Legolas'
Bells
A Little Legolas 'Get Well Soon' prayer for JastaElf
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| By
erobey (erobey@gmail.com) |
"What have we here?" the voice was gentle but edged in irritation none the less. "Elflings should not be here, pen neth. We don't have extra hands or eyes to spare watching over you. Go along to your minders, now." An uncompromising set of hands lifted the child easily and arms quickly ensconced the sleep-dazed youngster against a sturdy shoulder.
"But I want to stay," the softly petulant words drifted through the healer's hair followed by a low whine and a gulp. In no time the tears were flowing again, the child having quietly cried himself into oblivion just a short hour ago. Thus the healer had discovered him, curled up on a wooden bench in the small garden abutting the infirmary's stone walls.
"Hush, now, child that isn't necessary. He'll be just fine in a few days; you'll see, but he needs rest and quiet. You don't want your Ada to worsen for worry over you," the healer tutted in frustration. Who had let the child inside the ward, anyway? Wasn't there a nanny somewhere in charge of him?
His dire warning worked; Legolas swallowed his noisy sobs and sniffed up his tears, terrified his upset would make his Ada sicker. He shuddered, unable to force out the horrifying thought that maybe he already had done so, maybe his Ada would never wake up, just like his Nana. His whole body went stiff with his effort to contain the howl of fear and grief threatening to burst from his troubled heart. What would he do without Ada? He couldn't let it happen; he had to do something.
Struggling mightily against the healer's grasp, Legolas resorted to other means when the elf's grip only grew tighter in response. Small fingers clutched up a handful of long brown hair and yanked hard while a set of perfect white incisors bit purposefully into the lobe of the healer's left ear, accompanied by as fierce a growl as a small elf child can create. The effect was immediate; Legolas was unceremoniously dropped as the elf shouted in pain and anger, covering the afflicted ear protectively and cursing words unsuitable for a young one's hearing.
Legolas landed on his feet and took off, racing away toward his trees. The sun was warm and the breeze was gentle, both hoping to soothe the distraught elfling as he tore into the glade, bawling and sobbing, unable to keep back the flood any longer. He didn't even pause to acknowledge the trees' welcome, vaulting up into the patient arms of the largest birch and scampering feverishly into its highest limbs. There he scrambled onto a small wooden talan, a humble construction built with unskilled hands too young to know the platform was not the exact replica of the finely designed one occupied by Galion and his family. Legolas curled up tight against the trunk, tucked his knees up against his chest, buried his head against them, and then wrapped his arms all around everything. His tears and convulsive gulps for air punctuated the low keening cry issuing from his over-burdened soul. The tree swayed, attempting to calm its little charge, and the wind whispered consolation through the fluttering leaves.
The child paid no attention, too absorbed in his inner conversation as he pleaded and begged for the Valar to spare his Ada.
'Don't take him away, please. I need him. No one else understands me. You already took my Nana and I don't have anyone else; please make him better.' Legolas cried himself to sleep again, exhausted from the emotional strain.
It was dark when he awoke for night had come, silent and peaceful as the day-dwellers noisy chatter quieted during their repose. Drifting through the solitude came the wind, tousling the elfling's baby-soft hair and swaying the branches all around him. The motion sent a clear, high chime winging through the hollow which in turn inspired another in a lower tone and another higher, and then a full crescendo of twinkling bells sounded in the breeze. Legolas lifted his head and sat up, finding he had slouched down into a heap sometime during his nap, and gazed at the wind chimes hanging just above his head.
They were his Nana's, cast of mithril, a handful of hollow silver tubes suspended from strands of her hair. She had hung them on the branches of the tree just outside the window of her sitting room and the sound of the bells accompanied by her comforting voice was among Legolas' earliest and dearest memories. He took the bells when she died and no one said anything about it so he had brought them here where he could come and listen and remember her whenever he wished. It always eased his heart to hear them and they worked their magic this night, too.
Legolas sighed, wondering how far advanced the night was and what was happening in the infirmary. Was his Ada awake now or… He shook his head; he would not think that, he wouldn't! Hard as he wished he couldn't help it, though. It was a spider's bite that ailed his father and this was the very thing that had robbed him of his mother not so very long ago. He had never seen his Ada so still and pale and lifeless.
'No!' Legolas jumped to his feet and stomped the short length of his hidden talan, back and forth, fists tight and teeth bared. "No!" he stopped and shouted up into the empty air above the leaves. "You can't have him; I won't let you! He's going to wake up and stay here with me!" Only the wind answered, gusting through the trees and setting the chimes to ringing anew.
