Blade crashed upon blade. Defiance glared out from the dark eyes of the enemies. An elf, blonde, strong, graceful, stood face to face with his assailant: tall, broad, bearded, immensely built. Legolas had hoped he would not have to engage him, but the wild-man had insisted, and here they were.
The man's strength was overpowering him; Legolas knew that his quick agility was his only ally in this fight. Deftly, smoothly, the elf broke away from the lock and turned on his heel, quickly slicing through his opponent's side.
Nothing.
Not a sound came from the man he was fighting; no reaction escaped from the tall creature of hatred before him. It took Legolas by surprise, but he had no time to ponder it.
The dark man's spearhead whistled within inches of his cheek. Legolas bent backwards, almost leaning over double to avoid the long spearhead. Using his backward momentum, the elf seized the man's outstretched arm and pulled him backwards with him, throwing him over his head. The massive warrior crashed to the ground directly above him, dropping his weapon and cursing as the wind was knocked out of him.
Legolas seized his opportunity and rising with incredible agility, he rushed at his enemy and straddled him, pinning him to the ground. His knife-blade pushed against his throat, forcing the man to remain motionless and defeated.
Legolas said nothing for a moment. He breathed in deeply, regaining his breath. His skills had been severely put to the test with this one. Finally, he shoved himself off the man's chest and stood. Eyeing his defeated adversary, he stooped and retrieved the fallen weapon.
"Now go," he said softly. "I don't ever want to see your face in Mirkwood again." He tossed the weapon back to its owner, who caught it adroitly in one hand. He bared his teeth at the elf's next words.
"I want you to live with your defeat and shame, and maybe someday that shame will set you to rights."
The bearded man glared up at the lithe figure before him. He knew he was receiving undeserved mercy, and the thought gnawed at him. He lunged at the elf, thrusting his spear at his unprotected middle.
Legolas backtracked, not completely surprised at the attack. He pulled his knife back and stood sideways, pulling himself into a defensive position.
The wild-man stopped his assault, leaning his weight on his elbow. Something in the elf-prince's eyes warned him not to do it, not to make him kill him.
Legolas inclined his head, looking down at the half-risen man. His eyes glistened a little, sorrow and apprehension of what he might have to do filling his elven heart. His noble, but mournful blue eyes begged his prostrate enemy to leave now, before it was too late. When he spoke, he did so in a whisper, one that was powerful, but pleading. "Please, don't. I do not want to kill you."
Even though the compassion was disgusting to him, the man realized that he didn't want to be killed either. His tense grip on his spear relaxed, and he leaned his weight onto both elbows, pushing himself up slowly.
He couldn't accept defeat, he couldn't. He contemplated attacking once more, once the elf let down his guard. But no, it wouldn't be worth it; he could always return again, when the prince had forgotten, when he was unaware...Aye, that is what he would do.
The tall man looked down at the elven-warrior once more, memorizing his face. He would not let him get the best of him, not yet.
Legolas stared back at him. Though relieved the man was being sensible, the elf had had enough dealings with men to know that they could not be trusted even in defeat. But the man finally turned and dashed back into the woods, from where he had first appeared. Only then did Legolas drop his hands to his side and exhale in relief that it was ended.
For three hours they had striven against each other. Never before had Legolas been matched against such a being, and the thought was enough to make him wonder how long he would have lasted against him. All of his tricks and antics had been futile, next to worthless against the big man that had first assaulted him.
Legolas remembered a man very much like him from the night of the council ceremony, when all the elven lords had met to discuss the problem of the wild-men rampages.
Legolas shuddered as he remembered the cries of the guards, shouting for Thranduil to flee the throne room...
Desperately, they had tried to hold back the giant that had stormed into the chamber, threatening to kill the king for destroying the wild-men's camp. Legolas had shoved his father outside the room, and dashed back to the dais, defiantly standing against the attacker, the golden throne to his back. He signaled his men—his closest friends—to the front, where they had all drawn bows and knelt side-by-side, ready to fell the monstrous human at their prince's command. Legolas had stood waiting, watching the guards trying to secure the madman and bring him down with their own strength.
