Making Progress

Celebrían smiled sweetly at Haldir, but there was no mistaking the authority in her bearing – and no missing her resemblance to her absent adar.

‘As you command, my lady,’ he said reluctantly. 

Amroth had ruled the Golden Wood in Haldir’s youth – and, by the time he had pursued Nimrodel to his presumed death and Celeborn had assumed his authority, Celebrían had been long wed to the Lord of Imladris.  She could not command him: not really.  But he was, he found, unwilling to put his theory to the test.  She was still of Elu’s house – and, although that did not mean a great deal to him, it had been of key importance to his parents.  Come to that, he thought, Lord Elrond was Elu’s heir – his direct descendant – and, if he wished, he could exert that authority.

Haldir relaxed a little.  If his lord’s daughter and her husband wanted him to do this, then he no longer had to debate how far his responsibility extended.  He just had to worry about how he could achieve what they asked.

‘We could easily provide suitable clothing in blue,’ Celebrían said, her eyes looking him up and down critically.  ‘But that just would not do.’

Haldir’s gaze settled on a rather bemused Elrond.

‘Why not?’ the elf lord asked with interest.

Celebrían shook her head pityingly.  ‘Dark blue and silver are the colours of Imladris, of course.  Greens and browns are associated with Legolas and the Greenwood.  The Galadhrim require another colour.’

‘Grey,’ Elrond suggested. 

‘On its own it would be too dull.’  Celebrían walked round the former march warden.  ‘And, with his hair, it would make him seem too wishy-washy.  He needs something stronger.’  She inspected him for a moment longer.  ‘Dark red, I think, with silver-grey.’

‘I am sure it will look very stylish,’ her husband said gravely.

Celebrían frowned.  ‘And I leave it to you to coach Haldir in how he should conduct himself,’ she declared before heading off to search out the garments of her choice.

Elrond offered him a glass of wine.  ‘Just behave normally,’ he shrugged.  ‘Keep your mouth shut, smile and do not ask any elleth to dance more than twice,’ he said.  ‘And if anybody corners you, ask him about himself.  It works wonders, I find.’

‘What if he refuses to be diverted?’

‘He will not.’  Elrond smiled.  ‘Not tonight.  I will see that there is someone close enough to come to your rescue if need be.’

Haldir shifted uncomfortably.  ‘I am a warrior, Lord Elrond.  I do not have the skills needed to debate with the High King’s councillors – I am afraid that I will say something I should not.’

‘You will have my naneth-in-law watching over you,’ Elrond reminded him.  ‘Lady Galadriel will not permit anyone to take liberties.’  He noted Haldir’s faint blush.  ‘She does not wish to appear to use the Galadhrim,’ he added thoughtfully.  ‘She is only too aware that there are still those to whom she is unwelcome – I suspect she wants to strengthen your hand without appearing to interfere.’  He looked at the fair-haired elf.  ‘No-one from Celeborn’s council resides here on the mainland – and there are precious few on Tol Eressëa.  Harthad would be the natural person to represent the Galadhrim in the absence of my wife’s adar – but he remains east of the sea.  You, Haldir, are here – and you are an intelligent elf, willing to do what your lord and people require of you.’ 

The shoulders under the soft leather jerkin squared. 

‘It is only a reception.’  Elrond continued his reassurance.  ‘If Legolas can do it, I am sure you can do it too.’  He raised his own glass to salute the elf.  ‘The worst part of the experience will be satisfying my lady that your appearance does you credit.  Believe me – the evening will seem straightforward in comparison.’

***

‘I do not bite,’ the slight elleth said waspishly, looking up at the elegantly clothed march warden.

‘I beg your pardon?’  Haldir blinked.

‘I do not bite,’ she repeated.  ‘I am not carrying anything more deadly than a comb – and I am not trying to entice you into marriage.  This is simply a dance!’

‘I have always found,’ he retaliated, ‘that an elleth is at her most dangerous on the dance floor.’

‘And you have clearly had plenty of experience of avoiding the threat,’ she commented as she guided him in the right direction.

