Disclaimer: Previous chaps.
A/N: Begging, again, please, please review. And the direct quote comes from
"The Silmarillion."
***
Chapter 22: Memories of the Past, Thoughts on the Future
"As memory may be a paradise from which we cannot be driven, it may also be a hell from which we cannot escape."
-John Lancaster Spalding ***
Rhiannon crept into the dark room that Legolas had occupied as he grew- up in his father's Hall, and suddenly understood his deep hatred for caves and dark caverns. There were no windows in the room, in fact, the Hall had very few windows, being craved out of stone it would, understandably, be difficult to put windows in rooms that did not need them. However, the bedroom seemed so much more sinister in the darkness that filled it. Not even a candle was lit and it was only with her hard concentration that she was able to maneuver her way through the room and find a candelabra. The ensuing moments would have been very humorous to an outsider as Rhiannon attempted to make her way across the dark room, constantly cursing as her feet came in contact with many unforeseen pieces of furniture. As she neared the candelabra she found that there were no matches to light the wick. For many moments Rhiannon contemplated her current situation, she was not about to maneuver her way across the dark room again to go out into the Hall and find someone who could light the candles for her, she already had enough bruises at it was. Suddenly a voice ran through Rhiannon's head, one that had taught her how to maintain some control over her minute powers. Cerethena's voice was quite amused, "You have spent far too much time in that world, little one, if you have forgotten how to light a candle with no matches. Surely I have taught you better than that, or perhaps you really are in need of sleep to regain your bearings." Rhiannon made an annoyed scowl at the voice, sure that wherever Cerethena was watching her from, she could see it. Rhiannon was also annoyed at her own stupidity for not remembering that she knew how to create flames without even having a candle handy. Sometimes she could smack herself. Softly muttering the phrases long ingrained in her mind, over and over again, their power gaining as confidence in her powers returned to her voice, the candles before her lit, bringing much appreciated warmth with their golden glow. Rhiannon now had the chance to study the room of Legolas, knowing that all the pieces contained in the room held great memories in their care. She looked at one of the walls, where many bows, of various sizes, rested on mounts as trophies won in competition. With a tentative hand, Rhiannon reached out to the smallest of bows, feeling the memory it contained jump into her mind, filling her with the happiness it contained. ***
A young Legolas, in his first archery lesson. The lesson that taught him to always pay attention to where he was letting the arrow go, Rhiannon noticed with much laughter as another blonde, blue-eyed elf, similar to Legolas, fled the arrow that now seemed to be sailing right towards him. Rhiannon watched as an outsider, an older elf, gave young Legolas a look, "Now, Prince Legolas, you must pay attention to your target or you shall miss."
The smile that came over the young elfling's face was priceless, "I did not miss." Rhiannon smiled as the memory faded and she came back to her current surroundings. ***
Night came over the lands. The Grey Company passed with the following of the Dead. The villages of Men they encountered on their way, fled in fear from the company. They were steadily advancing towards Gondor, aware that the world was full of tension, aware that time was running out, and also aware that whether or not they reached Gondor in time, the fate of the world lied in the hands of two small hobbits. It was hard to have faith in such times, but faith they must have. The Company held to them words passed on by Elrond from Mithrandir, from the last meeting of the White Council, " 'Many are the strange changes of the world, and help oft shall come from the hands of the weak when the Wise falter.'" Help from the hands of the weak when the Wise faltered. The Weak saving the Wise, the strong. What was Wisdom? What was Strength? What was Weakness? ***
Rhiannon woke-up with a start, a feeling of much disconcertion coming over her until she recognized her surroundings. She had laid down on the bed for a moment, feeling exhausted by all the memories of Legolas' life that had bombarded her senses. She had apparently fallen into a deep sleep. The room was darker, if that was possible, then when she had entered in the afternoon. She had meant to explore this dark realm, with it's own mysterious beauty, but her body had not permitted her that. Rhiannon quickly lit the candles again, and stared around the room, wondering what she was to do now. She saw her two small packs resting by a chair, brought in by some elf while she slept. That thought did not settle well with her, she had always awoken when someone had opened the doors to her quarters. Her instincts were weakening. The events of the past day came back to her, and she remembered that Lostladion was, in fact, dead. Rhiannon grabbed the smaller of her two bags and carried it to her bed. The pack contained items that would seem very foreign to peoples of this land, they contained her ceremonial clothing, jewelry, medicines, and other objects. She had been taught to never go anywhere without them, as trivial as they may have seemed to others, they were entwined with her beliefs. She had not opened the pack once since she had entered the realm of Middle-Earth. She reached in and felt around for the small pouch that contained the brush, dyes, and paint she would need to decorate her hands with the proper mourning markings. Lostladion may have not been a close friend, but he had been a friend none the less, and she would honor him.
Some time later, with the dyes and paints drying on her hands, in their intricate patterns, a restless Rhiannon quietly slipped out of her chamber. She had no idea where she was going; just believed a journey was in order. She would just follow her feet. The Hall of Thranduil had many twists and turns and kept one very on edge at night; it was no wonder that Legolas had turned out the way he had. Rhiannon heard soft, beautiful signing. There was such sorrow in it, she had to go and comfort the elf that sang such a song of sadness. She found herself in front of what seemed to be a receiving room. She peaked into the room and quickly backed out, taking in sharp deep breathes at the sight she was not prepared to see. There, on a stone slab covered in silk draperies, Lostladion's body laid out, for all to pay their respects. She feared to go into the room, knowing that the shock of the body up close might be powerful enough to send to Legolas, no matter how hard she would strive not to. With another deep breath, she silently crept into the room. She studied Lostladion's body with a sort of emotional detachment. His tunic and leggings seemed to be of the finest material Mirkwood had to offer. Candles surrounded his body, bathing it in an eerie golden glow. Off to the side sat a beautiful she elf; softly singing the song of Lamentation Rhiannon had heard earlier. She approached the female, purposefully making noise so not to startle the female elf. The she-elf turned curious eyes towards her, but continued her song in the lilting Elvish music. Rhiannon suddenly wished she had remembered those few Elvish lessons her mother had forced on her. She wished to know if this she- elf was Lostladions's wife, mother, sister, daughter, or just a close- friend. As Rhiannon approached the body of her onetime friend, she caught glimpses of his death, the imprint of the memory forced into his body. A memory that would never fade. An ambush of orcs and only two elves to fight. Both had died. This was not the vision she had received, witnessed twice before she had arrived to Mirkwood. Lost in her own thoughts, it took her a moment to realize the singing had stopped.
