Reaching

She was no longer alone.  Not bound, thank the Valar.  Not one with the Wood Elf – but he was in her and with her and his presence gave her a solidity and assurance that had eroded so gradually that he had not even realised how changed she had become.  He should, he supposed, be grateful.  Should be. 

Taryatur glared at the Wood Elf – a scorching glare that should have had him flinching – but the fair-haired product of a corrupt realm endured it without apparent distress.  He, too, the Noldo realised, shone with a new confidence.

‘Atar,’ Elerrina said coaxingly.  She threw a despairing glance towards her amil as Taryatur ignored her, but Linevendë shook her head in resignation.  The elleth turned her attention back to the angry elf.  ‘Atar,’ she said again.  ‘It is not as if we meant it to happen as it did.  You cannot blame Legolas.’

He moved just enough to include her in his line of vision.  ‘Can I not?’ he asked, his tone making perfectly plain that he could and would.

‘We have tried, Atar.’  Elerrina’s voice shook so imperceptibly that only those tuned to her happiness would have heard it.  Linevendë shifted as if to come to her support, but, before she could move, Legolas closed his hand around her daughter’s.  Taryatur stared at them forbiddingly.  ‘We have tried for so long – but it was no good.  We were only pretending to be as we were.’

‘You know what that is like, my love.’  Linevendë spoke so softly and intimately that Elerrina barely registered her voice.  The elleth’s eyes focused on her atar’s face pleadingly, asking for an understanding he did not wish to offer. 

Taryatur closed his eyes.  He wanted to be angry.  He wanted to explode and send the opportunist away with a flea in his ear – to forbid him ever to come anywhere near his family – his daughter – again. To make things as they once were.  He wanted to – but his wife’s warning held him.  They would lose her if they forced her to choose.  And, in the end, it was more important for them to retain Elerrina’s love and trust than to have the brief satisfaction of giving the Wood Elf a piece of his mind.

‘Child,’ he said, and a wealth of love and shared memory rang in the single word, ‘you do not make things easy on yourself.’

Elerrina dropped Legolas’s hand and stepped into her atar’s arms, resting her head on his shoulder and holding him so tightly that it was a moment or two before he realised that she was weeping.  He brought one hand up to stroke her bright hair and rubbed his cheek against the top of her head soothingly.  ‘For someone who has just made a choice that should bring her great joy, my daughter,’ he said gently, ‘you do not seem very happy.’  He regarded Legolas intently, much an elf might watch a snake, tolerating its presence but not trusting its intent.

‘I want you to be happy for me,’ Elerrina told him.

‘That might be asking a little too much – just at the moment,’ Taryatur admitted.  ‘I am sure that I will come to be happy for you – as your chosen one proves to me that he is deserving of his good fortune.’

Legolas remained straight-faced, but Taryatur suspected he was holding back a rather sardonic laugh – in the full understanding that the Sundering Seas might freeze over before his beloved’s atar was willing to see him as anything more than a usurper of Elerrina’s affections.  There was, after all, no reason why he should expect to receive anything more than a suspicious tolerance – and that only as long as he made Elerrina as happy as a queen. 

‘But however much I want to see you full of joy,’ Taryatur said – and he was surprisingly reluctant to be the one to bring some reality to the situation, ‘I cannot consent to a betrothal.  Not yet.’

Elerrina raised her head to gaze at him indignantly. 

Her atar put a gentle finger to her lips.  ‘This is not just family to family, child,’ he said.  ‘Although, even then, I would want you to spend longer learning about each other before you committed yourselves.’  He looked at her gravely until she gave a slight nod.  ‘But it is more than that – Legolas has no kin here to advise him and to whom he can go for consent, so he will just have to listen to my words.’  Taryatur turned towards the Wood Elf.  ‘You are more than an individual,’ he said.  ‘You are your atar’s representative and the voice of your people – you cannot put yourself before their needs.  They will not accept your choice of bride.’

His words were clearly no surprise to either of them.

