Disclaimer: All Tolkien's. None mine. Well…if you want to be exact, the parts you recognise are his. As for the parts you don't, it's a pretty safe bet that they're mine :)
Dreams and Memory
Marriage, save for rare ill chances or strange fates, was the natural course of life of all the Eldar.
Laws and Customs among the Eldar, Morgoth's Ring, J.R.R. Tolkien
Almost before Annúmír had left, a doubtful expression firmly in place, to convey Legolas' permission, Glînwë bounded into the room in an excess of energy and enthusiasm.
"Legolas! How can this be? The master of woodcraft, the undefeated archer-are they true, these rumours that you were near-bested by a mere spider?" he began gleefully.
"Yes, neth ellon," Legolas answered with mock-condescending patience. He knew very well that this teasing was the younger Elf's favourite method of repaying Legolas for all his lectures and rebukes and, also aware that a show of irritation was the best reward Glînwë would ask for, had long ago determined to withhold from him the satisfaction.
"Ú-maenú!" a clear soprano voice chided. "You should not tease Legolas so, after he has fought and been injured for the sake of one of his companions!"
Legolas glanced up in surprise at the slender, grey-clad elleth who stood behind her brother, for, otherwise occupied as he had been, he had not been aware of Lothiel's presence in the healers' rooms, nor had he realised that an accurate report of the day's activities would spread so rapidly.
But I ought to have guessed, he thought wryly. Not even Imladris can rival the Woodland Realm in the speed of palace gossip.
Lothiel stepped past Glînwë, who had remained uncharacteristically silent at her rebuke, and placed a tray on the table by Legolas' stool.
"Broth, my lady," she explained, handing the cup to Eluial with a deferential nod before adding for Doronil's benefit, "There is nothing that should disturb the work of the herbs-there is no other reason why he should not eat a little, is there?"
Legolas had paused with the steaming cup at his lips until the healer confirmed he was allowed food, but his attention was suddenly diverted from the delicious liquid to Glînwë, whose words were unusually, incredibly harsh.
"Very solicitous of his well-being, are you not, Lothiel?"
His sister turned sharply but said only, "I am a healer, muindor. This is my job, and I am glad to do it," she added, smiling affectionately at Legolas.
"Are you now going to devote all your time and attention to Legolas, then-or would Thalion not approve of such a course?" Glînwë returned with sudden sardonic bitterness.
Lothiel's oval face turned suddenly pale and all expression dropped from her features. Her tone was mild but her words carried a quiet intensity as she warned, "Not now, Glînwë."
"Why not?" he replied sharply. "I have nothing of which to be ashamed-but perhaps you do!"
"Glînwë!" Doronil exclaimed, shocked and horrified by the usually devoted Elf's treatment of his sister, but the two combatants ignored him.
"I do not, as you should well know," Lothiel flashed back, "but this is neither the time nor the place to speak of your personal problems!"
"Why not?" the other repeated. "These are our friends, almost family-why should they not hear?"
"Because it is not a family concern!" Lothiel said, her voice hard. "It is not your concern, Glînwë-do you understand?"
Something indefinable flared in Glînwë's eyes and he made an abruptly curtailed movement, fists clenching reflexively. Legolas and Eluial, who had until now held themselves aloof from the dispute between the siblings, decided simultaneously that the time had come for external intervention.
"Glînwë, daro! Daro si!" Legolas commanded, his tone promising awful consequences for one who disobeyed; while his mother, not handicapped as he was by a broken rib and a cup of hot liquid, made a dash and caught Lothiel by the arm, pulling her away and ending the battle of locked eyes and wills.
Glînwë had fallen back at Legolas' order and seemed to desire a hasty departure, but after that display he could not be allowed simply to disappear.
"Go to my office, Glînwë. Do not think I will consent to let this pass unacknowledged. I do not know how much longer I will be here, but you must wait until I come."
Seeing the younger Elf hesitate, he waved his uninjured hand impatiently, an imperious gesture that reminded his mother suddenly and incongruously of Turgon, the Noldorin king of Gondolin and an Elf of whom she had not thought in months.
Realising that he was currently faced with an angry prince rather than a friend, Glînwë bowed formally and retreated. As the outer door swung to behind him, Lothiel let out a shuddering sigh and buried her face suddenly in Eluial's silk-gowned shoulder.
"Hush, my darling," the queen soothed, stroking the long plait of dark hair. "It is alright-we will see that things are put right."
Meeting her son's gaze over the top of the distraught girl's head, she motioned with her eyes towards the door and made a gesture of apology, to which he smiled understanding. The two women left, doubtless to retreat to Lothiel's rooms, where Eluial would proceed to extract the entire history of the quarrel and, in all probability, devise a plan for its solution.
Doronil looked at Legolas helplessly. "Broken heads I can manage. Broken relationships are something altogether different," he admitted.
Annúmír, who had wisely chosen to remain outside for the duration of the argument, now returned, glancing about him as though fearful that some injudicious word or deed could set the quarrel alight once more.
"It seems it may not have been such a good idea after all, allowing him in here," he suggested.
"Oh, I do not know: I imagine the argument was inevitable," Legolas answered thoughtfully as he rose slowly from the seat, testing the combined efficacy of the medicines and the regenerative power of his own hröa.
"I feel wonderful," he proclaimed, glancing hopefully at Annúmír and Doronil.
"I am glad to hear it," his foster brother replied, unperturbed, "for you shall need all your strength to mediate between those two...and that is the only battle in which you will be involving yourself!"
Defeated once again in his attempt for freedom, Legolas decided to abandon the now-cooling soup in favour of the bath that two servants were in the process of filling.
"Master Doronil!" a worried voice called from outside. "Master Doronil, come quickly! You are needed in the north wing!"
Moving with practised speed, the healer gathered his paraphernalia within seconds and walked swiftly to the door, flanked by his nephew and a slender elleth, both of whom were almost fully trained in the healing arts.
"Look after young Legolas," Doronil called over his shoulder to Annúmír, "and see that he does not over-exert himself!" His last words were accompanied by a fixed stare at the prince that was half warning and half amusement, for he had learned over the centuries that such remonstrances were all too likely to be in vain.
