Odog-ar-Pae Peth: Mereth o Thamas-en-Gladgalen
(Part
Seventeen: The Banquet in the Great Hall of the Greenwood)
"I
disagree entirely. You cannot permit Cuthenin to join this futile
endeavour."
Inarthan stood before his father in
dispassionate defiance, regally imposing in spectacular battle
armour that looked to be made of mithril it shone so brightly,
certainly a relic from the First Age. A grandly plush cape of forest
green wool backed in black silk was draped upon his shoulders. Just
brushing the grass behind him, the long cloak was clasped at his
neck with a lustrous ruby gem that flickered in the moonlight as if
a living flame dwelled within its heart. The Greenwood prince's
posture was calm and projected a comforting aura of strength and
purpose but his eyes were alight with incredulous dismay. As he
spoke he accepted a large tray laden with delectable fruit from the
King and in turn passed it to a waiting server.
"He is
of age; it is fitting for him to undergo this challenge and his
heart bids him so."
Thranduil, uncrowned, presented
sombre elegance rather than courtly ostentation for the occasion was
formal rather than joyous. Dressed in an amber satin waistcoat and
chestnut dyed breeches beneath a sleeveless, open robe of jade
velvet edged in ermine, he remained equally collected and cordial in
outward manner yet his strained voice betrayed his true feelings. He
hefted a second platter, upon which reposed a delectable roasted
pheasant, and gave it into his second son's care.
"You
do not want him to go either."
Igeredir explicated the
obvious with a soft snort. Cleansed of the grime of the campaign
from which he surely must have returned but a scant hour or so
hence, the middle son of the Sindarin ruler was clothed similarly to
his sire. Waistcoat in silk the autumn colour of maple leaves
overlaid a fine tunic with flowing sleeves of a soft sheer fabric in
pale citron. His breeches were black and his luxurious robe was that
shade of blue sported by spruce trees high on the slopes of the
forest's weathered peaks. The warrior grimaced as he hastily pressed
the succulent entré into another waiter's grasp.
Now
these attendants were nearly as richly garbed and sophisticated in
demeanour as the King and his sons, yet passed among the gathered
Wood Elves with subdued subservience, making certain to present
their offerings to every group. As each family was approached, the
unusual staff made sure to bow their heads in deference, no matter
how lowly the simply clad silvan Elves looked in comparison. If
appearance could be trusted, the nobles of the King's court were
engaged in this humble duty, waiting upon the common folk of the
realm as if they were the Valar and their Valarindi in some rustic
disguise.
"I do not want him in such dire circumstances,
but when you were his age neither did I hope for you to face the
dangers that plague us daily. I did not stop you from doing so,
however; nor did either of you forbid such hazards to my
grandchildren. Nor they to your grandchildren." This time
Thranduil presented his eldest with an ornate cauldron capped with a
golden lid from which escaped the most delicious vapours via a
series of minute pores around its perimeter.
"It is one
thing to fight Orcs and spiders alongside a full company of warriors
but quite another to brave the legions of Sauron's army en route to
the very fires of Mount Doom in the heart of Mordor. With only
mortals to aid him, and four of those untrained in warcraft. We
shall lose him, Adar!" Inarthan's voice, though fraught with
his earnest dread, remained modulated in tone and timbre. He nearly
spilled the soup upon the grass, however, in his eagerness to be rid
of it and his overabundance of strong emotion regarding the
topic.
The Elf who salvaged the elegant tureen gave him a
look of concern and warning combined, for it was none other than
Galion, the King's seneschal. He did not speak, however, and turned
from the prince to do his duty and serve the tantalisingly fragrant
broth. He gave his head-bob with a broad smirk and a wink, for the
first Elves he waited upon were the visiting Lords, Glorfindel and
Galdor, seated upon wide, low stools of brocaded satin trimmed in an
intricately knotted fringe of silk tassels. Still he said nothing,
merely ladling an ample portion of the concoction into the guests'
bowls before moving away to serve the rest of Greenwood's
population.
Glorfindel's attention was distracted from the
drama playing out between the King and his elder sons by Galion's
presence yet he barely spared the irreverent steward a thin frown.
The Lord of the Golden Flower had not envisioned so formal a
function in such a time of grim news from afar and the tragedy of
recent losses locally. He had not thought to pack any garments
suitable to represent his House in the grand manner on display amid
the Sindarin nobles and had been forced to accept the loan of a
fittingly flamboyant robe from Galion. It was made in the same style
as the royal family's were, open and sleeveless, constructed in his
case of opulent, carnelian fabric and trimmed in the fur of silver
foxes. Beneath this heavy drape he wore his travelling clothes,
these having been brushed and freshened with fragrant rosemary by
some dedicated servant of the stronghold.
