Many thanks to Redheredh for her kind help.

A brief “who’s who”:  

Bôrgalas is Legolas’ oldest brother

Mallereg is Bôrgalas’ eldest son

Borgil was Bôrgalas’ second son, killed in the battle under the trees

Thalaûr is Mallereg’s guard

Sûlgalen is Legolas and Laerîniel’s daughter

Sûlaer (summer wind) is how Legolas calls his wife, Laerîniel

Calenben (green one) is how Laerîniel calls Legolas

A brief summary: It is mid-autumn and Laerîniel is heading home to await Legolas’ now imminent return. She has managed to trick Mallereg into going back home, too. Meanwhile, Legolas and Gimli are a week away from Thranduil’s stronghold.

Chapter 5. Home is…

The trip back home from the foresters’ camp was a painfully slow ride. A cold autumn breeze blew unhindered amidst the leafless branches. Birds had deserted that dismal, burnt part of the forest, and the woeful laments of the trees echoed in the wailing wind.  

The mood of the travelling company was even bleaker than their surroundings. Mallereg could barely hold himself upon Thalarîn, the spirited mare that had been a present from his guard, but he insisted on riding unaided despite the agonizing pain in his injured leg. His escorts kept a tense, threatening silence and constant vigilance.  

On the first night of their trip, Laerîniel tried in vain to restore the moods of her group with a warm meal made up from their meagre provisions, as there was no time or chance for hunting or fishing.   

“I will not run the risk of attracting even one stray orc, Laerîniel,” the captain of the prince’s escort informed her softly, putting out her fire with a regretful shrug. She looked around gloomily. Mallereg was slumped against a tree, wrapped up in his stained cloak, his face pale and contorted with passing spasms of pain. The rest did not look much better, she thought. She had known them all for a long time, but now she could not find any traces of the joyful, confident, lively elves she remembered.  

“We cannot let the war change us and destroy us,” she thought in despair, remembering Thranduil’s words on the Eve of Midsummer. And for the first time she wondered with trepidation what kind of Elf would be returned to her, what kind of changes, what inner wounds would her husband have sustained during that eventful year, what scars would have been left by the dreadful experiences he had surely gone through. The thought was disturbing enough to keep her awake for the whole night, despite her bone-deep weariness.   

Anor finally took pity of them and on the third day of their trip she broke through the mass of clouds and sent her rays to warm the cold, tired party. Even Mallereg seemed to revive, lifting his face to receive the welcome caress and exchanging some jokes with his guards. That night they ran into a patrol of the Home Guard, and they were able to enjoy a warm dinner and a restoring sleep while the patrol kept the perimeter and took care of the injured and restless prince.  

“We’re all eagerly awaiting the return of our captain, Laerîniel,” the officer in charge told her in the bright morning, as they got ready to undertake the last part of their journey. “We, too, have missed him sorely,” he added with gentle sympathy, offering her a reddish leaf with a friendly wink. Half the forest seemed to know when Legolas was expected, she thought with mild amusement.  

“One would be misled to believe that the Home Guard has been left alone and without command in his absence,” a stern voice cut in just as Laerîniel looked for the appropriate answer. 

“My lord, I… I didn’t mean...” the guard blushed furiously as they both turned to see Mallereg standing behind them.  

“You’d better keep your eyes open, lest your captain passes you unnoticed, much as we almost did last night,” he scolded the officer then –unfairly, in Laerîniel’s opinion.  

“We are ready to depart, my lord.” Thalaûr appeared most opportunely beside Mallereg. “The Commander is showing his gratitude for your hospitality, Megorlas, hard as you may find to believe it,” he smiled apologetically towards the mortified guard, while casting a warning look at his charge.  

“Let’s go, then,” the prince grunted. With a curt nod he limped to where his mare waited, rejecting Thalaûr’s help brusquely.  

The forest looked healthier as they progressed northward, and Laerîniel was relieved to see how the song of the trees helped ease the guards’ troubled moods. Their conversations were lighter in tone and, from time to time, a clear voice would attempt a well-known tune. They were approaching the stronghold from the east, and the land rose noticeably there. The abruptness of the terrain seemed not to disturb Mallereg, though, for he suddenly urged Thalarîn up a winding, almost invisible, path that climbed a steep hill to their left. His escort followed resignedly, dreading what they were about to see.  

Amon Tirith was the highest point between Thranduil’s stronghold and the Mountains in the south, and it commanded an impressive view of the surroundings. To the east, the company could see the glistening waters of the Forest River, as it left the protection of the woods and ran wildly to Long Lake.  

The prince’s gaze, though, was fixed west, and Laerîniel forced herself to do the same. The lands descended abruptly there, and the signs of destruction were more visible in the Enchanted River’s western banks, despite the distance, as well as in the once heavily populated stretch between the two rivers. Yet it wasn’t the view of those charred forests and glades what held the prince’s attention, but the narrow trail that led to the Ford of the Forest River and the road to Thranduil’s stronghold.  

Cail-en-Ernil, the Prince’s Fence, as the ford was known now, was the place where Borgil had led the Home Guard’s desperate last stand, protecting the retreating settlers as well as the way to the stronghold.  They had been caught there between fire and foe and had resolutely held their ground down to the last warrior in what proved to be the turning point of the war. Their staunch defense of the pass had bought time for Mallereg and Thranduil’s troops to end up the armies attacking from the east –while Bôrgalas was surrounded in the south by another orc army that had descended unexpectedly from the dens in the Misty Mountains.  

