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The Last Wood Elf	By : Mel99Moe Category: +Third Age > AU - Alternate Universe Views: 4551 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any characters or places. No money is being made from this story.

Chapter List
- 31
- 32
- 33
Chapter 32 – Lothlórien

Never having visited another elvish realm before, Legolas was unsure about his surroundings. He had made it to Lothlórien, or at least to the outer edges of their forest. He had no idea how far it was to the capitol city of Caras Galadhon, or who he would ask to speak to. He didn’t know their politics. Did he ask to see the lord and lady or their advisors? And where were all the elves? He had been walking for quite some time, and hadn’t seen another living soul. Somehow, he knew he was not alone though. Either the trees had eyes, or he was being watched by sentries. This was not Fangorn Forest, so the latter was probably the reason for his awareness. He pulled his cloak tighter around him, and kept his head covered by the hood.
Legolas noted how unwelcoming it felt, and remembered the stories Elhadron used to tell him as an elfling. He had spoken quite often of their sadness and constant search for the way back to Valinor, having never been completely satisfied with Middle-earth.
“They are always longing to return to the Blessed Realm, not caring about the life around them, and always so heavyhearted,” Elhadron had told him.
Odd, Legolas thought, Calariel was anything but despairing. She seemed full of life to the point of stubbornness. He wondered if perhaps Elhadron was wrong in his teachings. Maybe not all of the Noldor were anxious to return to Valinor. Calariel certainly seemed Middle-earth bound. Still, she was just one out of thousands, not an example of the whole race.
As he walked along, Legolas breathed deep. The air of the forest was so fresh and clean. There was not the dust and dirt of a man city clogging his senses, no smoke from fires or the unmistakable scents of livestock. Here in the woods, it was only the scent of earth disturbed by his footsteps, of dried leaves that littered the forest floor, and the occasional wafting of pine from the sparsely scattered conifers. Winter was coming to an end, but some of the trees still held their curling brown leaves. Oak, Legolas thought, they tended to be stubborn about discarding their foliage.
The sound of rushing water was getting louder. This must be the Celebrant, a stream that traveled from the Misty Mountains, ran through Lothlórien and emptied into the river Anduin. He was getting close, then. Caras Galadhon must be somewhere beyond the river, but not too far. He hurried his steps, now that he had some direction, and up ahead he could see a sandy bank.
When he reached the edge of the stream, Legolas was surprised to find a small rowboat that had been pulled up on the shore. He hadn’t been sure how he was going to cross the water, but this seemed too convenient. So, it was no surprise when he was preoccupied with the boat, that he hadn’t seen the sentries approach, and felt the point of an arrow held at his back. Legolas dropped the rope attached to the front of the boat and showed his empty hands as he remained bent over.
“Stand up slowly and state your name and reason for this intrusion,” said a stern male voice.
Without turning to his captives, Legolas did as he was told, “I am Legolas, and I come on behalf of Rohan.” He wondered if he should have been more specific and referred to King Théoden, but he hadn’t time to think.
“And what does Rohan want from Lothlórien?” the sentry asked.
“I would prefer to discuss that with your lord or lady,” Legolas answered.
There was a silent pause, then the sentry spoke again, “The Rohirrim have great fear for our realm, as well as the Lady of Light. A sorceress they call her. Do you not also fear her?”
Legolas reached for his hood, but the arrow’s point pushed uncomfortably into his back. He continued until he lowered it and revealed his identity, “I have no fear of my own kind.”
No one said anything, and Legolas waited for a response. Finally, the elf who spoke to him walked around in front so that Legolas could see him. He wore the same uniform as Calariel, multilayers in shades of grey. His hair was braided at the sides and hung down over his ears, silver hair much like his own, long and straight. He had a tall forehead and high cheekbones. Blue eyes gazed down his long nose, and his lips were drawn in a tight line. No, definitely not a warm welcome.
“You will come with me,” he finally said, and Legolas nodded.