"Why have you stopped?"
"My song was finished." The voice was soft and accented, proof that while this elf knew the common tongue, she did not speak it often. Rhiannon gave a nod to the she-elf's answer towards her inquiry, it was a very logical reason.
"I know who you are." The she-elf stated.
"Do you?" Rhiannon asked, "I feel as if I do not know who I am, most of the time. I once met a man said to be the wisest of all. He said he was the wisest because he knew nothing, and was aware that he knew nothing."
The she-elf gave her a confused look.
"I know you by reputation. You are the half-elven that has visions. My brother told me about you."
"So then, you are Lostladion's sister."
"No. I am the sister of Menepaurion."
Rhiannon bit her tongue and tried desperately not to make a judgment on the elf, based on her brother. Cerethena always said to never judge people by their kin.
"Why do you then sing a song of Lamentation for Lostladion?"
"I sing for the grief my brother does not have the will to profess. And for the grief my dear friend Legolas does not yet know."
Rhiannon could only help but wonder how dear of a friend this she-elf was of Legolas. She was very surprised at her own jealousy. Where in the realms did that come from?
"You are a good sister and loyal friend to sing for the grief of others."
"According to Brhagdan you are also a good sister and loyal friend."
Rhiannon could not hide her surprise, "You have met my brother?"
"After the evening meal, he went to continue his training while you rested."
Rhiannon gave a thoughtful nod, the whole experience seeming odd to her.
"If I may ask, what is your name?" The she-elf asked.
"I thought you already knew."
"I know who you are; but I doubt that what my brother calls you is your proper name."
Good, old predictable, annoying Menepaurion. Half the elves in Mirkwood must think her to be a cold, calculating, graceless excuse for a half- elven. Paranoid, of course not. "My name is Rhiannon."
"That is a pretty name. It rolls off the tongue very well. My name is Laurea."
"Laurea. That is all? Elves usually seem to have such complicated names."
"My parents could not think of a proper name for me. Laurea can mean 'golden.' It seemed proper."
The two females fell silent as they studied each other. A bell sounded in the distance, signaling something, for Laurea quickly jumped up, excusing herself as she hurried off. ***
Rhiannon let the silence of the room envelope her as the elven maiden ran off to where ever she needed to be. She breathed in the scent of the room; the wax of the candles, the smell of the wick, the faint scent of honey and flower in the air. It all reminded her of a tomb, or the antechamber at home where they prepared the bodies for their pyres. The more she breathed in the air, breathed in the potency, the power of the atmosphere, the headier she felt. She was starting to feel dizzy, as her mind opened itself up, her powers stretching, reaching out. To what they reached for, she did not know, and was very unwilling to find out. She shut her eyes tightly closed, took a deep breath, brought her balance back. Even if it killed her, she would learn to control this. She focused on Lostladion's body again. Knowing that his soul, his true immortal part, had left. The body was only a vessel, all knew this. The body was mourned for it was the tangible part, the proof that the heart no longer beat within the chest. There was no real proof that the soul lived on. But memories, memories were forever.
Rhiannon jumped and turned around as a warm hand grasped her shoulder. King Thranduil stood there, but he somehow seemed more approachable. A warm smile graced his beautiful features, his crown removed from his head, his golden hair unbound, his robes of a simple make. She could see parts of Legolas in this soft features, the smile, warm yet mischievous. She wondered what he must have looked like before he saw his father fall in battle, before that battle took 2/3 of the army of what was then Greenwood. Legolas, on more than one of those nights when she could not sleep, had told her the most basic of tale about his homeland. His father's love for jewels and the deep grief he carried with him being most prominent in those tales.
"Many thoughts pass through your mind, it is almost disruptive to me." The musical voice of the King echoed in the silence.
Rhiannon was silent, deciding it would be best to choose her words carefully, "I am just thinking about many things. How tales are greatly exaggerated about people. How those, written down in history as barbarians and villains, actually seem to be of a more valiant standing once you are on their side."
Thranduil knew of what she spoke, but decided it best to not acknowledge her thoughts. "You should be sleeping."
"I am not tired. Is my brother available?"
"No, I am afraid we must have him trained and ready to fight. The darkness descends even faster upon my land. You will be safe in this hall, do not worry."
"My brother is out there, Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, they are all out there. The hobbits are out there. Men of strong will, brave and true valor are out there, all fighting the same thing. Of course I worry."
Thranduil, while acknowledging this in his mind, did not do so in his question, "Gimli? That sounds like the name of a dwarf."
"He is a close friend of Legolas. Yes, he is a dwarf."
"My son is friends with a dwarf?"
Rhiannon did not even attempt to hold back her exasperation, no matter how much she admitted the King of Mirkwood was not as horrible as she was led to believe, he was quite an arrogant elf; "King Thranduil, now is hardly the time to hold a grudge and prejudice towards any ally, no matter their background. They are allies just the same. Besides, from what I have heard, you benefit from many of the creations of dwarves."
