Stories of Arda Home Page
About Us News Resources Login Become a member Help Search
swiss replica watches replica watches uk Replica Rolex DateJust Watches

Sweet Woodbine  by Bodkin

Determination

 

The halyards slapped against the gleaming masts and the hulls bobbed up and down teasingly on the ruffled water.  Espalas sighed and looked wistfully at the white crests on the waves beyond the harbour.

Galadriel’s eyes reflected the sparkling sea as she allowed her amusement to show.  ‘It is very kind of you to ferry us from Alqualondë, cousin,’ she said.

‘Oh, it was nothing.’  Espalas waved a hand dismissively.  ‘It gave me the opportunity of giving Rámainen a run.’  He looked at her cynically.  ‘And it gave you the chance to get away from Andatar without having to argue your case.’

Galadriel raised an innocent eyebrow, but clearly enjoyed her cousin’s suspicion.  ‘You are not as foolish as you like to seem,’ she commented.

‘Some things,’ Espalas said dramatically, ‘are simply not possible.’

Elerrina giggled. 

The tall Teler winked at her.  ‘You want to watch yourself with my cousin,’ he said with mock confidentiality.  ‘She is dangerous to know – and even more dangerous to cross.  Sensible people keep a safe distance.’

‘Then I cannot be very sensible, Lord Espalas,’ she said.

‘Enough!’  Galadriel looked down her nose haughtily.  ‘I will not have you leading Elerrina astray, cousin.’  She glanced at her attendant.  ‘He is remarkably impudent, you will find – and thinks that charm and an engaging smile are enough to gain him whatever he wants.’

‘I would not go that far – cousin,’ he said.  A slight edge sharpened his mocking tone.

Elerrina looked at him from the corner of her eye.  He had welcomed them easily and made no attempt to resist Galadriel’s request to carry them across to Tol Eressëa, despite Olwë’s firm suggestion that they should wait – whether for better weather or for a carefully chosen escort she had not been sure.  It would seem, though, that there were depths beneath the sunny surface where the currents ran strong and dark.

‘Do you really need me here?’ he complained, the mask firmly back in place.  ‘There seems little purpose to my escort, when you know perfectly well where you are going.’

‘It would be discourteous not to announce your arrival,’ Galadriel insisted.  ‘You may do your best to ignore it, but you are Olwë’s grandson – and the lords who call the Lonely Isle home would be offended were you not to greet them.’

‘Bossy,’ Espalas muttered defiantly.  ‘You always were – and your husband has done nothing to squash the habit.’

The urge to giggle froze within Elerrina.  Being the Lady’s cousin might offer some protection, but this elf gave the impression of being irredeemably reckless.  She glanced cautiously at Galadriel whose smile had faded.

‘I shall have a word or two with him when he lands,’ the Teler continued, ignoring her clear displeasure.  ‘He needs to learn a trick or two – and I could tell him some things about Artanis Finarfiniel that will take the wind from your sails.  Just you wait, cousin – and bear in mind that offending me would not be a good idea.’

The tension eased from Galadriel’s figure.  ‘There are so many more and so much worse stories to tell of you, Espalas.  You cannot take the high ground!’

‘The difference being that everyone knows me for what I am,’ he grinned.  ‘I have no urge to conceal my follies.  You, on the other hand, would offer me a great deal to keep some of my tales from that Sinda’s ears.  Fortunately, he is not here yet – and you have time to negotiate my silence.’

Galadriel stopped and turned towards him, hands on hips.   His loosely twisted braid of silver hair swung to one side as he tilted his head and returned her stare, like two cats determining which controlled the territory.

‘Tell my lord whatever you choose,’ Galadriel instructed him.  ‘You can say nothing worse than he has heard of me before.’  Her smile was dangerous.  ‘And you might find that he appreciates but little any attempt to denigrate me.’

Espalas laughed.  ‘Even I am not such a fool as that!  I remember him well enough from the debris of Angband to know that he is protective of his lady – understandably so, for he must have taken on half the population of Endórë in your defence – but it is not insulting to tell an elf of his wife’s childhood mischief.  And you and I, cousin, provided many tales for the gossips of Alqualondë to enjoy.’   

