Resolution

Litheredh glanced at him from the corner of his eye, and Legolas responded with a slight defiant lift of his chin. 

‘I suppose it will offer you plenty of distraction,’ the green elf observed.

‘From what?’

‘From the fact that many of those dogging your footsteps have now abandoned you to curry favour with Aran Thranduil.’

Legolas grinned.  ‘And what will distract my adar from the reality that many are still looking to me to act as a go-between?’

‘I doubt he needs distraction,’ his friend said cheerfully.  ‘I daresay he welcomes the relief.  He knows he can trust you to let him know if anything needs his attention.’

‘And does it?’ Legolas raised an eyebrow.

Litheredh pulled a face.  ‘The usual,’ he said.  ‘There seems to be another surge of feeling against incomers – taking our land and imposing their own strange customs. You know the sort of thing – it seems to come around every few decades before it all settles down again.’ 

‘Courting our maidens?  Has that one come up again?’

‘Well,’ Litheredh smiled.  ‘What do you expect?’  He shrugged.  ‘It will pass – it always seems to pass.’  He stopped for a few moments and considered.  ‘It cuts both ways,’ he said fairly.  ‘Our people are as judgmental about the other kindreds.’

‘Have I missed anything else?’

‘Haldir is of the opinion that the numbers passing over the mountains are increasing.  Enough to be noticeable, he says.  What he did not say is that Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel are in consultation with Lord Finrod.  Of course, we do not know what they are saying, but …’  He left the suggestion for Legolas to finish.

‘Family,’ Legolas said thoughtfully.  ‘It complicates matters as much as it simplifies them.’

‘Aran Thranduil has his own ties, of course.’  Litheredh carefully did not look in Legolas’s direction.  ‘And you are thought to have some – some even more powerful connections.’

Legolas digested the idea.  ‘Not ones that would take kindly to being used for political gain, I would have thought.’

‘Is is politics?’ Litheredh pondered.  ‘Or something more than that?  These lands have not simply appeared out of nowhere – just as the green elves and the grey have started looking for homelands of their own.  Surely there is already a greater power involved than that of the elves?’

A feeling stirred in Legolas that reminded him of the call of the sea – but a feeling that was less hungry, greener, one that strengthened rather than ate at the hearer.  ‘I know not,’ he said.

‘Would it hurt to ask?’

Legolas considered.  To put yourself into the hands of the Powers was not the same thing as demanding their aid – but, on the other hand, he rather felt that they preferred the elves to take the responsibility for ordering their own affairs.  Whilst, of course, at the same time being prepared to hear and comply with whatever messages the Valar wished to impart.

‘I do not think I would do anything without speaking to the King,’ he said.  ‘I am no longer in the position to make those kinds of decisions.’

Litheredh shrugged.  ‘We would not wish to be left behind,’ he said.  ‘Our claims to the forest are at least as strong as anyone else’s – and we would not wish to stand back whilst others seek fulfilment at our expense.’

‘I will think about it,’ Legolas said firmly.  ‘We will consider all the information and do what seems right and necessary.  Believe me when I say that our desires are the same – we all seek a place to call our own.’

***

‘Will it be very different, do you think, being the wife of a Wood Elf?’ Calissë mused, smoothing the fine fabric of her gown over her knee while carefully not looking at Elerrina.

Her friend grinned and turned to inspect her.  ‘Who is it?’ she asked.  ‘Haldir?’

‘That one!’ Calissë sniffed elegantly.  ‘His heart is already claimed, whether he realises it or not.  No-one could be that indifferent to all the elves of Finarfin’s court if he were not waiting for a special one.’  She glanced at Elerrina.  ‘And, before you ask, no – I have not met the one for me.’

Elerrina lay back on the soft turf and admired the pattern of the leaves against the sky.  ‘It will not be so different,’ she said.  ‘Their customs are a little strange – but they are light-hearted and free-spirited and they tend simply to open their eyes wide and shrug at things that seem odd to them…’ She grinned.  ‘And then go on and do whatever they wanted anyway.’

Calissë shook her head.  ‘You will have to deal with that every day,’ she pointed out.  ‘It could be desperately frustrating when you are trying to run the king’s house.’

