Chapter 2: Who Is Your Nana?

Magor watched Legolas trudge slowly up the path to the doors of the palace, his head bowed and his feet shuffling on the path with an uncharacteristic lack of grace. His greeting died on his lips as the small form passed by them without a hello or even a smile.  He was sure he saw tears running down the elfling’s cheek, but the child had pulled up his hood to hide his face.

“Legolas?” he asked gently.  But Legolas only sniffed and walked on.

“I think the sun has just hidden behind the darkest cloud,” he lamented to Hador, who nodded his agreement.

Thranduil saw his youngest child from the end of the hall, where he was about to enter the family dining area.  He waited for Legolas to look up and see him, but the child kept his eyes fixed on his feet. Moving so that Legolas would either run into him or have to move around him, he watched as Legolas did not miss a step, but walked right to him and flung his arms about his knees. He could feel his child’s distress. Reaching down, he lifted Legolas into his arms and pushed the hood of his cloak from his head.

“Legolas, whatever is wrong?”

No answer was forthcoming.  Legolas merely clung to him soundlessly. Thranduil felt a slight tug as a braid of his hair was slowly wound around Legolas’s fist; something his son seldom did now unless he was feeling insecure or sad. Knowing that Legolas had been playing with his new friends, he directed his questioning to them. “Did something happen at play today, Legolas?”

“Yes,” came the answer, barely audible and very sad.

“Would you tell me about it?” coaxed Thranduil.

“Everyone but me has a nana,” answered Legolas finally, his voice muffled in Thranduil’s tunic.

“I am glad that the other children have nanas, Legolas,” answered Thranduil calmly. “I wish your nana could still be here with us.”

“Abronwë said my nana died when I was born. He said if I had not been born that day, my nana would have lived.”

Thranduil looked up into the angry eyes of Bregolas and the pale face of Lathron, who had joined them.

“Who is Abronwë?” hissed Bregolas in a low voice.

Lathron laid a restraining hand on Bregolas’s arm. “He is just a child.”

“Legolas, many things happened on the day you were born and your naneth died, but none of them were your fault,” said Thranduil reassuringly.  Inside, though, he felt like Bregolas did.  He wanted to sit this ellon on a bench and lecture him loudly on using care in his words. “Your naneth loved you very much.”

Thranduil felt Legolas relax against him, but the arms that were wound around his neck did not loosen and the head remained on his shoulder.  He looked at Bregolas and Lathron, both looking as helpless as he felt.

“Legolas, did Abronwë say anything else?” asked Lathron gently.

Legolas nodded. “He said his naneth said my naneth should not have been traveling when she was carrying me.”

Thranduil felt as if time stood still, and rage rose within him. This child’s naneth blamed Narawen for her fate, and the placing of guilt was something with which Thranduil was familiar.  His guilt for having taken Narawen on that fateful trip had haunted him for years, and his anger had often been directed inward. He felt Bregolas’s hand on his arm, and the fog surrounding him dissipated. He looked down at the sad bundle in his arms instead.

“Do you want to have some dinner? Are you hungry?” he asked gently.

Legolas nodded, but when they entered the dining room he clung to Thranduil when Thranduil would have set him down.  Thranduil thought to hold him for a moment, then place him on his chair, but when he next looked down he found that Legolas was sleeping.

“Adar, the Great Hall looks beautiful.  We tied ribbons on the pine boughs and this afternoon we will be filling the leaf bags with candied fruit and maple sugar candies,” said Elumeril as she skipped into the room, her cheeks flushed with excitement and her eyes shining with joy at the upcoming Midwinter celebration. 

Before Thranduil could answer, Elumeril came to stand next to him. “Legolas was going to help us this afternoon, Adar.”

Thranduil shifted the child in his arms, cradling Legolas against his chest.  Wetting his napkin, he wiped the faint tracks of tears from his son’s cheeks.  He smiled reassuringly at Elumeril, but inside his heart sank, for he did not wish to discuss this before Elumeril, who still could not easily speak of her mother’s death.  His two youngest children had been so happy; his heart was sorrowed to think that heartache might return.

