Author's Notes: I generally try to avoid reading other fics with similar subjects when I'm in the middle of something, but Nilmandra's 'May the Valar protect them' was just too good to put on the waiting list. I've consciously tried to avoid similarities between her story and this chapter, but there are apt to be a few, as both concern a cute little motherless elf.
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Tolkien with the exception of original characters needed to fill out Legolas' family tree or move the story along. Viduwyn, obviously, is mine. Folcagard, Forod'lad and Dunnadór are also my inventions. Translations of Elvish words (Sindarin, unless otherwise stated) and additional notes are found at the end of the chapter. Translation of the naming ceremony follows the Sindarin, since it's a rather long block of text. I've moved the chapter with a more precise translation and grammatical notes to the end of this chapter to comply with ff.net rules.
Viduwyn
Súlvara traced his proud lineage to the pastures of Yavanna, where his distant kin still roamed wild. His ancestors had made the treacherous crossing of the Helcaraxë, and like their masters, the survivors of the journey were a hardy breed. Sensing the gravity of their mission, he set a swift pace for his brethren, and elves and horses alike hardly rested until they reached Rhosgobel.
A great bear of a man hailed the elves in Sindarin and Westron. "Suilannad, sílelphin! Greetings, shining ones!" [1]
"We are in dire need of Aiwendil, whom men call Radagast. Is he within?"
"Nay, m'lord," the man said, shaking his head, his bushy beard and thick black mane flying to and fro as he did so. "There is sickness in the south of the Vale, and he was called away to help the folk there, as he might."
Mitharas' heart sank. "Do you know exactly where he went?"
" 'Twas runners from Folcagard who brought the news - you might look thither."
Folcagard! The little hamlet lay far to the south, west of the Loeg Ningloron - another two days' journey, if their horses could continue their quick pace. Yet the elf-lord saw no alternative - he only hoped they would arrive in time to save his little cousin. Where a mortal baby would have perished, the tiny elf yet endured. Still, the child's cries had weakened to soft mewling. As the other elves set up camp, Mitharas gave the baby a cloth soaked in miruvor to suckle, though it would do little but comfort the child. [2]
Bornom, for that was his name, came to take a closer look at the baby. "An elf-baby! An' he has the wee little ears of your folk," the man observed.
"Would you hold him for me?" Mitharas asked, guessing that the man wished to do just that. "I must see to my horse."
An enormous smile spread across Bornom's face, and he took the child eagerly. His cousin, Mitharas observed with some amusement, could nearly fit in the Beorning's saucer-sized palm. Yet for his great size, Bornom was gentle as a deer, and the baby did not seem at all disturbed by this strange man.
Mitharas began to groom his horse, listening to the man as he sang to the baby in the ancient tongue of his people, a language not unlike the Nandorin language of the Silvan folk. The Beornings were good neighbors, though the elves of Northern Mirkwood saw less of them since Thranduil had moved his folk from the Emyn Duir to the caverns. Brónalm held them in great respect, and Innolas, who made frequent trips to Imladris, had found in them a treasure trove of ancient memory. Their oral tradition of songs kept much of their past alive. Mitharas' guard, ranging far afield, often consulted with the Beornings, for they kept watch on the mountains and knew before any when orcs were again growing strong. Their friendship with Aiwendil came from a mutual love of bird and beast, and it is rare to find evil in the hearts of those who cherish the innocent creatures of Arda. [3]
Early the next morning, still under the light of Ithil, the elves set out for the Old Ford - they would cross there and continue south on the western bank of the Anduin, for the river could not be crossed at the Ninglor. The water slowed as it bogged in the marshes of the Loeg Ningloron, and an elf or horse might swim the wide river at that point, but they could not do so with a baby in the company. Mitharas would not have chosen this route except by necessity, as the mostly deforested west bank offered little protection from orcs. [4, 5]
By luck or by will of the Valar, they reached Folcagard without incident, two days after leaving Rhosgobel. No memory of men could recall the last time an elf had set foot in the village. Increasingly isolated as men fled the Vale of Anduin after the occupation of Dol Guldur, the townsfolk spoke an archaic language that even their distant cousins in Framsburg would no longer recognize, and they had become wary, unused to strangers. Mitharas could not make his purpose understood, and the men at the gates refused to let them pass. Now he regretted that they had not dared to try Hithaeglir and its late winter snows; it was too late to make for Imladris. Too weak to cry, the baby had no time left to him. "Alas, little one, only the grace of Elbereth can help you now!" he whispered to his cousin. In answer to his plea, the gates opened.
"The Lady hears all who cry to her," Aiwendil greeted them. They followed him to the tavern in which he had found lodging during his stay, and as they went, Mitharas explained their need to him. The Maia thought deep and long, as was the habit of his kind, until he had exhausted the legendary patience of the elves - and Mitharas certainly had less of this than most of his kindred.
Finally, he spoke again. "There indeed exists an old herbal remedy, but I think I have a better solution, if the woman is willing. Come."
The house was simple but well kept, with a freshly swept doorstep and shutters thrown open to the fresh air. The mortals inside had little time or money to spare for decoration, but had yet enough pride to keep their dwelling in good repair.
"Tarry here a moment. I would speak to the woman first." The elves waited in the muddy street. To the gaze of mortals staring unabashedly at the strangers, the elves appeared still and silent, almost detached from their surroundings. Yet Mitharas' eyes missed nothing, and had one asked him to describe the village, he could have done so in perfect detail and with far better recall than the gawking folk of the village.
Radagast found the household of Dukalan quiet, yet hardly idle. The younger members, he guessed, would be helping their father. Only Dukalan's wife and the oldest daughter, a too-serious girl of twelve, remained within.
Viduwyn was young yet, not much more than thirty, but her careworn face belonged to an older woman. Yet, unless one looked closely at her eyes, one would not guess that she had buried her youngest just yestereve, a casualty of the fever that had brought Radagast to her village. Her loss was but one more grief in a life of hardship. Mourning, Viduwyn thought, was for folk with time on their hands, and little she had of that to spare. Thus, she had pushed her husband out the door that morning, for the chores would not wait, and she had taken up her work. Her oldest daughter had outgrown her dress and Viduwyn decided that the dress had more need of length than the tablecloth; the table's legs would not complain of cold. Abarath was growing like a weed, and there would be neither new cloth nor money to buy it until the trade caravans came to town in late spring.
Her neighbors thought her ill favored, for of seven children, Viduwyn had borne six girls. Girls required dowries; girls would not support their parents in their decline. She had lost her son to the river, a strange drowning in the Gladden Fields. Illness had taken two daughters. Yet Viduwyn thought her fortunes no more unhappy than those of her neighbors. She knew more laughter than sorrow, and in love she was richer than most.
She had married well - Dukalan was a good man, with little taste for drink and an easy disposition. He had followed wandering feet into life with the traders when he was not much more than a boy. A score of years passed, and he returned to his village to find that the bothersome little girl he had once known had grown into a fine young woman, plain perhaps by some standards, but known as a hard worker with a quick mind. Love had rooted his restless feet to the hearth, and he had not regretted his choice. A loquacious man who loved nothing better than to spin a tale, Dukalan never tired of relating his adventures among the various peoples of the Wilderland to his family. Elves fascinated him. "Ah, you should hear them sing!" he sighed. "And honest folk, they are, never haggling to the last in their dealings."
Now Abarath hurried to warm the kettle for tea as Viduwyn put aside her sewing. The Elder refused to take her chair, and explained his errand. Viduwyn's sorrows had not so hardened her that she could not feel those of others, and her heart wept for the motherless baby. With her assent, then, Radagast beckoned to those waiting in the street. A tall creature ducked under the doorframe, holding a tiny bundle in his arms. From her husband's tales, Viduwyn guessed that this strange visitor was one of the ancient folk of the forest. She had certainly never before seen any being so beautiful, who glowed as if lit by a light within. [6]
The elf laid the bundle in her arms, and she had a moment of fear; the baby was very white and still. Then the child's eyes opened, dark grey pools of pleading. She could not save her own little one, but perhaps she could give this child a chance to live.
"This baby is the son of their king," Radagast explained, thinking it best that he prepare her for such a great change in circumstance. "They will want you to return with them to Northern Mirkwood, and it is a fair journey, good lady, and you will be gone long from your home."
The elves would pay her generously, she knew. Their means did not permit her to overlook this practical benefit. More sheep, another cow, such things would ease their struggle with the forces of fate and nature. Moreover, truth be told, she was eager to see the elf-realm of which her husband so often spoke. With these thoughts in mind, she bid a tender farewell to her husband and entrusted her household to Abarath, and with but a day to prepare for her long absence, she left Folcagard for the first time in her life.
Viduwyn guessed that the elf who had brought the baby to her - Mitharas, Radagast had named him - was the leader of the party, for although all wore the dark brown and grayish-green of winter, his cloak was elegantly embroidered with a device depicting four golden trees. He wished for a swift return to Mirkwood, and so they traveled almost without rest through the day and into the night. She expected that he would hand care of the infant over to her, as would any male of her own race, but he continued to carry the baby in his cloak, relinquishing his precious cargo only during brief stops to allow the baby to nurse. Viduwyn struggled to remain awake as the night passed. The elf with whom she rode seemed to take notice and rode up to speak to Mitharas in their strange tongue. The blond elf glanced at her apologetically. "Daro! Sí dorthannem i vôr hen!" he told the company, who stopped to make camp. [7]
The elves groomed their horses or took up watch. There would be no fire tonight. Viduwyn needed no warning of orcs in the mountains, for the foul creatures had been a grief to Folcagard in recent years. When she had fed the baby, the blond elf again took the child from her, and she heard his sweet voice softly croon a lullaby. The elves not on watch lay down, and she could swear that their eyes remained open, though they appeared to sleep.
