A Ray of Hope

Summary: Thranduil and Glorfindel have a conversation. Young Legolas makes an appearance.

Rating: PG

Disclaimer: Not mine.

Glorfindel stood to the side in the healing chambers and watched as his wounded warriors were tended. The adrenaline flowing through his veins had begun to fade and he became suddenly aware of his great weariness. Ambushed by a large troupe of orcs a few days ride from Thranduil’s kingdom, his company would have succumbed had not one of the Greenwood patrols shown up and aided them. They had since ridden in all haste to reach the palace in attempt to save the more grievously wounded soldiers.

Thranduil himself appeared by his side, great worry written on his face.

“Glorfindel, mellon nin.  I thank the Valar you are safe. When they told me your company had been ambushed I feared the worst.”

They exchanged a warrior’s greeting of clasped forearms, followed by the brief embrace of old friends.

“Aye, Thranduil. I thank you for your hospitality and the Valar for the timeliness of your patrol. Had they not found us, we would surely have been lost.”

“You need not thank me, old friend. If you lack for anything you have only to ask, you know this.”

Glorfindel nodded his head in acknowledgement, grateful for the calming presence of the king. Their friendship had spanned many centuries and experiences together. His heart grieved for his fallen warriors and he knew the painful task of informing their families would await him on his return to Imladris. With Elrond’s blessing, he had taken up a diplomatic role in fostering relations between the two realms and rode this route fairly often, even though it was becoming increasingly fraught with dangers seen and unseen.

“Come my friend, your wounds need tending. The healers will see to your warriors.”

Receiving another acquiescent nod, Thranduil picked up a roll of bandages and a bowl of warm water steeped with healing herbs. Guiding his friend to an unoccupied bed, he indicated for Glorfindel to remove his tunic and began gently cleansing the minor gashes that marred the pale, smooth flesh of his upper right arm and torso.

No more words passed between them as he worked, none were needed as such was the depth of their friendship. There was plenty of time for conversation later. Thranduil knew his friend needed the time to come to terms with the death of his warriors. Mourning was something the residents of the darkening Greenwood knew far too well in recent times.

Tying the final bandage on, the King rose.

“Let us find you a room and some refreshment, or a bath first if you wish.”

“Thank you, Thranduil” replied Glorfindel and made to follow the king as he exchanged a few words with the head healer.

They left the healing rooms and began walking towards the main wing of the palace.

At that moment, the high pitched cry of a child was heard.

“Ada!”

They both turned towards the sound and a soft patter of running feet soon reached their ears.

A tiny bundle of golden hair flew straight into Thranduil’s waiting arms and they looked up to see Ithildin skidding to a halt as he caught sight of his father and Glorfindel, a grin on his face.

Ahh, this must be little Legolas, Glorfindel mused. He had met the youngest prince on his last visit a few years prior, but the little one would have been too young to remember him now.

“What infraction have you committed now, my little leaf, that your brother must hunt you through the corridors hmm?” A twinkle shone in Thranduil’s eyes as he tickled the little bundle in his arms and traded grins with his other son. Glorfindel tried his hardest to cover the blood stains on his clothes and smiled fondly at the child who was too intent on avoiding his father’s playful fingers to pay him much notice yet.

“Mae govannen, Lord Glorfindel. I had not known of your arrival.”  He exchanged smiles of greeting with Ithildin before the prince continued. “This little imp here is reluctant to make a visit to the bathing chambers, my lord. Perhaps some persuasion on your part might change his mind.”

The last he said with a mock glare at his little brother who merely giggled at him, safely nestled in his father’s arms.

“Is that so, little leaf? We shall have to remedy that. But, first you must greet Lord Glorfindel of Imladris.”

He shifted the child in his arms to face the Eldar standing by his side and Glorfindel found himself being stared at by two bright cerulean orbs, gazing upon his person in unabashed wonderment. This little elf has the look of his mother, but his father’s eyes, he thought. Even now, he is possessed of great beauty, both in countenance and in spirit.

Thranduil placed the tiny child down on the ground, where he made a small bow and voiced a small “Mae govannen, Lord Glorfindel.” A brilliant smile graced his little face and he leant against his father’s leg, shyly glancing at the warrior before him.

