The long dining table of well-crafted oak was filled by rows of seats, still crowded without King Thranduil and the following presences of his councilors. Those that were there sat under the great domed roof, fair faces and hair alike grandly illuminated by candlelight.
Oronar was among the many, as his father was held under political status that earned them both an honorable position next to the son of the King, but rarely ever at Thranduil's side, for Oronar's father dealt with military affairs. His job and real concern was not to follow the King to the most majestic and serene places of the earth, but to be in Mirkwood.
Celahir tagged along side his elder brother who was named Celaeglin. He was Legolas' traveling companion and aid, a wise advisor when it was up to Legolas to send word to allies when times were troubled and Thranduil had to remain in Rhovanion to deal with them himself for the time being. Celahir's brother was tall, unlike himself who was among the shortest of Elf-kind, and long-faced with striking, solemn eyes of grey and hair as silvery-gold as Celahir's.
Anyone who was anybody— and still in Mirkwood— was there; except for Legolas, noted for being randomly late when he was not under the rules of his father. They spoke amongst themselves and drank their wine for a good duration of time expected for dining, but the only one who took real notice of the delay due to Legolas' tardiness was Celahir, anxiously waiting for an entrance that would send them all into shocked silence. None but him, Oronar, and the archers— not present, of course— knew of the girl born to Men, and adopted beneath their roof.
Footsteps echoed in the halls and a dim shape lurked in the backdrop of shadows beneath a tunnel of arches. Legolas walked calmly in the open room, poised and composed and grand as he always was. He moved to the table, and the orange glow brought light to his figure, and that of another.
A great hush suddenly fell upon the table. Celahir shut his eyes and looked away knowingly, giving Oronar an uncertain look from across the table. The little person at his side walked boldly, though timidly, beneath all the hard piercing and curious eyes. Her head dragged low and her shoulders rose, and she moved closer to the security of the Elf, clasping her hands around two fingers much larger than her own.
Whispers breathed softly in the mute hall. Legolas took his seat at the head of the table, and he helped Niélawen to a chair of her own at his side— an awkward sight it was to have double the seating at the most dignified place at the table. He spoke into her ear words inaudible to the others, and she relaxed.
Celahir spoke up in a light voice. "She can sit among us if she wishes." By this he only did what came natural by attempting to settle the unease of a custom broken.
"The thought could only be from you, Celahir. As for the rest of you," he continued with a vague tone, "you make her indecently uncomfortable." His eyes flickered. "Quit what you are doing."
The silver platters were carried in and placed upon the table. The Elves served themselves grimly. Celahir and Oronar noticed most of them staring at Niélawen from the corners of their eyes at random moments, undoubtedly disturbed by her brutal facial scars and those that could be seen on her small wrists and hands. Niélawen gasped excitedly and grabbed for the first serving of leafy greens.
Legolas called for the wine. "The Orcs are venturing from the North and West and back into our lands. A small number of us have found some interesting things, haven't we?"
Everyone glanced at Celahir and Oronar without a word, all of them timid toward speaking up in case it was inappropriate to do so. Oronar said nothing, but Celahir gave a small nod, pretending to be distracted by his meal.
"Interesting things indeed," Legolas murmured to himself, daunting the others with his low, wistful manner of speech. "You all seem to think so as well, despite not witnessing all that was to see for yourselves." He poured the rich wine into his glass, and swallowed half of it casually. "Take a closer look, my friends. She is here to stay."
Someone fumbled with a utensil and it clattered against the silverware, and a few others cleared their throats. The remaining whispered discreetly to one another in confusion or ill intent. Oronar looked outrageously at Legolas, his face speaking words he dared not mutter. Celahir leaned in towards Legolas.
"When was this decided?"
"Recently."
Celahir pushed closer to Legolas, leaning into his brother, who scowled under his breath and pulled back from the table, deciding to wait out their conversation. "Surely it isn't even up to you to make that decision! Don't be foolish!" he hissed carefully through his teeth.
