Disclaimer: I had a bit of help in this chapter. If you know, you know. :D I'll comment on it in the end. Cheers!

CHAPTER SIX

The Second Token

Lorien continued on nearly unperturbed by winter's chill. The leaves had not yet begun to fall, though the streams had now grown colder than usual. Snow seldom reached the floors, and it had not yet done so here. Just over a month had passed since Legolas arrived from Mirkwood, and already his mind was beginning to feel rested from years of strife. The elves of his realm loved best the season of autumn. Just around this time, he began hearing them sing hymns to honor it.

Legolas meandered down one of the pathways with Haldir at his side, the pair of them deep in discussion about the arrival of ambassadors of Gondor later in the evening. Humans were so infrequently allowed to visit Caras Galadhon that it was a hearty subject of conversation among the eldar of Lorien.

"There are rumors spreading of a shadow in the east," Haldir said. "Even Lady Galadriel has seen it, though its nature is hidden from us."

"My father has heard of it also," Legolas said, his brow furrowed deeply with thought and concern. "Do you suppose the enemy has found a new leader to amass its forces?"

"We had this discussion many years ago, did we not?" Haldir said. Legolas recalled the conversation he was referring to—every once in a while, the orcs would gather and organize as though led by a greater force.

"Still, suspicions and rumors foster means for finding answers, and—" Legolas stopped. The wind rustled overhead, but there was a melodic sound of music carrying with it. "Do you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

"That sound," he said. "What is that?"

Haldir looked around and then stopped at the top of the hill, a characteristic hint of annoyance smudging across his features. "Up there."

Legolas looked up the hill where Haldir had indicated. A stream trickled beneath the bridge they were now standing upon, and there was a pair of figures sitting at the very top of the hill—right at the bank. One held a lute while the other sat atop a rock.

"It is Lady Arwen," Haldir pointed out, though Legolas had recognized her.

"And Estel," he added.

A chute of sunlight streamed in from the treetops, casting them both in an otherworldly glow. The very air around them seemed bright with magic and vibrance. Estel was facing away, looking down at her lute, and Legolas could not see her expression—only Lady Arwen's. There was a melancholy touch to her features which disappeared quickly when Estel looked up from the lute. After a brief exchange, she set the instrument down to pick up a piece of parchment—jotting something down before continuing on playing.

"What are they doing up there?" Legolas asked.

"What they always do," Haldir answered with no small amount of tire in his voice.

At that, something bitter feathered within Legolas, disappearing as quickly as it came. "Shall we go and say hello?"

"I'd rather not," Haldir answered.

"Why?" Legolas looked at him.

His friend seemed wary with his response. "We will see them both later on, anyhow," he said. "They're to attend the dinner."

"Both of them?"

"Yes," Haldir said. "And speaking of—there is a surprise awaiting you, regarding that."

"What surprise?"

"A friend you might not have been expecting to see."

Legolas looked back at mother and daughter—once more, a deep somberness had overtaken the Evenstar as she regarded her adopted daughter. When Estel turned slightly so that he saw her face, The Mask was firmly in place across her features.

Upon returning to his quarters, the Prince was met with a most delightful sight: a familiar figure stood perched outside his door.

"Galion?" Legolas beamed, greeting his friend warmly. "What are you doing here? I did not expect to see you for a long time still, my friend."

"I was not expecting to come," Galion answered with equal enthusiasm. "It's not for naught your father sent you away—the Greenwood has become most tiresome."

"I'm afraid if you're looking for something to keep you busy, you've come to the wrong place," Legolas said with a laugh.

Galion glanced around. "I take it you've gotten what you came here for, then?"

"Some idle relaxation—yes," he said, then looked in the direction of the sun. "You're ever on time for all eating occasions—in all the years I've known you, I'm starting to think that that is no accident."

His friend chuckled. "Come," he said, turning as though he knew exactly where to go. "Tell me all about your stay."

By the time they arrived at the hall, guests were already mingling throughout the space. The hall itself was a very wide and open chamber with pillars lining the outskirts, tables nestled underneath them. Beige marbled floors matched the ivory curtains that fluttered around the open arches, billowing with the sunset breeze. At this elevation, high up in the mallorn trees, all of Lothlorien was a splendorous view on all sides.

Legolas slowed to take it all in, breathing in the fresh air that carried in with the wind—it smelt of rain and autumn, though there was none on the clear horizon. It was as close to winter as the forest of Lorien would get. Musicians sat and played atop the dais before the view—a lute, flute, and some other instrument Legolas didn't recognize.

