Chapter Seven: Support

Legolas dropped his brush in the jar of turpentine on the table next to him and took a step back to study his painting. Without taking his eyes from it, he reached for a knife and mixed a little deep violet paint into the blue that he had used for the dress Amoneth was wearing. Then he picked up a clean, flat brush and began applying shadows under the embroidery he had just finished painting on the dress. As he worked, the embroidery slowly came to look as if it were actually sewn on the canvas, not merely painted there. He stuck the wooden end of the brush in his mouth as he looked for anywhere else on the dress that needed a touch of shadow. Holding the brush between his teeth, he used the little finger on his right hand to blend the paint under a button on Aradunnon's tunic just a bit more smoothly and he reached to set the palette in his left hand on the table. The painting was almost finished. He would just deepen the shadows a bit in some of the folds of the clothing and maybe add a little more light on Aradunnon's hair to really bring out the silver in it. Then he would be satisfied.

He glanced at his supply of paints as he cleaned dark blue stains off his finger with a rag soaked in turpentine. He would need to ask Uncle Celonhael for more red pigment. A lot of it had gone into this painting and he was almost out. At least that pigment was easy to acquire, since the bugs it was made from were plentiful in the forest and Arthiel did not mind scraping them off oak leaves when she was about her other forester duties with Master Ruscil.

"Legolas," a quiet voice called, interrupting his thoughts.

He jumped, caught completely at unawares, and spun around to face the voice. It was his father. He stood in the open doorway--Legolas knew he had closed that door before he dragged his supplies from under the bed--and he was frankly studying the painting. Resisting the urge to step in front of it, Legolas tossed the paint-covered rag to the table and put his hands on his hips.

"It would be polite to knock, adar. You startled me so badly that if I had been painting I would have poked the brush through the canvas," he said in what he hoped was not too openly an irate tone of voice. He could not help but scowl when his father smiled at him.

"I did knock. And I called your name through the closed door. So did Galithil and Dolgailon and your naneth," Thranduil replied, still smiling. "I came in to make sure nothing was wrong. And I did wait to speak until you stepped back from the painting because I knew I was going to startle you. You were clearly very focused on your work." He appeared to be amused by that.

Legolas made no pretense of hiding his scowl now. How long had his father been standing there watching him? The thought was enough to make him squirm.

"We wanted you to know that your cousin is home," Thranduil continued, mercifully ignoring the scowl. Legolas knew he was still on thin ground with his father, given all his recent misdeeds. He did not intend to add disrespect to the list. He just was very uncomfortable with anyone, much less his father, watching him paint. "Dolgailon made it back to the capital in time for your daernaneth's farewell tonight."

That was good news! Everyone had been worried the messengers would not reach Dolgailon in the south in time for him to make it home. Legolas took a few excited steps towards the door with a grin on his face before he hesitated and looked back at his paints. He should really take a moment to clean them up first. He had been using the white paint and it dried quickly. At the very least, he needed to close that jar.

Thranduil stepped further into the room. 'You have a bit of time," he said when Legolas paused. "Galithil and Dolgailon are talking about their adar."

Legolas looked sharply at his father. "Is Dolgailon telling Galithil it was not his fault?" he asked.

Thranduil nodded. "Galithil confessed to taking the swords, as I had asked him to do, almost as soon as Dolgailon had settled into a chair. That necessitated telling the entire story of what you were all up to in Dolgailon's absence." Legolas looked down in response to that. "Galithil did not include in his confession or the ensuing explanation what he said about feeling he was to blame for Aradunnon's death, so I was forced to tell Dolgailon. Galithil is angry with me for it, but I had to do it. I could not allow him to continue thinking that."

Legolas looked back at his father. His tone seemed defensive and that surprised Legolas. Indeed, his father's expression indicated he expected disapproval from Legolas as well. Legolas only shrugged. "If you had not done it, I would have. Galithil and Dolgailon have a difficult enough situation without Galithil thinking it was his fault. Dolgailon needs to set him straight about that."