After the healer's departure, Annúmír pulled across the curtain that covered the doorway to the small chamber, allowing Legolas privacy to undress and step into the bath, which was currently sending up clouds of steam and smelled most inviting. Pouring soapy water over his filthy hair and running his fingers through it to loosen the dirt, Legolas thought over the unexpected fight between the two siblings.
"If having one's own Elflings is like this, I must once again question why anyone does it," he called.
Unseen, Annúmír raised an eyebrow.
"Considering the unholy young terror you were, I do not think you are really in a position to bemoan the peccadilloes of your juniors!"
"Oh, but our plots and adventures were just that-we rarely fought among ourselves and generally came home at night uninjured. There is a difference between our mischief and this...we have not experienced this particular problem, I think, so I suppose his grievance-"
What Legolas' theory was, Annúmír was not to know, for at this point his brother broke off with a sudden yelp that was followed by much splashing. Pushing aside the curtain, Annúmír surveyed the scene with detached amusement. Legolas' good arm was flailing wildly, rubbing his face to the accompaniment of a stream of muffled curses, apparently aimed at soap, water, Annúmír, Doronil, spiders, plumbers and himself, though not necessarily in that order.
"Soap in your eye? Now who is the Elfling?"
The only answer was a wave of warm water, directed with surprising accuracy at Annúmír's face. Spluttering, he left Legolas to his own devices and dripped away to beg a towel from a very bemused attendant.
Returning to Legolas' small bathing room, he discovered the younger Elf happily catching up handfuls of frothing bubbles and blowing them away again, all the while humming snatches of song. It was a phenomenon common in his family, he had long ago informed Annúmír.
"Put anyone with even the remotest kinship to Elu in a bathing pool," Legolas had remarked cheerfully, "and at once we forget all our concerns and responsibilities. Ada, I think, is the worst, but even the gravest members become light-hearted; I once heard Cousin Elrond singing rude Quenya songs in his bathing room at Imladris, and Uncle Celeborn started up from across the hall in Sindarin...it was quite amusing to hear them compete with one another and the splashing, and to watch Aunt Galadriel and Cousin Celebrían laugh. I think it must be something about warm water and scented soap that affects our brains," he had concluded thoughtfully.
"All I can taste is lavender," Annúmír complained. Legolas glanced up, gleefully unrepentant.
"You needed your mouth washed out after insulting the name of Thranduilion," he said with a grin, balancing the sponge on one finger.
"Thankfully for all concerned, I am now a lot cleaner and do not smell nearly as bad, but the sling is soaking and I think my hair is a lost cause," he added, gazing down ruefully at the tangled mess that hung over one shoulder. "It was already blown about, and the blood seems to have matted it inextricably: they'd better just cut it off, I think!"
"I remember the last time you induced me to do that, and I have no desire to repeat the experience...but I do not think we need resort to such drastic measures: you have been trying to untangle it with only one hand, but I shall help you."
Legolas eyed him suspiciously. "You'll pull it," he accused. "I swore never to let you touch it again."
Annúmír shrugged lightly as he answered dismissively, "Very well, but I warn you that you shall cause quite a sensation when you appear at your father's table with a bird's nest instead of hair."
Grumbling and reluctant, Legolas finally acquiesced, though not without several attempts to see exactly what his brother was doing that merely led to him causing himself more pain. Annúmír was silent for several moments as he worked, but at last he spoke.
"Do you not think that you take too much responsibility for Glînwë-and Lothiel, if it comes to that?"
Legolas looked around in surprise. "Why, I-do you think so?"
"It is not for me to say, gwador nín."
Again for some time there was quietness as Legolas gazed at the curtain in deep reflection.
"When their parents left, they were still so young-I promised to look after them as my own kin, Annúmír, and I have tried, always..."
"I know that well," the other said gently. "But they are neither of them children any longer: even you acknowledge him to be a fully trained soldier of the realm, despite the episode with the deer, while Lothiel's skill as a healer is becoming as renowned as her beauty."
"Yes...but they were entrusted to me-almost the last thing he ever said to me was 'Care for my children' and I have always feared to disappoint him, to betray the trust he placed in me. I suppose I have tried to hold onto them, to keep them within the sphere of my protection for even longer than I would have done with a child of my own."
"Oh, I do not know," Annúmír teased, though his eyes were grave at the thought of their absent friend. "The wildest children make the most cautious parents, after all: I look forward to the day you become a father...that should be an occasion to behold!"
"Annabyn may very well learn to fly before that happens!" Legolas retorted, before glancing about urgently as the sound of a voice in the outer chamber drew his attention back to his most immediate difficulties.
"Quickly, Annúmír-have you finished?"
"Yes; I must just rinse it down," he replied, briefly contemplating whether or not to douse Legolas with the bowlful of cold water he held, but in the end taking pity on the injured Elf and instead handing him one of the towels the servants had left outside to air.
"Now, make haste," Legolas said, wrapping himself in the thick material and squeezing rivulets of water from his hair before stepping from the tub and pulling the plug to release the swirling, dirty water. "See whether you cannot find another sling, for it will be hours until this one dries, and then we can be off."
Annúmír stared at his brother in shocked amusement.
"Have I misheard or do you intend, on the strength of only one draught of herbs, to walk the entire distance from here to you own chambers clad only in that towel?"
"Unless you can find a spare bathrobe or tunic lying around, yes," Legolas returned irritably. "Doronil may return at any moment, and we must be away. I will not be subjected to any further ministrations, do you hear me?"
"Yes, certainly," Annúmír replied dryly. "I imagine everyone from here to the Great Hall did, too."
Not bothering to dignify that opinion with an answer, Legolas rearranged his towels more securely and headed for the door with a rapidity that would have surprised anyone who had not accompanied him through several previous "convalescences". Annúmír, who had done so, strolled after him with an air of one who anticipates future excitement.
By the time he had passed through the-fortunately empty-antechamber, Legolas was already a dozen paces down a hall that branched left, heading deeper into the palace.
"Legolas!" he called, hurrying to catch up. "You are going in the wrong direction!"
Without bothering to look behind him, the blonde Elf replied, "No, I'm not-that part is far too busy and trying to get anywhere by the main halls without horrifying half a dozen courtiers and a score of ellyth would be about as easy as carrying off the treasure of Erebor without waking the Dragon, and I'm not trying either. Yet."
