THE GOLDEN BELL OF GREENLEAF

Disclaimer:  The world of Middle-earth and its characters belong to JRR Tolkien.  I may visit from time to time, but make no profit in doing so.

Summary:  A homecoming and a reunion – served hopefully with a large dose of understanding

A/N:  Special thanks to Alassiel for beta-reading this chapter.  She assures me it does not sound like a travel guide to Ithilien, though we both agree we would like to live there! 

*character thoughts will appear in italics

Chapter 20: …There Shall Your Heart Dwell Also

“I suspected he was in trouble months ago,” Thranduil said, his voice low, his eyes intent as he watched his son move among his people, greeting each one personally.  “But I was not completely certain until you sent the letter informing me of Arod’s injury and Legolas’ extended absence from Ithilien.”   The King of the Greenwood leaned back, relaxing and enjoying the fact that he did not have to do a thing during this celebration – just sit back and watch his very able son do all the work.  

At Aravir’s lack of response, Thranduil paused from the perusal of the Prince to examine the pale face of his companion in the fading light, a niggling suspicion growing in his mind.  He continued to speak, watching the dark-haired elf’s shuttered eyes closely.  He knew this one almost as well as he did Legolas.  Something was wrong.  He could feel it…and it was not like Aravir to try and conceal anything from him.     

“It took some time to make arrangements to leave Lasgalen and by the time I reached Rohan, you and Legolas had left with the others.”   

Aravir sighed softly.  He glanced at the older elf sitting beside him for only a moment before quickly dropping his eyes to study the goblet of wine he held in his right hand.  Warning bells now sounded loudly in Thranduil’s mind, riding upon the crashing waves of the sea.  He knew the source of that look…had experienced first hand the alternating joy and despair.  “Ai, no, Aravir.”   Thranduil could not quite contain the small distressed sound of realization that escaped.

Aravir heard the King’s sharp intake of breath; knew that if he looked at him, he would see compassionate understanding in the storm-gray eyes.   His lips tightened stubbornly.  He had not wanted to spend this time alone with Thranduil.  He had considered every excuse imaginable, but in the end decided such subterfuge was unworthy of him, as well as disrespectful to the King.  Had he truly thought it possible to hide his newly-found fascination with the sea?  Certainly, that piercing gray gaze saw entirely too much.  And there were others here who knew him just as well. 

Aravir took a sip of the sweet, heady wine and grimaced.  Since I was small, I have always been an open book to him!  Valar, now what should I say?  How can I explain?  And will he still trust me as he once did?

Aravir closed his eyes and tried to swallow past the sudden lump in his throat as a sharp, intense desire for his adar and naneth, long in Namo’s care, pierced his heart.   

Pen-neth nin…

The King’s distinctive mind-whisper brushed his consciousness, lending support, even as it rebuked him gently.  Fighting the sting of emotion, Aravir shot a lightning glance at Thranduil before bowing his head and silently accepting the offered comfort.  Forgive me, hir nin.

The King, thankfully, said not a word in reply.  Perhaps he had read the entreaty in that brief glance from Aravir or sensed the finely drawn control the captain was holding onto so desperately.   Long minutes passed before Aravir began to calm a bit and Thranduil finally picked up the reins of their interrupted conversation. 

“Your sister and cousin are remarkably disciplined tonight, child,” he remarked casually.  “I thought they would monopolize you entirely this evening.”

Aravir sighed soundlessly.  He had yet to hold any lengthy conversation with his sister, Tasarien, or Ariann, his cousin.  Deep green eyes sought and quickly found them both, seated next to Aradhel, Ariann’s betrothed.  Tasarien was watching him calmly with that quiet look he knew masked so much.  She had the ebony hair and green eyes of their family, although her eyes were the soft green of a lazy river, rather than the hard, gem-like emerald of his.  Twenty years younger than he and twice as bossy; he loved her dearly.

Aravir dragged his gaze back to Thranduil and smiled wanly.  “They will wait for you to soften me up.” 

The King chuckled.  He knew well the two female members of Aravir’s family – had helped them overcome the horrendous loss of their loved ones when they had yet been elflings, had raised them to become the strong, independent adults they were today.

“And have I?”  He paused.  “Softened you up?” 

