Disclaimer: All characters in this story, save my own, do not belong to me. They are property of J.R.R. Tolkien, and whoever else owns the copyright. I write this tale for entertainment purposes alone, and I am neither seeking nor receiving any profit from it whatsoever, lest it be in the form of confidence-building reviews, and extra practice in writing.
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Melui: Thank you! I'm glad you liked the drunken part; I have to admit I was a bit worried that my attempt at drunken elflings was not, in fact, humorous, but if you liked it then it must not have been as bad as I'd thought. I hope I wasn't interrupting anything when I sent you this chapter to review, and thank you for pointing out that really bizarre sentence - I'd meant to say 'and' and 'hand.' :)Cry Tears Of Darkness: Thanks for the review! Are you okay? Maybe you should lie down after all that Legolas gushing. Just remember to breathe. But don't worry, I understand the feeling - I didn't understand anything that was happening in The Two Towers with Aragorn, Théoden, and Gandalf because whenever Legolas was on screen, I'd just stare at him and not listen to what the other people were saying. And I'd already read the book. So naturally, I had to go see it a few more times ) . Even though it was an excellent movie, I must say I was appalled with what they did to poor Faramir - he was one of my favourites in the books, and I hated him in the movie. He seemed like a villain. Thanks again for your review, and I'll be sure to check out your works.
Sirnonenath: Thank you! Dinnulín is glad to have you! I'm so happy you like her; she and Faelon are my favourites because they just write themselves – I didn't even have to plan out their personalities. They were just there. Also, I want to apologize if I made Lothwen seem like a Mary-Sue, and I assure you that that is not what she's really like. Well, she is a kind elf, but certainly not as perfect as she seems :) . I couldn't have her being her usual self at her party – after all, she was very touched. I'm very sorry. I hope that I haven't given you a bad impression of her, but she's a bit hard to write; Lothwen's one complicated elf! But don't worry, as I go along, I'm sure I'll improve, and you'll get to see her again in the next chapter, and she'll be around for the rest of the story - she's an important character for a distant plan of mine grins evilly. Wow. Where did you learn all of that Elvish? I'm so jealous of you – I can hardly learn French, and that's an actual language that I'm supposed to know. I guess it's just doesn't interest me like Elvish. Oh well. Thanks for the help with "I love you" and "Elder." I'm glad you liked my names – I worked very hard on them! And, because you asked, here are my sources: and . I had another one with just Elvish-to-English translations in it (that's the one I used to make my names) but I didn't write down the 'site. Sigh I always do that. Sorry for making this answer so long; I'm a very talkative person. I really appreciated your review – not only did it help me to realize my mistake in Lothwen, but it also helped with my Elvish. Thanks! Also, thanks for the hug, it really cheered up my cold-fogged brain! Sends hug in return Thanks!
angelbird12241: Thank you! I'm glad you are enjoying my story - that's why I'm writing it. Here's the next chapter, and thanks again for the review; they really make my day!
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Chapter Five: When The Crow Flies.
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A soft light flickered erratically on the stonewalls, giving the large room an eerie glow. Sheaves of dusty parchment rested in old bookcases behind a large oak desk in the centre of the room, upon which even more weathered scrolls lay, mingled with wax candles and empty inkbottles. The cold stone floor was covered with a rich green carpet.
At the moment, a tall, golden-haired elf sat regally behind the desk on a large, comfy-looking chair, his face a picture of concentration as his hand drifted lazily across a sheet of parchment, quill scratching softly. When he reached the edge of the page, he paused to look at a thick tome by his left hand. A moment later, he resumed his task.
The flames in the candlesticks on the walls dimmed a little as they burned ever closer to their wicks. The elf raised his golden head and watched them for a moment, his eyes thoughtful.
Thranduil sighed as he listened to the soft crackling of the burning candles, trying to ignore the faint pangs in his empty stomach. He had so much left to do, and, judging by the low burning flames, only a short time in which to complete it. He glared down at the elegant scrawl of his writing, and his brow furrowed in frustration; his realm was once again low on imported goods, and a trade party would soon need to be sent out. Normally, he would not have minded writing up trade negotiations, but as he had been forced to put it off for some time in order to deal with other matters – and one exasperating little elfling in particular – the pile of work demanding his attention had grown to inexcusable proportions. And so he found himself spending his free time locked away in the dim gloom of his office, pouring over seemingly endless stacks of parchment. 'I don't think I ever fully understood all the work Gaelrian truly did until she was gone. How she managed it all is beyond me...' A sad smile tugged at his lips. 'Then again, she never could stand sitting about doing nothing.'
