The Sylvanus

by Oliver McBride

  There was no more sleep for Legolas that night, and so he made his way to the library, where he would stay until the Sun peaked over the horizon, and it was day once more.

  It seemed like the blink of an eye to Legolas, so engrossed he was, and so he startled visibly as the Lord of the Valley glided into the room.

  "Good morning, Legolas," greeted Elrond with a smile.

  "Good morning, my Lord," bowed Legolas before sitting once more behind a long table in Elrond's fabled library. He had chosen a spot by the window, and had obviously been there for some time. His hair was dishevelled and his eyes a little puffy, signs Elrond would easily detect.

  "You have been busy," remarked the lord as his eyes dropped to the table and scanned the books his pupil had been reading.

  "I have, my Lord. I must take advantage while I can of the tomes you have here - I have never seen so many books on warfare," said Legolas, his eyes flitting from one book to another, as if he could not decide where to settle his eyes.

  "Ah," said Elrond as he pointed at a leather-bound book. "Your grandfather's account of Beleriand," he said as he moved around the table.

  "Yes. It is interesting, if not the best written book I have read," he smiled wryly. "It is no wonder I was never allowed to see this. My questions would have been - uncomfortable."

  "Indeed," answered Elrond wryly, but before he could continue, Glorfindel entered, bidding them a fine morning and then sitting somewhat unceremoniously on a chair, his mind clearly on his own business, rather than the conversation he was interrupting.

  "Now, I have drill and weapons training this morning. Is Legolas free to join us?" asked the legendary warrior, as if he did not care for Elrond's predictable answer.

  "Not today, Glorfindel. Tomorrow perhaps and even then, no hand to hand for another week. I will allow archery and sword work, though.

  Legolas smiled and his eyes sparkled in anticipation as he watched Glorfindel carefully, indeed the commander smirked at him. "You are looking forward to it?" he asked Legolas rhetorically, before adding, "you shouldn't…"

  Legolas frowned and then cocked his head to one side. "Why would I not?" he asked carefully, but Elrond laughed and Legolas looked to the Lord for an explanation.

  "Glorfindel here, is a slave-driver, Legolas. When he takes it upon himself to train a warrior he is ruthless and cold, unforgiving and so very demanding," he said lightly, chancing a glance at the now worried Silvan warrior.

  "Elladan will fill you in, of course, won't he Glorfindel?" said Elrond sarcastically.

  Glorfindel simply smiled, but there was an evil smirk mixed in with it and Legolas gulped, before reaching for another book and opening it a little too quickly.

  "Don't frighten the boy, Elrond," said Glorfiindel blithely, "I give as much as they can take, no more - no less," he clarified, but Legolas did not answer and so Glorfindel's own eyes landed on the young elf appraisingly, he too perhaps, realising the boy had not slept. Soon enough, the ancient blue eyes wandered to the books scattered upon the table, flitting from accounts of battles to treatise and even to books on logistics and weapons design. He then glanced over a smaller book, one he vaguely remembered having seen before. It was open at the latest drawing Legolas had rendered in it - it was new and as his eyes registered the simple sketch, and then, quite unexpectedly, his heart skipped a beat as his brain laboured to understand what it was he was looking at, or rather who he was seeing.

  He stood a little too abruptly, but only Elrond realized, for Legolas was absorbed once more in his reading. The lord's eyes came to rest expectantly on his friend and Commander, a silent question in his eyes but Glorfindel could not tear his eyes from the table and Elrond scowled. Following the commander's line of sight, Elrond's own eyes dropped to Legolas' open diary and the simple drawing of a woman.

  "Legolas," started Elrond softly, almost absent-mindedly. "Who is this you have drawn?" he asked as his hand moved the dairy so that it lay before him.

  "Ah," said the Silvan, pausing for a moment before offering an explanation. Leaning back in his chair, he ran a hand through his loose hair and then started, as if only just realising he had not braided it. "It is a face I have seen in dreams. She is beautiful, is she not?" he asked innocently, before continuing with his studies.

