(1)  Song verse from The Fellowship of the Ring.

(2)  The netted stars, or Remmirath is referenced to in The Fellowship of the Ring and “The Astronomy of Middle Earth,” and is the constellation of Pleiades

(3)  Hopi myth about corn which tells that the corn maidens came down to teach the Hopi about corn and that these corn maidens are in fact the stars of the Pleiades.

(4)  For more detailed information about the Great Journey read The Silmarillion.

(5)  For more information about the Yavannildi, or Ivonwin in Sindarin, maidens of Yavanna, read The People's Of Middle Earth.

(6)  Pamuya is Hopi for water moon.

(6)    Kementári is another name for Yavanna.  The Silmarillion.  Spiderwoman is a Hopi mythical figure.

Chapter 13: The Deer

It was an unusually bright day in the northeastern realm of Thranduil of Mirkwood. The morning sun bathed the forest with a cleansing light. Lenmana awoke from her usual dreams, clutching her chest. But never had her dreams ended with such pain. It was as if she had been struck again by bullets. As the waking world materialized around her, she breathed easier as she noted she was indeed whole and unhurt.

It had been four consecutive nights that she had been visited by various visions, and through them she had been gifted much knowledge about where she was at.

After the first vision, she found that she was able to make out words, here and there, from the strange tongue of the leaf people. Somewhere inside she understood that this was no accident that some higher power had intervened, and for this she was thankful, and always she thanked the moon for visiting her. She had learned many of the stories of the leaf folk. This had allowed her to feel more at ease as their stories were familiar to her.

The old wizard had visited her, and seemed to be guiding her through lessons during her waking hours. He was a man of powerful medicine. When first he spoke in her peoples’ words she thought there was witchery at work, but soon she understood that he was only capable of goodness. She would not tire of asking questions to the wizard in her broken Sindarin, and she demanded that he use Sindarin as much as possible. Fear of remembering, fear of being left alone to her thoughts drove her to immerse herself in the world of those she was around. She did not, she could not think back to the past, to that day she felt she had surely died.

But in her dreams she was never alone, and at night she anticipated the moon’s decent into her dreams. He was faceless, but his voice rang clear. She knew it was the moon for only the moon could have such a voice, only the moon could soothe her fears, and only the moon could make her feel truly alive.

But this morning she awoke and felt unsure, something had collided in the dream world and was now spiraling out of control. Lenmana clutched her breast, trying to hold her spirit in. The room closed in around her, and she felt as if she were drowning. She threw the sheet that was tangled amongst her legs to the floor and ran out of the healing rooms into the forest clearing in front of the immense gates that led into the hill side. She failed to notice that her feet ran steadily beneath her and that her body did not betray her with weakness. All she knew was that she felt the walls closing in on her and that she needed to breathe the free air.

***

The old wizard strolled along the bridge lost in his thoughts. Much had occurred, and yet not too much had changed. It had been a week since he had asked the Valar for a token of intervention, and he had been gifted with much insight and was pleased to note that his young pupil had fared rather well.

“When do you leave Mithrandir,” a voice from behind the Istari asked.

“I leave with the first light of day break,” the wizard replied, turning around to find Thranduil behind him.

“I wish you were not leaving us, but I am conscious that you are much needed elsewhere. What of the young mortal woman?”

Mithrandir stroked his beard absentmindedly, “I believe that she will have to get along with what she has learned.”

“It is rather incredulous that a woman who knew not of our tongue has suddenly seemed to become rather fluent in it. And you Mithrandir seem to be very familiar with her tongues.” Thranduil paused, and turned to look out towards the flowing river.

Mithrandir chuckled, “The ways of this world are a mystery, but sometimes we are fortunate enough to have the intervention of higher powers.”

“I suspected such,” Thranduil sighed, “but why would the Valar lend their aid for such a thing when so much in this world is ailing.”

The wizard went to stand next to Thranduil, leaning against the bridges’ sides, “One cannot understand why things occur the way they do, but I suppose that this little bit of enchantment is gifted for small reasons. Sometimes the most insignificant of things can provide us with moments of joy, and maybe help in our understanding of ourselves- the world we live in. That is the mystery of such small gifts, that so many of the insignificant things we receive come together in ways we cannot imagine.”

Thranduil tossed a rock in the river as he paused to ponder the old wizard’s words. “I hear your words, old friend, and their truth fills me with comfort, but I am concerned over this stranger’s appearance. From what you have told me, she is not of middle earth, not of this time, from a land far, far west, beyond what is allowed to be known. How is this possible?”

The Istar shrugged his shoulders, “Those are questions I cannot answer. The answer will reveal itself, in time, but not through me I am afraid, and not through actions of the Valar. We must wait for her to come to those answers.”

“Should I be expected to house this stranger, despite not knowing the truths behind her,” Thranduil asked, turning to face the Istari.

“No you are not, you are king, and those decisions are best made by you.”

“Ai, Mithrandir, I was not trying to sound rash. Friend, I would like your counsel on this matter. Who else than you? You are the one who has learned most about her, and the one she seems to trust, as you seem to trust her,” Thranduil beseeched.

“The girl is no danger. She is a simple girl who is lost in a world she is completely unaware of. Nothing more, nothing less.” Mithrandir clasped Thranduil’s shoulder, “Maybe her new born sight can shed some of the mundaneness of immortality. Thranduil, sometimes we must let life take the course most unseen.”

The elven king looked towards the west, but he didn’t look to see, he looked to understand. He ran his hands through his golden hair, the dark blue of his eyes twinkling with the sun’s light.

“Ha, my dear friend, looking at you, it is as if I am looking at Legolas,” the wizard mused.

Thranduil allowed himself to laugh, “My dear son. But I thought he looked so much like his mother?”

“Oh indeed he does, but the way you were standing just now, your hair and eyes catching the sun, your arms folded tightly across your chess, I saw Legolas for a moment.”

Thranduil chuckled at the wizard’s observation, “There is much of me in my son. I must admit he has perfected my stubbornness, and yet he is as patient as Nyére was.” Thranduil threw his arms up in the air, imitating a certain grandson, “Why do I worry about this maiden? I of all should be used to living with unsolved pasts, unknown ancestries.” His voice trailed off and he stood in silence, embracing the memory of his beloved wife.

Mithrandir tenderly grasped Thranduil’s hand in his, and squeezed it reassuringly. Thranduil allowed his gaze to fall upon the wizard’s aged face. A single tear rolled unashamedly down Thranduil’s cheek. Mithrandir gently wiped the tear away, “Oropherion, you are never alone; she shall always be a part of you.”

Thranduil smiled appreciatively, nodding his head. Wizard and king turned towards the palace, and walked in silence, but not alone.

***

Legolas was glad to be well beyond the mountains of Mirkwood, a day’s travel from his father’s kingdom. Maybe he had pushed his scouting patrol too far south, he pondered, but they had escaped serious injury. The scouting party moved quietly through the trees, the branches extending themselves towards the trusting step of the elves. Earlier Orc activity below had forced the small party up into the trees to avoid unnecessary contact. They were running too low on provisions and energy to dare violent encounters. Legolas knew that these orcs would pose no threat as other scouting parties in the area would be recently dispatched and more than willing to dispose of the hideous creatures.

“The evil grows fouler in Dol Guldur, guided by the hands of the blackness,” Legolas whispered to Aní, who was in a tree near Legolas.

“Yes,” replied Aní, “from what I have gathered from the older warriors, the foulness and darkness is unlike any they have felt.”

Legolas glanced knowingly at Aní, his words reinforced what had been eating away at him inside- the breath of darkness had become thick, impenetrable. This worried Legolas, but the soft sounds of elves around him in the trees, brought his thoughts back to tasks that had to presently be dealt with.

“I am in the mood for something more than Lembas this evening,” Legolas announced to the warriors that stealthily made there way through the forest. “Turwen would you like to join me on a short hunt? We make camp in the hollow which lays to the northeast a league from here.”

The elves silently continued on their appointed path while Turwen and Legolas dropped to the ground in order to better search for animal tracks on the earth below them. An hour after searching, Turwen called out a signal to Legolas who had been scanning another area of the forest. Swiftly and quietly Legolas approached the ground where Turwen was crouching over the fresh tracks.

Turwen pointed in the direction which the tracks led and Legolas rapidly followed the clearly marked tracks, making no sound as his booted feet seemingly disappeared as their weight touched on the ground. His bow was by his side, notched and ready. He slowed his pace as the trees around him whispered that another presence was near by. Legolas body froze in a matter of a second as he saw a female deer appear from behind a large oak, nibbling on the foliage on the ground. His bow was readied and the arrow was aimed at the animal, but before firing, Legolas silently asked the creature if it could take its life. He would not take a life of an innocent creature which did not grant thus its will.

Suddenly the deer looked up from where she ate and caught her hunter surprisingly off guard. Legolas gasped as he stared into the deer’s eyes, they were so familiar to him. He could not move; it was as if he was caught in an enchantment laid on him by the deer. The deer was still and caught in the elf’s eyes as well, and did not flinch despite the knowledge that it was being hunted. And the prayers offered by the elf reached her, and she silently acknowledged that she would offer herself this day to the kind and fair being.

The deer cautiously bowed its head breaking the spell between elf and deer. Legolas swiftly loosed his arrow, and the deer fell instantly. Elves were not cruel and they were ever thankful for the creatures that provided them sustenance. Legolas paused as he neared the fallen deer. It was dead but its eyes remained open, and again Legolas found himself staring into them. Realization swept into him as he breathed out, “Araswen.”

Turwen approached the deer as well and offered Legolas help in carrying the sizeable deer, ignoring for a moment, the name Legolas had given the fallen deer. “Do you need help in carrying the aras ?”

“No,” Legolas whispered clearly shaken by something Turwen couldn’t understand. “I will carry her to our camp.”

As the two walked quietly in the increasing darkness of the forest, Turwen’s curiosity got the best of her, “Hir nîn , when I came up behind you, after you had shot the deer, you called out Araswen. My best judgment warns me not to inquire, but my curiosity begs my indiscretion.”

Legolas allowed a brief smile to grace his lips. He shifted the deer’s weight to his other shoulder, and breathed out a heavy sigh, “Forgive my strange behavior. I was simply struck by the importance of such a moment, and I wanted to acknowledge this creature’s offering. ‘Tis all that was.”

Turwen smiled inwardly, unsatisfied with the answer, but she probed no further as she understood that her captain was not going to reward her curiosity with an honest answer.

Legolas and Turwen returned to camp and a couple of elves took the animal from Legolas and began making preparations for the party’s meal. As the group of elves ate the gift of Oromë, Legolas sat off to the side, lost in contemplation. Aní looked over towards his uncle and noticed that he appeared unsettled.

“Legolas, something troubles you,” Aní asked as he approached Legolas who sat on the outer edge of the scouting party’s camp site. Before Legolas could wave him off Aní added, “And don’t attempt to dismiss my inquiry. You know I am stubborn enough to insist all night until you tire of my questions.”

Legolas smiled slightly, “A wise observation concerning your stubbornness dear Aní.” Legolas motioned for Aní to come and sit next to him, and Aní obliged.

“I suppose you might understand my predicament,” Legolas sighed, his shoulders slumping with some unseen weight.

Aní sat silently next to his uncle, but he looked at Legolas, providing him with silent assurance.

Legolas continued, “When we sleep, we have been visited by dreams of the stars, and their radiance.”

Aní shook his head in acknowledgement. Visions of Aní’s dreams floated through his consciousness as Legolas spoke of his troubles.

“And there was the maiden who graced us with her company, with wondrous stories. I felt much peace in my dreams despite the darkness that surrounded our waking thoughts. But all I ever really saw of her were her eyes… her eyes.” Legolas’ voice trailed off and he shut his eyes as if trying to contain the images that flooded him.

“And all I ever saw of her was her hair, but I welcomed the peace that came with these dreams,” Aní whispered. He placed his hand gently on his uncle’s shoulder, “What is it that troubles your heart, for I feel your turmoil.”

Legolas sighed wearily, “This day when Turwen and I went hunting for our meal, I came upon the deer, and was surprised by what I found staring back at me.” Legolas’ eyes grew wide as he relived the moments he locked eyes with the deer, but he forced his voice to continue, “Aní, I was mesmerized by her eyes-“

“You mean the deer’s eyes?”

“Yes the aras. And I knew that somewhere before I had come to know these eyes, they were familiar to me.” Legolas gaze was looking up towards the stars that dimly lit the night sky, he then glanced back to Aní, “It came to me then, it was her, her eyes, Araswen, the maiden that has graced me with her presence in my dreams. It was her eyes I was looking into.”

Aní’s eyebrows furrowed together, as he contemplated the depth of what Legolas shared with him. “Could it be that maybe this maiden’s eyes simply resemble the eyes of an aras ?”

“No Aní, they were her eyes. This explains why I knew her as Araswen.”

Aní gasped, “Deer maiden, Araswen, that *was* her name.”

The two warriors looked upon each other solemnly and then lifted their gazes towards the stars, sharing their silent contemplation.

The elven company had rested for a couple of hours under the glory of their stars, but soon picked up and began moving under the light of Isil and Varda’s stars, closing the distance between them and home with each swift step they took. And absent from Legolas’ dreams was the maiden, but the stars, thankfully they remained. As dawn approached, the elves quickened their pace. They were anxious to arrive to warm embraces and the comforts of home.

***

Legolas smiled widely as he set foot on the bridge that crossed the Forest River and led to his father’s palace. The other elves around Legolas began to speak excitedly and more loudly. Too long had they whispered or simply not spoken for fear that they would alert unwanted ears. He looked forward to greeting his family, sleeping on his bed, and eating a hearty meal.

Without a word needed, the elves separated and sped off in the direction of their homes, Legolas and Aní following suit.

“I challenge you to a race!” Aní announced, attempting to lighten Legolas’ mood.

“And you think you can win?” Legolas quipped, and sprinted towards the palace with Aní keeping pace.

The two elves ran furiously towards the palace doors. Aní, seeing that Legolas was edging ahead of him, threw his arm out, trying to grab Legolas’ quiver. Legolas felt Aní reach out towards him, and cut quickly to his left, evading Aní’s hand. Legolas let out a shout, and sprinted ahead of Aní.

Although only beat by mere seconds, Aní gathered his breath, and threw his arms up in the air, “Ai, I will not live down the embarrassment. I was beaten by an ancient elf.”

Legolas laughed and threw himself on the grass, deciding to respond to Aní’s jibing by further laughter. Suddenly, Legolas felt an elf on top of him. Aní had launched himself in a tackle and caught his uncle by surprise. The two elves wrestled, their moods lightened by familiar surroundings. The two elves finally let up on each other and sprang up to their feet, carefully cleaning the grass that had been caught in their hair.

“Aní it is good to be home,” Legolas declared.

“My heart does feel lighter,” the younger elf replied. “You seem of better spirits yourself Legolas.”

Legolas nodded, and was about to speak when his face froze in surprise. His eyes widened and became stilled. Aní turned to see what it was that surprised Legolas, and he too opened his mouth, but no words came out. There standing in front of them looking at them wild-eyed was the maiden that had shared their dreams. Her long black hair fell wildly about her.

Aní finally was able to whisper, “That is her hair.”

Aní’s words shook Legolas from his shock. “And those eyes, those are the eyes- she, she is not dead,” Legolas breathed, “those are her eyes.”

The two stared intently at the maiden that stood before them and shouted out simultaneously, “Araswen!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 14: Taking a Tumble

Lenmana froze as she watched the two elves playfully wrestle with each other, but was more startled when their attention focused on her. Suddenly, and in unison, the elves shouted at her. Fear gripped her and she bolted towards the nearest escape route she could see, towards the bridge and across the river. She pumped her legs as hard as they would allow, forcefully gasping for air as her lungs seemed to collapse with each stride she took. A pain in her shoulder began to bolt down her arm and chest resulting from the erratic pumping of her arms. She did not dare turn around for fear that she was being pursued, but her body was quickly giving out on her.

Ahead of her she saw the bridge coming to an end and a grassy path led from it into the forest. If she could only make it to the forest, she felt she may be safer. Her reasoning was flawed but it drove her to push her body further. The pain in her shoulder was tearing through her as if a thousand needles were being driven into exposed bone, her lungs burned with each breath she took, but she drove on.

Aní and Legolas stood startled watching the young maiden run away from them in obvious fear. They had started after her, but decided they would remain far enough behind as to not startle her further. Their pace was rather leisurely as the young maiden’s pace slowed dramatically.

As Lenmana’s foot crossed the threshold of the bridge, her body gave away underneath her, unable to continue under her demands. Time seemed to slow as her legs collapsed under her and her body flew forward. Lenmana threw her arms out instinctively to brace herself from being flung face first into the grass beneath her, and as she saw the earth coming up quickly, she flinched as she realized that her injured arm could not take such a fall without being re-injured. As this thought crossed her mind, she felt knees burn sharply with the grass that met them, and she skidded forward until her hands hit the ground. Her arms buckled from the force of impact on the ground and her elbows joined her knees in skidding along the grass, until finally her arms collapsed under her body, and she came to a stop. The force of her body slamming down on the earth and her arms below her, knocked the wind out of her, and the young woman lay on the earth, wheezing and gasping for any little air she could suck in.

Legolas and Aní had bolted into a sprint as they sensed that she was about to take a tumble, quickly reaching her, and crouching by her side. They tried to have her remain out-stretched as this would ease air back into her lungs. The young woman did not seem to object to their wishes as she was still too dazed from her fall and lack of breath to contemplate what exactly was occurring.

A voice from behind the two elves startled them, “It seems that already havoc is being unleashed in my kingdom upon your return.” Thranduil paused, and looked over the elves, “How injured is our young guest?”

Legolas winced at his father’s words, but answered him nonetheless, “She has not suffered any broken bones or cuts, but she has burns from where she skidded on the grass. She will be very sore, no doubt.”

Lenmana was now breathing with more ease but dared not breathe too deep as she was afraid that any move on her part could be dangerous as the three elves were inspecting her with hands and eyes. She glanced nervously back and forth between the elves, but they did not seem notice her apprehension as they were busily attending to her and discussing amongst themselves how to take her back to the healing quarters.

“I was just about to leave, when I come upon this scene! What has happened, pray tell,” Mithrandir urged.

Aní replied, “It seems we startled her and she ran from us, and fell in the process.”

“Move away please,” the Istar instructed, “surely you all can see that you are frightening her?”

The elves looked at the young woman and noticed the nervous look in her eyes, and stepped back, allowing Mithrandir to approach the young woman. As he knelt by her, Lenmana’s eyes locked on her friend’s, and offered a weak smile.

the wizard spoke to her in her native tongue.

She was thankful that the man known to her as Mithrandir was there with her, but she was saddened as he reiterated that he was indeed leaving, despite her new injuries. But his words had comforted her as he assured her that the mighty king welcomed her to stay as long as she pleased. She glanced towards the king and found him looking at her, and he smiled warmly in response.

The elves looked on as the wizard gently prodded quiet responses from his patient. Soon Lenmana was pointing wearily in Legolas’ and Aní’s direction, looking at them in the same manner she had before she had run away from them. Thranduil sighed and glanced at his son and grandson, understanding that some mischief of theirs had probably startled the untrusting stranger.

The younger elves answered the accusations, “We did nothing wrong!”

Legolas added, “At least nothing directly.”

Mithrandir responded warily, “I suppose that this reunion between the lot of you was going to result in some sort of disarray, but no great harm has come of it. Help me take her back to her quarters. Aní and Legolas, I expect that you have many questions of her as she will have of you both, but in the meantime you can help with her re-injured shoulder. It will need more rehabilitation.”

Aní queried, “But how are we supposed to *speak* with her if we cannot understand her. You seem to be the only one who can communicate in her strange tongue.”

“Many things have occurred since you two have been away on patrol. I am sure you will find that communicating with her will be somewhat easier than expected,” the king interjected.

Legolas ventured to ask, “And how is that?”

“Your father will reveal that to you later. Let us take her back before her nerves grip her again.” Mithrandir gestured towards Aní and Legolas to help the young maiden cross the bridge.

Lenmana had been quietly taking in the conversation that passed between the elves and the old man. Her body was pained from the harsh fall, but it had been soothed somewhat by the elve’s ministrations. As she listened, she realized that the two elves that had scared her did not think she could understand them. To her surprise, she found herself pondering the idea that this misinformation, if not corrected, might bring her some amusement. She relaxed and allowed herself to relish in the peace and joy that radiated to her from these leaf people.

In this moment she promised herself that as long as she was able to take in all that was being gifted to her she would try not to fight them, or let fear paralyze her. With these thoughts, she pushed her troubling past further into the recesses of her mind, and turned her attention to the leaf people. She allowed her gaze to linger slowly from ear to ear, and was amazed that nature had endowed these folk who were so clearly born of the woods they lived in with the physical traits of the trees. She unconsciously rubbed the roundness of her ears and smiled at the thought that she found the leaf ears to be strangely beautiful, her leaf people.

The two elves that had scared Lenmana out of her wits, gently assisted her back to her quarters, and she returned willingly, hoping that the emotions that had paralyzed her when she awoke would not return. She had to fight the urge to ask the old man to remain by her side if only for a couple of moments. As she was settled back into her room, Mithrandir took his leave of her, allowing healers to tend to her injuries. Thranduil had shooed Legolas and Aní out of her room, and quietly closed the door behind him.

Lenmana held her breath as the healers exited her room and she waited, waited for the terror to grip her heart and squeeze it, but nothing happened. She let out a long breath and felt her eyes grow heavy with sleep. No doubt, one of the teas she had been given was a sleeping draught, but she was thankful for it, welcoming the sleep that overcame her.

***

Laurenor was stretching lazily in bed, watching his wife comb through her long hair. He loved feeling the touch of his skin smooth against the sheets as he stretched in the mornings before rising. He pulled the sheets away from his bare body and approached Istawen as she watched him from the mirror. Chills ran through her body as she drank in the entirety of her husband’s form.

His dark hair hung loosely around his face as no warrior braids impeded its flee flowing form. His deep, dark blue eyes that he used all too well in the art of seduction, were twinkling with mischief.

“My brother has arrived,” Laurenor announced softly, standing behind his wife, and tangling his hands in her hair.

“You did say that you expected him soon last night. He must have been quite near for you to feel his presence,” Istawen added, not taking her eyes off her husband. “Lotórie is with Rainiel and Erutinín this morning, awaiting Legolas and Aní’s return.”

“I am sure they will not mind if we do not meet him for breakfast this morning,” Laurenor purred in his wife’s ear.

Istawen closed her eyes, allowing the tingling in her ear to fully envelop her, “They will not mind at all, not in the least bit.” As Istawen breathed these words she grabbed her husband by the back of the neck and pulled him towards her lips.

Laurenor allowed himself to be pulled into the deep kiss, and all was forgotten in this moment, except the needs of the two lovers.

***

Chapter 15: Cloudrunner

Aní found that he was not at all where he had originally intended to be. On his way back to the palace, he had somehow managed to meander on to the stables. He always managed to let his unconscious mind take him where it willed as opposed to his more rational mind. He stood leaning on the fence that surrounded the pastures where the horses were allowed to run free. The area of the pastures was large enough to house separate areas fenced off areas that allowed stallions to run outside at the same time without forcing them to share the spaces.

The young woman’s horse was running about happily and neighed in greeting as he approached his elven friend. Aní had taken it on himself along with Legolas and Lotórie to visit and care for the horse while the young woman was healing, and he feared that during his absence, Lotórie may not have been allowed to come out to tend the horse. From the greeting he received it was obvious that the horse had been tended as his short mane was neatly groomed, and decorated with bows.

*Lotórie has definitely been allowed to care for him,* Aní mused. What Aní did not know is that Lotórie had accompanied Lenmana out to the pastures to visit her horse, and at first, despite not being able to understand one another, Lotórie and Lenmana had been able to share the experience of caring for the horse. As Lenmana’s arm sometimes forced her to stop certain grooming of the horse, Lotórie would gladly take over.

***

Lotórie was the other soul that Lenmana learned to trust, besides Mithrandir, and the time they spent with her horse was revered by Lenmana. The horse was the one creature that had belonged to her world then. At first Lenmana was apprehensive about visiting the horse. She was afraid that she would resent it for reminding her too vividly of her past pains, but when she laid eyes on her steed, the love she felt for her equine companion overwhelmed her.

He was no longer as skinny as she remembered him to be, and his short scraggly mane and tail, although characteristically short, were now healthy and glossy. His greeting overwhelmed Lenmana, and in that moment where he shared his joy on being reunited with his rider, Lenmana felt selfish for harboring any misapprehension towards her horse. She reminded herself that he too suffered, and that he probably was overwhelmed by not being able to see his human companion. The only rider he had known for most of his life, her Cloudrunner.

***

The horse nudged Aní’s shoulder with his muzzle, begging to be petted. Aní laughed and obliged the horse. He heard someone approaching him from behind and greeted his arriving company, “Glad that you could join me.”

Legolas and Lotórie came and stood next to Aní and joined in rubbing the horse’s neck and body vigorously. Cloudrunner simply closed his eyes, and would occasionally let out a content grunt.

“I knew you would be out here,” Legolas spoke to his nephew. “I had the same idea, but there were people I needed to attend to first.” Legolas glanced at his niece who favored him with the sweetest smile possible.

Aní looked over towards Lotórie, and jokingly added, “I know that Lotórie only has room for Legolas in her heart. So I came out here, knowing this creature would surely love me for company.”

Lotórie slapped Aní’s leg with her small hand, “That is not true Aní. You are just jealous that Uncle Legolas does not play games with you like he does with me.”

Legolas and Aní laughed, and Aní replied, “Yes loth nín , you are certainly right. Uncle Legolas never wants to play with me. He only likes to play with *elven maidens.*”

Legolas snorted, easily catching the innuendo in his nephew’s words, and knelt before Lotórie who was now busily looking at her uncles, “ 'T is true my little one, I do prefer the company of ladies, and you Hiril nîn , are my most favorite of all.” He took one of the hands that was petting the horse, and placed a quick kiss on it.

Lotórie giggled, and Aní and Legolas laughed mightily. Cloudrunner, not to be outdone and ignored, let out a shrill neigh, easily catching the attention of his would-be indulgers. The elves continued chatting and resumed rubbing the happy equine’s body. Cloudrunner was delighted, and he would have been in total horse heaven had it not been for the absence of his Lenmana.

“By the way Lotórie, the bows you have used to decorate this steed’s mane are beautiful. They really do make this horse more *handsome*,” Legolas spoke sweetly to his beloved niece.

“I know Uncle Legolas, and Lenmana helped me put them on. We had such a grand time.”

“Lenmana?,” Aní asked.

“You know Aní, the young stranger who arrived here a while back with this horse. I cannot believe you do not remember her.”

“Of course I do, I just did not remember that that was her name,” Aní added while throwing a knowing glance Legolas’ way.

Legolas’ curiosity was peaked, “Is she a kind person?”

“Yes Uncle Legolas, she is *so* kind, and very soft spoken.”

“Soft spoken, do you understand her Lotórie,” Legolas asked, somewhat perplexed by what Lotórie had said.

“Well I did not understand her, nor did she understand me, but we would speak with each other regardless.”

“Oh,” Legolas replied.

As Legolas was going to ask another question, Aní interrupted and asked a question of his cousin instead, “Do you know the name of this horse loth nín ?”

“Yes I do! Mithrandir translated it for me- the name in Lenmana’s tongue is too difficult to pronounce.” Lotórie looked lovingly into the horses eyes, “His name is Cloudrunner, and he knows it - see?!”

As Lotórie mentioned his name, the horse lowered its head towards her and muzzled her cheeks with a wet horse kiss.

“Another of Mithrandir’s miracles, no doubt,” Legolas happily replied, but as he looked at the seen of merriment, he felt a tinge of sorrow creep around the edges of his heart. *Naneth, how I wish you were here.*

Aní noticed the change in Legolas’ spirit and reached out his hand, laying it on Legolas’ shoulder. “Will you tell us the story, the one my nana loves to tell, when you decided to impress Daernaneth and her guests?”

Legolas laid his hand on Aní’s, and smiled slightly.

“Yes Uncle Legolas, tell a story about Daernana. I would love to hear it,” Lotórie squealed excitedly.

“Fair enough,” Legolas laughed softly, “I will tell it, but with no interruptions.”

Lotórie and Aní swore not to interrupt their uncle and Legolas began to retell one of the earliest memories he had of Nyére, adding what had been told to him by his sister, Rainiel.

~*~*~

Elrond and Arwen walked with Nyére towards the stables, talking excitedly about the little foal that had been recently born, and was to be given to Legolas in honor of the day of his begetting.

Not only had marrying Nyére improved the relations between LothLórien and Mirkwood, it had also improved the relations between Imladris and Thranduil’s kingdom. In time, many of the disagreements between the elven kingdoms were allowed to come to a rest, although not forgotten, and the lessons learned served all who were involved well. With the sailing of Celebrian to the West, Nyére played an important role in the lives of Elrond and his children; such was the greatness of Nyére’s heart.

“How wonderful it is to have such a small elfling to fuss over,” Arwen added enthusiastically. “Oh Adar, I cannot wait until I have elflings of my very own.”

“But first you must meet someone in order for that story to take place, sell nín ,” Elrond responded rather sarcastically.

“Ada,” Arwen laughed, “I know this! But when I see little Legolas, I feel a certain part of me await such a gift with much anticipation!”

Nyére laughed appreciatively, “Yes Arwen, I do know what you mean, and the time will come for you, as I know that the love that awaits you will be all that you deserve.”

Arwen clasped on to Nyére’s arms, resting her head on the elder elf’s shoulder, “I am content knowing that such beautiful things lay in my future.”

Nyére reached over and planted a soft kiss on Arwen’s cheek, eliciting warm laughter from the younger elf maiden.

Elrond drank in the sight of his daughter basking in the presence of a motherly figure. So many times he had found Arwen crying out in the more secluded gardens of Imladris, missing her mother, missing the words that only mothers can share with daughters. But Arwen never faulted Elrond; she simply had never wanted to deepen her father’s pain, for she knew that Celebrian’s absence also laid heavily on his heart, as it did for all the family.

Nyére and Arwen continued their conversations amidst giggles and laughter, with Elrond silently lending them companionship. The elves finally arrived at the stables and settled themselves along the fence to gaze towards the pastures where several horses were busily playing, eating, and frolicking in their freedom.

“There,” Nyére called out, pointing to a foal that was running about unsteadily on long and lanky legs, “that is the foal that we will give Legolas. Thranduil is most pleased that he is strong and vital.”

“As well he should be Nyére, this horse promises to be a strong and faithful steed. He is curious too,” the Lord of Imladris spoke with authority as he had overseen the breeding of many of his own horses.

The foal in question was busily inspecting a butterfly that was delicately perched on a tree branch. The curious foal nudged at the tree branch, causing the butterfly to take flight into the pasture. The foal ran after his new found friend and discovered a game of chase the butterfly.

To all who watched the scene, they could swear the butterfly was knowingly participating in the game, as it remained in the pasture while the foal held interest in it. The elves laughed at the game of chase, and their laughter increased as the butterfly began fluttering after the foal. But the call from the foal’s mother reminded the little sapling that he was hungry and he ran over to his mother to suckle her warm milk. The butterfly, tired of the game as well, re-deposited herself on the tree branch she had been shaken from.

“Legolas loves horses so much. He can spend hours watching and playing with them,” Nyére informed her company.

“But are you not afraid they may inadvertently hurt him,” Arwen asked with serious concern.

Nyére threw her hands up in the air, “Ai, yes at first I was terrified, but soon I learned that the horses more than tolerate him, they love him! They actually take care of him, and keep him from places they think he should not be.” She shook her head incredulously, “Thranduil tells me that I should be thankful for I have a host of four-legged caretakers.”

Arwen and Elrond laughed whole heartedly, and Elrond added, “I can imagine Thranduil saying that to you.”

“That would be something my Adar would say.”

“Rainiel! I am so glad you decided to join us,” Arwen exclaimed.

“My father tried to keep me busy with *duties* but I managed to escape him this day,” Rainiel merrily responded.

Elrond’s eyebrows furrowed in concern, but Nyére iterated his thoughts, “Rainiel, you always push your Adar. One day he will not be so understanding.”

Arwen looked at her father and added coyly, “But Thranduil will most certainly not reprimand Rainiel for coming out to join my father and I. In fact she is only acting like a gracious hostess. I do believe King Thranduil finds Rainiel’s maneuverings to be more amusing than infuriating. Isn’t this right Ada?” Arwen batted her eyelashes innocently at her father and wore the sweetest smile imaginable.

Rainiel herself nodded her head in agreement with Arwen, allowing a sweet and innocent smile to grace her face.

“These children are incorrigible, but I think they have a point,” Elrond added through a sigh, turning to respond to an elf approaching the gathering.

“I have to agree with you Elrond, our daughters know only too well that we are mercilessly at their disposal,” Thranduil countered.

Rainiel and Arwen glanced at each other, then at Nyére, and finally ran to hug their fathers who waited for them with warm embraces.

Elrond added wryly, “This does not bode well for the fate of middle earth.”

The group of elves broke into a carefree laughter, and continued in conversation and jest for a time before they were interrupted by an unexpected visitor.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: I made a HUGE error in the writing of the last chapter, and for sake of continuity, I am going to alter one bit in the timeline of the third age. I know- bad, very bad. That’s what happens when one veers from the well outlined story one had planned. Please don’t hold my head over the fire for too long. Well I wrote that Celebrian had sailed West in the last chapter, but according to my story, Legolas was born in 1373 and he is a wee toddler in these last two chapters. We all know that Celebrian sailed to the West in 2510 T.A. so you see my HUGE mistake. So according to my very AU story, Celebrian sails West a bit before Legolas is born. Take this as a lesson in what not to do in writing fan fiction, plow ahead with a story without double checking *everything*!” Again, my apologies to my readers.