Thranduil arched one of his golden brows, "I see you have quite the sharp-tongue on you. Apparently you did not receive any form of elven tact from your.mother, is it? I see my son has decided to take on quite a challenge. You are sure to bring some very entertaining moments to my home in the future."
Rhiannon had at first expected censure in the gaze of the King, instead she found only good humor.
"You are not what you seem." She stated.
"And neither are you."
***
Menepaurion stared at the female that was now his charge. He had to admit he was surprised that the seemingly overly-arrogant half-elven had survived in this land. During this time. As much as he truly hated to, he had to give her credit, she obviously had an immense survival instinct, however, he was still not happy about her involvement with Legolas. He could only see it resulting in very sad times. Legolas would surely have the Call of the Sea in his heart soon; it was almost certain with the obvious end of the time of the elves. The Call, the inability to feel whole on the land of Arda, would pull the prince towards Valinor, and there Rhiannon, he was positive could not go. She did not even truly believe in the Valar, for to her, they were just another set of Gods in the unending sects of religion she had surely seen. Menepaurion knew her kind, had seen her world in the days when had courted one of her kind. So very long ago that was. Her world had intrigued him, their understanding of the balance between Good and Evil. They did not to attempt to destroy all the darkness that descended in their lands, understanding that it was needed to experience one's life to the full. For good to exist, evil must also be known, for darkness to be present, light needed to also be present at one time. The land he had been to, in her realm, was full of what all of Middle Earth would see as the "Good" and "Free" peoples. They did not have orcs, but dark faery. They did not have a Sauron, but many other deceivers, many wolves in sheep's clothing as he had heard stated. The seeming Good were actually the darker Evil. As much as he did not approve of this female, nor her brother for that matter, considering the fact his sister, Laurea, practically swooned every time that male looked her way, he had to begrudgingly give her respect. She had power, or she would have power if she could only put down her own pride and fears and become what she was fully meant to be..That was besides the point. A strength resided in the seemingly helpless and innocent young child that now sat before him. He understood why his King has asked him to watch over her, and to teach her the ways of their kind, but he did not truly see the reason for it. She was tied to the earth, to her realm, anyone that even attempted to gaze into her soul could see that plainly. Even if she did believe in the Valar, in their belief system as a whole, he highly doubted she would beseech her world, her people, her duty, for that of...could it be called love? Truly? He studied Rhiannon. The ability of a great, if not rather hurried love, laid between her and Legolas, but as of right now, it was little more than mutual affection. That could be understandable, her and his dear friend could not have had much time together, and even if they had their would have been a whole camp of Men around them; hardly the perfect settings for starting a true courtship. Rhiannon's dark hair, which he was used to seeing in what could only be described as a monstrous disarray was punished into a tight plait down her back. Her face plainly showed and for once he was struck by something that laid by her right eye. Was that a jewel imbedded there? How odd. His gaze scrutinized her costume. The King had suggested Rhiannon dress in a tunic and leggings for her lessons on how to properly ride a horse and use a bow and arrow. Honestly, Menepaurion did not understand why he had to teach her how to wield a weapon, he had not fought in centuries, Thraduil's decree, since he was the only male left in his family, the only relative to his young, unwed, sister. Rhiannon shifted, not comfortable in her attire. Her body type was quite different from most of their females. The non-elven blood that was in her make-up showed in the fact that her hips were wider than most. Menepaurion briefly wondered if she had ever given birth before. Her leggings were a pair of his sister's, yet the tunic was an old, unused piece of clothing from the King. Laurea's did not fit Rhiannon properly, and the King, being relatively broad-shouldered, gladly provided them with this one. Her fingers nervously fluttered up and down the bow in her hands. The colored patterns dyed into her skin intrigued him, and he wondered what they were for, yet felt it was not proper to ask. The soft elven boots were an old pair Legolas had worn as a child, fitting the not so small feet of the female. Menepaurion could have made a scathing comment about her non-dainty feet, but deiced that it would not be best to start them off on even worse terms. He cleared his throat, Rhiannon's gaze immediately coming to meet his own.
"We must make you at the least sufficient with the bow by the next morn. The problem with you and the horses is a matter of respect, therefore we can do that whenever. This however, your training, can not wait any longer. We will go to a lesser used training field. Hopefully, no one will be harmed this way."
He walked out of the room, waiting for Rhiannon's witty retort, but none never came. It almost sadden him. This was not the same female he had left at the borders of the Golden Wood.
Menepaurion would admit that as elven patience went, he did not have a great deal of it. But this was just ridiculous. A dwarf could shoot faster than the time it took Rhiannon.
"For the love of the Valar, Rhiannon! Just shoot the arrow!"
Her head snapped around and her gaze was full of fire,
"Do not rush me you good for nothing, pain in the ..oohh." Rhiannon stopped, having, in her frustration released the arrow and looking, found it perfectly imbedded in the center of her target.
Menepaurion threw his hands up in the air in frustration, "Well, there is our answer to the great riddle. For you to shoot properly you only need to not be looking at the target and yelling at someone else. What god did I anger to be cursed with this duty?"
"Probably the god of hyperbole and just plain over-exaggeration. Maybe the god of that little thing called patience and tact?"
Menepaurion let out a very un-elf-like snort, "You, my dear friend, are not one to talk. Patience and tact are not your strong points. Come, we will try this again, until you are able to hit the target while looking at it."