‘These dances are not like ours.’  He could hear himself sounding defensive.  ‘And I have spent little time at affairs like this.’  He looked round the wide chamber rather disapprovingly.

The elleth nodded.  ‘We are, of course, a desperately light-minded and worthless people, scarcely worthy of your courtesy.’

Haldir looked at her in disbelief.  ‘I did not say that.’

She lifted an eyebrow.  ‘You hardly needed to say anything,’ she said.  ‘You simply looked it.’

He opened his mouth and closed it again.  The music drew to its finish and he bowed to her.  ‘My apologies,’ he said, as he guided her back to her friends. 

The elleth remained somewhat stiff and dropped her hand from his arm as soon as she could.  ‘Allow me to introduce you to another partner, my lord,’ she announced, looking round for volunteers.  The tall redhead inclined her head slightly.  ‘This is Haldir, Elerrina,’ she said, slightly mollified.  ‘Haldir, may I introduce Elerrina.’

He bowed again and offered his arm with obvious resignation.  He was clearly going to have to spend the evening partnering elleth after elleth.  They appeared to be sharing the duty out amongst them, turn by turn. 

‘What did you say to Calissë?’ The elleth sounded decidedly amused.  ‘She seems less than impressed.’ 

‘I am not a courtier, my lady,’ Haldir managed to make it sound like a boast.

‘Lady Galadriel said you were charming,’ the elleth remarked.  ‘She said that you were a good dancer, too.’  She veered to a different set and readied herself for the dance.

‘She exaggerated.’  Haldir smiled.  ‘What was wrong with that set?’

‘Salmar is too curious,’ she told him.  ‘He would look on the dance as sufficient introduction to interrogate you.’  She grinned as his mouth dropped open.  ‘Did you not expect the Lady’s protection to come in petticoats, my lord?’  She shook her head.  ‘Naïve of you.’  She rested her hand on his as the music began.  ‘We are everywhere, Master Haldir.  Observant, but unobserved – and there are many who refuse to take us seriously.’  His greenish eyes held his.  ‘Take Calissë, for example.  She is smaller than most, and slight – and very interested in what people are wearing – but she listens to what people say and she puts together what she hears.’

‘Is that a warning, Lady Elerrina – or advice?’

‘That would depend, would it not?’

Haldir looked at her.  He had heard a few things about this red-headed elleth – few of them favourable.  The thought of a Noldo hooking her claws into Thranduil’s son appalled him nearly as much as it would the prince’s adar – he had thought of telling the ellon he ought to keep his distance, but he seemed to be trying to avoid the elleth without any interference and he was, moreover, unlikely to appreciate the thought.  Having met her, though … well, he had to admit she seemed intelligent.  Which could, of course, make her far more dangerous.  She seemed well disposed, though – which was more than could be said for some of those watching the dance floor, who were hard pressed to conceal their scowls. 

He sighed.  Give him a bow and a patrol of orcs.  He knew where he stood with them.  He only hoped his lord would realise what he was prepared to suffer in order to do the best he could for the Galadhrim.  The girl grinned.   He hoped he had not looked as long-suffering as he felt, but apparently he was doing a less than successful job of concealing his feelings.

‘Never mind,’ she said consolingly.  ‘Lady Galadriel has chosen to look after you.  You are quite safe – at least until she decides otherwise.’

He should be reassured, he knew.  But, somehow, he was not.

***

‘The High King,’ Finrod said mildly, ‘is of the opinion that we should work towards the founding of homelands for the green elves – and the grey.’  His line dangled over the edge of the small boat, bobbing in the small ripples that fanned out across the glassy water.  ‘In a perfect world, he says, Noldor and Teleri and Vanyar would clasp the elves of Endórë to their bosoms and embrace them as brothers – but this is not a perfect world.’

‘I think that is part of the problem.’  Legolas abandoned the chore of watching his line.  It was too sunny to catch any but the most foolish fish, anyway – but at least the appearance of fishing gave him a chance to talk privately to Finrod away from a thousand wagging ears.  ‘My people have long dreaded leaving the … reality of Ennor to sail into a golden sunset – but having done so, they expect perfection.  They are disappointed to find themselves in a world where rivalries still exist and they must negotiate a path through traps they never expected.’

