Mother and son wandered amidst the green-shadowed groves of beech and oak; and across the sunlit grassy glades, green as Springtime in the Elder Days; and along the rocky riverside following the glimmering, singing waters of the Forest River. Heedless of peril they roamed, for the guard of Thranduil Elvenking kept the Woodland Realm free of foul beasts and fell creatures; besides they were but twelve furlongs from his Halls and thus was there naught to fear.
Indeed, neither was armed save for a keen-edged silver knife for cutting summer herbs, and each bore a woven basket upon their back wherein their harvest was secured. Their dark hair gleamed auburn in the bright sunlight, and about their brows each wore a crown of summer flowers that Legelion had nimbly braided.
Upon their lips was an ancient song to Vána the Ever-young in the old tongue; but this was the Third Age of the Sun, and after such a long count of years its full meaning was largely forgotten. What was remembered told of the blessings of Ivann in every seed, root, stem, leaf and flower; and of the delight of the birds and flowers for Vána, her sister. Nevertheless, the virtue of the song remained potent and thus were the sweet-smelling herbs blessed even as they were harvested.
Legelion called out across the greensward in his high, clear voice and waved merrily. Returning his wave with a smile, a memory came to Amdirren's mind of a like moment long before. With eyes downcast, she wistfully recalled her elder son, Amdiran her firstborn who perished in battle forty years before; he was not yet even five hundred years old. And in her heart was kindled a deep pang of sorrow and loss, but her grief was was short-lived; for looking up and seeing Legelion scampering blithely across the grass, she knew that her loss had brought forth this young life, and so strong and gay a spirit was in him that she would not wish otherwise. For had Amdiran lived, she and Gellin would never have begat another child.
Now was her heart shared between the Unseen and the Seen: her son in the Halls of Awaiting and her son in the woodland of Middle-earth. But it was not torn, for she knew that a day would come when she would greet her firstborn in the Undying Lands, and until that day all her love was bound to her son here in the Hither Lands.[1]
* * *
Amdirren had a healing touch and her herb-lore was vast, and while her gift had revealed itself when she was sixteen years old -- the age of her son -- Legelion had not yet shown any skill in mending the broken bodies and spirits of Elves or beasts; but he had a deep connexion with things that grew in the earth, and his knowledge of woodland plants had grown greatly during their frequent forages for herbs of healing and for the pot. For most of his young life he had watched his mother prepare the salves, cordials, and tonics that were the mainstay of her craft, but today he would begin learning this skill himself. But Amdirren deemed he had the makings of a healer too; that she had passed on her art to him when he was born into the world.
In this Legelion was different to Amdiran Eithilevren, his lost brother; for like all Silvan Elves, Legelion was skilled with bow and blade, but he had not the heart of a warrior. This she had known when she bestowed upon him the name 'Cethron'; for even at two years of age his spirit was as restless as the North Wind, and it blew his curious mind hither and thither.[2]
Amdiran had sought renown in battle, but Legelion desired no glory. Amdiran was a warrior, but Legelion was a hunter... only his prey was knowledge. Amdirren had once wondered if it was a mischance that such a spirit was born into the woodland life, but she could sense his love and joy for the life he lived whenever she reached out and touched his thought with her own.
* * *
The day was hot and their baskets were filled to the brim. Sweat and dust had dried on their skin, attracting the attention of small black insects that buzzed around their heads and flew into their eyes.
'Ai! I hate flies!' exclaimed Legelion, swatting fruitlessly before his face.
'All are creatures of Ivann,' reproached his mother.
'Nay, not flies,' said her son. 'Surely they are corruptions of Morgoth Bauglir!'
'Indeed? Corruptions of what then, do you think?' Amdirren asked.
Legelion thought for a moment, then he saw a bright flash of gold fluttering over the green grass. 'Butterflies!' he grinned.
