Praise Redheredh with great praise, for she has kindly agreed to nitpick my chapters, so you’ll be spared those annoying mistakes and typos! Of course, there may (shall) remain some, but they’re my sole responsibility! 

A/N: Laerîniel is Legolas’ wife. He calls her Sûlaer. She calls Legolas Calenben.

Everybody else is listed at the end of the chapter.

Chapter 2. Troubles ahead

Thranduil’s stronghold; Midsummer’s eve, 3019.

“Forever, Sûlaer, forever...”

“Stay, Calenben! Where are you going?”

“Forever….”

Laerîniel stretched her hand in vain, the words drifting away as if carried by a gentle wind, echoing in her mind… or was it in her ear?

“Over there, please, over there… Laerîniel, are you awake?” That voice was definitely resounding in her ear and too close for comfort, Laerîniel thought, fighting the last threads of sleep and focusing her gaze.

The smell of newly baked bread was enough to let her know that she was at home, and she got up lazily, taking in the surroundings.

“Luinil?” she asked with incredulity, seeing the slender form of her sister-in-law moving in the outer chamber, helping the maid arrange what looked like an oversized breakfast.

“Morning, my friend! Put something on and let’s have breakfast! I’m very busy with tonight’s celebrations and you are to attend council this morning, I am told!” the princess said with a warm smile, dismissing the maid with a wave of her hand.

“Luinil!” Laerîniel crossed the room to embrace her friend. “How good to see you up and about!” she managed, almost choking with emotion. When she had last seen her, three weeks ago, Luinil could barely stand unaided and she had looked closer to despair than anyone Laerîniel had ever seen.

“I know. But, tell me, how are things out there?” The princess was still pale and thin and there was that haunted look in her eyes, but she was smiling bravely. “I hardly saw Bôrgalas this morning and it takes time to clear my mind from that vile concoction...You saw him last night, didn’t you?” she asked while sitting across the table and picking at the bread.

“Yes, we had dinner together, and I told him that I left Mallereg south of the Path; he was well when we parted and he sends his love to his nana.”

“I’m glad to hear that. I could hardly see him when he was last here,” she sighed softly. “But now, tell me of Legolas! When is he coming home?”

“I expect him by Narbeleth,” Laerîniel smiled. “I’m already counting the days; it is unbelievable how much I have missed him this time, Luinil. It is not as if we have never been apart, but this time... I guess the lack of news was the worst part.” Laerîniel confessed between mouthfuls.

“Well, that - and the strengthening of the shadow, too,” her friend answered thoughtfully, “You’ve been apart with no news for far longer, after all. Do you remember that time when you were busy in the north and Sûlgalen was almost at her majority and Legolas decided that the eastern bank of the Enchanted River needed close watch? How long did he stay there until we managed to bring you back together?” Luinil offered a ghost of her beautiful smile remembering that episode.

“That’s hardly fair, Luinil. I was busy indeed in the north and it wouldn’t have been fair to move then, not for Sûlgalen,” Laerîniel complained with little conviction. Their many duties, as well as their slightly differing interests, had kept them apart for different periods of time during their long ennin together, as it was a not so rare occurrence among their kin. That did not mean that they did not love each other any longer. On the contrary, their reunions were the sweeter because of the separations.

“And that time when you chose to accept the post of head forester for the eastern marches and he was expected to take care of the northern settlements’ defences?’

“You’re enjoying this a bit too much,” Laerîniel grunted in a friendly manner. “Shall I start reminding you of the many times you have tried to bribe Thranduil into sending Bôrgalas to check on the patrols or to pay a visit to Dale?”

“Oh, I’m so glad to hear laughter again in this side of the corridor,” a familiar voice chimed in and both princesses stood up to greet the queen, the beautiful lady who had managed to ensnare Thranduil’s heart more than two ages ago and who still looked like the vivacious, charming elleth the minstrels praised in the songs of old.

“Lady Gaildineth,” Laerîniel bowed with a warm smile.