‘We did, did we not?’ Galadriel’s eyes grew vague as she looked back over the millennia in between to the two elflings on the white shore.  ‘They were good days.’

‘Unless you were on the receiving end of some of our – er – clever ideas,’ Espalas hedged.  ‘Then, perhaps, they were not so amusing.’  He looked with aversion to the arched entrance to the building before them.  ‘Are you sure you want me to attend you?  You will have more people jumping to your bidding if I am not there.’

His cousin slipped her hand through his arm, effectively holding him prisoner.  ‘You can escape soon enough,’ she pronounced, ‘but first you have to endure the tedium of being a king’s grandson.’

Elerrina watched them with amusement as she followed them into the building.  Espalas might complain rather more vocally than most, she thought, but he was another of Lady Galadriel’s tools in whatever schemes she had in mind – and helpless to resist her.  Whether he realised it or not.

***

The sound of the loom and the rhythm of the movements soothed Linevendë.  It was a relief to take refuge in her workroom and close out the worries of the outside world.  The pattern she was creating co-operated as the weaving of real life would not and she was able to lose herself in the simple pleasure of turning thread into something both beautiful and useful.

Unfortunately, there were times – and this seemed to be one of them – when keeping her hands busy only permitted her mind to wander more freely, allowing her far too much time to think about matters she would rather like to escape for a while.

Matters like – what was she going to do?

She had always prided herself on her children.  Camentur had been a worry for a while – what ellon was not? – and she had been relieved when he had settled into Lord Finrod’s service and found favour with the High King’s firstborn.  Then, when he had found himself drawn to Nisimalotë – a delightful elleth, but one whose parents were sticklers for correct behaviour – she had worried that her son would not be considered good enough for their daughter.  Finally that had settled itself and she had begun to look forward to the day when the two of them would have elflings of their own and provide her with grandchildren to love. 

Elerrina, though – Elerrina had never given them a moment’s anxiety, not from the moment that she had come to make her family complete.  Not until now.  Linevendë’s busy hands slowed.  Their daughter was so forlorn.  She did her best to conceal it and pretend that everything was fine, but…  Taryatur might deceive himself into believing that his beloved daughter had dismissed the Wood Elf from her mind and was dividing her time happily between her craft and her attendance on the High King’s daughter – but Elerrina’s pale face and shadowed eyes wrenched at her mother’s heart and every time she saw the elleth, her daughter seemed somehow – less.  And home – which should have been her sanctuary – had become unendurable, being, as it was, the place where the competing demands of heart and family tore at her the most.

The door opened. 

Linevendë looked up.  Taryatur appeared tentative, as if he was not sure of his welcome.

‘I find it hard to forgive him what he has done to her,’ she said, her eyes grey as wet slate.

Her husband did not pretend to misunderstand.  ‘He is not doing it on purpose,’ he said, reluctant to give the Wood Elf that much credit, but too honest to deny what was obvious.

‘On purpose or not, I do not see any happy endings to this story.’

Taryatur crossed to her swiftly, crouching before her chair and looking up at her intently, his eyes storm-dark.  ‘The worst will pass,’ he said intently.  ‘If only the ellon would take himself off – or find himself one of his own kind.  She would get over him.’

‘Oh, my love…’  She touched her finger tips to his cheek and combed them through his hair.   He could not see that his own blinkered reaction to an affair that was not – as yet, at least – anything more that a powerful attraction was doing as much as anything to pin them all to this … this wheel gathering momentum as it rolled downhill.  ‘I am afraid – very much afraid – that it is too late for that.’  She sighed.  ‘It is not as if he is not drawn to her.  Were he not, perhaps the spark of interest would have faded, but …’ She leaned forward to kiss him gently on the forehead.  ‘Nothing would have stopped me yearning for you, my heart.  I would have waited until the end of days for you, had you not returned to me – and counted the time well spent.’