Finrod grinned.  ‘If it were truly so insipid here, they would soon become bored,’ he said.  ‘When I returned, I was happy – of course I was – to be reunited with my parents.  To be reunited with Amarië and find she loved me still was – more than I deserved, but …’ He shook his head.  ‘I tried to conceal my dread that life in Aman would be a reversion to a cosseted childhood.  And I grew up here and knew what life was like!  I cannot blame those who have sailed over the ages for expecting something other than what they have found.  We are elves still, my friend – contentious at times, demanding, seeking always to make things better – to improve on the world created for us.’

‘I would fear…’ Legolas lifted his head and looked keenly at Finarfin’s son, ‘being shunted off to lands that no-one else wants.  And that there might be a reason for their rejection.  Life there might be unsustainable – and we would be closed out from life among those who count the Blessed Realm as home.’

An airy wave of the hand dismissed his point.  ‘You need not worry,’ Finrod said candidly.  ‘The land far exceeds what is required by those born here.  The Noldor – the Teleri – expand their boundaries gently, drifting north and west to the mountains.  Southwards – to a degree.  The Vanyar …’ he grinned, ‘breed less and prefer to remain where they are.  They seem to lack the physical curiosity of the rest of us and desire only to expand their minds!  There is room in plenty.  And,’ he added, returning Legolas’s gaze, ‘I think my atar has something in mind that will not detract from the Noldor’s holdings.’

‘Yet,’ Legolas said slowly, ‘neither are we one people.’

‘I doubt my sister will let him forget that!’  Finrod laughed.  ‘My little sister can be very determined,’ he said affectionately.  ‘She has always reminded me of a hunting dog – once she sinks her teeth in, she will not let go!  Atar had better bear in mind that she is the Lady of the Galadhrim if he wants to dwell in peace until the end of days.’

Legolas grinned.  ‘Haldir is coping better than I expected,’ he said.

‘You should be grateful.’  Finrod reclined gracefully, tacitly agreeing to give up even the illusion of fishing.  ‘At least he has taken her attention away from you.’  For a few moments they listened in companionable silence to the song of contented birds, before he added.  ‘And he has provided Taryatur with another reason to dislike you presumptuous elves from east of the sea.’

Legolas tensed, but kept his opinions, both of Taryatur and the apparently easy friendship between Elerrina and Haldir, to himself.

‘The poor elf finds it hard to object, though,’ Finrod said, carefully noting the reaction so he could report it to his wife when she asked.  ‘Elerrina is only doing as my sister asked – and Taryatur wishes to do nothing to upset her growing confidence in his daughter.  He is caught between a rising tide and a cliff.  Whilst unable to swim or climb,’ he added thoughtfully.  ‘It is no wonder he looks as if he is about to burst.’

‘I would like to know more about these lands the High King is considering.’  Ignoring Finrod was the only option that would avoid his revealing far more than was judicious.  ‘Where they are – who is mapping them – who will decide what should be offered – whether it is our part merely to accept the gracious generosity of the Noldor or whether there is more behind the suggestion than you are prepared to say…’  Legolas ran out of breath.

‘The Valar, you mean?’  Finrod rubbed his nose.  ‘It is possible.  More than possible, even.  It may be there are lands waiting for you that have always been there.  Or,’ he grew enthusiastic, ‘I have at times wondered if the Blessed Realm is … is a growing place – that, as new lands or new challenges become necessary, they come into existence.  It would make sense.’

‘That, as a child grows, its parents introduce it to new experiences?’ Legolas said dryly.  ‘Extend its boundaries so that it might learn?’

Finrod lifted his head and looked at him quizzically.  ‘In a much more adult fashion, of course.  We are, after all, the Firstborn.’

