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Chapter two
Dawn broke over the land, and the warrior barracks were alive with soldiers, lieutenants, captains, armorers, healers and cooks. Indeed it was much like Mirkwood, save that the environment was much more peaceful, not so desperate, not so passionate but colder, more distant.
Breakfast was still underway, and this morning, the noise was far worse that it would normally have been on a normal day. But of course today was no normal day, for Captain Elhilor had let slip the arrival of four Silvans during the small hours, and although he had not provided them with details, what he had said, or rather how he had said it, had ignited their considerable imaginations.
And so they sat, and they ate as they brought up old history, and gave their opinions. Silvans were wild, uncouth, untrained in the finer arts and sciences – base – animals, almost. They were dangerous and not to be trusted, had no sense of good ethics, no loyalties other than to their trees.
Silvans were, however, good archers, they said, but when it comes to swords and knives, they would be no match for any Noldorin warrior, for fighting with metal required skill beyond simple brawn. It required constancy and study, and perhaps even a little in-bread nobility.
Other points to be noted was their lack of intellect. There were no libraries to mention in Mirkwood, and even Lothlorien had but a small selection of books copied by their Imladrian scribes. You see, Mirkwood was further North, and as such, more isolated, less influenced by Noldorin culture – it could be no other way, they postulated. Lorien was ruled by a Noldo, with a Sinda consort, they said, but Mirkwood was a vast realm of Silvan and Avari, ruled by a Sinda – there was a difference.
Two dark-haired elves leant against the main doorway to the dining hall and listened intently to the talk, a grim smirk on their almost identical faces. Except that one held an expression of delight, and the other of surprise.
They had never penetrated the frontiers of Mirkwood, but they had met Silvans along the way to Lothlorien and beyond, and while one could not care less what their warriors said, the other felt sorry for the unwitting soldiers that had apparently arrived the previous evening.
They themselves had just dismounted after a long sojourn with the Dunedain, slaking their thirst for orc blood, and seeking intelligence on the enemy's movements before their sister's imminent visit to the valley. They had yet to report to their general and their lord father, however, deciding to first bathe, and then change into their civilian clothing. It would soften the atmosphere and bolster their nerve before facing the inevitable grey storm that would be raging behind Lord Elrond's accusing eyes.
They were not looking forward to it, and half-heartedly thwarted their momentary feelings of guilt at not having kept him notified of their whereabouts, of their well-being.
They shared a silent glance between each other and left as unnoticed as they had arrived, bound for the bathing pools and a return to the luxuries of their father's realm, if only for a few days, a few days that promised to be – entertaining.
…
One bright green eye cracked open timidly, and Legolas thanked Yavanna that the window in their dorm was small, for his head pounded, sending spikes of pure hot fire across his temples and setting them to throbbing in time with his heart.
A low groan preceded his half-hearted attempt to roll onto his side, but his shoulder told him not to do that, for it hurt, and his fingers tingled a little. He groaned again, but it was cut off as he startled, visibly jumping as someone next to him groaned long and miserably.
That had been Halú, he knew, and so he cracked both eyes open, meeting his warrior's hazel eyes head on.
Behind him, shuffling began, and then Dorán and Benár crossed his line of sight as they hobbled slowly and painfully to sit on the side of his narrow bed.
"Taú?" asked Benár, his second, and close friend when enjoying the life of a civilian.
"What," he answered, more irritably than he had intended and he sighed before slowly hoisting up his battered body, closing his eyes to combat the sudden dizziness, and then opening them once more, startling a little when Benár's eyes appeared but inches from his own.
"Are you alright?" asked the lieutenant.
"No, are you?" he challenged.
"Almost," smirked the Silvan, before turning to Halú and Dorán. "¿Are you well enough?"
Halú nodded and Dorán smiled bleakly, to which Benár rolled his eyes.
"Taú. If we want to eat, we should hurry – these Noldo will finish it all off without a thought for us," said Benár, his stomach grumbling once more, for although they had eaten copiously the evening before, it had not been enough to make up for the days of hunger they had suffered on the path; their bodies were still weak and undernourished.
"In case you had not noticed, Lieutenant, we are filthy, bloody and we smell of rotting orc carcass."
"Well, we are warriors, what is to be expected?" said Dorán as he lowered himself gingerly to sit on Halú's bed. "Do you think these Noldo perfume themselves for battle?" he scoffed, to which Benár smirked as he said, "it would not surprise me – I mean they wear robes of velvet and silk into battle – how can they move? swing a sword, pull an arrow – it is past me I tell you," he said, shaking his head at the enigma.
"Watch the limits, soldiers. We are in a foreign land, in the company of dubious allies, I do not wish to offend. However, there is no one here to show us to the baths and I see no other option. Make yourselves as presentable as possible and stay together."
They nodded in unison, as Benár held his hand down to his captain, who took it, pulling on it more harshly than Benár had expected, making him lurch forward before quickly compensating for the unexpected weight. The lieutenant scowled for a moment, before hiding it and sitting to pull out his boots.
