Lond o Rîn [Path of Remembrance]
Now in his youth Legolas had despised the cloistering darkness of the
deeper rooms in the Wood Elf King's stronghold and remembered still,
long past his majority, the clutching terror that surrounded his heart
when he stood upon the landing and faced the thick black obscurity at
the bottom of the innermost stairway. He knew there was nought at
the steps' ending but a great vestibule containing three portals, two
of which led to the keeps wherein the King's treasures lay, and the
other sank to the abiding gloom of the subterranean dungeons. All
of them were secured with barred iron gates and devices known only to
Thranduil.
Designed by dwarves from the Blue Mountains no less, it was rumoured
that as the metal tumblers and cylinders of the locks had been cast the
Sinda Lord had infused the molten material with magic and sorcery, so
that even should another come into possession of the keys, never could
the bolts be sprung by any hand but his. Indeed, many believed
that the nameless dread engulfing the soul upon reaching the forbidden
chambers was likewise a product of their King's bewitchment, for even
true-tried warriors Ages old could not stifle the desire to flee from
the vestibule when required to descend there.
Such occasions, though rare, were imbedded in the lore of the Woodland
folk, for any time Thranduil added to the hoard he selected from among
his trusted Sindar to carry the stash into the vaults. These
venerable and courageous archers and cavaliers, all veterans of the
Last Alliance, returned from the depths with knees knocking and eyes
expanded as though they had encountered Melkor himself.
Legolas doubted not these tales, for he had proof of the verity of such
claims. As a youngling he had been confined to the stronghold for
an offence against the King, a not uncommon event if he chanced upon
the Sinda ruler when Ningloriel was away in Lorien. This
particular episode, however, remained rigidly entrenched in Legolas'
memory like no other.
Maltahondo resumed his guardianship of the Woodland Queen whenever she
left the Greenwood, and by this time Legolas, being 35 years of age,
was considered old enough to pass the day without constant
supervision. His schedule of activities was such that various
lessons and tedious duties succinctly regulated his time to consume the
entirety of Anor's passage.
What his mother and her lover knew not was that the elves designated to
oversee this rigorous program had no inclination to do so, and made few
complaints when Legolas promptly abandoned certain obligations and took
to the forest, bow in hand and quiver filled. Everyone understood
that Thranduil would neither notice nor care that the elfling was not
about, and that it was far preferable, for Legolas' sake and theirs,
that he not cross paths with the King.
For his part, Legolas deplored to spend time with Thranduil's staff,
and even more hated to be among the warriors in the barracks
courtyard. Quite early he had learned that the Sindar elves and
the Wood Elves regarded him with vastly different evaluations, and
their opinions were not shielded from his observant insight.
The Sylvan folk gazed upon Legolas with an unsettling mixture of pity
and fear. They all knew Ningloriel was charged with infidelity to
the vows of her marriage bond, and most considered her son a worrisome
hybrid, welcome due to her lineage yet problematic for the possibility
of his Noldo heritage. Adding the unwholesome element of
kinslayers into their breed was not viewed favourably, yet the Wood
Elves could not look upon the small golden-haired child and deny him as
their own, and thus pitied him the lack of cohesion in his family.
Condescending charity was not an emotion Legolas favoured, either to
give or to receive.
The fear he spawned had nothing to do with the possibility of Noldo
traits showing themselves in his nature, for none such were
apparent. Nay, the unease sprang from the uncanny maturity of the
youth, Legolas' knack of discovering, upon meeting the eyes in even the
most casual of glances, what one thought to be hidden in the
heart. His ability to be almost totally self-sufficient and his
affinity for speaking with the trees rather than the elves added to the
mystique.
Almost as soon as his legs would hold him up, it was noted that Legolas
preferred solitude and would turn from a conversation as soon as it was
politely possible to do so. It did not occur to many that
this was rather a conditioned response, for the elfling merely reacted
to the discomfort his presence seemed to bring to others, and removed
himself as was expected of him.
From the Sindar elves, few though they were in number and mingled in
bonding to the Sylvans, Legolas experienced an entirely different
combination of emotions. Always there was contempt, for the idea
of his bastard status while still the named heir galled them. Too
bitter had been the defeat at the gates of Mordor, and from the
warriors' perspective too avoidable. None of the Sindar soldiers
projected any sense of acceptance towards the elfling, and a few openly
mocked the child, provided Ningloriel's absence, knowing no censure
would result.
