The Battle Stone

Legolas leaned forward and rested his forearms on the railing. Below him the Kings guard were mustering, their armour glinting in the early summer sun as they stood in little groups scattered across the wide expanse of the rear yard. The day was warm, the breeze was soft, fluttering their green cloaks like leaves, and the air around the Kings House was perfumed by rose and lily, and yet the gathering below was subdued, each one remembering that day of battle and those they had lost.

He watched them with sadness in his eyes and a heavy heart, for he knew that each of them had fought desperately beside his father, every one willing to die to protect their beloved king should it be required; something his son could not claim.

There were few of these guards who had escaped without some injury that day and none who had not lost someone, family or friend. He wondered what would be foremost in their thoughts as they stood before the Battle Stone. The victory had brought them some small measure of peace and rest for which all must be grateful, but the price had been grievous high. Would the guards below him consider it so? Did they regret it, he wondered, did they wish his father had not brought them out of the Forest when the dragon fell? He had not heard a word of complaint about the kings' decision since his return but watching them gather he could not help but wonder if there would be some regret as to that command as they looked upon the memorial to the dead.

He looked away unable to bear the sight, or his own wondering, any longer, turning his eyes to his clasped hands with a frown. Not that his father had had much choice in the matter, an ungoverned mountain full of gold so close to their borders could not be tolerated. Nor could the fight truly have been avoided only delayed, for given the numbers of the enemy the war would soon have been on their borders. Only the dragon could have held them back and Oakenshield had ended that, with Mithrandir's' urging it was true. Legolas still did not understand the wizards' actions, why he had seemed willing to risk them all to bring the dwarfs back to the mountain. But then perhaps he had thought Thorin a dwarf of sense, how disappointed he must have been.

His father had not spoken of the wizards actions, yet they must have angered him in their disregard for his peoples' safety. But whatever Mithrandir's reasons had they been worth the price?

He looked up again and let his eyes wander beyond the yard towards the practice field where the garrison guard were about their morning exercises, some at the butts and some at work with spear and sword. Tauriel would be amongst them, unless she was on gate duty. Two days had passed since he had arrived at his fathers' house in Dale and in that time he had not seen her either by accident or intent. Clearly she was being occupied elsewhere, and he could not deny that he felt a measure of relief at that, a feeling that was tinged with guilt. He sighed, but he would have to meet her soon, he had promised her that he would do so and he would not renege on that. At least here, in his fathers' house and with the kings' agreement, their meeting would attract no undesirable gossip, what ever else might arise as a result of it.

He looked back towards the gathering guard. Today he would stand with them before the Battle Stone and honour the fallen of that terrible day, but he felt no more worthy to do so than he had when first his father told him of it. For, though he had found some measure of peace with his sire and his people since his return home, the memory of his deeds of that day were as bleak as they had been as he had run away from Ravenhill and the parent and king he had slighted in so cruel and unnecessary manner. Though the imp of despair that had ridden home with him in the winter had somehow been silenced in the seasons since his return the chill of the memory of that day was no less bitter.

He turned his gaze down to his hand again and to the ring of the Realm and his rank upon his right hand, stroking it with his thumb as the memories surged up at him again.

Every moment of their run to the watch tower was etched into his memory; every elf and man they had passed unaided, every fallen warrior they had jumped over, every cry of pain and terror they had ignored. She had run as if she saw and heard nothing, her mind totally taken up with the dwarf, and he had followed her concerned only for her safety, her fear. Yet he had seen and heard them all and some deep part of his spirit had marked each one of them. How, then, was it that he could stand beside those who had fought the evil for the sake of their lives, their homes and their kin?

Legolas sighed and rubbed the ring again. Yet he would stand beside these gathering guards, he would do it because his father wished him to and he would not let his parent know the pain and shame it still brought him. He would stand beside his father and play the perfect Prince, the mask of stoic and sombre grief would not slip and it would hide his feeling of dishonour from all.

"You played your part, do not doubt it."
The voice behind him was soft and gentle, causing Legolas to briefly close his eyes in sorrow, for he had hoped his father had not seen the guilt that being in Dale had stirred. Hoped, too, that he believed his son to be past such feelings.

