Creation Song of Ilúvatar
Chapter 21: Fire & Shadow
The feasting and ceremony of Rodyn continued for many days, providing Glorfindel, Elrohir, and Elladan the opportunity to visit with Galuiel. She told them as much as she could about her memories of her family. It was strange to have another besides their father and Glorfindel speak of the First Age, though Glorfindel was less likely to speak of those times and Elrond was younger than Galuiel.
She described to them in rich detail her memories of her father, his bright face, always gentle, loving, and of the love between her parents.
Elladan, curious, asked her if she had memories of Maedhros and Maglor whom fostered Elrond.
She did. Of the sons of Fëanor, she was fondest of these eldest brothers. She described loving Maedhros the most. Maedhros and Fingon were close. Between them was love, fealty, and brotherhood, though she recalled Turgon shared no such feelings with any of the sons of Fëanor.
And then she was parted from her father, sent by him to the safety of the Havens, never to be held in his arms, never to hear him sing lullabies to her as she fell to sleep in his arms.
"I have never heard of Fingon spoken in this way my lady," Elrohir replied. "It is rare to have such a gift, to see a part of history open to you where before there was only the unknown. Ada said that Maedhros never spoke of Fingon."
"I imagine there was too much sorrow," Galuiel answered.
Elladan added, "Yet we do hear the tales of his valour."
Galuiel then repeated the well known verse-a tale often told of her father-that even the Unwilling, as they were called, were known to tell, for they were fond of Fingolfin, Fingon, Finrod, and Maedhros for they did not look on them as the unwilling; thus for their deeds the Avari called them the Wise returned.
Galuiel spoke, her voice filled with a gentle pride: "His valour was as a fire and yet steadfast as the hills of stone; wise he was and skilled in voice and hand; troth and justice he loved and bore good will to all, both Elves and Men, hating Morgoth only; he sought not his own, neither power nor glory, and death was his reward" [1].
As the day passed, Elladan and Elrohir settled into comfortable silence, listening to Galuiel and Glorfindel for Glorfindel began to walk amongst memory with Galuiel.
Galuiel shared, "He was beautiful, the most beautiful of men that I remember. My heart swells. There was a time I could not speak of him for the pain threatened to fill me until I turned to mist. Such was my sorrow. Though sorrow is a constant mistress I have reconciled with her."
Glorfindel answered, "It seems the ages are the only witnesses to your story my lady.
"As for you reborn and returned," she replied, her eyes bright with tears.
Glorfindel knew she wished it had been her father that had returned. She was not the only one. He himself had asked the Valar why he and not some other more valiant Lord was chosen. He had been exiled, crossed the Grinding Ice with the Host of Fingolfin, swore his fealty to Turgon, and fell in Gondolin, like many of his kin.
Glorfindel also remembered the simple times in Elvenhome before the Doom, in more innocent times when they would leave the confines of Tirion and hunt as far as the edges of what was allowed them. Fingon had led them to these places, unafraid. He had after all, at times, joined his cousins on their travels across the Lands, though he had little love for the fire of Fëanor.
"Tell me about him in that time, in your youth," Galuiel asked.
"Your father was bold, unafraid, and fair. I remember one time I earned the wrath of Fëanor unjustly and he descended on me in a quiet rage. None of the sons dared to cross him, but Fingon stepped between us. He felt responsible for me as the eldest of our group that had joined the Fëanorians. Fëanor grabbed Fingon to move him, but he could not. I remember the moment of recognition in Fëanor's eyes; this was Fingolfin's son-Fingolfin the strongest. Fingon steadied himself like a mighty oak, eyes staring into the fire that was Fëanor and he did not turn away.
Maedhros came to his father's side and spoke words to him that I could not hear. Fëanor relaxed, releasing Fingon who remained unmoved. What still makes me shiver to this day is the smile and words that Fëanor offered Fingon."
"What were they?" Galuiel inquired.
"Fëanor told Fingon, 'If only more of our people would stand as you have done Nolofinwion.' He paused and turned away from Findekáno but then he turned to face us, and smiling Fëanor called out to all of us, 'All of you never forget the stand of Findekáno the Valiant.'"
Galuiel smiled.
Glorfindel was now lost in a reverie of a time before he died. "I remember Turgon, who stood a bit taller than Fingon, and even Maedhros, though to hear the tales told you would think Turgon and Maedhros were giants among us. They were simply men."
