Legolas in the Golden Wood, by Kaylee Arafinwiel

[kayleearafinwiel]

B2MeM Prompt, Card and Number: G51, Echoes in the Water, Color Burst 6, Eligible Bachelor Baggins, Fun with Feanorians, Games People Play, Injuries and Other Ailments, The Language of Flowers, Mirkwood's Favorite Son, Of the Sea, Person vs. Nature, The Shire, Shirish, Weather
Format: short story?
Genre:
Rating: PG
Warnings:
Characters: Legolas, OFC elf, OFS (original female snake), Sam, Frodo and the rest of the Fellowship (except Gandalf) at the end 
Pairings: OFC/Nimrodel (river-maiden)
Creator’s Notes (optional): Ninglorien's name means "yellow flag" or "yellow lily/iris" - ninglor  is the name for the "gladden" of the Gladden Fields. I have chosen to take the "iris" name to fit with the Language of Flowers card. Her relationship with Miriel is symbolic of the relationship she wishes to have with Nimrodel.
Summary: After the Fellowship comes to Lothlorien, we are told Legolas is away with the Elves much of the time, separated from the rest of the Fellowship. This is one of the first of those times, if not the very first.

‘Dark is the water of Kheled-zâram, and cold are the springs of Kibil-nâla, and fair were the many-pillared halls of Khazad-dûm in Elder Days before the fall of mighty kings beneath the stone.’

Legolas closed his eyes, leaning against the bole of a mallorn as the Lady’s words flowed over him again. He remembered watching the Dwarf take the Ring-bearer aside, his steadfast servant following along behind. But none of them had stopped to tend Frodo or Sam’s hurts, or thought to, not even the Dwarf, who had been too concerned with showing Frodo the lake his own folk named Nen Cenedril. Nigh Nen Cenedril rose the spring of Celebrant, and its course they had followed long and long, ere even he realised the two pheriain were lagging behind.

He thanked the Belain in silence that they had seen fit to watch over the Ring-bearer; and blessed Bilbo for thinking of the mithril coat for Frodo to wear. Mithrandir had spoken of the coat, true - but he knew more than he had let on, for that coat, retrieved from the hoard of the dragon Smaug, had been intended for him, a commission by his elder brother Fêrion. Legolas bore no ill will to Frodo, for the gift had been approved by his father the Elvenking; but it still struck near to his heart all the same.

Cold was the spring of Celebrant, as the Lady had said, but cool and healing were the waters of Nimrodel which they had forded. He had sung the Lay of Nimrodel to them, and when the Elves of Lorien had come and taken charge of their party he had been all too glad to give the lead over to them. Legolas was too sick at heart to protest their distrust of the Dwarf overmuch. Of their travel through Lothlorien blindfolded he cared little to recall. Yet when at last they had come to stand before the Lord and Lady of the Galadhrim, Legolas had felt a mixture of emotions he could hardly put names to. Celeborn had greeted each of them, and his greeting still lingered in Legolas’ mind; 'Welcome son of Thranduil! Too seldom do my kindred journey hither from

the North.'

The words of the Lord to him were no less fair than the words of the Lady to his Dwarven companion, and Legolas had been warmed by them. He just wished he knew what to make of Galadriel.

“Greetings, kinsman, and be well come to our realm.”

Legolas stirred, turning to look. He saw a fair elleth, gowned in white, with hair of deep gold and her keen eyes upon him. She resembled Galadriel somewhat, though younger. “Greetings, cousin,” he said carefully. “Forgive me, it has been long since my folk walked under these trees, and I never have.”

She laughed softly, her eyes sparkling. “Indeed, I know it. You are Legolas Thranduilion, and I am Ninglorien, handmaiden of Galadriel. I come from the line of Daireth, though it is long since I have met any of my mother’s kin.”

“I thank you for your welcome, then, Ninglorien,” Legolas said quietly. His eyes were fixed not on her keen gaze, but the rope of what he took to be deep indigo precious stones about her neck.

Ninglorien nodded, sobering. “You are troubled. The fall of Mithrandir has become known to us all, and there is little room for joy in these days. I find it where I can. But have hope! For do you not walk in the company of Isildur’s Heir? Not all yet is lost.”

“I fear for the Company,” Legolas said. He flinched slightly as the necklace Ninglorien wore began to move on its own. A jewel-bright head with shining eyes rose from its resting-place on her shoulder, and Legolas chided himself for not knowing a serpent when he saw one. The indigo snake eyed him intently, and Legolas shook his head.  “I fear for what we will find when we leave here, the golden heart of Elvendom upon Middle-earth.”

