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The Protege IV: Lord of the Forests	By : alpham31 Category: +Third Age > AU - Alternate Universe Views: 2098 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings is the sole creation of JRR Tolkien. The characters in this story are, therefore, not mine, with the exception of OCs. I make no money with my writing, it is purely for pleasure.

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Erestor was exhausted. He had truly had enough. In all his long years as an administrator, he had never found himself in such a situation. His mind was reeling out of control, his hand hurt from so much writing, his eyes blurred from too much reading – he had to stop.

The last week had been a frantic. He had almost literally split himself in two. His mornings had been taken up with meetings with the Lorien and Greenwood diplomats, surprisingly with Llyniel at the fore. He had not known on that night of Carnal Delight, that he was sharing himself with the Greenwood’s chief diplomat, in the absence of the King of Greenwood’s head advisor, who had stayed with his king. She had proved a worthy opponent, and drove a hard bargain. He respected her tenacity, her acumen and rhetoric, her capacity to synthesize and garner sympathy. She was good - very good, and had led her people to a more than advantageous pact on military alliance. They had then discussed all manner of issues, such as warrior exchanges, healer apprenticeships, taxation, import and export of goods, even a yearly international fair that would be hosted alternately by Imladris, Lorien and Greenwood. Many pacts and agreements had been drawn up, with but a few loose ends that would be discussed after the imminent ceremony.

Rubbing his forehead, he despaired at what was yet to come.

And thus Glorfindel found him sitting behind his overloaded table, smiling as he searched his friend’s eyes.

“Ai Glorfindel, tell me you have come to kidnap me!”

But before he could answer, a knock at the door revealed one of Erestor’s scribes carrying four rolled up parchments which had been delivered but a few moments before.

Taking them, he unraveled the first, dismissing his harried scribe.

“Lorien are bringing Arwen,” he mumbled, “she had already left when this message was sent of course. That means she will be here within a few days.”

“What was that”, asked Glorfindel, unsure of whether Erestor meant to speak to him or not.

“Arwen, she’s on her way”, he said, without lifting his eyes from the scrolls.

“That is good”, said Glorfindel, honestly pleased she would be with her family for the event. Although he did not know what Legolas would do to prove his status, he did remember that it was to be a gift to the family.

Unraveling the second, Erestor resumed his mumbling – this one was from Cirdan, who would send his chief advisor, arguing that he could not leave his realm at this point, although Erestor deduced the real reason was because he gave scant credence to the proclamation – Legolas was going to have his hands full if he was to convince him, he knew. The third scroll was from Gildor, who would be arriving with a band of his wandering elves – he had happened to be but a few days ride away, and given their proximity, he had decided to accept the invitation – again, Erestor read between the lines – here was another skeptic. It was impossible to know when the messages had been sent, but most had been delivered by elves, which meant that the guests would not be far behind.

The last scroll Erestor recognized, for it was written on the same, strangely-coloured paper that had confirmed the Crown Prince of the Greenwood’s attendance at the Spring Festival - this one was from the Greenwood, he knew.

It was short, saying only that Lord Aradan, the king’s head advisor would be attending, together with the royal artist, and Mentathiel…

“I assume that this Aradan will bring further tidings from the king to his son”, said Glorfindel.

“Aye, it was obvious that Thranduil himself would not come. In Legolas’ absence, he will be commanding the Greenwood’s forces. Now Glorfindel, you must excuse me, for I should take this information to Elrond”.

“One more thing, Erestor. I think perhaps that Elrond should speak to the people, for they are disconcerted at the events, and have no information other than the chit-chat going on around them, yet our guests will be arriving in but a few days time.”

“I will discuss it with him, of course. I will see you later, then”, and with that he was out of the door in a swirl of dark cloth, not waiting for an answer.

