Two Steps Back

It was a very pretty glade.  A willow hung over a sparkling stream edged with banks of cropped grass studded with celandines.  Small fish darted beneath its shade and the water gurgled pleasantly round the glinting grey slabs in its way.

Elerrina sat, her feet primly together, on a water-worn rock looking at the linked fingers in her lap.  Friends, she reminded herself.  Neither more nor less.  Only she did not usually find it so difficult to talk to her friends.  She glanced up swiftly through the defences of her eyelashes, to see Legolas watching the fish, his face as sober as she had ever seen it.

‘Did you know,’ she said, making an effort to break the silence between them, ‘that Lady Galadriel has decided to travel to the foothills of the Pelori and spend some time among the forests?’ She smiled.  ‘The High King was not pleased – he insisted that Haldir was not sufficient escort and demanded that she should take her brothers with her.  It took all Queen Eärwen’s skill to calm him down when their daughter refused to hear of it.’

‘Which brothers?’ Legolas asked with interest.  ‘The Galadhrim might not mind a visit from Finrod, but I cannot see them appreciating the presence of the others.’

‘That is hardly fair!’ Elerrina objected. 

‘It is interesting to see that even Finarfin’s political instincts can be overcome when it is a matter of his daughter.’  Legolas grinned.  ‘I would not want to be Celeborn when he finally gets round to taking ship.  When he steps ashore, he will meet a danger greater than any he confronted in Ennor.   He will be lucky indeed to survive his first meeting with his wife’s adar.’

‘The High King only wants what is best for his daughter!’

Their eyes met and for a moment Elerrina forgot how to breathe.

‘Ah, yes,’ Legolas said neutrally.  ‘I am told it is a characteristic that comes with parenthood.’

That was the trouble with friendship, Elerrina thought as her racing heartbeat slowed.  Whatever she said, whatever he said, it all came down to the insurmountable mountain ranges between them.  His people, her people.  Old prejudices, new responsibilities.  Yet still she came back: drawn to him like a moth to a flame, having to touch the wound to see if it still hurt.  You would think she should have learned by now that it did.  She glanced at him again.  Long and lean, muscled like one who worked with his body rather than his mind, hair pale as ripe wheat, he walked with her in dreams as he never could in real life. 

Legolas leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, shredding a small stick and dropping the debris into the water.  He did not even need to look at her.  Having her so close that the scent of her hair drifted across the space between them was … unendurable.  Her agreement to walk with him had taken him aback, but now he rather wished… It was easier to see her across a room, talking with another.  Sitting with her sister-in-law or carrying out Lady Galadriel’s bidding.  Come to that, it was easier to see her in her adar’s company!  Here – she was so near and yet as beyond his touch as a star in the night sky.  He raised his chin involuntarily to inspect her tumble of hair, her slender figure, her mouth…  He swallowed.

‘Your brother has said he will take me on a hunt,’ he volunteered.  ‘He said that Nisimalotë’s parents have a house in the hills.’

Elerrina turned her head.  ‘It is a beautiful place,’ she said.  ‘I think you will like it there.  There is a lake – and it is so quiet there that you can hear the fish leap.  Deer come down from the forest to drink at dusk and in the morning.’  Her eyes refused to lift from his hands.  ‘I have not been there very often, but I always feel at home.’

‘Remarkable.’  He attempted a rallying tone.  ‘A Noldo who likes to be among trees.’

‘And water.’  She glanced at him swiftly.  ‘Do not forget the water.’

‘Will you be attending the High King’s reception tonight?’  Legolas abandoned the attempt to chat.  ‘I believe there will be dancing…’

‘There is always dancing,’ Elerrina interrupted, but Legolas refused to accept the distraction.

‘I hope you will consent to dance with me,’ he said.  ‘If you can partner Haldir, your adar should be able to endure seeing you take to the floor with me.  Even,’ he added, ‘if he finds the sight infuriating.’

‘My atar would have no objection to a dance, I am sure.’  Elerrina sounded offended.  ‘He is not unreasonable.’

‘Except where I am concerned.’

‘It is not only he who looks sideways at us.’  Elerrina said dryly.  ‘There is not a single person among your entourage who does not frown in my direction as if I am leading you astray.’

