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A Yuletide mystery in three parts
Part 3: Looking for Legolas
Haldir left the wise woman’s tent. He had much to think
about…
Slipping between two of the brightly lit booths, he stood, his
back to the bustling fair, watching Cyllien’s sleigh skim
across the ice. We must talk, he thought. Tonight, I shall—
The sleigh had stopped.
He watched Thranduil rise to his feet, and point across the ice,
and he turned to see what had caught the King’s attention:
a tiny figure, standing all alone at the edge of the lake where
the sloping shore disappeared into the dark forest.
Eowyn?
EOWYN!
Haldir broke into a run.
…
“Driver!” cried Thranduil. “Stop! Turn us round!”
“What is it, Thoron nín?” asked Cyllien, throwing
aside the fur blanket and standing up beside him. “Valar!
Mistress Perfect! What is she doing?”
“And why is Lassui not with her? Do you see the woman, driver?”
he shouted. “Over by the birch trees—do you see her?
Take us to her—quickly.”
But the driver, who had already turned the sleigh, reined in
his horses. “No sir, begging your pardon, sir, but I’ll
not go anywhere near her.”
“Come, man,” insisted Thranduil, “name your price!”
“She is trying to get ashore,” said Cyllien—for
Eowyn had raised her skirts and was braving the broken ice.
“That’s how she does it, miss,” said the driver,
“the elf witch—begging your pardon, sir—she pretends
to be helpless—look, there’s some poor fool running
to his doom now—”
“Haldir!” said Cyllien.
“That woman is my daughter-in-law!” roared Thranduil.
“She is no doubt trying to reach my son. Now tell
me, man: how much do you want for the sleigh and horses? I will
drive them myself.”
“And how would I get back then? Begging your pardon,
sir…”
…
Legolas waited, watching and listening, until a slender
figure fluttered into view—beckoned—and returned to
the darkness.
“Wait!” he cried—and he thought he heard her
laughing—“You asked for my help…”
He followed the laughter, deeper into the forest.
…
“Eowyn! Stop! Stop!” She was working her way
across the floating ice, jumping from slab to slab. Haldir slid
to a halt at the jagged edge. “Wait there—please—do
not go any further.”
“Haldir?”
“Yes. Wait there. Keep still. I will come to you.”
Stepping lightly, he walked across the jumble of shards. “Come,”
he said, wrapping a strong arm around her shoulders, “I will
help you back.”
“No!” cried Eowyn. “No! I must find Legolas!”
…
“My lady?” Legolas parted the curtain of ivy leaves,
and stepped into her bower. “What ails you lady? Why do you
need my help?”
Still laughing softly, she beckoned him closer. She
was tall and slender, and—light of foot—she moved with
elven grace.
But her eyes were dark and wild.
…
“What are you doing, iell nín?” cried Thranduil,
dropping from the sleigh and striding out across the ice. “Where
is Legolas?”
Eowyn pointed wildly towards the forest. “He followed a
woman. In there.”
“Had you quarrelled?”
“No, of course not!”
“It’s the elf witch, like I told you,” said the
driver, “—begging your pardon, sir.”
“We must find him,” said Eowyn. “He was—he
was not himself.”
“That’ll be the elf w—”
“Will you be quiet!” shouted Thranduil. “I
have paid enough to command your silence!”
“I was only saying—”
“Perhaps you should hear him out, Thoron nín,”
said Cyllien, following her lover. “He seems to know—”
“There is no time,” said Eowyn. “He is in danger,
Cyllien. I—I can feel it—”
“The lady’s right,” said the driver. “You
need to catch him before he lies with her.”
At that, Eowyn—panicking—suddenly broke free of Haldir’s
arms and tried to run ashore. The elf caught her round the waist
and pulled her back against his chest. “Legolas would never
betray you,” he said, holding her tightly.
“You did not see him, Haldir—he was—he was bewitched.”
“No,” said Thranduil. “The March Warden is right,
Eowyn. Whatever this thing is, Lassui will come to his senses.
He will not betray you. But when the creature discovers that…
You are right, we must hurry.” He turned to Haldir. “Will
you come with us?”
“Of course, your Majesty.”
“Good. Driver, take this lady back to the Frost Fair, then
return for us.” He drew Cyllien closer. “Find the dwarf,
my dear, and stay with him.”
“Be careful, Thoron,” said Cyllien.
Thranduil smiled.
…
She led him to her mossy bed, edged with frost-encrusted ferns,
and canopied with icicles.
And, lying on the velvet couch, she held him in her arms,
singing softly.
…
“Come,” said Thranduil, “I will carry you.”
Eowyn drew back in surprise.
“An elf who stands as a father to you, or an elf who would
be your lover—”
“Thranduil!” Haldir started to protest—
But the King held up his hand. “Lassui needs you,”
he said to Eowyn. “Choose quickly.”
“Very well.” Eowyn stepped forward.
Thranduil scooped her into his arms and the two elves cleared
the ice, ran up the snowy bank and plunged into the forest.
…
“Make me your own…” she said.
…
“Over there!” cried Eowyn.
…
Her lips were bitter.
His heart remembered sweeter kisses. “Eowyn?” He
pulled away—“No!”—and struggled to
break free. “Eowyn! Eowyn!”
But her arms held him like dwarven chains.
“Eowyn,” he screamed, “Eowyn, EOWYN NÍN!”
…
They dashed into the eldritch grotto.
Thranduil released Eowyn, and she picked up a fallen branch and,
raising it high, swung it at the faery’s head. The creature
howled, and lashed out, and Legolas, hearing Eowyn cry his name,
at last found the strength to break free.
The Elvenking, meanwhile, had caught the faery by its hair, and
he lifted it from his son and, holding its chin in a vice-like
grip, he forced it to watch the reuinited couple.
“See them,” he hissed, “you could never part them!”
And he threw the creature to its knees, to die by Haldir’s
blade.
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