Disclaimer: LOTR belongs to the creative genius of JRR Tolkien, not me.

Sons of Kings

Chapter 2

“You are not Legolas!” exclaimed Arwen in surprise when she went to wake her son the next morning only to be greeted by a dishevelled Faramir rather than the elf she was expecting to see.

“Obviously not, my Queen, but neither am I in Eldarion’s bad graces,” replied the Steward as he rose and offered Arwen the bedside chair in which he had spent most of the night. Arwen understood the subtle explanation and sighed with exasperation.

“How are you feeling this morning, my sweet one,” she asked as she bent to kiss her son’s brow. A small hand reached up to touch her cheek and Aragorn’s eyes smiled at her.

“My arm does not hurt much any more, Mother. Maybe it is already healed?” Eldarion replied sleepily only just having awoken on hearing his mother’s voice, his hopeful smile turning into a wince of pain as he tried to move the injured limb.

“The healer did say it would be many weeks before the bone is set,” Arwen reminded her son sympathetically as she helped him to sit up and carefully placed a pillow beneath the broken arm to give it added support

“Only four or five, and that is why Legolas is mean,” the child declared as he recalled his anger at the elf. Arwen raised her eyebrow in surprise, finding it difficult to envisage her gentle friend as ‘mean’. “I told him to go away because I do not like him any more, and he did!” declared the child triumphantly, his anger with his friend not having lessened overnight.

“Oh Eldarion, how could you say something so cruel? Legolas loves you almost as if you were his own son,” Arwen said sadly. “Besides which, you should not speak to your elders with such disrespect.” It was a gentle reprimand in response to which the child merely scowled. Lately it seemed to Arwen that her usually sweet natured son had become the most unreasonable of beings and she was finding his attitude tiresome. “Will you tell me what has he done to displease you?”

“He will not wait until I am better,” replied Eldarion crossly as if that explained everything. It did not and Arwen cast a confused glance at Faramir, hoping he would know the answer.

“As I understand the problem, Legolas refused to delay the children’s archery tournament until Eldarion’s arm is healed, and the young Prince seems to consider this decision to be most unfair,” he told her diplomatically, keeping his opinion on the matter to himself, for he fully supported the elf’s stance.

“I see,” she said turning her attention back to Eldarion. “Do you really think it fair to be annoyed with Legolas? After all, he has the feelings of the other boys in the class to consider as well?” she pointed out. Arwen knew how much the child had been looking forward to taking part in the contest and showing off his skills, and was not surprised when his eyes filled with tears of frustration.

“I am the King’s son and he should do as I say!” Eldarion declared.

“Legolas is one of my closest friends and the leader of our elvish allies in Ithilien, and as such is not under my rule! Even if he were, you can hardly expect anyone to do as you command when you blatantly disobey me as soon as I leave the city.” Aragorn said sternly as he strode into the room, sparing a moment for a welcome home hug and kiss for Arwen before addressing his errant son, his eyes flashing with anger

“I am sorry for breaking my promise to you, father,” sobbed Eldarion, doing his best to look repentant. Although she wanted nothing more than to hold her son, Arwen knew that now was not the time. She moved aside to allow Aragorn to take her place by the bed.

“I can see that you are, but that does not change the fact that you must live with the consequences of your disobedience. While I help you bathe and dress, I will ask Faramir if he will be so obliging as to find Legolas and invite him to take the morning meal with us in the private dining room. When Legolas arrives, if he chooses to do so, of course, you will apologise for sending him away so cruelly,” said Aragorn, tousling the boy’s hair to take the sting from his sternly spoken words. He truly considered it punishment enough that Eldarion would be unable to compete against his friends. He turned to Faramir who silently accepted the task with a slight bow before taking his leave.

“Will you ask him to delay the contest if I apologise?” Eldarion asked hopefully.

“Nay. I will not. His decision in that regard is final and has my full support. I expect you to make amends with Legolas because it is the proper course of behaviour and because I know you do not really dislike him,” replied Aragorn with an exasperated sigh. He looked to Arwen for guidance but she merely shrugged her shoulders helplessly, indicating she was also at a loss as to how to make the child behave in a more acceptable manner.

                                             **************

Faramir had come to know Legolas well as both a warrior and a ruler, and once he discovered that the elf’s bed had not been slept in, he knew immediately where he would be found. It was a long climb to the top of the white tower, but his efforts were rewarded as the sound of a sweet voice raised in song to welcome the dawn drifted on the light breeze. The steward stood in the doorway at the top of the stairs and having no desire to bring the song to an early end, waited patiently until the last note was sung.

Legolas was facing away from the city, his eyes fixed on the river in the distance but he had sensed Faramir’s approach and without turning spoke softly to his friend.

“The way Anor’s brightness is reflected from the ripples in the water as the current drives it seaward reminds me of the flashes of sunlight on the steel of swords that were once raised in readiness to do battle,” he said.

“I can not see that far into the distance, and to me those days of which you speak happened long ago,” replied Faramir as he moved to stand beside the elf who was sitting atop the stone wall.

“For me it ‘twas only yesterday,” said Legolas, his voice tinged with sadness as he recalled the lives that were lost during the War and those that were changed forever in its aftermath, his own included. “How fares Eldarion this morning?”

“He is well and although his injury still pains him a little, the child is in better spirits now that Aragorn has returned early, I was not expecting him until late this afternoon.”

“No doubt he sensed something amiss with his son, and hastened to his side. Now that he is here it is likely his healing skills will be put to good use and Eldarion’s injury will heal quickly and be as quickly forgotten,” said Legolas with a small sigh of relief. He hated to see the child he adored suffering.

“And what of yours?” Legolas raised an eyebrow in silent query. “I see in your eyes that your heart remains troubled, but do not let it. Eldarion did not mean what he said to you,” Faramir said, with a warm smile and a conspiratorial wink and amazing Legolas with his perceptive abilities.

“Sometimes I almost believe you to be part elf, Faramir, for you have an uncanny ability to see the inner being as we do.”

“Thank you, that is high praise indeed,” the steward said, grinning with genuine pleasure. “It is this perceptiveness that leads me to believe that Eldarion will apologise profusely when you join him and the King and Queen for the morning meal,” he added deliberately omitting the fact that Aragorn had already insisted Eldarion do so.

“A subtle yet welcome invitation which I will gladly accept. It has been many months since I last spoke with Aragorn,” the elf said his eyes alight with eager anticipation at the prospect. He jumped lithely from the wall and made his way quickly to the stairwell. Faramir knew he had no hope of keeping pace with the elegant swiftness of his friend and chose instead to simply call after the disappearing figure, knowing his words would be easily heard by elvish ears.

“They are expecting you in the private dining room.”

 

Sons of Kings

Chapter 3

A melancholy Arwen stood on the balcony overlooking her garden, thinking of Elrond and Celebrían and wondering as she often did if her parents had found the peace and happiness in Valinor that she wished for them. She did not doubt that they missed her as much as she missed them, but the gentle kick from her unborn child was reminder enough that she had made the only choice possible. The sound of childish laughter echoed through the hallway announcing the arrival of the other reasons for Arwen’s contentment and she turned away from her sad contemplations to be enfolded in Aragorn’s loving embrace.

“I see you decided to bathe as well,” she said as she ran her fingers through his damp hair.

“It was a prudent course of action after our son slipped and almost drowned,” he replied with a wink at Eldarion.

“Of course it had nothing to do with the beginnings of a water fight I heard when I left you?” The almost identical look of feigned innocence on their faces was answer enough to the one who knew father and son so well and even had Aragorn wished to deny such childish behaviour, Eldarion’s giggles gave them both away.

“Our dear friends from the Shire often found it necessary to employ the same tactic on our journey,” said an amused voice from the doorway. The elf and the one time ranger exchanged a look that spoke of their fond memories of their shared history as he entered the room.

“Legolas! It is good to see you again, mellon nin,” said Aragorn, leaving Arwen’s side to offer the elf a brotherly embrace.

“Greetings Aragorn, it has indeed been far too long since we last met,” he replied, accepting the display of affection. Aragorn glanced over Legolas’s shoulder, frowning slightly at the unfriendly scowl on Eldarion’s face and was about to say something to his son when Legolas shook his head slightly.

“Let him speak from his heart and not because he is simply obeying you,” he whispered in a soft voice meant only for Aragorn to hear. The King nodded and indicated they should take their places at the table.

“You are looking lovely this morning Arwen, I trust you are well rested?” he asked, bending to kiss Arwen’s cheek as Aragorn helped her to her chair.

“Aye and I thank you for your assistance last night, Legolas,” said Arwen smiling her approval as Legolas chose to sit next to Eldarion.

“How fares your injury this morning, Eldarion? Is it still painful?” he asked pleasantly as he poured himself a mug of herbal tea.

“It only hurts when I move it,” Eldarion replied with cold politeness. Legolas sighed inwardly at the rebuff and Aragorn cast a decidedly displeased glance at his son but refrained from interfering.

“I see we are still on unfriendly terms,” Legolas said to his sullen companion who made no reply. An uncomfortable silence filled the room, to be broken by Arwen’s cheerful question.

“Aragorn, did you chance to encounter dear Gimli while you were in Rohan?’ she asked, becoming slightly startled when Aragorn laughed out loud.

“Indeed I did. In fact Éomer and I were guests at the first official tasting of the ale the Dwarves are now brewing.” He said, eyes sparkling with delight at the memory of an extremely pleasant day, and a more hazy recall of the evening in Aglarond.

“Was that poor excuse for ale to your liking?” Legolas asked, his nose wrinkled in distaste at the very thought what his palate considered to be a vile drink.

“The first few mouthfuls were rather bitter, but we soon became accustomed to the taste as the night wore on. It was a very potent brew,” he offered by way of explanation at the disbelief on Legolas’s face that anything could make Dwarvish ale likeable.

“As you no doubt discovered the next day.” Arwen said dryly, knowing as Legolas did that both Aragorn and Éomer would have matched Gimli tankard for tankard. Legolas laughed heartily at the implication and the rueful nod from Aragorn.

“I like Gimli,” chimed in a small voice from next to the elf.

“So do I, very much, he is my dearest friend,” Legolas said, hoping to start a conversation with Eldarion.

“I thought father was, how you can have more than one best friend?” demanded Eldarion.

“I have much room in my heart for all those I hold dear, and I can certainly have more than one best friend. In fact until last night I mistakenly thought I had at least three,” Legolas said sadly, allowing the full extent of the sorrow and pain the ill spoken words had caused to show in his voice.

 Aragorn and Arwen watched their son in silence as he digested the elf’s words, his eyes filling with tears as he realised how much he had hurt Legolas and without thought for his injured arm, he climbed onto the elf’s lap and hugged him as fiercely as the splint would allow.

“I did not mean to send you away. I love you Legolas, I am your best friend, too. Don’t you still love me?”

“With all my heart, sweet child, and I will ever be your friend,” he replied, his eyes filled with happy tears as he returned the hug and kissed the child’s cheek.

“Now that is more like the welcome home I expected,” said Aragorn as he squeezed Arwen’s had and they both regarded their son with pride.

“What are your plans for the day?” Arwen enquired of Legolas as he helped Eldarion spread the butter and jam on his toast. The child had decided that the elf’s knee was a far more preferable place to sit, and Legolas had offered no objection.

“I intend to go to the archery range and prepare the targets for the competition,” he replied, feeling Eldarion tense slightly at the mention of the contest. “Although it just occurs to me that I am more accustomed to the placement of targets suitable for adults rather than young children Do you happen to know of some talented young archer who might assist me?” he asked Aragorn, who was barely hiding his amusement at the eager interest in the eyes of his son.

“I will have to think on it,” replied Aragorn, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “I suppose you could ask Sarien,” he said finally, deliberately teasing his son. Sarien was Eldarion’s closest friend, and his equal on the archery range.

“But that is not fair! Sarien will likely win and everyone will think it was because he already knew the course,” declared Eldarion indignantly.

“That is a very wise observation for one so young, but who then can I ask?” Legolas wondered out loud.

“I will help you, no one will mind if the King’s son, who is not competing, assists the archery master,” offered Eldarion with a genuine desire to make amends to both his father and Legolas by behaving in a responsible manner.

“I do not wish you to become upset any further,” replied Legolas doubtfully, in an act of perfect innocence that belied the fact that his was the outcome he had hoped to achieve.

“I will not, I promise. Please, Legolas? It will really be fun and I will have a whole week to tease Sarien by not telling him anything about the course even though I will know all about it,” Eldarion pleaded. The elf’s eyes sparkled with delight and mirth.

“Very well, how can I possibly deny you the chance to tease your best friend, when I enjoy doing the same to mine,” he replied, smiling affectionately at Aragorn who rolled his eyes in exasperation.

“I am very proud of you for putting aside your disappointment and offering your assistance, Eldarion, but tormenting one’s friends is hardly the lesson my son should be learning,” Arwen admonished the elf in a friendly manner.

 “I agree, my dear, but speaking of teasing, I am reminded that I have a letter here for Legolas from Gimli.” Aragorn said as he showed the missive to Arwen, who glared at him then covered her mouth as the evidence of Gimli’s wicked sense of humour made her giggle. Barely able to keep a straight face, Aragorn handed the message to Legolas.

The elf’s eyes widened in astonishment and he laughed heartily as he read his name, written not in Dwarvish runes, but those of the Elves.

