Creation Song of Ilúvatar

Chapter 28:  Glorfindel and the Greenleaf

The four Elves had kept up a feverish pace, trying to outrun groups of orcs which had found their trail.  To Legolas’ dismay, there were too many of them to stand and fight.  His heart boiled as he wanted to reap revenge upon the accursed ones, but he knew better than to risk his companions in such an act of foolishness.

As dusk descended on the day, the group was able to slow their pace and take a much needed rest, but Legolas would not trust their lives to the ground and so they made their way up a large oak.  As they climbed through the first set of heavily leaved branches, the four came upon an opening.

Legolas motioned them to stop whispering that he had to retrieve something from further up in the tree.  Legolas disappeared but soon returned with a bundle of what seemed to be thin wooden planks threaded together with rope. 

He gave Glorfindel one end of the bundle and began to unroll it.  It became apparent to the other three that Legolas was setting up a talan in the tall tree and quickly deduced what needed to be done.  As the bundle was unrolled Elladan and Elrohir fitted the wood planks together and as each segment was laid out, Glorfindel and Legolas would tie the ends securely so that the wood planks would not come apart

Soon the makeshift talan was set out, and the floor was seamlessly merged together and sturdy.  Legolas quickly flew up the tree again and returned with bedrolls that had been secured to the heights of the trees.  As these were laid out the four ate the lembas they had their disposal, and drank their water thirstily.

Legolas stood on the edge of the talan and peered out amongst the branches to the unnervingly clear night.  He had not spoken much.  The pain was too heavy in his heart to allow him to speak.

Glorfindel spoke to the young Elf, his voice tired with sorrow, “Thranduilion, get some rest.  I will keep the first watch this evening.”

Legolas did not turn to speak to the ancient lord, but the words he whispered into the wind were not lost to Glorfindel, “It is in these times that I wish to be counted amongst the Second Born, for I do not know how I can live an eternity with this burden.”

Something in the whisper of Legolas’ words struck Glorfindel, and he felt his chest threaten to cave in with unshed tears.  He struggled to regain his composure but Elladan had noticed his distress.

“Glorfindel, is everything well with you?”

Legolas heard Elladan’s words and turned to look at Glorfindel who was leaning against the strong trunk of the tree that held them in its heights.

Glorfindel looked up and Legolas let out a soft sigh as he saw the immensity of pain that was reflected back in the moon blue depths of Glorfindel’s eyes.

Legolas sat down next to his many times teacher, and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, his voice trembling with sorrow, “Forgive me Lord Glorfindel.  In my selfishness I forgot that your eyes have witnessed, that your memories carry all the sorrow, the loss of our kind.”

Legolas quietly wept upon Glorfindel’s shoulder, not sure if he cried for his loss, or the burden that Glorfindel carried, to have been present at so many of the tragic moments in history.  In this moment he felt as a mere elfling.

Glorfindel quietly embraced the younger Elf, understanding his pain, but as much as sorrow had walked with him he also had much joy as companion.

“Remember Greenleaf, that although I have witnessed much sorrow and carry that with me, I too have known the grandest of joys, the greatest gifts of life.”

Legolas looked up towards Glorfindel, “It is strange, I feel these sorrows overwhelm as they did when I was a mere child.”

“It is the weight of the Shadow, Legolas, I feel it to,” Elrohir added, his eyes red from tears that had fallen.

Elladan quietly nodded his head in agreement.

Legolas shook his head, as if trying to rid himself of the dark whispers that attempted to render him useless in his fear and sorrow.

Glorfindel looked let his gaze settle upon each of the younger Elves as he spoke, “’Tis true, the Shadow attempts to weigh us down with our sorrows.  Although real, let us not fall to the temptations of darkness.”

The younger Elves nodded in agreement, breathing somewhat easier now that they had some semblance of control on their emotions.

“Rest, the three of you,” Glorfindel commanded, “I will take the first watch.”

Hearing the command in Glorfindel’s voice, they did not dispute and lay down upon the mats.  So tired they were that they quickly drifted off into sleep, despite the danger that surrounded them.

Glorfindel looked up to the stars that pierced the blackness of the night, and as if challenging the Shadow, he called out, “Elbereth, Star Kindler, may I rejoice in your light this night.”

