Chapter 7. Hidden Truths.

“I still know not what to do of this news. I find it hard to believe…” Thranduil poured wine and passed the goblets around for his sons and his grandson, who was fully recovered from his wounds but had yet to regain his command. They had sat in council for the whole day, but they kept discussing the presence of Men in Orc’s patrols while they awaited the ladies in the family dining room.

“Mallereg’s scouts spotted them as well,” Bôrgalas said while the rest drank in silence. ”Men are dealing with Orc hosts, be it for one purpose or another. For all we know, they could even come from well down south,” the crown prince said in annoyance.

Legolas watched the play of the flames in the hearth, trying not to get dragged into a conversation that would surely end up in a discussion. The day had been long, and they were all tired and tense. Since news of increased attacks upon their hunters’ patrols had reached the stronghold many days ago, long meetings had been the rule. Sûlgalen had returned to her settlement, to help look after the wounded hunters under her husband’s command, and the King had summoned his advisors and had studied battle plans with all of them.

“Are you suggesting that even the Men of Rohan would ally themselves with…Orcs?”Thranduil sounded a tad exasperated, Legolas noticed.

This morning the king had convened his war council since an early hour, and they had been studying the latest plans with two of the four Camath who had been sent south in secrecy for the past moons.  Bôrgalas had been unusually edgy during the debates, and he had discussed every proposed action to the slightest detail. And yet Legolas could not fault him. It was Bôrgalas’ responsibility to ensure that battle plans were as accurate and safe for the troops as possible. The tension between his brother and himself had eased off considerably since that talk in the archery range about a moon ago. That also meant that now Legolas was fully aware of the change war had wrought in his brother’s usually more self-assured demeanour, and of the reasons behind it.

“Of course I am not suggesting a formal alliance, Adar,” Bôrgalas shook his head impatiently. “But it would not surprise me if some of the most disfavoured subjects of the King of Rohan decided to recover their lost homelands and moved back north. Having stray Orc hosts harassing us would be useful for them in that case…” Legolas sighed softly and met Mallereg’s equally exasperated glance. Everything was settled now. It was a matter of hours before the king would finally announce the impending campaign. The winter was in and the scattered Orc’s hosts would be pressed for food by now, and thus an easy prey. Before the winter was over -Thranduil hoped- that menace would have been definitely wiped out of the forest and the surrounding lands. There was little point in discussing yet again who those Men were –or were not.

“The Men of Rohan moved to the grasslands long time ago in their reckoning, Bôrgalas, to a land granted to them by the Stewards of Gondor,” Legolas said, trying to sound conciliatory as he joined his brother and father by the fireside. “The North is no longer their home, except in songs…”

“And you are so sure, after riding with them for a few moons…” Bôrgalas sounded sarcastic. “Men are strange people, anyway, if they can forget the lands of their birth after a few ennin…”

“We all agree in that.” Thranduil cut in, seeing Legolas’ frown. “But they are most likely survivors of Sauron’s armies, and as such, too dangerous to be allowed to roam our lands freely. Now, let us change subject,” he settled the discussion firmly with a warning look at his two sons as the door opened and the queen entered, followed by Saelleth and the two princesses.  “We are ready for dinner, my ladies, but would you like a cup of wine first?” he asked courteously, greeting them with a warm smile and taking his queen’s hand gallantly.

“Not for me, my lord,” Gaildineth said, smiling at her children and allowing Thranduil to lead her to her seat at the table. The rest followed, exchanging pleasant greetings. “At this point I find that I am more hungry that thirsty,” she added, waving to one of the servants.

Legolas kissed his wife briefly and sat by her side, holding her hand. The queen and her ladies had been very busy at their looms in the last days, as most of the women in the stronghold, weaving restlessly to provide more fabric for new cloaks for the warriors. He longed to spend more time with her, and he treasured every spare moment in her company for the peace she brought to his troubled faer.

His dreams bothered him more each passing day, as the sea-longing grew stronger, but still he refused to speak of it to anyone, telling himself that it was not yet the time. He knew she had caught him looking up at the trees, straining to hear a voice that now eluded him more often than not. And she would wait patiently by his side as he stood with a dreamy, lost look upon his eyes, looking far away to a distant horizon. She never asked, although he could read the  concern in her clear eyes as she clung to his arm casually or just hugged him for no apparent reason. He was grateful for her steady support, but still he feared to tell her; almost as much as he feared his dreams. So he tried to bury the sea-song deep inside and listen not to its endless chant, concentrating on duty instead,  hoping against hope that, unheeded, it would recede. 

