Chapter 5 –Refugees

“It seems that the rumours have been confirmed,” Arandur said severely.

“What news?”

“A settlement, about ten, fifteen minutes ride from here, has been attacked.”

“Orcs?”

“Yes. They were repulsed by. . . help.”

Legolas could have sworn that Arandur had glanced in his direction and changed his sentence mid-way.

“Is trouble anticipated?” Thranduil questioned.

The Captain shook his head, “Unlikely, nevertheless we should make haste and return to Mirkwood.”

“No, I wish to see the settlement.”

“My King, it could be dangerous,” Arandur frowned.

“All the more reason that we are at the settlement. Or do you doubt the Guard’s ability to protect me?”

“Of course not, your Majesty.” Arandur seemed almost offended at the question.

“Maybe you doubt the validity of the news then?” Thranduil continued casually – too causally.

“Never.” This time Arandur’s voice was flat, and Legolas detected anger in it. He could not help but wonder why Arandur put such faith in the dark figure’s news. It had to be one of the Home Guard, probably Arandur’s chosen elite. If so, Thranduil had doubted his Captain’s ability. No wonder Arandur was angry – he was a proud elf.

“In that case, there is no reason why I should not go to the settlement. There might be people there in need.”

“As my King wishes,” Arandur bowed.

Legolas smiled, Thranduil had manoeuvred the Captain into agreeing with the plan, despite his misgivings. It had become a matter of personal honour that the King reach the settlement quickly and safely. Legolas felt his father’s impatience in his heart as well. He too needed to make sure that the settlement was secure and the people safe. Until he had seen it with his eyes, he would not be satisfied.

The Prince had to make sure his people were well. Duty demanded it.

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The settlement was small by Mirkwood’s standards, a few dozen shelters were scattered amongst the trees. It was obviously a poor, farming community – an easy target for marauding orcs.

Legolas bit back a cry of pain when he saw the smoking houses. Forlorn and exhausted Elves watched the party with wary eyes. Their fair faces were smudged with dirt and tears. It was shattering to see these proud people look so defeated. Legolas could only wonder how they had survived the attack; the surrounding destruction gave evidence that the fighting had been severe.

Thranduil slid off his horse and approached the circle of elves that had formed had the settlement’s entrance. A tired looking elf, the leader of the community stepped forward to greet their King.

“Your Majesty. We were not expecting . . .” He swallowed, obviously at a loss on how to continue.

Thranduil gently clasped the Elf’s shoulder, “What can we do to help?”

“Nothing, your majesty. The orcs have left. We are safe.”

“For now. They will probably come back.”

The Elf nodded, resigned to his fate.

“You and your people should leave this area.”

“And go where? This is our home, we cannot leave it, even if we were willing.” The elf shook his head, resigned to his fate.

“Is this how you all feel?” Thranduil asked the rest of the gathered Elves.

Everyone, to the last child nodded. Someone said, “This is our home. If we have to, we will fight for it, till the last breath has left our bodies. We will not leave.”

“There will be no need for such a sacrifice. We shall send a contingent of guards to reinforce you.”

The Elves cheered at this news, visibly brightening. “We . . . we cannot express  . . . you have our gratitude King Thranduil.” The Elves sank on one knee in appreciation of the King’s commitment.

Thranduil smiled and waved them up. “Now, I would like to inspect the rest of the settlement.”

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As Legolas watched his father walk among the farmers, it hit him how much they depended on their King. Thranduil managed to calm their fears and provide them with a measure of security even in this uncertain climate. It was a peculiar feeling for Legolas to realise that how much the Wood-Elves loved Thranduil. He was their King, their champion. Legolas was seeing the pledge Thranduil had made to his people and its importance.

He had never been more proud of his father when he made a pretty maid smile.

He had never loved his father more, when he hid his own pain behind a confident smile in order to comfort others.

It was a humbling experience for Legolas and a daunting one. Only now was he beginning to comprehend how many depended on his father – and him – for reassurance and refuge.

“He is a good King, is he not?” Arandur’s voice broke into Legolas’ reverie.

“Yes. I never realised how good.”

“Makes you see him in a new light?”

Legolas nodded, his eyes still following his father.

“You will be a good King too.” Arandur voice was confident.

“Will I?” Legolas inwardly winced; he did not mean the question to be so unsure.

“Yes. You have Thranduil’s devotion to his cause, to his people. You will do whatever it takes for them. You know it, as do they. They can trust you. You will make a good King.”

“Hopefully I will not have to find out if your words are true.” Legolas tried to lighten the mood – this conversation was getting too ominous for his liking.

“In these times, one should not hold on to hope.”

Legolas blinked as Arandur walked away.

He looked back at Thranduil.