"Not simply men," Galuiel replied also overcome by emotion, "they, you, were the best of us."
In that moment Galuiel seemed as one of the Noldor stepped forth from history. Glorfindel dared not look away, but his emotions were bursting. Standing there tall and strong Galuiel was a picture of Aredhel-oh Aredhel -who Glorfindel always felt he failed, the White Lady of the Noldor, sister of Fingon and Turgon.
"Do not mistake my words Glorfindel. They were imperfect, but they were fire and life, far from what the Noldor have faded to. But here, Glorfindel," she paused looking at the life of the Wood around us is also that fire, that imperfection. Here is life."
Glorfindel dipped his head in reverence to what was for him an almost sacred reminder of something that was part of him, that he had not let even death take. But his purpose now led him on different paths.
"So did my father stay there like a tree?" Galuiel asked, her eyes sparkling in delight at the memory of her father facing down Fëanor.
"No he did not. Your uncle, Turgon-my lord-he grabbed Findekáno by the shoulders speaking to him, calming him. If it was not for Turgon I do not know if Fingon would have budged." Glorfindel shook his head. "To hear it told you think those two had little love for one another. Nothing could be furthest from the truth. Turgon and Fingon loved each other fiercely. Fingolfin's children were loyal, steadfast, and bold in their bonds, in their love to each other and to their father.
"What of Anairë?" Galuiel asked of a figure unfamiliar.
"They loved her too, but there was a bitterness when she chose to remain in Aman. It was the cause of much sorrow. The children succored their father, surrounded him, were his voices, helped him lead and carried the High Crown of our People with as much fire, valour and pride as Fingolfin."
Glorfindel was overwhelmed by the emotion of his memories. He knew it was not chance that brought him to Thranduil's Halls, to the Woodland Realm. Providence was at hand. But he had not heard Galuiel speak of her mother, of Elueth. He dared not ask why.
And soon, the time came for the end of Rodyn. The elves gathered for a more subdued feast under the light of Isil and the stars of Elbereth Starkindler. It was a simple affair: a roaring fire beckoning all to gather.
Glorfindel stared into the large fire, the glow of his eyes aflame in a strange luminous light. Much had awakened in him. His skin shivered, stretching tight across his body as if his old body was remolding itself, the fire of the balrog, eating him, this time from the inside.
A maiden was standing next to him, the fire casting eerie shadows on her face. From the corner of his eye, he could see she was leaning on a walking stick, shifting uncomfortably on one leg.
"It is impossible to forget our dead," the elf maiden spoke, her voice almost lost in the roar of the flames. "What is after all a people who choose to bury tragedy in the annals of time?"
Glorfindel cast a searching glance at the maiden. He recognized her face. "I did not know you were here Elueth of the Eldest. It gives me joy to see you whole, though not without pain—and that is sad for me."
She turned to face Glorfindel, strange blue eyes fixed on him. Her dark hair was gathered into two plaits, threads of gold woven into them, bound by delicate clasps of metal. "I took an orc's arrow to my leg. It is not healing. I am told there is not a healer who can mend it but my own heart."
"And what do the Aniåra say?" Glorfindel asked, returning his gaze to the fire, drawn to the spell it was weaving in the night.
"That I must choose Râd Gwanath, the death path, or sail," Elueth answered her own focus returned to the fire that was sending out tendrils of flame like hands beckoning the elves into its heart. "The fire's spirit is awakening," she whispered.
Glorfindel nodded, staring into the flames, watching as they coaxed him into a lull. "It is strange. Long have I desired to feel faer laeg [spirit of the wood] but instead I find faer naur [spirit of fire] beckoning me. Not since the Elder days have I felt such a call."
"It is his spirit. He calls to me at times, calls to me to return to my beloved, for he loved him too." Elueth's voice was heavy with sorrow.
Glorfindel did not look into her eyes. He knew to look into them he would see reflected back the waters of Awakening for Elueth was first born by the waters of Cuiviénen, youngest daughter of Tata and Tatië. In better times the union of Elueth and Fingon was seen as a fortuitous though few knew who she was, the significance of her. There was much secret, much kept hidden from darkness. Galuiel was not the only one of these.
