Cold Comfort at the gate

Night had dropped like a heavy cloak over the forest by the time he reached the end of the road and crossed into the last belt of trees before the bridge that spanned the river separating him from his father's gates. Above him the sky was black and starless and the whispering of the restless wind was rising towards a bitter howl. He shivered for a moment hearing the battle cry of the Orc packs within its harsh note.

Yet despite the cold and wind he lingered in the last trees, his thoughts no lighter than they had been as he travelled the road and his doubts as great. Once he rode out onto the bridge there was no turning back, he would have to continue and face whatever his home now held for him.

He sat in the deepest of the shadows looking across the darkness towards the final, and perhaps the greatest, barrier between him and his home. Images flashed though his mind like the fish he had once stalked in the reed beds in summer, twisting slivers of light and shine that disappeared before he could take hold of them. Pictures of silver winters and golden summers, of fiery autumns and soft green springs, the dance of the forest and its surrounding lands passed through his mind. These cycles the ripples on the endless stream of life that was both the joy and the sorrow of an elf.

In these last seven cycles he had wandered amongst the children of men, sat in their taverns and slept in their byres, he had played with their children and helped at their harvests, but he had come no closer to understanding them. Only here in the forest once again had he realised why. He was still young for an elf and yet he had seen great trees grow from their first timid shoots to be glorious giants and then watched them fail and return to the earth from whence they had first sprung; no mortal would ever see that, they would never see the cycle complete. The bloodlines and great deeds of Men, their cities and their hopes and dreams would bloom and fail in less than that cycle. Elf and mortal were ever divided by that, however much goodwill there was between them. If he had lost his people then there was no where else for him to go except to cross the sea.

Sunk in thought and memory he was oblivious to the cold and to the restless stamping of his horses feet and the clouds of white breath she sent out in deep and regular sighs as she looked towards the shelter she was still being denied. The rein was slack but though she knew that home was just a few steps away she caught her rider's mood and made no move towards the bridge. How long he sat there he could not say but finally a plaintive pull upon the rein brought him out of his reverie and back to the present, he whispered an apology and collected his wits. Raising his eyes again he stared towards his destination, long habit causing him to assess the scene before moving.

The river ran free before his father's halls despite the chill, as it always did; but the massive gates were closed. The lack of guards on the forest side told him that they were also barred and he wondered how often this was the case now, and if Elrond's assurance of returning safety was more wish and less fact that the lore master believed. Or was there some other reason for them to be barred?

He stared at the dark doors behind the pillars of stone and felt his heart sink further; in the days before the dwarves came they had often been open, though always guarded. Even on a winters' night they might be unlocked or at least the braziers lit, spilling light out onto the dark surface of the river, the sound of life seeping out into the silent trees. Some nights he had ridden out with his father, who never seemed bothered by the shadows, to the edge of the forest to watch the sky darken and the stars brighten. In better weather they would ride further out to the lands to the north and east where Thranduil's realm reached into the flat and tree shorn country between the forest and the mountain. Here they might camp over night before visiting some of the outlying settlements and joining in their feasts. Sometimes they would sit together beside the river and watch the night fish leap between floating petals or leaves or ice depending on the season.

But those rides had become fewer as the spiders became more numerous and the incursion by Orc and other spawn of the darkness increased. Then his father spent ever more of his time on errands he never explained. In the year before the battle at the Lonely mountain his father had spent the hours he once shared with his son in solitary pursuits away from even his closest comrades of old. Legolas could only guess at what these activities might be but they had left his father thoughtful and sometimes weary as if he had fought a long campaign without chance to rest.

But the spiders had withdrawn and Orc packs were now few this far south and west, or so Elrond had said, so it was not for safety that the gates were barred. Unless there was some peril he had no knowledge of. Yet he did not think that was the case for Elrond was a member of the Council and well informed, and all would be on the watch for any sign of evil returning. Mithrandir had said as much when their paths had crossed at a lonely inn deep within the Wold. So it was not peril that barred his father's gates.

To Legolas there seemed only one possible answer to that question at that moment, they were closed because his return was known.

