Considerations of War and Trust
Legolas did not linger long in bathing despite the pleasure of hot water for the first time since leaving Rivendell, just long enough to cleanse the dirt of the road from his hair and body and to allow the warmth to drive the last of the cold from his marrow. His urge to find his father was too strong to permit him to rest longer than he needed, or to take pleasure in the simple things that he had so long denied himself. But even as he rummaged through his chest to find a suitable change of clothes he felt the blanching of his stomach again and the tension began returning to his muscles.
'It is my father I am to see, not my executioner' he told himself angrily. 'Your father yes, but also your king,' another part of his mind responded. 'The king whom you abandoned and betrayed.'
He straightened, staring with unseeing eyes towards the entrance to the balcony and the dark forest beyond, feeling the all too familiar sense of despair welling up again.
"My father will forgive me." He told himself in desperation. 'I know that. He loves me; he let me leave because he loves me. Why should I fear meeting him?' He looked down at the green tunic in his hands and threw it onto the couch, it would do. But the battle within him was not yet over. 'Your father will forgive you, but can the King?" The traitorous imp that had ridden many long miles with him whispered. 'He has other claims upon him than his love for you. What more would you ask him to risk to give you peace?' He resumed his rummaging in the chest. 'Nothing.' He told himself. 'I would ask nothing more of him than his forgiveness as my father. The King must do what is best for the Realm and I will accept that without complaint.'
His hand seized upon a pair of brown hose and he pulled them free with unnecessary ferocity as the imp responded.
'Easy enough to say when you know that he will hazard all to protect you. Did Mithrandir not hint as much to you? Wasn't that why he sought you out on the road to tell you that you might return home in safety? You do not believe that it was by chance he came upon you in that inn?''
Legolas tossed the hose down beside the tunic. his temper rising he continued the familiar argument with himself. 'No I do not think it was chance, but nor do I think that he was telling me my father would risk all to spare me. He was doing nothing more than reminding me that the King was also my father.' Legolas crossed to another chest in search of undergarments, but still the imp within him persisted. 'Yet it did not bring you home did it?' It whispered. 'Why was that? Why the seasons of wandering since then? Because you did not believe or because you thought it better, safer, to let your father's grief and fear multiply in the hope that that way he might be willing to set the King aside?'
"No!' In fury at his thoughts he slammed the chest shut with such force that the sound would have brought a guard to him had one been at his father's doors. He leant down on the chest, squeezing his eyes closed in pain and anger. 'Why do such thoughts taunt me? I am willing to pay whatever price is needed there is nothing more that I can offer in recompense. Is that not enough to earn me peace?'
The imp fell silent and Legolas dressed with no further thought.
As he lowered the lamp before leaving his eyes strayed once again towards the darkened and silent forest.
'Have peace?' the sneering voice came again. 'Yet you cannot hear the forest. How can there be peace?' Legolas drew a deep breath and pushed the imp down into the darkness again, only when it was secured there did he set off to find his father.
xxx
The guards at the silver gate released the lock and drew back to let him pass but there was no point is asking them where his father was, if he was not in quarters then they would not know.
The thoroughfare was deserted this late in the day as most of those within the halls would be preparing for the evening meal and so he moved quickly towards his objective. When he reached the place where the walkway separated he struck left and strode up the slope that led towards the causeway spanning the great vault, and from there to the Hall of Audience
The Hall was lit as usual, the flames here were never allowed to die, but the carved throne was empty, one of his father's robes was thrown carelessly across the seat, not unusual, but of the king himself there was no sign. Nor were there any guards present which meant that he was not expected.
Was this good or bad Legolas wondered? Surely his father could not still be at arms, and he was not in his quarters, so where was he?
Legolas realised that he had expected to find his father here and waiting to receive him, for good or ill. On the journey home he had imagined their meeting many times but he had always seen it taking place here, and with some formality to mark the depth of his transgression. Was he going to be denied any audience? After all, as the imp of his dark thoughts so often reminded him, he had left his king and his kin in arms to protect a dwarf who had done nothing more than choose to follow his own kin and king to the end. He had not been long upon the road before he saw the irony of that; nor to see how his action might look in the eyes of those who had lost their loved ones in that same battle.
