Disclaimer: Canon characters and places are Tolkien's, and no profit -except that of entertainment- is intended.

Kind of warning... For some unknown reason, I assumed that Legolas was married since the first time I read LOTR, so in this story he has been a husband for more than 2000 years, and is the proud father of an elleth.  

As stated in LaCE, “Thus, although the wedded remain so for ever, they do not necessarily dwell or house together at all times” This line finally prompted me to make my way, cautiously, through this tale, sad but full of hope.  

A/N “…if I had the cheek to make verses about Eärendil in Elrond’s house…” (Bilbo to Frodo in “Many meetings”, FOTR)  

I, too, have disregarded the Dúnadan’s advice, and have dared to write a Greenwood story and post it in a site full of talented and wonderful tale- weavers, so I pray for your indulgence at my boldness and ask for wise counsel for my many mistakes. Please read and enjoy.  

You can find the cast of the royal family of Lasgalen at the end of the chapter.

Chapter 1. 

News. 

Thranduil’s stronghold, last day of June, T. A. 3019 

“Lady Laerîniel! We did not expect you home yet! Are you injured?”  

The king’s secretary tried to keep up with the princess as she purposefully strode towards the family quarters in King Thranduil’s stronghold.  

“I am fine, Lord Brethil, just burned my hand.” The elleth waved her tightly bandaged arm in dismissal. “Where is the king? I must see him presently…”  

“He is in council, my lady; please, take a seat while I announce your presence... shall I call for a healer, too?”  

“I told you that I am fine, thanks,” she repeated impatiently. “My burns have been treated, and I am sure that the healers still have plenty of work; we have had a war here!“ she added bluntly. She stopped then, aghast at her own words and turned to face the secretary. “Forgive me, Brethil, that was inconsiderate…”  

They were in the normally crowded area where petitioners and those waiting for an audience with the king usually stood in the busier hours of the morning. Now, the entrance to the great hall and the council meeting rooms was mostly empty, except for the guards at the huge oak doors that led to the King’s audience hall and servants and messengers crossing the wide passage pursuing their errands.  

“Yes, it was,” the aide observed with a neutral tone. “Now, sit here and wait, my lady,” he offered, nodding to a passing servant. “Bring the Lady Laerîniel some water and then carry away her pack and send word that she’s back home. She’ll take a bath after she meets with the King,” he ordered calmly. “By your leave, my lady,” he added, bowing to her as he disappeared toward the king’s office.  

****  

“I know that your needs are pressing, my friend, but as you surely understand, so are those of the rest of the realm!”   

Thranduil was trying hard to keep his frustration under control, Brethil thought as he quietly entered the meeting room using a side door from the king’s private office. The spacious chamber looked crammed, with elves sitting in assorted types of chairs and some standing against the stonewalls and the coloured tapestries hanging from them, after the king decided that the Great Hall was too big for holding such a meeting. The villages’ leaders, he reasoned, would be more comfortable in less threatening surroundings. And he didn’t want to give the impression that he was trying to put a distance between the crown and its more independent subjects.  

Lord Brethil could never be sure, with Thranduil, when he was being sarcastic. In this case, though, he harbored the suspicion that the change of setting was intended to make the settlers feel uncomfortable and, hopefully, put a quick end to what usually turned out to be endless debates.  

Not that he was succeeding, the secretary thought with some amusement. The king and Lord Bôrgalas, his eldest son, had been closeted for hours now with the stubborn and resilient settlers, and things did not seem closer to an agreement than they had been before they started talking. The leaders of the scattered communities of wood-elves were stubborn, yes, but they were pressed hard by their own people, too, and the war had been heavy on everyone. Now, winter was looming and the prospect of food shortage in the devastated forest was making them cringe in advance. Not that he faulted them, Brethil sighed as he approached Thranduil’s side, but he, too, understood the king’s position.  

