A brief who’s who:  

Laeriniel is Legolas’ wife. He calls her Sûlaer.                                       

Sûlgalen is their daughter

Bôrgalas  is Legolas’ elder brother

Prestolon is the Herdir Laegrim, the chief of the settlements’ council

Luinil is Bôrgalas’ wife

Mallereg is Luinil and Bôrgalas’ eldest son

Borgil was their youngest son. He died in the Battle Under the Trees, defending the Ford, now called Cail- en- ernil, the Prince’s Fence.

Thalaûr is Mallereg’s keeper

Camath-en-aran, The king's hands. A group of warriors who carry out special missions for Thranduil.

Brethil is Thranduil’s secretary

Belmagor is Legolas’ second in the Home Guard

A brief summary: A sea longing-stricken Legolas has just returned to Lasgalen after the War of the Ring, to find a realm devastated by fire and loss.

A brief A/N: What can I say? I am not one to leave things unfinished, so I'll go and inflict this upon you since it took so much effort, and not only from my part. Thanks to Redheredh for her kind help and patience. All mistakes are mine.

Chapter 6. Autumn skirmishes

“Lord Bôrgalas is currently engaged in a meeting, Lord Legolas, he cannot receive you…”

“I shall wait here until he is finished, then…”

“You should have warned me in advance. Maybe I could fix an appointment for you…”

“I shall see my brother this morning, Maentêw, thank you,” Legolas insisted pointedly, meeting the stern aide’s glowering unflinchingly. They locked eyes for a moment and then Bôrgalas’ assistant lowered his with obvious reluctance.

“Let me see what can be done,” he grunted disapprovingly. “It would have saved us both the inconvenience if you had just asked for an appointment,” he grumbled while Legolas sat with an air of defiance and braced for the wait, mentally rehearsing the points he intended to discuss with his brother. 

In the few days that had passed since his arrival he had spent most of his time reacquainting himself with his various duties, from the settlements’ welfare to the ordering of the Home Guard. The food shortage was plain, despite the efforts made by the hunters’ parties deployed beyond the Anduin under the comand of his son-in-law. The recovery of the devastated areas and the settlements was a matter of serious concern, not to mention the efforts to keep the Men of Dale and the Dwarves from exceeding their allotted hunting quotas on the northern marches. All had been taken care of in his absence with the efficiency that was usual in Thranduil’s court, he had discovered without surprise. “Take your time,” his father’s secretary had told him when Legolas showed up in his office the day after his arrival. “Take some rest and get used to being back home…”

And he could do with the time indeed. The extent of loss the forest had suffered was almost overwhelming; and it weighed on his already troubled faer adding to the feeling of estrangement caused by the ever-present sea longing, no matter how hard he tried to deny it. 

“What is the purpose of your urgent meeting, Lord Legolas?” He looked up to meet his brother’s aide stern face.

“I want to discuss the current state of the Home Guard,” he answered curtly.

That was not exactly the truth, he thought, drumming his fingers on the carved arm of the chair. Actually, he wanted to confront his brother and learn the reasons behind the aloofness that he kept in their exchanges. His brother had welcomed him home, but as Commander of the king’s troops he was yet to share information with him. Bôrgalas had neither called him to council nor fully updated him on the military situation, and Legolas was beginning to feel truly annoyed by that state of affairs.

But that was not the only reason for his restlessness.

He had stopped asking for friends and acquaintances, fearing the almost unfailing answer -“He fell in the Cail”- he had come to expect. He grieved for those friends that were there no more and, somewhere deep inside him, something resembling guilt tinged his pain.

And the sea-longing made it worse, even if he stubbornly denied the thunder that rolled relentlessly in his ears, convincing himself that Thranduil’s power and the bond that tied him to Laerîniel were enough to keep the sea-longing at bay forever. He tried to focus on the needs of his people, only to find himself constantly summoned by a song that was not the forest’s, to a land only glimpsed in dreams. 

“Legolas! Good to see you home and hale, after such great deeds! We are so proud of you!” A warm voice coming from the door to Borgalas’ office, now open brought him from his dark thoughts.

“I am glad to see you too, Pador!” He stood and embraced the warden tightly. He had served for a time under Pador’s command and he owed most of his forest knowledge to that patient, skilled teacher.

