3.  Not Months But Moments

 

 

 

The next day, Legolas was on his way to Neldorín's house, where the two of them were to spend the day fletching hunting arrows.  As he passed the short walkway that led to Beleghir's house, he heard voices within.  Hearing them reminded him that he had intended to speak with Beleghir sometime that day.  Now seemed to be as good a time as any.  Legolas took the short detour and knocked on Beleghir's door.

 

A lady he did not know opened the door.  Legolas was silent for a moment in shock, partially at seeing a stranger in the small settlement, and partially at seeing her at the home of Beleghir, who had never married.

 

The lady smiled at him.  "Oh, greetings," she said.  "You are King Thranduil's son, are you not?"

 

Legolas nodded and bowed to her.  "I am Legolas, mistress.  But you appear to have the advantage of me."

 

She laughed merrily.  "My name is Tinwen.  I remember seeing you briefly in Lothlórien last winter, but we did not speak then.  I guess that you have come to see Beleghir?"

 

"Briefly, yes." 

 

Tinwen turned and called for Beleghir to come to the door.  Legolas tried to remember if he had seen Tinwen during the time he had spent in the Golden Wood, but he could not place her.  Beleghir's arrival interrupted his thoughts.

 

"Greetings, Legolas," Beleghir said.  "You look much better today.  Are you well?"

 

Legolas blushed a little.  "I am feeling better.  Thank you.  I came to apologize for disrupting the patrol yesterday."

 

Beleghir smiled and shook his head.  "Think nothing of it.  We completed our work and had no more incidents.  We were worried about you, but nothing more serious than that."

 

"I will not be on patrol duty for a while, but I was not injured."

 

"Good.  You are safe, and that is what matters."  Beleghir draped his arm casually around Tinwen's shoulders.  "Would you care to come inside and have tea with us?"

 

Legolas raised an eyebrow at them.  "No, thank you.  I am going to Neldorín's.  Besides," he said with a wicked gleam in his eye, "I do not think it would be quite proper for me to interrupt your private . . . tea time."

 

Tinwen exploded in scandalized giggles.  Beleghir spluttered and fumed, but the enormous grin on his face completely spoiled the effect.  Legolas dashed merrily away to Neldorín's house.

 

 

 

"Beleghir and Tinwen?" Neldorín said later, as they sat at the worktable carefully splitting feathers and attaching them to the arrow stocks.  "I am pleased, but I cannot say I am surprised.  You did not see it, but there has been something between them ever since midsummer.  I am glad that they finally acted on it."

 

"Since midsummer?"  Legolas reached for another feather and split it with the knife Heledir's mother had given him.  "That is not so long at all.  Do you think they are in love?"

 

Neldorín shrugged.  "I do not know.  I am sure they do not know either.  They met so soon after the War.  Beleghir was still mourning Menellir, and he and Saelind and Thônion were taking care of Doronrîn.  And most of us had lost our homes.  I think that Beleghir and Tinwen are only beginning to get to know each other properly."

 

"She mentioned having been in Lothlórien during the winter.  How did she come to be here?"

 

"She came at Lord Celeborn's request.  He was here in the spring, and he reported that Dol Guldur was no more."  Neldorín shuddered at the thought of that evil place.  "I was glad to hear it.  I do not think I will ever forget riding through the forest around it.  Sometimes, I still dream of it. . . "  His voice trailed off.

 

Legolas nodded soberly.  "Sauron is gone now, and the Nazgûl with him.  I saw it." 

 

"Yes," Neldorín said.  "Yes, you did see it.  I am glad of it, though we paid dearly for it.  The destruction here was almost overwhelming to us.  We were quartered in the emergency halls in the delvings, and there was almost nothing left to eat.  Lord Celeborn sent companies of the Galadhrim to aid us.  They brought lembas and helped us to build new homes.  Tinwen was among those companies."

"She has given aid three times, then," Legolas said.  "She has given food and shelter, and now she gives friendship, and perhaps love."

 

Neldorín carefully began to bind fletching onto an arrow.  "It is good that she is here, then."

 

Legolas smiled at that and was about to say something when the shrieks of a small child interrupted.  Faron came racing into the house, his face and arms streaked with gray dust.  Arasiel followed him, an expression of mingled worry and annoyance on her face.  Faron went to Neldorín and held out his grimy arms.

