Chapter 3 – Realization
Metal blades glimmered, reflecting the afternoon light as rays of sun filtered through the crooked branches of the barren forest canopy. The clamoring of two fiercely clashing swords rang through the air, followed by a thump as one of the competitors was knocked hard towards the ground.
Legolas breathed hard, winded and momentarily stunned by the fearsome onslaught. He lay on his back, eyes cast towards to the sky, glazed in exhaustion. His chest moved up and down in an irregular pattern as he struggled to regain himself. The beginnings of a large bruise could be felt on his side and was already becoming tender to the touch. He feared to examine it later, dreading the dark purple marks he would see. The sight of injury had always disturbed him, whether it be his own or someone else's.
"Get up!" Balchar shouted, not giving Legolas a chance to properly catch his breath. Roughly the older elf grabbed Legolas by his wrist and not too kindly pulled him to his feet.
Legolas swayed unsteadily as he brought his sleeve to his forehead in a feeble attempt to wipe away the sheen of sweat layering his hairline. His tunic clung damply to him as a cold late winter breeze sent chills through his body, his sweat seemed to almost freeze to his skin.
Before he was ready, Legolas found himself grasping his sword as it was thrust back into his unprepared hands. He was again fending off another fearsome advance from Balchar. Legolas fought to remember his footing as the drill was ruthlessly repeated. The thin layer of snow upon the ground had not given away their training secrets, looking fresh and untouched as they moved atop it.
Legolas knew Balchar would not cease until the drill was performed to perfection. Legolas had memorized all the steps, but knew his technique and execution was off, Balchar seemed to notice too, but made no effort to aid in its correction. Legolas groaned as the advance had pushed him further and further back. Not once had he been able to attack, forced to constantly be on the defense. He did not know how much more of this training he could endure. Balchar's intensity nearly frightened him.
Without encouragement, Legolas fended off attacks from all angles as Balchar's agility with the blade was renowned thought the realm. Legolas kept backing up, his arms straining with exhaustion, until he hit something that nearly caused him to gasp as he lost concentration.
In a wave of anxiety he lost his footing and once again found himself stumbling towards the ground, cornered between the rough bark of a tree and Balchar's sword. Legolas gasped in pain as a tree root dug mercilessly into his bruised side. Before he could roll over to ease it, he felt the smooth cold metal of a long sword pressed firmly against his neck threating to break the skin. Legolas lay completely motionless, waiting for exceptionally long minutes until Balchar stepped back, lowering his sword.
"You are weak, Thranduilion," he spat, before turning away. Legolas frowned, breathing hard and shaking, as he laid there in complete shame.
Balchar's new cruelty cut through Legolas' very core. He did not know what could have brought on this change in his training instructor. Only the other day Balchar had treated him with consideration and kindness. Gently going through the movements and skills. Paying him compliments. Now though, it was as if the seasons had suddenly changed without warning. Balchar went from a gentle instructor to one of intolerance, hardening his training regime and pushing Legolas far past his limits. Legolas wondered if he had some how offended the revered Commander. His mind raced through memories and he could not recall what he may have done.
"Father, do you not think you are being a bit hard on him?" Balchar's son called out, seamlessly easing the tension on the training grounds. Legolas turned towards him. Brégil stood tall and proud, dressed in the light leather of the guard's training uniform, the symbol of his patrol unit etched elegantly above his heart marking him as one of Noron's.
"Do you suppose the goblins of Dol Guldur would give him such consideration? Or the spiders who lay their webs wherever they wish? They care not for their opponent's capabilities. Nor do they care of battling with honour," Balchar spat, before turning towards Legolas. "Get up," he harshly commanded.
Legolas tenderly held his side, as he struggled to stand again. His face reddening in humiliation, Balchar was right; he was weak and would not last.
"Hurry up now, take hold of your sword Thranduilion. If we were in battle you would be dead," Balchar commanded.
Tears prickled his eyes and Legolas focused his attention towards the ground not wishing them to see. He struggled to stand and felt a light hand steady him.
Brégil shot him a look of empathy before stepping away. "You are doing well," he whispered. "Tis like this for everyone who first starts out."
