Revision uploaded November2022
Dramatis Personæ
Aglarebon – Woodland Stallion
Aragorn/Strider – Male, Chieftain of the Dúnedain
Baradon/Sculls – Male, Ranger
Camaenor – Male, Master at Arms
Cordoves – Female, Ranger
Eryndes – Female, Mistress of Carthal
Faron/Dusk – Male, Hunting Master
Foruyndes – Female, Mistress of Stores
Gueniel – Female, Midwife
Laeron/Wren – Male, Ranger
Lobordir/Joust – Male, Master of Stables
Mereniel/Swan – Female, Ranger
Mydedis – Female, Mistress of Housekeeping
Nestdôl – Male, Master of Healing
Sali – Female, Mistress of Kitchen
Sindar/Master Elf /Legolas – Sinda Male
Úrion/Bear – Male, Second in Command
The morning came early for Legolas, as it always did. Although he did not require the amount of sleep humans did, he appreciated been given a private room and the freedom to make use of it as much as he pleased.
The bed was comfortable and the room neat, clean, and bore all the amenities required for his personal keep. He'd found out after a few weeks his room was one of the finer rooms in the manor. An honour Legolas was intent on earning.
Sliding from the bed, he stretched his muscles before setting the bed dressing right again, taking care to be precise with the corner folds.
Pouring frigid water from the pitcher into the wash basin, he diligently washed head to toe with the soap they'd given him. It smelt pleasantly of pines and spice. There was a whole basket of them and hair soaps, also scented with garden and spice.
He dressed and combed his hair, re-braided without bothering to light the fire or candle. There was no need; his eyes could see well enough, and he would not be staying long to waste the wood.
Out the window, the rain stopped, and a glittery clear day would soon awaken.
As had long become ritual, he stood unmoving to remember; a beautiful lady with tresses of long golden hair, her gentle touch soothing, calming a restless youth. A lady of great kindness; a kindness not once spoiled by temper, yet constant in its boundlessness, and was never, ever conditional.
He remembered her smile and the look of the purest love in her eyes.
His daily tribute the memory of his mother completed, Legolas again looked out at the crisp pre-dawn while he strapped on his quiver and knives.
Leaving his room found his way down corridors and two sets of stairs to the ground floor. Easily tip toeing through the countless snoring men abed in the great hall, he discreetly entered the kitchen.
The kitchen was empty, the only sound and movement coming from the near dead fireplace at the far end of the room. He threw on a few logs of wood and agitated the coals, coaxing forth sparks and flame.
He hung the iron kettle over the fire and went around the room, searching from one dried herb to another. Dozens upon dozens of herbs hung on hooks from the latticework of wooden rafters. A colourful display, but idle perusal was not his purpose.
Previously he tried milk and honey, cheese and fruit, the seeds of sunflowers and a couple of the different herbs he'd managed to identify.
None of those worked. Some worked to make it worse.
Coming around the darkest part of the kitchen, he spotted a wiry, woody looking herb. Might have been a type of rosemary, or it was not.
Herbs and their uses mattered little to a warrior.
Probably he'd have to mash it before adding hot water.
He reached for herb-
The door to the kitchen flapped open then closed, and every muscle in his body tensed.
She failed to see him.
He needed speak and quickly. Though it would be so much simpler to sneak out. He watched her check the kettle he'd put to fire.
Swallowing, he stepped forward-
She yelped, her body jerking in fright.
"Goheno nin," he apologised quickly holding up his hands. "I did not mean to startle you."
Eryndes' chest rose and fell quickly, "I-I did not realise you were in here."
"I was looking for something . . ."
She'd recovered and moved about the kitchen, gather pots and placing them upon the massive stoves. "What is it you are looking for? Breakfast?"
He watched her stack wood inside the ovens, her hands nibble and quick.
Her head rose when he hadn't answered. "My lord?"
"Do not call me that," he muttered, "I am no lord to you."
Inwardly, Legolas cringed. What he meant to say and what he said did not match his intent.
The look on her face told him she was affronted. "I am sorry, Sindar, I meant no offense-"
"Do not call me that either."
Legolas was aware he was being unreasonable. But to hear her speak that false name made the pain in his belly worse.
"What would you have me call you, Master Elf?" she demanded without an ounce of civility, "Or perhaps you prefer I never speak to you?"
"That is not- I do not wish-" Legolas lost his words. Blinking at her accusation and the iron in her eyes, he swallowed and tried again. "I am, sorry, my . . . temper is, unaccountable this morning."
"Only this morning?"
Her remark was harsh but deserved. He let his breath out noisily, "I apologise. I vow to speak with more care-"
"To instead speak falsely?"
"I do not lie," Legolas ground each word into the ground. "You misunderstand me. Repeatedly."
"Nay, I understand. Your meaning has been quite clear since arriving." The fire in her eyes was trying to humble him. "By what means did I earn this ill will?"
His mouth slackened. "I mean you no ill will."
"Of course," Her tone was as taut as a bowstring, "It is all in my mind?"
"No." He cursed internally. "If I wish not to be distinguished as a lord, I say so. Not eloquently, I admit. Certainly, no insult was meant. If I do not wish to be thanked for inconsequential aid, I say so."
Her expression was not changed. Legolas turned and rubbed a hand over his face. "(Better I be cursed a mute)," he growled to himself more than to her. "You have me wrong. I do not always speak with care, that is my failing. A warrior does not practice gentle words."
"You have no trouble speaking with others."
Others were not her. "Please," he submitted, "do not think me malicious."
He closed his eyes to the silence that followed.
"Very well. I accept your reasons, and your apology," Her voice lacked any heat or argument, "As you will accept mine for not understanding your ways."
With a blink, he turned back to face her.
"I endeavour to do better."