He grinned, his face looking suddenly much younger.  ‘I am old enough to know my own mind, my lady.  Be assured – their opinion matters to me not one jot.  And anyway,’ he added, clearly realising that his words were confirming her analysis of the situation, ‘no-one who knows you would be so foolish.’

‘Then Tirion is clearly full of fools who know me not.’

‘Would you prefer me to keep my distance?’  Legolas spoke carefully, keeping his voice light and even.  ‘I would not make your life more difficult.’

‘No,’ she insisted, rising gracefully to her feet, rapidly followed by the Wood Elf.  She looked up, meeting his eyes steadily.  ‘I will not be made to feel guilty.  I see no reason why we cannot be friends, Lord Legolas – and I refuse to turn away from my friends.’

He took her hand in his carefully, smoothing his thumb slowly across her knuckles as if to preserve the contact as long as he could.  ‘Friends, then,’ he said, and only the slight trembling of their fingers said anything different.

***

Galadriel, daughter of the House of Finwë, took another appreciative glance around the apparently uninhabited trees and drew a deep breath.  Who would have thought, she mocked herself, that a Noldor princess would come to crave the space and silence of the forest.

‘Are the Galadhrim spread as far afield as the Silvan?’ she asked, sure that she already knew the answer.

Haldir glanced at her.  ‘It depends,’ he said cautiously, ‘what you mean.’

She shot an amused look at him.  He endured being dressed up and paraded as an acceptable representative of the Galadhrim – a people who, for all their reserve, had a respectable history that dated back to the earliest days and who combined that with a range of qualities that even the pickiest of Noldor bureaucrats could not find objectionable – but he had yet to learn to like it.  In fact, Galadriel found his resistance rather endearing – although she would not dream of telling him so.  Occasionally, just occasionally, she glimpsed in Haldir an echo of the elf on whom he had unknowingly modelled himself – and she found herself grinning to picture her husband’s response to the more irritating aspects of life in the Noldor court.

‘Are my words that difficult to understand?’

The pause suggested that Haldir was trying to present his information in the most pleasing way.

‘Just tell me, Haldir,’ she said.  It was, in many ways, rather unfortunate that he was still so wary of her.  She had never, she thought, deliberately gone out of her way to engender such caution in the people she and Celeborn had ruled – in fact, she rather thought that she had striven to present a calm and helpful face, offering constant support and gentle wisdom and dutiful work.  Yet a millennium’s striving could be overturned by one moment when the barriers were lifted.  Haldir had been at Celeborn’s shoulder when the walls of Dol Guldur tumbled to dust – and she had changed in his eyes from the Lady of the Wood to powerful and rather terrifying Elda.

‘Mostly,’ Haldir said, ‘those of whom I know have sought these woods.’  He tilted his head, as if listening to the song of the trees.  ‘But the forest extends from one end of the Pelori to the other – and those who dwell here are spread wide.’  He sighed.  ‘Many of those who sailed most recently gather together – but there are those who sailed at other times.  After the Last Alliance – again, when Durin’s Bane stirred the evil in the mountains and Lord Amroth was lost.  The different groups…’  He stopped.  ‘People seek out their families,’ he tried to explain, ‘but it is not always possible to ignore what has happened in the yeni since last we met – and, then, there are those who return from Námo’s Halls, who cannot endure the wearing of time they see on those who suffered east of the sea.’  He shrugged uncomfortably.  ‘I know not how it works for those who returned to their kin among the Noldor,’ he said, ‘but often those who return seek to dwell among others who have shared the same experience.’

Galadriel opened her mouth to speak, but closed it again.  She had not even thought about it.  When she marched away from the lands of her birth, there had been no need to consider such matters – and, when finally she returned, she had been in no condition to think about just who dwelt in this most Blessed Realm.  She had expected to see her brothers – and she had – and it had never crossed her mind to think about the patient adjustment that had brought them back to her adar’s court to re-establish lives that had been twice torn from them.

The greening beech, filled with the energy of spring, brushed her gently with its opening leaves.  She was herself, she realised, still wakening from a frozen winter of the spirit.  For all her superficial certainty, there were still places within her that she shielded from anyone’s touch – and it had never occurred to her that her family were permitting her this slow healing.  She smiled wryly.  Doubtless her naneth – and her daughter – were conspiring to ease her out of herself, just as she was easing Thranduil’s son towards his future and placing Haldir in situations that would force him into the growth he resisted.  And doubtless, too, they were cheering her on.