“Laerîniel, my child, I’m so glad to have you home to share this good news!” The queen embraced the princess tightly. “Saelleth told me about your arm so I asked Nestalf to come and have a look at it before you attend Council,” she added, guiding both princesses to their chairs and finding another for herself while Luinil poured a third cup of warm tea.

“I can’t tell you how happy I am to hear that Legolas will be back by Narbeleth, Laerîniel,” the queen said, “although I suppose that you’re even happier.” Laerîniel blushed and could not help laughing, picking at some cheese in a fruitless effort to disguise her embarrassment. “We’ve been short of good news lately,” the queen added thoughtfully, “and I do not believe the King’s mood shall be improved after today’s council.”

“Will you join us, my lady?”

“No, thankfully I’m otherwise engaged,” the queen winked at Luinil then, “We three are quite busy with tonight’s celebration - Midsummer’s Eve,” she explained at Laerîniel’s quizzical expression. “Child, you had forgotten?”

“I fear I had,” Laerîniel acknowledged, scowling at her friend who could not hold back an undignified snort. “I had many things to think about!” she complained. The three of them burst out in a fit of laughter at the unintended implications. A knock at the door interrupted their amused chatter as Nestalf, the palace healer, entered the chambers.

“I had feared that your wounds were serious, your Highness,” he smiled, bowing deeply in front of the queen and the princesses, “but I’m glad to see that is not the case. Maybe certain good news is responsible of this?”

“My burns are healing fast, master Nestalf,” Laerîniel smiled, pointing a chair out to the healer. “You’ll see that I’ve been duly careful this time,” she added with a playful grin.

“Let me be the judge of it”, the healer said with a professional frown, “although I can wait till your breakfast is finished, my ladies,” he smiled, looking over the food in the tray.

The queen stood up quickly.

“It is finished, Nestalf. Luinil and I are expected in the kitchens and Laerîniel must attend council soon… you might like to know, Lady Laerîniel, that His Majesty has asked for special preparations for this council,” the queen said, raising her brows pointedly.

“I am deeply thankful that you let me know, my lady.” Laerîniel nodded in understanding, standing and bowing to the queen who waved her hand lightly.

“Now you know, Master Healer, so make sure to be quick and do not cause the princess to incur in the King’s wrath by being late!” the queen warned with a friendly wink, pushing Luinil before her as they exited the chamber. It was as if all the light had suddenly left to follow her trail, Laerîniel thought in wonder.

***

“You’re in time, Your Highness,” the guard before Thranduil’s council room bowed respectfully to the princess and stepped aside, holding the door open as she entered the chamber. The three elves already waiting there stood and bowed respectfully before her.

“I’m glad to see that your injury is minor, Laerîniel,” the Warden said after all had exchanged greetings. “The reports weren’t very encouraging since the last attacks,” he added sombrely. The ranks of foresters and hunters were under his command and the losses had been too high forhis comfort since the war had ended.

“Let us talk of more auspicious matters,” the Steward interrupted in his elaborate way of speaking. “I heard that Prince Legolas is expected soon, my lady,” he bowed courteously to the princess, a warm smile upon his kind face. He had been Oropher’s steward since before the Sindarin lord moved east from the havens in the early years of the Second Age.

“And it is just about time”, Master Prestolon, the Herdir Laegrim, or Head of the Settlements’ Council put in brusquely. “He should have been here, protecting the settlements and the forest, as it is his duty, instead of roaming the lands of the south at the command of that Noldorin lord…”

The animosity between Oropher’s Steward and the Herdir Laegrim, the leader of the scattered settlements of the Green elves, was legendary. Master Prestolon, as some of his fellow settlers did, had bitterly resented the progressive sindarization of their way of life and wasted no opportunity to show his disagreement.

Laerîniel’s adar was one of those; but even he, a grumpy forester who lived alone in the deepest part of the Northern marches, was able to point out some advantages stemming from Oropher’s line ruling. Although, the fact that Thranduil was his daughter’s father-in-law had not served to soften his more critical opinions.

“He was defending our forest, Master Prestolon,” she answered before thinking and berating herself almost instantly for doing so, “at our king’s command, and not at any Noldorin lord’s.”

