IN THE COMPANY OF ELVES
By Mahtala

Chapter 2: An Audience With The King

The Elven path was small and winding. At first glance it looked like nothing more than a deer trail of the type one often sees in forests; I was a bit worried about it, remembering all the times my grandmother had warned me never to stray off hiking trails to follow a deer. However, the instant my feet touched the ground of the path, I realized it was much softer than the surrounding forest floor; it had to have been purposefully made.

We walked for about a quarter of an hour, Legolas leading and Tuilo and Sérener behind me. All three were taciturn, and after a short while, I gave up attempting to speak with them. Instead, I stared out at the forest. There were a few oaks planted among the evergreens, covered with large green leaves - it seemed to be summer here, just as it was at my grandparents' cabin (back home, I wanted to say, but the cabin wasn't really home). The purple flowers which so entranced me grew often at the foot of the trees, occasionally spreading out and creating small meadows carpeted with purple and green. Strangely shaped plants, a little like iceplant, were sprinkled about. The further we went, the more vines appeared, creating screens and filtering the light. It felt as though we were walking in a strange greenish otherworld - and in a way, I was. It was every fantasy forest I had ever imagined all rolled into one.

Tuilo put his hand on my shoulder, startling me. His movements, like the rest of the elves', were stalking and light; they reminded me of a cat's. "Macilme," he warned, and I stopped. Imagine my surprise when I found that I was several feet off the path, wandering away into the forest! The elf raised his chin, being only a few inches taller than me, and said patronizingly, "You would have wandered for days before you realized you had left our company. Such things happen to the race of Men when they enter Mirkwood."

"Such things happen when you don't warn people about them," I replied, almost angrily. The pain in my feet was back, and I felt stupid for not realizing what had been happening. "Next time, tell me not to look away from the path, and I won't."

"Tuilo wished only to make sure you understood how careful you must be, and how honored you are to be brought to my father's chamber," Legolas said. It was clear from the tone of his voice that he was used to lording it over people. "Were you better armed - or better clothed - we would have asked no questions but shot you where you sat."

Sérener, from the back of the column, spoke for the first time. "Frighten her not!" he warned his kinsmen. "Macilme, they will not harm you. They are used to fighting and harsh words, and know less of courtly gesture than perhaps they should."

"And yet her name is not Macilme. Call her Lótë if you are to call her by name at all, Sérener, Tuilo. I still am leader here."

"My name's not Macilme or Lótë, it's Emma," I complained, but Legolas dropped into the other language, speaking as though he was commanding the other two. He almost never gestured, and his face was emotionless, but I could sense his agitation. From the back of the column came a reply, and they discussed whatever-it-was for some time. I began to feel like I wasn't even there, being utterly ignored and staring at the embroidery on Legolas's tunic - because that was the only thing I had to look at if I didn't want to be lured off the path. How do they speak English? I wondered for the first time. If I'm truly in another world, then how come I can understand them? While they were talking, I turned this over in my head, but I couldn't find a good answer.

Finally, the tall, tawny elf Sérener dropped back into language I could understand. "Your father will tell you why she is truly named Macilme," he said to Legolas. "I will not attempt to convince you now. We should go. Already we are late. The others will wonder if we have run into trouble on the patrol."

"Onward, then," Legolas ordered. But before I turned my head back to the path, I caught Sérener smiling gently at me.

There's one ally I have, at least.

Eventually our party passed through a clearing where someone had cut down many trees and arranged them about a campfire. The fire pit was cold and dark, though, and we continued, but not for much longer.

"Mae govannen, Legolas Thranduilion!" came a voice from nowhere. A tall elf appeared from what seemed like thin air, nodding deeply to Legolas and less deeply to the other two. He spoke very shortly with them in their own language, which naturally drove me crazy. I knew better than to complain, though. Finally, he greeted me: "Lótë. I know not whether you are welcome here as Sérener says, but welcome all the same to the halls of the great King of Mirkwood." Then, with more nods to the patrol, he disappeared once more.

I was led on to a river, which flowed quickly through the forest. Over it curved a graceful bridge paved with dark stone and carved from the types of wood that grew nearby, and on the far side were gates of stone, carved into intricate patterns. The elves crossed it, pulling me along, and entered with what seemed no more than a wave of Legolas's hand - but as I watched, it was clear that he had pressed one of the curves of the carving to make it unlatch. It was a clever trick, but it made me think that their silent steps and their abrupt disappearances were more products of long practice than magic.

The passages inside were lit rosy-red with torches, and I was surprised to hear singing coming from deeper in the halls. Soon Sérener and Tuilo joined the other elves in song, and even Legolas joined the chorus by the time we approached the entrance to the hall of the Elvenking. For the first few seconds, I didn't think it was anything special, but when I bothered to pay attention to what they sang, I nearly stopped in my tracks. What I had taken for a straightforward melody was actually a hundred separate harmonies, beautiful voices sifting up from beneath us, each unique and distinctive. The very language they were singing in seemed suited to being sung, each syllable nuanced and drawn out over several notes. The tune was joyful, and yet there was a sense of sadness about it.

