True Bow (Cuthenin)

Neled-en-Pae-dadol Peth: Mellyn Gwîn, Cyth Vrûn

(Part Twenty-three: New Friends, Old Enemies)

The night was bright and filled with starlight and music, elvish voices raised in harmonious accord rendering elvish songs with a degree of ethereal perfection impossible for any other race. It was not Sindarin, his birth tongue, the dialect of Gondor and all civilised places, but Quenya, an archaic language seldom heard and little written. Boromir had refused to learn it, deeming it a useless task, yet now he wished he had not spurned those lessons with the sages and the scholars. The verses flowed by him and over him and through him, the sound itself seeming alive with the brilliance of the insightful souls of these counfounding, fascinating people.

Did they sing of the stars in words of poetic precision, flawless and real and anything but contrived, capturing the essence of the silver sparks, the reason for them, the nature of them? Perhaps the lyrics recounted a history from the time before the Sun and the Moon, a story of ill-fated love or a great battle won. So it must be: an ancient tale chanted in ancient speech, the words ringing with the glory and the grandeur that had once been theirs. Once, before the awakening of Men when stars were the only light for all the world and these star-children the only folk peopling it.

Boromir could not imagine that, a time of ever-night, everything cast in shadows and darkness. Just trying to picture it made the Man shiver and he was more conflicted than ever, for supposedly the elves preferred those days and pined for what once had been. Learned men claimed the greater part of their history had faded into legend before the rising of Ithil and the blazing birth of Anor. He could not encompass it, living and loving, fighting wars and making merry, all without anything brighter than the faint glimmer and glint of Varda's gifts. How could one mark time in such an environment? Of course, immortal beings had no need to take note of passing years much less passing hours. It was alien; a state of existence so foreign to the life he lived that Boromir saw the gap between human thought and the elvish mind as too great a chasm to close. He would never understand people whose memories spanned thousands of years.

In Imladris, one could not help but feel the weight of all those Ages. It was not in the place itself, for Rivendell was a recent colony settled within the history of Men, but in the eyes of the valley's Lord and the elven folk he governed. Boromir frowned and moved from the Hall of Fire to the adjacent porch, eager to get away from the congenial atmosphere spilling out of the house. He crossed the portico into the formal courtyard, unsettled by the gleeful camaraderie for no good reason he could name. How could they be so exuberant and care-free knowing the dire threat looming over all the world? Then again, why should they care? Elves did not really belong in Middle-earth, having a home far away protected by the Powers and secluded from all evil and decay. Why they stayed, that was the real question and the Man wondered not for the first time about the legends of the Rings of Power. If true, then maybe the One Ring held even the greatest among the First-born in thrall.

Then why send it away into the Enemy's own lair?


It was madness, senseless madness. Nothing about the elves or their reasoning made sense to him. He drifted away from the grand house and its elite inhabitants, out into the grounds where the sound of the music diminished, though he could not escape it within the borders of the secluded valley. Soon he came upon a fair gate of scrolled and filigreed metal the colour of sage. The low wall in which it was set shone bright white under the sheen of the moon and beyond it the calming cadence of trickling water beckoned. He went through. The gardens, at least, were devoid of revelling ancients cavorting in self-imposed blindness and unbending conviction. Yet, they were neither and he could not fuse their frivolity and antiquity. He wanted to scoff and discount these people, had come prepared to do so, yet found he could not. They were not what he'd expected, not as he'd been taught, not even as they seemed this night.

Faramir would not have been surprised by any of this.

He would have recognised and rejoiced in all that left his older brother perplexed and uncertain. Faramir would have known how to earn their friendship and respect. They would have heard him; they would have seen him. Elrond likely already knew of him through Mithrandir. It occurred to Boromir that perhaps the great lord had expected Denethor to send his younger son, for the lore-master made it clear an envoy from Gondor had been anticipated.

I am not the Man he hoped would arrive.

Perhaps he assigned too much importance to the identity of Minas Tirith's delegate. Could Elrond notice him as an individual person, or was one representative from Gondor much the same as any other? Could any immortal even differentiate one mortal among a world teeming with ephemeral, fragile humanity? Yet, Boromir was just as certain Elrond could and did, peering at him with those keen, perceptive eyes that seemed to see right inside his mind and heart. Could he truly? Boromir shook his head, frowning. He had not believed the fables learned at his mother's knee and now here he was immersed in the culture and the company of the elves who populated those very tales.

