desperate struggle to thrust himself across the deceptively calm water had ceased and he was floating face downwards as the water spun him in lazy circles.

‘Can we get him out?’  Elladan asked.

‘The water is dangerous here,’ Tineithil told him.  ‘If we go downstream to the point where the river bends, he will be pushed into the bank and we can wade deep enough to pull him in.’

‘How long will it take?’ Legolas asked.

‘Not long,’ the knowledgeable elf told him. ‘The water is fast here.’

‘Let us hurry – there might still be time,’ Elrohir began to run along the edge of the bank.

‘Elrohir – in the trees,’ Legolas called.  ‘It will be easier.’

They made a chain to wade into the water, determined to pull Neldin from the grip of the river.  Legolas was amazed by the power in the serene flow, but refused to give up, grasping the waterlogged clothing as the body drifted towards him and hauling Neldin towards the bank, stepping back carefully, Elladan gripping his arm. 

Elrohir began to work on limp elf, struggling to restart his breathing as Elladan kept his heart pumping.  Tineithil watched with interest as the apparently dead elf choked back to life, drawing breath for himself before he coughed up more river water, groaning weakly as he began to return to awareness.

‘You seem to be useful people to have around,’ Tineithil remarked.  ‘That was an impressive feat. You displayed courage, determination and a great deal of skill.’

Legolas grinned.  ‘What do you expect?’ he said.  ‘They are their adar’s sons.’

Far Horizons 16:  Revelations

The guards bore Neldin back to camp.  Stripped of his wet clothes and wrapped in a dry tunic, he lay on a hastily improvised stretcher of tunics and long sticks, too limp to make any effort to break free.   Still they were taking no chances.

Elladan smiled to himself.  In his opinion, Thranduil’s guard were less indignant about the initial action than about Neldin being the cause of Legolas’s decision to wade into the water to fish him out.  Sabotage was one thing – but endangering the life of their prince, intentionally or not, was quite another. 

He looked thoughtfully at the procession.  Although he was glad that this new life had not been shadowed by death, Neldin’s survival had, in fact, provided them with a problem.  What were they going to do with him?  He could hardly be permitted to take any further part in the project, yet they had no means of confining him or controlling his actions.  He would have to return with them to face Lord Celeborn, Elladan sighed.  And that would slow down the trip home, as well as detract from the simple pleasure of being out in the open with little to do other than journey through the bright days.

Tineithil watched the new arrivals with interest.  He had seen a rapport between the blond one and the trees that had impressed even him – and the reaction of the guards to him had shown only too clearly that, young as he appeared, his life was of more importance to them than their own.  The other two, the twins, had worked together without discussion, knowing exactly what to do in a crisis that had left Tineithil himself feeling rather helpless.  He had observed a healthy respect for them in the guards, but one that had more to do with experience and skill than with position – and yet, clearly, these two were lords among their people.  The Lady would be intrigued, he thought, by the affection between these three – so unlike, and yet obviously connected by bonds of friendship and shared understanding.

Glorfindel was waiting for them as they entered the clearing.  Clearly anxious, he saw at once that his immediate concerns were needless.  Having satisfied himself that all who had left had returned, he removed his eyes from the three young lords, Tineithil observed, and he watched the fair face harden as his attention shifted to the elf on the stretcher.

‘What happened?’

‘He came close to drowning,’ Legolas summarised.  ‘Elladan and Elrohir brought him back.’

‘Why?’

The three stilled, as if surprised.  ‘Because we need to know what he can tell us,’ Elrohir told him.  ‘And because we could.’

‘And because we should,’ Elladan added.  ‘If we had been unable to save him, that would have been unfortunate.  If we had left him without trying to revive him, that would have been murder.’

Glorfindel nodded.  ‘As long as you know,’ he said.

‘You are still testing us?’ Elrohir asked incredulously.  ‘We are no longer elflings, Glorfindel.  If you and Adar and Naneth have not managed to imbue us with your principles by now, you do not stand a chance of making us worthy.’

‘You will always be elflings to me,’ their former tutor shrugged.

‘It is quite comforting in a way,’ Elladan grinned.  ‘It is a shame there is no-one who can turn you into an elfling with a look.’

Elrohir laughed.  ‘We are in Valinor now, my brother,’ he said gleefully.  ‘I am sure there are many here to whom the great Balrog slayer is no more than a naughty elfling who insists on playing with too many sharp toys.’

‘A project for when we have a quiet moment?’ Elladan asked quietly and the brothers clasped forearms in agreement, as Glorfindel closed his eyes and muttered a quick curse.

***

Domeniel was not sure what to make of these elves.  They were not, as she was, at one with the forest, with its song flowing through their veins, but they had a strength about them and a warmth that drew her to them.  They reached out to the trees with an alien song of noble beeches and strong oaks, thirsty willows and lacy birches and, winding through them, Alagsir’s grief for the golden mallorns towering above the shady glades of a distant haven.  These trees – her trees – responded to them with whispers of comfort and greeting, recognising them, in spite of their strangeness, as Wood Elves.

And then there was her uncle.  Vondil looked like her adar, she decided, but he seemed much older, with a weariness to him born of long struggle.  Dumir, on the other hand, held the light of those reborn to the world and he seemed younger than his younger brother.  They talked without talking, she thought.  It took no more than a look or a word or two to revive a wealth of memory – a sharing that made her feel too young to know what she was doing.  They all made her feel gauche, a country cousin, an elleth fit for nothing more than hiding in trees, while her elders set the world to rights.

‘We see few other people, here in the forest,’ Brethiliel apologised. ‘She does not know what to make of you.’

Domeniel heard the warning in her naneth’s voice that told her she was being rude, but she did not know what she could do about it.  It was all right for Thonion and Cirith – they were male, too – but she could not get away from their eyes.  Only when she disappeared into the trees did she feel safe from a constant scrutiny that had nothing to do with talent or race and everything to do with the curve of her hips and the swell of her breasts.

She watched as they leaned over the boats, discussing seriously the implications involved in fighting against the current as they moved upstream.  Dumir remained on the edge, watching in amusement as Vondil and Alagsir put the small craft in the water and demonstrated how they could paddle against the flow.

‘I do not know why you would bother,’ he said to Aelindor and Falas.  ‘It would be much easier to go back through the trees.’

‘We cannot just abandon the boats,’ Aelindor objected. ‘They are too useful.  If they current is too powerful, we will have to carry them until it eases – so you will excuse me if I hope that our experts can move them through the water.’

‘When did Vondil become an expert in boats?’ Dumir asked with his eyebrows raised.

Falas laughed.  ‘Well, it is all relative,’ he admitted.  ‘At least he does not turn the craft upside down.’

Vondil brought the boat into the edge and stepped out, pulling the prow out of the water.  ‘It will travel upstream,’ he observed.  ‘But you will have to walk, Falas, unless you wish to paddle.’

‘You will excuse me if I choose to keep my feet dry,’ Falas said amiably.  ‘I will get a better idea of the shape of the land from the bank, anyway.’

‘I think,’ Dumir said, ‘that we will accompany you back to your fellows.  It will be interesting to see Lord Glorfindel – and I find that I do not wish our reunion to end so soon.’

‘Nor I, my brother.’ Vondil stopped abruptly and cleared his throat before continuing. ‘We have to return within ten days, and I believe it will take all of that to follow the river back.  Once the initial mapping is complete, I believe we might have to return to the east of the mountains – but, when I am free, I would like to return and spend some years with you.’

Domeniel scowled.  She did not want to spend time in the company of these strange elves – not unless some other ellyth arrived to absorb their interest.  It was uncomfortable being the centre of attention and she did not like feeling intimidated.  Nothing in the forest was capable of making her secrete herself away, yet within a day of meeting these elves here she was, hiding and listening – it diminished her and she was not prepared to tolerate it.

‘What can you tell me of these trees?’ a soft voice said from below.  ‘I am not familiar with this species.’  A pair of soft grey eyes looked up to where she leaned against the trunk and Aelindor smiled slightly and nodded his head.  ‘They seem to be a type of oak,’ he mused, ‘but they are more compact in their growth.  Do they produce acorns in quantity enough to be harvested?’

‘They are bitter,’ she said reluctantly, ‘but we leach them and grind them for meal.  There are other nuts deeper in the wood that are sweeter – my naneth prefers their flavour.’ 

‘The forest is generous,’ Aelindor smiled more broadly.  ‘There are beech groves?’ he asked.

‘There are,’ she agreed, ‘and chestnuts.  We do not go hungry, even in a harsh winter – there is plenty of food for the small number of people who live here.’

Aelindor caressed the bark of the tree, thanking it for its part in the life of the forest, and Domeniel watched with interest as it responded to his touch. 

‘It is beautiful here,’ he said softly.  ‘It is a good place to call home – I hope that my parents and my brother’s family are among the first to be permitted to come here.  My nieces should have the chance to grow up here, where the forest sings.  I can understand that you are reluctant to share it.’

‘It is not that!’ she said indignantly.  ‘The forest has room for many more to share its bounty.  I am just unused to strangers.’  She glanced at him as he kept his eyes on the tree before him. ‘How old are your brother’s ellyth?’ she asked.

Aelindor smiled.  Small steps, he thought, and careful offerings.  It was no different from coaxing a frightened wild animal down from the trees.  All it took was patience and care.

***

Tineithil was impressed.  He had not really paid much attention to Rindor, accepting him as the necessary record-keeper of the expedition, one who knew everything, but preferred to exist in the background.  The reason for that preference, he thought, was now clear.  It was, after all, so much easier to learn what was going on when one faded from sight and listened and watched.  There seemed to be little that had happened over the previous months that had not made it into the memory of this remarkable elf.  Too much Noldor blood to be truly one with the forest, Rindor nevertheless possessed all the perspicacity of a Wood Elf.  Tineithil sat unobtrusively behind Glorfindel and continued his observations.

Neldin squirmed in discomfort, his wrists tied firmly behind him.  At first reluctant to bind him, Glorfindel had agreed after the half-drowned elf had struggled to his feet and attempted to make it as far as the horses.

‘You are not going to be permitted to remain silent,’ Glorfindel told him firmly.  ‘We want to know what is in your head – people, actions, reasons – anything and everything that could be related to these attacks.  If we have to take you back to the day of your conception and listen to every thought that has ever passed through your brain, we will do it.’

‘You cannot make me speak,’ Neldin defied him hoarsely.  ‘I am no traitor!’

Elrohir frowned at him as if he were something rather distasteful into which he had just stepped.  ‘No?’ he queried.  ‘I think my daeradar might have a different opinion on that subject.’

Neldin flushed.  ‘Celeborn does not own me,’ he said fiercely.  ‘You are all the same, you arrogant lords and princes – you think that you can have whatever you want and you will take it regardless of who has a better right.’ He spat the words in a voice burning with hatred.  ‘We have endured it for ages of Arda – but we do not need you now!  Here, in the Undying Lands, each elf will be valued for his own worth.’

‘Indeed you will be,’ Haldir sneered at him.  ‘And that value is less than dirt.  Who do you think you have been harming, you piece of dross?  Finarfin the king, in his fine castle?  Even Lord Celeborn or Lord Thranduil, as they strive to give us all a better opportunity?  Or the ordinary elves beside you, who have been working all their lives to feed and clothe and protect you and those like you?’

‘I have always hated you,’ Neldin observed coldly.  ‘I was glad to have the chance of knocking some of that arrogance from you.  Always thought you are special, have you not, Haldir – how did you like being brought down to earth with your face in the dust?’

‘Coward,’ Haldir hissed at him. ‘You would not dare to go up against anyone face to face – the only way you would dare challenge any of us is with a thrown stone or a knife in the back.  I have nothing but contempt for you.’

‘Enough,’ Glorfindel insisted.  ‘This is not taking the questioning any further.   Information is all that we want from you, Neldin.  You can keep your half-baked theories of the world to yourself.  Who put you up to this?’

Neldin scowled at him and lapsed into silence.  Rindor leaned forward and put his hand on Glorfindel’s shoulder, murmuring in his ear. 

‘If you think that would be best,’ Glorfindel shrugged and gathered the attention of those nearby.  ‘Come, my friends.  We will leave Neldin to the attentions of Rindor and our immobile march warden.’  He grinned at Haldir.  ‘You were looking for a useful task, my friend.  You have just been promoted to interrogator’s assistant.’

As they withdrew, Glorfindel looked over his shoulder to the three elves remaining. ‘I am of the opinion that it will take a lot to get through that thick skull,’ he observed to the twins.  ‘You might end up wishing that you had not had absorbed so much nobility from your training.’

***

Loareg glanced at his adar doubtfully, before deciding it would be better to keep his thoughts to himself.

‘What is it, my son?’  Tineithil asked him without turning.

The young elf looked embarrassed.  ‘They were not as bad as I thought,’ he said.

‘You are surely not suggesting,’ his adar grinned, offering him a portion of the food he had taken from his pack, ‘that I was right?’

‘Legolas seems to move through the forest as well as we do – and he heard the messages that the trees were whispering.  And those twins,’ Loareg bit into the cheese, ‘well; they were quick-thinking and good at what they did.  I would have thought that they were too late and that elf was dead.’

‘I have been quite impressed by the party as a whole,’ his adar admitted.  ‘And remember that the Lady says we are to help them as much as we can.  She does not seem unhappy to have them here.’

‘Only,’ Loareg looked up at Tineithil, flushing slightly.  ‘Do they have any ellyth?’ he asked.  ‘Two parties of them have arrived now and they are all male.  Ellyn outnumber ellyth in the forest as it is – surely the Lady will not want them to come unless they bring families with them.’

‘Ah,’ his adar said, ‘I suspect they wish to establish homes before they bring their families.  As I understand it, there are families waiting east of the mountains, and they will come once it is thought to be wise.  I am sure, my son,’ he continued gravely, ‘that there will be ellyth of suitable age.’

‘Do you think I could get to know them a little better?’ Loareg asked in a rush. ‘It is interesting watching them from the trees, but I would like to speak to them more.’

Tineithil considered his request for several minutes.  ‘I think, my son, that might very well be a good idea,’ he said finally.

***

‘How is it,’ Haldir complained, ‘that I have ended up the interrogator’s assistant, whereas you have the job of interrogator?’

Rindor quirked a one-sided grin.  ‘Experience,’ he offered.

‘Are you suggesting that I have not grilled enough victims?’

‘Maybe I am just better qualified for the element of brutality at the moment,’ Rindor suggested.  ‘You can hardly expect Neldin to present himself within arm’s range so that you can attempt to persuade him to speak.’

‘Perhaps,’ Haldir conceded.  ‘Now tell me how we are going to discover whatever sordid secrets this disgrace of an elf is concealing.’

‘With gentle persistence,’ Rindor told him.

Haldir looked disappointed.  ‘Would hitting him not be more effective?’ he complained.

‘I am not going to tell you anything,’ Neldin spat at them.  ‘Stop talking as if I am not here.’

‘You are not here,’ Haldir managed despite his position to look down his nose at the bound elf.  ‘You are merely a source of information.  Beyond that, you have ceased to exist.’

‘It would be easier for you simply to tell us who put you up to this,’ Rindor told him, ‘although I have no reason to expect you to follow such a straightforward path.’

Neldin replied with an expression that made Haldir raise his eyebrows. 

‘Anatomically impossible, surely,’ he commented.

Rindor began his questioning with simple enquiries that were so obvious that Neldin saw no reason to remain silent and he continued over a period of hours, insistently putting question after question, irrelevant interspersed with occasional significant queries ranging from his naneth’s name to the identity of his fellow conspirators, from his childhood friends to his method of reporting.

Neldin found that the concentration needed to provide innocuous answers made his head spin and after some time he began to wonder if he was making slips.  However, Rindor’s expression and tone remained invariable; quiet, polite, uninterested, persevering, relentless.

The shadows passed across the clearing and the sky began to darken, but Rindor’s interrogation of Neldin continued unabated.  Haldir began to feel almost sorry for the elf as he swayed with weariness, his short answers to unrelenting enquiries becoming seemingly increasingly random.

It was dark before Rindor stopped, and before he allowed the distraction of food and drink.  Neldin drank thirstily from the cup held to his lips, but he shook his head silently at the offer of anything to eat.

‘Take him,’ Rindor nodded to two of the Lothlorien archers.  ‘Keep him in one of the flets,’ he suggested, ‘with his wrists bound – and be sure there are two guards with him at all times.’

They took his arms to help him stand and supported him as they pulled him across the clearing.  Rindor watched him go, pinching the bridge of his nose in an attempt to force back the headache caused by the intensive questioning, so that he could think about the welter of information.

Haldir looked at Elrond’s pen-pusher with respect.  ‘I am impressed,’ he admitted. ‘I begin to feel that even the role of interrogator’s assistant was too much for me.’

Rindor tilted his head down to meet his eyes and smiled wryly.  ‘Now all we have to do is sort the relevant from the pointless,’ he said.

‘But first,’ Haldir insisted, ‘you eat.’

***

There were more elves in the forest than Aelindor had realised.  Since they were in the company of Dumir’s family, occasional visitors appeared to greet them, and each evening they shared their evening meal with one or two families.

Falas was in his element.  Vondil was surprised how skilled he was at making friends. He chatted pleasantly, asked after absent family, laughed over old jests, charmed shy elflings and flirted harmlessly with smiling wives.  It must, he thought, be a quality that was more of use in his metier than it was for a warrior.  Orcs, Vondil mused, had never required careful handling – cautious, maybe, but not careful.

The elflings were particularly sweet.  They seemed to take Vondil in their stride and looked on Falas as a big brother.  Aelindor they barely seemed to notice as being an outsider – the one who surprised them was Alagsir, whose fair hair and sea-grey eyes made him stand out among the dark-haired, misty-grey eyed Forest Elves.  The little ones stared at him, their fingers in their mouths and the older ones held back, unsure.

‘I feel like a sideshow at a fair,’ Alagsir muttered, making Vondil grin.  ‘Do they have no Lothlorien elves in this forest who have accustomed them to our colouring?’

‘If they find you remarkable,’ Vondil mused, ‘you common or garden elf of the Golden Wood, what will they think of your Lord and Lady?  Or of King Thranduil?’

‘You think their own Lady might have found a rival?’

‘I suppose it depends,’ Vondil shrugged, ‘on what makes her their Lady.’

‘Aelindor is with your niece again,’ Alagsir remarked as he examined their surroundings.

‘You are not the only one to have noticed that.  I believe Brethiliel is holding her sons off by pure willpower.  We had better have a friendly discussion with him fairly soon, or he might find himself more deeply involved with my family than he intends.’

‘This has become a procession rather than an exploration,’ Alagsir complained, as another pair of elves sidled from the forest, staring openly at the strangers among them.

‘We were sent to find information, though,’ Vondil remarked, ‘and information we are returning with in plenty.  Aelindor is being introduced to every tree-herder in the forest and Falas has stored up descriptions of soil types and fertility, together with samples of any unusual food crops.  The boats are becoming weighted down with all the different gifts we are given.  And many elves are pleased to give us information to flesh out those maps of ours.  On the whole, Lord Glorfindel should be quite pleased with us.’

‘How long before we reach camp, do you think?’

‘Two days,’ Vondil said with some certainty.  ‘Dumir tells me we are less likely to have visitors tomorrow and that by the following day the elves of the forest will have withdrawn from the noise and bustle we have created.’  He paused and bit his lip.  ‘I hope,’ he said, ‘that in our enthusiasm for our new home, we do not destroy the very tranquillity we have come here to seek.’

Alagsir nodded.  ‘It has been worrying me, too,’ he admitted. ‘I would not wish to drive away those who live peacefully here – yet we are bound to bring change.  It is not so much those few who are here now, but I suspect there will be some thousands eager to travel within the next few seasons.  I hope our lords are sensitive enough to the needs of the forest dwellers to weigh up their needs together with ours.’

‘We can only let Lord Glorfindel know,’ Vondil said philosophically.  ‘He is a good leader – he will not fail anyone if he can help it.’

***

‘What have you discovered?’ 

The clouds above the canopy were flushed with the golden blush of the rising sun, but Glorfindel had as yet been unable to discover Rindor’s findings.  The dark-haired elf had been exhausted by the time the interrogation ended – seemingly even more worn than his subject.  Once Haldir had persuaded him to eat a few mouthfuls, Rindor’s headache had clearly been too intense for him to be able to report back, and Glorfindel had sent him to sleep it off.  It was now, however, another day – and it was time for the truth to be told.

‘Many things.’  Rindor’s eyes were still shadowed. 

It must be something to do with dealing in information, Glorfindel thought irrelevantly.  He had many times surprised the same look in Elrond’s eyes – a world-weary sadness, born of knowing too much.

‘Let us confine ourselves to those things that have a bearing on our situation.’

‘He is being used,’ Rindor offered.  ‘Not that he realises it.  He has been fed information and ideas designed to enhance all his prejudices – a political mish-mash of notions that have little in common other than a desire to make him angry.  The one who found him is clearly very charismatic – he has Neldin completely convinced that he is working to save the Blessed Realm from the machinations of land-hungry lords.’

‘Has he given this elf a name?’ Legolas asked.

‘He has,’ Rindor confirmed.  ‘But I think we can be fairly sure that the name is false.’

‘How?’ Glorfindel frowned.

Rindor exchanged looks with Haldir.  ‘Because Neldin eventually gave the name of Camentur Taryaturion.’

Into the stunned silence which found all eyes turned towards Legolas’s brother-in-law, Rindor dropped the remainder of his conclusion. ‘And since Neldin clearly does not recognise the one who bears that name, there is little doubt but that someone else has been using his identity.’

Far Horizons 17:  Loss

‘I did not shoot him, you know,’ Calion said quietly.

‘No,’ Hithien answered thoughtfully, as she looked up from her sewing.  ‘I believe that you did not.’

He flushed.  ‘Why?  Do you think I am too hopeless to be capable of such an action?’

She smiled wryly. ‘Is it hopeless to be too honourable to commit such a despicable act?  Or is it hopeless to be too honest to be able to live with the lie that you are innocent?  I do not think you are hopeless, Calion.  A terrible archer, possibly – I would not know; I have not seen you with a bow in your hands.’

He looked down at those hands uncomfortably.  ‘I know why I have been put here in the nursery,’ he said after a moment, ‘although I did not work it out until after you fought off those abductors.  It is not so that I can look after the elflings, but so that you can look after me.  I am fit for nothing other than being treated as an overgrown elfling.’

‘Stop feeling sorry for yourself, Calion,’ Hithien told him briskly.  ‘Self-pity is a very unattractive quality.’

‘Yes, Nana,’ he replied with a mocking salute as she looked him over.

‘You have other qualities that are much more pleasing,’ she remarked. ‘And I am not,’ she continued as he blushed to the roots of his dark hair, ‘just talking about physical appeal.’

‘I might have done it if they had told me to,’ he confessed, his voice low with shame, his eyes concentrating on the dancing pattern of leaves the sunlight was creating on the floor. ‘I might even have thought it was noble thing to do.’

Hithien’s hands dropped into her lap.  ‘So you deserve to be punished for it anyway?’ she asked.  ‘Is that why you did not tell Thranduil that you were being treated badly?’

‘No,’ he said indignantly. ‘I am not stupid.  Nobody had any wish to listen to me or any belief in what I said.  How was I to know that Lord Thranduil had not told everyone to make my life as difficult as possible?’

‘Because he is not a savage?’

‘Well, I know that now,’ he said apologetically.

Hithien gazed at him, finally shaking her head in wonder.  ‘We really do make our own problems,’ she sighed, ‘when there are no others available to do it for us.  Do your people truly look on Wood Elves as savages?’  When he did not reply, she picked up her sewing again. ‘If I were Finarfin,’ she observed, ‘I might consider commanding every unattached elf to marry someone from a different culture.’

‘That might not be such a bad idea,’ he muttered, looking up at her.

‘You are not to go falling in love with me just because I am kind to you,’ she ordered him.  ‘You are much too young for me.’

‘I would not do that,’ he agreed.  ‘That would not be a sensible thing to do.  Although I have to add that I am certainly not too young for you.  I do not know if you have noticed, but Surion keeps telling me that I am really quite old.’

***

Nessariel sat in the high window and gazed with unseeing eyes at the treetops blowing in the rain.  He had made no effort to contact her.  She attempted to convince herself that he was probably trying frantically to get messages to her through the network of polite but firm elves who were keeping her securely away from everyone except those questioning her, but, deep inside, she knew that she was no longer of use to him and that she had been discarded.

She closed her eyes and deliberately pictured the day she had met him: his hair so dark it was almost blue in the sunlight and his stormy grey eyes seeing through to her heart.  He had smiled – not the wolfish smile that scared her, the one that said that he would have what he wanted, no matter what the cost – but the sweet diffident smile that begged her to love him.  And she had – from that moment no-one else had mattered.  She could feel the burn of his fingers on her arm, the heat of his lips on her mouth, the fire of his love in her belly.

Food was brought – and left untouched.  People came and spoke to her, asked her questions, pleaded with her to come back from the place where she had shut herself away, but she did not want to return.  She was happy there: where the sun shone on them and he loved her.

‘She is fading,’ Elrond informed Finarfin softly.  ‘Within a few days – a week at most – she will give up her life.  There is nothing we can do to hold her.’

‘I did not want to pity her,’ Thranduil told them.  ‘She betrayed my daughter and endangered my grandchildren – but I cannot help but feel sorry for her.  Has she said anything to give a clue as to the name of the pond-scum who has driven her to this?’

Finarfin shook his head.  ‘She has said nothing at all from the moment we took her,’ he admitted.  ‘It is as if she has ceased to hope for anything from the outside world – as if, without him, life itself is meaningless.’

‘And her life is the only gift she can give him.  Few elves love quite this obsessively, but when they do there is little that can be done to save them.’  Celeborn looked sad. 

‘Have you searched her rooms – looked through her clothes – sought out secret corners where she might have hidden messages from him?  He will have told her to dispose of everything, but she will have wanted to cling on to anything that he had touched,’ Galadriel told them.  ‘She has had little enough of him.  None of her friends or family appear to know anything, except that she had a lover who seemed to keep her swinging between euphoria and despair.  Anything he gave her, she would have kept – and as secretly as possible, for she would not have wanted him to discover her deception.’

‘Perhaps if you were to search,’ Celeborn said, taking her hand and lifting if briefly to his lips.

Galadriel smiled as she turned her hand to caress his cheek, knowing that he grieved for the elleth who was dissolving into despair in the small room behind them.

‘I will look,’ she promised. 

Finarfin turned to the captain of the guard.  ‘We will leave her to you, Captain.  Do what you can for her.’

Nessariel watched from the window as the treetops blew in the rain, but she saw an everlasting summer, with the beautiful elf by her side who adored her and put her happiness before his lust for power, but beneath the surface of the happy image, she could sense the rot; and the darkness swirled around her feet, threatening to suck her into a pit from which there was no escape.

***

‘Where would you hide those little things a lover might send, but that you wish to keep secret?’ Galadriel asked Elerrina, her voice low and meditative.

‘It is difficult,’ Elerrina admitted.  ‘There are so few places that an elleth has that are secure – although it is usually your naneth from whom you wish to hide lover’s tokens.  It is more often safer to have your hiding place away from your room.’  She looked round slowly.  ‘But Nessa was not hiding things from her naneth – and, whoever he is, he could not come to her rooms and remain a secret.  She will have hidden anything here.’ 

‘I agree,’ Galadriel nodded.  ‘Now, the searchers will have looked everywhere that is obvious – and, for they have talented elves among them, they will also have searched many places that are less obvious.  So where might we look that is not obvious at all?’

‘Somewhere she can get at them easily,’ Elerrina considered.  ‘Somewhere portable – so that she could take them with her.’

‘The clothes she is wearing now have been checked,’ Galadriel murmured, turning slowly as she looked at the contents of the room.  ‘She has nothing else with her.’

‘Not even her hair brush?  I seem to remember hiding notes in the back of my brush at one time.’

‘Really?’ Galadriel said with interest. ‘Who might have sent them, I wonder?’  She laughed as Elerrina blushed.  ‘Was it a successful hiding place?’

‘It was not discovered – and that is the main thing!’

‘What jewellery does she have?’ Galadriel opened the box on the modest chest. ‘I used to have a brooch that could be used as a hiding place.’ 

There was little in the casket – either Nessariel did not care for jewellery or she had not been able to afford much.  Most of what was there appeared to be hair adornments, beautifully embroidered butterflies and leaves.  Galadriel picked one up and felt it delicately.  ‘Well,’ she said.  ‘It would seem that we have found something.’

Elerrina grinned. ‘May I be there when we let Legolas’s Adar know?’ she requested.

‘Oh most definitely,’ Galadriel said, as she delicately began to unravel the stitches along the edge of a pretty leaf, easing out a small folded piece of paper.  ‘I am looking forward to seeing his expression myself.’

‘What does it say?’ Elerrina asked as she watched Galadriel’s face.

‘The poor elleth,’ Galadriel said pityingly.  ‘If this is a sample of all he gave her to treasure, she was surviving on crumbs indeed.  ‘Just ‘Meet me’, ‘burn this’ – that is more or less all it says.’

***

Ancalime wept on her husband’s shoulder. ‘She is just a shell,’ she sobbed.  ‘There is no more than a tiny spark of life left within her.’

‘I am sorry.’  Elrond spoke gently, a wealth of grief in his voice.  This was a story he had told before, but he could never accustom himself to it.  ‘There is nothing we can do.’

‘Not even Lady Galadriel?’ Nessariel’s adar implored hoarsely. 

‘It is too dangerous,’ the healer told them.  ‘If she is disturbed in the dream that is all that is supporting her, it is most likely that she will withdraw altogether.’

‘If I meet the one who did this to her, I will kill him,’ he cried in anguish. ‘It will not be kinslaying, for anyone who could do this is no kin of mine!’ 

Galadriel put her hand on his arm.  ‘Do not let Nessariel hear you,’ she murmured. ‘She will do nothing to betray him.  If she thinks that, living, she may endanger him at all, then she will choose to die now.’

‘How can she have chosen to love so completely one who was just using her?’ her naneth mourned.  ‘He has taken advantage of her and drained her and abandoned her.’

‘Did you know that she had given herself to him?’ Galadriel’s words were as chilling as the breeze on a winter morning, and Ancalime shivered.  ‘But the bond was one-sided.  I feel no trace of him in her.’

‘There is no punishment that he can be given that is severe enough.’ Nessariel’s adar said harshly as he held his wife close.  ‘My daughter should have lived in peace and happiness with an elf who treasured her.  He has killed her as surely as if he stuck a knife between her ribs.’

***

The pile of fabric scraps lay discarded on the table between them, pretty and delicate treasures that were now no more than litter.  The brief notes they had released to examination were spread out, pinned down at the corners to stop them from blowing away. 

‘No word of love,’ Galadriel said, aching audibly for the elleth who had worked with a loving hand to conceal these scraps of paper.  ‘Not even in the early ones, where at least he is making some attempt to ask rather than command.’

‘She probably did burn the first ones,’ Thranduil commented.  ‘Before she began to crave every touch of his hand.  He will have kept her wanting – his control would have been greater thus, and we have here someone who desires to be in control.’

‘It is a strong hand,’ Celeborn reflected.  ‘I suppose that is not surprising.  There is no attempt to hide his own style – but then he did not expect anyone to see these.’

‘How will these help us find him?’ Elerrina found tears in her eyes as she looked at the evidence of her cousin’s lover.

‘They will not,’ Galadriel admitted, ‘unless you recognise the writing.  The most they will do is help convict him when he is found.’

Elerrina picked up the scraps of embroidery and concentrated on the small dragonflies and the colourful butterflies to help her control her wish to weep.  Her eyes narrowed and she turned so that the scraps would catch the light. ‘Lady Galadriel,’ she breathed.

Together they looked closely at what had caught Elerrina’s attention, putting aside some of the tiny pieces.  ‘Well,’ Galadriel said finally, looking up at the faces of the curious elves who were staring at them.  ‘It is foolish to under-estimate the power of ellyth – and I believe the one whom we seek may find that he has done just that.  The wings of these creatures have been embroidered using his hair.’

Thranduil stared.  ‘He would not have given her any of his hair!’ he countered.  ‘He would know it could be used to help us trace him.’

‘He would not have done so intentionally,’ Galadriel agreed. ‘But he will not have known.’  She turned to her husband and touched his cheek, sliding her fingers into his mane of silver hair, running them through its thick length.  He fought a shiver, knowing that her touch had more to do with proving her point than passion.  She shot him an amused look that contained both apology and promise, before turning, several long hairs between her fingers.

‘She saved every hair he left on her gown or between her fingers – and used them to create these little jewels,’ she said, ‘so that something of him would always be with her.’

‘Valar, but ellyth are devious creatures,’ Thranduil remarked.

Elerrina shook her head.  ‘He was using her,’ she reminded him, ‘to help him carry out his plans.  But Nessa was not playing the same game.  She only wanted him to love her.’ 

***

Minastan sat in his room.  The last thing he wanted was to be caught attempting this, but, although he had sought other solutions, this was the only safe way he could imagine for contacting Nessariel.  It would not be easy.  The silly elleth had done her best to entangle herself with him and had opened her mind to him, but he had never had any wish to reciprocate and had consistently rebuffed her approaches.

