~8~
Song of the Forest, part 2
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Lainathiel opened the door to the Council chamber with a creak, entering the room with her eyes downcast. It was quiet, mostly, with the murmur of soft voices speaking in hushed tones, but even those immediately quieted when she returned. Glancing up to face them, her countenance was grave. "There is no sign of the Prince," she relayed the news in a solemn, grim tone. "He has not returned."
There was a soft, collective sigh of disappointment, though their discontent was not with Lainathiel. She and a patrol of guards had tracked Legolas' trail as far as Dol Guldur before they turned back, unwilling to risk a skirmish with orcs when said orcs held their King captive. It was a precarious situation, one that was made ever the more unstable with the disappearance of Legolas. Raenor had informed the council of the Prince's actions and his intentions, but there was nothing any of them could do now except wait for his return.
Raenor shook his head slowly. "I worry for him," he began. "But there is nothing we can do. Our patrols have scoured the woods as far as fifty leagues south of here, but there is no trail, no tracks, nothing."
The four members of the King's Council stood around the rectangular table in the center of the room, their faces anywhere from worried to agitated. They were Thranduil's most trusted advisors, and in the absence of both the royals, they were also in charge of the upkeep of the kingdom's affairs. It was a less daunting task with four people rather than one, but they did not always agree on a course of action. This was to be expected from such a varied group of elves, but it was no less tiresome to have the same arguments over and over again.
Aerendil had never been a warrior, but he was one of the best tacticians Mirkwood had ever known, and his wisdom made him a valuable voice in decisions of importance. He had served Thranduil's father before him as an advisor, and Oropher had valued his counsel just as Thranduil did now.
As the most experienced healer in Mirkwood, Eirien was the head of the healing halls, though her temperament was not to be trifled with. She had been a warrior in her youth some two and a half thousand years ago, but a devastating injury to the tendons in her elbow had left her unable to wield a bow and unable to perform her duties as captain of the archers. Her foray into healing had been out of compassion; she wanted to heal others to keep what had happened to her from happening to any other young warriors who had the misfortune to get themselves injured. Her voice provided valuable insight from within the walls of the elven stronghold, and she was strong-willed but sensible, seeking compromise over conflict most times.
The Silvan lord Elduin was neither a warrior nor any kind of fighter, but he was a diplomat, and his skill with words was a valuable asset when it came to negotiations. His quick wit and persuasive charm had earned him the nickname Silvertongue, affectionate among his friends and not so much so among the tradesmen of Esgaroth and Erebor.
Miredhion son of Tassarion was the last and most sharp-tongued of the Council, a Noldorin transplant to the forest a few thousand years back. His father had married a Silvan woman and come to Mirkwood to live among her people once her child was born, but Miredhion was more of a Noldo than even his father had been. He was keenly intellectual and had eyes like an eagle for small details, but he had a reputation for being rather frosty towards his peers. He had little patience for those who could not hold their own in a verbal spar, and he could often be seen frowning, blue eyes cool and reprimanding towards seemingly everyone and everything. But his presence on the Council was important, even if he was often at odds with their Sindarin king.
Eirien's tired sigh broke the silence, and she glanced at Lainathiel with a solemn face. "Thank you for the news," she said sincerely, though her words were heavy with the gravity of the situation as she addressed all those present. "But we cannot wait for the Prince forever. If we wait too long, it could be a disaster."
"But what can we do?" asked Aerendil gravely, his flint-colored eyes roaming over each face in the room, as if searching for an answer in their expression. "Our hands are tied. Thranduil is captured and Legolas is Elbereth knows where."
"Are we to run around squawking like headless hens?" Miredhion asked bitingly, his tone impatient. "We cannot dally around waiting for them to find a way back to us. The only way to preserve this kingdom is to take action." He was not famous for his patience, nor for his tact.
"And what is your plan, then?" Eirien retorted sharply, turning her reproachful gaze on him. "You find it very easy to criticize and complain, Miredhion, but you offer us no help with it."
But before the conversation could devolve further into an argument, Lainathiel spoke up. "Prince Legolas had planned to send a letter to Imladris," she blurted, almost by accident. "I was to bear the message to Lord Elrond."
All the council members looked at her, mildly surprised. "For what purpose?" inquired Elduin, somewhat skeptical. He knew that the King's relationship with the Noldorin lords was businesslike at best, and the two had little contact otherwise.
"To ask for his aid, of course," Lainathiel answered, her tone respectful but insistent. "It would certainly help if we had some assistance in these matters."
