Chapter 16: Men of the Sword (Legolas & Co)
c/w: contained violence, weapons
(~***~)
The guard escorted Legolas to the fighting ring. "You choose the weapon," the guard explained, trying to use easy words for the foreign man. "The fight is to first blood, but if he plays dirty, you may defend yourself. You understand?"
Legolas nodded. He was getting to the point with New Westron where he could listen much better than he could speak.
"First blood," he assured the guard. Legolas was going to choose his own knives, but the large man had taken out a crude broadsword and was taunting him further.
"Going to choose your little knives, boy? Your brother carries two swords, but you are not even man enough for one, are you?"
"Swords," Legolas answered with contempt, nodding to the guard who had set himself up to referee. He would not curse this man in a tongue he could not speak well – refusing to do so would only unsettle him more for the fight anyway. He jogged back to Thranduil, who handed him one of his slim, lethal swords without hesitation. Legolas pulled his outer tunic off, handing it to Lossrilleth for safe keeping.
"Remember that we must pass for men, ion in," Thranduil warned him quietly in Sindarin. "Do not move too fast. Keep your fight simple."
"Go inside," Legolas said to Lossrilleth, who shook her head fiercely, though her eyes were wide. Her heart was pounding. She had always known that Legolas was a fierce warrior, but she had not yet witnessed him in a real fight. Valinor was peaceful. A shaky fear filled her, but she tried to hold it back from him. She felt him focusing on the fight. Her part in this would be to let him follow his training without creating a distraction.
"I have her," Thranduil reassured his son. "Let her watch if she wishes. It is her honor as well as yours that has been insulted."
As Legolas walked back to the ring, Thranduil said to her in quiet Sindarin, "Do not fear, Legolas could kill that filth under a dark moon with a table knife."
"You are very confident in the face of lethal weapons, lord father. We should not be doing this," Lossrilleth answered, palms sweating. The thought of Legolas getting hurt felt like a punch in the gut.
"We must, iell nin," Thranduil told her solemnly. "They must know that we can fight if we are challenged, or we will be harassed without end." She nodded tersely, forced to admit that his logic was sound.
Farren had tried to convince Amity to go into the pavilion but stopped once all the guards walked away from the empty tent to watch the fight. He steered Amity next to Lossrilleth, where the younger lady took her arm. Looking over the ladies' heads, Farren nodded to Thranduil, who acknowledged the gesture. They knew their shared task. Crowds could get hairy if a fight went the wrong way.
All the guards and guests in the way station gathered in a loose ring around the patch of hard, bare dirt that the man had staked out as their fighting ground. Legolas stepped through the onlookers easily, nodding to the guards that he was ready at their signal.
"A duel for honor under the King's law," the guard said loudly. "The challenged has chosen swords. The fight is to first blood. Begin."
The fighters began circling each other. The man sneered at Legolas, feinting twice to get his measure, but Legolas did not flinch. The man then charged across the ring, broadsword raised high, and brought it down in a chopping motion at Legolas, who dodged it easily. The elf could quickly see that the man was not especially skilled. His only claim to talent was that he was very strong – his sword had landed like an axe when he swung it.
"Scared to take a hit, pretty boy?" the man said, voice dripping with disdain. A few of the men in the crowd snorted softly, doubting the steel of the fair man. They had seen Northmen from time to time – they were usually great, strapping lads with heavy beards. These two strangers that had appeared recently did not appear to be the same breed of Northman, with their smooth faces and soft words for horses and ladies.
Legolas refused to take the bait, staying calm and watching the muscles on the man's chest, which could betray his movements early. First blood should be easy, even if he did slow down to avoid suspicion. He would like to give this man a good thrashing, though, for he kept seeing the image of his dirty hands on Lossrilleth.
The man stabbed at Legolas, who parried, exchanging several blows. There was no doubt he was strong, Legolas thought. The key would be not to get stuck under his sword. Legolas feinted to the right, then passed to his left easily as the man followed the misdirection and lunged. The man spun around, changing directions awkwardly and flailing his heavy sword vaguely in the direction Legolas had gone.
The crowd of men were starting to turn their opinion. The stranger's silence was eerie, but he moved with confidence, deflecting the challenger's attacks decisively. The swordsmen in the crowd admired his form. He hadn't even broken a sweat yet. It was soon clear to those watching who had control over the ring.
(~***~)
Lossrilleth watched as the man attacked Legolas again, hacking artlessly as he became enraged by his opponent's cool control. Legolas met each blow precisely and then returned an attack, nearly disarming the man. The man stumbled back and began circling again. Although she could tell that Legolas was not worried, but rather seemed to be biding his time, she felt a stony dread in the pit of her stomach.
There had been times before this when she suddenly saw the life she was living now through the sober eyes of the human she had once been. It happened again now watching the duel play out. Clangs of metal and the muttering voices of half-drunk men filled her ears. Many of them had their hands casually resting on their own weapons, ready to respond if someone played dirty and a bigger fight broke out. Thranduil and Farren flanked her and Amity, poised to respond to the same threat. The air reeked of unwashed bodies, smoke, beer, horse dung, the latrines in the distance, and kicked up dirt. The light was turning from red to blue as the sun set, leaving only the ominous flickering of torches to see by. Every blow aimed at the one she loved caused her to flinch as she imagined his blood flowing onto the ground.