‘It will be all right as long as I do not try to change anything.’  Elerrina shook her head.  ‘And I am not likely to do that – not until I am sure I know what I am doing.  It is not as if I am accustomed to running a large household – I have merely aided Amil or Nisimalotë.  I am sure that I will be happy to take all the help I can get.  Aewenil – she is Legolas’s housekeeper – and Maenas know what they are doing.  I will learn from them.’ 

She did not need to smile, Calissë thought, looking at her friend.  Her face – her whole being … she was suffused with a happiness that was almost tangible.  ‘How are the arrangements progressing?’

Elerrina briefly managed to look guilty.  ‘My amil is at the point of collapse, but Atar is determined that, if this has to be done, it will be done well – with all the pomp and ceremony that the Noldor can achieve.  I am only thankful that time is running out – surely he cannot think of much more to include … or many more to invite.’

Calissë laughed.  ‘You can count yourself lucky,’ she declared.  ‘The moment the ceremony starts you will be deaf and blind to everything that is going on beyond you and Legolas!  There will be poisoned darts flying around seeking vulnerable targets and one-upmanship enough to offer even the most amiable material for endless gossip.  I will be sure to take notes, so that I can inform you of the most shocking titbits – once you have returned to solid ground.’

‘I am not sure I want to know.’ Elerrina winced at the thought. 

‘I will confine myself to matters that will amuse you,’ Calissë promised.  

‘That does not mean that I will not be aware that many things will have happened that would not amuse me at all.’

‘You cannot take it to heart,’ her friend said seriously.  ‘It is not your fault that your parents – and others who should know better – have chosen to view your choice of husband so … so unimaginatively.’

‘Unimaginatively…’ Elerrina smiled wryly.  ‘I have not heard it put that way before.’

‘You have waited patiently long enough,’ Calissë declared.  ‘Seize your happiness, Elerrina – your atar will get used to the situation.  In time.’

***

‘Speaking as an old married ellon…’ Elladan said.

Legolas looked at him cynically.  His friend had set eyes on an elleth within minutes of beginning his climb out of the pit of depression, and fallen headlong for her – to the delight of both their families.  And Elrohir had not been much better.  He had been glad for them – truly he had – but they could not begin to grasp the torment he and Elerrina had endured.

Elladan grinned understandingly.  ‘It will not be that bad, my friend.   Once she is walking towards you, the worst is over.’

‘But you married Miriwen, Elladan.  Her parents are reasonable elves of Lasgalen, who – oddly – seemed quite glad to welcome you to their family.  Elerrina’s, on the other hand …’ He drew a deep breath.  ‘I have been waiting so long for this and we are on the verge of success.  I cannot control my concern that some disaster will happen at the last moment.’

‘It will not.’  Elrohir sprawled across the rock, enjoying the warmth of Anor’s rays.  ‘The ellyth have invested far too much effort in this to accept any change of plan.  Even Taryatur would not have the nerve to disrupt it now.’

‘We should take you away,’ Elladan suggested. ‘Give you a chance to enjoy your last days of unwed bliss – help you forget the circus that awaits you.’

‘What if something goes wrong behind my back?’

‘It will not.’  Elrohir shook his head.  ‘Do you not trust your adar – and our daernaneth – to keep matters on track?  They are in a very wary alliance with one objective in mind: to get you safely wed.  Adar finds it most entertaining.  The perils of Middle-earth brought about nothing but polite co-operation between them – but this quest to get you joined in matrimony is almost exciting enthusiasm.’

‘Daeradar is cheering them on,’ Elladan remarked.  He yawned and stretched.  ‘He thinks it is long past time they outgrew stalking round each other like two cats.  So we are agreed?  We pack up a few things and head out for the hills.’

‘What does Miriwen say?’  Legolas eyed him.  ‘I cannot see her being too happy about your dereliction.’

‘Ah – now that is where you are wrong,’ Elladan confided.  ‘She told me that if she saw me again in the next week she would be most disappointed in me – my powers of persuasion must surely be enough to take you to the trees for a few days.’

‘Sirithiel?’ Legolas stared at Elrohir.

‘The same.’  Elrohir grinned.  ‘We are truly superfluous at this point, my friend.  As long as we are back – and fully co-operative – with a day or two to spare, they would rather do without us right now.’