Thranduil smiled at him, nodding his agreement. Then he turned back to the painting. "It is absolutely stunning, Legolas. When I walked in the room, I thought they were standing there. For a moment I was almost ready to scold Aradunnon for not greeting me. They are that realistic. The shock of seeing it was almost too much to bear, honestly."

Legolas frowned. Did his father's voice sound rough? He was almost certain it did. That made Legolas feel sorry for him. He had been worried that seeing sketches of Aradunnon and Amoneth would be difficult for Galithil. It seemed particularly sad, for some reason, that it was apparently painful for his father as well.

"Where do you intend to hang it?" Thranduil asked.

Any sympathy that Legolas had briefly felt evaporated instantly with that question. "No where," he answered quickly. "It is a gift for Galithil. For his room."

His father's brow furrowed. "Well, perhaps we can persuade Galithil to share his gift with the rest of the family. It would be a pity to hang this painting where only one person could enjoy it. It would be selfish and I am certain Galithil is not selfish."

Legolas's brow furrowed deeply as well. Argued that way, Galithil would not even try to resist the request that the painting be hung in a public area. "Adar, I would prefer that it be hung in Galithil's room," Legolas said, trying his best to sound reasonable and not pleading. "It is not nearly good enough to hang with your paintings, or Uncle Celonhael's or daernaneth's or Gelireth's."

Thranduil's gaze darted from the painting to Legolas and his eyebrows rose when he saw Legolas was clearly very serious. He shook his head and gestured to the painting. "Nonsense, Legolas. I have never seen a better portrait of anyone in this family. Celonhael and I cannot paint portraits. Naneth can, but she has not done so in Ages. And Gelireth's portraits are wonderful. I treasure the one she made for me of your naneth. But the one you have in here," he said, reaching for the papers in Legolas's supply box and flipping through them quickly until he produced the painting he referred to, "truly captures your naneth's smile. The way her eyes look when she smiles. Gelireth did not capture that."

Legolas stood stiffly, trying very hard not to glare at his father as he pawed through his paintings and sketches uninvited for a second time. "Adar, those are private. Please put them back," he said as politely as he could.

Thranduil frowned, but he put the drawings back in the box, leaving the portrait of Lindomiel on top. Then he sat down in a chair at the table near the supply box. "Legolas, it is very wrong to create something beautiful and then hoard it for yourself," he said softly. "The ability to create beautiful things is a gift that Iluvatar gave only to his children, Elves and Men, and to his adopted children, the Dwarves. Yavanna's animals and plants may be beautiful by their nature, Aulë's gems may be beautiful by theirs, even Ulmo's waters are beautiful when they cascade over mountains or form snow flakes. But animals and plants cannot create anything from their own hands that is lovely. Only Elves and Men and Dwarves enjoy that gift. And Iluvatar did not intend for us to use it selfishly. Look at what happened to Feanor when he kept the Silmarils from others' sight. They were stolen from him and he and his entire family fell to madness and lost everything trying recover them. The one Silmaril that the Valar managed to recover, they shared with everyone. That is what we are intended to do with the beautiful things that we create."

Legolas stifled a sigh. "I know that, adar, and I am not hoarding my paintings. When I am skilled enough to create something as  beautiful as your ents," he gestured to the mural of the ent and the elvenprince that Thranduil had painted to celebrate Legolas's birth, "or the painting of the forest in your office," he continued, referring to a mural of the forest, glowing silver and gold in the light of dawn, "then I will be happy to share. But I cannot do anything nearly that good yet."

