Canad-ar-Paenui Peth: Teith Uirib (Part Fourteen: Marks
Everlasting)
Sluggish and clogged with a thick mesh of water lilies and rushes, the
dark, frigid water of the Anduin barely flowed as it spilled into a low
lying dip in the broad, sloping valley. Though the river was ever young
due to the inexorable uplift of the Hithaeglir, racing with turbulent
speed out of the Grey Mountains north of Greenwood, it lost all its
impetus as it poured into the depression. There the tricklish load of
the River Gladden joined the greater stream and the combined volume of
their confluence turned all that portion of the plain on the western
side into a vast green fen.
The inky water clung to the horses legs; bloated roots and stems
tangled round their hooves and slowed the pace of the daring chargers.
Chest deep on Legolas' mare, the smallest of the three mounts, the
channel was still too shallow for swimming. The horses were forced to
make ungainly lunging leaps through the strangely viscous fluid. Upon
their backs, the scouts were soaked through as they made the crossing
at possibly the very worst point in the river to do so, despite its
meagre depth and easy current.
This became apparent when an evil cackle rose above the sloshing gait
of the horses followed by the distinctive whine of air displaced by an
arrow's flight. The black fletched missile speared nothing but the reed
choked river yet earned an agitated curse from the silvan elf for it
nonetheless. Cuthenin urged his agile mare to the fore, shielding his
comrades as he armed and fired into the thick bracken on the eastern
bank. A hoarse shout heralded a successful shot. He nocked another
arrow and waited. Every minute carried the scouts a few more feet
closer to the shore as Asfaloth and Galdor's steed plunged through the
mired stream, eager for solid ground and a foe to fight.
The Orcish soldiers could not resist another try and this time a pair
of arrows split the night, Legolas their mark.
It was not to be. Even as he had targeted the bolts aimed for Êg
so he deflected those meant for him. Closer now, he had the enemies'
location marked by the very sound of their bowstrings and quickly
dispatched them both. Intently he listened, focusing all his attention
on the thudding compression of the foul demons' heavy tread as they
shifted position, planning to intercept the elves when they left the
water. Cuthenin let fly two more arrows, white fletching tipped with
emerald dye, 'Gûr an gûd o Gladgalen' (Death for foes of
Greenwood) marked in blue upon the ash-wood shafts. A howl of
pain and fear reported one target wounded; a sudden rasp as the dried
remains of summer's grasses crushed beneath a solid body proclaimed the
other's nearly instant death.
The trio was almost across and all three could discern the lumbering
black blobs of the Orcs as they clustered closer.
With a ringing flourish Glorfindel drew his blade from its scabbard and
the light of Ithil was caught within it. A white flash swept the air as
the sword arced high above his head and showed the bestial soldiers
whence their end would come. The muted silver beams bounced across the
waving strands of his flaxen tresses and reflected from the glinting
petals where the emblem of his House was embroidered upon his sleeve.
The Lord of the Golden Flower was ready for battle, eager to avenge the
dead of Ages past and defend what remained of beauty in the declining
days of the First-born.
His gaze settled briefly upon the woodland archer, one such remnant of
that magnificent perfection. Glorfindel's jaw clenched in determined
purpose and he nudged his stallion toward the silvan guarding their
advance. Toward Cuthenin, he followed the long mane billowing on the
breeze and the bow singing an eager anthem of defiant resistance.
It was as if Legolas sensed Asfaloth's smallest shift in position and
reordered his mare to remain between the re-born warrior and harm. His
sight never wavered from the demonic horde as his skilful aim kept the
Orcish patrol at bay, yet he was equally aware of Glorfindel's
presence, his body a shield guarding his Faer Hebron.
With dazzling clarity Glorfindel saw: Cuthenin stood at the very centre
of his being, the personification of all he believed good and worthy,
the high clear note of purity running through the Song of his soul.
Legolas was no stranger. Instead Glorfindel beheld a long cherished
dream suddenly abroad in reality; a vivid, vital, vibrant dream such as
youth concocts, embodied in flesh and blood and bone, infused with a
spirit so free and genuine it was almost a sin to encapsulate it so.
His heart was uplifted in pride and exaltation to know its true
counterpart at last while his soul irrupted in a blaze of outrage that
Legolas' blood had been spilled and his feä nearly crushed by such
foul fiends as these defying them now. No sound did the veteran warrior
utter but the gleam of the broadsword spilled upon his face and wrath
shown forth from his glittering midnight eyes.
Beside him, Galdor's blade sang out a melodic promise of destruction as
he drew it from its sheath. With this mighty sword the Noldo Lord had
slain Orcs at Dagor nuin Giliath (Battle beneath the Stars) in the
First Age before the rising of the moon. At the fall of Turgon's fair
city the Sadron had felled countless numbers of Melkor's minions and at
Dagorlad had wielded the weapon with strength and vigour in the battle
of the Last Alliance. The years of peace in Mithlond had dulled neither
the sword's shining edge nor the powerful skill of its noble master.
"Laeg-ar-Lagor!", (Sharp and Swift) Galdor called out its name in both
challenge and warning, the words imbued with his focused hatred for the
vile, mutated species. Following fast upon this pronouncement came an
eerie low decibel mantra that resonated through every particle of his
despicable foes' substance: "Alben bronatha, alben bronatha, alben
bronatha." (None shall survive, none shall survive, none shall survive.)
"Alben bronatha!" Glorfindel took up the chant, shouting it like a
summons to war as Asfaloth leaped upon the eastern shore, first from
the laggard stream, and bore down in furious speed upon the misshapen
monsters arrayed across the field. The Orcs' pathetic line scattered
amid shouts of terror as the war horse reached them and the Balrog
Slayer's blade released whatever shadowy semblance of Eru's grace
served for the perverted creations' souls.
"Si an Gladgalen ar Gondolin!" (Now for Greenwood and Gondolin!) yelled
Galdor. His steed was upon the bank, hastening behind Asfaloth as the
ancient warrior swung his deadly sword into the clutch of
demon-soldiers. A ghastly spray of gory fluid flew into the air amid
the shrieks of the dying and the wounded. The stench of tainted blood
ruined the clean scent of the moonlit meadow.
"Le pennon neri!" (I told you to run!) Legolas taunted as he riddled
the Orcs with arrows.
The attackers were routed, retreating once more for the black cover of
the darkened forest, and the scouts galloped northward along the
eastern flank of the Anduin. Legolas' mare was swiftest and bore the
lightest weight; she quickly gained the lead and the two Noldor could
do nothing but tail the bold silvan in his dash for the tree line.
Clear and sweet, the call of a nightingale arose over the pounding
clamour of the horses' hooves as Cuthenin signalled his approach. An
answering call came faintly from under the eaves and then a second time
closer to the verge. Legolas repeated his whistle and by the echoed
warble navigated under the branches. Night nearly as thick as a cave's
shrouded air embraced the trio of elves.
