Yay, Leggy is finally starting to make friends among the Dunedain! It'll take some work, but I'm writing this story essentially as an explanation as to how our beloved elf become more cheerful and laid back by the time of The Fellowship (because Hobbit!Legolas is a grouch with a stick up his butt and we all know it...)
How do I know how old Strider is in this chapter? Because in the LOTR he's 87 according to Jackson, and there's 60 years between The Hobbit and LOTR.
Maths for the win lol.
The sun outside the main hall was setting, but inside the roaring fire pit cast golden shadows across the faces of the Dunedain. The evening meal since finished, the time for flagons of mead and ale to be passed around was greeted with a relaxed, well-fed atmosphere. All around men and women alike sat on carven benches with their drinks in hand, and the earthy scent of smoke from pipes began to seep through the air.
It was not a scent that Legolas was well-accustomed to, nor particularly fond of. Fighting the urge to cough, the Sindarin prince decided that he had waited long enough to approach Strider. Politely refusing an offered flagon of what looked like mead, he walked carefully around and between the humans either seated or standing talking in groups.
Strider was standing leaning against one of the large wooden pillars that supported an upper level to the hall. His keen eyes marked the elf's approach even from across the room, and by the time Legolas was within speaking distance he was already excusing himself from the small cluster of rangers nearby.
"I trust you are settled in and have eaten and drunk your fill?" The young man asked with the amiable inquisitiveness of a good host.
Legolas inclined his chin in confirmation. "Yes, and I thank you for both the quarters and the excellent dinner."
Waving a hand toward one of the empty benches, Strider indicated that they should be seated. Pleasantries exchanged, it seemed they both had a fair few questions for one another.
"Having come from the Greenwood, you must have news of recent happenings in the East." Strider spoke conversationally, but was clearly probing with his measured words. "Word has reached us of a great battle; a battle involving five armies?" Those clear blue eyes seemed to regard Legolas with knowledge that by rights the elf knew he couldn't possibly possess. It felt like he was an open book being perused with ease, a situation completely the opposite of the norm. Usually Legolas liked to keep his emotions played close to the chest, and was notorious even among his own people for being hard to read.
Knowing that every word he spoke would carry more weight than even he intended it to, Legolas chose his answer carefully. It would be all too easy to betray his own secrets with the wrong snippets of information given.
"The Battle of the Five Armies, as it is already being called." He confirmed. "Thorin Oakenshield, grandson of King Thror sought to re-take Erebor, and in doing so roused the dragon Smaug from his slumber. Our people left our forest halls and ventured forth in strength of arms at the command of the king, seeking to settle an old debt owed from the hoard beneath the mountain..."
It was a long story, told from when first the Company of Thorin Oakenshield had set out for the Lonely Mountain. Legolas recounted it to Strider with as much detail as he figured the ranger ought to know. By the time he finished his tale, concluding with the defeat of Azog and the crowing of Dain Ironfoot, Strider was sitting thoughtfully with his flagon balanced on a knee.
"These are tidings of great fate and change, and I thank you for having brought them, Legolas." Strider straightened on the bench and gave a strange half-smile. "It is not often that we receive word from as far east as the lands beneath the Lonely Mountain. It was only just a few weeks ago that the ravens flew overhead calling out the news that the dragon was dead, and the winds of war blew soon afterwards. "
"And have you felt the effects of The Battle of Five Armies this far northwest?"
Now Strider smiled in earnest. "More than one would think, my good elf. Perhaps news of their master's defeat has frightened the creatures of darkness even here in Fornost, for it has been some time since last a scouting party was spotted by our rangers."
It was Legolas's turn to smile. "Perhaps my arrival here is doomed to be less than opportune, if that is so. My bow shall grow stiff for lack of orcs to shoot!"
"Not so, fear not!" Strider shook his head with emphasis, holding up a hand. "Rest assured, you will see orcs in these lands before the spring. Not since my father's days have we been so fortunate as to have been left in peace for more than a turn of the seasons." Saying this, the young Dunedain's gaze became slightly more careworn, giving the impression of more years than his smooth, beardless face implied.
"It is much the same in our homeland as well." Said Legolas sympathetically, understanding how these people must feel to see their home constantly assailed by the foul presence of evil. "The giant spiders have been a constant encroachment upon our borders, although there is hope now that with the cleansing of Dol Goldur they may retreat."