“Come to see me when you are finished here,” the warden patted his arm with affection. “Do not make the Crown Prince wait, he is not in his best mood today…” he added with a friendly wink. Legolas saw that Bôrgalas was leaning on the doorframe, watching them with an indefinable look upon his face.

 “Come in, brother,” he said with a welcoming nod of his head. He sat down on a carved chair at Bôrgalas’ desk while his brother walked to his aide’s and exchanged some quick words with him.

“What can I do for you, Legolas?” he inquired quite formally once he was back in his office, taking seat at the other side of the table and looking at him with impassive, grey eyes.

“I have resumed my duties, as you already know,” Legolas began abruptly, “and I thought it was about time you enlightened me about the military situation in the realm.” As a young child, Legolas had learnt that blunt honesty always worked with Bôrgalas. His brother was studying him calmly, an eyebrow lifted elegantly in puzzlement.

“The Home Guard is in shreds, and I cannot reorganize it since most of my warriors are abroad under the orders of your second-in-command,” Legolas explained. “I want to know what you expect of us presently, and what are your plans for the future. And I would like to know what is going on in the west, as well as in the south, and how do you intend to manage the situation…If I am to be of any assistance to you, that is it,” he added defiantly. He felt relieved as soon as he finished speaking.

“If I remember well,” Bôrgalas started in a soft voice that hardly masked a mounting irritation, “-and I must, since I am the Commander and the Crown Prince, and I am supposed to know those things- you are also the one in charge of the dealings with the settlements…”

“…A duty Brethil seems to have undertaken quite efficiently,” Legolas cut in, plainly irritated by his brother’s undisguised sarcasm. “Prestolon has just told me that he has been meting regularly with both Brethil and the Steward to attend the needs of the settlers. I was not informed that Farother’s deliveries were delayed, but you took measures regarding that matter…and I have just learned that the Commander himself has recently inspected and approved the security of the temporary settlements…”

“Maentêw has the reports; I shall see to it that you receive those that are of your interest.” Bôrgalas was now eluding his gaze, and that enraged Legolas. “And do not worry about your son-in-law and his hunters. Before your arrival I sent Hîrvegil west with part of your warriors to keep a closer watch upon them,” his brother added with a grimace.

“What about the rest?” At his brother’s questioning glance, Legolas unleashed all his frustration. “I am tired of asking for information and feeling as if I were prying, or prodding a dormant wound! I am one of the King’s counselors, and yours, too!”

“Excuse me if I don’t spend time with you in Naneth’s garden, listening to your tales and savouring Adar’s Dorwinion,” the crown prince retorted in a low, harsh voice. “As you have pointed out, there are many fronts open; I don’t grudge you the time it is taking you to adjust to your routine, but do not blame me for that, Legolas! There are more reports about our situation than you could care reading, and, now that you mention it, I would expect that you had by now!”

“And the south? What of those orcs regrouping in the Mountains? Why demoting Mallereg and sending Hîrvegil to the west instead of attacking while they are weak? You’re rendering us vulnerable there, Bôrgalas, and..” 

“Now you dare question my decisions?” Bôrgalas was quickly losing his temper, Legolas could tell by the way his eyes narrowed and his voice became harsher. His brother picked up something from his desk and began toying tensely with it.

“Brethil told me about the council in Midsummer’s Eve, and how Adar wanted that the orc’s dens in the Mountains were razed before the winter was ended; but you did not bother to ask me how things were in the south, even if I have been down there recently!”  It had irked Legolas to no end, to have been thusly ignored without explanation.

“I understand that you did not cross Lasgalen,” Bôrgalas said tightly. He stood up and began pacing his office in an attempt to calm down enough to keep their conversation in a polite tone.

“I met Celeborn’s guards at Amon Lanc and we exchanged news…” Legolas bent over the table and studied the object his brother had been holding, half-hidden behind the piles of reports that towered upon the desk. It was a beech-wood shafted, woodpecker-feather fletched target arrow with a rough inscription in Cirth.

“First Time” it read.

Legolas felt a lump in his throat. That was the arrow with which Borgil had defeated his father in a practice archery contest in what seemed ages ago and in fact had been only two sun-rounds.

