Thanks to the following reviewers: Krissy Wonder, Keji, Avion Jade, Dragonfly, CAH, and Opalkitty. I am delighted to receive any and all responses, whether reviewers are logged in or not. If you do happen to be logged in, I will use the reply feature to get back to you.

Beta Reader: Dragonfly.

Vocabulary:

meleth-nîn—my love (feminine)

melethril-nîn—my lover (feminine)

Chapter 10: Planting the Seeds

Galadriel was dreaming. In her mind she stood in the garden of Rivendell. She smiled as she listened to the shouts of elflings, but one voice was missing. Why did she not hear Anomen at play with the others? Her feet took her into the Hall, and the Lady of Lórien found herself walking within a part of the Hall where guests were quartered. One chamber in particular she was drawn to.

As she approached the door of this chamber, a little figure ran down the corridor from the opposite direction and darted into the room. Galadriel smiled. Arwen. Galadriel slipped into the room and hid in an alcove to watch her granddaughter as she danced toward a bed upon which lay an elfling propped upon pillows with a book on his lap. So here was the missing elf-lad.

Galadriel smiled again as she saw that Arwen clutched a 'bouquet'. The Lady of Lórien was well acquainted with the elf-child's fondness for floral arrangements, if so they may be called. The Lady had been gifted with several such handfuls of wilted weeds. Somehow, when she placed the flowers in water, they had always sprung back to life. Perhaps it was her own magic operating upon the blossoms, but she preferred to believe it was Arwen's.

"Nomie," cried Arwen, "I have brought you a gift."

Anomen accepted the bedraggled bouquet graciously. He arose from his bed and limped to the table to retrieve a vase. Then the two of them sat upon the bed and arranged the flowers painstakingly.

"There," said Anomen at last. The two elflings sat admiring their handiwork. Suddenly, however, a shadow fell over them. Arwen looked up and shrieked. "It's the bad, bad Elf," she sobbed. She flung her arms around Anomen and tried to bury her head in the folds of his nightdress. As she butted up against Anomen, the vase very nearly fell from his hands to the floor, but Thranduil deftly caught it. The King held the vessel and its contents up to sun. "Beautiful," he murmured. "I had not thought that such an unpromising assortment would turn out so lovely. Methought they were only weeds, and wilted ones at that. But see how they bloom. Is there some virtue in the water hereabouts, that plants should flourish so?"

Arwen cautiously poked out her head. "Ada says my bouquets cannot help but be beautiful."

"And why is that, child?"

Arwen looked at him as if he were daft. "Because they are my bouquets and not someone else's."

"Ah, I see," said Thranduil solemnly. "How foolish of me not to understand."

Arwen had a sudden idea. "Do you really think that this bouquet is beautiful?" she asked with the transparent slyness of the very young.

"I do indeed," Thranduil assured her.

"And you like pretty bouquets?"

"Assuredly I do."

"Then would you like a bouquet for your very, very own?"

"I should very much like such a lovely bouquet."

"Very, very much?"

"Very, very much."

"Well, if that is so, I shall make you one if you will trade me something for it."

"What would you have in exchange?" said Thranduil, pretending innocence.

"You must give me Nomie."

"Give you Nomie for your very own?"

"Yes!"

"Do you think you would be able to take care of him? It would be a big responsibility. He will need more than the occasional watering."

"Oh," said Arwen casually, "I would ask Elrohir and Elladan to help. Ada, too, and Erestor and Glorfindel and Mithrandir. Everyone will help."

"Goodness," said Thranduil in pretended surprise. "Are there really so many who stand ready to assist you?"

"Oh, yes," Arwen assured him. "Everyone hereabouts loves Nomie, so I will only have to ask, and they will help."

"Well," said Thranduil, setting the vase upon the table, "I shall have to think over your proposition. In fact, I shall go to the garden this very moment and meditate upon your offer."

"Very well," said Arwen gravely. "But as you do, remember that no one makes bouquets as beautiful as mine. You may ask anyone, and they will tell you so."

"I am sure you speak the truth," said Thranduil with a smile.

"Then I hope you have a lovely walk in the garden. I shall tell Elrohir and Elladan to leave off shooting acorns at you."

Thranduil was momentarily startled, and he glanced at Anomen, who blushed and took up his book and commenced to study it intently. The King recovered quickly, however.

"I thank you, my child. I would indeed be glad if I could walk in the garden without fear of being attacked by nuts."

Anomen snorted at these words, but Thranduil maintained a straight face as he strode from the room. After him slipped Galadriel.

