The Sylvanus

by Oliver McBride

  Legolas stared at him, for this was a side to the enigmatic Narosen he had never seen - that compassionate, sensitive side that did not seem to go with his eccentric appearance or his strange voice. He decided then, that he liked the Spirit Herder, that in this, strange, Silvan mystic, he had an ally, a trusted advisor.

  "Narosén," came the weak, somewhat sickly voice of Glorfindel. "Damn that Silvan poison you call a tonic….. he spat as he sat up and then groaned, taking a hand to his dishevelled hair, messing it up even more than it already had been.

  Legolas opened his mouth and chuckled wildly, before looking disbelievingly at Narosén. "You did not warn him then?" he asked, and Narosén's eyes sparkled with mischief.

  "I could not resist," he smirked.

  Glorfindel looked at him in something akin to horror and betrayal, as Legolas sat up, swinging his legs over the branch and launching himself to the floor with a soft thud and Narosén could not resist staring at his hair in wonder.

  "How did you get it so long?" he asked as he inspected it.

  "Courtesy of my Lady, Narosén. But tell me for I am curious as to why I find an ancient warrior and a Spirit Herder sitting under my tree …"

  "Do not look at me, young Lord," smiled Narosén. I simply accompanied him," he pointed at Glorfindel.

  Legolas turned questioningly to his friend. "Did I worry you?" he asked.

  "Not me - your father. He asked me to find you, and I willingly accepted.

  Legolas held his gaze as he walked. "My father…"

  "He loves you, Legolas, more than even he is willing to admit or show - perhaps because he does not wish to upset his sons - but his desire to know you, is deep and undeniable."

  Legolas looked to the ground and then away, unsure it seemed, of what to say to that.

  "You are upset," said Glorfindel simply, watching as Narosén prepared tea.

  "Legolas," began Glorfindel with a deep sigh. "Talk to me, for your confusion is almost tangible. Talk and iron it out with me, for once we are back in camp you will not be able and it will fester."

  "I - I know, I just, it is too much, too fast. I did not want to kill Bandorion, Glorfindel and yet I knew that I must. I do not feel guilty for that but still I feel - inadequate."

  "You will always remember that, not only because you took and elven life but because it was that of your great uncle," began Glorfindel, glancing for a moment at Narosén who he knew was listening attentively.

  "That decision, Legolas, is what makes commanders great. To do such a thing required courage beyond the norm. You could have stayed your hand because he was family, you could have stayed your hand so as not to hurt Barathon in the same way you, had been hurt - you could have done all those things, and I would have called you selfish…"

  Legolas finally made eye contact with Glorfiindel as he listened to his mentor's reasoning.

  "Those reasons for not killing him were to do with you, no one else. A commander, a king, makes his decisions with respect to the collective good - that is the lot of a good king, Legolas. Imagine," he continued, leaning forward a little. "Imagine a rope that hangs threadbare over a precipice. An elf desperately holds on, his babe clinging to his back, screaming in fright and further down, at the end of the tether, is your own son. Who to save…. do you hang over the edge and hold your hand out to your son?, risk the rope finally breaking and taking the elf and his babe to their deaths? Or do you save those that you can, without risk? As a commander - not a father, as a king - what do you do?"

  Glorfindel's eyes were bright and challenging and Legolas understood exactly what his tutor was showing him. He was showing him why Thranduil had done what he had, why Oropher had sacrificed the happiness of his own son - for the greater good.

  "My answer is that I would save those I can, in spite of what may join me to the other- yet I cannot imagine what I would actually do should I ever be in that situation - to sacrifice your own son…" he whispered with a deep frown.

  "Yes," said Glorfindel quietly, sadly, the light of wisdom shining back at the one he considered a son. "So you see," he said as he placed a hand on Legolas' knee, "for Oropher to forbid Thranduil to marry his love would have been nothing short of devastating, for in that decision, lay the knife that cut their relationship almost to the bone and even then, Oropher stood for his people - a true king for his own heart was only as precious as the rest of his people - no more, no less."

