-ooOOoo—

To Mr. T. Brown

Wiltshire, The Green Wood, Rhovanion

Dear Cousin,

It is an outrage what your farmer militia has done to my students and the Gondorian guards. They do not appreciate being run off by charging cows and pitchforks. Do you not understand what sits beneath this hill, buried by time? It is a goldmine of old elfin archaeological artifacts! You leave me no choice but to involve my superiors.

Yours Truly,

Mr. B. Surrey

Academiae Hall, Old Minis Tirith, Gondor

-ooOOoo—

Entry Ten:

Twenty years passed. That was easy for me to do. For Arwen, it wasn't as easy. She didn't have many years to spare with her Numenorean, and I watched her grow more anxious as each year passed. The man wished to prove his worth, and he seemed to have a plan to do it, though it seemed to be moving along in a roundabout way. He was not often in Rivendell anymore, and spent most of his time in the west, guarding the Shire or the places roundabout from the darkness that was slowly spreading across the land. Now, he had left for the Southron regions, being of a mind to scout for my father and Gandalf the Grey, regarding Sauron and his strength in Mordor. He was quite good at scouting, or rangering, as he liked to call it.

I said it was easy for me to let twenty years pass, and I must clarify that it was not easy, but it was hard in a different way than it was for Arwen. She knew Aragorn loved her. I was left in the imbalance of not knowing anything for certain, and in eventually wondering if my memories were real or imaginary, or if I have been the mad one all along. I wondered if I had been merely a foolish youth stuck in a king's game, which idea filled me with both shame and fury.

Of course, Thranduil never wrote once, but Legolas did often, and maybe it was his letters that proved to me that I was sane and that it was as I remembered it. He told me here and there and between the lines that Thranduil wasn't the same since I left. If he was grey before I came, he was greyer yet, now. It was only through the observations of Legolas that I knew I'd had any true impact at all on the Elvenking.

One day in spring, Arwen and I were sitting in one of Rivendell's libraries, studying old texts. Well, she was reading them and I was scribing them, since they were old and needed redone anyway. She had always had a strong interest in histories and so this was work she enjoyed. It kept me occupied, and could be moderately interesting, however, nothing had seemed the same since my time scribing in the court of the Greenwood.

We finished one of the tomes and Arwen put it down gently to protect the old pages.

"So," she said. "There is a gathering in Lothlorien next month."

"What sort of gathering?" I asked, putting away my inkpot.

"A council gathering," she said.

"The White Council?" I asked.

"Not exactly," she said. "King Thranduil is also part of this council."

This was new. This was really new.

"How did Grandmother convince Thranduil to join any councils?" I asked, staring at Arwen. "How did she convince him to leave his forest at all?"

"I couldn't begin to guess," said Arwen, "But if I must guess, I would think the influence came less from Grandmother and more from you."

"You're mad," I said.

"Think on it," said Arwen. "You're the one who pressed him to observe Dol Guldur and to communicate with the outside world and to move out of the space in which he found comfort."

"Tsk," I said, "that's hardly proof of anything."

"It is not proof, that is true," said Arwen, letting the subject drop to pick up another: "So, do you want to go?"

I dropped my quill on the floor.

"To the council gathering?" I asked.

Arwen nodded.

"In Lothlorien?"

She nodded again.

"With Thranduil?"

I looked at her as if she were out of her mind. Leaning forward, I asked her, as if in confidence:

"Do I look like I want to suffer more misery than I already have?"

She chided me with a look.

"Father would never let us go," I said, searching for more evidence it was a bad plan.

"Father is going," said Arwen. "We can go with him, for the purpose of visiting our beloved grandmother."

I stared at her, and then picked up my quill as I considered. I hated the idea, but I loved the idea, and I hated that I loved the idea. The whole plan filled me with a nervous energy that I thought I had long put to rest, and I found myself tapping my quill rapidly on the table with the nerve-wracking possibilities. How terrifying was the possibility of seeing him again, and how awful, but how much I betrayed myself by wanting to grasp at anything to have the chance! I loathed myself for my weakness, I wanted to wait until he made the first overture, if he ever would, but I found myself suddenly tired of waiting. I wanted to see him again, I wanted to see him again. It rang through my mind like a siren, blocking out everything else and forcing me into submission.

