I meant to have this posted yesterday. It was the one year marker of my mom's death, and it's written in her memory.
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The leaves of Mirkwood were once again turning gold. Soon, they would wither, and fall to the ground. The trees would not allow any light, even then. It was dark times, especially in Mirkwood.
Unlike the few elflings in the woods, Legolas did not stop to admire the beauty of the woods at these times. Any other day, if he was not busy, he would have. This was one of his favorite times of the year, the forest being filled with more color than almost any other time of the year. The only time he loved more was spring, when the dead came back, and the flowers blossomed.
The woods were usually quiet outside of the gates, but there seemed to be no sound except for the whisperings of the trees that day. It was a day of grieving, something that was not common in the elven realms. They lived forever, and would usually sail before anything could come to harm them.
This was different from a normal day of grieving. The whole realm grieved, for it was not the loss of a commoner, but the loss of a queen. A decade before on that very day, Queen Gwilwileth had been tortured to death by a group of orcs. The people of Mirkwood mourned her loss, mourned for the King, and for his only son, Legolas. It was a horrible loss.
The trees whispered to him as he passed. They spoke of the evil that dwelled in the woods. But, they also spoke of their sorrow for the young prince. They wept for his loss, and that of the King. They could feel her though, the Queen, her presence was there, watching over them all. The trees knew it, and they told of it to Legolas. It calmed him to know his mother was watching over him.
He reached his destination. It was a garden, grown wild without care for it, but it was still beautiful. It was far enough from the palace to keep wonders from it, but close enough to keep the dangers of the woods away. Few knew it was there. The flowers still grew, bright and beautiful. The small trees around the edge were still thriving, and green. The butterflies still came down from the canopy to feed from the flowers there. There was a magic in this garden, or so it seemed. Legolas knew this, though. He had been here many times before. It was his mother's garden.
He walked through it slowly, admiring it's beauty. It filled him with sadness, though. This was the one place that still held his mother's essence. The palace had changed too much since her death, and his father had too. It was not what Legolas was used to, even after the years. It was not the same Mirkwood that he had loved. The garden, however, had not truly changed, despite how over grown it was. It was still the same.
As he walked, Legolas found himself trying to bring up memories of his mother. What she had looked like, the sound of her voice, the feel of her embrace, anything. She was beautiful, Legolas remembered. She was paler than other elves, but had a natural rosy blush to her face, and small, thin, and short. Her hair was raven, and her perfectly straight to her waist. And he would never forget how soft she was. She was gentle, yet strong. Powerful. He founder harder, however, to drawl up the sound of her voice, the way it sounded as she sang. He tried, but he couldn't bring it too his mind. His memory was failing him.
Legolas brought himself from trying to remember to find that he had reached the center of the garden, the place he had been heading too. Only a couple steps in front of him was a small stone, inscribed with his mother's name. That was all there was to mark where his mother lay, but it was enough. It was nearly hidden for flowers, and vines had climbed it, and surrounding it, turning it into part of the garden. One simply walking through, and did not know it was there would not see it. His mother would have loved it.
Legolas took the few remaining steps to the grave marker. Carefully, he bent down, and used one hand to push back some of the flowers from the front of the grave. Once he had a small spot on the ground cleared, he set down the small bowl that he had in his other hand. It was a shallow crystal dish filled with water. Floating on the surface were three small purple lilies that Gwilwileth had loved. He had to search many bodies of water to find them, but he had finally found a small pond with them growing. Legolas would had searched all of Middle-Earth to find them.
"Le melon, Naneth." Legolas said quietly to the grave, bowing his head. Tears spilled from his eyes, and rolled down his face.
Suddenly, he felt a soft hand on his shoulder, and chasted himself for not being more careful. When he turned his head to see who it was, though, he found his father standing there, tears shinning in his own eyes. Legolas moved carefully to the side, not wanting to crush any flowers. His father knelt down next to him, not saying a word. Legolas, knowing his father wished some alone time with her, stood.
"Mara mesta, Naneth. No galu govlad gen." he said before turning, and walking away.
He may have not been able to remember everything about her. As long as he remembered her…
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Gwilwileth is the name I chose for his mother, and it means Butterfly in Sindarian.
Le melon, Nanth- I love you mother
Mara mesta, Naneth. No gavu govlad gen- Goodbye Mother. May blessings go with you.