Author's note:

This is a story of elven love, friendship and seeking harmony. The rating is T, and will be T till the very end. The story concentrates on the characters' feelings, thoughts and growing emotional intimacy. Nothing comes easily to them, but ultimately this is a true love story with a happy ending.

I try to honour Tolkien's idea of elven love, meaning that it is eternal and mutual and thus they can love only one person in their lifetime. I have, though, integrated some original ideas into the story. The most impactful alteration is the Bond of Love, which ties the souls of the elves together eternally and provides them with the gift of feeling the emotions of the other.

In the beginning of the story Legolas is a Marchwarden of Mirkwood. There will be explanations in the story as to why he has chosen that path at some point between the time of The Battle of Five Armies and by the time he joined the Fellowship of the Ring. The story begins right after the Ring has been destroyed and Legolas is in Minas Tirith waiting for someone to bring him his crown for Aragorn's coronation. No one else but his Marchwarden partner gets the assignment from King Thranduil.

Marchwarden partner - or a whirlwind, depending on her current mood.

My story follows for the most parts the original stories depicted in the 6 movies of Lord of the Rings and The Hobbit. I have read the novels several times, and I love them, but this story is in the movieverse. I don't own Lord of the Rings.

This story is complete on my computer (wordcount 230K), waiting for the last editing round. I'm going to publish it chapter by chapter, about one chapter in 3-4 weeks. Total number of chapters is about 40.

It consists of two parts and the first (chapters 1-14) is complete.

Part I: Spring Winds (chapters 1 - 14) complete

Part II: Serpentine Paths (chapters 15 - ) in progress

Thank you my wonderful betareaders IKindaWriteSometimes and Wind and Sky22!

Also many thanks to protoni and Pippalunga. I am forever grateful for your support and believing in this story!

Forest, My Home

For Marko

Chapter 1

It was a land of trees. The trees had been there from the beginning. They gave life, they gave shelter. The trees would be there when the land would no longer hold elves.

The trees no longer remembered how it felt when the little fingers of the elven children curled around their branches, when the tiny feet swung on them. The paths around the forest were grown thick with hay and the bushes no longer remembered how it felt when the arrows pierced them, from missed shots of the children trying to learn archery.

The trees did not stop growing, though. The birds did not end their singing and the wind did not stop blowing. Only the elves numbed. Their wombs died. Their hearts coldened. Of all creatures of Middle-earth the elves were capable of supreme joy and of the most devastating grief - which now smothered all Elvenkind - created by the looming end of the Time of the Elves. A grief, which had begun centuries ago when all elves, in all elven Kingdoms, had been forbidden the joy of children.

How to be a mother; how to be a father; the elves did not know anymore. And it saddened the trees.

A tiny elf lady sat on a branch of a tall spruce listening to the ancient trees humming their sad songs softly to her. Even though her heart was woeful too, this forest was the only place she wanted to be today. If there was a home for her in this world, it would be this spruce - or any spruce, for they had the same spirit. Her home was this forest - or any forest, for only in the forest she could breathe freely, for only in the forest she could live truly, for only in the forest she could feel herself rightly.

The sun was shining through the foliage, making sliding shadows as the branches swayed the wind and the curious dance of two squirrels around the trunk of the spruce made her smile. She let the scent of the forest fill her senses and the smell could not be named as anything other than spring. The snow had melted, leaving the land bare and making it smell of earth. The forest whispered to her soul, inviting her to the spring. Soon everywhere would be full of beautiful blooming flowers, but that time was not now. Now the land was still brown after a long winter, but she could feel the anticipation of the summer in her heart.

A small flock of common cranes flew above her and the majestic birds humbled her, making her remember why again she was sitting idly on the tree branch: she had free time from her duties in the Marchwardens of Mirkwood. Her partner had been away for over six months and almost as many months ago Sulrochil had stopped trying to guess when he would be back.