Now as he stared at the cold river and the silent gate, the closed doors and the unlit lamps seemed to him a further sign of his disgrace; another portent of what he might face once he crossed the bridge. How great would be his humiliation, how complete his banishment, if he crossed the river to find the doors remained barred, how complete his loss and desolation if they opened and yet he was held by his fathers magic upon the threshold.

But cross it he must, or turn away and never return. With a sigh of resignation he let his horse move forwards and step onto the bridge.

They were no more than a pace or two across when he heard the sound of bars being withdrawn and the creak as the massive doors swung back. Light streamed out gilding the surface of the waters below him and scattering the shadows behind him. In that light he caught sight of several palace guards armoured and helmeted with lances at the ready, their shielded faces hiding both their identity and their thoughts.

A pace closer and he saw other figures emerge from within the halls, and these wore no helmets, though all had weapons at their belts. More than one of this company he had known well, elves he had shared many hunts and skirmishes with in the past, many songs and feasts too. In times past these friends and comrades would have called out to him, welcome offered in jest and friendly taunt. But not now, no voice was raised in welcome now, no familiar smile dawned. None of them moved towards the open door, instead they stayed behind the guards until another came from behind them with a burning brand and lit the braziers on each side of the gate.

The lamps flared up bright and white sending echoes of their flames onto the dark waters beneath the bridge. Still no one stepped across the threshold or raised a voice in welcome. Only the soft clip of his horse's hooves and the hiss of the heating lamps could be heard above the low song of the waters passing beneath the bridge.

'It is night' he told himself, 'and deep winter. They can expect no one and so caution must be their watch word and in the past I would have expected no less. Yet how can they not know who it is that approaches?'

He pushed back his hood allowing the light of the torches to bathe his face so they might see him better and he pulled his cloak closer around him, shielding the hilt of his sword to assure them of his good intent. But there was no change in their stance and the light he would once have felt from them was dimmed, the familiar warmth and sense of oneness absent. As with the forest he could feel no echo of their life light, it seemed as shielded as the guard's faces. Nor was there any outward sign of recognition, in face and stance they were impassive and even as he drew closer they looked at him as if he were a stranger.

Legolas felt another wave of sadness wash over him but it was shot with the first faint vestiges of hope for no weapons were drawn, no arrows nocked, at least none of them here saw him as an enemy.

As he reached the threshold he slid down from his horse, handing the reins to a young elf without armour who had hurried forward from behind the line of guards. A groom no doubt though not one he recognised, at least in as much as he could see, for the young one kept his eyes turned towards the ground. Legolas ignored the averted gaze and turned to draw the package of papers trusted to him by Elrond from his saddle bag, then turning back towards the door he pushed them beneath his damp cloak and spoke as normally as he could.

"She is weary, the ride has been long and cold, see that she is warmed and fed and given a comfortable place to rest."

The order was not needed for his horse would receive nothing but good care, yet he found that he had to break the silence, to strive for some pretence that all was well. The groom said nothing in reply, nor raised his eyes from the ground, and taking the offered rein he led the horse through the gates and away.

As he watched his horse disappear from sight he felt as if he were a prisoner being brought to trial, all hope of escape taken from him. Behind him night had claimed the forest and even if he turned and ran there was nowhere for him to go. He could only go forwards and hope that in time things might be set to rights.

Now that he was dismounted the guards seemed uncertain as to what they should do, but that uncertainty was less important to Legolas than the absence of any sign of welcome in their eyes. He could feel their unease now but no sense of joy at his return. The sadness within him deepened as he wondered if this was a sign of how it was to be if he stayed. But then what else could he expect? He had left his kin to the battle, elf warriors such as those standing before him now, to hurry to defend a dwarf to whom he owed no duty or loyalty. More than that he drawn his sword on his father, their king and commander, and issued challenge as he did so. By the laws of all the lands of Middle earth he had by that act alone committed treason; had it been some other who had behaved in such a way what would his judgement on them have been?