Elduin frowned slightly. Being a Silvan elf himself, he was not overeager to ask for help from outsiders, especially ones who were so distant. "I do not know if that would be wise. Mirkwood matters are our own, and the intrusion of foreigners would be more of a hindrance than a help."
Aerendil's expression was thoughtful, and he did not seem so averse to the idea. "Do not be so quick to dismiss aid, Elduin," he remarked. "We may very well need it if this situation takes a nasty turn."
"And the elven council will have noticed King Thranduil's absence by now," Lainathiel added in, though she glanced down apologetically when she realized she had spoken out of turn. "…We at least owe it to him to explain."
Eirien nodded. "She has a point," she conceded, glancing at the three other Council members. "It is important to remain in communication with our Noldorin kin, especially in times such as these."
Aerendil nodded his approval as well. "Let her go," he agreed. "We could not find another messenger so well-prepared."
"Very well," Elduin conceded after a moment of thought. At least now they had some kind of plan. "Depart as soon as you can. There is no time to waste."
Lainathiel held back a broad grin, though she couldn't help but smile. Maybe there was some way she could help fix this mess after all. "Yes, my lord." She glanced at Raenor, silently asking for permission to be dismissed. He was, officially, her commanding officer, after all.
"You are relieved of your patrol duties for this journey, Lainathiel," he said without missing a beat, his expression characteristically stoic. "You may go. Leave immediately, and take the fastest horse in the stables."
"Yes, my lord," Lainathiel replied hurriedly, giving a short bow before she disappeared through the door again, going to gather supplies and saddle her horse. She had a long journey ahead of her.
~oOo~
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Legolas stared at Melwasúl for a second, momentarily surprised. "The Avari?" he repeated. "They still reside here?" He had always known, he supposed, that they existed and that they still lived a mostly solitary life somewhere in Middle Earth, but very little was spoken of them. Mostly because no one ever saw them, and they had virtually no involvement in the affairs of even the elves, let alone the rest of Middle Earth.
"Of course we do," Melwasúl replied dryly, not at all surprised that this clueless Sinda had no knowledge of her people. Very few did, after all, for the Avari did not wish to be found and preferred to be left to the company of their forest. "Did you think we had simply disappeared into thin air?"
Legolas blinked. "I… No, I did not think that," he said after a moment. "...Forgive me, but I am very confused. Why did you help me?" He didn't speak aloud the rest of his curiosities. Taking things a little at a time would be for the best, he decided. To err on the side of caution was better than to be too brash, from a diplomatic perspective, and Legolas had gotten quite good at that, what with being the crown Prince of Mirkwood and all.
Melwasúl's gaze shifted to the side, and she looked briefly uncomfortable. "You would have died otherwise, and we are not in the practice of leaving innocent elves to die." Even if they are not one of our own, she added silently. Bringing an outsider into the reclusive realm of her people had been a risk, but elves were few enough in number as it was without letting more die needlessly.
"And for that you have my thanks," Legolas said sincerely, inclining his head respectfully. "But… I must be on my way soon. It is urgent that I return home as soon as possible."
Immediately Melwasúl's mismatched eyes pinned him with a stern look. "You are not going anywhere with your shoulder in that condition," she said in a tone that brooked no argument. "You've only just woken up after nearly two days, and your fever broke only last night."
"Two days?" Legolas' eyes went wide in alarm, and his body stiffened as he sat up straight. He winced at the twinge that went through his shoulder but quickly recovered, ignoring the stiffness and aches in his muscles. "I cannot afford to waste any more time! Where is my horse?"
"Your horse is well-cared for," she replied, though a light push with her palm against his chest was enough to make him nearly fall back onto his elbows. "But you must rest, just as he is doing now."
"You do not understand," Legolas insisted, starting to get impatient as he looked at her imploringly. "My father is held captive by the orcs of Dol Guldur, and the only chance I have of saving him now is to get back to the Mirkwood palace and get help!"
But Melwasúl seemed mostly indifferent, her reaction one of confusion rather than concern. "Dol Guldur? Orcs? There are no such creatures in our forest. We have seen rogue wargs and bats but naught else."
Legolas sighed impatiently, making a helpless gesture with his hands. "The orcs, they occupy the old fortress atop Amon Lanc," he explained after a moment, impatient. "It is a dark place, full of ruin and evil magic."
