Greenwood. June 1, SA 722
THRANDUIL trudged.
The seven Silvans skipped, hopped, and leaped. Two Sindarin warriors beside Thranduil hastened to catch up to the Silvans who laughed and sang. They chatted like squirrels in play, animated and noisy.
Aron walked past Thranduil, shaking his head.
"What?" Thranduil did not increase his speed. He refused to be urged, no matter what.
Aron moved past Thranduil, saying nothing, but Durion grinned as he slowed his pace to walk beside Thranduil.
"You don't know what you are missing."
"I'm walking, aren't I?"
"More like a Silvan lad dragged into a stone cave."
"Nothing wrong with a cave."
"Not to you or I who had known the glory of Menegroth, but to the Silvans, there is nothing worse. As far as they know, only the Dwarves go under a roof of stone."
"What is great about this pool, anyway?"
"Stop being such a pain, you grump."
"Grump? I am no Dwarf."
"No, you certainly don't look like one," Durion looked up at him. "But, you sure hell act like one."
Thranduil was easily the tallest amongst the small group of seven Nandorin youths and the three Sindarin warriors. He was a shoulder taller than all the Silvans in the company, and even among the Sindar, a head taller
"Come on, Thranduil!" Galion called, far ahead of the company. He waved his arms, practically jumping up and down, urging Thranduil to move faster.
"Look at him. The lad is a young buck in heat. And you the prudish doe who cares not for his ardent heart.
"Aron, when has Durion become a poet?"
"Well, he did attract a mate to marry him unlike you and me."
"Why would I want to attract a mate? I have no intention of tying myself to someone. I do not need any fetters."
"Bonding is a connection, Thranduil, not a shackle. And unfortunately for you, my dear friend, you will not have a choice that is available to others." Durion padded Thranduil's back. "Your father's door is lined with eligible young ladies, and elders will not leave you alone until you choose one of them. As you have just returned, they remain silent. But the passing years have been peaceful. They will expect you to take a wife sooner than later."
"Durion!" Aron pulled Durion away from Thranduil.
"It is the truth. You can't keep it from him, Aron. He will have to face it soon. You know what the elders expect of him. Besides, being married is not so bad. There are things you can never experience until you are wed."
Durion gave them a look of a fox who had snatched the prey from another's mouth. "Trust me when I tell you that there are blessings you cannot know until a woman takes you in her arms. Her embrace is like a pool of golden water-flowers and her kiss…"
"Ugh! Stop!"
Both Aron and Thranduil shoved Durion away from them. They stopped at a bank of a stream where a cascade of waters fell over a rocky side of a hill. The water fell in thin sheets of shimmery fabric, singing like summer rain into the deep pool. The fading sunlight illuminated the crystalline waters which glittered like luminous drops of adamant.
Lush vines covered with white flowers climbed over large boulders that surrounded the pool. High above, on the rocky cliff side that embraced the ravine, rows of trees shaded the rest of the stream. Where sunlight did not touch, deep green moss covered the trees and the rocks.
A wind swept through the ravine, trilling a haunting song when a hundred of white petals fell from the sky like snowflakes.
Thranduil looked up. At the edge of the cliff side, a cluster of crabapple trees with snow-white blooms crowded the cliff. The white petals fluttered as they fell like a glint of crystals on the green moss-covered floor and the glimmering surface of the pool.
"Ah, you poor children, you do not know. Ask any of those Silvan lads." Durion pointed at the Silvans who were already shedding themselves of their clothes. They bundled the clothes and placed them on their heads. "They know how to live. All of them, except Galion, are married and they are half your age. They know the joys of kissing the ripe berry lips."
Thranduil glanced at Aron who nodded. They picked up Durion's arm, one on each side, and threw Durion into the pool.
"Enjoy the embrace of the golden-flowered pool, fool!" Thranduil laughed.
Durion surfaced as easily as a fish, then floated on his back. Lazily, he glided over the serene surface.
"Although I love the warm embrace of this pool, it is the Forest who keeps my heart. Ah, dear beloved, whose eyes are like the stars of the summer sky, whose lips shame the softness of the sweetest summer…" Durion broke into a song about the fine attributes of Eryn.
