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Time's Turnings  by daw the minstrel

Many thanks to Nilmandra for beta reading this chapter for me.

*******

3. The Warrior’s Lot

Legolas entered his chamber, intending to scan it one last time for anything he might have forgotten to pack. The surfaces of his chest and bookcases were clear, and he started toward the bathing chamber to make certain he had not forgotten anything there. A knock sounded at his door, and he paused and turned. “Come in.”

The door opened, and Sinnarn came into the room, having evidently followed Legolas from the dining room where they had all just eaten their morning meal. Legolas wondered what he wanted that required this special visit but said only, “Just a minute.” He checked in the bathing chamber, retrieved the brush he found on the counter, and came back out to find Sinnarn standing near the chest, fingering the engraving on the hilt of Legolas’s sword. “Bring me that, will you?” Legolas said, shoving the brush into the pack on his bed and holding out his hand for the sword.

Sinnarn picked up the sheathed sword and brought it across the room to him. “Your sword is really beautiful.”

“Thank you. Your grandfather gave it to me on the day I came of age.” He buckled the sword to his belt and turned to close up his pack.

“I wish I were of age,” said Sinnarn gloomily. “I would love to be going with you this morning, setting off to have adventures rather than to training and then lessons.”

Legolas grimaced. “You will be a warrior soon enough.” Too soon to suit the rest of them.

Sinnarn sighed and then seemed to brace himself for something. “I came to apologize, Uncle. It was disrespectful of me to be late for the feast in your honor last night.”

Legolas hid his smile as he walked across the room to fetch his unstrung bow. He could almost hear Ithilden speaking, even though the voice was Sinnarn’s. “Apology accepted,” he said lightly. In truth, he had not been offended by Sinnarn’s tardiness the previous evening, but he did not suppose it would be good for Sinnarn to believe he could continue to come and go as he liked. He was getting to an age where the obligations of his position were going to become more and more obvious, and Legolas knew from personal experience that fighting the situation only made things worse. He picked up his bow and turned to Sinnarn. “How is training going?”

Sinnarn made a face. “All right. The masters are awfully strict sometimes though.”

Legolas raised an eyebrow. “I thought you were just wishing that you were a warrior. The masters become even stricter once you join the novices,” he warned, crossing to the bed again.

Sinnarn sighed. “I know. My adar tells me that too.” Legolas had to suppress a grimace at the idea that he sounded like Ithilden. “I like learning to use weapons, and I do want to be a warrior, but sometimes I feel like every minute of my life is ruled by someone else.”

Legolas smiled and put a sympathetic hand on Sinnarn’s shoulder. “I am afraid that is a warrior’s lot.” Sinnarn smiled weakly back, and Legolas handed one of his packs to him and picked up the other. “Shall we go?” Legolas led the way from his own room and then paused at the open door to the dining room. Thranduil, Ithilden, Alfirin, and Eilian all rose when they saw him. “I am ready to go now.”

Eilian took the pack he was still carrying, and Thranduil rested his hand on Legolas’s shoulder as they all walked out of the palace and along the path through the gardens that was the shortest way to the stables. “Is Beliond meeting you at the stables?” Thranduil asked.

“I assume so. I have not heard from him, but that is where he usually turns up.” Legolas’s bodyguard spent his leaves alone in the forest, but inevitably appeared at the moment Legolas was ready to return to his patrol again.

They entered the stable yard to find that the stable master had led Legolas’s new stallion out into the morning air and was trying to settle him down. The grey horse was prancing and snorting nervously, while Beliond stood to one side near his own well-behaved mount, with a disapproving look on his face. He turned as they all trooped out of the garden. He bowed to Thranduil, saluted Ithilden, and then looked at Legolas. “This is your new horse,” he declared. “I knew it the minute I saw him.” His tone of voice left no doubt as to his opinion of the grey.

“He is fast and, as you can see, quite beautiful,” Legolas protested. Beliond harrumphed but said nothing more. Legolas approached the horse, speaking softly. The animal’s ears twitched toward him, and he seemed to relax a little as Legolas stroked his neck. Legolas noted with some gratitude that Thranduil kept his opinion of the horse to himself, although Legolas knew what it was well enough.