Glorfindel turned to look at Elueth, breaking the hold of the fire. "Strange, when I died I heard whispers of a second child, a son that you carried in your womb when you went to Cirdan." Glorfindel carefully studied the maiden who did not turn away from the fire.
"The dead hear those secrets buried deep that we whisper into the night seeking solace," she replied, a bitter smile marring her fair face.
"Indeed they do. Did Fingon know?" Glorfindel dared mention his name.
"He did," she replied now fully facing Glorfindel. "We knew it was a son and he feared for us," she added her face etched it seemed in permanent sorrow. "I had him there in the Havens, staying as long as I dared."
Glorfindel wanted to turn away as she told him her tale, the grief and pain she bore, like a talisman in the enchanted Wood, calling his moment of death back into being. What it must have cost Fingon to send them away, knowing he would not meet his unborn son. He wanted to curse Fate. Their Doom was cruel.
"I could not leave him without giving him my milk, his milk, that which my body made just for him. But in the end I took him with me, for a time, until I could secret him away no more and I sent him to Cirdan as his father wanted."
She clutched a locket she wore on her chest to her heart as she searched Glorfindel's eyes, knowing that in him, at least, she could find company of sorrow. "I never abandoned him as some have whispered, though most thought Orodreth his father, Ereinion always knew me as his mother and Galuiel as his sister. He knew who his father was. And yet," she paused looking up at the stars that shone in the night sky, "he was also taken from me. All for your Doom." She spoke bitterly.
"But for the Doom was your love possible and your children made," Glorfindel replied.
"I know this Laurefindel, but I was still full of hope then and I believed that your Valar would forgive," she paused, knowing that assigning blame was fruitless. "Pay no mind to me, the ramblings of a bitter maiden," she continued, a weary smile on her face. She stared back to the fire.
"You speak of him as if he still speaks to you," Glorfindel offered, hoping to hear more of the spirit of fire.
"Ay," she answered, tilting her head as if listening for the quiet whispers of faer naur. "I dream of him often. He compels me to sail. He always loved him, loved us for the joy we brought Fingon."
Glorfindel smiled. "My Lord, he had no love for Maedhros."
"No indeed he did not and I cannot say that I blame Turgon for his enmity."
"Elrond speaks fondly of Maedhros, though theirs was a strange history," Glorfindel added, curious what the mention of Elrond would elicit in her.
"For a very long time I could not forgive Maglor and Maedhros, the only of Fëanor's sons I had any love for, but it was something of solace that they did right by Elrond and Elros. At least them, I think I have forgiven."
It was then that Glorfindel made up his mind that he would not return to Imladris without them, without Galuiel and Elueth. It was time. It was time.
"I need to sit Laurefindel," she continued, purposefully using Glorfindel's name of old. "Help me over to my daughter."
)()()()()(
Galuiel sat next to Thranduil, watching her mother's shadow across the fire speak with Glorfindel.
Thranduil watched as well. "The spirits of fire and wood have called us together. It is time for you and your mother to seek Elrond."
Galuiel inclined her head, knowing Thranduil's words were fashioned in truth. She sighed, her head dropped. "It is indeed. It pains me to see her withering. We will return with Glorfindel and my kinfolk."
Thranduil smiled. "Yes, it is time for you to make acquaintance with those of your ancestor's house that still remain."
Thranduil watched as Glorfindel led Elueth to them, figures stepped out of the pages of history. In Glorfindel the light of the Two Trees shone brightly in his eyes, the light of the Blessed Realm upon him. Though weak, the magic of Awakening still clung to Elueth, a shimmering cloak of stars and night about her. The light of day, the light of night: one could not exist without the other. Calaquendi, Moriquendi, but these words placed worth on one and disdain upon the other, yet both were Creation, the Song of Ilúvatar.
Glorfindel led Elueth to Galuiel who had risen to greet her mother. Galuiel helped her mother sit on seat that had been brought out to her.
Thranduil motioned to Glorfindel to take a place next to him. Glorfindel obliged. The two Golden haired elves sat next to one another, one a Sindarin lord, the other a Noldorin Lord, and both aware of that change was swiftly coming to Middle Earth.
Thranduil broke the silence between the two. "Galuiel and Elueth will go with you when you depart. I hope this pleases you."