“Are you Lord Glorfindel of Gondolin, the mighty balrog-slayer from Ada’s stories?”

Thranduil smiled a paternal smile and shot his friend a vaguely apologetic look.

Glorfindel returned his friend’s smile and knelt down to be nearer to the child’s level, for the little one stood no higher than his mid-thigh.

“Aye, penneth, I am he.”

“You are very brave. I would like to be as brave as you and Ada and Ithildin someday.”

The three elder elves smiled at the little one’s earnest, guileless praise.

“Thank you, penneth.”

Legolas suddenly cocked his head to the side, as if listening to something.

“What is it, penneth?”

“The trees sing of your arrival, my lord. They say an old friend has come to visit. Do you visit Ada often? Do you travel much then?” Those clear blue eyes brightened in expectancy.

“I suppose so.” Glorfindel smiled at the flurry of questions.

“Will you tell me stories?”

At that, Thranduil scooped up his little son and laughed.

“Come now, Glorfindel is much wearied by his journey. And you, my little leaf are in need of a bath.”

“But Ada….” The little one wailed as he was handed over to his brother.

Reaching out to ruffle his already mussed up mop of childish golden curls, Glorfindel smiled indulgently and reassured him.

“I will tell you stories to your hearts content later, penneth. A bath would do us all some good now.”

“Awright!” came the brightened reply and with promises to see them at dinner, Ithildin walked off in the direction of the royal chambers with one delighted little elfling, excited beyond measure at the prospect of the new stories he would be told, hopefully that very evening.

“You may regret that promise, my lord balrog-slayer. His hunger is insatiable when it comes to stories.”

Glorfindel chuckled. “I am familiar with the inquisitiveness of the young. My experiences with Elrond’s sons have learned me that lesson all too well. But they are long grown and it has been much too long since I have had one such as yours sat on my knee, wide-eyed and asking for tales of adventure in faraway lands.”

“I always wonder that you have not children of your own. You would make a wonderful father, Glorfindel.”

“Nay, t’is not my path, mellon nin, though I take much pleasure in watching the children of my dearest friends grow from elfling to elfhood, perhaps assisting when needed. It is enough for me.”

Thranduil shook his head and smiled. “Well, you have one more adoring admirer to add to your considerable list this day. He has long been enamoured with the tales of your great deeds.”

With a pointed look, Thranduil proceeded. “You, my friend, are his favourite bedtime story.”

He chuckled at Glorfindel’s wry look of amusement.

“He hears the trees uncommonly clearly for one so young.”

“Aye, that he does,” Thranduil replied. “It is almost as if the trees embrace him as one of their own and obey his every whim! If not for meals, I think he would stay out all day and sometimes even then he must first be found and creative persuasion employed to bring him in!”

“A true child of the woods” smiled Glorfindel. He paused before continuing in a more somber tone.

“Elrond foresees a great future for him. And seeing him now with my own eyes, I believe it is so. I see a fire in his eyes, one so rare amongst the elves now. Too many have grown weary of these lands and more sail for the West each day.”

Thranduil drew a deep breath and sighed. The visions his wife, Anoriel, had seen at the birth of their youngest child came to mind and the fear he had harboured since then clutched at his heart with icy fingers. They both knew that the path their son would eventually take would not be an easy one and that it was with great sorrow that they realised his life would ever be shadowed by the ever encroaching darkness and that they might one day lose him to uncertain fate. He could not bear it to lose another child, and not one so dear to him as his youngest son, the light of his later years and joy of his people.

“I pray his love for the trees holds him here a good while longer.”

At that cryptic statement, Glorfindel looked up questioningly at Thranduil but upon seeing the heartache that showed so clearly through his eyes, he decided not to push his friend. The last few days had seen too much grief already. For now, it was enough to enjoy the blessed purity of an elven childhood, no matter what dark future the Valar had in store for this little one. Children came so seldom to the elves, and each was cherished by all in the community. Legolas was no exception, and much beloved by all who knew him. Especially in these dark times, his shining, pure heart stood as a beacon in the gloomy night, as hope for all the elves that in the midst of sorrow, a ray of light still shone.