It became instantly evident that the bulk of the Orcish army had
remained beneath the cover of the woods, trusting the small sortie to
deal with the approaching scouts. That they had failed seemed but to
enrage the host of the main force and the brambles and bracken erupted
with the grotesque forms while the night resounded with the ungainly
articulations of Black Speech. The Orcs were on foot, however, and the
horses' speed gave the elves an advantage sorely needed as the dark
cloaked shapes swirled about them, a dank and agitated sea of hatred.
Single file the trio threaded amid the trees, Legolas and his compact
mare guiding the sturdier and heavier war horses. The archer had
replaced his bow with a long lethal hunting knife and with it hacked
and jabbed at anything close enough to strike. Behind him the whoosh
and thwack as elven blades slashed leather and rived flesh punctuated
the unceasing mayhem of snapping branches and gurgled death cries.
Intermixed arose the rumble of the horses' hooves, the tramp and stamp
of Orcish feet, the croaking curses in Mordor's Tongue. The constant
clamour of steel ringing against steel testified to the ferocity of
Glorfindel and Galdor's assailing swords as they charged through the
forest. Underscoring all, the ancient Sadron's mantra of doom pervaded
every molecule of air. "Alben bronatha, alben bronatha." (None shall
survive, none shall survive.)
Though their pace had been reduced by necessity to navigate betwixt the
mighty trunks of the tall trees, the three scouts managed to maintain
their forward momentum into the deepening gloom of Mirkwood. A single
high, clean note trilled above the tumult of fighting and then from the
canopy rained a steady down-pour of robust elven arrows. The
Greenwood's archers loosed this lethal barrage over the heads of the
trio and forced back the Orcs dogging their passage.
Legolas laughed in mocking delight; he had led the Orcs directly into
his brother's ambuscade and the ground was quickly littered with the
slain and dieing enemies. Once behind the cover offered by the tree-top
archers, he leaped from his mare's back into the limbs and joined his
countrymen. There were not many remaining to target, however, and the
battle concluded quite abruptly. Dismayed that the creatures had turned
in defeat before his quiver was emptied, blood racing with the fire of
the fight still in him, the Wood Elf returned to his companions on the
ground.
Glorfindel and Galdor had halted their horses in a small open space
ringed by cedars and had yet to recover from the swiftness of the
skirmish and the efficient stealth of the silvan fighters, none of whom
had yet allowed the outlanders so much as a glimpse of either hair or
hand. Glorfindel was quite certain he and Galdor were under close
scrutiny and was glad when Legolas approached. The archer sought
his Faer Hebron's gaze, needing assurance that Glorfindel had taken no
injury, and then made the same silent interrogation of his Tirn'wador.
Satisfied, Cuthenin signalled for them to dismount and waited for
Igeredir (The Maker, Athedrainyn name of Thranduil's second born) to
emerge from cover.
No sooner had the Vanya warrior's feet reached the leaf strewn turf
than a single elf descended from the branches directly before Legolas.
Glorfindel watched as Cuthenin bowed low, hand over his heart, and
greeted this warrior.
"Mae Govannen, Hîr Igeredir. Eglerion curu lín ar Tawar
daur an tûr sen." (Well met, Lord Igeredir. I praise your skill
and mighty Tawar for this victory.)
"Suilad, Cuthenin. Ad doled lín galu. Man nôr na le?"
(Hail, Cuthenin. Your return is fortuitous. Who rides with you?)
replied the Sindarin prince and clasped his younger brother's shoulder
tightly as he spoke, the light of pride and the gleam of relief clear
within his eyes.
Igeredir was tall, nearly of a height with Galdor, and plainly a
full-blooded Grey Elf: broad through the shoulder and long in the
shanks. His features were noble and comely with clean lines and a
strong jaw, a fine straight nose and a high white brow. What colour his
eyes might be in daylight was impossible to tell for in the depths of
the night they were blacker than onyx as they inspected his sibling's
unexpected companions. The long hair was dark, though surely this was
made more so by the faint illumination, yet no golden tresses adorned
his head. Bound back severely from his face, a single waist-length
braid confined the smooth straight locks. The Sindarin prince was
dressed in the sylvan manner of close-fitted garb camouflaged in
natural hues of bark and leaf with the same style quiver and short,
compact bow all the Wood Elves used in war. He wore no crown or circlet
to declare his rank nor had he need of such to mark his status. None
would doubt that here was a Lord among the forest folk.
"Allow me to present Lord Glorfindel of Gondolin, a noble emissary from
the court of Lord Elrond of Imladris, and Galdor of Gondolin, Lord of
the Tree, emissary form Mithlond, Sadron to the Faladhrim, and my
Tirn'wador. They seek counsel with our Lord and King," Legolas
announced.
A nearly imperceptible breath escaped Thranduil's second born upon
hearing this and his frame stiffened slightly as his eyes swept upon
Galdor with an intensity generally reserved for enemies and ill omens.
Briefly his eyes flickered in a strange variety of dispassionate
curiosity over Glorfindel but returned with resolute comprehension to
the ancient Noldo Lord. The implications were plain to him, though he
was not an initiate of Pâd-en-Tawar, and with a softer expression
he returned his attention to the youngest of Thranduil's children. "Ai
Cuthenin," he exhaled softly. "What has befallen you?"
In the trees above, the introduction incited a soft murmur as surprised
whispers spread between the unseen warriors and then suddenly a second
elf leaped to the ground and hastened to Legolas. Silently the young
messenger moved forward into this ellon's opened arms and the two
embraced for a long moment, foreheads touching.
"Nallon gwanu naneth lín, muindor." (I weep for your naneth's
death, brother.)
This formal condolence was uttered in tones of tenderest endearment,
strained to breaking with the depth of anguish speaking them invoked.
There could be no denying the new-comer was kin to Legolas and shared
nearly as close a tie to Calarlim as did he. It was unlikely for this
silvan to be a brother in truth, yet among elf-kind a cousin or a
nephew, even many generations removed, might as easily be referred to
as such.
The Balrog Slayer was happy to see that Legolas had so close a bond to
rely upon in his time of sorrow. At the same time, he was uncomfortable
and uncertain of his place in the archer's social structure. They had
not discussed such matters, quickly becoming immersed in the demands of
the journey and the import of their dangerous mission. It had not
escaped Glorfindel's note, however, that Legolas had failed to
introduce him as Faer Hebron. A glance at Galdor revealed he had marked
the oversight also.
"Aye, nallam na le, Cuthenin." (Aye, we weep with you, Cuthenin.)
consoled the elder prince as the two broke apart. He searched
his brother's face for signs of deadly grief and returned a comforting
hand to his sibling's shoulder. "What of the others?"
"We were ambushed in the High Pass; I am the only survivor," the woeful
archer responded.