Glorfindel was disappointed that he had not been able to spend more time with his friend, for he honestly did not know what to do with himself, everyone was busy, each with their own duty, yet Glorfindel had nothing to do but sit and wait, It had been a scant several days, and he was already losing his cool. At least he would be doing something constructive once the dignitaries began to arrive, for he would be escorting them into the valley and seeing to their security – it would be good to see Gildor again, it had been a long time.

…………………………………………………………………………….

Lunch brought everyone back together, and conversation was ripe. Erestor was deep in discussion with Llyn and Galadriel, while Amanthor and Lindir discussed their parchments of music as they ate, pointing to this or that note, scribbling or crossing out a phrase, ooing and aring at the resulting music only they could hear.

“…in two days hence, we have Arwen. She is accompanied by one of Haldir’s elite escorts, due around lunch time. For the following morning, the party from Mithlond arrives with a company of civilians and a unit of warriors, and Gildor and his band around the same time. And then from dusk onwards, we expect the Greenwood’s envoys. Amongst them are Aradan, the chief advisor, the royal artist, and Mentathiel, the Avarin Spirit Singer…”

“The what?” asked Elrond, tuning in to the conversation off to his left, furrowing his brow as he looked to Erestor for an explanation.

Erestor stared back, “I have no idea what it is”, turning then to Lindir, who simply shook his head, for he was stumped at the question. However, Amanthor would know, surely…

This elf was smiling wickedly at the lords, a glint in his eye and a hint of awe in his expression. “You will soon find out”, he said, sharing a look of complicity with the prince, who simply smiled enigmatically.

…………………………………………………………………………

That evening, a decree went out across the entire valley. It had been posted on every available door, wall, commercial building, and read aloud in every square and corner. Imladris was to host a banquet in honor of a newly-appointed lord, the Lord of the Forests, Legolas. This was no surprise to the sylvans of the Greenwood, but those of Lorien and the Noldor were surprised, and somewhat skeptical, truth be told, for a sylvan had been named lord of the forests, a king some had deduced, and old prejudices died hard, as Melven had once discovered.

Yet Legolas had made many friends during his short visit to the valley, many of them honored and respected him as a warrior and as the savior of their young ones. There would be no significant objections from Imladris, this Elrond knew, yet explaining to the visiting dignitaries was going to be challenging.

As he sat at his overloaded desk, Elrond wondered what Legolas could possibly do to cast away all doubt regarding his legitimacy. The questions were, of course, who had decided to name this elf lord of the forests? And then why was a king, which in effect he would be, even necessary anyway? All the elven realms were allied, except the Greenwood up until a scant few days ago – this had been precisely one of the main reasons for holding the Spring Festival in the first place. There was harmony amongst them, and so again, why a king?

He knew he could not simply say that Yavanna had proclaimed it so, that it was the will of the Valar. No, they would need to show the people in no uncertain terms that this was, indeed the case, and that however unlikely, it was true.

Unfortunately, Elrond knew that nothing short of a miracle could ever achieve that purpose, and so he picked up his quill once more, and resumed his frantic scribbling, he would trust the Valar, and Legolas, to not leave him looking like an amateur.

……………………………………………………………………..

They had been working together for days now, and the resulting music was the most amazing melting pot of instrument and voice, of cultured, trained singing, to raw, tribal chanting, multiple descants that would lift the soul – it was an amazing set of pieces, yet they were but half way through.

Amanthor arrived then, ready to start the day with more compositions and practice sessions with the musicians and singers, yet this day, he had a bomb shell to drop, one he knew Lindir would find hard to assimilate.

“Lindir, you remember the reference to the Avarin Spirit Singer?”

“Yes, you would not answer, you simply left us with the intrigue”.

“And you have no idea of what I speak?” insisted Amanthor.

“Not the slightest idea, Amanthor, yet you have me puzzled.”

