Title: The Weeping Wraith, Chapter Sixteen

Summary: If you've been reading thus far, you know what it's all about.  If not, you may want to go back and start at the beginning, because I have well and truly messed things up in this A/U…

Notes: This is now completely A/U, and has elements of the books and the movies within. 

Disclaimer: Some of this story is quoted directly from the trilogy itself.  I will note these excerpts with italics, so pay attention and don't sue me for plagiarism!  I wouldn't dream of such an offense against the great JRR!!

Further notes: My Elvish resources are: "The Languages of Middle-earth" by Ruth S. Noel, the LOTR trilogy, "The Silmarillion," "The Complete Guide to Middle-earth" by Robert Foster, the LOTR movie soundtrack's lyric booklet, and the Ardalambion website. 

Replies to reviews:

Lady Korana: Hello, and welcome to "The Weeping Wraith!"  I emailed a reply to your review, but I would like to thank you again for reading and reviewing this li'l venture of mine.  I am so sorry about the formatting errors; it took me a bit, but I finally figured out how to fix them!  Yay!  Keep reading, and enjoy!  :)

frodolover: Welcome to my corner of FF.net!  I'm sorry you thought the past few chapters were a mite boring; but I assure you, Frodo still has a lot to do before we reach the end of "The Weeping Wraith!"  These chapters set in Lórien serve two distinct purposes: 1) to explore more fully some of the characters of LOTR who never really get much attention (i.e. Gimli, Celeborn, Thranduil, etc.); and 2) to set up the circumstances necessary for the action to return to Frodo at Isengard and to the Renewed Fellowship on the plains of Eastfold.  Sigh, so many simultaneous stories to be told, so much writing required to do it properly.  Don't despair, nin mellon, for I have not forgotten poor Mr. Baggins.  His tale is not over yet.  Keep reading, and thank you for your review.  :)

Treehugger: Ah, my dear friend, you never fail to bring a smile to my face.  Thank you so much for the encouraging reviews!  I'm glad you liked the chapter…actually, I'm glad you've liked all the chapters thus far!  I agree, the Elves of Mirkwood and Lórien are very different, in both attitude and mannerisms.  King Thranduil and Lord Celeborn sure are different…but you'll have to read on to see that!  Thanks again, nin mellon! :)

Dangerously Cheezy: Hey, there!  Thanks for the reviews; it's so heartening to get such compliments from so accomplished an author as yourself.  Truly!  Let me take this opportunity to state publicly that Eleanor is genius!  Also, do you realize that by reviewing Katharine the Great, you have become "Greated" Cheeze?  [wink wink] Puns forever!!  ;)

Elowyn Telcontar: Hey, sweetie, thanks for the reviews!  And may I say once again that I like your screen name?  You should post something here at FF.net, you and your collection of Legolas-junkies.  Ask the Epitome of All Evil if you're interested; she knows how to register.  Keep reading and writing, luv!  :)  Oh, and you were right about the Glittering Caves—Gimli hasn't been there yet.  I fixed the chapter so that he's recounting what others have told him.  ;)

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            Gimli woke just as the Sun's clean golden rays began trickling through the Wood's leaved awning.  He was strangely pleased that the first sound to greet his ears was the renewed Elven singing echoing throughout the heights of the City.  The unnatural quiet of the prior morning had truly disturbed him, more so than even he himself had been aware of.  Added to the cheerful voices of the nearby Elves were the piping melodies of small birds, and the breeze in the canopies above skittered over the leaves in a most gladsome manner.  Most of Lothlórien roused with a spirit of cheer, for the horde of Dol Guldur had been utterly dashed to the ground, and the inner sanctums of the Golden Wood had been wholly preserved. 

However, though Gimli could not perceive it, there was also a sad lilt to the mallorn-song, for there were yet slain Elven warriors secreted beneath the masses of enemy dead.  Their blood mingled with that of the Orcs, seeping into the roots of the mighty trees and prompting a mournful whisper among the mighty boughs.  But already there were many Elves wading through the matted corpses, seeking out fallen comrades so that they might be laid to rest away from their foes.  The Orcs themselves would be gathered and burned unceremoniously outside the borders of Lórien.  Then, under the tender ministrations of Celeborn and Galadriel, the damage to the Wood could be healed in time.  The trees would not grieve forever.

Unaware of the somber undercurrents floating about in the air of the Wood, Gimli set about cleaning his armaments immediately upon awakening.  He did not understand the Elvish words being sung in the branches nearby, but the tune was pleasant, and so he passed the morning in agreeable fashion.  Once his chain-mail shirt, helm, and axe were polished, the Dwarf donned the arms, preferring in the way of his folk to remain garbed as a warrior at all times.  He planned to seek out his breakfast at the public dining locale close at hand.  As before, the Elves had been instructed to provide for their visitor's needs, as he was not familiar enough with the Wood to obtain his own provisions.

Gimli set out from his flet, walking easily atop the massive limbs that served as open passages amid the dwellings in the treetops.  He intended to pay another visit to the healers' pavilions after he had eaten, to learn whether Nimfëalórien remained there or had retired to his own home.  The Dwarf supposed he would have to ask for assistance in finding his way to the pavilions.  The constant need for aid from the Elves was becoming irksome, but Gimli bore it stoically, knowing that he was a guest and that the Lord and Lady were indeed gracious to offer their assistance. 

When Gimli reached the dining platform, he found a bowl of fruit on one of the many unoccupied tables there.  An Elf maiden waited nearby to beckon to him and to pour a glass of light Elvish wine, the customary drink at mealtimes.  Gimli thanked her, then sat and enthusiastically picked up a large lisseluin, a sweet blue fruit with thin skin and a small, tough core.  It had become his favorite Elvish fruit, for its taste quite reminded him of a Dwarven-grown purple fruit known universally as the cavern-apple.  No one remembered its proper name, but it was a most popular dessert among Gimli's kin.  The dining locale was nearly empty, for most Elves woke early in the morning and breakfasted in their own homes; otherwise, many an Elf would have wondered at the Dwarf's curious smile as he ate and reminisced in such fashion.

Gimli had nearly finished his fruit when he caught movement out of the corner of one eye.  He turned to see a familiar Elf maiden approaching his table.  The Dwarf was surprised and delighted to see her, for she was Líssulma, Galadriel's handmaiden, who had guided him back to his flet the night before.  Her silver locks spilled over her slender shoulders, harmonizing perfectly with her blue raiment and her necklace of white gems.  Gimli hardly noticed her garments, however, so pleased was he to see her again. 

