The Glass Coffin - A Middle Earth Fairytale

"I love Legolas," said little Bettany, childish fingers stroking the framed picture her Grandpa had handed round. "He’s so pretty."

Her brother pretended to be sick, and Rosebud seemed to wake from a dream she’d just been in. "But he was lonely, wasn’t he Grandpa?"

"Ever so lonely, petal. And yet he wanted to go on this quest alone."

*****

Legolas passed a sleepless night in his room at the top of the highest tower, wondering what tomorrow may bring. In his mind the glass coffin was ever present, Caruien Moonbeam’s face imprinted upon his eyelids.

As a result of all this nervous excitement, he was sick in the place toilet three times.

He was on a quest.

Grabbing seemed to be the way to go about it. As soon as he’d washed his hair, napped for a couple of hours, eaten a leisurely breakfast and said long, convoluted goodbyes to all his family, friends and fan-club, Legolas had started to get into the quest mood. It seemed that a requirement was to leave in a hurry, under cover of nightfall. He grabbed his bag, then grabbed some clothes to stow in it. He grabbed a comb, just in case Caruien had some magical way of seeing him, and he grabbed a few ribbons. Purely for tying his hair back, of course. Although the periwinkle blue did go spiffily with his eyes. He was definitely running out of things to grab.

"Ow!"

Grabbing an individual arrow hadn’t been one of his best ideas, admittedly. He could, however, grab the quiver and his bow.

"Right then. Quest."



"Legless?"

"Lorimen!"

Legolas gave his best friend a manly hug, and then noticed his heavy looking bag. "Thanks for the thought, but I’ve already packed."

"So have I."

"Yes, I realise that, but I packed for myself."

"Yes, and I’ve packed."

"Lorimen, listen. I’ve packed. I don’t need your pack."

"I’m not giving you my pack, you bastard. I’m taking it myself."

"Where?" asked Legolas, genuinely confused.

"With you! On the quest!" Lori sniggered, and waved something under Legolas’ nose. "I found the Mithril pants. Bet they’ll wake that Caruien right up - speaking of Caruien, what an Elf. Bloody hell, she’s gorgeous. I tell you what, why stop at a glass coffin? Why not a glass dress, and glass underwear, and -"

Legolas snatched the Mithril Y-fronts from Lori and stuffed them into his own bag. "You aren’t coming with me. And don’t talk about Caruien like that," he muttered. Damned Mithril - it kept catching on all his other clothes. The harder he tried to push it to the bottom, the more entangled the stuff became. In fact, he could have sworn he felt the thing creeping up his hand.

"Oh, you like her, don’t you?"

"I love her, actually."

Lori rolled his eyes, and dragged his friend towards the door. "I am coming with you, I will talk about Caruien and you aren’t in love with her. Now hurry up, the horse is waiting."

"Why?"

"Because you can’t carry the coffin to the mountains, can you?"

"I don’t know, I didn’t get a chance to try."

"Blame your father."

"Already got that one covered." Legolas produced a small notebook, and flipped through to the middle page. "Right. ‘For making me take a horse’ can go right underneath ‘For my girly hair’ and ‘For cheese’. There."

"You blame your father for cheese?"

"Naturally."

*****

The set up in the glade was much as he’d imagined it. The same proud, white horse, hitched this time to a simple wooden cart. The cart had a leafy roof, and he supposed that underneath it lay the glass coffin. He was itching to see it again, literally itching. To his intense dismay Legolas realised he’d sat on some poison ivy.


"Ah, son."

His father, Lorimen and the seven cloaked attendants drifted into the clearing. This time the cloaks were pure white, and Thranduil had his arm around one of the attendants waists. Legolas suppressed a groan and tried to straighten up. Gods, that rubbed. He grimaced, and clenched his legs together, earning a disturbed look from Lori.

"Father. Ladies," he said bowing. A couple of the attendants giggled, although he wasn’t sure if it was because they thought he was charming or because he was clutching his groin in intense pain. Lorimen nudged him in the ribs, with rather more effort than was strictly necessary.

"Stand up, and stop scratching yourself," he hissed.

"I can’t, I sat on some poison ivy!"

Lorimen smirked, and Legolas shot a reproachful glance at his so-called friend. They had known each other since birth, and were inseparable. Visitors from outside Mirkwood could have been forgiven for mistaking the two for brothers. Although Lorimen’s eyes were dark, his hair was fair and his face held a mischievous light. In their younger years both had delighted in playing practical jokes on all who dwelt in Mirkwood, though now Legolas liked to think he had grown up, grown graceful. Lorimen, on the other hand, hadn’t. A favourite phrase of his was ‘what’s the point of immortality if we act like we’re dead the whole time?’ Which Legolas thought was a little unfair. Elves couldn’t think of life in the same way as mortals. In fact, sometimes he envied the others, just a bit. It was hard to get worked up about living when living was all you’d be doing in the forseeable future. Sort of like trying to get Dwarves worked up about mining, or Men worked up about ‘reading’ this month’s issue of Hot Minas Mommas. Although he supposed the Men actually did get quite worked up about it. He’d been quite worked up about Goldilocks of Gondor himself.

