Reunited

He roused with Ithil’s light in his eyes, unsure suddenly where he was and why.  He blinked and frowned, pushing fair hair back from his brow.  The wind was rocking his bed as he rested, but the song was wrong.  He could no longer hear the forest.  A surge of panic started in his belly, but he suppressed it ruthlessly.

Of course he could not hear it.  He was on a boat in the middle of Ulmo’s treacherous ocean, far from the trees of home – and getting further away with every minute that passed.

He forced himself to his feet in a convulsive movement, kicking away the blanket that had wrapped round his feet.  The last thing he needed was to feel confined.

Celeborn watched him approach the ship’s bows, inclining his head slightly in silent greeting.

‘You are sure we are going in the right direction?’  Thranduil watched the white crests curl on the grey waves and listened to the creak of the sails.

His cousin shrugged.  ‘We are heading west.  I believe that will be enough.’

‘You are happy to leave finding the Straight Path to chance?’

‘There is little chance involved, if you ask me.’  Celeborn gave a slight sniff and turned to look back to watch Anor rising behind the horizon that hid the lands of their birth.  ‘Either the Valar will let us find it – or they will not.’

‘You do not sound very concerned either way.’

‘For all I am aware that our time had come – and that it was sail or fade – I still feel that I have betrayed my home.’ 

Celeborn looked very tired, Thranduil realised, and very distant – as no elf should look.  He smiled wryly at the thought that he doubtless looked no better.  ‘Where is Glorfindel?’

‘Watching over my grandsons.’  Celeborn closed his eyes.  ‘My lady will be most displeased if I fail to return them to their parents unharmed.’

A wave of petulant irritation washed over the former King of Lasgalen.  ‘She is old enough to know that you cannot make the world work as you want it,’ he snapped.  ‘If she had wanted to run Elladan and Elrohir’s lives for them, she should have stayed and kept the strings in her own hands.’

Celeborn lifted an eyebrow curiously.  ‘She has long known that she is not omnipotent – nor does she want to be,’ he said mildly.  ‘And she could not remain – do not hold that against her, for I certainly do not.’

Thranduil rested his elbows on the rail and buried his head in his hands, holding rather tighter than he needed to, as if he needed the pressure on his scalp to convince him that he was not falling apart.  ‘My apologies,’ he said.  He concentrated on the sensation of the salty air in his lungs and the sight of wisps of mist rising from the waves.  ‘Do you wonder what awaits us there?’ he asked.  ‘Any stories we have of the lands beyond the sea are so old that they surely have little but a base of truth.  We are travelling on the strength of rumour – and hope.’

‘Some might say that that describes life.’  Celeborn smiled slightly.  ‘You go to find your son – and in time, you hope, your wife.  I know that I will meet my wife and daughter – that, if I am lucky, they will be healed and happy.  And, one day, I might be reunited with many who found their way west to the care of Mandos.’

Thranduil pinched the bridge of his nose.  ‘And if it is not so?  What then, cousin?’

‘We will cross that bridge when we reach it,’ Celeborn said calmly.  He smiled wryly.  ‘It may be that we are so ecstatic to be in the presence of the Valar that nothing else will matter to us.’

‘You do not believe that.’  Thranduil dropped his hand to stare at his cousin.  ‘Any more than I do.’

‘Let us first look forward to the reunions on which we can depend.’  Celeborn turned to the west.  ‘We will deal with anything else later.’

Thranduil sighed.  ‘I suppose that is all we can do,’ he admitted.

Silently, they watched the unchanging horizon across the bobbing waves until Anor had crossed the sky, dropping low enough to polish a silver path across the water.  ‘I hope they are there to greet us,’ Thranduil said finally.  ‘I quite forgot to send a message ahead to say I was coming.’

Celeborn grinned.  ‘Oddly enough, so did I.  I only hope my wife overlooks my discourtesy.’

The sails flapped briefly as the wind dropped and changed direction.  The white fabric began to glow as if giving back Anor’s light and the wind’s song took on another level of meaning as the new breeze bellied them out and pushed the vessel forward.  Together they watched as their gleaming grey ship embarked on the final stage of their journey.

