Chapter 2 – A Shattered Arrow
The Woodland Realm
A taught bowstring releasing its arrow echoed through the tall deep-rooted trees of the Woodland Realm. Only the quickest eyes caught its path through the air before it embedded itself, centered within its target. The sound repeated thrice more in rapid succession before all went silent.
There was a collective intake of breath as the tension grew to that of impatient anxiety. The crowd watched in silence as judges went forth to examine the arrows. Competition had been fierce; it would take a moment of careful authoritative debate to consider the decade's victor of this winter's archery competition.
Warriors and Silvan citizens alike had gathered to watch the long sought after competition. Rumors that the young Thranduilion had been accepted to compete had reached far into the outer settlements of the Northern Realm. Many curious spectators travelled from afar in keen determination to witness the skill of the normally reclusive prince in one of his rare public appearances. Amongst the hundreds of competing archers, any who wished to, knew how to seek out their young prince, his light golden hair unmistakably identifying him as the Son of Thranduil, the Sindar Prince of the Woodland Realm.
Thranduil's eyes shone with pride as he shot furtive glances towards his subjects, watching their awe filled faces when Legolas' stepped forward taking his turn, surprising them all with his skill. A smile broached his hard set face, momentarily transforming the normal facade of a reserved king to that of a beaming father, noting the crowd shared his mirth.
He had taught Legolas everything he knew, directing him in the finer points of the art. Meticulously honing his skill. It was long hard work but Legolas was coming along nicely, vey nicely indeed. Thranduil was now certain his son would place in one of the top ten standings of the archery festivities, an honor in itself.
Legolas' name had been called. There was a moment of silence as the crowd seemed to edge closer as the judges came forth, their faces unreadable. There was a long pause before the announcement was made, and the forest erupted into a song of cheer. Legolas had placed eighth. The prince, who had yet to prove himself in battle, had placed in one of the most prominent competitions against hundreds of competitors, distinguishing himself as one of the most skillful.
Thranduil couldn't be more proud. His heart swelled with joy, wishing just once he could celebrate merrily amongst his people, openly cheering along with them. Instead, Thranduil stood tall, only the smallest of smiles hinting his pleasure. He was king and had to be fair, not showing favoritism, even towards his own son. Thranduil briefly caught Legolas' excited eyes, nodding his approval, before releasing his attentions to the surrounding crowd.
From his vantage point Thranduil watched as a crowd of giggling ellith seemed to swallow his son, all un-courted maidens, wishing to offer congratulations and well wishes their prince. Thranduil let out a low chuckle as Legolas' attention was drawn towards the giggling maidens, the uncomfortable and somewhat embarrassed look on his face was not unmissed. The Elvenking turned away, choosing not to go to his son's rescue. Legolas needed to learn to handle himself in such situations, there is no better way to learn than through experience.
"He did well my Lord," an approaching voice spoke. "I am most impressed by the young one's tenacity with the bow. He exhibits skill beyond his years."
Thranduil turned towards the compliment, seeing it came from Chief Commander Balchar, of the Woodland Realm's Defensive Faction. The hard-set commander was rarely impressed, and when he was, almost never expressed it.
"Legolas still has much to learn," Thranduil insisted. "But he shall make a great leader for his people one day."
"Aye," the Commander agreed. "When it is time, I wish to reserve a spot for him on my patrol."
Thranduil raised an eyebrow. "You are not the first to make such a request."
"And I suspect I will not be the last. I have witnessed the reactions of those who have been on the receiving end of his youthful tricks. He would be a valuable asset to any patrol."
To that Thranduil did smile. "Aye," he agreed. "Legolas' ability to blend within the forest is effortless. Naurochir has taught him well."
"If this is the skill of a youth not yet having reached full stature, I cannot fathom how deadly he shall become once grown into adulthood."
Thranduil nodded in agreement. "But where his skill with the bow lays, his strength with knife and hand to hand combat is sorely lacking. Much work is still needed."
