A/N - Wow! Four moths without updating and now two chapters within as many
days - I'm on a roll.
Thank you to those of you have reviewed this story. I find your insights most helpful. A special thanks to PuterPatty, who has done such a wonderful job of reviewing. She has a keen eye, and it helps to keep me on the straight and narrow. The mistake you noted in chapter four was actually due to poor writing. I intended for Tarcil's memory to be of the story, not the actual event, but in reading that portion again I can see the confusion. I'm off to repair it as soon as I post this new chapter. Thank you.
These first five chapters have been very hurried for which I apologize. This sets up the backstory for chapters to come. And as I promised Legolas will play a very prominent role in the next chapter as well as all subsequent chapters. In fact, this story is about to jump about 800 years into the future. How's that for a plot twist? Anyway, the pace should slow-down much starting with the next chapter. Thank you for bearing with me.
Also, because I am in Tolkien's world I have been forced to write about horses. I know nothing about horses, so if I make errors in my descriptions or even if there is better terminology I can use please let me know. I suppose anyone who writes fantasy-based material should educate themselves on the creatures. Unfortunately, I have not done so. I would appreciate any help in this area.
OK, I am shutting up now. Please read on.
Chapter Five
Beginnings and Endings
A low hum hung in the air as Gaerlin entered the glade where the welcoming feast was to take place. There were undoubtedly halls of great magnificence within Miregroth where the feast could have been held, but as with most elven celebrations the earth itself was the true guest of honor. The gray hue of the enormous trunks of the surrounding Beech trees seemed to reflect the silvery light of the full moon, and within the branches themselves hung hundreds of small lamps, which cast their own golden hue on the celebration. At the opposite end of the glade several elves had gathered together and were singing unaccompanied by any instruments. Their pure voices blended together in a multitude of harmonies that was at once both complex and simple. It almost seemed to Tarcil that he knew the tune, but as soon as his ear alighted upon it the song spun away into realms of strange and exquisite beauty.
He entered the festivities with Legolas as his guide and flanked by his men. There was no formal announcement of his arrival as there would have been in his father's palace. Tarcil appreciated not being the center of attention, and he promised himself he would consider banning the tradition when he ascended the throne. Instead, the elves seemed already to be in throws of merrymaking, and few paid much heed to any newcomers.
Legolas led the Prince and his party down the center of the glade. All about him were large round tables covered in what appeared to be the same diaphanous fabric that covered the entrance to the balcony in his rooms. Upon each table was a large bell-shaped piece of glass inside of which many points of golden light darted about as though many fireflies had been trapped inside. The Prince of Arnor stared at the ornaments and marveled at what could possibly produce such a thing. At the base of these strange lights were set many large, white blossoms open to the glow of the moonlight exposing the bright yellow stamens at their centers.
Legolas was leading them to the heart of the glade, where the earth rose in a small mound. Atop this mound was the largest of the tables - large enough for thirty men to sit comfortably. A vast pergola covered the entire table. It was covered in thick leafy vines, and as they came nearer Tarcil could detect hundreds of small purple flowers which bloomed amidst the greenery. The whole scene appeared as though nature itself were embracing the festivities.
Seated at the large table was Thranduil, King of the Woodland Elves, surrounded by his family. His long hair was the same silver sheen of the moonlight, and hung down his back much in the same manner as that of Legolas. His skin was smooth, giving him the youthful quality inherent in all elves, but the keen blue eyes betrayed the many years he carried. Earlier fears of the elven king's demeanor came back with renewed potency. The young prince took several deep breaths to calm his nerves.
Legolas bowed low before his king, "Father, I present to you Tarcil, son of Arantar, crown prince of Arnor."
Tarcil bowed with as much respect as he could muster, and prepared to be scrutinized by those piercing eyes. "It is an honor, your highness."
Those blue eyes bored into Tarcil's head. His experiences in Rivendell with Lord Elrond and his sons had taught him to endure the unflinching gazes of the elves, but it took every ounce of strength he had not to turn away. After what seemed an excruciating wait the King rose from his seat and nodded to Tarcil, "You are most welcome in my kingdom, Prince of Arnor." Thranduil gestured to a seat beside him, "Will you join myself and my family for the feast?"
"You are most gracious, your highness," Tarcil bowed again and moved to take the seat on Thranduil's left. Legolas led the rest of his men from the table to another table not far away.
"You father is in good health, I trust?" the King asked Tarcil as soon as he was seated.
"Yes, quite. He just celebrated his 145th birthday, but everyone swears he does not look a day over 100," Tarcil flashed his most winning smile at the jest. Thranduil smiled, not in amusement, but rather in a more patronizing way. Tarcil felt as if he were a small child being praised for learning his first word. Someone else did laugh at his joke, however. Seated two seats to Thranduil's right was Annalome. Her warm smile greeted him as his eyes met hers, and for an instant he forgot all about the King of the woodland elves.
She was wearing a dark green dress, the color of oak leaves late in the summer. About her neck was a thin silvery chain from which hung a small triskelion, and in her hair he could see more flashes of silver. The way the necklace and hair ornaments glinted in the moonlight Tarcil was fairly certain they were made of mithril. Her long golden red hair was pulled up exposing a graceful neck. Tarcil was mesmerized.
The sound of Thranduil clearing his throat caught Tarcil's attention, and he turned to face the king. A brief glint of anger flashed in the monarch's eyes. "A thousand apologies, your highness. This talk of home has made me long for my father's palace. I am afraid I was caught up in my own memories."
"You have only just arrived at Miregroth, Prince Tarcil. If you are homesick already this does not bode well for the remainder of your stay."
Tarcil squirmed under that heavy gaze, "Nay, highness, it was a momentary lapse. I am eager to begin my studies with your warriors."
