Return
There was a discussion once in the online writers' workshop I used to belong to regarding the fate of Thranduil if he remained in Arda. Would he end up having to rescue wayward mortals who had wandered into his woods time after time? This story arose from that discussion.
Mirien threw a second handful of dried beans into the pot of boiling water listlessly and then looked around the small hut. Her eyes couldn't resist picking out all of Linnae's belongings, which still lay exactly where her daughter had left them on that fateful, horrid day. She couldn't bring herself to pick them up and pack them away; to do so would mean admitting to herself that her little girl - her little ray of sunshine - was really gone. The dim light in the hut was even dimmer now without her sweet child.
But it had been three days now, and none of the men from the nearby farmsteads had been able to trace the child's path past where the woods began to grow dense and dark - a path that had included the tracks of a large wolf as well. And everyone knew that those woods were haunted by wolves and other ravening beasts that raided chicken coops and the spring lambs at least; although there had always been those tales of a darker peril that lurked at the very heart of the forest. After all, this was, it was said, the Elvenking's forest, dating from olden times back even before the days of Elessar. The stories said that all who ventured within that dark and gloomy place were in danger of falling victim to his whims, and rarely would return or be found alive. Even those who lived on its fringes were not always safe.
While she hadn't necessarily believed in the bedtime fables about Elves and Dwarves and dragons, Mirien hadn't flinched from telling them in the hopes that Linnae would know better than to go into the wood. She had believed her plan successful - at least, until that horrid day, when the searchers told her of what her daughter's track had told them. No one could tell her for certain if that wolf had driven the three-year-old to run into woods she had been told since learning to walk were too dangerous to enter. The child had been running, and had gone into the forest first with the wolf following at a trot, however; that much was clear. The rest of the story could only be assumed. But the reality was finally beginning to sink in: Linnae was gone - just as Brun was now - and Mirien was alone.
Mirien didn't even want to think of Brun at all. The days of peace King Elessar had instituted had passed into legend centuries ago; and Gondor and Arnor had once again become two very distinct and rival lands, with two grasping and combative kings who seemed to prefer warfare to statecraft. From time to time, the two simply had to take up arms against each other. Taken away by the King's Men to be a soldier over a year ago in yet another such dispute, Mirien had long since given up seeing him alive again. Several of the other men from nearby farmsteads similarly caught up in the same sweep had returned several weeks past. They told of devastating battles, with countless fallen and maimed.
In the days and weeks that followed, Mirien kept toiling in the little garden and keeping watch over the small flock of goats and clutch of chickens that would be her only currency soon. The work kept her exhausted enough that she didn't think about raising a child alone - surviving out here without her husband. But there was no way she could stay here - not if Linnae was gone too.
The dog began barking, and Mirien frowned. It wasn't her regular, protective bark; nor was it her playful bark welcoming a known friend to the farmstead. Wiping her hands on her apron and brushing escaped wisps of hair back from her face, Mirien went to the door and opened it slightly. There was Gurtel, standing in the middle of the yard with her tail slowly waving to and fro, gazing fixedly at the far trees and barking - almost calling to someone or something out there.
Mirien tried to follow the dog's gaze, but could see nothing but the darkness of a forest almost ready to lose its leaves for the winter. "Gurtel!" she called in annoyance. "Stop that! Come back now!"
Gurtel ignored her, actually turned and looked at her before walking toward the forest, still barking, still wagging her tail very slowly.
Mirien glanced once more at the dark line of forest, and the looked again. Something was moving in the darkness - several somethings, as a matter of fact. "Gurtel!" she called again, this time in a voice that shook. She was alone; none of the men from the neighboring farmsteads would be by to check on her for days after spending nearly three days at the end of harvest time searching for a child that had vanished.
