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Sweet Woodbine  by Bodkin

Sweet Woodbine

He was lonely.  So lonely, he thought, that he was almost tempted to venture eastwards in the small boat that had brought him here and chance his luck against the wind and waves.  Except, he sighed, that Gimli had been only too aware that he might challenge fate, like a moth hurling itself at a light, and made him promise…  And he could not, anyway.  Recklessness would be a form of cowardice.  He must endure.  He must find a way to endure.

It seemed ridiculous to feel so gloomy amid such beauty.  There had been a time when wandering unarmed among the wooded foothills of snow-capped mountains would have seemed an act of insanity – but here … He cast a jaded glance around him.  A glade of rabbit-nibbled turf, studded with tiny flowers of vivid blue that gazed up admiringly at small shivering bells of purest white.  Trees unfurling leaves of clear green and twined round with woodbine and eglantine.  Not a shadow to be seen.  No orc had ever fouled these woods, no memory encroached of Ungoliant’s brood, no elves had sacrificed their lives to buy more time for those who remained. 

He had come here at Lady Galadriel’s command – his adar’s son, determined to represent his kin well in this haven of Noldor princes.  Come to smile, and bow and demand without words the honour due to his family – due to those who had escorted the Ringbearer on his journey towards Orodruin – due to those who had fought and died on the battlefields of Ennor. 

He hated it.

Petty people with trivial obsessions presenting themselves in endless procession over their paltry concerns.

He wanted to go home.  If only he had a home to which to go.

This was folly.  If he could not let Lady Galadriel know how he felt, surely he could speak to Lord Elrond.  Or Mithrandir.  Or were there not enough elves of Greenwood who had sailed over past centuries to settle here to provide him with some illusion of familiarity?  Elves who were only too anxious to look to him as his adar’s son and hoped silently that he would lead them until at last Thranduil took ship.

Legolas flung himself back on the soft bank beneath him and stared at the sky.  He could be determined to look on this as a prison, some small part of his mind mocked, or he could make himself accept this new life.  He was alone because he wanted to be.  He was an alien note in this song because he refused to accommodate to its harmonies.  He was being self-indulgent in a way that his adar would never have tolerated.

He shut his eyes.  He did not care.  These were not his people.  This was not his home.  That pernicious sea-longing had dragged him here – only to abandon him like a bad joke as soon as he arrived, leaving nothing but the ringing space it had occupied in his mind.  If it had not been for Gimli…

He pushed the thought away resolutely.  They had shared longer here than either of them had expected.  Gimli had been ancient in dwarven terms before the time came for him to occupy that tomb he had prepared for himself.   But no dwarf could live for ever.  Not even here.  Legolas felt his eyes burn again and blinked away the sting.  His friend had commanded him to bring the Lady the legacy he had left for her – but not until Galadriel’s letter had arrived had the elf allowed himself to be drawn away from Tol Eressëa to the lands beyond the reach of mortals.

A chaffinch trilled its song on a bough above his head.  Life would go on round him whether he wished to participate or not.

Legolas opened his eyes and looked at the bird accusingly.  If he was reduced to complaining about unfairness, then he truly had reverted to a second childhood.

‘Have you fallen?’  A sweet voice, like honey stirred in jasmine tea, asked in amusement.  ‘From your horse perhaps?  Or maybe from a tree?’

For a moment he did not move.  He had no desire to be found feeling sorry for himself by anyone likely to pass on word of his foolishness.  He raised his head and looked towards the voice.

‘No, indeed, my lady,’ he said politely.  ‘I am observing the markings of this small bird.’

‘Are there no chaffinches east of the sea?’

‘There are many – but this one has aroused my interest.’  He sat up, brushing at his tunic to remove the grass, before tilting his head at the new arrival.   Soft hair of the palest coppery shade framed her face and was braided down her back, and laughing eyes met his.

‘It must indeed be a remarkable bird, my lord – to succeed where so many have failed!’

He raised a haughty eyebrow.  ‘Have we met?’

The elleth ignored his show of dignity.  ‘Several times, my lord,’ she assured him.  ‘But do not worry – I have no expectation that you will recall any of them.  You looked as if you had received far too many introductions to remember anyone.’

‘This seems an odd place to encounter you again.’  The chaffinch rose effortlessly into the air as Legolas stood. 

‘Not so odd when you realise that my family live just beyond this grove,’ the elleth remarked.  ‘But I would not wish to come between you and your communing with the birds and beasts.’  She smiled at him teasingly.  ‘I will perhaps warn you that my sister-in-law and brother are likely to arrive shortly – and they would feel honour bound to invite you to come back and take wine with us.  You would be better making your escape swiftly.’

