Melissa: Great! Now I can feel guilty for distracting you from your homework. And I'm an educator, too, and should know better! ^_^ (Writer huddles into a ball and whimpers.)
Kitsune: Things will turn out alright for Gilglîr, I promise.
Joee: As you can see from today's posting, the previous chapter was not in fact the final one. Enjoy! (Hope you don't have any papers due tomorrow!)
Dragonfly: Yep, author alerts are handy—when they work, of course. (Writer sneakily introduces doubt into mind of reader. Mwah hah hah! ^_^ Good thing I'm not into BDSM narratives. I'd probably be really good at writing those—twisted, but good.) BTW, glad you liked the return of Haldir!
Farflung: In terms of timeline, we're only roughly half a century away from the LOTR, so the reunion has to take place pronto so I can put Legolas into position for his role in that story. Aren't I nice to Professor Tolkien, to let him have his Elf back in time for him to use him in the trilogy!?
Karri: The worst is over for Gilglîr, so he is going to survive with sanity intact.
The Greenwood Elves returned without incident to their homeland, stopping along the way in Lothlórien, where Haldir, Rúmil, and Orophin bade Tawarmaenas a fond farewell.
"Now that you know the way to Lórien, Tawarmaenas, we expect to see you frequently," declared Rúmil. "It is getting rather hard to put anything over Haldir," he teased, "so I need you to practice on, lest my skills wane."
"Ah," said Tawarmaenas loftily, "I think you will find that I am no longer so easy a target, now I have seen the world!"
That led to a general shout of merriment. The Lórien brothers were convinced that, so sweet was Tawarmaenas in temperament, it would always be possible to twit him a trifle. Even Haldir could not forbear telling Tawarmaenas outrageous tales for the fun of seeing the young Elf's earnest reaction, so like his own not so many years back.
As soon as the Greenwood Elves had departed the land of Lóthlorien, they heard the sound of hoofbeats and soon perceived that Beorn's horses had once again taken up protective positions around them. Perhaps this was not strictly necessary, for, after the defeat of the Orcs in the Misty Mountains, Orc activity everywhere, even on the plain, had plummeted. Still, the Elves were grateful for the escort. Whilst they were guarded by Beorn's servants, they did not even feel the need to set watches at night. Everyone slept long and deeply and awoke refreshed the next day, often to the sight of bread and honey that had somehow materialized during the night.
Messengers had been sent ahead to inform Thranduil of their progress, and so delighted was he at their imminent return that he decided to shorten the wait before the reunion by venturing out onto the plain himself. Thus it was that, even before the travelers had caught sight of the first outlying trees of their homeland, they saw the King's banner approaching, and behind it, the King himself.
"Mae govannen!" beamed Thranduil. "Mae govannen! The Great Hall has been much too quiet these past months. Gilglîr, I have missed your counsel, and Tawarmaenas, I have missed your questions."
Gilglîr laughed. "You may be sure that the Great Hall will be even noisier than before, mellon-nîn. I will still offer my counsel, and Tawarmaenas will still ask his questions, but I believe you may now also count on receiving advice from Tawarmaenas. He has grown both bold and wise."
Tawarmaenas blushed at the praise, but in his heart he knew that there was some merit in Gilglîr's words, however exaggerated.
Once back at the Great Hall, King Thranduil declared that several days of festivities would be held. More Elves gathered than had ever been seen before at the Great Hall, so many that not all could be accommodated within, and Tawarmaenas, who was set in charge of housing the guests, caused pavilions to be raised for the overflow. As the pavilions were very well appointed, no one minded or felt slighted.
What with the feasting and singing and dancing and story-telling, it was several days before Gilglîr had an opportunity to sit privately with Thranduil to inform him of the outcome of the various negotiations that had been an adjunct to Tawarmaenas' journey. At last the subject of Rivendell came up. Gilglîr and Thranduil stood over a table, a copy of the revised treaty spread out before them. Thranduil nodded approvingly.
"These terms are very generous. I am surprised that Elrond did not try to drive a harder bargain."
"Yes, he was most agreeable. I, too, did not expect him to be so accommodating."
"I wonder what has motivated such generosity on his part," mused Thranduil.
"Perhaps he had no ulterior motives. Perhaps he simply seeks no advantage for himself."
