Travel as the Sun
by Mirwalker
3. Journeys & Tales
Short, sweet hours later the Sun ran its first warm fingers across the forest's top. Elven eyes in an elven embrace welcomed its arrival with a contented joy that swelled in two elven hearts and across the uniquely elven bond between them.
"Melin tye."
"Yando."(1)
Moments passed as the sunlight spread like a rising tide through the rough reaches of Eryn Lasgalen.
"I will never grow tired of this sight..." whispered one voice tenderly.
"You do not look at the forest…" laughed the other. They shared silent, knowing smiles, as Legolas caressed his favorite view, adorned playfully with a golden circlet that now sat askew. Opposite him, Dunthon ran long fingers through the golden strands surrounding his favorite view. "Sit up, melda,(2) and let me fetch something for your wild hair."
As Dunthon gathered himself to gather the comb of carven hardwood and inlaid silver, Legolas sat up and watched him. His eyebrows knitted to watch his friend struggle simply to cross the broad platform without assistance, but he made no effort to help—he had called enough attention to the infirmity during the evening before. Instead, he focused his thoughts on other attributes of his mate, and his conversation on other topics. "Since you insist on speaking aloud this morning--"
Dunthon cut him off with gentle words and looks. "I insist on hearing a voice that has not graced my ears in more than a year, glass.(3) I have thought your thoughts and felt your feelings for most of that time, but I have missed the simple sound of your words."
"Yando," Legolas surrendered and agreed. "I began to say that it seems my father remains unaware that you comprehend Quenya?" He turned in place as Dunthon settled behind him.
"Your father and I spoke of many things in the last months of your travels," said the fletcher as his nimble fingers gently unwound the long, tight braids—this the only place where, and he the person who was so allowed. "He had much to learn of me and us, but that this common elf has been taught the royal tongue I have yet to share with him. Folilma."(4)
Legolas smiled and rested on the soft pillows, leaning comfortably against the low seat from which Dunthon brushed away a year of travels and battles. He lay with eyes closed, enjoying the quiet breeze, woodland sounds, loving attention and familiar presence of his lifelove.
He eventually broke the silence to show his thoughts had not drifted far. "I once thought that, so in love with these woods is he, my father would be the last elf to leave these shores."
"And so desirous of that final title, as well…" grinned his groomer, equally enjoying the contact and connection his work brought them.
Legolas smiled, unable to deny the charge, and continued. "But these woods have changed greatly in these past years. First their mirking, and now their liberation at so great a cost." He opened his eyes, and looked out sadly at the landscape stretching before them like a lush green cloth—save to the south and east where it was rent and stained by the wide, blackened gashes spreading out from the southward Mountains, unliving memorials to trees lost and those elves lost defending them. "As Sauron's forces from Dol Guldur burned for spoil while they advanced, they did doubly so for spite while they fled. It will be generations of men before the forest is restored.
"And yet father was as clear as he can be last eve that, though he will remain and see his beloved forest healed, his mind already turns west. Where once it lay beyond even elven sight, his sailing now can be marked in mortal scale."
"He has indeed grown tired of this world," agreed Dunthon as he combed. "Its offers to him have worn thin and its costs grown high. You will find your father has changed also in other ways these bloody months. The departure of one son, the loss of another and the destruction of so much of his kingdom and kin have mellowed him. Yet he has also regained some fire of old. He has warmed in his contact with the Galadhrim, and a wartime among his folk and trees and neighbors has drawn him from his palace in more than residence. I am pleased most that he has seen to take you to his heart and side again."
A chill tone of old crept back into Legolas' speech. "We have much to address yet, he and I. I am default with my brother's passing, for he cannot spare a son to scorn when he has lost his only other to strife."
Dunthon pulled his companion's chin back to bring their faces flush and began in half-mock admonishment. "He stamped his pride for you upon the world, Glass, convincing Celeborn to rename these woods for you! Few families in Middle Earth, and none else among elfkind, can count in their number a Ringfellow. Thranduil can hardly let that honor pass unproclaimed…"
Legolas slid free as they laughed at the mostly truth of the observation. Catching Dunthon's hands, he turned onto his stomach, noting that, "He has also warmed to you, royal Ecthelgedon. Never have I known him to speak of you by name, and now he does so by that, and relation, and accolade."