Legolas stepped closer to her, "You have no cause to apologise."
"What am I to call you?"
His mouth opened and he had no words. He could acquiesce and forever to known to her as 'Sindar', but he couldn't bare that. That name was a lie. So was any other he could give her. "I told you once to think of me as an unnamed elf. If you would, 'Elf' will do."
She smiled, but it was bitter. "Now you mock me?"
"I do not," he moved another step towards her. "I am in earnest. The rangers dubbed me 'Sindar', a name I accept but do not enjoy. It is a name that is not mine, a lie. I prefer to have none."
Those unforgettable blue eyes stared at him for a long moment. "I hardly see a difference, but if you wish it, Master Elf."
"Thank you."
She eyed him, before turning away to continuing to light the oven fires. "You were looking for something?"
From one humbling conversation to another. Regardless, if he did not speak, he may never learn the answer. The boiling furnace that was his stomach did not much like that idea.
"I seek medicine. It is a little," his palms started to sweat. He cleared his throat, "troubling for me to speak."
"I have treated men young and old for all manner of embarrassing ailments," Eryndes closed the last oven latch and stood to face him. "Though, if you would be more comfortable speaking to a male, Aragorn's probably up by now and Nestdôl should be awake soon-"
"That is not the reason," he said quickly, "I meant is that it is hard for an elf to admit."
"I understand. My confidence is bound by oath."
He sighed long and hard.
"I will help you if I can."
The softening of her tone, her honest assurance, left him with no defiance. "It is the ale. I find it vile," he explained, "I drink it to be sociable amongst men. But the taste lingers for days and my stomach . . ."
"Your stomach? Is it indigestion? Bloating? Burning? Pain? Pain in your chest?"
"Yes. All of that."
"Loose bowels?"
The furnace moved to his face, "No."
She didn't react. "I recommend avoiding ale; being social or not. It is not worth your health."
"That is your suggestion?"
Typical healers.
"It is one. I have another," she reached up above her head and broke off a few leaves from a dried bunch of herbs. Crumbling the leaves into a mug, she filled it with warmed water from the kettle.
Walking to him, she held the mug out to him.
Taking it, he sniffed the burning smell on the air and looked up at her questioningly. In his experience, burning smelling plants were usually poisonous.
Eryndes gestured encouragingly. "It is medicine."
Relenting, he brought the mug to his lips and took a cautious sip.
His eyes widened and he stood rooted to the floor; a feeling, a tingling of warmth spread from his belly, and he reached up to touch his tingling lips.
He took another, much larger sip. "What-? What manner of herb is this?"
"Do you like it?"
"I have never tasted anything like it." He stared down at the greenish-yellow liquid, "It is . . . remarkable."
"You do like it?"
He cradled the mug in both hands. "I do."
"It is Uruilas."
"Uruilas? Hot leaf, an apt name, but not one I am not familiar with."
"Drink up."
"Where does it originate from?" He asked before obeying her, taking a longer mouthful, his nostrils flared, breathing in deeply the Uruilas aroma, no longer smelling like poison, but refreshing, warming.
"The east. Merchants first brought it here twelve centuries ago."
"For tea?"
"Tea, medicine, even confection. Finish it."
He downed the last. Moving his tongue about his mouth, he confessed, "The taste of ale is gone."
"You may need another couple doses for your stomach," She instructed firmly. "It will take a few days to pass. I am surprised Aragorn did not offer this to you long before now."
Legolas' eyes dropped to her chin. "He knows nothing of it."
"You did not tell him?"
He handed her back the mug, "I am obliged."
She took the mug with a nod and without further word he started for the door.
"Master Elf?" he stopped and glanced back at her, "Please, feel welcome to return."
His brow furrowed, "Return?"
"For more tea, anytime. It is safe to drink often as you like. You saw how to make it. And," she took a long breath, "Today we will be preparing a confection using Uruilas oil, if it would interest you."
"If there is time," He promised, eyeing her. "Good day," With an incline of his head, he left through the double doors.
Making it outside, he was pleased to see the sun risen, revealing a fresh blue sky, promising the day to be fine and hot as predicted.
Halfway down the steps to the Embarkation loop, his vision instinctually shot to the left.
The same child. Again. This time hiding behind the curtain of hung sheets.
Legolas set his jaw and continued his way without pausing, suppressing his desire to confront the child. If Carthal folk possessed any unhappy timidity of him, scaring one of their children certainly would not help Sindar's reputation.
"Sindar!"
Legolas sought out one who called him. Baradon was waving to him from the main stables, leading out both his chestnut mare and Aglarebon. Aragorn closely followed with his own horse.
"One of the farmers spotted tracks. He's all worked up over them," Baradon told him.
"We investigate everything, ranger," Aragorn told the young man, "Lest we pay for our negligence with lives."
Baradon looked down, humbled, "I saddled your horse."
"Yes, now get on yours," Aragorn admonished him with a shake of his head.
"Le fêl," Legolas thanked him and took the reins.
"Seems you've picked up a puppy," Aragorn answered Legolas wordless question.
"Jealous he did not saddle your horse?"
Aragorn scoffed. Then sniffed. "Uruilas?"
Legolas climbing up onto Aglarebon's back and took up the reins.
"I didn't think it your cup of tea."
"What did this farmer see?"
"Tracks and a lot of them," Aragorn answered, "His farm is one of the outermost in the north, so he has every reason to be cautious."
They both urged their horses out into the gathered group of rangers. By Legolas' count, they were the last to arrive.
"Keep your eyes open," Aragorn murmured to him as they moved to the head of the fifteen man and one elf patrol.
"Is that meant to be funny?"
Aragorn grinned then gestured to the others, "Move out!"