‘He is not right for her,’ Taryatur said stubbornly.

‘I think we must allow her to decide that,’ Linevendë told him wearily.  ‘Or lose her, one way or another.’

‘And he cannot choose to give himself to her.’  Her husband took another tack.  ‘He is not free to offer himself against his people’s wish.’

Linevendë smiled slightly, but remained silent.

‘She would be miserable amidst a forest full of heedless Wood Elves – and long for the ordered life of the Noldor.’

A slight shake of her head suggested that Linevendë was not altogether in agreement, but she made no attempt to argue the point.  ‘I am afraid that she will leave us anyway,’ she said.  ‘She is spending so little time at home – it is as if attendance on Lady Galadriel provides distraction from her unhappiness that she cannot find at home or in her workshop.’  She smiled bitterly.  ‘We are having our daughter taken from us, but without gaining the son we should be able to welcome to our hearth.’

Taryatur groaned and bowed his head to weigh heavy in her clasp.  ‘Why did he have to sail?’ he complained.  ‘Could he not have remained east of the sea until the end of Arda?’

‘Or at least until Elerrina had found a husband more to our liking,’ Linevendë sighed.  She slid her hands under his jaw and raised his face so that their eyes met.  ‘We must show Elerrina that we are willing to accept him,’ she insisted.  ‘Welcome him into our home – with all courtesy, my love.  If she will have no other, then we must accept her choice, for if we do not, then we will lose her for ever.’

Her husband brooded over her warning.  ‘What have we done to deserve this?’ he asked.

‘I cannot tell.’  Linevendë smiled faintly.  ‘All I know is that I would rather embrace the Wood Elf than push my daughter away.’

‘I suppose you are right,’ he agreed.  ‘And, if someone has to make her miserable, let it not be her parents.’

‘That is one way to look at it.’  Linevendë’s smile shone forgivingly on the disgruntled elf.  Taryatur was trying – and that was all she could ask.  ‘We will support her through this as we have through many other moments of her life – it is our duty as well as our pleasure.  And, perhaps,’ she added softly, ‘doing our duty will offer its own reward.’

***

Haldir straightened his aching back.  He failed to understand why farmers put themselves through so much tedious labour.  Would they not be happier harvesting the forest’s bounty rather than slaving in the heat of the day to gather the dry grass before the arrival of the storm clouds building up in the distance?  Although better haying, he decided resentfully, than the gathering of root crops – the prospect of which made him feel almost glad that he was likely to be summoned to present himself in Tirion before they were ready to be harvested.

An elleth with an untidy braid of dark brown under a shady hat offered him a dipper of water from the buckets hanging from the yoke she carried.  It was sun-warmed and tasted of the dusty day, but it was very welcome.  She was pretty, he thought, assessing her automatically.  Pretty, but nothing special.  He smiled.  ‘Thank you,’ he said, smiling engagingly.  The ellon working some way beyond them raised his head to scowl in his direction. 

This suggestion of Galadriel’s that the Galadhrim should offer their labour in return for some of the products of the farmers’ harvest had eased some of the tension between neighbours, but it had not disposed of the distrust entirely.  Haldir turned his smile to the young elf.  There was no point in stirring up ill-feeling unnecessarily.

‘My amil has food cooking,’ the elleth told him.  ‘When this last field is finished and the hay in the barn, we will eat.’  She looked up at the darkening sky.  ‘We might have to crowd into the root shed,’ she said, ‘but Atar and my uncles will be very glad to get this abundance safely under cover – a good hay harvest can make all the difference to a farmer.’  She smiled broadly at the tall elf.  ‘My amil is a good cook,’ she said.  ‘My brothers caught fish and rabbits and the garden has offered up the first crops of the season.  It will be a banquet!’

‘I look forward to it,’ he said easily.  ‘Hard work makes you hungry.’

She smiled and glanced over her shoulder at her admirer.  ‘There will be music,’ she said, ‘and singing – but we tend not to dance all night after the haying.  There is too much to do in the morning.  We save that for the autumn, when the harvest is gathered in and the land is preparing to rest.’

