Vale of Flowers by hennethgalad

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Vale of Flowers

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Vale of Flowers

 

 

   Cornflower, cowslip, poppy and yarrow, Legolas smiled despite himself, the meadows of the valley of Anduin were glowing with vibrant colours in the evening sun. He glanced up at where the distant peaks of the Misty Mountains skirted the sky like a ragged hem, soon the sun would be hidden, and in his fury he had far outpaced his fellows. He turned his head, the fastest of them was still far behind.

  He slowed his exhausted mount, and looked ahead again, a gleam of water showed between the willows, he shouted eagerly  

   'Anduin ! We have reached the river !' The horse, thirst overcoming tiredness, bunched into a trot, and then a final gallop, blowing and snorting as it pushed its way between the long slender tresses of the willows and thrust its nose into the clear bubbling water hurrying by.

  Legolas slipped to the ground and stooped over the river, it was the first time he had seen Anduin with his own eyes, though his mother's favourite painting, of a misty sunrise on Anduin, had hung in their dining hall for as long as he could remember. He tasted the cool water and looked about him.

   The river was swift and wide, its banks rich in greenery spilling over the water, willows trailed, leaves floated, weeds bent in the flow, and everywhere insects buzzed, hopped, crawled and swam. There were larger creatures too, voles, water rats, otters, a startled fox, myriad birds, and deer by the score, upstream and down, on both banks, shining brown eyes turning, all at once, to watch him cautiously.

  He grinned, then looked up, the sun had reached the mountains, he watched the bright rays, split by the peaks, fan across the sky, then fold slowly into shadow. The sound of horses drowned the songs of the birds, he sighed and turned, but a flash of light caught his eye and he turned swiftly back. High on the mountainside a yellow glow spoke of fire. Tiny black shadows passed in front of it. He froze, orcs ? dwarves ? other elves ? mortals?

   He laughed silently as his companions slowed to a halt behind him. This would silence their complaints. Ever since he had stormed out of his father's presence they had been urging him to return, but he was now five hundred years old, he could no longer bear the thought of spending the rest of time saying 'Yes father, certainly father.' and keeping everything precisely how his father liked it. It was intolerable!

   Oh, old Mithrandir could speak of destiny and patience til the saplings grew lichen; but endless seasons, each exactly the same as the previous year, were chafing at his increasingly restless spirit.

  Now, here was Anduin, beyond the very borders of his father's realm, and there on the mountainside was a fire, which beyond doubt his father would wish investigated. He composed his face and turned to greet his companions.  

 

 The journey south to the Old Ford took less than an hour, even on spent horses, but the  twilight was deepening, and even Legolas in his impatience could see that it would be folly to attempt the crossing by night. Furthermore, the famous Beehive tavern, on the edge of the river, smoke rising from its many chimneys, cast a welcoming glow in the fading light. He led his weary horse toward it, and the four of them rode through the wide wooden gates into the long rectangular courtyard. 

   The Beehive was not only tavern but meadery, the Beornings traded honey with the innkeepers, who brewed a potent mead that kept travellers in the tavern, 'for a rest' and had lengthened many a journey. Legolas himself had tasted the strong sweet drink, and though he preferred wine, he looked forward to tasting Beehive Mead in the very place it was made.   

  The buildings were of light brown stone, almost yellow, and speckled with lichen. The Beehive had stood since the Men Of Númenor had built their bridge across Anduin, and now the bridge had fallen, the Men had retreated far to the south, but The Beehive still stood, brewing mead where the road met the river, its solid old stones rounded at the corners, smoothed by the hands of time, the glass in the many small windows flowing and thickening at their lower edges.   

  A tall, thickset man with a neatly trimmed beard as brown as his hair and eyes, hurried out to greet them.

     'Welcome, my lords, it is long since any of the Eldar graced my hearth ! Stars shine upon the hour of our meeting !' 

