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“Taurmîr, Taurmîr!” cried a beloved voice as she crested the hill. The Princess smiled broadly, urging her horse to a canter, flying down the slope to meet the welcoming party. She had barely dismounted before a squealing, blond-haired bundle of an elfling flung himself at her, nearly toppling her over. She laughed and laughed, hugging the little body to her and savouring the sweet weight of him.
When she opened her eyes, she saw more than one amused face amongst those who were equally as busy being welcomed home after months of absence. Wood-elves were fiercely loyal and loved their Princess, and it brought joy to them to see her safely returned, and joy was precious, for in these dark days, it seldom came and swiftly went away.
“My, my, but who is this? Is it Legolas?” Taurmîr cried, laughing and spinning her burden around until dizziness threatened. “You have grown too much, Leaflet. Where is the little elfling I left behind?”
With ears too big for his face, he puffed up his chest and scowled. “I am not so little anymore! Ada says that soon, I will be able to start training with a bow, like the adults do, and then I will come and hunt Orcs with you!” Alarm bells immediately rang in Taurmîr’s head and she had a sudden and most unwelcome vision of the future. Thankfully, she was spared the need to answer, for the King had been alerted of her return and was now striding down the Green towards them.
Thranduil Oropherion, King of the Woodland Realm, cut a striking figure in his court robes, a crown of maple leaves and gooseberries atop his silver hair. A few steps behind him came Aramdir, Crown Prince and Troop Commander of the realm, a circlet of silver across his brow. The crowd parted effortlessly, seeing in the figure of their King not only the ruler, but also the father.
“Welcome home, iell nín,” Thranduil said, and drew her head down to kiss her brow, as he had done so many times since she was old enough to remember. In his voice, she heard profound relief and suppressed pain, the grief he kept hidden from them all, and most especially from Legolas.
Not content to be forgotten, the little scamp put his arms around their father’s neck and Taurmîr watched in wonder as the small frown between Thranduil’s brows disappeared. Lately, it seemed only Legolas’s childlike love had been enough to draw their father from the depths of his grief.
Legolas tugged on one of her braids. “There is going to be a big feast, and Ada says we will have berry tarts and roasted pheasant, but you need to hurry, Taurmîr! I am hungry.”
She laughed, and suddenly her heartache eased. Shooting her father a victorious grin, she took Legolas from him, bumped shoulders with Aramdir on the way, her little brother in her arms and made for her chambers, older brother in tow.
⭐︎ ☾ ⭐︎
“I kept my promise, you know,” Legolas informed her as she rifled through her wardrobe, plucking up a gown of teal and silver she eyed critically. “I made Ada laugh and kept Aramdir ‘on his toes’,” he tried the strange phrase on his tongue carefully.
“That is good, Leaflet, I am proud of you,” Taurmîr said, holding up the gown for his inspection. “Ada needs to laugh and Aramdir needs to enjoy himself a little. It is up to you and I to make sure they do.”
Legolas hopped from his place on her bed to smooth his hands over the gown. “I like it. It looks nice with your hair.”
She smiled and bent to kiss his cheek. “Wait for me here, I will not take long and then perhaps you can help me brush my hair?”
Legolas brightened and bounded towards her vanity, immediately beginning to rifle through a drawer. Taurmîr smiled, tentative happiness creeping into her heart at seeing her little brother contented.
For so long, she had despaired. Legolas had been devastated by the death of their mother and only a year ago, she had thought perhaps all their efforts would be in vain and the child would fade. But neither she, nor Aramdir or Belegorn, and certainly not their father, would have ever allowed that to happen. Naneth would have come running back from the Halls of Mandos to rake them over hot coals if they had allowed her little green leaf to follow her. But it had been a near thing and Taurmîr would never forget the days she spent by her little brother’s bedside as he cried, or the nights when she relinquished him to their father’s care, unsure which one of them needed the other more.
Her father had worried her too. And not just her. Aramdir had been watching him like a hawk, taking in much of the ruling of the Realm as Thranduil sank deeper and deeper into the deep well of his grief. Belegorn had sunk himself into his role as captain of the Southern Guard, keeping clear of their father until his own grief allowed him to ease another’s pain. Taurmîr was not sure whether or not her younger brother had got there yet, if his absence was anything to go by.
