Part 10

It was midday by the time they reached the Forest. There, the road dwindled to a narrow trail, and patches of pale light, filtering down through the frosty branches, fell like jewels upon a covering of smooth, unblemished snow.

No human has set foot in here for years, thought Legolas, and he remembered the child’s warning. He stopped, and listened intently.

All around him, the trees were creaking under their snowy burden, squirrels were scampering across the Forest floor, deer were browsing on the sparse undergrowth, but he could sense no sign of Silvan elves—no songs nor laughter, nothing to suggest their presence.

Perhaps, he thought, they have chosen to fade.

Perhaps that is why the humans believe this Forest is haunted…

“Well,” said Eowyn, “who else is hungry?”

Melannen, who had been listening with Legolas, looked up at her, a frown of surprise on his little face.

Legolas laughed, hugging his beloved. “We elves to do not hunger like humans, melmenya,” he said, “but, since you are hungry, now would be a very good time to eat. Come, Melannen, help me…” Handing Eowyn the basket, he led the boy to a fallen tree, sheltered from the worst of the weather, and, together, they cleared the dusting of snow from its broad trunk.

Then Legolas turned back to Eowyn and, with a deep, sweeping bow—“My Lady?”—offered her a seat.

Melannen clapped his hands, bouncing up and down and giggling happily.

“Thank you,” said Eowyn and, after curtseying to both of her elves, she sat down, setting the basket beside her.

“How far is your parents’ house, Melannen?” asked Legolas.

Eowyn removed the basket’s cloth and spread it out on her makeshift table, then lifted out a loaf of bread and broke it into three, handing the smallest piece to the elfling and the largest to Legolas.

“Thank you,” said the elf.

“Do you not know, Melannen?” asked Eowyn, carefully unwrapping a piece of cheese.

The elfling shook his head.

Legolas crouched down beside him. “Who put the note in your basket?” he asked. The child said nothing. “Was it your Ada?” Melannen shook his head again. “Your Nana, then?”

“No…”

Legolas glanced at Eowyn.

She shrugged, helplessly. “Would you like some cheese, Melannen?”

…

They finished their meal—particularly enjoying the yule cake—and continued on their way, following the lonely trail deeper and deeper into the Forest. Every few minutes, Legolas would stop, and he and Melannen would listen, carefully, then turn to Eowyn, and shake their heads.

After an hour or so of fruitless searching, Legolas grasped Eowyn’s arm and the couple fell back a little, still carefully watching the elfling, who was stamping along, trying to leave deep footprints like his Gwanur Eowyn.

“If we do not find his parents soon, melmenya,” said Legolas, softly, “we will have to turn back. Melannen and I could spend the night out here with no discomfort, but you… No, I want to get you back to The Two Ways before dark.”

“Lassui!” Eowyn shook her head. “Do not treat me like a—”

Her protest was cut off by a sudden wail—a cry of desperate anguish—that echoed around them—and whether it had been made by a man, or an elf, or a beast, or even by a tree, none of them could have said.

But its effect upon Melannen was terrible. “Nana!” he cried. “Nana! NANA!”

And he ran off into the woods.