“As you say, my lady,” he nodded with a mocking smile. “I only know that his command was undertaken by Prince Borgil and…”

“As I said before,” the Steward cut in bluntly, “let us speak of lighter matters. If you have nothing pleasant to say, Master Prestolon, please rest assured that your voice will not be missed at this table,” he added in a sharp voice.

A heavy silence fell upon the council room, hostility plainly written on the stubborn elf’s face. Laerîniel let her gaze wander around the chamber, taking in the signs of the “special preparations” the queen had hinted at. There were fresh flowers and handfuls of fern, dew still glinting upon the long leaves.

We’re going to need more than this to cancel out Prestolon’s temper, she thought tiredly.  She understood the Silvan’s concerns, but she didn’t appreciate his penchant for causing trouble and division. Nobody could deny Thranduil and his family’s dedication to the realm and to the forest, and she doubted that the Silvan people would have survived for long against the shadow, alone and scattered as they used to live before the western elves came there. 

The Warden suddenly lifted his head from the maps spread out in the centre of the huge table and a heartbeat later the rest of his companions heard the voices approaching the door. They were all standing as the guard opened the door and stepped back to let the Crown Prince and the Troop Commander in.

“Sit, my friends,” the prince waved his hand briefly. “Or rather stand,” he said with a wan smile. “The King is right behind us,” he added, pointing at the door that was still open. Laerîniel noticed that Bôrgalas’ usually relaxed face looked tired and the eyes that so much reminded her of her husband’s were dull and lacked their usual animation.

A side door opened and two servants entered, carrying clay plates with delectable-looking pastries and two large jars of cold herbal infusion. That looked more promising, Laerîniel thought, as the king also entered the council room at a brisk pace.

“Good day, everyone, please be seated, my lords and lady, there are some dispositions that you must be informed of,” he said in a businesslike tone that meant he had come to difficult decisions and would brook little to none opposition. “These are the result of the numerous reunions that we have held with most of you in the past days,” he added with a tired smirk, he added, nodding towards the Herdir Laegrim.

“Well, at least we can treat ourselves to these most delicious pastries, my lord, if the meeting becomes too boring,” the Steward smiled, picking up a flower-shaped delicacy.

“I find it unbecoming to enjoy these treats while our people face starvation next winter,” the Herdir Laegrim grumbled as the servants placed goblets in front of each counsellor.

“Enough!” Thranduil roared, hitting the table with his clenched fist and making the plates rattle upon the wooden surface. “I will not tolerate the Queen to be insulted, Master Prestolon! She’s well aware of the state of our supplies, and of those of the realm. If she decides that we can be served these pastries, then none shall dare doubt her judgment, or shall face my rage, am I clear?”

“I…I’m sorry, my lord,” the flustered counsellor apologized repeatedly, “It was never my intention….”

“Let’s begin. Lord Brethil is busy for the moment, he’ll join us later,” nodded the King, acknowledging the apology with an impatient gesture. “Lord Bôrgalas, please, update our council briefly upon the state of our defences.”

Laerîniel almost gaped at Thranduil’s mastery. Not a single day passed whithout her learning something from the king, she thought. Prestolon was always the thorn on everybody’s side, and none of Thranduil’s counsellors liked to gainsay him because he would soon fault them for being only too loyal to the king and afraid to challenge his opinions.

But today, Prestolon’s outburst had been extemporaneous and careless and Thranduil must have expected it, she thought with wicked pleasure. Acting offended on behalf of the Queen he had managed to reduce his headstrong councillor to a cautious silence, lest he would earn another harsh rebuke from the king, having spent much of his credit for further disagreement in that simple mistake. Laerîniel could hardly suppress an appreciative smile.

“As you well know,” the Crown Prince was saying, while his commander laid out recently drafted maps upon the massive table, “we are facing different fronts. The territory of the Home Guard is secured, as are most of the Northern marches -for now.

“What do you mean?” the Steward asked with undisguised curiosity. Laerîniel noticed that he, too, had trouble masking his satisfaction before Thranduil’s stratagem.

“Later, lord Steward, let the Prince explain the situation first.”