They were up and riding before dawn. The day warmed to a pleasant early spring, and the baby for a time poked his head out of Mitharas' cloak, looking about him. To her astonishment, Viduwyn heard the little baby voice mimicking the lullaby the tall elf had sung to him. She did not know then, of course, that elven babies learned to sing long before they spoke.
Once they had crossed the great river into the woods, the elves deemed it safe to light a fire at night, though the warriors seemed uneasy. They stopped at times to listen to the forest and looked balefully into the gloom that settled among the trees at night. They spoke in worried tones to their leader, who plainly shared their distress.
They passed into the realm of Thranduil late one afternoon. The inhabitants of Dunnadór turned out to meet the returning party, curious to see their king's new son. One elf, aged as even Viduwyn could see by the faint lines in her face, stepped forward, and with some reverence, Mitharas laid the baby in her arms. The two spoke together for some time, the old elf tearful, yet with a look of resignation Viduwyn knew too well. So elves, too, had their sorrows. At some point, they spoke of her, for the female looked her over thoughtfully.
Returning her great-granddaughter's son to Mitharas, Phingés held the mortal woman's face between her long, gentle hands. "She has a good heart," she announced. "The baby will keep a part of her in his phá. He will be a friend to the Aftercomers." [8]
Viduwyn understood nothing of the ancient elf's words, but gathered that she had earned the approval of the matriarch. They passed the night in Dunnadór, and set out early for Forod'lad. The village surrounding the caverns of the King was hardly bigger than Folcagard, for it was inhabited mainly by those who worked for the King. Even to Viduwyn's untrained eye, the elves here looked somewhat different from those she had met in Dunnadór and those who accompanied Mitharas. Wood Elves, she would learn, did not like to be underground, nor were they disposed to regular work. They lived as warriors, guarding the realm of their King, or by their crafts of woodcarving and weaving of cloth. They kept orchards of apple and peach trees and gathered nuts and berries. Many who lived along the Forest River were fisher folk. The elves who worked in the caverns were the Sindar and their descendants who had come east with Oropher in days long past. These folk had hair of ashen brown and eyes of a pale silver-grey, in contrast to the rich, dark brown tresses and granite-colored eyes of the Silvan Elves. Many had of yore lived in Doriath, and from that storied realm came the old butler Galion and his mate Brúniel, healer and nursemaid to the House of Lasgalen.
Life at the palace was both exotic and bewildering for Viduwyn. She spoke little Westron and less Elvish, and even Innolas knew little of her tongue. Brúniel had care of the baby, and the nurse watched over her charge with the ferocity of a bear guarding her cubs. Viduwyn thus had much time on her hands, as she was needed only to feed the baby.
At first, she remained shyly in the nursery or her room nearby, but soon boredom and curiosity got the better of her and she began to explore the caverns. No one seemed to mind this, so she grew bolder. Having visited the Great Hall and grand entrance and peeked into some of the family's rooms, she ventured further afield, visiting the storerooms and halls of artifacts. The Master of the Vault graciously invited her to see the King's jewel collection. Viduwyn wished she understood his language better, for each piece, it seemed, had a story attached to it, and her guide, as much a curator as a guard, eagerly shared his tales.
The kitchens soon became a favorite place, for this was the domain of Gíleg. The cook was always happy to provide a cup of tea and a taste of his latest innovation. He liked to talk, as much as the gregarious bird from whom he took his epessë, and minded not that she understood only part of what he said. Indeed, he chattered amiably to all, whether they would listen or no: his staff, the King, his cooking pots. Only his work did he approach with any seriousness. A hectic production of drama, song and dance lay behind the seamless grand feasts of Thranduil's halls, and the good-natured cook transformed into a stern taskmaster at such times. Gíleg was constantly at odds with old Galion, hiding his supplies in fear that he would fall short of some needed ingredient. The butler tried to discover Gíleg's hoard before he made out the order for the merchants of Dale, but nonetheless often purchased some item of which the cook, in Galion's opinion, had already adequate stores. It could safely be said that Thranduil need never want for salt, for his kitchens now possessed five small barrels of the stuff. On occasion, Galion would visit the pantry to shake his head sadly over these barrels, but the cook would not allow him to trade the valuable salt for more needed supplies.
In fine weather, Viduwyn often accompanied the nurse and her charge in a turn around the garden. The baby was a sweet thing, generally content, as all Elven babies are, not being subject to colic or colds that trouble mortal infants, but he seemed happiest outdoors. He harassed butterflies and earthworms and any other creature that came within his reach, singing quietly to himself, his small face a vision of joy.
"Do all baby elves sing so?" Viduwyn asked.
Brúniel shrugged. "I daresay, though not all so sweetly as this one. They sing when they are content, and as they grow, they begin to mimic the melody of speaking voices, and so learn to speak properly."
Already a year had passed since she had come to Northern Mirkwood, and a great feast was to be held in honor of the baby's second conception day. The child had begun to make words, and Thranduil knew his son must soon have a name. At the feast, he had decided, he would announce the baby's name, though he had not yet found one that would fit the child.
Still vexed by this name-making as the appointed day drew ever nearer, the King came to the pleasant glade above the caverns in search of his son, hoping for inspiration. "Ada!" the baby shouted with delight, holding up his arms to his father. The golden-haired elf swept the child into his arms and seated him in his lap.
"Ai, ionen bigen, whatever shall we do for a name for you?" he asked the tiny elf.
"Is it…the norm for a little one to go so long without a name?" Viduwyn asked, in her halting Sindarin.
The King frowned and the woman feared she had offended him. "Not at all. I had thought to give him a name after my father, but when my lady passed from this realm," he paused, his eyes sorrowful, "it was not the time for a naming ceremony. Yet elf-children have two names, one of the father and one of the mother. The mother-name is very important, for it is often prophetic, or a sign of a child's character. As this little one shall have no mother-name, I have put much thought into his father-name."
Viduwyn listened intently. "But can you not give him two names?"
Thranduil raised his eyebrows. "I had not thought of that. It would perhaps be right, for such a strange circumstance." He stood, handing his son to the woman as he rose. "Hennaid evyr, le edregol vaer!" With this exclamation the King hurried off. [9]
"Nothing like this have we seen since Mitharas was named - and that was before the war in Mordor," Brúniel confided some days later. The nurse, who usually reserved her smiles for the baby she so adored, had a sparkle in her eyes.
"The war in Mordor! But was that not in ancient days?" Viduwyn questioned.
"Hardly ancient to the Firstborn. Yet even the trees do not remember such a time." Brúniel returned to her task, the embroidering of tiny gold leaves of beech on the little cloak the baby would wear at his naming ceremony.
Viduwyn watched as the elf's fingers flew, yet somehow managed to make the smallest of stitches. If Mitharas' naming ceremony had taken place so very long ago, then the elf-lord, who she had thought her junior, was…well, very old. "Then the King must be still more ancient," she murmured.
Brúniel laughed. "Aye, and I can recall his naming ceremony. Yet to Brónalm I am but a young bess. And Círdan at the Havens is older than any elf in Ennor. You will likely meet him at the feast." [10]
Thranduil had sent doves far and wide with invitations. Some, such as those destined for Dorwinion and Mithlond, would bring together kin too long sundered. Nórui, sister to Mitharas, had not made this journey since she had bound herself to an Avarin elf from the great vineyards. Círdan rarely left his beloved sea, yet his heart warned him that he would not soon have another chance to see his eastern kin. Other messages were bound for kin long estranged. Celeborn and Galadriel would come from Lórien, to Viduwyn's great interest. The folk of her village had long whispered about the Golden Wood and its secretive people; some proclaimed the lady a sorceress of terrible power. [11]
Two days before the feast, Galion came to the nursery with an urgent summons from Thranduil. Viduwyn followed the butler anxiously, hoping that she had done nothing to displease the King. Galion wore a conspiratorial look on his face, but would tell her nothing. As they entered the Great Hall, he announced her presence and swiftly disappeared in the mysterious way of the elves.
Before she could greet the King properly, she was lifted from her feet in a fierce hug. "You have grown plump on the food of the elves," Dukalan observed approvingly, as he set his wife on her feet.
"But when - there is nothing amiss at home?" she worried. Remembering her manners, she turned and bowed to the King. "Híren, my apologies."
Thranduil laughed. "It is no matter - it gives me pleasure to see that my surprise is so well received. The elves of Lórien were to pass near your village, and if the husband were worthy of such a wife, I imagined he would pine for her company." With these words the King departed, leaving the couple to greet one another properly.
Dukalan kissed his wife tenderly, for he had indeed missed her dearly. "You shall hardly want to return to us after living like royalty," he fussed. He brought little gifts from their daughters and gossip from Folcagard. Though Viduwyn, too, had much to tell of her stay with the elves, she listened with greater interest to her husband, for he stirred a homesickness in her for her own folk. Though the elves had shown her nothing but kindness, they were not her people, and she could not forget that she remained a guest. Home, for all its hardships, was home.
