A/N – Thank you to everyone who has reviewed this story. It is so
encouraging to hear what people have to say about my story. I just wanted
to let everyone know that Legolas will be taking a much more central role
to this story after the next chapter. Originally this chapter and the next
were planned to be one, but I think it would be too long. So, I divided
the chapter up. I will post the next chapter as soon as I can. Annalome's
story is not what you might expect, but that means she needs a history –
and so, this chapter and the next will set everything up. Unfortunately
the brat prince (Read: Legolas) I do not think would have much of an
interest in a young human girl, and so he has been relegated to a minor
role thus far. But trust me. He is the focal point of this story. Thank
you for you patience. Read on, and if you have a moment write a quick note
telling me what you think.
Chapter Three
The Prince of Arnor
"To what end did you purpose to leave Greenwood the Great?" The hard stare Gaerlin afforded his adopted daughter would have been enough to send most humans to their knees, but Annalome beheld his eyes without flinching. Years of practice helped her to keep her composure despite the fact that inside she wanted to turn away from those piercing elven eyes.
"I wished only to ride Tinnuchwest, Father," she marveled at how steady her voice sounded, but such thoughts vanished as she watched Gaerlin's eyes narrow, "Have I not given you leave to ride Tinnuchwest within sight of Miregroth?"
"Yes, Father."
"Then why did you go so far and into lands not guarded by the Wood- elves?"
No longer able to bear the cold stare of her father, Annalome lowered her eyes. She did not answer immediately for she was uncertain how much she wanted to reveal. She was unsure how much longer she could bear her father's anger without losing control, and if she revealed the reason for her foray outside of the forest then the discussion might go beyond what she could endure. Yet, it was nearly impossible to lie to an elf. She allowed herself a small sigh as she once again forced herself to look into his eyes, "I had great need to be alone and away from Miregroth."
There was no detectable softening of her father's eyes, but neither was there any increase of anger or displeasure. Annalome waited patiently for him to speak.
"You had need to be away from Miregroth," the elf spoke softly, but purposefully, "and you could not find the solitude you required within shouting distance of the Hall?" Annalome shook her head but said nothing. "I can see that whatever it is that drove you to leave the safety of our land you do not wish to discuss. I would honor this if I could, but this matter is of too great an import." Gaerlin stopped short of saying more, and instead went to the nearby oak chest and pulled the bottle of wine from within. He poured two glasses of the dark red liquid and then returned handing one glass to his daughter. "Please sit, Annalome. You are doing a fine job of hiding your distress, but I know you as father should know his child. I will not deem it a sign of weakness should you take your ease on this chair."
The young woman considering refusing his request for a moment, but quickly realized the futility of such an action. She seated herself upon the plush green cushion, and her father joined her in the chair next to hers. "Now, let us discuss what is at the root of this matter, for I think that before I decide what shall be your punishment I would know what led to such a rash decision."
She was trapped, and stood as much chance of talking her way out of the situation as a fly escaping a spider's web. She took a rather large swallow of the wine, letting its warmness sink into her mouth and throat. The wine would dull the pain of speaking her innermost thoughts soon, but she could not delay. "I do not know how to begin, Father, but I shall try to explain what I can.
"I have much love for the elves of Miregroth, and I could not imagine my life elsewhere. I think of all the elves as my family, and I know you look upon me as your own daughter. Yet, I do not believe the other elves think of me as you do. I will always be an outsider in their eyes, and so I feel as a stranger in their company."
Gaerlin sighed at Annalome's words. He could not deny the truth in them. He too had sensed that the feelings of the other elves towards his daughter were full of misgivings. His father was ever distrustful and wary of Men, and so the elves of his kingdom had similar feelings. Much of the king's prejudice was due to Isildur and his failure to destroy the one ring after defeating Sauron at the Battle of Dagorlad. While Gaerlin agreed that, either out of weakness or a critical lapse of judgment, Isildur had failed in his obligation to all the peoples of Middle-earth, but he was not convinced that all men were subject to such imperfections of character. In this opinion the son differed greatly from the father. Gaerlin felt that there were those among Mankind who possessed vast recesses of strength and valor, though he did admit those were few and far between. Isildur, after all, had been of the highest lineage of men.
