CHAPTER 2:  LOVE AND SACRIFICE  

As the elflings fought off sleep to listen to the tale, the elven father took a deep breath.

“It is a tragic tale that would be long in narrating, young ones,” he said, “and when you are older, you can read the full tale for yourselves, but I will tell you enough now for tonight.”

The elflings stopped jostling each other and nodded eagerly. They were willing to accept anything that gave them a reason to stay awake a little longer.

“Long ago, there was a mother and her children – a son and a daughter – who were of the Edain,”the elven father began.

“The Secondborn!” exclaimed his son’s playmate. “But I thought this would be a tale of an elf – ”

“It will be, as the tale progresses,” the older elf explained calmly, inwardly groaning at the impatience of the young. “Now, this lady and her children lived in Hithlum – ”

“Hithlum from the First Age?” his son asked.

“Aye, ion nin,” came the reply. “That same region.”

“I knew that,” the other elfling chimed in, and received a nudge in his ribs for it. Hiding an amused smile, the older elf quickly continued to discourage further squabbling.

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“The Lady of Dor-lớmin – Morwen was her name – had to care for her two children: Túrin, her son, and his little sister, whom he loved,” Aragorn said, looking from one attentive face to the other.  “They were oppressed by the Easterlings.”

“What is a…a pressed?” the boy interrupted.

Aragorn grinned. “They were treated cruelly,” he explained, ruffling the child’s hair.

“I knew that,” the little girl claimed, rolling her eyes at her cousin. But the look went unnoticed by the boy, who was too engrossed in forming his next question to notice it.

“Where was their father?”

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“The children’s father had been captured by evil forces from Angband,” the elven father said, drawing gasps from the elflings, who were familiar enough with the name that had brought dread to every one of the Firstborn in the First Age, and aroused hatred in all who lived after.

“So the Lady had to care for her children alone,” the elf resumed his story. “But sorrow befell the Lady and her son, for her daughter died from an incurable ailment, and it greatly saddened them.”

The storyteller saw his son’s eyes soften at those words, and knew that the tender heart felt sympathy even for the plight of people who were no longer alive.

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“Yes, Túrin had already begun to face a number of sorrows from a young age,” Aragorn said softly. “He had lost his father, and the bad Easterlings wanted to harm him, so the Lady Morwen feared for the life of her son.”

The grandfather drew a deep breath and continued. “In some ways, he was much like me,” he stated, piquing the children’s interest, and before they could ask why, he explained: “I also lost my father – your great-grandsire – when I was just two years old, and some bad people were looking for me, too. So my mother feared for me as well, and because of that, she brought me to the elven refuge of Imladris.”

“Grandnaneth’s home!” the boy declared.

“Yes, that is quite right,” Aragorn confirmed, pleased that his grandson remembered. “My own naneth had to hide me in Imladris, just like Túrin’s mother had to find him a safe place too.”

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“There was little choice,” the elf said. “Lady Morwen sent her son to a hidden kingdom, seeking the protection of its king: Thingol Greymantle.”

“A hidden kingdom…” the elflings breathed in wonder, their eyes wide.

“Yes, a very special kingdom called Doriath,” the father said, nodding. “It was protected form the outside world by the magic of the Queen, who was a Maia. She cast a protective ring around the kingdom, and it was known as the Girdle of Melian. It kept that elven kingdom hidden and safe from harm for long years.”

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“The kingdom was a place of great splendor, full of beauty and strength and magic,” Aragorn told the enrapt children. “Just like your Grandnaneth’s father took care of me, Thingol welcomed Túrin into his fold with open arms. He was a good king, and he made sure Túrin was honored and respected there.”

“Were they all elves in that kingdom?” the little girl asked. “Elves like Legolas?”

“Yes, my little one,” the King replied, smiling. “It was a kingdom of elves. And among them there was one called Beleg Cúthalion – the Strongbow. He had great skills and strength, and he was the king’s marchwarden – like a captain,” he explained in response to the query in his grandson’s eyes, “and it was he who first led Túrin to the king.”

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“Thereafter, Beleg took care of Túrin, and the Man soon became the companion-in-arms of the elf,”  the elven father said. “Beleg shared much of his knowledge with Túrin. They eventually became very close friends.”

“An adan good friends with an edhel, Ada?” the storyteller’s son asked in surprise.