Now he needed to pick up those traces of her and attempt to touch her mind, what there was of it, if he were to succeed in what he wanted to do.  It would require strength – but he had that.  He had the determination, too.  He was not going to let one weak elleth endanger the plan he had spent decades perfecting.

He controlled his breathing and began to reach inside himself.  The threads would be there: the touches of her clinging to his own essence.  They were slight, ephemeral, feather-light, but they were there.  He bound them: from gossamer to thread to wire, so that he might ride them back to her and touch the mind of the one who yearned for him.

In her high room, Nessariel opened her eyes.  She could feel him, like hot steel, tasting of fire, invading her.  She could sense his presence, making her limbs tremble with his intensity, filling her, making her whole:  her love.   A rapturous smile spread over her face and her head dropped back against the frame of the window as he gave her what she wanted of him – and then he took it back.

The shock of his withdrawal made her cry out as the aching emptiness froze her and her heart forgot to beat.  Her hands tightened to claws as her lungs sought air that they could not draw in.  For an infinite moment she held there, arched in the window as her body stiffened with his rejection, and then she fell, spiralling down, like a leaf in winter, sinking into the endless dark, endlessly alone.

He was surprised, in the end, how easy it was.

***

Tarannon stood automatically as his naneth entered the room, but his mind continued to brood and his eyes remained fixed on the floor.  Instead of walking past him to seat herself in her accustomed chair, she grasped his arm and pulled him to face her.

‘Tell me you had nothing to do with it,’ she said, her voice thick and trembling.

Tarannon lifted his eyes to her face in amazement.  Tears stained her cheeks and her mouth was shaking.

‘Tell me you had nothing to do with Nessariel’s death,’ she implored him. ‘I have already lost one son and I do not wish to lose the other.’

Her son’s mouth opened, but he found himself unable to speak.

His naneth continued, gripping his arm and shaking it as if he were a naughty elfling. ‘I know she liked you, my son,’ she said.  ‘Do not let it be you who drove her to give up her life.’  Fresh tears welled in her eyes and rolled down her cheeks.  ‘Is it not bad enough that you are involved at all in this stupidity, without you giving me reasons to suspect that you have committed yourself to activities that are both criminal and unforgivably cruel?’

‘Naneth,’ he said earnestly, ‘Naneth, believe me – Nessariel has never been more than a friend.  She never loved me.   I am not responsible for her death.’  He paused, then his voice dropped until it was virtually inaudible.  ‘I bear enough guilt without that.’

Minyariel sobbed.  ‘What have you done, Tarannon?  Please do not tell me you were involved in the attempt to take those elflings – I do not think I could bear it.’

‘I swear, Naneth.  I knew nothing of it.  I knew nothing – but I suspected that something was about to happen.’  Tarannon gently removed his naneth’s hand from his arm and sank into his chair.  ‘Oh, Naneth,’ he sighed, ‘I am so afraid.’

‘Tell me, my son.’  Her voice had steadied.  Surely nothing could be worse than her imaginings. ‘Tell me – let us see what can be done.’

‘I know him, Naneth,’ he whispered.  ‘I know who he is – he met Nessa when she was with me and he captivated her from the very first moment.   He has been leading our group by the nose for months, and I have only just begun to see it.  And he knows me, Nana.  I do not believe I will ever be safe again.’

Their eyes met and she stretched out to brush the hair from his face.  ‘We will find some way,’ she said with determination, ‘to see he gets what he deserves without involving you.’

The conversation in the hallway came closer and Tarannon stood beside his naneth, unsure of what was making him nervous, here in his adar’s house.  The door opened and Artamir entered, all his usual pomposity pricked out of him.

He stared at his son and his wife, before clearing his throat. ‘The High King has decided that my house is under investigation,’ he said. ‘We are under house arrest.’

Far Horizons 18:  Lessons

Camentur’s already pale face lost every vestige of colour.  ‘Who can it be?’ he said tautly.  ‘Who would want to see my family disgraced?  Why?  But for the most impossible of chances you would all be half-way to being convinced that I am responsible for attempting to sabotage this project – and that I am behind the attempted murder of my sister’s husband.’

Legolas put his arm round his brother-in-law’s shoulders.  ‘We do not believe it, Camentur,’ he said warmly.  ‘I would not have believed it, even without Rindor’s assurance that this story is false.  You are too open-minded to take part in anything this petty and mean-spirited.’

‘But that is the thing,’ Elrohir addressed Rindor slowly.  ‘This is not, and never has been, what it appears to be, is it, my friend?   This is not about race, or land, or politics.  Somewhere, hidden behind the rhetoric, there is a personal motive.’

‘That is what I am coming to suspect,’ Rindor agreed.  ‘We are seeking out a very clever, very ruthless character, who is prepared to spout any gibberish that will win him followers.  The brattish lordlings respond to cries of clan superiority and favouritism, so that is what they are fed.  Neldin wishes to hear words that speak of the ill-treatment of the common elf – and those are the slogans thrown his way.’

‘This plan,’ Elladan observed coolly, ‘is the fruition of years of work.’

‘Taking advantage of the activities of the present,’ Rindor agreed.  ‘He is intelligent, cool-headed; able to wait, but also willing to seize opportunities.’

‘Devious,’ added Glorfindel. 

‘And,’ Elrohir said softly, ‘we do not even know who he is targeting.  So far we have assumed that whoever is behind this is working against us – but we can no longer be sure that his motives are that simple.  Who has been harmed so far?  Two Noldor houses.  How are we to know that they are not the chosen victims?’

‘This is making my head ache,’ Haldir complained. 

Glorfindel grinned at him.  ‘I think that is the point, Haldir,’ he confided.  ‘This plot seems to be such a labyrinth that I think those seeking its constructor are supposed to end up going in completely the wrong direction.’

‘But all we have do is hold on to the ball of string,’ Rindor said certainly.  ‘We do not have all the information we need, certainly, but Lord Elrond will also have pieces of the pattern.  When you take him our evidence, he will have a better chance of seeing the complete picture.’

‘We are not going to solve this from here,’ Glorfindel said with certainty.  ‘There are too many aspects to it – and we have no way to find out most of it.’  He linked his fingers and pressed his thumbs together.  ‘We need to get what we know back to Elrond,’ he sighed.  ‘And as quickly as we can.  We also need to make sure that he has a detailed account of Neldin’s statement, together with our speculations – but it is not yet time for you to go back, despite your need to return within a reasonable period.’

‘How long has Adar told you to keep us?’ Elrohir asked suspiciously.

Glorfindel grinned.  ‘A month,’ he said.  ‘You can try trimming time off the journey if you like, but neither Elrond nor Thranduil want you back until they have had time to look into what has been happening.’

‘It is simple,’ Legolas observed.  ‘We arrived accompanied by enough guards to fight off a battalion of orcs.  Let us simply take a few and send them back.  Rindor can go through the information with one or two of his secret-keepers and we could spare a couple of Thranduil’s guards and an archer or two to escort Neldin back to hear what Celeborn thinks of him.  They can always come back and meet us at the pass if they must.’

‘That seems reasonable,’ Glorfindel agreed.  ‘And, what is more, in a week’s time we will send another couple of messengers to repeat and reinforce what we will send today.’

***

Loareg watched the meeting of the leaders by Haldir’s shelter with a touch of envy.  It would be interesting to know what was keeping them all so enthralled, but he could not see them allowing him to approach within listening distance, and Tineithil would be annoyed if he crept up on them without permission.

The other elves were working busily on building the flets.  The one damaged by Neldin had been repaired and was now home to the prisoner, who was being watched by a very bored-looking elf in a uniform he had been told belonged to the High King’s Guard.  Most of the other warriors, Loareg noted, had been happy to involve themselves in the work of turning this beautiful part of the forest into a settlement large enough to take hundreds of elves.  He glowered disapprovingly at the disturbed undergrowth and the few scars on the bark of the trees.

‘Are you one of the Forest Elves?’ a voice asked him in a slightly affected accent. 

He turned his scowl on the two dark-haired elves, one clad in a bright scarlet tunic and the other in silver-embroidered blue.  Loareg looked them over in amazement.  He had not realised how subtle the colouring of the clothing chosen by the visiting elves was, just that it was different from his – but these two certainly stood out in contrast.

‘How do you manage to move through the trees without being noticed when dressed like that?’ he asked without thinking.

‘Why would we want to move through the trees?’ the one in red asked in confusion. ‘What is wrong with the ground?  And being noticed is half the fun!’

‘It is probably a cultural thing,’ the other one suggested.  ‘Like when Elrohir said that if you refused to remove the bells from your horse’s bridle he would break your arm.’

‘Why would you want to put bells on your horses?’ Loareg frowned. ‘Are you afraid you might lose them?’

‘I am Minalcar,’ said the one in red, ‘and this is my friend Ambantor. The High King sent us here,’ he added proudly. ‘I suppose that makes us his representatives.’

His friend nudged him.  ‘Quiet,’ he muttered. ‘We do not want anyone taking back unflattering messages about us!’

Loareg looked at them.  The two of them were clearly young and not as sure of themselves as they would appear.  ‘Everybody moves through the trees in the forest,’ he shrugged. ‘If you cannot manage it, nobody will take you seriously.  Besides,’ he added, ‘it is much safer when the great beasts come.’  They were looking worried, he thought, patting himself on the back. ‘They are fearsome creatures.’ He lifted his head as he heard the whisper of the trees.  ‘I must go now,’ he said.  ‘I will see you again, I hope.’ He sprang and before the other two had a chance to follow him, he had disappeared into the canopy.

He paused before he lost sight of them and checked back.  They were huddling together, gazing around them rather anxiously.  Loareg laughed and went to meet his adar.  This could be fun.

***

‘I am sorry, Aelindor,’ Vondil said quietly.  ‘Domeniel is clearly not used to meeting many people.  I am sure you are only trying to put her at her ease – but it looks more. If her brothers think that you are toying with her affections, they will not be happy.’

‘I will keep my distance, if you truly think that is the case,’ the forester sighed. ‘I do not believe she would misread the situation.  She is young, not stupid.  I am enjoying learning to know her and she is telling me much about the forest.’

In the shelter of the willow branches, Domeniel flushed.  She was not sure whether she wanted to punish Aelindor for being persuaded so easily to keep away from her or to make her brothers pay for their everlasting protectiveness.  To listen to them, you would think she was no more than an elfling, silly enough to fall in love with the first personable elf to come her way.  Did her uncle really think that she had not seen other males?  The problem here in the forest was persuading elves to keep away, not attracting them.  In an environment where ellyth were decidedly outnumbered, any available elleth of suitable age could count on many and regular visitors, all trying to win her interest.  If Vondil only realised, the most intriguing thing about Aelindor was that he talked to her as a person, not as a possible wife. 

The quiet beyond the curtain of the tree was so deep that Domeniel was sure that Aelindor had been taken back to their camp – presumably so that he could be sat down safely in a group, where she would be unable to accost him.  Males, she thought in anger, were such babies.

Aelindor looked up as she slipped from between the branches.  He lifted his eyebrows.  ‘You heard?’ he asked.

Domeniel felt her annoyance fade.  She nodded.  ‘Foolishness,’ she said briefly.  ‘Thonion and Cirith spend their lives sniffing around every unwed elleth within miles, but they insist on becoming all noble and protective when they feel anyone is looking at me.’

‘I am not courting you,’ Aelindor said simply.  ‘Just so you know.  I am committed to this task for the next several years – and beyond that, I do not know what will happen.’

‘I am not courting you either,’ she said, a trifle sharply.  ‘It takes more than a week’s acquaintance to make a successful marriage.  I am just – sharing information and getting to know some people from another world.’

‘In that case,’ Aelindor said amiably, ‘I see no reason why we should not both continue to learn.’

Brethiliel looked at them narrowly as they came into camp and separated.  Aelindor joined his group and Domeniel strode with determination to where her brothers sat. Their naneth smiled.  This was all proving to be very interesting. She found herself looking forward to the arrival of the new families in the forest.  She was glad to see Domeniel’s opportunities opening out.  The isolation of the forest had always been the only thing about it that she had not appreciated – for the sake of her offspring, if not for herself.

***

‘What is the matter with you?’ Camentur snapped at the two young Noldor, as they looked round nervously for about the twentieth time. 

‘There are just so many trees,’ Minalcar said apologetically.

‘And they are so big,’ Ambantor added.  ‘How can they ever tell what is out there?’

‘What do you expect to be out there?’ Legolas asked them curiously

The pair exchanged glances.  ‘There could be all kinds of things.  Boar, great bears, wild cats, beasts we have never seen before,’ Ambantor said warily.

Elladan grinned at his brother.  ‘Dragons,’ he suggested seriously.  ‘I have heard of some nameless creatures that are four times the size of bears, with claws that would rip an elf to shreds – and they are so silent that you would never know they were coming.’

‘Stop encouraging them,’ Elrohir said disdainfully.  ‘There is nothing there that would harm you.  You stay in the middle of the camp and not even a fly will land on you.’  He looked them over.  ‘Tomorrow,’ he insisted, ‘you will start work.  You are not here to be ornaments.  Everyone else has been working – and you will join them.’

Minalcar flushed.  ‘We are not here to work as servants,’ he retaliated. ‘You will not get me to dirty my hands in menial labour.’

Elrohir shrugged.  ‘Then you will catch and cook your own food,’ he told them.  ‘You are here to find out whether you will be able to cope if you come to the forest, as your parents would like – and so you can tell of the reality of existence here to those of your friends who might look on it as an easy life. There are two choices – work as part of our team, or support yourselves.’  He looked at them seriously.  ‘What you will not do,’ he said, ‘is sit back and expect to be waited on.  You are not at home now.’

‘Do you intend to have me with my tunic off, clearing up behind the horses?’ Camentur asked Elladan quietly, as they walked off, leaving the sullen young elves behind. 

Elladan laughed.  ‘Not unless you wish to give the brats an object lesson in duty and co-operation,’ he said.  ‘With all these additions to the group, there is a real need for more food.  Glorfindel has spoken to Tineithil, who has told him of a fair sized herd of deer north-west of here.  He has no objection to our taking one or two.  We are leaving later on a hunt that might keep us away a day or two.  I thought you would probably prefer to be part of that.’

‘Who will ensure that those two do their share?’

‘Glorfindel spent centuries training novices and commanding the Imladris guard,’ Elrohir said as he came up behind them.  ‘Minalcar and Ambantor might think of themselves as very brave and talented – but they will not survive ten minutes once Glorfindel has decided they need a lesson.  Believe me, we know.  Our favourite Balrog-slayer is a big believer in object lessons.’

‘And the more you object, the more painful the lesson,’ Elladan grinned.

***

Neldin sat on the platform that was acting as his prison, his wrists still bound, but now linked by a leash to the tree that offered him shade.  His eyes closed, he tried to remember how much he had said to that persistent, everlastingly polite, pest of an elf who had never seemed to forget any single word that he had uttered, but kept coming back, again and again, to ask for more information on a list of subjects that ranged across every aspect of his life.  He must have said too much.  The hollow feeling inside him told him that he must have said too much.  If he had managed to keep everything to himself, the way he had intended, they would be at him again – nagging him with their endless questions.

If Rindor came back to him today to continue the interrogation, Neldin told himself, he must remain silent.  Only silence was a guarantee that he would not say those things better kept to himself.

His guard shifted his position, but Neldin was pleased to note that the platform did not sway.  Well-built, he told himself.  Whatever went wrong in his life, at least he could tell himself that he was a good engineer.  A bad conspirator, a disgrace as a son, a failure as a keeper of confidential information, but a good engineer.  If only that had been enough.

***

Rindor pinched the bridge of his nose as the noise from Haldir began to interrupt the flow of his thoughts as he attempted to summarise the interrogation, ensuring that Lord Elrond had all the ramifications of Neldin’s words at his fingertips.

Thornen had removed the strapping holding Haldir’s leg to the frame and was encouraging him to see how much movement he had.  The breaks had apparently healed enough for the framework pinning the march warden in place to be replaced with something that would enable him to use crutches.

‘You heal well,’ Thornen approved.  ‘Were we somewhere with smooth paved surfaces for you to begin to walk on, I would consent to giving you crutches without splinting your leg – but we are not, and I do not trust you to take things slowly.’

Haldir did not respond directly, but the range of curses he employed displayed a retentive memory that Rindor felt could have been better employed.  He was apparently less than happy with the weakness he felt in his good leg, and, Rindor thought, compensating for his anxiety with aggression.

‘Could you be quiet, Haldir?’ he requested forcefully.  ‘I have reports to prepare before Lord Glorfindel sends the patrol on its way, and I cannot think with you muttering away like that.  It is not Thornen’s fault that your leg will take time to heal fully – and you need not worry about the weakness, for that will pass once you start to move more freely.’  He pinned the march warden with his eyes. ‘And your pronunciation in those Dwarvish curses was appalling.  I doubt you meant what you said in Haradaic, either.  I will tell you later what you should have said, if you will only shut up now.’

Haldir lapsed into sudden silence, looking at the other in amazement.  ‘What do you know about Haradaic curses?’ he asked mildly.

The healer chuckled.  ‘Rindor knows a lot more than you might think,’ he said with unaltered good-humour.  ‘And not just about cursing in every language known on Arda.  He has a fair amount of experience of recovering from injury, too.  And he is right.  You must expect to feel weak – you have not been able to exercise your muscles since the accident -.’

‘Except those in his jaw,’ Rindor interrupted.

‘You will need to start slowly,’ Thornen carried on, disregarding the words except for the small grin he could not resist. ‘Little and often.  Plenty of rest.  Do not put any strain on your leg yet – and absolutely no climbing.’

Haldir lay back.  ‘This is truly tedious,’ he said much more reasonably.

‘It is, I know,’ Thornen replied sympathetically, ‘but you will be glad to know that it is healing far better than I feared it might.  If you are sensible and work slowly to improve it, there will be no impairment.  You should be pleased.’

‘Well,’ Haldir said, turning his gaze to Rindor, ‘what are you waiting for?  Get on with that report before I am forced to help you with it.’

‘Valar forbid,’ Elrond’s spymaster said dryly, turning his attention back to the paper in front of him.  If he could get this completed, he could hand it to one of his assistants to be copied and there might be time to speak to Neldin again before Glorfindel insisted on putting him on horseback and getting him out of their hair.  There were several points crying out for elaboration.  He began to consider ways of coaxing the information from the prisoner.

***

‘I am not,’ Ambantor said firmly, ‘going to go off into the forest and kill my own meals.  We have no idea what might be out there.  Elrohir might say that there are no monsters, but how is he to know?  He has been here precisely as long as we have.’

Minalcar scowled.  ‘I do not intend to end up running around behind these Wood Elves, doing what they say,’ he protested.  ‘I suppose Glorfindel is all right – after all, he is one of us – but the rest of them – even Elladan and Elrohir – they are not our sort.’

‘True enough,’ a pleasant voice told them.  ‘My only objection to what you say is that you appear to have some mistaken idea that I am ‘your sort’.  And if by ‘your sort’ you mean the kind of idle, selfish, arrogant little snobs that I think you do, it is past time for you to find out that you are wrong.’  Glorfindel looked them both over, his long golden hair and immaculate clothing suggesting even now that he was one who never got his hands dirty.  ‘Gwathor and Regdolen have been fishing,’ he remarked, ‘and they would appreciate some help cleaning their catch.  Off you go.’

Minalcar lifted his chin, opening his mouth to inform Glorfindel that he had no intention of doing any such thing, but the look of anticipation in the elf lord’s eyes stilled the urge to protest.

‘If I am told that you have worked sufficiently hard,’ Glorfindel added coolly, ‘you may also be permitted to share in the meal that will follow.’  He smile took on a predatory gleam.  ‘If not, your share will be saved until you have completed the clean-up that is the inevitable result of meals.  It will make less pleasant eating,’  he added, ‘but I am sure that, by then, you will be hungry enough not to be too particular.’

Ambantor put his hand on his friend’s arm and drew him along the path towards the water.  As they were about to disappear into the trees, Glorfindel’s voice halted them.

‘You are here to learn what life in the forest will mean,’ he told them softly.  ‘And learn you will.  Elrohir tells me that you are not beyond teaching.  We will just have to see.’

‘How dare he?’ hissed Minalcar as they moved beyond earshot.  ‘We are not servants!’

‘He is right in one thing,’ his friend told him.  ‘He can make our lives a total misery.  Whether we like it or not, we will have to do as he says.’

Minalcar looked at him accusingly.  ‘You always liked the camping and woodcraft part of our training,’ he said bitterly.  ‘I do not know why I agreed to come.’

‘You came,’ Ambantor reminded him as he scowled furiously, ‘because your adar told you that if you did not, he would have you working in the smithy until he considered that you had paid off your debts.’

Gwathor inspected them critically as they approached.  It would be unfair to pre-judge them, he told himself.  Just because they looked like conceited popinjays, it did not mean that they were.

‘Glorfindel has sent us to clean fish,’ the blue-clad one said reluctantly.

A small smile stretched Gwathor’s mouth, as he considered the amount of help they were actually likely to offer.  Glorfindel had some very practical ways of bringing brash young warriors down a peg or two and most of them seemed to involve bad smells, manual labour and mud.  It would certainly add to his entertainment to see how his captain dealt with these two. 

‘Good,’ he said.  ‘Take off those fine tunics before you ruin them and let us get on with it.  With four of us on the task, it should be completed in no time.’

Far Horizons 19: Seeking  

Minyariel gave one shuddering sob and went limp.  Tarannon grabbed hold of her and held her to him, swinging her into his arms before lowering her gently to the green silk-covered sofa. ‘Naneth?’ he said, hovering over her anxiously.

‘Leave her,’ his adar said harshly.  ‘There is nothing she can do, and, frankly, I do not need her screaming at us right now.’  His eyes burned into his son accusingly.   ‘What have you done, Tarannon?’ he asked.

‘Why do you accuse me?’ Tarannon hissed, glaring up from his naneth’s side.  ‘What makes you decide that I am at fault?  Do you not think that it might be your own stupidity come back to haunt you?  I am not the one who has been interfering in the markets to increase the value of my goods.  I am not the one who has been demanding trade restrictions.  I am not the one who has been stirring up -.’

His adar leaned towards him and back-handed his son, striking him across the cheek and knocking him off-balance to fall against his naneth. ‘You will not speak to me like that,’ he told him menacingly.  ‘You will keep your mouth shut, now more than ever.  We are going to have the High King’s investigators poking their noses into every aspect of our lives – and you will remember that you know nothing!’

‘Leave him alone!’ Minyariel demanded tearfully.  ‘He will tell what he knows, Artamir.  He will tell the truth!’

‘You!’ her husband growled accusingly.  ‘Do you wish for your other whelp to bring my house down?  I should never have wed you,’ he said bitterly. ‘I do not know why my adar decided you would make me a suitable wife.  You have brought me nothing but trouble.’

Tarannon took his naneth’s hand in a clear offer of support.  Artamir looked at them both disdainfully and insisted. ‘You will both keep your mouths shut.  Whatever the investigators ask you – you do not know the answer.  You will send them to me.  You will look stupid, but that is appropriate, for you are.  Do you understand me?’

‘I understand you, Adar,’ Tarannon said bitterly. ‘I may be stupid, as you say, but even I can understand that much.’

Artamir looked at his son as he perched on the edge of the sofa and put his arm round his naneth, then turned and walked out of the room.

Minyariel clasped his hand.  ‘No matter what he says, my son, take this opportunity to tell the truth.  You owe it to Nessariel.’

Her son swallowed convulsively as his stomach rolled.  Little though he liked it, he was very much afraid that his naneth was right.

***

Elerrina ached for his absence.  Nessariel’s heartbreak and death had made those left behind take comfort in the closeness of their own love.  Even Lady Galadriel, Elerrina thought, whom she would never have dared accuse, even in her head, of being sentimental, had sat with Lord Celeborn’s hand in hers.  But Legolas was not here to hold her and reassure her.

Of course, he did not need to be there, she told herself fiercely.  She could feel him within her, his love twining with hers, one with her as she was one with him; her lover and husband, the father of her children.  But she still wanted to hold him, feel the tension in his lean body, smell the fragrance of his hair, hear his reassurance.

Her view of the world was changing – life was no longer an easy stream, flowing between flower-studded meadows through long bright days: there were rocks and rapids and falls and swirling whirlpools – and she needed to be strong.  This world contained danger and betrayal and death – and she could not believe that she had ever been naïve enough that she had not understood that.

‘You must not let it remove your faith,’ Sirithiel told her gently.  ‘Most of us remain what we have always been.’

Elerrina sniffed and put her arms round her friend.

‘You need to grow up a little,’ Miriwen suggested.  ‘You are a naneth now – you will be the protector for Galenthil and Eleniel – you need to know from what they will need protection.’  She smiled kindly.  ‘One problem you have is that Thranduil is as determined to shelter you as ever your parents were.  You might have to put your foot down, Elerrina.’

They kept an eye on their elflings as they played in the secluded garden.  Miriwen glanced up, aware that, in the trees beyond their seat, an armed warrior was watching for any threat.  She sighed.  It was necessary, she supposed, but she had hoped that never again would she see elflings confined by the fear of danger.

‘Elerrina,’ Sirithiel said suddenly.  ‘I have something to tell you.’  She blushed.  ‘I would have said something before, but Elrohir went away – and there has been so much happening.  It is becoming more and more difficult to speak of it.’

Miriwen’s smile widened.  She had found it most entertaining to watch Sirithiel as she tried to find some way to tell her husband’s family news of which they had already been aware.  In the end, Elrond had asked her if she had been thinking of any names for the babies.  Sirithiel had looked amazed – and she had been even more astonished when she realised that he knew she was carrying twin ellyth without even examining her.  She had been inclined to believe that Celebrian had informed him, but they had convinced her that the presence and growth of the elflings was clearly apparent to any who possessed a modicum of healing talent.  Or, Miriwen thought, eyes.  Sirithiel had mourned the delayed arrival of an elfling so clearly, that the euphoria of becoming pregnant had lit her from within like a flame.

‘Oh, Sirithiel,’ Elerrina said, bursting into tears.  ‘It seems meant to happen at this time.’

‘A gift,’ Miriwen nodded.

‘Although I do not know how you can do this without Elrohir to give you strength.  Do you not need him here?’

‘He will return as soon as he is able,’ Sirithiel said sturdily.  ‘And I would rather have him safe.  I have plenty of support around me – and Elrohir is always with me.’

***

‘You have put him to train with your Guard?’ Elrond sounded mildly surprised.  ‘Does that not strike you as a rather dangerous move?’

‘In what way?’ Thranduil countered.  ‘Because they will beat him to a pulp, or because it will make him more of a threat?’

Elrond smiled.  ‘Both, I suppose.’

‘The brat needs training,’ his friend said, leaning back in his chair.  ‘There is no point having him act as a guard to the elflings if he is so unfit and incompetent that any elleth could walk past him.  And he needs discipline.  What better way than having him spend several hours each day on the training fields?’

‘I am not denying that it will do him good,’ Elrond acknowledged.  ‘I just wonder whether it will make him more of a threat to have around.’

‘It was Hithien’s recommendation,’ Thranduil told him. 

‘Ahh,’ Elrond said.  ‘Well, I suppose she knows him best.  How is he taking to it?’

‘Better than I thought,’ Thranduil conceded.  ‘They are making him work hard, but he is getting no sympathy from Hithien, who tells him that these are lessons he should have learned years ago.’  He grinned.  ‘Surion is impressed by the sword he now carries, but Calion apparently told him that any fool can wear feathers, but it will not help him fly.’

‘I think I could learn to like Calion,’ Elrond reflected, ‘unlike his adar.  Artamir is apparently being as unco-operative as is possible.  He is both offended and defensive – which suggests he is hiding something, but I suspect he is concealing a multitude of unpleasant activities none of which is strictly criminal.’  He turned his wine glass between his fingers, a frown on his brow.  ‘Finarfin’s lieutenant said he walked in on a scene with Minyariel half-fainting and Tarannon wearing his adar’s hand-print on his face.  And Artamir has been doing his very best to keep the investigation away from his wife and son.’

‘All the more reason for carrying it straight to them, I would have thought.’

‘So would I – but Finarfin’s investigators seem rather hidebound.  They seem to doubt that dependents have anything to say that might outweigh the word of the head of the house.’

They both laughed.  ‘Have they met my naneth-in-law?’ Elrond wondered.

‘Or, come to that, our sons?’ Thranduil added.  ‘We will have to ensure that someone speaks to Minyariel and Tarannon as soon as possible – and in the absence of the obnoxious Artamir.’

‘I will see to it,’ Elrond promised.

***

Ancalime continued to sob helplessly and the pain of her grief filled the small room. ‘I should never have let her come here,’ she wept. ‘I wanted her to stay at home, but she was so enthusiastic – she wanted to see more of the world – and I thought we had kin enough to keep her safe here.’

Celebrian patted her shoulder, glancing helplessly at Macar.  ‘You cannot protect them, Ancalime,’ she said.  ‘In the end, they have to make their own choices. Love is not something we can control.’

‘She would never have met him if I had not let her go,’ the bereaved naneth wailed.  ‘She would have been at home dreaming of happiness. She might even have married Falastur as we wanted.’

‘As you wanted,’ Macar corrected her bitterly. ‘And why do you think she left?  She was sick of being pushed together with that ellon.  She did not want him, but you would not see it.’

‘Did she write to you?’ Celebrian asked, intervening.  ‘Tell you of her life here?’

Nessariel’s adar spread his hands.  ‘She wrote – but there is nothing there that would be useful.  She only hinted at him – enough to drive her naneth wild with the desire to know more, but nothing you could use.’

‘May we see her letters?’ she asked Ancalime gently.  ‘Just in case there is something that might offer a clue.’

‘I will get them,’ Macar said, as his wife nodded.

Celebrian followed him, placing a gentle hand on his arm.  ‘Do not hurt each other,’ she murmured.   ‘The blame does not belong with either of you.  Be strong for Ancalime and let her comfort you – and in time acceptance will come.’

‘And you would know this, would you, my lady?’ he asked, his voice hard. 

‘Yes,’ she replied simply.  ‘I would know.’  Her shining eyes met his as a single silver tear welled and fell.  He handed her the packet of letters and watched as she turned and walked away.

***

Galadriel and her daughter sat with the letters spread before them on the table.  They had both read each letter several times, and, on the whole, had to agree with Macar. Nessariel’s letters contained little.

‘It is astonishing,’ Celebrian observed, considering the rather immature writing, ‘that she can have covered so many pages, whilst at the same time conveying so few ideas.’

‘Gowns and parties,’ Galadriel agreed. ‘It is little wonder that so many believe ellyth to be mind-numbingly shallow.’  She bit thoughtfully on the end of her thumb. ‘Perhaps if we were to look at them in a different way,’ she said.  ‘Where do there seem to be gaps?  Places where she is suddenly reticent?  Parties she was desperate to attend – and others where she was indifferent.’

Celebrian nodded.  ‘It would have been much easier if she had just given his name,’ she sighed.

‘That, too,’ Galadriel added.  ‘Whom does she mention?  Perhaps we will come to notice others whom she does not.’

They began to read again more carefully, seeking between the lines for those things Nessariel had never intended to say.

‘Tarannon is mentioned several times,’ Celebrian remarked.  ‘At first, because she knew her naneth would like to hear of him, and later, because he had become a friend of sorts.  Then – his name seems to become a code.  There are layers of meaning beneath it.  Do you think he may have been her lover?’

‘Or known who was, perhaps,’ her naneth mused. 

‘Why,’ Celebrian suggested, ‘do we not talk to Calion before approaching Tarannon?  We know he was involved in this at some level – we saw him.  And he will surely be at least as informative as these letters.’

‘Come,’ Galadriel said with sudden decision, ‘let us put our pets on their leashes and take them to Thranduil’s house.  This is a discussion that does not need to be delayed.’

Her daughter giggled. ‘I hope our guards do not know you look on them as lapdogs, Naneth.  It would hurt their feelings.’

‘We will smile at them sweetly, my love, and have them eating out of our hands.  They will do whatever we wish.’

‘Except leave, of course,’ Celebrian stated. ‘They are very loyal.  Just like lapdogs – they have been told to guard us and guard us they will.’ 

***

A certain tightness about Calion’s eyes told Galadriel that he was grieving.  He was flushed and smiling when they entered the nursery, until Nisimalote drew away the elflings to play in the kitchens with pastry and cake mixture, but Galadriel could feel a sadness in him.  Hithien looked at the lady and raised her eyebrows, but a quick shake of the head invited her to remain.

Calion sobered and stood stiffly, uncertain of the reason for their arrival, but cautious.  He bravely met Galadriel’s eyes, squaring his chin and swallowing down the nervousness her presence made him feel.  ‘My lady?’ he said enquiringly.

‘I know Lord Thranduil has questioned you about the various schemes and plotters,’ she said sympathetically.  ‘And that you have said little.’

‘There is little for me to say, my lady,’ he interrupted.

