Written By: Thundera Tiger

For: Kippur

Lengths and Measures

As a general rule, Legolas avoided the deeper and darker areas of his father's cavernous stronghold. He rarely descended as far as the cellars, and even the bustling lower kitchens—a haven for patrols coming in late at night—were seldom graced with his presence. None of the elves were particularly relaxed in Thranduil's subterranean halls, but some were more uncomfortable than others. And despite all efforts to the contrary, Legolas could be counted among the unusually anxious when it came to dark rooms and small spaces.

Yet even as necessity had dictated that the woodland elves live beneath the ground, necessity now dictated that Legolas journey to one of the dreaded lower chambers. He took with him several lanterns that would be used in addition to the lamps already placed about the small room. Additional light helped drive away the claustrophobic fears that lurked in the recesses of the prince's mind, though it would not set him completely at ease. But at least things would be tolerable for several hours, and Legolas didn't plan on staying any longer than that. An hour or so was more than enough time for him to make a sufficiently thorough inventory of the room's materials, which consisted primarily of wood that could be carved and shaped into arrow shafts.

Every elven archer knew how to make his own bow and his own arrows. It was one of the first things that beginning warriors were taught. But once having learned these skills, many set them aside. Most elves still fletched their own arrows, but the forging of the head or the carving of the shaft were tasks usually left for others.

The best archers, though, tried to take part in as much of their weapons' construction as they could. Given the harried state of affairs in Mirkwood and the constant need for vigilant guards, this was not always possible. But despite their circumstances, those elves deeply committed to the art of the bow almost never allowed their arrows to be crafted by others. It was a point of both pride and confidence, for the archers who took such measures to ensure the reliability of their bolts relied on their shots in ways that other elves did not. These archers made up the patrols that hunted shadows in the night, and one errant shot could result in death for the entire group. Their arrows could be nothing less than perfect, and for these reasons, the raw supplies for their arrows were kept far away from the hustle and bustle of daily life so that they might remain pure and untainted. Additionally, most of these archers felt that spending time in the small, secluded room near the cellars was something of a rite of passage. If one could endure the cramped quarters as well as the silent tedium of searching through endless rods and limbs, one could be considered a true archer.

And so Legolas, with a quiet sigh of resignation, pushed open the door to these chambers and entered, setting down his lanterns and lighting them before going on to light every lamp he could find. Once that was done, he stepped back and looked around the room, ultimately deciding that one of the lamps was missing as it seemed darker than usual to him. He would have to make inquiries later. But for now, he would push such matters aside and concentrate on finding the wood he needed so that he could retreat back to his own quarters and replenish his supply.

He had returned with a scouting party the previous morning after a nearly disastrous encounter with a large pack of Wargs that had been dangerously deep in elven territory. There was a famine of sorts in the southern regions of the forest, and the wolves had been ranging further and further abroad in their search for food. But this particular group had been so close as to be almost within howling distance of the king's stronghold itself, and the weary archers beneath Legolas's command—tired from a long patrol on the western edges of Mirkwood—had stumbled onto the main pack completely unawares. The resulting skirmish concluded with both sides making tactical retreats, but the cost had been great. Several elves were grievously wounded, and nearly every quiver had been emptied.

Pursing his lips together, Legolas thought back on the incident and shook his head. He had mentally reviewed what had happened several times, looking for ways he might have altered the situation and so spared the elves beneath his command. He had already berated himself for relaxing his guard as they neared the palace, but he knew he could not shoulder the blame for that alone. He had sent runners and forward scouts ahead, and they had reported nothing amiss. The other elves in his patrol had sensed nothing until they practically bumped into a few of the Wargs. Their lapse in caution was both embarrassing and grievous, but given the circumstances, Legolas could not remember seeing anything that might have alerted him to the Wargs' presence. They had taken great care to hide themselves so close to the king's halls, and a weary party returning from a long mission could not be expected to also patrol a supposedly safe area.

Grimacing and deciding to put the matter aside for the moment, Legolas turned his concentration back to the stacks of wood before him. Organized according to length, width, and weight, an assortment of choices met his eyes and he began looking through the selection. He had found himself preferring shorter bolts of late, and he concentrated his search in that area, though he did take a moment to peruse the longer shafts and choose a few rods from those piles.

After a little more than an hour of digging through various stacks and testing the strength of every length that caught his attention, Legolas had a sizeable pile of potential arrow spines. He tried to remember how many arrowheads he'd taken from the forgers earlier that morning, and then compared that number with the amount of wood he'd gathered, eventually deciding that he had enough for now. Rising from his crouch, he gathered the wood in his arms and turned to go.