 

"Ada, up," he said.

 

Neldorín sat back and regarded his son with a smile.  "Hmm.  I do not think so.  You are filthy, little one.  What have you been playing in?"

 

Faron looked guilty.  "Dirt?" he suggested.

 

Arasiel rolled her eyes.  "He wandered off while I was pulling carrots.  I found him digging in one of the ash heaps."

 

"Really."  Neldorín turned a stern expression on Faron.  "Faron, what did I tell you about playing in those ash heaps?  They are dangerous.  You do not know what is in that ash.  It is not just wood."

 

Faron thrust out his lower lip and looked at the floor.  "Sorry," he said.  Then he looked up again.  "I did not mean to be naughty, Ada.  I thought I saw my big-boy cup."

 

Neldorín looked stricken, and Arasiel turned to Legolas with a somewhat glazed look in her eye.  "Faron had a tin cup that he loved," she explained.  "The Orcs attacked us in the middle of the night, and it was all I could do to save Faron and some clothing.  There was no time to search for his tin cup."

 

"There was a fire," Faron told Legolas.  "Our old house burned up, so we lived in your house.  Now we live in this house.  I miss my old house and my big-boy cup."

 

Arasiel scooped Faron into her arms.  "You will not find it among the ash heaps, little one.  You are more likely to find Orc bones, and I do not want you playing with those.  Come.  You are filthy, and we must clean you off."  She carried him out of the room.

 

Legolas sat back in his chair and stared at the little footprints on the floor.  Neldorín dropped his head into his hands.  "We won," he murmured.  "I keep telling myself that, but I do not know that I am convinced of it.  Is this really victory?  My child cries at night for the home that he lost, and I mourn for my friends who have fallen."

 

Legolas turned Heledir's knife over in his hands.  "I know."

 

Neldorín turned and gazed out of the window.  "I wish that there was a place where Faron could grow up free," he said.  "Some place that did not bear the scars of the fire that still haunts his dreams.  I wish there was a place where Arasiel and I could start our lives over again and give our child the life he deserves."

 

Legolas nodded in silent agreement.  He had relied on similar dreams to carry him through his long journey.  Too many Elves and Men had died for such dreams.  Somehow, he had to find a way to make those dreams real.

 

 

 

Thranduil finished writing his response to Thorin of the Lonely Mountain.  He had agreed to Thorin's request to send an embassy, but he had asked that nothing be done until after Yule.  Autumn was a busy season in Eryn Lasgalen, as the Elves worked hard hunting and foraging to ensure that there would be enough food to last through the winter.  There had not been much to eat for the past few winters, and the battle had destroyed much of the Elves' supplies.  It had been an uncomfortably lean summer, and it would take more work than usual to fill the storage rooms.  But thanks to the Galadhrim, this year the Wood Elves had newly planted gardens to harvest as well.  There would be enough to do this autumn without the extra fuss and tension of entertaining a Dwarvish embassy as well.  Hospitality would be easier during the winter, and Eryn Lasgalen was not so far from the Lonely Mountain that a determined Dwarf could not travel the distance, even in the snow.

 

Thranduil signed the letter with a flourish and carefully sanded it.  Then he rolled the parchment and sealed it.  He would send it by messenger to Lake Town tomorrow with a request that the Men deliver it to Erebor from there.  He hoped that Legolas's skills at charming Dwarves extended beyond his one Dwarvish traveling companion.  Thranduil was fairly sure that he could manage to be polite and diplomatic, at least, but he was not certain that he could bring himself to be friendly and open.  As for Luindil . . . Thranduil sighed.  This would be difficult for Luindil, and though Thranduil felt he could trust his seneschal to behave in a manner befitting the court of the Elvenking, he regretted the strain it would place on his oldest friend.

 

But it seemed that the Elves could not avoid this strain forever.  The War had changed many things, and it seemed that the Elves and the Dwarves could no longer afford to ignore each other, as they had done ever since the Dwarves had occupied Erebor after Smaug's defeat.  Thranduil would accept Thorin's embassy and see what came of it.

