Disclaimer: The characters and recognisable events within the legend belong to Tolkien; the title of the story comes from 1 Corinthians 13v12; almost everything else is mine =) 

The fire crackled on the stone hearth. From his position some feet away, the man could watch how the light of the flames played on the faces of the two small girls nearby, whose bed had been placed in the alcove by the fire so that it would be kept warm by the heat of the chimney. Gillin was sitting up, thin arms wrapped around her blanket-covered knees, fair hair tumbling over her shoulders and bright eyes burning with enthusiasm. Small Anna’s dark head rested against her sister’s shoulder and her large eyes were heavy with sleep, but she was determined to stay awake as long as possible, refusing to miss anything of interest.

“Please, Papa!” Gillin begged, gazing up at him in the way that made her look so like her mother, hands now clasping her little pointed chin. “Just one more, Papa, and then we’ll sleep!”

She must know, he thought ruefully, how impossible he found it to refuse her anything when she looked at him in that way. It hadn’t taken Elfalas long to learn how to wield her power, either…

“Very well. One more story.” Gillin cheered and Anna echoed her drowsily; when they were again quiet he asked, “What shall it be about this time, children? You choose.” The words were directed at both girls but he expected Gillin to answer as she always did. It was with some surprise, therefore, that he heard the sweet, piping voice of his younger daughter reply firmly, “P’ince.”

“She means she wants a story about a prince,” Gillin promptly translated with a knowledgeable air. Gaeradan smiled tenderly at the toddler. “A story about Prince Aranel, sweetheart?”

Anna shook her head.

“Why, don’t you like the sound of the Crown Prince?” he teased. Gillin shrugged impatiently.

“I’m sure he’s a very nice sort of boy, Papa, but he isn’t like a real prince, you know.”

“Why is that?” Gaeradan asked solemnly, wondering idly whether making such remarks regarding the son of King Eladan might be considered treachery and if so, whether seven year old girls would be exempt from the penalties of the law for such an offence. The possible traitor was explaining herself with a childish logic that, when considered for long enough, made a disturbing kind of sense.

“Oh, and real princes do things,” she went on. “Exciting things, I mean, like—like fighting dragons and going on dangerous quests and rescuing beautiful princesses so that they can marry them. Prince Aranel hasn’t done any of those things, you see, Papa.”

“Well, there are no dragons left in the world, and he is only eleven,” Gaeradan replied mildly, but such excuses were not enough for Gillin. Casting his mind back, reviewing all the tales he had ever heard, Gaeradan discovered in the deep recesses of memory one story that was sure to satisfy his daughters.

Few now would remember it, of course, old wives’ tale as it was, but he had heard it at his mother’s side when he had been younger than Gillin and an impression of the awe it had inspired in him still lingered—it seemed fitting that his daughters should learn the story, too.

“As you wish…I shall tell to you a story of a prince who fought a dragon and journeyed on the most important quest ever to be attempted—and as for the princess…who knows? I shall tell to you the legend of the last prince of the Elves.”

The tone of his voice had changed: it was deeper, slower; the voice of a born lore master. Gillin shivered and Anna fixed her wide eyes upon her father, tucking a thumb wrapped in the rough cotton sheet into her mouth.

“This Prince was born far north of here—”

“In Rohan?” Gillin interrupted eagerly.

“Nay, many leagues from Edoras in the great forest in Rhovanion. It was much larger then, though, and was named Greenwood the Great. For thousands of years it was home to a kingdom of Elves, whose kings were descended from the mighty Elves of the Eldest Days. Long, long ago, a king ruled who had no heir.”

“As long ago as the restoration of our kings?” Gillin asked. Gaeradan laughed.

“Oh, long before that…long before the line of kings failed.” Gillin’s mouth dropped open in astonishment: the days of the old line of kings were immeasurably distant to older persons than she. Anna, to whom history was just another incomprehensible word, remained unimpressed.

“At last the queen gave birth to a son, the Prince of Greenwood.” Anticipating Gillin’s next question, he went on, “This son had hair as golden as the sun, and eyes like stars. He grew tall and strong, and more handsome than any other Elf in the kingdom. He was a beautiful singer; could tame any animal he wished and speak to trees, as well as climb in them with the confidence and skill of a squirrel, but considerably more grace. He loved to read and dance and play games with the young princes of other Elven realms, but his father also ensured that he was well trained with sword and bow and he became the best archer in the world.”