“I have had four of the Camath-en-aran down there for three moons now.” Bôrgalas spoke from the hearth, his voice hoarse as he tried to keep his anger under control. “We have been keeping track of the orcs’ movements. And we have been carefully planning when and how to attack, given that, as Brethil told you, the King wants to get rid of this plague before the year is over. I doubted that you could have provided more useful information than what we already had; that’s why I did not ask for your judgment in the matter,” he added in a voice that was patronizing enough to exasperate Legolas.

“I am glad to hear that. May I hope that you shall let me know of your plans anytime soon?” Legolas did not bother to hide his sarcasm as he scowled at his brother.

“Of course, as soon as the King deems the moment ripe. Meanwhile, brother, you are welcome to release Brethil from the charge of meeting with Prestolon and the settlers. That used to be a privilege of yours that we would all like to see you retake…”

“I know what my duties are, Bôrgalas,” Legolas observed bitterly, standing up and making ready to leave. “Only, I have the strange feeling that you are keeping me at a distance –and I wondered why.”

“As I have told you, Legolas, I do not have the time -or the inclination- to sit and talk about what has happened. There are still many concerns ahead. Yet I am very grateful that you are willing to resume your duties so soon. All hands are needed now,” his brother said softly.

“Why don’t you tell Mallereg that, too? He could do with some reassurance, I’d say…”

“I am the Chief Commander.” Bôrgalas’ voice was icy now. “It is not for you to question how I deal with my officers.”

“I was just giving you some advice, brother, from one parent to another!” Legolas let his frustration flow freely at his brother’s inflexibility.

“I cannot afford being a parent now…” There was a weary, grieving tinge in Bôrgalas’ voice that Legolas did not recognize.

“I would say that you cannot afford losing another son, either,” he shot back callously.

A cold silence filled the room, as both brothers glared at each other.

“Is the message to Hîrvegil ready, Bôrgalas? The messenger is waiting.” Neither of them had heard Maentêw push the door open, and his calm voice startled them.

“I will finish it in a moment.” Bôrgalas dragged his gaze from his brother’s face as he answered his aide in a tight voice. “Will you excuse me now, Legolas?” he added, his face expressionless. Legolas nodded briefly and left without meeting Maentêw’s reproving glance.

He strode angrily across the bridge and to his office, cursing his brother’s stubbornness. Since his arrival he felt as if an invisible wall separated him from his family and his people. He dreaded the pained looks in their eyes whenever he asked about what had happened, and he had the feeling that, deep in their hearts, maybe even unbeknownst to themselves, they blamed him for not having been there. And there was the other thing that he kept hidden from everyone…

“Legolas! Maentêw sent this yesterday, after you left...” one of his aides pointed at a thick pile of parchments with a questioning glance the moment Legolas entered the shed that housed the Home Guard’s headquarters.

“The Commander is very generous,” he grunted bitterly. After all, Maentêw was a step beyond Bôrgalas, he thought wickedly, eyeing the parchment on top of the heap critically. Those were the reports on the state of the settlements he had just asked Bôrgalas about. He picked up the pile and walked to Penalag’s office. “Belmagor’s” he corrected himself ruthlessly, pushing open the door to his second-in-command’s office. ”Penalag is dead.”

“Care to give me a hand with this?” he asked, showing him the pile of reports with an apologetic smile. “But not here,” he said with a shudder as the officer nodded his agreement. “It’s not your fault,” he added hurriedly, seeing Belmagor wince.

Nothing was changed in Penalag’s office and Legolas found that disturbing. He recognized his oldest weapons, his desk, his quill, and his collection of carved flutes on the wooden shelf...Everything was the same, except that his best friend would not enter that office anymore, complaining in his booming voice about the new recruits, or the weather, or the weapons, or the healers.  Pain flared again and he suddenly found himself blinking back burning tears.

“It is too hard,” Legolas confessed in a hoarse voice, meeting Belmagor’s sympathetic look. “Let us go to my office.” They spent the whole day working through the reports and assessing the new needs for the defense of the settlements.

“We need to devise a new training system,” Belmagor concluded, sitting back on his chair and exhaling loudly.

