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In gwidh ristennin, I fae narchannen

The bonds cut, the spirit broken.

From Lament for Gandalf

The elves wept openly for the passing of Gandalf, Mithrandir the Pilgrim Grey. And while Lothlorien was as Aragorn had spoken, the heart of Elvendom on Earth, the city of Caras Galadhon passed into night in mourning and did not emerge to face the sun. Shrouded glory met the fellowship of companions, and in truth such beauty in the wake of such sadness touched them more sharply than the strike of Lorien in her springtime could have done. One can weep at beauty and pain with tears clean of bitterness, and as such they wept and rested weary of weeping.

Legolas lent his comfort as best he could on their first night in Lothlorien, but soon found little to keep him in their company in the face of the glistening beauty of Lorien. His companions found their solace in familiar faces, hobbit to hobbit and human to human, leaving elf and dwarf to make their own way through grief. Legolas longed for such comfort, for Mirkwood was far behind him in his journey, and while the he was ancient in the reckoning of men, never in all his travels had he visited Lorien. He wondered at that as he climbed the shimmering talans and touched hands with the Galadhrim, and found no answers save for reluctance to leave his lands without his protection.

Naught was familiar in the celestial sprawl of the elven city, and yet it spoke to him in words beyond understanding, singing to him songs of his youth before war had marred the joy of his life beneath the trees of Mirkwood. He was welcomed openly by the Galadhrim, and was barred from no place he sought to enter. Song followed him ever, into his dreams when he slept, up and down the ladders and through the whispering falls of water that wound throughout the city and into the forest below. Songs of lament, of fallen joy, of lights and lives cut far too short.

And yet, he had no tears to shed with his kind. Not since escaping the mines of Moria had Legolas felt the surge of sorrow in his breast, and that had been thrust aside by further flight from orc and enemy. For the sake of the halflings, for the commission of Elrond, he had taken up his bow to follow a course with no clear end.

Galadriel had shown him his grief and his joy, in the whispers of her gaze that none but he and Aragorn had met. She warned him, too, of closing off his heart in the light of the new and strange. Her tenderness towards Gimli had touched him deeply, and he felt the need to understand the dwarf further. As he traveled through the wood, he noted places to return again with Gimli, a curve of living wood into rock, the light of jewels hidden some in shadow, a well hewn entirely of one great stone and marked in ancient runes.

Caras Galadhon did not sleep, and never was Legolas alone in his exploration. Day passed into night and broke through to the dawn, passing time with light and shadow. Legolas allowed the gentle rhythm of dawn and dusk lull him to peaceful reflection upon the land of Lorien, hidden from time, from Man, from change. Only his nightmares reminded him of the burden he had taken on in Rivendell.

Higher in the city Legolas found a rarity for him, Galadhrim children no more than a handful of years old. They touched the weave of his cloak and the braids in his hair, asking questions and laughing at his accent behind their hands.

"There are so few of them now in Lorien," said one Galadhrim elf, scooping up the sleeping child who had refused to follow her fellows to bed an hour earlier. "At her springtime, the children crawled all about her limbs and splashed in the waters of Nimrodel. Yet we diminish, Legolas of Mirkwood. Are there many in your home woods?" he asked. "Or in the leaves of Rivendell?"

"There are none," Legolas admitted sadly, reaching out to touch the sleeping child. "In truth I had not seen one so young since I was half my age. It gives me joy to see them here. But alas, I fear soon there will be none to call elves young."

The child squirmed in her father's embrace. "My hopes are few in this world, yet to see her grow old in leaves of Lothlorien seems ever more narrow a chance. Our time in the sun is fading fast. We can feel it even here where time has little meaning."

He suddenly stopped and shrank behind Legolas, shielding his child with his arms. Legolas whirled at the presence, invasive and alien in the peace of Lorien, his hands grasping for knives he did not carry. She was like a white wraith to him, pain and sorrow flowing out from the folds of her gown, down her tear-stained face from eyes wide and searching for what could not be seen.

She turned her eyes from father and child to Legolas, who was much unsettled at her gaze, moreso as she reached a thin and claw-like hand to him and gripped his shoulder painfully. "You were there," she hissed. "When he fell?"

He knew of whom she spoke, and what soul she mourned. "I was," he answered, and saw the grief opening anew in her gaze.

"I was," she repeated, and rolled the sapphire of her eyes over his countenance. "I am not so old as you are, and yet not so young."

