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Greenleaf&Imladris 20-Calenlass: Heart of a Prince	By : MPB Category: -Multi-Age > General Views: 4275 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Lord of the Rings (and associated) book series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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Chapter IV: Overture

Eryn Gael, Ithilien

Elrohir looked up at the stars with delight. Perhaps it was just his imagination, but they seemed so much clearer out here in the wilds than in the enclosed streets of Minas Tirith. Or was it because he was in a place he much desired that the stars seemed so much brighter?

He was standing in the great clearing before Legolas’ halls. Though dressed quite simply in a silvery shirt, long pale breeches and soft boots, he still cut a striking figure especially with his raven hair pulled back into a single thick plait.

He glanced back at the brightly lit porch of the prince’s house, wondering when Eldarion would awaken.

Legolas’ home was a two-story dwelling that partially embraced the wizened trunk of an oak tree. Like all the other homes in the colony, it had been designed for comfort and functionality. There was nary a trace of ostentation or conceit in its simple lines. Yet it possessed a loveliness that was enchanting and abounded in charm and grace.

The same could be said for virtually every house in the colony. But even more fascinating to mortal eyes was the way the Elves’ dwellings seemed to glimmer in the dark amongst the trees. It was how the Elves themselves were perceived by the few Men who passed through this neck of the woods. Hence the name of the colony, Eryn Gael, or Glimmering Wood.

Elrohir looked around him once more in delight. It was a number of months since he’d last resided in a structure of wholly elven make. Minas Tirith’s buildings were beautiful and ancient but they lacked the affinity with nature that the Firstborn sought in all their endeavors. To be at one with trees and flora, one had to leave the city and travel to the nearby forests. And while Anduin was close by, the looming ruins of Osgiliath and the somewhat depressing atmosphere the fallen city imparted was enough to discourage lengthy visits to the river.

Aragorn had begun the reclamation of the former capital but it would take many years before it was even partly habitable again. And so it continued to lie near empty in the distance, a constant reminder of how close the Men of the West had come to oblivion.

Elrohir set aside such melancholic thoughts and returned his attention to the beauty and serenity around him. Truly, it was wonderful to be amongst his kindred once again.

He heard the faint patter of footsteps behind him. Turning around, he smiled fondly at his yawning nephew as the young man emerged from Legolas’ house.

“It seems I have slept the day away, Uncle,” the boy remarked drowsily.

“You needed the rest,” the Elf-warrior replied. He considered his nephew’s state ruefully.

Aragorn was right, of course. The Elves had stopped only to take quick meals or short rests. He knew they had done this for the sake of the Men among them and that had they not been present might have pressed on without stopping at all. Certainly, the march to Pelargir would have been much swifter had Edhil comprised the entire force from Ithilien. As it was, if the Men had not been mounted, Elrohir doubted that they could have kept up with the pace the Elves had set.

They’d reached Eryn Gael the evening before in much less time than was normally needed to cover the distance from Pelargir. Such hardy riding in the wake of his first great battle had worn Eldarion out. He had been badly in need of rest when they arrived on the doorstep of Legolas’ gracious home.

Hardly had Legolas shown him his room when he’d yanked off his tunic and toppled exhaustedly into bed. He’d fallen asleep within seconds. When he awakened in the morning, he’d been a mass of aching muscles and stiff limbs. Taking pity on him, Elrohir had dunked him in a steaming bath fragrant with healing herbs, undeterred by the young man’s half-hearted protests.

Today, Elrohir had kept company with his nephew, helping him familiarize himself once more with the colony. It was many years since Eldarion had last visited and he had been but a child. Elrohir brought him around, introduced him to various residents and showed him the ways of the Edhil that the boy could not possibly witness within the stone walls of Minas Tirith. In this manner did the Elf-lord teach his sister’s son more about his elven heritage.

And then the young man took yet another long nap. Elrohir remained with him, eventually dozing off himself.

Legolas had been busy elsewhere and they’d barely spoken to each other the whole day. He wondered if it was deliberate. He smiled grimly to himself. It would not avail his friend anything.

