Lainion gave him a rare smile, before smirking. "I had thought the village lasses would have done that for you…" he joked as he reached back for his bow, releasing the taut string.
"If I had let them," snorted Legolas, holding out his hand to take Lainion's pack from him.
Handing it over, Lainion rolled his stiff shoulder as they all walked towards the Village Hall.
"Set up camp," ordered Tirion before turning to Lainion and Legolas who stood at his side.
"Briefing will be in one hour. Food and then rest. We set out early tomorrow morning, you too, Legolas."
Lainion nodded and then turned to Legolas, who was sporting a look of utter relief. He had been worried he would be left behind once more.
Lainion signalled with his head towards their nascent camp fire, his silent order to join the patrol and help with their chores was instantly understood, and Legolas trotted off towards Faunion and Angion, hitching a bucket and making his way to the stream.
Tirion caught his lieutenant's gaze from afar and the captain nodded. It was time, time to finish up here and move out. It was time to write to Handir and Aradan, for they would be back in a month - that was all they had to do, and the wheels of fate would be set into motion.
They had said fond goodbyes, with many promises of passing this way again. Saroden too, had stood before Legolas and bowed from the waist, his wife and child mimicking the solemn gesture.
"Remember, Hwindohtar. Remember my promise, for the Silvan's do not pledge service lightly…"
Legolas was overwhelmed with the Silvan Forester's softly spoken words. He had no idea how to respond and so he did not and simply bowed back. "I am glad to have been of service to my Silvan kin," he said somewhat meekly, before turning to leave with the Western patrol, amid the respectful silence of the villagers, and the knowing gazes of Lorthil and Narosen, who each lifted one hand in silent farewell.
From there, they had trekked silently for two days, and on this, the third day, the darkness was beginning to weigh them down. Legolas could feel Angion and Faunion casting frequent glances in his direction, and Lainion too, would approach him and slap him upon the shoulder silently.
It was strange, thought Legolas. He had been told of the effects of darkness upon those that had not previously experienced it, told to be wary of its toxic effects upon his mind and body, and yet so far, all he could honestly say he felt was a heaviness that sat on his chest, a heaviness that other than its weight, affected him not.
He supposed he should count himself lucky, and as the hours rolled by in silence, Legolas found his confidence bolstered, and as his step grew stronger, that of his fellow warriors grew weaker, more wary. He watched them, their hunched shoulders and furrowed brows, their unfocussed eyes and heavy limbs. There was a shroud of strangeness about them, as if they had drank too much wine, yet not enough to lose their footing.
His own brow furrowed, not from the darkness, but from his own thoughts, and his head turned to Tirion for a moment, realising he had been watched.
A slight cock of the Captain's head and Legolas was by his side as they walked.
"It does not affect you?" asked Tirion rhetorically.
"No, I do not think so. I feel its presence but it does not weigh me down, Captain."
"It is not what I had expected," said the Sinda.
"Nay, nor I. I had thought that this strange - connection - with the trees would make me vulnerable and yet - it seems things are turning out to the contrary…" he said softly.
"Well, that will be an important point to mention in your performance report. Your future commanders will want to know of this. It will make you a popular choice for the Southernmost patrols."
"'Tis what I wanted, Captain. It is where the battle is fiercest, and so where I wish to be."
"Do not claim victory yet, Legolas. This is but a taste of the enemy. Do not lose your natural wariness of it, for it may play you foul when least you expect it."
Legolas held his captain's gaze for a moment, before nodding and falling silent once more.
"This is it," said Aradan as he lifted his eyes from the parchment and screwed it up, before tossing it on the flames of his study. "One month, that is all we have."
"Now we must find out my brother's agenda and orchestrate this so that they may return home discreetly, without Rinion seeking out the Silvan. Have you spoken to Commander Huron?" asked Handir from where he sat beside the window.
"Yes. There is a window three weeks hence, a tour he is on the list for. A two week stint to the East should do it."
"Two weeks to return home, swear him in and leave for Imladris. It seems an impossible task."
"Look at it as a challenge, Handir. It will be delicate, stressful no doubt, but it must be done. There is no other way and even then, the chances of something going wrong are high. This will be a test to both of us," said Councillor Aradan as he turned and contemplated the Evergreen forest that rolled majestically before him, disappearing into the distant horizon.
"Have you thought on how you will tell him? Tell my father of his Silvan son and with it, confirm the death of his chosen?" said the second prince, a hint of aggressiveness in his tone.
It did not surprise the councillor however, for Handir had taken this extremely well so far; there were bound to be moments when the boy would rebel against it all, allow his disdain and disapproval to get the better of his diplomatic skills.
"I have put some thought into it, aye. And you? For yours is, perhaps, the greater task. You must approach a complete stranger and tell him his half-brother is a prince, and his father a king. A difficult situation at the best of times and yet the added emotional weight will make your goal much harder to achieve.
Handir's face went sour at the mere thought and Aradan did not envy him at all. It was a monumental task which may very well turn out to be a complete disaster should the wrong words be employed, or should the heart take it upon itself to hurt and distance, rather than to simply obey the commands of its mind.