“Do you think that we should arm and train the settlers?” Legolas inquired. He had been toying with the idea but he wanted to hear another opinion.

“We first need to get rid of those stray Orc hosts that still roam freely,” his second groaned with his characteristic bluntness. “You must urge Bôrgalas. He should have gathered a force and wiped them away when Mallereg came home with the news!” Legolas snorted and Belmagor cast him a questioning glance. “You already told him, did you?”

“And he did not appreciate my meddling…I have the feeling that you all resent my being here, Belmagor...” Legolas complained, pushing away the last reports with a scowl. He had the faint impression that he was whining, but the knowing look in his second’s face comforted him.

“You are wrong,” Belmagor told him reassuringly. “You are our captain and we have missed you sorely… Not that Borgil was a bad one, poor lad,” he continued with a sad smile. “But…we still find it hard to talk about what happened,” he said thoughtfully.

“That is what Bôrgalas said this morning,” Legolas agreed, beginning to pile the reports with a shrug.

“I can understand that. It will be long before he stops having nightmares about the Ford…” Belmagor sighed heavily and forced himself back to present. “This is what I believe. Sooner or later we must set out and get rid of those Orcs. Once that is achieved, most of the settlers will more likely return to a nomadic life…”

“You do not believe that they shall return to their settlements?” Legolas inquired in surprise.

“I don’t think so. At least not in Ûrtalf.” Legolas frowned. Ûrtalf was the wide plain at the other side of the Ford –the Cail-en-Ernil now; he corrected himself mentally- a place that had for long been the more heavily populated place after the stronghold. It used to be a secluded, safe area between the two rivers, densely forested and with plenty of game and water.  “You should go and have a look there, Legolas,” Belmagor added softly, seeing his incredulous stare.

“Prestolon is going to the Ford… the Cail, tomorrow… And he suggested that I should join him, when I met him this morning,” Legolas mused. He shook his head. “I think I’ll go with him,” he said, coming to a sudden decision. “If you are right, then there is no question that we need to train and arm the settlers. With a roaming population we cannot keep track of their whereabouts and protect them as we used to…”

“That is my point,” Belmagor said, rolling the maps and stacking them away. “We shall have to think of something else. And you could ask Mallereg to help us with that. He is very patient with the novices, and he surely needs some task to keep him distracted…”

“Are you considering asking for a new position, Belmagor? Captain of the Home Guard, perhaps?” Legolas asked good-naturedly and both laughed. “You are right,” he smiled, “and you have been a great help. I shall talk to Mallereg tonight.”

“And you will make your brother happy. It is good to have you home, Legolas,” he added, patting him affectionately before leaving the office. Legolas smiled, comforted by his second’s words. He finished tidying up his desk and put out the lamps before making his way calmly back home.

“Legolas!” He heard the call as he crossed the bridge. His nephew waved to him from the front yard of the stables, and Legolas hastened his pace to meet him. Mallereg’s limp was visibly pronounced, although he stubbornly refused to use a crutch.

“I have just seen your stallion,” he informed Legolas as he reached his side. “He is truly beautiful, sure-footed and pretty fast…”

“You surely did not ride him, with that wounded leg…”

“The healers said that I am fine…”

“I see...” Legolas joked, prodding his nephew’s injured thigh with his knee and smiling at his grunt. He extended an arm and supported the obstinate prince as he stumbled and limped, groaning in pain. “You are welcome to ride him as soon as the healers allow it,” he said pointedly, ignoring Mallereg’s glowering as he strove to keep up with Legolas’ pace. “Meanwhile, would you like to give me a hand? Routine paperwork and reorganizing the Home Guard training scheme, but...”

“Anything; I’m tired of doing nothing,” the younger prince nodded eagerly. “But, did you ask my adar?” he asked wit a hesitant look on his wan face.

“You are released from duty due to your wounds, if I heard rightly,” Legolas said reassuringly, slowing down his pace. “And all hands are needed now, as your adar kindly reminded me this morning,” he continued with a minute scowl as he remembered the circumstances. He greeted the guards at the Great Doors and led the way through the wide, torch lit entrance. “Let us tell him during dinner. He is not likely to object to such a reasonable proposal before the King,” he concluded with an encouraging grin, holding open the door that led to the family quarters while Mallereg limped painfully through it.