They entered the boat, Legolas in front and the sentry at the back holding a paddle. The other elf, the one who had not spoken, remained on the shore and helped push the small boat out into the stream. Then they paddled across, and continued on towards the city.
Neither elf spoke for the remainder of the walk. Legolas had many questions, but this guard was not the person he should be asking. He wanted to know if Calariel was within the city, anxious to find out about her wellbeing, and whether she made a full recovery or not. Last he knew, she still had no voice, and he hoped that it had come back.
He also wondered if there was anyone who remembered his mother. This had been her home, her begetting place. Her departure had been one of scandal, running off with his father and marrying him against her family’s wishes. Actually, Legolas liked the fact that his parents had taken risks. They believed in each other, loved each other so much that nothing else mattered. But was there still animosity, even now that she was dead? And would those regrets affect Legolas, her son, half-son of Lothlórien?
Caras Galadhon was located on a hill surrounded by a deep moat and a wall that looked like very tall hedges, but what could have been solid. It was difficult to tell, and Legolas thought that it might have been made to look deceptive in that way. There was a bridge that led to a gate, the only way into the city, and that was where the sentry led Legolas. Guards were stationed everywhere. It was the most protected city he had ever seen. He knew he’d been watched since first entering the realm. No enemy could reach Caras Galadhon without first being detected by guards. They were everywhere, in the trees, atop the wall, outside the gate, inside the gate, and they all watched Legolas with suspicion.
The vision of the city, once inside, was that of pure enchantment. These trees were unlike anything Legolas had ever seen. They were so tall, he could hardly see the canopy. In fact, there seemed to be no canopy at all, rather stars twinkling in a clear night sky. They weren’t stars though. They were lanterns flickering, lighting houses and stairways. There were no buildings on the ground. Everything was built high up … a city in the trees. White rope ladders extended to the ground, the only way up. From there they led to platforms, and then to stairs that wound around the circumference of the trees. Flets surrounded the bole of the trees, round houses with roofs and windows. These individual buildings were all joined by suspended walkways so the elves seldom went to the forest floor.
Legolas’ heart beat rapidly at the sight, as if he was always meant to be here. He couldn’t help himself, and stopped following his escort, just to take it all in, mesmerized by the grandness of the city. He tore himself away from the awe of the place, and saw the sentry had stopped to allow Legolas a moment to appreciate the beauty of his home. The guard’s harsh face seemed to soften just a bit, pride for his city shining in his blue eyes as if to say, you’ll not find a more wondrous place in all of Middle-earth.
“Is this him?” someone said, and Legolas turned around to find a new sentry, one who looked very similar to the one who brought him here.
“Yes, Brother. Rúmil and I caught him at the river, preparing to come across on one of the boats.”
Brother, Legolas thought to himself. That explained the resemblance, the same forehead and slanted cat’s eyes. Then he wondered how this new guard knew about him already. The other elf, the one they called Rúmil, stayed behind, and Legolas hadn’t seen them use any kind of messenger bird.
“A boat?” asked the new guard, agitated. “Why was there a boat out in plain sight?”
“We had brought it out to use, but when we heard the stranger approaching, we hadn’t time any time, and left it by the shore,” answered the brother.
Legolas thought this new sentry was being rather strict with his sibling, treating him as if he were just another soldier and not blood related. Théodred had never spoken so harshly towards him, and Legolas was not even related, but considered a brother. It seemed there was no room for mistakes of any kind here in Lothlórien.
“Use more caution in the future, Orophin,” the elf said to his brother.
Orophin nodded and bowed respectfully. When he stood straight again, he conferred with his brother, “Shall I take him to the main house?”
Orophin’s brother looked Legolas over carefully before he spoke, “I will take him there personally. They will be anxious to speak to him.”
Who were ‘they’ and why were they anxious? Legolas thought. “Do you speak of the lord and lady of the woods?”
