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Title: In The Company of Elves (#439)
Author: Mahtala
Chapters: 4

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Archive: Tolkien
Category: Lord of the Rings
Description: Homesick and disoriented in a world not her own, Emma must solve a centuries-old mystery, fulfill a prophecy and lead the elves of Mirkwood to their destiny - and she doesn't even know the language! Fortunately, Legolas is there to help.
Published: 07 Dec 2003
Updated: 06 Jan 2004
Warnings:
Type: Romance
Characters: Legolas; OFC


Chapter 1 - Into The Woods

IN THE COMPANY OF ELVES
By Mahtala

You are here. Oh, you do not run away.
You will answer me to the last cry.
Cling to me as though you were frightened.
Even so, at one time a strange shadow ran through your eyes.
-- Pablo Neruda, poem XIV, Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair

Chapter 1: Into The Woods

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And so it was that certain of the elves lingered in what would be called Mirkwood, in latter days; and one among them was named Macilme, and she was known to have visions. In autumn the last vision came, and she spoke thus:

"The one who shares my name shall come in future, born from water where there is none and also brought forth, in pain, from a flower. She hails from a place where even the Valar have little power. Heed her coming, for then my people shall pass into Ithilien, and from there to the Grey Havens, and from there to the sea; and we shall be the last of the Firstborn to leave Middle-Earth, and we shall therefore be the most man-like, and fall prey to the lesser of their faults. And while she will be a woman of the race of Men, Macilme my name-child will also be from elsewhere, and she will share some of the blood of the Firstborn. Therefore we must be ever watchful for her presence, for should she be struck down, my people will diminish as Men do, yet never find the peace that race finds in death. And she shall have my place in the great grey ships, and I shall remain here on this Middle-Earth where so many of my prophecies shall come to pass."

But rather than remaining and diminishing, that winter the first Macilme died in the first murder to plague the wood-elves in a thousand, thousand years. And over time the name was never used, and so it was forgotten that once girl-children were often named so. Elves are immortal, but not infallible; so they were wholly unsuspecting when Macilme name-child came at last to herald the journey of their people to Ithilien and beyond. But perhaps they can be forgiven; for she did not know of her own importance, and therefore could not inform them of their error.

-----\r\n\r\n

All right, I'll admit it: it was a bad idea to go polar bear swimming up in the mountains of northern California, even if it was the middle of summer. It began my whole adventure, but it was only through chance I didn't get pneumonia or worse - and then I wouldn't have been able to enjoy any of it.

As I snuck down to the water's edge, hoping none of the campers on the other side of the lake could see me, I could hear my grandmother's voice calling from the cabin. "Emma! Emmaline! You come back here! It's barely light out yet, it's freezing cold, and you absolutely aren't going swimming!" I didn't turn my head. After all, she wasn't really there. My grandparents had died in a car crash a month before, leaving me an orphan with a good deal of land and no money whatsoever. This visit was the last time I would see the cabin: soon, it would be sold off to finance my last year of college.

By the time I reached my destination, I was so self-absorbed I wouldn't have minded if a whole troop of Boy Scouts appeared and started ogling me. Dropping my clothes on our small dock, I jumped off the platform and into the icy water. The coldness drove my tearful thoughts right out of my head, as I had vaguely hoped when I pulled myself out of bed and decided to go swimming. The trouble came when I tried to propel myself to the surface of the lake. I kicked for what seemed like ages - nothing. My head never broke into the air.

I was close to panicking, close to opening my eyes onto the dirty lake water, when I began to hear the roaring in my ears. I wasn't drowning; it wasn’t the rush of oxygen deprivation I was hearing. On the contrary, as soon as I stopped kicking and settled my feet on the bottom of the lake, the water around me began to drain.

When I could only feel water around my ankles, I dared to open my eyes. I was as naked as before, standing in a redwood forest like that which surrounded my grandparents' cabin.

But the cabin was nowhere in sight.

I ran uphill, passing through the trees, ignoring the coldness of the morning on my skin. Where the lake once had been, there was merely a slight valley. As near as I could figure, one of the largest trees in the forest stood directly on the spot where the cabin should have been.

After making several rapid circles of the area, I was warmed up, but my feet were beginning to hurt from the pine needles that littered the ground. Whatever books may tell you about their softness and warmth, pine needles hurt when you're used to wearing hiking boots every time you want to take a walk. To give myself some respite, I returned to the large tree where the cabin should have been, sitting on a boulder and picking splinters from my toes. It was too much. The place was beautiful, yes: morning sun shafted in through the trees' branches, casting a golden light over the forest, and everything seemed completely unspoiled by human touch. But it wasn't where I was supposed to be. “Hello?” I shouted. “Hello – anyone?” Of course there was no answer; there wouldn’t have been, even if I really was at my grandparents’ cabin. I was miles from any aid.

A tiny plant grew at the base of my boulder, purple, with flowers no bigger than my thumbnail. I reached down and touched its petals absently, considering what I should do. That's how they found me: bent over, gazing at a flower.

I didn't notice anyone, at first. Elves move quickly and softly as any animal of the forest, though, and these were quite startled by my appearance. They crept up on me as though they were stalking prey. The first hint I got of their presence was when I heard a whispering off to my right: human voices, or so I thought, speaking in a language foreign to me. Later, I was to learn that Legolas’s kinsman Tuilo was saying "Your first patrol after your journeys, Legolas, and already danger seeks to find you again!" But at that time I did not understand him. Before I could even look, someone had stepped directly in front of me, holding his bow at the ready.

"Who are you, and what is your business in the forest of Mirkwood?"

It took me a good amount of time to answer. I was completely surprised. Although I knew nobody was likely to come, I had been ready for a hiker, perhaps, or a hunter - not a warlike person, dressed in archaic clothing and pointing a very deadly-looking arrow directly at my head. "My name's Emma - shit!" I finally managed (I wasn’t terribly proud of that last exclamation, but it slipped out as I realized how uncovered I was). Until that moment I had never thought about the troubles associated with attempting to cover yourself with only your two hands and wet, stringy hair, but now they were very real. I did the best I could, crossing my legs and pulling them defensively to my chest – not that that would be much help against the bow pointed at me. "Where am I? Oh, God, please put that thing down!"

Two more people appeared from behind trees, and the bow that was directly threatening me was duly lowered. That wasn’t much comfort, though; it remained notched and prepared to fire. They spoke among themselves in that same language; one began to smile, very faintly. Looking at their faces, I noticed that they all had high cheekbones, long hair and pointed ears poking out from beneath elaborate braids. I quickly jumped to conclusions. They were elves - they had to be! I was ready to believe anything, having been startled out of my wits, but my conviction was cemented when the first one spoke again.