“Laerîniel is here, my lord, and she asks to speak to you urgently,” he said for the king’s ear only. Thranduil leveled a sharp glance at him and leaning to his right, he whispered the information to his eldest son, Lord Bôrgalas. He then signaled to Brethil to find another seat and place it at the head of the table, by his left, before sending the princess in. 

“My friends,” he turned to his council, a wry smile upon his face, “I am told that the lady Laerîniel is just returned from beyond the elf path and asks to meet with us. You’ll surely understand this interruption, as I believe she has interesting news.”  

As the front door opened, everybody except the king and the prince –and those already standing for lack of chairs- stood up before the slender, dark haired elleth clad in green and dust who made her way towards the head of the table with a determined, if weary, look upon her fair face. She bowed gracefully to the king and the prince and then sat down at the king’s left at his signal.  

“We’re so pleased to have you home, lady Laerîniel, what news from the south?” Thranduil’s voice was pleasant and warm, even as he cast a curious look at her bandaged hand.  

She drank briefly from the goblet that had been placed in front of her before speaking.  

“The situation is grim, my lord. Our forces are still trying to ensure control of the lands beyond the elf path and the situation is not wholly safe yet. Spiders and stray parties of orcs have been seen moving along our territory. Orcs are burning the forest as they flee, and some of the worst fires are yet out of control. Your grandson, Lord Mallereg," she specified out of habit, "has been forced to evacuate again the scattered settlements along the western bank of the Enchanted River, and the flames are still advancing at a dangerous pace there, my lord,” she sighed tiredly.  

“Where are those people now?” one of the settlement leaders asked, worry in his voice.  

The princess looked at them. “Lord Mallereg had them split into groups. Women and children have been sent to safer places in the settlements north of the Forest River, so I believe that more supplies will be needed there soon. Some are with us, and some others have joined Lord Mallereg’s patrols to help put out the fires and protect the foresters. One of our groups was attacked three nights ago by a band of orcs. We lost two foresters,” she added softly.  

The king inhaled deeply and looked around the table. Nobody seemed in the mood for questions.  

“Anything else?” he asked the tired princess.  

“Yes, my lord. Lord Mallereg asks for more troops to be sent to him, and after seeing the destruction these stray bands of orcs are still causing, I can only agree that warriors are more needed than foresters at the moment. I advice you to consider sending more warriors to your grandson in the hopes that he’ll be able to rid us of this plague soon,” she admitted sadly.  

She caught the grateful look Bôrgalas cast her way and returned it with a small smile of her own. She had argued fiercely with her stubborn, bold nephew, but the last days had proved that orcs where a priority.  She had come to concede that only when she saw the remains of two of her best friends, almost unrecognizable after the orcs had massacred them. She bit her lip, pushing those memories to the back of her mind ruthlessly.  

“We’ll consider the rearranging of our troops later, Commander,” the king said evenly to his eldest son. “As you see, our priorities, unfortunately, still lay in the defence of our realm,” he addressed then the village leaders assembled around his council table. “While we do not dismiss your concerns, for they are ours, too, we cannot see how we can deal with evacuations and increasing needs for troop deployments and yet attend your demands for more support to be sent to each individual settlement under these circumstances. We have offered the communal stores, but that means that you must be ready to abandon your villages for the winter and share your supplies with the stronghold.”  

He made a pause then, but nobody seemed ready to dispute that claim at the moment. “Any other suggestion shall be welcome indeed, for it seems that food is going to be scarce this winter, no matter what we do. If that’s all, lady Laerîniel…”  

She rose and bowed to the king, grateful for the dismissal, and made it for the door with all the dignity she could muster, while behind her the murmur of worried comments rose as morning breeze among the trees.  

The princess walked briskly through the almost empty corridors, nodding to the scarce guards or servants she crossed on her way, her hand to her bosom, fingering the parchment she nursed against her heart, eager to get to the privacy of her chambers to sit and write back to her beloved and dearly missed husband.  

