Depositing his heavy load upon one of the small beds, he shook his arms and clapped Legolas upon the shoulder. "Your new uniform!. You have two of everything. Try it on and tell me if anything needs fixing, and shine your boots and your armour!"
"Yes Sir!" shouted Legolas with a bright smile, approaching the bed as a child does on Yule morning.
Lainion simply chuckled as he walked into the kitchen. A knock on the door distracted him though, and so he opened it, only to find Calen, a local marketeer and friend.
"Lainion! I was told you were back - how are you my friend!" he asked jovially as he entered and sat himself down at the kitchen table. "You look well and so I am assuming you were not skewered in the field, for which I am very grateful!"
"Not a scratch, Calen. Although the same cannot be said for the land towards the South. Blackness is spreading over the trees - we will not be able to hold it back for much longer," he said solemnly, before shaking his head and smiling. "But now, this is not the time for my melancholic mood. How are you, my friend? Still dazzling the ladies with your banter?"
"Of course! You know I am the handsomest elf round these parts," and then he stopped abruptly as Legolas entered with a smile on his face. "Well, the second handsomest," he muttered as he watched the Sinda lad approach them and nod in his direction.
"By all that is sacred, he is the spitting image of Lassiel…"
Legolas scowled and Lainion's heart skipped a beat. "Uh, yes, yes he does, it's the eyes I think," he said a little too quickly.
"Are you related, to Lassiel I mean?" asked Calen, his head cocked to one side as his silver eyes roved over Legolas' face, his hair, his eyes.
"Not that I know of, Calen. I never knew my family," he said simply.
"Ah well, that is a pity," said Calen, and Lainion did not miss the sideways glance his friend shot him.
Thankfully, Legolas said nothing and Lainion was desperate to change the subject and so he began his tale of their journey into the South-west, pulling Legolas in with him, and soon enough, the three were talking animatedly, thanks in no small part, to the wine that Lainion had placed before them. But the Avari was experienced enough to know that Calen had not been fooled. Lainion would have to speak to him, for he loved his friend dearly, but discretion, was not one of his strong points.
Only two days now, Legolas reminded himself as he wallowed in bed. It was still dark outside, but dawn lurked on the horizon. Two more days and his life would change yet again. He was excited, nervous, apprehensive - there were so many emotions he suddenly decided he did not know how to feel.
He had wanted to continue serving in the South, but destiny had pushed him down a different path, a path that led to the finery and wisdom of the Noldor - Imladris! It had never crossed his mind, yet when he reminded himself of the advantages that Lainion had pointed out to him, the twinge of disappointment promptly disappeared.
Six months was not so bad, he mused. He would improve his sword play, for work with the short swords had progressed well after he had spent all those months investigating and researching the technique once used in Gondolin no less. He wondered then if Glorfiindel would know of it. Legolas had incorporated it into his own training routine, but he had no one to practice with, no one to improve the skill with. Of course he would know, he scoffed. He is Glorfiindel - he would know it all - he would make Legolas the best warrior he could be! His faith was blind and he knew it, but he did not care. He was all Legolas could ever aspire to being.
He envisaged himself training in the mornings with Glorfindel, and then studying in the afternoons. There would be new lands to explore, trees to marvel at, a whole new culture to learn of. Perhaps he would learn their dances too, for Legolas loved to dance.
It all suddenly seemed a massive challenge and it made him feel small again, insecure. The questions would start all over again. Who is your father? Are you Silvan? you look Sindarin…
He closed his eyes and quelled his mounting irritation. He could handle it, he had proved to himself that he could - all he needed to work on was controlling his temper… He had nothing to be ashamed of. He was the youngest warrior the Greenwood had, Lainion had told him just yesterday.
And then not two days hence, he would be back in the company of Idrenho and Ram en! He smiled, wide and genuine; it was enough and he sprung out of bed, dressed in his new uniform, braided his hair and headed for the kitchen, pulling up abruptly as he came face to face with Lainion, whose face was now but inches from his own.