"We are redeemed to him both, then, and can hope our remaining seasons on these shores may be better spent together than the past age."
Legolas let the smile fall from his face, and turned over again quickly lest the descent be seen. Dunthon resumed his brushing, and observed after some brief time, "The world is indeed changed, my love; have we not also? My leg and family have been broken, but my heart is whole to have you near again. And you, you are traveled and titled now, crown prince of the Woodland Realm." Dunthon nodded respectfully down at him, in both pride and levity. "You return with dwarf beside, as Ringfellows both, bearing scars of this Last War and tales of the wider world you saved."
Legolas reached up and back to stroke the face so dear to him, again so near to him. "Hobbled and orphaned you may be, min nîn,(5) but this prince's love you remain, and never again alone. For we are we once more."
Dunthon pressed the gentle strength of the offered palm into his cheek, relishing their unique bond. "And we remain the lastborn of the firstborn," he agreed, "though neither can be counted as children among our kin any longer; we carry experience well beyond even our brief years. We have lived much in these short seasons, aged in life beyond the simple count of days. I am happy for the wisdom, though its price has been as high as its lessons short. And yet I must feel some regret that our time to apply it here is marked. May we find both the teachings and this time will serve us well in the Undying Lands."
Legolas gave no reply, and instead pulled down the angled face above him for a kiss. "You brush more than a year away, my ancient love, for I am young in heart when with you." He stroked dangling dark braids, and lightly pulled their attached face down again for another kiss. "'They are hair, not handles…' I know," he pre-empted, anticipating the annoyance that spread across Dunthon's face.
Smiling up at the narrowed eyes and smirk, he made amends by offering, "Shall I return the favor with time on your braids, or perhaps some attention to your leg, before we alight for breakfast with father and friend, and more talking?" There was no visible reaction to the leg's mention, and that was a good sign to Legolas.
Instead a sly grin spread across Dunthon's face, "Must I choose only one?"
In late morning Gimli sat at a small, but well laid table in one corner of the sun-splattered Great Hall, happily feasting on the mix of fresh produce and winter provisions. Across from him sat King Thranduil sipping from a fine mug of hot-brewed tea. As the former ate, the latter introduced him to the Silvan name for the item, translating with ease among that rare elvish, the more common Sindarin, Westron, and even Dwarvish.
As Legolas and Dunthon approached this unusual late morning scene, Legolas thought to himself how often he had thus unwittingly learned the dwarf in the tongues of elves. Though no harm done indeed, he vowed that he would not again fall prey so easily to the rugged dwarf's subtle surveillance, nor would he underestimate the smaller man more generally.
Legolas nodded to his father, and Dunthon still bowed to the king even as his become-father. The king acknowledged both with a tip of his head and a welcoming wave, and the couple joined the pair at the table as warm mugs were brought to them. Legolas was pleased to see that Galion, his father's butler, had learned Dunthon's favorite morning drink and had not forgotten his own during his absence.
For his part, Dunthon noted that Gimli had obviously made use of the thermal springs in the palace, as his head and beard were clean and combed out, and his clothing changed. His casual dwarf costume, while angularly attractive, looked nonetheless as uncomfortable as did his traveling wear. Dunthon wondered whether this rigid attire did not contribute to that race's well-known unpleasantness; perhaps all they needed to soften their temperament was softer wardrobes. Still, this dwarf was pleasant enough, and was certainly appreciating the elven hospitality as his dining gusto demonstrated.
Between "good mornings" and menu inquiries, Gimli observed that Legolas had changed from his well-recognized journey wear into stately, but casual clothes—a simple elegance Gimli had not known in this elf since their first days in realm of Lorien. Though an unaccustomed look for the archer, Gimli could clearly see how right it was for the young someday king. Even his golden hair, now gathered simply behind his neck by a single band, spoke not of sloth but of serenity—indeed he looked the prince at rest. Beside him, Dunthon personified a complementary contrast, having exchanged one simple tunic for another, having kept the tight triangle of dark horsetails and having more than elf-usual emotion on his face. Perhaps most noticeably on this morning, Gimli had seen as they approached hand in hand, that Legolas' head was not adorned with his simple circlet, and Dunthon seemed not to lean so heavily on his ornate staff.