"Annalome," said Gaerlin, "I can see the truth of your words, though I do not presume to understand your plight. You are dear to me in a way that defies explanation, and so I have allowed myself to turn a blind eye to your situation. I would not have you depart from me, and because of my selfishness you have suffered. Forgive me." Gaerlin's eyes did not waver from his daughter's, but she could clearly see the pain and suffering he now bore. In the throws of such high emotion the eyes of elves betray their souls, and not even an eternity of living could teach them how to disguise such deep and heartfelt feelings.
A cold, hard knot welled up in her throat and as she fought the tears that threatened to spill from her eyes. Never had she seen her father in such a state, and she wished only to comfort him. But this was not within her power for she was the cause of his pain and suffering, and there was naught she could do or say to give him peace. Finally, at a loss as to what she should do, she took her father's hand and said, "I am sorry, Father. I did not wish to tell you of my true feelings for fear of hurting you, and now it appears my fears were well founded."
Gaerlin squeezed her hand and smiled sadly at her, "I am glad you have told me of your feelings, or else your pain might have continued . . . indefinitely." Annalome smiled to herself. The enlightened elves of Greenwood the Great were still uncomfortable with the notion of mortality. The men of Numenor, guided by the wicked words of Sauron, had grown to fear death and eventually became envious of the immortal elves. In the end the Numenoreans bore arms against the gods themselves, and they suffered near annihilation for their deeds. But not all of the race of Men feared death, and though none had deemed speak to her about this, Annalome was not frightened by that inevitable conclusion.
"My daughter, it may be that the elves can no longer give you that which you require. Though it grieves me to say so, perhaps it is time you considered leaving my father's kingdom to live amongst those of the race of Men." The words were heartfelt and sincere, but she detected the tentative undertones belying his true feelings.
"I, too, have considered such a possibility," the words came slowly for she did not wish to bring further hurt to this elf that she called father, "But where would I go, and how would I live? I do not know the ways of men nor their customs. This is all I have ever known, and though at times I am saddened by the lack of companionship, I do not wish to give up all of this for the uncertainty of a life amongst men."
At this Gaerlin smiled, "Dearer than daughter, think you that I would abandon you to a strange people in a strange land? Nay, if you were to decide to go and live amongst your own then I would assure you a home with those who are friendly with the elves, and who would teach you their ways. In these matters you will be provided for."
Annalome had not considered that her father might seek out a home for her. This did indeed change matters a great deal, and with this new knowledge she gave serious consideration to leaving Greenwood the Great. "Thank you, Father. I know that your offer is a heavy burden to you. This matter is too vital, however, for me to rush to a decision. I must think upon it, and I do not believe the answer will come easily or quickly."
Gaerlin took Annalome's head in his two hands and lightly touched his forehead to hers, "You are ever welcome in my home as long as I remain in Middle-earth. Take all the time you require, and please do not keep such heavy matters to yourself. I would help you bear your burdens, though they may pain me to do so. That is the promise I made when I swore to raise you as my own."
Long did father and daughter remain together, taking solace in their love for one another. Too soon, however, Gaerlin released his daughter's head. "Now, there is the matter of punishment for your misdeeds." Annalome's heart sank at this. She had hoped her transgressions would be overlooked in light of their new openness, but seeing that this was not to be she prepared to calmly accept her sentence. "The Rochir is always in need of extra hands to clean the stables and feed the horses. I will inform him that starting tomorrow and for the next two cycles of the moon you will be his to command from dawn until second meal. " Annalome nearly grinned. True, there was not much that was pleasant in picking up after the horses, but there was nowhere else she would rather be. Catching the mood of his daughter Gaerlin's face grew sterner, "But this will in no way free you from your obligations to your lessons. I understand Legolas has increased your practice time to four hours a day, and I will continue to oversee your lessons in the History of Middle-earth. I expect no less than your utmost concentration and attention in these matters. Are you clear in these matters?"