He turned and saw the understanding and sympathy, and a shadow of sorrow, in his fathers' eyes. Clearly he had been less successful in hiding his feelings than he had hoped and there was no point to be gained in denying it. Nor would he try, for he owed his father honesty given what had gone before. He smiled slightly.
"Perhaps, but not the part I now find I would have wished to have played." He shook his head slowly, "I know it is what you wish, and I would not cause you any further grief or trouble, but how can I stand beside them when I fought neither in the City nor before the mountain?"

Thranduil came closer and put a gentle hand upon his sons' shoulder.
"Do not fear that you cause me pain or trouble, I did not think this visit would be without its grief, not least for you," he said calmly. "But do not dwell on what cannot be changed. This day honours all of those who fought against the enemy that day, no matter where or how, even Oakenshield who brought the horror upon us." Thranduil raised a brow and smiled slightly, "You would not deny that he redeemed himself at the end I suppose?"
Legolas nodded sadly knowing where the conversation was leading for they had been there several times since his return.
"No." he said softly.
The king inclined his head.
"Then can you not grant the same redemption for yourself? For fight you did on Ravenhill, if not for the reasons you might have expected to."

He withdrew his hand and joined Legolas at the railing, staring out towards the practice grounds.
"We have spoken of this before and I had thought, and hoped, that we were in agreement. Perhaps the reasons that took you to the watchtower were flawed, but you went with a generous, if mistaken, heart, and to defend one of your kin. Whilst there you struck a notable blow against the enemy, of that you can have no doubt."
Legolas sighed.
"Perhaps, but does that excuse the truth that I left many unaided because I wished only to aid her? If it does truly excuse me then what of Tauriel, is she not also redeemed by her care for the dwarf? Why can she not play her part and honour her dead?"

His father was silent for a moment and then he too sighed. His regret was clear in his voice and face as he replied.
"Unaided by you perhaps, but not unmarked or un-regarded for your sorrow speaks clearly of your regret. But Tauriel? I doubt she gave them a passing thought, either then or since. It grieves me to own it, for she was raised within my house, but I have come to understand that she thought of no one but herself. I fear that even her care for the dwarf was nothing more than a reflection of her own desires."
He drew a deep breath, looking down his eyes locked upon the seal of the Realm that sat upon his hand as he continued.
"Some part of the blame for that must sit with me, for I should have acted upon her unruly behaviour sooner than I did. Yet I did not wish it to be so and allowed myself to be blind to it until such time as that was no longer possible, with terrible consequences."

He looked up towards the sky and spoke with a hint of weariness, as if revisiting thoughts he had pondered many times before.
"Even so if I could find a way for her to play her part I would do it, for your sake and for the sake of the one who died for her. But it is not possible, whatever my own impulse might be, and not only for the sake of our own fallen and their loved ones. Should Dain find out that she was present at the ceremony the consequences would encompass more than just myself. He sees Tauriel and her actions as bringing dishonour upon his house, and, though he ignores her presence in Dale as long as she is invisible to him, allowing her to attend the ceremony would be seen as a grievous insult."

Legolas frowned.
"But why should he know? As part of your guard she would be in armour and he would not see her face. She would be just another elf that he can ignore."
The king gave a wry smile and turned his eyes towards the practice grounds again.
"He knows, and will be on the lookout for any sign of her presence, particularly on this day. There are reasons he would wish to have cause to make some claim of wrong treatment, and I would not wish to give him excuse if it can be avoided. He still smarts at things that were done and said that day and it is in the interest of all that continues to be the case."
Thranduil paused for a moment as if unsure how to continue, then he shook his head, his hair glittering gold against the silver grey of his breastplate and Legolas realised he was wearing the same armour as he had worn in that alley in the ruined city.