‘And parents are so much more concerned to stretch the talents of their firstborn,’ Legolas grinned.  ‘By the time they have a quiverful of children, they have discovered that the young manage to grow to maturity pretty well on their own.’

‘I think I would be much happier had you not put that image in my mind,’ Finrod said.  ‘Leave us some illusions of superiority, please!  I do not want to spend the remaining ages of Arda thinking of Aman as a carefully supervised playground in which we fritter away our time.  It is much better to believe that our actions have some significance in the world.’

‘And they do.’  Legolas returned his attention to the idle fishing line, but his voice was serious.  ‘For all the people who count on us to make things right for them, they matter a great deal.’

***

Camentur ran a teasing finger up the nape of his wife’s neck, making her shiver, before seeking the jewelled pins that held her hair in place and coaxing them out.  She made an inarticulate protest, but he bent and kissed the soft skin under her ear.  ‘I am not sure,’ he said, ‘whether I prefer being able to seek out your neck freely whenever I wish – or if I prefer to have it hidden enticingly under the splendour of your hair.’

‘We are going out,’ she complained, leaning her head back into his shoulder, ‘and I had just finished arranging that style.’

‘Do we have to go?’  His breath tickled her ear.  ‘I can think of better ways to pass a moonlit night.’

She shivered again.  Camentur was just … far too good at this.  ‘We have to go,’ she said firmly, meeting his eyes in the mirror.  ‘We are expected.’

Her husband took her earlobe between his teeth and nibbled gently.

‘Lord Finrod expects you to be on duty – and Atar requires that we chaperone your sister.  He will be most annoyed if we allow her to spend too much time in Legolas’s company.’

‘She would not.’  He trailed kisses up to the point of her ear.  ‘He would not.  They are both aware of what keeps them apart – and they are resigned to it.’

Nisimalotë reached back to caress her husband’s cheek and Camentur promptly slipped a hand under her arm to cup her breast.  ‘I was resigned to my atar’s objections, too,’ she said.  ‘And it did not keep us from each other.’

‘He did not make it easy, though.’ 

‘He did not want to make it easy.’  Nisimalotë gasped as Camentur touched one of her most sensitive spots.  ‘He wanted us to fight to be together – to be sure that we were right for each other.’

Camentur’s fingers slowed.  ‘He wanted you to realise that you would face prejudice,’ he said softly.  ‘And he wanted me to know what that would make you suffer.’

His wife turned in his arms, taking his chin in her hands.  ‘No-one blames you for anything,’ she said fiercely.  ‘You cannot help your kin – and you have no responsibility for things that happened millennia before your birth.  Your atar has passed his insecurities to you, Camentur Taryaturion, but you have no need to make them yours.’  She kissed him demandingly, refusing to allow him to take on himself the guilt her atar had imposed.  ‘I hope Legolas defies them all and loves Elerrina anyway – and that she is prepared to flout your atar to take him.  No-one has the right to live their lives for them.’

Camentur drew his head back.  ‘I hope you have not put that idea in her head!’ he said, alarmed.

‘I am not stupid,’ she protested.  ‘That would only make it worse – I know that!  It has to be their choice to … to face down the world.’

He stared down at her and wondered if anyone could actually claim to understand his wife.  Nisimalotë seemed so soft and compliant most of the time that it was easy to overlook her core of steel.  He touched the tip of her nose with a gentle finger.  ‘Are you not ready to leave?’ he asked in mock surprise.  ‘I know not what it is about ellyth – you always keep us waiting.  Here I am, as ready as I will ever be, and you are only half-dressed.’

Provoked, his wife slapped his chest.  He clutched dramatically at the injury, reeling away from her and groaning as if she had actually hurt him.

‘Although I do not know why she would want to take on a husband,’ Nisimalotë informed him.  ‘You are an extremely annoying breed!  Now, give me back my pins and let me get my hair done before we really are late.’