The rest of the hours of daylight were consumed with the teaching. Thranduil was very pleased to find both teacher and student returned intact and relatively unharmed. ***
Legolas was amazed at the change in his long time friend, once known as Estel, now known as Aragorn, and if destiny did play out well, and all prophecies fulfilled, he would be known as Elessar. Legolas had seen Aragorn command the Dead, the Dead that now carried the Grey Company towards Gondor, on ships, with banners of some kind unfurled, but not the banner that the Lady Arwen had created for Aragorn son of Arathorn. Legolas stood on one of the decks, Gimli not far from him, the twin sons of Elrond on his other side. One of the dark-haired twins, Elrohir, he was guessing, turned his head to the Prince of Mirkwood.
"Our father tells us you are bound to Rhiannon, through a bond that is both strong and weak. That of the mind, and of the mind only."
"Yes, this is true."
The other dark-haired twin turned his head towards the Prince,
"I did not love her Legolas, I will make that certain so you will not take what I am about to say in the wrong light. The break to our betrothal was quite messy, and I regret to say, I hurt her greatly, but know this: I gave her up for I knew that I am, and will be a warrior. I gave her up for there was a longing in my heart to bring pain to those that brought me pain. I released her from our betrothal because I knew that no amount of her love could quench the longing for revenge and justice I felt, and still feel in my soul. I could not give all that up for her. I ask you, Prince of Mirkwood, fellow warrior, at the end our time on this land, when the longing for the Sea surely comes to your heart, will you be able to give that up for her?"
Legolas, in his best diplomatic voice, attained from years of watching both his father and elder brothers at court spoke through slightly clenched teeth, "Our bond is already formed. It can not be broken."
"But it can be deepened. You could wed and she could." Elladan stopped as his brother gave him a look.
"I love her, I already know this, have already felt its stirrings within my heart. She is a puzzle, and I know that no short amount of time will allow to discover all that there is to know about her, even being bound to her as I am now, she is still a mystery to me. I care for her deeply, and that should be enough. If our bond is deepened, then so be it. I will not deny such beauty if and when it comes to us. She will forever be in my life, no matter where we are. There is no going back now, I know this, as does Rhiannon."
"You can only hurt her, Legolas. In the end, you can only hurt her." Elladan's voice was incredibly soft as he spoke these words, as if he had seen the future of their time, and knew the ending. ***
Rhiannon, begrudgingly, sat in the private rooms of King Thranduil, as he personally administered to the sore muscles in her arms, her back, her shoulders.
"Why are you doing this? Should you not be tending to tactical plans for the upcoming battle?"
Thranduil gifted Rhiannon with a warm smile, he always seemed to bestow them on her, finding her just to be the most amusing thing he had ever set eyes on.
"My son would have my head if I returned him to you harmed. He may appear to be calm, but he has a temper that is unrivaled by anyone save me."
"That is obviously where he gets it from. Although, I have never seen you cross."
"I will try my best to never be cross with you. You have this quality about you that makes me want to protect you from all hurt. Call it a fatherly instinct."
"Hey there, Papa, you are treading on some tremulous ground."
"No, I am just slowly persuading you to seduce, charm, and then marry my son."
"Thranduil!" The King shrugged his shoulders and continued to relax the muscles in the forearms of Rhiannon, "I desire grandchildren, you are the only female any of my sons have shown interest in."
"That is all I am to you!"
"No, you are also a constant source of mirth for me. Rhiannon, I am joking, I mean not to offend you."
"I know you are joking, the sadness recedes from your eyes."
Both were contemplative for a moment, letting the silence speak for them. Rhiannon turned to the King, questions that had been plaguing her coming to her mind,
"You have produced heirs, King Thranduil, why do you not pass into the West, and leave behind all of the sadness that weighs upon your soul?
Baffled, the King looked up at her. He was quiet for some time,
"Have you ever been in love before Rhiannon? Forgive me, of course you have not. Know this, young one, to truly love another, to truly will yourself to be that weak, that vulnerable to another person, takes all the courage and strength you have within your spirit. The loss of love, in it's deepest and purest form causes death, not only for elves, but for many different kinds. I am sorry, I have not answered your question, my mind always tends to wander when I speak to you. Hope, hope keeps me here, Rhiannon. Hope that one day my wife will return to me, after she has fulfilled her duty. And do not believe that you are her only charge, Rhiannon. There were many that she was designated to guide and protect throughout their lives, she told me as much before we wed. She warned of the pain I would experience, loving her, and yet I still followed what I desired. I still feel grief over my father's death, over the loss of so much life, and yet I feel even going over to the West would not lessen that pain, in the least. Some memories, we can not be rid of, and that memory will always be with me. As will the memory of my wife, a memory I am not sad about, for I still fervently believe she will return to me. One day, Rhiannon, you will come to be as I am. You will have grave memories that will weigh upon your very soul, drag you down at times into an abyss of sadness and regret that you can not climb out of. Hope will one day be the only emotion that will keep you going, in the darkest hours, hope for the one that has left you, hope that the one will return, is all that will keep you from leaving this life. I wish I could give you words of comfort, but you are already aware that what lies ahead is not an easy road. Will you have the strength to openly give yourself over to the powerful emotions you have already felt at times but choose to bury inside yourself? Or will you continue to run for fear of the vulnerability you would put yourself, and my son, in?"
A thoughtful looked passed over the young female's face,
"Out of all the tales of I have heard of you, and your realm, not once did I think to find a good deal of wisdom in the King."
"Well, let's not let that rumor out, it is safer and more enjoyable for me if all the others just see me as the King of the Wood elves who lives in a dank cave and desires nothing but gold and jewels. It keeps my court less crowded. All they want me for is my wine, and sometimes, my entertainment."
"I do not know whether to laugh or to question you further."
"Now is not the time for questions, little one, you should take some rest, leave the rest of your cares for tomorrow morning, and further more, maybe you should try to communicate with Legolas."
