Chapter 2
The old Wizard went to open it. Lindir stood on the doorstep, and the other Elves were standing behind him. Legolas smiled, greeting them: “thank you, my friends, you have helped me, yet again, doing the hard task!” Lindir smiled and bowed his head slightly, answering: “We were only acting upon the command of our captain.” Then his eyes wandered to the bed where the maiden lay. “She is already better, - the Wizard told him, - As I was saying to Legolas here, she will recover soon enough”. Lindir nodded. Then Radagast suddenly realized that he was still holding the guests on the doorstep. He clapped a hand to his forehead and gave a whispering cry: “What an old fool I am! Please, step inside and forgive the old man his forgetfulness!” The Elves laughed softly and, one by one, entered the house.
For an old little hut, it was remarkable how easily seven (rather tall) people fitted in it. And, most remarkable of all, there was plenty of place for seven others, wished they come.
Radagast and his guests went to the kitchen and settled round a wooden table. Lindir, however, remained standing.
Only now Legolas noticed that he was holding something wrapped in a cloth. “When we were cleaning the valley, we found these laying in the grass, not far from the fire, - Lindir said, - a dagger and a jewel, both belonging to the maiden here”. With these words the Elf unwrapped the bundle and laid the said things onto the table. “I have taken the liberty to clean the blade in a stream nearby”,-he added.
At first, they only gazed silently at the shining objects. Then Radagast took the dagger cautiously and examined it closely. For a brief moment, the carvings upon the blade flashed white, but then the weapon went dully grey again. Legolas raised an eyebrow, then exchanged quick looks with Lindir. At last, the Wizard put the dagger back on the table and looked at the Elves thoughtfully. Then he said slowly: “It is a long time that I dwell here, not meddling with the outside world, but many years ago, I lived in another place. It was there that I saw weapons alike this,- he jerked his head towards the dagger,- Sweet times they were, for my friends were with me, and together we roamed paths new for us. Yet, alas, an errand weighed upon us and we could not stay forever on the shores reminding us of our home… We parted, and from this time on, seldom I have seen my good friends”. Radagast fell silent for a little while, his eyes misted over with memory. Then, giving himself a slight shake, he looked at the Elves, and, seeing that they were waiting for him to say something, explained: “It is the realm of Cirdan the Shipwright I spoke of. The Grey Havens”.
Legolas in his turn took the weapon to examine it. Then he stood up and slashed the air with the dagger. And, yet again, the carvings upon the blade shone white in his hands, not flashing dazzlingly, but glowing with a warm light. “A wonderful weapon, - he said knowledgeably,- the steel is Dwarvish, yet not made by the Dwarves of the Blue mountains or the Iron Hills, nor even those who dwelt in Erebor before Smaug came. It is light and sharp, easy to maneuver - fine for defense and attack”. Then, examining the dagger more closely, he added: “It was reforged long ago. That is when the carvings were done on the blade. Done by Elves”.
The old Wizard was looking at the jewel laying on the table. He took it by the thin chain and held on the palm of his hand, letting the dancing light of the fireplace mirror in the little gems. Then he turned it over and, noticing something, held it close to his eyes. “There is a phrase written, - he announced to the others, - i linden orenyo”. Then he added quietly, as if to himself: “To the song of my heart…”
***
She was drowning, sinking like a stone thrown into a bottomless pit. Thoughts were swarming around her, but she could not cling to any of them, no matter how hard she tried. She was exhausted, tired of everything to sickness, merely watching herself falling. She remembered what happened and why she was lost in this darkness. Sometimes images popped in her mind, like fireflies in the night: swarming black spiders all around, the dagger, shining white in her hand. Then came distant memories: her mother, standing on the board of a white ship, a tear trickling down her cheek; her father, alone and silent on a high tower in the Havens, then - his ship disappearing from view, melting away on the horizon; a comforting arm on her shoulder and a pair of deep blue eyes gazing kindly into hers, veiled by tears… All these images went swirling into her mind, smudged and blurred, fading to nothingness and finally leaving her in the misty darkness, to sink lower and lower still. Sometimes she thought she heard voices, some familiar and some - less so. Some were saying: “Let go of everything, let it end…” Meanwhile some urged her not to surrender and struggle on. It was hard to follow that last advice, as the sinking sensation was overwhelming… To let everything slip past, to rest from grief and losses until the World changes seemed so appealing…
Suddenly, through the dark dreams and thoughts went a new sensation. Something familiar was drawing closer, but it was blurred and hard to catch, being only a fleeting impression. Then it densened, as if sunlight squeezing through a gap between thick curtains.