Sighing, Amanthor began the tale. He told Lindir of the avari, of their strange, tribal ways, similar to those of the sylvans but much less refined. Their connection to nature was superior to that of the sylvans, for the avari lived forever in the forests, rejecting the right to travel to Valinor. They revered their woods and would kill any who would harm them. He continued by explaining that within this culture, the figure of the Spirit Singer was born. A male or female that was particularly sensitive to the living world around them and of those they touched. They could fathom the essence of things long past, deduce the feelings of others, understand the probability of future events. They were not clairvoyants, and they did not have the gift of foresight, they simply picked up on minute clues, vibrations, energies, heard the voice of growing things, and put them into perspective, the perspective of music.

As he had suspected, Lindir was staring at him as though he had gone mad. He truly was torn between believing it and scorning his friend for fooling him, for the tale had been very good.

“I do not trick you, Lindir. ‘Tis the truth. Now, the Greenwood has Mentathiel, an avarin Spirit Singer - she will be here with our party in two maybe three days time.”

“What? You’re serious! This is true?”

“Absolutely. She does not acquiesce to performing lightly, Lindir, ‘tis a great honor that she accepted this offer. She said that she had never sung before a king appointed by the Valar, and that that was a challenge she did not want to forsake.”

“What, I mean how, does she improvise the words? How are we to compose the music if we know not the tempo or the meaning. I mean if she sings of love, we cannot compose a merry jig!!”

“Wait, wait, Lindir! Listen, I have worked with her before and there is nothing easier. It is a simple matter of starting a beat and a string base line. From there, she will mark the tempo, our job is to watch her closely, and increase or decrease the tempo, add or subtract instruments, and so on – you have to let your emotions travel with those she evokes, and then command your musicians.”

“You make it sound so easy!!”

“Well, I will start and you can continue, if you feel up to it”.

And so their banter continued, between coming and going musicians, frantic scribbling, underlining, erasing and rewriting notes on parchments, and the occasional kiss to the lips.

……………………………………………………………………….

Some days later, a beautiful day dawned, and the valley dwellers turned out in their second best clothing, saving their favorite outfits for the imminent ceremony that would make history and trigger the most extraordinary events that Middle Earth would ever see, although they did not know that yet.

The house was full, the barracks were full, there were tarpaulins hanging between trees in the surrounding gardens, under which makeshift housing had been arranged. Accommodation was so scarce that they had had to prioritize, placing the civilians inside, and military personnel outside. This also worked well for the security of the event, which Glorfindel was overseeing.

For reasons no one could fathom, the Greenwood had formally requested the ceremony take place along the back of the house, the area in which Celebrian’s gardens lay. He had been perplexed that they should wish to include this skeleton garden in such an event, yet the thought did not displease him, for it would almost be as though she would be present, in some way.

And so, the entire area had been decked most beautifully. There was a massive wooden stage to one side, where chairs and music stands had been placed. The area surrounding this massive structure was packed with long tables, and other smaller ones scattered around the place, beside flower beds, under trees, even in the trees themselves, which Elrond was sure had been done by the sylvans of the Greenwood and Lorien.

Other lower tables appeared under the canopy, where cushions of varying shapes and sizes had been placed, obviously meant to be used after the ceremony, each with its own small lantern – the effect would be staggeringly beautiful after dark.

Elrond continued to stroll through the gardens until he arrived at the place where his bonded mate would while away her days, conversing with friends, playing with the children, or simply sitting in the sun and contemplating on life. She had cared for the gardens personally. Every day she would delegate this or that to be done, yet her roses were hers alone to touch. Now, they did not bloom, and the branches were finally turning brown, a sure sign that they were near death, just as their mistress had been when she had left them. He sighed as he struggled to reign in his treacherous emotions.

Turning, he walked into the fertile area once more, taking in yet more details of the decorations, what they had done here was truly unique.

He spotted Galadriel with Mithrandir and…

“Aiwendil?”

“Well, Lord Elrond, it has been many years, yet you look well, my friend” said the strange, brown-clad wizard.

Elrond smiled as he dipped his head towards the maia.

Galadriel turned to her son-in-law, a pleased smile on her face and Elrond thought then that she looked more carefree than he had ever seen her.

“Elrond, enjoy it while you can, for in no time all this area will be teeming with decorators and musicians. What do you think?” she asked.

