Chapter 8 – Captain

It is said that one’s life can be summed by one’s preconceptions; and Legolas found his entire life crumbling around him. All that he believed in, all that he had been taught was turning out to be false. Legolas gripped his chair as he fought blind panic. His cobalt eyes still defiantly stared into Arandur’s black ones. He was not about to look away from this Dark Elf. Drawing on his reserves, Legolas pushed aside the panic and forced himself to be unmoved – in control.

“I insinuate nothing, but am I supposed to trust an Elf who had lied to me?” Legolas said evenly. Legolas wondered how his voice managed to stay so calm, when his mind was in turmoil.

Arandur was impressed; he did not think the Prince would have handled his challenge so easily. However, his face betrayed nothing, “I have never lied to you, my Prince. I am who I was yesterday, the Captain of Mirkwood’s Home Guard.”

“And a Dark Elf.”

“That I was before.”

“But I did not know that.”

“That is not my doing. I obey the King,” Arandur said blandly. Legolas spared a glance for his father, who seemed to be enjoying this confrontation. If that were what he wished then so be it, Legolas would give his father a performance.

“However, you did not deem it fit to inform me of that fact either.”

“It is irrelevant.”

“Irrelevant? Really? Irrelevant who you are, where you come from? Come, my Captain, I may be young, but please acquit me of such stupidity. Would you trust an orc if he vowed to serve the King?”

“No.” If anything, Arandur’s expression became even colder.

“Then why should I trust you?”

“You should not.”

Legolas was surprised that Arandur admitted it bluntly. He had to admire the Dark Elf’s audacity.

“But I have proved my loyalty to the King and he may trust me.”

Legolas had to concede that fact, since Thranduil still trusted Arandur. However, he was not pleased at the idea.

“I am bound to the King, I will not betray him.”

Legolas wondered what Arandur meant. “So you say.”

Arandur made to say something but Legolas waved him to silence. He did not have the patience to listen to arguments which in the end were fruitless. As long as Thranduil relied on Arandur, Legolas’ trust – or mistrust – was immaterial. Legolas knew that – and so did Arandur.

“Why are you in here, Captain? This is a private conversation between the King and myself.” Legolas said steadily, however there was no mistaking his displeasure.

“I protect the King.” Arandur’s voice in contrast, was expressionless, much like his face. Legolas could not help but wonder if all Avari were so emotionless.

“From me?” The question was like a whip and even Thranduil was surprised. It seemed as if his Elfing had grown up. Arandur faced the Prince of Mirkwood – and an angry one at that.

But Arandur was Avari – he faced the Prince’s displeasure with equanimity. “From anyone.”

Legolas eyes narrowed, “Leave us.” He did not want to deal with this Elf – this Dark Elf anymore.

Arandur glanced at Thranduil, who imperceptibly nodded. Without so much as a backward glance, he left the King’s chambers – back ramrod straight, and gait proud.

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“That was cruel of you.” Thranduil commented when Arandur had exited.

“Any more cruel than deceiving me all these years?”

Thranduil inclined his head, acknowledging the validity of that statement.

Legolas looked speculatively at his father, “How many more secrets do you keep from me, my King?”

“As many as are necessary, my Prince.”

Legolas sighed; he was tired of this sparring and this confusion. He needed time to think through all that had happened.

Silence prevailed in the room, as both elves stared into the fire, lost in their own thoughts.

After a few minutes, Legolas’ weary voice asked, “Is there no other choice?”

“None.”

Legolas pressed his throbbing head tightly, hoping to block out the confusion with even more pain. A fleeting thought passed in his head, *~ Gimli would enjoy this if he were here. ~*

Legolas smiled slightly at the thought of his friend. Then he looked up to face his father. “Then . . . tell the Lady Rhinure that I eagerly look forward to our union.”

Thranduil nodded, “You might be pleasantly surprised, little one.”

Legolas’ throat burned, “I do not doubt that I will be surprised – but I fear that it will not be pleasant.”

Thranduil smiled sadly, “Mirkwood thanks you, my son.”

Legolas got up and walked to the door.

Before he left the room, he turned and asked his father, “My Lord, the Avari will not be trusted by the rest of the court.” It was not a question

“Therefore?”

“Why did you announce that Lady Rhinure was from the Avari?”

“When she agreed to this marriage she did not agree to deception. If you are to be married then you will do in the open, with honour.”

“Was that her decision?”

“Yes.”

Legolas nodded and walked out of the room.

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Legolas did not know how long he sat in his room, without light, without hope. He should be resting, he did not know when Lady Rhinure would come to Mirkwood but he reckoned that it would be soon. The urgency behind Thranduil’s words indicated that he would insist on a rushed wedding.

Legolas walked out onto the balcony and gazed out on the courtyard. It was a still clear night, a night to be shared with lovers. Something he was unlikely to experience now. While Legolas’ head knew that it was a possibility that he could reach some sort of understanding with his betrothed, his heart rebelled at such an idea.

Legolas had always held an idealised picture of marriage deep within his heart. It was a vow – a bond of love and passion, not some contract between strangers. The very idea of demeaning such a sacred bond into this farce was sickening to him. It was all the more repugnant that his bride was a dark elf. He understood and even agreed with his father’s reasoning – Mirkwood needed the Avari, but he did not like the idea.

The Avari were traitors to the their race, to their beliefs, to the Valar. Allying with them was a necessary evil, but an evil nonetheless.

Legolas bent forward, and rested his arms on the railing. It was ironic, he had spent his entire life denying the shackles his duty placed on him – while never shying away from responsibility, he had always believed that in the end he was free. He had never accepted that being a prince meant having less freedom not more. He had tried so hard, first, to deny the constraints that royal blood placed on him, and when he could not do that, he tried to ignore the problem completely.

The problem – his noble birth. The fact that his blood placed him in this golden cage. It was ironic, a cruel joke played by Fate.

Legolas smiled, wondering how many people in Middle Earth realised that silken sheets and fawning hearts were paid with blood and sweat – with hope, with freedom. Part of his eagerness to go with the Fellowship stemmed from the fact that no rank held between the Nine Walkers. For once, Legolas could do his duty but still not be the focus of attention. He could make a difference, as he so yearned to do, but by his choice.

And more than anything, he could be only Legolas of the Woodland realm amongst those Nine. He did not have to be Prince, lord, and heir. He had never realised what a luxury it was to be appreciated for himself and not for his title.

Legolas brought his palms together and contemplated the mesh his fingers made.

To be appreciated, loved for himself – not for his value in a transaction.

The very thing he had prayed for desired for, had become his biggest nightmare.

Marriage – a union of two souls.

A contract made out between two outsiders for the survival of a nation.

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