As Thranduil stood in the garden, he was not at all surprised when Galadriel stepped forth to stand before him. "Did Elrond summon you?" he asked bluntly.

"He may have," Galadriel replied, "but if he did, he does not know it."

Thranduil groaned. "Do you have to be so enigmatic from the very start? Couldn't you proceed in stages, from clarity to confusion?"

"I believe," replied Galadriel with the serene smile for which she was famous, "that it is more usual to proceed from confusion to clarity. Is that not so?"

Thranduil groaned again and added eye-rolling for extra effect. "I think I must be dreaming," he muttered to himself. "Or having a nightmare."

"And could you tell the difference, Thranduil?"

"Of course I could," he said crossly.

"Oh, I think not," said Galadriel coolly. "Methinks you live in a dream and know it not."

Thranduil struggled to keep his temper. "How can that be so?" he challenged the Lady of Lothlórien.

"You dream that you can safely convey Anomen away from this place. You cannot."

"It is Legolas," said Thranduil angrily, "and I fail to see what is to prevent me from taking my son home to Greenwood. Are you suggesting that Elrond proposes to commit an act of treachery? Or perchance Glorfindel will play the villain? If that is what you mean," he added sarcastically, "I thank you for the warning. I shall take steps to forestall such villainy."

"I mean nothing of the sort. It is Anomen you must see to."

"It's Le-go-las," growled Thranduil. "Are you saying that my own son will betray me?"

"Betray is not the proper word. Ask yourself, Thranduil: what are you prepared to do to bring Anomen away with you?"

"My warriors and I will cut down any Elf who tries to stand in my way," vowed Thranduil. "And it's L-e-g-o-l-a-s. Legolas."

Galadriel laughed. "Poor, poor Thranduil. You see: you live in a dream, and yet you cannot envision my meaning."

"Enough!" shouted Thranduil. "No more puns. Speak clearly."

"Very well. Are you prepared to tie Anomen to a horse and keep him so secured until you arrive at Greenwood? Once at the Great Hall, are you prepared to lock him in the dungeon for the centuries that it will take to break his spirit? If you are not prepared to do these things, then you dream if you think you can bring Anomen back to Greenwood and keep him there. And if you do take such steps, you will nonetheless fail to regain your son. Nay, I swear to you that you will lose him forever if you behave so."

"And did you see these things in your mirror?" sneered Thranduil.

"It needs no mirror," Galadriel replied calmly. "If you truly knew your son, you would concede the truth of what I say."

"I know my son," growled Thranduil, but even as he spoke, he knew that he did not. Furious, he turned his back and stalked from the garden. For several hours, he roamed the Hall in agitation. At last he found himself outside the library. Impulsively, he entered the chamber. There sat Erestor looking over the elflings' exercise books. Open before him was Anomen's, for the lad had not been excused from his lessons. "You fell on your leg, not your head," Erestor had coolly replied to his entreaties, and the tutor came each day to Anomen's chamber, his arms laden with scrolls, pens, and inkpots.

Erestor looked up as Thranduil entered the room. "Ah, Lord Thranduil," he enthused, "I am so glad that you have come. You must look over this exercise that your son has but lately completed. Truly, he is the cleverest pupil I have ever had, and I have taught many."

Thranduil crossed over to Erestor and accepted the exercise book. He rifled through its pages, impatiently at first, but then more slowly. As he had on the day of his arrival at Rivendell, the King noticed how careful Anomen was in his studies and how equally careful Erestor was in correcting errors and suggesting improvements. Suddenly he tossed the book upon the table. "I should like to speak to Glorfindel, Mithrandir, Elrond, and you in company," he said abruptly to the tutor. "I pray that you send a messenger to summon your peers."

Erestor was alarmed but tried not to show it. "I shall summon them myself," he said politely, bowing his way toward the door. Once in the corridor, he ran pell mell toward Elrond's chamber, along the way startling many a servant.

"Elrond," the tutor cried as he burst through the door. "You must come to the library at once. Thranduil is there, and I think he means to depart Rivendell upon the instant." Here Erestor wrung his hands together and—burst into tears. Elrond lost all semblance of refinement and gaped at the unfortunate Elf, as did Glorfindel and Mithrandir, who were also in the room. Arwen also was present but she did not gape. She did, however, scurry out the door, her departure unobserved by the adults, who were preoccupied by Erestor's announcement.