A piercing cry arose from above and a third elf descended from the
canopy to confront Legolas. "My kinsmen are dead?" she demanded
angrily. "How is it that you live?"
"Control your tongue," ordered Igeredir sharply. "Be careful, for your
grief will excuse only so much."
"Nay she is right; they gave their lives for me," answered Legolas.
"Nae, nae! Alonen tass sen na hên!" (Alas, alas! We should not
have given this task to a child!) The sylvan elf tore her hair in her
grief and rage, turning from Legolas to keep from striking out at the
youth. Two warriors joined her on the ground, attempting to mitigate
her despair as she keened a ravaged wail into the night. "Hatholvaen!
Gîlfuir!"
"Sîdh," (Peace) soothed Galdor and moved to the distraught
warrior's side. "Your kinsmen have granted their forgiveness to
Cuthenin. He has endured Úcaul Annaur for their sake. All three
of the dead reside in peace within Mandos."
Shocked by this explanation, the woodland warriors' exhaled a
consolidated gasp that echoed amid the darkened branches. Several more
climbed down from their perches to stare at Legolas in open fascination
and awe. The ritual had not been required for many generations spanning
centuries of time, for seldom did the Wood Elves leave the forest and
thus, though there were battles and deaths aplenty, the dead were never
left behind.
"Ai muindor dithen," (little brother) sighed the Sindarin prince with a
solemn shake of his
head. He did not approve of his brother's immersion in the ancient
beliefs and could only be horrified to think of his youngest sibling
undergoing such a barbaric practice. "Hiren Adar (My Lord Father) will
not be pleased to
learn this."
"He will understand," Legolas lifted his chin defiantly but his eyes
revealed this was more a hope than a conviction. "I am proud to bear
their marks for all eternity."
"Forgive my doubts, Cuthenin," the stricken warrior begged, returning
to stand before the messenger. "My grief overwhelmed my reason. I thank
you for ensuring my uncles' safe passage to Námo's Halls, free
of any lingering anger or resentment that might bind them to wandering
loose upon Arda. Nallon gwanu naneth lín." (I weep for your
mother's death.) She bowed low. "My thanks to you for performing the
rite, Sadron." A second bow honoured Galdor.
"No thanks are needed," Legolas tried to smile. "I…I have brought their
seals." He reached into his tunic pocket and retrieved the brands,
holding these out for the grieving elleth. She grabbed them up and
turned to her kinsmen's arms again in tears. "Nallon na le."
"Nallam na le, Cuthenin," (We weep with you, Cuthenin) echoed
throughout the area as the silvans expressed their sympathy for so
great a loss and so great a sacrifice. "Nallam an maethyr dainnin." (We
weep for the fallen warriors.) Each one that had dropped from the
canopy came forward and bowed in respect for the sorrow born of
Calarlim's death and the courage Cuthenin showed in undergoing the
sacred ritual.
With this acceptance the tension dissipated and the silvans resumed
interest in the foreign elves, especially Galdor. Many of the Wood
Elves had never seen a Noldo and to learn this one was both a Sadron of
their creed and the youthful archer's new Guardian was nothing short of
amazing. A few gave the spiritual leader reverential bows when they met
his eyes.
Glorfindel had not been ignored so completely in many long years and
wondered if the silvans were maintaining this purposeful indifference
because he was associated with Imladris. It was a widely circulated
rumour among Elrond's folk that the silvans held the Noldorin warriors
under Gil-Galad's command liable for the massacre of so many Wood Elves
at Dagorlad. The Vanya Lord had rather believed the woodland people
simply maintained their closed society as they had always done. In any
case, their aloof attitude did not bode well for accepting an outsider
as Legolas' intended mate.
"Man cannen, alcannen," (What is done cannot be undone.) sighed
Igeredir. "Welcome, noble Lords of the western realms." He hastened to
remediate his lapse in courtesy to the visitors and gave each a
respectful nod of his head. "Widely revered are the names of the
survivors of Gondolin, even under the Greenwood's protection the tales
of your valourous deeds are sung. There are many here of the House of
the Sparrow and of the Tree, and kinship can be found without looking
far. Behold, Cuthenin is of Nost Tuilin through his maternal lineage."
"We are pleased to be among our woodland cousins again," as the elder,
Galdor replied for both himself and Glorfindel. "We bring word of a
portentous meeting just concluded in Imladris. Ere the year is done,
all of the free peoples of Arda will be drawn into the conflict that
generated such debate. Great need have the western realms, both
immortal and mortal, for the assistance of the Greenwood."
"Aran Thranduil will hear your news and grant what aid he deems best.
We must not tarry here for the foul Orcs will regroup once they learn
we have not pursued them. This is the third advance the enemy has
attempted since nightfall and they may yet try again. Let us fall back
to Gebel Edain." (Human settlements) answered Igeredir.
"Êg found me and has resumed his goal to reach Beorn. Do you mean
to storm the tower?" asked Legolas as he mounted up.
"Aye. Hiren Adar desires to retrieve the gangrel Gollum and is sure he
was taken to Dol Guldur," said the Sindarin prince. "Inarthan is
staging a flanking assault from the east, planning to attack from the
Bite."
"I urge you to forestall such an undertaking, Ernil Edwen," (Second
Prince) Glorfindel spoke finally. "We think the creature is at large
and far from Greenwood. That is partly why we have come. The sooner we
may meet with King Thranduil the better for us all."
"This is unexpected! Nasan. (So be it.) We will fall back to the
woodsmen's villages and contact Inarthan to join us. I have no wish to
risk immortal life for a cause that cannot be accomplished."
"What of Cyll Vyrn?" asked Cuthenin. (Black Cloaks, a name for the
Wraiths used by the Wood Elves)
"They are gone from this place; that is the reason Hiren Adar chose to
launch the attack," Igeredir frowned in concert with the grave
expressions the Noldo Lord and the re-born warrior exchanged. "No doubt
your errand is pertinent to their abandonment of the Dark Tower.
Cuthenin will see you safely to the stronghold and word of your return
shall precede you. Gwanno ah Galu-en-Valar," (Go with the Blessings of
the Valar) Igeredir said and raised his hand in salute before climbing
back into the trees.
All the other elves followed suit and then a warbling song cut the
silence as the silvans transmitted tidings of the scouts' arrival. One
after another the Wood Elves' took up the tune and each repeat carried
the lyrical report farther and farther into the forest. Legolas urged
his mare forward using the whistled announcement as a guide through the
grimly shadowed woods. In such dark days, it was unhealthy to assume a
path once safe would remain so indefinitely, even one made by the
silvans. Glorfindel followed and Galdor brought up the rear.
The journey from the fringes of the forest to the forbidding fortress
in the northeastern corner of the Greenwood was many leagues in length.
