Disclaimers: I don't own any of the characters or settings from Lord of the Rings or Xena the Warrior Princess
XXVI: Legacies and Longings
The Halls of the Elvenking, 2041 TA, June 9
In the lush heart of Mirkwood, where light danced through the leaves and the air hummed with ancient magic, King Thranduil sat upon his throne. The season of summer had transformed his crown, now a vivid tapestry of flowers blooming in an array of colors. Petals of deep blues, fiery reds, and radiant yellows intertwined with the pale gold of his hair, creating an almost ethereal glow around his regal figure.
Thranduil, the Elvenking, exuded an air of pride and majesty. His posture was impeccable, a picture of royal elegance and authority. The throne room, carved from the living wood of the forest, echoed his grandeur. Intricate patterns graced the walls, telling tales of old, while the light filtering through the leaves cast a dappled pattern across the polished floor.
Yet, beneath this majestic exterior, Thranduil was troubled. The recent encounter with the human intruder, Xena, whom she had yet to identify, weighed heavily on his mind. His attempts to connect with nature around her or even to the mysterious sword she wielded had been futile. The human had escaped into the darkest part of Mirkwood, where the trees had withered and died, severing his connection with the forest.
Nienna, who had long watched over Thranduil since his days as an elfling, noticed his unease. Approaching the throne, she spoke with a calmness that had often provided solace to the Elvenking. Her wisdom was as deep as the roots of Mirkwood itself, and her words held a gentle authority.
"Cerithon le tegi gin nîn?" (You could have tried to reason with her.)" Nienna suggested, her voice echoing softly in the vast chamber.
Thranduil's piercing eyes met hers, a spark of frustration flickering within them. "Tegi?" (Reason?) he scoffed, his voice laced with skepticism. "Man ceritha o adan dan binnas i 'waith nîn a thar- na erui amarth?" (Who would reason with a human who trespasses in my domain and offers no explanation for her actions?)
"Thranduil, ú-'osto leithio le na- bado a tharchar o bain a bruiatha trî 'waith le." (Thranduil, you cannot simply attack or imprison anyone who passes through your realm.) Nienna replied, her tone still even. She moved gracefully across the room, her robes flowing like a stream over stones. She chose a position near Thranduil, not as a subject to a king, but as a wise counselor to a long-known friend.
She continued, "Lû iston le abatha cened a brûn edh i-Dale aui Erebor. Baw, gwaith a naneth, ui- egennir." (You have agreed to maintain relations with Dale and even Erebor. People, including dwarves, will pass through.)
Nienna's words hung in the air, a reminder of the delicate balance Thranduil had to maintain as a ruler. Her presence, both comforting and commanding, served as a beacon of wisdom in the Elvenking's often tumultuous reign. In her, Thranduil found not just a counselor, but a connection to a past that shaped the ruler he had become.
In the dimly lit expanse of his chamber, Thranduil's voice resonated with a firm resolve,"Si dîn ú-'avo belego na- adleg a thûl." (This one shall not be met with restraint or diplomacy.) he declared. "Hain an- amartha maw. Ú-chenion, peditha, a bain an- gurth ninui." (She bears much to answer for. Should I find her, she will speak, or her fate shall be sealed.)
Nienna, her wisdom as deep as the roots of the forest, sighed. She knew well the futility of reasoning with Thranduil in such a state. "Ú-'elle na- bain nîn, i magol a dan 'waith?" (Might it not be mere chance, this sword in the human's possession?) she ventured, her tone a calm contrast to his agitation.
"No," Thranduil's voice deepened, a note of certainty threading through his words."Hain orchannen aen i-Gundabad, bain i-flaid." (She acquired it in Gundabad, amid her flight.) Perplexed, Nienna tilted her head, the shock evident upon her visage. "But how could you know this, my lord? You said she fled upon your wounding her."
"Ú-'lathron na le, ammen baw lín, a orchennin o morn Gonnhir-i-Gundabad?" (Have you not heard of our kin, recently returned from Gundabad's dark confines?) Thranduil responded, his annoyance barely veiled. He recounted the tale he had learned from the elves who had survived captivity.
Nienna, acknowledging the returned elves' plight, queried further, "A i edhil - man a chan?" (And these elves - what of them?)
