Leaves of Arda

Beleg led the large troop of marchwardens through the Girdle of Melian, his face more stoic that normal, his gait more solemn and determined. Word spread quickly through the contingement of wardens, and they knew their leader had been scolded, and by the order of Mablung, second in command, they spoke not a word to the Strongbow. He was righteously, indignantly angry, and would not be comforted; only an admonishment from the Illuvatar Himself would quell the Strongbow's ardor.

Mablung took up the rear of the troop, looking past the other, younger wardens, and upon Beleg, who was several feet ahead of the pack. He sighed inwardly; perhaps a mission out of the Girdle would be good for his comrade and compatriot. Perhaps there would be some wayward orcs to kill.

"Sir Mablung," a young marchwarden, on his first patrol, spoke softly to him. "Is it true Beleg Cuthalion was sent away on this mission because was he was angry his wife concieved?"

Mablung turned and glared slightly at the young scout. "Young tongues shouldn't speak gossip. On the contrary; Cuthalion was sent on this mission because he was too protective of his wife. If he has a fault, it is his ardor for those he loves. I pray it will not lead him to his downfall. Now, on with you- and spread that talk if you wish." Mablung gently nudged the scolded scout foward.

Followed closely by fascinated young scouts, the Strongbow located every memorized branch and shrub that lead to the path out of the Girdle, taking care to place his steps on soft ground so no sound would be made; the outskirts drew near. It was odd to Beleg; he had taken leave to be with his wife, and it seemed as it was ages since he took up Belthronding in order to do his born duty. So be it; the forests were where he was truly comfortable.

Mablung had informed him of the events happening in Beleriand, beyond Doriath and Menegroth. Orcs had been descried in the forests and mountains, searching for stragglers more than likely - elf, man, or dwarf for Morgoth's slavery hordes in Angband's annals. The Strongbow suppressed an inward shudder; he had never visited Angband, but he knew intimately the tortures such a stronghold could procure. He would be sure to direct his troop correctly to help rid Arda of such scourge.

He fought his emotions and any thoughts attached to them- the Lord and Lady treating him as a child, the embarassment of being scolded, the disapproving look in his Eruntalle's eyes. He fought the pain most of all- the pain bourne from his wife's rejection of his protection. Did none of them understand that he was born and raised and taught to protect others? His pride was greatly wounded; rejection and disapproval he was not used to receiving. He forced himself to walk slower, so his troop could keep up.

The Strongbow stopped at a strong oak tree, it's roots gnarled and entangled in the soil, and pressed a hand against it. "Beleriand is with unrest. We are growing closer." With that, he walked five steps forward, stooping down, and running a hand in the soil and dropped leaves on the ground. "Half a league more." He turned to his troop, and spoke softly, "I will lead you to the orcs. But the rest is your work and towards your learning; I will return to Doriath."

He and the troop quickly accomplished the length, and the stench of Orc quickly filled their nostrils. "There," he motioned, "perhaps a hundred of them. Follow me!"

The Strongbow broke into a run, his long legs quickly catching him up to the troop of Orcs; he lead his own troop to make a large circle around the dark horde of Angband, and motioned for them to draw their bows. The Orcs quickly stopped their own travels, bewildered and in blinking confusion.

The Strongbow stepped forward, his face grim, blue eyes glowing. "What business have you in Beleriand?"

One orc, a large one with armor fashioned for ultimate combat, sneered at him. "What reason have you to ask, pointy-ear? You sicken us."

"The feeling is mutual." The Strongbow didn't blink. "State your purpose; have you prisoners? You will not leave with them."

"Do you see any, you stupid arrow-flinger? What prisoners we have are already destined to their dooms!"

The Strongbow swiftly took the bold orc by the collar, snarling in the orc's ugly face. The other orcs started, ready to draw their crude weapons, and the young elven scouts tensed, ready to fire. Mablung promptly raised a hand, signaling them to wait.

"Do not anger me!" The Strongbow growled. "You are fortunate you weren't one of Grimbald's followers, else you would have been dead leagues ago!"

The orc balked slightly, then managed a warped form of a grin. "Ah yes...you are the leader elf, the one who killed Grimbald, aren't you?"

"You speak the truth. I will separate your head from your body if you do not stop your warmongering and slave collecting! I do not make empty threats; look around you, for I have my best marchwardens ready to slay all of you."