They had reached a junction where three corridors met and Legolas, after glancing warily down each, limped off along the right-hand one. After a moment or two Annúmír ventured a query.
"You do know that you are leaving a blatantly obvious trail of drips behind you?"
Turning, Legolas observed with dismay that Annúmír was speaking the truth, but after a moment an idea came to him and, moving as quickly as he could towards a large stone urn, squeezed out the treacherous water from his hair before grinning impishly at his brother, who merely remarked,
"Of course, Doronil and your mother will be well aware of your escape as soon as they return and will quite soon find you."
"Oh, yes," Legolas replied cheerfully, "but I doubt whether they will force me back to the infirmary if I can prove that I am well, I am dressed and I am busy with very important matters. Besides, if I keep moving I might be able to avoid them until dinner."
Annúmír sighed. Skilled tactician Legolas may be, but this is certainly not one of his better planned manoeuvres, he thought wryly. Perhaps the analgesics are affecting his mind. As he did, Legolas was disturbed by the sound of low conversation approaching from the opposite direction. Before Annúmír could say "Mind your ribs!" Legolas had slipped into the most convenient place of concealment-a statue of his Vanyarin great-grandmother, as it happened. Annúmír, well versed in diversionary tactics, halted in front of the niche where Legolas hid and pretended to re-adjust a vambrace until the two attendants had passed. Each nodded deferentially at him, but neither seemed to notice his more furtive companion. In the murmur of their conversation Annúmír thought he discerned the name Mithrandir and the word east. Although dismissing the conversation as mere court gossip, he filed the overheard words for future reference.
A moment later Legolas emerged, smiling delightedly. "Daernaneth never lets us down," he commented, affectionately patting the statue of the lady whom he had never met.
Five minutes and eight changes of direction later Annúmír, who had never been overly enamoured of the stone halls, was hopelessly lost. Since three of the corridors they had followed had been impromptu choices on the part of Legolas in order to avoid encountering two wandering waiting-ladies and a pair of men re-hanging tapestries, he was also beginning to doubt whether Legolas was any more in command of the situation than he. What concerned him more, however, was the fact that Legolas' breath had quickened and he supported his arm as though his side pained him. Seeming determined to repay Annúmír for his behaviour in the Forest, he refused to hear of a rest-and as for giving up and sending for a litter so he could be carried to his chambers, that was out of the question.
"You have no idea where we are, do you?" Annúmír asked conversationally as they turned into a narrow passage that bore a modern fresco of the destruction of Dale.
"Of course I do. Despite the obvious disadvantages of navigating within stone rather than among the trees, I have had two thousand years to become acquainted with this place-you ought to have done likewise," he said, rather severely. "Then again," he added thoughtfully but still cheerfully despite his obvious discomfort, "many of my more recent explorations occurred while seeking for Glînwë after he had escaped his tutors..."
There was light ahead-green-filtered daylight, Annúmír realised with some surprise. After a moment they came out into one of the palace's broad, glass roofed atria but Legolas hurried through it with barely a pause to feel the sun on his face.
"Another left...turn through this arch and...glance down this hall, if you please, Annúmír, and tell me whether there is anyone nearby."
The elder Elf did so and stifled an exclamation of astonishment, for Legolas' apparently pathless wanderings had led them to a corridor that emerged almost directly opposite a door he recognised as that of Legolas' chambers. The prince smiled triumphantly and limped across the hall, calmly pushed open the carved door and sank with a sigh onto the tapestried couch that stood just inside.
"You see? I knew exactly where we were going," he remarked, before a strict habit of truthfulness prompted him to add, "Well, most of the time, anyway, and any servants or apprentices who may be searching for us will probably have come and gone by now."
He glanced around the room with keen eyes that took in every detail.
Yes-someone has certainly entered since last I was here...
Someone...
Annúmír suddenly laughed and Legolas turned to stare at him, unsure what had provoked this sudden mirth.
"Perhaps it is merely my sense of humour, gwador nín, but does it not strike you as somewhat ridiculous that you are preparing to cope with young Glînwë's misdemeanours while you are yourself a fugitive from authority?"
"Not authority. Doronil." Legolas corrected, but something unidentifiable pulled at the corner of his lips.
Rising once more he moved to the corner of the room and began rummaging through drawers full of leggings, undershirts and tunics, but Annúmír had other ideas. Throwing open the broad wardrobe doors, he surveyed the tailor's paradise within: dozens of shirts of linen and silk, trousers in a score of different shades, and robes: rows of robes of silk and velvet and fine wool from the east; robes adorned with delicate embroidery, with jewels and with threads of gold and silver; robes of azure and crimson and soft green; robes wonderfully patterned and woven and lined with contrasting shades.
"You have so many beautiful clothes, Legolas, and you rarely ever wear most of them...it's such a waste!" he teased. "You never know who might suddenly arrive from Imladris, after all."
Legolas' grey eyes narrowed. He folded his arms and managed, despite his less-than-dignified attire, to look more than usually intimidating.
"Do you remember the story Father sometimes tells, about Fingon and the amazing robes? I shall have a replica sewn for your next begetting day gift so that you, at least, can impress anyone of more flamboyant taste in dress! Fingon was Noldorin and a king to boot, and allegedly managed to avoid appearing ridiculous-I shall be interested to see if you can do likewise, particularly since I never truly believed that part of the tale."
Annúmír grinned. "I shall look forward to them," he replied before returning to his delving through his brother's clothes. "Go and sit down, now, and I will find you something fitting for a prince."
Complying, Legolas curled himself in a corner of the couch and began absently running a towel through his still-damp hair.
As long as it isn't the purple...thing...Glorfindel brought...
He began manipulating his injured arm, pleased with the resulting mobility. Now that he was at rest once more the pain had almost disappeared: there was no denying that Doronil's remedies were effective, if often unpleasant.
His mind drifted back to earlier in the day, to the expedition that had so nearly proved fatal for Culedhel-and for himself, if truth be told. It was not the nearness of death that troubled him, for there had been many occasions as he progressed through the ranks of the army of Greenwood when he had been so close to the halls of Mandos as to be able almost to touch their gates. It was the manner of the incident...
Something has upset the balance of the Forest, disturbed the trees, made the spiders yet more cunning, affected even ourselves. If this is some new, subtle assault from Dol Guldur...