"Hain, ui o gwaith adan a naugrim, bruiatha Gonnhir-i-Gundabad." (They, along with a band of humans and dwarves, fled Gundabad's depths.) Thranduil informed her. "A ú-uir." (And not long ago.)
Surprise flickered in Nienna's eyes."Ú-'e i adan an-uir minui?" (Was this human among their number?)
"Ú-'e, dan hain en-orthant i râd an- lais." (No, but 'twas she who forged their path to freedom.) Thranduil revealed, recalling the reverence in his subjects' tales of her deeds.
Nienna contemplated this, then spoke gently, "Ach, si en-angol hain, ú-'e si min- pedi minui, i-chenion?" (If she has shown such compassion, might she not also offer an explanation, were she given the chance?)
Thranduil's gaze hardened. "Si dîn ú-'avo orthor." (This one is beyond reason.)" he insisted, his thoughts darkening at the memory of the human wielding the sword meant to protect his beloved Elenyathra.
Nienna, unfiltered in her counsel, replied, "Caur a thûl, Thranduil. Mal iston i thachar ú-'thar pedith." (Then sit and brood, Thranduil. But know that hostility will not yield the answers you seek.)
"Hain an-chenion, an-uir." (She shall answer me, in time.) Thranduil murmured, more to himself, a determined calm settling over him. "Ú-'vo noeg hain." (She cannot evade us forever.)
Nienna's words then struck a deeper chord, "Ú-'elle hain na- thara minui, aui na- fuin. I magol ú-'e na- uil bain." (She may already be beyond our reach, or even dead. The sword but a chance finding in her hands.)
"Ú-'e." (No.) Thranduil countered firmly. "I- Gonnhir-i-Gundabad, hain orthant aen, dan i magol." (In Gundabad's depths, she vanished briefly, returning with the sword.)
Nienna absorbed this revelation, sensing Thranduil's deepening turmoil. "Sui iston, hain ench-orthon na- bain nîn, i magol?" (Do you believe she might have uncovered more than just the sword?)
Thranduil, rising from his throne, whispered, "Ú-'e gîr, ú-'e haid." (No memory, no grave.) He turned from Nienna, his voice laden with sorrow. "An-uir na- Elenyathra lost nin? Aen iston na- amarth nîn aen pend nin am maded." (How long shall Elenyathra remain lost to me? All I know of her fate is what our bond revealed at its severing.)
Nienna watched Thranduil, his rare openness about the lost ElvenQueen stirring the air. Legolas's absence, and the reemergence of the sword – were not mere coincidences. They hinted at a deeper connection.
"Ach, si adan, ú-'gennir i gîr Elenyathra, bain boe medu eithel na- hûr nîn." (Perhaps the human, though unknowing of Elenyathra's tale, might yet hold a key to peace for your troubled heart.) Nienna suggested softly, her words a gentle beacon in the shadow of Thranduil's grief.
As Thranduil stood lost in his reverie, the silence of the chamber was broken by the arrival of his guards. The doors of the throne room swung open, admitting a small contingent of Mirkwood's finest. They moved with a grace and stealth befitting the guardians of the Woodland Realm, yet their expressions bore the weight of unfulfilled duty.
The captain of the guard, a tall elf with eyes as sharp as his bow, stepped forward. Bowing respectfully, he addressed his king, "Heru nîn Thranduil, ammen harn pelia i naugrim, o galad bain i dû." (My lord Thranduil, we have scoured the forest, from the sunlit glades to the shadowed undergrowth.)
Thranduil's gaze, distant and thoughtful, returned to the present "Man a chan i mor echad Mirkwood?" (And of the darker regions of Mirkwood, what news from there?)" he inquired, his voice betraying a hint of urgency.
"I morn taur orthor nîn, heru nîn." (The dead woods confound us, my lord.)" the captain replied. "Am galad ú-'eithro, i tangwar nîn." (Our connection to the forest weakens in that blighted place.)
Nienna, observing the exchange, interjected with a note of concern, "Might it not be perilous to venture further into those parts? The shadows there harbor dangers not easily overcome."
Thranduil nodded in agreement. "Your counsel is wise, Nienna. We must not risk more lives in this pursuit. For now, we shall watch and wait. She cannot remain hidden forever."