“Have you named him yet?” Eilian asked, taking Legolas’s second pack from Sinnarn and approaching to drape both over the back of the stallion. The horse’s eyes widened as the packs went on, but he did not protest.

“His name is Tavor,” Legolas said with satisfaction. “He is so fast that he flies like a bird.” He turned to his father and felt the familiar tug of regret at leave taking as Thranduil drew him into an embrace.

“Take care, Legolas,” Thranduil said and kissed him on the forehead.

“I will be careful, Adar,” Legolas promised and moved on to exchange embraces with the rest of his family too. He mounted his horse easily, feeling the grey accept his presence with skittish satisfaction, and turned to scan the loved faces one last time. He looked at his father. “By your leave, Adar.”

“Go.” Thranduil raised his hand in blessing and farewell, and Legolas rode out of his father’s stronghold, with Beliond close behind. By that night, they would be back on duty with the Eastern Border Patrol.

***

Thranduil watched until he could see Legolas no more. Sending his sons off on patrol had become routine by now, but it never seemed to become any easier. At the last moment, Beliond looked back and lifted a hand to wave at Thranduil. Thranduil found himself smiling slightly at what he was sure was intended to be reassurance. And he was reassured. Beliond would protect Legolas with his life if he had to.

“You should be on your way, Sinnarn,” said Ithilden, and Thranduil turned to see his grandson tear his own gaze away from the place where Legolas had disappeared.

Thranduil smiled at the youth. “Are you sparring today, Sinnarn?”

“Yes.” Sinnarn brightened slightly. Sparring was the part of training that he enjoyed most.

“Then you would not want to be late,” Thranduil said, gesturing his permission for Sinnarn to leave. His grandson grinned at him and trotted off toward the training fields.

The rest of them started to drift back through the garden. “Are you still angry at my grandson?” Thranduil asked Ithilden, who was walking arm-in-arm with Alfirin.

Ithilden raised an eyebrow. “Are you suggesting I had no right to be angry last night?” His voice was cool. He and Alfirin both welcomed Thranduil’s close relationship with Sinnarn, but they had made it clear from the day their son was born that they would be the ones to raise him.

Thranduil smiled slightly. “I would never say that. I know I would have been very angry if any of you had been late for a feast in someone’s honor when you were Sinnarn’s age. But then I have the advantage of knowing that you all did such things and still turned out to be fine adults, so I suppose I am less worried.”

“We all did?” Eilian asked with a grin. “Even Ithilden? Tell me about it!” His older brother threw him a forbidding glance.

Thranduil laughed. “I think not. He is your commanding officer, so it is better you see him in his current fearsome form and believe he has always been like that.”

They were all smiling now and had reached the other end of the garden, where the gate opened near the bridge leading to the Great Doors. “Are you coming in, Eilian?” Thranduil asked. He knew that Ithilden had to go to his office near the training fields, but he did not know what Eilian’s plans were. Indeed, he rather often did not know what Eilian’s plans were, he thought dryly.

“No,” said Eilian vaguely. “I am going to see friends. By your leave, Adar?”

Thranduil nodded and watched his second son strike out on a path that led to a small group of cottages. Thranduil would have wagered his best dagger that the “friend” Eilian was going to see was female. He felt a brief stab of worry but shoved it firmly aside. Eilian simply enjoyed female company, something Thranduil understood.

Alfirin kissed Ithilden goodbye, and he too took his leave. Thranduil offered her his arm and they stood for a moment watching Ithilden’s tall, elegant form and then turned toward the bridge. “Will you tell me about how Ithilden misbehaved as a youth?” Alfirin asked.

Thranduil smiled at her. “Some time, perhaps,” he said. “I fear I am too busy now.”

She laughed. “You males all stick together.”