The music of their laughter rang through the trees as they chased along the riverbank, racing towards the place where -- not a furlong from the glade of the Laegrim -- a silver stream tumbled into the Forest River over a small glittering waterfall. Indeed, while its waters fell twelve feet over its rocky ledge, the cataract was barely wide enough for them to stand side by side under its cascade. Their dusty garb they discarded on the shore with their herb-baskets, and they frolicked under the cool clean waters in the warm afternoon sunlight as their flowery garlands swept swiftly downriver.
* * *
'Healing consists of four elements: skill, power, art, and lore,' instructed Amdirren.
'Skill, power, art, and lore,' Legelion recited earnestly.
'Skill is the knowledge that I shall pass on to you, and the craft you will learn from me; power is the strength of your inborn spirit; art is the knowledge of bringing that power to bear; and lore is herblore and the wisdom of mending body and spirit.'
The boy sighed, a small frown creasing his brow. His mother knew that look only too well.
'What troubles you, dear one?' she asked gently.
'Do you truly think I might be a healer?' he asked tentatively.
'Of course! That is why you are here with me now, not only for herbcraft... but that is not what weighs so heavily on your thought.'
'You know me too well!' Legelion laughed.
'Indeed. I also know that behind your jest, you hide an honest concern.'
'Well... it seems all the healers I know of are elf-women. Can a boy be a healer? Truly?'
His mother kissed his brow, then lay her hand upon his head and stroked his long dark hair, still damp from the waterfall. 'They are not healers because they are women. It is because the power of healing is lessened by the slaying of any creature, and the elf-men of Mirkwood are chiefly hunters and guards. And warriors, when needs be.'[3]
'So you wish to keep me from peril?' he asked warily.
'As any mother would wish for her son!' She smiled. 'But nay, I am not playing false to keep you safe.... your fate is yours alone. But there is some power within you, Cethron; I have felt it. It yet lies buried, but not so deep that it cannot sprout, take root and blossom into art.'
A large smile bloomed across Legelion's small face. 'Then it is my good fortune that the Laegil do not hunt!' he exclaimed, 'but what of this "power"? What is it? And whence does it come?'
Amdirren laughed. 'Remember, "power is the strength of your inborn spirit"... it is your fae, the Indweller of your rhaw. And whence comes it? Why, that is the great question asked by all beings, mortal or eternal, but we name it the "Flame Imperishable" and the "Secret Fire" which kindles existence from nothingness; for it is the power of creation of Eru, and He is unknowable.'
* * *
Amdirren paid heed as Legelion carefully ground seeds in a stone mortar, his small fingers wrapped tightly around the pestle and the tip of his tongue protruding from the corner of his mouth. She smiled to herself; what her son lacked in skill thus far he made up for with zeal. And it was good that he was showing interest in a craft of the earth, for while Amdirren was happy to abide his ardour for reading and writing, her child's head was too often in the clouds and he needed grounding.
Also she was wary of his friendship with the Sindar of Thranduil's court, for though her son's desire for knowledge was honest and innocent, she knew not the hearts of the nobles; but in her own heart she forbode that her son's doom was entwined with theirs. In what way she could not forsee, but she sensed that an unhappy parting with Legelion was forthcoming, and in her mind's eye she saw the fair face of Legolas, son of Thranduil Elvenking.
* * *
[1] "They had few children, but these were very dear to them. Their families, or houses, were held together by love and a deep feeling for kinship in mind and body; and the children needed little governing or teaching."
- Morgoth's Ring, 'Laws and Customs among the Eldar'
[2] "The Eldar grew in bodily form slower than Men, but in mind more swiftly. They learned to speak before they were one year old; and in the same time they learned to walk and to dance, for their wills came soon to the mastery of their bodies."- Ibid
[3] "... the arts of healing, and all that touches on the care of the body, are among all the Eldar most practiced by the nissi; whereas it was the elven-men who bore arms at need. And the Eldar deemed that the dealing in death, even when lawful or under necessity, diminished the power of healing, and that the virtue of the nissi in this matter was due rather to their abstaining from hunting or war than to any special power that went with their womanhood."
- Ibid
It should be noted that this tale is set in the 2981st year of the Third Age, when Legelion was but sixteen years of age; also that these anecdotes are not in strict chronological order.
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