"Why not?" Legolas said, and his stern voice carried over the others'. They all grew silent. "She deserves some courtesy from us, and if we can give her far more than that, why shouldn't we? Someone needs to have a heart, why do we need to rely on my father?" Meanwhile, Niélawen looked up from her meal and looked about inquiringly, sensing a disturbance but not understanding the source. "I'm not here to debate with the rest of you. Not of such likes."
"This is ludicrous!" cried out the oldest of Mirkwood's council.
"We don't know where she came from!" stated another.
"And what nuisance she brings!"
Many voices started to cry out at once, speaking things Legolas did not like to hear. The steel-cold anger was beginning to show in his face, but most of all in the raging blue fire in his eyes. The remarks did not cease.
"… Just look at her!"
"… She doesn't belong here… You cannot make her belong among us!…"
"… Leave her in the wild where she came from!…"
He finally hurled his fist against the table. Niélawen jumped as her plate rattled, and the rest were startled into silence. "I have made the decision!" He pressed his teeth firmly and furiously, sharpening his already distinct jaw line. "Leave— now— if you cannot stand to sit at the same table as her. I will not miss you!" He slowly pulled himself back into his seat. "Go on if you must. You are, after all, allowed to disagree with me. But I promise you all that if you walk away from this table, you will regret what you have done when she can stand with more esteem than the rest of you."
A large number got to their feet slowly but surely. Celahir and Celaeglin were among those that remained, and they watched sadly as Oronar followed his father from the room. Once an image of strength and security, he regarded his Prince and his loyal friend with lessened certainty, appearing small and trite. "There is nothing that can be promised from her being here. She will not remain for long."
Legolas' eyes were challenging. "I will swear it on my life. And if you happen to be worth staying yourself, you may see what a daughter of Men can do. After all, isn't that what it is all about, mellon?" [friend] This title rolled off his tongue with more sourness than sincerity.
Oronar held his chin high and indignantly. He strode off without a word.
Celahir looked around him, smiling gratefully to the remaining and thanking them quietly on behalf of the unspeaking Legolas. "What now?"
Legolas gazed after the last departing member of the table silently momentarily and with sudden disappointment. He weaved the neck of his wine glass between his fingers, and murmured with disarray and absence, "When did we ever come to believe it best not to trust the goodness of Men… Where is it that our people faltered?" He chewed the inner part of his cheek, tapping the base of his glass gently against the fine oak surface.
Niélawen tugged at his shirt. "I'm thirsty."
Legolas did not respond immediately, but then he took hold of the fine bottle of wine and poured her a glass almost to the rim.
Niélawen looked over it and sniffed before taking a plentiful gulp. Her eyes glittered, and her faced twisted sourly, and she let out a brief cough. She looked at the beverage, smacked her lips, and drank some more. All those at the table looked at him skeptically.
"It's good for her." He swallowed his own in a single gulp.
Legolas gently closed the chamber doors behind him. Niélawen slept soundly in her permanent accommodation, tidied up and back to a suitable state. Candles lit his way up the sloped hall, and though he felt obligated to affirm the state of security further through the stronghold and the settlement beyond, he was ready to lock himself within his room— escape from the rest of the world and lie without trouble.
Celahir rounded the corner as he himself approached it. They both stopped instantly.
"I sang her to sleep," Legolas said softly. "But not for very long. I knew the wine would do its part."
Celahir gave a half-hearted smile. They walked side by side up the hall the way he had originally came. "You put up a sensible fight. I am sorry if I doubted you."
"Sensible?" Legolas asked unsurely. "I made a fine deal of enemies, didn't I? My father will have a handful to deal with upon returning."
"We were wrong about Oronar. We were both very wrong, to think we could make them all understand and see the situation as we do." He smiled admirably. "Well, the way you do. I do not know where I stand in all this."
"By me, whether or not your opinions are clear. You don't know how to betray. That is why I trust you, with my life… and hers." He stopped at his room door. "It is a challenge now, to see how long she will last inside these walls. It worries me heavily to wait for my father's return." He lifted his chin. "But I do not regret what I have chosen. Not any of it."