The orc laughed. "Yet you will do it anyway, brave Strongbow! Why should we relent?" With that, the orc threw a large, bulky fist at the Strongbow - who quickly ducked, whirling around and taking hold of the orc's arm, breaking it. The Orc howled in pain, only to hear the whirl of a blade in the air, and his own gurgle as the blade buried itself in his throat.

The young troop of elves quickly stole glances away from the group of orcs they were training arrows at, towards the form of the Strongbow, who had brought out bladed Belthronding and stabbed the orc with it. He pulled it out of the dead orc's throat, and let his body fall to the ground.

There was but a moment of stunned silence, then the other orcs retaliated. Mablung dropped his hand, shouting a command for the young elf scouts to aim and fire.

The Strongbow stepped aside, watching the carnage of his young students against the unfortunate orcs they happened upon. One wayward orc stumbled towards him, crude, rusty sword swinging; the Strongbow rapidly fitted an arrow to Belthronding and buried the shaft in between the orc's eyes.

The skirmish was over within a few moments; not an orc was left to escape. The Strongbow pored over a dead orc body for any articles that would give him information about this orc troop's intentions. He found nothing, and kicked the body, making it slump over, and stepped over to Mablung, who was nursing a young scout injured by an orc blade.

"I leave now," the Strongbow spoke softly but gruffly. "You know the way back." He turned to step away, stayed only by Mablung's firm grip around his wrist, forcing him to meet Mablung's concerned gaze.

"You are not entirely in the wrong, my friend," Mablung said gently.

The Strongbow said nothing, only nodding as he understood what his friend meant, and left Mablung with the troop of accomplished young marchwardens. He started up the path back to Doriath, back to his Lord and Lady, back to Eruntalle. Yet his steps slowed, as the sound of the other wardens began to fade...

He decided against going back. He wanted to walk, to be alone. He chose a markless path, weaving in between trees and bushes, not minding where he went, not caring where the trees led him to. His mind wandered; it seemed as if he and his mind wandered for ages - he was just a person, nameless, careless, for a few moments at least.

He stopped, pausing to sit against a tall, sturdy birch tree, and looked at the dried black orc-blood that stained his hands; he wished for a small stream to rid him of this filth. But the orc-blood made him think; a warrior was truly what he was...was he truly ready to become a father? Warriors seldom returned to father their children, and if they did, it was never properly. In essence, the Strongbow was trained to destroy; how could be help someone live? If anything, he could only protect the son Eruntalle would bear him - but how would that help? The Strongbow didn't belong, as a father. He was not born to continue a bloodline; he was born to make certain that those he loved were well and safe...

He held his head in his hands. Warriors were not meant to go through woes like these! He should have let Eruntalle marry a gentle healer, one with more sense than he - so he, the Strongbow, could focus properly.

...but he loved her. He could not forsake his promises now. He wouldn't--

His pointed ears were pricked; he heard twigs cracking, felt a dark presence, smelled the same hideous stench. Quickly he pulled Belthronding from his quiver and rose, stepping silently and pressing himself against a wide beech tree. He heard growling, angry voices. He looked past the beech to descry a large group of orcs in the distance, poking at a large group of orc-corpses. He listened to their speech, but could translate little of it; he knew certainly that they were angry, and thirsty for vengeance and blood.

He pressed himself against the beech again, cursing himself; he had traveled in a large circle and didn't even realize it! Mablung and the troop had left a long while ago. To battle a large horde of orcs this size was certain death, even for the Strongbow. He moved as silently as possible, to find his bearings and make back to Doriath.

He heard an alarmed cry, and translated a phrase: "The Elf! Kill the elf!"

He had been discovered.

