CHAPTER ONE
A Curious Event

Ogilion, Forty-second day of Iavas, F.A. 15

"I wonder, is it my brother I race, or a slug?"

The words, yelled through the trees were accompanied by a hearty laugh and the near silent sounds of quick footfalls against the old forest floor. The night air was chilly, as was typical for so late into Iavas but it bothered not the two racing ellon. Though darkness encircled the forest it did not bring with it the dangers that it once had, nor the ominous feeling in one's chest. To the East the Forest River could be heard and if looked too closely could be seen to Elven eyes, shining in the distance through the slim spaces between dense trees.

Legolas answered Thalion's goading with a chuckle, grinning as he heard the gleeful whoops of his brother. Biting wind whipped sharply against his face as he changed course, avoiding the roots of a large beech tree. He looked to Thalion, surmising that they were at about the same pace. It was impossible to tell which ellon would win. A consciousness brushed against his mind and Legolas ducked quickly, narrowly avoiding a low hanging branch, sending a brief, silent thanks to the tree that had warned him.

"Tell me, who was it again who took great joy in teaching you that one should not claim victory until they have crossed the finish line?" Thalion laughed in response and Legolas turned in time to see Thalion jump suddenly, as if he had not even seen whatever had been in his way, a dwarfish curse leaving his mouth in a quick exclamation.

They ran in silence for a few minutes, neither paying much attention to who was winning, only the enjoyment they felt at being able to run through the forest unhindered by darkness or shadow of evil. Legolas, lost in thought, found himself breathing deeply. He was unfatigued and the action unnecessary yet it had been years since he had felt his forest sing to him through the wind. Ithilien thrived under his care and the land sung out its thanks but it was not home. Their settlement, though great, would never know the richness of Greenwood the Great and his heart, torn between the call of the sea and the call of the land, had ever longed to see his father's halls once more.

Thalion gave a low whistle, signalling for Legolas to halt and the elder did immediately, coming to a graceful stop against an ancient Oak. The tree was silent, its spirit having been driven out by the darkness that once resided in Northern Greenwood and Legolas allowed a second of grief for the consciousness that had fled. His hands, flat against the trees blackened bark, flexed once, offering a silent prayer of mourning. Thalion had stopped beside him, his hands placed in a similar fashion, his eyes closed briefly in prayer. Legolas watched his brother, mapping the surface of his face, the contours and the dips. Living among men, watching them grow old while they worked together to rebuild the land – it had made him feel as though he had been gone an eternity, when in reality it had only been thirty years. Thalion opened his eyes, a crystalline blue so similar to the colour of the pools in the Glittering Caves that Legolas found himself hard-pressed not to think himself back in the glorious expanse.

Thalion gave him a wide smile, taking a hand from the bark and holding a finger to his lips to signal quiet. He turned, straight silver blonde hair – the same shade as their father's – flipping around as he pointed West. Legolas frowned, following his hand. They had run closer to the Forest River than he had thought, it flowed smoothly, almost soundlessly in front of them as they hid behind the old oak, the Grey Mountains looming in the distance. It wasn't the river though, that Thalion pointed towards, but the people beside it. Instantly, Legolas' interest was piqued as he watched the men, women and children disembark from their boats and begin to set up camp for the night.

They wore strange garbs, fine silks and expensive furs far more colourful than anything the men in Dale had produced in recent years. Their skin, dark and sun-kissed glowed under moonlight. Speaking a strange language their leader, a man with a heavily lined face called out orders interceded by deep chuckling as two children ran around his ankles. A fire was started and a woman began to sing. Long, lilting notes filled the air while a man picked up a small drum, hitting it in time to the woman's voice. The group was no more than fifty; small by elven standards but for a group of men? Quite large. Legolas watched them, fascinated, until their tents were erected and they had begun to cook a meal. They seemed jovial, spirited. Here, an old woman tended to a young girl's hair. There, lovers, whispering softly as they gutted fish. The leader sat on a large stone, whittling a hunk of wood absently, casting furtive glances at his people as he hummed along with the singing woman, albeit off-tune.