A beautiful elf with long yellow hair seated on the other side of Thranduil turned to address the prince, "Then you will not be disappointed, Prince of Arnor. Are you already skilled with weaponry?"
Before Tarcil could answer Thranduil said, "I have been remiss in my introductions, Prince Tarcil. Allow me to introduce my wife, Faenwen."
Tarcil rose and bowed to the elf queen. "Your highness."
Faenwen nodded her head in acknowledgment, and Tarcil took his seat again, "Yes, your highness, I am fond of the sword. My father feels I should be skilled in the use of all weapons, but I spend as much time in swordplay as all the others combined."
The queen smiled a genuine and warm smile, "The swords used by the soldiers of Arnor are quite different from elven blades. Have you had an opportunity to use a sword made by the elves?"
"Yes, your highness," said Tarcil, "I have often practiced with the sword given to my father by the woodland elves when he had completed his training here. It is much lighter than those of Arnorian make, and it requires a deft hand to wield it properly. I have brought the sword with me in the hopes that I might learn more from its makers."
"I am certain you will find what you seek. We have accomplished swordsmen among us." The queen smiled at her husband then turned once again to Tarcil; "I trust you have brought a bow with you. None in Middle-earth can match the woodland elves in archery."
Tarcil's smile widened even further and he glanced at Annalome, "Of that I am certain. I witnessed this young maid here with her bow, and if her skills are any indication then I have much to learn while I am here."
Faenwen laughed a bright, silvery laugh that seemed to ring through the air, "I am twice proud in this respect, Prince Tarcil. Annalome is my granddaughter and her skills are extraordinary for one of your race. She was taught by my youngest son, Legolas, whom I believe you have met."
Tarcil smiled at Annalome and then turned his gaze on Legolas who had taken his place in a seat on the opposite side of the table. "Then surely the teacher and student have the gifts of the Valar. I would be most honored if I could only observe Prince Legolas or the Lady Annalome."
"Then you shall and more besides," said the king. "Tomorrow you may bide your time studying the bow with Legolas and Annalome, and anytime that their duties allow they are yours to command."
Outwardly Tarcil smiled graciously, but inside his heart raced in anticipation of the next day. "Thank you, your highness. You are too kind."
The remainder of the evening went slowly. As was his duty the Prince of Arnor spent his time discussing politics and the state of Arnor with Thranduil and his sons. There was no opportunity to speak with Annalome, and she and many of the other elven women excused themselves from the table and went to dance at the edge of the clearing where the musicians had gathered. Tarcil would have liked nothing more than to join her, but he knew any such gesture would be an insult to the king. The night wore away, his formal attire becoming more and more uncomfortable, and the king and five of his sons seemed to be able to discuss endlessly the world and its affairs. Tarcil conversed with them politely for the duration of the evening, making certain that Arnor's place in the world was not overlooked, but his thoughts strayed often to the possibilities the morrow would bring.
Sunlight streamed through the trees casting beams off light on the forest floor. The air was cool with only a small breeze that could barely be felt so far beneath the protective eaves of the large Beech trees. Annalome smiled and sighed, "Ah, my lord, it is the perfect day for shooting."
Tarcil smiled at her delight, "Yes, indeed, my lady." His grin broadened, "and I am grateful for such weather. I require every advantage so I will not appear the fool next to your prowess."
Annalome smiled back at the young prince, "Nay, I do not think you could ever look the fool." She reached the center of the clearing which she and the other elves often practiced the bow. Setting her quiver of arrows upon the ground she checked for the various targets, which always remained in the area. Six large targets made of bundled hay with a large three-pronged triskelion dyed blue across their width stood in various positions around the field. Satisfied with the spot she had chosen Annalome removed her bow from over her shoulder and slowly pulled the string back and then released it just as slowly.
"You think I could not look a fool, do you?" Tarcil flashed his most winning smile, "Would you believe that I once tried to fly?"
Annalome looked at him out of the corner of her eye, "Surely you jest, my lord."
The prince laughed heartily, "Nay, I only wish that I did. When I was a small boy my mother would tell me stories of the great eagles that lived in ancient Beleriand. My favorite was the legend of how the eagles rescued Beren and Luthien from Morgoth's fortress. I could see everything perfectly in my mind. But unlike most young boys I did not wish to be the hero, Beren, but instead I wanted to soar like the eagles of that tale. So one day, I tied my bedsheets to my arms and legs and went up to the first level of ramparts at the castle. Thankfully, one of my father's guards saw me and followed me. He only just managed to grasp the edge of a sheet as I leapt over the edge. When I fell back against the castle wall I received a broken arm and a bloody nose for my reward. Now tell me, Annalome, was I not then playing the part of the fool?
Annalome's grin had widened as he finished the tale, but she kept her face turned to avoid him seeing her, "We cannot judge ourselves based on our actions as children, my lord."
Tarcil peered around to see her face and caught the hint of a smile the woman was trying desperately to conceal. "Perhaps you speak the truth, but your eyes tell me another truth. You are laughing at me."
Annalome turned towards him with all seriousness, "Nay, my lord, I could not be so bold. It is just the . . . way . . . you related your story."
Tarcil laughed out loud, "You may have grown up among the elves but you have all the diplomacy of a court-bred lady."
Annalome blushed and bent to retrieve her arrows to avoid any further eye contact with the prince. Attaching the quiver to her waist she turned quickly to the furthest target. In one swift motion she pulled an arrow from the quiver, fitted it to string, and loosed it at the target. Without hesitation she turned and launched another arrow at the second target. In a matter of seconds she had sent a single arrow at each of the six targets, each one with deadly accuracy.
Tarcil sighed, "I am humbled in your presence, my lady." The prince bowed low before her, and once again she found herself blushing uncontrollably.