I dropped my quill upon the table, defeated, and covered my face with my hands.

"I suppose we should pack our things," I said, muffled.

I heard Arwen's delighted laugh and clap nearby.

-ooOOoo—

The road to Lothlorien was a pleasant trip, and I was forced to admit how pleased I was to be travelling with my sister and my father again. We hadn't done anything like this for ages. Not literal ages, per se. One must specify when one is an elf.

After we came through the Misty Mountain pass, we turned south toward Lothlorien, but I found myself gazing toward the direction in which I knew Mirkwood lay, wondering if I might catch a glimpse of it on the horizon. I did not.

As we passed into the golden forest of Lothlorien, I breathed a sigh of relief at the feeling of peace that prevailed here. The outside world might be chaos, but Lorien remained clean, clear of pollution. We guided our horses along the stream Celebrant, and the silver sound it made as it rushed over and around the stones in its bed felt to my mind as if I had already been refreshed in a cool, soothing stream. I watched the stones in the streambeds as we passed by; I had always been fond of their colors, for when dry, they all appeared muted, but when immersed in the stream, they became rich mauves, taupes, blue-greys, pearls, and even oranges and deep reds. Above us the leaves of mallorn trees quivered delicately in the wind, golden hued and shimmering, and beyond were patches of brilliant blue sky. The peace of Lothlorien allowed me to forget, momentarily, the anxiety of the meeting that was to come.

My grandmother and grandfather were as beautiful and gracious as they had ever been; and though they were happy to see us and their son-in-law, they were also busy preparing for the other visitors who would come to that night's gathering. Galadriel requested my father join them in the preparations, and Arwen and I were sent off to explore the forest.

We eventually found ourselves sitting by a stream in the late afternoon, and I was pulling out stones that looked especially interesting while Arwen plucked grass from the ground and talked about her Dunadan or Estel or Aragorn.

"He's going to do great things, you know," she said, pulling a piece of grass apart.

"What sorts of great things?" I inquired throwing a pebble back into the stream. It had looked purple in the stream, but out of it, it was only grey.

Arwen looked at me.

"The darkness that spreads over the land," she said to me. "He will be one of those with the valor to destroy it."

"How do you know?" I asked.

She shifted her weight, considering her response.

"I don't know how I know it," she said.

"I do wonder if you've gotten that from Father," I said, perhaps a little jealous. My father had always had the gift of foresight, and so far, it wasn't something with which I had been gifted, as far as I could tell. It seems I only had been gifted with the gift of miraculous scribing, but a fat lot of good that did me. I plunked another pebble into the racing waters of the stream.

Arwen shrugged, and she seemed to worry regardless, despite what her gift told her.

A bundle of thrushes emerged from a bush across the stream as if startled, and flew into the sky in a cacophony of flapping and birdcalls, and Arwen and I watched them go for a moment, until, upon glancing at each other, we realized at once we'd failed to notice what might have startled them. There, across the stream, was only silence. We stood and waited, wary.

From the trees emerged Legolas, and he seemed to be looking for something. He looked much the same as when I last saw him. He still shone as if a ray of sunlight had come to the ground and taken form. I was so delighted to see him, I could hardly contain it.

"Prince Legolas!" I called, and as he saw us, he lit up with a smile.

"Lady Eren!" he called, from across the stream, and then he came to the edge and seemed to wonder how to ford the thing.

"This is the prince of the Woodland Realm?" inquired Arwen.

In the time it took for me to tell Arwen about who he was, Legolas had discovered a series of stones to hop across the stream and reach us. He came to me and we embraced in a merry hug, full of laughter, and I was sharply reminded of the frivolity of the Woodland elves all over again. Arwen was surprised by our candor, but also seemed to find our happiness infectious, and looked curious.

I made introductions, and then asked Legolas what he was doing here.

"I came to Lorien with my father," he said. "Of course. Why are you here?"

"We came with our father," I replied. "Of course."

He laughed.

"I did not expect to see you," he said.

"Nor I," I said, "but what a happy accident!"

He agreed.

"I think, like you two, I've been sent off to wander the forest while the members of the actual council convene," said Legolas. "However, I think we should become spies."

"That sounds a lot more fun than throwing pebbles into the stream," I said.

"But would they want us to spy on them?" asked Arwen, looking hesitant.