Glorfindel would do anything in his power to see that light go unsullied for as long as he could and if that meant telling a few childish stories he would tell them until his voice grew hoarse and words would no longer come.

“The Time of the Elves comes to an end, my old friend. We both know this to be true. Dark forces are astir yet again, but we will not go down without a fight, this I promise you,” Thranduil stated vehemently.

He placed a brotherly hand on Glorfindel’s shoulder and a good-humoured light illuminated his kingly visage once more.

“However, tonight we will enjoy the finest wine the Greenwood has to offer and you can tell me of the latest news from Elrond’s fair vale.”

--- ---

Not sure if I should continue… this seemed rather plotless to me! I’ve never attempted a long piece before. Ideas and any constructive criticism would be most welcome. Maybe finding myself a beta reader would be a good investment?

Let me know what you think!

:)

The morning dawned pale and beautiful in Thranduil’s kingdom as it had for several millennia and Glorfindel stood at his balcony watching the gentle streams of light filter through the trees surrounding the mountain palace. Sweet melodies of the native songbirds intertwined with the songs of the Sylvan elves who had already risen to greet the day. While the palace had much fortification within the mountain itself, the upper levels were woven into the treetops such that one could not tell where stone gave way wholly to branch and leaf.

The night before had passed quietly in pleasant fashion as Thranduil and Anoriel had been ever the gracious hosts he knew them to be. He had dined with them and their family in a sumptuous, private dining chamber in the very highest levels of the palace, overlooking the mountain streams, the stars and the endless sea of ageless trees that had earned the kingdom its name. His friendship with this family took him back all the way to their days in Lindon, when they had all been young, much younger than they were now. They had been the closest of friends, and he had been there all through Thranduil and Anoriel’s blissful courtship, their bonding and the birth of the first two of their six children. Here now, millennia later, he sadly noted that only four now dwelt in the realm of Arda, the other two had made the journey to Mandos’ Halls, in long years past.

He had been startled out of his reverie by a small tug on his formal robe by Thranduil’s youngest son, who cheerfully reminded him of his earlier promise to tell stories of his adventures. Thranduil grinned at him and made no attempt to assist his friend this time. Instead he called for another round of sweet wine and silently saluted Glorfindel with his crystal goblet, eyes sparkling with merriment.

Smiling indulgently at the child, and grateful for this respite from the painful memories, Glorfindel lifted Legolas onto his lap and began to tell him a story of his days in the House of the Golden Flower, where he had captained the ranks of Gondolin with his noble friend, Ecthelion of the Fountain. He wove a vivid tapestry with magical descriptions of the hidden kingdom, blissful days of peace and playful pranks on their lord Turgon, which elicited much mirth from the elder folk in the room who could recall the beloved faces that went with those revered names.

He told of the mighty eagles and their lord Thorondor, the noblest of their kind, who had watched the passes of the Encircling Mountains for ages untold and who had fought with him to the bitter end. Though these things he did not mention to the little one who gazed up at him in rapture, bright blue eyes pleading for more.

He seldom spoke of these days anymore, too long had he held on to the grief that had come to pass afterward. But now he felt a strange peace, despite all he had been through, holding this little child who had compelled him to tell that story, when no one else had managed to draw it from him in an age. Perhaps in this child, he saw a light shining amidst the darkness as the shadows drew ever nearer, and the possibility of War crept stealthily upon them once again.

The rest of the evening passed in delightful gaiety, the queen had even graced them with a beautiful song of the Woods. They had all laughed merrily as Ithildin performed a hilarious ditty he had learnt from a man in Dale during his last patrol, about a farmer and his stubborn horse. He relished the family atmosphere and their efforts to make him feel as one of them. Eventually, one by one, the family retired to their chambers for the night, and he relinquished Legolas to his mother, as the child had fallen asleep in his arms some while ago, though his efforts to stay awake had been valiant enough. His father placed a tender kiss upon the tiny brow, and fondly caressed his wife’s pale cheek. The unspoken love that passed between them lit the room with a warm glow before Anoriel left the room to put the child to bed.