"Perhaps. He has a reputation for kindness, witness the fosterlings he has taken in from time to time. Ah, that puts me in mind of something. Whilst you were in Rivendell, did you perchance see Durrandîr, that young Elf who put himself in peril in order to aid us when we were ambushed during the siege of Dol Guldur?"
Gilglîr shook his head.
"No, it does not appear that Durrandîr dwells in Rivendell; indeed, it is not clear that he ever did so."
"Ah, pity. I should have liked to know how he was getting on."
Gilglîr did not mention the name 'Anomen' to Thranduil. He had no reason to do so. Nor did he mention Estel. Presumably Thranduil would have had no interest in the fact that Elrond was fostering a little human. The conversation turned to other matters.
Over the next several months, only two things could dampen Thranduil's joy at the return of Gilglîr and Tawarmaenas. First, after briefly lying low for a time after their defeat in the Misty Mountains, the Orcs reappeared, and in greater numbers. Forces must have been sent in from elsewhere, for suddenly all the elven realms were being assailed. The worst blows fell upon Lothlórien and Mirkwood, but even Imladris was assailed. No doubt the recent victory, since it had taken place on the Imladris side of the mountain, was responsible for the fact that Rivendell was not struck as hard as the other two realms. But for Lothlórien and Mirkwood, and particularly for the latter, things began to go ill.
Second, from time to time Thranduil would suffer a resurgence of guilt and grief over the death of his son. When that happened, both Tawarmaenas and Gilglîr wished that they could share with the King their belief that Legolas still lived, but they dared not without fuller proof.
So it was that one day Thranduil once more sat in the silent room that had been Laiqua's. "Had I kept my son by my side," he reproached himself yet again, "he never would have wandered alone into that perilous place." Thranduil shuddered at the thought of Laiqua's final minutes in the grip of that web. "I was no father to my son," he murmured to himself.
"My Lord." Gilglîr stood in the doorway.
Thranduil looked up in resignation. Gilglîr would never disturb him here unless something was seriously wrong. "Yes, Gilglîr."
"My Lord, a major attack has taken place on the southern border. Both Orcs and Wargs. The enemy has been driven off, but if they return, I am not sure that the defenses will hold. I am afraid, my lord, I hesitate to say this, but I am afraid…."
"Yes, Gilglîr, I know. We can no longer stand alone, and the Galadhrim of Lothlórien are already so beset by foes that they cannot afford us any aid. Now we must put aside pride and beg Imladris for help instead. I do not like the thought of being put in such a situation, but the only responsible course is to acknowledge that we cannot defeat this enemy on our own. Daily the darkness grows stronger; hourly our numbers shrink."
"My Lord, I shall prepare a company to ride out tomorrow. If you will permit, I would like to take part in the embassy."
"No, Gilglîr. I need you to stay here and advise Tawarmaenas in the maintenance of the defenses. I myself will head the delegation. No, do not look so shocked. I owe Elrond some return for the kindness that he has shown us. Moreover, it is my duty to appeal for his aid in a situation as dire as this one. My presence will signal to him the seriousness of our plight. Confronted by that fact, he will not turn down our appeal for help. Elrond is an honorable man."
The company of Greenwood Elves rode fast, scarcely pausing to rest the horses and not bothering to send a messenger ahead to announce their coming. So it was that the Rivendell Elves knew of their approach only hours before their arrival, and knew their identity not at all. The Imladris outriders would be able to alert Elrond to the approach of a band of strange Elves but of naught else.
As the Greenwood Elves were nearing the gates of Rivendell, Elrond was in his study wondering how it was that his three eldest sons could still be capable of wreaking so much havoc. One minute they would be serious, capable warriors; the next minute they would be hellions. It had been centuries since they had been numbered amongst the elflings, but sometimes it seemed their capacity for discovering new forms of mischief remained unabated. Elrond remembered back to the time—it must have been a millennium ago—that Mithrandir had suggested that a father must sometimes abandon all semblance of refinement and grace. Perhaps this would be one of those times. He glared at Elrohir, Elladan, and Anomen as they stood before him lamely attempting to explain their latest escapade, which involved a midnight visit to the stables and the release of most of the horses. But before Elrond could speak, Glorfindel strode in to inform him that a company of Elves, riding hard, was rapidly approaching. The eyes of the younger Elves lit up. Elrond would be necessarily distracted, perhaps long enough to forget the damage that had been done to the stables. Moreover, no visitors had arrived in the several months since Mithrandir's latest departure for Lothlórien. Visitors meant news at the very least and perhaps additional diversions, such as feasts and other forms of merriment.