The day of the feast arrived on the wings of a loss-vadel wind, putting to rest Galion's fears that a final blast of winter would force the merriment indoors. The King, his butler knew, had an ulterior motive in this grand occasion. Just as this day marked two years since the conception of his son, so had a day during the last moon marked a year since the baby's birth - and the death of the King's beloved lady. Preparations for the festivities had kept him too occupied to brood over his loss. "It was a bitter cold night when she left us, and I feared a turn in the weather would turn also our King to melancholy," Galion confided to the mortal. [12]
Nonetheless, Brúniel worried that the little one would be cold, and the morning found him squirming under several layers of garments. The baby, had he been able to effectively voice his complaints, would have told them that he noticed little the cold and heat, but found the heavy clothes far too restrictive. When Brúniel left the nursery to see to her own dress, Viduwyn took pity on the little elf and relieved him of his thick under-vest. "Bidu," the child said agreeably, his nearest approximation to her name. The woman smiled - he had never looked so adorable as he did in his little velvet robe, a miniature version of an adult elf's robes, and the green wool cloak with Brúniel's needlework. White-gold tendrils of hair, still too short to make a dignified elven braid, framed his face. Tiny boots of suede, nearly as soft as the feet they covered, completed the outfit.
Having relinquished the baby to Brúniel, Viduwyn met her husband and the two left the caverns to have a look at the elves and activities on the front terrace. The elves wore their finery - even the warriors wore formal robes and jeweled decorations in their hair. The celebrations had yet to begin in earnest, but Galion had put out tables of food for the guests, though many elves chose to do without in anticipation of the great feast. Musicians played and many of the elves danced or wandered into the glades to speak with a long-sundered friend or kinsman. Though no archery contest had been planned for the day, a number of warriors from Mirkwood had taken on those accompanying guests from other elven lands. Brónalm sat as judge of the competition, impartial in this role, yet unable to conceal his pride at the superior skills of his archers. Only the Silvan Elves from Lórien could truly compete with the Wood folk of Northern Mirkwood; the elves of Eriador had not seen battle since the defeat of the Witch-king.
These strange elves from other lands captured much of the mortals' attention. They saw Noldor from Imladris, with gleaming hair the color of night, and elves from Mithlond, similar in appearance to the Sindar of Mirkwood, though they wore cloaks of a calm sea-blue, and Viduwyn could hear the difference in their accents. Neither she nor her husband had seen a bearded elf, but here they found one. Círdan had claimed his tiny kinsman from Brúniel's care, and the baby also thought the beard quite a novelty. His dark eyes wide with fascination, the little hands stroked the soft white helf, as the child had decided to call the beard - much to Círdan's amusement. [13]
In the midafternoon Viduwyn nursed the baby and Brúniel took him inside to nap, lest he become fretful later. As the day waned, Brúniel returned to the festivities with the child, soon to have a name at last. At twilight, the Silvan Elves left their chores or merrymaking and sang to the stars, a nightly event that still never failed to leave Viduwyn with shivers of delight. This night, however, their song seemed especially beautiful, and it marked the beginning of the solemn Mereth Eneth-Gared. [14]
As the voices faded, the baby's oldest living female ancestor came forward, the same ancient elf Viduwyn had met upon arrival in Northern Mirkwood. Phingés carried the child along a path strewn with daisy petals and met the father in a ring of candlelight. In a thick Silvan accent, for she used the Woodland tongue in daily life, Phingés opened the ceremony.
"Man eneth ceril nin-hên?"
"What name do you make for the child?"
For two days, Thranduil had secluded himself, leaving the feast preparations to Galion and the greeting of guests to Innolas. He had already decided upon a name that would honor his father, but he agonized long over the child's mother-name. He had questioned Brúniel and Viduwyn about the baby's character. He had consulted with Celeborn, despite the complicated relations between the House of Lasgalen and the House of Galadhon. Thranduil had not the special insight of the baby's mother, nor had he Celeborn's second sight.
The gift of Ulmo to faithful Elmo and his descendants occurred once in a generation, but it had come to no child born since the Elder Days. Holding the last grandchild of Oropher, Celeborn felt the stirring of the gift, though he perceived it had less strength than his own foresight. 'It will not be an easy path for this child,' he thought. The baby had his Silvan mother's symbiosis with living things; he would feel the hurts of Arda more keenly than would his Eldarin ancestors. Yet, Celeborn noted with a smile, the baby had also his grandsire's stubborn independence.
"The Noldor had a word in Beleriand, before they passed over the sea and their tongue took on its final form as Quenya. Last, it meant, 'sight'," he told his cousin's son. "The child has much of your sister - perhaps to honor her, you might use Laigil."
"Laigilast - 'keen star-sight'" Thranduil experimented with the sound of the name. It did not seem right to his Sindarin tongue, however, and he wanted a Silvan name, to honor the mother. He summoned his second son.
"Legilas would be the Silvan equivalent," Innolas mused. "But perhaps Legolas would be more appropriate." He grinned with the secret joy of the wordsmith, enjoying the dual meaning of the name he had made. "It has the meaning 'keen sight' - yet it also means 'green collection of leaves' - a very good Silvan name, and a very good name for foliage sprung from many different trees." [15]
"Legolas it shall be, then," Thranduil decided, feeling a weight lift from his shoulders. His heart confirmed that this was the right name, a name Tórasin would have chosen for her son.
"Cerin a then enith dâd."
"I make for the child two names."
Murmurs arose among the Eldar - elves rarely deviated from custom in such solemn matters. Still, they had come to expect such eccentricity from their kinsman in the Wilderland.
"Eglerio adaren, i chên hen eston Antopher. Dan pedin si an naneth dín, a aníron anno na den estad uin-naneth. I eneth dan natha Legolas."
"To honor my father, the father-name shall be Antopher. Yet I stand also in his mother's place, and wish to give him a mother-name. That name shall be Legolas."
"Antopher Legolas," Phingés repeated, her heart well pleased with the Silvan name the King had made in remembrance of her beloved great-granddaughter.
"Mae govannen, Antopher Legolas."
"Welcome, Antopher Legolas."
The ancient dí hael sprinkled the baby's forehead with lavender water and raised him toward the stars. [16]
"A elenath hilivren, i glaur o Belain!.
Suilanno si Antopher Legolas.
Pathro i chên hen na channas a vîl, na vronwe a 'orf o chûn."
"O glittering stars, the glory of the Valar!.
Greet now Antopher Legolas.
Fill this child with wisdom and love, faith and courage."
Phingés laid the baby in his father's arms.
"Thranduil Oropherion e-mbar Lasgalen, Aran-en-Eryn Forodren!
Enith evyr geril, dan hebo main i eneth, 'Adar'.
Anno na Antopher Legolas vaudhel ben-cheleg a i 'úrel iaur.
Pado go-den, dan den leitho revio athal-le.
No estel thala dín, a seidio mar a then an uir.
A edregol, anno na den vílel ú-'leiniannen."
"Thranduil Oropherion of the House of Lasgalen, King of the North Forest!
Many names have you, but keep most dear the name, 'Adar'.
Give Antopher Legolas your patience and the wisdom of your years.
Walk by his side, yet allow him to test his wings.
Be his unwavering trust, and make your home ever his also.
And above all, give to him your unbounded love."
Thranduil now spoke.
"Annam chennaid na Velain nin-hên i ammen one.
Aran Einior, garo i chên hen no idhren a fael.
Elbereth, no galad na den vi said dhuir.
Uiar, bathro guil dín na 'lîr a lalaith.
Ivann, anno na den i 'ovannas o gelais lín a uin lín."
"We thank the Valar for the child they have given to us.
Manwë, help this child to be thoughtful and just.
Elbereth, be a light to him in dark places.
Ulmo, fill his life with song and laughter.
Yavanna, give to him the fellowship of your plants and creatures."
"A Belain! Berio Antopher Legolas.
Ovro e an uir na 'eilu lín!"
"O Valar! Protect Antopher Legolas.
May he always have your blessings abundant!"
And so, Viduwyn saw Legolas named at last. By summer, he would crawl; another year would see the mortal woman preparing to leave Mirkwood. King Thranduil pressed many tokens of his gratitude upon her. The life to which she would return would miss much of the harsh struggle and captivity to fate she had previously known. There were gifts, also - Innolas brought her a slate and parchment upon which he had drawn the runes in his beautiful hand and Mitharas gave her a set of knives of fine elven steel for her husband.
To her surprise, crusty Brúniel presented her with a heavy quilt. In the center, she had embroidered a lovely scene of a blond woman holding a small child to her breast. Gíleg brought her a packet of maple sugar candy for her children and one of his precious barrels of salt. From Thranduil she received a gift of which the worth she could not then know, a letter of debt to her and to her village, and his pledge that the Master of Folcagard had only to send word and the aid of the elves would come.
Her heart was torn, less by regret for the soft life of the palace - for in truth, she was used to hard work, and her idle hours often weighed heavy upon her - but rather by regret for these fine folk, though she missed her own children fiercely. Most of all, she would miss young Legolas. Like all small children, be they mortal or immortal, the little elf thought himself the center of his world. To Legolas, 'Bidu' had always been and would always be. The notion that she had her own family, and that she must leave him, never to return, he could not yet fathom.
The day before she was to set out for Folcagard found Legolas underfoot, his curious eyes prying into every sack and saddlebag. At last, Innolas took charge of his brother, leading him away from the commotion to the quiet gardens above the caverns. Viduwyn found the child in his brother's lap, sharing a large picture book.