As dawn broke, it became necessary to halt and allow the horses some
rest and a chance to find sustenance. All the many hours thus far
transpired, Glorfindel's vision had remained upon the silvan warrior
longing for an opportunity to question Legolas regarding his status in
the archer's community.
Twice the Wood Elf had felt the stare so strongly that he was compelled
to turn and learn the meaning of the intense scrutiny. Each time, the
sense of confusion and mild affront contained in the Vanya warrior's
look had made him quickly turn about. Now that they must stop for
a time, Cuthenin determined to clear the matter up. Slipping from the
mare's back he approached Glorfindel, noting how Galdor hastened to
intercept him.
"Man na raeg?" (What is wrong?) demanded Legolas stepping aside to pass
his Guardian. "Tirn'wador, let me by."
"Únad na raeg," (Nothing is wrong) Galdor replied. "I merely
wish to establish some boundaries before we go any further, either in
this conversation or this journey."
"Indeed, Galdor, it seems to me an obstruction has arisen by default."
Glorfindel's sharp words interrupted. "Why was I not introduced as Faer
Hebron?" This demand was directed at Cuthenin of course.
"Forgive me, Glorfindel. That I cannot do, now or ever," the morose
reply came forth.
"What are you saying? Is it because I serve with the House of
Eärendil? This prejudice was not mentioned before."
"Nay, it has nothing to do with where you come from or your heritage or
anything of that nature."
"Then what?"
"Legolas, you did not reveal this to Glorfindel prior to Úcaul
Annaur?" Galdor's tone was infused with disappointment.
"Reveal what?" Glorfindel turned to the Sadron in frenzied frustration.
"Nay, Tirn'wador. I thought it best to withhold that."
"One of you had better inform me of the meaning behind these cryptic
words, and quickly," Glorfindel's voice was low and rumbled with the
intensity of his warning.
"Aye. Do so at once, Legolas." ordered Galdor.
"Sui pedich, Tirn'wador." Legolas drew a steadying breath and faced
Glorfindel. "It is forbidden by the laws of Greenwood for me to choose
you as Faer Hebron. Male may not bond to male, nor female to female.
Such is considered counter to the design of Iluvatar and thus a mark of
evil influence. Anyone who goes against the edict is cast out," Legolas
rushed to get the hated words from his mouth, dropping his sight to the
ground in dread of witnessing Glorfindel's reaction.
"Forbidden?" Glorfindel could scarcely fathom this. "By your own sire?"
The implications came crashing through his bewilderment. Legolas had
agreed to a course that could only result in forfeiture of everything
he knew in life. His culture, his home, his family, any friendships
established among his people, his beloved Greenwood; all must be
abandoned if he would consummate the bond to his Faer Hebron. The
Balrog Slayer crossed the short distance separating him from Cuthenin
and reached out to clasp him at the shoulders. "Why did you not tell
me?" he asked and immediately understood the answer. "You feared I
would refuse."
"Aye." Legolas was relieved that no anger marred the tones of
Glorfindel's voice yet still kept his face averted.
"I might have done so," admitted Glorfindel. "A hard choice you would
have set before me: to watch you bond with another or to claim you
myself and thus rob you of the entirety of your world."
"I am sorry," Legolas shuddered, fearing the Vanya now regretted his
decision. "The bond will fade away if we do nothing, as Tirn'wador has
said."
"Is that what you want?" Glorfindel sounded startled, as indeed he was.
Somewhere between a kiss in the meadow and crossing the river, he had
quite made up his mind that Legolas and he were never to be parted save
by direst necessity or death. He had assumed the archer reciprocated
those notions.
"Nay!" Legolas' face rose so that he could share his indignation over
such a thought eye-to-eye. "I will not force you to go against your own
desires, but I wanted you to make the choice unfettered by concerns
over the consequences our union would cause for me. If your decision
was made for the reasons you spoke then I am willing to trade whatever
I must to keep our bond." He swallowed hard. "Yet I would wish to
forestall that fate as long as possible."
"By hiding the truth? I do not think that will work," Glorfindel smiled
gently and squeezed Cuthenin's tense shoulders.
"Indeed it will not," averred Galdor. "Those of our faith know a Faer
Hebron was necessary for Úcaul Annar. Your family probably knows
this also. What will you say when your father demands to know who this
elf is?"
"He will not ask me," countered Legolas. "If he wishes to know he will
come to you for answers. He has never sought to circumvent my
Guardian's authority and will not start now. If you do not tell him it
will remain a secret."
"That was different for Calarlim raised you; he would be less alarmed
by her choices. Even so, by your own account he was
eager to know everything about your former Faer Hebron and pressed her
very closely for answers," reminded Galdor. "He is likely to be even
more curious now."
"What 'former Faer Hebron'?" Glorfindel's grip tightened and his eyes
narrowed. "You had chosen another before me?"
"Nay, it was all false. My Naneth knew my heart and devised a plan to
fool Hîren Adar. He has no idea I prefer males over females."
Legolas reassured the Vanya.
"Ah, I see you two have not shared so much after all," groused Galdor.
"Exactly when have we been permitted any time alone to do so?" demanded
Glorfindel. "You are always with us. Some things need to be discussed
in private. I did not hold his soul long enough to discover every
incident occurring over his entire life-span. Besides, there were other
worries then and I doubt either of us were concentrating on the
reaction Thranduil might present."
Galdor just snorted in answer to this.
"That is so," agreed Legolas. "As to the King's curiosity, you can say
everything just as it happened, merely changing the sex of my intended.
We will have to devise a different name, of course," he answered
Galdor's original observation.
"So we are all to lie for you," Galdor complained. "Forgive me, but I
am not sure I will be convincing. I have not the habit of inventing
falsehoods."
"Well I have been lying most of my life and I will be glad to coach
you. As long as the majority of what you say is the truth it will be
acceptable. We must be frank and tell Hîren Adar about the
rumours that spread through Imladris for his spies will report
everything. We must stress that I did my duty and put Ithil'wath in his
place. As for Úcaul Annaur, Elrond and Mithrandir alone know the
ritual was conducted. It is unlikely our spies will learn of it until
they return here."
"Arwen knows, but she will not reveal anything personal about me to
others," Glorfindel added. He thought for a moment. "Possibly the twins
and Aragorn but they are trustworthy."
"There is Erestor to consider," Galdor reminded and the words brought a
cloud of gloom over the trio.
"He promised not to interfere in my life again," Glorfindel said firmly.
"He did not promise anything about Legolas' affairs," the Sadron
growled. "He may have already revealed your role in the ritual to the
King's spies."
"Nay, he would not say anything. To harm Legolas is to hurt me and he
has sworn to let the past lie in peace."
"Even if he did, Hîren Adar would not count his word worthy of
regard. He would at once suspect some hidden motive for never have the
Noldor taken interest in what transpires beneath the canopy of the
Greenwood," Legolas opined.