Thranduil glanced at the portrait of Aradunnon and Amoneth and laughed briefly. But he quickly sobered when Legolas only drew himself up slightly and stared at him evenly. "Legolas, this portrait of your aunt and uncle shows every bit as much talent, if not more, as my painting of the ents. I cannot paint people's faces--that is why the elvenprince in your mural has his back to you as he speaks to the ent.  And I never learnt to paint with oils. I have no patience for how slowly they dry and no desire to learn to plan my paintings so as to apply the faster drying paints as bases. And I could never bear to put the attention to detail into any painting of mine to achieve the level of realism that you have achieved in this portrait. I would honestly have to say this painting exceeds my skill and I cannot imagine why you would hesitate to hang it where we can all enjoy it." Then Thranduil's expression grew stern. "Surely Gelireth has told you that your portraits demonstrate great talent?" he asked. His tone implied the answer had better be 'yes' or Gelireth might expect a conversation with Thranduil.

Legolas looked down. She had told him that he painted well. She had gushed over some of the paintings he had done in what seemed to him to be a completely ridiculous manner. "She told me they were good," he hurried to assure him. He did not want his father to speak to his tutor.

"She never told me that anything I painted was good," Thranduil said softly. "She told me what I could do to improve it."

Legolas looked sharply at his father, feeling as insulted as if Gelireth had said the same to him. His father's murals were the best decorations in the stronghold, in his opinion.

Thranduil laughed in response to his expression and reached for the jar of white paint and its lid. "Will you be angry at me if I ask Galithil to share this painting with the rest of the family?" he asked.

"No," Legolas managed. He picked up the jar of turpentine where his soiled brushes were soaking.

Thranduil did not make any of the dramatic faces that Legolas's cousins made when he stirred up the turpentine to clean his brushes. Instead, his father simply passed him a clean rag and the bar of soap in his supply box. Then he reached for another jar of paint to close. "Will you be angry with me if I ask to keep this painting of your naneth?" he asked, nodding at the painting at the top of the stack in the box.

That made Legolas shake his head without even thinking. "It is awful, adar. I do not want nana to see that. At least let me make you a better one if you want one."

"Is that a promise to make me one, then? Because if it is not, you will force me to beg for this one."

"It is a promise. I will make a good one for you," Legolas answered quickly.

"I will look forward to seeing that," Thranduil replied quietly, beginning to stack the paint jars into the supply box. "I had no idea that you painted beyond what Gelireth required you to do for your lessons, Legolas. I cannot tell you how pleased I was to discover that."

Legolas frowned. He was not so pleased with the manner in which his father had found that out. In fact, to be honest, he was still quite angry at his father for that.

Thranduil stopped putting jars in the box and studied Legolas. "Your daernaneth says that I owe you an apology for demanding to look through your box," he said.

That statement only made Legolas tense. Clearly his father did not agree with his grandmother.

Thranduil put the last few jars of paint in the box, covered them with a rag and placed Legolas's palette on top of them. "I thought at the time, and I do still think, that I had a right to be suspicious of what might be in this box, given what I had just heard from Glílavan..."

Legolas was wiping turpentine off a brush with a clean rag. He gave the brush a hard twist and pulled it free of the rag with much more force than was necessary. "Even if I had intentionally lied to Glílavan, which I did not," he interrupted, "I could not look you in the eyes and lie to you, adar. I have never done that. And frankly, I am offended that you think I would."  

"Fair enough," Thranduil admitted softly. "I apologize for offending you, Legolas. I should have listened to your explanation before I assumed you were guilty of everything Glílavan said you had done. I apologize for failing to listen to you, as well. I have not been myself recently, for obvious reasons."

Legolas was not sure if it was the apology or his father's explanation of why he had acted as he had, but Legolas's anger immediately fled, to be replaced by guilt. "Nana told me," Legolas said quietly, "that I should be ashamed of myself for causing you more grief on top of everything else that you are dealing with now. She said I should have tried to help you recover from it rather than thinking just about myself. I realize now that she was right and I am ashamed and sorry, adar. I behaved selfishly. I should have waited, as nana asked me to do, until you were ready to discuss the weapons training with me. I certainly should not have thought I could pursue it on my own. And I should have respected how you must be feeling after all that has happened and behaved in a way that would help you rather than bring you more grief."