Gillin had been looking rather worried as the extravagant litany of praise continued, but once sure of his ability as a warrior she sighed with relief and leaned back against the wooden headboard.

“He could shoot a single leaf from a tree without disturbing the other on the twig, and could pass an arrow through a single Elf-hair.”

A log broke and sprayed glowing embers on the hearth. Gaeradan paused to poke the log back into the heart of the flames and then turned back, fixing his gaze on his enthralled children. His words carried them far away in time and space, away from streets of stone and carefully-tilled fields to the distant forests of the north, where unearthly songs echoed in smooth glades and the trees whispered of a people of immortal beauty.

“For a thousand years after the birth of the prince the Elves lived in peace and happiness, riding their horses, hunting on the plains to east and west, sometimes sailing down the Great River, making music and exquisite crafts, for the most part perfectly content with their forest home. The prince grew up, adored by parents and people, and for many years everyone wondered which maiden he would choose to be his bride, but although he was courteous to all, the prince showed no especial favour to any. And outside the borders of their realm, they were slowly forgotten by lesser Men. Only a few remembered the hidden people, who could avoid being seen at will.”

Again his voice changed, growing sinister, and Gillin noticed the difference with an anticipatory air. They were reaching her favourite part of any story: the part when the evil wizard or goblin lord or foreign tyrant arrived upon the scene, usually with lots of noise and terror, and had to be defeated by the hero.

“But when these thousand years had passed, something happened that disturbed the tranquillity of the woodland realm. A Shadow grew in the south of the forest, a Shadow that not even the power of the Elves could dispel, a Shadow that sent out from it goblins and spiders and other dark creatures. They assailed the realm of the Elves, who fought back with great valour. The prince was by now an officer in his father’s army, and he helped to lead an assault upon the dark tower from whence the Shadow emanated, but not even he could defeat it. Left with no other choice, the king ordered that his people should retreat to the northern-most parts of the forest, as far from the Shadow as they could. For some years it appeared that his plan had succeeded, but as time passed the Shadow grew stronger and spread its darkness closer and closer to the new realm of the Elves. At last the wise ones of the world, the mightiest Elves from all the hidden kingdoms, came together with the wizards and spoke of how they might defeat the Shadow…but still they knew not what it was. For a thousand years more the Elves of the forest struggled on, for their home was become an evil place, spoken of only in hushed whispers and wardings against evil by Men who feared to approach it. Then the Wise began to fear that the Shadow in the south of the forest came from none other than their ancient enemy, the Dark Lord.”

Gillin shivered, revelling in the fear her father’s words evoked. Anna removed her thumb from her mouth and huddled closer to her sister, peering out into the flickering shadows with wide dark eyes.

“He had been defeated long before and most had believed him destroyed, but the Wise knew that he would always be able to rise again, provided that a powerful talisman he had created at the height of his power still remained in the world. But none knew where it was, and they were persuaded to seek other avenues of defence against the Shadow. One of their number, the mighty Grey Wizard, dared to enter the stronghold of the Shadow, but although it seemed to flee before him, it soon returned.

“Meanwhile the prince continued to protect his kingdom against the wicked creatures that threatened it. Spiders were ever there, but he did not fear them, and hundreds fell before his sword and bow. Then, one winter, the goblins came down out of the mountains, seeking to destroy the Elves, whom they had ever hated with bitter jealousy. The prince once more led out against them as many of his father‘s soldiers as could be spared, for they knew that this might be only a ruse, with another attack to follow upon the defenceless kingdom. He rode at the head of the cavalry on a white horse that understood his every word and needed neither saddle nor bridle. The prince was clad in shining mail crafted from the truesilver of the Dwarves, and bore an ancient sword and a bow that could be bent by no other. Across the snow-covered northern plains they rode, and it seemed to those who watched that the prince and his horse were one being, moving with impossible speed and shining in the cold sunlight.”

Again the fire spat, and so tightly-strung were Gillin’s nerves that she started, staring around as though expecting to see a goblin in the corner of the small room. Rubbing her palms together with excitement, she urged Gaeradan to continue.

“Tens of thousands of goblins came pouring down from the mountains to meet the advancing army, and although many turned back with dread at the glory of the sight of the Elves, when the two forces met the goblins still far outnumbered the prince’s men. But they were brave and strong and true, and each slew many goblins, though none slew as many as the prince, who was unstoppable in the fury of his vengeance. Ten of the greatest goblins surrounded him, but aided by his white horse he killed them all, and cut off the head of the king of the goblins. Only when the last goblin was dead upon the icy grass did he cease, and ordered his men to burn the carcases of their fallen foes. The smoke of that burning was seen far to the south and east, and the stench lingered for many days. But the prince and his soldiers rode back in victory, and there was great gladness among the Elves.”