Elrond nodded to dismiss his sons, who jostled each other in their haste to get through the door. Laughing, they raced into the courtyard to await the arrival of the strangers. Within minutes they heard the galloping of horses, and the contingent of foreign Elves swept through the gate.
Their hair is golden, thought Anomen. Their hair is golden, and, oh, by the Valar, they are dressed in green tunics and brown leggings. Mirkwood Elves. He froze for a moment in disbelief and then bolted from the courtyard, leaving behind alarmed twins who knew perfectly well the reason for his sudden departure and hastened forward to cover for him.
Elrond walked out into the courtyard to greet the company of strange Elves. When he saw their garb, he blanched and drew Glorfindel aside. He was still resolved not to force Anomen back to Mirkwood. "Glorfindel," he whispered, "you must find Anomen at once. He must not be seen by these Elves. He must keep to his room. Have his meals brought to him."
Glorfindel nodded and slipped away. Elrond then strode forward to welcome the visitors. To his additional horror, he now realized that one of them was Thranduil. Elves are not known to sweat, but Elrond was after all half-elven, and his human heritage now came to the fore. Had Thranduil not been preoccupied with the peril that confronted his kingdom, no doubt he would have been perplexed by the beads of moisture that adorned Elrond's forehead and upper lip.
"Yes, yes," Elrond was agreeing. "We will come to your aid. Indeed, Thranduil, we will come at once. I shall assemble a company that will set out with you at daybreak tomorrow. I myself shall accompany you, and Glorfindel will follow with other warriors within the week, as soon as an additional group of riders can be assembled."
Thranduil was bewildered. He had not expected Elrond to be so obliging or to agree to take action so promptly. Why the eagerness and haste?
That night Thranduil found himself unable to sleep. He could not overcome his confusion over the reception he had received from Elrond. Something was not right; of that he was sure, but to what could he point to justify such a belief? He had asked Elrond for help; Elrond had agreed to provide it, and to do without delay. "So why," thought Thranduil, "am I so troubled?" At last, Thranduil gave up all attempts at sleep. He arose and went out into the garden.
Anomen crouched in a tree. It seemed to him that during his life he had spent an inordinate amount of time crouching in trees. At least he wasn't hiding from Orcs this time. Instead, he had watched Elrohir and Elladan searching for him. He had seen Glorfindel join in the hunt. At last he had heard even little Estel calling for him. But he had remained hidden. He knew that both Elrond and Mithrandir thought that he should reveal himself as the Prince of Greenwood, and he feared that Elrond would use this occasion to force his hand. Surely he was being sought so that he might be told that his attendance was expected at a dinner in honor of the visiting Elves. But he would never attend such a dinner. He had no wish to run the risk of being recognized as the son Thranduil had never found worthy of a name. He sighed and shifted in the tree. Wood-Elf or not, he could not remain in this tree forever. He was beginning to feel stiff, and by the Valar, but he was hungry! Surely everyone had gone to their rest by now. Perhaps he could risk venturing into the kitchen for something to eat. Silently Anomen slid down from the tree and crept across the garden toward the kitchen entrance. Stealing around a statue of Gil-galad, he came face to face with—Thranduil.
Thranduil wondered whether he had in fact fallen asleep and was dreaming that he was walking in a garden. He was staring at a golden-haired Elf, a golden-haired Elf who looked like—but, no, that was impossible! Thranduil reached forward to touch the Elf, to see whether he were an illusion. But the young Elf vanished as quickly as he had appeared.
The next morning Thranduil stormed into Elrond's room before the Elf lord had even arisen from his bed. Elrond raised both eyebrows, of course, but he did not feel that his eyebrows were sufficient to express either his bafflement or his displeasure. For a fleeting moment, he wondered whether he should begin to work on wiggling his ears, but he dismissed the thought. Somehow wiggling ears would never be as impressive as raised eyebrows.
Thranduil dispensed with all preliminaries.
"Elrond, who is the golden-haired Elf!?"
Elrond thought quickly.
"Golden-haired Elf? Perhaps Haldir? He often visits Elrohir and Elladan."
"I have met Haldir in Lothlórien. This was not Haldir. And Haldir is at least a millennium older than this Elf."
"How old do you judge this Elf to be?"
"A little over a millennium, I think."
"Hmm, well, he could be one of my sons."
"One of your sons!? But your sons have dark hair!"
