Part 3 : A Meeting Under Stars
*Note: Orsúle, which I have written as meaning Windheart, is a combination of the Tengwar Óre - meaning heart, or inner mind, and Súle - wind (that same character is also called Thúle, meaning spirit). Author laughs: Wren almost wound up Súlthule instead, but after trying to wrap my tongue around the l's and th together, I decided against it.
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That evening, those who were strangers to Rivendell wondered at the Elven Lady who stood at Master Elrond's left hand, some paces behind him. Smaller than most Elves, she was, but fairer, too, and her light shadowed all but the Lady Arwen, who sat at her father's right. The Elves of Rivendell also wondered - why did she wait until now to take her place in Elrond's house? The visitors who had arrived only earlier that day were, however, those most surprised. This Lady was at once so like and yet unlike the horse-groom who had greeted them! Only the Elves of Mirkwood knew her to be the same - one in particular watched her quite closely - the other newcomers felt the two must be kin.
As the evening wore on, though she spoke easily with everyone, she began to look increasingly uncomfortable and strained. Only Elrond knew the reason: it had been a very long while indeed since Wren had spent any amount of time in his daughter's company. Though they did not speak, the two Elf-Women were gradually wearing each other down.
Finally, another Elf approached the smaller Lady. "Mistress Wren," he murmured, "the Halflings have been asking for you."
Her tight smile relaxed into a real one. "Thank you - that is good news!" she exclaimed, glad to be given the opportunity to escape for a time. "Where can I find them?"
"I told them you were here, and they followed me." He motioned to the far wall, in which was set the entrance to the Hall of Fire. There she could see three small figures sitting together.
She nodded. "Again, thank you." He bowed and departed. Wren came forward and bowed to Master Elrond. "By your leave, my Lord," she said. At Elrond's nod and slight smile, she, too, left.
Aware of many eyes upon her, Wren moved gracefully across the Hall to stand before the Hobbits. "Well, Bilbo," she laughed, "I see you have left the task of watching Frodo to Gandalf and Sam!"
The three looked up at her, and Merry and Pippin respectfully got to their feet. Bilbo stayed put. "Have you ever sat and watched someone sleep all day?" he asked irritably. "Wearying work! Had I not taken leave for a time, I, too, would now be sleeping!"
"Then your leaving may be excused, little Master. You sleep enough as it is!" She bowed mockingly, and Bilbo laughed, justly rebuked for his short temper. "What did you need of me?" Wren asked then.
Pippin grinned, and Merry's eyes sparkled with mischief. "Actually," said Pippin, "we don't need anything."
Wren arched an eyebrow. "Oh?"
"You were starting to wilt a bit up there," Merry confessed, "so we decided to see if we couldn't relieve you for a bit. We left the Hall, and started 'looking for you.'" He paused. "Bilbo says you aren't used to acting the part of a Lady of the House?"
"Alas, no," she replied remorsefully. "I am more used to walking the gardens-"
"And acting as a servant," put in Bilbo. "Though I admit I am proud you tried to play the Lady at last."
Wren chuckled. "Yes, yes. I suppose if it is my lot to remain forever in Rivendell, I should at least take some advantage of my Blood." She shook her head in thought. "No matter how badly it may irritate Arwen."
"Which is a side effect that amuses you," said Bilbo, teasing.
Wren's eyes were somber as she replied. "No. It saddens me, my friend."
Silence hung between them for several minutes.
Finally, Pippin gathered his courage and broke the strain. "Also we thought you might want to know that there is a young fox sitting out in the courtyard looking absolutely miserable and lonely." He grinned. "We'd hoped you could cheer him up."
The Elf-Maid looked at them with admiration. "You three are life savers, surely!" She sighed. "I was beginning to feel very stressed up there. Arwen's spirit is strong."
Shaking off the thought, she bowed and said, "Well, I shall see what I can do for him."
The Hobbits laughed as she left, and spent the rest of that evening in the Hall, discussing the wonders of Imladris.
Wren made her way out of the Hall of Fire, passing near a somber Elf with a strong presence who stood near the other side of the entrance. Though she kept her eyes on the doors and did not look at him, she could feel him watching her. "It would be good for you to speak with them..." Gandalf's words came back to her. At the moment, however, she pushed them to the corners of her mind and left the Hall.
The gardens were dark, yet bathed in starlight, as Wren walked within them. The fox-cub, cheerful once more, nipped at her heels as she went. Refsil had indeed been a most sorrowful sight when she found him, sitting with drooping ears underneath a bench just outside of the House. Now, pleased to be with her again, he would not be calmed. The Half-Elf, however, had other ideas. She found a seat made of a carefully trained living tree at the edge of a small clearing, near a waterfall. The glow of the House here could not be seen, and the stars were very bright.