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Chapter 16: Invisible Elflings

“Legolas please come out now,” Laurenor implored. “You are truly a master of stealth, but please come out.” Laurenor was searching frantically for his little brother who had claimed that he was the master of stealth. Laurenor had laughed at his little brother’s claim, challenging him to a game. This challenge, Laurenor quickly found out, was not such a grand idea.

“Please Legolas,” Laurenor beseeched, and added under his breath, “if Ada finds out that I have lost you for even a second he will have my head. Why did I agree to watch over you?” Laurenor quietly searched every room that he thought his little brother would venture into, making sure that no one knew he had *lost* Legolas.

As Laurenor opened the door into Thranduil’s study he found evidence that indeed his nymph of a brother had been or was in the study. Little boots had been thrown carelessly in a corner of the room. As Laurenor further inspected the room he found Legolas’ little belt by the balcony that faced towards the exterior of the cavernous palace, but the little body that accompanied the clothes was no where to be found.

“Legolas,” Laurenor whispered sternly, “you are causing me much trouble, and you need to stop with this silly game at once.” No response, not a single sound except Laurenor’s breathing was heard in the study. Laurenor groaned in realization. He was going to have to announce to the staff that Legolas had disappeared under his watch. As he leaned against the balcony, to briefly breathe in the soothing outside air, he felt his feet brush up against a bundle of material. He looked down and found Legolas’ small tunic, haphazardly strewn on the stone floor.

“What are you up to now” Laurenor groaned. As he looked down the balcony towards the ground outside he saw that many of the flowers from the vines that intertwined the trellis that reached up towards the balcony had been trampled upon.

“Oh no,” Laurenor gasped, “Legolas did not…” and as he looked towards the ground below he saw the remainder of his brother’s clothing laying in a heap. Without a second’s thought Laurenor leapt out of the balcony and landed softly on the ground. Indeed, all of the remainder of little Legolas’ clothes were collected in the messy heap. Laurenor then saw the little tracks of a barefooted elfling leading away from the palace.

“Ai Elbereth, please let him not be too far from here.”

Laurenor quickly followed the child’s tracks, praying that his little brother was first unharmed, and second, that when found, no one else had to know about this little mishap.

***

In the meantime, Legolas was frolicking in his nakedness. Somehow, he had learned that if he wore no clothing he would not be visible to elven eyes. And the first place he thought of escaping too was the stables. Of course his equine friends would be able to see him as they shared in their lack of clothing.

Unbeknownst to Legolas, he was not invisible. On the contrary, his naked little form caught the attention of more adult elves than he would have otherwise garnered if dressed. Faelon, a fine warrior of Rainiel’s age, happened to run into the little elf, and was about to ask the little prince what had happened to his clothes when he heard the little elfling giggle and mutter under his breath, “Felon cannot see me! I am invisbo.”

Faelon had to constrain himself from laughing and opted for playing along with the prince who wore no clothes. “Where are those giggles coming from? Is there some wizardry at work here?”

Faelon’s jesting was received by more giggles, and finally Legolas shouted, “No Felon, you cannot see me, am invisbo!”

Faelon tried hard not to stare in the direction of the little body that was shaking with giggles. “How is that my prince, how have you come by such magic that renders you invisible,” he asked with exaggerated awe in his voice. Faelon also laughed inwardly as he knew that Legolas was undoubtedly under Laurenor’s care and had escaped him. He would enjoy this little game with Legolas, at Laurenor’s expense.

Legolas breathed through giggles, “It is secret!”

“Oh,” Faelon responded, “and where are you headed to now.”

“It is secret!”

“I see,” replied Faelon, “I will let you be on your way then my prince. I am myself heading towards the stables, and Legolas, I am most impressed with your magic.” Faelon knew that the little prince was heading towards the stables but did not want to impede the elfling’s fun, and so he followed the little naked elf from a distance as the latter giggled and ran towards his favorite horses.

Legolas spied his Nana, Ada and sister, along with their guests, and decided he would surprise him with his new found invisibility, and crept silently towards them. Unfortunately, even as an elfling, Legolas had mastered the art of stealth, a technique he learned too well from Rainiel, to his parents’ and now Laurenor’s dismay.

The elves were busily talking and laughing, enjoying the carefree moments they were sharing, which for all of them were too few. It had been only a couple of hundred years that Thranduil had moved his people North to this location of Mirkwood, settling in the cavernous palace, as a result of the Shadow that had invaded the place once known as Greenwood the Great. It was the first visit that Elrond Peredhil had made along with one of his children to Thranduil’s new stronghold.

Legolas was happily watching the crowd of adult elves laugh, whilst concocting his plan of surprise. He stealthily slipped up one of the trees and crept through the branches towards the group. The trees had to mightily stretch their branches to accommodate the small limbs of the elfling, and they did so gladly, as the trees also regarded the little bundle of energy with much love, if such can be said of trees.

Faelon had not lost sight of the little elfling and watched as Legolas crept up in the trees. *What is he up to,* Faelon mused, and settled to watch what was surely going to be an amusing scene.

Suddenly, raining down from the trees above them, a naked little elfling fell from above into Thranduil’s unsuspecting arms, but thanks to quick elven reflexes, the woodland king had caught his unexpected visitor.

“I am invisbo!”

“Invisbo” Thranduil asked, not quite making out what Legolas was apparently saying.

Nyére laughed and reached out towards Legolas, “My dear, where are your clothes, and why by Elbereth did you fall out of the tree?”

“Nana, you see me? I am invisibo.”

“Oh,” Thranduil replied in understanding, “You are supposed to be invisible. Why would you think that my little one?”

Legolas was pouting at this point as it was obvious to him that he was most certainly not invisible. In fact, all the adult elves were looking directly at him, attempting to restrain their bodies from being over taken with laughter, and failing miserably.

“No clothes then I am invisibo,” Legolas announced in a frustrated voice.

Elrond joined in the round of questions, and asked in his most diplomatic Lord of Imladris voice “And where, if I may ask, did you learn that not wearing clothes renders small elflings invisible?”

Legolas, although lacking any type of clothing, was comfortably resting in his Ada’s arms, blissfully unashamed of his nude state, and was skulking instead at his most unfortunate luck.

“Yes, ion nîn , where did you *learn* this,” Nyére gently urged.

“From Larnor,” Legolas answered, and then looking at Arwen, with bright eyes added, “and Arwen!” The accusatory tone in his voice implicated Laurenor and Arwen, for Legolas was now certain he had done something wrong from the way the Lord Elrond and his mother and father were questioning.

Arwen’s cheeks flushed a deep crimson shade. Her eyes opened wide as she stared at the little elfling looking at her with deceivingly innocent eyes. Rainiel attempted to restrain a laugh, and instead snorted most indecorously. Arwen shot a threatening glance towards her friend, and proceeded to look towards the grass she suddenly found interesting at her feet.

“Oh now I am understanding,” Thranduil replied, looking at the perplexed elven lord who was studying his daughter’s guilty stance.

Nyére nodded in understanding, “And where my little one is your brother Laurenor?”

Legolas quickly told the story of how Laurenor had challenged him to a game of stealth and how he had beat his brother by becoming invisible. As he told his story he looked over at Rainiel and smiled widely at her, indicating his pleasure at having learned so well from her. Rainiel suddenly too found the grass at her feet to be most interesting.

Thranduil and Nyére looked at each other, comprehension lighting their eyes, and their faces hardening with the lines of knowing parents. “Laurenor,” they both shouted, and moments later their son appeared before them with head down.

Elrond knew that somehow his daughter was involved in this unraveling story, and that soon enough, all would be revealed.

Thranduil demanded, “How is it that you lost your brother when I personally asked you to look over him.”

“I, I was playing a game with him, and, and he, he-“

“Yes I know that Laurenor. He is but an elfling and you are a warrior, and you lost him,” Thranduil admonished his son.

Laurenor looked at his mother and threw her an imploring look. Nyére simply shrugged and looped her arm through Thranduil’s in a show of solidarity.

Thranduil continued, “We will speak at a more appropriate time concerning this incident Laurenor.”

Laurenor answered, “Yes Adar.”

Elrond found that this was an appropriate moment to question the younger elves, “And how is it that Arwen, my dearest daughter, is involved in this Laurenor?”

Laurenor’s mouth opened but no sound came from it.

Nyére added, “Please answer Lord Elrond son.”

Laurenor looked up at Arwen and Elrond with confusion written across his face, “I do not understand.”

Meanwhile Legolas had his little arms wrapped around his father’s neck and was looking smugly at Laurenor and then glancing innocently at Arwen.

Thranduil spoke up, “Somehow Legolas thinks he is invisible when he is without clothing, and he has said he learned this from you and Arwen.”

It was Laurenor’s turn to turn a deep shade of red as he snuck a glance at Arwen, who looked at him wide eyed.

Elrond interrupted, “I feel that there is something I am missing here. Thranduil would you be so kind to inform me.”

Arwen looked at Thranduil with fear in her eyes, silently imploring the King of Mirkwood not to answer her father’s question.

Thranduil smirked and continued despite the look of horror on the younger elves faces, “You see Elrond, there are *festivities* that wood elves are fond of participating in, that is younger, unmarried wood elves, and these take place in the night under the light of a full moon. ”

Nyére added coyly, “And there are certain games, or dances as they are called, that are engaged in, in which clothing is casually removed, to the delight of all. Why certainly Rainiel and Laurenor know what we are referring to, they are after all not children in the least bit.” At this indictment the two siblings’ faces grew pale. No matter how old they were, their parents managed to make them feel as if they were helpless adolescent elves.

“And add to that much consumption of wine. Somehow the moon and the wine combine to induce a sort of merriment, let us call it, that drives frolicking wood elves into becoming *one* with nature around them,” Thranduil supplemented. “The wood elves have endearingly coined this game becoming invisible.”

“Yes,” Legolas giggled, “invisbo. Larnor and Arwen whispwing about how invisbo togeder.”

“Oh, I see,” Elrond acknowledged. The raised eyebrows on his face were the only indication of the displeasure of the revelation, “And I imagine that my daughter partook of this merriment seeing as there was but a full moon a night ago… No need to respond my daughter, you have been an adult for centuries now and your business is yours. Might I just suggest that you are more *discreet* in your conversations as certain little curious elf ears are prone to be drawn to secretive conversations.”

Arwen answered, “Yes Adar.”

“I think this is sound advice for you as well Laurenor,” Nyére added.

“Yes Naneth, it is sound advice,” Laurenor replied, his voice clearly shaking.

Rainiel had her face turned away from the admonishments, thankful that for once, she was not caught up in the worst of the mischief, and as she looked around her she observed Faelon, standing behind some trees, with a wide smile on his face. He had of course heard the entirety of the conversation, and Rainiel smiled briefly to share in the amusement of the predicament her brother and Arwen found themselves in. And as silently as he stood witnessing the amusing scene, Faelon retreated.

“Laurenor, do not forget to come speak with me this evening,” Thranduil reminded his son. “Take Legolas and have him bathed and clothed.” Thranduil handed over the wriggling Legolas to Laurenor. “Rainiel and Arwen, would you mind assisting Laurenor?”

The elf maidens nodded their heads in agreement and walked quickly away from their parents towards the palace with Laurenor following closely behind. As Legolas adjusted himself in Laurenor’s arms he looked at his brother and whispered into his ear, “I win Larnor!”

Thranduil, Nyére and Elrond watched as their children hurriedly walked towards the palace. As they turned to look at one another, they broke into a chorus of laughter.

Elrond was the first to gather himself enough to speak, “You realize Thranduil that there are many *traditions* that are all too pleasantly held in common between the elven realms, and only the names are different.”

“Oh, indeed,” Nyére added, “when I first met Thranduil, he assumed that elves of Lórien were not privy to the fancies of his wood elves. I had to remind him that I also grew up amongst Silvan elves, and that certain traditions were not wholly Silvan in origin, and even those that were, were whole heartedly accepted by the Sindar and Noldor of the Golden Wood.”

“I am sure Thranduil was not easily convinced,” Elrond quipped.

“I am now being put upon by my own wife and my honored guest,” Thranduil retorted.

Elrond replied, “I cannot help it, Thranduil, the ladies of Lothlórien have a way of enchanting unsuspecting elves with their witchery. You should be well aware of this.”

“Ai, Elrond, your words are full of truth,” Thranduil responded, clasping Elrond’s shoulder in understanding.

Nyére looped her arm through Elrond’s arm, silently acknowledging Elrond’s love for Celebrian. Thranduil gazed at his wife, silently thanking the Valar for allowing him to be blessed with the love of such a selfless and kind being. He did not know how it was possible to fall more in love with his wife as he believed that there could be no greater love, but in such moments he understood that he could never stop falling in love with Nyére. And for this his heart also went out to Elrond, for Thranduil knew that the love that Elrond and Celebrian shared, even from across the sea, was akin the love between him and Nyére.

Nyére excused herself and left the elf lords to each others company. What had at first seemed like an impossible alliance had now blossomed into a deep and caring friendship between the two powerful elves, and Nyére was thankful for that.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Creation Song of Ilúvatar

Chapter 17: Apologies

“Arwen and Laurenor,” Aní cried out in disbelief. “This is a story I did not know of. I have a new found respect for Laurenor, but what amuses me most, is how you, dearest uncle, have managed to be such a nymph since the days of your birth. I am beginning to understand why my Naneth finds her muindor tithen to be so infuriating.”

Legolas chuckled at his nephew’s accusation, “Indeed Aní, I have always enjoyed causing your mother and uncle much consternation.”

Lotórie giggled in her accustomed manner and added, “Oh Uncle, you were such a little goblin! And those games that Uncle Laurenor played, they sound so exciting. Can I join too?”

Legolas eyes widened with his niece’s question, and he quickly answered her innocent question, “Lotórie, do not worry, those games are quite a bore. I believe that you will not find them interesting until you are much, much older.”

Aní added with a hint of sarcasm, “Trust me little one, they are quite a bore.”

The two adult elves glanced at one another, hoping that their words dissuaded little elven minds from their curious query, and smiling mischievously, added in unison, “Such a *bore*.”

“Then I certainly do not want to play such boring games,” Lotórie sighed. “I would rather play with a babe such as you were.”

Legolas picked up his niece and enclosed her in a tight hug, whispering in her ear, “There will be a day when the Shadow is defeated, and we can bring forth new lives into this world, but that day is not yet here. I swear to you, loth nín, that by my life, you will have such a world.”

Lotórie wrapped her little arms tightly around Legolas’ neck, burying her face in his chest. Although an elfling, Lotórie was intimately aware of the Shadow that grayed their world.

***

Legolas and company bid farewell to Cloudrunner, and made their way through the enchanted gates. The trio walked into the royal family’s private dining hall, and found Laurenor in deep conversation with Thranduil. They were discussing the report that Legolas had provided them earlier that morn.

Lotórie ran to her father and grandfather, wedging herself between them, and planted a big kiss on her father’s cheek, “Ada, I heard about how you lost Uncle Legolas when he was but an elfling, and I heard about the games you used to play!”

Laurenor glanced menacingly at his younger brother as his cheeks blushed with mention of a treasured memory, “So Legolas told you about how he enjoyed getting me into trouble with our Adar?”

Lotórie turned and planted a kiss on Thranduil’s cheek, “Yes Ada, and he told Aní and I about our Daernana. I wish I could have met her, she was so loving.”

Thranduil picked up his granddaughter and seated her on his lap, “Yes she was loth nín , and she most certainly would have wanted to meet you.” Thranduil playfully tapped Lotórie’s nose with his forefinger, triggering giggles from his granddaughter.

Thranduil then looked at Laurenor, “Your Adar, my little flower, along with your Uncle Legolas, have managed to get themselves into so much mischief that I have lost count.”

Legolas retorted playfully, “And thanks to us, Ada, you have been assured a life of pleasant and entertaining spectacles, no doubt.”

Thranduil nodded his head, acknowledging his youngest son’s observation.

Laurenor chimed in, “Which is why you love us so much, and which brings me back to the task I must laboriously set us back to. My little one, will you go find your Nana, she was waiting for you to take you to your archery lessons.

“Ai, I had forgotten,” the efling shouted, and as easily as she had wedged herself between father and grandfather, she sprinted out of the room to ready herself for her archery lessons.

***

“I feel the heaviness of the Shadow. I expect that the increased orc activity along our southern borders is no coincidence. The weight I feel in my heart when I find myself contemplating the south is more oppressive as of late,” Thranduil spoke seriously.

“The spider activity has also grown in such proportions, that it has taken days for patrols to clear out the elven paths from the foul creatures,” Laurenor informed the King.

“Legolas, if your report is any indication of what awaits us, then I fear for the safety of our Kingdom. We must act precisely and efficiently, and waste no effort. Laurenor, I want you to oversee the patrol reports here on out. I will advise all patrol captains to report directly to you. I know this is burdensome, but I need you to be aware everything that is reported back,” Thranduil instructed.

“What of Rainiel, my lord,” Legolas queried, “will she be heading a patrol soon?” Legolas hoped his father’s answer would be in the negative, but the warrior and tactician in Legolas knew otherwise.

“I am afraid not Legolas,” Thranduil replied, his voice betraying his worry. “I need her organizing skills. Under her watch , the elf paths around Mirkwood will remain usable.”

Legolas felt Aní tense. Rainiel had resumed her warrior duties long ago, but she had always remained close to Thranduil, serving as his most trusted council. For this reason she never ventured far out or away for extended periods of time, but the increased presence of foulness forced a reluctant Thranduil to call on his daughter’s abilities, and also as daughter of the king, her duty. Indeed, being part of the royal family in Mirkwood was a privilege but its demands were high, and in unsafe times, protecting the kingdom and its elves was first and foremost.

Thranduil was reminded all too keenly of the burden of ruling on this day. He had before him his two sons, strong and disciplined warriors, and his grandson, not exempt from the rigors and callings of royalty in this kingdom. And they all did what was expected, without complaints, selflessly.

What pained Thranduil the most was seeing his granddaughter begin her training in the arts of war, the arts of defense, but this was what was required, what was demanded, for an elf growing up in such times.

Whilst he had his children and grandchildren around him, though, Thranduil would relish in it, immerse himself in the love of his family, and not allow them to forget their own joys, to be diminished by the evil that encroached upon them.

Thranduil stood to embrace his grandson, whose face spoke volumes concerning his worries, “Do not worry my son, your Naneth, is a most capable and disciplined warrior. She will be a driving task master, and I am thankful for that.”

Aní smiled, if anyone knew Rainiel’s drive for discipline and order it was him.

Legolas laughed, adding, “Aní, do not forget that I too suffered under Rainiel’s structured discipline. Mirkwood will be all the safer for it.”

Laurenor came over to his nephew and ruffled his hair with his hand, “If you want we can assign you to one of the units that will be under her direct supervision?”

“No, that is not necessary,” Aní replied rather quickly, causing the others to laugh heartily.

“Oh yes, Legolas and Aníralendon, do not forget to visit our guest. I do believe the both of you should apologize for startling her. You two are also to serve as her escort to dinner tonight,” Thranduil spoke in a tone that did little to hide the mirth in his voice.

Aní asked, “She is joining us this evening?”

Thranduil answered smugly, “Why of course, all of Mirkwood will be present for the banquet this eve.”

“Not another banquet Adar,” Legolas whined, “I would like to simply repose alone this evening.”

Thranduil smiled at his dejected son and shrugged his shoulders, ending the conversation and any other complaints concerning the banquet, “I will now go hold court, as I am already late in starting. Good day.” Thranduil parted from the dining hall, and made his way towards the great hall, to see to the days needs.

Aní yelled after his Daeradar, “How can we apologize to her when we do not speak her tongue.”

Thranduil’s fading voice could be heard down the hall, “You will figure something out.”

***

The two elves approached the healing rooms, with the intent of visiting the stranger and apologizing for startling her. They silently approached the room, and paused outside the door, considering what would be the most appropriate course of action.

“We should ask one of the healers to announce us to the woman,” Legolas suggested.

“Yes, it would not bode well for us if we startled her again,” Aní agreed.

Legolas asked one of the healers if he could announce them the maiden. The healer obliged, and entered the room quietly, without knocking. Inside, the elves heard muffled voices, but could not make out what was being said.

“Do you think that the he speaks her language enough to be able to communicate with her,” Aní asked.

“Let us hope so,” Legolas answered, “if he does not then what was the point of asking him to announce us to her.”

The healer exited the room and gestured for them enter, but before they did he cautioned them not to be so boisterous.

Legolas stuck his head in the door and glanced around the room, until he spotted the strange woman, sitting on a chair in front of a mirror, brushing her hair out.

“Uh-hmm,” Legolas cleared his throat, “Can we enter your room, Hiril nîn ?”

Lenmana looked up from where she sat and smiled timidly at the blonde head that peaked around her door, cautiously gesturing him to enter. As the golden haired elf let himself in, he was followed by what seemed to be his constant companion.

Aní smiled sheepishly, and both elves bowed, greeting Lenmana in the formal elven way. The elves exchanged looks with one another, and turned to look at the woman, fixing their faces into the most dazzling smiles possible.

Lenmana thought to herself, *These two are tricksters, like coyote who spilled the stars out into the sky!*

The two elves quieted and turned their attention to the woman, realizing that the look of amusement on her face was somehow caused by them.

Aní whispered to Legolas, “Say something to her.”

“No you say something,” Legolas whispered harshly in return.

“No you,” Aní retorted.

“She does not understand us anyway nor can we understand her. What is the harm in speaking to a maiden who cannot understand us,” Legolas pressed his nephew.

“Ai if only we had as much luck with all the maidens we encounter,” Aní replied playfully.

The two elves snickered rather self assuredly. They then turned their attention back to the strange woman.

Aní continued, “She looks nothing like the mortals we have come across, maybe she is Haradrim.”

“No, Mithrandir explained that she was from a very distant place, and assured me that she had no real connections to middle earth,” Legolas added quite obviously annoyed by Aní’s questions.

“How is that,” Aní asked, pretending to be unawares of how much he was annoying Legolas.

Legolas snorted, “If I knew that then I would be a wizard. As that is obviously not what I am, I will refrain from answering your silly questions. I have explained this to you many times, as did Mithrandir himself. I am beginning to believe that you are assaulting me with silly questions just to perturb me.”

Lenmana looked upon the bantering elves with timid amusement. It was clear that they did not believe she could understand them, and their sarcasm towards each other pleased her, as did their self assured personalities.

As she listened to their incessant reproaches towards each other, Lenmana could not help notice the strange beauty of these leaf people. Each possessed a quality that rendered them startling. One had long golden hair, while the other possessed light brown locks, which were touched by hints of gold. They resembled one another greatly, but the golden haired elf stood taller and broader than his slimmer companion. The tall elf’s eyes were a strange blue, whilst the brown haired elf’s eyes were a deep brown, much like her own eyes, Lenmana mused.

The two elves did not notice the eyes closely scrutinizing them as they were too caught up in exchanges of wit.

Lenmana found it somewhat confusing that these elves, which were more alike in paleness to qochata , wore their hair long, with braids, much like the many first nations that dwelt in the lands she was born unto. But that is where the resemblances ended. There was a quality about the leaf people, in both their physique and their spirit that made them strange, not of the world she knew. She felt frustrated as she was sure she had come to some understanding of their origins, of their stories, but was not able to wrap her conscious thoughts around where this knowledge was stored. What she did know for sure, is that this place she found herself in was not home.

After much debate, Aní turned to the woman and spoke slowly, “Suilad .”

Lenmana did not reply. She stared blankly at Aní, not intending to deceive them further, but the lilt of his voice was intriguing and at once disconcerting. Even if she had wanted to communicate with them, she found her voice unwilling to respond. A sense of familiarity struck her as Aní directed his simple greeting towards her, but Lenmana was at loss to place it.

Legolas decided that other means of communication were needed, and he cautiously approached the woman, pausing every so often to let her know that he approached her in good will. As he reached her, Legolas slowly lifted his hand to his heart, and slightly bowed his head to the woman.

Lenmana responded by bowing her head slightly, never taking her startled eyes from the elf in front of her.

Legolas then reached down to pick up her hand, and finding no resistance picked it up and kissed it gently.

Through this all, Lenmana was rendered inarticulate, voiceless. Similarly her legs felt they had turned to stone, and the only feelings she could concentrate on was the light brushing of his lips on her forehand.

Legolas then took Lenmana’s hand and laid it gently in Aní’s hand, who was now standing next to them. Aní in turn too her hand and swept a gentle kiss on the maiden’s hand. He then carefully placed her hand by her side and released the hand that felt as if it burned from touching fire.

The two elves then smiled at the awe stricken woman, and announced that they were leaving her company through slight gesturing. Finally the elves departed from Lenmana’s small room, which was really more like an alcove separated from a larger room in the healing quarters.

For how long Lenmana stood transfixed in the middle of the room, clenching the hand that burnt with the feathery kisses of her visitors, she did not know. It was not until Lotórie entered the room that Lenmana was shaken out of the spell that had been laid on her. Lotórie had knocked several times, each knock consistently louder, but no one responded, so she let herself in and found a woman looking lost in a standing dream.

“Lenmana,” Lotórie called out, “Lenmana, it is I, Lotórie.”

The sound of the small elf child’s voice brought the flute maiden back to her room, and she smiled at the familiar sight. “Hello, little leaf child.”

Lotórie took Lenmana by the hand in a familiar manner, speaking excitedly about what awaited them, “Lenmana, there will be a feast tonight, and you are to join us!”

“Yes, Írima let me know earlier today, but I am not sure about this,” Lenmana replied, distress obvious in her tone.

Lotórie answered, with the confidence typical in children, “Oh do not worry, you will be seated next to me, if that is of comfort to you. It will be grand. From what you have told me, I believe that tonight’s feast will be a feast for your eyes as well.”

“Anything for you leaf child.”

The two busily prepared for the evening’s feast, and soon enough, Lenmana was caught up in Lotórie’s contagious excitement.

Chapter 18: What to Wear to the Banquet

Lenmana studied her hand, looking at her fingernails. They had grown longer than she had ever recalled having them. The harshness of her existence always wore them down to her fingertips. Lotórie was busily shaping away the nails on Lenmana’s other hand. It seemed, to Lenmana that many females amongst the leaf people chose to wear their nails longer than she liked, caring for them by keeping them clean and well shaped.

“Look at how beautiful they look now,” Lotórie proudly announced, sure of her handiwork.

Lenmana glanced down at her hands and noted that her hands looked much more delicate and feminine with her nails cleaned and shaped. “Thank you little leaf, your craft with nails is admirable. You will have to teach me how to do this myself as I did not pay close attention while you worked on them.”

Lenmana noted that her hands were softer and smoother than they had ever been. She wondered if it was the thick cream she used here or the fact that she did not perform much manual labor. She decided it was probably a combination of both. Much of her faired for the better. Her long hair was more vital and easier to brush through, and she had not felt the tinge of hunger in her stomach.

Lotórie was looking at the dress Lenmana had laid out on her bed, and asked with disapproval obvious in her voice, “Is this what you are going to wear?”

“Yes,” Lenmana replied, and noting the disappointment in Lotórie’s voice, asked, “What is wrong with my clothing?”

Lotórie, realizing her slip in manners, quickly responded, “I was hoping you would be wearing an elven dress.”

“I see little leaf, and I would love to dress myself in the manner of your maidens, but I prefer to wear what I am most comfortable in as I fear that I might be going into an uncomfortable situation.”

“Fear not, Lenmana, it will be a grand time. You will see,” Lotórie exclaimed excitedly. “Do all people from your lands wear such clothes?”

Lenmana paused for a second, thinking of how to best answer Lotórie’s question. With an answer in mind she replied, “No, this is a dress style common to my mother’s people, the Hopi. If I were to dress myself according to the fashions of my father’s people, the Dine, I would be wearing something different.”

Lotórie’s curiosity was peaked, “Your mother and father were from different peoples. What do you mean by that?”

Lenmana again paused, searching for an answer that would help the little elfling understand. She remembered that many times, she had been asked if she was Haradrim, or if she was from Laketown, and that it was obvious she was not a from Rohan. It had been explained to her that all these were different nations. With this information she attempted to answer Lotórie’s question, “If I am gathering the knowledge that some have shared with me concerning folk that are more akin to me than the leaf people, then I would have to say that the Hopi are like the people known as Gondor, and the Dine, are like the famed horsemen of Rohan, speaking different tongues, telling different stories.”

“I see,” Lotórie’s eyes lit up with understanding.

Lenmana was pleased that she had been able to answer Lotórie’s question, but she was more pleased with the fact that she had been able to draw upon some of the stories she learned in her stay with the leaf people. But there was still much she did not understand about the leaf people, and from what she heard of these other lands, there was something that was quite distinct about the leaf people that was beyond the physical. Try as hard as she might, Lenmana was still at a loss in reconjuring these stories that she knew had been spun for her.

There was a slight knock at the door and Lotórie went over to see who it was. She greeted the visitors with surprised joy, “Nana, Rainiel, you have come to visit us!”

The two elf maidens laughed, and Istawen asked her daughter if they could enter the room, to which Lotórie obliged. Upon entering they greeted Lenmana as they had become acquainted with her because of Lotórie’s attachment to the mortal maiden. They were dressed in beautiful gowns, made of silk and velvet, embroidered with exquisite threading.

Lenmana expressed her admiration for the clothing, “Your gowns are beautiful-you both look like blooming flowers!”

Rainiel laughed, “If only my husband had greeted me with such flattery this evening. A most gracious thank you for your words.”

“Agreed,” Istawen added, “and we hoped to dress my dearest daughter, for I am sure she would want to be the prettiest of little flowers tonight.”

“Oh, I had forgotten to put on my dress,” Lotórie exclaimed. She then ran over to her mother and took the dress from her to show it to Lenmana. “Do you not think it is beautiful,” Lotórie excitedly asked, holding it against herself as she twirled around dancing in anticipation for the grand feast.

Lenmana agreed, “But it is time little leaf for you to dress, or you will be late. And I should heed my own words and dress as well.”

Lotórie quickly stripped herself of her day gown and with assistance from her mother, and wrapped herself in the luxuriant velvet of her small gown of deep crimson. A wise choice on her mother’s behalf as the young elleth had a reckoning for spilling all on her clothing and playing in the damp grasses that would stain a gown of lighter color. Such are the decisions mothers of all races must make concerning the likes of little ones.

Lenmana also disrobed and was assisted by Rainiel in dressing. Lenmana was not embarrassed of disrobing in front of other maidens, and the elves did not concern themselves with such matters as well. It was a social taboo missing from the cultural repertoire of these two otherwise different races.

The females fussed over each other and laughed, sharing in the contagious excitement of Lotórie. Their conversations wandered into familiar territory as they discussed the fallibility of the weaker sex. Rainiel and Istawen shared anecdotes concerning their husbands and Lenmana laughed mightily as many were familiar to her. It seemed males, whether mortal or immortal had the tendencies to display their colorful feathers both to demonstrate their bravado and to attract the fairer sex.

Istawen informed the group, “I fear that my dearest husband is up to some mischievous deed this eve. I found him gathered around speaking in hushed tones with Erutunín, Legolas, and Aní. My suspicion would not have been roused were it not for the wickedly mischievous smiles they wore.”

“Was my Adar present,” a visibly concerned Rainiel asked.

“No he was not, and I thank the Valar for that. I fear that he is unawares that the males of his household are plotting something for the banquet,” Istawen replied dryly.

Rainiel’s eyes lit up and a mischievous grin swept across her face, “Then we must be prepared for them, and have our own devices set in place.” Rainiel turned to Lenmana and studied her closely. Lenmana shifted uncomfortably underneath the elf’s intense scrutiny.

“What is your plan Rainiel,” Istawen asked eyes wide with anticipation and curiosity.

“Can I join too,” Lotórie asked excitedly, clapping her little hands in delight.

Rainiel glanced at her niece and answered, deadly intent chilling her words, “Yes loth nín, you can play along too, but you mustn’t let anyone know of our little game.”

Lotórie agreed, and was now jumping in place excitedly, waiting to hear what fun was to be had.

Rainiel then looked over to Lenmana, “You have very beautiful hair, very long, and thick. I have never seen hair so without curl that it falls through fingers like silken water. I believe that your part, Lenmana will be the most important. Tell me, how much have you had a chance to converse with my son and dearest brother?”

Lenmana’s eyes narrowed in guilty delight, “Not much, and of great interest to you may be the fact that neither of them think I can understand your tongue, even less speak it.”

Istawen giggled with anticipation, “Oh Rainiel, you are devious. I know *exactly* what you plan to do, but tell me how are we going to involve our husbands.”

“Do not worry, it is all up here,” Rainiel replied, tapping her forehead with her forefinger. “This night shall be for the maidens. Too long have those bothersome elven males enjoyed their pompous attitudes,” Rainiel purred knowingly.

Lenmana wondered just how long that was.

Rainiel catching her thoughts, answered, “Too long dearest Lenmana, too long.”

The group laughed together, sharing a sisterhood of knowledge concerning the frustrating opposite sex, and continued in their primping and preparations for the night.

***

Istawen looked over Lenmana’s hair, “You will certainly stand out this evening, for it is not our custom to wear our hair in such a manner. It is different but very beautiful.”

Lenmana looked over her clothing which was a combination of ancient Hopi dress and adapted European style clothing. With Lenmana’s help, an elven seamstress had been able to recreate the simple wrap dress and shawl. Lenmana had actually done her fair share of sewing as she was intimately knowledgeable of the art. Where she was from they had no seamstresses and had to learn from a very early age how to sew and maintain clothing and shoes. When working on the clothing she had had no idea she would wear it to such a large event. It was Mithrandir who initially suggested she keep herself busy during her healing time and make clothes that would be comfortable for her.

Lenmana’s hair was done up in the traditional Hopi way, in two whorls, which were worn only by unmarried maidens. It had taken Rainiel and Istawen’s dexterous and creative hands to help with what was to them an unknown hairstyle, but Lenmana was pleased with the outcome. As she contemplated herself, she felt a tinge of longing, longing for her family, her clan, her lands. At least tonight she brought a little of it to this middle earth.