*** 

“Dear husband:”  

Without taking off her travel-worn clothes, Laerîniel had sought quill and parchment and had sat at her desk, anxious to put down the answer she had been composing in her head, but all of a sudden it sounded too cool and detached. She sighed and shook her head.  

“Dear Legolas:”  

Enough. Putting aside the quill with a scowl, she produced a creased parchment from an inner pocket in her dusty tunic and started reading again, for the tenth time, the message that had brought tears of joy to her eyes after months of war, destruction and mounting worry.  

No. She was not yet in the mood for writing. First, she needed to drown in the pleasure of her beloved husband’s words; she wanted to repeat them until she could almost hear him say them in her ear, his soft voice caressing her. If she closed her eyes, she swore she could feel his scent in the room, even if it was almost a whole year since they had last been together there.  

Drown! That was exactly what she needed. She stood up and walked to the bathing chamber to find that the tub had been filled and the water was still steaming, the scent of flowers filling the air and suddenly reminding her of how tired she was, and how fast she had ridden for the last days.  

Laerîniel began shedding her riding clothes as soon as the thought of a long, warm bath crossed her mind, and jumping on one foot while trying to get rid of her trousers with a single hand, she let the treasured parchment on the stool by the tub and finally sat down to pull off the stubborn garment. Then, she slid into the steaming water with a moan of pleasure, mindful of her bandaged arm. It had been too long since she had indulged in such luxuries, she thought, unfastening her long hair with her uninjured hand and submerging her head in the water.  

She surfaced with a wistful smile upon her fair face, wishing he were there with his strong hands to rub her stiff neck and her sore back and tease her softly, slowly, with wicked, experienced touches, until she would turn and force him into a crushing kiss that would convince him to join her in their huge tub.  

She shivered at the thought of his long fingers caressing her body as she absentmindedly rubbed the cleansing root against her skin, relishing the way it came to life, emerging rosy and bright below the dirt and ashes of the last days. 

She had not thought of Legolas -not in that way- for a long time now, for fear that pain and longing would overcome her, but the knowledge that he was safe and unscathed and that he would be returning home in some more moons was enough to send a jolt of excitement down her spine and make her giggle and blush like an infatuated young maiden.  

There had been grief and fear and destruction. But worst of all had been the lack of news, and the fear that he might as well never be back, that they might never be together again under the trees, that they would never meet again this side of the sundering seas.  

She had tried to be strong. She had forced thoughts of him to the back of her mind and had turned her efforts to her duty, holding on to the inner hope that he was still alive and that she would see him ride home eventually.  

“I have seen things that would fill your heart with joy, my beloved.” She had picked up the parchment again and continued reading words she already knew by heart, leaning back and resting her head against the tub, her bandaged left arm hanging outside, letting the warm water embrace her and remind her of strong, loving arms. “I have seen the white mellyrn of Lórien in winter and the mighty city of the Galadhrim, who still keep flets upon the trees as they used to in the time of Nimrodel… I have seen the old Onodrim of Fangorn Forest and despite the urgency of our errand, I could not help thinking of you and how your fair face would shine at the sight of their powerful trunks and their bottomless eyes. I promised myself more than once that, once this war was over and the world freed from the shadow, we would roam the forests of middle earth for a time, just as we wanted to do in our youth, free of care and duty, just you and I.”  

A tear of joy ran down her cheek as she tried to picture the promise contained in his words now that the shadow was truly conquered.   

“Laerîniel?” the deep voice of the queen’s secretary and best friend interrupted her musings.  

“In the tub, Saelleth!”  

“I should have guessed! What happened to your arm, child! The king was worried that your hand was bandaged but...” The tall and nimble lady who had seen the king’s children –and grandchildren- learn to walk was now picking up discarded garments from the floor and placing them upon the stool.  