She felt spray on her forehead, heard waves rushing down somewhere and wind blowing into her face. It was like waking from a nightmare: a sense of relief went through her whole body, so intense that she wanted to laugh, yet she only sighed, breathing the familiar salty scent, smiling widely.
Once again, memories flooded her mind, yet this time they were happy, there was not a single sad thought among them. She was standing on the deck of a ship, with both her parents beside her, holding their hands, watching the peaceful Sea in the bright sunshine, listening to the cries of gulls.
Before falling into a deep recovery sleep she saw a bird differing from the white and grey mass - it was large and had dark feathers. As it flew closer, she saw that it was an owl, a barn owl with keen and clever amber eyes.
***
While the Elves were talking softly about their recent discoveries, Radagast went out to check on the maiden. As he approached her bed, his concerned expression cleared almost instantly. He went back to the kitchen, beaming, and beckoned Legolas to him. The puzzled Elf followed him and saw for himself what had made the Wizard so happy. At first, he could not believe his eyes: the maiden was curled under the blanket with her arm under her cheek, like a child, smiling in her sleep serenely. Legolas looked at the Wizard with awe. Radagast mouthed: “What have I told you?”, and winked. They both approached the bed cautiously and bent over the sleeping maiden. She was still rather pale, but color was already returning to her cheeks, there was no trace of sickness on her face, for what they could see. Radagast stroked her hair gently and said: “Sweet dreams”.
Legolas was glad and relieved now that he knew the maiden was on her way to recovery, but an unwelcome thought had been nagging him for the past few minutes: he had to return to the Castle and give his Father the account of everything what happened, explain why he and his host were the last to return, and, worst of all, endure Thranduil’s coldness and indifference. The relationship between the King of Mirkwood and his son was a matter of great interest for the whole castle, even though no one ever spoke of it openly, of fear to offend either the father, or the son. To be entirely true, Legolas was rather used to all the furtive glances and sympathetic silence around him, whenever he was heading to Thranduil’s room. He also got used to his father’s ways, though they were highly unusual for Fair Folk. Ever since his early childhood he was persuaded that his father didn’t care for him in the slightest. He seldom spoke to his son, never went to his room without some urgent need. When Legolas grew up, he understood, or thought he understood, why things were this way. From the constant silence about his mother and anything concerning her, he guessed that, perhaps, he was a walking memory of a heartache for his father. When this thought occurred, Legolas mustered all his indulgence and tried not to grudge Thranduil his behavior. Though sometimes it was hard to endure either dead silence or cold insignificant comments. Legolas, it seemed, had inherited bits of his father’s fiery temper and was much more alike him than Thranduil thought. And one day these two tempers clashed.
When Legolas asked for permission to take command of a host of rangers and got denial (for the third time in a row), he felt he’d had enough. He remembered the scene as clearly as if it happened yesterday, not years ago.
The King sat on his high throne, crowned with leaves, splendid and slightly intimidating. Legolas stepped in front of him, bowed slightly, then uttered his request. Even as he was speaking, anticipation filled him, and the feeling turned out to be right. Thranduil merely looked at him and said flatly: “No, Legolas, it is not your path.”, - not meeting his eyes. Legolas froze for a fleeting moment, staring dully down at the marble floor, anger and bitter pain surging through his whole being. Then slowly, almost unwillingly, he raised his head and his eyes met with Thranduil’s. Legolas stared at him for what seemed ages, his face set, still as a statue, only his eyes were alive. His bitter anger turned into cold fury, and, as he was turning to leave, he caught an unusual expression on his father’s face, saw his hand move slightly in a jest of despair, as if he wanted to catch something that was slipping away. Though this moment lasted barely a fraction of a second, Legolas was quite sure he saw pain in his father’s deep green eyes shot with gold…All of a sudden all the anger and pain inside ebbed away, leaving pity and compassion instead. He did not walk away, as he intended to, he stepped closer to the throne and looked up straight into his father’s eyes. Legolas was startled to see there a jumble of emotions he never thought Thranduil capable of: guilt, shame, self-disgust, and, most unexpected, - love.
They looked at each other, then Thranduil closed his eyes, and, as he opened them, he was back to his usual self. The King waved a rather careless hand, saying: “So be it”. Legolas bowed and went out of the Great Hall, feeling that all the eyes were upon him.
This was the only time Thranduil showed anything close to fatherly feelings towards him, and it was engraved deep in Legolas’ memory.
Suddenly the Elf became aware of someone speaking, then felt an arm on his shoulder. He looked back and heard Lindir’s last words: “…must go.” Legolas nodded, then looked at Radagast. The Wizard gave him a curt nod and said comfortingly: “Do not worry, I shall keep a close watch over my guest, and you are free to come and check on her recovery.” Legolas smiled at him gratefully and said simply: “I will.”