Legolas was right. Bôrgalas just shrugged briefly when his son bravely put forth Legolas’ suggestion, and the rest of the family agreed wholeheartedly that it was a great idea and a fitting task, in an attempt to ease off the tension between father and son. Dinner passed in a flow of mundane conversation that helped mask the meager fare, and everybody took their leaves as soon as they were finished.

“Pador awaited you this morning...” Laerîniel was combing her long hair and Legolas watched her distractedly, sitting on their bed with a concerned look in his eyes.

“I was not in the mood after my conversation with Bôrgalas…” He retold the incident to his wife. “I shall follow Prestolon’s suggestion and go to the Ford tomorrow,” he concluded. “What’s wrong with him?” he complained then, pulling his tunic over his head. “He is pushing Mallereg away most heartlessly. His son needs his support rather than his contempt…”

“That is something between them.” She didn’t turn to look at him. “Mallereg - and I - defied his orders and endangered his troops,” she admitted ruefully. “He has every right to be disappointed…although I disagree with the way he chose to express it.”

Legolas let escape an unconvinced groan. “There’s something else. I know him well, and it is not like himself to be so cold and distant,” he pondered, toying distractedly with his tunic.

“You are not yourself, either.” Suddenly she was kneeling on the bed behind him, her hands stroking his tense back, her silky mane spilling over his shoulders. He shivered slightly as he felt her breath in his ear, and turned to capture her tempting mouth.

“There are dark places and closed doors within you, my love, which I do not dare explore,” she whispered softly, embracing him and resting her head in the crook of his neck. “Bôrgalas has lost his child and he is fighting to overcome his grief. You, I don’t know what you have gone through, but I am ready to give you hope and peace until you are healed, Calenben. We have time now…“

Legolas silenced her with another deep kiss, and dragged her to his lap. Without letting go of her lips, he got rid of her nightdress and pulled her to the bed along with him, drowning in her to calm the voice that urged him to tell her about the growing sea-longing and the misery that threatened to overwhelm him. He was not ready to open up to her, not yet; Loss and grief still weighed heavily upon his family and his people. I cannot burden them with my worries, he decided tiredly, before slipping into a troubled slumber.

**

“You are coming too?” Next morning before dawn, Legolas was surprised to find Thalaûr awaiting him at the other side of the bridge.

“Bôrgalas…” 

“I see.”

“I don’t mind, Legolas,” the other reassured him with a half smile. “In fact I am grateful. I am quite out of place at home, and I was considering asking for a post in the Home Guard. After all, you are taking in Mallereg, if I heard rightly?” he joked as they both mounted to join Prestolon, who was coming their way.

“The Chief Commander doubts the safety of his territory?” Prestolon’s acerbic remarks were more often than not directed at Bôrgalas, and Thalaûr’s presence offered him a welcome opportunity.

“Let’s go.” Legolas saw Thalaûr flinch and he cut the guard’s rejoinder quickly. “It is the Home Guard’s territory, and the Commander trusts us wholly.” He urged Arod on and did not wait for the other two to join him as he took the trail that led to the Elf Path and the Ford.

They rode without pause for most of the morning under a freezing rain. The trees were completely naked there, and the path was covered in a wet, rotting carpet of leaves.

Nothing of what he had seen across Rohan or Gondor had prepared Legolas for the vision that greeted him as they crowned the small hill that oversaw the way to the Ford. To their side of the river the trees stood proudly, bereft but alive, over the sea of leaves and mud that was quickly forming after the first rains.

On the other bank, and spreading beyond the reach of their elven sight, ashen, skeletal, burnt fingers reached out towards the sky in vain call. Dead trees swung in a macabre, bony dance under the merciless winds until they silently tumbled down to rest; joining the ever-growing bed of tree-corpses that covered the ground. The destruction across Ûrtalf was so thorough that Legolas could not hold back a pained shout.

They crossed the ford in silence.  The tall, white-limbed poplars that once flanked and shaded the passage that ascended from the southern bank had disappeared; the earth showed its colorless bones there. They led their horses carefully, up the destroyed trail encased between tall cliffs and into the wide, desolate plain.