How many times had she watched sword fights on a screen? She had thought she was prepared, but she found that she was not. If you had asked her before this whether Middle Earth was dangerous, she would have said 'of course it can be!'. But before this moment she had never felt in her heart the weight of the violence that could erupt here. Even watching the whipping had not woken her up. This fight was not even that bad was it? A duel with a single man, overseen by a referee under rules of honor. What must the battle at Pelennor Fields have been like, truly?
She realized that she had been remarkably naïve at times on this journey and the very things that she had hated her companions doing or saying were likely the only things that had saved her from her own folly. She understood then that she had been taking their caution and watchfulness over her personally, but in reality, it was not personal. They were in a land where they rarely saw women outside the marketplaces. Where a single incident of being groped could lead to a fight with real, deadly weapons. Even if she were a fighter and better able to face this threat herself, the attention she attracted by virtue of her gender would still have been a problem for their whole group. They had warned her that she did not understand the perils here. She had not listened.
Nothing about this quest was about her, or how clever or competent she was. But she'd made it out to be more than once, instead of focusing on their true task. She had ignored the good sense of people she trusted – who knew better than she – out of pure stubbornness and ignorance. And the stakes were so high. Lossrilleth had to close her eyes for a moment to gather her breath. Her cheeks were burning with shame at her own foolishness.
She used every trick she knew to keep the dread and the embarrassment she felt hidden from her fёa bond with Legolas. He needed to focus on the broadsword that was aimed at him.
(~***~)
Thranduil watched Legolas toy with the man, exposing his weaknesses to the audience. He could have gone fast instead, humiliating the man by how quickly he could draw blood. Thranduil had a feeling his son would have liked to beat the man soundly had he not been constrained by the customs of a 'first blood' sparring match. Drawing this out and making the man look like the artless swine he was to his peers might offer some weak comfort.
Looking at Lossrilleth, the old king noticed that she was rigid and stone-faced. She had crossed her arms over her chest and was gripping her sleeves until her knuckles were white. A human might have put an arm over her shoulder, but Thranduil instead touched his fёa to hers, offering his confidence in the situation for her to lean on. Lossrilleth looked at him in surprise but accepted his reassurance gratefully. She respected her father-in-law, but this wasn't the kind of support she would usually expect from him.
Legolas finally decided he was finished wasting time on this disgusting man, who now hurled insults and blows at him randomly, the dust kicked up by their movement sticking to his sweaty skin until it ran down his chest in brown droplets. The elf could tell the crowd had shifted in his favor. He would leave this man to be dealt with by other men. In a swift movement, he struck a blow at the man, who parried predictably. Legolas twisted his sword with his own, sliding his father's blade down to the broadsword's hilt and knocking it out of the man's hand. Almost nonchalantly, he flicked his sword across the man's cheek, drawing a bright red line.
"First blood!" called the guard, who was lounging on a rock while he watched. It had been painfully clear for a while that the Northerner was going to trounce the brute.
Legolas scoffed at the man in disgust and turned to walk away. The man pulled a dagger from his boot and rushed at Legolas's back with a howl. Unsurprised, Legolas sidestepped and turned, punching the man ferociously in the kidney and tripping him before holding his blade to the man's carotid. The guards were immediately on the offender, dragging him away to be judged for breaking the King's peace – again.
As Legolas made his way out of the ring, multiple men clapped him on the shoulder or back. Someone called out "Northman!" and the crowd rumbled its approval, echoing the cry.
"Take ale with us, swordsman," a stout looking traveler called out. Legolas did not really wish to do so, but it could be a good way to start looking for information about this Masterson they needed to find in Minas Tirith.
"I speak with my company," he said, gesturing to his traveling companions and trying not to show his reluctance, "then yes." The men cheered. He could be as dear to his woman and as short on words as he liked if he could fight like that, as far as they were concerned.
Legolas walked back to his companions, returning his father's sword. Thranduil nodded at him in acknowledgement and clapped him on the shoulder, mimicking the men. That was still unfamiliar to him… but Legolas enjoyed the contact, smiling at his 'brother' and returning the gesture.
"Good fight," Farren said. "You are a good swordsman, Leif from the North! I am glad to have you with us. Now everyone can see that troll of a man for what he is. He's broken the King's peace twice in as many days. They'll ban him from the way stations now." Legolas nodded to the man in thanks.
"We speak," Legolas said, gesturing to Lossrilleth.
She shook her head. She didn't want to make this all about herself now, again. She was not the one who had just been in a fight. Instead, she said for his benefit and everyone else's,
"Good fight, husband. You go, drink, be happy. We go inside." She gestured to Amity. "We speak… not now."
Legolas appreciated this effort, but he could feel how upset she was whether either of them liked it or not and her pain hurt him.
"No, we speak now," he said decisively, taking her arm and guiding her over toward their horses, which they still had not stabled. Thranduil followed at a respectful distance and kept an eye out for any trouble. Things could run a little too hot in a group like this after a fight, in his experience.