Kneeling, Aragorn's hand ghosting over the ridges and ripples in the dirt, "They spent a good deal of time here, coming and going, many times. But for what purpose? This is but a back road with little significance in the surrounds."
"Espionage?" Legolas suggested, his own eyes studying the markings in the dirt, "we scout them, they scout us. We cannot say there is little significance if we do not know their purpose. Ultimately, they must show their hand and we can only hope to be prepared."
"You think it a large-scale attack? That has not happened these sixty years."
"Which does not negate the possibility now."
Aragorn stood up, "You are right. And the sooner we start scouting them out in earnest, the better we'll be prepared."
"By the number, we can at least be assured their intentions are bold."
"Yet," Aragorn stewed, "even a child could not fail to see this. It may well be a warning?"
"Or trickery? A warm greeting?"
Aragorn looked to him with a nod, "We should get back and begin today's preparations. Faron and Lobordir will be ready with their chosen names at lunch."
"Fortunate timing."
Aragorn gestured back to the company of rangers waiting with their horses, "They wished to be sure of their choices. I cannot fault them."
Legolas' reply was a noncommittal shrug. Although he'd wanted to have begun training their elite scout trainees already, what was one more day?
"The tracks congregate here but then lead back into the dense forest," Aragorn told the others.
"There is nothing more we can learn here."
"Are we not to follow them?" called a ranger whom Legolas did know the name of; Sírdhem. The man's sour face showed his clear disapproval.
"We cannot follow with the horses and the advantage of the dense forest would be theirs," Aragorn explained briefly, pulling himself into his saddle.
Legolas narrowed his eyes; Sírdhem sneered but held his tongue from speaking. There was a level of insubordination and rage within the man that could make him reckless.
And dangerous.
"Come," Aragorn gestured in the direction of Carthal, "Let us return."
Arriving back to the manor earlier than usual, Aragorn went off to see to some domestic manner involving disenchanted wool weavers, leaving Legolas to wander at liberty.
The midday meal was not for a while and most of whom he was familiar enough with would be still attending to their duties.
He considered going back to the southern woodland to visit the trees - but then to do so would dishonour the promise he'd made.
The kitchen door was before him, and he heard the women and their animated conversation.
Their boisterous hooting surely could be heard from Carn Dûm.
"Such a handsome face deserves to be captured by a worthy artist," one of the elder women declared loudly, Sali he assumed by the sound of her voice, "for prosperity."
"A portrait of Joust for your own living room?"
"Nay, my bed chamber!"
Legolas set his face, took an extra-long breath and pushed through the bi-directional door.
All conversation in the kitchen stopped. There were two and a half dozen of them; some at the benches, others were at the stoves, and three at the washing basins.
Every one of them stared at him with surprise. A few of them were even smiling at him.
Mydedis waved him over, "Come in, Sindar. What can I get you?"
"I do not-" He raised his chin and looked at the one who had brought him in there.
Eryndes stood at the bench along with most of the other women in the kitchen, bundling powdery sweets together into neat little leather pouches and tying with leather cord.
At his pointed look, she abandoned her work and walked over to him, "You came."
Legolas eyes scanned the middle countertop, then addressing her quietly, "You have aroused my curiosity."
Eryndes tugged open the pouch in her hand. "This is the confection I spoke of."
His long white fingers delicately took a small piece from the pouch. He studied it with interest for a moment, looking like nothing more than simple cooked sugar drop, and went to put it in his mouth.
"You must not chew," she told him. "It is to dissolve slowly."
"I have eaten confection before."
"Yes, I am sure you have," She muttered, watching him place the slither of flavoured sugar in his mouth.
For an instant, he did not react, his smooth countenance not faulting beneath the hopeful expectation on her face. The taste was . . .
"Remarkable."
"You like it?"
His lip twitched, "Very much."
This pleased her, a brilliant smile lighting her face and the room around them. With sure fingers she secured the drawstring on the pouch and held it out to him.
Legolas' glimpsed at the leather pouch, his chest tightening. "I could not."
"These are made for everyone to share at festival's end," she explained. "As you can see, there is plenty to go around."
Eryndes waited and glancing around the kitchen; they all watched him, their faces bidding him to accept their offering.
One of the women from across the kitchen called out, "Go on, Sindar. You've earned it more than most could claim."
He conceded finally and cautiously took the pouch from her, "Thank you."
"Would you care to know how we make them?"
He made a face-
"No matter."
Legolas was taken aback by her dismissive answer. "Another time?"
This earned him another smile, and then he had no other words. He gave her a nod then left smartly.
Even before the door had closed completely, the room full of women started up their nonsense once more.
Thunderous laughter followed Legolas as he marched towards the exit and sometimes, he could readily curse the gift of keen hearing.
With a sigh, he gladly reached and threw open the side door and welcomed the peace of the outside.
Next time he'd be a little more prudent when handing out promises.
Walking down by the sheep paddock, his brow furrowed.
He fingered the leather pouch still in his hand. Such a small token to a son of a king, and yet to the Dúnedain who had so little, seemed so much. He remembered their faces, the strength of their gratitude in having their gift accepted.
Eryndes' smile having her gifts accepted, first an apple. Now sweets.
His own smile joined the memory.
In hindsight, next time he'd promise more.
Legolas finished his plate, his belly full of lunch's fare and sat back, digging his hand into his tunic, he pulled out the small leather pouch.
"What have you got there?"
A self-satisfied smirk working its way to his lips. "A gift from your women-folk."
"The womenfolk? Which women?"
"Your sister. The women in the kitchen."
Aragorn choked a laugh. "My sister's bribing you with sweets? How cunning of her."
"Make fun if you will. I earned these." With exaggerated care he undid the leather ties and took a small piece of confection between his fingers.
"How? Those aren't meant to be given out until the end of the week. The women guard them like treasure."
"I aided them."