The captain, acknowledging his king's command, added, "Uir nîn, heru nîn. Ach, si ech-uir o morn, an-chenion." (We shall keep vigilant, Sire. If she emerges from the shadows, we shall know.)
"Maer." (Very well.) Thranduil said, his mind already turning over new strategies. "Savo i othrim nîn vi cheri. Ú-'olo hi thogon ú-dîn." (Ensure that our borders are closely guarded. I would not have her slip away unnoticed.)
As the guards departed, Thranduil turned to Nienna. "Echad Mirkwood, ú-'vo morn orthor hain. An-uir, i gîr an-chenion." (Even in the depths of Mirkwood, the shadows cannot hide her forever. In time, the truth will reveal itself.)
Nienna, her expression thoughtful, responded, "Istui, Thranduil. Mal gîr ú-'vo dortha i vethed lim ú-'bennir. No an- aglar." (Indeed, Thranduil. But remember, the truth often comes in forms we least expect. Be open to what it may reveal.)
Their conversation lingered in the air, a mix of determination and caution. Thranduil, though resolved to uncover the mystery of the human and the sword, found himself pondering Nienna's words. In the complex weave of fate and chance, what truths would the shadows of Mirkwood yield? The Elvenking could only wait and watch, as the story of the sword and its bearer continued to unfold.
After her counsel with Thranduil, Nienna departed the throne chamber, her thoughts lingering on their conversation. Mirkwood, though still shadowed by darkness, had begun to experience a renewal of sorts. The alliances with Dale and Erebor, slowly mending, brought a subtle change to the Woodland Realm. The elves, under Thranduil's rule, now extended aid to both humans and dwarves, a sign of history not repeating its past grievances.
Nienna, her wisdom spanning the ages, found herself intrigued by the human in question. The very mention of Gundabad, a place of dread and darkness, stirred a curiosity within her. That a human would venture there, and by choice, hinted at a story untold, a purpose yet to be revealed. The way this human had stood defiant against Thranduil, and now, eluded his search, only added to her intrigue.
As Nienna moved through her daily tasks, she pondered the eventual outcome. She knew Thranduil's determination well; nothing entered his realm unnoticed for long. Yet, should the human choose to vanish or travel far from Mirkwood, she might yet elude the Elvenking's grasp. Thranduil, despite his slight changes, would not pursue beyond the borders of his realm for a mere human.
Meanwhile, Althea, returning from a morning gathering with the ladies of the court, was abuzz with the day's tidings. The court, a hive of conversation and rumor, often buzzed with news, both mundane and momentous. As she noticed her mother's return, her curiosity was piqued. Althea, ever observant and keen to the undercurrents of the court, approached Nienna.
"Mother," Althea inquired gently in the comment tongue, her eyes reflecting a blend of concern and curiosity. "What news from the throne chamber? The court is rife with whispers, yet none hold the weight of truth."
Nienna, pausing in her steps, turned to her daughter. Her eyes, reflecting the depth of ancient forests, held a knowing glint. "The matters of the throne chamber are often as tangled as the roots of Mirkwood, my child. Yet know this - the Elvenking faces a quandary, one not easily unraveled."
Althea listened intently, her mind weaving together the fragments of conversation she had overheard. "Is it regarding the human who eluded him?" she ventured, recalling snippets of overheard gossip.
Nienna nodded, a faint smile touching her lips at her daughter's perceptiveness. "Indeed, it concerns the human and a sword of mystery. But let us not dwell on court intrigues for now. The forest calls, and we must answer."
Althea, with her hair cascading like streams of moonlit silver and eyes reflecting ancient, profound wisdom, possessed a captivating elegance. Her gown, a masterpiece of Elven craftsmanship, shimmered with the finest silks, its intricate embroidery depicting tales of old – a testament to her noble heritage.
"What else did you discuss?" Althea inquired, her voice laced with an unspoken urgency as she delicately adjusted her exquisite gown.
Nienna, perceptive of her daughter's underlying concerns, responded, "Our conversation did not turn to Legolas, Althea." She knew well of her daughter's fascination with Legolas, and his departure from Mirkwood had only deepened her curiosity.
"But how can that be?" Althea questioned, her hands busily preparing herbs to brew a cooling summer drink. "Is Thranduil not troubled by Legolas's absence?"