“I am undone,” Aravir sighed.  “They will find me an easy mark - and totally at their tender mercies.”  Reluctantly, he looked at Ariann, who lifted one eyebrow in question, her moss green eyes filled with concern.  Ari was the healer of the family, with an uncanny knack of discernment.  She frowned at him now, giving him a look that spoke volumes, letting him know that he had only postponed the inevitable interrogation.  She was not pleased.  Aravir stifled a groan; Tasarien might be bossy, but Ariann possessed an iron will and a perceptive nature that scared him witless.  She would have the whole story from him in minutes! 

Thranduil, easily following Aravir’s thoughts, chuckled as two attendants began laying platters of steaming vegetables, sliced venison and pork, and baskets of hot, fragrant bread on the table before them.  Looking over Aravir’s head, he caught the eyes of both elleth and shook his head warningly.  Not now, his look plainly said.  Gaining a reprieve for the troubled elf beside him, he took a plate, filling it with a generous portion of food before handing it to him. 

Setting his own loaded plate on the table, he slathered fresh butter and honey on one of Cook’s hot rolls and took a huge bite.  Sighing blissfully, Thranduil quickly demolished the roll before turning to Aravir again. 

He frowned at the captain’s plate.  “Eat, or there will be no sweet for you later…and I know for a fact that Cook prepared your favorite.” 

Aravir flashed a lightning grin at the King as he stuffed a fork full of meat in his mouth and chewed obediently.  His favorite was a flaky pastry stuffed with fruit and nuts and dripping with a honeyed glaze.  If that was indeed the offering, he would force himself to eat.  He would need all his strength for the assault he knew would come later in the evening. 

Thranduil eyed the elf’s deliberately innocent expression a moment longer, enjoying the brief, carefree look that had flashed briefly, and returned to his meal, satisfied for the time being that the shadows marring the brilliance of Aravir’s eyes were diminishing. 

They ate quietly, enjoying the variety of dishes brought from the kitchen until Aravir pushed his plate away with a groan.  “I cannot eat another bite.  Except for a small helping of dessert.  Perhaps.  Later.” 

“I sincerely doubt that any ‘helping’ you take will be small, Aravir,”  Thranduil grinned knowingly.  “I distinctly remember you wearing out your welcome in the kitchen at home, filching those sweet buns whenever you could find them.” 

“Meneldur never could catch me,” Aravir admitted proudly, as he leaned forward confidingly.  “Do not tell Lomelas,” he whispered, looking guilty.  “But I still take them when I can!” 

Thranduil shouted with laughter, that long missed sound drawing fond looks from all over the green, as well as a grin from his son. 

Thranduil grinned back before turning once more to Aravir.  “Legolas has been remarkably close-mouthed, for all he was overjoyed to greet me,” the King observed, watching the Prince accept a heaping plate from Eloriel and a seat beside some of his foresters. 

“Still…I suppose he will speak when the time is right.  And then again…”  A thoughtful, pregnant pause.  “…pigs might fly first.” 

He smiled at Aravir’s startled laugh.  “Now…tell me about ion nin,” he requested gently. 

Aravir sat back, drew a deep breath.  Thranduil deserved to know what had happened and he found he wanted to talk with the King.  He had always found discussing things with the wiser, more experienced elf eased his own mind.  Besides, the King had to hear the story sometime in this millennium.  Silently apologizing to Legolas, he launched into the tale, beginning with the arrival of Aragorn and the subsequent invitation to accompany him to Rohan to check on Legolas. 

Thranduil listened closely, his expressive face awash with a variety of emotions.  The collapse of Legolas on the Snowbourne elicited fear, while some of Gimli’s more colorful remarks startled the King to laughter.  He listened to the orcs’ attack on Legolas quietly, his face expressionless, his clenched fists and stiff body radiating a fierce rage.  Aravir paused at that point, uncertain, until Thranduil drew a deep, cleansing breath, calming his temper by the sheer force of his will, and beckoned him to continue.

The King soon discovered his reaction to prior parts of the story paled before the shock and surprise that silenced him as Aravir related Legolas’ dream-conversations with Nienna. Thranduil held up a hand to halt Aravir for a moment as he grappled with the thought of one of the Valar delivering a message to his son. 

“Did it really happen, Aravir?” he asked finally.  “Or was it just a dream?”