Aragorn gawked at him, his mouth ajar, "You helped the women butchering after all? I thought you disliked getting your hands dirty."
Legolas shrugged and popped the chunk of heaven in his mouth, "To those willing go the spoils."
"Surely you will spare a single-"
"I will not," he triumphantly cut him off, speaking around the lolly. Retying the pouch, he replaced it back inside his tunic. "Those were a gift. You expect me to share my good fortune?"
"Hardly expect your taste'd turn to rustic Dúnedain sweets."
"Sometimes the greatest delights are found within the humblest halls."
Faron wasn't satisfied with his answer, "And felt it necessary to show off your spoils?"
Legolas moved the lolly around with his tongue, savouring the warming sweetness.
Aragorn shook his head, "Sindar, melloneg. You are cruel."
Legolas spoke around the sweet, "Possibly, but not so cruel to not offer help to those who wish for it."
"Will you be baking bread for us next?" Lobordir teased.
Faron instead, scowled, his ugly face twisting, "Or washing our clothes?"
Legolas ignored him. This past month the Hunting Master, Faron, gave little to endear himself, and Legolas gave little back. He'd quickly determined their relationship set to pure obligation.
Lobordir cleared his throat, "Maybe we should speak of our lists."
"Úrion has given me the names from his group; Dagnir, Hathol, Oldhin and Orthellon." Aragorn nodded to Legolas, "Sindar and I have chosen Trîw, Baradon, and Cordoves."
Lobordir, who was Cordoves' younger brother, groaned, "What man wants his big sister joining his club?"
Legolas went to speak but Lobordir continued, "She'll have you all acquainted with my every youthful indiscretion."
"We know you every indiscretion, Joust, by your own lips every time you're drunk." Faron shook his head, then asked Aragorn, "What of Sírdhem?"
Aragorn hesitated. "He was my choice too, but I just thought after last month-"
"Maybe giving him somethin' to aspire to might bring him 'round," Faron said sharply.
Legolas cut in just as sharply, "I cannot imagine anything bringing him around after having his wife and child torn to pieces in an orc raid."
"He's a good man and one of the best we have."
"I do not doubt his skill," Legolas told Faron, "What I fear is his grief taking control during a mission, endeavouring to seek vengeance and costing lives."
"You don't know him. I do. He'd never put personal vendettas before the lives of his fellows."
"We'll put him on the list for now," Aragorn interjected quickly, calmly, "and we will watch him."
Legolas conceded with a single nod and Faron just shrugged. Time would tell who was right.
Lobordir sat forward, "Faron and I have Langwen, Úan and Laeron."
"You want a child?"
"Laeron has earned his place." Again, Faron argued with him.
"Young or not," Lobordir spoke between them, "He is highly skilled and full of determination. He'll surprise you."
The man's happy manner worked to sooth the air.
"Mereniel is on the list," Aragorn put in, eyeing both Legolas and Faron, "but she's with child."
"A pity," Legolas muttered, then quickly adding, "Not a pity she is with child. Pity for us; I have found her an accomplished ranger."
"That's sixteen, including us, Sírdhem and Mereniel," Aragorn nodded. "Sindar and I would like to begin immediately. Talk with them and make it clearly understood this is voluntary and dangerous."
"I will speak to Laeron," Legolas stated firmly. "I will not be satisfied to include him until I can judge for myself."
Faron snorted, "As you please, my lord."
"Training will commence tomorrow evening," Legolas told them, his eyes narrowed at Faron, "We have until then to gather our chosen."
Aragorn nodded, "Yes, Dagnir, Hathol and Trîw went out with Geledir mustering the cattle herd. They will return in the morning."
"We'll need to train the horses too, or they'll never keep up with Aglarebon," Lobordir suggested.
"Your area of expertise, Joust," Aragorn agreed.
"Aglarebon is superior to any beast I've ever seen," Lobordir continued admiringly, "I do not see how even the horses of Imladris can compare."
"Aglarebon is ten thousand years of selective breeding," Legolas boasted, "His bloodline is unmatched."
"Though I haven't seen Lord Elrond's stables," interjected Faron, "they're said to be unequalled on Middle Earth."
"King Thranduil would not agree," Aragorn chuckled.
"He would not," Legolas agreed. "Truly, neither would I sight-unseen."
"Do your people know you rode off with their prized stallion?"
Tilting his head, Legolas tried to remain patient. "I earned the right to him. He was gifted to me by my lord himself."
"A high honour."
"Oh, come on, Joust," Faron rejected, "I don't buy it. A king gifting Aglarebon to a lowly warrior, lord or not."
Aragorn laughed lightly, "Not many are brave enough to call an elven-elite 'lowly'."
"I heard the elf-king's not generous. A hoarder, a treasure-obsessed fool," Faron goaded, his ugly face turning to scorn, "and kings like that don't give away their prize possessions. Mayhap you merely found the horse?"
Out of the corner of his eye, Legolas saw Aragorn giving him a cautious look.
Legolas didn't heed the warning. "My Lord Thranduil earned this reputation through gossip from disgruntled horse-thieves?" He levelled his eyes hard at Faron, "or poachers?"
Faron's face quickly reddened, "I hear the king's mad, and prefers riding deer to eating them. When he's not hiding behind his walls, drunk on wine."
Legolas shot up-
Or tried to; Aragorn's hand swiftly landed on Legolas's arm, his hold firm. "Faron, you're out of line. You will not insult King Thranduil under this roof." He turned Legolas, "Sindar, surely you didn't mean to suggest the Dúnedain are horse-thieves or poachers."
"Indeed," Legolas brushed Aragorn's hand off his arm, and stood, "I apologise, Aragorn."
"Faron?" Aragorn prompted firmly, who was doing his best to ignore him.