The life of the eldar was truly a blessed one—occasions such as this for the entirety of their immortal lives. Anywhere that the elves lived, the land was blessed and thriving with music and life.

"I see Lady Arwen is no less lovely than she ever has been," said Galion as he led them toward her. She was standing in a group.

"You cannot still be pining for her," Legolas said,

"Oh, no." Galion laughed. "Not for a long time. But may we not acknowledge the lovelier things in this world without desiring them for ourselves?"

Legolas considered that a moment. "Indeed, I suppose we can." On many counts, it was the way of the elder.

A harp played in the background as the prince was greeted warmly by the elves surrounding the Evenstar. She was the last to greet them, ever the vision of grace and ethereal light.

"It is most wonderful to see you, my Lady," Galion said as he bowed. "How fare you, these days?"

"Very well," she said. "And how are you, Galion?"

"Better and worse, thereabout," he said. "I've many responsibilities in the Halls of Thranduil, now. Have you been in Lorien long? I did not expect to see you here."

"She has not been here long enough," said an elf-maid standing beside Arwen, smiling kindly at her friend. Unlike Arwen, she was wearing clothes in the traditional style of Lorien. "And won't be much longer—will you, friend? You have graced us with your presence and will soon return to Imladris."

Galion grinned at her. "What brought you to Lorien in the first place, my Lady?"

There was an odd look on Arwen's face as she looked at him, but did not miss a beat in answering, "My daughter brought me here."

Galion blinked in surprise. "Your—daughter?" He looked around the group, but none seemed willing to answer the question in his eyes. "You have a daughter?"

"Do you not remember her?" she said. "You have met twice before—though you might not recognize her as you once did. She has grown since then."

"Is Estel here?" Legolas asked. Arwen nodded with a touch of solemness as she turned, indicating to one of the tables nearest to the edge of the hall.

Legolas and the others followed her direction. The others' expressions, he noted, were a touch dour once the Lady's attention was removed from them. There, silhouetted against the light of the setting sun, sat Estel. She was at the far end of one of the tables, her finger tapping the glinting bowl of the wine glass before her. One leg was crossed over the other, a lilac dress flowing over her legs—in the style of Lorien, unlike her mother. All the plates were empty, as dinner had not yet been served, and her expression mimicked the setting: utterly void. She was as much an empty, inanimate vision of the composition as were the cups and plates.

Galion's voice stuttered just subtly enough for Legolas to catch it. "That is Estel?" The prince grinned in amusement. All pretty maids garnered the same reaction from him."She is indeed a far cry indeed from the child we met."

At that, it was an effort to stifle the hearty snort that tempted the prince. "Not as much as you might think."

If only Galion had seen Estel thrust herself across the river Anduin, he would know the same truths that Legolas did. Estel had grown to become a master of disguises—one would never guess at the wildling peering out from the shadows of her eyes. He wasn't so sure that the elves of Lorien would much appreciate knowing it, though. In Mirkwood—perhaps. Estel would fare better among the people of the woodland realm.

At that moment, she finally noticed she was being watched. Her tapping ceased, and her eyes sliced in the direction of the group. Utterly unyielding, Estel's gaze traveled across each of their faces—stopping at Legolas's. Some had turned away from her feline eyes, back to each other in conversatio—but he did not look away, despite standing the furthest away from her.

No, Legolas met her stare with an equally steady look. The visions passed between them of Anduin and Methelda's corner of the wood were secrets passed in silence. Did Estel think she could go longer than him without blinking? If she did not yield, neither would he—and when it finally drove her to look away, Legolas allowed himself the smallest grin.

"Why does she sit alone?" The elf-maid asked Arwen once more. "Does she not wish to join us in conversation?"

"My daughter simply does as she pleases," Arwen answered. "I have little say or explanation for her decisions."

"What has she been doing in Lorien?" Galion asked. "To be wearing its garbs, she must have been here for some time."

"Yes, that's right," Arwen said. "She has worked with tutors and studied the history of Middle Earth far better than she would have in Imladris."

"Does Lord Elrond not have a library?"

"He does. But my daughter has always been a difficult child to—contain," she said, glancing back at Estel. "For all that immortality is a gift of life, there is much of it in her mortal self."

They all seemed to consider that a moment. Estel's stark stillness was a great contradiction to the lady's depiction of her. It was a telling indicator, to Legolas, of how well this mother knew her daughter. Perhaps she knew the extent of Estel's contradictions as he did. Perhaps she was as amused by them as he was.