Celahir nodded. "You have always stayed true to your word. Rest easy tonight, I will keep a watch on her."
Legolas said his thanks in a low voice and entered his room, dimly lit by candles along the walls.
"Legolas."
He looked back.
"She is a special child. I think she is worth it."
Legolas did not speak, nor respond in any other way, but it was not as though the words were overlooked. Only when his door had closed and he was behind secure walls did he nod in self-assurance, truly believing the words for himself. It was true. She was special, but despite having hardly shown any superiority, he was certain that all of Mirkwood would see great things from her.
Legolas brushed Turgon's thick white and grey-speckled mane, almost pure enough to reflect the rays of the ascending sun. His horse was large, strong, and proud like his master, and his obedience was unmatched by the other steeds, along with a remarkable personality came from many years of dedicated care from the Elf prince.
He lifted himself onto Turgon's bare back and took the rein in his hand. Turgon was a free loving horse, but he was constantly set on giving his rider some means of control. Oronar and Celahir both found much humor in it, thinking Turgon's considerate qualities made him more human than animal.
"Legolas! Legolas!" a small, clear voice chirped from the stables. Niélawen bounded out from the sun's shadow and sprang into the light. The smile upon her round face rose from ear to ear, and she waved her arms excitedly. Celahir walked at her heals.
"Aur (Morning), Niélawen," Legolas said with an adequate greeting. "How did you sleep, little one?"
She hesitated. "Um… fine?"
"'Fine?'" He raised a brow to Celahir.
"A nightmare, late last night. Post-traumatic, I suppose."
She giggled. "Big words, Cehee."
Legolas suddenly burst into incredulous laughter which ceased as spontaneously as it had begun. "What is this?"
Celahir glared, and muttered to him, "Wait until she finds a name for you. Anyway, I am leaving her in your care. Your father is expected home soon, and I presently regret shedding some pity on you by completing your unfinished duties."
"Thank you, Celahir, but—"
"She will not get in the way," he said, mildly irritated. "She told me how much she enjoys riding with you."
Legolas stared silently. "You interrupted me."
Celahir made the fake attempt of a smile. "And proud I am." He walked off and waved once as he vanished around the corner of the long stable.
Legolas stared down from his horse where Niélawen caressed Turgon's strong front legs. Turgon made an interesting thrumming noise in the back of his throat that was much like a cat's purr.
"You like horses, Niélawen?"
"Uh-huh!" She stared up at him with her large, pleading eyes. "Can I come riding?"
Legolas kicked off Turgon's back and landed beside her. He wrapped his hands around her tiny body and lifted her carefully onto the high part of the steed's back. "Turgon is a hard rider. He is not used to small and fragile luggage like yourself."
As if she had not heard a single word, she bounced energetically atop Turgon's back, clapping her hands, smiling wide, though anxiously bracing herself for a thrilling ride. "Giddy up, horsey!"
He mumbled uncertainly in the back of his throat, but it was little more than an anxious consideration. Once he got on, he grabbed the harness and pulled her close. "Noro, Turgon."
The forest rushed by them in a torrent of bright colors and humid winds. The sky still held a warm glow in the East, but the West had grown alight in full sprung daylight. Niélawen was speechless and exhilarated by the ride. Legolas brought her to many places she had never dreamed of before. Their route brought them Southbound, and for hours they rode nearer and nearer to the Mountains of Mirkwood.
They came to a break in the woods and there they rested at last, giving the tireless Turgon a short break for Niélawen's sake, in case the ride had been overwhelming. The child played in the hot springs amidst the most wondrous place beneath the shadow of the rocky, bush-blanketed Mountains.
Legolas was at peace. The growing distance away from home took off a great load from his mind, and he enjoyed himself that morning, lying in the sun against a hill and watching the young toddler dangle her feet in the warm pool.