‘I do not think my lord will find these woods enough for him,’ she said.  ‘Nor for those under his protection.’

Haldir blinked.  ‘We have found sanctuary here, my lady,’ he answered.  ‘There are – difficulties – at times, but we are better off than many of the Silvan, who are far too closely bounded by the farms of the Noldor.’

‘Does it feel like home?’

He looked round the fresh glade, where wood anemones nodded in the slightest breeze and blackthorn petals drifted to the sprouting grass.  ‘Not really,’ he admitted.  ‘We feel like guests in another’s sanctuary.’

She stepped onto a low branch and strolled into the tree as easily as if she was walking on the manicured paths of Finarfin’s house, before settling among the welcoming leaves.  ‘We must work towards discovering our own place, Haldir,’ she said seriously.  ‘It will be for my lord to find – but we must set the groundwork in place, so that he is free to seek it.’  She glanced westward, where the Pelori rose above the forest.  ‘It will be better for all of us.’

Haldir sighed.

‘I know.’  She smiled sympathetically.  ‘You would rather undertake tasks more to your taste – but it is important that the Galadhrim as well as the elves of Lasgalen should be seen among the powerful.  And at present the Galadhrim require subtlety rather than force of arms.’  She turned resolutely to gaze to the east.  ‘And for now – we will visit village markets to meet farmers who do not care for elves who hide in trees – and build bridges.’  She raised her eyebrows at him.  ‘If the High King’s daughter and the finest representatives of the Galadhrim cannot dent their prejudices, then we are less skilled than I believe.’  A laugh escaped her at his expression.  ‘Oh yes, my friend.  I did not escape my adar’s court merely to listen to the song of the trees.  Gird yourself – we have work to do.’

***

Legolas reminded himself that punching Elerrina’s adar on the nose would hardly be likely to advance his … friendship with the elf’s daughter.  And, he thought with fleeting satisfaction, he had learned at Thranduil’s knee that, on occasion, driving your opponent to frenzy with a display of mild reasonableness could be even more rewarding that allowing your fury to show.

The Noldo’s expression caught his attention: not so much anger, he noted, as despair. Taryatur had the look of an elf who was fighting something that was beyond his capacity to overcome.  ‘Can you not see it?’ he asked.  ‘She is no more right for you than you are for her!’ 

A certain sympathy stirred in the Wood Elf.  Taryatur was, after all, correct – Legolas’s interest in Elerrina had been unguarded enough to arouse some very critical comments from the less broad-minded – and more foolhardy – of his people.  And no-one should condemn a parent for wishing to protect his child.  ‘It is not, I fear,’ he said in a determinedly even tone, ‘something in which I find I have any choice.’

Taryatur stepped back.  ‘We always have a choice,’ he replied.  ‘To deny that is to play into the hands of the Shadow.’  He closed his eyes wearily for a moment.  ‘I will not have you hurt her.’  He sounded defeated – and totally unlike the elf who had, moments before, been demanding nothing less than his promise never to be in Elerrina’s company again.

‘If I were to have my way,’ Legolas said, ‘nothing would ever hurt her.’

He was surprised when a laugh was wrenched from Elerrina’s adar.

‘Then you would have more power than any I have ever known.’  Taryatur stared at him for a moment before turning abruptly away.

‘What did he mean by that?’ Legolas sounded confused.  ‘At one moment I thought he was about to hit me – and I was debating just how to get out of the situation without doing him too much damage.  Then, he…’  He looked at the receding figure and shook his head.

Litheredh stepped forward from the shadows to which he had retreated when Taryatur arrived, determined to force a confrontation that clearly needed no third party.  ‘I think,’ he said, ‘that you might be winning him over.’

Legolas shook his head.  ‘You mean he was telling me he liked me?’  He sounded incredulous.

‘I would not go that far,’ Litheredh judged, his voice unnaturally solemn.  ‘He might have begun to notice that, no matter what he does, you and his daughter are still drawn together.  And, you never know, it might have crossed his mind that, if he is going to be routed, it would be better if it happened on his terms.’

‘I dread to think what his terms might be.’

Litheredh looked thoughtful.  ‘It might not be his terms about which you most need to worry,’ he said.  ‘He is, I am reluctant to say, right about one thing – this would not be a popular match anywhere.’