"You seem to be of the race of Men; you have their bearing, and you speak no Sindarin. Very well. You shall be presented as Lótë, for the flower you love so much, and my father shall have the story out of you, if you do not care to give your true name – for ‘Emma’ is not a name that belongs to any being I have encountered." He glanced at his smiling kinsman, and I turned my eyes to the flower he named me after. "Is she from Dale, would you say? She has their coloring, but I am doubtful, for her face is like an elf's."

"Many of the race of men may say as much," the other elf, slightly darker than the first, replied, "but few can also say their elven face springs from elven forebears. Your father is skilled in learning secrets. He shall discover the truth."

At this point, I felt compelled to inform them of another, entirely different truth. "You won't call me Lótë - you won't call me anything until you've told me where I am. And where you're taking me, and who you are, and why I should trust you, for that matter!" I was still fearful. I was completely defenseless, and any of the men could have easily overcome me, even without their bows. If you've ever read a fantasy novel, you know that the heroine always comes into the hands of skeptical but good people upon her arrival. Novels, unfortunately, are rarely like real life. I wasn't about to be taken away and locked up without knowing where I was being taken to.

It wouldn't have done me much good anyway - I was, as I said, completely at their mercy. But my defiance made me feel better.

"Perhaps she should be named Macilme instead, Legolas," the dark elf commented. "Her tongue is like a sword, and she leaps to suspicion as quickly as one of our blades leaps to orc-flesh!"

"Nay, cousin," he responded. "She asks questions; but were we men of Gondor or Rohan, they would have been answered, and five times over."

"Men would have answered her questions, if only for the sweetness of her flesh," came the reply, but Legolas was already removing his own cloak and draping it about my shoulders. Once it was fastened at the neck and safely wrapped around me, I stood and thanked him. He ignored me except for a small, distracted nod.

"You stand in Mirkwood forest, lady, and I wonder that you know not where you are, for men avoid the forest overmuch of late. Mirkwood Forest stands near the city of Dale, and the Lonely Mountain where Smaug the Dragon once held his fiery court - and those stand on Middle-Earth, and I trust you need no explanation for that."

I wouldn't have dared tell him that I needed an explanation, even if he expected me to be able to draw him a map of Middle-Earth right then and there. It was enough that the bows were entirely slack now, and I was clearly not going to be bound and gagged or any such thing.

"I take you to my father, Thranduil, King of the Elves of Northern Mirkwood, as is our law: all trespassers not named elf-friend must be brought before his throne. I myself am Legolas, and these are my kinsmen Tuilo and Sérener. You should trust us - why, because there is no-one else in these woods to trust. We are the only ones who live here that would welcome you."

Something in his high speech made me want to emulate it. I had only ever spoken in such a manner when I was taken to a Renaissance fair, and then only because people in costume would persist in speaking to me: I found that they would go away more quickly if I copied their way of talking. Now, though, I did it by choice, and by a desire to ingratiate myself to my captors. "Well, then, away we shall go," I told him, "Although I fear my feet may give out before we come to see your father."

He glanced downwards, realizing I had no shoes. "Even the elves do not go barefoot off the paths in Mirkwood forest, lady," he told me. "We shall find the path, then, and follow it. The route is longer, but I fear you would take it wrongly should I try to carry you."

At the time, he was probably right. I nodded in the most stately manner I could, and headed off into the trees with my elven escort.


-----End Chapter 1-----\r\n\r\n


Author's Notes: As far as I know, according to Tolkien Legolas took Gimli with him to Mirkwood, then brought his kinsmen out of Mirkwood to dwell in Ithilien when Gimli became Lord of the Glittering Caves. Upon Aragorn's death, he finally went to the Grey Havens and took his journey across the sea, bringing Gimli with him out of friendship for the dwarf. By this reckoning, this story fits into LotR canon (as you will see!). On another note, in Emmaline's world, Tolkien never wrote the Lord of the Rings series - or if he did, she hasn't read them and barely knows of them. Macilme means "sword," Lótë means "flower" and Tuilo means springtime.

This story will be updated every Sunday night with a new chapter of 2,000 words or more. Many, many thanks to Oliphauntine for offering to beta read! If you would like to help beta read this story and can read and edit a chapter a week, e-mail me at mahtala@blotts.org - I need one or two more betas.


Chapter 2 - An Audience With The King

IN THE COMPANY OF ELVES
By Mahtala
Chapter 2: An Audience With The King

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The Elven path was small and winding. At first glance it looked like nothing more than a deer trail of the type one often sees in forests; I was a bit worried about it, remembering all the times my grandmother had warned me never to stray off hiking trails to follow a deer. However, the instant my feet touched the ground of the path, I realized it was much softer than the surrounding forest floor; it had to have been purposefully made.

We walked for about a quarter of an hour, Legolas leading and Tuilo and Sérener behind me. All three were taciturn, and after a short while, I gave up attempting to speak with them. Instead, I stared out at the forest. There were a few oaks planted among the evergreens, covered with large green leaves - it seemed to be summer here, just as it was at my grandparents' cabin (back home, I wanted to say, but the cabin wasn’t really home). The purple flowers which so entranced me grew often at the foot of the trees, occasionally spreading out and creating small meadows carpeted with purple and green. Strangely shaped plants, a little like iceplant, were sprinkled about. The further we went, the more vines appeared, creating screens and filtering the light. It felt as though we were walking in a strange greenish otherworld - and in a way, I was. It was every fantasy forest I had ever imagined all rolled into one.

Tuilo put his hand on my shoulder, startling me. His movements, like the rest of the elves', were stalking and light; they reminded me of a cat’s. "Macilme," he warned, and I stopped. Imagine my surprise when I found that I was several feet off the path, wandering away into the forest! The elf raised his chin, being only a few inches taller than me, and said patronizingly, "You would have wandered for days before you realized you had left our company. Such things happen to the race of Men when they enter Mirkwood."

"Such things happen when you don't warn people about them," I replied, almost angrily. The pain in my feet was back, and I felt stupid for not realizing what had been happening. "Next time, tell me not to look away from the path, and I won't."

"Tuilo wished only to make sure you understood how careful you must be, and how honored you are to be brought to my father's chamber," Legolas said. It was clear from the tone of his voice that he was used to lording it over people. "Were you better armed - or better clothed - we would have asked no questions but shot you where you sat."

Sérener, from the back of the column, spoke for the first time. "Frighten her not!" he warned his kinsmen. "Macilme, they will not harm you. They are used to fighting and harsh words, and know less of courtly gesture than perhaps they should."