So she was having free time. Free time to feel the spirit of the forest, free time to experience the shady greenness of the vast woods around her, enjoying in her soul the freedom of tortures from past decades. Although the worst spike of pain had left her heart, the suffering had not left her fully. In the daylight, in the middle of the soothing sounds of the wind rustling the leaves, under the arches of the dark green treetops, she could be free of sorrow - and it made her soul sing. The song was refreshing and full of hope; Sulrochil sang it silently in her heart and it made the trees hum their pleasure.

"Sulrochil, get down here! There is someone to see you."

Sulrochil heard her cousin Rhawon's voice somewhere down on the ground, and for the blink of an eye, her soul filled with annoyance. Who dared to interrupt her? The visitor could not be the only person she wanted him to be; that was certain. For six months she had been waiting for Legolas - for six long months - all the time, keenly aware of his absence, as he was not in the range of their Wardens' Bond.

Without him, there was an empty spot inside her mind.

With their Wardens' Bond, he would have found her in the woods. Rhawon would have only needed to point him in the approximate direction and when Legolas would have arrived closer than half a mile, he would have sensed her location.

She was not even sure if she should punch him on the nose or hug him when he finally came back from his merry jaunt through all of Middle-earth. But she would make up her mind when he dared to show up.

Swiftly, she began climbing down, because no one other than Chief Marchwarden Filvendor could have anything to say to her. Could he need her for another mission again? Or could something have happened to Legolas? Smothering shadows lurked around the corners of her soul.

Like a squirrel, Sulrochil weaved herself through the thick tangle of the spruce branches and jumped onto the ground. She checked her weapons so that everything was in order, shook the majority of the spruce needles out of her clothes and with a whip of her hair turned to look at her cousin. "So, where is Chief?"

"It is not him," Rhawon said, "but a messenger from King Thranduil."

Sulrochil collapsed on the ground on her knees. Dark clouds fell upon her as all her fears had come true. "Legolas must be dead then," she whispered and placed her face in her hands.

"Sulrochil, get up!" Rhawon pulled her up and cupped her face between his hands. "Think, Sulrochil, think! If something had happened to Legolas it would not be the King who would inform you, but Chief Marchwarden Filvendor. It is your leader who would inform you if anything happened to your Marchwarden partner. Trust me, this is something else."

"I am…" Sulrochil mumbled, gripping Rhawon's upper arms, "I am not thinking properly."

"Of course not," Rhawon said, brushing a few spruce needles off her shoulders. "Something is befuddling your mind on this matter. It is only natural, but you should not worry about that now. In time you shall see the reason for it. Let us walk, for the messenger is waiting for you."

"What is the message?" she asked when they began walking towards his house where she also was dwelling at the time.

"Do you think I would dare to even think about asking that of a messenger of the King?" Rhawon asked. "He demanded to see you and I was needed only to find you. When you sit up in a tree, who could ever find you? What were you doing up there on the tree branch anyway? Were you practising?"

"I was breathing the forest," Sulrochil said, "I need it to fill my soul."

"Instead of feeling the forest," Rhawon said, "you could use your time for learning to hide while you move - like I have told you thousands of times. You use only a small fraction of your skill, and you should not throw your gift away."

"And I have told you thousands of times, I will never do that. You know perfectly well that it is impossible to gain the ability to perfectly hide while moving, while you still carry weapons. Learning to move in my hiding mode, would truly mean I would have to abandon my weapons and only trust my hiding, like you have done. But never in this world shall I abandon my weapons. I am a Marchwarden!"

"You could quit killing."

"I do not kill anyone for the joy of killing," Sulrochil said, "I kill if I have to."

"You do not have to kill. No one has to."

"Someone has to defend this land and safeguard our people," she insisted.

"There are not many who have your ability and you should use your gift of hiding better. There are hundreds stronger than you to defend our kingdom -"

"You mean I am worth nothing and a complete fool and a -"

"Stop that nonsense," Rhawon said. "Again, your emotions are bouncing more unexpectedly than thirteen dwarves rolling in wine barrels through a mountain."

"How would you know how they bounce?"

"I was there."

"Why? You do not carry weapons."

"Someone had to be there hiding in the forest in case anyone got hurt."

"Did they?"

"No," Rhawon said, "but it was a close call. Legolas almost got killed."

