Steadfast
The prince stood silently before the commander of the archers. His eyes were very clear and bright but they could not fully hide the slight fear he was trying bury within them.
Glânhen looked down with disdain at the youth before him, and he felt his heart awash with a consuming hate for those despicable beasts the boy had saved. He had been reluctant to accept the young prince among his archers but he had so far had no cause for complaint. At least after this transgression he could reasonably send the child back to his father.
But not before he learned what it meant to defy his commander before the whole company. Glânhen had never thought it would come to this, he had been gentle enough through the uncounted years with Doriath. But those days were long gone, shattered by the greed of the cursed Naugrim.
Glânhen leaned forward from where he sat on a low cut log between the standing ranks of the archers. Several were of the same age and harbored similar memories of the slaughter of the Grey Elves. Most were young like the youth that stood before him, a few looking regretful but most were thoroughly frightened.
Glânhen could be exceedingly intimidating when he chose, indeed the only one meeting his eyes at the moment was the one he was passing sentence on.
"Legolas Thranduilion, you are accused of having willfully defying the orders of your commander, using your rank as prince against his wishes and aiding murderers of our people."
The prince closed his eyes thinking back to the events of that morning and wished that there had been another way. But no wish of his could change what had passed so he steeled himself to the humiliation and looked his commander in the eye.
"I admit to having defied Lord Glânhen's orders and using my rank to help the travelers but I gave no aid to murderers and criminals. The Anfangrim had no part in the destruction of our people. Would you slay any Noldo you come upon in vengeance for the deeds of the sons of Fëanor?"
"How dare you compare an Elf to the Naugrim, tithen ernil?" he spat utterly incensed though he truly had no love for those kinslaying dwarf-lovers, " You know nothing of what you speak, you are young, you did not see your mother and father slaughtered in cold blood, you did not see the great halls reeking with elven blood! Be silent penneth, lest you make your case worse."
"I could not stand and let you slay the innocent, I have no great love of the Anfangrim my lord, but neither will I see those who have done us no wrong murdered for the faults of their kin."
"Enough! You have chosen your own punishment child, for you admit to disobeying orders and misusing your rank and though you deny it, it is clear that you have succored our enemy."
Legolas opened his mouth for a moment and shut it with a snap, Glânhen would not listen to him whatever he might say.
Glânhen looked about at the senior patrol leaders who nodded their confirmation of the prince's guilt for they too remembered the blood and the death of they who should not die.
"Thranduilion, for treachery to your kin you have no part in this company. You will do as any of the patrol member's orders without question or defiance. Your father will hear of this disgrace when we return and your weapons and the braids of your rank are forfeit as you are clearly not worthy to bear the arms for your people.
Legolas watched with sorrow in his eyes as his bow was carelessly tossed to Glânhen, he loved it dearly for he had crafted it himself over many years. Glânhen brought his sword upon it with all his might snapping it cleanly in twain. His longsword was unceremoniously wrapped in old rags and left among the packs.
But Glânhen was not yet done with humiliating his charge, he strode forward to where the boy was standing rigidly. Ungentle fingers undid the braids that marked him a prince and a warrior. There was a sharp smack as he slapped the prince full across the face.
"Naugrimseryn!" he hissed finally as he turned away leaving the prince alone in the clearing, his lip bleeding and his heart full of anguish. The Valar seemed very far away indeed when he needed their strength most. But Legolas had never been one to give up under adverse conditions as both his father and mother fondly attested.
The rest of the patrol was utterly miserable. It was supposed to be a three-month training mission for the younger elves but for the prince it became a nightmare. Elves seldom resorted to physical violence especially to their own kind, but there are many ways of inflicting wounds and these grim survivors of Doriath used them without compunction.
He had never given much thought to being a prince, certainly Thranduil had raised to see himself not above his fellow elves but as one of them. As prince he was pledged to care for and guard them from all harm not to order others around at his whim. Indeed the dwarf incident had been one of few times he had ever used his rank.
He was used to serving but out of his own duty and honor not as punishment and certainly not with jests and biting orders following his every move…
"Lasse, can you not even start a fire properly, the sun will be setting by the time your royal highness finishes breakfast."
Legolas cringed inwardly at the casual use of his pet name, only his closest friends called him that and to hear it so reviled was sickening. And so it went all day and often late into the night as well. It was wearying and caused a long slow pain deep in his spirit. The single act of running forward and greeting the dwarves as prince of the Greenwood and thus destroying the ambush Glânhen had laid brought him from a well-liked and merry comrade-in-arms to a sort of pariah to be laughed at and ridiculed. His rank was certainly no protection.
Legolas slumped slightly beside the stream where he was scrubbing up after yet another unappreciated meal. When he had made the decision to save the miserable dwarves he had known that Glânhen would be angry, and he hadn't made it lightly and he had chosen to accept the consequences. Now he almost wished that the Elf had simply had him flogged the way humans treated their insubordinate followers, anything seemed better than this constant barrage of spiteful comments.
The pot slipped through his numbing fingers and he reached after it as a shadow fell across his hand. It took all his self-control to hold himself still, waiting for a slap or sharp complaint. None came, a pale hand reached down and snatched the pot from the stream.
He looked up, blaming himself for having let down his guard. There were three elves standing about him, all about his own age and his heart chilled at the thought. It was bad enough having the older elves, the ones who remembered the sack of Doriath tormenting him, but these were his own friends. They had fought together, hunted together, sang and told old legends around the campfires together.
For a moment he faltered, he did not know what his father would say about the trouble he was in, for he had seen the ruin of Menegroth but at least he would face them as a prince and a warrior. That much he could do for both his adar and his naneth.
He stood carefully, tossing his unbraided hair behind him as he looked the three in the eye. Glânhen had taken all but one of his tunics and pair of leggings even down to his boots. The pale light caught the golden hair turning it to sleek electrum, barefoot and dirty he still looked the prince he was. Glânhen could not take away the light in his eyes or the regal bearing. Those were his own.
Elgalen looked at his two friends and silently the three bowed before their prince. Legolas almost started back so surprised was he.
"You were right, Prince Legolas" began Elgalen, "It would have been murderer to kill the dwarves, however much we dislike them."
Elran and Roval nodded as they took up the dirty camp equipment and all four began chatting merrily together. The prince's heart light and carefree after the last, long weeks.
Legolas was not alone that night nor all the nights after until they again returned to the Greenwood.
Anfangrim/ Naugrim – Both are name for the dwarves, Anfangrim is more polite from what I can tell.
Naugrimseryn – My translation for dwarf-lover, roughly equivalent in this context as calling someone a Nazi collaborator.