"Yes, Father," said Annalome. Gaerlin took her cheek in his hand and smiled at her. Then he turned and left the room. She drained the rest of the wine from her glass then grasping the goblet her father had left untouched she emptied that as well. There would be little time for rest in the coming days, but she would be able to spend time with the Rochir and Tinnuchwest. She had always loved studying with her father, and time spent alone with her bow was generally relaxing, although her arm already ached at thought of four hours. In truth, as long as she could endure the few lessons a week with Legolas all would seem well within her life. And in the brief moments between wakefulness and sleep she would consider her father's offer.
"There can be no doubt. She must carry the blood of Numenor within her veins," the King of Greenwood the Great said to Gaerlin, his son. The two elves sat across a small table from one another in the King's chamber. "She has reached her fortieth year and yet she looks no older than a maid. Such youthfulness is not known amongst the Secondborn except in those out of Numenor, and even then I deem her countenance would be considered a rare gift. I would think she was of royal blood, even from the line of Elendil himself, but that I have never received news that such a child was lost. It is possible that she is of illegitimate birth. The royal line of Arnor seem of good worth, but who knows what a man might do when passion takes hold. They are the descendants of Isildur, and in his weakness he may have doomed all of his race."
Gaerlin shook his head, "Perhaps she is of the men of Arnor, but she has lived here for all her years and knows only the elves as her family."
"Which is why I did not wish for her to remain in my kingdom from the first. The elves do not make suitable companions for the Secondborn. They feel lessened in our presence. And they compensate by either trying to do that which is beyond their means or they become despondent and melancholy because of their lack. Both ends lead to death, is that what you wish for Annalome?" Thranduil glared at his son in such a manner that most of his kingdom would depart from his presence as soon as could be, yet Gaerlin was his son and not so easily cowed.
"Nay, Father, that is not what I wish, but I do not think we should force this upon her. Should she be given a choice: whether to remain among us or to seek her fortunes elsewhere. How can we who have raised her now force her from her home?" Gaerlin's voice had risen almost to shouting.
King Thranduil of Greenwood the Great did not suffer insolence readily, and as Gaerlin finished he rose from his chair to stand over his second eldest son. "I am your father, and because of that you should show me more respect than to raise your voice to me." Thranduil's eyes were practically aflame, "But more than this I am your KING, and none of my subjects should speak to me thus and not suffer punishment for their disrespect!"
Gaerlin remained seated but his gaze did not waver from his father's. He could not win this contest of wills, but he would not easily admit defeat. After a few tense moments Gaerlin dropped his eyes and bowed his head, "Forgive me, Sire. I have spoken in haste and out of concern and love for my daughter. I meant no disrespect."
Thranduil slowly took his seat. Raising his head once again Gaerlin's gaze rested on his father's. The King sighed, "You have ever been proud, my son. It is a weakness you have inherited from your father, I fear, and because of it we seem to ever be at odds with one another." Thranduil sat back and considered his son. For his part Gaerlin remained silent, knowing that there was little he could say to his father at the moment. After a short while the King continued, "Go and speak with Annalome. Tell her of our concerns for her, and give her the choice to remain here or to go. Tarcil, the crown prince of Arnor, will be coming here before the next full moon. If Annalome decides to go, I will ensure she will have a place in Arantar's household, and she can depart for Annuminas with Tarcil when his visit has ended."
Gaerlin rose and then knelt before the King, "Thank you, Sire. It will be as you command." Gaerlin rose quickly and departed in search of his daughter.
The crown prince of Arnor took a deep breath, and steadied his nerves. This was his first long journey away from home without the accompaniment of one or both of his parents. So far, it had proven to be all that he had hoped for.
Near to the eaves of the Old Forest he and his guard had been surprised by a band of thieves. The thieves had numbered close to that of he and his men, and so it had been impossible for the guard to keep him from the fight. Tarcil had received his first taste of battle. Years thought given over to doubt and concern for how he would respond to having his life threatened thus were gone in an instant as he had rushed to join the fray. When it was over he had performed admirably and received the praise of the hardened warriors who served as his entourage.
