My Grandmother takes my hand and together we walk through the dark. She leads me to her garden, a special place just outside the palace. A place just for her. I have come here before often in the daytime for my mother loves it and so we always spend time there when we come to visit. She says it is the closest thing in Valinor to her Home, that Grandmother has grown herself a little piece of the Greenwood, that it is magic. I have never been here at night.
We sit ourselves below a tree in the middle of the glade and I look to the sky. Stars twinkle above us, they light my face with their silver light, they soothe my soul.
But beside me Grandmother sighs.
"They are so different, Estel," she says, "in all the wrong places."
"Father says that too." I tell her.
"How to tell a story of these stars?" She murmers, "I do not even know where to start."
"There is Earendil." I point him out to her. Father tells me Earendil is the only star here that looks the same and I think perhaps that will make her feel better.
"So he is," she smiles, "I am so out of practice Estel!"
"May I join you?" It is my Father who steps out of the shadows, his soft glow helps us locate him and I am surprised to see him. I did not know he intended to come out here too.
"Of course, Legolas," Grandmother jumps at the sound of his voice and I think she is surprised also. He always makes her nervous and that makes me sad. It should not be that way. But then I remember Laerion saying he knew my Grandmother had wronged my Father. That is not right either. I cannot imagine my mother ever wronging me.
I think he will sit beside me, so I will have both of them, one on either side, but I am astonished when he does not. Instead he sits himself down on my Grandmother's other side. She ends up sandwiched between the both of us.
"Am I interrupting?" He says, "Have you started Mother?"
"I was explaining to Estel the stars are all in the wrong places, Legolas." She seems unsure when she speaks . . . As if she does not know quite what to say. I feel her take a deep breath before the next as if she is building up courage.
"I knew the moment I arrived when I looked up and saw such a foreign sky I had made a mistake . . . Such a mistake." For a moment all is silent and I hold my breath but then Grandmother smiles . . . Although I do not think it is a true smile, and she pats my hand. "But Estel has just reminded me Earendil is up there above us and he at least is still the same."
"Ah, Earendil," Father leans himself back against the tree, "I have met him, you know, Estel."
"You have met him?" I cannot believe that! My father has been to the very skies? "In the sky, Father?" I cry.
He laughs,
"Not in the skies. Elrohir takes me to see him. Earendil is his Grandfather, you know that?" He leans forward and looks at me, frowning. "I really have neglected your education," he mutters.
But I do know that. I know who Earendil is but it is so strange to think Elrohir's Grandfather might be a star in the night. I cannot comprehend it so I try not to think it.
"What is he like?" I wonder out loud.
"He is sad . . . And he is lonely." Father says, "but I like him. He loves the sea, as I do. But Elrohir gets so anxious about that when we speak on it. He is funny the way he worries . . ."
And I wonder why Elrohir would worry about the sea and my Father? He is a Silvan after all, not a Teleri with their fishing boats forever sailing.
But while I wonder Father puts an end to our speaking of Earendil. He turns to my Grandmother instead.
"Tell me a story from my childhood, Mother." He says, "It does not matter that the stars do not match it. Tell me an old familiar one. I have missed your tales."
And so she does, hesitantly at first, her voice quiet, but slowly she speaks louder, more confidently. She weaves a story like I have never heard before, one of the Gods, one of magic, one of heroes . . . Silvan heroes. And I am entranced.
Then when she has finished her tale she sings, light and sure in our Silvan tongue she sings to the stars, and Father joins her. She sings high and he lower, their voices dancing with each other through the night air. It is beautiful.
It is a lullaby and it soothes me, pulls me along to the edges of the dream paths. I could walk them if I wished but I do not want to miss a second of this. I am bereft when at last they stop and the world is silence again.
"I am sorry, Mother." It is Father who speaks first and he is sorrowful.
"You do not need to apolgise to me, Legolas! It is I who is sorry."
I think they have forgotten me. I sit with my head in my Grandmothers lap, she strokes my hair but I think they have forgotten I am here at all.
"I do. I have only just been made aware of how deeply my words must hurt you. I have been angry and I have used that anger to punish. I am still angry to be honest but I did not mean to hurt like that. I did not realise what it felt like . . . "
"I need to tell you," Grandmother replies in a whisper, "How much I regret my choices. Since the moment I arrived here I regretted them . . . So much regret. I tried to return but they would not let me."
