7.  Mending Fences

A week later, Galenadiual sat in the Mirkwood royal family’s private garden, inhaling the scent of the first daffodils that the day’s warmth had coaxed from their bed next to her.  Soon she must go, for she had work to do if the move was to be completed by nightfall, as she was determined it should be.  She had lingered long enough in the twilight existence that had followed her husband’s death and led her to allow others to shape her direction for her. The discovery that she had harbored an agent of the enemy in her own home and then unwittingly introduced her into the palace had shaken Galenadiual.  It was time to take up her life again, but first there were things she needed to say, so she waited a bit longer.

She had spoken to Thranduil earlier in the day, boldly telling him a legend that she had once heard her mother tell a neighbor with a daughter who was about the age that Legolas was now:  “When a child reaches a certain age—and this age differs from race to race, but for Elves is somewhere between thirty and thirty-five—a monster comes and takes the child away and leaves its own monster child in the child’s place.”  Thranduil had stiffened.  He usually tolerated no interference in his management of his sons, and she had never before spoken of it.  Before he could stop her, she had hurried on with the rest of the legend.  “The thing that mothers and fathers must remember is that their child will come home to them again only after they have learned to love the monster child.”

Thranduil had obviously not welcomed her words, but after a moment, he had spoken mildly enough.  “As it happens, I have learned to love two monster children already.  One of my sons has come back to me and the other, I think, is on his way.  So I do not believe that I was wholly ignorant of what you say. Still,” he had grudgingly added, “it is good to be reminded.”

Galenadiual smiled wryly to herself as she remembered the conversation.  Now she waited to speak to the others to whom she owed speech.  This bench should be in the path of all those she awaited.

After a brief time, she heard someone whistling lightheartedly and Ithilden appeared around the corner that came from the stables. He broke off his tune when saw her and greeted her with his customary cheer.  “Good afternoon, my lady. How goes the move to the cottage?”

She smiled at him.  He really was very engaging.  “It goes well. Come and sit by me for a moment or two.”  Ithilden contentedly settled next to her on the bench, raising his face to the late afternoon spring sunshine. “I have been wishing to ask you two questions, my lord, but have not had the chance until now.”

He lowered his gaze to hers in surprise.  “And what are the questions?” he asked somewhat cautiously.

“First, when to you plan to ask the healer’s daughter to bond with you?” Galenadiual asked sweetly.  Ithilden gaped at her. Whether he was astonished by the question itself or by her intrusion on his privacy, she could not have said and didn’t particularly care. She had harmed Thranduil’s family not only by exposing them to Arramiel, but also by the strains her own careless presence had introduced.  She intended to make amends and if they found the means she chose intrusive, then so be it.

“I ask,” Galenadiual went on, “because judging by the way she looks at you, she is hoping that it will be soon.”  Ithilden continued to stare at her in silence, but a flush was creeping up his neck. Galenadiual went on, “And of course, Thranduil would be pleased. He would like to see you bonded.  He is a traditionalist in these matters.”

Ithilden finally found his tongue to say with some asperity, “A traditionalist for others perhaps.”  He had apparently resented her friendship with his father more than he had let on, Galenadiual thought.  It was understandable that he would now choose to retaliate for her intrusion on his own heart’s secrets.

She smiled gently at him.  “And also a traditionalist in his own heart, although that is not always obvious.”  Although he had been politely regretful at her leaving the palace, Galenadiual thought that Thranduil was secretly relieved at her departure.  Guilt may have been too strong a word to apply to his attitude toward his relationship with her, but remorse there certainly was.

Ithilden studied her and then smiled back somewhat wryly.  “I fear to ask what the second question is, my lady.”

”Ah, yes, my second question. Do you ever plan to tell anyone that it was you who wrote the song the minstrel sang at the feast on the evening that Eilian came home?”

Now Ithilden was truly dumbstruck.  “How did you know?” he choked out.

