Author’s Note:

Dedication

This chapter is for my best bud on Arda, The Karenator. She shares my love for Thranduil, and together we are creating a background for Legolas.

I appreciate her kind permission to use and reference her creations Daeron, Seregon, Aldamir, Erelas and the fierce warriors of the Fifteen, all of whom first appear in her as yet unpublished story of Legolas and Daeron. I can scarcely wait for the story’s appearance, Balrog Mama! Arda will never be the same after Daeron!

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Chapter 9 - Thranduil

Sam hummed to himself in contentment as he tended the garden in Gimli’s Aerie. Some of the very early roses had already begun their first tentative blooming, and the little rowan tree was no longer so little. At times, it seemed to the hobbit that it grew by at least an inch a day. Sam patted its sturdy young trunk with a gardener’s true appreciation. Legolas would be pleased when he finally saw his tree again. Gimli would say he was not, but Sam knew that there were very few things that truly made Gimli unhappy these days. Sam often heard the sturdy dwarf humming in his tuneless fashion as he built the new flower boxes he had promised the elf after losing his wager.

Sam wiped the sweat from his brow and smiled as he saw Arngrein and Ohtar approaching. He cheerfully waved at them. They must be off duty and have seen me and Gimli working.

The soldiers of Gondor and Ithilien had become fast friends with the dwarf and the hobbits since the night of what they now thought of as the healing.

"Gimli, well met! You are working more like two dwarves it seems. What is your rush, my friend?" Arngrein sat down gratefully on one of the stone benches in the Aerie. Drilling the raw recruits had been a trial. This new lot seemed each to be equipped with more than one left foot. Arngrein sometimes envied Ohtar. The elf had only elven horses under his charge and no complaints about their quality.

Still, they were a good-natured lot these new lads and smart, with none of the faults of some of the older ones in his company. It was good that the king had tightened the standards for recruiting. Arngrein looked with distaste towards the courtyard where he could see Dalthor lounging with some of his cronies.

"Aye, and if you are not careful, I shall be recruiting you both to help me as well. Haldir has told us that, if the weather stay this warm, he will allow Legolas to be brought here for a few hours early next week. Sam and I are intent on the place being ready so that his elven lordship can direct us in planting those flowers or whatever that lot is that Sam has been tending."

Sam started to bristle at hearing his carefully selected and nurtured plants described as "that lot" but then he laughed instead. Gimli wouldn’t know a rose from a weed if it bit him. No harm in that though. I’m sure I’d not know a vein of mithril from one of gold. Each to his own task as me Gaffer would say. Ohtar is at least noticing how fine they are.

The elf was indeed examining the rosemary and lavender and rose bushes with appreciation. The scent of the herbs especially made him remember the gardens of his homeland. The princes had brought plants from their mother’s gardens when they came with the settlers to the new colony. It was still cool enough to plant them, Ohtar noted to himself with approval, and the young plants were sturdy and green as they should be. Sam had held off planting in the hope that Legolas could be there to direct his efforts. Ohtar smiled to himself. He had grown to admire the stubborn hobbit optimism. Who else but a hobbit, he thought, would have dared to hope enough for Legolas’ recovery in the long winter months it had taken to grow these fine specimens? The rest of them had been too busy fearing the onset of the elf’s death.

As Ohtar bent over the herbs, the others saw the approach of a stealthy figure behind him but were silent as a long finger upon lips decreed. Nearer and nearer the figure silently crept to Ohtar and then suddenly pounced. The startled old warrior had his knife half out of its sheath as he wrestled with his assailant before he noticed the black hair and heard the laughter of his prince.

"Ohtar, you are officially dead at this moment! You grow careless, old warrior, if one you taught can bring you down so quickly." Gilúviel laughed wildly, and it occurred to Sam that he had never before even seen the prince really smile.

With a roar and a sudden show of the strength wrestling with horses for too many years had given, Ohtar threw the slender young prince off him, wrestled him to the ground and promptly sat on his stomach so forcefully that the air came out of the royal body with a rush and a gasp. He glared at Gilúviel ferociously as he pinned his shoulders down, but there was a glint of fondness in his eye.

"You were saying, my lord? Was it that I am officially dead? You have that decree in your father’s handwriting no doubt? The day I am weak enough for you to kill me, I shall have been in Mandos already two years!"