Legolas looked to his brother, eyebrow quirked in question. Thalion grinned in response, leaning towards Legolas in a conspiratorially nature.

"They came from Dale," he whispered. "Though before that we know not whence. Travelling west along the Forest River. I do not think they know how close they came to us. Nomads, perhaps. Respectful, they take only what they need and barely disturb the forest. We've been tracking them since they arrived though this is the first time they've set up a full camp. Bailon will be upset he missed it."

Legolas grinned as he turned from Thalion and looked back towards the curious sight before him. The largeness of the group still confused him. The Beornings and the Woodmen rarely travelled outside of the Vale of Anduin, and even if they did it was usually in groups of no more than five or seven. Hunting parties.

"Haradrim?" Legolas murmured, hearing Thalion shift beside him to get a better look.

"No, we do not think so. Their garbs are strange. We have not seen them before."

Legolas was about to ask if they were perhaps Easterlings from Rhun when a woman he had not seen before emerged from the edge of the forest. Her hair, long and dark was wet, it hung in long, curling curtains down her back. She wore a baffling two-piece outfit. A tightly fitted leather top that lacked sleeves moved with ease as she walked while her bottom half was swathed in a thin beige material, overplayed by shimmering cream silks. At her waist, a strip of golden cloth seemed to hold the ensemble together.

Legolas' eyebrows pitched downwards as he watched her walk bare foot towards the leader of the group, her soft skirts rustling against the cold grass. Time seemed to slow, her footsteps echoing loudly in his ears. The call of the sea was far from where this strange woman was. She leaned down, golden bangles on her arms jumbling together as she placed a kiss onto the man's cheek. Legolas' eyes narrowed at the action, his entire focus singled onto their body-language. Though she was familiar with him, there was no further intimacy. Her hand, small and dark had risen and she ruffled the man's hair before she sat at his feet, twisting her heavy locks of hair to rid them of excess water. So intent was he, to watch her slowly comb her fingers through her thick hair that Thalion had to touch his arm to get his attention, his attempts to rouse the prince with his name having proved futile.

"Brother?"

Legolas turned, eyes wide, a slightly guilty expression on his face, as though he was an elfling once more and he had been caught doing something decidedly undesirable.

Thalion only smiled at his response, patting Legolas' shoulder. "They are interesting aren't they?"

Legolas nodded, glancing swiftly towards the woman once again, only to find her now staring in their direction as though she could see them. Legolas watched with bated breath as her dark eyes narrowed. Their eyes, his, a bright sky blue and hers, as black as the night, seemed to lock despite the fact that she couldn't possibly see him. His breath caught in his throat and he scarcely breathed for fear of ruining the moment. He was under her spell.

He had no idea how long they stared at one another, it could have been seconds or decades. He did not know. After a while she blinked and the spell was broken. Legolas stumbled back from the old oak, blinking rapidly. Thalion looked at him with mild fright, hand outstretched, features taught with worry.

"What is it? Are you well?"

Legolas opened his mouth to try and reassure his brother but then – suddenly – he was well. Everything was well. The night a little more tepid, the air a little cleaner. The singing from the camp had grown more wonderful and behind Thalion, the woman had grown ever more beautiful. Legolas smiled reassuringly at his brother, nodding and grinning until Thalion relaxed, all the while his mind lay with the woman.

The woman.

Thalion began to ask if they should go back. Something about Feren and dinner at the outpost. Legolas was hardly listening but he nodded anyway, allowing Thalion to guide him away from the travellers' camp. They walked quickly, Thalion already whispering enthusiastically about a new recipe Bailon had learned from the Woodmen for roasted rabbit and how, though at times tough, the meat and mint leaf worked surprisingly well. Legolas nodded, laughing and smiling and hm'ing at the right moments all the while his mind worked to imprint the image of the woman in his memories. As they neared a bend in the path he turned his head, allowing himself one last glimpse of the camp and was startled to find the woman standing by the tree they had just vacated, watching them go with a curious expression.