"As for her being unseen," he continued. "Do you think that being an armoured member of my guard would be what she would wish? Would you trust her to play such a part in silence, to behave with restraint? I would not. Has she not shown the lengths she will go to when she thinks herself to be wronged or ignored? How much, and how many, she is willing to cast aside? Has she not demonstrated her disregard for the views, or feelings, of others, and for the consequences of her actions?"
Legolas turned his gaze back down to the gathering guard; painful as it was to admit it he could no longer deny the truth of that assessment. Had she thought more about the dangers to those around her others might still walk the forest rather than wait in Mandos Halls, and even the dwarf might still live. Though he doubted that, it seemed clear enough that the young dwarf had been prepared to stand or fall beside his uncle, and Oakenshield had seemed fated to fall.
"I cannot deny it," he said sadly, "and yet still I find I grieve that she must be denied any part in this day, that she cannot stand at the Battle Stone and honour the one who died in her place."
He looked up to meet his fathers' sympathetic eyes.
"Is that wrong of me?"

Thranduil shook his head again.
"No, it is not. I also regret it to some degree, but it is of her making and cannot be changed. Nor does my regret incline me to risk a further rift with Dain, on this of all days and in Bards' city. That might cause many far more grief."
He reached forward and placed his hand over his sons.
"Trust me Legolas, it must be this way given her ungoverned and intemperate nature. But I have given instructions that she may form part of the guard allocated to the Battle Stone when Dain and his entourage are at the banquet following Bards crowning. She will have a chance to make a private homage then should she wish to, if only for a brief period. The guard captain will allow it and warn her of the limits."

He withdrew his hand and stepped back into the room.
"But come, the time to ready yourself is at hand. I see that Galion has had your dress for this day laid out so I will leave you to change, we will depart on the noon."
He moved towards the door.
"Father," Legolas said softly.
The king turned and looked at him with a raised brow.
"Yes?"
"Thank you. For your forbearance, both for myself and for her. I will give you no further cause for regret I swear it."
Thranduil smiled sadly as if pained him that Legolas felt the need to say it.
"I did not think that you would my son."

With that he turned in a swirl of mail coat and cloak and left Legolas to his dressing.

xxx

The Battle stone had been stripped of its protective wall and stood glittering white, grey and gold in the post noon sun. It was made from rock pulled from Ravenhill, a grey pillar with three faces, each one showing one facet of the battle. The Commanders of the three armies of the light were stood side by side at the point where the face depicting the battle in Dale met the face showing the battle on the plain before the mountain. The third face showed both the mountain slopes and the watchtower of Ravenhill. On each face the smooth surface of the rock was finely carved and decorated with relief in white marble with details picked out in gold and silver, the river a sliver of blue stone and gems. At the base of each verses were etched that outlined the events of that day.

The processions of the Commanders to the stone had been full of pomp, lines of warriors accompanying their lords through the cleared streets, the people watching from behind ropes or from windows and other vantage points. First came Bard and his guard parading out from what would soon become the kings' house, his company dressed in the old livery of the City of Dale. Bard wore no crown for he had chosen that he would first face the Battle Stone as Bard the bowman, not Bard, King of Dale. That would follow. With him came his son, then a boy and now a grown man and soon to be commander of the City guard.

Next had come the Elvenking from his house and with him came his son, both dressed as they had been that day and backed by the kings' guards. They progressed slowly through the cleared thoroughfares, the green banners of the Woodland Realm fluttering above them on a gentle breeze. The king wore a diadem as he had then and his son was bareheaded, and they carried the same weapons as that day, swords for the king and bow for the Prince. Behind them came the kings elf lords and behind them a column of elven warriors, a mix of spearmen and archers just as then.

Dain and the others of Thorin Oakenshields' company approached from the main gate and the direction of the mountain, meeting the Elven party at the entrance to the square. Like the elves the dwarves were dressed in the same mail as on the day of the battle and carried axes at their belts. As they approached the appointed gathering place the Elvenking and his attendants turned to face the dwarf party, Thranduil inclining his head in calm welcome. Dain responded with a similar gesture, but Legolas could see his reluctance and the turmoil within him and wondered why, on this day, he couldn't bring himself to put his belligerence aside. Was that Tauriel's doing or something he was not privy to? Yet he saw something else too, that the dwarf king was uneasy in his fathers' presence and finding it hard to hide; a difficulty that was doing little good for his temper if the frown between his shaggy brows was any indication.

Legolas realised that his father had spoken wisely when he said that Dain sought some reason for grievance and was suddenly glad that Tauriel had not been included.