Glorfindel's eyes lit up. "It does indeed! I had hoped to convince them of the need to come to Imladris, but all for not! It is good news."
Thranduil smiled. "I am glad for it. It is my hope that Elrond can help Elueth. She is beyond what we here can offer her."
Glorfindel hoped that Elrond could offer Elueth healing. It was somewhat selfish, on his part that Elueth become whole and not sail. If she sailed he believed that Galuiel would go with her. This Glorfindel did not want. Not yet.
)()()()()(
Erutunín held Rainiel in his arms as the couple leaned against a large oak, staring at the elves that were delicately dancing upon the glade, the light of the fire, casting their shadows so it seemed that the dancers were partnered by shadows.
Aní danced among the revelers, his smile bright, a simple garland of flowers crowning his dark hair. The end of Rodyn was a time for the young to couple, speak words of love and forever after.
Rainiel smiled lovingly at her son. He was beautiful. "Look at him my love, is our son not perfect?"
Erutunín laughed lightly. "Some might accuse you of seeing your son as a crow mother looks on her children" he playfully accused her. "But then again I am also a crow. He is the handsomest of all the young elves."
Rainiel snuggled more deeply into Erutunín's arms.
Erutunín continued, a more serious look gracing his fair face, "Though I wonder why he has not bonded. Have you known him to be serious with any elf maiden?"
Rainiel pursed her lips, searching her memory. "There was that sweet young maiden from the outer settlements that he fancied not long ago, but he has not spoken of her nor have I seen him with her since her family moved nearby."
"No indeed," Erutunín replied. "But yet, look at him, his light is bright tonight. He looks the happiest I have seen in a long time. "
"He does, doesn't he?" Rainiel answered, but as she watched him it occurred to her that something was changed in him.
"Like an earthen star," Erutunín sighed, watching his son in joy, hoping that his life would also know the greatest of joys.
Rainiel caught her breath. What had Erutunín just said?
"What is wrong?" Erutunín asked, sensing Rainiel tense.
Rainiel replied, "Do you recall that I took ada to see Sirrian and Nilleth?"
"I do," he answered, remembering how worried Rainiel had been for Thranduil's well being.
"Nilleth said to me something then that seemed a warning to my heart and now with the words you have spoken my heart fears her words."
"What did I say?" Erutunín inquired.
"Nilleth told me 'Though we bear them, be heedful of earthen stars my young one for they must take flight.'"
Erutunín tried soothing his wife. "My love surely Nilleth's words are not all warning for do we not our son to take flight, find his love and have his own family?"
"I do," Rainiel replied, "it is just my heart feels a warning." In truth Nilleth's words reminded her of the now foreboding words of Êl a Edhel, Star and Elf that told the story of an almost impossible love.
)()()()()(
Legolas was enjoying the evening under the stars. He sat beyond the glade, in a small grove of beech trees. A young maiden was busy weaving flowers and berries into his hair. She was fair to look at: hair of silver, skin pale as fresh fallen snow, tall and strong, a true warrioress of the Wood. She softly sung a melody that told of flowers that bloomed only in the night, under the stars and light of Isil. Flowers that awoke with the Firstborn by the waters of Cuiviénen and also refused a Journey to succumb to the light of Arien.
Legolas eyes were closed, his body heavy with languor, resting against Dineth. She continued humming the Silvan melody as her fingers gently and delicately undertook their task. A moan of contentment escaped Legolas' lips, a slight smile gracing his handsome face. Slowly he raised his hand and took hold of one of Dineth's hands, bringing her battle worn hand to his lips, and laying a gentle kiss upon it.
A matching smile graced the maiden's face. She leaned closer to Legolas, placing a kiss on his neck, eliciting a murmur of satisfaction. Legolas turned to capture Dineth in a kiss, in that way only elves can kiss, patient, graceful and ethereal. What there was amongst the two was only between them and the grove of trees, which offered them a discrete setting to explore the possibilities of forever afters.
But it was not to last, that moment of splendor, for now darkness drew swiftly upon them. Legolas instinctively looked to the South. The trees around him recoiled in fear, the grasses swaying in the night breeze stilling, animals scurrying to hide. Briefly Legolas and Dineth clung to each other closer, tighter, only to jump to their feet, their duty to the Wood ever present.