He stood at the foot of the steps up to the throne trying to steady his heart and curb his impatience but the imp broke free and his dark thoughts and memories closed in on him again. Father or no he had challenged his king, even if his words had not been seen as a direct threat, and by the light of the two trees let it not be seen that way, it was unlikely such an act could pass without some formal censure. He did not think his father would be unyielding, nor blind to the reasons for his hurtful words, but there were others who might speak of the need for some punishment to be levied on the wanderer returned for the good of the realm.
As for the fate of the one who had challenged, the one that he had truly followed? Only his father would tell him the truth of that. But he feared what he might say. Though it was hard for elf to slay elf it was more than good fortune that his father's guard had not done so that day, and in truth they should have done. Only the shadow of his father's protection over the transgressor had slowed them in setting their arrows flying, all that had prevented their action in the end had been his father's swift disarming of the challenger.
For which act his son would always be grateful.
But afterwards, what then? What had happened in the days after he had ridden away? Many were dead would one more have been noticed? 'Enough!' he commanded himself and pushed the imp back into the darkness. 'There is no point to this and until I know the worst I must hope for the best. It is madness to do otherwise.'
But he could feel the imp struggling to break free and in frustration he spun upon his heel and went swiftly back towards the causeway. If his father was not here and he was not in his rooms then perhaps he was still at arms after all. He would seek him in the practice grounds. The sooner this was done the better, it was already too dark to consider setting out again this night but if matters went poorly then it would be best for all that he should leave at first light.
Having left the great vault behind him he made his way deeper into the Halls, here the passages were not deserted and he passed both guards and unamoured folk on their way to eat as he made his way down to the lower levels. But just as it had been at the gate he felt no light from them, no joy at his return only a sense of uncertainty and distance. The few who acknowledged him did so hesitantly and many simply looked down as they approached him as if they did not wish to risk meeting his eyes. The imp of his darkest thoughts started to rouse again and, as he strode onward, he clenched his fists, set his jaw, and called up memories of happier times in the effort to keep it at bay. He gave no thought to what brooding expression might mean to those he passed.
As he left the main passage ways behind and travelled down into the service levels of his father's fortress the numbers of those he passed reduced quickly until he was once again walking alone. It was here amongst the myriad of small rooms that the cells that served as dungeons when needed were to be found. He paused for a moment beside one; here the dwarf that first began his pain had been housed. The door was unlocked for the room was empty and he stopped for a moment with his hand upon the lock before laughing at his own foolishness and turning away and striding on.
Another level down and he reached the armoury and the workrooms of the smiths that serviced it. Workshops flanked the passage ways, their furnaces set into the walls, the water drawn straight from the forest river. Here the metal masters plied their craft, creating and maintaining the weapons needed to defend the realm of Mirkwood. As child he had spent many happy hours watching the master smiths as they heated and hammered steel and iron. But at this time of the day none were about and there was no sound of hammer on steel, no heat from the furnaces and no smell of molten metal. The stone walls gave off a faint warm glow that spoke of earlier bustle, though most of heat of the furnaces, and the smoke, was channelled up through vents in the rock to warm the living quarters above them. Legolas strode past the empty rooms with barely a thought.
Beyond them were the workshops of the arrow smiths, the creators of bow and arrow. Like the smithy's all was silent and deserted but Legolas lingered here for a while wandering around the workshops, his eyes widening at what he saw. Piles of wood were stacked neatly beside many benches, large troughs of fletching stood at the side of the rooms and swathes of arrow silk hung from the long racks suspended from the ceiling. Looking at the stacks of timber and string awaiting the arrow smiths attentions Legolas felt his unease return; the depredations of the battle at Dale would have been made good long ago, and the evil was retreating so battles with the spiders must be fewer than when he left, yet this level of activity suggested that Thranduil's army was growing and at some speed and that stockpiles of provisions were being laid down. But for what purpose? Local conflicts? Dain, the King under the Mountain? Surely not. Legolas had heard of his taunting of the Elven king just before the battle, but the reports suggested that those taunts and insults had been childish nonsense, the words of a nursery bully aimed only at enraging Thranduil. But Dain he was no child and he would understand the need for peace with his neighbours and it seemed unlikely that he would repeat such reckless behaviour.