‘Some will,’ Legolas told him.  ‘But you are right – there are many who will not.  And we have already agreed that we cannot move in this to please ourselves.’  He smiled wryly.  ‘It will doubtless gratify you that it is likely to be a long time before this can be resolved as it should be.  But I do ask,’ he said, holding the older elf’s eyes resolutely, ‘that you give your consent to my courting your daughter – in the full knowledge that I wish to make her my wife.’

Taryatur could feel his daughter in his arms and sense his wife holding her breath beyond him, but his attention was focused on the fair-haired elf in front of him.  He wished he had the power to change events, to turn back time, to make things turn out differently – but he could not.   His tongue felt stiff in his mouth, as if reluctant to shape the words he had to say, but it was no good.  He had to speak – and his wife and daughter expected him to do the right thing.  Whatever he wanted, in this he had no choice.   ‘I do so consent.’

***

It was, for once, a relief to leave the forest and surround himself with the walls and gardens of Tirion.  Although he had no doubt that the Noldor were as scandalised by the matter as anyone, at least none among them were likely to demand his opinion on the matter.  Litheredh sat back, turning the stem of his pewter goblet between his fingers.  It had not been an easy time.  News of the – he smiled wryly to himself – the Tol Eressëa Incident had spread like wildfire and damping it down had proved harder work than defeating an army of orcs.  Even now, he was sure, resentment was doubtless seething somewhere, ready to break out in a fresh patch of flames that would require dousing with a little common sense.

There were times when he was inclined to agree that the Silvan folk were their own worst enemies.

It had taken his wife’s clear eye to make him see that it was not so much the elleth herself, nor even her ancestry, as the fear that treating with the Noldor had eroded their prince’s nature and lessened his bond with the roots of the forest to make him one of them.  He had scoffed, but the more he thought about it…

To get what they needed, it had seemed wisest to play the game of politics from the seat of power – but to do that, you had to be part of the establishment.  Then, once you were on the inside…  Litheredh took a sip of the deep red wine.  Had the prince lost his connection with his people?  Did the games of lords and princes now matter more to him than the people who looked up to him as his adar’s son?

He shook his head imperceptibly.  He did not believe it.  Legolas was the same elf he had ever been.  His adar’s straightforward honesty, softened by his naneth’s tact.  He was, of course, a prince – at home among the great, but he was one lacking in the arrogance to make him believe that that was all that mattered.  He had spent too many centuries serving in the blood-soaked mud of a protracted war to lose his grasp on reality so easily.

‘Another?’ The innkeeper slid a tray across the table in front of him.  A jug of wine, with a second goblet and a plate of rather exotic-looking finger food.

‘I did not order any of that.’  Litheredh kept his voice expressionless.

The innkeeper shrugged.  ‘I have to refresh myself some time,’ he said philosophically.  ‘And the other tables are busy.  Perhaps you would like to try a few – I have brought more than I need.’

Litheredh raised an eyebrow.  If he was not mistaken, there were free tables in plenty – and the elf had never before shown any desire to take a rest during the middle of the day.  Curiosity stirred, diverting his attention from his brooding.  ‘You are more than welcome to share my table,’ he said.

The innkeeper nodded – and kept nodding, as if the movement removed the need to explain what brought him.  He raised the jug and offered it.  Litheredh held his goblet out and allowed it to be refilled. 

‘Try one of these,’ the innkeeper suggested, indicating an innocuous-looking strip of some red fruit on the plate before him.

Litheredh looked suspiciously at the offering, but picked it up and took a cautious bite.  ‘Valar!’  The exclamation was forced from him as the chunk bit back.  He grabbed his goblet and gulped down a large mouthful.  ‘What is that?’

‘Some things are like that,’ the innkeeper observed, his eyes on those passing the tables.   ‘They look familiar and harmless, but…’  He let his voice trail away.  ‘While other things…’  He pointed at a pink, curled, worm-like object and Litheredh obediently took one.  ‘They are strange to us – but sweet and wholesome.’  He stared at the Wood Elf hopefully, as if willing him to understand.

Litheredh frowned. 

The innkeeper sighed.  ‘I must get back to work,’ he said.  He leant close enough to point at some juicy-looking green strips.  ‘You might want to be careful with those, too.  Not quite what they seem.’

