Ist Thurin [Hidden Knowledge]
Legolas sped from the vaults and up the stony spiral stairs with all
the speed he could muster, eager to be gone from the fortress before
Thranduil realised exactly what had just happened. The Tawarwaith could
hardly believe it himself and shifted the box of gems to his disabled
limb, plunging his hand into his pocket to tightly curl awed fingers
around the warm circle of gold that would soon adorn his mate. He was
of the opinion that perhaps his uncles had played a part in the
unexpected benefit, exerting subconscious influence over their
brother's thoughts at a vulnerable moment. Legolas half smiled, half
frowned, considering what consequences might result. The King would not
be overly pleased to behold the symbol of his parents' unending
fidelity marking the union of his discarded son and the Noldo advisor
from Imladris. The reaction was more likely to be explosively aggrieved
than gracious and complimentary.
I doubt a soul bond between a scion of the House of Oropher
and a noble of the Mariner's line ever occurred to Thranduil, not even
in his most horrendous nightmares!
It mattered little, however, for the ring had been a gift and the King
could hardly demand the seneschal remove it from his finger and deliver
it back to the vaults. He hoped not at any rate. Such an action would
denigrate the sacred, gentle, mutual captivity of united hearts the
simple article of jewellery represented. Surely even Thranduil would
not disgrace such a holy estate for the sake of spite. But for that
possibility, the expression of disbelief and outrage sure to transform
the Sinda's features upon observing the band's ultimate disposition
would be amusingly gratifying.
The height the steps ascended seemed greater than he recalled, the
passage more steeply inclined and far more twisting or perhaps his body
was more thoroughly depleted than he had realised.
Aye, all
of that is true. Soon Legolas found himself breathing hard
and straining to reach the landing at the rear of the kitchen. He would
not be deterred, however, and the dreary tunnel grew steadily brighter.
With a final grimly determined push he burst through into the anteroom
of the huge cavern utilised for the stronghold's cookery, bakery,
pantry and scullery.
So abrupt was the Tawarwaith's exit from the curling stairs that he
nearly collided with a pair of young elflings he had met on a previous
ascent from the lower reaches of the fortress. Legolas skidded left
against the wall as the taller boy leaped right and yanked his brother
back with him. The trio stared at one another in silence a second or
two, all of them presenting a fair imitation of deer startled to
stillness by the bright blaze of a torch-lit hunting party.
If Tirno in yellow pyjamas had been too daunting a figure to meet face
to face, then trading stares with the Tawarwaith, bloodied, bandaged,
and unmistakably regal even in his exhausted state, was beyond the
elflings' endurance. The youngest tore loose from his brother and fled
into the kitchen, shouting in excited tones.
"Alae! Ho si, Glânduin!" [Behold, he is here, White River]
His elder sibling wasted no time except to gasp at being left alone
with the imposing warrior and followed at once, heedless of Legolas'
silent entreaty in the form of an outstretched arm.
"Sen Cenon, Cemendur," [This I see, Servant of the Earth] replied the
chef for Thranduil's household, a merry smile on his lips and hands
upon his hips as his body filled the narrow arch. "You were supposed to
warn us before he reached the kitchen, thêlion dithen."[little
sister-son]
"But he was running very fast and his feet do not make enough noise,"
complained the little one, peering from behind the comforting bulk of
his uncle. His huge round eyes swept over the form of the fabled forest
fighter, taking in the luxuriant cape, gory leggings, and fresh white
wrapping around his shoulder. A small shudder worked through him and he
pulled his face completely out of sight.
"Ai! I meant not to startle you, Cemendur," spoke Legolas softly and
smiled. He was rather upset to see the elflings' shyness in his
presence, for he fancied he had a way with the young of all kinds:
elves, Men, and even the non-speaking things of Arda. "Why were you
watching for me?"
"The carpenter bade us to," answered the elder brother, coming forward
to stand next to his uncle boldly, though he did not relinquish his
tight grip upon the ellon's fingers.
His courage inspired Cemendur to sidle out from cover, his vision
shifting from Glânduin to Legolas cautiously. "Did you really try
to stab the King?" the small, high chirrup queried.
"Cemendur!" hissed the older elfling, his arm swinging out, intending
to land a rebuking slap upon the youngster's cheek. The blow never
fell, for Legolas seized the offending wrist and held it firm.
"None of that!" he admonished. "It is a fair question and he has every
right to ask it. I shall give my answer, but first I would know your
name, young warrior, and to what House the pair of you belong."
"Oh no need to worry for these two, Brannon Tirno," [Lord Watcher] the
chef objected. "These are my sister's children. I am caring for them
now." His nephew, however, refused to be silent.
"I am Anardur [Servant of the Sun] eldest son of Taurendil, Nanethen
[Friend of the Forest, my mother] and Arfenras, Adaren. [Noble Horn, my
father] Adar died at the Battle of Erebor and Naneth is Athedrainyn
[Border-crosser (messenger)] to Imladris. She is there just now,
sharing news of our prince's birth. Cemendur is my baby brother and I
make sure he does not get into trouble." This long speech was announced
proudly by Anardur while he stood as tall as he was able and met the
serious blue eyes of the newly reprieved outcast with his impetuous
amber ones.
"For your loss I grieve and hope your naneth returns with all haste
possible, Anardur," spoke Legolas with a polite bow. To his dismay, the
dip of his head produced another loss of equilibrium and a faint
roaring in his ears reminiscent of the crashing waves from his dream of
the Crossing.
