Stars of Varda - An Elven Love Story (Thranduil)

50. Eryn Lasgalen

I remain rooted to the path while Thranduil walks onward, feeling more puzzled than ever. I take a few small steps, allowing my sore legs to adjust to the firm ground beneath them, and hurry to catch up with him. The sun is warm on my skin.

"What business do we have with the lord of Caras Galadhon?"

"You and your endless questions." He looks at me from the side of his eyes, their blue color lightened in the noon light. "Have patience."

"My patience wears thin. Enough of this mystery game."

"Do not pretend you are not enjoying it."

I clamp my lips, feeling a heat on my cheeks no longer coming from the sun. "If I enjoy anything, it is the scenery. It is beautiful here."

It is little wonder why he has dressed in finery. If I had known I was to meet the exalted Lord Celeborn, I would have worn the best gown in my possession. Instead I wear a dull traveling cloak in need of mending, and I have even left my silver circlet behind. Celeborn will think me a servant.

Why did Thranduil wish me to accompany him for a meeting between lords?

We find the lord of Caras Galadhon sitting under a lone willow in the field, his guard playing a light-hearted tune on his lute. He stands when he sees us approach, and waves his hand for the music to cease.

"Mae govannen, King Thranduil Oropherion." He bows his head.

We bow in return. Lord Celeborn is tall in stature, though not as tall as Thranduil. His hair is the shade of light honey, and while fair in face, he is not as fair as the Lady Galadriel. Nor as intimidating.

"Long has it been since we have traveled these parts so freely," says Thranduil. "How was your journey?"

"It was peaceful and without trouble, my friend. The forest has more life than even before Sauron's darkness spread through it, and it was beautiful then. It is even more so now. We may no longer call it Mirkwood."

He turns to acknowledge me, his light eyes studying mine with the barest hint of curiosity. "You are Gailon the Advisor's daughter. I remember you well."

I briefly look at Thranduil. His neutral expression reveals nothing. He had been right, but I do not understand how. Surely I did not make an impression during my visit from years ago. My father, perhaps, but not an insignificant elleth from the Woodland Realm.

"I...feel honored to have stayed in your memory." I smile. "It has been too long since I have been to the Golden Wood, but it is my intention in these happier times to journey there again soon."

"You are welcome at any time," he says kindly.

"How is Lady Galadriel?"

"Her power is strong, but the strength required to diminish the evil of Dol Guldur took a heavy toll. It shall take some time for her to recover. It grieves me to say she will soon pass into the West."

"I...I had not heard. Will you be joining her?"

He shakes his head grimly. "I have business to attend to in Middle-earth for a time. But I shall miss her dearly, as will all her remaining kin in Lothlórien."

"Not only in Lothlórien, but all of Middle-earth, my lord."

Celeborn bows his head, and returns his focus to Thranduil. Not once does he question my presence, but I notice him exchange an unusual glance with Thranduil, not meant to be shared. It sets my curiosity ablaze.

He invites us to join him under the willow, a pleasant respite from the noonday sun. The guard plays a cheery rendition of the Song of Nimrodel. We share lunch from an array of food Celeborn brought from Lórien: fresh lembas, spring fruits dipped in honey, and sweet ruby wine. I cannot not help but think the Dorwinion variety I brought from Thranduil's cellars would be a better choice.

"Mirkwood is no longer a fitting name for this land," says Celeborn. "And Greenwood is too reminiscent of times long past, before the great evil."

"What do you suggest?" asks Thranduil.

As the sun reaches its zenith, the lords ponder it over their wine, offering a variety of names which do not sound fitting. I keep my silence, though my mind churns with a hundred possibilities.

A bumblebee buzzes lazily nearby and lands on a leftover strawberry. I begin to feel fidgety, eager to share my thoughts but afraid they will not be received. Who am I to offer a new name for a land so vast and important?

"Rîneth, your thoughts would be appreciated," Thranduil says. "Surely your creative mind has already come up with a name better than our suggestions."

I feel a wave of shyness as they both look at me expectedly. "It is still a forest. Why not keep Eryn in the name, reminding our people of the past? We could then add a new word, so they will look to the future..."

He grins and touches my arm. "What do you say, Lord Celeborn?"

The lord of Caras Galadhon nods thoughtfully, and takes another sip from his goblet. "I agree. Do you have any ideas for the new word, my lady?"

"How about Eryn Lasgalen, Wood of Greenleaves?"

Thranduil smirks. "If only we had asked her from the beginning. It would have saved us time."

I look down at my lap and try to not appear too pleased.

Now that the new name is decided, the Elf lords agree to divide the lands. It is something I had not foreseen, but I realize it is the true purpose of their meeting. I sit back and watch as they discuss the matter over an unfurled map, pointing their fingers at various places on the yellowed parchment.

It is decided from the Narrows south is now to be Lord Celeborn's, becoming East Lórien. The land from the mountains to the Narrows will belong to the Beornings, the skin-changers. And the north will remain Thranduil's realm. Home.

I feel a curl of disappointment when it is time to depart. But it will require several hours to return to the keep before nightfall, no matter how fast Gilroch's pace. Celeborn's journey will be even longer.

After saying our farewells, Celeborn addresses us both. A light wind flutters his golden hair, and softens his kind smile.

"We will hold a great feast in your honor when you return to Lórien. I expect it will be soon."

He looks at us both in turn, and bows.