Arriving at the foot of the Misty Mountains he had spent time in the peaceful beauty of Rivendell. He had been to Elrond's home many times with his mother and father, and as usual time had seemed to slow down while he remained there. As his father and grandfather had done, Tarcil had become friends with the twin sons of Elrond, Elladan and Elrohir. The three had spent the days practicing with swords and the bow as well as hunting the wild boars that lived in the foothills of the Misty Mountains.
Lastly, soon after they left Rivendell a Stone-troll had stumbled into their camp, and they had spent much of that evening defending the it. Eventually they managed to bring the troll down, and Tarcil had stood amazed as he watched the lifeless body turn to stone while the sun crept over the tops of the mountains. His journey to Greenwood the Great had definitely not lacked in adventure, but now the Prince's excitement was falling prey to the growing anxiety of finally arriving at his destination.
It was not being amongst elves that concerned him. He had spent much time with Elrond's people, and although the elves could be aloof and difficult to understand at times Tarcil found that he enjoyed their company at most times. It was the king of this realm which occupied the young man's thoughts. He had heard many rumors of Thranduil's temper as well as his dislike for the race of men. Many of his friends had warned him that if he even so much as looked at Thranduil in a way that displeased him he would be thrown into the dungeons of Miregroth. However, Tarcil was wary of such rumors especially in light of the fact that none of the men who had spoken of Thranduil had ever met the King of the elves. Yet, though rumor rarely proved to be completely true it was often based in truth. Tarcil though it best to consult his father on the matter, but his father, who had come to Greenwood the Great many times as a young man, would only say that Thranduil was stern but fair.
Tarcil glanced around him, and noticed that the trees in this area of the forest were all Beeches. Directly in their path there was a small hill rising before them. Though he had never been to Miregroth before his father had told him of the home of the Silvan elves many times, and the young man rightly guessed that he had reached his final destination. Soon he and his men were crossing over the Forest River and approaching the gates of Miregroth.
The company dismounted on the greens before the gates leading into the underground hall. Standing there were five elves. The first stepped forward and bowed low before the young prince, "Greetings Prince Tarcil of Arnor. I have been given the honor of first welcoming you to Miregroth, but others of greater lineage shall greet you anon. I am the Horsemaster. I and those who serve me will make sure your steeds are well taken care of during your stay.
Tarcil nodded and handed his reigns to the elf, "We are well met indeed to be greeted by the Rochir. You have my thanks for the care of our beasts." The Horsemaster bowed low before the young prince, but not before Tarcil had detected a note of surprise in referring to the Horsemaster by his Sindarin title. The other four elves took the reigns from the men of his guard, and with a bow they departed down the path leading westward from the gate. Tarcil noted that the Horsemaster and his elves had numbered five, only what was required for each man's horse to be attended by a single elf. The king had been aware of their number, and yet they had not detected a single elf during their journey through the wood. Tarcil knew only too well that any elf who did not wish to be seen by human eyes would remain elusive for as long as they wished it, but it was a sobering reminder to the young prince of the differences between man and elf.
During the time they had handed their horses over to the Horsemaster another elf had approached the company from the open gates. Like all the elves he was tall and fair. Golden hair fell about his shoulders, and his gray eyes seemed to bore into Tarcil's mind. The sensation was not comfortable, but he had grown somewhat used to it in all the time he had spent with Elladan and Elrohir. Something of the way he carried himself bespoke of royal blood, and Tarcil wondered if this might be one of the sons of Thranduil. The elf inclined his head towards Tarcil, "Welcome, Prince Tarcil, to Miregroth, the great hall of the elves of Greenwood the Great. I am Legolas, Prince of the realm, and youngest son of Thranduil the king."
Tarcil returned the gesture, "You have my thanks, Prince of Greenwood the Great. Many years have I wished to visit your father's kingdom. My heart is glad that I should at last come hither."
Elven eyes bore into Tarcil. Normally elves were aware of the unsettling effect their stares had on the Secondborn, and so were often careful to limit the extent of their gazes. Legolas, however, seemed not to heed such etiquette and it was all Tarcil could do to not fidget under such scrutiny. The tension grew as the elf continued his inspection, and Tarcil was about to suggest moving into the hall proper when it occurred to him that Legolas was very young for an elf. He had limited experience with men, and so did not yet understand all their frailties. The sounds of Tarcil's men shuffling their feet behind him shook both princes from their thoughts. Legolas smiled at the others, "You must be weary from your travels. If you will follow me I will show you to your rooms, where you may rest. The King has planned a feast in your honor, but that is not until after sundown. Until then you may take your leisure." Turning on his heel, the youngest son of Thranduil led Tarcil and his men into the heart of Miregroth.