Legolas suppressed a shudder at the name of that place, for as son of the king he was all too aware of what it was that lurked in the south of their forest, poisoning the memory of his grandfather's home. For two thousand years they had fought the encroaching Shadow, for half that time they had feared the truth and yet it was a mere nine decades since that meeting when Mithrandir had stood with a face like grey stone and told them what it was he had discovered in his nightmare journey into the stronghold of evil, when he had confirmed the inevitable.
It was a hopeless war, of course, full of dear-bought victories and decisive defeats: who could hope to vanquish the lieutenant of Morgoth when his power had been allowed to grow for centuries, apparently unchecked save for the small arrows of the Elves, which could kill spiders and orcs but made little impact on the malice that directed them.
And my father wears no Ring...
Annúmír turned, arms full of deep blue silk, and surprised a strangely vulnerable expression in Legolas' eyes.
"What is it that troubles you?" he asked gently.
"My mother may speak of hope unlooked-for, but unless some chance comes that I cannot foresee, we are lost," Legolas replied quietly. And soon, he added silently, resting his chin on his knees.
There could be no false comfort in denial, Annúmír knew.
"Yes," he answered simply as he carefully draped the robe and ivory undershirt over the back of a chair. "But after all, few can foresee their fate until it is reached."
Behind a concealing curtain of golden hair, Legolas smiled briefly, but when he spoke it was more to himself than his brother.
"We are few, and the Dúnedain are fewer...if not we, who then can save Middle-earth?"
To that there could be no answer.
With a sudden effort Legolas cast aside his dark mood and walked across the room to survey the clothes Annúmír had selected. On recognising the simple, long sleeved robe his face took on a distinct expression of relief, and Annúmír guessed he had been anticipating the arrival of one of the more elaborate works of a seamstress's art with which his wardrobe was blessed.
Dressing Legolas required the combined efforts of both Elves, and there was some difficulty in removing the still-damp sling before the undershirt could be put on.
"It is ridiculous-they should be made waterproof!" Legolas growled.
"Evidently Doronil did not take into account your rather enthusiastic bathing habits: I shall have him notified," Annúmír replied, irony lacing his tone as he extended the undershirt. Legolas slipped into it, inhaling sharply as his left arm caught in the sleeve, and quickly fastened the buttons with his right hand.
When it came to donning the robe, however, the situation became more complicated and the lack of a second fully functioning arm more important. It was only after Legolas had given vent to several silk-muffled imprecations and exclamations of pain that his tousled head appeared once more through a sea of material.
"I think you tried to put my head through the armhole on purpose," he complained as Annúmír helped to settle the sleeves. He, however, was experiencing a momentary panic resulting from the belief that they had put the accursed garment on back to front, and was not in a position to reply.
Five minutes later their struggles had produced a fully clad Legolas, complete with shoes and a fresh sling, but his hair remained loose.
"I don't think I could reach the back of my head with this arm, and I am not confident of my one-handed plaiting abilities," Legolas commented doubtfully to the hairbrush.
"If you promise not to try to escape like you did as a child, I will do it for you," Annúmír answered, catching the silver handle from his brother's hand. Sweeping the hair away from Legolas' forehead, he twisted it rapidly into a simple braid and bound it securely.
"There: a perfect example of a young lord or ambassador...definitely not a barely-alive captain who couldn't be recognised for filth! I do not believe even Doronil would consider you a candidate for a prolonged stay in the infirmary."
Even as Annúmír spoke there was a sharp knock upon the door, which immediately swung open to admit a whirl of golden hair and emerald robes that gradually resolved itself into the person of Thranduil.
"Legolas!" he exclaimed, concerned eyes running over his son's form. "What has happened? Are you injured?" His gaze had taken in Legolas' smile as well as the sling, and relief could be seen seeping through his previous fear as he placed a gentle hand on the younger Elf's shoulder.
"I heard about your battle just a few moments ago, for some fool of a councillor-whose identity I intend to discover-decided to refuse entry to anyone and everyone seeking speech with me, which included that soldier of yours."
"Thôntir?"
"Yes...I was leaving the chamber and met him in hot dispute with one of the doorwards. I went at once to the healers' rooms, to find that you, your mother and Doronil had all disappeared, leaving a pair of very worried novices searching for you and wondering how on Middle-earth they were to explain themselves."
The king's face broke into a smile. "I guessed that you must have escaped, so I reassured the poor ellyth as to your probable condition and whereabouts and came to find you myself. Tell me truly, Legolas; are you well?"
"Yes, my lord-I received a scratch and a snapped rib for my folly, nothing more."
"But what happened?"
Legolas felt the weight of his father's gaze bent upon him, and raised his eyes to meet it unflinchingly.
"Culedhel and I allowed ourselves to get into some trouble with a pair of spiders from which I managed to extricate us."
"Metaphorically and, in Culedhel's case, literally," Annúmír murmured aside.
"Then the rumour that you were almost killed that is pervading the palace contains no truth?" Thranduil asked gravely, eyes burning into his son's.
Conscious of the small crowd of guards and courtiers that had gathered around the doorway, Legolas said only, "I will make my report this evening as always and you may judge for yourself as to the seriousness of the encounter."
Clearly dissatisfied by his son's reticence but for the moment acquiescent, the king took his leave of both Annúmír and Legolas, though leaving the latter in no doubt that further explanation would be required, and strode swiftly back towards the central halls of the palace with a bevy of attendants hurrying in his vibrant wake.
In the silence that followed Legolas spoke suddenly. "What time is it?" he asked, apparently apropos of nothing.
"It was four hours past noon when we left Doronil's chambers and that must be near an hour ago."
"Almost the eleventh hour? And you are still carrying your quiver and wearing your cloak—I'll wager you have neither eaten nor washed since the morning, either," Legolas exclaimed, dismayed.
Annúmír shrugged lightly. "I will do well enough: it wants only three hours until dinner."
"No," Legolas protested. "Go and change, and find something to eat...I shall manage Glînwë!"
"If you are certain," Annúmír answered with a smile, holding the door open for his brother. Together they walked the short distance to Legolas' study.
"Hannon le," the younger Elf called as his brother continued towards his own rooms, and Annúmír smiled briefly in acknowledgment.