He sat in silence for most of the dinner, fighting the images that assailed him. The conversation went from food supplies to the weather, to the progress at the looms, and everyone seemed relaxed.

“By your leave, Adar?” Right after dessert, Luinil stood up, fatigue clear upon her face. Saelleth followed her without a word, while the rest remained at the table sharing tales for a bit longer.

“They are rebuilding at astonishing speed.” Bôrgalas was recounting some stories of his last visit to Dale and the Mountain. “But they would be more careful with what they use if they had to wait for the mountains to grow strong before hacking and hewing them… Our losses are far worse than theirs…” he said a bit resentfully.

“I wouldn’t say that,“ Legolas couldn’t refrain from chiming in. “You should have seen the desolation in Rohan and in Gondor; the grazing lands and homesteads burnt, the herds killed and decimated, the orchards devastated… this winter is going to be very hard on everyone in Middle-earth…”

“At least this side of the Misty Mountains,” Thranduil observed sharply. “I have not heard that the war ever got beyond the Anduin…or inside Lórien. Our human and dwarven neighbours are faring as can be expected under these circumstances, much as ourselves, and that is our main concern. The new King of Gondor has powerful relatives. He will not have trouble restoring the land… ”

“If they do not destroy everything first, for the sake of rebuilding,” Bôrgalas warned with a sad sigh. “Anyway, I wonder if there’s anything worth restoring left. The Secondborn have dwelled there for an age now...”

“You do not know what you are talking about, Bôrgalas! I have seen the lands of the south and I tell you that they are worth of praise!” Legolas’ voice rose in exasperation. “Have you never sung of the fair lands of Lebennin? Did not Nimrodel stray there?  Have not some of our kin lived in Edhellond?” Legolas become suddenly aware of Thranduil’s frown. “I apologize, Adar,” he said, lowering his voice. He returned Laerîniel’s comforting clasp under the table and met his brother’s curious glance. “There are many wonders out there, brother, even if you have not yet set your eyes upon them...” he added in a calmer tone.

“I am aware of that,” Bôrgalas answered dryly. “And I understand that you are under the spell of your experiences…which must have been powerful, I admit, since you are so impressed by those lands after spending roughly  half a sun-round down there… But I have seen Lothlórien in all seasons, brother,” he continued, leaning back and shaking his head. “And I would not change their mellyrn for the blazing grace of our beeches in Narbeleth, or the sunny green of the new leaves on the poplars…What can be more beautiful than Lasgalen? What do you say, Adar?”

Thranduil tilted his head and studied his sons carefully. His eyes were slightly narrowed and he toyed distractedly with his goblet, signs of his growing disapproval.

“Our ancestors once roamed freely the forests that covered the East from the Misty Mountains to Cuiviénen, long before we ever heard of the Secondborn,” the king said slowly. “The lands do not easily forget the Elves if they ever dwelt there…But this I say too, Legolas,” he added in a serious voice, piercing his youngest son in his steely gaze. “I never felt any affection for the place where I toiled and fought for several sun-rounds, and I fail to see how lands that have been under the hold of Shadow for so long may yet look beautiful in your eyes.”

“That is why you surrendered Amon Lanc to the Galadhrim?” Legolas retorted harshly before catching himself. A tense pause followed. Thranduil frowned briefly and then relaxed.

“Of course,” he admitted coolly, lifting his hand to stall any argument. “It shall take long before those lands are rid of that evil presence, even after the Lady of the Galadhrim exercised her power over those dreadful foundations. The same can be said of the land of Mordor and its borders,” he added warningly, displeasure now ringing in his voice. “You told us that Dagorlad is now a desolate, barren swamp…”

“And yet there is a beautiful land south of it, a land of fragrant herbs and tall trees -the land of the Moon it is called- which stood before the enemy and still preserves part of its beauty…” Legolas felt a wave swelling inside, the wailing of the seagulls at Pelargir, the scent of the sea breeze and the spring in Cormallen, the hope renewed and the overjoyed song of the trees in Ithilien. The sea-song rose deafeningly again within him, and for a moment he forgot himself. “In all truth,” he continued without thinking, “I intend to settle down there with all those willing to help me restore that land,” he announced firmly, casting a brief, arrogant glance to his brother.

A dense, stunned silence followed.

“How you dare!” Laerîniel’s anguished cry tore at his heart, as it rented the suddenly frozen air in the family dining room. Legolas blinked as if suddenly awoken from an unpleasant dream, taken aback by the wave of pain that came from her.

