Stars of Varda - An Elven Love Story (Thranduil)

13. The Visitor

Spring gives way to a fervid summer without me hearing from Gwendes again.

My scriptorium is a haven from the unremitting heat, but I have been writing since dawn and my fingers cramp from the quill. Longing to stretch my legs, I leave the dark coolness of the caves to meet a still blinding sun. The main road is mostly barren, the villagers settling in for their suppers.

I stroll past the quiet courtyard and a small distance beyond, taking solace in knowing the road is well-guarded. There is no pleasant breeze to soften the sun, but I take little notice. Ada would say I am daydreaming. If only it were true. If only I could stop fretting over Gwendes...

The day after my message of caution, I returned with a basket of freshly-baked bread as a peace offering. But Gwendes' usual warmth and enthusiasm were absent. With my persistence, we spoke of the weather, and the yellow Elanor which bloomed so happily on her front steps. But our usual easy banter was stifled, lasting no longer than the time it would take for a Halfling to eat second breakfast.

I lost myself in writing as the spring blossoms faded to a perpetual green. It is my hope the sooner I finish the project for Gwendes, the sooner all will be forgiven. But I shall not apologize for doing the right thing. If there remains even the smallest thread of hope she will heed my advice, it was not in vain.

The approaching clop of a horse sweeps me from my ruminations and back to the Wood. I strayed too far while wading through my thoughts. Glancing over my shoulder, I still see the outline of the village, but I have walked farther than intended. With a frustrated sigh I turn around. Even cave trolls pay better attention.

The rider travels swiftly, the clip-clopping drawing closer. What if an orc has slipped past the guards? Yet orcs never use horses, for the horses would not survive past supper. Perhaps it is a guard, but most travel on foot. My hand moves towards the belt of my dress and I brace for a meeting.

With a loud whinny, the horse slows to a stop. "Mae govannen, my lady. May I offer you a ride back to the village?"

The Elf upon the steed is dark-haired and dark-eyed, with an angular face and sideways smile. His attire is of the finest make, the familiar silver-veined leaf brooch fastening his cloak belonging to the realm of Lórien. A long, ornate sword hilt juts from his hip.

Anyone who would dare journey through Mirkwood unaccompanied can only be a highly trained warrior.

"I thank you, my lord, but the distance is not far to walk." I release the sheath at my belt. "Surely you have good reason for braving the dark Wood alone..."

"I am returning home to my father for a season. Luckily, I had no trouble in the forest." He grips his sword hilt, his sideways grin widening.

"You have come from Lothlórien?"

"Yes. My aunt did not wish me to depart, but my insistence finally quieted her."

I raise a brow. "Is your aunt your keeper, my lord?"

"Though not quite the word I would use, it works well enough, Lady Rîneth."

A wave of shock washes over me. "How do you know my name?"

He dismounts with a clink from his large sword. His dapple-gray horse gives a soft whinny; he absently pats its flank as he studies me. "Daughter of Gailon the Advisor. How could I ever forget your fair face? I daresay mine is not as memorable."

"I thought you familiar, yet..." I shake my head.

"Perhaps you are acquainted with Lord Amdiron. I am his son, Ferdir."

Ferdir. The name tickles my mind. It is not distinctive, but when spoken, I am reminded of Legolas. Why Legolas? And his sideways smile and dark eyes...I have seen them before. A thousand years ago, or longer.

"You helped patrol the borders with the Prince for a time. You were his friend...yes. I remember now..."

"You and I were never close, not that I did not wish otherwise."

I hope the warmth flooding my cheeks is not visible. "I am sure we can be friends now, Lord--"

"Ferdir. Without title."

There is a sparkle in his eyes like a night sky, a promise of mischief which I have never seen in his father. Lord Amdiron is serious, more serious than even Thranduil.

"Ferdir, then."

"Should you be walking this road alone, my lady? I have heard the spiders are becoming braver, and more cunning."

"Our realm is well-guarded," I say confidently. "But I have a knife."

"Can you use it well?"

"Do you have reason to doubt me?"

In truth, it is a needle compared to the knives Legolas and Tauriel carry. It was my sister's, left behind during her move to Imladris. Barely used, it would do little damage to cooked pheasant, much less a spider of Ungoliant. But it is all I have, and better than nothing.

"Never." His smile returns. "But unless you have changed your mind, I shall leave you now and go to my father."

"He will be happy to see your return, I am sure."

A swoosh of his black hair and he is atop the dapple gray again. "Perhaps I will see you again at supper?"

Without waiting for my answer, he is off. I watch as horse and rider become smaller, their figures illuminated by the sun's softened rays through the tree boughs. I start to follow.