Notes (mostly HH's):

idle musings really, like When SB is sent off to the distubance ( that is Findley lol ) I think she might get a little worried that she might lose him and I sort of imagined her in a kind of trance trying to find him just to know he was okay and then getting cross with herself cause the whole reason she sent him off was so she could have some peace

and SB in his own way would mull over what had happened, and maybe come to realise that this fragile butterfly that is his wife, as he sees her, can so easily be stifled by his hand, and hes sort of dispairing as to what he should do; but then he sees this butterfly with large eye type markings and when a bird startles it the butterfly flashes the marking and scares the bird away; and the SB realises that indeed even the most delicate things come with built in defenses and that sort of helps him realise he mustnt stifle Talle, she needs his protection but not his overprotectiveness

and when Isil is born talle has a great longing for SB to spend every precious moment he can, almost as if she knows there's something bad that will happen, and she did dream it but that dreams like a distant echo, there but not quite catchable; the SB catches wind of it only when he first finds Turin and knows he is cursed

The wait became painful for the Strongbow as he stood between two of Doriath guards, two strong warriors that he himself taught archery and swordplay when they were younger. He sat before the king, awaiting the arrival of the Lady, feeling very much dejected and incredibly childish. He had witness other warders and warriors being chastised for ardor spent foolishly or decisions made poorly while in their youth. Never once in his own young elfhood was ever scolded - and now, in his prime (or what is considered prime for an immortal elf), he was soon to be scolded for ardor poorly distributed.

But he loved his Eruntalle. And he loved the unborn babe growing within her.

The Lady Melian soon floated into the stone hall, her figure poised and graceful as she moved to sit down next to Lord Thingol, but her eye glaring. The Strongbow avoided her eye, looking to the marble floors; not even the hardiest of warriors could stand the anger of a Maiar Queen.

Lord Thingol remained silent for an immeasurable amount of time, leaving the stone halls terribly quiet, and leaving the Strongbow to fight the urge to writhe with embarassment and his own chagrin. Finally, with a stern grey glare, he spoke.

"Sir Cuthalion," he said, "the Lady has told me of your efforts to tend to your wife, Eruntalle. And she has also told me that your dutiful efforts as a first-season father have smothered Eruntalle to the point of distress. So much that she wishes that you would favor your duties as a marchwarden more than your duties as a father."

"My Lord," the Strongbow stepped forward. "I only do so because I-"

"Because you love her," Lord Thingol finished. "This is truth; the love you bear for each other is most evident. But you cannot treat Eruntalle as if she is an elfing. Or that she is a delicate shoot. She is a healer, Cuthalion. And you are a warrior. You must understand that the two of you are skilled best at what you both were called to do."

The Strongbow nodded, and began, "I do understand this, my lord. But she cared for me when I was most ill after freeing the fugitives in ages past - you remember such. She nursed me back to life, to wanting to live life. I feel that I can only repay her in such a way as to make her time until birth comfortable--"

"To repay her?" Lady Melian repeated. "My child - you cannot heal a healer that has healed you, in such a way that you cannot kill a warrior that has killed you. This is her calling, and she does it well. You were only one of many she needed to heal at the time - there is no need to repay her, Beleg. Though you can repay her in giving her air to breathe and space to walk in."

The Strongbow felt heat rise under his collar; he was growing angry with frustration. Yet he controlled his temper as best as he could - to lose his temper before the Lord and Lady would be most disatrous. They had tempers themselves.

He loved his Eruntalle - he would not hear this!

After swallowing and allowing a brief moment of silence, he spoke again. "I understand. But it is as you have said; I am a first-season father. I know not how else to respond. If this renders me as an offender, than so be it."

"Your ardor will soon cool as the child arrives," Lord Thingol said, almost aimicably.

The Strongbow laughed slightly and shook his head, and for the first time since his bout with the Orcs to save the fugitives, spoke without thinking. "I doubt it. I will not lose my child like--"

He caught his words, but he was much too late. The Lord and Lady stiffened, both inhaling a sharp, quiet intake of breath. The Lady's hands gripped the arms of her throne tightly. The Lord's lips thinned into a hard line. The Doriath guards silently exchanged nervous glances.

The Strongbow closed his eyes, cursing his loose tongue. He had reminded them of their beloved first and only child, the beautiful Luthien Tinuviel... and also that they had lost her, to a mortal. Never again would they see her, never again would they touch her. She was lost forever to the mortal world. To even remind them of a ghost of the memory of Luthien was worse than igniting their tempers - it was the prime way to do so!

Lord Thingol recovered quickly. Quickly enough to speak, "Apparently our words have not sunk into Cuthalion's skull properly! We advise him on his first-season fatherhood and he insults us!"

"My Lord, I most certainly did not mean to--"

"Stay your words, Cuthalion!" the king threw forward his palm. "You certainly have not heard us. The ardor you were born with will certainly never leave you. This ardor as sent you into trouble, and it continues to!"