Chapter Three
The Prince of Arnor
"To what end did you purpose to leave Greenwood the Great?" The hard stare Gaerlin afforded his adopted daughter would have been enough to send most humans to their knees, but Annalome beheld his eyes without flinching. Years of practice helped her to keep her composure despite the fact that inside she wanted to turn away from those piercing elven eyes.
"I wished only to ride Tinnuchwest, Father," she marveled at how steady her voice sounded, but such thoughts vanished as she watched Gaerlin's eyes narrow, "Have I not given you leave to ride Tinnuchwest within sight of Miregroth?"
"Yes, Father."
"Then why did you go so far and into lands not guarded by the Wood- elves?"
No longer able to bear the cold stare of her father, Annalome lowered her eyes. She did not answer immediately for she was uncertain how much she wanted to reveal. She was unsure how much longer she could bear her father's anger without losing control, and if she revealed the reason for her foray outside of the forest then the discussion might go beyond what she could endure. Yet, it was nearly impossible to lie to an elf. She allowed herself a small sigh as she once again forced herself to look into his eyes, "I had great need to be alone and away from Miregroth."
There was no detectable softening of her father's eyes, but neither was there any increase of anger or displeasure. Annalome waited patiently for him to speak.
"You had need to be away from Miregroth," the elf spoke softly, but purposefully, "and you could not find the solitude you required within shouting distance of the Hall?" Annalome shook her head but said nothing. "I can see that whatever it is that drove you to leave the safety of our land you do not wish to discuss. I would honor this if I could, but this matter is of too great an import." Gaerlin stopped short of saying more, and instead went to the nearby oak chest and pulled the bottle of wine from within. He poured two glasses of the dark red liquid and then returned handing one glass to his daughter. "Please sit, Annalome. You are doing a fine job of hiding your distress, but I know you as father should know his child. I will not deem it a sign of weakness should you take your ease on this chair."
The young woman considering refusing his request for a moment, but quickly realized the futility of such an action. She seated herself upon the plush green cushion, and her father joined her in the chair next to hers. "Now, let us discuss what is at the root of this matter, for I think that before I decide what shall be your punishment I would know what led to such a rash decision."
She was trapped, and stood as much chance of talking her way out of the situation as a fly escaping a spider's web. She took a rather large swallow of the wine, letting its warmness sink into her mouth and throat. The wine would dull the pain of speaking her innermost thoughts soon, but she could not delay. "I do not know how to begin, Father, but I shall try to explain what I can.
"I have much love for the elves of Miregroth, and I could not imagine my life elsewhere. I think of all the elves as my family, and I know you look upon me as your own daughter. Yet, I do not believe the other elves think of me as you do. I will always be an outsider in their eyes, and so I feel as a stranger in their company."
Gaerlin sighed at Annalome's words. He could not deny the truth in them. He too had sensed that the feelings of the other elves towards his daughter were full of misgivings. His father was ever distrustful and wary of Men, and so the elves of his kingdom had similar feelings. Much of the king's prejudice was due to Isildur and his failure to destroy the one ring after defeating Sauron at the Battle of Dagorlad. While Gaerlin agreed that, either out of weakness or a critical lapse of judgment, Isildur had failed in his obligation to all the peoples of Middle-earth, but he was not convinced that all men were subject to such imperfections of character. In this opinion the son differed greatly from the father. Gaerlin felt that there were those among Mankind who possessed vast recesses of strength and valor, though he did admit those were few and far between. Isildur, after all, had been of the highest lineage of men.
"Annalome," said Gaerlin, "I can see the truth of your words, though I do not presume to understand your plight. You are dear to me in a way that defies explanation, and so I have allowed myself to turn a blind eye to your situation. I would not have you depart from me, and because of my selfishness you have suffered. Forgive me." Gaerlin's eyes did not waver from his daughter's, but she could clearly see the pain and suffering he now bore. In the throws of such high emotion the eyes of elves betray their souls, and not even an eternity of living could teach them how to disguise such deep and heartfelt feelings.