Faron set his jaw but then nodded and looked up at Legolas, "Aye. I retract my words."
Fury bubbling within his veins, Legolas did the only thing he could do. He inclined his head and took his leave.
Legolas used his long strides to make haste out of the great hall, along the corridor, out the centre–side door and out into the courtyard mothered by the massive cherry tree. Threading his way through the tables, tents, and passed the scratching chooks, he made the main road and proceeded to follow it down towards the southern pole of the grounds.
"Master Elf?"
He saw her coming through the gate to the herb gardens; he saw her long before she'd called out to him, but he was intent not to speak to her.
Or anyone.
But especially not her.
"Master Elf?" she asked, "Is anything the matter-?"
He passed here but after another three strides he stopped, tightly squeezing his eyes shut in misery.
Uncomfortably, he turned back to face her. As he expected her face was full of insult.
"Forgive me," he breathed. He meant it, especially after the chastising he'd undergone that morning. "I have an evil temper today. I do not wish for you to suffer it."
At once her face dropped to concern, "Is your stomach still bothering you?"
He blinked. "Is my-?" he stopped, the realisation further cooling his temper, "uh, my stomach is fine. Thank you."
"I am pleased to hear." She pursed her lips, "well, I will not keep you."
Legolas watched her walk away, back towards the manor; watched her and very much wanted to go after her.
But he didn't.
He couldn't. More than that, he shouldn't.
It was better this way.
Drawing reluctantly away from her departing figure, he continued to some unknown location away from the manor.
"Legolas," he heard Aragorn call softly and he clenched his fist but did not stop. He had almost reached as far as the south gate, near the great woodpile and one of the many hay and farming machinery sheds.
"Legolas," Aragorn said gently, coming up to stand beside him, "Faron was just causing trouble. It's just his way."
"Aragorn, do not use my name."
Aragorn looked around them, "There's no-one around."
"And if you accidentally use it in company?"
"Have I not kept your secret all these years? I will not betray you now."
"I understand Faron's desire to antagonise me though I know not why," he scoffed, "nor care. His opinion has no bearing upon me. Having said that, I am not prepared to sit in silence and allow insults to my father go unchallenged."
"I think you gave as good as you got," the grin that spread on Aragorn's face surprised him, "And given the chance, every one of your father's naysayers around here would gladly lay down their life for him." Aragorn paused wryly, "or you."
"Fortunately, I am not in the habit of granting others to fight or die in my stead."
Aragorn sighed deeply, the first sign of irritation. His friend was a calm man, but Legolas had an inherent ability to draw out of Aragorn's frustration more than most. "Leg-" he stopped, "Sindar, only you would see folks' wish to serve you as an insult."
"I have no need of servants, or sycophants."
"But obeyed?"
"Of course." Seeing Aragorn's face souring even more, he explained "A king is served, Aragorn, because he is king. The worthy commander earns the loyalty and obedience of his troops."
Aragorn went to reply, but Legolas cut in.
"I will not be served. I desire the esteem of others, of course I do, but earned by my merits alone. Any goodwill given because of my name, or my father's name, holds no value to me. Surely you understand this?"
"You know I do," Aragorn grumbled. "Thus, I never questioned your wish for anonymity. Nevertheless, when you choose a life without a name, there is a price to be paid – namely withstanding the idle gossip from folk who know no better."
Legolas shook his head, "It is not understanding that I lack, but patience."
The corner of Aragorn's mouth curved upwards, "You do have a short fuse to a vile temper, melloneg."
"Which is why I was seeking solitude," he pointed out and towards the southern wood, but he could already feel the cloud of fury beginning to break apart. Aragorn's inherent ability to antagonise him was countered by his other ability to soothe Legolas' turbulent, passionate spirit.
"This is why you should unleash your anger upon me," Aragorn boasted with a wide smirk, "I can withstand your ire without taking offense and save some unfortunate bystanders the grief."
Legolas's smile dropped, the memory of his temper's latest victim bringing back his bitter regret. He truly meant the woman no ill-will.
"Sindar?" Aragorn queried.
"Never mind," he dismissed then indicated the south gate again, "I will walk awhile with the trees. Care to join me?"
The patient expression returned, "Thank you but I have no need to hear the music of trees when the music of love fills my heart."
Legolas shrugged unconvinced, "If you believe that is all you need to be at peace."
"It is," Aragorn slapped him lightly on the shoulder then left him to his solitude.
"Have no doubt these reconnaissance missions will be dangerous." After finishing his lesson that afternoon, Legolas dismissed the students and pulled Baradon and Laeron to the side for a talk.
He'd spoken with Baradon first while the younger of the two waited at a polite distance. Baradon volunteered to take part without hesitation and Legolas sent him on his way. There was no need to question Baradon's readiness for this undertaking.
He had the proof of his own eyes of the ranger in combat.
Speaking with Laeron, Legolas was not going to pull any punches.
Laeron, though, was just as unflappable as his father, "I understand."
"Each ranger will be responsible for evading the enemy should he become separated, surviving alone in wilderness with orcs hard upon your trail. There will be little if any chance of rescue."
The young boy of barely seventeen years nodded enthusiastically.
Legolas' eyes narrowed, "The training I provide will be harsh. The Dúnedain rangers are known to be resilient and resourceful during times of great hardship, but I warn you," he leaned in closer, "I mean to test that."
Laeron beamed brightly, "It is my great honour to be asked, Sindar, and I promise not to fail you."
Legolas stared hard at the youth, unimpressed, for such words were so easily spoken.
He stood back, folding his arms over his chest, "I give no compensation for your age."
Laeron continued did not flinch under his scrutiny, "I'd never expect compensation, and ashamed to receive any."
He considered the fire in the boy's eyes and zeal in his stance with sharp regard. "Strider and I are to be your commanders. Your father has no say."
