AUTHOR NOTES: This next (and very short) chapter reveals a lot about
Legolas' psychological situation: his guilt, his restlessness, etc. I hope
it doesn't have too much melodrama. Please keep in mind that Elves feel the
most extreme emotions. I do not write such angst lightly, nor as filler.
This story is as much a character sketch as a drama.
Chapter VI - The Council of Galadriel
"These trees are strange," Legolas said, placing a long, elegant hand upon the smooth gray bark. "Unlike any I have seen in my homeland or abroad. They must be mallorns."
"What?" Boromir didn't seem to care much for tree-lore.
"Mallorns. We still sing songs of these in Mirkwood. The boles are silver." He gazed up. "And the leaves are golden, see? In the spring they say the trees are full and green, with golden flowers. These golden leaves of winter fall upon the ground and then the woods of Lorien are like a great hall: a roof of emerald, a floor of gold, and columns of silver." Pippin stared up, open-mouthed, and for the first time since Moria, Legolas felt a little less miserable.
Aragorn came to Legolas' side. "Will they serve as shelter?"
"Good luck getting the dwarf in a tree," replied Legolas, and not quietly. Gimli made a sound of irritation. Things had not been going on well between them, especially since they had lost Gandalf. Everyone seemed to be fighting with each other. Frodo had even snapped at Sam. Unease hung all around them with the guilt they all shared, almost as painful as the stabbing sadness that had not lessened.
"And a Hobbit as well!" piped up Sam. "We stay near the ground, if you follow me. All else, well, meaning no offense, but t'ain't natural."
Legolas was getting tired of this. The tree sang under his palm. "Then dig a hole in the ground if that is more to the fashion of your kind," he snapped. "But you had best dig swiftly and deep. These dark times have brought orcs within the borders this fair land. That is what the trees sing of now. I can sense the yrch nearby." He saw Sam's hurt expression through the corner of her eyes and felt a pang of guilt that stayed with him for many hours after. He looked up the nearest tree. He could reach the lowest branch easily, but for a mortal it would take a leg-up. Running lightly and without sound, he went to its bole and leapt up quickly as a panther, catching the branch. As he began to swing his legs up, a stern voice sounded from close above.
"Daro!"
Relief flooded Legolas' mind. He almost kept climbing, for he heard and sensed his kindred of the Southern lands, the Galadhrim. Then he remembered the other weary travelers below. They were the ones the other Elves were worried about. They were his bane now.
Legolas leapt down. Boromir started to say something, but the Elf said, "Be silent. Do not move or speak."
The same voice sounded again, though not hostile this time. They had recognized him, it seemed, by the bow strapped to his back.
"Mae govannen, Legolas Thranduilion. Im Haldir o Galadhrim."
He looked up and saw the silhouettes of three gray-clad sentinels far up in the branches, mostly camouflaged by the night and the leaves.
"Govannas vin gwennen le, Haldir o Lorien," Legolas replied carefully.
"Elves!" whispered Sam. His breath was short with excitement. Legolas felt his heart soothed by the simple Hobbit's wonder. But the eyes of the three Elves above were cold and untrusting. He spoke with them at length a bit more. They were calmer than they seemed, even joking that his companions breathed so loudly that they would have made easy targets in pitch darkness.
"Tula sinome," they urged him. One lowered his hand and smiled.
"Melloneamin," he reminded them. He remembered his mainly Westron-speaking companions, chastised himself, and spoke in the Common Tongue for their benefit. "The Ringbearer. What of him?"
They conversed for a moment, then answered similarly. "Him as well. Bid him come up with you." A slinky rope ladder unfurled, parallel to the bole of the tree. Legolas turned to Frodo and knelt to his height.
"The sentries of Lorien ask for you."
Wonder lit the Hobbit's eyes. "Tell them I am coming. I'm not used to ladders."
Legolas smiled. He had not seen such light in Frodo's countenance since Gandalf had been taken.
* * *
The Elves of Lothlorien were kind and courteous to Legolas. From the moment he arrived they took to him like a brother, like one of their own, though Mirkwood Elves and Lorien Elves were as different as night and day. Haldir introduced him to many of his people, and they all wanted to hear about the Prince's home and the happenings of the Outside, and the quest. He told them all he could, repeating the tale to many listeners.
The Lady of the Golden Wood and her Lord he did not see again for many days. Once a feast was held and he sat near them, but they did not speak to him-not directly. He felt the cool hum of Galadriel's eyes upon him once, and when she lifted them away he felt a note of pain like sorrow. After that, he didn't see her for three weeks.
* * *
One night in Lorien, when the moon was high and full, casting a silver-blue light over the entire peaceful realm, the Lady came to him. Legolas had left the pavilion of his sleeping companions, but he did not wish to seek the company of his own kind at that time. The forest called to him, and him alone. He wandered through the trees, pausing every now and then to gaze at the stars through the boughs, or to listen to the running of Nimrodel, catching hints of its sacred song. Occasionally he rested his palm flat against the smooth bark of the mallorn trees and felt their inner music. Hours passed: still he found no rest, feeling himself drawn onward. A silent voice was calling to him.
