Chapter 8 – Riddles in the Dark

The rain pattered ruthlessly against the windows, spurred on by the incessant wind. It had blown the inky darkness into the room, along with the smell of leaves, soil and shadows unique to a showery night.

Sleep was hidden from her. Perhaps it was the weather and the noise it brought, or perhaps it was the din of her own thoughts; but tiredness evaded Eroth, leaving her shifting and restless in the discomfort of her bed. Frustrated, she turned and hid her face against the pillow.

Something felt cool and damp against the fabric, and Eroth dragged a hand across her eyes in alarm. Crying was foolish; she was no longer an Elfling. The young elleth sniffed, suppressing the heaviness in her heart, and squeezed her eyes together in an attempt to rest.

"I am leaving for Lothlorien shortly, nethel nin."

"Why?" She burst out, after a moment of incredulous silence.

"Half a century I have passed here, and it has been a halcyon time."

Eroth fixed him with a look of bewilderment. "Yet you promised, hanar nin."

"Lorien has been constantly on my mind. I have dreamt often of golden leaves, and anticipated my future there in my waking moments." His tone was gentle.

"Have you not grown in any way attached to Greenwood, after all these years?"

"Of course I have, dear sister. I will miss you all deeply, and recall this forest with fondness."

"But those memories would not induce you to stay, hanar nin?"

"I have remained in Eryn Lasgalen for much longer than I had planned, because of my attachment, Eroth. Perhaps I have lingered too long."

"What difference will a few more years make?" She demanded, insistent.

Nonetheless, her brother merely stood and pressed a kiss to her forehead. His look turned sympathetic when she gripped his hand pleadingly, but his step was steady when he left the room.

"Mellon nin."

With dizzying speed, Eroth sat up in the darkened room. Where had she left her knives? Her heart began to beat fast within her chest. She hadn't yet learnt how to fight in the darkwhat had she to do? Smother her opponent with blankets? "Who is this? Show yourself."

"'Tis I, Dree." Soft footsteps crossed the room, and the elleth saw a shadow move towards her bed. The faint moonlight revealed pale hair and familiar features.

"Legolas?" The elleth whispered in amazement, "What are you doing here? Has something happened?"

"I wanted to come here and ease your mind a little." Her friend moved to balance himself on the edge of her bed. He smelt of grass and rain and the frost-tinted night air. "Parting is never a joyful matter."

"By disturbing my sleep? How courteous, Thranduilion." Eroth turned away, slowly adjusting the cushions. Anything to hide her smile.

"Dina, mellon, I risked your father's wrath to be here at this hour."

Having finished her examinations of the fabric of her cushions, the elleth looked at her friend. Nevertheless, she had failed to conceal her bright eyes and dimpled cheek, despite having exerted efforts to erase her smile. "Very well then, I suppose you could stay."

Eroth slipped off the bed, shifting bare-footed on the icy floorboards as they began a mission in making themselves more comfortable. Moments later, they had heaped some pillows haphazardly against the nearest wall, and settled down with a folded blanket pulled over their shivering forms.

"Want to challenge me to a game of riddles, Dree?"

"I am so grateful for your company at this instance," was the mirthful reply, "that I am almost hesitant in injuring your pride."

"Do you deem my defeat inevitable?"

"I merely deem it highly probable."

"In which case, let us test if my pride is as easily susceptible as you consider it to be."

Eroth quirked an eyebrow, but made no further protest. "Lle auta yeste' Thranduilion." (you go first)

The rain and the wind still mourned in the forest beyond, and a ghostly light had drifted into the room. The elleth closed her eyes as she listened to the riddle; fatigue was finally making its elusive presence felt, and Eroth leant back on her cushion, resisting the urge to seek sleep upon her friend's shoulder. She was sure Legolas would not appreciate such an action.

"Until I am measured I am not known,

Yet how you miss me when I have flown.

What am I?" Legolas began. If he noticed Eroth's abstraction, he chose not to comment.

Eroth pulled the blankets tighter around them, tugging at a loose tassel. "It's 'time', isn't it?"

"Ay, mellon nin."

"Thranduilion?"

"Have I ever mentioned my preference for another name?"

There was a pause. "Have you wondered what it feels like to be mortal?"

"Many times, Dree."

"There; you call me by an alternative title as well. Well, what notions have you formed of it?

