"I knew then I could no longer hide my love from her, or anyone else."
Márafea and Radagast walked arm in arm through the forest as the autumn leaves fell about them. He had grown frail of late, so much so he had finally agreed to stay in one of the Elven huts close to the Halls and was tended to by the Elves who lived close by. Márafea visited him daily, sometimes bringing Thranduil and her daughters. But that day he had asked for her to come alone. "Is there something you wish to tell me, dear brother?" asked Márafea.
Radagast's wrinkled face smiled. "Do remember when we danced by the trees with young Artanis and her brothers?"
"Only when I am with you, Aiwendil, do I remember Aman," replied Márafea.
"Let us dance now as we used to," said Radagast.
Márafea laughed, "How can we? You can barely walk, let alone dance."
Radagast's eyes twinkled. "We could manage a slow dance, for old time's sake." Márafea nodded, curtseyed, then they both danced and twirled together. For a few moments, their true forms appeared, almost becoming one form, before parting again and resuming their mortal selves. Radagast collapsed to the ground.
Márafea cradled him in her arms. "Aiwendil! Aiwendil! dear brother please, open your eyes and speak to me!"
Radagast slowly opened his eyes and stroked her smooth face. "Ah sweet sister, barely a wrinkle do your bear. But this form is old and weary, it is time. Bury it by that Oak over there. It has served me well and I want it to rest peacefully," whispered Radagast. Márafea held him close.
"Will you not take another form?" she asked.
"I will take many forms. I want to be as free as the wind in trees, sweet sister. Let me rest now." he closed his eyes and did not open them again.
When his last breath left his body, Márafea looked up and saw Aiwendil. Free of the burden of his mortal form, He was now ageless and dressed in the green robes of a servant of Yavanna, his hair long and brown, a ring of Oak leaves upon his head. "Farewell, Sweet Sister, I shall remain on Middle Earth to do my lady's will and watch over your kin. You are bound to return. But as you will soon find, things cannot be as they once were." Then, like the wind, he faded away into the trees.
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Márafea and Thranduil lounged together in the parlour of the summer palace. Its woven halls of living branches allowed the light to make gentle shadows around the room. "You seem troubled tonight, Mime Melda," said Thranduil.
"I not troubled so much as concerned. I have been speaking with Nínimiel, she has seemed quiet since she returned from her visit to The Shire," said Márafea.
"Yes, I have noticed that too, yet she says she enjoyed her time there. She was very fortunate to be given permission to enter after all."
"It was a special occasion, Mime Melda, it is not every day your best friend gets married, is it?"
"No, I suppose not. What did she tell you?"
"It may not be what you want to hear, Mime Melda," said Márafea.
Thranduil's nostrils flared, "Are we talking about the 'Bear Boy' again? I rue the day Mithlothiel wounded him with that poorly aimed arrow."
"Oh Mime Melda, Beornoric is a grown man in his prime and a Prince of Beorn, our neighbours and allies. If anyone was to blame for what happened, it was Mellessil. She goaded her sister into shooting that apple."
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Princess of Arnor - The King's Regent (Under Edit)
FanfictionBook Two in the House of Greenleaves series (Don't forget to read Daughter of Arnor first). The Battle under the trees is over, the Wood Elves of Mirkwood were victorious. But it has come at a price. The forest is badly burned on its Western border...