Laerîniel had never returned to look at that place she remembered well from happier days, and she was stricken by the extent of devastation in the once densely forested area. She knew that Mallereg, hurrying from the east at Borgil’s desperate calls for help, had been the first to arrive there; and that he had been already too late. She wondered briefly what visions were now crowding his mind as he sat there, unmoving, apparently oblivious of their presence. She shook her head to dispel unwanted images of charred, mutilated bodies and placed a soothing hand on her nephew’s shoulder.  

“Let’s go home, Mallereg,” she pleaded quietly. He turned pained, unseeing eyes to her, but nodded in assent, urging his mare down the hill without looking back.  

They rode in silence. The shadows were lengthening when they reached the first circle of the guard and word of the prince and his escort’s arrival was sent to the stronghold.  

“Go home, my friends.” Mallereg spoke for the first time since morning; addressing his guards, who lived at some distance. “Thalaûr and Laerîniel will be more than capable to see me to the stronghold,” he joked softly, dismissing each of them with a grateful arm grip.  

The few elves they met as they continued on their way greeted them respectfully, bowing to the prince and offering them warm welcome. Laerîniel noticed that Mallereg was making a great effort to keep himself straight, and let not his tiredness show as he returned each salute. She let escape a relieved sigh as they crossed the bridge and stable hands hurried to help them.  

“I know the way to the King’s Halls, Thalaûr, you don’t need to escort me there…”  

“You may want to wash and change into fresh cloths first, my lord.” A calm, well-known voice interrupted them. Laerîniel smiled as she saw Lord Brethil taking charge, for only then did Thalaûr seem to consider his duty ended. He nodded briefly to the King’s secretary and headed back towards his own house.  

“Naneth!” The joyful cry caught Laerîniel by surprise, and she looked up to see that Sûlgalen was hurrying down the way to the stables in a very unbefitting manner –grinning madly and waving at them. Laerîniel forgot the bedraggled elf who was stubbornly refusing Brethil’s help, and her own weariness, as she dismounted swiftly and ran towards her daughter.  

“My child! I did not expect you here!”  

“Adar said in his letter that he would be back by Narbeleth, Nana, and I did not want to miss your face as he rode home!” Sûlgalen joked warmly, giving her tired naneth an affectionate hug. Laerîniel laughed and held her at arm’s length, savouring the resemblance she bore with Legolas despite the blue- black hair and the dark eyes. Yet, the determined, faintly amused expression on her fair face, and the lively spark that brightened up her features every time she smiled were so Legolas’ that Laerîniel could not hold back a wistful sigh.  

“Sûlgalen, let your naneth breathe,” Lord Brethil suggested from behind Laerîniel as he waved over to a couple of guards that had followed the younger princess with a stretcher obviously intended for the wounded prince.   

“Who is this stranger and where’s my gallant cousin?” Sûlgalen asked in mock surprise as soon as she fixed her eyes on the tired Elf now leaning heavily upon Brethil.  

“It is not yet time for tales, my little princess,” Mallereg joked, shaking his head at the sight of the stretcher and refusing the guards’ help. “But I promise to go tuck you in and tell you a bed-time story after we adults are finished with our business…”  

“I doubt that your naneth will let you escape once she gets hold of you, Mallereg. You look terrible!” she returned lightly, stretching up on her toes to place a soft kiss on her cousin’s face. She then took hold of her naneth’s arm and led the way back to the stronghold.  

“Don’t think that you look better, cousin,” the prince groaned, limping laboriously behind them. “If I were your adar, I would call your husband to task…”  

“Let Olchaldir and Belthôn help you inside, Mallereg,” Laerîniel interrupted the friendly bickering between the two cousins, signalling to the guards who walked behind them. “Dragging you home was not among Brethil’s set tasks for this evening, I’d say…”  

“The King shall see you later,” Brethil added, waving to one of the guards to take his place.  

“My adar should be warned of our arrival, too.” The worn-out prince accepted the guard’s stronger support without protest, now.  

“Your adar is inspecting the garrisons that protect the temporary settlements and he’s not expected in some more days. Get some food and rest and do not trouble yourself,” Brethil answered, patting the prince’s shoulder comfortingly. He smiled briefly to Laerîniel and then hurried back to the stronghold, while the rest continued at their slow pace up to the heavy doors.

**

Laerîniel soon got used to the ordered routine that was life at the stronghold. First thing every morning, she would walk to the Home Guard’s command at the time they received the reports from the patrols, hoping to hear that Legolas had been sighted. After that, she usually had breakfast with the family and then sat at the Warden’s office, wading through the reports piling upon Master Pador’s desk, the Warden being busy in the northern marches. She also spent time helping Saelleth and the Queen in seeing to the daily distribution of provisions with the Steward, as well as checking the stores of medical supplies. Sûlgalen was busy helping those taking care of the many children that had been displaced from their settlements, while Luinil devoted most of her time to her wounded and discouraged son, who had been confined to his chambers by the palace healer.  

