Author's note:

This is just a little epilogue to finish the story of the Wild and the Wise. I would like to thank all of those who took the time to review and hence make this experience worthwhile. I sincerely hope to have entertained you, to have provoked thought on the question of diversity, and to have stimulated in some way, your avid minds.

Epilogue

The Great Hall was decorated for celebration and feasting, the citizens and warriors of the Greenwood had dressed in their finest clothing, musicians sat ready to delight them all with their folk and their lore.

Luscious food and fine wines sat upon intricately decorated tables that spread almost the entire length of the room, and a thousand candles cast a bright, orange light that set glass to glinting, and metal to shimmering and yet, ….. hundreds of elves graced Thranduil's halls this night and still …. still there was silence, save for the wistful yet powerful voice of Lindir the bard.

He stood upon the raised stage, but a fiddler and a flute player sitting behind him, his own lyre hugged to his chest as he told his tale.

Thranduil sat transfixed, as did Legolas, their blue eyes watery and unblinking as they listened, and remembered.

Elrond smiled and Glorfindel listened and Elrohir, Elrohir wept silently, for the face of his own mother had come to his mind's eye and would not leave it.

A sad melody echoed around the room. The fiddle, the flute and the lyre – in perfect harmony, heartfelt notes that vibrated upon their strings, that flowed upon the air in a tune so delicate and yet so powerful, there was no longer a dry eye to be had in the halls of feasting.

And then the final verse had come and Lindir concluded his tale, following it with another repetition of the haunting chorus which, even after they had finished playing and had sat upon their stools in humble expectation – silence prevailed…

Elrond wondered if Lindir had taken too big a risk, for the loss of Greenwood's queen had been traumatic indeed, and for one of the Noldor to come along and sing of it – he was not at all sure of the Silvan's reaction to it, let alone Thranduil's.

The silence drew out until it became uncomfortable, and someone sniffled.

It was Legolas who stood then, and although he could not clap, he held out his arm, signaling to the Noldorin bard upon the stage.

It was all it took for the entire room to explode in joy as they clapped and clapped, and called out to the musician, or poet, or whatever he was for they surely could not tell.

Lindir stood tentatively, his eyes wide, for seldom had he been applauded so vigorously. It was as if he had composed his ode amidst a strange shroud of privacy, as if it had been for himself that he scribbled those words, inspired by the face of one that had so captivated him. Only now, with the ongoing cheers and woops, did the mist dissipate, and he took stock of just what he had created.

Slowly, he rose from his seat and bowed, his eyes slipping towards the king for a moment, and then to the prince. He had moved them, it seemed, and his own head was still sitting firmly upon his shoulders. It was a good sign, he resolved, and a smile began to blossom on his lovely face.

He was weak in body and squeamish of all things creepy-crawly. He was not skilled in social interaction but this – this one thing he did well – he was a bard, a Noldorin bard, and he had created a work of art; Lay for a Greenwood Queen would be written in the next generation of poems, etched upon paper and read by those that had never ventured to the forest, had never met a Silvan, never would; but they would dream … yes.

Sitting once more, the lords dried their eyes and smiled at themselves for their maudlin ways. Elrohir blew his nose scandalously and Legolas chuckled, causing the rest of them to laugh. It eased the moment and brought them all back down to the solid ground once more.

"It was beautiful," said Legolas. "I do not know how he knows the things he does, for there is nothing written of such things…" he mused out loud.

"Indeed," said Thranduil, one hand resting upon his strong chin. "It is a marvel indeed. He has not interacted at all it would seem. Perhaps it is just his imagination, and sheer coincidence," concluded the king.

"Nay, that is not it, my King," said Glorfindel with a knowing smile. "I came across Lindir some days ago. He stood transfixed, unaware even of my approach. He stood there, his body poised before a portrait in the less populated areas of the fortress…I say his body, for his mind was absent, as if it had flown away, into the work of art, to become a part of it – to understand it…"

"Can he do that?" asked Legolas in amazement.

"Oh yes," said Elrond proudly. Not in vane, is Lindir the master bard of the Noldo, Legolas. There is much more to him than meets the eye…" he added enigmatically.

"Aye, aye I see that," replied Legolas, into the air almost, for his eyes searched for the bard now, lost in a sea of well-wishers and admirers.

…..

Music still played, but not within the halls, for many of the lords had retired for the evening. It was outside where the festivities continued, amongst the trees where the Silvan and Avari were more at home, and where Legolas now sat with Elrohir, Glorfindel, Benar and Doran.

"The first time you and I sat under the trees was in Imladris. We were drunk and reminiscent – I remember very little else…" said Elrohir as he sipped on his wine.

Glorfindel snorted, "I remember, dragging you to your rooms for your legs were of gelatin and your brain was… dysfunctional…"

Benar and Doran guffawed to that and Legolas smiled at the memory, for he had not been far behind his friend.

"Strange, how far we have come, do you not think" said Legolas as his eyes stared off into something only he could see, and no one could say who he spoke to.

"We have all been arrogant and chauvinistic, proud to a fault, patriotic to the point of injustice, prejudiced even…"

Silence fell upon the small gathering as Legolas mused out loud, for he was right, they had all been at fault.

"And yet when empathy comes into play," he continued, his eyes focusing for a moment upon Elrohir, and then upon Glorfindel, "perspective changes, and where once there was effrontery, there is now curiosity, and instead of provocation there are questions. It takes wisdom to overcome the superficial, and it takes a kind of natural wildness to dare do it. This is what we have taught each other" he said with a smile as he sipped upon his wine, "you Noldor have brought your wisdom, and we Silvan and Avari, have mixed it with openness of spirit, and natural curiosity – you," he signaled to Glorfindel and Elrohir, "call it wildness, and perhaps it is, but the one without the other would not have worked – we could never have understood each other as we now do."

After a moment of silent introspection, it was Elrohir who spoke.

"And glad I am of it, for I have gained the best of friends," he said with a smile and a salute with his glass, to which Legolas, Benar and Doran grinned back.

It was Glorfindel though, whose thoughts put it all into perspective.

"It takes wisdom to overcome, and daring to see it done…"

…

All too soon, it was time for the Noldo to return to their own haven across the mountains, and heart-felt goodbyes had been made, with promises to return soon.

Lindir sat upon his white mare, a serene smile upon his face and a crown of spring flowers upon his blond locks, and even now, the people would wave goodbye and seal it with a wild flower the bard now collected in the folds of his cape.

Galanor watched, his face blank, his black eye no doubt smarting, for the warriors of the Greenwood had their own justice, as Galanor had promptly discovered when he had been caught antagonizing Mirkwood's newly found hero.

Elrond too, was praised, for he had returned to them their warrior prince. He was no longer the imperious Lord Elrond Peredhel, he was Elrond the master healer, ally to the king of the forests.

Glorfindel, however, remained what he had always been to this warrior society. The greatest warrior elvendom had ever known, now friend of their prince, who would surely be his successor.

And then there was Elrohir, the brother Legolas had never had. They had endured under hardship, had sacrificed themselves for the good of the other. Their story had finally transcended and the people spoke of a legendary friendship, one that perhaps Lindir the Bard would one day write about.

And thus this story is concluded, the tale of the Wild and the Wise, for the one without the other, has no meaning, and yet together – great things would be achieved.

THE END