LITTLE BIRD
by Soledad
Disclaimer:
The characters, the context and the main plot belong to Professor
Tolkien, whom I greatly admire. I’m only trying to fill in the
gaps he so graciously left for us, fanfic writers, to have some
fun. However, the extended family of Legolas and the individual
Mirkwood Elves belong to me.
Rating: PG
Author’s
Notes:
Now we have come
to the end of our rather sad little story. This epilogue serves
as a connection to my ongoing tale, “Innocence,” as it
happens shortly before its 15th chapter, “Tentative Steps,”
where Legolas finally gets to visit Imladris for the very first
time and is reunited with his pal, Lindir. Since that chapter is
still quite far in the future, however, you might have to wait a
while for the reunion.
I realize that I
have not fulfilled my promise at the beginning of this tale; the
one about telling the reason I found why Thranduil wanted riches.
This story just turned another way. Your answer is the upcoming
new tale called “Astonishment in Mirkwood” – unless I find
a less stupid title for it.
My sincerest
thanks to Dagmar and Judy who came up with the flute-playing
Thranduil and allowed me to borrow him. And, as usual, my
gratitude to Cirdan for beta-reading.
EPILOGUE
[Mirkwood, the year 1.140 of the Third Age]
Galion, the seneschal of King Thranduil’s palace,
was on a search for his Lord. His first way led him to the throne
room: a great hall with pillars hewn out of the living stone of
the mountain, carved in the likeness of the trees of the forest
and with rich tapestries made by the Queen and her handmaidens
themselves. However, the high chair of carven wood stood empty,
and the carven staff of oak that served as the Elvenking’s
scepter, lay abandoned upon the dais that raised the throne above
the rest of the seats in the room.
“Where is our Lord?” Galion asked Rhimlath, one
of the younger servants who was busily cleaning the candlesticks.
The ash-blonde young Elf – one of the numerous Nandor Elves
that had chosen to live under Thranduil’s rule – shrugged.
“He went to the Queen’s gardens… with his
flute. He said he wanted to be alone.”
Galion sighed. Over a whole year had passed since
the death of sweet little Aiwë, and the only way Thranduil was
able to find some comfort was to go to the Queen’s gardens
where the empty shell that was left of the once so merry little
child had been buried. He would spend long hours at the small
grave, playing on his flute all the old songs of the Silvan folk
that Aiwë used to like so much.
He was neglecting his duties towards his realm,
leaving its affairs to the Queen and to Legolas, who – with the
help of the councilors and Galion himself – tried to keep
everything running smoothly, but they both feared that all their
efforts would not be good enough, especially since the attacks of
the Orcs and the Giant Spiders had increased. In just one year,
things in the Greenwood had gone from bothering to downright bad
and worse, and the woodland folk reluctantly accepted the name
the Woodmen had given their home: Mirkwood, the Dark Forest.
Things were slowly but inevitably changing for the worse with
every passing day. They needed their King back – his strength,
his wisdom, his leadership, all of which he had sacrificed to his
grief.
“Prince Legolas went after him,” Rhimlath added
with a meaningful look.
Galion nodded his understanding and left the throne
room to seek out his King. He needed to speak to Thranduil, and
if Legolas was present to help him, he might even have a chance
of being listened to.
The Queen’s gardens – small, flowery patches,
connected by narrow pathways westwards from the palace, so that
she could see them when she looked out of her balcony – were
bright and peaceful in the golden light of the late afternoon, as
if they had remained untouched by the darkening of the forest.
The flowers glowed red and golden: snapdragons and sunflowers and
nasturtians trailing all over the small clearings and leaning
protectively over a small, grass-covered mould that was peppered
with the small, white eyes of evermind(1), the flowers
of remembrance. The wild and bittersweet tune of an ancient song,
played on a silver flute, was piping through the fence of great
beeches.
Thranduil, wearing the usual green and brown garb of
the woodland folk, as it was his wont except on feasts, sat
cross-legged upon the grass, next to the grave of his daughter,
his hair unbraided and crowned with a garland of autumn leaves
and berries only. He held the most wondrous silver flute in his
hands and played it with great skill, which did not surprise
Galion at all.
He had been the one, after all, who used to escort
the then-young Prince to music lessons in Doriath. Nay, Thranduil
had not been gifted enough to be taught by Daeron himself, but
there had been other minstrels in Thingol’s realm, less great
in gifts mayhap but more blessed in patience, who had instructed
him well enough to become a good player, even in Elven terms.
The flute itself had come from Valinor with the
Queen and was given him by Thingol as a gift when he had reached
maturity. Before that, he had used a wooden one, made by his
tutor; unfortunately, that one got lost during the fall of
Doriath. To Thranduil’s regret, only Celebwen of all his
children had inherited his gift of music and his love for the
flute, though he would have loved to teach them all how to play.
