A Nightingale's Song

Son of Snakes

With Legolas', and now Mordes' contribution to the hunting, the food stores remained considerably full. More often than not, the two elves would hunt together; at least until they irritated each other to such an extent that they simply had to part ways before they could rip each other's throats out.

Legolas had found no more information from anyone about Mordes or the orc, and after a few days, it slipped from his mind. He became more immersed in the social lives of the Dύnedain, though he maintained a level of distance from them, not eager to create close friendships with anyone other than Aragorn.

Life in the village was peaceful, and though uneventful, and sometimes even boring, there was nowhere else Legolas would rather be. The only downside was the man that had insulted him- Berenor- who, unlike what he had said at the feast, was not trying to make amends with the elf prince, and instead steadily grew worse. Nonetheless, Legolas managed to keep control of his temper, though his patience was slowly diminishing.

This continued on for a few months, as summer passed into autumn, and the once bright, green leaves faded into shades of brown, red and yellow. The nights gradually became cooler, and more and more people spent the hours of darkness huddled around campfires.

Legolas and Mordes, being elves, were not as bothered with this change in temperature, and often retired to their tents when the sun fell. However, the cold weather did nothing to freeze the harsh words spoken by one man.

....................

Legolas sat on the highest branch of a large elm tree, seething. He gripped the wood so tightly that his hands began to cramp, and his knuckles strained white against his skin.

His blood was boiling. The man had gone too far. He'd had to leave, escape to the trees. He would not be responsible for murder, no matter how tempting it was.

Berenor had verbally abused him once again, and this time, it was not just himself that his words were aimed at, but the little remaining part of his family – his father.

*Flashback*

Legolas stroked his horse's flank, murmuring soft words in Sindarin to him. He was so side-tracked that he failed to hear the approaching footsteps until a voice accompanied them.

"Suilad, Legolas." (Greetings, Legolas)

Legolas spun around to see Berenor watching him with a pleasant expression on his face. Legolas immediately stiffened, suddenly wary of the male. He was being uncharacteristically polite; something he had learned to be cautious of.

"You speak Sindarin?" Legolas replied equally as polite. In all honesty, he was truly surprised that the man knew his language, for he had not heard even Mordes speak it.

Berenor scowled, obviously misreading his question. "What, you think that we are too far beneath you to know your language, elf?"

Legolas furrowed his brows. Perhaps the docile expression he had forcefully plastered on his face had not been as convincing as he thought. Before he could reply, however, the man continued on, barely stopping for a breath.

"Although, I suppose being a prince in a lavish castle would mean that everyone is below your level."

Legolas simply stared at him, too shocked to speak. He had expected aggression from the man, but nothing as blunt as this.

"And that would mean that your father is even worse! Legends speak of his arrogance and self-importance – that all he cares for is himself! He must not even care about you – his only son, especially if he allows you to associate with us lowly mortals."