"Ai, Ohtar! You are still my better! I concede it willingly. I may be quieter, but I shall never be stronger. Let me up before you disgrace your prince even further before this honored company." The old warrior extended his hand to the prince and pulled him up from the ground. Laughingly, Gilúviel examined the damage to his royal person and dusted himself off. Ohtar did service to his liege by picking twigs of rosemary from the black hair. Roughly, he cuffed Gilúviel’s shoulder.

"Not too bad for a young whelp, little princeling. You will make a warrior yet. How is your brother?" Ohtar again cuffed his sovereign, his one sign of affection and taken as such by the prince.

"He ate two bowls of soup today, a little chicken and three pieces of bread, and I did not even have to plead with him to do so. As I left, Radagast was approaching him with pudding. I wish that wizard luck! Legolas does not like pudding or any sweet things." He laughed at the thought of the battle of two stubborn wills that would now be raging. Radagast was of the firm opinion that puddings would nourish and fatten his young elf more quickly. Legolas did not share this opinion.

"He is gaining weight at last?" Ohtar began brushing newly found dust from the back of the prince’s tunic. It suddenly reminded him of a day when he had done this for three elflings in trouble. Gilúviel and Legolas and their cousin Daeron had been about to enter the study of the very angry Thranduil to try and explain just why a certain horse they had been expressly forbidden to ride had been found two miles from the palace by a party of scouts, and in a very poor and lathered condition.

Ohtar smiled at the memory of those young and terrified elflings of so long ago. Thranduil had done well in the raising of all the elflings under his stern but loving care. All of them made the old warrior proud, even that cousin of theirs!

"Ai, Ohtar! He complains to me that at the rate we are stuffing him he shall soon be the first ever fat elf and a disgrace to the House of Oropher. He pleads that I consider Arod’s poor back, but I stand firm as you taught me and insist on one more mouthful each time he speaks."

Gilúviel’s dark eyes shone with happiness. "This morning as I helped him dress, I almost could not see the bones of his ribs. Soon, his tunics will no longer hang on him!" Gilúviel and Ohtar both knew that this was perhaps an exaggeration, but it felt good to be able to say something so wild and know eventually it would be true. In his long months of nursing him, Gilúviel had grown to hate the very sight of the sharp bones of his brother’s spine and his ribs visible beneath too little flesh.

Suddenly grave and respectful, Gilúviel bowed deeply to Sam. "Your lady wife, Master Gamgee, is a cook such as I have never known. So easily can she tempt my brother’s fragile appetite that I, and all the Woodland Realm, shall forever be in her debt. May her days on Arda be blessed!"

Save us! I wish elves wouldn’t bow to me. I never know how I should respond, and I want to be proper and not disgrace Rosie before them. . Sam bobbed his head awkwardly and hoped that was sufficient. From the prince’s smile, it seemed to be.

Gilúviel was still smiling as he lightly clambered up to the throne of Princess Elanor and lifted his face to the warm sun that shone upon it. Thus they had named the highest platform of the Aerie and the stone bench upon it where Orophin and his small hobbit lady best liked to sit. There was the best view of what lay to the south. The prince shook back his black hair and stretched his long arms and fingers up to Anar. Today, it felt good to be alive and part of Ilúvatar’s song. Later, he thought he would take Fuin out to run across the land of Gondor. He would ask Rúmil to join him upon Arod. Both horses needed exercise badly. Content with this thought, the prince let his eyes gaze out upon the land that Elessar ruled.

Contentment faded quickly from Gilúviel’s face. In the distance that only the eyes of an elf could have seen, the prince beheld the dust and horses of a large host riding. Elven horses and elven riders. An army of them. The warriors of Thranduil and the king before them. Gilúviel saw his father’s blond hair stream out behind him as he rode. Aragorn’s day of reckoning had come.

*****

Aragorn felt there were better days in his long life than this one. Warily he adjusted the tunic and robes into which Arwen had rushed him as Rúmil sped to them with news of Thranduil’s approach. These grand robes would never suit his simple tastes, but Arwen had said the great king would expect no less and take affront if met by a king in a worn leather tunic. Aragorn sighed. It was going to be a very long day.

Well, if I do not feel so kingly at this moment, my lady looks every inch a queen. Never have I seen her so beautiful or so. . .elven.