“Thanks, my lord. The lands beyond the Path, as Lady Laerîniel told us yesterday, are yet unsafe, as they have always been, Master Prestolon, I am well aware of that,” Bôrgalas anticipated the Herdir Laegrim remark sternly, and Laerîniel wondered whether father and son had planned the systematic hammering of their most recalcitrant councillor early in the session so as he would be more compliant when the time for actual discussion arrived. If that was so, she reasoned, then the news must be bad indeed.

“…for the fact that surviving spiders and stray companies of orcs are still roaming the lands out of control and fleeing the remaining forest fires, as the Warden shall explain later.” Bôrgalas was fixing Prestolon in his Chief Commander look, which had lost nothing of its edge, Laerîniel thought in apprehension.

“The orcs’ armies have been massacred and defeated, but let’s not forget that they still have their strongholds intact in the mountains to the west and south,” he continued, pointing with his long, calloused finger upon the map. “So it will take some time before we can be certain that the situation is under control regarding stray parties and scattered survivors. For now, I believe that it is more dangerous than ever, above all for the settlements beyond the Enchanted River, and even for those between the Enchanted and the Forest River. I fear that their safety cannot be ensured without risking that of the rest of the realm, my lord,” he concluded grimly.

Master Prestolon moved in his seat, but did not even try to speak. 

Thranduil nodded almost imperceptibly, a brief smile playing upon his lips.

“On the other side,” the Prince kept on with a grimace, “the devastated areas make it harder for our enemies to find refuge. It is easier to spot their movements and to prevent their attacks, but I’ll let the Warden explain that later. Lord Mallereg’s vanguard is patrolling this line, about twenty miles beyond the Elf Path. Our most pressing need is to get that area wholly cleaned up, as well as that between the rivers, and then we shall need to concentrate our troops along that line to better protect the settlements behind us, while separate patrols undertake the cleansing and securing of the remaining areas here, here, and here.”

“This means,” Bôrgalas’ troop commander took up, “that most of our troops shall be engaged in keeping this perimeter, my lords and lady. We consider keeping the Home Guard at its lowest, and concentrating the population in this area close to the stronghold and with the protection granted by the riverbanks, once they’re safe, while our troops patrol and cleanse the rest of our territory.” He bowed then to the prince and leaned back.

“Next year,” Bôrgalas kept on sternly, “we should come to an agreement with the forest men, and maybe the men of Dale, to undertake a joint campaign to clean out the last orc dens in the Mountains of Mirkwood and the Misty Mountains.”

“I must protest!” Prestolon chimed in, but less forcefully than in other occasions.

“Of course you would,” Thranduil answered evenly, “but not before I give you permission to speak, and that shall not occur until you all have listened to the reports in full.” That was an unusual event in Council and Laerîniel noticed that even the Steward squirmed uncomfortably in his chair.

“Now, Lord Bôrgalas, please inform us of the situation in the north,” the king added with unmistakable tiredness upon his clear voice. Laerîniel tensed up. The North was her home and her command, as chief forester for the northern marches, a post her father had held for many years before her. Their daughter had been born there and still lived there and it was the place where she and Legolas had spent some of the happiest years of their lives.

“You are all aware that the attack that we suffered in March was only a piece in a larger-scale operation,” Bôrgalas started bitterly, “that cost both Dale and the Mountain heavy losses as well.” The Prince’s voice was steady, but Laerîniel saw that he could not help casting the briefest glance towards the place where his youngest son used to sit when attending council, and she felt again a fresh sting of pain pulsing in the open wound.

“Dale was razed, as were their farms, fields, and crops. Both peoples have been deprived of their lords and have sustained serious damage. They haven’t yet asked for help, but they soon shall or, worse, they’ll start poaching for wood and game. I suggest that we reach an agreement on special conditions for this winter, my lord, and then we shall have to position enough troops over there to ensure its fulfilment.”

A dismayed silence fell across the room as they all pondered what that news meant. The door to Thranduil’s private office opened and Lord Brethil entered the council room silently, nodding briefly to the king before taking his place at the table.

“Master Warden, please, let us know about the state of your province, so we can wholly understand what we are facing.” Thranduil drove his council relentlessly.