That was why he was always pleasured when Radagast had brought
over young Lindir for a visit. The youngling had a unique gift
and loved to be tutored by the King.
Thranduil, absorbed in his music and his grief, did
not even notice the approach of his old seneschal. Legolas,
however, who was sitting across him, watching him over Aiwë’s
grave with worried eyes, looked up and nodded his greetings.
“He is falling to pieces, Galion,” the young
Prince said quietly. “I know not what else I could do. We
cannot lose him, not now when the darkness is creeping over our
forest, more and more with every passing day. Mother is not the
one made for ruling kingdoms, and I… I am much too young still.
I cannot take over his place, not so soon. I am not ready. We
need him, and we need him with his old strength and wisdom back
together.”
“That I know, my Prince,” Galion sighed, “but
I fear fate had dealt your father just one more blow than he had
the strength to endure. I know not how we could keep his fëa
from leaving. I hoped Hathaldir(2) of Lothlórien
would be a welcome distraction, but our Lord did not even come in
to greet him.”
This news, strangely, seemed to lighten Legolas’
mood a little. The rare visits of Hathaldir not only meant
spontaneous archery contests which he loved to win against the
older, more experienced Elf, but also interesting tales from
far-away parts of Middle-earth, Hathaldir being one of the very
few Galadhrim who traveled in other lands on errantry.
“Hathaldir is here?” Legolas asked happily.
“What tidings is he carrying this time?”
“Encouraging ones, or so I hope,” said Galion.
“It seems that the powerful ones finally decided to do
something – together. They have called for the White Council to
discuss the darkening of the forests and what could be done
against it.”
“A Council!” Legolas’ mind raced. “Where,
Galion, where? Is my father invited, too? Surely, they would not
dare to leave him out of such important meeting?”
“Nay, they would not,” Galion sighed, “but his
current state is not the only hindrance here, I fear. For the
Council is called to Imladris – and you know how your father
thinks of that place and its Lord…”
Legolas groaned involuntarily. Aye, he knew all too
well the Ages-old animosity between his sires and the Noldor,
which partially caused the horrible deaths of two-thirds of all
the woodland archers that followed his grandfather into battle
during the Last Alliance – including the death of King Oropher
himself and that of Legolas’ three older brothers. According to
Silinde(3), captain of the Mirkwood archers, who had
been present in that battle, Oropher had not been entirely
without fault in that tragedy – even though the Noldor were a
little too ready to blame him for everything – but Thranduil
himself would not hear of it. In his eyes Oropher was infallible
– everything an Elvenking should be.
Legolas himself, however, had a slightly different
view on those events. Certainly, he had respected his grandsire
greatly, as all his siblings had, yet he was not as blind in his
love and his respect as his own father. He was not all too fond
of the Noldor himself, yet he was wise enough, in spite of his
youth, to know that his dislike of them was based mostly on
prejudice, as he hardly ever met any of them, except a few
patrols sent out of Imladris that he ran into at rare occasions.
“I do believe strongly that we ought to be there
when that Council is held,” he said to Galion softly. “My
father might not be willing to admit it, but we need help if we
want to drive the dark creatures out of our forests. And since he
is in no shape to fight the Council right now, I also believe
’tis I who should go.”
“To Imladris?” Galion stared at him with wide,
unbelieving eyes. “Your father will never allow you to go. Not
after what happened with Aiwë. You are all he still does have
left.”
“He cannot keep me here,” Legolas replied
calmly. “I loved Aiwë, too, and my heart shall never cease
bleeding for her, but she was only a little girl. I am a grown
Elf and I am a warrior; ’tis my right and my duty to defend our
people’s interests when my father and King is not fit to do
so.”
“And who, pray you, should persuade our King to
agree?” Galion asked doubtfully. “You both are much too
stubborn for your own good – I wish not to get between the two
of you in case there should be a fight.”
“Worry not,” said Legolas, “for I shall do all
the arguing and the persuading.” And with that, he reached over
Aiwë’s grave, took hold of the silver flute and pulled it
gently from his father’s hands.
The music ended with a shrill tone, and Thranduil
blinked in surprise as if a strange spell had fallen from him.
“Legolas? What happened, nín ion(4)?”
“You should come back inside, ada,”
Legolas answered softly. “Hathaldir has come from Lothlórien,
with tidings that you ought to hear.”
“The affairs of state are of little interest for
me in these days,” Thranduil replied absently, wondering why
his son could not let him alone.
“Alas, I know that,” Legolas sighed. “When
Aiwë died, you said that you still had much to do here. Those
were your own words, my Lord, and very true words they were. And
yet you care not for your realm and your people any more, leaving
the burden of ruling the kingdom to mother and myself.”