Her manner of dress was simple. Her dress was made of thick, woven cotton which was a dark brown in color, and wrapped around her body, extending up over her left shoulder into a thick strap, leaving the other shoulder bare. Adorning the side of the dress were ivory colored sea shells that ran down the side serving as decorative buttons. Sea shells were a rarity in her lands, and valued greatly. In Mirkwood, sea shells were also greatly valued but were more abundant.

High around her waist was wrapped a striped cloth belt, woven of cotton dyed in different hues, the ends of which were tucked neatly into the belted cloth. Under the earth toned dress, she wore a white, light cotton skirt which peaked out from under the dress.

Her knee high boots were made out of leather which was beat and worked until it was white. Finally, she wore a shawl of the same material as her dress that had two large stripes of white and brown running across it, the brown area being complemented with thin white stripes.

All in all, it was a very simple outfit, and she had a single beaded necklace to complement her attire. It had not crossed her mind to dress in the elaborate gowns that the elven maidens wore. In her time in Mirkwood, she had chosen to wear simple cotton skirts and tunics with an accompanying shawl. She felt more comfortable in familiar clothes.

But the laughter of the Lotórie softly infiltrated the sadness that was beginning to build itself up around her, and Lenmana smiled, thankful for the gift of children, always the most sacred and blessed possession of one and all alike.

The sound of bells that seemed to reverberate in a shimmer danced their way across the elven kingdom, announcing to all that the feast was commencing. The elven and mortal maidens departed to the outdoor clearing where the banquet was being held. Thranduil always celebrated the return of his kin from the dangers of patrols, and he chose to share it with his peoples as he knew they too shared in their thanks to the Valar that their sons and daughters had once again returned unharmed from the dangers that dwelt all too close.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Chapter 19: The Banquet

The Mirkwood four stood in front of the large wooden doors that lead into the great hall, framed by the shadows of the day that was being consumed in the darkness of night. Laurenor and Legolas wore moss colored tunics of spun of the finest silk. The edges of the collar and cuffs were thickly threaded with lining of fine mithril. The same mithril threading was used to form the patterns that were embroidered onto the front of the tunics in a delicate rendering of vines and leafs. The buttons that ran down the fonts of the tunics were similarly mad of mithril that had embedded in the center sparkling emeralds. The buttons were clasped by loops of mithril threading that extended from the adjoining front of the tunic. The richness of the fabrics and materials used to make the tunics could easily have rendered the clothing gaudy, but the refined workmanship and simplicity of the design instead created a demure but stunning creation.

Laurenor and Legolas opted to forego the usual cotton shirting worn beneath tunics, and rather chose to leave their chests exposed, although not completely, under the tunic. They accompanied the tunics with leggings of velvet which were the same color as their tunics but shaded darker. No braids decorated their heads, and instead decided to wear their hair loose decorated only by fine circlets crafted of mithril, one donned upon dark and the other upon gold hair.

The two shone as if the very light of Isil had been poured upon them.

Aní and his father, Erutunín, chose to wear less opulent clothing, but nonetheless stunning. Their clothing also followed the color pallet chosen by Lotórie. Their tunics were of the same dark moss coloring as the leggings of Legolas and Laurenor, whilst their leggings were of the lighter color of the brothers’ tunics. Mithril threading was also embroidered upon their tunics, but the buttons were made of the material of the tunics as were the loops that held the buttons in place. Regardless of their less opulent dress, the two remained a site to be seen.

Elven maids were busily taking items from the hall foyer outside towards the feast area, the large gated doors that guarded the cave palace, positioned in an open position until all preparations were readied. As shadow was in danger of being too near and present in Mirkwood, all that was needed to slam the keep doors shut was a thought from its woodland king. But on this fine evening none such thoughts were needed, and Mirkwood could breathe easy for the peace they enjoyed.

The doors that lead into the great hall inside the cave palace opened slowly, and the Mirkwood four that stood bathed in gray light, were met with a cascade of light that poured from the opening doors. To the maidens that witnessed the scene it was as if the light of the two trees had suddenly been reborn and was cascading out the open doors, at least they imagined the light of the two trees would contain such brilliance. But what caused their very breath to escape their bodies in gasps was the effect the light had upon the four elves that stood with the light behind them. The opulence of the mithril caught the light and exploded forth with a brilliance like that of a silver dawn, and crowning the silver vision was the golden head of their tallest prince. If anyone doubted that the moon had indeed slipped down upon the earth, this scene of glittering figures and light left none to doubt that.

The Mirkwood four stood standing, proud and erect, their heads held high. Somehow, Thranduil who was entering the great hall thought to himself that this grand entrance staged by the four was no mistake. No doubt was left in his mind when he glanced at his sons whose smiles were demurely set and being granted to the maidens that stood and gawked. Thranduil noted that Erutunín and Aní behaved no less boldly, framing their handsome faces in like graces.

Thranduil stood next to his sons and curiosity begged him to turn around to gather the looks of the audience that had gathered in his foyer. To all those who were gathered the magnificence of their king as he turned towards them was truly revealed as the light cascaded off his golden hair which was decorated with a crown of silvery flowers. The long robe that gathered around Thranduil’s strong frame, flickered in like, the light reflecting off the shimmering silk, a light moss green fabric that was spun of a silk and mithril thread. Thranduil wore a velvet tunic of verdant green which had clasps of mithril running down the front, no emeralds decorated these buttons. Simple moss colored leggings completed the outfit.

Legolas caught the newly inspired gasps and whispers that emanated from his audience and with a smirk on his face he glanced at his father who stood gloriously for all his peoples to see. Thranduil acted with intent, and he was letting his children, the four of them know that when it came to inspiring awe he was still king.

Thranduil caught his sons smirk and replied in kind, mentally sharing a thought with Legolas, *Although you stand the tallest of all of us my son, I am still the king, and as such I must make sure that one and all alike do not forget this.*

Legolas responded silently in kind, *Adar, you leave no doubt that you are King.* And with these words, Legolas looped his arm around his father’s and stood proudly, not the least bit embarrassed by the admiring looks that many maidens were unabashedly sharing with the now Mirkwood five.

Indeed to all that gathered in that place, they were drawn to the brilliance of the edhil , much like the Quendi were drawn to the blessed light that shone from the countenance of Oromë, who appeared before them during their waking moments on Arda, mounted on his steed of lim celevon named Nahar. (1)

The female Mirkwood four appeared in the foyer and were greeted by the grand site of their males, standing like gilded statutes in all their glory. Rainiel let out an unfeminine snort, “By the Valar, these males have not the slightest humble bone in them.” But she stared admiringly at her husband whose dark hair framed his fair face, and her Aní looked quite the adult he was. Rainiel sighed, although Aní was 567 years old, she always thought of him as her elfling, and here that elfling was splendidly displaying his masculinity and no doubt his intense sexual maturity. While she smiled at her husband, Rainiel scowled at her son’s display, but not even her dagger-like frown could dissuade her son from basking in the fire of his many admirers.

Istawen spoke what many in the room silently felt, “It is as if I were walking amongst the Quendi and first beheld the light of Tauron and Nahar, shining silver in the night.” (2) Her eyes locked with her husbands, and Laurenor’s smile grew wicked as he noted the fire of desire flicker in his wife’s eyes. But Istawen held firm, *Not tonight meleth nin . Tonight you shall taste your own pride.*

Laurenor noted that along with desire, his wife’s eyes danced with a naughty defiance, prompting his brow to cock in a challenge which was met by Istawen’s equally dazzling smile.

Lenmana could not help but gasp herself at the sight of the five elves gathered in the light that spilt from the great hall. She wondered if this was why the Spanish had so hungered for gold and silver, to harness its light. But in all her experiences never before had she seen such a splendid light of silver accented with gold that seemed to breathe from the very bodies of men. Yet these were not simple men, they were of the leaf.

Thranduil ended the grand display, announcing that all should gather in the forest clearing to commence the banquet.

As the crowd made its way out towards the clearing, Thranduil was greeting two guests that had appeared from the guest quarters located in talans near the forested hill that held the palace in its belly. Lenmana noticed that Thranduil embraced the two elves warmly, and interacted with them in intimate manner that suggested they were more than simple emissaries. The two dark-haired guests were then greeted heartily by Laurenor and Aní.

“And you know that Elrond’s sons would be present tonight,” Istawen whispered to Rainiel.

Rainiel’s brow arched as only a child of Thranduil could manage, and replied, “Yes, I had received the message from Adar only hours before that Elladan and Elrohir would be arriving in time for the feast. I believe this is why our beloved husbands, sons and brothers were conspiring in a circle of intrigue. Surely they plan to embarrass and best the twins for all their past follies.”

“‘Tis why you asked if Adar was involved in the scheming,” Istawen correctly deduced.

“Yes, if he were involved then all of Arda’s fury would be loosed tonight, and we would stand no chance for enjoying a quiet evening, but as I now see he is not involved in any of this spriteful folly, my hopes for getting our fairer schemes into the games that are at hand is assured.”

Lenmana listened intently and looked at the two guests that were being greeted heartily by Erutunín and Legolas. So these two identical twins were Elladan and Elrohir. Their hair was quite dark when compared to the children of Thranduil

Rainiel headed over towards Elladan and Elrohir as Legolas and her husband departed, bestowing the twins with warm hugs of welcome. The three engaged in light conversation before Rainiel pursued the heart of the matter, “Let me quickly guide this conversation to what both of you know and hope is in play for this evening.”

The twins glanced at each other, sharing impish grins that caused them to sparkle with devilish delight. They turned their attention to Rainiel and simultaneously bowed their heads for her to continue.

“It seems that my husband, brothers and son have some clandestine plans in the works for the likes of you two which ought bring me much amusement, but as is their custom, these games will obviously cost me much more pain and anger than I am willing to grace them with. I am of a group of ladies who wishes to see the archers on the receiving ends of the arrows, and we very much wish to let loose our frustrations. Will you aid us?”

Elladan and Elrohir laughed and looked upon Rainiel, a friend too dear and beautiful to deny.

Elladan acquiesced, “Rainiel, you know we would never deny one of your requests or acting in a way that would bring you joy…”

“With the exception being the scoundrel you married, that Erutunín,” Elrohir quipped.

Rainiel snorted amusedly, “Dearest Elrohir, although my husband grew up with you in Imladris, I was won over by his charm that I found more Silvan and worthy of an heir of Thranduil.”

Elrohir pretended to be slighted by Rainiel’s words, and clasped his chest, feigning a blow to the heart, “My heart cannot withstand the arrows you carelessly throw my way. My intentions with you were of the purest sort.”

With these words Rainiel snorted indecorously, “Your intentions, Elrohir, were pure, purely born out of lust and want.”

Elladan intervened in the conversation, “Of which I remind you Rainiel, you were of like in kind that is until you met Erutunín.”

Elrohir dawned a look of disgust and spat out in mock disgust, “I forever curse the day we invited him to come along to Mirkwood.”

“And I forever bless the moment you did and that he accepted,” Rainiel spoke with honey dripped words.

Although Rainiel and Elrohir had once fallen to sharing in the elven pursuits of carnal delight with one another, their relationship was one formed in pure friendship, and both were delighted when the light of love bound their good friend Erutunín to Rainiel. Much had been shared between Imladris and Mirkwood, much more than simple friendships and alliances.

Elladan continued, “Ah yes, Erutunín is more Silvan than we would like, how else would that explain him frolicking about in those caves you silly wood elves frequent.”

The trio laughed heartily, and Rainiel’s laughter rang above the tenors of the twins, sounding silvery and songful as it graced its way towards her husband.

Laurenor, who was standing next to Erutunín, had not missed how the trio was immersed in what seemed to be a lighthearted but intent driven conversation. “Are you as bothered as I am to see my sister shamelessly flirting with Elladan, and especially, might I add, Elrohir?”

Erutunín could not help the red that rose in his warm face and replied somewhat dryly, “Your sister does know how to raise my temperature, but I would be behaving like a silly elfling to allow her actions to cause me to become jealous. And I know Elrohir delights in it. Look, see how he glances over at us, at me ever so haughtily?”

Legolas who had been silent in the conversation between married elves, joined in, “The challenge is set and we shall respond in kind. And of your concerns Aní, that we would infuriate your mother?”

Aní was also looking over towards the trio, and was becoming more and more bothered by Elrohir’s playful twirling of his mother’s hair. He added with much fire in his tone, “Matters not.”

Rainiel felt the gaze of her husband and company, “It seems we have caused the fire to burn mightily. I am most thankful that you have set aside your plans for this evening and will be helping the elven maidens of Mirkwood.”

Elladan and Elrohir bowed in am exaggeratedly reverent manner, and Elrohir took Rainiel’s hand and laid a gentle but lingering kiss on her hand. As he rose to stand, he turned to look at the group of elves that were throwing daggers his way with their eyes and greeted them in the traditional elven manner. But his eyes danced with impish delight and his coy smile spoke volumes to the Mirkwood four.

The guests and hosts wandered over to their tables, Elrohir and Elladan sitting with Thranduil and his family under the large beech tree that was graced with the twig chandeliers of light. The elves settled comfortably, sitting on the plush pillows that were strewn about on the earth, readied for the feasting ahead.

Elladan shared a thought with his hosts, mirth clearly tainting his otherwise serious tone, “I had forgotten that our wood elf kin delight in sitting on the ground, upon a multitude of pillows. If I may suggest King Thranduil, maybe a more *proper* banquet of chairs on tables is called for?”

Thranduil snorted and hardily slapped Elladan on the back, with enough force to cause Elladan to cough, “Well said Elrondion, and may your memory not abandon you on your next visit to my kingdom. We have particular dungeons that are mighty useful in refreshing one’s memories.”

Elladan raised his hands, motioning defeat, “My king, I do not wish to have any sort of refreshing. I actually really enjoy sitting on the ground outdoors.”

“Yes,” Elrohir interjected, “I sometimes find that my brother secretly wishes he were a wood elf.”

Elladan replied, “Yes my brother, your words are not entirely false, but I may make the same observation of you. Do you not also harbor a secret desire to be as a wood elf?”

“Or in one,” Legolas smugly replied, eyes dead set on Elrohir.

The table fell silent and all eyes focused on Elrohir and Legolas whose eyes were locked in what seemed a challenge of egos. Erutunín was the only one making a sound as he was choking back the wine he threatened to spit out. Rainiel’s mouth fell open as she understood the double-meaning in Legolas’ words, but surely he was not that thick-headed to imply that Elrohir…

Elrohir broke the silence, “Legolas, an elf after my own heart.” An impish grin spread across his face and Legolas in turn burst out laughing. Rainiel shook her head in frustration. These elves and their double edged words drove all crazy. When a seeming intent was meant, it was obvious between the two that shared the verbal sparring that something otherwise was intended.

Laurenor interrupted the exchange, “Elrohir, you are the only other elf that I know that is as fond of female wood elves as my muindor tithen .”

“Here, here,” Legolas shouted and he and Elrohir lifted up wooden goblets filled with wine, and drank to their shared pastime.

With these merry words, the minstrels broke out in song and the candles that graced the twig chandeliers burst into flame. The feasting had commenced.

Lenmana who was seated at the main table with Thranduil’s family, took in the entirety of the feast, from the décor to the battles of wit that the male elves engaged in. She was seated towards the end of the table, between Aní and Lotórie. Aní himself was seated next to Legolas, who sat across from Elrohir. As none seemed to take notice of her, Lenmana decided to thoroughly enjoy her meal, duck and quail, with garnishing of berry sauce. The berries used in the sauce were seasonal and extremely rare, a treat for all to enjoy.

As she was devouring a piece of meat, Lenmana felt eyes fixed on her. She slowly looked up from her tasteful task and found two sets of identical eyes studying her.

“Legolas,” Elladan called out, “you have failed to mention that there is another guest joining us tonight.”

Legolas looked up from his own ministrations with his meal, and caught what Elladan was referring to and Elrohir was studying with his eyes.

“Did Aní not introduce you to our guest,” Legolas asked, throwing an accusatory glance towards Aní who was paying no mind to the conversation. In fact his eyes were closed and he was moaning slightly from his utter enjoyment of the food he was ferociously consuming.

Legolas shook his head, “It seems my nephew is enraptured with the meal tonight. Please forgive his oversight.”

Legolas turned towards Lenmana who had tidied herself by wiping her mouth and hands clean of the delectable berry sauce. “Elladan and Elrohir, allow me to introduce you to our guest, Lenmana, daughter of Chu-si.”

“And Benjamin,” Lotórie added.

Lenmana smiled and nodded at the elves whose gaze was as identical as their features.

Elladan and Elrohir responded in kind, with Elladan beginning, “I am Elladan, and this is my brother Elrohir-“

“Sons of Elrond Peredhil, Lord of Imladris,” Elrohir finished.

The two added, “It is with great honor that we greet and make your acquaintance this evening.”

Legolas interrupted the greetings, “Alas, our guest does not speak our tongue, and from what I have gathered only understands words here and there. I am afraid we are locked away from each other.”

Elrohir glanced at Elladan. “Yes,” Elladan replied, “Mithrandir informed us of your most unusual guest, but we were under the impression that she was able to communicate…”

Rainiel interrupted, “Oh yes but only visually, and with much care, but no words are exchanged.”

“Oh,” Elladan and Elrohir cooed in unison, looking at each other, a hint of mirth present in their eyes.

Legolas eyes furrowed in confusion as something in the exchange caused him to feel somewhat unsettled, as if a much needed kernel of knowledge was being deliberately kept from him. But as he looked at the twins, they were smiling and nodding at Lenmana, and she was smiling and nodding at them. He must have been mistaken, Legolas thought to himself, and refocused on the delicatessen set out before him.

***

(1) The Silmarillion describes how the first of the Vala, Oromë, appeared before the newly awoken elves, or the Quendi on his mount named Nahar: “for the light of Aman was in his face, and all the noblest of the Elves were drawn towards it” (1977: 47).

(2) Tauron is the Sindar name of Oromë.

Chapter 20: Challenges

The evening’s real feasting commenced once all food was consumed, but the wine continued flowing.

Rainiel took the somewhat bewildered Lenmana by the arm and led her over to where Elladan and Elrohir were twisting tales to and fro to the delight of their all female audience. Sounds of delicate laughter and visions of twinkling eyes were gifted to the twins. Such lightness and joy was a reprieve for the two orc hunters who spent most of their time out in the wilds, wreaking vengeance on the cause of their mother’s hasty departure of middle earth.

It was a widely shared opinion that the increased lightheartedness of Elrohir and Elladan and their love for outrageous pranks was a sort of pleasurable relief for the two who otherwise headed out on more dark and dangerous paths. Many also believed, and rightly so, that the loss of mothers to the dark creatures was what bound the princes of Mirkwood with the junior lords of Imladris. And on more than one occasion the young elves would together scour lands in search of the grizzly orc, exacting bloody revenge upon their common enemy.

Although Lenmana could communicate in Sindarin she missed the many intricacies and subtleties of the language; thus much of what was said at the table that night she did not quite understand, but she could feel the palpable tension that hung in the air. Although there was no air of danger there was a sense that something was going to happen, something that did not sit well in the pit of her stomach.

Rainiel glanced over to where Legolas, Aní, Erutunín, and Laurenor were again gathered talking in whispers.

“Elladan, Elrohir,” Rainiel announced as she and Lenmana arrived to disrupt the circle of maidens that had gathered around the Imladris duo.

Elrohir and Elladan quickly halted their tales and gathered Rainiel in warm embraces. Rainiel turned to stare down the elven maidens who were throwing dagger looks her way, “Do not worry ladies, you shall have your lords at your disposal when it matters, and I would dare add that my Aní and my brother Legolas appeared quite jealous that you all were gathered here around Elrohir and Elladan.”

A voice laden with a strange accent added, “I overheard them whisper how they too wished for the lavish attentions of maidens this evening. I think they do not wish to be out of the company of the fairer sex this evening.”

Some of the elven maidens looked over at Lenmana with surprise, others simply with large smiles. Regardless their reaction to the strange woman’s use of their language, the maidens looked at each other and giggled knowingly. At once the group did a round-a-bout and flocked towards where Aní and Legolas were sitting, flanked by Laurenor and Erutunín.

The look on Aní and Legolas’ face was priceless. They looked like elves who were about to be circled by ravenous orcs. Laurenor and Erutunín simply grunted and glanced over to Rainiel who was doubled over with laughter.

Standing next to her, Lenmana wore a look of satisfaction. As Laurenor and Erutunín looked over from Rainiel to the woman, Lenmana waved at them, wearing the best smile she could.

Erutunín leaned over towards Laurenor, sarcasm dripping from his tone, “It would seem that my wife’s interventions with the young mortal are beginning to bear fruit.”

Laurenor was massaging his temples with his thumb and forefinger, “We do not need another ally in my sister’s revenges.”

As Laurenor finished his sentence, the group was swarmed by a large number of very attractive wood elves who were cooing and giggling in the direction of the bachelor elves.

Although irritated at first, Legolas’ annoyance soon was taken over by his stronger desire to woo and elicit blushed cheeks. Aní too had been initially annoyed by the interference of the maidens into their well formed plans for the evening, but before he knew it, he too was holding court with his uncle.

Erutunín gasped annoyingly, “Now what! With these two so easily distracted, how do we ever expect to proceed with our plans?”

Laurenor threw his hands up in the air, “Ai, it was too easy for these two to be sidetracked.” He tried to look over to where his sister was gathered with the twins but had a hard time peering through the mass of elven bodices that were gathered around him. What he did see was his wife and daughter laughing merrily at his predicament. Lotórie was jumping up and down with excitement and waving madly at her father.

Laurenor’s eyes narrowed as he looked at his wife, and he realized too late that something was afoul this evening.

***

Elrohir and Elladan’s eyebrows perked as they heard Lenmana address the group of maidens.

Elrohir spoke aloud the duo’s thoughts, “ ‘Tis true what Mithrandir said, that you, hiril nîn , have come to speak our Sindarin tongue. We are glad this rumor is true for it would be a crime not to be able to exchange pleasantries with such a dark beauty.”

Elladan nodded in agreement and the two each took one of Lenmana’s hands and gifted her with the softest of kisses upon them. The twins released her hands and they fell limply to her side.

“Now look at what you have done,” Rainiel chided, “our mortal maiden is now rendered speechless.”

Indeed, Lenmana’s mouth hung open and her body stood as still as stone. This was the second time she had been rendered so by a pair of male elves. Finally finding her voice, she looked towards Rainiel and asked, “Do they always come in pairs?”

Rainiel laughed heartily at Lenmana’s innocent question, understanding that she had most likely been assaulted in the same manner by Legolas and Aní. “In your case Lenmana, I fear they do.”

Lenmana wore a look of confusion as she looked over to Rainiel who was obviously entertained by the situation.

Rainiel, seeing her consternation, added, “Oh dearest Lenmana, I do not mean to laugh or take likely your predicament. It is just that these two,” Rainiel pointed accusatory fingers to Elrohir and Elladan, “and my brother and son are like wild beasts when they smell a young innocent creature in their wake. You my dear mortal maiden are such an innocent, for you are unawares of their histories as devourers of maidens and virtue.”

Rainiel continued, “And may I add you are too innocent for your own good. Although a warrior in your own right it seems that in your lifetime you have not come across the likes of these four.”

Elladan and Elrohir, as if on cue, bowed before Lenmana and added in unison, “At your service, Hiril nîn .”

“You mean they enjoy causing the heat to rise in one’s face,” Lenmana asked in her forthright manner, bringing her hands to clasp her cheeks.

“Indeed morn iell , it is one of our favorite goals in life,” Elrohir responded-

“To light the fires of passion and desire in the fairer sex,” Elladan continued-

“And quench these flames in the most delectable of mortal and immortal unions,” the two concluded their well rehearsed seduction.

“But you must choose carefully my little Araswen , for some are more skilled in bringing pleasure than others,” a deep and melodic voice announced from behind Lenmana.

She spun around and found herself looking up at Legolas who was sharing a look of challenge with the twins.

Rainiel cut in, “ ‘Tis enough of the male egos that are on display. Look, see how your orchestrations are causing our guest from far off lands to question the sanity of you all?”

Rainiel then whispered to Lenmana, making sure the others heard her, “Do not mind these males, they are mere birds puffing their chests and displaying their feathers. A new and exotic addition to their flock has excited them a bit too much and they wish to race to see who will be first to claim it.”

Lenmana looked at the three male elves who were trying hard to look in other directions.

Finally, Legolas was the first to respond to Lenmana’s questioning and reproachful gaze, “Dearest guest, you must not judge us too harshly. I am a simple wood elf, guided by simple tendencies. I do not wish to treat you lightly or with disrespect. Please accept my most humble apologies.”

Loud coughs and snorts were heard coming from Elladan and Elrohir’s direction, but Legolas coolly ignored them and proceeded to plant the chastest kiss he could muster on Lenmana’s cheek. As he placed the kiss on her he glanced over towards Elladan and Elrohir and if eyes could smirk, Legolas’ did so.

Lenmana announced to no one in particular, “Now I know what a dazed rabbit must feel like being pawed about by a mountain lion before he is to devour it.”

Rainiel shoved Legolas away from Lenmana and took the dazed maiden away from the pack of elves who were circling the mortal.

As they walked away, the three were caught up in what seemed a heated debate about their abilities with the fairer sex. They missed the giggles that were being shared by Lenmana and Rainiel as they approached Istawen and her daughter.

“Our plan is working perfectly,” a very pleased Istawen announced, “but let us seem more concerned for we are being spied upon by our husbands.”

“And I dare say our Lenmana could not survive another innuendo or innocent kiss. These male elves are too good for their own good,” Rainiel added.

Lenmana shook her head vigorously in agreement, “These elves certainly understand the many ways under the moon to woo a maiden. I was ready to crumble when Rainiel pushed Legolas away from me. How do they do it,” Lenmana’s voice trailed off dreamily.

Istawen had to shake Lenmana whose eyes were glossed over and was wearing a rather silly looking smile. Finally, Lenmana was jostled back to her senses.

****

“Ah I dare say I know what drives our friend.”

“Pray tell brother, what so draws Legolas to the flicker of a candle that will flicker out all too soon,” Elrohir chided.

Legolas simply rolled his eyes at the two twins who stood, arms crossed on their chest, pretending to be holding a conversation of the most serious import. But he remained to listen to the babbled theorizing of his dear friends.

“I believe,” Elladan purred, sliding slowly to stand next to Legolas, “that Legolas here is tortuously curious about the fires of mortal kind.”

Elladan moved closer to Legolas, his chest pressing into Legolas’ shoulder, his whispered words falling close to Legolas’ ears. He continued his summary, “I know this only too well.”

Legolas raised his hand to wave off Elladan’s verbal barrage, but to no avail.

Elladan insisted, “Do not deny it gwador , I know what you seek more intimately than you. You forget I am Peredhil, the blood of mortals runs in my veins, though ages in lineage have passed. I can taste the tempestuousness of mortality on my tongue, its sudden fires. In your mouth, in your being you wish to be intoxicated in it immortal friend.”

Legolas was now looking directly at Elladan. Both he and Elrohir knew him too well, had shared many adventures and tragedies that bound them in brotherhood. They knew his weaknesses, if they could be called such in elven kind, and he knew theirs. And so Legolas listened, listened intently, not because Elladan was attempting to ridicule him, but because Elladan was hitting on something that lay within him.

Elladan moved away from Legolas and Elrohir observed the exchange quietly.

Elladan continued, “Our immortality is gift and curse. It brings us great joy, great sorrow. We know the greatest of love, the kind a mortal could never fathom, so deep and constant the very thought of it frightens them. No mere mortal can love an elf and be loved in return. Our passions run like rivers that empty out into the vast ocean, but nothing is lost in that immensity, just gained. Legolas, you may not seek love, but you*do* seek pleasure, pleasure of the kind that only an immortal can take from mortal kind.”

Elladan began circling Legolas, speaking softly, but with the depth and passion of knowing bourn only through the line of Elrond. “I know what you can seek because the remembrance of it pulses in my veins, haunts my dreams. It is an elixir exquisite to our refined palate, but it burns young one, it burns. Mortals, their passions indeed also run like rivers, but theirs is the briefest course, like rapids that toss and tumble. One can get hurt, one can even die if the course one chooses is not wise. They will never know what it is like to find an end such as ours and flow freely in deep and open waters, that is our fate, but theirs we know not. And that my dear friend, that uncertainty, the not knowing, the tasting of it is thrilling, if only for a brief moment in our eternity. But tread carefully. ”

Legolas wore a thoughtful smile on his face as he listened to Elladan’s words, finally adding his own whispered thoughts, “Gwador , you speak seemingly in riddles and yet these words ring the clearest and truest I have heard you speak of late. And I know that you desire to taste of this stranger. Will her breath taste as those of mortal women you have come to know? Will her scent be as present and lingering as those whose lives succumb too quickly to death? I imagine not and yes for there is usualness in her mortality but strangeness as well. Not much we know of her, but know this, she is who she seems to be, nothing more- and yet… I cannot say for I have not solved that piece of the riddle.”

“Truly a diplomat and a well trained son of Thranduil you are,” Elladan purred in return. “Your words speak truths and yet other ends are suggested, and I am as curious as you dear friend, your challenge is met.”

“How can you two stand there and wager upon a maiden, a maiden whom is a guest of this kingdom, whose heart has known much pain,” an angry voice announced behind them, but it was not Elrohir.

Elladan and Legolas turned to find Aní standing with fists clenched, and eyes narrowed.

Legolas chuckled, “We do not mean her harm Aní. We will be careful with her, you need not worry.”

Elrohir who had been silent up to this point interjected, “Ai Aní, ‘tis a hard thing to understand at your young age, but you will.”

Aní replied sarcastically, “Then please help me understand.”

Elrohir glanced at Legolas and Elladan who shrugged their shoulders. He then obliged Aní’s request, “Aní you have had no experiences with mortal women, is this right?”

Aní nodded his head, affirming Elrohir’s observation.

Elrohir continued, “We do not pretend to offer to those of mortal kind that which they do not expect. What they receive is a gift of sorts, an experience that does them no harm, something they treasure for their brief breaths. They take from us as much as we take from them, though they may not conceive that at first, but it does come to them.”

“And what exactly is it they take from us,” Aní asked genuinely curious.

“A glimpse into our constancy, the feeling of agelessness, and intensity they will never again capture.”

“How can this be a good thing,” Aní snorted.

Elrohir answered quietly, and somewhat sadly, “Because they come away knowing that their mortality is not a curse, not an end to be feared. Somehow, I cannot say how for I do not know this, we gift them with sacred, almost blessed awareness.”

Legolas added, his tone tinged by the sorrow that is a ready companion of immortal kind, “My Adar has spoken of this. He once said that to love a mortal whether in spirit or in body brings us to such ends for it reminds us of our certainty and theirs. I have yet to satiate my full desires with a mortal maiden. Somehow, my father’s long hand finds its way to me, interrupting me at the *most* inopportune times,” Legolas added attempting to lighten the tone of the conversation.

“Is this why he has always discouraged us from forming too close of relations with men and warned us of dallying with mortal women,” Aní asked, realization of certain conversations with his grandfather gathering in his thoughts.

Elladan, who did not like the dark turn the conversation had taken, interrupted, “So you see Aní, your dear guest stands to gain two fold.”

“And how is that,” Aní asked incredulously, regaining some of his sarcasm.

Elladan self assuredly announced, “One which Elrohir explained, and two, the most blissful night of bodily union they will ever come to know in their short lives. So you see we mean no harm.”

“Ha, that is unless one of us falls in love,” Legolas chided.

“Now that Legolas is impossible with the likes of you, and you two also,” Aní laughed implicating the twins as well.

“ ‘Tis why we risk nothing, hênmaethor ,” Elladan teased.

Aní landed a solid punch on Elladan’s shoulder, eliciting a yelp from the older elf, “At least this laes can cause true pain.”

Chapter 21: An Ode to Glorfindel

“Just look at them, circling each other like prey,” Istawen pointed out.

Rainiel rolled her eyes, “My brother and those two are too easy to distract.”

Istawen giggled, “Just look at the look on our husbands’ faces, they know their defeat is at hand. Rainiel you knew only too well how to distract these ellon [male elves].”

“My brother and friends are as consistent as Arien and Tilion crossing the skies. ‘T was not hard to convince Elladan and Elrohir to *join* with us in exacting retribution from these Mirkwood four.”

“But you would think these formidable orc hunters, sons of Elrond, lore master, would be clever enough to discern that you were merely using them to distract Legolas and Aní from their plotting,” Istawen added incredulously.

Rainiel chuckled lightly, “Yes you would think those two would be more discerning and not rush into aid me without considering what they were aiding, but such is and has been the folly of males- to fall unawares into the sweet smiles of the fairer sex.”

Istawen bent over and whispered into her daughter’s ear, “Pay heed to the lessons you are learning for they will aid you greatly in all the paths you choose to walk.”

Lotórie’s eyes were bright with understanding, and added most seriously, “So it is true then, that elleth [female elves]are indeed more intelligent than ellon [male elves].”

Istawen and Rainiel had to suppress their laughter, and Rainiel finally answered her young niece, “Ai Lotórie, well said, well said!”

Rainiel, eyes burning with the efficiency of a master technician, glanced over to Lenmana, “Pray tell Araswen, how *experienced* are you with the weaker sex?”

Lenmana’s eyes squinted with confusion, her voice littered with uncertainty, “I do not understand your question.”

Rainiel reformulated her question to the young mortal, “Have you laid with any men, that is have you frequented in the physical pleasures between two mortals?”

“Oh,” Lenmana’s mouth opened in realization, “I have taken husbands but these partnerings were brief due to the instabilities faced… out there.” Lenmana’s vision seemed to retreat inwards as she remembered her life before that moment.