“Yes, ion nin,” his father answered, though with a slight grimace on his face. “It was not a very common relationship, for the elves of that kingdom did not receive many visitors, let alone one of the Edain. But strangely enough, Beleg grew to love the man greatly.”

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“And they were just as close as Legolas and I are,” Aragorn told his grandchildren.

The little ones nodded. They were very used to the elf prince’s frequent presence in the Citadel.

“Does he love you, Grandfather?”

The King raised his eyebrows. “Legolas?” he asked, and the little boy nodded.

The question took Aragorn aback for a moment. Looking at the young faces, he realized then that not everyone understood the depth of his friendship with the elven prince. He smiled at the children.

“He loves me more than I could ever tell you, my little ones,” the King said tenderly. “He is a very important part of my life.” He looked at the two pairs of eyes gazing at him and added, “Just like you are,” he declared and pinched their noses teasingly, drawing delighted giggles. The King cupped a little face in each of his hands and looked lovingly at his grandchildren. 

“One day, Sweetpea and Greenpea,” he addressed them by their nicknames, “you will understand what a blessing it is to have a wonderful companion like Legolas, just like Túrin was very fortunate to find a true friend in Beleg.”

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“Túrin could not foretell just what a big part that friendship would play in his life. But he found out later, in a tragic way,” the elven storyteller said sadly.

“What happened?” the elflings asked eagerly.

“It all began with another elf who was jealous of Túrin’s position in the court of Thingol,” the older elf answered. “I will not tell you the full story now, for it concerns the adan’s family – and that is another tale in itself – but it is enough for you to know that the jealous elf said a number of unpleasant things to Túrin, which ired the Man greatly.”

“Did they quarrel?”

The elf had to laugh at that innocent query. “Aye, ion nin,” he told his son. “They did indeed engage in a quarrel – a big one! – and it was as result of that quarrel that Túrin caused the death of that elf. In fury, he pursued he elf through the woods, and the elf fell into a chasm and died.”

The elflings gasped.

“To be fair to the adan – the annals tell us that he was not to blame,” the older elf clarified, “for it was the elf that had kindled the fire of anger in him, but it was a most unfortunate event that had far-reaching consequences.”

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“Túrin felt very angry and bitter, and he also feared the wrath of Thingol,” Aragorn said, “so he fled from the kingdom and became an outlaw.” 

“What is an - ?”

“He lived in the wilds and attacked people,” the grandfather explained, expecting the question, “and he often took their possessions – something we should never ever do.”

The children nodded so seriously that Aragorn had to quickly hide his chuckle as he continued his tale.

“Túrin then found some men and they banded with him, and they began to live a secret life. People both feared them and hated them, and so they lived like hunted animals.”

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“Poor Túrin,” the younger elfling remarked with a sad look on his face, his child’s mind thinking about how lonely and cold the man must have felt. “Did anyone look for him?” 

“Well, Lord Thingol mourned his departure and feared for him,” his father replied. “But it was Beleg who took it upon himself to seek the Man in the wilds and bring him home.”

“Oh, good!” the elfling said, a hopeful light in his eyes. “The adan was saved then.”

“Not quite, tithen pen,” his father said gently, sorry that he had to disappoint the little one. “When he was found, Túrin refused to return. Beleg persuaded him, but the man was too angry, too bitter over the way his life was turning out.”

The elfling’s face fell. “But did he not go home later?” he asked.

His companion nudged him then. “Stop interrupting!” he hissed, frowning.

The storyteller grinned, knowing how his kind-hearted son must be hurting even for a man from history.  

“Nay, ion nin, he did not wish to go home, and Beleg was greatly dismayed,” he answered, again regretful that he could not give the little one a more comforting answer. “But because the elf warrior loved the adan and feared for him, he made a decision that would affect the rest of his life. One day, after a successful battle with some enemies, Beleg… departed from the elf company. He disappeared, and no one could find him. You see, he had quietly left his home… his kin… and his king… to live with Túrin in the wilds.”

The storyteller’s little son was silent at that development in the tale, his mind racing, and his tender heart aching. Beleg left his home? The elf left his shelter from storms and beasts? The walls that marked the safe boundaries within which he could play and have archery lessons, and where he could eat and sing and dance? He left his friends who could protect him from orcs?

The elfling’s eyes were unblinking as he stared at his father, but in them were visions of imagined terrors beyond the safe world he knew. And sorrow too, that anyone should have to make that kind of decision.