"And yet her name is not Macilme. Call her Lótë if you are to call her by name at all, Sérener, Tuilo. I still am leader here."

"My name's not Macilme or Lótë, it's Emma," I complained, but Legolas dropped into the other language, speaking as though he was commanding the other two. He almost never gestured, and his face was emotionless, but I could sense his agitation. From the back of the column came a reply, and they discussed whatever-it-was for some time. I began to feel like I wasn't even there, being utterly ignored and staring at the embroidery on Legolas’s tunic - because that was the only thing I had to look at if I didn't want to be lured off the path. How do they speak English? I wondered for the first time. If I'm truly in another world, then how come I can understand them? While they were talking, I turned this over in my head, but I couldn't find a good answer.

Finally, the tall, tawny elf Sérener dropped back into language I could understand. "Your father will tell you why she is truly named Macilme," he said to Legolas. "I will not attempt to convince you now. We should go. Already we are late. The others will wonder if we have run into trouble on the patrol."

"Onward, then," Legolas ordered. But before I turned my head back to the path, I caught Sérener smiling gently at me.

There's one ally I have, at least.

-----\r\n\r\n

Eventually our party passed through a clearing where someone had cut down many trees and arranged them about a campfire. The fire pit was cold and dark, though, and we continued, but not for much longer.

"Mae govannen, Legolas Thranduilion!" came a voice from nowhere. A tall elf appeared from what seemed like thin air, nodding deeply to Legolas and less deeply to the other two. He spoke very shortly with them in their own language, which naturally drove me crazy. I knew better than to complain, though. Finally, he greeted me: "Lótë. I know not whether you are welcome here as Sérener says, but welcome all the same to the halls of the great King of Mirkwood." Then, with more nods to the patrol, he disappeared once more.

I was led on to a river, which flowed quickly through the forest. Over it curved a graceful bridge paved with dark stone and carved from the types of wood that grew nearby, and on the far side were gates of stone, carved into intricate patterns. The elves crossed it, pulling me along, and entered with what seemed no more than a wave of Legolas’s hand - but as I watched, it was clear that he had pressed one of the curves of the carving to make it unlatch. It was a clever trick, but it made me think that their silent steps and their abrupt disappearances were more products of long practice than magic.

The passages inside were lit rosy-red with torches, and I was surprised to hear singing coming from deeper in the halls. Soon Sérener and Tuilo joined the other elves in song, and even Legolas joined the chorus by the time we approached the entrance to the hall of the Elvenking. For the first few seconds, I didn’t think it was anything special, but when I bothered to pay attention to what they sang, I nearly stopped in my tracks. What I had taken for a straightforward melody was actually a hundred separate harmonies, beautiful voices sifting up from beneath us, each unique and distinctive. The very language they were singing in seemed suited to being sung, each syllable nuanced and drawn out over several notes. The tune was joyful, and yet there was a sense of sadness about it.

"Why is your song so sad?" I asked Sérener, as Tuilo and Legolas stopped to converse with an elf who was passing by. "It seems like it should be happy from the speed and key, but every once in a while..." My voice trailed off; I didn't know how to express the feeling their song gave me.

My guard smiled, almost ruefully. "Surely you know that the elves must leave this Middle-Earth, go to the Grey Havens and pass away," he said. "We long to stay as much as we yearn to go. Legolas feels the call of the Sea already, and he especially is torn between his home and his future."

The opening to the Elvenking's grand chamber was little more than an archway hewn into the rock, but as we passed into the throne room, I was amazed at the beauty of it. The passageways had sloped ever so slightly downward as we traveled, and we were clearly deep underground. Pillars carved into the stone that clearly once had filled the cavern held up a high ceiling. At the end of the hall stood a throne. I had never seen anything like it before. Instead of being cast from metal, this throne seemed to be a part of a live tree - but a tree growing directly on stone was impossible! Roots, emerging from the base of the throne, grew down the steps of the dais and twined around pillars. They even grew up onto the stone chairs that surrounded the throne, where what seemed to be advisers were seated. The king himself was just sitting down.

From the majesty of the cavern and the fact that Legolas was his son, I had assumed that the king would be a venerable old man, if I had formed any assumptions about how he would appear. I had a vague mental image of heavy purple velvet and a long, white beard. The reality was very different. A small band of gold encircled his head, true, and it was scalloped along the edge the way crowns usually are – but he was dressed in the same garments as the other elves, and the crown itself was entwined with the big green leaves I had seen on the oaks in the forest earlier. His hair was long, the color of tarnished gold, and braided elaborately. He wore the same kind of clothing as any of the other elves, although his was more heavily embroidered, and his face… in his face was something I could not put a finger on. He looked no older than Legolas, but at the same time he did. His age was not held in wrinkles and grey hairs but in his demeanor, in every small movement he made. It was even more apparent when he noticed his son and called to us in their language. His voice was not like an old man’s, but it was far too steady and solid and slow to belong to anyone as young as he seemed.

"This maiden, father," Legolas replied to what must have been a query. I could feel elven eyes on me. "She appeared without raiment in the valley at the center of the wood, very confused, and therefore we clothed her in my cloak and did not harm her further. At first Sérener Eldeccoion believed that she was perhaps taken to wife by force by some marauding group of Men; but she would not give her proper name, only names that were unknown to any tongue of Men or elves, and she did not even understand that she stood in Mirkwood Forest. Therefore I named her Lótë, and we agreed to bring her before you; but Tuilo has called her Macilme, and she is named so by Sérener also."

Then a strange thing happened. Upon hearing the name Macilme , the Elvenking Thranduil stood and stared, looking directly at me. He was tall, and looked a great deal like Legolas, but he wore fine blue robes and was crowned with a circlet of living oak leaves. "You found her in the center valley, you said?" Standing, the king moved towards me, lifting one lock of my hair - and I defensively snatched it away, turning to face him as he circled me.

"Keep your hands to yourself!"

"Now you see why I name her Macilme, sire," Tuilo said, clearly amused at his King's surprised expression.
Thranduil ignored the dark elf. "Her hair is wet. Was there water where you found her?"

"No," Tuilo answered. "She was sitting on a boulder, playing with a flower - an ilóta."

"And was she in pain?" His face was as impassive as before, but he was driving at something, I was sure.
"Her feet were cut and bruised from the forest floor," Legolas replied. "Is there purpose to these questions, father? Put her to the question, that we might learn her nature!"