Rhiannon nodded, her sore muscles now relaxed, and left the rooms of the King, for her own rooms, just down the hall.
Chapter 22: Memories of the Past, Thoughts on the Future
"As memory may be a paradise from which we cannot be driven, it may also be a hell from which we cannot escape."
-John Lancaster Spalding ***
Rhiannon crept into the dark room that Legolas had occupied as he grew- up in his father's Hall, and suddenly understood his deep hatred for caves and dark caverns. There were no windows in the room, in fact, the Hall had very few windows, being craved out of stone it would, understandably, be difficult to put windows in rooms that did not need them. However, the bedroom seemed so much more sinister in the darkness that filled it. Not even a candle was lit and it was only with her hard concentration that she was able to maneuver her way through the room and find a candelabra. The ensuing moments would have been very humorous to an outsider as Rhiannon attempted to make her way across the dark room, constantly cursing as her feet came in contact with many unforeseen pieces of furniture. As she neared the candelabra she found that there were no matches to light the wick. For many moments Rhiannon contemplated her current situation, she was not about to maneuver her way across the dark room again to go out into the Hall and find someone who could light the candles for her, she already had enough bruises at it was. Suddenly a voice ran through Rhiannon's head, one that had taught her how to maintain some control over her minute powers. Cerethena's voice was quite amused, "You have spent far too much time in that world, little one, if you have forgotten how to light a candle with no matches. Surely I have taught you better than that, or perhaps you really are in need of sleep to regain your bearings." Rhiannon made an annoyed scowl at the voice, sure that wherever Cerethena was watching her from, she could see it. Rhiannon was also annoyed at her own stupidity for not remembering that she knew how to create flames without even having a candle handy. Sometimes she could smack herself. Softly muttering the phrases long ingrained in her mind, over and over again, their power gaining as confidence in her powers returned to her voice, the candles before her lit, bringing much appreciated warmth with their golden glow. Rhiannon now had the chance to study the room of Legolas, knowing that all the pieces contained in the room held great memories in their care. She looked at one of the walls, where many bows, of various sizes, rested on mounts as trophies won in competition. With a tentative hand, Rhiannon reached out to the smallest of bows, feeling the memory it contained jump into her mind, filling her with the happiness it contained. ***
A young Legolas, in his first archery lesson. The lesson that taught him to always pay attention to where he was letting the arrow go, Rhiannon noticed with much laughter as another blonde, blue-eyed elf, similar to Legolas, fled the arrow that now seemed to be sailing right towards him. Rhiannon watched as an outsider, an older elf, gave young Legolas a look, "Now, Prince Legolas, you must pay attention to your target or you shall miss."
The smile that came over the young elfling's face was priceless, "I did not miss." Rhiannon smiled as the memory faded and she came back to her current surroundings. ***
Night came over the lands. The Grey Company passed with the following of the Dead. The villages of Men they encountered on their way, fled in fear from the company. They were steadily advancing towards Gondor, aware that the world was full of tension, aware that time was running out, and also aware that whether or not they reached Gondor in time, the fate of the world lied in the hands of two small hobbits. It was hard to have faith in such times, but faith they must have. The Company held to them words passed on by Elrond from Mithrandir, from the last meeting of the White Council, " 'Many are the strange changes of the world, and help oft shall come from the hands of the weak when the Wise falter.'" Help from the hands of the weak when the Wise faltered. The Weak saving the Wise, the strong. What was Wisdom? What was Strength? What was Weakness? ***
Rhiannon woke-up with a start, a feeling of much disconcertion coming over her until she recognized her surroundings. She had laid down on the bed for a moment, feeling exhausted by all the memories of Legolas' life that had bombarded her senses. She had apparently fallen into a deep sleep. The room was darker, if that was possible, then when she had entered in the afternoon. She had meant to explore this dark realm, with it's own mysterious beauty, but her body had not permitted her that. Rhiannon quickly lit the candles again, and stared around the room, wondering what she was to do now. She saw her two small packs resting by a chair, brought in by some elf while she slept. That thought did not settle well with her, she had always awoken when someone had opened the doors to her quarters. Her instincts were weakening. The events of the past day came back to her, and she remembered that Lostladion was, in fact, dead. Rhiannon grabbed the smaller of her two bags and carried it to her bed. The pack contained items that would seem very foreign to peoples of this land, they contained her ceremonial clothing, jewelry, medicines, and other objects. She had been taught to never go anywhere without them, as trivial as they may have seemed to others, they were entwined with her beliefs. She had not opened the pack once since she had entered the realm of Middle-Earth. She reached in and felt around for the small pouch that contained the brush, dyes, and paint she would need to decorate her hands with the proper mourning markings. Lostladion may have not been a close friend, but he had been a friend none the less, and she would honor him.
Some time later, with the dyes and paints drying on her hands, in their intricate patterns, a restless Rhiannon quietly slipped out of her chamber. She had no idea where she was going; just believed a journey was in order. She would just follow her feet. The Hall of Thranduil had many twists and turns and kept one very on edge at night; it was no wonder that Legolas had turned out the way he had. Rhiannon heard soft, beautiful signing. There was such sorrow in it, she had to go and comfort the elf that sang such a song of sadness. She found herself in front of what seemed to be a receiving room. She peaked into the room and quickly backed out, taking in sharp deep breathes at the sight she was not prepared to see. There, on a stone slab covered in silk draperies, Lostladion's body laid out, for all to pay their respects. She feared to go into the room, knowing that the shock of the body up close might be powerful enough to send to Legolas, no matter how hard she would strive not to. With another deep breath, she silently crept into the room. She studied Lostladion's body with a sort of emotional detachment. His tunic and leggings seemed to be of the finest material Mirkwood had to offer. Candles surrounded his body, bathing it in an eerie golden glow. Off to the side sat a beautiful she elf; softly singing the song of Lamentation Rhiannon had heard earlier. She approached the female, purposefully making noise so not to startle the female elf. The she-elf turned curious eyes towards her, but continued her song in the lilting Elvish music. Rhiannon suddenly wished she had remembered those few Elvish lessons her mother had forced on her. She wished to know if this she- elf was Lostladions's wife, mother, sister, daughter, or just a close- friend. As Rhiannon approached the body of her onetime friend, she caught glimpses of his death, the imprint of the memory forced into his body. A memory that would never fade. An ambush of orcs and only two elves to fight. Both had died. This was not the vision she had received, witnessed twice before she had arrived to Mirkwood. Lost in her own thoughts, it took her a moment to realize the singing had stopped.
