Valar mentioned in this part:
Nienna: Queen of Tears, teacher of pity and endurance. She is the sister of Mandos, and goes often to his Halls of Waiting to comfort and counsel the dead there.
Oromë: The Huntsman of the Valar; also known as Araw, or Aldaron ("Lord of Trees"). In ancient times he often rode in the forests of Middle Earth.
West and further West he was carried to a strange structure on the very edge of the World. He was placed on his feet in a large and decorative courtyard, the ground covered in an elaborate mosaic of many shades of grey. "Your first task is to find your way through yonder maze," whispered the departing wind. "Do nothing in haste."
And then there was silence, broken only by the occasional rustle of the dangling branches of the willow trees that guarded the perimeter. Austere marble statues were set at intervals around the yard, and Legolas wandered from one to the next, amazed at the skill with which the artist had rendered expressions of grief, of pity, of despair and consolation. "This is the home of Nienna, Queen of Tears," he concluded. At length he reached an open archway and, looking within, was shocked to see many images of himself looking back. Then he realized that this must be the maze of which Manwë had spoken and that every wall of it was lined with mirrors.
"Do nothing in haste," murmured Legolas to himself, and he took himself back out into the courtyard to see whether there might be any clue or aid to guide him through the puzzle. But the statues bore no inscriptions, and the willows merely rustled their branches again in commiseration. Then Legolas' eye fell on the elaborate mosaic beneath his feet, and of a sudden he understood that it was a map of the path he must take. Carefully he studied it, walking and memorizing each turn. Several times over he did this and then, focusing his mind strictly on the maze and not upon the fearful unknowns which lay beyond, he passed through the arch.
At first it went well. Ignoring all the frowning blond elves around him, Legolas threaded his way amongst the mirrors by a combination of memory and touch, groping his way around the expected corners even when the endless reflections confused his sight. He grew more confident and began to walk more quickly. And then he turned to his left, and bumped into an uncompromising sheet of glass.
Legolas paused to calm himself. It was only one mistake. He had simply tried to turn one step too late or too soon. Carefully he felt along the line of mirrors on the left, looking for the gap he sought. Farther back and farther forward he went but the wall of mirrors was unbroken, no seams or hinges between their frames. Knitting his brows, Legolas retraced his steps to his last turn, and felt his way tentatively a little in the opposite direction. But the only opening to his left led immediately to a dead end.
Legolas closed his eyes, concentrating on the map he had memorized, and trying to match it to his recent movements. He was not lost - he was sure of it. If need be, he was confident he could retrace his steps to the entrance and consult the mosaic once more. "Nothing in haste," he said aloud to himself again.
Fifteen turns and many sighs later, Legolas admitted the inescapable. He was indeed lost. He slumped to a sitting position, joined in his despair by hundreds of mirror-Legolases. If only they were not so very distracting!
Legolas consulted his mental map once more. There was only one long, straight corridor in the maze, right next to the exit. He was sure he must be in or near it, but the multiplication of images made it impossible to see. Smiling slightly, Legolas pulled his bow from his shoulder. He had plenty of arrows. Shoot enough in each direction and he would soon either have a long arrow-flight to follow down the straight corridor, or else break right through the irritating mirrors to his destination!
A grey-gloved hand reached through a gap he had failed to see and grasped his bow-arm. "Do not destroy my mirrors, little Elf, but come through here and visit me." It was a woman's voice, beautiful but melancholy.
Legolas followed the gentle tug of the arm round one more corner and found himself in a large, forbidding cave, dominated by a splendid mirror set at its centre.
The woman turned to him. Her features were shrouded behind the hood of her long, grey cape. "They have sent you to me here at the edge of the world so that you may learn more of yourself in my looking glass," she told him. "Do you know who I am, Legolas?"
Legolas bowed to her. "I believe so, my Lady. Are you not Nienna, the Queen of Tears?"
"Aye," she said. "Long have I wept for Elfkind and Mankind, and pitied their griefs. I pity you, Legolas, more than most."
It was on the tip of Legolas' tongue to ask her why, but he dreaded the answer, and she showed no inclination to go on. Instead she moved him gently in front of the mirror, standing behind his left shoulder so that he had an unimpeded view of his own image.
"Manwë seeks to know if you are worthy of the future King," she murmured. "Tell me, Legolas, do you think you are worthy?"
Legolas contemplated the Elf in the looking-glass. He was a prince of his people, famous for his prowess with a bow and proven in battle. His body, though slender, was strong and well-formed. He had been told since he was an Elfling that his face was fair, and though Aragorn rarely said so in words, by his glances he seemed to share that opinion.