Nienna, mixing the herbs with practiced ease, replied, "He is, undoubtedly. Yet speak of Legolas he did not. Nothing has changed, my child. Legolas left, and it may be that he shall not return."
Althea's expression clouded with frustration. "That is incomprehensible. Thranduil would not simply resign to Legolas being gone forever. He is the prince," she mused, her gaze drifting towards the lush gardens visible from the Elvenking's halls.
"Legolas is no longer bound by that title," Nienna clarified, her tone gentle yet firm. "Thranduil granted him leave, perhaps permanently."
"And should he choose to return?" Althea probed, placing the lid on the small vessel beside her, her curiosity unsated.
Nienna paused, considering the weight of her words. "Should Legolas return, the paths of fate are many and uncertain. Thranduil, though king, is also a father. His heart, like the forest, harbors both strength and sorrow."
Althea absorbed her mother's words, the complexities of Thranduil's decisions weaving through her thoughts like the intricate patterns on her gown. The fate of Legolas, and indeed that of Mirkwood itself, remained as enigmatic as the ancient woods that surrounded them. In the shadows and light of the Elven realm, the story of the prince, the king, and the mysterious human continued to unfold.
"If Legolas were to return, his title of prince would indeed remain his," Nienna mused, a chuckle escaping her as she recalled Legolas's aversion to courtly matters. "But, my daughter, do not be mistaken. Legolas has never yearned for the trappings of titles and diplomacy."
Althea, her expression one of mild protest, countered, "As the prince, surely he must have an affinity for politics and diplomacy. It is not simply because the Elvenking wished him to be an archer that he shunned such duties, right?"
Nienna's laughter, light and knowing, filled the room. "You long to find kinship with Legolas, and in many ways, you are well-matched. But the prince's heart never truly lay in the realm of courtly affairs. I would urge you to consider others if companionship is what you seek. Holding onto hope for Legolas may lead you astray."
Althea's annoyance was evident, her pride as a noble elf of the court making her confident in her allure. "He will return, Mother. And when he does, you will see. I will have what I desire," she declared with certainty.
Nienna regarded her daughter with a mix of fondness and concern. "If your heart is set on Legolas, then who am I to dissuade you? Yet, I caution you, Althea, against waiting for one who may never return."
"It is not merely about affection, Mother. As the prince, Legolas is the ideal match. To stand beside him would elevate my standing. Perhaps even lead me to rule Mirkwood one day," Althea spoke, her ambition shining in her eyes.
Nienna laughed softly, a note of wisdom in her voice. "Such lofty aspirations, my child. But remember, Thranduil is not one to relinquish his throne lightly. He stood firm even in the wake of the Queen's passing. He will not step aside now."
"Well, might I not wield some authority as a princess?" Althea queried her hopes for Legolas' return evident in her words.
Nienna, with the patience of one accustomed to the ebb and flow of Elven politics, replied, "Indeed, should the Elvenking deem it so, a princess may hold sway over certain matters. But, Althea, if your desire to be with Legolas is driven solely by a quest for power, I fear you are gravely mistaken. I have oft told you, riches and dominion are not the harbingers of true contentment."
Althea, her voice tinged with youthful defiance, retorted, "You understand naught, Mother. You, who hold the Elvenking's ear, could have sought greater stature. Yet you chose to remain thus."
Nienna shook her head gently, a smile touching her lips. "More? What need have I for more? My place in this realm is one of respect and fulfillment. I have a family I cherish, children who have each carved their paths. You and your siblings are my greatest pride, even when your aspirations soar high, perhaps too high."
Althea's expression softened, and she embraced her mother, a rare moment of tenderness between them. Yet, within the depths of her heart, the dream of standing beside Legolas as his chosen partner lingered, a flame not easily extinguished.
Their conversation, a blend of ambition and wisdom, echoed softly in the halls of Mirkwood. In the timeless realm of the Elves, where dreams and destinies intertwine like the branches of the ancient trees, Althea's hopes and Nienna's counsel formed but a small part of the greater tapestry that was the story of Mirkwood and its inhabitants.
((Upcoming Chapter Twenty-Seven))
Thank you for taking the time to read this! Feel free to Review - Follow - Favorite!