“It’s only a burn, Saelleth, and it is healing; please, I’ll do that! Only I was so eager to get a bath that I just let it fall...”  

“I don’t mind. Do not move. You will not want that bandage wet, here, let me help you… give me that, or you’ll ruin it!” She pointed at the parchment the princess was holding tightly in her bandaged hand and smiled amusedly when she let go of it reluctantly.  

“You’ll never come out of that tub if you do not stop reading and dreaming, little princess, and the Queen wants to know if you shall join us for dinner and celebration,” the elder elleth said, soaping the princess’ hair and pushing her head softly under the water while she spoke.  

“I suppose that I should, although I… feel a bit guilty…” Laerîniel answered shyly with her eyes still closed.  

“Do not, child,” Saelleth softly reprimanded her, “Eru knows that we have had little chance for rejoicing lately. The fact that your husband is alive and coming home is joyful news for everybody in this household. Thranduil and Gaildineth were only too happy to receive Legolas’ message, and they have been waiting eagerly to share the news with you…Let me, there!”  She helped the princess stand up and spread a huge towel for her.   

“Does he say when he plans to be back?” she asked, this time from the main chamber, where she was busy now, Laerîniel thought, choosing her gown for dinner.  

“By narbeleth!” the princess answered, using the more specific name, “sun waning,” for that particular period of autumn that was so dear to both of them. She found a smaller towel and started drying her hair while she spoke.  

“Oh, Gaildineth will be glad to hear that...Legolas shall be her little elfling even when Sûlgalen makes him a grandfather,” she called amusedly from the sleeping chamber. “Now sit, child, let me do that. Is he happy?” Saelleth was again in the bathing chamber, moving around with an energy and efficiency that always overwhelmed those around her.  

“Yes,” the princess tried to sound convincing, “he’s most happy to be alive, and he sounds so relived that the shadow has been destroyed…”  

“You do not sound that excited, though...” Saelleth had started disentangling her long, raven locks, and Laerîniel closed her eyes and enjoyed being cared for.  

“Well, it is difficult, after seeing the destruction in the south and thinking of all the loss,” the princess sighed, “and then, our own losses entwined with those of our people, and the forest’s... I fear it will be long before I dare feel whole again,” she added in a voice that was laden with grief.  

Saelleth embraced the princess in silence. She was no stranger to grief, either. Her husband had died in the Last Alliance, side by side with Oropher, and her son had been one of those who had been killed when the shadow last returned to Dol Guldur. She had personal grudges against the Lord of the Dark Tower, but she had refused to fade, she had refused to sail west and she had chosen to remain there, hoping against hope that one day darkness would be defeated.  

And now the shadow had departed, but not without taking away another loved one. Borgil, the king’s second grandson and second child of the Crown Prince had died in the Battle of Mirkwood, the bitter battle that had been fought under the leaves of their beloved forest and that had left a trail of destruction enough to shock even the most seasoned warriors.  

 “I... I don’t want to sound selfish, but I thank Eru that I have been blessed with a daughter in place of a warrior prince, Saelleth,” the princess said softly, obviously thinking along the same lines, “I don’t think that I could be as brave as you or Luinil…”  

“Come on, child,” the elder elleth comforted her, “just thank Eru you did not have to go through it. You don’t know how strong you are until you’re confronted with your doom. But let’s speak of happier things! Our beloved Borgil is in the care of Námo and we shall meet him again someday. We will not forget him until that day is come…”  

“I wished Luinil would see that…”  

“She’ll just have to, child. She still has a husband and another son who need her,” Saelleth told her sternly, as she finished braiding her long hair. “I must leave you now. I’ll tell the king that you’ll join us for dinner and that you’ll bring along your happiest smile…” 

“I’ll save that for my husband, if you don’t mind!” Laerîniel called to the retreating elleth, laughing in spite of herself.  

