Creation Song of Ilúvatar

Chapter 17: Apologies

“Arwen and Laurenor,” Aní cried out in disbelief. “This is a story I did not know of. I have a new found respect for Laurenor, but what amuses me most, is how you, dearest uncle, have managed to be such a nymph since the days of your birth. I am beginning to understand why my Naneth finds her muindor tithen to be so infuriating.”

Legolas chuckled at his nephew’s accusation, “Indeed Aní, I have always enjoyed causing your mother and uncle much consternation.”

Lotórie giggled in her accustomed manner and added, “Oh Uncle, you were such a little goblin! And those games that Uncle Laurenor played, they sound so exciting. Can I join too?”

Legolas eyes widened with his niece’s question, and he quickly answered her innocent question, “Lotórie, do not worry, those games are quite a bore. I believe that you will not find them interesting until you are much, much older.”

Aní added with a hint of sarcasm, “Trust me little one, they are quite a bore.”

The two adult elves glanced at one another, hoping that their words dissuaded little elven minds from their curious query, and smiling mischievously, added in unison, “Such a *bore*.”

“Then I certainly do not want to play such boring games,” Lotórie sighed. “I would rather play with a babe such as you were.”

Legolas picked up his niece and enclosed her in a tight hug, whispering in her ear, “There will be a day when the Shadow is defeated, and we can bring forth new lives into this world, but that day is not yet here. I swear to you, loth nín, that by my life, you will have such a world.”

Lotórie wrapped her little arms tightly around Legolas’ neck, burying her face in his chest. Although an elfling, Lotórie was intimately aware of the Shadow that grayed their world.

***

Legolas and company bid farewell to Cloudrunner, and made their way through the enchanted gates. The trio walked into the royal family’s private dining hall, and found Laurenor in deep conversation with Thranduil. They were discussing the report that Legolas had provided them earlier that morn.

Lotórie ran to her father and grandfather, wedging herself between them, and planted a big kiss on her father’s cheek, “Ada, I heard about how you lost Uncle Legolas when he was but an elfling, and I heard about the games you used to play!”

Laurenor glanced menacingly at his younger brother as his cheeks blushed with mention of a treasured memory, “So Legolas told you about how he enjoyed getting me into trouble with our Adar?”

Lotórie turned and planted a kiss on Thranduil’s cheek, “Yes Ada, and he told Aní and I about our Daernana. I wish I could have met her, she was so loving.”

Thranduil picked up his granddaughter and seated her on his lap, “Yes she was loth nín , and she most certainly would have wanted to meet you.” Thranduil playfully tapped Lotórie’s nose with his forefinger, triggering giggles from his granddaughter.

Thranduil then looked at Laurenor, “Your Adar, my little flower, along with your Uncle Legolas, have managed to get themselves into so much mischief that I have lost count.”

Legolas retorted playfully, “And thanks to us, Ada, you have been assured a life of pleasant and entertaining spectacles, no doubt.”

Thranduil nodded his head, acknowledging his youngest son’s observation.

Laurenor chimed in, “Which is why you love us so much, and which brings me back to the task I must laboriously set us back to. My little one, will you go find your Nana, she was waiting for you to take you to your archery lessons.

“Ai, I had forgotten,” the efling shouted, and as easily as she had wedged herself between father and grandfather, she sprinted out of the room to ready herself for her archery lessons.

***

“I feel the heaviness of the Shadow. I expect that the increased orc activity along our southern borders is no coincidence. The weight I feel in my heart when I find myself contemplating the south is more oppressive as of late,” Thranduil spoke seriously.

“The spider activity has also grown in such proportions, that it has taken days for patrols to clear out the elven paths from the foul creatures,” Laurenor informed the King.

“Legolas, if your report is any indication of what awaits us, then I fear for the safety of our Kingdom. We must act precisely and efficiently, and waste no effort. Laurenor, I want you to oversee the patrol reports here on out. I will advise all patrol captains to report directly to you. I know this is burdensome, but I need you to be aware everything that is reported back,” Thranduil instructed.

“What of Rainiel, my lord,” Legolas queried, “will she be heading a patrol soon?” Legolas hoped his father’s answer would be in the negative, but the warrior and tactician in Legolas knew otherwise.

“I am afraid not Legolas,” Thranduil replied, his voice betraying his worry. “I need her organizing skills. Under her watch , the elf paths around Mirkwood will remain usable.”

