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Chapter 7
Eryn Lasgalen

    They stood on the edge of the Wood of Green Leaves, once Mirkwood the dark and terrible.  The path under their feet was the same Road that was once trod by thirteen Dwarves and a Hobbit, long, long ago.  Now the friends were running along it, their voices echoing from the hills to be swallowed by the dark trees.

     Frodo's heart was full of excitement, the path was warm under his feet, and the scent of the pine and loam was a rich flavour in his lungs.  Loth tripped along beside him, laughing gaily.  Randir was almost floating, and from his lips tumbled songs of desire; for glory and new sights, lust for treasure, hearts hungry for revenge, and love and paradise.  Naugellen was racing along the path, and he leapt up, caught a branch and vaulted into the leafy world.  They saw flashes of his fair hair through the leaves, and heard his joyful laughter.  Quaren paced them, caught up in their excitement, grinning at their antics.  Soon the dark leaves closed overhead as the branches reached across the path and cut off the sunlight.  All the world below was twilit shadows.  
    
    That night was blacker than any the friends had ever known.  No light from star or moon could pierce the covering foliage.  They lit a bright fire in the road and sat around it, warming their backs and listening to the trees and the night.

    The forest was very great; all of the trees were tall and thick. Naugellon said he could hear their speech, murmuring of the winds and wild weather to come.  The approach of Autumn had them talking, and those with leaves that faded and fell were mourning, clutching their garments of green for as long as possible.

    A fortnight thus they traveled, and arrived at a point halfway through the forest, but they could not have known this, buried deep in the wooded world.  They were all of them, even Quaren and Frodo, tuned into the tree-speech, and they knew just by listening when to put up hoods and keep off the rain, and when to set water traps for falling dew, by the creak of bark or the rustle of leaf.

    Naugellon reported their progress from the tree-tops; the Forest Mountains were now towering to their left, and the path was winding up and down the rough terrain of their mighty foothills.  Here the trees
were giants, some with girth greater than the travelers' joined hands could reach around.

    They kept the Elf on a short leash; he ranged about, but came back to them to share in the watches, and for breakfast in the morning.  Between these visits he roamed far and wide, bringing back game and forage, and describing the beautiful scenes he uncovered deep in the secret heart of the woods.

    One evening, being after several days of lembas and rainwater, Naugellon came back to them with a hind across his shoulders, felled with a skillful dagger-throw.  Everyone praised the skill of the hunter, and Quaren assisted in dressing the buck while Randir built a great fire and spit.  Loth and Frodo delved for wild roots and herbs, and they stuffed and trussed up the beast and began the roast.  Around the fire they sat, singing and filled with great anticipation for the savoury feasting ahead.

    They became aware suddenly of an Elf standing on the edge of the firelight.  He held a spear loosely, and was waiting patiently to be noticed.

    "Welcome!" Naugellon called to him, rising in a fluid motion.  The Elf saluted him, and spoke in the language of the sylvan elves.

    "Greetings, kinsman!  Under what geas do you travel with these Followers?"

    Naugellon regarded him with mild surprise.  "No geas," he answered.  "These are my friends, as dear to me as blood, and this good Ranger is our guide.  Who are you?"

    "Finoglos, captain of the Eryn Lasgalen.  I have been on the hunt, but fortune has eluded me.  I smelled your fire and heard your singing, and had come expecting my own folk.  Forgive my amaze; we woodland elves do not often mingle with other folk in these days."

    Lothithil stood and spread her arms in welcome.  "You are well met, good Finoglas.  Join our company.  There is enough for all, even for your friends who remain in the trees above us."

    Finoglos laughed, and seven green and brown clad figures dropped to the ground softly.  They bowed.  Each Elf was armed with either bow or spear, and their raiment blended with the trees so well they were nearly invisible, until they moved or spoke.

    With a glance at Randir and Loth, Naugellon introduced his companions.  "Here is the Ranger who is our guide, Quaren Dunadan.  This worthy Hobbit is Frodo Gardner of the Shire.  This is the Lady Lothithil, and her brother is Randir, of Tol Numenn.  I am Naugellon Legolasion."

    "The son of Prince Legolas!" the Elves were excited.  They seated themselves around the fire among the Company, and they brought out wine and bread to contribute to the feast.  Very soon it became a merry party.

    An Elf with eyes of burnished gold sat down next to Frodo, and offered him a wineskin.  Frodo sipped the liquor, and the Elf laughed.  "The perian drinks but lightly!  His thirst is not as great as his appetite!"

    "Aye, my good Elf," responded Frodo, "I have learned to treat Elvish liquor like the Elvish people; with great respect."  

    The Elf rose and bowed.  "I am Baranhen.  I once traveled through Eriador to Lindon, and I saw the valley of the Halflings.  It is a peaceful, beautiful land."

