By Vanessa Parry
Word Count: 522
Rating: G
Summary: Legolas helps the woods of Ithilien sing again.
Legolas could feel the wrongness of the place as he entered the clearing. Something was in hideous pain. Finally tracing the thread of agony he reached out, wrapping tendrils of comfort in soft melody and trying to soothe the raw hurt emanating from the ancient oak before him.
The orcs had taken a perverse delight in torturing it over a long period of time. Legolas staggered under the weight of the images pouring in to his mind as he drew closer. They had cut it first; leering as the fragrant sap bled from long slashes carved in to the bark. Then they had moved on, pealing back strips to leave deep, open wounds down its side. They never took enough to put it out of its misery, however. Long shreds had been left at various places around the trunk to that it could not die, only endure. It had endured their attentions for forty years. Old wounds had healed but always there were fresh ones and with each new hurt its song faded, changed, faltered.
Tears flowed freely down the elven prince’s face as he stood before the ruined giant. It had been mighty and proud once: had sung its strong melody to countless generations of men, although they had not heard it. Now it reached stunted branches to the sky in supplication for strength, whether it be strength to live or to die, it no longer cared. All song was gone: the only sound it was capable of, the wailing exclamations of its pain.
Legolas waited for a moment; loath to set his hand upon the ravaged flesh for fear that the anguish emanating from it would overwhelm him. Letting his own melody build within he searched for others to weave in to harmony. Grass and flower, leaf and berry offered up their song to his questing mind and he drew them to him, binding them in healing rhapsody. Taking one last step he leaned against the hurt, wrapping the scarred trunk within the circle of his arms and setting his cheek against the rough bark. Tenderly, he offered up his song, directing it to fill the voids within the oak, entwining it around the weakened soul, strengthening, smoothing away the pain and bitterness.
Slowly, a new thread of song was added to the symphony, its bass tones forming a platform for the lighter notes of elf and glade. Haltingly at first, the oak rejoined its neighbours, the music swelling as they drew it up, welcoming it back into their fellowship.
Legolas pulled away, his thread of song carefully un-entwining from the ecstasy of sound around him. The elf danced lightly to the centre of the glade, threw wide his arms and spun around in undisguised delight, his eyes shining and hair gleaming gold in the sunlight. Gimli stared in awe struck wonder as all about the clearing leaves unfurled on branches long thought dead, blossom filled the air with heady scents, flowers bloomed amid grass now lush and green, birds burst in to song and silver elven laughter floated on the sparkling morning air of Ithilien.