“I…Sûlaer, wait! Let me…” She shook her arm free of his grasp, almost choking in anguish and rage. He caught a brief glimpse of her horror-stricken face as she ran for the door without even asking for the king’s leave, and slammed it behind her.

“I...I am sorry,” Legolas whispered, looking around in confusion. He barely noticed the anger, incredulity, sadness in the faces around him as he stood and stumbled towards the door to follow his wife, overwhelmed as the extent of what he had just said began to dawn upon him. At that moment, Mallereg’s voice stirred them all from their daze.

“I can see your clever game now,” he spat; anger and disappointment clear in his shaking voice. “You agreed to let me give a hand with the Home Guard so you would have a replacement ready when Legolas decided to desert us yet again...” He was challenging his adar with a defiant glare, contempt and hurt clear in his voice. Legolas turned to rebuke his nephew when the king spoke.

“Legolas. To my office. Now.” Thranduil’s cold voice crackled in the silent dining room as he rose in slow, deliberate movements that did nothing to conceal the wrath that shone clearly in his blazing eyes. Caught mid-way to the door, Legolas faltered, too bewildered by his own actions to make any wise decision.

“No. Legolas, go find Laerîniel. You must speak to her.” The queen’s voice sounded calm and affectionate, as if she were addressing a minor disagreement. She had not moved from her seat and she cast a concerned look at her youngest son. “That is the most important thing for now,” she urged him in a warm, sad voice. “And you two,” her voice took a colder, disappointed edge as she turned to Bôrgalas and Mallereg. “You are both behaving like children. I expect that you will find a way to come to reason and see beyond your own, selfish grief; if only for Luinil’s sake! You three are dismissed now!” she added in a commanding, though still soft, caring voice.

With a brief, cautious glance at Thranduil, who was now by the fire, leaning on the mantelpiece with the set, unreadable expression that masked his thoughts when he was most enraged, Legolas turned around and left the family dining room.

***

“Good day, Captain.” After a short hesitation, the guard at the Great Doors settled for a noncommittal greeting to the sorrowful-looking prince who was making his way back to the stronghold under a persistent drizzle.

Legolas nodded briefly in acknowledgement. He had spent the night outside, although he knew that it would be useless. Laerîniel was angry. Worst, she was hurt and disappointed. He feared she would not allow him near her until she had managed to bury her grief deep inside, where it might as well fester before he was able to restore her faith in him.

If ever, he sighed unhappily. He had sat the night away under an elm tree after his unsuccessful attempts at finding his wife. He had tried to discern the reasons for his extemporaneous statement but could only blame himself, and his altered state of mind. I should have talked to her before… he reproached himself endlessly, feeling the weight of guilt taking the place of the familiar anguish that was the sea-longing.

“…Your Highness?”

He looked up blankly to meet the concerned gaze of one of his adar’s errand-runners, who was standing before him in the middle of the corridor that led to the family quarters. The young Elf looked uneasy.

“The King demands your presence in his study, my lord…”

“At this very moment?” Legolas looked at his soaked cloak and dripping hair.

“Well…he said as soon as I could find you, Your Highness…” the messenger answered with a conniving wink.

“It will only take a moment!” Legolas promised, patting the other Elf’s back and hurrying to his chambers. As expected, there were no signs that Laerîniel had returned there during the night. A short time later, clad in dry garments, he knocked on the door to the king’s private study.

“Come in.” Brethil looked at him from a desk in the antechamber and Legolas winced. Brethil had his own office. He only spent time at the king’s when the matter required delicate political handling. “He is with Bôrgalas currently,” Thranduil’s secretary informed in his even voice, nodding to an empty chair.

This meeting was unexpected. Surely they had a previous appointment that has been delayed; Legolas told himself as he paced the office. He felt too restless to take a seat. He had disgraced himself so thoroughly that he wasn’t even sure what approach his adar would choose. He had failed him as a son, as a captain and as a prince of the realm. He sighed, deeply ashamed of himself, recalling briefly last night’s events; his adar’s blazing, outraged look and his naneth’s daring handling of the situation. The conversation after they all left could have not been pleasant, he thought in remorse, almost giving into the desire of burying his head in his arms and began crying. Well, you called this upon yourself, and it is Sûlaer who is bearing the worst of it, he rebuked himself. A harsh voice coming form Thranduil’s office interrupted his musings and made Brethil lift his eyes briefly.