But before she became too lost in memories, Istawen prodded Lenmana with more pleasant questions, “So our young maiden is more experienced in the ways of the wide world than we would think. Would receiving such pleasure anew present a problem for you?”

Lenmana could not help but laugh at the last question, and she answered as any true warm-blooded woman would, “Not in the least bit, in fact I fear it has been too many winters since the warmth of another body has pressed against mine. “

Lenmana’s face suddenly grew serious with realization of how she was going to be involved in the *plans*. She whispered somewhat concerned, “Do you mean that I am to actually play along with those three?”

Rainiel reached over to wrap her arm around Lenmana’s shoulders, “Now that we are understanding one another, what say you, can you do it? You only stand to reap the benefits, and of course we stand to watch those men humiliated by their own egos.”

Istawen pressed the mortal, “You yourself have said that it has been too long since you have felt the heat of another, and I can speak truthfully when I say, you will be most pleased with the prowess of elven males.”

Lenmana could not help but giggle, her cheeks burning with the images the words were conjuring in her head. She answered the female elves, “I would be dishonest if I did not admit that the beauty of all of you has not bewitched me, but the beauty of your males is beyond what I could imagine in men, and my body warms with the thought I may…” Her voice trailed off as she blushed deeply, hiding her hot face behind her hands.

“Then let us proceed, and you my dear have nothing to loose,” Rainiel spoke lightheartedly, grabbing Lenmana’s hands from her face and holding them reassuringly.

Rainiel added, “If you think these elves are delectable, just wait until you meet my Adar’s newest guest. He arrived but moments ago. It seems our Imladris guests have tarried too long away from home and their father has sent their keeper to find out about their whereabouts.”

***

“So what do you know about our young mortal guest,” Elladan pressed Aní.

“Not much,” Aní admitted.

Legolas interjected, through a wicked smile, “I think that she is unknowing of the many ways of the mortal world.”

Elrohir replied sarcastically, “But then what would you know dear friend. You yourself admitted surprise that she spoke our tongue.”

Elladan added, “But you did quite well in concealing your surprise at hearing her strange accent pronounce Sindarin words.”

“Ai, it was a surprise. I did not think she spoke our tongue. I know not when this occurred, nor how long she could understand and communicate in Sindarin.”

Aní’s eyes grew wide with realization, “Legolas, do you think she understood us when we went to greet her earlier this evening?”

Legolas smacked Aní upside the head, “Do you ever stop to consider the words that fly out your mouth? You do not think that she somehow, I would dare say miraculously began to speak our tongue just hours ago? It is obvious that she understood us when we went to greet her. I wonder just how long she has been able to understand us?”

Elrohir flicked his finger sharply across Legolas’ ear, causing the golden haired elf to flinch with pain, “And that you Legolas Thranduilion, Prince of this realm, decorated warrior, was not able to perceive that this mere mortal maiden understands, nay speaks our tongue?”

It was Aní’s turn to smack Legolas upside the head, which elicited a quick jab in Aní’s side from a flustered Prince.

As Aní rubbed his aching side, Legolas shook his head, laughing at his own misjudgment of the mortal maiden.

“You do know that it was Mithrandir’s doing,” Elrohir announced to the perplexed duo.

Elladan added, “Would you believe it? The Valar themselves interceded and helped our youngest stranger to be gifted with the knowledge of our tongue.”

Legolas nodded in understanding, “It could only be Mithrandir who could conjure up such miracles. His power is indeed beyond anything I know. Not only can he summon the Valar, they actually listen to him! How many times have I called out for help and had my pleadings remain unheard.”

Elladan shook his head in agreement, “One can never truly understand the ways of Mithrandir and much less of the Valar. And Legolas, pleading to the Valar that your hair be the most glorious hair in all of Arda is not a selfless act.”

Aní snorted, “No indeed, not in the least bit.”

Aní quickly received another jab, this time to his uninjured side, and Elladan was swiftly knocked onto his bottom. As a surprised Elladan glanced up at his aggressor, he could see Legolas looking down at him, a most innocent smile gracing his lips.

“Elladan you must be more careful, you never know what wood spirits you conjure when you insult their dearest prince.” Legolas was sweeping his hand in an exaggerated manner through his hair, “The Valar not need intercede on behalf of this elf, no aid is needed here.”

“Ai, Elladan, I believe that in place of Legolas I am seeing a certain resurrected Lord, chief of the House of the Golden Flower,” Elrohir exclaimed, clutching his heart in mock adoration.

Elladan replied, “ ‘T is true my brother, this type of display can be none other than Glorfindel the beloved!”

These taunts elicited a hearty laugh from Legolas. He knew all too well the playful nature of the mighty Glorfindel, although many times he and the twins suspected that behind Glorfindel’s playful façade existed a certain pompousness.

Legolas held out his chest, and struck his most imposing stance as he bellowed, “I am indeed Glorfindel of the House of the Golden Flower, mighty Balrog slayer, friend of Thorondor Lord of the Thoronath of old, released from the Halls of Mandos to serve the mighty line of Noldo Kings.” Legolas then touched his hand to his heart in the formal elven greeting, and as he bowed he extended his hand in front of him, adding a series of exaggerated hand flourishes. (1)

Elladan was now lying on his back, laughing mightily.

Elrohir decided that the play acting needed further embellishment. He threw himself at Legolas’ feet, clinging to them in mock adoration. Elrohir threw his head up towards a Legolas who was trying hard not to break his serious demeanor, and with eyelashes batting Elrohir purred in his best imitation of a feminine voice, “Oh fair one, I throw my life at your feet for I fear I shall not be able to live out the night!”

Legolas spoke, attempting his best mighty Glorfindel voice, “Fear not weak one, for I have in my heart the remembered vision of the thoron [eagle]. My memory leads me to see from the Crissaegrim to Hithaeglir, my hand remembers the strength I drew as I defended the hosts of Gondolin and as I slew the Balrog come to destroy us at Cirith Thoronath, the Eagles’ Cleft.” (2)

As if on cue, Elrohir started crying and swooning at Legolas’ feet. Legolas had a hard time keeping a straight face as true tears fell down Elrohir’s cheeks. Elladan on the other hand, was rolling on the ground in an attack of laughter. Indeed, Legolas and Elrohir’s performance had attracted a host of elves as audience, and so inspired by the multitude, the two descended into further mockery of the survivor of the House of the Golden Flower.

Legolas knelt down, and began to wipe away the tears from Elrohir’s face. Elrohir looked at Legolas with pleading and enamored eyes, clutching the golden haired elf’s hands.

Legolas struggled to speak through the fits of laughter that were overtaking him, “Do not cry fair beauty, too many tears unnumbered have fallen. Remember who stands before you!.” At this point Legolas stood again, and Elrohir wrapped himself around the standing elf’s leg, swooning in anticipation. (3)

Legolas held out his hands towards his audience, bellowing, “For I was there, aiding my Kings, in the fifth battle- Nirnaeth Arnoediad, where Fingon fell, and Turgon of Gondolin thus carried forth the hope of the Eldar as new King. And I with Ecthelion defended our people from the swarming hosts of Angband, to the pass of Sirion! Success came, but with much loss, but I Glorfindel, of the House of the Golden Flower, persevered with much valor, courage like no other!” (See 3)

Legolas looked down to Elrohir who was trying to swoon, but was more caught up in fits of laughter. Legolas' serious face broke into a wide and silly grin, and he ended his questionable tribute to Glorfindel, balrog slayer.

The audience was eerily quiet, but Elrohir and Legolas paid no mind to the silence. Legolas concluded, his voice shrill from trying to contain the laughter that attempted to overcome him, “ ‘Ai, ai! A Balrog is come!’ A Balrog of Morgoth! You were not able to vanquish this golden head for I have returned, returned and outlived your master in these lands, to see that the line of Kings continues! But more importantly to allow all on this middle earth to walk next to me, behold my beauty, to behold the glory of the Golden Flower in all its brilliance!” (4)

Elrohir let out a loud swoon and fell as if dead at the feet of Legolas, and Legolas bowed deeply before his audience. The only sound heard was Elladan’s snorting and the singular clap of appreciation from an audience member.

Legolas and Elrohir glanced at each other through their hair, their brows furrowed in confusion. Normally, the crowd gathered before them would be hooting and yelling, cheering their performance, but not this time- something was amiss.

In fact, something was amiss, as the performers looked up towards their audience, their eyes fell on the single elf clapping, but this elf was no mere elf. On his tunic were embroidered golden flowers, symbols of his house, and his hair fell, as true to his name, the golden-haired . There, in front of Legolas and Elrohir, stood Glorfindel, the balrog slayer, now appointed caretaker of the twins by a concerned Elrond, clapping, and wearing a deadly smile, a smile that could only be conceived by one returned from the Halls of Mandos.

“Thranduilion beware of the iaur [ancient], for an ancient cardh [deed] in the long history of the Eldar has a way of repeating itself,” the ancient lord warned.

Legolas swallowed hard as the imposing Glorfindel spoke, his warning not ignored, but its meaning not quite clear in the younger elf’s mind. Legolas took the elder elf’s statement to mean that his folly could take him to such an end as Glorfindel’s.

Legolas queried cautiously, “At your hands hir nîn [my lord]?”

“Nay Legolas, not by my hands although they do itch to ring your neck at this moment. Nay Greenleaf be wary of the Valarauko [balrog], these demons of might and fire may still prey the depths where shadow looms undisturbed.”

The dark tone of the decorated elder Legolas to shudder, and in the currents of his thoughts was foreshadowed a deep and terrible fear he would one day meet, so the melody of the Ainur whispered.

“Eh-hem,” Glorfindel cleared his throat, snapping Legolas’ attention back to the elf lord, “And dearest Elrohir, I did not know that you too have fallen victim to our dearest Prince’s fair virtues?”

Elrohir was about to protest Glorfindel’s acerbic comment but decided that it would best suit him to remain quiet. After all, why was Glorfindel in Mirkwood?

As if answering Elrohir’s silent question, Glorfindel’s lyrical but stern voice rolled out the response, “It seems that the sons of Elrond do not find it necessary to report to their father in a timely manner, causing said father to worry when no word is received from his orc-slaying sons. And being Lord of Imladris your father found it necessary to send me to locate the likes of you two.”

Elladan and Elrohir glanced at each other, their faces turning white.

Glorfindel continued in his lecture, “But I insisted, ‘Lord Elrond, I am sure your two sons are uninjured. In fact I assure you that they are probably running amuck somewhere.’ But your Adar would not heed my advice, being overcome by the worry that often accompanies parenthood, and to the likes of you two nonetheless. Your Adar has been tired of late, reaching his senses to dark places that are stirring mightily, struggling as is his fate with the Shadow that threatens to consume us all. Such his state as you two are both intimately aware of does not allow him to ascertain your safety.”

*You two should know better* Glorfindel thought silently.

“And so I find myself a guest of King Thranduil, but to my surprise I find that Mirkwood’s youngest Prince and Imladris’s own Elrohir are enraptured in a dubious tribute to myself with Elladan rolling on the ground in laughter most unbefitting for his station. I thank you deeply for your welcome and am glad to know that despite my traveling through dark places to find the likes of you, you all hold me in such high esteem.”

Glorfindel’s icy declaration ended and the silence that surrounded the twins and Legolas was deafening. The three felt as if they were mere elflings being scolded by a disappointed parent. What they failed to see was the winks that were exchanged between Glorfindel and Thranduil.

Lenmana was tugging on Rainiel’s sleeve rather urgently, “Of all creation, who is this elf?!”

***********

(1) Thorondor was the King or Lord of Eagles of the Crissaegrim (See 2). Thorondor himself bore the body of the slain Glorfindel out of the deeps of the pass the Eagles Cleft where both Glorfindel and the Balrog he slew fell. Silmarillion

(2) The Crissaegrim are the mountain-peaks south of Gondolin. The Hithaeglir is the Sindarin name for the misty mountains which I presume Glorfindel would also be knowledgeable of since Imladris lies just west of them. The Silmarillion

(3) From Silmarillion, the Nirnaeth Arnoediad- the name given to the fifth battle where Gothmog slew Fingon, the Noldor King, also named Tears Unnumbered

(4) This quote is taken directly from The Fellowship of the Ring, in the chapter, “The Bridge of Khazad-Dûm.” You can say this a bit of foreshadowing which Glorfindel most keenly and spookily points out.

Creation Song of Ilúvatar

A/N: Unfortunately my updates have been severely restricted by work. I have been out in “the field” as of late, trying to get as much research done here in the Southwest before I head to back to the headaches of graduate school. I hope to start posting with less delay come late September. Thank you all for keeping up with this story! I have not lost interest in it and hate that I have to wait so long to update. Fortunately I have chapters 25 and 26 completed (I know and not 23 and 24- my mind works in weird ways), and so once there I should post frequently!

Chapter 22: Legolas Strongbow

Elladan and Elrohir were secreted away behind a large beech, having a quiet but intense conversation.

“Did Adar mention to you that we were supposed to have sent notice to him of our whereabouts?” Elladan nervously prodded his equally nervous twin.

“No, he did not mention anything. We have conducted ourselves as we always have. Something is amiss.” Elrohir’s eyes grew wide with apprehension, “Do you think something may be wrong with Adar?”

Elladan paused to consider Elrohir’s question, “I too considered this, but we would have *known* if something was wrong with Adar. We always have, and he likewise. Although Glorfindel is right, things of late have been weighing more heavily on him. Maybe the Shadow bid him to have false tidings of us. But this still does not explain him sending Glorfindel for us. Never has this happened.”

Elrohir grunted disapprovingly, “Right you are. Glorfindel made me feel as if I were a mere child, without any wits about me. Whatever is wrong, I do not appreciate this for I still maintain we have done nothing wrong.”

“Well only mocking Glorfindel in that little tribute of yours and Legolas.”

Elrohir cringed slightly, “Let us go speak with him and make sure we clear the air from all the confusion that is muddling it.”

The twins broke from their huddle and returned to the feast that had picked up again. Glorfindel was seated next to Thranduil, and the two imposing Elves seemed to be lost in conversation.

But before the two could make their way to Glorfindel, Lotórie ran up to them, distress clear in her voice, “Elladan, Elrohir, you must come quickly!”

The two, clearly concerned with whatever Lotórie needed, momentarily gave up their path towards Glorfindel, paying their full attention to the elfling.

“Please come quickly. You must help me,” Lotórie implored.

“What is wrong.” Elrohir asked, his hand cupping Lotórie’s chin in a comforting manner.

“My cat ran into the woods where the spiders will surely eat her! Please you must help me find her,” Lotórie sobbed, tears welling up in her eyes.

Elladan asked, “Which way did your feline companion run, little one?”

“That way,” Lotórie cried, beginning to move in the direction of the path she pointed out.

“Let us be off then,” Elrohir announced. And so the twins ran after Lotórie who took them into the woods in search of her cat who had lost its way and was heading perilously towards the vicious bite of Mirkwood’s spiders.

Unbeknownst to the twins, there were no spiders in the vicinity which Lotórie headed. In fact there was no cat, no feline companion needing of rescue. All this distraction was a part of a plan, a plan that had Istawen waiting in the woods to announce that the cat had been found and returned safely just moments before the twins’ arrival. And that she, Lotórie’s mother was grateful that Elladan and Elrohir had volunteered their famous abilities in the search for her daughter’s friend. Oddly enough, the twins did not pause to recall that there were no cat tracks upon the path Lotórie led them on, that there were only the slight imprints of an Elf’s light feet, and clearly those of a female, that the tracks of the supposed returner of said cat were no where to be found, and rather incredulously the twins did not think twice of the fact that no one had crossed them on their path towards the cat, returning with Lotórie’s cat in arms. No, the twins did not stop to consider these facts. If they had they might have begun to become suspicious, but this night was proving to be more out of the ordinary than usual.

***

Rainiel, wanting to take advantage of her brother’s precarious and embarrassing positioning decided her plan needed further guidance, “Adar, do you not think it would be most fitting if Legolas was the one to tell the tale of Glorfindel to our guest?”

Thranduil chuckled, “Why yes it would be. It seems Legolas remembers his lessons well. Legolas! Put your learned knowledge to some use, and enlighten our dear guest with the tale of Glorfindel of the House of the Golden Flower.”

Legolas groaned, this was not his favorite way to spend a night of feasting, but he knew if he crossed his father, the repercussions would extend beyond a night of feasting. “Very well Adar,” Legolas finally answered, his tone weary and most unenthused.

And so Legolas began telling Lenmana the tale of Glorfindel, of his bravery in the fifth battle, where Fingon fell and Glorfindel fought bravely to defend and preserve the line of kings…

***

Thranduil cleared his throat, and soon enough all around him had quieted to listen to their king. With a slight smile, Thranduil announced, “We have been gifted with the presence of many unexpected guests this evening and of one has just agreed to sing us a song!”

The feasting Elves gathered murmured appreciatively as none other than Glorfindel was preparing to gift them with a song, no doubt a glorious tale from his long history.

Glorfindel cleared his throat and the Elves fell silent, in anticipation of the Elf lord’s song. And so began the song of Glorfindel, but to the surprise of all, this song contained no tales of his doing. Rather, Glorfindel sang a tribute to Mirkwood’s likewise golden-haired prince, but at first none could have foretold that his moving rendition would turn into a bawdy song worthy of mortal mouths that frequent taverns of ill repute.

Long ago, of lands in slumber, in Menegroth and Doriath’s wake

Roamed an Elf whose skill was none surpassed in all of Beleriand

Beleg Strongbow some recall, said to be friend of the truest make

Marchwarden of such fairland, always held his heart n’ hand.

Cúthalion, the Strongbow, died by his own sword, Túrin’s fate.

And the grief of the mortal sword bearer was forever sealed

So ended Beleg’s life, master of woodcraft like none of late

Remembrances of friendships past laying silent in northern field.

Yet there are some who claim Strongbow’s glories

And I sing this little melody to render clear

Such tall tales and half-hearted stories

Are spun from youthful folly- much too little fear.

Loyalties lay unrewarded upon lips too shrewd

With fair kisses merited by treacherous tales

Such actions begging to be exposed as lewd

By their own account- such delightful males!

And so young Princes who dwell in woodland realms

When much wine warms, should check tongue in cheek

For fair faces may be wrongly hailed to head up helms

Where only the brave may walk and not the meek!

So ends this song from he who is no liar

Be quick young Prince and head to shower

For in your sleep of babes, an accident did transpire

Courtesy of one Golden Flower.

As the song ended, one loud voice was heard laughing decidedly amidst the silent giggles.

Glorfindel bowed deeply to his greatest admirer, “My most humble appreciation, King Thranduil. I am pleased that my simple tune has so delighted you as I only hoped it would.”

“Glorfindel, your tongue is as colorful as your deeds,” Thranduil bellowed, and with the King’s hearty approval, the entirety of feasting elves gifted the pleased Glorfindel with applause and uproarious laughter.

***

Elladan and Elrohir returned to the feasting area after their foiled attempt to return Lotórie’s cat to her. To their delight they managed to hear the final versus in Glorfindel’s ode to Legolas, but their mirth was contained by the fact they had yet to speak with the ancient lord about their father’s concerns.

Elladan whispered to Elrohir, “Do you think Glorfindel might have a song or two for us in his vast repertoire?”

Elrohir snorted, “I would most certainly say he does, and they are probably more scathing in nature and colorful in tongue!”

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A/N: The tale of Beleg Strongbow can be found in The Silmarillion, particularly in chapter 21, “Of Túrin Turambar.” My hats off to all who write prose and poetry as I can so obviously not. I tried my best and came up with the simple prose that Glorfindel so wonderfully sang. He is a most gracious Elf as I know something of his own rendering would be much more refined, poetic and probably nastier!

Thank you reviewers, you ROCK!

Hanya the Bloody Angel: Rolling on the ground with Elladan in delight? Hmm sounds fun to me! I haven’t seen Blackhawk Down yet- yes I know I am missing out on MR. Bloom!

I Get Stalked by Snowmen: I certainly hope this chapter remains interesting, these elves certainly make it interesting for me!

daw the minstrel: *Glorfindel bows deeply, impish grin on his face* I think he knows all too well that he really is the Mighty one, but he is a little testy on the Balrog Boy name, he’s muttering something about how he’ll show you he’s no boy! ;-)

Mellon1: Yes the boys get caught and I do not think they realize the extent of how deep they are caught!

Coriandra: The elves do indeed enjoy themselves, a little too much if you ask me, but then they do have *all* the time in the world! Glorfindel does not take lightly to young elflings playing around. As for Lenmana I think he will see her more through his intellect as opposed to his younger and lustier counterparts.

Nilmandra: Glorfindel does know how to make an entrance doesn’t he? He asked that he be portrayed no other way, er actually he demanded it, but then again you probably know best with a certain Glorfindel lurking or rather strutting around in your home! ;-)

Creation Song of Ilúvatar

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A/N:  Short chapter, but I thought this snippet remained best as a stand alone chapter as the theme of it is a little bit less jovial than what is coming up!  Btw I was listening to Coldplay while writing this, me thinks it had an impact.

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Chapter 23:  Greenleaf’s Hope

As Legolas heard Glorfindel’s searing tribute to him, the blood began to rise, but something in him caused him to quiet his heart as he heard his father laugh jovially, as if he carried no cares, and Legolas felt a surge of happiness tinged by sorrow, in the manner of the immortal. 

Thranduil had lost too much, and he fought daily to maintain his peoples in a semblance of safety that allowed for there to be joy.  Shadow tried to snake its way into his realm but Thranduil and his children came together to defend that which they held most dear, as did all of the Elves of Mirkwood, Greenwood the Great. 

Legolas heard Glorfindel’s words and laughed quietly to himself, he did deserve this did he not?  He looked into many of the Elves delighted faces trying to enjoy the moment, but inside he felt a wavering of sorrow begin to slowly gain strength.

Legolas thought to himself, “Tis good to see you so carefree Adar.  I will give my life if need be for these moments, for these moments we all share together.”

Legolas looked over towards his brother and sister, studying their bright countenances, allowing their joyful glow to reach him.  He looked over and saw Lotórie talking excitedly to Elladan and Elrohir.  What was she up to Legolas pondered?  He could tell there was a devilish spark in her eyes.  Nothing good, he concluded.

Legolas’ voice whispered to the night skies, “Let no one think these moments come easy and are not paid for with blood, but ‘tis worth every drop, even if I have to bleed myself slowly to ensure such beauty, such life.  Ai Elbereth, starkindler, your silver lights bring solace to my troubled soul.”

Legolas suddenly felt lighthearted and he looked up towards the stars in the West and bowed his head slightly, and although all of Mirkwood was glancing towards their Prince to gage his reaction to Glorfindel’s tribute, Legolas simply smiled, joy emanating from his very essence.  In this moment, Legolas was not the attractive Elf maidens fancied for his physical beauty.  He transcended that.  In this moment he was beautiful, like a vision from the other side, from the West, pure of heart, and full of life, the last hope of the Eldar.

But as Thranduil gazed upon his son he recognized the burden of his joy and he let his thoughts wonder unbidden into his son’s, “We are here together, ion nín[my son], we share the same sorrows, the same joys, and I pleasure in your life, your beauty.  Let not this world or any other taint your brilliance.  But beware son for I have a fear in my heart that you will endure in this middle earth much more than your heart can bear.  Promise me you will look after yourself.”

Legolas answered his father in kind, divulging his inner most thoughts, “What is a life where there is no love, no one to hold, to care about, what is such a world where Shadow threatens to consume all that was once beautiful.  I will not abandon these lands to that, not while my heart still craves the songs of the trees, the caress of these winds upon my cheeks.  One day I will cross the seas and follow my fate and fade into the West, but I will do it only of my own volition, with a heart full of love and grand memories to last me until the end of Arda.  Fear not Adar, my heart will only gain, not loose.”

“My energies, my passions are devoted to this endeavor, to maintain all that is beautiful all that shall shine forth in a new dawn even if only for the eyes of the second born.  I will leave behind many trees and animals who shall eternally remain friends, and I will leave behind a piece of me in this place, ennor [middle earth].  This I do not doubt, but my heart will never be sundered from middle earth, never.”

Thranduil sighed, “‘Tis the second born of Ilúvatar I fear.  It is a strange fate we share with mortal men in these lands.  They have granted us short joys but they have also given us long-lived pain, Legolas.

Legolas eyes looked towards his father with compassion and understanding, “Naneth loved the Edain for the newness and awe in life they saw.  She understood that the Eldar could gain more from these brothers, the Second People.  Father, I know in her love for mortal kind our Nyére met her end,” Legolas had tears running down his cheeks, as he broached a subject not visited upon by anyone in Thranduil’s family. “Even though Isildur’s weakness condemned us to an uncertain future, she remained ever hopeful that in the second born there *was* born hope.  She taught me to love all creatures of light who walk on these lands, to respect all that is different, all this she said was a gift.  ‘Tis this gift of love that drives me on.”

Thranduil walked over to his son, placing a loved-filled kiss on his forehead, and held him in a tight embrace.  His thoughts now closed to his son, Thranduil reflected privately, “My heart fears son that I may loose you, loose you to the stories that bind mortal men on this land, but in your heart is her hope and I must cling to that, I must hold to her love, to all our love.”

Thranduil looked over his son once more and smiling bitter sweetly took his leave to return to his people.

Legolas felt Thranduil’s pain as his father embraced him. He respected his father’s wishes to keep his thoughts private and did not pry, but Legolas clung to the feelings of hope that remained in his father.  To this Legolas would always hold- to hope.

Glorfindel who had witnessed the moment between father and son, found his way to Legolas who seemed to need words of encouragement.  “You carry a weary weight upon your shoulders Greenleaf, and it is one I do not discourage.  The Eldar, we are fading, like the mists in the morning, but many of us still have hope, and that you know can never be lost.  Hold to that Thranduilion, hold to hope- in hope there is love, there is passion, there is beauty, there is life, hold to that and your heart shall never feel empty.”

Legolas answered, his voice a mere whisper, “Your words comfort me for I know your path has tread scenes from our ages that will remain triumphs of hope, triumphs of good.  Glorfindel, I may jest, but you besides my father, I hold in the highest esteem.” Legolas clasped Glorfindel’s arm in the way of Elven warriors, Glorfindel reciprocating the embrace, acknowledging the younger Elves words. 

Glorfindel’s mouth grew into a sly smile, “But do tell what you thought of my homage to you young Prince.”

Legolas’ face contorted into a look of amused disgust, “I suppose I deserved that colorful song,” and soon the two golden-haired Elves were laughing in shared amusement at each other’s tributes to one another, but more importantly they shared a hope.

*~*~*

To my wonderful reviewers:

Daw the Minstrel:  Legolas does need to pay attention, doesn’t he?  For being an elf he sure misses a lot of folks around him.  I think what Glorfindel wants to show you will make you faint, truly I do, he’s rather proud of it in a manish and by no means boyish way! ;-)

Fan81981:  Your words to update quickly lit a fire under my bum!  Wow thanks for the complement.  I do rather enjoy the Elves that magically seem to write themselves on these pages.  And they beg to be written in more adult situations but I remind them this is a PG-13 story, to which they grumble.

Simply Sara:  I am glad that you are enjoying my story, a self-proclaimed Mary Sue, and I thank you very much for your words of encouragement, hearing someone say your writing is good is a great motivator to update quickly.  Thanks! J

Hanya the Bloody Angel:  So you are falling in love with Glorfindel?  That is a good thing me thinks.  So our Orli is only it for a brief moment- oh too bad!  Thanks for the encouragement on the prose.  I hope you read this review as I didn’t reciev a notice initially so I edited this in.

Nilmandra:  Elladan and Elrohir are coming up real soon, I just thought this snippet stood best alone.  No need to mix angst with plain ole’ goofiness.  Er- Glorfindel if you are reading this, I do have some *material* that I would like for you to peruse if you have the time, say my house 10pm? ;-)

Mellon: Glorfindel is happy you liked the song he sang, as am I!  Stay tuned for more madness and of course, lots of love!

Coriandra:  Yes quite embarrassing, but I think Legolas took it in stride, afterall he was really knocking Glorfindel down.  Ai I know, poor Elladan and Elrohir, suckers for cute little elflings, but I fear that their rush to help may get them in some trouble, not too much!

Creation Song of Ilúvatar

Chapter 24:  The Set Up

Elladan and Elrohir cautiously approached Glorfindel.

Elrohir cleared his throat, “Eh-hem, so what did you discuss with Legolas Glorfindel?”

Glorfindel raised an eyebrow towards Elrohir and said nothing.

Elladan decided to get to the heart of the matter, “Elrohir and I have done nothing out of the ordinary.  We have acted as we have always had for centuries.  Never have we meant to cause Adar any alarm.  We may sometimes be light of heart, but you Glorfindel know too well what drives us as we scour these lands.”

The quiet ferocity in Elladan’s voice surprised Glorfindel, and somewhat appeased by the moment he had witnessed between Legolas and Thranduil, Glorfindel decided he needed to tread lightly with the twins.  “You two needed to be put in your place after what I arrived to find. One in mock homage to me and the other rolling on the ground like a drunkard,” Glorfindel added, his voice betraying not emotion.

Elrohir murmured, “And for this we apologize.”

Elladan pressed, “We do whole heartedly apologize, but I maintain we have acted in no way contrary to Adar’s wishes!”

Glorfindel chuckled, “Right you are Elladan, right you are.”

The twins looked at each other, sharing confused shrugs, then they turned their attention back towards Glorfindel.

“Your Father insisted a messenger find you two on your travels as your brother Estel is home for a short time from his errantries and wished to let you know as you two have not seen him since he left a decade ago.”

Elladan and Elrohir’s faces lit up with the message that their foster brother was in Imladris for a short time.

Glorfindel continued, “I insisted on finding the likes of you two myself as I sometimes need a pleasant outing myself, and was pleased to track you two here, to Thranduil’s halls.  I have been meaning to visit the stubborn Elf for ages it seems, but had not come around to it.”  Silently, Glorfindel acknowledged that his visit tread other more serious matters, concerning the safety of the Elven Kingdoms.

Glorfindel saw the scowls that formed on the twins’ faces but he waved them away, “You two deserve much worse from me, after all, but we shall have peace-- for now.”

The predatory snarl that Glorfindel graced the twins with caused them to sober quickly.  They knew that once they were again in Imladris, Glorfindel’s retribution would be swift and unwelcome.

Rainiel approached the twins following their conversation with Glorfindel, “How fare our guests?”

“Better than a moment ago,” Elrohir sighed, clearly relieved.

“That is good,” Rainiel answered without gusto.  Her face became bright and she looked towards the twins, “Would you two be game for a contest of archery skill?”

Elladan smirked, “Why I never thought you would ask.”

“I have been waiting to test my skills of late with your Woodland kin,” Elrohir added.

“Then I shall suggest it,” Rainiel responded excitedly, and she walked off hurriedly in direction of the King.

In the meantime, a number of bows and quivers had been collected and deposited somewhere in the near forest, in the direction Elladan and Elrohir had gone to search for the supposed lost cat.

In Mirkwood, Wood Elves were never parted from their bow and arrow, even during feasts.  If one looks closely during one of these feasts it is easy to spot said set within his or her owner’s grasp, but on this eve, four Elves of Thranduil’s Royal House, no less, had been relieved of their bows and quivers full of arrows.  The stranger being that not one of the highly regarded warriors had noticed their missing friends.

During the searing tribute to Glorfindel, a stealth group of Elven hands had carried away the honourable bows and quivers, as the Elves had been too easily distracted by their follies.  But this play acting had to end, and upon its conclusion, sweet Elven voices purred and acted merry, making sure said Mirkwood four would remain in blissful ignorance.

Istawen glanced at Rainiel, giving her an affirmative nod, and Rainiel, seeing her moment approach cleared her throat, gathering the attention of those around her.  “As we are honoured with such fine and notable guests, I must beg that these festivities be graced with a competition of sorts!”

Thranduil looked at his daughter and laughed inwardly.  Her voice was too sweet and her smile too conniving.  Something, the Woodland King decided, was amiss.

The Silvan Elves shouted their approval, eliciting questions concerning the competition, “And what sort of competition dost thou have in mind,” Thranduil asked his eldest.

“Adar, by your leave, I would suggest an archery competition.  We are, after all in Mirkwood, home of the *finest* archers in all of Middle Earth.  Let us put our skill to the test and see how we fare against Imladris’ best?  Elrond’s sons have been waiting for such a challenge.”

“A fine idea,” Thranduil replied, “What say you my fair folk? Shall we hold such a war of skill?”

Elves all around cheered! Quickly different targets were chosen, and practice targets brought out and set up amidst the trees.

Legolas snorted, “Is this a fair contest?  Those gathered in this fair feast know most certainly well, who is to be victorious in such a match!”  Although for once, Legolas was not referring to himself and referred to the superior skill of Wood Elves in general, some around him took his demeanor as entirely self-centered.

Elladan cried out, “ ’Tis a fair match indeed, young Prince, and I would not be quick to utter victory if I were you.”

Glorfindel laughed smugly, “I too would be honoured to enter my skill in such games!”

Rainiel quickly took reign of the verbal sparring, “From Imladris then we will have Elladan, Elrohir and Glorfindel.  From our fair woodland realm we shall have Legolas, Laurenor, and Aní.”

Erutunín’s mouth dropped to argue his absence, but Rainiel quickly quieted him, “And although my dear husband is virtuous with a  bow and arrow, I would think this be a matter for those who cling more closely to Silvan charms.”

It was Laurenor’s turn to add to the melee of voices, his voice fraught with devilish intent, “Spoken well sister, for who knows what treachery may still lie in your Noldo husband’s heart.”

Erutunín’s face turned a bright red, and he was about to exchange a choice set of words with his marriage-brother, but Thranduil’s laugh cut him off.  Aní snickered silently, not daring incur the wrath of his Adar.  Although the son of a Noldo himself, Aní felt nothing but Silvan, and he took an immense pride in such attributes.

