Chapter Eleven

Legolas' eyes whisked around the Library as he entered. It was a large rectangular room – the largest room in the residence – and three of its walls were coated with wooden bookshelves, which reached high up into the ceiling. The one wall that did not boast these bookshelves was to Legolas' right, and an arched window was situated right in its middle, allowing the dim morning light to enter the room. Not far in front of the window was Thranduil's desk – a dark brown wooden table that could have seated eight people, but only ever accommodated the King's large chair.

Thranduil was seated upon it, the top of the chair reaching far above Thranduil's golden head. He dipped his quill into the ink bottle swiftly, before returning it to the piece of white paper before him, his hands racing across it, leaving behind wet black Elvish letters.

Legolas approached the wall directly opposite the doors through which he had just entered, knowing exactly what it was he wanted, and where it lay.

The book with the golden binder leaned gently onto the slightly bigger book neighbouring it. He reached for it, and carefully pulled it out from its place on the shelf. He turned it over in his hands to see the title: Yávië.

Grasping it between both of his hands, he made his way over to the nearest chair and sat in it. He rested the book upon his lap, ever so lightly moving his hand over it, before his fingers moved to the red silk bookmark. He flipped through the pages until he found the body of the bookmark, and then slid it off the page to place it beside him on the arm of his chair.

He read an excerpt.

Thus, he fell into the willow's spirit, binding tree and Elf. This was Handion's sanctuary, the one place he felt at home. Here he could forget his father's death, he could forget the arising of war, and he could forget her. Her – the one who could end not only his own life, but those that he loved. So much depended on him, and she could destroy everything with one single emotion: love. At times, Handion wished for nothing other than for her never to have been brought into the world, never to meet him, never to fall for him.

She was his life. She was what he lived for. Yet, she was the one to soon become the cause of his downfall.

Before he slipped into the mind of the willow, he cursed both Yávië and love silently. He was getting close to leaving her forever, he knew it in his heart, and he was not sure how she would go on without him. Oh, he hated Yávië. It was the thing that would eventually tear him away from his beloved - from the one person that offered him pure happiness, completeness and love.

Just as the willow took hold of his spirit, he whispered one name.

"Maerwen."

Legolas heard Thranduil's voice run across the dense morning air.

"Lovely day."

Legolas lifted his gaze from the book.

"Indeed it is," he replied. His father offered him a nice smile as their eyes met, before resuming writing his letter.

Legolas' eyes, however, did not waver; they remained fixed upon Thranduil, observing him carefully.

'Dare I ask?'

He thought of that day – the day before last – when he had seen Idril. It was a good day; one that he would very much like to have repeated. Granted, it did have its awkward moments, but it did not take long for Legolas to find that he greatly enjoyed being in Idril's company.

He was going to see her, that Legolas knew. Yet the main barrier restricting him from doing so remained unconquered – he needed to talk to Thranduil.

Legolas watched his father intently. If he could have one wish, it would be for the power to read Thranduil's mind. Even now, as Legolas examined his father, he had no clue as to what was running through Thranduil's head.

'I finally find an woman of whose company I enjoy, and he does not encourage the idea that I may merely see her?'

He watched as Thranduil's eyes found their way back to his own. Thranduil seemed not to notice that Legolas' heedful eyes had not retired from their guard on the King since they had last spoken.

Thranduil flicked his gaze downward to the book in Legolas' lap.

"What are you reading?" he asked, with an innocently curious tone in his voice. Legolas glanced down at the black Elvish words written across the pages.

"Yávië."

This immediately brought about an uncomfortable look on Thranduil's face.

"I do not understand why you enjoy that story as much as you do, Legolas. It is a fictional tale, with no happy ending."

"Not all fantasy tales must end happily, father. An unhappy ending is what gives this story a sense of realism. It makes a point that love may not always be as grand as it is made out to be."

Thranduil said nothing to this, and only released a short sigh before lowering his head, bobbing his quill into the ink, and continuing to write his letter.

Legolas judged by Thranduil's reaction that it was not the best time to speak of Idril, if he wanted to see her again. He quietly closed Yávië, and rose from his seat to return the book back to its place on the shelf. As he paced out of the Library, he was unaware of Thranduil's cynical eye following his every move.

Idril walked off the final step. Turning around, she faced her father, and offered an outstretched arm as an aid for him to complete his short trip down the back steps of the treehouse.

The two began their stroll, but it was not long before Idril slowed her pace and switched her gaze from the path ahead to her father's wise and calm face.

"I have something I wish to discuss with you."

Mablung did not look at her, but a buoyant nod of his head was enough for Idril to know that she should continue.

"The Prince and I spoke of many things," Idril said, ending her sentence with a quiet breath of laughter. Many things indeed – she had come close to letting slip her secret to him which she had managed to keep to herself, until recently, for over two millennia. Even Garhirel and Eldanén did not know of the Elves of Yávië.

