Cuthenin (True-Bow)

by femorton
unbeta'd

Disclaimer: just borrowing, the characters and settings are Tolkien's, the words here are mine.

thoughts
(elvish translation)

Summary: A look at what might happen if Legolas was just known as a messenger and not as Thranduil's son. The setting is just before the Council of Elrond. Features Glorfindel/Legolas pairing.

NOTE: My deepest apologies for the atrocious formatting errors in the initial post of the first chapter. I think I understand what the problem is and hopefully have corrected it. My thanks to those who read and those who took the time to review, in spite of these irritating glitches!
Cheers,
Fred E. Morton

Minui Peth: Mellon o Coth? (Part One: Friend or Foe?)

"They know."

"Aye. I expected as much. Once the hobbit made it over the ford, the Dark Lord trained his attention on any others travelling to Rivendell. His spies are everywhere. The Wraiths may be temporarily scattered but innumerable are the lesser evils capable of thwarting us. There have been several raids on neighbouring villages; the people flee to the west for safety. Yet Orcs are patrolling just outside our borders, attacking as soon as Anor (the sun) retreats."

"Do what you can. Those drawn here must complete their journey. Alert me of all visitors immediately."

"Aye. Ir telitha Elladan ar Elrohir?" (When are Elrohir and Elladan expected?)

"Na Ithil Bant. Nae, si cúron." (At Full Moon. Alas, now it is Cresent)

"Avgosto; incen gwanûn hebir gell an telien." (Do not worry; my guess is the twins are just enjoying the sport.)

"Útelien, Glorfindel," (It is hardly a game, Glorfindel.) the Lord of Imladris admonished.

"Na tí no ten," (It is to them.) countered the saviour of Eärendil with a wry smile.

The ancients conversed quietly on the balcony overlooking a peaceful grove of chestnut trees, keeping their voices low for the benefit of the recovering hobbit resting in the room behind them. Leaning on the rail in weary malaise, Gandalf gave a short laugh and nodded, but his mood was anything but jolly. The two elves looked in his direction and he shrugged.

"I am glad they are out there. Glorfindel is right, the numbers of Orcs are increasing and we need someone to discourage their boldness." His grave words raised an indignant grunt from the Balrog Slayer.

"My warriors are not sitting around on their hands, Peniphant (Old One)! We have strengthened our patrols accordingly and intercepted several raids already. Show some faith in Imladris' forces."

"Of course, I meant no slight. It is just imperative for everyone so appointed to reach this destination."

"Valar willing, they shall," intoned Elrond and returned to the sick room to check on the patient.

Glorfindel joined the wizard at his gloomy watch, gazing down into the peaceful grounds. The late afternoon sunlight filtered through the trees and cast flickering shadows on the lawn. The orchard was empty of elves and the valley was silent, the tension of the Lord of the Hidden Vale infecting everyone so that even the Bruinen's booming voice was sombre and apprehensive. Glorfindel sighed and straightened up.

"I must prepare; it is an hour before annûn (sunset) and I wish to be well away before dark." He gave the Istar a brief nod and strode back inside, passing through the convalescing hobbit's chamber, offering Elrond but a quick wave of his hand in salute, knowing his comment had been heard.

The venerable soldier left the pleasing elegance of the Last Homely House through the kitchens, stopping to gather the provisions prepared for him and exchange a warm word of thanks with the able cooks before crossing the broad expanse of the formal gardens to reach the more utilitarian section of the Noldo Lord's compound.

Glorfindel stepped up his pace as he entered the barracks courtyard, noting with satisfaction that his troops were busy preparing for the night's surveillance. He was spotted and hailed and the noble captain returned the salutation. No instruction was required of him for these were seasoned warriors, hand-picked from among the best archers and swordsmen of Imladris. Each knew what was expected and what awaited them in the drear of the starless gloom, for all had seen more than an Age of life and none had reached their sum of years unscathed by combat with the enemy.

A short whistle sounded and they mounted up, forming three troops of twelve cavalry grouped in ranks of four. Without a word spoken the patrols left the barracks, the thunderous rumble of the horses' hooves providing the only accompaniment to their departure. At the ford Glorfindel saluted the border guards and there his forces divided, each troop taking a different sector of the terrain chosen by lots.

The Balrog Slayer's company had drawn the grim expanse of the North Road, a desolate and little used thoroughfare connecting the western lands of Eriador to the wild regions east of the Misty Mountains. Yet this was one of the most likely areas to run into Orcs, for the vile things had virtually made the road through the peaks impassable. The Hithaeglir was replete with dens and caves packed with the disgusting mutations and ever were they on watch for any traveller foolish enough to attempt the pass. From these infested caverns poured the influx of Sauron's minions into the gentler, more civilised lands bordering Imladris.