A jumbled murmur of concerned and sympathetic words swirled about and
hands cautiously grabbed his sturdy arm as two small palms pushed
against his belly and a second set grabbed on at the waist. When the
dizziness cleared, Legolas found he was seated on the floor against the
wall, both elflings crouched before him staring with intense
concentration. Glânduin had left them, but this was explained as
he soon hurried back, bearing a cup. He knelt and held the rejuvenating
water to the Tawarwaith's lips.
"Hannad," said Legolas with a shaky smile, "and I am not a Lord,
Glânduin. Tirno is adequate, or my mother-name: Legolas."
"If you so wish it, then I shall try to remember. Yet now the Judgement
is lifted and is it not my right to proclaim allegiance to our
Tawarwaith?"
Legolas could only stare in exasperated surprise at the elf, unable to
think of a fitting response that would not seem like a rebuke.
"What is wrong, Brannonlas?" asked Cemendur. "Did the Black Knife harm
you badly?"
"Cemendur, he does not want to be called that!" scolded Anardur,
sending a sidelong glance in the archer's direction when ringing
laughter intermixed with his words.
"Nay, your brother has bestowed upon me a fitting title." Legolas liked
this diminutive honorific, deciding that if he must be named lord, then
a leaf-lord was appropriate. "I am more tired than I realised,
Cemendur, for the Dark Dagger bites hard and deep. Yet I will respond
now to your just inquiry. I would never harm the King, merely wishing
for him to think that I might."
"Why ever would you want him to think that?" blurted Anardur and winced
when Glânduin squeezed his fingers very hard.
"Hush your impertinent tongue, elfling!" warned the chef.
"Now you are the one making wrong questions!" snickered Cemendur, glad
he was no longer alone in gaining their uncle's censure.
"Nothing is improper to ask when it concerns the safety of our home,"
announced Tirno firmly. "I should not have so wished. It was a foolish
idea from a mind lost in sorrow and I have learned the price paid for
that mistake by every elf in the Council Chamber this morn. I hope I
will be excused for it in time."
"Oh yes, we have forgiven you, Brannonlas!" announced Cemendur
sincerely and overcame his timidity at the sight of the contrite and
wounded elf, scooting forward on his knees to wrap small arms
around Legolas' neck.
"Ah! You have a generous heart, pen dithen," [little one] sighed the
Tawarwaith and encircled the slender back in a hug that was possibly
more comforting for him then the elfling. "Then all is well now for
Thranduil has acquitted me, too. Look! Here is a gift from his vaults."
Legolas rightly guessed the change in subject would divert the child's
mind from the unpleasant discord within the ruling Lord's unorthodox
family. He released his hold on Cemendur, balanced the humble wooden
box upon his outstretched knees, and opened it, displaying the prized
emeralds to appropriate oohs and ahhs from the brothers and their
kinsman.
"Oh there are so many of them!" exclaimed Cemendur. He wanted
very much to touch them but knew this would earn a punishment later
A sharp smack upon the palm with Glânduin's long
handled wooden stirring spoon. and so he wisely held his
wish in check. "Are you going to share your treasure with the Noldo
Lord?"
"Ai, hên raug!" [demon child] Glânduin's exasperated cry
erupted and he shook his head. "That is not a polite question. It is
Brannonlas' business, and none of yours, with whom he wishes to share
those gems."
"Peace, it is well," assured Legolas and regarded the elfling
quizzically, head cocked slightly to one side. "I had not thought to do
so, for I have something better for him. Would you like to see?"
Both Cemendur and Anardur nodded unspoken, emphatic assent and their
mother's brother barely managed to refrain from doing the same as his
own curiosity almost eluded his control. Legolas was now grinning
widely as he searched the pants' pocket for his real treasure. He
brought it out concealed within his tightly furled fist and held this
up before his chest. In suspenseful slowness that skirted the bounds of
his audience's patience, he opened out his hand by minute increments
until the gleaming band was displayed upon his flattened palm. Silence
greeted the unveiling and he waited anxiously for some comment.
"Oh it is fine," said Anardur, remembering his manners quickly and
smiling up at Greenwood's champion.
"Indeed, a perfect choice and high time, if I might be so bold,
Brannon'eth, [young Lord]" Glânduin spoke up. "We all understood
the banishment prevented you from formalising your connection to the
seneschal, yet it was not fitting for the bond to go undeclared."
Legolas' raised his brows slightly as he gazed at the chef, thinking he
quite understood from whom the younglings had learned to be so
forthright.
"Nay, it is not as pretty as the emeralds and not worth nearly as much.
Will he not be sad for you to keep the jewels for yourself?" asked
Cemendur, clearly unimpressed by the simple metal circle, regardless of
its soft, rich glow.
Before Anardur or Glânduin could remonstrate the child, Legolas
laughed lightly, replaced the ring in his pocket, and reached out to
lay his hand upon Cemendur's shoulder.
"I hope he will not be! Mayhap I will give him one or two along with
the ring, just to be certain. What do you think; is it fair?"
"I suppose," the elfling shrugged and smiled back.