***

Elerrina hummed contentedly as she worked.  There was a rightness to the physical effort of preparing her glass that burned away all the stresses of her other life in Tirion and made her feel more herself than she ever did elsewhere.  She rolled the molten glass balls across the white gold foil, looking critically at the effect.  She liked these, she thought.  They were so clearly not a version of the many-faceted stones turned out in their hundreds by the Noldor jewel-smiths.  The combination of patterns and colours made them different – and therefore interesting to those who had seen so much over so many years.  Not that that was important.  She paused briefly.  Perhaps, she thought, molten stringers of coloured glass would add something.  Her eyes narrowed.  It would be worth trying – after all, if her craft did not develop, there was little point to it.  She returned her attention to the waiting beads to add the transparent layer of glass that finished off their glowing brightness. 

The temperature in the small workshop flushed her cheeks and dampened the wisps of hair that escaped from her tight braid, but she was too accustomed to it to notice, moving from furnace to workbench with a graceful economy of movement that seemed like a dance.

‘They are very pretty!’

Elerrina looked up at the sound of her naneth’s voice.  ‘They are not the most technically difficult,’ she said, ‘but they are rewarding – the colours glow so richly.  I was thinking about adding a small flower drawn on in molten glass – it would be effective, I think.  And I am sure I could do more with small canes of different coloured glass.’  She looked vaguely into the distance, working out how she might turn what she saw into reality.

Linevendë shook her head.  ‘You can think about it later, my daughter,’ she said.  ‘The day is spent – and, if you remain here much longer, you will be unable to see the bench before you.’

‘Oh, Amil!  I am sorry,’ Elerrina looked guilty.  ‘I promised to help you with the cooking – and I have left you to do it all yourself.’

‘No matter.’  Linevendë smiled.  ‘It is only a meal for us to share – it is no great hardship to cook for you and your atar.’ She laughed softly. ‘And I have left him to finish everything.  But come now, Elerrina – by the time you have washed and changed the food will be ready.’

‘Give me a few moments,’ her daughter requested.  ‘I must safeguard the fire and put away my finished work – I dislike returning to an untidy workshop.’

Her naneth looked at her affectionately.  ‘You have always been tidy,’ she said.  ‘Camentur would leave his room as if a whirlwind had passed through, but even when you were tiny, you liked everything to be neat.  I think it is why you enjoy working with something as polished as glass.’

‘Perhaps.’  Elerrina hastily neatened her work area and riddled the ashes of her fire.  ‘I was happy to find such pleasure in the same skill as Atar, too – and enjoyed the time we spent together as he taught me.’

‘He was disappointed that Camentur showed no inclination to learn,’ Linevendë admitted.  ‘He would rather have had his son striving to create beauty than weaving his way through the politics of the city – but you cannot live your lives through your children.  They have to go their own way – either with or without your blessing.’

Elerrina glanced at her suspiciously, but Linevendë’s face appeared open and relaxed. ‘He is proud enough now of what my brother has achieved.’

‘He is,’ her naneth agreed.  ‘He has nothing but respect for Lord Finrod and feels that his influence on Camentur can only be for the good.’  She smiled.  ‘And he is fond of Nisimalotë – who makes your brother very happy.’  She hesitated, her face sobering.  ‘He only wants the same for you, child.’

‘And you are sure that he is right?’  Giving her hands a final rub, Elerrina spread the cloth over the stool.  She felt slightly distant, as if she was listening to this conversation from some point closer to the ceiling and looking down on herself.  ‘I accept that he is more experienced than I am and that he only has my best interests at heart – but how can you be sure that he knows what will make me happy?’

The evening air outside the door was cool and fragrant and made Elerrina realise how hot and grubby she felt.  The breeze lifted her hair and brushed comfortingly over her flushed cheeks and she lifted her face to the silvering sky.  Linevendë had not spoken, she realised.  Elerrina turned her eyes to her naneth’s face, her gaze sharpening as she noticed the doubtful expression.   ‘What is it, Amil?’ she asked.