“You are happy today”, he stated, trying to emerge from his melancholy state.

“Indeed she is, Elrond”, said Mithrandir, “and it is contagious. History is about to play out before our very eyes, my friend, and it is a time to rejoice, while we can.”

Elrond smiled then. They were right, but it was times like these when his loss came to the fore, he would always remember her more when there was a celebration to be had.

“All is almost done”, said Elrond, “Glorfindel has informed me that all our guests are now in residence, tomorrow is the big day”.

“Indeed, after sunset”, added Galadriel.

“I must call a meeting with the rulers. They must be briefed fully. Will you join me Mithrandir, Aiwendil?”

“Of course.”

“It will not be easy, my friends, Gildor will be hard enough, but Aerion is a hard nut to crack I tell you.”

“The very worst thing that could happen”, said Mithrandir, “is that they refuse to believe it without seeing it, and that is the purpose of the ceremony, is it not?”

“Yes, you are right of course, yet I cannot help but think what on all Arda Legolas can do to show the truth of it…”

Mithrandir smiled then, turning to Aiwendil, who was also smiling. They did not know what exactly the new lord would do, but Aiwendil had told his colleague what his ‘forest friends’ had told him, that it would be nothing short of spectacular, and that they had been invited to a rose garden…

……………………………………………………………….

The meeting had been received with much relief and trepidation, for the mystery surrounding their invitations to the event was palpable, the lack of information almost complete. Had Elrond procrastinated any longer, he would have had more than a few complaints to deal with.

A round table had been prepared in the library, and guards had been placed at doors and windows, for what was about to be revealed was to be kept a secret until tomorrow, there was no telling how the people would react to a spiritual event of his caliber.

The meeting was formal, each representative showing his or her status as their culture dictated, taking their indicated seats, yet there were no scribes – this was a closed-door meeting, nothing would be written.

Elrond arrived then, together with Galadriel and the two maias. Legolas, however, was not present. The lord had decided it would be better to create a situation in which the lords could speak freely. And so Lorien was represented by Galadriel, Mithlond by Aerion, the wandering elves by Gildor, Greenwood by Aradan, Imladris by Elrond himself, and the Valar, by the two maias – the table was complete and so Elrond began.

“My lords, I have requested your presence today in order to brief you on the extraordinary events of the last few weeks, during the Spring Festival that is still being celebrated by this nation, Greenwood and Lorien.

I shall get straight to the point, and then you may ask your questions, for I know you will have many.”

And so Elrond began, starting with the events in the Greenwood to their ‘forest vigil’ which had culminated with the appearance of Yavanna herself. As he told the story, he struggled to find the words that would make it believable for those who listened, but as he listened to himself, he realized that however selective he was with his lexis, it still sounded outlandish.

There was a prolonged silence as Elrond finished his briefing. No one moved, no one spoke, they simply stared at Elrond, expecting him to burst into laughter and confess it was all a grand hoax. Yet he said nothing, and they stared on.

“Yavanna has crowned this Legolas in private, he says it is so, and you all just believe it?” asked Gildor, a look of total confusion upon his strong, weathered face. Of course it really wasn’t a question, more an accusation of having incurred in an act of childish faith.

Aradan bristled at the apparent lack of respect this exile was showing for his prince.

“This Legolas is Prince Legolas Thranduilion. Yes he states this, but I have seen and heard Yavanna say as much. You doubt me and that is your right, but you also doubt Lord Elrond, Lady Galadriel, and all those who were witness to her coming in the forests of Imladris?”

“I do not doubt that you saw something, yet I doubt your interpretations, and your lack of rigor in ascertaining the truth worries me greatly”.

“You would believe it if you saw it?” enquired Galadriel.

“Yes”

“That is what we do. We have seen it, and although you speak of false interpretation, there is only one way to understand the lady’s message. When you introduce the concept of multiple interpretations you assume, falsely, that there is more than one. I understand you not, Gildor Inglorion”, said Galadriel calmly.

