I do not hear the laughter and music that fills my halls after so many dark years, for all my thoughts and senses are focused on you.

You were always the source of my joy, Greenleaf. I remember the first time I held you, wriggling out of your blankets, struggling to break free although you were but a few hours old. Grief for my father’s passing still sat heavy upon my heart, but you came and drove it away. Your eyes were bluer than I ever dreamed eyes could be, and a soft mop of golden hair crowned your head. Your small mouth, so delicate, suckling my finger as you held it with a grip stronger than a newborn should have. I think of this image often, of how small you were, how strong in your vulnerability, how brave in your innocence.

You were born in the bed I shared with your mother, in the bed that once belonged to my father, where I was born an age before you. I see him in you, my father. I see his quiet strength, his noble bearing, his gentle soul. You, like me, have known what it is to grow into adulthood without a mother, your own sailing west when you were but six years of age, mine dying before I had a chance to know her.

The years passed and you grew tall and willowy, like your mother. You were a precocious elfling, and your eyes, the color of a bright summer sky, ever twinkled with mirth and curiosity. You feel the connection with the wood as I have all my life. You can read the forest, hear the murmuring of the trees and the animals that live within our wood. From your earliest days, the beasts of the forest have loved you, as they have me. But you are stronger than I was when I was young. You did not grow to adulthood in a time of quiet peace; you have watched our wood change.

Tall and strong, a body shaped by running and climbing trees, riding horses and firing your bow. I remember when you first reached your majority, I watched both males and females follow you with their eyes. You have always been beloved of our kindred, and your beauty and honor has solidified that bond. Long, elegant limbs, the graceful flow of your robes as you walk through the halls of our caves. So regal, so proud, yet there is something so open and gentle about you when you are near those you love and trust; the shield of your office falls away and in its place is my Greenleaf.

How is it possible that you move the way you do? How can you break hearts around you by merely smiling? So many love you, Legolas, I not the least of them. You are my light and my life, Greenleaf, my pride and all my joy. Without you, I am nothing.

I watched you this evening, as I have so many in our lives together, walking amongst your old friends that had missed you so. Everyday you were gone from me was torment, every night that I spent lying awake in my bed, wondering if you were dead or alive was nearly more than I could bear. I have borne much in my life, but had I lost you, Legolas, it would have been the end of me. Your laughter, absent from these halls for what felt like an eternity, rang out and brightened my heart.

You have changed, Greenleaf. War has changed you. You have seen now the depths to which men can be driven, and you have seen the heights to which they can soar. I doubted your friend, Estel; I doubted the quest you were sent upon. But I see now I was wrong. There was hope to be had, and light has won over dark. And now, you are free, free to answer the Sea’s call as your mother did so long ago. I have not felt its pull; my home is still here, for awhile longer, anyway.

I know I am smiling like a doting fool, watching you say goodnight and farewell to the last of your friends, but I do not care who sees me. You turn and smile at me, and I feel my heart swell with pride just like it did the night you were born. My Legolas, my Greenleaf, my son.

“Ada? Are you well? You look… strange.”

I laugh, and shake my head. “Yes, Greenleaf, I am well. You leave at sunrise?”

“Yes, I wish you would reconsider and come with us. Gimli is not bad company.”

“Me and a dwarf… that dwarf… in a small boat for how many days?”

You smile and laugh again before stepping into my embrace and leaning your head upon my shoulder.

“I have missed you, Ada,” you whisper, so softly that none can hear but me.

“I have missed you, Greenleaf,” I answer. “More than you will ever know.”

“It will be good to see naneth,” you say softly. “Are you sure I will recognize her?”

I smile broadly and answer, “She will recognize you, Legolas. Of that I am sure.”

“How long before you join us?” you ask.

“Not long, Greenleaf. It is not yet my time to sail, but that time will come, fear not.”

You pull away from me and touch my cheek with your hand. “Melin le, Adar,” you say softly.

“Melin le, my Greenleaf,” I answer. I take your hand and press it to my lips, then smile as you retire to your quarters for the night.

It is past midnight when I creep into your bedchamber, settling into a chair beside your bed to watch you sleep as I did so many times when you were young. I will not seek reverie this last night we are together, as I wish to look upon you every moment between now and when you disappear into the wood. I know there are those who think I am too possessive, too attached to my son. Perhaps they are right, perhaps I cling to you because I have lost so much already. I am reluctant to let you go again, though I know we will see each other in time. Time is something we have now, something we had never taken for granted before. I am glad you are sailing west. I am glad you will find peace there, for you have earned it, my son.

I stand upon the bridge to the caves that have been our home for all of your life. I raise my hand, returning your farewell and chuckle to myself as I watch your unlikely friend bounce behind you on your horse. “My son and a dwarf, best friends…” I say to myself, still smiling, still filled with pride.

Finally, you vanish from my keen sight, though I can still hear the faint hoof beats of your loyal steed carrying you south to the great river. I am still smiling as I turn and cross the bridge. I look forward to seeing my wife again, to holding her in my arms, and to having my family whole and complete. I hope I will recognize my father, and he will recognize me. But for now, I will enjoy the hard earned peace that has come to my beloved home, and honor my father’s memory by caring for it.

~Finis

Melin le = I love thee