5.  The Autumn Tempest Rising

 

 

 

Because Innil had begun planning the Masque late that year, the rehearsals were far more intense than usual.  As the Hunter King, Legolas had the most dances to learn, and Innil worked him long and hard.  Legolas found that he enjoyed the long hours in the dancing chamber.  The rehearsals provided a structure that his days had lacked.  His friend Neldorín was dancing the role of the Stag King, and they spent many hours together in the dancing chamber, practicing the dangerous, spectacular duet that they would perform in the Masque. 

 

When Innil allowed them short breaks during the rehearsals, they talked about the things they had seen during the War and speculated about what the future might hold.  Neldorín voiced his fears about raising Faron in a forest so deeply tainted by the Shadow.  "I know that we defeated it," he said one day.  "But there are still spiders lurking in the deep thickets, and I have heard rumors of stray Orcs, though I have not seen any since the battles ended.  And I cannot forget seeing my house go up in flames and not knowing if Arasiel and Faron were still inside."

 

"Houses can be rebuilt," Legolas said.  "Families cannot.  Luck was with you that day."

 

Neldorín nodded.  "It was.  I am deeply grateful that both Arasiel and Faron escaped.  I think I might have laid down my own life if they had not.  Luck was with you as well, I hear.  You have traveled far through the world and you have come back whole."

 

Legolas laughed a little.  "I did not escape entirely unharmed.  You think that is true only because I tarried so long in Gondor before I returned home.  I was wounded in the battle on the Pelennor fields, but it was not serious, and the healers in Gondor are skilled."

 

"That changes nothing," Neldorín chuckled.  "Luck was still with you, my friend."

 

"I hear you laughing," Innil put in from across the room.  "If you have breath enough to laugh, you have breath enough to dance.  You have rested enough.  Come, I would have you practice throwing the spear now.  It would not do to come unscathed through the War only to be wounded while dancing."

 

Legolas smiled and pulled Neldorín to his feet.  They stretched until their muscles hummed, then walked to the places Innil indicated in the center of the dancing chamber.  Innil gave Legolas a blunted practice spear of wood, and he and Neldorín spent the next hour working with it.  Legolas threw the spear, softly at first and from a short distance, and Neldorín practiced catching it.  Since they would be using a real spear with a sharp metal head in the Masque, there was no room for error, and they practiced every day. 

 

Legolas found that he enjoyed this aspect of rehearsal for the intense concentration it demanded.  When he threw the spear, his mind was calm, and there was no room for frightening or disorderly thoughts.  It was worth the sore muscles for the peace of mind it brought afterwards.  Legolas began to understand why Thranduil had arranged for him to dance in the Masque rather than play the drum, and he worked hard so that he would dance as well as he possibly could on the longest night of the year.

 

 

 

On days when Innil released Legolas and Neldorín early so that she could work with other dancers, Thranduil would often take Legolas out riding in the woods.  Most days, they brought hunting equipment with them and brought back game to be preserved against the coming winter.  Although Legolas still could not face the prospect of fighting the remnants of the Shadow on patrol, his shooting eye was as sharp as ever, and he was able to hunt.  It pleased him that he could still contribute to the well-being of the community, and every successful hunt improved his mood tremendously.

 

As Legolas rode with Thranduil, he saw the clearings the fire had created.  Thranduil assured him that they looked much less raw after half a year under the care of the Wood Elves.  Legolas still found them disorienting, but he could see the new young plants that had grown among the ashes of the old ones, and he took heart at the evidence that the forest could indeed be renewed.

 

Even when they did not bring back game, neither Legolas nor Thranduil considered the rides in the forest to be time badly spent.  There was much that Thranduil wanted to hear about Legolas’s experiences on his travels, and Legolas found that it was easier for him to speak when his body was occupied riding a horse.  With the forest shimmering before his eyes, he could speak about the times when he had feared that he would never see his home again.

 

“Tell me about the sea,” Thranduil said one day as they rode.

 

Legolas glanced at him, startled.  “What would you have me tell you?”

 

“I am not certain.  I know very little about the sea, and I have never beheld it.  Yet I see the power it has gained over you, and I would like to know something of this new force working in your mind.”  Thranduil chuckled a little.  “Dwarves I can understand, for I have met them.  But the sea . . . that is not so easy.”

 

“You are correct,” Legolas said.  “It is not easy.”  He was silent for a while, not knowing where to begin.