"Lady Líssulma!" the Dwarf exclaimed, standing to greet her. 

The lady's smile was warm, and her widely set eyes sparkled with the dappled sunlight.  "Master Gimli," she said pleasantly.  Her tone was as rich and kind as it had been before.  "I trust you slept well?"

"I did, thank you.  Were your dreams kind to you last night?" Gimli asked, remembering again some of Legolas' tutoring in Elvish courtesy.

Líssulma laughed aloud to hear the casual Elven inquiry falling from the lips of a Dwarf.  "Ah, Gimli, you shall never cease to startle me with your knowledge of our customs!" she said with a pleased smile.  "Yes, I dreamed splendidly, thank you.  I am come to convey a message on behalf of the Lord and Lady.  They request that you join them in the Hall of Lórien as soon as you are able."

"I am able now," Gimli replied, carefully setting the bared core of the lisseluin fruit on the plate provided for just that purpose.  He took up his axe and once more faced Líssulma.  "Am I to follow you, then?"

"Yes," the Elf maiden answered.  As they fell into step alongside each other, she continued, "I did not ask this of you last night, Master Gimli, but did you witness the coming of the host of Mirkwood to our aid?"

Gimli remembered well the pounding of the Elven horses and the gleaming of the warriors' mail.  "Yes, I did, my lady.  It was a marvelous sight, I must say, and certainly unforeseen!  But I wager their aid was not despised."

"Indeed not," Líssulma agreed.  "The Lord and Lady cordially welcomed King Thranduil; he has not come to the Wood in some time."

"I should like to know why the king himself chose to accompany his warriors into battle," Gimli mused, echoing his thoughts of the day before.  "It was most unusual, to my thinking at least."

The Elf maiden shook her head.  "That I do not know.  I suppose you shall have to ask the king himself if you would know for certain," she said.

Gimli greatly wished to question the handmaiden as to whether Thranduil was as arrogant and severe of temperament as he was sometimes described in Glóin's tales, but he kept the inquiry to himself.  The Dwarf did not think it wise to insult the Elvenking prior to making proper acquaintance.  "Perhaps he seeks word of Legolas," Gimli heard himself ruminating aloud.

"It may be thus, but I do not know," Líssulma answered serenely.

They continued on, exchanging lighter conversation as they went.  Líssulma asked many questions concerning Gimli's travels with the Fellowship; she had journeyed in her youth, and wished to know whether the state of the world had worsened since her visits to the lands beyond Lórien's borders.  Gimli readily answered her queries, as he had done for Nimfëalórien, for he was elated to have made the acquaintance another such kind-hearted Elf.  He realized that Galadriel had arranged it so.  Of course, the Lady knew of Líssulma's friendly manner and unbiased approach, and so had appointed her to be Gimli's escort, at least for a short time.  The Dwarf was again overcome with gratitude at Galadriel's kindness. 

The two arrived at the Hall in due time, and Líssulma ushered Gimli into the expansive receiving chamber.  The place was filled with the low hum of conversation, for the elders of Lothlórien had also been summoned to parley.  Líssulma led Gimli to stand near the two chairs set in the center of the elliptical chamber, where sat Celeborn and Galadriel, as was their custom.  Gimli, for his part, was delighted to have been placed to the left of the Lady; she was ever more radiant when beheld from so near a position.  Líssulma dipped her head to the Lord and Lady, then again to Gimli, before turning and gracefully exiting the hall.

When the handmaiden had completed her errand, Celeborn raised one long-fingered hand, and instant silence fell over the chamber.  "Greetings and good morning to all here assembled," the Lord of Lórien began.  "The Lady and I are pleased to welcome our northern kinsman Thranduil, king of the Woodland Realm.  His timely aid yesterday proved most significant to the eventual conclusion of the battle."

Gimli's eyes were drawn to the figure standing slightly to the right of Celeborn's chair.  Thranduil appeared a stark contrast to the luminous but sparsely decorated sovereigns of Lórien; he was tall and strongly built, of strikingly chiseled form and feature, and dressed in richly embroidered green garments and verdant cloak.  White and green gems gleamed at his belt.  His sword was suspended by his side, and his pale golden hair lay draped on his shoulders.  His gaze was keen and piercing, much as Gimli's father had described it.  Yet though the Elvenking was plainly of the same strain of nobility as were the rulers of Lothlórien, Gimli's impression was that he seemed set apart from them in some unfathomable but elemental aspect.

"The valor of the warriors of Lórien must not be reduced in the telling, Lord Celeborn," Thranduil remarked in smooth Westron.  His voice was as clear as a flute on a cold morning, but deeper than Gimli would have expected.  "My people were instrumental only in containing the yrch and slaying them as they fled your defenders."

"Then it is as I said, for the end result was far more satisfying than it would have been if those you slew had escaped," Celeborn replied.  At Thranduil's brief nod of acknowledgement, the Elf-lord continued, "Now I would ask that you impart wherefore you arrived in such an opportune manner, Thranduil, and what your purpose may be in coming; unless it be solely for the sake of destroying enemy creatures as they menace foreign realms."

"Nay, 'tis not my sole cause," the Elvenking of Mirkwood said with a slight inflection of darksome delight in his voice; Gimli saw that his hand rested upon his flashing sword-hilt.  "Though the slaying of Orcs is good sport and cause for cheer, such pursuits are not sufficient to draw me from my realm, especially when those same enemies threaten my own borders as we speak."  He paused for a moment, then resumed his discourse, softly but steadily.  "Many ill tidings have reached my court in bygone days.  Everywhere there are reports of increased Enemy activity; the dark fortress of Dol Guldur has awakened, and many hordes pour forth from its depths to terrorize every passageway between Mirkwood and her allies at Rivendell and Lothlórien.  I must advise you all of this: I deem attack to be well nigh at my door.  My green woodland shall soon be met with adversity to equal any seen in many centuries past."  As Thranduil spoke thusly a shadow fell over his face, and Gimli saw a hint of very real distress in the Elf-lord's visage.    "Also, news has come by way of wings that the Easterlings beyond the River Carnen now menace my longstanding ally Brand, the king of Dale—that realm of Men which lies beyond the trees at my northeastern border.  Brand intends to join with the Dwarves of Erebor to repel the coming incursion.  But should those at Dale and Erebor fail, the Woodland Realm will be enclosed by her foes, and I do not imagine many of my people would survive such besiegement."