Arwen sat beside him in the throne room, and he saw that she had dressed herself in a gown brought from Imladris. There was nothing human about that gown, and it draped over her in ways that stirred memories in Aragorn of their younger days in Lórien. He looked more closely at her and noted that on her head was not the crown of Gondor. Instead, she had placed there the circlet of Imladris, an emblem of her rank in that elven realm.

Ai, that one is Elrond’s daughter! Thranduil shall be reminded that here is the daughter of a mighty elven lord and the grand-daughter of another, his equal in rank and honor. The grandchild of his most loyal allies and friends. There is much that I can learn from this woman I so love! She will ever be more skilled in the intricate steps of the dance of courtly politics. Aragorn, you were indeed a fool to argue with her that you did not wish to wear these dreadful robes. These clothes may be itching me, but at least I look like a king fit to sit beside this elven queen.

About Arwen’s throat, was clasped a delicate necklace of mellyrn leaves made of mithril and gold and entwined with small stones of adamant. She had told him once that the necklace was the work of Celebrimbor and a gift from Galadriel to her grand-daughter at her wedding to the king of Gondor. There was some power in that necklace that Aragorn did not understand, something that the great smith had somehow wrought into its delicacy. He did understand that the leaves would remind Thranduil of Celeborn and their long friendship and alliances. Aragorn returned the smile Arwen gave him and laughed as she winked at him. With her help, he would get through this.

What is it in Thranduil that the mere mention of his name can reduce so many to anxiety and even fear? I have not even met him and my stomach is in knots as if I were some novice Ranger and totally green. The affair of Gollum’s imprisonment was not one in which he chose to be involved directly, leaving it to his eldest son and Gandalf to arrange. I saw him but once on that trip, riding out from his palace with a contingent of his warriors. All I can remember is a lot of blond hair and a very large elf. A lot of good that does me in planning strategies to calm him down! Even his own son looks anxious.

It was true. Aragorn looked at Gilúviel as he stood not far from him. There was worry in the dark eyes of the prince. Aragorn knew both brothers loved their father beyond measure, but Legolas had once told him that Thranduil could be unpredictable even to his family. He kept all about him unawares. Thus, he survived.

Thank Eru that Gilúviel had the sense to send a rider at once to meet the approaching army! At least, Thranduil will arrive knowing that Legolas is now recovering and this the prince told him would lessen his father’s rage.

Aragorn had received the strong impression from all the elves that an angry Thranduil was something to be avoided at all costs.

Aragorn looked again at the brother of Legolas. The elf prince had never looked more royal, even on the day he had ridden to Minas Tirith at the head of his own army. Tall and slender, he was dressed in a soft green tunic embroidered at its throat and cuffs with mithril emblems of the House of Oropher. Around his shoulders was a cape of velvet, so dark green that it was almost black unless the light hit it just so. The cape was fastened with a heavily jeweled clasp and on his head he wore one of the almost twin crowns of the youngest sons of Thranduil.

Aragorn saw the red stones glinting like priceless berries amid the leaves of mithril and gold. At the funeral for Theoden, Aragorn had once seen Legolas wear such a crown, but with blue stones among his golden hair instead of the red that now glittered among the black braids of Gilúviel.

That crown had somehow changed Legolas that day from their companion of old into a strange and regal creature, an elf prince of the Woodland Realm and skilled in all the courtesies and rituals of court. Even Gimli had been struck by the change and his ever-present teasing of the elf had grown quiet as he had seen other elves incline their heads or bow to the son of Thranduil. Thus did the red crown now work upon Gilúviel. He was no longer the quiet elf tending the needs of his brother. He stood tall and unmoving and fierce as he awaited his father. He was a prince and a dangerous one. Aragorn was suddenly glad that he could still count him as a friend. He would be too dangerous an enemy.

Orophin and Rúmil had worked with feverish haste to braid the prince’s long black hair into a pattern such as Aragorn had never seen, nothing like the simple warrior braids that the prince normally favored. Arwen had said it was what Thranduil required of his sons at the most formal court appearances. She herself had helped the prince return the favor with the silver hair of the Galadhrim.

Aragorn had groaned a bit inwardly as he watched their skilled fingers swiftly work, and he had thought of all the formalities that he himself must now learn to endure. He had wondered at Legolas’ laughing words of sympathy at his own coronation, but now he began to understand them. He promised himself some long serious talks with the two elven brothers. They could teach him much he needed to know. That is, if he survived their father.