As they moved towards the arch that gave entry into the square they left their escorts behind them, except for their personal guard, and went in side by side; there they parted, as had been agreed, to join the waiting Men, the Elvenking and his son moving to Bards right side and Dain and the other dwarfs to his left. All around the square the banners of the three armies fluttered in the breeze, their poles buried in the flower beds that were full of well grown and sweetly smelling flowers and herbs.

Now the guards of the three rulers ringed the square allowing only the chosen few through to join the ceremony. Then the trumpets sounded and the final covering of the stone had been pulled away, allowing the sun to shine upon it at last.

Thranduil looked at it with sombre eyes, grief surging up and breaking through the carefully constructed restraints he usually set about such pains, for he had too many of them to allow them free rein. He had known every detail of the Battle Stones' design of course, indeed he had created some of them, but seeing it now complete and in this calm and ordered setting it seemed to be too beautiful a thing to represent so black a day. He was glad that he would have no cause to look upon it in the future, for though this represented all of the dead of that day it was in fact a monument for Men. He had no doubt that Dain had built his own within the mountain and Elves needed no such reminders; he certainly did not, he would never forget that day and those he had led to their deaths this side of the Sundering Sea, nor would he cease to grieve them.

Legolas, seeing the blue of his fathers eyes turn to grey with sorrow, and feeling the light of him dim, knew very well the direction of his thoughts and wished again that he had not been so blind to that grief on the battle day.

The sound of the trumpets faded away and for a moment no one moved, no sound but the song of birds and the hum of many bees could be heard. Then another sound came, a soft rustle on the breeze and the three lords and their attendants looked up to watch the approach of the Windlord and his kin, gliding down the wind as they had done that day, their feathers golden in the sunlight.

As the eagles circled overhead Bard, the Elvenking and Dain stepped forward to stand within a few paces of the stone itself. With a graceful tilt of wing the great lord of the Eagles left his attendant kin and descended, coming to stand beside Thranduil and acknowledging the others salutes with a dip of his head.

Now the trumpets sounded again and the gathered companies bowed their heads towards the battle stone, then one by one, in the order of the charge, the leaders strode forward and placed their banner on the niches set into the red slabs that ringed the memorial. First Thranduil, then Dain and then Bard. That done they stepped back to join their attendants, the silence stretching until Thranduil began to sing, joined almost immediately by his son, and then his guard.

For Legolas this was the hardest thing of all. He had left before the lament that winters day, fleeing without paying even the most cursory respect to their fallen. How bitterly had he regretted that. Many times upon the road he had had fallen upon his knees in some wayside dell or on a windswept hill side and sang a lament for those they had lost, and yet it had never eased the pain of not doing so that day. Nights when he had lain and stared at the stars he had pleaded for their forgiveness, imagining the sound of his fathers' voice drifting across the battlefield and again as he watched the barges carrying their dead begin the journey down the river to the forest. To hear it now came close to shattering his mask of dignified calm.

Yet as the lament continued he felt an unexpected calm descend upon him, a sense that some benediction was being granted to him, a hole filled. He thought he caught the hint of other voices on the wind, as if, for a moment, whispers breathed in Mandos Halls were able to be heard in Dale. Though he knew this could not be so as the song drew towards its close he had a growing sense that his flight from the battlefield was understood by those whose loss he had slighted and was forgiven.

At Bards' left hand Dain fought to guard his face and keep the scowl he felt threatening at bay. He had become more practised at such restraint since becoming king under the mountain and yet at this moment it was hard. All elves had fair voices he knew but the Elvenkings' seemed more than fair, deep and warm, not far from bewitching if he were honest, carrying across the city with no apparent effort. One more thing the cursed elf seemed to have to make no effort for. One more thing he had mastery of.