‘We, too, like to feast in the autumn,’ he admitted, ‘in appreciation of the forest’s generosity.  There is something very satisfying about knowing that the stores are full and we need not dread winter’s lean days. Although we also enjoy celebrating the winter solstice, too – and the summer – and the spring would not be complete without a festival to rejoice in the return of green and growing things.’

‘Harma!  Water over here, please.  We are all thirsty.’  One of the older farmers summoned the elleth and she bobbed her head at Haldir before scurrying off with her heavy burden.  The elf looked coolly at the Galadhel – they were not, it seemed, at each other’s throats, but daughters were still off-limits.   It was just as well that he had no real interest in these maidens of the Noldor – the elf’s suspicions were all in his own imagination.  However, Haldir noted, he should bear in mind that it might be as well to ensure that those who worked with these farmers were, by and large, already wed.  Or, he mused, at the very least, that the small parties consisted of ellyn who had their eye on the elleth they wished to court.  There was no point in working up needless ill-feeling.

Haldir smiled blandly at the elf and returned to his task.  If this was the last field, then the sooner it was finished, the sooner he could return to the forest.  A month or so beyond the reach of anyone who wished to demand his attention or set him some uncongenial task would suit him down to the ground – and, with the Lady absent from her usual haunts, he might even get it.  If he was lucky.

***

‘She does not look much like a Noldo.’ 

‘She is, though.  Undoubtedly.  A copper-haired Noldo with connections that would drive Thranduil wild.’

Nathroniel smiled.  ‘I would not say copper,’ she considered.  ‘The colour of a hazelnut shell, perhaps.  Or a winter beech.’

‘It is in the terminology, you think?’  Galadriel considered.  ‘Yet hiding behind words something that is in plain sight only hands a weapon to those who would be most likely to use it.’

‘H’mm.’  Nathroniel pushed a wisp of dark hair from her face as they continued their stroll along the cliff-top path.  ‘Some would oppose any choice the ellon made – short of it being their own daughter – so we need not consider them.  There are those who would accept political necessity.  He would be sacrificing himself for the good of his people.’

‘That will not work.’  Galadriel smiled slightly.  ‘She has connections, but her family is not important enough to make this an alliance between kindreds.  And being a pawn in a political game would not make Elerrina welcome.’  She glanced at her companion.  ‘Your word bears great weight among the Silvan folk,’ she said.  ‘If you were seen to take her to your heart…’

‘She would need to learn our ways – and be seen to embrace them,’ Nathroniel mused.  ‘Become, perhaps, more of a Wood Elf than one born among us.’

‘Although that can turn both sides against you.’ 

‘Do I hear the sound of experience talking there?’ Nathroniel said lightly.  ‘If there was anyone I would think well able to walk such a ropeway…’ She let her voice trail away.

‘And, of course, I grew up with an understanding of the difficulty – in a way,’ Galadriel pointed out.  ‘My own naneth – and my adar’s – both left the kindred into which they were born when they chose to marry.’

Nathroniel inclined her head.  ‘There are few situations that have not been faced before – somewhere, at least.  It does not necessarily make it any easier if you are at its centre.’

‘Anyway, this is all rather premature.’ Galadriel’s smile widened.  ‘We can hardly appear to be educating the elleth to be a suitable match for a Wood Elf prince when he has not spoken.’

‘Please!’ Nathroniel looked pained.  ‘However blinkered ellyn might be, there is not an elleth among us who cannot see that he is sick with longing – it can only be a matter of time.’

‘What is more, I do not think she would be willing to co-operate with us if she thought that that was what we were doing.  She is still struggling to be loyal to her family and put their wishes before her own heart.’

‘She is open to new experience, though.’  Nathroniel was thoughtful.  ‘And practical – the Silvan dislike haughty ladies who are afraid to get their hands dirty.  Our artisans say that she knows her craft well and is clearly skilled.’

‘If there were more artisans among the Silvan, that might make more of an impact.’

