The members of the Company watched him silently, no opinions to give, for this was a question of the spirit, and of that they knew little.
They spoke for a while longer, but soon enough, the watch was set and they retired to their respective bedrolls, or in the case of Legolas, into the boughs of a nearby oak. At dawn he would leave them, and penetrate the deep forest, on foot and alone - in search of answers - in search of the final pieces of his convoluted tale, give himself closure and perhaps - his father as well.
He set out at dawn, alone.
A soft back hung over his shoulder, his short bow and twin knives upon his back but to any who looked upon him, he was a simple hunter with extraordinary hair. Not that there was anyone to see him though, for in these parts of the woods, there were no settlements, and hunters rarely came here. It was too remote, too dangerous for one not highly skilled in forestry.
At midday he sat and ate sparsely as he opened his diary and fished out his charcoal. On the last page he had filled, was the face of Llyniel and he smiled fondly, before turning to the next blank page and breathing deeply, his eyes slipping to the side for a moment.
Taking his hand to the parchment, he traced the half-silhouette of a woman. The jaw line was strong and angular, lips full and eyes that had given her fame amongst her people. Chestnut hair fell about her face a little chaotically and he smiled tightly as he pressed his memory, recalled that one glance he had been given. The result was not complete, he realised. There were details he could not complete, colours he did not know, emotions he could not yet impress. It was a cold, two-dimensional rendering of a pretty Silvan lass - his mother.
Closing the book, he leaned his head against the tree behind him, wondering what his father would be thinking now. He had been disappointed when Legolas had left, and intrigued, he knew for he had offered to tell him all he knew of Lassiel but how - how to make him understand? It was not about the small things - it did not matter to Legolas her favourite colour, food, the way she dressed or the friends she had. It was about her mindset. What had been in her head when she took the decisions she had? Why did she make them? Why hadn't she sailed?
And then, there was that nagging mystery of the tree - the one he now searched for - the one he knew he had been born in, albeit he did not know how he knew. The only way to answer all these questions, was to find that place, and the only way to do that, was to open his mind and tell them - tell them what he sought.
He had been walking all day, and the forest was closing in. The trees were taller and thicker, the distance between them growing less and less. There was hardly any ground beneath his feet, for it was mostly roots that intertwined and jutted out everywhere, making his progress slow, and yet fascinating, magical, and Legolas' senses were saturated with thoughts and feelings that made no sense to him as yet.
Ferns were happy here, for they grew to enormous proportions, lush and every shade of green, and Legolas allowed his fingertips to brush over them as he passed.
Sunlight, however, was scarce, and what little of it reached the ground was dappled here and there, casting long shadows amongst the trees. It was difficult to tell the time of day and it occurred to him to sleep in the boughs this night, for the views over the forest must surely be stunning.
Resolved to indulge himself, he placed a palm upon a towering tree, and then began to climb, and the more he climbed, the lighter it became until of a sudden, his head broke through the canopy and into the vast open and he gasped at the sudden feeling of agoraphobia that assailed him.
The forest extended far, far away in every direction and above him, the orange and purple trails of a setting sun lit up his world in a myriad of colours that was simply as indescribable as it was breathtaking. It made him light-headed, a little dizzy, and so he sat close to the tops and waited for night to fall.
He had nuts, and fruit he had scavenged along the way and he sat now, nibbling on his food. There would be nobody around for miles and a sense of freedom washed over him. This was virgin land, as yet untouched by their enemy and by all that Legolas held dear he would see it remained that way.
'Welcome … '
He sat straighter, swallowing the food in his mouth and waiting.
'Welcome back …'
'Back'? He had never been here before. But then he realised he must have - this would be the area in which he would find the tree - this, was surely the land of his birth.
'Watch …'
Frowning slightly, Legolas looked around himself, but he was so far up the only thing he could see was the night sky above him and the heavy branches surrounding him.