And yet these folk also responded with a certain wariness in their
demeanour, for there was an aura of eccentricity about Legolas that was
attributed to the influence of Elrond's mixed blood, and thus
dubious. Noldo, Adan, Maia, Sylvan, among this hodgepodge of
strains which would predominate in the elfling's character? None
of these stalwart warriors considered the courage and fortitude
required of the solitary youth just to traverse the barracks courtyard
amid the distrustful and contumely disregard that clogged the very air
he breathed.
And it was during one such trek that he committed an infraction of
sufficient magnitude to warrant punishment, and came under notice of
the King. Legolas was used to the looks of scorn and the
occasional insult thrown his way and never reacted except to hurry his
pace, but on this day one particular Sinda warrior found his
indifference irritating enough to follow the elfling. When a
harsh hand grasped his shoulder and halted his progress, Legolas turned
and kicked the offending soldier in an attempt to free himself.
If he also likened the elf to the foetid waste of Orcs and the vile
serum that passed from spiders, perhaps that was not so unwarranted
either.
Yet the young archer quickly learned this was a mistake, for he was but
half grown and the veteran warrior far more skilled, strengthened by
centuries of hard training and exacting discipline. The beating
Legolas received for his impertinence left him injured less in body
than in pride, for Rochendil used the sturdy shaft of one of the
elfling's own arrows as a switch, inflicting a stinging censure upon
the young one's backside. Even upon shoving Legolas down in the
dusty yard, the horse tamer was not appeased and snatched up and broke
the small bow the elfling had made for himself. Legolas actually
flinched when the loud and sickening crack sounded, staring in hatred
at the booted foot planted firmly upon the slender severed wood.
If nothing else, Legolas was heedful of lessons taught with such
intensity, and remained still, burying his ire under his pain even as
he was forced to apologise and abase himself, begging pardon for his
impudence, until the warrior finally ordered him to go.
Truly, that would have been the end of it, had the stubborn youth not
desired to ease his wounded ego and send an unignorable message to the
Sindar among the troops, and the horse master in particular.
Distorting the directive to leave and get on about his chores, Legolas
took himself to the armoury, that in itself a violation for he was not
allowed in the place, and therein located Rochendil's gear. His
intent had been to repay the Sinda's cruelty and render his bow useless
by destroying the string nocks, splintering the wooden ends beyond
repair.
Upon entering the room and viewing the impressive array of finely
crafted implements, Legolas found he had no desire to destroy the
careful work of the Sylvan bowyers. He decided, instead, to
replace his bow from among this collection, only until he could make
another, and retreated into the forest with his prize.
It was his choice of weapons that brought Legolas to the attention of
Thranduil. The elfling selected the best bow, one not even the
King himself would carry, for it stood in a place of high honour, set
apart from the rest in a rack alone. While there was no
inscription or monument telling so, all knew this was the war bow of
Oropher, the very one carried with him to his death before the gates of
Mordor at the Last Alliance.
For the remainder of Anor's hours Legolas was completely content,
revelling in practice with such a fine devise, marvelling at the effort
required to draw the formidable relic. It was not long before his
shoulders ached and his breath left him in huffing rasps, and his arms
seemed composed more of gelatinous flab than muscle. Even so, he
persisted in his determined efforts to master the mighty bow, hidden in
a small clearing he had discovered and adapted for training far from
the mockery of the Sindar, far from the knowledge of any within the
stronghold.
Tinnu's winking welcome followed the diminished light at the end of
day, and then did Legolas' heart begin to sink in concert with the drop
of Anor beyond the rim of the land. No longer could he ignore the
nagging remonstrance of his conscience, nor the growing dread of the
reprisals his rebellious act would engender. Surely by now,
someone had noticed both the missing artefact and his simultaneous
absence and joined the two.
Several hours more Legolas fretted, fearing to return and face the
wrath that must of a certainty wait. Desperately he attempted to
concoct both a scheme for replacing the fabled bow to its simple shrine
of reverent respect unnoticed and an accompanying alibi that would
shield him from blame. No one had seen him enter or leave the
armoury, or he would have been stopped at once. His efforts to
improve his archery skills with Oropher's weapon likewise remained
hidden from the other elves. Yet, had he not desired them all to
understand who had taken the deceptively elegant arc of destruction
belonging to the former King?
