10.  And You Shall Be A Blessing

 

 

 

Thranduil kept Legolas close at his side for the next two months.  Legolas attended him when he held court in the Great Hall and when he sat in council meetings.  Occasionally, Thranduil would ask Legolas to deal with some of the issues that came before him, and then report back on the decisions that he had made.  Legolas performed these duties willingly, but occasionally choked back pangs of nervousness.  He knew that Thranduil was training him to lead the settlement he intended to found in Ithilien.

 

Much of the activity in the council meetings involved plans for that settlement.  Legolas had decided that the land was rich enough to support tended gardens as well as hunting and foraging.  He met with representatives from Lake Town and arranged to purchase seeds of hardy plants that would grow well in the fertile, wild land.  He traded both furs and some gold from the treasury for the seeds, and listened carefully as the Men advised him on how to plant and tend them properly.

 

By this time, all the Elves in the settlement had heard about Legolas’s plans for Ithilien, and they spent hours debating among themselves about who would leave Eryn Lasgalen to follow him.  Many Elves approached Legolas and asked questions about the land, and Legolas did his best to answer these honestly.  Though it would be much safer than before, the journey south would not be easy.  They would arrive in a beautiful country, but it would be utterly wild, requiring much hard work to build homes and settle there. 

 

Some Elves were excited at the prospect of adventure, and relished the chance to reclaim lands that Sauron had long dominated.  Others wished to travel to a new country and leave behind memories of seemingly endless Shadow and death.  Many were not willing to leave Eryn Lasgalen at all, for they had just spent months rebuilding that settlement and were not anxious to build another one so soon.

 

Neldorín was the first one to commit himself wholly to the journey.  “Arasiel now sees this land in her dreams,” he told Legolas.  “She is bound and determined that Faron should grow up there, away from the spiders and the memory of shadow that still clings to this place.  And I confess that I would like to travel again.  I still regret that I never made it to Imladris.”

 

Legolas smiled wryly.  “I regret it, too,” he said.  “I would have appreciated your company.”

 

“We will make a land that is just as beautiful as that one,” Neldorín said.  “We will have our own protected valley with abundant fields and orchards.”

 

“Will you serve as captain of the guard?” Legolas asked.  “I will need trusted friends at my side, and I can think of none better than you.”

 

Neldorín bowed.  “I would be honored to serve.”

 

Not all decisions were so easily made, however, and the debate consumed many long winter evenings.  A few people approached Thranduil directly to ask why he had allowed Legolas to go ahead with his plan to divide the community that had survived so much only by virtue of its unity.  To these questions, Thranduil answered that Legolas would take none with him who were not willing to go, and that any of the Ithilien settlers would be welcome to return to Eryn Lasgalen whenever they wished. 

 

“Ours is not the only land that needs healing,” he said.  “If this War has taught me nothing else, I have learned that we cannot stand forever alone in the world.  We have aided others before.  Through this new settlement, we will continue that tradition, offering our aid further afield, to others in need.”  This argument did not immediately convince everyone of the value of settling Ithilien, but it did provide fuel for the debates.

 

 

 

Even as Legolas prepared to depart, life in the settlement continued.  Beleghir and Tinwen often walked together through the woods, huddling close together to share warmth in the cold winter air, they claimed.  Their friends teased them gently, joking that the chills of winter made the flame of love seem warmer than it really was.  At first, Tinwen did not know what to think of the jokes.  But when Beleghir threw a snowball at Thônion after Thônion had snuck up on them kissing in a glade, the young Elves laughed merrily and congratulated Beleghir on his aim.  Thônion laughed loudest of all, and Tinwen began to enjoy the teasing as a sign of her acceptance into the community.

 

One evening, they went to a little glade not far from the river.  Wrapping themselves in furs, they sat together under the shelter of the tightly laced branches, alternately kissing and talking about their plans for their life together.  By the time Tinwen felt the need to stretch her legs and wandered out of the glade, she discovered that the sun had risen.

 

Beleghir laughed at that.  “So we have talked the night away without knowing it,” he said.  “This can be nothing but a sign.”

 

“I hope that it is a good sign,” Tinwen murmured.

 

“It is a very good sign,” Beleghir assured her.  When they returned to the settlement later that morning, amid knowing looks and good-natured jibes, Beleghir sat down and began to compose a letter of introduction to Tinwen’s parents in Lothlórien.

 

“You need not fear,” Tinwen said.  “I cannot imagine that they will refuse us permission to become betrothed.”

