Tawargartha: The Unbegotten of the Wood. (Guardians of the Wood) Ancient unbegotten silvans who know the Wood best, and who guard the trees.

Eryn Tryen- Thranduil's stronghold

Na i Tawar! For the Wood! (Woodelves battle cry)

Highly recommend fredbasset's fix-it fic for Anglach if you haven't read it. On Ao3.

Chapter 12: THE GREENWOOD

Laersul had left Hallvarðr in Erebor and returned to Dale, where he had left his grey stallion, Meredion in the keeping of his good friend, the new King Bard the Second. Laersul liked this young Man, who was much like his namesake in that he was strong minded, principled and courteous but this Bard was less taciturn and grim. Bard liked Laersul in return and insisted on Laersul's company for as long as he could prevail upon him, but even as twilight fell, Laersul felt the pull of home upon him like the Moon on the tides.

'My folk have always loved the starlight best,' he had said reassuringly and amused at Bard's concern. 'And there are no Wargs or Goblins or Orcs lurking at the edges of the forest now. They have been driven back to Gundabad I think and the spiders are far away.'

Now he patted the pocket on his tunic where the small mithril and white gold ring nestled against his heart. He was impatient to be home, wanting Theliel in his arms and her lips upon his. His grey stallion, Meredion, tossed his head in eagerness to be off, and jogged along the road from Dale to Esgaroth.

Below him, the Long Lake turned blood red in the setting sun and the great flocks of geese were flying in from the South in long skeins, honking as they circled and slid along the grey water of the lake until they came to rest among the tall reeds of the marshes. He thought, as he always did, of the Dragon's bones in that icy darkness. And he almost heard Smaug's song…he found himself leaning slightly towards it and shook himself. It would do no good, he told himself sternly, to listen to that haunting, yearning Song.

Meredion's head suddenly went up and his ears were pricked, startling Laersul out of his reverie. A rider was coming towards them along the road from Esgaroth through the dusk. It was late for a traveller to be on the road, he thought, and he would have to be quick if he was to make it to Dale before the gates closed at nightfall.

'Mae govannen,' the rider called to him.

Despite the greeting, Laersul could see this was no Elf. He inclined his head politely and returned the greeting. The Man rode a well-bred if tired horse and was clad in leather tunic and a long travelling cloak warmly lined with dark fur.

Laersul stepped his own horse to one side to allow the Man passage and looked at him carefully as he drew alongside him. The Man's hair was dark and his handsome face weathered from a warmer sun than here in the North. There was a look of Numenor in his grey eyes.

The Man smiled as he drew his horse to a halt alongside Laersul. 'Suilad, my lord,' he said, very courteously and bowing his head, for Laersul was commanding even without his armour. 'I travel to Erebor. Do you know if they would admit me after dark, my lord? I am a stranger here and my poor horse is tired for we have travelled far.' His Sindarin was fluent but strongly accented with the dialect of The Angle and Laersul thought he must be one of the Dunédain: a stranger indeed for it was a long way across the Hithaeglir from the Angle.

The Man lifted his hand to stroke the horse's neck and as he did so, his cloak fell back and Laersul saw that he wore the insignia of Gondor on his sleeve. So the Man must have followed Aragorn Elessar from the Angle to Gondor, thought Laersul. He tried not to tighten his mouth: it had been Aragorn who had dragged the pitiful, treacherous Smeagol to the Wood and dumped him upon the Woodelves, presuming upon their good nature. It had been Mithrandir who had bid them be kind. And in spite of Legolas' letters in which he wrote fondly of both, Laersul could not forgive either Wizard or newly crowned King for Anglach's death.

Nor himself. He still blamed himself. Bitterly and with excoriating regret.

But it was not this Man's fault he told himself. He took a breath and said, 'No. They will not admit a stranger over their threshold after dark I fear. And I do not think you will reach the Gates before nightfall, my friend.' He looked up at the darkening sky. 'Maybe you should divert your course to Dale for they may yet let you in.'