Despite his confident words, Legolas felt uneasy as he faced the carven oak door. As he had begun to explain to Annúmír, he was already fairly certain he knew the general cause of the trouble between the siblings, but some important aspect of the situation still eluded him. Pushing open the door he entered the study and glanced around. It was a familiar room, beautifully furnished with simple elegance: desk and chairs carved by an artisan of Rivendell; cupboards lined with shelves stacked with books and scrolls; framed maps hanging from ceiling to floor, marked with cryptic annotations and ominous arrows. Metal work of Gondolin, Doriathrin tapestry and stones of Valinor ornamented the room in graceful accompaniment to more recent examples of the craft of the Wood Elves. Here, if nowhere else, past and present, Vanyarin, Noldorin and Lindarin heritage could remain in harmonious and beautiful reconciliation. Delicate Second Age engravings flanked the broad window, which opened onto the hill where velvet-smooth grass spread between the ancient, wide-spaced beeches and oaks that cast dappled shade over the gardens his mother loved. Birds sang sleepily in the afternoon sunshine that slanted hazily down between the smooth boles.
Standing by the window was Glînwë, head bowed and whole attitude speaking of an uncharacteristic dejection. Legolas felt a sudden wave of pity for the young Elf who had suddenly discovered an intruder who would change the mutual devotion that had hitherto bonded brother and sister so closely together.
But that does not justify his cruelty, Legolas told himself sternly before sympathy could completely replace his anger against the miserable Elf. All the same, his tone when he spoke was considerably gentler than Glînwë had anticipated.
"Come and sit down, Glînwë."
They seated themselves on opposite sides of the table but for some time neither spoke. Legolas glanced through a number of papers scattered across the table before impatiently gathering them together and picking up a puzzle that consisted of a score of wooden pieces, cleverly carved to fit in only one way to form a solid sphere and almost impossible to solve. After carefully setting each section together, Legolas discovered that the central bar was so notched as to prevent it slipping into the otherwise complete ball and, laughing at his own ineptitude, cast the toy away. Glînwë had been watching his friend's activities somewhat listlessly, but it was, as Legolas had expected, he who at last broke the silence.
"I am sorry you are injured, Legolas, and-I'm glad you were not killed," he said hastily.
"So am I," the other replied dryly. "Thank you...but I do not think you have waited so long to discuss my health."
A muscle in Glînwë's cheek flickered but he made no other sign as he answered quietly,
"It is as you wish, my lord."
Even as he spoke, Legolas came to a sudden, swift decision. What he was about to say should have been spoken long before and merely because Glînwë's actions had been wrong did not make Legolas' own right.
"Glînwë, whatever I may have intended when I sent you here, I cannot punish you for your words to Lothiel."
Glînwë looked up sharply, eyes registering bewilderment, and Legolas smiled briefly: he would have been equally confused, had he been faced by himself speaking thus.
"It was not a military offence, so I cannot reprimand you as your commanding officer. Nor am I your father," -again the grey eyes flickered with treacherous emotion- "and since you are both full grown in years I have little right to adjudicate in your disagreements."
For a moment he hesitated, still not quite believing what he had said, then carried on in a flow of words he had never meant to speak.
"I have known you since you were born, and considered myself accountable for your care for almost as long. It is...difficult...for me to realise that you are no longer a child, that you are now only my responsibility as Thalion or Culedhel or any of the others are: as an Elf, a soldier of my father's kingdom-and as a friend."
Again Legolas paused and Glînwë drew a deep breath but released it again without speaking. His gaze was fixed on the puzzle, which had rolled to within a few inches of his side of the desk. He seemed to Legolas' eyes to have grown suddenly more vulnerable, unsure of himself, and the older Elf felt a wave of sympathy and affection.
At last Glînwë spoke.
"Since I was a tiny ellon I have longed to be free of the care of others, to be my own master and responsible for myself...I gladly accepted orders from army officers, for the very fact that I was a soldier seemed to inarguably prove me an Elf grown. It was the other things that frustrated me," he admitted, looking up with sudden candour to meet Legolas' eyes. "Being told when to have a new tunic made, reminded not to drink too much..."
Legolas refrained from the obvious reply that such warnings had all too often been necessary, but his raised eyebrow betrayed his thoughts and Glînwë acknowledged it with a smile of his own, but there was a strangely wistful expression in his eyes. Legolas watched him keenly, reading his mood and guessing at the turmoil of spirit that provoked it.
"In my heart, however, I knew that all was done out of affection-and perhaps my subconscious mind is wiser than my conscious, for now that you have released me from all your advice and warnings, I feel strangely bereft," he concluded with a flash of that swift, lopsided smile of his.
That was not what I meant! Legolas thought, and stared at him for several seconds before impulsively springing from his chair and rounding the table-not without a muffled exclamation as he received a very tangible reminder of the wound whose existence he had almost forgotten-to stand above the young Elf.
Reaching down, he clasped him by the shoulders and answered emphatically, "No, Glînwë! That shall never be, not as long as I am alive in this world! Why, do you think that I do not consult my father often, or that Annúmír and I no longer advise one another? I am not—abandoning—you: any help you may desire I shall attempt to give to the best of my ability...and I do not think," he added wryly, "that I will find it easy to immediately cease giving the help you do not want, so have no fear!"
Glînwë laughed, and much of the shadow that had lain so unnaturally over his youthful face dispersed as though the mirth illuminated his features. Almost immediately, however, his eyes darkened and his lips silently formed the syllables of his sister's name.
"If you wish," Legolas said tentatively, lowering himself with uncharacteristic caution into an armed chair, "to tell me what has happened between you, I will listen—as a friend—and give you what advice and help I can...should you wish it."
"Yes," the young Elf replied unhappily, drawing his legs up beneath him with easy grace and wrapping his arms about them. "Yes, I do wish it, for I showed everyone in Doronil's rooms that I am incapable of treating my own sister in the way that I should, unable to care for her as I wish without alienating her," he said miserably, his face and voice full of bitter anguish that drew the sympathy from Legolas' heart. "I have offended her too deeply for any easy amends, and I think perhaps the situation has gone beyond even your ability to redirect."
"Very likely it has; judging by both your performances this afternoon the quarrel between you has been some time in the making," Legolas conceded, "but let us hope that it is not beyond my mother's."
