“Something haunts you Legolas Greenleaf,” Strider whispered beside the Elf’s ear.  He dared not speak louder as he watched his friend stare at the ancient tree, frozen like some sylvan statue that had been a part of Fangorn Forest for an eternity.  The woodland being made no move nor did he acknowledge the ranger’s comment and Strider’s apprehension grew.

          Aragorn glanced up at the huge tree and then back down at his long time friend.  “What is it?” he asked.

          The Mirkwood prince only stared at the tree, his eyes filled with pain and his heart full of anguished memories he had thought long buried.  He was aware of the human standing beside him and knew that Strider was concerned about his sudden distress, but he could not yet speak.  Instead, he let the memories wash over him like an ocean wave as silent tears slid down his pale cheeks.

          At the sight of his tears, Strider reached out a concerned hand and clasped the Elf’s forearm.  “Legolas, why does this tree disturb you so?”

          The Elf turned his golden head to face the ranger and the immense sadness in his eyes tore at the ranger’s heart.

          “It is where I killed my brother,” Legolas answered.

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////

More than a thousand years ago…in a dark and ancient forest…

          “Legolas, Legolas!  Come down from there!” Aerlinde called out to her child as she shielded her eyes from the sun.  Her gaze was centered high amid the branches of the ancient tree where her youngest son was climbing his way to the top.

          “Let him be, Naneth,” laughed Thorfiniand, “the little imp climbs like a squirrel.”

          The beautiful She-Elf turned her blonde head to face her eldest son, an irritated frown creasing her lovely face.  “He is too high up.  You know how I fret when he takes such risks.”

          The handsome Elf smiled fondly at his mother and placed an arm around her slender shoulders, hugging her tightly.  “He is a Wood Elf, Naneth.  Where else would he be but…”

          His words were cut short by the startled cry from the branches above their heads and both Elves below instantly looked upward.  They could see the young Elfling hanging upside down, caught by one leg, his arms swinging wildly from side to side as he tried to catch hold of the tree’s broad trunk; but he was too far out on the slender limb to reach it.

          Aerlinde’s graceful hands flew to her mouth to stifle the scream that was on her lips and her panicked eyes turned toward her eldest son.  “Thor, help him, please!”

          The young Elf did not hesitate, but ran to the tree and launched himself up into the branches.  Aerlinde anxiously watched as he made his way through the boughs and steadily climbed higher and higher.

          “Hold on little brother,” he called, “I’m coming for you.”

          “Thor!” Legolas wailed, “Help me!”

          At that moment, Legolas’ thin leg slid farther down the limb and his knee wedged up against the tree trunk.  The slight movement caused the Elfling to fall several inches before his leg caught within the narrow forking of the branch and the trunk and he let out a frightened yelp.

          Thorfiniand chanced a look upward to see his little brother sliding along the limb and hastened his pace.    When he saw that Legolas’ leg was resting snuggly in the crook of the limb, he sighed with relief and carefully continued upward until he was right below the dangling young prince.

          “THOR!” Legolas wailed with renewed terror.  Now that his brother was this close to him, he was afraid that he would have to let go of the tree trunk to reach Thor’s strong hands and he did not wish to do that just yet.

          “I’m here, Legolas,” he called. “It’s all right”  Thorfiniand pulled himself up a few more inches, but the branches up this high were extremely thin and he feared they would not hold his weight much longer.  When he looked up again, he could see Legolas’ long, golden braids flopping behind his ears, his silken hair covering his upturned face.   Thor grinned up at the frightened Elfling in an effort to calm him.  “Are you in trouble now,” he laughed.  “Naneth will never let you climb a tree again.”

          Tears had formed in the Elfling’s eyes and they now rained down upon his big brother’s laughing face.  “Help me, Thor, I’m scared!”

          “I’ve got you, little squirrel,” Thorfiniand replied as he eased himself up another few feet.  “Try to stay as still as possible.”

          Legolas nodded, still reluctant to relinquish his hold upon the trunk of the massive tree.  On the ground below, Aerlinde watched in anguished horror as her eldest son reached up to clasp the young one’s hands.  Amazingly enough, Thor was able to jiggle Legolas’ leg free of the tree branch, pull him down, and then catch him as he fell.  He deftly swung Legolas by the arms to another lower branch and the young one easily caught hold of the limb where he was for the moment safe.

          Aerlinde’s heart began to beat again as she watched her sons maneuver through the tree top and then the horrendous cracking sound of wood snapping brought a cry to her lips.  The branch holding Thorfiniand broke under his weight and he was left without a foothold as he and the limb plummeted to the ground below.  The last thing Legolas remembered was the look of complete surprise on his brother’s face as he fell past him toward the forest floor; then his mother started screaming.

          As he looked down through the leaves, he could see the twisted body of Thorfiniand lying upon the grass near the tree’s base and his mother bent over him, rocking back and forth as her anguished cries finally brought the royal guard running.   His tears began in earnest then and he found that he could not breathe.  He could not remember how he got down from the tree and it was only later that his father, the king, told him that he was brought down safely by several of the Elven warriors who had been in attendance upon their outing.

          Thorfiniand, however, was dead.  