She laughed. “You had earlier spoken about pools of moonlight on the forest floor. I thought at the time that the words were unusually poetic for you, but when I heard them again in the song, I realized that I had simply mistaken your nature.  Of course, my mistake was one that many people have made and indeed one that you encourage. I wonder why?”

Ithilden opened his mouth and then closed it again.  Enough was enough. He rose and with a polite bow said, “I give you good day, my lady.”

She caught at his tunic long enough to say, “Do not be afraid of yourself, my lord,” and then let him go.  She was leaving the palace, but not Mirkwood. There would be time.

Settling herself again, she waited patiently and was soon rewarded by the sight of Legolas returning home from his day’s unwelcome task. As punishment for slipping out of the palace on the night he had seen Arramiel send the message, Thranduil had required him to spend two weeks assisting Beleg, one of Mirkwood’s armorers.  Even Galenadiual, a newcomer to Mirkwood, knew of Beleg’s bad tempered reputation.  Laboring in the armorer’s forge was filthy work, and Legolas had inherited enough of his father’s fastidiousness about his appearance that he would probably have disliked the task in any case. Beleg’s temper would have rendered it close to intolerable to this rebellious youngling.

This afternoon, Legolas looked thoroughly tired and disgruntled. Galenadiual thought that perhaps Thranduil had at last found a way to curb his son’s night wandering, especially given that he had also ordered a change in the guard’s reporting.  She doubted, however, that the king could hold onto this one for as long as he might wish.  Indeed, she would probably speed the break if she could get Legolas to hear what she had to say.

When Legolas saw her, he slowed his step and greeted her with somewhat less warmth than his oldest brother had shown. Galenadiual smiled to herself. He would resent her to the last, she thought, and the scene that had taken place in her chamber would make things worse, not better.  Being comforted while he vomited had probably finished any chance of a truce between them.  No matter.  “Come sit with me for a moment, Legolas.”

He remained where he was. “I regret that I cannot tarry,” he lied. “I must bathe before evening meal, and I do not wish to be late.”

“Come, there is time,” she insisted. “I have something that I wish to tell you, and after today, I will have much less opportunity to do so.”  He sat, his face carefully arranged to avoid betraying the relief that he undoubtedly felt over that fact.

“First, I wish to thank you for saving my life.”

He nodded without speaking. Thranduil had told her that Legolas would not speak to him or his brothers about killing Arramiel.  Like them, she knew that young warriors sometimes reacted badly to killing a person close up. A warg or an Orc was one thing, as was an arrow loosed at a distance. But an enemy in your hands was a different matter. And Legolas had undoubtedly never expected that his first kill would be a pretty young woman.  What warrior would ever have anticipated such a thing?  Since that night, Legolas had not once attended weapons training, using first his wound and then his sentence in the armory as excuses. Galenadiual knew that Thranduil was worried.

She chose her words carefully.  “I had seen you at weapons training, and I knew that you were skilled. That is fortunate.  These are evil times, and Mirkwood needs warriors who can protect the innocent from the shadow that threatens us.  You have a gift.”

He sat stone still but she knew that he was listening. “Gifts are frightening things, for they sometimes come to us without our asking, and then they shape our destiny and the destinies of the people who rely on us.”  She paused again. “You killed Arramiel,” she said and watched him wince, “not because you longed for her death but because she longed for the death of those you are responsible for, prince of Mirkwood.  It was the right thing to do.”

He still did not speak.  She sighed.  Perhaps he would think of her words later even if he could not hear them now.  “I am sorry that I brought Arramiel into your home and led you to this moment, Legolas.  I would undo it if I could.”  There was nothing more she could say.  “I have detained you long enough.”

He rose slowly and started toward the gate. Then he paused and looked at her. “I wish that the times were different, my lady.  But since the times are what they are, I do not regret my actions.  I know that my father is worried. Tell him that he need not be.  I am gathering myself.  I will be ready to take up weapons again when I am done at the armorer’s.”  He turned to go and then turned back again, with an impudent smile.  “You might also tell him that I would be ready sooner if he were to decide that one week with Beleg was enough.”  With a flurry of blond hair, he whirled and was gone.