Annalome turned quickly to retrieve her arrows to avoid the young man's stare. When she returned she handed them to Tarcil, "I believe it is your turn, my lord."
Tarcil grinned at her, and taking two of her arrows he placed the rest in the quiver on his back. He set both arrows to string and in one swift motion he loosed them at the nearest target. One landed a full hands width from the center while the other missed the target entirely imbedding itself in a nearby Beech. Tarcil took a deep breath and sighed, "Yes, I believe I will be receiving a full cup of humility this morning." The prince then barked a guffaw into the air and turned to Annalome, "There are friends of mine who would pay dearly to see me bested so. I am grateful they are not here. I am certain it would be many years before I heard the end of it - if ever."
"Perhaps the bow is not my lord's weapon of choice?" Annalome graciously offered the young prince, "If I recall from last night's conversation you prefer the sword."
"Feeling sorry for me already, my lady?" said the prince with only a hint of a smile on his face.
Her father had warned her of the frailty of men's egos, and Annalome wondered if she had offended the young prince. But the smile on Tarcil's face slowly widened until Annalome was certain he found the matter to be amusing and not insulting. Sensing she was being teased Annalome decided to join the game, "Nay, my lord, I only wished to offer you a graceful exit before I am forced to feel sorry for you." She gazed up at him innocently, "Perhaps you fend off foes by throwing rocks at them, my lord. In which case you would undoubtedly be the master since I do not possess the strength you do."
Tarcil stared at her in disbelief then laughed uproariously. A lady in the courts at Annuminas would never have been so bold as to insult the crown prince, even in jest. And here was this woman who was not even of royal blood, speaking to him as if he were nothing but a stable boy. She spoke to him as an equal. Tarcil found his pulse quickening - not in anger, but desire. Here was a woman who would challenge him, and the thought was very pleasing to the prince. "I have never thought of throwing rocks at my foes, but I might consider throwing you should any opponent approach and you were nearby."
Annalome smiled almost too sweetly at Tarcil, "Then who would you have to protect you, my lord?"
Tarcil thought his heart would burst our of his chest. Instead, he laughed and bowed before her taking her right hand in both of his, "I surrender, my lady. You have bested me with your arrows, your wit, and your charm. I am yours to command."
Annalome had been quite content with the clever conversation, but his mock surrender took her by surprise. An uncomfortable silence lingered as she searched for a response. Tarcil waited patiently, and finally Annalome smiled at him, "Then I command you to tell me how you would like to spend this lovely day. I do not think you truly want to spend it practicing archery. You will have much time to practice the skills of war with the Woodland elves in the coming weeks. Why don't you tell me what your heart desires, and I will accompany you, if I may."
Tarcil rose but did not release her hand, "My heart desires only to spend the day with you, my lady. But, if you are amenable then perhaps we could go riding, and you could show me this beautiful wood you call home."
Annalome felt the heat rising in her cheeks again, but retained her composure, "I would be honored, my lord. I would dearly love to show you my home. I need only a few minutes to change into clothing more suitable for riding."
Tarcil smiled and released her hand reluctantly, "Then meet me at the stables at your leisure, my lady. I will see about some food to eat on our journey."
Giant oak trees lay as far as the eye could see, their sweeping boughs intermeshing with one another so that it seemed a maze. Sunlight poured through the large branches casting spots both large and small upon the forest floor. Underneath the trees the forest was clear of debris. The large oaks roots pushed out any of the smaller trees or bushes that might have covered the ground and made riding difficult. It was vastly different from the part of the forest that housed Miregroth, where vast stands of Beeches clumped close together along with other undergrowth making the path Annalome and Tarcil traveled slow going. Here the horses were free to ride, and Adanthir pawed anxiously at the ground. Annalome turned towards Tarcil and smiled, "Would my lord care to pick up the pace?"
Tarcil grinned back at her and said, "I had hoped you would suggest so, my lady."
Without a backward glance Annalome kicked Tinnuchwest, and the two burst forward into the midst of the oaks. Without hesitation Tarcil did the same to Adanthir, and soon found himself hovering low over the horses back as he navigated the twists and turns Annalome was making. He soon realized that despite the wide berth between oak trees avoiding them at high speed, especially the low lying branches, was not nearly as easy at it seemed.
Annalome and Tinnuchwest seemed unaffected by the difficulty of traversing the forest floor. Tarcil grimaced and wondered if the woman was going to best him with her riding skills as well. He had not felt threatened by her abilities as of yet, but he hoped there were a few things he could be the master at.
Caught up in his thoughts he was unaware of the large limb that dangled from above in the middle of his path. Ahead of him Annalome swerved to avoid the danger, but Tarcil was unable to maneuver Adanthir in time and felt himself yanked from the horse's back as he impacted the large branch. The wind was knocked from his lungs when he hit the ground, and he struggled to take a breath. Up ahead he heard Adanthir scream and then silence.
After struggling for a few moments Tarcil felt the thrill of air rushing into his lungs. Gulping vast quantities of air he struggled to rise. Instantly Annalome was at his side, "My lord, are you hurt?"
Tarcil shook his head and then gasped, "Adanthir. is he alright?"
Annalome looked back in the direction he had heard the horse's cry. "He has fallen my lord, I have not seen the extent of his injuries. I thought it best to help you first."
Tarcil struggled to stand. Annalome placed one arm around his waist to support him. Together they walked to the place Adanthir lay. The horse was lying on his side heaving short ragged breaths. Tarcil dropped to his side. His front, right ankle was clearly broken where bone was protruding through the skin. The horse's breathing indicated broken ribs, or possibly his neck. Adanthir did not move, and Tarcil knew the horse would soon depart the earth. Sliding over he took the horse's head in his lap and spoke soothingly to it. If the end did not come quickly he would be forced to hasten its arrival. Tarcil shuddered at the thought.