 

“All the same, I imagine that they would appreciate some forewarning of that event and the opportunity to hear from me personally,” Beleghir replied.  “After all, you have not returned to them since you came to us in the spring.  If nothing else, they will be relieved to hear that all is well with their daughter.”

 

“All is indeed well,” Tinwen said. She kissed Beleghir and took the quill from him to add her own words to his letter.

 

Unable to carry the letter himself because of his duties as a patrol captain, Beleghir would entrust the delivery to no one but Thônion, his sister’s husband.  As it was the first time in many centuries that a letter was to go from Eryn Lasgalen to Lothlórien, Thônion’s errand caused a stir of interest and speculation among the Wood-elves.  Thônion spent hours poring over old maps of the southern part of the forest, sketching details for later reference.  Saelind packed clothes and food for her husband’s journey, unable to hide all of her anxiety.  Thônion’s route would take him past the remains of Dol Guldur, the source of the Shadow that had plagued the Elves for so long.

 

“Give my greetings to Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel, if you have an opportunity to see them,” Thranduil told him.  “But do not risk your life unduly for this letter.  If there is a threat along the way, turn back, and we will find another way to communicate with Tinwen’s parents.”

 

“Thank you, my Lord,” Thônion said.  “But I do not anticipate much trouble.  Lord Celeborn himself reported that Dol Guldur has been thrown down, and Tinwen must have passed by the area when she came to us.”

 

“That is true,” Thranduil acknowledged.  “Nonetheless, use caution on your journey.  An impending betrothal should not be marred by injury to the messenger.”

 

 

 

Despite her pleasure in her son’s newfound joy, Doronrîn’s health began a slow, steady decline.  She spent hours sitting by her window, unable to muster the will even to eat.  Her hair lost its sheen and grew dry and brittle, and her bones showed ever more prominently beneath her skin.  Beleghir, Saelind, and her daughter Merilin tried ever more desperately to interest Doronrîn in food or visiting or in the herbs that she had studied and gathered for so many years.  Doronrîn seemed to enjoy the presence of her son, daughter, and granddaughter, but could not move herself to do more than that.

 

“It is as if she sits behind a wall of glass,” Saelind told Beleghir one evening.  “She is present, and yet not present at the same time.”

 

“She is fading,” Beleghir said.  “She has struggled valiantly throughout the winter, but it seems that her spirit is losing the fight.”

 

Saelind sighed and held Merilin close.  “Must we lose her now, after such a valiant struggle?”

 

Beleghir sighed.  “Spring will come soon.  And then it will be one year since –“

 

“No!” Merilin cried.  “Do not say it!  Grandmother will hear.”

 

“It will make no difference, Merilin,” Saelind said.  “Whether we say it or not, she knows that your grandfather died in the spring.”

 

“I miss Grandfather,” Merilin said.  “I do not want to think about losing Grandmother as well.”

 

Beleghir took her hands.  “None of us do.  But I think we must prepare ourselves for it, whether we will or no.  Your grandmother has seen much in her life.  She loved your grandfather since they were both children.  They raised your mother and me, and saw their granddaughter grow into a beautiful young lady.  Is it any wonder that she does not wish to be parted from him?”

 

“Do you think that she will – “ Merilin gulped.  “That she will die when it has been a year since Grandfather died?”

 

“It is possible,” came Doronrîn’s voice from the window.  Saelind, Merilin, and Beleghir all rushed to her side. 

 

A little spark flickered in Doronrîn’s eyes as she looked at them.  “I have not lost my hearing, after all,” she said.  Then her expression softened, and her eyes began to cloud again.  “I do not know what will become of me.  I wish to see my son find his joy, but my husband calls to me . . . “ Her voice trailed off, and her head bowed.

 

Saelind took Doronrîn’s face in her hands and looked closely at her.  “She has fallen asleep.”

 

Beleghir gently lifted his mother in his arms and carried her away to her bed.  Saelind and Merilin watched him go.  Merilin sat down heavily in Doronrîn’s chair.

 

“Is that how she will go?” she asked.  “Will she fall asleep one day and never wake?”

 

Saelind shrugged.  “It might be the kindest thing for her.”

 

Merilin stared at her mother in disbelief, and then her face crumpled.  Saelind embraced her even as her heart ached for both her mother and her daughter.

 

 

 

Legolas was in the council chamber with Galion, working on a list of supplies for the journey, when someone knocked on the door.  “Come in,” he called.  He looked up and saw Celebwen, who had danced in the Masque, standing with her mother and her father.  “Welcome,” he said.  “Please, enter.  What do you need?”