"Nevertheless, I still wish you to seriously consider my request," Balchar pleaded.
Thranduil replied with a wry smile. "Tis not a request I can answer lightly," he said. "Naurochir also wishes to claim him. It would be unfair to disallow him to the fruits of his labors."
"But my Lord, is that wise? Naurochir oft takes his patrol to the reaches closest to Dol Guldur. You wish to send your son there?" Balchar questioned.
Thranduil's eyes narrowed. "I shall send my son to wherever his skills are most needed. In the end though, it shall ultimately be Legolas' decision on which path he shall tread and which offers to accept." Thranduil said, with such edge, that Balchar reeled back, immediately regretting his boldness.
"But enough of such talk," Thranduil concluded. "It shall still be many years before Legolas reaches his majority. This shall not be discussed any further until that time," he dismissed.
"Forgive me, my Lord," Balchar said, with a slight bow. "I have overstepped my bounds. I was merely attempting to acknowledge that my own son is sent afar with Naurochir. I do not wish these pains upon any other."
"Tis not my desire to sent anyone so far, but I shall as long as there is a necessity to."
"Aye, my Lord. There is little we shall not do for the betterment of Greenwood."
"Aye," Thranduil replied as Balchar politely took his leave. Thranduil inwardly sighed. He would have to learn to grow accustomed to such requests, especially after Legolas' display today. Skilled as he was, Legolas was just too young and was still a child by elvish standards, only reaching his shoulder in height. Thranduil would not send his child or any other child into the battlefield.
The crowd dissolved around Legolas, Thranduil let out a small chuckle seeing how disgruntled Legolas appeared. Cheeks flushed, his hair out of place, Legolas looked exhausted by the shear amount of attention he was unused to receiving. Beckoning Legolas towards him, Thranduil placed an arm lightly around his shoulder.
"I am very proud, my son," he whispered privately to the younger elf. Legolas beamed, smiling so brightly at him, Thranduil could have sworn he was caught looking directly in the sun's rays, for that brief moment he was blinded from all the darkness of the world.
"Come," Thranduil continued, guiding Legolas down a lantern lit path. The little lights reflected off the icicles hanging from the barren trees. There was a sense of raw beauty to it pleasing Thranduil. "The hour of feasting is upon us."
Legolas could not recall a moment where he felt more thrilled. He had proven his skill with the bow not only to himself but to the whole of the Woodland Realm. The proud look in his father's eyes meant more to him than anything else in the world. It was one step closer to becoming a warrior, towards reaching is dream.
"I suspect you will have many requests for your hand in tonight's dance," his father whispered in his ear as they passed a group of blushing maidens.
Legolas felt his face flush, looking hastily away from them careful not meet any of their eyes. "I do not appreciate their attentions," he confided, secretly hoping the evening would pass by quickly.
"Regardless, it will not cease, you must learn to politely endure it. You are their Prince," Thranduil pointed out, as the pair made their way around a bend of trees. The welcoming sounds of joyous minstrels playing their flutes could be heard from the distance.
Legolas sighed. Recently, he had come to notice that more and more frequently he seemed to garner the attentions of blushing maidens. Legolas was more interested in weaponry than courting maidens, and often found the situations difficult to manage and awkward.
"Come," Thranduil said. "We are expected. The festivities will not start lest we make our appearance."
Legolas' face broke into a huge smile as they approached the clearing. Though the winter evening air was cold, the clearing offered the perfect view of the rising moon, warming Legolas' heart. In this small clearing where the elves had gathered, Legolas could almost hear the trees whisper, though his ears strained to hear it, occurring stronger here than anywhere else in the dead of winter. He looked up at his father, knowing he felt the same.
Mirth filled the air, as the minstrels starting playing with great rapture. The Elvenking had arrived; the hour of celebration could commence. A pair of elves, Commanders in the army approached them; Legolas listened disheartened as they quickly stole his father's attention away, engaging the Elvenking in exuberant conversation over fickle matters.