"Man hin?" Innolas was asking, as Legolas patted the book excitedly. [17]
"Mioe," he told his brother, pointing at the drawing of a cat. [18]
Innolas pointed at the other side of the book. "A sin?" [19]
"Hû." Catching sight of Viduwyn, Legolas quickly turned to the next page. "Man'in?" he demanded. [20, 21]
Viduwyn laughed. "Máma!" she said, drawing out the sound and tickling the little elf, who clapped in delight at the woman's imitation of a bleating sheep. [22]
Innolas set his brother and the book before him and stood. "I have a few matters to which I must attend," he excused himself, knowing Viduwyn wished to say her farewell to Legolas.
Legolas gathered his still-unsteady legs underneath him, and toddled into her lap.
"I have memai at my house, too."
"Bidu house?"
"Yes, Bidu's house. In the morning I have to go feed my memai."
"Memai hungry?"
"Yes, they are hungry," Viduwyn answered.
"Bidu go away?" Legolas knew about going away. "Like Nana-einior?" [23]
"Yes, like Nana-einior." Viduwyn was surprised that the child had this much understanding. Phingés had come recently to Forod'lad to see her great-granddaughter's son, and the child seemed to realize that she would be gone again for some time.
"Bidu come back?"
She hated to lie to the child, but saw little purpose in the truth. It would only upset him now. A month, two months and he would not think her long gone, for he had not yet a concept of time.
"Yes, someday."
He hugged her. "Namárië, heri vanima," he said solemnly, imitating the formal farewell his Ada spoke before distinguished guests. [24]
She smiled through her tears at his 'big elf' words. "Namárië, Legolas." He would forget her; he had his Ada and brother and cousin, and his bond to Brúniel was strong.
Yet a bond forged between child and nursing mother is also strong. Even if only dimly remembered by Legolas, she would long hold a place in his heart.
Linguistic Notes
Feast of Name-Making
Man eneth ceril nin-hên?
[What name (do) you make for the child?]
Cerin a then enith dâd.
[I make for him two names.]
a then: nasal mutation (II) of an ten
dâd: soft mutation of tâd
Eglerio adaren, i chên hen eston 'Antopher'.
[To glorify my father, this the child I name 'Antopher' (Gift of beech).]
i chên hen: soft mutation of i hên sen
Antopher: I've used the more archaic spelling to match the spelling of Oropher ('high beech' or 'mountain beech'). Ant would probably be rendered as And in a compound word like this, but that would clash with and, 'long'.
Dan pedin si an naneth dín, a aníron anno na den estad uin-naneth.
[But I speak now for his mother, and I desire to give to him (a) naming from the mother.]
dín: soft mutation of tín
den: soft mutation of ten
estad: gerund of esta-
I eneth dan natha 'Legolas'.
[That the name will be 'Legolas'.]
dan: soft mutation of tan
natha: fut. tense of na-, 'to be'
Mae govannen, Antopher Legolas.
[Well met, Antopher Legolas.]
A elenath hilivren, i glaur o Belain!
[O star-host glittering, the glory of Valar!]
hilivren: soft mutation of silivren
glaur: soft mutation of claur
o Belain: of Valar (pl) - 'the' is not used in Quenya before Valar, and I assume Sindarin is similar
Suilanno si Antopher Legolas.
[Greet now Antopher Legolas.]
Pathro i chên hen na channas a vîl, na vronwe a 'orf o chûn.
[Fill this the child by/with understanding and love, by/with faith and vigor of heart.]
i chên hen: soft mutation of i hên sen
channas: soft mutation of hannas
vîl: soft mutation of mîl
vronwe: soft mutation of bronwe
'orf: soft mutation of gorf
chûn: stop mutation of hûn
Thranduil Oropherion e-mbar Lasgalen, Aran-en-Eryn Forodren!
[Thranduil son of Oropher of the House of Lasgalen, King of the Northern Forest!]
e-mbar: mixed mutation of en bar
Enith evyr geril, dan hebo main i eneth, 'Adar'.
[Abundant names you have, but keep pre-eminent the name, 'Adar'.]
main: not lenited here because this adjective precedes the noun it modifies
Anno na Antopher Legolas vaudhel ben-cheleg a i 'úrel iaur.
[Give to Antopher Legolas your hasteless judgment and your ancient counsel.]
vaudhel: soft mutation of baudhel: baudh + -l, 'your' (suffixed)
ben-cheleg: ben is the soft mutation of pen, lenited because the whole compound is an adjective. cheleg is the nasal mutation (I) of celeg, with the mutation caused by the prefix pen-.
'úrel: soft mutation of gúrel: gûr + -l, 'your' (suffixed)
Pado go-den, dan den leitho revio athal-le.
[Walk together with him, but him set free to fly beyond you.]
den: soft mutation of ten, lenited due to go- prefix
den: soft mutation of ten, lenited as a direct object
athal-le: nasal mutation (II) of athan le - I'm assuming athan would behave similarly to an
No estel thala dín, a seidio mar a then an uir.
[Be his steady trust, and set aside a home for him forever.]
no: imperative of na-, 'to be'
dín: soft mutation of tín
mar: soft mutation of bar (bar is derived from the root MBAR-, and thus its mutation diverges from most words beginning in b-)
a then: nasal mutation (II) of an ten
A edregol, anno na den vílel ú-'leiniannen.
[And in especial, give to him your love unlimited.]
den: soft mutation of ten
vílel: soft mutation of mílel: mîl + -l, 'your' (suffixed)
'leiniannen: soft mutation of gleiniannen (past participle of gleinia-, to limit)
Annam chennaid na Velain nin-hên i ammen one.
[We give thanks to Valar for this the child which to us they gave.]
chennaid: soft mutation of hennaid (derived from Q hantalë - see Eirien Tuilinn's Gobeth i-Phethath 'wîn )
Velain: soft mutation of Belain
Aran Einior, garo i chên hen no idhren a fael.
[Elder King, make this child to be thoughtful and just.]
garo: soft mutation of caro, lenited because the verb follows its subject
i chên hen: soft mutation of i hên sen
no: infinitive of na-, 'to be' (I'm guessing that the infinitive would be the same as the imperative, as with other verbs in Sindarin)
Elbereth, no galad na den vi said dhuir.
[Elbereth, be (a) light to him in dark, somber places.]
no: imperative of na-, 'to be'
galad: soft mutation of calad
den: soft mutation of ten
vi said: apparently, vi takes no mutation. However, as our only example of this preposition is from a relatively early piece, it is possible that vi should be mi or bi and take soft mutation - Sindarin words simply do not begin with v- except as mutations of initial m- or b-.
dhuir: soft mutation of duir
Uiar, bathro guil dín na 'lîr a lalaith.
[Ulmo, fill his life by/with song and laughter.]
bathro: soft mutation of pathro, lenited as a verb following its subject
guil: soft mutation of cuil
dín: soft mutation of tín
'lîr: soft mutation of glîr
Ivann, anno na den i 'ovannas o gelais lín a uin lín.
[Yavanna, give to him the fellowship of your plants and your creatures.]
den: soft mutation of ten
'ovannas: soft mutation of govannas
A Belain! Berio Antopher Legolas. Ovro e an uir na 'eilu lín!
[O Valar! Protect Antopher Legolas. May he abound (lit. 'Abound he') for eternity with your blessings!]
Ovro e: Imperative tense of ovra-, 'to abound', followed by the nominative case, forming the phrase 'may he abound'. This construction is attested by the 'Ringbearers' Praise' in LOTR.
'eilu: soft mutation of geilu
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Tolkien with the exception of original characters needed to fill out Legolas' family tree or move the story along. Viduwyn, obviously, is mine. Folcagard, Forod'lad and Dunnadór are also my inventions. Translations of Elvish words (Sindarin, unless otherwise stated) and additional notes are found at the end of the chapter. Translation of the naming ceremony follows the Sindarin, since it's a rather long block of text. I've moved the chapter with a more precise translation and grammatical notes to the end of this chapter to comply with ff.net rules.
A great bear of a man hailed the elves in Sindarin and Westron. "Suilannad, sílelphin! Greetings, shining ones!" [1]
"We are in dire need of Aiwendil, whom men call Radagast. Is he within?"
"Nay, m'lord," the man said, shaking his head, his bushy beard and thick black mane flying to and fro as he did so. "There is sickness in the south of the Vale, and he was called away to help the folk there, as he might."
Mitharas' heart sank. "Do you know exactly where he went?"
" 'Twas runners from Folcagard who brought the news - you might look thither."
Folcagard! The little hamlet lay far to the south, west of the Loeg Ningloron - another two days' journey, if their horses could continue their quick pace. Yet the elf-lord saw no alternative - he only hoped they would arrive in time to save his little cousin. Where a mortal baby would have perished, the tiny elf yet endured. Still, the child's cries had weakened to soft mewling. As the other elves set up camp, Mitharas gave the baby a cloth soaked in miruvor to suckle, though it would do little but comfort the child. [2]
Bornom, for that was his name, came to take a closer look at the baby. "An elf-baby! An' he has the wee little ears of your folk," the man observed.
"Would you hold him for me?" Mitharas asked, guessing that the man wished to do just that. "I must see to my horse."
An enormous smile spread across Bornom's face, and he took the child eagerly. His cousin, Mitharas observed with some amusement, could nearly fit in the Beorning's saucer-sized palm. Yet for his great size, Bornom was gentle as a deer, and the baby did not seem at all disturbed by this strange man.