“By your leave, my lord,” the Warden bowed to the King as he rose respectfully. “As Lord Bôrgalas said, there are still fires out of control in these areas.” He pointed the line south of the Elf Path to the west, and the wide arch between the two rivers.

“This is a problem,” he conceded, worry clear in his voice, “but not the only one. The forest area around the mountains was heavily charred in March, but scattered fires have been burning since then, for we cannot risk our foresters that far. In some areas those fires have become canopy fires, and I need not tell you how devastating this can be,” he added seriously in his calm and competent, heavily accented voice.

“Those fumes and rising warmth have caused heavy and unexpected rains. Our scouts report mudslides, widespread uprooting, floods and general devastation along the Enchanted River’s banks, from the mountains down to almost the Elf Path.” The Warden looked up at the worried faces around him. “Most of that land was for long corrupted and made rotten by the arts of the enemy and now we are losing soil and vegetation rapidly. I honestly cannot tell if the recovery of those areas is possible or how long will it take, but there are other pressing needs.”

He stopped hesitatingly at Master Prestolon’s groan, but the Herdir Laegrim urged him on with a wave of his hand.

“These fires, as Lord Bôrgalas pointed out, are causing the surviving spiders to flee west and north, and many of those are still unaccounted for, since we have not been able to track them properly. Wildlife is moving northwards as well, because the area is devastated. We have already lost most of this year’s broods, be it to the fires or to starvation, as the flames have consumed seeds, berries and small animals the forest creatures feed upon. Those surviving are moving north as I’ve said, so they shall be putting unexpected pressure upon the feeding grounds for the northern herds.” 

Laerîniel fought the urge to cover her face with her hands. She had seen the destruction with her own eyes, but this dispassionate account of such utter devastation was heart rending. Yet she was a counsellor to the King of the Woodland Realm, she thought with determination. She would not cower or lose heart in the face of adversity. Another look at the king’s stern and set face helped her regain control. If he still had hopes, then she would not despair.

“… We cannot count on the settlements’ orchards or forest gatherings for this year,” the Warden kept on saying, “and we cannot overuse the resources in the north, for our wildlife has been seriously decimated too, and shall need time to recover, so we cannot compensate the lack of food with more intense hunting -not in our own lands.” He paused, then calmly added. “Least of all if men and dwarves are going to have a share.”

“My thanks, Master Warden,” Thranduil said softly, and by the look in his eyes Laerîniel could tell that he was grieving as well for the losses in his forest.

“So, my lords,” the king continued slowly, “we must make some difficult decisions. First, and attending Lord Mallereg’s plea, we have sent orders for the patrols protecting the foresters to reinforce the Prince’s companies. The foresters will pull back behind the Elf Path and the Home Guard shall stretch their already thin lines to help protect them, as the Troop Commander suggested.” Laerîniel observed the grimaces around the table at Thranduil’s last remark. The Home Guard had been sorely decimated in Borgil’s desperate last stand, only a few miles south from the stronghold, and they were still recovering from their heavy losses.

“This is a temporary measure, of course,” the king kept on steadily, “until Lord Mallereg is able to clear out a wider perimeter. Master Prestolon, your turn.”

The Herdir Laegrim seemed burdened by the enormity of the news, and with little strength left to undertake his customary role.

“I fear I cannot say much at this time, my lord,” he said softy. “Except that I would like to know with detail where we shall be resettled and for how long”

Thranduil bared his teeth in a feral smile. “That, Master Prestolon, is one of the things you and your council must tell me no later than tomorrow.  As far as I understand it, we have some priority actions that need be undertaken; cleansing and securing our territory goes first, and Lord Bôrgalas has already ordered the necessary measures to ensure it.”

He looked then at his heir. “I disagree, Lord Prince, with your proposal of waiting another year before razing the orc dens in the mountains. We must begin conversations soon with the Forest Men to enlist their help and attack this winter, before they have time to regroup. We have long discussed your objections, but it is still my decision, Commander,” he added lifting a hand to stem Bôrgalas protests. The Crown Prince nodded briefly, his lips tightly pressed into a thin line.

