3.  In the Glade

Accompanied by Gelmir, Eilian left his father’s hall and strolled along the river, inhaling the mixed perfume of river, grass, and wet earth.  A few other Elves too dallied on the river bank, their voices raised in intertwined song.  From one group, friends called to them.  The two had a destination in mind, however, and did not tarry.  In a clearing some distance away from the palace was a spot known to younger Elves simply as “the glade.” Here, the more daring among them gathered when they wished to engage in merrymaking of which their elders might not wholeheartedly approve.  By human standards, the revelry was tame, but in the conservative society of Mirkwood, it was feared as a corrupting influence. Elven parents tend to be tolerant of the foibles of their young, believing that the long passage of time and the experience it brings will correct youthful mistakes in judgments.  But they also believe that the nature of that experience matters in shaping the people their children will become.  The glade continued to exist only in uneasy forbearance.

In the period just before he had joined the southern patrol, Eilian had spent many evenings in the glade, finding in it a welcome escape from disputes with his father.  In defending the most dangerous parts of the woodland, however, he had found adventure enough to make activities in the glade seem dull. Thus he seldom went there any more.  Tonight, however, he was restless and longed to be out of the cave and in the cool spring air.  The hours he had slept in the afternoon had left him unable to settle now, and he sought distraction from the worries that seemed to hang ever more densely in the air of Mirkwood.

“I am surprised that you could get away from your new friend, Arramiel, Gelmir,” he teased.  “Are you sure that she would approve of this venture?”

Gelmir smiled sheepishly.  “Lady Galenadiual had need of her tonight.  She does seem to covet my company though.”  Eilian laughed. Galenadiual’s maid had sought out Gelmir on every possible occasion in the two days that they had been home.

The sound of music and voices reached them as they neared the glade.  Although Eilian had not been to the glade in nearly three years, the gathering in the clearing was much the same as it had been the last time he was there.  Lanterns hung in the trees, creating soft blue light that mimicked that of the moon.  In the center of the glade, an Elf whom Eilian recognized as one of his father’s foresters was playing a small harp as three others joined hands in a dance. In one corner, a group indulged in Elven love of wagering, betting on the outcome of the throw of a set of tiles and then apparently requiring one another to engage in tasks that they all seemed to find quite amusing. Near the eastern edge of the glade, an Elf named Carondo dispensed wine whose provenance might not bear too close a scrutiny. Eilian knew for a fact that he worked unloading cargo that was shipped into Thranduil’s hall along the river and suspected that the wine he sold in the glade might have been intended for the king’s household.

“It is good to see you again, my lords,” purred Carondo, as Eilian and Gelmir each dropped a coin into his outstretched palm.  “What brings you home?”

Eilian was suddenly alert.  Surely the question was an innocent one?  Yet, the wine dispenser was certainly in a position to gather information for the enemy if he so chose.  Warriors were among those who gathered in the glade, not to mention armorers, stable workers, supply officers, and a range of others.  Any of these might have news to share and tongues were often loose in the spot’s relaxed atmosphere.  Forcing an easy tone, he produced one of the stories that he, Ithilden, and Thranduil had created.  “In a day or two, I will be taking some warriors to scout west for a bit.  In the meantime, I am enjoying what pleasures I can.” Carondo nodded without much apparent interest.

Taking their wine, Eilian and Gelmir wandered to one side.  Eilian leaned against a tree to watch the dancers and turn the exchange with Carondo over in his mind.  He did not like the way that the situation they were in destroyed all trust and multiplied suspicions.

“You look so serious, my lord,” murmured a sweet voice at his elbow.  He turned to find himself looking down at Oroloon, a diminutive, dark Elf maid of whom he had fond memories from his last visit here.  “Much too serious,” she continued, “for an evening in the glade.”

“Perhaps you can help me, my lady,” he smiled at her.  “Can you suggest something to lighten my mood?”

“We shall have to see,” she smiled. She took his wine, handed it to Gelmir, and seized Eilian’s hand to draw him into the dance.  The two of them joined the three already in the center of the clearing and entered an intricate turning, weaving in and out, and joining and loosening of hands that was joyously spontaneous and yet formed a pattern.   The music wove itself into them, and they wove themselves and one another into the music.  Eilian laughed aloud with pleasure at the harmony that they and music created.

He felt a sense of loss as the music stopped, and Oroloon clasped his hand.  “It seems I can lighten your mood, my lord,” she crowed.  “That is much better.”  With joined hands, the two made their way back to where Gelmir stood.

In the center of the clearing, the minstrel began to sing a new song, this one made for listening rather than dancing.  Eilian suddenly snapped to attention as he realized that the song’s subject was Mirkwood’s king and his dalliance with a lady not his wife.  Evidently Thranduil’s friendship with Galenadiual had not been so discreetly handled as Eilian had thought.  Such irreverent songs were common in the glade and formed one of the chief reasons that older Elves objected to its continued existence.