‘There are a few things I need to do,’ Legolas said thoughtfully, ‘to clear my desk before the wedding.  If you two are anything by which to judge, I will not be in any condition for business for a while, so it might be as well...’

‘You are pushing your luck,’ Elladan declared.  ‘We are being patient and tolerant – considering your mental incapacity – but you do not want to go too far!’

‘Not too far,’ Legolas agreed with deliberate misunderstanding.  ‘I would not wish to risk any delays in returning.  But there are a few groups I should visit – and a few people I should meet.  If you two want to come along – and act as my keepers, I would not object.’

‘Good of you,’ Elrohir said easily. 

‘We will do that, then,’ Elladan agreed.  ‘That should keep everyone happy.’

***

Celebrían unrolled the pale silk carefully.  ‘I think you are right,’ she told Linevendë.  ‘Elerrina should not wear anything too formal – it would not look right for the occasion.  But these…’ She unfolded the fabric to reveal wire-thin mithril chains studded with faceted diamond drops.  ‘These should be braided in her hair to catch the light – like dewdrops on cobwebs.’

‘Oh!’ Linevendë sighed and extended a careful finger to touch the fine work.  ‘It is beautiful.’

‘I wore something similar when I married,’ Celebrían smiled.  ‘I believe mine was made by the Gwaith-i-Mírdain in Eregion when I was still little more than a child – and I left it for my daughter to wear on her own marriage.  My naneth commissioned it – in memory of this, worn by my andamil at her wedding and intended for my naneth to wear in her turn.’

‘Elerrina cannot wear that!’   Linevendë sat back, shocked.  ‘She is no kin to the Lady Eärwen!’

‘She is not,’ Celebrían agreed, ‘but Legolas is.’  Her eyes gleamed with amusement.  ‘And it will do no-one any harm to remember that.  And then…’  She turned the mithril to reveal a tiny maker’s mark.  ‘There is another reason why it would be entirely appropriate for Elerrina to wear it.’

‘My great-grandfather?’ Linevendë ran her finger over the mark.  ‘I did not know he ever made jewellery.  I have never seen pieces created by his hand.’

‘He stopped, I am told,’ Celebrían said carefully.  ‘He decided that jewellery-making was foolish and over-rated and he would rather concentrate on the creation of more useful items.’

Linevendë released a slow breath and kept her eyes on the unresponsive head-dress. ‘Perhaps Mahtan would prefer it if my daughter were not to wear it.  It might stir memories best left buried.’

‘My andamil seemed to think that it is time to stop hiding from the past.’

‘Your andamil has had her children restored to her.’

The breeze stirred the sheer curtains that were dimming Anor’s rays and the rustle of leaves whispered beyond the window.  Linevendë coloured and pressed her lips together, but refused to apologise.  The past was … past – but that did not mean that those who suffered from its shadow had been able to put it behind them.

‘We can drink the cup of bitterness from now until the end of Arda,’ Celebrían said.  Her usual mien of mischievous joy was muted, but she sounded calm, as if she had learned long since to accept the vagaries of fate, to endure partings she could not mend and enjoy reunions with those who returned when others did not.  ‘Some things take longer than others – but they come in their own time.  My uncles live once again in their atar’s house, but Fingolfin and his children remain with Námo.  Glorfindel returned to walk in Ennor – and rests now in Valmar, while Elwë and Elmo and Galadhon are still in Mandos’s Halls.’  She looked at Linevendë thoughtfully.  ‘It is unlikely that Nerdanel will have her husband restored to her before the end of days,’ she said bluntly.  ‘Her sons … I know not.  One still endures east of the sea and may, eventually, find forgiveness.  Others – some bear less guilt, perhaps, and Námo will decide to permit them to walk again in the lands of their birth.’

‘Easy to say – easy to put responsibility on those few and allow others to deny their own.’  Linevendë looked tired.  ‘Every evil done by the elves cannot rest solely on the shoulders of Nerdanel’s sons.  I knew them,’ she said, ‘when I was young and the Trees lit the land.  Before the world was twisted and shattered by Morgoth’s evil.’