Aravir answered slowly.  “I cannot say.  All I know is this…he wept, my lord.  He was unconscious and he wept for days on end.  And nothing Elessar did would rouse him.” 

Aravir paused, groping for words to explain more clearly what he felt had happened.  “I believe Legolas really spoke with her…that somehow he was taken to Aman and shown what he needed to know in order to deal with the sea-longing.”

“Did he explain why they would want him to remain here?” the King asked.

“Yes,” Aravir replied.  “Legolas said he was needed as a support for Elessar.”

Thranduil stiffened and Aravir hurried on.  “As friend to the King of the Reunified Lands, he will be in a position to help and encourage him.” 

Thranduil snorted.  “Help him?  How?  He cannot interfere in the governance of men.” 

Aravir shrugged slightly.  “I do not know how Legolas will help, hir nin – only that he will.”  Thranduil sat back in his chair, his fingers drumming an edgy rhythm on the wooden arm.

“And this wild trip to Belegaer I have been hearing about, Aravir,” Thranduil snapped impatiently.  “If he was given the knowledge necessary, why risk himself…and you on that insane trip to the sea?” 

Aravir shook his head helplessly.  “He NEEDED to, my lord,” he answered.  “If he was to learn his place and part in the Song.” 

Thranduil huffed softly.  “Ah, yes, the Song,” he interrupted, staring hard at Aravir.  “Explain it to me.” 

Aravir swallowed hard, then replied slowly.  “I cannot.” 

“Can not?  Or will not?” Thranduil asked softly. 

Aravir winced.  “My lord, you know if I could, I would tell you everything,” he said earnestly.  “But unfortunately, I do not understand it enough to explain how it works.  I only know that when Legolas joins his voice with it, we…he finds peace.” 

Thranduil nodded, somewhat appeased.  He would definitely be questioning his son about the Song later.  And willingly or not, Aravir had just confirmed that he, too, had been touched by the sea.

Aravir’s expression brightened suddenly.  “We met a most interesting family that lives on Luinaelin, my lord.  Healers and herbalists that have a familial connection with Imrahil of Dol Amroth.” 

Thranduil’s gray eyes narrowed in thought.  “With that lost group of elves from Lothlorien?” he asked finally.  “The one from which Nimrodel and Amroth went missing?”  Elven memory recalled the dark-haired elf maiden and her Numenorean lord.  “That would be the descendants of Imrazor and Mithrellas.”

“Aye,” Aravir confided.  “These humans are a most engaging group.” 

Thranduil sniffed disdainfully and looked away.  “More mortals for Legolas to mourn…and now he has involved you!” 

“You would like them, my lord,” Aravir said softly, refusing to take insult at the King’s dismissive, sarcastic tone. 

Thranduil stared into the dense, dark forest at the edge of the green for a long moment, his strong, sculpted features cold and remote.  Suddenly, he sighed and turned back to Aravir.  Steel eyes warmed to a foggy gray as he smiled ruefully at the elf sitting beside him.  “I probably would.”

“We left them four days ago, and after seeing Aran Elessar safely inside the gates of his city, we rode here as quickly as possible,” Aravir concluded, feeling suddenly and inexplicably weary.  He had forgotten how intense a conversation with the King could become. 

He smiled faintly at Thranduil.  “As we drew closer, we could sense a new presence in the forest…but…”  Here Thranduil raised an eyebrow at Aravir’s hesitation and the younger elf flushed.  “…we did not recognize you.” 

Thranduil laughed softly, his mood lightening.  “Well, all the more reason to stay for a while.  Amros and the council will deal with the realm, while Golasgil oversees the security.  Galion assured me the house has survived worse things than my puny absence.” 

He studied Aravir again with those bright, discerning eyes.  “It becomes more and more evident you both need looking after, Aravir.”  

Aravir frowned at his hands and missed Thranduil’s grin. 

“You are most welcome here, my lord,” the captain murmured. 

Thranduil laid an affectionate hand on Aravir’s shoulder.  “Yes, yes, I know – you are both all grown-up now,” he teased in a fatherly, sympathetic tone.  “But I see two children in need of comforting and supervision, and I am just the elf to provide both.” 

Aravir raised his eyes.  “You misunderstand, my lord,” he whispered.  “I mean it.  I am very glad to see you, Aran Thranduil.”  