Laeron, son of Úrion, smirked, "Many years have passed since I needed to run to my father's knee for help. I'm seventeen, Sindar, and have been of age for two years now," standing up even taller, pleading now, "I will not fail you."
"We shall see," he warned. Turning away, Legolas picked up his bow from where it rested against a target and secured it to his back. Taking his time, he gathered up his arrows one by one and slotting them back into his quiver. Out of the corner of his eye, Laeron did not move or speak, nor did he look away from his teacher.
Young or not, the boy was skilful. And determined. Legolas had no choice but to yield; apart from his age, he honestly saw no reason to hold the boy back.
Turning sharply, he stood once more before a resolute Laeron. "Sleep well this night for it will be your last for days. Be at the stables four hours after supper tomorrow evening. The only way to improve the night vision of men is to train in it."
"Yes, Sindar," Laeron replied crisply, relief flooding his boyish face. "Thank you."
Having nothing further to say, he knocked his head to the side. Laeron inclined his head respectfully then bounced away. Legolas couldn't help but wonder at the new spring in the child's step and how long it would last.
He scoffed at himself. Neither Laeron nor Baradon flinched under his scrutiny or upon hearing his frank warnings; was his time amongst the folk of Carthal was making him soft?
Watching the sun dip down behind the hills to the west, Legolas breathed in the icy air and left the training ground for the great hall and dinner.
The next morning started even earlier for Legolas and walking straight in through the kitchen doors, he snapped a few leaves of the dried bunch as he'd seen Eryndes do the day before and crumbled them into a mug with hot water.
Admittedly, his stomach did not suffer as it had done the morning before, however with a long day lay ahead of him, it was folly to embark without taking the precaution of an easy remedy.
Besides, it was delicious.
Sipping the hot tea with gusto, Legolas looked out the window into the pre-dawn morning. The air was still, icy, and the moon was absent, allowing the sky to be brimming with stars. The quiet tranquil morning outside welcomed him, urging him to surrender himself to the sweet melody of life that would soon begin with the rising of the hot summer sun.
Without a moment's warning, the door to the storeroom at the other end of the kitchen flew open. Through it walked an elderly woman with long silvery hair and holding a sack up in triumph. "Good morning, Sindar. You're right on time."
"On time?"
"You'll need these on your way," the old woman tossed him a small leather pouch with a wink.
Catching the pouch, and about to tell her he still had the confection from yesterday when he felt the contents; too round to be sweets. Pulling on the ties, he was surprised to see the bag contained dried berries.
Looking back at the woman, he shook his head, "Why-"
"A growing lad needs a little something extra special on his plate and they'll do you the world of good."
"Pardon me," He tried to be careful with his words, "My height has not changed a hair's breadth in three thousand years."
"And you won't if you do not eat well," she waved at his stature, "You want to be tall, don't you?"
"I am taller than any Dúnedain."
She continued merrily as if not hearing him, "But don't tell anyone where you got them. Foruyndes keeps the only best treats for her favourite lad and lass, but we must remain hush. The others would be jealous."
His mouth was agog, "Who is Foruyndes?"
She cackled but not unpleasantly, "Goodness, boy! Me! I am Foruyndes, Mistress of Stores,
Keeper of Secrets and Honey-Wells."
Legolas regarded her with a tilted head, beginning to believe this woman's mind had long left her.
She walked over to the bench and put the sack down, "You will also need something sturdier to keep you going during your long ride." Unloading the contents of the sack, she showed him a wrapped wedge of cheese, dried meat, two dried figs, an apple and hunk of bread. "I trust you can find your own water?"
"How did you know I was-"
"Leaving for the day? Foruyndes knows everything."
"Keeper of Secrets?"
"And Honey-Wells."
"Which means?"
She pointed to the bag of dried berries in his hand, "Every tidbit and trifle of goodness for the soul; berries, candied fruits and nuts, truffles, quail and everything sweet. I keep my kids growing strong on more than mere devotion to duty," she said proudly. "Now, I have not packed you supper, so be sure to return in time to teach your students before dinner."
Legolas looked from the sack to her. "I am not growing. I am adult. An adult elf."
"Yes, yes," she waved his words away. Taking his hand, she wrapped the sack's straps around his fingers. Moving away, she went to the back of the kitchen and added with a stern voice, "Now be gone and return safe. I expect every crumb to be snuffed before you return. How you expect to grow strong if you go hungry?"
Legolas watched her, now quite certain she was mad.
Looking over to Foruyndes tending to the fire, he wondered. Whether this woman was mad, she must still possess mental powers enough to remain Mistress of Stores, and he did appreciate her thoughtfulness.
Even if she was mistaken about his need to grow. He smiled to himself. Unless she had the power to make him taller than his father.
"Go, go!" she laughed when she saw he'd not left, "Surely you're not expecting Foruyndes to give up more Uruilas sweets? Not after Eryndes palmed you a bag days before anyone else would get any. Cheeky girl. Only Foruyndes is Mistress of Honey-Wells."
His lips fought to hold back the urge to laugh. If she truly was mad, it would not be at all decent to laugh at her. Instead, he tried to smile as friendly smile, "Thank you, Foruyndes,"
"Yes, yes, now, off with you before someone sees and accuses me of favouritism."
Keeping his smile, he swept the sack over his shoulder and tied the berries to his belt. He stopped before opening the door and looked back at her, "Quail are scarce this time of year, but the trees are full of partridge."
"Sindar, why you very fine lad!" Foruyndes tapped her nose twice, "Bring them in through the back door upon your return. I will be waiting."
Minutes later, Legolas climbed onto Aglarebon's back and urged him off down the darkened main road towards the gates, his tucker-bag snugly tethered to his saddle and his fingers already eagerly digging into the berries.