‘It is too late to change our minds now,’ Thranduil observed.

The look on his cousin’s face was almost one of relief.  The time for debate was over and the point of no return had been passed.  ‘We will just have to make the best of it,’ he said.

***

Evening was the best time of day in the forest, Legolas thought absently, as he walked at Haldir’s side.  Of course, he also tended to think that about the early morning as he was watching Anor rise.  And, now he came to think about it, when the dark trees rustled in a velvet night beneath a star-studded sky.  Then, there was little that could beat a sleepy, sun-kissed day, when the wise elf took his ease in the dappled shade.  In fact, perhaps he would just be better admitting that he longed to settle somewhere among trees and forget the stresses and strains of trying to fill a role that still did not come naturally to him.

‘It still seems odd,’ he said absently.  ‘The numbers are increasing, you say?’

‘I have asked those I trust to keep track of it,’ Haldir assured him.  ‘There are definitely more each year who pack up and disappear quietly into the forest.  Generally,’ he remarked thoughtfully, ‘those who feel they have nothing further for which to wait.  They seem to start hearing a different song – a song that draws them.’

‘And you think they cross the mountains?’

‘I am sure of it.’  Haldir hesitated.  ‘I am fairly sure Lord Finrod knows what is happening, too.’

Legolas looked at him.

‘He says nothing, of course,’ the Galadhel added.  ‘But then, he would not.’

‘But Lady Galadriel?’

‘I have spoken to her.’  Haldir looked mildly confused.  ‘She smiled – and seemed to think that it was a good thing.  Both that grey and green elves are seeking new homes and that her brother knows and condones it.’

They emerged from the trees into a glade where the light angled through broad leaves to reflect from water that tumbled between moss-covered rocks, seeking its way to the clear pool where fish swam.

Legolas stood watching the sight, feeling oddly detached. 

‘I sometimes wonder what pulled me further west,’ Haldir said thoughtfully.  ‘There is too much pine forest and even that becomes sparse as the mountains get higher – I am really much happier among deciduous trees.  This,’ he indicated the glade, ‘would make a good home.’

The lack of response turned his attention to his companion.  He frowned.  He could have sworn that, when they set out, Legolas had appeared normal, but now…  Memory stirred of his own reaction when his brothers had finally decided to take ship.  It seemed that his response had not been unique.  ‘Legolas?’ he demanded.  ‘Legolas?’

The blond elf blinked.  He felt strangely absent – almost as if he was existing in two places at the same time.  Somewhere that combined the greenness of the forest with … ‘Adar?’ he said.  ‘Can it be that Adar is on his way?’

Haldir smiled.  ‘If my limited experience is anything by which to judge,’ he agreed.  ‘It would seem that this is not a good moment for talking.  You need to find your horse, Thranduilion, and get yourself to the sea.’

‘How long?’ Legolas was clearly starting to panic. 

The Galadhel’s grin widened.  This was not a situation for which you planned.  It always seemed to be chancing fate to decide how you would respond when your heart told you that your kin were on their way – just in case the moment never came.

‘As long as it takes, my friend,’ Haldir said cheerfully.  ‘Get what you need and take yourself to the quayside – I am pretty sure that you cannot be late for this event.’

Legolas gazed at him impassively for a moment.  ‘You will not look so smug in a moment,’ he said.  ‘If I am to go now, I need someone to take charge here in my absence – and you have just volunteered.’

***

Galadriel opened her eyes, breathless with anticipation, but not quite sure why.  The night was tranquil and she could hear nothing different.  The white curtains were billowing like sails at her window and the scent of jasmine was cut with the fragrance of … was that salt breezes? 

She paused just long enough to grab a silken robe and wrap it round her.  No need to shock her son-in-law, after all – although….

Her door opened and her daughter stood there, barefoot, her long hair – so like his – unbound and her nightgown unlaced.

For all the urgency between them, neither could bring herself to move.  Neither spoke – it was unnecessary.  The knowledge hung there, before Celebrían turned swiftly to leave.