He was greatly relieved by Glînwë's suddenly communicative and penitent attitude, for the young soldier, when experiencing one of his unusual bouts of temper, would fly into a high rage that generally faded before the daylight did. Glînwë would then act as merrily as ever and prove quite unable to understand his comrades' surprise. On this occasion, however, Legolas had feared that he might remain angry, refusing to accept his share of the blame, but his concern had evidently been unfounded. Glînwë's face showed only his sorrow for what he had said and done and, Legolas suspected, more deeply for the cause of his bitter outpouring, but he had cheered somewhat at the mention of the Queen, for every Elf in Middle-earth knew that Thranduil Oropherion had wed the best diplomatic genius to survive the destruction of the First Age.
Before Glînwë could begin his tale there came a soft knock at the door, which opened to admit one of the Elves who waited on the king's table, bearing a tray of wine and fruit and pastries.
"Hannon le. The lord Annúmír asked that this be brought?" Legolas asked.
"Yes, my lord—he ordered one tray be brought to his chambers and one to yours."
Bowing briefly, the Elf turned to go, but paused at the door. "I heard of your injury, my lord...I thank Elbereth for your recovery," he said simply, before noiselessly slipping through the door once more.
So Annúmír has tactfully decided not to appear, Legolas remarked to himself, choosing a rosy apple and slicing it with firm, swift strokes. Perhaps he is right...Glînwë seems to have been successfully diverted by the cakes, he noted with amusement, but I do not think it will be long before the pain in his heart surfaces once more.
Legolas remarked to himself, choosing a rosy apple and slicing it with firm, swift strokes. he noted with amusement,
That prediction proved to be correct, for within a mere matter of seconds Glînwë had cast away the plate of confections and returned to his previous position, watching with sombre eyes as Legolas finished the fruit, poured himself some wine and returned to his chair.
Gazing intently at the silver jug, Glînwë began softly to speak.
"Lothiel is the only blood-kin I have left alive East of the Sea. One by one we have lost almost everyone else whom we loved, and since she was an infant she has been the dearest thing in the world to me. And now—she wishes to marry Thalion."
He fell silent, fingers unconsciously pulling Legolas' puzzle to pieces.
"It is natural, a desire to wed," Legolas reminded him gently. Glînwë glanced up, eyes full of pain.
"I know that! Do you think it is mere selfishness that denies her my blessing? No doubt that is what she believes, too." He rose and walked restlessly to the open window, seeming to take comfort in the strength of the Song.
"Of course I will miss her, regret the loss of our special companionship—but I have always known that one day she would come to love another more than she does me; and that perhaps I, too, will eventually wish to marry also…ridiculous as it sounds." He smiled briefly, though the mirth did not reach his eyes, and returned to his chair.
"If you have a reason for opposing her choice, why do you not tell us?" Legolas asked, increasingly confused and concerned. He could not understand now Glînwë could dislike the idea of Thalion as a husband for his sister: they had always been friendly and the younger Elf respected Thalion as he did few others. Though the difference in age between Thalion and Lothiel was considerable, if it did not trouble them Legolas did not see why it should Glînwë…
"But that is just it!" Glînwë exclaimed. "If it was something in Thalion's character or situation to which I objected, I would have spoken of it to Lothiel as soon as I became aware of the mutual esteem growing between them."
His eyes dropped to the handful of wooden pieces on the table before him and he began to place them together with a distracted air. Legolas was growing more and more bewildered and uneasy, for Glînwë's distress and resistance of his sister's choice evidently sprang from a genuine source.
"Why do you not tell me how it began—when you first knew of their affection and what disturbed you so?"
Helpless though he felt, the soft tone of Legolas' musical voice seemed to soothe the other Elf's troubled spirit and he began more calmly,
"It was during laer, shortly after that last attack, that I first noticed the change in Lothiel. I did not understand until I saw her together with Thalion and recognised the look that passed between them."
Legolas knew the look of which he spoke, for he had witnessed it himself only a few nights before. Glînwë looked at him with pleading eyes. "I was content—I was happy for her, I swear it to you!"
It was impossible to deny that he was speaking the truth: Legolas had rarely seen him so earnest, so desperate to be believed.
"I thought that she would soon tell me of their wish to be wed, and the betrothal could be arranged: I was willing to stand in place of our father."
Again he paused and the room fell silent save for the drowsy murmurs of roosting birds. The evening sun spilled through the long windows, lighting every shining surface with a fiery glow.
"But when she did come to me, a few days later…I refused to give them my blessing." There was anguish in his face and Legolas had to prompt gently, "Why?" The words at last came tumbling from Glînwë's lips in eager haste.
"I was as sorry as she, I believe—it was torment to have to destroy my sister's joy and hope, but I had to—I had to!"
The love that exists between an Elven man and woman is something very strong, very powerful and yet delicate; something that is incomprehensible until experienced; something that comes but once and lasts a lifetime. Although he had not yet known it himself, Legolas had seen it too many times to believe that Glînwë would succeed in parting his sister form her lover, strive though he might.
The agitation in the young Elf's voice had risen and Legolas met his eyes, knowing that they had reached the crux of the conversation.
"Why?" he asked again, voice very quiet. The single syllable seemed suddenly to dispel Glînwë's panic and when he spoke again it was calmly, deliberately. To Legolas, it seemed as though he was attempting to distance himself from his own words.
"The night after I had seen them," he said slowly, "I dreamed."
At his words, Legolas felt a shiver run through his body and a chill of foreboding, so vivid was the memory, despite the passing years, that they called to mind. He could see her eyes, wide with fear, their beauty marred by horror; feel the icy fingertips grip his arm with immortal strength; smell the incongruous sweetness of lilac blossom; hear again her voice is his mind, high and desperate…"I dreamed!"
Glînwë's mother had seen what she believed to be the future, and driven half-mad by it she had fled, had run to escape that which was inevitable, had tried to hide from the Shadow that would cover all, had attempted to evade an evil that had relentlessly pursued their people since the Awakening. And now Glînwë, too, had seen…
"I cannot recall all that I saw as I dreamed, Legolas, but always it was Lothiel's face that rose before my eyes; she was wed to Thalion, but their marriage brought so much grief, so much anguish to her spirit!"
The young Elf's face was etched with pain, as though even the recollection of the dream caused him physical suffering.