Aerion spoke for the first time then.

“And what exactly is tomorrow’s ceremony for then. If he has already been crowned, what is to happen tomorrow, and why are we here? You could simply have called a meeting, rather than celebrating a party in honor of something that is, frankly, very hard to accept.”

“It is precisely because of what you and Lord Gildor believe, that tomorrow’s ceremony is a necessity. Both Yavanna and Legolas know that there must be a demonstration of sorts, in order to convince you that what we say, what we claim, is indeed the truth”, explained Elrond as matter-of-factly as he could, but Gildor’s sarcasm and skepticism was beginning to wear him down.

“A demonstration?” interrupted Gildor. “What exactly is he going to do? Show us his crown? Turn someone into a frog…”

“That is enough!!!” thundered Aradan as he stood abruptly, his formal robes swirling around his agitated body.

Mithrandir approached him from behind, placing a calming hand on his shoulder. It took the rigidity out of the enflamed advisor, but he did not sit down.

“Gildor, your years in the wild have made you somewhat disrespectful.” Began the wizard. “That you do not believe is your right, that you doubt the word of the lords here present is, however, – disappointing. Save your words until after the ceremony tomorrow. Let us see if your mindset is the same – what say you?” He urged, including Aerion with a quick glance.

Gildor looked a little ashamed, but his pride would not allow him to apologize.

“Alright, Mithrandir. I will wait until afterwards, and then we should meet again, I can agree to this much.”

“Aerion?”

“Alright, I too agree.”

“So we should prepare for the proclamation of a king at tomorrow’s ceremony?” asked Gildor, somewhat sarcastically.

“Yes”, was all Galadriel said, her icy blue eyes trained on him, watching as he broke eye contact, bowed slightly, turned on his heel and left the room.

Aerion sighed, rising from his chair and left in the wake of Gildor.

……………………………………………………………………..

Legolas sat out in the afternoon sun, cross-legged upon the soft grass, listening to the sounds of the garden and the forests beyond. It had been difficult to find himself a quiet spot, but he had eventually come across this little clearing. However he knew it would not be long before someone chanced upon the tranquil glade.

And so it was that Elrohir, Elladan and Haldir, in the presence of Arwen, strolled into the clearing, spotting Legolas in the centre.

“Ah, Prince Legolas, may we join you?” asked Elrohir most gallantly.

Tilting his head up to Elrohir, shielding his eyes from the brilliant sun, he smiled as they all sat with him.

“May I introduce our sister Arwen Undomiel, recently arrived from Lorien”, said Elladan.

Haldir watched as both elves stared wide-eyed at each other. They had never met, but their first reactions were nothing short of spectacular. They could not talk, they simply gazed on as their friends observed, smirking at the scene playing out before them, for the two single most beautiful elves were before each other.

Haldir cleared his throat and began to speak, but even then, the connection was not broken.

“I see our Lady Undomiel is a great success with our forest lord”, sniggered Haldir.

“And he with her”, smirked Elrohir.

“My queen”, whispered Legolas

“My king”, answered Arwen.

Elladan, Elrohir and Haldir were left open-mouthed, for the moment had been magical, something meaningful had passed between them.

……………………………………………………………..

True to Galadriel’s words, the entire land to the rear of the house was crawling with male and female elves, decorating everything that protruded from the ground. Tables, chairs, the very trees, fountains, benches, stones – everything was being wound in leaves and flowers, both fresh and expertly dried, beads and baubles, coloured strips of gauzy cloth and lanterns, hundreds of them, hanging from the boughs of even the most secluded of corners.

Erestor observed it all from the window of his office, himself affected by the contagious sense of joy that had taken over from the tense apprehension of the previous days.

Most of his work was done, the dignitaries had arrived and been briefed by Elrond with varying degrees of success, at least they had not up and left the meeting, and the valley. However, they were not told of the prince’s ultimate destiny of restoring the king of Gondor – that was an issue they would have to address with the topmost diplomacy, and hopefully, that would be far off into the future.

