This is a belated birthday present for Bodkin. May the elven muses never leave your side, for your pleasure and ours.

Refractions (from the Paradise of Elves)

“Why are you so surprised, Celeborn? One would think that you of all elves should know by now what happens when more than one Noldor thinks to be in charge…”

The elves flocked their way across the branches with the order and stealth of a charm of goldfinches approaching the remains of a picnic. Above them the pewter clouds were busy folding back the beaded curtain of a refreshing summer shower, so now the rays of sun pierced freely through them, glistening upon golden, silver and jet-black dripping heads.

“And what happens in such occasions, pray tell us, Thranduil? A long trek across the ice? Too much stone-building? High quality wine-growing? The War of Wrath? The…”

“…Second death of a reborn, if you do not stop talking, Glorfindel?” A silvery feathered elf clacked menacingly as he came to a halt on a strong, slippery branch, raising a hand in a commanding gesture while the golden haired one who had spoken first strained to pick up a sound that evaded them. The other four waited scattered on different branches, not really noticing the unexpected quietness around them. All the birds in the vicinity were silent, as the bickering elves took it upon themselves to provide the array of sounds that were expected in the forest on a summer afternoon.

“As you well know, Thranduil, I am of Nandorin descent,” Erestor stated sternly from his vantage point on a comfortable-looking knot of branches. Almost immediately he winced, catching Elrond’s warning glance a moment too late.

“Not to mention that, technically, I am not a Noldor…not only, I mean,” Finrod’s usually gentle and rich voice sounded so slightly, elegantly exasperated.

“That is a very telling piece of information coming from the High Prince, though,” Celeborn remarked with vicious glee, folding up in his mind for further use the contest of glares between Elrond and his former chief counselor.

“I was wrong, then,“ Thranduil acknowledged placidly. “The problem being that there were not enough Noldor involved in a simple task that would have been easily achieved by a Sindarin elfling…Did we know that you were involved in this game, Erestor?”

“It is good to know that life in the Blessed Realm has softened you to the point of acknowledging mistakes, Thranduil,” Elrond interrupted dryly after  successfully reducing Erestor to a prudent silence with his famed frown of doom. “I so hope it has not blunted your senses too, so we can soon find what we are looking for,” he added with the pleasantness he would have extended to a stranded orc asking for the way home.

“Now, now, Elrond, poor Thranduil is sniffing the track, or whatever it is that Grey Elves do to follow a trail from tree branches, so we better sit comfortably and wait until this talented Elf with the sharp senses of a whole forest can tell us where our hiding prey are sitting…” Glorfindel let fall with the insufferable poise that was proof of his long-time acquaintance with Erestor. “Other than their favored beech glade, of course,” he ended his speech leaning casually over a long branch to steady himself after a sudden misstep on the slippery tree.

An outraged shrill and a stir of soft feathers followed the sudden sweep of Thranduil’s golden braid over a branch full of young sparrows that were following the exchange with the cheeky recklessness of their kin and too close for their safety. The former king of Lasgalen almost lost his footing as he turned his head brusquely to face the smug balrog-slayer.

“What do you mean the beech glade? But then…I thought the young ones…”  

A patrol of lesser elves would be cowering at the base of the tree if confronted with the bulging vein in Thranduil’s temple. These ones simply continued with their conversation while their friend was done with his gaping.

“You mean that our ladies are involved, then?” Celeborn’s brows towered over his cobalt-green eyes like the snow-capped peaks of the Misty Mountains over the Kheled-zaram, Elrond thought in an unexpected fit of remembrance before casting a quick, assessing glance to Thranduil, out of healer’s habit. Satisfied that their friend was not choking, he remained seated, trying to look as inconspicuous as the green maggot that munched peacefully at the back side of a big leaf hanging over his head.

“How do you know? I thought we had agreed that the young ones had snatched it…” Thranduil demanded then, his breathing sufficiently recovered. Elrond had not found himself so short of intimidating glares since the twins were not too young but still too much impudent, so he avoided Glorfindel’s smug glance.

“My hunting trip took me to the surroundings of one of the many entrances to Lord Namo’s dwellings,” Glorfindel began his tale hastily, no doubt inspired by the dark looks he was receiving. Elrond rebuked himself silently for picturing his friend falling face first off the treacherous branch. “I happened to be enjoying a well-deserved rest under cover of a welcoming copse of obliging alders that stand guard over a certain open-air workshop…” he continued, no doubt enjoying the attention. “There was no way that I could avoid watching the courteous exchange between Master Erestor and the Lady Vairë the Weaver…not to mention the unceremoniously way in which our most fairest highest princeness here was banished from the same garden some time later by a third-level seamstress… It pained me, my lord, I must confess,” he added with a contrite scowl, leaning forward for a second time and steadying himself on the same branch.