I glanced at Arwen and Legolas just smiled at her.

"Let's go," I said, pulling Arwen by the arm.

We walked through the forest, and the mallorn trees grew taller and taller the closer we came to the center of Lorien, and the late afternoon deepened into dusk.

"Do you know where they are?" I asked Legolas.

"In the clearing near Galadriel's mirror," he replied.

We crept nearer to the place where they were supposed to be, and we hid behind trees and tried to steal glances, but we could see very little, and hear nothing. Legolas glanced at me and shook his head, as if this wouldn't do. I looked around for ideas.

Legolas tugged my arm and pointed up, at the boughs that hung over the meeting-place. I knew at once what he meant for us to do, so I pulled Arwen along with me to a further tree, where we could climb and then move through the branches to our goal perch. I glanced back at Legolas, but he had crept over to a tree on the other side of the clearing, and appeared to be preparing to climb that one instead. I suppose he thought all three of us on one bough was too many.

Arwen appeared scared, but also a little delighted.

"Do your woodland friends always pull you into these kinds of clandestine acts?" she whispered.

"Sometimes?" I replied, considering. "They're not dull, at least."

"There is that," said Arwen, as we began to climb. "When was the last time you climbed a tree?"

"I suppose it was the last time I was in the Woodland Realm," I said, trying not to remember too much about climbing into the trees with Thranduil. "It's an enlivening exercise, I think."

"That explains a lot," said Arwen, her breath a bit short with the exertion of climbing. We reached the main branches and I measured the best way to get where we wanted to be, near the meeting, or nearly over it. I wondered how Legolas was faring on the other side.

"Now, let's cross this bough to that one," I said, pointing to a thick branch. We lighted across and found our branch, where we would be mostly out of the shadows of lamplight, and as we sat huddled together like children on the mallorn branch, we saw our first clear view of the council.

Galadriel and Celeborn sat at either end of a large, polished stone table with a map rolled out in the middle, and my father sat on one side with an old man I didn't recognize in a brown robe with a shabby hat. On the other side of the table, I saw Thranduil, and I was caught. He looked reserved, even cold, wearing a silver circlet and modest autumn-hued robes with his hair tied back, but I was so enthralled with the rush of emotion from simply seeing him again that I hardly noticed.

Arwen tugged my arm, and pointed across the way, to Legolas on an adjoining branch, looking down upon the party. He moved like a shadow along the branches until he was beside me, and there he sat down, as if it was where he belonged.

"We have removed all of the bridges to the north," Galadriel was saying. "So we can more easily impede anything ill that might try to cross from Dol Guldur."

"The Nazgul do not like rushing streams," said Celeborn. "Especially the clear-flowing streams of Lothlorien."

I felt Arwen shiver beside me.

"Our people use ropes to cross in the northernmost parts, and remove them immediately," said Galadriel.

"Have you had much of foul things trying to enter the wood?" asked my father.

"Not yet," said Galadriel. "But they grow bolder, and stronger."

She looked at Thranduil as she said the last words.

"Is that your experience in the Greenwood, Elvenking?" she asked.

Thranduil turned his attention to the map between them, and pointed to a spot.

"This is where they dared intrude in the wood a score of years ago," he said, and then moved his finger. "And this is where they come now."

"Are there more of them?" she asked.

"Yes," he replied. "But we have managed thus far."

Galadriel looked down at the map with concern.

"The animals are fleeing what is left of the Greenwood to the north," said the old man. "Where they leave, the forest they leave behind becomes Mirkwood."

Thranduil shifted his weight. He didn't seem to like that.

"Radagast the Brown," said Galadriel to the old man, and I realized he was the wizard, tender of beasts, which I had never seen, "you've also observed Dol Guldur, have you not?"

"I … have been there," said Rhadagast. "It's a terrible place from which I barely escaped."

"Is the shadow at Dol Guldur growing in power?" asked Galadriel.

"I believe so, my lady," the wizard replied.

They went on, each person discussing their realm and the effects felt therein. The only person I wondered about being there was my father. The rest had a personal stake in what was happening in Dol Guldur, as their lands and wards bordered the shadow that stretched across the land east of the Misty Mountains. But Rivendell was west of the mountains, and safe from Dol Guldur, at least for now. Why had he been brought here? On that note, I found myself wondering why Thranduil deigned to come. Perhaps things had gotten worse since I'd been gone.