Legolas stared at her, uncertain of what to say to comfort her. She leaned closer to him and set her head upon his shoulder, rested her other hand on his chest and shuddered, moaning into his neck. From habit he had long left behind him, Legolas made to embrace her and lend comfort, but as his touch she flinched and jerked free of him. She turned and fled into the night, white swallowed in shadow.

The Galadhrim relaxed at her absence though Legolas was not so settled. "Who was that woman?" Legolas asked, touching the place on his chest where she had rested her hand.

He did not speak right away but stroked his daughter's hair and thought. "Never have I laid eyes upon her," he said at last. "Few are those who saw her arrival in Lorien, and hushed are the rumors. She is the lady Theraniel, and little else I know, for never has she left her bower, save when Mithrandir came to our woods. His death must lie heavy upon her, for he alone enticed her from her willowhouse and into the city. Do not let her actions disturb you, Legolas. She is sick with grief and knows not the way to treat a friend."

Legolas did not press for more, offering his thanks before taking leave of them. He journeyed back into the city to share the moonrise with the Galadhrim, to join them in song and silence. Soon the disquiet of his memory bade him inquire about the strange woman. Many did not know her story, or else pointed out another who might, to no avail. At the approach of dawn, Legolas returned to the fellowship and thoughts of his pursuit gave over to sharing the city's splendor with his newfound companion.

Gimli was wary of leaving the halflings alone, for Aragorn and Boromir had departed from their flet on their own errand, as had Frodo and Sam. Merry and Pippin had already found jest with the elves who tended them and were returned to their fellows abruptly after some mischief they would not admit. The three of them had remained constant fellows to that point. Eventually Gimli relented, making the pair of hobbits swear on their ancestors they would do nothing unbecoming of guests.

The dwarf did not fully trust their convictions to the task, but at Legolas' urging he left the pair of halflings behind to the elf upwards into the city. None of the Galadhrim acted surprised in the least to see a dwarf clamoring up the talans and cursing softly in his native tongue when his legs proved too short to make some of the paths, although more laughter than song flowed from their throats at their passage.

"In all my years I have never made my bed up in the trees," Gimli muttered. "A solid wind bends them, a stout axe fells them. What is to keep a dwarf aloft in his sleep?" He gave a sigh. "And yet never have I slept so deeply. If it weren't for the confounded hobbits I would have slept the night through."

Legolas nodded and slowed his pace up the ropes and ladders of the flets, though soon the dwarf was able to match his speed in place of grace. Legolas sang him songs of Lorien, of Galadriel the most for Gimli was soft to hear tales of the lady. Often Gimli was lost for words at the sight of the city's splendor and did not want to disturb the songs around them. He did not ask for Legolas to translate, though, for lament had begun at their arrival had not once paused.

Legolas brought him to the place where he had found the children, a house built within the nestle of two great boughs, open to the air and paths below. The children were taking lessons from a pair of teachers when they arrived, and soon all thought of study was forgotten. The elflings all but sat in Gimli's lap to hear him tell of the great halls of dwarf kings. More than one elf child mimicked the dwarf's brogue and the teacher elves gave each other and Legolas long glances and longer smiles.

Legolas allowed his thoughts to drift while the children entertained Gimli later that afternoon. Listening to the constant song had brought to mind an old lament he had heard once, and his thoughts flitted here and there to recall the words. He had nearly pieced together the chorus when soft words roused him.

"Our children learn little of the world outside Lorien. It is good for them to see your companion." Legolas turned to greet his visitor, and bowed low to see Celeborn join him at his side.

"We all learn much from this visit," Legolas said. "In truth I was much against Gimli's presence in Lorien. But now I see through different eyes."

"As do we all," Celeborn said. "I do not recall ever teaching my children to fear or despise the dwarves, but our young grow in our image and inherit our faults."

"I have no children of my own," Legolas said. "But my youth was spent emulating more than those whom I called mother and father. I wonder now at the figure I have become for the young in Mirkwood. I hope to return there and share what I have learned, to somehow undo any wrong I have done."

"Follow that thread and you will tie yourself in knots, Legolas," Celeborn said with a smile. "Better to move forward than back."

The children let out a shriek of laughter at that point, Gimli standing in the circle of them and throwing out his arms to measure the span of the monster in his tale. Beyond them, solemn elfsong continued a faraway lament for some other world's loss, lost to the ring of excitement with Gimli at the center.

"Allow me to advise you, Legolas," Celeborn said softly. "Let go your pursuit of the lady Theraniel."

"But why?" Legolas asked, surprised. "Are there none to comfort her in a place such as this? I beg your pardon, my Lord. But she is heavy in my heart since I have seen her."