Yet, of all these observations, it was Thranduil who first gave voice to his, having noticed also that "Legolas, you do not wear your crown." Even the other two elves at the table took note of the neutrality of the utterance—its careful tone sitting clearly between declaration and interrogation.
With remarkably matched dispassion, Legolas served first Dunthon and then himself from the platter of sliced meats, cheeses and fruits, while responding matter-of-factly, "I dine as friend and family, not as prince. I had hoped this private morning meal might be a casual, not a court matter."
"You must come to accept, my son, that there is no longer for you such a divide. You are a prince. At meals, at midday and at rest. That fact must guide your thoughts, actions and manner henceforth."
As flat the tone, as level the voice and as calm the faces around the table, Gimli could not decide if he watched a school lesson, a reprimand or an exasperated plea. The two princes drank and dined nonchalantly, as the king sipped from his mug and glanced among them all. Gimli followed suit, continuing to observe across his quickly emptying plate.
Legolas made no response, but after some motion below the table level between him and Dunthon, he gently laid the circlet on the table beside his plate. Whether this was more in concession to his father's wishes, or in resistance to the implied instruction, Gimli again could not discern. The question hanging, they all continued to eat as the sunbeams shifted slightly on the floor and walls.
"Dunthon," finally spoke the king as his become-son looked up from his hot drink. "Master Gimli has shown a remarkably un-dwarven interest in our words and ways this morning. As encouragement for this curiosity, I hoped you might share more of the kingdom with our elvellon."(6)
Dunthon looked to Gimli with a warm smile, and then caught himself short, looking back to the not included Legolas, who had not reacted beyond a sideways glance at him.
Sensing the unspoken question regarding the crown prince, or perhaps regardless of it, Thranduil cut a last bite on his plate and added, "Prince Legolas and I have much to discuss after his absence, and we would not want to keep either of you from enjoying this beautiful spring day in Eryn Lasgalen." Only then did his voice and face lighten as he turned to the dwarf, "As friend of the Crown, it is important to us that you know and partake of all the beauty our kingdom offers."
Dunthon barely had time to nod in understanding before the king had taken his last bite and stood from the table. All three other diners stood promptly as the king took his leave, promising, "Until later."
Legolas made to call after him, but Dunthon grabbed his hand and whispered something curtly in Silvan. He then turned to Gimli, again smiling warmly, "I shall enjoy introducing our home to this new friend and brother."
Gimli nodded a mix of resignation to the king's wishes and appreciation for Dunthon's warm words. Finding no other ready irritation to bolster his own, Legolas conceded and smiled too. "I shall trust you to one another's care, then, and myself to that of the gracious Valar." He twisted his smile nervously, kissed Dunthon on the cheek and set off behind his father, snatching the golden band from the table as he departed.
The dwarf and remaining elf stood looking after until they were left alone in the Great Hall. Dunthon glanced across the table still spread before them, and at the dwarf whose shoulders barely showed above its edge. "Well, sir dwarf, let us see what miles and mischief we may make today under royal command and with royal provision!" Taking up his staff, he called to the hall, "Galion?!"
Farther up the mountain stronghold, Legolas entered Thranduil's formal study without knocking, presuming his kinship and crown exempted him from the uncommon courtesies shown the king.
The mid-sized room was just as it had been when he had departed nearly two years before. The walls still were lined with shelves of books, racks of scrolls and hanging maps. A wooden table, sturdy and broad, sat center in the room, covered in opened tomes, paper stacks and valuables collected from across the kingdom. Chairs at each of its six sides marked several projects underway at once, each station with fresh scrolls, inks and quills at the ready. A grand carven tree sprouted from the table's center, with sweeping branches ending in candle stands made to look like flower blossoms, spreading light evenly around the table's wide area. Beyond this desks-in-one, a small half-circle of chairs faced narrow, slotted windows carved through the mountainside to the bright forest day beyond. To one side of the sitting area, a tall, narrow table held fine cups and decanters of fine wines. To the other, a matching table held a large, ornate bowl and pitcher with small linen towels stacked neatly beside.
