Youth in the Kitchen
The noise level in the rustic kitchen had risen to a new peak for that summer season. Three Elf-maidens in a not uncharacteristic state of high excitement attempted to cook a simple family lunch, while two self-assured young warriors watched languidly, and twin manic Elf-children, jumping from stools and diving among the older Elves' legs, vied for attention.
"After speaking with my father, I was much less anxious when talking to your parents," Legolas said.
"It seems your conversation went far better than mine. Thank Eru, I did not have to go to Thranduil and declare my love for you. I could have ended up banished from Mirkwood, if such loss of self-control with which I confronted mother and father is any indication of how I might have managed it," Gellwen replied acerbically.
"Do not torture yourself, Gellwen, even the choice of which vegetable for lunch can degenerate into a squabble in this madhouse," drawled Túgann, with a pointed look at his oldest cousin. "Be happy. There are still a few advantages to being born female, even here in Mirkwood."
"And, most importantly, Uncle Aranwë did not hold your bad temper against Legolas, did he? Here you are together," Laitaine said, with a flourish of her hand as though to indicate the humble kitchen was the equal of the gilded palaces of Gondolin. Then turning and grinning flirtatiously at Legolas, she said, "I think she needs a kiss to cheer her up."
Refusing to be embarrassed by Laitaine's teasing, Legolas pulled Gellwen into his arms, trapping her hands, which dripped water from peeling vegetables, and held a tiny paring knife, against his chest, and grazed her lips with an apparently innocent kiss. His eyes, however, caught and held hers with a gaze that was anything but chaste.
"At least, I hope uncle did not give you the kinslaying lecture," said Pityë.
Ignoring a sharp intake of breath on the part of Túgann and a choking cough by Laitaine, Legolas answered mildly, "Oh, he did, but I told him that she does not frighten me." Taking the paring knife from Gellwen's hand, he deliberately placed it on the table and, grinning, pushed it out of her reach.
Túgann flabbergasted exclaimed, "Legolas, tell me you are jesting."
"Of course I am," Legolas answered with a wink, pulling Gellwen closer, "but he did mention that Curufinwë Fëanáro had courted your grandmother. Said I should know of this family's past associations."
"Feänor courted our grandmother?" gasped Laitaine.
"I knew that," Gellwen said dismissively, "Grandmamma told me. It was part of her do-not-marry-the-first-Elf-you-kiss lecture."
Túgann smiled bitterly at Legolas, "And you are still sure you want to be involved with this notorious lot?"
Legolas arms suddenly tightened around Gellwen squeezing her until she nearly winced; but, instead of pulling away, she untangled her arms to wrap them around his back and pull him more securely against her.
Legolas, suddenly stern, quietly intimidating, said, "There are no kinslayers in Mirkwood. Our parents and grandparents all came from Doriath to build together this free realm in Greenwood the Great. Despite what any embittered old Elves may think, there are no Sindar, Noldor or Teleri here either. We are all Silvan Elves in Mirkwood, who have fought and died in numbers too horrible to contemplate, together holding back the darkness of evil through many long years. Now, as the shadow moves ever northward, we will stand as one, ready to fight, for divided we will fall."
"I want to be an Yrch slayer!" Erulehto squealed jumping up and down. "Me too! Me too!" yelled Yulion. Túgann pulled his two brothers off the floor, held them in his arms, burrowing his head against their tiny chests, hiding eyes that had unpredictably filled, and said sadly, "You will be, little brothers. You surely will be."
Fathers Stroll in the Sunlight
The council meeting had been brief, the same issue, and the same resolution: many more and younger archers must be sent into the dark parts of the forest. Although such unpleasant choices were no longer unexpected, they always tasted bitter. There was no dissent, no argument, and no need for counting of votes. King Thranduil could not quit the conference chamber fast enough. Eager to seize the rare unscheduled moment in his workday, he exited the shadowy tunnels, craving full sunlight. At least that holds, for the moment. Just then he caught sight of Aranwë, who had also been present at the meeting, passing out of great gates of the fortress caverns and striding in the direction of his own family compound.