Selective hearing was one skill the Elven Prince had perfected. See, Thranduil had actually been making some speech about the quest for at least half an hour, and he’d blocked the entire horrible thing out. Now, it appeared, was the time to listen again. Thranduil was hugging him, and he kissed his father on the cheek.

"I will see you soon," he promised, feeling a sudden rush of affection.

"That you will. With a bride, perhaps?" added Thranduil, nodding suggestively in the direction of the cart. Legolas had never actually seen anyone nod suggestively before, and it wasn’t very nice.

"Father!" he exclaimed, pretending to be shocked. "I can’t possibly marry the horse."



That made Thranduil laugh, and Legolas ignored the gagging noises Lorimen was making. He inhaled the forest air deeply, and slapped his best friend on the back. "So, we leave. Farewell father. Farewell, ladies -"

One of the attendants cleared their throat. Legolas quirked an eyebrow at his mistake. "Sorry. Ladies and gentleman -"

At this the attendant seemed to hack up an entire lung. "Thing?" Legolas tried, hopefully. Thranduil then smacked his forehead as if forgetting something of great importance, and stepped forward once more.

"Sorry, sorry. Lorimen, Legolas, the Head Attendant of Caruien Moonbeam will be escorting her on this quest. It is required that the Lady of the Glass Coffin have a female attendant present to – er - attend to her individual feminine needs."

"We can do that, Your Highness," ventured Lorimen. The attendant, or Head Attendant spoke, her voice muffled from underneath the drooping hood of her cloak.

"If you could see my face, I’d be rolling my eyes right now."

"Very good," said Thranduil, completely ignoring Legolas’ obvious annoyance at having yet another companion on his own personal quest. "Carry on." Thranduil turned to the giggly attendant at his side. "Now then, where were we? Ah, yes - you really must come and have a look at my bowers. They’re generous, comfortable and sweetly fragrant - rather like me, come to think of it -"

And with that, the other attendants and the King of Mirkwood disappeared.

Lorimen immediately stuck out his hand and the Head Attendant shook it. "The name’s Silverarrow. Lorimen Silverarrow."

"I’m the Head Attendant."

"So, what do we call you for short? Head?"

This was definitely going to be a very long quest. Shouldering his bow, Legolas walked over to the horse and stroked its elegant neck. "So, where do we go?" he asked loudly, hoping that the Head Attendant would have some sort of map handy.

"Oh, the mountains. Definitely mountains."

Legolas felt a pebble of dread settle in the bottom of his stomach. "Which mountains, exactly?"

"Er - well, they’re pointy, and have snow. Big with the snow, which is good because we can run on it, I suppose, and - well, I’m the Head Attendant. Of course I know where they are. They’re - in that direction," she finished, pointing frantically in the direction of the palace. Lorimen shook his head.

"You have absolutely no idea where we have to take her, do you? It might help if you didn’t have that stupid hood over your eyes," he added, trying to pull back the hood. The Head Attendant clutched at it protectively, tripped and bumped her head on a tree.

"Don’t mock the ceremonial garments," she said, swaying slightly. Legolas frowned. His first real quest, and he was stuck with Mr Thought-He-Was-Boombastic and Little Miss Crazy. "Oh, oh, wait," she said, steadying herself on the trunk. "There was a riddle. Not very helpful, but still, it’s better than nothing. ‘The wizard you seek lives in mountains grey’. See? I mean, all mountains are grey. So we’ve been to every kingdom, hoping someone would know about a wizard who lived in their mountains."

Lorimen and Legolas grinned at each other, and Legolas patted the horse. "Walk on, come on," he murmured gently, and Lorimen grabbed the Head Attendant, pushing her along the road.


"Where are we going?" she asked.

"To the Grey Mountains," shouted Legolas. "Seems you were right to come to Mirkwood." Seems it was meant to be, he thought silently, glancing back at the cart and its precious burden.

*****

They had been walking for some time when Legolas found the poison ivy too much to bear. Lorimen had been trying to guess the Head Attendant’s name, with little success, and Legolas had been left to his own thoughts. Unfortunately, most of his thoughts centred around the pain. It had crossed from mere itchiness to excruciating pain, and he didn’t know if he dared ever look at that area of his body again.

"Is it - Aruven?"