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“Aye, Beleg knew what he was giving up… but he did it all the same,” Aragorn explained to his audience. “No more warm beds or hot baths, or comfortable rugs to sit on by a fire in winter. No pastries fresh from the kitchen, or whipped cream whenever he wanted it.”

“What about toys or games?” the little boy asked with a gasp.

The king chuckled, realizing how the misery of deprivation would be envisioned by his grandchildren.

“Nay, little one, no toys,” he replied, amused for a moment at the look of horror the children exchanged. “But Beleg was willing to bear the hardships, and he bore it with courage and goodwill. His reunion with Túrin was a joyous one, for the two friends loved each other. The elf’s presence was a blessing to Túrin and his men, for he was a strong fighter and a great healer, and he used both skills to aid the band of houseless companions.” 

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“Túrin was heartened indeed by the company of his elven friend, so that the Men  eventually ceased their plundering, except against those who served the Dark Lord Morgoth,” the elf continued to narrate. “Side by side the adan and the elf labored against the dark forces, and such was their strength and prowess that they struck fear into their foes even before they encountered them. And their fame grew. Everywhere, the servants of Angband spoke with terror and loathing of the Two Captains, foul and fair, till they became as legends whose names were whispered in the wilds.”

The two elflings were hushed. They would grow up one day, and they too would have to learn skills to defend their home against intruders and servants of the Darkness. This peace they lived in may not last forever, they were constantly told. But they each hoped that they would not have to leave their beloved homes to play their part.

The elven storyteller had also fallen silent for a while, reflecting upon the memory of the Two Captains. And when he spoke again, his voice was laced with soft sadness.

“I wonder whether the adan fully realized the sacrifice the Strongbow had made for his sake,” he said almost to himself, “for Beleg returned never to his home, yielding to his desire to stay and watch over the friend he loved above all others. He remained ever by Túrin’s side, and in doing so, he became a homeless wanderer himself.”

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“Such was the love of the Strongbow for his friend,” Aragorn said, impressing it upon the young listeners. Then his eyes misted over a little as he added: “And in his own way, Legolas made the same sacrifice for me, little ones.”

“He did? How? What did he do? Did he also leave his home? Did he get lost in the forest too?” came the flurry of questions.

“No, he did not get lost in any forest,” Aragorn replied, smiling. “The forest is his friend, and all elves are friends to the forest, but he did leave his home in the Greenwood. And… when many of his kin sailed away from Middle Earth for a wonderful place over the Sea, he did not leave with them; he stayed here. He…”

The king paused, not knowing how to explain the torment of denying the Sea-longing that he knew Legolas bore for his sake. Finally, he decided that he would not attempt to explain it to the young minds. Not yet.

“He… Legolas stayed on in Middle Earth,” he finished.

“Why, Grandfather?”

“Why?” Aragorn repeated. “To help me, little ones. Because I asked him to,” the king replied, his eyes taking on a faraway look. “It was before even your parents were born. Some very bad people had destroyed the fair woods of Ithilien – ”

“Where the elves live now?”

“Where Legolas and some of his kin live now,” the grandfather affirmed. “It had become dead and lifeless, and the animals and trees that dwelt there were not happy. But Legolas brought elves from their home in the Greenwood and spent years bringing the woods of Ithilien back to life, making it the beautiful place you now know. You like going there, do you not?”

Dark curls bobbed eagerly. Their parents had taken them there many times, and they had spent many hours in delightful play in all the different places their parents had frequented in their childhood.

Looking at their contented faces, Aragorn felt – as he done countless times before – a surge of gratitude towards the friend who had come south to make Ithilien his new home and bless Gondor not only with the restored beauty of its fairest woodlands, but also with the ethereal presence of elvenkind, ensuring that his children and children’s children were always reminded of their elvish heritage, and that his beloved Arwen was always comforted by the company of her elven kin.   

“I do not think I would leave Dada or Mama for anyone or anything,” said the little girl suddenly, her voice hushed and her eyes looking a little confused.

Aragorn raised his eyebrows in surprise for a moment. “I certainly hope not, Sweetpea,” he said, looking into the grey eyes of his eldest grandchild. “You are still a very little girl, and home with your Dada and Mama is right where you should be.”

The little Sweetpea heaved a sigh of relief, bringing a smile to her grandfather’s face.