At this washbasin, Thranduil stood drying his hands. Moving to the table-desk, Thranduil patted a tall stack of scrolls and bound books, introducing them as, "The past years' records I had pulled for your reading, Legolas; we can have them taken to your room if you prefer."
"I continue to reside at Haldhoron with Dunthon."
"Of course, of course." Thranduil, smiled almost sheepishly as he circled around the table. "Old habit. Nothing more." He shuffled a shorter stack at a seat that faced away from Legolas, and continued as he looked. "But for now, I wish to have you consider how we shall balance our trade obligations with Dale until our spring harvests can be made."
"Father, on only my second Sun home, surely you did not summon me merely to review crop projections or provision inventories. I can read the records for myself."
Thranduil smiled swiftly to himself before turning back to face his son and heir. He has never been slow to sense the elusive prey or stalking threat. He said, however, "You place too little value on these details, Legolas. It is their importance to our people, not their interest to you, that you must consider." The look upon on the prince's face darkened in anticipation of a lecture he did not appreciate and would not accept willingly. With a wave of his hand, the king dismissed the attitude and its source, "But you are correct. They are not, in themselves, my cause for calling you to me this day."
With a further wave, the father directed his son to join him at two tall chairs near the window. Legolas moved from the doorway and to his father's left, where he perched stiffly in the seat, while the king sat with well-practiced comfort in the tallest of the set. "Your brother's post and its responsibilities are now yours. The affairs of the kingdom are now your concern as well, and you must need learn soon. Your travels in the world have made you all the more capable for your adult roles. And," the king sighed heavily, "we are short on good hands, and shorter still on time for them to work. And that is why we must speak today."
Legolas squinted at his father, this last phrase had caught him unawares—as the lecture had taken on more a tone of confession. Thranduil peered at him with a sad wisdom only a fellow elf, or perhaps only a son of nearly three millennia, could detect.
"It does not take an Elf to know the world is changed indeed, my son. Nor did it require a Ring of Power to sense that change approached these many years." The elder elf looked toward the open window through which the light, sound and air of their realm filtered in and brought alive the carven stones. His voice moved they two out through that opening to take in all they could sense, and expanded as did the scope of his story. "Ennor has grown tired of Elves. It yearns to move in ways our immortal and unchanging presence will not allow it. Yet tied so closely to it, we restrict and diminish it with our very existence here. We hold to old ways, give little thought to tomorrows and spare it at most to today. For all our life, experience and wisdom, we grow stale and the world grows weary of our bland flavor."
"And so, though our numbers are diminished and our Sun setting, we will make what repairs we can to the Greenwoods before crossing the mountains, Shire and sea. With regret and great resignation, we accept that for love of this land we must leave it. We are now brief guests only in this, our everhome no more." Thranduil finished with that choking conclusion, and realized that he had stood and crossed to the window, drawn and driven from his seat as the realization had pulled him from his ages of contentedness and complacency.
He broke his insightful gaze into the ever-present distance, and turned it to his younger, and now only, son. But the dark eyes in that fair head had also left the room behind his words, and had yet to return.
What is it that has so captured my child's attention, wondered the king, when he, the youngest of the woodland folk, has always been most closely connected to his forest home? Does he feel betrayal in this revelation of his passion's distaste for him and his people? Has he lost some of that connection in his travels across more of this world, and now mourns that separation? Or rather has the connection, and with it the pain, deepened on those wide roads? Does his newfound responsibility as crown prince weigh heavily on him, knowing the painful transition his princedom must now endure? Or does his pride mourn that these shores will never know him as king in ages to come? Or do perhaps his vacant eyes dream of new realms as his undying inheritance in the direction of the setting Sun? Where is my son at this moment, and what sits in his heart?
Beyond this moment, Thranduil realized that, for all their common years, he barely knew this son before him. Legolas had always held more to his own counsel than to that of others, preferring running through the kingdom to running it. And so, occasional hunting trips aside, the prince and the king had spent increasingly little time together through the years. By the time his fierce independence and his relationship with the fletcher had become clearly more than a childish phase, Thranduil would not listen when his beloved Mîriel attempted to educate him on their son. And then her offered insights had been lost. Their elder son took more after father than mother, and had had little better relations with the boy. It had been only in the absence of all his family that Thranduil had finally warmed to Legolas' one love, and from him finally had asked and heard of the man his son had truly become. But those confidences gave him little insight into the fair but faraway face lost in his study now.