 

“Go on,” Celebwen prompted her parents.  “Ask him.”

 

“Celebwen, nothing is decided,” her father said.  He turned to Legolas and inclined his head.  “My lord, my daughter wondered . . . that is, my wife and I wondered as well . . . what might we find in Ithilien?”

 

“Ada!”  Celebwen said.  “That is not what –“

 

“Hush, child,” her father interrupted.  “I will find out what you wish to know, but you must be patient.”  He turned back to Legolas.  “My apologies.”

 

Legolas smiled and waved the apology away.  “It is nothing.  You wished to know about Ithilien.  It is a beautiful, wild land of rolling hills.  Its woods are somewhat sparser than here, but receive more sunshine because of that.  The soil is fertile, and plants of all varieties grow in abundance.  There are many little rivers and brooks, so there is a steady supply of water and fish.”

 

Celebwen’s father nodded.  “I see.  It sounds as though this land has much to offer.  But you have neglected one thing.  It borders Mordor.”

 

“Mordor was defeated.  I witnessed that defeat myself.”

 

“As did the King, at Dagorlad.”

 

“After Dagorlad, the Enemy’s Ring was lost,” Legolas said evenly.  “Now it has been destroyed.  There is a difference.”

 

“Will it be enough of a difference?” Celebwen’s father asked.  “I have already lost one child to the Enemy.”  He glanced at Celebwen.  “I do not wish to lose the other one.”

 

Legolas considered those words carefully.  “I cannot promise you that Ithilien will be a land of complete security,” he said after a while.  “It is beautiful, but it is untamed, and all untamed lands pose some danger.  But it is free of its long Shadow.  I walked among the trees there, and I knew that they would cherish any Elves who came to dwell with them.”

 

“I see.”  Celebwen’s father smiled.  “You have given me much food for thought.  I thank you, and I will inform you of my decision soon.”  He bowed, put his arm around Celebwen’s shoulder, and turned to leave.

 

“Wait!”  Celebwen’s mother cried.  Her family glanced at her, puzzled.  She laced her fingers together and put on a brave smile.  “My son.  If we leave, who will tend the tree we planted on Daintáro’s grave?”

 

Galion looked up.  “I will do that, if you wish it, Mistress,” he said.  “My family and I will remain here in Eryn Lasgalen.  Glawariel and I do not wish to leave our home, and Gilveril has dedicated herself to rebuilding this forest.  There will be people to tend the graves of the fallen.  Do not fear.”

 

Celebwen’s mother relaxed visibly.  “Thank you, Galion,” she said, then turned to her husband.  “Now we can go and have our debate.”

 

The family bowed and left the room.  Legolas and Galion returned to their planning.

 

 

 

One day, at the very beginning of spring, when the snow had begun to turn to rain, Thônion returned from his errand to Lothlórien.  He rode first to the delvings, for he bore letters of greeting to Thranduil from Galadriel and Celeborn.  “I have seen it for myself,” he told the King.  “Dol Guldur is cast down indeed, and already new green grass begins to claim the area.”

 

Thranduil laughed out loud.  “That is good news indeed,” he said.  “Thank you for bringing it.  Now, go on your other errand, for there are two who wait eagerly for the tidings you bring them.”

 

Thônion found Saelind and Merilin at Beleghir’s house preparing dinner with Beleghir and Tinwen.  Saelind set down the carrot she was chopping and ran to embrace her husband.  “Welcome home, beloved,” she murmured in his ear. 

 

Thônion kissed Saelind thoroughly, then turned to the rest of the family.  “I spoke with Tinwen’s parents,” he said.  “They were most welcoming when I told them of my errand.  I described my wife’s brother in glowing terms, and I gave them the letter.  This is their reply.”  He handed Tinwen the parchment that she and Beleghir had given him.

 

Tinwen turned it over to read the reply that her parents had written on the back of her letter.  As she read, her shoulders quivered, and her eyes filled with tears.  Alarmed, Beleghir put an arm around her and began to read over her shoulder.  Tinwen finished the letter first and let out a delighted laugh.  She kissed Beleghir, then rushed to kiss Thônion.

 

“Good news?” Thônion asked with a smile.

 

Tinwen wiped a stray tear from her eye.  “Very good.  They are happy that I have found such a beloved friend here in Eryn Lasgalen.  And now that Dol Guldur is no more, they have promised to travel north for the wedding, whenever we choose to have it.”