‘If I am not mistaken, Lady Galadriel would be pleased.’

‘Ah.’  Litheredh noted his words.  ‘She has always liked to stand out from the crowd.’  He glanced sideways at Thranduil’s son.  ‘But she would be among the very few.  I would not want to see the work of the last years come to nothing because of any impulsive commitments.’

‘You need not concern yourself.’  Legolas’s smile twisted.  ‘The elleth in question may yet decide to have nothing to do with me.  And even if she did – I would make no irrevocable decisions until my adar has arrived to resume his own authority.  Duty, my friend, takes precedence over personal attachments.  I have been trained well enough to know that, believe me.’

***

The faces watching her were – more than guarded, she thought.  Totally expressionless, the innkeeper brought the food and drink she had requested, bowing as he placed the trays on the table, his obsequiousness clearly aimed at her alone. She was unsure whether it was her parentage or her purse that had won his grudging approval.

‘Join me,’ she invited. 

The village leader sat reluctantly, his movement copied swiftly by his scarcely-adult son and Haldir.  They accepted the chased pewter mugs she poured for them and the younger elf stretched out his hand to the plates of savoury pastries, pulling it back when his atar frowned at him. 

Galadriel helped herself to a selection and indicated to the ellon that he was to do the same.  It seemed that the ways to win over the young remained unchanged, wherever they might have grown.  She looked at the triangular pastries and hoped they were rather more flavoursome than they looked, but she had smiled while eating a range of unpleasant offerings – she doubted that these would be too much for her.

‘They are not a people,’ the headman reiterated the comment that had led her to place a hand on Haldir’s wrist.  ‘A people has lords – and laws – and lands of their own.  They are … wild,’ he added defiantly, ‘and dangerous – and we will protect our own.’

Haldir’s jaw tightened.  Galadriel was pleased to see, however, that he managed to appear relaxed and in control of himself.  He raised his goblet to sip from it without any noticeable tension.  Perhaps, a fleeting thought crossed her mind, he was starting to grow into the elf she saw him becoming.

‘The Galadhrim are an ancient people – with laws that are in many ways no different from ours,’ she said smoothly.  ‘They await their lord’s arrival – and, when he comes, they will seek lands that await them.  Your … determination to keep them fenced beyond your borders is driving wedges between you that need not exist.’

The village leader’s eyes narrowed.  Not, Galadriel noted, one who took well to contradiction.

‘We used to hunt in the woods,’ the younger elf remarked suddenly, licking crumbs from the corner of his mouth.  ‘There are trees that provided the villages here with medicines – a cave system where we sought our salt.  All sorts of things – just because we did not live among the trees does not mean that they were not ours.’

His atar pressed his lips together and elbowed his son.  ‘Eat,’ he snapped.  ‘At least it stops you speaking.’ 

‘We have no wish to keep you from your traditional activities within the forest,’ Haldir said.  He sounded slightly offended.  ‘We dwell there – but we do not own it.  The forest owns itself.’

‘Perhaps there has been some misunderstanding,’ Galadriel allowed herself to sound puzzled.  Her eyes settled on the rather threadbare elf.  This village, like the others they had visited, had clearly seen better days.  Those elves who worked the land were generally less wealthy than those who worked as craftspeople or merchants, but these farms on the edge of the forest seemed less profitable than most.  If the villagers had relied on the bounty of the forest to make up the difference between their crops and their needs, she could understand why they so bitterly resented the influx of the Galadhrim.  And, she thought, why suggestions of trade had been received with such hostility – it was asking people to pay for what they already considered to be their own.  Unfortunately, gathering the Galadhrim together and taking them elsewhere was not an option that was open to her.  Somehow or other, these reluctant neighbours had to learn to get on – and to get on in a way that made life better for both sides.

‘No-one will come to support us against these… these usurpers,’ the village leader muttered, the words wrenched from him as if he knew that it would be wiser to keep his opinions to himself.  ‘They can spread themselves through the trees and take what they want, but as soon as we try to recover what is ours, out come the bleeding hearts who talk of their rights, their difficulties, their needs.  What of us?  A hundred yeni and more my family has dwelt here – yet they can come and take what they want and no-one expects us to defend ourselves?’