 

Chapter 4

As the day of the contest drew near, Legolas willingly agreed to allow the boys to practice as much as they wished, provided their lessons and daily chores were completed. Eldarion came to watch his friends, bravely hiding his disappointment as he joined Sarien in the laughter and teasing that was a normal part of their friendship. Even so, his slightly slumped shoulders and his obvious yearning to be able to take part in the contest did not remain hidden from the elf, nor did Eldarion’s constant glances back towards the city gates. It was almost as if he was expecting something or someone, and Legolas decided to try and find out what was bothering the child.

He waited until the last of the boys had been called home by his parents, then he with a gesture indicated for Eldarion to help collect the practice arrows.

“Why do you keep looking towards the gates?” Legolas asked as they walked towards the targets. Eldarion shrugged and kept his silence, but the elf was not to be deterred. “What do you expect to see? Aragorn leaving on an urgent errand perhaps? One that will prevent him from attending the competition? ” A very curious Eldarion turned to face his friend and nodded his head slowly.

“How did you know I was thinking that? Can you hear my thoughts?” Legolas shook his head and laughed softly, his eyes glittering with amusement.

“Nay, although I have heard Gimli suggest I have that ability at times. I know your thoughts because I have had some experience with your situation,” Legolas replied as he sat in the shade of one of the trees that bordered the field and took a sip from his water bottle. He looked up at Eldarion and indicated the vacant patch of grass beside him, inviting the child to sit and take some refreshment as well.

“When you were little, you mean?” he guessed.

“Aye, the duties of a King sometimes must be given more importance than those of a father, no matter how much he may wish it were otherwise. There were many occasions that Adar was forced to break his promise to play, or go hunting with me or read to me or do any of the things we planned.”

“Were you very angry with him when he did that? So angry that it made you cry?” Eldarion asked, obviously voicing his own method of dealing with disappointment.

“Aye, sometimes I cried and in my anger said hurtful things to my mother, who was usually the one to tell me that Adar had been called away. I often wished I was not the son of the king,” Legolas admitted with regret and sadness for ever causing his beloved nana such heartache as he knew he did with those words even though they were spoken in childish rage. Eldarion was shocked to think the gentle elf could ever hurt anyone, but especially his mother, and it showed plainly on his face.

“But it was not your mother’s fault the King could not be there all the time,” he said wisely having already learned that lesson. Whenever Arwen needed to tell him Aragorn had been suddenly called away, they had shed a few tears of sadness, and then continued on, eagerly waiting for his return. Legolas placed an arm around the small shoulders  and gently hugged his young friend.

“Nay, it was not, nor was Adar to blame, as I came to understand when I grew older and took my place amongst the other warriors on patrol. I missed many special occasions and celebrations while I was away protecting the borders but my duty came first in those dark days,” said Legolas with a shudder as memories of the cold evil that had invaded Mirkwood sent a chill through his blood.

“I am going to train hard and become a great warrior like you and Father,” boasted the young heir to the throne proudly. Legolas smiled sadly in acknowledgement of the truth of the words spoken by  one who was born into a world of peace and hope It would be foolhardy to think that the King Eldarion was destined to become would never raise his sword or fire his bow in battle against a foe who sought dominion over his realm. The only comfort was that never again would Middle-earth face the evil of Sauron.

“Then you should begin by learning to keep astride your mount,” teased Legolas. The steel grey eyes glittered with a brief flicker of anger that swiftly changed to mischief.

“Just as you learned to keep your footing in the trees!” Eldarion replied in the same good humour, joining in the elf’s merry laughter as they finished collecting the arrows and walked slowly back to the city. 

                                                 ***********

To the delight of all, but particularly Eldarion whose fears regarding his father’s absence were proven to be unfounded, Aragorn declared that the day of the archery tournament was to be considered a holiday and a festive air descended upon Minas Tirith as the city awoke to the sound of excited laughter and chatter of its younger citizens. The contest itself was not to begin until the afternoon, but many families were already eagerly making their way through the streets towards the gates and the glade not far beyond that was the site of the long awaited event.  Coloured banners had been hung from the trees and several makeshift tables stood to one side, covered with bright tablecloths, platters of meats and cheeses, fresh bread rolls and a delicious assortment of sweets and pastries from the King’s kitchens.

Legolas, Eldarion and several of the young archers from the ranks of the King’s soldiers, whose services as official scorers had been sought, had been hard at work since dawn, setting the targets and ensuring that the spectator area was well marked. They had also set up a pavilion with a comfortable chair for Arwen, who had just arrived and was now seated, watching with pride and amusement as her son took the responsibility of introducing Aragorn to the parents of the other boys in his class.

The Queen often entertained the other mothers, and knew both the ladies and their children well, but those boys whose fathers were not of the King’s Guard were unknown to Aragorn, a situation Eldarion had insisted on rectifying. Blankets of all materials and hues, shared by friends and kin alike, were spread under the trees in the most advantageous places around the archery range and Arwen smiled at the delightful scene of a relaxed Aragorn, his hand firmly held in Eldarion’s, being lead around the glade, stopping frequently to exchange greetings with acquaintances, or for formal introductions to others.

The air fairly crackled with excitement and anticipation until Legolas finally took pity on his young friends and called the contestants to the archery range. With a final check to ensure that bows were strung properly and that hair was tied back well away from their faces, Legolas’s students quickly made their way to the starting area where the officials, all except one were waiting to draw straws to determine the order of shooting.

“I think I will sit with Mother and Father, if you do not mind,” Eldarion told Legolas when he came to escort his helper to the official area.

“I hope ‘tis not because your arm is causing you discomfort?” enquired the elf with concern. The child had looked a little pale after the morning’s exertions and Legolas’s sharp hearing had not failed to alert him to the occasional small intake of breath that often accompanied a painful movement.

“Well, it does hurt a little, and you do have enough other judges…” replied Eldarion hesitantly. Legolas accepted that answer, although he could tell from the child’s demeanour he was also probably feeling a little left out again. All his friends were now taking their turn at a final practice, and there was no doubt that it was longing that filled the child’s eyes.

“Then by all means stay here and rest, you are certainly in good company,” Legolas added with a bow to the King and Queen. “Aragorn, I believe Faramir has the pennants you are to present to the winners,” he reminded his friend who merely nodded in reply.

“Can I give the one who takes first place his prize?” Eldarion asked, glancing from his father to Legolas who nodded his acquiescence. Along with the pennant, the winner was to receive an elvish arrow, made by Legolas and greatly desired by all the budding archers in his class.

“Why would you wish to do that?” asked Arwen who had also sensed her son’s increasing despair and was surprised at his request.

“Because I know Sarien will win,” Eldarion replied with complete confidence in his friend, “and because he will let me hold the arrow whenever I want until my stupid arm heals and I win one of my own.” All three heard the anger, remorse and determination in the small voice, and none of them were surprised when Eldarion turned to Aragorn and solemnly vowed never to break his promise again.

(tbc)

 

Chapter 5

Whilst all the young competitors displayed an equal amount of enthusiasm and determination to do their best, it quickly became apparent to the spectators that the level of skill of the children varied greatly.  The targets for the first few rounds were in easy reach of even the least talented among them, but even so, for the most part  the objects were in no danger of being hit often, and then only by Sarien and a few of the elder boys. Legolas had refused none admission to his classes, regardless of their ability and the onlookers could now see the wisdom in allowing only the practice arrows to be used, just as all could see the joy and sense of achievement that lit the small faces whenever a point was scored.

Even more pleasing, from Legolas’s point of view, was the willingness of the experienced archers, many of whom had been disgruntled  with the elf’s indulgence of the children, considering it a waste of his time and talent, to add their voices of encouragement. Amidst the titters of amusement that followed some of the more wayward misses, shouts of  ”Well done, lad!” or “Fine shooting!” accompanied by much cheering and applauding could be heard for each successful hit  on the target.

The boys who were eliminated left the field with their heads held high, and their eyes shining with pride as they ran to rejoin their families. A short rest period was called at the end of each round giving the scribe time to write the name on the certificate of participation that Legolas formally presented to each of the losing contestants. In turn the elf was rewarded with polite thanks and often a very informal hug from his young students.

As the end of the tournament approached, and only the most talented of the would be archers remained in the contest, Eldarion was not surprised to see Sarien was one of the five to make the final round and was even less so when his friend emerged as the winner. It had been with great delight and not a little envy that, after The King presented the finalists with their pennants, the young prince ceremoniously handed his friend the winner’s trophy.

“I just knew you would win, Sarien,” Eldarion exclaimed happily as his friend accepted the arrow.

“Thank you, Your Highness,” Sarien replied with a respectful bow as was appropriate in front of the large crowd who had gathered to witness their prince perform his first official duty.

Eldarion was stunned into silence. Never before had he been addressed in this manner by any of his friends and he decided immediately that he did not like it at all. Aragorn noted the frown on his son’s face, and smiled at him, nodding his head to indicate Eldarion should do likewise. The child forced a smile of his own, and then walked quickly away, dragging Sarien by the hand as he did so.

“My name is Eldarion, not ‘Your Highness’!” he hissed angrily.

“It is your rightful title, and father said I must learn to use it,” replied Sarien with a shrug.

“When Eldarion is acting as the King’s son, that is indeed true,” said Legolas who had followed the boys’ rapid departure, easily realising what had caused Eldarion to behave so strangely.

“Your father is also a King but I have never heard my father call you any name other than Legolas,” Eldarion replied, glaring at the elf.

“That is because you have never been in attendance at any of the banquets or other official functions where such formality is necessary. However, at other times, your friends may address you by whatever name you wish to use. Is that not so, Aragorn?” a mischievous Legolas asked of his friend of many names, who had also come to see what ailed his son.

“Aye, Thranduilion, ‘tis as you say,” Aragorn replied merrily, clapping Legolas on the back in acknowledgment of the unspoken jest between them and winking his thanks as the crisis quickly passed. The explanation had mollified the child’s anger and his smile had returned.

“Oh. I had not thought of that. Can I look at the arrow, Sarien?” Eldarion asked, turning his attention back to more important matters as he and his friend examined Legolas’s handiwork more closely.

                                                     *************

It was to be the first of many elvish arrows that Sarien won in the years preceding their joining the ranks of trainee soldiers, and although Eldarion managed to defeat him on a few occasions he freely admitted that he was nowhere near as talented an archer as his best friend. Even had he not been so free with his accolades, the quiver full of arrows made by Legolas that Sarien wore on his back was testament enough to his ability, just as the numerous bruises on his arms and legs from Eldarion’s wooden practice sword spoke of the young prince’s increasing prowess as a swordsman. During sword practice I had it quickly become clear that Eldarion had inherited his father’s skill and Aragorn was filled with pride to hear his son declared the most promising student the weapons master had seen since he had trained the young Boromir.

“’Tis high praise indeed to be compared to my brother,” Faramir replied with a sad smile when Aragorn told him what had been said. Time had lessened the grief he felt at Boromir’s passing, but he still missed the brother he loved so well.

“Aye, and an honour,” Aragorn added, placing a comforting hand on his Steward’s arm as he handed him a goblet of wine. Several long and tedious meetings had made their day tiresome and now that it was at an end, the two friends were relaxing in the King’s private study. “I understand you have paid a great compliment to Sarien’s skill by recommending he be trained as one of the Rangers?” Faramir nodded.

“I was more than pleased to grant his request. We both know he is not only an excellent archer, but has also learned much about being a woodsman from his and Eldarion’s frequent visits to our elvish friends.” A smile of amusement was exchanged, acknowledging the fact that the visits to the Wood elves were often without prior invitation or permission for that matter. Whenever they were out riding or hunting, Eldarion and his friends frequently arrived unannounced at the colony and often stayed for several days at a time. Aragorn was not pleased by such irresponsible behaviour, and always reprimanded Eldarion immediately on his return, but it seemed that his words often fell on the deaf ears that were commonplace amongst adolescents.

Legolas had also tried to dissuade his young friend from such behaviour, but with little success, for Eldarion was a stubborn and wilful youth. Besides, the part elf in Eldarion loved the forest and Legolas fully understood his need to escape from the stone walls of the city. Fortunately for Aragorn’s peace of mind, Legolas was aware of his responsibilities and never failed to immediately dispatch a messenger to inform the King of his heir’s whereabouts, and the expected length of his stay.

“Legolas and his people have indeed been indulgent hosts and excellent teachers in the woodland arts,” Aragorn stated with much affection for his long time friend that faded slightly as his thoughts of friendship returned his  attention to the current dilemma his son was about to face.

“Has Sarien told Eldarion that he will be leaving with you when you return to Ithilien?” Aragorn asked, the concern in his voice reflecting his apprehension at how he knew his son would receive the unwanted news. The two had been almost inseparable as they matured from boyhood into youths and the parting of ways would be difficult on them both. Sarien was to become a Ranger and although it would be many years before Eldarion became King, and he had requested permission to spend some time with them as well, it had been decided that the heir to the throne was to remain in Gondor.

“Nay, I am afraid I told Sarien that as Eldarion’s King and father that task lies with you, but I do have a suggestion that might help ease the pain.” Aragorn sighed in sad acceptance of his duty and raised an eyebrow in query, indicating the Steward should continue. “As you are aware, Legolas is expecting his father to arrive in Ithilien within the week.” Aragorn nodded.

“I have never seen Legolas so filled with joyful anticipation, and nervousness.” The elf’s normally calm and unperturbed demeanour had cracked a little when he and Legolas had recently spoken about the impending visit.

“Nor have I, but his reaction is understandable, we all wish to impress our sires. This is the first time King Thranduil has graced the colony with his presence since it was established, and it is only fitting that an invitation to attend the court of the King of Gondor is extended to the visiting Elvenking.”