"Then I shall do just that," said the Tawarwaith. He gathered the box
in the crook of his arm and began to rise. The chef at once came to his
side to steady him and Anardur unceremoniously gripped his sides as
Cemendur wrapped both hands around his wrist. Legolas could not help
his wide grin over this fussing and did not attempt to pull free too
quickly lest his new friends believe they had caused offence. "I must
be getting home now, mellynen." [my friends]
"And everything is in readiness, Brannonlas!" exclaimed Anardur and at
once raced ahead of the rest, passing through the kitchen and out into
the rear courtyard where Ningloriel's garden blended seamlessly into
the cultivated herbs and vegetables used in the cookery. Beyond this
was a small low, stone wall separating the domestic area from the
dusty, busy stable yard. There the youth waited just inside the open
archway between the two worlds, for he was not allowed amongst the
soldiers, chafing in eager expectation amid a sizeable gathering of
elves, mostly warriors and staff employed in the stronghold. The same
air of animated anticipation pervaded the quietly conversing crowd and
every eye was trained upon the garden path.
Legolas walked slowly, allowing Cemendur to guide him by the hand as
Glânduin matched him stride for stride in case he might falter.
At the breech in the wall he halted and stared in wonder at the scene
before him. There stood a trio of elves, one being supported between
the other two, his hands resting upon the withers of a fine woodland
pony bedecked in silk and coloured streamers.
The fragile ellon was shocking to behold, for few were the elves to
survive so far into grieving as this debilitated creature had
withdrawn, and those that did were kept sequestered among family,
protected from gawking gazes and pitying stares. His skin was of a
sickly hue, dark yellow as a Man's tanned by long years under the sun;
his, hair brittle and ragged, had faded to a drab and lifeless grey,
though care had been taken to comb and braid it in elaborate warrior's
patterns that bespoke a long career of courageous service. Stooped as
though he had spent years in servitude under a harsh master's whip, the
elf's body was nearly skeletal from the constant ague of his wasting
soul. His eyes seemed too large for his gaunt face and peered with
fevered excitement upon the approaching Tawarwaith; a sickly smile
curved his burgundy lips. Suddenly, his features reworked into
anguished despair as his vision tracked over the archer's bandaged
torso, and the disabled veteran cried out hoarsely, calling Legolas'
name and lifting a trembling arm toward the deposed prince.
Legolas hastened forward as Glânduin and his nephews fell back.
Tirno was too overcome with distress to answer the quavering call, and
cautiously gripped the bony shoulder of his old comrade. He had to
swallow twice before he could trust to speech and then decided it was
impossible to contain the tears and let them flow. Here before him was
the fifth elven soldier dispatched to provide distraction for the
goblin king's body-guards that fateful day on the plains before the
Lonely Mountain. The sole survivor of those brave volunteers had
plainly not weathered the onslaught of grief and misplaced guilt over
the deaths of his fellows.
"Gildin!" [Silver Spark] Legolas said in woeful tones and leaned his
forehead against the ailing ellon's.
"Aye, Legolas, I am here," answered the warrior, bending to meet the
prince's filial gesture. He leaned heavily on the Tawarwaith's
uninjured shoulder as the two elves beside him let go to allow this
reunion. "I ask pardon; I did not understand how things were. No one
told me or…my mind has not been sure of…things…" his voice trailed away
into a whisper softer than the slightest breeze of spring at dusk.
"Ii is I who must beg forgiveness, for I did not think on what had
become of you beyond the knowledge that you did not die that day,"
Legolas breathed back, shamed that this was the truth. He had not
considered that Gildin would suffer from the aftermath of battle in
this way and so profoundly.
"Sîdh, you had troubles of your own."
"As did you, only it has been hidden all these years. Where have you
been?"
Now the collected warriors and servants milling about in hopes of
seeing the Tawarwaith emerge from the vaults were drawn into the new
drama. None had expected this elf to return to Greenwood, for his
status upon departure had warranted many to opine that he would not
last the journey hence. That Legolas had not been made aware of any of
this was obvious, and the crowd surreptitiously advanced to witness his
reaction to the revelation.
"We thought it was best to take him away. We meant to sail for Aman,"
answered the steady voice of Gildin's Naneth; she smiled at Legolas
kindly and there was no accusation or anger in her eyes. One hand was
gently rubbing her son's bowed back as the other gripped tightly to her
mate's beside her.
"Yet Gildin did not wish it, for the sea, once we beheld it, was
fearsome. It beckoned one moment, showing its peaceful dreamy side, but
the next would rise up in violence and cast upon the shore pieces of
ships and the broken, lifeless bodies of Men. In vain did the Noldor
and Teleri under Cirdan's lordship seek to persuade us to board their
vessels, for there are no communications from any that have gone West
before. Mayhap they are on the shores of Eldamar, yet just as easily
they may reside in Mandos. I refused to put my son in the clutches of
so unpredictable an entity!" Gildin's father was even more adamant than
his wife in defending their decision to remain in Middle-earth.
"I would have spoken up; I swear to you. I would not have let the
charges stand. I was not…my thoughts will not move beyond the battle…"
Gildin was weeping almost hysterically but that he had not strength to
provoke so frenzied a state. He was wracked with shuddering tremors and
grasped Legolas tighter in his efforts to contain his sobbing lament.
"…and then I was no longer here though I do not remember journeying
away. I could not see how to come home…I was…am…confused…"
"Valar! No notion of this has ever entered my thinking," insisted
Legolas quietly. "Be at peace, for this was not something within your
control. I have never held you to blame; you could not have known what
transpired upon the ridge. Be at peace at least on my account."
"We knew of the Judgement but did not stop to consider its verity, for
Gildin returned to us broken. We left before Gwain Ithil [New Moon] and
have been living in Mithlond. Gradually our fears of the sea diminished
and we came to trust that the Teleri understood the ways of Ulmo and
the moods of Ossë. We began to plan for the Crossing. Of your fate
we knew nothing, believing you dead from the perils of the Tasks, until
Ningloriel arrived and her ship was being readied. Great was her lament
for your low estate!" intoned Gildin's mother.