A Fell wind that brokered no movement chilled the night, dimming the fire. At that very moment, Thranduil felt an intense blackness attempt to invade his heart. He gripped his chest and leaned into Glorfindel. "Shadow comes," Thranduil whispered weakly.
Glorfindel too felt a darkness try to consume him, but he did not feel it as intensely at Thranduil. Thranduil was after all tied in with his forest in an intimate manner. It was as if the limbs of the trees were extensions of Thranduil's being. In becoming king of the Silvan Elves a heavy toll had been extracted by the forest upon the Sindarin elf, but Thranduil did not perceive it a burden. For him it was a gift from the very trees, to feel their living souls bear upon his fëa for in this way he felt as one with his people- a woodland elf.
The music died down as the elves gathered listened to the whispers of the trees, the shivering of the branches. Suddenly all went still, and the forest seemed to hold its breath. A chilly and dark wind swept through the trees, as if whatever evil had arrived let out its own breath. The elves were chilled to the bone, but not by the coldness of the wind; rather by the foreboding it brought.
All looked upon fire that fought against the weight that dimmed it. Legolas entered the glade. His weapons at ready: arrows stored in their quiver, bow on his back, and knives carefully sheathed. Laurenor, Aní and Erutunín followed suit.
Laurenor looked to Istawen and saw that in her face she bore the same concern, and with a nod to her husband she ran towards Thranduil's cave dwelling, to comfort and protect their daughter.
"Everyone into the keep!" Thranduil commanded. As Thranduil called out, a horn sounded in the forest night, bidding all elves to safety. Elves swiftly but calmly collected their family members and headed into their stronghold. Galuiel gathered her mother and carried her into the cave. She turned to look at Glorfindel, offering a sorrowful smile, and then she disappeared into the keep under the hill.
Without word, elven warriors had assembled in their different units. Years of experience made the gathering a precise and orderly scene. No words were exchanged between the warriors and their leaders. None was needed. Glorfindel noted the efficiency of Mirkwood's forces. Already there were elves handing out armor to the assembled warriors. Fingers with centuries of experience were strapping on the leaf like pieces. Not a single elf was missing a protective piece of armor. Mistakes of the past were not ever to be repeated.
Thranduil's forces reminded Glorfindel of the very animals that dwelt in the forest. Those who took to the forest floor were organized like a wolf pack, small but efficient, with a strong alpha as their lead. Yet in these wolf packs, the stragglers or those who traveled in the near back of the group were not the weak members of the pack. True they were smaller than the alpha leader, but their speed and cunning was not to be trifled with. Their keen vision, strong sense of smell, and swiftness of foot, made them perfect outer defenses for the pack as they circled the rear, always keeping vigilant; but these were not wolves, these were wood elves.
And there were the units that took only to the trees in such times. These, Glorfindel mused, were more akin to flocks of birds that darted in the heights of trees. They could travel swiftly in a tight flock, and with a single call, spread themselves out in the branches of the trees like wild fire, scattering whatever pattern they had been in. With another call they could circle in around a target, closing-in in the blink of an eye, like pernicious but deadly birds, Glorfindel noted.
Yet all of these warriors and non-warriors alike were swift in the trees and swift on the forest floor, but years of training under a vigilant eye selected those who were especially gifted to make up the ranks of their different units. Glorfindel eyed the warriors that remained encircling the keep. These Elves were large, strong, and broader of chest. They certainly could handle a dead-on assault. Their legs were long, thick thighs like the trunks of trees to hold their ground and charge with impending force if need be like stampeding horses.
Much was to be said of Thranduil's warriors. So few elves outside of Mirkwood had such a vantage as did Glorfindel this night and impressed he was. Glorfindel shook his head in disgust. He had always wanted to take the time to thoroughly inspect Thranduil's forces in detail, but this was not the way he had hoped it to happen. These warriors were not as numerous as those of Imladris, but their controlled ferocity and instinct for protecting their home was intimidating.
As Glorfindel turned to speak to Thranduil he saw that his sons and daughter surrounded him. They were listening intently to a messenger who had apparently just arrived. The elf's face was pale, his posture showing the wear of what had obviously been a hard ride to the palace.
"My King, the band of orcs came upon us unawares."
"How?" Laurenor asked, surprise and frustration apparent in his voice.
The messenger's face was pained, and Glorfindel noted that although his face was clean his clothing was full of what appeared to be orc blood intermingled with what was sadly the blood of elves.