“Aye,” Aragorn agreed wondering at the mention of a courtesy that would have been extended as a matter of course. In fact he had already hinted to Legolas that Arwen wanted to hold a banquet in Thranduil’s honour.

“Should not such a message should be delivered by one of appropriate standing, the King of Gondor’s son, perhaps?” Faramir asked, watching Aragorn’s confusion rapidly fade as he helped himself to some more wine. “Eldarion has often expressed a desire to meet Legolas’s father and assigning him such a task will surely distract him when Sarien and I depart.”

“It is time he took on some of the responsibilities of his position, but is not the elvish colony a little out of your way?” Aragorn asked.

“I intend to be a part of the escort of the prince,” Faramir said as if stating the obvious. Aragorn was not fooled for a moment.

“Tell me, do you do so out of duty and a desire to protect my son or a wish to meet Thranduil?” Aragorn enquired, his smile reaching his eyes as he teased his friend. Both men knew there was no need for the Steward to accompany Eldarion, other than Faramir’s curiosity regarding all things elvish. An ample guard would be assigned to protect Eldarion whenever he travelled on official business.

“My duty to your House will always come first,” Faramir assured his King with a respectful bow, rising to meet amused eyes with his own. “But, aye, I greatly desire to meet the legendary King Thranduil.”

“I know and your idea is a sound one so please make your arrangements to leave as soon possible. I will speak with Eldarion after the evening meal.” 

 

Chapter 6

Eldarion’s eyes widened in surprise as he was pushed back against the soft pillows, and then firmly held in place by the two giggling females who exchanged what he could only describe as a wicked look before they lifted his undershirt and began tickling their brother’s sensitive skin. The game continued with Eldarion playfully retaliating whenever possible until all three were tired and breathless from laughing.

“Two against one is unfair, Maerrin,” he said to the elder of his sisters who did not cease her attack.

“But you are a warrior, surely two sweet, innocent maids are no match for your skill and strength,” she said coyly. Eldarion raised an eyebrow in disbelief.

“Sweet, perhaps, but more mischievous than innocent,” he teased, earning a slap on the shoulder for his jest and a totally unladylike poke of a tongue as well which he chose to ignore. “Aye, I could easily overpower you if I wished,” he agreed, demonstrating that fact by suddenly turning his attention to his younger sister, gently capturing the small hands in his own. “What are you going to do now, Janiel?” he asked with a wicked grin as she tried vainly tried to squirm out of his grasp.

“I will stop tickling if you let me go. Please Eldarion, I promise,” she begged in between giggles. Eldarion was amazed at how innocent she looked as she spoke, but was not fooled for a moment by the empty promise of a maid of only six summers. Nonetheless he released her hands after a few more moments, glaring at her sternly as if daring her to touch him again. Wisely deciding that her brother had reached the limit of his patience, Janiel changed her battle plans and reached up to hug him tightly around the neck.

“I love you, Eldarion,” she said sweetly. The young man sighed happily and kissed her brow.

“I love you too, my little sisters, both of you” he replied, drawing Maerrin into a brief hug with his other arm. “And if I am not mistaken, our dear Maerrin loves not only us but a certain young archer friend of mine,” he teased causing his sibling to blush furiously.

“Aye, all she ever talks about is Sarien, and he is a boy!” Janiel’s distaste at the mere thought of liking any male other than her brother was obvious as she crinkled her nose in disgust.

“But a very charming one, and I hope he asks me to dance at the banquet for the King of Eryn Lasgalen.,” Maerrin replied dreamily.

Arwen had approached the chamber, wondering at the sounds of merriment that came from within and stood at the door in silence just as her eldest daughter finished speaking. The smile of delight that shone from her fair features as she watched her children’s display of affection for one another disappeared under a cloud. She had been aware for some time that Maerrin was very fond of Sarien, and it was with regret that she realised whilst Aragorn was dealing with Eldarion’s disappointment, she would be called upon to handle the tears of a young maid that would fall when she heard that one she loved would not only be absent from the dance, but also from the city.

“I am sure he will, I think he likes you, too,” Eldarion confided in her with a wink, causing his sister to blush with pleasure at knowing her feelings might be returned.

“And is there no maid you would ask to dance, my son?” Arwen asked with understandable curiosity whilst at the same time announcing her presence with her softly spoken question. The Queen knew that Aragorn was probably wondering why she had not yet sent Eldarion to speak with him, but of late her son had chosen not to confide matters of the heart with her, preferring his father’s advice instead and she decided the delay was warranted.

“Indeed there is,” Eldarion answered mysteriously, laughing merrily as all three ladies stared at him in astonishment while they waited for him to name the maiden.

“Who is she?” Janiel demanded impatiently, speaking for them all.

“Why only the loveliest maid in all of Gondor,” he teased drawing out the suspense. Arwen merely trolled her eyes in amusement as her daughters glared crossly at their brother.

 “’Tis you, little one who I would have as my dance partner,” he said with a laugh as he rose from the bed, lifted the surprised Janiel into his arms and gaily twirled her about the chamber.

“Am I really to be allowed to attend the banquet, Mother?” the young one asked when Eldarion finally set her on her feet. It was not the usual custom for one of her tender age to be permitted to do so.

“Well, it would be rather impolite to refuse the prince’s choice of escort for the evening, so aye, you may attend,” Arwen replied exchanging a subtle smile with her son. She had no doubt that had been Eldarion’s intended outcome for he had learned that there were some privileges readily granted to the king’s son.

“So be it,” he said regally, with an exaggerated sweeping bow first to Arwen and then his beloved sisters.

“What do you think I should wear, Eldarion?” Janiel asked suddenly as the realisation that she would need a ball gown suddenly filled her with added excitement.

“Janiel, sweet I will take you to the banquet, but I will not participate further. I fear nothing more than seamstresses and silly female conversation,” he teased, retreating swiftly to the door.

“The please go and speak with your father, he is expecting you,” Arwen told her son. Eldarion raised an eyebrow in query, but received no answer other than an encouraging nod that he understood to mean Aragorn had news of import to discuss.

The King’s private study was but a short distance from his sister’s bedchamber, and in that time Eldarion convinced himself that the news that awaited him was his acceptance as a ranger of Ithilien. So it was with a brilliant smile and a heart racing with excitement that he entered the chamber and greeted his father with a warm embrace.

“There is something we need to discuss, my son,” Aragorn told the youth, indicating he should take a seat. Eldarion was too nervous to sit, choosing to stand at the window instead.

“I know what you would tell me, Sarien and I are to be allowed to train as rangers. Thank you so much, father,” he said before Aragorn had a chance to say his piece. The brilliant glitter of happiness in the steel grey eyes that met his were as shards of glass in Aragorn’s heart and he turned away briefly to regain his composure before speaking the words he knew he must.

“Sarien is to go to Ithilien alone. As my son and heir, you must remain here in Minas Tirith,” he stated, deliberately delivering the news as the King so that Eldarion would know the decision was not to be questioned.

 “I am so sorry, my son, I know this is not what you wanted,” Aragorn the father said with much compassion as he reached for Eldarion. His heart broke as his child drew away from his touch, and without a further word stormed from the chamber, his eyes filled with flickering flames of angry fire that rivalled those that once burned in Mordor.

 

Chapter 7

Even though he saw what was about to happen, Aragorn flinched at the sound of the heavy wooden door being forcefully slammed shut in Eldarion’s wake. He glared darkly and waited until he heard the slightly muffled sound of a similar attack on the door to his son’s chamber before following the wrathful youth. Deciding that knocking would only garner a refusal of admission, Aragorn simply entered uninvited and walked over to stand beside his son who had spared the unwelcome guest a cold glance over his shoulder before turning away to stare out of the window with unseeing eyes.

“Was there a need for you to test the strength of the doors in such a manner?” Aragorn asked lightly, hoping to ease the tension that hung thickly between them. He waited a few moments and was dismayed to receive only silence in reply. “Eldarion, we need to talk.” This time there was a sterner undertone to his words that was tinged with affection and understanding for his son’s pain.

“I have nothing to say to you,” hissed the still irate youth with a disinterested shrug of his shoulders. There was challenge and a trace of disrespect in the tone of voice that grated and did nothing to ease Aragorn’s annoyance with the childish behaviour he was witnessing.

“I know you are disappointed, and I am not required to explain my decisions, but please do me the courtesy of  facing me while I do so,” Aragorn demanded with a hint of reprimand in his voice that only served to cause further anger. An anger that quickly became mutual after he placed a hand on his son’s shoulder, meaning to turn Eldarion to face him, only to have it shrugged off as the youth moved away from the touch.

“There is nothing to explain. Sarien is to be a ranger and I am not!”

The sullenly shouted words were emphasised by the pounding of fist on the window sill and the eyes that finally deigned to look at Aragorn were bright with unshed tears.

“You spent most of your life as a ranger, are you not proud to know I wish to follow in your footsteps?”

“Indeed I am, but what you fail to understand is that you are not the son of the ranger, but the son of the King of Men. In a few more years you will come of age and you are expected to behave as my heir.” Eldarion frowned slightly at words that were a portent of doom as far as he was concerned.

“Surely I can be spared the burden of such a responsibility for a while longer? Would I not benefit greatly from living among the rangers, as you once did?” Eldarion asked insistently, his eyes filled with hope and pleading for Aragorn to change his mind, an admittedly unlikely occurrence considering that stubbornness and determination were equally strong traits in the characters of father and son.

 “Perhaps,” Aragorn reluctantly admitted, “but the circumstances that sent me into the wilds no longer prevail. It was my heritage and my duty to fight long and hard, at first against myself, and then against Sauron, to take my rightful place as King Elessar, and as my son it is the path to the throne that you must learn to walk, none other.” Aragorn was not surprised that Eldarion resisted the harsh reality, but he had hoped for a more mature acceptance than his son was displaying.

“It is not fair, father!” Eldarion shouted as he threw himself on the bed, rolling onto his back so that he could glare up at a disappointed Aragorn who made no move to appease his son’s ill temper. “Sarien is permitted to choose his own way, yet you deny your own son,” the youth said coldly. Frustration and disappointment was evident in the slump of his shoulders and the harshness of his voice and Aragorn simply shook his head with exasperation and continued speaking. 

“It is a very wise decision, in light of your response, and one you should have expected. We both know that Sarien is well suited for the path he has chosen,” chided the King who was nearing the limit of his patience with his son and heir.

“So he will spend his days living the life I crave.” Aragorn’s eyebrows rose in dismay at the petulant remark and decided to try a different approach in his efforts to make Eldarion see reason.

“Are you not proud of your friend? Will you not share in his joy, or do you intend to spoil it with your envy?” Eldarion was taken aback by his father’s misinterpretation and outspokenness. He was certainly envious, but harboured no ill feelings towards his dearest friend and the unpleasant thought of unwittingly hurting Sarien’s feelings with his current attitude tempered his response.

“Of course I am both proud and very happy for Sarien. He deserves to have his skills recognised, but I will miss his presence greatly,” he replied sadly, just now realising the further consequences of the decision. He and Sarien had been practically inseparable since they were children and their bond of friendship was closer than that shared by many who were brothers.

“The role of ruler can be a heavy and unwelcome burden to bear, and even a very lonely one at times.  You will become weighed down by responsibilities others do not share and have certain freedoms denied to you, but there are rewards,” he said, smiling inwardly at the curiosity his son was unable to hide.

“What kind of rewards?” Eldarion asked warily.

“The love and respect  your people will willingly bestow on a just and benevolent ruler, the chance to travel the lands and meet with many different people and other Kings, to name but a few,” Aragorn replied with a sly grin which was slowly returned in kind as Eldarion took the first step towards acceptance of his fate.

“What are you planning, father?” he asked, correctly sensing mischief and manipulation behind the words. Aragorn smiled at the very elvish mercurial change in emotions that overcame his son, and silently thanked the Valar once again for blessing him with Arwen’s love.

“Your first official duty will be to deliver an important message on my behalf." Aragorn said, deliberately refraining from offering more information in order to pique his son's curiosity.

“A messenger?” Eldarion’s disgust at being given such a mundane task was evident in the dark look he gave his father.

“Indeed. I would have you ride to Ithilien and deliver my greetings and an invitation for a royal visit to Minas Tirith to King Thranduil,” Aragorn said in his most regal voice, his pretence at pomposity dissolving into mirth as he noted the stunned and delighted look on his son’s face.

“I am being *commanded* to visit the elves?”  Eldarion teased, knowing his father would understand the jest. It would be the first time in his recall that he would do so with prior permission and, as he thought sadly, without Sarien at his side. Aragorn’s eyes smiled as he nodded and explained the plans further.

“Aye, as strange as it will seem to Legolas, you will arrive as my ambassador, with a guard as befits your status that will include my good Steward and your friend. Faramir is returning to his home, but is so eager to meet Thranduil that he and Sarien will also form part of your escort.” Aragorn said a silent ‘thank you’ to Faramir, for his advice on dealing with Eldarion’s disappointment had proven to be as sound as his advice on matters of state.

“Why am I not surprised at that news?  We are all eager to meet Legolas's sire and it will give Sarien and I a few days together before we must say our farewells,” added Eldarion excitedly his face alight with a smile of genuine happiness at the prospect.

“Then I suggest you take your rest, for you are to leave at first light tomorrow,” Aragorn said, moving to place a kiss on his son’s brow. “Sleep well, my son.”

“I am sorry I was angry with you, Father. You do know that I love you, no matter our differences?” Eldarion asked as he allowed Aragorn’s arms to enfold him in an affectionate embrace.

“I love you, too, Eldarion,” replied Aragorn, savouring the moment of closeness that lasted only a few moments before a distressed Arwen entered the chamber.