At last his defiance won out. For too long had the youth held
back his hurt and anger without redress, and rashly he thought his
retaliatory misappropriation a fitting vindication. Bold of mien
while quaking in his soul, Legolas retraced his path through the
branches and silently entered the stronghold through the gardens.
He was quickly discovered, as an alert for his arrival was in force,
and escorted before Thranduil.
Now Legolas was never allowed within the Chamber of Sovereignty, for he
was to the Sinda Lord but a constant reminder that the Realm was on the
brink of transferring beyond the claims of Oropher's line should
misfortune befall Thranduil. Yet here he was led to stand before
the throne, left by his guards three steps from the dais in an empty
spot surrounded by the assembled Council and those captains of the
King's guard present in the stronghold that night.
Still not of full stature, Legolas could not stand eye to eye with his
sovereign Lord and was forced to look up into the enraged countenance
of the King. Upon viewing the thinly checked fury within
Thranduil's murky hazel eyes, Legolas' heart lurched, missing a beat
and sinking low before making a tremendous leap to compensate for the
pause, and sent his blood racing through his veins. Despite the
heightened rhythm of his pulse, the young archer felt an icy chill
creep upon his flesh.
No words were spoken, no accusations made, for none were required when
Legolas stood before the convocation with the cherished weapon still in
his grasp. For several seconds, Thranduil held the gaze of his
wife's shameful progeny with disgust before dropping his attention to
the bow.
The silence within the chamber was more potent than a stream of
reproachful diatribes, and held a tangible promise of impending doom.
Legolas took a shaky breath and fought the urge to run, yet could not
suppress the tremor that ran through him under the scathing
scrutiny. When Thranduil's focus centred on the weapon, an
audible breath escaped the elfling and his grip round the wood
tightened. Wordlessly, he extended his arms and held out the
weapon on his open palms, dropping his head to stare at the
floor. He felt the bow snatched from him and lowered his arms,
again struggling to master the instinct to flee. Cautiously he
lifted his eyes to observe Thranduil inspecting the masterpiece of
deadly artistry, after which the King tendered the bow into the care of
his most trusted captain to be restored to its rightful place.
Thranduil's coldly glittering glare met his detested heir's once more,
and a motion of his hand brought two guards forward to the elfling's
sides. In calm detachment the King watched as they forcefully
removed the struggling offender's tunic and stepped back to their
places amid the crowd. The Sinda monarch observed with
satisfaction that this had effectively removed the last remnants of
rebellious bravado from the elf's eyes, and Legolas stood trembling
with his arms wrapped around his bare chest.
Thranduil turned to retrieve an object from where it had been leaning
unnoticed against the throne, and revealed a long thin willow branch,
which he flexed to demonstrate its green resilience.
Even as the switch bent in the Woodland ruler's hands, Legolas
stiffened in dread; he was to be caned. Never had he endured such
punishment before and fervently regretted his foolish
impetuosity. His heart was hammering as the King moved around
behind him and Legolas quailed upon realising he was not even to know
how many strikes he would be favoured to receive.
The first blow landed with an explosion of searing agony across his
shoulders, followed by nine more in rapid succession, leaving Legolas
gasping for air on his hands and knees, not even cognisant of having
lost his footing for the intensity of the pain. To his shame, he
realised he was crying and loudly at that. Before he could
recover his dignity he felt the guards next to him, hauling him up by
his arms and dragging him out of the room. Using their support,
Legolas managed to get his feet under him and then yanked free, bolting
through the doorway and down the halls for his rooms.
No one hindered his passage.
The public drubbing was not the totality of his punishment,
however. One of his tutors arrived later to inform Legolas that
he was forbidden to leave the caverns for his beloved trees for a
ten-day and assigned to work in the scullery for the duration of the
term. For one attuned to the freedom of the high canopy and the
companionship of the Greenwood, such confinement was torture scarcely
bearable.
His tenure among the kitchen staff was likewise an eternity of torment,
for he was only under foot and in the way. While Legolas was
adept among the high branchways and advanced in archery, he was
completely at a loss when confronted with the harried routines
associated with feeding the household. The hapless elfling found
himself the frequent recipient of rebukes and scoldings as he
unintentionally disrupted the fluid operation of the domestic
employees. Upon the sixth day, when he had just dropped and broken a
fourth carafe of wine, the chief cook angrily cuffed him on the side of
the head and ordered him from the cookery.
