This eyes were soon back on the elf before him and his eyes dropped to the naked, muscled torso, the simple black breeches and then his bare feet. He was restrained power, silent strength and beauty beyond compare - he seemed unreal, ethereal beyond the reasonable and Elladan knew not what to do, what to say, and so he stood in silence as his rational mind toiled with the overload of visual stimulus.
Idhrenohtar was the first to react, stepping forward and draping his cloak over the naked skin, pulling the hood over the shining elf and pulling on his arm. Soon, he was joined by Elrond, who nodded at the Wise Warrior.
"Come," was all he said, and soon enough, the cloaked elf was led away, into the house and to a private room, where Elrond now sat, together with Mithrandir. Idhrenohtar and the rest of The Company had been sent away, but that had not stopped them from taking up guard outside the room, for what right did the Noldorin lord have to banish them? they had asked, their anger patent but it had not deterred the lord in his determination to keep them away.
Legolas lay draped over a long settee, his hair streaming down to the floor, eyes vacant in sleep.
"I do not think he has slept for the entire time he has been away," said Elrond as he watched the insensate figure pensively.
"How is this possible, Mithrandir? asked Glorfindel, his own eyes still unable to move away from the Silvan.
"Mithrandir's wise, shrewd eyes were unfocussed as he thought.
"It is this physical change that confirms my suspicions, Glorfindel," he began carefully. "Your descriptions of what happened in Celebrian's gardens was already highly indicative but this," he gestured with his hands, "this is undeniably the work of the Valar," he said, as if what he himself was saying were impossible.
"There is a, detail, we have not yet mentioned, Mithrandir, for with all that has happened, with all we had to tell you of…"
"What detail, Elrond?" asked the wizard as he sat forward.
"He draws," began Elrond, "line drawings that in spite of their simplicity, are startlingly representative; he keeps them in a diary of sorts. One morning, this journal was open upon the table and I found Glorfindel here, staring at it in shock for you see," he said meaningfully, "there was a drawing - a sketch of a woman of great beauty. Her hair was longer than her own body, wild and untamed, and her eyes seemed to sparkle. I thought I knew who it was, and indeed, Glorfindel's shock was all the confirmation I needed. There was no doubt in my mind that that drawing was of Yavanna…"
"Did you ask him," asked Mithrandir urgently, "did you ask him why he had drawn it?" he said, his gaze heavy.
"Oh yes. He said he had seen her in a dream…"
Mithrandir sat back, his blue eyes twinkling in understanding. "It is as I had thought then," he said in awe, before his eyes focussed and he looked first at Glorfindel and then at Elrond.
"What is it?" asked Glorfindel, "tell us what you know, Mithrandir," he said somewhat curtly.
"He is a Protege…"
"A what?" asked Elrond in confusion.
"An elf who garners the protection of a Vala…"
Both elves frowned, looking to each other in utter puzzlement before rounding on Mithrandir.
"Why would a Vala protect Legolas?" asked Elrond, his own apprehension clear. "He surely does not need protection…. does he?" he asked, suddenly unsure.
"To be a Protege, Elrond, it comes with a price. I should know, for I am one…" he said simply.
Elrond and Glorfindel stood in stunned silence. Aye they knew Mithrandir was an Ainur, a servant of the Valar, but that he was protected by a Vala…
"Who," said Glorfindel, "who protects you?", a strange fear taking hold of him.
"Manwe is my Vala, Glorfindel."
"But, why, what is the purpose then, why name a Protege? I mean surely it is not simply a whim…"
"A whim? oh no, my friend," said the wizard with a benevolent smile. "To be a Protege is a great gift, but as I said, it comes with a price."
"And what is the price?" whispered Elrond.
"A Protege is chosen to fulfil a purpose, Elrond. I cannot disclose mine, not yet, and Legolas may well not yet understand his. The fact remains that this purpose, this cause, will override all else in his life. He will live to uphold it, even if he must disobey his lords, forfeit that which he holds dearest, even unto his own death if that is what it takes."
Mithrandir's words were met with silence, and then a deep breath as Elrond stood and turned to the window. "Life has been cruel to him - even the Valar have not seen fit to give him respite."