Thranduil and Aron both rolled their eyes and walked away.
"Was it not Durion who used to make fun of my brother for his affection…" Thranduil frowned. He had not thought of her, the beloved of his brother.
She was like the flower, graceful, ethereal and beautiful, after which she was named—Niphredil. They told Thranduil only that she never made it to Sirion.
"What happened to Niphredil? No one had told me and I suppose I had blocked her out of my memory."
Aron let out a sigh as he looked up at the petals falling from above.
"On our trek down to Sirion, before we reached the haven, they had to tell her what happened to Thranarin. She fell down where she stood and never got up."
Thranduil picked up one of the white flowers fallen by his feet. It was barely budding, half of its petals still wrapped in the green sepal. It had just started to bloom, one that would have just begun its new life. Had the attack at Menegroth never happened, Niphredil and Thranarin would have wed in the spring.
Sharp ache pulsed through Thranduil.
Silwen had reminded Thranduil of Niphredil when he first came to live on the Isle of Balar where he met Lord Cirdan's niece for the first time.
Thranduil glanced at Aron. If Niphredil reminded him of Silwen, perhaps, it was so for Aron as well.
Aron looked away, his lips tight.
"I am sorry, Aron."
"She was never mine; she never gave me a reason to hope."
"And yet you hoped."
"Love and hope are wayward, Thranduil. Sometimes we cannot help but love and hope, even when you know you shouldn't."
A silver bell of laughter echoed in Thranduil's head, but the blond Sinda turned away and hardened his heart. He shall not love, nor shall he hope. He did not need those things that he cannot control.
"No matter how much you wish it otherwise, there are some things you cannot turn away by pure will." As if he could read Thranduil's mind, Aron said before removing his clothes and entering the water.
The water was surprisingly warm. And due to the large boulders that surrounded the edge of the pool, it made Thranduil feel as if he was in another world where no one existed except them.
As he swam following after Durion and others, Thranduil could hear the music of the water. Mingled with the singing of the thrush and the falling of the water, the music struck a chord within his soul. If he had nowhere to go, he could wade in these waters forever.
"Galion is becoming impatient," Aron said, his voice half infused with laughter. The youth was on top of the moss-covered boulder waving at them with the eagerness of a child. After making sure that Thranduil and Aron were following, Galion jumped back into the water.
They left the enclosure of the pool and the stream widened and surrounded a small islet whose edges were green of spring grass. The water flowed swiftly once it left the pool. And passing the islet, the stream was swallowed by a rocky hill.
To that islet and its green shore, all the Silvans swam followed by Durion and Aron.
"Come on!" Galion moved his skinny arms up and down. "We need to get there before the ellyth come."
"Who? Why?"
"You'll see."
Thranduil did not understand, but waded into the water, carrying his discarded garments on his head as did others, and followed Galion to the islet. Once they were on the islet, Galion whispered, "Tie your garment on top of that tree branch so it won't get wet."
Thranduil also lowered his voice. "Why are we whispering?"
"So we don't frighten the spirits and the moon moths."
"Spirits? What spirits?"
"Of the woods and trees. This is their home." Galion grinned. "Curl your toes onto the moss. Like this?"
"Why?" Thranduil stepped onto a mossy rock, then teetered on the wet and slippery surface.
"That's why." Galion grinned wider, showing all his teeth.
Like a child learning something new for the first time, Thranduil dipped his toes into the thick carpet of green moss, vivid against the dark stones. Cool water seeped through the moss between his toes. A rich scent of dark brown earth curled up from below. It was a scent of a forest, musky, sweet, and woody with the freshness of summer rain.
"Mmmm."
It was a simple thing, this act of dipping his feet into a cool moss, yet his muscles relaxed. Thranduil breathed in the scent of early summer. There was something here that he had forgotten. Thranduil looked up at the small grove of willow trees yellow with golden flowers. It reminded him of the silver beeches in the Forest of Neldoreth and the dance of sunlight on their golden leaves.