Mitharas began to groom his horse, listening to the man as he sang to the baby in the ancient tongue of his people, a language not unlike the Nandorin language of the Silvan folk. The Beornings were good neighbors, though the elves of Northern Mirkwood saw less of them since Thranduil had moved his folk from the Emyn Duir to the caverns. Brónalm held them in great respect, and Innolas, who made frequent trips to Imladris, had found in them a treasure trove of ancient memory. Their oral tradition of songs kept much of their past alive. Mitharas' guard, ranging far afield, often consulted with the Beornings, for they kept watch on the mountains and knew before any when orcs were again growing strong. Their friendship with Aiwendil came from a mutual love of bird and beast, and it is rare to find evil in the hearts of those who cherish the innocent creatures of Arda. [3]
Early the next morning, still under the light of Ithil, the elves set out for the Old Ford - they would cross there and continue south on the western bank of the Anduin, for the river could not be crossed at the Ninglor. The water slowed as it bogged in the marshes of the Loeg Ningloron, and an elf or horse might swim the wide river at that point, but they could not do so with a baby in the company. Mitharas would not have chosen this route except by necessity, as the mostly deforested west bank offered little protection from orcs. [4, 5]
By luck or by will of the Valar, they reached Folcagard without incident, two days after leaving Rhosgobel. No memory of men could recall the last time an elf had set foot in the village. Increasingly isolated as men fled the Vale of Anduin after the occupation of Dol Guldur, the townsfolk spoke an archaic language that even their distant cousins in Framsburg would no longer recognize, and they had become wary, unused to strangers. Mitharas could not make his purpose understood, and the men at the gates refused to let them pass. Now he regretted that they had not dared to try Hithaeglir and its late winter snows; it was too late to make for Imladris. Too weak to cry, the baby had no time left to him. "Alas, little one, only the grace of Elbereth can help you now!" he whispered to his cousin. In answer to his plea, the gates opened.
"The Lady hears all who cry to her," Aiwendil greeted them. They followed him to the tavern in which he had found lodging during his stay, and as they went, Mitharas explained their need to him. The Maia thought deep and long, as was the habit of his kind, until he had exhausted the legendary patience of the elves - and Mitharas certainly had less of this than most of his kindred.
Finally, he spoke again. "There indeed exists an old herbal remedy, but I think I have a better solution, if the woman is willing. Come."
The house was simple but well kept, with a freshly swept doorstep and shutters thrown open to the fresh air. The mortals inside had little time or money to spare for decoration, but had yet enough pride to keep their dwelling in good repair.
"Tarry here a moment. I would speak to the woman first." The elves waited in the muddy street. To the gaze of mortals staring unabashedly at the strangers, the elves appeared still and silent, almost detached from their surroundings. Yet Mitharas' eyes missed nothing, and had one asked him to describe the village, he could have done so in perfect detail and with far better recall than the gawking folk of the village.
Radagast found the household of Dukalan quiet, yet hardly idle. The younger members, he guessed, would be helping their father. Only Dukalan's wife and the oldest daughter, a too-serious girl of twelve, remained within.
Viduwyn was young yet, not much more than thirty, but her careworn face belonged to an older woman. Yet, unless one looked closely at her eyes, one would not guess that she had buried her youngest just yestereve, a casualty of the fever that had brought Radagast to her village. Her loss was but one more grief in a life of hardship. Mourning, Viduwyn thought, was for folk with time on their hands, and little she had of that to spare. Thus, she had pushed her husband out the door that morning, for the chores would not wait, and she had taken up her work. Her oldest daughter had outgrown her dress and Viduwyn decided that the dress had more need of length than the tablecloth; the table's legs would not complain of cold. Abarath was growing like a weed, and there would be neither new cloth nor money to buy it until the trade caravans came to town in late spring.
Her neighbors thought her ill favored, for of seven children, Viduwyn had borne six girls. Girls required dowries; girls would not support their parents in their decline. She had lost her son to the river, a strange drowning in the Gladden Fields. Illness had taken two daughters. Yet Viduwyn thought her fortunes no more unhappy than those of her neighbors. She knew more laughter than sorrow, and in love she was richer than most.
She had married well - Dukalan was a good man, with little taste for drink and an easy disposition. He had followed wandering feet into life with the traders when he was not much more than a boy. A score of years passed, and he returned to his village to find that the bothersome little girl he had once known had grown into a fine young woman, plain perhaps by some standards, but known as a hard worker with a quick mind. Love had rooted his restless feet to the hearth, and he had not regretted his choice. A loquacious man who loved nothing better than to spin a tale, Dukalan never tired of relating his adventures among the various peoples of the Wilderland to his family. Elves fascinated him. "Ah, you should hear them sing!" he sighed. "And honest folk, they are, never haggling to the last in their dealings."
Now Abarath hurried to warm the kettle for tea as Viduwyn put aside her sewing. The Elder refused to take her chair, and explained his errand. Viduwyn's sorrows had not so hardened her that she could not feel those of others, and her heart wept for the motherless baby. With her assent, then, Radagast beckoned to those waiting in the street. A tall creature ducked under the doorframe, holding a tiny bundle in his arms. From her husband's tales, Viduwyn guessed that this strange visitor was one of the ancient folk of the forest. She had certainly never before seen any being so beautiful, who glowed as if lit by a light within. [6]
The elf laid the bundle in her arms, and she had a moment of fear; the baby was very white and still. Then the child's eyes opened, dark grey pools of pleading. She could not save her own little one, but perhaps she could give this child a chance to live.
"This baby is the son of their king," Radagast explained, thinking it best that he prepare her for such a great change in circumstance. "They will want you to return with them to Northern Mirkwood, and it is a fair journey, good lady, and you will be gone long from your home."
The elves would pay her generously, she knew. Their means did not permit her to overlook this practical benefit. More sheep, another cow, such things would ease their struggle with the forces of fate and nature. Moreover, truth be told, she was eager to see the elf-realm of which her husband so often spoke. With these thoughts in mind, she bid a tender farewell to her husband and entrusted her household to Abarath, and with but a day to prepare for her long absence, she left Folcagard for the first time in her life.
Viduwyn guessed that the elf who had brought the baby to her - Mitharas, Radagast had named him - was the leader of the party, for although all wore the dark brown and grayish-green of winter, his cloak was elegantly embroidered with a device depicting four golden trees. He wished for a swift return to Mirkwood, and so they traveled almost without rest through the day and into the night. She expected that he would hand care of the infant over to her, as would any male of her own race, but he continued to carry the baby in his cloak, relinquishing his precious cargo only during brief stops to allow the baby to nurse. Viduwyn struggled to remain awake as the night passed. The elf with whom she rode seemed to take notice and rode up to speak to Mitharas in their strange tongue. The blond elf glanced at her apologetically. "Daro! Sí dorthannem i vôr hen!" he told the company, who stopped to make camp. [7]
The elves groomed their horses or took up watch. There would be no fire tonight. Viduwyn needed no warning of orcs in the mountains, for the foul creatures had been a grief to Folcagard in recent years. When she had fed the baby, the blond elf again took the child from her, and she heard his sweet voice softly croon a lullaby. The elves not on watch lay down, and she could swear that their eyes remained open, though they appeared to sleep.
They were up and riding before dawn. The day warmed to a pleasant early spring, and the baby for a time poked his head out of Mitharas' cloak, looking about him. To her astonishment, Viduwyn heard the little baby voice mimicking the lullaby the tall elf had sung to him. She did not know then, of course, that elven babies learned to sing long before they spoke.
Once they had crossed the great river into the woods, the elves deemed it safe to light a fire at night, though the warriors seemed uneasy. They stopped at times to listen to the forest and looked balefully into the gloom that settled among the trees at night. They spoke in worried tones to their leader, who plainly shared their distress.
They passed into the realm of Thranduil late one afternoon. The inhabitants of Dunnadór turned out to meet the returning party, curious to see their king's new son. One elf, aged as even Viduwyn could see by the faint lines in her face, stepped forward, and with some reverence, Mitharas laid the baby in her arms. The two spoke together for some time, the old elf tearful, yet with a look of resignation Viduwyn knew too well. So elves, too, had their sorrows. At some point, they spoke of her, for the female looked her over thoughtfully.
Returning her great-granddaughter's son to Mitharas, Phingés held the mortal woman's face between her long, gentle hands. "She has a good heart," she announced. "The baby will keep a part of her in his phá. He will be a friend to the Aftercomers." [8]
Viduwyn understood nothing of the ancient elf's words, but gathered that she had earned the approval of the matriarch. They passed the night in Dunnadór, and set out early for Forod'lad. The village surrounding the caverns of the King was hardly bigger than Folcagard, for it was inhabited mainly by those who worked for the King. Even to Viduwyn's untrained eye, the elves here looked somewhat different from those she had met in Dunnadór and those who accompanied Mitharas. Wood Elves, she would learn, did not like to be underground, nor were they disposed to regular work. They lived as warriors, guarding the realm of their King, or by their crafts of woodcarving and weaving of cloth. They kept orchards of apple and peach trees and gathered nuts and berries. Many who lived along the Forest River were fisher folk. The elves who worked in the caverns were the Sindar and their descendants who had come east with Oropher in days long past. These folk had hair of ashen brown and eyes of a pale silver-grey, in contrast to the rich, dark brown tresses and granite-colored eyes of the Silvan Elves. Many had of yore lived in Doriath, and from that storied realm came the old butler Galion and his mate Brúniel, healer and nursemaid to the House of Lasgalen.