"Ah, I did not know you had seen her. Word has only reached my ears of late that you had inquired about her. She has taken news of Gandalf's death harder than most."

"I was told that he visited her here in Lorien," Legolas said. "Is that so?"

Celeborn was silent a moment. "Theraniel is unwell and has been so since long before she came to Lorien. My lady Galadriel had asked that none disturb here, Legolas, though you make no intrusion. Often do they speak, but only twice has Theraniel left her willowhouse of her own accord, the first at Mithrandir's behest, the second at his death."

Legolas felt a pang of fresh sorrow at Celeborn's words, and ached for more than his own heartbreak.

"I know only what I was present to witness and that which my lady has chosen to share with me," Celeborn continued. "I trust you with her tale, Legolas of Mirkwood, but take heed of my warning. 'Tis not a pleasant story, and it has made her into the creature you saw from the greatness she once held.

"The lady Theraniel was a lore-master to rival Elrond, and his sons called her the White Moon on Rivendell. When the last fellowship between Elves and Men was forged, the lady followed our armies into battle. Her desire to understand the world of Man was great, and none could keep her safely away. Thus after when Sauron fell to Isildur, our elves that followed him back to Gondor found themselves accompanied by the lady Theraniel, despite their attempts to sway her path back to Rivendell.

"Theraniel remained in Minas Tirith long after the last of our kind departed for familiar lands. Legend turned to fear in the fading glory of Man, and the king had her removed to Minas Ithil, where she lived until it fell to darkness. We thought she had perished then, for none had escaped the armies of the Nine Kings who had taken the city.

"Yet my Lady Galadriel believed she had survived, having some insight to her plight, and dispatched servants to search for her. Theraniel was found located in the tower of Minas Morgul and rescued. But when she returned to Lorien, we discovered the effects of her imprisonment ran deeper than her disfigurement. Gone was the White Moon of Rivendell and none could comfort her. She remains under the protection of Galadriel, though she has mended little in her years here. Mithrandir came to visit her once, for they had become friends in her days in Gondor, and when they emerged from her bower the smile of her face shone as the moon once again, but faded soon after.

"Now that he has passed into shadow, I fear her darkness shall never be lifted. I grieve for her, but none of us can force her to heal herself."

Legolas had no words to give Celeborn at the end of his story, and could only nod his thanks as the elflord departed. His thoughts were full up well into the afternoon and only when the children rose to depart did Legolas return to Lorien.

Gimli was reluctant to leave the children, though he attempted to mask it and grumbled to Legolas as they traveled back to their companions. The dwarf had not paid attention to the child behind him during his stories and found the back of his head and even some of his beard had been plaited with blossoms, though he neglected to unravel any of them.

They arrived to a scene of some confusion and activity, which soon became clear that once again the two younger hobbits had strayed off on their own and found some trouble to get into. Pippin was giggling despite his attempt to appear solemn and Merry was nursing a black eye, Samwise dressing them down about proper behavior among the elves. Gimli glared down at the pair and crossed his arms.

"You made a promise, my young hobbits," he grunted.

"But there are no doors in this place," Merry argued. "How are we supposed to know where we aren't meant to be?" At that Pippin burst into another fit of giggles and Frodo smacked him with one of his pouches.

"What happened to them this time?" Legolas asked, noting that both Boromir and Aragorn were also trying to mask amused grins.

"Our halflings appear to have journeyed into one of the more private of places here in Lothlorien," Aragorn said, and then in Elvish. "And interrupted two of her people in an equally private moment."

Frodo sniggered despite himself and Legolas shared his smile. "The Galadhrim are not ashamed of such things," he replied in Elvish. "Although the hobbits may not be accustomed to such displays."

Aragorn inclined his head in agreement, though he struggled to control the twitch of his lips. Frodo surrendered to his amusement and threw himself down upon the mats of the talan, though Sam was in no way finished with properly scolding the younger hobbits. By then Pippin had calmed down enough to whisper the story into Gimli's ear, which set the dwarf to quaking with such mirth that he soon departed the flet entirely.

"I take it this didn't happen in Rivendell?" Boromir asked, and was shot a staggering glare from Aragorn.

"You should be ashamed of yourselves!" Sam continued. "Carrying on like this around the elves! My Gaffer would have a word about this, I tell you. Making fools of yourselves and bothering the elves."

"They didn't seem too bothered, really," Merry said. "We didn't hold with watching them like that, so we decided to leave. But we couldn't make a quiet leaving of, you see. Pip must have made a misstep and knocked me in th'eye, and then o'course I started yellin' about that and that was what got the elves bothered."