His wife had been a spirited elf, always looking for an adventure, always laughing and singing. She had loved wandering about the woods, playing merry tunes on her flute in the garden, and dancing under the starlight. She was truly a gift. Thranduil often found himself wondering why she had chosen to marry him, knowing what his title would bring to her. What her title would mean. Becoming a queen meant resigning oneself to hours of dull political work and discussions, and spending glorious sunny days in a study, completing letters and other such labours. It meant traveling to other realms to meet with Elf Lords and Ladies, leaving one's family behind. And though Gaelrian had been a social elf who enjoyed talking with others, meeting new people, and especially journeying to new places, he knew that she had hated leaving her family. She had adored their children with all her heart, and it had pained him to see the deep sorrow in her eyes as she watched them wave goodbye at their partings. He knew that despite her adventuresome spirit, she would have much preferred to remain in Mirkwood.
It had been three years since her passing, and still his heart ached for her. Mirkwood, the palace, his life was just not the same without her. Always she had brightened his spirits with her steadfast optimism, cheerful songs, and easy humour. Thranduil missed her melodic voice and bubbling laughter – her spirit.
He chuckled lightly at the memory of her. How she would never fail to make him smile; she took in almost every situation with a carefree attitude, and as such, was always the first to assure him that everything, no matter how grim, would turn out right in the end. He sighed sadly, 'I just wish I could believe it. After all, Gaelrian tended to think with her heart rather than her mind – often getting herself into trouble because of it. If she had been a warrior,' he thought with a wry smile, 'she would not have lived to see seventy –'
Thranduil started slightly when the candles suddenly burned out, their wick spent, plunging the room into darkness. Cursing himself for letting his thoughts distract him from his work, he lit a spare candle, sealed his inkbottle, and made his way from the room. 'I will have to finish it tonight,' he thought with a weary sigh.
It was not long before the Elven Lord reached the Royal Family quarters in the trees above his underground halls. He walked silently down the corridors and stopped when he reached a fine oak door with the name Nírwen inscribed upon it in flowing elvish script; soft singing could be heard from behind it. Leaning closer, he smiled at the loving tune and slowly pushed the door open.
The circular chamber was beautifully decorated; tapestries depicting fanciful tales lined the walls between the large windows with their billowy lilac curtains, a plush rug was spread upon the floor, and all about the room delicate flora grew from soil-filled pots. A fine cradle and rocking chair rested cosily at the far end. Sitting in the chair was a fair elven maiden with a tiny child sleeping in her arms.
"How is she?" Thranduil asked as he moved to her side.
"She rests now, Adar," The elf smiled calmly at him. "We were waiting for you."
"Forgive me, Mírolind," he smiled as he bent to take the babe from her arms. "I did not realize I was so late."
"Nay, Adar" she rose from the chair and straightened her gown, "you are not. It is only that tithen Nírwen is so impatient." Gazing for a moment at the child, Mírolind moved to kiss her father lightly on the cheek and turned to leave to the room. "Ethirion told me dinner is ready. Surely you are hungry?" She asked from the doorway.
"Aye," he looked down when the small child in his arms shifted with a soft sigh. Two large blue eyes gazed up at him as the elfling fisted a hand in his hair and gave a sharp tug. "Mae govannen, meren nín," he laughed as he crossed the room and followed Mírolind to the dining room. "Did you sleep well?"
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When he had first arrived at the dining room, Thranduil was slightly surprised to find that one member of his family was missing. Ethirion, his second eldest, was engaged in an animated discussion with one of the maids, while next to him Talagant, the heir to the throne of Mirkwood, sat rigidly and was silent, a thoughtful look on his face.
"Aduial vaer, Hír nín. Muinthel," he said as Thranduil and Mírolind took their places at the table.
"Aduial vaer," Thranduil answered as Mírolind nodded.
"Adar," Ethirion turned to his family as the now-blushing maid left the room. "It has been long since we last met. Did you finish you work?"
"We saw each other this morning, Ethirion," he shook his head with a smile as he placed the child in a highchair next to him. "And no, I did not."
"Well, I am sure you will soon enough."
"Where is Legolas?" Mírolind asked as her eyes took in the prince's empty chair.
"I haven't seen him all day," Ethirion replied, and turned to look at Talagant. "Have you?"
"Nay, I have not," he, too, glanced at the chair. "But he is still being punished is he not? Mayhap he is still in his chamber."
"I doubt it," Mírolind said. "It is not like him to miss any opportunity to leave his room."
"He's probably sulking"
"Ethirion."
"Well, Adar, you were a little harsh with him. After all, he was only playing – I'm sure he did not mean to turn Galion's hair purple."
"I have to wonder sometimes," Mírolind laughed softly at the memory.
"Playing or not, he should know better," Thranduil said, sending Ethirion a look that told him to keep his foolish comments to himself. He turned to the maid who had returned with a basket of bread. "Will you go and fetch my son, please. Tell him that we are waiting to start dinner."