"Cut off from those she loved, lost, alone, abandoned in a fading world because she was seeking for something she could never find, hunted always, carrying Death in her arms…"
Glînwë now was gripping the arm of his chair with white fingers and horror burned out of his darkened eyes.
"And I can not bear to see her thus!"
Drained and exhausted, he collapsed back into his chair and his eyes fell shut as he sought to calm mind and spirit. Legolas watched him silently for some time as the thoughts in his mind whirled and slowly settled. He understood Glînwë, of course, and found it difficult to know whether he could have reacted any differently, had a future of such appalling, unmitigated bleakness been prophesied for one whom he loved as dearly as Glînwë did his sister. It seemed incredible, too, that Glînwë could have carried such a burden of fear for so many days while appearing in his usual high spirits…but there are depths to everyone that cannot be understood, Legolas reflected.
"Have you told her of this?" he asked quietly. Glînwë's eyes flew open again and he sat up, shocked. "No! Of course not—how could I? I would rather she thought badly of me than of Thalion…and think badly of me she certainly does," he added wearily. "Last week—she asked again if I would not change my mind and when I refused, she told me that they needed not the blessing of a jealous brother. Though I had no right to, I grew angry that she chose to remain with him rather than listen to me; we exchanged words we should not have, and we did not speak from then until this afternoon."
Realisation dawned. "So when you asked her whether she had anything of which to be ashamed…" Glînwë groaned and dropped his face into his hands. "Yes. I was suggesting—oh, I do not know what, exactly…that she was planning to or had already married him without any ceremony—but I knew, of course, that she had not done that, at least…"
It is little wonder she was angered.
The realm of Elven foresight is an uncertain one at best, but one thing was clear to Legolas: of all the things Glînwë dreaded in his sister's life, one had already been realised—and it had been Glînwë's behaviour that caused it.
"Have you ever heard of a self-fulfilling prophesy?" Across the table, the dark head lifted slightly and two grey eyes peered out from the folds of Glînwë's green sleeves.
"No…" His tone was curious, interested, hopeful, and Legolas smiled.
"The first thing you told me of your dream was that Lothiel was alone, isolated from her family."
The eyes widened.
"She has had no contact with you—her family—for a week, so that part, at least, has come true."
Glînwë now sat up completely, radiating confusion. "But…I do not understand. She has not even married him yet! How—?"
Legolas turned and stared outside the window, where everything seemed so beautiful, so innocent, so free of the complications of life; but nothing is ever as it seems.
"Visions such as yours show what may be, but not necessarily what will be," Legolas continued, searching for words to explain what he did not truly comprehend. "I do not know why they are granted: maybe it would be better not to have them at all, for to change one's course on the strength of a vision of the future holds many risks." The Lady Galadriel, perhaps, knew more of foresight than any other on Middle-earth, but even her wisdom granted only possibilities, not certainties.
Glînwë frowned with concentration. "Then…if it is only by withholding my blessing from Lothiel that we are parted, will the rest of what I saw only come to pass through my attempts to prevent it?" He gazed at Legolas, face suffused with sudden hope. "If that is so, they may be married tonight, as far as I am concerned!" Unwilling to shatter Glînwë's expectations, Legolas replied slowly, "We do not know the purposes of the Valar is sending or allowing them, and until we do—" he shrugged lightly, and cast a wry smile at his companion "—in times such as these it is perhaps wiser to value practicality over philosophy, as far as foreknowledge is concerned."
"You mean, ignore it?" Glînwë exclaimed, surprised. Legolas grinned.
"All my Noldorin kin would doubtless disown me and lock me in a cupboard for an Age or two if they knew, but since they are almost all either dead or in Eressëa, I believe I have at least even odds that they shall never hear of my heresy. If another ambassador ever comes up from Lórien, never mention it, Glînwë!"
Glînwë, however, was too concerned to be distracted by Legolas' flippancy.
"But why, why then do they send us visions to torment us if we are to act as though they had never been?" he demanded, slamming pieces of the puzzle together with angry energy.
"Not being a Vala, I do not know. Ask them when you meet them," Legolas returned calmly.
"I do not think it is fair, or right!" Glînwë snapped. "Tell them that, too," Legolas retorted. "For the present, however, I suspect that you would put your time to better use in determining precisely what you are going to tell Lothiel and how you are going to repair your relationship."
Anger fading into thought, Glînwë gazed at the final handful of wooden shapes in his hand.
"I could tell her that she has my blessing?" he suggested.
"That would be a start."
"And that I'm very sorry, but it was only because I was worried about her?"
"Probably a good idea…you're not going to tell her, then?"
"No! I am going to do as you say and ignore it, for the moment. Perhaps it was only a nightmare, after all, and this has all been exaggerated and unnecessary paranoia on my part," he remarked hopefully.
Amazed anew by Glînwë's capacity for swift changes in temper, Legolas only nodded. Smiling, the younger Elf slotted the last pieces together to form a perfect sphere, which he placed triumphantly in the centre of the table. Catching up a handful of the untouched pastries, he walked to the door, step once more light.
"I am going to seek for Lothiel," he called back in explanation. "Thank you for helping me, Legolas."
The door closed softly behind him and Legolas remained in his chair, gazing across to where he had sat. Glînwë's final words were rather bemusing: what, after all, had he done, save for listening to his troubles? And whatever Glînwë's opinion of his dream might now be, Legolas knew that he would not so easily remove from his own mind the shadow that Glînwë's relation of what he had seen had cast there.
"Exiles be damned," he complained aloud. "Why cannot we all be Silvan like Glînwë?"
"I believe that is precisely the opinion expressed by some among your more notable ancestors," a dry voice answered. "But since it seemed only to get them into trouble, I would not advise you to take it up at this stage, after managing to remain tolerant and more-or-less well-balanced for so long."
"Annúmír!" Legolas exclaimed. His friend had exchanged his tunic for a set of crimson robes patterned with gold, and still held a cup of wine loosely between slim, pale fingers.
"I heard Glînwë go past my chamber, so I thought I would come along and see how you thought your meeting went," he explained.
"You heard him?" Legolas asked suspiciously.
"Singing. You uncle Galathil's composition, I believe it was."
The golden head dropped onto the table. "Not the very…inappropriate…one about ellyth, written while drunk?" His muffled voice contained clear overtones of despair.