Haldir blinked.  Had he been so intent on seeing the Galadhrim as victims that he had not considered that the local farmers might feel themselves to be the injured parties in this … this competition of hostility? 

‘It is difficult for all,’ Galadriel said smoothly.  ‘But we are elves, my friend – by our very nature we seek to open our minds to greater truths.  Haldir, here…’  He froze, wary of whatever the Lady might choose to say.  ‘Is he so different from your son?  Am I, in my concern for my husband’s people, so different from you?’

The elf’s storm-grey eyes inspected her somewhat cynically.  ‘You have more power to affect the outcomes, my lady,’ he said, ‘than I will ever possess.’

‘But it is not my business to impose a solution on you – my atar’s people and my lord’s – when there must be a way forward that will benefit all.’

‘We are few.’  Haldir felt Galadriel’s nudge to him to make some effort.  ‘The forests are but sparsely populated – why should you not continue to use them as you always have?  We would welcome you – provide escorts so that you might feel safe among us, if you wish.’  He felt, rather than saw, Galadriel’s smile.  ‘We will happily share the bounty of the trees – if you will do the same.’

‘So we labour in the fields to provide you with what you cannot take from the forest – while you graciously allow us to work among the trees, too.  And what do you bring to this bargain?’ The village leader jutted his jaw towards Haldir, his hands clenched into fists and his whole posture one of rigidly-controlled anger.  His son looked at him in some alarm, but that did not stop him helping himself to the last of the pastries. 

‘Just because we do not farm as you do does not mean that we are idle!’ Haldir snapped.  Galadriel’s foot stepped on his and he drew a calming breath.  ‘Perhaps,’ he said evenly, ‘if we knew each other better, we would be less likely to imagine insult where no such intention exists.’

‘And perhaps pigs might fly!’ the other declared.

‘They might,’ his son grinned.  ‘Andatar’s pig flew when it got itself on the barn roof and could not climb down.  It had a mighty heavy landing, though – and we dined on roast pork that night!’

Galadriel looked at the ellon with increased interest.  Here, perhaps, was one who was more open to change.  He gazed back guilelessly.  She took one of the pastries from her plate and offered him the rest.  ‘That sounds like a story I would like to hear,’ she said appreciatively.  ‘And like one in which my grandsons would have had a – er – moving part.’

‘It is early in the year,’ Haldir said, responding to Galadriel’s silent urging, ‘but it is our custom to celebrate the return of life to the forest and to offer thanks for the food the season brings.  Would you care to join us?  It would be a step towards building a better understanding between our peoples.’

‘It is a busy time for us,’ the village leader stated flatly, his reluctance obvious.  ‘We have too much to do in the fields and orchards to waste time on frivolity.’  He glanced at his son and then, warily, at the High King’s daughter.  ‘But I suppose we could spare an evening.’

‘Oh good.’  Haldir’s smile did not reach further than his lips.  ‘I will look forward to it.’

***

A golden eyebrow raised in surprise.  ‘Really?’  Finrod looked over the slender ellon.  ‘I would not have thought it – my brothers and I have hunted many times in the forests that cover the Pelori’s foothills.  We climbed there, too, in our wilder days – and yet I never found open passes tempting me to seek a way to cross them.’  He smiled slowly.  ‘But then, perhaps I should not expect that they were there for me to discover.’ 

‘It seems they are not generally known, my lord.’  The ellon’s voice was soft and he shifted uncomfortably as if he was not altogether at home in the elegant hunting lodge where he was meeting the High King’s son.  ‘There are a few among the Silvan and the Galadhrim who find their way through the maze – but they do not return to tell others what they have found.’  He hesitated.  ‘That is not altogether to the good – it prevents an exodus, but some are convinced that their kin have fallen foul of some unprincipled traffickers who – well – if they do not make an end of the travellers, at the very least compel them to labour in distant servitude.’

‘There are elves in the Blessed Realm who truly believe…?’ Finrod sounded incredulous. 

The ellon shrugged.  ‘I do not know if they truly believe it – any more than they believe the stories told round the fire on a winter’s night – but the rumours certainly exist.  The elves I met scoffed at them – but there was an unease in their eyes that suggested they were not entirely convinced of the tales’ legendary nature.’