Thranduil kept his strong hand on the younger elf’s shoulder, the laughter fading, his pensive gaze wandering past the celebrating elves again to the trees just beyond the glow of lanterns and firelight.  “No more than I, pen- neth.  I will rest easier knowing Legolas, and now you, are safe.  And, of course, this forest needs further attending.” 

He looked at Aravir, suddenly smug and teasing once more.  “I believe I might be of some assistance in that continuing endeavor.” 

Aravir laughed, feeling a tight knot inside begin to loosen in the familiar, beloved presence.

The two elves looked up as a shyly smiling Eloriel approached them.  She dipped a demure curtsey and said, “Lord Legolas sends you both his regards and requests that you stop discussing him and join him for the remaining festivities!” 

She blushed at the laughter of both the King and Aravir.  Thranduil stood and took her hand, brushing an airy kiss over her fingertips. 

“Eloriel, my dear, you are as lovely as ever!  Lasgalen has sorely missed your presence,” he exclaimed gallantly, his gray eyes sparkling with humor at her discomfiture.  “And I see that Ernil Legolas is still sending others to do his dirty work!  Tell that rapscallion son of mine we will join him shortly.” 

Eloriel curtseyed quickly and fled.  Honestly, she knew not who was worse – the father or the son!  While she might smother a smart retort to the King, she had known Legolas since birth and never hesitated to rip a strip off his hide when the situation warranted it.  The fuming elleth smiled grimly.  She would make him very sorry first…then let him carry his own messages to his adar from now on!

~~~~*~~~~*~~~~*

Dawn came to the elven meadow, slipping over the land gently, caressing the trees with mist and soft light that hovered and drifted in the hollows and folds near the stream, only to become luminous, shimmering pools as Anor’s hold on the day strengthened. 

The last elves to leave the welcoming feast had discharged their duties and gone to their well-deserved rest only a few hours before.  Faint wisps of smoke from extinguished fires strayed aloft to mix with the morning fog. 

The light grew in intensity, and the sleepy twitters and chirps of early birds sounded.  Suddenly, with a rush of frantic wings, a group of them took flight from the trees to see about breakfast.  At the bend of the stream, a pair of heron left their nest in the reeds and began their stately walk through the shallows, looking for an unwary fish.

Legolas watched the world awaken from his favorite perch in a venerable old oak at the edge of the lawn, letting his eyes wander through the clearing as he reacquainted himself with his home.  A soft rustle in the leaves near his head brought him to quick attention, only to relax, grinning, as a small brown wren hopped from branch to elven knee and chirruped at him happily. 

“Suilad, tithen min,” Legolas whispered. 

The little bird twittered a bright greeting, fluttering to an extended finger.  Legolas gently stroked the soft, warm little head, smiling. 

“I am very glad to be back, small singer,” he replied. 

The wren flitted to his shoulder, cheeping seriously.  Legolas chuckled at the tone.  “I believe I have been taken to task and lectured most severely for my long absence.” 

He nuzzled the soft feathers and said reassuringly, “I am not leaving again for a long while.”  With a final chirp that sounded suspiciously like approval, the wren left him in a flurry of wings.  Legolas followed her flight, smiling faintly.  An appropriate welcome, indeed! 

He let his eyes sweep the clearing again, examining the large house built on the rise across from the water with the critical eye of one who would always prefer the living forest to stone.  How he had fought against the building of such a dwelling – even if it was for the elven lord of Ithilien!  He smiled at the memory of Aragorn’s exasperation at his resistence to the whole idea.

~~~~~*~~~~~

10 years before…

“I will live in the trees,” Legolas stated for the umpteenth time, crossing his arms in front of his chest and staring out one of the large windows in the royal apartments of the Citadel.

Aragorn exchanged a look with Faramir and Arwen.  This dispute had been raging for days now, ever since Legolas had returned from Eryn Lasgalen with the first group of elves bound for northern Ithilien.  At least he was listening – the first few times the subject had come up, the stubborn elf had walked out!  The King moved over to stand beside his friend.  They both gazed silently out the window, Aragorn thinking furiously.  Time to negotiate…cajole…plead if necessary. 

“Why not build both, mellon nin?” he asked calmly.  “Talans in the trees for everyday living, and a house to serve those who visit that might not feel comfortable climbing about the canopy.”  Legolas snorted, sliding a sour look at the King by his side.