What could he do? How could one small elfling ever be powerful enough to counter the might of Námo, dark Vala of Death? Legolas set to pacing again, brow furrowed deeply and lips frowning above a stubbornly determined chin. He must think of something; there had to be a way to hold onto his Ada's feä and prevent the elf from heeding the summons of the Lord of Mandos. His Ada knew how to make magic, so had his Nana been gifted. Together they laced the spaces betwixt the trees with strong protection that kept their elven home hidden from enemies. If only he knew how he could make a spell to hide his Ada's soul away from death and make his ears deaf to the call from Aman. The wind blew by again and the bells tinkled merrily. Legolas halted and stared at them.
The tree swayed and the branches creaked, the leaves rustled and shook amid the comforting tones of the mithril cylinders striking one against the other. There was a consistency to the sounds; one mimicked the other, variations on a pattern sung by the wind and interpreted through the tangled twigs and limbs of the innumerable trees. This was Greenwood's Song.
With a clarity that was nearly painful in its piercing illumination, Legolas realised he was part of this Song, as were all the elves of the forest, as was his Ada. The Wood Elves and the trees had been here Forever and always would be, together, separate things, unique individuals, different in kind but linked, depending on each other, loving and respecting each one's place in the Music. This, he knew with absolute certainty, was the key to the magic he needed. All he had to do was gather up the energy of this Song and surround his Ada with it; mayhap Yavanna could understand such things and break through but not Námo. What could a Lord of death know of life?
Nothing! He will not see my Ada behind the shield of the Greenwood's Song.' Legolas smiled and reached for the bells.
"What have we here?" the voice was subdued with wonder and amazement, its creator staring up into the trees surrounding the little garden just outside the infirmary's granite walls. A merry chorus of sound answered him as the wind tossed the branches and set the chimes to ringing. The limbs were filled with bells of every kind, some of mithril, some of copper. There were chimes made from clam shells, snail shells, carved elk bone and boar's tusks, and from hollowed river reeds. Some bore brightly flashing crystals that made strange resonant tones when they connected, others were made of thin slivers of blue slate that rang with a sound very like the water in which the clays comprising them had initially settled. Nearly every other branch carried a string of chimes; verily, every set of bells in all the city must have found their way within the garden's trees.
Thranduil smiled as he laughed; the music was filled with nothing but hope and love and renewal and happiness to come. "There must be a hundred bells in this garden!" he whispered in awe, for he could feel that this was more than what it seemed. The whole area bounded by the hanging chimes was cocooned in the very essence of the forest and something more.
'Not even the Girdle of Melian was cemented with so much love.'
Slowly he walked out onto the green grass, warm under the strong rays of the mid-morning sunlight, and carefully stretched his arms out to either side. That sent a sharp stab of pain through his left shoulder that made him grunt in protest but he continued his leisurely stroll, tucking his thick robe about him against the remnant chill of the passing ague. The sun and the wind and the music would do him more good than all the herbal concoctions even his best healers could manufacture. Now if only he had some company he would be content in his convalescence.
He turned a corner of the building and came upon a sun-dazzled spot where a wooden bench sat against the radiant warmth of the grey, peppered wall. It winked and blinked at him in conspiratorial glee as Anor's touch danced across the sparkling muscovite shot through its stony veins. There upon the willow-wood seat lay a sight that turned Thranduil's heart over: Legolas stretched out, one arm dangling down, golden hair spilling off the edge, half-open eyes bright with the residue of tears. "Legolas!" he called out joyfully as he hastened closer, ignoring the protest from joints still stiff and weary from illness.
"Ada!" Legolas was awake in a second, bounding off the bench to wrap his arms tight around his father's waist, squeezing as hard as he was able, burying his face against the pile of the robe to breathe in the familiar scent synonymous with security and love. Strong arms hugged him back and a gentle caress soothed over his head. He let go and stood back, grabbing his Ada's hands to lead him to the bench. Once they sat down they remained still for a time just gazing at one another, smiling with giddy grins; everything was going to be fine. Legolas leaned against his father and tucked one long arm comfortingly around him like a blanket. Both father and son released sighs of utter contentment and relaxed against the sunny wall.
"Guess what, Ada?"
"What, Legolas?"
"I figured out how to do magic."
Thranduil's proud laughter mingled with the merry ringing cascading through the breeze; he didn't doubt it one bit.
The End