"I will be back early evening. I want you in full uniform, armed and ready for me at the twentieth hour."
Legolas scowled at him, and then opened his mouth to ask why in the name of the Valar he would ask such a thing, but Lainion gave him a curt nod and strode away, bound for the court, leaving behind him a thoroughly puzzled Legolas.
With a shrug of his shoulders, he left for the kitchen, for his stomach rumbled and the day was beautiful. He had much to do and even more to think on, but for the first time in as long as he could remember, it was all good.
Lainion, the silent and mercurial Avarin lieutenant, galloped away with a sly smile upon his face, yet if one looked closely enough, they would also have seen a hint of mischief, for the Avari had a secret …
Legolas stood in his new uniform, his new boots and blades shining in the late afternoon sun. A long bow crossed his back, and his twin short swords peaked over his strong, leather-clad shoulders. A long sword sat in his belt and his hair had been carefully braided and pulled back from his face, the rest of it cascading down his back in pure Avarin fashion.
He wondered what Lainion had in store for him. Another lesson perhaps, or a training session in his uniform to insure he was comfortable with it. It made sense, he supposed, for in two days he would embark upon the longest journey he had ever made, his first as a warrior, he reminded himself with a giddy smile.
From the corner of his eye, Legolas spotted a group of children, huddled together in obvious collusion. They were plotting and planning, he realised, whispering furiously between themselves, and then casting furtive glances his way. They were talking about him! he realised, and smiled at their antics.
Looking around for any sign of Lainion, he was, once more, distracted as the whispering became louder, and before he knew it, one boy had broken from the main group and slowly, apprehensively, crept his way towards Legolas. His face was rigid, eyes wide and searching as he made his skittish way towards the imposing blond warrior.
"Hello child. What is it you want?" asked Legolas kindly, but far from easing the child, he stopped in his tracks, his head whipping back to his friends in panic, as if he had suddenly been caught in quicksand.
The whispering was back as they flapped their arms, telling their friend he should continue. Bolstering his courage, the young one continued his tortuous way forwards, under the puzzled yet amused gaze of Legolas.
Soon enough, he was but a few feet away from him, staring openly now. But where before there had been only fright, now, there was curiosity, for the boy's eyes strayed from the large green eyes to the thick locks tightly secured in a high pony tale.
"Are you, a - are you…."
"Speak child, I do not bite, well not usually," he smiled.
The children behind snorted in laughter and shoved each other, but their eyes never left the scene before them.
"A - are you - are you the Silvan?" he asked in awe.
Legolas was taken aback. How could this child possibly know the nick name he had been given? He was new to this village, nobody knew him except Lainion, and Lainion had not used that name here, he was sure of it.
"Yes," he answered simply, and to his utter surprise, all vestiges of fright and apprehension disappeared, replaced now but the biggest beam Legolas had ever seen on the face of a child. His eyes sparkled and he squealed in delight, bouncing on the spot where he stood.
The other children ran forwards until they reached their brave friend and of a sudden, questions beg
an to bubble from their giddy mouths.
"Is it true, are you the Silvan?" they asked excitedly.
Frowning yet smiling, Legolas nodded. "Yes, that it what some people call me. How did you know?" he asked.
"Everybody knows the Silvan!" another boy shouted. "He is the mightiest Silvan warrior of our time, daddy has told me so!" he exclaimed.
Legolas was dumbfounded, but before he could ask another question, another child spoke up. "It's all true, look!" he shouted, making the others giggle with glee. One brave child reached out to touch his twisted locks, and it was enough to bolster the courage of the others. Soon enough all five were touching his hair, until one little hand strayed to a short sword handle and Legolas stopped him. The boy startled, but then smiled when Legolas did, touching instead the curve of his big green eyes in wonder.
"You see! He is the handsomest warrior of them all. Mummy says you are our champion, that you will protect the Silvan people and our forests! Will you?"
"I will do all in my power to protect my people, child, for whatever difference it can make."