He took a deep breath and stepped forward, if they barred his way then would know that all was lost and that his wanderings could not end. Worse still he might find they gave way but that he still could not enter, for these were his father's gates, secured by him against their enemies and none entered unless his father permitted it. No one could bring him into the halls if his father's gate would not let him pass. Perhaps that was the source of their confusion, they did not know if the gate would allow him passage or not and did not want to be present if he were denied. But they gave way, drawing back their lances and allowing him to approach the threshold. Legolas squared his shoulders and stepped forward to face this final test. Relief washed through him as no magic descended on him and no barrier held him , one more step and for the first time since the battle at the Lonely Mountain he entered into the halls of his people.

Behind him he heard the great doors close and the swish of cloaks as the guards turned and resumed their inward facing positions. The closed door had not been for him it would seem, unless it was now closed to prevent him leaving. But there was no sense in that for having been permitted to enter the gate it would not allow him to leave again without with his father's consent.

The others remained silent and parted before him as he stepped forward standing in line to either side as watchful but as expressionless as before.

As the closing doors banished the chill of the night gentle warmth rose to greet him, the gift of the hot springs that Thranduil had diverted when first he moved his people here and built this fortress against their enemies. This warmth was aided by the line of flaming braziers that flanked the entrance hall. With a sigh of relief he shrugged off his ice glazed cloak and draped it over his arm, only then did he turn and look towards those watching him.

"Where is the king?"

"At arms my lord."

The voice of his father's steward came from the other side of the chamber.

Legolas turned and looked at him, meeting the same carefully schooled and non committal look as that worn by the guards and his comrades of the past. The steward gave a very small bow and indicated that he should follow as he moved out of the chamber and into the passage leading deeper into the halls. Without a look behind him Legolas obeyed, but he could not hide his surprise.

"At arms? Now, as night draws on?"

To practice this late in the day had never been his father's habit.

The steward sighed and shrugged.

"It has been a busy day my lord and he has not had any earlier chance. But he will not let the day close without he spends some time with a sword."

A look laced with some fleeting emotion that Legolas could not read drifted over the steward's face but when he spoke again his tone was as carefully schooled and as expressionless as before.

"He told us to be prepared for your arrival and I have instructed that your rooms be made ready for you. I am sure that a chance to bathe and a change of garment will be most welcome after the cold and dirt of the road."

Legolas didn't wonder how his father had known of his return; there was little that happened within his realm or the lands surrounding it that Thranduil didn't know of. But it was clear that he did not intend to greet his son here, and it would be wise to accept that graciously. So he smiled and strove to answer as he would have done had he just returned from a long hunting trip or some official business.

"That I would for the snow is thick in the wild lands and more than one road is impassable even on horseback. Many of the smaller streams and rivulets are frozen even beside the forest road, it looks as if this winter has been a hard one."

"Indeed it has my lord. Just keeping the river open the full length to the lake has taken much effort."

Legolas nodded.

"I imagine so. Winter has always been hard upon the river, either it sets as stone or overflows like a squeezed water skin. Or both in quick succession as I well recall. Many a dunking I have had when ice suddenly decided to be water again."

The steward smiled.

"Indeed my lord. But this season even the raft elves have found the river hard to negotiate and there have been times when even wine could not be transported in safety."

Legolas smiled, for warmed wine was a staple of his father halls in the coldest part of the year.

"A great trial for all concerned, and not least for the raft elves themselves," he said. "It is a harsh task to navigate the winter river without something to warm the blood."

There was a pause as they turned a corner and passed another group of palace guards, Legolas inclined his head in salute but the reply was slow to come and hesitant when it did. If the steward noticed he gave no sign. Legolas suppressed a sigh and followed him down the now deserted passage.

"How goes the rebuilding of Dale?" He asked after a moment. "It has been some time since I travelled east."

The steward looked at him and something uncertain stirred in his expression only to be buried again behind polite officialdom.

"Well enough my lord, we have spared as many craftsmen as we may to help but the task is a large one and there is much to do here that also needs skilled hands."

Legolas frowned.