 

“You dream of it often,” Thranduil said.  “Far oftener, I suspect, than I am aware of.  What do you see in those dreams?  What is it that terrifies you so?”

 

“I have not yet beheld the sea either,” Legolas admitted.  “But I heard the wailing of the gulls at Pelargir, and I smelled the salt air. It smells the way one feels after one has wept.  From that moment, I knew that I must go to the source of that scent eventually.  I did not know what would await me there, only that it meant leaving my home and my family behind.”  He choked at the thought, and refused to speak any more for a while. 

 

They rode along the trail in silence, Thranduil following behind Legolas, allowing his son to choose where they would go.  Presently, they began to hear the sound of rushing water, and Legolas turned aside from the main trail.  He led Thranduil along a side path until they came to a grassy spot on the banks of a small creek.  The Elves dismounted and allowed their horses to drink from the creek, then filled their own water skins.

 

“While we stayed in Minas Tirith, I asked Aragorn if he had ever seen the sea,” Legolas said.  “He showed me a picture in a book.  It was a vast expanse of water – larger even than the Long Lake.  It was as if all of the plains of Rohan were made of water.  The sun shines bright and hot on the sea, and it is deep enough to hold creatures the size of a house.  Do you understand, Ada?  There is nothing but water and sunlight.  There is no solid ground.  I do not know how I could ever find my way if I were to stray into the sea.  I can swim, but I do not know if I could swim in that.”

 

“That is why you kick and lash out in your dreams,” Thranduil said, half to himself and half to Legolas.  “You are searching for solid ground.”

 

“The sea will swallow me, Ada.  I fear it, but I cannot escape it.”

 

Thranduil squatted by the creek, trailing his fingers in the water, as he considered Legolas’s words.  He squinted at the play of the sunlight filtering through the trees on the rushing water.  At last, he stood up and faced Legolas.

 

“I cannot promise you that you will never be lost, or that you can ignore the call of the sea indefinitely,” he said.  “I cannot even tell you that I am certain of what might await you on the opposite shore.  But I will tell you this.  Wherever you find yourself, in whatever danger or trial, you are my son.  You are forever the shining star of my life, and there is nothing that can change that.  When you are lost in a dark place with no ground beneath your feet and nothing to guide you on your way, remember that you are not alone, for my thoughts will be with you always.”

 

Legolas looked at him, almost undone by the naked emotion in Thranduil’s voice.  “Thank you, Ada,” he murmured, then turned away and leaned against a tree until he could regain control of himself.  When he stopped shaking, Thranduil laid a gentle hand on his shoulder.

 

The sun was beginning to set.  Thranduil and Legolas mounted their horses and rode back to the delvings in silence.  They had not brought down any game that day, but they did not mind.

 

 

 

Doronrîn had regained much of her physical strength, and Gilveril had released her from the infirmary.  Her awareness of the choice laid out for her, of whether to choose to heal fully or to follow Menellir to Mandos, had changed her behavior.  Though she was now almost as active and straightforward as she had been before the War, there was a certain deliberation to her movements.  She threw herself into the work of autumn, roaming far through the forest to gather herbs to dry. 

 

She had been unable to face the prospect of returning to her small, empty house, so Beleghir had promptly taken her in.  Unwilling to let the house stand empty, Doronrîn sought out Tinwen, who was living in a guest chamber in the delvings while she provided assistance with the Wood-elves’ gardens.

 

“Do you intend to remain here in Eryn Lasgalen?” Doronrîn asked her.

 

Tinwen smiled shyly.  “If. . . things work out, yes.  I do wish to remain.  I like it here.  It is certainly not the sort of life I am accustomed to leading, but there is something invigorating about it.”

 

“That something would not be my son, would it?”

 

At that, Tinwen blushed and busied her hands among the carrots she was pulling.  She made a fuss of dusting them and placing them into the harvest bag slung around her shoulder.  At last, her hands stilled, and she looked at Doronrîn.  “Beleghir is . . . I do not know how to describe him.  He has such a sense of purpose, and he inspires me.  His life has not been one of gentleness or leisure, yet he is fairer to look upon than many who have dwelt in the shelter of the Golden Woods.  A year ago, I did not know that he existed, and now I cannot imagine a life without him.”

