GREENLEAF'S DAY OUT
Third Age 250
The Woodland Realm, Greenwood the Great
Chapter 5 – Royal Welcome
"Ninniel! Ninniel!"
The long-suffering nursemaid gave a startled jerk when Legolas's cry rose suddenly from behind her, as she stood in the quiet of his chambers preparing linens and fresh clothing for his bath. A hand pressed to her breast, she smiled at the elfling who rounded the enormous bed that separated them and began tugging urgently at her skirts.
"Is it true what the guards are saying? Is it?!"
"What rumor has caught your ears now, sweetling?" Ninniel rested a gentle hand on his head to steady the squirming child.
Nearly three hundred years had passed since she came from Caras Galadhon to live in Mar Lasgalen and enter the service of Queen Maereth. Through those centuries, she helped raise all five of the royal sons from infancy, loving them as she did her own three grown sons. Each prince was special and dear to her in a unique way (although if pressed, she would confess to a secret favorite). She knew well the myriad of quirks, strengths, and flaws in their personalities, big and small, and guarded them with the fierce devotion she held for the Elvenking's family.
After only eight short years with him, she still had much to learn about little Legolas, but one thing was already clear to her. His eagerness to participate in all aspects of palace life, even happenings most already dismissed as mundane at that age, surpassed the energy ever demonstrated by any of his brothers. And although supervising all that zest and vigor for hours on end taxed Ninniel's own reserves, it was the silent wish of her heart that Legolas retain his childlike nature for many more years ahead.
"I was out on the terrace and I overheard Glanedhel say to Naurion that they require two more riders to assemble a number of six. Six palace riders! That is a protoble escort for the Crown Prince!" His small pale face shone with the triumph of his reasoning. "Which must mean Mirion is riding out to meet Ammë!"
"I believe you mean 'protocol' your Highness," Ninniel said mildly, astonished though she was by his deductions. "In which case, you are correct." The elfing's powers of observation seemed to rise by tenfold when it related to matters of his personal interest. He struggled to remember the correct words to the aerlinns and other holy chants his mother attempted to teach him, or the Quenyan names of the fabled cities across the Western Sea. But he could identify nearly every guard that held a post at Mar Lasgalen, a half-hundred ever rotating faces, and he mastered the location of every single chamber and passageway in his father's grand palace as though he had lived there since its first stones were laid.
"May I ride out with Mirion and his escort?" asked Legolas, positively giddy just from anticipation. "Ammë would be so surprised to see me there!"
"She would indeed. But wait a moment-you do not know for certain where your brother is going."
He countered her logic immediately. "The only way to know is by asking!"
As he fidgeted with impatience, Ninniel hesitated. Would it please the Queen to come home to a son that was freshly bathed, well-fed, and ready to tuck in for the night? Or would she rather see her beloved youngest ahorse and out on the Men-i-Naugrim to meet her? She knew her Lady long and well enough to be certain of the answer.
She breathed out a sigh. "With Prince Mirion's consent, if he is indeed leading an escort for the queen, you may ride with him."
Legolas hollered his thanks and was halfway out the room by the end of her sentence. The riding party could depart at any moment, so he had not a second to lose!
Fortunately, Mirion was not difficult to track down. Much like it was for their father the King, it was near impossible for the Crown Prince to go anywhere unnoticed by the palace's many other residents. The third roving servant Legolas queried, somewhere between the morning solarium and the portrait chamber, redirected him to the opposite end of the long hall that ran through the palace's east wing.
Legolas gave a merry wave to the lone guard that stood outside the King and Queen's empty chambers. His greeting went unreturned, but his sharp eyes noticed the hint of a smile between the cheek pieces of the sentry's burnished helm.
The elfling strode up to a great oak door that bore different markings from that of his parents. He raised his fist and pounded, but all his force produced just a faint noise against the solid wood. Nonetheless, he heard a response from within, bidding him to enter.
"I knew you would come running as soon as you heard." Mirion turned away from the mirror to smile at his little brother, whilst his valet moved around him, continuing the precise task of draping and fastening a heavy crimson cloak about his shoulders.
"Then you already know what I have come to ask." Legolas clasped his hands together and closed his eyes as though in prayer. "Please, please, please may I ride out with you? Ninniel said I may, by your leave!"
"It is true I am going to meet Ammë on the Road, but I have other business to attend to beforehand." Mirion gestured at the black tunic he wore, woven with intricate patterns in threads of gold, and tapped a fingertip against the silver wreath that encircled his head.
