Chapter 7
There was a large battered oak table in the kitchen of the Halls that had at one time been a fine piece of furniture. Heavy use over the years had rendered it worn and dented. At some point it had been shoved into an alcove of the great kitchen amidst a cluster of equally worn chairs. It was here that the kitchen workers would pause to enjoy a cup of tea, or grab a quick snack to fortify themselves for the tasks at hand. When Ereglin and I arrived at the kitchen that evening, I was set at the head of this venerable table and plied with questions and comments from any number of the kitchen crew as they paused from their efforts to visit with me. I thoroughly enjoyed the attention and wound up taking my meal with them, savoring both their laughter and their conversation as I ate.
"You know," I said, as we made our way back to the rooms, "Nathel's fire circle is much like that table in the kitchen. Nathel is one of the best cooks in the village, and family is always stopping by to sample her stew or have a cup of tea. Sometimes they don't go away until late in the evening and Brethilas and I lie on our talan and listen to the music of their talking and laughing until we fall asleep."
Ereglin smiled. "Are all the people in your village family?"
I nodded. "I think so, at least. Except for maybe Istuilalf. He's Avari and he's older and wiser than anybody."
"Is he the leader, then?"
I wrinkled my nose, "Why would he want to be leader? No, they make Celthar do it. He complains a lot, but he does a good job. He tells the funniest stories about things that happen when he and Duimeth go out hunting. He promised me that Brethilas and I could go with him this summer and-" I stopped suddenly. "Oh, Ereglin I have to go home. I'm supposed to start bow training this summer."
"I don't doubt there will be many things you miss about your home, little one. Talk to the king and see what he says. In the meantime, my mother tends fire at our talan near here. Would you like to come for a visit sometime soon?"
I looked at him sharply, "There is a village near here?" I asked, thinking of home.
"Probably not like your home," Ereglin amended quickly, "But wood elves don't sleep in caves."
"I do," I said promptly, "although I would rather not."
"My point precisely," said Ereglin,
I nodded, "I'd like to visit your home, Ereglin."
When we got to my rooms the dusky rose of a late sunset could be seen from the window. Ereglin left for other duties and I climbed to my perch on the sill. The woods below were beautiful in the dimming light. I could make out the pale green of the spring foliage on the birch that surrounded the little lake. I stayed at my post until the night sky gathered overhead and several stars could be seen. I sang for awhile and then sat silently, allowing the evening air to balance me from the activities of the day. My reverie was interrupted by the cadence of voices that could be heard faintly from behind the curtained door.
Curious, I climbed down from my post and slid behind the curtain to the little wooden door. I could hear my father's voice and that of another. Now, I had already listened to many trees in my life. Listening to the wood was something I did frequently. Even though my last listening at this door had been frightening, I wondered if I should try listening again. Carefully, I put my ear to the door.
"Are we done yet, Amondorn?" That was my father.
"Only that I know you will be reporting your findings to the council tomorrow. Did you want to review them with me beforehand?"
"I would just as soon forget the whole thing," said my father wearily. There was a pause. "I wish I knew for sure the identity of the dark presence at Dol Guldur. We see his minions and the desecration he has caused, but even under our careful watch, he has not shown his hand. I fear that he is slowly growing in power, with the total destruction of either our woods or Lorien in his sights."
I was reminded of the darkness of the crows by the river. I knelt so that my legs would not get tired and listened again.
"A Nazgul, perhaps?"
"Perhaps, but on this visit I sensed something greater than a Nazgul. It has been two long-years since I've been across the Enchanted River, Amondorn. Things have changed and not for the better. Some of it is not new. The woods near the river is intact, but in as little as two days' journey in it is showing severe signs of stress. The old growth is dropping limbs. The understory is sparse as though winnowed by pestilence or disease. In the evenings there is a miasma that hangs in the air that you can almost touch with your hands. The webs of Shelob's spawn are everywhere. I knew that I sensed there was new movement afoot. This trip just confirmed it. Ah, Amondorn, I fear we are entering into some grave times."
"What did you see of the orcs?"
"Mercifully few were met in combat, but the evidence of their passing was all around us. There are any number of paths leading randomly through the afflicted forest almost as though they wished to disrupt the ground cover as much as possible. Many of the tributaries are fouled with sewage. They seem to take delight in taking down the old growth and using the branches for firewood. They don't take time to hunt, but set traps to capture game. Gonnel found himself strung by his legs when he accidently tripped a counterweight trap as he traversed a hillside. We got him down promptly enough, but the whole area is riddled with danger."
"Did you see any signs of permanent dwellings from the orcs?"
"Thormor wouldn't let me get that close, but the spies that he sent reported several sites that might hold orcs year round. Even if they are not seeking battle, the devastation they are bringing to the woods is horrendous . I fear they will reach the river soon, and if they cross it our current troop numbers will not be enough. Thormor is right, Amondorn. We don't have the resources to withstand much of an increase in their forces."
