The Silvan (Lord of the Rings-Legolas)[Wattys2016]

Chapter 3: Song on the Air

Chapter three: A Song on the Air

The tree hummed in joy for the one who sat amongst its exposed roots; but Legolas was still unaware of its presence in his mind, unable to recognise its comforting song brushing upon his eternal soul.

Long hair, braided only at the temples, fell back until the tips reached his lower back, his singular face tilted back, meeting the sun's rays full on.

In his mind's eye, he returned to Lland Galadh, his village, his home and his people. He saw Amareth's cottage, smoke billowing from the chimney top, the thatches hanging low.

She would be in her garden now, still harvesting her peas and beans, and the memory of velvety, creamy soup danced mischievously over his tongue, making his mouth water in remembered bliss.

He saw Erthoron, their leader, Golloron the Spirit Herder, and his friend Thavron, romping amongst the trees, his hands stretched out, fingers brushing over the rough barks.

A smile came to Legolas' lips as he remembered those he loved, those he wished more than anything to serve, to return to them the love they had dispensed upon him, in spite of his shameful begetting.

His thoughts turned dark then, and he looked down once more, his eyes slowly opening and a frown shadowing his lovely eyes. Turion had summed it up in three, cruel lines, had synthesised Legolas' behaviour and made him conscious for the first time. The elf was of sharp mind for he had seen his turmoil and put a name to it, had explained it all and although Legolas had rejected it at the time, now he did not. He did hate the Sindarin side of himself because it reminded him of what he did not have, what he had been deprived of and for what? What sordid tale would his father tell if he were alive? What lame excuse would he present for ignoring the presence of a child?

Deep breaths brought his mind back into focus, the hatred now controlled and tucked away, under lock and key once more for he had practised this technique so many times in his life. It would do him no good to lose himself in self-pity, not when his dream was playing out before him, hovering tantalisingly on the horizon, not when things were going so well.

He smiled again, his hand subconsciously stroking over the smooth root beside him. The familiar tingling sensation moved up his arm, warmed his chest, before radiating out into every part of his body and his smile widened.

He would excel in what he knew he did best. He would train until his muscles screamed, discipline his body until it became all it could be, he would centre his mind, teach it to concentrate only on that which benefited him at a given time. He would love his brothers and respect his commanders and thus, he would climb, slowly yet inexorably, until he reached the pinnacle, the culmination of his dreams... he would be a captain!

His father did not matter; he did not matter at all.

TSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTS

Kitchen duty had been bearable only because the camaraderie amongst his fellow Silvans had been so utterly entertaining. He had smiled in spite of it all, had endured the good-natured mockery, had even had a joke or two of his own. Now, it was nearly over and the night was theirs to do with as they wished. Of course, bottles of wine promptly appeared, and the Silvan songs and lays abounded. Ram en' had even danced a jig, and Idhrenohtar had managed a reel, albeit with a fellow recruit who had pranced and frolicked as would a blushing maid, much to the howling amusement of them all.