‘And what is the other side of the passes?’  Finrod noted the tales and added them to the list of problems that must be tackled.  He could not – would not – have even the most rustic of Wood Elves looking on his people as kidnappers of children and exploiters of their own kind.  That way, he felt, led to a situation worse than any they had faced in Endórë. 

‘My lord?’  Artless surprise dripped from the words.

‘If there is anybody I would count on to pass an impassable barrier and return to tell of it,’ Finrod said dryly, ‘it would be you.  You of all people would not be intimidated by the knowledge that you were not supposed to return.’

The ellon grinned.  ‘I did not attempt the final wards,’ he admitted.  ‘I felt that descending the other side might be more than even the most tolerant Power would allow – and instead climbed above the pass to see what I might.’

‘And?’

‘Forest, my lord.  Beautiful, endless, virgin forest.  Birds wheeling above great trees – Anor glinting on expanses of water.  No evidence of farming, no cutting of timber, no towns, no sounds of people.’

‘And so you concluded that some few among the Silvan have found a home to suit their taste.’

Finrod inspected the silent ellon, tapping his fingers rhythmically on his knee.  This could be something worth knowing, he thought.  Remaining one step ahead of any opponents was the way to succeed in statesmanship – being two steps ahead was to excel. 

‘Does my sister know of this?’ he asked.

‘Not from me.’ 

Finrod nodded slowly.  ‘Not that that means anything,’ he remarked.  ‘Galadriel has resources available to her that I do not – and she would not tell me anything she would prefer me not to know.’  He considered.  ‘The Wood Elf Prince, on the other hand…’ he mused, ‘is too unpractised in the arts of deception to conceal such knowledge – and I would wish his innocence to be maintained for as long as possible.’  He looked sharply at his informer.  ‘There are some things that are best kept to a very narrow circle – and, in my opinion, this is one of them.’

‘As you wish, my lord.’

‘And, in the meantime, you will continue to learn as much as you can.  This is knowledge that could prove immensely valuable.’

***

Somehow, it still surprised Elerrina to see her sister-in-law humming contentedly as she worked in the kitchen.  It seemed such an unlikely place to see the elegant elleth who so much enjoyed negotiating her way through the intricacies of court life.

Nisimalotë pushed a tendril of her glossy black hair away from her face, leaving a trail of flour across her cheek, before returning to the business of kneading the dough.

‘I love the smell of spiced bread,’ Elerrina said, drawing a deep breath of a fragrance that was both warming and comforting.  ‘It always reminds me of being a child – Atar would make it as a treat, and Camentur used to make me think he was being kind to his little sister when he gave me the task of taking all the seeds from the raisins.’

‘Your atar does make very good spiced bread,’ Nisimalotë approved.  ‘I am not surprised that your amil left it to him.’

‘It did mean that we did not get it very often.’  Elerrina leaned on the far edge of the table.  ‘Which, I suppose, made it even more of a treat.’

‘When I have elflings…’  Nisimalotë’s busy working slowed, ‘I think I shall encourage them to think that such things are a special part of being a family.’

‘Are you thinking of…?’ Elerrina stopped.  ‘I do not mean to pry,’ she finished apologetically.

‘No.’  Her brother’s wife cut the dough into a number of pieces and began to knead one of them to shape it into a loaf.  She smiled tightly.  ‘Camentur feels it is too soon – and in many ways I agree with him.’  She looked up almost defiantly.  ‘We have many centuries ahead of us in which to have children.’

‘Of course.’  The silence was broken only by the rhythmic working of the dough, but the tension suggested that perhaps Nisimalotë was less of an equal partner in the decision than Camentur might think.  A definite sniff drew her eyes to Nisimalotë’s face and Elerrina stepped hastily round the table to fold her into a warm hug.  ‘I have been so busy thinking about my own problems that I have not been paying attention,’ she said.

‘There is nothing for you to pay attention to…’  Nisimalotë rested her head on Elerrina’s shoulder briefly, then straightened up.  ‘You are covering yourself with flour,’ she said practically.

‘It cannot make a worse mess than charcoal.’ 

‘Do not believe it!’ Nisimalotë had buried whatever was worrying her under a mask of good humour.  ‘Flour gets everywhere – and the application of water turns it into a particularly messy glue.  Go outside and dust yourself off!’