Extending her arm, Ninglorien allowed her serpentine friend to slither onto it, coiling round. “Master your fear, kinsman,” she said. “There is much to fear in these dark days, yet if it conquers us we are done. Be a light of hope to your companions; even the Dwarf now has the favour of the Lady Galadriel, so I doubt he is entirely worthless.”

“Worthless - indeed not,” Legolas said, stepping back in surprise. “He is a warrior, and comes from a hardy folk. Our people are unfriends, to be sure, but the Master of Imladris would not have chosen him if he were unworthy.”

“That is good news,” she replied, “or at least it is better than ill news. Much comfort may it be to you, and to your royal father! Come, kinsman; let us find better diversion than to stand here speaking with my Miriel as our only listener. You have been long without the company of your kind; your friends are safeguarded, come with me.” She stroked Miriel’s head, the serpent rippling in pleasure at her attentions, and led Legolas deeper into the wood.

“You are very close to Miriel,” Legolas observed. Ninglorien managed a smile. “She keeps the ellyn away,” was the response. “Miriel is dearer to me than any other, for she was given to me by my love Nimrodel.”

“Beloved of Amroth?” Legolas recalled the Lay as they walked, shaking his head. This started another brief laugh out of Ninglorien.

“Not the maiden, the river,” she explained. “Though I doubt not I could love the maiden were she here, one so fair as the sparkling pools.” As they wandered back toward the banks of Nimrodel, the tale of Miriel - her half-drowned body washed up on the shore - was told, and Legolas listened intently.

“You saved her then. Small wonder she adores you so,” Legolas said. “The saving of a life creates a strong bond.”

“You speak truer words than you know, son of Thranduil,” Ninglorien replied. “May your bow be blessed, and your arrows ever fly swiftly in the battles to come - for battle you will see again, kinsman. May your band of brothers never forsake you!”

“Say rather I will never forsake them in their time of need,” Legolas replied. “My companions are Mortals all, and of necessity will fall before me, unless I be slain.”

“Your father would not appreciate that,” Ninglorien said dryly.

“Well, I do not intend to be slain,” Legolas replied, shaking his head. “Still, I acknowledge the possibility. I may be the finest archer in the Company, but there are better who yet live.”

“You will trust your mark more, perhaps, with a bow of the Galadhrim. I will speak to our Lady about it,” Ninglorien said. “But for now, let us enjoy my beloved’s attentions.” She knelt on the bank, finding a certain tree and extracting a wooden boat from its hollow.

Legolas blinked in surprise, shaking his head. “Am I an elfling, that you invite me to play at sailing with you?”

Ninglorien rolled her eyes. “This is not a game. Your course will continue to the Anduin likely,” she replied. “Do you know how to sail a boat properly?”

“I am a hunter, not a sailor,” Legolas protested. Ninglorien sighed in exasperation.

“That is what I thought. Come here.” She pulled Legolas down next to her, leaving Miriel to keep watch on the Elves in the trees above them. The indigo snake wouldn’t touch the water, but watched warily as Ninglorien absorbed herself in teaching Legolas. “And next time, bring the Dwarf,” she added.

“Bring the Dwarf,” Legolas muttered when she finally let him go, wandering back to the flet where he had left the Hobbits. They were regaling Aragorn, Boromir, and the Dwarf with a tale of a Shire Yule some years past.

“...and would you believe it, Strider, but Mr. Frodo had turned his ankle from falling in the snow playin’ ‘King on the Hill’ with us, like Hobbiton lads always do, and had to stay in bed the whole time? It was all Mr. Merry and Mr. Pippin could do to get him to eat!” Sam was saying.

“It was absolute torture,” Frodo sighed, shaking his head. He looked round at Legolas as he entered the flet.  “I had planned to spend Yule across the Brandywine with my mother’s kin, and yet I was stuck at home. Merry insisted if I couldn’t come to Buckland for Yule he’d come to me, and he brought Pippin with him. They were very...enthusiastic caregivers.”

Gimli guffawed. “I can just imagine, lad.”

Legolas found he could imagine it, too. He settled back to hear the rest of the tale, though he also thought of his encounter with Ninglorien. Whatever would Gimli say to meeting her? He supposed later, he’d find out.

Comments

[kayleearafinwiel]

Thank you so much, Shirebound! I like to think it was comforting, too.