"Not all of them. Estel will have lighter hair than the twins, I think. Anomen, too, has lighter hair."
"Estel!? Anomen!? How many sons do you have, Elrond!?"
"Four, at the moment."
"But I have only heard of the twins! When were these other two born?"
Elrond hesitated. "Actually, Estel and Anomen are foster sons.
Thranduil glowered at Elrond. "I want to meet these foster sons."
"Yes, of course. After we have driven the evil from your realm, you shall have the opportunity to become acquainted with every member of my family."
"Elrond, I-want-to-meet-these-foster-sons-today."
"Thranduil, Estel is a human child, and he is still quite young. He is not your golden-haired Elf. And, well, yes, Anomen is an Elf, and he does have golden hair. You may have known Anomen at one time. When he was very young, he probably lived in Greenwood. But are you sure that you wish to see him? He may have displeased you at some point, and so I have tried to keep him out of your sight. I feared you might have been angered had you known that I gave refuge to him."
"How long ago was it that you took him in?"
Elrond could not lie in answer to such a direct question.
"About a millennium ago."
"A millennium ago!"
Elrond gazed anxiously at the Mirkwood King: "Thranduil! Law no le mae! You look ill!"
Thranduil shook his head. "I am not ill. Elrond, how is it that the Elf—Anomen did you say—came to be here?"
"Mithrandir brought him to me. He found him alone in the forest of Imladris." Added Elrond carefully, "He appeared to have no family."
"No family?"
"Yes, he seemed to have no father."
"And what of his mother?"
Elrond hesitated before answering.
"She died giving birth to him."
Thranduil moaned and dropped his head into his hands. After a long moment had passed, he looked up at Elrond: "I must see this Elf."
"Thranduil, I love him as a son. Do you swear that he will come to no harm?"
"I swear."
The Greenwood Elves, accompanied by a large troop of Rivendell warriors, left that morning as planned, but the Imladris Elves were led by Berenmaethor rather than Elrond. Thranduil, too, was remaining behind, having entrusted Berenmaethor with letters of instruction for both Tawarmaenas and Gilglîr.
Once the warriors had departed, Elrond set about searching for Anomen. Knowing his foster son's penchant for hiding in trees, he began to systematically walk from tree to tree, peering up carefully into the branches. Finally his efforts were rewarded. Dozing, the young Elf lay curled in the crotch of an oak tree. Judging from the state of his clothes and hair, he had been there for much of the night. Silently, Elrond climbed up the tree and sat down on a branch near Anomen.
"Anomen, ion-nîn, wake up."
Anomen's eyes came into focus. He stared worriedly at Elrond.
"Anomen, guests have arrived from Mirkwood."
"I know, Ada."
"One of them is Thranduil."
Anomen's eyes widened, and his breath caught in his throat.
"He wishes to see you."
Anomen tried to be disingenuous.
"Why would Thranduil wish to see me?"
Elrond tried to be disingenuous in turn.
"I do not know," he began to say, but then he stopped.
"He thinks he is your father, Anomen," he said softly. "Is he?"
"I do not know," Anomen replied unhappily.
"Would it not be good if you were to find out?"
"I am happy here."
"No one can force you to return to Mirkwood if that is not your wish. What harm, then, would there be in meeting him? He may prove to be your father."
"But what if he is not—I mean, not truly?"
"Would your situation be any more painful than it is now? I think, though, that if he is your father, he will truly be your father. I have never seen an Elf as desirous of anything as he is to see you. I think, ion-nîn, we had best humor him."
"He is anxious to see me," Anomen muttered, more to himself than to Elrond. Aloud he said, "And he does not seem at all angry, Ada?"
"No, not angry, merely eager."
Anomen considered for awhile, then nodded his head: "Very well, Ada, I will let him see me. Although," he added, a trifle bitterly, "I do not know why he now would wish to do so!"
"Oh, I think that you do," Elrond replied evenly.
Torn between longing and reluctance, Anomen followed Elrond to the Hall of Fire. At the door to that chamber, Elrond stayed him a moment. He brushed the leaves from Anomen's hair and straightened his tunic.
"Now you look more like yourself!"
"Whoever that may be," quipped Anomen. Then he sighed. "Ada, I do not speak entirely in jest."
Elrond nodded.
"Yes. It is a serious matter, deciding who you are. But remember this: any father would be proud to claim you as his son. In the end, that is in truth who you are—no matter your name, you are a person whose worth is recognized by all who know you as I do."