The words of the wizard at his last visit came back to him again. Thranduil had been king of the Woodland Realm for all of this age, more that two and a half millennia. Even to a dwarf that was hard to imagine, to be a king for so long. More than that he had been of full age when he fought beside Men at the last Alliance, full grown when he crossed the mountains with his father. If Gandalf's' words were truth then the Elvenking had walked this world for more than five millennia, long enough for him to have known dwarfs that were nothing more than names in legends and songs to Dains' own kin. Long enough to have seen events that no living dwarf would wish recalled, or to have known those who had. Perhaps that was one reason that Thror had resented him so much, a reason that Oakenshield had…

Dain gave himself a mental shake, but he would not think of that, not here, not today. Today he would put all such thoughts aside, he would even think of Thorin with compassion. On such a day as this he should think of him with kindness and forgiveness and yet he knew in his heart he could not, for all the pretence he might make. He grieved for the fallen nephews, for every warrior lost that day, but not for Thorin Oakenshield, not for the dwarf who had woken a dragon and then sickened with lust for its gold. Not for the one who had led him to….

He bit down on a curse, he would not think of that.

At least she wasn't here, that accursed she elf who had twisted his kin's mind with her magic and drawn him from the path of honour. The Elvenking had kept his word on that matter it seemed, and he wasn't sure whether to be glad of it or not. After all if she had been here it would have given him some leverage, some justification for…., no he would not think of that, he would not! He would be master of his thoughts! Dain swallowed hard on the familiar sense of impotent anger and forced his mind back to the present, tightening his hand on the handle of his axe, taking a deep and staying breath and preparing to play his allotted part in the ceremony.

At the appointed place the elvish song faded prompting him to take up the song for the dwarfs. Yet even as he did so he chided himself for his thoughts, for they were not what quite what others watching him might have expected.

It had not needed to be this way. If only Oakenshield had come to the Iron Hills for help before he breeched the mountain, then it would have been different; but he must not think on that now, for the thought stirred those other memories best not dwelt on in current company. As the dwarf song echoed around the square he pushed the bitter thoughts aside and concentrated on recalling his dead, those who had been true, who had stood steadfast beside him in the face of overwhelming odds. Those who had shared the battle with him but not the victory.

As the dwarf song ended Bard took up the song for the Men fallen that day, his son joining him in a lament they had had written for this time. Dain swallowed a sigh summoning up the picture of father and son seated side by side in his Halls a season ago. How quickly this boy had needed to become a man, his fathers ally and instrument, for so many of his elders had perished either in the dragons' fire or in the battle. The days of Mens' youth were ever short and already the passage of time could be read in Bards face, and so the boy who had been born in a hut upon the lake must quickly learn the ways of both warrior and king of this City. Strange times indeed.

Bard was glad that he had taken his daughters pleas and admonishments to heart and spent many hours in seclusion, or with his son and his guard, practicing this lament, for he would not have wished their own dead to be less honoured than elves or dwarfs. The songs of the lake men were more suited to a tavern and being sung on a bellyful of ale than this solemn ceremony, and though there were old stories that had long been set to lyre or harp few were in keeping with this day. For himself Bard could not recall a time when he had sung them as they were intended in the days before the dragon came. It had taken many hours to master the manner of breathing that allowed him to keep the words and melody aligned and flowing and without the help, and endless patience, of a couple of Thranduils' guards he didn't think he would have managed it.

His heart swelled with pride as he heard his sons' voice join his own, for though there could be no comparison with the beauty of elvish voices the lad had a fine voice, rich and strong. The words flowing from his tongue with ease and soaring around the square and up towards the circling Eagles. His daughters' husband also had a fair voice for a mortal man, and if some of the guard had been a little ragged, had slurred the unaccustomed words and lost the melody, it was of no great matter.

As the song died away Bard was content that honour had been served and their dead had not fared so poorly in this as he had once feared they might.

As one the Commanders and their guards stepped back and bowed towards the stone once more, then drew their weapons and saluted it, the great Eagle watching them with clear, unblinking eyes. Behind them the trumpets were raised again and sounded, the clear notes drifting up and out on the wind and echoing across the waiting and watching City. Around the square the banners fluttered as if responding to the trumpets sound and above them there came a single call of the eagles before the Windlords' kin turned into the wind and flew away into the rays of the sun. With a bow to the other Commanders the great eagle lord spread his wings and rose into the air, circling once and then following his kin towards the horizon.

Another fanfare and they turned and moved towards the archway, their guards following. As they and their companies left to begin the procession towards Bards house, and the waiting feast, the people of the city moved in to begin their own acts of remembrance.