“We former residents are encouraged not to revisit there, Glorfindel, as you well know,” Finrod answered calmly, as he put away a soaked strand of  golden hair from his face. “And there are far worse ways for a reborn to be received at Mandos’ doors, as you no doubt will soon experience yourself if you but dare shake that branch a third time,” the high prince added amiably, but with a look on his eyes that made Glorfindel stop on his tracks and remember how this elf had lost his previous life. He let his fingers flutter playfully over the branch before finally placing his hand on his belt with an innocent smile. Only then did Elrond notice that Finrod’s head and tunic were adorned with a string of sparkling droplets, thanks to a leafy rain-cloud that trickled joyfully over him every time Glorfindel pretended to brace himself against the young branch that ran above the high prince’s head.

“I seem to recall we agreed that you and Elrond were in charge of this mission, brother...” Celeborn’s mellifluous voice was the prelude to the spider’s weapon, Elrond knew by bitter experience.

“I did what we agreed to do, and went there and tried to find the thing…” The high prince seemed now unusually bothered by general circumstances.

“…Only to fail miserably, we already heard that tale,” Celeborn stung condescendingly.

“Only to be informed by Queen Míriel Serindë herself, and not by a third-level seamstress, that Lady Vairë had already consigned the parcel to an extremely pompous dark-haired elf,” Finrod corrected in what amounted to a heated tone coming from the even-tempered prince. “And yes, you certainly heard that tale before, Lord Celeborn,” he jabbed back, scowling at his brother-in-law.

“Will you two stop fencing for a while? If Elrond actually sent his chief swindler to cheat his High Prince, and supposing that Erestor did manage to get hold of the thing, can you oh wise lords! tell me why are we jumping like wild cats across the forest and what do our ladies have to do with the whole affair?” As it was his wont, Thranduil charged in the midst of things with the gentleness of an oliphaunt. Just when I was about to get out with it, Elrond sighed, meeting Finrod’s demanding gaze with a weak smile, falser than Glorfindel’s worried expression.

“I…I just sent Erestor as a precaution, Finrod, to cover your back just in case…“

“Interesting, considering that he went all the way ahead of me…”

“Err…He…He got a bit carried away, one could say. He takes his duties so seriously… too responsible, you must understand…”

“You only had to go and ask nicely, why is everything so difficult?” Thranduil sounded almost whiny at this point.

“Not enough Noldor in charge, one would think,” Glorfindel reminded him merrily, boldly ignoring Thranduil’s feral growl.

“Can anyone tell me where the cursed thing is, then?”

“As it would seem, and following his own motives, Elrond sent Erestor to retrieve the parcel before Finrod did…” Celeborn began cautiously, casting a measuring glance at Elrond and Erestor’s painful attempts at looking innocent.

“And then they came after us, jumping across the forest under the rain for the sheer pleasure of it ?” Thranduil’s voice wavered between incredulity and outrage.

“We can only guess what Elrond intended to do once he laid hands upon it, because soon he lost it to a rival of greater strength, one who was beyond his power to defeat….” Glorfindel offered then, casting another of his smug glances at a seething Elrond, who knew better than to complain. This explanation apparently convinced Thranduil.

“Ah, your lady wife got it!” the former king of Lasgalen concluded in the tone of one who had known unavoidable defeat before, casting a compassionate glance at the half-elf, who looked properly downcast.

“I wouldn’t put this plot past my sister’s talents, though.” The brotherly carnage was reaching new levels, as Finrod shook his head to get rid of the remains of the last shower and extended his lean frame to recline on the tree trunk, flashing his most deadly smile at his brother-in-law. “After all, it was Celeborn who first suggested that the ladies were involved in this scheme…”

“Certainly the fact that Amarië has been for long one of Lady Vairë’s assistants places her well beyond suspicion,” Celeborn shot back, casting a lazy look around.

“Not forgetting that Laerwen too is an interested party in the whole affair,” Glorfindel put the last touch to the boiling stew.