Frowning slightly, Legolas stayed near his father's side, more out of comfort than need as if he were a tiny elfling frightened of a crowd. Though he lived in the centre of warrior activity with the coming and going of elves on a daily basis, Legolas was often left alone in his father's caverns. Old enough to be left alone, but still too young to be of any use, Legolas had come to enjoy his solitude.
Out here amongst the crowds of dancing elves, Legolas felt out of place. He stood silently by his father's side, quietly observing the activity around him, ellon and ellith, with white winter flowers braided into to their long dark hair, dancing, and drinking to the merriment. His eyes flashed with a memory of two identical elves, the twin son's of Elrond, before pushing that memory away. His heart twisted in agony. This was supposed to be a joyous evening.
Legolas subconsciously touched his mithril circlet, delicate sitting upon his head. His hair, golden like his father's. He wished he could blend more easily amongst crowds as he could with the trees in the forest.
Feeling a slight nudge on his shoulder Legolas looked up, realizing he was being addressed and had completely missed the conversation. His face went hot in embarrassment.
"Legolas, Balchar was just inquiring as to whether or not you'd wish to train with him and his son tomorrow," Thranduil said offered.
Legolas looked nervously up at his father. Balchar, with his hard-set face always made Legolas uneasy. He had no desire to, but he could not openly refuse. He would not publically disgrace himself. Legolas looked pleadingly at his father, his eyes begging Thranduil to do something. But his father having none of it, showed Legolas no remorse.
Legolas, not seeing any tactical solution out of the situation and unwilling to insult one of his father's Chief Commanders, slowly replied with as must enthusiasm as he could muster, "I would be honoured."
The answer seemed to please Balchar greatly, who uncharacteristically patted Legolas awkwardly on the back. Glancing at this father, Legolas could have sworn though, he saw the makings of a frown reach the corners of his mouth.
His heart beat with unease and Legolas suddenly felt very uncomfortable. He politely excused himself, expressing false desire to wander around. Making quick work to avoid the lingering eyes of the finely attired maidens. To his relief Legolas recognized a group of archers from the completion, noting none of them had finished with a placing. They were all hovering around a barrel of warm mead.
"My Prince," one of them called, inviting Legolas over. Legolas recalled with shame that he could not remember any of their names, and hoped he would not disgrace himself any further this evening.
"Congratulations today, you have surprised us all," the same elf spoke, offering Legolas a chalice. Legolas smiled lightly, accepting it, wishing so desperately to fit in.
The chalice was nearly filled to the brim with mead. The deliciously sweet smell wafted into the air. Seeing them drink long from their chalices, Legolas felt their eyes bore into him. Their expectant eyes compelled Legolas to drain his glass completely. He let the warm flavors dance around his tongue, finding a sweetness to it he rather enjoyed. The looks of approval warmed his heart as his chalice was once again filled to the brim.
"That should help to loosen your tongue," one of the warriors commented with a grim smile. "You are always so quiet, my Prince," he added respectfully, as Legolas took another long gulp. If drinking mead would earn him acceptance, then he would drink mead.
All too quickly, the world around him became a haze of colors and voices. Song swirled into patterns over his head as his body swayed against the melody. He was unsure how many times his chalice had been refilled, and unaware that he had drank far more than those around him.
Legolas was aware of soft laughter, the distinct sound of giggle maidens. Eyes focusing on an approaching maiden, with flowers delicately woven into her long braids and a long gown that swayed elegantly in the evening breeze. They stood staring at each other, she glanced at him, as if expecting something from him.
"What are you waiting for?" one of the warriors questioned. "Ask for her hand in a dance."
An unknown sense of courage filled Legolas, energizing him. He was a Prince of the Woodland Realm, and realized; yes he could do this. He confidently took a step forward succumbing to his newfound bravery, just has he felt himself being roughly pushed from behind. Unbalanced he stumbled forward falling into her, crashing into the ground. Warm mead splashed across his tunic. Legolas sat there in a daze, his head swimming mercilessly. Harsh laughter danced around him. Legolas wondering what could be so funny joined them in their mirth. The maiden huffed, realized she to was being made a fool of, gathered her skirts and marched away as Legolas attempted to stand. His legs would not work and vertigo took over, making any further attempts impossible.