‘I would like to meet her,’ Celebrían said softly.  ‘She must be a remarkable person.’

Linevendë shook her head.  ‘She lives in solitude and silence,’ she returned.  ‘Works in her forge to create beautiful objects and holds herself apart from others.  She will not release herself from her self-imposed exile while she is alone.’

‘Two ages have passed – and more – yet those of the Blessed Realm have much to learn before they can accept the return of Fëanor’s sons.’  Celebrían smiled wryly.  ‘There are those who have enough difficulty tolerating the differences of those who grew to maturity in the marred lands east of the sea.’

‘So you would say that my daughter’s marriage is a small part of creating harmony among the elves?  A harmony that will – some time between now and the end of days – make the elves fit to welcome the return of those yet unforgiven?’

Celebrían ran her fingers over the delicately-wrought mithril, lingering on the shining jewels.  ‘Small steps,’ she said. ‘Each of them seemingly unconnected, yet bound together and leading onwards to greater things.  We are all part of a greater whole, a greater truth.’  She looked up to meet Linevendë’s grey eyes. ‘We might think what we do is unimportant to any save those who love us – but it is not.  We are all responsible for taking the world in which we live and making it what we wish it to be.’

They gazed at each other, unexpectedly aware of the weight of the past, before turning together to regard the jewelled head-dress.  ‘Elerrina will look beautiful wearing that,’ Linevendë remarked. 

‘Elerrina will look beautiful whatever she wears,’ Celebrían said softly. 

***

Elerrina kept her eyes down.  She should be used to the impact of Aulë’s presence.  She had been visiting his court ever since she could remember – with and without her parents, in the company of assorted members of her kin – but she had never felt that his obsidian eyes had been focused on her alone.  She was, after all, only a rather insignificant sprig at the end of her family tree, born long after Aulë had withdrawn much of his interest from the elves who remained near him; too hurt, she always thought, by the use to which his training had been put to want to offer so much of his knowledge to any other eager apprentices.

A spark of fire warmed the gleaming eyes.  ‘A gift,’ Aulë said.  ‘A token for you and the dwarf-friend.’  He looked with understanding from the elleth to her kin, from her parents to her grandparents’ grandparents.  ‘Much as you are welcome here, he, too, has a place in my heart.’   

Elerrina could not hold back a smile.  That was not what her atar would be expecting to hear. 

The Vala reflected her amusement.  ‘There are few among the elves who honour the dwarves and treasure them as friends.  And there are fewer still who would venture to cross the sea in one’s company – to dwell together on the Lonely Isle until this son of Durin accepted the Gift.’    Aulë lifted a gleaming sphere that filled his palm and leaked a cool silver light between his fingers.  ‘The Khazâd treasured a jewel they called the Heart of the Mountain.  Stolen by the dragon Smaug, it was restored through a Halfling’s guile to rest on the breast of Thorin Oakenshield.’  He opened his hand and allowed the glow to fill the hall.  ‘This is not the Arkenstone,’ he said, ‘but it grew at the heart of another mountain, here in the west.’  He considered it carefully.  ‘A great jewel that emerged from its stone bed to wash into the light in the depths of the Great Forest.’  He smiled at Elerrina.  ‘Approach,’ he commanded, ‘and know that this token will sing to you of the land whence it came.’

Regardless of the presence of the Vala, Taryatur frowned.  The favour of the Powers could be as dangerous to those who received it as their disapproval.  And, he was afraid, that Lord Aulë was inferring that this … object was more than a simple ornament.  If there was one thing of which the Noldo was absolutely certain, it was that he did not want the Smith taking too much interest in his daughter’s choice of husband.  Better a simple Wood Elf, after all, than one chosen by the Valar for a greater purpose.

Elerrina curtseyed deeply and received the jewel carefully in both hands, stepping cautiously back into the ranks of her kin.  The light dimmed, as if, removed from the power of the Vala, the jewel had diminished. 

‘My lady,’ Aulë remarked, his deep voice filling the hall with ease, ‘wished to attend the bonding of two who represent both my chosen people and hers…’

The elves froze.  Taryatur closed his eyes in momentary horror.  The honour of being graced by the presence of not one, but two of the Powers could only be countered by the embarrassment – and danger – brought about by so much interest being shown in the event. 