“Was that the end of their battles?” Gillin asked, disappointment obvious in her tone.

“Oh, no—not at all. For the evil Shadow was still in the South, and other things were to happen before it left. Now, not very far from the kingdom of the Elves was a tall mountain, and beneath this mountain was a great Dwarf city. The Dwarves were superb builders and craftsmen, and they ever sought to gather more gold. At that time, the Dwarves of this Lonely Mountain were the richest and most powerful in the world, but other creatures also lust for gold.”

Anna’s sleepy eyes brightened, and her tousled head lifted momentarily. Gold and jewels had featured in quite a few of her father’s tales, and she knew that almost invariably, where there was a treasure, there also was a— “Dwagon! Dwagon, dwagon, dwagon!” Her high voice cheered excitedly, but Gillin hushed her with the impatience that only an older sister can muster. “Be quiet, Anna, and let Papa tell it properly!”

Gaeradan dropped briefly from storyteller to father, reaching out to tickle a smile back onto Anna’s quivering lips. “Don’t chide your sister, Gil,” he murmured softly. “She is enjoying it in her way.”

It was Gillin’s turn to sulk, but after a stern glance from her father warned her that such behaviour was not encouraging him to finish his tale she smiled again, and Gaeradan was able to continue, the reflected firelight flickering in his eyes and casting strange shadows about his face.

“And so it was that one of the ancient dragons came down from the North, seeking the famed gold of the Dwarves. He was the last dragon, but no less great for that, and he was named the Magnificent. A dragon was of old the greatest fear of every race because of the destruction they could wreak, and this one proved no different. He destroyed the fair town of Dale on the shores of the lake, and drove the Dwarves from their home, killing many.

For more than two hundred and fifty years the Elves lived in this increased fear, wondering whether the Dragon would descend upon their woodland home and burn it to ash. Not a few warriors rode out in an attempt to slay it, but none returned.”

“But the Prince,” Gillin interrupted eagerly. “He could kill it, could he not?”

Gaeradan only smiled.

“The Prince had been forbidden by his father to ride against the dragon, for the king would not risk his son and heir on so foolhardy a mission, and in addition the prince by then commanded much of the armies of the Elves. If he were to fall, the whole kingdom would be in increased jeopardy. And so the prince waited, fighting against the spiders and goblins, acting as his father’s ambassador to the Council of the Wise when time allowed, and doing many great deeds that now are forgotten.”

Outside the window in the darkened street, a patch of deeper shadow seemed to move, drawing closer to the house and the scene within, but neither father nor daughters noticed.

“But in the final years of the Third Age, a band of Dwarves passed through the forest, seeking to kill the dragon and reclaim their home and treasure. With them was a Halfling, one of a people rarely mentioned in the ancient tales.”

Gillin sat up abruptly. “But that’s not fair, Papa! The prince has to kill the dragon, not some Dwarf!” she exclaimed angrily.

“Patience, child. The coming of the Dwarves was only the catalyst for greater deeds.”

Gillin subsided, sinking back into the pillow and once more wrapping an arm about Anna’s shoulder.

“As it chanced in the plans of the Wise, that same summer was chosen as the time for their final attempt to drive the Dark Lord from the south of the forest. The Grey Wizard was chief in this, and they succeeded. For many weeks the prince was occupied with hunting down and killing the dark creatures that ran wild through the trees at the departure of their master, but in that autumn the king and many of his soldiers set out after the Dwarves, for he was wise and perhaps knew some of what would come to pass. The prince rode with him and the two golden haired Elves rode at the head of their army as it flew across the plain, with banners floating in the breeze and silver horns sounding in the cool air. No such sight had been seen in the west of the world for many years.”

The night was drawing on, and Gaeradan pulled his stool closer to the fire, extending his hands to the flames.

“Before they reached the Mountain, the Elves saw the flame of the dragon as it flew down towards the little town on the lake. The Dwarves had succeeded in angering it, and it sought to destroy Laketown in revenge. Many buildings were set alight, and the sight of them spurred the Elves to ride even more swiftly so that they arrived in the chaos and ruin of that same night as the dragon still flew overhead, breathing fire and death.”