Perhaps this was for the best, she thought as she watched the movement in the shadows. She had nothing to live for anymore, with husband probably dead in the war and daughter eaten by some wild animal. She walked out to where the dog stood, grasped it by the leather strap around its neck, and faced the shadows bravely. She would watch her doom come toward her bravely. No one else would know her end, but she would…
The hair at the back of her head raised when the shadows moved out of the darkness of the forest to show themselves as tall men, with long hair and bows with arrows already nocked and ready - except that they weren't aiming at anything, anyone. They seemed to merely be looking about for any threat.
Strange they were, Mirien thought, watching them. They moved with a grace she'd never seen before, and seemed to be waiting for something. Her eyes flicked up when she saw more movement in the deeper shadows. The line of archers parted in the middle, and then stepped forth a being the like of which Mirien had never seen. Taller than the others, garbed in deep green, with hair the color of spun gold and shining in the late afternoon sun, this… man… moved with power and authority and complete confidence from the depths of the forest. And in his arms…
"Linnae?" Mirien whispered, barely daring to believe her eyes. "Linnae?" she called a little more loudly, loosing her hold on Gurtel and beginning to walk toward the men.
The grand man turned his head to the child in his arms, and then crouched to put her down. He gave the child a gentle nudge in the direction of the hut with one large hand and pointed with the other.
"Nana?" A voice Mirien had thought never to hear again wafted across the grass.
"Linnae!" Mirien took a few more steps before her legs would not bear her weight any longer. She fell to her knees, her arms outstretched. "My Linnae!"
The toddler got half way across the grass before turning to look back at her deliverer. The tall man, having risen once more to his full height, stretched forth a hand in farewell, then turned and vanished back into the shadows of the forest. Like wisps of smoke on a windy day, the line of archers evaporated as well, leaving not the faintest hint of movement in the shadows.
Now the child ran, straight into her mother's arms. "Nana! Did you see?"
Mirien was beyond words, clasping her baby tightly to her, sniffing her hair. The child was clean - her hair had been washed and combed until it was sleek and shone like pale bronze wisps - and she was wearing a tiny gown of delicate material that caught every hint of breeze. She had been cared for, and cared for well.
"Where have you been?" Mirien demanded after her shock had worn off enough to restore her powers of speech.
Linnae merely turned and pointed toward the forest. "Him founded me, Nana, chaseded the wolf 'way and tooked me to him's home." The child's eyes shined. "And then him broughted me back."
"You could have been killed!" If it weren't that she was so glad just to have her daughter back, she would have shaken the child. "What were you thinking, running into the forest?"
Eyes that had never decided whether to be grey or green or brown filled with tears. "Wolf chaseded me, Nana - wouldn't let me run back home. But him saw, him made the wolf go 'way." The little head rested on Mirien's shoulder. "I like him. Him had a big chair, and wore leaves and berries in him's hair. Him sang to me, Nana. Him wouldn't hurt me. Him sang me to s'eep."
Mirien struggled to her feet; there was no way she was going to loose her hold on her baby! "He sang to you?" She cast a watchful eye to the treeline. Just who - or what - had rescued her baby?
"Uh-huh!" Linnae nodded vigorously. "Him sang words I didn't know, but they was pretty. And I was sitting on him's lap, and I went to s'eep."
"Where did you get the dress, Sunshine?" Mirien tested the fabric between two fingers and couldn't imagine anything woven quite that finely and delicately. Now that she looked, there were tiny flowers embroidered in shining silver thread about the neck and sleeve edges.
"One of the ladies gave it to me, after they give me a bath. Big tub, Nana - and soap that smelled like flowers."
"You smell like flowers," Mirien noted.
"Nana?"
"What, Linnae?"
The child laid her head on her mother's shoulder again, this time looking over the shoulder at the forest. "I can visit him again sometime?"
"Oh, I don't know," Mirien replied with a shudder. "There are many things in the forest that could do you harm - you know this - and you can't know that the man will be there to take care of you all the time."
Linnae sighed. "I see him again sometime," she said, completely convinced.
