Leaves Parting
Part One: Oak and Beech
One day, I awoke from a dream, holding an oak leaf in my hand. The sun was setting, a pale sun that barely managed to break through the gathering wispy clouds. It was going to rain, a light rain that would bring wind and the smell of twilight to the forest. Around me was a silence that almost broke my breaths with its solemn gravity. I have slept too long - this part of the forest was beginning to feel my presence as a burden.
I sprung lightly from the tree limb, clasping the folds of my cloak tightly against my neck. A cold mist was drifting in from the east, baring its icy fangs deep into my skin and my face. As my feet touched the ground and then crossed to the now dead fire that I built without disturbing even one blade of grass, I suddenly desired that I would make more sound, more movement when I walked. It was as if I was never there, the paths I walked becoming nothing after I leave - it's a sadness that I could never fully express, nor fully form in my mind. After all, the desire was mad after all - grace and elegance, slight of hand and feet, these are qualities that marked who I was, and who my people are.
As I packed the few things I actually wanted to bring back home - my hunting knives, now cleaned, my flask of wine now refilled with river water, and the last remnants of my afternoon meal - I noticed that I kept with me still that oak leaf. So few oak trees are left now, a poignant reminder that this forest, like the rest of the world, is transforming itself day by day into a place that I will soon be unable to recognize as my own lands. My mind was beginning to ache once more. I better hurry for the darkening sky will offer little comfort. I climbed the other tree that stood parallel to the clearing and close to the river and cut down the animals that I hung in its high branches.
The hunt was a small one, consisting only of two young deer and a few pheasants, but I could not have wished for a better bounty. It was almost winter, one can smell the rain's desire to turn into snow, and few animals are still around in this part of the forest. But as grateful as I was for such a successful hunt, I still did not particularly desire nor enjoy carrying the animals to where I kept my horse. The weight of dead meat is heavier upon the shoulders of the hunter then on the shoulders of any other, or so I say.
I ran as swiftly as I could to Arod. He was awaiting me patiently by the river, tossing his white mane and pawing the ground as if he knew how late the hour has grown. Its true what Father says - the horses are sometimes more focused then I. The horse could not even eat the bundle of rushes and grasses I gathered for it, choosing rather to pace up and down the river's bank. I could see its hoof prints still fresh in the river's mud.
As Arod trotted slowly towards me, I remembered something that made me curse my refusal to visit the stables before my departure. I should have brought t two horses, not just my own. Now I had to walk all the way home if I were to load the day's hunt onto Arod. I did not want to burden Arod by forcing him to carry both I and the slain animals. Besides, I refuse to "shoulder" meat, not desiring to feel the press of dead animals behind me while I ride.
"You're much too clean for even a Prince. What's this? Defiling meat and shouldering your hunt is not the same thing." "You might as well bring five horses, one for yourself and one for every deer you slay!" Haldir and Ledilor, the two greatest hunters in all the realms, are also my kin, and yet so far apart are we in nature and beliefs I myself wonder where my temperance deprives from.
I think of Father as I load the day's hunt onto Arod's back, singing softly to the gentle animal. There are great differences between us, as varied and as wide as the differences that set me apart from Haldir. I did not think my sobriety originates from Father, for he is much skilled then I in the ways of both the hunt and of courtly manners. He has the gift of rhetoric and of song, while I myself struggle to find the right way to greet visitors to our halls.
I pat Arod's back lovingly for just a moment more, drawing in the smell of his breaths and of the gathering mists, letting this tender moment sink into my spirit.
"Come along, Arod."
The horse nuzzled me lightly against my shoulder and followed my lead without so much as a second glance. I sang him songs as we walked, songs of trees and of the sea. It was altogether pleasant, for the twilight was beginning to form, and with it, the mists turned grey and violet. The rain still hasn't fallen, but the wind grew in strength. A storm was brewing.
We walked down the river for a mile or so and then turned into the clearing that was lit with torches. It was the Old Road, hardly anything more but a well used horse trail. From here, five miles to the north was the palace. And already I was dreading the moment of my return.
"Arod, have I told you of my dream?"
The rain began to fall lightly and I quickly pulled up the hood of cloak. I gently patted Arod once more and he responded to my gesture, increasing his pace. The eyes of the slain deer seemed to glow under the rain's misty illusions and around me, the forest seemed to close in upon us.
"I dreamt of the oak tree that once stood by my window. Do you remember it? I dreamt that the tree was struck down by white lighting and in its place rose a flower, similar to that of a rose. But the flower didn't bloom - it died, withering slowly away."