She shook her head.  ‘You know more than you would think,’ she told him.  ‘And you may be more willing to share it – in the light of what has happened to Nessariel.’

He winced and dropped his eyes. 

‘You met,’ Galadriel told him, ‘in the woods – you, your brothers, several of your friends – and one other.  Slightly older, very dark – hair black as a raven’s wing.  He said little, but he had a presence.  He gave the name Minastan.  The rest of you I have seen since, at receptions or under the trees, coming from the training grounds or frequenting the shops.  I have never seen him.’

‘Him?’ Calion shivered slightly.  ‘Not seeing him is to be preferred, my lady.  He became friendly with Tarannon – and then my brother started coming out with all sorts of foolish ideas.’

‘How long has your brother known him?’

‘I do not know,’ Calion admitted.  ‘I have spent the last several years with my naneth’s family.  When I came back last winter, he was there.  I have seen him occasionally, but on the whole I tried to avoid him.  He made me uncomfortable.’

‘Might he have been Nessariel’s lover?’

Calion’s eyes grew vague as he picked through his memories.  ‘It may be so,’ he admitted.  ‘I saw them in the same place only once or twice, and he did not speak to her, but her eyes followed him.’  He hesitated.  ‘Lady Galadriel,’ he said, ‘I do not believe that Minastan is his real name.  He conceals everything about himself.  He would not admit to something so revealing.’

Galadriel nodded briefly.  ‘I am of the same opinion,’ she told him.  ‘Would your brother know more?’

‘He might.  Whether he would say anything, I do not know.’

She smiled at him kindly.  ‘Sit down, Calion,’ she instructed, seating herself opposite him.  ‘Hithien will send for something for us to drink, for your throat will be very dry.  You are going to talk to me – and you will tell me absolutely everything you know.  You might as well relax, for this is going to take some time.’

By the time the lady had finished with him, Calion was limp and shaking.  He was not entirely sure whether he had just undergone the most intimidating experience of his life – but if it were not, he did not want to think what could be worse.  He had felt her there; not pushing, but on the edge of his consciousness, listening intently to every word he uttered and weighing them up.  He was only glad that he had never for a moment thought of lying to her, for, without doubt, she would have known.  Every question she had asked, he had answered, without hesitation or evasion.  The Lady Galadriel was not, he had discovered, one with whom you could refuse to co-operate.

Hithien looked at him and poured a glass of wine, placing it in his hand and closing his fingers round it.  ‘Drink,’ she commanded, and he obeyed, supporting his trembling hand with the other.  He closed his eyes and attempted to steady his breathing.

‘Did you discover what you sought, my lady?’ Hithien asked.

Galadriel smiled.  ‘You are right, Hithien,’ she approved.  ‘He is not a bad ellon.  Impressionable – but they tend to be at that age.  He has said some things that have interested me, although there is still much to be learnt.’  She looked at him critically.   ‘He will probably need to rest before he is fit to resume his duties, but he will feel better tomorrow for having spoken.’

She rose and drifted elegantly towards the door, turning as she opened it to pass through.  ‘And, by the way, you are right, Hithien.  He did not shoot Legolas.’

***

Minastan ran through the list of those who knew him by this name, the name he had given to her.  There were not many, he thought, who knew either name or face.  Ideally, he would remove them, but he did not believe that any could harm him.  Except, perhaps, one.  It might be wise to see what he could do to ensure that Tarannon was no longer able to reveal the little he knew.

It was a shame that it would not be easy, as it had been with the elleth, but he had never had a need to develop any kind of bond with this one.  Something he should bear in mind for the future.  But just because it would be difficult did not mean it should not be done.

He pushed his midnight black hair back from his face and began to consider ways in which he could eliminate the problem that Tarannon represented, without having to reveal himself.

***

Celeborn stepped up to Finarfin’s lieutenant, looking down at the determined face.  ‘I have the High King’s consent,’ he said patiently.  ‘I am going to talk to Minyariel, whether you are happy about it or not.  And when I have finished, I will see Artamir’s son.  What you will do, lieutenant, is ensure that Tarannon remains guarded in a safe room until I am ready to join him.  I do not want him speaking to anyone and neither do I want anyone to speak to him. 

The slender elf nodded reluctantly, unwilling to accept this silver lord’s interference in his questioning.  ‘You may accompany me,’ Celeborn conceded, ‘but I ask you to remain silent and out of sight as far as possible.  This will be more successful if it is handled sensitively.’

‘Handled sensitively,’ the officer thought with some bitterness.  Those were words he had heard before.  They usually meant that some young aristocrat had behaved atrociously – in a way that would be soundly punished in the son of an ordinary family – and that the young puppy was just about to be let off with a warning and a suggestion that it would be preferred if he did not repeat the offence.

Minyariel sounded tired when she admitted them to her room.  She looked at them both in silence for a moment before waving them to the chaise longue by the window. ‘My husband would tell me not to speak to you,’ she said indifferently.  ‘He says I am to remain silent.’ 

She had become frail-looking, Celeborn thought with some alarm, and there were shadows in her face that had not been there a week before.  ‘Have you eaten, my lady?’ he said gently.

‘I cannot remember,’ she shrugged, ‘but I do not believe that is why you have come to speak to me.  Ask me your questions, Lord Celeborn, and leave me to mourn.’

He looked at her seriously.  ‘I will not allow you to die, Minyariel,’ he told her.  ‘You would be missed.’

Her mouth twisted.  ‘By whom?’ she asked bitterly.  ‘What is the purpose of your visit?  Artamir’s activities?  Or Tarannon’s?  Or do you perhaps wish to speak to me of my lost child of whom my husband forbids me to speak?’

‘Other questions may come, my lady,’ Celeborn said steadily, ‘but I wish to know about Nessariel – and that means I want you to speak to me of Tarannon’s affairs.’

Minyariel closed her eyes, but two tears forced their way past the guard of her lids. ‘My son says that it was not he who drove her to her death.’

‘Do you believe him?’

‘I do.  He is afraid – but he fears another.  He would not tell me who.’  She shot a sharp glare at the tall lord.  ‘I believe he thinks that this creature caused Nessariel’s death.  Is that possible?’

Celeborn returned her stare.  ‘It is possible.’

‘I may live to thank Finarfin for locking us in this house with my husband and no diversions,’ Minyariel said dryly.  ‘It may be the only thing that has preserved my son’s life.  Tarannon is of the opinion that he is the only one who might be able to identify Nessa’s lover.  I think that is a very dangerous position in which to be.’

‘I would speak longer, my lady,’ Celeborn apologised, ‘but I am sure that you will see that the sooner your son tells me all he knows, the safer he will be.’

‘Protect him,’ she whispered. ‘I would have been so happy if he and Nessa had wed and given me little ones to love.  And now I fear that I will lose them all.’

She kept her eyes closed as they left the room, but as the door shut she murmured again, ‘Protect him.’

‘Where is Tarannon being held?’ Celeborn asked.

‘In his room,’ the lieutenant shrugged.  ‘He is the heir of an important house, my lord.  We could hardly imprison him in the cellars.’

‘Come in,’ Tarannon called, as they tapped at the door, but Celeborn felt he could hear the fear beneath the bravado.

‘Do not tell me,’ Celeborn told him as they allowed the door to close behind them. ‘Your adar says you are to remain silent.’

Tarannon bowed his head.  ‘That is exactly what he said,’ he agreed.

‘I wish you to tell me about the elf who gained Nessariel’s love,’ Celeborn said mildly.  ‘I fail to see how that might incriminate your adar – I see only that it might remove a very ruthless person from the circle of your acquaintance.  I do not see that as a bad thing.’ 

‘Adar is too self-centred to realise that there might be problems to consider other than his business dealings,’ Tarannon said wearily, turning to the window.  ‘I will tell you anything I can.  I liked Nessa – and I did not want any harm to come to her.  He gave his name as Minastan – no more than that.  She became obsessed by him from the moment she saw him – why I do not know.  He always seemed to me to be rather alarming. 

‘He was here infrequently, until recently – and it all seemed rather more exciting then.  Rebelling against authority, acting against the influx of elves from Arda, demanding independence – it all seems rather infantile now.  These past months he has been staying around here – before you ask, I do not know where – and his demands increased.  He would say that we were too deeply involved to refuse to do his bidding. I refused to act, more often than not, but I was too scared to try to get away.  It was his fault that Calion was taken, but even then I was afraid to say anything, despite what it did to Naneth.

‘Did he involve Nessa in that abduction attempt?’  Tarannon turned to look at them.

As he moved, the lieutenant called out briefly and surged forward to grab Tarannon’s arm and tug him back from the window.  The time was too short for him to make more than a hairs-breadth of a difference, but the arrow sliced through the air no more than an inch or two from Tarannon’s chest to strike his shoulder with a sickening thud.  Tarannon flew backwards, hitting the floor with his uninjured shoulder, the form of the lieutenant landing beside him.

Celeborn leapt to his feet, calling for members of the guard to race towards the origin of the arrow, but he was not at all surprised to find that, by the time they reached the well-sheltered branch from which the assailant had struck, the bowman had long gone.

With well-remembered efficiency, Celeborn grabbed and wadded a length of clean fabric and began to staunch the bleeding.  ‘Send for Elrond,’ he instructed the lieutenant sharply.  ‘And ensure that no-one disposes of the arrow.’

Far Horizons 20:   Mirrors

‘He will survive,’ Elrond stated calmly.  ‘The injury is a little more serious than the one suffered by Legolas, but it will not cause any lasting damage.’  He completed the bandaging and stepped back to look at the elf leaning back against his pillows.

Tarannon pulled a face as he sipped at the fluid offered him by the healer.  ‘It hurts,’ he said plaintively.

He was conscious of several pairs of amused eyes off-setting the anxious stare of his naneth and shifted uncomfortably.

‘That is, I am afraid, predictable,’ Celeborn told him.  ‘Arrow wounds do tend to be painful.  It will hurt less if you drink Elrond’s concoction – and if you do not keep moving, but you will, nevertheless, be in some discomfort for a few days.’

‘I would suggest, Minyariel,’ Elrond added, ‘that your son’s room should be changed and that he should be carried to the side of the house that overlooks the inner court.  You will not want to leave him vulnerable to another attack.’

She looked at him in thoughtful silence before sliding her eyes to her son.  ‘I will see to it,’ she nodded.  ‘You will not be wanting to slip out at night in the near future, my son,’ she told him, patting his hand before stepping briskly out of the room.

Tarannon flushed.  ‘You have no idea how impossible it can be –,’ he said and allowed his voice to trail away.

Elrond raised his eyebrows.  ‘I have sons of my own, Tarannon, and I recall how difficult it was to ensure they remained in their beds as they grew older.  However, by the time they were your age, they were permitted to come and go more or less at will.’

‘However,’ Celeborn informed him sternly, ‘house arrest means just that.  You will move to a safer room – and you will give me your word that you will remain within the house until you are permitted to leave it.’  He waited expectantly until the young elf muttered his promise, then looked him over, noting his sheet-pale cheeks and drooping eyes.  ‘I will return,’ he said, ‘to question you further when you are feeling better.’  He turned to look at the lieutenant.  ‘Tarannon will remain in his room,’ he instructed, ‘and Artamir will not be permitted to see him.  His naneth, on the other hand, may visit – but she may not remain with him unsupervised.’

‘Lord Celeborn,’ Tarannon said, opening his eyes.  He hesitated.  ‘I know little more than I have told you – but, since I spoke to my naneth –,’   he paused again, ‘I have a small amount of talent with my pencil – I have made a drawing of him.  It is in my top drawer.  If you would find it of use, you are more than welcome to take it.’

***

Celeborn drew the arrow out and placed it on the table before his cousin.  ‘Here,’ he said, ‘is the arrow that shot Tarannon.  I would like to compare it with that which injured Legolas.’

Thranduil examined it critically.  ‘It looks similar,’ he said, going to a chest and opening one of the drawers.  ‘Of course, the one that wounded my son is no longer in one piece, and some parts of it were discarded, so we cannot compare length.’

‘You have the head, though?’ Celeborn asked. ‘And I particularly wish to compare the fletching.’

‘It may not be as informative as you might hope,’ Thranduil sighed.  ‘Apparently few of the local youths are trained to make their own arrows.  They buy them – and it is unlikely that we would find a style peculiar to only one elf.’

Celeborn nodded.  ‘Yet if the fletching is identical in the two arrows we have, it will be suggestive,’ he said. ‘And it might be possible to identify the maker.’

Thranduil set the pieces of the arrow next to the other and they looked at them carefully.  ‘They look very similar,’ he commented.

Leaning closer, Celeborn studied the feathers, examining the colouring, the angle of the cut and the twist of the thread before inhaling carefully to absorb the scent of the glue.  ‘I would say that they were made by the same hand,’ he said.

Thranduil prodded the heads with his finger.  ‘These, too,’ he said.  ‘Although I daresay they are produced by the bucketful.’  He looked at them meditatively.  ‘I will have enquiries made among the local fletchers,’ he said.  ‘It will do no harm.’

‘But subtly,’ Celeborn sighed.  ‘This person is determined to remain in the shadows and will not hesitate to threaten anyone who is able to reveal him.  I do not wish to see another naneth weep for her child.’

‘He must be found,’ Thranduil frowned. ‘I will not allow my family to risk themselves while he is still at large.  Legolas should be safe enough where he is – if I have to pack his wife and elflings up and take them beyond the reach of this danger, I will.’ 

‘We cannot be certain that the forest will be any safer,’ Celeborn pointed out wearily, ‘and at least here we have walls that can be patrolled and doors that can be locked.’

‘I will not have him turning us into prisoners!’ Thranduil exploded, slapping his hand down and making the pieces of arrow bounce. 

‘The enemy within,’ Celeborn mused, eyes half-closed.  ‘It is hard to know which way to look, is it not, my friend?  Have we lost our touch for the intricacies of internecine dispute in centuries of dealing with the straightforward hostility of orcs and Nazgul?’

‘What does your lady have to say?’ Thranduil enquired, leaning back in his chair.

His cousin smiled and genuine amusement filled his voice.  ‘Are you suggesting that the artfulness behind cunning plots and ruthless self-protection would strike a chord in Galadriel?’

Thranduil spread his hands.  ‘I have never denied that she is clever,’ he said.  ‘Or that she has remarkable insight.  I just do not appreciate her practising her skills on me.’

‘Have you seen a kaleidoscope?’ Celeborn asked with apparent irrelevance.

‘A tube – with mirrors and coloured glass beads?’ Thranduil asked. ‘I believe Galenthil has one.’

‘It works by reflection,’ his cousin observed, ‘and every slight change alters the pattern – but you cannot see what is behind the mirrors.  My lady says that we are part of such a design – and that it is changing as the beads move.’

Thranduil looked at him with exasperation.  ‘Can she not just use simple, easily understood sentences and say exactly what she means without wallowing in mysticism?  It would make conversation with her much less irritating.’

‘Perhaps you should point that out to her,’ Celeborn commented.  ‘It should prove an interesting discussion, though you will excuse me if I choose not to take part.’

Thranduil grinned.  ‘Perhaps one day,’ he said.  ‘When my escape routes are clear.’ He paused.   ‘You say that Artamir’s son produced a sketch?’

‘Elrond took it.’  Celeborn steepled his long fingers.  ‘He thought that my daughter should see it.  She has been in these lands longer than any of us and probably has the widest acquaintance.’

‘Yet Tarannon did not know him until quite recently?  That suggests that he is not part of the normal social circle of these families.’

‘But he is able to appear among them without them finding him out of place.’

‘Minastan,’ Thranduil said slowly.  ‘If that is not his name, why would he choose it?’

Celeborn raised his eyebrows.  ‘If we could answer that, we would be far closer to the solution, my friend.’

***

Calion curled his arm around the small figure sprawled over his lap and rested his cheek gently against the blond head.  Galenthil shifted in his sleep and grabbed the tunic’s sleeve, bunching it up in his hand and slipping the fingers of his other hand into his mouth.

‘At last,’ Hithien said softly.  ‘I nearly sent for you to come from the training field, but I decided it would not do a lot for your masculinity.’ 

‘I would have come,’ Calion protested. ‘I do not like to see him so distressed.’ He stroked the pink cheek carefully.  ‘What has upset him so?’

Elerrina looked at him sharply as she rocked Eleniel in her arms.  ‘He is teething,’ she told him.  ‘Do you know nothing about babies?’

‘Nothing,’ he answered simply.  ‘Does he need a healer?’ 

Hithien smiled.  ‘We have a paste to rub on his gums, but it takes time to work – and all he knows is that he does not care for the taste.’

‘He misses his adar,’ Elerrina said wistfully, before snapping.  ‘And for some reason he seems to think that, when Daeradar is not available, you make an adequate substitute.’

Calion prudently decided against replying. 

‘Oddly, Calion is good with elflings,’ Hithien remarked. ‘He takes them seriously and listens to what they say.’

‘They are interesting,’ Calion said mildly.  ‘And Surion makes me laugh.’

‘He was telling me some long involved tale earlier,’ Elerrina said, shaking her head. ‘All about a creeping shadow that followed him through the market and played tricks on him.  He had to avoid stepping in the shadow – and had to escape from the traps it put out for him, so that it could not catch him.’

Hithien stilled.  ‘Did he say anything about when this happened, Elerrina?’ she asked softly.

‘While Nisi was looking for silks,’ the chestnut-haired elleth replied casually.  ‘She took him with her because Eleniel and Galenthil were fretful and Surion was becoming bored. I suspect Nisi found him to be little help in her selection.’  Inspecting her daughter, she took her through to her bed to tuck her in for a nap. 

‘An elfling’s vivid imagination?’ Hithien murmured to Calion. ‘Or something to worry about?’

***

‘Walk with me, my daughter,’ Finarfin demanded as she stood gazing at the play of shadow and sunlight beneath the twining roses growing over the arches.

‘By royal command, Adar?’ she enquired, tilting her head to inspect him.

He smiled. ‘Paternal command,’ he amended.

She took his arm and began to pace by his side along the broad stone terrace. ‘My lord would tell you that I do not respond well to being commanded.’

‘You never did,’ he laughed.  His step slowed and he stretched a hand to remove a wisp of hair from her cheek.  ‘It has been a long time, my daughter,’ he sighed.  ‘Your naneth has grieved for the loss of her children over several ages.  She lives in hope that your brothers will return to us in time, but she has you here now, whole in body and mind – do not leave her to mourn you again.’

Galadriel took her adar’s hand.  ‘We will never be divided again, Adar,’ she said with certainty.  ‘Apart, yes, but not divided.’ They resumed their walk.  ‘I did not realise,’ she told him, ‘until I had my own daughter, how cruelly I had treated you both.  Then, when Celebrian was injured and took ship, I felt an emptiness and a pain, different from any other – I thought of naneth, of you both, watching us leave in our youth and arrogance, not knowing if you would ever see us again.’  She stopped speaking and closed her eyes briefly.  They descended the shallow steps and their robes brushed over the short turf as they strolled in step with each other.  ‘And yet,’ she said, ‘I cannot regret that I made the journey.  Had I remained here, I would not have become the person I am today – and I would not have met my lord.’

‘One of the duties of a parent,’ Finarfin told her regretfully, ‘is to be left behind.  But you never lose the desire to protect your offspring – and any hurt to them is a greater injury to you.’  They moved into the walled garden, seating themselves where they could admire the wide flower beds.  ‘I am afraid,’ he continued, ‘that your naneth and I will shortly have to gather up our collection of sycophants and return to our usual round of activities.  I am loath to remove the protection I can offer before this – miscreant – is found, but we have already lingered longer than we should.’

Galadriel shook her head and smiled.  ‘It has been a pleasure to spend time with you both and to see you come to know my family as your own, Adar, but you have duties that constrain you.  We will be safe enough.’

He took her hand between his.  ‘Visit us, my daughter,’ he said firmly.  ‘And bring your husband with you.  Any elf who can command your respect and affection is a worthy recipient of mine.’ 

***

Elrin crouched down in the shallow stream and moved some more pebbles in an attempt to stop the water bullying its way through his dam.  The flow slowed down, but not enough to enable the small pool to grow in size.

‘It is difficult, is it not?’ his daernaneth sympathised. 

‘If I moved those rocks,’ Elrin said thoughtfully, ‘maybe I could build some rapids – and then I could race things down them to see which were fastest.’

‘That would be fun,’ Celebrian agreed. ‘Shall I help you?’

Her daerion looked up, his nose streaked with mud and his dark, shoulder-length hair bedraggled, and gave her an impish grin.  ‘But you would get wet,’ he pointed out.

‘I have got wet before,’ she told him with amusement.  ‘I have not yet melted.’

Slipping off her shoes and kilting up her skirts, she paddled into the water and started moving rocks at Elrin’s direction.  He picked up ideas quickly, she decided, and it had not taken many minutes before he had absorbed all she could teach him about dam construction and water flow.  Not that it mattered, she thought, laughing as he slipped and sat in the water.  They were having fun together – and she knew now to treasure these moments with her sons’ children.  She quickly stripped off his wet clothes and spread them over a bush to drip.

The two guards allocated the task of keeping them safe could not help grinning at the sight of Lord Elrond’s wife, damp and muddy, racing sticks along the stream with Lord Elladan’s son, but they kept careful watch nevertheless.  They may be within the patrolled grounds of a secured house, but that did not mean they wished to take any chances.

The sound of an approach had them stiffening as they prepared to step between their charges and the arrival, but they relaxed as they recognised their lord.

‘What do we have here?’ he asked with a wide smile. ‘A pair of mudlarks!’

‘Why do you not join us in our play?’ Celebrian suggested, straightening up.

Elrond ostentatiously admired her long bare legs, making her flush and giggle.  ‘I would,’ he said dolefully, ‘but I would get my fine clothes all wet and dirty.’

‘You could take them off, Daerada!’ Elrin suggested, jumping in the water to see how big a splash he could make.  ‘Daernana said it was all right for me to be all bare, because I am an ellon – and you are an ellon, too.  Daernana could put your clothes on the bush to keep them dry.’

Celebrian grinned.  The look on Elrond’s face was beyond price, she thought.  ‘You could,’ she agreed seriously.  ‘If you were all bare, your fine clothes would stay clean.’

In the trees, the guards were hard-pressed to control their hilarity.  Elrond’s eyes slid to the areas of cover where he knew they would be watching for trouble and their wish to laugh left them.

‘Another day,’ Elrond suggested to his daerion.  ‘We will go to the bathing pool where they do not permit the ellyth to peek at us and we will swim.’

‘Soon, Daerada?’ Elrin begged excitedly.  ‘Soon, please.  Naneth said I cannot go until Ada comes home, but if you will take me, she will have to say yes.’

‘Soon,’ his daeradar promised.  ‘But now we must go back to the house – your naneth will be looking for you and I need your daernaneth.’ 

Elrin opened his mouth to complain that he was not yet ready to leave the pleasures of playing in the water, but, catching his daeradar’s eye, decided against it.  ‘How shall I get dry?’ he asked instead.

‘Let the sun dry you,’ Celebrian said easily.  ‘You can slip on your tunic in a while – that is only a little damp.’

Elrin skipped on ahead of his grandparents, enjoying the silky feel of the warm breeze against his skin.

‘You are a very bad elleth,’ Elrond murmured confidentially in his wife’s ear.  ‘Teasing those poor guards like that.  How do you think they would have reacted had I thrown off my clothes and jumped into the stream with you?’

‘I do not know,’ she laughed, ‘but it would have been interesting to find out.’

***

‘Does the sketch mean anything to you?’ Celeborn asked her as they gathered in their private sitting room.

Celebrian continued to look at it. ‘Tarannon does appear to have some talent,’ she said critically.   ‘It looks like a real person rather than a simple collection of features.’  She hesitated.  ‘It reminds me of someone.’ 

‘May I see it?’  Earwen took the drawing and considered it thoughtfully.

‘I do not think the memory belongs in these lands,’ Celebrian mused.  ‘It seems to be more bound up with my youth – I will think about it.’

‘He is, I think, too young to have been there when you were an elfling,’ Galadriel told her, thinking of the elf she had seen with Tarannon and his group in the woods.

‘I have seen him,’ the High King’s wife stated firmly.  ‘Not since we have been here – some years ago.  I do not believe he served at court.’  She closed her eyes in an attempt to place the face.

‘In my opinion,’ Elrond remarked, ‘we should see that copies of this are circulated to all those who are seeking him.  It is, as yet, the best information that we have – a name that we believe is not his own, and this sketch.’

‘If he discovers that we have this, it will drive him underground.  It could be that it will not just make him harder to find – it might drive him elsewhere.’  Celeborn argued.  ‘I do not want to him to leave now – we will have no chance of finding him if he decided to lie low.  What we need,’ he suggested, ‘is a trap.’

***

He paced.  He was so close.  It would be iniquitous if he were forced to abandon his scheme now.  He had them just where he wanted them, looking in five directions at once, unsure quite whom he was attacking, confused as to his motives, running in circles, only aware, in reality, of where he had been.

He had rid himself of the elleth – and she had been his biggest danger.  He had held his breath then, for a moment, but she had clearly left nothing that led towards him. Not that she would.  He smiled briefly at the recollection of the lesson he had taught her about obedience.  She had loved him, but she had feared him too – and wisely.

Tarannon – it had annoyed him to miss again, but he had certainly reinforced his message.   He doubted whether Artamir's son would tell what he knew.  Minastan considered briefly whether he should make another attempt to eliminate him, but discarded the idea.  He would be too well guarded now and, even if he were dealt with successfully, it would be difficult to get away cleanly.

Focus, he told himself; focus.  They were not close to him.  He could make one more attempt before cutting his losses and withdrawing.  He did not want to have to do that.  It would take decades to build up another house of cards as good as this one – and perhaps centuries before he would be in such a good position to complete the vengeance he had promised he would exact.

He needed to think of something: he could not let them evade him any longer.

Far Horizons 21:  Hunting

This forest was going to his head, Legolas thought.  It was filling his ears with song and it was welcoming him as if it had been waiting for him from the day of his birth.  He ached to bring his children here, so they could grow up with its life in their bones, part of all they were and would be.  And yet – deep within him there was a frisson of fear.

‘Do you think that Sirithiel will be happy here?’ he asked Elrohir.

His friend knew him too well not to hear the question he was really asking.  ‘I would not bring Elerrina here yet, Legolas,’ he said sympathetically.  ‘It would be wiser to wait until the living conditions are a little less – primitive.  You do not want to turn her against the forest.’

‘I will find it hard to leave, my friend,’ he replied quietly.  ‘And I do not want to have to wait too long until I return.’

‘You can return all you want,’ Elladan grinned. ‘Just do not bring Elerrina until there are shops.  And bathing chambers.  And an adequate supply of scented soap.’

‘Sirithiel will relate well to the trees,’ Elrohir said after a moment, ‘but she, too, is accustomed to living in comfort.  I do not know how long it will be before I will feel able to bring her here, but it will certainly not be until after the elflings are born.’

After the surge of congratulations and teasing, they lapsed into silence.  ‘It is difficult, is it not?’ Legolas said.  ‘I do not want my wife to decide she hates it here and insist on dragging me back, yet neither do I wish to alter the forest to turn it into the home to which she is accustomed.’

‘You are under-estimating them,’ Camentur told them.  ‘It is easily done.  Ellyth are not the frail creatures they like to make us think.  They encourage us cosset them, but, if they make their mind up to something, they are ruthless.  Look at Nisi – would you not say that she is a delicate little flower who needs protection from a strong breeze?’

Legolas thought of his brother-in-law’s wife.  Camentur was exaggerating, but he would certainly not expect much from Nisi outside social manoeuvring.

‘Yet,’ Camentur went on, ‘shortly after we were wed we went to visit her grandparents.  There was a storm that left us cut off, without horses, miles from home.  I was knocked senseless and, even after I came round, I could not see straight for several days.  Nisi found us a shelter, made it watertight, got me inside and dry, made a sling from a strip of my leather jerkin, caught rabbits, prepared and cooked them, stitched my head and found the herbs to make a healing paste.  Without once bursting into tears and complaining about breaking her nails.’

‘Nisi?’ Legolas said incredulously.

Camentur looked at him with some amusement. ‘Once we were safe she refused to speak of it.  She spent about half a day in the bath and came out looking as if it had never happened.  Elerrina will cope, my brother.  Just keep telling her how wonderful she is and how much you appreciate her generous heart.’   

‘Deer tracks,’ Elrohir changed the subject. ‘I think it is time to seek them out on foot.’

‘We will leave the horses here,’ Elladan said.  ‘There is enough grass for them.’  They swiftly checked over their mounts and requested them to stay nearby, before picking up their bows and readying themselves.

‘We will hunt in pairs,’ Legolas suggested. ‘I will go with Camentur, and you two can work together.  We will seek out the freshest tracks – but unless we are offered an irresistible opportunity, we will save our hunt until tomorrow.’

Elrohir smiled.  ‘As you wish.  We will return here by moonrise.  You are on cooking duty tonight, my friend, so have our meal ready for us.  We will be hungry by then.’

Camentur raised his eyebrows as the twins faded into the trees.  ‘They seem very casual about this.’

‘It is only a hunting trip,’ Legolas told him.  ‘There should be nothing to cause us difficulties.  Tineithil would have told us if there was anything we needed to know.’

***

Alagsir was surprised.  So far, although they had seen other elves of the forest, it had been as if they had been born from the forest, only to disappear back into its protection as soon as they had seen as much as they wanted.  This was different. This was the place that some of the elves called home.

Some open-walled roofed shelters settled in open spaces between the trees and the spreading branches held flets of silver wood, their sides rolled up to allow the soft air to circulate.  It was beautiful, Alagsir thought, reminding him of nothing more than his home village in the Golden Wood.  There was a relaxed busyness about the place. Elflings played in the area of open grass while their naneths weeded the flourishing garden plots.  Sweet singing came from one of the larger shelters as older elflings apparently learned their lessons by repeating songs he had learned in his own youth. A delicious fragrance spread from a communal cooking hearth where several flushed ellyth were preparing an evening meal sufficient for themselves and their visitors.

‘How is it that we have not found this place?’  Vondil asked curiously.  ‘If we are only a day or two from the camp, we must have sent patrols in this direction.’

Dumir shrugged.  ‘We would not let you come into our settlements before,’ he said simply.

‘But how could we have missed it?’ Alagsir frowned.  ‘It is not hidden.’

‘It is a large forest,’ Dumir stated, meeting his eyes.  ‘And a small settlement.  If you had come too close, you would have been led away.’

‘What has changed?’ Falas wanted to know.  ‘You would not let us come before – why have you let us come now?’

‘The Lady says it is acceptable,’ Dumir told him.  ‘She is happy for you to see this place.’  He hesitated.  ‘I think she wants you to know that we live as you do – that our customs are little different.  She does not want you to take back the impression that we do not cultivate the forest.’

‘May I see what you grow in your gardens?’ Falas narrowed his eyes to see the neat patches.

‘Ask those whose gardens they are,’ Dumir shrugged.  ‘I cannot imagine that they will object.

Alagsir drifted forward unthreateningly to the playing elflings, who stopped and stared at him.  Several of them, like him, had light hair and sea-grey eyes.  He sat down near them and waited for them to decide to make an approach.

‘Is this your village?’ Aelindor asked Domeniel.

She shook her head.  ‘We live in the forest.  Adar feels that, in the settlements, people are too close together.  He prefers to be one with the forest.’

‘What do you think?’

She smiled.  ‘I have no say in the matter,’ she told him. ‘But, in truth, I am happy where I am.  If I lived in the settlements I would have to dress up in skirts and behave like a proper elleth.’

An elf approached them.  Clearly one of the elders, he frowned at Dumir disapprovingly.  ‘You are welcome,’ he said shortly. ‘Would you care to share our evening meal?’

Vondil bowed.  ‘We have fish caught in the great river,’ he said.  ‘We would be glad if you would accept them as some recompense for your generosity.’ 

The elf returned the bow.  ‘The Lady has asked that you be made welcome,’ he said coolly.  ‘We are happy to carry out her requests.’

Vondil smiled.  Happy, he supposed, could cover a variety of meanings, just as could welcome.  It remained to be seen what interpretation would be put on them here.

***

Legolas touched his hand to Camentur’s arm.  ‘He is big,’ he murmured. ‘He would be worth going after, just for the sheer size of him.  He will be a wily one.’  He looked up.  ‘We should probably let this one pass, my friend,’ he said regretfully.  ‘It will be more sensible to take back a rather more portable catch.’

‘We are not out after trophies,’ Camentur agreed.

Legolas flicked a look at him, but held his tongue.

‘Although, of course,’ his brother-in-law continued, ‘Wood Elves do not hunt for trophies – or so Elerrina tells me.’

‘No,’ Legolas agreed. ‘The forest nurtures us – we do not use it for our indulgence.  We hunt for food, or, on occasion, because the land requires it, but not for pleasure.’

Camentur nodded. ‘I like the way you think,’ he said.  ‘I do not mean to sound patronising, but you all seem closer to the song – I look forward to visiting my sister here in years to come – and I hope you will agree to foster Surion when the time comes for him to learn of other houses.’