"We'll have to see," Mirien answered, finally gaining the door to her hut and closing herself and her child once more safely inside.
oOoOo
It wasn't right, keeping a gown of that quality. Mirien smoothed the delicate material over and over in her lap, gazing with relief and love at the bed where Linnae now slept soundly. This gown belonged to a little princess or some fine lady's child, not to them. It was generous for the grand one to have even bothered with her daughter; something told Mirien that he had much better things to do with his time…
Who was he? What was he?
Were the old stories really true? Was there an Elvenking deep in the heart of that dark forest? But if so, why would one supposed to be cruel and capricious bring a small child back to its mother so freely?
She gazed at the gown again. She couldn't keep this. She had to return it - but how?
Once more she cast an eye to Linnae. The toddler had fallen to sleep after telling many tales of her time in the "cave". More than likely, Linnae would not awaken until the sun was already peeking over the far mountains.
Still, the thought of actually daring to walk into that forest - at night, no less - was very frightening! What if the man, or those archers he had with him, didn't find her? Would she get lost? What would happen to Linnae then? But she couldn't keep it.
Mirien straightened, her mind made up. She'd take the gown to the forest - but not so far into it that she couldn't find her way back out again. She'd find someplace to put it where it could be found and brought back to its owner - and then she'd return straight away after speaking her intentions into the darkness. Mirien nodded to herself and reached for the rough square of wool that served as a shawl for the chilly evenings. If she walked quickly, it wouldn't take long. The sooner the agony was over, the better.
The full moon shone brightly, although with a silver-blue light that only served to make the shadows of the forest even less penetrable. Mirien carried the little gown, and the thin slippers that matched it, held tightly to her breast as if they were armor, the act also keeping the rough shawl from opening. She walked quickly but carefully over uneven ground, not wanting to twist her ankle or fall, and hesitated beneath the branches of the very first of the half-naked trees that stood guardian at the edge of the forest.
All was quiet - there was not even the distant howling of wolves. While eerie, the silence was almost a comfort. Mirien now could see the way the light of the moon penetrated to the floor of the forest through the gaps where leaves had once been. The forest floor was carpeted with fallen leaves, which made for a soft carpet to walk on.
Then she saw it: a stump that looked as if the tree itself had been felled by something other than age or weather. It stood in the center of a very small clearing, and would do well for a place to return the garments. She moved forward and carefully deposited the borrowed clothing on the stump, the gown neatly folded and the slippers topping the bundle so that nothing would blow away.
"Thank you," she called out into the darkness, "and thank you for taking care of my baby. She's all I have…" Tears clogged her throat, but she pressed on. "Here are your fine clothes back."
Mirien turned and began walking back the way she had come.
"Daro!" The deep voice startled her, but there was no mistaking what it meant or who the voice belonged to.
Shivering, Mirien stopped and turned. Her eyes widened in surprise and fright as out of the deeper shadows of the dense forest beyond the clearing stepped the grand one, accompanied this time by only two archers. The archers stayed back as the grand one approached the stump and pressed a hand against the gown and slippers, and then picked them up.
She began to truly quake when the tall man began to walk toward her. "Please," she begged, "I'm sorry…" She fell to her knees as he drew near, not daring to look into his face anymore, for his presence and authority were daunting. It was an unearthly face: young, smooth, ageless, beautiful beyond description. And Linnae had been right - there was a circle of autumn leaves and berries like a crown about the man's head.
"Rise, Lady." The deep voice was gentle, as was the very strong hand beneath her arm urging her upward.
Mirien swayed slightly, embarrassed to find the strong hand beneath her arm remained steady and supportive until she had her feet securely beneath her again. "I'm sorry…"
"These belong to your child." The delicate clothing was once more pressed into her hands. "Let them remind her of the days of sunshine she brought to the heart of one who had all but forgotten such joys."
Astonished beyond words, Mirien looked up and found herself falling into a gaze that glittered as if filled with stars, deep and timeless.