Those blue cat eyes slanted dangerously. Legolas did not receive an answer, but rather an introduction, “My name is Haldir, March warden of Lothlórien, and Captain of the Northern Army. You’ve met my brothers, Orophin and Rúmil.” Haldir circled around Legolas, coming to a stop in front of the Mirkwood elf, “Very dangerous of you to enter the Golden Woods without invitation. Most are shot on sight who break through our borders.”
Legolas did not like this elf’s condescending attitude, tossing it right back to his captor, “Nice of you to let me live then.” He gave Haldir a half smirking smile.
“For now, anyways,” Haldir answered, and he returned the patronizing grin.
Legolas should have felt threatened or angry at his treatment, but he somehow knew the two strong-headed elves understood each other. And this ease of attitude that encompassed Legolas, which was very unnatural behavior for him, seemed to blossom quickly beneath the canopy of the mallorn trees. He could feel his kinship with these elves, and was reminded of the longing he felt as an elfling having spotted the Lórien guards on the dock. Now he knew why. He was partly related to these tree-dwelling elves.
“As for the Lord and Lady,” Haldir continued, “They have been expecting you. I will take you to them now.”
“Thank you,” Legolas answered courteously, and he followed Haldir to one of the many rope ladders. Once in the trees, they walked deeper into the grand forest, following pathways and spiraling staircases. Like his brother, Orophin, Haldir was silent as they went, but Legolas was curious about one thing.
“How did you know I was here?”
“Pardon?” Haldir said, interrupted from his thoughts.
“Before you spoke to your brother, you asked if I was him. How did you know Orophin was bringing me to the city?” asked Legolas.
Haldir stopped walking and waited for Legolas to come up beside him. His countenance turned serious as he eyed Legolas, “You’ve heard of the magic of the Lórien elves, I suppose, and of the Lady Galadriel’s all-knowing powers?”
Actually, Legolas had heard of these things through the tales of the Rohirrim, who feared Galadriel and her sorcery, but he knew better than to believe it as fact. Could he have been wrong? The look of confusion on his face must have given him away, and Haldir laughed as he shook his head slowly back and forth, “Well, it wasn’t that. Have you forgotten about the elleth you helped in Fangorn?”
Now Legolas felt foolish for being dragged into Haldir’s twisted humor. Of course, it had been Calariel who told the Lórien elves about him. She had left the message in the sand to come here. They knew he would come and were expecting him. But his embarrassment quickly subsided at the mention of the elleth, “Calariel, do you know her? Is she alright?”
“I do know her,” Haldir admitted, “I know her father better. He was my captain when I first joined the army. Retired captain now, of course, but still very much involved. It was only natural that his only child would follow in his footsteps. Túrdir is grateful to you for helping his daughter, and she has not stopped talking about you.”
“Talking?” Legolas asked anxiously, “So her voice returned?”
Haldir knitted his brows together, “I hadn’t known that it escaped her.”
Legolas remembered finding her, dazed and confused by the poison coursing through her veins, “She was bad off when I came upon her, and though she recovered, her voice never returned, paralyzed from the poison. I was afraid I’d been too late with treatment, and that the loss of her voice was permanent.” He looked left and then right, as though searching for her, “Is she here within the city? I would very much like to see her again … to see for myself that she is alright.”
“All in due time, but first, you must meet with Lady Galadriel. All visitors to our woods must hold counsel with her first before they can roam the city unescorted,” Haldir informed him. Then they continued up another staircase that took them to the highest house in the trees, the biggest one that glimmered silver against the darkness of the forest.
The top of the staircase emptied onto a large platform, more like a veranda, Legolas thought. Across from where he stood were steps that led into what he presumed was the main hall of their home. It was difficult to tell, as the doorway glowed, a brilliant silver light flooding the platform where he stood. Legolas noticed that Haldir stepped to the side, leaving him standing alone as he waited for his hosts.