The king fell silent, too angry to speak properly, and took Lady Melian's hand, telling her that it was best that she speak. She acknowledged him silently, and looked to the Strongbow.

"We did not wish to do this, seeing the love you harbor for dear Eruntalle," she began. "But we must. It pains us to do so, Cuthalion...Beleg. But we must."

The Strongbow's brow furrowed; what did she speak of?

"Eruntalle will have her rest from you," The Lady continued. "For you will travel with the marchwardens of the west forests and patrol with them, until Eruntalle has grown heavy and your ardor has perhaps cooled. It will be healthy for both of you."

The Strongbow stepped forward again. "My Lady, that is a matter of months! You cannot do this! I am captain of all the marchwardens and should be able to decide my own missions; I am Eruntalle's husband and she requires my presence!"

The Lady's voice deepened, warning the Strongbow. "You will not raise your voice, Cuthalion. Would you have us chastise you anymore than we already have? Or do you enjoy it? You are the captain of all of the marchwardens in Beleriand, but you are also our subject. Our decision is made; you will travel with them next dawn."

The Strongbow fell silent, not able to break the lady's stare, fighting his temper and his choice string of unrespectable words to say to his respected rulers. He fought his emotions and tried to remain the cool, sturdy, unmoved leader most of Menegroth's population thought him to be - but the Lord and Lady knew him better.

He would be away from his lady for a matter of months - ! He would go insane without her touch at least once a day. He would feel himself as an inadequate father. Why weren't the Lord and Lady able to understand that he felt most worthy being at Erutalle's side?

Yet, he was ordered, and he would obey.

He lifted his head, his fists tightly clenched, the muscles in his body taut with frustration. He glanced as a flash of white caught his eye - it was Eruntalle, her dress flowing slightly as she tried to hide in the shadows of one of the hall's many entrances. He caught her eye for a brief moment, his heart suddenly heavy, and looked away, back to the Lord and Lady.

"Very well. So you have said; so it shall be done."

Elf

The day had been exciting, preparing for the great announcement had taken much of Eruntalle's time, she had enjoyed being pampered by the other Elf maidens as they had helped her ready herself for this most special of occasions.

When they had stood together on the tallon before Tingol and Melian she had felt a sense of overwhelming happiness, but as Thingol had spoken a doubt had crept into her mind. Could she be a mother? Entrusted to carry something so precious? Surely one of the others would be more able than she? She looked timidly at Beleg, he was standing so tall, so proud and yet she sensed he too was nervous.

Smiling softly she gently squeezed his hand, suddenly she knew that yes she could do this, moreover she wanted to, more than anything. For to bear Beleg a child was her proof of their love for each other. She loved him with all of her heart and she knew he loved her in the same way.

When Melian had revealed to them that she would bear a son, she could find no words to describe her happiness. Everything was perfect. Talle returned to their home still held in the Stronbows arms. This was the happiest day of her life mirroring only the day she had agreed to be the Strongbows wife.

She closed her eyes eager to recall every moment, the song of the elves below drifting up through the bright green leaves, they had just stepped up onto the flet . . .

"You are weary my love come you should rest"

Beleg's voice, strong and determined, broke through Talle's daydream , she scowlled gently then seeing his disappointed face she smiled

"Yes my love" she answered meekly.

She wasn't really tired but it had been a long day perhaps she should rest. She was soon in their bed nestled in the Strongbows arms, softly he began to sing to her, his deep rich voice filling the air, Talle relaxed and was soon walking in her dreams, whilst her love lay awake guarding her.


The morning dawned bright and new, Talle woke and stretched, Beleg had left her to rest, she sighed as she lay thinking. Absentmindedly running her hand over her still flat tummy, she suddenly laughed, it wouldnt stay that way much longer, soon it would be swollen as the new life within her grew. She got up and moved over to the mirror, then turning she picked up a cushion and held it close to her stomach, looking carefully at her reflection, hmmm, she lifted her robe and placed the cushion against her skin allowing her robe to fall back down. There she stood admiring her new look when Beleg stepped back into the room.

Eruntalle cried out, letting fall the cushion, but Beleg had already seen and now stood grinning widely as Eruntalle blushed.

"So my love wants to be bigger does she?"