The game in the corner erupted in sudden laughter as the tiles spilled out the hands of a cloaked figure sitting with his back to Eilian.  “Carondo,” shouted one, “bring another goblet of wine for our young friend here.”  With a flourish, Carondo produced a goblet, and the gamers cheered lustily as their “young friend” downed the wine in a single long gulp.  As the drinker tilted his head, his hood fell back.  Eilian blinked and stifled a groan.

“Eilian,” prompted Gelmir in a strangled tone.

“I see him,” Eilian sighed.  He turned to Oroloon.  “I am sorry, my lady, but we must find another time to see if you can further lighten my spirits.  I see someone that I need to speak to.” Gently brushing her finger tips to his lips in farewell, he strode purposefully toward the gaming table.

Gripping the arm of the cloaked figure in one hand, he spoke heartily: “There you are!  We really need to be going, or we will be late.” The startled face of Legolas turned to him as Eilian pulled his little brother from his chair. With his free hand, Eilian drew the hood back up over the tell-tale blond hair.  Legolas was not supposed to be out of the palace at night without permission, and Eilian very much doubted that Thranduil had given him permission to go to the glade!  All Legolas needed was for someone to recognize him and tell Thranduil where he had spent his evening when he was supposed to be in his chamber.

“The youngling owes a bit of money, my lord,” protested one of the other gamblers.

“I…” Legolas hesitated.

Eilian gritted his teeth.  “How much?” he asked and then, having tossed a handful of coins on the table, dragged his little brother off toward the path leading home.

At the path’s entrance, Gelmir met them. “Hello, brat,” he smiled.  “I can not say that it’s a pleasure to see you.”

“Shut up, Gelmir,” said Legolas rudely. Gelmir laughed, while Eilian gave his brother a vexed shake.

“Do you want me to come?” asked Gelmir.

“No, you can stay.  One of us might as well enjoy himself,” Eilian responded, and plunged into the night with Legolas still in tow.

They walked in silence for a few hundred feet, Eilian waiting until they were beyond the keen ears of the Elves in the glade before he exploded. “For the Valar’s sake, Legolas! What did you think you were doing?”

Legolas jerked his arm out of his brother’s grasp.  “Why should I not go there? You do,” he said defiantly. “And anyway, what I thought I was doing is none of your business.  You are not Adar.”

For the first time, Eilian felt some sympathy for his father’s side of their own testy relationship. “Would you rather I took this to Adar, then?”

Legolas flinched.  “You are right,” he said, rather more meekly.  “I am sorry about the money.  I did not understand quite how the game went.  I will repay you.”

“Indeed you will.”

They walked on in silence for a moment. At least Legolas was not drunk, Eilian thought, noting his steady bearing.  Then, in a low tone that Eilian had to strain to hear, Legolas asked, “Did you hear what the minstrel was singing?”

Eilian really did not want to discuss Thranduil’s private life with his little brother. “It does not do to pay too much attention to gossip, Legolas.”

His brother rounded on him.  “But it is not gossip!  Have you not seen them together?  Has he forgotten Naneth?  How can he do this?”

Eilian sighed.  Apparently they were going to discuss the matter whether he wanted to or not.  He fumbled for the words.  “Adar has not forgotten her, Legolas. It is Naneth that he is bonded to. It is she he will look for in the Undying Lands, Mandos willing. And at any rate, it is not our place to judge Adar.”

“He does not act like he is still bonded to Naneth.  He acts like she never existed.” Legolas seemed genuinely angry.

Eilian hesitated. “Actually, I think his attraction to Galenadiual is a sign that he thinks of Naneth.  Have you not noticed how much Galenadiual resembles her?”

Legolas looked startled. “Does she?”  He seemed to be searching his memory. Then, in a wistful tone, he said, “I am not sure I remember clearly what Naneth looked like.  I remember her voice, I think, and I can picture her smiling at me, but it is rather vague, and perhaps I am imagining it.  I have the impression that she was much more beautiful than Galenadiual is.”

Eilian tried to hide the degree to which he was dismayed by Legolas’s sad admission.  It seemed impossible to him that Legolas had forgotten their mother. He remembered so vividly how grief over her death had overwhelmed the ten-year-old elfling that Legolas had been.

Lorellin had been spending time with part of her large extended family an easy two-day ride west of the palace.  Originally, Legolas was to have gone with her on the trip, but on the morning of her departure, the elfling had thrown a temper tantrum over something now long forgotten.  As a consequence, he had not been allowed to go with his mother, a circumstance that proved more fortunate than any of them could have predicted. On the day of Lorellin’s death, she had been awaiting the escort that Thranduil had promised to send to fetch her home and had decided to ride out to meet them accompanied only by the two Mirkwood warriors who had remained with her throughout the visit.  They had been set upon by Orcs against whose numbers they could not hope to defend themselves.  They had all been dead by the time Thranduil’s escort reached them.  Thranduil and his sons had all been devastated, none more so than Legolas.  For a while, they had feared he would not survive her loss.