Aragorn, son of Arathorn had knelt beside his friend, his own bow strung, his fingers tight on the string. Elrond of Rivendell, Mirkwood's ally, had been rushed out with Thranduil as well, but Legolas and Aragorn both knew that their fathers were watching them, wishing they could be out there with their sons...
Legolas sighed. He regretted what he had to do that night. He knew he had no other choice; the man had to be stopped. When he pulled out his gigantic sword and broke free of the dozens of elves surrounding him, Legolas knew he had to give the command.
Now weeks later, Garthond, as he called himself, came to revenge his brother. Though smaller, Garthond apparently had more common sense than his brother, and fought just as fiercely. The elf had a bruise on his face, and his hands were sore from holding his knife so tightly. Legolas silently thanked the gods for strengthening him as long as they had.
He hoped that his mercy on Garthond would make him see that revenge was not the answer.
Chapter TwoAragorn trotted into Legolas' chambers. Legolas sat on his bed, his shirt lying next to him. Bruises were appearing on his fair body, and he had a nasty cut down his lip. The smell of athelas was in the air, as Lord Thranduil administered his gentle hand to his son. The prince pulled away a little, the athelas stinging as it went in.
"Hold still," his father pulled his chin over toward him and continued his applications, though not unkindly.
"Legolas, I heard what happened. Are you alright?" the ranger leaned over the foot of the bed and touched the elf's shoulder, concern in his face.
Legolas only nodded, and ran his tongue over his gashed lip.
Aragorn wasn't satisfied, and probed the king further, his blue-gray eyes asking for more information.
Thranduil smiled a little. "He'll be fine, Aragorn. Just a little sore, that's all."
The ranger looked down at his friend. He noticed the dark bruises, the scratches and cuts on his arms. His brows furrowed and he looked into Legolas' face, waiting for him to give him the answer he desired.
"Who was it that did this to you?" his voice trembled with agitation.
"It's not as bad as it looks, Strider," Legolas used his friend's sobriquet to calm the tension in his eyes. "Really, I'll be fine."
"Alright," Aragorn eased up, "but I still want to know."
There was a significant pause. Legolas looked up at his father, asking silently that he would answer the young man's questions. His mind and body were too drained and fatigued to try to satisfy the youth's insatiable doubts.
Thranduil placed a firm hand on his son's shoulder, taking over for his wearied son. "It was the brother of that wild-man, the assassin that we had to...to put down. He came to avenge his brother's death."
Aragorn said nothing. He hung his head a little and looked out the window. He sighed. "I thought that nightmare was over," he voice was sad with remembrance. Living among the elves his entire life had made him realize the gravity of taking life; it saddened him that he and the others had been forced to end such a courageous one. And now Legolas had done so again; he had been forced to kill his brother too.
"I'm sorry, mellon-nin." Aragorn's heart went out to his friend, knowing how much killing affected him.
"I am as well, my son," Thranduil put his arm around Legolas and held him tight. "I'm sorry you had to be the one to finish it."
Legolas pulled away from Thranduil as realization hit him. He looked deep into his father's green eyes. "Adar, I didn't kill him."
Thranduil looked at his son strangely, shock on his face. "You didn't have to...?" The question was almost one of relief.
Legolas shook his head. "I let him go. I told him that I wouldn't let him live if he set foot in Mirkwood again. He just...left." Legolas looked up at his father timorously, wondering how his father would react.
Thranduil looked off, but there was no anger in his face. He thought for a moment, and then looked proudly at his son. "Then you did what I would have expected of you. I'm proud of you, son. It takes courage to let a criminal go."
Aragorn nodded in agreement. His own heart sighed with relief at the thought that Legolas did not have to kill again. He knew, from experience, that Legolas hated taking life more than anybody.
"Will he heed your warning?" he asked, still looking at his friend's welts. He was still furious that his friend had taken the brunt for another man's foolishness.