‘Quick!’ she said.  ‘We must reach the harbour before the ship arrives!’

‘It is too far!’ Galadriel sounded anguished, like someone pierced by a blade after battle had ended.  ‘We will never make it in time!’

‘The ships do not land until they are ready.’  Elrond had already rushed himself into his clothes – rather haphazardly, Galadriel noted.  Only complete distraction would let Celebrían permit him to leave the house like that.

‘It will take us days…’  Galadriel looked round the room.  So much time, she thought – and now it could be counted in minutes.  What must she do?  What did she need?

‘We will be waiting on the dock,’ Elrond declared firmly.  ‘If we go now, there will be time enough.  Get what you need – we will leave as soon as you are ready.’

Her hands were shaking.  She should have thought of this before, Galadriel reproved herself.  If she had kept a bag packed, then…  But what if he had not come, chosen not to trust himself to a future in an alien world?  How could she have borne century after century seeing evidence of her lost hope? 

In the end, she grabbed a few items at random – a change of clothes, a night-robe, her hairbrush – after all, what else did she need?  He was coming, and that was enough.

It was not until they were mounted, until they were riding towards the sea that had, for so long, kept her and her lord apart that she realised she had not thought to put shoes on her feet – but nothing that petty would send her back.  What, after all, did it matter?

‘They are both coming…’ Ithil made the tears of relief on Celebrían’s face shine.  ‘Both of them.  And Adar, too.’

Elrond reached for her, but they were riding too swiftly to make contact.  He dropped his hand, urging his horse to greater speed.  ‘Both,’ he agreed and his smile brightened the night.

The stars sang their high and distant song and Ithil sailed on regardless across the cloudless sky.  Their horses moved, sure-footed across the shadowed grass, avoiding traps such as rabbit holes and fallen tree-limbs with sure instinct, and the distracted party covered the ground far more quickly than logic told them they should.

‘Legolas,’ Galadriel said suddenly.  ‘Will he know…?’

‘If Thranduil has sailed.’  Elrond sobered.  ‘He may have chosen…’

‘He will sail.’  Galadriel spoke with confidence.  ‘He is obstinate – not stupid.’

‘He would not be the only one to choose to devote himself to Ennor, regardless of the cost.’

‘His son is here – and his wife dwells with Námo.  He will come.’

‘Legolas has less distance to travel than we do, I think,’ Celebrían said, leaning forward as if that would speed her journey. ‘He was not, at any rate, in Tirion. I hope he recognises the call.  He has had no need to meet a ship before.’

‘He will be there,’ Elrond said.  ‘If he is needed, he will be there.  The Valar will see to it.’

They rode on in silence, minds tuned to catching the first intimation that their loved ones approached the white shores of the Blessed Realm where they would, at last, be reunited with those who loved them, but, as far as they could sense, nothing had changed.  The grey ship followed the Straight Path steadily, making its transition from Ennor-bound vessel to ship of light upon a different sea.

Celebrían gasped as she felt again, in the very depths of her fëa, the tenuous thread that bound her to her sons, but Galadriel swayed on her horse as she heard the song the absence of which had left her, she felt, no more than half alive.

Elrond leaned over and took the reins, asking her horse to stop, jumping down just in time to gather the indomitable Elda in his arms as she slipped from her saddle.

‘It has all been too much for her,’ he said, closing his fingers round her wrist to check her pounding heart.  ‘We must wait.’

Celebrían’s mare danced as she sensed her rider’s impatience, but the naneth’s anxiety gave way to a daughter’s worry and, with one glance towards the sea, she dismounted to join Elrond beside her naneth.  ‘What is the matter?’ she asked.

‘It is nothing.’  Galadriel licked her lips and forced herself to speak calmly.  ‘It was just the shock.  Let us go on – I know now that he is coming.’

‘Oh.’ Her daughter looked at Elrond and smiled.  ‘It is nothing to worry about,’ she said.  ‘I do not know how you reacted as your ship approached – but I could hardly keep to my feet.  It was like … like being filled with a sea of flame … like coming alive in a matter of moments.  Naneth will be all right.  We will travel more slowly while she grows accustomed to the sensation.’

