Lainion
I have much news to share with you, promising news for the most part, but all of which you must be kept abreast with.
After much thought upon the matter, I have confided in Aradan and he is now fully aware of the situation. He, in turn, has told me the story of Lassiel, a story I know you were aware of. I now, also understand the question that has to be asked, for if The Silvan is here, upon Arda - where is his mother?
Aradan and I are now working closely together. He wishes only that Thranduil may redeem himself at least with me, that somehow my father can become the elf he apparently used to be, the one I cannot remember having met. As for myself what do I seek? Perhaps to understand - my father, my mother, how I should feel about having a half-brother - who can say for I certainly cannot.
The only worrying development so far is a comment that Rinion made at table not a week past. Word has come to him of the exceptional military skills of The Silvan, and has vowed to keep an eye out for him when he returns to the city. This cannot happen, of course, for it is as you say; his resemblance to my Lord Grandfather is uncanny. To this end I have devised a plan, one I believe may be suitable to all. I have previously told my father of my interest in tutoring in Imladris under Lord Erestor. I plan to remind him of it, and then execute my journey before you return. We would somehow ensure that The Silvan is part of the entourage. This is when I must speak to the boy, and Aradan will do likewise with the king.
It will be tricky, but Rinion is likely to precipitate things and I will have neither my father nor the Silvan lad finding out the hard way.
How goes the patrol? Send news and your thoughts on our plans...
Lainion folded the parchment and then burned it over the fire. Their plan was bold but he was strangely glad that Aradan was in with them. He had worked closely with the advisor for many years, while guarding the king's second son. He was a good man, a friend to the king and although Sindarin, was not sympathetic to Bandorion's notions of Sindar domination.
He would confer with Turion and write his reply as soon as he was able, yet what to say? That Handir had a half-brother with some strange power? That he fought like a devil possessed? Nay, he would say nothing for it was not, as yet, relevant. He scoffed to himself then, for how could something so transcendental be 'irrelevant.' The idea was absurd, but it was too much to reveal as yet - the players were unaware of their roles and until that changed, it would do no good to complicate matters beyond what they already were.
Raking his eyes over the patrol, Lainion lingered for a while on an apparently serene novice who now spoke timidly with the troop. He knew the warriors were still wary of the boy - unable to explain in any coherent way what they had seen. Some turned to talk of spirits and possession and although they did not really believe that, the seed of doubt had been planted. He knew the time had come to veer towards the south. It was time to show Legolas, or Hwindohtar as they were now calling him, that not all battles were fought with blades ...
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"Was there something else, Aradan?" asked the king, his voice listless, tired.
"Yes my Lord. I wish to discuss the possibility of Prince Handir tutoring with Lord Erestor of Imladris for six months. I know he has already put the idea to you some time ago, but I wish to add my voice to the project. He will do well, I am sure."
"Is it necessary? He already seems to be excelling under your own guidance," said the king as he moved to stand before the full-length window of his study.
"He is, indeed. But Imladris will pose new challenges for him. It will prepare him well for moments of crisis, and there is no one better than Lord Erestor of Imladris.
The king snorted. "Indeed I have been on the receiving end of his negotiating skills - he is clever, shrew and most learned, even if he is a Noldo."
"Add to that," continued Aradan, "the political benefits of renewing talks with the Noldor; I think there are many good reasons to send Handir. He will represent us well."
"It would be a good test for him," said the king, his voice still monotonous and apparently devoid of any emotion.
"Aye," smiled Aradan. "I would suggest waiting for a few more months, perhaps until early Spring. If you accede to the idea, I must make haste and write to their Lord so that suitable preparations can be made."
There was a long silence as the king considered the possibility of Handir leaving for an extended stay. Of the two brothers, he was the only one that was, at least, courteous with him. And yet Thranduil had lost all hope of ever redeeming himself in his sons' eyes; too much time had passed without the slightest hint of affection. But then, he scoffed, why would they? Had he given them any cause to do so? Had he so much as touched them in all this time? Had a kind word or an encouraging nod? Nay - he had done nothing, he realised bitterly. What was the point? They would never forgive him his trespass - the terrible sin of loving one he had never been allowed to have. It was a useless idea and he knew it. Only hope would make that possible, and Thranduil had none.
With a heavy heart, he simply nodded at his councillor and friend. Aye, he would allow the boy to travel. He may be incapable of mending the rift with his children, but he could make the boy happy, in this one thing at least.