His frown deepened as he moved farther from the mansion. He had not come prepared to feel respectful, almost reverent, to feel insignificant and inadequate. He had thought to express a piteous indulgence for a people diminished to dim shadows of reality, a people removed from the toil and turmoil of life, a people in decline. Instead, the show of frivolity and mirth was only that; the elves of Imladris were engaged in serious warfare of a kind he had not imagined, warfare that had begun at the dawn of time. In comparison, Men's efforts were but ineffectual vanity. He was the farce; he and all his people's long history of combating evil amounted to less than a moment as elves reckoned time.

That, he decided, was what made the blithe demeanour so disconcerting. He knew they were not just singing and playing but what is was they were doing was beyond his comprehension. He considered if it might really be possible to counter the dark and ponderous dangers surmounting the world with music and song, weaving potent magic from dance and art and artistry. An image filled his mind of beings with two opposite halves: fierce and powerful warriors who indulged in foolery and wept over sunsets. Try as he might, he could not merge those contradictory personas.

He wandered along a pathway bathed in moonlight, unconsciously homing on a brighter gleam up ahead through the trees. Boromir cleared the small copse and halted, thinking to turn back but ignoring the ethical prompt of conscience. He had come upon a private conversation between two of the First-born, clearly one for which they desired both privacy and the balmy night air. It was the star-dusted glow of their skin and hair that had drawn him and now he was loathe to depart. They had not sensed his presence, or perhaps they simply ignored it, and while his behaviour amounted to nothing less than eavesdropping, the Man felt justified, for one of the pair was Legolas.

If ever there was a prime example of their disconcerting dichotomy, there he
stands.

Charged by Mithrandir, and Lord Elrond himself, to mend things, Boromir had attempted to do so at table, a huge error in judgement. Though his contrition was authentic, it only managed to call attention to the unsavoury rumours circulating. Then Pippin had made things worse by joking about the obvious fact that Legolas was not very comfortable sitting on the scantily cushioned chairs. Legolas had turned red, then white, then tried to laugh it off all the while looking as though he wished he could vanish.

Mithrandir berated the Hobbit, then Frodo scolded Pippin, who then felt awful and kept apologising, while Aragorn tried to change the topic by reminding everyone of the hopeless (in Boromir's opinion) task set before them and relaying some information the Twin Lords had brought to light. Finally, Gimli called everyone 'damned fool idiots', said he didn't care what anyone else thought of Legolas, and invited his friend for a walk. They left before the second course.

Now the Wood Elf leaned against a slender, fluted pillar upholding the roof of an elegant gazebo, his posture relaxed and unassuming; quite different from the stern and combative stance he generally exhibited in the Man's presence. Boromir watched him conversing with his guardian, his features almost transmuted with happiness, his tone bubbling with excited anticipation and something like tremendous relief. Galdor sat within the structure, smiling and encouraging his ward, indulgent joy in his features, yet even in this less dominant pose he was obviously the elder and more powerful elf. Legolas absorbed his unvoiced approval and drank of his unfettered admiration as though long deprived of such regard and validation.

And so it must be, a consequence of low birth.

The Man wanted to discount the debased prince but could not manage it. Legolas carried himself with the grace of all the First-born yet about him clung an air of nobility that was distinctive. Boromir would never have guessed he was bred in shame. At the same time, seen like this, when he thought none but his mentor could perceive him, Legolas was fair and fragile-seeming. Fair enough, that was truth, but hardly fragile, at least not physically. Exuberant enough now but beneath still serious and troubled.

Boromir had already heard much of his skill in battle and did not doubt the truth of the stories, yet he could not entirely accept it either. Legolas' actions bespoke a lack of maturity: challenging someone to combat over a perceived affront, allowing himself to get involved in an intimate affair with a much older person he barely knew, lying by omission about his background, accusing Boromir of treacherous intentions. Word had got round that he really was young and the Man believed it; it was all in the eyes. There lay the basis for his scepticism, or rather his lack of confidence, in the elf. Legolas was simply too inexperienced to be trusted on so serious a mission.

He should be sent home to his father.