"Yes, I see the future beauty of the child in the face of the mother. Go, now, before she awakens to find you gone and panics. Glorvaethor will see you safely to your home, so you do not lose your way."
As the golden one turned to leave, one of the two archers stepped forward and bowed to her, his fist held to his heart.
Finally Mirien found her voice. "She says she wants to see you again," she blurted.
The golden one looked at her over his shoulder and smiled. "She will never come to harm in my forest. You have my word. You say her name is… Linnae?"
Mirien nodded nervously.
"Tell her that she is welcome in my hall." And with a graceful bow, similar to the archer's, the grand one once more vanished between the ghostly trees.
"Lady," a heavily-accented but musical voice spoke as a very gentle touch surrounded her elbow, "I will see you to your home now."
Even the archer's eyes were timeless and filled with stars.
oOoOo
They didn't believe her, of course; Mirien hadn't really expected them to. But they had no explanation for the gown or the slippers. Eyes that had grown wary in the long days of trying to recover from yet another war now grew round with wonder and awe, and fingers more used to hard work and splinters didn't dare touch the delicate garment.
But for some reason, the entire experience made her determined to hold onto their tiny homestead. It was desperately hard work: breaking the soil in the early spring to prepare it for the little bit of seed she'd saved from the autumn's harvest, milking the goats and collecting the eggs, and keeping an eye on a lively and adventurous child. She knew there were times that she received help from unseen hands, and she was grateful.
Linnae would not be restrained from playing close to and sometime even in the forest as she grew. Many times over the years, Glorvaethor would appear at her doorway near the dinner hour, her daughter firmly in hand. He never stayed but for a moment and always refused her offer of a meal for his trouble with grace and a smile. Once he was gone, Linnae would tell her of her time in the underground hall and all of the wonders she was shown there, and of everything the grand one - whose name, she said, was Thranduil - taught her.
As for Mirien, she never again saw the grand one, the one who haunted her dreams from that evening onwards; but she didn't mind. She knew the truth - and she wasn't afraid to be alone anymore. She lived at the edge of the Elvenking's forest after all, and knew herself in his keeping.
Mirien threw a second handful of dried beans into the pot of boiling water listlessly and then looked around the small hut. Her eyes couldn't resist picking out all of Linnae's belongings, which still lay exactly where her daughter had left them on that fateful, horrid day. She couldn't bring herself to pick them up and pack them away; to do so would mean admitting to herself that her little girl - her little ray of sunshine - was really gone. The dim light in the hut was even dimmer now without her sweet child.
But it had been three days now, and none of the men from the nearby farmsteads had been able to trace the child's path past where the woods began to grow dense and dark - a path that had included the tracks of a large wolf as well. And everyone knew that those woods were haunted by wolves and other ravening beasts that raided chicken coops and the spring lambs at least; although there had always been those tales of a darker peril that lurked at the very heart of the forest. After all, this was, it was said, the Elvenking's forest, dating from olden times back even before the days of Elessar. The stories said that all who ventured within that dark and gloomy place were in danger of falling victim to his whims, and rarely would return or be found alive. Even those who lived on its fringes were not always safe.
While she hadn't necessarily believed in the bedtime fables about Elves and Dwarves and dragons, Mirien hadn't flinched from telling them in the hopes that Linnae would know better than to go into the wood. She had believed her plan successful - at least, until that horrid day, when the searchers told her of what her daughter's track had told them. No one could tell her for certain if that wolf had driven the three-year-old to run into woods she had been told since learning to walk were too dangerous to enter. The child had been running, and had gone into the forest first with the wolf following at a trot, however; that much was clear. The rest of the story could only be assumed. But the reality was finally beginning to sink in: Linnae was gone - just as Brun was now - and Mirien was alone.