Elrond stared at her.  ‘To me, it was a return of joy,’ he said softly, ‘a warmth that soaked through me – a sensation so delightful that I could not stop laughing.’

‘Really?’  Celebrían helped her naneth sit up.  ‘The sea might make the difference, perhaps,’ she judged.  ‘I just know that nobody was surprised that I felt as if I was about to explode.’  She glanced at him.  ‘Do you have any miruvor?  That might help.’

Her husband took out a small flask and silently handed it to his wife’s naneth.  Galadriel took a mouthful and returned it. 

‘Let us get moving,’ she demanded.  ‘We must be waiting on the quayside.’

Elrond examined her intently.  A flush of colour was warming her pale face and she seemed to be regaining her balance.  Despite her tone, a soft smile was hovering over her mouth – and her unbound hair blew wildly about her face. 

‘We will take the time we need,’ he decided, raising an eyebrow to subdue his wife’s unspoken protest.  ‘Better to arrive safely than fall along the way.’

***

Camentur kept his arm round his sister.

‘We should not be here,’ she whispered, her eyes fixed on the white sails growing slowly larger as the ship made its way to port.

‘Legolas went out of his way to invite you to come.’  Camentur kept his voice down.  ‘He did not have to do that – and he did not have to battle Atar for his consent.  He wants you at his side, little sister.’

‘Then he is the only one.’

He could not blame her for being nervous, her brother thought.  This was a – very public place to be called upon to meet the elf who was not known for his calm reasonableness.   Camentur hoped that his potential brother-in-law knew what he was doing.  Elerrina would not take rejection here and now particularly well – and he could not blame her.  He had tried to suggest that the pair of them should stand back and welcome the new arrivals later, once they had had the chance to adjust, but Legolas had assumed that vulnerable look that turned his sister to mush and she had promised that she would stand by his side.

It was possible to distinguish the lines of the ship now – two-masted, with a triangular jib, the sails blazing white and the pale wood gleaming – but it was still too far distant to make out anybody on board.

Camentur glanced at Lady Galadriel and her daughter.  It was the first time that he had ever been present at the arrival of a ship from across the sea – and would probably be the only time, too, given that it must have been a century or more since the last vessel arrived – but it seemed that those waiting had no doubt at all of who was on board.  Galadriel stood as if she was carved from white marble, but her eyes never left the ship and she radiated tension.  Her daughter, on the other hand, could not keep still.  She moved from foot to foot edgily as if waiting for the signal to start a race.  Elrond hid the strain rather better, but it did not take much empathy to feel the emotion suppressed beneath his impassive exterior.

And Legolas was so keyed up that he was shaking.  With Camentur’s arm round his sister and both her hands clasping the Wood Elf’s, he could feel a tension that had the elf quivering with excitement.  It was as if only his sister’s touch prevented him from taking off like a bird intent on flying out to circle the masts of the approaching vessel.  Camentur grinned.  It would be quite interesting to see what happened if Elerrina let go – he would not be surprised at all if his friend ended up in the water.

The vessel grew larger with infuriating slowness.

There were cries of excitement from the quayside and cliffs when the figures on board became distinguishable – and further cries when they were identifiable.  Along the dock, an elleth dropped to her knees and began to sob hysterically – Camentur was unsure whether with joy or despair – but no-one moved to her support, transfixed as they were by the growing grey ship.

There were dozens crowding the rail, looking west to the shining shores and the white towers, to the verdant forests and the towering cliffs, searching among the faces of those waiting, hoping to see the faces of loved ones who had feared they would never come. 

He could only imagine what it must have been like in former times, when the ships carried hundreds of those seeking sanctuary.  When ships landed regularly with their cargoes of elves hoping for a better life in the safety of the Blessed Realm.  When the white ships returned with the armies of the Host – so many that they had to wait in the bay until there was space enough to unload.  To his children, he thought, this would be nothing more than legend – and he was suddenly very glad that he was here to witness this arrival.

