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9. Seer

Legolas stood outside the stables in the bright noon day sun preparing his faithful steed, Callon, for their journey into the countryside that lay beyond the hidden valley of Imladris. The two were happy to be reunited with one another. Callon had been well cared for and rested, for he was clean, freshly brushed and quite frisky.

"Don't you look splendidly handsome?" Legolas murmured as he stroked the horse's eager face.

Callon leaned his brown muzzle into Legolas' hand, making it difficult for him to walk away from his demanding nuzzles. Perhaps the horse sensed he was preoccupied, for his thoughts were a tumultuous mix that he hadn't a chance to sort out. Callon had a keen sense for his master's mood and the horse could often predict an action before Legolas made a command.

Legolas' mind initially pondered what he had learned about Estel this morning but then as he doted on Callon, he was reminded of his dream and Ithil, his childhood, toy war-horse.

Anxiety danced around mockingly in the pit of his stomach. So much had been revealed in his dream that his mind didn't know which facet to explore. Which emotion to allow himself to feel . . . confusion, hurt, betrayal, grief, anger, apathy? Could there possibly be room enough for all? For he felt as if he were drowning in their wake.

Most poignant, was Lord Elrond's words to his father, about a spell that he could only interpret as one that had been performed on him as an elfling, for the purpose of erasing the memory of his mother's death. This was shocking to Legolas and left him confused, not knowing how to feel or what to do with the information.

His first reaction was to be angry at his father and Lord Elrond for deceiving him but seeing his father desperately grieving and worried for him . . . worried for his fëa, for his life, gave him pause. Had his father allowed some spell to be enacted upon him for his survival?

Legolas could barely conceive this possibility, though it might explain why no one spoke of his mother. Legolas recalled that his father implied that he had witnessed her death and that no elfling should have to bear what he had. His stomach turned into a seething pit of grief for the elleth that had given him life - which he could not remember, but that his father claimed loved him, more than anyone . . . more than life.

Aerlinniel had been present in his dream again. So young and timid – still in shock by the violent deaths of her parents. Was it true that she wasn't Celebrían's and Elrond's biological daughter? Did she know about her parent's death? Was she under a similar spell? This wasn't something that he could just ask without being horribly insensitive or rude. This sort of information would have to naturally surface, he concluded.

Callon's large eyes followed Legolas as he moved around him inspecting his tack. He adjusted the blanket upon his back, then situated the pack he was bringing to the saddle. As he fussed with the reins, Callon began brushing his foot along the gravel and sniffing for Legolas' attention.

"What is it, feisty one?" Legolas asked looking up to him. The horse shifted his head back towards Legolas and then turned his head forward again and then repeated the motion as a low nicker rumbled from his throat. "What has got you riled?" Legolas snickered at him. "We will ride soon enough, mellon nin." He patted the horse's taught shoulder.

Callon sniffed again and tipped his muzzle up repetitively. Legolas turned toward the horse's gaze and his eyes befell the Lady Aerlinniel approaching. Legolas' jaw slackened as the vision of her scattered the storm of clouds that preoccupied his thoughts. He stood still, holding his horse's reins, as he watched her walk. She looked different than last eve, he reflected. Simpler, but no less beautiful. Her hair was pulled away from her face and neck into a long braid that she had pulled over her right shoulder and fell nearly to her waist. Her dress was a deep blue velvet with a gold belt that hung low upon her slender waist – the aspect strikingly simple. The external glamour of last night bereft, there remained a winsome innocence about her that begged notice.