*******    

“My lords.” With a smile and a curtsy, Laerîniel entered the family dining room, wearing a pale-grey gown with long sleeves that helped hide her bandage and with her dark hair loosely tied in one long braid. The king and Bôrgalas, his eldest son, were standing by the fire with their goblets of wine.  

“Come, child, and let me embrace you properly!” Thranduil waved at her, opening his arms, a warm smile upon his fair face. “I am so glad to have you back home!”  

“I am glad to be home, too, Adar” she said softly as the king put a kiss upon her brow, and then smiled up at her husband’s brother, who nodded to her with a fond grin.  

“It is good to see you home, Laerîniel, and with such good news to share,” the prince said, embracing her carefully, “even if you are a bit battered, aren’t you? What happened to your arm?“ he inquired worriedly.  

“Fire,” she sighed, tiredness and desperation suddenly slipping into her voice. “But it is healing fast, there’s no need to worry…” She tried to sound reassuring.  

“I’m glad to hear that,” Bôrgalas smiled, “Let me offer you a goblet of wine, while Saelleth and Naneth join us,” he added, walking to the side table where a glass decanter added air and temperature to what seemed to be the king’s most treasured Dorwinion, by the colour of it.  

“Mallereg sends his love, Bôrgalas. He was well when I left him,” she said, accepting the goblet, “although he was worried for his nana… how is Luinil?”  

The prince sighed heavily. “She is getting stronger every day. She’ll overcome her grief, eventually, I have no doubt, but it is difficult to … come to terms with…it all,” he said, his voice catching slightly.  

“We’ll all come through it,“ Thranduil chimed in firmly. “We are a family and we’ll overcome the grief and be stronger for it. Come, children, let us drink to Borgil, who is now in Mandos’ care, and to Legolas, who will be returned to us soon,” he added, raising his goblet.  

“I am sorry, Laerîniel, but I too still find it hard to talk about…it,” Bôrgalas whispered after they drank, while the king listened to a servant that had entered the room quietly.  

“Please, do not apologize, it was me who asked.” She pressed his arm comfortingly. ”Anyway, you might like to learn that Mallereg and I spent a whole night away talking about Borgil and drinking and crying, too, and… we felt better for it…”  

“After you recovered, I suspect,” Thranduil quipped, joining again in the conversation, hardly containing his amusement and happy to see his eldest son sharing a short laughter at the thought.  

“Well, yes, my lord, your Dorwinion was not available at the time!” she admitted hurriedly, raising her goblet to the king.  

“Of course it wasn’t,” the king nodded sternly, but with a glint of mischief in his grey eyes, aware of the blatant lie. He led them to the table. “Let’s start dinner, I’m told that the Queen and Saelleth will not join us tonight...” He lifted a hand immediately, seeing concern in his eldest son’s eyes. ”Nothing to worry about, son, your wife is sleeping peacefully, it seems, but your nana and Saelleth had something they wanted to take care of…”  

“Luinil was most sorry that she could not meet you tonight, Laerîniel,” Bôrgalas said, as he escorted his brother’s wife to the table and held back the chair for her, and then forth, “but that sleeping draught is most powerful… she said she was looking forward to seeing you tomorrow...”  

Laerîniel nodded in understanding. Luinil had been a shadow of her happy self since news of their youngest son’s death had arrived, barely three months ago. The news had stricken all the family, as well as the stronghold, for the younger prince was well loved by everyone. Bôrgalas was slowly coming back to himself, but Laerîniel was pained to see the weak smirk that had replaced his usually broad and self-confident grin. Losing your child must be like losing a part of yourself, she thought with a shudder as a servant entered with a bowl of steaming broth.  

