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Somewhere in the dusk, a nightingale was singing. The rest of the forest lay quietly; not yet asleep, it seemed to pause, basking in the twilight. From the glade where they lay, the last of the evening sunlight could just be glimpsed, tinting the peaks of the Hithaeglir to rose and gold and crimson. Slowly they faded, before dying away completely and leaving the world shaded in indigo and deep blues and greys.
Legolas heaved a mighty sigh, continuing to gaze over the leafy treetops to the pale mountains. His father propped himself on one elbow and, pushing a curtain of shining hair away from his face, looked at the small Elf with some amusement.
"What is it, glorellon?"
Legolas rolled easily onto his stomach and propped his chin on his hands.
"The Sun is gone, Ada, and she has taken all the pretty light away," he explained. "Why can't we keep her all the time?"
"She has other places to be during the night—and you would not appreciate her nearly as much if she was always with us. The fact that the light will swiftly fade makes you watch it more carefully while it is there."
The matter had evidently never appeared to Legolas from quite that perspective and he remained quiet for a moment, contemplating it, before remarking plaintively,
"But, Ada, I miss her, now!"
"She has not gone forever; she will be back again tomorrow, and the next day, and all the days after until the world is old. There is no need to mourn her."
Legolas frowned. "How do you know for sure, Ada?"
Unseen, Thranduil smiled, before answering seriously, "Well, I have lived many centuries in Middle-earth, since the first years of the Sun and Moon, and Anor has not failed us yet."
Carefully picking daisies and buttercups from among the rich grass, Legolas began weaving them together with small, grubby but skilful fingers.
"What about days when the sky is grey and cloudy, or days like—like the great battle when it never grew light?"
Above his son's head, Thranduil's face grew as dark as the days Legolas had mentioned.
"She is still there," he began slowly. "She still rises and sails faithfully across the sky, and though her face may sometimes be hidden, light is cast down nonetheless—even on a cloudy day we can see, though the world may seem grey. As for the other sort of day…they are very rare—and even during them, Anor is still trying her best to shine through the murk.
"Remember that, Legolas," he added softly, gazing with troubled eyes at the golden head beside him, "though it is my prayer that you will never see such terrible days."
Legolas appeared unconcerned by his father's ominous whisper; his mind was occupied by what was, to him, a far more pertinent issue.
"But how do you know, Ada, if you cannot actually see her?" he inquired, eyes still bent on the shaping of his garland.
Thranduil smiled ruefully. They had reached the "Why?" stage in Legolas' intellectual development almost as soon as he learned to speak; other questioning words and phrases had been quickly added to his vocabulary and were frequently utilised. It had been several years since Eluial had privately nicknamed their child the What-when-how-why-where baby, and there was no doubt that she had a point.
"We just know, Legolas. Perhaps Eärendil or one of the other stars told someone in Dor Rodyn—or something."
He was apprehensive for a moment that Legolas was going to persist in unanswerable questions, demanding to know just how the information supposedly was transferred back across the Sea, but he did not. Instead, he had discovered a new line of questioning, picking up from Thranduil's earlier casual remark.
"Where does Anor go when it is night-time? And where is Ithil during the day? Where, Ada?"
Reaching out his free hand, Thranduil ruffled Legolas' golden hair, then began a flower collection of his own.
"Well, they sail across Arda, rising up at the easternmost edge of the world beyond the Encircling Sea, and passing over Dor Rodyn until they reach the farthest western point, the Doors of Night."
Legolas' hands stopped moving, and he gazed up at his father with parted lips and eyes wide with wonder. He loved to hear tales of great deeds and places of far away and long ago, and no-one in the kingdom was a better storyteller than Ada.
"Anor spends the night sailing beneath Arda until she reaches the east again in time for dawn, while Ithil is beneath the world during daylight hours."
There had been, Thranduil remembered, some rumour of the changing of the world when Númenor fell, a whisper that the Belain had removed the Doors and brought the eastern and western edges of the world together—but this was the tale Thranduil had learned as a child, while the rumour had come to him via Gil-galad and had remained unverified for a hundred years.
"But why?" Legolas now wanted to know.
"Why what?" Thranduil asked, bewildered.
"Why do they sail under the earth?"
"Well, they need to get back to the East."
"Why?"
"In order that they can rise again, every day and night."
"Oh."
Legolas pondered this for some time.
"But why do they sail at different times? Would they not rather go together and have company? Do they not get lonely, up there?"
Thranduil smiled. "I imagine they might—and Ithil loves Anor and often seeks to catch up with her. That is why they can sometimes be seen in the sky at the same time. But they must sail at different times so that we can have light during both day and night, instead of all at once."
"Buy why?"
"Well…there would be no point in having all the light in one half of the day," Thranduil guessed.
"Why?"
Thranduil shook his head. "The Belain thought it would work best this way."
"Oh."
Legolas generally accepted the higher authority of the Lords of the West, but arguments had been known to continue after the introduction of their names, so Thranduil waited cautiously. On this occasion, however, his son appeared satisfied, and for some time the two lay in friendly silence, each occupied with his chain of flowers.