He kept a constant eye on her as often as he could spare. He could not help but notice what a likeness she could take of the Silvan elves. She possessed an aura of exquisite joy and liveliness even an Elvish child could not compare with. How could she never belong? He watched her brush her hands through the green blades of grass while she splashed along the surface of the water. Her neck-length hair was platinum even without the sun beating down on her mop of soft curls and illuminating them to gold, and her gently humming voice carried harmoniously against the wind, very much a tune of nature's breath, itself— just like the natural gift his kind possessed.
She brought him to peace.
He closed his eyes and opened up all his other senses to the world full of life around him. Birds sang in the distance, high above in the treetops. The grass hissed softly in the breeze. And then came a deep splash.
He sprang up. Niélawen was nowhere to be seen, and knowing better, he rushed to the edge where she had just been, and where the spring sat two feet below ground level. He kneeled at the edge.
He felt no panic, yet there was worry racing through his mind as he drove his arm into the water and felt around the dark space for her. Bubbles rose to the surface, and he located her small form where the light shone down into the water from the trees. He grabbed her yellow tunic and hauled her from the water.
She burst into deep, hysterical laughter, sopping wet in the grass and gasping for air. She clapped her hands, her eyes still wide from the adrenaline rush. "Again!" Her voice bubbled in laughter, and she swallowed before chiming once more, "Again, again!"
"No not 'again'!" he exclaimed incredulously.
"Water's fun!"
"Yes, just like I am," he retorted, sarcasm writhed in his voice. He removed his light broadcloth shirt and wrapped it around her. "I do not like your idea of fun, especially when it leaves me shirtless."
She wrapped her arms around his firm upper body. "You're warm!"
"Living beings happen to be that way. Let go, you're getting me wet."
"What does 'Legolas' mean?" she inquired randomly.
He unlatched her arms, picked her up, and sat her upon the hill where he had been. "It does not matter."
"It matters to me." Her eyes twinkled as she smiled widely, showing small, white teeth.
He shook his head in disbelief at her. "You're implausible. Do you think you can charm me into humiliation?" He waved an accusing finger at her. "I know what ideas flood your bored mind."
She grabbed her feet, shrugged guiltlessly, and with a grin began to rock back and forth atop the small mound.
He strode to a tiny waterfall running from the rising rock form amidst the green clearing, and cupped his hand beneath the running liquid. When he looked back, Niélawen was waving her hands in the air around her, shoeing at a pestering fly. He shook his head, and drank.
"I suppose we should start back North."
"Aw, I want to stay here!"
Legolas walked back toward her, and held out his hand for her to take. "Up!"
She pouted and stood with resent. She tread behind him as he lead her to where Turgon grazed in the trees. Her hands still slapped at the air.
"What's the matter?"
She made a face and breathed out heavily. "Buggy!" Her arms waved around furiously.
He crossed his arms over his chest and grinned, thoroughly amused at her slow reflexes. He watched her as she grit her teeth, watched as her patience grew thin. And then it was all too suddenly at an end.
His grin was washed from his face. He had caught but a simple glimpse of it, and now she stood before him, satisfied, holding in front of her a tight fist. She opened her palm, and out dropped the pestering fly, compressed cleanly to its death.
She smiled, pleased, and reached up to him to be lifted onto the horse. He just stared. It may have been an act that he could have certainly accomplished himself, but from her it was strange. Disturbing. No toddler had reflexes that keen.
She grabbed at him impatiently. "Pick me up!"
Turgon stirred uneasily, sensing his rider's discomfort. Legolas finally took her in his hands and sat her on Turgon's back. She cooed cheerfully, clasping the reins and making dramatic noises in what seemed like mockery of the rider.
Deep thrumming in the earth vibrated below his feet. The sound of many horse-feet pounded against the ground, nearing from the West. Niélawen looked towards that way simultaneously as Legolas did.
Ten fair riders on grand horses appeared from around the mountain slope. A white horse lead the riders into the clearing and stopped a small distance from Legolas to the side of Turgon.