"Nay, Elrond. That is not it at all. It is a gift, even though you cannot see that now. I do not say it is not a sacrifice, for it is, but there will be boons, too. But look beyond these things, my friend, for is it not true that the boy seems to have been born with the idea of serving, of being a captain, a warrior so that he may protect his people?"
"That is what they say, yes."
"Then you see. The Valar have chosen well. He chose that road, in spite of the Valar. All they have done is help him along the way, give him a greater sense of purpose, if that is possible."
Glorfindel stood abruptly, before striding from the room in silence, walking past the expectant elves outside without a care for their failed attempts at garnering his attention. Soon, he was walking away from the house, away from the presence of elves, away from it all, and with every step he took, his anger ignited and inflamed, and when he was finally alone, he damned Mithrandir, Thranduil, damned Lassiel, damned even Oropher and above all, he damned the Valar, for what right did they have? Between them all they had made an extraordinary elf, had moulded him into what he was just yesterday. By his own merits he had slowly been finding a sense of equilibrium, of peace, only to have it utterly shattered and his world twisted once more.
What boon is this? he sneered in disgust. Have you no heart? he pleaded as he hung his head in grief for the child that was the nearest thing to a son he would ever have.
Thranduil's court was teaming, brimming with councillors and legislators, lords and ladies, commanders and captains, all of them decked in their most distinguished attire, their jewels on display for the first time in many years, for through the cycles of Thranduil's grief, there had been no events worthy enough to don them.
And so the Sindar milled here and there, stopping to chat, their eyes wandering to the Silvan councillors and their companions who did likewise, although their mannerisms were clearly different, for where the Sindar were refined and muted, bejewelled and opulent, the Silvans were effusive and passionate, simple and unadorned, save for their hair, where they would wear all imaginable shapes and sizes of flowers and vines, coloured cords and even river stones.
Most of the Sindar watched them in interest, some in amusement even, and others with a sneer that would not be veiled.
And Aradan watched it all, wishing his disciple, Prince Handir, could be here so that he may learn. He smiled softly at the thought of the Prince, for a great affection joined them, and Aradan held much respect for the young elf who, although an adult, was still not counted amongst the worldly wise. Still he had achieved great things, but the most important to Aradan, was that he had reached that point where one is able to look past the veil of self; see and analyse things from above, without the prejudice of one's own beliefs. It was no small feat and yet Handir had done just that with the appearance of his half brother.
Turning, he saw Tirion, dressed in his formal uniform that marked him as a Sindarin Captain. Gesturing to him, he greeted the warrior warmly.
"How are things at the barracks, Tirion? Is city life agreeing with you, or is the great open wild calling you?" he asked with a smirk.
Tirion returned it. "Well, a bit of both I suppose. Aye I miss the young ones but this was the price I paid so that Legolas could pursue his training - that is payment enough," he smiled and Aradan nodded. Indeed that was exactly what the captain had done, a boon that Commander Celegon had wrought from him, in exchange for sending Legolas to Imladris.
/> "What an event," said the captain absently as he watched the elves around him.
"Aye," said Aradan. It promises to be - interesting at the least," he said a little evasively and Tirion turned to him in askance.
"There has been little forthcoming knowledge on the summit, Lord Aradan. The warriors are anxious that perhaps something has happened, and the Lords reckon new trade routes are to be opened. Yet it is the Silvans that puzzle me," he said with a frown.
Aradan turned to the Captain and studied him for a moment. "How so? What do they say?" he asked.
"That is the point. They do not; they say nothing - they simply smile, as if they know something the rest of us do not. True there are many who are oblivious, but I tell you, something strange is happening and I would wager on the truth of it," he turned now, his eyes sparkling with a challenge, and Aradan nodded.
"You would not be wrong, Captain. It is done - Legolas knows, and so too, does our King."
Tirion blew out a noisy breath. "Well, that is a relief, at least, although dare I ask the King's reaction?"