“But things may change when you are much, much older, when you love someone enough to do it,” the king said honestly, cupping her chin. “But it will be your choice.”

“Then Legolas loved you enough to do it?” the child asked. “It was his choice?”

“Aye, Sweetpea, he did, and it was,” the king replied softly. “That is what good friends do for each other: they make sacrifices.”

“What is a sacrifice?” Sweetpea’s cousin piped up.

The little girl answered before her grandfather had a chance to. “Mama says it is when you give up something you like to make someone else happy.”

“Very good, Sweetpea,” Aragorn said, and the little girl blushed at the compliment. “We sometimes make sacrifices for the sake of others.”

Encouraged by the king’s approval, the girl continued to explain to her cousin: “And Legolas is a good friend to Grandfather, see? So he makes sacrifices for him.”

“Is he your Strongbow then, Grandfather?” the little boy questioned. “Like the elf Beleg?”

At that question, the king drew in a breath, recalling how the boy’s grandmother had said those same words to him more than thirty years ago. He had to swallow a lump in his throat before he could speak again. “Aye, Greenpea,” he answered firmly, caressing the boy’s hair. “You speak truly. He is my Strongbow.”

Greenpea thought for a while. “I want a friend like that when I grow up,” he decided aloud.

His grandfather laughed lightly at first, but grew more sober when he looked into the  wide grey eyes of the boy who might be king one day.

“I hope you will find one then,” he said reassuringly. “But right now, you already have many people who love you, and you have each other.” He looked at the two young cousins, and despite the tongue each child stuck out at the other, he knew that there was a great fondness between them.

“I once gave him my raspberry tart because he wanted another and Cook had no more,” the Sweetpea declared proudly, pointing a chubby finger at Greenpea. “Is that a sacrifice?”

Aragorn held back his laughter. “What do you think, Greenpea?” he asked his grandson.

The little boy considered the question, then pouted a little. “All right, I suppose it is,” he acknowledged grudgingly. “But I said thank you!” he added quickly, causing Aragorn to laugh aloud.

“So I am a good friend!” the little girl exclaimed proudly with wide eyes.

Aragorn looked fondly at her. “Yes, you were when you gave up your raspberry tart, little one,” he agreed. “It was a wonderful act, and when you grow up, you will find out about the other important things that make up a great friendship, Sweetpea.”

“What other things?” she asked with knitted eyebrows.

“Well… trust is one, and things like patience, and understanding, and loyalty,” Aragorn replied.

“What! Oooh, it is hard to be a good friend!” the children remarked in dismay, drawing a loud chuckle from their grandfather.

“Well, that is true!” Aragorn responded. “The truly good ones are hard to come by, and you must treasure them if you find them.”

Sweetpea pondered on the king’s words a moment and recalled the first of the ‘other important things’ he had named. “Do you trust Legolas then, Grandfather?”.

“I would trust him with my life, my family, and my kingdom,” Aragorn replied without hesitation. “And I could tell you stories about when that trust became absolutely essential – ”

“Tell us a story about that then, Grandfather!” Greenpea chimed in.

“Yes, please!” Sweetpea joined in – just before breaking into a huge yawn which she attempted to hide in vain.

Their grandfather laughed. “I will,” he promised.  “But it will have to wait for another evening, for there are two little Peas that need to go to sleep right now.” 

The children groaned in protest and pleaded with him, but Aragorn remained gently resolute. “I will come to see you again tomorrow evening if I can,” he assured them, pleased to see the children relent at that promise.

He nodded to the children’s nurse who had been sitting quietly in a corner of the room earlier, and as she approached the bed to tuck the children in, the King kissed each curly head lovingly and allowed two pairs of little arms to wrap around his neck as the royal grandchildren whispered sleepy goodnights.

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“Walk in sweet dreams, ion nin,” the elven father breathed into his son’s ear as the elfling’s eyes started to glaze over in the open-eyed sleep of the Firstborn. “Tomorrow is another day and another story.”

Leaving the elfling’s bedroom, the storyteller walked past several more doors and out into the cool evening air. He turned his face skyward and offered a song to the first stars of the night.

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Aragorn paused at the door to cast another look at his little ones, feeling an overpowering surge of emotions at the sight of them. Then he turned and traced a route down several hallways to join his family in the parlor.

As he walked, his mind wandered to the friend he had just been talking about in a bedtime tale. He smiled more brightly, and his step grew lighter.

It was going to be a good night.