Aulë’s dark eyes creased with laughter. ‘But I convinced her that a more distant approach was more suitable.  We will watch over you from afar,’ he said.  ‘With interest.’

Elerrina curtseyed again.  ‘I am deeply honoured, Lord Aulë,’ she said.  ‘Just as Legolas will be.  I hope we do not disappoint you.’

Linevende inspected Taryatur’s reaction as carefully as she could without actually looking in his direction.  It was not often that he was left without a word to say, but this was most definitely one of those occasions.  Even so, she thought, he would doubtless have thrown himself into battle against Lord Aulë had he thought that his daughter was being forced into this marriage against her will – but she was not.  This was her choice and it always had been.  And at least Taryatur was being left in no doubt that he had never had very much chance of preventing this match.  Perhaps that would help him accept the inevitable with greater grace.  She smiled wryly.  And perhaps it would not.  He would deliver his daughter into the hands of her betrothed, as was his duty – but nobody could make him like the prospect and he would hold to his opinion as long as he could.  Much as she loved him, she could not help but admit that Taryatur was obstinate in the extreme.

From across the wide hall, the Smith’s glow warmed like a forge fire.  ‘I am sure you will not, child,’ he rumbled.  ‘I have confidence that the pair of you will do just as you ought.’

***

Súrion scampered over the grass in pursuit of the ball.

‘I wonder how old he will be before his naneth permits him out of her sight without at least two minders,’ Legolas reflected.

Camentur grinned.  ‘Of age, I should think.  The poor elfling will be the only ellon whose amil insists on holding his hand as he goes off to attend archery classes.’

‘And escorts him on camping expeditions with his friends.’

The elfling ran back towards them, stopping to throw the ball in their direction.  It sailed off at an angle into the bushes and Súrion looked around him in confusion before chasing after it.

‘You cannot blame her,’ Camentur said fairly.  ‘I daresay she will become less protective as his peril – and yours – fades into memory.’  He took the ball from his son and tossed it high in the air.  Súrion tilted his chin to watch it and raced round in circles as it began to fall.  ‘She blames herself – feels that if she had been watching him properly, he would never have been able to put himself in such danger.’

Legolas put out a hand and caught the ball, tossing it gently at the elfling who caught it in both hands.  ‘You cannot stop elflings placing themselves in danger,’ he said philosophically.  ‘It is a characteristic of the breed.  They do things you would never think to prevent – because you would never imagine they could be so foolhardy.’

‘I shall remind you of that,’ his future brother-in-law declared, ‘in years to come when you are tearing out your own hair.’

‘You need not.’  Legolas stretched out to retrieve the ball and send it back towards the elfling.  ‘I am sure my adar will gleefully remind me of every nightmare through which I put him – and they were many and varied.’ 

Camentur inspected his friend carefully.  ‘Your atar is still happy about your choice of bride?’ he asked.  ‘He has not said that it would really have been much more sensible to choose an elleth with whom you shared a past?’

‘My adar chose to wed an elleth who was as unlike those with whom he grew up as it was possible to be.’  Legolas glanced sideways before rolling the ball for the elfling to chase.  ‘Do not make the mistake of thinking that all those who lived east of the sea were the same!  Thranduil was – is, I suppose – Sindar.  Born in Doriath of Sindar parents and kin to Elu Thingol.  My naneth came from an entirely different tradition.  An elleth of the forest – born and raised among the trees she loved, of a kin who never wished to follow Oromë west.’ 

‘Avari?’ Camentur looked slightly taken aback.

Legolas shrugged.  ‘Some would say so.  Others would say that her kin turned aside from the march, unable to divide themselves from the land of their origin – and strong enough to make up their own minds.’  He smiled.  ‘But, I am told, my adar was as strange to her as ever I am to your sister’s kin.’ He shrugged slightly.  ‘And they were happy.  They learned that there is more to a successful union than desire – and that desire makes adapting to a different way of life more … acceptable.’

‘I want my little sister to be happy,’ Camentur stated.

‘As do I.’

‘And I daresay it will be my task to keep an eye on you.’