Galenadiual shook her head but could not help laughing.  Thranduil was going to have his hands full for a while yet with this particular monster child.  Reasonably pleased with the outcomes of her first two conversations, she settled again to wait for Eilian.  She waited longer than she anticipated and afternoon was fading into evening by the time he appeared, singing softly to himself as he strolled along.

“Lord Eilian,” she greeted him. “I had hoped that you would come this way. Sit with me for a brief while, if you please. I have something that I wish to give you.”

Eilian’s smile was puzzled, but he sat down readily enough.  “Something to give me?”

“Yes.  I understand that you are returning south tomorrow.”

“Yes, I have been away from my duty long enough.”

“I also understand that your hundredth begetting day is next week.”

Eilian merely nodded.  An Elf’s hundredth begetting day was significant because it was usually thought to mark the achievement of full maturity.

“Then I have a gift I wish to give you.” From her pocket, she drew a small, flat package wrapped in a stiff green paper that had been cleverly folded to close in on itself. Eilian took the package hesitantly and then probed with his fingers to find the spot where the paper could be tugged to spring open like a flower.  When the paper had been loosened, he sat for a silent minute starting at the object in his hand. It was a picture of his mother looking younger than he had ever seen her. The picture was sketched in colored pencil and framed in wood that had been carved with vines and flowers.  He looked at Galenadiual with questions in his eyes.

“I was very fond of your mother,” Galenadiual told him gently. “She spent a summer at our family home when she was about the age you are now.  We corresponded several times a year after that, right up until the time she died. The picture was drawn by one of my father’s warriors. I think that he was smitten with her, but she had met Thranduil by then, and I do not believe that she ever looked at anyone else after that.”

“This is a very great gift, my lady,” Eilian finally managed.  “There are no words to thank you enough.”

“Know you that you are very like her, Eilian?” Galenadiual asked.

He looked startled. Such a thought had evidently never occurred to him.

“You have her dark coloring, of course, and I see her smile in yours, but the resemblance goes deeper. She was intuitive like you are, and she shared your longing for adventure.  I believe that this longing contributed to her death, something that you might think about lest you break the hearts of your father and brothers.” Eilian stiffened at this interfering advice but did not reply, and Galenadiual went on.

“Even more than most Elves, your mother needed to be in nature.  Your father’s fortress was not always a comfortable home for her, I fear, any more than it is for you. That too led her to venture into danger sometimes.”

“Are you trying to tell me that I should not return to the southern patrol, my lady?” Eilian asked, as mildly as he could manage.

“No, I am not,” Galenadiual answered. “I do not believe that such a choice is open to you. If nothing else, Thranduil would object.  He feels strongly about the duty his sons have to Mirkwood.”

“As do I,” Eilian’s tone was frosty.

“Yes, I thought that you did.”  She contemplated him. “You agree with your father about most things, and yet the two of you get along much better when you are apart.  I suppose that is common enough with fathers and sons, even when the father is as proud of the son as Thranduil is of you.”

His eyes, so similar to his mother’s, widened slightly. His lips parted as if he would speak but he said nothing.  He glanced down at the picture in his hands.

“I have lingered long enough,” Galenadiual finally said and rose to her feet, drawing Eilian to his.  “I must go and make sure that the packing is complete.  I would sleep in my new home tonight. If I do not see you tomorrow, then I wish you safe journey.  May the stars shine on your path.”

She turned to leave. As she reached the gate that would lead her out of the garden, Eilian called to her and she glanced back.

“Thank you,” he said simply.

“You are most welcome, my lord.”

Eilian stood in the gathering twilight fingering the picture and thinking about what Galenadiual had said. Then he looked up in the evening sky and saw the first stars emerge.