As a child, he had run bare feet on the thick green grass of the late spring forest. Sunlight was golden and warm, the air permeated with laughter. The blue sky had been full of the glint of silver-white flower petals that danced in the wind. It was a long time ago, when he was young and free of the sorrows and grief, back when the pain and the tears were from laughing too much. It seemed like so long ago, back in the Forest of Neldoreth when Lady Melian still walked the earth with Lord Thingol by her side.
Thranduil closed his eyes. Trees were singing, their slow and joyful melody filling the air. And amid their song, Thranduil thought he heard the rhythmic chiming chorus of the sprites that no longer existed. At least, he had not seen them since he left Menegroth.
"Thranduil?"
A note of concern colored Galion's voice, but Thranduil did not open his eyes. He clung to the image of Neldoreth, the feel of the fading sunlight, and the sound of the laughter that was already becoming faint.
Thranduil?
Elrond's mind brushed his. It was just a flash of emotion, a mere second of feeling, but Thranduil could sense Elrond's concern.
When he opened his eyes, Thranduil saw Galion's face clouded with worry.
"You well?" The lad's face was pinched.
"Of course I am."
"But…" Galion pointed to his face.
Thranduil touched his face and found his face wet with tears.
"I think this place reminded me of home." Thranduil hastily wiped away the wetness.
Galion smiled as if he understood. "I go up north, several decades ago, to explore with friends. Lots of fir trees there. Reminded me home, and I cried like a babe." Tears glistened in Galion's eyes. "But Glineth says, home is where those we love are."
"She is wise."
"I know."
They stood together listening to the whisper of the winds among the songs of the trees and the water.
The Silvans were singing, their exuberant voices ringing through the tranquility of the place. As they sang, the night fell like a soft veil over the islet. The joyful voices of the Silvans softened.
"Watch this," Galion whispered next to Thranduil.
As the Silvans sang, a string of lights appeared, flickering and flashing. They formed a long line and settled among the vines clinging to the boulders by the pool. It gave the pool a soft glow in the dark.
"Are they fireflies? Isn't it too early for them?"
"It's warmer here. There many, many of them that live here. Along with the moon moths." Galion pointed.
Moon rose early and as the moonbeams touched the trees, a silver light glimmered, then opened its gossamer wings.
Thranduil opened his eyes wide. They were the moonflies. Thranduil had not seen them since the last time Lady Melian walked the halls of Menegroth.
Aron, who stood just behind the six Silvans, turned to Thranduil. His eyes glistened like raindrops in the moonlight.
"I didn't know there were moonflies in this forest."
"They say when Lady Ivann sang her music, the first trees and the forest creatures woke in this forest and sang with her," Galion said. "They say those moon moths came when the moon first rose. When the first moonbeams touched the places where the ancient music of the Holy Ones still lingers, those moon moths were born. They say that the trees here still sing the ancient songs."
Durion walked over, dripping water. "I told Galion about Menegroth and how you used to love the moonflies in the Western Garden. He wanted to show them to you. Not everything we knew is gone, Thranduil. Some still exist somewhere… like here. In winter, there are pale niphredils and in summer golden and silver elanors. There are still parts of the world that are untouched and remain innocent of Morgoth's taint."
"Tell him about the sprites," Galion said, his eyes sparkling like stars.
"Sprites? You mean the spirits of the earth like Tavari and Nermir?" Thranduil could not believe it.
There were other spirits in the world besides the Valar, the Holy Ones. Lady Melian taught him there were three kinds: the spirits of the air, earth, and water, known as Sylphs, Sprites, and Mermaids. Doriath, protected by Lady Melian from the malice of Morgoth, was a haven for them. But once Lady Melian left Middle-earth and Doriath became exposed, those spirits also left. Thranduil had not seen the sprites since they lost King Thingol.
Out here in the vast, unprotected world, he had seen none of the sprites who had once played in the woods of Doriath.
Early in the mornings when dews were wet on the grass Thranduil used to imagine that he could hear them sing. Sometimes, he thought he heard them chant softly among the grass in the evenings when the sky was clear and the stars were bright.