The Elves were ready in a heartbeat, and Radagast went out of the house to bid them farewell. Legolas bowed his head and put his right arm to the heart. The others followed his lead. “Until our next meeting”, - he said. Radagast answered: “May the Sun shine upon all the paths you tread”. The Elves turned and left swiftly, blending with the trees on the edge of the Forest. Radagast watched them leave, then turned and walked back into the house.
For an old little hut, it was remarkable how easily seven (rather tall) people fitted in it. And, most remarkable of all, there was plenty of place for seven others, wished they come.
Radagast and his guests went to the kitchen and settled round a wooden table. Lindir, however, remained standing.
Only now Legolas noticed that he was holding something wrapped in a cloth. “When we were cleaning the valley, we found these laying in the grass, not far from the fire, - Lindir said, - a dagger and a jewel, both belonging to the maiden here”. With these words the Elf unwrapped the bundle and laid the said things onto the table. “I have taken the liberty to clean the blade in a stream nearby”,-he added.
At first, they only gazed silently at the shining objects. Then Radagast took the dagger cautiously and examined it closely. For a brief moment, the carvings upon the blade flashed white, but then the weapon went dully grey again. Legolas raised an eyebrow, then exchanged quick looks with Lindir. At last, the Wizard put the dagger back on the table and looked at the Elves thoughtfully. Then he said slowly: “It is a long time that I dwell here, not meddling with the outside world, but many years ago, I lived in another place. It was there that I saw weapons alike this,- he jerked his head towards the dagger,- Sweet times they were, for my friends were with me, and together we roamed paths new for us. Yet, alas, an errand weighed upon us and we could not stay forever on the shores reminding us of our home… We parted, and from this time on, seldom I have seen my good friends”. Radagast fell silent for a little while, his eyes misted over with memory. Then, giving himself a slight shake, he looked at the Elves, and, seeing that they were waiting for him to say something, explained: “It is the realm of Cirdan the Shipwright I spoke of. The Grey Havens”.
Legolas in his turn took the weapon to examine it. Then he stood up and slashed the air with the dagger. And, yet again, the carvings upon the blade shone white in his hands, not flashing dazzlingly, but glowing with a warm light. “A wonderful weapon, - he said knowledgeably,- the steel is Dwarvish, yet not made by the Dwarves of the Blue mountains or the Iron Hills, nor even those who dwelt in Erebor before Smaug came. It is light and sharp, easy to maneuver - fine for defense and attack”. Then, examining the dagger more closely, he added: “It was reforged long ago. That is when the carvings were done on the blade. Done by Elves”.
The old Wizard was looking at the jewel laying on the table. He took it by the thin chain and held on the palm of his hand, letting the dancing light of the fireplace mirror in the little gems. Then he turned it over and, noticing something, held it close to his eyes. “There is a phrase written, - he announced to the others, - i linden orenyo”. Then he added quietly, as if to himself: “To the song of my heart…”
***
She was drowning, sinking like a stone thrown into a bottomless pit. Thoughts were swarming around her, but she could not cling to any of them, no matter how hard she tried. She was exhausted, tired of everything to sickness, merely watching herself falling. She remembered what happened and why she was lost in this darkness. Sometimes images popped in her mind, like fireflies in the night: swarming black spiders all around, the dagger, shining white in her hand. Then came distant memories: her mother, standing on the board of a white ship, a tear trickling down her cheek; her father, alone and silent on a high tower in the Havens, then - his ship disappearing from view, melting away on the horizon; a comforting arm on her shoulder and a pair of deep blue eyes gazing kindly into hers, veiled by tears… All these images went swirling into her mind, smudged and blurred, fading to nothingness and finally leaving her in the misty darkness, to sink lower and lower still. Sometimes she thought she heard voices, some familiar and some - less so. Some were saying: “Let go of everything, let it end…” Meanwhile some urged her not to surrender and struggle on. It was hard to follow that last advice, as the sinking sensation was overwhelming… To let everything slip past, to rest from grief and losses until the World changes seemed so appealing…
Suddenly, through the dark dreams and thoughts went a new sensation. Something familiar was drawing closer, but it was blurred and hard to catch, being only a fleeting impression. Then it densened, as if sunlight squeezing through a gap between thick curtains.
She felt spray on her forehead, heard waves rushing down somewhere and wind blowing into her face. It was like waking from a nightmare: a sense of relief went through her whole body, so intense that she wanted to laugh, yet she only sighed, breathing the familiar salty scent, smiling widely.
Once again, memories flooded her mind, yet this time they were happy, there was not a single sad thought among them. She was standing on the deck of a ship, with both her parents beside her, holding their hands, watching the peaceful Sea in the bright sunshine, listening to the cries of gulls.