One thing he noted this evening. The clearing was devoid of folk. But he could hear the sounds of laughter and song in the distance. He wondered what was happening.

“Do you hear that, Uncle?” Eldarion queried. “And where is everybody?”

On the point of admitting that he did not know either, Elrohir saw one of the men-at-arms approaching them. The man bowed his head in deference to his prince and the Elvenlord.

“My lords, our hosts are holding a feast yonder,” he said, gesturing with his head in the direction from whence they had heard the sounds of merriment. “Prince Legolas bade me to tell you as soon as you awakened. They desire your presence.”

They walked across the clearing, past the dwellings and down a gentle slope on the far side of the colony toward a great meadow a fair distance away.

Across the long stretch of verdant space, Elrohir espied the light of a great bonfire and folk gathered around it in a wide circle. Elves moved to and fro bearing food and drink and others played instruments, thus bringing forth sweet music. The soldiers of Gondor were gathered to one side of the circle, somewhat diffident around their fair hosts but obviously enjoying themselves nonetheless.

Elf-lord and royal nephew were still some distance from the bonfire when another tune was struck up. Elrohir saw Elves in the middle of the circle, standing around the fire. They began to dance. He noted the swirl of delicate fabric and the flash of twin knives.

I know that dance, he realized. He hastened his steps, pulling a curious Eldarion along.

When they reached the edge of the circle the men greeted them and opened up their ranks for them. After acknowledging their greetings, Elrohir turned his attention to the center of the circle.

There were three pairs of dancers. The ellith, or Elf-maids, graceful as does, held swaths of silken cloth in their hands, waving them as they moved. The ellyn, or male Elves, no less graceful but with the more disciplined motion of warriors, had sheathed their knives only to draw them out once more with quicksilver speed, twirling them in their hands to the beat of the music.

One in particular moved with such lithe yet precise motion that he commanded much attention. Elrohir’s eyes narrowed with decidedly greater interest. It was Legolas.

The Elf-lord stared at the Elven prince with open admiration. It was many years since he had seen his friend dance. Even more years since Legolas taught him the steps of this particular dance.

He and Elladan had visited Greenwood at a time of festival. He’d found the Silvan folk dances intriguing and persuaded Legolas to teach him the one that was being performed at present.

He glanced at his nephew and smiled at the other’s wide-eyed stare and gaping mouth. Eldarion was patently enthralled by Legolas’ performance. The archer stood out among the male dancers not only because of his comeliness but also because of the apparent effortlessness of his movements. Even amongst the men, Elrohir heard whispered comments to this end.

He watched the rhythmic rise and fall of cloth and blades, the sinuous movements of slender limbs. And all the while, his eyes kept wandering back to Legolas.

As simply garbed as the younger twin, the archer was clad in a gleaming shirt of palest green over a pair of muted grey breeches and light boots. Shorn of the more rugged garments in which he was most oft seen when he was abroad, he looked more like an ethereal being than a fearsome warrior of note.

Elrohir stared at the prince, willing him to look his way, daring him to meet his eyes. As if responding to his thoughts, Legolas lifted his head and their gazes collided across the top of the bonfire for one brief moment. Elrohir sucked in his breath.

In that moment he beheld a vision of incomparable beauty. Golden light almost formed a halo around shining hair, danced on smooth pale skin and shone from crystalline eyes. He remembered once more what had drawn him so inexorably to his friend those many years ago and vowed that the night would not pass without incident.

The music quickened, became martial in nature. The male dancers turned to face the fire, knives in lowered hands.

One elleth danced alone for a spell before whirling gracefully out of the circle whereupon an ellon entered it and approached one of the warrior dancers. Just as he neared, the latter spun around and they locked knives in a series of thrilling movements. Elrohir remembered the sequence with singular clarity. He glanced at Legolas, knew he would be the last to gain a new partner.

He did not know which Elf had been designated for the part nor did he care. He suddenly demanded the sheathed knives of two startled men-at-arms and swiftly strapped on the weapons.

With perfect timing, he stepped into the circle just behind the archer, forestalling the Elf who was to have joined Legolas. There was a murmur of amazement and curious anticipation. As Legolas turned, Elrohir drew out his knives smoothly and, in the same graceful flurry of motion, crossed blades with the prince.