The Man shrugged. 'It is no matter really, just a hope. I am used to sleeping under the stars.' He leaned his hands on the pommel of his saddle and looked at Laersul in a friendly way. 'My name is Arvaron, my lord.'

Laersul waited politely but had no intention of giving the Man his own name, and it was clear that he wanted something.

A quick smile flashed over Arvaron's handsome face as if he were not surprised, but rather amused almost by Laersul's taciturnity. 'You wear the colours of the Greenwood, of the King, my lord,' he continued. 'I have messages that are destined for the Greenwood and I wondered if you might take those messages for me?'

Laersul gave him a cool look. 'I think that the Aran Thranduil might expect such messages to be delivered by the official emissary.'

'Oh, these are not for the King. These are personal in nature. Official greetings have been sent already by far more important emissaries than I.' Arvaron grinned cheekily as if the very idea of him presenting Elessar's greetings to Thranduil was amusing and this time, Laersul smiled back. 'I have a letter from King Elessar to his dear friend, the lord Legolas Thranduillion. There is nothing secret or stately in this, simply a letter from one friend to another.'

Laersul's heart leapt at the mention of his long absent little brother and he softened instantly, regretting his coldness. 'I will take it of course, friend,' he said with far more warmth than previously. 'But it may be some time until it is delivered. Legolas is not yet home. He has been travelling long in the company of Gimli Gloinsson of Erebor.'

'And he is the recipient of the other letter,' said Arvaron with an answering smile. Then he frowned and said, 'But you have not heard then? My lord Gimli has returned for I had the news from the docks at Esgaroth just an hour ago. Earlier today he took a boat over the Long Lake and I think will have arrived ahead of me by some hours. I would think the Lord Legolas had put him down at Esgaroth and himself travels along the Forest Path. He cannot be far into the Greenwood even now if my sources are true.'

'What?' All coolness fled and Laersul sat tall on his horse and strained hopefully to see where the Forest River flowed into the Lake. Could he just see the faintest movement along the track where it disappeared into the trees? It was too far even for an Elf to see in truth but he hoped, oh, how he hoped! His was not the Gift of Song but he opened himself up and listened nevertheless…. And he thought he could just catch the faintest whisper of beech leaves unfurling in Spring, of shafts of sunlight in the green pools of the forest river.

His heart gave a great leap and a wide smile blazed over his face. 'I will take the messages of course, Arvaron of the Angle and now of Gondor. And you have my thanks as I am sure you will have Legolas' when he receives them.' As if catching his rider's impatience to be off, Meredion danced and tossed his head. 'I wish you luck in all your travels here in the North. If you hurry, you will reach Dale before they close the Gates. Erebor might open their gates for Gimli Gloinsson, indeed I know they would, but I fear they will not open for a stranger, even an emissary of Elessar.' Laersul held out his hand.

Arvaron reached inside his tunic and pulled out a thick packet of letters and papers. 'Thank you indeed then my friend and Eru Allfather speed you,' he said with a cheery smile. 'I hope we meet again sometime, my lord Laersul.'

Laersul glanced at him a little surprised but Arvaron was nodding and smiling. 'It is obvious who you are, my lord. Your fame reaches far beyond the Wood. Who has not heard of your gallant battle against Dol Guldur for all those years of the Watchful Peace? But although I thought I was right, I was not entirely sure until your reaction to my request.' He clenched his fist against his heart and bowed in the Sindarin way.

Laersul was a little embarrassed for all of that for he was a modest man. He did not quite know what to say but inclined his head graciously. 'I will see it delivered, Arvaron,' he promised. 'Good speed and Elbereth light your way,' he said courteously.

'It has been an honour to meet you lord Laersul,' said Arvaron. He looked up towards the town of Dale. 'I had best be on my way if I am to make the curfew,' he said and with a bow, he urged his horse onwards and Laersul turned back to the road.

Meredion was as sure-footed a steed as Laersul had ever had and swift. Now they raced along the road and as the Moon rose over the Long Lake, they reached the junction where the road turned and ran along Forest River into the Wood. The river had swollen from the rain and churned below them, grinding the granite rocks, washing over the moss, plunging into the green and fern rimmed pools.