For the first time since his wedding, Aragorn saw the Galadhrim in court dress. No simple uniforms were these. Soft grey blue tunics with darker blue capes made the silver hair of Rúmil and Orophin almost white to Elessar’s eyes. The gold of the circlets they wore stood out sharply against their braided hair. It was easy to forget that these three brothers had become as wards and sons to Celeborn and were under that great Lord’s protection as both father and king. Haldir alone still wore a uniform of sorts. He had retained the red cloak of a healer, pinned with the brooch of his Lady. The oldest of the three brothers stood slightly before his younger siblings and right behind the prince. Orophin towered above and behind both of them, and Aragorn suspected the elf was wishing he were shorter and more inconspicuous. Behind these three, stood Ohtar and a quickly assembled honor guard of elves.

Elessar glanced to his left and was grateful yet again to Arngrein and his captain. His own guard did him justice as Arwen had decreed when she thanked the sergeant for his quick thinking at the news of the king’s approach. Here were the finest soldiers of Gondor and only those most loyal to the king. All had been with Elessar at Cormallen and Pelennor, Arngreim had almost thrown Dalthor through the barrack window when the oaf had tried to insinuate himself into the select ranks he swiftly chose.

Aragorn looked again at his queen, and she nodded. He, in turn, nodded to Faramir. No less than the Steward of his kingdom would serve as the one who opened the doors to Thranduil.

*****

When Thranduil entered a room, he expected that what was necessary would have been done. He did not check on details in advance, but it was not good for any elf responsible if he noticed aught amiss. And, Thranduil’s eye was keen. He missed nothing. In his own realm, he was an absolute lord. In the lands of others, he was a king who could not safely be ignored. There was no arrogance about him, only power and ability. Thranduil had for centuries denied Sauron what he most desired. He knew his own powers, and he would use them.

He knew nothing of Denethor and would have cared even less had he been presented the facts. Only Faramir’s own bearing made the king take note of him at all. His mind registered that this was no servant who opened the door to him, and his nod was studiously neutral. He would determine Faramir’s place later, if it proved necessary to him. For now, he was merely one more for the woodland king to watch. Thranduil threw back the mane of golden hair that long had taunted the darkness of his realm and strode into the throne room of Gondor.

Eru! Seeing him on a horse at a distance did not prepare me. THAT is the tallest and broadest elf I have ever seen in my entire life. And, the most frightening. He even beats Glorfindel, and that I never thought to see. Ai, Elrond! Would that you were beside me with your counsel. Never have I missed your quiet strength and skill at court more than I do now. WHAT am I going to say to this one about what happened to Legolas in my country?

Before Aragorn had time to agonize further, he was astounded by the sight of Arwen jumping up from her throne as if a young girl seeing a favorite uncle. On light feet, she ran to Thranduil and held out her arms to him.

What is she doing? She told me how formal I must be, and now she is running at him like the merest elfling intent on a hug?

The room was long and Thranduil had time to consider the beautiful elf running towards him. To Aragorn’s amazement, he heard the great elf suddenly laugh. Arms were held out to Arwen, and she flew into them and was lifted from the ground and whirled in a circle.

"Elrond’s brat and now a queen! Ai, Arwen, you make me feel old! Can you really be a mother already and not just of a babe? ‘Tis not possible! I cannot be this old."

"You will never be old, dearest cousin! Never if you live to be older than time itself. You will always be the wondrous king of the Great Wood. Just look at this blond hair! I am jealous of your son even,and then I see you and feel as if I must crawl off and weep."

"Still the little flatterer, my Arwen! It is a charming trait in you even if I believe no word of what you tell me and never have. How beautiful you are! Is this human you have married still to your liking and does he treat you well? What was his name again?"

"Aragorn! Stop teasing me, you wretch! You are as bad as your sons! He is all that I would have him be, my lord, and he treats me better than ever I have deserved. Come, you must meet him. Long has he heard of Thranduil and never met him, even on that one trip where you let him into Mirkwood. Was that not rude of you, my lord Thranduil?" She laughed and hugged him again. "Come quickly and meet my husband!"

"Soft, child! Two duties call me first for here is my son come unto me, and I have not yet greeted him." Still keeping an arm around Arwen, Thranduil turned to acknowledge the approach of Gilúviel. The dark elf sank gracefully to both knees before his father and bent his head to his king, his right hand over his heart.