There was silence. I could feel the weight of sorrow in my father's heart. Finally, Amondorn asked, "Was there anything else?"
My father laughed a short, dry laugh, "Is that not enough for you, Amondorn? Well, try this; the spiders may well decimate our troops before the orcs become a problem. We were well into retreat when I was waylaid. One of the reasons I was so hard to find is that Thormor didn't think that spiders were in the area. It never occurred to him that I might be lying paralyzed in a gully. No, by my reckoning, two companies in particular will have to set watch for spiders within the season. To add to that, we've still got those four villages in the south, each with an overabundance of women and children."
I felt the tension in my father's voice and bit my lip to keep from calling out to him.
"Can we move them?"
There was a moment of silence. Whether my father was taking a sip of wine or considering his next words, I could not say. There was renewed weariness in his voice as he spoke again.
"Amondorn, may I remind you that one does not simply move a village of Laegrim? They have no language for living in the forest. The wood elves are of the forest in the truest sense. Three times the people of those four villages moved at my request, and each time it took years for them to adapt. They flatly refused to come away from danger during the last relocation. I have no power within my disposal to get them to move, and I can't offer them any hope of security."
"What alternatives do we have, Thranduil? How will you raise an army?"
I could hear my father sigh heavily. "The Silvans are not warriors, Amondorn. They are wise in the way of the woods, they have the very best of hearts, but they do not fight well."
"They have done well enough against the Dark One to date." protested Amondorn. There was another pause, then, "Do you still hold what happened at the Battle of Dagorlad against them?" Silence again. "Look, Thranduil, your father made a grievous tactical error and lost two thirds of his army. Only one in three made it home, but the heaviest losses were among Silvans. That they still hold loyal to your house after that blunder is amazing. Why do you lay the blame with them?"
"I do not blame them!" retorted my father. "But I was there, Amondorn. I saw them fight. The agility and swiftness that so marks them as creatures of the wood was seriously lacking in that setting. They fight by ones and twos with proficiency, but they simply don't have the discipline needed to fight as a military unit. My father's plan brought him to the field prematurely, but the slaughter of the wood elves would have been far less catastrophic if they had fought like an army, not as individuals swept up in the winds of war. Don't you see? They were overwhelmed on the battlefield because they could not hold the line."
"And what of the past two thousand years, my liege? Have they failed to serve you well since the dark one has returned?"
"I have no complaints of their service, save this; they are people created for building and healing, for singing the Song and for bringing joy to each day. To have them spill their blood to keep the Necromancer contained is a debt I swear I will settle one day, no matter the cost to me. Even now I do not send them into the fray without a company of Sindar at hand. Even those of blended blood fight better. To ask a Silvan to fight is to ask him to deny himself, and yet we have Silvan warriors, many Silvan warriors, who serve and fight and die without complaint. No, I am a fortunate king to have such precious hearts in my fold. I only grieve that I cannot equip them to rid the woods of the Necromancer altogether."
There was silence for a time. A cramp started to form in my left leg, but I ignored it.
"Why can't you train them better, Thranduil? Even now you have them spending years in training."
"I can't because it isn't a matter of training the body. It's a matter of bending the soul to destroy something -an end that will break their hearts. I will not have them give up the very thing that they are defending!"
"And yet you need to prepare for more of a fight, my friend. There are not enough Sindar and those of blended blood for the task; unless you would have those villages walk willingly into the clutches of darkness."
"Don't be ridiculous!" snapped the king.
I did not hear Amondron, for at that moment my leg cramped more tightly, and as I bent to rub it my elbow hit the side of the door with a thud. Before I could gather my wits, the door was opened and I found myself looking up into the surprised eyes of the king's advisor.
"Legolas!" he said in a surprised voice, "What do you think you are doing?"
"I am listening," I said, stammering.
"You are spying on us, you mean," said Amondorn sternly. His eyes grew dark with anger.
I looked to my father for support. I didn't understand the reason for Amondorn's wrath. My father was not happy either. I felt worry clutch my stomach. "Ada, please," I begged, "I was just listening."
"Come here, Legolas," said my father calmly. I walked over and stood in front of him.
"Explain to Amondorn and me exactly what you were doing."
I looked to Amondorn and back to my father and spoke slowly. "I was listening, Ada." He said nothing, so I continued, "Nathel was always telling me that listening is one of the most important things we can do. Nadar taught me how to listen to a tree." My father raised his eyebrows in a question. I continued, "If you put your ear to the wood of one of the great boughs you can listen to the song of the tree."
"The song of the tree?" queried my father. I nodded.
"The way that the branches creak in the wind can tell you the health and the age of the tree, but there is also the sound of the squirrels and birds as they move about the branches. The sound moves through the wood." I gestured with my hands, "Sometimes you can even hear the sound of the insects eating if they have gotten under the bark of the tree and are attacking the sapwood." I leaned against Ada's knee. "I want to be a forester when I grow up, Ada, so I must learn to listen to the wood."
