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.
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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.
Now, well into their cups, the three friends sat with five other Silvan recruits, talking of this and that, until one certain Carodel lent forward with only a slight loss of balance and peered into Legolas' bright green eyes.
"Are you really Silvan, Legolas?"
Here we go again, he thought but this time, there was no irritation, and his recent experience with Turion came to his mind's eye.
"I am – half Silvan, it would seem," he said with a wry smile. "And before you ask, my mother died when I was too young to remember her. My aunt brought me up as her own son and I never knew my father."
"Did your aunt not tell you of him then?" they asked.
"Nay, she never would. I would ask her incessantly whether he was Sindarin, yet I could never get her to tell me a single thing about him. It made her nervous and she would change the subject. I have always known there is some family scandal involved, something – terrible he must have done to be banished thusly by the Silvans of my village, an outlaw, perhaps."
"You are a half-breed love child then!" exclaimed the tipsy Silvan.
Ram en' and Idhrenohtar closed their eyes and tensed their shoulders.
"Yes," smiled Legolas, much to his own surprise. "Yes, that I am and yet I am Silvan, in all but my colouring. It is what my heart chooses."
"Ahh! They all cheered and with a salute and a clink of wooden cups, they drank once more. It had been so very simple, Legolas mused later, to just tell the truth and feel no shame – for why should he? It was his father who should be ashamed! If he was even alive, of course, which Legolas told himself he did not care to know. As far as he was concerned, his father was dead to him.
"Hwindo," said Ram en' as he sat forward clumsily. "You are – destined for great things! He slurred. Gollo – Gollororon says it is so..." he finished with difficulty, before slurping on his wine once more.
"Golloron," corrected Idhrenohtar almost clinically, even though he was just as inebriated as Ram en'. "Golloron," he explained to the others, "is the spiritual leader or our village. He says," he said pensively, creating an atmosphere amongst the recruits and sending them into enthralled silence. "He says that Hwindo here has a great future before him. He has cast runes and has seen great battles, amongst other things..." he trailed of, his voice now full of awe as he drank from his cup.
"What else, what else did he see?" asked one young Silvan, his eyes wide and sparkling in anticipation of the tale, for in the Silvan culture, spirit herders such as Golloron, were feared as much as they were revered.
"He has predicted that Legolas will be a great leader – perhaps even a captain," said Idhrenohtar with a proud smile, watching as the other youths nodded in awe.
"Well, there are few enough Silvan captains – it will be a welcome thing – we will all want to serve with you, Hwindo!" shouted Carodel.
"What a fine thing that would be," said Legolas, his eyes far away, as if seeing himself sat upon a magnificent horse, leading his own warriors through the troubled forests, just as he had dreamed of together with his friends since for as long as he could remember. "Captain..." he said with deep respect and dreamy eyes.
Ram en' slapped Legolas a little too hard upon the back, sending him reeling forwards, his cup sloshing wine over his hand. The Silvan recruits laughed hard and the solemn silence was broken. Yet it was not forgotten, for Idhrenohtar had weaved a magical tale, and they had, strangely, believed every word he had said.
"To Captain Hwindohtar!" they shouted and then drank, before Carodel raised his cup once more "to The Company!" and the merry little crowd exploded into cheering and laughter that carried on the wind and echoed throughout the glade.
In the distance, Turion watched and listened, and upon his face, a smug, self-satisfied smile spread wide enough to show his white teeth. He would search no more, for this was all he needed, and it was more than enough, much more than enough.
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The three Silvans said a heart-felt goodbye to their fellow recruits who sent them off with a cheer and a smile upon their youthful faces. Carodel had promised to find them no sooner he made it to the next stage, assuring them it would be very soon.
There was envy too, for the three had made it quicker than the rest, but it was not an unhealthy feeling, indeed Hwindo, Ram en' Ondo and Idhrenohtar had made an impression on them all. They would not be forgotten quickly, and from this, first contact with the outside world, the lads of The Company had made stronger ties than they had imagined at the time.
