Part Three: Signs and Portents

Chapter Seven

2463 Third Age, Ethuil (Spring). Lasgalen: Greenwood the Great.

Sun filtered through the young leaves chasing the early April chill from the air. The two riders picked their way carefully along the muddy path.

"I cannot believe Adar let you stay away so long. You have no idea how jealous I am. Adar is always sending you somewhere for forever at a time these days, while I always get left behind at home."

"Now, now Arí, three loa are not so very long. Besides, are you not the one who hates any suggestion of traveling beyond the Greenwood?"

"Do not confuse the issue with facts." The Elf maiden replied gazing sidelong at her companion. "Three years are still three years. So, tell me what havoc have you and those sons of Elrond wrought—or do I have to wait and discover the truth from Arwen's letters?"

One fine brow quirked on the chiseled face of Lasgalen's Prince; in that moment he never resembled his father more. Although a bit slighter of build, he stood several inches taller than Thranduil. However, his sharp grey eyes regarded the maiden riding beside him just as shrewdly.

"Surely you mean to ask of the wonders of Imladris, and the wisdom I gained fostering with one of the wisest among the Wise?"

"It is Arwen's letters I see." Anaríel replied, turning her mount.

"Not so fast!" The Prince laughed, easily lifting the elleth from her saddle and depositing her before him on his own horse.

"Unhand me!" Anaríel cried, trying her best to sound outraged. "We are no longer children and I'll not have you haul me about like so much baggage. Besides, you could have saved yourself the trouble," she laughed, "and just told me the truth."

"I think I prefer my own methods, thank you—baggage indeed!" Deftly the Prince tied the other mare's reins to his saddle. "Besides, I would rather hear news of home right now."

Anaríel smiled, "Homesick Le'las?"

"After a fashion."

The elleth turned in the saddle peering up. Legolas was gazing down at her with such a fond smile it caused her stomach to flip flop.

"Um, well, you missed Mithrandir; he was here for a while. He visited during Midsummer so we had splendid fireworks as you can imagine." She knew she was babbling yet still could not stop the spill or words all the same. Why in heavens was she so discomfited?

Taking a breath to collect herself she continued. "Adar brought Naneth and me with him to Dale when he met with the King to wrangle over the new trade agreements."

"What, you left the sanctuary of The Wood? That is unprecedented! You even met with Men? What did you make of them? I am more than half afraid to hear what they made of you."

Anaríel's eyes narrowed. "Just what is that supposed to mean? Do you imply I would do anything to bring shame to Adar or Naneth?"

Legolas squeezed the elleth's waist lightly, letting his hands unconsciously linger on the gentle curve of her hips. "Not at all, I meant rather, if any Men's hearts and minds were left intact or did you steal them all and carry them home with you?"

"Nothing of the sort; it was all rather odd actually. I do not think Men know what to say or do around us. We were left well enough alone for the most part. In fact, most folk except children would not even look us in the eye. Everyone kept bowing and mincing, it was all quite tiresome after a while. I was glad to come home." Reaching up she twined her fingers around one of Legolas' side braids, giving it a playful tug. "Your turn now, tell me about Imladris!"

"Not so fast!" laughed Legolas. "You mean to tell me in three loa all that happened was a visit from Mithrandir and a trip to Dale?"

"Oh very well" she sighed, idling twining the braid around her finger. "Beleth and Tinwë were betrothed over the winter and Orofíriel and Aldaer are expecting their first child in six months."

"What?" Legolas cried.

"Yes, well do not be too surprised. You were at Orofíriel and Aldaer's wedding and you do know what occurs between husband and wife in the marriage—,"

"That is not what I meant!" Legolas chuckled. "I am just—surprised, is all. That was quite a bit of news you've dropped in my lap as if merely commenting on the weather."

"Well you asked, did you not? Now will you tell me of Imladris?"

Legolas sighed, his familiar grip on the elleth's waist tightening slightly. "I have missed you Arí. Truly I have missed you."

Anaríel released Legolas' braid, suddenly finding the scenery around them of great interest. Biting her lip, she twined her fingers in the horses' mane. "I am sure the maidens of Imladris proved worthy of your attention. Surely, there was enough to occupy your mind. I warrant you barely spared a thought for home."

Legolas grinned, lowering his head to rest his chin on her shoulder. "If spending every moment worrying over what hair-brained scheme you were concocting or what mayhem you were engaged in qualifies as 'barely sparing a thought for home' then I daresay you are right."

Warmth suffused Anaríel as she snuggled unconsciously against the Prince. "I missed you too Le'las." she whispered so softly even Legolas' sharp ears could not hear.

"So, how do you fare tithen pen?" Legolas asked straightening and drawing his cloak about them for fear Anaríel shivered from cold.

"I fare just fine, what do you mean?"

"I mean, how are your—spells? Have you been troubled by them overmuch?"

"No, not too much," Anaríel lied, wishing to change the subject. "I just wish Adar and Naneth would not worry so when they come upon me."

"They worry because they love and care about you, as do I."

"Do you?" Anaríel said around the lump in her throat.

Legolas hesitated, stiffening ever so slightly, "Of course, you are the sister of my heart."

