This is for all the people who wanted more sequels to the Handmaid of Gondor. I have to admit, I wrote this specifically for fans who wanted more, so I don't think it quite lives up to the other two (I didn't know as much about plotting when I wrote it as I do now!) but anyway, this is the way it goes for Legolas and Elireth...
Chapter 1
The fresh winds of the early year surged round the city and ripped at the banners on the White Tower of Ecthelion but, on the highest circle, Elireth stood in perfect stillness as the black wood warbler alighted on her outstretched finger.
"Remarkable!" she breathed. "Never before has it answered my call thus."
"The descendent of my gift to Aragorn knows the tongue of Mirkwood when he hears it," Legolas replied. "It has merely taken you this long to perfect it."
Elireth released the bird and, with a clapping of wings, it flew away singing into the Gardens of Arwen. She then climbed onto the city wall where her dear friend sat, hugging his knees in Elven fashion, looking wistfully down the dizzying drop to the lower levels and the green fields below. They had grown closer than ever in the last seven years but of the Bond of Love incident nothing was ever spoken.
"You should go back there," she said, gently. "Come with us when we travel North, Legolas. Visit your home once more."
"I cannot," Legolas said, his eyes still on the Pelennor Fields.
"Because the King has made you part of the Protectorate in his absence?" said Elireth. "But surely he could spare you. He would be glad to have you come. Lord Faramir and Lady Eowyn are more than capable and our allies in Rohan and Dol Amroth will be at hand."
"No," he said. "It is my home no longer. When last I returned to Mirkwood, after the victory was won, my Father was standing before the entrance to his Halls. He was waiting for me. But, as soon as he looked at me, he saw the sea-longing in my eyes. It almost broke his heart."
"But will he not sail into the West also?" asked Elireth, confused.
"Not he," said Legolas, faintly, and now she knew why he looked away from her. "The sea-longing has never awoken in his heart. He will remain in the Greenwood until he fades from sight and memory. Long he fought to preserve his wood from the Dark Powers and never again will he surrender it. For it is Mirkwood no more. Eryn Lasgalen he calls it now – The Wood of Greenleaves."
"He named it after you?" whispered Elireth, and she softly laid her small hand upon the pale hand of Legolas, and he did not withdraw it.
Elireth started up from her bed suddenly, the knocking at her chamber door driving away the memories of her last days in Minas Tirith. Quickly, she lit the candle and threw the embroidered coverlet around her shoulders as she went to answer the door. The lost realm of Arnor was beautiful indeed but very cold to Elireth's delicate, Southern sensibilities. Drawing back the door, she was not at all surprised to find a golden-haired hobbit lass of fifteen looking expectantly up at her.
"I couldn't sleep, Mistress Elireth," she said. "Can I come in for a while?"
"For a while, Elanor," Elireth replied, as her small companion scampered in and threw herself upon the bed. "But it will be an early start tomorrow if you want to see us off."
"But I don't want to see you off," sighed Elanor. "I want to come too. It is so unfair of my gaffer to keep saying no when he's always telling us tales of his travels with "dear Mr Frodo". Oh! To see Rivendell and all them Elves, and go to the wedding in Dale, and to see your home and that huge white city, all shining in the light!" She sighed again, dramatically.
"Very unnatural and most un-hobbitlike!" laughed Elireth, shaking her head. "Your gaffer needs you here. He knows what's best for you."
The little hobbit pouted, an expression obviously meant to show extreme displeasure but which actually only made her look sweeter than ever. Elireth smiled at her fondly as she sat down on the bed beside her. The Queen's decision to take Elanor for a maid of honour had been almost the best thing that had happened during the sojourn at Nenuiel, and Elireth was going to miss her young charge terribly, but she could not say she shared the young hobbit's eagerness to travel further. Much rather would she turn south now and come into Ithilien when the berries were red on the rowans and Orion had returned to the night sky. Beside this, there was something else which troubled her, something which made her glad of Master Samwise's firm hand. The trip, she feared, would not be a pleasant one, although she would not say as much to Elanor. She was so fond of her. Few would think to compare an elegant Gondorian with a rustic hobbit lass, but Elireth saw so much of her former self in Elanor, so much she would never see in a child of her own.
"Well, if you must be heartless, at least tell me a tale before I go to bed," said Elanor. "Tell me about the Hidden Grove again. It's so long until breakfast, I must have something to take my mind off my hunger."
Elireth smiled again and produced from her own small travelling chest a sweet pastry, one of several she had kept for Elanor's especial benefit. Then she wrapped herself and Elanor warmly in the coverlet and proceeded with a tale that brought a spark of joy to the fair face of the little hobbit, she who was still too young to see that it weighed down the heart of the teller with memory and longing.
It was only when Elanor was finally packed off to bed that, lying down once again in the darkness, Elireth thoughtfully fingered the Elven buckle that hung, as it always did, about her neck and let her thoughts drift back to a windy day in Gondor.