The light beam was interrupted by two silhouettes, both of the same height, taller than Legolas himself, and both wearing long full length robes. They came forward until the features of their faces were no longer veiled. The Lord and Lady of Lothlórien emerged from the doorway and floated effortlessly down the steps. Celeborn held his hand out to her, and Galadriel’s long slender fingers wrapped gently around his. Celeborn’s eyes were fixed on Legolas, and he felt suddenly very miniscule in the lord’s presence. Galadriel glanced at her husband, a faint smile upon her lips. Then she turned her attention to Legolas. The smile faded from her lips, but her eyes were still warm and welcoming.
“Legolas, we have been expecting you for some time. We are very glad you decided to come to Lothlórien, but your reason for being here is strange to us. You have come on behalf of Rohan?” Lady Galadriel said, her voice smooth and motherly.
“I … I was not sure who to speak with,” Legolas stammered, feeling nervous all of a sudden. These were two of the longest lived Eldar residing in Middle-earth. The Lady Galadriel had come across the icy wastelands from Valinor. Perhaps only Gandalf came close to her in age, but he seemed more humbled and connected to the inhabitants of Middle-earth. Galadriel seemed like a queen, unreachable. And Celeborn’s unending stare was making Legolas feel uneasy. He glanced quickly at the Lord of Lothlórien, averting his eyes just as soon as they reached the noble face. Legolas found his voice and continued, “Yes, my lady, I come to you as … as a representative of Rohan. We … uh, they have fallen upon desperate times. Théoden’s people travel to Helm’s Deep seeking safety as war seems inevitable. You see, it all started when—”
“There is no need to inform us,” Galadriel interrupted, her kind smile returning. “I have seen them, and I know their story. Mithrandir disagrees with King Théoden’s decision, but he should not. It is a wise choice to go to their stronghold.”
“Our … their numbers are low. A large portion of the army rides to the north. Gandalf has gone looking for them, but I fear he may be too late. So I have taken it upon myself to come to Lothlórien, and ask the Lord and Lady for their help, for reinforcement from the elves.”
Galadriel let go of her husband’s hand and came forward. She stood only a foot away from Legolas, reached out and softly touched his cheek. She cocked her head to the side questioningly, “Why do you keep correcting yourself? We instead of they, and our instead of their. You consider yourself one of them, do you not?”
Yes, he had, but now, in the presence of these noble elves, he thought it seemed wrong to claim a human realm as his own, especially when said humans considered Lothlórien to be occupied by deceiving magic. “Rohan has been my home for longer than anywhere else that I’ve lived. They accept me as one of them.”
“Then you should not deny your connection with the Rohirrim,” she corrected him.
“I’m sorry, my lady, it’s only—” Legolas cut his words short as he noticed Celeborn taking slow unsure steps towards him.
Galadriel noticed this and held her hand out to her husband, “Celeborn.”
“I … I am baffled, my love. He looks so much like … her,” Celeborn said with wonder.
‘Her’, Legolas thought. That could only mean one thing. He swallowed hard and gave Celeborn his full attention, “You speak of my mother, don’t you? Did you know her? Do you remember her?”
“Of course I remember her,” Celeborn answered. He moved closer and looked deep into Legolas’ blue eyes, “You do not know then. Has no one told you?”
“Told me what?” Legolas responded, suddenly feeling like he needed some distance between himself and these high elves.
Celeborn looked at his wife, and she gave a single nod for him to continue, “Your mother, Almárëa, she was my sister. And that means you, Laiqalassë, are of my blood, my sister’s son, my nephew.”
* * *
Legolas was still in complete shock as he followed Haldir down the spiraling staircase, further away from Galadriel’s home, further away from the man who claimed to be family. How was it possible that no one had bothered to tell him these important facts about his identity? Elhadron had plenty of opportunity to tell him who he was, but for reasons of protection, chose not to disclose any information. That was understandable, Legolas said to himself, and maybe if he had lived, he might have gotten around to mentioning that he was a prince. Gandalf had known his parents and had surely known of his relationship to Celeborn, yet the wizard never made any mention of it.
