Lullaby

PART FIVE

“These are my kindred, my kind. And I feel strangely at home.” Anon.

To the call of the winter birds, huddled masses of feathers fluffed to capture warmed air, the elves returning from war stepped between the trees of Greenwood. The early morning light shone dully through the clouds. Everything around them echoed with peace, with the familiarity of home. All paused and parted, allowing Thranduil to dismount and enter first through the beeches, oaks, maples, and pines of old, though naked of the greenery for which the forest was named. Halathir took the reins from him, releasing all the horses to stretch their tired legs and find rest.

Thranduil felt the eyes of his companions following him.

But it was not to them he looked, but to those that greeted them, those that had kept watch along the borders, waiting for them to return. Mostly ellith, with a few ellyn, dropped from the trees. Silently, they searched the bedraggled ranks, an elleth here, an ellon there, running to one of those standing in shock at finally being home. Whispers of grateful joy were soon followed by silence for those not returned, followed by quiet weeping for those fallen as mementos were returned.

Not all had someone to greet them at the border, their loved ones residing within the comforts of the caverns, but the joy of the other’s was catching.

Thranduil smiled and turned to see Halathir behind him nodding toward Lathdir.

Lathdir swung an elleth in his arms, boisterous in comparison to the others around them. But he set her down and frowned back at Thranduil. His white haired lover motioned to another, and an elleth came out from behind a tree.

“Wood Spirit.” Malterin was the vision that had haunted Thranduil’s dreams and waking hours on the journey home. Neither spoke, but she averted her eyes, though nothing between them was shy. No rush to each other’s arms, no shouts of joy, no kisses covering each other’s faces and lips. Just quiet smiles, tenderness from afar.

Raising his hand, he silenced the others, gathering their attentions. “We will rest here for the day and night. Within the comforts of the flets and our kin.” His eyes never left her, his gaze sweeping over her free form, hair unbound, bare feet, gown of the simplest white--loose and breezy even in the cold of winter.

What a contrast those greeting them presented to the battle weary clad in armor beaten, in rags torn in battle!

Far from his mind flew the thoughts of his new responsibilities; far away went all the pain of the moment. He could only see her.

Around them were the murmurings of tired soldiers and loved ones, friends. A few at a time, they disappeared into the flets, to the warmth of love and companionship.

Lost in her eyes, Thranduil did not notice that Malterin had come closer till her hand took his.

Giggles and laughter from Motherin, and Lathdir swept his lover away to the high bowers, warming his soul within the depths of her heat. Halathir disappeared with other soldiers to find comfort in the flame of fire. Alone Malterin and Thranduil stood.

“You are exhausted.”

He merely nodded, unable to voice to her all he wished to say.

“Undoubtedly, you are hungry.”

Again, a nod.

She squeezed his hand and pulled him with her, and up they climbed to the flet. Guiding him, she waited for him to drop his weapons to the floor before she eased him back against the trunk. Her hand stroked his cheek and combed through the tangles of his golden hair. Her blue eyes traced over the familiar lines of his face.

Catching her by surprise, he took her hand and pulled her into his lap, enveloping her in his arms. He chastely kissed her. They snuggled, listening to the soft whispers of the snow and wind, occasionally hearing the murmurs of the others in the trees nearest them.

His stomach growled. He winced and smiled helplessly, and she laughed.

Untangling herself from his arms, Malterin stood and went to the side of the flet. The flet was bare except for a crumpled blue cloak, a few bowls and a small box of other items, and the two elves, reminding Thranduil of the aesthetic simplicity of these Sylvans with whom he had found his home.

She was gone, over the side, and back before he could register that she had left. In her hand was a waterskin, in the other a bowl of dried winterberries and shelled walnuts with a loaf of bread on top. On her knees, she crawled to him, offering him the water first to quench his thirst.

He drank greedily, finding it sweeter and more pure than any wine offered him by a king or lord.

She broke the bread and offered him half--a gift finer than all the horses of a kingdom. Malterin fed him a berry, then a walnut.

She did not mention the absence of his father. She did not need to, as none needed to mention the absences of others.

The wind carried a lament to them, elves singing out their sorrows and joys simultaneously.

They were still several days’ journey from the mountains and caverns, and Thranduil shoved his return from his thoughts, concentrating purely upon the vision tending him now. All the responsibilities awaiting him were forgotten.

He kissed her fingertips as she pressed another nut between his lips.

All thoughts vanished in a flurry of silver hair. He chewed thoughtfully, watching her move fluidly to bring him the cloak. She snuggled beside him, covering them both with the dark blue material. He paused mid-chew, his mouth shut.

Spread over them both, the roots and branches of his father’s house. Limbs reached out, silver and gold-thread leaves fanning in an imaginary breeze. The leaves fell down worn cloth, falling from the tree to the ground to feed the roots below.

Lips caught the tears that fell down his cheeks.

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“Oh I have missed this,” Lathdir panted, arching his back up from the flet floor. “Missed you.” He ran his hands down his lover’s bare shoulders. Catching her hair in his hand, he slid his fingers up the back of her neck and brought her head down to his, kissing her.