What had been a forested, populated and thriving land was now a barren waste. Here and there the remains of a cottage or a corral could be distinguished among the burnt, twisted stumps that still stood. Thalaûr guided his horse to a mound that stuck out to their left, and Legolas followed him in silence.

“We buried them here.” The guard’s voice was surprisingly steady. They both dismounted and let their horses free. Unnerved by the bleak surroundings and the woeful laments of the rocks, though, the steeds chose to remain by their masters.

“What happened, Thalaûr?” Legolas asked hoarsely, studying the size of the mound, and the wide, blackened stretch of ground that extended at the other side of the path that led to the Ford. Until now, he had just received blank stares and uncomfortable silences for an answer.

“An army was sighted advancing from the south western side of the forest, while we were engaged in the east fighting hordes issued from those besieging the Mountain and Lake Town. They were too many, swarming the land; we could hardly hold them at bay. Had Erebor fallen, they would have swept us away,” the guard said in a dark, ominous voice.

“The King and Mallereg kept the eastern flank and Bôrgalas marched to meet this new threat,” Thalaûr continued in a softer voice. “Borgil led his rearguard and was charged with the safety of the settlements, forcing them to retire to the ford and the stronghold. The settlers deemed it safer out here than in the stronghold, and they might have been proved right but for this attacking force.” He waved around wordlessly. The wind blew unhindered across the plain, whipping at their hair and cloaks almost mockingly. Prestolon was inspecting the ground to their right; a deeply blackened area where Legolas suspected orcs’ corpses had been burnt after the battle.

“The force that was coming from the south split up in two groups.” Thalaûr forced himself to continue his tale. “One advanced to engage Bôrgalas while the other traveled west to avoid the clash, and then turned again east, gaining the back of Bôrgalas’ army. Bôrgalas’ scouts spotted them in time and sent word to Borgil, with the order to draw back and hasten the evacuation of the settlements. Borgil sent a small part of his warriors to join his father’s forces and hurried back to the Ford with most of the Home Guard. He hoped to complete the evacuation of the area and retreat to the stronghold, where he could make a long stand. Unfortunately, the missing orc army had joined a bigger one descended from the Misty Mountains. They put the forest to fire, cutting Bôrgalas’ retreat and preventing him from sending reinforcements, and then fell upon Ûrtalf in all haste.”

Legolas shook his head, too grieved for words. He could picture his brother’s despair when he realized that he had been cut from his son’s host.

“We were at the other side of Amon Tirith when a messenger arrived… Apparently Borgil had also sent word to the King, but your father was deeply engaged in battle north of the stronghold and the messengers reached him too late.” Thalaûr seemed quite reluctant now. “We were caught in a deadlock with a vicious host, but when word of Borgil’s grim situation reached us Mallereg launched a desperate attack and we succeeded in driving the bulk of the orc host into the swamps. He let a considerable force there to deal with the survivors, with orders to join us as soon as it was deemed safe, and with the numbers we could gather we headed north at all speed. We had to leave our horses behind when we reached the Enchanted River, and crossing it made us lose some precious time. The dark fumes clouded the sun, but the din was quieting down, until only the cracking of flames could be heard.” Thalaûr’s firm voice broke then. “No one was alive when we finally arrived here,” he whispered, horror still clear in his voice.

But Legolas had to know.

“Did you… Did Mallereg find...”

“Yes.” Thalaûr made a great effort to control his voice. “He was almost unrecognizable, but he was still holding that knife that Bôrgalas gave him…”

It was clear that the guard would not say anymore, and Legolas needed no other details. The pain seared him from inside, threatening to tear him apart as he pictured his serious, dutiful younger nephew lying burnt and broken somewhere in that ghastly battlefield; awaiting a help that had never reached him. He fell to his knees, overwhelmed by the horror of it all.

“I should have been here,” he wailed hoarsely, fighting the sobs that choked him. “I should have been here!”

“And we would be mourning you too,” Prestolon’s calm voice broke through Legolas’ despair. The silvan elf had joined them quietly. “You were needed elsewhere, as I’ve understood…”

“My friends died here, Prestolon! They were my warriors, this was my command...”