"You listened to him," Tirn'wador reminded bluntly.
"I am not my father," said Legolas quietly and there was a troubling
undertone in the words that he failed to sequester. "Saes, Tirn'wador.
I am not ready to give them up, not just yet."
"Thranduil will find out and when he does, he will be very angry,"
warned the Sadron. "Doubly so, for you have not only defied his will
but then tried to conceal it from him. I feel it would be wiser to
explain the reality, acknowledging the dread circumstances that
prompted the union. He can be persuaded to withhold his judgement until
the year of courtship has passed, for we can assert that the bond may
fade."
"That is as much a lie as any other story would be," snapped
Glorfindel. "I will not relinquish Cuthenin and either I am to state
this plainly or keep it hidden completely. For Legolas' sake, I would
do as he asks. Surely you can see it, Galdor, he cannot lose his entire
family now so soon after Calarlim's death." He wrapped an arm around
Legolas' shoulder and drew him close, delighted by the thrill that
passed through him when the archer secured the link by encircling the
Vanya's waist in like manner.
"You said you would protect me if it was at all in your power to do so.
Surely it is a simple thing to say 'elleth' instead of 'ellon'?"
pleaded Legolas.
"You are a very belligerent charge to govern, Legolas," scolded Galdor
but his demeanour was kindly. "Never have I known a Guardian to be
plagued by such defiant disregard of sage wisdom." He shook his head,
for his better judgement was unaffected by the poignancy of the scene
before him, yet his heart knew he could not ask Legolas to face so
cruel a fate so soon after the traumatic events of recent days. "It
goes against my nature, but I will agree to this ploy. However, should
your father ask me directly if Glorfindel is your Faer Hebron I will
not lie. It is a fine line, but I will balance between misleading
innuendo and full disclosure as long as possible."
"Le hanteän, Tirn'wador," Legolas relaxed upon hearing this
promise, giddy in the aftermath of fear over revealing all to his
family. "Now then, who shall the mysterious Lady be?" Legolas' eyes
shone with mischief. "Glorfindel, do you have a sister?"
The Balrog Slayer laughed and pulled Cuthenin into a quick embrace,
holding him out arms' length afterwards to study the scheming elf.
"Aye, I have a younger sister in Aman. Although younger in a relative
sense only for she was among the dead as Gondolin burned. In our first
life I was eldest but in our second she is first-born. I still think of
her as my thêl laes (baby sister). Her name is Aelluin (Blue
Lake)."
"That is perfect! You must tell us everything about Aelluin," the
silvan smiled hugely as he disengaged from the Vanya and sat down
against the broad trunk of a beech tree. The other two joined him and
while the horses took their rest the elves revised their true tale of
unexpected joy arising from the dour
chances of ill fate into one more acceptable to Thranduil and his
strict mores.
Anar was at her zenith before the scouts deemed their mounts
sufficiently renewed and resumed the journey. Legolas once more issued
a few notes of birdsong to ensure the safety of their path before they
headed deeper into the gloomy woods. No other signs of the elusive
silvans than the distantly returned whistles were apparent nor indeed
were there indications of any form of native wild life. The forest
seemed cloaked in a blanket of suffocating stillness, shielded from
wholesome light and fresh air under the cloistering net of branch-work.
Glorfindel had heard that men kept settlements within the central
portions of the woods, but the way Legolas took brought them no sight
of these colonies. The trio trotted onward.
At last the forest grew brighter as the boundary into Thranduil's realm
was reached. Startling was the glare of the sun as the horses broke
through the cover onto the wide, hard-packed Dwarven Road that
transected the Greenwood. To his left and right Glorfindel glanced the
length of the long straight gash through the trees made so long ago by
Durin's Race. Meant to join the eastern lands of Dale and Erebor to the
western realms across the Hithaeglir, there were few travellers
venturing down this path in present times. In the trees above, however,
a silvan sentinel hailed Legolas as they passed:
"Suilad, Cuthenin. Noro celeg, an Aran Thranduil tîr an le."
(Greetings, Cuthenin. Go swiftly for King Thranduil watches for thee.)
"Aye, Sûlchim. Man lû brona tirith lín?" (Aye,
Steady Wind. How long is your patrol?)
"Tírathon le sen dû." (I will see you late this night.)
"Ab'eveditham" (We will meet later.)
The travellers rode on and no longer did Legolas need the aid of his
unseen guides to find the way. Once on the northern side of the road
the character of the woods drastically altered and it was easy then to
see why Greenwood was once called great in days long past. Shadow's
tendrils stole across the boundary but could not take hold and strangle
the good out of the fair strong trees. Birds, squirrels, game small and
large remained in this segment of the realm and evidence of their
occupation was abundant to sound and scent and sight. The chuckle of
merry brooks and streams joined the understated hum and chatter of
life. The close air was less choking, the mighty trees less
intimidating, the Wood Elves less secretive for many called greetings
from high in the canopy as the trio passed by one lofty outpost after
another.
Then Asfaloth and Galdor's steed became agitated as a sinister escort
of shadowy forms emerged from the thick cover. Three dire wolves loped
alongside the horses, two on the right and one on the left. Asfaloth
blew an enraged neighing challenge to the leader and tried to charge
the creature, but Glorfindel held him back. He saw Legolas glance
behind and met his concerned eye. The archer then looked to the huge
canine matching his mare stride for stride and the Balrog Slayer could
swear the beast returned the gaze, bold and unafraid. Legolas' mare, he
noticed with some surprise, was not the least distressed by the
proximity of the predators.
"Ego," (Be off) Cuthenin commanded and a gruff growl answered.
The wolf was running with jaws agape, his tongue lolling between his
gleaming fangs, and to Glorfindel seemed almost to be laughing at the
young Wood Elf. "Ego, Carch Fain," (Be gone, White Fang (ok, sorry
couldn't resist)) Legolas repeated and there could be no doubting the
grin that transformed his features. With a sharp high bark the wolf
veered away and his companions joined him, leaving the scouts to
continue their journey unaccompanied. Legolas looked back to his Faer
Hebron and lifted his shoulders in a slight shrug, smiling
apologetically but offering no explanation.
Dusk came early under the limbs of the dense-growing trees and the pace
slowed to a walk as Cuthenin's mare picked her way with greater caution
through the darkening byways. Then Legolas halted and before Glorfindel
could enquire why he found that their progress was blocked by a patrol
of elven warriors. They were cavalry yet all stood beside their mounts
in the gathering twilight, silent and expectant. Cuthenin leaped down
and approached their leader, a tall Sindarin elf with enough similarity
to Igeredir that the Vanya guessed this to be a son or grandson of the
prince. At his side sat the huge wolf, staring with that whimsical grin
from golden eyes as though all of it was a grand joke.