"Yes, my Lady, I believe myself worthy of him," said Legolas firmly.
"You are vain, little Elf," she told him, and seizing his hair in a rough grasp at his nape, she produced a pair of shears with the other hand and cut it all off in one stroke.
Legolas saw shock overtake the features of the Elf in the mirror, even as his hands flew automatically to his neck. "Why?" he gasped.
"Such consternation over such a little loss," she mocked him. "It is as nothing compared with the loss you face if you give your love to a mortal, Legolas. Have you considered it at all? His life is as the flick of a butterfly's wing, and when it is over, you will have until world's end to grieve him."
A great sadness had crept into the eyes of the shocked, shorn Elf in the mirror. "I have thought much on it, my Lady," Legolas said simply. "And it makes no difference."
"And what of Arwen?" she went on ruthlessly. "He loves her, does he not?"
"He thinks he does," said Legolas, and then quickly, honestly amended, "and so I think also." He lifted his chin. "But he loves me as much. Or perhaps even better."
"A divided heart, given only for a brief moment, and then an aeon of grief. Will you not renounce this folly, Legolas? Will you not give up hope?"
"It is too late to go back, my Lady," said Legolas. "However painful it may be, however fleeting, he has my love." The Legolas in the mirror blurred at this declaration, filtered through the tears of the Legolas now held tightly in the Lady Nienna's arms.
"Then truly you have my pity, little Elf," she said sadly. "I take no pleasure in the pain and trials that await you, but only wish you well." She turned him from the mirror and into her embrace. "With sorrow comes consolation, little Greenleaf," she told him quietly, stroking the pathetically shorn head. "Remember to take it when it is offered."
Legolas wiped his tears and gazed at her, catching a glimpse of the pale face under the capacious hood. "You are wise, my Lady," he said and she allowed him to kiss her hand.
"I have made you sad," she said regretfully. "Perhaps a hunt in the woods might bring you cheer? Come, my cousin Oromë awaits you!"
She led him out of a small door on to a path leading into a great forest. Legolas breathed the fresh, leaf-scented air gratefully. He turned to Nienna, but she was gone, so he walked down the path, feeling his vigour restored with each step into the realm of the trees.
He heard the beat of horse's hooves long before Oromë galloped into view, a large hound running alongside. The Vala appeared young and virile, and was simply clothed in a green tunic and matching hat with a jaunty feather. Only upon closer inspection could you see that his belt was made of priceless emeralds.
"Well met, Legolas!" he hailed the Elf as he approached. Jumping lightly down from his magnificent white steed, he clapped the Elf companionably on the shoulder. "A fine day for a hunt!" he went on. "How say you?"
Legolas doubted whether he had any choice in the matter, but it was indeed a fine day. "I would be honoured, my Lord Araw," he replied, using the Vala's Sindarin name.
The white horse nickered and nudged the Elf with his muzzle. The Vala laughed. "Nahar likes you," he remarked.
"He is magnificent," replied Legolas. "The Men of Rohan boast that their great horses are descended from him, and now I see why." He looked around. "Is there a steed for me, my Lord, or do we go afoot?"
"You will be afoot, Legolas," said the hunter. "In this deep forest, you will need all your agility and stealth. Ah," he added with a reminiscent smile, "how fond I am of the Firstborn and their forest lore! When I first woke them at Cuivienen, they learned to move silently through the trees almost before I could teach them! I trust you are as adept as your grandfathers, Legolas!"
Legolas bowed his head and fervently hoped the same.
"Well, off you go, then," said Oromë cheerily. "Any direction you like. I give you an hour's start."
Realization dawned. "You hunt me?"
The Vala frowned. "What did you think I would be hunting?" he snapped, and Legolas was forcibly reminded that of all the Valar, Oromë was most renowned for his irascibility.
"Your pardon, My Lord," he said immediately. "I misunderstood the nature of my test. Is there an ending time for the hunt?"
"Why, when I catch you, of course," replied Oromë, with a not altogether pleasant smile. As Legolas' eyes widened, he added impatiently, "Oh, very well, if you are not in my clutches by sundown, you may say you have won. But I will catch you, believe me."
"And if you do?" Legolas asked in trepidation.
"I doubt you wish to know the answer to that," replied the Vala. "Now run, little Firstborn, run and hide in the forest."
Legolas needed no further urging. Eschewing the well-marked path before him, he slipped out of sight between two large trees and then began to run and run.