Legolas nodded as he felt his composure start to crumble. He reached for his sword, his hands trembling. Balchar approached him, readying his position. Legolas could not meet his eyes lest he break apart. Legolas could feel Balchar's gaze stare through him, tearing him apart with his eyes. Legolas hugged his chest in defence, nearly dropping his blade.
"On second thought, we are done for today," Balchar said, turning away. "You look as though you are to cry as if you were some sensitive maiden, son of Thranduil. Your heart is not in it. I will not suffer through training anyone who is not passionate about their task at hand, nor one who wishes to give up at the slightest misfortune."
"Wait," Legolas called out, finding his voice. "I can do this!" Gripped his sword, white knuckled with new vigour.
"You can hardly stand. We are done for today," Balchar repeated, a little softer.
Legolas felt as though he were slapped in the face, as his sword fell from his grasp to the ground.
Brégil stood before Legolas and softly whispered, "He may be harsh but the forest is worse."
Brégil's eyes were filled with kindness, before he turned following his father off the training grounds. Legolas watched them go, mortified. He felt as though he had failed them, failed his father, and that was worse than the pain in his side. He sank to his knees, panting heavily as he leaned against the tree behind him. He had not even the energy to wipe the tears that were now falling from his face.
He was a failure. At this rate he would never be a worthy warrior his father could be proud of, a worthy warrior like that of Elrohir and Elladan. He was so far off, the dream seemed unreachable, he felt foolish thinking he could ever become of that caliber. He hugged himself tightly as he lay crumpled against the tree. Legolas had wanted to be treated as an equal amongst the warriors, but not like this. Not with so little respect.
His body pained him all over, knowing it would take days for him to recover. Tender to the touch, he knew dark purple bruises marred his upper body, points of contact from either where he was thrown to the ground or hit with the blunted training sword. Legolas closed his eyes; the knees of his leggings becoming damp having rested for too long on the wet snow. Snowflakes started to fall as he sat there with his forehead pressed against the tree.
The tree slept, standing tall and silent. With a heavy heart, Legolas wished he could hear its song. But the dormancy of winter made the task nearly impossible but say for the talented. It was one of the few things Legolas did not like about winter. If only he could hear the trees sing, it would be the most perfect of all the seasons.
Deep in his heart Legolas loved the winter. The way the snow sparkled, a soft blanket upon the ground, icicles decorated twisted branches of the great beech trees. All was silent say for the sounds of birds singing their morning songs. And best of all, alike the trees, the spiders lay dormant, so Legolas was often afforded the opportunity to partake in many hunts, where in the warm summer months it was often deemed too dangerous for him.
But, if only he could hear the trees sing... He placed his hand on the tree, straining to hear its ever so soft song. Closing his eyes, he concentrated, and opened his heart, connecting his spirit to the forest as his father had told him to. With frustration Legolas let out a long sigh. He could hear nothing. These trees were not like his own, their spirits were more guarded.
"Do not despair, the trees will awaken soon."
Legolas startled at the sudden voice, his eyes wide. He had not heard anyone approaching him.
"You should be on guard at all times, for even in the long winter months danger lurks unknowingly."
"Forgive me Adar." Legolas sensed his father kneel down behind him. "I long to hear their voices, but tis difficult. I can sense it but I am unable to grasp it. Like trying to grasp a reflection in water, it distorts and disappears when I make contact."
"Let me help you." Thranduil placed his hands overtop of Legolas', noting how cold they were. "Close your eyes and clear your mind. Listen with your heart, it is not the ears that hear the song of life," he said. "But your heart. The mind twists the simplest of things but the heart does not lie."
Legolas obeyed, closing his eyes, feeling his father's hands pressed firmly over his own. It was a strange feeling as Legolas felt a vibration of energy suddenly course through him. It was strong and warm, renewing his spirits, lending him strength.
"Listen with your heart," Thranduil whispered.
Then Legolas felt it, the vibration of the life of the forest flowing through him, his heart beating in tune with the faint song of the trees. But it was not just the trees he heard, but the melody of the dancing snowflakes, the tune of the icicles, all connected with the harmony of the earth on which they sat.