Legolas grinned as Súrion ran up and flung his arms round his atar’s legs.  Camentur picked him up and stroked back the dark hair as the ellon allowed his head to droop wearily against his atar’s shoulder.  ‘You had best work at your hunting skills, then.  I would not wish you to have to ask a boar to wait for you to ready your arrow – and your sister would be less than pleased if I allowed you to be damaged.’

‘So male friendships are cemented in the woods?’

‘I fear so.’

 Camentur sighed.  ‘For my little sister, I will do even that.’  He looked sideways at the fair-haired elf.  ‘After all, it seems to me that it might be necessary before long to be familiar with a … more rural way of life.’

Dark golden eyebrows raised speculatively, but Legolas chose to say nothing.

‘And it might be as well,’ the Noldo remarked.  He grinned.  ‘Although Atar will be profoundly displeased to have you carry Elerrina off across the mountains.  He is counting on being able to keep a sharp eye on you!’

Legolas smiled non-committally.  ‘Wherever we may be,’ he said, ‘you – and your son – will always be welcome.’

‘And our home is yours.’  Camentur rested his cheek briefly on the child’s untidy head.  ‘We owe you a debt we can never repay.’

Stooping to pick up the brightly coloured ball and return it to its sleepy owner, Legolas flushed.  ‘Where there is love there are no debts,’ he said.  ‘Súrion’s life is enough.’

Camentur was unconvinced.  ‘Nevertheless…’ he said.

‘Then oblige me by saying no more about it,’ his friend said firmly.  ‘And let that be an end to it.’

‘If you say so – my brother.’

***

Once he had seen his son safely married, Thranduil thought, he fancied he would go off to the Lonely Isle and spend some time as far away from the Noldor as he could get.  Perhaps he would even invite his cousin along with him – for surely he could not endure their – her – managing ways much longer.

A sudden pang soured the wine in his mouth.  That was not really the problem, he knew.  Legolas’s naneth should be here.  She had missed so much of her son’s life, missed seeing him grow from bright elfling to audacious adolescent, missed his maturing – from warrior to commander, from elf of the Greenwood to Lord of Ithilien, missed the constancy of his love.  Of course, he reminded himself, she had missed the bad times too – the times when he had dreaded that this time it would be their son who would not return from patrol, that he had taken on one challenge too many – that the Black Lands would devour him as they had his daeradar, that the grinding hunger of the sea would consume him before he was ready to give in to its call.  Yet Legolas scarcely remembered her – to him she was little more than a mythical figure, the elusive Wood Elf of Nathroniel’s tales, the beautiful, gracious queen and loving nana of his. 

It was he, of course, who missed her.

And he had no idea of how long he would have to wait.  He had tried to extract information from Finrod – attempted to get some definitive answers as to why Námo kept some in his halls and released others, why some chose to remain with the Vala rather than accept a new chance at life while others returned – and his only answer had been a shrug.  Yet, if Finrod Felagund knew not – then how should anybody else understand the process?

Perhaps, to Celeborn, Galadriel’s … ever-presence did not seem such a bad thing.  He looked at his cousin critically.  He had never been able to understand quite what his cousin saw in his Exile of a wife – she was beautiful, of course, and strong-willed, but she was also marred by the events that brought her as a suitor to Elu’s court, arrogant and absolutely certain that she knew better than anyone else.  And, he added to the score against her, every elf in Arda was convinced that she ruled her Sinda husband with a rod of steel.  Except, of course, Celeborn himself, who simply laughed at his kin’s offence on his behalf. 

‘You will be glad when this is over.’

Thranduil twitched, glad that his cousin could not read his thoughts.  ‘It seems that every decision leads to a dozen more.’

‘You should be relieved that you are adar to the groom rather than the bride,’ Celeborn assured him.  ‘When Celebrían wed Elrond I was driven almost to insanity by the quest for perfection.  My lady was determined that the day should fulfil every tradition of all our peoples and reflect the joy of the occasion.  Especially, I think, as our own union had been rather …’ he smiled reminiscently, ‘less formal.’

‘I do not recall it,’ Thranduil admitted. ‘I always assumed it took place in Nargothrond.’

His cousin’s smile took on a secretive edge.  ‘Nargothrond?  No.’ 

‘You were not wed in Menegroth!’ Thranduil stared.  ‘I would have remembered.’