  "I do not think I could ever do that," whispered Legolas.

  "No, perhaps not - but then you are not king. But as a commander, Legolas, you may be faced with many similar decisions. Who to save upon the battle field - your friend or the warrior closest to you? It is as simple and yet as complex as that."

  Legolas nodded his understanding for his mind, indeed, understood it. His heart, however, could not quite fathom it.

  "You are young and have yet to make such decisions, but when you do, they will change you, and you will be stronger," said Glorfindel, and Legolas could see the experience in his eye.

  "You must have made some very hard decisions…" he ventured, his eyes watching his mentor carefully.

  His only answer though, was a wan smile and a subtle nod, and then he held out his hands to Narosén, accepting the cup of steaming tea the Spirit Herder was serving.

  "What then, of Amareth?" asked Narosén. "Should we then include her in this equation? She protected her sister and her unborn babe for months, and then witnessed her sister's murder, taking her new born child to safety. Yet there was nowhere safe for him. Lassiel was known to all and had they learned she had a child, with the reputation she had been burdened with - there was nowhere safe. Had she told you of your heritage, as a child, would you have understood the importance of not disclosing that information - to anyone? To never trust a living soul with the identity of your father ?"

  Narosén paused as he sipped his own tea, his eyes far away as he remembered those days.

  "And then, when you grew and your features became more defined, her anxiety grew - with each day that passed and you excelled in warfare her fear - became obsession. She has lived with this burden for seven hundred and forty-five years, Legolas. 'Tis a mighty sacrifice I would say."

  Legolas' eyes were wide and round, for he had seen, through the eyes of Narosén, Amareth's sacrifice, finally understood why he had been blinded from the truth. Of course Bandorion's shadow would always be there to haunt her for should he have learned the whereabouts of the child, Legolas, in hindsight, did not doubt that he would have been slain.

  "I have been selfish…" he whispered.

  "From your perspective, Legolas, the story is a bleak one, but from hers, it is tragic. She is finally free of her burden, Legolas. Free of the fear and anxiety thanks to you, for you killed the source of it. Let her rejoice now, that her sacrifice has brought us here, to this moment for without her, you would not be here, and neither would we."

  Narosén grew quiet and Glorfindel watched Legolas as his mind analysed. It had been a productive night for his pupil had a sharp mind, it would not take him long to find his peace.

  "I saw my mother this night," he whispered quietly and Narosén looked up at him.

  "In my waking dream, in the tree - I saw her face look down on me and whisper a silent goodbye - she was beautiful…"

  "Oh yes," said Narosén, smiling now. "She was the greatest beauty this wood has ever seen…

  Soon enough, Legolas had retrieved his belongings and the three elves walked into the Silvan camp, amidst the smiles and bows and salutes of the Silvan people, indeed Legolas was finding it hard to advance for the crowds were closing in on him, hands reaching out to touch his shoulder, his hair.

  He smiled amidst his shock, for he could not understand it at all. For some reason he had become important to them, not just because he would be invested as their Warlord or because he was Thranduil's son, but on some deeper level. He sensed their respect, their love and their hope and he wondered what he had done to deserve such r
everence.

  Narosén saw it in his eyes, but there was no such puzzlement in his own eyes - he understood all too well what it was that was happening. Indeed Legolas was still young and too unsure of himself to see it. One quick glance at Glorfindel though, was enough to tell the Spirit Herder that he was not alone in his conclusions. He decided then, that he would speak to Legolas later, when they were alone - prepare him for what was to come, explain to him what it was that was happening to the Silvan people, what it was that Legolas himself had unleashed in them and that now, would not be buried.

  Ducking inside the tent, Erthoron, Lorthil and Golloron startled, rising to their feet from where they had been sitting around the morning hearth.

  "Legolas," said Erthoron, and Narosén cocked his head to the side. He knew that tone, for it spoke of embarrassment. They had been talking confidences and had been interrupted.

