When The Trees Sang: Part XIX
by Nicole
-----
Three seasons had come and gone, leaving Garania with no notion as
to where they had escaped to. She watched the small girl running
through the courtyard, her golden hair falling loose around her
face, flailing in the wind as she ran. She sat with Legolas on a
stone bench, just a few feet away, watching her play, enjoying the
feel of the sun on her skin. Legolas glanced up at the sun's
position, and quickly rose from his seat.
"Angeles, come, it is time for dinner. You must get a bath before
the meal. You are covered in dirt."
The child ran up to him, jumping immediatly into his arms.
"But Father, must I take a bath? I only just had one this past
morning."
"Yes, and since this past morning, you have run and played and your
skin is beginning to resemble that of an orc's. I will not have my
daughter looking like one of those vile creatures, so go, your
mother will help you."
He glanced up at Garania, who was still sitting on the bench,
holding another child, this one much smaller, in her arms.
"Come along, my love, your father is right. You are a sight. A bath
is most certainly what you need."
Legolas laughed to himself at the small Elf as she ran to meet her
mother. The baby in her arms cried out loudly. Garania sighed,
looking up at Legolas.
"Leoglas, can you not take the child for a little while? He is
tired, and I must prepare Angeles for dinner."
He nodded, and walked over to her, relieving her of the bundle in
her arms. Her eyes thanked him, and she grasped Angeles' hand and
walked toward the palace. Legolas stood behind her, holding his son
and watching his wife leave. When they had disappered within the
palace, he looked down at the child in his arms, pride swelling
within him. Not only had they been blessed with Angeles, but since
the summer three seasons ago that she was born, another child had
been gifted to them, this one a son, and his heir to the throne of
Mirkwood. The baby held most of his characteristics, from his blonde
hair, to his pointy ears, which were slightly less rounded and
protruded into a sharper point than did Garania's. He had crystal
blue eyes, like the waters of the Great Sea, and skin as smooth and
flawless as Garania's. He could see that the child would grow to be
a wonderous king, as he already possessed the qualities of one
although he was only six months escaped from his mother's hold. He
smiled, and lifted the baby upon his shoulder, and then promptly set
out back towards the palace.
-----
Six more years, gone by quicker than the previous three. Legolas
watched his son grown into the makings of everything that a prince
should be, while Angeles possessed the erethial qualities of her
mother, the embodiment of a growing princess. She was now nine years
old, and learning more and more about the world in which they lived
everyday. He often looked at her in wonder, once thinking that he
had learned everything there was to know about the world in his
three thousand years, but then, discovering something new with every
glance at his daughter. Orcs had not been seen in Mirkwood for
nearly eight years now, and he did not expect them to return anytime
soon. The ones brave enough to return after Garania's showing of
power so many years ago were quickly slaughtered by the archers
guarding the boundaries of the kingdom. He noticed more and more
everyday that Garania was beginning to appear old, something he
never thought he could see in her. Although her appearance still
retained the beauty and majesty that it had the day he had first
brought his eyes to rest upon her, inside, she was aging. She was
nearly 6,000 years old, nearly as old as Elrond, and had seen the
many downfalls of Middle Earth, and had battled in nearly half of
them. Her eyes told of her wisdom, as well as her age. He often
watched her, perched upon the balcony of their room, staring off in
the distance, looking towards the direction of Rivendell, or
sometimes Lothlorien, as if she could make out the trees of each.
One day, he walked beneath the balcony, and saw that her eyes held a
distant gaze in them, and he walked quickly up to their room, unable
to bear it any longer.
When he reached their door, he opened it quietly, careful not to
disturb her. He walked slowly up behind her, resting his hands upon
her shoulders.
"Melamin, tell me, what brings you to sit at this balcony day after
day, staring off into the distance so?"
She turned her head slightly, looking at him. A sad smiled played
across her lips briefly, and then faded away as quickly as it came.
"I long for Rivendell, and Lothlorien. I feel as though I am dying
within these walls, Legolas. These woods are dark, and I can no
longer bear their solitude. I need to leave this kingdom, I cannot
remain any longer."
He looked at her, his eyes filling with pain, and sadness. He had
known this day would come. She had been unhappy within the
boundaries of Mirkwood from the moment he had brought her there
after their wedding. Being a Light Elf, she was unaccustomed to the
darkness of the forest, where as it was a familiar and welcome sight
to him. He sighed deeply, knowing that there was no other way.
"Melamin, if you wish to go, then you may go. I will not try to stop
you. I only ask of you one thing....remain for just a few more
years, until Angeles and Raladir have grown enough to choose thier
ways themselves."
She looked at him, a bit shocked.
"Do you honestly think I would leave my children here, when I left?
How could you even think such a thing? I will do what you wish, and
remain here, but if I chose to leave, they would follow."
He looked at the hard statement in her eyes, unable to fight even
if there was a chance that he could win. He nodded, and walked
quietly out of the room, a sense of hollowness taking him over.
-----
Twelve more years passed, quickly for Legolas, but passing slowly
for Garania. Everyday that passed she could feel herself growing
weaker, the boundaries of Mirkwood her prison. Legolas could do
nothing but watch from afar, as their relationship had taking a deep
bruising over the past few years. From the time that she had
informed him of her wish to leave Mirkwood, they had rarely spoken
to each other, and had drifted further and further as time passed.
He slept in a separate room, away from hers, each retiring to their
dreams alone, an emptiness within them from the lacking of the
other's presence.
Angeles was now 21, and fully capable of caring for herself. Her
wedding plans were being made, as she had fallen in love with an
archer in Legolas' court, and was refusing to take another,
regardless of royal blood. Raladir, who was now 18, was following
closely in the footsteps of his father, learning the ways of the
royal court and becoming a handsome and graceful archer, also much
like his father.
Legolas stood from his own balcony, looking down upon the scene that
played out before him. Garania was seated atop her horse, the white
stallion that had been with her through so many of her battles,
bidding goodbye to the many that had gathered to see her off. He
turned his back, unable to watch any longer. She had informed him of
her leaving by a servant, sent to his office several days ago,
unable to bring herself to speak with him face to face. He managed
to bring himself back to the window just in time to watch her ride
out of the kingdom, galloping slowly on the large white steed. Her
long hair billowed out around her, catching the wind with every
turn, and her gown floated around the mare, whipping around her legs
as she rode. He lowered his eyes, and turned away, retiring to his
room once again, a sadness slowly taking him over.
| Part XX |
| Index |