Thranduil leaned forward and pulled Legolas into an embrace. "It is difficult to learn how to help others in times of grief, but it is a valuable skill if you can cultivate it. One person's efforts to help another in such times can often give that person the strength to go on when they did not believe they could. Your naneth is a far better example of such skills than I, I must admit. I recommend you follow whatever advice she has given you on the matter. You will be a better person for it," he said giving Legolas's shoulders a squeeze. Then he leaned back in the chair again. "I have given some thought to why you said you wanted those lessons," he said, turning his gaze back towards the portrait. "Have you, perchance, made any effort to understand at all why I am so hesitant to allow you to start that training? Why I require young elves to wait until they are forty-six to enter the training program?"

Legolas shook his head. "Honestly, adar, after seeing Selwon's village...after listening to the grief of the trees and hearing them plead for help..." Legolas watched his father close his eyes in response to that statement and he frowned. "If that grieves you as much at it appears to, given your reaction to just hearing me talk about it, I must admit I do not understand why you do not allow elves to join the training program sooner. Or why you do not send more elves to the southern boarder."

Thranduil loosed a long breath and opened his eyes to face Legolas. "I cannot win the fight in the south, Legolas. If I took every elf in this forest, male and female, adult and child, capable of holding a spear or shooting an arrow, and attacked the orcs and Sauron in the south, all I would be left with when I was finished, if I survived myself, would be the dead bodies of every elf in this forest."

Legolas's eyes widened. "You cannot believe that," he whispered. Legolas refused to believe it. If that were true, then there was no point in Aradunnon's death or Amoneth's or any of the other warriors that died in the forest. If that were true, one day the forest around the stronghold would be blackened like the forest in the south. He did not want to imagine that happening for even a moment.

"I do not just believe it, Legolas, I know it," Thranduil answered firmly, to Legolas's horror. "I have fought in many wars in Mordor and in Beleriand and in Eriador. I know exactly what it takes to defeat an enemy with the numbers and defensive position that Sauron holds in this forest. If I could muster Elrond and Cirdan and Amroth's forces to join my own, I still could not drive Sauron from this forest. Mithrandir, Radagast's friend--you have heard him speak of him?"

Legolas nodded his head.

"He cautioned me once, when I was trying to do just that--to muster Elrond and Amroth to join me to fight Sauron--he cautioned me to be patient. To wait for a better time when we had something more--a weapon or ally or knowledge--that would give us a true advantage over Sauron. So that is what I am doing because I can do nothing else. Do you think I like it? You would be an utter fool to think that I like it. I can be accused of many things, but patience is not one of them. I would give my life in an instant if it meant this forest could be cleansed of the evil in it now. But I cannot do that, as I said. So I wait and I win the one battle that I can win. Do you know what that is?"

Legolas shook his head. If his father really believed that he could not win against the forces of evil in the south, and Legolas did trust his father had enough experience to judge that accurately, then Legolas could not imagine what his father might be referring to.

"The ability of the people to continue living their lives happily. Merrily as when I first encountered them. I want them to meet on the Green every night to sing and dance and play games of skill or chance. I want you to paint and your naneth to weave and Rodonon and Hallion to keep their library. I want us all to have the freedom and the will to do what Iluvatar intended for us--to create beautiful things and enjoy them together. As long as we do that, Sauron has not won. Not all victories are won on the battle field. I believe my truest victory against Sauron is the fact that he cannot repress the spirit of these people. That is why I hesitate to allow you to start weapons training at such a young age, Legolas. I do not want the focus of your life to become war. If it is, then Sauron has defeated you."

Legolas supposed that he could see that, to an extent. "I do paint, adar," he countered. "I sing passably well. And I read my lessons, not only in law, but also in literature. I do not deny that you are right that it is no victory if everyone in this realm is dedicated to war. But we still must fight. If you are killed, we must continue fighting. In order for that to happen, the people of this realm must respect me. They must believe me capable of leading them and defending them. So I still believe that I am right to ask to begin weapons training now. You cannot deny that the longer I have the training, the better I will be prepared to defend this realm when the time comes for me to do it, whenever that may be. And if the safety of all the people of this realm is bought at the expense of me sacrificing a few hours of merry making to do footwork drills, I should think you would allow that. I am one person in this realm, not all of them, being asked to make that sacrifice. And it is a sacrifice that I am am very willing to make."