The sound of someone clearing their throat drew Legolas' attention and he turned to meet Lainion's amused gaze.
Straightening himself and his tunic, Legolas saluted formally to his superior as was custom when wearing one's uniform, and from the corner of his eyes, he could see the boys mimicking him. He tried to mask the grin that threatened to ruin his solemn stance but to no avail and he looked down in embarrassment.
Lainion had not meant to frighten them, but he certainly was not used to children, and his stern Avarin gaze was enough to send them running, squealing and laughing as they ran into the trees, their voices shouting over and over, "the Silvan! the Silvan!"
Legolas turned his perplexed face to Lainion, whose own expression was blank, all emotion channeled, it seemed, into his words.
"News travels fast..."
"But why? I mean, many warriors have saved the lives of civilians, kept them from danger. Why do they talk of me? Legolas asked, pleaded almost.
"Perhaps," began Lainion carefully, "it is not only the Silvans that speak of you..." he said cryptically as his hand patted the trunk of a nearby oak. Legolas swallowed, and quelled the cold shiver that ran down his spine.
"Legolas, the Silvan people are ruled by their respective village chiefs and Spirit Herders. They each have representatives at court, but there is no one person they all feel identified with, one they can claim as their own. A brave warrior with the qualities you already show. You have been chosen, in a sense, not collectively but individually - by many. Does that make sense?"
"No, not really," said Legolas. "You are saying they need a leader? a Silvan leader?"
"Yes, yet more than a leader they need a protector, one that will defend their rights. They need to express their Silvan culture and identity, their beliefs and ethics, their art and their land. They feel marginated by the Sindar, they are hungry to state a claim."
"But I am a warrior, Lainion, not a statesman. I do not want to play a part in politics..."
"You are a warrior and that, is why they chose you, for they do not want a politician, they want you."
They held each others' gazes for a long moment until Legolas looked to the floor and nodded, not quite sure, it seemed, that he would accept this imposed representation, that he was even comfortable with the notion.
"Warrior Legolas."
"Sir," answered Legolas somewhat sadly.
"Look to your left..."
Legolas did, and before Lainion could say more, the boy was loping forwards, his long hair streaming behind him until he crashed into Ram en Ondo's chest, and then was hugged from behind by Idhrenohtar. The three said nothing, for no words could fittingly describe the love they felt the one for the other.
And so Lainion took his time as he walked towards them, noticing Carodel did the same from the other side. Soon though, all five stood together, and Legolas spoke.
"Brothers! We have made it! Look at us! We are warriors at last! and the best the Greenwood has!" he exclaimed proudly.
"Aye," said Idhrenohtar with a smile, his face glowing and his eyes sparkling. "Newly appointed warriors, bound for Imladris and Glorfindel of Gondolin!"
"Mighty things lie ahead of us!" proclaimed Ram en Ondo. "But we must tell you that the Company has grown." Ram en Ondo glanced at Carodel who approached slowly, until he stood before Legolas, his face tentative, unsure perhaps, of the welcome he would receive.
"You must have proved yourself to my brothers, else they would not have proposed this," said Legolas as he clasped Carodel´s forearms and smiled.
"He needs a name!" said Idhreno slyly and Legolas smiled.
"I know exactly what his name shall be!" said Legolas softly, a little more solemnly now as his mind thought back to those first days of training at the barracks when they had drunk too much wine and sang into the night.
"You shall be Lindohtar, Lindo the Bard Warrior - welcome to the Company."
Carodel smiled and nodded, his unspoken deference implicit, for they had all understood from the start, that Legolas was the leader of this unique band of warrior brothers.
"And there is more, my friends, for there is yet another," said Legolas fondly. "This," he beckoned to Lainion, "is Dimaethor, the Silent Warrior, with whom I have shared many things. He is well-loved," he said softly with a somewhat rueful smile.
"Well, well," said Idhrenohtar, holding his arms out to the sides. "Four Silvans and one Avari. Now we are five!" he exclaimed. "I am honoured. May we fight and serve together for many centuries!"