After the midday meal, Laerîniel would follow a trail that skirted the northern bank of the Forest River to the east, and led to the glade where the old beech stood. She usually carried a basket of wool and would spend the afternoon carding or spinning as she sat listening to the song of the trees, waiting for them to bring the news of her husband’s arrival.  

The old beech was a descendant of the one Legolas had planted after he asked for her hand –so long ago. It had grown in that glade since Sûlgalen’s birth, and her leaves had provided welcome shade to family outings and useful shelter for children’s games when Borgil and Sûlgalen had been very young. The glade was a favourite meeting place for all the family, and Laerîniel found peace just sitting there and letting the days pass by, soothed by the comforting, familiar humming of the old tree.  

****

A week later, somewhere between Thranduil’s stronghold and Laketown.  

“It is fine Legolas; I’m a Dwarf of many journeys. I can walk the distance to Erebor with my eyes closed… “  

They had reached the end of their journey together, a stony beach by the Forest River where, seventy something years ago, a band of sick dwarves had spent the night in thirteen supposedly empty barrels after escaping Thranduil’s stronghold with the help of certain Bilbo Baggins. From here, Gimli intended to continue north to Erebor and Legolas would ride home.  

And still they were lingering; sharing a last meal and reluctant to part with each other’s company after so much travel and toil.  

“So you think that Thorin will attend Aragorn’s plea and send your people to help in the rebuilding of the city?”  

“I suppose that it depends on how busy we are with the repairs, but yes, I have little doubt. It is going to be a challenge for our skills, and an honour, as well. What about you?” 

“It shall depend on the damage in the forest and the settlements and how much I am needed,” Legolas sighed, casting a sad glance towards the now much closer and still silent trees. “With my younger nephew’s death and the heavy losses that we have sustained in the war, all captains must be sorely needed. I doubt that I’ll be able to return to Gondor before next summer, but I shall bring back trees and birds, and, hopefully, a group of elves with me.”  

“Faramir will be thrilled,” the Dwarf acknowledged, biting into his remaining lembas with delight. “Do you think that your wife shall feel the same?” he asked inquisitively.  

“Sûlaer loves trees, and she will like it down there, I have no doubt. I would have not even considered moving there if I weren’t sure that she would get used to Ithilien...Together we will restore the land to its beauty. She’s going to love the idea,” Legolas answered with his maddening self-confidence. The Dwarf shrugged and continued eating in silence.  

“For some reason, I find it hard to believe that the King of Mirkwood, sorry, Lasgalen shall be ecstatic at the prospect, though,” Gimli insisted after some time. The thoughtful look that crossed his friend’s face was enough for the Dwarf to know that his worries were not wholly unfounded.  

“Well,” Gimli finally said. They both had finished their meals and drinks and the sun was beginning her slow descent. “We had better keep going now, before we decide that it is too late for today. Your wife awaits you, and I long to feel solid rock over my head,” he added grumpily as he collected his belongings and readied his heavy pack.  

“It’s been an honour to fight alongside you, my friend,” Legolas began, standing up to bid Gimli goodbye, but the dwarf shook his head and raised his hands to stop him.  

“Let us do without all that, if you please?” he brusquely cut off the Elf’s words. “We shall meet again in Minas Tirith some time next year, and that’s settled. Now, have a safe return, and present my respects to your lady wife. I’m looking forward to meeting her in fair Ithilien,” he grunted, piercing the Elf with an affectionate look that belied his gruffness. “I do not have the whole day to spend in some wordy elven ritual, you know…”  

“As you wish, then,” Legolas smiled openly at this last show of his friend’s temper. “Have a safe return, Gimli, and may our paths bring us together in Minas Tirith soon,” he added, bowing before the Dwarf with his right hand over his heart.  

The Dwarf returned a brief nod, and there was a sad, melancholy gleaming in his dark eyes as he turned his back on his friend and started walking down the trail that followed the river until it struck another, wider road heading north. He did not look back even once, and Legolas followed his stout, up-right figure with a fond smile on his face.  

“Let’s get ready, my friend,” he told Arod when Gimli became a dim silhouette in the distance. He packed his belongings and put out what was left of their fire. “We are only a day from home and Sûlaer is waiting for me,” he said softly, casting a thoughtful glance to the silent forest. The sea-longing, he suspected, prevented him from understanding the voices of the trees, and that made him uneasy. He turned his mind to his wife, then, trying -not for the first time- to feel her presence beyond the tenuous pulse that was their bond. He wondered if her voice, too, would be dimmed by the persistent thunder that now drummed almost constantly in his ears.   

“Tell her I am coming, please?” he cried pleadingly to the unresponsive trees. Then, he mounted Arod and urged him on the path.  

“If thou hearest the cry of the gull on the shore, Thy heart shall then rest in the forest no more.” *  

The Lady’s words echoed in his mind with the finality of doom as he entered the woods before sunset, his heart beating wildly in his chest as he strained to hear the voices of his beloved trees above the distant rolling of unknown waters that muffled every other voice around him.   