Glorfindel settled into his watch allowing his senses to reach out into the night.  He gazed over the three sleeping Elves, lingering upon each and remembering the many headaches they caused their Adars.  Glorfindel smiled, with his aid of course.  As he looked over Legolas’ sleeping form, he couldn’t help but remember an incident with the Greenleaf.

***

Flashback

Glorfindel lay on his bed, his head tilted towards the rising glory of Anor that slowly crept into his room.  A breeze scented with the soft tones of nature played with the sheer panels that served as a wall to his bedroom sanctuary.

Glorfindel followed Anor’s trail along his bed, watching as the light slowly made its way towards his face.  His room was positioned just so, that he could gaze unto the gloriousness of minuial [morning twilight], the morrowdim which found its end in the lights of the western valley, where the Bruinen flowed.  To his east, a large window opened up the majesty of the Misty Mountains which rose in the distance. 

At dusk, Glorfindel would meditate in his room, gathering in the setting of Anor’s brilliance, as the light seemed to disappear into the womb of the mountain.  Aduial, tindómë [evening twilight], would grace the Firstborn with the first brilliance of the elenath, the stars of Varda.  In these moments Glorfindel would whisper words of greeting to the lady of the stars, “Elbereth, Star Kindler, may I rejoice in your light this night.”

But morning greeted him, and the ancient lord, rejoiced in these small moments of peace which were gifted for him and all free folk to enjoy.  As the sun filled his room, Glorfindel felt his body energized as the rays of light warmed him.  Glorfindel stretched in a most feline manner, his bare skin drinking in the brightness of the day.  Yet each dawn that he greeted also took him closer to the time when all of his kind would leave these lands, in favor of the land across the sea, and so although glorious, dawn was also a sad mistress for the Firstborn whose time was fading on middle earth.

Unfortunately his quiet peace was soon disturbed by a small bundle of energy that had run into Glorfindel’s room and was in the midst of launching itself onto the Eldar’s bed. 

A loud humph was heard as this bundle of energy landed solidly on Glorfindel.

“You are awake!” the little elfling cried out, too close to Glorfindel’s ear.

“Yes I am little nymph,” Glorfindel laughed as he extracted the elfling’s arms from his hair.  “What are you doing here so early?”

“Lord Elrond told me that you like company in the mornings,” the little elfling replied.

“Oh he did,” Glorfindel replied, his voice hinting his annoyance with the Lord of Imladris’s sense of humor.

From his side, Glorfindel heard a little voice gasp in awe, “Lord Glofinel, its magic!”

Glorfindel smiled, the little elfling had not yet mastered pronouncing his name.  In fact, he wondered why it was that his name was the last to be properly pronounced by little elflings.  Glorfindel began to think it had more to do with a certain lore master’s bidding than with the child’s use of the tongue.

“It is magic, is it not?”

The little elfling enthusiastically nodded his head in agreement and snuggled into Glorfindel’s chest.

The beauty of sunrise was captivating, and Glorfindel’s room was a prime location from which to view such a spectacular vision.

Glorfindel gazed down with much love at his little companion, endeared by the elfling’s innocent awe of beauty. “Look see how the river seems to dance with the light of Anor,” Glorfindel pointed out to the young eyes.

The little elfling giggled and clapped his hands with enthusiasm, “Glofinel, the river *is* dancing!” The elfling was now standing on the bed, mimicking the dance of sunlight and water.

“Look Glofinel, I am the river,” the golden-haired elfling laughed as he jumped and flipped in the air.

“Careful little Greenleaf, you will hurt yourself,” Glorfindel warned Thranduil’s youngest son.

“Dance with me,” Legolas cried out as he hopped onto the floor, pulling at Glorfindel’s large, strong hand.

Glorfindel begrudgingly accepted the little hand and pulled himself out of his most comfortable bed.

“I am the water, and you are the sun,” Legolas giggled as he continued his interpretive dance of river water.

Glorfindel paused for a moment as he watched the bundle of energy pretend he was water skipping over rocks and flowing rapidly through swift currents.  How could he possibly mimic Anor?

Legolas looked towards his dancing companion and saw the look of confusion on his face.  He swore, although adults were supposed to be smarter, sometimes they just could be quite dimwitted. 

“Like this,” Legolas prodded, exhibiting his finest imitation of Arien driving the sun, “now you do it!”

Glorfindel laughed heartily and began his dance as the sun, and little Legolas spun and leapt around him, weaving his way in and out of the Lord of the Golden Flower’s legs, who had to be watchful that he would not catch the little river that surged around him.