Father and son sat there for a long time, caught up in the thrall of the forest. The soft melody of the trees hummed through their veins. Legolas knew this was the greatest of treasures, invisible to the eyes but found in the heart.
"Isn't it beautiful," Thranduil whispered in Legolas' ear.
Legolas' stirred, awakening from his deep state concentration. Nodded in agreement.
"I heard it Adar, very clearly this time."
"You have done well," Thranduil praised. "You are slowly learning to hear not just the trees but the earth from which they grow. Over time, their songs will become clearer, as you hone your senses to that of the earth. Rock, water, wind and even flame, all have their own song, a voice filled with many stories for those with the patience to listen."
"Thank you Adar," Legolas said, feeling refreshed and peaceful, as his father smoothed his hair. Legolas' leant back into that warm embrace.
"I had come to watch your training, but it seems to have ended early," Thranduil wistfully remarked.
"Aye, Adar," Legolas sadly whispered. "It seems you are correct. I am unfit to join a patrol."
"I have never said you were unfit. You are just not ready. Give it time. You are but a small bud, let your skill blossom and you will grow to be something marvelous."
"I was disrespectful yester eve father. I am sorry."
"Aye Legolas, you were upset. It is understandable. But you are forgiven. You are always forgiven."
"Thank you Ada," Legolas whispered.
Thranduil allowed them to sit like that for a while longer, before he stood, helping Legolas to his feet. Noting how Legolas seemed to favor one side he made note to check and tend to Legolas' obvious training injuries later.
"Adar," Legolas whispered, staring towards the ground as they walked. "I-I do not wish to train with Balchar anymore."
"Hmm? And why is that?" Thranduil led Legolas down a path between the trees towards the caverns.
"He is difficult, I fear my body is wracked with bruises." Legolas tried to laugh it off, but the sound came off as more awkward than joyful.
Thranduil placed his arm gently around Legolas' shoulders. "Any good soldier will return from the training grounds with their share of scrapes and bruises. Tis not a sign of failure but of one's eagerness to learn. I do no think it wise to cease your training sessions. You are only just beginning, any good warrior knows how to protect themselves with more than just a bow. Balchar is hard on you because he cares."
Legolas doubted that, if Balchar cared he had an odd way of showing it.
Seeing the small frown stretch across Legolas' face Thranduil added, "However, you may take a break. I know just thing to take your mind away from it."
"What is it?" Legolas asked more than a little curious.
"Your cousin had approached me after our discussion yesterday, it seems he wishes you to join him hunting."
"Really!" Legolas beamed. He had always enjoyed hunting with Noron. Not so much the actual hunting part, but his cousin was a seasoned warrior, one of the Realm's finest. There was much Legolas wished to learn from him. Plus hunting with Noron wasn't actually hunting, Legolas thought of it more as a game, trekking through the forest practicing his skills, sleeping in either the highest branches of the trees, or near the warm glow of the fire on the ground.
Legolas could barely contain his excitement and hugged his father tightly, forgetting all about his painful bruises.
"I am glad this pleases you, from what I understand he wishes to leave tomorrow at midday."
"So soon?" Legolas hesitated, subconsciously rubbing his bruises.
"Do you have enough arrows?" Thranduil asked.
"My quiver is nearly full," Legolas responded.
"Nearly? I shall take a look, and if need be lend you some of mine to fill in your gaps."
"Thank you Adar!" Legolas said, his eyes sparkling, grasping his father's arm in excitement.
"Your hands are cold, Legolas," Thranduil said, taking his son's hands within his own.
Legolas looked up at his father, the warm of his father's gaze was comforting, as he clasped his father's hand tighter.
Still an elfling, Thranduil thought, smiling at Legolas' shinning smile, his son, like the spring. Yes, the spring, soon winter would come to an end.
Thranduil hated the long winter months. During winter the air felt stale, a lingering darkness hovered close, defiying his powers to protect the northern forest. The plague of darkness spread, and every year spiders would come close and closer to their domain, challenging him. The darkness of the south could not be allowed to spread. The elves of Mirkwood were the one solid force holding back the curtain of evil of Dol Guldur and the other deadly foul things Thranduil knew which lived there.