Linevendë was clearly debating with herself.  ‘Your atar prefers not to speak of those days,’ she said.  ‘I have respected his wishes – but there are times…’  She paused again.  ‘You are old enough to know,’ she decided.  ‘To leave you in ignorance would mean that you might hurt him inadvertently – and I would not have you wander innocently beyond the point where you could choose to step back.’  She stopped and looked again at her daughter.  ‘We have always done our best to shield you,’ she said carefully.  ‘Your atar, especially.  You are his little elleth – his star-child.  When you arrived in our lives, for the first time in more than an age, I felt your atar was able to … to close the door on what he had seen east of the sea.  Able to put it away in the darkness where it belonged and look forward.  We lived here,’ she waved vaguely at their surroundings, ‘in peace and harmony with the world.  He could channel his spirit into making things of beauty.  We had you and Camentur and loving kin who accepted us as we were.’  Her eyes were dark as she looked at her daughter.  ‘I did not want to see the shadow emerge again.  Oh,’ she raised her hand to silence Elerrina, ‘he hides it.  He keeps it out of sight beneath the surface – none could be more skilled in pretending that nothing is wrong – but it has been woken.’

They walked in silence so deep that the brush of their skirts against the grass sounded like the sawing of wood.  Linevendë stopped suddenly.  ‘He will not tell me what happened,’ she said, and Elerrina could hear the pain in her voice.  ‘He says that he does not want to darken my fëa with the knowledge of what savagery can be carried out in the name of defeating evil – that sometimes it is hard to tell the difference between good and bad – that sometimes it is even harder to choose what is right from what is expedient…’  Her voice dropped to a murmur.  ‘I have seen him wake, night after night, from a dream path that contained horrors of which he could not speak; seen him weep for those who did not return from the lands east of the sea; seen him waste away to the point of fading because he could not stop seeing, before his eyes at all times, the faces of those he had killed.’  She glanced at Elerrina.  ‘He is better now – but it is still there.  Overlaid now with happy memories and centuries of useful work, but still there.  It stirs at times – when thunder growls in the sky and lightning flashes – but he can subdue it.  Mostly.’  She drew an unsteady breath.  ‘He sees it in Legolas, my child,’ she said.  ‘Legolas has known the dragon of war.  He has killed – in battle and in the quiet of a savage night.  He has blessed those from whose eyes the light has fled – and paced the charnel house of the battlefield in search of those who were his friends.’  She swallowed.  ‘Your atar does not want him near you because he does not want you touched by that darkness.  You are pure and clean and untouched by the shadow – and he wants it to stay that way.’  She smiled wryly.  ‘Bad enough to lose you to a nice Noldor ellon who has grown up in this Blessed Realm – but he does not want to lose to you to an elf from those marred lands.’

Elerrina stared at her naneth, overwhelmed by the picture she had painted.  ‘I did not understand.’ 

Her naneth smiled slightly.  ‘We are barely scratching at the surface – but if I have given you something to think about, then that is all I can do,’ she declared.  ‘Just – do not let your heart rule your head, my daughter.  Some decisions will haunt you until the end of days.’

Grasping her naneth’s sleeve, Elerrina looked intently into her face.  ‘Do you regret bonding with Atar?’ she asked.  ‘He came back to you in pain and haunted by what he had seen and done – do you ever wish you had not wed him?’

Shaking her head slowly, Linevendë sighed.  ‘Emotions are too complicated to sum up in a tidy sentence, Elerrina.  I have never wished that I had not chosen your atar – yet I have spent many long hours weeping for the joyful elf he was before the Host set sail. I will always be glad that he came back to me, when so many others did not return, but I know better than many that what he says about the shadowed lands is true.  He wants what is best for you.  Do not fight him on this – not unless you are very sure.  And even then…’ her voice trailed away.  ‘Accept his wisdom, child.  He knows more on this subject than we ever can.’

***

The treesong was comforting – almost like home, but not quite.  Two homes weaving themselves together, perhaps, she thought with determined optimism: the home of her youth and the home of her maturity.  Slender fingers caressed the rough bark, familiarising themselves with each bump and fissure, but her mind floated free, brooding on lands and faces she would never see again.

She did not look up at the feel of a familiar presence, but shifted obligingly so that the new arrival could sit beside her.