"And yet you have not remained to uphold the defense of your realm," Galadriel observed evenly.

Thranduil's eyes flared challengingly.  "Taurëmíredil holds the throne in my absence.  Should attack come, I have faith that he will meet it with both wisdom and severity."

Gimli was amazed at the umbrage he heard in the Elf-lord's tone, and that Thranduil would direct such antipathy at Galadriel herself was inconceivable in the Dwarf's mind.  Gimli began to understand Celeborn's comment to Lelemir about her father's "oftentimes less than mild temperament," for Thranduil evidently was indeed possessed of a fairly belligerent streak.  However, Galadriel's resonant voice remained calm despite the Elvenking's ire.  "I doubt it not, son of Oropher; you have instructed your eldest well in the art of governing," she said.

Thranduil closed his eyes briefly, and when he again looked at the Lady he appeared repentant.  "Forgive me, my Lady.  My temperament is stretched taut these days, and I am afraid it is wont to surface at most inopportune times.  You know that these evils I have hitherto spoken of are not all that trouble my heart, nor are they indeed utmost.  Word has reached me that my youngest son is a prisoner of the traitorous wizard at Orthanc; and this of late, that my daughter has chosen to take her brother's place among the Walkers who yet endeavor to destroy the Dark One's treasure."  The Elven lord's sigh was heavy with ill-obscured pain.  "I assure you, naught but the distress and peril of my children could have taken me from my halls at such a time as this."

"This we know well," Celeborn said; and Gimli was surprised to see that a bleak aspect of remembered anguish had replaced the Lord of Lórien's usual tranquil gaze.  "Galadriel and I share altogether in your grief, for as you will recall, we too have known the pain of a child taken astray."

Gimli's fingers tightened on the hilt of his axe as he heard the somber words, so startling were they.  He had not ever considered whether the Lord and Lady were possessed of children.  His heart groaned within him to think that any child of Galadriel's had been lost to the world; such a child would have been wondrously fair to behold, and surely as gentle in manner as the Lady herself.  Gimli suddenly longed to learn whether Celeborn and Galadriel had borne any other children—and also he wished to discover what had befallen the one who was lost.  Yet it was not the time to make such inquiries; indeed, he doubted whether any time would be appropriate for broaching the subject.

There was silence in the Hall for some time, and then Galadriel spoke once more.  "I would that your young son meets a fate less deplorable than that of Celebrían, Thranduil.  Therefore heed me in this: you possess yet another ally in this Wood, one who has proven himself most loyal and worthy.  Long have his people been a source of disagreement for you, but I tell you that to turn aside his aid because of past grievances would be the height of folly.  Consider him with your own eyes, therefore, and choose well."  The Lady turned her clear gaze to meet Gimli's.  "Stand forth, Gimli son of Glóin," she said.

The Dwarf did as she commanded, stepping out confidently from among the Elven councilors.  He noticed then that Hithílion, the curt advisor to Mirkwood's ruler, was standing some short distance away, and that the Elf's cold gaze was fixed on him.  Gimli disregarded Hithílion's stare and bowed deeply, declaring, "Hail, King Thranduil of Mirkwood.  I am honored to meet you."

The Elvenking regarded Gimli with a judicious gaze.  "I have heard much of you, Gimli Glóin's son," he said impassively.  "Tell me, why do you linger here in this Elvish haven, among strange folk and unfamiliar settings?"

            "I linger on behalf of your son Legolas, my lord," Gimli replied sincerely, calmly meeting the intense gray eyes boring into him.  "He has become my most cherished friend in the course of our travels together, and my greatest wish is to see him walk free of the tower at Isengard."  He spoke the name of Saruman's abode as though it were a curse, then placed the head of his axe on the floor and once more bowed low.  "If that is what you seek as well, my lord, then I am wholly at your service."

            "Strange days these are," Thranduil mused aloud, raising one sculpted brow and glancing at Celeborn and Galadriel.  "A Dwarf pledges allegiance to an Elven lord, and that on behalf of an Elven prince."  The Elvenking again looked at Gimli and continued, "But perhaps it is not so unusual for you, Master Gimli; Mirmithúial the rider spoke to me of the young wounded Elf of Lórien for whom you expended much alarm and care yestereve."

            "I did so not to garner favor, I assure you, my lord," Gimli answered, straightening, "but only in order that a friend might survive to see the morrow."   

"That was the conviction held by Mirmithúial when he told me of your concern, and his discernment is trustworthy," Thranduil said, nodding slowly.  "You make me curious, Gimli Glóin's son.  Is it your custom to seek after such unusual companions?"

"If you would know my opinion of Elves in general, King Thranduil, then it is this," Gimli replied.  "You are a strange folk to my mind, and I no more comprehend many of your ways than you understand those of my people.  Yet there are those among you who possess goodness and nobility in measure beyond that of any I have seen elsewhere."  His gaze strayed to the intent faces of Celeborn and Galadriel, then turned again to Thranduil.  "Legolas your son is one such individual, my lord.  I will tell you truthfully that I have not always thought so.  We were first grudging companions, bound in our travels only by a common hatred of the Enemy.  But in the course of our journey, we came to share a trust and respect born of peril.  Legolas taught me much about your people, and also graciously listened in turn to my accounts regarding the folk of Erebor.  Such kindness was unique in my remembrance, and I have come to value your son as both a skilled warrior and a cherished friend.  Therefore I ask you, my lord Thranduil, to give me leave to lend whatever service I may in Legolas' rescue."  With that appeal, Gimli fell silent and awaited the king's reply.

Thranduil's expression remained inscrutable, and he held Gimli's gaze for a long moment before he spoke.  "Your speech surprises me, Master Gimli.  Never before have I heard such sentiment from one of your ilk.  Yet it holds true with the testimony of Mirmithúial, and also of Thalion and Forngíliath; they were amazed at your concern for the young Elf whose life was saved by your swift aid.  Furthermore, I have heard no words less than agreeable from Celeborn and Galadriel in the matter."  The Elf-lord flicked a thoughtful glance at the Lord and Lady, then continued his discourse.  "Too, my Legolas is possessed of high standards and good judgment in the choosing of preferred companions—traits he acquired from myself.  And no valid ill report have I heard spoken of you in my own court."  Thranduil then drew himself up to his full height, seeming to come to a decision.  "Therefore I accept your offer, Gimli of Erebor, for I sense no deceit in you.  If Legolas' freedom you seek, then I welcome your aid."