“And Borgil assumed it with all dignity,” the Silvan leader squatted beside him and put a comforting hand upon his shoulder. “Do not deny them the honour and the praise that they earned with their sacrifice, Legolas. Borgil died doing what he had been born and raised to do –protecting his forest and his people…”

“But...”

“I was here when they arrived, and he was well aware of what he was facing. He made sure that all the settlers had been evacuated and then came to meet me. ‘We are outnumbered one to five, but they will not pass, Master Prestolon,’ he told me. ‘We will defend the Ford with our lives. Go now. I entrust you with the safety of our people.’ Prestolon sighed sadly. “They won the war here, Legolas, and they saved the rest of us.”

“Bôrgalas...”

“Your brother feels personally accountable for every life this war has claimed,” Prestolon said flatly, standing up and patting Legolas’ shoulder. “He did not fail, and heavy as his losses were, they served to prevent many more; yet he feels that he could have done better. Your father was the same when he returned from the war in Mordor…” he remembered. “I hope that Bôrgalas will overcome his self-doubt soon. We need to retake the south and ensure the safety of the lands to the west. I don’t believe that anybody will ever return to live here, and long years must pass before the land is healed,” he said, waving around gloomily. And with that he mounted and rode into the desolate field, stopping from time to time to inspect a standing trunk or test the consistency of the ground.

Legolas knelt there; listening to the mourning rocks, fighting to find a ray of hope in that bleak, dreadful landscape that had once been full of life and beautiful voices. Noon was long past when Prestolon put an end to his inspection and rode back to them.

“Let us go, Legolas...” He met Thalaûr’s sad glance and then placed both hands on a dismal patch of grass on the side of the mound.

“May you walk forever on the banks of clear, singing waters; followed by the voices of the birds calling from the branches of the trees you so much loved…” he whispered, choking on the words of the ancient blessing as he cast an anguished look at the desolate waste around them.

“And may your faer find repose beyond the dividing waters, under the shade of mighty beeches that do not die,” Thalaûr serenely ended it for him, offering a helping hand and hauling him up on his feet. “We shall not find peace here,” the guard added quietly. Legolas nodded and followed him without looking back. They rode in silence, each lost in his own thoughts.

It was getting dark when they reached the stronghold. Legolas waved his two companions goodbye and, following a sudden impulse, he decided to check on his office. Before he got there a soft, unmistakable sound reached his ears. He dismounted swiftly, instructing his steed to wait for him as he walked to the training grounds and straight to the archery range.

A tall figure stood there in the gathering dusk, but Legolas needed no light to recognize the song of his brother’s bow. 

“I take it that your burns do not bother you any longer,” he said casually, jumping over the fence and approaching the silent archer. On the ride home Legolas had had time to ponder some facts that had worried him. Now he was sure that the nasty scars he had glimpsed on Bôrgalas’ hands and arms were burns, and he guessed that he had got them in a vain attempt to clear a path through the fire to run to his son’s succour. 

But he had also recognized what hid behind his brother’s apparent coldness, and he was eager to make things clear between them.

Bôrgalas did not acknowledge his presence, pretending a concentration that he was far from needing -even in that growing darkness- since he had been massacring that same target for years now, and he could hit the mark with his eyes closed. Undaunted, Legolas walked up to stand before another target and then shot.

The deep voice of the mighty bow of the Galadhrim never failed to stir up curiosity even among those less interested in the noble art of archery; and Bôrgalas was a passionate archer even for Wood-elven standards. He cast a sidelong glance to his younger brother and turned then his attention to the great bow with undisguised curiosity.

“I went to the Cail-en-Ernil today,” Legolas said, his eyes fixed on the mark. His brother did not answer, and they shot in silence for a while.

“Prestolon told me what Borgil did there,” Legolas continued shooting with apparent calm. “You must be very proud of him…” Not a muscle twitched in Bôrgalas’ face, even if Legolas could have sworn that he had heard a sharp intake. But his brother’s arrows still met the mark with the same steady efficiency. They had been playing that game for almost an age, though, and Legolas knew how to press his advantage.

“Maybe you blame yourself for what happened?” he ventured, pretending innocence. Bôrgalas kept firing with a firm hand and stubborn concentration. “Mallereg, then? You blame Mallereg for what happened at the Ford, that’s why you spurn him?” That earned Legolas some sort of reaction.