"I shall, Hír nín," she bowed and moved towards the door, but stopped when Ethirion called to her.
"Do you need any help, Gwinfalas?"
"No, she does not," Thranduil glared at him pointedly, and the maiden left the room, her laughter drifting down the corridor.
While they waited for her return, Thranduil spoke to Talagant of the tidings in Mirkwood while Mírolind and Ethirion entertained the young Nírwen, who seemed rather pleased with all the attention. "She's quite the glutton for it, isn't she," Ethirion laughed as the child gazed at him with blue doe eyes.
Presently, however, their discussions were interrupted when Gwinfalas entered the room.
"He is not there, Hír nín," her eyes were shadowed with worry. "And no one has seen him all day, or so I am told."
The room fell deathly silent.
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The sun shown brightly in the sky above, warming the earth with its golden rays as a soft but temperate breeze rustled the long grass. Distant birdsong could be heard, broken by the occasional harsh cawing of a crow. The sound of fast-flowing water filled the air.Dinnulín groaned and wondered when everything had suddenly become so loud. She slowly opened her bleary eyes and waited while her vision cleared. 'Where am I?' She thought as her head pounded mercilessly. 'What's wrong with me? Why does my head hurt so much?' Groaning, she pushed herself up and jumped when the seat of her dress became suddenly soaked. Her face paled. 'Oh no! I –' she looked down and, realizing she had only sat in river water, sighed with relief. 'Hold on...a river?'
Faelon shifted by her side, and she stared in amazement at the scene before her. All four of her friends lay in odd positions upon the riverbank, and though their faces were hidden, she could tell that they were sleeping. Their raft bobbed helplessly in the swift current. Its string seemed to be tangled about Roccondil and Lothwen, who were so close together that they were nearly on top of each other. A crow cried out above her head as she moved to wake her brother, her muddled mind unsure of what to make of the situation.
However, just as she reached out her hand to grasp his shoulder, a bright glint in the corner of her eye caught her attention. She looked. There, lying in the grass a few feet in front of her, was the tiny glass bird Dínendír had made. Her heart brightened at the memory and she slowly crawled toward it, wanting to feel its familiar smoothness in her palm. But just as her fingers came close enough to touch it, a large black crow swooped down and landed behind it, staring at the little elfling with a calculating look. It cried out sharply, then, in one fluid motion, plucked up the tiny sculpture with its beak. The crow held its ground, eyes gleaming with mockery.
Dinnulín glared back at it. "Give that back, you stupid bird!" She growled as she took a swipe at the prize in its beak. The crow jumped up, spread its ebony wings, and flew away from her. "Come back here!" She yelled as she leaped to her feet and chased after it. "That's mine!"
Her swift bare feet carried her lightly across the ground, leaving not a single footprint in the supple grass. Her raven hair streamed behind her as she ran, and her pale pink dress billowed about her pumping legs. 'Stupid bird,' she thought with a scowl, 'you just wait until I catch you!' Dinnulín put on another burst of speed, and her eyes widened at what she saw before her.
Far ahead was what appeared to be a town in the middle of a great lake. Her eyes narrowed in determination. If the crow reached it, she would never be able to find it in all those houses! She sped up once more, her elven stamina preventing her from becoming exhausted, but not saving her from losing breath. Slowly, the town came closer so that it filled all of her vision.
Above her, the crow altered its course, heading for a small copse of tall evergreens that lay to her right. Dinnulín gasped in despair. 'No! I'll never find it in all that!' Tears welled in her eyes, and, pushed by the rushing wind, flew back to land on her ears and in her hair.
At last she made it to the small grove, just as she saw the crow disappear into the thick green needles. Tears flowed freely down her face as she darted about the bases of the trees, trying desperately to find the bird and keep from sobbing. A twig cracked behind her and she yelped in fright as a thick black shadow crept onto the trunks and earth before her. Slowly, Dinnulín turned.
"Why so sad, my little one?" A tall man with thick, strong arms and torso looked down at her, his eyes hidden beneath a wide-brimmed hat. The crow sat ominously upon his left shoulder.
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"Tithen" – Little"Mae govannen" – Well met
"Meren nín" – My joy
"Aduial vaer" – Good evening
"Muinthel" – Sister
"Hír nín" – My Lord
"Adar" – Father
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Names:.
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Talagant – HarperEthirion – Lookout
Mírolind – Shining Song
Nírwen – Weeping Maiden
Gwinfalas – Pale Blue Shore
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I know. I'm evil. I was going to make the chapter longer, but I just couldn't resist leaving you all with two cliffhangers! I hope you enjoyed it, and if I forgot to translate any Elvish, or Elvish names, feel free to ask.I hope you liked it, please review; I'll answer any questions you have, and I welcome comments and constructive criticisms.
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Thanks for reading,Ethelewen.