"Why have you stopped?"
"My song was finished." The voice was soft and accented, proof that while this elf knew the common tongue, she did not speak it often. Rhiannon gave a nod to the she-elf's answer towards her inquiry, it was a very logical reason.
"I know who you are." The she-elf stated.
"Do you?" Rhiannon asked, "I feel as if I do not know who I am, most of the time. I once met a man said to be the wisest of all. He said he was the wisest because he knew nothing, and was aware that he knew nothing."
The she-elf gave her a confused look.
"I know you by reputation. You are the half-elven that has visions. My brother told me about you."
"So then, you are Lostladion's sister."
"No. I am the sister of Menepaurion."
Rhiannon bit her tongue and tried desperately not to make a judgment on the elf, based on her brother. Cerethena always said to never judge people by their kin.
"Why do you then sing a song of Lamentation for Lostladion?"
"I sing for the grief my brother does not have the will to profess. And for the grief my dear friend Legolas does not yet know."
Rhiannon could only help but wonder how dear of a friend this she-elf was of Legolas. She was very surprised at her own jealousy. Where in the realms did that come from?
"You are a good sister and loyal friend to sing for the grief of others."
"According to Brhagdan you are also a good sister and loyal friend."
Rhiannon could not hide her surprise, "You have met my brother?"
"After the evening meal, he went to continue his training while you rested."
Rhiannon gave a thoughtful nod, the whole experience seeming odd to her.
"If I may ask, what is your name?" The she-elf asked.
"I thought you already knew."
"I know who you are; but I doubt that what my brother calls you is your proper name."
Good, old predictable, annoying Menepaurion. Half the elves in Mirkwood must think her to be a cold, calculating, graceless excuse for a half- elven. Paranoid, of course not. "My name is Rhiannon."
"That is a pretty name. It rolls off the tongue very well. My name is Laurea."
"Laurea. That is all? Elves usually seem to have such complicated names."
"My parents could not think of a proper name for me. Laurea can mean 'golden.' It seemed proper."
The two females fell silent as they studied each other. A bell sounded in the distance, signaling something, for Laurea quickly jumped up, excusing herself as she hurried off. ***
Rhiannon let the silence of the room envelope her as the elven maiden ran off to where ever she needed to be. She breathed in the scent of the room; the wax of the candles, the smell of the wick, the faint scent of honey and flower in the air. It all reminded her of a tomb, or the antechamber at home where they prepared the bodies for their pyres. The more she breathed in the air, breathed in the potency, the power of the atmosphere, the headier she felt. She was starting to feel dizzy, as her mind opened itself up, her powers stretching, reaching out. To what they reached for, she did not know, and was very unwilling to find out. She shut her eyes tightly closed, took a deep breath, brought her balance back. Even if it killed her, she would learn to control this. She focused on Lostladion's body again. Knowing that his soul, his true immortal part, had left. The body was only a vessel, all knew this. The body was mourned for it was the tangible part, the proof that the heart no longer beat within the chest. There was no real proof that the soul lived on. But memories, memories were forever.
Rhiannon jumped and turned around as a warm hand grasped her shoulder. King Thranduil stood there, but he somehow seemed more approachable. A warm smile graced his beautiful features, his crown removed from his head, his golden hair unbound, his robes of a simple make. She could see parts of Legolas in this soft features, the smile, warm yet mischievous. She wondered what he must have looked like before he saw his father fall in battle, before that battle took 2/3 of the army of what was then Greenwood. Legolas, on more than one of those nights when she could not sleep, had told her the most basic of tale about his homeland. His father's love for jewels and the deep grief he carried with him being most prominent in those tales.
"Many thoughts pass through your mind, it is almost disruptive to me." The musical voice of the King echoed in the silence.
Rhiannon was silent, deciding it would be best to choose her words carefully, "I am just thinking about many things. How tales are greatly exaggerated about people. How those, written down in history as barbarians and villains, actually seem to be of a more valiant standing once you are on their side."
Thranduil knew of what she spoke, but decided it best to not acknowledge her thoughts. "You should be sleeping."
"I am not tired. Is my brother available?"
"No, I am afraid we must have him trained and ready to fight. The darkness descends even faster upon my land. You will be safe in this hall, do not worry."
"My brother is out there, Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, they are all out there. The hobbits are out there. Men of strong will, brave and true valor are out there, all fighting the same thing. Of course I worry."
Thranduil, while acknowledging this in his mind, did not do so in his question, "Gimli? That sounds like the name of a dwarf."
"He is a close friend of Legolas. Yes, he is a dwarf."
"My son is friends with a dwarf?"
Rhiannon did not even attempt to hold back her exasperation, no matter how much she admitted the King of Mirkwood was not as horrible as she was led to believe, he was quite an arrogant elf; "King Thranduil, now is hardly the time to hold a grudge and prejudice towards any ally, no matter their background. They are allies just the same. Besides, from what I have heard, you benefit from many of the creations of dwarves."