Legolas felt Aní tense. Rainiel had resumed her warrior duties long ago, but she had always remained close to Thranduil, serving as his most trusted council. For this reason she never ventured far out or away for extended periods of time, but the increased presence of foulness forced a reluctant Thranduil to call on his daughter’s abilities, and also as daughter of the king, her duty. Indeed, being part of the royal family in Mirkwood was a privilege but its demands were high, and in unsafe times, protecting the kingdom and its elves was first and foremost.

Thranduil was reminded all too keenly of the burden of ruling on this day. He had before him his two sons, strong and disciplined warriors, and his grandson, not exempt from the rigors and callings of royalty in this kingdom. And they all did what was expected, without complaints, selflessly.

What pained Thranduil the most was seeing his granddaughter begin her training in the arts of war, the arts of defense, but this was what was required, what was demanded, for an elf growing up in such times.

Whilst he had his children and grandchildren around him, though, Thranduil would relish in it, immerse himself in the love of his family, and not allow them to forget their own joys, to be diminished by the evil that encroached upon them.

Thranduil stood to embrace his grandson, whose face spoke volumes concerning his worries, “Do not worry my son, your Naneth, is a most capable and disciplined warrior. She will be a driving task master, and I am thankful for that.”

Aní smiled, if anyone knew Rainiel’s drive for discipline and order it was him.

Legolas laughed, adding, “Aní, do not forget that I too suffered under Rainiel’s structured discipline. Mirkwood will be all the safer for it.”

Laurenor came over to his nephew and ruffled his hair with his hand, “If you want we can assign you to one of the units that will be under her direct supervision?”

“No, that is not necessary,” Aní replied rather quickly, causing the others to laugh heartily.

“Oh yes, Legolas and Aníralendon, do not forget to visit our guest. I do believe the both of you should apologize for startling her. You two are also to serve as her escort to dinner tonight,” Thranduil spoke in a tone that did little to hide the mirth in his voice.

Aní asked, “She is joining us this evening?”

Thranduil answered smugly, “Why of course, all of Mirkwood will be present for the banquet this eve.”

“Not another banquet Adar,” Legolas whined, “I would like to simply repose alone this evening.”

Thranduil smiled at his dejected son and shrugged his shoulders, ending the conversation and any other complaints concerning the banquet, “I will now go hold court, as I am already late in starting. Good day.” Thranduil parted from the dining hall, and made his way towards the great hall, to see to the days needs.

Aní yelled after his Daeradar, “How can we apologize to her when we do not speak her tongue.”

Thranduil’s fading voice could be heard down the hall, “You will figure something out.”

***

The two elves approached the healing rooms, with the intent of visiting the stranger and apologizing for startling her. They silently approached the room, and paused outside the door, considering what would be the most appropriate course of action.

“We should ask one of the healers to announce us to the woman,” Legolas suggested.

“Yes, it would not bode well for us if we startled her again,” Aní agreed.

Legolas asked one of the healers if he could announce them the maiden. The healer obliged, and entered the room quietly, without knocking. Inside, the elves heard muffled voices, but could not make out what was being said.

“Do you think that the he speaks her language enough to be able to communicate with her,” Aní asked.

“Let us hope so,” Legolas answered, “if he does not then what was the point of asking him to announce us to her.”

The healer exited the room and gestured for them enter, but before they did he cautioned them not to be so boisterous.

Legolas stuck his head in the door and glanced around the room, until he spotted the strange woman, sitting on a chair in front of a mirror, brushing her hair out.

“Uh-hmm,” Legolas cleared his throat, “Can we enter your room, Hiril nîn ?”

Lenmana looked up from where she sat and smiled timidly at the blonde head that peaked around her door, cautiously gesturing him to enter. As the golden haired elf let himself in, he was followed by what seemed to be his constant companion.

Aní smiled sheepishly, and both elves bowed, greeting Lenmana in the formal elven way. The elves exchanged looks with one another, and turned to look at the woman, fixing their faces into the most dazzling smiles possible.

Lenmana thought to herself, *These two are tricksters, like coyote who spilled the stars out into the sky!*

The two elves quieted and turned their attention to the woman, realizing that the look of amusement on her face was somehow caused by them.

Aní whispered to Legolas, “Say something to her.”

“No you say something,” Legolas whispered harshly in return.

“No you,” Aní retorted.

“She does not understand us anyway nor can we understand her. What is the harm in speaking to a maiden who cannot understand us,” Legolas pressed his nephew.

“Ai if only we had as much luck with all the maidens we encounter,” Aní replied playfully.