"With one condition. I want a patrol of twenty with him; Handir is no warrior."
"I will see to it of course. A messenger will leave for the valley tomorrow. Do you wish to send any further correspondence, my Lord?"
"I will send a message for Elrond. If Handir is to stay in his house, I would have his assurances on the matter."
"A wise move, my Lord."
"Thank you Aradan," he said, the hint of tiredness back once more and the advisor cursed the Valar for his misery, for no one had deserved it less than this Sindarin king who had sacrificed so much for the Greenwood. Indeed every breath he took was an act of bravery, of service, for if it were not for The Greenwood - The Evergreen Wood they protected - this extraordinary elf would have faded to nothing centuries ago.
And so, in spite of his success in assuring Handir's trip, he left with a familiar weight on his chest, and no small measure of contained frustration. This king was surrounded by family, family that seemingly cared not for him at all, that showed no emotion, had not the slightest consideration for his well-being. Others, he mused, had no family and had suffered for it all their lives.
'Do not fail me, Handir,' he begged. 'Bring the light back to this family, to our king.'
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Handir
So far, all goes well. There have been some issues that will need addressing, but nothing regarding the boy's identity. For you, however, there may soon be. I calculate another few months in the field, Handir. After that we will return home and the boy will become a warrior.
Regarding Rinion, it is, indeed, a problem. Perhaps we could orchestrate things so that the boy will not be deprived of the moment he has been waiting for all his life. If we could celebrate a vow ceremony while your brother is abroad, I would be most appreciative of the effort Handir. I know this is something that should not concern you. I ask only as a personal favour to me....he deserves it. I would not have him sacrifice that which he has worked so hard to achieve.
Handir looked up to the heavens for a moment, before reading Lainion's farewells, and tossing the parchment into the hearth of his rooms.
Indeed why should he care at all about the feelings of some Silvan stranger? One that had precipitated his mother's departure, one that had failed even to keep his own mother with him. One that threatened to tear his family apart, at least what was left of it which, admittedly, was not much.
'Because he is unaware of it all - he does not know...'
Even so, Handir had no feelings for him at all. The boy was a necessary player in this game but he would not be part of the future, he was not why Handir was doing this now. He was doing it for the good of the kingdom, for his father and his siblings - for himself.
And yet Lainion seemed to have taken a shine to him and Handir would not begrudge him that. He would see what he could do - for Lainion, he assured himself.
Now, he and Aradan were charged with two questions. The first was to coordinate Legolas' arrival with his own impending departure to Imladris - if his father even acceded to such a thing, and secondly, they would need to schedule the vow ceremony so that it coincided with Rinion in the field. If the boy's identity did raise suspicion, well, their departure would be near imminent, and both his father and The Silvan would be told the truth soon after.
What had he gotten himself into? Nay what had Lainion gotten him into? He had his own studies to concentrate on, this distraction was unwelcome. But then he regretted the thought as soon as he had formulated it. The consequences of improved relations with his father would be nothing but positive.
A memory came to him quite suddenly, accompanied as so often happens, by a smell - of nut pastries hot from the oven. He saw his father's smiling face and heard his mother's joyous laughter. He remembered a rough table top that seemed to run the entire length of the room - the kitchen he realised. He sat on someone's knees and heard the voice of his elder brother as he bounced Handir up and down, his own laughter joining that of their mother's.
Wide-eyed, Handir was shocked at the intensity of the memory, so much so that a tear came to his eye and he swiped at it impatiently. He had been wrong; those memories of happier times when his family was together, when his father was still vibrant and strong - he had not forgotten - he had simply stopped remembering...
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"I have already told you, there is little more we can teach you with your weapons, but where we are headed now, it is the mind that will keep you alive, Legolas.
Legolas walked between Turion and Lainion at the rear. They had been walking for a week now, and with every step they took, the forest became darker, less green, and a strange blight seemed to affect some of the trees. Sunlight still managed to filter through the high boughs but it was strained, and the light on the forest floor was so dark it was as if they walked in perpetual twilight, their uniforms no longer green and brown but black and grey.
"Evil is not just the twisted face of an orc, or the dark machinations of some obscure Maia - it is a poison that penetrates the body and arrests your mind, your soul. Your task as a warrior in the South will be to control your body and block the poison, protect yourself against it so that you may protect others, think clearly when they cannot.