Rainiel then glanced at her husband apologetically and gave him a pleading look.  Erutunín was undone by her pouting, and bowed slightly towards her, raising his arms in a show of retreat.

Thranduil announced, “Let it begin!”

Elladan, Elrohir and Glorfindel retrieved their bows and quivers, letting nimble fingers quickly strap the implements of choice in place.

Legolas, Aní, and Laurenor went to retrieve their bows and quivers, but to their dismay they were not to be found.  Their brows furrowed in concern as their search became frantic.  All those around them began to take notice of the search for the missing weapons.  This did not bode well.

Elladan could not hold his tongue, “Are my eyes deceiving me, or do I really have before me a group of Wood Elves who have lost their bow and arrow?”

Legolas looked up from his search, and threw Elladan a murderous look.

Elrohir also had to seize on the opportunity, “It seems we do have a group of misbegotten Wood Elves in front of us.  Do you not agree Lord Glorfindel.”

But Glorfindel was not easily pushed to such light banter.  Something was not quite right.  He knew too well of the Silvan tenacity with bow and arrow, and he understood that Thranduil’s sons would be the most voracious in upholding the etiquette that concerned the bow and arrow.

Elladan and Elrohir meanwhile were caught up in a barrage of snorts as they looked upon the three Elves who were now frantic in their search.

Legolas straightened suddenly, “You!” he pointed towards the twins, “You two have some hand in this!”

Elladan scoffed at the idea, “We most certainly do not.  Our hands are clean.”

Laurenor was now also looking at the twins with accusatory eyes, “I too would not put it passed them.  Better to embarrass us this way than embarrass themselves in a show of skill.”

“I would wager that you three are so full of fear in matching our skill you simply feign loss of your bows and arrows for everyone knows that a Wood Elf never looses sight of his weapon of choice,” Elrohir retorted, his voice calm but steely.

From the whirlwind of voices,  a small voice spoke up, “Ai, ai!  I believe I unwittingly led my kin afoul!”

All turned and looked towards the speaker of such daunting words, little Lotórie.

Legolas prodded, “What do you mean little one?”

“Elladan and Elrohir asked me if I could show them my favorite hiding place.  Oh and I was so happy to show them.  You know how I love the twins!”

“Show us where you took them,” Laurenor cried out.

Lotórie then trotted off in the direction she had taken the twins on and pointed down the path, “That way!”

Legolas knelt down and surveyed the forest floor, “Ai, I have found their tracks!”

And sure enough there were three tracks, two sets of identical tracks, and one of a little elfling.

Elrohir cried out, the bandages falling quickly from his eyes, “We have done nothing!”

Aní glared at them, “We shall see!” He and the other Elves ran down the path, following the tracks, and finally came to a slight opening in the trees.  There strung between two trees was a set of three bows and their respective quivers, dangling precariously in the light wind.

Legolas, Laurenor, and Aní turned and looked towards the accused Elves.

Elladan was going to shout out his innocence, but was cut short by Elrohir who muttered, “ ‘Tis no use.  We have been set up.”

They glanced at Lotórie’s whose eyes were round with excitement, and she looked at them, sparing them a slight smile that no one saw as everyone’s eyes were focused on the twins.

“What say you now,” Legolas announced sarcastically.

Elrohir spoke quietly, “It would appear we are at fault, and all I will say on this matter is that we did not have a hand in this trick.”

Laurenor approached Elrohir briskly, “Do you imply my daughter is lying?”

Elladan piped in, “We did walk with Lotórie in this direction, and although all evidence points to us, we continue to maintain that we had no hand in this folly.  Someone must have sought to take advantage of the situation.”

Elrohir looked imploringly at Lotórie, but soon enough she was whisked away by her mother.  In but a few moments, the young Elf was sent off to bed with an appointed caretaker.

Istawen added, “My poor daughter is so shaken by the situation I found it best to send her off to bed.” She then looked sadly in the direction towards the twins, “How could you manipulate my little one into helping you in such trickery?”

Elladan and Elrohir’s mouths fell open in shock.  Certainly, Istawen who had personally thanked them for their help on the search for the cat, whom they had found in the clearing earlier was not trying to make others think they were the ones responsible…

Oh but she was.

Elladan glared at Istawen, and decided he was not going to be maneuvered into accepting culpability for this act.  “Alas, my brother and I have fallen victim to the ageless sorcery of the fairer sex.  I believe you will find fault not in us, but in those who dare to openly implicate us through fair and feminine smiles.”

Glorfindel meanwhile noticed the exchange and quickly deduced that the twins had in fact been set up, and by Thranduil’s daughters no less.  He leaned closely to Thranduil who stood next to him and whispered, “I am reminded why I am enamored of Wood Elf maidens- their cunning is at once astute as it is obvious.”

Thranduil chuckled, “Ai, Glorfindel, if these fools took but a second to wrap their minds about the situation, they would quickly find the true culprits.  One of which has smartly chosen to excuse herself to bed.”

Glorfindel replied, “It is always said that Wood Elves begin their lessons in cunning at quite a young age.  Your House, King, is well managed and versed in this art, down to the youngest member.”

Thranduil bowed his head in acknowledgement to Glorfindel and the two Elf lords shared knowing grins.

“Adar,” Legolas cried out, “you find our situation amusing?”

Thranduil replied smoothly, “Why yes I do.”

Legolas did not expect Thranduil’s reply, and he shot him a look that would have rendered the Shadow of the East paralyzed in fear, but Thranduil was Lord of the deadly gazes and not impressed by his son. (1)

Laurenor cried out, “But Adar, surely you must find this situation disturbing!”

“Disturbing, yes, and amusing, definitely,” Thranduil retorted.  “But what is most pressing at this moment is the fact that the three of you, leaders in arms of Mirkwood, lost awareness of your weapons.  This lapse in concentration is more to blame than any one person or persons.  If you three, Laurenor, Aní and Legolas, had been doing what is asked of you, this would have never happened,” Thranduil gestured up towards the trees where the four sets of bows and quivers were hung.  “And it appears to me, that a marriage-son of mine has suffered the same fate.”

As Thranduil’s words found the crowd Erutunín’s face went pale.  His bow and quiver seemed to be cajoling him from where they hung.  Erutunín turned to face his wife, “You knew my bow and quiver would be up there.  For this reason you did not wish me to participate.  I appreciate your attempts to avert any embarrassment that would befall me because of such a lapse, but my fair wife, how did you know my bow and quiver were up there?”

Glorfindel found his moment to add his thoughts, “Thranduiliell [daughter of Thranduil], your husband asks a most interesting question.” (2)

All eyes were focused on the beautiful Rainiel, who was not easily shaken.  “Lord Glorfindel, since you insist, I did see the alleged act take place.  I saw as the culprits stealthily took the weapons that hang before us and headed off in this direction of the woods.  I did not say anything because I figured it was a harmless joke that served a purpose as well.”

Rainiel turned to her brothers and son, “That we need to maintain our alertness even amidst a feast.”

Erutunín interrupted his wife, “But what of me?”

“’T was a selfish act on my behalf.  I did not want my husband ridiculed in front of my Adar and guests.”

Erutunín eyes his wife suspiciously.  Rainiel was never one to protect her husband’s feelings from anyone.  In fact her words led him to believe that his wife did indeed have more to do with the incident than what her carefully chosen words were portraying.

Elrohir implored his once lover, “So if you saw who took the weapons you surely saw that it was not my brother and I!  Please help us, help me.”

Rainiel covered her mouth in surprise, “But Elrohir, I never said it was not you two I spied.”

Elrohir’s face froze, and Elladan snorted, understanding quite well who it was that had set them up.  Elladan whispered for only his brother’s ears, “If you had been the lover you claim to have been, to be, Rainiel would not now be delighting in devouring us.”

Elrohir pushed his brother away and spoke up in their defense, “We still hold to our word that we did not take these weapons.”

Legolas laughed, “My own sister saw you two take the weapons.  You have been caught.  The jest is completed.  I say now we bludgeon you in a matching of skills which you so sneakily have tried to avoid.”

Glorfindel was now beside himself in amusement.  Thranduil again whispered in the golden-haired Lord’s ear, “But then again, Rainiel never did say that it was *in fact* Elladan and Elrohir who took the bows and quivers.”

Glorfindel sighed, “You have a mighty strategist and diplomat on your hands Thranduil.  I am sure her skills are an asset to your Kingdom.”

“Indeed they are my friend, indeed they are.”

~*~*~*~*~*

(1)  The name given to one of the leader of the three Nazgûl, Khamûl who abode in Dol Guldur according to a version from  “Of the Journey of the Black Riders according to the account that Gandalf gave Frodo,” in Unfinished Tales.

(2) I assumed that the male of Thranduilion, son of Thranduil, would hold the same for daughters, thus Thranduiliell, iell meaning daughter.

To my lovely reviewers:

Daw the Minstrel- Ada/ion moments are my favorite, especially when Thranduil is a part of it.  OMG you are the first one that got it.  *Does an elaborate happy dance*  I had originally toyed with the idea of making her a Sioux, but I know nothing of the Sioux so I gave her a different background- Touchdown- Daw the Minstrel!!!

Coriandra-  Thank you so much for your moving review.  It made me feel good about my writing.  Even though there is much tom-foolery, I find I need to stop and take time to give my characters depth, but too often they just want to jump back into games and naughtiness.  Elves are much like humans in some regards.

SimplySara- Thank you for the review, I am glad you found the moment beautiful.  Elves demand no less.

Hanya the Bloody Angel- Ah tis the magic of movies, makes us want illusions, and what are the best illusions- why Elves of course, nothing is more magical and beautiful.  Worry for the twins, worry.

Nilmandra-  Glorfy, I am a very dedicated and diligent student.  I follow instructions quite well J . For some reason the Legolas I envision was able to withstand so much time on middle earth b/c he was able to transform the joy of those around him for himself.

Creation Song of Ilúvatar

Chapter 25:  Shadow’s Breath

A/N:  Apologies for such a LONG banquet sequence.  It was originally planned as only two chapters, but it became too long as it was fleshed out.  I thought it best to split it up into more chapters.  Alas, the banquet comes to a hasty end.

Legolas swiftly climbed one of the offending trees that held the strings where his bow and quiver were precariously hung.  As he leapt nimbly onto one of the branches, he felt the trees quiver with fear.  Legolas instinctively looked to the South, and as he turned his head the branches that held the strings released their prisoners, as they recoiled in fear.  The bows and quivers fell to the ground, the quivers spilling their arrows on the forest floor in a confused array.

At that very moment, Thranduil felt an intense blackness try to invade his heart.  He gripped his chest and leaned suddenly into Glorfindel.  “Shadow comes,” Thranduil whispered weakly.

Glorfindel had too felt a darkness try to consume him, but he did not feel it as intensely at Thranduil.  Thranduil was after all tied in with his forest in an intimate manner.  It was as if the limbs of the trees were extensions of Thranduil’s being.  In becoming king of the Silvan Elves, a heavy toll had been extracted by the forest upon the Sindarin Elf, but Thranduil did not perceive it a burden.  It was a gift from the very trees, to feel their living souls bear upon his fëa for in this way he felt as one with his people- a woodland Elf.

Legolas and his siblings also felt the onslaught of Shadow more powerfully than most, but the feeling for all present was ominous nonetheless.  The music died down as the Elves gathered listened to the whispers of the trees, the shivering of the branches.

Suddenly all went still, and the forest seemed to hold its breath.  A chilly and dark wind swept through the trees, as if whatever evil had arrived let out its own breath.  The Elves were chilled to the bone, but not by the coldness of the wind; rather by the foreboding it brought.

All looked upon the fallen bows and arrows, haphazardly strewn on the ground.  Legolas leapt to the forest floor, landing lightly.  He quickly retrieved his weapon, arranging the arrows quickly into their quiver.  Laurenor, Aní and Erutunín followed suit.  It was as if they were trying to bring some semblance of order in face of the strange and deafening chaos that breathed into their realm in those moments.

Laurenor looked to Istawen, and saw that in her face she bore the same concern, and with a nod to her husband she ran towards Thranduil’s cave dwelling, to comfort and protect their daughter.

“Everyone into the palace,” Thranduil commanded.  As Thranduil called out, a horn sounded in the forest night, bidding all Elves to safety.  Elves swiftly but calmly collected their family members and headed into their stronghold.  Without word, Elven warriors had assembled in their different units.  Years of experience made the gathering a precise and orderly scene.  No words were exchanged between the warriors and their leaders.  None was needed.

Glorfindel noted the efficiency of Mirkwood’s forces.  Already there were Elves handing out armor to the assembled warriors.  Fingers with centuries of experience were strapping on the leaf like pieces, forged by Silvan smiths.  Not a single Elf was missing a protective piece of armor.  Mistakes of the past were not ever to be repeated.

Thranduil’s forces reminded Glorfindel of the very animals that dwelt in the forest.  Those who took to the forest floor were organized like a wolf pack, small but efficient, with a strong alpha as their lead.  Yet in these wolf packs, the stragglers or those who traveled in the near back of the group were not the weak members of the pack.  True they were always smaller than the alpha leader, but their speed and cunning was not to be trifled with.  Their keen vision, strong sense of smell, and swiftness of foot, made them perfect outer defenses for the pack as they circled the rear, always keeping vigilant.  But these were not wolves, these were wood Elves.

And there were the units that took only to the trees in such times.  These, Glorfindel mused, were more akin to flocks of birds who darted in the heights of trees.  They could travel swiftly in a tight flock, and with a  single call, spread themselves out in the branches of the trees like wild fire, scattering whatever pattern they had been in.  With another call they could circle in around a target, closing-in in the blink of an eye, like pernicious but deadly birds, Glorfindel noted.

Yet all of these warriors and non-warriors alike were swift in the trees and swift on the forest floor, but years of training under a vigilant eye selected those who were especially gifted to make up the ranks of their different units.

Glorfindel eyed the warriors that remained encircling the palace.  These Elves were large, strong, and broader of chest.  They certainly could handle a dead-on assault.  Their legs were long, thick thighs like the trunks of trees to hold their ground and charge with impending force if need be like stampeding horses.

Much was to be said of Thranduil’s warriors.  So few Elves outside of Mirkwood had such a vantage as did Glorfindel this night and impressed he was.  Glorfindel shook his head in disgust.  He had always wanted to take the time to thoroughly inspect Thranduil’s forces in detail, but this was not the way he had hoped it to happen.  These warriors were not as numerous as those of Imladris, but their controlled ferocity and instinct for protecting their home was intimidating.

As Glorfindel turned to speak to Thranduil he saw that he was surrounded by his sons and daughter.  They were listening intently to a messenger who had apparently just arrived.  The Elf’s face was pale, his posture showing the wear of what had obviously been a hard ride to the palace.

“My King, the band of orcs came upon us unawares.”

“How” Laurenor asked, surprise and frustration apparent in his voice.

The messenger’s face was pained, and Glorfindel noted that although his face was clean his clothing was full of what appeared to be orc blood intermingled with what was sadly the blood of Elves.

“My lord, we felt the Shadow’s breath as you feel it now.  We broke into a defensive formation and sent scouts out to assess where the threat was coming from.  They never returned, and as we were going to seek them out a crushing blackness overcame us.  A fog thick as the smoke a dragon’s breath leaves in its wake enveloped us.  We could see nothing, hear nothing, except the wild beating of our hearts.”

Aní gasped, “How is this possible?”

“I asked myself that question and hard as I tried, my tongue could not utter a word. My breathing became laboured as I felt a heavy weight descend upon me, and then they came, bearing down upon us.”  The messenger’s face was grim, and his eyes were dim with sorrow.

“Yrch,” Thranduil murmured, a fierce intensity shining in his eyes.

“Yes my lord,” the messenger’s eyes were stricken with grief.

“We have lost many this night,” Legolas whispered as he looked into the warrior’s eyes.

“Yes, we have.”

Rainiel pressed the weary Elf, “Forgive my curtness, but pray tell, were you able to defend yourselves at all?”

“Yes, my lady.  Once the orcs descended upon us, the weight of the Black breath was lifted and we were able to defend ourselves, but not before we bore many injuries and losses.  It was a group of thirty, and they inflicted much damage upon us.  Under normal circumstances our group of twelve would have easily routed the foul creatures, but they had the advantage this night.”

“And you had no warning, from the units further South of this attack” Legolas queried.

“Nay my lord, not a word.  We found this most startling as it is the direction the accursed creatures came from.  We fear the worst.”

Thranduil stood, his head bowed in silent contemplation.  How could he have missed this attack?  He had felt none of it and all so close to his realm.  He knew what evil masked these dull creatures, but he had not expected an attack so bold.

Legolas voiced Thranduil’s concerns aloud, “Dol Guldur has released its vileness upon us in a way unseen in the past.” Legolas paused as he looked at Thranduil, and catching his father’s eye, he continued, “And yet I sense that this attack will not quite reach your borders Adar.  The Black Ones yet fear your might.”

“I hope you are right Legolas.  I hope you are right,”  Thranduil sighed, clearly exhausted from the burden of Shadow that weighed so heavily upon him.

Upon finishing his questioning of the messenger, Thranduil made sure all the warriors had been informed of the happenings.  Of how the attacked had been precipitated, of the loss of Elven lives.  Units began disappearing into the dark forest, with faces pressed into hard lines.  The remainder of this night was going to be the darkest indeed.

Legolas looked at his father, his light armor in place, “I take my leave of you, my lord.”

The formality in Legolas’ voice made Thranduil wince.  No longer was his son in front of him.  In his place stood a deadly warrior, ready to defend his home.  Thranduil rationally understood Legolas’ role.  His place was with those who were merging into the night, but despite this Thranduil grabbed Legolas’ hand in his and whispered, “No.”

Legolas looked away from his father’s imploring eyes, “Adar, I must.”

Thranduil reluctantly let his son’s hand go, “Be safe my son.”

“Always, Adar, always.”

Elrohir and Elladan had their weapons in place and looked expectantly at Thranduil.

“And you two, although I know I cannot bid you stay, be safe, for I could not bear to burden Elrond with any ill news,”  Thranduil spoke gently to the two.

Elrohir and Elladan bowed to Thranduil. 

Glorfindel too had his weapons in place, “Thranduil, you understand my need to go.”

Thranduil nodded his head, and silently he thanked Glorfindel for going.  Having the elder warrior accompany his son and the twins lent him some comfort.  “Take care,” Thranduil clasped Glorfindel’s shoulder, “and watch out for them,” Thranduil threw a glance to the backs of the three young Elves who were silently disappearing into the forest.

“Be assured that I will guard them with my life,” Glorfindel responded, squeezing Thranduil’s shoulder in turn.  And with that Glorfindel turned and was gone.

Glorfindel peered ahead towards Legolas who had swiftly vanished into the trees alone.  *And then there are those who hunt like the lone hawk, pouncing on their prey when no attack is expected.  These I fear the most, and for these I fear the most,* he thought to himself. 

“Elrohir, Elladan,” Glorfindel whispered, “You make sure you keep close to Legolas.”

The two nodded in agreement and soon were off trailing closely behind Legolas.

***

In the meantime Laurenor was organizing warriors to surround the palace, and as Aní was heading out, Laurenor called out to him, “Wait!”

Aní turned and saw the look of concern on his uncle’s face, and without needing to ask it, Aní answered his uncle’s question, “I will stay with them if you wish.”

“That would bring great comfort to my heart,” Laurenor admitted.

Aní searched for his mother before he joined Istawen and Lotórie, finding her readying to mount her horse.  “Naneth,” Aní cried out.

Rainiel turned to face her son, her countenance clearly showing the pain she bore at departing from her son and husband.  “Do you go with Legolas,” Rainiel asked, hoping that her son would answer in the negative.

“No Naneth, I stay with Istawen and Lotórie.  Laurenor wishes for me to be with them in case…,” Aní’s voice trailed off, unable to speak what was obvious.

“This brings peace to my already troubled heart my son,” Rainiel answered, relief clear in her voice.

“It is my heart that is troubled, Nana.  Please take care.”

“I will take care my son, u-'osto [fear not]!”

Aní embraced his mother tightly, and as he released her he looked into her eyes and silently helped her onto her steed.

As she galloped into the dark shadows of the forest, a chill ran down Aní’s spine.  He turned to look for his father but could not find him.  Instead he saw Thranduil walking amongst the warriors that were surrounding the cave fortress, dressed in a thick but flexible armor. 

“Hir nîn [my lord], where is my Adar,” Aní asked Thranduil as he neared him.

Thranduil sighed, “Your father has accompanied the group of healers and scouts that is going to aid the units that were attacked.”

Aní’s eyes widened with fear.  He spoke steadily, but the tightness in his voice betrayed his concern, “How far south will he travel?”

Thranduil’s eyes softened as he recognized his grandson’s fear for his father, but he answered him truthfully nonetheless.  A seasoned warrior stood in front of him at this moment, not his grandson.  “Erutunín will go as far south as is possible.  We need to aid those that may have been attacked.  We need to account for all our warriors that are on patrols in the South.”

Aní’s face reddened with anger, but his voice did not betray his emotion, “Hir nîn, that is my role as a warrior.  My Adar is no scout!”

Thranduil’s face bore no emotion as he coolly answered his grandson, “You are mistaken Aníralendon.  Erutunín is an expert scout.  Do not forget he spent many seasons in the company of Elrond’s sons and the Dúnedain.  He knows the arts of healing in the wilds like no other.”  Thranduil’s face relaxed into a sympathetic smile, and he whispered so no others could hear, “We live in such times where loved ones must put themselves in harms way.  I for one am glad you are here.”

“Ai, Daeradar.  I only wish no one had to risk their lives. I wish that my Naneth and Adar weren’t warriors, weren’t skilled in arts that are needed in such times, and were simply regular folk that needed protecting.”

“I too sometimes wish these things, but ‘tis not our place, and it is best we face our burdens with hearts free of what ifs.”

“My King,” Laurenor called to Thranduil, approaching him from where he had stood with a group of warriors.

Thranduil turned his head to Laurenor in acknowledgement.  Aní, seeing his grandfather was needed quickly took his leave of Thranduil and headed into the cavernous keep.

Thranduil paused to think of his children, his grandchildren.  Rainiel was off riding between units, ascertaining their positions, setting out the pieces like a game of chess.  Although calculating and strategic, Thranduil knew that unlike a game, Rainiel was acutely aware that lives were at stake.  Laurenor was closer at hand, organizing the guard around his stronghold.  And his marriage-son, he was off serving as guard to a group of healers who went to meet up with the injured Elves who had survived the attack.  Thranduil was relieved that Aní had ultimately accepted Laurenor’s request to remain with Istawen and Lotórie.  And Legolas, Thranduil worried for his youngest son.  Darkness was drawn to the brightest of fëar, and Thranduil feared for Legolas for he was a bright star amongst his people, much like Nyére had been.  

“Ter oiomornie, tulta tuolya [Through endless dark, summon forth your strength],” Thranduil whispered an ancient summons for the strength of warriors.     

“My Lord, some words for your people?” 

Thranduil was taken from his thoughts by Laurenor’s words.  “I will address them shortly,” Thranduil answered in a firm voice.  As Laurenor turned to take his leave of him Thranduil added, his voice full of concern and care, “Laurenor, take great care of yourself.”

Laurenor’s voice softened, “I will Adar, and I will ask the same of you.”

Father and son embraced, and then Thranduil entered his cavernous palace and addressed his people, sharing words of assurance, and most of all of hope.

***

Lenmana had been swiftly taken by the hand and lead into the palace by Istawen. 

“You are being attacked,” Lenmana asked, her voice shaking.

“Some of our warriors have been attacked, and we guard against an attack to our home,” Istawen responded through a tight smile.

Lenmana shook her head in acknowledgement.  As she entered the room, Lotórie ran and clung tightly to her mother.

Istawen’s voice responded to her daughter’s fears, “I am here no little one.  I am here with you.”

“Where is Ada,” Lotórie’s little voice trembled.

“He is out making sure we are safe,” Istawen answered

The door opened behind them and Aní walked in.  Lotórie ran to him, encircling him with her little arms. “I am so glad you are here!  You are not leaving are you,” Lotórie asked, her eyes brimming with tears.

“No little one, I am to stay here with you,” Aní assured.

Lenmana sat silently in a corner of the room.  This was not her story to live, but here she was witnessing a very different horror, a different fear, than the ones she had become so familiar with.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

To my lovely reviewers-

Daw the Minstrel: The twins are in for a long evening but I am afraid it is not the way they expected it to end!

Nilmandra:  Glorfindel demands to be written in just such a way.  I have received several e-mails from an unknown source suggesting *exactly* how Glorfindel would act- Me thinks our Golden Flower is hacking away at computers : )  Poor twins, it looks as if fun is only a small part of their lives.

Mellon1:  Thanks for the review.  Writing is certainly an interesting task which sometimes can get away from you.

Hanya the Bloody Angel:  Alas, I felt bad for the male Elves as well, but it seems Evil doesn’t want to let the males get the females back.  Well, we shall see, there still may be some revenge ahead.

SimplySara:  I am very happy you like how I have written my characters.  I worry that sometimes they come off to campy!  Even if I tried to write non-arrogant males, they just seem to take off in that direction all on their own.

Coriandra:  I think if Elladan and Elrohir had children of their own they would have been tipped off that Lotórie was being sneaky.  Elves, like elephants, have long lived memories so I don’t think the females are going to get off.  Weird comparison, Elves/Elephants.

Creation Song of Ilúvatar

Chapter 26:  Navaer- Farewell

A/N:  This chapter is rated R for graphic violence.  Please do not read if graphic violence is not your cup of tea.  I do not think it is superfluous violence.  The violence depicted here illustrates the brutality of war and the havoc which hate engenders.  In my mind, our wood Elves were painfully aware of such realities and had to suffer through the onslaught of Shadow.

Somewhere deep in the darker parts of the forest, where foul things crept and slithered, lay a life, who was gasping for the bit of breath his lungs could hold.  The Elf opened his eyes and tried to raise his head from the ground, but hard as he try he could not get the muscles in his neck to respond.  Instead, the blood pounded in his head more fiercely, causing his head to ache as if tiny daggers were deeply imbedded in his temples.  Again, the Elf tried to move his head and this time he managed to turn his head to one side.  As he rolled his head on the ground, blood began trickling on the dirt beneath him.  The injured Elf squinted his eyes, trying to scan the earth beside him.  What he beheld caused his stomach to lurch violently.  There beside him lay the bodies of many Elven warriors, strewn about, clearly dead.  Some had arrows protruding from their bodies, whilst others limbs had been ripped messily from them.  Not only had the attack come upon them suddenly, their aggressors were also cruel and sadistic.

The injured Elf peered further into the dense night and caught the eyes of another who was looking his way.  ‘Twas a young Elf, who was on his first mission so far south.  The two Elves locked eyes, finding some comfort in the fact that they drew breath together.  The injured Elf also dared not stare at the younger Elf’s injuries for they would bring more tears to his eyes. 

The young Elf  grasped an object in his hands that he clutched onto dearly, afraid that if he let it go, he would let go of all that he knew.  So tight was his hold on this object that the blood had drained from the young Elf’s hand.  He was grasping what was left of his life.

The young Elf managed to whisper words to his fallen captain, “ú-aníron, ú-aníron [ I don’t want (it), I don’t want (it)]…”

The injured Elf responded, his voice rasping the words, “Not wanting, do you seek mercy then?”

The young Elf mustered more strength to speak, “Ai, mercy indeed.  I do not want what is left of this life.”

The injured captain looked at his young warrior, forcing the wind to travel through his throat, “If you seek me to dissuade you from the Halls of Mandos--  I, I could not, and will not do that. That is your choice alone to bear.”

“My captain,” the young Elf smiled weakly, “my life has been given for life.  I can seek no better peace.” The young Elf gasped sharply, as an intense pain coursed through his body.

The injured captain wanted to reach out to console the young warrior, but he found his limbs did not respond.  They lay limp at his side, as if rooted to the earth.

The young warrior gifted his captain with a sorrowful smile, “Navaer [farewell] my good captain.  I have given of this life all that I can to middle earth and our people, and now I seek to walk in the Halls of Mandos.”

“Go well my young warrior.  May Elbereth shine a bright path for you. Your life may come to an end on these lands, but your path looms always onward. Until the end of the world…”

And with these words the young warrior relaxed his grip and let out his last breath, turning his eyes towards the stars that seemed to have mercifully appeared above them.

The injured captain turned to look at the object that fell from his warrior’s hand, and upon seeing it fall on the earth, unfettered tears streamed down his face.  Seeing it laying there, bloody and lifeless, the captain could not help but relive the last moments he and his warrior had lived together in defense of their beloved forest home.

Flashback

The young warrior caught the ferocity of the orc’s punishment swiftly across his leg.  The orc mercilessly swung his crude sword with such force that the blade sliced into the Elf’s knee, causing him to collapse. As he fell, young Linwe caught a glimpse of an orc that was going to burry it’s sword in his captain’s back. From centuries of practice, an arrow flew truly from Linwe’s bow and imbedded itself squarely between the eyes of the creature.

The Elven captain, whirled around, only to find the orc that would have swiftly ended his life, laying behind him, but what truly caught his attention was the young warrior who now kneeled upon his good knee.  The young warrior was  dragging his injured leg beside him, fighting the orcs that descended upon him.  It was as if these foul creatures wanted to drive him into the ground.

The Elven captain had never witnessed such a gruesome battle.  Orcs were foul creatures but what they did this night was completely devoid of respect for life.  Around him Elves cried out as orcs overpowered them and proceeded to viciously rip their limbs from their bodies.  As if it was not cruel enough to inflict such malice, the offending orcs would toss whatever they had ripped into the injured Elf’s body, leaving the Elf to die a slow but certain death.

The captain ran to aid the young warrior named Linwe.  He would not allow them to pummel him into the ground, even if it cost him his life.  After all, his own life, the captain understood, was already spent on this eve.  The Elven captain managed to run over to Linwe’s side, despite his many injuries, and with a ferocity akin to Mother Nature inflicting her terrible wrath, the captain poured out his own fury upon the offending orcs.

The young warrior, witnessing his captain’s bravery conjured up his strength and rose to stand and fight next to his captain.  They stood, back to back, hacking and blocking any black thing that came their way.  Around them Elves were falling, and the sounds of their anguish were slowly fading, until the two Elves heard no Elven voice cry out.  They were the last Elves standing.

“We die this night, my captain!”

“Then let us die on our feet Linwe- together!”

The two warriors leaned against each other as they bore the brunt of orc blows, but the orc blows died down, and the two Elves realized that most of the orcs were gone.  A small group of orcs remained and they looked upon the tired and injured Elves with perverse delight.  The orcs spoke not a word, but it seemed they needed none as they were agreed upon their vile course of action.

Suddenly the orcs sprang upon the Elves, and began forcing them apart.  One large orc separated Linwe from his captain and with one swift movement, the orc grabbed Linwe and tossed him across the small field the battle had taken place on.  Linwe landed hard on the ground.  As he struggled to regain his feet, Linwe realized that not only was his knee injured, he had incurred a deep sword wound on his side and it was bleeding profusely.

The Elven captain looked in horror as his young warrior was thrown.  He tried to run to aid Linwe, but was caught in the dagger of an orc.  The captain looked into the gleaming eyes of his attacker, and the orc’s eyes danced with rapture as he pushed and turned the dagger in the Elf’s stomach.  The orc then pushed the captain’s body from his dagger, and as the Elf stumbled backwards a sharp pain seared in his back and ripped through his shoulder.  As he was stumbling back, he looked down and saw an arrow protruding.  He had been shot from the back with such force that the arrow made its way through his shoulder. 

Linwe looked on in dismay as the orcs played with his captain’s life.  They were laughing, toying with the Elf who refused to fall.  Linwe mustered what remained of his strength and raised his bow.  An arrow flew from the fallen Linwe and hit the orc who was firing arrows into his captain, but the shot was not strong enough to render the creature dead.  The enraged creature walked over to Linwe and raised his dark sword high over head and swung down with a force that cleanly severed the Elf’s shooting arm.

Linwe fell backwards from his kneeling position, and with a dull thud felt the earth meet him.  Linwe looked up at the orc, his eyes wide with shock.

The orc took the severed arm and threw it at the young Elf, “A wood Elf you ain’t no more.” The orc laughed ravenously and his companions joined him.

Another orc grumbled, “Leave that one here to die. Let that other one watch.” The orc then turned to the Elven captain, “So you wanted to die together.  Sorry to disappoint you pretty one.  You we leave to live and watch this young one die.”

The orcs howled out in perverse pleasure and trotted off into the night, leaving their devastation behind.

Linwe looked numbly at the limb that had been dumped on his body.  Blood was spilling from his wound at an alarming rate.  He could barely hear his captain’s words.

“Linwe, you bleed profusely.  You must do something to try to stop the bleeding or you will surely die,” the Elven captain cried out, desperation clinging to his voice.

Linwe looked up slowly to his captain, and back to the limb on his body.  The loss of blood was rapid, but slowly the young Elf managed to wrap his tattered tunic on his wound.  Linwe used one of his leather belts to tighten around the gaping wound in the manner of a tourniquet.  Being utterly spent, Linwe fell onto his back once more and stared up into the starless night sky, clutching the arm he had lost to his chest.  He held onto it tightly, as if afraid that if he lost it, he would loose his path on the way to death.

The Elven captain too lay on the ground, the arrows in his body now a numb pain, and as he looked up into the night skies, he found no stars to comfort him. Soon he was lost in his own delirium, and wondered if he was ever to open his eyes again and witness the silver of Elbereth.

End Flashback

The Elven captain remembered some of the last words he shared with his young warrior, “Then let us die on our feet Linwe- together!”

“I die on my back,” the captain whispered hoarsely, “and I die alone.  All my warriors gone before me- what a cruel fate.  May they find peace in death for their passing to Mandos was not as it should have been, so cruel.”