As Legolas felt his heart sink, he scrunched up his nose in distaste. "What sort of business?" he asked, although his brother's regal attire made it obvious. Boring, fussy, royal business, which the king's councilors liked to call "official". The sort of business that drained the fun out of their father every time he donned clothing like that.
"A sort of business that I would like to invite you to accompany me on."
Legolas's eyes widened and his head made a sudden jerk of surprise. "You would? Me?" The rise of excitement quickly morphed back into skepticism. "Why?"
"Because it would be a new experience for you." The valet finally finished fiddling with his cloak, which allowed Mirion to move towards his brother. "And if I am to allow you to ride out into the night with me, I would like to be able to tell Ammë you learned something valuable from it."
"Make haste now. We cannot be late and you must dress for the occasion!" Ignoring Legolas's attempts to ask more questions, he gave the elfling a gentle push back towards the door, while nodding to his valet. "Orthor will help Ninniel select something appropriate. I shall meet you in the courtyard."
The entire escort of six riders were already assembled and standing by their horses by the time Legolas sprinted down the palace steps, his own crimson riding cloak streaming behind him. Only after both princes had climbed onto their saddles did they mount their steeds in unison. Legolas guided his chestnut mare, Noruin, next to Gwaeron, Mirion's black stallion. The guards flanked them in pairs, four behind and two at the lead, the foremost bearing the green and silver banner of the Crown Prince of the Woodland Realm.
"Now will you please tell me where we are going?" Legolas grumbled, as they started down the pathway leading away from the King's grounds. All of his brothers found some strange pleasure in keeping him in suspense whenever they could, regardless of how often he complained about disliking surprises. "Whom are we visiting that is so terribly important?"
He fought the urge to yank at the stiff, high collar of his embroidered tunic. Orthor had made clear that he was expected to keep himself presentable for at least the first leg of their journey. If he succeeded at that, then perhaps Mirion would allow him to shed the rest of the livery on the way to meet their mother.
"We have not far to go," Mirion responded. "Just to a family's home at Willowdell. They welcomed a new child this morning, and I am going to bring them the Crown's Blessing."
"The Crown's Blessing!?" Legolas squeaked, snapping his horse's reins so abruptly that even the patient Noruin nickered in objection. "That is important business!"
"I would say it is the most sacred of all my duties," said Mirion. "And undoubtedly the one I take the most pride and pleasure in." He touched his hand over his heart and smiled. "I am honored that Ada and Ammë have chosen to pass the charge on to me. However, sometimes I fear I make a disappointing substitute for the King and Queen."
"You are the Crown Prince," Legolas declared in his simple reasoning. "The task suits you."
"Well, they will at least be glad to receive the blessing from not just one but two princes." Mirion glanced sideways at his littlest brother. "Has Ammë taught you the Kyermë?"
Legolas flushed red to his eartips and dropped his chin. "She made me recite it once…or twice…" he mumbled. He did not want to admit that their mother's repeated attempts to teach him the holy prayer have so far remained unsuccessful. "I have not quite mastered it… yet."
"It is Ancient Quenya, and so many words are difficult," Mirion said sympathetically, though Legolas knew well that his eldest brother spoke fluent Quenya as effortlessly as he did Sindarin, Silvan, and Westron. "But do not worry yourself. Watch closely and do as I do, and all will be well."
A short ride took their party past the northwestern border of the King's lands and straight into Willowdell, a village of a few dozen dwellings scattered amongst the whiteleaf willows. It was just one out of the few hundred Silvan communities in the Woodland Realm, but one of the handful that Legolas had visited before.
Memories from only two summers ago flooded back to the elfling as they rode up to a large, straw-roofed structure he immediately recognized-the guild hall. Among the elves of Willowdell were the realm's best crafters, particularly renowned for their basket weaving. Legolas's father had brought him along to observe the skilled labors of their guild, for it was the Elvenking's custom to periodically visit the workers from every single trade practiced in Greenwood the Great.
"The kingdom's true wealth lies in the skilled hands and industrious spirits of our kinfolk," Thranduil explained to his inquisitive son. "Skills that answer nearly every need or desire of the Free Peoples of Middle-earth, and so we have commerce unlike any Elven realm ever established in these lands. It is my charge as king, our charge as the ruling family, to ensure they have all the resources they need to practice their trades. Through this, we shall all prosper."
The riders dismounted by the entrance of the guild hall, and the two rear guards took the reins of the horses to secure them on nearby posts. Legolas peered at the closed doors, puzzled by the empty silence so different from the flurry of activity he remembered at his last visit. "Where is everyone?"
"In their homes," said Mirion. "Feasting and toasting the new life that has joined their village. Our people work hard, but we stop to celebrate and give thanks for the greatest of Eru's gifts."