"I still miss the Sun," Legolas announced thoughtfully. Thranduil, who had become accustomed to sudden reversals to topics assumed closed, smiled and rolled over to face the sky once more.
"Come here," he said softly, pulling Legolas into his arms and settling him, daisies and all, on his lap.
"Now look up," he whispered in one small, pointed ear.
Legolas lay back, secure and comfortable against his father's chest, gazing up into the night sky. But it was not black, as he had once thought; it was velvety blue and scattered with more points of shining light than he could count.
"Watch that," Ada murmured, "and tell me whether you still wish the Sun never set."
Legolas released a breath he had not known he was holding. He had seen the stars before, of course, but never so late at night, never so clearly, never so many. For a moment he could not speak, overwhelmed by the incredible, remote beauty of the constellations and the ethereal glow they cast over the trees and the glade.
"No," he whispered at last. "No, Ada—I like this; it is…special. Just us and the stars—it makes me feel happy…like I belong here, now—do you know, Ada?"
His father tightened his embrace and Legolas felt him nod.
"Yes. I know. We all do, more or less…those are the same stars that shone above us in Doriath—or Gondolin—and they are all that remains of the way things were. And we are, after all, the People of the Stars…Ai, elenath…"
Ada's voice trailed off in the way it sometimes did when he spoke of the past, and Legolas waited for him to speak again, happy to gaze upward into the encircling patterns of the slowly dancing stars.
"Do you know their names?" Ada asked at last.
Legolas rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Some of them," he answered cautiously. "Only from songs and things I hear people say, not from proper classes. Nana says I am too young to spend all night in astronomy lessons."
Ada laughed. "And so you are…but perhaps tonight could be an exception."
Turning eagerly to look at his father Legolas stared up into his face, eyes shining as brightly as any of the stars above and face aglow. Ada was the best teacher in the world—though of course he would never tell his tutors so.
"Truly?"
For answer, Ada lifted one hand and pointed up into the sky to where a distant blue fire flickered in the southwest. "Do you know that one?"
Legolas followed the direction of his finger and frowned. If he had to guess, he would say Luinil, because he knew that was a star and it made sense…but this star was brighter than any of the others around it—and wasn't this the wrong time of year for Luinil to be visible, anyway? He wanted to answer the first one correctly, to show Ada that he knew something of the vast, uncharted skies above—but Ada disliked it when people pretended they knew things that they actually didn't, and he always knew, somehow. Shaking his head he answered in the negative, voice subdued. "No, Adar…it is very bright, but I do not know which it is."
"That is Helluin. You are right, pen-tithen; he is among the brightest of the stars and in Doriath many songs were sung of him."
Ada sighed; Legolas could feel the rise and fall of his chest beneath his own cheek.
"When I was very young my father took me to across Esgalduin to a clearing in Neldoreth where we could see the sky. Helluin was the first star he showed me."
Legolas squirmed around so that he could look up at Ada.
"Is that why…"
Ada smiled, a quick, sweet smile that curved his lips upward and filled his eyes with light. Legolas loved it when he looked like that, because he had learned very early that this was a special smile that Ada reserved for him alone.
"Yes. I wanted you to begin to learn of the stars in the same way that I did—even if it cannot be in the same place. My father told me of his father—your Andaeradar Galadur—showing them to him, before the Sun and Moon first rose. He used to say to me—" Ada broke off and gazed down at Legolas with an expression of wide-eyed surprise that was unusual, as though he had just realised something. "He used to laugh, and say that someday…someday I would take a son of my own away from the lights of the palace to learn the paths of the skies. And I am," he finished, still staring at Legolas with that bewildered look in his eyes, as though he couldn't quite comprehend it. "I am…"
Once again, Legolas sensed that he was missing some vital point in Ada's speech. He wrinkled his nose and pointed out, "Well, Ada, so far you have only shown me Helluin."
Ada smiled. "I accept your rebuke, iôn nín. No more distractions, then!"
He reached out and plucked a long blade of grass, using it to point out stars and constellations.
"Do you see, there, just west of Helluin?"
The grass traced out against the sky the pattern of a tall man wielding a blade. Legolas recognised this one, and crowed in delight: "Menelvagor!"
"Very good," Ada said softly. "That is the swordsman of the skies. He was set there by Elbereth long ago when Belegurth still dwelt in Middle-earth and attempted to thwart all the designs of the Belain. The Golodhrim say that he is a sign of a great battle yet to come, in which Belain, Edhil and Edain will unite against the Enemy and his minions, but whether that is truth I do not know; it is enough that the sight of him brings us hope."
Imitating his father, Legolas followed the lines of the stars with his finger. "I think that is interesting…I shall ask Daernana in the morning."
Ada laughed. "You do that. Now—towards the north, do you see the long, pointed grouping?"
Legolas stared up, searching across the sky, but Ada's description was too vague…there were so many stars that could, with a little imagination, be clustered into a point!
"No…not there." Ada placed one hand on either side of Legolas' head and tilted it down and to the left. "There."
