Something was not right.
Legolas sat up with great haste from rest, quicker than an eye could catch. He sat very still and silent, listening with his excellent senses. The halls beyond the door of his room were dead quiet. Passed the walls he even heard the chirping of birds, whose song was a magical melody of first light. He tilted his head and strained to hear more, drew back his covers, and approached the door stealthily. He placed his ear against the smooth oak panel.
There he heard a stir— a loud thump from down the elevated hall, and also what sounded to be the shattering of glass. And a curse that sounded to have come from only Celahir himself.
Furrowing his brows, he opened the door. The corridor remained silent, the bright colored walls illuminated with morning light. He stepped out of his room, feeling a cool breeze against his bare chest as he proceeded down the hall.
"…Rhach ha (Curse it)…" Celahir's voice was fairly loud in the hushed atmosphere. Then came laughter. Childish giggling. "—No! Do not— Stay off there! Come down!" He voice faded again as something else— something steel and solid— crashed upon the floor. "Tampa sii'!" [stop now!]
"Celahir?" Legolas called, puzzled and uncertain. He moved into a brisk jog, winding through different passages until he was before the end of the hall, and standing before an open doorway.
Celahir poked his head out only briefly. His eyes were dark and lined under the skin. He looked to have aged 10,000 years overnight. Smeared blotches of a greenish-brown substance soiled his beige tunic, fair face, and silvery hair. Legolas knew very well it was an ointment.
"Celahir!" he cried loudly. "What is this? Is it your sincere intention to make these walls collapse?"
Celahir regained control of his breath. A metallic smash came from within the room, and he flinched. "It awoke," he whispered in despair.
Legolas' face went from angered to expressionless to strangely distorted. "'It'? Mani marte? Pedo!" [What happened? Speak!]
Celahir shook his head in exasperation and exhaustion. "I do not know, but if what we brought home with us was human, then Lúthien was mad!" He disappeared inside, and Legolas followed hastily.
His bare foot stepped in a puddle of water, and he drew back unexpectedly. Then he looked up, and gaped in astonishment at the disaster zone that had once been a bedroom fit for nobility.
The splendid bed sheets were torn from the body of the frame, piled on the floor in a wrinkled heap. Several candlesticks upon the dark oak dressers were empty, having only half a candle or none at all, or had fallen upon the ground. A tiny basin was upturned at the foot of the bed, and from there water drenched the finely woven rug and earthly tiled floor. Countless towels and cloths were scattered, hanging from chandeliers or caught upon a bedpost here and there.
Legolas burned with frustration, and managed to grasp but a few incredulous words. "Oh no," he murmured with a grumble.
At that moment, from behind an upturned chair, scurried forth a little girl, donning a simple beige tunic that was clearly oversized and wearing a gleeful grin from ear to ear. She squealed and ran hastily, but realizing too late she was heading for Legolas head on.
She collided into him, ramming into his long legs, and fell back clumsily. For a moment there was no laughter, and no sound at all, as the little girl with golden blonde curls pulled herself onto her elbows and stood up. Then, she giggled in spite of herself before scurrying off and diving headlong into the pillows upon the bed.
Legolas was speechless.
"I tried to give her a bath," Celahir stated carefully. He made a face. "She had other ideas."
Legolas turned his head sharply in his direction. "That is what I brought home?"
Celahir smiled bitterly and gave a single nod of his head. They said nothing to each other for the longest time. The girl jumped upon the bed, laughing merrily, and showed no sign of weariness from her disastrous tirade. "What do we do with it?" Celahir finally asked.
Legolas turned and left the doorway. "How should I know? Why should I even care? I've never cared for a child in my life."
Behind him came a despaired cry. He looked over his shoulder, and watched as the girl hurried off the bed and ran to him with arms outstretched. Her round eyes were saddened, almost fearful, and there was no longer a smile lighting her round face. "Dúnedhel! Dúnedhel!" She stood at his feet, reaching up to him on tiptoes with her small, chubby hands, clenching and unclenching as if she were grasping thin air. She began to weep.
