Part three of a tale of sorrow, adventure and truth

The sun, whose beams most glorious are, rejecteth no beholder, and your sweet beauty past compare made my poor eyes the bolder.

Lowen was walking in the garden, nearing twilight, when she heard a wooden flute, it’s melody willowy and fine, playing a lilting tune, sorrowful, yet playful. It stopped and a voice sang in Elvish. A voice she knew and loved. ‘Legolas!’ She called, smiling. He dropped from a nearby tree, smiling when he saw her, but growing unusually dark as he neared her ‘Legolas…?’ she started, but he came close to her and took her hand. ‘I am sorry,’ he said ‘for not greeting you properly. But, you see, I was called to represent Mirkwood in a secret council.’ Lowen nodded. ‘Who was from Evendim?’ she asked. ‘I do not think there were any. But the council was to discuss how Isildur’s Bane should be broken.’ Her eyes focused. ‘The One ring?’ she asked. ‘Yes.’ He answered. ‘Elrond appointed a Fellowship of the Ring. And I am to represent the Elves.’ She nodded. ‘But how to acquire this Bane?’ ‘A Pheriann already has it.’ ‘A halfling?’ she asked, doubtfully. He nodded. ‘From a land called ‘the Shire.’ But to destroy the Ring we must travel to Orudruin, to Mordor. The other fellowship Members are Aragorn, Son of Arathorn, rightful heir of Gondor, Boromir, Son of Denethor, heir to the Stewardship of Gondor, Gimli, Son of Gloin, a dwarf, Mithrandir, and four other halflings.’ He added. She was puzzled. ‘Mordor? That is so far away, Legolas. Are you sure you will be safe?’ He stroked her hair. ‘No. I will not be safe, not for one second of the journey. But Lowen, can’t you see? I wish to be immortalised, in a ballad that will be sung in many Elven lands across the Earth. I wish to be like Gil-galad, I want glory!’ his eye glinted, then softened. She lay her head on his shoulder, on his soft hair, spun of gold. She sighed. He took her by the arm. And they walked around silently to the arch where Legolas had sung to her. ‘I want to be immortalised…’ he whispered softly. ‘You must go.’ She said ‘But remember, you will always be immortalised, in my heart.’ He plucked a white rose from a nearby bush, and caressing it against her cheek, he leaned it and kissed her tenderly. She clutched the rose to her heart. ‘When must you go?’ she asked. ‘Two months from tomorrow.’ He murmured, looking into her eyes. She raised her eyes to meet his. They were the tide breaking on the rocks, they were the peace in the storm, they were the sky at night, the sky at morning, at mid-day. His eyes…

Two months passed too quickly. Legolas was called to a great many meetings, and he was often very tired. Finally, on December twenty fifth, they met again. He was clad in green travelling clothes, his cloak around him, and his bow and quiver of arrows at his back. He held her in his arms, took an arrow from his quiver and handed it to her. ‘I will never forget you, whatever happens.’ She whispered. ‘You are my world.’ He closed his eyes, sighed, and said softly, ‘We will meet again. I will think of you always.’ ‘You are already glorified to me.’ She said. He left her go, and walked slowly away towards the garden where the Fellowship was. ‘Nai elyë hiruva sedlya. Namárië.’ She called softly.

He heard.

Continue to Part 4

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