Legolas frowned at the elleth.  There was something about her that was disconcerting.  ‘I thank you for your courtesy,’ he said.  ‘I am in no mood to spend the day socialising.’

She turned her head as if listening.  ‘You may be too late,’ she said.

He moved with cat-like confidence to leap into the tree behind him.  ‘Not so, my lady,’ he said softly.

Anor turned her hair to sunset gold as she glanced up and smiled, before turning to greet another elleth and lead her away.

Legolas leaned his head back on the trunk of the tree and allowed its song to soothe him.  That had been a very … odd … encounter.  He had been chased by ellyth before and knew well enough that many of the young women of Gondor had found him – for some reason – desirable, but… Had the elleth been trying to gain his interest?  He blinked.  If she had, she had succeeded, he thought, although she had gone about it in a most unusual way.  But he would know her if he met her again. 

He had wound his way back through the woods to the outskirts of the city before he realised that he had not thought of his woes since the unexpected encounter.

***

They did not like the sea.  He had realised that long since when he had visited the places settled by those of his kin here in the west.  He had, in fact, often wondered how many of them had forced themselves to take ship – and concluded that they must have spent the whole voyage with their heads under their blankets.  But, regardless of how they got here, here they were – and they moved steadily and slowly westwards, away from the shores of the wide ocean.

And, unfortunately, that had brought them here, to the gentle woodlands to the south of the Noldor’s fields and forges.

‘You are the best person to speak of these matters, my lord.’  Litheredh eyed the king’s son warily.  ‘The Noldor lords listen to you – and you have friends among them who have influence with the High King.’

Legolas sighed.  ‘Have you any authority to dwell here?  Or was it simply a matter of one family following another?’

‘We are not fools, my lord.’  Litheredh’s eyes flashed.  ‘Lord Orodreth consented to our taking up residence in these woods – and we pay him by caring for the forest.  But these young Noldor cannot see why they cannot hunt anywhere they choose.  They are stripping the wood of game – and they refuse to pay any heed to our words.  And anyone who stands up against them finds himself falling foul of a fist or two.’

‘This should be taken to Lord Orodreth to deal with.’

‘There is never any evidence, my lord – and he shrugs off our words.  Then, when he has gone, they come back – and take out their spite on those they find alone.’

Legolas’s jaw tightened.  ‘It will be stopped.’

‘Easier said than done, my lord.  Our complaints sound petty – and we are here on sufferance.  We cannot fight back.’  Litheredh smiled bitterly.  ‘Parents who dismiss our protests about their sons’ behaviour are only too quick to react if there is any accusation against one of us.’

He had been idle, Legolas thought.  Too absorbed in his own concerns to look beyond them to the needs of his people.  His adar would be ashamed of him.

‘I do not know Lord Orodreth very well,’ he said thoughtfully.  ‘He seems an intelligent elf – surely he realises that you would not approach him if you were not…’  He was going to say ‘desperate’, but at the last moment decided on a substitution, ‘concerned.’

‘He would prefer us to move elsewhere.’ Litheredh shrugged.  ‘Not enough to push us out – but I do not think he objects to pressure being put on us to leave these woods.’

‘Yet he is Lady Galadriel’s brother,’ Legolas mused. ‘And the High King’s son.  He would not wish to embarrass them.’           

Litheredh remained silent. 

‘There is boar here?’ Legolas asked.  ‘And deer?’

‘Less than there was, my lord.  But still enough.’

‘And is there any pattern to the arrival of these … youths?’

‘They arrive, more often than not, on the nights when the moon is new.’

Legolas nodded thoughtfully.  He would speak to Lady Galadriel, he mused.  A hunting party – one that required stealth – could ensure that the right people were in place to observe.  They would then have no excuse not to intervene.  Orodreth, clearly, but also one, at least, in whose eyes he must be seen to act.  Perhaps, if it could be arranged, close kin to the perpetrators – who could not, in such illustrious company, deny what had happened.  He could not rush headlong at this, bow in hand: these were matters that called for other skills, honed in his dealings with the Lords of Gondor.

‘Just how predictable are they?’ he asked.  ‘We might need a stalking horse and I would not want to put anyone at risk.’

Steady grey eyes met his.  ‘Very predictable, my lord,’ Litheredh told him.  ‘They have come to think of themselves as untouchable.’

‘Then we will bait a trap and leave them to entangle themselves.’