The horse had been given to him five years ago by his father and had been his almost constant companion since then. Grief overtook the young prince, and he wept unabashedly. It was sometime later that he realized Adanthir's breathing had become steadier and less labored. Looking up he was surprised to see Annalome kneeling over the horse's body, her hands resting on the its chest. Tarcil blinked in surprise as Adanthir whinnied softly and attempted to stand. Tarcil placed one hand on Adanthir's neck and comforted him. Annalome moved suddenly from the horse's chest to the broken ankle. Placing her hands over the wound the horse suddenly quieted down.
After many minutes Annalome removed her hands. Tarcil stared unbelieving at Adanthir's hoof, which showed no evidence that it had been broken at all. As if Adanthir knew that he had been healed he clumsily rose to a standing position. Tarcil remained on the ground, unbelieving.
"How. how did you." he could not seem to form a sentence. Annalome had risen with Adanthir, but as Tarcil looked up at her she began to sway. Realizing she was about to collapse he jumped to her side, groaning at the pain in his right shoulder where the tree limb had hit him. Grasping her about the waist he helped her to the ground once more. "My lady, are you well?"
Annalome smiled weakly at him, "It is not easy to heal such wounds, my lord. Have no fear, I need only a small amount of rest to regain my strength."
Sitting next to her he let her body fall back against his chest. "You have extraordinary powers, my lady. I have never heard of such a thing except among the firstborn, but I am eternally grateful to you. Adanthir is most dear to me."
"It is true that the elves possess healing capacity, but it is not the same," Annalome spoke weakly. "I discovered my ability a number of years ago. I have spoken to many of the elves about it, including their best healers, but none can explain it. I am somewhat of an enigma, even to the elves, and that is saying something."
Even in her exhausted state Tarcil could detect a hint on melancholy in her voice. "It has not been easy for you to live here among the elves," he said.
"In some ways, yes, my lord. They do not understand humans, and I believe many of them are truly saddened by our presence. Even now they feel their time in Middle-earth dwindling, and they know that humans are the heirs. They worry that we are not up to the task. But, they have much love and compassion, and for this I have enjoyed my time here with them."
"Would you ever consider leaving Miregroth, and going to live amongst men? I would like nothing more than for you to travel with me to Annuminas when I depart." Tarcil felt a lump in his throat.
"I have considered visiting the world of men, and I would love to see the capital of your country, my lord. But where would I stay? I have little to offer your world, I think."
Tarcil laughed, "You would stay in my father's palace, my lady, and all your wants and desires would be fulfilled there. As for what you have to offer my world. Your knowledge, and your skills are more than enough, but I admit I ask you to come with me for more selfish reasons. I find that I enjoy your company very much, and I dread the day we would part. If I may be so bold, my lady, for me you offer great happiness."
Annalome smiled, "Your words are very bold, my lord, but I sense the truth in them. I will not give you an answer yet. You have many weeks yet at Miregroth, and this is not a decision I would make without some thought. You shall have your answer before your departure feast."
Tarcil could have laughed for joy at the answer. Even through her carefully guarded words he could hear the desire in her voice. "My lord," Annalome interrupted his thoughts. I believe I am well enough to sit my horse. We should return to Miregroth so that I might rest in a proper bed."
Reluctantly Tarcil felt her pull away from him, but he rose with her and helped her onto the horse.. She swayed a bit from Tinnuchwest's back. "My lady, is Adanthir fully healed?"
"He is as he was before his fall, my lord."
"Good. You are in no condition to ride Tinnuchwest, especially without a saddle to hold onto. You will ride with me on Adanthir, and I believe Tinnuchwest will follow."
Annalome looked as if she might argue, but then sighed, "You are correct, my lord. It will be as you say."
He helped her down from Tinnuchwest's back and carried her to Adanthir. As he expected Tinnuchwest followed Adanthir back to the hall of the woodland elves. Annalome fell quickly to sleep with his strong arms to keep her from falling. Tarcil cherished the ride back with Annalome in his arms, and thought of what the future might hold.
Gaerlin stood at the eaves of Greenwood the Great. The company of men had nearly passed from even his keen eyesight into the grasslands which lay to the west of his home. His eyes could still see the glint of sunlight on golden-red hair, and he held his gaze to that spot. Finally, there was nothing more. The humans had left Greenwood the Great, and all the elves would find peace in their departure. Except Gaerlin.
The woman whom he called daughter had gone away from his home, and he despaired at the thought of ever seeing her again. He had seen the fondness growing between Tarcil and Annalome during his stay, and he was certain she would be his wife within the year. All the elves had called her decision to depart with Tarcil a blessing. Most believed she would be happier among those of her own race, but Gaerlin felt differently.
Perhaps it was a father's love clouding his judgment, but he did not believe Annalome was among her own kind. While she was most certainly not an elf, she possessed many elvish qualities. He feared she would not be accepted in Tarcil's society or that as the years passed her eternal youth would frighten the Arnorians. Somehow he knew that she would not age, not like men.
Turning to his side he caught Legolas staring off in the direction Tarcil and his men had taken. "I would have thought you would be relieved to be rid of your pupil, my brother."
Legolas turned his gaze to his brother, "I know that I would have felt that way once, but I misjudged Annalome." The younger elf turned to stare once again at the grasslands stretching before them. "She was much more than she appeared, but I did not see it for so long."
Gaerlin sighed, "Perhaps this is not goodbye, Legolas. Perhaps it is only an ending. Who knows what new beginnings lie before us?"
Legolas turned to his brother and smiled sadly. Turning his back on the plains he began making his way into the heart of Greenwood the Great - towards home.