    "Not so beautiful as the magnificent Eryn Lasgalen, of which many tales tell, but few bring justice."

    The Elf on Frodo's other side was dark clad and quiet.  He handed Frodo a loaf of bread with a shy smile.  "Bas vasuvalye? (will you break bread with me)" he said softly.

    Frodo accepted the loaf.  "Thank you.  I am afraid I do not know your language well enough to thank you properly.  I am Frodo.  What is your name?"

    The Elf dropped his eyes and muttered, "Linnwalme," and Baranhen spoke for him, saying,  "He does not speak your language well either, Frodo.  Linnwalme is from a distant land, far to the East.  He and many of his folk came to Eryn Lasgalen some years ago and joined with our people.  He is a great singer, but slow to learn the tongues of Men."

    Frodo's heart went out the shy Elf, and he spoke kindly.  "That's all right, Linnwalme.  I have learned that it is often wiser to listen than to speak."

    Linnwalme smiled broadly after Baranhen translated Frodo's words, and thereafter did not leave Frodo's side while he traveled in Eryn Lasgalen.

    Two Elves attached themselves to Lothithil, one a silver-haired huntsmaiden with a great bow almost as tall as herself, the other a wiry male with strong-looking hands.  They were Isilaelin and Agarthalion, and they questioned Loth about her home and travels.

    The Elf Seregon approached Quaren and looked him up and down.  The Ranger stood in a relaxed pose, yet appeared taunt as a bowstring drawn.  The Elf said, "Your name means 'hand' in our tongue.  How did you earn such a name?"

    He was answered, "As a child I loved to climb.  I climbed rocks, trees, anything that lay before me.  One day I climbed a great tree, and in that tree I slipped and caught myself from falling on a slim branch.  I hung there, unable to climb up, too high to jump down.  My people found me after some hours, and they called me Mabeleg(mighty hand).  Then when I was grown, I won many fist-fighting contests.  So I became Quaren."

    "Your people are fearful my people.  Why?"

    "Sometimes it is easier to mistrust that which cannot be understood.  In our short lives, it is hazardous to regard long that which is too high or too deep for our mortal wisdom.   We Rangers are wide-traveled, and we are granted a longer span between birth and doom, and so we pursue that greater wisdom, though it scars us with its beauty."

    Seregon regarded him with wonder.  "Your words are like the words of the minstrels of old.  Are you sure that you are not Elf-kindred?  We should rename you Lammbeleg, for your tongue is mighty also!"

    Randir and Naugellon sat with Finoglos, Ranundo, and Maeglinaew, and they spoke of the Wood and the King and news of Erebor and doings in the south.  Randir learned that a kingdom of Elves remained in Ithilien, but was growing smaller, still losing the battle in the Elvish heart between the trees and the Seas.  Finoglos said it was a great bitterness to the king.

    "Since his son thy father departed, Naugellon, the king hath rue to send our folk to Ithilien.  Few return.  It is too close to the Sea.  The gulls wail not in my ears, and I have too much joy in leaf and branch!"

    "You speak for me, Finoglos," said Ranondo.  "Though I long to wander ever, and so my name is not unlike thine, Randir.  There is much to see here before the Great Voyage.  And now, a return!  Our tales rarely speak of any that have come hither from the Uttermost West.  What is the meaning of it?"

    Naugellon grinned.  "I was born in Ithilien, raised upon the Sea, and spent my youth in the Blessed Realm.  They are beautiful beyond description; (Randir must sing of them for you).  But my ears were filled ever with tales of the East, and of the lands where Dwarves and Men dwelt, and those Folk who are of my blood and mind.  So here I have come.  I wish to live upon the Earth, if only to make paradise sweeter."

    "And you, Randir," said Finoglos, "Are in appearance a perian, yet with light in your face and wisdom behind your words; you are more than you appear.  And this Lady who you say is your sibling; She out-shines the stars in fairness and grace."

    "I cook better, too." Loth added with a smile, passing a platter of roasted meat to Maeglinaew.

    The wine, the fire, and the abundant food soon sent Frodo nodding, and he gratefully curled up under the extra cloak Linnwalme laid over him, and went quickly to sleep.  Loth and Randir soon followed, though poor Randir wanted very much to stay awake and talk with the Elves.  Their voices and faces reminded him of Home, and he felt a great longing to speak again with his father.  He took his blanket and lay next to Lothithil and Frodo, and dreamed of towers of glass and seawater.  

Naugellon sent Quaren to rest and took the watches himself. Speaking with his kin softly in their tongue, they sounded like the breath of the forest.