The questions swirled endlessly in his head. Why hadn’t he been told? Why had Elhadron dissuaded him from ever going to Lothlórien, when he must have known there was family there? And all these years, Legolas had been driven from one human realm to the other, thinking that there was no one left to claim as family, the last of them having perished in Mirkwood. There were so many things he needed to ask Galadriel and Celeborn, but the shock of the information that Celeborn was his uncle had stifled his words.
Galadriel concluded the visit by telling Haldir to show Legolas to his guest quarters where he undoubtedly needed rest. She also needed time to think about his request to aid the Rohirrim at Helm’s Deep. Legolas did not have much time though. He needed to get back to Théoden and Eomer, to the stronghold, to something solid and familiar. He suddenly felt very uneasy in Lothlórien, partially unwelcomed, partly unwanted. He was the son of the woman who ran off with the Elven King of Mirkwood, who had married him against her family’s wishes, who was slain by orcs and the blame of her death laid upon Thranduil’s shoulders. Legolas would have been on his way by now, if it weren’t for his request for aid. He was sure Galadriel could have given him an answer right there, but she had chosen to wait. Why was that? Was she hoping he and Celeborn would spend some quality time getting to know each other? There was no time for this now. War was coming. The enemy would be knocking on the gates of the Hornburg soon. He would not abandon his friends, his adopted family, not like Celeborn did to his father and Mirkwood.
He had half a mind to march back up those stairs and demand an answer from Galadriel, but something told him if he did that, he might never get the help he sought. It was not for himself that he asked this of Lothlórien, but for Rohan and those who gave him a home and a second chance.
Haldir and Legolas finally reached the guest talans, a group of simply made houses, all clustered together around the same tree with walkways connecting them to one another. The other houses seemed unoccupied, and Legolas thought they didn’t see many guests here in this overly protected place.
Haldir opened the door and led the way into the small room. The layout was pretty self-explanatory … no need to be shown around. There was a bed, a side table, a writing desk, and a stand that held a pitcher and basin for washing.
“Bathing rooms are down the pathway to the left. The dining hall is one flight down. Once you reach the flet, turn right and stay on the bridges until you reach a large building that surrounds the tree. It’s the biggest building on that level. Hot meals are served regularly, but there is always fruit and bread available for between meals. I will come for you again, when the Lady Galadriel requests your presence. In the meantime, you are free to walk around the city.”
“Thank you, Haldir,” Legolas said, feeling a kinship with the March warden.
As he reached the doorway, Haldir turned back, seeming uneasy to speak, but there was obviously something on his mind. “I … met Thranduil once a long time ago. He was very kind to me, not at all what I expected.”
“And just what did you expect?” Legolas asked. He wanted to know what the elves of Lothlórien had been told about his father.
“Well, as you know, he was not always a welcomed guest here. And at the time, he was seeking help to defend his wooded home. Aid was declined, and Thranduil was not happy about it. It’s said that he marched out of the meeting with his head held high, claiming that he’d misjudged Lórien and its rulers. Celeborn called him reckless, too quick to act, which was a dangerous trait. But when I met Thranduil, it was later, after he’d held counsel with the Lord and Lady. He was standing on one of the connecting bridges, hands grasping the rope railing, and looking down through the trees. To me he looked vulnerable, like a man out of options. I did not see the tyrant king as described in stories. He was just an average elf, no different than me, trying to find a way to save his home and his people. But he was still very passionate, and I saw that when I spoke to him. I offered my condolences for his wife, your mother, and told him I disagreed with Lord Celeborn’s decision not to become involved. I guess I expected him to look worn, in need of my sympathy, but it was Thranduil who took sympathy upon me. He said he wished I knew what it was like to live life looking forward seeking hope, not looking backwards and seeing only regret. I never quite understood that until now. You are just like him, looking forward.”
Legolas was shocked by Haldir’s admission, and at the same time, proud of his father’s response. “I’ve never had anything to look back at,” Legolas said, “So I suppose I’ve had no other option than to look forward.”