He laughed too. “We have to. We have assessed our strengths and know that we must support one another or we will all be lost.” He left her to go to her morning meeting with the palace steward while he went to his office and sat down behind his desk. He had told Alfirin the truth when he said he was busy, but he found he could not settle easily to work. He kept picturing his oldest son as he had looked when he was Sinnarn’s age: taller than any of his age mates and already broad through the chest, but thin yet, with his wrists seemingly always poking out of the sleeves of his tunics, no matter how frequently Lorellin made him new ones. How eager he had been to become a novice, to take up the task that he thought of himself as born to do! Thranduil’s mind drifted back to one of a countless string of arguments they had had that year when Ithilden had been the same age that Sinnarn was now.

 

~*~*~

“But, Adar, I need to become a novice this year, not next!” Ithilden argued as he lifted cushions off the bench and searched beneath them.

Where in Arda was his glove? Thranduil wondered, trying to ignore his insistent son. They had had this argument before, and he had thought he settled it the last time. An escort of guards was awaiting him to ride south and see what his warriors had observed of the situation there. He did not have time to have this disagreement again now.

“Surely there is no hurry, sweetheart,” Lorellin said, trying to move a large chair so she could check the shadowy space behind it. “You will be a warrior for a long time, but you will be young only once. You should seize each day to enjoy yourself in the woods, not rush into training with Elves who are older than you.”  She tugged fruitlessly at the chair, and Thranduil crossed the room to help her.

Ithilden threw them both a withering look. “Adar, you have told me yourself that I need to be serious about training because I am very likely to be an officer quite young. And people start the training at different ages. You are underestimating what I can do!”

“Aha!” cried Lorellin and dove behind the chair to retrieve the lost glove. She held it out to Thranduil triumphantly.

Thranduil took it from her and then bent to kiss her brow. “Try not to worry, love. I will be back before you know it.”

She smoothed the tunic over his chest. “I know.” She would worry despite what he told her, but she would never admit it.

He turned to his son, startled yet again at how tall he had become. He is going to be built like me, Thranduil thought, with a flash of unreasonable pride. “Stop arguing, Ithilden,” he said firmly. “I said ‘no’ before and I meant it. People may start the training at different ages, but they do not start it at the age you are now.”

Ithilden opened his mouth and then wisely shut it again.

“Take care of your naneth while I am gone,” Thranduil directed, embracing Ithilden too. The youth nodded but said nothing. He was clearly annoyed at both of his parents. Thranduil shrugged. He was learning to live with his son’s annoyance. As long as Ithilden obeyed, he could be as annoyed as he liked. Thranduil scooped up his cloak and pulled it around his shoulders as he started for the door. He needed to be under way.

 

~*~*~

Thranduil smiled at the memory. Ithilden had always been stubborn. In some ways, even Eilian had been easier to deal with. Thranduil should have known that Ithilden might have given up arguing but he had not given up his belief that he was ready to become a novice. Thranduil looked at the long petition on his desk and sighed. He needed to sort through the details of this complicated case before he held court that afternoon. Thoughts of his oldest son’s youth would have to be set aside for now.

***

With practiced skill, Legolas scanned the ground and the underbrush around him, looking for any signs that someone had passed through the eastern edge of the Woodland Realm in this area north of the Forest River. It was nearly mid-day, and he was half listening for Galorion, the patrol’s lieutenant, to signal them to halt, gather to eat, and then turn to start the day-and-a-half trek south again to the Eastern Border Patrol’s current camping place. As usual, the patrol had found nothing out of the ordinary on this scouting trip, the first that Legolas had taken since he returned from his leave. When they scouted south, they occasionally ran into spiders or a stray Orc or two, but when they scouted north, they were usually in for a peaceful walk among the trees.

Not that Legolas objected to a walk among the trees. It was good to be back on patrol, among friends, doing something important, even if they were unlikely to run into trouble in a patrol that was safer than any other except the Home Guard. Still, Legolas would not have minded an opportunity to demonstrate his worth as a warrior, to do something that would impress even Ithilden and convince him that Legolas was ready to face more serious challenges in other patrols. Legolas had come to the Eastern Border Patrol immediately upon completing his novice training, and at the time, he had known he had much to learn and had welcomed the opportunity to learn it. But now he could not help but feel that he had mastered what this patrol had to teach him. He would never develop further as a warrior if Ithilden did not give him the chance, he thought. Ithilden was simply going to have to recognize that Legolas was an adult and a warrior, not a small brother in need of protection.