Deciding that she was not going to play with him after all, the fox took off into the bushes after a rodent of some sort, leaving Wren alone with her thoughts. Long she sat in silence, listening to the waterfall and watching the stars. At last she could be at peace for a while, without having to contend with the pressure of Arwen's presence. Leaning against the tree, she let her mind roam free.
So deep was Wren in thought, she did not notice the approach of the Silvan Elf, nor did she hear his coming over the sound of the waterfall. Not until he came within her field of vision did she realize he was there. Silently, she turned her head to watch him.
He stood in the center of the space between the stream and the garden, not two lengths distant from her seat, watching the sky, and neither saw nor sensed her. For a short time he was completely still, then suddenly he lay on the grass and laced his fingers behind his head. Wren could see the starlight reflected in his eyes as he gazed upward.
"It would be good for him as well..." Again Gandalf's words echoed in her mind, and this time she could not so easily shake them away. What harm can it do me, she thought at last, to merely speak with him? Besides, Gandalf has faith in him, and anyway, rejection is not something that will kill me. It is unpleasant, but I would survive. As she watched the lone Elf, she was surprised that she suddenly felt akin to him, and did not really believe that her half mortal blood would bother him in the least. Finally resolved, she spoke at last.
"Good evening, my Lord," she called lightly. By what strength she kept herself from laughing aloud she never knew - he started and quickly sat up in a most comical fashion, looking around for the voice. "I see you have managed to evade your companions for a time."
Slowly, still recovering from his surprise, the Elf stood, then looked at her. "Forgive me, Lady. I did not know you were there," he said, his gentle, respectful tone much different than when he had spoken to her before with his mind elsewhere.
Wren laughed softly. "So I noticed," she replied, remembering how he had jumped. "If you wished to be alone," she added, "I can go elsewhere. I can come here often, after all, and you are a guest. There are few places better than this for watching the sky."
Legolas smiled and shook his head. "There is no need - I was not seeking solitude, exactly." After a brief pause he continued. "However, I fear I have intruded upon your thoughts..." His expression turned inquisitive.
"I do not seek solitude, either, but it seems to find me none the less. And as for my thoughts, well," she pensively replied, "Master Elrond would say I need to have them interrupted more often." She arched an eyebrow. "In which case, I am deeply in your debt."
Watching him, Wren could tell he was not certain what to make of her. For a few long moments he simply looked at her, thoughtful. "Stand up a moment," he requested at last. Seeing no reason not to, she obliged, and stepped a few paces forward, out of the shadow of the tree. His eyes widened in surprise - she was nearly a full head shorter than he. Finally he realized what had puzzled him all day. "You are Half-Elven," he said softly.
She frowned. "I would dearly love to know," she said with some force, "why that is always the first thing everyone seems to notice and feels required to remind me of!" She turned to go back to the tree, but a gentle touch on her arm stopped her.
"I apologize, Lady," Legolas responded sincerely. "I did not realize it would trouble you. After all," he added, amusement creeping into his voice despite his best efforts to keep it out, "Elrond is Half-Elven and the Master of this House. I have been told he takes some pride in his mortal blood."
Wren looked up at him and for a moment could think of nothing to say. She glanced away. "Forgive me. My first years of life I was ever tormented by the knowledge that I was a half-blood." She stepped away from him and sat on the grass beside the stream. "I lived among Men then. It was their cruelty that made me choose the Elven life."
"And ever since," he observed quietly, "you have feared to be given the same treatment again, and have kept yourself hidden from all those you did not know." He started to move towards her but stopped. "I hope you have found Elves to be quite different from Men."
She uttered a bitter laugh. "In most ways, yes. Yet there are still some, even here in Imladris where Elrond Halfelven is Master, who scorn my mortal half." She was thoughtful then. "Yet also I have found that not all Men are like those I first knew." Suddenly she drew a deep breath and shook off her growing sadness. "But I digress." She turned and smiled up at him. "You have got me reminiscing, and if I keep it up I shall depress both of us!" Legolas wondered at her sudden change of mood. "What is your story, my Lord?" Wren asked then.
He looked at her sharply. "Please, do not call me that." She blinked in surprise, stiffening. He laughed and broke the tense silence. "I suppose we each have things we do not wish to be reminded of!" Sitting beside her, he added, "I have no desire to be recognized as my father's heir. I am simply Legolas, Captain of the woods-scouts of Mirkwood." He gave her a sidelong glance. "Besides, Elf-Princes are not often given the chance to wander without guard, whereas most feel Captains are capable of looking after themselves."
Wren grinned. "I see. So that is why, upon reaching Rivendell, you always evade any companions who have journeyed here with you."
He stared at her. "How did you-"
The Elf-Maid's laugh interrupted him. "You have come here before, and, though I am fairly certain you never saw me until today, I have seen you many times, wandering the gardens alone."
"Surely I would have sensed you..."