"Don't let her cry! Pick her up! Pick her up!" Celahir pleaded.
Legolas bent down and lifted her up. Her features became pleasant, beneath the many terrible scars that were stitched and on the mend— one slash in particular across her cheek looked to be healing the slowest. She smiled, and her green eyes, rich like the leaves of the beech tree, glittered happily. Meanwhile, he studied her with intrigue. "Did I hear her correctly?" he asked Celahir in a soft voice. "Did she call me elf of Beleriand? That was our tongue she spoke in, unless I heard wrong, as well."
"She did." Celahir crossed his arms over his chest, slightly astonished and amused. "Fascinating. What do you think that means?"
Legolas considered her carefully. The small girl, very young, was following his eyes wherever they went, and was now gazing into his. "It cannot mean very much. She must be mimicking from somewhere. I would doubt she knows to distinguish me from the two kinds."
Celahir laughed. "Well, you cannot really expect a mortal toddler to know the difference between a Noldor and Sindar."
"Hene naa gimri," [she is listening] Legolas hissed meaningfully, emphasizing his words into a mutter
"She is not a spy," Celahir said dully.
Legolas regarded him with a cold look. "Then you do not know the full extent of espionage and its way of going about." He fastened her into his left arm and strode down the hall, feeling slightly sheepish with knowing his foolish defiance.
Celahir chuckled as he followed. "You are your father's son, I suppose. Where are we taking her?"
"Somewhere…suitable. We have a few important details to take into consideration before we do anything further."
The morning sun was very warm and there was a faint wind that allowed for a refreshing escape from the heat. The previous night's rain left the forest and tiny groves belonging to the people fresh and fragrant, and turned all the vegetation green so that the land of Mirkwood's people was more splendid and alive than it had been before the rainfall.
Legolas and Celahir strode through the tall beeches and around the land settlements of the Elves, the child not far behind. She took brisk, uneven steps, often proceeding into a run, just to keep pace with the long strides of the two much taller Elves, with the exception of Celahir who was notably shorter for an Elf. But she never complained, nor did she speak at all.
They crossed paths with a fair Elf maiden holding a large basket in her arms, filled to the rim with four types of vegetables, all vibrant in healthy color and ideal in form. Legolas spoke a few words of brief greeting, and with a smile from the young lady, he reached for a large leaf of lettuce from a great bulk at the peak of the load. They followed him to a tiny spring running down-hill, one like those often seen engineered but seldom among the naturally made. The clear forest water trickled over flat, jagged rocks surfaced by green ferns, and splashed down into a small pool. Legolas leaned in and let the falling water rinse the green leaf.
Celahir didn't understand. "Our food is clean."
"Of course it's clean, and certainly well enough as it is— to us, at least." He shook the lettuce piece, and water droplets flew in all directions. Telling from the low giggle behind them, they guessed, without looking, that the child had taken several to the eye. "But she is not immune to whatever we may not take notice of." He handed it to her, and she took it gladly, munching unyieldingly as they went along.
Celahir grinned. "You are starting to think far too much like me."
They ventured further out until they approached the far eastern side of the Gate, less than a mile from the Forest River's shore. A massive boulder was perched in the hardy earth, and all around it was the wispy shadows of the trees above. The sun shone, untouched, upon the great rock.
"What are we here for?" Celahir asked curiously. He knew Legolas was not a fool and always had purpose to his actions.
Legolas indicated to the girl, who had begun to climb the smooth edge of the boulder on her own in bare feet. He lifted her up after she had struggled for a bit, and she sat silently, gazing all around her at the life below, amongst, and above the grand trees.
"You have not told me yet how her health is."
"She is very healthy," Celahir said, now beginning to show his uncertainty. "That is what you want to ask me?"
"I simply want you to make some detailed observations for me. For us. We need to know what we are faced with here."
Celahir chuckled. "A child! Just a child, I assure you!"
"How old is she? Where does she come from? Why was she wounded and what assailed her?" Legolas began shooting out questions with heavy exasperation writhed in his voice. "Or any more charming characteristics, perhaps? Forgive me, I'm only curious."