"Please try
the soup, Hîren (my Lord)," spoke a quiet voice from his
left. Glorfindel glanced over to find one of Thranduil's numerous
great-great-grandchildren smiling politely at Galdor. The Sindarin
Elf reminded him of Igeredir strongly yet her manner was not so
imposing and the elleth was obviously not a warrior by trade.
A
scholar, perhaps, or a healer. Her mundanely courteous remark,
juxtaposed against the serious conversation taking place between
Thranduil and his princes, aptly encapsulated the bizarre atmosphere
of the dinner.
Glorfindel transferred his sight to Galdor and
noted that he, too, had borrowed clothing from the lofty-mannered
seneschal. The emissary from Mithlond sampled the broth and declared
it delicious, earning a gracious nod from the noble woodland Lady.
Galdor behaved as if nothing out of the ordinary was occurring, as
though his host was not discussing the private affairs of his family
in front of everyone.
Yet he must be as keenly interested in this
strange council as I, if not more so. The Noldorin Lord
presented his usual serenely composed countenance, the image of an
ancient and revered sage from the Elder Days. That made Glorfindel
smile, inwardly at least, for Galdor, august patriarch of the House
of the Tree, a Sadron and Founder of Pâd-en-Tawar, was his
contemporary, older by only a handful of years.
This was
without doubt the strangest feast Glorfindel had ever attended.
Indeed, this is more a grandiose picnic than a banquet.
The
formal fête was being served, its opulence notwithstanding,
outdoors under the stars for Thranduil's Great Hall was not found
within his cavernous fortress. That this hall was but a broad, green
meadow ringed, according to tradition and lore, by the very oldest
living trees in all of Arda, purportedly planted by Yavanna's own
hands, did not detract from the splendorous simplicity of the
occasion or its locale. A sacred place in the Elder days, the grassy
lea had served as the silvans' seat of council, market, trysting
spot, and community gathering place since first the Teleri settled
beneath the canopy.
It took no great amount of thought to
comprehend why such an area would become so popular, for Wood Elves
delighted in starlight and revelled in every opportunity to absorb
the distant, argent shimmer, for open space in the tree-crowded
forest was limited. Few evenings passed without a large portion of
the population collecting in Thamas-en-Calenhad (Great Hall in the
Green-space), filling the air with song, many of the melodies so
ancient they were originally voiced at Cuivienen. There was no
singing on this evening, as yet, but the silvans were apparently
prepared to remain indefinitely, having carried down mats and small
stools from their talans to make the ground more appealing to Elves
at ease in the heights.
To Glorfindel, the impression adduced
that this mode of convocation was common rather than unique. The
Balrog Slayer gazed about in curiosity from his place of honour. His
low but comfortably padded seat was situated on a subtle uplift in
the turf before an aggregation of five tall stones that surely could
not have found their places without the aid of elven strength and
determination. Yet they were not carved, polished, sculpted or
otherwise embellished in any way; they were just great oblong blocks
of black basalt arranged in a crude arc upon this little hummock. He
wondered what superstitious notions were attached to these hunks of
rock and their placement within the open meadow so far from the
mountain fortress. His meandering eyes and thoughts snapped back to
the royal family as the King answered his eldest son.
"Loss
is a familiar, bitter companion to the Elves of the Greenwood, both
Sindarin and silvan, whether nobly or humbly bred, and many are the
ways one may lose a loved one. Yet even so, Tûovor, (Strength
Abundant - Inarthan's father-name) speak not those words of
Legolas," Thranduil stated with understated vehemence that
silenced the undercurrent of muted chatter around him. The light in
his olivine orbs was awash in a turbulent flux of fear, anger, and
something near to pleading.
Inarthan sighed audibly and bowed
his head; the effect was immediately disconcerting for the warrior
prince was such a fulsome image of powerful authority that just the
sight of him could give the heart courage. To see him despondent was
to feel a quailing chill freeze the soul. "Nin gohenach, Adar,
pennon inden Úistiel," (Forgive me, Father, I spoke my
heart without thinking.) he said contritely ere he straightened his
stance anew. "I understand Legolas' desire to prove himself and
to make amends, but he could do that here at home. The struggle will
come upon us first, for Dol Guldur will be the Enemy's command post
in the north. A warrior with Cuthenin's skill will be greatly needed
and difficult to replace."
"I do not dispute you.
Yet fate has placed our Cuthenin on this path and he is unwilling to
turn from it. There are many able warriors in Greenwood; there is
only one Elf among all the First-born whom Mithrandir would have
with him on this Quest." The major chord of a father's
unabashed pride rang through these words as Thranduil corrected his
eldest son gently, for Inarthan had omitted completely the wizard's
part in the venture.