"My lord, we felt the Shadow's breath as you feel it now. We broke into a defensive formation and sent scouts out to assess where the threat was coming from. They never returned, and as we were going to seek them out a crushing blackness overcame us. A fog thick as the smoke a dragon's breath leaves in its wake enveloped us. We could see nothing, hear nothing, except the wild beating of our hearts."
Aní gasped, "How is this possible?"
"I asked myself that question and hard as I tried, my tongue could not utter a word. My breathing became laboured as I felt a heavy weight descend upon me, and then they came, bearing down upon us." The messenger's face was grim, and his eyes were dim with sorrow.
"Yrch," Thranduil murmured, a fierce intensity shining in his eyes.
"Yes my lord," the messenger's eyes were stricken with grief.
"We have lost many this night," Legolas whispered as he looked into the warrior's eyes.
"Yes, we have."
Rainiel pressed the weary elf, "Forgive my curtness, but pray tell, were you able to defend yourselves at all?"
"Yes, my lady. Once the orcs descended upon us, the weight of the Black breath was lifted and we were able to defend ourselves, but not before we bore many injuries and losses. It was a group of thirty, and they inflicted much damage upon us. Under normal circumstances our group of twelve would have easily routed the foul creatures, but they had the advantage this night."
"And you had no warning, from the units further South of this attack?" Legolas queried.
"Nay my lord, not a word. We found this most startling as it is the direction the accursed creatures came from. We fear the worst."
Thranduil stood, his head bowed in silent contemplation. How could he have missed this attack? He had felt none of it and all so close to his realm. He knew what evil masked these dull creatures, but he had not expected an attack so bold.
Legolas voiced Thranduil's concerns aloud, "Dol Guldur has released its vileness upon us in a way unseen in the past." Legolas paused as he looked at Thranduil, and catching his father's eye, he continued, "And yet I sense that this attack will not quite reach your borders Adar. The Black Ones yet fear your might."
"I hope you are right Legolas. I hope you are right," Thranduil sighed, clearly exhausted from the burden of Shadow that weighed so heavily upon him.
Upon finishing his questioning of the messenger, Thranduil made sure all the warriors had been informed of the happenings. Of how the attacked had been precipitated, of the loss of elven lives. Units began disappearing into the dark forest, with faces pressed into hard lines. The remainder of this night was going to be the darkest indeed.
Legolas looked at his father, his light armor in place, "I take my leave of you, my lord."
The formality in Legolas' voice made Thranduil wince. No longer was his son in front of him. In his place stood a deadly warrior, ready to defend his home. Thranduil rationally understood Legolas' role. His place was with those who were merging into the night, but despite this Thranduil grabbed Legolas' hand in his and whispered, "No."
Legolas looked away from his father's imploring eyes, "Adar, I must."
Thranduil reluctantly let his son's hand go, "Be safe my son."
"Always, Adar, always."
Elrohir and Elladan had their weapons in place and looked expectantly at Thranduil.
"And you two, although I know I cannot bid you stay, be safe, for I could not bear to burden Elrond with any ill news," Thranduil spoke gently to the two.
Elrohir and Elladan bowed to Thranduil.
Glorfindel too had his weapons in place, "Thranduil, you understand my need to go."
Thranduil nodded his head, and silently he thanked Glorfindel for going. Having the elder warrior accompany his son and the twins lent him some comfort. "Take care," Thranduil clasped Glorfindel's shoulder, "and watch out for them," Thranduil threw a glance to the backs of the three young Elves who were silently disappearing into the forest.
"Be assured that I will guard them with my life," Glorfindel responded, squeezing Thranduil's shoulder in turn. And with that Glorfindel turned and was gone.
Glorfindel peered ahead towards Legolas who had swiftly vanished into the trees alone. And then there are those who hunt like the lone hawk, pouncing on their prey when no attack is expected. These I fear the most, and for these I fear for the most, he thought to himself.
"Elrohir, Elladan," Glorfindel whispered, "You make sure you keep close to Legolas."
The two nodded in agreement and soon were off trailing closely behind Legolas.
)()()()()(
In the meantime Laurenor was organizing warriors to surround the palace, and as Aní was heading out, Laurenor called out to him, "Wait!"