The two elves snickered rather self assuredly. They then turned their attention back to the strange woman.

Aní continued, “She looks nothing like the mortals we have come across, maybe she is Haradrim.”

“No, Mithrandir explained that she was from a very distant place, and assured me that she had no real connections to middle earth,” Legolas added quite obviously annoyed by Aní’s questions.

“How is that,” Aní asked, pretending to be unawares of how much he was annoying Legolas.

Legolas snorted, “If I knew that then I would be a wizard. As that is obviously not what I am, I will refrain from answering your silly questions. I have explained this to you many times, as did Mithrandir himself. I am beginning to believe that you are assaulting me with silly questions just to perturb me.”

Lenmana looked upon the bantering elves with timid amusement. It was clear that they did not believe she could understand them, and their sarcasm towards each other pleased her, as did their self assured personalities.

As she listened to their incessant reproaches towards each other, Lenmana could not help notice the strange beauty of these leaf people. Each possessed a quality that rendered them startling. One had long golden hair, while the other possessed light brown locks, which were touched by hints of gold. They resembled one another greatly, but the golden haired elf stood taller and broader than his slimmer companion. The tall elf’s eyes were a strange blue, whilst the brown haired elf’s eyes were a deep brown, much like her own eyes, Lenmana mused.

The two elves did not notice the eyes closely scrutinizing them as they were too caught up in exchanges of wit.

Lenmana found it somewhat confusing that these elves, which were more alike in paleness to qochata , wore their hair long, with braids, much like the many first nations that dwelt in the lands she was born unto. But that is where the resemblances ended. There was a quality about the leaf people, in both their physique and their spirit that made them strange, not of the world she knew. She felt frustrated as she was sure she had come to some understanding of their origins, of their stories, but was not able to wrap her conscious thoughts around where this knowledge was stored. What she did know for sure, is that this place she found herself in was not home.

After much debate, Aní turned to the woman and spoke slowly, “Suilad .”

Lenmana did not reply. She stared blankly at Aní, not intending to deceive them further, but the lilt of his voice was intriguing and at once disconcerting. Even if she had wanted to communicate with them, she found her voice unwilling to respond. A sense of familiarity struck her as Aní directed his simple greeting towards her, but Lenmana was at loss to place it.

Legolas decided that other means of communication were needed, and he cautiously approached the woman, pausing every so often to let her know that he approached her in good will. As he reached her, Legolas slowly lifted his hand to his heart, and slightly bowed his head to the woman.

Lenmana responded by bowing her head slightly, never taking her startled eyes from the elf in front of her.

Legolas then reached down to pick up her hand, and finding no resistance picked it up and kissed it gently.

Through this all, Lenmana was rendered inarticulate, voiceless. Similarly her legs felt they had turned to stone, and the only feelings she could concentrate on was the light brushing of his lips on her forehand.

Legolas then took Lenmana’s hand and laid it gently in Aní’s hand, who was now standing next to them. Aní in turn too her hand and swept a gentle kiss on the maiden’s hand. He then carefully placed her hand by her side and released the hand that felt as if it burned from touching fire.

The two elves then smiled at the awe stricken woman, and announced that they were leaving her company through slight gesturing. Finally the elves departed from Lenmana’s small room, which was really more like an alcove separated from a larger room in the healing quarters.

For how long Lenmana stood transfixed in the middle of the room, clenching the hand that burnt with the feathery kisses of her visitors, she did not know. It was not until Lotórie entered the room that Lenmana was shaken out of the spell that had been laid on her. Lotórie had knocked several times, each knock consistently louder, but no one responded, so she let herself in and found a woman looking lost in a standing dream.

“Lenmana,” Lotórie called out, “Lenmana, it is I, Lotórie.”

The sound of the small elf child’s voice brought the flute maiden back to her room, and she smiled at the familiar sight. “Hello, little leaf child.”

Lotórie took Lenmana by the hand in a familiar manner, speaking excitedly about what awaited them, “Lenmana, there will be a feast tonight, and you are to join us!”

“Yes, Írima let me know earlier today, but I am not sure about this,” Lenmana replied, distress obvious in her tone.

Lotórie answered, with the confidence typical in children, “Oh do not worry, you will be seated next to me, if that is of comfort to you. It will be grand. From what you have told me, I believe that tonight’s feast will be a feast for your eyes as well.”

“Anything for you leaf child.”

The two busily prepared for the evening’s feast, and soon enough, Lenmana was caught up in Lotórie’s contagious excitement.