"Aranwë, wait up. May I walk with you? I have wanted to consult with you, but hoped to meet you by chance. To make an appointment would lend a formality to the matter that I wish to avoid for the present."
"Ah, this must concern the rather stiff and formal discussion that your son initiated with me two days ago." Aranwë said, with a melancholy smile at his memory of the expression of love and turmoil that he had seen in the eyes of Prince Legolas, which reflected the purity of his young spirit, untroubled as yet by the heartbreak of betrayal or denial of choice.
"Exactly. Please do not mistake what I am about to say. You know I appreciate your family's loyalty and contribution to the survival and defense of our Woodland home, but I must admit that I am somewhat fearful that my quiet son should be love-struck with such a forceful maid of the Noldor as is the youngest daughter of your house."
"No insult is taken, my Lord," Aranwë laughed softly, "her mother and I once feared her fëa stronger than that of all three of our sons combined. We learned with time that, while it still could be true, her passion burns most strongly in loyalty to our community of the Great Forest and not towards any personal interest."
"You know your daughter. I do not. But I know my son. And they are both still youth. He promises to be a strong warrior, a leader of Elves and defender of this realm, but his greatest strength lies in his sense of duty and I would not have him distracted by the passions that come with loving too young," Thranduil replied sternly.
Aranwë, clearly less worried than Thranduil, laughed again and said, "It sounds as though you perhaps know something of loving too passionately and too young?"
"That I do, my friend, that I do. Personally, I loved early and hard. But I, at least, did not reside alone longer than I lived with the mother of my children. I learned more than I ever wanted to know of the cost of losing love too young from the suffering of my people. I survived and endured, as you did, while barely a third of our young warriors returned from great battles of the past and am forced to watch now as youth in their full radiance are picked off one by one by Yrchs and other dark creatures. Too many of our community have struggled against fading after the loss of loved ones, while family responsibilities here kept them from sailing to the West and solace. Your wife's sisters are an example, and their mother, who held her head high past all expectations of endurance, like the doughtiest of old soldiers."
"Do not be so gloomy, my Lord. Would you have chosen that our valiant young warriors had never know what it is to love and be loved here in Arda and had passed on leaving only maidens behind them and no offspring? Although, I sympathize with your anxiety about having no choice in the matter of the betrothal of your remaining son, we must remember we are not breeding horses here, or even heirs to the kingdoms of mortal men. The mating of our Woodland youth is more their own concern than ours is it not?"
Thranduil sighed deeply, "Aye, you may have a point my friend. And, perhaps it is the expectation of death that leads our Woodland youth to wish to bond so early. In this world of constant sorrow, they may be wise to seek joy when and where they may find it."
"Until recently we yearned for a somewhat older spouse for our daughter, or at least a delay in the time of her bonding. Now, she has chosen someone who could scarce be younger and she does insist on her following her own path. Come, my Lord, share our midday meal where you can observe them both." Aranwë sighed, "It has been some days now since we have gathered as a family without the presence of your son. I think if you see them together you might believe he is made of less yielding stuff than you may have thought."
This time it was Thranduil's turn to laugh, "I wondered where the young rascal was keeping himself. I did not think he would be invited so often to your home. But to hear you speak of it, I now doubt that he has waited for an invitation. Apparently, he is bolder than I had thought."
"He has never been unwelcome. The children set an extra plate without asking now," Aranwë chuckled.
Shrugging as though deeply pained, but with the laughing azure eyes that had charmed his Woodland folk for ages, he said, "Yet, the thought makes me tremble; I have scarcely recovered from the last time I dined with you and your clan and that was some time past!"
"I promise, my lord, it may be slightly less chaotic today. The children are all grown now, except my youngest sons, who, if we have any luck, could be napping." Aranwë smiled, squinting in the bright sunlight. That went better than I had feared.