He closed his eyes and sighed. It shall take time, he told himself resignedly, forcing his horse to a slower pace. He inhaled deeply and allowed his mind to take in the sounds, the smells and the play of the changing light through the naked branches. The forest had been shedding its reddish mantle for some time, it seemed, and he wondered how many leaves the old beech would still keep, since Narbeleth seemed now well in. He closed his eyes again, calling to mind an image of his wife waiting for him by the ancient tree, and he willed his faer forth in a wistful, beseeching call.  

That night he chose an oak that stood not far from the Forest River and calmly climbed its twisted trunk, relishing its touch. It had been months since he had last slept on a tree -since Lórien, actually- and he snuggled happily against the welcoming trunk, exhaling a deep breath and letting the forest sounds lull him. The Forest River’s waters sang happily to his right and a soft breeze played with the fallen leaves down in the forest floor.  

“I’m here, Arod, I’m not going anywhere...” The steed’s nervous neighing and pacing was breaking the spell of the night. “I’m a Wood-Elf, you know?” he informed the horse, bending dangerously over the branch so that the beast could see him. “I’m used to sleeping up in the trees, and you must get used to it too for this is how we do it when we are out on patrol.”  The horse seemed to calm down, although Legolas wasn’t sure whether his snort had been one of contempt or despair. He lay back again on the trunk and allowed his mind to drift away, hoping that he would find his way to the forest’s soul while resting under its sheltering embrace.  

***  

“Nothing yet, Laerîniel, how’s the old beech doing?” At the Home Guard’s headquarters wagers had been made on the exact date of Legolas’ arrival, though nobody dared comment before the Captain’s wife. 

“Not bad, considering the winds and the progress of the season. I believe that she’ll still hold on for a week or so…” Laerîniel caught the glances that the two assistants exchanged and sighed wearily. “Don’t think that I don’t know that there are bets…”  

“And don’t think that the Chief Commander shall take it lightly, if he ever gets word of it,” a stern voice warned. Belmagor came out of Legolas’ second-in-command’s office, waving a heavily scarred and mutilated hand menacingly towards his aides. “Honestly, we cannot know, Laerîniel,” he explained, offering her a mug of a warm infusion. “Our patrols are very thinly spread and currently concentrated in the western stretch of the Elf Path and the old Forest Road, so if Legolas is coming by the eastern road - which seems the most sensible choice - we might not know he’s arrived until he steps in here asking for the latest reports…” 

“And what if he decides to cross the forest?” one of the aides gloomily asked. Laerîniel shivered remembering the news Mallereg had brought home about orcs regrouping in the Mountains.  

“The Captain is not a fool,” Belmagor remarked brusquely. “He won’t risk crossing a territory that has been deemed unsafe for almost an age. I’m sorry that we have no good news for you,” he addressed the princess in a gentler voice. “I’m sure that he’ll be back as he promised, and he’ll take the safest route… ”  

“I hope so,” Laerîniel nodded, sipping the warm tea. Mornings were getting colder as winter approached. “I am glad to find you here, Belmagor,” she commented then. “I thought you had been transferred to the Steward’s office…”  

“Bôrgalas dispatched Hîrvegil west yesterday to undertake Mallereg’s command. He needed someone here who was familiar with the Home Guard’s routine, so…” he answered, gesturing around with his deformed hand, a hand that would never again hold a bow or wield a sword, Laerîniel thought with sorrow, wondering how it would feel for a warrior to find himself thusly incapacitated to fulfil his duty.  

“What’s wrong with Bôrgalas, Laerîniel?” The blunt question brought her abruptly back from her musings. 

“Why do you ask?” She proceeded cautiously. Belmagor was not particularly renowned for his discretion, she reminded herself, recalling the incident in Midyear’s Eve. The two assistants seemed overly busy all of a sudden.  

“Well, he demoted Mallereg and sent his second-in-command to oversee the western troops from the field, instead of summoning a force and launching an attack to the south! Those orcs must be starving and in complete disarray; allowing them time to regroup is…”  

“Mallereg needed a good rest, and he had actually defied Bôrgalas’ orders. The Chief Commander did what he considered best for the safety of the settlements and the hunters’ parties,” she cut him sternly, before he could further disgrace himself. She found it hard to believe her own words, though, as she had rebuked her brother-in-law the moment she had heard how he had summoned his son to his office, disregarding the state of his wounded leg, and had temporarily removed him from command for his insubordination. But she did not intend to undermine the Chief Commander’s authority before the Home Guard.   

“I suppose that you are right,” the officer nodded grudgingly. “And the western marches are not wholly safe, after all. They must be awaiting Legolas’ return to make decisions concerning the south,” he mused, exhaling deeply.  

“I think so,” she agreed, getting up. “Thanks for the tea and, Belmagor…”  

“Yes?”  

“Don’t be too stern,” she begged of him. “Bets and jokes have always been a part of the Guard. None of those gone would like to see that you’ve become such a solemn lot…”  

“Just pretending,” he joked with a crooked smile, following her to the entrance and opening the door for her. “Only, I’m annoyed for I have already lost my bet, it’d seem, since today was my chosen day for the Captain’s return,” he explained, glaring immediately at the two assistants who could not hold back their amusement any longer.  

“I hope that you will not hold that against Legolas, too,” she returned lightly as she stepped outside, smiling at the burst of laughter that followed her.  

She worked distractedly the rest of the morning. She had been so sure that she would receive news of Legolas that day! She had slept well and had awoken feeling light of heart and full of hope, and that surely meant something!   