'Follow Ithil …'
Ithil … the moon was indeed full and he followed her light over the treetops. It seemed to fall more intensely over an area not far from where he sat and so, resolved to do as he had been told, he climbed down to the forest floor and walked to the tree he believed he was being shown.
It was a massive, sprawling specimen, its branches reaching far to its sides, as if it wished to embrace the forest and he smiled. How had he not seen it before? He would surely have been attracted to its peculiar shape. But he had not, for it had taken a nudge from the trees for him to see it - under the light of the full moon.
He placed a palm upon the bark, waiting.
Nothing.
It seemed asleep, frozen in time, silent.
With a deep breath, Legolas began to climb. After a few minutes, his eyes made out a wooden construction a little further up - a talan, he realised and his heart skipped a beat. He had surely found it - but why was the tree dormant?
Increasing his pace, it was not long before he rested upon the surprisingly large platform that spanned the entire circumference of the tree, surrounding its mighty trunk. Rising slowly, his eyes first fell upon what would once have been rudimentary furniture. A table, now almost completely rotten, two chairs, storage shelves. This place had been abandoned many years ago and he wondered, nay he was almost sure, that this was where he had come into the world, this was the first place his eyes had first seen.
Reaching out, he touched the rough, rotten wood and then turned, eyes searching for anything else, but finding nothing. Too much time had passed, time in which the elements had done their ruthless job and erased all proof that perhaps, Lassiel had spent her final months alive here, had given birth to him.
With a sigh, he wondered if he had not been mistaken. There was nothing here, not anymore.
Walking to the centre of the flet, he sank down and leaned his back against the trunk, staring despondently at his lax hands. There were no emotions, no words, nothing it would share with him. Just silence, deep and meaningful. It was not chance - some dire thing had transpired here - something it did not wish to speak of.
Turning, he placed both hands upon the rough bark and ran them up and down, in a gesture meant to comfort - comfort himself, perhaps. Aye he had found the tree he had sought, only to find it silent with grief.
Sitting back down, he opened his bag and retrieved his diary and charcoal once more. On the next available page, he immediately began to sketch the tree he sat in. The images flowed through his mind and his hand worked harder, faster, until the rendering stood proudly upon the page and he smiled, for it was extraordinarily good, the detail puzzling him - that he had, subconsciously - retained so much visual information.
He smiled fondly, brushing one finger over the centre of the drawing, and then looking - a little closer. What was this? he mused to himself, wondering why he had drawn a hollow in the bark.
Straining his eyes, he frowned again, and then turned, to the trunk behind him. His eyes saw the rough, brown bark, nothing out of the ordinary - except perhaps here… he pushed a little with the heel of his palm and to his utter surprise, the bark fell away, leaving a hole bigger than his own head.
He froze. The bark had been expertly placed so as to conceal the opening and the implications were clear.
Peering inside, he could see nothing, and so he slowly
place his hand inside, and then his arm, until smooth wood brushed his straining fingertips - a box.
Curling his hand around it, he slowly retrieved it, and then reverently set it upon the floor before him, shuffling back and then drawing his knees up to his chin.
The box was large yet simple, for there were no carvings upon it at all. To look upon it one would say it was a container for tools or cotton reels for nothing distinguished it as a container of precious momentos. But where had he got that idea from?
Moving to sit cross-legged, he decided to open it, but the very thought sent his heart hammering in his chest…
Slowly flipping the top, the box opened and his eyes focussed on the contents. It was a book - a diary, he thought, and he reached out carefully, wondering if the pages had stood the passage of time, or whether they would crumble under his questing fingers.
Bringing it to his lap, he slowly opened the hard, leather cover and there, upon the first page, sat the scrawling Tengwar of its owner, their own name …
Lassiel
He closed the cover too quickly, squeezing his eyes closed at the revelation. This was his mother's diary.