Legolas could feel the elf’s relief – and squared his shoulders slightly to receive the burden.  His life, it would appear, had not ended; not left him washed up on an alien shore with nothing to do; not descended into a meaningless round of social events: he had a duty to those of his people who dwelt in these lands.  There were still battles to fight, even if they did not require him to bleed for those in his care.

He smiled.  ‘Be patient,’ he recommended.  ‘We will do this right and cut the ground from under them all.’

***

He found himself narrowing his eyes as he inspected the throng.  Who among them was complicit in this petty persecution?  Who would be horrified to learn what their giddy young were doing under the influence of too much wine and too little responsibility?  Who retained enough … innocence … naivety … to believe that all the elves gathered here in the Blessed Realm could deal with each other in perfect harmony?  He grinned at the last thought.  None of those who frequented Finarfin’s court with any regularity, he could feel sure.  The High King negotiated the shoals with aplomb born of millennia of experience, but shoals there doubtless were that grounded those with less political acuteness.  It was a long time since he had been made to feel gauche, but Finarfin achieved it with the twitch of an eyebrow.

‘You should be dancing.’  Lady Galadriel glided to a halt at his shoulder.

‘Would you oblige me, my lady?’  He smiled as she refused him with a glance.  ‘The ellyth of your adar’s court should be accustomed to my gloomy presence by now, Lady Galadriel.’

She laughed.  ‘Your refusal to flirt has made you a challenge, Prince of the Greenwood.  You will be felled yet by an unexpected dart, be sure of it.  Wisdom would suggest that you spread your smiles generously – and that you dance with many.’  Her eyes sparkled.  ‘You might be surprised at what you learn – if you keep your ears open.’

‘Diplomacy by dancing?’

‘A tried and trusted technique.  And,’ she raised a finger admonishingly, ‘pleasurable.  Even if the measures of the Noldor are rather more staid than the dances of the Silvan.’  She inspected him – it was almost enough, he thought, to make him want to straighten his tunic and polish the toes of his boots on the back of his leggings.  ‘Come,’ she commanded, ‘I will introduce you to an elleth or three.’

‘All at once?’ He fought back with a quizzical look.

‘There is safety in numbers.’  She smiled.  ‘Let them compete over drawing you onto the dance floor.’

She stood out in the clutter of maidens who – he supposed – attended Galadriel.  Stood out like a flame in shadow among the dark-haired Noldor, and yet, as the fair faces turned to greet him, like flowers to sunlight, she turned her head away.

‘I will leave you with them,’ Galadriel murmured, soft enough for only him to hear.  ‘A sacrifice to the ellyth of Tirion.’

‘Thank you,’ he sighed wryly.  ‘I will attempt to find some equally generous way to express my gratitude.’

He endured their chatter resolutely, but came to the conclusion that did not like maidens who giggled.  It was, he decided, offensive to the ears and indicative of brains that contained little but thistledown.  And those who took possession of his arms were making him wish to retreat in haste – as far as it was possible to retreat once you were trapped here in the Blessed Realm.  And she, the one whose hair reminded him of the glow of dawn sunlight in the crown of a winter beech, refused even to look at him.

The prattle ceased as if someone had asked a question to which all were awaiting an answer.  His blue-grey eyes settled on an ebony-haired elleth who was clearly eager to hear his response – and he had failed to note a word she had spoken.

‘It seems unlikely, Calissë,’ a familiar hauntingly sweet voice said with obvious amusement.  ‘Lord Legolas is known to have little time for the activities in which we take so much pleasure.  Why would he accept an invitation to a picnic, when he can be spending his time so much more usefully – studying wildlife, for example.’

There was a hint of green, he thought, in her eyes.  He snapped his attention back to the eager elleth.  ‘I regret,’ he said smoothly, ‘that my hours are taken up fairly fully while I am here.  Another time, perhaps.’

The elleth pouted.  Pouted.  Anyone past their first century should know better!  ‘But there will be wildlife in plenty where we are going.  And it is the season when the butterflies journey north,’ she said.  ‘A Wood Elf should find that interesting!’

A sudden vision of trees hung with delicate-winged butterflies of the palest green made him long for the woods of home.  ‘I doubt I am ready for such an abundance of beauty, my lady,’ he said politely.  ‘If you will excuse me.’  He bowed and stepped back determinedly. He was certainly not ready to spend his days in pointless activity.  He still wanted more important things to do – to make a difference to the world.

‘I am sorry.’  He turned to find himself nose to nose with a tall Noldo.