I pulled up my legs and wrapped my arms around, resting my chin on my knees, and I admitted things to myself. I missed being in his kingdom. I missed scribing in his court. I missed knowing what was happening in the Greenwood. I missed him. I missed him.

Thranduil glanced up then, and a jolt ran through me. He saw us, all sitting together like three birds on that branch and his eyebrows raised in surprise, and then his surprise melted straightaway into droll humor and he dragged his eyes back to the council. That he didn't point us out, but let us continue, and was even amused by our antics spoke volumes of the difference between the Woodland Realm and mine. I'd missed his humor, too. Arwen pinched my arm. I nudged her back.

My grandmother noticed, however, in her way of noticing things. It seemed first she sensed something had changed in Thranduil, and while Radagast and Celeborn were discussing migratory bird pattern changes, I saw her glance at the Elvenking and pause. Then she immediately glanced sidelong, up at us, and more particularly at me. The short length of time she held my gaze told me everything I needed to know. She had discerned everything at once. My stomach dropped. Arwen forsook pinching my arm and instead grabbed it.

Nevertheless, Galadriel also continued with the council as if nothing had occurred.

Legolas looked at me inquiringly. I gestured and we melted away as quietly as we came.

Once out of earshot and eyesight of the meeting, I dissolved into a puddle of despondence at the foot of a mallorn tree.

"Trouble is my name," I said, too dramatic.

"Grandmother was looking at you!" said Arwen, who fully knew what that meant, and she sat beside me to put an arm around my shoulders.

Legolas sat down before us, his legs neatly crossed. "What does that mean?"

"Ah," I said, since Arwen knew everything, and I was fairly sure Legolas didn't, and I didn't want to tell him about my… whatever… with his father.

"Grandmother just," said Arwen, poorly attempting to form a lie, "found out Eren was spying."

"We were all doing that," said Legolas, who didn't seem to be buying it.

Just then we heard the voices of the council leaving the clearing and coming closer. Legolas lighted to his feet and held out a hand for each of us.

"Come on," he said, seeming enlivened by the excitement of sneaking around. "Let's go!"

So, for lack of a better plan, we did; we ran like thieves into the night, through and around mallorn and lantern light and shadow, until we came to the place where the council was to be received, post-counseling. It was an especially large mallorn tree which had stairs leading up into its boughs, and within its boughs it held wonderful platforms lit with dazzling lantern lights and all manner of reception comforts. At the foot of the stairs, Arwen and I helped each other look a bit less like orphans and a little more like properly groomed ladies of Rivendell, and then we ascended to the reception as if we would never dream of climbing in trees like waifs. Legolas only looked mildly amused by everything.

We were received graciously by the elves already in attendance.

"Is the council on its way, Lady Eren?" asked one of me.

"I couldn't begin to surmise," I feinted, and then I tried not to twitch when Legolas made a face at me over the elf's shoulder for lying.

Legolas became embroiled in elves asking after the health of his woodland realm, and so Arwen and I abandoned him to his fate and wandered the platforms as they meandered through the massive mallorn branches, stepping from one to the other, where another arrangement of flowers and tea-lights, or delightful refreshment might be waiting to be discovered. We found one with a wooden bench which faced out, over the forest, and sat down.

Through the golden branches, the sky was a darkened azure with the onset of evening, and a heavy sickle moon hung above the horizon. A few stars had pierced the deepening night, fresh and cold and hopeful.

"It has truly been too long since we've been here," I said.

"Let's not wait so long to come again," said Arwen.

Down below, we could hear that the council had arrived at the party, and I shifted my weight on the bench.

"What should I do, Arwen?" I asked, feeling nerves build up inside of me.

Arwen looked at me, and then she smiled.

"What do you want to do?" she asked.

It was a good question.

"I… would sincerely regret it if I didn't talk to him during this trip," I said.

"I think that's true," said Arwen.

"But I," I began, then after a moment, I continued: "I don't know what to say."

"It will probably come to you," said Arwen.

"But what if it doesn't?" I asked, doubting.

"Then it will probably be very funny in hindsight," she said, and I laughed, a bit wry.

In the meantime, while we were talking, Legolas' voice came from nearby.