As for Turion, he had sent them off with few words and a letter which was to be delivered personally to Lieutenant Lainion, their next Commanding Officer, only this time they would be in the city barracks, in the heart of Thranduil's realm.
"You take it, Legolas. Your, peculiar looks make you the best choice," he had said dismissively.
"I do not understand, Sir," asked Legolas with a frown.
"You will," was all Turion said.
That had been yesterday and now, as they rode through the outer settlements, ever closer to the city centre, they spoke excitedly to each other, their hearts hammering in their chests and their eyes bright with the thrill of adventure.
"So this, Lieutenant Lainion, is to be our commanding officer," said Ram en' Ondo.
"His name is not Sindarin, I believe," pondered Idhreno wisely, yet neither have I heard it in our lands."
"Avari, then?" asked Legolas, the whites of his eyes momentarily visible.
The three friends shared a worried glance, for the Avari were feared. In part because there were so few of them, and also because their aspect was so very different from the Sindar and Silvan races.
"That must be it," realised Legolas. "That is why Turion asked me to deliver his missive."
"Aye, well, it is to be expected that as our training progresses, our tutors' expectations will also rise. It will be harder than what we have experienced so far, and, I wager, there will be many more of us at these barracks," reasoned Idhrenohtar, "more Sindar."
"And we will be starting with weapons training!" exclaimed Ram en' Ondo, "finally!"
They laughed and joked for a time, before slipping back into contemplative silence for a while, for there was so much to think about, and the more they thought, the more butterflies danced and fluttered in their empty stomachs.
"You were good with our new friends in the forest, Hwindo. In spite of their questioning, you held your own. It will do you good where we now go, for you will surely be asked the same questions," predicted Idhrenohtar.
"Aye, telling the truth has been a revelation to me. Not to say I enjoy talking about that side of myself, but at least now I can do so without losing my temper," he said seriously, but Idhrenohtar, it seemed, was not quite so sure.
"Guard yourself, Legolas, for this will not be like the forest. You have learned, yes, but do not trust blindly to that," he said. His eyes fixed firmly on the road ahead. "Our superiors will be Sindarin – do not get on the wrong side of them."
Legolas did not answer but his eyes lingered on his friend for a moment, wondering whether he was right, and whether or not he truly could hold his own now, defend himself without losing his composure. It was a test, the first thing of import he would learn on this long road to warrior hood – how to control himself and his emotions.
Yet in one thing Turion had been wrong, he thought. While it was true that hatred had, and still did, form a part of his problem, as he had now come to realise, it was not the only reason he called himself Silvan. There was something else, some, deep thing inside him that called to him. It was such an abstract thing, for no words seemed to fit the emotions behind his conviction, indeed he had not even spoken of it to his brothers, for how does one speak of that which cannot be described?
You will come to know yourself, Turion had said. Well perhaps he would, thought Legolas. Just one month ago, he would never have imagined that the first thing he would learn would be about himself.
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The more they travelled the city road, the bigger the constructions became, and the busier the road, until first, small groups of cottages appeared, before giving way to what seemed to be a peripheral area with streets and stalls and everything one would expect from a rich and prosperous town.
Following Turion's instructions, they turned at the market square, resisting the urge to dismount and run wild amidst the stalls of rich cloth, baubles and hot snacks. At the end of this path stood the large, stone building that would be their home for who knew how many months.
Each took a deep breath before spurring their horses on until hooves clattered upon the stone courtyard and stable hands appeared, gesturing for them to dismount.
The three friends send a quick goodbye to their mounts, before looking around in wonder, their mouths hanging open and their eyes round and wide.
To one side, scores of elves worked in the fields. Some sparred, others moved in perfect formation from one side to the other, and the fierce shouts from instructors pierced the air. This was what they had come for, their dream would finally come true; all they had to do was keep their mouths shut, learn as much as they could, and exert themselves to the best of their ability.
And stick together, Legolas told himself.
They looked at each other with excited grins, before walking briskly towards the open doorway, and into the imposing building where armoured elves stood at either side of the entrance. Ram en' wanted to stop and admire the workmanship, but Idhreno yanked on his cloak and whispered in his ear, "bumpkin..."