"I hope so, though...I really could not read his expression. Adar," the prince looked back at his elder. "I cannot be sure it...it was the wisest choice."
Thranduil eyed his son carefully. "I don't want to hear anymore on the subject, Legolas. You did what needed to be done, and I am grateful you had the sense to do it correctly." The criticism was kindly meant. "I know I would have been sorely pressed not to kill a man that attacked my own father. You did the right thing." The king reassured his conflicted son, and silenced the matter. Neither Aragorn nor Legolas mentioned it again, though the event hung over their heads for several days, as Legolas' injuries healed.
One day, several weeks after Garthond had barely escaped death, Elrond Half-Elven approached Thranduil's private apartments.
"Lord Thranduil?" he called softly through the curtained archway.
"Come in, Master Elrond." The elven king's tenor voice drifted out to him, timed perfectly with the breeze that stirred the maroon curtain in front of him. Elrond pushed his way through the doorframe, and silently walked over to the wooden desk across from it, where his fellow ruler sat, stern brows knitted over some affair of state. Elrond could easily guess what was plaguing him.
"Forgive me," he said quietly, "I did not mean to disturb you."
Thranduil looked up, and smiled faintly. "Oh no, you have not. I actually enjoy interruptions sometimes, it gives me an excuse to put down my work."
Elrond chuckled and nodded. "I know what you mean." He sobered and looked down at the rim of the desk in front of him, letting his fingers run over the smooth edge, gathering his thoughts. He had something he needed to say.
Thranduil noticed his hesitancy. He leaned forward and placed his arms on the desk. "Is there something bothering you, my Lord?"
Elrond met his inquisitive gaze. "I heard what happened to your son," he stated cautiously. He always felt uneasy approaching any ruler about his state of affairs, but he knew that he had to bring his concern forward soon, and he trusted Thranduil to take it as kindly meant. He continued. "Your son is truly a brave one; it takes a courageous man to do such a thing."
"Aye. Legolas is very wise; I'm proud of him."
"You should be," Lord Elrond affirmed. "But...my friend, if I may be so bold...?"
Thranduil's eyes silently urged him on, wondering indeed what burden the elf-lord had upon his heart.
Elrond looked down at the King. " I think perhaps this event...may turn out for the worse..."
"My Lord?" Thranduil was curious.
Elrond explained. "The wild-men are known for their stubborn tempers. If this one should be enraged enough, you and I, our sons...our kingdoms, may yet be in grave danger."
Thranduil's paternity tensed a little. "You think my son should have killed him?"
Elrond shook his dark head. "No...I cannot say so directly, my Lord; it is not for us to determine who lives and who dies...that if for the Valar to decide. But what I am saying..." his voice edged slightly, "since this wild-man has been set free, you and I both must take on a new responsibility."
"A new responsibility? You mean what, precisely?"
"Strengthen your borders," Elrond leaned his weight on the desk in urgency. "Move the army out, and stop them before they enter your domain!"
Thranduil lips twitched in a small, knowing smile. "Lord Elrond, I appreciate your concern for my kingdom's welfare, truly I do," his voice and look was sincere. "I know your counsel is wise, and at any other time I would take your advice as the Word of Illuvatar...but I cannot jeopardize my people's safety by sending their only protection gallivanting off to the borders when for all we know, they could here in our midst as we speak!"
He leaned back in his chair and explained thoroughly. "All of the attacks have been on the home-front, in our towns and villages...the wild-men move so fast and silent that we have so idea where they come from. The camp we were able to attack was a providential miracle, and...!" he held up his hand to halt Elrond's next argument, "And...until we know the origins of these... 'creatures'", he spat out the label with disgust, "I must protect my people while I still have them..." his voice faded and he dropped his eyes, suddenly caught up in his own thoughts.
The Master of Imladris gazed down on him, his questions answered, but another springing to his mind. "Mellon-nin?" he asked quietly. His friend had other matters on his mind; Elrond could see that.
Thranduil blinked and looked up at him, his eyes refocusing on the present. "Um...forgive me," he stammered. "I...my mind wandered for a moment. As I was saying..."