Yet had he not just come from Mirkwood? The elven King must care little for his youngest child to send him off into nearly certain death. If so, that was a terrible burden, one that inspired unwarranted shame and guilt, and Faramir immediately came to his mind. To receive nothing but scorn and derision from one's own sire, that was an onerous fate. The Man scowled; for all he'd been prepared to dislike Legolas and had just enumerated many reasons to disparage him, what he truly felt was just the opposite.

The Wood Elf ceased talking and Boromir startled as two sets of riveting eyes delved him to his marrow. Legolas was standing straight, attitude wary but not angry. The elder elf rose also and not so subtly nudged his ward. At that prompt, Legolas raised his hand in greeting and when he spoke his voice was hesitant and yet more cheery than the Man had ever heard him sound.

"Suilad, Boromir. Have you wearied of the merry-making so soon?"

"Aye, and it would seem you feel the same. Suilad, Lord Galdor," the Man used the same tone and bowed to the noble ancient.

"Well met, son of Gondor," nodded the wise Sadron. He sent Legolas a look filled with insistence that now was the time to make good on his promise, to go beyond formal apologies and really mend things between them. "Forgive me, but I must take my leave of you both, for I have promised to sing the Lay of the Mariner once more since Círdan is not here and Elrond will not."

"Ab'eveditham, Tirn'wador." (We will meet later, Guardian.) Legolas bowed politely but then spontaneously caught the Sadron in a swift embrace, needing to feel the press of affirming arms round him, and smiled as he drew back, catching the gleam of Galdor's sincere goodwill in his pale, green eyes.

"Aye, we will have much to discuss, but not until Anor rises. Galu-en-Tawar am le," he said and turned to Boromir, raising his right hand up, "and upon thee also may the Blessings of the Great Wood descend and remain."

"My thanks," the Man uttered gravely, bowing in respect for such an honour to be bestowed on a human.

He watched the elder stroll away and glanced at Legolas, who was staring fixedly at his guardian's retreating form, looking anything but comfortable. The relaxed and easy pose displayed before had been replaced by the upright attitude of superiority he generally exhibited around Boromir. The Man allowed himself a smile, but a rueful one, knowing now the reason behind that show of conceit.

"Legolas."

"Boromir."

They offered one another courteous smiles and courtly little nods of respect that were utterly fake and then fell silent. Mending this rift was not going to be an easy task for Man or Elf. Legolas sighed and parted his lips to make some attempt, but Boromir jumped in first.

"It grieves me that my ignorance and bias was used to reveal that which you would rather have remained private," he began, hoping to find a means to speak of this without making things between them even more awkward.

"Indeed, it was a vile thing to do, to you and to me, for we have not been generous toward one another and discord was certain to arise. Whoever is guilty owes a debt to us both. For my part, I know you had no intent to cause me discomfort or embarrassment." Legolas felt his cheeks grow warm and was glad the dark hid his reaction from the Man. Why must every conversation begin with this, his shame and humiliation?

"No, I didn't."

Boromir studied the Wood Elf carefully but unobtrusively, he hoped, noting the uneasy tension in the wiry frame and displeased by it. Maybe he shouldn't have brought up this topic again, but there was too much enmity between them to let it lie. He was determined to address that which he felt it was imperative to discuss, but was a Man of action more than speeches and feared to generate more hostility rather than the truce he desired. Still, he was a Man of honour and these were things he felt honour-bound to say. He cleared his throat and Legolas looked to him.

"Like everyone else, I heard the gossip and listened to the rumours," he began. "To say I was surprised by all the drama and intrigue your status generated is an understatement. Such are not the manners and attitudes I'd imagined High Elves would foster. Then again, It makes them more real, somehow, more like me."

"What do you mean?" Legolas asked, taking a half step back. If this pompous Man was about to malign his parentage, Legolas would be forced to abandon any hope of ever befriending him.

"Before coming here, my idea of elves was one of contempt and disregard. Now it is more disappointment accompanied by something almost like awe," he said. Legolas' face rearranged itself into a perplexed scowl giving his ageless features lines and furrows they would never display otherwise.

"Your initial views are no shock tome; such is the attitude of most mortals. What you describe now is contradictory. I would not think it possible to feel disappointed and awed simultaneously." He was almost certain the Man was building to something insulting and rude and braced himself for it, wondering how he could adequately justify to Lord Elrond, his Tirn'wador, and Mithrandir the sudden removal of Boromir's insolent tongue.