“I am pleased to see that at least one of our children does not hate you,” she said as she willingly joined in the display of familial affection.

“What has happened now? Which of our daughters have I managed to upset?” asked Aragorn with a sigh of resignation.

“Both!” Arwen declared. “Maerrin says she hates you for sending Sarien away, and Janiel agrees with her grievance against you and is also angry because she thinks you have upset Eldarion.” Aragorn’s confusion was obvious, especially since Eldarion and Arwen seemed amused by some private knowledge and so he was relieved when Eldarion came to his rescue.

“Maerrin has developed a crush on Sarien and had hoped he would escort her to the banquet for King Thranduil and apparently Janiel has decided to support the ‘romance’,” he guessed correctly judging by Arwen’s nod of agreement.

“Unfortunately since they learned that Sarien will be leaving tomorrow, you, my love are now a ‘mean old King’. I think you should go and make your peace with them both,” suggested Arwen with more than a little sympathy.

“I am not Elrond, I can only deal with one troubled child at a time,” Aragorn commented dryly but with much respect for the lore master who had appeared to easily survive the rearing of three children and a foster son.  Neither he nor Arwen had found parenting to be a simple task.

“I will speak with Janiel, but Maerrin is yours to deal with father. I am not that brave,” offered Eldarion, knowing his young sister would listen to him above all others.

“Has she stopped crying yet?” Aragorn enquired of Arwen, referring to Maerrin with some trepidation. He loved his daughters dearly, and would protect them from anything, even their own hearts if he could, but he was not comfortable dealing with the often tearful maid his elder daughter was becoming.

“That matters not, just go to her, and be gentle,” replied Arwen, leading a reluctant Aragorn towards the door, closely followed by Eldarion who needed only to walk across the hallway to reach his destination.

“Janiel, are you awake?” Eldarion called softly as he approached the small figure curled up on her bed, arms wrapped around her favourite pillow.

“Hello Eldarion,” she answered as she sat up and reached for a hug from her big brother. “Are you sad because our father is sending Sarien away and because he will not let you be a ranger? Are you angry with him like Maerrin and I am?” she asked with the directness typical of one her age.

“Aye, I am sad because I will miss Sarien, and I am sad I can not be a ranger, but I am not angry with father, nor should you be.” The sternly spoken words were tempered by the kiss bestowed on a soft cheek.

“He made Maerrin cry.”

“He did not mean to, besides of late Maerrin cries over any small thing, even if the toast is burned,” Eldarion snorted with some amusement. Janiel giggled and nodded.

“I know, but she wanted to dance with Sarien. She really likes him you know,” she whispered in confidence.

“Aye, and he really likes her and I have no doubt they will eventually meet on the dance floor on one of the many occasions in the future that mother deems a ball or banquet to be necessary. I have seen the rangers often in attendance either here or in Ithilien,” he said reassuringly.

“Good, then I can stop being angry with father,” Janiel said sleepily.

“A wise decision, little one.” Agreed her brother as he helped her into bed and lovingly tucked the blankets around his sweet sister.

 “Eldarion?”

“Aye?”

“I am glad you are not going away.” 

“So am I,” he whispered in reply, knowing in his heart that it was true.

 

Chapter 8

Despite Eldarion’s eagerness to reach Ithilien as soon as possible, when the captain of his guard called a halt for a short rest period, the young prince made no objection. The shade of the glen chosen as their resting place was most welcome after riding most of the day under Anor’s summer heat, as was the cool, clear water of the stream that flowed lazily past the small grove of trees.

Leaving the horses to drink and graze, the men settled on the soft grass, slaking their thirst and hunger with rations of their own, talking and laughing as they relaxed in the pleasant surroundings. Sarien, Eldarion and Faramir sat apart from the soldiers, and their conversation quickly turned to the reason for their journey.

“King Elessar has told us of his brief meetings with King Thranduil in the past, but tell us, Faramir, have you ever met any Elves other than those in Ithilien?” Sarien asked, the impending meeting with Thranduil obviously foremost in his thoughts. The steward nodded and smiled with fond recall a day before the royal wedding when he and Legolas had spent several hours with the formidable elder Elves who had arrived in Minas Tirith with Elrond.

“Indeed I have met all those whose portraits hang in the Queen’s chambers,” he replied with a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders. Sarien’s eyes widened in surprise and his voice was tinged with envy.

“That must have been a wonderful experience. I have seen those paintings many a time, and the elder elves, particularly Lords Elrond, Glorfindel and Erestor, not to mention Celeborn, seem somewhat different to Legolas and his friends,” Sarien said hoping for more information from Faramir. The steward smiled at the awe with which the names were spoken, an awe he felt himself when he had met each of them and he wondered how best to describe the living beings who were so much more than any picture could portray.

“The likenesses are excellent, but they do not really capture the depth of wisdom in their eyes, nor their beauty in full,” Faramir commented with respectful tone to his voice. “And do not forget that for all their youthful appearance, they are much older than our Wood elf friends, not to mention having lived through and endured the trials of a different Age.”

“Sauron was ever at war with the Elves, and even they with themselves, so Legolas tells us,” Sarien offered what little he knew of such things. Faramir nodded.

“According to Lord Glorfindel, who is a most excellent storyteller I must say, he and the others have witnessed much that the younger Elves will only ever hear about in the many songs sung about those dark days, or read about in history books,” he added with a knowing smile at the two very reluctant students he knew the two young men were often accused of being by their tutors.

“We would be exceedingly knowledgeable were we take the time to read books, rather than practice weaponry, as our history tutor often says,” Sarien said, exchanging a mischievous grin with his friend. Eldarion made a face to show his distaste of lessons in general and they both laughed at the reminder of the many times they had been in trouble for neglecting their books.

“I imagine there will be no need for book learning in the ranger’s camp?” Eldarion enquired of Faramir.

“There is always a place for knowledge, and old accounts of battles and the like often have hidden wisdom, but most of the training is in the field,” the once captain of the rangers agreed.

“Tell me what I can expect to learn when we reach the camp,” Sarien asked, listening intently as Faramir began describing the tasks that lay ahead for the novice ranger in more detail. Eldarion also listened for a few minutes, but the reminder of the path he could not take only served to reopen the slowly healing hurt, so rather than insist on a change of subject, he wandered away from his friends, leaving them to their discussion. He truly had no desire to hear more, or to let his sour mood affect his friends. Sarien glanced up at him with concern as he moved away, but Eldarion’s affectionate smile and indulgent roll of his eyes silently indicated that all was well and the new ranger turned his full attention back to what Faramir was saying.

Feeling restless and at a loss at how to pass the time, the young prince looked to where this guards were resting, and saw that some were taking a brief nap. He could do likewise, he supposed, but there was a strange voice on the summer breeze, as if the trees of the forest ahead were calling to him. It was a whimsical notion, for he was no wood elf, nonetheless he had a great love for the natural world and at times he believed he understood the whispers of the leaves. A sense of anticipation, like the dead calm before a storm, filled the air of the glen and he felt a strong urge to reach his destination.

Knowing they were close to Legolas’s forest home and that there was no danger in this part of Ithilien, Eldarion decided that he would continue on ahead. He whistled for his horse and after stopping for a quick word to inform the captain of his guard of his intent to ride the short distance remaining on his own, Eldarion rode to answer the call of the nameless voice.

As he topped a rise, the young man sat up in the saddle and shading his eyes from Anor’s glaring fingers of light, peered into the distance, a smile of anticipation curving his lips as he caught his first glimpse of his destination as it rose from the horizon, surrounded by a shimmering heat haze that made it appear a mystical place. The tall trees of the forest of Ithilien, wearing their crowns of leaves of many different hues, seemed to be waving to him, beckoning him forward so with a tap of his heels, he urged his horse to a gallop and rode to answer the strange call he realised was more than just his fanciful imagination.

Eldarion had barely passed beneath the first of the trees when the eerie feel in the air caused the hairs on the back of his neck to rise, and a shiver travel down his spine. Certain he was being watched, but seeing no sign of anyone, he rode slowly amongst the trees, casting a wary gaze about him as he travelled deeper into the forest. There was definitely a strong sense of something powerful all around, and after a few minutes he realised that what he had mistaken for a hint of fear in the whispers of the leaves was just the opposite. There was a mixture of joy and wonder in the soft rustling of the foliage, and he felt the forest was more alive than ever before, as if it had only just now begun to truly awaken to the presence of the Elves. It was a wondrous revelation, and it came with a serenity that Eldarion decided to more fully enjoy by walking the rest of the way to the settlement.

“Did I not know otherwise, I could easily believe you were Elendil riding through my son’s forest,” an amused voice said from somewhere nearby, causing a startled Eldarion to almost fall as he dismounted. More silvery laughter filled the air, and this time he recognised the second voice that had joined the first, even before more words were spoken.

“Careful, Adar, do not alarm the young prince, I do not wish him to break any bones. It appears he is still unsteady when it comes to dismounting,” teased Legolas as he stepped from the Valar knew where to embrace his friend. Eldarion scowled and feigned annoyance but returned the embrace.

“And have you yet learned not to fall out of trees?” Eldarion replied as was expected. The two childhood incidents had become a private form of greeting, and occasionally a source of more serious teasing between the friends. He was about to say something else but his words turned to a gasp of astonishment when he saw the other elf who could be none other than Thranduil.

For a few stunned moments, he openly studied the golden haired Woodland King. That Legolas resembled his father in looks there was no denying, but it was also obvious the elder elf was not just fair of face. Even in his relaxed demeanour there was no mistaking Thranduil was a formidable king and a warrior of old, who had seen and experienced much. Not only was he stunning to look at, but he was surrounded by an aura of majesty, strength and power that Eldarion could almost see shining from behind eyes that were filled with the wisdom of many centuries. Those eyes sparkled with amusement as they observed the now speechless young man in turn.

“Legolas, will you not introduce us?” Thranduil asked quietly. Legolas complied with a similar air of regal grace to his father that made Eldarion truly look upon his friend as the king’s son for the first time.

“King Thranduil of Eryn Lasgalen, may I present His Highness, Eldarion of Crown Prince of  Gondor,” he said bowing formally first to his father and then to Eldarion as he made the introductions.

“I am very pleased to meet you and offer greetings from my King, Your Majesty,” Eldarion responded after he managed to find his voice.

“Thank you, Prince Eldarion,” Thranduil replied in kind, a wry smile curving his lips as he felt the young man cringe slightly at the use of his title. ‘Legolas’s influence, no doubt,’ Thranduil thought and acted quickly to relieve the now uncomfortable silence. “Like my son, I prefer titles to be used only when required, and since you are a close friend of my son, please just call me Thranduil.” Eldarion accepted the offer with a smile and made the same in return.

“And I am simply Eldarion,” he said.

“Where are the others? Surely Aragorn did not send you without a proper escort?” Legolas asked, suddenly suspicious that his friend may not have sought permission to visit Ithilien. “He did send you, did he not?”

“Aye, my guards and Sarien and Faramir will be along shortly. I came ahead because I felt as if I was being summoned,” he explained with shrug. “There is something very different about the forest this day.” Thranduil’s surprise at this statement was evident and he studied the young man more closely.

“It is your elvish blood allows you to understand the whispers of the trees,” he commented.

“Not as Legolas does, but at times I can sense a difference in the air. Today the trees seem more alive to me,” Eldarion admitted.

“That is because Adar is here,” Legolas said simply, deeming no other explanation necessary, nor wishing to speak of that which saddened Thranduil. He exchanged a glance of understanding with his adar, and then one with Eldarion that asked the young prince not to question further, then smiled brilliantly as a more pleasant way to pass the time, and crossed his mind. “Come, let us make haste to my home where we will surely find a cool flask of wine to enjoy while we wait for the other to arrive.” he suggested, taking each by the arm and leading the way back to the settlement.

 

Chapter 9

Rather than making his way to his home, Legolas chose to escort Eldarion and Thranduil to the large glade where preparations for the evening’s feast to welcome the King to Ithilien were well underway.

“Your visit is timely, but unexpected, Eldarion, and yet since you are here on your first official errand as the King’s son, it would be remiss of me not to provide a welcome feast for you as well. Unfortunately the one this evening for Adar is already fully planned, so we will have to hold another tomorrow night for you.” Legolas’s apology was delivered in jest and with much amusement, for he was well aware that Eldarion often commented that the blossoming of even a single flower was more than enough reason for his Wood Elf friends to celebrate in the manner he also enjoyed immensely.

“That will be acceptable, my lord,” Eldarion replied with a poor attempt at haughtiness as he practiced his ‘regal’ voice on his friend. Both burst out laughing and were surprised when Thranduil, made no comment about inappropriate behaviour, nor joined in the merriment. Part of his mind was elsewhere, reliving the moments of his first arrival in his son’s settlement, and the bittersweet conversation that had followed.

 The dwellings the Wood elves had built for themselves were spread throughout the area of the forest selected for the new settlement in Ithilien, in no particular arrangement other than that which suited its occupants. Many had chosen to follow the lead of their Lórien kin and build telain high in the trees, but the one thing they all had in common was that they were expertly crafted so as to almost be invisible amongst the trees, or in them, to any but the ones who dwelt there.  

It was a sight he had never imagined he would see again after Oropher moved away from Lórien when Thranduil was but a child. For a time they had remained in the light of the great Greenwood, but once the darkness began invading, his people had been forced into underground caverns for their own safety. Thranduil loved his stone palace for its beauty and the many lives it had protected, but he had always hated living within the confining walls and cold darkness more suited to Dwarves than the children of the stars. Only now that Sauron had truly been defeated, could his people live their carefree lives as Wood Elves once more, revelling in the close harmony with the forest they adored. His heart wept tears of joy for the freedom so dearly won and now openly cherished by Legolas and his friends.  