Legolas walked slowly from the workshops and towards the stair that led to the practice halls. What, then, was it that drove his father to these preparations for war?
Beyond the armoury and the workshops lay the walkways to the practice halls and it was there that he turned his steps. The red lamps were burning brightly, their glow flickering on the crystal grains within the stone of the walls; this part of the fortress was below ground level and away from the shafts cut up into the side of the hill there was no natural light.
The practice halls, how many hours had he spent here learning what was required of the prince of Mirkwood? Some part of every day in the years before he was permitted to train beyond the protection of the Hall. Many other winter days too; and days when the rain was heavy or when he first returned from some errand for his father. These passages brought back so many memories, the day his father had first put a bow into his hand and showed him how to draw it, the day he had put a sword into his hand and gripped his fingers whilst he learned to understand its weight and balance. The day his father had brought him here to formally introduce him to the masters at arms and his weapon tutors.
Yes he remembered these spaces well and the hour upon hour of muscle tearing learning; first to survive, and only then to win. More time than he would have wished perhaps, for since the shadow of evil had spread too much of his father's time, and his own, had been spent in the arts of war to have the space for gentler pursuits. Eve might yet prove him wrong but Legolas had the growing feeling that each one of those hours might yet prove their worth.
This realm had long been one where peace was hard won and uneasy, since the building of Dol Guldor it had been a land where danger might threaten at any time; and had threatened more with each passing season in the years before the death of Smaug. Legolas had not truly understood just how dangerous it might yet become until he had wandered beyond their borders, for until that time all his battles had been with the lesser creatures of the dark and perhaps he had not given thought enough to what else his father might fear was lurking or might come.
Something else for him to regret now that it might be too late.
The target yards were empty, so were the practice spaces of the lance men. But Legolas knew that he was not alone for he could hear the unmistakable ring of steel on steel ahead of him. He quickened his pace and ran up a short flight of steps to his right, these took him to a small gallery overlooking several arena used for sword practice. Only the central one was occupied.
His father was dressed in light mail, a sword in either hand, his eyes bound by a scarf whose ends fluttered behind him in the breeze of the swirling blades. Around him six of his personal guard circled, three with swords and three with lances, and they moved in ever shifting patterns, light of foot and quick of hand they feinted at the king without let or hesitation. Without external sight Thranduil was relying on his hearing, the movement of the air around him, and the internal sight that warned him that his enemy was nea,r to deflect their attacks. Legolas could see no sign that they were giving his father any grace, and what would be the purpose of the exercise if they did, and yet his guard seemed unfaltering and no blade tip came within a killing distance.
As he watched three attacked from front and side and one of the circling warriors came up behind the king and caught his hair, twisting it around her hand and pulling him backwards. Thranduil made no apparent move to resist her pressure, instead gracefully following the backward tug, never exposing his throat and guarding his torso with one sword while changing his grip on the other; then, as it seemed she must either pull him down or break his guard, he moved in the opposite direction, circling his body behind his guarding blade and turning his head slightly as he did so, then in a sudden movement he drove hilt of the other sword up and back into her shoulder. Her grip on him failed as the blow took the power from her arm and hand and he ducked and turned away pulling free and turning the blade again to drive back an approaching lance tip.
Legolas smiled as he watched, he knew that he was not the equal of his father with a sword, and some part of him hoped he never would be for that would require the forge of the worst kind of battle, But with the bow he thought he could equal him, or close to, though it was hard to judge when his father rarely took up the bow these days. Legolas never wished to ask why, for he had seen the sadness in his father's face when he touched one, and it was the same sadness that he saw whenever his father looked south and east towards Mordor.
The dance of sword and lance continued, the elf lords circling and his father defending. Occasionally, when the opportunity presented, he would attack, sometimes with one sword sometimes with both, the clash of steel reverberating around the arena. The circling opponents continued their testing of his guard and the king continued to evade their advances, his movements quick and graceful, his concentration absolute. The Sindar were a tall race and his father was taller than many with a long reach and stride, a considerable advantage in close combat if you knew how to use it; Thranduil did know how, for he took his duties seriously, both civic and martial. As their King it was his duty to lead in battle as well as elsewhere, to be a practised and effective warrior just as he must be fair in dealing with disputes, protective of the weak and alert to the machinations of their enemies. But it was clear that at the moment the martial aspect of his role was very much on his mind, and the question had to be why.