 

“Good,” Doronrîn said.  “He loves you, too.”  Tinwen’s blush deepened, and Doronrîn laughed out loud.  “Tinwen, he is my son, and I have known his moods since first I carried him within me.  I can see that he loves you, and also that you love him.  That is no great secret.”

 

“You do not mind?”

 

“Mind?  Why should I mind?  You are kind, pleasant, and hardworking, and you bring joy into my son’s life.  I could desire nothing more for him.”

 

Tinwen breathed a sigh of relief.  “I had hoped you would approve.”

 

“I do.  And that is why I will make you this offer.  If you would truly choose to make your life in these woods, it is not fitting for you to remain in a guest chamber.  Will you remove to my house?  I cannot live in it at the moment, but it is a lovely place, and it should not go to waste.  If you have lived in Lothlórien, perhaps you would be happier dwelling among the branches than in a chamber beneath the earth.”

 

“Oh, Mistress Doronrîn!” Tinwen cried.  “I will be happy to occupy that house, if you would have me.  I will care for it well.”

 

“Then that is settled,” Doronrîn said.  “And you need not address me as ‘Mistress,’ Tinwen, if you intend to court Beleghir.  Just ‘Doronrîn’ will do.”

 

Impulsively, Tinwen embraced Doronrîn.  “Thank you, Doronrîn,” she said.  “I do not know if it is proper for Beleghir and me to court so soon after his father’s death, but –“

 

“There has already been too much death in these woods,” Doronrîn said.  “If Beleghir feels that he is ready to be courted, then it is the proper time.  Perhaps you will marry, and perhaps you will eventually bring forth new life, and that is most proper after a war.”

 

 

 

Gilveril, Saelind, and Arasiel helped Tinwen move her belongings into the little house in the trees.  Tinwen had not brought many things with her from Lothlórien, and Doronrîn had left most of the furniture in the house.  The four ladies finished the move swiftly, and Tinwen invited them to stay and refresh themselves with a bottle of wine from the Golden Woods.  “It is a special day,” she said.  “Doronrîn has given me permission to court Beleghir.  I hope that he will be my husband.”

 

Arasiel laughed.  “If the way that he looks at you is any indication, you will not have to worry long about that.  His eyes follow you constantly when you are together, and his face softens most charmingly.”

 

“Neldorín used to look at you that way,” Gilveril said.

 

“And he still does,” Saelind added.  She turned to Tinwen.  “You need not worry.  Beleghir is my little brother, and I know when he is and is not in love.”

 

Tinwen smiled.  “And?”

 

Saelind laughed.  “He is more deeply in love than I have ever seen him before.  I will be thrilled to have you for a sister.”

 

Tinwen turned pink.  Gilveril raised her cup.  “Let us drink a health to the future bride!”

 

Tinwen poured more wine, and they all drank deeply, excited over the future for the first time in many months.

 

 

 

The fair weather did not last long.  Several days later, the sky turned gray, and the wind blew chill through the trees.  The Wood Elves waited out the storm with a certain amount of trepidation.  This would be their first autumn spent entirely in the trees, and the wind and the rain would test the strength of the new houses they had constructed with the aid of the Galadhrim.  Thranduil directed his staff to open the emergency halls deep within the delvings in case the tree houses failed, and the whole community settled down to see what the first serious storm of autumn would bring.

 

The winds blew, and the tree-tops swayed.  Parents kept their children away from the windows, and no one ventured out onto the wildly swinging walkways.  Several dwellings lost pieces of their thatching, and one walkway lost some planks.  However, the houses, supported by the solid trunks of the oldest, largest trees in the area, proved sturdy.  The damage was not much more than the old ground houses would have sustained in a similar storm.

 

When Thranduil called his council together after the storm had passed, Inglor was ecstatic and declared the move to the trees a complete success.  Luindil was somewhat more cautious.  “The houses have passed their first test,” he said.  “Now I would see how well they hold up to the snows of winter.  If they are still solid when spring arrives, then I will be well satisfied with them.”

 

“This project has had a good beginning, at least,” Thranduil declared.  “For the moment, I am pleased with the choices we have made.  Nothing was damaged that cannot be repaired.”  He turned to Galion.  “What of our food supply?” he asked.  “Will we be able to fill our bellies this winter?”