In the end, close to giving up, Aramdir and Taurmîr had shared one long look and gone to fetch Tologon, the head of their father’s guard and his oldest friend, and sent him in. Neither one of them had ever found out what had been said behind closed doors, but when Tologon had reappeared, his voice was hoarse but there was hope in his eyes. The very next day, Thranduil had taken his place once more at the helm of the Realm and Taurmîr had released a breath she had not known she was holding.
Aramdir’s grief had been much quieter but no less painful. Her older brother had thrown himself into his duties while she had thrown herself into her care of Legolas, each seeking a respite from their own battered feelings. One day, she had found him weeping silently in their Naneth’s garden and she had sat beside him, laying her head on his shoulder, and waited for the storm to pass.
Her own grief, she had thrown aside until a band of Orcs had been sighted by the Eastern Border Guard captain, and then she had thrown herself into the fight instead. She had slept soundly that night, for the first time in weeks. But in a private corner of her mind, sometimes, she remembered the furious frenzy that had taken a hold of her and was a little frightened. Judging by Tologon’s white face, he had been too.
Taurmîr shook herself from memories best left behind and walked back into her bedchamber, seating next to Legolas as he began his task enthusiastically. She recalled he had always loved brushing and braiding their Naneth’s hair. Now that she was gone, it had become their own little ritual.
“Are you excited for the feast?” Legolas asked, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet. “Aramdir said that the cooks had been working all week.”
As well they should, for the Shadow had receded, taking this one last revenge upon her family before Mithrandir cast it into the gloom. The woods would become green again and where fell creatures had once dwelt, squirrels and birds would take their place.
“I have been surviving on porridge and Gilorn’s poor excuse for a stew for six months,” she said, “what do you think?”
Legolas nodded. “Maybe Sadriel should have gone with you instead. Aramdir says he has never tasted a better meat pie than hers.”
Storing that information away for later and resolving to poke a bit of healthy fun at her friend, Taurmîr relaxed, letting Legolas brush away the cares of the last few months. Perhaps she would ask Gilorn to join in on the fun, she thought mischievously.
⭐︎ ☾ ⭐︎
Taurmîr watched Aramdir watch Sadriel. From the corner of her eye, she thought she saw Gilorn smothering a laugh from where he sat beside their friend. Evidently, she would not need to do much cajoling before he joined her in her quest to make her older brother see reason. If only because Gilorn never was one to pass up entertainment.
Sadriel was a warrior, although, much like Taurmîr herself, she would now have the choice to chart a new path for herself. Unlike Taurmîr, though, it had never been out of duty—or at least not duty to any realm. Sadriel had been her loyal friend since before either of them could remember, and the other elleth had followed her into novice and then warrior training as easily as anything. She smiled as she remembered the days in which they would entertain themselves by thinking up nasty traps for entitled ellyn. Far too many idiots had thought that maidens becoming warriors was a terrible idea, but Sadriel and her had proven them all wrong.
In the last two years, as Taurmîr had needed to pour more of her energy into Legolas’ care, she had almost forgotten what it felt like to come home victorious after one last battle. She had taken it for granted, in her youth, but her mother’s death had shaken her and she could not remember when a homecoming had felt so sweet.
Taurmîr refocused her attention on the Green before her. Tables had been pushed aside and Elves were readying their instruments. Tonight, for the first time in many years, flutes and harps would echo in the forest. As far as Wood-elves were concerned, no occasion was too small for celebration and Sauron’s banishment was certainly more than enough cause to dance all night under the stars.
Eyeing her father, who was conversing with his chief forester, Orondil, Taurmîr slipped quietly away from the high table. Legolas waved at her from his place amongst a small circle of elflings. She waved back at him but continued towards her intended target. She would tell him an extended version of his favourite bedtime story to make up for it, but for now, it was her other brother who needed his sister’s attention. Even if he did not quite know it.
Gilorn caught her eye as she approached and hid a smile behind his hand. Sadriel’s eyes narrowed at him, darted towards Taurmîr, and then back again. Her friend’s suspicions were roused, but Taurmîr was not planning to let that little fact impeded her from pushing both Sadriel and her brother into a storeroom together before throwing the key into the Forest River.