“When he wakes, I will send him to you, if he still desires to help,” he answered quietly. He smiled at Elumeril, then kissed her forehead before sending her to her place at the table.  She finished her midday meal quickly, then ran merrily from the room to rejoin her friends and those working on the decorating.

Thranduil sat quietly, stroking Legolas’s back occasionally and watching the child’s chest rise and fall with each breath he took.  He still treasured each moment he held this child, this youngest son whom he had feared would be killed or kept from him forever.   Had Legolas died with his mother, Thranduil would have gained some small comfort in knowing that Legolas was with Narawen, and he would have beseeched the Valar to have mercy on so innocent a soul.  Knowing his son was alive but far from him had been a torment he was not sure how he had survived, and Legolas’s arrival home was one of the most terrifying yet exhilarating events of his life -- meeting a child who might fear and reject him, a child he had thought of every moment and longed to hold. But finally that day had come and Thranduil thought that he might have peace at last. For almost ten years Legolas had been home, and none of the family could imagine him not being part of their family.  He had asked few questions about the mother he did not know. Tathiel was the constant in his life – the mother presence he had known from his first breath.  As he had grown older and learned his family relationships, he had learned of his mother and a brother who had died. They were a fact learned, but he had not even the faintest of memories of them, and thus learning of their absence had not led to more than a brief feeling of sadness.

Thranduil felt Lathron’s hand on his shoulder.  “I have some things to do,” said his son vaguely. “I will see you later this afternoon.”

Thranduil watched Lathron leave, followed soon after by Bregolas, and he knew that his sons intended to learn who these new children were and what interest their families might have in the family of the king.   They did not ask his permission, for they knew he would not grant it. He did not ask their intentions, for he could guess them, yet he did not try to stop them, for they needed to learn for themselves that they could not fight all of Legolas’s battles for him.  That is my job, thought Thranduil stubbornly, knowing how irrational the thought was.  I only wish I could.

He held Legolas for a while after everyone else had gone, finally rising and taking him to Tathiel’s apartment.   She smiled in greeting, and led him to the sleep chamber where Emlin was already napping.  Thranduil placed Legolas beside the toddler, and Tathiel covered him with a warm blanket. Thranduil watched him thoughtfully for a few moments more and then followed Tathiel from the room.

“Legolas does not nap often anymore,” said Tathiel, surprise in her voice.

“His new friends said something that upset him,” answered Thranduil. “What were your impressions of these children?”

“I liked Narthan, the younger, immediately.  Abronwë was harder to read; he seemed hardened in some ways, perhaps angry,” replied Tathiel.  Her eyes had narrowed though, at the thought that someone had upset Legolas. “What did he say?”

Thranduil repeated the words Legolas had told him and then finished, “Elumeril is in the Great Hall, helping with Mid-winter celebration decorations. She had expected Legolas to join her.”

“We will go after their naps,” agreed Tathiel. Thranduil saw her bristle and her nostrils flare though, and knew she was restraining herself from reacting to what she had heard.  As he left, he knew that Legolas would wake to the loving hands of his Tathiel, who understood what had happened that day and could answer any questions he asked.

* * *

Tathiel heard the rustling of blankets and lifted her head from her sewing as Legolas emerged from the bedchamber, wrapping the blanket around him as he yawned. He padded to her, climbing up on to the chair to sit next to her when she patted the spot invitingly.  “Hello, Legolas,” she greeted him, kissing his forehead and smoothing his hair.

“Did my adar bring me here?” he asked, another yawn escaping him.

“Yes, he did.  He said you did not eat and might be hungry.  He also said that Elumeril is hoping you will come and help decorate the Great Hall this afternoon.”

“I want to do that,” agreed Legolas.  “But I am hungry.”

Tathiel laughed as she stood.  “I am sure you are.” She held out her hand to him.  “Come sit at the table and I will find you some lunch.”

Legolas ate while Tathiel brushed and braided his hair, then took the damp cloth she handed him and washed up while she went to Emlin, who had called her.  Tathiel smiled as she held out her arms to her bouncing daughter, who always woke in a good mood.  She considered herself fortunate, for both Legolas and Emlin had been good sleepers and happy wakers. 