"That was well done," she whispered to Legolas in Sindarin. "I am relieved that you are safe." She leaned against the withers of her gray horse and offered him a hand. He put his arm against hers, holding her elbow in his palm. She squeezed his forearm in return.
"I did not think this would pain you so much," he said. "I am fine. That was not a hard fight. He is an idiot and a pig."
"You should go and speak with the men while you have their goodwill," she deflected again. "They are impressed with you, perhaps you can get some information about this Masterson."
"I will not go until I know you are well. You feel terrible," he replied. Her reaction confused and concerned him.
She could tell he was not going to let this go without an explanation. She let out a sigh of resignation. "I have never seen a real fight before. Only sparring or theater."
"That cannot be true!" Legolas said, amazed. "Not even a brawl?" he asked, thinking about the drunken fistfights he'd seen break out repeatedly when traveling with humans. It was inconceivable to him to have lived a whole life and never seen a fight. He'd had a knife in his hand since he was a boy in the treacherous Mirkwood forest. Even Thranduil, waiting within hearing distance, looked around in surprise at that admission.
Legolas shook his head in disbelief. "Maybe we should not have brought you here at all…" he let his voice trail off. His heart squeezed painfully to see her facing the violence of Middle Earth with fresh eyes – seeing the horror of things he had long since ceased to notice as they had become mundane from repetition.
"No, not even a brawl," she said, kicking herself. The arrogance of her overconfidence… "You have been right – I have been too reckless. I have no idea what I am doing here. It is nothing like the world of men I lived in once. I am sorry, truly" she said. She was having trouble looking him the eyes. This was embarrassing to admit, for she cared about his good opinion.
"But I would never abandon our daughter here simply to avoid facing something difficult or frightening. I will learn what I need to learn. Just like everyone does when they face something for the first time. I may have been a fool lately, but I am not a coward," she insisted.
"Let me sort myself out. Go and drink them under the table," she tried joking for his benefit. "You can impress them twice tonight – first swords, then liquor. Just what men like, I gather. It would not hurt to have a few more friendly faces in these way stations every night."
Legolas didn't want to leave her feeling like this. She was a tangle of unhappy feelings.
"Can I not help you in some way?" he asked. He put a hand on her cheek, wishing to offer some kind of comfort. He did not blame her nearly as much as she seemed to be blaming herself.
Lossrilleth covered his hand with her own and finally met his eyes. "Honestly you cannot. Not here, anyway. I appreciate your care, but you do not have to save me from this."
"Besides," she said. "Lady Amity will be all over me the moment I get in there –going on endlessly about how valiant you looked with a sword in your hand, no doubt. I am sure she will cheer me up, and maybe teach me something." She smiled again through the adrenaline and self-reproach, trying to show that she meant what she said.
Reluctantly, he let her go and followed her as she walked over to the pavilion. With the horses blocking the view of most the crowd, he pulled her in for a quick embrace.
"No one expects you to know things you have never had a chance to learn," he whispered to her. "You have been right a few times, too, to be more open-minded than we would have been. We just need to listen to each other."
"I will listen better," she promised. "I will focus on what is most important."
"Good," he replied. "Now please be kinder to my lady. I love her and do not appreciate you calling her a fool," he said through a disarming smile. She could not help but chuckle.
"I love you, too," she replied, rolling her eyes at his teasing. He kissed her forehead and walked her to the pavilion, where she paused to gather herself just inside the door where Amity could not yet see her.
When these moments of sober reflection arose, she often thought 'what have I done?' and doubt would arise. She wondered if she should regret her choice to stay in this world where she clearly did not belong. But then they always came together again, and time after time she found that she could not regret it, however selfishly. She hoped the lives of those she loved were not worse off for her intrusion into their world. She resolved to try to make sure it was not so.
(~***~)
With Lossrilleth safely in the tent, Legolas helped Thranduil finish the task of stabling the horses.
"Can you imagine never having seen a fight?" he asked his father, feeling disbelief all over again.
Thranduil shook his head. "She has been lucky, then. She managed not fall apart over it too badly," he said pensively. Her reaction was middle of the road, he thought. He'd seen young people react both better and worse to intense first experiences.
"I wish we did not have to be here," Legolas said, shaking his head at all the pain that one accident could cause.
"We all wish that," Thranduil agreed. "But maybe we do not need to worry about Lossrilleth as much anymore. She is seeing more clearly and finding her footing. Honestly, I think it is well."
Legolas made his peace with leaving her to tend to herself and made his way over to the group of travelers lounging around the fire. No one was brave enough to tease him or mock his woman for the time they had spent talking.
"Your wife is well?" one man dared to ask politely.
"Yes," Legolas replied. "She is well. Where is ale?" This received a hearty guffaw and some cheers from the group of men.
"That's the spirit lad," said an enormous traveling blacksmith, who shoved a frothing pint into the elf's hands.
Legolas let himself grin. It could be kind of fun to shock mortals with his elven resistance to the effects of alcohol. It made it easier to get them talking, too.
(~***~)