   Legolas smiled and dismounted, and grooms came forward to take the horses and lead them into the great barn which time out of mind had stabled the mounts of those travelling the Road through the Forest.

  'Greetings, Elf-friend, and thankyou for your warm welcome. Have you lodging and provender for four weary, and indeed, thirsty travellers ?'  

   The man smiled and bowed, gesturing to the open door 'This way, my lords, there are hot fires, warm rooms, cool drinks and food of all kinds. Tonight you are in luck, there is wild mushroom soup' he lowered his voice 'with fresh truffles.'

    Legolas bowed, and in tones of gratitude said 'Why, that is my favourite, we are most grateful.' but behind his back he knew his companions were rolling their eyes. Wild mushroom soup was to elves what bread is to men, a dull, daily staple... even with truffles.  

   The main hall of The Beehive was large for a building, though to eyes raised in the caverns of Rhovanion it was merely a room. But the ceiling was high above their heads, smooth stone walls bright with embroidered hangings led up to dark rafters and the grey slates of the oft-repaired roof. Lanterns hung in clusters, the flagstones were worn but clean, instead of a central hearth as was the custom of the local woodmen, the hall was scattered with lit braziers, which could be moved to suit the comfort of each guest. Polished oak furniture filled the room, carven chairs with figured beasts upholding the arms stood by tables laden with glass and silver. The Beehive still clung to the civilized ways of its distant past, when it had been a busy junction for all three Folk. But only two of the dozen tables were occupied; five dwarves looked curiously at the elves from the far corner, while nearer at hand, three men had stood up and turned to gape at them.

    The landlord waved the men back into their seats 'Yes, lads, these are actual elves, now let them dine in peace, and if they are not too wearied by their journey, perchance they will honour you with their company for a while later.'

  he looked questioningly at Legolas as the men bowed and resumed their seats. Legolas smiled graciously and said 'We would be happy to make the acquaintance of any friend of yours.' 

    The landlord beamed at them as they sat, and poured mead himself from the flagon that a gaping youth had brought him. Legolas raised the fine glass goblet to the landlord and tasted the mead. It was far more delicious than he remembered, truly flowery, fresh and sweet as the nectar it was brewed from.

  He rose to his feet and bowed to the landlord 'I thought I had tasted your mead before, I see now that I was mistaken. The mead I drank in Rhovanion was a mere shadow of this nectar!'

 To his surprise the landlord looked dismayed. Legolas frowned 'Have I spoken amiss ? What ails you, friend ?' 

   'Ah, alas, I fear my mead is too delicate to move. It has been said to me by many travellers, from all directions, it is not time but distance, or the very act of moving the mead, which mars it's flavour'

  The landlord sighed, but Legolas smiled at him  'My dear friend, you have nothing to fear, your mead is famous far and wide, the king of the elves of Rhovanion drinks it himself. I will tell him that he should come here to taste it as it ought to be tasted, for truly it is worthy of a longer journey than we have just made.'

  The landlord gaped, his colour went from pale to red, then he bowed and backed away, just missing the youth, and hurried off to his kitchens. After a silent moment, the youth darted after him. Legolas sighed and sipped his mead, eager to try wild mushroom soup cooked by a different hand. Enthusiasm was already dispelling his apathy.    

 

   Despite drinking mead with the men, and eventually dwarves too, until the early hours, Legolas rose at dawn and went outside to watch the sun rise. The great gates were fast shut and barred, but a wicket set in one of them could be opened, and he stooped under the thick oaken bar, feeling mischievous as a truant, and stepped out into the dewy morning. A light mist drifted in thin clouds across the rippling waters, the breath of trees made visible.

  Suddenly he understood his mother's fascination with the painting. Without the wide cool waters of the river, the exhalations of the trees would not have become apparent to him, he felt the vast Forest behind him to be alive in a way that he had never considered before, living and breathing as he himself did. He wondered once more about the Onodrim, the shepherds of the trees, and wished yet again that there were some in the Forest, that he could meet them, talk to them, or at the very least merely catch a glimpse of one. 

