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🕑 Added 2017-11-10 09:13:20 +0000 UTCNOTE: Would you like to read the rest of this? Take a peek at my Ao3 where you can find THIS WORK as well as several other fanfictions and commissions!
“Legolas! Do not!”
He saw her then, and he knew why his father had not wished him to come into the hall while she lay there. The healers had not yet had the opportunity to see to her, and so her body came to them as it had been found, plundered and split by their foul and tainted blades. The elves who had brought her had been given no time to properly tend her, but had wrapped her in the cloaks of Lorien out of respect for her state and station before carrying the lady of Eryn Galen home at long last.
Thranduil came up behind his son, his hands, which had never faltered with blade or command, now shook in unsettling sorrow as he clasped Legolas's young shoulders. “Do not look away.” he spoke softly, the tears in his voice a dry echo in the halls. “Do not look away from her, my son. She endured. This was and has always been her strength. Never forget that.” His heart breaking, Thranduil turned to the company of elves who stood at her side, his eyes like a storm before a clam sea. “Tell me everything.”
For a long moment, Legolas did not know the voice that spoke. He was too consumed by the face of his mother. Bruised and battered as it was, he could stills see the sweetness of her countenance, the rosy glow of her cheeks that shone with the light of all elves. He reached out to touch her fingers and found them no longer possessed of the warmth which hand once drawn through his hair with such care. Her nails were caked with dirt and broken, her hair had been shorn from the pale golden locks that once shared the same color of water lilies. That was the most disrespectful thing. She had cared for her hair. His father had once shown his love of her by braiding tiny flowers into it merely to make her smile. Legolas could not move. He could not see nor hear anything. It was as if he was frightened to stop looking at her. As if she might breath or stir from this unkind slumber.
“We were far from Lorien, lord Thranduil, for we had heard rumors of a company of orcs traveling under heavy armor and heading towards Rivendell with ill intent. Lord Elrond, having long been close to our Lady, requested our assistance in scouring the mountains and taking them by surprise. For days we searched, through rain and wind and terrible weather, until we came upon them quite by chance. We slew them, but left a few alive to question. As we spoke, one foul created who called himself Rethswol said something about elvish hair and how it gleamed, and how he wondered if elvish men screamed when it was cut the same way...” The elf who was speaking suddenly became quiet, looking at the young Legolas with a wary and soft eye.
“I would have my son know the truth of things, Lord Glorfindel. Please, continue.”
Glorfindel nodded, though he did not seem pleased by it. “He wondered if elf men would scream as a lady elf when their hair was cut from their head. He had recently had the pleasure of such entertainment with an elfish lady. He showed his prize to us as he laughed.” Glorfindel took a cloth, holding it as though it were a sacred artifact, and unraveled it to reveal a thick braid of the ladies hair, tied with leather to be worn about a belt. He presented it to Thranduil on bended knee, returning it to one who knew it's worth. Thranduil took it, clutching it to his breast and bidding the elf continue.
“We knew then who they must have. We gathered Elrond's folk and traveled to the fortress of Gundabad in the north where once dwelt the Witch-King of Angmar. His lands are foul and barren, full of dangers and evil beasts who plauged us and told the orc Azog of our coming.” Glorfindel shook his head with disdain. “We were lucky, Lord Thranduil. Azog's forces were split, his son Bolg had taken them to Moria to ensure they could keep the mines. Tales of a dragon attacking the once grand city of Erebor have no doubt reached your ears. They are worried the displaced line of Durin will seek to retake the once great stronghold.”
“Did you take the fortress?” The king demanded, wishing perhaps to find some consolation in the knowledge that the enemy had been defeated.
“We did not. There were not near enough of us to manage such a feat. We raided it for one reason only, to bring back proof that her lady had been there. You know well the habits of orcs with their victims. We did not expect to be so fortunate as to find her body. But once we did, we wrapped her tightly and bore her swiftly as we might travel to your lands, Lord Thranduil. The Lady of Eryn Galen had been returned to her homeland.”
“Her home is not here, but across the sea.” Thranduil said softly, placing his hand upon her broken crown and struggling with his tears. “She dwells there now, in the Grey Havens, where she is ever green and full of laughter. Where no ax nor knife can touch her.” He sucked in a deep breath and bowed his head to the elvish legend. “You have our undying gratitude, Lord Glorfindel. Words can not express...”
“Then do not speak them, my Lord. As one who knows better then most, there is nothing beyond the veil but light, and the clear shores of a land that knows no winter. She will wait there.” He smiled gently, bowing to the king. No one would dare doubt his word. Elves, when they did pass, did not often return. Those who did, only did so for an excellent reason. “We knew her ladyship well. Her kindness and generosity will not be forgotten. Lord Elrond and Lady Galadriel send their deepest sympathies and share in your sorrow.”