"Legolas Greenleaf."
Her arrival did not startle him. He turned, and his heart lifted at the sight of Galadriel. Her gaze held wisdom that was comforting, not daunting. Her pale hand was outstretched toward him; a smile was upon her lips. Still, he paused. The fingers of her hand curved up, beckoning him. He came to her, placing a hand upon his heart, bowing slightly.
"My Lady."
"I wish to speak with you, Thranduil's son. But not here. Will you follow me to my glade?"
His heartbeat rocketed suddenly. He had heard of the Glade of Galadriel in stories many times before, things messengers whispered about when they returned from Lorien. He knew of her Mirror and what it told, he had heard rumors, like myths, of those who had despaired before it, abandoned their quests, dying of broken hearts at the sights they saw. Sensing his anxiety, Galadriel said, "Do not be afraid. You are not powerless. First, we shall only hold council."
She knew. From the moment she had locked eyes with Legolas at his arrival, she had known all about the unebbing sorrow that marred the Elven prince's spirit. She knew about the lie that had burrowed into Legolas' chest, the stories he concocted for his father to make up excuses to see the world outside the Canopy, his dreams to see what was left of the old world before he was forced to depart from it. She knew of Thranduil's suffocating love, his unease, and his cruel reprimands. She knew of the extreme, ceaseless guilt Legolas had harbored since June 20th, since his decisions had been the cause of four deaths. She knew that the knife hanging at his side, though of Elvish-make, was a gift from passing Rangers who amazed him with their reckless freedom. She knew that its blade had tasted its master's blood more than once. She knew he had the scars to prove it.
Before the gaze of Galadriel, Legolas' heart quailed. In spite of himself, he felt his eyes suddenly fill with tears. He was trembling all over, his mouth slightly open. He felt open and raw, empty and spilling out into the night air. Everything he had locked away was displayed before her cool, steady glance. Galadriel touched his arm to balance him. Then her fingers moved and she pulled the fabric of his shirtsleeve up and away. In the dim light, his moon-pale skin glowed like marble. Three small scars were visible.
Legolas genuinely tried to stop himself. It was a heroic effort on his part, but a single tear coursed down his cheek, leaving a gleaming trail, and the reality of his situation was revealed.
"Come with me," was all she said.
-Fin-
Damn, that turned out to be pretty angsty...ergh...Please take a moment to review!
Continued in Chapter VII - Smoke Off the Mirror Frodo and Sam weren't the only members of the Fellowship to gaze into the Mirror...
Elvish:
Govannas vin gwennen le: 'Our Fellowship is in your debt' Tula sinome: 'Come here' Melloneamin: 'My companions'
Chapter VI - The Council of Galadriel
"These trees are strange," Legolas said, placing a long, elegant hand upon the smooth gray bark. "Unlike any I have seen in my homeland or abroad. They must be mallorns."
"What?" Boromir didn't seem to care much for tree-lore.
"Mallorns. We still sing songs of these in Mirkwood. The boles are silver." He gazed up. "And the leaves are golden, see? In the spring they say the trees are full and green, with golden flowers. These golden leaves of winter fall upon the ground and then the woods of Lorien are like a great hall: a roof of emerald, a floor of gold, and columns of silver." Pippin stared up, open-mouthed, and for the first time since Moria, Legolas felt a little less miserable.
Aragorn came to Legolas' side. "Will they serve as shelter?"
"Good luck getting the dwarf in a tree," replied Legolas, and not quietly. Gimli made a sound of irritation. Things had not been going on well between them, especially since they had lost Gandalf. Everyone seemed to be fighting with each other. Frodo had even snapped at Sam. Unease hung all around them with the guilt they all shared, almost as painful as the stabbing sadness that had not lessened.
"And a Hobbit as well!" piped up Sam. "We stay near the ground, if you follow me. All else, well, meaning no offense, but t'ain't natural."
Legolas was getting tired of this. The tree sang under his palm. "Then dig a hole in the ground if that is more to the fashion of your kind," he snapped. "But you had best dig swiftly and deep. These dark times have brought orcs within the borders this fair land. That is what the trees sing of now. I can sense the yrch nearby." He saw Sam's hurt expression through the corner of her eyes and felt a pang of guilt that stayed with him for many hours after. He looked up the nearest tree. He could reach the lowest branch easily, but for a mortal it would take a leg-up. Running lightly and without sound, he went to its bole and leapt up quickly as a panther, catching the branch. As he began to swing his legs up, a stern voice sounded from close above.
"Daro!"
Relief flooded Legolas' mind. He almost kept climbing, for he heard and sensed his kindred of the Southern lands, the Galadhrim. Then he remembered the other weary travelers below. They were the ones the other Elves were worried about. They were his bane now.
Legolas leapt down. Boromir started to say something, but the Elf said, "Be silent. Do not move or speak."
The same voice sounded again, though not hostile this time. They had recognized him, it seemed, by the bow strapped to his back.
"Mae govannen, Legolas Thranduilion. Im Haldir o Galadhrim."
