It was an indirect request for Celegon to leave things be, to not dig into the open wound that had been inflicted on their reputation, their pride.
"I would hear your thoughts," said Celegon in that same soft and mournful voice, smile though he did.
"I agree with Huron," said Thoron. "Mistakes have been made and we all knew, we admit it or not, that those two had climbed through the ranks thanks to their fathers' efforts. Yet now, now that they are gone, there is not one single Captain here that I would not ride with, that I do not respect as a fellow commander, be he Silvan or Sindarin…"
"The question is," said Celegon, "how can I be sure that this will not happen again? These captains, the ones that backed such a flagrant breech of honour, what were their motives? Were they aware of what they did? Where they coerced into it? I need to know why if I am to let this go unpunished."
Silence fell over the captains as they drank and they thought on the commander's words.
"I think," began Eramir, "that given both those elves' wishes to carry out the more, administrative duties here in the barracks, that the possible consequences of their incompetence were lessened. They thought perhaps that no real damage would be done, and in exchange, they would not antagonise lords as powerful as Bandorion or Draugole…"
Celegon stared long and hard at Eramir, his eyes bright and penetrating. He knew, he knew Eramir was, essentially, giving Celegon what he needed - the real reasons behind what had happened, perhaps because he knew, that Eramir had been one of them and that this was his way of admitting his fault.
"And what would they say now, in hindsight?" asked Celegon, his eyes back on the swirling vortex of wine in his cup.
"Perhaps that they were fools, that we are warriors, first and foremost, and that fear of antagonising the lords should never guide our actions. That only honour, wisdom, pride and love for our land must dictate the paths we wander…"
"Do you think they would all agree with that?" asked the general with a faint smile upon his lips.
"I think they would, my Lord Commander," said Eramir, his sorrowful eyes coming to rest on Celegon's at last. I know they would…"
Some captains stared at Eramir for a while, understanding coming to them, while others looked to the floor in silent shame.
"Well," said Celegon. "I thank you then, for that insight Eramir. Perhaps you are right. But if you are not," he said, his voice rising now, his eyes riveted on the Sindarin captain, "I will root them out and truss them up, and then hang them from the ramparts so that all of the Greenwood can witness what it is the Inner Circle does - with traitors."
There was no answer, for the Commander General had spoken, and all of them knew that he meant what he said.
"Well, now that that is sorted," began Huron somewhat uncomfortably, "we discuss the trial and we make a decision. I can see the forest flags from the upper levels - the Silvans are setting camp.
Discussion began slowly, stilted at first, until they were debating in earnest, laughing, shaking their heads, gesticulating, agreeing, disagreeing, and Celegon sat back and listened, momentarily catching Huron's knowing eyes, and then watching as the general slowly nodded his head in respect.
The throne room was a magnificent place, a testimony to the glory days of the Sindar of Doriath. The stone had been carved into pilars, arches, walkways and even trees. Shafts had been cleverly engineered so that natural light beamed in, onto the grey stone, setting it all alight in a myriad of colours, indeed one of them now shed a ray of yellow light over the throne itself, and the pale blond head of Greenwood's ruler, Thranduil.
Close by, stood Mithrandir and Glorfindel, talking quietly, and opposite them, Aradan and Handir listened and watched as the king worked. Outside the mighty doors, petitioners stood, waiting for the ceremonial guards to lead them to the king.
The Company had commissioned for themselves a quiet corner, for they were hungry for news on Legolas, and there was no better place for them to wait than here.
Elladan's smile was catching, and in spite of their worry for Legolas, they could not but help feeling his joy, his pride.
"So what now?" asked Idhreno. "You will become a famous healer and leave the Company!" he exclaimed.
"No - not that. I will develop the tonic together with Nestaron, investigate it for we still do not understand how it works. All we know, is that something happened to it, during its time in the store room, something changed with time and we must identify what that was if we are to reproduce it."
"It will be a mighty gift to us all, Elladan. Your deed will be praised, and I shall write a song!" exclaimed the Bard Warrior. But before any of them had time to answer, a messenger ran into the corridor, whispering urgently to the guard. He was immediately ushered to the king and the Company craned their necks to watch.
Glorfindel and Mithrandir watched attentively as Thranduil read the parchment the messenger handed him, his eyes rapidly scanning the paper.
"Lord Aradan," he called to his advisor. "The Silvans are here. They have set up camp outside the fortress and are requesting an audience. Please see to this personally. Tell them we are currently holding council on the matter that has brought them here. It will be a matter of 24 hours, Aradan. You must appease them, gain this time for us."
"My King, would you consent to Prince Handir accompanying me?"
"State your reasons," asked the king.
"He is an able statesman, the experience will be good for him but more than this, he is Lord Legolas' brother. That may work in our favour.
The king nodded slowly. "Very well, take a small contingent with you. And Aradan - gather the Council for tomorrow at first light …"
"Thank you sire. We will report back to you as soon as we have secured an acceptable answer.
Aradan turned to Handir with a smile on his face, and Handir answered it with a wider one of his own, before taking his place at the Chief Advisor's side, and walking purposefully away.