Life at the palace was both exotic and bewildering for Viduwyn. She spoke little Westron and less Elvish, and even Innolas knew little of her tongue. Brúniel had care of the baby, and the nurse watched over her charge with the ferocity of a bear guarding her cubs. Viduwyn thus had much time on her hands, as she was needed only to feed the baby.
At first, she remained shyly in the nursery or her room nearby, but soon boredom and curiosity got the better of her and she began to explore the caverns. No one seemed to mind this, so she grew bolder. Having visited the Great Hall and grand entrance and peeked into some of the family's rooms, she ventured further afield, visiting the storerooms and halls of artifacts. The Master of the Vault graciously invited her to see the King's jewel collection. Viduwyn wished she understood his language better, for each piece, it seemed, had a story attached to it, and her guide, as much a curator as a guard, eagerly shared his tales.
The kitchens soon became a favorite place, for this was the domain of Gíleg. The cook was always happy to provide a cup of tea and a taste of his latest innovation. He liked to talk, as much as the gregarious bird from whom he took his epessë, and minded not that she understood only part of what he said. Indeed, he chattered amiably to all, whether they would listen or no: his staff, the King, his cooking pots. Only his work did he approach with any seriousness. A hectic production of drama, song and dance lay behind the seamless grand feasts of Thranduil's halls, and the good-natured cook transformed into a stern taskmaster at such times. Gíleg was constantly at odds with old Galion, hiding his supplies in fear that he would fall short of some needed ingredient. The butler tried to discover Gíleg's hoard before he made out the order for the merchants of Dale, but nonetheless often purchased some item of which the cook, in Galion's opinion, had already adequate stores. It could safely be said that Thranduil need never want for salt, for his kitchens now possessed five small barrels of the stuff. On occasion, Galion would visit the pantry to shake his head sadly over these barrels, but the cook would not allow him to trade the valuable salt for more needed supplies.
In fine weather, Viduwyn often accompanied the nurse and her charge in a turn around the garden. The baby was a sweet thing, generally content, as all Elven babies are, not being subject to colic or colds that trouble mortal infants, but he seemed happiest outdoors. He harassed butterflies and earthworms and any other creature that came within his reach, singing quietly to himself, his small face a vision of joy.
"Do all baby elves sing so?" Viduwyn asked.
Brúniel shrugged. "I daresay, though not all so sweetly as this one. They sing when they are content, and as they grow, they begin to mimic the melody of speaking voices, and so learn to speak properly."
Already a year had passed since she had come to Northern Mirkwood, and a great feast was to be held in honor of the baby's second conception day. The child had begun to make words, and Thranduil knew his son must soon have a name. At the feast, he had decided, he would announce the baby's name, though he had not yet found one that would fit the child.
Still vexed by this name-making as the appointed day drew ever nearer, the King came to the pleasant glade above the caverns in search of his son, hoping for inspiration. "Ada!" the baby shouted with delight, holding up his arms to his father. The golden-haired elf swept the child into his arms and seated him in his lap.
"Ai, ionen bigen, whatever shall we do for a name for you?" he asked the tiny elf.
"Is it…the norm for a little one to go so long without a name?" Viduwyn asked, in her halting Sindarin.
The King frowned and the woman feared she had offended him. "Not at all. I had thought to give him a name after my father, but when my lady passed from this realm," he paused, his eyes sorrowful, "it was not the time for a naming ceremony. Yet elf-children have two names, one of the father and one of the mother. The mother-name is very important, for it is often prophetic, or a sign of a child's character. As this little one shall have no mother-name, I have put much thought into his father-name."
Viduwyn listened intently. "But can you not give him two names?"
Thranduil raised his eyebrows. "I had not thought of that. It would perhaps be right, for such a strange circumstance." He stood, handing his son to the woman as he rose. "Hennaid evyr, le edregol vaer!" With this exclamation the King hurried off. [9]
"Nothing like this have we seen since Mitharas was named - and that was before the war in Mordor," Brúniel confided some days later. The nurse, who usually reserved her smiles for the baby she so adored, had a sparkle in her eyes.
"The war in Mordor! But was that not in ancient days?" Viduwyn questioned.
"Hardly ancient to the Firstborn. Yet even the trees do not remember such a time." Brúniel returned to her task, the embroidering of tiny gold leaves of beech on the little cloak the baby would wear at his naming ceremony.
Viduwyn watched as the elf's fingers flew, yet somehow managed to make the smallest of stitches. If Mitharas' naming ceremony had taken place so very long ago, then the elf-lord, who she had thought her junior, was…well, very old. "Then the King must be still more ancient," she murmured.
Brúniel laughed. "Aye, and I can recall his naming ceremony. Yet to Brónalm I am but a young bess. And Círdan at the Havens is older than any elf in Ennor. You will likely meet him at the feast." [10]
Thranduil had sent doves far and wide with invitations. Some, such as those destined for Dorwinion and Mithlond, would bring together kin too long sundered. Nórui, sister to Mitharas, had not made this journey since she had bound herself to an Avarin elf from the great vineyards. Círdan rarely left his beloved sea, yet his heart warned him that he would not soon have another chance to see his eastern kin. Other messages were bound for kin long estranged. Celeborn and Galadriel would come from Lórien, to Viduwyn's great interest. The folk of her village had long whispered about the Golden Wood and its secretive people; some proclaimed the lady a sorceress of terrible power. [11]
Two days before the feast, Galion came to the nursery with an urgent summons from Thranduil. Viduwyn followed the butler anxiously, hoping that she had done nothing to displease the King. Galion wore a conspiratorial look on his face, but would tell her nothing. As they entered the Great Hall, he announced her presence and swiftly disappeared in the mysterious way of the elves.
Before she could greet the King properly, she was lifted from her feet in a fierce hug. "You have grown plump on the food of the elves," Dukalan observed approvingly, as he set his wife on her feet.
"But when - there is nothing amiss at home?" she worried. Remembering her manners, she turned and bowed to the King. "Híren, my apologies."
Thranduil laughed. "It is no matter - it gives me pleasure to see that my surprise is so well received. The elves of Lórien were to pass near your village, and if the husband were worthy of such a wife, I imagined he would pine for her company." With these words the King departed, leaving the couple to greet one another properly.
Dukalan kissed his wife tenderly, for he had indeed missed her dearly. "You shall hardly want to return to us after living like royalty," he fussed. He brought little gifts from their daughters and gossip from Folcagard. Though Viduwyn, too, had much to tell of her stay with the elves, she listened with greater interest to her husband, for he stirred a homesickness in her for her own folk. Though the elves had shown her nothing but kindness, they were not her people, and she could not forget that she remained a guest. Home, for all its hardships, was home.
The day of the feast arrived on the wings of a loss-vadel wind, putting to rest Galion's fears that a final blast of winter would force the merriment indoors. The King, his butler knew, had an ulterior motive in this grand occasion. Just as this day marked two years since the conception of his son, so had a day during the last moon marked a year since the baby's birth - and the death of the King's beloved lady. Preparations for the festivities had kept him too occupied to brood over his loss. "It was a bitter cold night when she left us, and I feared a turn in the weather would turn also our King to melancholy," Galion confided to the mortal. [12]
Nonetheless, Brúniel worried that the little one would be cold, and the morning found him squirming under several layers of garments. The baby, had he been able to effectively voice his complaints, would have told them that he noticed little the cold and heat, but found the heavy clothes far too restrictive. When Brúniel left the nursery to see to her own dress, Viduwyn took pity on the little elf and relieved him of his thick under-vest. "Bidu," the child said agreeably, his nearest approximation to her name. The woman smiled - he had never looked so adorable as he did in his little velvet robe, a miniature version of an adult elf's robes, and the green wool cloak with Brúniel's needlework. White-gold tendrils of hair, still too short to make a dignified elven braid, framed his face. Tiny boots of suede, nearly as soft as the feet they covered, completed the outfit.
Having relinquished the baby to Brúniel, Viduwyn met her husband and the two left the caverns to have a look at the elves and activities on the front terrace. The elves wore their finery - even the warriors wore formal robes and jeweled decorations in their hair. The celebrations had yet to begin in earnest, but Galion had put out tables of food for the guests, though many elves chose to do without in anticipation of the great feast. Musicians played and many of the elves danced or wandered into the glades to speak with a long-sundered friend or kinsman. Though no archery contest had been planned for the day, a number of warriors from Mirkwood had taken on those accompanying guests from other elven lands. Brónalm sat as judge of the competition, impartial in this role, yet unable to conceal his pride at the superior skills of his archers. Only the Silvan Elves from Lórien could truly compete with the Wood folk of Northern Mirkwood; the elves of Eriador had not seen battle since the defeat of the Witch-king.
