Spring by Grundy

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Spring

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“Oh!”

Arwen’s soft exclamation of wonder drifted to the ground on a gentle breeze.

Celeborn had not climbed up with them, confident the glow would still be on her face when she returned to the ground. He had left that to Celebrían and Elrond. And he would not have her notice if his eyes grew misty.

It was Thranduil who had written inviting his cousin, her husband, and their children for this visit – and Celebrían who had realized what the timing meant.

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“It is true Doriath is lost to us forever, but there are still many wonders in the world,” Oropher told Celeborn with a grin. “Bring your little cygnet to the Greenwood next spring, and I will show her one of them.”

Celeborn raised an eyebrow. But Oropher, more brother than cousin, was too practiced to give anything away.

“Tell Galadriel she is welcome as well. Many of my people are curious to see her – and to discover if she is as terrifying or as mad as they have heard the lachend all are.”

Celeborn snorted, but spring found the three of them visiting Oropher’s not yet finished hall in the great Greenwood.

Celebrían, on the cusp of adolescence, was curious about everything around her and eager to prove herself no longer a baby even before Oropher asked her conspiratorially one afternoon if her father had taught how to climb trees well enough to get to the uppermost branches.

Celeborn hadn’t been asked, but he wasn’t about to miss whatever it was Oropher was so sure would be a treat for a young one, so when they headed up the tallest oaks, he followed.

Oropher had spoken truly, they were heading all the way to the very top branches. But he took no chances with the safety of his young niece. Thranduil was never more than an arm’s reach away. While ostensibly he was racing her to the top, he was a grown elf and would be the first to intervene if it looked as though she might miss her footing.

When they reached the canopy, the sight that greeted them was well worth it – the flying irises were swarming by the thousands. The green of the new leaves was nearly blotted out by the vivid purples and and variegated browns of massed butterfly wings.

“Oh! Ada, look!”

Celebrían was enraptured, as well she might be. Though she was used to seeing meadow blues and false leaves in the meadows of Eregion, they were not seen in such numbers.

“There are so many of them…”

“I thought you might enjoy it,” Oropher chuckled, while Thranduil beamed at his little cousin’s expression.

The sight brought back memories of Lúthien’s butterfly room in Menegroth – and looking toward Galadriel, he felt sure she was thinking of that also.

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Oropher was no longer there to show Celebrían’s daughter the sight of the newly arrived butterflies. It fell instead to his son. Thranduil had reported that the irises were also somewhat diminished in number, as though they too had taken casualties in the war. But they were still there, as were the trees and the streams that made the Greenwood. And he wished his young kin to know them, and each other.

It was Thranduil’s son who was on the next branch over from Arwen, watching her just as cautiously as his father had once watched her mother – making sure she would not fall. Young Legolas was slightly older than Elladan and Elrohir, and delighted to find cousins who were of an age with himself. But with no younger sibling of his own, having young kin was as fresh to him as reaching to top of the greatest trees in the Greenwood was for Arwen.

And if Celeborn’s eyes grew a bit misty over all this, who could blame him?

Come, beloved, Galadriel said quietly. There will be many more springs. But your granddaughter will see this for the first time once only.  You may not be able to tell Lúthien, but I am certain Oropher will be displeased when you are reunited if you cannot tell him how it went.