‘They will come.’  Galadriel spoke reassuringly.  ‘Have faith, my daughter.  They will come.  Your sons are elves in the depth of their being – the time will arrive when the song of Ennor will no longer hold them.’

Tears stung Celebrían’s eyes.  ‘Do you have the same faith that Adar will bid farewell to the trees of home?’

‘He will fight until the last.’  Galadriel smiled wryly.  ‘But he is a practical elf.  I am sure he will not sacrifice himself to make a point.’  She took her daughter’s hand between both of her own.  ‘One morning we will wake and know that their ship is seeking the Straight Path.’

‘Is that why you are not doing more to advance the cause of the Galadhrim?’ Celebrían looked at her naneth sharply.  ‘It is not like you to move so cautiously when you have a cause to defend.’

‘They would think twice about following my lead, anyway – three times; more – and then still decide to wait for your adar.’  Galadriel looked suddenly haunted and Celebrían turned her hand so that it was she who was offering the comfort.  ‘I miss him.  Even when we were apart, even when we were in disagreement, he was still with me, staunch and true.  Without the knowledge of his presence within me, it is as if I am deaf, blind, abandoned.  And I ache for Lothlórien.  Miss it as if a part of me has been torn away.’

‘You invested so much of yourself in the Wood,’ Celebrían told her gently.  ‘You wound your power in it, rooting yourself in the reality of Arda.  And,’ she added, ‘you made it a shield – a place apart, somewhere between two worlds.  You could not not miss it.’  She looked at her naneth.  ‘And I know what it is like to have that part of yourself open and bleeding.  I cannot tell you that it heals – and why would that help anyway, when all you yearn for is to be one again?’  She looked at her naneth in understanding silence as the fluttering leaves rustled in apparent sympathy.  ‘Why do you not get away for a while, Naneth?  Not the sea – I do not think it is good for you to be looking back.  Visit the forests instead and listen to the trees.’  She grinned impishly.  ‘I am sure Haldir would be only too happy to escort you.’

Galadriel laughed.  ‘He would probably prefer it to being paraded as a leader among his people,’ she said.  ‘I daresay, when my lord finally arrives, Haldir will seize the chance to disappear into the deepest woods for a century or two, where he will not be called upon to speak tactfully to anyone.’

‘And will certainly not have to dance with Noldor maidens.’  Celebrían shook her head.  ‘Poor Haldir.  It is unfair to tease him.’

‘He needs to get used to taking responsibility,’ her naneth said heartlessly.  ‘I have plans for him that require him to outgrow this urge of his to hide among trees.’

‘Poor, poor Haldir,’ Celebrían mourned, her eyes dancing.  ‘Still, I am sure Adar would feel he was a worthy sacrifice – if only to keep you pleasantly entertained until he steps ashore.’

‘They will come.’  Galadriel reverted to the subject on both their minds.  ‘They will all come.’

***

The network of branches swayed beneath him.  He had better not try to get any higher or his earnest effort to appear a hard-working Wood Elf striving to collect the season’s bounty would end in him tumbling to the forest floor and looking a fool.  If, that is, it continued to matter to him how he looked at that point!  The noise would be bound to disturb the bees as well – and harvesting the year’s honey would be a failure and his popularity among this group of green elves would plummet.

Legolas listened intently, but the hum of the bees was remarkably subdued.  It would appear that those who dwelt here were right.  Seeking to share the honey in the middle of a moonless night was wiser than attempting the task at any other time.

The chief hunter had taken one look at the prince and handed him one of the hide buckets, clearly thinking that it would be safer to give him a task that was fairly foolproof   He could not help but agree – Legolas knew he could offer his muscles and his willingness to help, but he had never sought to appease a tree full of bees before.

‘They brush the bees away,’ Litheredh breathed in his ear, ‘and use a wooden blade to cut the comb – the bees apparently dislike metal.  They will put what they harvest in the buckets and leave us to lower them, while they go on to the next colony.  They never take too much – and they sing to the bees to keep them calm.  Some of the bees will be angry, but most accept sharing some of their wealth with us and refrain from stinging.’