"Your time with the dwarves has done you no good, my son," Thranduil finally said, after a long pause. "You have become hasty and too much in love with the lands of the later-born. No, argue not - I know all my own faults, greed among them. I would speak alone with this Lótë. All must leave my chamber, and return in a quarter of an hour." Legolas looked almost as though he would protest, but he evidently thought better of it, because he simply muttered something in his own language and left. The room emptied on the king's command, and he gestured for me to sit on the adviser's chair to the right of the throne. I sat, pulling Legolas’s cloak tighter around me. "We may speak plainly, now. I desire you to tell me of how you came here, leaving nothing out, and then I shall counsel you what to do."

So I began. "I'm not entirely sure what happened. I was swimming at my grandparents' cabin in the Sierras, and -"

"The Sierras?"

"The Sierra Nevadas. A mountain range in California."

He looked as though he might question me more, but stopped himself. "Clearly you come from elsewhere," he thought aloud. "Even as Macilme said. Go on."

Although his use of the name ‘Macilme’ to refer to someone other than me was confusing, I told him my story in the simplest terms possible, right up to when Legolas, Tuilo and Sérener deposited me in the throne room. "And I don't even know if you're going to hurt me, or if you think I'm an enemy," I finished lamely. "They didn't really explain anything to me at all."

"I will explain, then, after you have made a few things clear to me. You say your name is - Emma?" He faltered a little on the unfamiliar word, but got it right, as his son Legolas had before him.

"Yes - Emmaline Margaret Vane, in full."

"This 'Vane'. Its purpose is like that of 'Thranduilion' in our language - to indicate your family?"

"Pretty much, but I have -" I swallowed a lump in my throat. "I have none now."

"And you are unmarried, even at twenty-one? Are you a noble, then, to delay marriage for so long? I see nothing wrong with you, and unless there are political reasons, no one of the race of Men willingly delays marrying his daughters, lest he risk grandchildren out of wedlock - or in any case those of Dale do not."

I didn't remember telling him my age, but I must have. "I'm not a princess or anything. My - where I come from, people don't marry till they're older." I frowned. "Is there something wrong with that? Because I don't want to marry anyone. I haven't fallen in love yet or anything."

He smiled softly. "You sound like my son. But that is another thing for another time. Listen closely, and I will tell you of the prophecy of Macilme, who saw visions. She said that you would come at some time in the future, and that your appearance would signal that our race should go to Ithilien, and dwell there; and so we will. You shall be called Macilme Name-Child among us, or Emma-Macilme, but always Lótë before strangers; we should not beg for the trouble that comes willingly to our door. For there was another side to the prophecy.

"Should you be killed, Emma-Macilme, our people will never find the sanctuary of the halls of Mandos, nor will they travel across the sea to Valinor. Those who linger on these shores will be doomed to walk the earth forever, separated from their kind, eventually losing all hope of better times to come. Nothing is spoken of how this shall come to pass - but it will be. The other prophecies of Macilme have all been fulfilled. There is only this. You must follow what I say, Macilme Name-Child, and convince our people to travel to Ithilien, for the prophecy was almost lost in the mists of time. I fear that Sérener and I are the only two who recall it and believe."

I let out a sigh. This was going to be more difficult than I thought; I had hoped to just come in, talk to the king, and get him to send me back where I came from. "Look, I don't even know your language. How can I be this girl in the prophecy? It's just a coincidence. I’m sure it was written vaguely, so anything could fit."

"I know not why you were chosen," he frowned. "But any person named in prophecy is surely great and good. You are very young, by our years. You will grow to be the woman the prophecy requires."

"But - I don't know anything about this prophecy. Can't you send me back? I just want to go home!"

"And doom my people?" The Elvenking's voice was suddenly powerful and strident. He stood and clasped one hand into a fist; for a moment, I was afraid he'd strike me. But he sat once more. "You truly know nothing of the elves, my child. My people have paid a great price for lingering in the moonlight of Middle-Earth, and we are ever counted the least of the elves. Would you have us made meaner than Men, leave us to fade into a race pitiful and exhausted, by withdrawing your help? But if it comes to that, I doubt you have skill enough to return to your home. I have not heard of such a feat being accomplished by any, even the Maiar."

Our quarter-hour was up, and Legolas was the first to return to the room, followed by Sérener and the other attendants and advisors. They were silent as they entered, obviously waiting for him to speak.

"I have questioned this girl. She shall be called Macilme Name-Child among us, and Lótë among those not of Mirkwood; and I have judged her to be truthful to me. She has no kin alive. Therefore she shall forthwith be called the daughter of Eldecco, and call Sérener Eldeccoion brother, and no person shall say that she is of the race of Man, for now she is considered one of the Firstborn."

Legolas appeared displeased, but nodded. "As you say, father."

"And our people shall ready themselves for departure. We must buy horses enough for each to ride from Dale, and send a messenger to King Elessar in Gondor. We go to Ithilien, to pull down Minas Morgul and raise a Tower of the Rising Moon once more."

There was an instant commotion. People all about us were speaking in Sindarin, as Thranduil had called their language. In the midst of it, Sérener approached the throne. "Then it is as I thought, Sire?"

Thranduil nodded. "It is as you thought, Sérener."

"Then I shall take the girl, and teach her Sindarin, and have my sisters clothe her and instruct her in the manner of elves."

And that was how I found welcome at the great cave of Mirkwood.

-----End Chapter 2-----\r\n\r\n

Author's Notes: Yes, I know that in Tolkien's original, Mirkwood was a deciduous forest. However, I have chosen to make it redwoods, mostly because I feel that fits the natural inclination of Mirkwood best (canon? What canon?). If Emma seems to be leaving out bits of the story, consider that she speaks from the first person; only what she remembers or considered important at the time can be expressed here. There’s lots more going on than what she sees, as we’ll soon discover!

Apologies for the lateness of this chapter; between my internet going down for an entire weekend, the RotK movie coming out, and realizing that I'd completely messed up my distances in my later chapters, my pace of writing has been slower than usual. Many thanks to Oliphauntine, Klose and Andy for beta reading this chapter!


Chapter 3 - Something Not For Your Ears

IN THE COMPANY OF ELVES
By Mahtala

Chapter 3: Something Not For Your Ears

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Sérener motioned to me and began to lead me from the hall, away from the commotion. "Where go you, friend?" called Legolas, lifting his head from conversation with an older, dour-looking elf who was among the advisors to his father.

"Your father's decree is binding," Sérener replied. "She is to dwell with my family. My sisters will watch over her well. I shall return when I have led her to our home." We passed into the hallways, and as we traveled back up the path we had followed before, he spoke. "Only King Thranduil's kin live in these caverns. My family has built a house about a great oak not far from here, and in its branches; I think you will find it pleasing to the eye. There you shall dwell until we ride forth for Ithilien."