"Not that it stopped them, mind you," Pippin said, and got a swat for it from Merry. Boromir was laughing fully at this point with Aragorn not far behind.

"I'm certain that no real harm was done," Legolas said, seeing that no one else seemed capable of quieting the racket. "But I'll ask that you are escorted if you wish to explore from now on." He looked long at each hobbit until they could not meet his gaze, only then leaving the talan. From behind he could hear the argument continuing between the hobbits, joined by the others eventually and then a string of laughter that went on long after he was gone.

Legolas noticed that this occasion was the first that all of their fellowship had spent together in more than mourning, and the thought comforted him at first. But as the strains of laughter faded into the rise of lamentation, Legolas recalled the grief of lady Theraniel and the things Celeborn had told him. Such tales were not to be idly recalled, and his own heart ached at so much despair. It was this despair that set his course from his companions and their mirth.

The house of study was empty now of children as it had been the night she had sought him out. Legolas followed the path he recalled lady Theraniel she had fled, climbing up and down and venturing further outwards from the center of the city than he had been since arriving there. The lights of the Calas Galahdon soon faded and he followed a clear path along the limbs of the trees of Lorien that few had traveled. There he found a house crafted into a willow tree, elegant and lovely, decked with all the finery of the hall of Galadriel and softened with the swaying fronds that filtered the light into a delicate glow.

The song of the elves was clear even this far out from the city, flowing into the whispers of Nimrodel far below. He paused to listen then, and felt the mourning of the elves afresh in his heart. His last threads of gaiety fell away and Legolas remained, alone and ancient upon the boughs of the willow tree.

Here, hobbits jested and humans laughed, a dwarf taught elf children to sing, and yet Mirkwood's prince found no comfort in the heart of the forest. Legolas gazed out into the purpling wood, rich with fading daytime and aglow from every dance of water in the light. The smell of earth and all things green was thick in his nose, lilting elfsong twisting 'round his ears, all of the colors of light and shadow spread in open beauty around him.

Yet he could not love it.

"Where now the solace of elven beauty?" he sang to himself, the old lament he barely remembered.

At the sound, a figure moved within the house and the lady Theraniel emerged. Her face was clear from signs of mourning and shone pale as the moon she was named for, eyes large and blue and wide as she considered him. He noticed her hair was without the customary plait as was the fashion among elves, instead flowing in a long pearl stream about her face, glimmering white. Her robes were not the simple fare of the other Galadhrim either, but embroidered white on silver into falls of snow, matching the glitter of the opal ring upon her finger.

"What is it you seek, Legolas of Mirkwood?" she asked. "I do not entertain visitors often and many do not feel welcome here."

Much of Legolas' journey to her bower was filled with thoughts of Celeborn's story and remembrance of image of Theraniel as he had seen her that first night, stricken with grief. Never had he thought of what to say when he arrived, only that he felt the need to find the lady. Thoughts, words, all flew from his mind as his imagination failed him.

"I am come to give you comfort," he blurted out, his voice feeling loud and large in the delicate strum of the elfsong and riverwhisper.

"Is that so?" Theraniel arched a white eyebrow as she considered him. "And how shall you comfort me when you fail to find your own solace?"

"Mayhap we shall find it together," he answered after a moment's thought. "For you did seek me out in your grief, and now I do the same. I did not know Mithrandir as long as you but I feel his loss." She winced at his name and Legolas again felt out of place in the delicate world around him. "I thought you would share your story of him so we may mourn together."

She sagged against the side of her house and he watched as the grief melted her strength. "You may be wise in this," she whispered. "I have kept my stories to myself for so long, which is ill befitting a lore-master as myself. None seek me out as in old." She turned from him and leaned against the limb of her doorsill. "They used to come to me for all things. Stories of lovers and thinkers, but mostly of warriors. The Men of Gondor respected well the art of the warrior and would beg to hear the tales, again and again.

"No more. They stopped asking. My own counsel I was to keep, and I kept it wherever they sent me. In Gondor, in Ithilien, in the tower where they kept me. They kept me in there, the Winter Witch, the elfwoman of Gondor. They couldn't keep us straight," she rambled and he let her. "Confused me with the lady Galadriel. Only the old have hair this white and they tried to call me the White Lady, but I wouldn't have it. Eventually one of the kings named me, and we all laughed. The Winter Witch. White as the snows on the mountains of Gondor, mean as a witch.