*~ You will make a good King. ~*

*~ May I never have to prove that statement correct. ~*

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Legolas felt something attach himself to his leg. He looked down to see a little boy clinging desperately to his leg.

“Well, hello there, little Elfling. And who might you be?” Legolas smiled down at the obviously terrified boy.

“You won’t leave me too, will you?” The boy whispered, his tiny little voice trembling.

Legolas bent down to pick the child up, cradling the shivering boy in his arms. “What is your name, little one?”

“Arorod – it means Noble Mountain.” The boy snuggled into Legolas’ arms.

“Noble Mountain? Is that not a very big name for a tiny little mite like you.”

“No – I am going to grow up to become as tall as a mountain. Just you see.”

Legolas chuckled, “Is that so? How long will that take?”

“Not long – unless . . .”

“Unless what?”

“Unless the bad monsters come and get me. Like they got my mommy.” The boy looked solemnly at Legolas, his little eyes filling with tears.

‘No little one, they will not come and get you.” Legolas hugged the child even more tightly.

“You promise?” The boy looked straight into Legolas’ eyes.

“Yes.”

“Good, my mommy always said that princes never broke their promises. You won’t will you?”

“Never, my little mountain.”

The boy nodded, and laid his head on Legolas’ chest. “You will stay with me then?” He yawned, rubbing his eyes.

Legolas stroked the little head, until the boy fell asleep in his arms. “I cannot, little one. I wish I could. But this I promise to you - the orcs will not hurt you or any of my people as long as I am prince.”

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“It seems as if you have found an admirer, ion nín.” Thranduil smiled at the sight of his son holding the little elfing in his arms.

“He was tired, and he fell asleep in my arms.” Legolas gently wiped away the tear tracks from the child’s face. “We have to help them father.”

“We will, my son. We will. You have my word on it.”

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Leaving was more difficult than Legolas anticipated. Arorod had started weeping when he found out that Legolas was leaving.

“You promised you wouldn’t let them get me. You promised.”

Legolas bent down to look at Arorod, “Yes I promised. I did not lie to you. But I have to go away now to stop the monsters. If I do not, they will return.”

“Will you come back?”

Legolas nodded and held out his arms. Arorod literally fell into them, holding onto Legolas’ neck as if his life depended on it.

“Mommy always said that princes never lied. You will come back. You promised. You will stop the creatures.” Arorod kept repeating these words as if saying them often enough would make them true.

Legolas kindly detangled the tiny arms from his neck and handed the child back to his father. As he got on his horse he could still hear little Arorod’s words whisper in his ears *~ You promised. ~*

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The journey back to Mirkwood was silent, each person saddened by the scene they had just witnessed. Legolas especially, was troubled by what he had seen. “Father, may we talk?”

Thranduil looked at his son’s distressed face and nodded. “It was overwhelming, was it not, my son?”

 “Those people . . . the trust they put in you – in us. It is frightening. How . . . how can we . . .” Legolas fell silent, he did not know what he wanted to say – what he wanted explained.

Thranduil did not say anything, he understood Legolas’ fear – he fought it every waking moment. “How can we justify their faith in us?”

Legolas nodded.

“We cannot. As Prince you will find that often you will disappoint some and let others down so that the greater good can prevail.”

“Then why this trust in the first place?”

“Because we try – because we live for them, because we die for them.” Thranduil’s voice was weary.

Legolas looked at his father, he had never seen Thranduil like this.

“Ion nín, you served all of Arda when you joined the Fellowship and for that I am deeply proud of you. You have truly become an adult in this time you have spent away from me – but you have still much to learn. You have to learn that being King means that you have more responsibilities and fewer privileges than you imagine. The power, the prestige, the gratitude, all is hard earned and comes as a steep price. Our lives are not our own . . . no matter what you think.”

Legolas blushed, remembering a recent conversation, in which he had demanded the right to choose; in which he had accused Thranduil of petty manipulation. He had not understood the pressures his father was under – he had been ignorant. “Is nothing of our lives our own?”

“What we make of it – that is ours, our right and our bane. We have duty, obligations but the choice to embrace them or fight them – that is ours.”

Legolas was silent as he thought about what his father had said.

“Do you know why I am King?” Thranduil asked. “Why I claim the title of King, when someone like Lord Celeborn does not?”

Legolas shook his head; he had wondered but never bothered asking his father about it.

“It is a sign of my pledge to the Wood-Elves, and a sign of their need. The Sindar need no King but my people do. As long as they need one, my line will provide them with one. That is the oath my father swore, the pledge I upheld and one that you will fulfil.”

“With my life, my Lord,” Legolas vowed.

“I will hold you to that, Prince Legolas.”

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