Elerrina stepped back.  ‘You always seem to me a most unlikely person to be working in the kitchens,’ she remarked.  ‘I do not know what your amil would make of it!’

‘I would not have minded working as a pastry-cook.’  Nisimalotë looked almost dreamy.  ‘To spend my days creating sweet breads and pastries.’  She shook herself slightly.  ‘And now I have my own kitchens, I shall do as I want!  Nobody frowns because you want to spend your time in dirty workshops – that is thought to be a most suitable place for a Noldo.  I cannot see what is wrong with wanting to provide delicious food for your family.’

‘There is nothing wrong with it – it is just the combination of you and it!’  Elerrina grinned.  ‘What did Camentur think the first time he found you dusted in flour and hovering over the ovens?’

A small giggle escaped her sister-in-law.  ‘I think he thought I was trying to impress him,’ she admitted.  ‘And he was prepared to be kind about my efforts – and then he tasted them.’  She placed the loaves in a warm place to prove.  ‘Then he seemed so uncomfortable with me working in the kitchen that I feared he did not approve – and Camentur thought I was only doing it because we could not employ a cook – and that I was being brave!  It was some time before he truly believed that I was in my element.’  She inspected the other elleth.  ‘You have not distracted me, you know.  I still want to know what Legolas said to make you look as if it was raining on your begetting day celebrations.’

Elerrina brushed at the white marks on her gown with an attention they did not merit.  ‘He did not say anything.’

‘Is that the problem?’

The fire popped as the logs crumbled.  Nisimalotë tested the temperature of the oven with a practised hand and added a carefully chosen block of wood to the embers beside it.  The kitchen sounds were comfortable and reassuring – and did not make Elerrina feel any better.  She swallowed, attempting to force the lump in her throat back where it belonged, but it did no good.

‘His hand touched mine – and our eyes met.  That is all, Nisimalotë.  Our fingers brushed – and I feel as if I have been burnt!  Is that not enough?’

‘And Legolas?’  Nisimalotë used a folded cloth to lift the kettle from the hob and pour boiling water onto a jug containing a handful of dried leaves.  The fragrance of mint freshened the smell of baking.

‘He looked as if he had been struck.’

Nisimalotë stirred the infusing leaves slowly before pouring two cups of the tea and offering one to Elerrina.  ‘You cannot go on like this indefinitely,’ she said practically.  ‘You are long past the point when glances and sighs were enough for you.  You either have to decide on a way to make this work between you – or ensure that you never meet again.  Move on.’  She kept her attention on the steaming liquid.  ‘The second option would be far and away the more sensible of the two.  Your atar will never accept this willingly – and neither, I believe, would his.  And Lady Galadriel would tell you that a bond between two from very difficult peoples brings with it difficulties that will pursue you down the yeni.’ 

‘And rewards!’

‘Rewards?’ Nisimalotë considered.  ‘Perhaps.  But you would never be able to settle into being ordinary.  And – things being as they are – most of the … the changing to fit in would be for you to do.’  She finished her tea and went to inspect her loaves.  It was one thing letting Elerrina unburden herself: she found that she was reluctant to add to her worries.  But, she sighed, someone had to say these things – and with Taryatur refusing to tolerate as much as a dance between the two of them, and Linevendë preferring to stress her husband’s point of view rather than see if there was another, someone had to ensure that Elerrina was given the full picture to consider.  ‘And what of him?’ she asked.  ‘What if his family – his people – refuse to accept you?  They are not fond of the Noldor – what if they cast him out?  Would he find a place among us where he could be happy?  Would he – and you – be left to wander to the ends of the Blessed Realm in search of a home?  Would you be willing to agree to a course of action that made that come to pass?’

Elerrina stilled.  ‘I thought you could see beyond prejudice,’ she accused her sister-in-law.  ‘You, at least, seemed to understand.’

‘I do understand.’  Nisimalotë sighed.  ‘And I understand that this is not as simple as it was for Camentur and me.  He is a prince, Elerrina.  He has responsibilities beyond his own happiness.’  She brooded for a moment.  ‘Perhaps, when his atar comes…’

‘It will be even worse.’  Elerrina choked back the tremor that wanted to overcome her voice. 

‘That is always a possibility,’ Nisimalotë ceded, ‘but it is not inevitable.’  She moved the proved dough into the oven.  ‘You are both behaving with restraint – and striving to be responsible.  Perhaps Legolas’s atar will see that – perhaps he will be willing to bend enough to come to know you before making any decisions.’

