Part 6
Chloe had never before seen a place as beautiful as Rivendell. If she could put a picture on the word 'enchantment,' this would have been it. The white walls shone with a faerie glow not unlike the most popular tales and legends that she enjoyed, but never believed were real. The tall trees stood high above her, raining down small fragrant white flowers. The air itself throbbed with stories that she would give her soul to hear.
Beside her, so close that she could feel the warmth of his own skin, clasping her hand in his, was her own fairy tale. Legolas was an archer who did what any man would do in his position. He saved her from an attack then suffered her company because he thought it was his responsibility.
She looked up at Legolas, still awed by his appearance. It was not so much the beauty of perfect planes and sharp angles. No. It was the wondrous spirit that seemed to radiate from him.
At her regard, Legolas looked down and smiled. Safely, he thought, and without much discussion, he could express himself to her. "You are the most stubborn, irritating and difficult maid I have encountered ever in my existence, the length of which is not to scoff at."
Chloe's eyebrows raised, and he grinned. Legolas nodded and grinned. "Now I suppose if you understood you would be offended.
But then again, I do not see why you should. All these merely underline my love for you."
Chloe took his hand. She would have loved to extend this, but she pitied him. Chloe sighed and replied, "I'm afraid I love you too."
The native tongue of his people flowing from her mouth stopped his breath. Legolas' lips parted and he caught her hand. "How?"
In perfect Sindar, she arched one eyebrow, "You think to leave me with Undomiel and still have me return unchanged?"
"My father would adore you," he exclaimed breathlessly.
Chloe nodded. "We can now claim that I am the daughter of a vanquished exile of Numenor, whose line stems from Elros himself. Arwen has told me all of these." She gazed at Legolas with a small smile. "But do you really want me to pretend to be who I'm not?"
"That would not be fair to you," Legolas ventured. He sighed. "And it would truly not fair to me. I loved you as you are now, whose blood if in your veins and whose tongue you use to hard at my inadequacies unimportant."
"You," Chloe said, chuckling minimally, "have no inadequacies." Then, with a sly grin, she continued, "If you do, it is that you are fearless."
"To you, such is inadequacy?"
"That you do not fear my wrath, to so express that you find me a harpy? Definitely!"
"But I fear you," he amended quickly. "I spoke such for I did not know you could understand me."
Chloe was mollified by the explanation. At the same time, she was also flattered by his revelation. "So you love me," she repeated.
Legolas responded, "Unwisely so. Irreparably so."
"Hmmm. So you told Arwen we're going to Mirkwood?"
"To meet my father.""Wow," she murmured. "Look at Chloe Sullivan. Never had a real boyfriend before and now suddenly I'm meeting dads."
"Extraordinary."
Using one horse, Chloe and Legolas rode from the safe havens of Rivendell back towards the forests. For someone who was raised in the city, Chloe marveled at the amazing changes that happened to her. First, Chloe she was thrust into a small town of fields and plains. Then, when she least expected it, she was in an old world of magic and so many trees.
The old trees of Fangorn had many stories to tell. Once, in the time long past, before Elves woke by the river and the Dwarves took life's breath, the trees of Fangorn had walked through a great land and beheld the giant forest. It had then become, for lack of a better name when the Elves started to live there, Greenwood the Great, Thranduil's realm.
As the shadow of Morgoth darkened the land, Greenwood grew hazy with death and ghosts. Thus, the murky forests took on an apt name--Mirkwood. Terrible were the secrets that brought the dragon Smaug to the Elven kingdom. In time, it grew that the great Woodland Realm became so divided that petty kingdoms vied for the habitation of the Silvan and the Sindar. The greatest of all these forest kingdoms was Thranduil's. His son, Legolas Archer Prince, the most renowned of his kin. Too friendly with Men, some would whisper behind their hands. Too free with his attentions to the maids outside.
"Thranduil King, be you careful that your prized heir not become ensnared by maidenfolk from Lorien, lest his service be forever bound to a kingdom not yours," the elders advised the monarch. "Legolas, my good son, is a Woodland Prince before he is anything. He would take up his bow and arrow for no cause but that which we endorse."
Yet deep inside, Thranduil King's nursed deeply seated anxious thoughts. His beloved wife did not pass to the Halls of Mandos to leave him a son with a spirit of fire only to lose him to the petty conceits of humans or other Elven races.