    When the party awoke, the sun was rising unseen beyond the leafy canopy, and the Elves were gone, except for Linnwalme.  He was seated upon a low branch in the tree beneath which they had slept, his large dark eyes glittering.  Naugellon told them that the others had gone on with their hunt, but had invited them to use the WoodElves' Paths to Losgaladhon, if they desired.  Linnwalme would guide them.

    The friends agreed readily, for such a path would shorten their journey, cutting through an arm of the Forest and bringing them to Thranduil's Kingdom quickly.  The dark, quiet Elf led them through deep hollows beneath towering hills clad in fir and hardwood, and across bridges so thin and light to be nearly invisible.  Frodo was most anxious when his turn came to cross.  He had little experience with such heights.
Linnwalme returned lightly and offered a hand to help steady the nervous hobbit.  Together they made the slow crossing.

    If anyone noticed the Dark Elf's attachment to Frodo, none mentioned it aloud.  Linnwalme grew bolder the longer he traveled with the group, and he spoke more frequently, if still very softly.  Sometimes he would stop and touch one of their sleeves, and point to something.  "Fox," they would answer.  "Stream.  Pinecone."  He would repeat the word, smile, and then move on.  In this way, he learned more of the common speech, and soon would speak in broken sentences.  

    The woods grew thicker and taller about them, and they crossed many streams, the waters of which Linnwalme would indicate if it was safe to drink.  "Sweet wat-ter." he would carefully say.

    "Lissi-nen." Frodo would answer, learning some Elven speech as he helped teach Linnwalme.

    One evening as they rested, Randir asked Linnwalme, "Why are you called 'tormented singer?'"

    Linnwalme was silent for a long time, then he opened his mouth, and a pure sweet sound came out, perfect and piercing.  He sang softly, and the music was clear and carrying so that all the forest rang with the delicate melody.

    Before their mind's eyes they saw a vision of beauty; a dark world of wonder and mystery, unlit by moon or star, untouched by sunlight.  Elves awoke, and the sound of water falling upon stone played upon the ear.  Then the eyes of the Elves were drawn upward to a strange thing; in the untainted darkness of the sky small lights appeared, and they grew in strength and beauty until the heavens seemed aflame with twinkling, trembling stars.  A theme of wondrous music could be heard as the sky filled; the voice of love, singing from the heart of a Vala.  The Elves gazed up in wonder and delight, and they cried out, "Ele! Ele!"
(Behold! the stars!)

    Frodo found as he listened that his face was streaked with tears, and Naugellon drew a sleeve across his eyes.  Randir was enraptured; he sat with lips moving slightly, as if trying to coax the tale into his own memory.  Loth wept silently, her eyes glimmering with their own starlight.

    Linnwalme's song faded into silence, and he withdrew to a treebranch above their camp, where he sat deep in thought and sang no more that night.


    At last, as they were drawing near the Elven Kingdom, they came upon a glade where their friends Finoglos and his hunting party were waiting for them.

    "Hail, Prince Naugellon Legolasion!" they said in loud voices.  "Hail, Quaren Dunadan and Frodo, son of Halbred!  Hail Randir and the Lady Lothithil, Queen of the campfire!"  Loth nudged Randir and winked, and they chuckled at 'Gellons flushed face.

    "Call me not by such a title!"  Naugellon asked earnestly of Finoglos.  "To my Lord Thranduil I have not yet been introduced.  I savour not his wrath."    

    "Fear it not," spoke the tall rangy Elf who had been known to them as Maeglinaew.  "I am Thranduil, and I welcome you all to my home.  To the son of my son and his companions, I offer all my affection."

    The travellers were astonished, and they dropped to a knee and bowed.

    He was tall and slim, and strength and grace adorned him even as leaves adorned a tree.  Like a tree, thought Randir, bowing with the rest of his friends; The king of the Green Elves seemed to grow from the earth beneath his feet; wisdom sat upon his face, and his demeanor was both stern and mirthful.  He wore the common garments of green and brown that all his woodsmen wore, and carried a bow in his hands.  Upon his head they could see, once he had drawn back his hood, a woven crown of golden wire bearing leaves wrought with emerauld and malachite.

    "Mighty Thranduil," Randir spoke, his voice quavering a little, "This was not how I envisioned our first meeting."  Naugellon was speechless.

    "You are well met!  In all my years on Arda, I have not before enjoyed so fine a merrymaking.  A ruler grows weary of his throne when the mountains and the trees call to him.  I hunt frequently with Finoglos, who is indeed my captain.  Rise, all of you, and come with us now!  I will repay your hospitality on the road with the gratitude of a king."

    They followed him and his guard into the arching gate, and passing within they noted the mighty doors were carved with leaves and vines and adorned with living growth, and wrought so that when closed, it appeared as a wall of vegetation, seeming impassable.  Inside they traversed a passageway which opened upon a courtyard.