Aradan shook his head, "I cannot disclose that now, Tirion, but you are about to find out, that much I can promise," he said, his head gesturing now to the open doors of the great Council Hall, where the king now stood.
A collective gasp echoed around the now, utterly silent hall, for there, standing in all his Sindarin glory, was Thranduil Oropherion, as he had not been seen in centuries, and Aradan beamed and shone in joy and pride, as Tirion simply gaped, and then lowered his head in respect.
For years, centuries, Thranduil had walked the fortress in silence, his light muted, his voice curt and inexpressive. It had become the norm, and although he had still been respected, he had become a beautiful shadow, sad and bereft - nothing at all comparable to the imposing figure that now stood in silence before them.
A shimmering silver vest of thin, exquisite armour, lay over a sky blue shirt of fine silk, and a skirt of muted violet that reached down to his calves. His cloak was of a beautiful moss green, so long it hung behind him and pooled upon the polished stone floor in a short trail, and upon his head of silver hair, lay the crown he had not worn since the Queen had left, hugging his face and cheekbones as would a lover's hands.
At his hip, sat a mighty sword Aradan knew had been Oropher's and as the king began to walk down the centre of the hall, all he passed bowed low, their faces showing their awe and respect. If Thranduil had been looking to make a statement, he had certainly passed the test, for everything about him screamed 'I am back, strong, invincible,'.
Three loud, dull thuds marked the commencement of the summit, and it fell to Aradan to pronounce the onset of the talks and so, with a nod at Tirion, he moved into the centre of the circle of speakers and opened his arms to the crowds.
"My Lords, Ladies, Warriors and Merchants, subjects all. Please be welcome to the court of our King Thranduil Oropherion," said Aradan in his loud, clear voice, practised and honed over many centuries of political service.
"Today, we commence what we have called the Greenwood Summit, for we hope it will be the first of many, to be held every three years. Its purpose?" he asked somewhat theatrically, thus assuring himself the continued attention of them all, "to bring together the representatives of the Sindar, the Silvan and Avarin people; to share our problems, our worries, to solve our problems and lend aid, wherever it may be needed, so that The Greenwood may be great once more, that she prosper to the best of her abilities. For this, we have called upon you, good elves of The Greenwood. Together we will pave the way for a better land, a more just and prosperous society."
Here he stopped and waited for the timid applause to dwindle.
"For today, our King Thranduil has an announcement to make. After, an inquiry into the state of the land will be heard and documented, so that tomorrow, we may begin the talks."
Turning, and gesturing to the king, Aradan stepped aside and all eyes fell to the shockingly beautiful figure of their imposing monarch.
Lord Bandorion, brother of Oropher himself, in spite of his opposition to this king, could not deny his beauty and strength. He cast a sideways glance at his son, Barathon, and his close friend Draugole, an expression upon his face that was not easy to read, for if Bandorion was good at one thing, it was in the art of masking the truth. Thus the Sindarin purists stood together, their sympathisers close by, watching, and waiting with baited breath for the announcement that the king would make.
"My Lords, Ladies, Warriors and Merchants. I welcome you warmly to my court, for the news I bring you today is cause for joy," he said, his voice loud and commanding, diction clear and well modulated, for Thranduil was a master of rhetoric. "I hope you too, will rejoice with me, for I must now announce the existence of a fourth child, son of my blood, son of the House of Oropher…"
A gasp precluded the onset of frantic voices that rapidly rose to a din, many in genuine shock and curiosity, yet others were words of outrage, but all of them were Sindarin, for the Silvans stood silently, a knowing smile upon their faces, smiles that slowly widened until their teeth shone in the morning light, until all attention suddenly fell upon them as one elf proclaimed over the din…
"All hail The Silvan!" he cried, and a mighty cheer rang out loud and clear, before another voice proclaimed, "All hail Legolas Thranduilion!" The cheer was louder now as the Silvans raised their clenched fists as one. Aradan's fine hairs stood on end, his eyes frantically searching the faces of Thranduil, Rinion, Bandorion…
Some of the Sindarins chuckled at the Silvan antics, some stood frozen with indecision and others, those he already knew of, sneered arrogantly. All this he had expected, but there was one thing he could not have foreseen - the joy of the Silvans - that, and the fact that they had called Thranduil's son by his name - before the King had had time to do so.