Orithil, Fifteenth day of Ethuil – F.A. 45

Legolas had walked for days.

He had drunk little, eaten even less and though his body showed little sign of fatigue, his mind had grown weary in his wanderings. Days had passed him by, as had nights and dusks and early morning lights. He remembered vaguely and with some shame that he had lied to the guard at the Great Gate as he had left. His voice had been low, pleading in its rapidity. The guard, Eithillim, had narrowed his eyes at the Prince's approach, his mouth already opening to turn Legolas away.

I go to see Galmîr, he had said. Eithillim made a face, shaking his head, brown braids flying about his face as he held out a hand to stop his prince. Legolas no longer remembered exactly what had happened next, only that it took time and much pleading before Eithillim had eventually conceded, lowering his hand and giving one stiff nod of agreement. He allowed Legolas walk to the end of the Bridge, watching with some concern at the bend in his shoulders and the way his feet had dragged across the polished stones. Legolas turned at the last moment, offering what he hoped to be a reassuring smile. From the tightening around Eithillim's grey eyes, he thinks perhaps it had been closer to a grimace instead.

To add some semblance of truth to his lie he walked West at first, towards the dwelling of Galmîr. He walked until he could see her large talan and then turned East, picking his way through dense foliage until he reached the great River. From there he had switched to a waking state. His feet moved and bore him onwards but his mind was blank. He did not think. He did not speak. He tried, in vain, to not feel but the damp darkness that had festered in his heart ate slowly at his fëa.

The trees had whispered warnings and condolences, had offered their branches for rest and yet still the lonely elf had walked. When (at last) his feet could bear him no more, he succumbed to fatigue and it was a young sapling whose offer of shelter he had answered. And it was here, lying on that thin branch, that Legolas had found himself under sudden interrogation.

"Tuvam!" began an annoyed voice, "Ay ava!"

His eyes, closed in exhaustion, opened sluggishly and he found himself annoyed. Who had awoken him? Why had they done so? Could they not see that he was tired? In mind and body and soul? What injustice! What indecency! What-

"I said," came the voice, though this time it was taught with anger and spat in thickly accented Westron. "Go away."

Legolas groaned, and though the sound was a pitiful excuse, he had done so with all the pride of one of the Eldar. He blinked, eyes adjusting quickly to the light filtering down from the saplings sparse array of leaves. The light, warm in the chill early spring air, seemed to caress his stiff face, pulling him from the deepest slumber he had had in more than thirty years.

Narrowed eyes peeked up at him through the sapling's branches, squinting against the pale morning light. Legolas' eyebrows, usually perfectly groomed though now an unkempt mess, rose slowly as he looked down at what he was almost certain was a child. The child's hood was pulled up over their head succeeding in obscuring most of their face. All that was visible were their eyes, angry flints against shadowy darkness and their cheeks, plump and youthful.

Legolas sat up slowly. His body felt heavy, like he had not moved in an Age. His eyes never left the child's below him as he swung down from the branch, feet landing steadily on the packed earth. As an afterthought his hand rose, coming to rest against the bark of the sapling, offering thanks for her shelter. A branch twitched stiffly, as if learning how to move even as it did so. His thanks had been accepted. The child, all angry eyes and chubby cheeks, followed this exchanged with growing annoyance.

Legolas towered over his (her?) small form and he felt himself bending his knees in order to reduce the gap. No need to make the child feel any more threatened then it obviously was.

"Are you deaf?" the child asked suddenly. Legolas started, blinking thrice. His head cocked to the side, mouth hanging slightly open in shock. "Or just simple?"

Legolas was barely given a second to answer before the child continued with their tirade. Their Westron was odd, spoken in a way that signified it did not come naturally. "I have asked you twice and I will ask you a third time- what were you doing laying on Samira? She is young, she cannot carry your weight. What if she had buckled? Would you have apologised and walked away as if nothing had happened?"