Thank you to those of you have reviewed this story. I find your insights most helpful. A special thanks to PuterPatty, who has done such a wonderful job of reviewing. She has a keen eye, and it helps to keep me on the straight and narrow. The mistake you noted in chapter four was actually due to poor writing. I intended for Tarcil's memory to be of the story, not the actual event, but in reading that portion again I can see the confusion. I'm off to repair it as soon as I post this new chapter. Thank you.
These first five chapters have been very hurried for which I apologize. This sets up the backstory for chapters to come. And as I promised Legolas will play a very prominent role in the next chapter as well as all subsequent chapters. In fact, this story is about to jump about 800 years into the future. How's that for a plot twist? Anyway, the pace should slow-down much starting with the next chapter. Thank you for bearing with me.
Also, because I am in Tolkien's world I have been forced to write about horses. I know nothing about horses, so if I make errors in my descriptions or even if there is better terminology I can use please let me know. I suppose anyone who writes fantasy-based material should educate themselves on the creatures. Unfortunately, I have not done so. I would appreciate any help in this area.
OK, I am shutting up now. Please read on.
Chapter Five
Beginnings and Endings
A low hum hung in the air as Gaerlin entered the glade where the welcoming feast was to take place. There were undoubtedly halls of great magnificence within Miregroth where the feast could have been held, but as with most elven celebrations the earth itself was the true guest of honor. The gray hue of the enormous trunks of the surrounding Beech trees seemed to reflect the silvery light of the full moon, and within the branches themselves hung hundreds of small lamps, which cast their own golden hue on the celebration. At the opposite end of the glade several elves had gathered together and were singing unaccompanied by any instruments. Their pure voices blended together in a multitude of harmonies that was at once both complex and simple. It almost seemed to Tarcil that he knew the tune, but as soon as his ear alighted upon it the song spun away into realms of strange and exquisite beauty.
He entered the festivities with Legolas as his guide and flanked by his men. There was no formal announcement of his arrival as there would have been in his father's palace. Tarcil appreciated not being the center of attention, and he promised himself he would consider banning the tradition when he ascended the throne. Instead, the elves seemed already to be in throws of merrymaking, and few paid much heed to any newcomers.
Legolas led the Prince and his party down the center of the glade. All about him were large round tables covered in what appeared to be the same diaphanous fabric that covered the entrance to the balcony in his rooms. Upon each table was a large bell-shaped piece of glass inside of which many points of golden light darted about as though many fireflies had been trapped inside. The Prince of Arnor stared at the ornaments and marveled at what could possibly produce such a thing. At the base of these strange lights were set many large, white blossoms open to the glow of the moonlight exposing the bright yellow stamens at their centers.
Legolas was leading them to the heart of the glade, where the earth rose in a small mound. Atop this mound was the largest of the tables - large enough for thirty men to sit comfortably. A vast pergola covered the entire table. It was covered in thick leafy vines, and as they came nearer Tarcil could detect hundreds of small purple flowers which bloomed amidst the greenery. The whole scene appeared as though nature itself were embracing the festivities.
Seated at the large table was Thranduil, King of the Woodland Elves, surrounded by his family. His long hair was the same silver sheen of the moonlight, and hung down his back much in the same manner as that of Legolas. His skin was smooth, giving him the youthful quality inherent in all elves, but the keen blue eyes betrayed the many years he carried. Earlier fears of the elven king's demeanor came back with renewed potency. The young prince took several deep breaths to calm his nerves.
Legolas bowed low before his king, "Father, I present to you Tarcil, son of Arantar, crown prince of Arnor."
Tarcil bowed with as much respect as he could muster, and prepared to be scrutinized by those piercing eyes. "It is an honor, your highness."
Those blue eyes bored into Tarcil's head. His experiences in Rivendell with Lord Elrond and his sons had taught him to endure the unflinching gazes of the elves, but it took every ounce of strength he had not to turn away. After what seemed an excruciating wait the King rose from his seat and nodded to Tarcil, "You are most welcome in my kingdom, Prince of Arnor." Thranduil gestured to a seat beside him, "Will you join myself and my family for the feast?"
"You are most gracious, your highness," Tarcil bowed again and moved to take the seat on Thranduil's left. Legolas led the rest of his men from the table to another table not far away.
"You father is in good health, I trust?" the King asked Tarcil as soon as he was seated.
"Yes, quite. He just celebrated his 145th birthday, but everyone swears he does not look a day over 100," Tarcil flashed his most winning smile at the jest. Thranduil smiled, not in amusement, but rather in a more patronizing way. Tarcil felt as if he were a small child being praised for learning his first word. Someone else did laugh at his joke, however. Seated two seats to Thranduil's right was Annalome. Her warm smile greeted him as his eyes met hers, and for an instant he forgot all about the King of the woodland elves.
She was wearing a dark green dress, the color of oak leaves late in the summer. About her neck was a thin silvery chain from which hung a small triskelion, and in her hair he could see more flashes of silver. The way the necklace and hair ornaments glinted in the moonlight Tarcil was fairly certain they were made of mithril. Her long golden red hair was pulled up exposing a graceful neck. Tarcil was mesmerized.
The sound of Thranduil clearing his throat caught Tarcil's attention, and he turned to face the king. A brief glint of anger flashed in the monarch's eyes. "A thousand apologies, your highness. This talk of home has made me long for my father's palace. I am afraid I was caught up in my own memories."
"You have only just arrived at Miregroth, Prince Tarcil. If you are homesick already this does not bode well for the remainder of your stay."
Tarcil squirmed under that heavy gaze, "Nay, highness, it was a momentary lapse. I am eager to begin my studies with your warriors."
