Chapter I

Imladris, Viressë-Yavannië TA 250
Legolas felt his breath hitch when he caught the aromatic scents of pine and heather just as he came to the very brink of the ridge that descended abruptly into a vale alike to so many others and yet was not. Following the narrow path, he urged his horse down the steep slope, allowing the beast to gingerly pick its way along the loosely pebbled track. Behind him, his friends, Mithrael and Heledir, were heard to mutter curses as they, too, turned their steeds onto the seeming treacherous trail. The half dozen Elf-warriors in their wake quickly followed suit.

The Elven prince grinned. His friends had never yet left the bounds of Greenwood, not even to visit the human cities and settlements nearby. As such, they’d seldom had need to trek along such paths of dubious safety. That it had taken several weeks travel to get to their destination did little to improve their already low opinion of such distant journeying.

It was more than three weeks since they’d left Eryn Galen’s borders behind. Nearly a week on horseback to reach the eastern base of the Misty Mountains, another week or so to get over the range and finally the last leg across the plains upon leaving the mountains behind. In truth, this part of the trip had taken the most time as they sought the secret paths that would lead them to their objective.

He heard Heledir grumble about the confounded inaccessibility of so fabled a destination. His grin broadened.

Yes, the way into the narrow valley did seem unreasonably difficult to access not to mention locate. But then, Rivendell had been founded as a refuge not a kingdom and no refuge worth its name would leave itself so open to the evils of the world without. He gently reminded his friend of this fact, educing sage agreement from scholarly Mithrael who nevertheless decried the inconvenience of such rigorous endeavors to inexperienced travelers such as himself.

On the verge of making a retort, Legolas suddenly stiffened before a beatific smile broke upon his sculpted lips. The faint strains of music, of fair elvish voices lifted in song, wafted up from the vale, beguiling and welcoming. And then he felt it: the awesome power that sheltered the haven. Vilya, the ring of Air, had found its long home in this valley, held by Elrond Half-elven to whom it had been bequeathed by Gil-galad, the last High King of the Noldor. Few knew that the Peredhel wielded this greatest of the elven-rings of power wrought by Celebrimbor. Indeed, that Legolas knew this at all was due to the trust put in him by Elrond’s sons, Elladan and Elrohir.

It was nigh sixteen years since the twins and their parents first journeyed to the Woodland Realm of Eryn Galen, the forest more commonly known as Greenwood the Great. Though long promised this chance to visit Rivendell in turn, the youngest son of King Thranduil had been unable to do so.

Held back by duty and responsibilities, he’d first had to complete his most basic training as prince, politician and warrior, a course the twins themselves had urged upon him just before they departed from the forest realm. Happily, they’d kept their word that they would return to the woodland kingdom should Legolas not be able to claim his promised reward soonest. Elladan and Elrohir made three visits to Eryn Galen in the years that followed and their great friendship with the Elf-prince had deepened accordingly. Now, it was his turn and he felt his heart race as they neared the bottom of the cleft.

The pine trees had long given way to oak and beech and a few scattered willows and it was warmer as well, pleasantly so. The singing was louder now as was the sound of fast running water. He had a moment to recall the stream that was a tributary of the Bruinen close to the Last Homely House that the twins had spoken of at their last meeting before the music abruptly stopped and his party was suddenly surrounded by warrior Elves bearing the colors of Imladris. Where they had come from he had no idea; they’d been as stealthy as his father’s woodland rangers. Considering the sparser cover in this place, he had to admire their skill.

One of them stepped forward to address the Elf-prince; Legolas recognized him at once. It was Enedrion, the warrior who, with Glorfindel’s second-in-command, Daurin, always accompanied the twins on their sojourns in the green wood.

“My lord,” Enedrion intoned, bowing slightly before him. “We have been awaiting your arrival these many days.”

Legolas smiled and nodded in acknowledgement. “‘Tis not so simple a matter to find the way here,” he said. “We were delayed somewhat by a lack of certain direction.”

“Meaning you got lost,” a familiar voice commented.

Legolas glanced to his left, a brilliant smile lighting up his face. Without further ado, he swung off his horse, almost directly into Elrohir’s welcoming embrace. A moment later, he was clasping hands with a grinning Elladan as well.

Exchanging jovial greetings, they near forgot the prince’s companions until Elladan espied Legolas’ two childhood friends who had dismounted as well.