“Do not tell me that you understand!” Bôrgalas’ powerful voice sounded hoarse even through the massive oak door. “We both know how it feels to send our sons to their deaths, Adar!” There was no doubt, Legolas thought with apprehension; Bôrgalas was shouting at the King. “But only I have succeeded until now, so do not tell me that you know how I feel!”

A soft murmur that he could not understand followed his brother’s anguished outburst, and then the door opened brusquely and Bôrgalas stomped out, his face pale and his look distant. He strode away without a word, not acknowledging Legolas or Brethil’s presence.

“Your turn,” the secretary whispered with a sympathetic look on his kind face, although Legolas wasn’t sure whether he pitied him or his adar. With a deep intake and a soft knock he entered the king’s office and closed the door silently behind him.

“My lord?” He walked before the desk and stood there in attention. Thranduil did not look up for a moment, leaving Legolas to boil in trepidation. The king shuffled a pile of parchments, scribbled down something and then put the quill away with purposeful movements. His face did not betray any emotion, but that did not surprise Legolas. He could not hold back a shiver, though, when those steely, unwavering eyes fixed him in a demanding, questioning glance. Out of respect, Legolas lowered his gaze and waited.

“What do you have to say in your defence, Lord Legolas?” It was Thranduil’s most kingly voice. Cold, detached, frighteningly even and smooth.

“I…I apologize, my lord,” he managed, intimidated by his adar’s angered demeanour. Tension was clear in the way he carried himself, the set expression on his face, his straight back and shoulders, his hands extended before him, fingers drumming insistently upon the desk.

“Is that all?” With a barely raised eyebrow Thranduil managed to convey far more displeasure than Gimli with a double string of dwarven curses, Legolas found himself thinking absurdly. Thankfully, his adar saved him from further disgracing himself.

“It was most reckless, careless, inconsiderate, unbecoming and disrespectful from your part, Lord Legolas!” Thranduil thundered angrily; apparently he considered that there was no possible defense. Legolas closed his eyes for a brief moment, acknowledging his adar’s outburst. “But there is something that we must know first,” Thranduil added then in a lower, ominous voice after a dramatic pause. “Is it your purpose to rise up against us?” The question stunned Legolas. He gaped and groped for words to defend himself; how could his adar believe that? And then he met Thranduil’s impassive face and felt colour rise to his cheeks. After all, it was not only Laerîniel whom he had failed. His king had every right to doubt him, too. Legolas could hardly find his voice, almost choking in shame.

“Of course it is not, my lord…” he whispered.

“So shall we take it that you intended to inform us first, at whatever time you considered fitting, and only then ask for our leave to lead south those of our people who would follow you?”

“That was my intent, Your Majesty…But I…”

“There is no but. Your behaviour was unforgivable.” Thranduil studied him in silence for a long while. “May we also assume then that you mean to submit yourself to our judgement?” he finally asked coldly.

Suddenly it felt to Legolas as if a draft of icy air had entered the chamber. He wavered for a moment, fighting a rising tide of despair and resentment that threatened to overcome him. Fighting for words, he looked at his adar’s exacting yet compassionate eyes and tried to steady himself there. He knows! He thought desperately, he won’t let me drown!

“I shall abide by your decision, Your Majesty,” he managed in a thin voice, going down to one knee in submission at the same time. Thranduil regarded him steadily for a long moment and then the tension seemed to ease.

“Good,” he said, sitting back and waving for Legolas to stand up and relax his stance. “Your naneth claims that you are stricken by sea-longing and that I must have known since you arrived. She says it is clearly written in your eyes,” he added, exasperation clear in his voice. “Care to explain how that may have come to pass, that one of the House of Oropher pines for the Undying Lands?” he demanded in a harsh, but not unkind manner.

And Legolas spoke.

Under his father’s compassionate gaze he spoke of Galadriel’s words and the Paths of the Dead; the song of the seabirds and the intoxicating scents in Pelargir; the soft chant of the sea winds and the undeniable longing that pulsed in his faer. He spoke of Ithilien, and the Great River as it paced the lands of the south. Of his promise to the King of Gondor to help restore the land, and his arrogant counselling to Celeborn; his own restlessness at the silent greeting of the forest, and his dreams…In a choked voice he told him of his fear and reluctance to talk about it when the forest was still mourning the losses, and the despair that threatened to overwhelm him every time he felt that he might not ever again feel at home under the beloved trees of Lasgalen.

They remained in silence for a while after he finished speaking. At long last, Thranduil seemed ready to deliver his judgement.