“Legolas is here.  Do you want to go to the Great Hall and help decorate?” she asked.

“Leg’las!” Emlin cried.  She squirmed down from Tathiel’s arms and ran out into the sitting room. “You came!  Nana says we can go decorate.  Come on, Leg’las!”

Tathiel laughed as Emlin tugged on Legolas’s tunic, and he crammed the last handful of nuts into his mouth as he slid from the chair.  “I bet you do not remember what Mid-winter decorations look like,” he told her conspiratorially.

“There are treats!” squealed Emlin.  “You told me there would be treats!”

“There will be, but I am not going to tell you where they are,” teased Legolas. “You will have to figure it out.” He laughed as Emlin tugged on his hand, leaning forward with all her strength to pull him to the door.  He suddenly dashed forward, pulling Emlin with him instead, and she squealed again in delight.

Tathiel followed them out the door, her heart eased somewhat, for whatever had upset Legolas earlier seemed forgotten now.

* * *

Legolas entered the Great Hall and awe filled him immediately at the beauty and transformation of the Hall into a place of great celebration.  He heard Emlin’s cry of delight and turned to smile at her, for he remembered the first time he had seen the Hall decorated for Yule. Boughs of pine and holly were hung on the walls, and ropes were decorated with lanterns and ribbons and strung from one side of the Hall to the other. Legolas spied the bags of treats waiting to be hung on one tables. At another table, he saw Elumeril busy filling bags and tying them with ribbons

“Legolas!” she called. “Come and help.”

Legolas ran to his sister, pulling up two stools for him and Emlin so that they could reach the table. “There are treats, Leg’las!” confirmed Emlin, her eyes round as she drank in the sight before her.  “I help, El’meril,” she proclaimed happily.

“You may help too,” agreed Elumeril.  She set a bowl of candied fruit before the toddler.  “Put two of these in each bag.”

Emlin happily began plopping fruit into the bags, the quantity seeming to range from one to five, but no one minded.   Legolas looked over all the elves working on the project and the growing pile of little bags, and then out at the trees.  No one was hanging the bags.

“Elumeril, I will go hang the bags,” offered Legolas.  “I will bring my stool so I am tall enough to hang them!”

When Elumeril nodded that he could, he picked up his stool in one hand and a few bags in the other, and raced to the great doors.  The closest tree already had some bags hanging from the lowest branches, so he set his stool down and climbed up into the branches to place the ones he had brought.

“Legolas, you need to wear your cloak,” Tathiel scolded when he ran back. 

Legolas scowled.  “I am not cold!” he argued. “I am running and keeping warm.”

“Go,” commanded Tathiel, turning him and pushing him to the door they had come through just moments before.  “It will take only a moment and then you will have pockets to put the bags in.”

Legolas brightened at that thought, and with a quick grin at Tathiel he raced back to his room and yanked his cloak from the peg on his wall.  He tugged it over his head and ran back to the Great Hall, quickly stuffing a bunch of bags into his pockets. Returning to the trees, he found his stool where he left it, and moved it to the next tree he wished to decorate.

“What are you doing?”

Legolas peered down through the branches to see who was speaking to him, and apprehension filled him as he saw Abronwë and Narthan standing below him.  Abronwë moved his stool out from under the tree and sat down upon it.   Memory of the words Abronwë had said that morning suddenly returned to him, and he wished they would leave.

“My naneth said there is a feast here tonight to celebrate Mid-winter,” said Narthan, his voice kind and curious. “Are you helping?”

“Yes,” answered Legolas.  “I am helping.” He tied the bag he had been holding to a branch.

Abronwë grabbed one of the bags and opened it, pouring the contents out on to his hand.  He stuffed all of it in his mouth at once. Legolas frowned at him. “Those are not to be eaten now, but tonight, after the blessing is spoken and the feast served.”

Abronwë hesitated, but then shrugged, grabbing another bag from the tree and quickly eating its contents as well. “I know that, but I am hungry now.” He looked at Legolas, then glanced into the Great Hall.  “Where is your family?”