"Thranduil...?" Elrond's voice deepened, knowingly. He spoke as he used to speak to young Estel when he got into trouble. "There is also something on your mind, friend. You should talk about it."
Thranduil was silent, mulling over his thoughts. He did not meet Elrond's curious eyes.
"You're not just worried about the wild-men are you?" he guessed the King's thoughts. "There is something else."
Thranduil slowly nodded. "Aye, there is." The fair elf-king stood and walked to the window that was behind him. He leaned his strong body against the sill, and he now seemed wearied, disconcerted...anguished.
Elrond looked at him compassionately. He no longer saw the King of Mirkwood standing before him; he saw his life-long friend, his mellon-nin, worried and in need of comfort, standing there.
Elrond waited patiently; he knew Thranduil as well as he knew himself, and knew when to speak and when to wait. Thranduil had always been the silent one, often bottling everything inside, until finally he had to tell someone. Elrond stood by the desk, Thranduil by the window, each just listening to the silence of it all. Their thoughts mingled, and they remembered how many times there had been times like this, where the friends just sat and enjoyed each other's company.
Finally, Thranduil broke the silence with his musings. "How do you know when they're ready?"
Elrond arched his brows, waiting.
"How do you know when you can let them go? When do know that let them live their own lives, they way they want to, and know that they'll benefit others, like you've always wanted?" The fair elf turned back to his companion. "When will I know if Legolas is prepared to rule this land when I am gone?"
Elrond blinked several times and looked down at the ground, thinking. He slowly moved to the chair beside him, and sat in his usual position, fingers steepled, eyes penetrating the question that lay before him. His dark head lowered until his fingers touched his firmly pressed lips, mulling over the advice he was about to bestow to his life-long companion
Thranduil still stood by the window, his gaze now resting on the floor tiles, patiently awaiting the wisdom of the elf he looked to as a brother. His green eyes flickered up when Elrond finally spoke.
"I had to ask myself the same question not long ago...'When will Estel be ready for his future?'" Thranduil inclined his head, understanding. "You do not know how many sleepless nights I have had over that troubling question, Thranduil." There was a slight lull; a breeze softly blew through the glassless window arches that made up the wall of the chamber.
Elrond's deep voice continued after a moment. "Mellon-nin, the truth is, there is no way of really knowing, until you reach the end. You must take everything...one step at a time."
"Indeed, I know that," Thranduil agreed. "But therein lies the problem: what steps must I take? What do I teach him? I do not know what to say to him, to prepare him for the life ahead."
Elrond was silent for a moment. Suddenly a thought sprang into his mind. He gazed up at the father before him, and a smile played at his the corners of his mouth. "Learn from him," he said abruptly.
Thranduil's brows narrowed in curiosity. "Learn from him?" he repeated, not sure of his meaning.
"Aye," the knowledgeable King replied, humored by the simplicity of the answer they both sought. "In learning you will teach...and then in teaching you will learn. Get to know your son; he'll show you what instruction he needs. When the time comes, you'll know what to say."
Thranduil shifted his eyes to the floor, pondering the words he knew where the wisest he could hope to receive. 'Learn...from my son,' he thought, amazed. He had never considered such a thing before. He looked up at Elrond.
"I believe you're right, my lord," he said, smiling. "I will talk to him; maybe all of my questions will be answered through him."
"I think it highly probable," Elrond stood, and laughed lightly. "Legolas is a good lad, I know he'll make you proud."
"He already has."
Thranduil guided Elrond back to the archway. He pulled back the curtain, but paused for a moment. "Elrond," he asked, all formality gone for a moment. "Is there anything you don't know?"
His friend laughed. "How many times have you asked me that over the years? And my answer is always the same, 'I-
"'-don't know!'" they finished together, and laughed warmly. "You've always been such a humble man, Elro."
"And you've always kept me honest, Thran." The kings were silent for a moment, smiling at each other again, and though they looked nothing alike, any passers-by would have taken them for brothers that had been through numerous trials together. They would not have been far from the truth.