A cold, hard knot welled up in her throat and as she fought the tears that threatened to spill from her eyes. Never had she seen her father in such a state, and she wished only to comfort him. But this was not within her power for she was the cause of his pain and suffering, and there was naught she could do or say to give him peace. Finally, at a loss as to what she should do, she took her father's hand and said, "I am sorry, Father. I did not wish to tell you of my true feelings for fear of hurting you, and now it appears my fears were well founded."
Gaerlin squeezed her hand and smiled sadly at her, "I am glad you have told me of your feelings, or else your pain might have continued . . . indefinitely." Annalome smiled to herself. The enlightened elves of Greenwood the Great were still uncomfortable with the notion of mortality. The men of Numenor, guided by the wicked words of Sauron, had grown to fear death and eventually became envious of the immortal elves. In the end the Numenoreans bore arms against the gods themselves, and they suffered near annihilation for their deeds. But not all of the race of Men feared death, and though none had deemed speak to her about this, Annalome was not frightened by that inevitable conclusion.
"My daughter, it may be that the elves can no longer give you that which you require. Though it grieves me to say so, perhaps it is time you considered leaving my father's kingdom to live amongst those of the race of Men." The words were heartfelt and sincere, but she detected the tentative undertones belying his true feelings.
"I, too, have considered such a possibility," the words came slowly for she did not wish to bring further hurt to this elf that she called father, "But where would I go, and how would I live? I do not know the ways of men nor their customs. This is all I have ever known, and though at times I am saddened by the lack of companionship, I do not wish to give up all of this for the uncertainty of a life amongst men."
At this Gaerlin smiled, "Dearer than daughter, think you that I would abandon you to a strange people in a strange land? Nay, if you were to decide to go and live amongst your own then I would assure you a home with those who are friendly with the elves, and who would teach you their ways. In these matters you will be provided for."
Annalome had not considered that her father might seek out a home for her. This did indeed change matters a great deal, and with this new knowledge she gave serious consideration to leaving Greenwood the Great. "Thank you, Father. I know that your offer is a heavy burden to you. This matter is too vital, however, for me to rush to a decision. I must think upon it, and I do not believe the answer will come easily or quickly."
Gaerlin took Annalome's head in his two hands and lightly touched his forehead to hers, "You are ever welcome in my home as long as I remain in Middle-earth. Take all the time you require, and please do not keep such heavy matters to yourself. I would help you bear your burdens, though they may pain me to do so. That is the promise I made when I swore to raise you as my own."
Long did father and daughter remain together, taking solace in their love for one another. Too soon, however, Gaerlin released his daughter's head. "Now, there is the matter of punishment for your misdeeds." Annalome's heart sank at this. She had hoped her transgressions would be overlooked in light of their new openness, but seeing that this was not to be she prepared to calmly accept her sentence. "The Rochir is always in need of extra hands to clean the stables and feed the horses. I will inform him that starting tomorrow and for the next two cycles of the moon you will be his to command from dawn until second meal. " Annalome nearly grinned. True, there was not much that was pleasant in picking up after the horses, but there was nowhere else she would rather be. Catching the mood of his daughter Gaerlin's face grew sterner, "But this will in no way free you from your obligations to your lessons. I understand Legolas has increased your practice time to four hours a day, and I will continue to oversee your lessons in the History of Middle-earth. I expect no less than your utmost concentration and attention in these matters. Are you clear in these matters?"
"Yes, Father," said Annalome. Gaerlin took her cheek in his hand and smiled at her. Then he turned and left the room. She drained the rest of the wine from her glass then grasping the goblet her father had left untouched she emptied that as well. There would be little time for rest in the coming days, but she would be able to spend time with the Rochir and Tinnuchwest. She had always loved studying with her father, and time spent alone with her bow was generally relaxing, although her arm already ached at thought of four hours. In truth, as long as she could endure the few lessons a week with Legolas all would seem well within her life. And in the brief moments between wakefulness and sleep she would consider her father's offer.