Legolas frowned as he watched them. How long had they been here? Certainly since before he had entered the gate, but there was no visible sign of fatigue in any of the participants. A slight sheen of sweat could be seen on a brow as one or other of them passed closer to a lamp but that was all the sign that any effort was being made. That his father put in so much practice at the end of a long day spoke to Legolas of an anticipation of war that current events did not seem to justify, Even during the worst years of the forest sickening he never known his father practice this late in the day. It also seemed unlikely that the return of the king under the mountain would be the cause. Some other dark news must await him and he frowned as recalled his years away from the Wood wondering what it might be.
Such thoughts were curtailed as he saw his father change from defence to attack, driving the back those around him in a swirl of blades. Then, without any apparent warning all six lowered their weapons, obviously at a sign from the king. Thranduil reached up and pulled the binding from his eyes and looked to where Legolas stood watching, a smile, soft and warm stealing across his face and into his eyes. He raised a sword in salute, and then indicated that Legolas should join them in the arena.
A sense of something he could not name took hold of Legolas as he descended the steps, and his instinct was proved correct when he entered the arena for he was immediately hit by a feeling of chill, something not quite threatening but not far from it and he felt the beat of his heart increase. The looks of the six behind his father were not openly hostile, though their looks were sharp and steady, yet he could feel their sudden shift in readiness and a sense of cold as if a door to the night forest had been suddenly opened.
Thranduil seemed unaware of the change and when he spoke his voice was low pitched as ever, warm and easy.
"Legolas, I am glad to see you home, and sorry that I didn't meet you at the gate." He gestured his welcome, " I had not intended to spend so long at practice but we have used a new forging to craft these swords and I confess I became bound up in exploring their balance."
He met his son's uncertain glance with a measuring look and then tossed one of the two swords he carried across to his son.
"See what you think of them."
As Legolas caught the sword, his father raised the one he still held in a brief salute and then made a feint in his direction.
Legolas felt a surge of horror run through him as he realised what his father intended, that they should cross swords here and now without further words between them. He opened his mouth to protest but his father's blue gaze locked on him, suddenly grim and with a hint of warning in its depths that held him silent. Instead he shifted his grip on the hilt and prepared to face whatever was coming. Behind him his fathers guard retreated to the wall but their grip upon their weapons did not falter.
Thranduil might have been at practice for hours but there was no weariness in his assault which came quickly and with some force driving his son back towards the wall. Legolas nearly stumbled as he struggled to establish his guard for he had forgotten the strength of his fathers arm, the speed with which he could move and his balance even when at stretch. The Elven king's movements were perfectly controlled, sparing, even lazy, and his pale gold hair seemed to barely move upon his shoulders; and yet he seemed to be everywhere at once, thrust and parry flowing in a fluid motion one from the other. Wherever Legolas sought to strike his father's sword was already there to block him and his defence never took so much attention that he could not exploit the slightest opportunity to attack, ;his son soon found that simply maintaining his guard was taking all his attention. The reach he had noted in the gallery was now deployed against him, forcing him back to a point at which he could not strike with confidence but where his opponent could still harry him with ease. On several occasions he was caught wrong footed struggling to stay on his feet as the king's blade came close to touching him.
Yet on each occasion the sword was drawn back, the blow turned aside before any contact was made and as they progressed so his first fear, that his father had decided not to forgive him, passed. As it did so he relaxed letting memory take over and his body respond without conscious thought. Now he managed to probe his father's guard a little, sword sliding over sword in a scrape of steel as his advance was repelled.
Behind him he could hear the slight movement of the watching guard; he was not sure what would happen if he did penetrate his father's defence, for the six included three who had been at his father's back during that terrible encounter in Dale and they still had not disarmed. But he was suddenly sure that his father would not allow him to surrender easily nor to call a halt to the exchange. In which case there was nothing to be done but continue to the end. Legolas set his jaw and prepared to follow where his father led, to do the best that he could and take whatever the consequences might be.