Barred even from seeking refuge in the Sentinel, Legolas fled across
the tremendous room in angry despair, feeling the sting of tears again
as he raced to the stairs. However, upon reaching the first
landing he realised someone was headed down, and he turned away to hide
his embarrassment, heading instead deeper into the mountain's
bowels. Vaguely he heard the calls from the elf who had been
descending the stairs, but paid no mind to the warnings, and found
himself in the antechamber of the three gates, staring into the
impenetrable gloom, palsied with fright, unable to tear his gaze from
the consuming black void.
Immediately the elfling's thoughts were invaded with whispering voices
threatening to usurp his soul's place and confiscate his body,
banishing for eternity the immortal spark of his being to the
caliginous heart of the stony mountain if he did not leave at
once. Nothing more than escape did Legolas desire, yet the gloom
was impenetrable, for the stairway made a turning and the light of the
floor above was obscured. Even had this not been the case, the
murmuring venom of the unsounded words confused and disoriented the
youth.
In vain did Legolas cover his ears and shut his eyes, for the darkness
had a formless presence he could neither ignore nor dislodge from his
mind, and before too many minutes passed he was crouched on the floor
against the wall, screaming to be left in peace, begging to be spared
such a fate.
The healer had been called to fetch him out, and bravely did she do so
alone with but one torch and whatever soothing words she could summon
to calm the terrified youth. After this, the household staff
unanimously decided that as long as all held their tongues and Legolas
refrained from further larcenous behaviour, it would benefit everyone
if the elfling were set free again.
Nevertheless, several nights passed before Legolas could rest without
reliving the harrowing ordeal.
Standing beneath the thin shaft of feeble illumination that wormed
through the stronghold's massive rock to filter into the humble suite,
the Tawarwaith felt strongly his separation from the trees and the
fortifying light of the stars, of Ithil and Anor, and recalled that
day. He had been in the cave of the three doors less than an
hour, yet it had certainly felt like all eternity was passing as his
sanity was slowly devoured by the nameless foe. He wondered now
what manner of unhoused feär Thranduil had there entrapped, and
how he kept them bound. Even after so long a lapse in years,
Legolas could not prevent a shudder from travelling through his limbs.
He had been confined in the stronghold nearly a ten-day and was
beginning to feel the deprivation keenly. With grim resignation,
he fully accepted that if he undertook the actions he had in mind, he
might be spending considerably more than a few minutes in the lowest
levels of the caverns as a prisoner within the lightless cells.
Therein will I die, if once I am enclosed., he shivered again
and
frowned.
On the morrow he would at last be allowed to leave these dismal rooms
and return to his home with Fearfaron. This he anticipated with
eager joy, for he could not heal completely under the current
conditions and his health would be much improved when he could once
more breathe the open air. Yet there was that which he desired to
do before leaving, for Legolas knew not when he might again have the
opportunity to move about within the mountain fortress freely.
The carpenter had been hovering around him like a hummingbird over a
cup of nectar, fearing, Legolas assumed, a confrontation between the
King and his cast-off heir. No one entered his quarters save his
trusted friends, and one or more of them was always with him day and
night. Yet no appearance did Thranduil make, and whatever plans
he had were in abeyance as he fawned over his newborn and his bond-mate.
The entire Realm was on holiday and no business was being conducted,
other than the perpetual watch on the border, as announcements of the
new heir's arrival went out among the free peoples. The news was
travelling not only to Lorien, Imladris, and Mithlond but also to Dale,
the Iron Mountains, indeed all of Erebor, and among the woodsmen's
villages within the forest. If the Wood Elves' King could have
his way, word of Taurant's birth would be carried even unto Isengard
and as far south as Gondor.
Still, within the stone fortress a steady tension was building, and
Legolas could not help but believe this was due to his presence in
conjunction with Taurant's. He had no wish to bring such distress
to the first days of the newborn's life, which were crucial to the
infant's awakening sense of security within his new environment, and
this was the first thing Legolas desired to act upon. He wanted
to re-establish the peaceful harmony that had enveloped the cavernous
structure on the morning of the child's birth, and was strongly
compelled to do so in person.