Erestor’s musings were interrupted, as Elrond entered the room in the company of Aradan, the King of Greenwood’s chief advisor.

Erestor had met him briefly last night, and had exchanged pleasantries, but nothing more had been discussed. He sensed that Elrond wanted Aradan to speak privately and at ease, away from the milling lords and ladies just on the other side of the door.

Sitting together, Elrond poured a glass of crisp white wine for them, and reclined, setting the scene for the advisor to say what he must.

Taking a sip from his glass, he looked at Elrond meaningfully.

“How goes the Spring Festival my Lord?” he asked, an intensity about him that told Elrond he asked for more than the results of negotiations.

“Your prince has performed his duties admirably, Aradan. We are still in the process of negotiations, but much has already been achieved, and relations are more than satisfactory. Your people have been well received, and are respected by all. But this you already knew”, added Elrond astutely.

“Yes, of course. I know my prince well, Lord Elrond, I expected nothing less of him. I can see he has caused a magnificent impression on the lords of Imladris…”

“Is that a question, Lord Aradan?”

“No, but an invitation to speak, should you wish to, for I do not judge you”, he said, smiling slightly to take away the edge to his words.

“You are protective of him, yet he hardly needs it”, said Elrond then, not wishing to disclose anything until he understood the elf’s intentions.

“Indeed not, yet I have known him since his conception. I have cared for him as an uncle would, I have comforted him in his moments of failure, supported him when he lost that which he loved most, I have always been there for him, and I always will be. To me the boy is a son, the son I lost in the last alliance.” He held Elrond’s eyes, willing him to see the emotion behind his words, understand the reason for his questions. It was not impertinence but familiar concern, love and respect.

“I understand, and I will answer.” He smiled before continuing, glad to see it was reciprocated. “It started at the opening ceremony, I – we invited Prince Legolas for a drink and, things developed from there…”

“You engaged in Carnal Delight?” asked Aradan, his eyebrows brushing his hairline.

Elrond turned to him once more, willing him to censor him as he answered.

“We did”.

“We?”

“Yes. Lord Glorfindel, Lord Erestor, Lady Llyniel and myself.”

“Oh, wonderful”.

Elrond had to stop and look again at Aradan as he processed the answer he definitely was not expecting.

“Wonderful?”

“Indeed. Luring the foremost lords of the realm to ones bed for Carnal Delight is indeed a great feat, my lord. ‘Tis good politics indeed.”

Erestor covered his open mouth with his hand, as Elrond stared wide-eyed at the advisor, and then he suddenly and most scandalously erupted into peels and guffaws of laughter that would not stop, driving him to place a hand over his belly, while Erestor chuckled madly, trying very hard not to lose his composure. Thus Legolas and Glorfindel found them, although drawn especially to the lord of the valley, who had been rendered helpless by the spasms of hilarity that would not cease, bringing a wide smile to those that looked on.

Legolas moved over to Aradan and squeezed his shoulder.

“You have not been telling embarrassing stories, I trust?”

“Nay, your lord laughs at my political ideas,” he said, looking over at the legendary warrior, whom he had never met until he had ridden into the valley. He was beautiful and strong, he could see why his prince would be attracted to him.

“Lord Glorfindel” he acknowledged, dipping his head.

“Lord Aradan” replied Glorfindel, his voice deep and strong.

Elrond had regained control over his body once more, as he handed his visitors a glass of wine, albeit rather shakily.

“You know, Lord Elrond, I understand your mirth, yet I mean what I say, ‘tis a great honor, mutually, I am sure you all gained great pleasure from the moment, my daughter included.”

Elrond had just taken a swig of his wine, and promptly sprayed his visitors with it when he realized that this, this was Llyniel’s father.

And Aradan laughed, long and hard, more than he had done for a long long time, for she was indeed his beloved daughter, Llyniel Aradaniel, and how proud he was of her.
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The Protege IV: Lord of the Forests