"Legolas?" he questioned across the room. And when no answer came, he commanded attention, "Legolas, I would know your thoughts. What insights bring you from your journeys across this world?"
The young prince's eyes shown with returned passion. "I will not speak for the world, father. I know only that I must leave these shores."
Thranduil waved off this change of focus, moving back toward the chairs and table to sip from his glass of wine there. "We all shall sail; that is not the question asked."
The passion cooled in appearance but not in potency, as he stood in calm emphasis. "No father, what my travels have taught me of this change is that I must take the ships West. And soon. Quite soon." As always, the prince's words were few and final—but they held a special weight this day. It was not from stubborn scorn, but from simple fact that he spoke. He looked expectantly for the reaction he knew would come.
In the privacy of his study, the king felt free to react freely to the absolute finality of his son's declaration. He slumped into the chair, wine glass tipping and spilling as he settled. With so much yet to do, and having only just returned, even this child would be taken from him! By the Valar!, he exclaimed inwardly as both interjection and accusation.
Legolas stepped to him quickly, knelt at his knee and took his hand. "Father, I heard in my march on Gondor the ocean gull's song and it will not leave me."
The king stared at him openly, grace of rank and years giving way to utter shock at his son's homecoming so quickly turning to farewell again. He had just begun to hope to know him!
Legolas saw the pain on him, and tried to offer him some explanation, hoping understanding might bring some comfort. "When first I felt the call to sail, it paled still against my love of the forests. The destruction wrought on the woods of Ithilien pained me to see, and I thought immediately to lead some of our people there to begin its restoration as our parting gift to this world and to the realms of men in whose trust we leave it. I intended also to ask again and even demand anew your blessing to marry Dunthon so that we might travel there and beyond as one, but you have bested me with last evening's gift."
Legolas stood and took his turn at the window, absorbed by his own thoughts. "And yet, as this year has passed along my return to the Greenwoods, the sea-longing has grown ever stronger—as perhaps it was for Frodo with the Ring. In my case, though, it was distance from my goal that increased its pull upon me. In my journeys of the past year, I have thought of little else, save returning here on my way to depart. And I fear now, even with your generosity toward us, that my heart's further desire will not let me tarry for the New Year as you announced, but rather make haste with husband for the Gray Havens."
The king focused his thoughts forcibly, drawing on years of anger at this typical selfishness in his younger son. "Again, as usual, you speak of your needs and wants above all others. My child, this is no longer about your own desires; the demands of your people and of this world are now yours. You cannot shirk that responsibility for your own ends."
"Father, you have just said that our days here are ending, that little remains but the healing work already underway. How will four less hands hamper that?"
"They are not just any four hands, my son! While Dunthon's fletching skills may no longer hold their wartime importance, he, like each of our people, has knowledge of and passion for these woods that serve us and it well. And, you, as crown prince, now bear more than your mere hands can carry."
"Father, I accept that leadership is my lot," responded Legolas, more in rage than resignation. "I have grown much in that understanding and skill since last I slept in these woods and these halls. As one who has journeyed much of late, I know that the journey we foresee will be difficult for our people, just as it is for you and for me. Of all Elves, we hold most dearly to these shores, and may be hard-pressed to leave them. Perhaps it best that I, as prince, make real our coming departure by being among the first to sail, to lead the way Westward."
Thranduil all but laughed aloud at this argument, smirking instead that "Your turn of phrase is swift but sour. The concern is not whether our folk will fly, but rather what we can accomplish in our little time remaining. And whether you, having now quested and courted successfully, will accept your final tasks of this age and their acres. You have earned well your Dunthon and your title, but cannot focus on the one and not the other. You will now wed the first, but fail to see that you are already beholden to the other."
"You pushed me away for centuries on account of Dunthon, sent me away to part us, and now would draw me closer to the throne and its obligations in order to drive him away? With such devotion to your people, where is your love for me and mine?"
