~11~

The Little Prince

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That night Thranduil could not sleep, no matter how hard he willed it to come. He was curled up under a blanket in his father's tent, listening to his parents arguing outside. They were speaking Quenya, and his proficiency with the ancient language was elementary at his age, so he couldn't understand what they were saying, but he knew his mother was very upset. He listened to her voice break and her breath hitch with tears when she talked, unfamiliar elegant and sad words flowing swiftly from her lips in a desperate plea. His father sounded agitated when he responded, and there was a pained edge to his voice that let Thranduil know he was just as torn up about whatever it is they were discussing.

Despite his mother's earlier assurances, the young Prince was terrified. Dread clutched at his heart and would not let go, and he was kept awake by the dark thoughts despite how tired he was. Somehow, he had a feeling that his mother's words had been hollow, even if she had not known it.

Soon the voices of the King and Queen softened and faded into silence outside the tent, and Thranduil listened to their footsteps as they came back inside. It was pitch black except for the dying light of a single candle within, shadows flickering against the walls of the tent while Thranduil tried to be still and slow his breathing, pretending to be asleep.

Nimriel knelt next to her son and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, believing him to be asleep. Her breaths were quiet and irregular, the sounds of her soft crying painfully audible in the night. She placed a tender kiss on her son's brow and stood up a few moments later without a word, unable to find the words to express all the things she could say.

The night seemed to last a fraction of an eternity before a gentle hand shook Thranduil's shoulder to wake him, dawn light creeping over the horizon. It seemed to pass in a blur, the cool morning did, and the Prince barely spoke at all. His father dressed him in a tunic of fine green silk, embroidered with patterns of leaves and hemmed in silver. His mother braided his hair, brushed it out, then braided it again, murmuring soothing things to him that didn't match the raw grief barely hidden in her eyes. She settled an elegant silver circlet upon his brow, so that he looked every bit the Prince he was, and gave a sad smile.

Thranduil wanted to ask her what was going to happen, where he would go and why, but he kept silent, knowing his mother couldn't bear to answer. In his heart he already knew. So instead he simply looked at her, holding eye contact for only a moment before he wrapped his arms around her waist and hugged her tight, for he did not know when he would be able to do so again.

When the time came to meet with the Avari again, the sun had almost reached the treetops, and Oropher waited for his son with a heavy heart. What he was about to do felt like cutting off a limb. He knew his wife might never forgive him; and when he was old enough to understand, neither might his son. But such was the burden of being King, and the safety of his people had to come before his own personal desires. Even if he did not wish it, it had to be done.

The Avari archers were again assembled into the same impenetrable wall, bows in hand and dark eyes impassive. Celebrynd stood at the forefront, tall and proud with his great bow strapped to his back. Oropher took Thranduil's hand, and together they walked to the center of the clearing, flanked by Malathion and another guard.

There was a moment of silence, and Celebrynd made eye contact with Oropher. "I await your answer, King of the Greenwood." His tone was expectant but not impatient, and his eyes were gentle when he gazed upon young Thranduil.

"And now you have it," said Oropher, his eyes never leaving Celebrynd's. He placed a gentle hand on Thranduil's back and nudged the elfling forth, and Thranduil took a few hesitant steps toward Celebrynd. He looked over his shoulder at his father, hoping for some kind of reassurance, but there was none. Oropher's expression was impassive, the face of a King, not a father.

Celebrynd beckoned Thranduil closer, and the elfling came to stand by his side, facing Oropher. "I do not do this lightly," said the amber-eyed elf, his voice solemn. "And I know that neither do you. You may pass through our lands and go north. Settle there, and find a home among the trees as we have. Here your son will stay until there is five hundred years of peace in these lands. If your words are true, then it should be no trouble."

"Then it is agreed," Oropher said, only the barest hint of emotion in his voice, the look in his blue eyes chilly as an autumn morning. "In five hundred years I will return for him."

"He will be safe with us," replied Celebrynd, perhaps a bit more gently, for Thranduil's sake, though he was not at all fazed by the woodland King's icy stare. "Go now, King Oropher, and we shall do the same."

Thranduil watched his father turn and walk away with his guards, and his heart ached with urge to run after him. But he had to be strong, strong like his father was. He was Prince of the Greenwood, and he had to act like it. Keep your head up, Oropher had told him, and never show them weakness. Show them only strength.

