Disclaimer: Everything in this story belongs to the J.R.R. Tolkien Copyright Trust and Christopher Reuel Tolkien, not me. I'm just a crazy student who likes to play in the big boys' stand box. I don't mean any harm, please don't be mad at me or sue me.
Author's note: Does anyone else notice how none of the elves in the LotR movies ever get dirty? Like Aragorn can be covered in blood, sweat, and dirt, but Legolas never has a hair out of place. It's just not fair! So I decided to mess up an elf. I was helped along by my Lit. teacher stressing that Thingol and Melian's meeting is a myth because they couldn't stand and stare at each other for uncounted years. My plot bunny-run mind took what he said and ran with it. Please, enjoy the results.
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Elwë awoke and would have shaken off his long trance if he could, but he found that he could not move, for plants and clinging vines had sprouted all around him. A young tree had taken root between his feet and twisted up between himself and Melian. Ivy climbed his left leg and wrapped around his arm up to his shoulder.
His bright eyes blinked open, shaking off the dust of long years. Tears of joy streaked his dirty face and made strange patterns on his skin, but the sparks that danced in his vision were not of terrestrial origins. For when he opened his eyes and gazed about him, Elwë beheld Melian the Maia and was momentarily lost in the swirl of all that she had shown him.
He raised the hand of hers that he still clasped to his lips and bestowed a gentle kiss upon it. An old bird's nest was dislodged by his movement and fell from his shoulder. Gentle laughter reached his ears, sounding like the tinkling of a brook, and made him glad.
Elwë fought the pull of the green life all around him, tearing off ivy, leaves, and the shredded remains of his clothing. After wiping the dust from his eyes and the dirt from his cheeks, Elwë beheld the object of his affections. Melian was beautiful and wonderful, and she held Elwë's heart in her gentle hand.
Upon closer inspection of her hand, he could not help but notice that no dirt or stain dared to mar her perfect skin or radiant dress. Whatever mysterious power protected her did not pass to Elwë in their joining; and by comparison, he looked as ragged and filthy as one of the shadow creatures sent by the enemy.
Once Elwë was free, Melian took his hand and led them through the towering, dark trees. He could not say for how long they walked, but they eventually reached the edge of the wood and could see stars of Varda above them. Elwë was halted in tracks, for he was struck once again by the beauty of Melian.
A sudden cry broke the silence. "My lord! My Lord Elwë, is it you?"
Turning, Elwë saw the elf running towards them, strung bow in hand, and raised a hand in greeting. "Hail, Mablung."
Mablung stopped a short distance away and regarded them warily, his glare lingering most on Elwë. "I do not know if you are some trick of the shadows, but my heart tells me that you are my Lord Elwë Singollo, brother of Olwë."
"I am Elwë Singollo, my friend. How fares my brother and our people?"
For a moment, it seemed as though Mablung would not answer and his hand tightened upon the string of his bow, but then he looked at Melian and a change came over him, the light of Aman and the Trees dispelling all doubts.
"Our people are well. They have journeyed westward and live even now on the shore of the sea. Your brother has lead them wisely in your ... absence," he said.
"Good, your news gladdens my heart. But why are you here so far from the shore?" Asked Elwë. "Surely it is not safe to wander or stray."
"Some of your kin and friends remained behind to search for you these long years. I am one such," Mablung explained. "There will be great rejoicing at your return, for we had thought you lost."
Elwë said eagerly, "Then let us go and find them. I have much to tell and do."
He started forward but was stopped by Mablung's hand upon his shoulder. Elwë looked curiously at his friend, wondering if he had suddenly changed his mind.
"Before you go before our people, my lord, you should bathe," the other elf said gently. "Your years in the woods have done little for your cleanliness."
Elwë looked at himself and saw, as if for the first time, the dirt and filth caked upon him from many seasons spent unmoving beneath the trees. It would not do to appear before his people, his friends as some naughty child who refuses a bath. He realized that he should also find garments of some kind, for all his clothes had rotted and blown away in the wind or been torn by plants.
"Yes, quite right," he said brightly. "Let's do that first. It wouldn't do to be dirty."
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P.S. Yes, I know I'm stretching it by having Mablung finding Elwë, but if Hollywood and its professional writers can do it, so can I! I also know that his name wouldn't be Mablung at this point; I don't care.