“You are doing it well,” Thranduil countered
with a slightly guilty look, for his son was right and he knew
that. But Legolas shook his head angrily.
“Nay, we are not! Despite all our efforts and
Galion’s help, things are not going well! Nor is it our duty to
rule our people. Mother is a healer, her help is asked for in a
thousand other places, and I… I still have so much to learn ere
I could even think of replacing you. But how can I learn when you
are not teaching me any more? We need you, ada! Our people need
you, our whole realm needs you!”
“I cannot,” Thranduil muttered helplessly.
“I… I need time to recover from my loss.”
“You have had a year, ada!” Legolas’
voice became unexpectedly hard and unforgiving. “And things are
getting worse… with you, with our folk, with our forests, in
the wider world beyond our realm. Yet you keep your solitude,
keep avoiding us. Has it ever occurred to you that mother is
grieving, too? Or that I am grieving? I have lost four of
my five siblings already, and mother has lost four children. Have
you thought of comforting her just once lately? Nay, you let her
doing your work while you are wailing in self-pity and neglecting
your duties as the ruler of our people and the head of our
family.”
Strictly considered this was not entirely true.
According to Silvan custom, the head of a family was the mother,
more so when she was considerably older than her husband. Of
course the Silvan folk had no kings before the coming of Oropher
and his family (not after the fall of the First City, that is),
and even after having accepted the rule of the Sindarin Princes,
they kept seeing the Queen as the head of the royal family.
Still, there was much bitter truth in Legolas’
harsh words, and Thranduil could do naught but gaze in utter
shock at his only remaining son. Eaten up by his own grief, he
had forgotten, indeed, that the rest of his family had suffered
the same loss.
“My Prince,” Galion murmured quietly, not being
able to watch the anguish on his King’s face, “you are going
too far…”
“Am I?” Legolas countered softly, reaching out
again to take his father’s hand. “I think not so, Master
Galion. Times are darkening, and I need my father and my King
back. The one who used to teach me and guide me, who made me feel
safe and loved; the one who used to be my guiding light, my
ideal.” He squeezed the King’s hand and asked gently. “Can
you not say where he has gone?”
Thranduil gave a long, shuddering sigh. Legolas’
words had hurt, surely, but in the hearts of his heart he knew
that his son was right.
“I know not where your King has gone, nín ion,”
he answered, full of sorrow, “nor can I promise that he shall
ever return. But your father is still here. He has never left.”
“That is good,” Legolas rose gracefully and
pulled up his father with him. “Then mayhap my father can come
back inside with me and speak to the messenger of Lothlórien?
I believe the tidings he has brought would interest my father,
and maybe he can give me some sound advice ere I leave.”
Thranduil stopped dead amidst his track. “Leaving?
Where do you intend to go?”
Legolas grinned. “I shall tell you about it when
you have spoken with Hathaldir.”
The Elvenking sighed and followed his son obediently
back inside. Hathaldir of Lothlórien was waiting with the Queen
in the library. Both were more than surprised to see the King
return. Also, the Queen noticed the almost invisible change in
her husband’s demeanor, and for the first time in a year, she
felt the tight feeling around her chest loosening a little.
“I am relieved that you feel fit to join us, hervenn
nín,” she said, “for there is a decision to be made, and
I feel not up to make it myself.”
“You have carried the burden of my duties long
enough, brennilen,” Thranduil answered ruefully.
“Fortunately, our son loves both of us enough to make me see my
mistakes. I cannot swear to you that I shall be my old self any
time, soon, but I promise you to try.”
“That is all we ask,” the Queen answered with a
trembling smile. “We feared so much that we might lose you,
too, at the end.”
Thranduil sat down next to his wife and took her
hand. “You had sound reason to fear, brennilen, but you
need to do so no more. We shall face what is coming together,
just as we always have… if you can forgive me my
selfishness.”
“Let us speak of it when we are alone,” the
Queen suggested gently, seeing that her guidance would be needed
for quite some time yet. “I believe you should hear what
Hathaldir has to say now.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Half a day – and some serious discussions –
later Legolas was already riding westwards in the company of
Hathaldir and four of the best Mirkwood archers.
Towards a place where his life would change,
forever.
A place called Imladris.
< Here endeth this tale. >
* * * * * * * * *
* * * * * * *
End notes:
(1) The same ones that cover the graves of Rohan’s kings. No, I have no idea if they grew in the North, too. I simply assumed they did, since the forefathers of the Rohirrim have lived many centuries north from Mirkwood,
(2) For a short
time, Tolkien considered this to be the name of Haldir. I use it
as an old-fashioned form of his name that Wood-Elves would use.
(3) A movie
character whom I adopted, so I can’t promise that the name is
genuine. I made her a Nandor Elf and a female, though. :-)
(4) “my son”
in Sindarin (or so I hope)