“Can you see the tapestries, Adar?  Are you not proud to know that at last all is as you hoped it would be?” were the words he silently offered to the one who resided in the Halls of Waiting. As if in answer, a gentle breeze suddenly kissed his brow, taking away his sorrow and allowing his inner light to shine fully once more from emerald eyes were filled with a new brightness that was felt even by the trees.  

“The forest welcomes you, Adar. It feels so much more alive now you are walking among the trees.” Legolas had said, immediately noticing the new spark of life to the forest that accompanied Thranduil’s arrival, and there was no doubt in his mind that his adar’s powerful ties with the natural world, that ran far stronger and deeper than his own ever could, were the cause.  

“So the whispering leaves are saying,” Thranduil replied after listening intently for a few moments. “They are filled with joy that elves have returned to make their home here, but there is an underlying sadness when they speak of  the one who is not truly at home in this place,” he had replied, his voice choked with tears for his son’s pain.  

 “I love the trees and all that grows in these woods, but as the Lady predicted, I am no longer content to live beneath them. I often feel restless and a longing to simply take sail and leave all behind even though I know in my heart that it is not yet time.” Legolas was forced to admit, the knowledge that it would be Aragorn’s death that finally released him from Middle-earth filling his heart with grief.  

“I am not affected by the sea longing, and I know that in time I will willingly answer the call to return to our true home, but surely the temptation for you to do so, my son is far greater when you can see the water and almost smell the sea in the air?”

The elder elf had expected his son to prefer a talan to a ground dwelling and was thus surprised to learn that the site Legolas had chosen for his home was a small glen that was bordered on one side by the swift flowing stream that served as a source of water for the settlement before meeting the Anduin several leagues on.

“Aye, so it seems to many. Aragorn and Gimli have also wondered the same thing, but all I can tell you is that I find that the sounds of the gentle lapping of the water on the banks, and the soft whispers as it flows swiftly seawards are as soothing music to my soul.” Legolas had responded with a comforting hug for his Adar and a somewhat bitter laugh at his own plight.

“Do you hear me Adar?” Legolas asked eager to hear Thranduil’s comments and, tugging on a tunic sleeve in the childlike fashion he had often once used to gain the King’s attention. “What do you think of our outdoor Hall?” He repeated. Thranduil turned his full attention to his son and then spent several moments wandering around the large glade, smiling affectionately as he acknowledged the bows of respect offered by the many elves who were busily decorating the trees, preparing the bonfire or laying the tables.

“This is a beautiful place, Legolas, and the idea of a hall under the stars appeals to me greatly,” he answered eventually, noticing that the canopy above was sparse enough to allow the starlight to dance unhindered with the merrymakers. “But what are these? Are they tables or benches?” he asked pointing to several low standing slabs of flat stone.

“They are tables used by Gimli and his friends when they visit,” Eldarion offered before Legolas had a chance to reply and, fearing Thranduil’s displeasure at the mention of Glóin’s son, he warned his friend to remain silent with a glance.

“I suppose I should have expected that Dwarves would be welcome in your woods, Legolas, and I am willing to admit that he son of Glóin has shown remarkably good character as a Walker and excellent judgment in choosing his friends,” he said rubbing his chin thoughtfully in a gesture that caused Legolas to widen his eyes in amazement. Thranduil approved of Gimli and was teasing him!

“Are you saying you have changed your opinion of Dwarves and that you will accept dear Gimli as one of my closest friends?” Legolas asked, just to be certain he was not mistaken.

“Eryn Lasgalen joined in the song of mourning that spread through the three elven realms after the war. The losses borne in Moria and at Erebor caused Aulë’s children to suffer much grief, as we had done in the past. It is time to forgive and forget.” Thranduil smiled with his eyes and almost lost his balance as his ecstatic son flung himself into his arms.

 “Thank you, Adar, your acceptance means so much to me.”

“Aye, I know, just as I know your heart holds no one in it who does not deserve your love,” Thranduil said.

“Indeed it has room for many, but especially for you, Adar,” whispered Legolas as he kissed his father’s cheek.

Eldarion had moved a discrete away from the private moment between father and son and was about to pour them all a cup of wine from the opened bottle on a nearby table when a messenger arrives, informing Legolas and Thranduil that the Steward of Gondor and his party were now entering the forest.

“Am I correct in assuming that Faramir and the others are *your* escort, Eldarion?” Legolas asked of his friend. Eldarion grinned and shrugged his shoulders in resignation.

“I have been assigned my own personal guard to escort me when travelling on official business,” he told Legolas.

“Then rather than come here alone you should have shown a little more respect for your father’s wishes, and arrived with your escort as your status demand. No doubt those chosen to protect their prince consider it an honour to do so,” Thranduil said sternly, pleased to see his words had caused a tinge of embarrassment to colour the young man’s cheeks. Eldarion looked to Legolas thinking he would offer support, only to find his friend in total agreement with his father.

“Do your duty, Eldarion. Ride out to meet them my friend and return to us as to be welcomed as Prince of Gondor.”

 

Chapter 10

“I see you have come to your senses and are now prepared to do your duty to your King and rejoin us,” Faramir commented when Eldarion rode up to meet his escort.

“So Legolas and King Thranduil insisted I am obligated to do,” responded the young man, nodding sheepishly as he endured a short but stern lecture regarding his unexpected departure from the escort. Eldarion stunned the Steward into silence when he mentioned that he had already met Thranduil.

“King Thranduil, to you,” Faramir corrected him automatically.

“Very well, King Thranduil,” repeated Eldarion, exasperation evident in his voice.

“Really? Then tell us what he is like. Is he friendly? Does Legolas look at all like him?” Sarien interrupted with his eager questions all the while staring at his friend with wide eyed envy.

“You will see for yourself shortly,” was all Eldarion deigned to reply, deliberately leaving Sarien bursting with curiosity.

He also failed to mention the fact that he felt slightly annoyed with Legolas for siding with his father as he watched his standard bearer reverently unfurl the banner depicting the White Tree and stars. This was not the flag Arwen had made for her lover, for that was one of the King’s most treasured possessions and accompanied him whenever he travelled, but was a replica made with a mother’s love.  Arwen had proudly presented her work to her only son as he left for Ithilien and he was overcome with affection for his mother and awe at her skill with the needle.

Another feeling also began to take hold as the flag fluttered in the light breeze, taking Eldarion by surprise as he felt a sudden surge of pride for his part in everything the banner of his father’s house represented. For the first time in his life he understood the full weight of his responsibility and knew that he was ready to accept his role as the son and heir. So it was that, accompanied by his escort bearing the symbol of his status, Prince Eldarion rode with head held high into the settlement, there to be met by Legolas and King Thranduil.

Faramir and Sarien were instantly mesmerized by the powerful and exquisitely fair Elvenking who stood before them, and had not Eldarion caught their attention with a rather loud clearing of his throat, they would have stared longer than was polite at Thranduil. The Prince’s apologetic smile to the elves for the rudeness of his friends was met with one reassuring no offence was taken, so he proceeded with the formalities.

 “King Thranduil, allow me to introduce Faramir, Steward of Gondor and my dear friend Sarien,” Eldarion addressed the elder elf, taking it upon himself to make the introductions after he and his party had dismounted.

“Mae govannen, my lord Steward, Sarien,” Thranduil greeted the men in elvish fashion with hand over heart.

“It is an honour and a pleasure to finally meet you, Your Majesty,” said Faramir, bowing respectfully and thinking how aptly those last two words described this ageless elf who was obviously very much akin to the great elf lords he had met all those years ago.

“The honour is mine, son of Gondor. The rangers of the forests are held in high regard by the trees that even now whisper to me of their delight in your presence,” replied Thranduil.

“The trees know of me and my men?” Faramir asked his voice filled with a youthful kind of wonder on hearing something Legolas had never mentioned and he looked questioningly at the younger elf.

“The language of the trees in Ithilien very old, and Adar understands it so much better than I do. Since coming here I find that I can understand very few words that whisper through the leaves, although I am still able to sense the simple feelings that fill the air,” he admitted with more than a hint of sadness for the rapport he had lost. Thranduil moved to place his arm around his son’s waist, offering what comfort he was able.

“Do the trees also speak of Eldarion and me, Your Majesty?” Sarien asked with genuine curiosity.  Without moving from his son’s side, Thranduil turned to face the inquisitive young man.

“Aye, I gather your youthful exuberance is a constant source of amusement,” he replied with an unexpected playfulness before rapidly changing the subject to something less painful for his son to hear. Noticing for the first time the quiver filled with arrows he easily recognised as crafted by Legolas, he spoke again. "Ai, Sarien! Are you not the young man whose skill with the bow is highly praised by archers both of elf kind and mortal?”

“There is none who can match Legolas on the archery field, but I have indeed won the most elvish arrows over the years,” Sarien replied, blushing slightly when he realised how bold his admission sounded. Thranduil laughed heartily and clapped the young man on the back.

“Do not be embarrassed for recognising your own talents. Your words were well spoken, young Sarien. Perhaps you and Legolas and a few of my most excellent archers might like to entertain us tomorrow with a small competition?”

“As you wish, Sire.” Sarien barely managed to contain his excitement at the very notion of pitting his skill against the elves.

“An excellent idea, Adar!” Legolas, exclaimed, his melancholy mood quickly disappearing in the wake of such an inviting challenge. “Might I suggest that Faramir and Eldarion should take part as well,” he added with a wink of understanding at his friends who were also just as eager to join in the fun. Thranduil signalled his agreement with a nod then drew Legolas aside.

“Is there not something you are forgetting my son?” he asked, speaking softly so that the others did not hear. Legolas frowned, clearly not understanding his father’s meaning. “These men have travelled a long way, surely rest and refreshments are in order?”

“Aye, Adar.” the younger elf replied as he turned to speak to his guest. “I have been remiss in attending your needs, Prince Eldarion. If you will follow me, I will show you and your escort to the guest cottages. Some of my people will take care of the horses,” he added, signalling two elves to do so.  

Eldarion hid his surprise at being addressed so formally and only a sideways glance from Faramir quelled the protest the young man was about to voice regarding the need to be directed to the accommodation. After all he and Sarien had become such frequent visitors over the years that they had built their own guest cottage! Nevertheless, he understood that certain etiquette was required, and that Legolas and Thranduil were only trying to help him become accustomed to his position, so he simply followed in silence.

Once he was certain that all were comfortably housed and that food and drink were readily available, Legolas informed his friends that the festivities were to begin at sunset, then, needing to continue to assist with the preparations, he took his leave. Had he been able to remain, no doubt would have been highly amused at the discussion concerning the appropriate form of attire to be worn that evening. Even Eldarion would have to admit that it sounded unnervingly similar to one of many he had overheard his sisters and their friends engaging in at times, the kind of conversation he normally avoided at all costs.

Not this day, however.

Faramir insisted not only that they should wear formal robes, but that Eldarion should also don the circlet that indicated his royal status. Eldarion and Sarien resisted, declaring that the elves would likely only laugh at such an unaccustomed display from the two young men. Eldarion was sorely tempted to use his authority and insist they dress in a more casual manner, but experience reminded him that his wishes were not always to be granted simply because he was the Prince. The Steward’s argument that any feast in honour of a King, no matter from which realm, demanded a certain level of dignity, rang with truth and out of respect for his advisor’s greater experience in matters of protocol, he acquiesced to the request.

To Faramir’s embarrassment, when they finally appeared in the glade at sunset, it was obvious that he should have heeded his Prince’s words, for the men and the soldiers were patently overdressed for the occasion. None of the elves, Legolas and Thranduil included, wore robes of any kind, but rather the males all wore open tunics and leggings, the females gowns of feather light fabric and all were bare footed. The only indication of rank was the crown of summer flowers worn by the King and the single strand of leaves that Legolas preferred as a coronet rather than the mithril circlet he wore when attending official functions in Minas Tirith.

“You pay me great respect with your formal attire, but please feel free to dress more casually. I think you will find it more comfortable and much easier to dance when unencumbered by robes and the like,” Thranduil suggested after he had greeted the new arrivals in the appropriate manner.

“As I tried to tell my Steward,” Eldarion responded, finding it easy to speak with Thranduil as one royal to another, although he could not resist favouring Faramir with a youthful smirk of triumph that was acknowledged only by a slight shrug of his advisor’s shoulders.

“They are often the most difficult of all people a King must deal with,” Thranduil confided in the young Prince. “The opinions of my esteemed Steward are almost impossible to sway once his mind is set.”

“That is even truer of stubborn Kings and their sons, if I may be so bold, Your Majesty,” a more amused than offended Faramir responded in his own defence.

“So I am often informed, and since I trust my Steward implicitly and respect his opinion, I suppose it must be true,” Thranduil laughed merrily, looking around to find Legolas and Sarien had moved away. They were already seated at the main table, involved in a conversation of their own as they sampled one of the bottles of wine Thranduil had brought from Eryn Lasgalen. “Come, Prince and Steward, I notice my son and his young archer friend have opened a particularly excellent bottle of wine. Shall we join them before there is none left?”

As the evening progressed and the excellent food of the feast was sampled, more wine was needed to quench the thirst and by the time the dancing began, both elves and men were in a merry mood. It was a mood destined not to last for either Thranduil or Eldarion.

The two had tired of dancing for the moment and had returned to their table, taking a few moments to catch their breath and enjoy their wine. They remained content to sit in companionable silence until Eldarion raised a question.