"Legolas, it is time," said Captain Lanthir from the open door to his small room, and the Silvan stood, Koron en Naur at his side.
"Come," came Dorhinen's deep voice, one hand on the small of Legolas' back.
His legs felt weak and his heart raced too fast. This was the moment upon which the rest of his life would rest, and he was not sure he wished to hear what they would say.
Rounding the corner, both elves came face to face with the entire Inner Circle, standing now to attention in four perfect rows, Commander General Celegon at the fore together with General Huron.
"Legolas Thranduilion," came the commanding voice, a voice that was meant to be heard by them all.
"The decisions we will now relay to you have been taken unanimously, and will take effect as of this very moment. Will you abide by our judgement?"
"I will," said Legolas, but his voice was nothing even remotely similar to what he had intended, for it had come out weakly and with a slight waver that almost made him blush.
"You are hereby granted the rank of First Lieutenant. Pending the ruling of the Council, we will favour your candidature as Warlord of the Silvan people, so long as you accept the military hierarchy of the Greenwood's army, whatever the Silvan people may grant you."
Celegon paused here, for there was more, and he needed the information to be fully understood before he continued.
"Given the extraordinary circumstances, your age, the request of the Silvan people, and your undeniable skill as a warrior and strategist, you will ride with one of us, together with another lieutenant, for a period of approximately five years. After this time, the Inner Circle will convene once more to discuss your progress."
And there it was. Celegon was telling him that he may be promoted to Captain if he learned enough in those five years… just five years. He could not help it, and tears sprang to his green eyes as his life passed before his mind's eye…
An elf, barely past his majority, sitting in his humble cottage, reading to the light of a single candle - the books of old, a
dmiration in his eyes as he drank in the illustrations of the mighty commanders, their armour, their weapons, learning of their brave deeds and sacrifices.
An elf who trained upon the empty fields when all others had retired for the day. Sparing, shooting, training his body. Nursing his aching muscles and ignoring the pain as he worked himself to his limits.
His own voice when asked what it was he wanted…. 'to be a captain,' he had answered with stars in his eyes.
One tear escaped him and he closed his eyes, and when he opened them once more, the kind eyes of Celegon stood before him.
"Seldom have we seen such vocation, such deep desire, honour and humility in one so young. We will be watching you, Legolas, and when the time comes, we will stand together and invest you as the captain you were born to be. We congratulate you, lieutenant…" he smiled.
Legolas smiled as he dragged his forearm over his eyes. But all he could do was nod and the captains standing before him broke the lines, and before Legolas' disbelieving eyes, they surrounded him, and one by one, gave him his first salute, under the indulgent eyes of Koron en Naur, for in his own mind he saw Oropher once more, smiling as would a proud forefather before an extraordinary scion of his house, one he knew would return it to glory and splendour once more.
There was a strangeness in the air, for those that dwelled within the Fortress of Greenwood the Great, had never seen the likes. There was a carpet of tents pitched around the outer fortifications, and atop each one, a flag wavered proudly in the afternoon breeze, flags that told stories of great houses and beloved lands.
Every village was represented, every noble house of old, both Silvan and Avarin, and Thranduil found himself wondering if there were any left behind in the forest.
Tilting his crowned head to the waning sun, he closed his eyes for a moment, enjoying the new smells that lingered upon the air, smells he had not enjoyed in many years - the years he had spent hibernating inside his self-constructed shell of misery.
Pine and resin, nuts and wet soil. Fragrant herbs and dried leaves smoking over incandescent coals - the smells of the forest, of the Silvan people. It was the aroma that lingered every time she passed him, the same one that came to him in his dreams.
He had failed them, he reckoned, for in his absence he had ignored their needs, waved off their indignant comments, their complaints for what they considered unfair treatment. He had let it all roll with the tide until the wave had become so tall it threatened to engulf them all.
Yet now, he could make it right. If he played his hand with skill, deployed his assets in the best possible way, he could, perhaps, undo the damage, restore this kingdom, restore the forest, resuscitate his own heart…
His wandering eyes were drawn to a small group of elves that walked through the gates far below him. Lord Aradan and his own son, Handir, accompanied by four guards made their way towards the largest tent where Thranduil knew Erthoron and Lorthil would be, waiting for word from the King. They looked so small, he mused, so insignificant and yet their mission was of the utmost importance; gain for them all, the time they would need to gather the council, and then convince them that the Silvans' demand for a return of their Warlord, was viable, would be advantageous, and that Legolas was the elf to fulfil that role.
Handir was a source of constant pride. He had always been the most steadfast, the most intelligent, at least where his own family was concerned. He knew though, that he had taken his middle son for granted many times, assumed that he would do his duty, that he would endure the grief Thranduil had not been able to shake himself of, indeed he had not shown his love, his admiration, his pride… not since Handir had been a bright-eyed child, still blissfully unaware of the farse that was his parents' marriage.
