Chapter 4
Bending Bow; Unbending Father
Over a hundred years had passed since Laiqua's arrival at the King's Hall. To his delight, he had indeed been allowed to practice his archery. In fact, the Seneschal (he felt sure that it was Gilglîr's doing and not the King's)—had engaged an excellent archery master who gave Laiqua lessons on a daily basis. To Laiqua's satisfaction, these lessons necessarily reduced the time he spent with his tutor. The training that he was receiving in horseback riding also cut into the hours that Laiqua sat in the library with the elderly Elf. But Laiqua was by no means poorly prepared when it came to the historical and geographical lore that a future King ought to master. He had become proficient at absconding with books that interested him. These volumes he would study happily in the privacy of his room. As a result, Laiqua was quite well read, although the tutor would have been surprised to learn that this was so. Actually, the tutor no doubt would have been horrified at some of the books that Laiqua had been pouring over so avidly. The elderly Elf did not believe that young Elves should be exposed to tales such as those of the love of the Men Beren and Tuor for the elven maidens Lúthien Tinúviel and Idril Celebrindal.
So Laiqua was content with the fact that he was receiving—or, in the case of the books, seizing—ample opportunity to shoot, to ride, and to read. He only wished that the time he was forced to spend with the King would pass as pleasantly and quickly as the hours he spent outdoors or ensconced in his room with a book. The King never seemed happy in the company of the prince, whom he addressed infrequently and then always as 'Le or ennas'. Why did his Adar do that? Laiqua wondered. Why did he always say 'You over there' rather than call him by his proper name? Indeed, why was it that no one ever addressed or referred to him by name in the presence of the King? The Seneschal, for example, called him Laiqua when he spoke privately with him, but if the King was within hearing Gilglîr would say 'pen-neth' or, more commonly, 'Ernil-neth'. What was wrong with his name, that no one would utter it if the King were in the room? Since the King seemed to dislike being with or addressing the prince, Laiqua spent much of his time trying to avoid him. As a result, he had become very good at staying out of sight and had discovered all the possible places into which an Elfling could quietly creep.
Sighing, Laiqua tried to push aside this nagging problem, and he brightened when he realized that it was time for his archery lesson. Like his Adar, his archery master said little to him, but Laiqua did not feel that it was because the instructor was uncomfortable in his presence. It was merely his way, a natural restraint that was not directed at Laiqua in particular. He said little to any of the Elflings whom he trained. Laiqua inspected his bow, checked to see that his arrows were arranged properly in his quiver, and eagerly hastened to the archery field. Once there, he fell naturally into the rhythm of nock, draw, release, receiving several approving nods as he completed each element of the day's training.
The archery master had just instructed Laiqua to stand back further from his target than he ever had before when the Elfling realized that something unprecedented had happened. The King was standing at the edge of the field, silently watching him.
Laiqua's hand shook a little as he drew an arrow from his quiver, nocked it, pulled back the string, released the arrow—and completely missed the target, the shaft flying wide to the left. Both Laiqua and the archery master were shocked. It had been decades since Laiqua had failed to hit the target altogether.
Laiqua tried again, consciously attempting to correct for the fact that his first shot had gone wide to the left. This time the arrow flew wide to the right. He drew a third arrow, which fell short of the target, and a fourth, which overshot the mark. Was there any other possible way, he thought in frustration and fear, that he could fail to hit the target? The King was now crossing the range, advancing on the shaken prince and the appalled archery master. It took only seconds before he was upon them.
The flustered archery master bowed as deeply as possible, his head almost knocking against his knees, and he strove to explain Laiqua's failure. "My Lord, he has never attempted to hit the target from such a distance. I am certain…."
The King raised a hand to silence him. "Do not make excuses for him. You have expended much time upon him—and I have squandered much wealth—and this resulting performance is inexcusable. Obviously, he does not take his training seriously, even though my Seneschal begged me to engage for his benefit the most renowned archery master in all of Elvendom." Now he addressed Laiqua, looking at him disdainfully. "You over there, in one week, if you cannot better acquit yourself, you will forfeit your archery lessons. Your master will be free to devote his time to more deserving pupils." With that, the King turned on his heel and stomped away, his forcefulness for once utterly prevailing over his gracefulness.