How long this exchange of thrust and parry, attack and defence continued Legolas could not judge for all his attention was taken by watching the sword in his father's hand. One thrust of his came close to passing Thranduil's sword only being turned away at the last moment, he saw the king smile slightly as he parried it, a look of approval passing across his face. Emboldened Legolas pressed more vigorously, suddenly forgetting who his opponent was and why they were in contest. It had been a while since he had practised but as he relaxed old skills seemed to return and he increased his efforts seeking for a gap in the barrier presented by his opponent's sword. Suddenly he saw it and a surge of satisfaction took him forward, he lunged with all the power of which he was capable, sure that the defence would crumble before his blade. But the feeling was fleeting and a sense of dread over took him as he realised what he was doing and that it was too late to pull the blow back. He had a moments vision of his sword striking home, the thin mail his father wore parting beneath the blade, the kings blood staining the floor and of himself imprisoned by his father guard or dead at their feet. He sent up a silent plea to the Valar that his father's mail would hold.
But the blow never landed and instead he found his sword turned away with a force that sent it spinning from his hand, his forward motion carrying him into the wall and then to the ground. Slowly he raised his head and looked up into his father's face afraid of what he would see. But Thranduil was smiling slightly and extending down his hand to help him up, the sword still gripped in his other hand.
"My son it seems that you have had little chance to practice on your travels or you would never have made such a mistake."
Legolas took the offered hand and shook his head as he got to his feet.
"Perhaps, but I doubt that it would have made much difference. Poor discipline I grant you, I should have suspected such an opening, but I will never be your match with a sword."
"No perhaps not, but then you prefer the bow or knife."
His fathers tone was quiet and there was something about it that caused Legolas to look at him closely; in the calm face opposite he read a slight satisfaction and yet a warning too. It was only then that he became aware of the slight change in the atmosphere around him and looking behind his father he saw that the expression on the faces of his guards had relaxed and they had lowered their weapons.
Thranduil caught his look and smile intensified for a moment before he picked up the fallen sword and holding it out in front of him looked along the edge of the blade.
"What do you think of the balance?"
Legolas looked at him in momentary confusion unsure of the purpose of the question, and then he responded as calmly as he could.
"I would need more time to be sure but it seems to be as good as any I have ever known. Close indeed to those forged by our kin in earlier times."
Thranduil nodded, and he raised the one he still held and looked down along its blade.
"I agree. I think them to be close to the swords of old, they are nearly a match for those I carry and those were forged long ago."
Legolas looked at him with a frown.
"Are you anticipating another such war that we would need such great blades again?"
"Not immediately."
"Yet you think such a war might come again?"
"Who can say? But though the evil seems to be retreating for the moment I have known such ploys before."
Legolas recalled another converstaion and nodded.
"I have letters for you from Rivendell, Lord Elrond also has some concerns. Letters that he would only trust to me, though he would not say why that should be the case."
Thranduil's smile was chilly.
"I can think of several reasons why that might be so. But I will withhold judgement until I have read them."
Behind him the elf lords were murmuring amongst themselves as they sheathed their weapons. As they turned and bowed to their king each one looked across at Legolas, nodded slightly, and muttered 'my Lord' quietly, nothing more than acknowledgement but it was freely given and it caused a sense of relief so strong that it almost took his breath from him. The king returned their salutes and watched in silence as they departed leaving him alone with his son.
As Thranduil turned back to towards Legolas his smile dimmed.
'There is much ground to be recovered, my son, but a small step can lead to larger ones quite quickly if the steps are those of the right people."
Legolas understood then, it had been about trust; the king's demonstration of his trust of his son, his guard's demonstration of their trust in their king's judgment. The two together would make it possible for him to return, to give him the chance to recover the trust he had lost amongst others. Perhaps he might even learn to trust himself again. He looked up at his father.
"And you, how much of your trust must I regain?"
A look of sadness crossed his father's face.
"Regain Legolas?" his voice was soft. "None, for you never lost it."
Legolas looked down.
"Yet I threatened you."
Thranduil waved the remark away his look of sorrow deepening.
"It is forgotten. Your actions were hasty and unwise but your pain was visible enough for me to understand the reasons even as it happened. I would have spared you that but I failed to do so, which I will always regret."
He reached forward and grasped his son's arm.
"There are things we must discuss, but not here. Have you eaten yet, for I have not."
Legolas shook his head and his father smiled.
"Then we will dine in private and speak of those things we need to in more comfortable surroundings."