Nathroniel nodded slightly in acknowledgement, but did not comment.  The two stopped at the headland and gazed down at the apparent innocence of the hyacinth ocean. 

‘And this matter is the sole reason for your visit, Lady Galadriel?’   

Galadriel smiled, but refused to defend herself from the suggestion of interference.

‘It seems remarkable that Finarfin’s daughter – Melian’s protégée – Celeborn’s wife – should take so much interest in the happiness of a Wood Elf.  If not, perhaps, to infuriate his adar – and impose her choice on his people.’

Galadriel turned to her and seemed to grow, allowing, for once her age and power to shine from her eyes and surround her like a cloak.  ‘You think I am so shallow?’ she asked.

‘Shallow?  You?’  Nathroniel laughed, unimpressed by the display.  ‘You are no more shallow than are the Sundering Seas.  You might be championing this for your own purposes.’

With a long sigh, Galadriel allowed her indignation to fade.  ‘No more purpose than an affection for both of those who are being hurt by this.  And, perhaps, from a memory of Doriath, long ago.’

‘It is almost impossible to keep apart two elves whom the Powers mean to be together.’  Nathroniel smiled wryly.  ‘As you should remember from Doriath, long ago.’  She kept her eyes averted, watching the crawling sea that kept them bound here in the west.  ‘You may do them no favours by appearing to take their side.’

Galadriel waved a hand.  ‘I am here to see old friends,’ she said.  ‘What more natural than that I should bring an attendant?  It is not as if Legolas is even on the island.’  The breeze swirled around them, pulling at their gowns and hair, before leaving them to chase inland.  ‘We will doubtless be gone before he returns.’  She sighed.  ‘It would not be fair on either of them to put them in the position of meeting unexpectedly.  Not as things are.’  She looked at the Silvan elf.  ‘All I want is for Elerrina to be seen as herself rather than as a symbol.’

‘I will ensure,’ Nathroniel said slowly, ‘that she – in your company – meets those who might be helpful, so that some, at least, might be disposed in her favour.  I doubt there is much more that can be done.  In the end, it is up to them.’

A wistful expression shadowed Galadriel’s face as she looked towards the eastern horizon.  ‘It will not be easy for either of them,’ she said.  ‘But it will be worth every difficulty along the way.’

Nathroniel took her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.  ‘He will come,’ she insisted.  ‘He might take his time – he was never one to be told – but he will come.’

***

‘Tol Eressëa?’  Finrod’s eyebrows expressed his surprise.  ‘What is she doing on Tol Eressëa?’ 

Camentur refrained from replying.  Interfering, he thought, was probably not the best response to give the High King’s son.  Moreover, a moment’s thought would be enough to inform Finrod of his sister’s motives. 

The dark golden brows raised still further, then Finrod dismissed the thought.  ‘Have you had further approaches?’ he asked.

‘Yes, my lord.’  Camentur found it difficult to conceal his distaste.  ‘There appear to be several who think that my family would be only too happy to behave with impetuous dishonesty.  My atar is furious.’

Finrod tried to conceal his grin.  Taryatur was, more often than not, the cause of his own difficulties – why, after all, would anyone expect him to reject an opportunity to disgrace the Wood Elf prince whom he seemed to hold in such dislike?  It was rather like using a hammer on your own thumb in preference to striking a nail.  ‘And?’ he enquired.

‘I have expressed a wish to hear more,’ Camentur said reluctantly.  ‘Atar would be as disgusted with me as he is with them.’  He looked at Finrod.  ‘It will undoubtedly ruin my friendship with Legolas – and possibly with my wife and sister.’

A mischievous grin brightened Finrod’s face.  ‘You are too honest for politics, my friend,’ he said.  ‘No-one achieves power without being able to play one side off against the other.’

‘I am a bureaucrat, Lord Finrod,’ Camentur pointed out.  ‘Not a politician.’

‘That just means you can be devious for both sides at the same time – and justify it.’

‘I wish I could see how to justify this.’