That night Laiqua lay in bed unable to sleep. He could not stop dwelling upon the trial that he faced in a week's time. With the King looking on, how could he fail to be nervous; and if nervous, how could he possibly perform to the King's satisfaction? Laiqua was about to give way to despair when he hit upon a strategy. In the coming days, he would pretend that the archery master was Thranduil. The master was as silent as the King was when forced into the company of the prince. Moreover, Laiqua suspected that the relationship between pupil and master would be tense in the wake of today's incident. Perfect! A silent and unhappy archery master would be an excellent surrogate for his Adar. Laiqua was confident that he would be able to adjust to the disturbing presence of the 'King' so that when the real Thranduil reappeared, the Elfling would not be unnerved.
The appointed day had dawned, and Laiqua and the archery master awaited the King. Gilglîr was at the field as well, but Laiqua didn't mind. Unlike the King, the Seneschal always made the prince less nervous rather than more so.
At last the King arrived. He answered their bows with a curt nod but at first said nothing. With a last glance at Gilglîr, Laiqua stepped up to the line. It was then that Thranduil noticed that the mark was closer to the target than it had been the previous week. "Master Archer," he said sternly, "the conditions of this trial must be identical to those of the previous week. He must stand further from the target."
Laiqua obliged by stepping back several paces. The archery master was increasingly apprehensive, but Laiqua was not at all dismayed. His strategy was working. He was not the least bit anxious, not the least inclined to cringe at the sound of his Adar's angry voice. He drew an arrow from his quiver and without hesitation sent it flying into the center of the target. He drew a second arrow and smoothly released it. It too struck the center, splitting the first as it did so. He drew a third and split the second arrow.
Arrow after arrow Laiqua released, all striking dead center or very near to it, many of the shafts splitting earlier arrows in the process. After Laiqua had destroyed a great many arrows in this fashion, the archery master at last called a halt to the exhibition. Beaming, the master turned toward the King. Laiqua could not find it within himself to beam, but he faced the King with an unusually proud carriage. Today, at long last, his Adar would have to say something gracious to him! It was only Gilglîr who still felt uneasy.
The King stood silent as usual for a few moments. Then he cleared his throat and addressed the archery master. "Master Archer, your reputation is assuredly well deserved. No matter the talent, or lack thereof, of your pupils, you never fail to raise their skills to acceptable levels." Without a word to Laiqua, Thranduil strode off with his trademark forcefulness and grace. Gilglîr turned toward the prince, hoping that he could find words to comfort him, but Laiqua was already in full flight toward the forest.
Crouched in a tree, Laiqua tried to remember the Edwen Nana who had cared for him the first few years of his life. It was no longer easy for him to summon her face, but he remembered that she had sung to him and rubbed his back. He recalled how she would gently comb his hair and then carefully braid it, and he also remembered how she would spoon porridge into a bowl and let him flavor it with dollops of cream.
Why had he been taken from his Edwen Nana and brought to this Elf who after all this time was still no better than a stranger to him? No, worse than a stranger. A stranger might have neither liked nor disliked him, while the King without a doubt despised him. Why then couldn't he have been left to stay with someone who had been happy with his presence?
Laiqua heard voices and laughter approaching. He wished to be found by no one, and he curled himself up into as tiny a space as possible. Two housemaids were meandering through the forest on their day off. They settled themselves under the tree to share the customary grievances of servants.
"I know he is Master High and Mighty King, but does he have to act as if we have no more feelings than mountain trolls? Lord Celeborn doesn't speak so to his servants."
"You have to allow for King Thranduil's moods. If you would believe it, he was actually a kindly man before the death of his wife."
"He's not the only Elf to have lost a wife. There's Lord Elrond, isn't there? He's gracious enough to his servants, I hear tell. Why can't King Thranduil be like him? And there's the child, now; you'd think that the king would take pleasure in the pen-neth instead of wallowing in grief."
"I do not think the king will ever take pleasure in that unfortunate Elfling. Don't you know that his mother died giving birth to the poor thing? The king sent him away with a nursemaid for several years, for the child put him in mind of the mother's death whenever he laid eyes upon him, or so it is said. Why, I have even heard tell that the king never troubled to name him."
"No, that cannot be so! How came he to have a name then?"