 

Having committed his decision to parchment, Thranduil decided that he was in need of a friendly visit.  He had not looked in on Doronrîn in several days.  It was a lovely afternoon, and she should not spend it confined in her house alone with her grief.  Thranduil pulled a light cloak about his shoulders and took to the trees.

 

When he knocked at Doronrîn's door, there was no answer.  He knocked again, in case she had not heard him, and then he turned to leave.  Just then, the door opened.  Doronrîn stood there, pale and gaunt, her long dark hair hanging limp and tangled about her face.

 

Thranduil smiled, hoping that it would mask his shock upon seeing her so.  "Greetings, Doronrîn," he said gently.  "I had come to ask if you would care to walk in the forest with me, but it appears that all is not well.  Can I aid you in any way?"

 

Doronrîn blinked, and her gaze shifted in and out of focus.  "I feel . . . strange," she admitted.  "Lightheaded . . . as if I am standing outside of my body.  I do not know what to make of it."

 

"It is good that I came, then."  Thranduil put an arm around his friend and guided her out onto the walkway.  "You should not be alone at home if you are feeling like that.  I will take you to the infirmary, and Gilveril will examine you."

 

Doronrîn nodded vaguely.  "Gilveril is a good girl.  Where are my children?  I do not wish to alarm them."

 

"We can stop off at Saelind's house before we go to the infirmary," Thranduil said. "I will tell her what is happening, and she can tell Beleghir."  He led Doronrîn to Saelind's house and knocked on the door.

 

Thônion opened it, and his eyes went wide at the sight of his wife's mother barely standing, supported by the King.  "Mistress Doronrîn!" he cried.  "My Lord, what has happened?"

 

"I am not certain.  I am taking her to the infirmary to find out.  Where is Saelind?  She must know."

 

"My wife is not here at the moment," Thônion said.  "I will go and find her, and then we will meet you at the infirmary."

 

Thranduil nodded.  "Good.  Fetch Beleghir as well.  They should both be with their mother."  He steered Doronrîn back down the walkway.

 

 

 

Thranduil was sitting on the bench outside the infirmary when Saelind and Thônion arrived.  Beleghir followed shortly, with Tinwen in tow.  Thranduil raised an eyebrow and smiled to himself when he saw Tinwen.  However, the worried expressions on the faces of Saelind and Beleghir quickly sobered him.

 

"Gilveril is examining her now," he assured them.

 

"I knew I should not have left her alone last night!" Saelind fretted.  "I should have known better than to listen to her when she was in such a state."

 

"Beloved, calm yourself," Thônion said.  "She is your mother, not your daughter.  It is natural for you to want to do as she asks.  She asked you to stay home last night."

 

Beleghir sat silently, his jaw clenched, trembling with the effort of staying still.  Tinwen held his hand and tried to comfort him.  After a few moments, Gilveril stepped into the corridor. 

 

"Saelind, Beleghir, will you come inside?" she asked.

 

Saelind and Beleghir exchanged solemn glances, then rose and followed Gilveril into the infirmary.  The door shut behind them, and Thranduil, Thônion, and Tinwen stared at it.  Thranduil sighed and turned to Thônion.

 

"We have been meeting each other here too often recently," he said, smiling mirthlessly.

 

"Indeed," Thônion said.  They settled down and resumed waiting.

 

 

 

Doronrîn lay on a bed in one of the alcoves, staring at the ceiling.  Gilveril led Saelind and Beleghir to her side.  "Your mother is not the first person I have seen in this condition," she told them.  "Your father's death is tearing her apart, setting her body and her fëa against each other.  The grief is slowly killing her body, but there is something within her, some spark that is too strong to die.  She stands now upon the brink, pulled in both directions.  She needs guidance, and as her nearest kin, you are the ones who can give her that.  It is a terrible thing to ask of you, but you must help her to choose whether she lives or dies."

 

Beleghir turned pale, and Saelind put her arm around her younger brother's shoulders.  "Right now?" she asked.  "We must choose now?"

 

Gilveril considered the question.  "I think there may be some time," she said.  "I think that you do not have to make a final decision in this instant.  But you must at least begin to consider the question.  If she can occupy herself with ordering her thoughts and weighing her options, her body may recover some of its strength before the final choice is upon her."