Finrod looked surprised.  ‘Knowledge, Camentur, knowledge.  There is more than power in knowledge – there is safety, too.  It is better by far to know to what lengths people are prepared to go – to let them play their games just as long as they are harmless, but step in hard before they get out of hand.  At the moment…’ he shrugged, ‘it is just talk – empty noise – but some of the noisemakers have more on their minds.  I want to know who is dangerous and who is not.  Who is behind it – and who is to be trailed before us like a goat for the wolves to scent.’  He looked at his assistant sympathetically.  ‘Your part is small – it just gives us somewhere to start,’ he said.  ‘I doubt your family will ever know – if you would prefer them to remain ignorant of it.’

Camentur’s eyes dropped to the table in front of him.  ‘It is wrong,’ he muttered.  ‘I feel there is something – dirty – in tolerating the machinations of these tricksters.  It seems like encouraging them.’

‘Our duty is to strive constantly for the good of all.’  Finrod spoke seriously.  ‘What we do now offers protection to those who are unaware of what is happening beyond their sight.  Not just Legolas, or you, or me, but all those elves, green and grey, Noldor and Teleri and Vanyar, who are not in a position to defend themselves.  A farmer sets guard dogs for a reason – someone needs to watch the sheep, my friend, to keep the wolves at bay.  Sometimes it takes us where we do not want to go – but we go there anyway.’  The assurance of his voice drew his assistant’s gaze to settle on his face.  Finrod gleamed with sincerity.  ‘There is more to ruling than sitting on a throne, you know.  The envious see that – the fine clothes and the fawning sycophants – but to keep your people safe, you must be prepared to walk the shadows whilst keeping them from contaminating you.’  He smiled wryly.  ‘It is not easy – hard work and unappreciated – but it is necessary.’

And it was that dedication, Camentur thought, more than anything, more even than the demands of Nisimalotë’s atar, that had drawn him to offer his service to this particular grandson of Finwë.  However easy and gentle he seemed on the surface, Finrod Finarfinion was an elf who would knowingly sacrifice himself for a greater good, to fulfil a promise or defend a right.  Honest, true, determined, honourable.

He sighed and accepted the inevitable.  ‘I will do what I must, my lord,’ he said.

***

Legolas leaned against the ridged bark of the stately willow and allowed her to shield him from the ever-present closeness of too many people wandering the gardens of Tirion.  Inside the green canopy he could almost imagine himself at home by the Forest River – or on the banks of the Anduin.  For a moment, anyway, he could just be himself.  He breathed in the damp greenness and focused on the song of the tree in an attempt to exclude the irritatingly happy sound of elves making music together on a warm evening while Anor lingered in the sky as if reluctant to surrender to night.

When would his adar come, he wondered?  Did the Greenwood still hold his heart to the point where he would sacrifice himself to its care and leave his son to dwell among strangers until the world was renewed?  Or would he decide at last to take ship and arrive only to discover what a mess his son was making of this long-drawn-out attempt to navigate his way through the shoals of power? 

He turned and sprang into the branches.  Forget what lichen could do to formal robes – he needed to get away, and, when surrounded by Noldor, there was no better way to do that than to go up.  The tree rustled slightly as if welcoming him and guided him to a comfortable nest among the leaves.  Below him, the buzz of conversation and laughter diminished to a bearable hum and he settled back to watch the gradual appearance of the stars.

A slight clearing of the throat made him reach instinctively for his knives – only to find, of course, that he was unarmed.  Weaponry of any kind – sharper, at least, than the tongue – was decidedly frowned upon at social events organised by the Noldor, and he had long given up carrying anything more deadly than a brooch pin.

Litheredh hid a grin.  ‘I did not mean to make you jump, my lord,’ he said gravely.  ‘I assumed you knew someone was here.’

The glare he received suggested that, if Legolas had been unaware of his presence, he did not intend to admit to it.

‘Of course I knew you were there.’

The Silvan elf confined himself to replying with a slight incline of his head, but his smile widened a little. 

‘What are you doing up here, anyway?’ Legolas asked.  ‘You are supposed to be circulating – and making friends.’