‘Your adar will not appreciate that idea too much!’ Legolas grinned, looking round quickly.  ‘I suppose we should go back.  We know where to come to find our deer – and I have the feeling that the trees are none too welcoming at the moment.’

‘I wonder why that might be,’ a quiet voice observed as an elf stepped out of the shadows right behind Camentur, his thin bladed knife glinting in the starlight. 

Legolas found himself mentally practising some of Gimli’s best curses as three other shapes moved the air behind him. How could he, not just a Wood Elf, but Thranduil’s son, have been unaware of the approach of strangers, here, in the forest?  And that, he realised, was the problem.  This was their forest and, although the trees courted him, their loyalty lay elsewhere. 

‘What problem do you have with our being here?’ Camentur asked – and remarkably mildly, Legolas thought, considering he had a knife at his throat.

‘You have invaded our forest – and you are planning on hunting for deer in our realm. Is that not problem enough?’  

Legolas sighed.  ‘Tineithil – do you know him? – suggested that we should hunt here. He did not seem to have any difficulty with the idea.’

The elf paused and shrugged.  ‘No matter,’ he said as the others with him removed their weapons. ‘You will come with us.’

***

‘They have not returned,’ Elladan said, as he got out the apples, bread and cheese they had brought with them.

‘I had spotted that myself,’ his brother agreed.

‘I wonder what has become of them.  They cannot still be seeking deer – this part of the forest seems to be full of them.’

‘I expect they have lost themselves,’ Elrohir grinned.  ‘You cannot expect a Wood Elf to be able to find his way round a forest.  He has been in a state of confusion ever since he arrived. If they do not turn up soon, we will go and look for them.’

‘We will wait until first light,’ Elladan decided. ‘There is no point all of us chasing each other round the trees in the dark.’

Towards dawn the sky clouded over and a fine mist of rain began to drift down, dripping through the leaf cover and saturating the sheltering elves.

‘This is just what we needed,’ Elrohir complained.  He shook himself as a large drip landed on his forehead.  ‘We might as well see if we can find Legolas and Camentur – before whatever traces they have left have been completely washed away.’

‘H’mm,’ Elladan grunted, looking around anxiously.  ‘This is not like Legolas, my brother.  I am beginning to worry.  This forest might not be as well-disposed as Tineithil would have us think.’

Elrohir closed his eyes and opened his senses to the forest song.  ‘It feels curious rather than malign,’ he sighed.  ‘But there is some reserve – I think we should be careful as we look for them.’

‘We should have known,’ Elladan told him with resignation, ‘that we would not have been able to come off on an excursion such as this without tumbling into some adventure.’

***

Minalcar held his hands away from his face.  He did not believe he would ever get rid of the smell of fish.  He really had not objected at all to missing out on last night’s supper.  He did not think he would ever willingly eat fish again.

‘I have never seen anything so funny,’ Loareg remarked as he emerged from the trees.

Minalcar scowled.  He would never become accustomed to the way these elves stepped out of nowhere to arrive right beside you.  ‘What do you mean?’ he asked crossly.

‘Gutting the fish – anyone would think you had never done it before.  And then, the way you hurled them back in the water!  It was hilarious.  Although when I told my adar, he did not seem to think it was quite so funny.  He said you were wasting the forest’s gifts,’ Loareg told him.  ‘How is it you did not know what to do?  Ambantor was all right.’

‘Ambantor has the kind of old-fashioned adar who expects him to be able to do a bit of everything,’ Minalcar complained.  ‘He used to take him hunting when he was younger and they would sleep under the stars.’  The sneer on his face made Minalcar’s opinion of the activities perfectly clear.  ‘My own family believed in making sure I have skills that are more useful at court.’

‘It is a shame you missed out,’ Loareg said with sincerity.  He took out a chunk of bread and some cheese and bit into them deliberately.  ‘Have you eaten yet today?’ he enquired.

‘Loareg,’ Glorfindel’s voice sounded quietly behind him.  ‘Unless you wish to find yourself sharing in Minalcar’s trouble, I suggest that you switch your attentions to some other member of the party.’

The Forest Elf suddenly looked much younger as he turned to the expedition’s leader and found himself also looking at his adar. ‘Yes, my lord,’ he said meekly, glancing swiftly to try to discover what Tineithil thought of his baiting of the young Noldor lord.

‘Ambantor is cleaning up from breakfast,’ his adar remarked as he slid past.  ‘I recommend that you offer your assistance – and that you perform at least half the task.’

His son flushed, but was not foolhardy enough to complain. ‘Yes, Adar,’ he agreed.

Glorfindel’s look at Tineithil was full of laughter, but he kept his voice sober. ‘Tell me,’ he said, ‘how did you manage to teach your son to behave with a modicum of good sense?’

‘My wife and I started when he was very young,’ the other elf replied seriously.  ‘Once you let them think they can rule you, you have problems.’

‘Would you say that Minalcar is too old to learn?’ Glorfindel asked.

‘It would depend on his level of intelligence,’ Tineithil observed.  ‘Which on current showing is not very high.’

Minalcar’s eyes blazed, but discretion kept his mouth closed.  Little though he wished to be here, Ambantor had reminded him why being sent back would be worse.  His adar had been extremely angry about those gambling debts, and only the unexpected invitation to join this expedition had saved him the indignity of actually having to work for a living.  If he was packed off home in disgrace, he could not imagine how his parents would react.

‘Although, perhaps,’ Glorfindel remarked, watching him closely, ‘there is a glimmer there.’ 

His lips pressed firmly together, Minalcar drew a deep breath and refused to react.

Glorfindel nodded.  ‘You can clearly control yourself at need, ellon,’ he said briskly. ‘And, if you are not to be sent home with next week’s messengers, you will work very hard to keep a leash on your temper.  Gwathor has agreed, with some reluctance, to give you some basic training in how to survive in the forest – and that includes how not to annoy your colleagues.  For now,’ he narrowed his eyes, interested to see how Minalcar would deal with this pressure, ‘that means that you will join him in fishing.’

A brief nod was the only reply Minalcar could bring himself to make.

‘Off you go, then,’ Glorfindel instructed him and he and Tineithil watched as the young elf stamped off across the clearing.

***

The Lady paced.  It was not something she did regularly.  Normally she was serene; occasionally mischievous; rarely she seethed with a fury that made others avoid her – but now she was nervous.

When she had come to the forest, she had found it filled her with a sense of calm and purpose.  This place was pure; here she could be what she had always been meant to be.  She could nurture the land, sing with the trees – and she could wait.  Those who were here had welcomed here, she was one of them, she was one with them; she was their Lady.  Others had joined them over the centuries and gradually she had found herself the unofficial ruler of an informal kingdom, where no-one made laws or demanded guidance.  The trees listened to her and she heard their song.  She and the forest were one.  Yet still she waited.

Her patience had been as deep as the roots of an ancient oak; her calm had been the calm of a forest pool; her strength had grown from the bedrock beneath the earth to stretch up to the sun.  Trees did not worry about the future and neither did she.

But these arrivals unsettled her.  Change was in the air.  Change for the forest and change for her.  Would either of them be ready to deal with what was coming?  After all these years of waiting, would she be getting what she wanted?  Or would it be better for her to run and hide, to turn the forest against them and send them back whence they came?  Only time would tell.

***

Loareg packed away the cleaned items and looked around to make certain that the area was scrupulously tidy.  Ambantor watched him, rubbing his hands on the green tunic that he usually only wore to go hunting with his adar.

‘Have you been told what you are to do next?’ the young Forest Elf asked him.

Ambantor shook his head.  ‘I am intending to keep my head down,’ he said.  ‘I cannot say that I am exactly keen to put myself in Lord Glorfindel’s way at the moment.’

‘Understandable,’ Loareg grinned, ‘but it would probably be wiser to report to him before he seeks you out.’

‘Perhaps if I found someone else – how about him?’ Ambantor nodded to where Rindor was finishing his reports.  ‘He might have something useful I could do – that will not involve me in hard labour.’

‘I have tried avoiding trouble,’ Loareg shrugged. ‘It generally makes it worse.’

Ambantor sighed.   ‘Come on then, help me find him.’  He looked gloomy.  ‘Any guesses what he will have me doing?’

‘I am not putting myself in the way of danger!’ Loareg exclaimed.  ‘I have already found myself on the receiving end of adar’s displeasure once today.’

‘You are the one who wanted to get to know the visitors better, my son,’ Tineithil remarked from nearby.  ‘How better than by working beside them?’  He looked at the two young elves.  ‘Ruindel has decided on a suitable spot to prepare and plant a garden.  He requires labourers to help him open the ground.’  He grinned.  ‘Your naneth has sent some young plants to give the project a good start,’ he said blandly, ‘and she has asked me to tell you that she will not be happy if they fail to thrive in your care.’

Loareg sighed. ‘I enjoyed watching from the trees, Adar,’ he observed plaintively.  ‘I do not know why we had to become involved.’

‘Go on, lad,’ his adar laughed.  ‘Show them what it means to live in the forest.’

‘Is this to be my task?’ Ambantor asked warily.  ‘Or should I seek out Lord Glorfindel?’

‘I believe Glorfindel will be happy enough to surrender you to Ruindel’s care,’ Tineithil said pleasantly.  ‘As long as you work hard.’

***

The flet reminded Legolas of Lothlorien.  It was large: a series of platforms that fitted into the trees, linked by high walkways, and yet it would have been possible to travel through the forest at ground level and remain unaware that, high above, a gracious residence existed.

Legolas thought that he should feel more nervous.  The elves escorting them remained polite and distant, but they clearly had no intention of allowing them to evade their control.  He only hoped that the twins would be able to escape notice – and that they had the sense to go for assistance rather than throw themselves headlong into a rescue attempt.  Although, he sighed, there was really more chance of the sun coming up in the west.

‘Wait here.’

Their escort came to a halt as the first elf leapt into the lower branches.  Legolas and Camentur sat in response to a signal from one of the group and the remainder squatted around them, watchful but not threatening.  The grey drizzle of the damp morning depressed Camentur.  This seemed an ignominious end to his mission as the High King’s representative, he thought, whatever the outcome.  Clearly the elves who had long made their home among the trees were not as welcoming as first contact had led the new arrivals to believe – which was hardly surprising, he reflected.  He would not himself fling his arms wide to welcome a group of strangers who rode into his homelands demanding, however politely, the right to come and establish autonomous rule.  He glanced at his brother-in-law.  Legolas seemed remarkably calm and his alertness seemed more fixed on the forest song around him than on any hope of intervention.  Camentur sighed and allowed himself to fret – he was not going to be a great deal of help here if this situation turned dangerous.  He lacked the experience to deal with battle and this did not appear to be the moment to start learning.

‘Come.’

Their captor returned, looking them over impassively with his mist-grey eyes.  They stood and dusted themselves down before following him into the lower platforms.

‘I should not worry too much,’ Legolas breathed into Camentur’s ear.  ‘Those who intend harm rarely take you into their homes.’

***

It helped, Elrohir admitted to himself, that they had known exactly which direction Legolas and Camentur had taken.  It also helped that Camentur was less at home in the forest than the rest of them – and that his experience consisted merely of going after game, rather than of being the object of the hunts of others.  The traces Elrohir picked up were almost exclusively evidence of his passage: Legolas had left virtually no record of his passing.

Their capture had left barely enough to hint at what had happened: a few blades of grass, a disturbed leaf or two, a footmark in the forest litter – and a sensation among the trees, a feeling of guilt, of apology.

‘Why would elves take them?’  Elladan asked quietly.

‘And where?’

‘We go after them?’

‘Of course,’ Elrohir returned, then hesitated.  ‘We should probably go back,’ he said. ‘It would be wiser to involve Tineithil in this.  He would be the most likely to extract Legolas and Camentur without upsetting local sensibilities.’

Elladan looked at him, but remained silent.

‘It needed to be said,’ Elrohir apologised.  ‘We are old enough not to jump in without considering the situation.’

‘And now we have considered it?’

‘They went that way,’ Elrohir pointed out, and they exchanged grins before following the path along which their friends had been led some hours before.

Far Horizons 22:  Hunted

‘The ill-feeling seems to have diminished,’ Finarfin agreed.  ‘But can we be certain that what we have been left with a single schemer?   It seems too grandiose a design for one elf to put together – and I can see no purpose behind it.  I am not happy at the idea of leaving here before, at the very least, we know the identity of the one we seek, but there are tasks that cannot be delayed much longer.’

‘I am beginning to receive reports,’ Elrond told him.  ‘Once we started to look for him, we began to find traces.  It is easy to remain invisible when your existence is unknown – but he is not as clever as he would like to think.’ 

‘Where is he?’  Thranduil leaned forward, a dangerous look on his face.  ‘I want him, Elrond.’

‘He settled here last year,’ Elrond informed him.  ‘He said that he was from further south and that he was on his way to visit kin.  He had spent previous visits cultivating acquaintance here and sounding them out.  Tarannon told us that he had been around before – on the fringes at first, but soon manipulating people so that they did as he wished.  Those who were more resistant were discarded, until he had a core group of those who would follow his instructions without question.’

‘Not a bad idea, if you want to ensure loyalty,’ Celeborn commented.  ‘And I suspect he was not looking for those of intelligence and independent mind.’

‘Tarannon is perhaps a little brighter than was truly necessary,’ Elrond admitted, ‘but his social position made him essential – and he has not been brought up or educated to think.’

‘He picked up a few things that perhaps Minastan did not realise he was revealing,’ Celeborn added.  ‘Some few from what he said – and others from what he did not.  Minastan was not born here in the Blessed Realm, but he was brought up here by his naneth’s parents.  He is fuelled by a tremendous anger.  He hates the house of Oropher, Thranduil – he bears your family a particular grudge, which probably accounts for the two attacks on your family.’

‘Anything that will help us find the son of an orc?’ Thranduil snapped. ‘It is all very well knowing his inner thoughts, but we want to be able to lay hands on him and prevent any more incidents.’

‘Tarannon has no idea what he does between his appearances to work up and organise his underlings,’ Celeborn informed his cousin, ‘Or where he lives.’

‘But I,’ Elrond announced softly, ‘have.’

***   

Earwen stroked the pale velvety petals with a gentle wistfulness.  So much time apart, she sighed, and so little together.    You learned, she decided, to wait for that for which you yearned – but the rewards often seemed doled out so parsimoniously, while the penalties were heaped on you swiftly and generously. 

‘Naneth?’ 

Earwen lifted her head to see her daughter framed in the arched doorway that led from the wilder garden into this area of fragrant flowers and she smiled.  ‘Join me,’ she suggested.  ‘I am enjoying the fleeting beauty of these buds – and reminding myself that in their time they will become full-blown and set seed, but that next year, if I stand here, there will be flowers again.’

Galadriel slipped her arm around her naneth’s waist and dropped an understanding kiss on her cheek.  ‘I will miss you,’ she said simply.  ‘Adar says that you must both leave us soon to resume the business of kingship.’

Turning from the flower bed, Earwen ran her fingers down her daughter’s cheek.  ‘Your eyes are bright again, my love,’ she said.  ‘Last time I saw you, Celebrian and I were both worried at the grief your husband’s absence caused you.’

‘You must come to us,’ Galadriel told her.  ‘When we have settled in a new home, you must both come and spend time among the trees.’

Her naneth smiled mischievously.  ‘What is a sensible elleth like you doing with a husband who cannot be happy away from trees?  How many centuries did it take you to learn to love them?’

Galadriel laughed.  ‘Probably as many as it took you to learn to be happy away from the sea,’ she admitted.

‘There are still moments, then -,’ Earwen said, letting her voice trail away and her daughter looked at her ruefully and nodded.

‘Celeborn has endured many long years dwelling in stone towers at different times,’ she pointed out. ‘To be fair.’

‘And your adar has grown pale and wan on the decks of many a sailing boat while pretending he enjoyed the restless shift of the waters.’

‘I did not think that you were that fond of sailing,’ Galadriel observed.

‘I am not,’ Earwen grinned wickedly.  ‘But I would not like him to feel that his sacrifice was in vain.  I do enjoy it when he sails with me – just not, perhaps, in the way he intends.’

Their eyes met and they both laughed.  ‘Our poor husbands,’ Galadriel said pityingly. 

‘Have you learned yet,’ her naneth said, ‘that it is easier to get what you want by subtle means rather than by confrontation?  You were always rather too inclined to take up a battle axe rather than ask for a favour.’

‘Blame it on my brothers.  They always insisted that I proved myself worthy of their attention.  They did not care for weak ellyth, who wept and fluttered their eyelashes.’

‘Not in a sister, perhaps,’ Earwen conceded.  ‘I suspect they preferred to romance ellyth who were gentle and pliant and co-operative.’   They sat on a stone bench in an arbour shaded by the nodding stems of old roses.   ‘Do you always wear white and leave your hair unbound?’ she asked suddenly.

‘Generally.’  Galadriel raised her eyebrows.  ‘Do you not approve?’

‘It is rather affected.  There is a point when affectation verges on the ridiculous.  And personality becomes self-parody.’

Her daughter regarded her for several moments before replying.  ‘There is no-one like your naneth,’ she observed, ‘for voicing the unpalatable – or for putting you in your place.’

‘Is that the reason you have spent so little time in our company since you returned to your birthplace?’

‘No!’ Galadriel replied indignantly.  ‘No.  At first I was – in too great a need of time and space.  I did not need politics.  Then, later – I could not settle.’ She smiled wryly. ‘Although I admit that I do not enjoy being made to feel an elfling among adults.’

‘Nor do I.’ Her naneth returned her smile.  ‘It is inevitable among our race,’ she pointed out.  ‘Despite my antiquity, I too am, on occasion, only my adar’s little elleth.  One grows accustomed to it.’

Earwen took her daughter’s hand and ran her thumb over the palm thoughtfully.  ‘Your adar still feels guilty,’ she said, ‘that he chose to stay here with me, when your path led you eastwards.  He feels he let you and your brothers down while doing what he believed was right.’

Galadriel closed her fingers around her naneth’s hand.  ‘He was right to make the choice he did – and courageous,’ she said.  ‘And there were times when I wished that I had seen it then.  It is hard to remain behind – harder than being the one who treads strange paths.  You had duties that kept you here.’

‘So your adar could be High King,’ her naneth said, pursing her lips with distaste.

‘My half-Vanyar Adar and Teleri Naneth ruling the Noldor,’ Galadriel smiled.  ‘I hope the irony is not lost on them.’

‘Any more than the presence of a Noldor princess is lost on the Sindar and Silvan elves she leads?’

Galadriel shrugged.  ‘We pay too much attention to race and clan,’ she observed.   ‘It is about time we outgrew such childishness, for even if race turns out not to be the reason behind these present troubles, it is the perception that some have of our differences that has fuelled the disturbances.’

‘Perhaps,’ her naneth said thoughtfully, ‘it is time for us to do something about it.’

***

‘My lord,’ Calion said respectfully, standing straight and tall before the gleaming desk.   He had not been informed why Thranduil wanted to see him and he was conscious of a twinge of nerves.

Thranduil inspected him carefully.  The ellon looked better, he thought.  Not just fitter and more adult – he seemed to have more of a sense of purpose.  Once again, he told himself, a clear indication that the young needed direction and discipline.  He hoped Calion would listen to what he had to say, but he did not feel that he could rely on him having developed that level of maturity.  It would be a shame, really, to let this one be spoiled – he had a potential that should be encouraged.

‘Lady Galadriel has spoken to me,’ Thranduil said.

Calion remained silent.

Thranduil lifted an eyebrow.  ‘Do you not wish to know what she said?’ he asked

‘If you want me to know, my lord, then you will tell me.’  He swallowed as Thranduil’s piercing eyes held his.

‘She told me that she was certain that you did not shoot my son.  That the circumstantial evidence that convinced everyone of your guilt was wrongly interpreted.’  He looked with interest as Calion stiffened.  ‘Why does that worry you?’ he asked with interest.

‘What do you think of her words, my lord?’  Calion asked huskily.  ‘Do you think that Lady Galadriel is right?’

Thranduil smiled.  ‘I will believe her, when I disregarded your word? Does that upset you?’

‘No, my lord,’ Calion said stolidly.  ‘I would not expect you to take my word for it.  But I could not bear to have my hopes raised only to have them dashed again.’

‘I believe she is right,’ Thranduil told him wryly, ‘it is a habit of hers.  But I have a request to make of you. It is up to you to decide whether or not to grant it.’  He looked at Calion with interest as he absorbed the information. 

His cheeks flushed and he squared his shoulders.  ‘I will do what I can, my lord,’ he replied.

‘You have every right to demand that we take this information to the High King,’ Thranduil acknowledged, ‘and to have your punishment set aside – but I am asking you to wait.  The search for the one behind this trouble is continuing, and to have you vindicated now might well drive him underground.  He is responsible for Nessariel’s death – and for trying to abduct the elflings.  I do not wish to do anything that will make it possible for him to escape – I want him neither to carry on this campaign, nor to endanger anyone else.’

‘I will wait, my lord,’ Calion answered him immediately.  ‘I would do nothing to hamper the search for this evil one.  I would choose to stay here and protect the little ones even if I were able to walk free tomorrow.’  He hesitated.  ‘And there is no guarantee that the High King would change his mind.  Lady Galadriel’s opinion is not proof, my lord.’

‘If in my opinion you are innocent,’ Thranduil told him dryly, ‘then I will not have you treated as a criminal.’

‘When you were convinced I was guilty, my lord, you would not have me treated as a criminal,’ Calion countered, his voice ringing with sincere appreciation.

Thranduil rested his chin on his hand and considered the elf before him.  ‘If you are willing to remain in my household and help us in this matter,’ he said, ‘I will see to it that the High King hears your case again as soon as is possible and I will ensure that you receive acknowledgement of your service.’

‘My lord,’ Calion said seriously, ‘you did not need to speak to me – to ask me to do this.  I am your son’s bondsman until such time as the sentence is either reversed or served in full – in his absence, I am obliged to obey you.  That you should find it necessary to ask increases the respect I have for you.  Knowing that you think me innocent will make it easier to continue as I am.’  He paused.  ‘It is just – if you feel it would not be too unwise – could you speak to Elerrina?  She dislikes having me near the elflings – if she were to know, my task would be easier.’

‘Would you say my daughter-in-law can keep a secret when necessary?’

Calion grinned.  ‘I believe it has been known, my lord.’

Thranduil inclined his head.  ‘I will speak to her.’  He leaned back in his chair.  ‘Is there anything else that you would like to say?’

The silence drew out, but Calion did not move.  Thranduil watched him debate with himself, until finally he said in a rush, ‘May I join your household when you journey to the new lands, my lord?’

‘I do not know what your adar -,’ Thranduil said slowly.

‘I will ask the High King, should he rescind his sentence – and should he not, it will not matter, for I will be serving in your household anyway.’  Calion’s tone had taken on an eagerness that he had learned recently to suppress. 

Thranduil gave a brief nod.  ‘If it proves to be within my power to arrange, Calion,’ he decided, ‘it shall be so.’

***

He had been seen.  Of all the foolish mischances, this was something he could happily have avoided.  He had been seen, standing at his window and looking down into the market.  He had noticed the face of the one who looked up at him – not a young elf: one dressed unobtrusively, pale and dark, his eyes shadowed, but one who had clearly recognised him and not been able to conceal his reaction. 

He had been tempted to rush down and ensure that the one who watched him was never able to report to anyone again, but caution had compelled him to resist.  There were too many people around for him to do anything so foolish.

Minastan looked around.  Well, he had little here.  It had been a useful place to lay his head while he moved his plans forward, that was all.  It was not as if this was his home.  It was not as if he had a home.  He had always been on the outside, living on sufferance, watching through the window as others received all the things that should have been his.

He grabbed his pack and began to fill it with essentials; the few things he could not leave behind – some clothes, anything on paper, the paltry mementoes of an empty life.  The rest he could leave.  It meant nothing.

As evening fell and the shadows lengthened, he took advantage of the bustle in the market place and joined the elves taking their goods out towards the farms or back to their small houses on the outskirts away from the aura of wealth that hung around the great stone mansions.  No-one would mark him, he knew, as he drew around him his cloak of insignificance.  No longer the charismatic friend of the rich, he took on the role of nobody in particular and headed off with the casual air of easy purpose that was, he knew, quite unnoticeable. 

***

Artamir scowled at the young guard.  ‘Let me in,’ he commanded.  ‘This is my house and he is my son.  You have no right to exclude me!’

‘Lord Celeborn has said that you are to remain without, my lord,’ the elf said stoically, standing between Artamir and the door.  ‘If you wish to change the order, you must speak to him.’

‘That Sindar!’ he hissed.  ‘You will not be able to secrete yourself if there for ever,’ he shouted.  ‘You will have to admit to me what it is that you have done to draw the High King’s attention on my house and I will see you pay for it.  My business dealings are in ruins because of you!  I can wait until we have my house to ourselves.  I will be back, be assured of it.’

In Tarannon’s room, the silence hung heavily.  Tarannon stretched out his hand to grasp his naneth’s, a look of pained acceptance on his face that surprised the lieutenant. 

‘Do not worry, Naneth,’ he said gently.  ‘He can do nothing.’

Minyariel opened her eyes and smiled wryly at her son.  ‘You should go and stay with my parents once we are allowed to leave.  Your adar will not forget this grudge for a long while.’

‘Only if you come, too, Naneth.  There is no reason why you should stay here to be made miserable any longer.’

As he watched them, the lieutenant was aware of a warm wave of gratitude for his own less exalted, but far happier household, in which the members cared for one another’s well-being above the cold appeal of wealth and power.

***

Galadriel looked at herself thoughtfully in the mirror.  She was not at all sure about this.  It did not feel right.  Come to that, it did not look right.  She smoothed the fabric and adjusted the cuffs before turning slightly to look over her shoulder.   She really did not know why she had allowed those few words to affect her – it was ridiculous.

Her husband returned from the bathing chamber dressed in his leggings, using a towel to rub the water from his silver hair.  She looked at him appreciatively, enjoying the disruption of his presence and the warmth he brought to the clean white lines of the room.  Perhaps her naneth was right.  Perhaps you could have too much white.

‘We will be late,’ she observed.

‘It will not take me long to dress,’ he said impatiently.  ‘And I can do my hair in my sleep.’

‘But then it looks as if you have slept in it,’ she pointed out.

‘Then my loving wife can do it for me,’ he grinned, turning towards her and dropping the towel on the chair.  He paused and raised his eyebrows. ‘This is a departure,’ he commented.

‘I am not sure,’ she said, looking again in the mirror.

‘I am,’ he informed her.  ‘It suits you.  The silvery-blue enhances your eyes.  And I like the braids in your hair.’

She took one last look and turned away from the mirror.  ‘Well it is too late to change now,’ she told him briskly.  ‘I just hope nobody laughs.  Come and sit down and I will do your hair while you tell me what you have learned that kept you out so long.’

As she drew the comb through his long damp locks, he closed his eyes.  ‘I think I have missed this more than almost anything,’ he sighed.

‘Really?’ she asked, making her voice deliberately sultry as she trailed her fingers briefly across his unclothed back.  ‘I must try harder.’

He looked in the mirror to meet her sparkling eyes.  ‘Well,’ he conceded, ‘I am not going to argue about such an ambition.’ He flinched in mock pain as she used the comb to rap his head.  ‘I have spent the last hours meeting with those who have been examining all the information that could be found about Artamir and his house.’

‘What have they found?’ she asked, her fingers rapidly twisting his hair into its customary braids.

‘That it is difficult to prove a negative,’ he said. 

‘So there is nothing that connects him to the plots?’

‘Well – he is involved in assorted intrigues, but they are nothing to do with this,’ he said, making an enveloping gesture with his hands.  ‘There is a trace or two – but they point in from the outside: there is nothing at the heart.  Either he is very skilled at hiding his tracks – in which case there should be no traces of any schemes at all – or, more likely, there are no tracks to hide.’

‘That would seem to confirm that our quarry is an outsider,’ Galadriel’s busy fingers slowed.  ‘If he were part of Artamir’s circle, he would not have found it difficult to incriminate him.’  She fastened the braids and smoothed his hair.  ‘There.  Dress yourself – we cannot be late.’

‘I suppose not,’ he said regretfully, turning as he rose to take her in his arms. ‘It is a pity.’  He dropped a gentle kiss on her lips. ‘I can think of things I would rather do this evening.’  He released her and went to put on the silver-grey robe she had set out for him.  ‘I see I am set to highlight your beauty,’ he remarked. ‘I am to be cloud to your sky, moonlight to your dawn.’

She laughed.  ‘My naneth tells me I am becoming a caricature, my lord.  I am counting on you to give me confidence to prove her wrong.’

‘I am glad to see you in something other than white, my love,’ he commented.  ‘It reminds me of our younger days.’  He slid his hand down her back, lingering over her hips before presenting his arm for her to take.  ‘Let us join your parents, so that we might discover what else has been revealed.’

***

They were too late.

Elrond ran through the sequence of events that had brought them there.  He could not see how they could have allowed him to escape.  Only yesterday, Minastan had been seen here.  The agents working in the market had watched him return to his room and had, at different points of the day, caught glimpses of him as he paced the floor.  How had he managed to get past those watching him? 

‘He saw something, my lord,’ one of his agents apologised.  ‘I think he grew suspicious – there was someone wandering the market who seemed to be seeking something.  He was nothing to do with our operation, but that would not matter to the one we watched.’

Elrond closed his eyes.  He was growing very irritated by this one – not just because of the plots for which he appeared to be responsible, but due to his infuriating ability to keep one step ahead of those trying to find him. 

‘Have you found anything here that will be helpful?’ he asked, forcing himself to speak reasonably.

The agent looked at him swiftly.  His lord was clearly on the edge of showing his teeth, he thought.  ‘He has taken any written record he may have kept,’ he stated. ‘There are clothes – but there is little that is of use.’

‘Gather every speck that you can that might lead to him,’ Elrond instructed, ‘and bring them to my house, together with every speculation that you can dredge up. I want this one found and I want him found soon.’

‘Yes, my lord,’ the other agreed.  ‘We will do so immediately.’

Elrond took a last look around the room and swept out.  It was at moments like this, he thought, that he wished that he had not sent Rindor off to explore.  He would be far more use at home. It was not that those remaining to him here were incompetent – far from it – but Rindor had the inspiration that could take a dozen tiny implications and turn them into a pattern.  He sighed.  They would just, he told himself firmly, have to manage. This was not a time for failure.

Far Horizons 23:  Love’s Memory

Legolas bowed courteously.  ‘I am honoured to meet you, Lady,’ he said as he straightened up and smiled.  ‘I am Legolas Thranduilion and this is my brother-in-law, Camentur Taryaturion.’

She stood, frozen, gazing at him with wide, cedar-blue eyes.  ‘You are most welcome here, Thranduilion,’ she said, her voice husky with emotion.

He looked at her, puzzled by the depth of feeling he sensed in her.  She was tall and slender, with the pure and unshadowed light of the reborn in her eyes.   The long hair rippling down her back had the gleaming green-tinted silver fairness of aspen bark and she dressed in the softest mossy green, but her pale hands were clenched before her as if shielding her from harm.   He felt a familiarity with the power within her – a bond with the forest as deep as that concealed beneath the surface of his adar’s strength. 

‘So will the Lord of Eryn Lasgalen be joining you here?’ she continued.

‘In time,’ he agreed pleasantly.  ‘There are many among us who wish to establish themselves in some part of this vast forest, but we have no desire to harm that which we crave.  Thranduil will come, I have no doubt, to visit the trees as soon as he is able to do so.  He will look forward to making the acquaintance of the forest’s Lady.’

‘As I wish to see him.’  Her eyes were consuming him.  He felt uncomfortable under her stare, as if she were eager to absorb him in a single moment.  She turned away abruptly to look out over the rain-dampened leaves.  ‘You have family you wish to bring to the forest?’

‘My wife and I have two elflings,’ Legolas said a little more easily once the pressure of her look had shifted.  ‘An ellon and an elleth.  I would like them to come here while they are young enough to grow up with this as their home.’

‘You grew up in Lasgalen when it was Mirkwood, did you not?’ she asked.  ‘How did you endure the presence of the Shadow?’

He looked surprised.  ‘I did not question it as an elfling, Lady.  It was just what was.  As I grew to adulthood, I fought it – and I continued to fight it for centuries.  I remained long enough to see the beginning of the healing once Sauron’s Ring was destroyed, but by then I had heard the call of the sea.’  He looked at her long fall of hair.  ‘Did you know the Woodland Realm?’

‘I did,’ she said simply.  ‘In another lifetime.’  She dropped into a brooding silence, before turning and forcing herself to smile.  ‘But no matter,’ she added.  ‘Now is not the time to speak of it.  You will be hungry.  I would be happy to have you join me for breakfast. You can tell me more about yourselves as we eat.’

***

Wet horse, Neldin thought, was a singularly repulsive smell.  He had not been particularly fond of the creature before – and neither, he felt, was the horse fond of him, for she seemed to go out of her way to brush under every dripping bough and trot through every splashing puddle.  Those sons of Elrond had spoken to her before they left and he was sure that they had told her to make his life as difficult as possible.  She certainly was not listening to anything he said to her – although perhaps if he tried it without the curses, she might be more responsive.