Glorfindel fully anticipated a skirmish at the very least.

An hour past midnight, the elven warriors encountered a large troop of the detestable vermin in a small wooded area just within the foothills of the towering mountains, no more than five leagues from the Hidden Vale. It was obvious the foul creatures had set up an ambush, using the scattered outcroppings and the cover of the trees to hide their presence. It was equally apparent that their plan had failed, for every single one of the Orcs was dead. That they had tried to flee was clear as well. What the Noldorin soldiers could not figure out, however, was the nature of the opposing army. It was an intriguing puzzle, for no tracks or signs of the warriors were evident, and if not for the finely crafted elven arrows deeply penetrating each corpse, the Imladrians would have suspected some sort of magic.

Glorfindel collected one of the feathered bolts and raised his brows as an expression of surprise suffused his features. Though he had never held one like it in his hands before, he could deduce the origin of the archer by process of elimination. The design of the shafts and fletching used in Lothlorien were known to him, as were those of Imladris and Mithlond. The weapon was definitely not of human make and there was only one other realm of elves in Arda. The attack had been thwarted by Wood Elves from Thranduil's kingdom in Mirkwood. The intrepid warrior fingered the deadly point as he counted the number of bodies; fifty Orcs lay rotting under the moon.

"It would seem we have allies to the east after all," he said softly. "Split into groups of four and seek this company of silvan elves, for I would thank them for their service."

The remaining hours of Ithil's reign they searched, but no sign of the woodland warriors could they discover. At last the faint light of dawn's approach touched the sky and the soldiers resumed ranks and headed home, no wiser regarding the identities of their unseen benefactors. When the Balrog Slayer's group reached the ford, the second and third companies of the night patrol were already gathered together. Many had dismounted and rested on the grassy banks to enjoy the show, for the guards and the warriors were arguing with, firing off questions, and making jokes at the expense of a loan person within their midst.

A solitary Wood Elf stood beside his horse, ringed by the elite forces of Elrond's realm, and stoically endured the interrogation, repeating the same answer no matter how many different ways the Noldorin elves chose to ask him to state his business.

"I am a messenger from Thranduil's Realm over the Mountains. I must speak with Lord Elrond."

"Athedrainyn (BorderCrossers) are not granted audience with our Lord. Hand over your dispatch and we shall see it delivered," one of the guards demanded.

"I cannot, for I am charged to render the news personally."

"Why, is it memorised?" a warrior jibed and raised a few chuckles from his peers.

"Excuse me?" the messenger was genuinely baffled by this query and that elicited even more laughter. He gazed around at the encircling soldiers, bewildered.

"I asked if you have the news memorised. Do you not understand Sindarin well? Your accent is rather heavy," the warrior expounded to further tittering amusement among his fellows.

"I understand your speech but not your meaning. I am commanded by my Lord to give a complete reckoning of the situation; memorisation is not necessary for I was involved in the events."

"Oh, that explains it then. I thought perhaps the message was committed to memory due to your Lord's inability to write it down." With the cutting point finally delivered the assembled troops erupted with mirthful mockery and congratulated their comrade on his fine joke.

The Wood Elf merely stood silent and still, features impassive, running his fingers through the glossy white mane of the mare by his side, waiting for them to resume their questioning.

The arrival of Glorfindel's company forestalled this, however. The Balrog Slayer dismounted and the soldiers quelled their merriment, parting to let him through to the unexpected visitor. Couriers from the Woodland Realm seldom came to Imladris for the Mirkwood elves were distrustful of the Noldorin folk across the mountains. He assessed the archer as he approached, noting with a smirk that the Wood Elf was doing the same to him.

What he saw was as he expected: the elf was small in stature, slight in build, young in years, and fair of face. So it was among the Athedrainyn, for speed was their sole defence and thus only the lightest in weight were chosen for this career. Usually, their fleet steeds were not fast enough to forestall the inevitable for very long. Thranduil's messengers seldom saw their five hundredth begetting day.

This one is not so far from his Coll o Gweth, (Coming of Age) I would wager my finest mare. And the thought made Glorfindel's face turn grim in disapproval, for to his mind it was wrong to set one so young upon the road to Mandos. Indeed, he could not recall ever meeting or hearing of such a youngling venturing beyond the cover of the trees. He weighed the Wood Elf's worth anew. More expendable or more trustworthy? he wondered.

In addition to callowness, the archer was too pale, too thin, his cloak was wrapped around him as if he felt chilled, and he was absolutely filthy, coated in mud and dirt and dried blood. If he had a sword the cape obscured it but his bow was in his left hand and the quiver upon his back was empty. His hair was probably the same flaxen shade as his mare's mane underneath all the grime and he wore it braided back in battle style. Glorfindel decided he was evaluating a very different calibre of Mirkwood messenger than those he had seen in Lorien.

