Legolas accepted it quietly with a nod and clasped it in both hands, the heat no doubt a small comfort to his troubled mind.
"I hope you are right, Ram en," whispered Idhreno as he cast his eyes to the trees around them. "Caution brothers. We must shield him as best we can, give him some time to come to terms with his - heritage."
Lindo and Ram en nodded, but their faces were a mirror of their troubled minds. Legolas was a son of the king, and he had a gift none of them understood, one Legolas could not control.
Lainion would not see The Company until much later, for Handir had surprised him on his return to the royal tent.
Ducking his head inside, he had found Handir still awake, only partially visible in the weak light.
"Is it done?" asked the prince quietly.
Lainion approached and sat, and then ran a trembling hand over his face. "Forgive me, Handir. It was, not as I had imagined… he is mature beyond his age in most things, but the news I gave him was hard for him to accept - made me remember how very young he still is." His voice had been thready and weak, but after what Lainion had just witnessed, he could not keep the weight of his emotions from spilling into his words.
"He is upset?" asked the prince.
"Yes - and furious - and then ashamed - so many things, Handir. But there is one thing I did not expect at all."
"What was that?" prompted the prince softly.
"His gift - it - manifested itself spontaneously - he must learn to dominate it - whatever it is. It is strong yet the nature of it is still not completely clear. He may well get himself into trouble if he does not control it."
"What happened? Surely it cannot…"
"It is," interrupted Lainion abruptly. "His eyes, Handir, his eyes glowed like a thousand fireflies and it is terrifying," he whispered, his own frightened Avarin eyes glinted as they came to rest on Handir's. "Whatever it is, I am glad we travel to Imladris, for I fancy Elrond will be of some help."
"Perhaps," said Handir thoughtfully. "Yet we have not thought on what to say when he is recognized. When I saw him in the tent earlier, it was my grandfather staring back at me, Lainion. It is uncanny, and where we are headed, there will be no doubt at all in their minds as to his heritage."
"I know. I thought perhaps we could speak to Elrond on our arrival. Be honest with him, tell him this information has not yet transcended in the Greenwood - I am sure he would keep our best interests at heart."
"Aye, and Lord Erestor will be invaluable insofar as to what we should do, indeed if anything should be done. I will think more on it and we will speak again during our ride tomorrow. And, and Lainion?"
"Aye"
"You have done well. That must not have been easy."
Lainion stared back at his charge, his eyes steady and his jaw set. "It was not."
He had fallen asleep, against his best efforts to remain awake. The wine and the stress of his conversation with the king had obviously taken a bigger toll on him than he had thought.
Rising slowly, he stretched his sore muscles and cast his eyes around the area where they had made their humble camp, spotting their two guards in the distance.
Thranduil, however, was nowhere to be seen and so Aradan picked up their packs and walked towards the guards, who saluted as he came to stand before them.
"The king?" he asked, to which they simply nodded in the direction he should take.
Soon enough, Aradan came to the banks of a small stream where a mighty willow arched over the slowly flowing water. Upon its bough, the king was perched. Aradan watched him for a moment, marvelling at the sight, for in spite of his plain riding clothes and loose silver-blond hair, he could never be mistaken for anyone other than what he was. A king.
Not wishing to interrupt, Aradan accommodated himself upon the loamy banks and waited patiently, plucking a stone and then turning it in his hands, the rhythmic action helping to quell his mounting anxiety.
"Aradan," acknowledged the king.
"Thranduil," answered the councillor as he tossed the stone into the water, listening for the hollow sound as it hit the water. He would wait, wait for the king to set the tone of their conversation now, for in all honesty, Aradan simply did not know what to expect.
"You must say goodbye now," said the king softly, and Aradan's heart dropped to the soles of his boots. 'What have we done,' he said to himself as he waited with baited breath for the king to continue.
"Your news has brought me closure, Aradan, an end to the torment of not knowing, because when you do not know you cannot accept, and if you cannot accept you grieve - is that not how it works?" he asked softly.