"Yet the word in the west is that the evil retreats," he replied slowly, "or so I have been told. The White Council have purged Dol Guldor and the evil seeping from that place is stemmed. I understand that both spiders and Orcs are rarely seen now this far south and east. The fortress and surrounding forest is under constant observation from the Golden Wood and any change must be noticed. What then is our urgency?"

The steward hesitated and again there was that fleeing look of uncertainty before he replied.

"I am sure your father is best fitted to explain that, for there are few outside his inner council who know the sum of what he strives to do."

Legolas felt a surge of alarm, the first not on his own account since he had started on the road, but there seemed little purpose in asking more. Beside him the steward was now talking softly about the autumn floods and the increase in the price of grain that had resulted, how they had established new observation posts on the edge of the dark forest and the memorials his father had raised to the dead of Laketown. Another turn in the passage way and a great sweep of stairs took them up to the long twisting walkway that led to the entrance to the hall of audience and the gates to the Royal apartments. It was in this direction that they turned, their feet chiming on the polished stone.

As always the gates were guarded by members of his father personal guard, their shielded faces and draped black cloaks echoing the statues of warriors of the past. These guards were some of their most experienced warriors, most were silvan elves but amongst their ranks there were a few who had travelled with his father from the west. As a child he had found them both terrifying and fascinating in equal measure, now he wished he might see past their veiled helmets and read their faces to better understand what lay before him.

The guards opened the great silver gates to the royal living quarters as the pair approached but they made him no salute and he had expected none, when at their posts these guards recognised no one but the King.

A long corridor stretched before him, he could see the night blue doors to his father sanctum, said to be forged long ago and in another place from the mystical twin of mithril, at the far end, and the less imposing doors to his own rooms to the right. The lamps here were double in number and brightness and there were no shadows for anyone to hide within but at the moment it was empty, a certain sign that his father was elsewhere.

The steward had fallen silent and Legolas could find nothing more to ask, at least nothing that it would be wise to ask at this point, and so they continued down the passage each lost within his own thoughts. The steward reached the door to his quarters first and hurried to throw them open allowing Legolas to preceded him into the room but following quickly behind him and shutting the door as he did so.

He looked around assuring himself that it was as he had ordered it should be, then turned as if there was something more that he wished to say, but after a moment of awkward silence said simply,

"I will see that hot water is sent immediately." Then he bowed slightly and left closing the door softly behind him.

Legolas was both relieved and disappointed at his leaving, for though he wanted to change as quickly as possible and then find his father, it had seemed that the mood of the steward had shifted as they spoke, as if the first cracks in the cold wall of distance that marked his return had appeared. He would have liked to probe those cracks a little further. But perhaps it was wiser to wait.

He put the letters from Elrond onto the small table beside the couch smoothing the thick parchment and wondering, not for the first time, what they contained. Then he threw down his sodden cloak onto a chair before sitting down on the end of the couch and pulling off his wet boots; he threw them into a corner in a gesture of defiance, he would only need them again if he had to leave. His tunic followed and then his breeches and dressed only in his under garments he crossed over to the balcony that looked out across the forest river. From here he could see the gate but in the shadow of the pillars he could not been by those below him. But there was no one to see him, for though the braziers still burned brightly the gates were shut and all was silent.

For a while he stood and watched the flaming lamps, their leaping flames transporting him back to the dragon fire of Laketown. The town on the lake had smouldered for days, or so Mithrandir had told him, and in the end there was nothing left but blackened timbers, twisted iron and ash. Long after they had thought the fires extinguished small outbreaks would occur in unlikely places and this despite the cold and early snow.

He had understood then why his father insisted on halls of stone, for a forest would burn nearly as easily as a town of men. Legolas shivered at the thought, lucky it had been for the forest that the treasure of the mountain and Dale had been enough to keep Smaug satisfied. If he had not been then the trees would have burned and only these halls would have remained unscathed. Or would they? Would Smaug have been able to cross his father gate? Perhaps, but perhaps not. Was that why all the wealth of the Woodland Realm was held here, deeper even that the far greater dwarf hoard in the Lonely mountain? One day we would ask, at least he would if he and his father were ever on such terms again.