"Why is your song so sad?" I asked Sérener, as Tuilo and Legolas stopped to converse with an elf who was passing by. "It seems like it should be happy from the speed and key, but every once in a while..." My voice trailed off; I didn't know how to express the feeling their song gave me.

My guard smiled, almost ruefully. "Surely you know that the elves must leave this Middle-Earth, go to the Grey Havens and pass away," he said. "We long to stay as much as we yearn to go. Legolas feels the call of the Sea already, and he especially is torn between his home and his future."

The opening to the Elvenking's grand chamber was little more than an archway hewn into the rock, but as we passed into the throne room, I was amazed at the beauty of it. The passageways had sloped ever so slightly downward as we traveled, and we were clearly deep underground. Pillars carved into the stone that clearly once had filled the cavern held up a high ceiling. At the end of the hall stood a throne. I had never seen anything like it before. Instead of being cast from metal, this throne seemed to be a part of a live tree - but a tree growing directly on stone was impossible! Roots, emerging from the base of the throne, grew down the steps of the dais and twined around pillars. They even grew up onto the stone chairs that surrounded the throne, where what seemed to be advisers were seated. The king himself was just sitting down.

From the majesty of the cavern and the fact that Legolas was his son, I had assumed that the king would be a venerable old man, if I had formed any assumptions about how he would appear. I had a vague mental image of heavy purple velvet and a long, white beard. The reality was very different. A small band of gold encircled his head, true, and it was scalloped along the edge the way crowns usually are – but he was dressed in the same garments as the other elves, and the crown itself was entwined with the big green leaves I had seen on the oaks in the forest earlier. His hair was long, the color of tarnished gold, and braided elaborately. He wore the same kind of clothing as any of the other elves, although his was more heavily embroidered, and his face in his face was something I could not put a finger on. He looked no older than Legolas, but at the same time he did. His age was not held in wrinkles and grey hairs but in his demeanor, in every small movement he made. It was even more apparent when he noticed his son and called to us in their language. His voice was not like an old man's, but it was far too steady and solid and slow to belong to anyone as young as he seemed.

"This maiden, father," Legolas replied to what must have been a query. I could feel elven eyes on me. "She appeared without raiment in the valley at the center of the wood, very confused, and therefore we clothed her in my cloak and did not harm her further. At first Sérener Eldeccoion believed that she was perhaps taken to wife by force by some marauding group of Men; but she would not give her proper name, only names that were unknown to any tongue of Men or elves, and she did not even understand that she stood in Mirkwood Forest. Therefore I named her Lótë, and we agreed to bring her before you; but Tuilo has called her Macilme, and she is named so by Sérener also."

Then a strange thing happened. Upon hearing the name Macilme , the Elvenking Thranduil stood and stared, looking directly at me. He was tall, and looked a great deal like Legolas, but he wore fine blue robes and was crowned with a circlet of living oak leaves. "You found her in the center valley, you said?" Standing, the king moved towards me, lifting one lock of my hair - and I defensively snatched it away, turning to face him as he circled me.

"Keep your hands to yourself!"

"Now you see why I name her Macilme, sire," Tuilo said, clearly amused at his King's surprised expression.

Thranduil ignored the dark elf. "Her hair is wet. Was there water where you found her?"

"No," Tuilo answered. "She was sitting on a boulder, playing with a flower - an ilóta."

"And was she in pain?" His face was as impassive as before, but he was driving at something, I was sure.

"Her feet were cut and bruised from the forest floor," Legolas replied. "Is there purpose to these questions, father? Put her to the question, that we might learn her nature!"

"Your time with the dwarves has done you no good, my son," Thranduil finally said, after a long pause. "You have become hasty and too much in love with the lands of the later-born. No, argue not - I know all my own faults, greed among them. I would speak alone with this Lótë. All must leave my chamber, and return in a quarter of an hour." Legolas looked almost as though he would protest, but he evidently thought better of it, because he simply muttered something in his own language and left. The room emptied on the king's command, and he gestured for me to sit on the adviser's chair to the right of the throne. I sat, pulling Legolas's cloak tighter around me. "We may speak plainly, now. I desire you to tell me of how you came here, leaving nothing out, and then I shall counsel you what to do."

So I began. "I'm not entirely sure what happened. I was swimming at my grandparents' cabin in the Sierras, and -"

"The Sierras?"

"The Sierra Nevadas. A mountain range in California."

He looked as though he might question me more, but stopped himself. "Clearly you come from elsewhere," he thought aloud. "Even as Macilme said. Go on."

Although his use of the name Macilme' to refer to someone other than me was confusing, I told him my story in the simplest terms possible, right up to when Legolas, Tuilo and Sérener deposited me in the throne room. "And I don't even know if you're going to hurt me, or if you think I'm an enemy," I finished lamely. "They didn't really explain anything to me at all."