  Elrond's eyes briefly caught those of Glorfindel once more, and there could be no mistaking what he saw in his friend's eyes. This was no simple elf as Elrond already knew - it was a face he had seen many times in his books of lore, a face Glorfindel would have seen in the flesh. It was no slight resemblance though, and Glorfindel's shock was testimony to that. The drawing was, unmistakably of an Aratar, of Yavanna Kementari.

  Elrond said nothing, and a slight shake of his head at Glorfindel silenced any questions his friend would ask the child. What to say? Legolas was fearful enough of his strange gift, one he had yet to understand. Yet in this simple drawing, both Elrond and Glorfindel, for the first time, came to understand the nature of it. This was no simple gift from the trees, it was not about an elf with a greater awareness or intuition of nature, for to Lords as old and as wise as Glorfindel and Elrond, there could be no mistaking the hand of the Valar…

  Elladan rounded the corner too fast for one who does not have his eyes fixed on the path before him. With a startled gasp, he narrowly avoided colliding with Legolas, who now stood wide-eyed before him, almost chest to chest.

  After the initial shock had worn off, the Silvan giggled and Elladan smiled at the playful sound. "Forgive me," he said, "my mind was far away."

  "As was mine," confessed Legolas. "It is a beautiful day," he remarked as his eyes took in the cold winter sun.

  "Indeed, good weather for your companions to travel."

  "Yes. They will be in colder lands soon enough," said Legolas nostalgically.

  "You miss your home," said Elladan knowingly with a sideways glance at the warrior.

  "I miss the forest, yes. But for now I would not change this for the world, my Lord. The books here," he said in awe, "the wisdom, all the things I have to learn…"

  "Your excitement is contagious, my friend," said Elladan with a smile.

  "This is my calling, my Lord. I only ever wanted to be a warrior - a good one."

  "An admirable cause. I, on the other hand, although older than you, have not yet decided which should be my path."

  "How so?" asked Legolas in genuine interest. "I thought you a warrior…"

  "And I am, but I am also a healer and thus - I am torn."

  "And why not be both?" asked Legolas in innocent puzzlement.

  Elladan stared back at him and for long minutes he was silent.

  "I had not thought of that," he said clumsily. "They seem, opposite and incompatible."

  "Not so to me. To have a healer in the field is a great asset," he said conversationally, not quite understanding it seemed, that his words had thrown Elrond's son into stunned silence.

  "Imagine, an army that has trained healers as warriors. Imagine the possibilities of immediate attention to those who are not badly injured, and that potentially could continue to fight with but cursory medical attention. Imagine the lives that would be saved for the speed with which the badly wounded warriors would be tended to - it is perfect. If I were a commander, I would standardise it."

  Elladan was now staring back at the boy in shock. In one, simple phrase, Elladan's insecurities, his doubts, his inability to choose a path, had been summarily answered. He smiled, tentatively at first, and then wider, until his pearly white teeth lit up his face and Legolas stared back at him with a lopsided smile, oblivious, it seemed, to what had just happened.

  Later that day, Legolas stood together with his new-found friend and watched as the Greenwood warriors took their leave of the Valley, bound for The Greenwood. Now, only he and The Company, together with Prince Handir were left and a sudden pang of homesickness assailed him. He missed the smells, the trees, Amareth and Thavron, he missed Erthoron and Golloron and fresh pea so
up…

  Commander Celegon made his way towards the silver-blond warrior who discreetly stood to one side and saluted him formally, much to Legolas' shock, for this was the Greenwood's supreme commander.

  "Our Lord Thranduil will hear of your bravely, warrior. I will see to it myself. Take good advantage of your time here," he said, and then he leaned forward and lowered his voice so that only Legolas could hear. "Your father will be proud, I am sure of it."

  Legolas, shocked at the commander's words could do no more than nod lamely, words refusing to pass his lips, and as they mounted and prepared to move, Galadan too, caught his eye and saluted so that all could see his gesture. Yet while the other warriors nodded in respect at the elf that had helped to save them all, Silor simply scowled, the promise of retribution clear for any who bothered to look. The arrogant Sinda would have to wait to become a lieutenant and Legolas was sure he would not take that lightly. Even Elladan would later comment on the Sindarin warrior's gesture of disregard.

