Part One: Leading Strings

Chapter One:

2002 Third Age, Lasgalen: Greenwood the Great.

"Tulo dad! Tulo dad Le'las!"

"Nay!" came a voice bubbling with laughter. "You climb up."

"Oooh! You are a most wicked, wicked ellon!" cried the young child thrusting her long braids over her shoulder while scanning the canopy for a branch within reach.

Again, laughter trilled from above, "Hurry up if you want to see the tuilinn hatch."

"I cannot find a branch low enough."

"Then shimmy up the trunk as I did."

"I cannot do that! If I ruin my gown again the Queen will look at me with that—that look of hers. You know the one—almost as stern as your ada's. I've ruined four gowns this month no thanks to you."

"What of it? You never cared before; bothersome things anyway—always getting in the way; catching on branches, dragging through the mud. You had better think of something fast. One of the eggs just cracked."

The young elleth bit her lip in consternation while fingering the folds of her hated skirts. A gleam crept into her eyes, "Do not move—I shall be right back!" Lifting her skirts to her knees she sped for the palace as fast as her short legs would carry her.

In less than a quarter-hour the young prince heard the faintest of rustlings in the branches below and out popped the head of his playmate.

"Did I miss anything?"

"Not yet." replied the Prince scooting over to make room on the branch. "Hey! That is one of my tunics you've got on!"

"What of it?" The elleth tossed back, peering into the nest. "You've mostly grown out of this one and hardly wear it any more anyway."

"Arí —," Legolas frowned with doubt, "I do not think—."

"Have you got a better idea then? No? Thought not—ooh look; the egg is hatching!"

"Lía!" roared Lasgalen's king. "Did I just see Anaríel running through the halls in one of our son's tunics?"

"Come away from the door Thranduil and drink your tea before it cools."

The Elvenking of Greenwood the Great turned and shot his wife a look that would have given any sane Elf pause. Queen Líawen merely smiled serenely, stirring honey into her husband's tea.

"Well?" Thranduil barked, taking his seat and the proffered tea.

"What if it was herven nín?"

"What if—" Thranduil sputtered. "How can you sit there and turn a blind eye? I tell you, that—that girl is running far too wild. She will become a hoyden if you do not start taking her in hand."

"And what makes you think I have not?" countered the Queen. "I have had more than one discussion of late with Anaríel regarding what constitutes behavior becoming a young elleth. I advise you to look to your son as the prime instigator of the child's antics."

Thranduil grumbled, gazing out into the gardens. "Why is Legolas always "my" son when suspected of disobedience?"

Líawen arched one fine silver brow in unconscious parody of her husband.

"Very well, I will have a word with him." Thranduil sighed, rubbing his temples. "As inseparable as those two have ever been, they are nonetheless getting older. Legolas needs to understand he cannot keep dragging his foster sister into every hair-brained scheme and misadventure that pops into his head; and in all fairness, Anaríel is getting too old to keep chasing after him up every tree and across every stream. Those two need to start heeding the rules of decorum. This is a palace not a stable after all."

"I agree." Líawen nodded. "I have been gradually introducing Anaríel into the company of my Ladies and their daughters. It is time she developed friendships among the other ellyth her age. It is difficult though. There is so much of her father in her. She is as headstrong as Amroth ever was. Nor does it help that Legolas prefers her company above any other. It borders on the uncanny. Ellyn his age usually loathe the company of ellyth."

Thranduil smiled wistfully, "I am ever amazed by the lad's fondness of our little Lalaith—and ever grateful. She's had a hard time of it—losing her parents at such a young age."

A shadow passed over Líawen's fair Sindarin features. "It is no small blessing that Anaríel remembers nothing. To this day, I cannot imagine what Amroth and Nimrodel were thinking—fleeing over the Ered Nimrais with an infant! I do not know who to blame more—Nimrodel's obstinacy or Amroth's impetuosity. And look where it has got them—both of them dead, their daughter orphaned—."

"Easy Lía," Thranduil soothed, taking his wife's hands into his own.

"Did we do the right thing beloved?" The Queen whispered. "Galadriel cautioned me to leave the child in Lórien—that the babe had been through enough and needed most the healing of the Golden Wood. She insisted it was wrong to take Anaríel from her home."

"That she-witch had no right—nay, no call to speak to you thus!" Thranduil spat. "I have said it before and I will say it again, Galadriel wasted no time stepping in and taking over governance of Lórien-and she a Noldo! I've always felt the Galadhrim would have done better to choose one of their own to rule the Wood."

"They did, in a manner of speaking." Líawen sighed. "By that point Celeborn and Galadriel had been dwelling amongst them for what seemed time out of mind. Ever close were they in Amroth's council. While they came to Amroth seeking knowledge of the growing shadow over southern Lasgalen and for a first hand look at Dol Guldur—Amroth too desired their knowledge of the goings on in Eregion and of the growing evil in the Hithaeglir. Do not forget that Amroth himself left your kinsman custodian of Lórien when he and Nimrodel made their decision to set sail from Belfalas."