“You mean humans,” he groused.  He was really in no mood to be placated…or managed.  

Aragorn sighed.  A plague on stiff-necked elves!  “You will have them from time to time, Thranduilion,” he pointed out, his tone now that of the King.  “You will need an appropriate place to house them, to hold conferences or audiences, or whatever is required of you in your capacity as a lord of Ithilien AND a representative of myself, Faramir, and your father.” 

Legolas continued to scowl to the plains below the window.  Of course, Estel was right.  And the idea of building both had merit.  But he did not have to like it!

Aragorn waited patiently.  If he knew one thing about this particular elf, it was his well-developed sense of responsibility.  Legolas huffed, a noisy sigh of resignation, and thankfully, the beginning of reluctant agreement.

“All right, aran brannon,” Legolas consented, after stretching the silence to the breaking point.  “At your suggestion, the house will be built.  But I will decide on its location and design.”

Aragorn exchanged a quick look of relief with Arwen and Faramir.  Arwen winked at him, grinning cheerfully as her husband clapped a hand on the tense shoulder of the elf beside him, and Faramir moved up to render any suggestions or aid necessary.

“There are some beautiful clearings near one of the smaller streams that flow into the Anduin, Legolas,” Faramir offered.  “Not too far from Cair Andros.”  He paused for a moment, glancing at Legolas before adding slyly,  “And some of the culumalda trees have taken root there.” 

Legolas eyed the Steward carefully, his interest piqued in spite of himself.   He did love the magnificent red and gold trees which normally grew only on the island of Cair Andros. 

Aragorn, encouraged by this new attentiveness, decided to push the discussion forward.  “Good,” he said, beaming at the elf with approval.  “Faramir will aid you in finding the perfect location.  I have already spoken to Gimli, as I know you will wish to use as little wood as possible in the construction.  He has some very intriguing ideas.” 

Legolas rolled his eyes.  “Now why does that NOT reassure me?” 

Everyone laughed at his suspicious expression and Arwen stepped to his side, linking her arm with his.  “It will be lovely, Legolas,” she reassured him soothingly.  “Gimli will consider it his sworn duty to create something even a ‘fool elf’ will appreciate.” 

“Yes, well…” grumbled the fool elf.  “We shall see.”

~~~~~*~~~~~

Legolas examined the huge house and grounds (he avoided the word ‘palace’ like the plague) and had to admit Gimli’s labor of love had been an overwhelming success.  He loved the open glade Faramir had brought him to all those years before.  Even now, the feeling of settling, of rightness he had experienced when first setting eyes on this special place still had the power to render him breathless.

The spacious rolling meadow was surrounded by forest, with the smaller tributary stream of the Anduin winding its way through one edge, sliding over the rocks in a series of small cataracts, tumbling rapids and waterfalls.  Several smaller streams fed quiet pools before actually joining the larger waterway, which would continue through a narrow gorge until it reached the falls at Henneth Annun. 

The house itself, a stunning construction of warm, golden stone Gimli had located in a quarry in south Lebennin, rambled along the rise near the riverbank; two levels with wide porches and inviting terraces framed by large oaks.  The profile of the house was graceful, all gabled windows and dramatic angles, constructed in a harmony that not only pleased the eye, but also emphasized the warm beauty of Gimli’s stone.  From any window or door, and Legolas had tried them all, one had a lovely view of the river, the forest beyond, or any of the many cleverly situated gardens.

Legolas drew a deep breath of the crisp, early morning air and opened himself to the song of the forest.  The trees were at their peak now, vibrant colors made even more brilliant by the gilded light of the rising sun, their song full of contentment.  Fallen leaves skittered across the wide expanse of green lawn, chased by a capricious breeze that playfully tugged at the golden hair of the Prince.  He had missed this more than he had realized. 

Sensing a change in the trees’ song, Legolas looked down to see his father crossing the grass to stand beneath his tree.  Looking up, Thranduil met the gaze of his son.  One elegant eyebrow arched in question, asking. 

Legolas smiled.  “Come up, Adar.  The view of a morning is always spectacular up here.”

Three graceful, powerful leaps brought Thranduil into the tree, settling his tall, lean figure on the huge branch beside his son.  Legolas relaxed against the immense bole of the old oak, patting its bark fondly as he gave his father time to get comfortable.  He had known this discussion was coming; he was grateful his father had given him one night to gather his composure and thoughts before initiating it. 

Thranduil tilted his head back, eyes closed, savoring the fresh, clean scents of autumn and exuberant tree song as he waited patiently for his son to start.

“You heard of Arod’s injury…” Legolas began slowly.  His father nodded encouragingly.  “Well…”