"Oh, yes!" he exclaimed. "Attached to a big square?"
"That is right. It is named Dessangwedh and is easily seen and recognised—when it has once been identified," Ada added, teasingly.
"Dessangwedh is a strange name for a constellation, is it not?" Legolas inquired curiously. Ada laughed.
"Many of the stars and their gatherings have names that would sound illogical, were their past unknown—like Gwilwileth—and others are named after characters in history and legend."
"And some are characters in history!" Legolas said gleefully, searching for Eärendil.
"Yes," Ada agreed, "strange though it may seem."
"Where is Gwilwileth, and why is it called that?"
"Just to the north-east of Dessangwedh. Do you see how the stars are arranged in the shape of wings?"
Legolas nodded. "It would be fun to be the person who named them all, I think," he remarked. "I wonder who it was."
"Many Edhil—including your grandfather's grandfather, and Elu and Ingu themselves, if the old tales speak truly."
"Did they name them all?" Legolas asked, a little wistfully.
"All that we can see—or almost all."
"That was selfish. I wish Elbereth would make some more so that we could name them—it is not my fault that I was not born in the First Age, Ada!"
"Perhaps someday we will find a small one that they missed, and you can name it," Ada answered, a smile in his voice. Legolas sat up, alert and excited.
"May we? I would have to think very carefully—I've only ever named toys and foals and things like that…not anything like a star!"
"I imagine the principle is similar," Ada said, rather dryly. "But for now, you must content yourself with learning the names your forefathers bestowed."
Legolas nodded, but a sudden yawn prevented him from replying verbally. He blinked, surprised, for he had not previously been aware that he was tired. Ada shook his head. "You are growing weary, and your naneth will not be at all pleased with me if I do not bring you home."
"No!" Legolas exclaimed. "I'm not ti—i—ired at all, Ada," he explained, as earnestly as he could through another jaw-splitting yawn.
Ada smiled again. "I think you are."
At the sight of Legolas' disappointed face, however, he relented. "One more constellation, then."
He lay back flat on the grass, pulling Legolas with him. "Look straight up above us, directly up into the dome of the stars."
Legolas obeyed, wondering at how the lights seemed to flash and blink and twinkle at him, for they had shone constantly before.
"Do you see a shape like a great sickle, hanging far up in the sky?"
Legolas nodded sleepily.
"That is Odogelin, the most famous of all the giliath. Elbereth placed it far in the north as a challenge to Belegurth and it is a sign of her protection over us.
"And that is enough for you tonight, sleepy-head."
Ada stood and for a moment Legolas saw his figure outlined against the stars, seeming very large and powerful. Then he bent and lifted his wreath of night-scented blossoms, looking at it for a moment before placing it carefully on Legolas' head."
"Do you…not…want it, Ada?" Legolas inquired drowsily.
"It is too small for my head, pen-tithen," Ada replied quietly, stooping down to pick up Legolas—still clutching his own garland—and carry him against his shoulder.
Reaching up blindly to where he thought Ada's head was, Legolas set his flowers in place.
"Mine was longer, 'cause I started first," he explained, burrowing his cheek into Ada's tunic.
Thranduil straightened the garland with his free hand before thanking Legolas gravely. He turned to gaze up into the north and west and across the ancient stars whose formations were as familiar to him as any landscape, lips moving silently in an oft-repeated prayer. The gentler radiance of night stirred within him emotions and memories that nothing else could touch, and he was more pleased than he would have admitted that Legolas had begun to share his reverence for the stars. There was no reason why his son should have loved them less than any other Elf, but Thranduil knew that he would be deeply wounded if Legolas proved incapable of empathising with him in this respect. That incoherent attempt at explaining his feelings, however, had gone a long way to reassure him, as did Legolas' final valiant effort to battle sleep in order to bid the stars a temporary farewell, their light reflecting in his eyes as they flickered shut.
"Another night we shall return, and I will show you Dôrmeduindor and Thorondûn, Anorrím and Míredhel—all of them, Legolas."
He felt something move against his chest and knew that Legolas was nodding in agreement.
"Nice," he murmured, clutching the cords of Thranduil's shirt as he began to walk back through the forest toward home. Far away, fires gleamed between the boles, and Thranduil knew that somewhere, some of his people would dance through the night for as long as the stars shone.
"Ada, why…"
The small, muffled voice faded away and looking down, Thranduil saw that Legolas was fast asleep, rosy face buried in his father's chest and strands of golden hair spread across his shoulder. Thranduil watched his small son tenderly for a moment, then cast a final glance up at the stars, eternally glimmering above the glade. They smiled.
Elvish translations:
Hithaeglir: Sindarin name for the Misty Mountains
glorellon: golden Elf child, a pet name
Anor: Sindarin name for the sun
Dor Rodyn: Sindarin name for Valinor
Ithil: Sindarin name for the moon
Belain: Sindarin name for the Valar
Elenath: starry host
Ada: Daddy
pen-tithen: little one
iôn nín: my son
Belegurth: Sindarin name for Morgoth meaning "Great Death"
Naneth: mother