“Cook sends his excuses, Lady Laerîniel,” the servant dipped his chin before her, “and warns you that if you were kind enough to keep him informed of your comings and goings, then he could manage his best to surprise you…”  

“Pray tell Cook that he’s most appreciated no matter what he has in his sleeve. After three weeks on porridge and lembas, even his most… indescribable creations would taste wonderfully to me...” the princess smiled as the king and the prince roared with laughter at the look upon her face. She bit her lower lip, glancing at them with feigned reproach and finally smiled. “Oh, I see. I forgot to mention cram? Did I mention that we ate cram, too?” she said, referring to the mannish way bread the foresters usually carried in their packs for long treks and that had become a commodity and sort of stale joke, too, among them. 

The servant left discreetly, trying to disguise his amusement as the three royals started their modest dinner in the best mood that had been seen in that dining room for many a week.  

“I don’t think food supplies have been magically restored since I went away, have they?” the princess inquired worriedly, eyeing the watery broth and the scarce vegetables that floated with apparent ease in it.  

“They have not,” Thranduil agreed calmly. “But we will worry about that tomorrow, child. Tonight, you are home and we have news from Legolas. Let’s enjoy and be thankful for what we have,” he added softly, looking pointedly to both of his table companions.  

She eyed him gratefully. He was always a source of strength and calm for her, knowledge and compassion shining out through his stern countenance, the face of one who had endured almost endless loss and destruction and had lived through it all hoping for better days to arrive. The pain was there, but it hadn’t marred the beauty and wisdom of that powerful elf lord. Looking at the king, she always felt that there was no evil that Greenwood would not survive.  

“So, tell us, daughter,” Thranduil turned his attention to his son’s wife, his voice light, “how is it that you received a message from your husband before the King heard of his son?”  

“Oh!” she blushed at the thought, “we were close to the elf path when we heard that Farother and his party had stalked a strange elf carrying messages for the king. I suppose that…somehow…they managed to learn that those messages were from Legolas…  

“And your son-in-law being there, he surely managed to learn that there were messages for you and your daughter, too,” Bôrgalas offered helpfully, with undisguised mirth.  

“Well, yes. As far as I understand it, they cornered this Elf and questioned him about his errand. When they learnt that he carried messages for my daughter and me, as well as for the king... somehow… they...managed to convince him to deliver mine first…” She stopped then, hoping against reason that they would be satisfied with that, but both Thranduil and Bôrgalas seemed perversely amused by the situation.  

“And…?” the king urged her.  

“Well… I was told that they…offered to escort him to my encampment, but the messenger wasn’t inclined to go off his due course and…they must have… come up with… powerful reasons to convince him, for the message was in my camp when I arrived two days after… I should not be telling you this, Adar,” she added hurriedly,” but since you have received a message, too, you must have heard the story altogether.” She was trying to sound properly mortified, but indeed she had been grateful to her son-in-law and his fellow hunters for cornering the messenger and forcing him to deliver her message first.  

“I have, indeed,” the king laughed, “but what I want to know is why on Arda this poor Eelf has been made go all the way to my granddaughter’s settlement after he met her husband in the forest? Surely Farother could have had the message sent to her?”  

“You know how Farother is, Adar” she smiled, ”Neither he nor any of his fellow hunters are expected back home for at least four or five more weeks…you are telling me that the messenger went all the way to deliver it by hand? Sûlgalen must have been so pleased!”  

“I am sure she was, daughter, although I fear I cannot say the same about the messenger...I offered to have one of our guards deliver it, but he insisted on taking the trip, so I assume that Farother has been more than persuasive,” Thranduil added with a grin.  

They were all laughing when the servant entered again with a tray of mushrooms. The conversation turned then to a friendly father-son bantering about how many different ways of preparing mushrooms each knew, and Laerîniel let her gaze wander idly along the huge table, full of vacant places. Memories of happier times, of a crowded room and eager faces of joyful children assaulted her as her eyes took in each seat and recalled its usual occupant, and she wondered whether they would ever regain a semblance of normalcy.  

“My lord?” she blinked away the tears welling in her eyes, coming back from her reverie to confront the king’s understanding face.  