The two of them stood at the window, framed in delicate carvings of vines, interlaced with real ones that bore delicate blossoms, their fragrance filling the chamber.

“Are you not tired, my friend?” asked Thranduil gently.

“Nay, I will not find sleep this night,” replied Glorfindel. “The restlessness of the mind does not acknowledge the weariness of the body I’m afraid.”

“Well, come then. I shall make good on that promise to you of fine wine, and hopefully good company.”

“Ahh, but both you have already fulfilled this night. I do not see how you may better it further,” smiled Glorfindel pleasantly.

Thranduil chuckled. “A surprise I have for you then, my good friend!”

They walked in amiable silence to Thranduil’s study on a lower floor, where Thranduil opened a large cabinet and procured two goblets and a bottle from his private vault.

“Dorwinion 2573! That is a fine vintage indeed and blessedly rare! Surely you don’t mean to open it this night, and not on my account!”

“Of course I do, meldir. The arrival of a dear friend this day is as good a reason as any to indulge my pet vice, and I was rather looking forward to it,” Thranduil replied good-humouredly.

“Oh you are incorrigible, Thranduil! But in this I shall concede.”

Thranduil smiled triumphantly and deftly removed the cork with the air of one much experienced in such matters.

“You protest overmuch. And besides I have never known you to refuse a glass of good wine.”

“You planned this all evening.”

“I admit to no such thing!” scoffed Thranduil loftily. “Though I have been eagerly awaiting this opportunity.”

“That’s guilty enough for me.”

Thranduil grinned and made to inhale the aroma as the scent of the open bottle permeated the air.

“Ahh…smell that, meldir. T’is glorious.”

Glorfindel chuckled. But he had to give it to his friend. Thranduil certainly knew his wines and loved to share his new finds. To that, Glorfindel most certainly had no objections and happily accepted the large goblet offered to him. They settled into luxurious overstuffed armchairs by the welcoming fireplace.

“To old friends.”

“To renewed hope.”

They each took a delicate sip of their goblets, and settled into contented bliss, leaning back into the soft cushions as the night breeze drifted in through the open windows.

“I must ask. How in all Arda did you procure this delectable little bottle this time, hmm?”

“Ahh…through an unhealthy dose of more good wine.”

“I sense a tale behind that smirk.”

“There is an interesting account which ends with this bottle coming to be in my possession.”

“Do tell.”

“I won it from my good cousin Celeborn.”

Glorfindel raised his eyebrows inquiringly.

“That is not so remarkable.”

“Well. Not in itself, but the bet which culminated in it is somewhat more interesting.”

Stealing a glance at his friend, he whispered, “Promise you won’t tell my wife of this.”

“Ha! This must be good!” Glorfindel snorted.

“Swear it!”

“I, Glorfindel of Imladris swear to keep thy ignoble secret, Oropherion!” chuckled Glorfindel.

“T’was at the last archery competition between our realms, so rarely do we get to see each other and well….we both had one drink too many that night and I do not recall whose brilliant idea this was.”

“He had heard of my new stallion and refused to believe he was faster than his own magnificent beast...”

“And?...” Glorfindel grinned, having some inkling of where this was headed.

“Patience!” retorted Thranduil, returning the grin. “On and one we argued. One of us must have suggested a race to settle this once and for all. So in drunken revelry, we plotted our race course in secret as the dancers danced and the minstrels sang the night away.”

“If I won, he would send me a bottle of this fine vintage. If he won, I would have to relinquish a jeweled dagger he had taken a fancy to.”

“In the light of morning, burdened with headaches unknown to Elvenkind, the route seemed the height of folly though pridefully, neither of us would make mention of it to the other. Thus, we stole out of the palace grounds and held our race.”

“You, I can well imagine behaving such. But Celeborn?!”

That earned him a gentle cuff across the head.

“What mean you by that?” exclaimed Thranduil in mock indignation. “We raced often in our youth.”

“Still, t’is hard to imagine.”

Thranduil smiled beatifically. “You have heard nothing yet.”

“It gets better?”

“Elbereth, you’ll not believe it. I still do not quite believe we did it either.”