"I was told that I would find you here."

It was only through a concerted effort of will that Legolas managed to keep from jumping. He did jerk slightly, though, and as he swung around to face the speaker, his keen ears caught the sound of his father's quiet chuckle.

"My apologies if I caused alarm."

Legolas stared at Thranduil for a moment before shaking his head. "Nay, I was merely…distracted."

"Indeed."

He kept his face impassive, but inwardly, Legolas was wincing. The king had said no word of blame concerning the patrol's Warg encounter, yet his son could not help but feel disapproval. He had commanded the archers. It had been his duty to keep them alert, despite his own exhaustion. And though there was blame and responsibility enough to go around, Legolas knew only too well that his father's expectations for his son were high. That he had been distracted moments ago was—

"You are becoming more selective in your choices."

Legolas glanced down at the wood in his arms. Part of him tried to work out whether that had been a compliment, a criticism, or merely an observation—it was always difficult to tell with Thranduil—while another part tried to work out what the king was doing here in the first place. As one of the few surviving Sindar who was old enough to remember Menegroth, Thranduil was more at ease in the lower caves than many of his subjects. But even given his greater tolerance for darker confines, the king never entered the lower halls unless it was absolutely necessary. His childhood in Menegroth had gifted Thranduil with the ability to live somewhat comfortably in cave-like surroundings, but it also gifted him with memories. And memories were painful.

"Legolas?"

"I seek your pardon, sire," Legolas said quickly, deciding to admit his faults openly and get it all over with. He was feeling too muddled to drag this conversation out. "I fear my thoughts are elsewhere this day."

"Then it seems we are of like minds," Thranduil murmured, moving over to inspect some of the longer pieces of wood in the piles.

That was not the response Legolas had been expecting.

When silence stretched between them, Thranduil glanced back at his youngest child and the corners of his mouth turned upward slightly. "Close your mouth, son. I know I taught you better manners than that."

Realizing that he was gaping, Legolas hastily pressed his lips shut, but the enormity of what had just happened continued to press down upon him. Thranduil had just admitted to distraction. He had admitted to a temporary fault. It was unheard of! Legolas could count on one hand the number of times that Thranduil had conceded to a failing of any kind. That the king had just now hinted at having distractions of his own…

Legolas shook his head. His father was never distracted. Focus was everything in Mirkwood, whether it was in drafting treaties and trade agreements with the dwarves or in laying out the finer details of a dangerous patrol. The value of concentration had been drilled into Legolas for as long as the elf could remember. It was partially because of this that he felt so ashamed of the scouting party's distraction and had expected words of condemnation from both his brothers and his father. Now, Legolas didn't know what to think, and that worried him greatly.

"Why the shorter lengths?"

Aware that he was once again becoming distracted by his thoughts, Legolas forcefully jerked his mind back to the present and focused upon his father, who was eyeing the shafts of wood in Legolas's arms. "The arrows have been bending too much after they are released," he said.

Thranduil frowned. "Your bow exerts too much pull for their strength?"

Legolas laughed, a harsh, mirthless sound that sent a flicker of concern across Thranduil's face. "Nay," he answered, shaking his head. "Nay, in fact, sometimes there is not enough pull and my shots fall short. Or rather, they would if the targets were further away. In recent skirmishes, I have been unable to come to a full draw, and as a result, my longer arrows have bent too much upon release. I thought that a shorter shaft might remedy some of this. And it is not as though I have needed the arrows to maintain speed and direction over great distances," he added with a sigh.

"Then you have been fighting in close quarters," Thranduil surmised, his eyes darkening slightly. The king of Mirkwood pursed his lips and studied his son for a long minute before speaking again. "It pleases me that you are making adjustments. Such action demonstrates foresight and cunning."

Legolas nodded in silent acceptance of the praise while he waited for his father to continue. The day that Thranduil doled out unqualified approval would be the day that dwarves learned to fly.

"However, perhaps you should be reminded that an archer's greatest defense is his distance from his foes. You seem to have forgotten this."

All could rest assured that Dáin would not be soaring over Erebor in the near future. "I have not forgotten, father," Legolas said quietly. "But sometimes lessons cannot always be applied. The Enemy grows crafty. The Orcs are better at concealing themselves and their armor is thicker than it has been in the past. The Wargs now wait to attack until many have assembled and they can mount an offense on several sides. Even the spiders have learned new tricks, and they lay traps about their dens that alert them to our presence and allow them enough time to lay an ambush. It has become difficult to slay any of these creatures without drawing close to them."