"When the child was handed off to the nursemaid, old Thranduil is supposed to have told her to call him what she would."
"And so the name Laiqua was picked by the nursemaid? It means green, doesn't it."
"Aye."
"It's a pretty name she picked, but, still, the name ought to have been chosen by the father."
"Well, that is just one of the ways that the king slighted the Elfling. After a time, though, his Seneschal began to remind him that the child was heir to the throne and ought to be brought back to the palace, whatever the feelings of the king. And so the child was sent for. Ai! It was that Elfling's ill fortune to resemble his mother in every particular. Old Thranduil could hardly bear to look at him. Perhaps over time the king would not have loathed the Elfling quite so much, but then the pen-neth was always timid in the presence of the king and you know how he hates that in an Elf."
"But it was hardly the child's fault if he was timid, was it? He didn't know the king very well, did he?"
"He knew the king not at all."
"And the king is an imposing figure; why, grown Elves have been known to cringe before him. Truth be told, I've done it myself."
"Aye, I have as well."
"And the way the king treats that child, he's scarcely likely to grow less timid. I've seen him speak more sharply to that Elfling than he does to the servants, if that is at all possible."
"Well, the king is hardly likely to change now. And as long as that pen-neth is so timid and looks so like his mother, it's certain old King Thranduil will never take joy in the Elfling. Oh, he'll raise him as his proper heir, mind you—he's seen to it that the child has had archery and riding masters and Quenya tutors—but the child will never bring so much as the shadow of a smile to the face of the king."
Gradually the servants went on to gossip about other matters, and as the day drew to a close, they finally arose and ambled back toward the Hall.
Long after the servants had departed Laiqua remained crouched in the tree, replaying that conversation over and over again in his mind. Now at last he understood. The day of his birth had been the day of his Naneth's death, and for that his Adar hated the sight of him and would always hate the sight of him. His Adar had not even gifted him with a name. He would never return to the King's Hall, to the Adar who despised him so. He would slip back into the Hall undetected—he was after all practiced at evading notice—and he would gather together extra boots, a blanket, and a spare tunic and pair of leggings. He would also need a water flask and several days' worth of lembas, and he would need flint and steel, a knife, and his bow.
Several hours later Laiqua slung a pack over his shoulders, adjusted the strap to his quiver, and, bow firmly in hand, crept out of the Hall and slipped into the forest. Once safely out of sight of the Hall, he paused to consider his next step. He would fend for himself, but whither should he go? He could not stay in Greenwood. He could not remain forever concealed there, and Laiqua did not wish to chance an encounter with a father who already detested him and would no doubt be all the angrier when he realized that his heir had fled. But where else could an Elf dwell? Other than Greenwood, he knew of three places frequented by Elves. Far to the west were the Grey Havens. Also to the west, across the Misty Mountains, was Imladris. To the southwest was Lothlórien. Elves passing from Middle Earth traveled to the Havens. He did not think the Valar would permit him to leave Middle Earth just yet. Imladris was the home of Elrond, Lord of Rivendell, and he had rarely heard a Greenwood Elf say anything good of Elrond. Of course, Laiqua mused, he'd also rarely heard a Greenwood Elf say anything good of him. Still, he feared to travel to Imladris. Lothlórien, on the other hand, perhaps that would be a good choice. Everyone praised Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel and described the City of the Trees, Caras Galadhon, as the heart of Elvendom on Middle Earth. Moreover, the Galadhrim were famed as archers. Even though the tight-lipped archery master had never told him how exceptional he was, Laiqua did know that he had some skill as an archer. Perhaps the Lord and Lady would allow him to pick up his bow in their service. Yes, he would give himself a name—'Anomen' would do nicely he thought with a bitter smile—and to Lothlórien he would go.
Laiqua thought back to the maps that he had studied with his tutor. If he traveled south as far as Dol Guldur and then struck out due west, he would find Lothlórien. He didn't like using the tower of Dol Guldur as a landmark, but it was the only fixed point he could think of. Still, he would be careful not to go too close. Dol Guldur had an ill-name and seemed to be the focus of an evil that dwelled in the southern Greenwood. Indeed, that part of the forest was now called Mirkwood by some, and year by year the area encompassed by that name seemed to stretch ever northward. Yes, he would make sure not to approach too close to Dol Guldur.