Stars of Varda - An Elven Love Story (Thranduil)

3. If I Had Wings As Well

Lady Aethel looks down at her daughter's letter, her light eyes skimming over the words on the unfolded parchment for perhaps the tenth time. She smiles and shakes her head, still surprised by what she reads.

"To think that Lady Galadriel requested my Caewen to play for her. I am certain it will be many years before the Golden Wood ceases to remember it."

I study the hem of my iris-colored dress sleeve.

"She would be too modest to ever admit she made such an impression, of course," the Lady adds.

"How did she learn to play the harp so beautifully?"

I have never heard Caewen play anything, but I can only assume it is beautiful. To Lady Aethel it is the music of the Ainur.

"Her father's mother, Erelil of Doriath, taught her. She has long left the shores of Middle-earth, but when Caewen was a child...."

My focus drifts to the delicate silver swan sculpture atop the bookshelf, its elegant wings spread wide, ready to take flight. It is the finest piece in the room, undoubtedly handed down from Erelil of Doriath herself. It is not the first time I have looked at it and wished I had wings as well, to fly far from Lady Aethel and her endless prattle over her daughter's virtues and accomplishments.

"...I knew Caewen would do well in Caras Galadhon under the guidance of Lady Galadriel. She values the teaching of music far more than King Thranduil, and..."

Aethel was once close friends with my mother. These days she does not have many other companions, keeping in her chambers and not attending most dinners in the Dining Hall. What began as a heartfelt mission to befriend her turned into more than I bargained for. Now it is obligation which keeps me visiting weekly, not a desire to listen to Caewen's letters.

If only I could escape. Interrupting her would be disrespectful, but Aethel has been known to ramble long into the afternoon without pause. My nods are the only encouragement she needs. Was she this way with my mother, or is it the effect of too much solitude? I suspect the latter.

"...grateful she has found friendship there. A marchwarden named Lord Haldir has taken a liking to her. Do you know him? I hope Caewen..."

Nodding, I move my thoughts again to the unexpected visitor from last night. After breakfast I sought Thranduil to glean more information, but en route to his chambers Legolas crossed my path and volunteered to tell me all he knew.

"Mithrandir requested to question him alone, without guards. Adar demanded to know his reasons, but he would only say he needed to learn everything Gollum knew about the One Ring."

The Ring of Power. It is as Aragorn, the Ranger of the North, said upon delivering the creature to our doorstep to keep as a prisoner. Gollum once had possession of it. Before being captured in the Dead Marshes, it was suspected he had been tortured and interrogated in Mordor. Likely the Enemy is already aware of the Ring's whereabouts. If Sauron finds it...

I wrap my arms tightly around myself. Earlier the room was too warm.

Our forest home has been overtaken by Sauron's darkness for a long time, but soon he will attempt to control all of Middle-earth. War is inevitable, and will determine the fate of all I hold dear. Is it any wonder why my kin cross the Sea in great number? Or why my father desires to join them? Perhaps I should leave as well, ere it is too late...

But I am not ready. My heart is here, in the familiar woods of birch and oak; the Sea's call has not yet reached me. Perhaps it never will.

"...cannot keep from worrying about Caewen's journey here, though I long to see her. This forest is not safe for travel now, even for the Eldar. Should she stay in Lothlórien? Their borders are well-guarded."

My attention returns to Lady Aethel. For once she has stopped speaking. With her high forehead furrowed and her fingers absently twisting a strand of her brown-black hair, the Lady is visibly concerned.

"I do not doubt Lorien's protection," I say. "But our Woodland Guard will keep close watch over Caewen. She will be accompanied, surely?"

Aethel nods and the ridges of worry on her forehead soften. "Lord Haldir and two of his fellow guards have kindly offered to travel with her. Did I not already tell you?"

She probably had. In truth, it is the first time I hear Caewen is coming to visit. The Lady has likely mentioned it countless times. If only I could stay attentive.

Aethel does not wait for my answer. "If only I lived in the Golden Wood under Lady Galadriel's protection. Then I would not fear. I would be with Caewen, and we would live comfortably."

A cold feeling grips me in the center of my chest. "Not even Lòrien is safe from the evil that may come, my lady. If Sauron has his way, we are all in peril. Do you not believe King Thranduil has protected us?"

"Yes...he has. But this darkness still endures."

"And so has our realm."

The Lady has my full attention now. I straighten in the high-backed chair.

"Rîneth, I know you and your dear father are friends with the King. But even you must question his actions. Or rather, lack thereof! The Lord and Lady of Lothlórien would never allow this to continue. They would have fought long ago. Caewen believes so as well."

And what Caewen believes is nothing short of the truth. I try to compose myself, the usual calming scent of vanilla and citrus wafting from Aethel's bedchambers not working. The Lady and her daughter are not alone in questioning the King. I feel a sudden stinging guilt that I questioned him also, only last night.

"I trust his judgment." I meet Aethel's eyes and hope I convey the confidence I do not feel. "We all should."

I stand. Lady Aethel follows, her kind smile returning.

"Ah, henig. You are exceedingly loyal. But there are times when loyalty is blinding. I only hope you are right."

I do not know how to reply. I hope I am right as well.

"I have something for you." She walks to a nearby table and opens its small drawer. Her hand grasps an unusual green object. "Caewen sent these with her last letter. I cannot eat them all."

In my hand, she places a large helping of lembas bread, still in its soft leaf wrapping. Sudden pangs of guilt assail me, and it is likely evident in my wobbly smile. Lady Aethel, for all her faults, is good to me.

It is the least I can do to come visit her every week. I promise myself I shall pay better attention.

"Hannon-le, my lady. Please thank Caewen for me."

At the mention of her daughter's name, the Lady's light eyes light up like Silmarils. "She will be delighted to hear you shared them with me. They have always been her favorite, even when she was an elfling."

"I have not had lembas since last I visited Lòrien," I confess. "But I remember it being far better than any honey or seed cake I have had before."

I make my way to the door.

"Rîneth."

I turn around, anticipating another comment about Caewen.

"Have I ever told you that you are the very image of your mother? You must have heard it said before, but perhaps it means more coming from her close friend." The Lady's brow furrows as she studies me. "You have her kind features, her upturned nose...but those brown curls must come from your father's side."

I smile. "My aunt."

"My sister has them also, but I am glad Caewen took after me. I have always said that curls would overwhelm her petite features. Your eyes, though..."

"All my own."

"They are...striking."