‘It is far too crowded here.’  The other smiled wryly.  ‘It is a wonder to me that more elves are not trampled.  I can think of so many better places to be on a starlit night, but my wife insists on putting in an appearance at every event.’

‘We have been introduced,’ Legolas hazarded a guess.  ‘But I am afraid your name escapes me.’

‘After all, we all look the same, do we not?’ the elf said with mock sympathy.  ‘I am Camentur.  Would it make you feel better if I asked your name?’

‘Is it necessary?’  Legolas grinned.  It had been a long time since he had met someone to whom he appeared to be an amusement rather than an object of speculation. 

A well-manicured hand waved.  ‘Please!’  The elf sounded pained.  ‘There is nothing wrong with my hearing – and you have been the subject of far too many conversations for me to remain ignorant of your identity.  In fact,’ he added, ‘we are already the focus of far too much attention.  Would you care to escape the hordes?’

‘There is little I would like better.’

‘You are easy to please.’  Camentur shook his head.  ‘I can put you in my debt purely by showing you one of the many discreetly placed doors.’   

There were fewer elves strolling on the wide terraces – closeness to the ears of the powerful was too important an opportunity to waste – but various pairings of elves sought shady corners where they could enjoy the illusion of privacy, while others seized this chance to converse in quiet voices with none to overhear them.  A crack of laughter from the gardens below was rapidly hushed in the deafening way that only seemed subtle to those who had taken rather too much wine.

Camentur rolled his eyes.  ‘Do not assume that we are all morons,’ he requested.  ‘Even if there are some determined to give that impression.’

Moving rather closer to the balustrade, Legolas ignored him and tuned his hearing to the conversations below.  It was impossible to catch every word – it seemed that some of those present realised the need for discretion – but he heard enough to feel certain that he was observing some of those who found entertainment in disturbing the lives of those without the power to oppose them. 

At his elbow, Camentur frowned.  ‘They should have more sense than to joke about such things,’ he said, as a slurred voice spoke of his latest idea for driving away the Silvan elves cluttering the woods.

‘It is no joke.’  Legolas’s eyes fixed on the Noldo’s face.  ‘It has become, I am told, a sport among certain circles.’

‘Not even my atar – who is not fond of the elves from across the sea – would dream of tolerating such behaviour.  I hope you do not think…’ Camentur looked genuinely horrified.

‘There are those who ignore what is happening.’  Legolas’s voice was quietly grim.  ‘And who must be made to see what these … these foolish youths are doing.’

Camentur did not hesitate.  ‘If there is anything I can do to help…’

‘We have Lady Galadriel on our side.’  Legolas smiled.  ‘And the assistance of one who would not be suspected of aiding us would be very useful.’   After all, the elf was here now – and they had heard the same thing.  Better to keep an eye on him than lose sight of him among the abundance of elves of whom Legolas knew nothing.  And it might be convenient to have an impartial witness to events.

‘You can count on me,’ Camentur said.

***

It had not proved difficult to guide the small party to lay in wait for deer in the right spot to observe the behaviour of half a dozen arrogant ellyn – and it had proved even less difficult to entice the young fools to flaunt their irresponsibility in front of two of the High King’s sons and a select band of rather stiff-necked lords.

Not, he thought, that he would have noted their arrival yet, had the trees not contained former warriors signalling their progress.  He dropped to one knee and inspected minute traces in the leaf litter.

‘That way,’ Orodreth said impatiently.  ‘Did you have this much trouble seeking game in your forest east of the Hithaeglir?’

‘From what I hear, my lord, there was more challenging game to hunt.’  Camentur sounded slightly envious.

‘Your atar will tell you that such times are not to be envied – we are fortunate to dwell in safety,’ murmured Finrod, cocking his head slightly as a birdcall whistled.  ‘I think perhaps this way, my brother,’ he recommended.

Legolas glanced at the tall elf whose golden hair most resembled his sister’s.  Receptive, he was – and as quick of mind as he was of foot. 

‘If you wish.’ Orodreth sounded irritated.  ‘It is a while since I have hunted in these woods – and I am not impressed at their health.  I would have thought that green elves would have taken greater care to look after the welfare of the creatures in their charge.’  He looked accusingly at the Wood Elf.  ‘There have been those who have been persistent in their advice that those who dwell here should be moved on. I have ignored them so far – live and let live, I say – but I am not impressed with what I see.’

‘There is usually more beneath the surface than is seen at first glance.’  One of Finrod’s closest friends glanced around him.  ‘Perhaps we should reserve judgment.’