“Mithrael! Heledir!” he cried and strode to them. “How fare you?”

Though rendered shy by the strangeness of their environs, both Elves hearkened to his warm manner and replied in kind. Elrohir further eased their diffidence as he kindly inquired as to their folk.

“But where is Sirgon?” he suddenly queried after a cursory look at the woodland warriors. “Why did he not come with you?”

“Alas, our friend is no longer of Eryn Galen,” Legolas explained ruefully. “His mother pined for the Golden Wood and would have faded had Counsellor Beldoron not removed her and Sirgon to Lórien. They have been three years gone from Greenwood now.”

“A pity,” the younger twin remarked. “It must have been difficult for him, leaving all that he knows behind. Mayhap Elladan and I will be of comfort to him when next we visit our grandparents’ realm.”

“But enough melancholic talk,” Elladan said, noting the others’ sudden pensiveness. “Come, Adar and Naneth”—Father and Mother—“await you. And Arwen as well.”

“I have long desired to meet your infant sister,” Legolas smiled.

“Not quite an infant any longer,” Elladan chuckled. “She is a mettlesome creature for all her tender years. Adar claims she is too alike to us in character and prays Imladris will withstand the attentions of yet another Peredhil child.”

Chuckling, they walked the rest of the way to the Last Homely House east of the Sea.

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Six weeks into his stay, Legolas found himself wishing that he did not have to return to Eryn Galen. At least, not within the foreseeable future. It wasn’t that he desired to forsake his family; never that. But life in Rivendell was so different, so utterly enchanting, that he longed for his visit to go on indefinitely. Open spaces, warm breezes and heather carpeted hills beckoned each morning from his windows when he awakened, a far cry from the closed, sometimes stuffy feeling of Greenwood. Not that he couldn’t endure the forest that was his home. He loved Eryn Galen with all his being and would willingly suffer for its continued well-being. It was simply that he appreciated the very differentness of Rivendell from his forest abode.

There were so many attractions that enthralled him both within and without the Last Homely House. The crystalline waterfall cascading down the sides of the sheer drop by the river; a perfect place for bathing, picnicking or napping. Evenings in the Hall of Fire, by turns merry with poetry, music and laughter, quiet with conversation and contemplation or tense with mind-sharpening games of Strategy, Realms and Enigma. Sprawling forests with wide paths and open grassy plains within easy reach that allowed for swift, exhilarating rides on horseback. Challenging bouts of archery, wrestling, swordplay or knife work in the wide exercise yard beside the house with nary a tree to hinder one’s way. And most wondrous of all for an Elf who lived in the thick wood of Eryn Galen: the sun and moon dappling the entire valley with their light since no dense canopy shut out the former’s golden radiance and the latter’s silvery glow.

The refuge also had a character so unlike the Woodland Realm’s primal personality. It was steeped in culture and learning, was as deliberate as Eryn Galen was mercurial. And nearly every Elven inhabitant was Noldorin; like Glorfindel, Rivendell’s noble captain, these were amongst the last of the exiles who had returned to Middle-earth in the Elder days.

A few, such as Elrond himself, his lady wife and children, the haven’s chief steward, Erestor, and some of the warriors and retainers, were either of mixed elven heritage or wholly sprung from the Sindar. But these were Sindar who had long resided in Lindon when Gil-galad still reigned or dwelt in Eregion under the lordship of Celebrimbor ere it was overrun by Sauron’s hordes. They were far removed from the Grey-elven nobles of Greenwood’s court. Only Thranduil himself could be deemed their equal in lore and nobility.

The other members of the household had also endeared themselves to the woodland prince with their kindness and care. Aside from Glorfindel and Erestor and Elrond’s other counsellors, there was witty Lindir, housemaster, tutor and minstrel nonpareil; straightforward Iorwen, the Last Homely House’s formidable mistress of the kitchen and store-rooms and maker of the most delicious pastries ever to grace an elvish feast; merry Gildor, the son of Inglor, who oft traveled about the northern lands with wandering companies of Elves, bringing news from without to the hidden vale; and beauteous Almáriel who had taken care of the twins in their infancies and was now nurse to little Arwen.