“Of course, of course...” Thranduil would not see his wife left behind in anything, even in a contest of Noldorin and Vanyarin female cunning. “The question is, why would you let us come all this way then, Glorfindel, if you knew that the ladies, and not the young ones had stolen the thing?” he asked in a deceptively soft voice, studying the golden elf through narrowed eyes that half-hid a hunter’s assessing gaze. The effort was wasted upon the reckless balrog-slayer, though. At that moment, a clear sound suddenly rang across the forest, making the soft summer breeze peal with the notes of elven laughter. Elves and birds flicked their heads towards the source of the delightful sound, their argument quickly forgotten.

"Does that answer your question, Thranduil?" Glorfindel sketched a comic bow, an amused smile twitching his lips at his companions' looks of dismay.

"To the beech glade it is,” Celeborn said resignedly, getting hold of a young branch and tugging at it to pull himself up. Finrod’s outraged yelp was lost amidst his friends’ chuckles, as they started off as one towards the clearing, following the birds. After a short flight, the swarm alighted in a soft ruffle of feathers, linen and braids around the laughing ladies, whose golden, silver and jet-black glistening heads were bent over a richly weaved tapestry of warm hues and skillfully crafted needlework.

“These trees look actually alive, as if the sun rippled through them in different shades,” Laerwen was saying in awe, turning the piece of cloth in her slender hands so it received different amounts of sunlight.

“The wool in this area and the threads used for the trees were treated with powdered minerals and jewels, so they would actually reflect light differently,” Amarië explained willingly. “It was Finrod’s suggestion,“ she added with a proud smile.

“And Amarië’s talented fingers,“ the prince pointed out, tracing the exquisite handiwork with his long hand and capturing hers over the rich cloth, while squinting to better appreciate the visual effect of his trick.

“Do you like them?” she asked softly, bending to kiss dry a fresh crown of raindrops on his fair hair. Faster than the rest, who stood awkwardly around the ladies, Finrod had found a place by his beloved and now his head rested comfortably on her shoulder.

“You well know I do,” he answered before dutifully returning the kiss, shamelessly indifferent to the exasperated growls that followed their warm exchange. Love flowed passionately between these two, despite their long ages together, and no one truly begrudged them their tender displays of affection as the bittersweet tale of their labours, of his selfless sacrifice and her steadfast endurance inevitably came to mind. Or rather of his youthful folly and her romantic infatuation, the Lady Galadriel had been heard to remark on the rare occasions when her eldest brother still managed to exasperate her. At this moment, though, the great lady was absorbed in savouring accomplishment and nothing, not even inappropriate behaviour other than hers and her lord’s, could dampen her satisfaction as she listened with elegant aloofness to the enthusiastic comments about the finely crafted hanging.

“Look, my lord, Legolas’  tunic is emblazoned with your device! “

“Did you notice the roguish expression on Elladan’s face?”

“Look here! The elflings seem intent on putting the forest to fire…

“I can remember one or two incidents involving the twins and a fire…”

“This tapestry in deliciously detailed, did you see the expression in your sons’ faces as they chase after the elflings, Elrond?”

“And the texture of the pool.. one can almost feel the water splashing on Legolas’ face…it is perfect!”

“Whose idea it was to let them take a pack of elflings to the forest for a week, anyway?”

“I’d rather know how this much sought after piece of weaving, which Lady Vairë had offered to us, reached your hands first, my lady,”

Galadriel checked her talons for the challenge as the onlookers relaxed against the tree trunks, the tapestry forgotten at the prospect of the heated  argument Celeborn’s playfully provoking demand would no doubt arise. Then, Celebrían’s cheerful voice rang in delight.

“Oh, I have found that small fowl you pointed to me, Erestor, perched on Elrohir’s head…I had not noticed it when you first brought us the tapestry…”

Elves and birds craned their necks at the same speed, from the delighted lady to the not-much-embarrassed looking counselor.

“Eretor! You claimed it had disappeared, that someone had stolen it from you!”

“I told you once, Elrond. In matters concerning not the safety of any of you two, I would obey the one who commanded me first…and this time she did,” the unflappable Elf pointed out as he approached Celebrían to better appreciate the detail. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

“But.. but...How could you…”

“It was our idea to ask Lady Vairë for a manageably sized version of her tapestries portraying our children’s adventures in the Blessed Realm,” Laerwen sentenced in her businesslike manner, defying Celeborn’s glare with the easiness of one who had faced Oropher –and stood her ground- for many an ennin. “And it took all of Amarië’s skill to persuade her and her ladies,” she added while Celebrían nodded vigorously and Galadriel snorted so softly. “I see no reason why you should enjoy the results of our efforts before us! We were faster and wiser, my lords!”