He laughed teasing her as he picked up a larger cushion, wouldnt this be a better one.

Talle snatched it from him, holding the huge cushion in front of her she laughed,

"Mmm twins I think"

The Strongbow looked shocked for a moment, do you think it could be two? ahh but no Melian said a son not sons didn't she? "

Talle laughed.

She smiled at her beloved Cirban, then turning walked through to the room to where a table was already laid with a breafast feast. Surprised to see the meal already prepared talle turned to find the Strongbow standing with the chair in his hand ready to seat her. She smiled this new Strongbow was far more attentive, becoming a father obviously had a good effect on him.

It was true the Strongbow now paid greater attention to Talle, in these early days he was seldom away from her. At first Talle had enjoyed having Beleg so close but as he constantly did every chore or task she soon tired of his total invasion of her. She still loved him beyond everything, but he was stifling her and she sought desperately to find some small time when she might be alone, when she might be able to complete a task for herself.

In desperation she sought out Melian, for once leaving the Strongbow in no doubt that this was strickly womans talk and he would not be welcome. Despite this the Strongbow was determined to know what ailed his Winwarin. So it was that as Eruntalle sat talking to Melian, the Strongbow was climbing the ivy below the flet hoping he could arrive unseen, and unknow to them, hear what was troubling his wife.

Eruntalle had found it hard to explain at first but melian was a gentle paitient woman and slowly Talle began to explain that Beleg was smothering her, his attempts to ensure she remained well and happy were in fact stressing her, indeed they were distressing her for she felt she had no say over her own life now every tiny aspect was decided for her.

"I love him so much but . . ."

Melian stood up and walked swiftly to the window, talle stopped talking and watched in alarm as Melian suddenly leaned forward and with unladylike strength dragged a struggling elf into the room.

"Strongbow!!! " She glared at him angrily,

"What mean you snooping at my bed chamber window?"

Talle gasped, tears of anger and frustration filled her eyes,

"Oh Beleg how could you?"

"You see Melian . . . this , this is what I was trying to explain."

She passed a hand across her eyes but the tears still fell.

Beleg looked horrified to see her crying,

"What is wrong? Is it the baby?"

He asked his face now grave with concern.

"No Beleg . . . The problem is you."

Melian tightened her grip on the Strongbow's shoulder and then without further words marched him outside of her room to where surprised guards stood,

"Take him to Thingol." she ordered

"I will be there shortly and . . ." she warned looking directly at the Marchwarden

"You will go with them and remain there until I arrive."

"Yes M'lady"

Beleg's voice was strangely quiet, for a moment Talle thought to run out to him, after all he had done nothing seriously wrong, then the memory of the last few days came back, she grimaced and remained seated awaiting the Lady Melians return.

Elf

Thingol, dressed in garments more elaborate than most times, stood powerful and gracious at the same time, raising his hands to quite the chorus and the music. He turned and smiled upon Talle and her cirbann, and let his booming voice cut throughout all of Beleriand, it seemed.

"Today all of you have gathered here to hear a most wonderful and special announcement. Most of you, of course, already know, or have some sort of inkling as to the occasion -- as to why the Strongbow himself stands up here, dressed in clothing other than his warden garb. To why he stands here before you all, with his beloved Eruntalle, the Healer."

He stood rather stiffly, nervous not because of several of his kin looking up at him as he stood with Eruntalle, the Lady, and the Lord with several of his officials atop the tallon. He was nervous and annoyed because of the starched silver tunic he was required to wear, of his hair that was braided painfully, and of the announcement King Greymantle was soon to make. Was this really needed? Was he well known enough for everyone in the kingdom to know that Talle concieved a child by him? It was most certainly not that he was ashamed, but he did feel protective of his winwarin and her privacy.

He felt his hand being squeezed gently, and looked down upon her, her hair adorned beautifully with silver clips, her small form dressed in a flowing grey-blue gown, her fair face glowing. She smiled softly; she knew his thoughts. He smiled back.

"Today, my children...I am here to tell you, that a comet was seen in the heavens naught but a fews days before. Eru has given his blessing to Sir Cuthalion and his Lady. Let it be know that he and Eruntalle are expecting a child."

The entire forest filled with murmurs and glad laughter, and he saw not one face that was not filled with a smile or a proud and happy glance. He descried Mablung, aloft in a tree with several other marchwardens, inclining his head and smiling fully. Mablung was the first he told of the wonderful news since Eruntalle learned it in full from the Lady.