"Thank you, my lord," Gimli said, not without great relief.  He ignored Hithílion's ill-concealed grimace.  "May your trust be well repaid."

Thranduil's expression did not soften; perhaps, Gimli thought, the king's sanction had been more difficult to grant than he would divulge.  "See that it is, Master Gimli," he said.  "I shall be dreadfully unhappy if your good repute comes to naught."

"It shall not, my lord," Gimli replied boldly.  Thranduil seemed to accept that, for he said no more on the matter, but merely nodded once and turned to again face the Lord and Lady.

"I am pleased to witness such an alliance," Celeborn remarked, speaking for the first time in many minutes.  The Lord of Lórien gave Thranduil a markedly amused glance; remembering, perhaps, the discord of ages past between the Elvenking and Gimli's father Glóin.  "Peculiar are the means of Ilúvatar, that He sees fit to unite rivals and sons of rivals in this manner."

"Peculiar indeed," Galadriel agreed.  She turned her clear gaze to regard Mirkwood's ruler.  "What is your intent now, Thranduil?  Surely you do not mean to divest your kingdom of so many of her defenders for long?" 

"I have brought with me only as many as could be spared from the guard," Thranduil replied.  "Two score and one hundred they are, all valiant warriors, and one third of their number mounted upon swift steeds reared in my own stables.  My son Taurëmíredil insisted upon sending them with me to guard against roaming enemy troops."  The Elf-lord's hand fell away from the hilt of his sword, and his voice lowered.  "My intention is to here seek counsel, Celeborn and Galadriel, for in truth I do not know what I will do.  If your wisdom advises me to return to my realm, then it is likely that I shall do so.  If there be some manner in which I may hasten the release or salvage of my son, then I will avail myself of it.  But it is maddening to lose a child to a war in which I am not vigorously participating."

"To seek counsel is wise, Thranduil, but I believe that you intend to do exactly as you deem best regardless of what is said here," Celeborn stated.  A slight smile removed the sting from his words.  "I daresay that you would not act against your own judgment even if Manwë Súlimo himself appeared to give you such instruction."  The Elven lord sighed aloud then, and said, "Nevertheless, I do empathize with this quandary.  Your desire is not to watch from your walls for an attack to come upon your kingdom, but instead to play a role in the heart of the larger conflict."

            "Legolas is not yet lost, Thranduil, but only unseen," Galadriel added compassionately.  "Your daughter Lelemir is among valiant allies, including the Chieftain of the Dúnedain and a Guardian of Imladris.  Do not cede to undue sorrows before their time."

            Thranduil inclined his head in acknowledgement.  "You both speak truly, as is your custom."  He gave the Lord of Lórien a puckish glance.  "Although some remarks ring less justly than others.  I would surely heed the word of Manwë, Celeborn, but I bear no such obligation toward any who walk the earth."  Gimli perceived that the king's tone was only partly jesting, and he was again surprised by Thranduil's willfulness.  But the Elf-lord's voice became grim and sincere as he added, "Even so, I would know your judgment in this, Lord and Lady of the Wood, for there are but few souls in the land whose counsel is as steadfast."

Celeborn touched his fingertips together in assent.  "Very well.  One hundred and forty, valiant though they may be, cannot stand in opposition to the force of Isengard," he declared. 

Thranduil's expression took on a slightly indignant aspect.  "Only a fool would march on such a bastion with so little strength of arms," he said.

"That, I believe, was the Lord's reasoning," Galadriel replied.  "Therefore some other alternative must be found.  Tarry here some days, Thranduil, and I shall look into my Mirror.  Mayhap I shall see something that will illumine your path, for the way is yet unclear."

The Elvenking inclined his head deferentially.  "I thank you for your kindness, Lord and Lady.  I shall indeed remain for a time.  My people would do well to glimpse your realm, for it breathes hope into hearts; too many have despaired of cleansing their home as of late."

"Then may they find rest and resolve beneath the golden boughs," Celeborn said.  "In the interim, perhaps you will take the afternoon meal with the Lady and myself, for there is much to discuss."  The Elf-lord raised his gaze to address the assembled counselors of Lórien.  "I urge you all to consider what you have heard today.  Should any of your number come upon a proposal that seems good regarding the King of Mirkwood's aspiration, bring it forth for consideration.  Until such time, you are free to take your leave."

The Elves gathered in the chamber began to murmur amongst themselves as they withdrew from the Hall.  Gimli wished to remain with Galadriel and the two lords, but he had not been invited, and so he followed the counselors out of the chamber.  He did not see Hithílion.  Fiery Anor had ascended to its peak in the sky while Gimli had stood in congress with the Elves.  It then occurred to the Dwarf that he had intended to visit Nimfëalórien, and he still wished to do so.  For that reason, he asked one of the Elves departing the Hall to direct him to the healers' pavilions.

"Only one pavilion remains in use," the Elf answered.  "If you seek word of young Fëaneth, he has likely returned to his father's house."

"I do not wish to hinder you for long, good Elf, but will you further assist me in finding Lord Lómeldarion's home?" Gimli asked.  "You need not take me yourself; I will be content with simple instructions."

The Elf looked doubtful.  "To one unfamiliar with the City, no instructions will be both simple and useful."

"Give the instructions to me, Lord Harmatar," Líssulma said, approaching from Gimli's left.  "The Lady has charged me with the guidance of Master Gimli while he remains in the Wood."

Gimli was well pleased to hear her words.  Harmatar quickly exchanged dialogue with the handmaiden in their own tongue, and then the Elf-lord nodded to Gimli and departed.  Líssulma smiled at the Dwarf.  "You seem surprised, Master Gimli."

"Not surprised, Lady Líssulma, merely delighted to learn that I shall have the pleasure of your companionship more often than I had hoped," Gimli replied.  "Is this arrangement to your liking?"

"Of course.  Who else among my family may say that they have walked in the company of a Dwarf named Elf-friend by the Lady of Lórien herself?" Líssulma jested.  "I quite enjoy speaking with you, Master Gimli.  If you have no protest, then I shall be glad to serve as your escort."  She beckoned to him.  "Come.  We shall go to Fëaneth's home and see about his wellbeing." 

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            Nimfëalórien's father was quite shocked to find a Dwarf at his door, asking about his son's health.  Lord Lómeldarion was an Elf of dignified heritage and high standing, and he was entirely unaccustomed to inviting Dwarves into his home.  However, Lady Tinlórewen interceded, reminding her husband that Gimli had saved their son's life, and therefore deserved their welcome.  Lómeldarion consented, and while his manner remained stiff and uneasy, he was not at all disagreeable.  His wife, however, was as pleased to see Gimli as she had been the night before at the pavilions.

