The Forodwaith Awakens
Not before battle, when gauging the size and strength of the enemy, nor after, when gazing upon death and destruction, had Legolas ever felt like this: such anguish as could rock his very soul. To know that she had been within his grasp, but that he had lost his lady out of his own sheer stupidity; to know that the damage was irrevocable - this was more dreadful than anything he had known. And then there was the emptiness and the longing. He would never engage in the physical expression of his love for her. It was nearly unbearable.
Legolas ran to the forest just east of the palace and there spoke of his grief to the trees. But he sensed that even they looked upon him in anger. Eventually he found a forgiving willow who offered him a resting place among his roots. Legolas succumbed to a fitful sleep and awoke with the rising sun. He was covered in a blanket of leaves that protected him from the morning dew.
"Thank you, old friend," he murmured and the willow's lower branches swayed. A single leaf fell from the tree into Legolas' outstretched hand. The leaf had crude markings, as if etched by bark. It resembled script and Legolas cried out, "Of course! I must write her a letter!"
So he headed back to the palace and sought paper and ink.
The night had not been long enough to assuage Lady Narya's vexation. She spent the whole of the next day confined to her room processing her feelings, many of which she did not understand. It was now clear that her disappointment came from false hope. What did she really know about Legolas Greenleaf, Prince of Mirkwood? Aside from the legend, what did she know of the real elf? Next to nothing, she had to admit. And in her limited acquaintance with him she had experienced intense anger, embarrassment, irritation, and wounded pride –all negative emotions. So how could she have been so naïve as to hope for his love?
She developed several theories to answer that question. Could she have been blinded by his beauty? No! She refused to believe she was that shallow. Then could she have been led astray by the sensations of the little liberties he had taken with her? Impossible! That would degrade her to the ranks of a wanton, she who prided herself in being the very model of propriety. Then why was she willing to give him her heart? He certainly had not said or done anything to deserve such a treasure.
But she could not doubt that the Valar had been watching. She felt their presence in the garden, she felt their blessing of the union. Was it their will that she should accept his hand? Narya remembered his cruel words about her mother and she felt new stabbings in her chest. Her eyes pooled with tears as images of her mother filled her mind. Narya's memories of her mother were very limited. She was so young when her mother died. She only remembered her wide, kind eyes and her soft, loving touch. She remembered her kisses and lullabies. But above all, she remembered her sadness. Narya wondered if she was finally happy. She wondered if Mandos had united her with her firstborn. And she wondered when her mother and brother would find their way to Valinor.
Narya heaved in distress and cried earnestly now, seeking the same relief last night's tears had brought her. And in the onslaught she heard it again. It was a faint cry, an invitation from the sea. And like the first time she heard it, she grew afraid. Narya immediately dried her tears, and the calling stopped. She knew what it was. Her father had told her about it. It started faint and weary, but grew with time and grief, until it became a power so irresistible it had to be obeyed. Narya attempted to distract her thoughts by going out to her balcony for some fresh afternoon air.
Just before sunset Narya heard a great commotion. Lyneth burst through her doors crying out in rapture, "My Lady, your brother Arvellon is here!"
"Where?" cried Narya, all grief forgotten. "Where is he?"
"He is ascending! Quickly! We must dress you."
The eleths flew into a kerfuffle and within minutes Narya was dressed. She closed the door on the chaos that was now her room and stepped into her sitting room. Moments later there was an animated knock and Arvellon burst through the door. Happy was Lyneth to witness that loving encounter. Brother and sister embraced as Lyneth retired to her rooms.
"By the Valar, little sister, you have given us a scare!" he bellowed and dropped Narya from his bear hug. Arvellon was larger than life, a big oaf of an elf who knew not how to be gentle. With brows knit and curiosity burning in his eyes, he asked, "What is wrong? Our brother is beside himself with worry. Alas! He could not be spared from our regiment."
Narya suddenly felt silly at having written her letter. "Nothing is wrong. I was just homesick. I am very sorry to have inconvenienced you, brother. But it is so good to see you. And how does Arveldir fare?"
Arvellon smiled slyly and announced, "He is madly in love with a Mirkwood eleth! But I beg you, tell him not that I spoiled his surprise. He wanted to tell you himself!"
"I can hardly believe it! And who may this eleth be, I wonder?" Narya was truly surprised that their pragmatic elder brother had finally fallen.
Arvellon's smile faded as if he suddenly remembered something and quickly began, "I'm sorry, I cannot stay. I bring urgent tidings to the king, but I would not be easy until I had first seen you." He roughly cupped her cheek with his large hand. "The counsel is assembling as we speak, so I must go."
"And what is the nature of your tidings?" asked Narya worried.
"I wish I could tell you not to worry, sister, but we are at the brink of war."
"War?" cried Narya in dismay. "But how? The war to end all wars has passed. And we were victorious."
"Yes, but at the Lord Elrond's request, we have been building a wall with watchtowers along the border of the Forodwaith."
"The Northern Waste," mused Narya, "the beginning of all evils on Middle Earth."
"Yes, it is believed that many fell things still abide there. And we have been keeping a diligent watch. These ten years all has been quiet. But as of late something has awakened in the deep."
"What has awakened?" she asked with a sudden chill.
"We do not know. But we spied a battalion of exiles sneaking in. King Thranduil feels that we are at the brink of war. He has sent messengers to all our kingdoms requesting an army."
"A mustering," she said in a daze.
"Yes."
"Then let us not delay any longer. We must go swiftly to the king," she said and brother and sister made their way to the throne room.