"I wasn't really mean," she continued at his expression of distaste. "The sons of Gondor called me pussycat, for I loved them all. They named their daughters after me, generation after generation of Theraniel's, living and dying and being reborn. I have never lived among such death before. That is why the others left, you see. When we live among our own, we do not see death save for times of war. But in Gondor among the houses of men, death sits at your table and sleeps in your bed. Not a song was sung that did not pay homage to the fallen."

Theraniel faltered, her rant stumbling into silence. She slid to the ground and sat in a pool of white robes and white hair, fingers reaching and twitching and pulling at her gown, twisting her ring. "Mithrandir," she moaned, long and keening. "Manan elye etevanne norie i melanelye? I am not so old as you, and yet not so young."

"You were his friend," Legolas said, sitting to join her. "I envy you that, for my time with him was short and full of peril, though I knew of his deeds long before meeting him."

"He tells a different tale for every friend he meets, and I am blessed to bear many of them in my heart." Theraniel looked up from her hands, out into the darkening forests. "Much like Man, he was. And ancient as our kind. I felt in similar company only with him. I do not regret leaving Gondor to travel with him, though I never was able to return. For the power of Gondor changed hands while I was gone, and I was barred from her gates upon my return and bid take up new service in Minas Ithil."

"Why did you never return to Rivendell?" Legolas asked. "Or follow Gandalf's path? Either would have welcomed you where the men of Gondor did not."

Her eyes hollowed in her gaze. "No one understands," she hissed. "My own does not welcome this kind of love. We are no better than Men, running from death and mystery and change. Gandalf understood, and now he is gone and there are none left to understand."

"There are those who try," Legolas defended, though as he spoke he saw the council of Rivendell, the elves joining the argument as readily as the dwarves and men, his own voice among them. Legolas lapsed into silence, a new verse of lament singing out from the city to chill him.

"They never stop singing," Theraniel moaned. "As if they knew him as friend and not figure."

"He was ever valiant and brave," Legolas said. "Although his patience wore thin around the younger hobbits. I can see how you would love him, though," he added, watching the smooth marble of her face, the shadows to crease and deepen. "He was ever compassionate to all of our fellowship."

"Tell me," she said quietly. "Tell me of my friend. I cannot put aside this grief, and so I will pursue it fully. You were one of the last who knew him. Please, free my heart and give me your story."

This Legolas felt he could accomplish. He began his tale in Rivendell, and followed his journey up and down, giving detail to Gandalf's words and deeds, even trying once to imitate the phrase that amused him so, 'Fool of a Took!', which actually brought a touch of a smile to Theraniel's face. She laughed at the puzzle at Moria's gate and was amused at the accidental solution. He took her hand as they crossed the bridge of Khazad-Dum and she clutched it when the Balrog crossed blades with the wizard. Legolas faltered as Gandalf fell and they fled without him, for Theraniel was weeping anew.

She did not flinch from him this time when he moved to embrace her, and Legolas stroked her ivory hair and whispered quiet comfort as she wept. Holding her, Legolas finally recalled the lament that had hidden in the corner of his mind, and he sang it to her, though his voice quavered here and there.

Fallen, I strain for the voice of my fathers
I long for my mothers, I weep for my brothers
I bury my kindred in some other son's grave.

Where now the solace of elven beauty
When the stars dim and the rivers run dark?
When the song has faded and the fires burn low?

Shadow, I live part in paths never crossed.
Your arms to weep in, your heart to sleep in
In dreams we dance in the heart of the storm.

Where now the solace of elven beauty?
When homecoming comes not for the ones who departed?
When the world of my waking drives nightmare to shame?

Though his voice failed him soon, others took up his place and filled the night in gentle song.

"Thank you," the lady said quietly. "I had thought it impossible to find comfort here. Now I may keep his story in my heart. Now that it has ended."

"I fear I have not done him justice," Legolas answered. "For even as I spoke I recalled that which I had forgotten of our journey and of Gandalf." He ran his fingers down her hair, much as he would have comforted a friend. But his fingers brushed against broken spurs of flesh where the soft tips of her ears would have been, a knobbed thrust of cartilage that startled him such that he jerked his hand away with some strands of her hair still caught in his fingers, the revulsion plain on his face in an instant before he could force it away.

Theraniel threw herself from his arms, striking his hand aside in her escape and clutching her face as if she had been injured. She glared at him from the hunched fold of silver and shadow, the white wraith from before, lost and afraid. "You cannot understand!" she snapped harshly, her voice breaking. "None of you will see far enough, none of you try!" Then she fled from his sight.