The Paradise of Elves – Part 14: Arboriculture

Legolas ran his hand down the warm curve of her and held her close.  The fragrance of her hair filled his senses and, without thinking, he turned to press a kiss on her willing lips.

‘Please!’ Elladan protested, his head resting in his wife’s lap.  ‘Not in front of us old married folk.  There is no need for it!’

Elrohir grinned and ran sensuous fingers through his wife’s unusually dishevelled fair locks until she tangled his fingers in hers to still his hand.  ‘I think this trip was a very good idea, my brother.  I congratulate you.’

‘It is a delight to get away from everyone,’ Legolas admitted. ‘I had no idea how tired I would become of endless curiosity and spite disguised as congratulations.  I would love to move away from the chattering crowds and take refuge among the trees.’

‘It is still all a little tidy around here,’ Elladan criticised.  ‘Even the wilderness seems manicured. And I am not even a wild Wood Elf of the deep dark forest.  Legolas, of course,’ he said seriously, aiming the comment at the green eyes looking at him with some suspicion, ‘prefers his woods to be untamed, with the added entertainment of wolves and giant spiders.’

‘Don’t forget the orcs,’ suggested his brother.  ‘And then there should be the evil presence of a Nazgul or two, just to stop the rest from becoming too mundane.’

As she shivered, her husband tightened his hold. ‘They lie,’ he told her. ‘We elves of Lasgalen prefer our forests to come without the extras.’

Elladan took his wife’s hand and raised it to his lips.  ‘I am sorry,’ he said.  ‘I forgot for a moment that it was your home as well as the breeding ground of the spawn of Thranduil.  It was a beautiful place.’

‘I wish I been able to stay long enough to see it,’ Legolas sighed, ‘after the Shadow had departed and the trees had time to heal.’ 

‘I loved Lothlorien,’ Elrohir gazed into the silver-grey eyes of his daughter of the Galadhrim, ‘with its golden mallorns reaching up to the sun and its air of being somewhere apart, but Lasgalen had such vitality. As Imladris and Lothlorien faded, it continued to thrive.’ 

The four elves of Middle Earth mourned briefly as they remembered the home of their youth, before they turned resolutely back to their new lives. 

‘Do you realise,’ Elladan teased the newest member of their group, ‘that all the rest of us are Wood Elves to a greater or lesser degree?  I hope you are prepared to spend a large part of our time in these woods practising your tree-climbing skills!’

‘It is an essential part of your role as my wife,’ Legolas agreed soberly, caressing her reassuringly even as she turned to him anxiously.  ‘I am sure my adar would be most disappointed to find that you were uncomfortable in the canopy.’

‘Elrond had to undergo an extensive period of training before Celeborn would permit him to wed my naneth,’ Elrohir joined in, keeping his face straight with difficulty.  ‘He found it quite taxing.’

‘Ouch,’ Elladan complained as his wife tugged his braids sharply in punishment for his joking words. ‘Protect me, my friends, I am being attacked!’

‘It could not happen to a nicer elf,’ his brother egged her on. ‘Keep pulling – he can take it.  And, in case you have not yet discovered it, he responds very amusingly to being tickled just under the ribs.’

‘Do not pay any attention to their words, my love,’ Legolas murmured confidentially, his lips touching her ear, but his tone pitched so that all could hear.  ‘Wood Elves indeed!  Celeborn might be their daeradar, but they are about as talented in trees as one-legged dwarves – and with as much sensitivity to the song of the forest.’

‘I am offended,’ Elrohir remarked, as his fingers traced his wife’s cheek.  ‘Next, you will be denying that my daernaneth is in tune with the song.’

‘I am not that foolhardy,’ Legolas returned swiftly.  ‘Even Thranduil admits that, for a Noldor, she is remarkable – although I am not convinced that he meant it in the way it sounds.’

Elladan trapped his wife’s tormenting hands and pulled her down to him, drawing a deep breath to quieten his laughter. ‘Enough,’ he told her, kissing her into submission.  ‘I begin to think that Thranduil enjoys carping at Galadriel as much as she likes to torment him,’ he said, when he had finished. ‘They are like brother and sister – they fight each other constantly, but when it comes to the point, they stand shoulder to shoulder – as at your wedding – and woe betide anyone who gets in their way.’

‘Well,’ Elrohir said comfortably, his wife settled in his arms and nuzzling happily into his neck, ‘as long as we stay in this glade, that is one fate from which we should be safely protected. I can live with that.’