‘Do you think we should put his mare on the leading rein?’ one of the guards asked, looking at him impatiently.  ‘He is lagging again.’

‘I will ask her to keep up, Culuin,’ an archer replied.  ‘There is no need to make her suffer just because she has to carry him.’

Neldin scowled.  He had never liked Talathin – he had always been big-headed just because he was useful with that bow.  He seemed to feel he was something special simply because he could put arrows into orcs.  Where was the difficulty in that?  It was not as if they had ever tried to run away.  And it was hardly the most valuable talent here in the Blessed Realm.  Surely it was a far more useful skill to be able to create beautiful platforms in the trees, where elves could live in peace and harmony with the woods. 

Talathin flicked a glance at him.  ‘We want to get through this journey as swiftly as we can,’ he remarked.  ‘I expect the mare is as keen to be rid of him as we are.’

Neldin pulled at his bound wrists, but they were securely leashed to the saddle and he cursed again at the ill-chance that saw him the captive of these boot-licking time-servers.  In a just world, he fumed, they would be joining him to demand their rights, not dragging him off to face judgment for his actions.

The mare, unimpressed, treated him to another shower from the trailing branches of a young willow.  Neldin cursed her.

‘Be quiet,’ Culuin instructed him. ‘Unless you wish to be gagged. You have nothing to say that is of interest to us.’

***

Elrohir watched carefully, taking in every shift of leaf and rustle of hidden creature. There was nothing, he was sure, that threatened them here.  He listened to the forest song, but he heard only mild curiosity for their passing in the welcome the leaves gave to the gentle but persistent drizzle. 

‘They cannot be far from here,’ Elladan breathed.

‘There is a brightening to the woodland ahead,’ Elrohir pointed out.  ‘A glade, perhaps.  They might have had horses there to bear them more swiftly.’

‘It could be where they were intending to take them,’ suggested his twin.  ‘Let us approach more closely.’

Elrohir shook the water from his hair and pulled his cloak round him possessively, before taking it off and rolling it into a bundle.  ‘What a morning to be crawling through the undergrowth,’ he remarked.

Elladan grinned.  ‘It will do us both good,’ he said. ‘We were getting soft.’

The glade appeared uninhabited, but the pattern of the dripping water from above suggested otherwise.  Elrohir looked up, his eyes taking in the broad platforms and sloped roofs of the linked network of flets. His eyebrows lifted.  ‘We seem to have happened upon a place of some importance,’ he muttered.

‘It makes me feel at home,’ Elladan commented.  ‘I can see Daeradar living here.’

‘I think,’ Elrohir said slowly, ‘that the wisest thing to do would be simply to approach – with our hands clearly visible – and await the arrival of those who are undoubtedly watching us.  We would not have been permitted to come this close unless we were to be made welcome.’

Elladan pulled a face.  ‘Do you mean there was no need for us to wallow in mud and drag ourselves through the bushes?  I shall hold your caution against you, my brother.  Although perhaps a cup of steaming hot tea and the possibility of dry clothing would do a lot to reconcile me.’

‘We will see what we can do,’ Elrohir said absently.  ‘Come – make yourself look as respectable as you can.’

The glade appeared empty as they stepped through the trees, but before they had taken a dozen steps, three elves stood confronting them, their hands defensively on the hilts of their long knives.

They faced each other without speaking, until finally Elladan inclined his head slightly and said pleasantly, ‘Mae govannen.’

‘Welcome, sons of Elrond,’ the leader of the three said formally.  ‘The Lady greets you and invites you to take your ease in her home.’

‘You know us?’ Elrohir enquired.

‘Many of us know the twin sons of Lady Celebrian,’ a second elf informed him. ‘Even among those who have never seen the mallorn groves of Lothlorien.’

‘We are seeking two friends who did not return to our camp last night,’ Elladan said. ‘Have you seen anything of them?’

‘They are here,’ the leader said briefly.  ‘You will see them later – but first you need to make yourselves ready to meet the Lady.  We will provide you with food and clean clothing.  Follow me.’

***

Glorfindel read through the notes Rindor had made on his second interview with Neldin.  There were points of interest, he thought, but the elf had clearly learned from his first experience at the hands of Elrond’s spymaster and it had been much harder to prise words from his reluctant mouth.  However, one thing was quite clear: Neldin did not recognise Legolas’s brother-in-law – the Camentur of his acquaintance was an entirely different person.  And that, Glorfindel sighed, was to the good.  He really did not want to take any part in tearing apart Thranduil’s family.  Elerrina had been good for both adar and son – and the two little elflings were a delight.

It was almost time, he felt, to send back messengers requesting that a few very special people should begin their journeys to join them here.  They needed to show their good faith – and that meant bringing out some families to settle.  What better way could there be to show your commitment?  What he did not want – and he did not care what Elrond and the others thought – was to be on the receiving end of a politically chosen selection of incompetents.  A project like this did not need spoilt youths, but hard-working, responsible and, above all, skilled elves who could build a rounded society in which it would be a pleasure to live.

He turned to look for the brats who had been sent out with the twins.  Give him a month – or better still, six – and he would have both of them turned into useful members of society, but he did not require half a hundred like them.

‘Do you think Elrond will manage to get more information out of Neldin?’ he asked.  ‘I am not too anxious to start bringing families out here until this business is settled.’

‘It will depend on what is already known,’ Rindor mused.  ‘I suspect they have questions about topics I have not considered.’  He sat back and they listened to the patter of raindrops on the canvas sheltering them.  ‘Elrond’s reports are intriguing, I think – and there are some questions I want to put to Elrohir – and some others for Legolas.  I have a niggle,’ he admitted, ‘deep down in some buried recess of my mind.  If I only obtain the relevant information, it might help the thought to surface, but I need to know more.’

***

They waited for her in the broad chamber constructed around the bole of the aged tree.  The smell of rain freshened the air and the pattering on the tented roof relaxed the twins. 

‘Do you think Adar would consider building our new Imladris among the tall trees?’ Elladan asked.  ‘There is something about it which is very special.’

‘I doubt it,’ his brother grinned.  ‘He is not at his most comfortable in the canopy – but Naneth is bound to have some say in the design of her new home and she will probably demand that at least part of it incorporates trees.  It astonishes me that she has spent so long here living within stone walls – especially as there is no need of protection in these lands.’

‘Although it still rains – as you see,’ a soft voice told them. ‘And, in winter, there can be deep snow. Protection from Shadow is not needed, but it would be foolish to assume that nothing bad can happen.’

The twins turned towards her as if on wires, standing still and straight, shock apparent on their faces.

‘It is long since we have met, sons of Elrond,’ she remarked, looking at them with a wistful smile.  ‘You have changed but little in appearance, although you are now clearly adult.  Do you still know me?’

Elladan bowed deeply, followed swiftly by his brother.  ‘My lady,’ he said.  ‘It warms my heart to see you here and well.’

‘But I am surprised,’ Elrohir admitted.  ‘Why are you here in the deep forest, secluded from the elves of Valinor?  What kept you from the quayside?’  He stopped and added very quietly.  ‘Is Legolas aware of just who you are?’

She stood looking at their faces.  ‘He does not know,’ she sighed.  ‘And I do not wish you to tell him.  It is why I had them brought here first – and separately.  I did not want your faces to inform him of something that I am not sure should be said at all.’ Her eyes filled with tears.  ‘What can I say?’ she implored. ‘How can you tell someone you abandoned to live a life without you that you want to step into a place you never earned?’

‘You did not abandon him,’ Elladan said with gentle certainty.  ‘You died.  You would have stayed by his side throughout every vicissitude life threw at you, but you were not given the chance.  You were killed, my lady – that is not deserting either your husband or your son.’

Two great tears spilled over to roll down her cheeks.  ‘He was an elfling – so young he does not remember me.  Elflings do not understand the difference between a severance that is willing and one that nothing can prevent – he will only know that I was not there for him.’

Elrohir stepped closer and took her gently in his arms.  ‘He is not an elfling now, Lady Laerwen.  He has not been an elfling for a long time.  He understands the concept of inexorability.  He has suffered from it himself.’

The Lady allowed her head to droop briefly on to his shoulder.  ‘I could not endure his rejection of me,’ she murmured.  ‘Better he does not know.’

‘And Thranduil?’ Elladan insisted, taking her hand in his and kissing it softly.  ‘Will you bear an eternal division from him for fear of speaking to your son?’

She turned to face him.  ‘If I had believed for one moment that he would leave the Greenwood to cross the sea, I would have risked my son’s denial of me,’ she told him.

‘But how can I face either of them now?’

‘They have come to you, my lady,’ Elrohir assured her. ‘The decision is no longer yours to make.  We will not speak if you command us to silence – but he will know that we are hiding something from him.  It will not take him long to work out what it is.  And Thranduil will come – you cannot hide from him indefinitely.  He will hear the forest sing of you from the moment he crosses the mountains.  The time has come, Laerwen.  Heart calls to heart – you will not be alone.  Be the one to claim him, Lady,’ he invited her.  ‘Tell him the truth.’

***

It seemed rather less attractive this morning, Falas thought, to quit the watertight shelters of the village and head on towards the camp.

‘It is only rain,’ Vondil told him with amusement.  ‘You will not dissolve.’

Falas grinned.  ‘I am a natural villager, my friend,’ he shrugged.  ‘Despite Orntar’s clear reluctance to have us anywhere near his daughters, I like it here.  It is well-built and there is a clear purpose to everyone’s activities.’

‘Come,’ Aelindor laughed. ‘It is time for us to report back to Lord Glorfindel.  He will be eagerly awaiting our return.  I am sure he will also find a clear purpose to our activities.’

‘Do you think your brother will come into camp with us?’ Falas asked Vondil.  ‘He seems very interested in what we are doing.’

‘Dumir might come,’ Vondil agreed.  ‘And he might bring Thonion or Cirith – but two people who will not, I am certain, be joining us are Brethiliel and Domeniel.  My nephews are uncomfortable enough already,’ he added gazing pointedly at Aelindor, ‘with the attention their sister is receiving.  I would think Dumir might decide to leave his wife and daughter here – I believe that is the main reason for our side trip.’

‘If they think,’ Aelindor said, shaking his head, ‘to leave Domeniel here without a tussle, I suspect they are being optimistic.  We might have to wait a while until the battle is fought.’

Alagsir shook the water from his cloak as he joined them under the shelter. 

‘Have the elflings had enough of you?’  Falas asked easily.

He laughed.  ‘They are all being kept tucked safely out of sight this morning,’ he said. ‘It is the kind of day when even elves prefer to remain indoors.  Especially,’ he grinned, ‘considering the battle that is going on out there.’

‘Domeniel?’ Vondil asked.

‘Oddly enough, no,’ Alagsir spread his cloak to dry.  ‘Orntar does not wish to have any of your brother’s family remain here while he visits our camp. He is expressing himself most forcefully on the subject.   He seems to feel that they will be disruptive to the harmony between the village and the forest.’

Aelindor snorted with laughter at his sudden understanding.  ‘It is not Domeniel who worries him,’ he chuckled.  ‘Orntar is much more concerned about Thonion and Cirith.  Domeniel told me that they chased after every unwed elleth within miles. I suppose Orntar does not want them sniffing around his daughters.  If Domeniel and Brethiliel stay here, then he will not be able to keep them out.’

‘We must tell Glorfindel,’ Falas laughed.  ‘The more ellyth we can bring here, the more welcome we will be.  I am sure he will be glad of the advice.’

***

‘Do you know her?’  Legolas joined his friends, a tension about him that they could almost taste.

Elladan looked at him in silence, then opened and closed his mouth like a landed fish.

Legolas turned his intent stare to Elrohir, who looked sympathetic, but shook his head.  ‘It is not our place, Legolas,’ he said.  ‘We have no right to speak.’

‘She is my naneth, is she not?’ he whispered.  ‘I felt it in her.  I cannot remember her face well enough to be sure of that – but her voice, and the feel of her.  My naneth has been returned to us – but she does not care enough about us to want to be part of our lives.’  His eyes dropped to the silken wood of the floor.  ‘She has chosen to hide from us as far away as the Blessed Realm can take her.’  He felt the sting of tears and blinked them back.  ‘Lady Celebrian waited for your adar and her sons until even the faintest hope was all but gone, but my naneth decided to run from the very thought of us.’

‘That is not true, Legolas,’ Elrohir said sympathetically, glancing at his brother and indicating with a tiny jerk of his head.  ‘Naneth was gravely injured, but she did not have the trauma of the return from Mandos.  She waited for those who were part of her life.  For Lady Laerwen – you were part of another life.  She was returned to start again.  The effect of that is so different – such a shock – that some find it almost beyond endurance.  She was not waiting for someone she knew, my friend, but for someone from a different world, of whom she knew nothing.  She is crying out for you, Legolas. Be generous.’

Elladan kept his hand on Laerwen’s back as he encouraged her into the room, offering what physical reassurance he could.  ‘My son,’ she said, ‘my son.’    The tears pouring down her cheeks contrasted with the brilliance of her tremulous smile.  ‘Forgive me for leaving you to grow up without me.  I tried to stay,’ she said. ‘I would have given anything to be there for you, but I could not fight the power of my death.’

Legolas turned to look at her, glancing swiftly at Elladan before returning his gaze to his naneth’s face.  ‘Naneth,’ he said, rolling the word round his mouth as if it were strange on his tongue.  ‘You are my naneth.’

Far Horizons 24:  Coming Together

He had left it behind.  Minastan rifled through his pack again.  How could he have been so stupid?  It was not as if he had been forced to run – he had had plenty of time to organise himself.  Half the things he had brought had not really been that important: he had only packed them as a precaution.  But this – the one thing that could truly give the wretchedly nosy elves somewhere to start their search – had been overlooked.

He checked again in all the dark corners and poked through the pockets, but it was not there.  He had known that it would not be.  Once things started to go wrong for you, providence had a way of relishing your discomposure.  He closed his eyes.  Think.  Think now.  When had he last had it?  It had been on his finger when he last saw the elleth.  He was sure of that, because she had been hinting that it would make a good betrothal ring.  As if he would give anyone his adar’s ring – the only thing that he possessed that had belonged to that elf he had never known.

He had not worn it again – it was too distinctive, and he had not wanted to attract any notice. 

Of course, should they find it, distinctive could be his undoing.

He drew deliberate breaths to calm himself.  What should he do?  If they searched his rooms, they would find it.  If they found it, they would be looking for more than shadows.  But they might not have looked in the right place.  It was worth taking a risk and returning to seek the ring.  If it was not yet in their hands, he wanted it. It was part of who he was. 

He grabbed the debris that he had thrown from his bag and crumpled it back in place.  He would take the chance.

Fate owed him this.

***

Calion rolled his shoulders.  They ached.  There was no evading it – he was finding the drills hard.  Too many years of idling had softened his muscles and given him the idea that he was too important to spend his time maintaining the skills he had been taught as an elfling.  And now Thranduil’s captain seemed determined to rid him of both his arrogance and his idleness.  It was not that he was made to work harder than anyone else – he was just struggling along from several yards behind the starting line.

Hithien looked at him with amusement.  He was resolved not to complain – like an elfling undergoing punishment, determined to prove that he was adult enough to endure it.  She would not intervene unless she thought the pressure was unreasonable: it would not be fair on him, but there was no need for him to endure aching muscles when that could so easily be put right. 

‘Here,’ she said.  After checking that the elflings were playing happily in the box of sand that Thranduil had had brought up from the shore, she stepped behind him and began to massage his shoulders.  He gasped as she managed to find the most painful spots and worked to release the tension.  His head dropped forward and he drew a deep breath. 

‘Thank you,’ he said.

‘I have some liniment I will rub in later,’ she told him briskly. ‘You will smell rather fragrant, but it will help ease the discomfort.  And you are getting better,’ she said. ‘If you continue to improve, you will soon be ready for me to challenge you to a match.’

He looked up and smiled at her warmly.  Hithien returned his gaze, looking away only as Surion came and leaned on Calion’s knee.

‘I am bored,’ he confided.  ‘It is all very well for little elflings to play in the sand, but I am too big to find it fun.  Can you not take me somewhere else, Calion, so we can do the sorts of things ellyn enjoy?’

Hithien grinned.  ‘Like drinking too much wine and eying up passing ellyth?’ she murmured in Calion’s ear, too quietly for Surion to catch.

‘Shall we play ball over there on the lawn?’ Calion suggested. ‘Or I could help you make castles in the sand.  I always enjoyed doing that.’

Surion looked at him doubtfully.  ‘You would have to leave your sword with Hithien,’ he instructed him, ‘and take off your boots.  Naneth does not like it when we bring sand indoors.’

‘When I was younger,’ Calion told him, ‘and we stayed with my grandparents, my brother and I would spend days building great castles on the shore as the tide went out, and then we would wait for the sea to come back and wash them away.  I never tired of it.’

‘Could we do that?’ Surion asked hopefully.  ‘I think I would enjoy that.’

Calion frowned.  Something in the memory was eating at him.  The wide foreshore, wet sand gleaming as the water shivered in the ripples, the drier patches circling their footprints as they danced naked in the sunshine.  Behind them; the dunes, crowned with rough grass, the dry grains blowing in the constant breeze and, watching them, a tall figure, face shadowed, his black hair blowing.  His naneth had been uneasy, he remembered, the laughter that filled her when she was at her parents’ house had stilled and she had called them back to her side.  After that, their daeradar had sent guards with them, to sit, bored, at the head of the beach, watching the land rather than the water – and his naneth had stayed at home, sending instead their nursemaid with them to play in the sand. 

‘Please,’ Surion pulled at his sleeve.  Calion blinked and looked at him helplessly.

‘Soon,’ Hithien said, ‘soon, I hope.’

***

She wondered why her daughter had left the notebook at home.  Nessariel had always been one for sitting there in the evening, expressing her thoughts in the series of journals that had been among her begetting day gifts from the time she started to learn to read and write.

Ancalime had not even noticed at first that the shelf in her room had acquired these extra volumes.  There were, after all, so many.  But something, she did not know what, had made her go and look at this record of her precious child’s life.  She had slipped out odd volumes at random, reading snippets about new gowns and old friends, complaints about her tutors and paeans of praise for immature youths who had disappeared from her mind as quickly as they had arrived. 

As she worked her way along the shelf, the Nessariel she saw grew older and increased in seriousness.  No longer satisfied to remain at home, carrying out the duties of a daughter, she wanted to spread her wings and venture out into a world that seemed full of promise.  Tears stung Ancalime’s eyes and she nearly abandoned the remaining journals.  Her little one.  Her sweet trusting daughter, who had been manipulated and twisted before he betrayed her to her death.

Then Ancalime noticed them.  There were two.  Newer than the others and slightly different in style, they must be the last volumes that Nessa had written, although they were out of sequence.  Her naneth frowned.  One, maybe, she could understand.  Nessa might have brought one finished book when last she visited. But why would there be a second?  She took them from the shelf and settled in the rocking chair by the window to see what her daughter had felt it necessary to place here; hidden in the open with all her other diaries.

Before she was halfway through the first journal, she began to see why her daughter had not wanted to keep these documents with her.  He had been like a poison, this lover who had cost her her life; a slow insidious poison that had caused her to rot from the inside.

Nessariel – open, frivolous, light at heart – had begun to change.  At first no more than a little; small changes made in the hope of pleasing her adored – she had spent less time with her friends, she had cultivated others whom he wished her to know, she had listened more and spoken less.  None of them bad in themselves – but the signs of things to come.   He had demanded that she keep him secret – presented it as romantic, as a sign of her devotion: she had, of course, complied.

Ancalime closed the first of the diaries and wiped the tears from her cheeks.  When had her daughter started to fear him?  Under the shadow, the addiction of her love, her voice was no longer happy. 

Only the first few pages of the last journal had been completed.  He had discovered a painting she had made of him and put in a locket.  He had struck her and ripped the jewel from her neck – and threatened retribution if he found any evidence that she had kept what he had told her to destroy.  She could no longer risk writing her thoughts, she said.  Only silence would be safe.  Only here, she wrote, would she risk leaving all she had of him.  From between the leaves of the slim journal, Ancalime removed a few sheets of paper.

She looked at them for several minutes before forcing her shaking hands to open her daughter’s treasures: a thin lock of his hair, braided and twisted into a circle; a small painting done in delicate watercolours of an intense dark-haired elf with stormy grey eyes; a sketch of a hand wearing a noticeable ring and a brief unromantic letter.

Ancalime lifted her eyes to the window, where the sun shone brightly on the verdant meadow and elves sang with joy as they worked in the pure air of this Blessed Realm, and she wept at the pointlessness of it all.

***

It was such a small thing.

It sat on the table before them, reminding Elrond with a chill of another unwelcome gold circlet that had lain before his eyes.  This, at least, did not throb with the power of evil, but still it compelled their attention.

‘It was found tucked away in a place of concealment deliberately cut out to hide it,’ he said.  ‘Neither the hiding place nor the ring had been there long – it must belong to our quarry.’

It was a solid ring; a symbol of power.  Created from two shades of gold, the faceted emerald catching the light, it was a piece designed to be the only one of its kind.

‘I know it,’ Thranduil said slowly.  ‘I have seen it before.’  He stretched his hand out to touch it.  ‘I carried with me for some time, until I was able to give it to his widow.  Terendul wanted it returned for his son.’  His eyes were dark as he recalled that bitter time.  ‘When finally we returned to the forest, grieving for our losses, she had borne the child and he was growing in the image of his adar.  She called him Gurthion.’

‘A cruel burden to inflict on a child,’ Celeborn said softly.  ‘His adar’s death was not his fault.’

‘His naneth resented him.  Terendul had made her promise that, should he die, she would survive him for the sake of their son.  She could not forgive the elfling for that.’ Thranduil brooded over his memories. 

Celeborn placed a hand on his shoulder and gripped reassuringly.  ‘You could do nothing to change it, Thranduil,’ he said.  ‘Comfort yourself with the knowledge that you dealt differently with your own loss.  You gave more of yourself to Legolas because he lost his naneth – and you raised a son of whom you can be proud.’

Thranduil brought up his hand to cover his cousin’s and cleared his throat.  ‘She sailed,’ he continued.  ‘Her parents saw that she would not heal, so they took her and the ellon and came to these lands.  I have never thought to wonder what became of Terendul’s son.’

Elrond pushed the ring with his long forefinger.  ‘I think we know now,’ he said soberly.

‘And we have our trap,’ Celeborn said with decision.  ‘This is something that will draw him back as sure as honey attracts a wasp.  He will not have meant this to fall into our hands – it is too much a part of his identity.  If he has treasured this throughout more than an age of Arda, he will come back for it.  All we need to do is wait and watch.’

***

Sirithiel sat cradled in the branches of her favourite beech and allowed her head to droop.  She was glad to know that he was safe, she told herself firmly.  She was, but she had not realised how much she would ache for him.  The big bed seemed empty without his strong body warm against hers, too silent without his soft breathing, lonely and unwelcoming.  Neither did her home feel hers any more.  She was living in his adar’s house, and, for all the care they offered her, she felt an outsider.

It was not just her.  Even Miriwen, who had Elrin to keep her busy, was less than happy in Elladan’s absence. And less observant than usual, too, for otherwise she would have noticed that all Sirithiel wanted to do was curl up and sleep, as the developing elflings drained her and she hungered for the strength and support that only Elrohir could offer her. 

She leaned her head back against the solid strength of the tree and hummed a plaintive song of loneliness.

‘We need to bring Elrohir back,’ Celebrian murmured firmly to her naneth.  ‘He might be at some risk – but Sirithiel’s need outweighs it.  She requires his presence during this time.  Twins put a huge demand on their naneth as they grow within her.  Elerrina found it hard enough, even with Legolas beside her.  Elrond felt that, at this stage of pregnancy, Sirithiel would be able to cope, but I am not convinced.  I will need you to add your authority to my words.’

‘Bully him, you mean?’ Galadriel asked.

‘If necessary.’ Celebrian said flatly.  ‘This is too important for politics to spoil.  Contented elflings are born of happy parents – Sirithiel needs Elrohir now.’

‘It is not an invariable rule,’ Galadriel commented, ‘but I concede that it helps.’  She looked at the pale elleth moping in the tree.  ‘Shall we join her?’ she suggested.  ‘We can provide her with a measure of support at this time.’

It was indicative of Sirithiel’s current state, Celebrian thought sympathetically, that her son’s wife did not even notice their arrival.  It was not until Galadriel rested her slender hand on Sirithiel’s bare arm, that the elleth’s eyes focused and she registered their arrival.

‘I am sorry,’ she said shyly. ‘I am so sleepy at the moment that I do not seem able to keep my attention on anything.’

‘I felt like that when I was carrying Celebrian,’ Galadriel told her.  ‘I believe that my lord would have been more than happy for me to bear him many elflings, for he says it was the only time in all our long years that I was restful and compliant.  He always says that his missed his opportunity to extract various pledges from me.’

Sirithiel giggled at the idea of a serenely co-operative Lady Galadriel.

‘Oh, you may laugh,’ her husband’s daernaneth smiled. ‘Yet, even so, I found it an experience like no other.’  She perched next to Sirithiel and slipped her arm around her waist.  ‘You must let us support you, my dear one,’ she said.  She pushed back the fair hair and looked into the soft grey eyes.  ‘For the ellyth, if not for you.’ 

Slowly Sirithiel nodded.  ‘Thank you,’ she agreed. ‘I think that I need help.’

‘You have it,’ Celebrian promised.

Galadriel said nothing, but took Sirithiel’s fair head on her shoulder and began to hum, a gently soothing melody that imparted comfort and strength as it twined with the song of the tree that held them.  Celebrian joined in with a higher harmony, taking and massaging her daughter-in-law’s hands.

Sirithiel smiled as a pale flush of rose coloured her cheeks and her eyes brightened. ‘Oh,’ she gasped as a faint fluttering stirred within her.  ‘Oh, I think -,’ she paused in sudden uncertainty.  ‘I think -.’

‘You did,’ Lady Galadriel told her softly.  ‘You felt them move.’

***

‘I remember them,’ Celebrian said.

Elrond sat beside her in the window.  ‘They were at Imladris for a very short time,’ he said.  ‘I had no recollection of them at all when Thranduil spoke, but later the description of the family nagged at me.’

‘I knew his eyes,’ his wife sighed.  ‘He had eyes like storm clouds, full of rage and misery.’ 

‘Her parents brought her to me,’ he told her.  ‘She was – not mad, as Men go mad, but – neither was she entirely sane.’

‘I believe I was visiting Imladris when they came there on their way to the Havens,’ Celebrian continued.  ‘He was quite young, but he was already unhappy.  His naneth’s parents were so worried about her that they paid him little attention and she, of course, was so bound up in her despair at Terendul’s death, that she barely knew of his existence.’

‘It would have been better for him if one of his parents had had a sister who could have taken him into her home and heart,’ Elrond commented sadly.  ‘I suggested to his grandparents that they should seek foster parents for him, but they were insistent that his naneth needed him.  They could not see that what he needed was something entirely different.  I was hopeful that, once they reached the Blessed Realm, someone would be able to intervene to see that he obtained the love he required and that she would make an eventual recovery to bring him comfort.’

‘Gurthion,’ remarked his wife sympathetically.  ‘Death’s son.  I am not surprised he wished to be known by another name.’

‘I wonder why he waited until now to start his campaign against the world,’ Elrond mused, slipping his arms around his wife and kissing the tip of her ear as she rested her head against him.

‘Thranduil,’ she suggested. ‘I daresay his naneth harped continually on his safe return from war, blaming him for living when her husband had died.  Perhaps Thranduil’s arrival was the last straw for the poor elf.’

Elrond sighed.  ‘And yet,’ he said, ‘however much we may pity him, his actions put him outside society.  We may forgive him, but we cannot condone what he has done.’

Celebrian took his hand.  ‘A tragedy born of war and loss,’ she mourned. ‘Surely something can be done to help him.’

‘I do not know.’  Elrond sounded weary. ‘And I doubt whether he would let us, even if we could.’

***

The room overlooking the market was quiet.  Minastan stood in the shadows, watching patiently.

He would gain nothing if he walked into a trap.  It was one thing to wait while your victim approached your own carefully-set-out nets and to relish the closing of every escape route.  He knew enough about that to want to avoid a similar destiny.

There was no-one inside the room that had been his haven over these long months, but that he knew that did not necessarily mean that he would be unobserved.  The market was an ideal place for people to keep guard – where else could someone spend a whole day wandering over such a small area, or sit patiently keeping a small stall?  If he kept out of sight here, he would soon see who it was that was remaining when they would normally have gone on their way and, once they were known, it would be easy enough to avoid the watchers.

The pattern on the pavements altered as the light shifted, but he remained immobile out of view, waiting for his opportunity to act.  He was accustomed to waiting.

The sky clouded over and a fine drizzle began to fall, making the broad stone square glisten as the cobbles reflected the light.  Minastan smiled as the elves drew up their hoods.  Those who could finished their marketing and headed for home, leaving the sellers to fix up extra side awnings to protect their goods, or to huddle under their canvas canopies.  Good. He now had even less chance of being observed. 

From the other side of the market, hidden in the mouth of a narrow alleyway, the pale elf whose recognition of him had alerted Minastan to his danger shrank back out of sight.  He was not yet close enough to risk being seen by his target.  Once he was near enough that the amoral elf could not hope to avoid him, he did not care who watched as he taught his daughter’s killer a lesson fully intended to be his last. 

Shadows among the roof tops surveyed them both.  ‘Which is the one we seek?’ breathed one to another.

‘I cannot be entirely sure,’ he murmured.  ‘They both fit the description.  It should not matter – we will watch both equally closely.  We will wait until our quarry enters the room before we make any move.  There is less chance that he might escape.  Ensure that all know what to do – but do not let either of them see you.’

The younger elf grinned.  ‘Be sure of it,’ he whispered and slipped away.

Far Horizons 25: Settling

Minalcar could not believe that he was pleased to be sent to work opening up and planting the gardens, but anything, he felt, was an improvement on catching and gutting fish.  He trailed off behind Ambantor and Loareg relatively willingly once Glorfindel had finished giving out assignments, even, the keen-eyed elf noticed, managing to summon a smile.

‘Should our hunting party not return today?’ Rindor asked.  ‘They have been gone rather longer than expected.’

‘You worry too much,’ Haldir told him airily.  ‘It is no wonder you look so tired.  Perhaps I should arrange for one of Thornen’s rest cures for you.’

‘I imagine that both our parties of strays should be returned to us today,’ Glorfindel intervened.  ‘At least, that is the word from Tineithil – who also tells me that we should expect visitors from among the Forest Elves.’

‘The Lady?’ Rindor raised his eyebrows.

‘He would not say – but I suspect that she may not arrive this time.  However,’ he added, looking at Haldir speculatively, ‘if we are having visitors, we will need to provide something for them to eat.  Now,’ he confided, ‘correct me if I am wrong, but I am under the impression that everyone here is fully occupied – too much to do and too few to do it – but we have plenty of staple foodstuffs, and with our hunters returning with venison, we should be all right.’

‘But,’ Rindor nodded, ‘you are right.  We need someone to prepare the vegetables and make the fish stew.  Let me see,’ he pondered, ‘who do we have who is unable to take part in more active work?’  He allowed his eyes to follow Glorfindel’s and they both looked wolfishly at the blond march warden.

‘I do not do catering,’ Haldir stated bluntly. ‘My knives are not for cutting up carrots.  You will have to find another victim for your malice.’

Glorfindel put his hand to his chest in mock pain.  ‘You wound me,’ he said. ‘Is it malicious to ask you to pull your weight in our struggling group of venturers?’

‘If you want kitchen maids, then call the brats back – I’m sure the exercise in humility will do them good.  I have been flat on my back waiting for my leg to heal, having every personal necessity tended like an elfling – that is humiliation enough.’

‘What do you eat then?’ Rindor queried.  ‘When there is no-one else around to prepare your food?’

‘Lembas,’ Haldir replied shortly. ‘Easily portable, long-lasting, sustaining.  Or my speciality – rabbit on a stick.  Once you have seen me cook that, you have reached the end of my talents.’

‘It is no wonder you volunteer for every group activity,’ Glorfindel said, shaking his head.  ‘You would starve if left to yourself.  Perhaps we should look to finding you a suitable bride – one who expects very little in the way of courting, but knows how to cook.’

‘I thank you for your concern, but no,’ Haldir frowned.  ‘Should I ever be foolhardy enough to want to encumber myself with a wife, I will select my own.’

‘And may I be there to see it,’ Rindor told him pleasantly.  ‘Come, my lord.  There is too much to do to indulge in further pleasantries.  You have letters to write.’

Glorfindel sighed.  ‘I am sure there is something more useful that I could do,’ he complained.  ‘You really do not need to keep me there to sharpen your pens, Rindor.’

‘There is always the cooking,’ Rindor suggested. 

‘On second thoughts, my friend,’ the elf lord laughed, letting the sentence trail away as he headed with resignation to his makeshift office.