"No."

"Celiabatiel."

"Do I look like a Celiabatiel to you?"

"Well, seeing as how we don’t know what you look like - anyway. Herpesian?"

"Now you’re making them up. If you really have to know, it’s actually Iaurardriel. But my friends call me Iaur," she explained. Lorimen turned to talk to Legolas.

"That’s a nice name, Iaur, don’t you agree - where is he?"

"Who?"

"Legolas."

Both Elves spun around. The horse and cart had stopped moving, and the only sound was the snorting of the horse (whose name, incidentally, was Herpesian. But he wasn’t going to admit to that, and was currently insisting he be called ‘The Dashing, Imperial, Courageous Horse. Sadly, everyone shortened this to Dich, and everyone pronounced it Dick). The only sound that is apart from the birds singing, the water in the river, the small woodland creatures burrowing, the larger woodland creatures murdering and the sound of intense embarrassment coming from a nearby bush.

Don’t ask me to describe the sound of intense embarrassment, because I can’t. Only Elves can hear it.

"I’m over here," came the muffled response. Lorimen and Iaur walked towards the bush, and it squeaked. "Stop! Don’t come any closer," it warned. "I can’t let either of you see me like this."

"Are you in pain?" said Lorimen, moving closer to Iaur.

The bush shrugged. "You could say that," it supplied weakly.

Iaur clapped her hand to her mouth, or where her mouth must have been inside the hood. "Oh my Elrond!" The air was tense with melodrama. "He’s been turned into a talking bush!" Lorimen immediately drew his bow, and advanced on the bush.

"Where is he? Where’s the evil scoundrel who did this to you? I’ll kill him, I’ll..."

Legolas emerged, sheepishly, from behind the juniper bush. Iaur started giggling, and he suppressed the urge to go back undercover. Lorimen snorted, and slung his bow over his back. The other Elf held up a warning hand. "Don’t say anything," he gritted through perfect teeth. Not one word."

Iaur stuck out her hand. "We haven’t been properly introduced yet. I’m Iaur."

"Pleased to meet you." He shook her hand and then walked determinedly towards the cart. If he could just make it to his pack, everything would be fine. It wasn’t his fault that he’d needed to change his underwear. It wasn’t his fault that his leggings had been dragged away by some unidentified creature. It most certainly wasn’t his fault that the palace attendants hadn’t known the correct way to wash his more valuable items of clothing. And really, it wasn’t that bad.


Suddenly, Legolas heard the unmistakable sound of an arrow being notched to bow. He turned around in time to see Lorimen’s arrow bounce harmlessly off his crotch and fall to the ground. It made a slight ping noise. His friend shrugged. "Just wondered if those Mithril Y-fronts were all they were – er - cracked up to be."

Glowering, Legolas stalked back in the direction of his pack to put on a fresh change of clothes. He really didn't see what the big deal was. So what, some of his underwear had shrunk slightly?


"Mithril Y-Fronts? Better make that Mithril thong," added Iaur, still in fits of hysteria.

He’d give them bloody Mithril thong.

*****

They had been travelling all day, following the winding turn of the river, and although Legolas felt that he could continue for weeks on end, Iaur had insisted that Dick needed to rest. The small group had found a shady riverbank to sit on, and certainly Dick seemed all the better for a drink of water and some fresh grass. Lorimen was stretched out in the only patch of sun, eyes shut, and Iaur was making a daisy chain, dangling her feet in the river.

After the thong incident, Legolas had relaxed a little. Yes this was a quest, and yes, his true love was trapped inside that glass coffin, but they were Elves. They really did have all the time in the world. The three had chatted aimlessly about Mirkwood, Iaur particularly interested in their healing techniques. She and Caruien hailed from Rivendell, an Elven place famous for its healers and song. Caruien had been a singer.

He could easily imagine that. One day, he would sing to her, and she would reply, her voice sweeter than any common lark, ringing out clear as bell over hills and valleys. He would run to her, and they would duet, obviously in perfect harmony as all soulmates should have perfect pitch. Then he would sweep her up into his arms, and -

"So, Iaur, about that Caruien. Is she married? Attached? Ancient betrothal, that sort of thing?" It was Lorimen. Legolas’ daydream came to an abrupt halt when he realised Caruien had turned into Lorimen, who was lying in his arms and smiling foolishly. Daydream-Legolas dropped Daydream-Lorimen, and opened his eyes. His two companions were throwing an apple back and forth. It was almost hypnotic.

"Oh, no. She’s actually been in the coffin since she hit 200. She’s terribly young, and I’ve never actually spoken to her. The Head Attendant before me gave up, had a nervous breakdown. I mean, it doesn’t look like stressful work, but believe me, trying to stop birds from going on the coffin is downright hazardous -"

"When you say going -"

"Look. Let’s just say there’s a reason my travelling cloak is white."