"It is a sacrifice I am willing to allow you to make, providing you promise me that you will not allow war to become the focus of your life. Because just as it is my duty to prepare my son to defend these people in war, it is also my duty to educate my son to respect the way of life he is defending. And these people are defined by their merry spirits, Legolas. You must learn to see the value in that," Thranduil answered.

Legolas frowned slightly as he processed his father's words. "Are you agreeing to the weapon's training?" he finally asked.

"Do you agree to continue painting?" Thranduil countered, but again he was smiling. "In order to show me that you do still see something more than warfare in the world?"

Legolas grinned back at him. He could not believe that he might have won this argument. "I did promise you a portrait of nana only moments ago," he answered with a teasing tone.

"Then I will arrange the training for you," his father replied. "And for Galithil and Berior, if Celonhael agrees to it. Please give me time to speak to your uncle before you get Berior excited."

Legolas only nodded, grinning broadly and still a little disbelieving that he had been so lucky. His father fixed him with a stern look and Legolas tried to bring his excited expression under control so he could quietly listen to the 'but you must be responsible' lecture that he was sure was coming. It would be similar to the lecture his father gave him when he agreed to let Legolas have a bow, he imagined. Replete with warnings about not playing with weapons with Anastor and Noruil. His father certainly did not have to worry about that. Despite Anastor's apparently sincere apology to Berior--the most sincere apology by far that Legolas had ever heard him offer--he and all his cousins were still angry at Anastor for what he had done.

"But do not believe that you have escaped all punishment," Thranduil continued firmly. "Aside from deciding that we could agree to the weapons training, your naneth and I also decided that spending a few hours sweating in Criston's forge to help him melt down the metal we obtained from the orcs would help you remember not to disobey me in the future."

Legolas only nodded with as respectful an expression as he could muster. That would be very unpleasant, he was certain. He did not even like to go near the forge. But he would happily do it if he had sword lessons afterward.

"And, I want to speak to you more about your disobedience, Legolas, because I doubt you understand precisely why your actions offended me as greatly as they did."

Legolas frowned at that. Offended? Well, he could see why disobedience was offensive. "I do understand, adar. I know it was wrong to disobey you and to go behind your back..." he began, but his father cut him off.

"No, I do not think you do understand, Legolas. This is not simply about a child's disobedience, though that is all I think you understand, and that is why I decided on the punishment I gave you. But there is more to your decision than that. When you decided to pursue those sword lessons without my permission, you did so because, in your judgment, it was in the best interest of this realm, correct? And it was your belief that I, the king of this realm, was either unwilling or currently unable to make the proper decision regarding those lessons and the best interest of this realm, correct?"

Legolas hesitated. "I would not say that you made the incorrect decision as the king of this realm," he replied. He could not imagine where his father was going with this argument, but it sounded very bad.

"But we are discussing decisions that affect the rule of this realm," Thranduil continued. "Decisions made in the best interest of this realm. I make those decisions as king, Legolas."

"We are discussing what I am allowed to do," Legolas countered. "You make decisions about what I am allowed and not allowed to do because you are my adar, not my king."

"Sometimes. When I am deciding if you may take a horse from the stable or sail your raft down the river, those are the decisions of your adar. But when you ask me for sword lessons specifically so that you can defend this realm in the event of my death, that is clearly a matter related to the governance of this realm. When I decided to allow you to have the lessons, I did so because you convinced me that doing so is in the best interest of this realm. These are decisions that your king makes, Legolas, not your adar."

Legolas looked at his father with alarm in response to that.