 

Galion, for the first time in several years, smiled in response to that question.  “Considering the destruction that the Orcs wrought, the forest was uncommonly fruitful this summer,” he said.  “We have far more vegetables stored than previously, thanks to our new gardens, and the foraging and hunting are much improved over the last few years.  There is still time to hunt and to gather the last stray roots and nuts, of course, but if we are diligent, I believe that we might not go hungry.”

 

Everyone smiled upon hearing that.  “That is the best news I have heard in a long time,” Thranduil said.

 

“Perhaps it is a sign that the Shadow is lifting after all,” Inglor offered.

 

“Perhaps.  However, as Galion said, there is still room for additional game in our storage rooms.  I believe that I will go out hunting with Legolas today and see what I can add to my people’s food supply for the winter.”

 

 

 

That afternoon, as Thranduil and Legolas rode through the forest, Thranduil observed the fallen branches in their path, and reminded himself to send foresters along this trail to collect and cure the wood.  Suddenly, Legolas signaled with his hand and dashed away in pursuit of a deer he had spied through the trees.  Thranduil followed, and they pursued the deer through the forest.  It was a stag, strong, but young and inexperienced.  Legolas whooped, and the stag panicked.  Forgetting everything that it had learned about evading danger by disappearing into the forest, the deer thundered blindly along its trail.

 

Thranduil and Legolas worked together to herd it towards a steep ridge where the river made a waterfall.  Disoriented by the sound of the rushing water, its path blocked by the ridge, the stag turned to face them.  It caught the scent of Thranduil’s horse closing in on it and tried to run along the base of the ridge, but Legolas circled around, threatening it and cutting off that road of escape.  The stag’s escape attempt gave Thranduil just enough time to pull an arrow from his quiver and string it.  He shot the stag cleanly in the heart. 

 

The Elves dismounted and instructed their horses to remain nearby.  They approached the fallen stag cautiously.  When they were sure that he would not suddenly struggle to his feet and lash out at them, Legolas swiftly drew his knife across the beast’s throat to ensure the kill.  Thranduil knelt down to inspect their prey.

 

“He has fed well this autumn,” Thranduil said.  “There is plenty of meat here.  The antlers are small, but they will serve to make buttons, or combs, or cutlery, all the little things that the Orcs burned.  Let us dress him here and then return to the settlement.”

 

Legolas nodded and knelt to slice the deer open to bleed it.  Thranduil removed the deer’s entrails and spread the carcass out to cool it.  He went to the foot of a large tree and began to dig a hole to bury the entrails.  Legolas carried the heart and the liver to the water to clean them.  As he was wrapping them in a clean, cloth-lined pouch, a barely perceptible murmur from the trees caught his attention.

 

Slowly, he turned around, and froze in horror at what he saw.  An enormous black spider, drawn by the fresh kill, was creeping along a large branch just above Thranduil’s head.  The tree groaned in distress, and Legolas saw that the branch had been struck by lightening during the storm, and was now half sheared from the trunk.  Quickly, Legolas dropped the pouch and pulled a throwing knife from his boot.

 

“Ada,” he said softly, “do not move.  There is a spider above you.”

 

Thranduil looked up from the hole he was digging.  His body tensed as he realized that the spider had seen him.  It looked down, and then settled on the branch, intending to descend on a strand of silk and sting the Elf below.

 

Black spots danced before Legolas’s eyes.  He fought down a surge of panic and forced his hands to remain steady.  Thranduil shifted slightly, ready to dodge if the spider should start its descent.  Legolas steadied his shaking legs and hissed sharply to draw the spider’s attention.  As it looked up, Legolas threw his knife, burying it deep within the cluster of the spider’s eyes.

 

The spider screeched and jerked back with the force of the throw.  It convulsed twice, then fell to the ground.  Legolas dashed forward and used his hunting knife to slice the spider’s head from its body.  But the sudden shift of weight had been too much for the damaged branch.  It gave out a groan, then a series of short, sharp snaps.

 

Thranduil glanced up and saw the branch hanging precariously off the tree.  In a flash, he realized that the danger was not over.  He instinctively turned to locate Legolas, who was also staring up at the branch. 

 

“Ada, run!” Legolas said. 

 

Thranduil’s body moved to protect his child, and he leaped to push Legolas away from the tree.  With a powerful crack, the branch fell from the tree.  Legolas felt the sting of twigs and dead leaves against his face as he went sprawling on the ground. 

 

“Ada!” he cried.  There was no answer.