Legolas stilled.  ‘He is at the prow,’ he said.  He sounded reassured, as if he had not altogether trusted the sensations that ran through him, as if only the sight of his adar was enough to convince him that his wait was over.

The elf was tall, Camentur noted – and he carried himself with authority.  If the space around him was anything to go by, his fellow travellers equated respect with distance and refused to crowd around him, giving him the chance of an unhindered view of the land awaiting him.

‘I do not see Adar.’  Lady Celebrían sounded worried, even as Elrond smiled at the sight of two dark-haired elves, standing with a tall golden-haired figure behind them, one hand on a shoulder of each.

‘He is below.’  Galadriel sounded as serene and distant as someone drifting along a misty dream path.  ‘He has no wish to make a spectacle of himself.’  

Considering the length of their wait, the vessel’s arrival passed in a hectic rush.  The crew reefed the sails, until only a sliver of canvas remained, yet the bow continued to cut through the waves on its way to meeting its destination.  Some of the passengers scattered to haul on ropes or pull on large oars that churned the water.  The pace of the ship slowed until it was no more than creeping towards the dock.

The blond elf, however, made no move, balancing easily at the bow and completely ignoring the activity behind him, his eyes fixed on his son, standing equally still now on the shore.

Heavy ropes were thrown, snaking from the vessel, the first contact between this ship of Ennor and the Blessed Realm.  Eager elves caught them expertly and wound them round solid mooring bollards, keen to bring these voyagers home at last.  Reluctantly, so reluctantly, her timbers creaking, water swirling round her hull, the vessel stopped alongside and time stood still.

For several moments no-one moved.  Those on the ship gazed down at the tall elves waiting for them and felt … shabby.  Tired.  Reluctant, perhaps to cut their final ties with the world they had left. 

Then, before the mariners could run a gangplank between ship and shore, the blond elf leapt.  Neatly and without any indication of his intention, he sprang across the intervening gap of dark water to land lightly on the wooden dock and stalk with single-minded determination towards his son.

Legolas dropped Elerrina’s hand and stepped forward into the arms of one he had feared never to meet again.

‘Welcome, Adar,’ he said.

Thranduil held him with the same hungry relief with which he had clasped him on his return from the perils of the Pelennor, of the Black Gate – a warrior’s grip that contained more than a little of an adar’s dread of what might have happened.  But he felt so thin.  Legolas felt a fear stir in him.  His adar had – of course – driven himself to the edge of endurance and beyond.   His spirit, though, was undaunted.

He released his son and turned to the elleth behind him, tense in her brother’s comforting hold.  Thranduil gazed at her briefly, his sharp eyes seeing far more than should have been possible, then placed a slender hand on either side of her head and bent to kiss her forehead.

‘My daughter,’ he said.

***

Taryatur stared at his son incredulously.  ‘Just like that?’ he asked.

‘Just like that,’ his son confirmed.  ‘No questions, nothing.  He simply put his arm round Elerrina and placed her hand in his son’s.  Instant acceptance – and the crowd roared their approval.’

Camentur had very rarely heard his atar swear – it was not the sort of thing Taryatur did.  He was reasonable and controlled – a little domineering at times, perhaps, but never profane.  Despite which, his son noted, he seemed to have stored somewhere in his memory a remarkably extensive vocabulary.

‘I was counting on his being just as reluctant to countenance this … and rather more vocal,’ Taryatur declared.  ‘It just goes to show – you should never rely on one of them for anything!’  He held his head, massaging his temples with his thumbs.  ‘And he has completely wrong-footed us with just that one simple gesture.’  He looked up sharply.  ‘Did he realise Elerrina was a Noldo?’

‘I do not know.’  Camentur smiled slightly.  ‘But it scarcely matters.  He can hardly go back on it now.’

‘I would like to think he did not realise,’ Taryatur said broodingly.  ‘I would like to think it came as a big – and very unwelcome – shock.’

‘It may well have done, Atar,’ Camentur agreed, ‘but he is certainly not going to let us know that – and I doubt he would reveal displeasure even to Legolas.’  He hesitated.  ‘He was genuinely delighted to be reunited with his son.’