‘The hunting is unlikely to be good with that racket going on.’  The elf was named – what was it? – Nolmondil.  He had seemed a bit on the reserved side, but Camentur had assured him that he was as honest an elf as could be found at court and one whose word was trusted implicitly.

Orodreth turned his head like a deer scenting fire, but instead of bounding in the opposite direction, he moved purposefully towards the clanging and shouting, followed by the rest of the party, their hands on the hilts of the long knives at their belts.  Legolas took up the rear, hoping that the situation these Noldor lords would find was clear enough for them to come to only one conclusion and that their precipitate arrival would not scare off the predators he had been careful to attract.

He need not have worried.   Had a patrol of Wood Elves made as much noise, they would have expected to attract the attentions of orcs and spiders from leagues around, but these five certainly would not be aware of the approach of outraged elves.  Not, at least, unless they started yelling and waving their arms around – together, perhaps, with throwing stones at the perpetrators to divert them from activities that were proving far too absorbing.

Two dark-haired elves held Litheredh, arms twisted behind his back.  He was doing his best to throw them off – or so it appeared – but was in no position to put any real strength into his resistance.  Especially, Legolas noted, forcing his grip on his bow to remain loose, once a third elf punched him in the stomach.  Litheredh twisted and kicked out at his attacker, catching him just below the knee.

One of those behind him pulled on the Wood Elf’s arm, and Legolas heard clearly the snap of the bone.  Litheredh cried out.

‘You are not wanted here!  What does it take to get an idea into your thick Moriquendi skulls?’  There was a vicious edge to the voice of the one who had broken the bone as his fist impacted on the Silvan elf’s temple with an audible thwack.  ‘You are even less use than the creatures that wandered these woods.  They, at least, have had the sense to move on.’

A drunken giggle escaped one of the elves holding back and watching.  ‘It is more fun hunting Moriquendi.  They and the boar are the only creatures to fight back.’

Watching Orodreth lead his party of outraged elves into the glade must have been like seeing the Host of the Valar on the plains before Angband, Legolas noted with some amusement.  They gleamed with fury – so much so that the young Noldor cringed away from them.  Finrod had hurriedly slipped round behind them so they had no chance to cut and run – and Nolmondil took charge of the horses to make escape even less of an option. 

He headed straight for Litheredh, now released to collapse to his knees on the grass.  ‘Let me see,’ he said gently, as he settled the Silvan elf on the soft turf.  ‘Your arm will need to be splinted until we can get you to a healer.’

Behind him, the glade had become so silent that the shallow breathing of those caught out in their cruel games rasped like a saw on wood.

‘Can we name them all?’ Orodreth enquired with deceptive calm.  ‘I would not want to have to rely on the word of any so … lacking in the concept of honour.’

‘Not that it matters.’  Calumbar contributed.  ‘We will be taking them back to Tirion under escort – and delivering them, I would think, into the High King’s care.’

A flash of amusement stabbed through Legolas’s concern.  It would appear that it was not only Thranduil who had mastered the art of subduing the recalcitrant through apparent and alarming mildness.  His adar would be appalled – probably – to realise he had this, at least, in common with these lords of the Noldor.  But, between the Noldor lords’ cold storm-grey eyes and their forbidding manner, there was no question left in the mind of the ellyn who was in command.  Their aggression and brash rudeness had flown the moment they realised who had observed their attack and they appeared desperate to make themselves seem as harmless and humbly apologetic as possible.  Not, Legolas decided with satisfaction as he observed Orodreth’s grim expression, that their behaviour now they were caught out would make any difference to those who had discovered their offences.

Finrod moved close to Legolas as he rode behind the injured elf.  ‘You knew that was likely to happen, did you not?’ he asked, his slate-grey eyes inspecting the young elves bunched together in the midst of their very judicial-looking elders.

Glancing swiftly at Litheredh’s drooping head and half-closed eyes, Legolas replied, ‘To a degree,’ he said.  ‘I did not expect physical injury – not at this level.’

The High King’s oldest son contemplated the Silvan elf.  ‘I believe he would think it worthwhile,’ he said.  ‘As long as it ensures that no other elf will have to face the same situation.’

‘Probably,’ Legolas agreed.

‘Take him to Elrond,’ Finrod recommended.  ‘His house is close – and there is little point dragging out his suffering by making him come into Tirion.’

Litheredh blinked and licked his lips.  ‘Better for everyone to see,’ he said hoarsely.  ‘Then no-one can deny it happened.’