Haldir huffed a quiet laugh, “Neither did your father.” He stepped through the doorway, and then added, “Not after he met your mother.” With that, Haldir left Legolas alone in his guest talan.
* * *
It had only been a few hours, but Legolas hadn’t any patience for waiting. He decided to make his way down a level to where the dining hall was, not to eat, but to see if he could find Haldir again. He figured the March warden was his best chance of escorting him back to the Lord and Lady where he would request another counsel. Waiting for Galadriel to give him an answer was making him too anxious. All Legolas could think about was Eomer and Théoden leading the people of Rohan to Helm’s Deep. He took a bit of comfort in knowing that Aragorn and Gimli accompanied them. Aragorn was an excellent scout, and Gimli was terrifying with his ax, but Legolas couldn’t help feeling guilty for not being there with them. Hopefully, they had arrived at the stronghold by now, safe and unharmed.
Time to get a yes or no answer from Galadriel and Celeborn. They would send elvish troops or not, either way, Legolas wanted to be on his way. And there was something unnerving about Celeborn, the way he studied Legolas with a sharp eye, the unwelcoming way he introduced himself as his uncle, and all of the unanswered questions. Legolas was an ill omen, a reminder of a time that Celeborn must have wanted to forget. There was more to the story of his parents than he had been told, and Legolas’ presence was opening up old wounds.
He made his way down the winding staircase to the platform below, but now he couldn’t remember which way Haldir had told him to go. There were four pathways leading from this area. Was it left or right, and did it depend on if he was facing the stairs or away from them. He turned this way and that, and then chose to go left. Besides, Haldir said it was the largest building on this level, so how could he miss it?
And miss it he did. Legolas followed the pathways and crossed a hand full of suspended bridges, each one with paths branching off in different directions. How were they able to navigate all of these walkways? He ended up in what seemed to be a residential area of the tree city, with houses dotted here and there, anchored to the trees that they were built in. None of the buildings he saw were as big as Haldir described. “Right,” he mumbled to himself, “should have gone right.”
“Legolas?” said a womanly voice that he did not recognize. He’d only spoken to one female, and that had been Galadriel. This was not her, but when he turned to see who it was, he instantly felt relief.
“Calariel!” he called to her. She looked much more vibrant than the last time he’d seen her. The natural glow of the elves and her smile reassured him that she had made a full recovery. Instead of the soldier’s garb, she wore a full length gown, simple but elegant in mauve with silver trim. Her brown hair hung loose, framing her pretty face.
“I’d heard that you arrived, but I was preoccupied,” she said as she embraced Legolas, taking him by surprise. He had known her for only a short time, in which she was unconscious for part of it.
Legolas smiled, “Say that again.”
“What?” she said confused.
Legolas laughed, “Your voice, it has healed.” It sounded much more pleasant now than when he first met her. Delusional from a poisonous wound, she thought he was a Southron, and had called him all sorts of foul names.
“Oh,” she smiled and blushed, “Yes, good as new, you might say.” Calariel looked around, expecting to see someone with him, “What are you doing in this area? The guest quarters are up and over that way,” she said pointing.
“I was trying to find the dining hall. Actually, I was hoping to find Haldir there, but I guess I got lost,” he answered.
“That is an easy thing to do when you are not familiar with the layout. Shall I take you there?”
“If I’m not interrupting anything.” Legolas was more than happy to have Calariel’s company.
“I’d be happy to,” she answered with an infectious smile.
They walked a little way before either one spoke. Then Calariel broke the silence, “If you don’t mind me asking, why do you seek Haldir?”
“I was hoping for another audience with Lady Galadriel, and I thought, since Haldir took me there originally, he might lead me back,” Legolas answered.
“Oh, so you’ve met already,” she said.