One of the braziers flared brighter for a moment as the fire found a particularly rich source of fuel and the flame took him back in time to another fire in a much humbler dwelling. What had Mithrandir been doing in the Wold? How was it that his business, whatever that might have been, had taken him to that isolated hamlet a long way from the road?

It had been in the third year of his wandering, early spring and he just decided that his quest for Strider would come to naught. He'd left the road to avoid a party of merchants guided by dwarves travelling west towards Gondor for some spring fair. He had ridden with them for several days until he could no longer bear the dwarves tales of the new king under the mountain and restoration of Erebor. When they had asked him where he was form he had said Rivendell and they had asked no more. But their tales had angered him for they spoke only of Thorin and Dain and the victory of the king under the mountain, the dead of Lakeside and of the forest forgotten. When he felt his hand itch for an arrow as they began another story he invented an errand and left them.

But not far from the road his horse had lost a shoe and on land such as this it was unwise to ride an unshod horse for long. So he had found the shoe and then led her for many miles until he found a village perched on a river crossing where the smith was willing to replace an elvish shoe. It had been near dark when he agreed the price with the smith and no chance of the job being done before the morning light and so elf and horse had found refuge in a small inn beside the village green. The food as he remembered had been simple and good, stew and fresh bread, but there had been no wine, the water was brackish and the ale sour.

Spring though it claimed to be the night was cold and the rain heavy and when he had settled his horse had found himself a place on a bench beside the fire to dry his cloak and warm his feet. He had finished his meal and been staring into the fire wondering what next to do if he abandoned his search for Strider when he felt someone sit down beside him. The inn was small but the company was thin on such a night and there were other benches and no need for anyone to sit as close as the newcomer did. Legolas had settled back a little easing his hand towards the knife in his belt. The newcomer did not appear to notice but leant forward to light a spill in the flames and used it to light an evil smelling pipe. As he blew out the first belch of smoke Legolas edged his hand closer to the knife hilt.

"Legolas Greenleaf," said a familiar voice, "are you so far gone in infamy now that you would assault a hapless stranger on the road?"

His hand dropped immediately and he turned to stare at the cloaked man beside him. The hood was pushed back to reveal and equally familiar face.

"Mithrandir! What are you doing here? I would have thought this place had little of interest to a wizard. Or is it that you seek more dwarves to set upon quests?"

The wizard frowned and indicated that he should keep his voice lower, then he puffed his pipe in silence until it was burning to his satisfaction.

"No," he said quietly," neither dwarves nor quests concern me at this moment. But what of you, what brings the son of Thranduil to such a place?"

Legolas had replied as quietly.

"A horse with a shoe in need of replacing, and a smith willing to do the deed."

His companion nodded.

"Ah, I see. That answers the particular, but what of the general? Why are you not back in Mirkwood or about your father's business. Or are you? Does Thranduil have interests in the Wold?"

"You are more likely to know that that than I Mithrandir"

That response had seemed to surprise his the wizard.

"Evasion Legolas? You have been taking lessons from your father."

Anger had flared in him then.

"I will not speak of my father with you Mithrandir," he had gathered up his cloak and made to rise, "nor listen to you decry him. My father fought well in a battle he did not want and of your making. Many of our kin, and those hapless fishermen, were lost to your scheme to profit the dwarves."

A hand had grasped his arm as he rose, stronger than the apparent age of his companion would suggest possible, bearing him down again. His voice remained low and became sombre.

"It was not for the preferment of dwarves that I set Thorin on his quest. Nor do I decry your father, and I grieve your losses deeply though I know that Thranduil does not always believe that. Legolas I would speak no ill of your father for I more than many know how difficult is the road he must walk. Evil on his doorstep and his people to protect with no magic, other than his own, and his will and wit, to assist him." He dropped his hand, "and a White Council that sometimes seems unable to see what is clear before them. "

He sighed and puffed on his pipe again before turning to face his companion.

"He fought the darkness once before and survived but he lost much, that I know even though it was an age before my own, Few remain now in Middle Earth that know the full sum of that evil and the price paid to defeat it, and your father is one. I do not doubt that he has memories so terrible that few minds could encompass them and survive, escaping them must be hard."

