Chapter 3: Letters from Lothlórien 

Despite his little foray into the cold morning air the day before, and the minor setback to his health that it caused; Thranduil’s wound had healed sufficiently overnight to allow his release from the infirmary.  

“I must make plans to return to Mirkwood as soon as possible,” declared Thranduil as Elrond removed his bandages.  

“I understand, but I think you should rest here for a few more days before attempting the long journey back to your forests,” said Elrond, leading Thranduil down a maze of hallways until they reached the guest room that had been prepared for the Elvenking.  

“Very well,” agreed Thranduil, glancing around the chamber before stepping out onto the balcony that overlooked the river valley below. “As comfortable and elegant as this room appears to be, I long to spend some time outdoors in the fresh air and the beauty of your gardens.”  

“Of course, you are free to do as you wish, but first I suggest we make our way to the dining hall where breakfast is being served. I will show you the path that leads to one of my favourite gardens on the way.”    

“An excellent idea, and now that you mention it, I am rather hungry this morning,” said Thranduil, once again following Elrond as he lead him to the main entrance to the courtyard, on the other side of which the dining hall was to be found. “The garden is through that archway over there,” said Elrond pointing to a moss covered structure.

“It certainly looks inviting, I will find my way there after breakfast,” said Thranduil as they entered the dining hall.  

“Good morning, Thranduil, I see you have been officially released from Elrond’s ‘prison’ at last,” said Glorfindel who was already enjoying his morning meal. Elladan and Elrohir, who were seated at the same table, chuckled at the Elf Lord’s facetious reference to their Adar’s infirmary, earning them a stern glare from Elrond.  

“Yes, and I have also learned how to find my own way into the gardens,” laughed Thranduil as he settled himself in the vacant chair next to Elladan. “I am told I have you and Elrohir to thank for my rescue,” he said to the younger Elf.  

“I am sorry we did not arrive in time to save your guards as well,” Elladan said quietly.  

“There is no need to apologise, the attack was sudden and we were greatly outnumbered. I offer you both my deepest gratitude for saving my life, and for seeing to the burial of my companions,” Thranduil said bowing humbly to his two young rescuers.  

“You are welcome,” replied Elrohir with a smile. “Since you no longer have your guards, Elladan and I will gladly arrange for a party to escort you back to Mirkwood, when you are ready to return.”

“Yes, and should the Orcs attack again, we will be ready for them,” declared Elladan, his hatred for the vile creatures evident in his voice.  

“I do not think that will be necessary,” said Glorfindel, entering the conversation. “Our scouts informed me this morning that a group of Elves wearing Mirkwood garb are approaching Imladris, they should be here before nightfall.”  

In fact, the Wood Elves arrived in the early afternoon, and to everyone’s surprise, a messenger from Lothlórien, whom they had met near the pass through the Misty Mountains, accompanied them.  

“I bring letters for both Elrond and Thranduil,” the Elf from Lothlórien told Glorfindel, who had made it his business to greet the new arrival in the hopes of hearing something newsworthy.  

“How did you know Thranduil would be here?” enquired Glorfindel suspiciously. He was well aware that spies of Sauron and Saruman where everywhere these days.  

“I did not know. Had I not met the Wood Elves on the path, I would have continued on to Mirkwood after leaving Imladris,” he explained. “The fortuitous meeting has saved me from a rather dangerous journey.”

“Yes, it has. I will show you to Elrond’s study, for I am certain he is eagerly awaiting whatever news you bear,” said the Elf Lord, feigning indifference to hide his curiosity. “But I believe that Thranduil is currently in the gardens with his people,” said Glorfindel as the soft strains of a lament drifted on the breeze. “I do not think they wish to be disturbed at present.”  

“Nor should they be,” the messenger replied respectfully. He had seen the newly built cairns on the mountain pass, and the telltale signs of a recent battle with Orcs. Lothlórien Elves were no strangers to such attacks for Orcs were frequently invading the outskirts of the Golden Wood, and more than one of the Galadhrim had gone to the Halls of Mandos as a result.  

“Thank you, I will see that Thranduil receives this,” Elrond said as he took both letters that were handed to him. “Glorfindel will show you a room where you can rest, or to the dining hall for some refreshments, if you prefer.”  

“Thank you, Lord Elrond,” said the Elf, smiling to himself as he realised his golden haired guide would much rather have stayed to find out what news the letter bore.  

Having quickly discharged his duty to the messenger, Glorfindel returned to the study to find Elrond sitting in quiet contemplation, the letter still in his hand. He could see that it was actually two pages, and the one Elrond was just about to read was written in Aragorn’s strong hand.  

                                     *******

Greetings Elrond,

I am certain Lord Celeborn has informed you of the loss of Mithrandir. I tried to warn him of the dangers of Moria, but in his usual fashion, he followed his own path. The Hobbits are inconsolable at present, Legolas hides his grief from us, seeking solace among his own kind and Boromir and Gimli are also grief stricken.  

The leadership has fallen on my shoulders, a burden I feel unprepared for, and I am grateful for the strength and support offered by Legolas. It is easy to think of him as young, but his words remind me that he has already lived many centuries.  