Soon, a guard approached them, his hand held out towards them, albeit his eyes were riveted to the floor, as if his mind were elsewhere.
"Orders," he snapped.
"Only that we report to Lieutenant Lainion," said Legolas.
The guard looked up, but instead of leading them away, he froze where he stood, his eyes widening and his ears moving to the back of his head, momentarily smoothing out the lines upon his forehead.
Righting himself immediately, he straightened his tunic. "Yes, well, follow me," was all he said curtly and Ram en ' smiled mischievously.
"It must be your good looks," he whispered to his friend, who returned the smile with a flash of pearly white teeth.
The guard wrapped upon a massive wooden door, then stepped aside as the two panes swivelled inwards, and orange candle light spilled out. There, at the back of the room, sat an elf at a table so large it made him look strangely small.
"Come."
The three friends walked forward, slower now, until they stood before the impressive desk. They did not quite manage to stifle their gasp as the elf looked up for the first time and revealed what they could only later describe as 'remarkable' features.
His skin was the colour of autumn leaves and his eyes were strangely slanted, bright blue irises shining with power and keen intellect. He was an Avari, they realised, their conjectures had been correct.
Lainion too, stared back at Legolas, his eyes moving up and then down, until they fixed upon Legolas' own eyes.
"You have something for me," he said simply, his voice too deep for such an exotic face, mused Legolas.
"Yes, Sir," he said as he fumbled with his tunic and removed the parchment Turion had given him.
Holding out his hand, Lainion took it and unfolded it, his eyes latching onto the familiar script of his friend.
Lieutenant Lainion,
Before you stand three new Silvan recruits – yes, Silvan, even the pale one whom we have come to call 'the Silvan'.
I trust you will see fit to include them in your training program. We have taught them all we can, but their level of skill is considerably beyond that of their fellow recruits, who will be joining you later.
I will see you soon, my friend. You found Farion, but I have found 'the Silvan.' Let it be known.
Lainion's smile slipped and his surprise was, for a brief instant, readable upon his strange face. It was quickly veiled though and he folded the parchment, shoving it into his tunic. Indeed he had found Farion, his best recruit so far who was now a novice warrior serving in the East. He was destined for leadership and Lainion had indeed boasted his find to his friend. From then on it had been an ongoing game and Lainion was now intrigued by what Turion suggested was his own find.
"Come with me," he said simply as he walked towards the door, his gait powerful, feline almost.
They passed recruits as they walked down multiple corridors, passed mess rooms and leisure halls. There were bathing rooms and a healing ward, a weapons hangar the three friends yearned to investigate. But they could not stop for Lainion did not and so they followed his brisk pace until finally, they came to the sleeping quarters.
"The rest of the day is for yourselves. Wander freely. Your room mates will orientate you. I will see you tomorrow, when your training will begin," he finished, his words simple and direct, his eyes resting once more on Legolas, before striding from the room, leaving them alone and bewildered.
"For the love of the Valar," exclaimed Ram en' Ondo with a sonorous rush of air.
Idhrenohtar heaved a mighty breath of relief before sitting heavily on what seemed to be a free bed.
Legolas, however, simply stood, his mind elsewhere, and it took a shove from Ram en' to bring him back.
"Funny eyes..." he murmured.
"Well you can talk!" exclaimed Ram en', "but yes, he is strange and I for one will not be crossing him," he resolved as he moved towards an adjacent bed, claiming it as his own.
But Legolas had not moved. He simply turned his head to his friends, but his eyes were far away.
"The way he looked at me," he murmured.
"Well, maybe he fancies you," said Idhrenohtar as he inspected the bedding.
"No, no it's not that. It was – it was as if – as if he recognised me..."
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Lainion sat at his oversized desk, his finger drawing circles over the uneven wood as he pondered the situation.