            Tinlórewen brought Gimli and Líssulma to her son's room, where Nimfëalórien was resting in his soft hammock.  "The healers instructed us to keep him quiet for today and tomorrow, until the poison is fully cleansed from his blood," the lady of the house told them.  "I can only allow a short visit today, but I am glad you came, Master Gimli.  Nimfëalórien will be as glad, I am certain."  She smiled at her visitors' inquiring expressions.  "Yes, my son has been given leave to take on his rightful name.  'The young spirit is now the white spirit,' so he says."

Nimfëalórien was overjoyed to see Gimli.  The Dwarf noticed with relief that his young friend's coloring had returned to its natural hue, and that he was not as quickly fatigued as he had been at the healers' pavilion.  Gimli introduced his escort to Nimfëalórien, who blushed slightly at the Elf maiden's lovely smile.  The Dwarf also made certain to congratulate Nimfëalórien on reclaiming his given name.  They would have spoken together for many hours, as Nimfëalórien wished to hear another of Gimli's traveling tales; however, Lady Tinlórewen insisted upon maintaining strict compliance with the healers' counsel, and so she ushered Gimli and Líssulma out of her son's room after a somewhat brief meeting. 

"You may certainly return on the morrow, Master Gimli," Tinlórewen told him.  "And your charming guide is welcome as well." 

Gimli did not notice the sparkle in the lady's eye as she added the last phrase; he was too untrained in the ways of Elven mothers.  Líssulma, however, detected Tinlórewen's meaning, and she flushed more deeply than Gimli had ever witnessed.  Moreover, the handmaiden would not explain her reaction to him, no matter how persistently he questioned her.

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            Gimli and Líssulma passed the following day in each other's company, and they spoke of many things both distant and close by.  They heard nothing more of Thranduil or his doings in the Golden Wood, and no council was called to recommence the dialogue regarding the Elvenking's course.  Gimli supposed that the warriors of Mirkwood were likely glad for the respite—he had heard much rumor concerning the fear and darkness growing in the forest realm.  He and Líssulma again visited the home of Nimfëalórien, where Lómeldarion graciously invited them to stay for the evening meal.  Gimli was introduced to his friend's two younger sisters, both of whom stared at the Dwarf for a long period of time before their mother chastised them.  Gimli was not bothered by the young Elf maids' inquisitiveness; rather, he found it almost charming. 

            The next morning, Nimfëalórien met Gimli for breakfast.  The Elf's strength had not fully returned, but he was mending well, and he voiced his wish to spend the day with Gimli; a wish that the Dwarf shared, for as delightful as Líssulma's company was, he had missed the easy camaraderie that he shared with Nimfëalórien.  The handmaiden declined to join the two in the days' proceedings, saying that they should pass the day "away from the womenfolk, doing whatever men do when there are no ladies about."

            Thus Gimli and Nimfëalórien went to the Elf's favorite fountain and sat in the hearing of its liquid chattering, dining lightly on the fruit, dried meat, and wine they had brought along.  Nimfëalórien wished to know all that had transpired since his wounding in the battle for Lórien, and so Gimli recounted his meeting with Líssulma and their various comings and goings afterwards.  The Dwarf would not have spoken so much of the Elf maiden, but Nimfëalórien seemed to take particular interest in the subject, inquiring as to Líssulma's disposition and predilections.  Gimli swiftly understood his young friend's motive, and he took great satisfaction in cordially ribbing the Elf.

            Nimfëalórien took the gibes in good humor, and rejoined with, "Have you no Dwarf maiden to return to, Master Gimli?"

            "Hah!  No, not I, good Nimfëalórien," Gimli harrumphed.  "I see no need to bind myself to a maid of any kind.  There are far worthier pursuits to be had."

            "I may well agree with you, Gimli, but surely you do not begrudge me a modicum of curiosity?" Nimfëalórien asked.

            "Such curiosity has been the ensnarement of many a fine warrior," Gimli maintained.

            Nimfëalórien then laughed aloud, saying, "Ah, but without such ensnarement neither you nor I would be sitting here discussing the matter!"  Gimli conceded the point, and the Elf continued, "Come now, let us leave off speaking of maids and ensnarement!  Were I but a trifle less weary owing to the Orc poison, I would take you hunting for the gray-backed deer that run through the outer fringes of the Wood."

            "Take no thought of it, Nimfëalórien.  You must rest in order to recover your strength," Gimli told him.  "As it happens, I am not unfamiliar with the gray-backed deer.  They are a favorite repast in the halls of the Lonely Mountain."

            Thence the discussion turned to their various hunting exploits.  When they had exhausted that matter, Nimfëalórien asked to hear more of Gimli's tales concerning the lands beyond the borders of the Golden Wood.  The Dwarf was pleased to oblige; he recounted the doings of his own people at Erebor, and also what he knew of the nearby kingdom of Dale.  He then described what he had seen at Rivendell when he had accompanied his father to the Council called by Lord Elrond; Nimfëalórien was entranced by Gimli's narrative, for he had longed to visit the Last Homely House himself.

            The two remained conversing for all of the afternoon, and only when the Sun's light began to wane did they return to Nimfëalórien's home.  Gimli had been bidden to once again dine in the company of Lómeldarion and his household, for even the staid Elven lord was becoming quickly persuaded of the Dwarf's integrity.  Hence, Gimli passed a pleasant evening meal, and exchanged warm words with all of Nimfëalórien's family. 

            Night's raven wings had descended upon the earth when Nimfëalórien and Gimli departed the former's home and began to make their way to the latter's flet.  The Dwarf noted that his friend's pace had grown fairly sluggish, and he was mildly concerned that he had overtired the young Elf.  "Are you feeling unwell, Nimfëalórien?" he asked.

            "I am merely weary, Gimli, but no more than that," the Elf answered.  "When I have seen you to your own lodging, I mean to retire at once to my hammock and savor my dreams."

            "I do not suppose you would welcome any speculation on my part as to whose face you wish to see in your dreams tonight," Gimli remarked drolly.

            "No, I would not, good Dwarf," Nimfëalórien answered impassively.  "I may be fatigued, but I can still make you regret your decision to leave your axe in your flet for today."