"Mae Govannen (Well Met)," he said with a slight smile. "I am pleased to welcome you. Go now and alert your captain that your company may enter the Hidden Vale under the Blessings of the Star Kindler. Our Lord will be eager to express gratitude for the service your warriors have done for Imladris and the surrounding lands."

"I humbly thank you for such a gracious greeting, my Lord," said the woodland warrior with a deep bow, hand over his heart. "Yet I have no captain nor company to summon. My comrades were killed; I am the only survivor of this mission."

That this was true was evident in the depth of sorrow the lone archer's voice betrayed and the Balrog Slayer stared into eyes shadowed in misery and swimming with confusion and pain. Glorfindel comprehended instantly that the youthful soldier had seen his initial mortal combat on this journey and witnessed the death of friends and kin for the first time. The ancient warrior was saddened to bear witness to this loss of innocence and could not remove his gaze from the limitless azure orbs. His brow wrinkled; something in that woeful stare bespoken a wisdom beyond the dearth of years this youth had lived, and he wondered at it.

"I grieve for your loss," he finally managed to murmur the polite phrase as one of his leutenants coughed to get his attention. "And yet I am bewildered. There were no elves among the bodies, of that we made certain. What has become of your troop?"

Now it was the Wood Elf's forehead that creased in confusion as he tried to comprehend the noble Lord's meaning. He wondered for a second if this was not the prelude to another graceless slander but immediately discarded the notion. The warrior was not like the others, and even they would not find the death of his fellows something to ridicule. Mayhap he truly did not comprehend their dialect after all.

"Forgive me, Lord, but your question puzzles me. I did not travel hence among a company of warriors. I am one of four sent on an errand of vital importance from Lord Thranduil. We were waylaid in the mountain pass and there my friends perished."

"Four? Nay, that cannot be right," the words were said not so much with disbelief as shocked denial.

"I assure you it is the truth. No more could be spared for this journey though its priority is of the highest order. My people are beset by divers enemies from the citadel of Dol Guldur and our troops are needed to guard our borders."

"But we came upon a horde of Orcs amid the foothills, all of them felled by arrows such as are used in the Woodland Realm. No elves were among the corpses, of this we made certain. Is it possible there is another entourage from your lands, unknown to you?"

"Ah, I understand you now. Those Orcs. The ambush beneath the boxwood trees and the stones." He paused and drew a weary breath. "That filth was not the same offal that attacked my group in the mountains. However, I consider they originated from the same source and killed them with as much relish as if they had been the same that took my friends' lives." The messenger was clearly relieved to have the confusion cleared and smiled for the first time, a very grim and bitter smile.

"What nonsense!" One of the border guards scoffed. "Are you so lacking in propriety that you dare lie to the face of Glorfindel, Lord of the House of the Golden Flower?"

"I should thrash you for it, whelp, and teach you some manners!" a second warrior chimed in.

"I do not lie! I demand you retract that slur at once or face me blade!" the silvan archer cast back his cloak and unsheathed a long, gory hunting knife as he assumed a defensive posture. He spared a second's gawking at the tall, golden Vanya before him, yet would not allow his awe over the presence of so renowned a legend stifle his outrage over the Noldor's calumnies.

"Hold!" shouted Glorfindel, uplifting his palm toward the visitor. "Be calm and lower your weapon; the apology you shall have at once." His voice was low and measured but though his keen eyes sought the young elf's the archer would not remove his ravaged glare from the Noldo who had insulted his honour. "Ithilgwath, (Moonshadow), beg pardon of our guest immediately, for you have shamed the Lord of the Valley by such inexcusable defamation."

"My Lord?" the elven warrior stared in shock at his commander. "You heard his words, did you not? He seeks to make a name for himself by claiming the valorous deeds of others!"

"Vile son of kinslayers, defend yourself!" hissed the Wood Elf and advanced immediately, fully prepared to vindicate his reputation even if it meant drawing the pompous soldier's blood.

Glorfindel repositioned himself between them as the rest of the Noldor fell back and gave the pair a wide clearance, though two Imladrian archers drew aim upon the interloper's heart. Then the former Lord of Gondolin did something that quite shocked his troops. He took up his place beside the bedraggled Mirkwood messenger and drew his sword as well.

"I will not countenance such low words from among elves that claim to serve the Vale of the Last Homely House!" he thundered, so angry he could scarcely contain his desire to strip the offender of his commission on the spot. "Rest assured the loyalty of those who would disregard my orders will be thoroughly investigated. Choose now what your demeanour shall be: gratitude for the elf who rid our lands of the stink of Sauron's vermin or haughty disdain for a stranger far from his own lands. No reason have we to doubt this elf or subject him to ridicule, while every hint of evidence supports his account of the night's work."