“We held our foolish race, through the forest and to the edge of the cliffs past the eastern falls. All seemed well; I had not felt such exhilaration since before Legolas was born! Ai, dreary are my days now! Then we came to the jumps over the Enchanted River.”

“You are not serious.”

“Deadly serious. The same jumps that only the most foolhardy younglings attempt every spring, when the water is highest and most turbulent.”

“T’is only further evidence of our inebriation that night,” laughed Thranduil.

“What happened?” Glorfindel was dying of curiosity by now.

“Apparently, we were the first of this year’s hotheaded troop to attempt the jumps, for they had not been cleared much, and the overhanging foliage grew thick in certain spots.”

“Loathe am I to admit it, but Celeborn and I are somewhat more blessed in years than the usual visitors to these parts, and the jumps are clearly meant for smaller beings on smaller mounts.”

A pregnant pause came between the two friends in front of the merry fire.

“Celeborn snagged a vicious branch and fell into the river.”

Glorfindel nearly choked on his wine, doubled over in laughter, unable to regain composure for a goodly few minutes.

He looked up at his companion, indolently slouched in his chair across from him, looking most unkingly at the moment, staring into the fire with a smug grin curving his lips. Thranduil met his gaze, now looking a little sheepish.

“I tried to help him out and fell in during the process.”

This time, Glorfindel could not contain his mirth and exploded in a fit of hilarity, idly wondering if his laughter might wake the other palace inhabitants.

“You should have seen us! Lords of the Elven realms, soaked, muddy and unable to recall what we were doing there.”

“I can well imagine!” smirked Glorfindel. “Actually, on second thought, I cannot. You do realize this is blackmail material.”

“Is it now? Well, I could just let Elrond know who drugged his wine when he was courting Celebrian. Or how about the time you got stuck in the cellar with…”

“Alright! Alright! I concede yet again. What happened though?”

A little shamefaced, Thranduil ducked his head. “We had to wait till the effects of the River wore off and then we had to sneak back into the Palace like misbehaving elflings.”

“And Anoriel doesn’t know?”

“Well, not to my knowledge she doesn’t. If she did you can be sure I’d hear no end of it! Somehow, I don’t doubt Galadriel knows about this though.”

“Ha! So how did you decide that you won the bet?”

“We didn’t. We made a very solemn agreement. We would not inform our esteemed spouses of our exploits, and to seal our accord, I gave him my dagger and he sent me the wine. A favourable outcome I would say, in my opinion.”

“Ha ha! Favourable indeed. And I reap the benefits of your grave accord quite gladly. Though I feel you received the better end of the deal.”

“Not necessarily. He tells me he has an entire crate of these!”

“Elbereth, that is unbelievably good fortune. How came he by such a treasure?”

“I know not,” he shrugged, then a wicked glint came into his eye. “Perhaps he uses his Lady’s mirror for more than we know.”

The two dissolved into a fit of giggles and passed the rest of the night in quiet companionship, whiling away the hours till the first light of dawn.

=)

Hello all!

Sorry that this took so long in coming. I swear my muse visits only during exams and when deadlines are drawing near!!

Anyhow, hope you enjoy the chapter…

Dedicated to Supermodel....HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!!!!! =)

Chapter 3

Glorfindel spent the next few days in pleasant surroundings, recuperating and visiting his injured warriors. He found himself marvelling at how Thranduil’s elves kept the shadow at bay by their sheer willpower alone, and yet were able to persist in their merry lives, celebrating Yavanna’s blessings throughout each new season with such vigour and simple joy.

Early one morning, he went to visit a special grove on the far side of the verdant kingdom. He had made it a point to come here at least once every time he chanced to be in The Greenwood.

Here there stood row upon concentric row of beech trees, ranging in age from the grand, mature ones in the centre to the youngest saplings at the edges. With much grief, he realised there had been many new additions since his last visit here, for each sapling represented a fallen warrior of the great Wood, commemorating his or her valour in defence of the last Elven stronghold in the north.

Glorfindel walked amongst the trees, watching the first of Anor’s rays glitter amongst the leaves, hearing their soft whispers and returning the greeting in kind. Running his slender fingers along the silvery bark of each tree he passed, he heard their bittersweet song.