Laersul galloped now for the road was no longer paved but a track, elation charging through him, pumping through his veins and a deep affection, love and tenderness for his heroic little brother who, he knew, would have been afraid in the dark and gone nevertheless, who would have stood before his friends and fought for their lives. He felt he would burst with pride.

Ahead of them was the burned out settlement of Ascar Legrin, the abandoned village of the Raft Elves for they did not have the heart to rebuild it after the War, choosing instead a new place further down the river. It was hard to think that this had been a thriving, busy little village with rafts coming up and down the river, and several families living here. But now Ascar Legrin felt haunted by the Elves who had been slaughtered when Orcs and Half Men had raided it at the end of the Battle Under the Trees.

It was already overgrown for Yavanna had sent a warm, rain-drenched Summer so the forest grew back; lush ferns grew between the ruins and moss covered the granite stones. The trees that had survived forced their roots deeply into the rich soil and thrust leaves and new shoots into the rain-washed skies for the months that had alternated between steady rain and days of warm sunshine. The harvest had been one of the best in many years as if Yavanna wanted to feed all her children.

Laersul could just make out the tracks of another horse leading into the old settlement. He slowed Meredion to a walk and leaned down to see where the tracks led into the lush grass and ferns. Meredion gave a quiet little knicker and Laersul lifted his head to see movement between the fallen stone walls.

A strange chestnut horse lifted its head and stared at them through the bracken with soft curious eyes. Its nostril flared and it gave a little harrumph in reply to Meredion.

Then a voice came from somewhere beyond the ruins. Beloved and longed for.

'…I know you miss the Dwarf but he is not here, Arod.'

And then Legolas stepped out from the trees, his hand reaching for the horse.

Laersul had already flung himself from Meredion and before Legolas could speak, he had swung his little brother off his feet and into a bear hug, burying his face in Legolas' shoulder and feeling tears leak from his eyes. He could not speak.

He was flooded by Legolas' own sweet song of green-gold that threaded through the notes of the trees and stars... It washed the air around Laersul and he felt as if he were immersed in a shaded pool of water and with sunlight filtering through the pale green leaves. There was the familiar lightness and joy that danced through Legolas' song, but something else too; a new strain, like the rolling of waves that he had seen on the Long Lake, endless. The sough of the endless tides, the Sea washing against the shoreline.

0o0o

They knew the sentries had seen them before they reached sight even of the stronghold. Indeed, Laersul would have been disappointed otherwise.

'I will wager those nice new knives you have on your back that Adar is already on his way, with Galion close on his heels and complaining he is riding too fast,' Laersul grinned at his baby brother. He had to keep shaking himself; Legolas looked so grown up, so…serious. After all, Legolas had seen more of the world now than Laersul himself and he felt strangely disorientated by it. He laughed and reached over to ruffle Legolas' hair; he would not be anything but immensely proud of his little brother, hero of the War!

'And I will wager whatever it is you have in your tunic pocket that you keep touching.'

Laersul gave a start and instinctively touched the ring that was pressed against his heart again. 'How did you…" He realised what he was doing and stopped. He smiled, chagrined. 'It is one thing I will never wager, nor swap, nor exchange nor…'

Legolas laughed aloud and delightedly. 'You can never hide anything, brother. You are the most transparent and easy to read Elf in all the Wood!' he declared but with such joy and elation that Laersul laughed with him. Here was Legolas back again, mischievous and teasing. 'Anyway, it is no wager,' Legolas continued brightly. 'I am merely surprised that Adar is not already here! Let us go and meet him! Race you!'

'On that little horse?' Laersul laughed, but before he could even whisper to Meredion, the little Rohan horse had kicked up his heels and was plunging ahead on the track. Meredion surged forwards, his long, powerful legs pounding after them. Legolas glanced back over his shoulder, Laersul could see his teeth gleaming white in the shadows as he laughed. Laersul laughed in response and joy coursed through him, and he shouted his war cry after Legolas, 'Na i Tawar! Na i Tawar!' and he heard Legolas shouting it back at him.