Elrond gestured for Anomen to go forward, and alone he entered the Hall of Fire to face the King of Mirkwood.
Thranduil reached out a hand, palm up, toward the young Elf. "Ion-nîn," the king murmured.
"No," said Anomen. "Elrond is my father."
"But you are my son," said Thranduil. "I am the one who sired you."
"Nevertheless, it is Elrond who is my father. You were no father to me."
Thranduil flinched with grief and shame. He knew that his son spoke the truth.
"Legolas, please!" begged the king.
"Legolas?"
"Surely you have not forgotten your name?"
"My name is Anom—my name was Laiqua."
"Yes, of course, Laiqua. You were named Laiqualassë in the High-Elven. Your nursemaid nicknamed you Laiqua. I had no objection. It is common for children to bear nicknames. But did you never know your true name? It was picked for you by your mother and me a few weeks before your birth. Greenleaf it means."
Anomen stared at Thranduil. His father had gifted him with a name? He was not 'No one'?
"'Twas I who devised the name," Thranduil continued, "but my choice pleased your mother. As her name was Laurëlassë, 'Golden Leaf', your name was to be Laiqualassë, 'Green Leaf'. Legolas for everyday use, of course."
When at last he spoke, Anomen's voice shook.
"You never addressed me as Legolas."
Thranduil grimaced. "I'm not sure I ever addressed you as Laiqua, either."
Laiqua smiled sadly. "You may be right. I do not think you ever addressed me by any name at all."
Thranduil could not look at his son. Softly he spoke. "I would call you Legolas now, if you would permit me."
Laiqua stood silent for awhile. Then he answered. "Laiqua is a child's name, and Anomen is no name at all. Yes, I would like it if you would address me as Legolas."
Thranduil looked up hopefully. "I would ask of you one more boon. Legolas, I know that Elrond has been a father to you, and I do not ask you to think of him in any other way. I am grateful for the care that he accorded you during all those long years when I thought you had perished in the web of a spider. But will you not visit me in Greenwood from time to time? I would like to know you, ion-nîn. Perhaps in time I could become like another father to you?"
"I already have a father," thought Legolas. "Indeed, where once I had no father at all, I now have many fathers. Do I want Thranduil to be numbered amongst them?"
Legolas walked toward a window and gazed out at the gardens of Imladris. Thranduil had named him. Thranduil had wept for him. And now he did not ask so much of him—only to visit him in Mirkwood and mayhap one day to look upon him as one father among many. After a long pause, Legolas nodded. "I will journey to Greenwood on occasion."
Thranduil nodded, grateful for this small concession. He had no intention of demanding anything of his son, for he knew that he had forfeited the right to do so.
Something suddenly occurred to Legolas.
"You will call me 'Legolas'," said the young Elf. "What am I to call you?"
"What you will. Thranduil, perhaps. Your King. Your kinsman. Anything. Nothing."
"You are my Adar," said Legolas, "but you have not been not my Ada. I will call you Adar-nîn."
Thranduil was overjoyed and did not tried to hide it.
"Would you!?" he exclaimed. "I should like that very much! It is more than I deserve!"
Legolas was taken aback by Thranduil's openness and his eager yearning for his son's love and approval. This was not the father he had known in Mirkwood. Tentatively, he smiled at the older Elf. Thranduil beamed back at him. Suddenly, Legolas laughed and blushed.
"I have not broken fast yet today," he said apologetically. "My pardon for the loud sounds that my stomach made just then."
"I have not eaten either. Mayhap we could prevail upon your father's Cook to allow us a little food to eat in the garden. Your cousin Tawarmaenas likes gardens. Do you as well?"
"Oh, yes, I like gardens, and I have spent a great deal of time in them—although not always by choice or design," Legolas added ruefully.
"It sounds as if there is a tale or two behind those words."
"Which I shall tell you over breakfast. First, I will ask my Ada if he would beg the Cook to allow us somewhat to eat and drink."
"You yourself cannot ask?"
"I could—if I wanted potatoes thrown at my head."
"Another tale?"
"Yes, and a long one, too, covering several centuries of warfare between hungry elflings and vigilant cooks."
"Did you win any skirmishes?"
"Many, I assure you. My exploits within the kitchen are well known throughout Imladris."
They had by then reached Elrond's chamber, and Legolas knocked.
