Disclaimer: All characters belong to Tolkien with the exception of original characters needed to fill out Legolas' family tree or move the story along. Translations of Elvish words (Sindarin, unless otherwise stated) and additional notes are found at the end of the chapter.
Brónalm
Brónalm helped the youngster to make a slight adjustment in his grip, then stood back, satisfied, as the arrow flew true to its mark.
Between the two lay more than the mutual respect of a gifted student and a great master, for they shared not only a love for archery but also great reverence for the woods around them. A friendship of equals had developed, this despite a vast difference in age and worldly knowledge. Brónalm was so old he had begun to develop lines around his eyes (for elves do age, though quite slowly). He was the only elf who could remember the days when his people had come to this forest in response to the call of the Valar, and he had trained every archer in the realm.
From a time when the elves did not measure time, when they knew only the twilight of Varda's silvery stars, Brónalm had wandered the great expanse of Ennor. His own kin had long ago sailed to Alqualondë, but loyalty had turned him from that path, and he remained with Lenwë when that lord left the Great March. From his wanderings he returned with tales of Beleriand and tidings of their kindred in the western lands, and in the Middle Years he led Oropher to Eryn Galen, recognizing Legolas' grand-sire as the rightful heir to Lenwë.* He had served Oropher and his son devotedly since that time. [1, 2]
Yet this little one he held especially dear, for Legolas was not only the son of his King, but one of Brónalm's own people, the child of a daughter of the forest. He had vowed that the child would know the language and ways of his mother's people, and having sired no children of his own, he found great fulfillment in this task. Brónalm had come to be a loremaster by experience rather than study of dusty tomes, and of him young Legolas learned to speak with the trees in the ancient tongue of Lenwë's people and to sing the lays that told of all the Silvan folk had seen and done.
Moreover, the young elf took to his beloved bow like a dwarf to gold. Legolas could not wield a full-sized bow, for he had not yet attained his final height, but he could easily best most of the archers in the King's guard. In this, he was clearly his mother's child, for she had been a great warrior, one who had fought in Mordor and a favored student of the bow-master in her youth.
Indeed, the little Sinda had a Silvan heart - perhaps more so than Brónalm could have wished, for he shared with his mother's people another trait - unease when underground, in caves such as the palatial caverns of his father. Of late, Brónalm had noticed a subtle change in the child. The youngster often looked tired and perhaps a bit thinner than he should be. Elven dreams were more precious to the elven mind than the rest they afforded the body. Without them, an elf's senses became blunted and his thoughts disordered. Legolas possessed a joyful soul and a light disposition, and it saddened the master to see the child labor under the weight of stolen dreamtime.
Had Legolas been able to consult his mother, he might have understood the dread that came over him at night. From his father he had inherited his blond locks and noble bearing; from his mother came more than her dark eyes and delicate features - he shared her love for living things and star shine. She could not abide Thranduil's caverns, and her blood ran true in the veins of her son. The harsh winter just passed had kept him too often confined to the palace, and had awakened the passions that lay dormant in his soul.
Brónalm resolved to speak to Thranduil about his son, and after the lesson found the King in the Great Hall, finalizing the order with Galion for the journey to Dale. When the butler took his leave, the King turned his attention to the ancient elf, nodding his head with respect for the age and wisdom of the Cúcherdir. [3]
"How does my son progress under your instruction?" Thranduil asked, adding, "Would that he paid as much attention to his brother's tutelage." In truth, he took much pride in his youngest child's prowess with the bow. Legolas was the joy of his life, not least because he was the only child by a wife he had dearly loved. The youngster's wonder at the world around him was refreshing among world-weary immortals, and Thranduil found that through the eyes of his son, he relived the wonder of his own childhood, long ago buried in the ruin of Doriath.
"He will be the finest archer in the realm 'ere long, save yourself, of course. But I would speak of your son, if I may - there is a matter that weighs on me."
"You flatter me, old Brónalm, for we both know Legolas can already best me as an archer. But what is your trouble?"
The bow-master paused to choose his words carefully. "I worry for the child. He is not thriving as he should; I believe that he sleeps poorly in the palace. It is not healthy for his spirit to be separated from living things." The elf hesitated before putting forth his somewhat brazen suggestion. "It would be no burden to share my hut with the youngster, if it would ease his mind."
The King considered this gravely. Such a thing was not quite fitting for a noble son of the Eldar. Yet Legolas was also a child of the Tawarwaith. He would hardly ask his people to abandon their huts among the beeches - how could he ask such a thing of his child? [4]
He did not regret his decision to make his home in the caverns. In times of great danger, the caverns were a refuge for his people. Moreover, it comforted the King, who had lost so many loved ones, to know that those dear to him were safe within the strong walls. Still, he could not see how the young elf could have a better guard than the great bow-master. He trusted Brónalm as he trusted his family. "I will allow it," Thranduil announced abruptly. "He is to go to Dale with Innolas tomorrow, so I will speak to him on his return."