Legolas dropped right to his knees in the dirt before this imposing elf
and bowed his head low. "Aran Thranduil, le suilannon vi sîdh. Na
dâf lín, tegin hîr od Imladris an siniath prestad a
gûr sael. Neledhim?" (King Thranduil, I greet you in peace. With
your permission, I bring lords from Imladris with troubling news and
wise counsel. May we enter?)
"Erio, Legolas. Gûren gerin glass le adgeni," (Rise, Legolas. My
heart holds joy to see you again.) answered the Wood Elves King as his
hand drew his youngest up to his feet. Thranduil rested his fingers on
Legolas' shoulder and leaned in closer to peer into the upturned face.
A small exclamation of dismay escaped him then. "It is true, the word
brought to me. You have lost Calarlim. Nallon gwanu naneth lín,
ion nelui." (I weep for your naneth's death, third son.)
"Le hanteän, Hîren Adar," Cuthenin briefly covered his
father's hand with his and then stepped back. "Here are Lords
Glorfindel and Galdor, emissaries from Imladris. Much news have they to
convey if you would hear it."
"Suilad, Aran Thranduil," said Galdor with a considerate nod of his
head in respect to the Greenwood's ruler.
"Mae govannen, Hîr," adjoined Glorfindel, truly amazed to be
greeted by the King here in the midst of the trees under the gloaming.
"Suilad, Lords of the West," said Thranduil as he smiled and the slight
mockery in this designation was not lost upon the two visitors. "I will
hear your counsel gladly, yet let us not waste time on formalities here
under the branches. Ride with me into the stronghold and allow the
Woodland Realm to extend fitting hospitality to such noble guests." So
saying he mounted up and all his soldiers did likewise. The royal
escort waited for Legolas to vault onto his mare's back and then all
were away, trotting easily through the trees in silence, the wolf
pacing right alongside the King's war horse.
The distance remaining was surprisingly short and before two leagues
had passed beneath the horses hooves the foliage thinned out and the
bright gleam of torches and lanterns lit the terrain. Nearly every tree
housed a talan and an extended family, not unlike the Galadhrim's
abodes in Lorien, yet the structures were higher in the limbs and had
no slender staircases curling around the hardwood trunks. Glorfindel's
attention was drawn to these high platforms, many of which were
completely screened from view by closely pulled curtains and panels of
woven rushes.
Even so, many of the silvan elves were outside, perched upon branches
to watch the procession and stare at the foreign elves. Some were even
balanced on slender cords strung from tree to tree in the open space
above the cavalcade. They were utterly silent.
The sound of the Forest River filled the night and by its growing
volume the Vanya guessed the stronghold must be near. Almost the next
instant the solitary mountain fortress came into view, a looming mass
of rock made black in the dearth of illumination. It was skirted by a
wide plateau about which arose a high stone-work wall and the river ran
before the gates, a natural mote. The bridge was also of stone and wide
enough for two horses to cross abreast. At once Thranduil's troops
formed ranks. Glorfindel and Galdor were situated just behind the King
and his captain while Cuthenin was forced to the rear guard with the
remaining pair of wolves as companions, one on either side of his
mount. The Great Gates parted at a word from the King and the entourage
entered the impenetrable castle.
Once within the walls, the warriors and their King parted, the mounted
guard trotting on around the mountain to some unseen destination.
Thranduil and his guests halted at the entrance to the underground
caverns, a tremendous arched opening in the smooth stone. Grooms
arrived to lead away the horses and it was then Glorfindel noticed
Legolas was no longer with them. He looked to Galdor in alarm, silently
demanding the Sadron ask what was within his right as Tirn'wador yet
would be inappropriate for a stranger.
"Welcome," the King was saying pleasantly as he motioned for his guests
to enter in. The interior was open and airy, well lighted and more
reminiscent of a grand hall than a cave. There were plush carpets
covering the rocky floor and banners hanging from the ceiling.
Furnishings were sparse, just a few tables and benches, and the walls
were bare.
Now that they were under the glare of the torches, Glorfindel was more
interested in evaluating the Sindarin ruler than the decor. He found
Thranduil fairly typical of the race in height and weight although the
pale flaxen tresses were not so common among the Grey Elves. The golden
hair was bound back in warrior fashion, exactly as Legolas wore his,
and accentuated the King's comely countenance. These features, as noted
before, distinguished him as blood-kin to Igeredir, though Glorfindel
had mistaken the connection. Thranduil's eyes were a rich viridian and
flashed with his legendary volatility while all his movements were as
fluid with lethal grace as any hunting panther's would be. He was
dressed in silvan style, though of more elegant manufacture, and upon
his brow a circlet of autumn foliage was the only crown he wore. Truly,
there seemed little in his appearance, other than hair colour, that had
carried over to Cuthenin.
No sooner had they set foot inside than a regal elf came forward and
bowed to Thranduil. The two discussed the mundane matter of domestic
arrangements suitable for the stature of the unexpected guests and
Glorfindel ignored the conversation. Their business concluded quickly
and the tall ellon swept his long chestnut hair back over his shoulder
as he surveyed the visitors with less than an approving stare. Galdor
feigned disregard of him but Glorfindel glared back irritably.
"That is settled then. If you would accompany me I am eager to hear
your news," Thranduil said as his seneschal left to attend his Lord's
will.
"Forgive me, Lord Thranduil, yet may I enquire where Cuthenin has gone?
As Tirn'wador I cannot permit him to wander far from my governance,
especially so soon after the ritual," the worthy Sadron staked his
claim as Guardian of the Wood Elf's destiny.
"I am fairly certain he has departed to report to his captain, as is
his duty." Thranduil tendered the Noldo Lord an icy inspection,
frowning.
"Ah, I had thought he would join us for this meeting," Glorfindel
interposed. "His input at the council was of great import."
That plainly startled the King for he halted midstep and was silent for
a
second or two. "Cuthenin attended this council? Why would Elrond ask a
messenger to participate in such a meeting?"
"He felt the news pertinent to the events discussed, as you will learn
soon enough. Cuthenin represented the Woodland Realm quite well,"
Galdor
said.
Thranduil did not respond to this, instead moving swiftly across the
room
and through an opening at the back, motioning the guests to follow. Not
another word did he say as they paced yet his person radiated a barely
contained displeasure over the information he had received. Galdor and
Glorfindel exchanged disconcerted glances as they hastened to keep up
with the ruler.
The three elves passed by many an appealingly appointed parlour,
numerous offices, a library upon which no less than four portals
opened, and several closed doors. Their progress was observed in open
curiosity by many of the stronghold's occupants but Thranduil did not
find it worthwhile to stop and make any introductions. When finally
they paused before one of the closed doors, Galdor and Glorfindel were
fairly unnerved. They had not thought far enough into the matter, their
concerns centred on the issue of Faer Hebron, to realise that the King
would find his son's participation in the meeting objectionable. Given
Legolas' reasons for his reluctance in attending it, they might have
done so and been more mindful of their tongues.