Mirien didn't even want to think of Brun at all. The days of peace King Elessar had instituted had passed into legend centuries ago; and Gondor and Arnor had once again become two very distinct and rival lands, with two grasping and combative kings who seemed to prefer warfare to statecraft. From time to time, the two simply had to take up arms against each other. Taken away by the King's Men to be a soldier over a year ago in yet another such dispute, Mirien had long since given up seeing him alive again. Several of the other men from nearby farmsteads similarly caught up in the same sweep had returned several weeks past. They told of devastating battles, with countless fallen and maimed.
In the days and weeks that followed, Mirien kept toiling in the little garden and keeping watch over the small flock of goats and clutch of chickens that would be her only currency soon. The work kept her exhausted enough that she didn't think about raising a child alone - surviving out here without her husband. But there was no way she could stay here - not if Linnae was gone too.
The dog began barking, and Mirien frowned. It wasn't her regular, protective bark; nor was it her playful bark welcoming a known friend to the farmstead. Wiping her hands on her apron and brushing escaped wisps of hair back from her face, Mirien went to the door and opened it slightly. There was Gurtel, standing in the middle of the yard with her tail slowly waving to and fro, gazing fixedly at the far trees and barking - almost calling to someone or something out there.
Mirien tried to follow the dog's gaze, but could see nothing but the darkness of a forest almost ready to lose its leaves for the winter. "Gurtel!" she called in annoyance. "Stop that! Come back now!"
Gurtel ignored her, actually turned and looked at her before walking toward the forest, still barking, still wagging her tail very slowly.
Mirien glanced once more at the dark line of forest, and the looked again. Something was moving in the darkness - several somethings, as a matter of fact. "Gurtel!" she called again, this time in a voice that shook. She was alone; none of the men from the neighboring farmsteads would be by to check on her for days after spending nearly three days at the end of harvest time searching for a child that had vanished.
Perhaps this was for the best, she thought as she watched the movement in the shadows. She had nothing to live for anymore, with husband probably dead in the war and daughter eaten by some wild animal. She walked out to where the dog stood, grasped it by the leather strap around its neck, and faced the shadows bravely. She would watch her doom come toward her bravely. No one else would know her end, but she would…
The hair at the back of her head raised when the shadows moved out of the darkness of the forest to show themselves as tall men, with long hair and bows with arrows already nocked and ready - except that they weren't aiming at anything, anyone. They seemed to merely be looking about for any threat.
Strange they were, Mirien thought, watching them. They moved with a grace she'd never seen before, and seemed to be waiting for something. Her eyes flicked up when she saw more movement in the deeper shadows. The line of archers parted in the middle, and then stepped forth a being the like of which Mirien had never seen. Taller than the others, garbed in deep green, with hair the color of spun gold and shining in the late afternoon sun, this… man… moved with power and authority and complete confidence from the depths of the forest. And in his arms…
"Linnae?" Mirien whispered, barely daring to believe her eyes. "Linnae?" she called a little more loudly, loosing her hold on Gurtel and beginning to walk toward the men.
The grand man turned his head to the child in his arms, and then crouched to put her down. He gave the child a gentle nudge in the direction of the hut with one large hand and pointed with the other.
"Nana?" A voice Mirien had thought never to hear again wafted across the grass.
"Linnae!" Mirien took a few more steps before her legs would not bear her weight any longer. She fell to her knees, her arms outstretched. "My Linnae!"
The toddler got half way across the grass before turning to look back at her deliverer. The tall man, having risen once more to his full height, stretched forth a hand in farewell, then turned and vanished back into the shadows of the forest. Like wisps of smoke on a windy day, the line of archers evaporated as well, leaving not the faintest hint of movement in the shadows.
Now the child ran, straight into her mother's arms. "Nana! Did you see?"
Mirien was beyond words, clasping her baby tightly to her, sniffing her hair. The child was clean - her hair had been washed and combed until it was sleek and shone like pale bronze wisps - and she was wearing a tiny gown of delicate material that caught every hint of breeze. She had been cared for, and cared for well.
"Where have you been?" Mirien demanded after her shock had worn off enough to restore her powers of speech.