"Enter," came the familiar voice.
Thranduil and Legolas walked into the chamber side by side. Elrond sat in the company of Erestor and Glorfindel. Each Elf held a half-empty wine goblet.
"Wine so early in the morning?" said Thranduil enquiringly. Legolas, too, thought this a peculiar state of affairs.
"For my health, Thranduil."
"Oh, indeed," replied the King of Mirkwood, his voice laden with amusement.
"Ada," said Legolas. "Would you ask that some food and drink be sent to the garden. My, uh, my Adar-nîn and I wish to break our fast in that place so that we may talk a little."
"Very well, Anomen, I will see that the Cook is so instructed."
"Legolas, Ada. Ah, if you don't mind, that is," Anomen added hastily.
Elrond smiled reassuringly. "Legolas, I have long wished to call you by that name rather than by 'No Name'."
Legolas felt a sudden surge of relief. He did not want to lose the love of one Ada in exchange for the affection of one whom he barely knew. He suddenly understood that this had been one of his many fears, but one he had never been able to put into words.
Elrond continued, "Legolas, food and drink will shortly be carried out to the garden so that you and your Adar may break fast in private. No doubt you have much to say to one another."
"Thank you, Ada."
"You are welcome, Legolas."
After Thranduil and Legolas had left Elrond's chamber, that lord let out a sigh and held out his glass to Glorfindel.
"Mellon-nîn, more wine, if you please."
"Elrond," said Erestor reprovingly. "You were already on your second glass."
"I think," interjected Glorfindel, "that on this occasion, Elrond may be permitted a third glass."
"Or a fourth, or a fifth," muttered Elrond.
Far away, in Lothlórien, Gandalf smiled as he gazed in Galadriel's mirror. "Mithrandir," Galadriel said quietly, "I know what it is you saw, for it is also in my mind. I fear that your wardship of the prince has come to an end. You of course have known all along that he was Thranduil's son."
"I suspected as much when I heard that the prince of Greenwood had disappeared in the selfsame year that I encountered a golden-haired Elfling in the woods of Imladris. Moreover, I had seen the prince once long before in Greenwood, and Anomen did remind me of him."
"Yet you chose not to send word to King Thranduil?"
"Nor did you, my Lady!"
Galadriel smiled and inclined her head in acknowledgment.
"Thranduil," Gandalf continued, "had to fully understand the value of what he had lost, and Legolas needed the opportunity to heal. It seemed best to wait. These things take time, something that you, an immortal Elf, must surely appreciate."
"Ah, Mithrandir, ever the patient one, but then patience is a quality that will soon serve you well, I perceive."
"Soon? You are an Elf—for you 'soon' may be hundreds of years in the future. But what do you foresee, my Lady?"
"My own counsel shall I keep for the time being, Mithrandir, for the future is obscure even to the wise."
Gandalf feigned surprise. "Indeed, my Lady? Is that so?"
Galadriel looked archly at him but continued. "I will tell you this: One day your path shall again be intertwined with that of your Elf."
"That does not seem too fearful a prospect."
"It will depend on the path, Mithrandir."
"Yes," replied Gandalf, "Yes. I suppose it will." He bowed slightly and turned to walk toward the edge of the glade. As he did so, Galadriel looked once more into her mirror. Again she saw Legolas, but this time he was alone. He was looking over his shoulder with a guarded expression upon his face. Then ripples spread across the water, and a new image of Legolas arose. He was standing against a rocky backdrop, his face streaked with dirt. His expression—Galadriel drew a sharp breath. His expression was one of loss and disbelief. Galadriel raised her head and began to call Gandalf back. But as she did so, she realized that she did not know whether she was seeing something from the past or from the future. If the past, nothing she did or said could change matters. If the future, even then, any attempt to evade or change events might miscarry. A worse outcome might ensue than the one they attempted to avoid. No, she would not reveal this image to Mithrandir; nor would she counsel him regarding it. She did not fear to meddle in the affairs of Wizards, but she was mindful of the teaching of the Eldar: Advice is a dangerous gift, even from the wise to the wise, and all courses may run ill.
"My Lady?" Gandalf was looking at her quizzically.
"Only this: Stay well, my friend."
Gandalf locked his eyes with hers, as if he for once were the one trying to read her mind. Whatever he saw—if he saw anything—his face did not reveal. Instead, after a moment he simply nodded.
"I will certainly do my best, my Lady." And then he was gone.