            They strolled in silence for several moments after that.  Then, the humor overtook them both at once, and they laughed gaily.  Had the two paused to listen to themselves, they might have realized what a strange scene they made; one short and thickset Dwarf, with one tall, lithe Elf, walking together in gleeful companionship, laughing beneath the serene canopies of Lothlórien.  Gimli was reminded of his many excursions with Legolas, and the banter they had engaged in along the way; however, the memory brought with it no melancholy or grimness, but only a renewed sense of purpose.  He felt more certain than ever before that Legolas' rescue was near at hand.

            Nimfëalórien and Gimli rounded the last bend and stepped onto the massive bough that led to the Dwarf's flet, but they halted in surprise when they saw the figure waiting at the end of the passage.  Lord Celeborn stood alone and solemn, a pillar of glinting silver among the golden lamps and softly glowing vines that illuminated the path.  He at once perceived the two companions' arrival, and as he came to meet them his long incandescent robes swept the smooth gray bark of the vast mallorn limb.

            "My Lord," Nimfëalórien said hastily, bowing low before the approaching Elf-lord.  Gimli did the same, although he was not nearly so anxious as his young friend.

            Celeborn's ageless features were both tranquil and alert, as was his norm.  "I am pleased to see you are convalescing, Nimfëalórien," he said kindly, drawing near to them.  "Your father told the Lady and I of your recovery, and also of his decision to restore your rightful name to you."

            "Yes, my Lord," the younger Elf replied, quite visibly awed that the Lord of Lórien was so familiar with the lesser happenings in the Wood.   

            "I see that you and Master Gimli have passed at least a part of the evening in each other's company," Celeborn continued, looking from Nimfëalórien to Gimli and back again.  "I thank you for obliging to escort him to his accommodations, but I should like to speak solely with him for a time."

            "Of course, my Lord," Nimfëalórien promptly responded.  He looked down at Gimli with a faint grin of remembered jests.  "I shall see you in the morning, good Gimli?"

            "Certainly," the Dwarf answered.  "Perhaps we may yet convince your lady to meet with us for a venture into the Wood."

            Nimfëalórien shook his head exasperatedly.  "You are impossible to cope with, Master Gimli.  Good night."

            "Good night," Gimli replied pleasantly, then watched the young Elf bow again to Celeborn and take his leave.

            The Lord of the Wood spoke as Nimfëalórien vanished around the curve of the bough.  "Will you walk with me, Gimli?" he asked softly.

            "Certainly, Lord Celeborn," the Dwarf answered.  He was completely baffled as to the Elf-lord's purpose, but he expected he would soon learn it.  He fell into step beside Celeborn, and did not say anything more, for at that moment silence seemed most appropriate. 

As they walked, Gimli gradually became aware of Celeborn's easy grace of movement; so fluid that he hardly disturbed the air as he passed, and with refined elegance that hearkened back to the Elder Days, when the great sovereigns of lore yet trod the earth.  The Lord of Lórien's step was light and noiseless against the pale limb, so that he looked to be gliding rather than walking.  He led Gimli on, yet unspeaking, and they came to a broad white ladder over which were suspended soft green and silver lamps.  Celeborn beckoned wordlessly, then descended to the forest's leaf-strewn floor.  Gimli followed behind, ever more curious, and soon he was once more walking at the Elf-lord's side, beneath the hazy golden glow of the lamps high above.  The mallorn trees stood silent, as dark obelisks soaring endlessly upwards into the night sky.  Gimli shivered slightly as he watched the shadows play over Celeborn's luminous robes; the Elven lord appeared a mere specter, an eerie phantasm of ivory skin and glistening silver raiment.

They came to a fissure in the mallorn host, and Gimli perceived a towering green wall before him, one formed of thick hedge and crawling vines.  The vines were dark, unlit by the glow of those that twined about the twigs in the bright City.  Caras Galadhon's warm radiance lay at their backs, providing only the faintest illumination; indeed, the sole source of light came from within the hedge-wall, seeping through minute cracks in the flora. 

Celeborn brought Gimli to a break in the green barrier, but stopped before entering in.  "Very few there are who have seen what I will show you, Gimli Glóin's son," he said softly, with eyes agleam in the pale light trickling from the entrance. 

The Dwarf nodded solemnly, unsure of what to say.  Therefore he maintained his silence and stepped with care into the short passageway formed by walls of greenery.  Where the partitions ended there was a wash of cool silver luminance.  Gimli blinked for a moment while his eyes adjusted, and when he beheld the sight before him he drew in a sharp breath laden with surprise and wonder.

The tall hedges enclosed a generous copse of trees like none Gimli had ever glimpsed before.  They were scarcely taller than Lord Celeborn himself, and slender; their white stems grew no larger than the width of a Man's wrist, and remained entirely bare until they blossomed into ample crowns of delicate white shoots and gleaming silver leaves.  Each leaf was shaped as a tear drop, and inlaid with hues of ivory, silver, even mithril, each overlapping the others so that every leaf shimmered of its own accord.  Suspended in various places were coiled lamps of pearl and silver, which cast their crystalline hues onto the trees and filled the place with refracted beams as to rival the argent glow of Ithil herself.  The grass was cool and lush, and only a light sprinkling of fallen silver leaves disrupted its deep indigo surface.

            Gimli was rendered speechless.  Long moments passed ere any speech fell into the pristine calm of the resplendent silver grove.  The Dwarf heard the soothing chime of bubbling water from somewhere within the coppice—a small fountain, perhaps, babbling its lively music to whomever would listen.

            "These are the tithen celebyrn," Celeborn murmured.  "My little silver trees."  And as Gimli finally wrenched his rapt stare from the scene before him, he looked up at the Elf-lord's face, which had taken on a translucent hue in the wash of the lamps.  There, written in every feature and shining from ageless eyes, the Dwarf saw scarcely-contained joy, the pleasure of a craftsman upon beholding his creation.  "They are alone in the world, for they grow nowhere else in all of Middle-earth," the Lord of Lórien continued, in a voice thick with passion.  "This is my garden and sanctuary, Gimli.  My refuge."

            "I have no words, my Lord," Gimli whispered hoarsely, barely able to force any sound out of his throat, which had closed up in overwhelming wonderment.  Never had he seen such austere splendor in such a perfectly blended environ; for though the silver trees glittered like the preciously wrought adornments of Dwarven kingdoms, they seemed to pulsate with the steady thrum of their life—the same life which flourished in all Elven realms, for the Firstborn held as sacred the beauty of Arda and its bounty.