  "Forgive us, Erthoron, said a half-naked Legolas, "are we interrupting?" he asked as he deposited his weapons and clothes in one corner.

  "Yes," smiled Erthoron, but nothing you cannot hear. Come join us at the hearth, share tea with us," he said, before sinking to the floor once more.

  Glorfindel nodded as he accepted the honey and mint tea that Golloron was pouring for everyone. His mouth was dry after imbibing too much of Narosén's cordial the night before - another tea would do no harm at all.

  "We were speaking of the preparations, Legolas, for your investiture," began Lorthil.

  "There is a ceremony then?" asked the Silvan, his eyes a little too round.

  "Yes," began Lorthil. "The King has declared a celebration in four days' time, one that will see the great Feasting Halls of the fortress open to all, for the first time in many centuries. And," he added, "it is rumoured he will open the overhang - so that all can gaze upon the Evergreen Wood."

  "What is the overhang?" asked Glorfiindel as he sipped on his tea.

  "It is a mighty plateau that extends from the back of the fortress, similar to that of Minas Tirith. It has not been opened for many centuries, simply because there have been no celebrations, at least that we know of. It is a gesture, we believe, from the king; a statement of a new beginning."

  "And the ceremony?" asked Glorfindel.

  "We will perform it here, on the same day. Legolas, as our new Warlord, will lead us to the king, so that they may pay their respects to him and the Silvan people. It will be a joyous day for us all, Legolas, not just for the Silvan people."

  "There are, certain traditions, Legolas, that we would like to uphold…" began Golloron somewhat hesitantly, and Narosén couldn't really blame him.

  "What traditions?" asked Legolas.

  "Well - the Warlord bears a mark - a mark of his station, here," he pointed at Legolas' now clothed chest, just over one breast.

  "You will paint it?" he asked with a smirk, but then he nearly choked when Narosén put him right.

  "What?!"

  "Legolas, it will not hurt much…"

  "I do not speak of the pain, Golloron, I can deal with that, but it will be - permanent?" he asked in disbelief, for he had never heard of anything like it.

  "Yes - permanent."

  Legolas' eyes were wide, but he said nothing and so Golloron continued. "There are clothes to be made and protocols to be observed, indeed our people visit the fortress this morning, to liaise with Thranduil's people, with his artists, his cooks and musicians…"

  "You make it sound so complicated," murmured Legolas.

  "It is. This is a mighty thing for the forest Legolas, one we will speak of before then. We wish to be proud of this moment for it will be written in history. We would have this celebration the most recounted of them all, a legendary feast of celebration, with music and dancing the likes of which has not been seenever under these boughs. We wish to show the Sindar what they have been missing, show them all the things we contribute to this society, show them our art, our dance, our song and our pride - our hearts…"

  Legolas returned Golloron's heavy gaze with his own and the Spirit Herder's brow twitched. "Your eyes are bright this morning, Legolas."

  Legolas paused, and then glanced in worry at Glorfindel, who simply shook his head. "No, not that, Legolas. It is simply that they seem deeper, there is more light behind them than is normal for you."

  "What do you mean by 'not that?' Asked Golloron, his head cocked to one side.

  "Well," began Glorfiindel with a somewhat furtive glance at Legolas. "When there is a particularly strong communication with the trees his eyes - light up - from the inside…"

  Golloron's eyebrows rose but he said nothing.

  "I too, have some requests, Golloron," said Legolas. "Who should I speak to about these preparations?"

  "Well," smiled Golloron, sharing one fleeting, conspiring glance at the others, "that would be Marhén."

  "Marhén," repeated Legolas, watching them all suspiciously. "What is it?"

  "Well," smiled Erthoron. "Marhén - is your second aunt…"

  Legolas froze, "second aunt?" he asked stupidly.

  "Lassiel and Amareth's maternal aunt, yes. She has come from the South-west, she has been waiting to meet you since you arrived."

  "I will stay for the celebrations of course, but after that, I must leave, Legolas…"

  "I know," said Legolas as he stood before Glorfindel, watching him as he armed himself and then pulled his cloak on.