With a guilty start, he suddenly realized that he had been paying more attention to his musings than to the task at hand. He had resolutely returned to looking for any sign of intruders when a signal came from his left. To his surprise, it was not the signal for mid-day break, but rather the one that meant that a patrol member had found something suspicious. Legolas thought it sounded like Tynd who had signaled but he was not sure. He snatched his bow from his back and set off toward the place from which the signal had come, with Beliond appearing almost instantly at his side, an arrow fitted to his bowstring, scanning the trees around them for threats to Legolas’s safety. Legolas ignored him, another skill he had developed over the last years.

They had been the farthest from the source of the signal and arrived to find the other four patrol members already inspecting some faint marks on the ground. Legolas and Beliond joined them. Galorion glanced up at them and then poked at a slight indentation in the layer formed by last year’s fallen leaves. “Does that look like a Man’s track to you two?”

Legolas crouched to get a better view, but Beliond needed only a quick glance. “Yes, it does,” he said, “and it also looks as if the Man was trying to conceal his passage.”

Legolas frowned. His keeper was right. The track did look as if it had been left by a Man who was trying to move surreptitiously, and that was worrisome. It was not unusual for the patrol to meet Men in this area; Dale lay only a day or so to the east, and Men from Esgaroth or even the Wood-men who lived along the forest’s edges could sometimes be found here. Legolas always enjoyed meeting these Men. He was curious about them and rejoiced at every opportunity he had to visit Esgaroth, although he had not yet been to Dale. But these Men concealed their movements only when they were engaged in something that they knew Thranduil would not approve.

“It does look that way,” Galorion agreed slowly. He rose. “Fan out and search the area,” he ordered. “See what direction this one took and if he was alone.” Obediently, they scattered, moving cautiously so as not to obscure any tracks the Man might have left. They all still had their bows in hand, for they had no idea what intentions this Man might have. Legolas was aware of Beliond, not far away on his right, and of Tinár, a short distance to his left, muttering to Fóril, the unfortunate Elf with whom he was partnered on this trip.

“I am certain I spotted those tracks before Tynd did,” Tinár sniffed, “but Tynd is quick to send a signal so he can let Galorion know what he has accomplished. Galorion plainly favors him. That is why he takes Tynd as his partner on these missions.”

“He takes Tynd because Tynd is young and he is training him,” Fóril answered wearily.

“Then why does he not take Legolas?” Tinár asked in the tone of an Elf pointing out the obvious.

“Because Legolas has Beliond,” Fóril said. Their soft voices faded out of hearing range. Legolas suspected that Galorion took Tynd with him not only to train him, but also to avoid having Tinár on his hands. That lot almost always fell to the unusually good-natured Fóril, but even he was beginning to sound strained by the arrangement.

Legolas thought about what Fóril had said. It was certainly true that he had Beliond, sometimes far more than he wanted of him. Beliond knew what he was doing though. He had been with Thranduil at Dagorlad, and until he had been assigned to the role of Legolas’s bodyguard, he had carried out what were delicately referred to as “special missions” for the king. Legolas assumed that meant he had been one of Thranduil’s spies, although Beliond never talked about those missions. So in some ways, Legolas could not have had a better teacher. Still he would have liked to work with Galorion and see what the lieutenant had to teach too.

Suddenly, Legolas’s breath caught. In the soft dirt behind a large rock, he saw the unmistakable signs of two different footprints. He whistled a signal and waited, his eyes sweeping the ground around the area for more marks. Beliond arrived, followed closely by Galorion and the others. Legolas pointed to the marks.

“Two of them,” Galorion breathed. He looked around. “Has anyone seen signs of more than two?” They all shook their heads. He pursed his lips. “Tynd and I found a trail leading northwest,” he said. “It is very recent. I think we will have to pay a visit to these Men and find out what they are doing in our woods.”