 

“Oh, Tinwen,” Saelind said.  “That is wonderful news!  I could not ask for a better sister.”  She reached out and embraced Tinwen, and Thônion pounded Beleghir on the back.

 

“No!” Merilin cried suddenly.  The others turned to look at her, startled.  All the color had drained from her face, and she looked as though she was ready to burst into tears.  “Uncle Beleghir and Tinwen cannot become betrothed,” she said.  “If they do, then Grandmother will let herself die.  She has only been waiting to see Uncle Beleghir find a bride.”

 

“Merilin,” Thônion said softly, and reached out for his daughter.

 

Merilin twisted away from him.  “Do not touch me!” she cried.  “I am going to sit with Grandmother.”  She hurried towards the room where Doronrîn sat.

 

The others stood frozen, their merriment forgotten.  An awkward silence descended upon them.  Tinwen glanced from Beleghir to Saelind, a stricken expression on her face.

 

“I am sorry,” she offered quietly.  “I did not know. . . Beleghir, your mother. . . if you wish. . . “

 

“I wish to be betrothed to you,” Beleghir said.  “And in one year, I wish to marry you.”

 

“But, your mother.”

 

“Whatever her fate, you are not the cause of it,” Saelind declared.  “She fades because of Ada’s death, and you had nothing to do with that.”

 

“Merilin is angry at her grandmother, and she grieves for her as well,” Thônion added.  “She should not have taken that anger out on you, Tinwen, and she will realize this when she calms down again.  Do not take her words to heart.”

 

Beleghir embraced Tinwen, and the family stood where they were for a while, not knowing what to do.  Then Saelind shook herself. 

 

“Well,” she said, “there is no use standing around.  Tinwen’s parents have given their permission, and Nana has made her thoughts on the matter perfectly clear.  There is no sense in delaying this betrothal.”  She hurried out of the house and sprinted down the walkway to her own.

 

Saelind’s departure broke the spell, and the other three were able to move again.  Beleghir offered Thônion a cup of water after his long journey, and Tinwen spitted two pheasants to roast.  Once she had set them over the little hearth, she joined Beleghir and Thônion, listening to Beleghir’s descriptions of patrol activity.  After a short time, Saelind returned, holding a small wooden box.  She set it on the table and opened it to reveal two small silver rings.

 

“I had them made when Thônion left, and I have been keeping them,” she said to Beleghir and Tinwen.  “They are my first gift to you.”

 

Tinwen’s breath caught.  “They are lovely, Saelind.  I – we cannot thank you enough.”

 

“What shall we do?” Beleghir asked.  “Shall we exchange them now?  Perhaps we should call Nana and Merilin.”

 

“There will be no need for that.”

 

Doronrîn stood in the doorway, smiling, her hair neatly brushed and braided once more.  She had one arm around Merilin, whose eyes shone with happiness.  Thônion smiled and raised an eyebrow.

 

“This is quite a change,” he said.  “What has happened?”

 

“My son has found a bride,” Doronrîn said.  “That is the first thing, and that is what I wish to see.”

 

Beleghir glanced at Merilin, but her radiant smile did not falter.  Quickly, he plucked one of the silver rings from the box and placed it on Tinwen’s finger, speaking the ancient blessing and promise.  Tinwen took the other ring and did the same, her voice trembling.  Beleghir kissed her, and then Doronrîn came and embraced her. 

 

“Welcome, daughter-to-be,” she said.

 

Tinwen blinked away a tear.  “Thank you,” she whispered.  “But, what of you?”

 

“I have made a decision,” Doronrîn said.  “Merilin was so distraught that I could not put it off any longer, and we discussed it together.  I cannot live in this forest.  Every tree, every change of the seasons tears at my heart, because Menellir is not here to see it with me.  But neither can I allow myself to fade, for that would be unseemly.”

 

“You would not take ship to Valinor?” Saelind asked.

 

Doronrîn shook her head.  “And leave all of you forever?  Pah.  I might as well fade.  No, I will not travel that far away.”

 

“We are going to Ithilien to live, Grandmother and I,” Merilin said joyously.  “It is a new land that will heal Elves as much as Elves will heal it.”  She looked at the expressions of astonishment on the faces of her parents, Beleghir, and Tinwen.  “Come with us, Nana, Ada.  And Uncle Beleghir and . . . Aunt Tinwen.  Will you come to this new land with us?”

 

Merilin’s eyes shone, and Doronrîn’s smile brought new life and color to her drawn face.  Saelind looked at her mother and her daughter, and then glanced at her husband, her brother, and his betrothed.  Her mouth fell open, and she did not know what to say.