A/N: I am hopefully driving home for the holidays soon, if the flood waters of the great Northwest will allow it, and so I will be posting a bit less frequently, probably at the rate of a chapter a week. I hope if you are reading, you will be patient and keep on this journey with me!

Belen Menel
Chapter 4: Iarwain, Oldest

Legolas stood on the hill, eyes closed, singing a melancholy song. His voice, so lovely and compelling, the breeze seemed to dance around him, lightly whipping his hair in the breeze. It was a song of longing and joy, of patience and love. Legolas’ sea-longing was stirred by the sweet smell of the sea carried by the summer winds, although it was always present ebbing and flowing with the currents of the Anduin.

Faramir and Éowyn had left to Minas Tirith to meet the Drúedain envoy and participate in the talks that would ensue. The Elves did not participate directly in such dealings, the dealings of Men, the Second People. Their time on these lands was coming to an end, but the Eldar continued to delight in the rebuilding of green things, before sailing West to the Undying Lands on the Straight Road.

Elueth, one of the folk who came from Eryn Lasgalen to Ithilien listened to the melancholy melody. She was one of the Old Folk, who awoke at Cuiviénen and began the Great Journey, only to end her journey and settle in Greenwood where she dwelt through the Ages. The coming of the Sindar, of Oropher and Celeborn, had brought great change, but none greater than the changes imposed by darkness. It was during these times that Elueth became Elueth, maiden of the Blue Water of Awakening, when Thranduil Oropherion in time of great sorrow sought her to become caretaker of his only child. It was a Silvan tradition to take on a new name when undertaking an unforeseen and new path. The old name, not discarded, becomes a part of times past, to be remembered in family oaths taken and used only by those closest and dearest. The Silvan proclaimed her new name, or epessë (after-name) in old woodland rites during the somber first anniversary of the death of Thranduil’s wife (1). It was decided then that Elueth, Maiden Mother of the King’s son, should be known as such, a title, a name she wished had not come to her, but it had.

Elueth had simply been a mother whose daughter received the joy of a son, the King’s son, a strong son whose little fingers grasped his mother’s and his daernaneth’s fingers with the strength of the storied bow people of the Wood. Her daughter’s joy, the bliss of new motherhood was cut tragically short when in the year 2463, following the end of the Watchful Peace, an evil shadow waylaid the young mother and son, exacting a terrible price upon the King’s family. The choice—her life or her son’s and she grasped the babe to her chest, placing a tender kiss on his forehead, and letting her tears bathe the child’s head. All her hope, all her strength, and all her love were given to the boy on that fateful day. Understanding the choice, she placed her precious bundle on a bed of niphredil and elanors in bloom, white and golden blossoms like the moon and stars of night and the sun of day. As she stood the Black Breath ripped out her last breaths and her golden skin turned pale. Though the Shadow had taken her life, it could not take her beauty that in the paleness of death was likened to the petal of a niphredil.

The folk of Lake-Town oft heard the story of the King’s wife, taken by Shadow. It was said, amongst mortal men, that the Elven Queen, if such can be said of a Silvan elleth, put all her magic into her tears, and as she cried, the tears that fell to the earth turned into flowers, enchanted blossoms that caressed and held the babe on their delicate petals. That the Silvan Queen could stand up to Shadow and indeed choose was tribute to the strange fey and queer magic of those strange Elves. That she could protect her child from this evil was altogether unheard of! But deep down in their hearts, women folk understood this Sacrifice, understood the bond between mother and child as something more into the realm of Faith. Soon after the Elven maiden’s death, word soon reached the folk of Lake-Town that one of the Iarwain, Oldest, mother of the tragic Silvan elleth was now Queen mother, or as the Silvan called her Elueth, mother of all, Maiden of the Blue Water of Awakening.

Legolas was singing of Tol Eressëa and the elanor that there bloomed. Elueth did not interrupt his song. He was singing a soothing song, calling on his magic flower, on his mother’s faith, and he was singing of his longing of the sea, of the Undying Lands beyond. Beyond in the Halls of Mandos, his mother was waiting to return to her kin, to her son, on the western shores of Aman, waiting, biding her time as Vairë wove the tapestry of her son’s life into Being. But Legolas, Elueth understood, was bound by love to Middle Earth, if only for a brief moment more.