***

Vondil paddled the small boat along the last stretch of river.  Boats, he reflected, would definitely have their place here, but this river was too powerful to take for granted.  It was a disappointment to him, in one way, that the waterfall dropping down to the plain was too sheer make an effective route – it would be so much easier to transport goods along waterways – but in other ways he was quite pleased that the beauty of the water would not be compromised by the shoddy practicality of barges.  And, after all, once they had made the journey and set up their homes, trading caravans would only be needed on occasion for luxuries of which they would have little need.

He looked across to Alagsir.  Their boats had acquired a number of small gifts from those to whom they had been introduced on the way back, but the greatest gift they had received had been the friendship and welcome of the forest’s people.  Alagsir had proved an excellent ambassador for them – his warmth and ability to talk to all sorts had been as useful as Falas’s sense of humour and genuine interest in the processes of living here.  He was slightly less pleased with Aelindor.  Despite his request that the forester refrain from spending so many hours with Dumir’s daughter, Aelindor and Domeniel had continued to spend time together – although he supposed, to be fair, that Aelindor had done his best to ensure that such conversations were held in public.

Vondil had attempted, in his joint role as her uncle and the leader of this side expedition, to put his point of view to Domeniel, but he had been unsurprised when she had told him that what she chose to do was no business of his.  He sighed.  He felt that, if anything, her brothers’ attitude and his own attempt to prevent the development of the relationship had only increased her determination to spend as much time as she could in Aelindor’s company.  He was rather glad, in many ways, that he was here on the water, where nobody could expect him to intervene.  At least her naneth did not seem to be worried about them.  When Vondil had spoken to her, she had only laughed and told him that he would be better off trying to hold back the river – and likely to have more success.

‘We are nearly there now,’ Alagsir called cheerfully.  ‘It will be good to see what progress has been made while we have been off exploring.’

Vondil grinned.  ‘I am looking forward to it,’ he admitted.  It would be good to hand the authority back to Lord Glorfindel.  He enjoyed leading patrols and taking charge for short periods, but, on the whole, he was glad he did not have the level of responsibility that faced the elf lord each day.  ‘I hope they have prepared a big party to welcome us.’

***

‘Come on,’ Loareg said impatiently.  ‘If we do not get enough planted and watered in, then Ruindel will not let us go off into the forest for a break.  My naneth sent some honey cakes for us and my adar let me have a skin of cider.  If you stop us getting a chance to enjoy them, I will not bother another day.’

‘I had no idea that fiddling with plants was such hard work,’ Minalcar complained, putting a hand to his back. ‘At least when you are fishing, you get to sit down.’

Ambantor grinned at him and rubbed a grubby hand across his sweaty forehead.  ‘I would rather do this than be forced to gut fish,’ he commented. ‘I prefer to work with growing things.’  He followed Minalcar, dribbling water on the seedlings as they were firmed in.

‘I am forced to agree – but that does not mean that I am prepared to accept that we should be doing either,’ Minalcar told him.  ‘And why do I have to do the planting while all you are doing is carrying that bucket?  I think I should do that for a change.’

‘And I think you all talk too much,’ Ruindel remarked, arriving to look at their work. ‘Not bad,’ he commented.  ‘At least Loareg appears to know what he is doing.  You can have a rest when you have finished with those plants.’  He grinned at them wickedly.  ‘I have a different task for you this afternoon.  One I can guarantee you will enjoy.’

Ambantor eyed him warily.  ‘And what might that be?’ he asked, taking care to remain polite.  He had not enjoyed Ruindel’s earlier reaction to some thoughtless rudeness and preferred not to provoke another stinging rebuke.

‘We have a fair number of horses with us,’ Ruindel smiled, ‘and they have all been doing their best to produce fertiliser for the forest.  You are going to collect it and heap it so that it can be combined with leaf litter to rot down and feed the gardens.’

Minalcar straightened up.  ‘You want us to collect horse droppings?’ he said with disbelief.  ‘I will not do it!’

Ruindel’s eyes narrowed and the smile faded.

‘We will talk him round, my lord,’ Loareg said hastily. ‘Just let him get used to the idea.’

‘I am no lord,’ Ruindel turned his steely stare on the Forest Elf.  ‘And do not think to get round me by using honeyed words.  I will examine his hands before I will agree that the task has been completed properly.  You would all do well to remember that.’

Loareg wished once again that he had been rather less enthusiastic about leaving his home to take part in the surveillance of the new arrivals.  ‘Yes, Ruindel,’ he sighed. ‘I will do my best.’

Ruindel raised his eyebrows.  ‘It is not you, Loareg, who needs to impress.  You are your adar’s responsibility and any assistance you are providing is a bonus.  There are others here who will find that it is hard work and a pleasant attitude that will earn them acceptance.’

Ambantor flushed as Ruindel walked away.  ‘I did not mean to insult him,’ he said resentfully.  ‘He does not need to keep on about it.’

‘I am not,’ Minalcar said firmly, keeping to the key point, ‘collecting horse droppings.’

‘Now there,’ Loareg told him with a grin, ‘I think you will find you are wrong.  Ruindel is not the kind of elf to change his mind – unless you want to find yourself facing Lord Glorfindel, I think you had better resign yourself to the task.’

‘There are people who choose,’ Minalcar asked incredulously, ‘to live like this?  Once I get home, I do not believe I will ever leave the city streets again.’

Loareg narrowed his eyes.  It was quite entertaining getting to know these strangely useless elves, but, if they were not careful, they would find that returning from their unwelcome occupation in the woods would be rather less straightforward than they thought.  He grinned quietly to himself.  Perhaps they might find there were strange creatures in the woods that they had not expected.  He was sure it could be arranged.

***

Legolas watched her as intently as she gazed at him.

Elladan’s lips twitched.  Each time one of them looked away, the other turned to stare. Then, when the glance of the other was drawn back, they would both flush and inspect the food on the table or the view from the window or the grain of the wood, only to turn back moments later.

‘I had not realised,’ he observed, ‘how much Legolas had grown to resemble you, Lady Laerwen.’

Elrohir’s attention was brought back from his thoughts and he regarded the two.  ‘You are right,’ he agreed.  ‘I had never thought of it before.  Their hair is very similar and their profile is the same.  I have always said that Legolas could be mistaken for an elleth.’

Legolas raised his eyebrows disdainfully.  ‘I will have you know that my looks have been extensively praised,’ he told them.

‘But by whom?’ Elladan asked him earnestly.  ‘It is not a good thing to have soldiers writing poetry about your beauty, Legolas.’

Laerwen laughed.   ‘I was wrong – you have not grown up at all,’ she said.  ‘Your jokes are just as ridiculous as they were when you were elflings.’

‘Not you, too,’ Elrohir groaned.  ‘Glorfindel considers us to be perpetual elflings, who need an occasional slapping to make sure we do not get too big for our boots.  I will have you know that we are respectable husbands and adars now.’

Her eyes brightened.  ‘Tell me about your families,’ she said.

‘Another time, Lady,’ Elladan suggested.  ‘I think we two and Camentur should return to our hunt, leaving you to spend some time with your son.’

Laerwen drew a deep breath.  ‘I will send Amondil and his patrol to ensure that your hunt is successful,’ she decided.  ‘You are right.  We need to talk.’

Legolas watched wistfully as they left, before turning resolutely to look at the strange Lady who had turned out to be his adar’s wife and his own naneth.

‘How is Thranduil?’ Laerwen asked him, studying her hands.

‘He is – more rested,’ Legolas replied after some consideration.  ‘He was worn down when he arrived.  And he was grieved, although he never said so, not to find you waiting for him.’

His naneth winced.  ‘I could not,’ she said, her voice pained, I could not leave the forest.  The trees sustained me as I tried to learn to be myself again.  Returning from Mandos is not as easy as it might sound, I am afraid.’

Legolas softened a little as he looked at her.  ‘I remember you singing to me before I went to sleep,’ he said irrelevantly.  ‘And I recall one day when you took me out into the forest to pick flowers for Adar’s begetting day.   We were caught in a sudden shower and danced in the rain.’

She put a hand to her throat.  ‘That was only a few days before -,’ she stopped.  ‘Who cared for you?’ she asked.  ‘When I was no longer there?’

‘Adar, mostly,’ Legolas said simply.  ‘He needed me as much as I needed him.  When he had to sit with me through the night, it held him fast.  He knew that, were he to fade, he would be deserting the realm and leaving me to die – and he could do neither.  I did not really realise until my own elflings arrived how much he gave of himself.’

‘And when he was busy with the business of kingship?’

Legolas smiled.  ‘I think I spent about a year sitting on his lap as he ruled,’ he said. ‘And then he weaned me off to spend time with my tutors and play with friends. Yet still he was there for me – it was rare for him not to put me to bed and tell me stories.’

His naneth smiled.  ‘He likes to make people think that he is a fierce and hard ruler,’ she said with warm recollection, ‘but he has a gentle heart.’

‘I might have debated that as I grew up,’ Legolas said wryly. ‘He was not tolerant of imperfections and he set his standards high – but I always knew his demands were made out of love.’  He tentatively reached out his hand to take hers.  ‘Why did you not greet us as we landed, Naneth?  I find that hard to accept.’

She raised her hand, pressing his to her cheek.  ‘I am sorry,’ she told him.  ‘When you arrived – I was new to this life and it was too much emotion.  I could not endure the presence of so many people near me – and I was afraid of rejection.’ 

He felt a tear spill from her eye and trickle along his finger.  ‘Why would I reject you?’ he asked softly.  ‘It was not your fault that we were divided, any more than it was mine or Adar’s.  We have all looked forward to this moment.  Adar, most of all.’

‘Will you send him to me?’ Laerwen requested.  ‘I cannot yet bring myself to leave the forest to seek him out, but I long for him to join me here.’

Legolas grinned.  ‘If only I could think of a way to send him without letting him know what to expect,’ he remarked regretfully.  ‘But I think it would be wiser to tell him.  He will come.’ He moved closer to her and put his arms round her gently. ‘He will come as soon as he learns what is awaiting him here. Be sure of it.’

***

Domeniel was increasingly nervous as they approached the area where the new arrivals were building their settlement.  ‘How many of you are there?’ she asked again.

‘Not many,’ Aelindor reassured her, ‘unless others have reached us while we have been away.  Fewer than lived in the village.’

‘And all male?’ she said disapprovingly.  ‘Did you feel no need to bring a mixed party?’

Aelindor inclined his head.  ‘We did not know what we might meet,’ he pointed out. ‘We elves of Arda – like your adar – are accustomed to having to protect our families from dangers more worrying than rain and wild animals.  We would not choose to bring our wives and elflings until we knew the forest to be safe.’

‘Do you not think,’ she told him haughtily, ‘that we are just as capable of looking after ourselves?’

He slid her an amused glance. ‘I am sure you are,’ he said placatingly. ‘But do not begrudge us the illusion that we are needed.’ 

She sniffed. ‘You do not mean that,’ she told him.  ‘You are all as bad as Orntar – thinking that ellyth should be dressed up in petticoats and confined to the villages to tend the gardens and the elflings.’

‘We differ,’ he smiled.  ‘Like your adar and Orntar – some think that is how life should be, but others do not.  Now we have safe, dry shelters – and the approval of your Lady – I daresay Lord Glorfindel will send for some families to begin their journey.’

‘Do you have anyone who will come?’ she asked shyly.

‘No,’ he said, ‘no.  Not, I think, in the way you mean.  My parents and my brother’s family will want to come here as soon as possible.  I expect that, for a time, I will live with them.  After that,’ he looked at her with soft grey eyes, ‘we will see.’

***

They returned with three deer over the backs of their rather unimpressed horses.  ‘We were told that more food might be required,’ Elladan explained.  ‘Apparently the Lady is encouraging the elves of her forest to make our acquaintance.’

Camentur took the reins of his mount.  ‘I will see to this,’ he remarked.  ‘I think you have things you need to discuss.’  He drew the horses away, calling insistently for assistance with the proceeds of the hunt.  Gwathor detached himself from his conversation with Haldir and strolled over to aid him.

‘What have you done with Legolas?’ Glorfindel asked curiously.  ‘I hope you have not lost him.  His adar would not take it well – and that pretty wife of his would have your ears.’

The twins exchanged glances.  ‘We encountered the Lady,’ Elrohir informed him.  ‘I think she was waiting for us.  She had us escorted to where she was expecting us – and -.’  He stopped and shot a quick look at the elf lord, before taking a quick breath. ‘It would appear that Lady Laerwen has returned from Mandos to set up home in the forest.’

Glorfindel nodded acceptingly.

‘Did you know?’  Elladan asked sharply.

‘No,’ Glorfindel told him easily, ‘but I thought it was a possibility.’  He looked at the twins with amusement.  ‘Do you mean that I was one step ahead of you?  The old fox still has an advantage.  Laerwen was – is – a Silvan elf – and a queen.  The forest responded to her just as it did to Thranduil – and to Legolas.  I am not as closely tuned as they are to the song of the trees, but even I can tell that there is considerable power at work here.  I am glad I was right.  It is time and more for our Greenleaf to come to know his naneth – and I look forward to seeing Thranduil degenerate into the lovesick elf he was when they first wed.’

‘I wonder what my sister will think,’ Camentur mused as he returned to lead Elrohir’s horse away.  ‘She has grown accustomed to married life in the absence of a naneth-in-law.  It might be rather disconcerting to acquire one at this stage.’

‘Valar, yes,’ Elladan said appreciatively.  ‘Can you imagine if Adar had only met Daernaneth after he arrived in Valinor?  She can be rather intimidating when she puts her mind to it.  It would have been enough to make him attempt to row back!’

‘And Naneth was not even born when Adar last saw Elwing!  I wonder what she was like,’ Elrohir pondered.  A slow smile spread across his face.  ‘How would it be if she and Earendil suddenly turned up one day?  Even Adar does not really know them, after all.  Any more than Legolas knows Laerwen.’

Glorfindel’s eyes looked into the distance and he sighed sadly before choosing to ignore the thoughts on Elrond’s family and replying.  ‘Legolas will be fine,’ he said.  ‘He will find that he remembers his naneth better than he thinks, now that he no longer needs to bury the pain.  And Laerwen,’ he told Camentur, ‘is a gentle soul.  She will love Elerrina and Elerrina will love her.  Do not worry about them.’

‘Lady Laerwen and Legolas will be joining us later,’ Elrohir informed him.  ‘Together with her captain Amondil and a few of his picked guards.’

‘Amondil,’ Glorfindel repeated.  ‘Amondil.  I think I know him.’

 ‘I expect you do,’ Camentur observed. ‘For he certainly knows you.  He had a most interesting expression on his face when we spoke of you leading this expedition.’

Glorfindel laughed as he clapped Camentur on the shoulder.  ‘Do you know,’ he said expansively, ‘this gets more and more entertaining as we go on.  I look forward to meeting him again.’

***

Ambantor looked round uneasily.  He was sure he had heard something, but he could not see anything except for trees.  The swiftly woven willow basket containing the horse droppings batted against his leg and tipped some of its contents on his boot.   He cursed under his breath.

In the shelter of a tree to his right, Loareg rustled the leaves and made a low hissing.

Looking up from trying to scoop it all back into the basket, Ambantor turned, but he was not quick enough to see Loareg move to a bushy hazel and slip to the ground.

The Forest Elf picked up his own basket and approached the other.  ‘Have you found enough yet to be spared any more of this duty?’ he said innocently. 

Ambantor looked at him.  ‘Have you heard anything odd?’ he asked.  ‘I think something is following us.’

Loareg persuaded his features to tense anxiously.  ‘Not really?’ he replied, turning round and looking at the trees.  ‘Are you sure it is not just Minalcar?  I have not seen him collecting many of the horses’ gifts for Ruindel.  Perhaps he is hiding.’

‘I do not think so,’ Ambantor bit his lip.  ‘If there is anything in the forest that could harm us, you would let us know, would you not, Loareg?  It is not as if we are even armed – except for my boot knife.’

‘There is nothing there,’ Loareg reassured him with enough intensity to convince Ambantor that he was attempting to mislead him.  ‘Truly, there is nothing that will harm you.’  He looked round again.  ‘Did you hear something?’ he hissed.  ‘Quick, run before it gets here!  I will distract it.’  He pushed the other elf towards the trees. ‘Run!’

Heading off in the direction in which he had been pushed, Ambantor thrust his way between the clutching brambles and ducked under low branches until he realised that he now had absolutely no idea where he was.  He spun round, breathing heavily enough to obscure the forest sounds.  What was he going to do now?  Suppose whatever had attracted Loareg’s attention pursued him?  He would have no idea how to escape it.

As his breathing slowed, he began to realise that the noises surrounding him were those of a woodland at peace.  There were no alarm calls from the birds; the busy scutterings of the small mammals were unconcerned; the trees hummed with a calm pleasure.

He appeared to be safe.

Now all he had to do was find his way back to the others.  He hesitated, dabbing at the bleeding scratches left by the thorny vines.  He could not just leave Loareg and try to find his way to safety – he had to  retrace his steps to find what had happened in the glade behind him.

It took him some time.  His woodcraft was better than Minalcar’s and he had not attempted to hide his trail, but his reluctant caution slowed him down, so that it took him three times as long to find the place he had last seen the young Forest Elf as it had to escape.

There was no-one there.  The only evidence that anyone had ever been there was a small amount of the horse dung he had failed to pick up.  He looked around, undecided whether to call out or attempt to find help. 

‘Loareg,’ he whispered urgently, and when nothing happened he called slightly louder, ‘Loareg!’ 

‘Where has my son gone now?’ A Forest Elf detached himself from the shadows of the trees.  ‘It is time for you to return to camp – and bathe,’ he added, looking at the scratched and dishevelled elf before him.  ‘Ruindel had gathered up your friend and I offered to find you two.’

‘I think he might be lost,’ Ambantor told him earnestly.  ‘There were noises in the woods and he told me to run – he said he would deal with whatever it was.’

The younger elf was surprised to see a grin on Tineithil’s face.  ‘What sort of noises?’

‘Rustling – and hissing.  It sounded as if something dangerous was heading this way.’

‘Loareg!’ Tineithil called. ‘Return to us now.’

His son appeared from between the branches of a sheltering tree, a broad grin on his face.  ‘I did not see anything, Ambantor,’ he said.  ‘There is really little that will harm you in this part of the forest.  I told you so.’

Ambantor flushed, then paled and to Loareg’s surprise began to laugh.  ‘Just you wait,’ he said.  ‘I am going to get you for that!’

‘You will have to wait until I have finished with him first,’ Tineithil observed.

The two younger elves exchanged glances that seemed to agree that adars the world over were much the same.

‘Come,’ Tineithil commanded.  ‘We will return by way of Ruindel’s dung-heap so that you may dispose of your last basketful – and then the pair of you will immerse yourselves in plenty of cold water.   There will be a celebration tonight – and unless you are a good deal cleaner, you will not be permitted to attend.’

***

The smell of roast venison filled the large clearing, cut with overtones of fish stew. Vondil smiled as he led his group, together with his brother and his family into the sunlit area.  It would seem that they were expected and that those who would later slip from the wood to join them would also be welcomed.

‘My lord,’ he said, as Glorfindel approached them.

‘It is good to see you,’ the expedition’s leader smiled.  ‘But surely you have returned with more that you took with you.’  He turned to Dumir and Brethiliel, inclining his head politely.  ‘We are happy to greet you,’ he said.

‘My brother, Dumir, returned from Mandos,’ Vondil told him briefly.  ‘His wife, Brethiliel and his children, Thonion, Cirith and Domeniel.’ 

His niece scowled as Vondil drew attention to her and pulled behind Aelindor.

‘I believe you are the first to visit us,’ Glorfindel remarked pleasantly, ‘but I am told there will be others visiting our camp this night.  Join us.’

As the afternoon darkened to evening, other groups of elves came out of the trees, some approaching boldly, others skulking close to the forest, so that they would be able to withdraw easily.  Glorfindel split his group up, sending each to make the acquaintance of as many elves as possible.

‘They are expecting the Lady,’ Elrohir said in Glorfindel’s ear. ‘Whatever you might think.  She has sent word that she will be here.  Do you have any more formal robes with you?  I hate to say this – I am beginning to sound like Adar – but this is probably the right moment for a bit of display.’

‘Funnily enough,’ Glorfindel confided, ‘I did not see much opportunity for wearing my court robes on this mission – I am sorry to say that I left them behind.  Do you think Laerwen will be able to bring herself to speak to me?’

‘I am not sure,’ Elladan told him, shaking his head.  ‘You are looking a bit the worse for wear.’

‘Look behind you,’ Tineithil said quietly, appearing from the shadows.

In the light of the rising moon, two fair-haired figures stepped into the glade, gleaming in the soft light.  Tall they were and clad in shimmering white.  The music of the night sang them forward, drifting over the soft grass to stand in the centre of a circle of argent moonbeams.  Legolas held his arm out formally as his naneth rested her hand lightly on his pale sleeve.  Their heads were crowned in circlets of leaves twisted together with white flowers and they stood like figures from a dream.

‘Valar, he looks like his adar,’ Elladan breathed.

Glorfindel stepped forward, the light catching his golden hair and he dropped gracefully to one knee before the Lady, bowing his head in formal courtesy.

‘You are most welcome here,’ Laerwen said in a clear silvery voice intended to carry across the clearing.  ‘I am glad to see you for yourself, Glorfindel of Imladris, hero of Gondolin, Balrog-Slayer, right hand of Elrond Earendilion, but you are even more welcome for the happiness you have brought me in the person of my son, Legolas Thranduilion, Prince of Lasgalen.’

Far Horizons 26:  Sprung 

‘We have read Rindor’s report of your interrogation, Neldin,’ Thranduil said coldly.  ‘You have not attempted to deny your part in trying to sabotage the expedition.  You caused deliberate harm to Haldir, you damaged food supplies and lost vital equipment.  Your reasons sound – nonsensical – to me.’

Neldin scowled. ‘Typical arrogance,’ he muttered. ‘You just think you are better than the rest of us. You keep us Silvan elves in subjection and exploit us.’

Thranduil opened his eyes wide and stared intently at him.  ‘What are you talking about?’ he asked incredulously.  ‘Who has been putting stupid ideas in your head?  I have devoted my life to doing the best I can for my people – in what ways have I been exploiting anyone?’

‘Leave it for now, Thranduil,’ Celeborn said in a voice tinged with amusement. ‘What is more important to learn is who has been influencing this fool.  Describe him to us.’

Neldin refused to respond.

‘You said his name was Camentur Taryaturion,’ Celeborn prodded. 

A sullen growl was the only response. 

‘Is this he?’ Celeborn pushed Tarannon’s sketch across the table.

Neldin stiffened and flicked a quick glance at his inquisitors.  ‘I am saying nothing,’ he insisted uneasily.

‘You already have,’ Elrond remarked quietly.  He looked at the bound elf coolly.  ‘He has been using you,’ he added.  ‘He has no belief in the cant he has been pouring in your ears: no wish to set the world to rights: no desire to change the way we live.  His only desire is power.  He has not even told you the truth about his name.  Even there he was using you to make someone else suffer.’

‘If you have nothing to add,’ Thranduil told him, ‘you can be returned to your cell until we decide your fate.  I have nothing I want to say to you.’  He looked up at the guards and waved his hand.  They stepped forward and took Neldin’s elbows, leading him from the room.

Finarfin stepped forward from the place where he had been standing in shadow.  ‘I am not happy about this malefactor using politics to manage people’s minds,’ he said.  ‘Even here in Valinor there are those who are susceptible to manipulation – and politics can be complicated enough.’

‘He will not be doing it for very much longer,’ Thranduil told him grimly.  ‘We will cut off his plot just behind the head – I think we will find that once the head is separated from the body, this snake of corruption will die.’

Finarfin laughed unexpectedly.  ‘I am sorry, Thranduil, but you are so like my son.  You have his attitude to life.’

‘Which son would that be?’ Celeborn asked with feigned innocence.

‘Orodreth – did you know him?’ 

Thranduil scowled as Celeborn grinned at him. 

‘Galadriel caused several ages of annoyance with a similar remark,’ Celeborn informed him.  ‘I have never understood why – although I admit that I found Orodreth singularly irritating.’

‘I expect he relished it,’ Finarfin admitted. ‘He loved to provoke extreme reactions in those around him.’  He paused.   ‘What do you intend to do with this one?’

‘It is difficult to decide,’ Thranduil admitted.  ‘He is a talented and useful elf – just wrong-headed.  There is a lot to be said for the punishment you inflicted on Calion, but I do not want this fool anywhere near me!’

‘I will take him off your hands,’ Finarfin offered.  ‘Put him to work for a period and see how he responds.  We have developed ways of working with those who cannot live in a community.  Violent retribution may be forbidden here – but sometimes one must do something.’

‘I do not believe you will find him as satisfying a case as young Calion,’ Thranduil told him.  ‘Who is, in my opinion – and that of Lady Galadriel – innocent of any wrongdoing.’

Finarfin nodded. ‘I thought he might be,’ he remarked, ‘despite the evidence presented.  You have come to like him?’

Thranduil stared at him coldly.  ‘You have been using me?’ he enquired.

‘In a way,’ the High King sighed. ‘Your son gave me the opportunity to enable you to know Calion.’  He smiled.  ‘I have been High King since before you were an elfling, Thranduil.  I have come to know something of guilt and innocence, as well as the difference between guilt and culpability.  I have known those come before me radiating innocence, who were culpable and merited punishment, as well as those who felt guilt and were not to blame at all.  Calion felt to me to be indignant at having been accused of shooting Legolas – whilst being undoubtedly guilty of ill-wishing him.  It seemed a good idea to allow both sides to learn how wrong they were.’

‘Not, I think, a method we can use with the one who put these schemes together,’ Celeborn commented.

‘No,’ Finarfin said regretfully.  ‘Here, I am afraid, we will have to resort to penalties I am very reluctant to impose.  We will see.’

***

Ancalime waited patiently.  There was no need for haste.  Her daughter had no need of her now and she had scarcely seen Macar since the funeral.  It was probably as well.  Some emotions cried out to be shared, but she did not feel that rage and despair were among them.  In time they would speak of her and gain consolation from each other, but at the moment they were better off seeking their own understanding.

She looked round the elegantly decorated room.  Lady Galadriel’s embroidery frame stood by the long window, next to one of a set of chairs with tapestry seats.  A polished table held a vase of dried leaves and seed heads.  The colours gleamed in the barred sunlight and the room smelled of the soft fragrances of beeswax and lavender.  Everything was beautifully made and arranged with care, but Ancalime was surprised at the simplicity of the room.  It would seem, she reflected, that Lady Galadriel was not, perhaps, as self-important as she had thought.

‘I am sorry that you have had to wait so long.’  The voice was soft, but assured.  ‘I am told you wished to see my daughter.  Celebrian will not be returning until later, so I hope I will do.’

‘It is not important, my lady,’ Ancalime said with a remote indifference.  ‘My daughter left diaries and other items with me of which I am sure her killer did not know.  I have thought about it – it does not matter to me what happens to him, nothing will bring her back to us, but I know my husband would rather you were able to lay your hands on him.  I have brought them to you.’  She indicated the two slim volumes on her lap, resting her fingers gently on them, stroking the covers delicately.  ‘She put them with her other journals – hidden in the open among the possessions she left at home.’  She looked up and met Galadriel’s gaze.  ‘She feared him,’ she said abruptly, ‘but she could not help her love for him.  I think, perhaps, she wanted him found.’  She proffered the books.  ‘Take them, my lady.  But once you have discovered what she has to tell you, let me have them back.  The pictures and the hair you can burn – I want nothing of him in my house.’

Galadriel took her hands with the journals between them.  ‘You are not forgotten,’ she said sincerely.  ‘We know what it is to grieve for those who are lost.  Let us help you both, Ancalime.’

‘My daughter betrayed you, Lady Galadriel,’ she replied bluntly.  ‘Why should you care what becomes of us?’

Galadriel smiled wryly.  ‘If there is one thing that I have learned over many long centuries, it is that bitterness and revenge are not worth the suffering they cause.  Few truths are absolute, Ancalime.  Nessariel suffered just as surely as any other victim of these schemes – and I would not have her loss lead to another age of hatred among my kindred.  My daughter was – damaged to the point where I expected to learn of her death.  Only hundreds of years here in the Blessed Realm served to heal her.  My granddaughter chose love and death over immortality.  There are few elves who have sailed here from Middle Earth who are unaware of the pain of losing loved ones.’

Ancalime looked at her coolly.  ‘Does it diminish the pain, my lady, to share it with others?’

‘Only time serves to bring some acceptance,’ Galadriel admitted.  ‘The pain is always there – but it helps to know you are not alone.’

Silence drew out between them.    Ancalime broke eye contact and lowered her head.  ‘You may be right,’ she said.  ‘I do not know.  But find him, before Macar does, for I think that my husband would care little if he were to be killed in his attempt to make her betrayer pay for her death – and then I really would be alone.’

***

Earwen put the journal down and picked up the painting.  ‘Nessariel painted well,’ she said.  ‘This is much better than Tarannon’s sketch.’  She looked at the image carefully.  ‘I am sure that I know his face,’ she mused.  ‘I believe he came from the south – looking for a position at court.’  She looked helplessly at her daughter.  ‘There are so many of them – all of them convinced that once they are seen, they will become indispensable.  I only recall this one because he was so angry – he could not see why he could not step over those who have served at court for centuries.’

‘I cannot imagine that he would have been prepared to serve in a menial position for very long,’ Galadriel said thoughtfully.  ‘He would have looked for some way to climb to a position of power.’

‘That is so,’ Earwen agreed.  ‘I think he wanted to marry into an influential family – in fact, I believe that he may have sought to wed Minyariel – or, perhaps, her sister.  Her adar was furious – he said it was out of the question.’

‘Understandable, I think,’ her daughter remarked.  ‘Minastan’s was not a happy background.  I doubt he would have made a good husband.’

Earwen pulled a face.  ‘It would have been one thing if he had been rejected because he was not right for Minyariel – but her adar really meant that he preferred to marry her to that dreadful Artamir, who came from a wealthy and noble background.’  

‘Would you have permitted me to marry anybody I chose?’ Galadriel asked curiously.

Her mother laughed.  ‘I doubt we could have prevented you, my daughter.  But I cannot imagine that you would have chosen to wed a farmer or a cook – he would not have suited you at all.  A sea captain – perhaps.  But suitability is not really bound entirely in ancestry – Celeborn would have been a match for you even had he not been a Prince of Doriath, whereas Thranduil, charming as he is, would have been a disaster.  I would not have wanted you to bond with one like this.’  Earwen tapped the painting. ‘But not for the same reasons.’ 

‘I can see why his rejection might have made him attempt to incriminate Minyariel’s sons,’ Galadriel sighed.  ‘And his mother brought with her a hatred of Thranduil.  But why now?  What made him choose this moment to seek to harm them?’

‘Convenience, perhaps,’ her naneth considered.  ‘They are all in the same place at the same time.  And settling so many scores by playing them off against one another might have given him some gratification.’

‘We are close to him now,’ Galadriel said. ‘There is a satisfaction to that – but I cannot help but feel sad for him.’

Her naneth looked at her.  ‘You have learned compassion,’ she commented. ‘As an elleth you would not have felt that – everything was black and white; right or wrong.’

Galadriel smile wryly.  ‘Maturity seems to come in shades of grey, Naneth.’

Earwen laughed.  ‘Like your gown,’ she remarked.  ‘It is pleasant to see you in colours, my daughter, even if they have the subtlety of a hazy dawn.’

***

Thranduil poured himself a goblet of wine before sitting at his desk.  It had been a long meeting.  He leaned back and enjoyed the silence of the large room.  It was not as good as being outside among the trees, but it was better than listening to the endless discussions involved in coming to any decisions. 

He had to admit that he was glad that Finarfin had offered to take on the task of dealing with Neldin.  His own instincts were to come down on him swift and hard, but punishments appropriate in time of war seemed excessive in this peaceful land.

He took a sip of his wine and closed his eyes.  It would seem that he needed to give some attention to developing a system of justice to take with them to their new lands. What they had at the moment was a mishmash of conventions from a range of elven lands – and a reliance on the fact that elves generally needed little imposed discipline.  Which was all very well, he sighed, until you came upon a case like this.

‘May I come in?’ His daughter-in-law smiled at him from the doorway.

‘Certainly, my dear,’ he raised his goblet.  ‘Would you care for some wine?’

‘Stay where you are, Adar,’ Elerrina said. ‘I will pour some.’  She drifted elegantly across the wide floor, collecting a tall glass as she came to sit down opposite him.

‘What can I do for you, my daughter?’ Thranduil asked, looking at her with some amusement.  ‘I feel sure there must be some purpose to your visit.’

‘Am I that obvious?’ she smiled at him saucily and he grinned at her.  ‘I was wondering if you had any idea how long it would be until Legolas returned to us.  We miss him.’

‘We do indeed,’ Thranduil sighed. ‘I do not know – a week or two, probably.’  He watched as her face fell and stood.  ‘Come and sit with me.’ He put his arm round her as they settled in the window seat, dropping an affectionate kiss on her gleaming chestnut hair.   ‘This is the first time you have been parted since you were joined.  It is hard, I know.  I remember the first time I had to leave Legolas’s naneth at home – I was very short-tempered, and in the end, the captain of my guard, whom I had known since we were ellyn together, told me to get myself home before I had a mutiny on my hands.’

