"Change his mind about what?" asked Elladan with a quizzical scowl.
There was an awkward silence, in which both Elladan and Elrond stared at Legolas for an answer.
"Well, you see there was an incident, during the skirmish the other day," began Legolas. "It seems that Melven had sighted an orc that was singling me out. He did not fire…"
"What?" asked Elrond blankly.
"Indeed. It was Lindohtar that reported it to Glorfindel directly, and Glorfindel had resigned to strike him off the warrior list for good. I - I intervened."
Elladan scowled darkly and then leaned forward. "Why?" he asked, a hint of anger in his words. That elf is nothing but a fool.
Legolas looked to Glorfindel for a moment, but the commander only asked him another question.
"Well, tell them, Legolas. Tell them why you would do such a thing," he said drolly as he sat back and stared at his pupil.
There was a challenge in his voice, and Legolas had a moment of insecurity, but it passed quick enough. It was a test, one Glorfiindel placed before him to teach him, perhaps.
"There is a good warrior in there somewhere, lying under layers of bitterness and loneliness, under centuries of wilting pride and waning confidence. He has no friends, no family, no one to tell him he can be good, no one to give him a gentle push and tell him they believe in him, that he can achieve his goal. He wants to be a warrior - more than anything - but he cannot get past his own inability for self-criticism. This is not the trait of a bad warrior, it is the trait of one who defends himself, for to him, he has already failed, and he cannot abide anyone telling him it is so, telling him what he already knows - it is a circle of destruction he knows not how to break."
There was silence then, long moments in which those that knew the arrogant, sarcastic Noldorin warrior really thought on the words the Silvan had said. It was Mithrandir, however, who sat forward now, one hand smoothing down his wayward beard.
"And how do you know this?" he asked pointedly.
Legolas stared back at the old man. "Because I see it - as clearly as I see you sitting before me."
The wizard held his gaze for far longer than Legolas, who had already turned away to Glorfindel.
"What did he say?" he asked.
Glorfindel smiled. "Exactly what you have just said, Legolas - exactly that," he said, and then smiled wider. "You are a good judge of character."
"Thank you," he smiled, obviously chuffed at the praise. "But did you accept?"
"Tell me you did not," whined Elladan, although from his face one would say he already suspected the contrary.
"I did, with strict conditions. Legolas will have his say of course."
"And The Company," said Legolas. "If he cannot work with them in the two weeks it takes us to journey back, then he will return with Glorfindel, in spite of my own wishes. Does that appease you, Elladan?"
"Enough, but he will cause us more work than we will already have. I cannot trust him in battle and I hope he does not prove to be a distraction when least we need one."
"I understand that," said Legolas. "But if he does prove himself, think of what we will gain, Elladan."
"There are many passing warriors out there, Legolas. I see nothing special in him."
"You are wrong," said Legolas with a resolve that spoke of absolute certainty. Think of all those years of bitterness, Elladan. He could have given up so many times, in search of his own happiness, taken on a different profession but he continued, again and again. He wants this as much as anyone I have ever seen. All he needs is someone to guide him, to understand him. In return we will gain an extraordinary and loyal warrior."
Elladan nodded his understanding. "Alright, but you will forgive my skepticism for the moment, Legolas. I am sure I will not be alone in this."
"Oh you will not," said Legolas. The Company will be furious with me, I have no doubt, especially Lindohtar…"
"Well," said Elrond as he sat back in his chair, wine in hand. "His father was an excellent warrior, you know. Hador of Lindon is still remembered for his sacrifice at Dagorlad.
Legolas' brow rose in curiosity, and Elladan merely shrugged. "He must resemble his mother then…" was all he muttered into his own goblet of wine.
TSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSSTSTSSSSTSTSTSTSTSTST
Lindohtar took his archer's hand to his chestnut hair and pushed through the silky strands in frustration.
"I cannot believe it!" he hissed. That foetid piece of orc shit…"
"Oh!" guffawed Ram en Ondo, and then rocked backwards where he knelt upon the forest floor, slapping his chunky thighs in mirth.