Glorfindel was so caught up in his dance that he did not notice that he and Legolas had an audience.

“It seems that Glorfindel is more of a spirit of the wood than he lets on.”

Glorfindel spun around to find Elrond and Thranduil with huge grins on their faces.

Thranduil nodded his head in agreement with Elrond’s summation, “Indeed he is, but I never thought him so *free*.”

Elrond’s lips trembled with mirth, “This light is quite becoming, your skin radiates its Vanyarin heritage quite beautifully.

Glorfindel’s face turned a deep shade of red as he remembered he was not yet clothed.

“I beg your pardon,” Glorfindel muttered and quickly threw on a pair of leggings that were laid out on a chaise in his room.

Legolas was now unhappy that his dancing partner had been taken away from him.  He marched up to the two interloping Elves and folded his arms with quite a flourish across his chest.

Glorfindel quickly recovered from his embarrassment and decided it was time he participate in the verbal sparring.  “It seems our little Greenleaf has studied you quite closely, Thranduil.  If he were wearing robes this moment, I dare say they would whip around as impressively as yours when you are displeased.”

Thranduil threw Glorfindel a pointed look.

Legolas’ eyes brightened as he caught on to Glorfindel’s dig at his Adar.  “I can also do you Lord Elrond!”

Elrond’s eyebrows furrowed as he questioned the young Elf, “What do you mean, you can “do me” little Thranduilion?”

Legolas turned to Glorfindel who was now covering his mouth with his hands. “Glofinel taught me all your scary poses.  See here’s one.” Legolas then furrowed his eyebrows together and pursed his lips with his hands upon his hips.

Glorfindel was now silently laughing behind his hand, and even Thranduil had to admit his son had Elrond down, “Elrond it seems my son has bested us both with artful imitation.”

Elrond could not hold his trademark furrowed brow-look and instead he shared a hearty smile with the elfling. “Such indiscretion is amusing in ones so young,” Elrond laughed, as he muffled Legolas’ hair eliciting giggles, but his tone grew quite icy as he addressed Glorfindel, “but it is certainly not so amusing in ones so old.”

Glorfindel saw Elrond’s death look and knew that if he did not escape soon, he would have to withstand the Noldo’s wrath. 

“I fear I do not wish to relive any wars of wrath at this moment, so I must bid you a quick farewell!” And with that, Glorfindel leapt out of his room.

As Thranduil, Legolas and Elrond peered to the ground below they saw Glorfindel salute them, and run into the trees below, swiftly disappearing amongst the vegetation.

Thranduil laughed, “And that my dear Elrond is why I live in a cave.”

Elrond snorted and cursed the Balrog slayer under his breath, but the corners of his mouth betrayed the smile he was attempting to hide.

Legolas looked up to his father, “Can I do that to Ada?”

Thranduil’s face became quite serious, “No you may not.  You could hurt yourself gravely little one.” Thranduil knelt in front of his son, holding his small hands in his, “You must promise you would never do such a thing.”

Seeing that although Legolas was shaking his head in agreement but glancing at the opening in the room with *that* look in his eyes, Thranduil tried a different approach.  “When you are grown, you and I can leap together from this very place, but not until you are grown.”

“Do you promise Adar,” Legolas responded excitedly.

“I promise my little wood sprite.  Until then you have many things to learn.”

Legolas reached with his little arms to encircle Thranduil in a hug, and Thranduil in turned picked him up and turned to Elrond, “Now that this crisis has been averted, let us head to that breakfast we originally intended.”

Elrond shook his head in fatherly understanding, “Let us,” and the two Eldar headed towards Elrond’s study where there was a delicious assortment of pastries and fruits set out on a balcony.  Legolas was peering over his father’s shoulder when he saw Glorfindel waving at him from some low-lying branches. 

Legolas made to wave but Glorfindel shook his head and instead winked at the Greenleaf, and raised his finger to his mouth, indicating he did not want to be found.  Legolas responded with a wink and smile of his own, giggling at Glorfindel’s antics.

Thranduil looked over towards Elrond, “Does he forget I am a wood elf?”

Elrond dismissed Glorfindel’s follies with a flourish of his hand, “I do not think he cares what we know and think,” and raising his voice, Elrond added, “and I do hope he clothes himself as there are many impressionable young maidens about.”