"And you never told me!?" Sulrochil turned her head with a swift swing of her braids and fixed her eyes on her cousin.

"You were so distraught after the war you would not have been interested in the slightest. And after you became a Marchwarden Pair with him, you have never been with me long enough that I had time for telling you ancient stories."

"Well, what happened to him, then?"

"An orc arrow almost hit his back, but Tauriel managed to shoot in time to knock the arrow out the way."

"I have heard she is quite the archer," Sulrochil said, trying to picture the brilliance of the shot in her mind and flexing her fingers to try to feel if she could make a shot like that.

"Everyone has heard it," Rhawon said, "but have you never seen her shoot?"

"No," Sulrochil said. "She was not my Captain when I was in the -" Sulrochil's posture faltered and she could not utter the last word of her sentence. All her memories from her time serving as a soldier rushed over her. The images of the gruesome ending of The Battle of Five Armies flickered in her mind. "...I lost them all, Rhawon. All of them! But I should not think of that right now… Please, not this again..." Sulrochil shook her head a bit, lifted her eyes at the sky and inhaled deeply, until slowly turned back to look at Rhawon again.

"But I should not dwell on this all over again." Sulrochil straightened her spine, set her jaw and resumed their journey towards Rhawon's house with long strides - long for her, that is. "The messenger remember?"

"The messenger. Right." Rhawon said, amazed by her sudden change of mood and followed after her. "When you get married I shall feel truly sorry for your husband when he has to feel your mood swings."

"I shall never get married. You know that."

"I know, I know: 'I will never marry, I will not. Never in a million years shall I marry anyone!' All your life you have chanted that but someday you might change your mind."

"I shall never change my mind. There is no need for marriage when you cannot have children and you know it."

"Marriage is much more than that."

"But I have decided I will never marry, and that will not change. Never. And besides, how would I ever even have a chance to meet anyone when I am using all my time Marchwardening?"

"Marchwardening with Legolas," Rhawon said lifting his eyebrows. "And since you two received your Wardens' Bond, you have spent all your free time being together - in addition to being together during your Marchwarden duties."

"We use our free time to train ourselves to be better in what we do."

"Of course you do," he said, lifting his hands up. "And from what I have seen you have become very good in what you do."

"What you are trying to imply, Rhawon?" Sulrochil said.

"Nothing," he replied. "Nothing at all, and besides the messenger is waiting for you, so hasten yours steps."

There was indeed a messenger standing by his horse near the house. When he saw the two approaching elves he stepped forward and bowed for them.

"Sulrochil, Marchwarden of Mirkwood, I have a message for you from our King Thranduil. He orders you to go and meet him at The Halls of Thranduil at once. He has a task for you."

"A task?" Sulrochil asked, furrowing her brows. "What kind of a task?"

"I have no knowledge of that," the messenger said. "Will you find the way on your own or do you wish for me to escort you there?"

"Thank you for your offer," Sulrochil said, "but I should be able to find it, even though I have never visited the place."

"Good day, Sulrochil, Rhawon," the messenger said, bowing. Then he mounted his horse and rode away.

She had no other choice but to leave, riding quickly towards The Halls of Thranduil. She rode without a saddle, her brown hair flowing behind her, wound into a complicated arrangement of braids that kept the hair out of her face. Her weapons bounced on her back as she tried to guess why the King would want to see her.

Sulrochil rode along a small bridge over the Forest River and stopped her mare before the Great Gates. Never before had she been in this place and it looked ominous to her eyes. She jumped onto the ground and her head was almost level with the withers of her horse. Cautiously she left the horse with a guard, who took Baraniel further. Another guard led Sulrochil through the gates surrounded by high pillars.

Inside yet another guard asked her to leave all her weapons in the hall and she put her bow, quiver, and knife on the table meant for them. She did not have time to even begin reaching for her dagger in her boot, when she heard an order:

"Also your dagger, please."

"How do you know I have one?" Sulrochil exclaimed, turning to look at the guard.

"Your dagger," the guard said, throwing a glance at Sulrochil's left boot.