"Unfortunately, that is all too true," Thranduil murmured, turning his attention back to the stacks of wood that lined the walls.

Greatly puzzled by the situation, Legolas watched his father closely, his curiosity mounting by the second. Thranduil was not an archer but a swordsman. He had no reason to be here unless he was specifically seeking Legolas. But even then, it was more customary for the king to summon his sons than to look for them himself. Moreover, if Thranduil had been searching for Legolas, he would have had a reason for doing so. Yet the king had said nothing of his purpose in coming here, and the delay was worrisome. It was unlike Thranduil to put off matters, be they good or bad. After several weary minutes, Legolas could contain himself no longer. "Father, why are you here?"

Thranduil was silent for a moment, and then he turned slowly, his face impassive but his eyes dark with what could have been either sorrow or fear. "Before you returned, a large number of our patrols to the south were attacked by Orcs issuing from Dol Guldur. Many elves were injured. Some were killed."

"I have heard nothing of this."

"The parties affected have not yet returned. They are being housed in shelters to the south while they wait for some of their group to gain the strength for the journey home," Thranduil said. "Messages were sent informing us of the incident, but I have not yet allowed this news to be made public."

Legolas frowned. "Might I inquire as to the reasoning behind that decision, father?"

"The attack was not a normal one. Something greater is being planned, but our spies can tell us nothing. It feels as though we are being tested, yet I cannot fathom what the purpose might be." Thranduil paused, and then his deep gray eyes fixed themselves upon Legolas in an unnerving stare. "We are sending a small party to investigate. They will venture close enough to be within an arrow's flight of Dol Guldur. The other patrols will be withdrawing until more is learned."

"A dangerous mission," Legolas said slowly. He could now guess his father's reasons for seeking him out as well as a part of his reticence. "I assume that you wish to send some of my more experienced warriors with this party."

"Yes, I do."

Legolas nodded, trying to gracefully accept this added reduction to his own patrols. "Then I release my uninjured archers to your command."

"There is no need for that."

Legolas blinked. "There is not?"

"Nay, for those of your party who shall undertake the mission will do so beneath their current leader."

It required a moment or two before Legolas grasped what Thranduil meant. "You wish me to lead the party?"

"You are more than capable," Thranduil said, and his eyes suddenly fled Legolas's face, breaking the contact between them. "You have shown yourself to be an adept commander, albeit somewhat brash at times. You are gifted in drawing close to an enemy. And your skill in arms is more than sufficient." The king turned back to Legolas, a ghost of a smile playing with his mouth. "Even if you are distracted from time to time."

Legolas offered a faint smile in return. "So noted, sire," he said. "When am I to depart?"

"Two days from now," Thranduil said, his humor disappearing instantly as he returned to the matter of business. "A meeting will be held this afternoon for those captains that are here. This mission will be announced as well as your role in it. We shall go over particulars, you shall inform those beneath your command, and tomorrow you will prepare to depart."

"Then I will now hasten my preparations with these," Legolas said, lifting his arms slightly to indicate the wood he still carried. "By your leave, sire," he said with a short bow before turning away.

"Legolas?"

Legolas turned back, his eyes questioning, as Thranduil stepped forward and handed him some longer pieces of wood.

"If possible, see that you are given more than enough time to come to a full draw," Thranduil said, his voice firm and commanding. "You are talented with many weapons, but the bow is by far your best. Use it as it was meant to be used."

"I will do my best to heed you, father," Legolas promised.

"See that you do," Thranduil replied, his voice dropping to almost a whisper. A large hand fell upon Legolas's shoulder and gave it a quick squeeze. "You are needed here, young one. Return safely to me."

Legolas stared up into the king's eyes, seeing things in the stern gaze that were rarely allowed to surface. Fear seemed to hold sway over all, but beneath it was an unmistakable swell of fatherly pride that could not be denied. Then Thranduil blinked and the moment was gone, replaced by the wall that locked his emotions deep within where none could see.

"My thanks," Legolas said softly, recognizing the gift he had been given and feeling a swell of gratitude for this strict, demanding, impossible elf who was both his father and his king.

Thranduil nodded shortly, once again shouldering the mantle of Mirkwood's stern ruler. "Go, then, and make ready. I will see you at the council."

"As you command, father," Legolas said, speaking of more than the implied order to attend the council. A twinkle in Thranduil's eyes revealed that the king understood the unspoken message, and then both left the room, going their separate ways as duty and obligation pulled them down different paths.