Throughout the meadow, the quiet murmur
of low voices, the pitch of the sound affirming and supportive of
the King, began anew as the royal family paused in the discussion,
Thranduil's endorsement of his youngest son's participation being
difficult for the elder princes to counter. Viewed from beyond their
immediate circle, the trio gave every indication of engaging in a
normal conversation; none of the other Elves gathered would be able
to determine by sight that the Sindarin Lords were arguing. This was
especially true since this immediate circle was comprised entirely
of Elves belonging to Thranduil's clan, a sizeable throng and a
substantial physical barrier between the King's family and his
subjects. Nonetheless, elven hearing granted nearly everyone access
to the particulars of the debate.
Which surely Thranduil
knows. This must all be for the benefit of the Wood Elves.
Not
for the first time was Glorfindel perplexed by the rationale behind
the Sindarin Lord's behaviour. He had been subjected to one surprise
after another this day and the inexplicable manner of hosting a
feast while informing the public regarding personal affairs was just
another eccentric feature of Greenwood's hybrid culture, he
supposed. Still, he wondered if anyone would challenge the presented
reasoning for sending Legolas, for all intents an untried warrior
with a tendency to rash action, on so important a mission. Indeed,
his own opinions on the topic were conflicted.
So much
greater then must be their dilemma.
The family's voiced
worries revealed their distress over the possibility of Cuthenin's
demise during this quest while addressing the concerns of the
populace over who should represent the woodland realm. None would
doubt that the King's family wished Legolas to remain in his
homeland, fearing him unprepared for such a hardship, yet forces
beyond their control would compel them to let him go
nonetheless.
Glorfindel revised his judgement, deciding
Thranduil and his elder sons were shrewd politicians after all. The
King was garnering his subjects' natural sympathies for his family's
wrenching conundrum in order to soften opposition to Legolas'
participation in the vital pursuit. He shook his head slightly,
scoffing at his slow comprehension of the purpose behind such open
cogitations, for while he was unsurpassed in tactical skill and
warcraft, his acuity in the ways of statecraft was dull in
comparison.
He scanned the numerous Elves belonging to
Thranduil's clan and was struck by the lack of silvan folk among
them. The House of the Beeches had not blended formally with the
more primitive silvan bloodlines, it would seem. He recognised some
people he knew personally, formerly of Mithlond, and the inescapable
conclusion was that Thranduil's House sought mates amid adjuncts of
the Sindarin nobles dwelling by the seashore. Yet none of them
seemed disposed to dissent against Legolas and this silent support
was equally unexpected, given Galion's vivid portrayal of disfavour
among the Sindarin Lords for the King's illicit affair.
And
still another peculiarity, given their lack of obvious hostility, is
the fact that Legolas is not seated amid the multitude of his
father's extended family.
Glorfindel's intended was much
farther away, surrounded by a smaller coterie of Elves that must
belong to his Naneth's people, for they were all silvan. He noted
the distance between them and any other group or family; he absorbed
the commonplace appearance, the reduced numbers of the descendants
of the House of the Swallow. These observations saddened Glorfindel,
for in Gondolin these folk had been highly lauded and dwelt in
splendour under the favour of Turgon their King. He wondered if
Legolas knew anything of his peoples' proud history and determined
to share his memories of their brave deeds on that dreadful day so
long ago. He also questioned whether the decision to sit with his
Naneth's House was the archer's or a restriction imposed by his
illegitimacy. Would Legolas choose to be so far from his father's
presence in such a time of sorrow?
I would not think it,
but if his low status so ordains he would be bound to obey,
considering his fear of exposing his Adar to the nobles' disfavour.
He idolises Thranduil. The Balrog Slayer had to admit he was
bewildered by Cuthenin's strange circumstances: subject to oblique
ostracism from all while discussed with obvious affection and
worried misgivings by his father and brothers.
And what does
Legolas make of this council, for he is not so far removed that he
cannot hear their contention plainly?
Glorfindel's eyes
sought Legolas, perhaps for the twentieth time though he was unaware
it had been so often, this time to check on how the younger warrior
was bearing up under the strain of being the topic of open
deliberation. The Vanya Lord grimaced, not because Cuthenin seemed
to be in distress but conversely because he was not.
The
woodland archer looked utterly relaxed, reclining upon the grass and
leaning back into the arms of a silvan elleth. She held onto him
with one arm round his chest while with the other she retrieved
morsels from the various plates and bowls scattered around and fed
them to him. Cuthenin was not wearing much, just a loose pair of
breeches and what could only be a sleep-shirt, which was unlaced and
hanging open, and he was barefoot. Glorfindel concluded that someone
had roused him from bed and dragged him down to the meadow without
giving him time to dress for the feast, which was the case.