I was interested in something else. "You said you would teach me Sindarin," I said, quickening my pace to match his. "Couldn't we begin while we walk?"

"Very well, sister. To greet a friend, say mae govannen, meaning well-met ..."

I’d barely managed to correctly pronounce a few greetings and the word for “brother" before we were at the ladder and travelling through the forest. . As the elf had said, his family's house wasn't far; the journey was made easier because there was a path I hadn't noticed before leading there. As he said, the house was constructed about the oak - about, around, and on. It was one of the largest oaks I had ever seen, its branches carefully trained to grow into the framework for covered platforms. "When the tree was young my father began building our home," Sérener told me, seeing my surprise. "It does not mind our presence, I think, for its branches have ever grown to suit our needs." There was a ground floor, too - built about the roots of the tree, it had cleanly swept dirt floors and an airy feeling. Although it was smaller than the homes I was used to, I could tell even from its outward appearance that it would be a comfortable place to live. "Melde, Varne, come meet our visitor," he called in my language.

"Speak not in the tongue of Men, muindor," came a high voice from the branches of the tree. "Or is our guest one from Dale, or a ranger of the wilds, or is he one of the Dwarves come to Eryn Lasgalen to collect on the King's debts?"

"None of these, but she speaks little elf-speech, and will only learn in time - not all at once from my noble and ever-talking muinthel," my new brother responded. "Come down and meet her!"

Down a narrow stair built around the tree came two lovely elf-maidens, almost identical, with the same tawny coloring as Sérener. "But you have brought us a human maid!" the taller one said, and I realized she was the one who had been speaking from above. The shorter one followed her, carrying a length of fabric that she was obviously embroidering. That's when it hit me: maybe this world isn't as women's-lib as I'd like it to be.

Oh, no. I'm horrible at sewing! And I haven’t the slightest idea how to cook over an open fire, or what to put in bread, or anything. Looking back, the way I leaped to that conclusion seems bizarre – it was the first thing I began to be upset about, far before I became homesick, far before I started to worry that I would never make it back. But I had been thinking of the entire world as a wonderful lark, a dream come to life, and assuming that I’d be dropped right back off in my own home again sooner or later. I’d even supposed, in the back of my mind, that I was going crazy, and that everything I’d come across was a weird bout with solipsism. The simple thought of a world without feminism opened up a thousand other concepts: here there were kings – every ruler a dictator. Were there slaves? They couldn’t have antibiotics, surely? Obviously there wasn’t electricity, either.

I couldn’t stop myself from thinking of horrible scenario after horrible scenario (all sorts of things could happen without modern equipment – almost anything at all!), but I knew I had to. I focused on Seréner’s words to his sisters and swallowed the lump in my throat.

"The king has asked us to take her in, and forever count her in our annals as the daughter of Eldecco," Sérener told them, and proceeded to go through the story of that morning. “So you see that we must address her in the common tongue of men, and also treat her with the same respect as any Edhel.”

"This is all very well and good, but you have left our new sister standing this long time, and still clothed in Legolas’s cloak only," Melde - the small one - chastised. "Now that I am married, I must see to these things all the time! You see how practical marriage has made me. She is as tall as Varne, but no taller, though even that is passing strange for a human woman; we will give her raiment."

Her - our - brother only smiled. "As I hoped, Melde." It was odd to think of anyone as a brother; I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I used the word when we spoke, but from then on, I stopped trying to force myself. He was Sérener, and that was all.

"Now you must away to your duties."

"As you wish." He smiled again in a slightly bemused way, then left through the wooden doors we had come through. Varne and Melde looked at me expectantly.

"Well, I guess that's it then," I offered. "I'm getting very tired of wearing just this cloak. Can you help me?"

The two elves broke into a good-natured banter, sometimes slipping back into their language and only occasionally remembering my presence. I’m sure that I would have complained and worried and voiced all my thoughts to them, but it’s difficult to carry on a conversation with someone who isn’t speaking your language, and interrupting them seemed wrong, somehow. I was swept up the staircase and to the very top "floor" of the oak, which was walled in nothing more than leaves and heavy canvas. There they threw open a trunk that was almost the only furniture in the bare room, besides a mirror and low bench, and began dressing me, holding up one garment after the other. My preferences seemed to have little to do with the choosing, but eventually they did decide on some clothing, and that was enough for me. Together they brushed out my hair, which was almost dry, and commented that it looked almost like theirs; then they ordered me out of the cloak and into a greenish kirtle. Varne - who I had secretly labeled as a little impulsive and outspoken, unlike the other elves I had met so far - was just about to take me out the door and off to meet her friends and kin when Melde stopped her.

"Did you look at her feet, Varne?"

"Why would I -" she glanced at them, quickly seeing Melde's point: they were dirty, bruised and bare. "Well then, we go to the bess-lin first, and give her my second pair of slippers. They should look well with that gown." Hooking the slippers from beneath the bench, she took my hand and led me down the stairs - but as we left, I saw Melde pocket a small bottle of what I guessed to be medicine before she followed.

The bess-lin, I soon discovered, was a bathing pool, made with clever dams in the river that I had crossed earlier. There Melde helped me wash my feet and pick out the splinters, and gave me some ointment to use on them. I wouldn't have minded a long, hot shower, but I didn't mention it, realizing that this was the best I was going to get. Instead, I poked around the pool as long as possible. It was much later, and we were sitting on a small footbridge - I was teaching them to play Pooh sticks, because they had never run into that sort of game, it seemed - when we heard voices in the underbrush nearby.

"Shhh!" Varne whispered, setting her stick on the bridge instead of dropping it into the water. "There's somebody there - male voices, near the women's bathing pool! Who would presume so far?"

"We should go," Melde whispered back. "Who knows who they are? It could be any man or elf of the wood." She glanced at me. "What say you, Macilme? Do we listen? My sister has a talent for getting into trouble."

I darted my eyes between the two. "It can’t be anyone that horrible, if they live in the wood – I don’t think the guards I ran into would have let someone dangerous in. Let's listen!"

Varne led the way as we crept off the footbridge and down into the cover of brush; it had obviously been planted to shield the bathing pool from prying eyes. Soon I could hear the voices too. "It's Legolas and King Thranduil," Varne said, needlessly – for they had a distinctive timbre to their speech that I could not have forgotten easily.

"Translate for me, will you? I can't understand."

"When I understand their speech myself, then I shall interpret," she replied. "They are very quiet, even considering their humors – ah, I can make it out now. Legolas wants to be the emissary to the Glittering Caves to tell them of - of our move to Ithilien?"