“My sister is making the bags,” he answered.

“Where is your adar, the king?” pressed Abronwë.

Legolas shrugged. “Probably in his office. I do not know.”

“Who are the little elleth and adult you were with?” Abronwë continued.

“Tathiel and Emlin,” Legolas replied curtly.

“But who are they?  Your servants?”

“Tathiel is part of my family,” replied Legolas, his frustration growing. “She is like my naneth.”

“She is not really your naneth though,” concluded Abronwë. “She is a servant to your father the king.”

“She is not a servant,” replied Legolas indignantly, though he had no idea why being a servant was a bad thing.  He suddenly had an idea. “There are many bags to hang. Do you want to help?”

“Yes!” agreed Narthan, who had wandered near the doors while Abronwë and Legolas argued.

“No,” replied Abronwë.  “This is child’s work.” He paused, looking at Legolas. “Or work your servants could do. Why do you work like the servants?”

Legolas’s anger flared. “Everyone in my family does things! And all of those elves,” he said as he pointed into the Great Hall, “are not servants!”

Abronwë laughed and smiled coyly. “My naneth says that Tathiel was the queen’s servant and now she is your adar’s servant.  She acts like your naneth, but she is not your naneth.  She has her own child and probably would prefer to just take care of her.”

Legolas felt like someone had punched him in the stomach, again.  While he knew in his heart that Tathiel loved him, he was filled with a sudden fear that perhaps she did prefer to care for only Emlin.  Maybe she cared for him only because his adar asked her to. He jumped down from the tree, landing lightly on his feet just beyond Abronwë.  “I must get more bags,” he said hoarsely.

He ran into the Great Hall, the sound of Abronwë’s laughter spurring him on.   He ran to where Emlin was still helping fill bags, hopping from one foot to the other, for she never could stand still.  Tathiel stood across from her, tying the bags with ribbons.  She smiled as she saw him running to her, and he decided right then to just ask her if what Abronwë said was true.

“Tathiel,” he began, “do you…”  Suddenly, Emlin cried out, distracting them both. Legolas turned to see Emlin tumbling down off the stool. She crashed to the floor, banging her head on a chair behind her, and her cries filled the air.

“Emlin!” Tathiel cried.  She brushed past Legolas, dropping to her knees at Emlin’s side.  She ran her hands over the crying toddler, quickly determining that nothing more than a bump on the head had occurred.  She murmured to her daughter, rocking her back and forth in her arms.

“Tathiel,” Legolas began again, once Emlin had settled a little.  She was still sniffling and holding tight to Tathiel.

“In a moment, Legolas,” said Tathiel, as she got to her feet. Elumeril and others had gathered around her and Emlin to comfort the child, and Legolas found himself on the outside of the circle.  He turned, looking back to where Abronwë and Narthan stood.  Narthan was busy looking around the Hall, but Abronwë was leaning up against the door. The look in his eyes said I told you so.

Legolas felt the room spin about him, and he looked from Abronwë to Tathiel to Abronwë again.  What if Abronwë was right?  He could not be right, his heart answered.   Angrily, he grabbed another handful of bags, stuffing them into his pockets, and strode back out the door.  As he passed Abronwë, he heard him say, “Perhaps seeing you is a reminder to your adar that your naneth is dead, and that is why he has servants raising you.  Servants prefer to raise their own children, though.”

“Shut up!” cried Legolas angrily.  “You do not know anything!”  Hot tears burned his eyes again.

“You are just a baby. Maybe when you are older we can play with you,” said Abronwë in a teasing voice, and he tugged lightly on Legolas’s sleeve.

Legolas shoved Abronwë away from him, and the older child stumbled and fell backwards, landing on his rear.  A roar filled Legolas’s ears and he could not hear anything or even see anything.  He started to run, the cold air biting at his face, and he ran blindly, crossing the bridge and racing down the path where he had gone with Tathiel picking roots and herbs.  He ran through the trees, not even hearing their concerns or admonitions to slow.  He ran and ran and ran, until he was out of breath and collapsed into a pile of leaves.

There he cried until all his tears were gone, and then he fell asleep.

* * *