Thingol soon quieted the other Elves, and began the purification ceremony for the two lovers, although it was mainly for Eruntalle to keep her body pure, a haven for the child to grow in. Beleg escorted her to the Lady, who waited patiently, a loving smile on her face; they both kneeled before her. The Lady took two elaborate silver cups from a tray that one of her servants held, and offered one to each of them. The cups were filled simply with pure water from a nearby flowing ample brook; yet it was blessed.

He drank slowly, drinking all of the water in his goblet, and tried to train his mind from straying to other things - such as patrolling the woods, the jests he recieved from Mablung and the others for being a "fully efficient" marchwarden, jobs and skills required of a marchwarden in general. He watched Eruntalle finish her goblet, and both of them rose.

The rest of the ceremony proceeded, and soon it was over. Lord Thingol remained to address his kin of other matters concerning the kingdom, and the two lovers were taken aside by Lady Melian, walking across a bridge to a smaller tallon, laden with vines and beautiful moonlit flowers. She turned to them and smiled, gently cupping both of their faces in her hands and kissing their foreheads.

"Eru has blessed you both; do not waste it." she said softly. "And now, Eruntalle dearest..." the Lady took her hands into her own. "I know this will be your firstborn. Do not eat strong food, nor drink strong drink. You will rest when you begin to show that you have grown, and rest more once the child has arrived. You will grow with this child over the course of a year. And he will be born on the same day, and the same time that he was concieved."

"...he..?" Eruntalle said softly.

The Lady smiled and nodded. "Yes...you will bear the Strongbow a son."

His heart rejoiced as did Eruntalle's; he lifted her up in his arms and spun her around, much to the bemusement of the Lady. Their laughter mingled and rang up through the leaves of the trees. Eruntalle was to bear him a child -- a son!

Elf

Her dreams filled her, taking her beyond the reach of the night sounds, beyond the touch of the one true love in who's arms she now lay. In her dream she carried a small child, perfect in every way, for he was the blessing bestowed on them by Ithil, this was their son. As she looked upon him she saw the light of his father shining brightly in his eyes, the same bone structure high and noble, a young face, yet one she knew well.

Her son, hers and Beleg's, she smiled as she turned into their room, she called softly yet there was no answer, the room was empty, where could he be? A small panic rose in her and she called again, still it went unanswered. She ran from the room, into another running, running but each room was empty. Finally she ran outside, the sky was red and a great shadow hung over the land.

She knew it at once, he had been taken,

"No." she wispered "No . . .oh no."

She fell to her knees almost dropping the small child in her arms,

"Don't take him." she pleaded

"Please . . . no"

She looked down there was no child cradled in her arms instead Beleg lay cold and pale, his eyes now dull and his breathing hushed, he was gone and she was alone totally alone.

With a start Eruntalle woke, frightened for a moment she was soon reassured by the loving touch of her Cirbann.

"I . . . " she started but then thinking she would not spoil this moment she continued

"I must go speak with the Lady Melian today."

"Ohhh." Beleg responded trying to sound curious

"Mmm yes . . . for I have a question that needs answering."

Eruntalle searched Belegs face was that mischevious look in his eye acknowlegement of his knowing her reason already

"A question my love? Might I not answer it."

She grinned widely

"Well my love it is said that one should not go to Elven menfolk for they will say both yes and no."

Laughing she slipped from his arms and with a bright smile ran off to seek the Lady of the Realm.

The Lady Melian was walking in her garden carefully tending to the trees that grew there, she waited quietly although inside her excitement tugged at her to go tell Eruntalle and Beleg the answer, but no, that was not the Elven way, tradition stated that it was for the She elf to seek the answer and she must wait, she could not however hide her delight at Eruntalle's arrival.

"My dear child . . ."

She began trying to calm her over enthusiatic arms as she embraced Talle's slim frame,

"My dear child it's wonderful to see you umm Is this not one of the most lovely mornings."

She looked up suddenly turning a little flushed as she realised that this wasn't exactly true. The sky was rather overcast and grey with a hint of rain later, dark clouds hung in the west and the sun seemed reluctant to show itself.