She giggled.  ‘He must have been very brave.’

‘He had rubbed my nose in the mud often enough not to be terribly impressed by the mithril circlet,’ Thranduil told her, resting his cheek on her head.  ‘Legolas is always with you, you know.  Distance and time only separate your bodies – he is here and here.’ He touched her chest and brow gently.  ‘Feel his song within you.’

She turned slightly and put her arms round his waist.  ‘Do you still feel Legolas’s naneth?’

‘More and more strongly,’ he admitted.  ‘For a time after she was killed, it was hard to find the echoes of her song – but since I arrived in these lands, it rings in my bones.  I long for out reunion.’

Elerrina hugged him.  ‘I hope it will be soon,’ she told him.  ‘You deserve it.’

He looked down.  ‘Ah,’ he said, ‘I do not know that deserts have much to do with it.  I live in hope.’ 

A tap at the door caused them to draw apart.  ‘Come in,’ Thranduil called.

‘Lord Celeborn is here, my lord.’

‘I have received the reports from the fletchers,’ Celeborn said, entering the room on the heels of the servant.

Elerrina rose and brought him a goblet of wine, as Thranduil took the papers from his hand and asked, ‘Do they have anything of interest to say?’

Celeborn shrugged.  ‘Every item of information coming in provides confirmation of what we know.  It is one of the most infuriating things about searching for answers – once you know them, everything agrees.’ 

‘And in what ways do they agree?’

‘The arrows were made at the same time, by the same elf, probably south of here, but not necessarily since feathers are not difficult to carry with you.  They were not bought from any of those who sell arrows to those who will not make their own.  And that means that Calion is even less likely to have been Legolas’s attacker, since he always uses blue-fletched arrows, which he likes to have adorned with a small carved acorn.’

‘He does not any longer,’ Thranduil remarked.  ‘And he can shoot a good deal straighter, too.’

Elerrina laughed.  ‘Hithien has him giving some basic training to Surion – and she has insisted that he does it properly.  It is so funny to watch her telling Calion what to do.  He is very amiable about it – even though Surion keeps telling him that he not very good compared to Legolas.’

‘He is coming with us,’ Thranduil told them both.  ‘Even if I have to petition Finarfin to allow him to come against his adar’s will.’

***

‘Hithien,’ Calion said tentatively.

She looked at him and frowned.  He was pale and there were shadow under his eyes. ‘What is it?’ she asked.  ‘You look as bad as you did when Lord Thranduil first brought you in here.’

‘I have remembered something – I am wondering if I should seek Lord Thranduil out.  Or maybe Lady Galadriel.  It was something Surion said the other day – it started me remembering some things that happened when I was very young.  I do not know if it means anything.’

‘Tell me.’  Hithien sat down and looked seriously at his face.  ‘Here,’ she said, extending her hand.  ‘I will let you know if I think you need to take it further.’

He linked his fingers with hers and allowed her to pull him down beside her.  ‘It was something I heard – and saw – at my grandparents’ house.  We used to spend our summers there in their house beside the sea.’

‘And?’ Hithien asked as Calion hesitated.

‘I think I remember Minastan,’ he said.  ‘I cannot be sure, because I was very young, but I seem to recall his eyes – watching us.  Daeradar would not let us roam freely – there were always guards.  It did not strike me as strange at the time, but now I come to think of it –,’ he paused, then continued.  ‘There was one time when I wandered off and ended up getting lost.  I went into a small house – there was an older couple – they were very wary and suspicious of me, even though I was quite small.  When their daughter came in, I could see why they did not want visitors, for she was very odd.  She screamed when she saw me and begged her adar to get me away from her – she said I was bad luck.  I wanted to run away, but her naneth said that she would walk me home – she told me quite seriously that it was not safe for me to be out.  They were looking for me – by the time we were halfway back to my grandparents’ house, we came across search parties.  Daeradar grabbed me from her – she told him he should keep a better watch.  He was very angry with me and I remember my naneth weeping with relief – even as she slapped me.  Nobody ever explained anything to me, but I think it was to do with him – the one who watched us.’

‘You need to tell Thranduil,’ Hithien said seriously.  ‘It might help them to find him – or at least give them somewhere to look.’

Calion hesitated.  ‘Do you think he is a danger to my naneth?’

‘I think he might be a danger to a lot of people,’ Hithien told him.  ‘You, not least of all.’  She frowned at him.  ‘Perhaps we need to set you up a guard of your own,’ she said.

He raised his eyebrows.  ‘Do I not have one, Hithien?’ he asked softly, lifting her hand and kissing her fingers gently.

Reluctantly, she detached her fingers from his.  ‘Stop it,’ she said firmly. 

‘If you insist,’ he smiled. ‘For the moment, anyway.’  He stood and sighed.  ‘I will go and tell my story to Lord Thranduil.  I just hope it does not make him think I am any bigger a fool than he does already.’ 

‘Your naneth slapped you?’ Hithien asked with apparent irrelevance.

‘She was relieved to have me back undamaged,’ he shrugged.

‘I can understand that,’ she nodded, meeting his eyes briefly. ‘Go. We will talk later.’

***

Minyariel’s face was flushed with fury.  ‘I will make you pay,’ she hissed.  ‘You condemned my son for something he did not do!  Do not expect me to let this lie – I will go to the High King!’

‘It was the High King who convicted him,’ Celeborn corrected her. ‘And I do not believe your son will support you in any attempt to stir up trouble.  It was he who gave us this information – but he understood it only as an elfling would see it.  You are able to explain what happened.’

‘I want my son back,’ Minyariel told him.  ‘His adar disowned him and said his name was not to be mentioned.  I want him back.’

Celeborn hesitated.  ‘I doubt that he will want to return to his adar’s house,’ he said gently.  ‘He is worried for you and for his brother, but he finds his adar’s disavowal of him hard to forgive.’

The colour drained from Minyariel’s cheeks.  ‘I can understand that,’ she murmured, her throat stiff with pain.

‘Why did you wed him, Minyariel?’ Celeborn asked.  ‘Did your family push you into a marriage with one whom they deemed suitable?’

She sighed, a deep shuddering sigh of surrender.  ‘No, not really.  They thought he would make a good husband – and he might have done, I suppose, to another wife.  I cannot regret the match, not entirely.  I would not have borne Tarannon and Calion had I not wed Artamir – and I would not want to live without them.’  She sat heavily on the chair by the window and the light revealed the shadows under her eyes and the hollows in her cheeks.  ‘I did not know that Calion was aware of the tensions at my parents’ house.  I would have thought he was too young to remember.’ 

She looked up and met Celeborn’s eyes unflinchingly.  ‘I married Artamir because I thought it would protect me from another who sought to wed me.  This other’s attentions had flattered me when he first showed interest in me – he was handsome and charming and he made me feel good about myself.’  She smiled.  ‘I was never the most beautiful elleth,’ she admitted, ‘but he made me feel as if the stars shone from my eyes.  My parents did not care for him – he was not wealthy or high-born – but that would not have mattered to me.  Only – I began to fear him.  He was – controlling.  It was as if I could not breathe without his permission.  I told him that I would not see him any more – I was a coward,’ she confessed, ‘and told him that my parents had forbidden me to continue seeing him.’  She stopped speaking for several minutes.  ‘He would not let me go.’

Minyariel stood and turned to look out into the courtyard garden.  ‘He followed me – his eyes were everywhere watching every move I made.  He made no threats – but his sheer existence was like a knife against my throat.’  She swallowed.  ‘My parents said that, once I was married, he would have to leave me alone.  And in the end, that was enough to make me agree.’  She shrugged.  ‘For a time, it appeared to be true.  But it did not last.  His presence was always there, even when we could find no evidence of him – and every now and then he would make sure that I saw him, watching my sons.  But nothing happened, and after a while I became less careful.  Is he the one, then, who is behind this?’

‘What can you tell me of his family?’

Minyariel closed her eyes, recognising his question as agreement.  ‘It is my fault, then.  All of this – the harm done to my sons.  Little Nessa’s death.  The attack of those elflings.  Even Artamir’s troubles with the High King.  All of it, my fault.  If I had not been afraid to tell him why I would not see him any more – then maybe none of this would have happened.’

‘You give yourself too much responsibility,’ Celeborn told her kindly.  ‘Nothing you could have done would have changed what has happened.  This one was damaged before he was even born – and what happened to him in his earliest years set him on his way.  If you had joined with him, you would have been miserable – and it would not have stopped him.  Tell me what you know of his family.’

She drew a deep breath.  ‘He lived with his grandparents in a small house not far from the shore.’  She shrugged.  ‘They lived a simple life, growing their own food, keeping a few animals.  His grandfather would take a boat out fishing.  He would help, when he had to, but he preferred to study – he was determined to be successful.  He always felt that his adar’s death had robbed him of his chance to be someone.  His naneth lived with them, but she was – quite strange.  She did not seem to recognise him as her son.  Sometimes he would appear with scratches on his face and arms as if she had attacked him, but he never said anything about it.  Some years ago, on a stormy night, she walked into the sea and let it take her.’

‘Does he still visit his grandparents?’

‘I do not know,’ she said.  ‘After their daughter’s death, they left their house.  They could no longer endure seeing the flow and ebb of the tides.’ 

***

Minastan slid through the shadows to approach the door.  There was no-one there with any interest in him.  He had watched long enough to be sure of it.  The sun had slipped behind the houses across the square and the stallholders were busy packing away their goods in the grey dusk and complaining to each other of poor trade caused by the wet weather.  Better to move now, he thought.  The quietness of the dark hours was tempting, but even a mouse stood out in the silence of the night. 

On the rooftops not one of the watchers stirred.  They had the patience to wait until he was in their trap.  There was no point letting a moment’s restlessness warn him of their presence.  They were all in place – they had been waiting since before he slipped into the square and they could outwait him.

Across the square, Macar raised his chin and let his wet hood slide down his head.  As soon as the scum was in the alleyway with his attention fixed on the door, he would be able to get close enough.  He flexed his stiff fingers and loosened his long knife.  It should not be hard to butcher somebody, not if you did not care whether you escaped or not.  He had bled enough pigs to know where to cut this one – and before he left him with his blood draining into the gutter, he would be sure to let him know why he had been chosen for this fate.

A sudden burst of laughter made Minastan turn his head to glance at a small group of the market sellers as one of them dropped a crate of fruit on to the wet cobbles.  Apples rolled drunkenly across the square and he froze briefly before continuing with his deliberate movements.  One of the sellers made an unheard comment that made the others laugh again, before they kicked the bruised fruit to one side and trundled their carts off towards their night shelters. 

The quiet of the square intensified, becoming almost tangible as the shadows lowered.  Minastan approached the door casually, fitting his key in the lock and pushing it open while being at the same time prepared to run if anything should strike him as odd.

Nothing stirred. He glanced quickly behind him and stepped forward to enter the building. 

A sudden faint pattering alerted him too late to the elf racing into the alley, but he turned swiftly enough to raise his arm and intercept the blow.  The sharp blade sliced through cloak and tunic to bite into the flesh of his arm.

‘You killed her,’ a voice hissed, ‘just as surely as I am going to kill you.  You murdered my daughter.’

The sharp metallic scent of fresh blood made his head spin as he looked into the angry face, but instinct made him clutch at the wrist of the hand bearing the wicked blade stained red.  ‘I do not know what you are talking about,’ he said faintly.

‘Liar!’ shouted Macar, attempting to wrench back control of the knife.

The watchers came out of the dark before either of the combatants realised they were there.

‘Thank the Valar,’ Minastan said piously as two of them pinned his assailant’s arms and disarmed him.  ‘I have no idea why he attacked me like that – as you can see, I am quite unarmed.  He could have killed me.  If you take him away, I will see about having my injury treated.’

‘I am afraid that it will not be that simple,’ the leader of his rescuers said politely.  ‘The High King requires your company – and he is not fond of waiting.  I am sure that you understand my position.’

Minastan’s eyes sought escape, but he could find none. He growled in helpless fury, before rolling up his eyes and falling heavily to the ground. 

‘That will not work either,’ the captain informed the apparently unconscious elf.  ‘Bind him securely – and then tie something round his arm.  The High King will be most displeased if we allow him to bleed to death at this point.’

Macar spat viciously at the body on the ground.  ‘It is too good for him.’

‘You may consider yourself lucky that we were here to stop you doing too much damage,’ the captain told him sympathetically. 

The look of bitter desolation Macar turned on him made him catch his breath.  ‘Why should I care what penalty the High King chooses to exact?’ he asked.  ‘The Blessed Realm would be a better place without this son of an orc polluting the air.’

‘It is not your decision to make,’ he answered.  ‘Wait and see what the King decides before you throw away your own life.’  He turned to his men.  ‘Keep firm hold of him,’ he said.  ‘We will need to take him with us.’ He prodded Minastan’s body.  ‘This one is not going to get away.  Linion,’ he instructed, ‘borrow a cart from someone in the market – we will truss him up in that until we get him locked safely away. Keep your weapons ready.  Now, please.’

Far Horizons 27:  Anticipation

‘Where did you get that outfit?’  Elrohir asked idly as he brought his breakfast of left-over venison and flatbread to sit beside his friend and brother.

‘Do not,’ Legolas said, pinning him with his clear blue eyes, ‘try to make anything of it, my friend.  And do not tell my adar – I have no desire to be dressed up like one of Eleniel’s dolls any more often than I am compelled to be.’

‘I,’ Elladan chimed in, ‘particularly liked the flowers in your crown.’

Camentur suppressed a chortle and Legolas winced.  ‘If Elerrina hears of that, I will know on whom to wreak my revenge,’ he announced.  ‘I am sure that Miriwen and Sirithiel would also enjoy seeing their husbands decorated with blossoms.’

‘They would look good with pink flowers, I think,’ Glorfindel added as he sat with them.  ‘Pink goes so prettily with dark hair.’  He looked at Legolas as he stretched his long legs out in front of him.  ‘The whole event was – interesting,’ he said.  ‘I was under the impression that we were hosting a gathering to greet elves of the forest, and instead it turned out that Laerwen was introducing the Crown Prince to his new subjects.’

‘She was not!’ Legolas sat up indignantly. ‘Oh,’ he said as some of the more flamboyant aspects of the evening surfaced in his mind. ‘Maybe – although I do not believe that was what was intended.  She was very nervous about it – she just thought it would be better to make me known straight away.’

Glorfindel smiled enigmatically.  ‘I probably did not help matters when I knelt to her,’ he admitted, ‘although I was only reacting to her as I would have done at Thranduil’s court.  However, it is hardly the action of an equal.  I might get away with it because I am, in fact, Elrond’s aide rather than Elrond’s son.  I would recommend,’ he said, turning to the twins, ‘that, if you are manoeuvred into the same position, you should bow and then kiss her cheek – ruler’s son to ruler.’

‘It was not a trap!’ Legolas snapped.  ‘I am sure that my naneth has no intention of demanding that she should be looked on as the – what is the female equivalent of a High King?  High Queen just does not sound right.’

‘We shall see,’ Glorfindel said.  ‘At least negotiations are opened between us.  I think we have reached the point when Rindor will really begin to come into his own.’  He looked at the four of them.  ‘However,’ he said, ‘and I do not believe you are going to like this, I think it would be best, at this point, if you were to return with all the new information we have.  I think we need Elrond and Celebrian, Celeborn and Galadriel – and most of all, Legolas, we need to bring your adar here.’

‘What of Adar’s wish that we should remain here for a month?’ Elladan asked.

‘I am making a judgment that depends on what is happening here,’ Glorfindel said seriously.  ‘You are fairly well qualified to deal with the type of threat you might face at home – you are less suited to the kind of debate I believe we are approaching here.’

‘Well,’ Elrohir smiled with satisfaction.  ‘As it happens, Glorfindel, I think I am prepared to oblige you in this.’

‘I do not believe that my brother has had the sense to tell you that his wife is in what could be termed ‘an interesting condition’ at the moment,’ Elladan said.  ‘Elrohir will be only too happy to return to her side, regardless of what dangers there might be.’

‘An elfling?’ Glorfindel smiled.  ‘Sirithiel will be happy.’

‘She will be doubly happy, then,’ Elrohir told him proudly, ‘because we are anticipating the arrival of twin ellyth.’

‘Then of course you must return.’  Glorfindel turned to Legolas.  ‘I am sorry to request this of you,’ he said gently.  ‘Your reunion has been so brief that it must seem a cruel thing to ask.’

Legolas shook his head.  ‘I have to go, my friend,’ he said, his eyes meeting Glorfindel’s earnestly.  ‘I cannot leave Adar in ignorance of this development for any longer than I must.  He has waited in hope for so long – and I have to be the one to bear this news.’

Glorfindel stretched out and grasped his shoulder with compassionate understanding. ‘You have the rest of time,’ he told him. ‘You are right; Thranduil needs to know.’

‘Which leaves us,’ Elladan said as he looked at Camentur.  ‘Shall we oblige Glorfindel, or shall we insist on remaining here?’

‘We can come back,’ Camentur told him obligingly.  ‘I suppose we should go and look after these two.  There is no knowing into what trouble they might hurl themselves in our absence.’

Glorfindel grinned.  ‘I see you begin to know them, Camentur,’ he said.

***

‘If they are going back I do not see why we should not be going with them,’ Minalcar hissed to Ambantor.

‘We have not been invited to join their party,’ Ambantor replied wearily.  ‘We cannot force ourselves on them.  Lord Glorfindel has told us that we are to remain here and learn what we have been sent to learn.’

‘There is nothing they can teach me that I want to know,’ Minalcar said viciously.  ‘Why would I want to know how to live like a squirrel, scratching up nuts and living in trees?  My adar wants me to take my place at court, as an advisor to the High King.’

Ambantor sighed.  ‘Candidly, Minalcar, I wish they would take you.  I would also be quite happy if they chose to drop you off the edge of one of those high paths over the pass.’  He stared intently at the elf who had always been part of his social circle and one of his closest friends.  ‘You do not currently have the qualifications to advise the High King and it seems to me that you never will – you know nothing and you do not want to learn anything.  I have had enough of you.’

Minalcar stared at his friend, his mouth half open.  Never had Ambantor expressed himself quite so emphatically.

‘Oh, stop it,’ Ambantor told him irritably. ‘The High King wanted some of us to take part in this expedition and your adar managed you get you a place.  Run off home if you want to shame him – see how he reacts to that.  Or, on the other hand, grow up a bit and make the best of it here. If you give it a chance, you might even discover that you like it.  I do – and I will like it even more once you have stopped provoking Glorfindel into giving us all the worst jobs.’

‘Perhaps,’ Tineithil said as he emerged from the trees behind them, ‘you are not as silly as you look – although if you let Loareg torment you, I cannot be sure.’

Ambantor grinned. ‘He is taking advantage of my ignorance,’ he admitted. ‘I look forward to doing the same to him if he comes to visit my home.’

‘I have offered to keep you busy today,’ the Forest Elf told them.  ‘After you have cleaned up behind the horses, I am taking you off into the trees.’

Minalcar closed his eyes and pressed his lips together.  He had always been the leader of his group and he found it quite hard to understand quite how it was that Ambantor had managed to make a better impression on these elves.  Half of his current bad temper, he acknowledged, was because nobody appeared to have any idea of the respect due to him as his adar’s son – but Ambantor was right, loath though he was to admit it.  ‘Come on, then,’ he said with resignation.  ‘That task is not going to go away, is it?  We had better get on with it.’

Tineithil looked over to the expedition’s leader and winked.  ‘I am sure Lord Glorfindel can think of plenty of other tasks to remind you of your place in the scheme of things,’ he said amiably. 

As the two young elves moved away, he shook his head.  ‘It will take more than six months to turn that one into a worthwhile companion,’ he commented.  ‘I doubt he will be able to keep his opinions to himself for more than a day.’

Glorfindel watched them consideringly.  ‘He will behave for two days,’ he judged. ‘My belt knife to yours.’

The two of them exchanged grins. ‘Done,’ Tineithil agreed.

‘Winner to choose his next penalty,’ Glorfindel added.

***

Domeniel had withdrawn to the trees, the scowl firmly fixed on her face.  It had taken Aelindor some time to track her down, and even then he had only found her because she had decided to let him.

‘Do they have to keep staring?’ she complained.  ‘Especially that one on crutches.  You would think he had never seen an elleth before.’

Aelindor stifled a laugh.  ‘Ah,’ he said, ‘Haldir – yes, he is not exactly known for his skill with ellyth.  I should ignore him if I were you.’

‘Right up to the point where I punch him,’ Domeniel agreed.  ‘He licked his lips, Aelindor – as if I were a particularly delicious delicacy being offered to him for his delight.’  She frowned at Aelindor as he could not contain his chuckle.  ‘Which he will learn painfully that I am not,’ she announced.

‘I look forward to the lesson,’ Aelindor informed her amiably.  ‘I like Haldir – but he does not understand subtlety.’  He paused.  ‘Will your family be remaining here long?’ he asked.  ‘I shall miss you when your adar decides to take you back to your home.’

‘We are remaining for a while,’ Domeniel said, shooting a quick glance at him.  ‘Naneth has persuaded Adar that what is happening here is important – and Tineithil has suggested that his connections with your group could be useful.  And,’ she smiled, ‘the Lady has said that she would be glad to have Naneth and me here.  She has invited us to stay with her.’

‘That is good,’ he replied tentatively.  ‘I am happy that we will be able to continue our friendship.’

She blushed.  ‘And when we do return home, you will come and visit us,’ she suggested.

‘I would be honoured,’ he said, giving her hand a brief squeeze.  ‘Now would you be willing to stop hiding here and to come and meet some of my friends?’

She sighed.  ‘If I must,’ she said with resignation.  ‘But I will not be happy if they stare.’

‘I will tell them to be sure not to do so,’ Aelindor said very seriously.  ‘They will not look at you at all.’

She giggled. ‘Now you are just being silly,’ she said.

***

‘Are you all right?’ Laerwen asked as she joined her son in the well-grown oak overlooking the river.  ‘You look pale.’

‘I feel,’ he hesitated. ‘There is an infusion the healers give you when they want to set a bone – it makes you limp and you wake up dizzy and confused.  I think – the forest is going to my head and I am not quite sure how I feel.’

‘I understand,’ she smiled.  ‘It had much the same effect on me at first.  I am sorry that you have to leave.  The forest is very excited to have you here.’

Legolas looked at his naneth’s gleaming cedar-blue eyes as she sat cradled by branches that seemed to have curved into a hammock beneath her, swaying gently in the soft breeze.  ‘I could not justify remaining,’ he told her.  ‘Not now.  Adar needs to know that you are here – and,’ his voice took on a questioning inflection, ‘that you are waiting for him.’

Her expression was answer enough.  She flushed and her face softened before the colour ebbed away and left her looking slightly anxious.  ‘Do you think he will be angry?’ she asked.

Her son laughed.  ‘Thranduil becomes enraged by many things,’ he admitted, ‘but I have never known him sound angry when he spoke of you – not even when he told of various activities that would have earned me his considerable displeasure.’

‘Oh well,’ his naneth’s eyes twinkled, ‘that is the difference between being a wife and a son.  I am permitted to torment him.’  She sat quietly, allowing the tree to rock her lightly.  ‘I have written to him,’ she said.  ‘To try to explain why I was unable to be at the quayside for him.  But – if he had not been there to greet me, I would have been angry with him.  I shall understand if he does not wish to see me.’

‘So you think he should punish himself by refusing to see you?’ Legolas asked lazily. ‘And that both of you should suffer because of it?  I do not think he will see the sense in that.’

Laerwen looked at him sharply.  ‘You have grown to be intelligent and generous,’ she allowed.  ‘I look forward to meeting your wife.  She is very fortunate.’

They rested in silence, learning each other’s look and feel, growing accustomed to the presence of one who was both familiar and unknown.  ‘You are happy to share these lands?’ Legolas said suddenly.  ‘Elrond and Celeborn will want their own domains – they will not wish to be subject to you.’

‘I cannot imagine that Thranduil would be any more enthusiastic than they would,’ his naneth added.

‘King in name only,’ Legolas imagined with relish.  ‘Husband to the Queen – he would not care for it at all.  I am sure it is one of the main reasons that he is made uncomfortable by Lady Galadriel.  He cannot understand how Celeborn can endure being seen as secondary to her.’

Laerwen laughed lightly.  ‘I am not a queen in any sense that they would understand,’ she said.  ‘I do not rule – hold court, or consider grain harvests, or plan troop movements.  I just am – and I will continue to be, even when Galadriel builds a city in the trees and Elrond puts a haven of learning among the waterfalls.  And when your adar nurtures the forest and encourages it to be the best it can, I will not change.’

‘Love and acceptance,’ Legolas remarked.  ‘Life and power channel through you, but you do not have the need to alter things – not yet to possess them.’

‘You are perceptive,’ his naneth agreed.  ‘There is room for us all and as long as the forest is happy, I shall be content.’

***

‘Do you mind being left here?’ Loareg asked as they watched the tails of the horses disappear between the trees.

‘No,’ Ambantor told him.  ‘After all,’ he grinned, ‘look how many horses they took with them.  We should have a much easier time of it.’

‘Until they notice,’ the Forest Elf pointed out.

‘They are very busy,’ Ambantor said hopefully.  ‘It should take them a few days – provided we keep our heads down.’

Loareg shook his head.  ‘We will get into more trouble,’ he sighed.

‘That will happen anyway,’ Ambantor shrugged.  ‘And if we are going to be in trouble whatever we do, we might as well enjoy ourselves.  For example -.’  He nudged Loareg and pointed to where Minalcar was reluctantly loading his basket with horse droppings.  ‘Do you think he has any idea where he is?’

‘He must have.  We have trudged that path often enough to leave signs.’

‘But his sense of direction is not the best – he is just following us.’  He grinned wickedly.  ‘If we head off that way, we should be able to cut back and finish in time for lunch.  I would not mind betting that he becomes completely lost.  He is always telling me how all these trees look the same.’

‘We will be gutting fish tomorrow,’ Loareg warned.

Their eyes met and both grinned.  ‘It will be worth it,’ Ambantor said philosophically. ‘Come on,’ he called to Minalcar.  ‘Let us get this lot back – I am getting hungry.’ 

Without waiting for his friend to catch up, he followed Loareg into the trees.

***

‘You are walking better,’ Rindor said critically as Haldir swung across the open ground towards him.  ‘Is Thornen happy with your progress?’

‘Of course,’ Haldir said airily.  ‘He seems delighted with the idea that I will be out of his hands within the week.’  He lowered himself carefully to sit next to Rindor, watching as he completed his reports.  ‘Have you sent messages to Lord Celeborn?’ 

‘Not specifically,’ Rindor replied.  ‘It seems pointless to write the same report three times.  I am sure Elrond, Thranduil and Celeborn are mature enough to be able to share information.  Even if you are not.’

‘What do you mean?’ Haldir sounded puzzled, but something in the quick glance he threw at Rindor suggested that he was not as innocent as he seemed.

‘Amondil,’ Rindor enunciated clearly. 

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘Amondil.  He turns out to have been an old friend of Lord Glorfindel.’

‘Well – I would not have called them friends,’ Haldir hedged.  ‘Rivals, perhaps.  Glorfindel is a little too competitive to have many friends.’

Rindor raised his eyebrows.  ‘Not a description I recognise.  I would say that Glorfindel is a most amiable lord.  You, on the other hand -,’ he allowed his voice to trail away.

Haldir’s refusal to issue a challenging reply told him all he needed to know.  ‘What did Amondil tell you?’ he asked finally.

‘He said,’ Glorfindel spoke into the march warden’s ear, ‘that he met you by chance as you first ventured down from the pass – and that he requested you to keep the existence of the Forest Elves to yourself until they were prepared to reveal themselves.  He said that you agreed to say nothing as long as their presence was no threat.  He said that, until you took your spectacular tumble from that tree, you were meeting regularly with Tineithil and sharing information.’

‘Some,’ Rindor observed with detachment, ‘would call that treachery.’

‘I wonder,’ said Glorfindel mildly, ‘what Lord Celeborn would call it?’

A slow flush spread across Haldir’s face, but he pressed his lips together and remained silent.

‘I suspect, my lord,’ Rindor remarked without changing his expression, ‘that what he would call it is intelligence gathering.’

The flush intensified from rose to scarlet. 

‘In fact, Rindor,’ Glorfindel said conversationally, ‘I believe I am left with only one question.’

‘And that would be, my lord?’

‘If Haldir is seeking information on Celeborn’s behalf, and you are Elrond’s spymaster, then who is looking after Thranduil’s interests?’

‘That is easy, my lord.  Are you sure you want me to tell you?’

Glorfindel sighed meaningfully.

‘If you insist, my lord.  Clearly it is Falas.’

‘Falas is in a position to have learned more than any of us,’ Haldir agreed as his colour gradually returned to normal.  ‘Everyone talks to him – and no-one feels threatened by him.’

Glorfindel looked at them both.  ‘I wish to remind you that this is a joint venture.  Rindor, speak to Falas and let him know that we are working together on this and information is to be shared.  Do you understand me?’  He waited until Rindor agreed, then held Haldir’s eyes until he nodded reluctantly.  ‘Summon Falas.  Later today, you will all inform me of everything you have learned.’  His voice was cool. ‘You will hold nothing back – or be assured that I can make your lives as uncomfortable as if you were the brats.’  He rose with dignity and stalked away.

Rindor looked at Haldir and raised his eyebrows.

Haldir returned his stare quizzically.  ‘Everything?’ he asked. 

‘I think it would be as well,’ Rindor nodded.

***

‘Come and sit with me, Glorfindel,’ Laerwen invited from her haven in the branches.  ‘My son has left me and I am feeling melancholy.’

He looked up.  ‘I am not in a very good mood, my lady,’ he said.

‘Neither am I,’ she said ruefully.  ‘I would like to talk to you.  From what my son did not say, I think I owe you an apology.’  She watched him climb, slightly less at ease than a Wood Elf, but graceful as he was whatever he did.  He settled in the same curve of branch and trunk where Legolas had sat.  ‘I did not mean to make it appear that you were supplicants to my throne.  In fact, I neither have nor want a throne.’

‘It is not, perhaps, so much what you want,’ Glorfindel suggested. ‘It is not necessarily the monarch who chooses to be a ruler, but the people who decide to place him – or her – in command.  You are the Forest’s Lady.’

‘Do you think he will come?’ Laerwen asked wistfully.  ‘Legolas seems sure, but he is very young.  He might assume that his adar will feel as he does.’

Glorfindel smiled.  ‘He will come,’ he said reassuringly.  ‘And Legolas is not as young as all that.  He has had much experience of life – and he knows his adar very well.’

Laerwen rested her head against the branch behind her and looked at him.  ‘What do you want here, Glorfindel?’ she asked. 

The golden haired elf blinked at her and laughed.  ‘You are not supposed to ask questions like that, Laerwen,’ he replied. ‘It is far too simple and straightforward.  Politics is about finding out what is the least you can get away with granting and then negotiating to part with even less.’

She shrugged.  ‘I have always left such matters to others,’ she told him.  ‘And so have you, my friend.’  She smiled at him.  ‘Neither of us care to waste time in lying – what is it that you have come to seek?’

‘I believe you can guess,’ Glorfindel conceded.  ‘Finarfin, who, I believe, in all honesty, thought that these lands were empty, suggested that the lords of Imladris, Eryn Lasgalen and Lothlorien should bring those who wished to come and establish their own realms.  Matters have now become complicated, because these forests are clearly not empty – they look to you as their ruler and may not wish to be absorbed into new realms.’

‘I infinitely prefer discussing such matters with those who have little experience of debate,’ Laerwen commented.  ‘I think we can decide the whole matter before we come down from this tree – and then leave the details to the diplomats, who will spend years discussing who precedes whom into a party.  I have long suspected that those who prefer a more simple life would come here.  I have hoped that those of Eryn Lasgalen would gather near me, in the hope that, should my husband sail, he would find a place that suited him here – and that, if he did not, I would be able to provide a haven for such Silvan Elves as could not endure the treeless lands.  The centre of my homelands is further north.  I believe that would be the best place for the elves of Lasgalen.’

Glorfindel nodded.  ‘I do not know the lands you speak of – but I am willing to learn.’

‘Very neutral,’ Laerwen smiled and sat up, crossing her legs as the tree appeared to shift to accommodate her.  ‘This area,’ she said, waving her hand to indicate the settlement, ‘and further west, up to where the rivers meet, strikes me as being the ideal site for Elrond.  It is rather less heavily wooded and there are broad glades, as well as steep hills and icy streams coming down from the mountains – and there is also the great waterfall down to the populated lands.’

‘And Lothlorien?’

‘West of where the Lagornen runs down to the Celebduin there are ancient trees so big that it would take twenty elves to surround them.  I can see Galadriel there.’

‘And these lands would be big enough to hold those who would wish to come?’

‘More than four times the size of the realms of Arda.  Bigger probably,’ Laerwen shrugged.  ‘Only this section would be bordered by the others – I do not believe anyone has reached the edge of the forest to see how wide it is.’