  "They respect you," said Elladan. "You have proved your metal, it seems."

  Legolas looked at Elladan, at his noble face and open eyes. "Yes, and I am humbled at their generosity. It gives me hope that not all is lost, that the Sindar may one day remember how we all lived together in harmony, when no one was better than the next elf…

  To this, Elladan simply nodded, but from that day onwards, Elrond's oldest son never again doubted what path he would take. He would be a warrior healer, and thus he told his father - and Glorfindel - for the perfect opportunity to improve his skills lay before him in the guise of six Silvan warriors who called themselvesThe Company.

  The Greenwood…

  Lorthil of Silver Vale was deep in his memories, of a time long ago when he had first heard of the strange events that had led them to this pivotal moment, events he had not, directly, been involved in, but that had transcended the boundaries of Broadtree, only to become a well known secret, a secret the Silvans had protected fiercely. They never spoke of it, not even between themselves, for who could say where the enemy lay? From where the danger would come - for come it would.

  It had been Narosen, the Spirit Herder, who had first recognised him less than a year ago, had first seen in the boy the undeniable evidence of who he was. On his first mission as a novice warrior, young Legolas had passed through Silver Vale, and had left his mark upon them all, for he had saved two young children from certain death and thus earned their regard. It had taken but cursory glances and knowing smiles amongst them for the word to spread. The time was coming, and the forest was alive…

  Lorthil took a steadying breath as he forced his mind back into the present, and then looked down upon the missive sitting in his lap. Turning it slowly, he admired the wax seal of the house of Oropher, before cracking it open and unfolding the crisp yellow parchment. His eyes momentarily landed on Narosen, the Spirit Herder who sat opposite him at their nascent fire. Beside them, Saroden, the head Forester knelt and watched as Lorthil opened the paper and read.

  When he finished, his eyes were alight but his voice was soft. "We have been summoned to Thranduil's court."

  "We three?" asked Narosen with a frown.

  "No - all of us. The Silvans…"

  Two days ride away, in the village of Broadtree, Erthoron opened a similar letter as Thavron the Forester and Golloron, the Spirit Herder, watched in trepidation.

  "There is to be a summit," said Erthoron as he turned to his companions. He smiled then, wide and joyous, "finally - his time has come…"

  Golloron smiled a proud smile, before turning his eyes to Thavron. The young forester was a childhood friend of Legolas' and had only recently been informed of the truth, the secret of the Silvans, for Thavron, just like Ram en Ondo and Idhrenohtar, had been left in the dark just as much as Legolas himself had.

  Thavron had not liked it at all and had spent a week in silent brooding, marvelling at how they had all managed to keep the truth from him for so long. Finally, he had come to understand the wherefore of their subterfuge and had grudgingly accepted their deception as a necessary evil.

  It was Amareth, that they all worried for now, and so they sat and pondered her predicament.

  She had been summoned, in no uncertain terms, by name, and it left little doubt as to the subject of the king's enquiries. He must know, they said. He must have found out, for once Legolas had stepped foot outside Broadtree, he would not go unnoticed; anyone who had known Lassiel could not fail to see her eyes, and those old enough would see them upon the face of the first king of the Greenwood.

  They could but trust to the king's forgiving nature, trust that he would not feel betrayed, that he could, perhaps see things for what they were. The Silvans had wanted to protect their child, a child that should have been a prince, a Silvan Prince, and if the Sindar had tried to avoid it, now was the time for justice. Legolas was of the forest, he was Silvan, and for them he should stand, just as they had done for him in his own time of need…

  The Court of King Thranduil, Greenwood

  While the Silvan and Avarin leaders travelled towards the city amidst an atmosphere of constrained optimism, Amareth had already stepped foot inside the fortress for the first time in seven centuries. She had remained silent for the entire time it had taken her two guards to deliver her, guards that had treated her with silent respect and furtive glances.