Elerrina drew circles on the floured table with the tip of her finger.  ‘We have both said that we can be no more than friends.’  She sounded tired and sad.

‘Oh, my sister!’ Nisimalotë exclaimed.  ‘No, no, I fear that is not so.  If there is one thing you can never be, it is friends.’

***

Elrond lowered himself to sit silently beside the dejected elf, his robes folding around his gleaming boots.  A fresh night breeze stirred the leaves to imitate the whispering of a gathering of Noldor matrons when faced with a particularly delectable scandal and Ithil’s cool light dimmed the stars. 

‘You have been sent to offer consolation?’  Legolas raised his head from his inspection of the grass at his feet and attempted a smile.

‘No.’  It was not strictly true.  Celebrían had seen Elerrina turn away, seen Legolas frozen in place, watched the colour fade from his face, observed his withdrawal – and told Elrond to do what he could.  But consolation?   No, neither of them considered that to be what he could provide.

Legolas ran stiff fingers through his hair as if raking his scalp would release the pressure.  ‘It was never going to work,’ he said.  ‘It is not as if it comes as a surprise.  It is just … just the final straw.’  He drew a deep breath and held it before expelling it explosively.  ‘Nothing is going well,’ he said.  ‘This task is so far beyond my capabilities that it is ridiculous – I am a warrior, a killer of orcs and spiders – a pair of hands and a bow.  What in that suggests that I am fit for a task that would stretch the capabilities of Gil-galad?’

‘He often thought the same.’  Elrond smiled as Legolas lifted his head to stare at him.  ‘He was far younger than you are now when he was presented with the burden of the crown – and those who did not think him as the enemy believed him foolish and naïve.  And then, before he had time to grow comfortably into the role, the Valar’s host arrived.  Eönwë.  Finarfin.  Elves among them who had come into existence at Cuiviénen and others who had made the Great Journey – among others, of course. And Gil-galad, scarce full-grown and standing in Fingolfin’s shoes.’ He shook his head reminiscently.  ‘He was not always the king of the Last Alliance.’

‘Is that meant to make me feel better?’ 

‘Not particularly.’  Elrond looked up at the sky.  ‘We fill the role that has been given us, I think.  And do the best we can.  It is not always enough – but as long as it all we can give…’  He looked at Legolas.  ‘What is the problem?’ he asked.

Legolas linked his fingers across his forehead and used his thumbs to massage his temples.  ‘I had thought that we were winning over the average Noldo – that they no longer saw the Silvan as a threat, but as a group that just preferred a different way of life.  We had established cautious trade, tentative friendships, careful sharing of goods and skills.’  He leaned back.  ‘But, over the last months, too many of these arrangements have gone awry – and each time we are not just back where we began, but some way short of it.  If this goes on much longer, we will be worse off than if I had never allowed myself to become involved in the whole process.’

‘To whose benefit?’ Elrond lowered his chin and looked at his young friend.  He waited patiently for Legolas to mull over his words.

‘It is not obvious.’  Legolas seemed more detached.  ‘But then, it would not be, would it?  Sometimes the breakdown seems caused by the Noldor, while, at other times, it is some piece of folly from the Wood Elves.  It is only the result that is consistent.’

‘Have you mapped the incidents?’ Elrond smiled and shook his head.  ‘You have been too close, my friend.  Step back and look at the whole picture.  Perhaps something will show that you did not expect.’  He stood up and extended a hand to the prince.  ‘Come,’ he suggested.  ‘We have better things to do than dance.’

Legolas’s face tightened as he remembered the rejection that had sent him from the hall.  ‘I cannot blame her,’ he said. 

‘Matters are not always what they seem,’ Elrond said sympathetically.  ‘Perhaps you need to talk to each other – without interference.’

‘Perhaps,’ Legolas agreed.  ‘And perhaps her message is already clear enough.’

Elrond snorted.  ‘I doubt that,’ he said.  ‘You did not see her face as she turned away from you.  There is more to whatever she said than might seem.’  He raised an elegant eyebrow.  ‘A ballroom is not a good place to make decisions that might change your life.  Talk to her.’

Legolas drew a deep breath.  ‘I will,’ he said.