Legolas was consumed with the idea of seeing the infant prince for he
felt he might never again be given the chance once he returned to the
Greenwood and his surveillance of Dol Guldur. Having decided to
accept Fearfaron and Mithrandir's judgement, Legolas was now convinced
this was his own brother, and felt a fierce loyalty and love for the
tiny being. He simply could not bear to leave without even
satisfying himself as to who the infant favoured.
Will it be apparent we are blood kin, as it is with Gwilith and
Lindalcon?
This was not a desire he had shared with his foster father, knowing
full well he would be discouraged from such a course and put under an
even more vigilant guard by his small circle of well-meaning
friends. Likewise he carefully guarded his hopeful schemes from
Mithrandir's discovery, driving these ponderings from his mind and
distancing himself from the wizard when they were in the same room, as
now. Yet Lindalcon he hoped to sway to his aid, and awaited the
young elf's return from taking Gwilith for her playtime in the gardens.
"You are lost in thought, Legolas, and have ignored us for some
time. Are you well?" Mithrandir's voice gently intruded into the
archer's ruminations and drew him back to the occupants of the
room. The wizard's words flowed over and into him, suffusing him
with warm comfort much as a mulled wine heated aching joints on a
wintry day. Legolas smiled and turned this engaging expression
upon the Maia.
"I am well," he affirmed and allowed his friend to reach an arm around
his shoulders and draw him from the faint beam of light. Together
they hobbled toward the sitting area, leaning one against the other
such that each put little pressure on injured limbs. There the
carpenter and the Man were seated in the armchairs, bent over a board
game before the blue-flamed fire.
Fearfaron lifted his eyes and watched as they took the settee side by
side, his glance shifting between them with a slight uneasiness Legolas
could not fathom. He had directly asked what the trouble was, and the
carpenter had been evasive and changed the subject. Legolas had
also demanded for Mithrandir to reveal what was between the two of
them, but the Istar had been uninformative and taciturn. Even
Aragorn refused to speak of the matter, and directed the archer back to
the other two. Somehow the trio found it difficult to explain the
degree to which the wild elf's spirit had been encumbered, perhaps
because it was fate's cruel paradox that he had never been loved while
his heart had long been compromised. For such a bruised soul to
bear an additional, unlooked for burden, light though the Istar's
attachment was, seemed onerous to Legolas' comrades.
It is maddening! These are my friends, yet somehow I have
brought dissension between them, for if not then they would freely
explain the situation., he thought.
Nay, it is not of your doing, Legolas. Your father and I
disagree on some methods of treatment for you, nothing more., the
Maia
reassured, receiving this frustrated bloom of introspection as the pair
dropped upon the small sofa.
What methods? I am the one recovering; should I not have a say
in this?
I refer to what is past; we were forced to act quickly when you were
unconscious. Fearfaron is still uneasy regarding your full
recovery; that is all. Worry no more over it.
Legolas made an irritated sucking noise against his teeth, dissatisfied
with this response. It would have been better not to reveal his
concerns; he really had to learn how to govern such mental outbursts
more carefully.
"You will develop that skill with time," the wizard said, having caught
this as well, and laughed softly as he filled and lit his pipe.
His comment drew the attention of the game players, who raised their
eyes simultaneously with nearly identical scowls of aggravation.
"I find that completely rude," Aragorn said with affected drama.
"Aye, if you must speak in that manner together, at least keep it fully
to yourselves," added Fearfaron, but his perturbed tone was not a ruse.
Legolas felt his cheeks grow hot and scooted away from any contact with
Mithrandir, though physical connection was no longer needed for the
link to be opened between them. He crossed his arms in front of
his body and leaned against the sofa's padded arm dejectedly, refusing
to look at the three. He did not like being the subject of this
undisclosed contest of wills, especially when Mithrandir could shield
his own thoughts whenever he wished.
Lindalcon chose that opportune moment to enter the room, Gwilith in
tow. Legolas at once brightened up and slipped down onto the
floor as the toddler approached, tugging impatiently on her older
brother's hand.
"Limlas, play!" she commanded gleefully and hopped on light toe steps
up to the Tawarwaith, stopping with caution before colliding with the
recovering elf. Her delicate embrace, so careful to avoid the
hidden injuries, was heart-warming and Legolas swept her up gladly onto
his lap. His leg barely hurt now and his side pained him not at
all, and he refused to waste anymore hours sulking about when he had
such an endearing elfling waiting to be entertained.