Grimly the delegation of Elves and wizard strode toward the library. They entered—and stopped, nonplussed. They had expected an agitated Thranduil, but he sat calmly waiting for them. "Do be seated," he said to them politely. As they took their chairs, Arwen scampered through the door. She was holding up the edges of her kirtle, which was filled with flowers, some of them, Elrond could tell, plucked from a garden bed that was the Gardener's particular pride. Elrond sighed. 'Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof', he thought to himself. 'I shall settle with the gardener later'. "Arwen," he spoke aloud, "this is no place for a child. We adults have matters of high import to discuss."

"Oh, let the little one stay," said Thranduil complacently. "Indeed, her presence is necessary."

In answer, in front of the amazed eyes of the Rivendell folk, Arwen danced up to Thranduil and dumped the flowers in his lap, dirt and all. Then she stood back and folded her arms. "Well?" she demanded.

"I have called you here," announced Thranduil, nodding gravely at Arwen, "to witness a transaction, lest it not be acknowledged as valid."

Mithrandir and the Rivendell Elves looked back and forth at each other. Transaction? Whatever was Thranduil talking about? And why was Arwen's presence necessary? Mystified, they watched as Thranduil selected a flower, held it up, and studied it.

"Tell me, Elrond," asked Thranduil. "What is this flower worth?"

Elrond frowned as he considered his answer. "Nothing," he said after a moment. "Everything," he added.

"Nothing and everything," mused Thranduil. "Which is as much as to say: priceless."

"Yes," agreed Elrond. "That flower is priceless."

"I am glad we have established its value," said Thranduil. "It is fair to exchange things of equal value, is that not so? Perhaps Erestor should answer, as he is a logician."

"That is so," said the tutor, pleased to be so named. Mithrandir, meanwhile, had started to grin. Glorfindel and Elrond noticed the wizard's expression and began to relax, although both were still in the dark as to where Thranduil was tending.

"I am glad that we are agreed," the King of Greenwood continued. "Since that is so, I should like to propose what I hope shall be a fair exchange. If you will allow me to bear away with me these priceless flowers, then in return Le—Anomen—shall remain here. What say you, Elrond? Can you bear to sacrifice so many priceless blossoms?"

Elrond was speechless for a moment. When he at last regained his voice, he could not swear avidly enough that he found the bargain good.

"You may take every flower in the garden," he exclaimed, "as long as that one bloom is left to flourish in this soil."

"So we have an accord?"

"Oh, yes, certainly."

"And you are fully satisfied with the terms?"

"Indeed, Thranduil! Most satisfied."

"Good. I would not have it said that the King of Greenwood deals falsely with his trading partners."

"You will never hear me say it," swore Elrond.

"I am glad," said Thranduil as he gathered his winnings into his arms and then arose. "If you will excuse me, I must see to the packing of these flowers. Items so precious must be cared for with all due diligence."

"Yes, and I assure you that the bloom you leave behind will receive such care."

"I can well believe it," answered Thranduil, "for I have seen plentiful signs that that has always been the case."

With those words, Thranduil strode from the room, leaving behind a trail of dirt. By his side scurried Arwen, taking three steps to every one of his. As she scampered, she chattered advice about how best to preserve the flowers.

"Elrond," said Mithrandir after Arwen's voice could no longer be heard. "Do you suppose that the Gardener might be prevailed upon to put up some packets of seed for Thranduil? They would be more durable than one of Arwen's bouquets."

"Once the word gets out that Thranduil has yielded Anomen," answered Elrond, "I imagine the Gardener could be prevailed upon to do anything within his power for the King of Greenwood."

Glorfindel laughed. "Aye, Elrond, and not only the Gardener. You had best look to your storerooms. The Cook will be preparing cakes for Thranduil and his Elves, the Armorer will be crafting bows enough for an army, the Saddler will be cutting patterns for headstalls, the Goldsmith shall be fashioning brooches for their cloaks—why, as to cloaks, the Seamstress shall be sewing them new ones. Thranduil will find that he has made a very good trade indeed!"

Everyone laughed, but then they sobered when Galadriel glided into the room.

"Galadriel," exclaimed Elrond. "I did not dream that you were here. You are very welcome."

Galadriel smiled acknowledgement to Elrond but addressed Erestor. "Well done, tutor. I see that you have been teaching not only elflings these past several days."

Erestor was puzzled. "It is true that I would gladly teach anyone who wished to learn, but I do not understand your meaning."

Glorfindel was thinking that Erestor would also gladly teach anyone who did not wish to learn, but his thoughts were interrupted when Galadriel spoke again.