Thranduil opened the ornately carved cedar-wood barrier and ushered
them inside. There was a distinct quality of incarceration in the sound
of the heavy door connecting with the stone lintel even though no bolt
was thrown. They were in a comfortable study that was part of the
King's personal suite of rooms for he did not feel the need to conduct
the impromptu diplomacy in a formal setting. He directed them to sit
near the hearth, which was blazing, and then moved to an ornate and
finely crafted oak wood side board and poured out three glasses of a
dark ruby wine. Thranduil handed these out as he joined them and for a
moment the three did nothing but savour the pleasing flavour of the
full-bodied vintage.
"I understand there was some trouble on the journey hence," he said
with an even smile that revealed absolutely no warmth.
"We were beset by Orcs but that is to be expected when travelling so
close to Dol Guldur," affirmed Glorfindel, mildly annoyed to have to
engage in some sort of diplomatic two-step and its accompanying
small-talk when important issues were at hand.
"Indeed, yet I regret you came under threat in my lands. I am glad
neither of you took any injuries. It has been many years since elves of
the western realms paid a visit to the Greenwood," the Sindarin King
rejoined.
"As to harm befalling us, Cuthenin is so skilled an archer we were
barely in any danger," Galdor stated with genuine pride and was
favoured with a somewhat harsh examination for it.
"He is certainly among the best," was all Thranduil would concede.
Whatever else he might have said was forestalled when the same chestnut
haired elf unceremoniously strolled into the room without so much as a
knock on the wood. "Ah, Galion. Everything in order?"
"It is, Hîren," the Greenwood's seneschal went right to the
sideboard and helped himself to the wine, carrying the entire bottle
back to the chairs with him where he chose one and sat down. "I
appreciate your willingness to belay your well-earned rest in order to
apprise Aranen (my King) of these untoward events. So
inclusive a congregation of free peoples is most uncommon." Galion
addressed the two
guests thus and raised his glass to them with a little nod of his head
in salute before he drank.
Galdor and Glorfindel said nothing in reply to this for it was clearly
meant as a challenge, since Elrond had not formally invited Greenwood's
participation, and neither one planned to engage in a power
struggle with the snobbish silvan steward. Too much was at stake and
they dearly hoped this unpleasant advisor would not have overly much
influence on the King's decisions.
"Tell me of this council," Thranduil suddenly demanded, having delayed
the discussion only for his seneschal's arrival. This they did,
relaying the facts uninterrupted by the King or his counsellor. When
they were done Thranduil rose and paced to the hearth where he glared
into the grate and took up the poker in order to jab at the wood,
sending a spray of sparks up into the flue. "This is serious indeed. I
would not have thought Sauron's Ring could be held for so long by
that Gollum thing without it being discovered. Yet that lengthy
possession
has turned into a blessing for all."
"That is true. We will need the co-operation of the Greenwood and her
people if we are to take advantage of this. We must act quickly,"
asserted Glorfindel.
"This is madness. Elrond cannot seriously believe the Halfling can
survive against such odds. It would be better to put forth that
nonsense as the decoy and in fact send the Ring over the Sundering Sea.
Let the exalted Valar deal with this thing, for it is one among the
Ainur that made it." Galion refilled his empty glass and did the same
for the others as he made this comment.
"The Halflings are surprisingly resilient when faced with adversity and
resistant to the lure of the Ring. Gollum was some kind of Halfling
himself, according to Mithrandir," Glorfindel felt compelled to defend
Frodo's people, having seen first hand the Hobbit's bravery and
determination.
"Perhaps you are correct," Galion sent the Balrog Slayer a cool glance.
"My contact with them is much more limited than yours."
"I do not believe Manwë would accept the article and Elrond
agrees. It is for those of us remaining in Arda to solve. In
Middle-earth was it made and only here can it be unmade," Galdor said
to divert the two from their budding staring match.
"Oh I do not doubt your reasoning," glowered Galion. "Yet I am equally
sure the Powers could intercede and aid this cause, should they so
choose. Forgive me, but Manwë is rather too cowardly for my taste."
"Cowardly is perhaps too strong, but distant and disengaged, this I
feel also," Galdor sighed. "That being the case, it is left to us to
see this task accomplished."
"Aye, who can say if all of the Valar could withstand the lure of the
Ring? The Maiar are particularly susceptible, it seems, what with
Saruman's defection to Darkness," Thranduil mused. They fell silent as
he considered everything discussed thus far and then he gave a shot nod
of the head. "I will do what you ask, though the price for my people
will be high. Still, we are already targeted by the very presence of
Dol Guldur. I would have my Greenwood freed of this cursed Shadow
sickness. The messengers will be sent on their way in the morning."
This decided, Thranduil turned to go, calling over his shoulder
as he did so. "Lord Galdor, if you would walk with me I will show you
the way to your chambers. Lord Glorfindel, I leave you under the
capable guidance of Galion."
Galdor really could not decline though his and Glorfindel's shared
glance indicated both preferred to remain in eye-sight of one another
during their stay in Greenwood, at least until the issue of Faer
Hebron arose. The Sadron was not comfortable in his role of
prevaricator and was hoping Glorfindel and Legolas would handle that
part. He was no fool, however, and fully expected Thranduil's courtesy
was designed to isolate him in order to ply these very questions
uninhibited by
others' interference. He followed the King back into the hall.
Again the journey was conducted in silence and at a brisk pace. Galdor
realised this must be Thranduil's natural gait and adjusted. Presently
they reached another suite which the King opened for him and
the Sadron entered a finely appointed sitting room in which the fire
was already lit and the lamps burning brightly. He did not even have
time to thank the monarch for
such accommodations before the door slammed and Thranduil began his
tirade.
"You claim to be his Guardian and yet permitted him to be subjected to
such humiliation? What he had to say was for Gandalf's hearing only, or
for Elrond's if the wizard could not be found, not some hodge-podge of
assorted dignitaries, soldiers, lords, and commoners." He hissed, his
back
to the Lord from Mithlond as he stalked over to the fireplace.
"There was no intent to shame him, Lord Thranduil. I offered to speak
on his behalf and have him excused from attending but Legolas would not
hear of it," Galdor explained, straightening to his full height as the
King turned to focus his rage upon the elder Lord. In the heat of the
moment, he forgot to use the Wood Elf's Athedrainyn name, but Thranduil
gave no indication he noted this.
"Of course he would not accept such an option! Legolas is not one to
put off his duty or defy a request from the Lord of the realm. He has
shouldered responsibility for his failings admirably and was punished
for them beyond need through the loss of his Guardian on the journey.
Was it necessary to ask him to endure more chastisement, and publicly?"
the King thundered from his stance near the grate.
"Lord Elrond did not realise how difficult it would be for him. The
intent was to spare him the need to repeat the tale multiple times."