Motherin tightened her thighs around him and shivered, though not from the cold.

“As I have missed you,” she murmured into his mouth. Neither wasted the morning with idle patter.

Lathdir rolled them both over, settling between her thighs, pulling her legs up higher around his waist. They writhed among discarded clothes, his armor and weapons tossed to the side in their haste, her dress beneath them along with his tunic.

With a shudder, he let out a hoarse cry, his arms turning to jelly and no longer able to support him over her. He collapsed onto Motherin. For a moment, they lingered and caught their breath, reveling in the warmth of each other. Rolling off her, he stared at the branches crisscrossing overhead.

“You are worth all the death,” Lathdir said, raising himself on his elbow, studying her intently. He nuzzled her shoulder, the scent of her hair invading his nostrils. “I would kill a thousand more, if I knew you would await my return.”

Motherin frowned and rolled over to face him. With the back of her nail, she combed over his eye brow and down the side of his face. “But are all the deaths of our friends worth it?”

“When it is for the protection for those we love, it is always worth it…” He kissed her nose and brought her tight against his body. Reaching behind them with his free hand, he felt for the hem of his dusty cloak and pulled it over them. Tucking her head beneath his chin, he wrapped his arms around her. His heart beat into her ear.

“Motherin, would you come to the caverns with me, now that I am returned?”

“No,” she whispered.

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Halathir gathered with a dozen others, a fire blazing before them. It crackled and popped as glowing embers disappeared into the gray daylight. He stared blankly into the fire, but his mind raced with all that needed to be done. They were still at least two days from the palace, if they traveled quickly--if by horse back, a day. Looking up at the trees, he knew that some of the Sylvan soldiers would choose to remain here with their loved ones in the flets.

“You.” Halathir waved over a Sylvan ellon, a young elf who had yet to reach his majority. Eyes bright in comparison to Halathir’s tired ones, the elf came to his side, all smiles and eagerness. He wore the pale winter grays and whites of the woodland elves.

“Take my horse and ride to the Caverns of Oropher. Alert Master Galion that we have arrived into the forest and will be at the palace in two days’ time.” Halathir held his hands palms-out toward the fire. The ellon stood to the side behind him, watching the Sinda lord refresh and warm himself. “We will take the morrow to wash and cleanse ourselves before our arrival.”

A short nod of understanding, and the ellon waited for Halathir to stand and whistle for his horse. From between the trees, a chestnut mare trotted to them, and Halathir clucked to it, rubbing his hands over its muzzle and neck. Halathir loosened the saddle of Noldorin-make and let it drop to the ground with all he had carried home. Smoothing the hairs of the animal’s back, he stroked back to its front and introduced the horse to its temporary master.

“Tell Master Galion that this horse was a gift from Lord Elrond to the kingdom of Greenwood.”

The ellon settled on the horse’s bareback and looked down to Halathir. “Anything else, my lord?”

“Nay, nothing that needs saying…” Halathir patted the chestnut’s rump and it flicked its tail. “Speak with Master Galion only,” his stern command, then he smacked the horse’s rear and it took off through the forest, bearing its messenger.

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The gates to the caverns swung open. Barely taller than the tallest of the elves, they were constructed of wood and carved with the scene of a herd harts peacefully living among the trees. The rider only waited a moment before cantering into the small courtyard at the entrance of the caves. A few elves greeted him, pausing in wonder at the sudden arrival of the young Sylvan, upon horseback, and in such haste. No Sylvan kept such an animal, or any animal at all.

He jumped from the mare’s back and ran to the nearest elf, a maiden collecting at the fountain in the center.

“Master Galion, have you seen him? I have news of great import.” He inhaled and exhaled deeply after his rush of words. The elleth only stared at him before it registered what he wanted. Shaking her head, she pointed toward the entrance to the caves, tall and elegant wooden doors that dwarfed even the elves, arched at the top with a beech tree detailed in the center of both.

These were Oropher’s Caverns. The ellon had never been inside the palace before, and he stepped back a moment. Finding his feet, he strode to the doors and pushed them open. Silently they moved inward. A stern face greeted him, lips pressed tight together and sad eyes narrowed.

Only the horse’s snort and whinny brought him back to the task at hand, and the ellon smiled as Master Galion’s attention was diverted to the animal stamping in the courtyard.

“Halathir sent me, Master Galion.” A wave of his hand toward the creature behind him. “A gift from Master Elrond.”

Halathir, gifts from a foreign lord. Galion’s mind raced with the full meaning of it all. Standing in the doorway to the caves, Galion stumbled and inhaled. He caught himself against the edge of one door and straightened himself. Closing his eyes, he whispered low, “Among those returned, pray tell that the son of Oropher was one of them.”

“Aye, Master Galion.”

Galion sighed his relief and opened his eyes, a bittersweet smile tugging the corners of his mouth.

“Come inside and I will have someone come care for the gift.” With a small smile, Galion watched the elves of the courtyard stare at the horse, as it had become unruly and inquisitive, poking its nose into any available basket or jug of water. The elleth at the fountain frowned as the mare upset her jug over the ground.