The Avari archers were already fading into the trees, and Celebrynd gestured for Thranduil to follow him. The Prince walked alongside the mysterious amber-eyed elf and forced himself not to look back, struggling to keep his expression stoic.

He felt a gentle pat on his head, and Thranduil looked up at Celebrynd. "Come with me, young one," said the Avari king, his amber eyes gentle and mysterious. "Our people shall teach you the ways of the forest."

~oOo~

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After Ithiriel finished the story, for a few moments Legolas had no words. He was still in disbelief at some parts of the story, and further shocked that he had never before heard this tale told by anyone. He looked from Melwasúl to Ithiriel, eyes wide. "So Oropher gave his only son to Celebrynd in order to pass through the forest…?" He could hardly imagine such a thing. He thought it a terrible cruel price to ask, a decision with no right choice.

"Yes," said Ithiriel solemnly, though there was nothing apologetic about her tone. "Celebrynd did only what he had to do. He did not do it out of malice, nor out of disdain for King Oropher. He wanted to keep his people safe."

"So he asked for the King's child as collateral for a bargain, did he?" Legolas retorted, a bit more sharply than he intended.

"He knew that Oropher would keep his word if it was for his son," replied Ithiriel, her dark eyes cool and solemn. "Can you fault him for being cautious? This was the first contact the Avari had seen with other elves since the terrible wars of the First Age. What he did, he did for all of our protection."

Despite his initial thoughts about such a bargain, Legolas was forced to admit after a bit of thought that it made sense from the Avari's perspective. A foreign people marching into your lands, after having experienced centuries of tragedy because of their wars? It wasn't any wonder they wanted to be cautious. "…I cannot fault your king for striking such a deal," he conceded. "But… was there five hundred years of peace?" He still could not understand why Thranduil had never spoken of such a thing. He was not one to talk overmuch about the past, but Legolas would have expected something in the last thousand years or so, especially if it concerned his mother's homeland.

"There was," Ithiriel affirmed. "But Thranduil and Lianna and I were only elflings when those five hundred years began, and you must know how time seems to stretch eternal for a child."

Legolas nodded slowly, still deep in thought. "So he met my mother here?"

"Indeed. She was my sister in all but blood," Ithiriel said with a note of wistfulness in her voice, "so we three shared in many an adventure in those five centuries. We reached our majority together, and took part in the same coming-of-age ritual."

"What was she like?" Legolas asked, blue eyes glimmering with curiosity. "She died when I was very young, so I never got to know her except through a few early memories."

"She was fierce, strong, and beautiful." Ithiriel's gaze was distant as she remembered, her countenance gentle and wistful. "Lianna was everything I aspired to be. Even as elflings we were always going off into the forest following her lead, climbing all the way to the canopy to see the mountains and chasing foxes through the brush."

Legolas smiled. "So my parents knew each other when they were young?"

"Oh, yes," Ithiriel chuckled. "Though they got along like a house on fire, sometimes they couldn't stand each other. He thought she was a know-it-all, and she thought he was insufferable. But we were young then, and you know how elflings can be."

"Mother, tell him the story of why you three cut your hair," Melwasúl added in, amusement glimmering in her eyes.

"Cut your hair?" Legolas repeated, surprised. It was very rare, nigh unheard of, for an elf to cut their hair except to maintain the ends, and he couldn't remember ever seeing an elf with short hair. Well, except for Celebrynd, but that was another mystery he hadn't yet solved.

Ithiriel chuckled at the memory. "I remember that one very well," she remarked. "I shall tell you the abridged version; the longer one would keep us sitting here all night."

She shifted her position to get more comfortable, the fondness of the memory clear in her eyes. "It was midsummer when the three of us were sent to take the livestock to the pasture near the base of the mountains. We were maybe a century old at most; still quite young, really. We were on horseback and herding the goats through a particularly dense bit of the forest when Lianna took a fall, and Thranduil and I were rather concerned when we heard her screaming like a fell beast."

"Screaming?" Legolas repeated, concerned. "Was she hurt?"

"Only her pride," chuckled Ithiriel. "But when she got out of that tangle of brambles, her hair was so full of burrs that it would have taken a week to get them all out. She was absolutely horrified when we got back and had to cut her hair. She didn't want anyone to look at her for days; her hair was short enough that it didn't even touch her shoulders."