"Lorien inspires life like no other place," Galion asked. "Does the lady draw?"

Remembering the scratched and uneven lines on Methelda's door, Legolas smiled to himself. The girl couldn't hold a steady brush if her life depended on it.

"No," said Arwen. "She writes songs and stories."

"If she writes songs, we must hear one of them," said Galion, trying his best to sound encouraging. "I have no doubt she is a wonderful composer."

At that, Arwen smiled. Perhaps she was wondering about Galion's keen interest in her daughter, especially when all others reviled her. But this curiosity was a testament to a lack of familiarity with his character—this was his way, knowing how to find and draw attention to what others considered most important about themselves. And Estel was clearly an important part of Arwen's life. "She writes them for her stories," she said. "I do not know that she would care to share them with us prematurely."

An elf came to the dais to at that moment to announce the coming of dinner. They were seated at the tables shortly afterward. Galion, naturally, followed Arwen to her table. Legolas, in turn, chose the seat in front of Estel, rather than the one on Galion's other side. The Mask was in place, and she even bowed her head in formal decorum—not a hint of recognition in her cold eyes.

The last time they had sat at a table together, Estel had barely been tall enough to look over the edge. She'd thrown herself between Legolas and Galion and snatched the food right off his plate. He smiled at the memory, but Estel showed no sign of remembrance—if there was any at all. It was almost comical, the way she sat and stared at nothing.

"I cannot believe how much you have grown, Lady Estel," Galion said following a greeting, smiling at her across the table. "So many years have passed, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

Estel's eyes rose to him timidly. She nodded. "The pleasure is mine."

Her attention shifted to Legolas briefly, then jumped behind him. New company was entering the room—a mortal man along with Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn. When Legolas turned back to Estel, her brow was furrowed as she watched the man, specifically—a man of Gondor, or so his apparel told the story.

As the company was escorted in the direction of their table, Galion went on to Estel, "Lady Arwen tells us you write stories and songs."

She turned her attention—not to him, but to Arwen sitting beside her. The lady looked toward her daughter, and both their faces were utterly washed—yet, there was some unspoken exchange between them. And not altogether happy.

"Yes, I write stories," Estel finally admitted. "I've only written one song, for my most recent one."

"So your mother says. We would be honored to hear it someday—wouldn't we?" The question was directed at Legolas.

There was a hint of panic in Estel's eyes, as though she was hoping he would protest. Before Legolas could say a word, the table was prompted to rise and greet the Lord and Lady of Lorien, who were led to the head of the table. The men of Gondor were situated on either side of them.

"Greetings, all," said Celeborn, the ethereal Lady of Light standing beside him. "You are welcome at our table. Please, be seated."If Estel looked withdrawn before, she had reclined utterly into herself in their presence.

"Legolas, son of Thranduil," Celeborn addressed him next. "Forgive us that we have not yet seen you since your arrival. You or Lord Galion. I trust your accommodations have been fair."

"They have been most excellent, my Lord," Legolas answered with the utmost politeness. Galion answered likewise.

"And how fares the daughter of Elrond?" Celeborn addressed Arwen next.

"Very well, my Lord," Arwen answered.

Celeborn seemed to regard Estel a moment, but with none of the veiled dourness that other elves watched her with. "And how are you, Estel?"

Estel's whole body stiffened at the mention of her name. "I am also very well," she said—equally controlled, though her body betrayed her anxiety.

"This is a momentous occasion for you to have joined us," he said, then gestured to the brown-haired man beside him. "This is Heimir of Gondor—descendant of Earnur and captain of the white city." Estel looked toward the young man.

Heimir grinned at the young woman. "I did not think to find other humans in Caras Galadhon—it is a pleasure to meet you, my Lady."

"Estel," she said—surprising Legolas. "My name is Estel."

"Estel," he repeated. "Is that an elven name?"

"It is the Sindarin word for 'hope,'" she explained, turning to face forward once more. "Or the root of 'trust.'"

"Were you raised in Lorien?" The young captain asked.

"No. I was raised in Imladris after my family passed away."

"Im—ladris?"

"Rivendell," Estel clarified, to which he nodded in understanding. "In the house of Lord Elrond."

"How interesting," he said, picking up one of the tomatoes on his plate and throwing it in his mouth. "Tell me—how does a human occupy themselves in the land of the eldar?"

The table fell silent at the odd question. Some humorous thought flickered across Estel's features, as though she suddenly understood why elves disdained the presence of men at their table.