They all smiled, but none more than Legolas. He knew Carodel and Lainion would need to know each other better, as would Lainion with Idhreno and Ram en, but in his heart he knew this was right. His family had just grown and joy leapt and frolicked in his chest. He didn't need a father to feel loved, that he belonged. The Company was more than he could ever wish for.
A heavy hand upon his shoulder jolted him from his musings and he turned to look at Lainion. "Come," he said, a lieutenant once more, and Legolas nodded, falling into step with his superior, the rest of The Company behind him.
As he followed, something fluttered in Legolas´ head and a strange feeling of pressure at the back of his neck had him massaging it with his hand, scowling at the unfamiliar feeling. Noise was slowly building in his mind, jumbled and unintelligible. He frowned, partly in puzzlement and then worry, but also because it hurt.
"Legolas?" asked Lainion, his mouth close to his ear.
"I don't know, Dima. I hear, noise, nonsense, I cannot understand it."
"Danger?"
"No."
"Calm yourself, Legolas, try to concentrate."
He did, and no sooner he had, and the noise stopped, the pressure now released from his neck. He heaved a deep, steadying breath.
"Better?"
"Yes."
Lainion searched his eyes for the truth and found it, and so he nodded. Idhreno's voice startled him though.
"There is something you have not told us," said the Wise Warrior flatly, his own eyes searching those of his childhood friend.
"There is, Idhreno. We will speak of it soon. We all have many things to share."
"But not now," ordered Lainion.
The afternoon light was fading and though it was cold, the sky was clear as they stopped before the lieutenant, in the centre or the small clearing.
"Attention!" he commanded, and in spite of their puzzlement, the four, newly appointed warriors, uniformed and armed, straightened and then stood to rigorous attention, their eyes to the fore.
They knew that people approached from the trees, but they were not at liberty to avert their eyes. To most, their identity was not a mystery, for they knew who came and what was to come. Only Legolas was at a loss.
Captain Tirion approached until he stood at Lainion's shoulder and the lieutenant stepped to the side as he formally saluted the captain, clad in full ceremonial uniform. His con-decorat
ions shone upon his right arm and Legolas resisted the urge to look at them.
One by one, they were formally called upon to repeat their solemn vows of service to the Crown. Their promise to give their lives for their land. In return, they were given a leather bracelet they would wear upon their biceps. With time, it would be replaced with the precious metal of Grade Bands, denoting mastership in weaponry. However, when Legolas finished his vow and gave his first, official salute, Tirion held out a finely carved silver band of intertwined vines, in the centre of which lay a carved arrowhead.
His eyes shot to the Captain's and Tirion nodded.
"You have been granted master status with the bow. Congratulations, warrior," he said formally.
Legolas bowed in humble gratefulness, for never in his wildest dreams had he imagined being a master now, while he stood and took his vows.
He closed his eyes slowly, as if the darkness could, somehow, slow down the rush of emotions - happiness, pride, determination, resolve, love - all these things he could, perhaps, synthesise in few words. He loved his king, and in his service to him, he would dedicate his life.
And now, how to become a captain, he mused, mischievously almost, for only then, would he feel the bliss of completion.
His eyelids slid open once more, and of a sudden it seemed to Legolas that the whole world had changed, or was it him that had changed? His body hummed and his mind cleared itself of a sudden, everything around him now startlingly clear, as if some small piece had slipped effortlessly into place and had completed him.
He was startled by the honey-coloured eyes that stared at him - too close. He could see himself in them, and yet not entirely. Blood of his blood, but not his mother, whoever she had been.
It was Amareth, his aunt.
"My son..." she whispered, her eyes wide and misty. A gentle hand reached up and cupped his cheek lovingly, disbelief and love clearly readable upon her attractive face.
"Amareth," was all Legolas could say for a moment, for she was, in everything but the womb, his mother.
The Sylvanus Page 18