‘Thank you.’  The Silvan elf’s gaze was impassive.  There was no point attempting here and now to extract more than hints – he could return at some time when there were fewer eyes on them – but, if he was reading the message right, he needed to look among his own people rather than seek enemies among the Noldor.  Something, he had to admit, that had never occurred to him.  Why, after all, would a Wood Elf want to make difficulties for his own people?  Perhaps, he thought, he was as guilty of making assumptions as anyone – and he needed to open his mind to a wider range of possibilities.

As the innkeeper disappeared through the doorway, Litheredh picked up one of the green strips and tested it carefully.  It was, as he had suspected, just as spitefully fiery as the other.  Not what it seemed at all.  Unfortunately, he could hardly go to Legolas or anyone else with no more than a piece of – he inspected the plate in front of him – deceptive vegetable as evidence for suspicions.  He would need to find something more.

***

Camentur settled quietly beside the blond elf.

A guarded glance was the only reaction.  Legolas continued to twiddle a smooth hazel twig, weaving it expertly between his fingers.

‘You are not unwelcome to all Elerrina’s kin.’  Camentur did not look at the Wood Elf.  ‘There are some – many, possibly – who are willing to be happy for you both.’

‘You are among them?’  Legolas’s voice showed a strain to which he refused to admit in front of Taryatur.

‘My wife would certainly institute a ruthless – er – kin-shunning if I were to suggest anything else.’  Camentur grinned.  ‘She has decided in your favour.’

‘And you accept her wisdom?’

‘Trust me,’ Elerrina’s brother said, ‘a sensible elf always accepts his wife’s wisdom.  It might be worth bearing that in mind for the future.’

‘The very far distant future,’ Legolas remarked.

‘Time will pass quickly enough.’ Camentur looked sideways.  ‘At least Atar has consented to your courtship, so you will be – er – welcomed to his house.’

An involuntary grin brightened Legolas’s face.  ‘Welcomed might be a bit of an exaggeration,’ he said.

‘And Elerrina is happy.’

‘She seems to have spent quite a lot of the little time we have been able to spend together in tears.’

‘I have never understood why ellyth weep when they are joyful.’

‘Do they?’  Legolas rubbed a finger over the bridge of his nose.  ‘It seems to me a bizarre way to react.  I was rather afraid that she was regretting the impulse that led her to yield to emotions she has resisted so doggedly.’

‘Are you regretting it?’

‘No!’  Legolas’s response was immediate and heartfelt.  ‘No,’ he repeated more quietly.  ‘Not for a minute.’

‘It is a shame,’ Camentur sighed, ‘that it was not just the two of you and a vast forest all to yourselves – where you could enjoy the moment.  I will bet it was not long before the world crashed back in on your … your brief idyll.’

‘It was probably not the wisest place to choose to make such a definite statement.’ Legolas could not help the rueful amusement.  ‘Half the Wood Elves of Tol Eressëa looking on – and they would have had to be far more drunk than they were to mistake my intent.  I do not believe your sister stopped blushing for the remainder of her visit.’ 

Camentur grinned.  ‘My little sister has always turned her nose up a little at those who behave … unconventionally.  It is poetic justice that she would pick a moment like this to let the reins loose!  And I, for one, will never let her forget it!’ 

Eyes narrowed, Legolas stared at the Noldo intimidatingly, but his friend’s smile only widened.  Camentur shook his head.  ‘You cannot scare me,’ he declared.  ‘Elerrina has been my sister for a great many more years than she has been your – er – heart’s desire.  You can try to shield her from the rest of the world, but I demand my right to torment her.’ 

‘I have never had a sister,’ Legolas admitted, ‘but I warn you – if you upset her…’

‘If I upset her,’ her brother said dryly, ‘I can expect to find my boots full of slugs and ground pepper in my tooth powder.  You might not wish to believe this, but Elerrina can be dangerous to cross!’

Legolas smiled again as a vision of Elerrina filled his mind.

‘You need to get past this mindless stage pretty quickly.’  Camentur watched him cynically.  ‘Or your political opponents will simply need to mention her name to distract you from whatever trick they are trying to pull.’