"We thought we would go forth to the Blessed Realm with her entourage,
yet rumour of her words reached Gildin and once more he refused to
board. He would return and speak of the battle, but I was staunchly
against it. I do not ask you to forgive me in this; my son is dearer to
me than another's and I will never apologise for that fact," said the
elder ellon in tight phrases that somehow betrayed that he did, indeed,
feel remorse for putting his own child's welfare first.
"I would never ask it of a father to do so," spoke Legolas sincerely.
"And yet you are here."
"I made them bring me back," Gildin's speech was briefly reminiscent of
the stalwart soldier he had been for centuries out of time. "Once I
knew you lived under this curse, I would not let them remove me from my
duty."
"The road was hard on him, more so than our long departure was, for as
you see his end draws close. I am sorry it took this many years to
travel hence, but often Gildin could not be moved for the severity of
the pain. We were forced to halt two years in Evendim and the sacred
waters rejuvenated us all, somewhat, after crossing Ered Luin. [the
Blue Mountains] Then again we stalled north of the shire-folks'
holdings…" the mother catalogued their journey.
"No explanations are owed to me from any of you." Legolas could not
believe these elves were begging clemency for the number of days
required to transport their dying child from the Havens! "Tell me only
that there is something I may do to lessen the agony of Gildin. Ask
anything and I will find a way to make it happen!" he concluded
passionately, knowing already that what they most would wish was not in
his power to grant, and he wept more over this vile certainty than for
the past hardships the family had endured.
"You have already seen to it," said Gildin. "I had need to unlade my
feä of your suffering. I have arrived after the trial but before
my death, and now that I see your honour restored I am at peace over
the oversight my grief provoked."
"Nay, old friend, none of this was ever your burden!" Legolas raised
his head to meet the failing elda's troubled eyes. What he saw there
was perhaps more unnerving than the poor invalid's steadily draining
life and light. Gildin held firm to his notion of responsibility and
looked to be on the precipice of perishing from the pressure of such a
sin. "What makes you believe this lie?" asked Legolas warily, for the
certainty in his comrade's soul showed through the welling misery and
sorrow.
"It is no lie, yet none will heed me!" the shattered warrior was beset
by fresh tears and trembling and both parents drew closer to comfort
and soothe their deranged son.
Some among the gathered elves bowed their heads and shed tears as well
for such a horrific outcome. Erebor had yet to claim its final victims,
it would seem, and ever would the battle's memory inflict fresh wounds
upon their Tirno's spirit. Many turned away, unable to bear more of the
disquieting meeting between the former comrades in arms. Indeed,
Glânduin ushered his sister's children back into the kitchen, for
while little Cemendur was too young to truly comprehend what was being
said, Anardur perceived the full measure of the misery on display. The
youngest was thus fraught with questions while the elder grew sombre
and withdrawn, shushing his baby brother, and as he hustled them
inside, their uncle was overwhelmed with bitter foreboding that he had
marked the elflings for tragedy by exposing them to the scene.
"You can see plainly how it is with him," spoke Gildin's father. "Ever
since he returned from Erebor it has been thus. For some six months, he
would not speak at all, withdrawn and cold to us, refusing food and
even water. If we had not forced him, he would have left us ere the
year was done.
"I am not the one that contributed that stoic fatalism into his
character," added the warrior's mother, "and I refused to accept such
an end to so an honourable life. I provoked him into speaking at last
and then it was impossible to silence Gildin's raving confessions of
guilt. Thus was the madness revealed; my son has never had an unkind
thought much less plot the destruction of his fellows."
"He insists he could have stopped the deaths of his comrades and that
the Judgement was his to claim," the father took up the recitation
anew. "Reason had left him; his mind shattered under the horrors of
what he had seen on the battle field and his inability to make sense of
his specific survival. It was nearly thus after Dagorlad, yet there
were his grandchildren to consider then and he overcame the grief."
Legolas nodded, but inside his mind was screaming that it was the elder
elf's words which held no logic. As Legolas knew him, Gildin was not an
elf given to nervous brooding; there was no cooler head in Talagan's
company save Annaldír. Gildin had been a warrior hundreds upon
hundreds of years; indeed, he had survived the slaughter of his wife, a
son, and a granddaughter at the Last Alliance. Could a stable mind so
easily become faulted and fissured? The Tawarwaith shifted uneasily and
returned his questioning eyes to his colleague.
And Gildin's orbs sparked brightly for just a second as he perceived
that Legolas sought to learn the truth, that finally someone would hear
him and allow his feä to disgorge the poisonous admissions,
unimpeded by potions and herbs that rendered him sleepy and uncertain
of the passing of time.
"Nay, I have not lost my reason, Legolas, you must believe me!" he
gushed in manic fervour, eager to have his errors expunged at last.
"Be calm, Gildin, do not excite yourself," crooned his mother gently,
tugging softly on his arm to draw him back into her embrace. Yet Gildin
resisted.
"Gildin, I will hear you, no matter what you wish to say. Yet I must
beg your discretion!" Legolas held on to the warrior, his eyes locked
with the wandering vision of the fading fighter, and would not let the
elleth take him back. "There are innocents to consider!" he urgently
implored, his voice less than the hushed whir of hummingbirds' wings,
for he was convinced that Gildin had not lost his sanity without cause,
and that cause was indeed wrapped up in the detrimental actions of the
true kinslayer.