~~~~~*~~~~~*

Legolas’ tale repeated much of what Aravir had said.  Thranduil knew there was more, but was hesitant to push too much.  Time enough later to discuss the import of Nienna’s words…and the whys and hows of the Valie’s intervention.  But the Song…ah, the Song had caught his attention and he wanted to hear more about it. 

“I understand there is a wonderful waterfall above a hidden valley not far from here,” he remarked idly.

Legolas looked at him, bemused at the sudden shift in subject.  “Yes,” he replied slowly.  “Henneth Annun – ‘the window of the sunset’.  The Rangers of Ithilien used the caves behind the falls as a hiding place during the War.”

“That is what Faramir told me,” Thranduil allowed a little excitement to creep into his voice.  He turned his intelligent gray eyes on his son.  “Could you show it to me and still manage to return here by nightfall?  I would not want to take you away from everyone so soon after your return, but a few hours will not matter overmuch.”

Legolas nodded, swiftly calculating distances and traveling time.  “If we take the route through the trees, it is only an hour or so away.  But Adar, I should warn you that once you get there, it will take the rest of the day to see all there is of interest.  Also Ithil is full this night – and rises early.  You will not want to miss that.” 

He stood, stretching and grinning at his father suddenly.  “Besides, I do not think anyone will begrudge me wanting to show my father around our forest.  I will stop by the kitchen and beg a packet of food from Lomelas and rejoin you here.” 

Thranduil smiled back, pleased to see that his child still glowed at the prospect of a picnic near the water, as well as radiated a possessive pride in his new home.  He had hoped that for Legolas, ever since releasing him to come here.  He had also made it a point to stay away all these years, to give his son the time and space he needed to establish himself as lord of this forest. 

“Legolas,” his father called, as his son started down, intent on his errand.  Legolas glanced back questioningly.

“Bring Aravir along, hmmm?” the King suggested.

Legolas laughed aloud.  “As if we could leave without his escort, Adar!”  He descended rapidly and crossed the lawn to the house at a loping trot.