This
elleth, mayhap, brought him hence, but why so, if as appearance
suggests, he had retired for resting? That no one else found
Cuthenin's state of deshabille worthy of comment was yet another
inexplicable wrinkle in the aspect of Greenwood's poorly fused,
patched-together society.
Watching the pair, Glorfindel's
eyes narrowed as his features hardened in an expression reserved for
those deserving his most virulent wrath. From time to time, the
silvan female's hand gently rubbed Cuthenin's chest, just over the
tattooed spiral above his heart, through the gap in the shirt.
Legolas' hand rested atop hers and he did not protest these intimate
touches.
An aunt, perhaps, or even his maternal
grandmother. Could be a cousin. Glorfindel reasoned to his
jealous mind. It did not work, jealousy not being an emotion
generally affected by rational thought. His left hand clenched
tightly around his fork and he used it to stab in distraction at the
delicacies upon his plate, yet his jaws were clamped shut and not a
bite did he taste. It was denial more than logic that pushed him to
seek an innocent explanantion.
He is grieving; these Elves are
his family. It is but a display of compassionate comforting.
Besides, Legolas has no romantic interest in females. This
notion did help a bit, yet almost at once the Balrog Slayer's ire
returned as another Elf joined the archer's group.
This was
the same warrior who had so openly embraced Legolas upon their
arrival in Greenwood. The ellon summarily lifted Legolas off the
elleth's lap and transferred him to his. Cuthenin laughed softly at
something the warrior remarked as this was accomplished but made no
effort to get free, even allowing this male friend to take over the
task of feeding him. The ellon's long fingers slipped beneath the
fabric of the shirt and Glorfindel could actually see Legolas' sigh,
so deeply was it expelled from his lungs, and the mourning Elf
shifted to settle more fully into his friend's comforting clasp. The
warrior bent his head low toward Legolas and his hair fell forward,
a curtain of dark tresses hiding their faces, and Glorfindel's
breath ceased.
In rigid disbelief he watched, straining to
see more clearly what was happening while at the same time forced to
remain where he was lest he call attention to his inordinate
interest in this tableau.
Why is he shielding their interaction
from view? What does he whisper, so softly none can overhear it? Is
he kissing my Cuthenin? That idea, irrational though it might
be, very nearly had Glorfindel on his feet but for Galdor's
intervention. The worthy Guardian tapped him rudely on the shoulder
and cleared his throat. The Vanya warrior turned to his old friend
in seething fury.
"You permit this?" he accused in
a hiss more audible than he intended, his hand making a swift,
cutting gesture in the direction of his intended.
The
exasperated expression transforming Galdor's features informed
Glorfindel that he had been heard by everyone. He became
uncomfortably aware that all speech had ceased. He swallowed, not
daring to so much as glance in Cuthenin's direction, and darted a
covert look at the King instead. Thranduil's glowering countenance
was enough to make him wish he was still home in Imladris, for the
threatening visage was mirrored not only on the faces of the King's
older sons but on nearly every one of the assembled members of the
House of The Beeches.
"You misunderstand," snarled
Igeredir. "There is no insult to your sister in this for such
assignations between like kind are forbidden in Greenwood.
Furthermore, Cuthenin and Sûlchim are cousins, nearly as close
in blood as brothers; Sûlchim's father and Cuthenin's mother
were first cousins."
"They were raised together,"
Inarthan added in cold disdain. "Sûlchim is but five
years Legolas' senior."
The Balrog Slayer rose
immediately to his feet and made a deep bow to the King and his
sons. "Please forgive my offence against your House. I rashly
assumed an affront to my sister that clearly was not presented. The
ways of the Greenwood are not as those of Imladris, and for this
reason my mind misinterpreted what my eyes beheld."
"It
is understandable that you would wish to defend your sister's
honour," answered Thranduil in a less than generous a tone. "No
slight upon my House has been noticed." He resumed his task of
passing out the food, dismissing his guest's indiscreet outburst,
his ensuing silence forbidding additional censure of the foreign
Lord.
Yet the atmosphere of the glen had acquired a distinct
edge to it. More than a few hostile glares were bent upon the
re-born warrior from both the House of the Swallow and of the
Beeches.