"Allow me to explicate. I am an educated man," the Steward's heir continued, permitting himself a step apart so to create a small cushion of protective distance, "tutored by the most learned scholars of my country, schooled in the history of the Numenoreans, knowledgeable of the various cultures of the many realms and kingdoms of humans scattered throughout Arda. I am admittedly not as well-versed in the history of the elves and honestly could not say I know much of, or see any reason to know, the great deeds of the Eldar before the coming of Men."

"I see." Legolas' hands curled into fists.

"No, you don't. Permit me to finish before you proceed to attack me."

"I am not going to attack you!" Legolas fumed in high aggravation. "I would offer you the chance to retract anything derogatory first. Besides, you cannot expect me to be amenable to listening when all you do is offer new reasons to call you enemy instead of friend."

"So it may seem, buy let me explain and then if you consider my remarks disrespectful I will assent to whatever redress your honour demands."

Legolas stared in confusion, curious about what Boromir had to say and uncertain if it had to do with elf-kind in general or himself specifically. He gave a curt nod, to which the Man dipped his head, smiling somewhat grimly as he began to speak.

"I recall the stories of the First and Second Ages as one would legends, tales so lost in time that the truth is impossible to know and thus they serve only as entertainment for the fireside. A warrior first and foremost, I have considered these ancient histories irrelevant, consumed as I am with the trials of safeguarding my country and my people against the encroaching evil on our borders. Early on, I relegated Elves and their doings to the sphere of myth and mystery, a topic reserved for the young, the romantic, or the foolish. I find it necessary to reconsider that opinion now."

"And your new evaluation includes a peculiar variety of thwarted reverence?" Legolas bristled. How could Galdor expect him to make a comrade of such an abominably arrogant person?

"In a sense," Boromir went on, cognisant of the Wood Elf's rising ire but determined to complete his point. "A dying race even before the Last Alliance, diminished in strength and power, cowering in their protected enclaves, thus Denethor my father described the First-born of Iluvatar to his first born son, and I had no reason to doubt him. All my life and throughout the life of my father, grandfather, and great-grandfathers for many generations, the people of Gondor have lived and died without ever seeing, or even thinking of, an elf."

The look of stunned indignation plastered over the ingenuous Wood Elf's face was not promising and it was all the Man could do to keep going, but he did, quickly.

"It was a shock to learn my father was so ill-informed, so completely mistaken. Instead of a waning and ineffectual people, I have come among immortals who bravely defy an onslaught of virulent, evil energy threatening to consume the whole of Arda. How they go about it I cannot determine, though I know there are formidable elven warriors here. Perhaps it is more the stubborn refusal to let the Shadow win that impresses me." Boromir shrugged, unable to adequately articulate his assessment of the Elves of Imladris.

"Aye, all elf-kind abhors Shadow." Legolas stared at the Man, nonplussed. Just when he was about to unleash an excoriating barrage of counter denouncements for such blatant impertinence, Boromir turned around and twisted his scurrilous words into compliments. Legolas had no means to predict what the Gondorian would say next.

"I wanted to ridicule and disregard elf-kind," Boromir continued, "came prepared to do so. Instead, I find myself awed and no small amount disturbed."

"Disturbed?" Legolas was completely lost.

"Aye, about many things," the Man gave an aggrieved frown. "For one, I would not expect a people so devoted to the destruction of evil to be so prejudiced and petty in everyday matters."

"What?" the sylvan archer was back on the defensive. "We are neither of those things."

"Everyone has some prejudice; it is unavoidable. Even you," Boromir challenged.

"I thought we both wanted to reach accord," seethed Legolas, "but it won't be possible as long as you make such contentious statements to me."

"I prefer contention if the end result is understanding," rejoined Boromir. "Friendship is no light and easy thing, not friendship with me."

"That I can believe."

"You cannot deny the High Elves here are not exactly pleased with your selection as a part of the Quest and that displeasure stems from your sylvan origins, your humiliation of one of their finest swordsmen, your unorthodox relationship with Glorfindel, and your status as King Thranduil's bastard son." There, he'd said it. Before Legolas exploded, Boromir hurried to finish his thought. "That does not set well within my notion of Lord Elrond and his people. My own lack of respect can, perhaps, be dismissed as stupidity and arrogance, for I am but a Man with no prior experience among the First-born. Even so, it matters less to me how you were begot than whether or no you will prove useful on this mission."