Thranduil arched one of his golden brows, "I see you have quite the sharp-tongue on you. Apparently you did not receive any form of elven tact from your.mother, is it? I see my son has decided to take on quite a challenge. You are sure to bring some very entertaining moments to my home in the future."
Rhiannon had at first expected censure in the gaze of the King, instead she found only good humor.
"You are not what you seem." She stated.
"And neither are you."
***
Menepaurion stared at the female that was now his charge. He had to admit he was surprised that the seemingly overly-arrogant half-elven had survived in this land. During this time. As much as he truly hated to, he had to give her credit, she obviously had an immense survival instinct, however, he was still not happy about her involvement with Legolas. He could only see it resulting in very sad times. Legolas would surely have the Call of the Sea in his heart soon; it was almost certain with the obvious end of the time of the elves. The Call, the inability to feel whole on the land of Arda, would pull the prince towards Valinor, and there Rhiannon, he was positive could not go. She did not even truly believe in the Valar, for to her, they were just another set of Gods in the unending sects of religion she had surely seen. Menepaurion knew her kind, had seen her world in the days when had courted one of her kind. So very long ago that was. Her world had intrigued him, their understanding of the balance between Good and Evil. They did not to attempt to destroy all the darkness that descended in their lands, understanding that it was needed to experience one's life to the full. For good to exist, evil must also be known, for darkness to be present, light needed to also be present at one time. The land he had been to, in her realm, was full of what all of Middle Earth would see as the "Good" and "Free" peoples. They did not have orcs, but dark faery. They did not have a Sauron, but many other deceivers, many wolves in sheep's clothing as he had heard stated. The seeming Good were actually the darker Evil. As much as he did not approve of this female, nor her brother for that matter, considering the fact his sister, Laurea, practically swooned every time that male looked her way, he had to begrudgingly give her respect. She had power, or she would have power if she could only put down her own pride and fears and become what she was fully meant to be..That was besides the point. A strength resided in the seemingly helpless and innocent young child that now sat before him. He understood why his King has asked him to watch over her, and to teach her the ways of their kind, but he did not truly see the reason for it. She was tied to the earth, to her realm, anyone that even attempted to gaze into her soul could see that plainly. Even if she did believe in the Valar, in their belief system as a whole, he highly doubted she would beseech her world, her people, her duty, for that of...could it be called love? Truly? He studied Rhiannon. The ability of a great, if not rather hurried love, laid between her and Legolas, but as of right now, it was little more than mutual affection. That could be understandable, her and his dear friend could not have had much time together, and even if they had their would have been a whole camp of Men around them; hardly the perfect settings for starting a true courtship. Rhiannon's dark hair, which he was used to seeing in what could only be described as a monstrous disarray was punished into a tight plait down her back. Her face plainly showed and for once he was struck by something that laid by her right eye. Was that a jewel imbedded there? How odd. His gaze scrutinized her costume. The King had suggested Rhiannon dress in a tunic and leggings for her lessons on how to properly ride a horse and use a bow and arrow. Honestly, Menepaurion did not understand why he had to teach her how to wield a weapon, he had not fought in centuries, Thraduil's decree, since he was the only male left in his family, the only relative to his young, unwed, sister. Rhiannon shifted, not comfortable in her attire. Her body type was quite different from most of their females. The non-elven blood that was in her make-up showed in the fact that her hips were wider than most. Menepaurion briefly wondered if she had ever given birth before. Her leggings were a pair of his sister's, yet the tunic was an old, unused piece of clothing from the King. Laurea's did not fit Rhiannon properly, and the King, being relatively broad-shouldered, gladly provided them with this one. Her fingers nervously fluttered up and down the bow in her hands. The colored patterns dyed into her skin intrigued him, and he wondered what they were for, yet felt it was not proper to ask. The soft elven boots were an old pair Legolas had worn as a child, fitting the not so small feet of the female. Menepaurion could have made a scathing comment about her non-dainty feet, but deiced that it would not be best to start them off on even worse terms. He cleared his throat, Rhiannon's gaze immediately coming to meet his own.
"We must make you at the least sufficient with the bow by the next morn. The problem with you and the horses is a matter of respect, therefore we can do that whenever. This however, your training, can not wait any longer. We will go to a lesser used training field. Hopefully, no one will be harmed this way."
He walked out of the room, waiting for Rhiannon's witty retort, but none never came. It almost sadden him. This was not the same female he had left at the borders of the Golden Wood.
Menepaurion would admit that as elven patience went, he did not have a great deal of it. But this was just ridiculous. A dwarf could shoot faster than the time it took Rhiannon.
"For the love of the Valar, Rhiannon! Just shoot the arrow!"
Her head snapped around and her gaze was full of fire,
"Do not rush me you good for nothing, pain in the ..oohh." Rhiannon stopped, having, in her frustration released the arrow and looking, found it perfectly imbedded in the center of her target.
Menepaurion threw his hands up in the air in frustration, "Well, there is our answer to the great riddle. For you to shoot properly you only need to not be looking at the target and yelling at someone else. What god did I anger to be cursed with this duty?"
"Probably the god of hyperbole and just plain over-exaggeration. Maybe the god of that little thing called patience and tact?"
Menepaurion let out a very un-elf-like snort, "You, my dear friend, are not one to talk. Patience and tact are not your strong points. Come, we will try this again, until you are able to hit the target while looking at it."