"Will you not aid me?" Legolas angrily slurred, suddenly becoming annoyed with their laughter. He had finally felt brave enough to approach a maiden and his attempt had been foiled by a group of reckless warriors.
"Why? When watching you is so amusing," one of them replied.
Humiliated, Legolas frowned at the comment, but before he could react, a shadow of a figure passed before his eyes blocking his view. He completely missed the exchange of words, but telling by the tone of the conversation, the new elf was not pleased.
Eyes glazed, time swirled by and before Legolas realized what had happened, he felt a pair of hands lift him to standing position, as an arm snaked around his waist. Legolas leaned heavily into he warm body. He inhaled deeply, recognizing the sent of the new comer immediately.
"Noron, you have returned!" Legolas slurred.
"Have you so little self control?" Noron chastised, leading Legolas away from the gathering. "Or do you not yet know your limits?" His voice softened. "Or mayhap this was not by your choice but theirs?"
"They had asked me to join," Legolas defended. "I could not refuse."
He heard his cousin let out a long sigh. "Some are jealous of your skill and only wished to sully your reputation," Noron said.
Legolas' expression dropped along with his heart. He could not help but to feel hurt at this new revelation. What had he done to deserve such treatment? Especially by those whom he has the upmost respect for.
"Pay them no mind. The Jealous are the most troublesome to others," Noron comforted. "You are wronged by their actions. Soon enough they will come to regret them, realizing their petty deeds are naught but a torment onto themselves."
Legolas only nodded, feeling utterly dejected, realizing the implications of his treatment. Though he had placed in the competitions, he had not yet earned anyone's respect.
"Aye," Legolas sadly whispered, the scent of mead laced heavily within his breath. "You can be the moon and still be jealous of the stars," he sadly mused.
"But you are not the moon," Noron reasoned. "You are the sun."
"I wish I were a cloud, nobody looks twice at them."
"Hey now," Noron said softly, guiding Legolas towards an overgrown tree stump, forcing him to sit upon it. Legolas felt the warmth of his cousin leave him as they were momentarily separated before Noron took a seat beside Legolas. Legolas returned to his former position as he leant heavily against him, resting his head upon his cousin's strong shoulder.
"Do not let their treatment dampen your mood. For eighth place is a mighty achievement. I do not recall there ever being one so young as you who has done so well. You should feel nothing but joy. Do not think you deserve any less."
Legolas turned his head, looking upon his cousin, a slight smile returning to his lips. "It is a shame you were unable to compete, for I'm sure you would have won!" he said.
"I am honored you think so highly of me, elfling," Noron laughed, affectionately nudging Legolas.
"I am no elfling," Legolas playfully shot back.
"Hmm, that maybe so," Noron thoughtfully relented. "But you are young."
Legolas felt Noron affectionately smooth his hair, as he closed his eyes. Feeling the shadow of self-doubt momentarily fade at this cousin's comforting words.
"Now rest your weary mind. I shall watch over you," Noron told. "I have been informed you will be training with Balchar tomorrow. To be exhausted would not be a wise way to start the day."
The following day was bright and sunny. Excitement from the previous night had not died down, as bustle of activity rang through Thranduil's Halls.
Thranduil sat behind the large desk located within his private study. He riffled through a rather long but important missive from Celeborn, frowning slightly at the news. Thranduil always dreaded receiving letters from Celeborn. Fortunately or unfortunately, Thranduil hadn't decided, Celeborn's Realm lay closer to Dol Guldur than his own established realm in the Northern Forest. By unspoken agreement, Celeborn kept close watch on the comings and goings of Dol Guldur, keeping Thranduil constantly informed on the workings of shadow, sending news of ill fortune and dark comings. This particular letter was something Thranduil could not stall upon. He sighed. More so now than ever, he felt the strain of forthcoming darkness rest heavily upon his shoulders.