Many of these elves he had known and yet many more he had not. All too well did he know the sorrows of war, and no matter how many ages and wars he had lived through, the grief sowed upon this field of poignant remembrance wore heavily on him. Even the trees themselves knew the reason for their being for their songs were tinged with anguish for the Edhil they had never known.

He knew why he came here. He came to remind himself of that for which he fought.

He had returned to honour his pledge to Tuor’s House, but he would stay until Arda at last became free of the Darkness that tainted her. Too often in the peace of the Hidden Valley could they forget the perils roaming freely upon the rest of this Middle Earth. And although Imladris patrols met with their fair share of battle on their borders, he knew it and so did Elrond, that only by the blood of Thranduil’s folk was the shadow of Dol Guldur held at bay.

--- ---

He returned to the palace a little while later, for he had an appointment with a tiny princeling this very day and was determined to be on time for their meeting. He was rather looking forward to this outing, after the last few days spent intermittently in the healing wing with his injured warriors. Thankfully, all of them were healing nicely and were expected to return to full health given a well-deserved respite in Thranduil’s halls.

It had been joyously planned the previous evening that he would spend a few hours with young Legolas on the archery range and his suggestion of a picnic lunch had been met with much enthusiasm. The princeling also wanted to show him a few of his favourite spots in the surrounding wood and Glorfindel had happily agreed to accompany him.

He crossed the bridge over the river into the outer courtyard of the palace where an excited elfling bounded down the stairs into his waiting arms.

“Glorfindel!”

“Good morning, penneth! I see you have your bow and quiver all ready for me. Shall we be off then? You can lead the way.”

Glorfindel set the little fellow on his feet and fondly watched as he marched proudly by the side of the mighty warrior of Gondolin. Glorfindel glanced back and grinned at Anoriel, who handed him a lunch basket as he promised to bring her little whirlwind back by the fourth hour of the afternoon. They made their way back out across the bridge and though his little feet had to make twice as many steps as his companion, Legolas cheerily called out to each guard they passed and hailed them by name. Glorfindel noted how each one would smile or wave back at their youngest prince, genuine warmth glowing in their eyes as he went by.

They took the forest path to the archery grounds, and Legolas kept up a happy chatter all the way, running ahead to greet his favourite trees and telling Glorfindel about each one. There was a hoary old oak tree with a robin’s nest and its majestic neighbour that housed a family of red squirrels. Also a pretty elm that danced with the wind and the apple tree that would soon blossom. The forest almost seemed to brighten as he passed by; the singing of the birds grew sweeter and the flowers growing by the wayside unfurled their splendour to greet their prince.

“This oak remembers you, my lord. She says you climbed her boughs once and she would be happy to shelter you again.”

At that, Glorfindel had to chuckle. That had been many years ago, when he had accompanied the twins on a visit to Greenwood in their youth. On that occasion, Glorfindel and Ithildin had found it necessary to take shelter in the trees after a particularly eventful afternoon at the hot springs a short ways down the path. Something about missing garments and furious peredhil cursing golden-haired orcs masquerading as elves.

That memory brought a smile to his mind’s eye. Legolas eyed him curiously.

“Tell this kind tree that she has my eternal gratitude and I would be glad to visit with her again one day.”

The elfling smiled and continued along his merry way until they reached the training grounds. Not too long ago, Thranduil had gifted his youngest with his first bow. And while it would be quite some time before Legolas would officially train with the archers, he was familiar with the grounds and the people there. It was not uncommon to find the little one here, watching the practice sessions, that is, when he wasn’t amongst his beloved trees. The bow masters too were accustomed to their prince watching from stands, and called out to him even as they saluted Glorfindel, legend even here amongst the deadly Sylvan archers of the Greenwood.

Finding a secluded spot away from the main targets, Glorfindel set about instructing his young charge in the art of wielding a bow.

“You have a beautiful bow, Legolas. If you respect your weapon, and practice faithfully with it, it will ever serve you well. Remember that.”

Shining, round eyes watched him as he fingered the miniature bow in his hands. It may have been merely a child’s bow, but no detail had been overlooked. It was a fine, sturdy little weapon, beautifully made and decorated with the runes of Thranduil’s house woven into a series of interlocking vines covered in elegant green leaves. He wondered if Thranduil had made it himself. It was just something his friend would do.