‘This is an amazing sight.’  Legolas’s voice was equally soft.  ‘I have seen trees with a hive or two, but this one must have two score or more.’

‘It provides my cousin’s people with the majority of their trade.  They can take the excess honey to market and barter it for those things that do not grow here among these trees.’

‘Worth protecting!’

‘And worth taking.’

A dark-haired elf, his hair braided to keep it out of his face, frowned at them and they lapsed into silence until they were back on the ground.

Legolas lifted the yoke carefully, a bucket of sticky honey on either end.

‘We want to get it in sealed containers before daylight rouses the bees,’ a brisk elleth explained.  ‘We work in a nearby glade – we would not want to attract the bees to our homes.  If you will follow me.’

She moved swiftly and sure-footedly, leaving him to step carefully across the unfamiliar ground.  A busy group of ellyth worked in harmony, filtering the sticky liquid and squeezing the last drops from the comb.  They poured the results into large jars that they then corked and stood in the stream to wash away any traces of honey from the outside. 

Legolas paused to watch.  ‘Who wishes to take this from them?’ he asked Litheredh as he joined him.

The elf shrugged.  ‘Those who farm the adjoining lands.  They say the woods are theirs, and they feel that the profit from the honey trade should be theirs, too.  They refuse to offer goods that are of equal worth – and my cousin tells me that they have to accept what is given.  Then the honey is taken to the city and traded for four or five times as much.’

‘That is not uncommon,’ Legolas said slowly.  ‘Those who take the risk of seeking the raw materials are never those who benefit most from their sale.  Every time goods change hands the price doubles.  Perhaps what these people need is a greater understanding of trade.  If they took the honey to the city themselves, they would be able to get a greater price.’

‘But they would pay more for what they wanted – and lose what goodwill they have among the local farmers.’

Legolas ran his hand over his head, then pulled a face as he realised he had transferred an unfortunate amount of honey to his hair.

‘You had better bathe before we go back to the village,’ Litheredh grinned.  ‘You do not want to have bad-tempered bees chasing you.’

‘Thank you very much!   I will be sure to send them in your direction.’  He paused and sighed.  ‘You can see it from their point of view, too,’ he said reluctantly.  ‘This was all theirs – until we settled here.  Now, what was more than enough for them has to be shared among ever-increasing numbers.’

Litheredh raised his eyebrows.  ‘You might want to think twice before saying that,’ he said.  ‘Such words are unlikely to please either side.’

‘Is that not half the trouble?’  Legolas could barely conceal his exasperation.  ‘We need to try to be fair.  It is so much easier to stir up hatred than to try to understand each other’s point of view.  One fool with an over-large mouth and a sense of indignation can overturn the careful work of years!’

‘Obviously.’  Litheredh was unmoved.  ‘And one mistake can destroy a thousand successes.  It is one of the many reasons that I am glad I am not you.  Constantly, you have to watch what you say and how you say it and make sure you share you attention fairly among all the different people trying to obtain your favour.  I daresay you cannot even relax and follow the dream path of your choice.’

Legolas grinned reluctantly.  ‘Well, as far as that goes…’  He left his words to trail away.

‘I prefer not to think about that!’ Litheredh grinned back, before returning his attention to the work before him.  ‘The bees can share,’ he said.  ‘They are reluctant to part with what is theirs, and they will sting if they catch you – but they live in harmony with the elves.  You will never convince the different kindreds to love each other, Legolas, but they will live side by side in reasonable co-operation.  They just need time to grow used to each other.’

‘I am not sure that even elves have that much time,’ Legolas sighed.  ‘A people who have harboured grudges since before the Great Journey are not going to move swiftly towards harmony.’

‘You expect too much too quickly.’  Litheredh crouched to wash his hands in the stream.  ‘You have already made more changes than you realise.  If you keep on the way you have started, my lord, you will get what you want.  When the time is ripe.’ He looked up, meeting Legolas’s somewhat startled gaze.  ‘Believe me.’