"Many things," she repeated. "Including the Queen Irethel."

She watched Mablung closely. However, his facial and bodily expressions remained entirely the same, as though he had never even heard of Irethel.

They both made no sound as they gradually made their way along the forest path.

A puzzled expression came about Idril's face. Surely, this could not be the reaction of one who had once owned the Queen's heart. She decided to probe him further. Answers were a necessity – Legolas had presented her with the facts, now she needed someone to make sense of them and confirm the truth behind them.

Her gaze floated vacantly to a thin tree several yards ahead, as she wondered how to go about her forthcoming statement.

Idril's head idly turned towards Mablung.

"He told me that our Queen once-" here she hesitated. Was it entirely safe to bring up this issue to him? Did she really want to witness his reaction?

She drew in a deep breath.

"That she once loved you."

She watched Mablung's eyes dart to the ground in simultaneity with his now ceased step. He stood silently in thought for a moment, never moving a muscle.

He lifted his eyes, then looked down at Idril.

"He told you that?"

"Yes," Idril replied. "And I wish to learn more than what he spoke to me about."

Mablung's gaze found its way back to the ground.

"And how much has he spoken of?" he asked, his voice calm and controlled.

"Not a great deal; what I have told you is all that I know. We turned from that issue fairly quickly."

Mablung sighed and allowed a short smile to grace his lips. He nodded to himself, before facing Idril.

"Very well. I suppose it is time. You need to learn of events that occurred long before you were brought into this world."

Idril gave him a warm, appreciative smile.

"Thank you."

Mablung smiled back at Idril, before placing a gentle hand on her back and taking the first steps of what would turn out to be a very worthwhile walk indeed.

Legolas walked over to where his bow and quiver hung on his bedchamber wall. His fingers lightly traced along the lengthy wood of the bow, admiring its colour and smoothness. He looked closer as his fingertip ran over a rough area of the wood, which was created by accident over two thousand years ago. He had dragged his father's bow – now his bow – across the harsh forest ground, too young to comprehend it's worth.

His hands ached to wrap themselves around his bow again, feel its strength, its sturdiness; and just as desperately, his fingers yearned to have the soft sensation of feathers lying between them.

Legolas had not heard his bow sing for many a day. Yet, as much as his hands desperately craved the feeling of wood and feathers, his heart and mind did not comply.

Ever since Idril's leave two days ago, the Prince had been restless and uneasy. They had talked for many hours, but that was not enough for Legolas – the two had once been great friends, and one day together was not nearly enough time for Legolas to appreciate her recurred presence.

He swiftly turned and exited the room.

Legolas strode out through the cave entrance, barely registering the two guards' attendance, in the direction of the stables.

He did not care if what he was doing would upset Thranduil. He was a Prince, and had already seen many centuries pass by – he did not need to follow instructions or rules from his father.

Legolas reached the outside of the stables, and paused in his step. A quick nod was directed at Celoril, a stablehand and messenger of the palace, before Legolas let out a low whistle and watched as Andúnë duly appeared at the entrance. Legolas easily rose onto his steed and gave him a light kick, and without word to Andúnë or to Celoril, he raced along the courtyard and disappeared into the forest.

Mablung and Idril stopped before the back stairs of the treehouse, and Mablung slowly turned to his daughter.

"There are no more questions that you wish to have answered? Now is most probably your last chance today to do so."

Idril shook her head to this.

"No. I have learned enough for one day."

"I have told you everything. My mind has been set free from a burden that I have carried for too long."

Mablung gave Idril half-smile, and then proceeded up the stairs. Idril followed, but she had only reached the fourth wooden platform before the sound of galloping hooves was heard coming towards them from the forest.

Idril looked up at Mablung, who was staring off into the woods. His eyes quickly glanced down at hers, then resumed their cautious watch on the forest. The sounds of the approaching horse were gradually becoming louder, and Idril's eyes became locked on the slender, rough path between the trees.

A pure white horse trotted into view, with none other than Legolas atop of it. As his eyes rested with Idril's, he gave a kind smile and leapt off Andúnë. His hand gently stroked the horse's cheek as he walked towards Idril, who had made her way back down the steps and was now standing speechlessly before him.

"Good day," said Legolas, reaching out his hand. When Idril took it, he bent down and kissed it lightly, never allowing his eyes to leave hers for a moment.

"Prince, what is it that brings you here this day?" asked Mablung, walking back down the stairs towards the two. Legolas allowed Idril's hand to gently slip out of his grasp, and gave a small bow to Mablung.

"I have come to see Idril. For many long years she was a dear friend of mine - one mere day is not enough time to try to be as we once were."

"That is well," replied Mablung through a smile.

"I should like for us to spend the day together, if that can be possible," Legolas continued. "Yet only if you will allow it, Mablung."