"I have thought long and hard on the matter, but I am still nowhere near a plausible tactic. I believe it will be best to wait for the moment to arise. I do not know him, do not know his moods, his mindset; How can I decide on a manner in which to tell him if I cannot foresee his reaction?"
"You cannot," said Aradan resolutely. "We should, perhaps, remember why we do this. Keep our reasons in the forefront of our minds. For The Greenwood, for the Evergreen wood," he said.
"Yes. For our people, for the return of a strong king," added Handir.
"And for Thranduil, for my friend," said Aradan, his eyes glassy, for his mind had taken him back to the past and the deep laughter of one he considered a brother.
Screeches and screams, elven shouts and curses, grunts and shrieks, all mixed with the sound of scraping metal, the thud of arrowheads imbedding in flesh and the hollow thump of wood hitting bone.
On they fought under the darkened boughs of the Mirkwood, but this time it was different. The colours were there, the green and purple tinge, but his mind was sharp and in control, all of its skill centred on his body and his senses, in spite of the death and carnage, the suffering of his kin and of the trees. He felt none of this.
Duck, bend, flex, push, cut, slash and stab. Flip backwards, somersault forwards, side twist and parry; kill, kill, kill…
He could feel the precision of his movements, his mind anticipating every move from his opponents, killing them all before they could even approach his personal space. They were too slow and he was too fast.
Not even the long cut to his forearm had brought him out of his defences. He had not felt it, it had not hurt, it was not important…
Sometime later, Legolas sat upon the slick ground, the damp bloody mud seeping through his leggings, and in his arms the weight of a small bundle, clasped tightly to his chest. Soft, wisps of silken hair tickled his neck and his hand moved up to smooth it down; his eyes though, did not dare to look for although he knew what it wa
s he protected in the cradle of his strong arms, his mind did not want to accept it, for to do so would be the end of his own innocence.
"What have you there, Legolas?" came the soft voice behind him. "Will you show me?" it asked once more. Soft words spoken to calm and to sooth, a father to his son, a Captain to his novice.
Legolas looked down then, to the weight in his arms. A tiny pink ear, so pointed, so perfect, peaked out from the downy wisps of chestnut silk and his thumb caressed it lovingly. He pulled it to his chest once more, but the warmth was gone.
Tirion sat beside him now, his eyes turning to Legolas, who stared blankly off into the distance.
"His light has gone, Legolas. His mother too, has perished."
"Why?" came the soft whisper, as if he spoke to the wind but his face changed not.
"That is the question, is it not? You ask yourself how this could ever be allowed to happen. Why the enemy should benefit from taking a life such as his - what is the purpose?"
He paused for a moment, drawing a long breath before continuing.
"The answer is as plain as it is simple, Legolas. That babe was no warrior, but he was a weapon. With his death the enemy weaves its madness amongst us; it debilitates us, takes from us all the good feelings and emotions and leaves us empty and wrathful. If you give in to this they will have won.
Legolas did not answer, but sat there for a while before, of his own accord, he slowly rose, the cold babe still in his arms, and together, they walked to their companions.
Dense smoke rose from the funeral pyres Angion, Faunion and Lainion had prepared, and now they stood and watched as their young novice approached the fires, and gently placed the still body of a child next to those that had been his kin. There were no words of solace, for there were none to be had and so they simply watched as he bent forward and placed a soft kiss upon the babe's head and then stood back in contemplative silence.
It was when he turned that the breath was stolen from their lungs. There, standing tall and strong amidst the smoke that surrounded him but did not obscure his form from their vision, he shone brighter than he ever had. Head cocked to the sun his beauteous face was hard and angular, and his eyes held a new weight, as if the soul of the dead child had taken up residence inside them, lending him an air of melancholy and yet not so. Behind those stunning eyes of green was a new resolve, hard and unyielding. He was dangerous, unpredictable, powerful.
Legolas had entered the Mirkwood a novice, but the novice had gone, had dissipated into the blackness of the South and in his place, stood a warrior. It was time to go home.
It was biting cold, in spite of the radiant sun that bathed the forest in a myriad of golden hues that sparkled inside the green irises, and Legolas smiled for the beauty of it. Yet his smile was no longer that of an innocent young lad, fresh out of a remote Silvan village, wonderstruck at the sites and sounds of the city outskirts. It was the smile of one who was wiser, more experienced, less naive.
The months he had been away, towards the West and ultimately to the South and the dreaded Mirkwood, had been joyous and yet shocking; satisfying yet melancholic, frightening and so very heart-felt; so many emotions, so much to think on, to understand.
He had killed, orcs and spiders, he had, albeit barely, begun to understand his sensitivity to the trees, he had observed and learned from Lainion and Tirion's leadership skills, and he had learned to braid his hair in pure Avarin fashion.
He had also discovered his ability to traverse the Mirkwood without suffering the dire effects that had been described to him. He did feel it, he had told his tutors, but it was as if he were being protected, the toxin filtered until it reached him, in some, watered-down form. He cast a quick glance at the surrounding trees, wondering if they were responsible for it.