Turion glanced at their young charge from the corner of his eye. He listened intently as he always did, the faint bruise of a nasty blow he had taken some days ago when he had slipped on a patch of spider resin and fallen hard. The boy had been indignant, claiming he had never fallen from a tree, and Lainion had had to explain to him that here, not all trees were willing to host elves in their boughs. Legolas had been horrified and since then, had bombarded them with incessant questions as to why that would be.
"How does a warrior do that?" asked Legolas. "How does he control it, guard himself from it?"
"Not all of them can. I have known many excellent warriors who cannot serve in the South. After but months they return to the city and the healing wards, their minds in turmoil and their souls darkened. It takes them months to regain their spirit and serve once more. Our commanders do not recruit any warrior for these areas, they recruit only those who are stronger of mind and will."
"Can one train to endure it? I mean, if you succumb at first, can you learn to block it?"
"Yes. In fact, that is the way of it. Everyone suffers at first, until you learn to pinpoint its effects - that is when you can block it. Don't go in there thinking you can guard yourself from the start Legolas. That will not happen."
"So what will I feel? How will it affect me?" he asked, fidgeting now with his weapons belt.
"Headache, increased heart rate, a burning sensation in the eyes, a weight upon the chest - these are the universal symptoms. Others report nausea, shortness of breath, panic attacks..."
Turion watched him again, his wide eyes staring straight ahead, his Adam's apple bobbing visibly. The poor boy was nervous - they all were at this point in their training, but somehow Turion had almost thought Legolas would be impervious to it - he was not, and that was a comforting thought somehow.
He had spoken to Lainion about the strange events of their skirmish with orcs and they had both agreed to keep a close eye on the boy. They needed more information on the nature of his - gift - if that was, indeed what it was. Once they were better informed, they could find a way to help him with it.
"Legolas," called Lainion from his other side. "Your hair has escaped again. See to it that you secure it from your face before our next confrontation."
A lovely blush blossomed on his bruised face and then he turned to the Avari. "I confess I do not know what to do..."
Lainion's eyebrows rose, but then Turion saw an idea dawn on his face.
"I have an idea - a little - exotic, but it could work. We Avari have hair of a different texture to that of the Silvan and Sindar. Our braids are thicker and more secure for denser hair such as yours. I could show you when we make camp later."
Legolas smiled. "I will be a sight! A Sinda-Silvan with an Avarin hairstyle!"
"Popular with your lovers, boy!" jested the lieutenant in a rare show of emotion and Legolas chuckled, as Angion and Faunion snorted behind them, sharing the conversation with their companions behind. By twilight, as they had set up their camp, and all of them had one eye on the most unlikely spectacle that played out before the fire. Lainion, their mercurial Avarin lieutenant, was braiding Legolas' hair in a way none of them had ever seen.
The boy's hair was extraordinarily long and thick, with tones of light gold and silver that gave it a texture few elves could boast. Thick braids had been worked from front to back, from his hairline and then down his back, sitting atop the straight, unbraided hair beneath, both layers falling almost to the small of his back and when they had finished and he turned, the troop hooted and cheered, cat calls echoing around them. Legolas blushed and stood, bowing theatrically first to Lainion, and then to his audience.
"How do I look?!" he shouted merrily, no hint of his earlier anxiety.
For the next half an hour, the warriors fooled around, swaying their hips and 'ooing' and 'aaring', linking each other's arms and skipping - and Legolas was always in the middle of it, laughing and flicking at their hair in return.
Lainion and Turion watched from their nascent campfire and smiled.
"He is an extraordinary boy, Lainion. I wish the best for him...."
"I know," said Lainion, turning to face his captain and friend. "I told you back at the barracks, Turion. There is something about him that inspires loyalty, 'tis why I am here and you - you left your beloved training fields to teach him. I know you feel it too..."
Turion held his friend's gaze for a moment. Something important was happening, and they two would have a part in it. It was almost as if they had been appointed this task - by who Turion could not say and yet he felt it, in the deepest recesses of his mind he knew neither of them had ever had the slightest choice in the matter. And then, he thought, that even if he had, he would still have chosen this path. The boy had wormed his way beneath his skin, into his heart, had worked a strange magic that had captivated him from the very start.
They raised their mugs and clinked them together, before sipping on the hot tea, enjoying the entertainment, for tonight, the forest was at peace, at least for today.