Briefly Legolas tried to imagine the image he had of his mother but with short hair, and found he couldn't do it. It was simply too strange to picture, and his memory of Lianna was already hazy. "So what happened then?"

"Your father had the idea first," the elleth recounted with a fond smile. "He followed Lianna into the forest one day when she was gathering herbs and told her she needn't be ashamed of how she looked. He took his hunting knife and hacked off most of that golden hair of his, till it was short enough to barely touch his shoulders. They matched that way, he said."

Legolas could not help but chuckle at that. He couldn't imagine either of his parents with such short hair, but he was sure it had been a sight to see.

"So naturally I had to follow in their footsteps," Ithiriel continued, smiling as she played with a lock of her midnight-black hair. "Lianna was my sister, and I wasn't going to let our merry little band of fellows be mismatched. So the next day I cut my hair as well, and Lianna stopped hiding out in the forest after that."

Legolas smiled. "Thank you for telling me this," he said sincerely. "It is good to hear tales told of my mother. I did not hear them growing up, and long has it been since I heard her voice." It made him feel closer to Lianna, somehow, hearing about such adventures. His memories of her were sparse, and it was nice to know more about her. Much of her life was a mystery to Legolas, who knew her only as the mysterious smiling elf he sometimes saw in dreams and memories.

That was all she was to him, really. A dream, a faded memory. But perhaps with the help of the Avari, with all the wisdom they seemed to have, he could make that memory clearer, more than a phantom in his dreams.

"It is good to remember her like this," Ithiriel said softly, her dark eyes knowing as she looked at Legolas. Then she glanced outside at the dark sky, hearing the crickets singing in the night. "It is late now. You both should get some rest."

"She's right," Melwasúl said gently, touching Legolas' arm. "Let's go."

Legolas nodded after a moment and stood up to leave, casting a last glance at Ithiriel as he did so. There was so much more he wanted to ask, but now was not the time. The knowing look in the elleth's eyes told him she understood.

The Prince followed Melwasúl out of the dwelling and into the cool night air, the platforms illuminated only by the light of the moon and the soft green flash of fireflies. She led him back across the bridge, her bare footsteps all but soundless, and he had to keep his focus on her outline in the darkness so that he did not lose her.

"I am restless," he confessed to her when they returned to her dwelling, stopping outside the curtain that hung across the doorway.

She turned to look at him, her mismatched eyes gleaming in the moonlight. "I know," she said softly.

"I can sleep no more this night," Legolas told her quietly, gazing up at the moon. "My thoughts will not quiet themselves." He could not stop thinking of what Ithiriel had told him, and the thought of sleep was no more welcoming than it had been earlier. He was disturbed by the wolf dreams, if they really were dreams, and what they might mean.

Melwasúl gave a short nod after a moment, coming to stand on the edge of the platform next to him. The air was cool and quiet, typical of autumn, the crickets singing their lullabies from the tall grass below. "Shall we go for a walk?"

Legolas gave a small smile. "I would like that."

Her eyes gleamed again in the moonlight, a glimmer of something wild. "Then let us go." She swept over the edge of the platform and slid down the more slender limbs of the tree, slowing her fall until she dropped gracefully to the ground in a crouch.

Legolas did the same, relishing the thrill of adrenaline that surged in his veins as the wind whipped past his face, sliding through branches just as Melwasúl had, until he reached the ground. It felt good to practice his agility again, though he was careful of straining his shoulder. The night air was cool against his skin without his tunic on, but it was a pleasant sensation, and he looked to Melwasúl for direction.

"Follow me," she said in a whisper that matched the sigh of the wind, her grin briefly visible in the night, and darted off into the dense forest, hardly waiting for Legolas to catch up.

Legolas didn't hesitate as he ran after her, following her graceful movements into the trees, high into the canopy as she leapt from branch to branch, dark hair rippling behind her. She moved like the wind, gentle and graceful yet fierce, and Legolas had to work to keep up with her. Even though he had been climbing trees since he could walk, there was something in the elleth's graceful stride that bespoke of a deeper understanding, a connection to the forest that even the Silvan elves did not have, or if they did it was rare.