‘That Calissë,’ Litheredh told him succinctly.  ‘She is just too friendly – and far too inquisitive.’

Legolas grinned.  ‘You are too polite to her – she thinks you are charming.’  His smile faded and he rested his head against the tree.  ‘Still, it is good to see that someone is making progress – of a sort.’

An indignant snort made him smile again.  ‘Finding out things that are no business of hers is a game to her – nothing more.  And one that could be dangerous.’  Litheredh hesitated and looked at the weary elf now stretched out along the branch.  ‘You are in danger of wearing yourself out, my lord – you need to take better care of yourself.’

‘You sound like Nathroniel.’  Legolas raised his head and looked at his friend.  ‘She was scolding me when I was last on the Lonely Isle.’  He yawned.  ‘Sometimes I think she still sees me as being very little wiser than I was as an elfling.’

‘Probably,’ Litheredh agreed.  ‘She could always make Aran Thranduil take a step back and hold up his hands – I should doubt she finds you much of a challenge.’

Legolas abandoned the topic and returned his attention to the patch of star-studded blue above them.  At least he could relax in the green elf’s company, secure in the knowledge that the two of them shared the same hopes and worked for the same outcomes.  But Litheredh was closer to the ground, nearer to the roots of the problems that faced his people.  What was a matter of theoretical debate in the counsels of the great was reality to those who lived the traditional forest life.  They suffered, while those who could make changes sat in their elegant chambers and deliberated.  Finrod – well – he took the long view and refused to rush matters, wanting to see what developed, saying – with some justice – that you could not fight phantoms and that not until potential enemies moved against you could you counter them, but still…  Was it really fair to leave in ignorance those who might have to face the schemes of these petty-minded plotters?

He propped himself up on one elbow.  ‘I am told,’ he said carefully, ‘that, while we have managed to disperse much of the doubt felt among the ordinary elves, there is a – a coalescence of animosity among some.  It is not proving easy to pin down who is responsible, but it might be wise to…’  He hesitated, not quite sure where to take his carefully worded advice.

‘I know.’  Litheredh took pity on him.  ‘Some of it is nothing but stupidity – but there are some aspects to the undertones that just – do not feel right.  Lord Finrod is, I think, more aware than most of what is going on.’

‘If, when I am elsewhere, you need to speak to someone you can trust,’ Legolas suggested, ‘Finrod would be a good choice.’

‘And he would, of course, offer someone like me immediate and private access,’ Litheredh murmured.

‘Go to Camentur.’  Legolas smiled.  ‘He might be a little wary of Wood Elves, but he is as straight as a yard of pump water.  He would get you to see Finrod.’

Litheredh glanced at him.  ‘You should go to Tol Eressëa for a while,’ he suggested.  ‘You need a rest from your responsibilities – and that is about as close as you can get to going home.  For the moment, at least.  Go and spend some time in your dwarf-built tower and let Nathroniel nag you.  You will return refreshed and in better condition to deal with those who would oppose you.’

‘Do I look so frail?’  Legolas asked indignantly.

‘Worse, my lord,’ Litheredh said solemnly.  ‘When you are driven to hiding in trees to get away from a certain scowling Noldo, I know things must be bad.’

Legolas looked slightly sheepish.  ‘Thranduil would be unimpressed,’ he admitted.  ‘I suspect he would join Nathroniel in calling such behaviour childish.’

‘Childish, perhaps,’ Litheredh grinned, ‘but understandable, I think.  And I am sure that Aran Thranduil would be accusing you of it from his position in the same tree.’  He laughed.  ‘I know some very old stories…’  He shook his head.  ‘I would be willing to share them with you – if you were interested.’

A spark of interest brightened Legolas’s thin face.  ‘Well,’ he drawled, ‘if you have nothing better to do with the evening, I am sure I could find time to listen.’

Litheredh congratulated himself quietly on making the prince look more like himself.  ‘Remember, though, that these tales are best not repeated,’ he warned.  ‘At least, not in your adar’s hearing.’

The tree rustled in response to the burst of laughter.  ‘He would need very good hearing!’ his son pointed out.