These strange elves from other lands captured much of the mortals' attention. They saw Noldor from Imladris, with gleaming hair the color of night, and elves from Mithlond, similar in appearance to the Sindar of Mirkwood, though they wore cloaks of a calm sea-blue, and Viduwyn could hear the difference in their accents. Neither she nor her husband had seen a bearded elf, but here they found one. Círdan had claimed his tiny kinsman from Brúniel's care, and the baby also thought the beard quite a novelty. His dark eyes wide with fascination, the little hands stroked the soft white helf, as the child had decided to call the beard - much to Círdan's amusement. [13]
In the midafternoon Viduwyn nursed the baby and Brúniel took him inside to nap, lest he become fretful later. As the day waned, Brúniel returned to the festivities with the child, soon to have a name at last. At twilight, the Silvan Elves left their chores or merrymaking and sang to the stars, a nightly event that still never failed to leave Viduwyn with shivers of delight. This night, however, their song seemed especially beautiful, and it marked the beginning of the solemn Mereth Eneth-Gared. [14]
As the voices faded, the baby's oldest living female ancestor came forward, the same ancient elf Viduwyn had met upon arrival in Northern Mirkwood. Phingés carried the child along a path strewn with daisy petals and met the father in a ring of candlelight. In a thick Silvan accent, for she used the Woodland tongue in daily life, Phingés opened the ceremony.
"Man eneth ceril nin-hên?"
"What name do you make for the child?"
For two days, Thranduil had secluded himself, leaving the feast preparations to Galion and the greeting of guests to Innolas. He had already decided upon a name that would honor his father, but he agonized long over the child's mother-name. He had questioned Brúniel and Viduwyn about the baby's character. He had consulted with Celeborn, despite the complicated relations between the House of Lasgalen and the House of Galadhon. Thranduil had not the special insight of the baby's mother, nor had he Celeborn's second sight.
The gift of Ulmo to faithful Elmo and his descendants occurred once in a generation, but it had come to no child born since the Elder Days. Holding the last grandchild of Oropher, Celeborn felt the stirring of the gift, though he perceived it had less strength than his own foresight. 'It will not be an easy path for this child,' he thought. The baby had his Silvan mother's symbiosis with living things; he would feel the hurts of Arda more keenly than would his Eldarin ancestors. Yet, Celeborn noted with a smile, the baby had also his grandsire's stubborn independence.
"The Noldor had a word in Beleriand, before they passed over the sea and their tongue took on its final form as Quenya. Last, it meant, 'sight'," he told his cousin's son. "The child has much of your sister - perhaps to honor her, you might use Laigil."
"Laigilast - 'keen star-sight'" Thranduil experimented with the sound of the name. It did not seem right to his Sindarin tongue, however, and he wanted a Silvan name, to honor the mother. He summoned his second son.
"Legilas would be the Silvan equivalent," Innolas mused. "But perhaps Legolas would be more appropriate." He grinned with the secret joy of the wordsmith, enjoying the dual meaning of the name he had made. "It has the meaning 'keen sight' - yet it also means 'green collection of leaves' - a very good Silvan name, and a very good name for foliage sprung from many different trees." [15]
"Legolas it shall be, then," Thranduil decided, feeling a weight lift from his shoulders. His heart confirmed that this was the right name, a name Tórasin would have chosen for her son.
"Cerin a then enith dâd."
"I make for the child two names."
Murmurs arose among the Eldar - elves rarely deviated from custom in such solemn matters. Still, they had come to expect such eccentricity from their kinsman in the Wilderland.
"Eglerio adaren, i chên hen eston Antopher. Dan pedin si an naneth dín, a aníron anno na den estad uin-naneth. I eneth dan natha Legolas."
"To honor my father, the father-name shall be Antopher. Yet I stand also in his mother's place, and wish to give him a mother-name. That name shall be Legolas."
"Antopher Legolas," Phingés repeated, her heart well pleased with the Silvan name the King had made in remembrance of her beloved great-granddaughter.
"Mae govannen, Antopher Legolas."
"Welcome, Antopher Legolas."
The ancient dí hael sprinkled the baby's forehead with lavender water and raised him toward the stars. [16]
"A elenath hilivren, i glaur o Belain!.
Suilanno si Antopher Legolas.
Pathro i chên hen na channas a vîl, na vronwe a 'orf o chûn."
"O glittering stars, the glory of the Valar!.
Greet now Antopher Legolas.
Fill this child with wisdom and love, faith and courage."
Phingés laid the baby in his father's arms.
"Thranduil Oropherion e-mbar Lasgalen, Aran-en-Eryn Forodren!
Enith evyr geril, dan hebo main i eneth, 'Adar'.
Anno na Antopher Legolas vaudhel ben-cheleg a i 'úrel iaur.
Pado go-den, dan den leitho revio athal-le.
No estel thala dín, a seidio mar a then an uir.
A edregol, anno na den vílel ú-'leiniannen."
"Thranduil Oropherion of the House of Lasgalen, King of the North Forest!
Many names have you, but keep most dear the name, 'Adar'.
Give Antopher Legolas your patience and the wisdom of your years.
Walk by his side, yet allow him to test his wings.
Be his unwavering trust, and make your home ever his also.
And above all, give to him your unbounded love."
Thranduil now spoke.
"Annam chennaid na Velain nin-hên i ammen one.
Aran Einior, garo i chên hen no idhren a fael.
Elbereth, no galad na den vi said dhuir.
Uiar, bathro guil dín na 'lîr a lalaith.
Ivann, anno na den i 'ovannas o gelais lín a uin lín."
"We thank the Valar for the child they have given to us.
Manwë, help this child to be thoughtful and just.
Elbereth, be a light to him in dark places.
Ulmo, fill his life with song and laughter.
Yavanna, give to him the fellowship of your plants and creatures."
"A Belain! Berio Antopher Legolas.
Ovro e an uir na 'eilu lín!"
"O Valar! Protect Antopher Legolas.
May he always have your blessings abundant!"
And so, Viduwyn saw Legolas named at last. By summer, he would crawl; another year would see the mortal woman preparing to leave Mirkwood. King Thranduil pressed many tokens of his gratitude upon her. The life to which she would return would miss much of the harsh struggle and captivity to fate she had previously known. There were gifts, also - Innolas brought her a slate and parchment upon which he had drawn the runes in his beautiful hand and Mitharas gave her a set of knives of fine elven steel for her husband.
To her surprise, crusty Brúniel presented her with a heavy quilt. In the center, she had embroidered a lovely scene of a blond woman holding a small child to her breast. Gíleg brought her a packet of maple sugar candy for her children and one of his precious barrels of salt. From Thranduil she received a gift of which the worth she could not then know, a letter of debt to her and to her village, and his pledge that the Master of Folcagard had only to send word and the aid of the elves would come.
Her heart was torn, less by regret for the soft life of the palace - for in truth, she was used to hard work, and her idle hours often weighed heavy upon her - but rather by regret for these fine folk, though she missed her own children fiercely. Most of all, she would miss young Legolas. Like all small children, be they mortal or immortal, the little elf thought himself the center of his world. To Legolas, 'Bidu' had always been and would always be. The notion that she had her own family, and that she must leave him, never to return, he could not yet fathom.
The day before she was to set out for Folcagard found Legolas underfoot, his curious eyes prying into every sack and saddlebag. At last, Innolas took charge of his brother, leading him away from the commotion to the quiet gardens above the caverns. Viduwyn found the child in his brother's lap, sharing a large picture book.
"Man hin?" Innolas was asking, as Legolas patted the book excitedly. [17]
"Mioe," he told his brother, pointing at the drawing of a cat. [18]
Innolas pointed at the other side of the book. "A sin?" [19]
"Hû." Catching sight of Viduwyn, Legolas quickly turned to the next page. "Man'in?" he demanded. [20, 21]
Viduwyn laughed. "Máma!" she said, drawing out the sound and tickling the little elf, who clapped in delight at the woman's imitation of a bleating sheep. [22]
Innolas set his brother and the book before him and stood. "I have a few matters to which I must attend," he excused himself, knowing Viduwyn wished to say her farewell to Legolas.
Legolas gathered his still-unsteady legs underneath him, and toddled into her lap.
"I have memai at my house, too."
"Bidu house?"
"Yes, Bidu's house. In the morning I have to go feed my memai."
"Memai hungry?"
"Yes, they are hungry," Viduwyn answered.
"Bidu go away?" Legolas knew about going away. "Like Nana-einior?" [23]
"Yes, like Nana-einior." Viduwyn was surprised that the child had this much understanding. Phingés had come recently to Forod'lad to see her great-granddaughter's son, and the child seemed to realize that she would be gone again for some time.
"Bidu come back?"
She hated to lie to the child, but saw little purpose in the truth. It would only upset him now. A month, two months and he would not think her long gone, for he had not yet a concept of time.
"Yes, someday."
He hugged her. "Namárië, heri vanima," he said solemnly, imitating the formal farewell his Ada spoke before distinguished guests. [24]
She smiled through her tears at his 'big elf' words. "Namárië, Legolas." He would forget her; he had his Ada and brother and cousin, and his bond to Brúniel was strong.
Yet a bond forged between child and nursing mother is also strong. Even if only dimly remembered by Legolas, she would long hold a place in his heart.
- [1] Suilannad, sílelphin
- Greetings, shining ones. I've guessed that the mutation here follows the pattern of arphen rather than orodben, as the initial p- of pen follows the liquid l. Tolkien was somewhat unclear on plurals - in most cases, the root word would retain its singular form, but arphen did become erphin. The difference between arphen and orodben is that ar is (in this case) an adjective. Here I've used the participle of sila-, 'to shine', as an adjective, so I'm guessing that it should also take the plural form.