"When you chose to ignore your king's decision, be it a good one or bad one, it is your king and not your father that you are disobeying. That is the lesson I am asking you to take from this. You may argue with me as either your adar or as your king. I invite that because I believe hearing arguments helps me make better and more just decisions. And I remember my own childhood well enough to understand that a son will occasionally disobey his adar. There will be consequences for that. But Legolas, now that you are old enough to begin participating in the governance and defense of this realm, you must begin to differentiate between the decisions we make as father and son and the decisions we make as the king and prince of this realm. Because I will not tolerate your disobedience as your king. Do you understand that?"

For a moment, Legolas could only blink. "I do understand it, my lord." he finally answered. If ever there was a time to acknowledge Dolgailon's admonition to address the king appropriately, this was it, Legolas thought. "It did not occur to me... I would never disobey the king of this realm."

"I believe that Legolas," Thranduil said gently. "I did not think you did this intentionally. I did not think that you were aware of how I could view this. Indeed, I saw it myself as a decision I made as your adar, right up until the moment you argued that you wanted these lessons so that you might be better prepared to be king. I imagine we will both have to work at seeing each other in our respective places in this realm, but it is clear that you are old enough that we must begin doing that."

Legolas nodded, apparently calmly. But he could not deny that this conversation had given him more than just a little to think about.

*~*~*

Walking along the river bank in the starlight, Galithil tried to focus on the soothing sounds of the water rather than on the songs the minstrels were singing to honor the King's mother. The mood on the Green was somber. Unlike most gatherings, whether festivals or simple merry-making, there had been no dancing or bright party clothes or decorations or games. There had been a feast. A rather good one considering that Crithad and Dollion and some of their friends had provided the meat, rather than the King, and Limmiel and Ollwen had managed its preparation, rather than Lindomiel. And now there was singing. But rather than making him feel cheerful, the gathering to fare Dierneryn well before her journey West only heightened Galithil's grief. Thankfully, no one had tried to stop him when he slipped away. But Maidhien had followed him. Now she was walking along side him silently.

"How is Berior?" she finally asked as they ducked under one of the branches of the great Oak on the Green. Normally at this time of night there would be any number of elves under the Oak, playing games and drinking. Tonight, it was abandoned as everyone gathered around Dieneryn. "He looked fairly uncomfortable during the feast," she prompted when Galithil did not reply.

"Breaking a bone hurts," Galithil answered. He had broken several, so he knew.

Maidhien bit her lip. "Anastor really is sorry, as difficult as that is to believe. And not just because Adar has restricted him to the cottage for the next month. He honestly feels badly that Berior was hurt. I think he did not realize Berior might not be able to deflect the blow or at least sidestep it."

"He should have realized it," Galithil replied. He would not forgive Anastor until Berior did and Berior was still angry.

"True enough," Maidhien agreed. "But then no one should have been playing with the swords," she added softly and cast him a stubborn look when he glanced at her. "It is true," she insisted. "Did Legolas get in much trouble?"

Galithil shook his head. "Uncle Thranduil was really furious at first. And Legolas did not make it any better. He was a bit of a smart mouth when his adar first confronted him. But first daernana intervened, so everyone had a chance to calm down. And then when Dolgailon came home this morning, I heard him telling uncle Thranduil that he had said before that we were old enough for more responsibilities than uncle Thranduil gives us credit for. I thought that took nerve on Dolgailon's part. But before we came out on the Green, Legolas told me that Uncle Thranduil had agreed to give us the weapons training."

Maidhien turned to him with a dramatically disbelieving expression.

Galithil smiled and nodded. "I reacted pretty much the same. I could not believe it either. But Legolas also got a punishment for disobeying Uncle Thranduil. He has to help Criston in the forge to melt down all the metal we scavenged from the orcs in the battle in the south. I helped scavenge that metal. It is a huge pile. That is going to take ages and Uncle Thranduil says Legolas has to help Criston every day for two hours after lessons and our other duties until it is done. That is going to take a long time and be unpleasant work."