Thranduil turned away from the accusation, furious at the very suggestion. "I am happy for my son, but am concerned for my heir! Contrary to what you may have presumed, I did not send you to Imladris to part you from your precious Dunthon. Were I that petty, I would have risked him over you on that or some more perilous party. Rather I sent a king's son to represent his father, a prince to practice his royal responsibilities, and a captain to represent his guards failed in their duty to our kin and friends there."
"And as before you and those guards' families, so too before the Council of Elrond did I bear the blame for Gollum's loss. I daresay that burden paled against the pain of disappointing you and of delivering my condolences to the families of the lost." That last burden weighed most heavily on the prince, as pain literally flashed through his body at its memory.
The admission deflated much of the king's rising ire, and he offered almost soothingly, "Such is the weight of leadership, crown prince Legolas; I welcome you to it as I did your brother before you." His face flashed back centuries to the days when he began formally introducing his late son to his large responsibilities. How proud he had been, and how he wished to feel that same connection here, especially when it was really all he had left to connect him directly to this prodigal prince. "I will admit that, though you bore responsibility for the news to be delivered, I had not expected that errand to become for you a march on Mordor itself.
"Instead, I knew that Elrond's folk, for all our differences with them, are a responsible people and I had hoped some experience with them would temper your recklessness. Even when I learned of your selection to the Fellowship, I took great pride in you and also hoped that the exposure might mature you into a leader for your people—especially so when your brother fell, and the crown's inheritance passed to you.
"I have not, in these acts, worked to hurt you or your relations with love, father or people. I wished them to hold us closer to you. Had I known that your travels beyond my borders would instead lure you away from them, I would indeed have kept you home."
"My seeing the wider world does not blind me to the needs of our people, father. Rather, it clears my sight and opens my heart in ways that hiding here in the trees would not have permitted. You have spoken of the changes in our world, and I have seen them, faced them, even bested some—holdovers from past ages, promises for great tomorrows under united men and the present dimming of Elrond and Galadriel alongside whom we must abandon this world as you have said.
"I too have seen that we must depart. I have seen the capable hands of men and even of dwarves in which we leave this world and these woods. I have seen many wonders of this world, that their presence does not change our end, and that, as you say, our presence does harm theirs. We must go West; there you and I agree, adar.
"But for me, I do not choose to go to spite you or otherwise; I simply must—with every moment of me. For all my travel and teachings, I regret that I can explain it no more clearly than that. I simply must." Legolas clenched his fist and held it against his chest, hoping to express the physical strength of the emotion he spoke.
Thranduil stared at him without expression, and then walked to a small stone column, visible from every corner of the room, on which stood a simple statue of a young woman in fine clothes. He reverently placed his hand at the figure's feet, but seemed hesitant to touch her directly. "When your mother was killed, it was as though I had been also—perhaps worse, as death at least brings merciful end to physical pain. But I… I had a kingdom still to govern, two sons, neither with an heir yet likely, and a rising shadow threatening." He stood before the carven figure with tiny gems set into the crown adorning it. "I wondered how I could continue with it all and without her here."
He turned to look Legolas directly in the eyes. "But for those very reasons, I never doubted that I should continue despite the pain."
He looked down again, as if memory and guilt pulled him away from both son and statue. "For myself, so missing her constancy of spirit, her endless beauty and the sparkle of life in her eyes, I sought false comfort in the splendor of gems and gilded things. Rather than lessening the loss of your mother, that grief-born greed instead grew in me—driving me to shameful, mortal gluttony. It was not until it drove me to risk my people, my sons even, for the dwarf and dragon horde in Erebor, that I awoke to it and to the worldly realities from which it had distracted me." The king shook his head with shame and sorrow, age showing on him for the first time in Legolas' long memory. "How could I have been so selfish and foolish?"
Hearing his father speak for the first time about the loss of his wife, his behavior afterwards, and his admission of wrong and regret, moved Legolas deeply. While defiant still, he felt moved to offer some solace, from child to parent. "But, father, it led to stronger friendships with men and dwarves for us, and allies against that goblin horde and those more recent of Mordor. Those relations brought us more regard, and now, greater respect among the lords of elf and men."
