Chapter Two: Of Trips, Traps and Trees

Tharmeduil was waiting outside the throne room, pacing. He looked up as he heard Legolas' light footsteps. Less tall than his brother and with lowlights in his hair taking it into a dark, almost mousy blond, still one could see the family resemblance in the shape of the nose and the intensity of gaze, although here, too, Legolas had the advantage.

Tharmeduil reached out to clasp his brother's hand, light blue eyes concerned.

'What did Ada say? I swear, I have no idea how your secret got out… I heard no shouting, he didn't rage, at least…?'

Legolas shook his head. 'It wasn't about me,' he said. 'Come.'

He led the way through the intricate corridors towards one of the many private chambers, making sure the door was fastened after them. There was usually someone or other walking the corridors, and to be overheard would be uncomfortable.

'You have to be more careful, Tharmeduil! He knows all about your trips to the bawdy houses in Lake Town! And Iauron had better stop completely, if he's serious about his lady…'

'I'll let you tell Iauron that!'

'He wouldn't take it from me – he'd think of me as just a dog in the manger. More to the point, I won't be here – I'm on Spider Patrol for the next sennight…'

'What did you do to deserve that?'

'I don't mind. It's an interesting challenge and it makes the forest feel better.'

'What else did Ada say?'

'He wanted to ask what I knew of the lady.'

'Not about her – you. Does he know? Was he very… disappointed?'

'I told you; it wasn't about me,' Legolas insisted. 'I have to go, I need to seek the patrol commander.'

'Legolas…!'

But with a quick smile, Legolas slipped from the chamber and headed out to the practice grounds where he was pretty sure he could find those commanders not currently on patrol.

Hunting spiders required agility of mind and body; four limbs against eight, two eyes against many. One had to be able to twist and turn in the air, to change tactics in a heartbeat, to listen to the rhythm of one's own body in counterpoint to one's environment, to learn what was caused by oneself and what was the result of a spider's approach.

So Legolas was hardly surprised when, on arrival at the training ground, he found the archery targets unattended, the empty-hand circle… well, empty, and the trees ringing the arena were bowing under the weight of grey shadows in their uppermost regions. The shadows were moving with an odd, swaying rhythm and didn't seem to making any real progress through the branches.

There was a certain knack to trees. The Sylvan elves of the Woodland Realm had it, and guarded it fiercely from the Noldor and Teleri, sharing it only with the Sindar who made their homes amongst them. So Legolas knew it, and used it now, running to the ring of trees and laying his hand swiftly on the bark of a sturdy oak, sending his perceptions in. He whispered a few soft words, feeling the connection as the tree became aware of him, accepted his presence, and then he began to climb.

Wherever he put his foot, or his hand, there was always a knot hole or a branch waiting for him as the tree became complicit in his ascent. His senses honed from decades, centuries of practice, Legolas felt as if he was flowing up through the tree until he reached its canopy and his golden head poked through the crown of leaves to feel glinting sunshine and a rocking breeze soughing around him.

He rested for a moment, enjoying the air, savouring the freedom and riding the soft swaying of the canopy.

From the left, a voice hailed him, and he turned in acknowledgement.

'Commander Bregon! Greetings!' he called out, recognising the gold brown hair and strong features of the waving figure. 'Is it your patrol next out?'

'It is we, indeed,' Bregon began to surf through the canopy towards Legolas, moving lightly and swiftly across the trees between them. 'We leave an hour before dusk; there's an established nest we've been targeting and it's just about ripe for the plucking.'

'My father told me to beg a place in your ranks.'

Bregon nodded. 'I had word of it; as his majesty wishes, of course. I'd be honoured to stand down in your favour…'

Legolas knew this was a courtesy Bregon couldn't avoid; had he not offered to turn over command to his prince, it could be considered an almost treasonous insult. He hastened to shake his head.

'No, Bregon; my father made a point of telling me I need more experience before I'm ready to have other lives than my own in my hands. I'm just your bowman, Commander.'

'Thank you,' Bregon said. 'I'll admit, that makes my task easier. Come, let's see if you can make to the forest floor without setting off any of the traps…'

Legolas grinned as he followed Bregon's gaze. He understood, now, the strange rhythm of the tree tops; trip lines, meant to simulate the warning strands of a spider web, had been strung through the trees to ensnare the unwary. From the look of things, more than a few of the patrol had allowed their attention to slip.

'Don't worry; they're not all as inept as this makes them seem.' Bregon gave an easy wink. 'We're also practising how to free ourselves, should we become entangled. Take that chestnut, there. I'll be in the one adjacent.'

Legolas pushed his way to the tree Bregon had indicated and dropped through the canopy to spread his weight amongst the thin branches stretching out from the crown. It being spring in the woods, great creamy candles of blossom made a chandelier of the chestnut tree, each flower spike with its pink centred florets busy with bees and other insects. Legolas smiled, took hold of the branches beneath his feet, and read the tree…

He dropped the first twenty feet with ease, slithering through the branches like a greased woodpigeon, hugging the trunk. A sense of alteration reached him from the sapient layer of the tree, and he stayed his descent, clinging with fingertip precision as he re-examined the bark beneath… yes. Not a foot's length from where he had stopped, a grey snake of sticky rope twined the trunk; he would have to head across to one of the main branches and drop to beneath the trip line… and as he reached out, he saw the glimmer and gleam of more tangled cords. So instead of gripping the branch, he launched himself at it, pushed at it with the heels of his hands and gained enough momentum to power a leap back, twisting in the air to reach out once more… the thought flashed through his mind that nothing would make him more one of the crowd than to end up swathed in mock-spidersilk, but the thought was humiliating and so he found the perfect handhold on another branch and swung himself through and down and between the dangers to land lightly and all-but silently on one of the lower branches.

A rough cheer went up from somewhere amongst the foliage, and he grinned for a moment, about to make the final leap to the ground… and just in time saw the trip line woven between the roots. Spotting his landing place to the side of the last trap, he jumped the final few feet and went to join Bregon, waiting with mock-surprise on his face.

'Nicely done!' the commander said with approval in his voice. 'You know your way around a tree, at least. Come and meet my second. We call him Thiriston Cut-Face…'

'Oh?' They were heading across to where a powerful figure was waiting with two or three patrol members, stripping the last strands of mock-spidersilk from their hair and laughing at them. 'How did he earn the name? He doesn't look scarred.'

'Well, now. Some of the scars my patrol carries are where you can't see. But as for Thiriston, it's just that's what he threatens to do to anyone who looks twice at his lover.' Bregon nodded towards a fair-faced elf with strong shoulders, rich, wide eyes and braided chestnut hair. 'And so I tell all my newcomers, irrespective of preference or rank: don't take liberties with pretty bowman Canadion over there, or you might end up less pretty yourself. No offence.'

'None taken.'