‘And what of those who live here?’  Glorfindel looked at her.  ‘Would they be content in realms led by others?’

‘If they were not,’ she said, ‘they could move north to join me – or travel west beyond the reach of us all.  All are free to do as they feel best.’

Glorfindel considered.  ‘I would need to see maps,’ he said.  ‘And perhaps you should draw the lines as you feel best – then we can move on from there.’

‘Good,’ she said with satisfaction.  ‘I do not wish to have too much dispute over this.  It seems pointless to me.  We will present them with accomplished facts and let them get on with it.’

Glorfindel studied her speculatively.  ‘I am fairly sure I have been manipulated,’ he said.

Laerwen smiled at him.  ‘It is all for the best,’ she told him easily.  ‘And no-one will ever know.’

Far Horizons 28:  Journey’s End 

Finarfin observed the pale elf kneeling before him.  His wrists were bound, but even so, no-one was prepared to trust that he would not attempt to evade justice.  Guards stood close enough to ensure that he would not be able either to launch an attack or attempt to escape. 

The High King looked at the wad of paper before him.  ‘You have admitted that you have committed a range of offences against those who have done you no harm,’ he said sternly.  ‘You have caused deliberate injury with bow and arrow, you have incriminated the innocent, you have attempted to abduct elflings, you have incited discontent, you have used and destroyed those who trusted you – all in an attempt to wreak vengeance on a variety of people, most of whom had no idea that you existed, let alone that they had offended you.  There are those who have told me that you are not entirely to blame for your actions, and that what has happened in your past provides some excuse for you.’  He drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair.  ‘I have taken as much time as I feel is necessary to consider all I have learned,’ he said, ‘for this is not an occasion for hasty action.’

Minastan appeared not to hear him, remaining frozen in the position in which he had been placed.  When first imprisoned, he had plausibly and convincingly offered a range of reasons why he was innocent and demanded indignantly that he should be freed at once.  From that he had moved on to fluent and extensive justification for his actions, before he had shifted to spend long hours boasting about his ability to deceive.  It had seemed as if he had a desperate need to have his talent recognised and the mere presence of those writing down his words had been enough to keep them flowing from his tongue.  Once his rationalisation had stopped flowing from him, he had lapsed into a silent unresponsiveness that had chilled those who had tried to extract further information on accomplices and schemes as yet undiscovered. 

‘There is no question in my mind that you are a danger to all here in Valinor,’ the High King sighed.  ‘But I do question that you are fit to stand trial for the offences you have committed – and I also question whether all was done that should have been at the time when such action could have made a difference to your mental state.  However, it seems to me that none of the penalties customarily exacted in these lands is suitable either as punishment or as a means of redemption for you.  Consequently, I have decided that you will remain in secure custody until such time as we believe that you are able to resume life among us. Meanwhile, I will consult with a greater power to see if we can discover a better and more satisfactory solution.’

Finarfin nodded at the guards who drew Minastan to his feet and pulled him from the Great Hall. 

‘It is not an answer,’ the High King leant towards Thranduil, who scowled at his right hand, ‘but you failed to come up with anything better.  Stuffing him down the throat of a warg proved to be impractical, I am afraid.’  He patted the Woodland King’s arm.  ‘This will be less painful.’

A guard in formal livery marched Calion to kneel before the throne. 

Sitting back on his throne, Finarfin said, ‘Rise,’ and waited for the young elf to stand erect before him. 

‘You were accused of injuring Legolas Thranduilion,’ Finarfin spoke clearly, so that there was no possibility of any present claiming to misunderstand, ‘and wrongly convicted on evidence that was falsified by Minastan Terendulion.  King Thranduil and Lady Galadriel have both attested to your innocence – and consequently your conviction and the penalty resulting from it have been revoked.  You may go free.’

Although he was expecting the words, Calion flushed and then paled, before dropping to one knee.  ‘My King,’ he said.

‘In what way can the throne recompense you for your suffering?’ Finarfin asked formally.

‘I would remain with King Thranduil and travel with him to the new lands,’ Calion said hopefully. 

‘An easy boon to grant,’ the High King agreed. ‘The more so, as I wish to develop a greater understanding between our races.  It shall be done, Calion Artamirion.’

Calion rose and stepped back into the crowd, as the doors opened a third time.

‘Are you really intending to bring Macar before the formality of this full court?’ Galadriel enquired disapprovingly from beside the throne, as the guards led in the final candidate for justice.

‘It has to be seen to be done,’ her adar said wearily.  ‘He attacked another elf – with the intention of causing him serious injury.’

‘He was justified,’ she insisted.  ‘Minastan was responsible for Nessariel’s death.’

‘Did you turn my daughter into a savage with no respect for the rule of law,’ Finarfin asked his son-in-law, ‘or has she always been this way?’

‘I believe I have civilised her considerably,’ Celeborn replied amiably. ‘At least she is not shouting her opinion for everyone to hear.’

Thranduil snorted, then tried to pretend that he had not, but Galadriel’s frown made it plain that she was aware of his amusement.  ‘Wait and see, my lady,’ he said.  ‘You could always make a plea for mercy later, should it prove necessary.’

Macar knelt before the High King’s throne, his head bowed, as Finarfin regarded him soberly.  ‘Do you have anything you wish to say before I give judgment?’ he asked.

‘No, my lord King,’ Macar answered shakily.

Finarfin allowed the silence to deepen in the wide room, before standing and approaching the nervous elf.  ‘You have committed an act which cannot be treated anything but seriously,’ he said.  ‘But as elves we are aware that there are times when irrational behaviour can be – not justified, but understood.  There is no previous occasion when I have been called on to judge someone who has attacked the killer of his child.  In this exceptional case, I have decided to take no further action against you.  You may return home to your wife.’ 

The large number of elves observing the formal administration of the High King’s justice in response to the bizarre activities of recent months murmured its approval in a sound that started as a whisper but soon became a roar.

***

The sun shone brightly as they rode swiftly across the rolling downs towards their families, but the air held a crispness that had not been there on their westward journey.  Glorfindel had insisted that Legolas and the twins were not to travel unaccompanied – it was bad enough, he had stated, that they were returning several weeks before they were expected: he had no wish to discover that they had been intercepted and failed to return at all – but the guards were experienced warriors who made no objection to a fast ride with scant pauses for rest and rations.

Elrohir’s mood brightened as he grew closer to home and he could look forward to being reunited with his wife.  Elladan was relieved that his twin’s unusual irritability had faded like the wafer of ice on a spring puddle and he took pleasure in teasing him into revealing his excitement about the prospect of becoming the adar of twins.

On the other hand, he had worried about Legolas as they rode away from the forest.  His initial pallor and confusion had suggested that he had been more distressed at leaving his newly-discovered naneth than he had been prepared to admit, but the further behind them they left the forest, the more he seemed to regain his composure.

‘It is a shame we had to come away so quickly,’ Elladan said one evening before they wrapped themselves up in their bed-rolls.  ‘You should have been able to spend more time with Laerwen.  You were not happy when we rode away.’

‘Is that why you are being so careful with me?’ Legolas said in surprise.  ‘It had nothing to do with Naneth – I will be back before long and we will have more time then.  It was the forest.  Ever since Naneth introduced me as her son, the song has been so loud that I could hardly think.  In some ways it is a relief to have some time to become accustomed to the idea of it.’

‘It is powerful,’ Elrohir agreed.  ‘And it does not become excited at the very thought of me.  I suppose in time it will grow used to us.’

‘I am looking forward to being at home,’ Camentur leaned his head back and watched the stars.  ‘I have missed my wife and son more than I thought I would.’

‘Do you think we will be able to take them with us next time we go?’ Legolas asked wistfully.  ‘I would like Elerrina to see the forest before it begins to change too much.’

Elladan put a hand on his shoulder.  ‘I am sure we will, my friend,’ he said. 

***

Calion stood in the hallway of his adar’s house.  He had been publicly declared innocent of wrongdoing, but he had received no indication of apology from Artamir. It hurt, he admitted it to himself, but he could understand that his adar would have been insulted by his request to remain in Thranduil’s house.  However, that did not mean that he was going to walk away from his naneth without a word.  He had to brave this out – if his naneth would not see him, then she would have to tell him herself.

The housekeeper who had let him in had hugged him swiftly before going to seek Minyariel, and it had warmed him to know that some of those least able to speak out had apparently missed him and been glad of his vindication.

He scarcely recognised his naneth when she came to the top of the stairs.  She had lost weight and she appeared frail, but there was a resolution about her that he had not seen in a long time.  She did not hesitate, but took him straight in her arms and held him close.

‘My son,’ she whispered in his ear, and he could hear both the pain and the relief in her voice.  ‘I have missed you.’

‘I am not coming back, Naneth,’ he warned her.  ‘I am sorry.’

She pushed his hair back from his face and looked into his eyes.  ‘I understand,’ she said.  ‘You need to do what you think is right.  I only wish you could take Tarannon with you.’

‘How is he?’ Calion asked.  He had been glad to learn that Tarannon had finally steeled himself to reject the ploys that Minastan had used to entrap him.  He could be rather big-headed, he thought, but his brother was not actively unkind and he had found the treatment of Nessariel to be more that he was prepared to tolerate.

‘He is well,’ Minyariel shrugged.  ‘Not happy, but well.  It will take time.’  She paused, tightening her hold on her son.  ‘I am taking him to stay with your grandparents,’ she told him.  ‘I am not sure when we will return.’

‘Or if you will?’

She released him slowly, pulling his tunic to hang neatly.  ‘Or if,’ she agreed soberly. ‘I feel that this is all my fault.  If I had not run away from him as I did -.’

Calion put a finger on her lips.  ‘He would still have hated Lord Thranduil,’ he said. ‘He would still have tried to hurt anyone who had what he wanted – things to which he thought he was entitled.  Do not blame yourself.’

She shook her head.  ‘I have hurt you, my sons – and I have caused pain to your adar. It does not matter that I did not intend to do so.  It will take a long time and a lot of goodwill to try to mend the damage.’

‘Will Adar see me?’ Calion asked her softly.

‘I have sent word to him that you are here,’ she told him.  ‘Come now and sit with Tarannon and me.  All we can do is wait.’

When Calion entered his mother’s sitting room and saw Tarannon, he hugged his brother fiercely.  ‘I was worried for you,’ he said.  ‘Lord Celeborn said what had happened.  I am glad to see you looking so well.’

Tarannon smiled wryly.  ‘It was an experience I am not keen to repeat,’ he admitted. ‘And not as exciting as your own adventures, little brother.’  He looked keenly at the younger elf.  ‘Are you sure you want to journey west with the Wood Elves?  It seems rather too dangerous to me.’  He glanced at his naneth.  ‘I am only too happy to settle down to a peaceful life by the sea for a while.’

Artamir failed to join them.  Calion curbed his disappointment – after all, he had never been of much importance to his adar and now that he had chosen not to be an ornament of his house, he supposed he could hardly expect to receive his approval.

Finally, Calion rose and kissed his naneth.  ‘I will visit you again,’ he said, ‘as often as I can.’

‘Your adar -,’ she said and opened and closed her hands helplessly.

‘Will not stop me,’ he finished.

As he ran lightly down the stairs, the door to his adar’s office opened to let Artamir emerge into the wide hallway to stand stiffly on the black and white tiled floor.  Calion slowed, but lifted his chin and approached with apparent confidence.

‘Adar,’ he acknowledged, inclining his head with courtesy.

Artamir flicked his eyes to Minyariel, standing pale at the top of the stairs, before returning his gaze to the elf before him.  ‘You are welcome here, my son,’ he said awkwardly.

Colour flushed Minyariel’s cheeks and she forced her knees to stop shaking.  Perhaps there was some hope of improvement.  It would not be easy, but the thought that it might be achieved at all gave her some hope.

‘I cannot stay now, Adar,’ Calion said reluctantly.  ‘But I hope to see you soon.’

Artamir embraced him formally and placed a cool paternal kiss on his brow.  ‘I look forward to it, my son,’ he said and let him go.

***

Elrohir and Elladan and their guards peeled away from Legolas and his escort with few words as they headed rapidly for their home.

‘Do you think they know we are on our way?’ Elladan asked as the horses increased their pace in anticipation of reaching their stables. 

Elrohir grinned.  ‘I am doing my best to damp down my excitement,’ he admitted.  ‘I want to surprise Sirithiel.’

‘You do not want to give her too much of a shock,’ his brother laughed.  ‘It might not be good for her – not in her condition.’

‘It would be just our luck to find that they were out,’ Elrohir said.  ‘And that we will have to sit waiting for hours.’

They left their horses in the stable yard, unusually handing their care over to grooms and heading straight for the kitchen door.  They were met by the head cook, whose obvious pleasure at seeing them was not enough to make him grant them passage through his domain, dirty as they were.  ‘Oh no!’ he told them.  ‘Horses and dinner preparations have nothing in common.’  He smiled at them.  ‘Not that you need to come inside anyway.  They are on the lawn – under the beech.  Go quietly.  They are not expecting you.’

Even as they came within sight of the party under the tree, Sirithiel was on her feet and running towards them.  For all they were twins and many people still had difficulty telling them apart, she had no doubt and within seconds she was in Elrohir’s arms, holding him as if she would never be able to let him go again.  He clasped her to him, sliding his hand down her back and feeling the swell of her womb pressing into him.  He felt her weariness and, for a moment, experienced a flash of anger at his elders for having sent him away at this time.

Sirithiel reached up and touched her finger to his lips.  ‘You are home now,’ she murmured. A slow smile spread across her face and she drew his hand to touch her belly.  ‘Feel,’ she said softly.  ‘Your daughters are welcoming you.’

Elladan grinned and made his way towards his wife and son, catching Elrin as he sprang and throwing him up in the air.  ‘Well,’ he said.  ‘Here we are again.’

Miriwen looked him over carefully.  ‘You appear to be slipping, my husband,’ she told him, straight-faced.  ‘I see no sign of injury.  What am I expected to do to greet you if there is no need of my healing skills?’

‘Well,’ he drawled, tucking his giggling son under one arm and using the other to draw her to him, ‘I am sure that, if I put my mind to it, I can think of something.’

She ran her fingers through his dark hair and let his joyful song refresh her.  He was well and happy.  She leaned into him and placed a gentle kiss on his warm lips.  ‘I am happy to see you, my love,’ she said.

‘Although,’ Elrond pointed out, ‘your arrival is a little premature.’

‘We rode fast, Adar,’ Elladan told him seriously.

‘Not, I think, so fast that you could have arrived several weeks before you were due to leave Glorfindel.’

Elrohir and Sirithiel joined them, holding each other so close that Miriwen was somewhat surprised that they had been able to walk across the lawn.  ‘There have been – developments, Adar,’ Elrohir informed him, ‘that made an early return necessary.’

‘Good developments,’ Elladan added hastily.

‘On the whole,’ Elrohir added reflectively.

Elrond raised an eyebrow and, accustomed to his signals, they waited for him to speak.  ‘I will invite Thranduil and your grandparents to join us,’ he decided.  ‘We will share our information later – first you will want to bathe and change,’ he inhaled thoughtfully, ‘and spend some time with your wives.  I am happy to see you home and safe, my sons.’

***

Calion rose to his feet as Legolas entered the nursery.  Despite the fact that he was now officially cleared of attempting to injure the Woodland Prince, Calion stiffened warily, unsure how to react to the one whom he had sworn to obey.

Legolas stopped, his hair wind-blown and his cheeks still flushed from his long ride in the fresh air.  He brought with him the smell of the outside world to mingle with the scents of powder and freshly washed elfling that tended to linger in this room.  ‘Calion,’ he said, inclining his head.

‘My lord,’ Calion responded with a slight bow.

‘No longer, I believe,’ Legolas remarked.  ‘Adar tells me you have been most helpful – and that you are partly responsible for having kept the elflings safe.’  He paused. ‘I am grateful.’

Calion blushed and dropped his eyes.  ‘I could do nothing else, my lord,’ he said.  ‘I would not have any harm come to them.’

‘He felt your loyalty was of particular merit since you had not been treated too kindly by some members of the household.’  He looked sideways at the other.  ‘And I am of the opinion that my wife might have been one who was less than gentle.’

The dark-haired elf looked awkward.  ‘She is my cousin,’ he said.  ‘She felt that entitled her to – express her displeasure.’

‘In which case I appreciate your care of the little ones even more.’

‘Elflings need protecting regardless of other considerations, my lord,’ Calion said indignantly.  ‘I would do my best to help them no matter what!’

‘Adar says that Hithien has taken an interest in you,’ Legolas grinned. ‘I am not sure whether you appreciate that or not.’  He raised a hand to stop Calion replying. ‘I would rather not know,’ he added.  ‘I really would not want to annoy her.’  He wandered over to the window and sat down on the broad ledge.  ‘You are remaining in Adar’s household?’

‘If I may,’ Calion agreed.  ‘I would like to join in the new venture.’

‘On one condition,’ Legolas said firmly.  ‘You stop calling my ‘my lord’.  My name is Legolas.’

Calion hesitated.  ‘As you wish – Legolas.’

The door into the night nursery crashed open.  ‘Uncle Legolas,’ Surion shrieked, his cheeks pink from sleep, as he threw himself at his aunt’s husband.  ‘You are home!’

Legolas caught him automatically and swung him round. ‘Nephew Surion,’ he said, grinning. ‘I am happy to see you.’

‘Will you take me to the archery fields?’ Surion demanded.  ‘I have been working and working and I want to show you how well I am doing.’  He put his mouth next to his uncle’s ear.  ‘Hithien has had Calion teaching me,’ he whispered, ‘but he is not as good as you.  And Calion says that when things have settled down he will take me to the beach and we can make castles in the sand.  Have things settled down yet? – I want to dig a great big castle that the sea cannot wash away.’ 

Legolas glanced at Calion and grinned.  ‘That is very brave of him,’ he murmured in the elfling’s ear.  ‘Does he know into how much danger he is putting himself?’

‘You can come, too,’ Surion said kindly.  ‘We will take the elflings.  And Hithien will look after us.’

***

Celebrian dropped a kiss on the tip of Elrond’s ear, making him shiver.

‘I love doing that,’ she smiled.  ‘It makes me feel really powerful.’

Her warm breath tickled and he reached up to draw her round to sit on his lap. ‘You are really powerful,’ he told her.  ‘You turn my bones to water.’

‘Even after all these years?’

‘Now is even better.’  He tucked her head under his chin and trailed his finger down her ear and throat until the top of her gown stilled his hand.

‘What do you think of what the twins said?’ she asked idly.

‘They did not say much,’ he admitted.  ‘It seemed better to wait.  There is no need for either side to repeat their stories more than they must.’

‘And it did not look as if either of them could speak sensibly until they had had time to renew their bonds with their wives.’  She lifted her head and looked into Elrond’s smoke grey eyes.  ‘I know how they feel, Earendilion,’ she said.  ‘Their division has not lasted longer than a few weeks, but it is still a division.’  She ran her thumb across his lips before brushing it gently across his cheekbone and combing her fingers through his hair.  ‘Come, Peredhil.  I have something better for you to do than sit poring over these dull papers.’  

***

Legolas looked at his adar warily.

‘You have something to tell me, I think, my son,’ Thranduil said gently.

It had been clear to him, even as Legolas had swept Elerrina in his arms and swung her round, asking about his sleeping elflings and wanting to know about what had been happening in his absence, that his son had something on his mind. 

Even as Elerrina had sent her husband to speak to Calion, she and Thranduil had come to an unspoken agreement that she would keep everyone away until Legolas had been able to reveal to his adar whatever was worrying him.  Thranduil smiled to himself: with Elerrina and himself combining against him, Legolas might as well surrender at once.

His son drew a deep breath.  ‘When we arrived in the forest, Adar,’ he started, but then he stopped and cleared his throat, glancing at his adar’s face again.  He turned away, deciding that maybe this would be easier if he was unable to see the eyes on him.  ‘There is a very strong presence in the forest,’ he continued.  ‘There are elves with a very close tie to it – and they spoke of their Lady.  Glorfindel had not seen her, but -,’ he turned back to face his adar, ‘I could feel her in the trees.  Her song echoed in me.’  He risked a glance at Thranduil’s eyes and could see a dawning awareness there. 

‘She had us taken to see her, Camentur and me, Elladan and Elrohir.   The twins knew her at once, but she did not want them to tell me – she was afraid.  I guessed, Adar.’  He met Thranduil’s eyes squarely.  ‘Adar, the forest’s Lady is Naneth.  She has returned from Mandos and she is waiting for you.’ 

He paused.  He did not know how his adar would take this news.  Legolas had grown to adulthood with no knowledge of his naneth – to him she was no more than a faint recollection from his earliest years, but her absence had been a constant grief to Thranduil throughout almost his son’s whole life.  Only since his own marriage had Legolas begun to become aware how bereft his adar must have been by Laerwen’s loss and perceived how Thranduil was incomplete without her.  To learn that she had returned, but that she had not sought him out could be a devastating blow, even to an elf as confident in himself as the Woodland King.

The silence in the room was so complete that Legolas wondered if either of them was even breathing.  Then a small smile began to spread across his adar’s face and his eyes gleamed with the brightness of stars piercing a dark night.  ‘I hoped,’ he said softly, ‘that she would be.  I knew I would not find her here.’  He indicated with his hands, but his gesture encompassed more than the well-appointed room, spreading to include the organised streets and farmlands of this ancient land.

‘You do not mind?’ Legolas asked simply.

‘I know that you do not remember her,’ Thranduil replied, embracing his son gently and inviting him to sit beside him in the window, the golden sunlight brightening their hair.  ‘Laerwen is tied to the life of the forest even more closely than I am,’ he said.  ‘She is – wild and joyful and she needs to be free.  She hated being surrounded by stone – something you shared with her, my son, although you learned to overcome it somewhat,’ he added dryly. ‘She knew the forest was becoming unsafe, but she always believed it would protect her – and it did, as far as it could.’  He lost himself in brief recollection of the terrible day when his wife’s escape from the protection with which he had attempted to surround her had resulted in her death among the trees she loved, but which could not shelter her from the creatures of the dark.

‘I hoped that she might be here to greet me,’ he said, ‘but I did not expect it.  When Finarfin’s advisor spoke of these forests, it rang a bell in my heart – I knew that this was a place that would be a home to her.’  He drew a deep breath.  ‘What did she say to you, my son?’

‘She wrote to you, Adar,’ Legolas answered.  ‘She wants to see you as soon as you can arrange to go to her.’

Thranduil’s smile had a blinding brilliance.  ‘Do you think tomorrow would be too soon?’ he asked.

***

The gathering round the table seemed far more at ease than would have been the case only short months before, although that could have been because the most combative members of the group seemed strangely distracted.

Finarfin looked at them with amusement.  Elladan, he thought, would have preferred a more aggressive solution to the problem posed by Minastan, but Elrohir had seen the complications that would ensue.  Put together, he decided, his great-grandsons would make an excellent ruler – and eliminate the need for advisors, which could only be a good thing.  Legolas had looked at Thranduil as the story emerged, only too aware of the effects that Dagorlad still had on the elves of his adar’s realm, and seeing a sorrow that had fought with the Woodland King’s natural decisive ferocity.  Camentur had held back, clearly feeling that he and his wife – what was her name? – were here purely by chance, but the High King had seen a sharp intelligence in his eyes.  He would have to encourage Taryatur’s son to take up a role among these elves who had accepted him as part of their extended family.  Their wives were interesting as well and, different as they were, they seemed to share an understanding of far more than a simple female role.  He smiled:  it would be foolish to expect the sons of Celebrian and grandsons of Galadriel to marry ciphers, he thought – and Thranduilion was cut from the same cloth.

He sipped at his wine and listened to the conversation.  It was good to spend time with family.  It had been a long time since he and Earwen had been able to spend any period of time with a group of people clearly linked to them by blood and affection. He looked at Thranduil.  The blood tie was rather remote, he acknowledged, but the relationship between Galadriel and him reminded her adar only too clearly of her endless squabbles and debates with her brothers, with never a one of them prepared to concede an inch.  Irritating although it could be, he found their wrangling endlessly entertaining – and he rather suspected that they would themselves miss it.   He was afraid that he was going to have to adopt Thranduil as part of his extended family – whether the proudly independent elf liked it or not. 

The situation in the forest sounded more complicated than he had expected.  He really had not thought that the elves who had found their way there would have developed any level of organisation.  Silvan elves had always seemed to him to be more or less averse to the idea of a structured society.  And it turned out that their Lady was Thranduil’s wife and Legolas’s naneth.  It would be very interesting to know how that worked out.  He narrowed his eyes in thought.  He wondered how Galadriel would deal with a forest which had already enthroned the queen of its choice.  She had matured and seemed content in the role she had chosen for herself, but he was not sure that she was ready to take a secondary place.  He grinned.  He wished he could see it, but unfortunately he would be too busy with his own tasks.  He would just have to ensure that those sending him reports were capable of expressing themselves fluently enough to give him a good understanding of what was happening. 

Earwen touched his hand and he met her silver-blue eyes and smiled. 

***

‘Adar knew they were there,’ Galadriel said, as Celeborn closed the door of their rooms behind them. 

‘He is as devious as his daughter,’ Celeborn agreed as he shed the heavy robe of dove grey velvet embroidered with silver thread and shook his head to relieve the feeling of constraint always left by his mithril circlet.  ‘I do not believe he was aware of Laerwen’s presence.’

‘Not as Laerwen, perhaps,’ Galadriel agreed thoughtfully.  ‘Although he may have known of her as some disembodied Lady of the Forest.’  She turned to her husband, raising her eyebrows. ‘And what do you mean by suggesting that I am devious?’

‘Do you not recognise the description?’ he asked her innocently, opening the windows as far as they would go, letting in a trace of air fresh with the scent of night-flowering plants and filled with quiet song. 

She watched him and came to a sudden decision.  ‘Come, my lord,’ she said.  ‘Help me remove this elegant gown and then change into your hunting clothes.  It is a beautiful night and the stars are singing to me – now that we have done with the dangers of past weeks, I would like to find a glade among the trees tonight – if that would please you.’

His eyes met hers curiously.  ‘Devious,’ he repeated, ‘but generous.  Are you sure?  We have a very comfortable bed here.’

‘But I want the wind in my hair,’ she told him, ‘the grass beneath my feet, the voice of the trees in my ears – and night’s canopy above my head.’ Her voice dropped to a sultry softness.   ‘And my husband in my arms.’

He closed his arms round her and began to unfasten the lacing on her gown of softest sage-green.  ‘I think I can oblige you,’ he murmured, ‘on all counts.’

‘Then let us find ourselves a brief haven in the woods,’ she suggested, ‘until we can find a lasting home in the forest.’

He smiled and the light from the moon gleamed in his eyes.  ‘A temporary solution,’ he told her with mock reluctance.  ‘But it will do for now.’  He rested his forehead against hers.  ‘We have the opportunity to build again, my love,’ he told her.  ‘And we will do it better this time.’

‘We will do better,’ she echoed, and in her voice was the promise of the new dawn.

Far Horizons Epilogue:  Lovers’ Meeting 

Thranduil left as soon as he was able: quietly, his departure unannounced, leaving his son to take charge in his absence.  He rode swiftly across the plain and through the pass, before dropping down into the forest, his sole company his two guards, whose presence now was so natural to him that he considered himself to be alone, or as alone as ever a king could be.

He was greeted by the clamour of the trees, each vying for his attention, and the rhythm of the healthy forest – birch and beech and oak, pine and willow and ash – all  rose up to meet him.   And through it all twined her song – as strong and pure and joyous as it had been before its sudden brutal sundering.  It rang in him, resuming its place, filling the spaces that had survived so long on nothing but its echoes.  He almost faltered, so affected by its power that he felt as if the fumes of some vast distillery had gone to his head, but he could not slow.  This was one moment he should relish and draw out – but he wanted it done.

She would not meet him here, he told himself – theirs was not a reunion to be made in public.  She would be waiting for him to seek her out.  He felt his breath shortening and forced himself to draw air into his lungs: air vibrant with the growth of living things.

The trees told him they were waiting.  Half a dozen elves, armed but not prepared to attack.  His guards shifted uneasily behind him, anxious, wanting to have the comfort of their weapons in their hands.  He had told them to hold back, but they did not have to like it.

‘Lord Thranduil,’ the leading elf said, inclining his head in a movement that could be taken as a bow.  ‘The Lady is awaiting your coming.’

He managed to sound, Thranduil noted with amusement, as if he was displeased by their procrastination and found the new arrivals to be less than impressive.

‘And you are?’ Thranduil asked.  It would take more than this elf to intimidate one who had spent more than an age as a king of a realm fighting Shadow.

‘I am Amondil,’ the elf replied coolly.  ‘I have been sent to ensure you reach the place where the Lady has chosen to meet you.’

‘Come then.’  This was not the time to indulge in diplomacy.  Not when she was waiting.  ‘Is it far?’

‘Can you not tell?’  Amondil raised his eyebrows.

‘I can tell.’

Thranduil dismounted and, abandoning his horse to the care of his guards, began to head off at an angle between the trees. 

One of the guards started after him, but Amondil put out a hand to stop him.  ‘Wait here,’ he commanded.  ‘The Lady wants their meeting to be private.  He will come to no harm.’

‘It would be as well,’ the second guard told his fellow.  ‘My lord would not thank you for making a third at this meeting.’

The trees sang his path, their voices reaching a crescendo of excited welcome, so that, when he stepped into the glade of sun-kissed beeches, their silence came as a shock.  He stopped and the speed with which his pulse had raced to bring him to this spot slowed.  The small waterfall trickled down the gleaming rocks, splashing the ferns and mosses, providing a joyful counterpoint to the rustling of the canopy.  Shafts of sunlight sliced down between leaves of living green, pooling on the rich russet brown of the forest floor, crowning with light the slender figure standing there.

He moved cautiously, as if afraid to startle her. 

She looked at him; her lord, her love, from whom she had been reft, with whom she was reunited, and she smiled.

‘You have not changed,’ she said.

‘You are even more beautiful,’ he replied.  ‘I have missed you.’

The understatement made him laugh softly, as the fleeting memory passed through him of long sleepless nights when he had not known if he could endure his aching hunger for her, when only duty and his love for his son had forced him to bear the torment of his longing.

‘I did not think you would come,’ she told him.  ‘I thought that your sense of obligation would hold you in the Greenwood.’

‘It kept me long enough,’ he sighed, ‘but no task lasts unchanged for ever.  I am here now.  If you still want me.’

They continued their slow approach, drifting closer to each other almost without volition, like leaves in a stream pushed together by the current, their eyes drowning in each other’s gaze.

‘I tried to stay with you,’ she said.  ‘I fought as long as I could.’

‘I failed you,’ he grieved.  ‘I should have kept you safe.’

She shook her head.  ‘You cannot be in control of everything about you, King of the Woodland Realm.  You did all you could.’

‘And now, Laerwen?’

‘And now we begin again,’ she smiled, raising her hand to touch his face, running her fingers along his cheek, like a breath of breeze in a bright dawn. 

He turned his head and placed a gentle kiss on her cool palm. 

His touch ignited a fire in her, a desperate need to be close to him, a longing for a contact that had been absent for so long, one that did not require conversation or explanations.

She closed her arms round him and held him with an urgent strength that surprised him, even as he clasped her to him.  Her kiss was sweet and fierce and deep and he returned it with a ferocity that alarmed him.  He eased back, not wishing to distress her.

‘I am not made of glass, my husband,’ she murmured softly against his lips.  ‘I will not break.  Would you like me to prove it?’

He laughed.  ‘No time for courting, my lady?  No gentle touches as we sit by the stream, or sweet caresses as we feed each other wild strawberries?  No hours spent in conversation as we watch the dance of the stars?’

‘That too,’ she conceded.

She drew him across the glade to pull him down beside her on a soft green bank studded with tiny white flowers. The stream rippled down between lush banks as tiny glass-like minnows swam against the current. 

‘This reminds me,’ Thranduil said in a voice warm with fond memory, ‘of a certain glade in Lasgalen.’ 

She smiled at him, soft blue-green eyes twinkling.  ‘Me, too,’ she admitted.  ‘It is why I chose to meet you here.’

He turned towards her, as serious as he had been when he had asked her to commit her life to him.  ‘We have been apart a long time, my wife,’ he said.  ‘I would not force myself on you in the heat of this very welcome moment.’

‘I have been longing for this reunion without expectation of reward since the hour my eyes opened to these lands,’ she said with quiet certainty.  ‘This interlude is ours, my lord.  None will approach us until we leave this grove.’  She grinned at him mischievously. ‘And I am less noble than you – I would force myself on you without hesitation.’  She stretched her hand to cup his head and leant towards him, meeting his eyes with patent sincerity.  ‘We need this, my lord,’ she said seriously.  ‘Once we have recreated our bonds, we can begin to build a new life together.  You and I – and our son.  We have lost so much, but we have another chance.’

‘We can take all the time we need,’ Thranduil told her, folding her gently in his arms and placing a delicate kiss on her brow.  ‘Let us enjoy the journey.’