Arod began to gallop as the wind and rain began to churn out its fierceness and strength. I ran aside the horse, keeping one hand upon the slain animals to assure that none would slip from Arod's back. The horse quickened its pace upon the first sounds of thunder and the passing trees and river became a blur as I strove to match the gentle creature's stride.
"I love this land. I do not wish to leave it."
Arod neighed, tossing back his head as the first curve of the road drew near. A fallen tree blocked the path and I swung myself lightly onto the galloping creature. I tried to ignore the press of the buck's wet skin against my robes as I leaned forward, lacing my fingers into Arod's mane.
"I dreamt of waves crashing against trees, of fire destroying stone. What place have I now, Arod so far from a place I once thought was my home?"
I braced for the jump and as Arod sailed over the tree, I thought of Father once more. I have taken my mother's life when I was born, yet Father bore no ill will towards me, choosing rather to draw me in close, more so then any of my siblings or kin.. And in doing so, it is he who will take the deepest wound in my decision.
The palace was drawing close and I could make out three figures standing by the fine silver gates. The rain smelled sweet. I do not mind storms - it is for Arod that I choose to return so swiftly.
A horse was running besides Arod and I. I turned in time to catch the eyes of Ledilor looking into my own.
"So you returned, Legolas."
I shifted my eyes to the servants who ran out to meet us, half listening to the praises that sprung from their lips. I felt Ledilor ride in behind me, I heard his boots gently hit the ground no more then two feet behind me.
"What a wonderful feast you brought us, my lord."
"To ride in such weather! Your name must be changed to Windcatcher."
"Heed her not, my lord, she has taken too much mead."
I nodded as one of the servants proceeded to led me into the palace as another took Arod into the stables. The last one, a sweet lass named Gwyn, happily took the animals into the kitchen, crying out praises of such a fine hunt.
"Guards! Tell all, the Prince has returned!"
"Yes, he has. He returned only three days late for his coronation."
Ledilor bowed to me and quickly was astride his horse once more, riding off to the stables, ignoring the rain as he jumped the fence and disappeared out of sight.
I remembered that I forgotten to tell Arod the last part of my dream. I was set adrift on a white pyre, clad in the greens and browns of my family, and the sea was still. And I awoke with an oak leaf in my hand, though the part of the forest I was in comprised of only beech trees, some as old as I.
It was a bitterness and a longing that tasted as sweet as the rain and smelled as fresh as the earth.
Part One: Oak and Beech
One day, I awoke from a dream, holding an oak leaf in my hand. The sun was setting, a pale sun that barely managed to break through the gathering wispy clouds. It was going to rain, a light rain that would bring wind and the smell of twilight to the forest. Around me was a silence that almost broke my breaths with its solemn gravity. I have slept too long - this part of the forest was beginning to feel my presence as a burden.
I sprung lightly from the tree limb, clasping the folds of my cloak tightly against my neck. A cold mist was drifting in from the east, baring its icy fangs deep into my skin and my face. As my feet touched the ground and then crossed to the now dead fire that I built without disturbing even one blade of grass, I suddenly desired that I would make more sound, more movement when I walked. It was as if I was never there, the paths I walked becoming nothing after I leave - it's a sadness that I could never fully express, nor fully form in my mind. After all, the desire was mad after all - grace and elegance, slight of hand and feet, these are qualities that marked who I was, and who my people are.
As I packed the few things I actually wanted to bring back home - my hunting knives, now cleaned, my flask of wine now refilled with river water, and the last remnants of my afternoon meal - I noticed that I kept with me still that oak leaf. So few oak trees are left now, a poignant reminder that this forest, like the rest of the world, is transforming itself day by day into a place that I will soon be unable to recognize as my own lands. My mind was beginning to ache once more. I better hurry for the darkening sky will offer little comfort. I climbed the other tree that stood parallel to the clearing and close to the river and cut down the animals that I hung in its high branches.
The hunt was a small one, consisting only of two young deer and a few pheasants, but I could not have wished for a better bounty. It was almost winter, one can smell the rain's desire to turn into snow, and few animals are still around in this part of the forest. But as grateful as I was for such a successful hunt, I still did not particularly desire nor enjoy carrying the animals to where I kept my horse. The weight of dead meat is heavier upon the shoulders of the hunter then on the shoulders of any other, or so I say.
I ran as swiftly as I could to Arod. He was awaiting me patiently by the river, tossing his white mane and pawing the ground as if he knew how late the hour has grown. Its true what Father says - the horses are sometimes more focused then I. The horse could not even eat the bundle of rushes and grasses I gathered for it, choosing rather to pace up and down the river's bank. I could see its hoof prints still fresh in the river's mud.