Of course! Sérener had left the King's plans out of the story he had told his sisters. "I'll explain that all later. Sérener must have forgotten to tell you," I whispered back. "Just keep translating."

Melde picked up the thread of conversation instead, though. "The King says there will be no emissary to the Glittering Caves. Sérener our muindor will go to King Elessar, and he will send others ahead to Prince Faramir of Ithilien to herald our coming - Legolas will lead our people there, and he does not wish to. The King will follow him later -" There she stopped, her mouth forming an O of surprise.

"What are they saying?" I asked her, excited now. Anything that could elicit that expression had to be fantastically interesting. "What?"

"That is not for your ears," Melde replied, shutting her mouth and turning away from the sound.

"Varne!"

She glanced at Melde, and finally said, "I agree with my sister. We should not have listened."

I was about to protest further - after all, what good was listening to private conversations and risking trouble if you aren’t going to figure out what’s going on? - but Melde cut in, asking me to tell them what the King had meant about traveling to Ithilien. That story took some time, because I tried to leave out every bit of the prophecy, and they kept pressing me for more information. I eventually told them all I knew, asking again what King Thranduil had said when I was finished. It was as though a light had gone off: even Varne had gone quiet and contemplative, not reacting to my prying. I had just about given up when we left the pool and ran smack into Legolas.

"Macilme," he noted, cutting off the end of the word as though it was bitter in his mouth. I wondered why he didn’t simply call me Emma, if he was so opposed to the nickname. "My father wishes to speak with you in confidence once more."


-----End Chapter 3-----


Author's Notes: Regarding the Tolkienverse in this chapter, Eryn Lasgalen means "Wood of Greenleaves," as Mirkwood was renamed after the fall of Sauron; however, since this renaming took place only two years prior to our story's beginning, the name Mirkwood was debatably still in common usage, especially among Men. Sindarin words used in this chapter are: mae govannen (well met), muindor (brother), muinthel (sister), Edhel (elf), and bess-lin (literally, wife-pool; translated as women’s bathing pool).

Thank yous as usual to Oliphauntine, Klose and Andy!


Chapter 4 - Water Inside And Out

IN THE COMPANY OF ELVES
by Mahtala

Chapter 4: Water Inside And Out\r\n\r\n


My excitement at being summoned quickly faded when I realized that I was not going to learn what Thranduil had been saying at the bess-lin. In fact, he had summoned me to be presented to the people of his household and to repeat my story to his councilors. He seemed pleased when I greeted him with "Mae govannen, King Thranduil," but beyond that there was no hint of anything that might be scandalous to Varne and Melde. By the time the councilors were finished with me, it was time for lunch, and I was invited to eat with them all. The food was good, but Legolas continued his disconcerting habit of casting long, suspicious glances at me.

It wouldn't have been so bad, actually, if he hadn't kept up the same behavior for the rest of the week, as messengers were sent out and planning began. Every time I came near him, he grew silent. I could feel his eyes on my back when it was turned - and Tuilo's, too, when he was around. I quickly grew used to it; after all, I was a bit of an oddity here, as a twenty-one-year-old with the size and physical maturity of an elf of fifty or sixty years. Yet it continued to unsettle me. There was something uncomfortable about being such an object of scrutiny. I adjusted my movements, tried to mimic the elves’ quiet way of walking. I tried to be introspective and withdrawn, even though I was bubbling over with questions, because it seemed like that was the general way of the elves (Varne excepted – but even she would bend over her fine stitchery and not look up for hours, wholly engrossed in the act of creating beauty).

Homesickness, fear – these things were part of my daily life, true enough. I would look at the curve of Melde’s neck and see my roommate in her, watch her fingers deftly braiding her hair and see my grandmother, and begin to cry. Strange as it may seem, though, apart from these moments I carried on as I always had. The King had made it clear that there was no way he could send me back home, though I asked him on several occasions. There seemed to be no point in acting like a spoiled child and throwing tantrums about it.

By the end of the week, it was clear that Tuilo and some of the older elves didn’t believe the prophecy, in spite of what King Thranduil said. In fact, most of the denizens of Mirkwood were indifferent to talk of the prophecy. Only a few of them maintained an interest in me, perhaps to judge the truth of the rumors. Many of them had not traveled far in all their long lifetimes, and had either decided to go to what they called the "Grey Havens" anyway or figured that if they didn't like Ithilien, they could always return. One or two of them claimed that they had been sent dreams telling them to leave, and each one who said this made Thranduil’s words stronger – although I overheard Melde and Varne discussing how “those who have never exhibited foresight before show the talent now – at such an opportune moment!” That still left Legolas’s regard a mystery, though; the only solution I could imagine was that he was fascinated by my role in the prophecy, but it didn’t ring true with what I knew of his character.

I was so busy helping Varne pack for Sérener and her father (Melde had her own family to tend to; as she constantly complained, just one husband is as bad as two young children), learning how to identify some simple herbs and learning to speak a little Sindarin that I didn't get a chance to talk to Legolas again until the day we set off. He certainly wasn't making any attempt to speak with me. So rather than confronting him about his odd behavior on my own terms, I ended up staring blankly at him as he held the reins of a magnificent chestnut horse out to me. It was extremely tall, looked extremely fiery and powerful, and I had no idea how to handle it.

"Um," I said, eloquent as ever.

"Well, take your steed," he said, almost snapping. "My - our people are unused to riding, and I must away to help those less able pack themselves upon their horses. We rarely have need for haste, but my father is impatient.”

"Well, you see, I'm rather in the same problem," I replied, taking the reins. "I've never ridden before in my life."

It was the truth, too. You know the horse phase most girls go through? Nope. Nada. I didn't even crack Black Beauty until seventh grade, and then only for a book report. Up to now, I had mostly skirted around the horses that had been gathered for the journey, hoping I would be offered a seat in a wagon or some such. I don’t know why Legolas was surprised, after what he’d said about his own people, but he was. He looked at me like I was a bug or something else not exactly distasteful, but certainly not welcome in his company.

"I should have guessed. Give this horse to Varne, Sérener's sister - I know that she can ride, for I taught her myself. At least for the first few days you will ride with me; you will not slow us down so, and Arod is strong enough to carry a light girl like you as well as I." Nobody had ever called me light before (I wasn’t fat, but my height made me weigh more than a good quarter of the men I knew), but it was clearly not the time to quibble or blather on with false modesty. I nodded and went about my business.