The long fingers stilled, and Legolas inspected them as if he had not seen them before.  ‘I wish I could see my way through to the end of this.’  He sighed.  ‘No matter how patiently we wait, we are not going to win many friends.’

‘Perhaps, when your atar comes…’

An expression of doubt shadowed Legolas’s face.  The likelihood of his adar’s arrival – something for which he had yearned over centuries now – improving his situation was, he rather thought, slight.  Quite the contrary, really.  ‘Perhaps,’ he said.

***

Legolas collected a small amount of the molten glass on the end of the pipe and rolled it against the metal plate as Elerrina had shown him.

‘Be careful as you blow,’ she warned.  ‘To get the bubble to the size you want, you can reheat the glass again and again, then roll it to control the shape – before using the shears to cut it free.’

He attempted to follow her instructions, but was left gazing at a misshapen blob that bore no resemblance to … anything much.  It would clearly be an advantage to him in this to have at least one extra pair of arms – and an additional head might be useful.

A swift grin crossed the elf’s flushed face.  ‘I have no talent for this,’ he said.  ‘But, as I fail so abysmally to make anything worth the effort, I am ever more impressed by your skill.’

Elerrina returned his smile.  ‘You are doing better than I expected,’ she claimed.

‘But only because you expected me to be a total incompetent with tools of any kind.’  He inspected the cooling glass.  ‘Do you mind if I abandon this?’ he asked, depositing it in a bucket of sand at his feet.  ‘I promise to sit back and admire whatever you make with a better appreciation of the skill that went into creating it.’  He clasped his hands behind his head and stretched like a cat.  ‘You would have been right, too – until Gimli took me in hand.  He found it appalling that I depended on the services of smiths I did not know to repair my weapons – and appeared to think that I had failed to pass some initiation into adulthood.  I tried to explain it was a cultural difference between Wood Elves and others, but he refused to listen.’

‘And so you let him harangue you into learning something alien to you,’ Elerrina said softly.

Legolas’s smile was softly reminiscent.  ‘Oh well…’  He watched the elleth tidy away the evidence of his inexpert attempts at glass-making.  ‘He was right in a way – you often cannot stop in the middle of a campaign to seek out a blacksmith.  And you need to be able to trust to your weapons – a smith accustomed to fitting horseshoes and repairing ploughs is not best suited to working on tools you rely on to keep you alive.’

Elerrina stilled, then straightened up slowly to examine his face.  He seemed different suddenly, lost in a past that she did not understand.  Was this what her atar had meant?  But surely – short of wedding one you had known from birth, one who had shared every experience – everyone had to learn about the one intended to be her bonded lover?

‘Do you miss it?’ she said.

His eyes focused on her guarded face.  ‘The campaigning? No,’ he conceded.  ‘The friends – and places of my youth and adulthood?  I will always miss them.’  He reached out to touch her arm gently and slid his hand down to hold her little finger.  ‘The great beech by the Forest River – my adar’s Stronghold – the voices of Lasgalen’s trees – Ithilien – the sight of Anor setting from Henneth Annûn – the grass singing across the plains of Rohan, the ancient forest of Fangorn. Even Gimli’s caves. I shall never see them again.  The elves from whom the sea divides me, those who have passed into Námo’s care – I can hope to be reunited with them – but other friends … their absence will leave a hole in my heart until the end of days.’

Elerrina raised her hand to touch his cheek.

He smiled.  ‘But there are compensations,’ he said softly.  ‘New friends – a life in a world that has not seen shadow since before Anor rose.  You.’

It was as if a blanket cocooned them, shutting them off from their surroundings and dimming their awareness of anything except each other.  They scarcely moved, scarcely touched each other – it was unnecessary.  The simple presence of the other warmed as it wove them more deeply together.  Legolas lowered his head slowly to touch his lips to Elerrina’s, half afraid to shatter the mood.  She returned the gentle caress gravely before tangling her fingers in his hair and drawing him closer.

‘I will not break,’ she murmured, as their kiss deepened and they lost themselves in each other, flickers of flame warming them and burning away the barriers between them until, reluctantly, they separated, impelled by their compelling need to breathe. 