The captain grew silent, and as the silence of the forest filled his thoughts, images of those he loved danced before him.

“Valar hear me,” the lone captain pleaded, “let her find happiness.  Let her know the kind of love I held in my heart but dared not whisper in her ears.  Let her see the light of your lands.”

The captain looked unto the stars and closed his eyes, images of his love burning brightly in his heart, comforting his visions.

****

As Legolas rushed through the treetops, tears were flowing from his eyes and trailing into the forest night.  Each tree he touched feverishly whispered of lost lives, of terrible pain, and as he traveled further and further south, the voices of the trees grew more despondent. 

Though he mourned, his senses were sharp, attuned to all that flew by him, and as he furthered his journey the Blackness of the night grew more dense and sinister.  Legolas could hear the Shadow’s breath laughing as it rustled the leaves of the forest.

His pace grew tenfold, and to those who followed him, it seemed that Legolas was indeed flying though the trees.  Elladan and Elrohir followed some distance behind.  Legolas was not within their visual range but thankfully the trees seemed to open up the path their beloved wood Elf had taken.  They too wanted Legolas to be safe.

Glorfindel noted, somewhat wearily that when he and Elrond’s sons departed after Legolas, they had not replenished their supplies, but Glorfindel trusted that Legolas knew what he did.  It was obvious that the well traveled Elladan and Elrohir trusted to follow the wood Elf as they were, leaving Glorfindel little choice but to follow as he was.

Glorfindel positioned himself between the twins and Legolas, but even he had trouble keeping up with Legolas’ feverish pace.  He noted that Legolas was taking a round about trail headed in a steady southerly direction.  Legolas’ path would not take them through the Mirkwood Mountains, but East in the direction of Rhosgobel.  This probably had something to do with the messenger birds that frequented the wood Elf and perched on his shoulder to chirp what information they had gathered.

Legolas tread this path to avoid the encroaching Black Breath that slowly made its way in a northeasterly direction.  Rhosgobel was fifty leagues from Thranduil’s palace in the hill, and they covered close to this distance in record time.  In ten hours they had covered thirty leagues.

Elladan was now running swiftly besides Glorfindel, and as if reading the Balrog Slayers mind, Elladan whispered, “It appears Legolas aims to circle around the Shadow that threatens Thranduil’s kingdom.”

Glorfindel replied, his voice un-winded from the pressing pace they kept up, “I sense the same.” But what Glorfindel did not speak aloud was his worry that the Shadow was allowing Legolas and his companions to circle around it unharmed, unchallenged.  “There is a reason for this madness,” Glorfindel murmured to the trees.  Elladan caught his words but did not answer, his mouth set in a grim line as he pursued his sworn brother through the trees of Mirkwood.

Fifteen leagues west of Rhosgobel, their trail again plunged South, and their pace slowed to a crawl as they approached the Old Forest Road.  It appeared that not many had taken the road of late.  Legolas was not surprised as the trail was now a dangerous path, but the trees spoke of hidden walkers whom had passed with their consent.

The trees spoke of the Elven companies that had crossed to the South.  There were not many to cross the old road at this point so far east, but there presence was whispered by the trees nonetheless.  Legolas’ mind was formulating the numbers of units that were currently on dispatch in the South.  A bird arrived to bid his lord tidings and landed lightly on Legolas’ shoulder.  It chirped and whistled softly into the wood Elf’s ear.  Legolas listened intently and nodded his head on occasion.  Legolas spoke a few phrases in Silvan and the bird was off again, flying northeasterly on his appointed task.

Elladan could not contain the smirk that illuminated his face as he turned to talk to Glorfindel, “You may have slain a Balrog, but you dear Lord of the House of the Golden Flower cannot claim that birds whisper tidings in your ears.

Glorfindel’s smile grew wide as he looked towards Thranduil’s son, “Nay, little birds do not whisper in my ear.  Tell me Elrondion, have you learned this bit of wood magic for yourself?”

Elrohir interrupted the conversation, adding his own observations, “Ai, have we tried, but I am afraid it is something innate in a wood Elf.”

“No, the birds simply do not trust any Noldo.”

Glorfindel cocked his eyebrow and looked at the one who uttered the slight.  Legolas too wore a smile, although it was somewhat forced.

Elrohir and Elladan stifled a small laugh, and slapped Legolas heartily on the back.  With that the four were off again, gliding softly along the forest floor.  Legolas would not risk them to fly through the branches of the trees as he knew that the Imladris Elves were not as accustomed to taking to the trees.  He could not risk a sound, and so they swept silently over the ground.

***

It had been two days since Legolas had departed from Thranduil’s stronghold, and he had stopped only briefly, to eat, drink water, and rest briefly. 

On this trek Glorfindel had learned more of Silvan ingenuity and craftiness in spite of the encroaching hold of Dol Guldur on Mirkwood.  When Legolas would stop, he would scurry higher into the branches of a tree.  As he climbed, the son of Thranduil would murmur some Silvan words to the tree.  Glorfindel could not make out the words as he was unfamiliar with the little known and used Silvan tongue.  Upon reaching the heights of the tree, the wood Elf would close his eyes and press his head against the tree.  An ancient magic was at work as the tree would reveal a hidden nook in the tree which held skins stored with water, dried berries, and lembas.  And in this manner the four travelers fed themselves and satiated their thirst.

As the sun stood high overhead on the second day of the trek, Legolas leapt into a large oak in a small clearing in the dense forest.  He swiftly scaled to the top of the tree whispering words of greeting.  As he reached his intended position, Legolas pressed his cheek gently against the tree, and Legolas smiled, as the tree shook with delight.  Too long had the great oak gone without feeling the light of one of her wood Elves and in this moment she was delighted that not only was a wood Elf gracing her with his presence, the most brilliant light of all graced her on this shadowy afternoon.  The oak gently lowered some branches revealing a tiny nook where the items of sustenance were stored.  As Legolas took the proffered items he silently thanked the bearer tree for aiding him in his journey, rewarding the great oak with ancient words of friendship.

“How do others know that this tree no longer bears the water and food they seek,” Glorfindel asked Elladan, his neck arched upward, trying to catch a glimpse of Legolas.

“The trees let them know,” Elladan answered, offering Glorfindel a shrug, indicating his own wonderment with the craft of their Silvan kin. 

Elrohir added, “Many of these trees that have been untainted by Shadow bear these needed items.  It seems that there is an efficient system in place in how the water skins get refilled and the food replenished, so efficient it simply seems to happen-“

“As if by magic,” Glorfindel grinned, letting out an amused grunt.

Legolas landed softly besides the trio and offered them water and food which the other Elves quickly accepted.  Their pace was tiring, even for Elves used to scouring the wilds of Middle Earth, and these moments of rest were much needed for soon enough they were running as always South.

***

Elrohir looked up into the darkening sky, trying to make out their position, but the skies above were devoid of the dim light of early rising stars.  Nonetheless the capable scout in him allowed him to venture a good approximation, “We have traveled far these past three days, just over one hundred leagues.”

Legolas nodded, “Yes we near the narrow neck of the Southern woods.  ‘Tis a dangerous place, and as far South as our units scout.”

“The narrowness of those woods is dangerous as it is so close to that accursed hill, yet it provides small companies the ease to assess the goings on does it not,” Glorfindel asked, his tactician’s hat on.

“Yes,” agreed Legolas, “This is the reason so few units approach the area.”

The tightness in Legolas’ voice betrayed his concern for his fellow warriors.  No word had been received from them and Legolas feared the worst.  If they had been caught unawares as happened to the units stationed further north, they would not have had a chance to escape such an attack as the woods here were darker, turned against what they once had loved in the fair wood Elves.

Legolas searched the trees in the starless night, approaching and touching the trunks, and then retreating with much sorrow on his face. 

“They do not recognize my touch, they shun my words, so foul have they been turned, they ignore the touch of the Firstborn,” Legolas muttered as if to himself.  Legolas then approached an old tree that seemed to be dying, and as he placed his hand on it, he felt a chill reverberate through his soul.  The tree seemed to scream in pain as the Elf placed his hands on its body, but feeling the soothing fëa of his fair friend, the old tree surrendered to sorrow.  This tree was not turned dark, and because of its plight, Shadow wreaked havoc on its living core.

Legolas pressed his forehead against the old tree and began chanting words in the old Silvan tongue.  His hands massaged the tree as if trying to work out the stress of living under such intense Shadow.  The tree unburdened his soul and shared the horror of all he had witnessed.  It shared with Legolas the joy of knowing that the Firstborn, although few, still frequented him, but it told Legolas of the pain that he had felt reverberate through his roots. 

Legolas began to cry aloud as he urged the tree to share with him all that he had come to know of his companions.  The grief soon overwhelmed the wood Elf and he fell, slumping at the base of the tree, his body shaking in sobs, yet he continued to embrace his wooded friend.  The two mourned the loss of life and each in turn drew strength from each other.  Such was the way of the wood Elves and such was the way of the forest, always together in symbiotic relationship.   

Legolas slowly tore himself away from the aged tree.  He had not allowed for his senses to open themselves up to the song of Elves as he came close to the South.  He did so as a matter of sanity for if he was open to the song of the Firstborn he would also be open to the discordant song of Shadow. 

The Greenleaf sang a sorrowful melody, allowing the notes to filter in the air, but all that returned to him was vast emptiness in a place where the melody should have returned to him.

****

The injured captain’s eyes fluttered open as he heard a melancholy voice drift into his dreams.  It was only a dream, the captain chided himself.  He closed his eyes hoping that the voice he heard would help him on his journey to Mandos.  Again the sweet and sad melody reached his ears and he forced his eyes to open. 

It was not in his dreams!  Although faint, the song was alive.  The badly injured Elf opened his mouth to answer, but the dryness in his throat impeded his voice to answer.  The captain cursed his situation.  His body refused to pass to death, lingering among the living.  Yet solace had come to him, but he could not answer it.  What a cruel fate indeed.

****

Legolas abruptly stopped the melody and turned his head in a southeasterly direction.  “A light glimmers faintly. I feel its weak melody.  Come we must make haste,” Legolas cried out.   The four Elves ran quietly in direction of the faint melody.  All could feel its song, but the notes were fading, and they feared if they tarried it would come to its end.

  ~*~*~*~*~

A/N:  Ok I know the arm thing is quite graphic, but I hope its metaphorical value was not lost. 

To my wonderful and very much appreciated reviewers:

Daw the Minstrel:  Yes, Thranduil has gained and lost much, and as hard as he tries he cannot control what happens in his realm, nor clearly foresee what is to come.  He has no *ring* no *mirror* to aid him, not that I dislike the others who do.  It just makes me be more in awe of Thranduil’s character.  It’s funny how each fanfic author has their take on things, and reads somebody else’s interpretation and thinks, wow that’s cool!  Thanks for the kudos.

Simply Sara:  I to like to balance out humor with angst.  It makes my characters feel a little more developed if you will.  I am afraid that without both, they tend to become one-dimensional.  Gotta give our Leggie a chance to show all sides of himself ;-)

Mellon1:  I am so glad you find my story awesome.  I hope what I have done with my characters in this chapter works well and is not too much of a departure.  Thanks again for your reviews, they feed my muse. 

Rhiannon:  I am so glad that you discovered my story and more pleased that you have read through it so quickly.  Kudos to you! Ah yes, kids, I love them to death, although not a mom, I am always around my sisters’ children.  Hope your husband was gratified by his meal.  If not maybe a plate of Lembas would do next time   And thank you so much for your flattering observations.  My muses and I thank you profoundly. 

Nilmandra: It must be so hard for Thranduil. He has to stay with his people and yet his children spread like dust in the wind (now I have that Kansas tune in my head).  Glorfindel is a fine Elf in all senses of that word.  I would like to explore him further, but am feeling him out in this story.  Oh my, don’t let Glorfi read that, he might get the wrong idea.  Quick change your passwords!

Hanya the Bloody Angel:  Each time I write your penname I have to laugh quietly to myself- in a good way : ) I completely forget Aní’s full name as well and have to go back to find it when I use it.  Glad I was able to be of service!  Darn Shadow it just doesn’t work with you, comes to do what it wants, ai and the Black Breath, well me thinks some Nazguls need mints ;-)

Creation Song of Ilúvatar

“When I was young I walked all over this country, east and west, and saw no other people than the Apaches.  After many summers I walked again and found another race of people had come to take it.  How is it?  Why is it that the Apaches wait to die--that they carry their lives on their fingernails?  They roam over the hills and plains and want the heavens to fall on them.  The Apaches were once a great nation; they are now but few, and because of this they want to die and so carry their lives on their fingernails.”

                                    ---Cochise of the Chiricahua Apaches

Chapter 27:  Sorrow’s story

Thranduil thought of Nyére as he looked out into the darkened forest that surrounded his home, the increasing silence creeping its way towards the hill that held in its womb all that was precious.  He looked down at the gold and silver rings that hung from a simple leather necklace, strung around his neck.  He did not need to wear any reminders on his fingers of the bond he had with his wife, but nonetheless he kept the rings close to his heart. 

Nyére had been an enigma, but Thranduil knew more of her and her heart than he dared to admit to himself.  He grasped his chest as he felt a tightness grip him.  His breathing seemed to become an act of will, no longer a natural and unnoticed functioning of the body.  Thranduil became aware of every breath he took in and let out, as if he stopped concentrating on the act of breathing, his lungs would not respond. 

How he wanted to take his heart and flee in Westerly directions, take his sorrows over seas that would open up and guide him on the Straight Path.  Thranduil choked back the sobs that threatened to spill forth from him. 

He glanced up and saw that the Elves that stood guard all seemed to be lost in melancholy reveries of their own.  Thranduil searched for his son and found Laurenor, staring out towards the West, his eyes lost in an unseen voyage.

Thranduil shook the sorrow that threatened to consume him, and gasped in chilled air around him.  The smell of the green woods filled his being with renewed strength.  Shadow was paralyzing them with the most powerful of weapons, reaching into the depths of their fëar, finding their most guarded sorrows, and unleashing them.

“Rise now, rise out of the sadness that threatens to paralyze you,” Thranduil commanded, his voice full of a desperate but penetrating force.

Laurenor’s eyes focused in and he gasped, feeling as if he had been holding his breath for too long.  The chilled wind traced its path along his cheeks, as if wanting to lull him into a trance once more.

Thranduil’s voice was again heard, “Breathe in the air of the woods.  Let the smell of life course through your veins!”

Instinctually obeying their King Elves all around inhaled sharply catching the scent of their home that the chilled winds could not blight out.

Laurenor’s eyes were wide with disbelief, “For how long have we been under this spell?”

Thranduil looked towards the sky, the few stars that struggled to shine through the encroaching Shadow, reaching their favorite friend.  “T’ would seem that half of a mortal hour has passed.  This Shadow is treacherous, but this treachery heartens my soul.”

Laurenor looked at his father, wondering if the Shadow had caused some sort of temporary insanity.

Thranduil rewarded his son’s concerned look with a feral grin, “It seems the Shadow fears facing us with all our vigor intact.  Shadow acts with purpose, and from this purpose we find insight.”

Laurenor, smiled, his father’s adept reasoning rang true.  The Shadow, whatever came towards them was not yet powerful enough to face Thranduil’s might intact, and so it had hoped to waylay the wood Elves with witchery, but it was not to be this night.

***

Legolas stopped, the song that drifted towards him took hold of his heart, and for a moment he was not sure he could answer with an open heart.

He closed his eyes and allowed the sorrowful colors to seep into his heart, and with eyes closed he felt his way towards the dimming light of one of the Firstborn.  Here in Southern directions Legolas walked with the hope of his people holding him forth.

“By the grace of Ilúvatar,” Legolas whispered as he walked out into the clearing where a bloody and one-sided battle had been waged.  He opened his eyes and let out a soft cry as his eyes took in the despair and extinguished melodies.

Glorfindel cast his eyes downward, memories of past pains colliding with the images he saw in front of him.

Elladan and Elrohirs’ faces were set in grim lines; the memory of their Naneth’s pain at the hands of the accursed soulless ones was ever present.  Too many had suffered innumerable pains and here the foul evil and hate was on display.

Legolas gathered his will and walked forward amongst the dead, and found the dimmed life that had been calling to him.  He dropped to his knees and picked up the Elf’s head, gently in his arms.

The fallen Elf felt the light touch of his kith and kin and opened his eyes.  To his amazement, none other than his fair prince looked down on him, with eyes full of love, but not pity. 

“Legolas,” he whispered hoarsely. 

Legolas gently laid his fingers on the speaker’s lips, silently asking the Elf to speak no more.  “Save your strength, mellon nîn,” Legolas whispered.  The fallen captain smiled,  a strange peace settled upon him.

Elladan and Elrohir were besides them, tending the many wounds, trying their best to save the song of Ilúvatar from ending for this warrior of the Firstborn.

Legolas eyes began to tear as he stroked the Elf’s face, “Mellon nîn, stay with me, I know you have the strength…”  Legolas’ voice died off as his friend’s eyes glazed over.  He looked at the Elf that lay in his arms, and urged his dying friend once more, desperation clinging to his voice, “Faelon, please- I could not bear to tell her that you have passed from the paths of this world.” But the eyes Legolas looked upon no longer looked on the paths that bore the living.

“Elladan, Elrohir,” Legolas cried out.

The two Elves did not stop from their fevered orchestrations, but it seemed the wounds were too many, and the blood that had been lost was too much.

Elrohir spoke, his voice choking on un-fallen tears, “It seems there is naught we can do.  He, he has lost too much- there are so many…”

Elladan took his brother’s hands in his own and held them tightly.  The two twin souls looked into each others eyes and saw the same grief raging, the same memories, and the same despair. 

Legolas buried his face in the fallen Elf’s chest, his sobbing now unchecked, “Faelon, please forgive me, forgive me, forgive me…”

“Life on this middle-earth is cruel, but death, it is wholly unfair,” Glorfindel whispered under his breath and cast his wet gaze up into the skies where the light of Anor was beginning to creep its way out. 

***

In the depths of the Thranduil’s stronghold, Elves clung to each other, beckoned back from sorrowful dreams by the voice of their King which echoed within the cave walls. 

Istawen held her daughter closely.  Too brave was her daughter, too strong she was for one so young, but life in Mirkwood took such a toll on the few young who had been born of late.

In a dark corner was a fore lone figure, forgotten it seemed in the madness of the moment, huddled.  She did not hear the words of Thranduil, too lost was she in her own sorrows, but she did not need Shadow to bid her to these dark places.  No, she carried her life on her fingernails. 

Lotórie crawled out of her mothers arms and wandered towards the forgotten mortal.  “Lenmana, you should sleep.  Maybe you will be gifted with pleasant dreams.”

The woman looked towards the brave leaf child, nodding her head in agreement.  Lotórie led her over to a makeshift bed where Lenmana lay down.  Lotórie lay besides her and wrapped her little arms around the mortal maiden.  Istawen smiled solemnly.  In spite of the fear that filled her little flower, she had the courage of heart to comfort others.