"My son should take a bride before the summer next," he decided.
Thranduil stepped off the pedestal ob which his throne was wrought and raised his hands to call his people to him. Merrily the Woodland Elves danced their way to the king's feet.
"Here ye, gentle subjects, faerie Elves of Mirkwood. Legolas Prince returns to us this moon. Pray that he chooses a maiden to take as Mirkwood's queen for the next age, or ever his wife until we pass the Western seas."
A rush swept through the gathered subjects, and the Elven maids looked at one another, speaking in hushed excitement of the fabled and elusive Prince.
"Good morrow," could be heard in every morning after that, "has Legolas Prince ridden in this day? Does our hunt commence today?"
Thranduil King watched them with satisfaction. The Elven maids would together leave in the morning for the pool close by, with cloths and combs and mirrors. Come midmorning, they returned singing of their dreams of his son, all beautified and golden under the sun.
"As you do so admire loveliness, my son, let you have so hard a time to run from ye wondrous maids."
And this went on morning after morning until eventide called the maids abed and back into the arms of the Legolas they conjured in their sleep. The rhythm was not broken until, on an early morning before all had risen, a terrified scream pierced the stillness of the realm, and muted the Woodland song.
Thranduil King once more stepped off his pedestal and demanded to be at once told of what had passed.
"King," claimed an Elven maid, who had run from the pool so afraid that she was bare save for the long golden hair that wrapped her, "there is a man drowned it seems!"
"What say you, Lalaith? A Man in the Woodland Realm?"
The trembling maid fell to her knees on Thranduil's feet and professed, "As I bathed, I saw him peering from under the water. As if he was in so much pain, he grimaced and fell forward, yet upward he went, and he drowned of all the water that surrounded him."
"Where is this Man, who breathed in deep water yet drowned as he surfaced?" he demanded. Under his breath, Thranduil said, "What magic hast thou wrought Sauron, to send allies to spy on my peace?"
The maid stumbled to her feet, and pointed back to the direction from which she came. "Over there, my lord. He lies dead to the world, I swear!"
"The Woodland would not be bothered by this stranger!" he proclaimed. Thranduil gathered his warriors about him and set forth on an expedition to find this man from the water.
Chloe had never before seen a place as beautiful as Rivendell. If she could put a picture on the word 'enchantment,' this would have been it. The white walls shone with a faerie glow not unlike the most popular tales and legends that she enjoyed, but never believed were real. The tall trees stood high above her, raining down small fragrant white flowers. The air itself throbbed with stories that she would give her soul to hear.
Beside her, so close that she could feel the warmth of his own skin, clasping her hand in his, was her own fairy tale. Legolas was an archer who did what any man would do in his position. He saved her from an attack then suffered her company because he thought it was his responsibility.
She looked up at Legolas, still awed by his appearance. It was not so much the beauty of perfect planes and sharp angles. No. It was the wondrous spirit that seemed to radiate from him.
At her regard, Legolas looked down and smiled. Safely, he thought, and without much discussion, he could express himself to her. "You are the most stubborn, irritating and difficult maid I have encountered ever in my existence, the length of which is not to scoff at."
Chloe's eyebrows raised, and he grinned. Legolas nodded and grinned. "Now I suppose if you understood you would be offended.
But then again, I do not see why you should. All these merely underline my love for you."
Chloe took his hand. She would have loved to extend this, but she pitied him. Chloe sighed and replied, "I'm afraid I love you too."
The native tongue of his people flowing from her mouth stopped his breath. Legolas' lips parted and he caught her hand. "How?"
In perfect Sindar, she arched one eyebrow, "You think to leave me with Undomiel and still have me return unchanged?"
"My father would adore you," he exclaimed breathlessly.
Chloe nodded. "We can now claim that I am the daughter of a vanquished exile of Numenor, whose line stems from Elros himself. Arwen has told me all of these." She gazed at Legolas with a small smile. "But do you really want me to pretend to be who I'm not?"
"That would not be fair to you," Legolas ventured. He sighed. "And it would truly not fair to me. I loved you as you are now, whose blood if in your veins and whose tongue you use to hard at my inadequacies unimportant."
"You," Chloe said, chuckling minimally, "have no inadequacies." Then, with a sly grin, she continued, "If you do, it is that you are fearless."
"To you, such is inadequacy?"
"That you do not fear my wrath, to so express that you find me a harpy? Definitely!"