Turion reckoned he had found a 'candidate', but if Lainion's suspicions were correct, something he was not at all sure about, his friend had, unwittingly, found much more than that. The question was, what should he do? Voice his suspicions and risk error? He would need to think on it, sleep on it, and tomorrow, after the day was done and he had observed the boy a little closer, he would make his decision.
Tomorrow...
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"Forward, forward, side, arc, down! – Again, forward, forward, side, arc, down! Again..."
They had been at it for an eternity and Legolas now understood why they wore only breeches and boots, for sweat dripped from his body as it had never done before. His throat was parched and his long hair stuck to his neck, albeit he had braided it as his tutors had shown him.
Idhreno and Ram en' were in a similar state but the three were nowhere near their limits. Many recruits had faltered or even stopped, and had received the most spectacularly embarrassing tongue-lashings, both in Sindarin and the Silvan dialect, and all the while, the strange Avarin lieutenant, Lainion, watched from afar.
"Stop. Five minutes for water!"
The recruits groaned and threw themselves to the floor while others ran to the barrels and scooped water into wooden bowls, drinking greedily.
Ram en' turned to his friends and grinned, before jumping twice and showing them he was nowhere near exhausted. Idhreno and Hwindo laughed merrily as they drank sparsely, throwing the rest of their water over their heads.
One unfortunate recruit had drunk too much too fast, and was now paying the price as he vomited his water miserably.
Hwindo placed a hand on his heaving shoulder, but said not a word. It was enough though, to draw attention to himself and he soon heard his name called – his new name.
"Silvan!"
Slowly, Hwindo turned to see a smirking recruit, two others behind him, staring impertinently.
Within seconds, Idhreno and Ram en' were behind their friend, staring just as intently as the three before them.
From afar, the tutor, realising there was a potential situation unfolding, made to break them up, but Lainion's strong hand stopped him.
"Wait," he ordered simply.
"They may fight," started the tutor but Lainion interrupted him.
"I take responsibility, just wait."
And so the two instructors watched and analysed, tucking the valuable information away for future use.
"What is it you want, Sinda?" said Legolas, his lovely face now straight and set, his large green eyes glinting dangerously.
"Oh, just a question, nothing of import. Tell us – why a Sinda wishes to be Silvan – are you ashamed?" asked the recruit, that annoying smile still plastered falsely on his angular face.
"Your deduction is incorrect, Sinda. I am Silvan, you will it or not."
"Oh yes, yes, we can see that – look here. Long, long hair of pale wheat, skin whiter than white, eyes of green moss – you are no Silvan," he sneered.
After a while, Legolas responded calmly, no signs of the turmoil he felt on the inside.
"Think what you wish, Sinda. Tis of no import."
"Oh but it is – see we think you, are a half-breed," he smiled again.
"And your point is?" retorted Legolas, still calm.
The smirk vanished and the recruit walked towards Hwindo until he was almost nose to nose.
"You are arrogant; can you not just answer a simple question, boy?"
"And what is the question?" asked Hwindo, his eyes never faltering from those of his antagonist.
"Pray I do not need to fight alongside you on the battle field, half-breed," spat the elf.
"You may have to, one day."
The recruit held Legolas' gaze for as long as he could, but soon looked away, the intensity of it too much.
"Pray I do not, for you will find no help from me," he sneered.
Legolas simply smiled, and watched as the Sinda and his group of friends walked away.
"Well done," murmured Idhrenohtar, as Ram en' Ondo's massive hand slapped him on the shoulder.
The tutor turned to Lainion then, a question in his eyes.
"That is Turion's find. They call him the Silvan."
"Well, for one so young and – green – he holds himself well," said the tutor, still watching as Legolas now sat with his friends.
"Yes, he shows potential. He shows the promise of command..."
"Well, we could do with more Silvan officers," said the tutor, turning to leave.
"One more thing," added Lainion, turning to face the instructor.
"Watch and report – to me only. There is a song upon the air, it comes from the trees..." added the Avari, almost to himself now. The tutor watched him for a moment, used as he was to his Avarin colleague's strange ways, before nodding and striding back to the group.
'Tis a song of welcome... a proclamation...'