To this, Mablung laughed, the chuckles coming from deep within his throat.

"If you are not asking for her hand in marriage, my Prince, then there is no point in requesting any form of permission from me. She is standing not two feet from you," he said, leaning to one side on his cane, and with a smirk curling one end of his mouth. "I should think that if it is someone's permission that you so desire, it would be hers."

Legolas gave a joyous chuckle at Mablung's words, before turning to face Idril.

"I am sorry. I suppose it has been many winters since we were young friends – I am not used to you being so independent."

Idril smiled in return.

"It is all right. To be honest, that fact that you are my Prince constantly escapes my memory. As a child and young Elf, you did not have nearly as much authority as you do now; it is strange, in a sense."

"Well, things have changed, as they inevitably do," Legolas replied.

Mablung watched as the two exchanged warm, knowing smiles. Idril's gaze lowered bashfully from Legolas' eyes, before slowly bringing it back up to find his piercing blue gaze still firmly fixed upon her face. Mablung noted something in his daughter's eye – an unfamiliar sense seeping within them. A sense of true happiness shone through, mingled with something else.

'It could not be—no,' he thought, watching Idril closely. Yet, his suspicions were proved right, when Legolas leaned forward, and ever so carefully ran his finger along a strand of Idril's hair, gently shifting it away from her face. For the first time in all his long life, Mablung could see in his daughter's eyes – eyes that had shed many a tear, eyes that had watched a lonely life slowly pass by – the unmistakable look of pure love.

Whether she knew it or not, the Elf of Yávië was falling.

Thranduil's brisk walking found him entering the Garden, where Irethel looked up at him from the book that she was reading.

"Have you seen Legolas anywhere recently?" he asked, his eyes quickly scanning his environment. Irethel shook her head.

"Not since daybreak. Why?"

"No reason, my love," came her innocently toned reply. Irethel sighed, and lay the book on her lap.

"Thranduil, you know where he is. I know that you hold some vain hope that he is not with her, but Celoril tells me that Legolas rode away at around midday without an explanation. Where else would he go but to her?"

Thranduil's head dropped in defeat, then sat by Irethel on the bench.

"I know," he said quietly. "But a father can hope that his son is merely going for a ride through the woods."

Irethel chuckled at Thranduil's comically hopeful expression, before laying a hand over his, and grasping it firmly as support.

Legolas watched closely as Idril rose onto Andúnë behind him, settling herself and placing her hands lightly upon the sides of Legolas' stomach. He could feel her deep and unsure breaths against his back.

"I apologise, Legolas, for my unfamiliarity with horses."

Her voice was quite anxious, yet light-hearted, and Legolas laughed at her words.

"Do not be sorry," he replied warmly. He grasped both her hands, and pulled them around his waist. "Andúnë is a good horse, and I trust him with my life. Just hold on, and I assure you that you will be safe."

His words comforted Idril, and her arms relaxed around his body. Legolas met Mablung's eyes, and noted the uneasiness within them.

"Do not worry. She will be back before dusk," he said through a smile, trying to ease Mablung's obviously worried mind. Mablung managed to push a smile onto his lips, before farewelling the twosome with a quick nod and walking up the back stairs of the treehouse. Behind him, he could hear Legolas' white horse moving casually into the forest, carrying with it the two Elves.

Eldanén looked up as Mablung entered through the corridor, glancing swiftly around the room, before meeting his son's eyes with his own.

"Eldanén, where is your mother?"

"She is in her bedroom."

"And Ibigovia?"

"She is with her," Eldanén replied after a short hesitation.

Mablung expressed his gratitude towards his son with a quick nod and a smile. He began to make his way to the bedroom, but for a small voice behind him, that hindered his step.

"Father?"

Mablung looked back at Eldanén, who had now risen from his chair; the book he was reading still firmly grasped in his little hand.

"Yes? What is it?"

Eldanén opened his mouth to speak, only to falter. Mablung watched as Eldanén's lips shut, a weak smile forming upon them, and he shook his head.

"Nothing. It does not matter."

With this, Mablung walked into the bedroom, leaving Eldanén in solitude again.

Ibby was sitting at the head of the large bed; her legs sprawled out before her. Garhirel was also seated upon it, daintily perched on the foot of the bedspread, listening to Ibby's tale. However, as they noticed Mablung's presence, they both fell silent and looked at him expectantly. It was Garhirel who first spoke.

"Where is Idril? Did she not go for a walk with you?"

"Yes, she did; and I am here to tell you now that she will be returning later."

"Later?" asked Ibby, her eyebrows raising.

"What do you mean by that?" Garhirel inquired, although if asked, she could have accurately guessed the answer to her question.

"We met the Prince," replied Mablung, with a faint trace of worry evident in his voice. "He has taken Idril on his horse, and they are both now somewhere in the forest."