A soft knock on the door drew his attention away. Quickly he folded the letter, placing it atop a missive with Elrond's stamp, having yet to open that one. He had not received a letter from Elrond since the incident of Celebrían, and wondered what ill fortune could have happened in Imladris to caused Elrond to write. Briefly he wondered if some thing could have happened to his sons, for Elladan and Elrohir had not… Another knock tore Thranduil away from his thoughts, clearing his throat, setting the dreadful letters aside.
"Enter," he commanded in a clear voice.
Slowly the door was pushed open, Legolas hesitated before entering the large room.
"Father," Legolas addressed him with a slight bow of the head. Thranduil frowned, taken aback by his son's show of formality.
"Legolas, please sit," Thranduil offered, determined to find out why such a change had occurred within his son, only yesterday he was bubbling with joy.
Thranduil's watchful gaze missed nothing as he watched Legolas slowly sit, his posture stiff and proper. Thranduil smiled warmly, hoping to ease the unwarranted tension.
"How was training with Balchar?" Thranduil asked.
"It went well. Balchar is a very considerate instructor."
"That is good news indeed."
"He has asked me to train with him again," Legolas continued.
"Well you have my permission to. He is one of the finest in hand-to-hand combat. You will learn much from him."
"Aye, Father," Legolas answered, as he slowly raised his head to meet Thranduil's gaze. "But that is not what I have come to speak to you about."
Thranduil nearly gasped at the fierce intensity behind his son's youthful, normally playful eyes. "What counsel do you seek?"
"Father," Legolas started. "I-I wish to make a formal request," he stuttered, causing Thranduil to raise a curious eyebrow.
"I shall hear your request," Thranduil offered with a gesture of his hand.
Thranduil could not explain it but he had an ill feeling. The tension in the room was too strong, too out of place, sending a chill down his spine. What new darkness was this? But Legolas appeared almost excited, attempting to hide a smile within the corners of his cheeks. It did not match the feeling of the room.
"Father, my King," Legolas continued. Thranduil's expression dropped, his facing turning cold as stone.
Legolas cleared his throat, staring boldly at Thranduil. "I wish to formally request, I mean I wish to seek permission to join a patrol," Legolas demanded with a certain authority he did not own.
There it was, Thranduil's felt his world nearly come crashing down upon the moment. His Legolas thought himself prepared enough to join a patrol? The thought was unbearable. His Legolas in the dark forest? He looked upon his son, Legolas was barely able to keep still, fidgeting in excitement, attempting to appear neutral. The look in his eyes, glowing as if Legolas was expecting him to say yes! As if he had already won. As Legolas had said, the elfling thought this only a mere formality. How dare he!
Thranduil closed his eyes. His kind-hearted son who cried after a kill for venison, who still woke up in the middle of the night to crawl into his bed in fear of nightmares wanted to join a patrol! No, Legolas was too young, and not yet ready both mentally and physically for the demands of the Mirkwood guard. The Elvenking opened his eyes, there his son sat, tall and confident, waiting expectantly for his reply.
"No," Thranduil gravely said, his face deadpan.
Thranduil watched as Legolas' expression changed from joy, to shock, to anger. Struggling to come to terms with what he was just told. The silence was deafening as the tension in the room exploded.
"But Adar, Balchar is saying I would be a great asset to his patrol. I wish to lend my skills in the fight against Dol Guldur," Legolas argued.
Thranduil fumed with anger. He would have to have word with Balchar about instilling false confidence within his son. Over confidence in ones ability can be their downfall in battle. Thranduil would have none of it.
"No," Thranduil repeated. "Your request, Legolas, is formally declined," he reiterated, his voice steady and controlled.
Legolas gaped, sitting there mouth open, anger flaring behind his eyes.