"I have need of you advice my Lady,"

Eruntalle began, her own face rather pink,

"I . . . umm, that is Beleg and I, or rather it was me, but now we . . . errr, well you see last night we . . . "

It was a beautiful night last night wasn't it ? the lady Melian smiled trying not to laugh at the flustered Elf maiden

"Why yes!"

Talle offered,

"That why I . . . err we, but now see I need to know if . . . if."

Again she was stalled, this wasn't how she had planned to ask, in her mind it had been a simple thing but in fact it was proving difficult. She sighed not knowing how to ask the question.

Taking her gently by the hand the Lady Melian led Eruntalle to a small seat in a secluded arbour sitting her down and gently taking her hand.

"Something special happened last night, We saw a shooting star. Long have Thingol and I hoped to see such a thing, for it is in the hearts of all Elves to celebrate when one among us is blessed."

"There was a shooting star?"

Talle was not sure of the signifigance of such a thing, she could not remember seeing one before.

"One of us was blessed?" She barely repeated the question before the smile on Melians face told her that Melian knew what it was Eruntalle needed to ask.

Nodding gently at Talle's unasked question

"Yes my dear, it was you."

"So this feeling I have that I carry my Beleg within me, it it is true? I am with child? really??"

At each question Meian answered yes the sheer joy in her eyes matched only by Eruntalle's smile.

"Then my lady I need to ask you to bless me and my child that I might bring it safetly into this world."

"Is there not something else you would know?"

"Something else? ummm."

The young Elfmaiden looked puzzled

"Do you not wish to know if you carry a son or daughter?"

"Ohh yes indeed, you can tell?"

Melian smiled,

"well yes," She said and then laughing added

"And no, sometimes."

Talle giggled and at Melian's bidding followed the Lady. They did not go to the main rooms of the palace but to a small chamber set high up on a Tallon.

"Come with Beleg to this place tonight and under the light of the moon we will hold the purafication ceremony."

That night the two lovers walked though heavily scented gardens towards the palace, along their route Elves stood, some playing harps and flutes, others singing softly as the moons light bathed them is a soft glow. Slowly the climbed the stairway, Eruntalle slipping her small hand into Beleg's, he could tell she was nervous, just as he was, but he was also excited.

The Lord and Lady stood at the top of the stairs, waiting to greet them. They stepped into the roofless chamber, here the moon's light seemed even brighter. The Elven chorus rose beneath them seemingly carrying blessings from each one gathered below. Then a hush fell and Thingol stepped forward to make the anouncement.

Elf

He lay silently, his winwarin in his arms. He knew she slept, and rendered her eyes closed, which was good -- for he didn't want her to see the look in his eyes should she awaken. She was so certain, so positive, yet he was still doubtful.

She had sent him an invitation to meet him in their private abode, built entirely by himself in the tops of a lovely tree sanctioned by the Lord and Lady. Several times he and his beloved would stay there and gaze upon the heavenlies, reveling in each other's warmth and company, enjoying the sweet silence. He had expected for it to be another stargazing session -- yet his lady had something different in mind.

She said it was time for them to give themselves to each other -- wholly, and without inhibitions. It is time for us to bear offspring, she had said. There will never be another Strongbow - but perhaps there could be someone like him.

She wanted a child. And immediately be knew a fear he had never known before -- one he had always flirted with, but never truly confronted -- the idea that he could be a father. He was too wayward, too neglectful to his own wife, too focused upon his strategies of war--

...yet the sweet scent and gentle lips of his lady made his worries melt, to dissipate as water upon hot coals.

Gently he stroked her long locks, watching the moonlight play upon it, giving it an ethereal sheen only Telpion would be capable of. She stirred slightly, and nestled closer to him, which only made him blush as he let his thoughts continue.

How could he be a good father? He barely kept track of himself at times; Eru had blessed him with Mablung to keep him in check when his ardor grew too hotly in times of battle. Elf or no-- he deemed himself unworthy of the task. Yet Eruntalle had the utmost faith in him, as it seemed.

Yet...what if he was killed in battle? What if he left his winwarin a widow, with a child he never knew? In the Halls of Mandos he would never forgive himself.

He had looked into her eyes before she succumbed to rest, and he knew. She would still have to go to the Lady Melian for the proper cleansing and rituals to see, but he already knew.

The Strongbow began thinking of names for his firstborn.