‘Not there either,’ Celeborn agreed.  He shook his head.  ‘I am afraid there were few who were content to see us join our lives – yet it was not until after Finrod was lost that we despaired of ever winning consent and took matters into our own hands.’

Thranduil stared, then allowed a grin to tug at his mouth.  ‘I am shocked.’

‘Lúthien told Galadriel that she could wait until the sky turned green, but that she would have to make her own decision in the end.’  Celeborn stretched and inspected the people decorating the wide lawn.  ‘And if anybody understood resolution, it was Lúthien.  After Finrod was slain – I do not believe Galadriel thought it mattered any more.  Her parents were on the other side of the unforgiving sea, three of her brothers were in Námo’s care.  And Orodreth…’ he shook his head, ‘Orodreth would never have consented.  On principle.  In fact,’ he reflected, his gaze roaming over those present to settle on the bride’s exasperated-looking atar, ‘there is a decided resemblance.’  He shook his head as his cousin laughed. ‘We were wed, my friend, according to the traditions of the green elves – with none of this pomp – and I think my wife has always had a hankering for the … the public affirmation of a formal event.’

‘I have never,’ a soft voice said, ‘wanted to have anyone believe that I regretted choosing you.’  Galadriel’s clear eyes held her husband’s.  ‘I would have preferred to declare my love in front of the assembled elves of Arda – so that no-one could pretend to assume otherwise.’

Celeborn flipped an indifferent hand.  ‘Those who matter know perfectly well how matters stand,’ he said, clearly repeating something he had said many times before.  ‘A bond is between two people – no-one else is necessary.  This,’ he looked around him, ‘is for the rest of us.’

‘In witness,’ Thranduil agreed.  ‘It has a point, I suppose.’

‘Are you ready?’

Was that sympathy he saw in her eyes?  Thranduil bristled.  ‘What need is there for me to be ready?’  He raised his chin.  ‘I, too, am no more than a witness.’

‘You are a little more than that, cousin.’  Celeborn spoke softly, and Thranduil could hear experience speaking.  ‘Your link with your son is about to change.  He is to become a husband.  He will not notice the difference, not at first – but you will.’

Thranduil set his jaw.  He knew enough to realise that.  ‘It is as it should be,’ he said steadily.

‘If you need anyone…’

‘Thank you, Celeborn.’  The groom’s adar said with decision.  ‘This is not the time for anyone to worry about me.  I will be fine.’ 

***

A chaffinch trilled its song on a bough above his head. 

Legolas opened his eyes and looked at the bird accusingly.  He could not recall quite how they had ended up in this glade where the flower-studded grass cushioned them and the fragrance of honeysuckle sweetened the air, but he was far too comfortable to appreciate any distraction.

‘Are you inspecting the markings of that one small bird?’  A sweet voice, like honey stirred in jasmine tea, asked in amusement.  ‘Has it, perhaps, aroused your interest?’

For a moment he did not move.  A surge of contentment warmed him and relaxed him and made him want to shout with glee.  He raised his head and looked towards the voice.

‘No, indeed, my lady,’ he said politely.  ‘My interest is stirred by a quite different creature.’

Soft hair of the palest coppery shade framed her face and was braided down her back, and laughing eyes met his.  Elerrina bent forward and touched her lips to his.  ‘And what sort of creature might that be?’ she asked.

‘A wife,’ he said.  ‘My wife.’  He stretched up his hand to run his fingers down her bare arm.

She shivered.

‘Are you cold, my lady?’ A slow smile spread, lighting him like Anor’s rays rising over the horizon.  ‘Let me warm you.’

‘I did not know it would be like this,’ she said.

‘Nor I.’  He drew her down to rest her head on his chest.  Which, he noted with some surprise, was unclothed.  ‘How should I?  How should either of us?  We have nothing with which to compare it.’

The trees whispered above them, like a collection of gossiping matrons carrying on an intimate conversation behind their hands.  Elerrina raised her chin and looked up, her greenish-grey eyes wide with wonder.  ‘I never heard them so clearly before,’ she said.  ‘The song of the woodlands was – contented, but distant, yet here it seems as if each tree has a different voice.’