Between the two lay more than the mutual respect of a gifted student and a great master, for they shared not only a love for archery but also great reverence for the woods around them. A friendship of equals had developed, this despite a vast difference in age and worldly knowledge. Brónalm was so old he had begun to develop lines around his eyes (for elves do age, though quite slowly). He was the only elf who could remember the days when his people had come to this forest in response to the call of the Valar, and he had trained every archer in the realm.
From a time when the elves did not measure time, when they knew only the twilight of Varda's silvery stars, Brónalm had wandered the great expanse of Ennor. His own kin had long ago sailed to Alqualondë, but loyalty had turned him from that path, and he remained with Lenwë when that lord left the Great March. From his wanderings he returned with tales of Beleriand and tidings of their kindred in the western lands, and in the Middle Years he led Oropher to Eryn Galen, recognizing Legolas' grand-sire as the rightful heir to Lenwë.* He had served Oropher and his son devotedly since that time. [1, 2]
Yet this little one he held especially dear, for Legolas was not only the son of his King, but one of Brónalm's own people, the child of a daughter of the forest. He had vowed that the child would know the language and ways of his mother's people, and having sired no children of his own, he found great fulfillment in this task. Brónalm had come to be a loremaster by experience rather than study of dusty tomes, and of him young Legolas learned to speak with the trees in the ancient tongue of Lenwë's people and to sing the lays that told of all the Silvan folk had seen and done.
Moreover, the young elf took to his beloved bow like a dwarf to gold. Legolas could not wield a full-sized bow, for he had not yet attained his final height, but he could easily best most of the archers in the King's guard. In this, he was clearly his mother's child, for she had been a great warrior, one who had fought in Mordor and a favored student of the bow-master in her youth.
Indeed, the little Sinda had a Silvan heart - perhaps more so than Brónalm could have wished, for he shared with his mother's people another trait - unease when underground, in caves such as the palatial caverns of his father. Of late, Brónalm had noticed a subtle change in the child. The youngster often looked tired and perhaps a bit thinner than he should be. Elven dreams were more precious to the elven mind than the rest they afforded the body. Without them, an elf's senses became blunted and his thoughts disordered. Legolas possessed a joyful soul and a light disposition, and it saddened the master to see the child labor under the weight of stolen dreamtime.
Had Legolas been able to consult his mother, he might have understood the dread that came over him at night. From his father he had inherited his blond locks and noble bearing; from his mother came more than her dark eyes and delicate features - he shared her love for living things and star shine. She could not abide Thranduil's caverns, and her blood ran true in the veins of her son. The harsh winter just passed had kept him too often confined to the palace, and had awakened the passions that lay dormant in his soul.
Brónalm resolved to speak to Thranduil about his son, and after the lesson found the King in the Great Hall, finalizing the order with Galion for the journey to Dale. When the butler took his leave, the King turned his attention to the ancient elf, nodding his head with respect for the age and wisdom of the Cúcherdir. [3]
"How does my son progress under your instruction?" Thranduil asked, adding, "Would that he paid as much attention to his brother's tutelage." In truth, he took much pride in his youngest child's prowess with the bow. Legolas was the joy of his life, not least because he was the only child by a wife he had dearly loved. The youngster's wonder at the world around him was refreshing among world-weary immortals, and Thranduil found that through the eyes of his son, he relived the wonder of his own childhood, long ago buried in the ruin of Doriath.
"He will be the finest archer in the realm 'ere long, save yourself, of course. But I would speak of your son, if I may - there is a matter that weighs on me."
"You flatter me, old Brónalm, for we both know Legolas can already best me as an archer. But what is your trouble?"
The bow-master paused to choose his words carefully. "I worry for the child. He is not thriving as he should; I believe that he sleeps poorly in the palace. It is not healthy for his spirit to be separated from living things." The elf hesitated before putting forth his somewhat brazen suggestion. "It would be no burden to share my hut with the youngster, if it would ease his mind."
The King considered this gravely. Such a thing was not quite fitting for a noble son of the Eldar. Yet Legolas was also a child of the Tawarwaith. He would hardly ask his people to abandon their huts among the beeches - how could he ask such a thing of his child? [4]
He did not regret his decision to make his home in the caverns. In times of great danger, the caverns were a refuge for his people. Moreover, it comforted the King, who had lost so many loved ones, to know that those dear to him were safe within the strong walls. Still, he could not see how the young elf could have a better guard than the great bow-master. He trusted Brónalm as he trusted his family. "I will allow it," Thranduil announced abruptly. "He is to go to Dale with Innolas tomorrow, so I will speak to him on his return."
- [1] Eryn Galen
- lit. 'Greenwood', 'Greenwood the Great' being the original name of Mirkwood
- [2] 'recognizing Legolas' grand-sire as the rightful heir to Lenwë'
- In the prequel to this story, Oropher's mother is Lenwë's sister.
- [3] Cúcherdir
- Bow-master
- [4] Tawarwaith
- Collective plural for the Silvan Elves; lit. 'forest folk'