"I'm sure there are as many books to read and verses to learn as there are in the cities of men," she said, no doubt mimicking all their thoughts.

The captain smiled as he chewed. "And have you learned many verses in your time here?"

At that, Estel fell silent.

"Perhaps only the ones she has written herself," Galion answered politely after the long pause, throwing Estel a friendly grin. "We have been trying to convince her to share them with us."

Now, she'd begun to pale.

"Songs written to honor Lorien?" Celeborn asked, directing the question at Estel.

She looked at him, clinging to the Mask with all her might. "Only one song—to honor the story inspired by the Golden Wood."

"And what story is that?" Celeborn asked, then sat back. "Or perhaps you should tell us in the form of song?"

Estel stopped breathing, her body ceasing all movement. Her mouth fell open and closed. Legolas saw the way Arwen turned and looked at her daughter—expressionless, at first, but then she turned away with a look of deep remorse. Perhaps she should never have mentioned Estel's stories and songs.

"I—" Estel stuttered. "I will be sure to share it with my Lord and Lady one day."

"Why not now?" Celeborn gestured to the dais. All the musicians, having paused in between songs, looked to him.

Her mouth opened and closed the slightest bit—one of the only minute signs that showed her inward panic. Legolas almost pitied her at that moment, and wondered whether the Lord himself found his treatment of her amusing.

"I'm afraid this song is not meant for happy company," Estel said. "It does not speak of bright futures and happy endings."

"So much the better," Celeborn said. "The greatest stories are borne from tragedy, are they not?"

There was something to be said about the Lord's tastes…

Estel hesitated a moment, but finally acquiesced. She rose from her chair and circled around the table. All others inside the hall continued on in conversation, no one paying any mind to the human inching slowly toward the dais.

Estel approached the musician holding the lute. From where he sat, Legolas was able to comfortably watch the exchange. The elf-maid gave her the instrument, leaving her alone at the edge of the dais. While Estel stared down at the lute, stricken with panic, Legolas wondered if she might run—it would not be entirely surprising. Though if not for the wind billowing her dress, she could have appeared a statue at that moment.

Estel straightened abruptly—as though she'd inwardly accepted that there was no escaping her fate. For all that her expression had been tormented, Legolas was curious to hear what story she was so afeared to share with them.

A single chair had been left atop the dais, just before the setting sun. Two of the musicians had been standing, and only the lutist had been sitting. All the hall carried on in conversation as Estel situated atop the stool and and plucked a few of the strings—as though tuning them. No one seemed to notice that she had taken a spot up there at all, save for Celeborn's table.

The wind billowed her skirt as she crossed one leg over the other, her back straightening as she looked around the hall. When it nearly came time for her gaze to pass over Legolas, she averted it.

There was a moment's pause before she strummed the notes—the same song Legolas had heard her playing to Arwen. She strummed for several moments, producing a comforting yet desolate tune.

These scars long have yearned for your tender caress

To bind our fortunes, damn what the stars own

Rend my heart open, then your love profess

A winding weaving fate to which we both atone

You flee my dream come the morning

Glowing light—a flight like wind

To dream of promises I would not keep

Of my eyes, glistening as I weep

Your voice I would follow into the storm

To find your heart, its passion inflamed

By love ever growing, hardening into stone

Amidst the call to hold you in a heated embrace

Legolas blinked at that last lyric, exchanging a surprised look with Galion. All the room had quieted, listening on.

You flee my dream come the morning

Glowing light—a flight like wind

To dream of promises I would not keep

Of my eyes, glistening as I weep

I know not if fate could have us live as one

Or if by love's blind chance we'd be bound…

Her voice quieted, her fingers strumming,

The wish I whispered when this all began

Did it forge a love you should never have found?

You flee my dream come the morning

Glowing light—a flight like wind

To dream of promises I would not keep

Of my eyes, glistening as I weep

Once Estel stopped playing, the entirety of the hall allowed her a low applause. Estel set the lute down and rose from the chair, refusing to look out into the crowd. Arwen had been facing the stage as she listened to her daughter's song, and turned back with a controlled expression of despair.

"That was—truly lovely," Galion murmured to her across the table. "What is the emotion she sought to capture? As part of the story—what is the tale about?"

Arwen looked at him. "She has not told me," she said. "For the story is not yet finished."