"I have always thought mortality would be somewhat similar," Legolas replied quietly, "that is – until the loneliness sets in."

The rain had stopped; somewhere in the distance, a scatter of lights were reignited. Eroth watched their languid glow bleed into the darkness, her thoughts turbulent. Legolas would not always be there. Sometime in the future, Eroth would have to face immortality alone.

Cool fingers brushed her cheek, and Eroth turned to meet her friend's steady gaze. "Your turn," he said softly, his eyes wide and dark in the moonlit room; the shadows had veiled their usual blue tint.

A smile tugged at the elleth's lips as Legolas caught a strand of coppery hair, idly twisting it into a small braid. Feeling a strange surge of affection for the ellon beside her, Eroth decided to favour him with a relatively common conundrum.

"What has roots as nobody sees,

Is taller than trees

Up, up it goes,

And yet never grows?"

A smirk danced onto Legolas' features, and Eroth cursed herself for being weakened by his pleasantries. "I recall," the ellon murmured, "it is that which is:

Stronger than steel,

Older than time;

More patient than death,

Stand will they until the stars have ceased to shine."

Legolas tucked the finished plait behind Eroth's ear. "Shall we say it together then, mellon nin?"

"'Tis a mountain."

"You see, Dree," Legolas followed pleasantly, "that your faith in your success may not be entirely justified."

There was a note of smugness in his voice which Eroth was determined to erase. The elf must get his arrogance from his father. Resting her head against her hand, she indicated for the ellon to commence.

"As destructive as life,

As healing as death;

An instituter of strife,

Just as prone to bless,

It is all that is good,

Yet with an evil trend;

As it was the beginning of things,

It can also be the end.

What am I?"

Legolas watched as a crease formed between Eroth's brows; the riddle had perplexed her. Her fingers were tapping out rhythms on the quilt of the blanket, and the ellon wondered briefly whether they reflected the pattern of her thoughts, before her triumphant voice drew him out of his musings.

"I suppose," Eroth said slowly, "the answer is love."

"Nay, mellon nin," Legolas said, startled, "'tis fire."

Her brows drew together. "Love applies as well, I would think."

The ellon regarded her curiously. "You do have a very harsh view on love."

"'Tis true, is it not? You wouldn't find a painless love had you searched as far as the Sea of Rhŭn." Upon meeting no reply, Eroth continued softly:

"As beautiful as the setting sun

As delicate as the morning dew;

An angel's dusting from the stars

That turns the land to a frozen moon."

Her voice had faded as she spoke, the ending notes melting from her lips like frost under the sun. Her hands were folded against her cheek, and her head had slipped down onto the pillows. The moonlight fluttered on her lashes, shimmering against her closed lids, and lavished its silvery light upon the elleth's sleeping form. Legolas reached over and slowly drew her plait out from under her cheek, where it would have left an imprint when morning dawned. Upon deftly undoing the braid, the ellon blew out the candle and withdrew from the bed.

"It is well that you slept," murmured he, casting one last look back, "for I knew not the answer."


Guided by the hoary moonlight, a guard was making his weary way home from his patrol. Hastily, he strode through the sleeping settlement, passing only extinguished lamps and drawn curtains. That is, until a sparkle of some kindled flame appeared in the corner of his vision. The guard turned to find the window of a nearby house aglow with orange light, wherein two shadows – indistinct, but youthful, figures – appeared to be huddled together. Erewhile, that candle within was snuffed and, emerging from the window, a figure descended from the elevated platform, before disappearing into the darkness.

The guard could only stare, his eyes wide, somewhat taken aback by such a queer happening. From the bedroom of Balthoron's daughter! He would never have thought. Yet, upon coming to the evaluation that young love was not to be intervened with, and that it was not part of his duty to report such an event, the guard continued his journey. The lover must be a nimble fellow, to be able to move so stealthily. Had he not seen it with his own eyes…

The guard redoubled his pace. Although his wife would have retired, there would be dinner left on the table, and a brown loaf with cheese would suffice to satisfy his growing hunger.


Not soon after that night of riddles, a company had been assembled to escort Balthoron's son to the Golden Wood of Lorien. As the company melted back into the hooded trees, the little elleth watched sorrowfully when her brother's dark hair disappeared behind the intruding branches. A mere child she was then, in Elven terms, barely older than an Elfling, and her brother would not see her again until she was something quite different – both in countenance and status.