  She had considered lying, and then she thought to give but a cursory telling of the events she knew Thranduil would now seek to understand. But then she remembered the Sindarin monarch she had meet many years ago. He had been strong and wilful, noble but unyielding. If she lied, he would see it and she could not foresee the the consequences of her deceit.

  And what would be the point? She had then asked herself. There was no longer anyone to protect. Legolas' identity would be common knowledge soon enough, indeed she was sure the king already knew. It made no sense yet that did not mean the danger had passed. It simply meant that she, Amareth, could no longer protect him - but of course this, she had already known.

  Her heart felt leaden and her stomach empty. What if Thranduil banished the boy? To appease the Sindarin purists? What if he imprisoned her for keeping the truth about Lassiel from reaching him?

  Anxiety had taken a firm hold on her and try as she might she could not free herself of it. The only thing that helped to ameliorate its effects, was the promise of freedom. When all had been said and no stone left unturned, she could finally rest, finally let go of that which had turned her world dark; she could, perhaps, step into the light and live again…

  This was it. The door lay before her, guarded by ceremonial Sindarin guards that stood tall and imposing and beyond, lay he who had been her sister's soul mate, the king who would have taken a Silvan peasant as queen, would have, had his loyalty to his king not come first.

  Crossing the threashold, her eyes fell upon two elves. One, the king, just as beautiful as she remembered him, and beside him, Aradan, an elf she had met on many occasions when Lassiel had been courted by the king, and then after, when everything had turned sour…

  "Amareth," came the soft voice of Thranduil, and she found herself strangely glad to see him.

  "My King," she bowed respectfully, her eyes watching as he glided towards her, his arms open. Why her eyes filled with tears she could not say, but his embrace was comforting and she revelled in it for a moment, until he pulled back and looked at her.

  "You bring memories with you, of lighter days…"

  "I am glad to see you again, my King, she said sincerely."

  "Thranduil. Here, there is no formality between us."

  "Thranduil," she said with a nod before turning to Aradan.

  "Lord Aradan - it has been long," she said with a forced smile.

  "Aye, that it has, lass… you look worried," he said as he sat and watched her and her eyes fell to the floor momentarily before they landed on Thranduil.

  "Should I be?" she asked quietly, suddenly unable to hold the kin
g's gaze.

  Silence stretched between the three before the king finally spoke. "Nothing you can say will endanger you, Amareth, yet there is deceit in your eyes…"

  She closed them for a moment, as if she could shield herself from his scrutiny and yet she had known he would see it - the guilt.

  "I - I do not seek to deceive you, Thranduil, not any more…"

  "But you have," said the king confidently as he too, sat, gesturing for Amareth to do likewise.

  "Yes - by omission, yes."

  The king stared back, before briefly glancing at Aradan.

  "Amareth," said Aradan as he leaned forward. "We know the child is here, on Arda and I must ask you this now. Is Lassiel dead?"

  Thranduil breathed deeply, as if bracing himself for her answer. Perhaps he had already guessed, she thought, but suspecting is not the same as knowing and Amareth knew, that her answer would hurt him deeply.

  "Yes…"

  Aradan looked to the floor and Thranduil stared wide-eyed at her, as if she should continue but she could not, not yet. It was Aradan who drove the conversation forward.

  "Tell us, then. Tell us why she did not leave for Mithlond as we had agreed."

  Amareth struggled for a moment with her own emotions, for the memories were flowing back into the present in a rush of sensations. She needed to gather them, and put them into some semblance of order.

  "She could not… That last conversation, in which it had been decided she would travel to Aman and give birth to your child - it set her to thinking, so much that she left on her own, into the deep forest to ponder her predicament; she could not be found for many days. Finally, when she returned of her own accord, we sat and we talked; me, Lassiel, Erthoron… She told us," Amareth broke off for a moment, swallowing thickly as she battled to keep the tears at bay. "She told us she was dying…"

  The king's sharp intake of breath was enough to break her will and the first tear escaped her as she angrily wiped it away. Aradan rose to retrieve a decanter of wine which he placed before them all, just as silent as the king.