Sulrochil had no choice but to put the dagger with the other weapons, still wondering how they knew she had it. Did they know everything?

Three tall, stern-looking guards came forward and ordered Sulrochil to follow them. When she turned to walk after them she saw a few spruce needles fallen on the floor. She had no time to pick them up before the guards began leading her out of the hall through the tunnels. When she entered the King's Hall, a herald standing by the door announced: "Sulrochil, daughter of Belegsul, Marchwarden of Mirkwood".

The King was standing in his full ceremonial attire in the middle of the hall, meticulously eyeing the minuscule lady who stepped closer to him and bowed to her King.

"Your accomplishments were admirable last week in the Battle of Mirkwood, Marchwarden Sulrochil, daughter of Belegsul," the King said.

"Thank you, Lord Thranduil, my King." Sulrochil bowed again, feeling nervous under the scrutinizing gaze of the King and thinking she could not possibly have been ordered here only to receive his gratitude for her achievements.

"You are wondering why you have been summoned here," the King said and took a few steps closer to Sulrochil. His gaze made her almost diminish between the cracks on the floor tiles. "I need you for an assignment as my messenger."

"But -" she began.

"I need," the King interrupted her, "someone who is a fast rider, able to defend herself, - and is someone trusted."

"My Lord, you do not know me. How can you trust me?"

"I do not know you, but Legolas does," he paused, acutely studying Sulrochil's reaction. "I am afraid I have to rely on his judgment on this matter, for there are not many passable candidates available for this assignment."

Sulrochil did not dare say anything. It was the truth, naturally. Legolas did trust her, but the King did not need her assurance for something he clearly knew himself.

"When Legolas left for his mission six months ago something led me to believe he had grown very fond of you," the King said slowly.

"Legolas cares deeply about every warrior with whom he fights," Sulrochil replied looking directly at the King. "I am no exception to that."

"Perhaps it was once only that. Now I am not so sure."

"We form a Marchwarden Pair in the Marchwardens of Mirkwood, my Lord. There is nothing more between us than comradeship."

"I see," the King said taking again a few steps closer to Sulrochil. Being more than a foot taller than her, he seemed to loom above her. "As you know, the population of Mirkwood has been decreasing for centuries and the last war again took too many. The best messengers are already on their assignments, so I must settle for substitutes."

"I might be willing to take the offered assignment, my Lord, but I must ask Chief Marchwarden Filvendor if I can -"

"There is no need for that. Your patrol partner is away -"

"But he could be back at any moment!" Sulrochil snapped and was horrified she had dared to interrupt the King.

"I admire your loyalty, but Legolas is not coming back," King Thranduil said his eyes fixed on Sulrochil, whose expression faltered for a brief moment and her shoulders hunched slightly. "At least not anytime soon."

"Lord Thranduil, my King," Sulrochil said. She set her jaw and straightened her posture again looking directly into the eyes of the King, "then I am willing to take your assignment."

"Good," he said gazing at her intensely while he continued. "I want you to ride to Minas Tirith to give Legolas his crown and ceremonial robe. The Prince of Mirkwood is not going to show up in the coronation of the King of Gondor in borrowed garments."

Sulrochil tried to not show her surprise, but failed. Her eyes lit up for the briefest moment, until she resumed her solemnity again.

"Limdur," the King only said and a tall elf with long brown hair came into the hall through a back door.

"My Lord," Limdur said, bowing to the King.

"Give Sulrochil the details of her assignment." The King waved his hand indifferently and turned away.

"Come with me," Limdur said to Sulrochil and walked back to the room behind the hall.

Sulrochil followed him and saw a dark wooden desk in the middle of the room and on every single wall was stacked with neat rows of books and thick files. Five bright oil lamps burned on the ceiling, giving light to the room without windows. Limdur sat behind the desk and gestured to the other chair for Sulrochil, who sat down.

There were three items on the desk: two large packages and one small silvery piece of jewelry.

"Here is your messenger badge," Limdur said pushing the small item on the table closer to Sulrochil. She took it and saw it was a pin with a decorative letter Th on it.