"Aye, Valtamar's son, aye, Legolas," sobbed the distraught elf, "but I
cannot carry this weight any longer! I shall not pass to Mandos with so
heavy a stone bound to my heart!" Gildin was in frenzied torment again,
grinding his teeth amid a disturbing, high-pitched reedy wailing.
"Peace, child, peace," begged his father, weeping uncontrollably as
well, aiding his wife in taking the wreckage of their son from the
Tawarwaith's hold. "Let it go, Gildin! He is alive, do you not see?
Legolas is restored and Lindalcon is a prince among our people now, his
naneth the bearer of Greenwood's heir and a fair princess of the woods,
too."
This only incited a louder keening from the warrior and the parents
tried to lead him from the yard. Gildin fought them with all his
ability, but that was insufficient to thwart even an elfling's grasp.
"Ai! Wait! Please, where are you taking him?" demanded Legolas,
following across the courtyard.
"Do not be concerned; we will care for him," the mother managed to
utter this through her teary sobs.
"Aye, we will be in our granddaughter's great-granddaughter's talan
until…for the time being," the father's husky voice growled out. "You
may come to visit later, when Gildin is calm again."
Those remaining in the stable yard flinched at these words,
understanding that Gildin had come home to die, and wondering at the
frantic excitation in one so near to expiring. They stilled their
actions and trained sensitive ears upon the actors in the compelling
enactment of Vairë´'s latest play.
"I beg you will not let him have any other callers than family and the
healer!" Legolas' voice was tight with apprehension and scarcely above
a whisper. The parents halted instantly, turning to stare in worry at
the elf behind them. "Do not let Gildin speak of these fears to anyone
save myself or Gladhadithen," Legolas dropped his volume still lower to
keep their converse secret. "Not even Thranduil, especially not
Thranduil, nor any of his household. You understand of whom I speak? I
must demand your oath that this will be so. Swear to it now!"
The parents peered in startled dread at the relentless determination in
the fallen prince's cobalt orbs, so much ferocity was held within them
and a look as of impending catastrophe limned the dilated irises.
Gildin's mother caught her breath and relinquished her child's arm to
cover her mouth. Until this moment, she had truly believed her son's
rantings were the incoherent delusions of grief-induced insanity. Yet
Legolas clearly did not find these statements irrational and instead
feared them. She shared a desperately gleaming, visual communication
with her husband and clutched Gildin against her breast.
"Eru's Mercy! He would harm no one! No one!" she shrilled. Her son made
an effort to hold and comfort her, though his eyes were glazed in
confusion and pain.
Now the crowd in the stable yard began to murmur in accord with the
elleth's distress, for it was evident some new influence had roused
this unexpected reaction from the formerly calm, subdued inu. Some
soldiers edged closer as though to eavesdrop upon the quartet, others
crept away, intending to grant privacy yet reluctant to leave before
the scene reached its conclusion.
"Silence!" commanded the Tawarwaith with gentle intensity, loud enough
for all to hear, and her soul obeyed. Indeed, everything in the
vicinity of the word became motionless. "It would have been better had
he stayed in Mithlond and sailed to Aman, yet I see how it is for him.
He must speak." Legolas made those words audible then dropped his pitch
to nearly undetectable decibels and continued. "Do as I ask and never
leave him unguarded, for if she learns of his arrival Gildin's end will
not be a peaceful one. I ask again for you to swear to keep him under
watch every moment."
"It shall be so, Hîren," the father bowed his head, alarmed over
the gravity of this caution, stunned by the authority of the voice of
Tawar. Automatically his vocal range fell to mimic Tirno's such that
none but the four of them could gather their meaning. "We do swear to
obey your request, for I see it is for his good that you ask it." Then
the elder elf raised his voice slightly, enough to carry into the
hovering crowd, as might any parent watching their child's reason
disintegrate. "We love our son and would see him end his days free of
this torment. Yet it is as you have spoken; he cannot contain the
irrational ramblings of his thwarted mind any longer. Who will listen
to these unhinged notions, taking them from his fractured soul that
they may never trouble him more? Alas, his mother and I have failed to
achieve it. Thus have we carried him home, for to speak with you once
more is his final request."
"I will do so and gladly," answered Legolas vehemently but added in the
earlier, inhibited tone. "For his sake and for those innocents that
must not come under the pall of grief such as this!" Legolas passed his
shaking hand over his brow and shook his head, drawing a deep breath
and lifting his eyes while lowering his voice even more. "We will do it
together; he shall be free of this torment and the future of the little
one's preserved. But go now, for I must seek out my foster-father and
request his aid. Him I trust as no other, and Fearfaron shall come to
abide with Gildin until I am able to visit. No harm will befall him if
we hold to this pact."
At this he drew near and embraced them, Gildin and both parents, and if
they were surprised to hear that Annaldir's father had adopted the
Tawarwaith it was not sufficient to distract them from the current
bloom of debilitating sorrow.
As for the bystanders, they dipped their heads in sympathy to see Tirno
face the loss of yet another friend and in such a tragic manner. They
saw what their eyes expected, the poignancy of the Tawarwaith, so close
to this level of fading just weeks ago but for Mithrandir's
intervention, desperately clinging to the false hope of saving his
colleague from this fatal disease. None could bear the image too long
and dispersed even further from the knot of strife on the stable yard's
verge.