A tall, handsome Elf donning a brown velvet tunic stepped off his horse and walked to Legolas. And suddenly he halted. His blue eyes of matching vibrancy as Legolas' flickered, and he moved forward slowly into the shade of the forest, his long golden hair, plaited at the temples, shone no longer.
"Legolas," he spoke in a deep, clear voice, "What is this?" He took a glance at Legolas, without his tunic, standing beside a child who was comfortably steadied on Turgon, wearing his upper garment.
Legolas sighed in despair. He had no words to excuse his state, or to ease his discomfort. Finally, the time in which he had dreaded for a night and day had come. "Welcome back, father."
"We have no place for her!"
Legolas took a deep breath. "I have already arranged lodging for her."
Thranduil turned on his son sharply. "Do you think that is what the issue is?" he hissed. "What I mean is that she doesn't belong here! For the love of Elbereth, what would… possess you to think you could take in an orphaned mortal in such a state?"
"Was I to leave her wounded in the forest by herself? I'm not an animal!"
Their voices could be heard throughout the underground cavern. They shouted bitterly and tirelessly at each other from the main hall, the throne chamber, where the walls were high and space was plentiful and their yells carried ten times louder throughout.
"You're not an animal, but you're rash, and stubborn! Where was your head?"
Legolas clenched his teeth. "Some of us, father, have the advantage of using our hearts, not our heads. Yet what makes you think I was not running all the possibilities through my mind while taking pity on her? Being too caught up in sense all the time can cause you to lack this thing called 'mercy'." He was silent. "Niélawen can stay."
Thranduil collapsed in his throne and he buried his face in his right hand. "I do not have the time to raise a child." He raised a finger haltingly. "And you do not have the skills."
"And what if I wish to try?"
"You cannot simply try! Raising a child is a life-long commitment. You make one error and it backfires tenfold!" He shook his head. "No, this is not possible."
"I can do this on my own."
"She is not staying!" Thranduil bellowed, standing twice his height beneath the shadow of his anger. "Because mortals are weak. They die. Do not bring the damned hurt to yourself!"
One of the two tall doors slid open, and in ran Niélawen. Her face was soaked in tears, and more still trickled from her eyes. She wept mournfully and clung to Legolas. He stared down at her sadly, but did not look his father in the eye. He bent down and took her in his arms where she wailed in his collar and refused to let go.
"You will change your mind," Legolas said looking deep into Thranduil's eyes. "Once you have seen what I have seen, you'll learn to accept her."
"This is a mistake," he replied warningly.
Legolas turned on his heels and left the room. Niélawen sobbed continuously on his shoulder, her sad and frightened wails echoing in the halls. "I'm sorry," she wept. "I'm sorry. I don't want to go, I don't want to go!"
He rubbed her back soothingly. "There is nothing to be sorry for. Nothing."
He carried her to his room, and there he comforted her for hours. Her cries lessened by the passing time, but only as she became exhausted by her grief. No one passed through that hall until her sobbing had ceased, and she was fast asleep by the coming of night.
His door slid open, and Oronar leaned against the doorway. Legolas, aware of him, was still and silent, staring at the wall as he sat by Niélawen's sleeping form.
"You will not change the will of the King."
"Why can't I?" Legolas looked up challengingly.
"Because she is not worth anything. She is but a pretty little face, still carrying painful tokens of suffering. She is without a chance of survival. He will not change his mind because the notion is senseless."
Legolas flinched at his cruelty. He leaned his head against the wall, and acknowledged him no further. Oronar slammed the door with his departure, and Niélawen stirred awake.
"You are worth plenty," he whispered.
She gradually closed her eyes again, and as she drifted to a deep slumber she wrapped her hand around his fingers. Legolas followed in suit of rest, not at all undermined by his troubled heart. Once again she took him to a peaceful world where he was not saddened by her presence, but comforted. In his mind she gave to him solutions to his problems for a struggle that she, somehow, knew would be great, and she gave him warmth and security in that knowing it would not last long.
And as their sleep endured through an entire evening and morning, her strength and untouched power grew beyond her recollection.