“Tell me, my lord, what was the first official duty you performed as King?” It was an innocent enough query, but one that caused Thranduil’s smile to disappear instantly.

“One your father was spared from having to endure,” he replied. It was no answer and Eldarion, emboldened by the wine, was not to be deterred from seeking further information.

“Endure? Surely finally being able to do as you wish for the first time was not an unpleasant experience?” the young Prince asked, now intent on satisfying his curiosity.

 Thranduil shook his head sadly at the loss of innocence that would result from his words, but he said them nonetheless.

“My first duty as the new King, as yours will be I am sorry to say, was to lead the song of mourning for the passing of my beloved Adar.”

 

Thranduil felt nothing but compassion for the young prince whose countenance spoke of dismay and sorrow as the truth of the King’s words struck at his heart. It was obvious that Eldarion did not yet fully understand the  implications of his title just as it was apparent that the very thought  of Aragorn’s death was more than enough to bring tears to the prince’s eyes.

“I know it is a painful truth, but one you know in your heart must come to pass. Do not weep for there will be time enough for tears when your grief is upon you,” Thranduil said his voice filled with his own sorrow as he covered the hand that was resting on the table with his own in a silent gesture of comfort.

“Forgive me if my question caused you any pain, Your Maj… I mean… Thranduil. . I am mortal and my days are numbered, just as are my father’s. I know I will be King one day, but you are an Elf and the crown came to you so very unexpectedly I did not think before I spoke,” Eldarion said the candid admission and the sincere concern in his voice earned him a measure of respect and an eyebrow raised in amusement from the King.

“An affliction suffered by the young of any race, in my judgement, but one a future ruler must learn to avoid. It is also wise to learn to keep your feelings from showing too readily on your face, especially when involved in delicate negotiations or in sight of your Steward,” he advised, inclining his head to where Faramir was standing and watching the two with some concern. “Faramir can see that you are upset yet he dares not approach to ask you the cause because my stern glare is rather intimidating, or so I  am told,.” Thranduil added with a chuckle pleased to see the smile that the young man now wore.

“Father can make the same claim,” Eldarion said, proudly recalling the many times one stern glance from Aragorn had been enough to stop a fierce debate or to silence any protest against an unfavourable decision, either in the council meetings that Eldarion had begun to attend, or in the privacy of his father’s chambers on the several occasions he and Sarien had been called to answer for some mischief.

“I am not surprised, it seems to be a common trait in your lineage. Elendil was certainly regarded as a formidable and intimidating King,” Thranduil commented smiling inwardly at the sudden gleam of curiosity in Eldarion’s eyes.

“You said before that I remind you of my forefather, did you know him well?”

“Not as well as your grandsire did, but I met with him often enough in the course of  the march to Mordor to know that he was an excellent swordsman and a skilled leader who was well loved by his men. He was a great King and deserved the respect that even my proud Adar could not deny him,” Thranduil readily admitted.

“Was he your friend?” Eldarion asked, surprising Thranduil with such a personal question.

“Aye, I counted him as a friend, despite Oropher’s objections,” Thranduil replied.

“Forgive me if this is seems rude, but I assure you mean no offence. Legolas once told me that you did not approve of my father and Gimli as his friends,” Eldarion commented forcing Thranduil to suddenly realise how alike he was to his Adar in regards to this matter. “I would be very unhappy if my father disapproved of my friendship with Sarien.”

“I felt the same about Adar’s objections to my relationship with Elendil, and Elrond for that matter. Adar also disapproved of the friendship between me and your grandsire. Nonetheless our bonds of friendship remained unbreakable until Sauron took Elendil’s life,” Thranduil sorrowfully admitted.

“However you may rest assured that I have belatedly learned from my own experience and have come to accept my son’s friends,” Thranduil replied, offering no further explanation. His reasons for his change of heart were his own and he intended to make them known to Aragorn in person and to make his peace with the new King when he visited his court in Minas Tirith. As for Gimli, his discussion with the Dwarf would take place when he and Legolas travelled to Aglarond, as his son insisted they must.

“And I am very glad you changed your mind, Adar,” Legolas said happily as he bent to kiss Thranduil’s cheek in a display of affection that was heart warming to witness. He and his companions had heard only the last part of the conversation as they returned to join Thranduil and Eldarion.

“Will you tell us something of your days with Elendil, Your Majesty?” Eldarion asked. “Faramir has recounted many of the tales Lord Glorfindel told him, and I am curious to learn more about my forefather from another who actually met him.”

Only Legolas knew how gifted a storyteller his Adar was and had heard the stories several times over the years, so he spent the time watching the faces of his friends as they listened in wonder as the Elvenking’s almost magical voice carried them back to the last days of the Second Age. All could sense the friendship and affection that existed between the mortal king, the Peredhel and the Woodland prince. They laughed merrily when he told of the furore caused when Elendil and Elrond ‘acquired’ a bottle of rare wine from Gil-galad’s tent to help Thranduil celebrate his begetting day. When Thranduil described their sparring matched with the sword and the spear, it was as if the contests were taking place before their very eyes. Finally they were moved to tears when he recounted the battle that took the life of the courageous Elendil and his own beloved Adar.

The spell was broken when Thranduil ceased speaking and everyone was surprised to see the first pale light of the new day was chasing the darkness of night from the sky. Eldarion, thanked the King for sharing such a fascinating tale, and the men, now suddenly overcome with weariness made their way to their welcoming beds.

As they left the glade, Eldarion cast a backward glance at the King and his son, the younger elf resting his head on his elder’s shoulder as they sat together beneath the trees, welcoming the dawn with their sweet voices raised in song.

Never before had he seen Legolas so at peace as when he was with Thranduil, and Eldarion’s heart was filled with joy for his friend’s happiness and a need to show Aragorn just how much he was loved and respected by his son. Making a silent vow to no longer avoid his responsibilities, nor give his father cause to reprimand his behaviour, Prince Eldarion of Gondor said a final farewell to his youthful naiveté and willingly stepped onto the path that would one day lead him to the throne.

 

Chapter 12

To the amusement of the elves, a few shared bottles of wine and a very late evening of merrymaking was more than enough to prevent the men of Gondor from rising early as they had done, and indeed it was well after Anor was high in the sky before those competing in the archery tournament actually made their way to the field used for such events. It had been decided that any who wished to take part were most welcome, and several of Eldarion’s guards had accepted the challenge made by their newly found elf friends. Unfortunately for the men, the tournament was quickly reduced to only a single mortal competitor amongst the ageless beings, and soon all but one of these remained, the others preferring instead to watch the last two, who were well matched.

To the surprise of the young men of Eldarion’s guard, it was the Steward and not Sarien who proved to be a worthy opponent for Legolas and the contest between the elf and man changed to more of a display of skill and technique for their audience and an entertaining game for them both. Aside from the greying of his hair and a few wrinkles around eyes that reflected the wisdom of his years, the passage of time had not diminished Faramir’s skills as an archer.

“That small white flower on that vine,” the one time ranger captain challenged, pointing to one of the blooms in amongst the greenery. Legolas looked up at his next target and casually nocked his bow.

“’Tis not a difficult task, but do you want me to simply hit it, or shall make it fall? Perhaps you would care for enough flowers to make Éowyn a garland? ” he suggested laughing merrily when Faramir replied by shaking his head in exasperation.

“Aye, they would look lovely in her hair, but can you make enough fall with only one arrow?” Faramir asked his eyes alight with mischief. Instead of answering, Legolas merely fired his arrow, hitting the vine where it was quite narrow and watched with satisfaction as the whole trailing piece, covered in flowers, fell to the forest floor.

“Most impressive, your skill is truly amazing,” Faramir had the grace to say after witnessing the shot.

“Thank you, but come, I see a target that will test your skills further in amongst the trees,” Legolas said, clasping the ranger’s shoulder in a gesture of friendship.

Eldarion and Sarien sat together a little apart from the other spectators, men and elves alike and watched as Legolas and Faramir darted amongst the trees. The friendly rivalry, and the respect for each other’s abilities between the archers was apparent to all, and was reflected in the one or two wagers that were made between the soldiers of Gondor and the Woodland warriors.

“If all the rangers display as much prowess as Faramir does, I think I will find it difficult to prove myself. I am not that talented,” Sarien confided in his friend as Faramir’s arrow found the next difficult target, one that could be barely seen so well hidden was it in the foliage.

“Nonsense. I admit that I was not aware of just how able our dear Steward was as an archer, but he has had so many more years’ of practice and experience that it would be foolish not to acknowledge his superiority. Were you not one of the best  *young* archers in Gondor, you would not have been accepted as a ranger,” Eldarion reminded him, feeling no hint of envy or despair for the path his friend was about to follow for the first time since he heard the news.

“And had you not been the heir to the throne, so would have you,” Sarien commented with an apologetic shrug. “I am so sorry you were not permitted to join as well.”

“So was I at first, but I have come to understand that my duty lies elsewhere. As my father so wisely pointed out, I am the son of a king, not a ranger,” Eldarion said speaking the words with a pride rather than regret.

“True, and no doubt you will become a great King one day, but surely it would also be wise for you to spend a few days with us when you can be spared? Rangers will be your subjects too, after all,” Sarien said, eyes glittering with his usual mischief.

“An excellent argument, my friend and one I think my father will find hard to reject. If I can not be a ranger, then being the best friend of one will serve just as well.” Eldarion chuckled, favouring his friend with an affectionate smile which was returned in kind.

“A friendship not unlike that of Legolas and Aragorn when they first met,” Thranduil commented, startling the two young men with his silent approach. Eldarion nodded slowly as if only just now realising that it was the ranger, who met the prince in Mirkwood so many years ago.

“Aye, ‘tis a strange twist of fate, your Majesty,” Sarien agreed, making to stand so that he could greet the King with a respectful bow. A quick wave of Thranduil’s hand stayed his movement.

“Indeed, it is, in more ways than one when you consider the weapons you favour.” Thranduil agreed with a nod.  “You are a skilled archer, young Sarien, just as Legolas is unmatched with the bow whereas Aragorn is easily the better swordsman, as I hear you are, Eldarion. Since my son is currently neglecting his duties to his guests in favour of his game with Faramir, I have come to enquire as to whether you might be interested in some practice with the blade. Several of my elves and many of your guards have already decided to do so,” he said, indicating the group now watching both the captains of the King’s and Eldarion’s guard as they clashed swords in friendly combat.

Eldarion’s eagerness was clearly written on his face even before he spoke the words indicating his acceptance of such an unlooked for offer. Arwen had often spoken of his grandfather’s skills as a warrior in the many battles he had fought through the ages, and Eldarion had often found himself wishing he had had the chance to cross swords with one such as Elrond. He could hardly contain his excitement, especially when the other swordsmen of both races stopped their practice and gathered around to watch the contest.

The elves knew their King was a formidable warrior, who, it quickly became apparent to the men, Eldarion included, the young man had no hope of defeating.  Nonetheless, Eldarion fought with all the skill he possessed against his opponent who, unknown to the men was barely making moves beyond the trainee level for elvish warriors, and when he managed to score a hit, there was much cheering and applause from men and elves alike. The match ended when Thranduil easily disarmed the young man, as he could have done from the outset had he wished.

“I thank you, Thranduil,” Eldarion said as he accepted the King’s offer to help him up from the grass where he had fallen in defeat.

“Your father has taught you well,” Thranduil said, clapping a breathless and wide eyed Eldarion on the shoulder.

“How can you tell that?” Eldarion asked as he gratefully accepted some water from one of his men.

 “I recognised some of Elrond’s moves in your style, we often sparred together during our days as part of the Last Alliance, and undoubtedly he practiced with Aragorn during his time in Imladris,” Thranduil said by way of explanation.

Eldarion’s elation at hearing that he had unknowingly learned some of his grandfather’s moves lasted well into the evening as they prepared to attend the feast of welcome for the Prince of Gondor. Not wishing to be embarrassed a second time, Faramir had taken the sensible precaution of enquiring as to the correct standard of dress from Thranduil’s steward. The elder elf had smiled knowingly and explained that the only time the King wore formal robes was on the rare occasions he had visited Imladris, or when celebrating one of the elvish festivals. Nonetheless, Eldarion insisted on wearing his coronet, ignoring the fact that it looked rather out of place with his bare feet.

“Sarien, I still can not believe it... ” he began for possibly the tenth time since they had retired to the guest house to bath and dress after the afternoon’s activities.

“Eldarion, if you tell me one more time that you have been taught some of Lord Elrond’s skills, I will leave for the ranger’s headquarters immediately instead of tomorrow,” he threatened with an indulgent smile, regretting his words when a shadow crossed his friend’s brow. “I am sorry, I did not mean to hurt your feelings, you are understandably proud to be able to make such a claim,” he added.

“I am sorry for annoying you with my boasting, but that is not what saddens me. It is the thought of our parting that is the cause of my melancholy. I will miss you, my dearest Sarien,” Eldarion said, embracing the brother of his heart.

“I will miss you, too, Your Highness,” Sarien replied, returning the embrace before stepping away and bowing formally to his prince.

 

Chapter 13.

Although it was Thranduil’s place to accept the invitation issued by King Elessar’s ambassador to visit his court in Minas Tirith, it fell to Legolas as the leader of the elvish colony to officially welcome the Prince of Gondor to his settlement. Thranduil was filled with pride as he watched the rare display of majestic grace with which Legolas performed his duty. Likewise, Legolas and Faramir were pleased to see a glimpse of the king Eldarion would become in the young man’s equally regal manner.