"My lord and my liege, long have I desired thy presence. I greet thee and earnestly wish that thy stay be a long one. I have missed thee, my father."

Releasing Arwen, the king walked to his son. Strong hands raised Gilúviel from his knees and stronger arms pulled him close. No king embraced Gilúviel. Instead, he was again safe in his father’s arms and breathing the scent of the Great Wood that permeated the tall warrior’s body. Neither spoke for long moments as Thranduil cherished his son against him and buried his face in the soft black hair so different from his own. In his heart, Thranduil thanked Ilúvatar that two sons were still his. His fear had been beyond measure for so many long weeks, and he had wept at the glad news that Gilúviel’s rider had brought to him as he approached Gondor. Softly and hidden in the neck of Gilúviel, Thranduil kissed his son many times and again wept a few tears of relief and joy. Gilúviel felt his father wipe these signs of weakness against his dark hair and tightened his own arms around Thranduil’s waist. He was no longer alone protecting Legolas. Adar was here. All would be well.

"My love, ever have I been patient and attended until you spoke. You will forgive this poor elven mother if she now demands her turn?"

Thranduil saw the face of his son transfixed at the few words just spoken, and suddenly the king roared with the laughter that had been so long lost in him.

"Ai, Lalaith! What will you do to your poor husband! Son, here is your mother. Pray put in a good word with her for your poor frightened father." Thranduil’s whole being seemed to embrace his wife although he made no move to touch her.

A shadowy figure who had stood heavily cloaked near the door, she now dropped the hood of her cloak to reveal a creature of such radiance that Aragorn almost gasped aloud. He saw Faramir step back with awe on his face. The Steward knew little of elves,and this one’s beauty almost frightened him.

She was taller than most elven women and straight as a reed. Slender and graceful was she and clad in soft green that was almost grey. About her shoulders and to her waist flowed hair of the softest rose-colored blonde. Her face was as nothing on Arda, and her eyes were of a blue so deep that Anar might well be lost in the color and forget the sky. Aragorn was not sure he could speak before her and was again grateful to Arwen who ran to her and was embraced warmly but briefly. Lalaith had eyes for none but her son.

"Naneth? You have journeyed so far from home?" The dark elf’s voice trembled with longing to be held by this creature. It took all Gilúviel’s control and training to bow to his mother and stay still.

"For my sons, there is no distance great enough to deter me." She pulled Gilúviel close against her heart and let him know that she was again there to keep him safe. "Legolas? You have truly kept him for us, my child?" Her white hands stroked the dark hair of her quiet one.

"He lives and will grow strong again, Naneth. Not by my skill but that of Haldir and Radagast. Never must we forget what they have done for us."

Lalaith’s beautiful eyes shut, and she clung to her son. The child she had loved into her own being was telling her that the child she had carried in her womb and bore would live. Never would she forget the joy of this moment. "I must be taken to him at once."

"Soon, my lady wife! Let us not forget duty in our joy. Arwen would bring us to this one she has married. We need to greet him e’er we go to our son."

Thranduil extended his arm to the tall elven woman. Every inch his queen, she took it and with regal grace walked towards the throne of Gondor. Aragorn stood at her approach and when she dropped in graceful curtsey, he found his voice at last.

"My lady queen Lalaith, I bid you welcome to Gondor. No formalities more shall I subject upon you. Let me personally escort you both to your son."

Thranduil inclined his head to Aragorn’s wishes, but, as ever, his was the last word, however silent it might be. His eyes sought those of his own warrior Ohtar and nodded that he should follow. Ohtar was of the Fifteen, and his king was now before him. Ohtar, the keeper of elven horses in Gondor, was again what he had been for centuries, a personal guard of Thranduil and protector of his children. He followed his king and asked no leave of Elessar to do so.

*****

Legolas was sleeping when they entered. He spent much of each day in sleep, for he was still weak and thin and tired easily. He was allowed to walk briefly now if he leaned on a protective arm, but he tired after one turn about the room. Often, Haldir still had to carry him back to the bed. Yet, he grew stronger daily and that was enough for his healers. After Thranduil’s departure from the throne room, Haldir had gone off to tend the elves in the barracks and treat the myriad small injuries that could occur in any day. Thus, it was Radagast who kept watch by the prince’s bedside.

"Ah, my dears! I am so glad that you have finally arrived. Such a long journey, but it ends well." The wizard beamed at the king and queen of Mirkwood as they approached. Lalaith bent to kiss the wizard’s cheek and gasped as she first caught sight of her son’s face.