/////////////////////////////////////////////////

          The furor inside the palace was alarming to the young Elfling as he was hurried along the crowded halls and taken directly to his quarters by several of the Elven guards.  His brother had been carried into the Great Hall upon a makeshift litter and was now lying there in the center of the large room upon a hastily erected bier.  Elf lords and maidens, his father’s counselors and ministers and the palace servants all mingled about the body, their distraught weeping echoing throughout the cavernous room.

          Legolas had been bustled past the Hall and not allowed to enter, but not before he had seen the assembled Elves and his father, head in his hands, weeping upon his throne.  He had never seen his father cry before and watching him thus frightened him even more.  He did not know where they had taken his mother, but overheard several of the Elf maidens talking in hushed whispers about the healers being unable to awaken her.  He very much wanted to see her, but the elders would not let him, and this left him feeling lonely and forgotten.

          After the warriors had left, he slipped out of his room by the balcony railing and made his way through the trees to his brother’s room.  He hid there, beside the empty bed, crying for most of the night.  He did not understand what had happened to his brother, except that he no longer moved or breathed, and everyone about him was weeping, but no one sought to comfort him.  Exhaustion and sleep finally overcame him and he curled into a tiny ball on the floor alongside the bed.

          One of the housemaids found him the next morning sleeping on the floor and brought him to King Thranduil.  Still sleepy and hungry from a night without dinner, the young Legolas was hesitant and afraid to face his father.  He could not understand what was happening and he longed to run to his mother, crawl up into the safety of her lap and put his arms around her neck, but when he asked the maid to take him to her, she had brought him to the king instead.

          Once the Elf maiden had gone, the Elvenking knelt down to better face his youngest son.  “Do you know what has happened, Legolas?” he asked softly.

          “No, Adar,” the young Elf sniffled.  “What has happened to Thor?  Why can’t I see Naneth?”

          Thranduil’s face saddened and he looked away for a moment, then turned back to face his child.  “Your brother has died little one.  The fall broke his neck and back.”  He stopped as a ragged breath shook his chest and brushed away at the tears that sprang anew to his eyes.  “Your mother has succumbed to grief and has fallen into a trance of sorts.  The healers cannot arouse her.”

          “Can I see her?” asked the frightened Elf.

          “I’m afraid not, young one.”

          The king arose and took up the small Elf’s hand, leading him from the room and out into the hallway.  Without speaking, the two walked through the palace and out into the open gardens.   They came to a narrow bench and the king indicated that his son should sit down.  When Legolas did so, his father continued.  “I’m sending you to the northern enclaves.  It would be best if you were away from here for a time.”

          “But why, Adar?  I don’t want to go there.  I want to see Naneth!”  The Elfling’s whining cry shattered the peace of the gardens.

          “You cannot,” the king snapped with more anger than he intended.  “I have decided.  You will leave tonight.”

          And with that parting statement, his father had turned abruptly and left the gardens, leaving Legolas alone and abandoned to watch his retreating back.  

///////////////////////////////////////////////

FangornForest, the present…  

          “I never saw my mother again,” Legolas whispered.

          “Legolas, what are you remembering?” Aragorn asked, his own anxiety growing with each word the Elf spoke.  “How could you have killed your brother?  What’s this about your mother?”

          Legolas pointed a slender finger up toward the topmost branches of the tree.  “I was showing off for my brother, climbing higher and higher, even though I knew it was dangerous.”  He looked back at his friend, his eyes glistening with tears.

          “I slipped and lost my balance…caught my leg in the branches and Thorfiniand came up to rescue me.”   He shuddered at the memory and looked up at the tree once again.  “He pulled me to safety and swung me to another branch.  I remember him laughing.  Telling me how much trouble I was in…and then there was the sound of the wood breaking and Thor was falling…”  Legolas put his hands over his eyes and sobbed, his shoulders shaking as the ages of anguish and old pain emerged from his soul at last and overwhelmed him in a sea of guilt and sorrow.

          Aragorn placed his arm around Legolas’ slender form and drew him closer, hugging him to his chest the way his own brothers had comforted him so many, many times before when he was hurting and in pain.  The Elf laid his head against the ranger’s shoulder and moaned softly into the leather of Strider’s black overcoat.

          “Oh, Legolas,” Aragorn whispered.  “You did not kill him.  You were just a child…”

          The Elf remained silent except for the occasional heaving of his chest as he drew in rough, halting breaths, but eventually he lifted his head and slowly pulled away from the ranger.  He wiped at his tears with the palm of his hand and then moved over to the massive tree’s trunk where he placed his hand against the rough wood and then his forehead, leaning into the tree, speaking to it in soft Elvish whispers.

          Strider stood back, waiting.  When the Elf finally turned around, he was once again composed and calm.  He smiled faintly and nodded to his friend, silently acknowledging his profound gratitude for the comfort and compassion the young human had shown him.  “The tree agrees, Aragorn,” he said.  “Perhaps now I can finally lay that guilt to rest.”

          Aragorn smiled as well and impulsively clasped Legolas in a good natured head lock.  “And now you have me to contend with!”

          The Elf actually laughed and, easily evading the ranger’s hold upon him, took off running through the woods.   “Last one back to camp tells Lord Elrond why we are late!”

          “Oh, no you don’t,” Strider replied and the race was on.

The End