 

Saelind bit her lip and nodded.  Beleghir swallowed convulsively.  "I cannot help my Nana die," he whispered.

 

"Perhaps it will not come to that," Gilveril said.  "Talk to her now.  You need not make your choice today."

 

Saelind turned and knelt to sit on her heels by the bed.  Doronrîn turned to look at her, and Saelind stroked her mother's rough hair.  "You frightened us, Nana," Saelind said.

 

"Saelind . . . my daughter . . . I am sorry."  Doronrîn licked her lips.  "You should not have to worry about me."

 

"But we do worry, Nana.  We cannot help it."

 

Beleghir knelt down beside his sister and took his mother's hand.  "We grieve for Ada.  How can we not be frightened for our Nana, now that you are in such a state?"

 

"Beleghir . . . your father . . . " Doronrîn choked, and her eyes glittered.

 

Beleghir clasped her hand tightly.  "Weep for him, Nana, if you must.  You need not hold back your tears.  We are here with you."

 

Doronrîn’s face crumpled, and a tear streaked down her cheek, followed swiftly by another, and then a third.  She curled into a ball and wept silently, her body shaking.  Saelind and Beleghir leaned over the bed and wrapped their arms around her.  Gilveril quietly drew a curtain across the alcove to give the family some privacy, then went to the door to speak with those who waited outside.  She was relieved that her news would not be entirely grim.  Though Doronrîn’s fate was far from clear, Saelind and Beleghir had begun to communicate honestly with her.  And that, at least, was enough for a beginning.

 

 

 

When Legolas returned to the delvings late in the afternoon, the guard at the front door hailed him.  “Your father asked that I send you directly to the library,” he said.

 

“Thank you.  I will go there at once.”  Puzzled, Legolas headed for Thranduil’s private library.  When he arrived there, he saw Thranduil sitting in his chair by the fire, a steaming mug on a small table beside him.  Legolas knocked on the door, and Thranduil looked up.

 

“I am here, Ada.  The guard said that you had sent for me.”

 

“Come in.”  Thranduil rose to meet Legolas and embraced him warmly.  Legolas allowed the embrace, though he wondered what had caused this surge of protectiveness in Thranduil.

 

“My apologies,” Thranduil said, releasing Legolas from the embrace.  “I needed to feel you in my arms and reassure myself once more that you are here.  Sit down.  Would you like a cup of tea?”

 

Legolas shook his head.  “No, thank you, Ada.  What has happened?  Is something wrong?”

 

Thranduil sighed and sat down in his chair opposite Legolas.  Briefly, he described his aborted visit with Doronrîn and the subsequent visit to the infirmary.  “The choice is upon her now,” he said.  “She must decide whether to follow Menellir or stay in the world.  It will not be an easy choice for her.”

 

Legolas stared at Thranduil in shock.  “Not Doronrîn,” he said.  “She is so strong, like an ancient oak.”

 

A corner of Thranduil’s mouth turned up.  “That is an apt description.  But even the strongest oak may be brought down in a storm.  I believe I can appreciate the depths of Doronrîn’s grief.  I survived something similar when your mother died.  But Doronrîn and Menellir had far more time together than I had with your mother.”

 

Legolas could only nod mutely.  He only remembered the months after his mother’s death dimly.  He knew, for Thranduil and Luindil had told him, that he had been dangerously ill for some time afterwards, but he remembered little of that time save a hollow loneliness that was far greater than any physical hunger and that threatened to drain everything from his body.  He looked at Thranduil and shuddered at the pain he saw in his father’s eyes.

 

“It is as if half of her has been ripped away,” Thranduil murmured, half to himself and half to Legolas.  “I am glad that both Saelind and Beleghir were spared to her, for they will be her last, best source of comfort.  Perhaps they will convince her to stay.”  He raised his eyes to meet Legolas’s gaze.  “I can never tell you how happy I was to see you return.  Save for that, I would even now be lying on a bed allowing my life to slip away.  I hope that you will forgive me if I wish to keep you close sometimes.”

 

“Ada. . . “ Legolas moved to kneel before Thranduil’s chair.  Thranduil rose and wrapped his arms around his child, the only family left to him in Middle-earth.  Legolas leaned against Thranduil and wished with all his heart that his father's embrace still had the power to drive all dark fears away.