"I cannot believe you are saying these things to me." Legolas reflected bitterly, incapable of determining what the correct response would be. In one breath the Man admitted his fault, then faulted his betters and implied his position on the unseemly topic was supportive. Legolas turned abruptly and moved to the pathway, intending to join Galdor in the Hall of Fire and beg to have this unfathomable human removed from the Fellowship lest he kill him en route to Mordor. "Stupid and arrogant, aye, those are the adjectives I would choose for you. Say no more words to me, Boromir; I will not remain party to this farce of conciliation."

"Wait," Boromir followed. "Most people would say nothing to your face while indulging their appetite for unsavoury stories behind your back. But you and I need to have a clear understanding between us for we will surely hold safe each other's lives many times in the days ahead. I cannot help noticing that for all my words may cause pain, you have neither contradicted them nor challenged me to combat; thus, I surmise their truth."

Legolas stopped and eyed him coldly. "For one who hopes to count on me in battle, you speak without tact or intelligence."

"Nay, Legolas, do not reduce this to the same kind of petty quarrel you had with that Noldorin elf, Ithil'wath. This is very important. There can be no question of distrust between us."

"Petty quarrel, is it? My honour, my peoples' dignity is unimportant compared to your need for reassurance that I will not let the orcs eat you?" Legolas was beside himself. He saw no recourse but to challenge the Man and teach him his manners the hard way, but for that imperative from Galdor. "Oh, be assured; there is no question in my mind whatsoever, Boromir! I cannot entrust myself to one who defames me so openly." Legolas was trembling in his effort to restrain his outrage and was infuriated to see mirth playing through the man's dark eyes.

"Have I defamed you? Nay, I have uttered truth, confirmed by your lack of rebuttal."

"You wish to make me say the words, so be it: I am King Thranduil's last-born, bastard child. Are you satisfied?" He wheeled and stormed down the path, muttering curses under his breath and plotting how to dispose of the odious mortal. To his complete disbelief, Boromir followed.

"I am, but not because I wished to hear you admit the truth openly to me." Boromir had to walk very fast to keep up. "You see, however little I know of you, Legolas, that much I take for fact: you will not deny truth even when it is not complimentary to you. There are few who would hold so determinedly and courageously to truth when that truth is nobody's business to know. That indicates an exemplary character."

That brought the Wood Elf up sharp and Boromir paused, too, surveying the perplexed sylvan, watching a score of conflicting emotions go chasing through his glittering eyes, judging he had Legolas' complete attention.

"In case I haven't made it clear, I care not who you are or what you are so long as you will be trustworthy in battle and loyal to our cause. I find you honourable no matter your parents' errors, Legolas, or the opinions of High Elves; I would trust you with my life in any situation that arises," the Man concluded, hoping that would soften the sting of his blunt speech.

For several heartbeats Legolas said nothing, running the conversation through his mind again and again, desperate to learn whether Boromir was sincere in this last part or no. He could not deny that the Man's usual pomposity and air of arrogant superiority were completely absent. He was speaking to Legolas as he would an equal, something he had not done previously. Yet, if he really did not care about whether or not Legolas' parents were properly wed, then why had he been so pleased when he thought Legolas was a prince? That, however, was not the question the sylvan archer asked.

"You still doubt my skill and question my trustworthiness. Why should I care to console you?"

"No, I do not doubt you and have no need of reassurance."

"Then you have said all this…"

"To tell you that I will not treat you as lesser because of your status."

"Really? You had nothing to do with me at first, sneering down your nose along with the rest of the humans. Yet, you were ready enough to befriend me when you thought I was a high-born prince."

"Aye, to my shame. I already told you honestly of my mixed feelings about elf-kind and how I listened to the gossips. The truth is, once I found out you were royalty, I thought you would be more attuned to the responsibilities I bear. We both must place the welfare of our own folk above all. I hoped to make an ally within the Fellowship, someone who would understand and support my position."

"You thought that would be me?"

"I did."

They regarded one another in the quiet night air, the dark not black enough to hide the mixture of fury and bewilderment swirling in the elf's eyes. Legolas inhaled a deep breath.