Anaríel's own heart shriveled and she turned her face away lest Legolas detect the tears gathering at the corners of her eyes. "Of course brother—do not think I doubted."

2463 Third Age, Cerveth (July). Lasgalen: Greenwood the Great

Legolas stood with his father leaning against the stone railing of the bridge spanning the stream that flowed before the Elvenking's gates.

"What is troubling you ion nín?"

"Nothing Adar" Legolas replied distractedly, pitching another stone into the water below.

Thranduil cocked his head, his evergreen eyes sharpening on his son in shrewd assessment. "Well then 'nothing' has been consuming your thoughts ever since you returned. Do not tell me you are pining over some Noldorin elleth back in Imladris."

Legolas ignored the goad, his own sharp eyes following the progress of three ellyth across the glade. Anaríel inclined her head in conversation with a chestnut haired elleth whose belly showed obvious evidence of the child she carried. The three ellyth halted as the pregnant one gasped. Anaríel laughed with wonder as her friend pressed her hand against her stomach to feel her baby's kick.

"Rest easy Adar, there are no Noldorin ellyth."

Thranduil followed his son's gaze. "Perhaps the object of your thoughts resides

somewhat closer to home—eh?"

Legolas remained absorbed in his study of Anaríel, missing his father's suddenly keen regard.

Thranduil's brow furrowed though his lips quirked with amusement. It was not like his son to belie his emotions so openly. To any who did not know Legolas, they would see nothing but the picture of unruffled self-containment; but Thranduil knew his son better and saw through the facade. Behind the placid expression, roiled emotions as volatile as his own were reputed to be.

"Just what did you say to Lalaith your first day back?" He queried, "I daresay I have never seen her so cool towards you. She was driving your naneth and I to distraction counting down the days till your arrival and now it seems she doesn't have a moment to spare for you."

"I said nothing untoward Adar." Legolas flatly replied. "I simply cannot explain it. We went out for a ride and had as pleasant a time as ever."

Thranduil quirked a smile, clapping a hand on his son's shoulder, "Elleth, ion nín; sometimes even the Wise cannot figure them out."

"All I did was ask about her spells." Legolas sighed at last. "She said they had not been troubling her. Is that not the case?"

"Yes and no." Thranduil frowned. "She would have us believe she has not been overly troubled by them, that they have been of no more import than predictions of her friend's pregnancy or when the Lake Men might raise the price of goods—or when I might raise the River tolls for that matter; but Naneth and I have our suspicions. Although she seems light of heart, she has been eating little and sleeping less of late. Of course, she will not speak of it—you know Lalaith, tough as an oak, almost as close-mouthed as you in that respect. We had hoped that would change with your homecoming."

Legolas glanced up at his father to find himself the object of the King's most assessing gaze.

"Whatever offence you committed ion nín—real or imagined, you best make up with her. These things have a way of festering."

"Are you offering me a bit of fatherly advice Adar?" Legolas smiled wryly.

"Nay, ion nín; consider this advice ellon to ellon."

Legolas cocked one brow, glancing querulously at his father, but the King had already turned on his heel, swiftly disappearing through the palace's great stone doors.

'What pray was that supposed to mean?' The Prince sighed pitching the last of his stones into the churning water below.

Sighing with aggravation Legolas' eyes sought Anaríel out yet again. She still stood across the green with Beleth and Orofíriel. The three ellyth turned as they were hailed. Tinwë and Thalion bounded up, Tinwë greeting his betrothed with a tender kiss. Thalion bowed to Anaríel as was proper, then shyly offered her a garland of summer roses—particular favourites of hers.

Legolas' eyes narrowed sharply as Anaríel graciously took the garland, smiling sweetly at the ellon. Elves passing by on the bridge gave their Prince a wide berth, recognizing the familiar storm brewing; only they were surprised to see it upon the fair, usually impervious brow of their Prince. Such storms were commonly associated with the Aran's displeasure.

Legolas' knuckles whitened as his hands gripped the stone railing. His heart gave a sickening twist as Anaríel placed the garland upon her hair and beamed at Thalion. When had she ever favoured him with such a smile?

For a moment blind rage swept through him, chilling in all its sudden violence. Not since the time some four and a half centuries past when Elladan had foolishly stolen a kiss from Anaríel had he felt such unbridled emotion. Though they had been little older than children at the time, he had felt a subtle betrayal on Elladan's part, and while his reaction was irrational, the knowing failed to soothe the sting.

The fact of the matter, little though he cared to admit, was that Elladan was right. Anaríel was not his sister. No ties of blood bound them and yet he had come to admit to himself, something indeed linked them nonetheless, something uncomfortable and unfathomable, but there just the same.

The questioned was, after all these years, was he ready to throw all caution to the wind, and do something about it? The very thought made Legolas' stomach clench.

He had been gone for three years. During those three year's he had grown and matured dramatically, not just physically, but emotionally as well. He stood at last upon the brink of adulthood, the final vestiges of youth fading seemingly by the day. What was emerging was as sleek and powerful as a new forged blade.