   The sun rose, casting a weight of golden light across the shining river, his dazzled eyes seemed to be affected, for dark spots flickered in and out of focus across the water. The image cleared, a small group of riders were crossing the Old Ford. He hurried back into the house and raised his companions; the landlord, who did not seem to have slept, began waking the men, still asleep at the table. There was no sign of the dwarves.

  Legolas, bow in hand, led his yawning companions down to the riverbank to await the crossing of the strangers.  Before long Legolas smiled, they were elves, his heart leaped, could they be from Lothlórien ? He had never even seen anyone from Lothlórien, but like everyone else he was fascinated by the songs of the Golden Forest and the Golden Lady who dwelt there. But these riders, though clad in grey cloaks such as the folk of Lothlórien were said to wear, wore surcoats of Noldor Blue, and their gear and trappings were in the style of Imladris in the north. Legolas sighed, but then smiled to himself; it was a long time since any of Elrond's people had ridden this way, and if they were visiting his father, it would be fitting to ride escort. 

   The sound of the horses striding through the water began to make itself heard above the music of the waters, and he could perceive fair faces with dark hair. There were six, the two at the front very alike, he wondered if these were the very sons of Elrond, out on errantry. His heart quickened, their deeds were already a matter of song, to meet them unexpectedly, while he was playing truant after a disagreement with his father over trivialities, made him feel foolish, young, and insignificant. He sighed and held his chin up. If he had done nothing himself, at least he would not let his family down today. He would be his father's son, and meet the sons of Elrond as the fellow prince he was, for though they claimed no title, all knew them to be the last heirs of the Noldor, and Elladan the elder twin, would have been High King after Elrond.      

   He examined their faces as they approached, wondering which was which. They were very pale, their long hair dark as raven's wings, their eyes grey with dark rims to the light irises, and long, dark lashes, their finely shaped lips were deep red, they were strikingly beautiful; for the first time Legolas wondered if the songs about their sister were not exaggerations or flatteries, but deserved tributes to one who was truly a great beauty, a second Lúthien. 

    'Hail ! Legolas son of Thranduil ! Well met, prince of Rhovanion ! Stars shine upon this the hour of our meeting !' cried the one on Legolas' right. The other smiled and bowed his head, but remained silent as the horses trod through the shallows and up to the riverbank where Legolas stood with his companions, gaping in astonishment. How could they know his name ?

   After a moment he recalled the artist from Imladris, who had painted the portrait of the entire family, and how he himself had avoided sitting for the artist until the artist himself, and all his students, had taken to following him everywhere to sketch him as he ate, drank, rode, sang... Finally he had gone to the airy cavern set aside as a studio, and posed as still as he could, for as long as he was able, his face carefully blank. He wondered if it were to spite him that the artist had made him look stupid to the point of idiocy. He frowned briefly, how could he hope to make a good impression on the sons of Elrond, who must already think him a fool...

    'Hail ! Sons of Elrond, for so I take you to be, and welcome to Rhovanion, on behalf of my father Thranduil, myself, and all our people. Will you join us in yonder tavern to break your fast ?' Legolas finally said, his voice cracking at first with nervous surprise, but swiftly relaxing into the politeness he had been trained for.

   The elf who had spoken smiled warmly into his eyes, and Legolas felt a strange pain in his chest, as though his heart had faltered in its steadfast pulsing, he felt hot, he knew he was blushing, he lowered his eyes, wondering what in Arda to say next.  

    The elves of Imladris dismounted and the silent elf stood in front of Legolas, who met the calm grey eyes. 'I am Elladan son of Elrond Halfelven, and this is my brother Elrohir. Well met, Legolas, we journey to Rhovanion to visit the court of King Thranduil and pay our respects.' He held his hand on his chest and bowed. 