"It is hard to believe you, given the attitude you held toward me even before my shame was made so public. I think you are saying what Lord Elrond would have you say."

"That is in some part true, but so are you treating with me only because your guardian insisted upon it."

There was no denying this and Legolas frowned, folding his arms before him. "Yes, but I am doing it for the betterment of the Fellowship, not my own ends. If I had my way, you would not be part of this endeavour."

"Why, because of my words at the council? I spoke the thoughts in many minds less willing to challenge the great elven Lords. Is that so terrible?"

"No, but I fear you still hold those views, which are dangerous. Even more, I deem your method of thought and action irrational. For example, you were so jubilant to discover you'd made the acquaintance of Thranduil's heir. Knowing the truth, you will not openly treat me as lesser but only think it, yet all the while you disdain the contribution of Elladan and Elrohir, two true princes if ever that word had meaning for elves."

"Fair enough, I admit I…"

"And now you will do me the great honour of treating me as an equal," Legolas sneered. "How magnanimous!"

"Yes, I deserve that, too, but really I…"

"What you deserve is…," but Legolas stopped, suddenly hearing himself preparing to pass judgement on the Man yet again. Flustered and frustrated, he blushed to have forgotten his Tirn'wador's words. "I don't know what you deserve," he amended quickly. To his amazement, the Man erupted in nervous laughter.

"Ah! Legolas, your guileless demeanour is refreshing, for it is so seldom encountered," he said brightly. "You will be of benefit to the Fellowship in more ways than one, I'll wager. Please, accept my apology for all the discord. I am accustomed to being the one in command and it is difficult for me to accept a secondary role. I fear I was too pleased to see your royal status as an avenue to advancing my position in the Fellowship."

"You confuse me," complained Legolas. "One second you insult me and the next you would claim friendship. Is this the way for Men of Gondor?"

"I warned you; my friendship is not an easy thing to bear."

"So you did."

"And since I have not been rendered insensible by 'Axe-foot', may I take that as proof you wish to become friends?"

"Let us say instead 'allies' and that will be nearer the mark," Legolas said. "I can only pray it is worth all this turmoil. Could you not simply have told me you don't care that I am no prince of Greenwood without all those references to your convoluted view of elves?"

"I am not so certain you are not a prince of Greenwood," Boromir shrugged, "and doubt you would have believed me if I just said it outright. I wanted you to understand how I arrived at that opinion since it is at such variance with my initial conduct toward you."

"And you got to this point by considering how petty the folk of Imladris can be?" Legolas was astounded by such reasoning. "Do you always go about things in such a tortuous manner? I cannot begin to understand this."

"Nay, it is no great stretch to see it, Legolas. Their prejudice forced me to confront my own, to see that I was ready to condemn you only because it agreed with what the High Elves were saying. And I permitted them, one of them, to use me to cause you harm. That does not set well with me. Besides, maybe, since we are being honest tonight, I can admit it was very difficult to voice these words. I cannot deny that I am a proud Man, but nevertheless realised I was behaving as an odious toad and a stupid one."

"'Odious toad' is perhaps too extreme," chuckled Legolas. "In truth, the fault for the misunderstanding is partly mine. The denouncements I made regarding your motives for joining the Fellowship were widely repeated. I offer you my sincere apologies. Never should I have suggested your reasons are anything but honourable. Misguided, yes, but not a product of malice."

"As I said at dinner: I accept, Legolas, and add this caveat: that you take my hand in friendship. I, too, regret the false judgements and misunderstandings of which I have been guilty."

"Nasan!" (So be it!)

The Wood Elf and the Man of Gondor stepped toward one another and shared a fast, forceful grip, separating to stand in nervous poses of feigned nonchalance, showing faint, uncertain smiles. Both knew this accord was required by their betters and thus was at best a rickety truce, but it was a start. Almost as one they turned and loitered along the broad pathway, following the soft sound of the nearby brook. The quiet between them was difficult to bear for both but it was the Man who broke it first.

"Of what are they singing?" he asked suddenly, unable to generate anything more pertinent yet less ominous.

"What, now?" Legolas looked at him briefly and offered a more authentic smile. "They sing of Gil-galad now and soon, when that is done, Galdor will begin the long Lay of Eärendil."

"Why are they singing in the ancient tongue?" the Man couldn't help asking. "Is that the usual manner of sharing tales here?"

