Chapter 1: On the Borders of Lothlorien
The trees had an air of eeriness about them, thought Legolas, mounted on his white steed, Ilnor. Not the trees themselves, though, they were beautiful - soft and lingering in a subtle golden glow, slipping into summer but unwilling to let go of spring. No, it was the aura that surrounded them that told him that something was not quite right.
He brought Ilnor to a standstill, smoothing his silken mane with his fair hand and listened. Now he heard what he could not before: silence. The birds were soundless and not even a faint breeze caressed the ashen leaves into whispering.
Maybe he should have left there and then, but something made hem falter and wait, his ears sensing every sound and movement of the air. But despite his keen awareness, the attack took him by surprise. This was the last place he had expected to be ambushed and the wolves came out of nowhere. Swiftly, he steered Ilnor round and set off at a rapid pace, guiding the horse along the tree line, but it was too late. The wolves were upon him, surrounding him on all sides, snapping menacingly with glistening fangs and eyeing him with hunger and revenge.
There was little the Elf could do but try and keep Ilnor from throwing him to the ground in fright and to send arrows singing from his sturdy Mirkwod bow. This he did with great skill, bringing down three snarling creatures in quick succession as they tried to overtake him.
But nothing could stem their malice, for wolves are fast and relentless, especially at the prospect of something to quench their appetite. Ilnor became fearful and erratic, slowing his pace and weaving around their pursuers while steadily advancing further into the trees. These offered no refuge, only more obstacles, so it was relief as well as confusion that Legolas felt as an arrow whipped past his ear and pierced a nearby wolf's outstretched neck. Not one of his own darkly polished, plain and resilient arrows, but a longer, paler, more slender one of silver-blonde wood. Where did it come from? Was it meant for him or the salivating beast at his heels? Nevertheless, he continued to defend himself, firing arrow after arrow, felling one ghastly creature after another while silver arrows flew past his fair face. Not even when one of the streamlined weapons caught his unshielded upper shoulder did he cease.
Eventually most of the wolves lay slain among the trees and the rest, seeing the fate of their kin, fled in terror. Legolas found himself once again amid silent woodland, so still that even the light step of Ilnor's hooves could be heard as they trod the soft sylvan carpet.
The Elf gazed around with curiosity and uncertainty, unable to understand what had happened. He knew he wasn't alone, a feeling materialised by a fleeting movement at the corner of his eye. Quickly, with inhuman speed, he snatched the last arrow from his quiver and, fitting it to his bow, turned to face the source of the movement. His carriage was perfect - back straight, arms locked and properly aligned and his intense eyes fixed on the anchor point.
What met his eyes did not, in fact, surprise him. The figure was tall and slender, as him, and was clothed in the mellow silver-grey of the bark in front of which it stood. The fabric rippled in the sunlight in such a way that the untrained eye would pass over it, mistaking it for part of the surroundings, a vital function of the cloaks of the Elves of Lothlorien.
Legolas stayed poised, despite his pain. He could feel a warm trickle down his left arm where the blood flowed. His calm exterior showed nothing of the anguish that lay beneath. "What is your cause, kindred?" he asked, steadily.
The Elf advanced towards him; a graceful, fair-haired figure like all the Elves of the Golden Wood. "My cause? My cause is to protect my country. What, may I ask, is your cause? What brings you to this land?" the voice was soft, astute and...feminine.
Now, Legolas could see her features clearly; pale, flawless skin, delicate rosebud lips and eyes of sparkling cerulean which studied him carefully. "I am merely passing your land," he said nonchalantly. "My cause does not concern you but I am bound for Rivendell. You have no reason to protect your land from me. Are we not of the same kind?"
"Nay, my arrows were not meant for you," she raised her hands slowly in a peace making gesture. "They were aimed at the wolves but your horse was jumpy and his movements caught me off guard.
"Forgive me the injury I have caused you and allow me to tend your wound."
Legolas lowered his bow and shielded his eyes from the dazzling effect caused by sunlight falling through the gently swaying leaves. Few people, he knew, were to be trusted in such times as these, but had this Elf not, in fact, saved his life?
Gracefully, he dismounted and his brow creased momentarily as he felt a shooting pain across his shoulders and down his arm.
"I am Nelyalen," said the Elf-maiden, her face showing concern. "Follow me."
Quickly, she led Legolas to a nearby stream, Ilnor following close behind. Motioning for him to sit, she produced a small pouch; woven from soft, fine threads like spider silk; unadorned but tied with silver cord. Kneeling down beside the mellisonant water, she took from the pouch a handful of fragrant herbs and, holding them in the cup of her hand, sprinkled a small amount of the shimmering water over them before wrapping them in delicate muslin. Then she took a length of cloth and tenderly cleansed the wound. The water soothed Legolas's lacerated shoulder, sending a wholesome feeling through his veins.
"The healing waters of the Nimrodel are at their most potent near the source," Nelyalen told him without looking up. He watched her elegant fingers as she deftly tied the muslin and applied the poultice, then lifted his eyes to gaze around at the surrounding woodland. Life, it seemed, had returned and the trees which, bathed in an aureate glow, were thriving with early summer activity.
"Long have I desired to step foot beneath the golden canopy of this land," he said smiling. "They say that nowhere on Middle-Earth compares with its splendour and beauty."
"That is true," she replied. "But this is little compared with the magnificence of Cerin Amroth at the height of summer. Nevertheless, the grace of Lothlorien is waning," her words drifted into the air and she fell silent before regaining herself.
"If you are bound for Rivendell, what brings you this far south? Are you not a Mirkwood Elf?" she asked finally.
Legolas looked up; his face passive but lingering. "I had business to deal with on the Southern borders," he explained. "Orcs and other, even more foul creatures. These lands are growing ever more dangerous and safe passage is becoming almost impossible."
"Indeed. You should be travelling with escorts. Even these fair lands are no longer safe."
Legolas shook his head. "Safer, though, than most places. Your presence is proof of that." After these words, silence fell on the pair. Neither was now willing to be left alone, yet they knew they must part.
"It is not safe to linger here too long," voiced Nelyalen eventually. "Especially after darkness." She stirred, listening to the wind with deliberation.
"Then I must depart, though it is with a heavy heart," his tone, betraying only the slightest emotion was nevertheless solemn and melancholy, yet he rose to his feet and moved to where Ilnor stood waiting.
Before mounting, he briefly placed his hand on his heart and bowed his head. "Elen síla lúmenn' omentielvo," he said softly and then departed, disappearing towards the edge of the woodland, where trees gave way to open grassy plains in the eastern shadow of the Misty Mountains.
And so it was, yet the circumstances of their second meeting was to be just as unusual.