Finally Melwasúl stopped, leaping down from the last tree and into a glade filled with tall grass and fireflies. Legolas followed the sound of rustling grass and the smell of the open air, coming down from the tree only a minute or so behind her. He looked around at the waving grasses and leafy plants of the glade, at the center of which was a great oak tree, more massive than any he had ever seen before. Its branches were broad enough for three to walk abreast, its leaves able to shade the entirety of the meadow and then some.

Legolas' blue eyes were wide as he looked up at the great oak, in awe of its mighty presence. "Is this what you were looking for?" he breathed. Its gnarled roots were as broad as an elf's shoulders in some places, its trunk wide enough for fifty elves to join hands around it.

"It is the oldest tree in this forest," Melwasúl said quietly, standing shoulder to shoulder with Legolas as she gazed up at it. "Can you feel it?"

"I feel… something," Legolas said after a moment, trying to focus on the tingling presence he could feel somewhere in his heart of hearts. It was ancient, wise, alive, and he felt very small standing before it.

"It is the heart of the forest," Melwasúl said in almost a whisper in Legolas' ear. "Can you hear it breathe? Can you sense its life pulsing in all things?"

Legolas took a deep breath and closed his eyes, letting his elven senses reach out around him, searching in his soul's eye for the heartbeat that Melwasúl spoke of. It ran deep in the roots of this tree, of all the trees in the forest, and all the things that lived within it. The whispers of all the trees were audible here if he listened, speaking to each other in ancient tongues long forgotten by all but the forest, speaking of old names and old places, ones that were ancient even to the elves.

"I feel it," Legolas whispered, nearly euphoric with the sensation of being connected to all the tendrils of life that spread outward from the great tree. "I feel the whole forest…"

"Now come back," Melwasúl told him gently, squeezing his hand to ground him in the physical realm. "Don't let your mind wander too far. You might get lost."

The Prince opened his eyes again and the whispers were gone- there was only the soft sighing of the wind and the yellow-green glow of fireflies in the dark. He could still sense a presence in the back of his mind, but it was only a curious background sensation now, not the deep connection he had felt before, drawn in by its ancient power.

Melwasúl smiled. "You are indeed your mother's son," she remarked. "I knew you had the ability, if only you would open your eyes to it."

"I did not know such a gift existed," Legolas admitted, still trying to organize his thoughts after the experience. "The voices of the trees are… powerful here."

"Indeed they are," the elleth agreed as she led Legolas to sit down on a nearby protruding root, wide enough for the both of them. "That is why I brought you here. So you could experience it for yourself."

Legolas blinked, slowly pulling his mind back into focus. It felt oddly like the aftermath of the wolf dreams, when he woke up with a jolt, feeling like his mind was still in two places at once. "So you say that all Avari have this ability? Like my dreams?"

"Like your dreams," Melwasúl affirmed with a nod. "Dreams which, I think, still disturb you."

"It disturbs me that I do not know what they mean," Legolas said quietly, sending a meaningful glance in her direction. "I dream of being a wolf, and I am in the mountains, looking for something I can never find. I don't understand… How can it be real like you say?"

"Their meaning is not hidden," Melwasúl replied, gazing at him seriously. "What you see and feel in those dreams is as real as what you are seeing and feeling now. You're a skinchanger, Legolas."

Legolas stared at her. "But I thought…"

"Yes, I know what you thought," Melwasúl cut him off, shaking her head. "But not all skinchangers are of the same breed. The Avari mastered this ability long before the skinchangers of the mountains in the north, but our ability is different from theirs. We do not shift our forms as they do. The bond we have with this land runs deep, and when we wish to, we can slip into the skins of other creatures who inhabit it. It is easiest to do when one is sleeping, when the mind is clear and the soul calm enough to slip from one body to another, but some can do it at will even when they are awake, though their bodies are just as vulnerable without the presence of the soul."

Legolas had to pause a moment to take it all in, both shocked and awed by such an ability. "What form do you take?"

"Those who have mastered the ability can take any form they wish. But many prefer to take the form closest to their spirit," she replied. "For you, it seems to be a wolf. For me, it is a hawk."

"Can you teach me how to control it?" Legolas looked at her with eyes that were almost pleading. "There is something important I search for in these dreams. I think it is important here as well."

Melwasúl nodded gravely. "Perhaps it is," she said, meeting his gaze with unreadable eyes. "I will teach you the ways. But do not fret, Legolas. We are elves. We have all the time in the world."

A/N: Part two, as promised!