"Don't Silvans call their young ones Sprites? I don't think Galion means the real sprites." Aron turned to Galion.
"Silvans call Elflings pranksters and mischief-makers, that's true. But real sprites here, like my mum said. I've only heard about them from my mum," said Galion. "Many in the Sacred Grove, they say, but I have not been there. Not until I came here that I saw them with mine own eyes."
"Galion is right. I've seen them," Durion said. "Did you not hear them chant and sing?"
"I thought them insects, perhaps," Thranduil said. "I didn't see them."
"They have become rather shy. They no longer come out whenever," Durion said.
"Only when night deepens or when no one is about," Galion added when the six Silvans who were singing softened their melody. "The ellyth are here."
"Elven women?"
"They come to bathe and dance in the moonlight." Galion smiled.
"And why are we here, to gawk like little boys at them bathing?" Thranduil frowned. He did not want to be in such a position.
"Most of us are married," Durion said. "It is our wives we will be 'gawking,' but who will you be peeping at, Thranduil?" Durion laughed out loud.
"Don't let him bait you, Thranduil," Aron said. "We can't even see the ladies bath even if we wanted to." Aron pointed to the boulders surrounding the pool. From where they stood, they could only see the water falling from the top of the cliff where the crab apple trees stood. As if in reply to the songs of Galions' friends, lyrical voices of ellyth rose from the direction of the pool.
The songs of the Silvan lads were inviting, cajoling, pleading with the ladies to join them.
"So why are we here, then?" Thranduil turned to Galion. "Why did you bring me?" The moonflies could have been shown other times.
"Well…" In the light of moonlight, Galion's youthful face turned a shade darker like ripening fruit. The young Green Elf looked down at his feet as he scratched the back of his head.
"Among the bathing beauties, there is a young elleth whom Galion fancies." Durion chuckled as he pushed Galion's shoulder with his. "He wanted to introduce her to you. He hopes to ask for her hand in marriage."
Thranduil understood then. In a wedding ceremony, a groom needed a male family member who will stand by him, filled by his father or brother. When the groom had neither available, he would ask his nearest relative or the closest friend.
"You should find someone who is worthy." Thranduil turned and grabbing his clothes walked away.
He wasn't ready to stand for anyone. Perhaps Elrond. But even with his dearest friend, Thranduil wasn't sure. Elrond, no doubt, would not care that there was a taint in Thranduil's veins. But not caring about it did not mean it was all right. And even if Elrond would accept him regardless, Thranduil could not.
"Thranduil!" Aron called him back, but the blond Sinda did not turn and crossed the water away from the direction of the pool.
He did not know this section of the forest, but Thranduil did not worry. There were trees here and birds. They would guide him back to his father's campsite later when he was ready to return.
While he was dressing, Aron and Durion caught up to him.
"Don't go off alone, Thranduil. This forest is vast. You could easily get lost here." Aron held onto Thranduil's forearm but the blond Sinda shook it off.
"I know more than you think, Aron. Worry not for me."
Durion blocked Thranduil's way. "Not so fast, Thranduil. On your father's orders, no one is to roam the forest alone. Not until we reach the Dark Mountains."
"If you want to stop me, you'll have to catch me first." Thranduil sprinted away.
Elleth (plural, ellyth) is Sindarin word for elven woman.
Durion's wife is Eryn. Her name means 'forest.'
A/N: According to Tolkien's early writing, there are other spirits in Middle-earth. These were Sylphs (spirits of air), Sprites (spirits of earth) and
Mermaids (spirits of water). Among them, Sprites were the most numerous. Nermir were the sprites that haunted meadows and riverbanks and Tavari were the sprites of trees and woods. These spirits, however, are not mentioned in his later writings.
For anyone who is interested, the singing of the Silvans to their wives and the reply of the ellyth, I was thinking of Marlowe's poem, 'The Passionate Shepherd to His Love' and Sir Walther Raliegh's 'The Nymph's Reply to the Shepherd.' Bonus: John Donne's 'The Bait'