‘They have.’  Legolas was enchanted by her amazement and drew her closer.  Could he ever get close enough?  ‘They approve of your presence among them and wish to show it.’

‘And that is another thing.’  His wife – his wife – propped herself up on her elbow and ran the fingers of her other hand across his skin like the touch of a gentle breeze.  ‘I might be wrong – but I thought we retired to the chambers my amil prepared.’

He laughed.  ‘We did – at the end of a remarkably long day – and I have no more idea than you have of quite when we ended up leaving them for this bed in the woods.’  His breath caught as he lost himself in the pleasure of her touch and he had to force himself back to earth to continue.  ‘But I am glad we did.’

‘I feel your gladness,’ she marvelled.  ‘I knew, in my head, that bonding would make us closer, but I could not imagine that it would feel like this.’

It was remarkable, he admitted to himself.  Somehow the edges of their individuality had thinned and melted and allowed them to blend together – while, at the same time, they remained exactly who they were.  Openness?  Perhaps that was what you could call it – and yet, not really, because it was an excessively private revelation.

He rolled, pinning Elerrina on the soft grass and gazing down at her as if determined to trap every second into his memory.  The night had become a haze, in which sensation had overcome reason – but he wanted to treasure this.    He lowered his head to kiss her – and all attempts at restraint left them.  Nothing existed but each other and the moment.

‘It is to be hoped,’ she murmured eventually, tangling her fingers in his hair and briefly breaking contact, ‘that no-one comes and disturbs us.’

His laughter was no more than a released breath.  ‘It is to be hoped that – by some miracle – we thought to bring garments with us,’ he told her.  ‘Or we will be reduced to hiding in the trees until I can sneak back in to find some.’

For a heartbeat, Elerrina could not decide whether to be shocked or to giggle, but the euphoria of the moment was such that nothing – even the prospect of being discovered naked in the woods – was sufficient to shatter her bubble of exhilaration. ‘You will manage,’ she said confidently.

‘Your faith in me is touching.’

‘H’mm,’ she said vaguely, ‘touching.’  Her hands explored his body, reminded both of his proximity and his availability.

He collapsed beside her, shaking with laughter.  ‘I am glad to know I still have my uses!’ he remarked.  He felt one with the world around him, a part of the song, singing now in harmony with this elleth who had bound her life to his.  ‘I cannot believe how happy I am,’ he said.  ‘I am needed – I have a task that gives me purpose and a future for which to work.  And I am not alone – I will never be alone again.’  He tangled his fingers in her hair, running them through the silky strands until they brushed her pale skin. ‘In you,’ he murmured, ‘I have found my home.  You are my wife, beside me at last – and ahead of us… ahead of us we have eternity in which to share our joy.’ 

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(Note:

Some time ago … some really quite a long time ago … I recall talking about ageing and elves – along the lines of ‘why do the twins still behave like twenty-somethings when they are several thousand years old’ – and concluding that elven life came in stages, along the lines of the Seven Ages of Man.  Marriage is a life-changing event that moves them from one stage to the next.  The links of elves to family must change at that stage – no offspring (or parent) would really want the same kind of parent/child bond that is probably quite natural earlier in a child’s life.  If the – er – physical intimacy attending marriage is such that it creates an unbreakable bond and a sharing of each other’s fëa, it seems logical that the same event would change the relationship between an adult child and his/her parents.  Nilmandra showed this brilliantly – and far more intensely, because of other attendant factors – in History Lessons 3.  What Celeborn is remembering is something more than a human father’s reaction to his daughter marrying, but rather less – much less – than Elrond’s distress at Arwen’s choice.  Thranduil might feel that he will be less susceptible.  Legolas is his son, not his daughter, and perhaps he feels that not only is the relationship different, but that he and Legolas have also spent much of the last half-millennium apart.  However, his reaction might well be compounded by the fact that he has no wife or parents to offer him their support at this time and that he was Legolas’s only parent for much of his life, leading to an exceptionally strong parent/child link between them.  The result might well mean that he will feel very alone when Legolas finally bonds with Elerrina.  At the same time the influx of emotion involved in bonding might well mean that the couple would not realise the change in their relationship with their parents until later, when their – er – passions had begun to settle down a bit.)