Finrod raised his eyebrows.  ‘True,’ he said after a moment’s thought. ‘It is hard to deny the evidence of your own eyes.’

‘Not impossible,’ Legolas said dryly, ‘but hard.’

‘This will stop,’ Finrod assured them both.  ‘We have seen what comes of elf set against elf – and I will not have it happen here.’ 

***

The hobbits had had a saying about putting cats among pigeons, he recalled – and, seeing the reaction of the Noldor to their tight-lipped arrival at Finarfin’s court, he could see exactly what they had meant.  The sober robes were fluttering like wings as stately elves dashed from one meeting to another and more elves were gathering with every passing minute.  Clearly the inhabitants of Tirion were unaccustomed to such excitement.

And, for every scowl that found itself aimed his way as he waited patiently for Finarfin’s sons to inform the High King of what had happened and give them time to discuss the implications, he found twice or three times as many looks of apology and sympathy.  Perhaps, he thought, keeping his face sober, the Noldor did not all require several ages in the company of the Sindar to help them understand how to deal with other people.  Although his adar might still resist admitting it.

‘Are you all right?’ Camentur paused briefly beside him.

‘Litheredh is with the healers – his arm is badly broken.  The twist, you know.  And he is concussed.’  Legolas glanced at the Noldo.  ‘He will not be able to appear before the High King for a while – they have given him something to make him sleep.’

‘There is no need,’ Camentur looked faintly harassed.  ‘The healers will say what they found.  And if the High King wants to see him, he will wait the hearing until – what was his name? – is ready.’  He grinned ruefully.  ‘My atar is not pleased that I shall be asked to appear.  Two of those ellyn come from powerful families.’

‘The drunk and the first one to throw a punch,’ Legolas guessed.

Camentur looked surprised.  ‘How did you know?’

The Wood Elf shrugged.  ‘Experience.’  He brooded on what he had seen.  ‘Spoiled brats – too much money, too little to do.  Self-indulgent and spiteful.  And attracted to those who are apparently strong-minded – and who can offer them what they see as excitement and good times.  The one who broke Litheredh’s arm – he is the one of whom to be wary.  A nasty piece of work.’

‘I doubt they will find themselves with too little to do in the future,’ Camentur told him.  ‘The High King has a way of setting the indulged sons of the wealthy to work when they are brought to his attention this way.  And by the time they return to Tirion, they have generally learned a few lessons the hard way.’

‘You will not be surprised if I say that I am glad to hear it.’

‘Camentur!  What has happened?’ The elleth flushed slightly as she caught sight of Legolas beyond the Noldo’s shoulder.  ‘Oh – I am sorry to intrude.’

As she turned away, Camentur took hold of her sleeve.  ‘There is no need to run off!  This is my sister,’ he told Legolas.  ‘Elerrina.’

‘My lady.’  Legolas bowed slightly.  ‘We have met.  Several times, I believe – although you have avoided giving me your name.’  His eyes lingered on her hair and took in her now-pale cheeks. 

She dropped her eyes.  ‘Atar wants to speak to you,’ she informed her brother.  ‘What have you been doing?’

‘Whatever your brother has been doing, Lady Elerrina,’ Legolas said, his tongue lingering over her name, ‘he has been doing in the company of, among others, Lords Finrod and Orodreth.  Surely that in itself makes it acceptable?’

There was definitely a hint of green in the soft eyes.  ‘Perhaps, my lord.’ She did not appear to think much of him, Legolas decided, wondering if he had done something to offend her.   ‘Atar is waiting, my brother,’ she reminded Camentur.

‘It is never wise to keep your adar waiting – especially if he is less than pleased with the way events have turned out.’  Legolas grinned.  ‘I daresay we will meet again, Camentur.  When the High King has finished his deliberations.’

The elleth inclined her head and left with her brother.  Legolas sighed.  She was clearly totally unimpressed by him.  He must have lost his touch.

***

‘I am not certain that the High King’s judgment is likely to improve relations between the Noldor and the Silvan.’

Galadriel paused in her walk and settled her star-kissed eyes on Thranduil’s son.  ‘Possibly not,’ she agreed.  ‘Not, at least, among those who are too prejudiced to look beyond his decision to make an example of those … oafs.  But there are many Noldor who were as appalled by the actions of these few as we are ourselves – and as pleased that the High King has made absolutely plain that he will not tolerate any incidents of such behaviour.’  She inspected Legolas.  ‘You need to assert your position more, my lord Prince,’ she added.  ‘There are many elves of the Greenwood who would fight, kicking and screaming, any attempt to remove them from their forests – but there are those here in the Blessed Realm who have led warriors and sat in council with your adar and daeradar.  You need to engage them in establishing your people as a single kindred with a voice that will be heard in the halls of Tirion, of Valmar and Alqualondë – as well as on Tol Eressëa.’ 