Around ten hours later, Legolas handed Aglarebon's reins to the young ranger on stable duty and after quickly ducking in and depositing five head of partridge secretly to Foruyndes, he headed along the north of the manor towards the archery practice area. He was not late, yet. The Dúnedain who faithfully attended his teachings were never late and arrived early to make certain of that.
It was only respectful for him to ensure he did the same.
Walking passed the wool house and water reservoirs, he glanced to the movement in the fenced garden. Men and women hoed weeds and pulled carrots, each under the cover of large straw hats to keep the baking sun at bay.
Passing the vegetable gardens and the folk toiling away, he came to the path between the two gardens. On one side was the vegetables and the other was the herb garden, and to his dismay, the long-sought peace within him dashed away like it never existed.
Ahead, she kneeled, toiling over herb bushes.
Slowing his pace to silence his footfalls, he hoped to pass by unseen and be free to continue his way to his students. Legolas watched closely for any sign he'd been noticed.
He watched how the brilliance of her lightly flushed skin was almost overshadowed by the brilliant shine to her hair, like a river of polished onyx flowing down from underneath her hat, cascading down her back in the shimmering light.
He watched how the fabric of her earthen coloured dress pooled around her, and leisurely slipping across her back as she shifted her weight.
He watched how aptly her fingers picked over the herb bush, plucking the choicest leaves and tender stem, placing each gently into her basket. Such slender hands nimbly worked with practiced ease, deftly pinching and twisting her carefully chosen greenery. It reminded him of the day he first saw her, kneeling in the grass, picking up walnuts with those same graceful hands.
Closer to her now, he kept his face forward and maintained his pace.
"Master Elf?"
He stopped, his hands going limp at his sides. Holding back a sigh, he turned to her.
"I am sorry, to stop you," she wet her lips, her hands folding neatly in her lap, "but you are going to the archery range?"
"I am," he told her quickly, conveying his need to continue, "My students await me."
"Laeron was helping me earlier, and left to attend your lesson. When finished, will you please ask him to return?"
"Of course."
Her lips turned upwards in a small smile, "Thank you."
He wanted to continue his way, but his feet did not belong to him anymore and without thinking asked, "What is it you need help with?"
She glanced back up at him. "Oh, the water channel gate is stuck again. Laeron pulled it loose a few days ago, but it seized again."
"Where is this gate?" He asked, not sure why.
"Oh," she faltered, "No, please, I would not dream of asking you-"
"Why would you not?" he cut her off harder than he intended. "That is it over there?" He marched over without waiting for her answer. The channel was filled with water drawn in from the water wheel, and the flow was trapped and overflowing by what he presumed was the immoveable gate.
The 'gate' was simply a sheet of metal with a handle, slotted snugly into grooves made into the channel. He reached down and grasped the handle.
Hearing Eryndes coming up to stand near, he started to pull. At first, he tried a little, then a bit more, and finally he set his feet and gave it a fair tug. There was no way she or anyone but a strong human could've moved the gate this time. Just as Eryndes suggested, it was fairly seized.
Fortunately, Legolas was no human, and was not required to strain himself.
The gate gave and slowly he raised it up, allowing the water to flow through into the gardens.
Taking a closer look at the gate, "Rust has set in. It no longer fits into the grooves."
"Yes," she agreed, "I asked Camaenor to fashion a new one, but water gates are not high on his list of priorities."
His lip curled, "Perhaps you should remind him without a working gate, his plate will be poorer once the gardens start to die."
"That would truly be a hardship for him; he eats enough for two."
Legolas agreed with a snort, knowing how much the man ate. He indicated the gate, "Once enough water has passed, I can put this back. I cannot guarantee anyone else will be able to pull it free next time."
That wasn't vanity, it was fact. Elves were much stronger than mortal man.
She seemed to be expecting that, "Unfortunately so. I will try and file it down quickly."
His eyes shot to her hands; small and graceful, hands which only a few moments ago held his fascination. The idea of them toiling away with coarse file against rusting iron made his jaw clench. "How long until the field has enough water?"
She considered with a shrug, "An hour, maybe two."
He looked in the general direction of the archery field, "Then I shall return in an hour."
"Master Elf?" she called after him as he set off in the direction of the blacksmith's workshop, the rusty gate tucked under his arm.
"Or two."
"But-?" he heard her question after him. He didn't stop.
In his opinion, he was not generally speaking a fierce or domineering elf. Though oftentimes it did seem to appear that way.
The problem was when encountering unreasonable and stubborn folk, he tended to lose his temper.
Two minutes after leaving Eryndes, he stormed into Camaenor's workshop and demanded he fix the gate and would be back in an hour to collect it. Legolas was a warrior and not a farmer, but he did know one scorching day and the plants would wilt and die: a scorching day just like that day.
As expected, Camaenor tried his patience with excuses. He told the big man he would either fix the gate or be the first to go without once the gardens died.
Camaenor rose to his full height, which was still two inches shorter than Legolas, and puffed out his chest. "You don't dictate me anything!"
Legolas stood there, countered the man's glare calmly, unmoving, unflinching.
"All right," Camaenor conceded abruptly, breaking off the battle with Legolas.
"Thank you."
Camaenor swallowed and took the gate from him, "One hour."
Leaving the master craftsman to his work, Legolas strode down the road towards the practice field. If he hurried, he would only have been a few minutes late.
A touch over an hour later, Legolas victoriously returned to the channel by the gardens with a freshly ground gate. Camaenor might not have been happy about it, but he'd remained true to his word.
The Master of Arms even promised to fashion a new gate by end of day tomorrow.
Walking carefully around the now muddy paths, he saw over by the carrots Eryndes was speaking with a ranger Legolas only vaguely recognised as Bregol. He was about her age, a fair enough ranger, but who smiled far too freely in Legolas' opinion.
