If you would indeed behold the spirit of death, open your heart wide unto the body of life.
For life and death are one, even as the river and the sea are one.
In the depth of your hopes and desires lies your silent knowledge of the beyond;
And like seeds dreaming beneath the snow your heart dreams of spring.
Trust the dreams, for in them is hidden the gate to eternity.
[On Death, Khalil Gibran]
Katya dug her pole deep into the muck on the bottom of the river, she could feel the muscles of her back rippling as she shoved the small barge forward against the current. The river pressed gently against the raft as she steadily moved it up the river. When the current grew strong once again she would have to return to using the oars, but here she could drift steadily along after each thrust of her guiding pole. The water was deep here and ran slowly, she could feel its force opposing her own, slowly giving way against her strength.
Katya knew this river and the quiet bubbling current of the River Running was like the blood flowing through her own veins. She had grown up on the waters of Long Lake, her house perched upon its surface, defying its depths as if it could float above its surface for eternity. Katya had grown strong on this river, rowing it first with her father when she was young. It had given her deep blisters on her palms, turning into hard callouses, slowly wearing her hands just as the River Running eroded its banks. And it had given her arms of iron, strong toned muscles along her forearms, biceps, shoulders, and back.
River Running had given them their livelihood and had shaped how they had grown and who she had become. Katya had now been running the river on her own for four years, rowing the barrels of wine up its banks to the Halls of Thranduil. The elves of Mirkwood were very fond of fine wine and it was a great source of trade for Lake-town and its inhabitants. Although it had been easier in the past to ship the barrels on carts with horses through the trails of Mirkwood, the growing darkness in the woods had made it more dangerous and harder to travel.
She remembered the first time she had seen the elves of Mirkwood when she was eleven and had helped her father run the river for the first time. She had developed large bleeding blisters on her hands on the early part of the river and her father had wrapped them and she was sitting with her feet in the water, watching her father contentedly push the raft along. Pausing for a moment, he glanced up into the branches, squinted with a smile and dug the pole deeply into the riverbed and leaned against it.
"Ai!" He called up to the branches and Katya jumped in surprise at the sound of bell-like laughter ringing down from the trees that overhung the River Running.
"Mae l'ovannen," a beautiful voice called back, and an elf dropped soundlessly from the trees onto the raft. The elf and her father conversed quickly, the elf's voice flowing seamlessly like the rapids of the river itself, her father's voice more gravelly and broken like the pebbles that rubbed against each other at the bottom. Katya found it difficult to follow their conversation. She knew basic phrases from her father's upbringing, but over years of speaking with the elves in his trading, her father had become relatively fluent.
"This is Bercalion," her father said, turning to Katya, who was examining the elf in wonder. "He does not speak the common tongue, but he is in charge of the trading dock and meets us to unload the barrels."
The ageless face of the elf grinned at Katya, taking in her barefoot appearance and wet hair. He had seen her swimming along the side of the raft in the stiller waters, the young girl happily playing in the Celduin. Now she sat in soaked garments, her hair dripping onto her shoulders as she looked up at him with wide eyes.
"This is my daughter; Iellig. Her name is Katya," her father introduced.
"Katya," the elf repeated. Her name sounded almost beautiful on his tongue, though slightly awkward and choppy. His grey eyes appraised her happily and he turned to her father and shook his head with a laugh, gesturing to her. "Laesneniel."
They enjoyed this private joke together as her father continued to row up the river to the disguised dock where they could tie the raft. A gate separated the river to the entrance of the cave where they would unload the barrels of wine.
Throughout the years Katya became very familiar with the river and the loading dock of the elves. Bercalion would always meet them, with the other guards who would help them unload the wine. The king's butler Galion would meet them there to survey the wine and pay them their dues or offer them goods in return. They would float the barrels back down the river to be collected by them at the mouth that opened up to Long Lake, along with others that were still brought to them on land. She would frequently sit with the elves in the loading bay with her father and enjoy a glass of wine, though they were never invited farther into the Halls of Thranduil.
Her father had his accident on the raft when she was sixteen, falling as they had gone up a dangerous area of the rapids, his ankle lodging between two boulders, trapping him beneath the surface of the river until he gave the last of his life over to it. Just as the River Running had given so much to Katya it had taken so much from her. Yet she could not hate these waters, her father never had. Katya could only love and respect the river, remembering what her father had taught her and listening to what else it might teach her.
Even the most experienced rafter could have an accident. Normally they would get out and walk the sides of the bank, dragging the raft upriver by ropes between the two of them but because of the heavy rain the past couple of nights the river was deep enough that they could attempt to row up it. Unfortunately the current had been stronger than expected and they had been dragged back and hit a submerged boulder. One of the wine barrels had been knocked free and he had made a grab for it just as the raft jarred itself loose and he fell in. Katya didn't know why he had put his foot down, it was the one thing that a person should never do if they fell into rapids, but even the best could become disoriented in the water.
