Buy Posters at AllPosters.com! More... Choose from 100,000 posters! Find your favorite posters in music, movies,fine art, sports, and photography categories. Check out these categories: Movies Fine Art Music [Close] undefined [Close] undefined Epilogue – Letters From Lothlórien Mirkwood The King of Mirkwood was holding a banquet tonight. A modest one, true, with not more than forty guests, most of them members of the Council and other high-ranked Elves that were part of the Mirkwood government; but a banquet nonetheless. There was no particular reason for it, other than that it would help to lift the spirits. Things were not going so well in Mirkwood. The shadows under the trees were deepening and the water of the forest river did not taste as pure as it used to. Foul things were multiplying in the hidden places of the forest; not visible to the eye, but Thranduil could feel it happening. The Elves had strengthened their defences, heightened their vigilance. No harm had come to any civilian so far, but Thranduil felt uneasy. His only wish was to protect his people, but truth was that he was not sure if he could. Not all of them; not forever. In preparation for the banquet, Thranduil had taken a bath; it was both necessary and pleasant. After that he covered his nudity with the long robe he wore only in his private chambers, tying it close about the waist, and went over to his wardrobe to select clothing for tonight. And then he called for one of the maidservants to braid his hair. He could do it himself when necessary, but he avoided it when possible. He did not have the patience to do it with much care, and someone else could do it much better. And since Legolas had gone to Lórien, Thranduil usually called upon one of the maidens. This time, Nóruiven came; that was good. She did the work well and pleasantly, offering conversation when he was in the mood for it and silence when that was what he desired. He had known her for a long time and was at ease in her presence. So he sat down comfortably in a chair and let her begin her work. Perceiving that he was in a mood for talking today, Nóruiven chatted pleasantly as she brushed his hair none too softly. She was a lady of a no-nonsense approach and Thranduil appreciated that; it was a nice variation to the awe-filled reverence and respect that was so often bestowed upon him by other servants. And besides, that rebellious hair of his did indeed need taming by a strong hand. In the meantime he listened to Nóruiven’s talk and chatted back pleasantly. He liked being in female company; the ruling of Mirkwood was a hard men’s world, and he associated the presence of a woman with peace and relaxation. It was comforting and easy. In the end, when the braids were done, Nóruiven put the brush away. She then put her hands on his shoulders and without saying a word, began to apply pressure to the knotted muscles of Thranduil’s shoulders. Thranduil smiled. “Have I deserved another one of your relieving shoulder rubs, Nóruiven?” “You need rather than deserve it, my Lord,” she sighed. “You are often tense of late.” He smiled again. She had done this before and there was nothing erotic about it, from neither side; after all, Nóruiven had a husband and Thranduil had vowed after his wife’s death that he would never take a female lover. But it offered relief and relaxation, and Thranduil was thankful for it. That her hands worked away the robe’s fabric from his shoulders was not new either. He sighed and let her work on his tense muscles. This had gone on for a couple of minutes when there was a knock on the door. “Yes?” Thranduil called. The door opened and on the doorstep stood a male servant with some parchments in his hands. “Yes, Pethron?” “My Lord,” Pethron said, bowing slightly, “a messenger has arrived from Lórien, bringing three letters for you.” Thranduil felt his heart surge. Finally, a ray of light in darkening days! He did not doubt that one of those letters would be Legolas’s. “Bring them to me,” he said, stretching out one arm. Pethron came over and handed him the sealed parchments. “Thank you,” Thranduil said. “Has the messenger been seen to, and his steed as well?” “Yes, sire,” Pethron said. “They are both being made comfortable as we speak.” “Good.” Thranduil smiled. “You may go.” Pethron took his leave and Thranduil flipped through the parchments in his hands. As he had expected, one had Legolas’s graceful script on it; the other two came from Galadriel and Anyriand. Nóruiven moved away discreetly, giving him full opportunity to read his correspondence. Saving the best for last, as he usually did, Thranduil opened Anyriand’s and Galadriel’s letters first. Anyriand had written a long letter, telling of his farings in the past months. Some of them were enough to bring a grin to Thranduil’s face. Legolas was mentioned a couple of times, and Thranduil was delighted to find out that his son was doing better. According to previous letters, the weight of war and battle had been pressing hard on Legolas’s shoulders, and the King had been concerned. What was more, Thranduil discerned