"Unlikely," Wren replied proudly. "You did not know I was here just a few moments ago, true? Besides, I have trained long at stealth. Not even Elladan and Elrohir can find me when I do not wish to be found."
"Elrond's sons?" He smiled slightly. "And they are supposed to be the greatest trackers in all Middle-Earth."
"And so they are. It was they who trained me. I am one of Elrond's Hunters, even as they are, though I do not leave the Valley often. Almost equal in skill, but less in experience - that is my fate as a Lady of the House." She sighed.
Legolas laughed. "Then you indeed have me at a disadvantage, Lady. You seem to know a good deal about me, and I have not even been told your name."
Wren gasped in dismay. "I am sorry! I thought Master Elrond had told you earlier - Mithrandir told me that your companions asked him about me. I am Wren, daughter of Lyrah of Númenor and Galdenë, distant cousin of Elrond." She blinked, startled by the treachery of her own tongue. "And that is more than most know."
He was silent for a long moment. "Wren," he murmured thoughtfully, "the little songbird living at the forest's edge. Warrior, wanderer, and Elvish Lady of the line of Númenor." She stared at him, and he lay back once again. "I am almost surprised you did not take an Elvish name after coming to Rivendell."
"I saw no need. In memory of my mother I keep the name she gave me."
"Ah. A kind decision."
A wind gently stirred within the valley, and Wren close her eyes, letting it move through her. Orsúlë, Glorfindel had called her once, long ago - Windheart, in the language of the High Elves. Now she let the wind calm her thoughts. She remembered something she had intended to ask earlier. "Legolas, what is it like where you come from?"
For a while he did not answer, but lay in thought. "The forest of Mirkwood, or that part over which my father rules?"
"Both. Either. It does not matter."
He sighed. "Well, the small part over which the Elves still hold sway is like an island of light in the middle of a dark sea, much like Rivendell, and Lórien to the south of us. However, it is not as strong a haven, for while darkness will only attack here at the end of all things, we are constantly driving away small bands of orcs and other creatures of evil intent. But it is a good, wholesome place. Mirkwood, on the other hand, is dark and dangerous - I would not speak of it in such a fair place as this."
"And the Wilds between there and here?"
Smiling he said, somewhat teasingly, "Insatiable, aren't you?"
"I have never been far from Rivendell," she replied indignantly, "nor, the way things are going, am I ever likely to."
"Perhaps someday," he said, but launched into a full account of his journey from Mirkwood to Rivendell. Never before had Wren found someone so willing to talk without getting the feeling that the speaker was annoyed with her. He seemed to take as much delight in describing the Wilds as she took in hearing about them. Glorfindel had told her much when she was but a child, but now darkness was gathering and he had not the time to spare. Gildor Inglorion had become a very good source for a while, but he was often away near the Havens. Now most of what she learned came from steeds and the creatures of the Wild. It was good to have a fellow Elf to listen to again.
Legolas talked for quite some time, never minding any interruptions she made when there was something she wanted to hear in greater detail. When he reached his arrival in Rivendell, and his companions' comments on the fair horse-groom, he stopped. He did not add his own thoughts. If she noticed the omission, she did not comment.
"Thank you," she said finally. "I do not mean to sound like a child begging for stories, but very few are so willing to humor me."
He chuckled. "You do not, and I was not. Humoring you, I mean." After a brief pause, he added softly: "I had forgotten how nice it is to talk sometimes, without worrying about the fate of the world."
They let the silence fall then, and listened only to the waterfall and the night birds as they watched the stars reeling above. Gradually, Legolas became aware of a soft voice mingling with the song of the water, entwined within it for a while, then rising above it in a song that fell on his ears like starlight on his eyes. He lay enthralled by the music, a singing like none he had ever known, and suddenly realized that the voice was Wren's. After a few more moments, the song once more dropped to blend with the water, then faded away.
There was a moment of utter stillness. "You stopped," he said quietly.
Wren laughed and looked at him. "Yes, I am aware of that."
He smiled, but did not rise to the jibe. "I meant, 'Don't stop,'" he corrected. She stared at him in wonder, and his smile widened. "You look surprised. I have never heard even a full Elf with so fair a voice." She did not reply, but looked back up at the sky. After a moment she began again, this time with a song of starlight and water and forests - the things held most dear by the Elves - that was familiar to him as well.
For a time Legolas simply listened, then joined in a countermelody that followed the melody quite closely. The effect was breathtaking - a haunting harmony that seemed to mirror the meeting of earth or sea and sky on the horizon at dusk. Wren let her melody drift into silence, letting him continue alone. Long before she was ready to stop listening, he, too, fell silent.
"You stopped," she teased, and he laughed.