A sigh that was little more than a breath made her smile.  ‘Your people have been leaderless too long, Aranion.’

‘If I disagreed with you,’ Legolas said ruefully, ‘your words would be easier to bear.’

Galadriel looked at him compassionately.  ‘You needed time to restore yourself, Legolas,’ she said.  ‘It it only recently that Elrond and I have been ready to shoulder any responsibilities – and, even then, we know that there are others around us who can bear the burdens equally well.  You arrived here a century after us, after having fought the need to sail for most of that time – and accompanied by one who needed you.  It is surprising that you are as well as you are.’  She resumed her graceful stroll along the long rose walk.  ‘But what you need now is purpose – and you could not have a better one.  And you are,’ she added pointedly, ‘the only one of your house here to pursue it.’ 

A group of ellyth clothed in pastel shades gathered on the wide lawns.  Legolas found himself looking in their direction to see if one among them was crowned with hair of red-gold.

‘She has gone home with her family,’ Galadriel observed.  Legolas flushed at the implication that his interest was obvious enough to be generally known.  ‘Her atar is…’ she tilted her head thoughtfully, ‘less open than some,’ she concluded. Her glance was amused.  ‘You do not make things easy on yourself, Thranduilion.’

Legolas decided he was relieved that she chose not to take the thought further.

‘The people of the woods have never been one,’ he said.  ‘Not since the days of Lenwë – not even then, really.  They tend to be independent – go off in pursuit of their own goals – and look for leadership only when things are going wrong.’

Galadriel laughed.  ‘I have spent long enough among the Galadhrim to recognise the truth in your words,’ she agreed.  ‘Some will be waiting for my lord – others for the return of Amdir or Denethor, others yet for Lenwë or Elwë, with yet more determined to lead their own lives in the absence of any interference.’  She glanced at him humorously.  ‘You do not come of an amenable race, Thranduilion.  Yet they need a spokesman – someone who can take their part in the councils of the great.’

‘And you think I am that person?’  Legolas raised his eyebrows.  ‘Yet am I not so young that many in Finarfin’s circle consider that I have barely cut my eye-teeth?’

Galadriel’s smile lightened her usually dignified demeanour.  ‘Many of them think that I am too young to have anything useful to say.  They just have to be ignored – and at least none among them knew you as an elfling!’  They paused and looked through a circular opening cut through the wall to a vista of distant trees and rolling hills.  ‘The battle ahead of you,’ she said, ‘is one that requires neither bow nor blades – but it needs fighting.  You have much to do, Legolas.’

It was, he found, a strangely heartening thought.  He had not left striving behind on the shores of his land of birth to stagnate in this peaceful realm, but was, instead, taking up arms of a different kind to go to the defence of his people. 

‘The Silvan are too scattered,’ he said thoughtfully, ‘to rule – as Finarfin rules the Noldor and Olwë the Teleri.  And they dwell on sufferance in the lands of others.  But you are right – they need a voice.  And they need a home.’

‘That will come,’ Galadriel’s voice sounded dreamily distant.  ‘It is not yet time – but it will come.  It is for us to prepare the ground over these next years, so that our future path may be eased and the elves of Ennor find their place here in the Blessed Realm.’

Legolas looked at her uneasily.  Glimpses into the future, he felt, were an unreliable guide to the task at hand.  ‘Oh well, then,’ he declared, ‘that is all right.  I suppose.’

Galadriel blinked and smiled.  ‘Yes,’ she agreed. ‘It will be all right.’

***

Taryatur seriously disliked him.  Legolas was almost offended by it.  What had he ever done to upset the Noldo – apart from cast a few admiring looks at his daughter?  And not many elves thought of that as a reason to detest another.  A reason to send the elleth on a protracted visit to her grandparents, perhaps, in the hope that her absence would cool any unwanted interest, but it was not a reason for loathing. 

The elf’s son had shrugged with embarrassment when Legolas had asked him just why Taryatur seemed determined to contradict every word that he uttered.  Camentur had simply muttered something about his atar always having been that way – and that he was sure Taryatur would learn to appreciate Legolas soon.   The tone of his voice, however, had suggested that any such diminution of the older elf’s disapproval was highly unlikely and that Legolas might have a long wait if he hoped to be viewed with any kind of approbation.