Glorfindel resumed his seat with a heavy heart that
was yet in great part eased, for he felt a sharp sense of having
narrowly averted a catstrophe. Only the woodland princes'
misunderstanding concerning the cause for his anger had prevented
the public revelation of his true feelings. He busied himself with
eating, reaching for and tasting something from all the dishes that
had been steadily accumulating throughout the course of the
extravagant meal. He kept his eyes averted from Cuthenin's location,
not just to prove to the assembly that he was satisfied with the
princes' explanation but to refrain from facing the hurt he was sure
must be visible within the archer's eyes should he chance to meet
them.
Ai! Where has my reason and self-control fled? I am
acting like any love-struck adolescent elfling. The Vanya
berated himself sternly, for the consequences of giving vent to this
unseemly jealousy would be very grave for Legolas. He truly did not
wish to place Cuthenin in such unbearable conditions: shamed and
banished in disgrace from his homeland and his family.
"Well
played, Hîren, skilfully done indeed." These mocking
words, but faintly murmured close to Glorfindel's ear, arose from
the smirking mouth of Galion. The steward had reappeared, this time
bearing a trencher heaped with the smoked flesh of a boar, pulled
from the bone and seasoned with a rich and tangy tawny-brown sauce.
"Do taste this delicacy my Lords, I doubt anything similar is
served in the court of Imladris. The preparation is something of a
family secret here in Greenwood," Galion said in an audible
tone as he leaned close to bring his burden within Glorfindel and
Galdor's reach.
"My thanks, good steward," smiled
Galdor. "Truly, the fare of the forest has my tongue awake with
anticipation for every bite." As he helped himself he sent
Glorfindel another scowling remonstrance. "Are there some among
Thranduil's people, then, as you remarked earlier, who would put
forth that Glorfindel's presence is more than a diplomatic
necessity?" he asked of Galion in a subdued pitch inaudible
beyond their seats.
"You honour us with your
compliments, Hîren," the seneschal rejoined for the
crowd's benefit before dropping his volume again. "There are
always those who seek to discredit Legolas; even before his birth
this was so. And not all here are ignorant of gossip from distant
lands. Lord Glorfindel's reputation for bedding ellyn has reached
the ears of many. However, his visible outrage and the timely
explanation supplied by the elder princes has deflated the notion
that he is interested in Cuthenin for himself. That is, for all save
a few who are convinced of Legolas' true inclination but cannot
prove anything.
"That being because there are those of
us who have worked very hard over the years to keep him removed from
any opportunity to indulge his passions. Legolas himself has
determinedly refrained from putting his person in the way of
temptation and I can attest to the truth of his complete innocence.
He has not been publicly accused because he has never done anything
forbidden for which to be indicted. Many may suspect his preference
but none can impeach his conduct." These harsh words were
intended solely to censure Glorfindel, for while Legolas would be
the last to credit it the butler was one of his most vigilant
protectors. Galion moved away to another group, sending one last
searing glare into the Balrog Slayer's penitent beryl
eyes.
Glorfindel sighed wearily and flashed a look into
Galdor's face. The placid expression had returned as the Sadron
chewed slowly but the Vanya warrior was not fooled. Legolas'
Tirn'wador would be certain to take him to task over this slip ere
the dawn had broken. He shifted his focus again to the King and the
elder princes, noting that all the passing and serving was done and
the aristocratic Sindarin staff were returning to their respective
clans even as Thranduil took his place, a seat located in the centre
of the stone arc. His sons sat beside him, Inarthan on his right and
Igeredir on the left. The uncomfortably tense silence remained and
Glorfindel shifted uneasily, knowing he was the cause for disrupting
the usual protocol at such affairs.
Several edgy minutes of
night elapsed as the stars looked down, spilling the trembling glint
of their silvern splendour over the collected Elves.
"Mithrandir
is wise; even among those deemed so he is a sage of renown," a
new voice spoke, one of the Sindarin nobles among a group seated so
close to the King's people that Glorfindel could not tell exactly
where the division was. "Yet he is not as well informed on
matters under the eaves of the forest."
"Aye, but
he has an ally on our borders who keeps him apprised of news:
Aiwendil," remarked Galion. "I would wager he knew of the
Gollum's escape long before Cuthenin arrived in Imladris."
"Yet
he drafted Cuthenin into service nonetheless," appended
Igeredir, sensing where the nobleman's complaint was leading.
"That
is not exactly so," Glorfindel boldly spoke up. He paused only
for an instant to feel a twinge of regret over the shocked
countenances gawking at him. "Mithrandir requested Legolas' aid
after consultation with Lord Elrond, his sons, Lord Galdor, and
myself. It was just that: a request, not an order or a penance
imposed due to presumed shortcomings."
This unexpected
interruption was followed by a few seconds of very dense stillness
during which every Elf in the kingdom stared at the foreign Lord,
their expressions an even mix of blatant surprise, distrustful
resentment, and calculating shrewdness.