"No doubt about that," Maidhien agreed with a sympathetic glance at Legolas. He was just visible through the low hanging branches of the Oak, still sitting on the Green next to his grandmother. "I bet you are glad you did not go with them. Swimming with us has to be more fun than swinging around those swords when you do not even know what you are doing. And it is certainly more fun than sweating in the forge in this heat as a punishment for swinging the swords around."

Galithil nodded. Swimming with Maidhien was fun, for that reason and for the one Legolas had teased him about when they had discussed why Galithil had gone swimming with Maidhien. He glanced at her. He could not imagine why he had never noticed how pretty she was until recently. "True, but I would not say that to Legolas, if I were you. It might earn you a sharp answer back."

Maidhien shrugged. "Legolas may have a sharp tongue when he wants to have one, but Anastor and Noruil hit. I will take Legolas's temper any day over theirs." Galithil narrowed his eyes in response and that caused Maidhien to roll her eyes and laugh. "I hit just as hard as them, Galithil. Never fear."

"True enough," he teased, giving her a light shove.

She punched him in the arm and when he pretended to flinch and rub his arm, she laughed and reached for his hand. "What about you? Did you ever talk to your brother about that stupid idea that you had that you are to blame for what happened to your adar? Or do I have to tell him you are thinking that so he will know he needs to tell you that you are wrong?"

Galithil had to make an effort not to jerk his hand away from her. She held on to him securely as if she expected him to try. "Uncle Thranduil beat you to it," he muttered. "I told him that when Legolas and I were explaining why we want the sword lessons and Uncle Thranduil told Dolgailon."

"And what did Dolgailon say?" she asked, sounding just a bit too much like Eirienil. Smug, as if she already knew the answer.

Galithil was tempted to lie just to spite her. But he would not do that. Not to her. "He said exactly what you said he would. Do not gloat or I will throw you in the river. I swear it," he rushed to add. "He told me that it was not my fault. That I made a mistake to come south, but Adar made a worse mistake to lose track of the battle. He said he was angry at Adar for what he did, not me. That does not make any sense to me, but you said it too. Legolas did, Uncle Thranduil did and Dolgailon did. And everyone says Adar would not want me to spend my life guilty over what happened. That, at least, is probably true. So I will try not to. I promise."

Maidhien smiled in response to that. A pretty smile, Galithil noted. It made his heart beat just a little faster. They had reached the trunk of the Oak, so Galithil leaned against it in an effort to behave casually and ignore the way he had reacted to her smile. But that was not destined to work.

Maidhien tiptoed as he leaned back against the tree and kissed his cheek. "I am glad you are going to try to forgive yourself," she said.

Or she said something. Galithil was certain she said something. He just did not really know what. Nor did he really care. He turned towards her automatically and caught her waist with one hand as she stepped back from him. Then he froze, not certain why he had done what he had just done. Not at all certain how she would react to him holding her in place as he was doing. But she did not pull away, or punch him or laugh at him. She just stopped moving as well and looked at him. Her face was level with his and Galithil realized she was balanced on a root of the tree. He could not stop himself. His eyes darted to her lips and when they did, he froze again. He felt completely incapable of anything. Even breathing. He saw Maidhien swallow and then she leaned towards him, ever so slightly, her hand on his shoulder for balance. That had to be an invitation, he thought. Heart pounding, he took it. He closed the distance between them and kissed her. He did nothing more than brush his lips against hers, but it was enough to make him yearn to pull her flush against him. He did not dare do that. Not, at least, until he figured out what sort of reaction she was going to have to that kiss.

For what must have been an entire Age, she simply looked at him. Then she took her hand off his shoulder and put it, along with her other arm, around his neck and pulled him into a hug. When he dared to return the embrace, arms around her waist, she buried her face against his neck. Heart beating wildly, Galithil believed for the first time since his father's death that he might be able to see his way to being better.

*~*~*

Adar/ada -- Father/dad
Naneth/nana -- Mother/mum
Daeradar/daernaneth -- Grandfather/grandmother