‘As little gets past him as past Lord Finrod,’ Litheredh said, ‘but I will take the chance if you will.’

‘One day,’ Legolas reflected, ‘not too long from now, I hope to see them confront each other – nearly as much as I want to witness King Finarfin’s confrontation with Lord Celeborn.’

The green elf shook his head.  ‘You have too much of a taste for danger, my lord,’ he said.  ‘You do not know when to keep your head down.’

‘Why go down,’ Legolas said contentedly, ‘when you can scale the heights?’

***

Wild music stirred the senses and the stars appeared to join the dance.  Elerrina laughed as she spun in the secure hold of a dark-haired ellon.  This was in no way comparable to the sedate balls enjoyed by the Noldor.  This was heady stuff, emotional, highly-charged, dizzying. 

Ithil gleamed on the wide clearing, cool and silver, warmed by the glow of cooking fires around which elves took time to eat and refill their goblets with sweet mead before returning to the dance.

The ellon released her hand and the next in the chain grasped her to continue the pattern.  She knew him instantly, even before the strong fingers closed round hers, and faltered, missing her step.  They stepped to one side as the exuberant dance continued without them.  The sound of raucous celebration faded into the distance as if nothing existed beyond the pair of them.

Legolas raised his free hand involuntarily and touched her cheek, his fingers trailing back to brush through her hair, his eyes intently fixed on her face.  Her lips parted, but no sound emerged.  He was glad of it – speech would have broken the spell, reminded them both of their duty, brought them back from this magical moonspun moment to the real world.

His touch made her light-headed.  It was almost as if she was walking in dreams, where the impossible became as natural as a sun-filled day.  She stepped forward with an unselfconsciousness she would never have dared at any other time, so that nothing divided them but a couple of layers of fine-woven cloth and a breath of air.

She mirrored his gesture and her fingertips brushed his mouth, feather-light, curious, as if she had yearned to do this for so long that her actions were quite involuntary.  His lips curled in a smile beneath her touch.  So delicate an intimacy and yet it made him burn.  Burn to the point where reason and reserve and the demands of political good sense vaporised.  He brought his mouth to hers and, holding her to him as if he could never bear to let her go, he kissed her.

The dancing elves encircled them as they clung together, so deeply lost in their capitulation to the call of their fëar that they were entirely unaware of the wild enthusiasm of the revellers and their giddy approval.

‘I cannot be happy without you,’ Legolas murmured distractedly as they paused momentarily for breath, only for Elerrina to tangle her fingers in his hair and pull him closer to resume their kissing.  This was not wise, he knew, but just at the moment, he did not care.  He had longed for this, believed it to be unattainable, resigned himself to duty – and he was not going to reject this delight merely because it was tantamount to declaring himself before the eyes of his people.

He knew the moment she recovered awareness of the world beyond them.

Elerrina groaned and buried her face in Legolas’s shoulder.  ‘What have we done?’ she asked.  ‘Please tell me we are not in the middle of a glade full of over-exhilarated Wood Elves.’

‘I cannot.’  He smiled ruefully.  ‘Do you mind?’

‘Creating a scandal that will be talked of for centuries to come?  Of course not,’ she declared.  ‘I have always longed to be a public disgrace.’

He laughed lightly.  Somehow, the reaction of those watching them seemed unimportant – at least while she was still in his arms.  ‘I wish to make you my wife, Elerrina,’ he said.  ‘Will you allow me to court you?’

‘I cannot,’ she moaned.  ‘You cannot.  No matter what we feel, this is impossible.’

‘If it were not impossible,’ he asked softly, ‘would you consent?’

She leaned back and studied his face before pressing her lips to his in a heartfelt impulse.  ‘In a moment,’ she said, calm certainty in her voice.

‘Then,’ he said, unaware that the pair of them glowed with a clear light that spoke volumes to those observing them, ‘there is nothing for it.  We must make possible the impossible.’ 

 





<< Back

Next >>

Leave Review
Home     Search     Chapter List