A beautiful elf with long yellow hair seated on the other side of Thranduil turned to address the prince, "Then you will not be disappointed, Prince of Arnor. Are you already skilled with weaponry?"
Before Tarcil could answer Thranduil said, "I have been remiss in my introductions, Prince Tarcil. Allow me to introduce my wife, Faenwen."
Tarcil rose and bowed to the elf queen. "Your highness."
Faenwen nodded her head in acknowledgment, and Tarcil took his seat again, "Yes, your highness, I am fond of the sword. My father feels I should be skilled in the use of all weapons, but I spend as much time in swordplay as all the others combined."
The queen smiled a genuine and warm smile, "The swords used by the soldiers of Arnor are quite different from elven blades. Have you had an opportunity to use a sword made by the elves?"
"Yes, your highness," said Tarcil, "I have often practiced with the sword given to my father by the woodland elves when he had completed his training here. It is much lighter than those of Arnorian make, and it requires a deft hand to wield it properly. I have brought the sword with me in the hopes that I might learn more from its makers."
"I am certain you will find what you seek. We have accomplished swordsmen among us." The queen smiled at her husband then turned once again to Tarcil; "I trust you have brought a bow with you. None in Middle-earth can match the woodland elves in archery."
Tarcil's smile widened even further and he glanced at Annalome, "Of that I am certain. I witnessed this young maid here with her bow, and if her skills are any indication then I have much to learn while I am here."
Faenwen laughed a bright, silvery laugh that seemed to ring through the air, "I am twice proud in this respect, Prince Tarcil. Annalome is my granddaughter and her skills are extraordinary for one of your race. She was taught by my youngest son, Legolas, whom I believe you have met."
Tarcil smiled at Annalome and then turned his gaze on Legolas who had taken his place in a seat on the opposite side of the table. "Then surely the teacher and student have the gifts of the Valar. I would be most honored if I could only observe Prince Legolas or the Lady Annalome."
"Then you shall and more besides," said the king. "Tomorrow you may bide your time studying the bow with Legolas and Annalome, and anytime that their duties allow they are yours to command."
Outwardly Tarcil smiled graciously, but inside his heart raced in anticipation of the next day. "Thank you, your highness. You are too kind."
The remainder of the evening went slowly. As was his duty the Prince of Arnor spent his time discussing politics and the state of Arnor with Thranduil and his sons. There was no opportunity to speak with Annalome, and she and many of the other elven women excused themselves from the table and went to dance at the edge of the clearing where the musicians had gathered. Tarcil would have liked nothing more than to join her, but he knew any such gesture would be an insult to the king. The night wore away, his formal attire becoming more and more uncomfortable, and the king and five of his sons seemed to be able to discuss endlessly the world and its affairs. Tarcil conversed with them politely for the duration of the evening, making certain that Arnor's place in the world was not overlooked, but his thoughts strayed often to the possibilities the morrow would bring.
Sunlight streamed through the trees casting beams off light on the forest floor. The air was cool with only a small breeze that could barely be felt so far beneath the protective eaves of the large Beech trees. Annalome smiled and sighed, "Ah, my lord, it is the perfect day for shooting."
Tarcil smiled at her delight, "Yes, indeed, my lady." His grin broadened, "and I am grateful for such weather. I require every advantage so I will not appear the fool next to your prowess."
Annalome smiled back at the young prince, "Nay, I do not think you could ever look the fool." She reached the center of the clearing which she and the other elves often practiced the bow. Setting her quiver of arrows upon the ground she checked for the various targets, which always remained in the area. Six large targets made of bundled hay with a large three-pronged triskelion dyed blue across their width stood in various positions around the field. Satisfied with the spot she had chosen Annalome removed her bow from over her shoulder and slowly pulled the string back and then released it just as slowly.
"You think I could not look a fool, do you?" Tarcil flashed his most winning smile, "Would you believe that I once tried to fly?"
Annalome looked at him out of the corner of her eye, "Surely you jest, my lord."
The prince laughed heartily, "Nay, I only wish that I did. When I was a small boy my mother would tell me stories of the great eagles that lived in ancient Beleriand. My favorite was the legend of how the eagles rescued Beren and Luthien from Morgoth's fortress. I could see everything perfectly in my mind. But unlike most young boys I did not wish to be the hero, Beren, but instead I wanted to soar like the eagles of that tale. So one day, I tied my bedsheets to my arms and legs and went up to the first level of ramparts at the castle. Thankfully, one of my father's guards saw me and followed me. He only just managed to grasp the edge of a sheet as I leapt over the edge. When I fell back against the castle wall I received a broken arm and a bloody nose for my reward. Now tell me, Annalome, was I not then playing the part of the fool?
Annalome's grin had widened as he finished the tale, but she kept her face turned to avoid him seeing her, "We cannot judge ourselves based on our actions as children, my lord."
Tarcil peered around to see her face and caught the hint of a smile the woman was trying desperately to conceal. "Perhaps you speak the truth, but your eyes tell me another truth. You are laughing at me."
Annalome turned towards him with all seriousness, "Nay, my lord, I could not be so bold. It is just the . . . way . . . you related your story."
Tarcil laughed out loud, "You may have grown up among the elves but you have all the diplomacy of a court-bred lady."
Annalome blushed and bent to retrieve her arrows to avoid any further eye contact with the prince. Attaching the quiver to her waist she turned quickly to the furthest target. In one swift motion she pulled an arrow from the quiver, fitted it to string, and loosed it at the target. Without hesitation she turned and launched another arrow at the second target. In a matter of seconds she had sent a single arrow at each of the six targets, each one with deadly accuracy.
Tarcil sighed, "I am humbled in your presence, my lady." The prince bowed low before her, and once again she found herself blushing uncontrollably.