Legolas stared at him in surprise but, true to his training and skill, did not falter. The blue eyes flashed challengingly. The twin took up the challenge. Suddenly, it was if they were back in Greenwood, teacher and student going through the motions over and over again until they could do it together unthinkingly and flawlessly.

It was not common to see two Elven princes, one Eldarin, the other Sindarin, dance together; even rarer to see them move with such perfect synchrony in a dance that was seldom performed outside the boundaries of the Woodland Realm.

The other performers soon stopped to watch them and Elves and Men alike were reduced to silent astonishment and wonder, enchanted as if by a spell, as the two thrust, parried and locked knives, with never a step or motion out of place or beat. Eldarion’s eyes were now as wide as saucers and his jaw looked likely to hit the ground.

There was a reason behind the dance. It did not celebrate conflict but rather served as a reminder that there were no guarantees in war. When foes were of even strength there was no knowing who would win or lose. Therefore, it was also an admonition to the warmongers, a warning that more could be lost than gained when violence was used as a means to an end.

In a final series of movements, their knives crossed once more and their eyes met across the locked blades. A symbolic draw between two opponents of equal stature and skill.

As the music came to an end, they drew apart, simultaneously sheathing their weapons on the last note. To the sounds of applause and praise they bowed their heads to each other, right hands going to their breasts in a gesture of deference to the other.

Lifting his head, Elrohir caught Legolas’ eyes. For the space of a heartbeat something flickered between them. Then with a brief nod, Legolas moved away.

Elrohir walked back to his nephew and the men-at-arms. They were loud in their praise, proud of their lord’s performance. Eldarion was particularly exhilarated and peppered his uncle with questions about the dance and how he had come to know it so well.

The woodland folk plied the Elf-lord and his nephew with food and drink. Elrohir graciously accepted the offerings and stayed for a while with Eldarion and his men, occasionally fielding inquiries from the other Elves. And, to Eldarion’s amusement, skillfully fending off the inevitable flirtation or enticement by maids and other warriors alike. But after a reasonable period of time, he finally left the young prince’s side to join Legolas.

The Elven prince had retreated outside the circle and moved towards the first line of trees at the edge of the open space. He was seated with some friends on the trunk of a fallen oak in the semi-darkness beyond the reach of the bonfire. When the other Elves saw Elrohir approach, however, they respectfully gave way to him and returned to the circle. Legolas watched him with shadowed eyes.

“I did not think you would remember the steps,” he said when the sable-haired Elf settled beside him. “You did very well.”

“If I did well ‘tis because I had an excellent teacher,” Elrohir replied.

Legolas smiled briefly. “We were barely into our third century when I taught you this dance,” he commented. “It seemed strange to perform it with you after all this time.”

“Were you displeased?”

“Nay, why should I be displeased?”

“What did you feel then?”

Legolas looked at him, uncertainty clouding his eyes. “I do not know,” he murmured. “But I do not think we shall do this again.”

“Why not? We moved well together. We have always fought well together.” Elrohir chuckled softly. “And I have not forgotten how well we do other things together.”

Legolas did not miss the slight emphasis on that telling phrase. He suddenly rose to his feet.

“That is what I fear,” he said under his breath. He turned to go but stopped when he heard the Elf-knight speak.

“Where will you run?” Elrohir softly said, knowing the other’s keen ears would hear him. He heard the prince catch his breath. Rising to his feet, he faced Legolas. “Where will you hide?” he challenged with frightening gentleness. “There is no place in Middle-earth where you can conceal yourself from this, Calenlass nîn.”—my Greenleaf.

He reached out and placed his clenched fist against the other’s chest over his heart.

Legolas pulled away with a start. Drawing a deep breath, he turned and hurriedly walked away. Elrohir watched him go, eyes glittering in the dark, a curious half-smile on his lips.

**************************

Glossary:

Edhil - Elves (sing. Edhel)

elleth – Elf-maid

ellon – male Elf

To be continued…
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- 6
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Greenleaf&Imladris 20-Calenlass: Heart of a Prince