Taking out a pipe and tapping it to empty the bowl, Strider nodded. "I hold the same hope for the retreat of evil from these lands, even if only for a short time." Pinching off a bit of leaf from a sachet at his belt, the man placed it into his pipe and set to work lighting it. Legolas sighed internally and braced himself for the acrid scent of pipe-smoke in close proximity.
The elf prince was saved though by the sudden appearance of a pair of young boys from around the fire-pit. They were probably about seven or eight, with their bright brown eyes shining like puppies.
"Strider, is it time to tell stories?"
"Yes Strider, can you tell us the story of the House of Haleth again?"
With a laugh, Strider put away his pipe and placed a hand on each of the boys' shoulders. "Are you sure, that one again? Or perhaps we could have Daernon tell the story tonight?" A chorus of vehement confirmation and refusal at the very same time was his answer, and so the Dunedain gave in. "Very well, if you insist. Go on now, and ask your mothers to pour out another round of drinks for all!"
Excusing himself from his conversation with Legolas, Strider strode into the circle around the fire-pit to the sound of approving murmurs. Deciding to retire for the evening to his cabin, Legolas was just about to rise when the dark-haired woman who had served him pheasant earlier sat down where Strider had just been. Unable to leave now without looking rude, Legolas re-settled himself and pretended he had been just stretching his legs.
As Strider began to speak in a loud, clear voice, the main hall fell into an appreciative silence. For the second time that day, Legolas wondered just how it was that one so young could command the respect of this entire settlement.
His musing must have shown on his face...either that or it was not just Strider who among the Dunedain was gifted at reading people. The woman looked at Legolas out of the corner of her eye and raised an arched brow.
"We have had chieftains younger than Strider, and ones older with less wisdom than he." She remarked, instantly causing Legolas to flush.
He couldn't resist one comment. "It is hard to imagine one not twenty years of age leading a people, when among our folk a youth does not come of age until their first century has passed."
At that, the woman began to laugh softly, her dark eyes twinkling in the firelight. It seemed Legolas was making a pattern out of being comical to these people, something he didn't really appreciate. Nobody in Mirkwood would have ever laughed at their prince unless he was making a deliberate effort to jest, something which happened only rarely.
"Have I said something amusing?" Legolas said crisply but quietly so as not to interrupt the unfolding story within the ring of firelight a few paces away.
Quieting, the woman smiled not unkindly. "I am sorry, master elf, do forgive me. You must not be accustomed to dealing with folk of the blood of old Numenor. There are not too many of us left; even among the Dunedain tribes of the north the bloodline grows thin. Those of that lineage do not age with the same haste as say, the folk of Rohan or Dale. Strider may look younger than twenty winters, but in truth he has seen twenty-seven."
Legolas was surprised, but also grateful to this Dunedain woman. She had given him a sizeable piece of the puzzle of Strider's identity. Silently though he cursed himself for not having taken much if any interest in the lineages of mortals previously in his seven hundred years. Perhaps if he had taken even a small measure of time to peruse the scrolls and books Thranduil kept stored in their treasured but rarely-used library, he would be better equipped to understand this riddle.
Ai, the past was the past, and Legolas could not change it now. Instead, he smiled at his companion on the bench, her having laughed at him forgiven and forgotten.
"No, forgive me my lady. I am not well versed in the history of mortals, and so perhaps not well equipped to understand nor comment on your ways. I shall take this time among you to learn what I may though, and I thank you for my first lesson." Bowing his chin, the prince of Mirkwood realized he had just learned something from a mortal. He supposed there was a first for everything.
Waving a callused hand dismissively, the woman shook her head. "Please, my name is Nerwen, and I am no lady. You're not in some fine elven court here, just a village of simple but proud people. Speak plainly, and we'll do the same for you." Standing, Nerwen shook out her skirts and picked up her tankard of mead. "Now then, if you'll excuse me I have things to see too. Do stay though, and enjoy the rest of Strider's story."
Legolas was about to respond with a formal acknowledgement as he would have done in his father's halls. Checking himself, he simply nodded his head in farewell before turning back toward the fire-pit. By the time Legolas and all the other Dunedain were rising to leave at the end of the story, the embers of the fire were the only light still lending a glow to the darkened hall. Outside the stars twinkled with a crisp winter beauty, and Legolas savored the rare sight as he walked back to his cabin. The elves of the Greenwood were not used to open skies, but now he understood why Tauriel would often walk above the forest canopy alone at night.