Taryatur smiled with a hint of real warmth.  ‘Well – what would you expect?’ he asked.  He looked at his own son.  They had never been torn apart – never had to fear that war or death or destiny – or an unforgiving sea – would separate them.  Of course the exiled king was glad to see his son.  Glad enough, probably, to deal with a Noldo daughter-in-law and consider it small penance – but her atar wanted her to be a treasure rather than a duty. 

‘Will you consent to a betrothal now?’  Camentur did not look at his atar and spoke as if the question was only of minor importance.

‘Has he put you up to asking?’ Taryatur tried to keep the resentment out of his voice.

‘Legolas?  No.’  Camentur sounded genuinely surprised.  ‘I think he is too distracted, just now, to think beyond the next few weeks.  These new arrivals…  I do not know, of course, how it used to be, but I am assured that people used to arrive full of joy and disembark with excitement to loud reunions – and sing and dance and feast…’  He sighed.  ‘Many still remain on board ship,’ he said.  ‘The healers say they are too exhausted to endure stepping ashore – they need to rest and eat and breathe the air of the Blessed Realm for a while before they are strong enough to set foot on land.  Lord Elrond has taken his sons to a pavilion by the beach where they can begin to recover.  Lord Glorfindel seems to be the least affected, but even he only remained briefly at the welcoming festival.’  He shook his head.  ‘Lord Thranduil was there – but I think he endured on obstinacy alone until Olórin arrived and demanded his company.  Lady Galadriel’s husband simply refused to emerge until the crowds had gone – and she then took him off for a private reunion away from the eyes of others.’

Taryatur looked thoughtful.  ‘There were those who returned like that from the War of Wrath,’ he mused.  ‘Some who could not endure the power of the Blessed Realm.  I know elves who remained for centuries on the Lonely Isle with the Exiles, because they felt too fragile to bear the purity of the white shores.’

Camentur drew a wary breath.  ‘I left Elerrina in Lady Galadriel’s care,’ he said.  ‘She asked that my sister remain with them.’

The explosion that Camentur had expected did not arrive.  ‘And I am sure that with her husband in need of care, she will find a great deal of attention to spare to chaperone my daughter,’ Taryatur said dryly.  ‘I imagine Elerrina will spend all her time in the company of the Wood Elf.’

‘And his atar,’ his son reminded him.  ‘And, doubtless, half the Wood Elves within a week’s travel of them.’

Taryatur sighed.  ‘I suppose it is for the best,’ he said unenthusiastically.  ‘If Thranduil is seen to accept her, it makes it harder for his people to object.  And, if she has to settle for the Wood Elf, I want her to have every chance of happiness.’

Camentur did not reply.  He had, he rather thought, been more fortunate than he had expected in his atar’s reaction to the situation as it was.  To hope for anything more wholehearted would be pushing his luck too far.

***

The differences between the assorted groups of green elves, Litheredh realised, he had always looked on as no more than … quirks.  Peculiarities of place or time, left over from a period when centuries would pass without one group wandering in the way of another.  Different forests, after all, bred different trees – why should the people who dwelt therein not change to tune themselves to the world around them?  But, even since he had started to follow Thranduil’s son in his quest to bind the forests’ peoples into a force to be – well – at least considered, he had always seen them, he realised as groups. 

Since his curiosity had been aroused about the – the loyalty of some of those who been born under the trees, he had been looking at them differently – and he had been intrigued by what he had found.  Not just Wood Elves – but some who awaited Lenwë and paid little attention to the activities of the later born, others who grieved bitterly for the dead of Dagorlad and shrugged off the struggles of the Third Age as an irrelevance,yet more who were indifferent to the trials of the Golden Wood – or wanderers who cared more for trees than those who dwelt among them.  There were so many different needs, different desires, that it was no wonder he had not noticed it before – each green elf was almost a group on his own.