‘I might,’ he told her, with a half-laugh.  ‘I am under a great deal of strain!  I am not sure how long I can endure the … the limitations put upon us.’

Elerrina placed a final kiss at the corner of Legolas’s mouth and drew back with a sigh.  ‘Perhaps we should try to avoid being alone,’ she suggested.  ‘Chaperoned, we would have to conduct ourselves with greater reserve.’

‘I would rather struggle with my desire to kiss you senseless,’ he admitted, ‘while having you to myself.’  He linked his fingers with hers and ran his thumb over the pads of hard skin, finding himself strangely touched by this evidence that she was more than an adornment of Finarfin’s court. 

A blush coloured Elerrina’s face.  ‘I, too,’ she confessed.  ‘But neither would I wish to let my parents down.  Atar has not yet consented to a betrothal.’

And he would do everything he could to avoid permitting it, Legolas thought, for all his apparent – and unexpected – reasonableness.  He sighed and released the resentment.  As would his own adar, he reminded himself.   ‘Then let us take a walk,’ he suggested.  ‘In full view of anyone who cares to watch – we will simply walk together and talk.’

Elerrina smiled at him.  ‘Atar wants us to understand each other,’ she said.  ‘Talking would be a good thing to do.’

He raised her hand and turned it over to kiss her palm.  ‘Then that is what we will do,’ he declared.  ‘Walk with me, my lady.’

***

Give a group of ellyn a ball and an open space, Galadriel thought with amusement, and they were like a litter of puppies.  It seemed not to matter how old they were – or how sensible – they were unable to resist the urge to compete.  In fact, if she was not much mistaken, her atar, the wise and stately High King of the Noldor, was itching to join in.

Eärwen bent her head to murmur in her husband’s ear, causing him to lean his head back and share with her a smile of such intimate affection that Galadriel had to look away.  She was glad that her parents had each other: she was.  She had feared, when Finarfin resolved to return from the march and seek the Valar’s pardon, that he might receive that, but would never obtain her amil’s forgiveness for the actions of the Noldor in Alqualondë.  Not until she met Finarfin at the head of the Valar’s host had that concern been eased – and, when she had arrived on the white shore to see her parents together, their love for each other had helped comfort her and give her hope that she would be able to endure the uncertain wait until her husband chose to sail.

Her daughter’s hand rested on hers.  ‘Poor Elrond,’ Celebrían said gleefully.  ‘He has no wish to take part in my uncles’ games – but is far too courteous to tell them so.’

‘Should we rescue him, do you think?’ 

Celebrían grinned wickedly – her adar’s smile – and shook her head.  ‘Not yet,’ she said.  ‘It will do him good to play.  We can save him if they start getting too boisterous.’

‘You under-estimate him, my daughter.’  Galadriel placed her other hand on top of Celebrían’s.  ‘Elrond keeps his playful side under firm control – but your sons inherited their trouble-making characteristics fairly from both parents!’ 

‘Naneth!’ Celebrían protested, widening her eyes in apparent innocence. 

Galadriel laughed.  ‘And you know it, child.’

Elrond leapt and snatched the ball out of the air, buzzing it back towards Angrod, who grabbed it and hurled it straight into Orodreth’s face.  ‘Unfair!’ he protested, picking it up and lobbing it high into the sun.  Aegnor narrowed his eyes against the light, focusing on the small black pellet dropping towards him and catching it easily before spinning it back towards his oldest brother.

‘It is good to see Elrond happy,’ Celebrían said softly.  ‘I thought, at one time, that he would not be able to forgive himself for events that were no fault of his – my poor love bears the weight of the world on his shoulders.’ 

Galadriel watched her son-in-law, her eyes compassionate.  ‘He is a more than worthy heir to all the lines that went into producing him,’ she said, ‘and touched with more greatness than any other elf born to Ennor since Anor rose – but his first wounds came to him when he was too young and cut too deep.  He has always taken too much responsibility on himself.’  She shifted her gaze onto her daughter.  ‘You were good for him – you and your children.’ 