"Your
information is invaluable and we are grateful for it," another
Sindarin Lord of the court stood and bowed to Glorfindel, "yet
when has the fate of the Greenwood's people been decided by the
leaders of such distant lands?"
"Indeed, and more
to the point, by what right did Legolas accept this challenge before
consulting with his betters? He took much upon himself, for it was
not intended that he should go to Imladris as emissary for our
realm," another added with blunt disdain. "He was sent as
a messenger, nothing more, and it is unseemly for a task of this
magnitude to be given into his hands to accomplish."
"Or
fail to accomplish, as the outcome will more likely be defeat if
left under Cuthenin's command," a third Sindarin Lord stood and
appended his disparagement.
"That is an unjust
assessment," Glorfindel could not help challenging that
insulting comment. "I examined him closely concerning the
events surrounding the creature's escape. Nothing approaching
negligence is indicated. Had any other Elf been the miserable
gangrel's keeper, would anyone here condemn them for the
attack?"
"Kind words, Lord Glorfindel, offered
gallantly in your future law-brother's defence, but as you have
remarked: our ways and those of Imladris differ. Our definitions of
negligence likewise do not coincide," commented the first Elf
Lord drily.
"Do you level such a charge upon my son,
Tarias?" (Difficulty) demanded Thranduil, his demeanour cool,
his tone level, and his eyes ablaze with fury.
As though his
words contained some unvoiced mandate, and before an answer could be
made, four of Thranduil's younger descendants rose from their places
and made their way conspicuously to the clan of the Swallow. They
stood still and silent, ringed in open solidarity around Legolas
where he remained ensconced in his cousin's grasp. Though as richly
dressed as the rest of their clan, each of these elves betrayed the
manner and bearing of warriors; it was evident they must be common
members of a single company and that Legolas was not only kin by
blood but their war-brother as well.
Tarias frowned in
disapproval as he watched this arrogant display of rebellious
camaraderie yet shook his head as he answered. "Nay, excuse my
wayward tongue for I misspoke, Aranen. (my King) It is more accurate
to refer to Cuthenin's inexperience as the culprit in our warriors'
deaths than any lack of spirit or courage on his part."
"That
is twice you have maligned my brother in as few passing moments,"
intoned Inarthan in a soft voice that was laced with the promise of
severe reprisal. "I would know the basis for it. Have you
information we do not? Perhaps a formal account of Legolas' actions
that day would enlighten us all."
"There is nothing
untoward to relay," said a more distant voice.
Attention
swerved to find its source and all watched and waited as the speaker
approached from the far edge of the glade. The Elf was neither
Sindarin nor silvan but one among the multitude who were a mixture
of the two, for the example of spurning the woodland folk given by
Thranduil's House was by no means followed universally. Indeed, it
was only among the few most powerful clans of the Sindar that such
discrimination was practised. She seemed in age a contemporary of
the elder princes and moved with that sense of reserved power and
command that denotes the leader of any fighting force, regardless
the realm they serve. She came forward until she stood before
Thranduil's seat and bowed in respect.
"Hîren,
Cuthenin arrived for his turn at watch at the appointed time, alert
and prepared for his tour. No unusual activity occurred during the
three-day shift although he was relieved several hours late; a fact
he did not reveal to me out of friendship for the tardy warrior.
After making his customary report, Cuthenin requested permission for
the Gollum to be allowed outside for a time, per Mithrandir's
recommendation.
"I agreed with the wizard's ideas about
healing the miserable creature and I gave that order. This was not
the first time I had done so. Should anyone wish to lay blame for
the events that came to pass thereafter, they need look no further
than my compassionate heart. Cuthenin was dismissed from duty for
the day, as he had completed his watch. I have found nothing in his
actions that displayed either lack of discipline or want of sound
judgement."
Her speech compete, the captain gave a
reverent nod to her King, turned and strode over to join the
warriors surrounding Cuthenin. As she did, several more Elves arose
from their respective families and made their way to stand in
support of Legolas. They were not only silvan nor drawn solely from
among the archer's blood relations but constituted a fair
representation of the Greenwood's divers populace, both in class,
race, and age. Warriors all, the common denominator linking them was
the bond of soldiers who depended on one another for life and
safety. This was a bond Glorfindel understood well and he nodded in
approval.
Now it was clear from the captain's rapid, concise
delivery that she had given this same assessment before, at least
privately, yet even so Glorfindel could not suppress a triumphant
grin which he trained first upon the contemptuous Sindarin nobles
and then upon Cuthenin. His intended's vision was focused elsewhere,
however, and Glorfindel's smile softened. Legolas' shining eyes were
locked upon his Adar's, revelling in the outpouring of
encouragement, approbation, and love emanating from the deep emerald
sea of Thranduil's orbs.