"How thin he is! What has been done to my child? Thranduil, behold our son!" The king moved forward and put his arm around her waist. His face darkened in anger as he looked down at Legolas. Lalaith’s own blue eyes were flashing dangerously. Radagast laughed at the roused cats ready to defend their young.

"Now, do not be alarmed either of you! He is looking quite well all things considered. It will be a long and slow process, dears. Forget all that nonsense about swift elven healing. Not this time! But, we still have him,and that is what counts in the end. Thranduil, brighten your face and put that anger back in your pocket. Lalaith, your kitten is safe,and your fur need not ruffle. Legolas’ first sight of you two shall not be of storm clouds!" Radagast shook his head at the king in exasperation at the famous temper of Thranduil and the velvet ice of his queen.

Did he just reprimand Thranduil and Lalaith both? Radagast, I bow to you. Gandalf was quite right that only a fool would underestimate you.

Aragorn watched the elven king closely. For a moment, he thought there would be an explosion, and then he saw Lalaith softly touch the king’s arm and draw in her claws. The huge and powerful elf looked at his slender wife and seemed lost in thought.

Then, Thranduil laughed and also shook his head, his golden mane flying. "Still no respect do I ever get from you, friend Radagast! Yet, your words bring me comfort as always." He turned and grasped the old hands firmly in his own. "I long to hold my son in my arms and let him wake there. Will it hurt him if I do so?"

"Precisely the medicine that I would prescribe for him! Haldir has had this couch brought here so that you and Lalaith may sit together and hold your son."

With that, Lalaith gently drew back the cover from her sleeping son and helped her husband get his arms beneath him. Thranduil straightened with his loved burden and carried Legolas to the couch. It hurt his heart that the weight he carried seemed so slight. The king was so gentle that Legolas stirred only briefly in his sleep. Lalaith followed with warm woolen throws and covered their son against the chill of the air. Then, she sat close beside her husband, stroking the thin legs he placed across her lap and covering them as well against the cold. She kept her beautiful hands constantly on Legolas, as if she feared to lose him if she let go.

Thranduil touched the face of his sleeping son and murmured words of gentleness so low that none save Lalaith could hear them. She smiled at her husband and leaned against him. Gilúviel came then to sit beside his mother and make their family complete. He leaned over and kissed her cheek. There were no words necessary among them all. They would watch together over Legolas.

Almost as if sensing the eyes upon him, Legolas began to awaken. He did this slowly of late because of his weakness, and it was a moment before his blue eyes could focus on the two faces looking at him with such tender anxiety. Confusion filled his face for a moment.

"Ada? Am I dreaming? You and Naneth are here?" Thranduil bent and kissed his son full on the lips, and Legolas felt his mother’s gentle hands tighten softly upon his legs. Suddenly, a smile of complete and total happiness brightened his face and brought tears to his parents’ eyes. "You are real," breathed Legolas in awe.

"We are real, my son. It has been a long journey, but we are here, and we will keep you safe. Sleep again, little one. We will be here when you awake. I promise. Sleep and grow strong." Thranduil spoke softly and kissed his son’s cheek. He smiled as Legolas’ thin fingers reached and touched his own cheek and traced its angles, as if seeking reassurance that Thranduil was no dream. Thranduil caught the fingertips in his teeth with mock ferocity as they traced his lips, a game that had always made his young children laugh. Legolas remembered as well and smiled as he snuggled against his father’s chest. Here he was safe.

Lalaith began to sing then to her son, a simple lullabye from those times long ago when she carried him as a baby in her arms. Lulled by the sound of his past, Legolas’ eyes grew heavy again and he slept, his fingers twined in the golden hair of Thranduil.

*****

Pippin was in love. Completely and totally in love. He gazed at Lalaith in complete worship as she laughingly inspected the Aerie with Sam and Gimli as her guides. He could not wait until her attention again turned upon him.

"That is fine stonework, Master Gimli! My son speaks truly of your skill. Pray tell me of this stone, for its color is exquisite, and I confess I envy King Elessar to have such beauty here in his courtyard." Lalaith inclined her head to Gimli as if he were the only creature in all of Arda who could command her attention. Legolas smiled as he saw his friend sink beneath the waves of his mother’s charm. He did not blame Gimli. He had seen none survive upon whom Lalaith had focused her charms. And, it was no act on her part.