“No one is to blame for what happened at the Ford,” his brother finally grunted through clenched teeth. “He was doing his duty, we all were!” Bôrgalas remarked angrily, hoping to put an end to that conversation.

“I’m glad to hear that,” Legolas answered airily, taking advantage of the opening to state his point. He shot two arrows at the same time with maddening flippancy. “I had the strange feeling that you blamed me for it, and that would be most unfair,” he said then lightly, “since I was doing my duty, too...” This time Legolas’ arrows hit truer than he had expected. He gasped in surprise when his brother dropped bow and quiver and charged against him.

“Your duty?” Bôrgalas pushed him violently against one of the trees that lined the range. Legolas groaned, feeling the air escaping his lungs as he hit the trunk and his quiver pressed against his back. “Was it your duty to roam the lands of the south while your people needed you?” Bôrgalas roared angrily, holding Legolas by the front of his tunic and shaking him. “While the Shadow tightened its grip upon the forest and the realm you swore to protect?”

“I was serving Lasgalen, Bôrgalas!” Legolas suspected that his brother blamed him for not having been there, but the unfairness of his accusation, his narrow view of what that war had meant for all of Middle-earth enraged him. “What do you know of the lands beyond the forest? Had we not...”

“Had you not what?” his brother slammed him against the tree again, boiling in anger and something else that Legolas did not bother to identify. “Tell me, brother, what did you do? Did you ease the path of the Ring-bearer to Mordor? Did you kill that creature Gollum that caused the death of several of your warriors last year? What did you do that could not have been done by someone else? Perhaps by someone who did not have a high responsibility in his realm?”    

“It would have been cowardice to abandon them…” Bôrgalas’ recrimination had cut deeply, and Legolas was frantically defending himself now.

“I disagree.” Bôrgalas’ voice had become low and menacing, his breathing ragged as he closed the distance between them, until their faces almost touched. “It would have been bravery to acknowledge that you had a greater responsibility towards your people! It would have been bravery to step aside to allow some other take part in that adventure… You got to Lórien, Legolas; any of Celeborn’s guards could have assumed your place from there onwards, while you rode home!”

“I did what I considered best…”

“And I can respect that; and yet, you were wrong…”

“You do not understand…” Legolas argued almost pleadingly now. He could not believe that he was defending his choice, after all that had been achieved –and the price he would still have to pay for it. His brother pierced him with a penetrating glance.

“No, I do not understand, and I shall not even try to, Legolas,” he sighed tiredly, relaxing his hold on Legolas’ tunic and then releasing him. “Your place was here, and that is all that matters. Your people needed you; I needed you, and you failed us…” he added dejectedly. “So don’t ask me to forgive you.” Bôrgalas stepped aside and sat down on the ground, leaning against the trunk, breathing heavily and closing his eyes.

Legolas stood by his side, stunned by that last admission. “I needed you.” Prestolon’s words came to his mind then. “Your brother feels personally accountable for every life this war has claimed.” All of a sudden, he felt pity overwhelming him.

“I am sorry that I was not here to share this burden with you, brother,” he whispered softly, crouching by his side and placing a tentative hand upon Bôrgalas’ shoulder. “I shall not ask for your forgiveness, for I do not consider that I did anything reprehensible,” he added, sitting beside him. “But I wouldn’t lose your friendship...” he pleaded in a broken voice. His brother did not move, but neither rejected his comforting hand.

“I suppose… that I can get to grant you that…eventually,” Bôrgalas finally grunted, without opening his eyes. They remained there for a while, enveloped in a sad silence until Bôrgalas tilted his head and studied his younger brother.

“In the meantime,” he asked in his deep, powerful voice, “Do you think that I could try that new bow of yours, little brother?”  

Legolas chuckled quietly as he jumped to his feet, extending his hand to haul his brother up. “Of course! Let us see if you manage to draw…”

“Draw? Who taught you how to draw, Legolas?”

“Ah, but this is no common bow, my brother…” he poked at him. Bôrgalas’ half smile was enough for Legolas to regain some hope that all wounds –the forest’s, his family’s, even his own- might finally come to heal.

TBC