Linnae merely turned and pointed toward the forest. "Him founded me, Nana, chaseded the wolf 'way and tooked me to him's home." The child's eyes shined. "And then him broughted me back."
"You could have been killed!" If it weren't that she was so glad just to have her daughter back, she would have shaken the child. "What were you thinking, running into the forest?"
Eyes that had never decided whether to be grey or green or brown filled with tears. "Wolf chaseded me, Nana - wouldn't let me run back home. But him saw, him made the wolf go 'way." The little head rested on Mirien's shoulder. "I like him. Him had a big chair, and wore leaves and berries in him's hair. Him sang to me, Nana. Him wouldn't hurt me. Him sang me to s'eep."
Mirien struggled to her feet; there was no way she was going to loose her hold on her baby! "He sang to you?" She cast a watchful eye to the treeline. Just who - or what - had rescued her baby?
"Uh-huh!" Linnae nodded vigorously. "Him sang words I didn't know, but they was pretty. And I was sitting on him's lap, and I went to s'eep."
"Where did you get the dress, Sunshine?" Mirien tested the fabric between two fingers and couldn't imagine anything woven quite that finely and delicately. Now that she looked, there were tiny flowers embroidered in shining silver thread about the neck and sleeve edges.
"One of the ladies gave it to me, after they give me a bath. Big tub, Nana - and soap that smelled like flowers."
"You smell like flowers," Mirien noted.
"Nana?"
"What, Linnae?"
The child laid her head on her mother's shoulder again, this time looking over the shoulder at the forest. "I can visit him again sometime?"
"Oh, I don't know," Mirien replied with a shudder. "There are many things in the forest that could do you harm - you know this - and you can't know that the man will be there to take care of you all the time."
Linnae sighed. "I see him again sometime," she said, completely convinced.
"We'll have to see," Mirien answered, finally gaining the door to her hut and closing herself and her child once more safely inside.
oOoOo
It wasn't right, keeping a gown of that quality. Mirien smoothed the delicate material over and over in her lap, gazing with relief and love at the bed where Linnae now slept soundly. This gown belonged to a little princess or some fine lady's child, not to them. It was generous for the grand one to have even bothered with her daughter; something told Mirien that he had much better things to do with his time…
Who was he? What was he?
Were the old stories really true? Was there an Elvenking deep in the heart of that dark forest? But if so, why would one supposed to be cruel and capricious bring a small child back to its mother so freely?
She gazed at the gown again. She couldn't keep this. She had to return it - but how?
Once more she cast an eye to Linnae. The toddler had fallen to sleep after telling many tales of her time in the "cave". More than likely, Linnae would not awaken until the sun was already peeking over the far mountains.
Still, the thought of actually daring to walk into that forest - at night, no less - was very frightening! What if the man, or those archers he had with him, didn't find her? Would she get lost? What would happen to Linnae then? But she couldn't keep it.
Mirien straightened, her mind made up. She'd take the gown to the forest - but not so far into it that she couldn't find her way back out again. She'd find someplace to put it where it could be found and brought back to its owner - and then she'd return straight away after speaking her intentions into the darkness. Mirien nodded to herself and reached for the rough square of wool that served as a shawl for the chilly evenings. If she walked quickly, it wouldn't take long. The sooner the agony was over, the better.
The full moon shone brightly, although with a silver-blue light that only served to make the shadows of the forest even less penetrable. Mirien carried the little gown, and the thin slippers that matched it, held tightly to her breast as if they were armor, the act also keeping the rough shawl from opening. She walked quickly but carefully over uneven ground, not wanting to twist her ankle or fall, and hesitated beneath the branches of the very first of the half-naked trees that stood guardian at the edge of the forest.
All was quiet - there was not even the distant howling of wolves. While eerie, the silence was almost a comfort. Mirien now could see the way the light of the moon penetrated to the floor of the forest through the gaps where leaves had once been. The forest floor was carpeted with fallen leaves, which made for a soft carpet to walk on.