This time, he started, with Wren following on harmony. In this way, much of the night passed, with the two Elves singing to the stars. They soon had many listeners, and had they known, they would have stopped, embarrassed. As it was, any wandering that end of the Valley that night heard music the like of which Rivendell had never known. Among those who chanced to hear it were Aragorn and Lady Arwen.
Arwen's Elven ears had been able to hear it for some time, but suddenly Aragorn stopped, head to one side, listening. "I do not believe it," he murmured, and glanced at the Lady. "Is that Wren?"
She nodded. "Yes. But why so surprised? You have heard her sing before."
"Alone, yes," he replied, "never with another." He was quiet for a moment. "I do not recognize the other voice."
Arwen smiled as she listened. "The other, I believe, is Legolas Greenleaf of Mirkwood." The anger in her heart that had long been directed at the Half-Elven woman slowly melted away.
"Really! That is indeed a surprise. So earlier in the Hall - her being there was not chance? She is finally coming out of hiding?"
"So it seems. You did not hear? She was acting as a horse-groom this afternoon, greeting the visitors as they arrived."
Aragorn smiled. "Good! Then the wound opened by her tormented childhood is finally healing. Very good. I am glad to hear it."
They began walking once more. "As am I, my love," whispered Arwen. "As am I."
It was after midnight when Wren and Legolas finally fell silent. A steady breeze had picked up, blowing through the trees, and it carried a slight autumn chill. Though Wren continued to watch the sky, or the stream, Legolas closed his eyes, and for a time lay very still, save for an edge of his tunic stirred by the wind.
Suddenly, something landed on his chest, driving the air out of him. "Ouff!" he gasped, and looked down. A little, furry tail bumped his nose and he laughed. "What have we here?" He reached up and took the little fox by the scruff of the neck to lift it off, but it had his tunic firmly in its maw and refused to let go.
Wren looked at him, bewildered. When she realized what had happened she, too, started laughing. "Refsil, that's enough of that!" she scolded the fox-cub in his own tongue. He went limp and quit struggling, but still held on, looking dejectedly up at her. "Let him go, little one. You cannot eat that! I will have my friend hawk hunt you up something in the morning." With that, the cub finally gave way. Legolas rolled onto his side and set the little thing on the ground again.
Immediately Refsil lunged at him, this time aiming for his hand. Legolas smiled and lazily bowled him over. After wrestling with his hand for a while, the cub began to gnaw on the Elf's fingers.
"You can speak his language?"
Wren nodded. "I have yet to find a creature I cannot speak to. Well, some insects I have difficulty with, and other crawling things, but not many."
"Interesting. Most Elves I know can - Ouch!" He jerked his hand back out of Refsil's jaw and laughed. "Watch it, young pup, that one hurt! Most can understand many creatures, but few can actually respond in the same tongue." He turned the fox on his back again, barely avoiding another bite. "Is this little devil yours?"
She grinned. "He seems to think so. Though after this he may start following you around - I have not had the time to play with him." Thoughtfully she continued. "Refsil came to Rivendell after his family was killed by wolves. I offered to look after him for a while."
"Does that sort of thing happen often?"
"It never used to," she replied, "but in the past few years I have helped four beasts who now follow me on occasion, including the rascal trying eat your hand!" She laughed.
"What are the others?" he asked, prying Refsil off his fingers again.
"Well, two years ago there was Hwuar, the owl, who'd had a broken wing. Nesil, the fawn - though he is a mighty stag now - I found just outside the Valley three years ago. I was never quite sure how his mother was killed - his story was very fragmented. Sheerkha, the hawk, was knocked out of the nest when she was only just beginning to fledge. Her parents made the mistake of nesting in a bee tree, and a bear got into it. One leg and the opposite wing were dislocated and had to be put right." Wren paused. "That was last year, in the spring."
Legolas smiled. "It is good you are here, then, else they would not have survived." He sighed and continued. "My father's realm could certainly use someone of your talents - the dark creatures cause a great deal of pain to those under our protection."
"Perhaps," she laughed, "Master Elrond would accept that as a good enough reason for me to leave this Valley!"
"I doubt he would want to put you at such risk. Losing you would be an evil blow to this world."
Refsil finally tired of the Elf's fingers and hopped up into Wren's lap, where he promptly fell asleep. She stared at the little creature.
"There," Legolas laughed, "I do not think he will follow me, after all!" He stood and looked at the sky. "Well, I think it is time I went back, before my fellows send out a search-party." He turned to go.
"Thank you for taking the time to speak with me, Legolas," Wren said softly. "It was not so long ago when the thought of meeting one I did not know would have frozen my heart. This has helped a great deal to undo that." She looked up at him. "Thank you."
He smiled down at her. "Nay, little Songbird, it is I who should be thanking you." And with that he disappeared into the garden, heading towards the House.
For a long time Wren sat in silence, stroking Refsil's soft fur, and wondering at the Elf-Prince's kind words.