Warmed and comforted by the embrace of the child, Lenmana drifted on the path of dreams that held hidden meanings, potent medicine.

~~~

And in her dreams,  she made her way out into the garden, breathing in the intoxicating scents of the diverse foliage.  As the moon crept into the sky, Lenmana noticed that as some flowers were readying for sleep, others were stretching out their limbs, and unfolding their petals to welcome the night.  She could not help but think about the flowers that bloomed by the light of the moon in her desert… her desert.  The thought slowly unwrapped itself until it possessed her.  As hard as she tried she could not forget the lands that birthed her, the flowers that witnessed her unfolding, the sands that had comforted her journeys.

She let out a heavy sigh, if only she had refused to go to the banquet, and eaten in her chambers as she had accustomed.  If only she had allowed that corner of her mind that held fear to have guided her, but she had been lulled into believing her conscience was safe, removed from the pain of her stories.  It was not so, and she had ventured too far. 

*I do not have trickster’s strength, his ability to laugh in the face of death.  I heeded the place where laughter is born.  That is not mine to possess.*

She watched as the delicate flowers revealed their beauty to drink in the light of Isil.  She sat on the earth, and took some comfort from the life that breathed beneath her.  Her eyes set to the patient task of taking in the beauty unfolding before her.  These ways of looking upon the world were being diminished by the onslaught of defeat in her lands and her thoughts wandered to these lands and peoples she had left behind on that fateful winter day. 

Her heart ached, did they not commune with the natural world?  Did they only intend to possess and dominate the life about them, twist it until it met their needs?  Her people’s ways were at odds with these new settlers.  She wondered if ever there was to be a time of peace.  Yes there would be peace, but the costs would be high for the Hopi, for the Dine.  Would they ever be able to look upon the world, the world that had delivered them unto earth, and tell their stories, sing their songs?

A pale light caught her attention, and she saw him, shimmering under the light of the moon.  He was walking silently through the gardens, and he paused and looked up towards Isil, as if drinking in the soft light.

Legolas knew he was being watched but he paid no mind to the mortal eyes that trailed him.  Instead he gathered himself and sat on the grass, content to commune with the life that gathered around him.

She studied him, forgetting the flowers that bloomed around her, and found that he was as intoxicating as the scents that wafted through the air.  He looked intensely at some gossamer blossoms that willed themselves to greet their prince with as much gloriousness as they could muster.  She smiled, feeling some semblance of shared knowledge with him, but as she stared at him, it occurred to her that as she had patiently watched the flowers display themselves, he looked but with sight that lacked patience.  He was not forced into the act of patience by the passage of time. 

His vision drank in all that was around him, and he did so as if it were an instinct and not a learned trait.  In this moment, he reminded her of the aged trees she would fall asleep under in her desert mountains, slow, deliberate, precise.  There was no rush in his movements, no need to hurry the moment because life would claim him. 

A shudder ran through her as she began to *see* this man, no this Elf, as the strange being he and his leaf people were.  They were born of stars and trees.  Realization swept through her, the qochata, like the Hopi, like the Dine, they were all born of earth, children of the same creator, and to the earth they returned when their spirit tired.

He turned his eyes towards hers, catching the curious woman’s gaze.

“I sense you have a question of me,” he asked through a demure smile.

She brought her eyes away from him, and breathed in deeply, as if struggling to formulate a question that had been plaguing her.

“Where are all of your old?  Mithrandir is the only elder I have seen since my awakening here” Lenmana asked, raising her hand towards her eyes and then extending it out towards her surroundings.

It was part of her way of speaking, Legolas noted.  Her words were accompanied by hand gestures.  He quickly deduced she was signing sight.

“And what of your children, I have seen too few, and hear not the cry of babes,” the woman continued, finishing her thought by bringing her hand towards her mouth, signing the silence she felt around her.

Legolas eyes studied the hand she raised to silence her lips, *She knows not of the immortality of my kind?  This must have been lost in her dreams.*  He stood and approached her, causing her to stand up in anticipation of him.  He placed himself next to her, allowing her eyes to fully explore him.

Lenmana studied the strange being in front of her.  When she had first awakened, she believed that she had stumbled into a qochata settlement, but her time with the leaf people had shown her differently.  There were the ears that were so distinct and shared by all she had come across in this settlement, and there were the other qualities that were more ethereal, non-human.  The light that emanated from their bodies, as if they were small moons, and then there were the eyes.  If anything she had stumbled into a dream.

As she looked into this Elf’s eyes, she felt a chill rise through her.  They were so blue.  Never had she looked so closely into eyes that were so different from hers, and yet it was more than the startling blue of the eyes that caused her to tremble.  There was deepness, a gathering of force akin to the thunderstorms that rolled across desert lands.  In his eyes rolled those thunderstorms, waiting to let loose the waters and thunder held in the bellies of clouds.  His eyes were as untamed and unpredictable as those thunderstorms, at one moment glazed over with indifference, and suddenly fraught in fire, only to be dampened by an intense sorrow. 

She raised her hand to touch him, believing that this being would disappear, like the precious dew that clung to a delicate desert flower.  As the sun unfolds its mighty arms across the earth, the drops of water disappear, leaving the flower thirsting, needing more, so too was her need.

“Our people do not age, nor do we die,” Legolas finally whispered as he gently took hold of her approaching hand.

The chill that had enveloped Lenmana’s body exploded when his hand took hold of hers, causing her body to shudder.  She withdrew her hand from his grasp, afraid that if she let it linger, she would be singed by the fire of his energy. 

She mumbled, “He holds the fire that sleeps in clouds,” as she stepped away from Legolas.  Her eyes were wide with apprehension, and she crossed her arms against her body, attempting to soothe the shivers that coursed through her.

Legolas stood still, allowing only his body to rise with the rhythm of his breath.  He felt that if he moved, she would run away like a startled deer, and from deep within him he allowed the soothing of his feä to reach out and embrace her.

Lenmana felt a slow warmness reach its way across her body and encircle her in a soothing embrace.  She allowed for her breath to even, and tried to steady the shaking of her body.  As the enormity of his reply melted its way into her consciousness, the dreams she had wandered in and came to know in the grayness of sleep, snaked out and slithered their way into every corner of her consciousness. 

“Pamuya ,,” she exclaimed softly, realization dawning on her.  “I have come to know of your stories in here.” She placed her hand over her heart, “Mithrandir said that you were as eternal as the stars but I did not understand him, but now I think, I am coming closer to that.”

“Yes, Lenmana, we do not die, and are sent to the slumber of death only through great injury to our body.” Legolas, in turn, placed his hand on his chest, over his heart, “or the breaking of our heart.  Although immortal, many of my kind, many of those I have loved have been sent to the Halls of Mandos by the weapon of an enemy, for we have known too many wars.”

And in his eyes was unleashed a sorrow, so deep, so intense that the flute maiden had to look away.  She was not meant to look upon his eyes, she was not meant to look so closely upon the moon.

“Lenmana, I am not so far removed from you.  We are both children of Ilúvatar,” Legolas spoke gently, sensing the young maiden’s awe of him.  He placed his hand gently underneath her chin and guided her eyes to face his once more.

She replied weakly, “But different nonetheless.  Your kind who still walk these lands count the elenath as kin, do you not?  And my people, we were born from below the earth, in caves we first opened our eyes, to darkness.”

“Yes both these things are true,” he added, his voice sounding like a sad melody.  “But let us not linger on such things.  I am more interested in sharing stories, and listening to tales that I know not, but will gladly learn.”

He looked at the mortal woman, a huge sorrow burdening his eyes, “I want to forget this evening, forget the sorrows that have visited me this fateful night.”

He extended his hand out to her, and gently tapped her nose.  This elicited a smile from Lenmana, and Legolas quickly took hold of the change in her demeanor, inviting her to sit next to him in the night garden.  A single blue bird flew into the garden and whistled its soft tune, serenading them with its own stories.

The two spent a quiet evening, remembering the stories shared in dreams, spinning new tales, beneath the light of Isil, sharing in dreams a brief reprieve from the pains of the world.

***

“We need to take care of the dead,” Glorfindel gently reminded the three younger Elves.

Legolas looked up toward the elder Elf, still clutching his friend in his arms.  His eyes were red from the tears that flowed forth.  “There are too few of us to provide a proper burial,” Legolas answered, his voice hoarse from sorrow.

Glorfindel knelt down besides Legolas, placing a gentle hand on Legolas’ cheek, “No we cannot burry them, but we will also not let their bodies be further fouled by dark creatures.”

“We shall burn their remains then,” Legolas answered, his voice sounding like a ghost’s whisper.

“Yes,” Glorfindel replied, his hands gently extracting the fallen warrior’s body from Legolas’ hold.

Elladan and Elrohir stood and held out their hands towards Legolas, who took them and stood upon shaky legs.

The four then gathered the bodies in the center of the clearing.  Legolas had taken any belongings he found meaningful, betrothal bands, clasps, and other such items that he could return to families that would want something to hold on to and give closure to their grieving.  As the bodies were arranged with much care and reverence, Legolas put flame to the bodies of his friends.

The four watched as the flames rose into the blackened day, a bright light of challenge, of hope despite loss that reached the very tops of Dol Guldur.

Legolas looked at each fallen warrior and offered words that would find their way to the Halls in which they were now embraced with peace.

As the fire died down, Legolas broke the silence, “We need to leave.  Our presence here has long been announced.”

The four friends, whispered words of farewell and silently turned in Northern directions, taking with them the stories of those who had fallen.

*~*~*~*~

daw the minstrel : Our wood elves are magical aren’t they.  I think that’s what I love about the Elves in The Hobbit, their whimsical and magical ways, but yet they remain more earthy, more knowable to the reader than say the Elves of the Silmarillion.  In this I know I share sentiments with fanfic authors out there who adore Thranduil and his wood elves.

Nilmandra:  The captain dies not alone, but I am somewhat unsure if I did the right thing, killing off an OC I have created.  As I wrote this story I felt that I had drifted away from the wood elves as wood elves.  I guess that’s the problem with introducing OCs, so I tried to weave in more of their perceptions and relations with the woods around them.  I’m glad it worked!

mellon1: I am glad that you found it a pleasure to read.  The pace and feel of this chapter feels, but hopefully it remained an interesting read that continues to illicit smiles. : )

Hanya the Bloody Angel: Well bloody angels may not make most people laugh but for some reason I found it a bit odd and quirky!  Yes romance needs to be stirred up a little more doesn’t it, to allow the characters more room to make their choices in.   Mints for Legolas?  I think he really wants some ;-)

Coriandra: I think Lenmana is going to be more of an observer of sorts, but she might be more active in this dreamscape my Elves love to frequent.  I find that is a better way to get her involved.  Otherwise she would be too Mary-Sueish charging in on her horse and saving the day, and me thinks Thranduil would object!  Thanks for your words, they feed my muse.

Creation Song of Ilúvatar

Chapter 28:  Glorfindel and the Greenleaf

The four Elves had kept up a feverish pace, trying to outrun groups of orcs which had found their trail.  To Legolas’ dismay, there were too many of them to stand and fight.  His heart boiled as he wanted to reap revenge upon the accursed ones, but he knew better than to risk his companions in such an act of foolishness.

As dusk descended on the day, the group was able to slow their pace and take a much needed rest, but Legolas would not trust their lives to the ground and so they made their way up a large oak.  As they climbed through the first set of heavily leaved branches, the four came upon an opening.

Legolas motioned them to stop whispering that he had to retrieve something from further up in the tree.  Legolas disappeared but soon returned with a bundle of what seemed to be thin wooden planks threaded together with rope. 

He gave Glorfindel one end of the bundle and began to unroll it.  It became apparent to the other three that Legolas was setting up a talan in the tall tree and quickly deduced what needed to be done.  As the bundle was unrolled Elladan and Elrohir fitted the wood planks together and as each segment was laid out, Glorfindel and Legolas would tie the ends securely so that the wood planks would not come apart

Soon the makeshift talan was set out, and the floor was seamlessly merged together and sturdy.  Legolas quickly flew up the tree again and returned with bedrolls that had been secured to the heights of the trees.  As these were laid out the four ate the lembas they had their disposal, and drank their water thirstily.

Legolas stood on the edge of the talan and peered out amongst the branches to the unnervingly clear night.  He had not spoken much.  The pain was too heavy in his heart to allow him to speak.

Glorfindel spoke to the young Elf, his voice tired with sorrow, “Thranduilion, get some rest.  I will keep the first watch this evening.”

Legolas did not turn to speak to the ancient lord, but the words he whispered into the wind were not lost to Glorfindel, “It is in these times that I wish to be counted amongst the Second Born, for I do not know how I can live an eternity with this burden.”

Something in the whisper of Legolas’ words struck Glorfindel, and he felt his chest threaten to cave in with unshed tears.  He struggled to regain his composure but Elladan had noticed his distress.

“Glorfindel, is everything well with you?”

Legolas heard Elladan’s words and turned to look at Glorfindel who was leaning against the strong trunk of the tree that held them in its heights.

Glorfindel looked up and Legolas let out a soft sigh as he saw the immensity of pain that was reflected back in the moon blue depths of Glorfindel’s eyes.

Legolas sat down next to his many times teacher, and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, his voice trembling with sorrow, “Forgive me Lord Glorfindel.  In my selfishness I forgot that your eyes have witnessed, that your memories carry all the sorrow, the loss of our kind.”

Legolas quietly wept upon Glorfindel’s shoulder, not sure if he cried for his loss, or the burden that Glorfindel carried, to have been present at so many of the tragic moments in history.  In this moment he felt as a mere elfling.

Glorfindel quietly embraced the younger Elf, understanding his pain, but as much as sorrow had walked with him he also had much joy as companion.

“Remember Greenleaf, that although I have witnessed much sorrow and carry that with me, I too have known the grandest of joys, the greatest gifts of life.”

Legolas looked up towards Glorfindel, “It is strange, I feel these sorrows overwhelm as they did when I was a mere child.”

“It is the weight of the Shadow, Legolas, I feel it to,” Elrohir added, his eyes red from tears that had fallen.

Elladan quietly nodded his head in agreement.

Legolas shook his head, as if trying to rid himself of the dark whispers that attempted to render him useless in his fear and sorrow.

Glorfindel looked let his gaze settle upon each of the younger Elves as he spoke, “’Tis true, the Shadow attempts to weigh us down with our sorrows.  Although real, let us not fall to the temptations of darkness.”

The younger Elves nodded in agreement, breathing somewhat easier now that they had some semblance of control on their emotions.

“Rest, the three of you,” Glorfindel commanded, “I will take the first watch.”

Hearing the command in Glorfindel’s voice, they did not dispute and lay down upon the mats.  So tired they were that they quickly drifted off into sleep, despite the danger that surrounded them.

Glorfindel looked up to the stars that pierced the blackness of the night, and as if challenging the Shadow, he called out, “Elbereth, Star Kindler, may I rejoice in your light this night.”

Glorfindel settled into his watch allowing his senses to reach out into the night.  He gazed over the three sleeping Elves, lingering upon each and remembering the many headaches they caused their Adars.  Glorfindel smiled, with his aid of course.  As he looked over Legolas’ sleeping form, he couldn’t help but remember an incident with the Greenleaf.

***

Flashback

Glorfindel lay on his bed, his head tilted towards the rising glory of Anor that slowly crept into his room.  A breeze scented with the soft tones of nature played with the sheer panels that served as a wall to his bedroom sanctuary.

Glorfindel followed Anor’s trail along his bed, watching as the light slowly made its way towards his face.  His room was positioned just so, that he could gaze unto the gloriousness of minuial [morning twilight], the morrowdim which found its end in the lights of the western valley, where the Bruinen flowed.  To his east, a large window opened up the majesty of the Misty Mountains which rose in the distance. 

At dusk, Glorfindel would meditate in his room, gathering in the setting of Anor’s brilliance, as the light seemed to disappear into the womb of the mountain.  Aduial, tindómë [evening twilight], would grace the Firstborn with the first brilliance of the elenath, the stars of Varda.  In these moments Glorfindel would whisper words of greeting to the lady of the stars, “Elbereth, Star Kindler, may I rejoice in your light this night.”

But morning greeted him, and the ancient lord, rejoiced in these small moments of peace which were gifted for him and all free folk to enjoy.  As the sun filled his room, Glorfindel felt his body energized as the rays of light warmed him.  Glorfindel stretched in a most feline manner, his bare skin drinking in the brightness of the day.  Yet each dawn that he greeted also took him closer to the time when all of his kind would leave these lands, in favor of the land across the sea, and so although glorious, dawn was also a sad mistress for the Firstborn whose time was fading on middle earth.

Unfortunately his quiet peace was soon disturbed by a small bundle of energy that had run into Glorfindel’s room and was in the midst of launching itself onto the Eldar’s bed. 

A loud humph was heard as this bundle of energy landed solidly on Glorfindel.

“You are awake!” the little elfling cried out, too close to Glorfindel’s ear.

“Yes I am little nymph,” Glorfindel laughed as he extracted the elfling’s arms from his hair.  “What are you doing here so early?”

“Lord Elrond told me that you like company in the mornings,” the little elfling replied.

“Oh he did,” Glorfindel replied, his voice hinting his annoyance with the Lord of Imladris’s sense of humor.

From his side, Glorfindel heard a little voice gasp in awe, “Lord Glofinel, its magic!”

Glorfindel smiled, the little elfling had not yet mastered pronouncing his name.  In fact, he wondered why it was that his name was the last to be properly pronounced by little elflings.  Glorfindel began to think it had more to do with a certain lore master’s bidding than with the child’s use of the tongue.

“It is magic, is it not?”

The little elfling enthusiastically nodded his head in agreement and snuggled into Glorfindel’s chest.

The beauty of sunrise was captivating, and Glorfindel’s room was a prime location from which to view such a spectacular vision.

Glorfindel gazed down with much love at his little companion, endeared by the elfling’s innocent awe of beauty. “Look see how the river seems to dance with the light of Anor,” Glorfindel pointed out to the young eyes.

The little elfling giggled and clapped his hands with enthusiasm, “Glofinel, the river *is* dancing!” The elfling was now standing on the bed, mimicking the dance of sunlight and water.

“Look Glofinel, I am the river,” the golden-haired elfling laughed as he jumped and flipped in the air.

“Careful little Greenleaf, you will hurt yourself,” Glorfindel warned Thranduil’s youngest son.

“Dance with me,” Legolas cried out as he hopped onto the floor, pulling at Glorfindel’s large, strong hand.

Glorfindel begrudgingly accepted the little hand and pulled himself out of his most comfortable bed.

“I am the water, and you are the sun,” Legolas giggled as he continued his interpretive dance of river water.

Glorfindel paused for a moment as he watched the bundle of energy pretend he was water skipping over rocks and flowing rapidly through swift currents.  How could he possibly mimic Anor?

Legolas looked towards his dancing companion and saw the look of confusion on his face.  He swore, although adults were supposed to be smarter, sometimes they just could be quite dimwitted. 

“Like this,” Legolas prodded, exhibiting his finest imitation of Arien driving the sun, “now you do it!”

Glorfindel laughed heartily and began his dance as the sun, and little Legolas spun and leapt around him, weaving his way in and out of the Lord of the Golden Flower’s legs, who had to be watchful that he would not catch the little river that surged around him.

Glorfindel was so caught up in his dance that he did not notice that he and Legolas had an audience.

“It seems that Glorfindel is more of a spirit of the wood than he lets on.”

Glorfindel spun around to find Elrond and Thranduil with huge grins on their faces.

Thranduil nodded his head in agreement with Elrond’s summation, “Indeed he is, but I never thought him so *free*.”

Elrond’s lips trembled with mirth, “This light is quite becoming, your skin radiates its Vanyarin heritage quite beautifully.

Glorfindel’s face turned a deep shade of red as he remembered he was not yet clothed.

“I beg your pardon,” Glorfindel muttered and quickly threw on a pair of leggings that were laid out on a chaise in his room.

Legolas was now unhappy that his dancing partner had been taken away from him.  He marched up to the two interloping Elves and folded his arms with quite a flourish across his chest.

Glorfindel quickly recovered from his embarrassment and decided it was time he participate in the verbal sparring.  “It seems our little Greenleaf has studied you quite closely, Thranduil.  If he were wearing robes this moment, I dare say they would whip around as impressively as yours when you are displeased.”

Thranduil threw Glorfindel a pointed look.

Legolas’ eyes brightened as he caught on to Glorfindel’s dig at his Adar.  “I can also do you Lord Elrond!”

Elrond’s eyebrows furrowed as he questioned the young Elf, “What do you mean, you can “do me” little Thranduilion?”

Legolas turned to Glorfindel who was now covering his mouth with his hands. “Glofinel taught me all your scary poses.  See here’s one.” Legolas then furrowed his eyebrows together and pursed his lips with his hands upon his hips.

Glorfindel was now silently laughing behind his hand, and even Thranduil had to admit his son had Elrond down, “Elrond it seems my son has bested us both with artful imitation.”

Elrond could not hold his trademark furrowed brow-look and instead he shared a hearty smile with the elfling. “Such indiscretion is amusing in ones so young,” Elrond laughed, as he muffled Legolas’ hair eliciting giggles, but his tone grew quite icy as he addressed Glorfindel, “but it is certainly not so amusing in ones so old.”

Glorfindel saw Elrond’s death look and knew that if he did not escape soon, he would have to withstand the Noldo’s wrath. 

“I fear I do not wish to relive any wars of wrath at this moment, so I must bid you a quick farewell!” And with that, Glorfindel leapt out of his room.

As Thranduil, Legolas and Elrond peered to the ground below they saw Glorfindel salute them, and run into the trees below, swiftly disappearing amongst the vegetation.

Thranduil laughed, “And that my dear Elrond is why I live in a cave.”

Elrond snorted and cursed the Balrog slayer under his breath, but the corners of his mouth betrayed the smile he was attempting to hide.

Legolas looked up to his father, “Can I do that to Ada?”

Thranduil’s face became quite serious, “No you may not.  You could hurt yourself gravely little one.” Thranduil knelt in front of his son, holding his small hands in his, “You must promise you would never do such a thing.”

Seeing that although Legolas was shaking his head in agreement but glancing at the opening in the room with *that* look in his eyes, Thranduil tried a different approach.  “When you are grown, you and I can leap together from this very place, but not until you are grown.”

“Do you promise Adar,” Legolas responded excitedly.

“I promise my little wood sprite.  Until then you have many things to learn.”

Legolas reached with his little arms to encircle Thranduil in a hug, and Thranduil in turned picked him up and turned to Elrond, “Now that this crisis has been averted, let us head to that breakfast we originally intended.”

Elrond shook his head in fatherly understanding, “Let us,” and the two Eldar headed towards Elrond’s study where there was a delicious assortment of pastries and fruits set out on a balcony.  Legolas was peering over his father’s shoulder when he saw Glorfindel waving at him from some low-lying branches. 

Legolas made to wave but Glorfindel shook his head and instead winked at the Greenleaf, and raised his finger to his mouth, indicating he did not want to be found.  Legolas responded with a wink and smile of his own, giggling at Glorfindel’s antics.

Thranduil looked over towards Elrond, “Does he forget I am a wood elf?”

Elrond dismissed Glorfindel’s follies with a flourish of his hand, “I do not think he cares what we know and think,” and raising his voice, Elrond added, “and I do hope he clothes himself as there are many impressionable young maidens about.”

End Flashback

***

As Glorfindel kept his spirit full of light with pleasant memories, Legolas made journeys of his own, the words spoken earlier taking shape in the paths of his dreams.

***

“It is in these times that I wish to be counted amongst the Second Born, for I do not know how I can live an eternity with this burden,” Legolas spoke to the mortal maiden who sat at his side.

Lenmana looked upon Legolas, fear and confusion evident in her eyes. “Why would you curse yourself in such a way,” she asked of him, clutching her chest as if trying to keep her pain from spilling forth.

Legolas whispered, “We have our own curse, and I grow weary.”

The weight of her mortal body weighed upon her and the young woman tried to stifle a yawn.

“Forgive me Araswen, I forget your body tires whilst mine lingers in wakefulness,” Legolas added, the irony of his words not lost on either.

“I am afraid,” the deer maiden spoke, her voice like a child’s who did not wish to meet the monsters of nightmares.

“Come with me.  Maybe then you will not be alone.”

He led her from the garden towards his room where he laid her on his bed, and wrapped his arms around her, trying to keep the demons away, the demons that came to take her life.

As she lay in his arms her body felt so small, so insignificant next to his.  She closed her eyes, wishing that the nightmares would not come this night, but it was a lie, all that surrounded her was a lie and no one could hear her voice as she cried out in the face of death.  But she hid her voice, not knowing where to begin, not knowing where to start, not knowing how to yell to the winds that carried her.  The ghosts of her past were always present, never really forgotten.  And she carried her life on her fingernails.

The world was unsettled and in that moment he felt the immensity of her fragility, her mortality.  She was like a delicate petal, beautiful and exotic to the eye that would tear with the simplest touch, but he knew this image was misleading. In truth her life, it was a battlefield that had witnessed too much, strewn with wounds that did not heal, ready to fall off the edge and loose itself in blackness.

No, he could not cure all that, even if he thirsted for it, like a cruel challenge.  He was immortal, time was on his side, but she, she died with every day she lived. He wished that he too could know this mortal end, and he wished he could chase the nightmares away.  If only it was that simple, that simple to chase away demons that did not exist, but he could not chase away the demons that haunted her, that haunted him. 

Her demons were her own, pulsating with blood, breathing the air, haunting her visions, all too real, born of sorrow.  If she were but a child, it would be uncomplicated to wrap his arms around her and soothe her with gentle words and strong arms. 

Lenmana opened her eyes, knowing he would be there, and yet she crawled from him, turning away from him, her face wet from the tears that trailed down her cheeks.  All that pulsed inside her mind, all the sorrow, all the pain, all the doubts, he knew.  She could not close herself to his probing mind.

Legolas whispered to her, “Tell me this is all a lie that I know not what I see, what I feel in you.  Tell me that my eyes, that my heart deceives me.” 

“No,” Lenmana called out softly, “these ghosts are mine own.  They are my sorrow, they are my joy.  I cannot be anything else.  I was named by the light of a morning sun, and that life is what you have before you, nothing more, no brilliance, simply a woman.”

“Let me try to have you then without fear, for these moments, that is all I ask.  Concede me your soul, for this instant that is but a note in the melody of the world- give this immortal heart that moment.  Let me find what is beautiful, let my eyes grant my own heart its own privilege, the beauty I seek.” Legolas sought to chase away his own ghosts with beauty.

But the beauty Legolas sought was momentary, fragile, like a butterfly, and that was all he desired.  Agelessness gifted him the ability to know devastating beauty, a beauty that existed beyond the grasp of too few years of vision.  This fleeting beauty, though, was for his immortal soul a thirsting experience, intoxicating, and all too short-lived. 

She misunderstood him.  He was not aching for the beauty so akin to the leaf people, the lithe shape of a body, the golden hair, or the melodious voice of a minstrel.  All these things could be mundane for an immortal who breathed in these visions for over a millennia, beautiful yes, but not profound in the way of a beauty that dies.  This beauty Legolas hungered to taste was sublime and fleeting, and faded all too quickly for the Eldar.  Except for the stars, these were the constants in their lives, the only remnants of the true gloriousness of time, which raged with fires uncontrolled.

“Your immortality grants you a fearlessness I can never posses, let alone imagine, Pamuya [water moon].  Do not ask of me what I cannot grant,” Lenmana cried out.

“I do not believe that,” Legolas answered firmly.

“You must,” Lenmana pleaded.

“Never.”

How had things come so quickly to this? The resoluteness of Legolas’ voice caused Lenmana to tremble.  How had time managed to stir fire and let it burn down upon her so mercilessly.  Yet it was there, inside her.  Had it always been?

She looked at him and the ferocity in her eyes made him catch his breath.  These were the moments that drew Legolas.  To his father’s dismay he was his mother’s son, lured by the intensity of strange mortal feelings, fascinated by the fires that erupted from nothingness.  Witnessing these fires, Legolas felt his immortality banal, too gentle, and he wanted to drink in the tempestuousness of her mortality.

Suddenly she froze, and the fire that roared inside her waned, replaced by feelings unknown to Legolas.  Lenmana’s eyes bore into him with a new found sadness.

“You look upon me as if I were an object, providing you with an intoxicating moment which you need quenched,” she uttered through tears.  “How dare you,” she whispered downtrodden.  “It is because of difference, because they did not see us as equal children of their god, because we refused to live as them that they have justified our massacre, and now I understand that you would take from me what they have taken from us?”

“No,” Legolas whispered, “and yes.” He admitted the truth behind her words.  “You are mortal kind, and I am immortal.  I dare not pretend otherwise.  Nor can I profess that I take… ask anything else of you, for that would be an affront to you, to all that you are.  Do you not know this?”

Lenmana looked at this being in front of her, and grabbed her head with her hands as if trying to hold back all the thoughts that were wildly pouring through her. 

Legolas continued, “It is not my intention to take anything from you, to steal away who you are.  I only wish to share of your uniqueness, taste of your mortality, if only for a brief spell.  I cannot be anything other than who I am.  My kind we are children of the ellath, born of Uial [twilight].  With the passage of Arien, we fade, and men are born unto this world, Araswen.”

Legolas’ eyes burned with a passion that could only be conceived by immortal kind, deep and constant, secure in its intentions, but brutal in its intensity, fed by the haunting of immortal ghosts.  “All I ask is to taste of the woman whose name was bestowed by the morning sun.  All I ask is *of* you, woman before me, nothing more, nothing less.  I want to taste the intensity of the Second Born, taste the newness, the brilliance of minuial .”

“Pamuya,” the flute maiden whispered, “How does one understand immortality, after all.” Lenmana reached forward and touched his hair, cautiously letting her hands sink into it, “I will never be certain of anything that concerns you Pamuya.  The only certainty I understand is that I will one day die.”

“Be certain of this,” Legolas breathed, grabbing Lenmana’s shoulders, bringing her towards him, to drink in the sweetness of her lips. 

It is in these times that I wish to be counted amongst the Second Born, for I do not know how I can live an eternity with this burden.

*~*~*~*~*

 To my wonderful reviwers:

daw the minstrel:  Thranduil is amazing to me.  To hold off shadow without a ring of power and secure his people’s safety.  There’s a lot of depth in Thranduil and I would love to explore that!   

Nilmandra: Thranduil was wise to see what was happening, and yet Legolas is still young.  I hope that comes through in this chapter, the struggle he begins to have with himself.   I do find that Lenmana works better in dreams, at least she has more room to maneuver as a character. 

rhiannon:  I wish I were a pro.  Just a humble fan of the written word and Tolkien’s works.  Now if only I could find the same enthusiasm for work and grad school;-)

Mellon1:  Yes that was a dream, and this last part with Lenmana and Legolas was also a dream of sorts.  I find it easier to sort certain things out in Elven dream land.  Thanks for your encouraging words!

Lady Larien:  Wow, your words feed my muse, well at least they encourage me to keep writing.  Thanks for letting me know you changed my name. This way I can keep track of my great reviewers!

Hanya the Bloody Angel:  Isn’t it funny how we all *see* these characters.  I have to admit, since Thranduil was described as having golden hair in the Hobbit, I always assigned golden hair to his son as well, so PJ using a blond Legolas didn’t bug me at all!  Legolas has his mouth puckered ready to kiss for those mints… hurry before he gets stuck that way!

Coriandra:  I don’t think it will be too long of a wait to see what happens when Lenmana and Legolas meet, the result will definitely be interesting.  I imagine that being immortal, Elves take the loss of Elven life more tragically than mortals do.  At least that’s what I feel when they are trying to get in their pretty heads.  I think the Shadow has more to do with Legolas’ feelings than he realizes.

Creation Song of Ilúvatar

Author’s Note:  Ai, I suffered from a major case of writer’s block, but fortunately the fine folks at Stories of Arda group gave me different tips with which to try to get out of this rut.  I thank them hardily as it really sparked my writing and why it brings me joy.

To catch up on where the story has been, Thranduil and company are preparing to engage an evil presence which comes there way.  Legolas, Glorfindel, Elladan and Elrohir have left on a dangerous mission to the southern reaches of Mirkwood to assess the status of the southernmost patrol units of Thranduil’s realm.  Unfortunately, Legolas and companions find that all of the members of this southern unit have perished at the hands of the orcs.  They begin their return to Thranduil’s halls and on one of their stops to rest the Shadow tries to cause them to despair.  Glorfindel remembers a happy moment he shared with Legolas as a child, and Legolas again walks in dreams with Lenmana.

And now on with the story…

Chapter 29:  The Black Breath

The skies overhead had darkened as an ominous Shadow cast its blight upon Thranduil’s realm.  It was as if Sauron’s servants had taken ghost shapes and cast their own shadow upon his lands.  Thranduil would not have it.  He breathed hard with determination, his muscles tensing beneath his armor.  Thoughts ran unbidden to his children whom had not returned from where their duty had taken them.  He bowed his head in silent contemplation, reaching out with his fëa, to find that the bonds he shared with his children were still intact.

He imagined the fevered yet calculating fervor his daughter was most likely taking to her task.  Thranduil then glanced at Laurenor who was quietly walking around and talking to the guards individually, placing comforting hands on shoulders.  He knew, once found, the Elves who had survived were being attended by Erutunín’s hands- if any survived, Thranduil added soberly.  Inside, Istawen, his marriage daughter, and Aní were comforting those within the cavernous halls with the gentle ways of the Silvan folk.

And Legolas, he feared most for his youngest, the most spirited of his children, the most at risk from the pain of Shadow.  So much love and passion was held in his child’s heart that Thranduil feared the enemy would swoop in upon this compassion like hawks hunting their prey. 

Thranduil was broken out of his reverie by the fast approaching sound of a horse galloping at break neck speed.  From the trees, Rainiel came forth with distress evident on her face.  She quickly slowed her mount and leapt off running towards Thranduil.

“Something is wrong my lord!”

“What is it Rainiel,” Thranduil gasped, as his bones were chilled to his very depths.

“The Shadow, it is moving quickly, but not towards the halls Adar.  As I was riding towards the different patrols and assessing placement and needs I noted that at first the forest creatures and trees were eerily silent as if afraid to breathe and be discovered by the Shadow, but suddenly the evil mists that encroached upon us, lifted and the forest creatures slowly regained their voice.  The Shadow flees South as if it has been alerted to something” Rainiel reported, somewhat out of breath after her rapid fire account of the events.

As if on cue, the mists that were surrounding the hill which held Thranduil’s halls, lifted and the noise of night creatures was heard once more.  Even the trees seemed to shake their branches in relief, but there was something more in the speech of the forest creatures.  They seemed to be calling to Thranduil, warning him.

In his mind Thranduil heard the voices of the trees rumble, “They have found him, they have found him!”

“When did you last receive word from Legolas,” Thranduil ordered, his voice calm, attempting not to betray the depths of his concerns.

But Rainiel heard the fear in his voice and saw the fear that was captured in her father’s eyes, “Adar, just last night we received word from Legolas carried by the wings of one of our forest friends that he had located the Southernmost patrol and all had been lost to Shadow.”

Thranduil grasped Rainiel’s shoulder with more strength than usual, “Where is Legolas Rainiel!  Where is he?”

Rainiel stood speechless, the desperate strength with which her father grasped her shoulder began to become painful.  “Adar,” she finally she managed to whisper.

“Forgive me, my daughter,” Thranduil replied, softening his grip on Rainiel’s shoulder and taking her into an embrace.

Rainiel ran her hands comfortingly through her father’s hair.  Many winters had come and gone since she had seen her father so affected, and tears ran down her cheeks as she understood that something evil was coming her brother’s way.

***

As the four Elves traveled quietly along the forest floor, Glorfindel could not help but be wary, and finally voiced his doubts to his companions, “The Shadow had purpose in letting us pass.  I fear we are slowly being herded into a trap.”

“Ai, I too have had this growing doubt nagging me,” Legolas responded, while looking around into the darkness of night that surrounded them.

Elladan and Elrohir both wore grim faces, the Shadow also growing in their waking thoughts.  It was coming.  They all knew it.

Glorfindel gasped as he saw a Blackness materialize from the heavy mists in front of him.  “Be gone servant of Shadow,” Glorfindel hissed as he unsheathed and raised his sword towards the Blackness.  What little light was found in the skies that night seemed to find its way and light the mighty Eldar with the radiance of the West.  The Black Shadow seemed to be frightened as it fell back.

Legolas let fly an arrow and a piercing screech was heard as the arrow found its target in the Black Shadow. 

Elladan and Elrohir had also drawn their swords as the Black mass came swiftly towards them.

Glorfindel jumped in front of them and swung at the approaching corpse-like shadow.  The sword was met in kind by a morgul blade, blackened by evil craft.  The shadowy figure parried the blow with a strength that knocked Glorfindel to the ground as he swiftly blocked the oncoming blade.

“Glorfindel,” Elladan cried out and the twins charged the Black Shadow with an intensity that shone in their eyes as if the stars of Elbereth were set upon their brows. (1)

But the Black Shadow let out its breath and a fierce wind pounded them to the ground.  Soon they realized that the Shadow was driving them from Legolas.

“Legolas,” Glorfindel shouted desperately, “this malevolence is meant for you!”

Legolas had spent the arrows he had in his quiver as the Shadow swiftly surrounded him.  He managed to unsheathe his long knives, and began to parry the blows of the black sword in a display of desperation.  The Shadow was too strong for one Elf to bear alone.

From behind him, Legolas heard Glorfindel cry out, “Lacho calad, Drego morn!  [Flame light, Flee night!]” And Glorfindel’s mighty sword shone forth with such brilliance that indeed it seemed that it had burst into flame and night was rendered into light.  The wretched creature wailed and cowered before the onslaught of the Balrog Slayer and foe of the Nazgul. 

Legolas joined in the onslaught swinging his twin knives in a dance of dangerous beauty.  Elladan and Elrohir retook their attack from the other side of the foul creature that dared to walk as Man.

“You were once a Man, but you are no more than a mere servant, a wretched being who knows not the joys of the moon and the stars.  You will crawl back to your lord,” Legolas roared with the wrath of the Firstborn.

The Wraith was now wailing as if it were weeping its demise at the hands of the glorious Elf Lords, lords of old that were come back to revenge upon the Shadow all the death and pain suffered by the Firstborn.  In a last effort, the Shadowy figure gathered the last bits of evil breath it had left and let fly a dagger which found its mark.  As the dagger was released the Shadow lost the meager hold it had on a bodily form and fled South with the dark winds to the barren hill that held its malice and evil.

Glorfindel dropped his sword, the dagger had passed unnoticed by him as the black breath disguised it in darkness.  Elladan and Elrohir placed their swords on the ground, leaning heavily upon them, attempting to capture their breath.

“We must not linger,” Glorfindel spoke wearily, the creatures of Shadow will be back with more thirst for vengeance.  Orcs are close behind us, and who knows what other creatures of darkness hunt us this evening.”

Elladan and Elrohir shook their head in agreement and turned to look at Legolas.  What met their vision was a sight as terrible and Black as was the Shadow.  Legolas sat, with his back against a tree, clutching a dagger that was imbedded in  his chest.  He was trying to hold back the blood that was pouring freely out of the wound.  He looked up towards them, his face pale with death, and as his own breath left his body, Legolas’ body slumped forward.

***

Lenmana was sitting quietly in a corridor in Thranduil’s halls.  She could not be with the rest of them, united in their fear, together as a people.  Her doubts and fears were eating her away.  It seemed she was always being consumed, but now she was being devoured. 

She pulled a needle of bone from her belt and fingered it absent-mindedly with her fingers, unconsciously attempting to drive away all feeling.  She succeeded and she sat on the cold stone floors feeling numb to everything, including the blood that coursed through her body.  Her body was breathing, but she felt her soul was dead. 

She took the needle and began to slowly drive it into the center of her palm as she remembered the lonely man’s suffering the bearded men who came to her lands had shown her.  She wanted to feel pain, to find out she lived, and her pain, it was the only thing that was real.  The blood trickled down her palm and onto her wrist.  This hurt was real; it was alive. (2)

She longed to feel alive, the way she felt when she was first learning to catch the winds on her steed’s back, with the sun warming her face- alive.  She longed to hear the laughter of her mother, so loud and bold, the soft chuckles of her father who knew his place next to her mother, his wife, his love.  There was so much love between them yet it had been so hard for them to love and in the end death claimed any love that had been bourn to steal it hungrily for itself.

“Yes,” Lenmana thought to herself, “death comes to devour us, to cover us in blackness.  Maybe then, when my eyes close, I will truly feel nothing.”

***

“No, leave her,” Istawen urged Aní, “she is not of mind to keep company with a hall full of what are strangers to her.”

“But she does not understand how the Shadow can make one desperate in sorrow, how it snakes its way into our hearts to choke out all hope,” Aní whispered sadly.

“She does not, but there is not much that can be done.  The Shadow holds more power over mortals and I am afraid that our energies must be focused on our young,” Istawen spoke to Aní in a motherly tone.  “I know you would wish to ease the darkness that infiltrates her thoughts, but she alone can fight this battle.”

“But this is a foe Lenmana has never met,” Aní cried out softly.

Istawen placed a gentle hand on his check, “Ai, I fear this is a foe she only knows too well.  If we interfere, do this for her, or simply aid her, we will only cause her to lapse into darker dreams.” Istawen looked towards the passages that Lenmana had disappeared into earlier, “She must understand she is truly not alone.”

***

“Rainiel, is Adar well,” Laurenor whispered into his sister ‘s ear as he came to stand next to where Rainiel was holding a rather distraught looking Thranduil’s hand.

“He fears for our brother,” Rainiel spoke, shivering with the dark threat that was lingering in her mind.