In fact, only Legolas’s wish to promote his cause in the court of the Noldor High King had persuaded him not to revert to childhood – and indulge in a delicate needling of the elf who so clearly mistrusted him.  It had become instead a matter of pride to display impeccable manners in the face of provocation – and not only because the greenish-grey eyes of Taryatur’s daughter were on him.

Although she seemed as doubtful of him as her sire. 

It was, he supposed, hardly surprising.  Taryatur and his wife were hardly likely to have brought up their children to be accepting of anything beyond the everyday experiences of the Noldor.  The only wonder was that Camentur seemed to be so interested in discovering more about Legolas and his world – even though Taryatur did his best to keep his son away from the Silvan elves who accompanied Legolas on his increasing number of visits to Tirion.

Legolas advanced quietly across the busy room towards the chatting elleth.  She did not appear to have noticed his approach in time to move gracefully away to another part of the ballroom as was her usual custom.  Perhaps, this time, he would manage to disconcert her into agreeing to dance with him. 

‘He is stalking you,’ the dark-haired Calissë hissed.

‘I know.’  Elerrina’s lips twitched.  ‘Let him get just a little closer – and then we can slip away.’

‘I fail to understand why you tease him so much.’  Calissë shook her head.  ‘He is really very attractive.’

‘He is a Wood Elf – they are reckless and wild,’ Elerrina shrugged.  ‘Atar is of the opinion that they cannot be trusted.’  She pursed her mouth thoughtfully.  ‘I am not so sure, myself – it seems a bit of a comprehensive condemnation – but I would not want to upset Atar.  Is he still coming?’

‘I cannot see him – there are people in the way.  Had we better move?’

‘I will find my brother and make him dance with me – right in front of him,’ Elerrina grinned mischievously.  ‘He will be so exasperated!’

‘Perhaps you would care to dance with me, Lady Elerrina?’  His accent had improved over recent years, but his voice was still soft – and, despite her best efforts, she found it hard to resist.  Before she thought of an excuse, her hand was in his and he was leading her to the sets of dancers.   ‘There is no need to drag your brother from his wife.  I am more than happy to substitute for him.’

‘Are you sure this is politically wise?’ Elerrina asked him airily.  ‘You usually confine your dancing to the wives of the High King’s most powerful advisors.’

‘It is safer to do so,’ Legolas murmured confidentially, leaning closer to her ear.  ‘I have long found it unwise to expose my throat to naked blades.  With you, my lady, I can feel sure that your atar’s distaste for my kin will keep me from certain attentions.’

Elerrina blinked at him, disconcerted.  ‘I think, perhaps, this dance should end, my lord,’ she said primly.  ‘I have no desire to be employed as a tool to annoy my kin.’

He smiled dazzlingly.  ‘If I gave that impression, my lady, I am very sorry.  I merely wish to spend time in the company of Tirion’s most beautiful daughter.’

‘Now that, Lord Legolas, is simply ridiculous.  I number more than enough yeni to be aware that I am nothing of the sort.’  Her voice contained undertones he did not understand and the eyes meeting his had taken on the gleam of green marble.  She allowed him to lead her through the complex pattern of the dance in cool silence.

‘I have been trying unsuccessfully to win a dance with you for some time – and all I have done is given myself reason to apologise to you,’ Legolas said ruefully.  ‘I wish I could ask you to start again – and I promise that I will keep to innocuous subjects.’

Elerrina inspected him from under the shadow of her eyelashes.  She smiled.  ‘The weather has been remarkably fine recently,’ she remarked.

‘Indeed it has, my lady – and the stars promise to shine well on the night’s festivities.’

She dimpled at him.  ‘And this is proving a remarkably interesting evening.’

‘I have rarely known better.’

‘Are you planning on remaining long in Tirion?’

‘I fear not, my lady.’  He sounded truly regretful.  ‘I have made arrangements – clearly far too precipitately – to meet some of my adar’s former advisors shortly.  I will have to leave when Ithil starts again to cross the sky.’

Her eyes met his and their steps slowed.  ‘That is a pity.’

‘But I will return,’ he promised as the music ended.

Promptly a hand clasped Elerrina’s possessively and a tall body inserted itself between the two of them.  ‘It is time for us to leave, my daughter,’ Taryatur said pleasantly, with a glare at the Wood Elf that left Legolas in no doubt that he was being warned to keep his distance from the only elleth he had met in the Blessed Realm who stirred his interest and, without allowing either of them the chance to speak, Taryatur whisked his daughter away.





        

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