Aní turned and saw the look of concern on his uncle's face, and without needing to ask it, Aní answered his uncle's question, "I will stay with them if you wish."
"That would bring great comfort to my heart," Laurenor admitted.
Aní searched for his mother before he joined Istawen and Lotórie, finding her readying to mount her horse. "Naneth," Aní cried out.
Rainiel turned to face her son, her countenance clearly showing the pain she bore at departing from her son and husband. "Do you go with Legolas," Rainiel asked, hoping that her son would answer in the negative.
"No Naneth, I stay with Istawen and Lotórie. Laurenor wishes for me to be with them in case…," Aní's voice trailed off, unable to speak what was obvious.
"This brings peace to my already troubled heart my son," Rainiel answered, relief clear in her voice.
"It is my heart that is troubled, Nana. Please take care."
"I will take care my son, u-'osto [fear not]!"
Aní embraced his mother tightly, and as he released her he looked into her eyes and silently helped her onto her steed.
As she galloped into the dark shadows of the forest, a chill ran down Aní's spine. He turned to look for his father but could not find him. Instead he saw Thranduil walking amongst the warriors that were surrounding the cave fortress, dressed in a thick but flexible armor.
"Hir nîn [my lord], where is my Adar," Aní asked Thranduil as he neared him.
Thranduil sighed, "Your father has accompanied the group of healers and scouts that is going to aid the units that were attacked."
Aní's eyes widened with fear. He spoke steadily, but the tightness in his voice betrayed his concern, "How far south will he travel?"
Thranduil's eyes softened as he recognized his grandson's fear for his father, but he answered him truthfully nonetheless. A seasoned warrior stood in front of him at this moment, not his grandson. "Erutunín will go as far south as is possible. We need to aid those that may have been attacked. We need to account for all our warriors that are on patrols in the South."
Aní's face reddened with anger, but his voice did not betray his emotion, "Hir nîn, that is my role as a warrior. My Adar is no scout!"
Thranduil's face bore no emotion as he coolly answered his grandson, "You are mistaken Aníralendon. Erutunín is an expert scout. Do not forget he spent many seasons in the company of Elrond's sons and the Dúnedain. He knows the arts of healing in the wilds like no other." Thranduil's face relaxed into a sympathetic smile, and he whispered so no others could hear, "We live in such times where loved ones must put themselves in harms way. I for one am glad you are here."
"Ai, Daeradar. I only wish no one had to risk their lives. I wish that my Naneth and Adar were not warriors, weren't skilled in arts that are needed in such times, and were simply regular folk that needed protecting."
"I too sometimes wish these things, but 'tis not our place, and it is best we face our burdens with hearts free of what ifs."
"My King," Laurenor called to Thranduil, approaching him from where he had stood with a group of warriors.
Thranduil turned his head to Laurenor in acknowledgement. Aní, seeing his grandfather was needed quickly took his leave of Thranduil and headed into the cavernous keep.
Thranduil paused to think of his children, his grandchildren. Rainiel was off riding between units, ascertaining their positions, setting out the pieces like a game of chess. Although calculating and strategic, Thranduil knew that unlike a game, Rainiel was acutely aware that lives were at stake. Laurenor was closer at hand, organizing the guard around his stronghold. And his marriage-son, he was off serving as guard to a group of healers who went to meet up with the injured Elves who had survived the attack. Thranduil was relieved that Aní had ultimately accepted Laurenor's request to remain with Istawen and Lotórie. And Legolas, Thranduil worried for his youngest son. Darkness was drawn to the brightest of fëar, and Thranduil feared for Legolas for he was a bright star amongst his people, much like Nyére had been.
"Ter oiomornie, tulta tuolya [Through endless dark, summon forth your strength]," Thranduil whispered an ancient summons for the strength of warriors.
"My Lord, some words for your people?"
Thranduil was taken from his thoughts by Laurenor's words. "I will address them shortly," Thranduil answered in a firm voice. As Laurenor turned to take his leave of him Thranduil added, his voice full of concern and care, "Laurenor, take great care of yourself."
Laurenor's voice softened, "I will Adar, and I will ask the same of you."
Father and son embraced, and then Thranduil entered his cavernous palace and addressed his people, sharing words of assurance, and most of all of hope.
[1] From The Lost Road and Other Writings, Quenta Silmarillion