"Come." The elder prince motioned to a lone cottage in the distance. "They are waiting."
Legolas followed, but mulled over in his head the seemingly countless celebrations that followed the begetting of each new elfling. He was most familiar with the Mereth Eruhin, the grandest of the Greenwood festivals when the entire realm was invited to feast at the king's table. The guests of highest honor were the children born over the past year, and it was a marvel unmatched indeed to see not just one, or even just two or three, babes side by side. Reputedly the greatest number ever presented at Mereth Eruhin was twenty-four, about a century before Legolas was born. He himself had never seen more than eight, and he hoped to witness the record being broken someday.
An ellon with eager dark eyes and a nervous smile stood at the pathway to the cottage as the princes approached. "My lords, I am truly honored to welcome you to our home." He bowed low at the waist to each prince, and Legolas tilted his head in the way he had been taught to respond. His father and brothers, even Gelir, looked so regal when they did it, but he always felt like he was just nodding at the ground.
"The honor is ours Raegnir, to bring you the King and Queen's congratulations," Mirion said, and they followed the new father into the cottage. Two guards each carried in an oak chest emblazoned with the Elvenking's crest, which they set down by the entryway before leaving to stand outside with the rest of the escort.
An elleth sat upon a wicker rocking chair by the warmth of the hearth. She looked up from the small bundle cradled in her arms and hurried to rise, but Mirion quickly motioned for her to remain where she was. "Please. There is no need to disturb his rest, or yours." While Legolas hovered some distance away, the Crown Prince went down on one knee before the young mother.
"You are Breneril?" When she nodded in answer, Mirion smiled. "May I know the little one's name?"
"We have named him Glaenir, my lord." She leaned forward and carefully adjusted the swaddling clothes to offer him a better view.
In spite of himself, Legolas also crept a few steps forward to look at the sweet, pink face with squinty eyes, puckered lips, and a little dot of a nose. "He is so small!" he breathed an awestruck whisper. Then he clamped a hand over his mouth, for the infant suddenly stirred and popped a tiny fist out from under the swaddle, as though reaching for the faces hovering above him.
"Would you like to hold him, Caun-i-Conin?" offered Breneril. "He has a calm nature."
Legolas keenly watched the transfer of this precious bundle from the mother to Mirion. The newborn seemed to shrink and appear even tinier, more fragile in his brother's arms. Mirion surpassed all the Woodland princes in size; he was bigger than their father or even Turhir, although not as tall as either. And he was almost frighteningly strong; Legolas had spent much time watching him flatten and taper enormous plates of steel at the palace smithy, swinging a great hammer the elfling could barely raise off the ground.
His physical strength did not encroach into his gentle nature, however, and Legolas was reminded of this as Mirion cradled Glaenir to his chest, resting the little head upon his broad shoulder. His hand, with fingers thick with callouses, smoothed the baby's fine dark hair, and he started to hum a tender lullaby as he rocked side to side.
"He is of a sweet and trusting nature indeed," Mirion remarked to the parents, who beamed as they watched this scene unfold. "Not even one of my brothers was this accepting of me the first time I carried them."
"We were certain he would take to you, my lord," said Raegnir. "If I may say so, fatherhood will suit you well. May the day soon come when you beget children of your own."
Mirion smiled, but as he glanced down at the child nestled against his chest, a strange sadness passed over his face. "You are very kind." After one last caress of the baby's head, he reached out and carefully returned Glaenir to his parents. "If you are ready, Prince Legolas and I will proceed with the blessing."
Legolas hurried to follow Mirion's instructions as they made the preparations. While one of the oak chests was filled with various presents for the new elfling, such as clothing and toys, the other held a single gift far more special and invaluable.
Legolas stopped to admire the calarsil as he drew it out of the chest and held it between his hands. A similar orb-shaped lantern wrought in silver hung at his bedside in the palace, and hundreds more shone in the homes of every Greenwood elf born in the Third Age. No two calarsils were exactly alike, but each one bore a crystal in its center about the size of an acorn, from which issued a soft white light that pulsed like candle flame. It was a light that, by design of its maker, would shine faithfully and unceasingly until the crystal was smashed.
Mothers had taken to calling this crafted gemstone a faemir. With it they taught their children about Eru Iluvatar, and about his gift of fëa though which they had life and strength and goodness.
Legolas brought the calarsir to the baby's parents. Raegnir bowed as he accepted it, giving repeated thanks, and tears flowed from Breneril's eyes, so moved was she by the lantern's beauty and the love it represented.