 I have not yet faced the challenge of the power of the One Ring, but it calls softly to me even here in Lothlórien, and I am certain Boromir is fast being seduced by it’s evil influence.  

Lord Celeborn has offered us sanctuary until we are healed, but I fear to delay too long. We will continue the journey south, but we must be even more cautious.  

As ever you have my love, as I know I have yours,  

Aragorn  

                                                  ********  

“Sad news, I take it?” enquired Glorfindel as he watched the initial joy on his Lord’s normally stern features at receiving a letter from Aragorn quickly turning to melancholy.  

“Indeed,” agreed Elrond as he reread the message telling of Gandalf’s battle with the Balrog in Moria, and his subsequent fall. “Mithrandir has passed into shadow.”  

“What happened?” Rather than reply, Elrond handed his friend the letter from Celeborn and waited until he read it for himself. “A Balrog!” exclaimed Glorfindel, shuddering at the still painful memories of his own encounter with one of the creatures, albeit many centuries ago.  

“Aragorn must lead the Fellowship now, but he still has doubts about himself and the power of the Ring,” said Elrond.

“Surely Celeborn will offer some guidance,” suggested Glorfindel taking a seat in the armchair opposite Elrond.  

“Yes, he has made it clear he will help in any way possible, but they will be in great danger once they leave Lothlórien. They are no longer hidden from the spies of Saruman.”

“Well, at least you know he is safe for now and that the Ring will continue on the journey south,” said Glorfindel, offering a few words of comfort.  

“True, but whether Frodo and the others will actually find their way to Mordor remains to be seen, the loss of Mithrandir is a heavy blow,” replied Elrond morosely.  

“What is this about the Istari?” asked Thranduil, as he entered the study. “What news from that messenger sent by Celeborn?” Elrond handed him the letter addressed to the King of Mirkwood and watched as Thranduil’s already saddened features clouded over as he read the news. “I find it hard to believe the old wizard has met his end, it would be just like him to somehow escape that fate and appear unexpectedly somewhere else,” he said, using levity to hide his grief.  

“We can only hope that is so,” agreed Elrond. “Galadriel seems to think his part in this war is not yet complete.”   Thranduil merely nodded, his attention drawn to the second page of his message. A genuine smile lit his eyes as he saw it was from Legolas.  

                                                          *******  

Hello Adar,  

I hope this letter finds you well, and not too angry with me for agreeing to be a part of the Fellowship.  

We have reached Lothlórien, which, by the way, is far more beautiful than described in our songs. However, I am so filled with grief at the loss of Mithrandir, that I cannot as yet find joy, even among the mellryn.  

The Hobbits are devastated by the loss, as are the Men, and even the Dwarf.   I thank the Valar that I am amongst kinfolk at this time, amongst others who grieve as I do and whose presence is a great comfort.  

As strange as it sounds, I am beginning to feel drawn towards friendship with the Dwarf, Gimli. As the sole representatives of our people, we are both alone, and thus actually have something in common.  

When next you send word to Lord Elrond, please assure him that we all have every confidence in Aragorn, (more than he has in himself at this point), as our leader and that I will provide whatever support he needs. The Quest must not fail!  

Lord Celeborn says that there is a strange new breed of Orcs on the eastern shore of the river, ones who can travel even in daylight. This is ill news indeed!  

I do not know when, or even if I will be able to contact you again, but know that my heart lies in Mirkwood with you and I eagerly look to the day we can be reunited.  

Legolas  

                                                     ********  

“So, how is Legolas?” asked Glorfindel as he poured them all a glass of wine, astutely observing that both Elrond and Thranduil looked as if they would appreciate something stronger than herbal tea.  

“He is grieving for Mithrandir, as you would expect, but at least he is amongst those who understand his pain. He asks me to tell you, Elrond, that the Fellowship has every confidence in Aragorn, and that he will offer your son whatever support he needs.”

“That is a good to hear,” said Elrond. “I assume Celeborn mentioned the Orcs that can travel in sunlight?”  

“As did Legolas,” said Thranduil proudly. His son was ever mindful of the dangers to his home, and was always ready to protect it, even from a distance.  

“Sounds like Saruman’s brand of mischief to me,” said a concerned Glorfindel.  

“Yes, and a danger we all need to be wary of in future,” agreed Elrond.  

“In light of this news, I can no longer afford to delay my return to Mirkwood. I must prepare for the battle I am sure is coming, Sauron’s desire for the destruction of Elvendom has undoubtedly not diminished over the centuries,” said Thranduil, raising his hand to silence any protest from his healer. “We will leave in the morning.”  

“If you must,” conceded Elrond, knowing full well that once Thranduil had decided on a course of action, it was pointless to try and dissuade him. Besides, he was certain the Mirkwood King was correct; all three realms were in grave danger of attack. “I think you should find time to send Legolas a reply, just in case they are still in Lothlórien when the messenger returns.”  

Both Elrond and Thranduil wrote to their sons, but their words of wisdom and comfort were never read, for the Fellowship had long departed when the letters finally arrived in the Golden Wood.