Legolas told her about his plans to ask for aid, and Galadriel’s hesitation, but he made no mention of Celeborn or his mother. Still, it had been Calariel who wrote his Quenya name in the sand and told him to come to Lothlórien. She would not have done that if she hadn’t already known who he was. He decided now was not the time. The shock of finding out that Celeborn was family hadn’t completely sunk in yet. Better to absorb bits instead of the whole thing.
They eventually made their way to the dining hall. The dinner crowd had already dispersed, but there were a few stragglers around, none of which were Haldir. Calariel talked Legolas into having something to eat. He agreed, although he was not really hungry. His mind was too set on leaving. He felt guilty for being here, eating and resting, while the Rohirrim and his friends were preparing for war. Their rations would be small, saved for the women, children, elderly and sick. The men would sustain themselves by preparing for the coming battle. They would feast afterwards, if there was any reason to feast.
Legolas was edgy, wishing to get away, and Calariel noticed, “What is wrong, Legolas?”
He shook his head, “I should not be here. Galadriel is taking too long with her decision. I don’t understand why she could not give me an answer right away. There’s no time for this unhurried attitude.”
“I’m sure Lady Galadriel knows the anxiousness of the situation. She has probably gone to consult her mirror,” Calariel informed. “Anything that has to do with the concerns of those outside of Lórien must be carefully considered.”
“Her mirror?” Legolas asked.
“Have you not heard of it?”
“I’ve read about it. It shows the past, present and future,” Legolas said.
“It is more than that,” Calariel whispered as she leaned forward. “Galadriel’s mirror shows outcomes of different decisions made from the past and present. It is said that anything shown in the mirror must be taken into careful consideration. If one wishes too strongly, it will only show you want you want to see, giving a false vision. And not everything that the mirror shows will happen. It depends on the path that the asker takes.”
“So, Galadriel is looking to see what will happen if Lothlórien intervenes with Rohan?” Legolas asked, curious about this mirror.
“She would never risk her people or her realm. They are her first priority.”
Legolas wondered if she looked into her mirror when his father came and asked for help. What had she seen then that she decided to leave Mirkwood to its own, which eventually led to its destruction? “Seems like a useless device, if you ask me. When someone is in trouble and asks for assistance, the only thing that should matter is helping those in need.” He waited for Calariel to counter his thoughts, but she said nothing. “Do you disagree with Galadriel’s way of making decisions?”
“No … well … I don’t know … it’s … it’s difficult,” she stammered.
Legolas was taken aback by her response, “So you are saying that if the decision was yours, you would not seek advice first, but act from your heart.”
She seemed nervous to discuss this, as if it were forbidden to question the Lord and Lady or their methods. Since they were on the difficult subject, Legolas decided to ask her, “How did you know my name, my true name, and who I was?”
Calariel’s mouth moved like a fish gasping for air as she tried to find the right words. In the end, she smiled, half composing herself, “It is a long story, and you are in a hurry. You said there is no time to waste.”
“If it has to do with myself or my family, I have time. So tell me, Calariel, how did you recognize me, and why did you ask me to come, when it seems obvious that my presence makes some people very nervous,” said Legolas, pushing for more information.
“What do you mean?” she asked, but her voice was shaky, and Legolas got a sense that she already knew who he spoke of.
“I know I am a Prince. I know that Thranduil was my father, and I have recently been informed that my mother was Lord Celeborn’s sister. So you see, nothing you can say will shock me. I’ve learned so much in such a short period of time that I think I’ve grown numb. You seem to hold another piece of the puzzle, so tell me how you know me when we have never met.”
Calariel knew there was no excuse she could make to get herself out of this discussion. She had known it since she decided to write his name in the sand. The likeness was too great for it not to be him. She had written in Quenya, and if he recognized it, he would come. And here he was.
“You are right, of course, it does have to do with your family … your mother, to be more precise. I did not know her, but my father did,” she said, getting her thoughts together.
“Your father?” Legolas asked confused. Haldir had mentioned knowing Calariel’s father.
Calariel nodded, but she kept her head down, “She … she was to marry him.”
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The Last Wood Elf