Celahir sighed. "No need to be brash." He smiled warmly at the child, and her face lit up in response.
"Maer arad (Good day)," he said brightly. Legolas watched.
"Hello, Dúnedhel," she replied cheerfully, her high voice full of enthusiasm. She smiled, and chewed on the lettuce.
Celahir glanced at Legolas triumphantly. "My name is Celahir, and my friend, Legolas." They waited.
"Lhim!(fish)" she chirped spontaneously, and once again, continued munching. Clearly she had heard the splashing of the river not far off.
Celahir found her childish humor splendid, but Legolas was itching with impatience. "Do you have a name?" he asked sternly, leaning over her.
She became still beneath his shadow of intimidation. She shrugged shyly.
"This is not an interrogation," Celahir whispered to him.
"We will get no where by your methods." He squatted against a protruding edge of the rock, and stayed at eye level with her. She responded with showing a little more ease. "Where is your family? Your mother?"
She gazed into his eyes blankly, and once again, shrugged.
Legolas stood tall with troubled eyes. "A child who does not know their mother is as much without one."
"She's better off," Celahir said grudgingly. "Who leaves a toddler in the woods? Wounded!" His eyes lit up in recollection. "I completely forgot. It was Orc's blood I found on her skin, mixed with that of her own."
Legolas nodded. "Had my thoughts been clear, I should've known that above other things. Those foul creatures never stop their sick tirades." He bent low again. "How old are you?"
The little girl held up her right hand, and began to uncurl one finger at a time. She counted up to two, three, then stopped at four. She smiled proudly and lifted her hand with those of her pudgy fingers raised. "Four!"
"Four," Legolas repeated, and nodded with a slight smile. "And where are you from?"
She stared off towards the trees, treading deep into thought. When she looked back, there was the same blank and confused glimmer in her emerald eyes. "I don't know." She bowed her head, and the two Elves felt the great sadness and confusion emanating from her.
Legolas gave Celahir a meaningful look. He held out his hand to her. "Come."
She accepted his hand shyly and trotted along beside him as they all walked together.
"You will be given a name of the Elves, and if you wish to accept it, then it shall do until you recall your real name. How would you like that?"
"Can I pick one?" she asked hopefully, and though the question had remained unanswered, she was excited nonetheless.
"What would you like?"
She was silent. Then, she giggled. "Maybe you pick."
Legolas gazed at her for the longest time as if it were a test, yet the child was curiously undaunted by his intensity. Eye to eye they stared— his purpose lying in a very deep search into the depth of her soulful gaze; her purpose being none other than to imitate. She began to squint until her grin became too broad to contain, and in turn he, too, smiled. "Niélawen."
Celahir looked at him sharply and inquisitively. "My mother's name?" He looked down at the child to be named after his loving mother, who was far gone from their presence and the very shores of the West. The girl was now giggling and blushing, and her eyes were still twinkling cheerily. Celahir nodded acceptingly as if in reminiscence, and he saw the very likeness of joy itself within her bright and eager face. "It will do well."
She looked up at them both, her smile beginning to wane as she wondered about their thoughts that were oblivious to her.
Niélawen.
"Why?" she asked suddenly, and her eyes grew wide as she studied them both.
Legolas crouched beside her. "It has a profound meaning that lies not in the name itself, but in its last possessor." He made sure she understood before meeting Celahir's eyes with contentment. "That is an exceptional name I have given you. I hope you like it."
She gave a small, coy smirk as she nodded slowly and watched Legolas get to his feet, his great height causing him to tower over her. She stared up at him with wonder— though young, she was outstandingly bright enough to understand his meaningful words, and then afterward using her previously attained knowledge of the superiority of the Elvish race, she grasped a breathtaking image in her mind.
Of beauty, brilliance, and great splendor in all mindful aspects known to the living— even to the great Valar of which she knew little, though enough, of. And she found herself able to picture all these and more within her own self, even if it took a few years to grow into them.
She smiled absentmindedly at the fair beings that loomed above her.
She could be just like them…