Arien was winking auspiciously through fleeing clouds that travelled north under the wings of the southern wind, the one that brought down ripe chestnuts and surviving leaves, as Laerîniel walked to the place where she kept her daily watch. The old beech stood proudly in the midst of the glade, surrounded by a thick carpet of golden brown and red and almost naked but for scattered bunches of leaves in her lower branches.  

“You better hold on some more days, my friend,” she begged the tall tree. Giving into a childish whim, she piled a comfortable bed of leaves beside the tree trunk. “He must be surely getting closer,” she sighed softly, dropping down into that nest. “Can you hear him coming?”  

**  

Legolas awoke that morning feeling refreshed. He could not remember where the path of his dreams had led him, but a deep joy he had long missed lingered among the last threads of sleep. He bathed on the clear stream of the Forest River and the singing waters filled him with inexplicable happiness. Surrendering to a strange impulse he instructed his horse to tag along as he walked the paths of his forest. He followed familiar trails, acknowledging trees, recalling from memory each corner of those well-known woods, each glade and grove, each crossroads and river bend, naming the forest and retaking his place there, despite the insistent thunder of the sea that rolled tirelessly within him.  

“I belong here,” he called out loud, and it seemed to him that the trees murmured among themselves and then bowed slowly as if to greet him. “I am Legolas Thranduilion, and I belong here!“ he again called, opening his arms and looking upwards to the tall, imposing trees he had known since saplings, and the sight made him laugh in joyous rapture. He could not yet hear their voices clearly but, all of a sudden, the forest looked again like an old acquaintance instead of the distant stranger that had frozen him out. As his hopes that he might somehow regain his peace within the forest were kindled, he felt the deep longing that had been waiting to ensnare him suddenly taking over. He could only think of riding to the old beech and getting lost in his wife’s embrace.   

“Go swiftly now, Arod, for she is waiting and I am long overdue!” He mounted his steed and urged him into a wild gallop along paths that he knew by heart, relishing the southern wind and the whispers of the trees. And it seemed to him that they parted to ease his way and that the branches moved in silent conversation, conveying the good news across the forest as he rode to her with an urgency that he had never felt before. 

 ***

Laerîniel intended to spin the afternoon away, but she found it hard to keep her rhythm and the fibres got loose more often than not. From time to time she would lift her head and listen intently, mistaking a bird’s call or the whisper of the wind playing with the fallen leaves. And she could not hold back a smile that persistently tugged at her lips, together with a feeling of elation that slowly crept into her until it swept away her concentration.  

“He must have entered the forest,” she thought, looking up in anticipation, hoping to hear the news from the trees.  

Yet it was her heart that warned her first. At one point she let fall spindle and wool in the basket and stood up, leaning on the trunk of the old beech, knowing that he was hurrying to her.  

The wait became more unbearable as the certainty grew with the song of the trees. She wondered whether to run and meet him on his way, or climb the old beech to catch sight of him even before he knew, like they used to do when they were younger and they would await the other’s return in their home in the northern marches.  

Relieved from making any decision by the sudden certainty that her knees would buckle under her if she tried to move, she just stood there –waiting- supported by the faithful beech and looking east.  

***  

The old beech was shedding some leaves as horse and rider entered the clearing at a slow canter, and Arod stopped on his own accord at the sight of the beautiful elleth standing still under that peaceful, red rain.   

The moment he met his wife’s gaze Legolas understood what a tidal wave was. Their minds touched and her bright presence surrounded him and washed away everything except the cry of his faer desperately reaching out for hers. He dismounted quickly and reached her side, and they embraced tightly, fitting together as if they had been one ever since the making of Arda. Legolas hardly had time to wonder what Laerîniel might have read in his troubled eyes as bodies and minds rushed forth, reclaiming their other half. Soft endearments died out quickly, as mouths began to trace familiar paths and hurried fingers made short work of cloaks, laces and buttons, both surrendering to a call that had been smothered since his leaving.  

It seemed to Legolas, as he lost himself within the wide embrace of his love, that he had finally arrived at a place he had long missed; the place where he could shed all his fears and doubts and be safe forever. Her faer sang joyfully within his, unravelling with tender care the tangled threads of dark memories and pain, soothing his sorrow and easing their way to the blissful moment of fulfilment, when they became again one, in mind and body. Such was the strength of their bond -and the healing power that it held- that as Legolas moved to rest beside his wife, and his breathing calmed in his chest, he realized that the unrelenting rolling of the waters had almost disappeared, replaced by the clear voice of his beloved trees welcoming him home.  

“I missed you so much, my Sûlaer,” he sighed hoarsely against her, holding her tightly and wishing that moment would last forever; the two of them, naked under his cloak and resting on a bed of leaves until the world changed and Arda was renewed.   

****  

They lay under the old beech, laughing as she shed more leaves in homage to the prince’s arrival, until the shadows lengthened and the first stars began to show in the autumn sky. Now, they rose and got dressed unhurriedly, delighting in each other’s presence and stopping often to exchange soft caresses and tender kisses that spoke, better than words, of longing and recovering.  

“We’d better go home, before Sûlgalen comes looking for us,” she finally sighed, reluctantly letting go of him and walking to where Arod waited.   