Glorfindel watched as Legolas loosed a few arrows at the nearest targets. The child was really quite good. He helped him with his stance and corrected the grip of tiny fingers a few times, offering encouragement as he did so. With no small degree of satisfaction, he watched as the arrows came closer and closer to the bull’s-eye with each shot. They never quite made it there, but all in all, the child was well on his way to becoming a very good archer for his tender age.

They had been there awhile now, and those small arms were tiring fast, but the little one was determined to get the perfect shot before taking a break for luncheon. He looked so like his father then, thought Glorfindel as he watched intense sapphire eyes blink and small brow knit in concentration as he took aim. He truly was such a unique combination of his father’s stubbornness and his mother’s gentleness.

“Breathe deeply. Focus on the target. Let all else fade away…”

A twang of the bow rang clear.

An arrow landed squarely in the middle of the red circle.

His littlest student whooped in ecstasy as Glorfindel cheered him on. Truthfully he had not expected one so small to demonstrate such skill. He was impressed.

“Now we will see what the cook prepared for us hmm? I am famished!”

On cue, his stomach rumbled and Legolas giggled.

“What’s so funny? Archery is hard work!” Glorfindel grinned at his young charge.

He let Legolas take him by the hand and followed him to a grassy knoll by the river and together they unwrapped the large lunch basket. Out came a generous loaf of fresh bread, cheese and an assortment of fruit and small pastries. There was a flask of wine for Glorfindel and some milk for Legolas. To both their delight, they found one of cook’s special berry pies tucked away at the bottom with a small jar of clotted cream. What a treat!

They thoroughly enjoyed their repast and after finishing the last of the pie with gusto, Glorfindel sat at the foot of a graceful willow tree and watched as Legolas happily chased the pretty butterflies that flittered about him.

It was so beautiful here. The glade was formed around a small offshoot of the main river, enclosing a lovely bathing pool surrounded by a stand of willow trees. He lay back against the bole of the willow, letting the gentle sounds of the running water lull him into a state of relaxation, enjoying the warm rays of Anor upon his face. On a whim, he pulled off his boots and let his feet dangle in the cool water. Looking over to the youngster, who had ceased his frolicking, he patted the ground next to him and Legolas scooted over. In amiable silence they sat for awhile, watching the water sweep over their toes and listening to the sweet birdsong in the trees.

Glorfindel closed his eyes as peace permeated his entire being. He wished this moment could last a little longer, for almost like a dreamscape it seemed. Then suddenly he became aware of gentle singing by his side.

Legolas was singing.

Softly at first, building up a tender melody that harmonised with the very song of Arda. Closing his eyes again he let the sweet music entrance him, through it he could sense the gentle stirrings of the forest creatures around them, he could feel the vibrant life of the wood thrumming through the earth. Then he was soaring with the pure, high treble through the canopied treetops, even to the clouds above.

For awhile, he could let the cares of the outside world diminish and slowly he let the sorrows of the days past fade away.  Distant became the Grove of Beech trees.

Awhile later he opened his eyes to find bright blue ones gazing anxiously at him. His heart felt so much lighter and he smiled at the elfling who kneeled beside him.

“You are awake!” the little one smiled back. “Come with me now! I will show you the Wood.”

Refreshed and feeling pure joy he had not known in so long, Glorfindel placed a kiss on the tender brow and took the little hand in his bigger one. He could see the world with young eyes now.

=)

For all those who reviewed…… thank you so much for the encouragement. It meant a lot to me. This chapter is for you! =)

Epilogue

Many years later…..

Elrond had made the announcement earlier that week. The Eldar would be represented on this quest to Mordor by the youngest prince of Greenwood. Glorfindel himself thought it was an excellent choice, for Legolas, while still very young amongst their people, was indeed highly skilled with both knife and bow; his prowess honed in the dark recesses of southern Mirkwood. Furthermore, he was Estel’s best friend and had already developed a certain fondness for the little Halflings. He was a steadfast companion, with strength of heart and character, ever bright and true. Legolas was yet young enough to feel sufficiently compelled to fight for the lands of Middle Earth when so many of the elves were leaving these shores. All in all, Legolas was truly a worthy representative on this most crucial of missions.