“Hear, hear!” Celebrían claimed, merrily adding to the mayhem as she playfully scowled at her defeated lord, who knew not whom to frown at on the first place.

“And you wanted me to believe that you had cheated and beaten me at it, Elrond,” Finrod said in mild outrage, contentedly wrapped in his wife’s embrace.

“Well, my lords,” Galadriel would not let pass an occasion to take matters into her hands. “It was our idea to suggest this portably sized replica of Vairë’s hanging, as you well remember, and  it was our political skill that convinced the valier,” nor would she permit that blame tarnish an innocent's head…or merit, if it came to that. “And it was our undisputable talent which tricked you all to believe that this first sample would come to your hands on the first place,” she added with a victorious grin that came so naturally to her that no one could blame her for it.

“Do not forget your unmatchable cunning, which led you to hiring the most daring mercenary in the surroundings,” Glorfindel added from his watching point in another tree, at safe distance from the conflict.

“That too,” Galadriel agreed, unruffled by the interruption. “And now I am most pleased to announce that, thanks to our bright wits and undoubted abilities, the Lady Vairë has agreed to replicate for us, in this same size, some other outstanding moments of life in the Blessed Realm… with the discretion that the whole matter requires and just one copy of each, of course,” she added with a sweet smile.

“What… what kind of moments?” Thranduil dared ask after a moment of tense silence, in which the instinct of self-preservation rang all known alarms in the lords’ suddenly alert minds.

“Your son and our grandchildren’s moments, Thranduil, fear not for your dignity.” She could almost hear their jaws unclenching. “Of course, I have already requested a big-sized one of Elladan and Elrohir uttering their dwarven curse,“ Galadriel added with a mischievous grin. “With dwarven runes embroidered in mithril…”

“And I’ve seen a wonderful night landscape with the three of them, Elrond, when they went fishing and ended up drifting down…er, saving that poor elfling…” Celebrían informed cheerfully. “There is also a wonderful array of amusing situations of each and all of them with their children, it is so difficult to choose…”

“Or with others’ children,” Laerwen added, casting a loving look at the hanging in her hand which showed Elladan, Elrohir and Legolas in their present engagement, shepherding a group of elflings for a week in the forest.

“What…I almost fear asking,” Celeborn was slowly coming out of his dumbfounded state. “What do you mean when you say “I have seen,” my daughter?” he finally asked, casting worried glances around.

“Oh, the Lady Vairë was so kind! She showed us her looms and their latest works, but there is much more to see! And not only about our children,” Celebrían added with an innocent grin that made her words sound threatening, even without Galadriel’s reassuring expression.

“Amarië doubts that the valier could be persuaded to allow us the use of those, though,” Laerwen informed sadly.

“But I am no more than a humble assistant there, Laerwen,“ Amarië retorted quickly. “I do not doubt that the Lady Galadriel would manage to convince the Lady Vairë if she set her mind to it…”

“They are coming!" Glorfindel’s warning hardly stirred the now deeply troubled lords, who climbed higher for better hiding from the newcomers with a distracted look upon their eyes. The prospects were terrifying, even for those who had fought evil for long ennin in Middle-earth.

***

“The pool is at the other side of this copse! First one to arrive will skip cooking duty tonight!”

The elflings spilled out through the trees like overheated water, piping in excitement as they raced each other. An outraged shrill followed a loud splash a moment after.

“There is no cooking duty tonight! We are back home!”

“It took them longer to realize than I expected,” Elladan joked, letting his pack fall and dropping by a mighty trunk.

“They are tired, my brother,” Elrohir observed sagely, “and that tends to fog one’s clear reasoning, as no doubt Glorfindel would remind you…”

“And it is good that they are tired, for they would have been the end of us, if they weren’t,” Elladan complained, freeing his feet from the soft buckskin shoes and releasing a pleased sigh.

“Stop brooding, Legolas,” Elrohir prodded, offering water to their silent companion. “We will not hold this outing against you…it was a worthy effort...”

“I know,” the woodland prince drank briefly and returned the waterskin to his friend. “I cannot get used to that whole idea…”

“Well…you cannot blame your naneth for wanting a full-sized tapestry of yourself…She spent too long without you, after all.”