But then neither had he done it for Rinion, his eldest. He had been old enough to understand, and hence to suffer and yet the consequences had been different, for where Handir was analytical, logical, understanding and practical, Rinion was incandescent, rash, emotional and somewhat - obsessive. Rinion had been close with his mother, and closer still with his sister, Maeneth.
His daughter's lovely face came to him then and he smiled for in his mind she was still a child, not yet come of age. Her cheeks round and full, features not yet fully formed. What would she look like now, he wondered, would she look like her mother? Like Aglareb?
"The king's envoys," said Narosen, the Spirit Herder as he peered around the flap of their spacious tent.
"Who?" came Lord Erthoron's voice.
"Prince Handir, Lord Aradan…"
"Strange they do not send Legolas to us, assuming as they will that his aunt is here," said Golloron.
"This is a highly - political - moment, Golloron," said Erthoron. "Every deed, every word, every emphasis, every stare or wave of a hand means something. That Legolas is not here means either that he is otherwise engaged, or the king does not wish to give us false hope."
"We are about to find out," said Narosen, as he pulled the flap open and bowed before the two dignitaries, ushering them inside with his arms.
"Lord Erthoron, Lord Lorthil," nodded Prince Handir.
"My Prince, Lord Aradan," bowed the lords and the two spirit herders.
"Lord Erthoron," began Prince Handir after a subtle nod from Aradan. "My father sends his apologies for not receiving you personally. He is currently engaged in the very Council meeting that will decide the outcome of your petitions. He requests you concede a further twenty-four hours before giving you our decision on this matter."
"Why has this been left so late, knowing that we would arrive on this date?"
"Lord Erthoron," continued Handir, moving now from where he had been standing, just as Erestor had shown him. "The Council has only now been called, because Lord Legolas' position in this realm had not yet been decided. In order to consider your request, it was necessary to count on the backing of our military."
"And you have that now? They are favourable to the return of our Warlord?"
"We do not yet know, my Lord. You see, Lord Legolas has been with the Inner Circle for the last three days. We still await their judgement of his - suitability, if you will."
"And yet you are in Council, without that information?" asked Erthoron.
"The Council will convene shortly. We hope that our Commander General will inform us within the next few hours."
Erthoron breathed deeply, clearly not happy with the delay.
"I thought we had made our position plain, my Prince?" he asked.
"You did, my Lord, and we give it the utmost importance."
"All of you?" asked Erthoron rhetorically.
"No, not all of us, for you know who would speak against it. Yet with the favour or our army, it will be nigh on impossible for the Council to rule against it. We simply need one more day, my Lord…"
"And you have it," conceded Erthoron quietly. "No more, no less…" he said meaningfully.
"We are grateful, my Lord. I will send word no sooner a decision has been reached," he said.
Erthoron nodded. "Come," he said, pouring wine into three cups. "Sit with me for a while, for we have many questions," he said, smiling for the first time.
Handir smiled as he sat, Aradan at his side. Erthoron's eyes would not leave those of the prince, indeed Handir was becoming uncomfortable, for the lady in the corner stared too, as if mesmerised, and the two strange Silvans that stood towards the back were quite simply unnerving. Spirit Herders, Silvan mystics that always appeared when questions of state were at hand.
"You look like your brother," said Erthoron critically as he drank.
"Like Legolas, you mean?" asked Handir.
"Yes. And yet not so. He is more, robust than you, and his eyes are green, so different from yours - from those of your father. His hair is similar though, if a little lighter…"
"Now there, I must disagree, Erthoron. Legolas' hair cannot be compared with any other…"
"And why not? Granted it is long, but not that much more than your
own…"
Handir remembered then, that Legolas had changed since the last time these people had seen him…
"Perhaps it is the way he wears it," said Handir lightly, desperate now to change the subject.
"So tell me, Handir. How has Legolas fared with you, with his father and your siblings?"
Handir was about to answer, but the woman in shadows chose that moment to step forward. There was something of Legolas in her features, and he correctly deduced that this would be Amareth, Lassiel's sister.
"Forgive me," said Erthoron, "This is Amareth, Legolas' aunt, sister of his mother, Lassiel.
"Well met, my Lady," said Handir as he stood and bowed. Aradan simply nodded at her, for they had met before, he knew.
"Will you tell us, then? Tell us how Legolas fares with his father's family?" she asked quietly, but Handir did not miss the worry in her voice.
"Well, he and I are - at peace. We respect one another and I believe, with time, we will become the brothers we should always have been," he said, watching Erthoron especially for a reaction. "When this is over and we are at peace once more, we will be fine allies for we share a common purpose, the same loyalties.
Indeed Erthoron's eyebrows rose and a pleased smile showed on his unguarded face.
"That pleases me, Handir, truly."
"And what of Thranduil?" asked Amareth, her tone somewhat anxious.
"The king is much changed, my lady, since Legolas' appearance. He as been a catalyst of sorts, I would say for our king has left his grief aside, I think, he seems strangely comforted by the presence of this lost son."
Amareth's eyes were wide and alive as she listened. "That is good then, that he has the protection of the king…." she said, almost to herself and Handir frowned, and then turned to Aradan, a silent question in his eyes, but Aradan simply shrugged.
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