"We just thought we would keep an eye on all of you," he was saying, "to make sure the council went properly."

"A poor excuse for spying," said Thranduil's voice, and Arwen and I turned to see the woodland prince and the Elvenking climbing onto our platform. It was too late to flee, so I would have to face my fate.

"You're always concerned with spying, aren't you, Your Majesty?" I asked, and Thranduil looked up and discovered me.

The surprise in his face dissolved into acceptance, but there was also a kindness, there.

"Well, then," he said, a sprightly glint in his eye, "If it isn't the queen of spies, herself, eavesdropping upon my son and I."

"It was impossible not to eavesdrop, for the noise made by your ascent was nearly deafening," I replied, and then, before he had a chance to reply, I spoke with sudden pleasantness: "Have you met my sister, Arwen?"

"I have not," said Thranduil, and he became perfectly cordial where my sister was concerned. "A pleasure, Lady Arwen."

Arwen curtsied for the Elvenking.

"Lady Arwen," said Legolas of a sudden, "I wonder if you have seen the birds nesting on yonder platform?"

"I have not," said she.

"May I show you?" asked Legolas, and I felt as if I were quickly losing control of the situation, for I knew exactly what Legolas was up to.

"I would enjoy that very much," said Arwen brightly, and made to go, dissolving all my hopes of using her as a crutch with the Elvenking.

"Yes, well," I said lamely as they exited our scene. "See you both soon."

And thus, Thranduil and I were left alone, facing one another at last. I stood before my bench with the darkening forest behind me, and at Thranduil's back was lantern light and the stair down to the next platform. I took the opportunity to regard him, simply because I'd been denied the chance for twenty years. The light of the lanterns behind him gave his pale hair a radiant halo.

He was different. Simpler. I wondered if that was because he was travelling or because of something else. After a moment I realized he'd been looking at me, too, in much the same way.

"You look the same as I remember," he said, finally.

I hesitated, not sure if I should mention my diverse opinion, so I smiled, feeling shy at our sudden alone-ness. I glanced at the bench near me.

"Would you like to sit down?" I asked, feeling as if I was being too polite, but unable to behave any other way.

"Very well," he said, as if acquiescing.

We sat together on the bench, but we were very far apart. Perhaps, if one looked at it the right way, we sat comically far apart. I listened to a nightingale in the distance.

"How have you been?" he asked.

Terrible, wan, filled with ennui, miserable, I wanted to say. Do you not know how much I've suffered? I wanted to say. Why could you not write even once? I wanted to say.

"Fine," I said, refusing to look at him. "And you?"

It took him a while to respond.

"Fine," he said at last.

"You have not," I said.

"How should you know?" he asked.

"How could you be?" I inquired, finally turning to look at him.

He had no answer for that, and looked betrayed by my words.

"Your ability to do that borders on cruelty," he remarked.

"How is your new royal scribe?" I asked, changing tack.

"Insufficient," he replied.

"How so?" I asked.

"I've been through nearly twenty," he said.

"Dear stars," I oathed.

"None are sufficient," he said.

"You need me," I said.

"I do," he said.

"I want to be your scribe," I said.

"Then come back," he said.

"Then why don't you speak with my father?" I asked. "Why don't you talk to him about the war and why you took me to it, and what to expect from the Woodland Realm, and perhaps even, the skies forbid, apologize?"

"You want me to apologize to your father?" he asked.

"If you explained reasoning, then he would listen," I said. "My father is a reasonable man, and then perhaps-,"

Thranduil cut me off.

"If you want to come back to the Woodland Realm, why is it that you have not explained the war to your father, nor expressed your desire to scribe in my court, nor reasoned with him during these past twenty years so he would allow you to do so?" he asked.

I was caught speechless by his accusation.

"Are you not an agent unto yourself?" asked Thranduil, posing a question that seemed to stem from frustration. "There is no doubt in my mind that, were you determined to do so, you could have convinced your father to allow you to do anything, and yet it appears that you have done nothing."

"You have not written me once since the last moment I saw you!" I accused back. "How can you fault me for doing nothing, when you have done nothing yourself?"

"Then it appears we have created our own impasse of mutual inaction," he said.