Aramdir had escaped their father’s table and had now been captured by a flock of maidens. Any other night, Taurmîr would have amused herself with the sight, but she was an elleth on a mission and none of these maidens were the ones she had in mind.
“Brother!” she cried, looping her arm through his and casting a wide smile at the assembled flock. “I was looking for you,” she added, watching discreetly as Gilorn put the other part of their plan into motion and left his seat conveniently free for the hordes of ellyn eager to descend on Sadriel’s peace of mind. She almost snorted at the look of sheer panic on her friend’s face. “I find that I want to dance,” she declared imperiously, watching gleefully as the simpering faces scattered to the four winds.
Aramdir loosed a deep breath. “Thank the Valar,” he sighed, “I do not know how I allowed myself to be cornered by them. Why do elleth go everywhere like flocks of geese?”
As any sister doubtless would—notwithstanding the fact that she had thought the exact same thing moments ago—Taurmîr shoved her elbow into his ribs. Aramdir danced out of the way, but not fast enough to escape her blow.
“Point taken,” he grimaced, rubbing his chest.
Taurmîr sniffed and dragged him into the dance. “The fact that you do not know the answer to that, brother mine, leads me to believe I have neglected your education.” Aramdir laughed and spun her around. “It is only so that we may offer convenient excuses whenever a less than desirable suitor comes our way. Much easier to avoid unwanted attentions if your friends can drag you away at a moment’s notice.”
They whirled and whirled, weaving around each other and other dancers, until their breaths came in ragged gasps and they collapsed on a nearby bench.
Taurmîr poured two glasses of wine, her parched throat begging for relief. “Of course,” she said, sipping at her wine, “some ellyth do not need rescuing. Look at Sadriel, for instance. She seems able to manage her flock of admirers well enough.”
Aramdir’s head swivelled so fast that he nearly spilled his wine and Taurmîr bit her lip to avoid cackling in a most undignified manner. “But then, Sadriel has a lot of experience in dealing with pests,” she added helpfully. She watched one such pest take Sadriel’s hand, not noticing the way her fingers clenched around her fork. Taurmîr leaned forward, resting her chin on her brother’s shoulder. “Why, I do think she might stab him.”
Aramdir frowned and made to rise, dislodging her in the process. Taurmîr leaned back and appraised her work. She had successfully rattled him, but maybe one last little push…
“You know, I heard this one,” she pointed at the interloper, “is a most insistent sort. Even Sadriel has her limits.” She sipped some more wine, “She might put him out of commission for a while, she is absolutely deadly with anything sharp.”
Her brother very deliberately placed his cup on the table, running a nervous hand down his chest to smooth out his robes. Just like their father, he did justice to full formal dress, and then some more. He was broadly built, like Thranduil, and with his gleaming silver hair and fierce green eyes, it was no wonder he drew more than one maidenly eye. Really, Taurmîr should have taken pity on them.
“If you’ll excuse me, sister, I think I need to intervene,” and with that, Aramdir strode the length of the Green, entirely heedless of elves dancing out of his way.
Taurmîr watched with some amusement as the other elf sketched a hasty bow and bolted out of reach. Sadriel blushed and took his offered hand, and her amusement softened into contentment.
Good. It was high time her brother experienced some joy in his life.
⭐︎ ☾ ⭐︎
“What story do you want tonight, Leaflet?” Taurmîr asked, helping Legolas into a clean night shirt.
He wriggled out of his old one, looking at her with bright eyes. “The one about the lost elfling and the Onodrim,” he said excitedly. “Please,” he added.
Taurmîr kept her snort to herself. It would not do to undo Adar’s hard work.
“Alright, give me that,” she reached for his wrinkled shirt. “Let me tuck you in.” Obediently, Legolas scampered under the cover, grabbing his old blanket as he went and scooted to the side a bit so Taurmîr could sit by his side.
He settled against her, his head resting against her side as she caressed his hair. Softly, she began: “Long ago, in the ancient green woods, there was an elfling…”
From the open doorway, Thranduil watched his daughter and his son, aware as he did of the flicker of warmth in the yawning chasm of his heart. His breath caught as he probed at it, uncertain. A flood of love answered him and he caught himself, a hand against the wall as he felt the severed bond flare to life again. Tears in his eyes, he placed a hand above his heart.
I have missed you, my love.