Glorfindel could tell that Cuthenin
wished to go to his father yet remained among his mother's people,
and the Balrog Slayer had to rein in his desire to rise and forcibly
relocate the young archer to his rightful place. Silvan he might be
in heritage and culture, yet there was still honour and dignity in
the House of the Sparrow. Beyond this, Cuthenin was every inch
Thranduil's son; none would doubt his innate nobility.
None with
a shred of intelligence, at least.
The intensity of his
gaze reached Legolas even across so great a distance and the archer
turned to him. Cuthenin blinked wide blue eyes and then responded
with a slight smile, a shy smile, an almost apologetic smile that at
once elated and bewildered Glorfindel. The re-born warrior felt his
heart turn over in his chest and a painfully wistful sigh fled his
lips. How he yearned to go stand beside Cuthenin, to place a
supporting hand upon his shoulder.
And why should I not?
Is it so unseemly for me to back my future law-brother? It would be
right, a way to amend my poor behaviour earlier. He stirred,
intending to follow through on this idea, when another sharp poke in
the shoulder drew his sight away from Cuthenin.
With the
spell broken, and Galdor's disapproving glare upon him once more,
Glorfindel realised that his prolonged indulgence in admiration of
Legolas had been of sufficient magnitude to garner others' notice as
well, most importantly that of Thranduil, Inarthan, and Igeredir.
The trio were regarding him with seemingly bland unconcern but their
eyes proclaimed their combined surprise, comprehension, and alarm.
No doubt did the Balrog Slayer harbour; they knew.
He felt
his soul shrink within his body, receding in quaking dread behind
his valiant heart, the pounding of which overwhelmed his hearing for
a moment. Unable to bear the strain of meeting their consolidated
and disapproving scrutiny, he transferred his notice to Galdor and
physically winced. The Lord of the Tree looked ready to commit his
first act kin-slaying. "Valar, nin beria," (Valar protect
me.) Glorfindel whispered gloomily, having absolutely no faith in
such a plea being heard.
"…regardless the outcome. Is
it right for an outlander, be he even from the Blessed Realm, to so
determine who should represent our people? I say it is not meet. Let
the folk of the Greenwood choose their champion for this Quest."
Tarias had resumed his discordant protests and this bold challenge
snatched Glorfindel's notice away from his personal dilemma.
"Aye,
we should put it to voice," one of the other malcontents
averred.
"Is this the will of my subjects?"
demanded Thranduil, rising and stepping forward from the encircling
black obelisks. "Or is this but more belligerent complaining
from the Houses of Beor and Brûn Ist? (Houses of the Followers
and of Ancient Lore) Let us see who supports the choice of Tarias
and Lumren." (Difficulty and Shady)
So saying, the King
demonstrated his meaning by example, walking purposefully to stand
with those collected amid the Swallows. As soon as he was close
enough, he bent and took his youngest son by the arm, aiding him to
rise, and then wrapped one strong arm around the youth's shoulders,
drawing him close to his side. Legolas presented his Adar with a
brief but exultant smile, winding his arm about his sire's waist to
reinforce this unity, before mimicking Thranduil's serious
demeanour.
Very quickly the Wood Elves sorted themselves
between the two camps, with the head of each House moving to stand
in support of either the King and his son or the dissenting nobles.
Though he would have wished it otherwise, Glorfindel was not
surprised that the numbers were not overwhelmingly in favour of
Legolas. Still, he could discern that enough had joined Thranduil to
over-rule the opposition. Tarias and Lumnen said nothing, allowing
their scowling frowns to indicate their dismay.
"It is
decided, but for one more voice as yet unheard," extolled the
King. He met his youngest's eyes and gave a brief nod, separating
from Legolas and standing back a pace.
Cuthenin took too
strides forward into the open and turned to face his father.
"I
will go, for I have given my word to Mithrandir that I would aid
this undertaking in any manner possible. I go not only to remove the
injury the reputation of the Woodland Realm has suffered due to the
escape of Gollum, though that is perhaps sufficient reason. I go to
do what I may to bring an end to the tyranny of the Dark Lord, too
long a resident in our lands and now subjecting the people of every
land to his evil cruelty.
"Should I fail, let not the
people of Greenwood bear the burden of that defeat, for I join the
Fellowship not as representative for her folk alone. I will stand
for all the First-born, for while our time here draws to a close,
yet it is right to support the cause of those who will inherit Arda
from our hands. I pray I do not fail, or if I do so that it will not
be from lack of fortitude or ability but only because the Shadow has
been victorious and won its prize, in which case my soul will be in
Nâmo's Keeping, there to be joined by many of my kin.