"But Adar-"
"You dare question my decision?" Thranduil interrupted, his voice rising in anger.
"No, Adar, I do not but please, Adar, I really want this," Legolas said. "Please," he whispered unable to keep the desperation from his voice.
Thranduil shook his head.
"Will you at least tell me on what grounds you reject my request," Legolas challenged.
"You have not yet reached majority, and I am your father," he answered.
"That is hardly fair," Legolas pouted, glaring defiantly at this father with a steel blue gaze.
"On the contrary it is by our Law. Until one reaches majority they are under the authority of their parents, and you Legolas are two decades short of majority."
"Two decades?" Legolas spat in disbelief.
"At least," Thranduil replied.
"But Adar, that is far too long to wait, I am ready now. Please Ada," Legolas pleaded, sounding very much like the elfling he still was. Legolas' expression dropped and Thranduil's heart sank at the sight, knowing he was causing his son great pain.
"My decision is final," he said, his voice brokering no argument with an air of finality that only a king could command.
Thranduil saw as Legolas' eyes filled with tears, before standing up, running from the room, slamming the door hard behind him. Watching Legolas run out, Thranduil knew he made the right decision. His son was not yet ready to join the guard, physically, mentally and emotionally. This little immature display solidified his decision.
The room was silent, Thranduil's hand shook with anger and he reached for the letter from Celeborn. His world seemed to darken; he found it difficult to manifest a reply to the Lorien Lord. The letter from Elrond lay unopened on his desk, unable to bear any more ill news this evening.
Legolas ran, blinded by tears he tried so desperately to keep from falling. He would not let anyone witness his weakness. His boots, made of light leather were soundless upon the cold floor of his father's caverns, allowing him to pass through in effortless silence. He wished to be alone, no words of soft comfort could ease the deep pain and humiliation he felt in his heart.
Within seconds he neared the entrance, and without offering any explanation he made his way past the front guards, running as fast as he could out of sight, hiding deeply within the large barrows of the forest.
Legolas made it, to his tree, and in a single fluid motion he climbed until he was settled within the highest branches, blending into the moss covered trunk. It was only until Legolas had made it safely to his tree, knees drawn up to his chest, hidden from the rest of the world that he let out the anguish buried within his heart. Freely now, his tears flowed down his face, as he sobbed loudly into his hands.
His heart felt shattered. His father could not understand how badly he wanted this. How badly he needed this. His dreams lay fragmented like a discarded arrow, shattered upon the ground. Legolas desired nothing more than to be apart of the Guard; protecting the forest he loved so much. It was the simplest of dreams, yet for him one of the most unattainable.
He cried, drowning in his tears, for what felt like hours.
Until finally he calmed down, hearing the soft melody of the tree. Singing to him as a mother would, comforting her upset babe. Relaxing his body Legolas allowed himself to become one with the ancient tree, swaying in motion with the wind, allowing the soft song of the tree to flow through him, relaxing him. Even though the branches lay nearly barren and cold amongst the frosty wind, the tree was very much alive. The forest was very much alive. The soft song of the tree calmed his heart, helping him put his thoughts into motion.
Legolas had spent endless hours of his youth within this tree, and heard its song clearer than the rest. His father told him his constant presence had awoken its long slumbering spirit. The tree, filled with memories of hope, longing and sadness. The thought saddened his heart.
Legolas had spent countless hours sitting high within the branches, waiting for the two, who never came. Training hard to be like them, for that is what he wanted. To follow in their footsteps, in the likeness of fire and ice, they had ignited the flame within his heart and left it burning unattended, now a fierce fire growing within. The thought sent flares of anger through Legolas, feeling betrayed. Betrayed by the two who once named him Gwador, Elrohir and Elladan who had never returned to the Woodland Realm. Scorching his restless lonely heart. He was weak, and he feared maybe they knew this, foreseeing it in their visions and that was why they did not come to visit again. A promise once made, broken. A shattered arrow, discarted upon the ground.