Taking full advantage of his hour's grace, Legolas employed every trick he could think of to throw hunter, horse and hound off his trail. He changed course frequently, stayed well clear of brush where he would leave broken twigs to mark his passage, walked up or downstream in any watercourse he encountered so that his scent would be lost. More than once, where the trees were sufficiently dense, he climbed into the solid lower branches and made his way for a time from tree to tree, never touching the ground at all.
Silently and swiftly he moved through the forest, not so very different from his Mirkwood home. And as the sun began to descend from its mid-day zenith, Legolas cast his mind to escape. He felt sure he was on the island of Aman: could he somehow reach the eastern shore? Had anyone ever taken passage from Valinor to Middle Earth on the White Ship - after all, it did have to make a return journey, did it not? Legolas set his course hopefully towards the east, and towards the Ranger who held his heart.
The bark of Oromë's hound seemed to come out of nowhere. Legolas barely had time to choose an ancient tree and conceal himself in its foliage before the Vala came into view. With a suppressed sigh of relief, Legolas watched the hunter trot by beneath at a brisk pace, not stopping to investigate his hiding place. It was as well for the Elf, perhaps, that he did not see the sly smile that passed over Oromë's face as he rode past his prey.
After a nervous while, Legolas resumed his journey, now even more than before sacrificing comfort for concealment, choosing the rocky or watery path wherever possible. Anor declined noticeably towards the horizon and the Elf shivered in his wet clothes as the heat of the day began to depart. Cat-footed though he was, by the time he reached the edge of the forest he had acquired an impressive collection of bruises and scrapes from his scrambles over the rocks and through unavoidable thickets.
Peering cautiously into the clearing beyond the last tree, Legolas' heart sank. Before him lay no plain, no city, no port, but an unexpected and deserted seashore. One large island with no sign of habitation hovered in the evening mist a few miles offshore. Legolas turned despondently back into the forest.
There was the whistle of a single arrow and a sudden jolt of fierce pain in the front of his left shoulder, and before his cry stopped echoing through the forest, Legolas found himself backed up against a tree by an exultant and very solid Vala.
"Well met again, little Firstborn," said Oromë, smirking. He placed a hand on either side of Legolas' head against the tree. "You are my captive."
Legolas lifted his head and looked the Vala in the eyes resolutely, though without defiance. "Aye my Lord," he acknowledged.
One of Oromë's hands moved slightly to trace the tip of Legolas' ear. "Courageous too," he murmured. "Very good, very good." He yanked his arrow out of the Elf's shoulder, so suddenly and unexpectedly that it was a merciful act. Legolas' head fell back against the tree-trunk as he was overtaken by momentary dizziness. He could not have fallen in any case - Oromë had him too well-pinned for that.
"You led me a merry chase, little Elf," said the Vala. "For a mere Firstborn, your forest-craft is impressive." Legolas warily nodded his acknowledgment of the compliment. "But I hope you have learned from this that there is no running from the Valar, no escaping what is destined. Surely you did not really believe you could make your way back to Middle Earth and avoid the rest of your ordeal?"
"I had to try, my Lord."
"So you did, so you did," said the Immortal, and his smile this time was not mocking but benign. "And now that you have lost our chase, little Elf, it is time for me to inflict my terrible torture upon you and then send you chastened upon your way." He leaned forward and captured Legolas' lips with his own.
It was heady and sweet beyond words, being kissed by a god. Almost as sweet, Legolas thought dizzily, as Aragorn's embrace. Oromë drew back and laughed merrily. "You are indeed besotted with him," he observed. "Come on then, Elf, and I will show you your next task." Taking Legolas by the hand, he led him down to the sea's edge and pointed at the misty island. "There is your destination. You must swim, but it is not too far." Legolas took a hesitant step towards the water. "Nay, 'twould be best to shed your clothes and weapons first," said Oromë and the suggestion had the force of a command. The Elf stripped himself efficiently, suppressing his annoyance at the Vala's openly appraising stare.
"Aye, aye, it'll do," Oromë muttered to himself, but Legolas, already ashamed and concerned by his failure to outrun the hunter, did not venture to enquire exactly what would do, or for what purpose. The sting in his shoulder notwithstanding, Legolas thought he had come off considerably better than he deserved from the encounter.
Mustering all the dignity he could, he bowed to the Vala. "My Lord Oromë," he said, politely, then turned and plunged himself into the cool waves.
"Fare thee well, little Elf," cried the hunter cheerily. "And do not over-exert yourself, mind! 'Tis but a short distance!"
Legolas gritted his teeth in annoyance and swam a little faster.
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