  "At least now I have an excuse to return to Imladris. My father has entrusted me with becoming a spear master - Captain Dunorel will have to allow that at some point."

  "Oh yes - and I shall tell our master to expect you. He will be pleased. And then of course, Elladan is here, and therein is my own excuse for visiting - I will make sure Elrond allows me to travel from time to time."

  "I will not say goodbye to you, Glorfindel," said Legolas now, stepping closer to his mentor. "I cannot - "

  "You must," said the Noldo. "It will not be forever, child, not even for long, but say goodbye you must."

  Legolas' bottom lip moved of its own accord as he stepped closer. "I will not get another moment to tell you this, for my life has become - complicated - I am hardly ever alone now…"

  "You must find that time, Legolas. Do not let others command it - find some for yourself, you will need it."

  Legolas nodded his understanding, and then looked back into the warm blue eyes he had come to love so well. "How can I ever thank you," he whispered, "for your wisdom and your grace? For your example, your own sacrifice, for being to me a father I never had, until now…"

  "I need no thanks, for the blessing of knowing you is recompense enough," he smiled proudly.

  Legolas placed a palm of his hand over Glorfindel's heart, and then stepped closer and placed his own cheek over it, until a strong hand held the back of his head and he closed his eyes, revelling for just that instant, in the warmth of love.

  Moments later, Glorfindel had gone, returned to the fortress to report to the king and Legolas was left standing alone for the first time since he had walked into the Silvan camp the night before.

  Suddenly, it came to him so very clearly, a dark, hidden secret that had been freed from its murky confines and floated to the surface of his mind for the first time. He loved Amareth as he would have his own mother - and, to his utter shock, he loved his father - Thranduil was no longer the black beast he had lived with his entire life, but a shining king that had sacrificed so much so that he may live…

  He would make them proud, he resolved, and he would love them, for however long he was allowed.

  For now though, Amareth needed him, and he would leave her waiting no longer…

  He watched her from afar as she peeled carrots and turnip. Her movements were slow and methodical, loving almost, and Legolas rather thought her mind was elsewhere.

  She had tucked her chestnut locks into a bun high upon her head, loose strands of it floating freely about her face, something that would have bothered Legolas to no end. She, however, did not
even seem aware.

  "Amareth," he called quietly as he walked into the tent. He had tried not to startle her, but she had physically jumped as he called her name - far away indeed.

  She looked at him, her eyes straying once more to his hair and then back to his eyes, as if she were still unable to reconcile this version of her son with the once that had left her not so long ago in Lland Galadh.

  He could read her like a book, he realised, every emotion - her uncertainty, her doubts, her worry, her consternation, her love…

  Walking slowly to where she sat, he sunk down to the ground and crossed his legs, looking into the mid-day hearth for a moment before meeting her eyes.

  "Mother," he began softly, quietly, and her head rose to meet him. Her eyes, he realised, were so heavy, so full of the things she had lived and for one moment he faltered.

  "I know that I will understand what happened, one day soon perhaps, for I wish to travel into the deep forest, find the tree where I know I was born…"

  Amareth's brow furrowed. "How could you know that, Legolas?" she whispered.

  His sparkling green eyes held her own, honey irises for a while before he spoke. "I have seen it, in my dreams…"

  "You have a gift?" she asked warily.

  "I was given a gift - I am not a listener, mother. I am a protege…"

  With a harsh intake of breath, a low moan escaped her and her eyes filled with rebellious tears. Legolas startled for a moment for he had not expected that reaction at all, but then, as he watched more closely, he saw Amareth's mind as it seemed to search the paths of her long memory and Legolas was momentarily fascinated; honey irises searched blindly, as if there was something before her eyes and yet there was nothing, save for what her mind showed her in private.

  "I could never understand it," she whispered as the first tears fell and her bottom lip quivered uncontrollably. "I could never understand your fascination with the tree. Lassiel would leave you there, alone sometimes, and I would scorn her for it, yet she simply smiled and shook her head at me…."