“I know. Yet I would not be comfortable, wondering whether your  Daernaneth might choose a weaving showing the three of us in some silly exploit to hang on her summer flet, for instance…”

“That is most improbable, my friend, “ Elladan laughed out loudly at the very thought.

“Since she does not keep a summer a flet,” Elrohir ended for him with an accomplice smirk.

“…or that a replica of any of our many disreputable deeds would be made known to our wives…”

“…Or to your father-in-law,” Elrohir added with a knowing grin. “You have a problem there my friend,” he conceded in mocked compunction.

“Oh, but secrecy is guaranteed…”

“How do we know? We only know that Erestor and Glorfindel plan to start a very discreet trade with a limited edition of these replica… it will surely grow out of control until every elf in Eressëa owns one of those!” Legolas complained in an unnecesarily high pitched voice.

It took some time for the trees to calm down their shaking after the sudden departure of preys and hunters, amidst smothered growls and howls of indignation.

“They are having a great time, aren’t they?” Elrohir smiled, fishing in his pack and throwing a last piece of lembas to each of his companions. The excited voices of the elflings reached them across the beech copse. The three of them knew that they were not talking about the elflings, though.

“Honestly, don’t you find it a bit strange, after all we have been through, that the ultimate aim of our lives turns out to be *this*? Legolas asked. The twins looked at each other, as if sharing thoughts, it would seem.

“We spent an age of the sun chasing evil in Middle-earth, running the risk of being turned into pincushions for orcish arrows,” Elladan began seriously.

“Or Elvish mulch for the forest floor..”

“Mincemeat for an orc’s morning stew..”

“Stylish hangings over Sauron’s hearth…”

"Tasty carrion for Saruman’s crebain..”

 “I see, I see, I get your point!” Legolas had to laugh as they began competing for the most appealing image. “And I am happy beyond words, and most grateful for this life I have, yet…. I cannot get over that tapestry thing, it sounds…too strange…”

“Strange are the paths of the One indeed, as Mithrandir would no doubt say, my friend,” Elrohir smiled, stretching comfortably on the soft grass. “But, look at it this way. The Firstborn have forsaken Middle-earth, or took to hiding and retreating from worldly deeds. What should Lady Vairë do with all the hired hands in her workshops?“

“Weaving Finarfin’s endless councils, or your grandfather’s well aimed barbs against the Noldor can be interesting for an ennin or two…” Elladan added wisely. “You cannot blame her for finding us far more entertaining and worthier of their talents...” Legolas cast a skeptic looks at both his friends.

"Still…”

“You heard what Vairë said when we talked about it, Legolas,” Elrohir insisted in a more serious voice. “Our lives reflect the joy of living that Eru conceived for the Firstborn in Arda, and her tapestries just refract that light so the Eldar and the Valar and the Maiar can see it and rejoice…it is no lesser thing, to become the inspiration for a Vala…”

"And the laughing matter for all elvendom," Elladan muttered under his breath. “Taryatur cannot blame you for that,” he added in a louder, hopeful voice.

“Perhaps you are right. I shouldn’t worry so much.“ Legolas agreed reluctantly. “I’ll go and pack the elflings. I think now I’m more eager to get home,” he added, sounding more convinced and casting a grateful smile to his friends.

"Refraction? Inspiration?” Elladan shot an incredulous look at his twin as soon as Legolas was out of earshot.

“That’s what Vairë said, you were there, too..” Elrohir claimed defensively.

“I was indeed! And tell me, brother, was I the only one who noticed the twitching at the corners of her lips?“

“There is nothing we can do about that, and in return we were granted permission to visit her whole collection of tapestries with our children. You know their interest in history will be boosted with that…”

“Refraction means distortion, doesn’t it?”

“And transformation…”

“And alteration…”

“And interpretation…”

"Who knows what Taryatur may think of those woven tales of past ages..."

A heavy silence fell upon them, as they pondered the implications.

“At least Legolas sounded convinced for now. Thankfully he is not too prone to dwell too deeply in the meaning of words…” Elladan concluded, putting on his shoes. He grabbed Elrohir’s extended hand and hauled himself up. “But I think we better not tell him right now about Finrod’s latest plans.”

“The museum in Finwë’s Halls? I’d wait for a more favorable occasion…”

"That’s what I thought, too…”

The end

Laerwen as Legolas' mother and Taryatur as his father-in-law, as as well as the title and most of the episodes referred to in this tale, are taken –without permission- from Bodkin’s delightful “Reflections from the Paradise of Elves." Hope you don’t mind!