Later in the evening, the company had dispersed from the hall. Some had gone elsewhere to continue on in conversation, but many had returned to where they were staying. Galion had gone with one of the groups—a new collection of friends—and Legolas had gone with them. The night continued on with a fair bit more Miruvor than the elves had allowed themselves in the presence of the Lord and Lady of Lorien. By the time he was headed back home, Legolas had felt just the slightest tingle in his fingers.

He passed by the library on his way back, noticing that one of the lights had been left on—a bright candle, it looked like. It flickered against the walls and arches, barely reaching the trees outside.

Instead of passing by, Legolas found he was prompted to stand and look upon the light. A curious thing, as there was no outward reason for it. But he had long ago learned that when his instincts prompted him so, there was often a reason—and so he crossed the grassy clearing to the door of the library, which was desolate inside.

Or so it looked.

Books lined the shelves, but the caretakers had long since gone to sleep. Legolas headed toward the stairs leading to the second floor, where the glimmer of light flickered at the top. His footsteps were quiet when he finally reached it, looking around the room. Statues were posed around the corners, lamplight pouring over their ivory forms from the outside. All the bookshelves were untouched, but it was the chair in the far corner that captured his attention—and the figure seated upon it. Sleeping.

Legolas approached her silently, taking in Estel's sleeping form. She clutched a book to her chest, her legs bent atop the seat. An inkwell and quill were positioned nearby, still open. A candle flickered with the breeze passing through the nearby window.

His attention focused a moment on the book itself, wondering if it were the book, but he would not wake her to find out—nor would he risk reading it without her permission. Instead, Legolas bent down and took the inkwell, removing the quill and closing it properly. There was a quill stand on another table, and he went to leave it there. Finally, Legolas returned to blow out the candle. She really didn't need it, as the white lamplight of Caras Galadhon was ample in the room, but perhaps Estel's mortal vision forced its necessity.

Legolas turned away from her and made for the stairs, still unsure of why he had been drawn here in the first place.

A fell gasp stopped him in his tracks. He turned slowly, seeing Estel shift atop the chair. A look of deep stress was etched across her features, and her breathing quickened as beads of sweat dotted her forehead. Unsure of what to do, Legolas merely turned and stared at her unfolding distress. It was until she gasped rather loudly that he stepped back in her direction, kneeling before her by the chair.

Nothing but discomforted squirming—until she gasped, "Leithio nin." Release me.

"Estel."

"Leithio nin—"

"Estel." She did not wake. "Echuio, mellon." You must wake, my friend.

"Edraith enni," she whispered under her breath. Save me."Edraith enni—"

"Av osto," Legolas said, covering her hand gently with his. Do not be afraid. "Odulen an edraith angin." I've come to save you.

At that, Estel's eyes shot open. Her chest heaved as unshed tears glistened in them. The book fell from her hands as she lurched forward, gasping violently. Only then did Estel finally look at him, her eyes wide with shock. Little by little, the panic subsided—amazement took its place, her gaze traveling around his shoulders, neck and face. Her breathing calmed.

"Legolas?" she breathed out. "You were—"

"I was what?"

Estel blinked a few times, casting her attention down to the ground. To the book. She reached forward and lifted it from the ground, her hands shaking. "Never m ind. I'm sorry," she said. "I should not have fallen asleep here."

Legolas looked at her a moment. "Are you alright?"

"I will be," she said, then hesitated. "I—have nightmares sometimes." A pause of silence. "I'm sorry to have worried you."

"Only for a moment," he said, smiling a bit. Legolas then turned his attention down to the book. "Is that where your song is written? It was a most interesting piece."

Even in the pale light of the lamps, he could see her face redden with embarrassment and annoyance. "Do not mention that to me," she muttered indignantly. "I should like to forget it ever happened."

"What is your book about?"

Estel looked at him. "It's just another story for Methelda. It does not matter."

"So, you won't tell me?"

"Why should I?"

Legolas frowned. "Very well," he said as he stood, approaching the stairs. He paused to look back at her. "Losto vae. Na lu e-govaned vin." Sleep well. Until next we meet.

There was a moment where Legolas thought she might speak, but she did not. Estel merely stared at him from where she sat, her eyes still glistening when he turned and made his leave.

So, what do you think the second token was? ;)

To clarify my AN-I didn't write the song. Actually, I rewrote roughly half of it to fit the story lol. The original is one of my favorite folksy songs of all time! And it raised an interesting point, because there's an incongruence between Estel's mortal physiology and Legolas as one of Tolkien's elves—who rarely experience and (even more so) succumb to lust. I gave this story a T rating because I haven't figured out exactly what that portion of their relationship will look like.

Til next time!