"It sounds reasonable," said Aradan, his breath oddly short as he answered.
"Now that I know, I can, perhaps, learn to accept - but only this; that we will be parted for many years to come, but that I will see her again for you see now - I know where to look…"
Aradan's mind echoed the king's words in his mind like a desperate mantra - 'you must say goodbye…' He was leaving then, leaving for Aman…
"Aradan. A part of her is still here, on Arda. You must say goodbye now, goodbye to a grieving king - he has gone …"
Aradan watched with round eyes as the king gracefully descended the tree and walked slowly yet purposefully towards him and for a moment Aradan thought he moved too slowly, yet before he could blink once more, the king was almost upon him.
"He has gone … and in his place is Thranduil, king of Greenwood the Great, father of Maeneth, Handir, Rinion and - Greenleaf."
Aradan's skin prickled uncomfortably and he gasped at the sudden sensation, and then furrowed his eyes as his mind slowly processed the implications.
"You are staying? You are back?" he whispered in awe.
"Aye, Aradan. I am back," and when the king answered him, his voice was strong and vibrant. His eyes were no longer unfocussed and distant, dull and crushingly sad. Gone was the hunched posture, the distracted answers, the despondence. This king was tall, and strong, proud and wise. This king had a purpose once more, and for all Aradan tried, with all his might, he could not avoid the radiant smile that blossomed on his face, nor the words that tumbled from his mouth.
"The Valar be praised, Thranduil. The Valar be praised."
They had saddled up and moved out at first light, and now, the royal caravan maintained a steady trot through the foothills of Caradhras, which loomed before them ominously, resting from the otherwise jolly disposition of the troops. The temperature was plummeting and by the evening, it was freezing cold. Their joy was silenced, turning now to a higher level of diligence as the sounds of nature became muted, and an unhealthy silence filled the air around them, as if they teetered on the border of some unknown danger.
The land was rocky yet still graced with the presence of a few, spindly trees, their leaves already lost to the wind. To Legolas, the land seemed strange; the trees felt different, the terrain a little too open, yet in spite of this he felt claustrophobic almost, for the grey, jagged peaks jutted towards the skies and closed in their horizon. It was paradoxical, and he liked it not.
To the veteran warriors, this would be a familiar sight, for they would have passed this way before, but for him it was all new, simple village boy that he was, woefully inexperienced when it came to travelling. Amareth had never taken him anywhere, and now that he knew of his heritage, it all made perfect sense. She had been protecting him, perhaps, shielding him from the truth of his begetting. Funny, he mused, but he was not quite sure how he felt about that. There was a nagging irritation at the back of his mind, one that told him she was wrong to have kept the truth from him, wrong to have left him wondering if his parents had been outlaws, oath breakers or something worse. Had she not realised that her subterfuge had been obvious to him? that he had always known she hid something transcendental from him?
Idhrenohtar was looking at him again and so he met his friend's gaze and nodded - he was well, all he needed was some time to sort out the storm inside his head.
>
And then the thought of his mother - Lassiel - a Silvan lass from a humble family who had fallen in love with the king, no less. How that had come about he could not fathom, but he could well guess she would not have been deemed an appropriate match for Oropher's son. Was that what had happened? he mused. Had they been forbidden to see one another? And if that was so, why had they conceive a child, knowing they could never be together? that the child would not grow with both his parents to nurture him? It was unheard of, for conception was not a thing of luck but a purposeful act in Elven society.
And what of the king's children - his legitimate children, he corrected himself. Prince Handir knew, he was sure of it, for there could be no confusing the expression upon his face just yesterday in the royal tent, before his own world had been utterly changed. But what of the Crown Prince - Rinion, and the princess Maeneth. Did they know? Would they blame Legolas for their father's indiscretion? Well he would never know, he realised, for they would not welcome a bastard into their noble house, and even if they did, would Legolas want that?