"On the day of Thranduil's arrival, did you not say to him, 'The ability to recognize when one's child should be entrusted to another is the mark of a wise and loving parent'?"

"Why, yes, I believe I did. Thranduil wished to rush to Anomen's side when the lad cried out in pain, but Elrond and Mithrandir were treating his injuries, and I was explaining to the King that—oh!"

Erestor fell silent as he finally understood the true import of the words he had spoken to Thranduil. Glorfindel was grinning and clapped him on the back.

"Erestor," the balrog-slayer declared, "the next time I am bedeviling you, quote that line at me, and I swear I shall fall silent upon the instant."

"Notice," jested Mithrandir, "that he only said 'the next time'. After that, I suppose you will go back to tormenting our poor tutor, eh, Glorfindel."

"You would not wish Erestor to become complacent," the balrog-slayer replied with aplomb.

"Little chance of that," smiled Erestor, shrugging. He was too happy over the latest turn of events to really care whether Glorfindel would resume chaffing him the sooner or the later.

Thranduil, meanwhile, had reached the chambers he shared with Anomen. He went straight to the table where sat the flower vase, and, with Arwen's help of course, he began to slip his flowers in amongst Anomen's. Anomen was napping, but he began to stir as Arwen chattered without restraint.

"Thranduil," she was saying, "is Greenwood very far from Rivendell?"

"Several days journey. One must cross a plain and come first to Lothlórien. Next one may choose either to cross the Misty Mountains or to journey south around them to the Gap of Rohan. From there one must ride north through Dunland."

"So it is farther than Lothlórien. I have been to Lothlórien, and I shall journey there again sometime." Arwen had a sudden thought. "When I am in Lothlórien, will you come visit me?"

"If it would please you."

"I would like it very much."

Anomen sat bolt upright.

"I want to go, too!"

"To Lothlórien?" said Thranduil. "That is an excellent idea. When Arwen journeys to the Golden Valley, you must accompany her."

Anomen stared bewildered at his father. He had meant that he wished to accompany Thranduil. The truth slowly dawned upon him.

"Then you are not taking me away to Greenwood?"

"As no one thinks it a good idea, no."

Anomen flung his arms around Thranduil. Arwen, not to be left out, did so as well.

Thranduil at first did not know what to do, so flummoxed was he. Then he flung his own arms around the two elflings and squeezed tight. The three stayed huddled together in this fashion for several minutes, until at last Arwen gasped, "I can't bweathe!" Laughing, Thranduil released his hold. Arwen regained her breath at once, seemingly, for she immediately began to chatter about how lovely it would be to visit Lothlórien and see not only her grandparents but also her dear, dear friend from Greenwood. "And won't you be ever so glad, too?" she appealed to Anomen.

"Oh, yes," said Anomen, "I shall be ever so glad to visit with, um, visit with my Adar."

Although Anomen's manner was a little awkward, it was the first time that the lad had addressed Thranduil as his 'father', and the King was deeply moved. 'I seem to have regained my son', he marveled to himself, 'and I did so by letting him go. Galadriel was right: I would have lost him had I tried to keep him'.

In Lothlórien, Galadriel roused herself from her sleep. Smiling, she went to her mirror and gazed upon its still surface. One by one it showed the sleeping Lords of Imladris. As Galadriel watched, their furrowed brows smoothed, and they fell into pleasant dreams that were far from the nightmares that had been afflicting them. She saw as well the face of Mithrandir. He was muttering and tossing in his sleep, but Galadriel sent her thoughts toward him, and he, too, was soon settled calmly in a bed that was at last altogether comfortable in every sense. Satisfied, Galadriel left her glade and returned to her talan. There she found Celeborn awake and waiting for her.

"Is anything wrong, meleth-nîn?" he asked.

"No," she answered coyly, "unless it be that I am awake and you are awake."

"I think, melethril-nîn," he answered, equally coy, "that that is no problem unless we cannot find a way to pass the time."

"Oh, so now it is 'melethril' and not 'meleth'," teased Galadriel.

"It is both," Celeborn replied with mock-gravity, "as I shall soon prove to you." Reader, no doubt he did prove it to her, but the chronicles are silent on the matter. One thing is certain, however: the folk of both Imladris and Lothlórien, whether sleeping or awake, were at least for the time being freed of the nightmare of what might have happened had Thranduil found Anomen before the lad was ready for such a confrontation. And in that knowledge, may we all sleep well.

TBC