“Hear me out, Legolas, for this is not a matter of minor concern,” the king said seriously. “This is what I ask of you. You shall discuss this with no one else; for now. Not until we are done with the task at hand.” He fixed Legolas in a searching glance. “I am not only speaking of that… idea of yours of going south and establishing a settlement in that land of Men, and lend support to the King of Gondor, but of the sea-longing as well.” He made a pause as if to gather his strength before continuing. “Think carefully about what I ask of you, my son,” Thranduil said in a grave but affectionate voice. “I cannot afford any failure; least of all rumours of division. We are about to begin a dangerous campaign, and I need all efforts turned to it. I need to be certain that you can put the needs of the realm before your own,” the king added pointedly. “Once the Orc’s menace is definitely settled, I shall make my judgement known. Are you ready to obey me in this?”

Legolas met his father’s demanding gaze and discovered there a stony will mastering an immense sadness. He sighed deeply and bowed in acquiescence, ashamed that he was the cause of such grief in one he loved so dearly.  “You have my word, Your Majesty;” he said softly, both hands crossed over his heart. “I shall not discuss what has been revealed here until my king pronounces his decision.”

“I hear you,” Thranduil answered slowly, as if a great burden weighed now upon his shoulders. “We shall meet in council by noon,” he added in a practical tone, after a short pause. “You may go now.”

Dazzled by this sudden dismissal, Legolas bowed again in silence and left. In the antechamber waited Mallereg, slouching on a chair. As soon as he saw Legolas he straightened up in one fluid movement, casting an uncertain half-smile to his uncle as he got to his feet.

“Legolas, I…”

Legolas shook his head. He was not in the mood to discuss his nephew’s insulting words. He nodded briefly to Thranduil’s office. “Do not make him wait. That will not improve his mood,” he advised darkly, walking past the worried prince without meeting his eyes.

“Legolas!”  His naneth was awaiting him outside the king’s office. “How did it go?” she asked softly, caressing his face briefly and searching his eyes worriedly. Suddenly he felt a lump form in his throat as he followed her to a small waiting room at the other side of the passage.

“I am so sorry, Naneth,” he sighed. “I cannot explain…”

“Certain things demand no explanation my child,” she said evenly, closing the door and turning to study his face. “I knew since you arrived. And your adar knew too, although he would pretend he did not see, hoping that if he refused to acknowledge it, you would be cured of sea-longing…The first of our race, indeed,” she sighed with a brief smile. “Only your stubborn adar is capable of such thoughts. It is not a curse, but a calling that lies asleep deep within all of us…”

“But it is a curse, Naneth!” Legolas spat in despair, dropping down on a bench and hiding his face in his hands. “Look at what it has already wrought around me!” he pleaded, raising a pained look at her.

“We Elves have been hearing the call since Tauron first came to us in Cuiviénen, child,” the Queen said in a compassionate voice, sitting by his side and taking his hands into hers. “The call does not bring misery. But denial does,” she said softly. He bowed his head, humiliated by the fact that he had lacked the courage to face it. “None of us ever experienced it, but we have all seen it in others, suddenly forsaking the woods that had given them joy for all of their lives…I cannot pretend that it is easy, Legolas, but we must face it.” She lifted his chin with a finger and made him look her in the eye. “And we shall face it together, my son.” She held his pained gaze for a moment and then let go. “Laerîniel awaits you in the grove beyond the beehives. Talk to her,” she urged him, standing and forcing him up alongside.

“But I just promised...”

“I know what the King asked of you,” she said, pressing her lips into a thin line, the only display of disagreement that she would allow herself. She stretched up to put away a stray lock of hair behind his ear. “But she has to know, Legolas. She needs to know…”

“Thank you, Naneth,” he whispered, embracing her tightly. “And I am sorry that I caused such a scene yester eve…”

“It was not your fault alone. Your adar hates feeling helpless… He sees this as an evil he cannot fight… and he feels responsible for it. It must run in the family,” she sighed with amused resignation. “Do not despair, my child. Something good must come out from this in the end. Now, go...” she insisted, pushing him to the door.

He found Laerîniel sitting at the fork of a thick chestnut. The grove crowned one of the smallest hills that backed the stronghold, and it enjoyed a good view of the river. Children climbed there in autumn to collect the spiny fruits, and in spring and summer nights it served as a gathering point for the honey harvesters. The trail that led there continued its twisting course up to the tallest hill, to a permanent watch point.