“I doubt very much that any might share in my sorrow.” He retorted, clutching Legolas close to him, as if the boy were the only thing keeping him standing.
“Their sympathies are there, none the less. They entreat you to request assistance, should you need it in any way. I stand here as my own envoy, but I knew your lady well in her youth. And envoys from Rivendell and Lorien as well wish to say their goodbyes to her, should you permit it.”
“I shall, for it would please her well. But understand this.” Thranduil stood tall, drawing all his command and presence to himself. “Once you leave the Greenwood, turn your backs and make for your homes. Once the ceremony is completed and my Lady has been mourned, Eryn Galen will close it's doors, and my lands will no longer become welcoming to outside visitors.” He stepped back, allowing for the healers to take his wifes body and prepare it. “You may say your good byes when the sun rises. I will take my leave now. There is much work to be done.”
Legolas strayed from his father's side, unable to tear his eyes from her. It was not until Glorfindel came to his side that he could manage to pull away from his own grief, and only then thanks to years of good breeding and propriety. “My father is wrapped up in his grief. If he has not seemed thankful enough, please do not blame him. We are, all of us, grateful to you.” He sniffled between his words, trying to find the right ones. He tried not to wipe his nose or his eyes on his sleeve. It would be a very childish thing to do and he could not bare to be childish in front of this great warrior.
Glorfindel took a handkerchief from his belt pouch and handed it to Legolas. “You bare a striking resemblance to her, both in appearance and in temperament. Grief is not a sin, young Greenleaf. Indeed there are few emotions which are inherently problematic. Let yourself mourn her, and do not be ashamed for tears. But remember that this vessel which we inhabit is only that. Like a ship which bares us hence through the waters of life, it is not the sails or oars which make it a worthy vessel, but the one who captains it.” He looked over his shoulder at the retreating Thranduil, and lowered his voice. “Do not let grief become a cloak which you use to hide away from the world. Be free, Legolas. She would want you to be.”
For a time he said nothing, but he could not let what was in his heart remain silent. He waited until the healers had taken his mothers body to prepare it, baring her away as if they held her hands and guided her to her chambers, that he turned to Glorfindel. “I am sorry.” Legolas saw the great elfish lord pause. “For...the business last summer. I...acted foolishly...”
“Perhaps. But there has yet to be a young elf who has not acted foolishly in matters of the heart. And I doubt very much that there ever will be.” He turned with a gentle and understanding smile, looking every bit the glorious hero of old with his hand on the hilt of his sword and a rakishly daring smile. “I once kissed a dwarvish lass with the prettiest red beard you'd ever seen. Her father chased me half way across the mountains with an ax.”
Legolas started. “You kissed a dwarf!”
“Well, we kissed one another. We were both very drunk.” He smiled again and Legolas could see just how easily it would be to fall in love with him. “I will stay through tomorrows ceremony to bid her farewell. I will impart to Haldir what happened so that he may tell his lady.”
“Was Haldir with you during my mothers rescue?”
“Indeed he was. He was instrumental in her retrieval and in returning her here, to her beloved family. He...ah...he did not think you would want to see him. Not in a moment when the pain is so fresh.”
“It is a pity then.” Legolas smiled. “I would have liked to thank him. Will you...thank him for me?”
The smile of this elfish hero grew more kind and more dazzling by the moment. “I will indeed, my young lord. I will indeed.”
~~~
Healers, or at least those of the elvish sort, are not limited to care of the living, but tending to the bodies of the dead. It is not a skill that they practice much, given the immortality of an elves fëa and hröa. But they know it none the less. They tended to the Lady of Eryn Galen as befitted a queen, and when she came to the base of the tree that would be her bodies final resting place, it was as if she merely slept, her beauty restored to all but the most observant eye.
It was then that Legolas heart his father sing for the last time. His voice carried over the woodland realm, the leaves and the wind silenced themselves to pay homage to his mourning. His weeping was carried through glen and tree and up through the tallest towers, and the light shone through the dappled branches and cast it's tender glow upon her body.
Into the ground she was lowered, her flesh returned to the soft, warm earth where it might give it's force to the trees and the wilderness. Thranduil knelt then, removing the silver and white crown which he had worn all his reign, as it had belonged to his father before him, and placed it in her hands. He buried his fingers in the dark soil and covered her himself, his strength not failing.
Legolas watched as his father took the twining branches and mulberry leaves, plucked the white berries and purple flowering blossoms from the tree, binding them together to make a crown for himself. No one dared moved nor yet speak while he did this. They all seemed to understand that this moment was made for silence and watchfulness.
When Thranduil stood again, there was a coldness and distance to him which had not existed before. “Send word to the marchwardens of the Greenwood. Our boarders are now closed to all but our own kin. None may come or go without our leave, so says the king of Mirkwood.”
Comments
Caroline
Beautifully written!