Annalome turned quickly to retrieve her arrows to avoid the young man's stare. When she returned she handed them to Tarcil, "I believe it is your turn, my lord."
Tarcil grinned at her, and taking two of her arrows he placed the rest in the quiver on his back. He set both arrows to string and in one swift motion he loosed them at the nearest target. One landed a full hands width from the center while the other missed the target entirely imbedding itself in a nearby Beech. Tarcil took a deep breath and sighed, "Yes, I believe I will be receiving a full cup of humility this morning." The prince then barked a guffaw into the air and turned to Annalome, "There are friends of mine who would pay dearly to see me bested so. I am grateful they are not here. I am certain it would be many years before I heard the end of it - if ever."
"Perhaps the bow is not my lord's weapon of choice?" Annalome graciously offered the young prince, "If I recall from last night's conversation you prefer the sword."
"Feeling sorry for me already, my lady?" said the prince with only a hint of a smile on his face.
Her father had warned her of the frailty of men's egos, and Annalome wondered if she had offended the young prince. But the smile on Tarcil's face slowly widened until Annalome was certain he found the matter to be amusing and not insulting. Sensing she was being teased Annalome decided to join the game, "Nay, my lord, I only wished to offer you a graceful exit before I am forced to feel sorry for you." She gazed up at him innocently, "Perhaps you fend off foes by throwing rocks at them, my lord. In which case you would undoubtedly be the master since I do not possess the strength you do."
Tarcil stared at her in disbelief then laughed uproariously. A lady in the courts at Annuminas would never have been so bold as to insult the crown prince, even in jest. And here was this woman who was not even of royal blood, speaking to him as if he were nothing but a stable boy. She spoke to him as an equal. Tarcil found his pulse quickening - not in anger, but desire. Here was a woman who would challenge him, and the thought was very pleasing to the prince. "I have never thought of throwing rocks at my foes, but I might consider throwing you should any opponent approach and you were nearby."
Annalome smiled almost too sweetly at Tarcil, "Then who would you have to protect you, my lord?"
Tarcil thought his heart would burst our of his chest. Instead, he laughed and bowed before her taking her right hand in both of his, "I surrender, my lady. You have bested me with your arrows, your wit, and your charm. I am yours to command."
Annalome had been quite content with the clever conversation, but his mock surrender took her by surprise. An uncomfortable silence lingered as she searched for a response. Tarcil waited patiently, and finally Annalome smiled at him, "Then I command you to tell me how you would like to spend this lovely day. I do not think you truly want to spend it practicing archery. You will have much time to practice the skills of war with the Woodland elves in the coming weeks. Why don't you tell me what your heart desires, and I will accompany you, if I may."
Tarcil rose but did not release her hand, "My heart desires only to spend the day with you, my lady. But, if you are amenable then perhaps we could go riding, and you could show me this beautiful wood you call home."
Annalome felt the heat rising in her cheeks again, but retained her composure, "I would be honored, my lord. I would dearly love to show you my home. I need only a few minutes to change into clothing more suitable for riding."
Tarcil smiled and released her hand reluctantly, "Then meet me at the stables at your leisure, my lady. I will see about some food to eat on our journey."
Giant oak trees lay as far as the eye could see, their sweeping boughs intermeshing with one another so that it seemed a maze. Sunlight poured through the large branches casting spots both large and small upon the forest floor. Underneath the trees the forest was clear of debris. The large oaks roots pushed out any of the smaller trees or bushes that might have covered the ground and made riding difficult. It was vastly different from the part of the forest that housed Miregroth, where vast stands of Beeches clumped close together along with other undergrowth making the path Annalome and Tarcil traveled slow going. Here the horses were free to ride, and Adanthir pawed anxiously at the ground. Annalome turned towards Tarcil and smiled, "Would my lord care to pick up the pace?"
Tarcil grinned back at her and said, "I had hoped you would suggest so, my lady."
Without a backward glance Annalome kicked Tinnuchwest, and the two burst forward into the midst of the oaks. Without hesitation Tarcil did the same to Adanthir, and soon found himself hovering low over the horses back as he navigated the twists and turns Annalome was making. He soon realized that despite the wide berth between oak trees avoiding them at high speed, especially the low lying branches, was not nearly as easy at it seemed.
Annalome and Tinnuchwest seemed unaffected by the difficulty of traversing the forest floor. Tarcil grimaced and wondered if the woman was going to best him with her riding skills as well. He had not felt threatened by her abilities as of yet, but he hoped there were a few things he could be the master at.
Caught up in his thoughts he was unaware of the large limb that dangled from above in the middle of his path. Ahead of him Annalome swerved to avoid the danger, but Tarcil was unable to maneuver Adanthir in time and felt himself yanked from the horse's back as he impacted the large branch. The wind was knocked from his lungs when he hit the ground, and he struggled to take a breath. Up ahead he heard Adanthir scream and then silence.
After struggling for a few moments Tarcil felt the thrill of air rushing into his lungs. Gulping vast quantities of air he struggled to rise. Instantly Annalome was at his side, "My lord, are you hurt?"
Tarcil shook his head and then gasped, "Adanthir. is he alright?"
Annalome looked back in the direction he had heard the horse's cry. "He has fallen my lord, I have not seen the extent of his injuries. I thought it best to help you first."
Tarcil struggled to stand. Annalome placed one arm around his waist to support him. Together they walked to the place Adanthir lay. The horse was lying on his side heaving short ragged breaths. Tarcil dropped to his side. His front, right ankle was clearly broken where bone was protruding through the skin. The horse's breathing indicated broken ribs, or possibly his neck. Adanthir did not move, and Tarcil knew the horse would soon depart the earth. Sliding over he took the horse's head in his lap and spoke soothingly to it. If the end did not come quickly he would be forced to hasten its arrival. Tarcil shuddered at the thought.