“Also, wildlife recovery and protection become a priority; the trees will have to wait,” the king continued ruthlessly, ignoring the winces around him. “Our people must eat this winter, my lords, that’s a priority,” he added harshly, letting all his fire come to his voice.

“Lord Steward,” he kept on sternly, “the Queen has been informed of this situation and will summon you to start an estimation of the provisions and supplies needed to sustain our people through this winter, and the Warden will arrange a schedule for hunting, fishing and gathering parties to be set up as soon as possible. He will set the number and type of prey allowed in the northern marches, and we shall also send parties to the Misty Mountains. Smoke houses shall be built this or the other side of the Great River. Our foresters will reinforce the hunters’ parties and spend the season providing food for our people.” He looked at the worried faces around and nodded slightly. “This is going to be a long winter, my lords.”

“How can the settlements be of help, my lord?” Master Prestolon seemed to have finally grasped the true dimension of the problem and had easily pulled out the old Silvan resilient and positive attitude that had seen them through uncounted long winters, before and after their western kin came to them.

“I have drafted the places Lord Bôrgalas deems more suitable for the protection of the settlers. If you see it fit, we can meet with your council right now and start deciding when and how to move, master Prestolon, your people’s help will be invaluable in starting the recovery of the nearest areas.“ Lord Brethil’s calm manner could wring cooperation from a Balrog, rumour said. Slightly less stubborn than one of those creatures, Prestolon bowed courteously, grateful that he had been spared the Steward’s assistance in that matter.

“We shall meet after midday meal, Lady Laerîniel,” the Warden added softly, “for I shall need your insights to come to an estimation of the hunting rates to be allowed in the northern marches…”

“Of course, Master Warden,” she bowed to her superior officer, her mind reeling with all that had been said there.

“Will you consider arming and training the settlers, my lord?” Bôrgalas asked tightly. Laerîniel turned her attention to the head of the table. It sounded as if that had been another subject of disagreement between the king and his heir.

“We will not deliberate upon that decision until they are relocated. Lord Legolas should be back by that time, and he is the most qualified in this council to decide upon that.” Although carefully controlled, the king’s tone held a tinge of warning that all present could recognize.

“I thought that Legolas would take care of the northern defences...” Bôrgalas insisted, in a most unusual display of belligerence. For a moment it looked as if Thranduil was about to sharply rebuke his son, but he managed to control his temper and simply shook his head, turning his attention to other matters.

“We’ll meet again in two days’, my lords and lady, and by then I’ll hear your proposals and schedules. If you deem it necessary, Master Prestolon, I’m ready to meet your Council and present them with this same information and assure them that this is only a temporary measure. We can by no means protect and feed such scattered populations under the present conditions, but there shall be better times, my lords! Our forest shall be great again!”

The king’s inextinguishable optimism was contagious, Laerîniel thought as they rose, following the dismissal wave and bowing to the king and the prince, who remained seated as the room cleared.

“I expect you all this evening at the Sward, my friends. This Midsummer’s eve, more than ever, we need to be together. Our people need our support, and we need to know we count with theirs,” the king added thoughtfully, collecting bows and nods with a satisfied smile.

“If you’re tempted to go and give a hand with the preparations, Lady Laerîniel,” the king addressed her in an amused voice, “be informed that you, and Prince Bôrgalas and myself have been formally banned from the kitchens and surrounding areas. I suggest that we meet in the Queen’s garden for a well earned refreshment, daughter,” he suggested warmly.

***

After verifying for herself the extent of the ban, and being unceremoniously dismissed from the kitchens, Laerîniel gave up and went to sit on the stone bench under the leafy shelter of the Queen’s garden.

The trees moved softly to greet her, and she released a heavy sigh, unburdening the strain and anguish that had been building during the tense council. The sun filtered through the leaves and warmed her face, and she closed her eyes and enjoyed its soft caress for a while, rejoicing in the contented humming of life around her. Comforted by her surroundings, she leaned back and opened up the creased parchment, and started reading again.

Minas Tirith, May 8^th, 3019, T.A.