Before falling into a deep recovery sleep she saw a bird differing from the white and grey mass - it was large and had dark feathers. As it flew closer, she saw that it was an owl, a barn owl with keen and clever amber eyes.
***
While the Elves were talking softly about their recent discoveries, Radagast went out to check on the maiden. As he approached her bed, his concerned expression cleared almost instantly. He went back to the kitchen, beaming, and beckoned Legolas to him. The puzzled Elf followed him and saw for himself what had made the Wizard so happy. At first, he could not believe his eyes: the maiden was curled under the blanket with her arm under her cheek, like a child, smiling in her sleep serenely. Legolas looked at the Wizard with awe. Radagast mouthed: “What have I told you?”, and winked. They both approached the bed cautiously and bent over the sleeping maiden. She was still rather pale, but color was already returning to her cheeks, there was no trace of sickness on her face, for what they could see. Radagast stroked her hair gently and said: “Sweet dreams”.
Legolas was glad and relieved now that he knew the maiden was on her way to recovery, but an unwelcome thought had been nagging him for the past few minutes: he had to return to the Castle and give his Father the account of everything what happened, explain why he and his host were the last to return, and, worst of all, endure Thranduil’s coldness and indifference. The relationship between the King of Mirkwood and his son was a matter of great interest for the whole castle, even though no one ever spoke of it openly, of fear to offend either the father, or the son. To be entirely true, Legolas was rather used to all the furtive glances and sympathetic silence around him, whenever he was heading to Thranduil’s room. He also got used to his father’s ways, though they were highly unusual for Fair Folk. Ever since his early childhood he was persuaded that his father didn’t care for him in the slightest. He seldom spoke to his son, never went to his room without some urgent need. When Legolas grew up, he understood, or thought he understood, why things were this way. From the constant silence about his mother and anything concerning her, he guessed that, perhaps, he was a walking memory of a heartache for his father. When this thought occurred, Legolas mustered all his indulgence and tried not to grudge Thranduil his behavior. Though sometimes it was hard to endure either dead silence or cold insignificant comments. Legolas, it seemed, had inherited bits of his father’s fiery temper and was much more alike him than Thranduil thought. And one day these two tempers clashed.
When Legolas asked for permission to take command of a host of rangers and got denial (for the third time in a row), he felt he’d had enough. He remembered the scene as clearly as if it happened yesterday, not years ago.
The King sat on his high throne, crowned with leaves, splendid and slightly intimidating. Legolas stepped in front of him, bowed slightly, then uttered his request. Even as he was speaking, anticipation filled him, and the feeling turned out to be right. Thranduil merely looked at him and said flatly: “No, Legolas, it is not your path.”, - not meeting his eyes. Legolas froze for a fleeting moment, staring dully down at the marble floor, anger and bitter pain surging through his whole being. Then slowly, almost unwillingly, he raised his head and his eyes met with Thranduil’s. Legolas stared at him for what seemed ages, his face set, still as a statue, only his eyes were alive. His bitter anger turned into cold fury, and, as he was turning to leave, he caught an unusual expression on his father’s face, saw his hand move slightly in a jest of despair, as if he wanted to catch something that was slipping away. Though this moment lasted barely a fraction of a second, Legolas was quite sure he saw pain in his father’s deep green eyes shot with gold…All of a sudden all the anger and pain inside ebbed away, leaving pity and compassion instead. He did not walk away, as he intended to, he stepped closer to the throne and looked up straight into his father’s eyes. Legolas was startled to see there a jumble of emotions he never thought Thranduil capable of: guilt, shame, self-disgust, and, most unexpected, - love.
They looked at each other, then Thranduil closed his eyes, and, as he opened them, he was back to his usual self. The King waved a rather careless hand, saying: “So be it”. Legolas bowed and went out of the Great Hall, feeling that all the eyes were upon him.
This was the only time Thranduil showed anything close to fatherly feelings towards him, and it was engraved deep in Legolas’ memory.
Suddenly the Elf became aware of someone speaking, then felt an arm on his shoulder. He looked back and heard Lindir’s last words: “…must go.” Legolas nodded, then looked at Radagast. The Wizard gave him a curt nod and said comfortingly: “Do not worry, I shall keep a close watch over my guest, and you are free to come and check on her recovery.” Legolas smiled at him gratefully and said simply: “I will.”
The Elves were ready in a heartbeat, and Radagast went out of the house to bid them farewell. Legolas bowed his head and put his right arm to the heart. The others followed his lead. “Until our next meeting”, - he said. Radagast answered: “May the Sun shine upon all the paths you tread”. The Elves turned and left swiftly, blending with the trees on the edge of the Forest. Radagast watched them leave, then turned and walked back into the house.