- [2] Loeg Ningloron
- Gladden Fields
- [3] 'a language not unlike the Nandorin language of the Silvan folk'
- This would be Taliska, the language of Bëor's folk. The relationship between Taliska and Nandorin is attested in The Silmarillion and The Lost Road, but the relationship of the Beornings to the folk of Bëor is uncertain. However, Beorn resembles, physically at least, the Bëoreans, and there is an indirect reference to men of the Vale who were related to the people of Bëor in The Peoples of Middle-Earth. (ref. 'Of Dwarves and Men' p 311 pub. Houghton Mifflin)
- [4] Ninglor
- Gladden River
- [5] Loeg Ningloron
- Gladden Fields
- [6] 'The Elder refused to take her chair'
- From Viduwyn's point of view, Radagast is only a wise old man with knowledge of healing. The five Maiar were sent to ME in the guise of old men for a reason; their true nature was not known to men. Only the elves (and some of the Dúnedain) knew the full truth.
- [7] Daro! Sí dorthannem i vôr hen!
- Halt! We will stay here tonight! (lit. 'Here we will stay this night!')
- [8] phá
- fëa, spirit (Silvan). Derived from phajá - I've assumed that Silvan preserved initial ph-, as it appears in Old Sindarin - it seems likely that initial f- derives from Quenya. Final -já appears to become -a (attested by spenna), leaving us with phaa, or ph + long a.
- [9] Hennaid evyr, enni le edregol vaer!
- Many thanks, you (are) especially useful to me! - Hennaid is Neo-Sindarin from Eirien Tuilinn's Gobeth i-Phethath 'wîn. It is formed from Quenya hantalë, 'thanksgiving'.
- [10] bess
- female elf
- [11] 'kin too long sundered'
- Based on a few lines in LOTR, it is probable that Celeborn is related to Legolas. In this story cycle, I have made him the cousin of Oropher. Círdan, we are told in The Peoples of Middle-Earth, 'Last Writings', is kin to Olwë and thus to Oropher's descendants.
- [12] loss-vadel
- lit. 'snow-eating' - a Chinook ('snow eater') wind. vadel is the lenited form of madel, the participle of mad-, 'to eat'
- [13] helf
- fur
- [14] Mereth Eneth-Gared
- Feast of Name-Making. gared is the lenited form of cared, the gerund of the verb car-, 'to make'
- [15] 'keen sight'
- This was the meaning of the name in the old Qenya language, as Tolkien originally interpreted the name for Legolas of Gondolin. I wanted to use the original meaning without reference to that first Legolas, as the elves were not in the habit of recycling names (except in the case of father-names, which were sometimes identical to the name of the father). It seems likely that Thranduil would have known that first Legolas, or known of him, since Legolas of Gondolin survived to end up on Tol Eressëa, and if Thranduil was born in Doriath, both would have lived in Arvernien at the end of the First Age. Certainly, he must have known the story of the Fall of Gondolin, but I'm supposing that this did not occur to him when he was naming Legolas of Mirkwood.
- [16] dí hael
- wise woman
- [17] Man hin?
- What is this?
- [18] Mioe
- Cat. Converted from Quenya mëoi. I tried to preserve Tolkien's onomatopoeic intention with a Sindarin spelling that would render the Quenya pronunciation.
- [19] A sin?
- And this?
- [20] Hû
- Dog
- [21] Man'in?
- What is this? (Man hin, but I'm guessing a small child might have trouble with that 'h'.)
- [22] Máma, memai
- Sheep, sheep (pl) (Q, S?). In this case, the Quenya spelling renders the same sound in Sindarin. Technically, the word would probably become mom in Sindarin, but again, it was intended to be onomatopoeic. It might simply have passed nearly unchanged from Primitive Eldarin (though it seems equally likely that it could come from primitive mbâ). The plural version supposes that the word would follow the usual rules of Sindarin plural formation.
- [23] Nana-einior
- Grandma (lit. 'Mama-elder')
- [24] Namárië, heri vanima
- Farewell, fair lady (Q)
Feast of Name-Making
Man eneth ceril nin-hên?
[What name (do) you make for the child?]
Cerin a then enith dâd.
[I make for him two names.]
a then: nasal mutation (II) of an ten
dâd: soft mutation of tâd
Eglerio adaren, i chên hen eston 'Antopher'.
[To glorify my father, this the child I name 'Antopher' (Gift of beech).]
i chên hen: soft mutation of i hên sen
Antopher: I've used the more archaic spelling to match the spelling of Oropher ('high beech' or 'mountain beech'). Ant would probably be rendered as And in a compound word like this, but that would clash with and, 'long'.
Dan pedin si an naneth dín, a aníron anno na den estad uin-naneth.
[But I speak now for his mother, and I desire to give to him (a) naming from the mother.]
dín: soft mutation of tín
den: soft mutation of ten
estad: gerund of esta-
I eneth dan natha 'Legolas'.
[That the name will be 'Legolas'.]
dan: soft mutation of tan
natha: fut. tense of na-, 'to be'
Mae govannen, Antopher Legolas.
[Well met, Antopher Legolas.]
A elenath hilivren, i glaur o Belain!
[O star-host glittering, the glory of Valar!]
hilivren: soft mutation of silivren
glaur: soft mutation of claur
o Belain: of Valar (pl) - 'the' is not used in Quenya before Valar, and I assume Sindarin is similar
Suilanno si Antopher Legolas.
[Greet now Antopher Legolas.]
Pathro i chên hen na channas a vîl, na vronwe a 'orf o chûn.
[Fill this the child by/with understanding and love, by/with faith and vigor of heart.]
i chên hen: soft mutation of i hên sen
channas: soft mutation of hannas
vîl: soft mutation of mîl
vronwe: soft mutation of bronwe
'orf: soft mutation of gorf
chûn: stop mutation of hûn
Thranduil Oropherion e-mbar Lasgalen, Aran-en-Eryn Forodren!
[Thranduil son of Oropher of the House of Lasgalen, King of the Northern Forest!]
e-mbar: mixed mutation of en bar
Enith evyr geril, dan hebo main i eneth, 'Adar'.
[Abundant names you have, but keep pre-eminent the name, 'Adar'.]
main: not lenited here because this adjective precedes the noun it modifies
Anno na Antopher Legolas vaudhel ben-cheleg a i 'úrel iaur.
[Give to Antopher Legolas your hasteless judgment and your ancient counsel.]
vaudhel: soft mutation of baudhel: baudh + -l, 'your' (suffixed)
ben-cheleg: ben is the soft mutation of pen, lenited because the whole compound is an adjective. cheleg is the nasal mutation (I) of celeg, with the mutation caused by the prefix pen-.
'úrel: soft mutation of gúrel: gûr + -l, 'your' (suffixed)
Pado go-den, dan den leitho revio athal-le.
[Walk together with him, but him set free to fly beyond you.]
den: soft mutation of ten, lenited due to go- prefix
den: soft mutation of ten, lenited as a direct object
athal-le: nasal mutation (II) of athan le - I'm assuming athan would behave similarly to an
No estel thala dín, a seidio mar a then an uir.
[Be his steady trust, and set aside a home for him forever.]
no: imperative of na-, 'to be'
dín: soft mutation of tín
mar: soft mutation of bar (bar is derived from the root MBAR-, and thus its mutation diverges from most words beginning in b-)
a then: nasal mutation (II) of an ten
A edregol, anno na den vílel ú-'leiniannen.
[And in especial, give to him your love unlimited.]
den: soft mutation of ten
vílel: soft mutation of mílel: mîl + -l, 'your' (suffixed)
'leiniannen: soft mutation of gleiniannen (past participle of gleinia-, to limit)
Annam chennaid na Velain nin-hên i ammen one.
[We give thanks to Valar for this the child which to us they gave.]
chennaid: soft mutation of hennaid (derived from Q hantalë - see Eirien Tuilinn's Gobeth i-Phethath 'wîn )
Velain: soft mutation of Belain
Aran Einior, garo i chên hen no idhren a fael.
[Elder King, make this child to be thoughtful and just.]
garo: soft mutation of caro, lenited because the verb follows its subject
i chên hen: soft mutation of i hên sen
no: infinitive of na-, 'to be' (I'm guessing that the infinitive would be the same as the imperative, as with other verbs in Sindarin)
Elbereth, no galad na den vi said dhuir.
[Elbereth, be (a) light to him in dark, somber places.]
no: imperative of na-, 'to be'
galad: soft mutation of calad
den: soft mutation of ten
vi said: apparently, vi takes no mutation. However, as our only example of this preposition is from a relatively early piece, it is possible that vi should be mi or bi and take soft mutation - Sindarin words simply do not begin with v- except as mutations of initial m- or b-.
dhuir: soft mutation of duir
Uiar, bathro guil dín na 'lîr a lalaith.
[Ulmo, fill his life by/with song and laughter.]
bathro: soft mutation of pathro, lenited as a verb following its subject
guil: soft mutation of cuil
dín: soft mutation of tín
'lîr: soft mutation of glîr
Ivann, anno na den i 'ovannas o gelais lín a uin lín.
[Yavanna, give to him the fellowship of your plants and your creatures.]
den: soft mutation of ten
'ovannas: soft mutation of govannas
A Belain! Berio Antopher Legolas. Ovro e an uir na 'eilu lín!
[O Valar! Protect Antopher Legolas. May he abound (lit. 'Abound he') for eternity with your blessings!]
Ovro e: Imperative tense of ovra-, 'to abound', followed by the nominative case, forming the phrase 'may he abound'. This construction is attested by the 'Ringbearers' Praise' in LOTR.
'eilu: soft mutation of geilu