"I forget nothing—nor will I ever pretend to understand your cousin," growled Thranduil. "Newly crowned, newly a father—why set sail for Valinor? Why when all one's heart's desire dwelt on these shores?"

"Nimrodel." breathed Líawen pulling her hands from her husband's grasp and crossing to the window. Sightlessly she gazed out over her gardens remembering another time, another place. "Nimrodel feared above all things, the growing rumor of Shadow; remember how long she spurned Amroth? For years, she begged him to leave these shores with her; but in the end, she relented and in secret, they wed.

Few are there still alive who know of this. Only I, Celeborn and Galadriel remain who bore witness to the nuptials of Lórien's king beside Nimrodel's beloved falls. At first we thought all would be well; that Nimrodel would at last be content to dwell with Amroth beside the stream she loved; that she would at last give up her obsession to leave these shores—and indeed for a long while she was. It was not until she discovered she was with child that the dreams came, but I was journeying back home to you by that time, and unable to lend council."

"What dreams? You have never spoken of this."

A grim smile pulled at the corners for Líawen's mouth. "Nimrodel was ever known for her gift of song, yet I have always said she should have better been known for her gift of foresight. She foretold the arrival of Celeborn and Galadriel to the Wood you know."

"And that should have been a clarion call to all that trouble was nigh."

"Thranduil!"

"Forgive me meleth nín." Thranduil sighed, wrapping his wife in his arms as he came to stand behind her. "But it has ever been hard for me to forgive my cousin's choice of wife. Celeborn was of Doriath—as was I, how could he take a Noldorin to wife—especially that particular Noldo?"

"Galadriel is not nearly half the balrog you would have her be." Líawen chided. "She and I have come to an understanding and mutual respect over the years."

"Bah! That woman was ever wise to know where to curry favor. Who better than Amroth's own cousin?"

"Third cousin—and therefore distant; but, that is beside the point. I was speaking of Nimrodel—and while I would never have considered us friends—I always did respect her gift of Sight.

Nimrodel saw the Shadow coming long before any of us recognized what it was. I blame her for pushing Amroth into making such a perilous journey so soon after giving birth; but Nimrodel was adamant. Throughout the pregnancy, she was plagued by such nightmares and visions; far beyond anything her Sight had yet revealed. In the end, I fear they drove her mad. I have never spoken of this but after Anaríel was born, Nimrodel refused to have anything to do with her. She refused to hold or suckle her own babe. A wet nurse had to be found."

"Lleäbhána?" questioned Thranduil.

Líawen nodded. "Yes. Amroth's decision to travel to the White Havens was one borne of despair. Despair of Nimrodel's growing despondency. Despair for his only child. Who knows what really happened to them during their trek over the mountains. One score set forth with Amroth and Nimrodel—only two returned."

"Lleäbhána and the babe—and Lleäbhána mute ever since."

"Can you blame her? She had lost her own babe in childbirth due to the shock of the death of her husband the year before. She chose to accompany Nimrodel—yes for the sake of Anaríel but also for sake of her own broken heart; she felt she had nothing left to live for on these shores. At least so Galadriel told me."

"And you believe her?"

Líawen sighed, "Yes, in this I do. I knew Lleäbhána's mind almost as well as I knew my own. Do you forget why I journeyed home without you that time? It was to comfort Lleäbhána and help her through her pregnancy. After Dagnír was slain, she fell into despair.

When Lleä and the babe returned to Lórien unlooked for and beyond all hope, I refused Galadriel's council and insisted on bringing them to live here. Lleä was my friend—we grew up together in Lórien. And though I knew her heart, I have been too selfish these years to let her go—to let her take ship and sail into the West."

Thranduil's arms tightened about his wife as he brushed a kiss against the smooth skin beneath her ear. "She is still your friend. She knows this deep in her heart though she seems little aware of anything other than Anaríel. I shudder to think what befell her in the mountain passes. Yet somehow she kept the child safe and made it back to Lórien alive—though it took her five years."

"Five years wandering lost and alone." Líawen sighed, turning in her husband's arms and resting her head in the curve of his shoulder. "I doubt I would have returned sane myself."

tulo dad:come down

ellon, ellyn (pl):male elf

tuilinn: sparrow

ada: daddy

elleth, ellyth (pl): female elf

herven nín: my husband

lalaith:laughter

Ered Nimrais: White Mountains

Hithaeglir: Misty Mountains

Belfalas: Bay of Belfalas from which the elves Lórien sailed West.

meleth nín: my love

A/N: I know I am taking liberties here regarding canon but since no one knows exactly how quickly elves age and mature, I am going on the assumption it is very slowly. At the beginning of part one, Legolas and Anaríel are both roughly nine and only mature about three to four years throughout this section of the story. By the end of Book 1, they are the equivalent of about 20 human years of age.

I have always been a fan of the tales J.R.R Tolkien only mentioned in passing, as is the story of Amroth and Nimrodel. Since little is know of their true tale, I am yet again taking a few liberties. For those interested in their story, it can be found in Tolkien's Unfinished Tales within the History of Galadriel and Celeborn.