"I
pray my courage is enough and my skill sufficient. I beg the aid of
Tawar and the petitions and supplications of all here on my behalf,
that I have what strength is required to bring honour to my family
and homeland, that I prove anew the gallant constitution of the
Elves. I beg the grace of your Blessing, Aranen, that I may go with
a clear conscience, free of regret for my absence in such a time of
adversity." His proclamation concluded, Legolas knelt upon the
grass before the King, head bowed and hand over his heart, awaiting
this last affirmation of his decision.
Thranduil
did not
hesitate and in fact had reached his son before Cuthenin's speech
ended. His right hand he placed upon the crown of golden tresses
and his left rested upon Legolas' shoulder as he spoke:
"I
grant you my Blessing with both joy and misgiving, filled with both
pride and regret. How can it be otherwise? You are my own child, yet
grown and a warrior well-fitted to this task. In selfishness I would
wish to deny your participation, yet even if I did this you would
go. That is to your credit, for it speaks of a strong character and
a true heart. I have no doubt that you will do justice to the trust
the wizard has conferred upon you yet I feel my heart straining
against the woes you must face upon this journey.
"Let
no concern or fear for our fate cause you distraction lest you
falter and cause me to face the dread of losing you. We will be
fighting beside you, albeit divided by the long leagues of many
realms and wasted wilds. Our stewardship of Arda may be waning but
the determination of the First-born has not diminished, anymore than
the Wood Elves have come to love less the trees that have sheltered
them since the Elder days. We shall all succeed or all fail, and if
the latter then it will not be for lack of valour on the part of
elf-kind.
"Go with your King's sanction and your
Father's reluctant consent. But return to me, Legolas, if you can,
for my heart cannot abide here longer if yours is in Mandos."
This last sentence was murmured for the benefit of Cuthenin's
hearing alone, for Thranduil once more raised his son upright,
pulling him against his chest in a clasp so tight as to be painful,
his soul aching in fear of this being the last time he might ever
hold his youngest child thus.
A subtle cacophony followed
this inspiring scene as many of the silvan byr (followers) of
Pâd-en-Tawar uttered entreaties for Cuthenin's protection and
the success of the Fellowship's venture. Among the Sindarin Elves
could be heard scattered avowals of approbation for Legolas and of
commitment to ridding the world of the Shadow, for their hearts were
stirred and they were eager to be part of this fight.
Now
Thranduil met his elder sons' eyes, a questioning, almost pleading
expression shining from his. Inarthan and Igeredir smiled and
silently communicated their understanding before their father
released their younger brother from his embrace, resettling his arm
around Legolas' shoulders as he led him away from the crowd. In
unison Greenwood's princes tuned and converged upon their guests,
bearing down upon Glorfindel like wolves after a hart. Their smiles
were courteously cold and grim and their silence was more ominous
than any curse or accusation would have sounded.
Glorfindel
stood, not one to meet his doom in cowering meekness no matter how
hopeless the situation appeared. He was glad for the stool behind
his knees, however, for it prevented the unseemly act of taking a
step backwards, something his instinct screamed he ought to do as
the Sindarin princes advanced. He felt a hand upon his back and
realised it was Galdor, quietly pledging his support, and thanked
the Valar for the elder Elf's friendship. As Inarthan and Igeredir
flanked him, Glorfindel caught the smirking leer of Galion. The
seneschal was right behind the King's sons and together the three
Sindarin Elves escorted the visiting Lords from Thamas-en-Calenhad.
TBC
NOTE: My thanks to everyone who has so patiently waited for this story
to continue. For those who have sent me encouraging feedback, reviews,
and notes, you are more appreciated than I can possibly express. I
would like to explain the lack of updates yet I do not like to be the
sort to moan and groan about life. I accepted too many commitments to
do justice to them all and then had to deal with some personal problems
that kept me from Cuthenin. I promise not to abandon the story and hope
to be more regular in updates. I had originally planned to end this
story at the completion of Úcaul Annaur so there have been quite
a few details to work out. I will not leave anyone hanging as to the
ultimate fate of Cuthenin and Glorfindel.
Speaking of which, I know from the reviews how eager everyone is to see
these two interacting more closely, but please bear with me. Legolas is
in Greenwood, facing some important issues not only personally but as a
citizen of his father's kingdom as well. I hope everyone understands I
could not just gloss over this visit, and hope the scene depicted gives
some insight into those who, after the Ring Wars, chose to join Legolas
in establishing the colony in Ithilien. Thank you again
all for your patience and continued support!
Cheers,
Fred
08/12/2006
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