I simmered on my side of the bench. A long, tense moment passed, the nightingale sang, and the distant sound of the party below rose up like a murmuring stream. I wanted him to reach across the chasm between us and make a bridge, all the while knowing I could do so myself, but refusing. It was too frightening to make the attempt.

"Eren," he began, but he couldn't continue because my grandmother's voice surprised us from behind.

"Imagine my surprise to discover what has developed here," said Galadriel, and we both stood to face her.

"Lady Galadriel," said Thranduil in greeting.

"Grandmother, it isn't-," I began.

"It is," she said, chiding me. She didn't look either angry or pleased. She looked neutral. "Now the question is what will you choose to do about it?"

A long moment passed where neither I nor Thranduil knew how to respond to her, and she simply watched us, waiting, patient. Then, across her face, passed a faint hint of bemusement.

"I see," she said, and she turned to leave.

Thranduil and I glanced at each other.

"Lady Galadriel," said Thranduil, and she stopped, turning to give him her full attention. "I'm not certain what you have discerned, but I mean no ill towards Lady Eren."

Galadriel gazed at Thranduil, an enigmatic smile on her features.

"I am one of the few who can see you, Thranduil, as a child, still," she said. "I knew your father, Oropher, well."

Thranduil seemed not to know how to take that.

"You have always been erratic, haven't you?" she observed. "Though you paid the price for it long ago. A heavy price. One which burdens you to this day."

As Thranduil's fist clenched by his side, I wondered what Galadriel knew, and I wanted to know it, too.

"You may try to bury and control it, but," said Galadriel, "one cannot alter the essence of what one is."

His tenseness seemed palpable.

"River water flows where it will," said Galadriel. "You may attempt to stop it with a wall of stone, but it will overflow one day. Instead, perhaps one can alter the flow to a more peaceable route in more subtle ways."

"I do not know what you imply," said Thranduil.

"Nothing, perhaps," said Galadriel.

"Have you told Father?" I asked. "About… us?"

"No," said Galadriel, turning her attention onto me. "Nor will I. That is up to you."

She shifted her eyes back to Thranduil, as if in warning, but said nothing. At least, she said nothing out loud. Thranduil shifted back a step, and then my grandmother gave me a gentle, amused smile as she glided away, leaving us alone, once more.

I turned to look at Thranduil, who seemed to be amid inner turmoil. He was uncomfortable with everything that had just transpired, and so I felt sympathetic and sorry.

"I should not have come," he said, his eyes cast down to the bench.

"I am glad you did," I said, and I lifted my hand to touch his arm, but decided against it.

"Why did you come?" he asked, glancing askance at me.

"Because I knew you would be here," I answered with total honesty. He looked at me as if I were mad.

"Why would you make the effort to travel miles upon miles to see me at a council gathering if you could not be bothered to write me in all of these years?" he asked.

"It is you who did not write me," I objected.

"You and I are both capable of writing," he said, "and I might add you are even more capable than me."

"Do you not remember the last time we met?" I asked.

"In perfect detail," he said, gazing at me.

"Then you must recall how you implied we were finished," I said.

"When has implication stopped you from pursuing anything?" he asked.

"Did you truly expect me to supersede your wishes?" I asked.

"No," he said. "I hoped you would not."

"See?" I said.

"But I equally hoped you would," he said.

"You are a labyrinth," I said, throwing my hands up.

"And you are stubborn," he said, "and wily and capable of discerning and disarming the most hidden things, and I hate it… and I miss it."

"I miss you," I said, reckless, but meaning it to my bones.

He paused and was stricken.

"I cannot," he began, seeming to search his mind for focus, "I cannot be plunged into this, not now."

But, oh, how the effect I had on him fed something within me that had craved him for twenty years. I was starving, and I desperately wanted more.

"Then when?" I asked.

"How forward you can be," he remarked.

"I want to be your scribe, at least," I said.

"You will be my scribe," he said, "at any moment that you wish it."

"Now," I said.

"That is up to you to manage," he said, washing his hands of my fate with my father.

I turned away to hide my frustration, and to think quickly.

"If I manage it, if I return to the Woodland Realm," I said into the night, "then will you apologize to my father?"

"Yes," he said, as if he hadn't needed to think about it.

I gazed at the heavy sickle moon.

"I will do it," I said.

"Of that, I do not doubt," he replied.

-ooOOoo—