“May I come up, my Sûlaer?” He looked up but she did not meet his gaze, intent, she seemed, on studying the contents of a straw basket upon her lap. Her feet dangled from the branch, and he discovered her soaked cloak and her boots of soft buckskin by the trunk. After some more moments, he began to climb the tree, greeting its sleepy heartbeat under his hand. She moved aside and folded her skirt to make room for him as he reached her side, and he caught her cold hand in his. The wounded expression on her face as she finally met his gaze almost made him cry.

“Is that the sea, Legolas? In your dreams?” she asked in a slightly hoarse voice. He gasped, for it was the first time that she openly talked to him about his dreams.

“I fear that it is…”

 “Your naneth said that it might be so, although I already knew that something had happened to you,” she said thoughtfully. “Why didn’t you tell me?” she sounded hurt and he could not fault her. He inhaled deeply and looked around in despair, unable to find the right words. He closed his eyes and sighed.

“I seemed not to find the right time,” he sighed softly, shaking his head at the poor explanation. “There was so much loss, so much grief here…And I did not have the courage to face it…I just hoped… it would vanish…At times I cannot hear the trees, Sûlaer…” He heard her sharp intake and felt the comforting pressure on his hand, and it gave him the courage to tell her the rest of the tale.

“What are we going to do?” she whispered after he finished speaking. She was crying softly, holding his hand against her chest. “Do you think that going south would help ease your pain?”

“I have just promised the King that I would not discuss this… Until the present campaign is over,” he added hurriedly at her outraged look. “I honestly cannot know, my Sûlaer. But I offered my help to the new King of Gondor…you will love it there, you’ll see,” he added with forced eagerness.

“I love it here,” she said tersely, placing the basket on his lap brusquely and wiping her eyes with her hand.  “Come,” she beckoned him, jumping nimbly to the ground and sitting on the ground to put her boots on. “The King awaits you at noon…”  He grabbed the basket and descended quickly in time to help her up with his free hand.

“Will you forgive me, my Sûlaer?” he asked in a thin voice, searching her eyes hopefully.

“I already have,” she sighed resignedly, caressing his face with a sad look upon her face. “There will be time later for arguing, I hope, but this matter is too serious…I do not want to be angry with you now,” she whispered in a weary voice. “Now I just want to make peace…”

He bent down and kissed her slowly, shyly, until she answered in full force. “We are together, my Sûlaer, and that is all we need to be strong,” he said, holding her tightly against him.

“I wished that you had told me before, though, so that we could have fought this together. Now, we are not even allowed to speak about it,” she said bitterly. “How can we find the right path?”

“Spring shall bring its own counsel...and the King’s judgment.”

“But we must be certain that we already have ours by then, that we have come to a decision!” she pleaded softly, resting her head against his strong chest. They stood in silence for a while, lost in each other's embrace, unable to think beyond there. “I am at a loss, let us not speak of it now,” she finally agreed, exhaling deeply before pulling herself from his embrace. She picked up her soaked cloak and started the trail down back to the stronghold. “Do not let it fall,” she warned him, pointing at the straw basket. “I was not idle last night.” Legolas winced guiltily. She must have wandered far indeed, to find those deliciously smelling mushrooms.

“Give me,” she said as they reached the stronghold. “I shall take these to the kitchens. You better make ready for council before you are late,” she added, accepting his kiss with a beautiful smile. Legolas watched her for a moment, feeling lighter of heart than he had felt for many days. He then ran to his office, picked up some parchments he thought he might need and walked back to the stronghold at a more composed pace, in time for the meeting.

“Let us make this as brief as possible, my lords,” the King said as he entered the room followed by Brethil, motioning for everybody to remain seated. His war council in full was present, or what was left of it, Legolas thought, casting a look around the table while recalling the missing faces. He met Bôrgalas’ glance for a moment and was suddenly reminded of his brother’s heated exchange with the king earlier that morning. Thranduil’s voice caught his attention, though, before he could wonder about his brother’s set expression.

“…two fronts that must be dealt with as soon as possible, as you have all suggested. We now have all the information we needed, and soon the Orcs will be only a memory in our forest. The Chief Commander will explain briefly the battle order. Both armies shall set forth as soon as they are ready. Lord Bôrgalas.”

The king sat back and waved for the crown prince to issue his commands. Bôrgalas stood up with unaccustomed reluctance and pointed at the map spread upon the table.

“I shall be in charge of the force that will scour the Misty Mountains,” he said in an even tone. “The bulk of our forces is still stationed this side of the Anduin, but there is also a company already scouting the area, as Commander Hîrvegil informed us. Four main dens have been identified, and there might be two more. We shall attack them all at the same time. We shall raze the whole area after that. Pushed by hunger, the survivors, if there are any, will be forced out of their holes sooner or later.” He stopped for a moment and cast the briefest look at his second. All around the table were already familiar with the strategy, and no questioning was expected.