"For that I have been grateful," nodded the king as some of his age slipped from him again. "But that respect serves us little now that we are leaving these shores." He looked up toward his son and spoke not with the authority of a king, but rather the passion of a father not wishing his child to repeat his mistake. "I was wrong seeking love in things, in seeking life in substitutes and solitude.Do not let this obsession with the sea take you from the place, and work and people that you love. Our flame here burns short, indeed, but has not yet gone out. Do not be so quick to journey on again."
"If you know me so well, father, you know also that I take after my mother, and will do as I feel I must."
"She was willful, not wild, Legolas," Thranduil corrected sternly, before memories of both drifted through his minds. "But you are correct of both your and her obstinacy—with minds like stone when set on a course. As your father or king I could order you to stay, but I fear that you respect neither robe enough now to obey once your mind is made. So let me ask from a role I have been slow to accept, that of become-father. What of your Dunthon? You have told him of this pending flight?"
Legolas turned away at the question, the answer clear in his pained and guilty look.
Thranduil's heart went out to his child, torn between two such strong desires—a love of thousands of years, and a lifelong destiny newly found. His voice rang with a tenderness Legolas had never heard in connection with the fletcher, and had not heard at all since he was a small child. "He has missed you sorely, Legolas. Though his service never varied, his mood darkened the longer you were away, toward me especially. I offered him what solace I could—his workshop moved out from the mountain, your palace room when he could not climb to his- - your flet. And if his real affection for you were not already clear, now I see that his leg and mood improve by the hour as you've returned."
"He is a part of me, and I of him. We have both been incomplete these seasons apart."
"As I have been without your mother this century separated. That I refused to see the bond between you two for so long, I beg you not to ignore it now." Thranduil walked to his son and took him gently by the shoulders, facing him directly. "So I will ask again, my long-bonded boy, Should your other whole not wish to leave these woods he also loves, what then? If not for parent or people, would you remain a while for love?"
"He told me many stories of these woods, and though I still prefer a sturdy rock roof, they are not displeasing to the eyes."
"I shall take that as high praise from you, Master Dwarf, especially since we have not yet seen an hour's sights," smiled Dunthon as the two walked through clear lanes not far from the palace, passing the groundhomes of many of Thranduil's people. "And would that you might have visited when war, winter and elven weariness had not dimmed their blooming bounty."
Gimli shifted the small pack upon his shoulders, noting how light it was compared to that which he had carried for so many months from Rivendell to Mordor itself. The memory of that perilous path and ultimate destination made him relish this soft and welcoming scenery even more. "Perhaps my people can come and visit after your folk have nursed the Woods back to health."
"And remember us through visits here when we have passed from them finally?" Dunthon's sadness was as close as his thoughts far away. He chose to brighten the mood, by forcing his own feelings to that same distance. "Still, we have much work to do before that Sun sets on us. And in the mean, I shall introduce you to additional beauties of our home."
Gimli smiled in happy assurance, continuing to be amazed by the depth for which these folk could feel for trees and growing things, and the speed with which those same emotions could shift, like storms upon water. "Though I have not visited your king's hall 'ere last night, I have been through your forest once before."
"I know," admitted the guide as they moved beyond the last of the houses in this area, and the trail became considerably less perceptible to the guest. "I was with one of the patrols that tracked your party's passage along the Old Forest Road on your way to Rivendell."
Gimli smarted at the announcement, "You watched us? You knew?"
Dunthon chuckled at the dwarf's shock, "Of course. Our woods have never been so under shadow that we could not sense and surveil a band of dwarves on the march. You should be thankful that orcs and spiders are not so keen or curious. Our scouts tracked you from the moment you approached the forest, until you passed from sight across the other side. Thranduil dispatched Legolas and his party several days later, and they overtook you along the mountain paths."
Gimli continued to gape silently in astonishment, and so Dunthon offered some consolation. "These woods are our home, and we will watch them for all entries as surely as you would for men in the tunnels of the Lonely Mountain, yes?"
Gimli grumbled some form acceptance of this comparison, and made note to speak with the under-chiefs among his people's warriors on both their stealth travel and their mountain security.