To the relief of all, the serious mood dissipated as soon as the formalities were completed, to be replaced by the sounds of light hearted conversations and merry laughter drifting around the glade, reflecting the air of camaraderie and friendship that had developed between the Wood Elves and the Men in the short time since Eldarion’s arrival.

The enjoyment Eldarion and Sarien found in whirling gaily, if not breathlessly around the bonfire in the arms of someone different every time a new dance began, was well known to all the elves and the maidens willingly ensured that neither of the young men suffered for the lack of a partner. Although both were young and energetic, a fact appreciated by the older men of the guard as they sat and watched the revelry, it was Sarien who first admitted defeat, and retired to take his rest while Eldarion continued to enjoy the dancing.

“Legolas, why are you not out among the merrymakers?” Sarien asked as he came and sat beside his friend.

“For once I am not the first, nor even the second most favoured partner,” Legolas commented happily as he watched his Adar and the maiden who was currently dancing with her King, barely avoid a collision with the carefree Eldarion and the lady in his arms. Sarien laughed and nodded knowingly.

“I think you are indeed most fortunate that you need not face unwanted attentions tonight, it can sometime be very tiresome,” the youth said, his light heartedness waning as he spoke.

”I never thought I would hear such words of despair from one as fond of the maidens as I know you to be. I fully expected to see you dance until dawn as you have done in the past, and just as it appears Adar intends to do this evening.” Legolas teased as he studied his young friend‘s face more closely, concern filling his heart for the sadness he saw in the downcast eyes.

“The excitement of the past few days has left me feeling a little drained and as you know, Faramir and I leave for the ranger base at Henneth Annun at first light tomorrow.” Sarien explained, looking up into the depthless gaze and offering a weak smile of apology for the half truth he had just spoken. Legolas sensed there was something amiss, with the youth he had come to know so well over the years since Eldarion and Sarien first met, but decided not to pursue the matter for the moment.

“Aye,  he is under threat of Éowyn’s wrath should he not return in time to escort her to Minas Tirith for the  banquet next week,” Legolas said, frowning at the shadow of almost pain that his words cast over the young man’s demeanour. Legolas stared at his young friend with one eyebrow raised in query, silently offering his support should it be needed. It was. 

“I see I can hide nothing from you, Legolas. A feeling of sadness weighs heavily on my heart and casts a shadow on my enjoyment of the revelry,” Sarien finally admitted, deciding to seek the solace to be found in sharing his problem with a friend as compassionate as the elf had always been to all those he held dear.

“Ai, I think I understand. I hardly ever see Gimli of late so I know how it feels to miss your closest friend.  Is there anything I can say or do to ease your melancholy mood?” Legolas asked, assuming it was merely the impending separation from Eldarion that was bothering Sarien.

“Thank you, but nay, this is not about Eldarion. However, I think you may be the best person to help me, if you will,” he asked hopefully.

“Of course I will, what is the nature of your distress?”

The elf listened in silence while Sarien quickly explained his dilemma. The young man smiled with relief when Legolas reassured him that he would see to the matter and that all would be well. They had just finished speaking when the musicians decided it was time to take a well earned rest.

Thranduil and Eldarion returned noisily to their seats, laughing merrily as they compared their states of dishevelment. Belts had been discarded to allow more freedom of movement and now shirts hung open where laces had been loosened by vigorous activity, the fabric clinging to sweat soaked chests, just as long golden locks and shorter midnight black hair clung to faces and necks. The only part of their attire that maintained the dignity of their status was the respective crowns of flowers and leaves for the elf and silver and gold for the Prince that at least held some of the unruly hair in place.

Eldarion and Thranduil exchanged a private look of amusement at the sighs of disdain for their lords that both Stewards breathed almost in unison, and their laughter burst forth once more.

As they had done the night before, the revellers settled around the bonfire, eagerly waiting to hear more tales from the past. This time, however, it was not Thranduil who took on the role of story teller, but Faramir. It had taken one or two cups of wine, an insistent plea from Legolas and much coaxing on Eldarion’s part before the Steward acquiesced, but their efforts were well rewarded. The words the much learned son of Denethor used spoke eloquently of the Steward’s love for his people, his White City and the forests of Ithilien, and wove a magic of a different, but no less mesmerising kind, than that which Thranduil’s tales had done. The elves were intrigued to hear of the history of the Numenoreans as told by one of their descendants, albeit a very distant one and they mourned in silence with Faramir as he spoke of his beloved brother and the vision that haunted his memories of the grey ship that carried Boromir‘s body away.

Thranduil was no less affected by this gentle and loving man’s sorrow than the others, and to Faramir’s astonishment, the King‘s sweet voice filled the glade with a lament for the passing of a brave and much adored warrior.  Faramir felt the comforting touch of a hand on his shoulder and eyes bright with unshed tears told him that Legolas also still grieved for the loss of his companion of many years ago. No longer able to contain his sorrow, Faramir unashamedly allowed his tears to flow freely, finding some solace in the arms that now enfolded him in a brotherly embrace.

Thranduil exchanged a glance with his son, indicating he understood and approved of Legolas’s display of compassion and affection for the man. So it was that when the last melancholy note had faded into the still night air, he kissed his son’s brow and bid him good night, indicating to the other merrymakers that the evening was at an end.

Soon all had retired to their rest, leaving Legolas and Faramir alone with their thoughts.

“Boromir was an honourable man corrupted by an evil beyond his power to resist. Your brother did not deserve to die for his weakness,” Legolas whispered softly against the greying hair, his quiet words of consolation putting a slow end to the tears.

“As you have always reminded me in my moments of despair,” Faramir replied, wiping his eyes and attempting the barest hint of a smile for the elf who had become a good friend over the years. The crackling of the dying embers seemed to signal an end to the sorrowful mood and Faramir rose to search for a much needed cup of wine.

Legolas, the call of the sea ever on his mind, took the opportunity to learn of the outcome of Faramir’s visit to Dol Amroth several months ago. The Steward often travelled to the sea side city on business for the King, and on his most recent trip he had also delivered the letter Legolas wrote to the master shipwright.

“Have you heard from your kin in Belfalas since your last visit?” he asked, accepting the wine Faramir offered him with a nod of thanks.

“Indeed I have and I am pleased to inform you that out of respect for the Firstborn, and as mark of gratitude for allowing them to study Cirdan’s plans, you will be gifted with the materials you will need to build your ship, when the time comes of course. The day that Eldarion will inherit the throne is still many years away, and one I will not live to see,” Faramir said, unafraid to acknowledge his own mortality.

It was a fact the elf could not deny either, just as he could not deny that the grief he knew he would suffer at the loss of his mortal friends would ever be an ache in his heart. An ache, he realised in a sudden moment of clarity that Thranduil, who had befriended the mortal Elendil, understood all too well.

 

A/N: apologies for the delay in posting, but I assure you that I fully intend to complete the story.

Disclaimer: LOTR belongs to the creative genius of JRR Tolkien, not me.

Chapter 14

The forest was still shrouded in the early morning mist, the damp air and the greyness of the dawn reflecting the sombre mood of the two friends who stood apart from the others as they said their final farewells. When all the words were spoken, the two young friends hugged each other fiercely, and then with smiles that were a mixture of sadness and affection, they had clasped wrists in the fashion of warriors.  Sarien and Faramir had then stood side by side and bowed respectfully first to the Elvenking and his son, and then to their Prince who drew his shoulders back and with head held high acknowledged the display of fealty, even as he blinked several times to remove the mist of  unshed tears.

When Sarien at last mounted his horse and with a wink for Eldarion, a wave for the others, the young ranger followed Faramir along the path to his new future with a brightness in his eyes that had more to do with the melancholy born from leaving a part of his life behind than with his eager anticipation of what lay ahead.

So lost in thought was he as he watched the path until his friend disappeared from view that Eldarion jumped when a hand was laid lightly on his arm, the touch of a friend who needed no words to conveying compassion for the young man’s sadness.

“It is time for the Prince to return to the city and the duties that await him there, not the least of which is the banquet planned for seven days hence,” Legolas reminded Eldarion who saw the gleam of amusement in the elf’s eyes and sighed with exasperation.

“Aye, and there is nothing more to be feared than Mother’s wrath should I not arrive in time to enjoy the occasion and the company of the many young ladies of marriageable age who she has no doubt invited,” Eldarion replied wrinkling his nose in distaste as he joined Legolas in a chuckle of amusement at his dilemma.

“Aye, not all princely duties are pleasant ones, but there are worse things than having to dance with lovely young maids,” Thranduil laughed  as he joined  Legolas and Eldarion, placing a hand on each of their shoulders as he ushered them to where the others were already mounted and waiting. “We are ready to leave.”

The journey back to the city was uneventful and several days later, the party of Men and Elves passed through the gates of Minas Tirith and made their way to the courtyard in front of the White Tower, where the King and Queen waited to greet them.

“Is that really our son? He looks so different,” Arwen whispered as the tall, dark haired young man wearing a circlet and an air of royalty approached, striding beside his standard bearer with an unmistakable manner that spoke of his lineage and caused Aragorn’s heart to swell with pride.

“Aye, he has changed much in the short time since I had sent him on his errand,” he replied, noting the grey eyes that shone with a new maturity and the dignified bearing that spoke of acceptance and commitment to his role as heir to the throne. But even more importantly to Aragorn, who was blessed with the almost elvish perception of the descendants of Númenor, it was apparent that his son and heir had also earned the respect and loyalty of the seasoned soldiers of his escort. They were his protectors, who guarded him not only because they were ordered to do so, but because they were his devoted subjects. 

When they reached the White Tree, it took only the slightest glance at his captain for Eldarion to call the small procession to a halt while they stopped to pay homage to the cherished symbol of his heritage. Prince and guards alike were surprised to find Thranduil standing before the tree, gazing at it with a mixture of undisguised awe and reverence that Eldarion would never have thought to see from the powerful and majestic elf. 

With hand on heart in the elvish manner of greeting, the King respectfully bowed his head and then rested his other hand against the trunk. Legolas and the other elves did likewise and when Thranduil whispered a few words in elvish, a joyous smile graced their fair faces and to the eyes of the onlookers it seemed as if the inner lights of the Firstborn shone just little brighter.

“That was a language I have not heard before. Did you recognise it?” Aragorn asked Arwen, whose eyes were smiling with amusement.

“It was a greeting in the language of the High Elves, if I am not mistaken,” she replied as she recalled having heard the words read to her as a child. Aragorn’s eyes widened in surprise that the Sinda would know such a greeting, let alone utter the language forbidden by his king of long ago.

His curiosity piqued and well aware that it was his place to welcome his guests, Aragorn offered Arwen his arm and they walked the short distance to the small group. After the matter of exchange of formal greetings with the visiting King was addressed, Arwen took it upon herself to escort the elves to the guest wing prepared especially for elvish visitors.

“You have performed your first official duty with honour and I am so very proud of you, Eldarion, although I hardly recognise the regal young Prince who now stands before me,” Aragorn said as he embraced his son affectionately.

“I have learned much in the past few days, both about the responsibilities of a prince, and those of a son, thanks to Legolas and King Thranduil,” Eldarion replied as he tightened his arms about his father and kissed his cheek, surprising and delighting Aragorn with the unexpected and very public display of love from his firstborn.

“For which I will be sure to thank Thranduil when I next speak with him, as I thank you now, mellon nin,” Aragorn said to Legolas as he reluctantly released his son from the too infrequent closeness they shared.

“If you will excuse me, father, Legolas, I think it is well past time I sought the bathing chamber,” the young prince said, leaving his elders to talk in private as he sensed they wished to do.

“Were those words of Quenya that Thranduil said to the Tree?” Aragorn asked incredulously as he and Legolas followed the others at a leisurely pace.

”Aye, but you need not look so surprised.  Knowledge of the lore and history of the elves was not solely to be found in the libraries of Imladris and ’tis the only language that the ancient tree understands. Oropher and many others in the Greenwood  lived through the ages as did Elrond, and the memories of the Faithful of Númenor before its fall are held in high regard by my kin, as are we by the Tree, according to the warm reply of welcome Adar received,” the elf replied.

“And as you will always be in my realm, and my heart mellon nin,” Aragorn said reaffirming their alliance and friendship with seldom spoken words and an affectionate a clasp on the elf’s shoulder. “Would you care to join me in my study for some wine and quiet conversation before the evening meal?”

“Aye, but first I have a message to convey to Maerrin. From Sarin,” Legolas said in response to the eyebrow raised in query.

“Is this something I should know about?” Aragorn asked his paternal instincts suddenly on alert.

“Nay, ‘tis harmless, but if you wish I will give you the message first and abide by your wishes should you desire me not to pass it on,” Legolas said confident that Aragorn would approve, which he did after hearing what Sarin wished to tell his daughter.

“Be wary when you tell her, Legolas. Maerrin is at the age where tears of joy and sorrow flow freely and with little provocation,” Aragorn warned the smiling elf as they parted to go their separate ways.

                                                  ******************

After seeing his guards settled in their chambers, Thranduil and Arwen proceeded to the main guest chamber only to find their path blocked by two very lovely young princesses in the company of their elder brother.

“Please forgive the intrusion, you Majesty, but my sweet sisters refuse to allow me the privacy to bathe until I introduce them to Legolas’s father,” Eldarion said, rolling his eyes in exasperation at the barely concealed amusement on his mother’s face.

“By all means I would be pleased to make the acquaintance of my son’s beautiful young friends,” Thranduil said graciously and in a manner that Maerrin, like so many other maids, elf and mortal alike, found exceedingly charming, especially when he gallantly kissed her hand after the introductions were made.