At these harsh words the warriors were troubled, for they had no wish to stand against their noble captain. The archers lowered their bows and were the first to approach, bowing low before the silvan and the Balrog Slayer.

"Gohenna nin, (Forgive me)" each murmured. "My Lord, we acted on instinct when we saw his knife glint in Anor's rays."

"Aye, yet you should not have been so hasty in your judgement," complained Glorfindel. He turned slightly to view his colleague and could not suppress an amused grin at the blank expression of confused amazement plastered over the archer's features. "What say you to their apology, laegel gand?" (bold green-elf)

The silvan warrior relaxed somewhat, but only allowed his vision to flicker for an instant in the speaker's direction, keeping his attention centred on the one that had so baldly besmirched him. He was both disappointed and disgusted, for this treatment was like nothing he had been told to expect from the Noldor elves of Imladris. The disdain and the rude jokes, these he had prepared his heart to endure, but such an outright insult could only be perceived as an open challenge and invitation to conflict. Yet, there was the matter of the dispatch with which he had been entrusted and this personal injury must accept lesser notice. A short sigh left his lungs and he gave a nod equally brief.

"It is acceptable, yet these two are not truly the guilty ones. Be that as it may, for the sake of their swift repentance and in hopes of a truce between us, I will hold no grudge upon this land or its people, but upon Ithilgwath," and here he uplifted the mithril blade and pointed it straight at the warrior's heart, "shall bear a burden that may be relieved only by answering my challenge or rendering an oath of subservience."

"What say you?" sputtered the livid warrior. Ithilgwath sought to stride forth and meet the stinging rebuke at once but his fellows grasped his arms and held him still. "Subservience to such as you, Wood Elf? I would sooner kneel to a human!"

"You are dismissed, soldier," growled Glorfindel. "Return to the barracks and await your summoning before Lord Elrond. You have made your choice and now shall you earn its merits." So saying the mighty Vanya sheathed his broadsword with evident wrath but barely contained and turned his back upon the disgraced elf. With another bow he appealed to his humble guest. "I offer my own regrets for this deplorable demonstration of prejudice and bigotry. I had hoped for better from my troops, yet it seems even I cannot be free of error, for I chose this lot myself and thus ultimately must answer for their deeds, be they honourable or despicable."

Ithilgwath glowerered in furious outrage and hastened to his stallion, mounting up and splashing across the ford, two of his comrades at his heels to mark his adherence to the captain's order.

Amid the noisy slosh of the horses' watery departure the remaining warriors mounted as well, awaiting their leader's command to return to the city. Yet stringent though they were in controlling it, not a few were evidently displeased to have their comrade berated for the likes of so common a being, by their estimation, that the men of Gondor seemed noble by comparison.

"I would not have you carry that burden, Lord," the Wood Elf spoke again, "but the ways of the silvans are mayhap divergent from the customs of the Noldor. In as much as I may relieve it, consider that no grievance to Lord Elrond shall be made against yourself nor any other among your folk. What stands between Ithilgwath and me shall remain there until he chooses to meet me in combat."

"Very well, I cannot gainsay your words for I doubt I would be as gracious were it me in your position," smiled the Balrog Slayer. "Will you let us hear your name for I would have your brave deeds whilest in our fair country reported and commended to both our Lords."

"Gladly will I give my name, yet I cannot accept accolades, nor would my Lord approve them, for acting as duty demands. Cuthenin, Athedreinyn an Thranduil, Aran o Gladgalen." (I am True-bow, messenger for Thranduil, King of Greenwood.) So speaking the valiant silvan archer bowed again before the mighty reborn elf.

"Suilad," called one of the mounted cavalry in genuine goodwill, for not all were contemptuous of the visitor, especially in light of their Lord's example. "Will you join us at table, Cuthenin, and tell us tales of your homeland?"

"Hannaden," (My thanks) a meagre smile attended this acceptance for really the Wood Elf had only the wish to get his chore completed and be gone from the foreign land. His bow was required at home, where every night brought increasing boldness from the foul servants of the Wraiths in Dol Guldur.

"Nay, I must interfere in those plans," said Glorfindel, shrewdly reading the signs of aching fatigue that clung to the archer as thickly as the grime of his travails coated his slender frame. "We must allow our guest to rest and refresh himself before taking his news to Lord Elrond. Now, let us make for home and a hearty breakfast!"

Glorfindel vaulted onto his charger's back and noted the silvan lightly spring upon the withers of his mount. With a wave of his hand, the captain ordered his troops home, falling into formation at the rear alongside the Woodland warrior, and the column galloped through the shallow river's glinting spray.

TBC