"I will explain, then, after you have made a few things clear to me. You say your name is - Emma?" He faltered a little on the unfamiliar word, but got it right, as his son Legolas had before him.

"Yes - Emmaline Margaret Vane, in full."

"This 'Vane'. Its purpose is like that of 'Thranduilion' in our language - to indicate your family?"

"Pretty much, but I have -" I swallowed a lump in my throat. "I have none now."

"And you are unmarried, even at twenty-one? Are you a noble, then, to delay marriage for so long? I see nothing wrong with you, and unless there are political reasons, no one of the race of Men willingly delays marrying his daughters, lest he risk grandchildren out of wedlock - or in any case those of Dale do not."

I didn't remember telling him my age, but I must have. "I'm not a princess or anything. My - where I come from, people don't marry till they're older." I frowned. "Is there something wrong with that? Because I don't want to marry anyone. I haven't fallen in love yet or anything."

He smiled softly. "You sound like my son. But that is another thing for another time. Listen closely, and I will tell you of the prophecy of Macilme, who saw visions. She said that you would come at some time in the future, and that your appearance would signal that our race should go to Ithilien, and dwell there; and so we will. You shall be called Macilme Name-Child among us, or Emma-Macilme, but always Lótë before strangers; we should not beg for the trouble that comes willingly to our door. For there was another side to the prophecy.

"Should you be killed, Emma-Macilme, our people will never find the sanctuary of the halls of Mandos, nor will they travel across the sea to Valinor. Those who linger on these shores will be doomed to walk the earth forever, separated from their kind, eventually losing all hope of better times to come. Nothing is spoken of how this shall come to pass - but it will be. The other prophecies of Macilme have all been fulfilled. There is only this. You must follow what I say, Macilme Name-Child, and convince our people to travel to Ithilien, for the prophecy was almost lost in the mists of time. I fear that Sérener and I are the only two who recall it and believe."

I let out a sigh. This was going to be more difficult than I thought; I had hoped to just come in, talk to the king, and get him to send me back where I came from. "Look, I don't even know your language. How can I be this girl in the prophecy? It's just a coincidence. I'm sure it was written vaguely, so anything could fit."

"I know not why you were chosen," he frowned. "But any person named in prophecy is surely great and good. You are very young, by our years. You will grow to be the woman the prophecy requires."

"But - I don't know anything about this prophecy. Can't you send me back? I just want to go home!"

"And doom my people?" The Elvenking's voice was suddenly powerful and strident. He stood and clasped one hand into a fist; for a moment, I was afraid he'd strike me. But he sat once more. "You truly know nothing of the elves, my child. My people have paid a great price for lingering in the moonlight of Middle-Earth, and we are ever counted the least of the elves. Would you have us made meaner than Men, leave us to fade into a race pitiful and exhausted, by withdrawing your help? But if it comes to that, I doubt you have skill enough to return to your home. I have not heard of such a feat being accomplished by any, even the Maiar."

Our quarter-hour was up, and Legolas was the first to return to the room, followed by Sérener and the other attendants and advisors. They were silent as they entered, obviously waiting for him to speak.

"I have questioned this girl. She shall be called Macilme Name-Child among us, and Lótë among those not of Mirkwood; and I have judged her to be truthful to me. She has no kin alive. Therefore she shall forthwith be called the daughter of Eldecco, and call Sérener Eldeccoion brother, and no person shall say that she is of the race of Man, for now she is considered one of the Firstborn."

Legolas appeared displeased, but nodded. "As you say, father."

"And our people shall ready themselves for departure. We must buy horses enough for each to ride from Dale, and send a messenger to King Elessar in Gondor. We go to Ithilien, to pull down Minas Morgul and raise a Tower of the Rising Moon once more."

There was an instant commotion. People all about us were speaking in Sindarin, as Thranduil had called their language. In the midst of it, Sérener approached the throne. "Then it is as I thought, Sire?"

Thranduil nodded. "It is as you thought, Sérener."

"Then I shall take the girl, and teach her Sindarin, and have my sisters clothe her and instruct her in the manner of elves."

And that was how I found welcome at the great cave of Mirkwood.

-----End Chapter 2-----

Author's Notes: Yes, I know that in Tolkien's original, Mirkwood was a deciduous forest. However, I have chosen to make it redwoods, mostly because I feel that fits the natural inclination of Mirkwood best (canon? What canon?). If Emma seems to be leaving out bits of the story, consider that she speaks from the first person; only what she remembers or considered important at the time can be expressed here. There's lots more going on than what she sees, as we'll soon discover!

Apologies for the lateness of this chapter; between my internet going down for an entire weekend, the RotK movie coming out, and realizing that I'd completely messed up my distances in my later chapters, my pace of writing has been slower than usual. Many thanks to Oliphauntine, Klose and Andy for beta reading this chapter!