"I'm afraid so," Annúmír replied, a faint grin pulling at the corners of his mouth.
Legolas lifted his head. Annúmír noted with amusement that his friend's forehead now bore a very well-defined imprint of the scalloped edge of his table.
"What language?" Legolas asked hollowly.
"Westron, mostly, although it seems that Glînwë's grasp of that tongue fails him where less…frequently used words are concerned."
Another faint moan escaped Legolas' lips. "I had hoped that perhaps his choice of language would protect the more innocent maids who have not left the Forest and speak only Sindarin, but no…they shall be serenaded with a song that is completely incomprehensible save for apparently random rude words."
His head sank again to the table.
"I gather things went quite well, from his point of view?" Annúmír inquired, settling into the chair opposite his foster brother. Legolas sighed and reached for a small tart, which he began to dissect.
"Apparently he wasn't really angry with Lothiel, just worried. It seems he had a dream or vision that showed her in all kinds of trouble following her marriage to Thalion."
Annúmír made a strangled kind of sound, and Legolas glanced up at him.
"Oh, yes, that's right; you didn't know. Going back a little, it would appear that our friend Thalion has been in love with young Lothiel for some time, and they have recently come to an understanding."
"And he told us nothing!"
"No…quite possibly a side-effect of the Glînwë situation, which followed quite rapidly. He refused her his blessing and both of them became more than a little upset."
"What did you do?" Annúmír asked, curious.
"Extricated the entire tale from him and told him that he had better ignore it. I did not, however, tell him that his mother experienced something similar, or that as far as most people—including myself, although not Glînwë, apparently— are concerned, the theory of ignoring a terrifying vision is much simpler than the practice. After a brief bout of anger against the Valar he left in high spirits to be reunited with his sister, half under the impression that his vision was nothing more or less than a nightmare brought on by filial jealousy. I said nothing, but Annúmír—" he looked up from the mess of apple and pastry, and his face was serious. "If you had seen his face when he described it…it was as though the things had already happened. He was desperate, frantic with worry and horror—and yet these past weeks he has seemed as cheerful as always. And when I told him to ignore it, he seemed to be able at once to block the entire episode from his mind, rather than have to muse on and battle with it! Two thousand years ago it would have been a result very gratifying to my pride…"
"Two hundred years ago, when he refused to do anything we told him, it would have been a result very gratifying to our sanity," Annúmír added.
"But now it is merely disturbing!"
Annúmír looked thoughtful. "What you said just now, about him being as cheerful as always: perhaps that is the clue."
Tilting his head on one side as he had always done when Annúmír was explaining some point of mathematics or military drill, Legolas suddenly and forcibly reminded his foster brother of their childhood.
"What I mean is that he lives in the same place, under the same conditions as the rest of us, overshadowed by the same Darkness and yet, as you say, he is always cheerful."
"Which brings us back to what I was saying when you arrived. Life would be so much easier if we were all Silvan by ancestry as well as by habitat…as it is, I have lived among people of Nandorin descent for the best part of three thousand years and still find it impossible to comprehend them. Of course," he added, glancing up at the row of painted silhouettes that hung along one wall, "neither do I understand the Sindar, the Noldor, the Vanyar, or any combinations thereof!"
"Including yourself," Annúmír pointed out, standing. "Perhaps you should abandon us all as mysteries incomprehensible to all save the One and come to the Great Hall for dinner."
Legolas grinned. "Perhaps you are right.
The part where I make lots of excuses, otherwise known as the author's notes:
I have a reason. I really, truly do. In fact, I have several. For starters, the fact that my computer spent a couple of months on the ocean wave and sitting in Rotterdam kinda led to posting difficulties, but admittedly I did get it back at the end of November. By then, however, I was part of the school musical, which involved lengthy rehearsals. After that there was Christmas, followed swiftly by a set of those nasty things they call A-levels: big, important, evilly difficult exams, to the uninitiated—and there's another set coming up frighteningly soon ) I have been writing sporadically, though-honestly. It's just that aborted emigration attempts don't seem to do anything for the muse, and she keeps going AWOL. Then there is the fact of Glînwë's repeated character, age and identity crises...at times I was about ready to hire Thorin to come up out of the cellars and take an axe to the blasted Elf, he caused so many re-writes, and he insists on these random mood-swings! They have nothing to do with me, and I certainly didn't want the vision-y angst…I've come to the conclusion that his behaviour can only be explained by schizophrenia, although whether it is Glînwë who suffers from it, or me, I'm not quite sure ;)
You may have noticed (or not!) that during this story, I refer to the Valar both as the Valar and as the Belain. While Legolas and Co. would, when speaking among themselves, consistently have used Belain, the Sindarin version, I have used Valar when writing in English, as there is no real, accurate equivalent. Belain is only used when I have written the actual Sindarin context, since most people are less familiar with this term and it generally requires translation.
I've spotted a few odd things that this site, in its wisdom, decided to do with the formatting of this chapter (including removing its own name—odd.) There are probably more (if you see them, please tell me!) and I can tell you now that when I typed this, I did not want all those paragraphs :) But I'm just too tired to fix it, and I'm going to get this up tonight if it's the last thing I do. Which it may well be.
Review Responses
Deana: Thanks so much! I'm glad you liked it and…sorry it's so late:)
Celeb and Tin: Yeah, okay, so hurting Elves can be fun ;) Oh, it was a compliment, completely! I love your reviews! Thank you for all your compliments. -Sends off a gift-wrapped Culedhel- See, the ribbons don't just look pretty, they stop him from squirming!
Sindarin Translations
Neth ellon: young male Elf
Ú-maenú: I believe I was trying to say something along the lines of "You idiot" but since it isn't a common phrase in Sindarin and my dictionary has gone absolutely bonkers and I currently have to pick the words out from a maze of coding, I can't verify the exact translation. Take it to mean something along those lines :)
Elleth: Elven maiden
Muindor: brother
Daro! Daro si: Stop! Stop now!
Hröa: bodily form
Gwador nín: my brother (With the sense of "brother by choice", rather than "brother by blood", as above
Annabyn: Elephants/mûmakil
Hannon le: Thank you
Laer: summer; season approximately corresponding (at least in the calendar of Imladris) with our 31st May to 10th August