Melwasúl gave a soft sigh, shaking her head slightly. "If all that is true, then there is little chance that your father is alive now," she said with a glance at Legolas, her gaze sympathetic for a brief moment. But then her expression returned to a cool neutral, and she looked him in the eyes. "There is nothing that you can do for him now. Rest and let your wounds heal."
Such a grave and final pronouncement hit a little too close to home for Legolas, and it made him prickle with indignation. "My father is not dead!" he retorted sharply. "I saw him! I went to Dol Guldur, and…" He trailed off, remembering the disastrous outcome of their escape plan and feeling a sick dread settle in the pit of his stomach. After what had happened, and what he had heard… The orcs were marching to Gundabad, and Elbereth only knew what that meant for Thranduil.
Legolas shook his head again suddenly, refusing to let himself think such thoughts. "No. I will not believe it," he said steadfastly, looking at Melwasúl. "Not until I have seen his body with my own eyes." It was a challenge to his own shadowed doubts, really, and saying it out loud helped to reassure him.
The elleth wanted to roll her eyes, but she refrained. This one was so needlessly stubborn, she thought. Especially when he needed to be resting. He had almost died from poison just a day earlier and he was already picking an argument? Although, she supposed, the Sindar always had been rather bullheaded. "Whatever you wish to believe," she said simply. Then there was a pause, and she realized something. "…what is your name?"
The Prince just looked at her for a moment, somewhat exasperated that she hadn't even been listening to what he said earlier. "Legolas," he replied. "Legolas Thranduilion."
Melwasúl gave a short pause, then nodded. "Well then, Legolas," she said, rising to her feet, which were bare of shoes or leggings. "I must go now, but I will be back."
She started to leave, pushing aside the curtain draped over the entranceway, but Legolas hastily stood and touched her arm, ignoring the pain in his stiff muscles. "Wait," he said quickly. "I am coming with you. I will not be a bother."
She frowned. "You need to be resting," she insisted, hoping to get him off her back. She needed to take this news to Celebrynd… If Thranduil's son was in the heart of their haven, Celebrynd would want to know, she was certain. "Lay down and don't strain yourself. I'll be back very soon." All of what she had heard from Legolas was rather confusing, and Celebrynd would be able to clear it up. The last time they had met with the Sindarin elves, Oropher had been king and his son Thranduil only an elfling… Had it really been so long and so much changed?
"I will go mad if I have to sit here and do nothing any longer," Legolas protested, hoping to gain her sympathy. "I have been lying down for two days already. I will be fine." It was mostly the truth; his shoulder was the least of his worries at the moment. Besides, he wanted to see what the home of the Avari was like, and a little information gathering never hurt.
Melwasúl rolled her eyes. "Very well. But stay close to me, or you will get lost," she warned as she let go of the curtain covering the doorway, turning away and not waiting for Legolas to follow.
Legolas swept the curtain aside and made to follow her in a hurry, but he was caught by surprise by what he saw outside. They were standing on a platform built quite literally into the tree, or rather from the tree as its branches curled around the base to support the elegantly crafted house that wrapped around the tree's massive trunk. The whole structure was built around the tree, an almost circular home made of green wood and broad leaves woven together to keep the roof and the inside dry. It was all made from parts of the forest, Legolas noted with awe, and unlike the stone halls of the Elvenking's palace, built into the rock for fortification and defensibility, these dwellings were up in the air, open and free in a way he had never seen before. They were cozy within, but standing on the open platform outside the small dwelling gave Legolas a bird's-eye view of the forest, and it was an entirely new experience for him despite years of climbing trees before this.
Melwasúl looked amused, her blue and brown eyes glimmering with silent laughter. "Are you coming?" she asked, lips quirking up in a smile as she raised an eyebrow. "There will be plenty of time to stare later."
Legolas looked only a little embarrassed at being caught gawking, and he chuckled softly as he followed her across a bridge made of winding, twisting branches all woven together to create a sturdy walkway, wide enough for three to walk abreast. "I have never seen such a place before," he admitted.
"Of course you haven't," Melwasúl said with a soft chuckle of amusement, though her smile seemed cryptic. "This is why we chose to live here. We do not much like to be bothered with visitors."
Legolas glanced around, seeing similar tree dwellings all around them, connected by bridges or with staircases that wound around the tree's broad trunk and led to the ground. "How do you do it?" he asked, unable to help but be curious. Even among the elves of Lothlórien and Imladris, he had never seen such a thing.