Garhirel laughed brightly at this news, and she jumped up from the bed. Ibby's expression, however, looked as though it wanted to be excited, yet was clouded over by a strong sense of sudden realisation and concern.

"Wonderful!" exclaimed Garhirel. "How lovely for the Prince to take an interest in our daughter! And Idril of all people…"

Neither Mablung nor Ibby particularly noticed Garhirel's last rude comment – they were too deep in their own troubled thoughts. As their gazes met, both knew exactly what the other was thinking. Whether thousands of years old or a mere thirteen, it was clear to those who knew of the Yávië that the situation at hand was not nearly as glorious as others were making it out to be.

"So, Idril, it did not take much to persuade you to join me today," said Legolas, tilting his head back towards Idril, so that she could hear.

"I suppose," she replied, smiling lightly.

"Any reason as to why?" he asked casually, noting the smile in Idril's voice. Behind him, he could sense her mind deep in thought about his question. After a long, yet still comfortable, moment of silence, Idril spoke.

"I don't know."

As she spoke those words, he could sense her surprise at the realisation of the truth that, on a whim, she had just accepted Legolas' outing proposal, and ridden into the forest with him without hesitation.

With this, Legolas surprised himself, when he recognised that it was so easy for him to know what Idril was thinking about and how she was feeling. His mind was effortlessly at one with Idril's emotions – an unfamiliar sensation for the Prince indeed.

Idril's voice broke through his thoughts.

"Where exactly are we headed?"

A smile flashed onto Legolas' face.

"I know as much about that as you do," he replied. "I figured we'd just head northwards and keep going."

Idril laughed at Legolas' words. She moved her head closer to his, beaming.

"You were always like this, you know."

Legolas chuckled, dropped his head down and nodded, thinking back to old times.

"Yes, I remember. You, however, were always the one who wished to make plans," he said through a grin.

"Well, they are necessary for walking around the Mirkwood forest."

"Perhaps, but they take some of the fun out of exploring. We did that a lot, and you always insisted we take along a map of some sort."

"In my defence, having a plan saved us from becoming lost."

Legolas could think of no retort to this, so allowed his silence to confess his defeat. Satisfied, Idril leaned back from Legolas, smiling widely. She took a moment to enjoy the feel of the horse beneath her, and the warmth radiating into her hands from Legolas' body – her hands had not moved from his sides since they had begun their journey.

"If plans are a necessity, as you say they are, then why have you not brought some with you today?" asked Legolas. Even so, he knew the answer: he knew Idril too well, and did not need to hear the answer – he just wanted to hear her admit to it.

There was silence behind him for a minute before he heard her speak.

"I like not having them. I enjoy being with you, with your spontaneity. It is what drew me to you when we first met - how different you are to me, yet somehow so alike. You fascinate me."

She watched as Legolas whispered soft Elvish words to Andúnë and gently patted his neck. Andúnë came to a stop, and Legolas hopped off his back, landing gracefully upon the ground. Looking up at Idril, he offered her his hand. Taking it, she jumped off the horse. As her feet encountered the ground, she found herself standing just a little too close to Legolas, her hand tightly wrapped around his. Yet, she did not feel uneasy or awkward. It did not take long for her to realise that she felt safe and warm, standing within one foot of her Prince.

Legolas slowly moved towards Idril, silently closing the gap between their bodies.

Suddenly, Idril yanked away; hating herself for doing so, but quickly being forgiving. She glanced up at Legolas, whose weak smile could not disguise the heartbreak within his eyes.

"I'm sorry," she said, using the only words that could come to mind. Legolas just lightly seized her hand and smiled warmly.

"Come. I hate having to talk to you without actually seeing you."

Idril clutched his hand tightly, returning the kind smile, and so it was that the friends continued on their leisurely journey through the forest.

Thranduil opened the book in his hands to a randomly selected page, reading the words until his eyes came across a particularly interesting set of sentences.

'Meleth; avofaro an han, as telitha allen. Hebo tirith, a no i lass cuil lín ú-firitha.'

He let out a deep sigh, knowing exactly what they meant. They were words that haunt Elves of Yávië, always serving as a reminder of their affliction. His thoughts wandered to Idril and Mablung, and what it must be like for them to live whilst hoping with all hopes that Idril would never fall in love. For if she did, they would both succumb to the power of the Yávië.

And as for himself – for now, he had to live whilst desperately longing for Legolas' interest in Idril to pass. True, they had not seen one another for many long years, yet Thranduil could see the look in his son's eye as soon as he heard the mention of her name. If he was not mindful, Legolas could very well be the cause for the Yávië Elves' downfall.

He read over the sentences once more, his despair growing with each word.

'Love; do not look for it, it may find you. Be careful, and may the leaves of your life tree never die.'