Banging his head against the trunk he tried to calm his rising emotions and still, the tree remained silent, unresponsive, lost even to him. Placing the diary inside his bag he stood and looked upwards. He would sit in the boughs of this tree for one last time, and then he would leave, perhaps forever. But at least he would have her diary, and the treasures that, perhaps, lay within.
With one last look inside the black hole, he turned to climb, but a glint of something catching the moonlight made him turn back. There was something else inside the hollow.
Reaching blindly inside one last time, he searched with his hand, until it stumbled over a stone of some sort. Grasping it, he pulled it out and brought it to his eyes.
They bulged and he gasped, dropping the stone and staggering backwards for there, rolling to a halt upon the flet, was a rough-cut emerald the size of which he had only ever once seen, upon the hand of the King, his father…
Elladan sat poking the nascent fire, while Ram en' Ondo skinned the rabbits Lindohtar had hunted. Idhreno was roughly chopping the roots he had found and slipping them into the pot that perched over the fire. Koron en' Naur stood watch on one side, and Glamohtar on the other, while Rhrawthir sat and watched them all, a thoughtful look upon his Silvan face.
It was Glamohtar who suddenly stood taller, and then spoke, not urgently but with a surety that could not be questioned.
"Hwindo is back."
They all turned and stood slowly, and sure enough, the lone figure of The Silvan emerged from the thick tree line, his bag slung over his shoulder, his face pensive and drawn.
No one spoke, for what to say? 'Did you find what you were searching for?' - they would find out, sooner or later, should he wish to speak of it.
With a tight smile, he nodded at them, and then sat silently. Soon enough, The Company resumed its activity setting up their camp, their respectful silence lingering on until dusk was upon them, and Legolas finally spoke.
"I found the tree," he said softy. "But its spirit is gone …"
They watched silently, observed the play of emotions on his face.
"It told me nothing, and yet I did find something," he said, reaching into his cloth bag and carefully extracting the leather-bound diary reverently. "This…"
"What is it?" asked Idhrenohtar, his eyes anchored on the simple book.
"It is my mother's diary …" said Legolas wistfully, almost as if he still did not believe it.
Rhrawthir sucked in a breath and the others stared dumbly at him.
"I have not yet had the courage to read it - yet I will, I must and so I ask a boon of you, brothers. We have ten days of journeying back to the fortress. Allow me to read, and be with myself. Heed me not, your steadfast presence is all I need for a while…" he trailed off softly.
"You shall have that, Hwindo," swore Idhrenohtar, his eyes roving over the rest before turning back to his childhood friend, but no more words would come to him and so they ate, and then they slept with one eye upon Legolas, who had done neither. He had simply sat with the book upon his lap, closed.
'I think they have adopted me. They protect me, shield my home from all that pass. How they do it I cannot tell, but I know it has something to do with light, and shadows, illusions that trick the mind, and so, although bound to this, solitary place for the next months, I am not discontent with the thought, and neither are you I wager, my little tree sprite…'
Legolas looked away, his eyes suddenly full of tears. His mother, he was reading her words - words to him, her as yet unborn child.
Reaching for his tea with a shaking hand, he drank, and then swiped at the tears so that he could continue to read as the others broke camp.
'Life here is simple, lonely save for Amareth and Erthoron who visit from time to time with the provisions I need. They bring news too, of the court and the machinations of those, scheming, conniving elves that seek nothing more than their own gain, their own power. I hate them, I hate their black, unfeeling spirits, for the hurt they caused you, my love; for the life they have forced us to live - apart. I hate them for staining my name, the Norhad clan that sought only to entrap you, push all else away so that their daughter may marry a king! At least I have him now, a part of you that will always be mine, always be yours.'
He could not hold back the sob that escaped him and he turned away, closing the book and placing it in his bag.
Elladan looked over his shoulder, wishing he was at liberty to speak to his friend, offer a modicum of comfort but he could not - Legolas had asked them to leave him be, yet Elladan had not anticipated how hard that would be. Luckily, Koron en' Naur called them to mount and they were soon away, Legolas amidst them, lost in his thoughts, one name dancing on the fringe of his conscious mind - Norhad.