"The intent was achieved but you have not named it. I do not care about
the small-minded folk who look for reasons to sustain their prejudice
against the silvan people. My concern is only for Legolas. Above all
else he is my son and this will have affected him deeply."
"That is so. Legolas will worry over this until you set him at ease,
Lord Thranduil. His constant fear while in Imladris was to show
his homeland or his people in a poor light. If I failed him as
Tirn'wador I ask pardon from you. Allow me to go to him and erase these
doubts."
"I respect the Guardian's place in his life, Galdor, yet you must
respect mine. I will go to him myself. Legolas has lost too much for
one so young and I am troubled by this ritual and its significance." He
smiled grimly at
the Sadron. "You must understand that I dislike many of the practices
this creed demands and your sudden insinuation into my youngest child's
world is an unexpected…event.
"I do not pretend to comprehend all of the
religious aspects this death rite involves, yet I am informed enough to
realise it could not be done without both a guardian and a soul keeper.
The first he lost on this mission, the second several years ago, just
before he was to initiate formal courtship. I can only assume that upon
taking the place of Calarlim you then advised him on the choice of Faer
Hebron."
"Your summation is correct, Lord," Galdor admitted, steeling himself
for the inevitable. "Yet permit me to say that I exerted no undo
authority over his decision and made it clear to both parties that the
bond need never be consummated should the courtship fail to produce the
depth of feeling such a commitment demands. I take my role as
Tirn'wador quite seriously, however, and will continue to advise
whatever I deem to be in Legolas' best interest."
Thranduil was not about to allow the Noldo Lord's assurance to satisfy
him so easily. "How can you possible divine what is right for him?
You have known him but a handful of days. Calarlim raised him and there
was little I could do to hinder her decisions for Legolas looked to her
as his naneth. To supplant her would have caused him too much strife.
Yet I am thinking it would have been more merciful to do so early in
his life, for now the worst has befallen him anyway. I will not sit by
quietly while an outlander seeks to direct his future."
"Surely he is no elfling, Lord Thranduil. Legolas is of age to make
such choices for himself," Galdor stalled. "You speak of Cuthenin as if
he had no say in such matters."
"I am well aware of my son's age and treat with him accordingly.
Nevertheless, I am suspicious of someone manipulating him during a time
of tremendous hardship and sorrow," snarled the King.
"Sîdh, Aran Thranduil," exhorted Galdor. "I had no wish to offend
you. I merely hoped to remind you that Legolas may not appreciate being
left out of this discussion. He is the one who suffered the loss and
endured the rite, after
all."
"He would expect no less from his Adar than to seek the true purpose
behind your actions. Legolas has one fault and I am sure you have noted
it by now: his heart is too open and trusting. I will say it plainly,
Galdor. I feel you have taken advantage of that trait to assume this
place of importance in his life. I would know why."
"Your charge is false! I was quite reluctant to step in initially.
There was little choice in the matter for the circumstances were dire.
You must understand, Lord Thranduil, that Legolas was already fading
when I met him." Galdor was not one to lose his temper but Thranduil
was certainly tempting him. His explanation was thus perhaps more to
the point than he would normally make it. It was no small thing to tell
a
father his child was beyond his help when it was most needed, and
Thranduil's ashen face revealed it.
"Your words chill my heart." The anger had drained from the King's
voice as well and he stared in weary anguish to hear this
pronouncement. Wounds could be treated but the soul was another matter
altogether. "Was it so near a thing that
laegel hênen (my green elf child) would be lost to me?"
"It was so. Had Glorfindel not called my attention to the situation we
might have carried only Legolas' body home to you instead of fell news."
Thranduil's brows arched. "Glorfindel? It seems I owe him a great debt,
yet how is it that he was the one who took note of Legolas' condition
rather than the renowned healer and lore-master?"
"He was among the elves who met Legolas at the border." Galdor cleared
his throat and took a moment, remembering all the three scouts had
discussed before continuing. "I regret to have to reveal that he came
under no small degree of baiting and open mockery and Glorfindel was
forced to intervene. Be assured, Legolas handled the situation
admirably but the fact that Elrond's Captain of the Guard stepped in
only caused the gossip to escalate. It is best you understand it from
the source, for you will surely hear a distorted version later. A
malicious rumour was spread abroad that he and Legolas engaged in a
romantic encounter."
The King's eyes darkened in outrage anew and his frame became rigid as
he
glared at the emissary. "There is often a grain of truth in such
stories. I hope you can justify the kernel within yours, Galdor, for
such assignations are not favoured in my realm."
"Nay, this is not so. Nothing inappropriate has transpired between
Legolas and Glorfindel," the Sadron insisted, for he believed this
whole-heartedly no matter the narrow views of the silvans. "They are
friends, Lord Thranduil, and I hold the utmost respect for both.
Legolas weathered the taunts with graceful restraint even while
combating
weakened health from poisoned wounds and a sickened soul consumed in
grief. Alas, it is Glorfindel's history in such matters that has
afflicted Cuthenin with these slanders."
Thranduil took a step in Galdor's direction and halted, raising his
pointing hand to aim it at the Sadron's heart. "I trust your word based
on the oath you inked on my youngest child's skin. I also see that you
have used this scandalising news to divert my mind from the original
topic. If you have no other sordid gossip to share, let us come to the
heart of the matter," intoned the wary father. "Who is the Faer Hebron?"
TBC
Note: Well it as been ages since I posted anything and I apologise. I
just about gave up on it because between classes and work I have just
been exhausted. You kind folks have never failed to show support and
now it is even more apparent. Someone nominated this story for a My
Precious Award! See my profile for details and how to vote! I do not
know who it was but I am eternally grateful. I never expected this
story to earn that kind of recognition. Of course I will make sure to
finish it for you and for all the readers who have enjoyed it. The
other site is currently down and so review replies are sadly limited
this time. Know that I am so pleased that many of you appreciate my
efforts.
For those readers at fanfiction.net who disliked the tattooing and gave health warnings in their
reviews, I thank you for being concerned for all our readers. However,
it is always best to check facts before making a public statement. I
have tattoos and am not banned from donating blood or plasma. For
information about becoming a blood donor check with the American Red
Cross website. For safety's sake, I do encourage people wanting a
tattoo to go through a licensed business with a trained artist.
Regarding information that was shared on male sexuality, I am in
agreement with the comment about the rarity of enduring love among
couples, regardless of their preference in gender for a partner. As far
as the particular style one chooses in expression of that love, or lust
as the case may be, there are many many ways and means to achieve a
satisfactory end. Searching the web yields a vast amount of information
in varying degrees of reliability on the subject and while knowledge is
power, be aware of the sources of the information you find. There are
many good books on the subject and many excellent websites as well.
Cheers,
Fred
Home
Contents
View
Guestbook
Sign
Guestbook
Previous
Next