Thranduil leaned back against the old oak, satisfied with his plan thus far.  With any luck, this magical place Faramir had described would inspire his son to share some of the Song with him.  Perhaps then he might begin to understand.

~~~~~*~~~~~*

Of course, the outing turned out to be much more complicated than either Thranduil or Legolas imagined.  Aravir, most certainly, had to come with them…along with one of his captains from the patrols.  Tasarien happened to be in the kitchen when Legolas accosted Lomelas for the food, and invited herself along, “to keep an eye on that brother of mine”.  Then Ariann heard that her betrothed, Aradhel, was the patrol captain going, and decided for such a trip, a qualified healer was a necessity. 

Legolas shrugged…Thranduil snickered…and an hour after breakfast, the merry group took to the trees, traveling along the gorge pathway as they followed the rushing stream southwest to Henneth Annun. 

“Where does this stream have its source?” Thranduil asked, admiring the dramatic view from the cliffs overlooking the rushing waters below.

“It runs from the Ephel Duath to the River Anduin, just below Cair Andros, hir nin,” Aravir answered, joining the King on the ledge. 

And it was a majestic sight; the hills, with their shadows and many textures spread out before them, blanketed with a dense forest dressed in all its autumnal glory, awash with light and living color.  And beyond them loomed the dark silhouette of the Mountains of Shadow.

They stopped for a time to examine some of the trees along the stream that Legolas’ foresters had been concerned about.  Thranduil walked quietly among the giants with Legolas, singing softly to the old ones and listening intently to the murmuring reply. 

“Duilin is concerned they might not be strong enough to endure a harsh winter,” Legolas said, running his hands over the rough bark.  “They have only recently recovered from some sort of mold growth that was stripping the leaves.” 

Thranduil shook his head.  “I can understand his fears.  I, myself, have doubts about one or two of the eldest.” 

Legolas frowned.  He, too, sensed the weakness in the older trees.  “I will tell Duilin…maybe there is something we can do to help them through the coldest part of the winter.” 

“If the winter is not too severe, they might survive.  Certainly another growing season should see them recovered,” his father agreed. 

The elves leaped into the trees again and continued on their way to Henneth Annun.  As they approached the falls, the noise of the waters grew ever louder, and a fine mist could be seen rising from the forest ahead.  The stream rushed through the deepening chasm, frothing and bubbling over terraces carved into the sides of the hill as it plunged over the cliff. 

“Faramir says these are the fairest of all the falls of Ithilien,” Legolas murmured.  “They are certainly the largest I have seen thus far.” 

Thranduil examined the basin far below with interest.  “Are we on the proper side to have a look at the caves?” he asked nonchalantly. 

Legolas and the others laughed at the King’s obvious curiosity.  “We are, Adar,” his son answered.  “Follow me.” 

They spent the next few hours exploring the cave entrance and the hewn passages, coming at last to stand on the ledge of stone thrust out from the cave’s mouth to the streaming waterfall. 

“The window of the sunset,” Thranduil said softly, looking across the deep valley below to the west where the sun would set.  “I can certainly see where it gets its name.  Amazing.” 

The little group climbed back up the hewn stairs and found a pleasant clearing about two-thirds of the way on one side of the falls to eat not only their lunch, but dinner also.  If one is visiting a place called the ‘window of the sunset’, one must definitely stay to see the sunset, or so the King insisted, glaring at the Prince’s softly muttered, “I told you so”. 

So they found comfortable trees more than willing to shelter them and watched Anor gradually sink below the horizon.  The light, filtering through the mists of the waterfall, was softened to a shimmering haze, slipping through the branches of the forest in beams of gleaming, molten gold even as it painted the sky shades of pink, yellow, and purple. 

Legolas, sitting close to his father, closed his eyes, his fair head cocked in an attitude of intense concentration.  Thranduil held his breath, remaining absolutely still and was finally rewarded when he began to sing softly.  It was a song unlike any Thranduil had ever heard before.  And it was only one part of a more complex harmony.

He could almost hear the greater part of the melody – almost.  Placing an arm about his oblivious son, Thranduil looked across to the next tree.  Aravir, too, sat with eyes closed, listening to the growing power of Legolas’ song.  A peace lay on his face that had been lacking the day before.  Tasarien, arm linked with her brother’s, laid her head on his shoulder and wept quietly.  She could hear the sea in the music and now knew for certain what her brother had refused to put in words the night before.  Aradhel wrapped a comforting arm about Ariann as they whispered quietly. 

The melody continued for some time; Ithil rose, casting a pearlescent light over the slumbering forest below to mingle with the ghostly mists of the waterfall.  After a time, Legolas stopped singing and rested silently in the strong embrace of his father. 

“At first, I could not hear it, Ada,’ he whispered.  “She told me that everything has its own sound, from the smallest blade of grass to the highest mountain.  She said to listen carefully, and not just with my ears, but with that inside that makes me who I am.  I told her that since I had heard the voice of the gulls, I could not hear much of anything.” 