"There can be no doubt. She must carry the blood of Numenor within her veins," the King of Greenwood the Great said to Gaerlin, his son. The two elves sat across a small table from one another in the King's chamber. "She has reached her fortieth year and yet she looks no older than a maid. Such youthfulness is not known amongst the Secondborn except in those out of Numenor, and even then I deem her countenance would be considered a rare gift. I would think she was of royal blood, even from the line of Elendil himself, but that I have never received news that such a child was lost. It is possible that she is of illegitimate birth. The royal line of Arnor seem of good worth, but who knows what a man might do when passion takes hold. They are the descendants of Isildur, and in his weakness he may have doomed all of his race."
Gaerlin shook his head, "Perhaps she is of the men of Arnor, but she has lived here for all her years and knows only the elves as her family."
"Which is why I did not wish for her to remain in my kingdom from the first. The elves do not make suitable companions for the Secondborn. They feel lessened in our presence. And they compensate by either trying to do that which is beyond their means or they become despondent and melancholy because of their lack. Both ends lead to death, is that what you wish for Annalome?" Thranduil glared at his son in such a manner that most of his kingdom would depart from his presence as soon as could be, yet Gaerlin was his son and not so easily cowed.
"Nay, Father, that is not what I wish, but I do not think we should force this upon her. Should she be given a choice: whether to remain among us or to seek her fortunes elsewhere. How can we who have raised her now force her from her home?" Gaerlin's voice had risen almost to shouting.
King Thranduil of Greenwood the Great did not suffer insolence readily, and as Gaerlin finished he rose from his chair to stand over his second eldest son. "I am your father, and because of that you should show me more respect than to raise your voice to me." Thranduil's eyes were practically aflame, "But more than this I am your KING, and none of my subjects should speak to me thus and not suffer punishment for their disrespect!"
Gaerlin remained seated but his gaze did not waver from his father's. He could not win this contest of wills, but he would not easily admit defeat. After a few tense moments Gaerlin dropped his eyes and bowed his head, "Forgive me, Sire. I have spoken in haste and out of concern and love for my daughter. I meant no disrespect."
Thranduil slowly took his seat. Raising his head once again Gaerlin's gaze rested on his father's. The King sighed, "You have ever been proud, my son. It is a weakness you have inherited from your father, I fear, and because of it we seem to ever be at odds with one another." Thranduil sat back and considered his son. For his part Gaerlin remained silent, knowing that there was little he could say to his father at the moment. After a short while the King continued, "Go and speak with Annalome. Tell her of our concerns for her, and give her the choice to remain here or to go. Tarcil, the crown prince of Arnor, will be coming here before the next full moon. If Annalome decides to go, I will ensure she will have a place in Arantar's household, and she can depart for Annuminas with Tarcil when his visit has ended."
Gaerlin rose and then knelt before the King, "Thank you, Sire. It will be as you command." Gaerlin rose quickly and departed in search of his daughter.
The crown prince of Arnor took a deep breath, and steadied his nerves. This was his first long journey away from home without the accompaniment of one or both of his parents. So far, it had proven to be all that he had hoped for.
Near to the eaves of the Old Forest he and his guard had been surprised by a band of thieves. The thieves had numbered close to that of he and his men, and so it had been impossible for the guard to keep him from the fight. Tarcil had received his first taste of battle. Years thought given over to doubt and concern for how he would respond to having his life threatened thus were gone in an instant as he had rushed to join the fray. When it was over he had performed admirably and received the praise of the hardened warriors who served as his entourage.
Arriving at the foot of the Misty Mountains he had spent time in the peaceful beauty of Rivendell. He had been to Elrond's home many times with his mother and father, and as usual time had seemed to slow down while he remained there. As his father and grandfather had done, Tarcil had become friends with the twin sons of Elrond, Elladan and Elrohir. The three had spent the days practicing with swords and the bow as well as hunting the wild boars that lived in the foothills of the Misty Mountains.