"You will make a good tauron when you grow up," said my father gravely. He put his arm around my shoulders and pulled me close. I looked over at Amondorn. He was looking at me oddly.
"I can't listen to the trees here in the cave," I explained quietly, "but the door is of wood. When I heard your voices speaking I knew that I should listen to the wood, so I put my ear to the door."
Amondorn's shoulders were shaking and there was an odd look on his face. He bit his lower lip, then looked down and pinched the bridge of his nose with finger and thumb. After watching him for a moment, I realized that he was trying not to laugh. "Thranduil," he said at last, "I think we have a Laegel in our midst." He looked at me and his eyes were kind again.
"Tell me, Legolas, what did you hear through the wood this time?" my father asked, redirecting my gaze.
I looked at him earnestly. "Mostly that you were sad when that spider bit you and you couldn't be found. You are worried about the spread of the darkness, and you grieve that you may need your people to move again. But then you said that it was too bad that the wood elves couldn't fight better, and you don't want them to fight, so now they will die." I was a little confused about the end of the conversation, but I gave it my best.
The king looked very serious. "You listen very well, Legolas, but I need to tell you that listening at the door was wrong. The words that are spoken in this room must stay in this room. If retold in the wrong way they could make people sad or angry or afraid. What would happen if word got back to the village that I had spoken those things?"
My eyes grew wide as I thought of the consequences. "But Ada," I protested, "Nathel says that our words belong to the woods, and not to say anything that cannot be sung from the tops of the trees. You should not have said those things."
"There are the ways of the woods, and the ways of Thranduil's Halls," interjected Amondorn. "Two ways of looking at things. Your Nathel's perspective was valid in the village, but in the Halls things must stay in their proper places."
"I am sorry," I said in a small voice. "I will leave now, and the words will stay in this room." I turned to leave. I really didn't want my father's disapproval, but I was still confused as to why listening was wrong. I really wanted to just go home, which reminded me of something.
"Ada," I returned to my place at his knee, and let the words spill forth, "I need to ask you something. I don't want to leave you, but I must get home for the summer. Celthar has promised to start my bow training, and I need to help Nathel sing to the crops and Istuilalf has promised to teach me more songs. When can I go home, I mean to my other home?"
My father looked at me for a moment, and then looked at Amondorn. "Well, advisor?" he asked, "How shall we handle this situation?"
Amondorn considered for a moment, "Legolas, you must understand that the people here have been waiting for you for a long time. So long as you were not with them, they could tolerate the idea that you would come to them some day, but now that you are here they will not willingly let you go. You are their prince, and you belong here with your father."
"But I am important at home as well!" I insisted. "Ada, I don't want to leave you, but I must go home. Everyone here has been very kind, but . . ." I felt panic rising in my chest.
"Legolas, hear me out," said my father holding me close, "You have only just arrived here. This is a conversation for a later time. Having their king missing for a time really shook the confidence of our people. They need to see that I am safe and that you are safe with me. They need to see that there is nothing to fear. Then we can talk about your visiting your aunt and uncle again."
Visiting. Visiting? At that moment I realized that my life had irrevocably shifted. I would never be "of the village" again, but "of Thranduil's Halls," allowed at the discretion of others to visit my beloved family. I clung to my father and began to cry. He pulled me into his lap and held me close, allowing my tears to fall until the pain in my heart began to ease.
"It is not safe yet," I said at last, still hiding my eyes in his chest.
"What do you mean, neth ben?"
I told him of the crebain I had seen and the dark fear that had filled my soul as I stood in the stream. "I was not harmed," I said, when I saw the growing concern on his face, "Galion was there to comfort me."
"How many were there?" asked Amondorn, "and where were they headed?"
I dried my tears with the back of my hand and took a deep breath. I closed my eyes and visioned what I had seen. "They were about three score in number and they were headed north."
"I do not like this at all," growled my father. "Why wasn't it reported to me?"
"Maybe it was reported in a different room." I said. My father looked at me perplexed. "You know," I persisted, "a room where the words can't leave."
My father smiled and hugged me close. "I am glad you are here, Legolas Thranduilion. He turned to his advisor, "Amondorn, send for Galion right away. I need to know the names of the soldiers who went to retrieve Legolas. Find them and bring them here at once." His voice was strong and sharp. I was glad it was not directed at me.
But my father had not forgotten me, "I think your day has been long, little one." He said gently. He set me on my feet, "Those soldiers will be a while in coming. I think we had best get you into bed."
He led me through the curtained door and handed me over to the care of Gwenen. "I will check on you before I retire," he promised, then he pulled the door closed, making sure to latch it.
Once I was alone with Gwenen, I found that I was very tired. I quickly prepared for sleep and climbed up on the high bed. As I snuggled into the softness of the deep pillow, I realized that the faint smell of fish still lingered in the air from the morning. I smiled and sighed deeply as I surrendered myself to sleep.
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