That exchange took place before dawn, when elves were rushing about the edge of the forest and loading horses with packs. Several hours later, we were almost all set to leave directly, but a group of horses still stood idle, roped to trees. I caught snippets of conversation from where I stood with Varne, waiting for Legolas to help me onto his horse. "Tuilo will not leave?" he asked sharply, speaking to an elf hidden behind trees. His handsome face was set and stony. "I had not thought – Well. Very well. Leave their horses here; my father will look after selling them. We still leave at the time set."

Quickly, I turned, pretending to be talking to Varne as he mounted Arod. "Well, Macilme?" he asked imperiously, holding one hand out. Now or never, I thought, and used the stirrup and his hand to swing up into the saddle behind him.

Surprisingly enough, nobody was hurt. In fact, I was apparently quite graceful "for one of the race of Man," according to several onlookers. Once I was up, the riding was easy enough, because I only had to keep my balance. In fact, it was wonderful. When Legolas first kicked his horse into motion, raising one arm to signal to the other elves, I grabbed him tightly around his waist - his quiver, which normally never left his back, was packed away into one of the wagons. The horse’s movements while walking were more soothing than anything, though, and I soon loosened my grip – but not before feeling the muscle and hard sinew beneath his tunic. Pressing my face into his long blonde hair, I smiled. I could get to like this... as long as he doesn’t talk to me too much, or act superior or anything.

"Varne tells me you are learning our elf-tongue," Legolas said. I could feel the rhythm of his breathing where his back was pressed against me, and suddenly I was struck by how very intimate this situation was.

"Sérener began to teach me, but I have had very spotty instruction so far," I admitted, thanking God or anything that would care to listen that my voice didn’t give out on me. "Barely even enough to call Eldecco my adar." The whole idea of talking with Legolas made me nervous, to tell the truth. It was more that I was afraid he’d decide to make the journey miserable – and I knew it would be a journey of at least two weeks – or that whatever he’d been talking with King Thranduil about would come and bite me in the ass.

"Then I will teach you more. It seems ridiculous to pass this long journey with few words between us. And in return, you must tell me of the land from which you hail."

So time on the horse passed. In the end, I spent very little of it thinking about the intimacy and pleasantness of the situation; he quizzed me on conjugation and vocabulary whenever my attention strayed. When we were apart, the memory of his oddness and the saddlesoreness that plagued my legs drove all thought of becoming closer friends with him out of my head. My life was quickly settling into a routine that was stimulating and entertaining, each dawn bringing a new journey and new things to learn, but also predictable. The day before we forded the River Running, though - according to Varne, the point of our crossing was about halfway down Eryn Lasgalen's length - Legolas brought up the topic of my own world.

"I have kept my end of the deal, gwenn," he said. "Yet you offer no thoughts on your people or your place."

I had been avoiding any discussion of my world. Homesickness lay right below the surface of my thoughts at all times, and I was worried that I would give my feelings away if I spoke of the cabin, my grandparents, my friends and college. "When I came to your world, I was at my grandparents' home in the mountains," I began. "In my world, they call me Emma, not Macilme. The woods there are very like Eryn Lasgalen, and so at first I thought I had only hurt my head while swimming and woken up disoriented. It's hot most of the year in the valley, where I go to school," I continued, warming to the subject and thinking of the most basic things I could tell him about California.

"School?"

"I study history at a university – the University of California, Davis."

"Ah - a large library, where you are tutored? I have heard of such things in Gondor, although teaching is more casual among my people."

"Something like that."

"A scholar you are, then. Perhaps I should press you harder on your study of our tongue, Macilme - and yet I find it passing strange, that women of your land spend their youths locked up in a library. Or that any person does; I once knew a lady who claimed her worst fear to be a cage such as yours, to be locked away until any hope of glory had passed ‘beyond recall or desire.’"

"I'd rather be locked up in a library than work retail for the rest of my life," I retorted, forgetting that he didn’t know what ‘work retail’ meant. "I guess it isn't the same here, but in my world, college is a good thing. I like studying, as long as it's something interesting. And there isn’t much glory where I come from. It’s all Watergate and ‘no blood for oil’ and the Republicans and Democrats having it out even though there’s no difference between them really."

"I meant no offense," he responded. There was no denying that he was puzzled by what I’d said – whether it was the unfamiliar words or the sentiment behind them remained to be seen. I wondered, for a moment, if it was that I was a woman – if women here were kept from education. But no, that couldn’t be; even though there didn’t seem to be much scientific enquiry or anything like that going on among the elves, all of them seemed to be able to read and write (in an alien, unfamiliar script) and recite verse upon verse of epic poetry in Sindarin or any of a number of archaic languages.

"Anyway. I've got friends there. They're probably frantic by now. Probably think I've drowned." I felt a lump begin to build in my throat. "My family won't be worried, though. I don't have any, anymore. My grandparents died in an accident a few weeks before I came here. They were driving in from the ocean, and, well..." He wouldn't understand any of it even if I explained, I knew, and I would start to cry if I did. The emotions had been packed away for so long that they were coming back tenfold now that they’d been stirred.

Legolas half-turned in the saddle, glancing over his shoulder at me. "From the ocean, you say? Have you been to the sea?” If I hadn’t wanted to get away from the topic of my grandparents so much, I probably would have thought this insensitive; as it was, though, it suited me just fine.

"Yes - it's wide and very grey," I replied, surprised at his sudden interest. "From the bridge at San Francisco - wind blows in over it and makes waves. Sometimes when it's foggy you can't tell the sea from the land from the air. My grandparents took me there every year in the spring, and it would always rain. I miss it. I have since I went to college."

I almost couldn't hear Legolas's response over the horses' clopping hooves; they were all around us, loud and happy to be running freely. Even the elves who had barely ridden before seemed to have a way with them. But Legolas paid no attention to the crowds around him. Staring straight ahead between Arod's ears, he whispered, " ...the cry of the gulls on the shore, your heart will rest in the forest no more."

Something in his tone of voice pushed that little, teary part of me over the edge, and I laid my head on his shoulder and cried: cried for my grandparents, already dead, and my friends who thought I was gone; cried for the world I had left; cried for the people who had picked up and left their homes simply because of me.

"Why do you cry, Macilme?" he asked me, almost tenderly, when he felt the tears soak through his collar – I would have called it a Mandarin collar, if I had seen it at home.

"Many reasons, but mostly because I miss my home."

Legolas was silent for a moment, and I was afraid I had said something wrong - the tenuous friendship we had was not something I wanted to destroy. Then he bowed his head and replied, "I miss my home as well, gwenn."