Legolas looked at his father.  “She said that beyond that silence was where I would hear the song of creation – the whole of the music, and not just the song of Ennor or the promise of the song of Aman.  All of it.  And when I could finally hear it, I would be able to add my own part.  I did.  At last I understood.” 

He sighed deeply and leaned against his father’s strength.  “It helps.  A great deal.  There is peace in it…and I can even hear the trees again.  I think that hurt worst of all, Ada, that I could not hear the trees.  I felt like some part of me had been amputated.  I would reach to use it, and it was not there anymore.” 

“It is still there, ion nin,” Thranduil said softly.  “And when you finally sail, it will return to its full strength.” 

He tightened his arm about his child.  “I am so glad you have found a way to endure.  I suppose I should not be surprised that music would provide the comfort you need.” 

Legolas glanced at him questioningly.  Thranduil smiled reminiscently, recalling the soft melodic humming sounds his infant son would make even in sleep.  He explained, “Even as a tiny elfling, you would sing, after a fashion – awake or asleep.  The birds would come and perch on the trees outside our room and add their own songs to yours.  We were enchanted – your naneth and I.  I remember lying in bed under the window, with you between us, listening to the music you and the birds and the trees would make.” 

He kissed his son’s forehead.  “No, I am not surprised that this would be the solution given you.” 

“Then you believe my story of Nienna?” Legolas asked hesitantly. 

“I always believed you, child,” his father said.  “After hearing this, it only proves the lengths the wise and powerful employed to keep you here.” 

He frowned, his displeasure clear to see.  “Though, I cannot say I am happy that they would let you suffer so.” 

“I want to stay,” Legolas whispered.  “I know it will hurt to lose so many I have come to love, but it is worth it.  I would not lose the privilege of knowing and loving them, Adar.”

Thranduil smiled sadly.  “I am beginning to understand that, nin hen.  It takes me longer to see things sometimes.  Your mother used to tell me it was part of my stubborn nature and that I enjoyed being quarrelsome.” 

Legolas laughed shakily.  “No!  Not you, Adar!” 

Thranduil gave his son a warning squeeze.  “Watch your mouth, pen-neth!  You are never too old for an ‘Ada-punishment’, you know!” 

Legolas looked at his father, shocked at his use of that phrase.  “You knew that is what I called it?”  His father’s ‘consequences’ had always been more severe than his mother’s, and to be avoided at all costs. 

“Of course I knew.  So did your naneth.  She thought it most humorous,” Thranduil laughed as Legolas groaned.  They leaned back against the tree, content to rest in each other’s presence and that of the forest. 

“Will Aravir be well?” Legolas asked heavily, the guilt he felt at having introduced the other elf to the sea still evident in his voice. 

“Aravir will be fine, I think,” Thranduil said, looking across at the captain, who was now speaking quietly with his sister and cousin.  “He has much to hold him here, and it is HIS love which also makes him strong.” 

Legolas nodded.  “Have I thanked you yet for sending him with me?” 

“No, but you are welcome,” Thranduil teased gently.  “I wanted him to get to know you better.  I thought you might become friends if you could break down those walls of duty he had built around himself.” 

“They were strong walls, Ada, but they finally collapsed during this trip,” Legolas replied, watching his friend fondly.

“I am glad,” Thranduil said simply.  “Glad that you have each other to rely upon, especially now.” 

He examined their surroundings once more, marveling at the beauty of the woods.  “I would have thought the suffering of this forest to be greater, given its proximity to Mordor,” he remarked thoughtfully.

Legolas shook his head in agreement.  “The first time I walked through these woods near the field of Cormallen, I was also amazed at the lack of the severe damage we are so familiar with at home.” 

He studied the landscape for a time, oddly hesitant to continue, but not wanting to keep anything from his father.  “I happened to voice my thoughts in front of Lord Celeborn once and he said that as there were no elves living here, Sauron’s malice sought other outlets.”  He held his breath.

“The Greenwood,” Thranduil said, his voice deadly quiet. 

Legolas reached up and gripped his father’s hand.  “But we fought Shadow, Ada,” he reasoned earnestly.  “We fought and we never gave in to him…no matter the cost to us…no matter our lack of a ring of power…we fought until the Greenwood was ultimately victorious!” 

Thranduil smiled slightly, his eyes brooding.  “Yes, we did win.” 

He returned his gaze to his son.  “And now we will fight to heal all the wounds dealt by Sauron and his hate…both to the Greenwood and Ithilien.  The trees here still feel the effects of Shadow, though they are not as twisted as some of the woods of home.” 

Legolas nodded, his slate gray eyes glittering with purpose.  “In another decade, we will have reached them all and returned them to health and wholeness once more.” 

He climbed gracefully to his feet and stretched his arms wide as if to embrace the whole of the forest below them.  “Welcome to the land of the moon, Adar,” he said softly to his father, now standing beside him.  “Welcome to my home.”

TRANSLATIONS:

ai! – alas!

pen-neth nin  -  my young one

hir nin – my lord

ion nin – my son

Valar – the powers of Arda

Valie – one of the female powers of Arda (in this case, Nienna)

aran brannon – Lord King

Aran Thranduil – King Thranduil

pen-neth  -  young one

suilad – hello

tithen min – little one

mellon nin – my friend

culumalda – a tree indigenous to Cair Andros, prized for its dazzling red and gold foliage

Henneth Annun – window to the sunset

Ithilien – land of the moon

adar/ada – father/dad

nin hen – my child

naneth/nana – mother/mom

Ernil Legolas – Prince Legolas