The clothes they had been wearing when they arrived, were all but shredded to pieces, and would surely be unrepairable, and so they had dug out their spares and smoothed them out as best they could. They brushed down their leather jerkins and wiped over their boots. It was far from acceptable, even for Mirkwood's military, but no one had offered to help them as yet, and so, standing together, they clapped each other upon the shoulder and smiled, before leaving the dorm in search of food and orientation, hoping against hope that they would not provoke an incident.
….
Elhilor ate, laughing at the witty comments that proliferated this morning, most of them about wood-elves and the Last Alliance. One particularly witty elf cracked a joke that sent a piece of toast flying from the captain's mouth before he could stop it with his hand, sending his warriors to laughing even harder.
However, the noise stopped abruptly and Elhilor turned in search of the source of disturbance. There, in the doorway, stood the four silvans, looking around as if expecting to be approached by someone. But they were not, for the Noldor simply sat and stared, taking in the slovenly uniform, the filth that covered them, their unbraided hair and dirty nails and the stench of orc that emanated from them.
Blank stares turned into sneers of contempt and disapproval and the talk slowly began to rise once more.
Taú glanced first to his left and then right, taking in the open-mouthed surprise of his warriors. How rude, he thought indignantly as he slowly moved forward, knowing he would be followed. He had spotted the captain that had guided them in during the night, and so that is where he would start, it was their only lead.
The noise at Elhilor's table died completely as they approached and the captain looked up at them.
"Morning," he said simply and the warriors at his side sniggered.
Legolas kept quiet for a moment, wondering at the arrogance of the elf that still sat, for he had not bothered to rise, nor even look at him as soldiers should, eye to eye, even though they were equal in rank.
The witty elf sniffed the air and then scrunched up his face in disgust. "Captain Elhilor, would you please direct this – silvan – to a table far from this one, the stench of orc is making me nauseous, and these sausages are too good to be wasted," he smirked, sliding the juicy morsel into his mouth and smirking in satisfaction as he chewed on it, his eyes boring into the bright green eyes of Taú in unveiled provocation.
Sniggers broke out, but abruptly stopped when a so far silent Taú stepped forward.
Legolas contemplated, if only for an instant, whether he, too, should find a witty retort for the insolent warrior, but his ire was rising and he was Silvan. His body ached, he was hungry and already angry for being ignored after all they had been through. And now, to be insulted by this idiot, whose captain sat passively by, sniggering along with the rest of them. He was rapidly losing his decorum, and he suddenly decided he could not give a damn.
"Open your mouth once more, Noldo, and I will stick that sausage up your backside."
Benár, Dorán and Halú smirked grimly at their captain's shoulder, undoubtedly imagining the hypothetical scene, but the Noldor gasped in indignant outrage at the ignoble comment.
The warrior shot to his feet in a flurry of robes and armor, his hair flying this way and that, but before he could rush the wood-elf, a voice of authority rose over the din, and the Noldor froze – Glorfindel…
"Galanor, sit," said the general as he strode towards Elhilor's table, his arrogant face looking down in disdain at the captain.
He stopped short, however, as he passed Taú and his soldiers, his face wrinkling in disgust.
"You smell," he said simply.
"We know," replied Taú, just as naturally and Glorfindel held his gaze for a moment.
"Why?" he asked irritably.
"Because we have yet to be shown to the bathing area, yet to be told where to go, who to report to, invited to eat or drink, or receive the medical aid we require. Our clothes are shredded, our weapons dirty, we have not slept for the noise." Legolas could not help it as is voice rose with his frustration. "We are uncomfortable, tired, sore, hungry and quite frankly – irritated," he snapped finally, his face sharp and dangerous, a challenge in his sparkling green eyes.
Glorfindel's eyes were a little wider than they had been, but it was the only indication of his feelings.
The silvery blue eyes shone with a depth of emotion Legolas had rarely seen. But of course this was a Lord of Gondolin, one who had died – it was only logical, he supposed. Still the weight of his gaze was considerable and difficult to maintain.
"Elhilor," Glorfindel said, more quietly now so that only those at the captain's table could hear. "Who did you assign to these warriors?"
"I - forgot, my Lord," stammered Elhilor defensively now that he realized Glorfindel would not play along with their fun.
"You forgot. Tell me, this – insolence – is due to the assumption that I would empathize with your arrogance and your prejudice – or do you truly disrespect me as your general?"
Elhilor stood hurriedly, smoothing down his uniform and bowed from the waist. "Never, my Lord. I respect you as I do not other superior, or warrior."
Glorfindel's eyes bored into the captain, and only looked down briefly when the elf began to twitch and fidget.
"Now, you will personally accompany these warriors to the baths. You will wait until they finish and then you will bring them back here. You will see they eat their fill and then you will present them to me. And should I hear, or indeed even deduce malpractice from you or anyone else, I will have the offender scrubbing the floors of the stables with his bare hands – do I make myself sufficiently clear?"
Elhilor gulped audibly and looked down before bowing once more. "I understand perfectly, my Lord. I shall see it done."
"Thank you, captain," said Glorfindel, as if he had not just admonished the elf in front of the entire mess hall. However, it was the witty one, Galanor, who glared icy daggers at the Silvan elf Taú, promising to himself that such behavior would not go unchecked by the Noldor, not if he, Galanor, Lieutenant of the forces of Imladris had any say in the matter.