The next day, he judged that I had spent enough time on the back of a horse to at least not fall off. "Urui is a good mare, and trained to follow Arod's lead," I was told. "She is not good for fast riding, but we are not hurried. Until now, she has carried Moiron, but now he will ride with his mother." Moiron was an elf-child older than me by several years, but he appeared perhaps thirteen or fourteen years old to human eyes. The party was going slower now, having reached somewhat treacherous ground, so I followed him and his mother on my dappled mare at a sedate pace, wondering about how he was the only child I'd seen thus far.

Disaster struck that day, and in the end, it was good that I had changed horses. At about noon we began to ford the River Running. Legolas waited along with two of his kinsmen on the near bank until the rest of the party was safely across; I waited with him, as neither he nor I trusted my riding skills to get me safely across the ford without help. Finally we began to cross. It was wide but shallow where we forded, and one could not escape the pervasive sound of water rushing over flattened stones. We were halfway across, and I was quite proud of myself for guiding Urui so well, when the first black arrow whizzed past.

"Cotumo!" The danger cry ran through the great train of horses in front of us. There was little panic. Those with bows to hand readied themselves to fire, and several drew swords; Arod wheeled to allow his master to search the horizon for where they came - near the border of Mirkwood. I pressed my face into my horse’s mane and prayed.

"There," Legolas called in Sindarin. " To the west!" More arrows flew as he spoke, and suddenly I felt hot blood on my legs. Thinking I had been hit, I looked down to where Urui stood beneath me. She was swaying forward: the arrow had taken her in the neck.

I screamed instinctively, shutting my mouth as soon as I realized how foolish that was. Then I tried to swing down as my horse fell to its knees. I ended up sprawling in the shallow, ice-cold water, pressed against Urui's body by the current, and the only thing I could think of was it will be over soon - please, let it be over. Trying to stand, I realized I would be trampled by the other horses, which were shying away from arrow after arrow. So I hunkered down next to Urui, continuing my mantra. Let it be over. Let it be over.

"That's the last of them, " one of Legolas’s kinsmen called. "Why, though, would they wish to stop our passing?" I caught a few of his words, enough to understand the meaning.

"I know not, gwador," he replied. " We camp here tonight. Go search the bodies." Then, as though it had only just occurred to him: "Where is Macilme?"

"Here, Legolas!" I stood, dripping water. It was not like the movies. I was cold and smeared with blood, even though the river had washed some of it away, and I didn't dare to look back at Urui’s corpse for fear of being sick at the sight; it was bad enough that I had crouched by it so long, and the metallic taste of blood and river water in my mouth was turning my stomach. "The arrow took Urui, and I stayed low."

"You did well," he replied. "Even were Urui alive, you could not have ridden out such a time, when our horses were panicked and near to bolting. They are unused to fighting such as this, save Arod, who was bred in Rohan and is familiar with all the ways of men and elves. But you are cold and frightened. Come; we will find more clothes for you, and spiced wine and bast, for the daymeal is ahead of us."

When I had wiped the blood from my face and washed it out of my hair, I felt a little better, but not by much. The hot spiced wine they gave me was very sweet, and it went to my head very quickly, but I felt no warmer. "I'm fine, Melde," I protested. "Only a little shaken."

"Very well," the elf-woman replied. "Mortals are not like to elves, and perhaps I will doctor you wrongly, if I try." She went away shaking her head as I clawed the tangles from my hair and rubbed my arms in an attempt to rouse myself.

That evening, though, the cold did not go away, even though I spent my time by the fire trying to warm. Legolas had left me in Melde's hands as he and his men tried to track our attackers, and she mostly left me alone, except to bring me a portion of venison from the deer Eldecco had shot. It was tasty, but I had little appetite for it.

Finally, after most of the elves had finished eating, Legolas returned. He spoke in hushed voices with Melde, then said angrily: "She is not so different!" There was more, but that was the only part of the conversation I truly understood, and I think he had forgotten that I even knew that little bit of their language. Otherwise, he would surely not have allowed me to hear.

"I have spent much time with the race of Men," he told me casually, sitting next to me before the fire. "And I know when you are lying about how you feel, Macilme. You were chilled in the stream, and you never dried, because you wanted to wash the blood away; you were unused to blood, and you had never seen a horse die, and you were frightened by falling from her."

"Yes," I admitted. "I have been cold - even though it's a warm night. I've never been this cold in the summer."

He reached out and touched my face, his eyes dark and deep in the firelight when they looked at me. "That is because it is a cold in your spirit as well as in your flesh. Your heart longs for your home, and your mind - which is used to study - does not like to think about death. My people do not understand this well, for we live for many human lifetimes, and know that we will always have time to revisit any place we miss." I nodded. "But you - you are displaced, alone, and hurt, and that is not an easy burden to bear."

Once more I began to cry, feeling very young, but this time Legolas was there, rocking me back and forth in his embrace. "Shh, mell gwenn. Shh." Just the physical act of being near him helped me grow calmer: the many hours we had spent on horseback together had accustomed me to his embrace. He was a constant in this world. However little I knew him, Legolas was the first person I saw upon arriving, and he had never done me harm.

After I had cried myself out, I sat up, embarrassed. "The time for me was nothing," he assured me. "Otherwise, I would have only been doing inconsequential things – and you are better now. If you drink this, it will help. You are not used to much rich wine, I realize now." He poured me a cupful of something from a pan that hung over our fire; when I drank it, I realized it was a thick juice, like apples and peaches in one. I did feel warmer this time, and not false warmth like alcohol normally gives: this was something real.

"Better?" He sat beside me once more.

"Better." I glanced into the shadows at the edge of the fire, saw Varne slip under her blankets in the area Eldecco had set aside for his family. "I should sleep. It's late, and we've had a big day."

"As you wish - Emma."

Hearing my name in the odd half-light of the campfire almost started me crying again, but not because I missed my home. "Thank you, Legolas," I said by way of a goodbye. "Thank you for everything." Impulsively, I stood on my tiptoes and kissed his cheek. Then I ran from the circle of firelight. I didn't look back until after I was safely under the blankets next to Varne. Then I ventured a glance. Legolas stood at the fire still, staring at the embers as though they held the secret of life.

-----End Chapter 4-----\r\n\r\n

Author's Notes: Sindarin words used in this chapter are: gwenn (maiden, girl), gwador (sworn brother, associate), bast (bread), mell (dear, so mell gwenn dear girl).

Thanks to Andy for a quick n’ dirty beta reading; also thanks to everyone who’s given me such great reviews. The latter bring a smile to my face, though the former didn’t always – but that’s a good thing, as without his frown-inducing notes this story would be much poorer.
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