Legolas opened his eyes as he finished the last refrain of his melody. He felt his daernana Elu watching him, and her presence brought warmth to him. The corners of his mouth turned up into a slight smile. He gazed into the West, his eyes taking on that strange look that only Elves get, when seeing beyond things Mortals can. “Nana Elu,” Legolas called to his grandmother, “I can see the elanor that blossoms on Eressëa and beyond them I see the tower of Avallónë.”

“Yes ion nín (my son), and beyond the Lonely Isle are the western shores of the Blessed Realm. It gives you great comfort that she is there, does it not?”

“Yes,” Legolas answered, his eyes intense and bright, as if giving him sight to the lands Beyond where his beloved mother waited in the Halls of Mandos, “it does.”

“Like your Adar,” Elueth responded, adding, “as it does for me my dear little lass (leaf).” Elueth came to stand next to Legolas, taking in the beauty that unfolded in the trees, flowers, birds and creatures that seemed to shake, quiver, and scurry, vying for the Elves’ attention. “Let us move with the Airelinde (holy song).”

The two faced West, with eyes closed, stilling their mind, and slowing their breath to the rhythm of the earth, deep and constant. Their bodies moved in unison, flowing beautifully from position to position, moving slowly, powerfully in ways strange to the bodies of Men. Their movement was music embodied, veneration of life, an ancient and sacred bodily text first discovered when the First Born, born into darkness, discovered the stars of Elbereth. The Airelinde, carried on by the Oldest, was a peculiar Silvan tradition that had somehow been lost in other Houses of the Eldar, only to be rediscovered and reintroduced by the merging of the Sindar and Silvan in the Second Age. Yet it remained that only the Oldest, the Iarwain could teach the Airelinde for they were there at its beginnings by the Water of Awakening.

Morning passed into day, and day gave way to the veil of uial, twilight. Elueth and Legolas had hours earlier stilled their bodies, and now they sat on the green earth in silent repose, gazing up towards the stars that appeared, the net of silver thrown up in the night skies.

“Nana Elu,” Legolas broke the silence, taking his grandmother’s hand in his.

“Yes Lass,”

“I could not have come to Ithilien without you.”

Elueth did not answer. She simply squeezed her grandson’s hands and looked upon him with love and pride—not like the pride that drove the Kinslaying. It was a humble pride, the type of pride she felt when her daughter and Thranduil were betrothed amongst the beeches and oaks of Greenwood the Great, reborn Eryn Lasgalen. It seems that on that clear and moonlit night, all of Elves of Greenwood had come to share in the betrothal, the same clearing where Thranduil and Amarant had plighted their love to each other, the same clearing where Amarant had lost her life and gifted the chance of life to Legolas. Amarant, earth-gift, a simple Silvan name full of faerie enchantment, she never wore elven slippers. She seemed to draw energy from the earth itself, like a tree sending roots deep down into the womb of Arda, her hair dark and wild from her joyful dancing under starlight.

“Oh Lass,” Elueth sighed, “It seems, even for one as old as myself, that many, many moons have passed since I last saw you dance,” she paused, her eyes sparkling with enthusiasm, “dance the way you used to, wild into the night, without a care in the world!”

Serendipity must have been listening in on the conversation, for at that moment, Elven drumming burst into the night, accompanied by a Silvan fiddle. Legolas’ eyes grew wide and his mouth opened, letting out an excited gasp. His Nana Elu’s magic was like that, loving and playful, old and wise. The weariness that weighed heavily on Legolas’ heart was lifted. Elueth sprung to her feet pulling her grandson with her. Both Elves ran to the merry-making and joined in the dancing that would last until minuial (morning twilight). There was much joy, and Legolas danced with his feet bare like his Nana Elu, like his naneth on those clear nights long ago. His hair, free of braids, hung long and loose, bouncing with the drums, and whipping around as he twirled and leapt to the joyful Silvan fiddle and drums. In the air Legolas could smell the delicate scent of niphredils and elanors. His magic was in full bloom.

[1] The concept of after-name is drawn from Unfinished Tales, p. 279.