“She’s always been an impatient elleth, just like her naneth,” Legolas smiled fondly at the thought of his daughter. He picked up his cloak and patted the faithful beech’s trunk in gratitude. All around him the trees seemed to rejoice in his return, and he cast a grateful look to his wife, relieved that he was, eventually, able to hear them.  

“Who’s been impatient, now?” she returned his joke lightly, but her deep glance spoke of understanding and forgiveness, and Legolas felt that his love for her would overwhelm him.  

“Let me introduce you properly,” he smiled, walking to where she stood by the horse. “Arod,” he addressed his mount with a conniving wink, “this is my Sûlaer, the one I used to sing of, speak of, dream of… “  

“I’m glad to meet you, Arod.” Her clear laughter interrupted his speech, and she whispered something into the horse’s ear and then waited as if listening. “He says he has never heard of me,” she complained after a moment, looking at her husband with feigned disappointment. 

“I was going to tell you what a brave and valiant steed he is, and how much he deserves the best stall in the King’s stables,” he claimed shaking his head, taking hold of her slender hips and lifting her up onto the great horse while he spoke. “But, I might have to reconsider his merits,” he joked, avoiding the playful shove of the beast’s head and mounting nimbly behind her. “Now, take us home, my friend, and I promise you the best dinner and shelter you have enjoyed in a long time!” he said, encircling his wife’s waist with his arms and prompting Arod into an easy stride.  

They rode in silence for a while, enjoying their closeness and relishing every touch. Words were not needed as their faer engaged in deep conversation, exploring each other’s feelings and tentatively prodding open, sore wounds. The night’s breeze carried a rumbling, deep, heartfelt welcome to Legolas’ ears and he could not hold back a shiver.  

“What is it?” Laerîniel turned back briefly to look at him with concern.  

“I’ve just felt my father’s power in all its force…I had not realized until now how much I missed his presence,” he said thoughtfully, pulling her closer and burying his face in the crook of her neck. “I could ride like this all the way to the Grey Havens and beyond, my Sûlaer,” he whispered huskily. “I don’t want to ever let go of you…”  

“Who cares for the Grey Havens, my love?” She relaxed against him and rested her head on his shoulder as she laughed again, joy and relief ringing in her silvery voice. “You are home, Calenben, and that’s all that matters. See, even the trees missed you. Now we can truly begin to heal!” she said earnestly. Too moved for words, Legolas just kissed her lovely neck, and would have ventured more but for a cheerful greeting.  

“Welcome home, Captain, is it truly you?”  

“Belmagor shall have a fit! Lord Legolas is here! “  

They had inadvertently rode into the main path and were now crossing a sparsely but yet inhabited area, so he laughed ruefully and sat back, still holding his wife’s waist possessively. He waved at the amused guards in the first circle of the perimeter without allowing Arod to slow down his pace. Legolas was now eager to reach the stronghold, and his heart began to beat wildly as he recognized familiar faces among the many elves that went out of their cottages to hail him as they passed. He found out that a lump had formed in his throat as his father’s fastness came to sight, and had to hold back tears when they finally reached there and the guards saluted him in greeting.  

Stable hands ran to meet them, yet Legolas only had eyes for the group of familiar figures hurrying out of the stronghold at a not so dignified pace.  

“Adar!” Sûlgalen was the first to arrive, and she clung to his neck as she had done since she was a little girl, hopping around him even before he could help Laerîniel off the horse.  

“Stop it, you silly elleth!” he pretended to chide her, but ended up holding her up and whirling her around, delighting in the sound of his daughter’s laughter. “I’m so glad that you are home, my child!” he sighed gratefully, embracing her tightly and reaching out to include his wife in his hold.  

“Is there room for anyone else?” an amused voice demanded by his side. He looked up from the place where he had so dearly longed to be to meet his mother’s understanding, loving eyes, and soon he was enveloped in caring, affectionate and comforting embraces. The Queen, Saelleth, Brethil, Luinil’s… He trembled as he pulled his sister-in-law’s thin, fragile frame against him.  

“I… I’m so sorry, Luinil.” He tried to keep down a harsh sob.  

“Hush, be at ease, Legolas,” she whispered against his chest. “We’re so glad that you are finally home!”  

“Where are...”  

“So here you are at last! You had us counting the old beech’s leaves, brother!” A booming voice cut his question short, and a moment after he was buried in his brother’s firm hug.  

Absorbed by his family, Legolas had hardly noticed the tumult around them as the stable hands and their master, the errand-runners, guards on leave and passing elves welcomed him. Now, as a heavy silence fell around them, he lifted his head from Bôrgalas’ embrace to see that the throng surrounding them parted to make room for the King, who strode towards them with a faint smile of satisfaction flickering in his stern, regal face. Legolas advanced to meet him and tried to go down to one knee, but Thranduil stopped him by clasping his arms.  

“We are so proud of you, my son, and so happy to have you returned to us!” he rumbled, pulling him tightly against his strong chest. “Lord Legolas is back after great deeds!” the King proclaimed then in his thunderous voice, a powerful arm over his youngest son’s shoulders, addressing the gathering elves. “Tomorrow we shall feast in the sward. But, let us all drink to him tonight!” He gestured then at the Great Doors and two barrels of Dorwinion that had been laboriously brought up from the cellars by the butler and his assistants. Pleased by the happy cheer that greeted his words, Thranduil nodded and waved repeatedly to his people, inviting them to join in celebration, before finally steering his family inside.  