Elladan simply grinned as he took the wine skin to his lips and drank from it.
Legolas sat cross-legged, smiling somewhat distantly as he accepted the skin from Elladan and threw his head back to drink.
"Give him a chance, that is all I ask," said Legolas. "If I am wrong, he rides back with Glorfindel and that is the end of it."
"And in the meantime, he may get someone killed!" interjected Rhrawthir.
"That will not happen, Rhraw. In fact," he said as his eyes swivelled to the side, "you can ask him yourself," he said, turning then to face the silhouette that slowly walked towards them from the darkness of the gardens.
"You!," shouted Lindohtar as he slowly stood, his face set in a mighty scowl.
"Join us," was all Legolas said, his voice steady and calm.
Melven approached slowly, his eyes glancing over them all before anchoring on Legolas, and then sinking to the floor along with the rest of them.
"I would, I would speak with you, if you would just hear me for a moment. I do not ask for your friendship - only your understanding…" said Melven quietly to them all, but his eyes rested on Lindohtar.
"That depends on what you would say, Noldo," said Idhrenohtar, and although he did not shout or scowl, there was something chilling in his tone.
"I made a grave mistake, a stupid, childish decision I regret deeply and I ask your pardon, especially you, Lindohtar. I make no excuses for it, no justification.
"You had better not!" spat Lindohtar, but Dimaethor was already patting the irate warrior's forearm meaningfully.
"I don't know how, or why he even bothered, but Legolas spoke out for me. He - he said things that no one had ever said about me, he saw things that others had not bothered to look for. I realised then how stupid I had been, how infantile, in spite of my years and a thought came to me. That this was my moment, a moment I have failed to embrace so many times and yet now, somehow I knew - this would be my moment…"
"What are you talking about…" muttered Lindohtar.
"I mean, that if I can prove myself to Legolas, to Glorfindel, to you The Company, then I will finally be able to move forward, become the warrior I have always wanted to be, shed myself of my own inability to recognise my own errors.
There was a long silence, before Lindohtar finally spoke.
"You have much proving to do, Melven Hadorion, and you will find no sympathy with us. We will, however, give you a chance, but not for you. We do it for Hwindohtar."
Melven stared back at Lindo, and then at Ram en Ondo, Idhrenohtar, Rhrawthir, Dimaethor and finally, at the warrior with no warrior name - Elladan. "I understand, and I promise, I will not let you down - this - this means too much to me."
Legolas held up the wine skin, took another gulp and then passed it to Elladan who did likewise, and with a minute hesitation, held it out to Melven, his grey eyes shining with a myriad of emotions. Warning, curiosity, expectation…
Melven reached out and took it carefully, as if it were a precious gift to be nurtured. With a hopeful smile, he took it to his lips and drank, and then turned to Lindohtar, and where Elladan's eyes had been demanding, Melven's now told a story of apology, of a promise, of tempered enthusiasm.
Lindohtar met the eloquent eyes with his own as he reached out and accepted the skin, saluting melven with it.
"Do not make me regret this…"
/> They sat for the rest of the night and talked, and as they talked they drank, and as they drank they joked and laughed and soon enough, Ram en Ondo was challenging Elladan.
"You Noldor have no idea how to navigate the trees - can you even climb one?" he scoffed.
"Of course I can you Silvan troll. We Noldo are alike to the red squirrel; fast and adept, sure-footed even upon the most slippery of barks.
The rest of the Silvans jeered and mocked his words in jest and Melven smiled at their antics.
"Red squirrel eh? Well where we travel, you will only find black ones, this big," said Ram en, showing them the length of his wrist through to his elbow. Now they are skilled in the trees, even if the trees do not welcome them - they shake them off if they can."
Melven's eyebrows rose and Elladan laughed. "Squirels do not fall from trees! giggled the warrior healer as he drank, and Ram en Ondo leaned forward.
"Show us! Show us how Noldorin squirrels traverse the trees!" he said with a challenge. "Two coins he falls on his noble arse!"