"I could not say," Legolas grinned and shrugged. "I have never been here before, either. Yet in my home we also sing many of the old tales in our own ancient tongue, though it is not an abandoned language, as is Quenya, but one we speak among ourselves daily. The folk of Lorien, too, know the old speech."

"Lorien, the Golden Wood, you mean?" Boromir asked, his voice betraying his uneasiness with the place. "In my homeland, Imladris is scarcely believed to be real, but the Land of the Lady of Light is something of a horror story."

"What?" Legolas stopped walking and crossed his arms over his chest, indignant. "Lord Celeborn is a kinsman to my Adar and thus to me. He rules a realm of beauty and peace. Where is the horror in that?"

"There is none," Boromir agreed, holding up hands to quell the elf's outburst. "Yet the stories say nothing of this Lord you name. In my country, the Golden Wood is ruled by an elf-witch, a Lady perilous and powerful who robs men of their very souls and feeds babes to her pet wolves."

"You cannot be serious!" Legolas exclaimed in shock. "The folk of Lorien are my own people, divided due to the encroaching evil that now seeks to divide us all. Galadriel may have a questionable past, but whatever her offences may be they do not include soul-snatching or abducting and killing innocent children."

"Ah! You admit there is something dark about her," Boromir pointed at his companion, smiling victoriously. "There is always a kernel of truth in such fables, no matter how embellished and distorted the reality has grown over time."

"I cannot say if that is so or not," Legolas hedged, unfolding his arms and resuming his progress.

"Well, what was your impression of her, then?" demanded the Man.

"I have never been to Lorien," answered Legolas, casting a swift glance into Boromir's face to see if he was likely to say anything that would demand immediate retraction or redress. After what had already transpired between them, Legolas had no desire to be forced to issue a challenge to the Man in defence of the Lady's honour.

"So you do not really know," Boromir nodded and then shook his head, chuckling in bemusement, "but you champion her anyway."

"What is amusing in this?" demanded Legolas. Valar! This is the most contentious person I have ever known!

"Just that you remind me of Faramir, my younger brother. He, too, will abide no disparagement of the Lady of Light, though he knows only what he has read in scrolls so old they are crumbling into dust."

"Well, I am sure she is wise and noble, else Lord Celeborn would not have wed her," insisted Legolas. "He is a cousin of Thengel, the great elven King of Doriath."

"And your 'adar' is kin to Celeborn and so then must also have blood ties to that royal lineage, as do you," Boromir bowed, sweeping his hand out in an exaggerated flourish that was not meant to be mocking, as his expression demonstrated when he righted himself. "You are descended from impressive stock, Legolas."

Legolas did not know if the Man was serious. In light of the convoluted discussion just concluded, he decided to say nothing and hurried forward out into a bright clearing to stand upon the bank of the cheerful stream. Perhaps the remark was meant in a complimentary way and he should respond with a similar nod to Boromir's exalted ancestors. He pursed his lips; this was all so much more difficult than conversing with Aragorn.

"That was not intended to offend," Boromir offered, following.

"Nay, there is nothing rude in your words. I cannot dispute your evaluation," he said finally, "though it means little to my people. The woodland folk point to Thengel's fate as a caution against the lure of power and wealth. I think it is the same for your people. The downfall of Numenor and the splitting of the line of the Kings of Men is a tale known to us. You, also, possess a noble pedigree but your forebears all chose not to take upon themselves the burden of a crown."

"Aye, that is true," Boromir answered, surprised Legolas knew anything of his peoples' history. "The Stewards hold the land of Gondor in trust for the return of the King. It is not something we have given much thought to in these darkening days, for it is hard enough to hold onto the land. Grasping for a crown, we might well lose the kingdom."

Silence fell between them but now it was the sort in which congenial contemplation arises rather than a quiet fraught with strain and suspicion. Side by side they stood, one gazing into the burbling water, the other scanning the heavens, each acknowledging that there was not so much distance between them as they might have supposed.

"It is a fine night," remarked Legolas, eyes shimmering as they reflected the light of the stars which he studied in wonder. He gave his head a bewildered shake. "I cannot get used to it."

"This mild weather?"

"Nay - aye - that is, I am astounded by the differences between my homeland and Imladris."

"Ah. It is rumoured that Mirkwood is a place to fear."