She would be genuinely interested in the stone and, years later, would recognize it again and tell you of what the dwarf had said about it. Legolas had a strong feeling that Gimli would find himself consulted when he finally visited the Great Wood. Lalaith’s gardens were her joy, and his stonework would suit them. This made Legolas’ heart very happy, and he smiled down at Pippin, sitting on the ground near his own couch. The day was good. The first that his healers had allowed him to lie here in the sunshine with the breezes touching his body. Legolas felt a wholeness that had long been missing as the sun and gentle breezed caressed him.

The same effect did Lalaith weave with the hobbits. With Sam, she discussed gardens and sought his advice. She promised he would have whatever he wished of the plants in her own gardens and Legolas knew she would remember her promise. She queried Merry and Pippin all about the Shire and their experiences in the late war. Each felt that to him alone did she listen and told her things known only to themselves. Lalaith had smiled and told them they were brave and worthy of honor. For the first time, they had really believed that simple fact.

When she promised Pippin that she would one day visit the Shire and bring Thranduil, his mouth had dropped and he had stared until Merry punched him. Legolas promised himself that he and Mîr would be with their parents on that visit. He knew Lalaith never promised what she did not give, and he longed to see his father confronted with Hobbiton and Hobbiton with the King of the Woodland Realm.

With Rosie, the friendship was of two mothers. Their heads would be close together as they compared notes on the trouble that elflings and hobbit lads and lasses could be. Lalaith was teaching Rosie to embroider and had gifted her with thread of silk and mithril. Legolas suspected that as they stitched they also discussed husbands, but they were careful to let no one else hear. Sam and Thranduil remained blissful in their ignorance.

So absorbed had all become in their afternoon’s outing, that none noticed the approach of an intruder. The courtyard had been cleared of humans and even Thranduil had thought it safe for his son to be there with only Ohtar and Arngrein to guard him and granted Legolas’ pleas that he be allowed to enjoy his friends without a fence of elven guards. Thranduil would never make that mistake again in Gondor.

Legolas watched as his mother again approached his bedside. She was smiling at him, and then he saw her suddenly freeze. Ohtar and Lalaith at the same time saw the intruder weave drunkenly towards Legolas, filthy hands extended to seize and hurt the prince. With a low growl, Ohtar launched himself towards Dalthor, and Arngrein followed him.

He was too far away. He would never reach the prince before those hands defiled him or sought some other greater evil. Ohtar knew fear as he had never before known it. He was about to fail his king. He watched Legolas raise his weakened arms in a trained reaction to ward off danger. It provided that brief moment that was necessary to save his life.

Suddenly, the sky that had been sunny darkened, and the winds began to blow. Pippin and Merry looked at Lalaith and drew back in fright.

The gentle elven woman was no more. In her place, a creature of light and power seemed to grow before their eyes. Lalaith lifted her hand and pointed it at Dalthor, speaking words in a language none but Legolas and Ohtar could understand. She spoke in Silvan, and the elements that were bound to the wood-elves swiftly obeyed her.

The wind grew greater and encircled the man in its whirlwinds and from the sky suddenly came flying a great number of hawks and falcons. The fierce birds flew at Dalthor and tore at his flesh and sought his eyes. Lalaith moved swiftly towards her son’s side and continued to murmur softly. She placed herself between Legolas and his attacker and held the Gondorian soldier with her eyes. Thunder rolled suddenly in the cloudless sky, and Dalthor fell to his knees in abject fear. Ohtar grabbed him and pulled him away from Legolas, siezing the wicked knife from his grasp. He and Arngrein were not gentle with their captive.

Lalaith spoke again and the wind calmed and the thunder ceased at once. She bowed to the still circling birds of prey, and they suddenly took wing for the heights of the sky.

"You are unhurt, my son?" Softly, she kissed him, and he lay back against his pillows, exhausted by his own fighting effort that had bought his mother the time she needed. It had been many years since he had seen his mother as others who had called down her wrath. He remembered the whispered tales he had heard growing up. He sometimes forgot her power because he bathed only in the light of her love. He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it.

"I am well, Naneth. Thank you. Ever do you keep all of the wood-elves safe." She smiled at him and picked up her embroidery. Serenely, she watched Arngrein dragging Dalthor to a place she expected he would not find too comfortable. Lalaith smiled and began to stitch