He led them northwest and then waved Tynd into the lead to follow the trail, with the rest of them moving silently behind him. They had traveled only a league or so before Tynd raised his arm to signal a halt and Galorion gestured them into the trees. Legolas leapt into the branches and then crept ahead until he could hear and then see two Men walking silently through the trees, with heavily laden packs on their backs. As soon as he saw them, Legolas relaxed slightly. He had been worried that these Men might be from the east or south and thus truly enemies of Thranduil’s people, but it was obvious immediately that these two were from Esgaroth or, more likely, Dale. Their belt buckles were of the Dwarvish work that Legolas had seen on Men of Dale who had come to Thranduil’s palace to act as agents for the Dwarves of Erebor or the Iron Hills.

Galorion had moved through the branches to be ahead of the Men, and now, with a suddenness that sent them both reaching for their bows, he dropped to the ground in front of them, with Tynd next to him, his own bow fitted with an arrow that he aimed at the first of the two Men. Both Elves were stony-faced, and hidden in the trees, Legolas grinned at the effect on the Men. They both froze, their hands still reaching over their shoulders without quite touching their bows.

“Good morning,” Galorion said coolly.

The Men blinked, and Legolas could see the one in the lead swallowing hard before he drew a deep breath and answered. “Good morning.” He lowered his hand away from his bow, and after a second his companion followed suit. Galorion made a minute gesture, and Tynd lowered his bow, although he did not remove the arrow from the string.

“May I ask what you are doing here in the realm of the Elvenking?” Galorion asked.

Both Men regarded him warily. “We are traders,” the first Man finally said, “carrying goods to markets on the other side of the forest. Has the Elvenking forbidden such travel now?” His tone was defiant, and Legolas frowned. The Man made Thranduil sound like a tyrant.

Galorion gazed at the Man until he dropped his eyes. “The king has given no order to stop Men from traveling through his realm,” Galorion said, his voice mild, “but he has a right to know when such travelers enter it.” Without glancing up, he called, “Legolas! Beliond! Come down and search their packs.”

Pleased by the opportunity for closer contact with the Men, Legolas lost no time in following the order. The Men spun toward him and Beliond in alarm, reaching again for their bows, and again stopping when they saw that the Elves in front of them already held their own weapons. Legolas moved toward the Man closest to him and gestured for him to turn so he could look into the Man’s pack. Seemingly frightened by Legolas’s approach, the Man went white-faced and rigid, but he obeyed. Keeping his bow in his left hand, Legolas used his right to open the Man’s pack and then rifle through it. On the top was a single set of clean clothing, but under that Legolas felt tightly packed, oddly shaped wooden objects. He pulled one out and found himself looking at an exquisitely carved toy horse and cart, with wheels that turned. He looked over to see Beliond holding a wooden soldier from the other Man’s pack.

He turned toward Galorion and held the cart up. “They are carrying toys, lieutenant.”

Galorion smiled slightly. “I had heard that the craftsmen of Dale make toys that are much coveted. Make certain that is all they have.”

Legolas nodded and shoved his hand into the Man’s pack, probing throughout to make sure he had not missed anything. Finally satisfied, he removed his hand and replaced the cart as carefully as he could. “I find only toys,” he told Galorion, who looked at Beliond to see him nod his confirmation.

Galorion regarded the Men again. “It is customary for Mannish travelers to seek out the camp of the border patrol and tell our captain when a journey is being undertaken. That way we can offer travelers safe passage rather than shooting them because we have mistaken them for intruders.” Both Men looked at Galorion in alarm, but the lieutenant’s face must have been unreadable to them, for they evidently could not see the sardonic amusement that was evident to Legolas. Galorion finally took pity and spoke again: “Perhaps you did not know this custom.”

The Men exchanged a quick glance. “We knew,” the first Man said slowly, “but we had heard that the Elvenking was no longer allowing Men to cross his realm.”