The wind whistled past them, tugging at the child's hood so much so that a hand rose to secure it. Their fingers were small and several shades darker than Legolas' own digits. The colouring reminded him of better times and his chest twisted painfully. His eyes closed briefly as he tampered the bout of grief. When he opened them again he found himself peering curiously at the child and they sighed, clearly exasperated with his silence.

The child's mouth opened again, ready to throw a barrage of angry words his way but he cut them off smoothly, holding out both of his hands by way of surrender. "You named the sapling Samira?"

He expected, at least, some relent. He predicted the child's shoulders to fall as he or she's attention was diverted by the question. He expected the child to begin a tirade as children often do when they are proud of something. Instead, the child's eyes narrowed even further until he wasn't even sure if his form was still perceivable through the nearly touching lids.

"No." The child responded, as if Legolas were indeed simple. "She named herself."

Now it was Legolas' turn to narrow his eyes, his brow furrowing slightly. "What?"

The child sighed and Legolas wondered if perhaps the child thought of him as some big, blundering idiot who fell asleep on saplings and couldn't understand the simple concept as a tree naming itself. It wasn't that he couldn't understand the concept – he knew (and rightly so) that all trees had a name, a sentience that should be respected and honoured – he just couldn't understand how an Edain child could come to the same conclusion his forefathers had realised eons ago.

"She cannot say much, she is only small and you have sat all over her." There was accusation in the child's voice, as if they were personally disappointed in Legolas for laying on the tree. The little one rushed past him and crouched before the tree, tiny chubby fingers hovering over the tree's surface as though afraid to touch it. They threw, what Legolas assumed to be, another accusing stare over their shoulder, chubby cheeks high under the hood as though they glared at him. "You've rubbed off some of her bark. She will not thank you for that."

Legolas tried to move to accommodate the child. Stumbling slightly as he stood from his crouch he turned to face the tree and its small protector.

"I am sorry," he said quietly.

The child stood too, arms rising to cross over their chest. Legolas wished to ask the child more questions but the light had shifted above their heads, it bore down heavily on his body. What should have provided comfort had now become a burden. He wished so dearly to sit back against Samira's warm embrace.

"I-" he began before abruptly closing his mouth. He blinked, rather stupidly he guessed if the child's answering huff was anything to go by. The world grew dark as he swayed on his feet. He gulped, shaking his head to rid himself of this sudden ailment. His breathing deepened, the symptoms only getting worse. When was the last time he had eaten?

Legolas felt so very young – could almost hear his father's voice chastising him for being so foolish. The child's arms unfurled as they lent forward. "What is wrong with you?" The child asked and the question bore no warmth. If anything, they sounded even more annoyed that Legolas had decided to choose now to come into difficulty.

When he did not respond the child moved forward, hands outstretched. "What is wrong?" the child repeated, though this time concern had warmed their voice.

Legolas attempted to speak, his mouth opened and closed as though in imitation of a fish. His hand, large and shaking, rose slowly until his palm lay flat against his chest. He gave one last confused look to the child before his legs gave way and all was silent in the Greenwood once more.

Notes From The Author:

I've done a lot of research into Proto-Indo Iranian, Old Persian and Modern Persian (Farsi). The words I use are a mixture of all three languages. I am most definitely not a linguist aha therefore the grammar and sentence structures are probably wrong so I apologise for that.

The title 'Agape' is the Ancient Greek word for the fourth type of love: Selfless Love. It is the love extended to family and friends. C.S. Lewis referred to it as "Gift Love". It is unconditional love.

The story is told in two parts, in the past and present thirty years apart. Hope that wasn't too confusing!

I hope you enjoyed the chapter, thank you for reading. Let me know what you thought.

- Aobh x

Translations:

"Tuvam! Ay Ava." (Old Persian) - You! Go away/down!

Galmîr and Ethillim are names I've made up. Galmîr roughly translates into Light Jewel or Treasure and Eithillim again roughly translates to Clear or Sparkling water/spring/well.