Part I: All That is Gold.
Year 2946 of the Third Age.
Chapter 1: A Council
Legolas made his way along the throng of warriors slowly, pausing to offer a friendly pat on the shoulder here, a word of encouragement there. They were none too happy that he was leaving, especially with so many senior officials injured. Legolas snorted softly. They held him in the same regard as a senior officer, which – in his opinion – was a very unsafe thing to do. He may be talented with the bow, granted, but he had nowhere near the patience of a senior officer. In fact, as his Adar was wont to remind him, he had all the patience of a child. A human child.
Suddenly, a flash of movement amongst the crowd of warriors caught his eye. It was not the movement that was strange—it was the height of the movement. These were all elven warriors, tall; and all of them had shed their weapons and armour, so that was not the glint of a sword or dagger. What was it, then, hidden in the light tree-cover of the warriors' courtyard, moving around at no higher than knee-height? With a swift glance around to make sure that he was not needed, Legolas walked towards the beeches where he had seen the movement.
As he moved closer, he saw a clearer movement in the shrubbery surrounding the trees. A pale brown, too light to be an animal.
"Who is there?" he called softly. He had left the warriors a few paces behind; they were relaxed and occupied and would not hear his voice.
There was no mistaking it now—a small head poked out of the bushes; a fair, female face, framed by light brown hair. As the elfling's bright eyes landed on Legolas' face, a smile split her face in an expression of pure joy.
The elfling made her way out of the shrubbery, light on bare feet. Legolas could see that she had been wandering unheeded for a while; her light dress was stained green with grass, her bare arms were streaked with dirt, and her hair, falling past her waist, had come loose and was now home to several leaves. She grinned excitedly at him. Legolas had met few elves this young, and he certainly had not met any this bold.
Seeming to realise her manners suddenly, the elfling bowed clumsily, tiny hand over her chest. "Mae govannen, Lord Prince!" she exclaimed excitedly. "I am at your service!"
Eyebrows raised in surprise, Legolas bowed formally as well. He had not met any elflings this excitable, either. He addressed her as one would address an adult; a noble, indeed. "Mae govannen, my lady. I am at your service and your family's." The elfling looked up, still smiling, and Legolas crouched down on one knee to lower himself to her eye level. "May I inquire as to what you were doing in the bushes, my lady?"
The elfling did not answer, merely frowned thoughtfully. "Do you know," she began seriously, "You are a lot more handsome this close."
Legolas had to press a hand to him mouth to stop his laughter. "Le hannon, my lady," he managed to say.
"Most welcome," she replied. She looked down, and felt inside a pocket of her dress with her right hand. When she removed her hand, she was holding a handful of small red berries. "Would you like one?" She held out her hand politely.
"No, thank you," he answered, just as politely.
She sighed and returned the berries to her pocket, then sat down cross-legged on the ground. "I would like a council," she declared, stressing the end of the word. Legolas had to grin at her confidence. "That means I want to talk to you," she quickly added in a lower voice.
"Ah." Legolas looked around quickly. He doubted anyone would disturb them here. "Very well, my lady. I do not leave until after midday; there is plenty of time."
"Good!" She smiled broadly again, and Legolas laughed softly. He sat down, cross-legged as well, next to her, and waited. The elfling sat up a little straighter and adopted a more serious expression. Trying to respect the tiny elleth's desire for an adult conversation, Legolas adopted a similar expression.
"Lord Prince, I am councilling with you because I have a thing to give you." Despite her seriousness, Legolas could see her grey eyes sparkling with delight. She turned to him, waiting.
Legolas realised that he was expected to respond in kind, and he quickly made up a short speech, trying to alter his words to match her tone. "My lady, I am here councilling-" He could not prevent a grin at the made-up word, "-with you. I accept the thing you want to give me."
The elfling smiled, a strangely serious smile–they were in a council, after all–and nodded approvingly. Legolas could not help wondering why the royal councils could not be this interesting.
"Thank you for accepting my gift," she said.
"Thank you, for offering it to me," Legolas replied, still unaware what the gift was.
The elfling pushed her hair away from her face and pulled a out slender chain from the neck of her dress. It was made of silver, and seemed to suit the elfling perfectly—beautiful and delicate, yet strong. From the chain hung a small pocket of woven green leaves. The elfling was definitely a Silvan, then. Her thin, berry-stained fingers opened the pouch, and with one hand she tipped it onto the palm of the other. Something small and bright fell into her hand.
"Here," she said, and dropped the item into Legolas' hand. Too curious to protest, Legolas raised his hand to examine it. It was made of silver, and with such precision that it was likely dwarves had crafted it. It was the model of a flower that Legolas did not recognise; a small centre surrounded by layers of minute petals, resting on a bed of several tiny leaves. The whole affair was no bigger than the tip of the elfling's finger, and the scores of faces caught the sun in a thousand different ways.
"It's beautiful," Legolas whispered. And indeed it was. He had seen the skill of dwarves before, but never had he seen it used to craft something so gentle, so fragile, so perfect. Every petal seemed to capture the essence of the plant in an amazing way—for a moment, Legolas had even thought he could hear fragments of the Song in this dwarf-made piece of metal.
"I know," the elfling replied, just as quietly. "You need to take care of it."
Legolas turned away from the flower sharply and turned to the elfling. "You are giving this to me?"
"Yes," she replied. All of the previous delight in her eyes was gone, all of the confidence, all of the mirth of pretence at adulthood. She now seemed much younger, and yet the worry in her face made her seem older at the same time. "It was my Ada's. He had braids like yours."
He was a warrior. Legolas did not need to ask what had happened; the forest that was once Eryn Galen was now a graveyard. But if her Adar had truly given this beautiful flower to her, then why was she giving it to him? Before he could ask, the elfling answered his question.
"Somebody gave Ada the flower. They said it would keep him safe." She twisted her berry-stained fingers together, her face calm and expressionless. "He didn't have it, so he wasn't safe." She looked up at Legolas, her grey eyes devoid of any emotion. "He gave it to me, but I don't need to be kept safe. Elves who fight need to be kept safe. And if you go away alone, you need to be kept safe, too." She reached out and gently touched the metal flower. Her voice was soft and reverent. "It will keep you safe, but you must never lose it. You must keep it with you."
The elfling gave him a searching look, and Legolas knew what he had to say. "I will keep it." The elfling's eyes brightened. "Are you sure you want to give this to me?"
The elfling dropped her gaze and reached out to touch the flower once more. "It is a gift," she said firmly. And before Legolas could say any more, she jumped to her feet and ran lightly into the trees.
Legolas was on his feet at once, but something held him back. He looked down at the flower, reflecting in a hundred broken fragments the blue of the sky and the green of the trees. She would be gone too far by now, and he doubted he would find a child so small if he did not even know where she was headed. The trees would not even co-operate with him if he was looking for her; he had once been an elfling and he knew how protective the trees were of them. Besides, she would not want him to search for her—she had not even given him her name.
He closed his fist around the flower. "Le hannon," he whispered. He expected no reply, and got none. He turned to go back towards the caverns. Imladris awaited.