End Flashback

***

As Glorfindel kept his spirit full of light with pleasant memories, Legolas made journeys of his own, the words spoken earlier taking shape in the paths of his dreams.

***

“It is in these times that I wish to be counted amongst the Second Born, for I do not know how I can live an eternity with this burden,” Legolas spoke to the mortal maiden who sat at his side.

Lenmana looked upon Legolas, fear and confusion evident in her eyes. “Why would you curse yourself in such a way,” she asked of him, clutching her chest as if trying to keep her pain from spilling forth.

Legolas whispered, “We have our own curse, and I grow weary.”

The weight of her mortal body weighed upon her and the young woman tried to stifle a yawn.

“Forgive me Araswen, I forget your body tires whilst mine lingers in wakefulness,” Legolas added, the irony of his words not lost on either.

“I am afraid,” the deer maiden spoke, her voice like a child’s who did not wish to meet the monsters of nightmares.

“Come with me.  Maybe then you will not be alone.”

He led her from the garden towards his room where he laid her on his bed, and wrapped his arms around her, trying to keep the demons away, the demons that came to take her life.

As she lay in his arms her body felt so small, so insignificant next to his.  She closed her eyes, wishing that the nightmares would not come this night, but it was a lie, all that surrounded her was a lie and no one could hear her voice as she cried out in the face of death.  But she hid her voice, not knowing where to begin, not knowing where to start, not knowing how to yell to the winds that carried her.  The ghosts of her past were always present, never really forgotten.  And she carried her life on her fingernails.

The world was unsettled and in that moment he felt the immensity of her fragility, her mortality.  She was like a delicate petal, beautiful and exotic to the eye that would tear with the simplest touch, but he knew this image was misleading. In truth her life, it was a battlefield that had witnessed too much, strewn with wounds that did not heal, ready to fall off the edge and loose itself in blackness.

No, he could not cure all that, even if he thirsted for it, like a cruel challenge.  He was immortal, time was on his side, but she, she died with every day she lived. He wished that he too could know this mortal end, and he wished he could chase the nightmares away.  If only it was that simple, that simple to chase away demons that did not exist, but he could not chase away the demons that haunted her, that haunted him. 

Her demons were her own, pulsating with blood, breathing the air, haunting her visions, all too real, born of sorrow.  If she were but a child, it would be uncomplicated to wrap his arms around her and soothe her with gentle words and strong arms. 

Lenmana opened her eyes, knowing he would be there, and yet she crawled from him, turning away from him, her face wet from the tears that trailed down her cheeks.  All that pulsed inside her mind, all the sorrow, all the pain, all the doubts, he knew.  She could not close herself to his probing mind.

Legolas whispered to her, “Tell me this is all a lie that I know not what I see, what I feel in you.  Tell me that my eyes, that my heart deceives me.” 

“No,” Lenmana called out softly, “these ghosts are mine own.  They are my sorrow, they are my joy.  I cannot be anything else.  I was named by the light of a morning sun, and that life is what you have before you, nothing more, no brilliance, simply a woman.”

“Let me try to have you then without fear, for these moments, that is all I ask.  Concede me your soul, for this instant that is but a note in the melody of the world- give this immortal heart that moment.  Let me find what is beautiful, let my eyes grant my own heart its own privilege, the beauty I seek.” Legolas sought to chase away his own ghosts with beauty.

But the beauty Legolas sought was momentary, fragile, like a butterfly, and that was all he desired.  Agelessness gifted him the ability to know devastating beauty, a beauty that existed beyond the grasp of too few years of vision.  This fleeting beauty, though, was for his immortal soul a thirsting experience, intoxicating, and all too short-lived. 

She misunderstood him.  He was not aching for the beauty so akin to the leaf people, the lithe shape of a body, the golden hair, or the melodious voice of a minstrel.  All these things could be mundane for an immortal who breathed in these visions for over a millennia, beautiful yes, but not profound in the way of a beauty that dies.  This beauty Legolas hungered to taste was sublime and fleeting, and faded all too quickly for the Eldar.  Except for the stars, these were the constants in their lives, the only remnants of the true gloriousness of time, which raged with fires uncontrolled.

“Your immortality grants you a fearlessness I can never posses, let alone imagine, Pamuya [water moon].  Do not ask of me what I cannot grant,” Lenmana cried out.

“I do not believe that,” Legolas answered firmly.

“You must,” Lenmana pleaded.