The four elves were silent save for the subdued sighs of tear choked
respiration as they leaned upon one another for comfort and courage.
After a long sequence of minutes had fled away beyond recapture,
Legolas eased his disconsolate hold from Gildin and offered his old
comrade an encouraging albeit meagre smile.
"Go and rest now, mellon, and I shall visit soon. We shall speak of all
that is in your heart and it will plague you no more," he said with
calm assurance and a final squeeze upon the frail shoulder. But Gildin
looked back in vague befuddlement, obviously trying to seam together
his segmented thoughts and discover what Legolas was referring to and
perhaps even whom Legolas might be. That much he recovered at least as
a small light of recognition glittered briefly through his hazy
concentration.
"Aye, Legolas, visit tonight or in the morning, or as soon as you may.
For I need to…I must…" Again the fog interfered and the warrior could
not retain the track of his reasoning.
"Tomorrow, Gildin," reassured Legolas and watched the three elves
depart from the yard in the settling twilight.
Yet he was but one of many that witnessed the veteran's departure, and
amid the crowd was another elf that genuinely understood all that had
taken place, though she was not privy to their softly uttered converse.
Ben'waeth made sure to move in slow and careful steps, no faster nor
slower than she was wont to tread, drifting with the slowly thinning
crowd, and let her feet carry her away from her duties in the
stronghold as she tailed the wake of the broken soldier's family.
Legolas did not take note of her for Ben'waeth was ever present in the
fortress, more a member of the household than was he in many ways, and
in all his memory there was not a time when he would enter the caverns
and not pass her somewhere in the corridors. Besides, his mind was
troubled as he turned to travel through his naneth's garden and seek
out Fearfaron's talan, hoping to find his foster-father there. He had
absolutely no doubt that Gildin held specific knowledge of Meril's
involvement in Erebor, though how he had come to hold these facts was
still a mystery. Gildin and Legolas had never been close, and if the
archer had failed to learn the names all his comrades' relatives that
was common enough, for he was never completely accepted by the guard.
It never entered his thoughts that this great-great-grandaughter might
be Ben'Waeth, Meril's bosom companion from their maiden days.
No doubt he was meant to die that day as well,
thought Legolas as he stepped,
or retreat to Aman as his
parents said. Indeed, Meril so spoke, gloating to me that not all the
warriors were available to give testimony, many being dead and the rest
beyond recall. She will do anything to prevent Thranduil from meeting
with Gildin.
Through taut lips and clenched jaws, a muttered curse slipped into the
twilight from the Tawarwaith's lungs as he stalked along the kitchen
garden path. Though he chastised himself for thinking it, he could not
help but be frustrated that his reunion with Berenaur was now
overshadowed by the looming threat of Gildin's unprecedented return.
How could he turn his thoughts to pleasure and easy contentment with
the gloomy possibility of chaos lurking anew in the periphery of his
siblings' future? He must settle his heart over the decrepit soldier's
welfare before he would be capable of reclaiming his soul-mate.
So deep in such ruminations was Legolas that he failed to heed the
voice calling to him from the stable yard. Not until running feet
carried the speaker to his side did he startle and turn to see what new
troubles awaited his discovery. He was surprised to behold Talagan
there, walking beside him as if it was the most natural thing in Arda
to do.
"Aduial vaer," [Good Evening] said the captain genially.
"An le sui vae," [To you as well] Legolas' stilted answer automatically
followed.
"It is a fair night for strolling, I think, yet perhaps a tiring
exercise for an injured elf to undertake."
"My health is not in jeopardy."
"Indeed it is," scoffed Talagan, "though I am not surprised to hear
that claim. Thranduil has the same fault."
"What is it you want?" demanded Legolas, halting and confronting his
former commander. It was one thing to put aside ill-feeling toward the
captain but quite another to bandy pleasantries with him as though the
two were chums of old. For Talagan to offer up this casual reference to
a sire Tirno had never before this day been allowed to publicly claim
was insufferable.
"I want to make amends, but that is not why I am speaking to you
tonight. Or at least, it is but a part of the reason."
"Riddles are something I have no patience for just now, captain. Say
what you feel you must and do so plainly; many concerns occupy my mind
and to these I would give attention."
"So I noted. Gildin is a sad case; it is too late for him to reach the
healing gardens of Irmo now."
"Talagan," Legolas scowled impatiently, for the Sinda soldier was still
postponing whatever words he felt so obliged to utter.
"Aye, you wish me to get on with it for you are very busy. So be it.
Your adopted father charged me with seeing to your safe and healthy
arrival at the clearing and I have made arrangements to fulfil this
duty. I must ask you to accompany me back to the stable yard."
"What?"
"There is no need for that, captain," spoke another elf behind them and
his words mingled with the chiming tinkle of tiny silver bells and the
muted cadence of hooves upon the leaf-lined walkway.
Legolas turned to find one of the Woodland Realm's many silvan archers
smiling diffidently and treading the way toward him by the shoulders of
the forest pony. It was from the restive equine that the subtle ringing
arose. She tossed her head and sent the long tendrils of her silver
forelock dancing in the breeze, raising another glissando expressive of
both joy and impatience into the surrounding space, for the mare's mane
and tail were plaited with the jingling metal balls.