            After several long minutes had passed by, Celeborn touched Gimli's shoulder.  "Come," he said.  "Let us go to the fountain, for there I would speak with you."

            Gimli followed the Elven lord deeper into the copse of trees, carefully guarding his hands lest one should be tempted to reach out and caress a delicate silver leaf where it quivered on its mooring.  As Celeborn moved among the trees, he appeared more and more to be but a part of the grove himself; as though the noblest of the tithen celebyrn had been given leave to don the shape of they that traversed with feet and spoke with voices.  The Lord of the Wood's silver robes caught the scintillating beams of the spiraled lamps, and when he drew near to one such light source his form became almost unbearably dazzling. 

            They came to a small fountain of carven white marble, which lay in the center of the grove and was surrounded by hanging lamps of mithril-gleam.  Its basin was enclosed by a rim thick enough to serve as a bench, and the figure in its center was that of a woman with flowing garments and hair; the water poured from within her cupped hands and plunged down into the clear pool at her feet.  Inscribed upon the marble of her small dais were lovingly carved runes that identified the woman as a depiction of Varda Elentári, from whose hands had sprung the light of the stars and the great Lights of Anor and Ithil.  Gimli, however, could not read the Elvish script, nor was he familiar with the significance of the figure's cupped palms; he thought, perhaps not altogether mistakenly, that the woman was a likeness of the Lady Galadriel.  

            Celeborn retrieved an object wrapped in white cloth from where it rested upon the smooth marble of the fountain's wide edge, then sat, letting the object rest on his lap.  He indicated that Gimli should sit beside him, and the Dwarf did so, no more aware of the Elf-lord's intent than he had been before entering the grove.

            "I have brought you to this place because I have made a decision," Celeborn began softly.  "It is a choice that I do not make lightly, Gimli Glóin's son, nor should it be taken as such; for it is the release of bitterness long-held, and the forgiveness of harm for which you cannot be held accountable."  He allowed his statements to linger in the still air for several moments before he resumed his discourse.  "I must tell you a story, so that you may understand my meaning more clearly.  Countless ages past, long before the waking of the Seven Fathers of your people, there was founded the great Elven realm of Doriath.  Its king was Elwë Singollo, who is most often remembered in lore as Elu Thingol; his wife was Melian the Maia, who took the form of a woman because of her love for Thingol."  Celeborn looked at the Dwarf sitting beside him at the fountain's edge.  "Does the lore of the Folk of the Mountain yet chronicle the account of Doriath, Gimli?"

            "I have heard some mentionings of a great Elven kingdom," Gimli answered.  "But none were concerned with they who dwelt there, nor their fate."

            "Then I shall tell you of these things, for they once lay heavily upon my heart," Celeborn said gravely.  "Thingol the King was specially wise, and he heeded the foresight of his wife Melian.  Thus the realm of Doriath was spared the misery of the great Wars that wracked Beleriand.  But Thingol's prudence faltered when he was confronted with his own daughter's love of a mortal man, for Lúthien desired to plight her troth with Beren son of Barahir, lord of the First House of the Edain.  Unwilling to grant that his daughter should wed a mortal and thereby forfeit the endless life of her kindred, Thingol demanded of Beren a Silmaril—a gem of untold worth and terrible doom—as the price for Lúthien's hand.

            "Thenceforth Thingol and his kingdom were ensnared by the Doom of the Noldor, for all who sought to gain or keep one of the Silmarils wrought by Fëanor son of Finwë was destined only for sorrow and ruin.  The Silmaril came to Thingol's kingdom, and Lúthien was wedded to Beren.  Then did the Jewel of Fëanor begin to weave its curse about the realm of Doriath; Thingol became enamored of it, and was ever more covetous of its light and beauty.  He bade Dwarves of Nogrod to set the Silmaril in the Nauglamír." 

            "The Nauglamír!" Gimli exclaimed.  "At last here is something of which I have heard many tales recounted.  Pray tell, if it is not too much nuisance, how did the King of the Elves in Doriath come to possess the Necklace of the Dwarves?"

            "It was given him by Húrin Galdor's son, who retrieved it from the hoard of Glaurung the dragon," Celeborn explained patiently.  "The craftsmen of Nogrod were eager to do as Thingol asked, for they wished to possess the great treasure to be produced of two such grand articles.  When they had finished their labors, Thingol stood among them and made to fasten it about his neck; but the Dwarves stayed his hand and demanded that he cede the Nauglamir and Silmaril to them, for the Necklace had been formed by their fathers and given to Finrod Felagund, who was slain in the defense of Beren."

            The Lord of Lórien's eyes were mournful as he gazed into the trees of his grove, and the terrible grief written in them drove a dagger through Gimli's own heart.  "Thingol refused to yield to them, and said many shameful words to them, bidding them to depart his realm at once.  In their wrath at his scorn and denial, the craftsmen there slew Thingol King of Doriath, and fled with the treasure they had stained with his blood.  The Dwarves were captured and slain ere they could escape the kingdom, however, and so the Nauglamír and the Silmaril with it were returned to Melian—but it was little comfort to her, for Elwë Singollo lay dead in his tomb.  Thereafter she withdrew her protective power from his realm, and she passed over the Sea to her home in the West.  The Dwarves of Nogrod, learning of the deaths of their kinsmen in the dwelling of the Elves, arose in great wrath, believing that the slayings had been but an act of malice commanded by the King of Doriath.  They marched from their home in the Ered Luin, and assailed the hitherto impenetrable woods of Thingol's domain."

            Then Celeborn's voice lowered, and became rough with remembered pain.  "I was there, Gimli.  For I was a kinsman to Thingol, a prince of the realm; and I spent my days as a forester, tending the saplings and listening to the murmurs of the ancient trees.  Under those trees was I born; there I met Galadriel of the Noldor, daughter of Finarfin, and we were wed beneath a mighty beech that I had planted myself many years before.  Our daughter Celebrían was birthed in the shelter of Thingol's abode.  But on the day of the attack of the Dwarves from Nogrod, I was compelled to witness the ruin of war upon the woodland of my home."  The Elven lord closed his eyes briefly, and the weight of the ages seemed to descend upon him in that moment.  "So many were slain," he whispered.  "Elves and Dwarves alike fell in multitudes.  We were driven back, and I was wounded unto death by a Dwarven-crafted spear.  It was solely the love and ministration of Galadriel that preserved my life that day.  But the great underground city of Menegroth was overrun and ransacked, and Doriath was never again the haven of old."