At the other end of the bed, Gillin’s face glowed with anticipation.

“Many archers shot the dragon, but his body was plated with layers of the jewels upon which he had lain, and no dart found a target. The prince spent all his arrows without result until he was left with one only, an arrow he had used many times and always retrieved, an arrow that until that night had never failed him. He was about to fire in desperate hope for the final time when a bird flew down and perched upon his shoulder. You may recall that this Elven prince had a special relationship with animals, and so the bird was able to tell him the secret that proved the dragon’s undoing. For on its belly beneath its foreleg was a patch of bare skin, unprotected by any jewel, and the bird told the prince where he should fire.”

Gillin poked Anna, ensuring her sister was awake for the climax of the tale, and again rubbed her small hands together in glee.

“And so the prince took his arrow and said, “Arrow, never have you failed me. Now find at last your final home.” Then he fired, up into the darkness.”

Silence fell in the shadowy room. “And?” Gillin prompted, quivering with nerves.

“And…the arrow found its target, and buried itself deep in the flesh of the dragon.”

Gaeradan’s final words were drowned in a chorus of cheers from the two girls, who clapped their hands and bounced excitedly on the bed. He forced back a grin and made his voice very solemn.

“But…in the ruin of the dragon’s fall, the prince disappeared.”

The girls’ faces fell, Anna biting her fingers and Gillin clutching the end of the blanket.

“His people searched for him, but they could not find him. Some had seen him near the lake shore before the dragon fell, and they knew that he had saved them, but they also knew he could not have survived being crushed by such a mighty beast.”

Anna’s lip shook again, and she turned to bury her face in the pillow, but Gillin dragged her out again.

“The soldiers mourned and sang beautiful laments for their prince, and all wondered that the king would have no part in them. But as they stood in the darkness, into their midst walked a figure, soaking wet but with hair that glimmered in the torchlight.”

“The prince!” Gillin crowed, jiggling Anna’s arm in triumph.

“Yes, it was the prince. As soon as he fired that final shot he dove into the lake and swam deep beneath the water and away, so that the dragon’s carcase could not harm him. There was great rejoicing among the Elves, but not for long. They and the men of the town went up to seek for the Dwarves, but were refused a share of the treasure that had been won back from the dragon by the valour of the prince and the aid of the bird. But this was not the greatest of their troubles, for news soon came that goblins and wolves were pouring out of the mountains, seeking vengeance on the Elves and on the Dwarves, also, for they had killed many on their journey. So it was that the Men and Elves and Dwarves fought a mighty battle on the slopes of the mountain, and of the deeds of that day were made many songs and tales. The prince was high above with some of the best archers of the kingdom, and all fought bravely. Still, it would not have been sufficient to stay the might of the goblins had not the great Eagles come down to their aid. The battle was won, though many died that day, including the king of the Dwarves. But a new king restored the kingdom, and Dale was rebuilt, and the Elves were gifted with jewels from the Dragon’s hoard, and all three kingdoms continued in peace for many years.”

Anna sighed happily and curled up in a nest of blankets but Gillin, although pleased by the outcome of the battle, was clearly not satisfied. “Was that the quest, then?” she asked suspiciously. “I don’t think it was, Papa, and you said he went on an important quest!”

Gaeradan sighed inwardly, regretting his careless words, but replied patiently, “No, that was not the quest of which I spoke.”

“Tell me!” Gillin insisted.

“Only very quickly, then,” Gaeradan conceded.

“There was peace for some years after the great battle, you understand, for the darkness had been driven temporarily from the forest. In that time the prince was able to leave the forest more frequently and visit his kin in the other Elven strongholds. It was then that he became friends with a child who dwelt in Rivendell, house of the Lord of the Halfelven, his kinsman. Many years later, when this child had grown up, a council was held in Rivendell. A talisman, a ring of great power, had been discovered by the Halfling who had accompanied the Dwarves on their journey to the Mountain, and his heir had brought it to Rivendell so that the fate of the world might there be determined. This ring was indeed the talisman of the Dark Lord, who once more sought to conquer the world, and so the Wise realised they must destroy it. Several people of all the free races were chosen to accompany the Halfling who bore the ring, and among them were both the Elven prince and his friend, the mortal man.”

“I know!” Gillin exclaimed. “I have heard parts of this tale before, Papa!”

“Yes…it was once the greatest of all the tales, little star. And so you will know, perhaps, of the many adventures they had on their quest before the ring was destroyed.”