“Regarding the force heading south, a company of the Home Guard shall join two companies from the western army which have already been dispatched by Hîrvegil, as we all know. They will meet here,” he continued, pointing at a place not far from the eastern edge of the Dark Mountains. “They will be joined by a host of Forest Men there, too, who will help them scout and clean their side of the Mountains. This is going to be a dirty job,” he warned in a slightly exasperated voice. “The orcs roam in smaller, scattered bands, and it seems they are being helped by Men of unknown origin. We haven’t yet been able to spot a main den, although we suspect its existence. But winter shall be on our side here too.” Demech and Maerlag, two of the Camath-en-Aran who had combed the area for several moons nodded in agreement. Bôrgalas shook his head in resignation, as if steeling himself for what was yet to come. “The southern army shall be under Lord Mallereg’s command, with Lord Legolas as his second,” he informed in a neutral voice.

For a moment Legolas thought that he had not heard rightly, much as Mallereg, it seemed, who expressed his doubts bluntly as it was his wont.

“You are not speaking seriously,” the younger prince said flatly. Legolas looked around and saw some brows raised in uncertainty. The King’s face was unreadable and Bôrgalas was looking at his maps, pretending that he had not heard his son’s remark.

“You are punishing me, isn’t it?” Legolas broke the uncomfortable silence, anger boiling within him at his brother’s contemptuous disregard of rank and seniority. ”You think you can chastise me in this way?”

“It was my decision.” Thranduil needed not raise his voice to silence the faint murmur that was spreading around the table. Legolas turned to look at his father in plain astonishment. “Lord Mallereg has been the Captain of the South Host for two ennin, and he acted as my second when we met the Forest Men after the Battle Under the Trees. He knows their leaders and earned their respect,” the king continued in a sharp tone. “It is my will that Lord Mallereg commands this mission. When do you expect that both forces will be ready to depart, Commander?”

Bôrgalas seemed to relax his tense stance and Legolas had the feeling that his brother was somehow conceding defeat before their father.

“My escort could be ready within the hour,” he informed in a neutral voice. “How about your force, Lord Mallereg?”

Mallereg cast a brief, almost stunned look around. When he spoke, though, he was the competent officer, the bold captain of the South Host and the king’s grandson. “Lord Legolas estimated two to three days for the mustering of the Home Guard and the reordering of those remaining, my lord,” he informed sternly, casting a brief look at his uncle for confirmation. Legolas just nodded in assent.

“Let it be in four days from today, then,” Bôrgalas agreed with a curt nod, turning to face the king. “Is that all, my lord?”

“It is,” Thranduil said, standing up and motioning them all to do the same. “Go to your duties my lords. May Elbereth grant that this is the last time we are set to war,” he added before leaving the room. Legolas had the impression that his stride was less purposeful and his shoulders were slightly slumped.

“I would like to discuss the definite arrangements for the remaining Home Guard patrols…when you have them ready, Legolas,” Bôrgalas said softly, as he picked up his parchments and made for the door. Legolas looked around and noticed that the council room was already empty.

“Bôrgalas, I...”

“That is all. I assume that we are all very busy…” his brother cut him without meeting his gaze. Legolas shrugged and nodded to Hîrvegil, as the troop commander followed Bôrgalas’ brisk pace. He waited for a while before going after them, his mind still reeling after the eventful morning and the unexpected developments.

“And this is not over yet,” he thought grimly as he discovered Mallereg leaning on the wall outside the council room.

“Legolas!” He straightened up and walked to him. Legolas slowed down for a moment, but did not stop to meet his nephew.

“I shall give you the list of the available warriors before sunset, my lord,” he said curtly, waving the parchments in his hand, and with a brief bow he resumed a quick pace without awaiting leave or answer. Despite his hurry, though, he caught a glimpse of his nephew’s hurt look and could not help a guilty wince as he walked away.

“Make sure the roll is written in Tengwar and in Cirth!” Mallereg shouted to his back, his annoyance plain. “And I want it with music! Belmagor has a nice voice and you can play the flute!”

Legolas smiled against his will as he stopped to face the aggravated prince, shaking his head in amused exasperation. “You are stretching the privileges of rank quite unwisely, don’t you think, Lord Mallereg?” he asked pretending seriousness. His nephew’s face was a comical blend of frustration, mischief and worry, as he caught up with him.