The rest of The Company roared in drunken laughter, imagining the undignified image of Elrond's noble son rubbing his backside. Indeed Legolas fell backwards into Idhrenohtar's lap, holding his middle as he laughed scandalously.
Elladan stood and bowed, perfectly serious and lordly, save that he leaned to one side for a moment before he could rectify his balance.
"Oooohhh!" they shouted as they pointed at him and laughed even harder.
"You have no idea what a Noldorin squirrel is capable of, therefore I move to enlighten your ignorant, Silvan preju - prejudice," he corrected. "Watch, and learn…" he drawled, and then disappeared into the nearest tree.
The Company was silent for a moment, frankly impressed that Elladan had been capable of pulling himself into the tree so fast, for one so inebriated.
"Where is he?" asked Lindohtar, his eyes searching the darkness.
"I don't know," said Rhrawthir, his head moving from side to side.
"shshs- listen…" said Dimaethor, trying to track Elladan by the rustle of leaves, but there was no sound and he frowned.
"Is he already at the top? I cannot hear the leaves," he said, puzzled.
There was a sudden thud as something black fell hard upon the forest floor, and then a groan of miserable pain.
A mighty snort escaped Ram en Ondo, but Llndohtar elbowed him in the ribs.
"Elladan?" asked Idhrenohtar. "Is that you?"
Silent expectation.
"Yes," came the breathless groan, and laughter erupted once more, loud and raucous.
Rhrawthir tried to talk through his laughter, only half successful. "He, he latched on to that - that low hanging branch and - froze! - like a fruit bat - that's, that's why we didn't see him!" he roared. "He was but ten feet from the ground, and still…."
Ram en Ondo tried to control his wheezing, "You owe me - two coins! His arse will be as black as his hair tomorrow!"
It was at breakfast the next day, when the entire Company watched in evil expectation as Elladan sat next to his father at the family table. His face was blank and noble, if not a little pale, the perfect mask of a young and handsome lord, yet when his body touched the chair there was the hint of a grimace, and that was all it took for the Silvan warriors to snort and then wheeze in mirth, Legolas desperately trying to cover his treacherous mouth as Idhrenohtar hooted even though he was trying to muffle it in earnest.
All eyes fell on them, some in askance, others in immediate understanding and others, with a smile of their own. It was clear the lads had been out the previous evening, and some such mischief had occurred - involving Elladan and The Company.
Mithrandir, being Mithrandir, chuckled himself as he asked, "well, are you going to tell us what happened?"
Elrond watched his son as Glorfindel, Erestor and Handir watched the Company, and then Legolas as he controlled his laughter and made to answer.
"Suffice it to say, my lords," he began, his voice a little strangled, "that Elladan earned his warrior name last night. He is," he struggled to finish his sentence, "he is Rafnohtar - the Winged Warrior!"
Scandalous laughter exploded at The Company's table, as chair legs scraped over the floor and the warriors convulsed in uncontrollable hysterics, Ram en Ondo hitting the table over and over again.
Mithrandir chuckled again and Handir grinned at his brother's antics. Elrond turned to his son.
"What happened?" he asked.
"I eh," began Elladan, "I was explaining the kinetic qualities of - of Noldorin squirrels!" he shouted and then slumped over the table in laughter. It was too much for Glorfindel, who threw his head back and laughed noisily, slapping his leather-clad thighs. This, in turn, set Mithrandir off even more and even Elrond was smiling now.
"Children!" he exclaimed as he watched them all, unable to remember a time of late, when such happiness had been seen in his Halls. He knew then, that he would miss his elder son, he would miss The Company, and he would miss the Silvan, even though he had no doubt that he would see him again.
In two day's time they would be back on the road, heading for the Greenwood, and everyone had reason for thought.
Legolas struggled to control his anxiety at meeting his father, his other brother, and perhaps even his sister, and he wondered too, at how he would achieve gaining his own command so that he could begin what Yavanna had bid him do.
Yet he also thought of seeing Amareth again, Erthoron and Thavron, seeing Broadtree once more and all his friends he had left there in the village that had seen him born.