    The structures within were much different than were described to them by the writings of Bilbo.  There seemed more elegance and wealth than had been imagined, and the streets were smooth-paved and all the houses were fair, and everywhere teemed folk who stood and gazed with wonder at the travelers.

    Randir was amazed at the great number of Elves he saw, but he was flabbergasted by the sight of a small courtyard full of elven children, playing a game and singing.  Thranduil halted the march to gaze upon them fondly.  He turned and spoke to the travelers, "These may be the days of the waning of the Elves, my friends, but they are not days without blessings.  Come now, and this too we shall discuss, after I have heard your tidings."

    Very great were the halls of Thranduil, between the Forest Mountains and the River that flowed through the graven mansions.  It was delved into the living stone but seemed green and lush as a garden.  Naugellon marveled at its magnificence, even as he had lived in Valimar and seen the grand halls of the Valar, still the beauty of this kingdom caught at his heart.  There was much evidence of the handiwork of Dwarves here, as well as the skill and patience of the Elven smiths and architects.

    They entered the palace and were led down long halls decked gloriously with storied webs and frescoes, and there was much light even deep under the earth as they were.  In Thranduil's courtroom they stood agape; a great pool of crystalline waters was the path, with floating stones of an unknown substance bearing the guests dryly over the rippling pool.  Therein swam marvelous fishes, and blooming water plants kissed the surface, and many fountains leapt high and fell merrily.  In the branches of pet willow trees, many birds sang sweetly.

    Thranduil ascended the platform to sit upon his throne that was the woven roots of a massive tree.  Benches of fine woods covered in quilted cushions were set about him for the guests, and the king bade them to be seated.  The court filled with many Elves, curious about the travellers. Some brought cups of wine and cakes of soft bread, and offered them to the King and his guests.

    Naugellon was seated at Thranduil's right hand, and the King embraced him, calling him grandson, and entitling him as a Prince of the Greenwood.  

    "Speak to me now your tidings, Naugellon, and know that my ears are delighted, whether your words bear ill news or good; such is the pleasure I take in the sound of your voice."

    Naugellon rose and bowed.  "Regrettably, I have no tidings to convey, other than my respect and love, Grandfather.  It is Randir, son of the Ringsbane, who has come hither with purpose of conveying tidings to thee."

    " I beg of you then, Randir son of Frodo who dwells in the West, speak to me of thy adventures, and hold not thy tongue, for each word be they glorious or grim will sit upon my ears gladly, if they touch upon that sacred land and mayhap upon my son thither long departed."

    So Randir began the telling, and all listened enraptured, even those companions who had fared with him.  They saw their adventures anew, and all their deeds seemed now worthy and heroic by the touch of Randir's tongue, and they flushed at his praise and applauded one another.

    When he finished the tale, Thranduil stood and raised his glass to him, and all the court repeated the gesture.  Randir bowed deeply.

    When the king had drunk, he said to Randir, " True is your gift, Son of Elvellon, and truth is also your gift.  I hear it in your speech."  He smiled at his grandson, who became suddenly uneasy.  "That you have come to me is a great gift, one that I am glad to share with King Alderion.  We will all benefit from your service to him."  Now Thranduil's gaze fell hard upon Naugellon.  "Though part of your tale reveals some shame of disobedience in my grandson, Prince Naugellon..." Naugellon managed not to squirm as the King beetled his eyebrows at him.  After a moment, he relented, and laughed a great fruity laugh.  "Alas!  I cannot bear to bring condemnation upon this wayward youth!  He is too like his father; always ready to join with goodly folk on worthy quests!  I cannot reprimand him!  But you will bear the hard words of your father with dignity one day, I doubt it not!  In his stead, and so that it cannot be said that you traveled on from here without purpose, I will lay a charge upon thee, Naugellon.  These ambassadors from Valinor you will escort, and in your friendship with them I will place you responsible for their defense.  You are trained well, and as I know my own flesh, I know that you treasure these folk and would perform this charge, regardless.  But it may soften the redress when your father you bespeak again."

    Naugellon rose and bowed.  "Grandfather, King, I will place myself in the service of these three before your witness, and the witness of all this court.  By the Sun and the Moon and the Stars in their net, I will protect and provide for these my friends until life or time relieves me of duty."  He pressed his closed fists over his heart, and then spread his arms with open hands in a graceful bow.

    Randir stood, and Lothithil, and they too bowed, and accepted his service, for they knew that he was earnest, and that even refused, he would always be their friend and take up their defense.  Frodo rose belatedly and bowed also; he was still rather unaccustomed to such courtly behaviour.

    Satisfied, Thranduil then proclaimed a holiday, and the court filled with music, which rippled over the watery floors of the great chamber of Losgaladhon, and the lights twinkled and sparkled, and voices rose and fell in merry laughter and song.