Lastly, soon after they left Rivendell a Stone-troll had stumbled into their camp, and they had spent much of that evening defending the it. Eventually they managed to bring the troll down, and Tarcil had stood amazed as he watched the lifeless body turn to stone while the sun crept over the tops of the mountains. His journey to Greenwood the Great had definitely not lacked in adventure, but now the Prince's excitement was falling prey to the growing anxiety of finally arriving at his destination.
It was not being amongst elves that concerned him. He had spent much time with Elrond's people, and although the elves could be aloof and difficult to understand at times Tarcil found that he enjoyed their company at most times. It was the king of this realm which occupied the young man's thoughts. He had heard many rumors of Thranduil's temper as well as his dislike for the race of men. Many of his friends had warned him that if he even so much as looked at Thranduil in a way that displeased him he would be thrown into the dungeons of Miregroth. However, Tarcil was wary of such rumors especially in light of the fact that none of the men who had spoken of Thranduil had ever met the King of the elves. Yet, though rumor rarely proved to be completely true it was often based in truth. Tarcil though it best to consult his father on the matter, but his father, who had come to Greenwood the Great many times as a young man, would only say that Thranduil was stern but fair.
Tarcil glanced around him, and noticed that the trees in this area of the forest were all Beeches. Directly in their path there was a small hill rising before them. Though he had never been to Miregroth before his father had told him of the home of the Silvan elves many times, and the young man rightly guessed that he had reached his final destination. Soon he and his men were crossing over the Forest River and approaching the gates of Miregroth.
The company dismounted on the greens before the gates leading into the underground hall. Standing there were five elves. The first stepped forward and bowed low before the young prince, "Greetings Prince Tarcil of Arnor. I have been given the honor of first welcoming you to Miregroth, but others of greater lineage shall greet you anon. I am the Horsemaster. I and those who serve me will make sure your steeds are well taken care of during your stay.
Tarcil nodded and handed his reigns to the elf, "We are well met indeed to be greeted by the Rochir. You have my thanks for the care of our beasts." The Horsemaster bowed low before the young prince, but not before Tarcil had detected a note of surprise in referring to the Horsemaster by his Sindarin title. The other four elves took the reigns from the men of his guard, and with a bow they departed down the path leading westward from the gate. Tarcil noted that the Horsemaster and his elves had numbered five, only what was required for each man's horse to be attended by a single elf. The king had been aware of their number, and yet they had not detected a single elf during their journey through the wood. Tarcil knew only too well that any elf who did not wish to be seen by human eyes would remain elusive for as long as they wished it, but it was a sobering reminder to the young prince of the differences between man and elf.
During the time they had handed their horses over to the Horsemaster another elf had approached the company from the open gates. Like all the elves he was tall and fair. Golden hair fell about his shoulders, and his gray eyes seemed to bore into Tarcil's mind. The sensation was not comfortable, but he had grown somewhat used to it in all the time he had spent with Elladan and Elrohir. Something of the way he carried himself bespoke of royal blood, and Tarcil wondered if this might be one of the sons of Thranduil. The elf inclined his head towards Tarcil, "Welcome, Prince Tarcil, to Miregroth, the great hall of the elves of Greenwood the Great. I am Legolas, Prince of the realm, and youngest son of Thranduil the king."
Tarcil returned the gesture, "You have my thanks, Prince of Greenwood the Great. Many years have I wished to visit your father's kingdom. My heart is glad that I should at last come hither."
Elven eyes bore into Tarcil. Normally elves were aware of the unsettling effect their stares had on the Secondborn, and so were often careful to limit the extent of their gazes. Legolas, however, seemed not to heed such etiquette and it was all Tarcil could do to not fidget under such scrutiny. The tension grew as the elf continued his inspection, and Tarcil was about to suggest moving into the hall proper when it occurred to him that Legolas was very young for an elf. He had limited experience with men, and so did not yet understand all their frailties. The sounds of Tarcil's men shuffling their feet behind him shook both princes from their thoughts. Legolas smiled at the others, "You must be weary from your travels. If you will follow me I will show you to your rooms, where you may rest. The King has planned a feast in your honor, but that is not until after sundown. Until then you may take your leisure." Turning on his heel, the youngest son of Thranduil led Tarcil and his men into the heart of Miregroth.