Above them the great oaks stirred, their bare branches seemed to ripple and rub against each other as if their message sped ahead of them through the trees. A merry laugh broke out somewhere ahead and Laersul glanced upwards to see a number of his own sentries leaping through the trees above them, as if racing them. He shouted up to them a challenge and they shouted back joyfully.

'You are all so slow, a Dwarf could outpace you!' he heard Legolas shouting up at the sentries. 'They are very good sprinters!'

Laersul laughed in delight. 'They have become fat and unfit with peace!' Laersul shouted up into the trees and Meredion leapt forwards even faster, racing after the little Rohan horse, gaining on it.

0o0o

The Forest River rushed beneath Thranduil's flet, built high in the oak trees that crowded over the Eryn Tyren. The river's song never changed; it rushed over granite and slate and through the ferny dells and gushed into still, shady pools where the brown trout moved lazily. This Song was in the hearts of all Woodelves, as the wind in the trees, but he listened also to the light green-gold notes that threaded their way through the moonlit forest

The Moon shone over the Greenwood as it was now known. The deep song of the great oaks had slowed and the trees now slept, dreaming of Spring. This harvest had been plentiful and the Elves gathered in thanks to Yavanna for making it a Summer of rain and sunshine. They had repaired the stronghold after the battle and the dykes and ditches that had been dug to protect the stronghold and the Wood and used so effectively in its defence had been cleared of Orc and Warg carcasses and now the stench of burning had gone, washed out in the rains that Yavanna had sent all summer to cleanse and nourish her people.

Thranduil leaned against the bough of the great oak in which his flet was built. Up here in the canopy, even in Winter, he could immerse himself in the Wood, escape the pressure and bustle of the stronghold and listen to the song of the forest, to the river that rushed below, swirling into pools, rushing over rocks and away, away into the Lake and then the Sea.

Sometimes there was a whisper of the Sea on the wind. It teased the very edges of his consciousness as if the West wind brought the tang of salt and the sough of waves. He breathed in deeply and groped for the deep green velvet of the Wood instead, the chime of starlight and his fingers drifted lightly over the strings of his harp and he looked up at the stars that shone more brightly. He found himself humming lightly… but a song he had not heard for over a year and ached in his heart for his youngest.

The Song danced lightly through the trees, played upon the long grass already spiked with frost and glittering under the stars. He thought of Spring, how the beech leaves would unfurl in the sunlight and smiled. He wondered where Legolas was and glanced down at the letters he had brought with him to re-read and worry about, looking for signs that Legolas would ever come home.

He wished his wife were here and thought he saw her in the shadows beneath the oaks, but it was only shadow.

He turned his head towards the River. A tremble of something rippled through him. He felt the trees stir in their deep sleep, imagined a rustle of leaves and a laugh in the rush and pour of the river.

His heart leapt.

There was a laugh. Not just the river. And suddenly voices. And Thranduil was on his feet, hardly daring to breathe. It could not be….

Legolas' last letter was from Lothlorien; he wrote that he lingered amongst the mallorn, wanted to see the trees blossoming in the Spring!

'Adar! I know you are there!'

The beloved voice, the light step, the way the tree shivered in delight and welcome. He was always the most silvan of all his children.

Thranduil was at the entrance of the flet and halfway down the rope when he saw Legolas standing below him at the base of the tree, long bow slung over his shoulder and tall leather boots over his knee, the same moss green suede tunic he had worn when he left and his green eyes sparkling. The same smile blazed over his face; he seemed blown in on the West wind, his long hair tousled and his face flushed.

Thranduil barely remembered reaching the ground, barely knew that Laersul was there. All he knew was that Legolas was in his arms and burying his face in Thranduil's shoulder. Legolas' hair smelled of the open plains, of water, of the Lake…a lingering scent of the sea like a silk scarf on the West wind. But he would not think of it now. He would think of nothing but that his child was here. Was home. In his arms. Safe.

0o0o

Epilogue next

I know you'll want more or Legolas' homecoming but this is Gimli-centric and I want to spend longer on Legolas' homecoming so will do a short fic on that soon.