My beloved Sûlaer:

You cannot know how glad I am to be finally writing to you. This message has been growing in my mind as I wandered these lands of the south, and I cannot tell you how many times I’ve dreamed of the moment when I would get to write this letter and let you know that I am alive, that we have succeeded and that the shadow has been conquered by the strength of all of us, the peoples of Middle Earth. Every day I held on to the hope  of being alive by night, and every night I prayed to Elbereth that I’d live to see another day. Through darkness and danger, through fire and shadow I have walked this path, keeping your beloved face in my mind, holding on to your sweet memory as times grew bleaker. The thought of not seeing you again has weighed upon me, and the fear of failing in our purpose and leaving this world open for Sauron’s domination kept me going on even when my faer cried to surrender.

But now I am here, at the end of my journey, breathing this summer breeze that comes from the river and dreaming of you as I see the blessed land of Gondor come to life by the grace of her Lord Aragorn, King Elessar that we knew as Strider, the Ranger of the North.  

Even the stones rejoice, my love, and what can I say of the trees and flowers? Their song, if dim, is growing stronger every day. How I wish for you to come and see The Tower of the Sun and the Garden of the Moon with your own eyes, as well as many other wonders I have passed along our trail, longing for you to be there, with me, in happier times!  

I’ve seen the Nimrodel, and I almost choked on my tears as I sang her lay, sitting by the clear waters before they get into the forest of Lothlorien of old and thinking of you and the leagues that lay between us.  

I have seen things that would fill your heart with joy, my beloved. I have seen the white mellyrn of Lórien in winter, and the mighty city of the Galadhrim, who still keep flets high within their trees as they did in the time of Nimrodel.  

I have met the old Onodrim of Fangorn Forest, and despite the urgency of our cause I could not help thinking of you and how your eyes 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 should 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.  

I have come close to the Great Sea, and I have heard the seagulls that cry forever in the white shores, calling to the deep longing it is said that lies asleep in our race… but of their song I’d rather speak not now.  

I have seen mighty mountains and great halls of stone. I’ve traveled the endless grasslands of Rohan and watched the wide stream of Anduin bending its silver waist towards the Sea.  

But, above all, I have seen people, my love; men, as well as dwarves and Periannath, leaving their lands and homesteads, their wives and children, to fight the growing darkness in the hopes that even death would not be proven vain in the end, if a day arrived when their children could stand without fear of shadow.  

And that day has finally come, my love, by the grace of the Valar and the sacrifice of many, whether they fought here or away in distant lands.  

Shadow we have battled for most of our lives under the leaves of our beloved forest, and I dread to think how dark these times have been for our people, how many friends and trees shall not be there when I finally come home, but I am comforted now by the knowledge that we were not alone in our struggle, my love, and that many people from different lands have fought and died, too, in this terrible war, because, thanks to all, hope has been finally restored.  

But of all the selfless creatures that I have encountered in this long journey, halflings and dwarves have been the greatest wonder.  

I recall nothing of interest being told about the Periannath at the time they dwelt this side of the Hithaeglin. They were known to be peaceful people of homely habits. Little did we know of the strength and selfless courage of this race, and of their boldness in times of danger. Yet it was their steadfast loyalty and bravery that finally made me change my mind and led me down this long path south, instead of returning home after crossing the mountains, as I intended at first.(1)  

So they are partly to blame for my long absence, my love, but since they are, too, ultimately  responsible for Sauron’s defeat, among other valiant deeds, I am sure that you’ll find it in your compassionate heart to forgive them -and me- for this long detour. I’m proud to be counted among the Nine Walkers mostly because of the feats of these four noble “hobbits”- as they call themselves- that were deservedly entrusted with the fates of Middle-earth by Mithrandir and Lord Elrond. 

The greatest surprise, though, had to come from the dwarf, my love -as it is often with these troublesome creatures! But Gimli, son of Glóin, has proved himself a worthy warrior, an entertaining fellow and a true friend. From an open dislike on both parts since the beginning of our journey –his father was one of the twelve who honoured my Adar’s dungeons not so many years ago- we came to form a fast, if startling, friendship, but not before he managed to surprise Lord Celeborn himself by gallantly flirtingwith the Lady Galadriel!   