The horse had been given to him five years ago by his father and had been his almost constant companion since then. Grief overtook the young prince, and he wept unabashedly. It was sometime later that he realized Adanthir's breathing had become steadier and less labored. Looking up he was surprised to see Annalome kneeling over the horse's body, her hands resting on the its chest. Tarcil blinked in surprise as Adanthir whinnied softly and attempted to stand. Tarcil placed one hand on Adanthir's neck and comforted him. Annalome moved suddenly from the horse's chest to the broken ankle. Placing her hands over the wound the horse suddenly quieted down.
After many minutes Annalome removed her hands. Tarcil stared unbelieving at Adanthir's hoof, which showed no evidence that it had been broken at all. As if Adanthir knew that he had been healed he clumsily rose to a standing position. Tarcil remained on the ground, unbelieving.
"How. how did you." he could not seem to form a sentence. Annalome had risen with Adanthir, but as Tarcil looked up at her she began to sway. Realizing she was about to collapse he jumped to her side, groaning at the pain in his right shoulder where the tree limb had hit him. Grasping her about the waist he helped her to the ground once more. "My lady, are you well?"
Annalome smiled weakly at him, "It is not easy to heal such wounds, my lord. Have no fear, I need only a small amount of rest to regain my strength."
Sitting next to her he let her body fall back against his chest. "You have extraordinary powers, my lady. I have never heard of such a thing except among the firstborn, but I am eternally grateful to you. Adanthir is most dear to me."
"It is true that the elves possess healing capacity, but it is not the same," Annalome spoke weakly. "I discovered my ability a number of years ago. I have spoken to many of the elves about it, including their best healers, but none can explain it. I am somewhat of an enigma, even to the elves, and that is saying something."
Even in her exhausted state Tarcil could detect a hint on melancholy in her voice. "It has not been easy for you to live here among the elves," he said.
"In some ways, yes, my lord. They do not understand humans, and I believe many of them are truly saddened by our presence. Even now they feel their time in Middle-earth dwindling, and they know that humans are the heirs. They worry that we are not up to the task. But, they have much love and compassion, and for this I have enjoyed my time here with them."
"Would you ever consider leaving Miregroth, and going to live amongst men? I would like nothing more than for you to travel with me to Annuminas when I depart." Tarcil felt a lump in his throat.
"I have considered visiting the world of men, and I would love to see the capital of your country, my lord. But where would I stay? I have little to offer your world, I think."
Tarcil laughed, "You would stay in my father's palace, my lady, and all your wants and desires would be fulfilled there. As for what you have to offer my world. Your knowledge, and your skills are more than enough, but I admit I ask you to come with me for more selfish reasons. I find that I enjoy your company very much, and I dread the day we would part. If I may be so bold, my lady, for me you offer great happiness."
Annalome smiled, "Your words are very bold, my lord, but I sense the truth in them. I will not give you an answer yet. You have many weeks yet at Miregroth, and this is not a decision I would make without some thought. You shall have your answer before your departure feast."
Tarcil could have laughed for joy at the answer. Even through her carefully guarded words he could hear the desire in her voice. "My lord," Annalome interrupted his thoughts. I believe I am well enough to sit my horse. We should return to Miregroth so that I might rest in a proper bed."
Reluctantly Tarcil felt her pull away from him, but he rose with her and helped her onto the horse.. She swayed a bit from Tinnuchwest's back. "My lady, is Adanthir fully healed?"
"He is as he was before his fall, my lord."
"Good. You are in no condition to ride Tinnuchwest, especially without a saddle to hold onto. You will ride with me on Adanthir, and I believe Tinnuchwest will follow."
Annalome looked as if she might argue, but then sighed, "You are correct, my lord. It will be as you say."
He helped her down from Tinnuchwest's back and carried her to Adanthir. As he expected Tinnuchwest followed Adanthir back to the hall of the woodland elves. Annalome fell quickly to sleep with his strong arms to keep her from falling. Tarcil cherished the ride back with Annalome in his arms, and thought of what the future might hold.
Gaerlin stood at the eaves of Greenwood the Great. The company of men had nearly passed from even his keen eyesight into the grasslands which lay to the west of his home. His eyes could still see the glint of sunlight on golden-red hair, and he held his gaze to that spot. Finally, there was nothing more. The humans had left Greenwood the Great, and all the elves would find peace in their departure. Except Gaerlin.
The woman whom he called daughter had gone away from his home, and he despaired at the thought of ever seeing her again. He had seen the fondness growing between Tarcil and Annalome during his stay, and he was certain she would be his wife within the year. All the elves had called her decision to depart with Tarcil a blessing. Most believed she would be happier among those of her own race, but Gaerlin felt differently.
Perhaps it was a father's love clouding his judgment, but he did not believe Annalome was among her own kind. While she was most certainly not an elf, she possessed many elvish qualities. He feared she would not be accepted in Tarcil's society or that as the years passed her eternal youth would frighten the Arnorians. Somehow he knew that she would not age, not like men.
Turning to his side he caught Legolas staring off in the direction Tarcil and his men had taken. "I would have thought you would be relieved to be rid of your pupil, my brother."
Legolas turned his gaze to his brother, "I know that I would have felt that way once, but I misjudged Annalome." The younger elf turned to stare once again at the grasslands stretching before them. "She was much more than she appeared, but I did not see it for so long."
Gaerlin sighed, "Perhaps this is not goodbye, Legolas. Perhaps it is only an ending. Who knows what new beginnings lie before us?"
Legolas turned to his brother and smiled sadly. Turning his back on the plains he began making his way into the heart of Greenwood the Great - towards home.