Yet, there was a resigned sadness that descended upon Glorfindel, that it should come to this.

Glorfindel had always thought that the end would come with another Dagorlad. And as the consummate warrior, he had always expected to fight to the last in it. This was infinitely harder for him, to know that instead, they would send off a peculiarly diverse troupe of (it would seem to him) children, and one wizard, on the morrow to face myriad perils and danger unspeakable. There was a measure of wisdom in this, yet Glorfindel could not find any peace of heart or mind. The simmering tension that had been steadily building up over the last two months of reconnaissance and scouting missions was now coming to a head. They had all known what they were preparing for. Tomorrow, he would stand on the steps of the Last Homely House and bid farewell to Thranduil’s youngest child as he accompanied a Halfling to Mordor and a King of Men to his destiny.

The innocent Halflings should have had no part in this. He wished they could have lived out their days in the gentle peacefulness of the Shire, where evil could not touch them. But sadly, that was not quite true any longer and even that was not the greatest of his sorrows this night. Glorfindel had known Mithrandir for millennia now, and had watched Estel grow from boy to man but it was Legolas he felt the most anguish for. Mayhap because he was a fellow elf, or the son of a dearest friend. He could only imagine how Elrond was planning to break the news to Thranduil. I have just sent your most beloved child to his doom in the black wastes of Mordor where you saw your own father and two thirds of your warriors perish. No, he must not think that way. Cling to hope, no matter how faint it flickers. Valar willing, there was yet a chance that this Quest might succeed! He could do that, for the ray of sunshine that had renewed the glimmer in his own heart all those years ago.

A cold winter wind whistled through the open corridor where he stood. From here, he could see the lights of the Hidden Valley beyond the majestic falls and let the rushing water soothe his fears. He gazed up at the stars, where Eärendil shone brightly this evening. T’was a good omen on this blackest of nights. Silently he sent a prayer to the Valar, that they might watch over these nine brave souls who carried the hope of all.

Soft footsteps interrupted his thoughts and he turned to see Legolas standing beside him. He smiled a gentle smile at the young prince and placed an arm of affection around the slender shoulders. Together they watched the dance of the stars awhile, no words needed. The memory of another time like this came to mind and Glorfindel felt a swell of pride for this young elf who had grown up before his eyes, through dark times and light, from the merry elfling who sat on his knee to the skilled archer of renown, yet ever with a song in his heart and a gentle word for all who needed it. Yes, this light had stayed unsullied no matter how long the shadows had grown.

Would it be enough, would this light stay pure, even in the face of what was to come? Suddenly he understood what Thranduil had meant all those years ago. But for now, he would return the favour and he would do what he could to reassure this young elf on the eve of the most momentous journey of his young life. He hugged Legolas closer and was glad when the younger elf leaned into the comforting embrace.

He knew the trees too were bidding their farewells to this Wood-elf in their midst. For all trees loved Wood-elves, and it would seem, they loved Legolas most of all. His heart warmed to see the soft glow of star-light upon the young elf’s features as the sweet melodies swept over them. Tonight, he too would offer a hymn to the Star-Kindler, in the hopes that it might ease a tender heart, and he prayed it would not be the last they sang together on this side of the Belegaer.

A Elbereth Gilthoniel,
silivren penna míriel     
o menel aglar elenath!
Na-chaered palan-díriel
o galadhremmin ennorath,
Fanuilos, le linnathon
nef aear, sí nef aearon!

The beautiful words came to an end, and the silence of the valley descended once more. Slowly, the two elves turned to face one another, eyes bright with unspoken emotion.

“There is always a ray of hope, even in the darkest of nights…... May the stars shine ever brightly for you, penneth.” 

He placed a gentle kiss upon Legolas’ brow, before sweeping him into a fierce embrace.

Gently releasing their grasp, they looked into each other’s eyes one last time, and exchanging one last smile they returned to their own rooms, awaiting the dawn of the new day, and the future that it would bring.

The End.