            Gimli was silent.  The pain he heard in Celeborn's whisper struck him deeply, and he was suddenly aware of the guilt in his heart.  There was no apology to be made, for none would suffice.  He wondered at Celeborn's willingness to allow a Dwarf to enter his own realm, and then to remain for an extended period.  He dropped his gaze to the ground, unable to bear the grief he glimpsed etched in the Lord of the Wood's features.

            A light touch alighted on Gimli's shoulder, startling him.  "Nay, Master Gimli," Celeborn said softly, "the dishonor is not yours to bear; nor should remorse plague you.  Long did my heart dwell resentfully on the violence done by those of Nogrod, and for many ages I harbored a loathing of your folk."  He paused.  "But no longer.  The persistent goodness of one individual may alter the judgments of a bitter heart.  This you have done, Gimli son of Glóin."

            Gimli met the Elven lord's gaze once more, scarcely able to comprehend.  Celeborn's face was at peace, free of the anguish that had been so plain but a moment before.  His archaic silver eyes fixed on the Dwarf, and there was no accusation to be found in their depths.  "You have shown me the purest spirit of your people," Celeborn said gently.  "When you professed your willingness to remain in the Golden Wood alone among Elves solely for the sake of Legolas, my heart was moved beyond words.  I saw the very soul of Finrod Felagund in your speech, for he sacrificed his own life to preserve Beren his friend—and I believe you would do the same for any you cherish so.  And in that moment, I knew that I must make amends for the undue aversion with which I regarded your people for so long a time."

            Gimli stared at Celeborn, dazed by all that he had heard.  When he found his voice, he asked hesitantly, "Why did you allow me entrance to your realm when first we arrived at your borders, my Lord, if such pain was yours on account of my people?"

            "The Lady at times is possessed of greater foresight than I," Celeborn replied with a slight smile.  "It was by her will that you passed beyond the border."  Then, as though a struck by a sudden remembrance, the Lord of Lórien gave a slight laugh.  "I had not thought to tell you, Gimli, but when you asked Galadriel for a strand of her hair I was very nearly strangled by shock."

            "As was I, when she consented," Gimli said with a hesitant tinge of laughter to his own tone.  "I had not dared to hope that she would do so.  Your Lady is truly marvelous, Lord Celeborn, the fairest and kindest of all who walk the earth."

            "I share that conviction in full measure," Celeborn agreed, his voice rich with affection.  The warmth in his tone served to ward off what chill there might have been in the wintry silver light flowing from the lamps.  "I tell you truthfully, Gimli, that of all your deeds thus far, I regard your rescue of young Nimfëalórien most highly.  In doing so, you spared my beloved what further grief would have befallen her had she learned that he was slain.  Galadriel has always been fond of those young ones who are possessed of curious minds and spirited ambitions.  Nimfëalórien is one such youngling."  The Elven lord drew himself upright then, and he said, "Now that you have heard my words and seen my heart, Gimli, I have one last gift to bestow."

            "But you have already given so much, my Lord, surely no more is required," Gimli protested.

            "Gimli," Celeborn said quietly, allaying the Dwarf's mild objection.  "I ask you to accept this as a symbol of the friendship between the Lord of the Elves of Lórien and an excellent Dwarf of the Lonely Mountain."  When Gimli said nothing more, but merely nodded his assent, Celeborn took up the white-bound object yet lying atop his lap.  He then drew aside the concealing cloth and placed the item in Gimli's hands.

            It was a hatchet, beautifully wrought in Elven-steel that glinted like the silver leaves of the tithen celebyrn all around.  The blade was a crescent, exceedingly deadly, for Elven blades were the keenest of all those in Middle-earth.  Etched into the sturdy haft of the weapon were delicate Elvish runes.  But it was the carving on the head that most captured Gimli's notice.  Rendered in silvery engravement was the emblem of Durin's Folk: an anvil and hammer overshadowed by a crown set with seven stars of eight rays each.  On the opposing side of the blade was a finely carven tree with twining branches; surely the image of one of Celeborn's silver trees.  The hatchet was perfectly balanced, and light to wield, after the manner of all Elven-crafted weapons.  And with it was a sturdy sheath, also engraved with the emblems and runes.

            "It is beautiful," Gimli said, holding the Elf-lord's gift as one might a precious gem—touching as little of its surface as possible so as to see as much of its sheen as possible.  "My deepest gratitude is yours, my Lord," he said sincerely.

            "The script on the haft reads thusly: 'May evil meet its swift end at the edge of this blade, for its bearer is Gimli son of Glóin, a Dwarf of Erebor and friend to the Lord Celeborn of Lothlórien,'" Celeborn explained.  His gaze remained kind, but his voice became grave.  "Use this gift well, Gimli."

            "I shall, my Lord, I assure you," the Dwarf replied solemnly. 

            Celeborn nodded slowly, satisfied with the response.  He stood, as did Gimli.  "Then our dealings at present are finished," he said.  "I shall take you back to your flet, for the night is wearing, and tomorrow the Council will again be called; the Lady has looked into her Mirror, and we have deemed what counsel seems sound."  The Elf-lord paused.  "I thank you, Gimli, for hearing me tonight," he said softly. 

            Gimli bowed slightly.  "And I thank you for considering me worthy to listen," he answered.   

            With that, the two walked back the way they had come, through the silent ranks of silver trees, and out into the deep shadows of evening.  And in all the rest of his years, in all his journeys and doings throughout his life, Gimli would never forget that night in Lórien when an Elven lord made peace with him and all his kindred.

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End of Chapter Sixteen. 

Name Notes:

1) Mirmíthuial (Elf of Mirkwood, rider of Thranduil's charge, bore the wounded Nimfëalórien to Caras Galadhon) = this name is a Sindarin derivative that means "jewel of gray twilight."  He was not named in the chapter he actually appeared in (chapter 14).

2) Harmatar (Elf of Lórien, councilor who gave Lessulma directions) = this name is a Quenya derivative that means "father's treasure." 

3) Taurëmíredil (Elf of Mirkwood, son and eldest child of Thranduil, heir to the throne) = this name is a Quenya derivative that means "forest-jewel-lover."  Thranduil may have named his son as such because of his reputation as a riches-hoarding/tree-neglecting lout.  Notice that the forest is mentioned first, as if to indicate that the woods indeed hold precedence over riches in the King's mind.

Note: This chapter contains material drawn from both "The Silmarillion" and "Unfinished Tales."  Celeborn's tithen celebyrn are entirely my creations. 

Thanks for reading, and please review!