She looked up eagerly, but he shook his head firmly. “The full telling of that tale is for another night, for it is long indeed. To finish the tale of the prince it is enough to say that he became very great, the most famed among Men of all Elves of the Middle and Younger Years. After the War of the Ring ended he moved south, to be closer to the sea and to his friends, the newly restored King and Queen of Gondor.”

Gillin gazed at her father in wonder. “The prince lived here?”

“Yes. For the first century or so of the Fourth Age he dwelt in the Elven realm he created, that some say was in Ithilien, the fairest land in the world. But all the tales speak of the strange longing of the Elves for the sea, and the prince was no exception.”

Anna blinked, and spoke for the first time in several moments. “Why?”

“Well, across the sea they say there is a land untouched by sorrow where angels and Elves live together in beauty and peace, and all the Elves of Middle-earth, whether they had seen it or not, had a longing to journey there. Once they heard the sound of the sea, their heart ever ached to see it again and to pass over the water into the west.”

Anna’s lips parted, and her eyes shone like stars while her tiny, soft fingers twisted the blanket relentlessly.

“And the prince?” Gillin asked impatiently, glancing at her little sister in some confusion, but forgetting her as soon as Gaeradan spoke again.

“While he was travelling south during the War, he heard the gulls crying, and for the rest of his time in this world he desired to be close to the turbulent waves and the sandy shores of our home, that in all the long years of his life he had never seen. But he remained here many years, until almost all his mortal friends were dead. After the passing of the great King Elessar, the prince built a grey ship, or so the stories say, and sailed down Anduin. And then he saw the sea, wild and glorious, painted a thousand hues by the lowering, crimson sun. He steered his ship toward the sun, its light setting his golden hair to fire, and disappeared into the west. And no man saw him ever again in this world.”

Gaeradan’s voice faded into silence and he remained gazing into the fire for several moments before rising and walking softly across to the bed where the two small forms lay quietly, their tangled hair mingling on the pillow. Both pairs of eyes were closed, but inexplicable silver tears clung to Anna’s lashes, sparkling in the dying firelight. He bent and kissed each smooth forehead tenderly.

“And what of the princess?” a sweet voice said softly. He turned.

“No-one has returned to tell tales of that land, but the ancient myths whisper that on a distant shore the prince dances with his dark-haired lady in the moonlight, and together they live on among the trees by the sea.”

His eyes were fixed on her face, his voice low and intense. Walking across the room, he reached his hands out to her. Clasping them in hers, she tossed her dark hair and pulled him through the door, out onto the silver sand.

The cloaked figure that had stood unnoticed by the window slipped to the corner of the house, from where he could watch unseen as the couple danced on the beach to the endless music of the waves, the gold of his hair shining in the moonlight as it blew and mingled with the shadow of hers. He smiled faintly, thinking of the tale the young man had told.

Over the millennia, even when the Elven realms had been sustained and his people yet walked at times among Men, he had heard many legends and corrupted tales created around the lives of his friends and kin—and, indeed, his own. Lothlórien had become the golden wood of a sorceress, while Lúthien and Beren were nothing more than the chief characters in a tragic tale of love.

But this—somehow this was different. Warped almost beyond recognition though the story was, to one who had watched the hero, his father and grandfather all grow from infancy to strong, beautiful maturity the central figures were easily identified. On one hand it seemed unbelievable that history—particularly the events leading to the War of the Ring—could have been so forgotten, so twisted by the time that did not touch his memory. On the other it was extraordinary that young Thranduilion, golden and laughing, vibrantly alive and present should be recalled as a vague, nameless incarnation of the hero of a thousand tales, somehow changed from a living being to an unreal myth, a prince of long ago and far away, who left the earth long before memory began, his birth remembered but the truth of his life all but forgotten. How strange that Legolas could be at once a hollow form filled with the accumulated heroism of centuries and, somewhere, the same living, laughing Elf he had known.

He found himself wondering suddenly whether Legolas had known, whether any such tales had grown up about him to create of him a living legend during the years he spent in Gondor. That thought, however, was dismissed: Elessar had ensured that the truth of the War was remembered, at least for his lifetime; while Legolas, half amused, half horrified, would have shattered such romantic illusions with one colloquial Westron retort.

Perhaps now, after all the intervening years, the humour would exceed the horror, were he to learn that his life had become the subject of a fireside tale for the children of Gondor.