"Yes, we three will play, and these grumpy old ones must leave,
agreed?" Legolas smiled and looked to Lindalcon for support.
"I will stay, Fearfaron; you and Mithrandir must have all manner of
preparations to make for Legolas' homecoming tomorrow. Aragorn,
you should help them, since Mithrandir is still healing up." Lindalcon
replied as he flashed the archer a glance, brows lifted in surprise,
but more than willing to comply if it made Legolas happy.
Legolas beamed back approvingly and nodded to indicate this was
acceptable to him. He returned his attention to Gwilith, who was
tugging on his hair and trying to untangle the unruly locks.
"Limlas, fix it," she commanded and handed over a small silk ribbon
that had just moments before adorned her chestnut strands. Unable
to succeed in her attempt to rectify the warrior's dishevelled hair,
she decided to demand the same attention for herself and shook her head
briskly to ensure there was something to fix.
"You have become quite the tyrant since our arrival here, Legolas,"
complained the Man good-naturedly.
Legolas grinned, took the ribbon, and turned the child round, deftly
combing through her tresses with his fingers and humming softly.
He began a small braid, working the bright red adornment into the
design, and Gwilith was surprisingly still.
Aragorn really did not mind at all a chance to get out of the
claustrophobic caves, accustomed as he was to the open and airy halls
of Imladris, and had a few concerns of his own he wished to
address. Ever since the enlightening conversation with Lindalcon,
the mortal had been reflecting on how best to handle the Malthen
situation.
"Now you have got Lindalcon ordering me about as well. Once you
are completely healed, I will have to remind you of your
manners." He rose from the leather armchair and stretched as
Legolas directed a mocking smirk his way.
"And I am not that old, ion edwen [second son]," glared Fearfaron.
Truthfully, he was extremely suspicious of this sudden dismissal, and
decided he would make some excuse to send the Man and the Maia off
while shadowing every move of the trio of mischief-makers. "But I do
have things to do to make ready. If Mithrandir is being thrown
out as well, I suppose I shall not protest. Be certain to stay
put; I want to learn of no mishaps in my absence."
Mithrandir coughed on his pipe at this and sent the carpenter a coolly
disapproving grumble of nondescript complaints in an obscure Vanyarin
dialect no longer spoken on Middle-earth.
The wizard could not believe Fearfaron and Aragorn actually planned to
leave the Wood Elf unguarded. He was certain Legolas was plotting
something, else he would not have remained so far from contact all
morning, fearing to give away his ideas.
Agonise not about the quarrels, Legolas; Fearfaron is only concerned
for you and I will attempt to set his mind at ease., he
communicated
this reassurance wordlessly.
Please do; let me have this afternoon free of the wearisome
bickering
and backbiting between you two. Legolas sent his mental reply
and completed the grooming of his little sister's hair, turning her in
the direction of the bathing room where a silvered glass was mounted
atop a small table.
"Go have a look, little one," he coaxed and she skipped away in delight.
Upon receiving the archer's caustic request Mithrandir was deeply
chagrined, for he had not known Legolas felt the dissension so
strongly. He made a silent promise to heal the rift and rose
awkwardly to his feet, using his staff once more as a crutch.
Aragorn hurried to the door to open it, forcing the carpenter to assist
the wizard in his stilted progress across the room. To his
credit, Fearfaron was gracious in his offer of help and Mithrandir
accepted with equanimity.
"We will see you back at the evening meal, then?" queried Lindalcon,
and three assenting voices confirmed the arrangements before the door
was once more shut. The three young elves were alone.
"Alright, Legolas, tell me what is going on."
"That is what I was going to ask you. However, I think we are
wondering about different things."
Gwilith raced back to her brothers, holding a half-filled bottle of
bath soap in her tiny hands.
"Bubbles, Limlas! Come make bubbles," she pleaded and for
emphasis pulled on his bright yellow tunic sleeve.
"Nay, Gwilith, not right now," he said, taking the glass container
away. "Go and get that book there." Turning to Lindalcon as
the elfling scurried in the indicated direction, Legolas put on his
most winning expression. What he hoped for Lindalcon to do would
not be easy. "I need you to help me with something."