Arwen was a delight and a revelation. The tiny elleth—Elf-maid—now a precocious nine-year-old, had all the promise of the great beauty of Elrond’s foremother, Luthien of Doriath, and all the spunk and spirit of her brothers. She was a veritable whirlwind despite her tender years, refusing to allow her age or size to hobble her in the pursuit of childish pleasure and adventure. No wonder Elrond questioned the ability of Rivendell to last the age.

These were, for the most part, the folk of Imladris though Legolas had been astounded to see, on one occasion, men walking the halls of the house and, on another, two dour Dwarves. The Dwarves, he soon learned, hailed from Khazad-dûm, the great dwarven realm beneath the Misty Mountains. Every so often a few of its citizens would come to Rivendell bearing precious wares of gold and mithril; Elrond did not shun trade with the Khazad.

The men, however, were Edain from the North-kingdom of Arnor now ruled by Valandil, the only surviving son of Isildur who had paid the ultimate price for his ensnarement by the One Ring in the disaster of the Gladden Fields, taking his three older sons down into the darkness with him. Through the convoluted lines of Peredhil descent, the king was actually Elrond’s distant kin, a nephew several times removed, one might say, through Elros, the loremaster’s twin, who had loved a mortal woman and thus joined his heart and fate to hers many generations of men ago.

Dressed in attire fit for hard walking, Legolas finally left his chamber and headed for the main hall where he was to meet the twins and his friends. As he passed the many passages that branched off from the corridor, he espied a couple in the far end of one.

Peering idly at them, he realized who they were. He stifled a chuckle as he observed the Elf-warrior, Daurin, plying Arwen’s nurse, a charmingly coquettish Almáriel, with freshly picked blossoms, honeyed words, and what looked to be a small basket of dainty cakes, no doubt courtesy of Iorwen’s skillful hands. So, he grinned, Glorfindel’s lieutenant was a-courting. He went on, leaving the two to their privacy.

A moment later, a small projectile on legs ran straight into him, nearly toppling him over. Grabbing at the recalcitrant sprite, he found himself with an armful of wriggling Elfling, the braids of her midnight tresses all undone, the pretty trim on her bodice consigned to near-oblivion and the hem of her gown sadly ripped where she had apparently trod on it.

“Let me go, ‘Las!” she cried, trying to escape his grasp.

“Arwen!”

The twins rushed up, shaking their heads in botherment.

“We are sorry, meldir”—friend—Elladan said. “But Almáriel is missing and Naneth asked us to keep an eye on this little hoyden for the moment.”

“I am not hurt,” Legolas assured him, handing him the said little hoyden. “And as for Almáriel, I believe she is busy at the moment with Daurin.” He indicated the general direction of the courting pair’s location with a jerk of his chin.

Elrohir clicked his tongue. “That is a flagrant dereliction of duty,” he remarked disapprovingly. “What if we were not available to take care of Arwen?”

Legolas guffawed. “The dutiful brother of a sudden, Elrohir?” he teased. “You are not yourself!”

The Elf-knight mock-scowled then broke into a grin. “I am only jesting,” he said. “Let Almáriel have the time with Daurin. She deserves a respite from Arwen’s antics. Elbereth, Legolas, I wager she would best us in mischief were she a boy. ‘Tis not meet that a girl should be so unruly.”

“Am not unruly!” Arwen protested and stuck a delicate tongue out at the younger twin for good measure.

“See what I mean?” Elrohir said pointedly.

At that moment, a flustered Almáriel came into view to retrieve her willful charge. As they walked away together, Elladan regarded his little sister with fond exasperation.

“‘Tis just as well Adar and Naneth are taking her with them to Lórien,” he commented. “Let her plague the Galadhrim for a spell.”

“And you have not done your share in upending all of Arda?” Legolas retorted with raised eyebrows.

“Aye, that we have and continue to do,” Elladan laughed. “But as my esteemed brother pointed out, ‘tis unseemly for a female to behave in such a manner. At least, that’s what Naneth claims when she tries to rein her in!”

Eventually, Heledir and Mithrael showed up and the young Elves headed outside. It was a glorious day and perfect for walking and the brethren had promised Heledir the chance to explore the high hills behind the Last Homely House.

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Glossary:
Viressë-Yavannië - Quenya for April-September
Peredhil – Half-elven/Half-elves
Edain - men of the Three Houses of Elf-friends in the First Age