Galorion raised an eyebrow. “You heard incorrectly,” he said. Legolas silently willed him to ask where the Men had heard such a thing, but Galorion did not do so, and, with difficulty, Legolas maintained his well-disciplined silence. Finally, the lieutenant stepped out the Men’s way. “You may go on your way. I will see to it that our other patrols are alerted so that they can watch the progress of your journey.”

Both Men sagged visibly in relief, making Legolas stir uneasily. He was accustomed to Men being nervous around Elves, but these Men had actually seemed afraid, despite their innocuous reason for crossing Thranduil’s realm. The Men edged their way past Galorion and Tynd and then, with gathering speed, took their way west.

Legolas held his tongue until the Men were well out of earshot. Then he turned to Galorion, who was gesturing for Tinár and Fóril to join them on the ground. “Did they seem unusually frightened to you, lieutenant?” Legolas asked. “They did to me. I wonder what could have alarmed them so.”

“I do not know, and I doubt if they would have told us,” Galorion said. “You and Beliond go on ahead and tell Todith what we found so he can send word to the other patrols and to Ithilden. Mention how afraid they were. We will let the troop commander sort this out. Tell Todith that the four of us will finish out this mission and be back in camp tomorrow as we had planned.”

“I wish I could go back to camp early,” Tinár muttered under his breath.

Unfortunately for him, Galorion had sharp ears. “Hold your tongue until you have something useful to say, Tinár,” he snapped and then jerked his head for Legolas and Beliond to be on their way.

Leaving the rest of the patrol to scout along the ground, Legolas leapt eagerly into the trees to take the much swifter route home through their branches. He could hear Beliond right behind him, and for a time, the two of them traveled without speaking, listening to the song of the trees and the noises of the woodland animals. After a while, Legolas heard Beliond call for a halt. He came to a stop in an oak and waited for Beliond to move up beside him.

“We should take a rest and eat our mid-day meal,” Beliond said.

Legolas nodded, slid his pack off, and settled himself on the branch, leaning back against the tree’s trunk. He was hungry and had been even before they met the Men. Beliond slid into a comfortable position along the branch and reached for his own pack. They usually ate waybread while on patrol and that was all they had with them, but they would be back in camp tonight and would probably dine on some sort of fish or game. Legolas’s stomach rumbled at the thought. He had not yet outgrown the almost constant hunger of youth.

He munched on the waybread and then took a swallow of water. “I wonder why the Men thought the king had barred them from traveling here,” he said.

Beliond shrugged. “Who knows? Men are irrational creatures.”

Legolas frowned. “I suspect they would seem rational enough if we could look at things from their point of view. The ones who visit my adar do not seem particularly foolish.”

Beliond shook his head. “You do not know them as I do, and you allow your ignorance to make you judge them too charitably. They are swayed by emotions to a degree that would appall most Elves. You will make my lot easier if you stay away from them.”

Legolas could feel his temper rising. “Off course, I am ignorant,” he snapped. “I have not yet had a chance to learn about them, and if I do as you say, I never will.”

Beliond snorted. “It is my job to insure your safety, and I will do that whether you like it or not. What has gotten into you anyway? You know I will not prevent you from carrying out your duties as a warrior. What is this sudden longing to mingle with Men?”

Legolas scowled at the piece of waybread in his hand while he struggled to answer reasonably. “You know that I have always enjoyed our meetings with Men.” He let it go at that. It was too difficult to explain that he had begun to notice that with Beliond around, he decided his own actions even less than most warriors following orders did. No wonder Thranduil and Ithilden doubted if his judgment was good; he had never had a chance to prove it to them. For that matter, how did he know his judgment was sound? He had had very little opportunity to trust it.

Beliond sighed. “All I am asking is that you keep your guard up, and, of course, make sure that I am right behind you.”

Legolas laughed. “That would certainly make for a relaxed visit,” he teased. “Men loosen right up when they see you.”

Beliond smiled in response and then stood and stretched. “Are you ready to move again? I for looking forward to an evening in camp, thinking about Tinár still on the trail.”

Legolas laughed again and stowed away the remains of his waybread.

 





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