There were a few whose reaction to his interest had set warning calls ringing in his mind – but, mostly, any green elves who decided they did not like what was happening around them elected for an uncomplicated solution.  They were simply not there.  They faded into the trees much as a breeze dies down – and removed themselves from the situation.  Garrulous foresters, old warriors, observant matrons – they could all tell him of those who did not like the Noldor, did not trust their leaders, did not wish to follow conventions.  But those of whom they spoke had one thing in common – they were not to be found.  Not alone, not grouped together in a seething of malcontents – just not there.

Oh yes, there were small clusters of those who could tell him what Legolas was doing wrong – but they had no better answers, and, when challenged, would shrug off the suggestion that perhaps they should involve themselves in changing matters in ways more to their liking.  They enjoyed complaining, he decided in the end, but were far too settled to want to do anything to change their comfortable lives.

But then, those who really wanted trouble were unlikely to present themselves for questioning.

After all, if he wanted to cause serious damage, Litheredh reflected, he would want to get close – and that required a use of different weapons.  A smile, perhaps, and a conciliatory tongue.  The ability to pass unregarded, so that, by the time you began to suspect something was wrong, you could already feel the prick of the knife between your shoulder blades.

And that, he had not found.

But he would keep looking.

***

The water wove its way between the moss-covered rocks, tumbling in small streams or swirling in unexpected pools to the broad stream below.  Above it, dragonflies hovered and occasional fish broke the surface.

Legolas and Elerrina stood side by side on the wooden bridge, their hands on the rail, little fingers touching, a contact so slight as to be unnoticeable to any watching them, yet enough to have them both tingling.

Legolas moved his finger into the tiniest caress, and Elerrina turned to look at him.

‘You are worried,’ she said.

He curved his finger over to link with hers.  ‘Nathroniel says he was like this when my naneth was killed,’ he said.  ‘Surviving on pure energy – and held by my need and his duty to the Wood.’  He swallowed.  ‘But the forest gave him strength and helped him endure. She is concerned, I think.  And – I would not have him take ship to lose him now.’  He listened to the soothing sound of the water and forced himself to relax.  ‘Glorfindel,’ he said, an admiration and respect in his voice for the hero of legend that made him sound remarkably young – much to Elerrina’s delight, ‘says time among the trees of the Blessed Realm will be enough to give him ease, but … it frightens me,’ he admitted.

‘You have never seen him weak.’ Elerrina moved her hand to cover his.  ‘You expect him to be indomitable, as he was when you were a child.’  She paused.  ‘Perhaps Aulë’s halls,’ she suggested.  ‘The forests where Yavanna revealed herself to you – do you not think that the trees there might sing powerfully enough to begin to heal the wounds that drain him?’

Legolas sighed.  ‘I need you by my side,’ he said.  ‘I never even thought of that.’

Elerrina leaned closer to him, her arm pressing against his.  ‘I am by your side,’ she informed him.

‘I want you closer still,’ he murmured, almost unable to resist the urge to raise his hand to touch her face, to turn her, to bend and press his lips…  He drew himself back.  ‘I know not how much longer I can endure this … this need for circumspection,’ he said with some difficulty.  ‘Having you near almost overwhelms me.’

She looked away, concentrating on the glinting light on the water, focusing on getting her breathing under control.  ‘You are not alone,’ she admitted.

‘It is not only your atar who would be … most displeased if we bonded without due ceremony,’ Legolas said, glancing sideways at her.  ‘Thranduil has warned me to – er – exercise care.  And Nathroniel has told me straight that self-control is mandatory.’

Elerrina giggled.  ‘Camentur said that he did not wish to cause a political incident by being forced to take punitive action – and that, if I was truly concerned about you, I must not let matters get out of hand.’

Legolas made no attempt to hold back his laughter.  ‘He could not!’ he declared.  ‘Camentur is many things – but he is no trained fighter.  I would wipe the floor with him!  With one hand tied behind my back!’

It was a moment before he realised that his comment had not gone down well with his beloved.  Elerrina inspected him intently, clearly unimpressed by the idea that he could trounce her brother with very little effort.

‘Not that I would, of course,’ he said, attempting to recover ground he had clearly lost.