He looked up and saw the silhouettes of three gray-clad sentinels far up in the branches, mostly camouflaged by the night and the leaves.
"Govannas vin gwennen le, Haldir o Lorien," Legolas replied carefully.
"Elves!" whispered Sam. His breath was short with excitement. Legolas felt his heart soothed by the simple Hobbit's wonder. But the eyes of the three Elves above were cold and untrusting. He spoke with them at length a bit more. They were calmer than they seemed, even joking that his companions breathed so loudly that they would have made easy targets in pitch darkness.
"Tula sinome," they urged him. One lowered his hand and smiled.
"Melloneamin," he reminded them. He remembered his mainly Westron-speaking companions, chastised himself, and spoke in the Common Tongue for their benefit. "The Ringbearer. What of him?"
They conversed for a moment, then answered similarly. "Him as well. Bid him come up with you." A slinky rope ladder unfurled, parallel to the bole of the tree. Legolas turned to Frodo and knelt to his height.
"The sentries of Lorien ask for you."
Wonder lit the Hobbit's eyes. "Tell them I am coming. I'm not used to ladders."
Legolas smiled. He had not seen such light in Frodo's countenance since Gandalf had been taken.
* * *
The Elves of Lothlorien were kind and courteous to Legolas. From the moment he arrived they took to him like a brother, like one of their own, though Mirkwood Elves and Lorien Elves were as different as night and day. Haldir introduced him to many of his people, and they all wanted to hear about the Prince's home and the happenings of the Outside, and the quest. He told them all he could, repeating the tale to many listeners.
The Lady of the Golden Wood and her Lord he did not see again for many days. Once a feast was held and he sat near them, but they did not speak to him-not directly. He felt the cool hum of Galadriel's eyes upon him once, and when she lifted them away he felt a note of pain like sorrow. After that, he didn't see her for three weeks.
* * *
One night in Lorien, when the moon was high and full, casting a silver-blue light over the entire peaceful realm, the Lady came to him. Legolas had left the pavilion of his sleeping companions, but he did not wish to seek the company of his own kind at that time. The forest called to him, and him alone. He wandered through the trees, pausing every now and then to gaze at the stars through the boughs, or to listen to the running of Nimrodel, catching hints of its sacred song. Occasionally he rested his palm flat against the smooth bark of the mallorn trees and felt their inner music. Hours passed: still he found no rest, feeling himself drawn onward. A silent voice was calling to him.
"Legolas Greenleaf."
Her arrival did not startle him. He turned, and his heart lifted at the sight of Galadriel. Her gaze held wisdom that was comforting, not daunting. Her pale hand was outstretched toward him; a smile was upon her lips. Still, he paused. The fingers of her hand curved up, beckoning him. He came to her, placing a hand upon his heart, bowing slightly.
"My Lady."
"I wish to speak with you, Thranduil's son. But not here. Will you follow me to my glade?"
His heartbeat rocketed suddenly. He had heard of the Glade of Galadriel in stories many times before, things messengers whispered about when they returned from Lorien. He knew of her Mirror and what it told, he had heard rumors, like myths, of those who had despaired before it, abandoned their quests, dying of broken hearts at the sights they saw. Sensing his anxiety, Galadriel said, "Do not be afraid. You are not powerless. First, we shall only hold council."
She knew. From the moment she had locked eyes with Legolas at his arrival, she had known all about the unebbing sorrow that marred the Elven prince's spirit. She knew about the lie that had burrowed into Legolas' chest, the stories he concocted for his father to make up excuses to see the world outside the Canopy, his dreams to see what was left of the old world before he was forced to depart from it. She knew of Thranduil's suffocating love, his unease, and his cruel reprimands. She knew of the extreme, ceaseless guilt Legolas had harbored since June 20th, since his decisions had been the cause of four deaths. She knew that the knife hanging at his side, though of Elvish-make, was a gift from passing Rangers who amazed him with their reckless freedom. She knew that its blade had tasted its master's blood more than once. She knew he had the scars to prove it.
Before the gaze of Galadriel, Legolas' heart quailed. In spite of himself, he felt his eyes suddenly fill with tears. He was trembling all over, his mouth slightly open. He felt open and raw, empty and spilling out into the night air. Everything he had locked away was displayed before her cool, steady glance. Galadriel touched his arm to balance him. Then her fingers moved and she pulled the fabric of his shirtsleeve up and away. In the dim light, his moon-pale skin glowed like marble. Three small scars were visible.
Legolas genuinely tried to stop himself. It was a heroic effort on his part, but a single tear coursed down his cheek, leaving a gleaming trail, and the reality of his situation was revealed.
"Come with me," was all she said.
-Fin-
Damn, that turned out to be pretty angsty...ergh...Please take a moment to review!
Continued in Chapter VII - Smoke Off the Mirror Frodo and Sam weren't the only members of the Fellowship to gaze into the Mirror...
Elvish:
Govannas vin gwennen le: 'Our Fellowship is in your debt' Tula sinome: 'Come here' Melloneamin: 'My companions'