‘And it will not be long, I feel, until Adar and our sons come to bring our family back together – as much as will be possible before Arda’s end.’   

‘Elrond will grieve again for Arwen’s absence – and for the grandchildren he will never know.’

‘We both will.’  For a brief moment, a much older, more sombre elleth looked out of Celebrían’s eyes, before she pushed back the shadows and grinned mischievously at her naneth.  ‘I cannot wait to see how Andatar reacts when Adar shows his face at last.  I think he has been planning this meeting since the end of the War of Wrath.’

‘I think your adar will hold his own,’ Galadriel mused.  ‘Atar might be surprised.’

‘I am, I confess, a little worried about Thranduil’s arrival.’  Celebrían propped herself up on one elbow.  ‘If he found it difficult to tolerate you as his cousin’s wife, I dread to think how he will react to the idea of Elerrina as a daughter.’

Galadriel shrugged.  ‘He might surprise you.  He is good at throwing expectations out of kilter.’

Her daughter laughed.  ‘You make it sound as if you like him!’ she said.

‘I respect him,’ Galadriel told her.  ‘He is certainly worthy of my esteem.  He held the Greenwood for an age against a horde of enemies and refused to give in.  And I do not dislike him – but it is hard to have much affection for someone who goes out of his way to be insulting at the least provocation.’

‘Yet you think he might disconcert everyone by accepting a Noldo as his son’s wife?’

‘He is a loving adar,’ her naneth said.  ‘He would go far before he would alienate his son – and he accepts Legolas’s judgment.’  She drew up her knees and wrapped her arms round them.  ‘I would not attempt to guess his reaction in advance – but I would not necessarily assume it to be negative.’  She smiled slowly.  ‘And I would not put it past him to make a point of surprising all those who are giving Legolas such a difficult time.’

***

Haldir did his best to blend in with the leaves, encouraging the tree to disregard his presence.  The small group of elves had built up a fire on the rocks beside the stream and the older elleth had efficiently prepared fillets of fish and skewered them on green sticks to cook, before turning her attention to the roots collected by the youngest of her companions.  Wood Elves, clearly, Haldir thought, but no-one he recognised – and not intending to stay.  He ran an experienced eye over the large packs placed to one side of the open space.  Nobody felt the need to seek anything from them – all the gear they were using had been to hand, and the elves had organised themselves with the absolute minimum of discussion, like warriors on a long patrol.  They were armed, too – and with more than a bow for hunting and a long knife or two.  Yet their blades were wrapped and strapped on their packs – clearly honoured as relics of another time, but not in use.  That, more than anything, told him that this party was more than a group from some nearby village taking pleasure in wandering through a bright summer of plenty.  They had something else in mind.

He had been trailing them for some days now – keeping sufficient distance not to be noticed, but remaining close enough to observe – and there appeared to be some direction to the group’s progress.

West.

Not consistently – they seemed to have a desire to remain unseen, and would give a wide berth to any area where the trees spoke of elves.  They would, too, veer northwards if there appeared to be anything in their way; a steep drop to a trickling stream, a thickly-clustered hillside of brambles, a spire of rock rising from the forest floor – but the general trend of their journey drew them ever further into the mountains, heading towards the spot where Anor disappeared at the evening’s end, until now they were reaching the eastern margins of the dense woodland, where green fingers reached into the gaps between the peaks.

Yet, despite their caution and despite their wish to remain unnoticed, they did not seem to have observed him as he followed them.  And that, in itself, was suspicious.  Wood Elves who carried weapons were, almost by definition, warriors – and for warriors to fail to perceive a possible enemy was a short cut to an early death. 

Either they knew he was here and did not care – or they were unaware of his presence.  And, in either case, the main question he was asking himself was why. 

The smell of the cooking fish made his mouth water.  His desire to remain hidden had left him with nothing more to eat than the trail food he had packed for emergencies and there was no way that could be compared to the pleasure of eating the forest’s seasonal bounty.  He tightened his stomach.  He had gone far longer than this without eating, he scolded himself.  It would do him no harm to watch and wait a while longer. 