Tirion had told him it would make him a popular choice with the lieutenants and that was an unexpected boon, because if there was one place Legolas wanted to be, it was there, where the battle was being lost, and where he was most needed.
What now? he wondered. Would they promote him after so little time in the field? Or would there be another mission before him as a novice? He had not wanted to ask, but the question grated on him. If he was to set out once more on another training stint, would he still be with Lainion and Tirion? The thought of serving on his own, without their guidance, surprised him because he realised that he was still dependent on others, one aspect of his childhood he had not managed to rid himself of. Perhaps it would be a good thing then, to be separated from them, to fend for himself, but himself to the test, in spite of his own wishes.
The dense forest was becoming lighter, and with the light, came more elves. Foresters, farmers and children walked here and there, even waved at the warriors as they trekked their way home. Legolas resisted the urge to wave back, for it was not allowed, but he did smile to those that passed him by, for there was respect and thanks in their eyes and it humbled him.
"My Lord! Welcome home!" he heard an elf shout. Wondering who they hailed, he twisted his head, only to find an elf looking straight at him, his hand over his heart.
Legolas stared for a moment, before looking behind him, in search of the Lord, but there was no one there, only Faunion, who wore a puzzled expression on his face.
Legolas pulled a face and shrugged his shoulders, and then turned his face to the fore once more. Perhaps the elf thought Tirion a Lord, rather than a captain, not that there were many captains from the nobility, of course, for Legolas could name them all, knew their houses and names, their flags and colours, he knew all there was to know about them.
And so he returned to his thoughts as his eyes took in the new sights and sounds. They were close to the city now, closer than he had ever been, and the familiar surge of excitement grabbed him and he smiled. Still young enough to enjoy life! he exclaimed to himself, and for a while longer, Legolas was a lad once more.
At the fore, Lainion and Tirion shared a worried glance. There was no doubt in their minds about what had just happened. They were not even at court yet, and someone had already mistaken Legolas for a member of the royal family.
"We cannot go any further, Tirion 'tis madness; our plans will be dashed even before they have begun," whispered Lainion.
"By rights he should reside at the city barracks, but you are right, of course. Perhaps we can get them into the training barracks until we leave again," mused Tirion. "We would have to backtrack…"
"The boy already has a reputation, the Silvan, remember? This will not be as easy as we had tought, Tirion, it is dangerous. I wonder," he said then, "I wonder if I could provide Legolas with a bed for a few days. My adopted village is not far from here. Close enough to attend my duties in the city, yet far enough to reduce the risks of Legolas being recognised. Can it be done?" asked Lainion.
"Yes," said Tirion cautiously. We would have to take him off active duty. We could regroup him once the Imladris party is ready to depart. Prince Handir assures us all is prepared. His brother leaves in one week and should be abroad for another two."
"Then that is what me must do. It eases my mind to have him as far away as possible from court. We are not yet ready to take that risk, not while his existence is not known to those who matter."
"Aye," said Tirion. The rest of us must return to the city, where you and I will meet with Lord Aradan and Prince Handir. We must coordinate our efforts else all will be lost."
With a nod of agreement, it was decided, and soon enough, a puzzled Legolas left together with Lainion amidst heart-felt goodbyes, and promises of serving together once more, for the impact the young novice had made upon Faunion and Angion went much deeper than anyone realised at the time. .
The next day, Lainion had ridden with the sun, bidding Legolas rest until the evening, when he would be back with news from the city. Again, Legolas had held his tongue, but only because Lainion had promised to brief him that very same day.
And so, he sat in nothing but his breeches and a light shirt, his feet
dangling in the slow trickle of the stream that ran parallel to the humble silvan settlement. Here, the residences were in the trees, and Legolas decided he liked this. He had marvelled at the crafted stairs that winded around the thick trunks, the ropes and pulleys that connected one flet to the next, and to their water supplies below. It was ingenious and he resolved to find books on engineering and village planning.
The water was cold, a sure sign that autumn was gone and winter approached. It was still cloudless though, and blessed sunlight still kissed Arda, but the chill was biting and he took his feet from the water and crossed his legs.
Why they had left before their arrival in the city, he could not say. He was experienced enough to know that there was a reason for it, and he also knew that Lainion would not speak of it until he was ready. The Avari was often tight-lipped, preferring the significance of silence than the clumsiness of words. He would wait - after all, surely he would be better off residing in this village than in the cramped barracks. He just wished he knew what was going on. Was he still a novice? Where would he be sent now, and with whom? And why, why did Lainion not speak plainly with him?
As he leaned back into the tree behind him, a sense of peace descended upon him and he decided that so far, his adventure had actually gone well. Better, perhaps, than he could have hoped. Aye he had felt clumsy and inadequate at the start, but he had overcome and proved himself to his fellow warriors. Surprisingly too, his own illicit begetting had played no part in his life at all. There had been no antagonism, no mention of it at all and he had managed to forget - forget he had no father and no siblings, no mother or grandparents - only Amareth - and he smiled. It slipped though, for she too, was tight-lipped, stubborn to a fault when it came to his past and the wherefore or it. She had always hidden that side of life from him, just like Lainion hid things from him now.
Wild Monster Page 33