"I am surprised," said Dunthon as they passed through a thicket of firs, under which a thin layer of year-old ash still sat, safe to date from cleansing rains. "That Legolas did not tell you of this during your journeys?"
"In truth, he offered very little. When he spoke, he shared mostly of his own activities and adventures in the Mirkwood and just beyond. He rarely mentioned, much less told stories of friends and relations, save his songs of old."
"We Wood-elves are a private people, Gimli, and do not share with outsiders so openly as do halflings, men and even your hardy folk."
The dwarf shook his head and rolled his eyes in exemplary expression of that very point, "Warm is not among the words I would count in describing your fair race, even with your hospitality and grace."
Dunthon smiled amusedly, if not warmly, as Gimli realized how honest he had been. Fearing he again had again overstepped some sylvan social more, Gimli fumbled to unsay his words. He made a start to apologize, but was stopped before he could utter a sound. "Be at peace; I took no offense. You are honest, and quite correct."
Gimli gave a relieved sigh as they began to ascend a small rise. To continue his tale, and as a peace offering of sorts, he added, "As I shared foolishly at our meeting, of the few names and titles Legolas shared, yours came forth most frequently and fondly." Blushing at the admission, he confided further, "I believe I now recognize your proper name from some of his quiet songs and walking-dream whispers which I occasionally overheard."
It was Dunthon's turn to blush slightly, both pleased at the news and embarrassed at Gimli's knowledge of it. "You are most observant, son of Glóin, for moreso than I gave your folk credit. You educate me greatly as to the values and value of the dornhoth."(7)
They walked a while in silence, as Dunthon stopped here and there to touch a tree or shrub, or to listen to the faint warble of songbirds welcoming spring. Gimli let him lead, not sure where they were headed, for the Elf seemed to follow no discernible path despite his confident and sometimes stiff strides, and to take interest in the most mundane of blossoms and branches along the way. Between brief elven lectures on the name, life cycle and history of particular plants, Gimli took stock of this counterpart and companion to his original elven friend.
Despite his lessening limp, his movements through the forested trails showed a clear ease. This elf stood slightly taller than Legolas when fully upright, and his hair and eyes were much darker. More generally, his features held a more rugged grace than did the prince's; perhaps Gimli's eye was training to notice such subtle differences among elven classes. He felt moved to learn more from this elf, who unlike so many others, seemed ready and willing to speak forthrightly and not in such word knots as in which other elves reveled.
"I am grateful for this introduction to your home and lands, Dunthon, and for finally meeting the people important to my archer friend. As I've said, he was close-tongued despite our friendship. I wonder if you might also share with me more insight on the prince we have in common? We perhaps have a short while before the King and prince will join us for lunch?"
"They will talk for some time, Gimli," stated Dunthon calmly, as if reminding him that the Sun shown or the trees grew about them.
"An elven time or a mortal one?"
Dunthon smiled, seeing that his reminder was not entirely necessarily. "Well asked, Gimli. You have learnt much about us indeed. And as to your question, which it is depends greatly on their own and joint moods. For on Legolas' departure for Rivendell, the threat of Dol Guldur was not the only dark cloud to have settled on the royal family."
"How so?"
"My dear dwarf," laughed the fletcher. "I said that we had some time to walk and speak, but you ask for the story of nearly the entire age passed!"
"I would ask then that you humor me, and our long-talking lords, with the mortal-length version of the tales you have in mind."
"Very well, my friend. But do not think me poor host for covering great distance with both feet and words as we continue."
"I trust your good judgment, and shall measure your graciousness by the generosity of your tales."
And with that, Dunthon smiled and proceeded to provide Gimli a guided tour of both acres of forest and ages of elven life….
Text Notes
1 Melin tye – Quenya: "I love you." (my own construction based on available vocabulary and grammatical rules) Yando – Quenya: literally "Also," here used as a reciprocal, "I do too/also."
2 Quenya: "beloved"
3 Sindarin: "joy" (a playful abbreviation of Legolas' name)
4 Quenya: "Our secret" (my own construction from fólë "secret" -lma pronominal possessive ending "our")
5 Sindarin: "my one"
6 Sindarin: "elf friend" (ell "elf" lenited mellon "friend)
7 Sindarin: "the dwarves" (collectively)