'I will call him Greenleaf, and I know you know why. I know you still have it somewhere, for you are as sentimental as I beneath that sheer, Sindarin veneer you wear. I know your heart, Thranduil for it is mine, as mine is yours, however flawed it may now be.
After a brief rest, they were away again, until evening fell and Rhrawthir and Lindo left to hunt.
'A strange elf passed this way today and I am awash in apprehension. I have told Erthoron and he will make enquiries, but I must remain alert. The trees protect me, but should they find out I am here, with our child still unborn, I fear the consequences.'
Legolas breathed deeply, and took an absent bite of his stew. It was good and he placed the diary on the ground while he ate, his eyes momentarily alighting on Glamohtar who he knew had made the food.
"It is good," he offered, the first words he had spoken in two days and the Noldo smiled uncharacteristically.
"I know," he said arrogantly, garnering a soft chuckle from the rest. It was not long though, before the book was back in his hand, his empty plate sitting beside him.
'He is here - Thranduil - if only you could see him; the child is a jewel, just like our stone, for his eyes shine so very bright, so very green, I am so elated I have no words…'
Pressing the heel of his palm into the space between his eyes, he forced them to remain open, but with dawn came the realisation that he had fallen asleep upon his back, the diary open on his chest.
Sitting up clumsily, he rubbed his tired face and returned to his reading.
'I had a dream tonight - so vivid, so real I wonder if it was not some vision, given to me by the trees. A lady looked down upon me in love and protection - oh but she was beautiful, Thranduil - like a Vala! Her hair was fiery red and her eyes a blue so deep and penetrating they brought tears to my eyes. Her hypnotic gaze strayed to our Greenleaf then and she smiled upon him as only a mother could. I wonder if I look like that when I gaze upon him, as I often do.'
The dream, his dream, mused Legolas in wonder. His mother had had the same dream, perhaps at the same time - perhaps she was right then
, perhaps it was not a dream but Kementári, staking her claim upon him even as a babe.
Morning turned to afternoon, and then night was falling once more. A strong hand squeezed his shoulder and pressed a hot drink into his hand. He looked up gratefully, into the kind eyes of Idhrenohtar, who simply nodded, and went about his business.
'The child is mesmerised by our tree, my love, 'tis so funny to look upon, for his tiny face scrunches up and then his eyes widen and he smiles, and then chuckles madly, reaching up for something I cannot see - and yet there is a light in his eyes that I cannot fathom, a light I think only he can see. It is strange…'
Food was before him once more and he picked at it distractedly as he read, his mind almost entirely detached from his surroundings, immersed in his mother's past, his own past, and again, that name hovered menacingly behind a barely closed door in his mind - Norhad.
Focussing once more on the Tengwar, he noticed now that the letters were hurried, clumsy and even incomplete.
"The Valar protect him - I should have sailed before he was born - I should have left this place and given birth to him across the sea but I could not! He is a child of the forest - he is Silvan! It was not right! They have found me…'
Legolas' wide eyes looked up from the diary. This had surely been her final day, the day she had been killed, murdered by Bandorion.
Closing his eyes in grief, he bowed his head and allowed the barrage of emotion to wash over him, indeed he did not hide it, instead allowed it to flow through him, out of him, into the trees. He slept then, the book once more atop him.
The trees screamed and the ground beneath them groaned low and long, leaves were blown aloft, caught in the unnatural breeze as Lassiel ran, her precious bundle pressed against her chest, lost now to her destiny.
A babe lay upon the hidden flet, high above the body of its now inert mother, and in spite of the forest's dismay, he remained silent, eyes fixed upon the lady in the tree, hand reaching out as if to touch her - to touch the face of a Vala….
The Sylvanus Page 86