“I thought that we could have dinner right now, so you could then retire to your chambers freely. What do you say, Legolas?” the Queen asked him as they all entered the palace.  

He shrugged, and nodded to his naneth. He was being almost hauled along the wide corridors, trying to keep up with his father’s strides, with Laerîniel hanging from his arm and the rest of his family on tow, all chattering excitedly among them. Every Elf they met stopped to greet him, and Legolas was beginning to feel overwhelmed. He had to concede that, were he and Laerîniel allowed to their chambers at that moment, not even the news of Sauron’s return would serve to drag them out before morning.  

They eventually reached the family’s dining room, where Mallereg was already waiting for them, leaning on a crutch and with a brave smile on his wan face.  

“Good to have you back home, Legolas!” he whispered, clasping his uncle’s arms in welcome. “Your ladies were beginning to fret,” he added with a grin, as they all took their places around the huge table and servants brought the meal.  

“A Dwarf in Caras Galadhon? I would have loved to see the look in Lord Celeborn’s face!” Brethil let escape an amused chuckle and sat back on the armchair, enjoying the warmth of the flames after a pleasant dinner. They were all gathered by the fire, listening to Legolas’ adventures and savouring a last goblet of wine.  

“My kinsman carefully considers each decision, and rarely allows his temper get the best of him,” Thranduil grunted in response. “Although I doubt that he accepted the Dwarf freely, but rather at his wife’s insistence…” he added with an undisguised scowl.  

“And that’s why he is called the Wise, isn’t it, my lord?” The Queen’s serene voice could not hide her amusement, as she let her hand run lightly along Thranduil’s face.  

“Most assuredly,” he admitted amidst the general amusement, capturing the roaming hand and kissing it softly. A servant chose that moment to quietly enter the family dining room.  

“My lord,” he bowed respectfully to the king. He then nodded quizzically to Legolas and showed him a heavy bundle. Following the prince’s silent directions, he left it by the door and disappeared in the same unobtrusive manner.  

“By your leave,” Legolas addressed his father, disentangling himself from Laerîniel’s embrace. He walked to the door and bent down, handling the pack for a while, keeping its contents from his family’s curious looks. After some rummaging, he walked back to the fireplace and went down to one knee before his father.  

“These I wore at Dagorlad, Your Majesty,” he said formally, presenting Thranduil with the rounded shield and the helm chosen from the armoury of the King of Rohan in Edoras. “I fought there with the armies of Middle-earth, under a foreign banner but in the name of my King and the Woodland Realm.” He paused briefly to clear his voice, and then lifted his eyes to his father. “Please, my lord, do me the honour of receiving them, as a token of respect,” he finished in a firmer voice, meeting his father’s unwavering gaze expectantly.  

“We accept your offering, Lord Legolas,” Thranduil said sternly, sitting in his armchair as regally as if he were upon his carved throne in the Great Hall, and he took the pieces of armour with a solemn nod. He cast a severe look around as if to make sure that his words had made the intended impression, and then continued on. “We are very proud that the Woodland Realm was again present when the Shadow fell. You have honoured our House and our Realm. Stand up, my son,” Thranduil said affectionately, a pleased smile upon his noble face. “Lord Brethil shall see to it that they are set upon display in the Great Hall,” he declared, addressing his secretary.  

“As you command, Your Majesty. They shall fit splendidly beside King Oropher’s spear and your own bow,” Brethil nodded, receiving the items from the King’s hands and passing on the helm to Bôrgalas at his silent gesture.  

“I wouldn’t say that Rohan’s blacksmithing has been much improved in three ennin,” the crown prince commented dryly, turning the helm in his hands. “I am glad that we do not depend upon them for our weaponry.”  

“Yet, it is a fine work, and suitable for its purpose,” Legolas objected as he brought the pack to his seat beside his wife and began searching in it, slightly annoyed by his brother’s contemptuous remark. “I hope that you find this worth of your approval, brother,” he added, handing him a cloth-wrapped parcel. He offered similar bundles to Brethil, Mallereg and Thranduil, and smiled knowingly at their amazed gasps. Mumakil-tusk hilted knives and daggers had become a prized gift in Minas Tirith after the war. The talented craftsmen of the fifth circle of the city had developed a thriving business by offering a wide choice of carvings to enhance the exotic ivory hilts of these already famed, well-balanced weapons.  

“Worth indeed,” Bôrgalas laughed, weighing the dagger in his experienced hand while Thranduil and Brethil admired the handicraft of their own blades. Thranduil’s device -a slender beech crowned by a winged moon- stood out exquisitely thanks to a fine, mithril inlaid work.   

“And these are for the ladies,” Legolas added with a courteous bow, handing more carefully enveloped parcels to his mother, his wife, his daughter, Luinil, Saelleth and Brethil’s wife. “They are no match for our spring wreaths,” he warned, resting an arm over his wife’s shoulders as she untied the ribbons and opened up her bundle. “Yet, I hope, they are a good substitute until the alfirin blossoms,” he smiled, enjoying the expression in his daughter’s face, and her delighted squeal, as she held up an exquisite necklace made out of pearls and coral.  