And then there was the feeling of voluntarily walking into a pit of mountain pumas. He was not so childish to believe he could just walk into the Greenwood and be accepted. He knew there would be animosity - hate even. The strange thing was that he could actually understand that. The question was, how would he deal with it? Would it be so bad as to be dangerous, even?
As for Elladan, he dreamed of creating his own, military unit of warrior healers, writing a book perhaps so that others could create similar protocols. He also dreamed of improving his military skills, of becoming a sword master, perhaps, but most of all, he now looked forward to belonging to that elite team of extraordinary fighters that Legolas had resolved to create. The question was, of course, how would he be received? For his father's people were not well-loved by the Silvan people, not after the dreadful losses at Dagorlad.
Melven too, knew what he had to do. It was simple - prove himself as a trustworthy warrior, gain The Company's acceptance and perhaps, become one of them. But could he finally overcome his own arrogance, his own blindness to his weaknesses? Could he eradicate those weaknesses without becoming defensive and unjust? Could he make his dead father proud?
Handir had his concerns about his half-brother and his acceptance by the Sindarin nobles, not to mention his own brother. But so too did he have his own goals clearly impressed in his mind. How to achieve a more just society, to bolster the Silvan cause and put a stop to Bandorion's delusions of kingship. How could he be his own elf and not an extension of his father? Could he finally come into his own, after his experience under Erestor's skilful tuition?
As for The Company, Lindohtar, Rhrawthir, Ram en Ondo and Idhrenohtar had only one goal in mind. Serve with The Company, under Legolas, help him in his cause to protect the forests for through him, they served the Valar. There was no nobler a cause. Of course they had other concerns, for Idhrenohtar would take the grade for Master Archer no sooner they arrived in Greenwood, and likewise Ram en Ondo would try his own luck as Hand-to Hand Master.
Dimaethor, the Avari, already a Hand-to-Hand Master, had a mind to try his own luck with the sword, and in secret, he wondered if there would be a place for his own people in the grand scheme of things, if perhaps one day the flag of the Avarin people would fly proudly beside that of the Sindar and Silvan people of the forest.
So many challenges lay ahead of them, so many personal goals to achieve, so many opportunities in which to shi
ne as bright as any star upon the firmament. Their hearts were bolstered, their minds set, and together, they had resolved to achieve great things.
Yet none of them were naive enough to believe there would be no mishaps along the way. There would be yet now, none of them were alone, for they each had six brothers on which to rely. One was wise and the other was strong, one was fierce and the other artistic, one had wings and the other was silent, and the seventh was a whirling demon in battle, their leader - a leader with no rank, a Protege.
The first Greenwood Summit had finished, and if one thing had become clear, it was that this Sindar-Silvan divide was real, the rift much wider than any of them had suspected. Bandorion and his faction of purists had been strengthened in some ways, for the picture of past glory and bounty struck a longing in the elder Sindar, a deep and heart-felt desire to return to those days in which country and king were everything, in which honour and service was all any young lord aspired to. Those were the noble families that had followed Oropher himself to these new lands.
Yet that position had also been weakened, for the Silvan spokesperson, Erthoron, had spoken plainly and convincingly. He did not wish the opposite for them, he said, but the same for his own, Silvan people. All they asked for was the same recognition, the same right to be proud of their culture, without undermining the other cultures amongst which they lived.
But Bandorion, brother of Oropher, took things to the extreme and while many did not agree with that it was the only official stance that stood overtly for the renewal of that glorious Sindar identity. There were many Sindar that embraced their Silvan brothers and agreed that their military structure was as biased as it was unjust to the forest warriors, and they did not believe that leadership did not come naturally to the Silvan people, agreeing even, to the creation of a Military leader similar to the ancient figure of the Silvan Warlord. What did they have to lose, so long as the Silvan people were loyal? Of course Erthoron and the Silvans had demanded this position be offered to Legolas, and truth be told, none were quick to agree, stating simply that they would meet this Silvan, Thranduil's illegitimate son, before bestowing upon him such an important position.
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