I feel my Father move, I think he takes her hand.
"No matter how deep my anger, you always have my love, Mother." He says. "You have always had it. That is why it has hurt so badly. I still love you."
There is a sob from my Grandmother.
I should not be listening to this.
Do not cry," He says, and she replies with what she told me also all those weeks ago when I first told her Father had shared her stories with me.
"Tears are not always sad, my little wild one."
"I am that no longer." Father says. "Not little, no longer wild."
"Oh but you are. Still determined, still courageous, still driving your father to distraction trying to keep up with you." She chuckles. "You will always be my wild one to me. I should never have left you. The darkness strangled all my light. I could not see. I cannot explain it to you, Legolas."
"I know how it is," he replies. "Sometimes dark clouds surround me and choke all that is good from my life. I cannot see Maewen then . . Or the children . . And it is endless."
I do not want to listen. I do not want to hear his misery that I cannot help with. In my mind I hear Laerion. "I expect you to remember it next time . . .You can remember Elrohir and I both telling you to stop"
This is next time . . . And I need to stop.
I move then, twisting against my Grandmother, just enough to remind them I am here, and it works.
My Grandmother removes her hand from my head, and Father leans over and shakes me.
"Estel. . ." He says and I blink up at him in the dark. "It is late Monkey. You need bed. Your mother would lecture me so badly if she knew you were still up!" He smiles, he is not serious. "Do you know your way back? Can I trust you to go to bed and I will be there soon? I need just a few more moments here."
"Yes, Father." Of course I know my way back to my room. We are barely out of the palace, but he would not have let me go back on my own before. It makes me feel important.
So my Grandmother kisses me and I leave them. I am glad I do not know what they talk about when I am gone. I do not want to hear it.
But when I get back to my room and crawl into my bed I remember the sadness in Fathers voice as he described those black clouds. It almost makes me cry. I do not think I can ever make him happy on my own.
My Grandfather's carvings lie on the table beside my bed where I left them before dinner and I pick them up to distract myself. Seeing Gimli and Father makes me happy. I stand them up where I can see them from bed, where they will watch over me at night, but Aragorn . . . I do not want him watching me. It is him who has bought those dark clouds that haunt my father. I reach up instead and place him on the windowsill, looking out into the dark, where I cannot see him and he cannot see me.
Then I reach for my book. The book my father gave me of the life he used to live, and I wait.
I do not have to wait long before he arrives as he promised me he would and he is smiling as he enters but I wonder if I do not see the smallest hint of tears upon his cheeks.
"So, Monkey, are you ready to sleep?" He says as he takes the book from my hands. "Tomorrow you can show off those sword-fighting skills to your Grandfather."
He turns to put it on my bedside table and his eyes fall on the carvings that sit there.
"What are these?" He exclaims as he picks them up.
"Grandfather made them for me . . .instead of the dragon." I tell him.
"They are glorious." He murmers to himself. "He has caught Gimli exactly!" And he turns to me, "Why he has even managed to make me look handsome!"
"You are handsome, Father!" I laugh. What he looks in that carving is happy, in a way he is not quite ever now but I do not want to say that.
Then he sees Aragorn the King.
"What has poor Aragorn done to be stuck up here?" He asks as he turns the carved King over in his hand.
I do not tell him the truth. I told Elladan but not Father. It would hurt his soul.
"He is the lookout." I say quickly, "To make sure we are safe and nothing comes in the window."
"Ah," He is satisfied with that, and he puts the King back down where I had him. "That makes perfect sense. It is a very Aragorn thing to do. He was always the sensible, careful one complaining about Gimli and I and our foolishness! Aragorn was nothing if not responsible. Of course he takes watch."
He kisses my forehead then and stands.
"Sleep tight, little one. I am sure you will with these strong companions watching over you." And I reach up quickly as he turns to leave to clasp his hand.
"I love you, Father" I say.
I should have said it days ago when I first said my hurtful words. I will not let him go a minute more thinking I hate him.
"I did not mean what I said at Elrohir's when I was angry." I whisper. "I did not mean it. You are the best Father in the world."
And when he smiles it reaches all the way to his eyes.
"And there I was thinking my Father was the best in the world!" He laughs.
"He is the best Grandfather!" I giggle in return.
"I love you too, Estel." He says then, "and I am sure you are the best son."
And just like that all is right in the world.