~ Legolas tells a bit more of his experiences during the Quest for the Ring, and later has a long needed talk with his father. ~
42. The Tale of the Fellowship
"…and then I took its eye out. Now Galion had joined me and he dealt the death blow, piercing it straight through the other eye and into its brain." Legolas made a thrusting motion, trying to appear calmer than he felt.
"Good thing you had fought one before or I would not have known where to find the eye," he said.
"Aye, we never killed the one in Moria but I blinded that as well."
"Moria." Wynne sounded thoughtful.
She was taking the whole thing surprisingly well, Legolas figured. Earlier she had described how she kicked herself free of the monster and hid in a cave until it was dead, and then dived out through a narrow hole. All this from the woman who claimed not to be brave!
He had expected her to at least have troubled sleep afterwards, bad dreams and such, but at least not yet. Perhaps that would come later.
Legolas had certainly not slept well. Time and again he had seen her disappear under the surface, and though it had not happened he kept picturing her being swallowed by the monster, mashed to pulp by its many teeth.
They had left shortly after sunrise, everybody eager to get away from that godforsaken lake. His troubled sleep was beginning to take its toll now, however, he felt bleary eyed and tired. As if that was not enough, his waist was sore again after yesterday's exertion and riding didn't help at all.
"You promised to tell me about Moria and your adventures with the Fellowship," said Wynne. "Can't you do it now? I need something else to think about."
"Oh please do, I'd love to hear it too," Sidra cut in.
A chill ran down Legolas' spine as always when that subject came up. So Wynne wouldn't let him off the hook, then. He had purposely forestalled this, but after her frightening experience yesterday he probably ought to oblige her with the tale.
It was just that he really didn't want to.
"Alright then."
While the others waited expectantly he pondered how to begin and finally decided to adopt a storyteller style, brushing over the events lightly as if they had not much affected the participants.
He cleared his throat and began.
"After the Council of Elrond the Fellowship was formed, a brotherhood among the free peoples, with a single task: to undo the One Ring. A somber midwinter night it was, when the Nine Walkers departed Rivendell…"
Had Wynne and he been alone, he might have told more than just the basic facts, such as his apprehension to join the Fellowship without his adar's permission. Without his king's permission.
He had been so nervous when they left Rivendell, which was about the same time as a messenger brought his letter to Mirkwood. Even now, he didn't dare looking at Thranduil who was sure to listen.
Maybe to Wynne, he would have described the dreadful chill he had felt at the mountain Caradhras. Not from the snowstorm, but from Saruman's ghastly voice, commanding the very winds and clouds, bending them to his will. Not until then had he fully comprehended the immense power of those who were against them on the mission. What dangers they would encounter. He had been so very young and naive!
Oh, he had tried to joke it off, of course, his usual strategy back then. He had teased his companions that they couldn't walk on snow like him and hurried ahead, effectively hiding the fact that he was terrified and just wanted to get away from there as soon as possible.
To Wynne he might have described Moria more in detail, that waking nightmare. Pitch-black darkness had surrounded them, too thick to penetrate even for his keen eyes – he had not been used to that, for outside he could always see at least a little – and the overwhelming pressure of stone cutting him off from everything alive. Boromir had been correct to call the mines a tomb. Despite the proximity of the other eight of the fellowship, Legolas had never in his life felt lonelier than in Moria.
And it had become worse. That sickening anticipation he felt after Pippin accidentally awakened something in the abyss, and how he had expected unknown fiends to come crawling through the well at any moment. And then the drums, the drums in the deep. They had been trapped in a tomb with orcs and a cave-troll coming at them and he would never forget the first sight of that troll, its huge, stony body which even Boromir's brute strength and sharp sword couldn't damage.
He did admit to his audience that the balrog – the fire demon Pippin awakened – had frightened them, but even to Wynne alone he doubted he could have brought himself to elaborate on the extent. The demon's ancient evil had seeped through his being, into his very soul, paralyzing him with boundless terror.
He still had nightmares about the balrog.
And then Mithrandir had fallen and Legolas felt his heart shatter. They were the Nine, they were not supposed to lose anybody. But they had, first Mithrandir and then Boromir, and the grief had sat heavy on his shoulders in the many days before he encountered Mithrandir again as if risen from the dead.
He missed that meddling old wizard dearly, even now, after he sailed west with Frodo eight years ago.
The passing of the wizard affected part of the audience too.
"What? Noo! Not Gandalf!" exclaimed Sidra, who apparently had not heard the story before.
"Aye. He sacrificed himself to save us."
"He survived," Wynne spoiled.
The rest was easier to tell: their respite in Lothlórien, chasing the uruk-hai who had captured Merry and Pippin, reuniting with Mithrandir. He spoke at length of his horse Arod and all that befell in Edoras, capital of Rohan, knowing it would interest Wynne.
The Battle of Helm's Deep was something he would normally have recounted with detail, as this part of the story was one that other warriors often asked him about and he had told it frequently. Now with Nugu listening he skimmed over it; the uruk-hai had been on the losing side and he probably felt a bit different about it.
The Battle of the Pelennor Fields, however, interested both the uruk-hai and his wife. Her countrymen had fought there with their oliphaunts, and of course everybody wanted to hear how Legolas, Gimli and Aragorn overcame the Corsairs with an army of ghosts.
Sidra was thrilled to learn that the one who finally turned the tide of the battle by slaying the Witch-king of Angmar, Lord of the mighty nazgûl, had been Éowyn – a woman.