He shook his head to stop the incessant rumination of his mind, the movement enough to draw Ram en Ondo's attention, and from somewhere deep inside, Legolas mustered a soft smile, one that widened when he saw the reaction it gleaned from his friend. He had frightened them, unnerved them in so many ways in the last day; he owed it to them to pull himself together, to weather the tide one day at a time, as Idhrenohtar had told him that very morning.
But inside this whirling vortex of questions and emotions, there was one thing that was clear in his mind. He would not be ashamed; he would not lower his head and he would not be mocked. He was who he was by none of his own doing. He was Legolas of the Woodland Realm, a warrior and master archer. He was a good elf and loyal servant of his king and those things he would be proud of.
New strength surged through his veins and he breathed deeply as he sat straighter in the saddle, casting his now bright eyes around him, as if seeing his surroundings for the first time. A discreet smile curved his lips and a soft breeze lifted his white blond locks. It was a new day, a new life, and although he would remember his childhood with affection, it suddenly seemed to him now, that those days were far, far away, drifting like snow upon an early winter wind.
Twilight lent a grey-blue tinge to the cloudless sky and their breath frosted upon the air. Warriors, commanders and lords had wrapped their cloaks tightly around themselves, their hoods shielding them from the biting wind. Their hearths were bigger than they had been yesterday, the warriors sitting closer to the comforting flames as their pots boiled water, broth and tea. At the centre of their camp lay two tents, one bigger than the other, where Prince Handir would be, together with Lainion. The other would be for their commanding officer, Lord Celegon, for as far as Legolas could see, the imposing Sinda left all things of command to his faithful lieutenant, Galadan, also of Sindarin heritage, as were most of the Greenwood's commanders.
Lindo, Ram en and Idhreno sat talking quietly of the things they had seen upon the road, but Legolas could tell their heart was not in it.
"Pass me some tea, Idhreno," he said simply, and their hushed conversation stopped, giving way to a pregnant silence.
"Do not fret," he said again, before drinking once more.
"Legolas. 'Do not fret', after what happened yesterday is - optimistic of you. You cannot ask it of us," said Idhrenohtar, his expression indignant.
"I can. I do. I am alright. Admittedly I am shocked and unnerved, and there are so many questions I cannot answer it frustrates me. That and my terror of this new - development that affects my eyes, oh and did I mention I am nervous beyond belief at the prospect of being recognised by the Noldo," he added ironically, "But I am alright, I can deal with it."
"Legolas," began Ram en Ondo carefully, "you have a reputation for convincing yourself nothing is wrong when it is - you cannot blame us for doubting your word on this one thing."
It was a bold statement, and Legolas held his friend's gaze for a moment, feelings of rebellion swiftly being replaced by acceptance, for Ram en Ondo was right. He had deceived himself all his life about not caring about his heritage - was this just another example of his inability to understand himself? No, he quickly realised it was not the same. Something had happened on the road, some inner strength had bolstered his spirit for deep inside, something had made sense, something he still did not understand. He had questions and no answers, except for the surety that he was strong enough to face this new challenge.
"I understand. And if I recognise that in this, you are right, it is because I am sure of what I say now. I do not say it will be easy, that I will not be angry or sad, or that I will need you all to keep me focussed. But I can deal with it. Until yesterday, I did indeed deceived myself, but not today."
His words had been heart felt, strong and convincing. It was enough and Ram en smiled, while Idhreno and Lindo nodded curtly. They believed him, for now, but that did not mean that everything would slip back into normalcy, for that concept had just drastically changed for them all, and although they were still young, they were old enough to realise this one thing. Life would never be the same for them again.
"Lainion. Should I speak to him, do you think?" asked Handir from the other side of their tent.
Lainion half turned to face his Prince, his expression thoughtful. "I am unsure, Handir. He may, perhaps, need a little more time to come to terms with this. Tomorrow, perhaps?"