“You do look like Legolas,” Janiel said as she gazed up at the handsome elf.

“Silly child you have it backwards, ‘tis Legolas who wears his father’s beauty,” Maerrin corrected, clasping her hand to her mouth in horror as she realised how forward and inappropriate her misspoken remark was, although it was certainly the truth. “Oh, I do apologise, your Majesty,” she said, her face bright red and her eyes filled with tears of embarrassment.

“There is no need for apology when no offence was given,” Thranduil assured the young maid with nothing but compassion in his voice.

“Perhaps you would care to escort your sisters to their chambers where I will join them shortly,” Arwen said, speaking to Eldarion who nodded to the king, then took Maerrin and Janiel by the hand to do his mother’s bidding.

“I must apologise for such an unseemly display, but in defence of my children all I can say is that they love Legolas dearly and were understandably curious to meet his sire,” Arwen said.

“It pleases me greatly to hear that my son is so well loved by his friend’s children and speaking of beauty, Undomiel, yours has diminished not in the least, in fact I believe you are even more lovely blessed as you are with the contentment of being a wife and mother as well as a Queen,” Thranduil said as he offered Arwen his arm.

“Your words are too kind, King Thranduil,” Arwen replied, blushing prettily at the compliments.

“Please, just call me Thranduil,” the king replied as they entered the chamber.

“As you wish. I hope you will join us for the evening meal in our private chambers,” Arwen said as she watched Thranduil remove a travel pouch from the inside of his tunic.

“Aye, I would be honoured. Your brothers sent written messages, and asked me to remind you of their love for you and your family. From Elladan,” the king said placing a chaste kiss on one cheek. “And from  Elrohir,” he added kissing the other as he handed Arwen the worn leather packet she easily recognised as once  belonging to Elrond.

“Thank you, Thranduil, if you will excuse me… ” was all Arwen could manage to say as unshed tears choked her voice and threatened to fall as her thoughts turned to Elladan and Elrohir and how much she missed them and her beloved Adar.

“I will see you and your lovely daughters at the evening meal,” Thranduil said as he escorted Arwen to the door, bowing politely as she left the chamber.

 Turning back to survey the room, Thranduil was pleased to note that thin curtains hid a large archway that lead out onto a balcony, and he stepped outside to take a deep breath of the fresh air, smiling as he recalled the encounter in the hallway. Aragorn’s daughters were charming, and so full of life and youthful innocence that he found himself thinking how blessed Elrond was to have grandchildren.

Ai, but the Peredhel had never met them, nor would he and with that thought a sharp pain of sorrow stabbed at Thranduil’s heart with the knowledge that his friend had no real idea of the joy he was missing. The king silently thanked the Valar that Legolas had not yet started a family for he doubted he would be able to bear the pain of watching grandchildren he had come to know and love sail out of his life.

In that moment the King of Eryn Lasgalen knew that one day he would leave his forests and sail into the west, for he fervently believed that his son would find love when he finally answered the call of the sea and reached the Undying Lands.

 

Chapter 15/15

Legolas’s tapped on the door to Maerrin’s chamber, but the sweet sound of  innocent girlish laughter mingled with that a more mature voice from within that indicated Arwen and her daughter were inside muffled the sound. After waiting a few moments and receiving no response, he knocked a little louder, this time with more success. The laughter ceased and a smiling Maerrin greeted him with a hug and a chaste kiss on the cheek.

“Welcome back, Legolas, I have missed you,” she said as she bid her friend enter. Legolas smiled his thanks and inclined his head to Arwen who was seated on the bed that was covered with several rolls of fabric.

“Ai Legolas, you are just the one we need to help us,” she said as she held aloft two swatches of material. “I think the pale blue silk would suit Maerrin well, but she prefers the green velvet. What do you think?” Legolas was momentarily lost for words.

Never before had he been asked to make such a personal decision or in fact any decision as far as a lady’s attire was concerned. Legolas felt his cheeks colour slightly as Arwen as Maerrin kept their eyes on him and eagerly awaited his reply.

There was no denying he felt distinctly uncomfortable until the thought occurred that he was in fact being given a rather unique and heart-warming honour. No doubt as both a father and a husband, Aragorn had been asked to make similar decisions in the past, so surely it was a measure of the regard in which Legolas was held as almost a family member that he was now being placed in this position.

Of one thing he was certain, diplomacy was definitely required in this instance and unwilling to favour one over the other Legolas drew on his years of close friendship with Aragorn that allowed him to instinctively know how his friend would respond.

“I admit to having no particular preference, for Maerrin’s beauty needs no enhancement, does it Arwen?” he replied with a gallant bow to the elder maid, followed by an amused wink in the Queen’s direction. Arwen rolled her eyes, her look of exasperation telling the elf she was well aware of his diversionary tactics.

“Indeed not, but nonetheless, the banquet is but a few days away and the seamstress is anxious to complete her task,” she replied, the slightly aggravated tone of voice not directed solely at the elf, who really was not in any way to blame for Maerrin’s indecisiveness.

“Then perhaps the green velvet? That particular shade will complement my finery, should Maerrin agree to be my escort, as Sarien has requested,” Legolas said, voicing the reason for his visit a little more plainly than he would have preferred.

“Why would Sarien do that?” Maerrin asked shyly, her cheeks now a lovely shade of pink. Legolas exchanged a glance with Arwen, who nodded in understanding. This was to be a private conversation.

“I must take this cloth back to the seamstress and inform her of your choice as soon as possible,” she said to her daughter as she lifted the bolt of green velvet from the bed and quickly left the chamber.

“Why did Sarien ask you to be my escort?” Maerrin asked again as soon as she was alone with Legolas.

“As you know, he wanted that privilege for himself, but that is no longer possible since he will be in Ithilien for some time. Sarien spoke to me and voiced his feelings of regret and a touch of jealousy, if I am not mistaken, and requested that since I am no rival for your affections, that I be the one to escort you to the banquet,” Legolas explained, taking her hands in his as he smiled affectionately. “Sarien wishes you to know that you have captured his heart.”

“I have? He loves me?” Maerrin asked, her voice a dreamy whisper, her eyes wide with excitement and her heart beating so wildly with the joy of first love that Legolas could almost feel it through the fingers that were now held in a surprisingly tight grip.

“Aye, as you love him, if my senses do not deceive me,” the elf replied with a contented smile for the tears of happiness his words had evoked in the eyes of the young maid he loved as a sister.

“Nay, they do not. He has indeed captured my heart and I find the solution to his jealousy to be very sweet and most acceptable. However, please believe that although I am following Sarien’s wishes, I consider it a great honour to have you as my escort, dear Legolas,” Maerrin said, reaching up to kiss the elf’s cheek.

“The honour is mine, but I think that Sarien had my interests at heart as well,” Legolas replied with a grin.

“What do you mean?” Maerrin asked as her eyebrow rose in query in a manner that was a fair imitation of the grandfather she had never met.

“Very few maids will dare to approach the escort of the King’s daughter,” the elf replied, joining in Maerrin’s laughter as she nodded her agreement.

                                                   ***********

Legolas was still chuckling at Sarien’s devious, but not unwelcome, plans as he made his way back to Aragorn’s study.

“Was Maerrin pleased with your offer?” Aragorn asked as he gestured for his friend to take a seat in one of the comfortable armchairs. Legolas ignored the invitation and casually took his customary place on the wide window ledge accepting the cup of wine and the Aragorn brought to him. With a shrug of his shoulders and a smile at the elf’s sometimes strange ways, the King took a seat, reclining back against the soft cushions in a relaxed pose only possible when among friends.

“Aye, but judging by the tears of happiness, I think the knowledge that Sarien cared enough about her to even suggest I take his place warmed her heart,” Legolas said as he sipped his wine, a soft smile curling his lips as he recalled the brief conversation.

“And I see your eyes are filled with mirth, what do you find amusing?” Aragorn asked.

“The realisation that Sarien also had my interests at heart, as well as his own,” Legolas replied seeing no reason to explain further. Fortunately there was no need.

“Ai, I see. I expect that as Maerrin’s escort you will not be invited to dance by many of the ladies who might find you beguiling,” Aragorn replied, correctly guessing his friend’s thoughts.

“I believe that was Sarien’s intention, but let us speak of other matters. Faramir surprised Sarien and Eldarion with his archery skills,” Legolas said with a smile as he recalled the look of astonishment in two pairs of young eyes.

“They know he was once captain of the rangers of Ithilien. How could he not be a skilled archer?” Aragorn asked.

“You and I know he is, but it has been many a year since he did not have cause to use his bow, nor has he been seen in a contest with an elf,” Legolas replied nonchalantly. Aragorn nodded and listened with some amusement as Legolas told of the contest and the other events that had occurred during Eldarion’s visit to Ithilien.

“Judging by the change that has come over Eldarion since they met, I imagine they were both also very impressed with your father,” Aragorn commented with a hint of the bitterness he felt at never having won Thranduil’s approval for his friendship with Legolas. A frown of concern creased the elf’s brow at the bitterness behind his friend’s words.

“Aye, they were, and I admit to being surprised at how quickly Adar took a liking to them both. He offered Eldarion the benefit of his wisdom and experience in coming to terms with his role as the King’s son, but what was more surprising was his understanding and compassion towards the friendship between Sarien and your son,” Legolas said putting his wine aside as he moved to where Aragorn was seated so that he could clasp his friend’s shoulder in a gesture of affection. “I believe he also understands and finally accepts how true and deep our friendship runs as well mellon nin.” Aragorn placed his hand on Legolas’s shoulder in return and laughed mirthlessly.

“I would like to believe that, but I will not hold my breath waiting to hear Thranduil admit he misjudged me where you are concerned, mellon nin,” he said with a rueful smile.

                                                    ***********

As usually happened when Legolas was visiting, he partook of his evening meal with Aragorn and his family in the King’s private dining room. This night was no different except that Thranduil was also invited and was soon occupied with answering the many questions of the inquisitive young princesses. Arwen had tried to curb their curiosity, especially when the conversation turned to Legolas’s younger days. To the elf’s embarrassment, and Aragorn’s amusement, the Woodland King was more than willing to tell endless stories of his beloved son.

“Ai, so now I know how you came to be so good humoured and mischievous,” Aragorn commented to his friend after hearing another new tale of youthful elvish exploits.

“It was Elladan’s idea to put Arwen’s coloured bathing oil in Elrond’s fountain, not mine. As I recall, she was more than willing to allow us to use it,” he added with a wicked gleam in his eye as he turned to face the Queen.

“Adar was not impressed, but he never believed I had any part it,” Arwen told Aragorn who, like the others, was laughing heartily by this time. The conversation then turned to the pranks Eldarion and Sarien had perpetrated over the years and whilst Thranduil appeared to be listening politely, Legolas could easily sense his Adar’s mind was elsewhere and was not surprised when the elder elf stood to take his leave.

“Aragorn, would you guide me to my chambers?” Thranduil asked, obviously wishing to speak in private.

“Of course, this way,” the King of Men said as he ushered his guest into the hallway. They walked in silence until they reached the King’s chambers where, to Aragorn’s surprise, he was invited inside for a cup of wine.

“Oropher never believed that I helped Elendil replace a bottle of Gil-galad’s wine with coloured water,” Thranduil said, apparently continuing the storytelling whilst looking directly at Aragorn.  The man saw a shadow pass over the elder elf’s face and he noted softness in Thranduil’s voice as he spoke with affection of the close friend he had lost so long ago. Aragorn was startled by such an admission, and the emotion he was being allowed to see but wondered where the conversation was heading.

“Then perhaps Legolas inherits his willingness to befriend mortal beings from you,” was all he could think to comment. It was a bold statement, but did not incur Thranduil’s wrath as might have been expected.

 “Perhaps,” Thranduil mused. “Adar never approved of my friendship with Elendil and did his best to dissuade me from that path. Meeting your son and his friend made me recall just how much I cherished the bond of friendship between us, and as painful it was when he died, and still is, I must admit, I have never regretted our friendship.”

“Then why do you disapprove so much of the bond your son and I share?” Aragorn asked feeling more confused than ever.

“Because he is my son and I can not bear to see him in pain, whether in the body during battle or in the heart as we both know he will be with your passing. As a father surely you understand this?” Thranduil asked.

“Aye, but do you not know that needlessly denying him your approval of the choice his heart has made also causes him to suffer?” Aragorn asked, recalling how angry and hurt Eldarion had been when he was refused permission to join the rangers. Had it been in Aragorn’s power to do so, he would have allowed his son to go with Sarien.

“So I have come to realise and as much as I resented Oropher’s attitude towards Elendil, I admit that my attitude towards you has been equally unjust. Legolas has found it in his heart to forgive his Adar for his misguided disapproval and I hope that you will be able do so as well.”

“Are you saying you now approve of my friendship with Legolas?” Aragorn asked disbelief evident in his voice and his manner although his eyes sparkled with a flicker of hope that he and Legolas had finally won Thranduil’s approval.

“Aye, I am.”

Thranduil held Aragorn’s gaze unflinchingly as he spoke, unafraid to admit his mistake whilst remaining as majestic and powerful in his humbleness. This was indeed an elf to be admired and respected, like Elrond, Celeborn, Glorfindel and all the ancient elves who had since sailed West and Aragorn found himself wishing for even a single glimpse of the place where such awesome and incredibly beautiful beings dwelt. In that instant Aragorn thought he at last understood the compelling siren song of the sea.

The Undying Lands were where his closest friend belonged, Aragorn realised, the place to where the passing of the crown from Elessar to Eldarion would send Legolas.