"But I fear you," he amended quickly. "I spoke such for I did not know you could understand me."
Chloe was mollified by the explanation. At the same time, she was also flattered by his revelation. "So you love me," she repeated.
Legolas responded, "Unwisely so. Irreparably so."
"Hmmm. So you told Arwen we're going to Mirkwood?"
"To meet my father.""Wow," she murmured. "Look at Chloe Sullivan. Never had a real boyfriend before and now suddenly I'm meeting dads."
"Extraordinary."
Using one horse, Chloe and Legolas rode from the safe havens of Rivendell back towards the forests. For someone who was raised in the city, Chloe marveled at the amazing changes that happened to her. First, Chloe she was thrust into a small town of fields and plains. Then, when she least expected it, she was in an old world of magic and so many trees.
The old trees of Fangorn had many stories to tell. Once, in the time long past, before Elves woke by the river and the Dwarves took life's breath, the trees of Fangorn had walked through a great land and beheld the giant forest. It had then become, for lack of a better name when the Elves started to live there, Greenwood the Great, Thranduil's realm.
As the shadow of Morgoth darkened the land, Greenwood grew hazy with death and ghosts. Thus, the murky forests took on an apt name--Mirkwood. Terrible were the secrets that brought the dragon Smaug to the Elven kingdom. In time, it grew that the great Woodland Realm became so divided that petty kingdoms vied for the habitation of the Silvan and the Sindar. The greatest of all these forest kingdoms was Thranduil's. His son, Legolas Archer Prince, the most renowned of his kin. Too friendly with Men, some would whisper behind their hands. Too free with his attentions to the maids outside.
"Thranduil King, be you careful that your prized heir not become ensnared by maidenfolk from Lorien, lest his service be forever bound to a kingdom not yours," the elders advised the monarch. "Legolas, my good son, is a Woodland Prince before he is anything. He would take up his bow and arrow for no cause but that which we endorse."
Yet deep inside, Thranduil King's nursed deeply seated anxious thoughts. His beloved wife did not pass to the Halls of Mandos to leave him a son with a spirit of fire only to lose him to the petty conceits of humans or other Elven races.
"My son should take a bride before the summer next," he decided.
Thranduil stepped off the pedestal ob which his throne was wrought and raised his hands to call his people to him. Merrily the Woodland Elves danced their way to the king's feet.
"Here ye, gentle subjects, faerie Elves of Mirkwood. Legolas Prince returns to us this moon. Pray that he chooses a maiden to take as Mirkwood's queen for the next age, or ever his wife until we pass the Western seas."
A rush swept through the gathered subjects, and the Elven maids looked at one another, speaking in hushed excitement of the fabled and elusive Prince.
"Good morrow," could be heard in every morning after that, "has Legolas Prince ridden in this day? Does our hunt commence today?"
Thranduil King watched them with satisfaction. The Elven maids would together leave in the morning for the pool close by, with cloths and combs and mirrors. Come midmorning, they returned singing of their dreams of his son, all beautified and golden under the sun.
"As you do so admire loveliness, my son, let you have so hard a time to run from ye wondrous maids."
And this went on morning after morning until eventide called the maids abed and back into the arms of the Legolas they conjured in their sleep. The rhythm was not broken until, on an early morning before all had risen, a terrified scream pierced the stillness of the realm, and muted the Woodland song.
Thranduil King once more stepped off his pedestal and demanded to be at once told of what had passed.
"King," claimed an Elven maid, who had run from the pool so afraid that she was bare save for the long golden hair that wrapped her, "there is a man drowned it seems!"
"What say you, Lalaith? A Man in the Woodland Realm?"
The trembling maid fell to her knees on Thranduil's feet and professed, "As I bathed, I saw him peering from under the water. As if he was in so much pain, he grimaced and fell forward, yet upward he went, and he drowned of all the water that surrounded him."
"Where is this Man, who breathed in deep water yet drowned as he surfaced?" he demanded. Under his breath, Thranduil said, "What magic hast thou wrought Sauron, to send allies to spy on my peace?"
The maid stumbled to her feet, and pointed back to the direction from which she came. "Over there, my lord. He lies dead to the world, I swear!"
"The Woodland would not be bothered by this stranger!" he proclaimed. Thranduil gathered his warriors about him and set forth on an expedition to find this man from the water.