I only hope he’ll live up to his loquacity when he meets you, or I swear that our friendship shall end there and then!  

Old as I am, compared with all these short-lived creatures, I humbly bow to their courage and disregard of time and change and loss. Even Aragorn, granted the life of the Númenorean Kings, will be but a drop in the sea of time in some years, as shall be the Lady Undómiel, Lord Elrond’s daughter, as she embraces the fate of Luthien…  

But it is amazing, my love, how these people followed Aragorn, ready to surrender life, family and position and to take up arms to defend their land for a King they barely knew…May the King live long and peaceful years so his hopes -and those of his subjects- come to fruition.  

I am awed by these people and by their land, although I find their stone walled cities a bit stifling. There’s a forested land here, called Ithilien, between the river and the mountains, which is a garden of splendor even after bearing the full weight of the shadow for the last part of the age that has just passed in glory. I’m sure you would love it, though there is still plenty to do to restore it to its original beauty, but time, now, is on our side, for the shadow has finally departed, my love, relieving the lands of its grimness.  

I won’t tell you anymore, withholding the rest of the news for our sweet reunion. I’m sending this message in all haste by the strangest messenger Mithrandir could have summoned. 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 will 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.  

“Laerîniel?”

Trapped under the spell of her husband’s words, Laerîniel did not hear the king’s voice at first.

“Forgive me, my lord, I was…” she stuttered, blushing furiously as she stood to greet the king.

“Reading Legolas’ letter, I see,” Thranduil smiled in understanding. “I don’t want to intrude, child, but I thought you would like to meet someone...”

Laerîniel then noticed the elf standing respectfully behind the king.

“Lady Laerîniel,” he said with an accented voice that reminded her of the Warden’s and her own father’s speech.

“Laerîniel, this is Haldir, Marchwarden of Lórien, the messenger sent by Lord Celeborn,” the King said with a pleased smile. “He met Legolas when his company crossed the Golden Wood, and he has many a tale about his adventure and his companions….”

TBC

Notes

(1) In Elrond’s words, “Gimli and Legolas agreed to go to the mountain passes and maybe beyond.” To me this means that they had agreed to escort the ring bearer at least while their paths were more or less concurrent. Events made them change their mind on the way, as we know...  

Translations:  

Sûlaer: Wind of summer, the name Legolas gave to his wife.

Calenben: Green one. The name by which Laerîniel calls Legolas.

Herdir Laegrim Lord,chief of the Green Elves.   

Faer. Sindarin , soul

Onodrim: Ents

Ennin: plural of enni, Sindarin word for 144 years.

THRANDUIL’S COUNCIL

To avoid confusion, almost everybody in council is addressed by title, rather than by name.

Warden: Master Pador. In charge of forests and wildlife. Foresters and hunters’ patrols report to him

Steward:  Lord Bronadir. In charge of supplies, stronghold management and politics advisor.

Secretary: Lord Brethil. Chief Advisor to the King. In charge of Treasure.

Herdir Laegrim. Master Prestolon. “Lord of the Green elves” Represents the settlements in the King’s council.

Crown Prince: Lord Bôrgalas Chief Commander. Military and foreign policy advisor to the King

Troop Commander:  Commander Hîrvegil. Crown Prince’s second in Command. Military affairs.

Crown Prince’s heir: Lord Mallereg Belegorn. Captain of the Western and Southern Area.

Crown Prince’s second son: Lord Borgil. Captain of the Eastern and Northern Area (Dead)

Crown Princess: Lady Luinil. Stronghold staff.  Well-being and support to military’s families. 

Second Prince: Lord Legolas Home affairs and settlements’ defense advisor to the king. Captain of the Home Guard. Military advisor to the Crown Prince.

Second Princess: Lady Laerîniel; Chief Forester to the Northern Area.

The Queen assists the King and deals with the Steward in matters of stocks and distribution, as well as running the day-to day affairs in the stronghold.  

The queen’s secretary, lady Saelleth, assists her.