They knew - they had always known and now, Aradan knew the Greenwood would be tossed into a heaving sea of strong wills and demands and that now, more than ever, this absurd rivalry between Sindar and Silvan, would come to a head, with Legolas in the midst of it.
Elrond, Glorfindel and Mithrandir took the evening meal in the rooms they had appointed to Legolas, for the elf had not woken yet. They had, however, conceded to allow Idhrenohtar to enter, for the elf had not taken no for an answer and had badgered them endlessly until they had acquiesced, albeit with the condition that Idhrenohtar must not intervene in any discussion that took place once Legolas awoke - that he would not touch or coddle, for Mithrandir had explained that Legolas' briefing, once he awoke, was the work of a wizard.
Idhrenohtar had promised to sit quietly in a corner and observe, in exchange for the privilege of being present - doomed though he was, to listen and keep silent. That did not mean he could not make himself useful though, and when the servants arrived with the trays of food, he was the one to take them at the door, and bar the curious stares the servants cast inside the room, for rumour was rife, Imladris turned into a mass of furiously whispering Noldor.
The lords stood, stretching their legs and making way for the trays which they sat upon the low tables.
"Idhrenohtar, join us?" said Glorfindel with a smile, a peace offering, thought the Wise Warrior as he stood and bowed, before approaching the group and sitting a little stiffly.
"Be at ease, Idhren, we are all here for the same reasons, even if you do not believe that," said the Commander as he bit into a leg of chicken somewhat unceremoniously.
"I do not doubt your concern for Hwindo - I mean Legolas, but I do doubt your love for him."
Elrond stared at the Silvan warrior for a moment, assessing him, it seemed. "They call you the Wise Warrior," said Elrond conversationally, "are you then, wise?" he asked as he bit into his own chicken a little more elegantly than Glorfindel had.
"It is what they say. I have a passion for philosophy, my Lord, always have done from the moment my tutor instructed me in rational thinking."
Elrond's eyebrows rose, clearly not having expec
ted that. "Indeed?" he asked.
"It is indeed a strange pastime for one born into a family of Silvan warriors, but that does not bother me. My readings have held me in good stead for my training as a warrior, however much that might seem strange."
"No, no, I can see that," said Elrond, before Glorfindel spoke.
"You may be good with strategy," he suggested.
"Yes - I am an above average student in that field, my Lord, although it is Hwindohtar here who truly excels," he said, his eyes moving to the slumbering elf, a hint of worry behind his young blue eyes.
"Has he always been precocious?" asked Mithrandir.
"Oh yes, my Lord. Fighting comes naturally to him, as does leadership. What you have seen of him upon the fields so far, my Lord Glorfindel, is nothing, in comparison to what he is capable of."
"I know he is good, Idhrenohtar. I can see potential when I have it before me, but he must still have many things to learn," said Glorfindel evenly, still nibbling on his chicken bone.
"He holds back, my Lord. He does not wish to draw attention to himself, for to do so in the past often brought him strife," said Idhreno carefully.
"Oh?" asked Elrond.
"Indeed, not all the children were accepting of one so clearly above them in so many things. It was mine and Ram en Ondo's self-appointed duty to protect him from those that would hurt him."
"He was bullied, then?"
"In a sense, and for a while. Not physically but the names they called him cut him like a knife, my Lord - you can imagine the specifics, of course," he said quietly.
"Indeed," muttered Elrond as he wiped his hands on his serviette.
It was then, that Legolas stretched a leg and twisted onto his back, his slumber only slowly ending. He took a deep breath and then opened his eyes.
Mithrandir stood over him, with Elrond and Glorfiindel at his shoulders. Idhreno, as he had promised, stayed out of the way, albeit he missed nothing of what transpired.
"Legolas," called the wizard, addressing the young elf for the first time, aware that the child would not know who he was, but when his own blue eyes first beheld the slanted green eyes of the Silvan, he could not help but startle.
The Sylvanus Page 39