Outwardly, the Prince of Lasgalen was every inch the son of Thranduil. Tall as the Princes of Menegroth from which he was descended, fair and noble of face, proud of bearing, bold and cocksure in his own self-contained way—all the fiery characteristics of the father condensed and tempered by the cool, analytical temperament of the mother. All in all, the perfect foil to the legendary volatility of the "Wolf of the North."

Yet, the thought of confessing his heart to a mere slip of an elleth threatened to bring him to his knees. It was simply unconscionable.

Across the green Orofíriel bent to whisper in Anaríel's ear. "The Prince has not taken his eyes from you mellon nín. Did you two argue again? I warrant I have never seen such a dark look upon one usually so fair. One could easily mistake him for Aran Thranduil."

Anaríel stiffened but refused to let her eyes follow her friend's gaze. She knew well enough that Legolas had been watching, and she did not need to look to the Prince to perceive it. Rather, she could feel it in her heart.

It was far from the first time she had felt such a connection to her childhood friend, far from it indeed. In fact it seemed to have become the norm rather than the exception over the last century or so, nor did distance have any effect on her perceptions.

As irrational and unsettling as it was, Anaríel knew well and true that she and Legolas shared a common bond. The difference between her and the Prince was that she was more than willing to accept her feelings. It was indeed a sorry fact that she had set her heart on her dearest friend for quite some time now. What frustrated and grieved her sorely was that Legolas did not appear to return her affection. Or did he?

Anaríel cocked her head, surreptitiously gaining a glimpse of the Prince without appearing overt. Sure enough, he stood leaning languidly against the bridge railing, the picture of regal negligence, save for the stony set of his jaw and the dangerous glint in his eyes.

Turning, Anaríel favoured Thalion with another radiant smile and casually slid a rose from the garland, handing it back to the blushing ellon. "The gift honours the giver." She said smoothly as Thalion took the bloom and left with a bow and a wide smile.

"Well that certainly did it." Orofíriel commented dryly. "Whatever game you are playing at Aní, you had best know the rules."

Anaríel turned to see Legolas' ramrod stiff back retreating with a brusqueness that was most uncharacteristic.

Tinwë shook his head watching his friend's retreat. "I am with Fí, you best prepare for battle Aní, for the gauntlet has been thrown."

2463 Third Age, nedh Hithui (mid November). Lasgalen: Greenwood the Great

"So the war wages on. I see Lalaith still has yet to forgive our son for whatever offence she thinks him guilty of in this petty game of theirs. I wonder who did what to whom this time."

"Anaríel has been distracted of late and involved in Orofíriel's little one. It is not every day one's close friend gives birth." Líawen defended. "She has been far too busy to be paying much attention to anything other than her friend and the babe. Besides, Legolas has been on patrol this fortnight past."

Thranduil crossed the library and stoked the fire. Outside through the window Elves hurried about the green enjoying the early snow flurries. "You know of what I speak Lía, I am worried about those two. This has gone on long enough. One is far too stubborn for her own good, while the other needs to open his eyes and be honest with himself. They are no longer children after all."

"His eyes are well open." The Queen commented closing her book with a snap. "Nonetheless, I do believe your plan did work in some respects, if one can judge by how miserable our ion is."

Thranduil grimaced. "I never wanted Legolas to be miserable. I just wanted him to see first hand that the fairest blooms are usually to be found within one's own garden. What is it you think he said to her?"

"Perhaps it is more what he has not said. I agree though, enough is enough." The Queen put a hand to her brow. Thranduil came over and massaged the kinks from her shoulders. Líawen laid one hand over his. "I worry about her Thran. She is fading away before our very eyes. She hardly eats, she hardly sleeps; she is jumping at shadows. Oh, she thinks she has us fooled with her breezy smiles and the way she has gotten involved with Aldaer and Orofíriel's babe—as if I do not know she is trying to exhaust herself on purpose."

"So the dreams will not come?"

"Aye," Líawen reached for her husband and he knelt at her side. Gently she caressed his beloved face. "I had so hoped Legolas would be the cure, but I fear his presence only makes things worse." She paused biting her lip.

"What meleth nín?"

"Oh Thran—I think it is time."

Thranduil froze as tears filled his wife's eyes. His heart clenched as he watched his beloved gather her resolve.

"We can no longer help her here. We cannot keep what torments her at bay any longer. I must take her to Galadriel."

"When?" The King choked, his heart sinking.

"As soon as possible—after Yule."

Thranduil bowed his head resting it on his wife's shoulder. "I will go with you of course." There was no point arguing the inevitable. They both knew this day would come for a long while now.

"Nay meleth nín, you know how you and Galadriel get when in sight of one another. This will be difficult enough. I will take her, besides it has been too long since I have visited with my kin."

Thranduil turned his face into Líawen's shoulder and she felt the dampness of his tears. "Very well, so be it; but she will not go willingly."

"No;" The Queen laid her hand upon her husband's head, smoothing his silken hair. "But she will go nonetheless."

loa: year

elleth/ellyth (pl.):female elf

ellon/Ellyn (pl.): male elf

adar: father

naneth: mother

tithen pen: little one

ion nín: my son