Laurenor took his father’s other hand, and grasped it firmly, trying to ease his father’s obvious misgivings.

Thranduil responded by grasping their hands in kind more securely, “All we have is hope, and that is better than none at all.”  Thranduil wore a brave face as he smiled for his children, remembering he was still their father and they needed him.

Rainiel suggested, “Can we not send out scouts to ascertain Legolas’ position, if he is well?”

“Or,” Laurenor added, “We can send winged messengers to Erutunín to see if has had word of Legolas.”

“I have done that already,” Rainiel interjected, “and Erutunín has had no contact with Legolas, “and our friends of the forest cannot pierce the black veil that has settled over the southern borders of our realm.”

“Indeed,” Thranduil spoke, his voice heavy with worry, “we must wait for Legolas and the others well being to be revealed.  We cannot risk loosing other Elves.” At this declaration, Thranduil bowed his head, understanding that although he wanted to run and search for his son, he could not risk the lives of himself or any of the others.  “Such a time to be King,” Thranduil thought to himself.

“As you said Adar, we have hope.  Legolas is not alone for the sons of Elrond and Glorfindel are with him.”

Thranduil nodded in agreement, “Legolas, come back to me my son…”

~*~*~*~*~~*~

(1) Parallel to Eärendil who wears the Silmaril “bound upon his brow.” The Silmarillion

(2) Inspired by Johnny Cash/NIN’s rendering of Hurt.

Creation Song of Ilúvatar

Chapter 30:  Of Blues and Greys

Legolas felt a sharp pain in his chest and reached to feel the dagger impaled in his chest- a blade of dark craft but its magic was weak.  If it were not, he would have been dead- yet was he alive? Legolas felt himself drift off into a grey world where color had somehow become melted into shadow.  He looked at his hands and they seemed to dissolve at the ends as if made of a fine sand being blown in the wind.  He clutched at his chest trying to stop the blood that oozed out of him.  Here was the only remnant of color in his world, the crimson of his blood, standing in stark contrast to the greys of his body.

He felt the ground weak beneath him as if its very foundations were lost in the shimmers of dark light.  The world he entered was like none he had ever seen, shadows ran like water in a swift river, and his body came in and out of itself.  Legolas fought the urge to disintegrate.  His body ached to be blown away into the cold winds that caressed him, tempting him with the painlessness of becoming as a void- nothingness. 

He heard the call of a voice, singing like a siren in a blackened night, calling to him, playing a wicked game as it hid in the corners of his mind.  Legolas felt his body fall forward and at the very moment he was going to release his soul and float into the temptress wind another voice sought him from the distance. 

At first the voice was coming from afar, but as it called out his name, the urgency in it rang louder and it strangled the siren song that had so tempted him.  Legolas felt strong hands on his face, and as he had earlier drifted into a realm of grey, he now found himself being hurled forth towards a world of sharp contrast and pain.

Legolas eyes fluttered open as the pain he felt took hold of his body.  Hovering above him was the face of Glorfindel who kept calling towards Legolas.

“Legolas, stay with us, do not stray!”

Elladan had removed the blackened dagger and was now preparing to dress the wound.  Elrohir was trying to clean it best he could without removing pressure from it.

“I fear that we have made the wound worse by removing the blade,” Elrohir commented, his voice afflicted with uncertainty.

“No,” Elladan reassured, if we would have left it in, it would have further poisoned Legolas. “Here Legolas, chew on this if you can,” Elladan urged, placing an herb in Legolas’ mouth, “if you cannot let me know and I will help you with it.”

Legolas nodded his head and chewed on the strong herb. 

Glorfindel noted that it was a common weed found in the wilds that served to slow the blood flow, keeping blood loss from becoming too severe.  Glorfindel now sat behind Legolas who was laid out.  Legolas’ head rested on Glorfindel’s lap and the elder Elf sang songs to the injured Elf, songs of the wood.

Elladan was nearly finished grinding up herbs and tree bark into a powder.  When finished he mixed part of the powder with a small amount of water creating a paste.  The rest he mixed with the remaining water to give Legolas to drink.  The tree bark safeguarded in the medicine pouches Elladan and Elrohir carried contained a thick oil which aided in the blood becoming thick, thus easing the bleeding from the wound.  The herbs were a mixture of a potent mineral and plants that also aided in the thickening of the blood at the site of the wound.

In merrier and less serious times, the twins would make light of Legolas’ use for the oil found in the tree bark.  Legolas would run the oil through his hair and suck on the bark gifted by the trees.  Legolas would playfully joke with the twins that they too could have glorious and lustrous hair if they followed his lead.

“Glorfindel, give this to Legolas to drink.  He must swallow a good amount,” Elladan instructed Glorfindel.  Glorfindel took the mixture from Elladan and gently propped the water skin to Legolas’ mouth.  Although weak, Legolas managed to swallow much of the concoction, but the effort drained him of what little energy he had.  He dropped his head back into Glorfindel’s lap.

Elrohir had cleaned the wound as best he could and quickly lifted his hand from it as Elladan applied the paste followed by Elrohir quickly dressing the wound.  Elladan continued to apply pressure on the wound, afraid that Legolas would bleed to death.

Elrohir’s eyes were wrought with concern as he looked towards his mentor, “We must leave as soon as we have built a litter.”

Glorfindel nodded and gently laid Legolas’ head on the ground and along with Elrohir built a litter in a matter of minutes.  They gently placed Legolas on the litter and wrapped him in tightly.  They did not want to risk his falling off as they would be moving at a rapid pace. 

Legolas was drifting in and out of consciousness as he felt the group begin to move quickly through the densely wooded forest.  “Father,” Legolas’ mind cried out, “the pain is too much. It consumes me so!”

Legolas heard whispers in response, but it was not the voice of his father. As Legolas looked towards the tree heights it seemed that the trees were hunched over and looking over him as he passed them.  As he drifted out of consciousness he heard the voices of the trees, “Greenleaf, Greenleaf, hold to the colors of this world! Smell the vibrancy of life oh Greenleaf!”

***

Lenmana felt tired, so tired that her very bones seemed to moan.  She found her way to her makeshift bed which she had placed in a small alcove that usually served as storage of chairs and tables which were presently being used in the great hall.

She flopped on her bed unceremoniously and placed her arm over her eyes, trying to block out the soft light that radiated from candles near her.  Soon, her eyes closed of their own accord and she was enveloped in the darkness that is sleep. But as was custom in this strange land, dreams visited her in her slumber, and she awakened into the dream world, the place of visions. 

She was weightless and seemed to be suspended in a thick blueness like water.  Yes, she realized she was deep in a blue water.  She kicked her legs and began to explore the blue depths of her dreams, relishing in the freedom of moving through water.

Her hair floated around her as she paused, a bright shape coming toward her.  She felt no fear and waited as a woman as beautiful as day swam up to her and smiled.  The woman wore a necklace of shells and she breathed like a fish- her neck opening and closing like the fish in the rivers! Fish woman’s eyes sparkled like the stars in the heavens and her smile was as warm as an elders embrace.

Fish woman’s smile was enchanting and as she laughed, the very water seemed to ripple, but no sound was made.  She then beckoned for Lenmana to follow and soon they were darting in and out of caves on the water bottom, delighting in light hearted games.  Lenmana would try to catch fish woman, but each time she came close enough to touch her, fish woman would disappear in a flash of silver.  For an instant Lenmana saw the shape of a fish dart away, but as soon as she regained her focus, fish woman was laughing in front of her, beckoning her to follow.

Fish woman then slowed and held her hand out towards Lenmana.  In it was the most beautiful necklace Lenmana had ever seen, made of bright red coral and ivory colored shells.  Lenmana reached out apprehensively to take the necklace and fish woman laughed again as they floated in the turquoise water. 

Fish woman placed the necklace in Lenmana’s hand and gently caressed the young mortal’s cheek.  If water could be silken in touch then this was what Lenmana felt as the fish woman gifted her with her touch.

Lenmana held the necklace close to her chest and the two floated smiling and laughing, but then fish woman’s eyes grew wide and fear distorted her beauty.  Lenmana turned around but could see nothing.  Fish woman frantically motioned for Lenmana to leave, but as Lenmana tried to move her arms and legs she found she could not move them and her body began to sink towards the darker depths of the waters.  Lenmana looked up as fish woman reached out with her hand to grab Lenmana, but as she reached out a spear flew through the water and imbedded itself in fish woman’s chest.

Lenmana opened her mouth to cry out, but she could not scream, her entire body was paralyzed.  And fish woman, her beautiful face froze in the paleness of death and the turquoise waters turned red as her blood spilt out like an ominous smoke in the water.  Lenmana sank deeper and deeper and all she could see above her was the brightness of the water being darkened by the blood of fish woman.  And soon there was no light, only darkness.

***

“This was not supposed to occur,” Legolas mused, his unconscious ablaze in activity, “I am not ready to leave these lands!” But the pain that coursed through his body flashed in his mind and soon he was overwhelmed with light.  He felt himself cry out in agony, but his voice was distant, as if hanging by a thread.  Hands grasped his own, but Legolas could not respond.  His strength had bled out of him and then a shadow crept up to swallow the light.  It seemed to Legolas that the shadow took a perverse delight in devouring the light and he felt its sinister laughter as it weighed him down with the solidness of blackness.

***

“His breathing is labored.  It is as I feared, the dagger has probably pierced a lung.” Elrohir’s words stung Glorfindel as if a dagger had impaled him as well.

“Say it is not so,” Glorfindel breathed out in dismay.  “We must make haste or Legolas will not wake to another dawn!”

Although it seemed luck had long abandoned them, it had found them on their path towards Thranduil’s halls.

From a distance the group heard a call that they recognized as a greeting call from a Mirkwood patrol.  Elladan responded in kind, adding a note of urgency.

Soon enough, a group of Elves had dropped from the trees and their faces were drawn tight as they took in the sight of their badly wounded Prince.

One of the warriors flew forward and knelt by Legolas’ side, crying out, “Legolas!”

“When did this happen,” Erutunín asked, his voice trembling with disbelief and fear.

“It has been but a few hours,” Elrohir responded, “we have done all that our hands and bodies allow.”

Erutunín looked up at Elrohir and Elladan, “For this I am grateful for I know the healing skill that flows from both your hands.  Can we move him?  There are warriors on horses near by which we can summon.”

Elladan answered, “It would be best to get him to Thranduil’s halls.  We do him no good keeping him immobile.”

“Then let no more be said,” Erutunín replied hastily. “Call Nestadion, we will need him to get the Prince to the King’s healers.  As for the rest of us, make sure you send word to the remaining riders to come here as quick as their mounts will move,” Erutunín commanded, efficacy and urgency driving his manner.

With a nod, Elves took to the trees and as quick as their bodies could take them, they took to their task.

Within a short time, a rider was heard approaching the group.  As Nestadion approached the group, he called out to Erutunín, “My lord,” and extended his arms towards Legolas. 

Glorfindel and the others gingerly placed Legolas in front of Nestadion.  With Legolas positioned as safely as possible, Nestadion whispered in his stead’s ear and the horse responded by flying as effortlessly as possible through the wood.

“Now we wait for the remaining riders to come.  Elladan, Elrohir, if I may be so bold as to ask that you ride back once the riders have met us,” Erutunín spoke urgently.

“Of course dear friend.  We will not tarry here when our services are needed elsewhere,” Elrohir replied, with Elladan nodding in agreement.

***

Thranduil heard the horse and rider approaching and knew that all the doubts that were playing in his mind were now going to take shape, but when the rider came into sight, Thranduil could not believe what his eyes took in, despite what his heart had foreshadowed.

“Legolas,” Thranduil whispered hoarsely, tears filling his eyes. 

Laurenor immediately ordered some of the guard to retrieve the healers from where they were attending those injured warriors who had managed to return.  Laurenor then ran towards the rider, catching up with his father.  As Nestadion approached he began trembling with grief and anticipation.  He brought his king his son in a state near death, and he brought home a comrade in arms who had been his captain and tutor.  Nestadion whispered into Legolas’ ear, hoping feverishly that Legolas could hear him, “My lord, I do not doubt your strength and will to survive.  Know this.  You have all our love and strength.  Do not fear calling on it!”

As he said this, Thranduil was at his side, “Can we move him?  When did this occur? The sons of Elrond and Glorfindel, are they well- is anyone else hurt?”

Nestadion answered his lord, his voice struggling to remain steady, “My lord,  Elrond’s sons and Lord Glorfindel are uninjured.  As for Legolas’ injury, no more time has passed than when an Emlin builds her nest.”

“Steady, Adar,” Laurenor whispered as his father nearly tripped over his own feet.  “Let us wait until the healers bring the litter to move Legolas.  I fear he has already sustained too much jostling.” The steadiness in Laurenor’s voice was no indication of the torrent of anger and fear that were coursing through his body, making his very blood boil, but he needed to be strong, for his father and Legolas.

“Yes Laurenor, your words are sound,” Thranduil replied, never letting go of Legolas’ hand as Nestadion sustained him on the horse.

As Thranduil held onto his son’s hand, the healers reached their side.  Slowly, but steadily, Laurenor and Thranduil brought Legolas down from the horse and placed him on the litter.  Carefully, the healers took the litter inside the halls to the healing rooms housed within the hill.

“My lord,” Nestadion spoke hastily, attempting to catch Laurenor’s attention.

“Yes Nestadion,” Laurenor replied, realizing he was about to leave without waiting to hear Nestadion’s report.

“The sons of Elrond will be here shortly.  Riders rode out to meet them shortly after I left with Legolas.”

Laurenor’s face expressed understanding, “And Erutunín, how fares he?”

“Well, as  circumstances allow my lord.  He will be accompanying Lord Glorfindel as they return by foot.”

“That is well,” Laurenor replied, dismissing the warrior with a nod of his head.

With that Laurenor turned and ran towards his father’s halls to be by his brother’s side.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Response to Reviewers:

Daw the minstrel:  Yes I am back.  I have always been fascinated by the psychological effects of the shadow as Tolkien conceived it (which you write so well yourself!) I had reread some parts of Return of the King and was reminded how, for example, Faramir, suffered from prolonged exposure (at least in my view) and how this drove his relationship with his father.  They just recently had an interesting discussion on that very subject at the Henneth Annun group.

Nilmandra: Stories of Arda definitely helped in getting through the writer’s block!  Yes Legolas’ situation is grave, but for the sons of Elrond *sighs*.  My take is Sauron has some feelings about which individuals represent a threat in his mind, and Legolas is one of them, although he’s not sure to what extent Legolas is.

Mellon1:  Thank you so much for the compliment.  I certainly will try to write my best and update quicker!

Hanya the Bloody:  Yeah, darn that Shadow!  It has a way of just dampening things, doesn’t it.  Sooner than later, things will be lighter than they have been.

Coriandra:  Writer’s Bloc is the writer’s bane, is it not?  As for Lenmana, I don’t think the Elves can help her since they are not familiar with what ales her.  I am not sure she is ready to face her fears yet.  Hmm, well I believe Sauron has some feeling of foresight and feels that Legolas is a threat, although he doesn’t understand to what degree he will be, and of course, being Thranduil’s youngest, Sauron is indirectly getting to Thranduil.  And poor Thranduil, I mean this Elf gets a raw deal in fanfic, does he not? Well good luck on getting your WIP updated!

Creation Song of Ilúvatar

“But there are things which you have said to me which I do not like.  They are not sweet like sugar, but bitter like gourds.  You said that you wanted to put us upon a reservation, to build us houses and make us medicine lodges.  I do not want them.  I was born upon the prairie, where the wind blew free and there was nothing to break the light of the sun.  I was born where there were no enclosures and where everything drew a free breath.  I want to die there and not within walls. I know every stream end every wood between the Rio Grande and the Arkansas.  I have hunted and lived over that country.  I lived like my fathers before me, and, like them, I lived happily.”

--Parra-Wa-Samen (Ten Bears) of the Yamparika Comanches

Chapter 31: Ghosts

Glorfindel could not tear away the image from his mind, of the mighty King of the Great Wood, kneeling by his son, uttering incantations of old, rendering anew the powers that the Quendi possessed at the time of Cuiviénen.  Thranduil would not remove himself from his son’s side as the sons of Elrond, worked in concert to maintain Legolas’ thread-hold on life.

“You did not vanquish me when I faced you, you will not defeat him,” Glorfindel uttered, throwing his voice to be carried with the Southern winds. “Let  it be heard upon that accursed hill.  You shall not take him!”

Glorfindel thought of Legolas, just before they left on their perilous trek South.  “Yes,”Glorfindel pondered, “I will think of you as you are always bright in life.” And the golden-haired Lord recalled a scene that took place during that merry feast…

*flashback*

“It is more about who tells the story than the stories actually being told.  If their voice is the only one telling the story, then surely it will be a product of their perception.  This is the case with all things,” Legolas informed the young group of elflings that had gathered around him.

“Even with the Elves,” curious voices asked.

“Yes, even with the Elves,” Legolas replied thoughtfully.  Seeing that his audience’s face was not content with his brief answer he elaborated, “If you think about the history and how it is told, if you are a discerning reader or listener you will understand that history can be a matter of perception.  Certainly an event may have occurred on such a date, but how it is illustrated or depicted depends on who is giving voice to this story.

What is of concern then is which stories are represented, and which are the voices that are telling the stories- does one voice over power another voice. 

But for us, we have our immortality to grant us time to learn, interpret, search, and query what knowledge is provided to us. “

Legolas was thinking of the lessons he had learned from Oropher that had been passed on to him by Thranduil. 

“So then how do we know what the *truth* of things are,” an Elf nearing his majority asked Legolas.

Legolas touched the tree he leaned against lightly.  “It is all around us, in the trees, in the flowers, and in us.  The melody of Ilúvatar is constant and it combines all the voices of Eä to create the story of all.  Not a single note is left out.  All you have to do is let your feä reach out and you will more than hear this wondrous melody, you will feel it.”

Lotórie gasped, as did other elflings who, although older in age than Lotórie were still quite impressionable as they had not had the experience of time to lead them on the path of Elven wisdom.

Legolas continued, “Some call us the Moriquendi, Elves who have never beheld the light of the two trees, and for this we fail in grace and wisdom as compared to our brethren who have beheld the lights that once graced the Blessed Lands.  But this name fell from use upon the exile of the Noldor from Valinor, and only those known as the Avari were from then on known as the Moriquendi, the Dark Elves.  Yet there are those who call us unwise and unlearned in the ways of the Elves of light, and so some still count us amongst the Dark Elves.

But there are those Sindarin nobles whom survived the fall of Doriath and found solace and comfort in the wise folk of the woodland realms…”

“The Silvan Elves,” a chorus of youthful voices cried out.

“Yes and one of these was my grandfather Oropher.  In the Silvan he found the virtue and nobility that he felt had been lost upon the return of the exiles to this middle earth.  Though some may call us rustic and simple, indeed ignorant, we all know this is quite a lie, or shall I say misunderstanding.”

“Yes, not the truth at all,” many young voices chimed in.

“We must also remember that many of these tales although based on the mightiest lore born of Elven tongue have passed through the mouth of men and been distorted by mortal legend that dies with its teller to be reborn through sons and daughters.  Mayhap in the past there were grievances between Elven kingdoms that flung these prejudices around, but even then these disagreements were born of great loss and pain that tempered reason and true passion.”

And now the silent member of Legolas’ mostly youthful audience spoke up, eliciting an awed silence from his audience, “Thranduilion, you speak many truths.  Let it be said here that those who were once exiled may have in the past shared such prejudices, but as we Elves are gifted with time, we have seen the folly of this blight.  I stand with the peoples of the woodland realms, Minyar, Tatyar, and Nelyar [First, Second, and Thirds]. (1)

The children looked upon the mighty Glorfindel in awe and turned to look upon one another with nods of agreement for after all who could dispute this ancient lord’s wisdom. 

Legolas could, at least he could push the Balrog slayer.

“Lord Glorfindel, you honor us with your words, and now that we have your attention, might I have you share some of your wisdom and opinion concerning our woodcraft, for it is held in the highest regard is it not?”

Glorfindel’s eyes twinkled as he looked seriously towards the young prince who insisted on pushing his luck.

Legolas felt his collar tighten around his neck and he pulled at it rather awkwardly, feeling the gaze of Glorfindel upon him, but to his relief, Glorfindel let out a grunt of approval.

“‘Tis true little ones no other Elven kingdom can boast the woodcraft of these troubled lands, for in Mirkwood, let it be known live the masters of all that concerns trees.  And,” Glorfindel added, throwing a warm smile towards Legolas, “your realm can also lay claim to birthing the greatest archers known in all of Arda!”

Voices joined in a unison of ooo’s and awes.

But Glorfindel’s words of tribute to Thranduil’s great realm did not end there, “And indeed little ones, maybe the greatest archer in the history of middle earth stands before you.  Now some may disagree, but many, many an ancient Elf would agree with my opinion.”

Legolas blushed, although he was confident in his skill with many a bow and arrow, to hear the mighty Lord of the Golden Flower reap such praise upon him was unheard of.

Lotórie’s small voice emerged from the murmurs, “Legolas is the greatest,” she exclaimed, but she added with much regret, “But this is only because we live so near evil that threatens to take our homes away.”

Other young Elves nodded in agreement.  Though young, the price of youth in Mirkwood came with a mature knowledge concerning the needs of their kingdom and the sacrifices they all had to make.

Legolas was silent, tears were welling up in his eyes.  He knew too well the  Shadow that was always present in these young ones’ lives.  He had traveled and scouted the black lands of Dol Guldur, and the weight of that evil always pressed on his consciousness, no matter where he was.

Glorfindel’s face was also saddened and his memories harkened back to the children that were lost in the fall of Gondolin and those that survived those bitter days, with honour but too much sacrifice.  He managed a grim smile, “It is a strange fate that our young have faced sorrows and evils that one would wish away, but we have persevered in the face of much, and no doubt you all here will triumph.”

The elder of the young elflings stood and bravely proclaimed, “The Hill of Secrecy [Dol Guldur] may stand barren of all good, of all that is living, filled with Black shadows, but the warriors of our King’s realm shall one day claim victory!”

The Elves gathered cheered in agreement.  Glorfindel noted sadly that it was unfortunate such new lives had to be so acquainted with dark places, but there was no alternative for although the Elves of Mirkwood were gay in spirit and light of heart, the pressing of Shadow was always present.  Glorfindel always marveled at the strength and bravery of the Silvan folk and their King, with no ring of power to protect them.  And here in Mirkwood where there were so few young, as was the case in all the Elven realms of middle earth, the hope of youth flourished.  He turned to look towards Legolas, proud that Thranduil’s young son so well represented this bright hope.

*End Flashback*

Glorfindel whispered, “Yes Greenleaf, your brightness will not flicker. It will only burn the brighter.”

Glorfindel heard a voice in the wind,the sound of a strange voice laden with sorrow softly singing unknown melodies.  He turned to see the mortal maiden walking among the trees near the great doors. The melody she sung seemed to be ripped from the gut; though sung softly, immense strength was used in its conjuring.  In her he saw a spirit that was near defeat and riddled in hopeless. “It does not bode well for Legolas to have dark and grave thoughts for they will only attract evil towards this place, and Legolas cannot survive that, and her spirit so alone, ai she is a lost child!”

With his mind made up, Glorfindel approached the strange maiden, hoping that he could somehow quell the darkness that choked on her spirit. 

***

Earlier that day, Lenmana had watched as the death pale body of Legolas was brought into the healing rooms, so near her own.  “It cannot be,” Lenmana thought, “I have brought tragedy upon the moon!”

Lenmana clutched her stomach feeling the bile rise up.  She had dreamt of a story that was not to be told, that should not have been told this late in summer’s time for the fish have not yet left to make the young of their own.  But she had called on fish woman, making her come at the time she should have been playing with the moon on the swift currents of the great river.  Now those that relished in the silver light of night were covered in the blood of a cycle broken, and only she, Lenmana was to blame.

And tears ran swiftly down her face as she remembered her pale moon, a teller of stories and how he gave hope to those who had seen only the pass of a few winters.  She had to leave the caves that felt they were falling down upon her and find the freedom only the sun could grant her.  Lenmana ran through the doors towards the trees outside the King’s great halls.  It seemed to her not a soul took notice of her.  It was better that way, she thought.

And now as Lenmana walked among the trees she remembered how she had listened quietly and intently to Legolas’ voice as he shared tales with the younger Elves during the feast that now seemed an age away.  And in that moment she realized that despite such semblance of safety, the leaf people were in imminent danger from a severe darkness that threatened to destroy their very way of life.  This she understood too well.  She had ventured out despite her  embarrassment pulled by her growing fascination with Legolas, and so she found herself sitting quietly, a short distance from Legolas and the imposing Glorfindel who frankly frightened Lenmana.

“They stay to fight, despite the fact they may loose all they have”* Lenmana thought to herself, “and yet I run from my own battles.  I run from the memory of my peoples” Lenmana looked upon her leaf people with new love, with great admiration.  “Their enemy stands near to them, and they will die to defend their land.  I too died, and now I am here, lost in this nether world, but do I want to find my way?”

The memory bothered the mortal woman, and she felt the hole in her spirit.  She began to sing a song to fill the void, to harness her stories, and fill herself with life, a life she could not run from.  She sang to bring back the balance she had so foolishly toyed with.  She sang for her pale moon, praying that she had hope left somewhere in her.

Lenmana saw the imposing Elf approaching her and gasped at his beauty.  A peaceful light emanated from his very being, but his light was more imposing, more fiery than that of her pale moon.  Where Legolas was a spirit of silver, this lord was a spirit of gold, like fire.

As Glorfindel approached Lenmana, he felt for this mortal maiden, she seemed but a lost child, here in his lands.  Her face was open to him.  She did not hide the awe that overtook her as she looked upon him

Upon reaching the stone still mortal, Glorfindel beckoned her to sit in company of the mighty beeches that surrounded the hill.  Lenmana felt her body do as he asked, even though she could not put two thoughts together at the moment.  He knelt besides her, and took her hands in his, “Young one, why not share your woes.  A heart unburdened is better than a heart full of sorrow.”

Lenmana did not know why, but trust emanated from this imposing Elf, and she recognized him as an Elder- his eyes betrayed his status.  She could not dispute an Elder.

Glorfindel continued, “Tell me your story; tell me what troubles your heart.  I know so little of where you come from.  Maybe remembering this once will let you smile a bit.”

A surge of strength poured through the mortal woman, and with it she was able to conjure the fortitude to do as the golden lord asked.  Lenmana looked out towards the Western horizon, as if being called by lands that lay beyond it.

She began to speak in whispers, almost as if speaking to herself, and she shared with him then, a tale kept in her heart.  “I have my ghosts, and they stand with me at the precipice, as I look down towards the darkness below me, and now I have thrown Pamuya, my silver water moon into the unknown.”

“Pamuya,” Glorfindel questioned, not being familiar with the strange name.

“Legolas, I have brought Legolas to death.”

Glorfindel raised his eyebrows in surprise.  He gently kissed Lenmana’s hands, reassuring her that she could tell this story. “What strange fate has led you to this decision?”

Lenmana shuttered, understanding that there was no hiding.  She would have to reveal herself to this man, now the Sun. “I must start from the beginning,” and with a  deep breath she began to tell her story.

“Let me tell you of the lands that gave birth to me.  From a place over there,” Lenmana pointed towards the West, “we came up from the underworlds, and our creation was thus onto this earth, from the earth, through the opening in the earth we tasted our first sight of sky.  That is the center of me, the center of my people, located in a place, not caged by time.  From this center the four winds were thrown out and strengthened, kept in balance by the four directions.  Our ceremonies and songs remember and renew this life, this origin for it is ever present, and we return always to the center in all our words, in all our thoughts, all our actions, always towards our center… where the people of peace were born unto this world.

I am of the corn clan, and we share our stories, and live always near our center of origin, near the mesas, the mountains, our sacred spaces.  Time can travel on, but always the origin and the center remains, and we dance and sing, keeping balance with the world, assuring the winds that flow in the four directions are sturdy and constant-- always Tuwa in steadiness. And the stories are shared only upon that time where sun and moon allow, and the elders make sure it is so, for we come to know the world through their stories and what the earth may reveal.”

Her voice grew more distressed, and her eyes seemed to sink into her past. “Yet our ways, our knowledge is illicit, dangerous, and they come with crosses and words, sprinkling water on our skins hoping to drown out our stories, but these stories cannot be washed away. How do you erase creation?  You cannot, and we flee, into our center, into the mountains that held us in their womb, and into the center of our heart we take the songs, the dances, and under cover of night and stone we bring them forth, honoring the way of our grandfathers.  Always we put them back in our heart, and we walk forth with blank faces, and serpentine words.

But walking was not enough, it caused us too many dead, and so we ran, and galloped from our mother with fierce cries, throwing our prayers to the four winds.  Their fire was too strong; it burnt us down, until we were taken from our sacred lands, taken from the lands that give us breath that whispers life into our souls, taken to far away lands, told never to return to our center.  But I would not be corralled like a goat, so I ran with many of the young, those who were too old stayed behind, standing on the tips of their fingernails, waiting, waiting. 

And I danced the ghost dance, danced to bring back the grandfathers, danced to return to the lands that gave birth to me, but it was not to be.  It was as if man forgot to live the path of peace, and the world consumed itself. I found myself in this strange land.  And I do not see my mountains, I do not see the center, and so I sing to keep my words and thoughts from crumbling inside.  I sing to remember, not to forget the ways of the Creator, but I fear that I have shattered the balance for I conjured a story when the moon should have been walking closer to the land- but now I walk alone, my grandfathers are lost to me; and the stories their power I have unleashed unwittingly”

Glorfindel paused for a second and looked over towards the woman.  For a second it appeared as if the wind was scattering her very being as if it was made of sand, and the aged and wise lord sighed sadly, “She is a lost spirit, and if she does not find her way back towards the halls of her fathers, this mortal spirit will be doomed to wander, always in search of her center.” But of all Elves, save maybe Galadriel, only Glorfindel could see this.  His time in Mandos’ care gifted him sight at times that would bear the path that bore the living towards death, and this soul was neither living nor dead.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

(1) Referring the 3 clans of Elves who began the Great Journey West.

To My Reviewers: I apologize for not answering personally but life has taken me away from home of late, so in between hotel rooms and my boyfriend’s apartment (he is still clueless as to my fanfic pastime) I have penned this chapter.  The story is close to the end.  I hope to use spring break to wind it up.  Thank you all for the wonderful reviews.  They really do feed my muse, even if she is traveling to distant places.

Creation Song of Ilúvatar

Chapter 32: The Voices of the Lindar

The songs of the musicians rang true and sorrowful, yet full of a seductive lure.  The musician’s fingers ran nimbly over the lute-like instrument (1).  The music celebrated life, love, loss and tragedy, each chord being strummed, breathing life to the little documented life of Silvan society.  The heart of the music was pulsating forth from the hands of the musician that tapped on a hollowed gourd that had leather stretched over its hollow mouth. The musician’s hands would venture into the hollowed out end, changing the sound that beat forth from the Elvish drum.

The music was haunting, beautiful, full of life, and the dancers swayed to the rhythmic incantations of the musicians.  They danced, holding each other tightly, afraid that if they let go, they too would loose their precious hold on life.  The previous days had held much loss and sorrow, scenes that the Silvan folk were too familiar with, and one of their most beloved’s fate was unknown.

The strings of the lute reverberated with the purposeful strumming of its handler, eliciting a strange and beautiful music.  The voices of the minstrels were heavy with sorrow, their melody evocative but soft and beautiful as only the voices of the Lindar could be.  They sang of life under Shadow, and they yearned for a time when all was green and lives could be fulfilled; where little greenleafs could run freely without worry and pain.

Such was the way of the wood Elf, to be immortal yet caught in the most fragile of webs, where life could be swept away in a single instant.  It is said the these are a simple folk, unlearned in the ways of the wise, but for those who dare look closer it is indeed a wise and wondrous people they have before them.  For they do not dwell in the desires of power and dominance but in the beauty of the trees and the simple truth of love.

In this moment Glorfindel felt tears begin to overwhelm him.  How was it that the words written in some book could come to distort such wisdom, such ancient strength?  And Legolas, oh Legolas, what could he do but weep for the life of a loved one, one of the few left who maintained his innocence and awe of the world?

***

Legolas was now caught in the unconscious world of vision as his body struggled to regain control over the poison that coursed through his body.

As he walked further into the vastness of space he felt his body begin to rise and fall more rhythmically with each breath. He felt song come from afar and carry his breath to the most vivid places of life, sustaining him, nurturing him. The act of Elven healing was upon him, a great mystery to mortal kind.

On his meandering journey through this world of visions he came upon the mortal maiden who was watching her reflection in a pool of silver water.

“Lenmana,” Legolas called softly. 

The woman turned to look at Legolas and gasped, “How could it be Pamuya? You have passed into the world of spirits!”

“Yes, Lenmana, but this world of spirits does not hold me as it holds a mortal body. In this place I am safe to heal and receive the songs of the Eldar which will lead me back to life in my Greenwood.”

Legolas saw the fear in the young mortal’s eyes. “What do you fear,” he asked the fragile mortal.

“I fear what I know not,” she paused, her voice trembling, “I fear being alone, with nothing but dirt around me, and yet I should fear not.”

“Why,” Legolas inquired, “why should you not fear?”

Lenmana was drawn to the beauty of her water moon, and felt a peace that for once allowed her to speak with patience, “Because, the earth that holds me is not to blame, nor to be feared.  I am made of these things, but I fear them.  Do you not see? I have forgotten the stories.  I have lost them and I fear death.  I fear the unknown, and all I see is my body, torn, laying upon a pile of dirt which I claim as mine.”

Legolas sighed, the unknown fate of men.  He could not fathom this uncertainty, to travel beyond the confines of this world to a place nameless, but deep within he knew that there was a destination, a thing to be, to become, that this life was but a journey for the Edain, cursed and at once born the gift of mortality.

She waited for an answer from her earthen moon but he simply looked into her eyes.  Tears welled in her eyes as she felt the immensity of fear overcome her again.

Legolas reached out and gently placed his hand on Lenmana’s cheek, “It is not for me to grant you faith.  That is a journey only you can take.”

“I do not know if I can do this.  I have lost so many, so many,” she whispered, tears running down her cheeks.

“And this is a pain I share with you albeit unwittingly,” Legolas spoke, sorrow clouding his piercing gaze. “It is such that during these times we walk the sundering of lives from our sides is a like a raging river we must hold forth against.  But even in sadness there is hope.  Their deaths have not been in vain,” Legolas spoke, his voice like a sweet and sad melody.

But the young mortal had not the heart to hope for fear guided her heart and a rage overtook her heart.  “My peoples’ deaths have been utterly for nothing.  We die not only once but twice.  You speak of the sundering of lives, I speak of the sundering of the only way I have ever known how to understand my world,” Lenmana shouted, slapping Legolas’ hand away.  “How can I even approach to understand myself when the lands of my birth are stripped from me?” Lenmana cried out, full of mortal rage that has lost the guidance it once had.

Legolas looked down.  He could do nothing to make the pain that ate her go away.  He could not grant her the faith she had seemingly lost. 

Then Lenmana saw it as Legolas eyes looked into her, like a thunderstorm covering the mesas of her desert with the power and ferocity of nature, his eyes stormed and the ages of his life came crashing down upon her.

“Forgive me Legolas,” Lenmana cried like a lost child, “I know not my path.  I, I only know how to be a part of something, not alone.  It is not the way I have come to understand this world, not on my own.  My faith, my person has always been guided by those who have come before me.  The stories, the grandfathers, our lands, they contain the entirety of me.  Oh I feel so lost without them,” the young mortal woman cried out, collapsing into Legolas arms.

“So young,” Legolas thought, as he gently embraced Lenmana. “It is these stories you must keep to child.  It is these stories you must always remember,” he gently admonished.

“My grandmother told me that my fate was tied to the moon and that I would always be drawn to it and here I have found you, but I know not what to do.  How do you dare claim the moon as your own?”

“You do not,” Legolas whispered, his voice like a gentle breeze, soothing the mortal’s aching soul, “you simply must trust that it will always be there.”

“No matter what happens,” Lenmana questioned like a young child eagerly seeking reassurance from a parent, resting her head on his strong chest.

“If the sun were to burn without setting over the West, the moon would be there cloaked in the rays of light, but there it would remain to serve as a reminder there is always hope,” Legolas answered, his voice running like a gentle river on a summer’s night.

Legolas continued, “do not forget to love, to love all that is in you, for in remembering this, you remember them.  Do not forget to love, to love one another, and you will understand that all you thought was lost has survived.  And you have learned to survive, to endure, but most of all you must not forget to love,” Legolas gently reminded the mortal maiden.

“I do,” Lenmana replied, “I love the moon and the comfort it brings me.  I love the moon for it is ever coming to grace me with its beauty.  In the moon I find love, and I am not afraid.”

“Yes, you are a child of the moon,” Legolas agreed, “but do not forget that with the sun you find your brilliance.”

“But my heart, my heart cannot contain the love for the sun and the moon!”

“Ah child, but love, love is the largest of all we have in life.  It is so large that all the souls that walk these lands can be lost in its vastness.  No love, it is larger than life itself.  Remember how to love, and in this you will find your stories. You will find that your peoples, they are not lost, they have always been with you,” Legolas ageless voice murmured softly.  “Remember love and you will find your path returns to your lands, to your center, for it is what you love, where your love is born.”

And she walked with love away from Legolas towards her center.

As she walked away Legolas whispered, “and we crumble like the dried petals of a summer’s flower succumbing to the chill of fall.  Everything we once held dear is now adrift like the ashes of a lover taken from our side too soon… Follow the song of the blue bird.“

Legolas walked alone amongst the trees. 

***

Lenmana awoke from her slumber to hear the chirping of birds in the trees. She looked towards the birds and in the trees she saw a flock of strange blue birds who sang a familiar song.  The light in the sky was a strange hue of blue and as Lenmana turned to look towards the sun she saw the moon resting in the sky next to the sun, and together they shone a luminous light. It was as if these birds that sang their familiar song only sang for this luminous light which shone once in the lifetime of a people.

Lenmana looked around a saw a familiar landscape but it was not completely her own. Her horse lay dead next to her and she saw figures in blue uniforms gathering those who still lived, tying their hands together, and marching them ahead towards the East.

The blue uniformed men had not noticed her and Lenmana again looked up towards the sky and saw the sun and moon. “I understand now. I do not fear that which was my home. I shall return to my center, to the lands that gave birth to me, even if I cannot take my body, my spirit shall return there.”

Lenmana stood up and walked towards the blue birds that sang in the trees that were strangely out of place in the desert. The blue birds called to Lenmana with their song, and they flew West, beckoning her to follow. And Lenmana followed soaring in the sky under the pale and strange luminosity of sun and moon.

“Pamuya,” Lenmana sang softly, “Pamuya, I return to the place where your darkness gave me birth.”

***

It had been two days since Legolas had regained consciousness. He was propped up in his bed sipping a hot tea filled with fragrant honey. Glorfindel sat on the bed next to him.

“Legolas, I have something to tell you,” Glorfindel hesitated, fearing that the news might not be well received by Legolas.

“What is it Glorfindel” Legolas urged, seeing the hesitation on Glorfindel’s part.

“It is the mortal maiden, she is gone,” Glorfindel revealed.

“Yes, I know,” Legolas answered.

Glorfindel raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

Legolas, seeing Glorfindel’s surprise continued, “You see my Lord, I was there when she left.” Legolas looked into Glorfindel’s eyes, knowing the Elf Lord would understand this tale. “In my time of unconscious wake, I came upon her as she neared her journey’s end her in our lands.”

“Yes,” Glorfindel answered, the realization of what had happened giving him understanding.

The two Elves looked towards the west, and Legolas whispered into the wind:

“They didn’t fit any more, they didn’t fit in her head,

the blue birds in [her] head

That was how one mid-day of strange luminosity,

She opened them a tragic orifice of escape

and the blue birds they took her life

They left, but when they left,

they also took her life” (2)

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

(1)I am taking liberties in introducing the lute into Silvan society, but I do it in the spirit of Tolkien.  He after all introduced corn and tobacco into Middle-Earth, and we all know corn was unknown in Europe until after contact with the Americas where it is from.  The lute, or Ud was brought into Spain in the early 8^th century by the Moors/North Africans and probably more generally into Europe with the advent of the Crusades. The Ud was adapted by Europeans, strings were added and the instrument morphed into the Lute.

(2) Atahualpa Yupanqui

Thank you all who have followed this story. Although this ending comes so late, I can say that I too have taken a journey and upon my return I have come back to Lenmana and Legolas with a renewed sense of peace. Life is a mystery, and it is force always unfolding before us.  It is amazing to me that death be so feared when in the wind, if we listen closely we hear our ancestors, when in the rains that come in the summer months, our grandfathers return to bring us life; the thunder thumping like the beat of the drummer reminding us, life is renewed.