“Never.”

How had things come so quickly to this? The resoluteness of Legolas’ voice caused Lenmana to tremble.  How had time managed to stir fire and let it burn down upon her so mercilessly.  Yet it was there, inside her.  Had it always been?

She looked at him and the ferocity in her eyes made him catch his breath.  These were the moments that drew Legolas.  To his father’s dismay he was his mother’s son, lured by the intensity of strange mortal feelings, fascinated by the fires that erupted from nothingness.  Witnessing these fires, Legolas felt his immortality banal, too gentle, and he wanted to drink in the tempestuousness of her mortality.

Suddenly she froze, and the fire that roared inside her waned, replaced by feelings unknown to Legolas.  Lenmana’s eyes bore into him with a new found sadness.

“You look upon me as if I were an object, providing you with an intoxicating moment which you need quenched,” she uttered through tears.  “How dare you,” she whispered downtrodden.  “It is because of difference, because they did not see us as equal children of their god, because we refused to live as them that they have justified our massacre, and now I understand that you would take from me what they have taken from us?”

“No,” Legolas whispered, “and yes.” He admitted the truth behind her words.  “You are mortal kind, and I am immortal.  I dare not pretend otherwise.  Nor can I profess that I take… ask anything else of you, for that would be an affront to you, to all that you are.  Do you not know this?”

Lenmana looked at this being in front of her, and grabbed her head with her hands as if trying to hold back all the thoughts that were wildly pouring through her. 

Legolas continued, “It is not my intention to take anything from you, to steal away who you are.  I only wish to share of your uniqueness, taste of your mortality, if only for a brief spell.  I cannot be anything other than who I am.  My kind we are children of the ellath, born of Uial [twilight].  With the passage of Arien, we fade, and men are born unto this world, Araswen.”

Legolas’ eyes burned with a passion that could only be conceived by immortal kind, deep and constant, secure in its intentions, but brutal in its intensity, fed by the haunting of immortal ghosts.  “All I ask is to taste of the woman whose name was bestowed by the morning sun.  All I ask is *of* you, woman before me, nothing more, nothing less.  I want to taste the intensity of the Second Born, taste the newness, the brilliance of minuial .”

“Pamuya,” the flute maiden whispered, “How does one understand immortality, after all.” Lenmana reached forward and touched his hair, cautiously letting her hands sink into it, “I will never be certain of anything that concerns you Pamuya.  The only certainty I understand is that I will one day die.”

“Be certain of this,” Legolas breathed, grabbing Lenmana’s shoulders, bringing her towards him, to drink in the sweetness of her lips. 

It is in these times that I wish to be counted amongst the Second Born, for I do not know how I can live an eternity with this burden.

*~*~*~*~*

 To my wonderful reviwers:

daw the minstrel:  Thranduil is amazing to me.  To hold off shadow without a ring of power and secure his people’s safety.  There’s a lot of depth in Thranduil and I would love to explore that!   

Nilmandra: Thranduil was wise to see what was happening, and yet Legolas is still young.  I hope that comes through in this chapter, the struggle he begins to have with himself.   I do find that Lenmana works better in dreams, at least she has more room to maneuver as a character. 

rhiannon:  I wish I were a pro.  Just a humble fan of the written word and Tolkien’s works.  Now if only I could find the same enthusiasm for work and grad school;-)

Mellon1:  Yes that was a dream, and this last part with Lenmana and Legolas was also a dream of sorts.  I find it easier to sort certain things out in Elven dream land.  Thanks for your encouraging words!

Lady Larien:  Wow, your words feed my muse, well at least they encourage me to keep writing.  Thanks for letting me know you changed my name. This way I can keep track of my great reviewers!

Hanya the Bloody Angel:  Isn’t it funny how we all *see* these characters.  I have to admit, since Thranduil was described as having golden hair in the Hobbit, I always assigned golden hair to his son as well, so PJ using a blond Legolas didn’t bug me at all!  Legolas has his mouth puckered ready to kiss for those mints… hurry before he gets stuck that way!

Coriandra:  I don’t think it will be too long of a wait to see what happens when Lenmana and Legolas meet, the result will definitely be interesting.  I imagine that being immortal, Elves take the loss of Elven life more tragically than mortals do.  At least that’s what I feel when they are trying to get in their pretty heads.  I think the Shadow has more to do with Legolas’ feelings than he realizes.