“It’s so beautiful, Adar! What is this?”  

“It is made out of sea-creatures,” he answered as he helped an equally delighted Laerîniel put hers around her slender neck. “The Prince of Dol Amroth, who rules a city not far from the ruins of Edhellond, says that his people dive very deep into the sea to gather them.”  

“It is wonderful, Legolas, but you needed not bother,” his mother said with a warm smile. “It is enough to have you back home.”  Luinil, Saelleth and Brethil’s wife agreed wholeheartedly, exchanging appreciative comments as they admired their own and each other’s.   

“By your leave, my lord…” Mallereg had sat in silence for most of the night, and now he was getting up from his chair with some difficulty, fighting to mask the pain his injured leg still caused him.  

“Go, child,” Thranduil dismissed him with a concerned smile. “You must be tired, this is your first day up and about, I’m told...”  

“Not exactly, Grandfather,” the prince observed softly after he wished the ladies goodnight. “I walked all the way to the Chief Commander’s office and back the other day,” he said, casting a hurt, almost pleading look to his adar, who deliberately eluded his gaze.  

Mallereg shrugged sadly and made for the door. “Welcome home, Uncle, and many thanks,” he said with a pained sigh, and gently pressed Legolas’ shoulder as he walked past him.  

“We’ll try that knife tomorrow,” Legolas said to his nephew’s retreating back, cringing at the way Mallereg tried to disguise his pronounced limp. He caught the reproachful look that Luinil shot her husband but before he could ask, Brethil nodded to his wife and stood up, bowing to the King.  

“We should be going too, my lord.” It was the signal for everybody to take their leaves, and the King and the Queen stood to bid their guests goodbye. Goodnights were still resonating in the corridor as Legolas closed the door to his and Laerîniel’s chambers behind him.  

“What’s wrong between Bôrgalas and…” he began, but Laerîniel’s mouth sealed his in a demanding kiss and he surrendered gladly, following her to their bed and into frenzied, passionate lovemaking.  

Later that night Legolas awoke to the sound of soft whimpers. It took him some moments to realize where he was, but the warm body of his wife pressing against his soon brought back awareness. Her limbs were firmly entwined in his, like those vines that threaded themselves around some trees. “Until they suffocate them,” he thought half-asleep, feeling the way she pushed against him in her slumber, as if she tried to imprint herself upon his skin with an urgency that was not that of desire but rather of despair.  

Blinking away the last threads of sleep, Legolas found out with surprise that his eyes were wet with tears, and he lifted a hand to trace the salty trails. He suddenly remembered the deafening roll of unknown waters and the piercing shrills of the seagulls invading his dreams, and he had to conclude that the sobs that had awakened him had been his.  

He buried his face on Laerîniel’s silky mane and inhaled deeply, delighting in her familiar scent and willing his heart to calm down its deafening pounding.  

“Where were you going?” He felt her soft breath and the silky touch of her lips on his chest, and he held her even closer.  

“Nowhere my Sûlaer; I’m here,” he whispered gently in her hair.  

“You were far away in your dreams, Calenben,” she mumbled against his skin. “You were walking in a strange land and you were calling my name…”  

Legolas closed his eyes as more pieces of his dream returned to him. He had been walking in a deserted, treeless land, as tempting waves broke endlessly at his feet. He had called desperately to her, but only the seagulls answered him.  

“It was only a bad dream, my love.” He tried to sound reassuring, but could not hold back a shiver.  

“You’re not leaving me anymore,” she informed him in a sleepy voice.  

“Not ever,” he promised, his voice raspy with emotion, stroking her back and tightening his hold, feeling how she moved against him, adjusting to the welcoming bends of his body. “You’ll always be by mi side,” he added quietly.  

“I’ll hold you to that,” she nodded, and satisfied with his words, she curled up and fell asleep again.  

Legolas let his hands roam her beloved wife’s body, caressing her soft skin, holding on to her as if she were his salvation. “Much like Samwise to the sides of his Lórien boat,” he thought, amused in spite of himself as that particular memory came unbidden to his mind; no doubt aroused by the thunder of waters again resounding in his ears.  

He clung desperately to his wife, entrusting himself to her steady faer, knowing that she would not let him drown or drift too far away. Guided by her calm breathing, he finally allowed himself to follow the path of dreams, sure that she would be there to keep him afloat.  

TBC

Thalarîn: (steady crowned-lady) Mallereg’s mare. As it was a present from Thalaûr, the prince thought it funny to give her a name after the donor’s.

Amon Tirith (the hill of guard) This place is my invention

Cail-en-ernil: (The Prince’s Fence).  A Cail is “a fence of spikes and sharp stakes.” The place where Bôrgalas’ youngest son died protecting the settlers. My invention, too.

Legolas’ armour. “Helms they chose, and round shields, too…” TTT, “The King of the Golden Hall”

Thranduil’s device.  My invention. The winged moon was on Thingol’s emblem, and it made sense to me that Oropher would have assumed a reminder of Doriath in his coat of arms.  

* Galadriel’s words to Legolas as conveyed by Gandalf, in TTT, “The White Rider”