As Breneril cradled their son at her breast, Raegnir held the lantern over the child's head. Mirion stepped close to the young family and with his eyes lowered to the newborn's face, began to sing the Kyermë.
Legolas bowed his head and murmured along the few words he could remember, but did so as quietly as he could. His brother's deep, rich tone was especially pleasing in song, and he did not want to tarnish it. While Legolas did not know its exact translation, he knew from his mother's teachings that the Quenyan hymn was a prayer of supplication for Eru's graces. The Queen herself learned it from her own mother, who carried it across the Belegaer with all the other memories of her birthplace in Tirion.
"The Crown's Blessing is a promise," Queen Maereth had told him. "From us, the King's family, to all those born in Greenwood, that we will care for them as our own, until their fëa departs this world. The Kyermë invokes Eru and hallows that promise, so we must never break it."
The sun had set by the time they had finished, and when the princes exited the cottage, a crowd had gathered outside to commence the village's celebration. It took a while longer for them to politely take their leave, for Mirion was determined not to disappoint anyone wishing to greet and speak with him.
"The Woodland Realm grows," Mirion mused aloud, as they finally rode out of Willowdell and made for the Forest Road. "You have not lived long enough to notice, but when I was your age, there were not nearly this many elves, this many families, dwelling close to Mar Lasgalen. Willowdell did not exist at all, and neither did most of the villages north of the Emyn Duir."
"That is good, is it not?"
"Yes, and it has been Ada's goal since he came to the throne. 'A kingdom with people as numerous and radiant as Elbereth's stars', he told me." Mirion raised his hand toward the evening skies overhead and smiled at his own childhood memory of riding out in the forest with his father, their path lit only by the evening lights.
"Outside Greenwood, you might hear it said by others that the time of the Eldar has passed, and these lands will soon be left to the Secondborn," the Crown Prince continued. "But not for our people. Ennor has always been our home, and it shall continue to be for ages unforeseen. In the lands of the Elvenking, we will endure!"
"We will endure." Legolas repeated the words often spoken by their father at gatherings, claimed by him as the motto of his house. He startled when all six of the guards suddenly shouted the words as well, drawing laughter from his older brother.
"I have heard from Master Raedor that your riding improves each day by leaps and bounds," Mirion said. He drew up his stallion's reins and nodded at the long wide road that stretched before them. "Perhaps you would like to show me. Ammë is waiting!"
GLOSSARY OF NON-CANON TERMS:
MIRION THRANDUILION
Crown Prince of the Woodland Realm, Heir to the Elvenking's Throne, Prince of Princes (Caun-i-Conin)
Year of Birth: Second Age 3430
Most noteworthy skills: unparalleled swordsmanship; bladesmithing
Notable physical feature: significantly muscular build
Hair Color: silver-blonde
Eye Color: green
Etymology: "Great Treasure" (Sindarin)
CAUN-I-CONIN ("Prince of Princes" - Sindarin)
Royal title bestowed on Prince Mirion of the Woodland Realm by his father King Thranduil in T.A. 225, a few years after the birth of Prince Gelir, the King's fourth son. This title designates him as chief over his four younger brothers, granting him command over them (individually and as a group) and all forces that may answer to them. However, this authority is not absolute, and can be supplanted by either the King and Queen. In accepting the title, Mirion also swore a sacred oath of responsibility for the welfare of his brothers, as well as any wives they take or children they beget.
MERETH ERUHIN ("Feast of Eru's Children" - Sindarin)
A grand feast hosted each year by the Elvenking for the entire Woodland realm, which began on the first day of Ethuil (Elvish spring), and lasted for twelve days. The tradition was established in T.A. 50 by King Thranduil and Queen Maereth, as a celebration of the realm's peace and growing prosperity, and in thanksgiving for Eru's blessings. Elf children are especially celebrated and are traditionally given presents by both the crown and the entire community.
CALARSIL ("Lantern of White Light" - Sindarin)
An orb-shaped lantern made of glass and silver containing a light-bearing crystal colloquially called a faemir ("soul gem"). The faemir is a clear crystal that holds and radiates a white light that does not extinguish or fade. It was created by Lord Olondir, the Master Craftsman of the Woodland Realm. He guards the secret of its making, and therefore has crafted every single faemir in existence. The silver lanterns themselves are made by his apprentices.
The tradition of gifting a calarsil to every newborn elf in Greenwood was started by King Thanduil and Queen Maereth early in their reign. The lantern is displayed proudly in the home of its elven owner, who treasures it for life. In the event of the owner's passing, the lantern is destroyed and the faemir crushed into a fine dust as part of the burial ritual.