Her smile became even more cryptic, if that was possible, and she gave a quiet laugh. "We ask," she said simply. When Legolas looked at her in confusion, she continued. "We ask the trees, and they help us make our homes among them. We sing to them, and tell them our stories, and they tell us theirs in return." Upon reaching the platform on the other side of the bridge, Melwasúl took a turn toward a downward staircase, pausing for a moment beside the tree's broad trunk.
Legolas stayed close, blinking in confusion. Though he knew that the trees certainly had voices, and that the Silvan people were sometimes able to commune with them, this was on an entirely new level. "I am afraid I do not understand," he replied after a moment.
She laughed at this, which surprised him. "I know," she chuckled, her laughter almost musical. "You would not understand unless you had seen it."
Legolas frowned, only further confused by this. "You answer my questions with things I can make no answer of at all." He followed Melwasúl down the staircase, watching her long, unbraided dark hair sway back and forth with her steps.
She glanced at him over her shoulder, blue eye gleaming in cryptic amusement. At the bottom of the steps, she turned and tapped a finger between his eyes. "There is much you do not see," she commented. "And if you are lucky, perhaps you will learn to open your eyes."
Legolas resisted the urge to sigh. Did all Avari have a habit of speaking in riddles? It was like talking to a wizard! He didn't bother to reply as he stepped off the last step of the staircase, his feet sinking slightly into the soft, peaty earth. He followed Melwasúl but took the time to observe their surroundings as he went, unable to help but be fascinated by it all. There were homes on the ground level as well, and elves, some in deerskins and some in long geometrically-patterned tunics and shimmering beaded jewelry, milled about the secluded forest with a sense of calm purpose. Their voices were soft but their eyes were sharp and observant, and none of them missed Legolas walking past, with his white-blond hair and green Mirkwood tunic. They spoke an odd dialect of Sindarin, he noticed, not too much different from his own native tongue but with some words and constructions he didn't recognize. He could understand them well enough, but some of the things they said to each other were a mystery to him.
He watched ellith with half their hair in elaborate topknot braids and the other half flowing loose pass by with woven baskets balanced on their heads or on their backs, murmuring amongst themselves. Elflings scurried about with wide, wary eyes, darting in and out of trees and bushes as they played, barefoot and often only clothed from the waist down. They sometimes giggled and always disappeared whenever Legolas made eye contact, and the Prince merely smiled back at them when they stared, quirking an eyebrow in curiosity. But they never spoke, merely darted off like shadows with long dark hair.
Melwasúl made a sudden turn right, and Legolas had to quickly stop his sightseeing to follow her into the start of a narrow but neat path, bordered by more trees that seemed to cast a forest-colored light over the trail. "Done staring yet?" she asked without looking over her shoulder.
Legolas was about to give an answer, but he was abruptly cut off as Melwasúl stopped suddenly with one hand held up, and his reply was quickly forgotten in his confusion. The elleth turned to face him with a serious, unwavering stare.
"You are to show due respect to our leader," she said firmly, mismatched eyes trained on Legolas' own.
"Your king?" Legolas inquired, raising an eyebrow. "I do not know him."
Melwasúl shook her head and tugged Legolas through a curtain of willow branches and into a clearing bathed in warm forest-colored light, while an elf and an imposing sable antelope stood in its center, surrounded by a corona of light from behind.
"Celebrynd is not a king."
Legolas looked at the elf and the large animal for a moment, caught slightly off-guard. The tall, slender elf before him had short-cropped hair, slightly curly but golden as the sun's rays, with an elegant circlet of leaves and autumn berries settled atop the curls. Celebrynd's pale skin seemed to glow in the light of the sun from behind, amber-colored eyes brilliant and smoldering like the embers of a fire flecked with gold. The elf's gaze seemed to look straight into Legolas' own soul, like a hawk staring down a mouse from the sky above, until at last the thin pink lips curved up into a smile that was both knowing and silently laughing.
"Legolas Thranduilion," said Celebrynd with a fluid gesture of one pale hand, which was tattooed with intricate gold lines, eyes at once glimmering and cold. "I have been expecting you."
A/N: The other half of last chapter is here, lol. I know some of you were looking forward to Thranduil's POV, but I couldn't just leave poor Legolas hanging with just half a chapter. But hey, next week's chapter is going to have some major events happening! Oh, and feathered moon wings: yes, yes they have XD the Avari do not play well with others (as you will find out later). Thank you all for your continued support, though; it makes my day to see all your comments and your feedback! Hope you enjoyed reading!