"Hah! You mean you plan on disobeying Fearfaron and wish me to
create some sort of alibi or diversion."
"That is true, yet it is not Fearfaron I need you to divert. I am
going to see Taurant and I want you to make sure Meril and Thranduil
are out of the way."
"What? Are you mad? They have not left their chambers since
the birth. Legolas, it is too soon; neither of them are ready to
bring the babe out for public display. You will be caught and I
know not what they will do to you. Or to me!"
"Lindalcon, I am not the public, I am Taurant's brother, as are
you. I cannot wait for their permission, as it will never be
granted, and I leave the stronghold on the morrow. Have you seen
him yet?" By this time Gwilith had retrieved the requested
picture book but stood silently, watching her brothers argue.
"Of course, I spend one or two hours with him in the nursery each
evening while Nana and the King dine together."
"And the babe's room adjoins the royal couple's bedchamber yet is
separate?"
"Aye, but, Legolas, this is…"
"Is there a door, a solid one? Does the balcony connect?"
"Yes, Legolas, for Naneth will not have Taurant closed off from light
and air yet there is a wood-carved door dividing the nursery from the
sleeping room. But you know this is impossible."
"Why, is it not natural for me to wish to meet Taurant? I must
make it possible, Lindalcon."
"Legolas sad, Lind'on," Gwilith's musical voice was overlain with worry
and she carefully slipped her small arms around the outcast's neck for
comfort. Legolas quickly hugged her back to reassure the child
that all was well, sending the young usurper a pleading look over the
top of her head.
It did not pass unnoticed by either that their little sister had used
Legolas' true name, clearly and correctly, for the first time.
"Ai, ah!" Lindalcon threw up his hands and then sank down to the floor
beside them. "I cannot fight you both at once. Legolas, I
wish you to see Taurant also, but how can I do what you ask? They
dine together on the balcony in their chambers. Naneth gets up at
the slightest indication of Taurant's distress and comes to check on
how he fares. Even if I can cause her to disregard the babe for
the duration of the meal, you will never be able to climb all those
stairs unaided."
Legolas smiled brightly and shifted Gwilith to sit on his unharmed
knee, taking the book from her hands and opening it as he did so.
"So Thranduil does not come in the room when you are there?"
"Only to tell me to go."
"That is well, I plan to be in the room only while you are there and
will leave before he finishes the meal. Trust me, I will make the
ascent and there is a way for me to slip in unnoticed if only you will
make sure there is some sort of distraction happening in the courtyard
garden below. Make it a nice distraction, Lindalcon; something to
welcome the new prince into the world."
"Legolas, I do not know what that might be. They will be
suspicious and we will get caught. If Thranduil goes into one of
his rages, he may do you harm. Indeed, he may punish us both!"
"Nay, Lindalcon, they will suspect nothing. Music and singing
should work. Surely there is nothing unexpected in your desire to
honour your new brother with such a performance."
"Roch, Limlas! Say roch!" Gwilith patted the page whereupon the
image of a prancing white horse was drawn.
"Aye, Gwilith, that is a horse," Legolas smiled. "Have you seen a
real horse?"
"Ada and me rode Raugelu [Pale Blue Demon]," she said with a nod.
Legolas tried not to laugh, fairly certain the poor creature was not
really so named, suddenly grateful he was merely a Fish Leaf.
At his sister's response Lindalcon completely forgot what he was
preparing to say to Legolas, for it was the most complete and correct
statement she had ever spoken, and he stared in disbelief.
Legolas grinned smugly.
"You should not talk to her as if she is still a baby. You are
not a baby any more, are you Gwilwileth?" he said to the child.
The elfling gazed at him with wide and serious eyes as she slowly shook
her head.
"Gwilith big now. Tauron [forester] little." The child's eyes
sparkled as her brothers' laughter indicated their delight at this new
nickname for the babe and her countenance opened into a beatific smile,
which she turned upon Lindalcon. "Limlas and Gwilith show Tauron
book!"
Lindalcon groaned and picked his sister up. How did so small a
being have such tremendous capacity to influence his will?
"Aye, Gwilith, you and Legolas may show Taurant the book tonight."
When both of his siblings gave excited shouts of joy and simultaneously
engulfed him in a breath-stealing squeeze, Lindalcon almost felt happy
about the trouble he was certain this excursion would create.
Tbc
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