‘My atar…’ Elerrina said slowly, then paused as if reluctant to continue.  ‘My atar said that one of the things that most concerned him about the elves of Endórë was that they saw violence as a solution rather than as a last resort.’

The amusement faded from Legolas’s face like water draining from a glass.  ‘That is not true,’ he said.  He gazed at her intently.  If she had spent too much time listening to her atar’s prejudices, it was a wonder that she was prepared to risk a relationship with him at all.  ‘You cannot argue with orcs – and wargs and spiders will not wait for you to attempt peaceable solutions.  Experience has taught the elves of Ennor that there are times when they must act first in their own defence.  That does not make them wedded to the idea of violence.  All elves long to live in harmony with the song of Arda – it is just that we do not always get what we want.’  He ran his fingers back and forward along the rail.  ‘I was not threatening your brother,’ he said diffidently.  ‘The training field – it is a game as much as preparation for war.  A competition.  We come away with aching muscles and a few bruises, if we are unlucky – but we spar for entertainment.’

‘It is an ellyn thing,’ Elerrina agreed easily enough.  ‘Even here – where there has been no enemy to fight since the death of the Trees – ellyn still hone skills they will never use.’  She dismissed the oddity with a shake of her head.  ‘It is not that – I know you would not hurt my brother … but …’ She shook her head again, not sure how to put her thoughts into words without increasing the tension she could feel in the elf beside her.

‘Elerrina.’ 

She turned to face him as he spoke, looking at him with a trust that released some of his concern.  Instinctively, she placed her hand in his.

He hesitated.  He really had not expected to find himself in the middle of a discussion on the effects of war – but, if he wanted Elerrina to understand, he had to try to put into words what he felt. ‘Taryatur,’ he said, and then paused again.  ‘Your atar came to Ennor a long while ago, even as elves measure time, in response to the Valar’s call.  It was a courageous act – very courageous – and many of those who sailed east had no idea of what to expect.’  He took comfort in the warmth of her hand.  ‘They were confronted by horrors they had never expected – I have read of the War of Wrath, and my adar has told me more of its effects on those who fought.  Horror was piled on horror until many brave elves broke under the strain.’  He sighed.  ‘Many of those who returned to Aman – many of those elves of Ennor who sailed with them – suffered.’  He used his free hand to stroke his beloved’s cheek gently and slipped his fingers beneath her chin to ensure that she was looking at him.  ‘But Ennor is not Angband,’ he said sincerely.  ‘Any more than Aman is Taniquetil.  I grew up in a beleaguered forest – but I was surrounded by the love of my kin and the beauty of Yavanna’s creation.  I learned to fight evil to protect that which is good – what is wrong in that?’

Elerrina moved slightly to press a kiss on his wrist.  ‘Nothing,’ she said, ‘but I think my atar’s point is that it comes with a cost.’

‘Everything comes with a cost,’ Legolas said sadly.  ‘But there are times when you have no choice but to pay.’

Elerrina watched him.  He was so open, she thought.  So honest.  How could her atar not see the honourable elf beneath the image he had created?  Legolas would never hurt her – he would sacrifice himself willingly to keep her from harm.  And now, on top of the pressure her atar put on him, overshadowing even the political pressures of seeking the best for his people, he had his atar’s state of health to worry him.  ‘Your atar – your adar will be all right,’ she said.   ‘He has you – that will be enough to hold him.  And, as he gets better, he will see what needs to be done.’

A singularly beautiful smiled brightened Legolas’s face.  ‘He has me,’ he agreed.  ‘And, as long as I have you, I can deal with anything that comes.’

She melted.  How could she not?  Their hold on each other, the silk of skin on skin, the warmth of sharing their touch, all were almost irrelevant to the feeling of belonging that wrapped them and held them together.  They stood, lost in each other, silent, not even kissing.

The light was fading when Legolas cleared his throat and forced himself to speak.  ‘I hope they do not make us wait too much longer for their consent,’ he said.

‘Long or short,’ she murmured.  ‘In the end it makes no odds.  We have each other.’