The forest’s song muted and changed as day turned into night and the garden of stars flowered above the canopy.  Bats flew, their high-pitched cries acting to seek out the fat-bodied moths.  The whisper of an owl’s soft feathers quieted the smaller creatures as the silent hunter passed over, only for them to resume their search for food as soon as she had departed.

The group of travellers allowed their fire to die down until even the embers had faded and they settled to sleep in a silence that suggested despair or exhaustion – or perhaps some bewilderment.  Haldir frowned.  He had journeyed with warriors heading into battle, with parties of injured seeking safety, on trips to see kin, to escort his lord in formal splendour, to seek the ship to bear them all west – even, at times, for the sheer joy of seeing more of the world than his own small corner.  Yet, never had he travelled as if he was walking in his sleep.  Never had he marched without the song of the world around him ringing in his bones and harmonising with the music of his fëa.

Three families, he thought.  Or, perhaps, parents and two grown children, with partners of their own.  Four youngsters – too old to be called elflings, in their own minds at least, but too young to have struck out on their own. 

He looked up at the crescent that was all Ithil deigned to show in the sky and wondered briefly what it would be like to sail above the world, watching all that went on below, yet unable to influence it.  Not for him.  He preferred to keep his feet on the ground – and his heart in the forest.

Dawn came early – and with it the travellers rose and took up their packs again, breaking their fast quickly on cold fish and camp bread, before refilling their water skins and moving with certainty to follow a narrow gully where the trees petered out to leave nothing but a few scrubby bushes and bare rock.

Haldir watched with frustration.  Without trees to conceal him, he would have to wait until his targets were beyond his sight and trust to his skill to keep as close as he could.  It would not be difficult – not unless the gully opened out to offer a dozen different paths – but he wanted to watch the people rather than their path.

He climbed.  He reminded himself every few minutes that he was burdened by no more than a change of clothes and enough food to eke out his hunting – he hated to think what it must be like to clamber over these rocks with half his household on his back.  At the same time, he was grateful that his quarry was so burdened, for, without that, he suspected that no displaced rocks or occasional footprints would have remained to guide him.

The wind gusted teasingly about him, pulling at his hair and finding its way beneath his clothes.  He was grateful for it.  Although it dried his mouth, it also cooled the sweat trickling down his back and unstuck his hair from the back of his neck.  It also saved him when, too absorbed in the effort of reaching the top of one stretch of path, he came close to walking into the middle of the group he had been avoiding so carefully.

‘We are nearly there.’

The breeze carried the words to him and Haldir stopped abruptly, raising his eyes from the uneven rocks to check that the words were not meant for him. 

‘It sings.’  The light voice of one of the younger ellyn marvelled.

Haldir looked up.  A wide ledge led up above the path.  If he were to follow that, he might be able to see them without being seen.  He moved cautiously, as if scouting the movements of a large orc patrol – but these elves seemed oblivious to him and, he reminded himself, were unlikely to worry if he stood up and simply asked them where they were going.

A sob almost halted him.  ‘Beautiful,’ a female voice choked. ‘Beautiful – I cannot believe it.  So many centuries we have been seeking our home … and it has been here all the time.’

Two of the younger elves started to move, slowly at first and then, as if pushed by the weight of their packs, their pace increased until they were almost running down the steep slope that led to the far side of the mountains.

‘Wait!’ the oldest elf called commandingly.  ‘We must go together.’

‘Hurry, Daeradar.’  One of the advance party turned, an excited grin on her face.  ‘There is nothing to hold us back now!’ 

As Haldir watched, unable to follow further and remain unseen, the group descended the open hillside towards the line of dark pines stretching up to welcome them.  He blinked as a soft shimmer appeared to surround them, like mist on a summer morning, hazy and fading quickly into the brightness of the sun, and, when he looked again, they had gone.

***

It was surprising, Legolas thought, how easy it was to shrug on his adar’s mantle of authority – if it seemed necessary.  He had wondered, as a youth, if anyone would ever consider him a true scion of his daeradar’s house, but he almost felt himself growing in stature as he faced down the recklessly stupid elves who dared sneer at his taste in ellyth – as if he had chosen deliberately to affront them, without any thought for his heritage.