Unlike most of the Greenwood's chargers, this one was not marked in
piebald patterns of brown and white. Her short fine coat was the colour
of newly ripened wheat seen in the fields around the farmsteads of
Dale. The flaxen fur was still sleek and the abbreviated sample of
winter's nature had not been lengthy enough to promote the appearance
of the thick, shaggy under-wool that would grace her form throughout
the bitter days of Rhîw. [Winter] Mithril coloured but tipped in
black, her mane was fine and free of tangles, draping over the delicate
arch of the graceful neck, weighted by the myriad bells and entwined
with vibrant silken streamers of ochre and olive, the defining hues
both of Oropher's House and of the Greenwood. Her silver tail was
equally coifed to perfection and trailed over the dormant perennials,
sweeping forward to fan against her hind legs and once more lend the
air the gleeful tones of the tiny cymbals worked within its strands.
Dark as pitch from knee to hoof, those legs seemed the refined and
limber limbs of a Lady's gaited palfrey rather than the sturdy
locomotive instruments that propelled the warriors' steeds through
mayhem and death, yet this was a deception indeed. All of the small
horse's appearance, her elegant head with its black-velvet muzzle and
matching ears, deep dark eyes of infinite depth and indeterminate cast,
perfect conformation and proportion in line and carriage, all bespoke
grace and genteel jaunts amid the guarded groves of Greenwood's city.
This was not the mount of a timid elfling, however, but a bold-hearted
chaser bred for speed and endurance, a courser for Athedreinyn, and a
direct descendant of Emmelin, Oropher's worthy war horse. Eager
to get on with her task, she blew a loud sigh and stamped one hind leg,
eyeing the Tawarwaith speculatively from her right orb.
The motion set off another round of twinkling peals and elicited a mild
smile from Legolas. He bent his unbound arm to lay that hand upon his
hip and regarded her with amusement.
"Why are you so grandly adorned this eve, Tuilinn?" [Swallow] he
demanded, knowing not her name but finding this a fitting way to
describe her sveltely compact form. It was easy to imagine her weaving
amid the boles with fluid speed similar to the swooping turns and rolls
of gnat-catching swifts in the dusk draped canopy. He reached out and
felt the luxuriance of the blue satin cover cloaking her back, this
hanging nearly to the stifle [horse's knee] and trimmed all round in a
fringe of white with four large, belled tassels to weight it securely
in place.
"She is your means to getting home without reducing your strength
further," replied Talagan as he leaned forward and rubbed the mare's
forehead. "Fearfaron's orders, " he added as soon as Legolas opened his
mouth to retort.
"What is she called?" Tirno asked the silent archer serving as groom
for the moment, suddenly realising he did not know the elf's name and
perhaps it would have been more polite to inquire after that first.
"Tuilinn is better; I think she would like to be known thus
henceforth," the evasive answer sounded as the silvan gave a slight
shrug. If the Tawarwaith wished to call the horse Tuilinn, who should
gainsay it?
Legolas did not feel like arguing over it; too many serious matters
awaited his action to waste valuable time on this minor quandary. Now
that he considered it, Fearfaron's idea was a sound one, as was usually
the case, for he did feel weary from the long day's turmoil and his
bandaged shoulder persisted in throbbing with a dull, relentless ache.
A moment of awkward silence proceeded as the three warriors tried to
find their respective places in the new order of things and settle the
long years of general indifference and outright derision that had
marked Tirno's career as Thranduil's embarrassment. In the end, Legolas
could not muster the temperament to confront this either and sighed
quietly.
"A leg up then," he murmured and the archer complied, boosting the
Tawarwaith onto Tuilinn's back with ease.
The silvan fiddled with the blanket, twitching it as though to settle
it better when truly it had not moved a mite under Legolas' light
weight. He glanced briefly up to the Tawarwaith's face and away quickly
when he found he was being regarded in turn. The warrior cleared his
throat.
"I would like to say," he began and nearly lost his nerve, taking a
deep breath and finally letting his eyes meet those of Greenwood's
hope. "It would be more than I deserve, yet I would ask it."
"Of what do you speak?" Legolas tried hard not to allow his irritation
to show through but the darkness of his mood was easily discernible to
his own ears and must be more so to this soldier's. He tried to compose
himself and offered an encouraging smile, patting Tuilinn's neck as he
did so. "Ask me what you will, I will not be offended."
"A commission in your company, Hîren," the archer hurried out the
words, standing straight as if in line for inspection by Thranduil. "I
would put my bow to work upon the Shadow's destruction and at your
side."
"I have no company," Legolas was taken aback by this request, for he
had not considered any such thing, "nor am I your Lord. And your arrows
are already employed in this travail, as are every warrior's under the
eaves."
"I am Thôngolf [Pine-branch] and I bid you to recall me when next
you leave for the southern borders. I will not disappoint you; my aim
is true," the silvan persisted.
"That is not in doubt, yet I am not of rank to summon you to war at my
side. It is more likely that I…" but here Legolas faltered, for he had
no concept of where he stood regarding his service in the King's guard.
"You are Tawarwaith; that is rank enough for me. I will be ready; no
notice is too short for I am not wed," Thôngolf doggedly insisted
and grinned up into the clearly perplexed expression on Tirno's face.
"You, however, are but newly bonded and should not tarry here in the
garden." He did not wait for an answer, bowing quickly before he turned
and strode away into the gathering dusk.
"You will have to get used to that." Talagan chuckled over Tirno's
nonplussed stare and gave the horse a friendly slap on the rump. "The
Wood Elves will follow you down to the dungeons of Dol Guldur if you
ask it of them and consider it an unpardonable disgrace if you do not
call for their bows beside you. Yet Thôngolf is right; this is
not the time for such considerations. Go home to your mate."