His tone seemed to take on a new intensity and meaning though he turned his gaze upon the fire.

"He is a good and wise ruler, Legolas, and I have never yet known his stoop to cruelty. Truly he is the greatest of the eleven kings of this age. You should not doubt that nor forget it."

Before Legolas could reply his companion looked back to him and smiled.

"I was not acquainted with Thingol for he was before my age, so I can make no fair comparison, and it was a different time, but I do not think that any dwarf would succeed in the slaughtering Thranduil in his halls. I have often suspected that was why he would not employ dwarf skill in the building of the Woodland realm, if they do not know its pattern then they cannot catch him unawares."

Legolas smiled to himself as remembered the humour in the familiar voice, for he had often wondered about that himself.

"None catch my father unawares," he had replied, "unless it is a hidden army of Orc."

The wizard's smile faded and he turned back to the fire and sighed.

"Yes, not my greatest success, I knew the Orcs were on the move in large numbers but that their strength was so great, that whole legions had been rebuilt. That I did not anticpate for it seemed too soon and there had been no sign of it that I was aware of. The Council knew that something was afoot but the full measure of it was hidden from us. Strange that now seems for the Eagles had long suspected that very large numbers of Orc were gathering in the dark lands and moving towards the lonely mountain."

He was silent for a moment staring into the fire as if seeing the battle once again played out before him. Then he turned and laid a hand upon Legolas's arm.

"But I ask again what it that takes you so far from your home? I know the evil is presently reduced and that the dark fortress is well watched but even so it must be something of great importance to take you away and keep you away so long. I was with your father not half a year ago and was told that you had been absent for some time."

Legolas remembered the uncertainty that had shaken him at that moment, and his sudden recollection of how the wizard had mentioned infamy. Fear had surged within him and he had wondered what to say. In the small silence that followed he thought he saw sympathy and understanding in the others eyes but he turned away from it, unsure of what was already known. Finally he fell back on his fathers last instructions.

"I am looking for someone called Strider, a Ranger amongst the Dunadian. My father sent me to find him but so far there is no trace.

The wizard frowned.

"Strider you say, but why would Thranduil send you…."

The words faded away, the sentence incomplete, and look of deep concern passed across his face, then in a moment it was gone. He puffed on his pipe again.

"Well no doubt he had his reasons, though it seems a strange thing for him to do."

"You know this Ranger?"

"No, though I have heard of him"

"Can you tell me where I might find him, or what his proper name might be?"

"Not at this moment. As for his name, did your father not tell you?"

"No, he said that I must discover that for myself."

Something deep and sad flashed momentarily in the wizard's eyes.

"Ah, I see."

"Then you can help me find him?"

"As I said, for the moment I could not tell you where this Strider is, nor help you to find him. But I think you will find him, though perhaps not when you expect to."

He had refused to say more than that and they talked then for a while of the fate of Lake town and the persistence of the Dragon Fire and of Bard's determination to rebuild Dale. At some point that he could not recall, nor how they had arrived at it, Legolas discovered that he was alone beside the fire with no sign of his companion anywhere within the inn. The following morning he had resumed his quest. But he had not found the Ranger called Strider, nor anyone who might tell him his true name. Another failure to lie before his father's feet and to ask forgiveness for.

But he was home, for the moment he remained one of the Woodland elves and for that he felt gladness and a lessening of the chill of despair. He turned from the panorama of the night and crossed to the adjoining room, his favourite robe was draped across a pile of drying sheets, a luxury he had not known sconce leaving Rivendell. Legolas wasted no time in shedding the remainder of his damp clothing and wrapping himself in the robe before returning to the balcony and the sight of the night beyond.

Hot water arrived but this time he spent no time in trying the read the faces of those who brought it instead remaining where he was, giving his thanks to those who attended to his needs without turning his head.

Legolas stared out into the deep blues and greys of the night wrapped forest and listened, but just as on the road all he could hear was silence. He tried once again to reach out and feel the life of the forest but the only thing that he could feel was the cold.