"You are not to show it to anybody unless you have to appear as a messenger of King Thranduil. If everything goes well, you will not need it until you arrive in Minas Tirith. By showing this badge, you can obtain accommodation and food. Then you will deliver this to Prince Legolas." He pushed one of the large packages closer to Sulrochil. "Any questions?"

"Do I take also that?" she pointed to the other package on the desk.

"No. That one is waiting for another messenger." Limdur lifted the package to the shelf.

"What if Legolas is not in Minas Tirith?" Sulrochil asked when Limdur had sat in front of her again.

"He shall be there. He is waiting for the coronation of The King of Gondor as ordered."

"How do you know there will be the coronation? Has the Ring really been destroyed?"

"We have our ways of knowing," Limdur said. "You will take your own horse, I assume."

"Aye, she is fast."

"That package contains one of the most valuable items in this kingdom. Do not lose it."

"I will not." Sulrochil took the package, rose up and began to leave.

"One more thing," Limdur said, "as a messenger of the King, you are to attend the coronation as a member of the Mirkwood Embassy, which means you will need a dress. I will escort you to the seamstress."

Limdur rose also, smiling for the first time when he saw Sulrochil's horrified face.

"Is there a problem here?"

"Aye, there is," she replied. "I climb trees. I shoot arrows. I hide in the bushes, I am not used to wearing dresses. I ride horses and carry packages to wretched princes… Oh, I am not supposed to say that!"

"No, you are not. But now to the seamstress."

"Aye. Anything for the honour of Mirkwood," Sulrochil said lamely and followed Limdur.

Limdur smiled inwardly. All the information they had gathered about this lady during the past few years, did not really tell anything at all about her. And interrupting the King… Well, of course there had been people who had interrupted him before, but the King's reaction, or the lack thereof, made Limdur wonder. "We are entering interesting times," he mused himself while he led the lady along long dark corridors towards the workshop of the Royal Seamstress.

The seamstress was a lovely elf lady who ushered Limdur away at once and pulled Sulrochil by her arm into the workshop, where around the tables several elves were doing their sewing.

"Pleased to meet you Sulrochil, I am Bereneth," the seamstress gently rotated Sulrochil around to make preliminary measurements using only her eyes, before pointing towards a smaller room. "Go over there and get ready, please."

Without any words Sulrochil did as she had been ordered, not risking even a glance at Bereneth. The Royal Seamstress was an elf whom one did not oppose.

"You shall have a silvery dress. I have the perfect fabric for it. And I know just the right style for your dress," Bereneth said. Grabbing her measuring tape, she began pulling the tape around Sulrochil and mumbling the measures aloud for her secretary to write down.

Sulrochil could only comply and let the seamstress pull the tape around her in all directions.

"You are smaller than I believed," Bereneth said, taking the measures of her arms.

"How…?" Sulrochil lifted her eyes questioningly to the seamstress.

"I have heard everything about you from Filvendor." She measured Sulrochil's left thigh.

"Filvendor?"

"Chief Marchwarden Filvendor to you."

"But why? How? He is not supposed to talk about Marchwardens to anyone."

"Naturally, not to anyone, but how could he keep any secrets from his wife?" Bereneth pulled the tape around Sulrochil's head.

"Why are you measuring my head?" Sulrochil asked, not bothering to reply to Bereneth's self-evident question. She tried to turn her head, but the seamstress held it so tightly she could not move. "Do the coronation regulations require I wear a bonnet as well?"

"Of course not," Bereneth smiled, "but I am thorough. When I take measures, I take them all. Now that is all. You can get the dress at dawn by the gate of the castle, and then you can leave for your journey at once."

"Is there no need for fitting the dress?"

"We here know how to sew."

Sulrochil rode slowly back to Rhawon's place with the package in front of her, planning her assignment and deciding which route would be the best to take. She made a few necessary preparations and sat for a long time on a spruce branch, trying to get a grasp of everything.

At dawn she fetched her dress and began the long ride towards Minas Tirith.

Author's Note: Chapter 1 edited on 20 Nov 2019.