Then she saw it: a stump that looked as if the tree itself had been felled by something other than age or weather. It stood in the center of a very small clearing, and would do well for a place to return the garments. She moved forward and carefully deposited the borrowed clothing on the stump, the gown neatly folded and the slippers topping the bundle so that nothing would blow away.
"Thank you," she called out into the darkness, "and thank you for taking care of my baby. She's all I have…" Tears clogged her throat, but she pressed on. "Here are your fine clothes back."
Mirien turned and began walking back the way she had come.
"Daro!" The deep voice startled her, but there was no mistaking what it meant or who the voice belonged to.
Shivering, Mirien stopped and turned. Her eyes widened in surprise and fright as out of the deeper shadows of the dense forest beyond the clearing stepped the grand one, accompanied this time by only two archers. The archers stayed back as the grand one approached the stump and pressed a hand against the gown and slippers, and then picked them up.
She began to truly quake when the tall man began to walk toward her. "Please," she begged, "I'm sorry…" She fell to her knees as he drew near, not daring to look into his face anymore, for his presence and authority were daunting. It was an unearthly face: young, smooth, ageless, beautiful beyond description. And Linnae had been right - there was a circle of autumn leaves and berries like a crown about the man's head.
"Rise, Lady." The deep voice was gentle, as was the very strong hand beneath her arm urging her upward.
Mirien swayed slightly, embarrassed to find the strong hand beneath her arm remained steady and supportive until she had her feet securely beneath her again. "I'm sorry…"
"These belong to your child." The delicate clothing was once more pressed into her hands. "Let them remind her of the days of sunshine she brought to the heart of one who had all but forgotten such joys."
Astonished beyond words, Mirien looked up and found herself falling into a gaze that glittered as if filled with stars, deep and timeless.
"Yes, I see the future beauty of the child in the face of the mother. Go, now, before she awakens to find you gone and panics. Glorvaethor will see you safely to your home, so you do not lose your way."
As the golden one turned to leave, one of the two archers stepped forward and bowed to her, his fist held to his heart.
Finally Mirien found her voice. "She says she wants to see you again," she blurted.
The golden one looked at her over his shoulder and smiled. "She will never come to harm in my forest. You have my word. You say her name is… Linnae?"
Mirien nodded nervously.
"Tell her that she is welcome in my hall." And with a graceful bow, similar to the archer's, the grand one once more vanished between the ghostly trees.
"Lady," a heavily-accented but musical voice spoke as a very gentle touch surrounded her elbow, "I will see you to your home now."
Even the archer's eyes were timeless and filled with stars.
oOoOo
They didn't believe her, of course; Mirien hadn't really expected them to. But they had no explanation for the gown or the slippers. Eyes that had grown wary in the long days of trying to recover from yet another war now grew round with wonder and awe, and fingers more used to hard work and splinters didn't dare touch the delicate garment.
But for some reason, the entire experience made her determined to hold onto their tiny homestead. It was desperately hard work: breaking the soil in the early spring to prepare it for the little bit of seed she'd saved from the autumn's harvest, milking the goats and collecting the eggs, and keeping an eye on a lively and adventurous child. She knew there were times that she received help from unseen hands, and she was grateful.
Linnae would not be restrained from playing close to and sometime even in the forest as she grew. Many times over the years, Glorvaethor would appear at her doorway near the dinner hour, her daughter firmly in hand. He never stayed but for a moment and always refused her offer of a meal for his trouble with grace and a smile. Once he was gone, Linnae would tell her of her time in the underground hall and all of the wonders she was shown there, and of everything the grand one - whose name, she said, was Thranduil - taught her.
As for Mirien, she never again saw the grand one, the one who haunted her dreams from that evening onwards; but she didn't mind. She knew the truth - and she wasn't afraid to be alone anymore. She lived at the edge of the Elvenking's forest after all, and knew herself in his keeping.