    Elrohir bowed likewise, then grinned at Legolas 'Also, our esteemed father is writing another weighty book, and we are a noisy hindrance to his solemn task.' he turned and looked sideways at his brother, then said conspiratorially to Legolas 'Actually, it is only I who am a nuisance, my poor brother has been sent along to drag me out of mischief. But tell me, how did you come to know of our approach, for we only climed the Pass yesterday evening ? Do eagles speak to you here ? We saw none as we rode...' 

   Legolas smiled 'Welcome to you all. We had no knowledge of your coming, save that I saw the light of your fire in the evening, and lay at the tavern last night. For I myself am here without my father's leave, having been overcome by restlessness, and these faithful elves have followed me hither against their own better judgment. It is my fortune to have met you, for now my truancy will be forgiven, they will call it foresight, and I shall be praised rather than scolded as I ought.'

    Elladan looked mildly shocked and slightly disapproving, but Elrohir laughed and clapped Legolas on the upper arm

   'Well met indeed, Legolas of the woodland realm, I can see you are an elf of my own sort, I am sure we shall be friends !' 

   Legolas, who had been thinking the same thing, smiled warmly at Elrohir, but found his eyes held and kept. His heart beat like white water rapids, while he stood like a statue. There was a still silence. The very river seemed hushed, the bright morning, the flowers, the piping and chirruping of the birds paused...

   Legolas felt a sense of completion, at last he understood himself; he had found what he had long sought, with no knowledge that he was seeking it. He had no urge to move, he did not wish to look away, he wanted nothing more than to gaze into the cool grey eyes that seemed to fill him with heat.

   Elrohir's lips finally moved into a close smile. 'We are thirsty, Legolas, we must attend to the horses.' he said softly. 

   As one released from a spell, Legolas put his own hand to his chest and bowed 'This way, my friends, I am certain that you will enjoy the famous mead of The Beehive, and delight the charming landlord.'

   The landlord was apoplectic to have three princes in his hall, though they preferred to dine in his garden, and had him move a table outside. The three feasted in the small orchard, on the rough grass among the laden fruit trees; ripening apples, pears, plums and quinces hung over the table. Elladan ate fresh-baked bread in silence but Elrohir talked enough for all three, telling Legolas of their journey, of fighting wolves on the road up to the High Pass, of throwing snowballs at his brother, of the stunning views...   

   Legolas sipped his mead, but drank deeply of Elrohir's musical voice, basking in the sparkling glow of his smile, enchanted by the vibrancy which brought his beauty to vigorous life. He seemed to glow, to fill the garden with the shine of him, like a fallen star, like a silmaril made flesh. Suddenly Legolas was aware of who these people were, their grandfather, even now, bore the last silmaril aloft. Their great great uncle had made the silmarils... They were descended from Finwë, Elwë and Olwë, close kin to Ingwë, their grandmother was Galadriel, Lady of Lothlorien, child of Finarfin. Legolas felt as one carried alive into the distant past, as figures from Ages past flickered in the eyes of his mind. These living echoes of the legends of the past were here, in the garden of The Beehive, drinking mead and eating bread.

  He slowly became aware that Elrohir had fallen silent, and also that a caterpillar was wriggling its furry green body up the side of his goblet. He carefully lifted it onto the branch above, then sipped at his mead, his throat seemed stiff, his mind empty of all words. He looked helplessly at Elladan, who smiled at him

   'Have no fear, Legolas son of Thranduil, I had thought that no living creature could silence my brother. Yet you have done so. Is it the gold of your hair, or the gold of your father that has awed him, I wonder ?'  

  Elrohir looked steadily at Legolas and Legolas felt his heart pound, joy rose within him like a swift tide; for the first time in his life, and truly, he knew that it was for himself alone that Elrohir felt awe, for the first time he was free of the mighty shadow of his great father, and valued as he was, as an individual. He smiled joyfully at Elrohir, unaware of Elladan nodding gently, perforce to himself, and rising to leave the garden.

   Elrohir slowly laid his hand on the table, palm up, and without thought or hesitation, Legolas laid his own hand in it.