Thranduil's most trusted captain turned to leave but stopped when
Legolas called him back.
"You said you wished to make amends, and I would ask something of you
if you meant those words," said Legolas.
"I meant them. My actions at Erebor are a discredit to my career and
one I would eradicate, no matter the toll exacted to achieve it. What
do you require?"
"Find Fearfaron and send him to Gildin. Say that I beg he will stay
with the fading warrior until I can go to him myself."
"That is a small thing, unworthy of removing any part of the debt I
owe, yet I will gladly do it anyway as it pains me to see our comrade
so far past any relief. If Fearfaron might grant his mind some peace, I
would be happy for it." Talagan pulled a wry face and shrugged, for he
felt insulted to be asked to perform so trivial a service. Any stable
boy or, indeed, one of the water maids could complete this simple
summons. He gave a stiff nod of his head and turned to leave, but his
direction was not outward into the city but back to the barracks.
Legolas was alarmed to see this and instructed Tuilin to bar the
soldier's way.
"What I ask is of highest importance!" he contradicted and leaned low
over Tuilinn's neck, dropping his voice for Talagan's hearing alone.
"Do you regard the future of Taurant and Gwilith insignificant?
Gildin's arrival is like a dagger upon their necks, yet no harm must
befall him even so."
Talagan was struck speechless by this, for he could see no connection
between Thranduil's offspring and the dying elf nor envision the
debilitated remnant capable of presenting a threat to the innocents,
even had his character been such that he would do so base a thing.
Legolas must have noted his incredulity for he leaned even closer and
lessened the volume of his voice again.
"It is not Gildin but what he knows that bears upon their doom. I would
not have the King learn he is here, nor anyone in Thranduil's household
come to knowledge of it."
"That is hardly possible; you know what gossips inhabit the fortress.
Word of his sudden return must have reached Meril at the very least,
and what she hears is reported to Thranduil over their evening meal.
Just now, in fact, I predict she is spinning out the tale of your
encounter in the stable yard."
"Nay, if she has heard she will say nothing to him, of that I am
certain. Yet she may unwittingly cause the very tragedy she plots to
avert. It is thus more imperative for you to heed my request. None must
speak with Gildin save myself, his family, and Fearfaron. Will you
ensure it?"
"I find your reasoning incomprehensible, but I have already said I
would fulfil the task. Will you not explain? Thranduil at least has the
right to know anything that might prove a danger to his children."
"Indeed." The Tawarwaith's tone filled this simple pronouncement with
bitterness. "Thranduil is more a menace than any other, for he does not
let matters lie but instead stirs things up, desiring to control
everything under his hand."
"That is in the nature of a King's duty, I think," intoned the warrior
drily.
"Perhaps, but in this instance he will only cause the ruin of all he
has tried to achieve. You are his friend, would you see this befall
him? And what of the children, they are blameless and no tribulation
should hound the heels of life barely begun. I ask for your oath not to
repeat the fears I have revealed to you."
"I have already sworn an oath, Digaun, [Lesser-prince] and that is to
Oropher's House."
"I am of Oropher's House also. I seek only to protect the little ones;
do not thwart me in this."
Now Talagan felt he had been placed in an untenable position, for his
fealty was to Thranduil yet the intensity of the Tawarwaith's plea
defied dismissal. None would doubt his devotion to the elflings,
especially staring into the indigo depths at that moment. Likewise, the
Sinda soldier could not deny the loyalty every silvan warrior had
already pledged to the voice of Tawar arisen among them. To flout this
essential fealty would be to invite disaster for his Sindar were not
only hopelessly outnumbered by the Wood Elves but intimately
intertwined with them, mated and bound with offspring descending to
several generations since the advent of Oropher's reign. After all the
turmoil and confusion, intervention and contradictions, the shift in
power had come about and Thranduil was no longer supreme in his own
right. The King's influence now sprang from the tolerance showed him by
the wild elf, and the respect he tendered to the Tawarwaith.
The silence lengthened between them until Legolas exhaled a
disappointed breath and looked away at last.
"If you cannot promise this then I must go to Gildin now and there
remain until his feä rejects his hroa," and so saying Legolas
decided this was how it must be and urged Tuilinn forward along the
walkway. "Send word to my father, and I mean Fearfaron, to find me, for
he shall have to explain to Berenaur as best he can what is amiss."
But Talagan rested his hand on the mare's back and stalled her progress.
"Hold, Tawarwaith; you are too quick to dismiss your old captain," he
waited until Tirno paused and met his sight again. "Let it not be said
that I am blind to the flaws of my dearest friend; often throughout the
long centuries we have shared have I been forced to act covertly to
amend Thranduil's errors before they brought him down.
"You must understand; it will be hard for me to adjust to the new order
of things, but I am unwilling to remain on the outside of your trust. I
will give you my oath not to reveal what you fear, even though you will
not explain the nature of the harm that imperils your siblings. Yet I
deem it is as much a brother's right as a father's to protect those he
loves as he feels best. And I will summon the carpenter to guard our
fading friend." With those words Talagan jogged away toward the city
and the humble talan.
"Hannad," spoke Legolas solemnly and did not smile as he and Tuilinn
resumed the trail, the soldier's observations resounding through his
thoughts.
Readjustments indeed. He shook his head
lightly, unable to take in what had just occurred.
Did I just
give orders to the King's right hand and see them obeyed? He
turned to look after the retreating figure but Talagan was already
obscured by the shadowed welkin betwixt the sturdy boles as night
pressed closer.
TBC
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