She remembered sitting on the banks of the river, water flowing gently around her ankles and tears falling down her face the day her father had passed. His body had swept down the river well ahead of her and she was shivering on the raft, lodged against the bank and some stones in shock. Katya's mind swirled in confusion, unable to comprehend what had happened and what to do now. Laying down on the hard wood of the raft, Katya shivered in her wet clothes and pulled her knees into her chest, staring at the river hollowly. She had tried to save him, jumping in after him, but by the time she had freed his body from the rocks it was too late and she'd had to grab onto a boulder or risk being swept downstream with him. All Katya could do was lay on the side of the raft with her feet in the water as silent tears streamed down her face until she fell asleep in exhaustion.
She woke to agitated shaking, blinking open dry eyes to see the frantic face of Bercalion.
"Man ceril? Prestad?" He asked, his grey eyes searching the surroundings in concern. "Mornenion?"
Katya froze at the name the elves had given her father and started sobbing again, unable to get the words out that she needed to say. If she said it herself, it would make it too real. Instead she just couldn't stop crying and comprehension dawned in the eyes of the elf she had known for years and whom her father had known for all of his life and his eyes clouded with pain. Bercalion wrapped her in his arms as she sobbed into his chest. All Katya could do was cling to him as he lifted her gently off of the raft and sped through the forest, her tears soaking his tunic.
"Av-'osto," Bercalion whispered, stroking her hair.
Katya could only sit numbly on the dock with the blanket one of the elves had wrapped around her and shiver in the growing darkness. Rubbing her fingertips together she stared into space numbly, her eyes unseeing. Katya jumped as another hand clasped hers. Dark eyes focused on icy blue ones, gazing at her with calm empathy. The unknown elf handed her a small mug of warm spiced wine, the heat traveling up her fingertips like new life breathing into her soul.
"You are welcome here Laesneniel," he said. "My name is Legolas, your father was known well and greatly loved by the elves of this Hall. We will do what we can to help you."
"Le fael," she answered hollowly. Her eyes drifted up from the floor, looking hollowly past Legolas. "What am I supposed to do now?"
Legolas stared at her sadly, gently wrapping an arm around her and helped her to stand. Leading her into the Halls of Thranduil where she had never before been. She barely remembered the first time she saw him, but he would never forget the first moments he saw her. He was walking soundlessly down the corridors of his Hall, silently enjoying the fall breeze that drifted through the hallways and rustled his long robes. It had been nearly an hour since Bercalion his Nikerym l'Ando, Captain of the Gate, had appeared before him with the tragic story of the death of one of their longtime traders and the presence of his now orphaned daughter. While Thranduil's reign was known as one of distance from the outside world and he was famed for his distrust of intruders in his realm, he was not cruel. The story had moved him and he had welcomed the child into his hall.
As he walked, firelight flickering off of golden hair caught his eye as he turned the corner, there were few elves in his kingdom who were so fair-haired, the Silvan tended to share woodsy hair while he and his son, of Sindarin descent, bore silvery hair. And none were as short as the young girl who walked beside his son, barely coming up to his chest, nor were their faces marred by any blemish while hers had the occasional red blotch and her grey eyes were bloodshot and dry from crying. In her hands she was clutching a cup of spiced wine, holding onto it for dear life, yet she had not taken a sip from it. Thranduil's face softened in empathy as he looked at her hollow face. She was so young, she must have been the same age that Legolas had been when his mother had died.
"Legolas," he said, never taking his eyes off of the girl, "Who is this?"
"This is who the guards of the gate call Laesneniel, she is the daughter of the wine merchant who lost his life," he introduced.
"Laesneniel," Thranduil repeated, her name rolling musically off of his tongue. "I cannot imagine your loss, you are welcome to remain in my kingdom for as long as you will. Do not hesitate to come to us if you need anything."
The girl didn't even look at him, too lost in the pain and confusion of her thoughts to realize she was being addressed. Sighing, Thranduil observed the broken girl for a moment longer, placing a hand gently on her curly head before moving gracefully away. It was a terrible thing to lose a loved one; unimaginably awful. But children were resilient, much more resilient than he had ever been. He still could not speak his wife's name and it had been nearly a millennium.
AN: This is obviously based on the book version of the river, not the movie version. As a warning, this is much more a story on the human condition of mortality and long lasting friendship between an elf and human. Yes, there is romance in it, but it is not the main focus. It also has a sad ending because I can't write happy stories lol. It will overlap with the events of the Hobbit at the very end and takes place roughly 60 or so years before the Battle of Five Armies.