"I ask, Lainion, not because it is my wish to do so, but because we should, perhaps, at least acknowledge one other, should the Noldor draw precipitous conclusions upon our arrival…"
"Of course," said Handir lightly, successfully hiding the twinge of disappointment. "Just remember, my Lord, that he is half your age…"
Handir's head whipped to face Lainion, his eyes a little wider than was normal for him.
"I had not realised quite how young he is. 'Tis a wonder he is already a warrior…"
"He is good, Handir. He is very good, and the Valar forbid you will not come to see just how good…"
Lainion would wonder, later, for his words had been prophetic, as they would find out no sooner the Sun peaked over the stony horizon.
Thranduil and Aradan had arrived from their short trip to the nearby Silvan villages, and as evening fell, the two elves fell under the awestruck stares of guards and civilians alike as they strode through the Halls. There was no mistaking the glint of life in the king's eyes, his tall, imposing figure straight and strong once more. No one had missed the frank openness in his eyes, the ghost of an elegant smile upon his lips and the length of his stride, long and powerful. He was a figure they had not seen for many centuries and while some managed to hide their surprise, others stopped to bow, their heads rising once more with a smile and a nod.
Aradan, who walked behind him, drank it all in, his joy almost bursting from him, his own gait both proud and powerful. The king was back and he, Aradan, was his Chief Councillor. The Greenwood would soon regain her equilibrium, her peace and sense of justice, her multi-cultural society that had never before discriminated anyone in any way.
The solid oak doors closed with a deep thud and the sound of guards snapping to attention could be heard from outside. Striding to the window, the king took off his cloak and turned to the window.
"Aradan, take note of what I say to you now, for there is much to be done. Call on whom you must to help you."
"Of course, my Lord," replied Aradan as he moved to sit at the table, reaching for a parchment and quill.
"Tell me, when is Prince Rinion due back from the East?"
"One week, my Lord."
"Good. No sooner he arrives I will see him in private. Meanwhile, I will write a letter for Maeneth, bound for Lothlorien. Arrange for a courier to ride out tomorrow morning with letters for the princess and for Lord Celeborn. I will write personal messages for Elrond, Handir and Lainion - these one will be urgent and priority. Have guards escort the courier, and
Aradan," added the king purposefully, "It is of the utmost importance that these couriers leave in secret. I want no one to know of these dispatches, no one except you, me, Huron and Tirion."
"I have it, my Lord. No message for young Legolas, then?"
The king's eyes glinted. "Legolas? Is that what they call him?"
Aradan smiled, before adding, "Legolas, The Silvan, Hwindohtar…"
"Hwindohtar?" asked Thranduil with a frown, now utterly lost.
"Aye," smiled Aradan. "I am told there is a story to it, but you must ask Lainion for it. I have not even seen the boy."
The king looked thoughtful for a moment, before turning away. He had not answered Aradan's question about the letter, and the councillor would not insist, not yet.
"I am calling a summit, to be held in ten days' time," continued the king, momentarily startling Aradan from his musings. "I want all the Silvan representatives here, no excuses. We must ensure every village is represented."
"That will mean hundreds of Silvan delegates, my Lord."
"I know, yet it must be done. See to the logistics of it, Aradan."
"What of the Avari?" he asked. "They must surely be included in such a nationwide summit."
"Yes, of course, see to it, Aradan."
"And … can you spare me two weeks, my Lord, instead of ten days?" he asked urgently, for the magnitude of these requests was simply - daunting.
"Yes. Two weeks then. And Aradan - issue an invitation to Amareth. I would speak with her…"
Aradan's furiously scribbling hand paused for a moment, before continuing once more, for the king was already speaking.
"We continue…"
"I am ready."
"I want Commander Huron and Captain Tirion in my office after lunch."
"Yes, my Lord."
"Before the evening meal, I will visit the training fields and our valiant warriors. I would have them know their king is grateful for their service to this realm."
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