SPRING: Meeting of Minds

SUMMARY: When the War of the Ring ends two Elf-lords meet.

MEFA 2009: Honorable Mention: Featuring Mirkwood Elves (Elves)

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Gwaeron 28, T.A. 3019:

Celeborn strode northward from Dol Guldur, leaving Galadriel to oversee the final dismemberment of the hated fortress, cleansing the evil therefrom. Already he could detect a noticeable change in the air around him. It was more wholesome and the taint of evil that had hung over the southern reaches of Mirkwood was dissipating. The trees that had been twisted and blackened by the power of the Dark One seemed less so. Green shoots were springing forth, tentatively, hesitantly, as if unsure of their welcome and he smiled, singing a song of welcome, of growth and renewal, as the first day of the New Year dawned.

He made his way towards the Narrows along with a contingent of warriors. His scouts had told him that an army of Elves was heading towards them from the north, though they were unable to identify anyone. He suspected Thranduil might be leading the army of Mirkwood and Celeborn looked forward to being able to give his kinsman news about his youngest son, Legolas. He could just imagine what that irascible ellon would say and smiled to himself.

"My lord," Celeborn’s chief Marchwarden said as he approached him from the trees where he had been scouting. "King Thranduil’s army is just over that ridge." He pointed northward. "They appear to be waiting for us."

"Thank you, Haldir," Celeborn said with a nod. "Has there been positive identification as to who leads the army?"

"Aye, lord," Haldir said with a knowing grin. "Thranduil himself leads and from what I could tell, he’s looking somewhat impatient."

Celeborn snorted good-naturedly. "Well, I had best not keep my kinsman waiting too long then. No telling what mischief he might get himself into that I will then have to pull him out of."

Haldir laughed, knowing full well just how these two cousins had been long ago in Doriath. Celeborn gestured for Haldir to lead the way and the rest of his warriors followed. The ridge was more like a low hill that tumbled to the east and west and like the rest of the area it was heavily forested. As he came to the top of the rise he spied Thranduil’s army spread below them in a clearing, pennants with the Elvenking’s sigil snapping in the morning breeze.

He made his way down to where he could now see Thranduil waiting for him. The Elvenking was dressed in ancient mail with a green silk surcoat on which was embroidered a wreath of niphredil and elanor entwined, the emblem of Doriath that was no more. He had doffed his helm for a crown of spring flowers and new leaves. Celeborn himself was wearing mail that was equally ancient, and a surcoat of blue silk shot with silver thread on which was embroidered a white swan. His head was bare of helm or crown. Both Elf-lords wore warrior braids and Celeborn found it amusing that they both wore them in the style of Doriath of old. Even after two ages, some things never change.

Thranduil was sitting in a camp chair under an awning of white samite shot with gold thread. Another chair was there with a table in between on which sat a carafe of wine — Dorwinion, no doubt — and two goblets. Thranduil looked up as Celeborn came near and scowled.

"Took you long enough," he muttered as he poured some of the wine into the goblets and handed one to Celeborn as the Lord of Lothlórien took a seat.

"A hînwain ’elir achen, sui mae, Thranduil," Celeborn said with a congenial smile as he raised his goblet in salute, taking a sip of the wine, which did in fact turn out to be Dorwinion.

Thranduil threw back his head and laughed, raising his own goblet. "Indeed, a very happy New Year," he said, then took a sip of his wine. "A new year, a new age. Sauron defeated." He shook his head in wonderment. "I can scarcely believe it, nor can I fathom how it happened." He gave his kinsman a shrewd look over the rim of his goblet.

Celeborn nodded. "A long tale, one that will have to wait for a proper telling, nor do I know any of the details myself. Be assured though that your son had a hand in Sauron’s downfall."

"Legolas!" Thranduil exclaimed and there was a hunger in his eyes that showed Celeborn the depth of the ellon’s pain at having had no news of his beloved Lasseg.

Celeborn nodded, giving Thranduil a warm smile. "He came through Lórien in Narwain along with Lord Boromir of Gondor and Isildur's Heir." He decided not to mention the Dwarf or the Periain. It would be best to wait until they knew for sure what had happened and who had survived. "They stayed for a month before continuing on."

"I wasn’t too pleased when my son’s escort returned without him." Thranduil said with a scowl. "The captain of the guard said something about a Council and Isildur’s Bane and that one of the Periain was carrying it to Mordor." He gave Celeborn a shrewd look. "What Elrond was thinking to include Legolas as a member of this company is beyond me."

"You should be proud that Elrond thinks so highly of Legolas that he chose him for this quest to destroy the One Ring. He could have chosen one of his own people, even his sons or Glorfindel, and none would have gainsaid his decision. That he decided that your son should represent all the Firstborn is a great honor."