The rest of the hours of daylight were consumed with the teaching. Thranduil was very pleased to find both teacher and student returned intact and relatively unharmed. ***
Legolas was amazed at the change in his long time friend, once known as Estel, now known as Aragorn, and if destiny did play out well, and all prophecies fulfilled, he would be known as Elessar. Legolas had seen Aragorn command the Dead, the Dead that now carried the Grey Company towards Gondor, on ships, with banners of some kind unfurled, but not the banner that the Lady Arwen had created for Aragorn son of Arathorn. Legolas stood on one of the decks, Gimli not far from him, the twin sons of Elrond on his other side. One of the dark-haired twins, Elrohir, he was guessing, turned his head to the Prince of Mirkwood.
"Our father tells us you are bound to Rhiannon, through a bond that is both strong and weak. That of the mind, and of the mind only."
"Yes, this is true."
The other dark-haired twin turned his head towards the Prince,
"I did not love her Legolas, I will make that certain so you will not take what I am about to say in the wrong light. The break to our betrothal was quite messy, and I regret to say, I hurt her greatly, but know this: I gave her up for I knew that I am, and will be a warrior. I gave her up for there was a longing in my heart to bring pain to those that brought me pain. I released her from our betrothal because I knew that no amount of her love could quench the longing for revenge and justice I felt, and still feel in my soul. I could not give all that up for her. I ask you, Prince of Mirkwood, fellow warrior, at the end our time on this land, when the longing for the Sea surely comes to your heart, will you be able to give that up for her?"
Legolas, in his best diplomatic voice, attained from years of watching both his father and elder brothers at court spoke through slightly clenched teeth, "Our bond is already formed. It can not be broken."
"But it can be deepened. You could wed and she could." Elladan stopped as his brother gave him a look.
"I love her, I already know this, have already felt its stirrings within my heart. She is a puzzle, and I know that no short amount of time will allow to discover all that there is to know about her, even being bound to her as I am now, she is still a mystery to me. I care for her deeply, and that should be enough. If our bond is deepened, then so be it. I will not deny such beauty if and when it comes to us. She will forever be in my life, no matter where we are. There is no going back now, I know this, as does Rhiannon."
"You can only hurt her, Legolas. In the end, you can only hurt her." Elladan's voice was incredibly soft as he spoke these words, as if he had seen the future of their time, and knew the ending. ***
Rhiannon, begrudgingly, sat in the private rooms of King Thranduil, as he personally administered to the sore muscles in her arms, her back, her shoulders.
"Why are you doing this? Should you not be tending to tactical plans for the upcoming battle?"
Thranduil gifted Rhiannon with a warm smile, he always seemed to bestow them on her, finding her just to be the most amusing thing he had ever set eyes on.
"My son would have my head if I returned him to you harmed. He may appear to be calm, but he has a temper that is unrivaled by anyone save me."
"That is obviously where he gets it from. Although, I have never seen you cross."
"I will try my best to never be cross with you. You have this quality about you that makes me want to protect you from all hurt. Call it a fatherly instinct."
"Hey there, Papa, you are treading on some tremulous ground."
"No, I am just slowly persuading you to seduce, charm, and then marry my son."
"Thranduil!" The King shrugged his shoulders and continued to relax the muscles in the forearms of Rhiannon, "I desire grandchildren, you are the only female any of my sons have shown interest in."
"That is all I am to you!"
"No, you are also a constant source of mirth for me. Rhiannon, I am joking, I mean not to offend you."
"I know you are joking, the sadness recedes from your eyes."
Both were contemplative for a moment, letting the silence speak for them. Rhiannon turned to the King, questions that had been plaguing her coming to her mind,
"You have produced heirs, King Thranduil, why do you not pass into the West, and leave behind all of the sadness that weighs upon your soul?
Baffled, the King looked up at her. He was quiet for some time,
"Have you ever been in love before Rhiannon? Forgive me, of course you have not. Know this, young one, to truly love another, to truly will yourself to be that weak, that vulnerable to another person, takes all the courage and strength you have within your spirit. The loss of love, in it's deepest and purest form causes death, not only for elves, but for many different kinds. I am sorry, I have not answered your question, my mind always tends to wander when I speak to you. Hope, hope keeps me here, Rhiannon. Hope that one day my wife will return to me, after she has fulfilled her duty. And do not believe that you are her only charge, Rhiannon. There were many that she was designated to guide and protect throughout their lives, she told me as much before we wed. She warned of the pain I would experience, loving her, and yet I still followed what I desired. I still feel grief over my father's death, over the loss of so much life, and yet I feel even going over to the West would not lessen that pain, in the least. Some memories, we can not be rid of, and that memory will always be with me. As will the memory of my wife, a memory I am not sad about, for I still fervently believe she will return to me. One day, Rhiannon, you will come to be as I am. You will have grave memories that will weigh upon your very soul, drag you down at times into an abyss of sadness and regret that you can not climb out of. Hope will one day be the only emotion that will keep you going, in the darkest hours, hope for the one that has left you, hope that the one will return, is all that will keep you from leaving this life. I wish I could give you words of comfort, but you are already aware that what lies ahead is not an easy road. Will you have the strength to openly give yourself over to the powerful emotions you have already felt at times but choose to bury inside yourself? Or will you continue to run for fear of the vulnerability you would put yourself, and my son, in?"
A thoughtful looked passed over the young female's face,
"Out of all the tales of I have heard of you, and your realm, not once did I think to find a good deal of wisdom in the King."
"Well, let's not let that rumor out, it is safer and more enjoyable for me if all the others just see me as the King of the Wood elves who lives in a dank cave and desires nothing but gold and jewels. It keeps my court less crowded. All they want me for is my wine, and sometimes, my entertainment."
"I do not know whether to laugh or to question you further."
"Now is not the time for questions, little one, you should take some rest, leave the rest of your cares for tomorrow morning, and further more, maybe you should try to communicate with Legolas."
Rhiannon nodded, her sore muscles now relaxed, and left the rooms of the King, for her own rooms, just down the hall.