something in Anyriand’s letter, something hidden but definitely present; a hint of mischief when Anyriand described Legolas’s well-being. Thranduil wondered what it meant, and whether it would be explained in Legolas’s letter. Galadriel reported the latest happenings in the Golden Wood, the disquiet at the borders. She also briefly mentioned Legolas, but said no more than that he was doing well. Obviously the Lady was better at keeping secrets than Anyriand. Thranduil smiled. She also announced that Elrond would be coming to Lórien next year for the Spring festival, and discreetly stressed the fact that Thranduil’s presence would be the only thing needed for a deliberation between the leaders of the three great realms. Finally, Legolas’s letter. Thranduil was surprised to see two, no, three ink blots on the parchment, which was unusual for Legolas’s letters were always very neat. Legolas had written quite a long letter, in which he spoke enthusiastically of the month he had spent in Caras Galadhon, free from border duty. As always, Haldir’s name was all over the letter, and Thranduil read in amusement about the mischief they’d done together, sneaking through the city at night like criminals. Somehow he had difficulty picturing Haldir like that. Legolas also gave a lengthy description of the rabbits he’d seen, and even written in ink his words sounded so delighted that Thranduil’s heart nearly broke. From the undertone of the entire letter, Thranduil could tell that Legolas was happy; and though he felt a pang of regret that he could not see it for himself, the knowledge was enough to make Thranduil much more carefree. In a way the letter was more healing than Nóruiven’s shoulder massages. The last paragraph was as follows: “Dear adar, in truth I have much more to tell you than I have done in the above, but it is not a matter I gladly discuss in letters. Do not be worried, it is good news; for me it is, at least, and I hope with all my heart that you will be in favour of it, when you hear what it is. You know that your approval means a great deal to me and I hope dearly that I can have it in this matter, for I myself consider it one of the best things that has ever happened to me. Oh, I know I am being mysterious, but I really prefer to tell you the rest in person. I hope you will understand, adar, and perhaps my words already tell you more than I am aware of. I will not be surprised if this is the case. I wish that our paths may meet each other again very soon, though I do not know how and when. As beautiful a home as Caras Galadhon is, I have never forgotten Mirkwood. I have not seen it in five years and I do not know how it looks these days, which is strange. I hope everyone is doing fine, and that the Sun still shines in the gardens; I remember how prettily she always did that. And I know that the plucks have begun by now; when I think of that I miss the hustle and bustle a little. Lórien has no vineyards; every bottle of wine consumed here is import. Haldir and I have uncorked many a bottle of Mirkwood vintage here. Personally I think it tastes even better than Dorwinion, but Haldir says I am not an objective judge. I guess he is right. My dearest adar, may light shine in your home and in your heart; and may the Valar soon deem the time right to bring your son on your path, for he misses you dearly. Your loving son Legolas.” Thranduil slowly folded the parchment, smiling and pondering the contents of the letter. “A word from the Prince, my Lord?” Nóruiven ventured. “Indeed it is,” Thranduil replied. “He seems to be doing very well.” “That is good.” Nóruiven smiled. “We all miss the Prince here in the palace. We could certainly use a little light in the halls and the corridors. When will he come home?” Thranduil smiled, mentally going over the things Legolas wrote. *One of the best things that has ever happened to me...* Could he guess what this meant? Perhaps... perhaps he could. “Not yet, Nóruiven,” he said. “Not yet.” He stood from his seat and, after kindly dismissing the maidservant, began to dress for the banquet. Perhaps he would accept Galadriel’s bait and go to Lórien next year. Yes, he would most definitely do that. Lothlórien in springtime was a delight, and he yearned to see his son once again. He would discuss the matter with the Council tonight, and send a letter back with the Lórien messenger. Three letters, in fact. He knew his business tomorrow morn. After a final, quick inspection in the mirror, the King of Mirkwood put out all the candles and swept out of the room. The door fell quietly shut behind him. Outside, gracing the darkening sky, Telperion’s last flower slowly rode his path across the stars. He was still sleepy and only faintly radiant, but soon he would shine upon Arda in all his silver glory, on forest and mountain and meadow alike. The Sun was making way for him, as she always did, but she would return again tomorrow... as she always did. Right now she sunk in the Sea to the West, rosy with sleep. A new night had begun. The End. (to be continued in Pilgrim - Where The Roads Go) home