"I wish I could meet her sometime. She must be awesome!"
"You might," said Thranduil. "Her husband is overseeing the restoration of the former Dead Marshes together with Éomer and his wife, and we are passing through there soon."
"Really? Wonderful news!"
Wynne too seemed excited about the prospect. "Ever since I first heard the Ballad of the Ring, she has been my hero."
Legolas then came to the end of his story, the Battle of the Black Gate and the destruction of the One Ring.
Some fighters Legolas had met claimed they were afraid of nothing. Most of them probably lied, but a few had been truthful. They were gone now. Fearless warriors were careless, and carelessness in combat was deadly. Some apprehension before an encounter was normal and necessary.
The fear of the Host of the West before this battle had been something else.
They had been outnumbered a hundredfold – a suicide mission. Filled with the despair that only comes from knowing this is your last day to live, they had stood their ground.
Legolas told this truthfully, even admitting how scared he himself had been at death's door. He didn't mention, however, that his last thought before the enemy hoard came upon them had been of his adar. How Legolas had failed him by giving up his life, bringing him more grief when he already mourned his wife.
"So what happened? How was it even possible to come out of it alive? You obviously did." Sidra's eyes were glued to him.
"Frodo and Sam managed to climb Mount Doom when Sauron's attention was captured by us, just as Gandalf had predicted. The Ring fell into the molten lava and dissolved." Legolas again omitted certain parts; it had not been quite that simple. "The undoing of the One Ring caused an earth-shattering eruption that destroyed Sauron and his stronghold. Without their leader his army became confused and most of them fled. We beat them easily."
"Hooray!" cheered Sidra, clapping her hands.
"The Eagles then went to pick up Frodo and Sam and carried them to safety. Victorious at last everybody returned to Minas Tirith, and there was much rejoicing. Thus ends the Tale of the Fellowship of the Ring."
After finishing the story, he felt dead tired. The disturbing memories threatened to overpower him. In particular, he lingered over his choice to join the Fellowship and how it had influenced his relationship with Thranduil.
Legolas would never forget his return home afterwards. That cold, formal welcome he had received, not by his adar but by the King of the Woodland Realm. Thranduil had been frosty and emotionless like only he could.
They had never talked of the quest again, not once.
He had lost his adar's trust, that was the ultimate consequence of his thoughtless decision. And that had been especially evident recently, though it concerned matters of the heart instead of his seeking adventure.
And was Ada not right to distrust him? Even now, was he not deceiving him, lying straight to his face?
Suddenly Legolas felt deeply ashamed. This was not right. He couldn't wait until he had met Aragorn, he must speak with his adar directly.
He made Stelpa move over to Thranduil's stallion.
"Can I talk to you privately?"
"Of course."
They rode ahead, leaving the others out of hearing range.
"Ada… I love her," he blurted, too weary to wrap it up. "You cannot keep us apart."
"Go on." Thranduil's face betrayed no emotion.
"I know this is not what you had wanted. You worry about our people and her mortality, but I think it will work out. A child… a child can be the reason to live on and find happiness after one loses one's wife… is this not so?" He looked his adar boldly in the eye.
Thranduil's calm mask wavered, his gaze becoming soft. "Aye. It is true."
"As for our people, I think they will accept her. She is of a fine family and not entirely unused to court life. And she mentioned she is Dúnedain of heritage, and that her naneth came from Minas Tirith. She is no commoner."
Thranduil was silent for a while, looking thoughtful. "I hear what you say," he replied at last. "And I will think about it, I can promise you as much. It is true Wynne is no commoner but she has grown up in the country. She is a woman of the lands. Out here, she has been in her true element, with the horses and nature. What will she be like in a palace's halls? Among other ladies of the court? What will she occupy herself with when she cannot be wild and free, like now? Neither of us know this; even she can have no idea."
Legolas nodded he had not thought that far.
"We shall soon be in Minas Tirith, in King Elessar's Citadel. That will be an introduction for her, a debut into finer society. I shall observe how she manages. She is adaptive; maybe it will work charmingly. Or maybe it will be a disaster? Time shall tell." Again his countenance softened and he touched Legolas' shoulder. "Regarding love, you are well aware of my sentiments on that matter. You have known her for – how many weeks? Even in your short lifetime it is hardly anything. Love does not just magically come, whatever you young people believe. Love is something you build, work to establish. It is a joint creation."
Legolas didn't reply to this, hoping to avoid another quarrel now that his adar finally seemed to at least consider the idea.
"Son, I need you to be patient. If your feelings really are true and earnest they will endure a slight further delay. You must cease courting her for now." He emphasized the last part and his penetrating gaze was stern.
Legolas looked down on his hands, feeling like a naughty elfling caught in the act. His adar was a master in the art of inducing that kind of emotion.
"You are a loyal son. Even… Even that quest with the Fellowship was an act of loyalty – to the good cause, to Lord Elrond's wisdom. I never told you that but I have always been proud of what you did. I just… I just could not express it very well at the time."
Their eyes met and a flood of warmth surged through Legolas. His adar was not one who apologized for past actions and he knew this was his way of saying sorry.
Bending over the gap between their horses they hugged, a short, half hug, both trying to hide their emotions and regain composure.
A/N:
I have written the scene where Legolas returns from the Fellowship from Thranduil's perspective in the prologue of my prequel to this story, Thranduil's Shadow, in case anyone is interested. :)
Translations: Naneth = mother, Adar = father