Lorimen pulled a face, and Legolas decided it was time he joined the conversation. He had to find out more about Caruien. Smiling, he sat down and grabbed the apple, causing both of them to make noises of disgust. Rather hurt, Legolas threw the apple at Iaur. "What? I was just trying to join in," he said, flashing his most winning smile.

Unimpressed, Iaur threw the apple to Lorimen. "We were on 997 without dropping it."

"We’ll never drop it. We’re Elves," said Legolas slowly, as though talking to a couple of Dwarves.

"It’s the principle of the thing," explained Lorimen. "Five."

"Fine. Anyway, Iaur. You must tell us more about Caruien, and how you came to Mirkwood."

"Really, I mustn’t. It’s possibly the most boring story ever. Except for that one Lord Elrond once told us all about the carrot and the handcuffs. I’m scrunching my nose up now," she added. "I never actually got the point of that story, but he kept telling us it over, and over, and over - twenty!"

Legolas nearly dropped the apple, and Lorimen tapped him on the knee. "See. We aren’t just automatic catching machines. We’re automatic loving machines, Elves do it best, yeah baby -"

"I’m exchanging a ‘he’s-so-full-of-himself’ look with Legolas," piped up Iaur from underneath her cloak. Legolas smiled and Lorimen looked indignant.

"You can’t say things like that out loud, it’s not fair. Take off the hood!"

"No, I can’t! It’s ceremonial, seriously. If I take it off, maybe the spell won’t work, or something. Maybe Caruien will die, I don’t know what the consequences are."

"Leave it on," said Legolas quickly. Caruien, die. That wasn’t an option. "Besides, that way you won’t have to look at Lorimen’s drooling face all day," he said, realising how rude he’d sounded.

"How do you see where you’re going?" said the other blonde Elf, interested now. Iaur indicated the space beneath her hood.

"I can see the floor, and up to about waist height, as we all know-"

Legolas squirmed uncomfortably and hastened to change the subject. "So. Caruien." He felt sudden warmth fill his voice. "What is her lineage? Why is she in the coffin in the first place?" Again, Iaur shrugged, and answered in a strange, faux-mystical voice.

"Nobody kno-ows. She arrived in Rivendell on a bo-at, trapped in the co-offin with a scro-oo-l."

"A scrool?" interjected Lorimen. The others ignored him, excepting Dick. Scrool meant something very different in the language of horses, and after that Dick made the decision to stay as far away from Lorimen as possible. Especially at night.

"The scroo-I mean, scroll gave inst-ruc-ions - ’she must be guarded day and night by her attendants’, etc, you heard the rest last night."

"Yeah," said Legolas, remembering. "That dippy Attendant couldn’t even remember the words properly."

There was a frosty silence. Eventually Iaur poked Legolas in the ribs, surprisingly on target for someone who couldn’t see anything.

"Ow! What was that for?"

"For calling me dippy."

"Oh. Sorry."

Lorimen suddenly jumped to his feet, waving the apple in the air triumphantly. "1000! Yes!" He proceeded to take a large bite. "Ack. It’s all bruised."


*****

They were walking again, and the midnight sky was giving was giving way to dawn. Legolas loved the dawn, all pinky oranges and promise of adventure. Deep in Mirkwood, under cover of trees, the time of day didn’t really make any difference, although it was certainly getting lighter. He checked on his companions. Lorimen’s eyes were glazed, and Iaur seemed to be making little snoring noises. Good, they were both asleep.

Carefully, quietly, he pushed aside some of the leaves covering the cart. Moonbeam was her name, and moonbeam certainly seemed appropriate. That skin! It was almost translucent, pearlescent, all those other words that ended with ent - and her hair. He’d never seen a red-headed Elf before. The coffin seemed to disappear, and Legolas forgot that there had ever been a coffin - indeed, all he saw was that flaming red hair, seeming to match the heat of his heart, which was thumping so loudly he felt sure someone would hear it - if he could just touch that hair and be warm once again -

An icy hand closed over his wrist and jerked him back. "Don’t touch it," mumbled Iaur, obviously still half-asleep. "What d’you think happened to the old Head Attendant," she managed to mutter darkly, before drifting back to Lorimen’s side. Legolas caught his breath harshly, and let the curtain of leaves swing back into place.

Magic was at work, maybe, but those feelings were real. He’d never felt anything like it before - Legolas felt another bloom of indescribable joy in his breast, and started to whistle.

It was then he saw the broken sword.

Next Chapter: Who could the sword possibly belong to? Our crack team of Elves will no doubt find out in the next exciting installment...