“I do not mind, if it is what it takes to make at least oneof you listen to me for a change…” Mallereg stated with wounded pride.

“You have just been promoted, if I heard rightly,” Legolas observed. “What else do you want? My congratulations?” he added evenly. It still galled him; above all the fact that it had been Thranduil’s decision. Did his adar consider him untrustworthy, despite his promise?

“You do not believe that the King called me in this morning to compliment me, do you?” Mallereg answered softly, raising his brows and tilting his head in a very telling manner. Legolas sighed and shook his head. Of course not. Thranduil had had a very busy morning, it seemed.

“I know that we are not supposed to talk about this, but I wanted to tell you that I am truly sorry…and that I did not mean what I said of you yesterday.” His nephew looked him in the eye. “Well, maybe I meant it at that moment, but… that is not what I believe. I do not believe that you deserted us. Nobody does, not even my adar,” he added loyally. Legolas nodded at his regretful expression and clasped his arms comfortingly.

“It is forgotten, Mallereg, we all regret what happened last night,” he said with all sincerity. “We better concentrate on the task at hand. I shall fix the list of available warriors with Belmagor. You have enough with studying the maps and adjusting the strategy. Your adar will surely want to hear about our plans before we depart…”

“So he can tear them apart and tell everybody what an incompetent, reckless and unreliable officer I am, most certainly...” his nephew groaned dejectedly

“You are overreacting…”

“You have listened to him for the past moon, Legolas…” Mallereg sounded wounded and Legolas hesitated. It was true that Bôrgalas had been driving his son ruthlessly and exactingly, pointing out even his smallest mistake and reminding him at every occasion of the consequences of disobedience. The uncommon lack of confidence that rang in the younger prince’s voice pained him, and for a moment he considered telling his nephew what he had overheard that morning outside the king’s office, but reconsidered.

This is for Bôrgalas to sort out with his son, he thought. “Your adar may doubt that you ever learnt the true meaning of discipline, Mallereg, but he has no qualms about your value as an officer and a warrior,” he said reassuringly. “And I am looking forward to serving under you,” he added, patting his nephew’s back with a mischievous grin as he resumed walking. 

Mallereg grabbed his shoulder and made him turn around. “Explain that,” he asked, one brow lifted in a gesture of sceptic curiosity that was genuinely his.

“I have heard many a tale about your commands, and I am curious to see if even half of those are true,” Legolas obliged with a teasing grin, laughing as his nephew rolled his eyes and shook his head in mock tolerance.

“Contemptible lies!” Mallereg assured him, putting his hand to his heart and scowling in playful outrage. “You should not pay attention to warriors’ chatter, Lord Legolas,” he admonished with easy grace. “But I am glad that you will be there now, to see it with your own eyes. Now, by your leave, dear Uncle, I must take care of my Battle Plans,” he said arrogantly, and with an impish grin and a flourish he turned and walked toward the family quarters, waving his hand in dismissal as Legolas chuckled helplessly at his back.

***

“…Now go with the forest’s blessings and our own.” A respectful silence followed Thranduil’s speech. The warriors stood proudly in ordered rows before their king. Friends and families, and actually all the remaining population from the scattered provisional settlements around the stronghold, had gathered there to honour those marching, yet again, to war.

“Take care, Calenben. There is still much that we have to discuss…”

“And you still want another chance to be angry at me…” Legolas embraced his wife tightly for a last time. “I’ll be back before spring, my Sûlaer. I have never failed you before,” he reassured her, kissing her again.

They watched sadly as Mallereg took his leave from his adar in a too formal manner and then joined them before the ranks of the Home Guard. Legolas met Bôrgalas’ look and nodded.

“He will come to no harm, I swear,“ he had told his brother some moments ago, as they walked the corridors. 

“That is Thalaûr’s job, brother,” Borgalas had told him with a brief smirk. “You better make sure that you do not give Geldoron a hard time with his,” he had warned then, clasping Legolas’ arms and pulling him suddenly to a quick, tight embrace. “Take care, will you? I do not think I could stand losing any of you,” he had admitted in a hoarse voice.

“Are we ready, Legolas?” Legolas dragged his eyes from his brother as Bôrgalas mounted and led his small company towards the Elf Path and west, to the place where the bulk of his force awaited. He let go of Laerîniel and smiled softly at his nephew.

“And waiting, my lord,” he answered, signaling to his officers. With a last wave towards their loved ones, the warriors of Lasgalen began their march south, to what they all hoped would be the last battle in their forest.

TBC