As Arod trotted slowly towards me, I remembered something that made me curse my refusal to visit the stables before my departure. I should have brought t two horses, not just my own. Now I had to walk all the way home if I were to load the day's hunt onto Arod. I did not want to burden Arod by forcing him to carry both I and the slain animals. Besides, I refuse to "shoulder" meat, not desiring to feel the press of dead animals behind me while I ride.
"You're much too clean for even a Prince. What's this? Defiling meat and shouldering your hunt is not the same thing." "You might as well bring five horses, one for yourself and one for every deer you slay!" Haldir and Ledilor, the two greatest hunters in all the realms, are also my kin, and yet so far apart are we in nature and beliefs I myself wonder where my temperance deprives from.
I think of Father as I load the day's hunt onto Arod's back, singing softly to the gentle animal. There are great differences between us, as varied and as wide as the differences that set me apart from Haldir. I did not think my sobriety originates from Father, for he is much skilled then I in the ways of both the hunt and of courtly manners. He has the gift of rhetoric and of song, while I myself struggle to find the right way to greet visitors to our halls.
I pat Arod's back lovingly for just a moment more, drawing in the smell of his breaths and of the gathering mists, letting this tender moment sink into my spirit.
"Come along, Arod."
The horse nuzzled me lightly against my shoulder and followed my lead without so much as a second glance. I sang him songs as we walked, songs of trees and of the sea. It was altogether pleasant, for the twilight was beginning to form, and with it, the mists turned grey and violet. The rain still hasn't fallen, but the wind grew in strength. A storm was brewing.
We walked down the river for a mile or so and then turned into the clearing that was lit with torches. It was the Old Road, hardly anything more but a well used horse trail. From here, five miles to the north was the palace. And already I was dreading the moment of my return.
"Arod, have I told you of my dream?"
The rain began to fall lightly and I quickly pulled up the hood of cloak. I gently patted Arod once more and he responded to my gesture, increasing his pace. The eyes of the slain deer seemed to glow under the rain's misty illusions and around me, the forest seemed to close in upon us.
"I dreamt of the oak tree that once stood by my window. Do you remember it? I dreamt that the tree was struck down by white lighting and in its place rose a flower, similar to that of a rose. But the flower didn't bloom - it died, withering slowly away."
Arod began to gallop as the wind and rain began to churn out its fierceness and strength. I ran aside the horse, keeping one hand upon the slain animals to assure that none would slip from Arod's back. The horse quickened its pace upon the first sounds of thunder and the passing trees and river became a blur as I strove to match the gentle creature's stride.
"I love this land. I do not wish to leave it."
Arod neighed, tossing back his head as the first curve of the road drew near. A fallen tree blocked the path and I swung myself lightly onto the galloping creature. I tried to ignore the press of the buck's wet skin against my robes as I leaned forward, lacing my fingers into Arod's mane.
"I dreamt of waves crashing against trees, of fire destroying stone. What place have I now, Arod so far from a place I once thought was my home?"
I braced for the jump and as Arod sailed over the tree, I thought of Father once more. I have taken my mother's life when I was born, yet Father bore no ill will towards me, choosing rather to draw me in close, more so then any of my siblings or kin.. And in doing so, it is he who will take the deepest wound in my decision.
The palace was drawing close and I could make out three figures standing by the fine silver gates. The rain smelled sweet. I do not mind storms - it is for Arod that I choose to return so swiftly.
A horse was running besides Arod and I. I turned in time to catch the eyes of Ledilor looking into my own.
"So you returned, Legolas."
I shifted my eyes to the servants who ran out to meet us, half listening to the praises that sprung from their lips. I felt Ledilor ride in behind me, I heard his boots gently hit the ground no more then two feet behind me.
"What a wonderful feast you brought us, my lord."
"To ride in such weather! Your name must be changed to Windcatcher."
"Heed her not, my lord, she has taken too much mead."
I nodded as one of the servants proceeded to led me into the palace as another took Arod into the stables. The last one, a sweet lass named Gwyn, happily took the animals into the kitchen, crying out praises of such a fine hunt.
"Guards! Tell all, the Prince has returned!"
"Yes, he has. He returned only three days late for his coronation."
Ledilor bowed to me and quickly was astride his horse once more, riding off to the stables, ignoring the rain as he jumped the fence and disappeared out of sight.
I remembered that I forgotten to tell Arod the last part of my dream. I was set adrift on a white pyre, clad in the greens and browns of my family, and the sea was still. And I awoke with an oak leaf in my hand, though the part of the forest I was in comprised of only beech trees, some as old as I.
It was a bitterness and a longing that tasted as sweet as the rain and smelled as fresh as the earth.