"I suppose you are right," Thranduil said grudgingly.

"What! The great Thranduil Oropherion admitting that he is wrong?" Celeborn said with a laugh. "That I lived to see the day."

"I didn’t say I was wrong," the Elvenking protested, though there was a twinkle in his eyes that belied the heat of his words, "I said you were right. There’s a difference."

"Have it your way, Cousin," Celeborn said with an easy grin, taking another sip of his wine, his eyes twinkling with merriment.

Thranduil flashed him a wicked grin. "I usually do," and they both laughed.

"So, now the question before us is: What next?" Celeborn said once they had calmed down. "What are your plans for Mirkwood?"

Thranduil scowled. "For one thing, we need to find another name for these woods. No longer is the forest dark, for the evil that has held it enthralled is now gone."

"You could always return to its old name, Eryn Galen iDhaer," Celeborn suggested.

Thranduil shook his head. "New year, new age, new name."

"Hmm...." Celeborn replied, looking about them. Here, in the southern reaches of the great forest the trees were still blighted from Sauron’s taint, yet he could see how new leaves and blooms were sprouting all around them, a sign not only of Spring but also of hope renewed. For the first time in ages birds were singing high in the branches, their songs a welcome sound after the deathly silence that had once reigned here. The dark pall that had hung over Mirkwood for so many lives of Men was lifted and one could truly say that the forest was green again.

"What about Eryn Lasgalen, then?" he offered.

Thranduil seemed to mull over the name for a moment before nodding. "I like it. Like but not like its original name." He lifted his goblet in salute and Celeborn followed suit. "Eryn Lasgalen," the Elvenking said, "may it remain forever green," and the two of them drained their goblets.

"So what are your plans?" Thranduil asked as he poured more wine. "And your lady? What of her?"

"She will sail," Celeborn replied quietly, not looking at anything in particular.

"But you will not," Thranduil said, making it a statement rather than a question.

"No, I will not," his kinsman answered shortly. There was an uncomfortable silence between them for a moment or two and then Celeborn shook off the melancholy that had taken him and gave Thranduil a wry grin. "So, will you reclaim the whole of Mirk... I mean Eryn Lasgalen?"

Thranduil shook his head. "Though we were driven north over the long years, I have no desire to rule over the whole of the woods. My realm will stop at the mountains." He cast Celeborn a sly look. "You may have the rest if you wish."

Celeborn laughed. "I thank you for the offer, Cousin, but I think not. However, if you agree, I will claim all the forest south of that ridge." He nodded towards the ridge he had climbed. "I am thinking of calling it East Lórien."

"You truly wish to lay claim to what was the very heart of the darkness here?" Thranduil asked incredulously. "You wish to claim Dol Guldur?"

Celeborn shook his head. "Nay. Even now my lady wife lays bare the foundations of that hateful place. She and my people were in the process of cleansing the area completely. Not even the memory of its existence will survive, I assure you."

"Hmph," Thranduil replied, not entirely convinced. "Then, if it is your desire, take the lands south of the Narrows, but that still leaves a goodly portion of the woods free of any claim."

"Give it to the Beornings and the Woodsmen," Celeborn suggested. "Ever have they come to the aid of both our peoples. The least we can do is reward them for their faithfulness. I think Radagast would appreciate the gesture, also."

"That is a thought," Thranduil said with a nod. "Perhaps we can present the idea to the Wizard together, see what he thinks."

"An excellent idea," Celeborn replied. Then, he gave Thranduil a shrewd look. "In the meantime, what will you do?"

Thranduil did not answer immediately. When he did speak, it was with implacable determination, his eyes dark with unforgiving pain. "I wish to see for myself that Dol Guldur is truly destroyed."

Celeborn nodded, not at all surprised by Thranduil’s words. "Then let us away that you may see for yourself the truth of what I have said."

With that, the two Elf-lords drained their goblets a second time and shortly Thranduil’s army had decamped. Together with Celeborn and his warriors they headed south into the newly renamed East Lórien.

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All words are Sindarin.

Ellon: Male Elf.

A hînwain ’elir achen, sui mae: ‘ And a Happy New Year to you, as well’ [în ‘year’ + gwain (lenited) ‘new’, cf. Narwain ‘new-sun’, i.e. January. When a word beginning with a vowel follows a ‘and’ the vowel is aspirated].

Lasseg: ‘Little Leaf’.

Periain: Plural of Perian: Halfling, Hobbit.

Eryn Galen iDhaer: Greenwood the Great.

Eryn Lasgalen: Wood of Greenleaves.

Note: Gwaeron 28 (April 6 of the Gregorian calendar) is the first day of the Elves’ New Year and the beginning of the season they called Ethuil (Sindarin) or Tuilë (Quenya), translated as ‘Spring’.