It was surprisingly satisfying to watch the fools cringe and struggle to find some way of convincing him that they had not really meant what he thought they had meant – whilst knowing full well that their loose tongues had probably cost them any hope of achieving the position they thought they deserved. 

He had dismissed them in the end – with a hauteur that would have silenced Thranduil’s most obstructive councillors.

‘I am reminded of the old saying about oaks and their acorns,’ Litheredh made little attempt to conceal his grin.  ‘They did not expect to see Oropher break out of his grandson’s reasonable shell.’

‘Was my response excessive?’  A momentary qualm shook Legolas’s confidence.

‘Not at all,’ his friend replied promptly.  ‘I would say that, if anything, you are often too willing to see the other person’s point of view – it has led the nit-witted to think that you can be pushed into doing as they wish.’  He smiled appreciatively.  ‘You may, as an elfling, occasionally have thought that your adar was rather high-handed, but it strikes me that the longer a leader has to listen to fools, the less tolerant he will become.’

‘Adar used to say,’ Legolas said thoughtfully, ‘that to rule is to serve – and I am sure that he meant it, but …’

‘He did not mean that a ruler had to do as he was told!’ Litheredh concluded.  He grinned.  ‘Can you imagine it?  Aran Thranduil complying with the instructions of a group of opinionated bigots and running himself ragged to carry out their demands!’

‘Sometimes it proves necessary to follow a course of action with which you do not necessarily agree fully,’ Legolas mused, ‘because it is the best option available.  But I feel that it is wrong to do something with which you definitely disagree, just because others think you should.’  He drew a deep breath.  ‘I am sure there are many who are just as angry about the situation – but did they really think I would change my mind just because they invoked my adar’s name?  Or that I would take kindly to their insults just because they hid them under a blanket of concern?  It seems to me that the Noldor are being a great deal more reasonable than the Silvan!’

Litheredh pursed his lips.  ‘You cannot say that,’ he objected.  ‘It matters less to the Noldor.  Who you wed is of great significance to the elves of Lasgalen – you must expect them to watch and gossip and wonder if a Noldo could possibly fill your naneth’s role.’

Legolas winced.  ‘I wonder if Elerrina realises quite what to expect,’ he said.

‘If she does not, I am sure someone will soon tell her.’  Litheredh hesitated.  ‘It might be better coming from someone who is on her side.  Lady Galadriel, perhaps.  Or Nathroniel.’

‘I should talk to her myself.’

‘You should, of course.’  Litheredh rubbed his nose.  ‘But I doubt you have much idea what is involved in running your adar’s household.  And you would not want to frighten her off.’

‘I wonder if Nathroniel and Idhren would be willing to come to Tirion,’ Legolas considered.  ‘I cannot see Taryatur being very willing to allow Elerrina to visit the Isle.  And Nathroniel would have a better understanding than Lady Galadriel of what she would need to know.’

‘While Lady Galadriel would undoubtedly be in a better position to exact co-operation from Elerrina’s parents.’

‘True enough.’  Legolas ran a hand over his hair.  ‘Perhaps both of them would be prepared to help.’  He sighed.  ‘There is so much more to consider than simply loving her.  So much more to ask of her.’

Litheredh tilted his head to one side.  ‘Do you think she is not up to the task?’

The heir of the House of Oropher surged to the surface again before Legolas realised that his friend’s question was aimed at him rather than his beloved.  He paused briefly to subdue the dragon he had not realised lurked within him.  ‘She can do it,’ he said with certainty.  ‘And, for some reason I fail to fathom, she is willing to do whatever it takes.’ 

‘Then that is all right,’ Litheredh said comfortably. 

Legolas relaxed.  It was still not going to be easy, but he thought he had learned that being his adar’s heir was not a popularity contest.  He would do his best – but, in the end, this decision was his.  He required only Elerrina’s willingness and the consent of their parents – and, like it or not, everyone else would just have to come to terms with his choice of bride.  He drew a deep breath.  It was not impossible after all – simply difficult.  He had dealt with the difficult before and succeeded against all the odds.  And he would again.