Prelude

On normal occasions when the royal family rode down the streets in procession, there would be merry cheers and banners ripping through the wind. People would scream out the names of the princes and princesses in welcome as flowers were strewn at their feet. Orome, the eldest of the Greenleaf children, would ride in the front. Rounding up the back would be the twin girls, the renowned beauties of the kingdom. With smiles wide and hands waving they would pass graciously as the sun turned their tresses molten gold.

Yet, this evening was not a happy afternoon, but the beginnings of twilight. Shadows began to cover the forest as the last rays of sunlight lingered. Not five of Thranduil's children rode that day, but three cloaked in black hooded garments and sullen faces. An unsettling silence covered the wood and the crowd kept their gaze downward.

In the center, an elf lay upon a mat carried by servants. His robes were rich velvet, adorned with silver and gold. Strong and youthful were his features and he was blessed with a handsome face. But, he stirred not. Instead he remained in an unwavering sleep with his eyes closed and face expressionless. No color came to his skin making him pale and icy as marble. He was an eternally sleeping prince with a silenced heart and stilled breath.

When they reached the glade Legolas stood by his father and twin sisters. A mound covered in white flowers was waiting. An opening was already made into the earth like a gaping mouth awaiting to take the fallen. A lament began the ceremony and nightingales joined the song. Prayers to the valor were said as elves filed into a line.

Each of the people paid their respects, then the royal family. Nienna and Nenwen clung to each other weeping loudly while Legolas and Thranduil stood in silence. Finally the twins departed along with most of those gathered there.

"Rest well my son." The king's voice shook a bit as he looked away from the body.

"Hiro hyn hîdh ab 'wanath" Tears streamed down Legolas's face but he remained calm.

Finally when they had departed the grave was sealed leaving only the dead's widow. For many moments she sat there in prayer and devotion. It was only when the white rose in her hand started to wilt that she turned to leave. With a kiss she dropped the flower upon the mound and said, "Namarie, my beloved, my husband."