“I was wondering whether Legolas mentioned in his message when he expected to be back,” Thranduil smiled.  

“He says he’ll be back by narbeleth,” she sighed, and suddenly felt colour rising to her cheeks at the memory of the last words in her husband’s message.  

“Something more precise, perhaps?” Bôrgalas pried, a teasing smile upon his face.  

“Bôrgalas…” the king grunted.  

She winked conspiratorially at her brother-in-law, the one who had gladly –and very expertly- meddled as a go-between until she and Legolas had finally acknowledged what they felt for each other, more than two millennia ago. There was little that she could hide from him, and less that she would.  

“Before the old beech is bereft,” she whispered, a wistful smile upon her tired face.  

“Then, my lady,” the crown prince offered seriously, ”I shall have that beech under close watch, and I’ll keep you informed of her progress timely,” he promised, his right hand to his heart.  

“But for now, you should go to bed, daughter, you look dead upon your feet,” the king recommended, “we shall meet with the council tomorrow after breakfast, to discuss the situation thoroughly, but until now, you should go and rest and dream of his returning, for I know that you miss him dearly, child, we all do!”  

She stood and curtsied to the king and the prince and then bowed to put a kiss upon Thranduil’s brow. ”I know it’s been less than a sun-round, and we have been apart for far longer than that,“ she whispered, her voice catching in her throat as emotion threatened to finally overcome her determination, “and yet I miss him more than I ever expected to, Adar!” she confessed hopelessly.  

“I know, child,” Thranduil sighed, taking her hand between his and pressing comfortingly, “for these have been strange and ominous times, and this single year has brought more change and loss to us than many an enni before it, so don’t feel guilty if you rejoice now, for we all do, Laerîniel. Times have been hard for all of us and I fear that there may yet be more pain ahead,” he added thoughtfully, dismissing her with a warm smile.  

Laerîniel could not remember how she had made it to her chambers. She went about her nightly routines distractedly, exhaling a tired sigh as she finally slipped into the fresh sheets of their huge bed.  

I don’t know how long we shall remain here, but this I promise, my Sûlaer: I’ll ride to you before the old beech is bereft, and we shall dance upon the auburn carpet of narbeleth and clad ourselves in the fallen leaves under the moon, and we shall be consumed in the love that burns as bright as the first day after more than fifteen ennin.  

Your loving husband,  

Calenben  

With the feel of her husband’s words still lingering in her lips and his message tightly held against her breast, she walked down the elven path of dreams with a happy smile upon her fair face for the first time in many moons.

TBC

Some useful translations:  

Onodrim: Sindarin for ent-people

Narbeleth: Sun waning. Sindarin for a part of October.

Enni: Sindarin for yen; 144 years

Sûlaer: “summer breeze”, Laerîniel’s epéssë, given to her by Legolas 

Calenben: “Green one,” the epéssë by which his wife calls Legolas

The Cast of the royal family of Eryn Lasgalen:  

Thranduil: King of Lasgalen

Gaildineth: (bright light bride) Queen of Lasgalen  

Bôrgalas: (Steadfast plant) The Crown Prince. 

Luinil: (The name of a star, probably Rigel, in Orion.) His wife

Mallereg Belegorn: (Golden thorn, mighty tree.) Their first son.

Borgil. (The name of a star, Betelgeuse, match to Rigel -his nana’s name- in Orion) Their second son. He was killed in the Battle of Mirkwood, T.A. March 3019

Calenben: (Green one) Legolas’s epéssë, given to him by his wife

Laerîniel: (summer remembrance) Legolas’ wife. Legolas’ epéssë for his wife is Sûlaer: (summer wind) 

Sûlgalen: Their daughter (Her name is a mix of her parents’ epéssë, wind and green)

Farother: Her husband. (Hunter)

Saelleth:  The queen’s best friend, secretary and counselor. (Wise elven woman)

Lord Brethil: the king’s secretary (silver beech)