As he was doing now.
Neither of them spotted Legolas and he was more than close enough for his ears to pick up their words.
"We'll do it together," he was saying to her, taking a hoe from the fence, "Then you will have time to return to others."
"Thank you," she returned his smile, but ever so much more radiantly, and Legolas felt his fists tighten, "I would be lost without your help. This day has brought nothing but trials."
Slotting the gate home, the water ceased flow into the fields. Taking a long last look at the couple conversing quietly, he left the gardens to return to his students.
Legolas watched over the darkened woods blanketing the road up to Carthal's eastern gate. From his vantage point, the treetops lay before, the horizon stretching out far to the eastern ranges.
The air was frigid, the sun having fallen hours earlier. Few stirred the air in the compound behind him. The resident folk were inside the manor. Rangers on duty stood sentry or doing their rounds.
A cow bellowed.
The breeze carried the sounds from the Great Hall. Another night of celebration, though the numbers were significantly lessened from the last few days.
Aragorn expressed sentry duty was not required of him. Legolas disagreed. To understand the soldiers, it was incumbent on a commander to walk their steps.
Besides sentry duty agreed with Legolas. Quite time for reflection, while his superior senses remained attentive.
"Evening, Sindar."
"Good evening," Legolas greeted to the nameless ranger on his rounds. "All quiet?"
"Nothing to report. Until next hour."
Legolas nodded and the ranger made his way down the stone steps to the ground and headed back to the guard station.
And with solitude, his thoughts turned into memory . . .
Finding his way to the family suite, Legolas hauled his bow to the floor. Unbuckling his sword, the room clattered with heavy metal and leather meeting stone.
"It went that well?"
Legolas kept his back to her.
"Tame your temper, my son."
Squaring his jaw, he didn't respond. If he did, she would soothe him. He wanted his anger. He didn't want to feel the pain of failure.
A light hand on his shoulder attempted to shatter his shield.
"Talk to me. What happened?" Mother's voice didn't command like father's, and yet, Legolas never disobeyed her.
"I failed."
"This was your first time. Next time you will do better," her hand squeezed his shoulder. "Darling, you are young. There is time to improve."
"I hate Lanthir!"
"You do not hate Lanthir."
"I do. He speaks to me like I am a burden, a disappointment."
"He is an old warrior. Life has been harsh with him, and he has suffered great grief and toil. Kind words do not come easy for him." She wrapped her arms around his middle and laid her head on his shoulder. "Legolas, consider understanding someone who is different, and not seeing in them your own feelings."
"What does that mean?"
She pulled him tighter against her. "You hate failing, and so you see this hate in the one responsible for teaching you. Lanthir was your father's teacher, he has trained thousands of soldiers and witnessed their deaths in an endless life of battles and violence. In knowing this, is your opinion not changed?"
Legolas cringed against her kiss on his cheek, "Mother."
She didn't let him go and pressed another kiss this time to his temple with a laugh. "Too grown up for your mother?"
His chest tightened and stopped struggling to get away. "No."
She laughed again, rocking him back and forth in her arms. "Next time, talk to him. I will make it a challenge for you. Learn to understand him and you will not judge so unkindly."
"Father will be angry."
"Your father will not be angry."
"You always say that, and he always is angry."
"Expressing disappointment in my son for once again disobeying his father is not the same as always being angry."
Legolas's gaze fell to the floor.
Father walked down the steps to the chamber. Stopping in front of the abandoned bow and sword, he waited.
Disentangling from his mother's embrace, Legolas rushed over to pick them both up and placed them on a nearby table.
He knew his parents were communicating without words behind his back. They did that. They read each other just by looking.
Legolas hated it. Why could they not speak?
"Very well, Legolas. Should you explain yourself, or do I do it for you? I recommended you train for the test. How many times did I remind you? You disobeyed, instead venturing out into the forest, and who knows what else. Now you suffer a bad result."
Father's brow raised. "Should I not be disappointed? Should I not punish you?"
"I am sorry, Father."
"Am I on the floor?"
Legolas raised his head to look his father in the eye. "I am sorry."
Father's scrutiny held him prisoner. Unable to move while he waited for sentencing.
"I give you the choice; either you submit to punishment and continue training, or we accept this is not for you. Your education will focus entirely on theory-"
"Punishment, Father," he desperately interrupted. "Please."
Father shared a look with mother which Legolas could not understand. "Very well. Legolas," Father's face turned conciliatory, "I do not expect perfection. I expect your commitment. Are you committed?"
On impulse, he dug out the pouch and fiddled with the sweets through the leather. Even closed, he smelt the pungent fragrance of the herb. His fingers paused at the tie.
With a cluck of his tongue, he homed the pouch back into his tunic and resumed his watch.
An owl stalked a rat edging out from the straw pile. A fox studied the chook houses for a weakness.
Legolas scowled at himself. Had he become a reflection of his old teacher? The warrior life made him callous, insensitive to gentler folk?
Why did speaking with her end up a maze of spike traps?
She accused him of ill-will.
His reaction to her was defensive. But what did she expect after their conversation that day, and how she neglected to mention she was sister to the very friend he sought?
His behaviour was to be never visited upon again. But to keep the memory of moment in his life he let down his guard to appreciate the company of a nice woman.
She was a nice woman.
A cloud of mist exploded out of his mouth from noisily expelled breath.
It was time to move on. It was time to call her by name.
His head snapped up. The stars blurred as his senses came into sharp focus. Something was stirring the night air. Something approaching. His eyes narrowed, his ears honing in.
A horse and rider, light and fast.
Too fast.
Whirling around, Legolas sprinted along the stone wall towards the front gate, "Alarm!"