"Nay, not so, though perhaps there is more truth in that than I wish to acknowledge."

"I know that feeling. My home was once the beacon of all that is decent and honourable among Men, a bastion of strength and power. Now, we are a people besieged."

"As are mine. There are dark and terrible things stalking through the shadows of Greenwood right now, yet here one would never imagine the world was anything but gloriously radiant and ever-peaceful. I…I feel somehow wrong to be here when I know I am needed at home." Legolas frowned; that wasn't what he'd meant to say at all. He wanted to speak of the majesty of the Elder Days and the beauty of the world when the First-born were still in the Spring-time of existence. He meant to explain how Imladris preserved that resplendent magnificence, to relate some inkling of the might and power of the Elves and dispel Boromir's negative view.

"I have had similar thoughts," admitted Boromir. "I keep thinking I should be back with my troops and my brother should be here instead."

Legolas offered him a rueful half-smile in acknowledgement. "I understand how great is the threat your people face, for the same Enemy once took up residence in my home. We were unable to unseat him until aid came to us from the White Council, which is the gathering of our greatest Lords and the Istari." Again he paused and evaluated Boromir's countenance, trained upon him in serious interest. Perhaps this was the opportunity what Galdor meant for turning the mortal's heart toward light and hope. "As I was growing up, I often wondered why Adar did not call upon the White Council to use the Rings of Power and force the Necromancer out."

"So! The legends are true," Boromir's eyes gleamed in something like anger and avarice combined. "And did they not use that mighty power to finally drive Sauron from your home?"

"Nay. They would not use the Rings for fear of drawing out the One. Now that it is found, still they will not use them."

"Does that not bother you at all?" demanded Boromir. "Your home will be hard hit when this war breaks open, for the tower of Dol Guldur is not empty."

"Nay, it is not," Legolas' eyes dropped away and it was clear he was deeply troubled by the turn of the conversation. "My people will suffer much and I fear for those who are dear to me."

"As do I," said the Man, taking a step closer and lowering his voice. "That is why I called for the use of the One against its maker. Once he is defeated, it will be easy enough to destroy the Ring for none will oppose us."

"So it seems," Legolas nodded, alarmed to hear this theory voiced with such certainty. Boromir had not heeded any of the counsel given thus far. "But it does not work that way. The One corrupts whatever it touches. Even that which begins in purity will end in infamy."

"How do you know?" insisted Boromir. "That is what you have been told, but no one truly knows."

"Nay, I have been told nothing of it. We do not speak of that thing. I know because I feel it in my soul. What Frodo bears is a vile abomination, for it holds nothing less than the warped and perverted essence of one of the Ainur. Whatever good was in Sauron at his creation, it was lost long Ages ago. If one of the Blessed can become so debased, how can we resist such a force? The idea of it makes my skin crawl and being near it makes me feel sick at heart. I despair, imagining the future holds only defeat and endless sorrow."

"And yet you are content to let Frodo carry this burden."

"Content?" Legolas flared, lifting furious eyes to Boromir's. "Nay, I am not content but neither was I prepared to take it up, to touch it myself. May Eru forgive me, I could not. But I am not content, Boromir." He turned away, unhappy and worrying again over the fate of those he loved, his mission to convert Boromir forgotten. He reached into his tunic pocket and drew out the small tortoiseshell box, turning it over and over in his hands.

"Forgive me, that was unnecessary for I faced the same challenge and did not step forward. For all I have so loudly demanded that it be wielded against our foe, I, too, was unwilling to lay hands upon it," Boromir settled a friendly clasp upon Legolas' shoulder and saw what he held. Glad for a chance to turn the subject elsewhere, he motioned to it. "I see you have reclaimed the gift." He offered a smile as Legolas looked up. "Is it from your betrothed?"

"It is," Legolas stiffened and stood tall, suspecting the reason for this query was not pleasant in the least. "You do not approve of such a match, a union between two males."

"It is not for me to judge," answered the Man, shrugging. "I confess it is not a pairing Men condone, but elves are not Men. And as I already said, I should not have fallen to the lure of rude gossip. It is easy to do, so far from home. Men I would not normally count worthy of my notice I have welcomed at table here, just for the comfort of a human face and voice. I only ask about it because the gift does not seem to please you. Is this due to the way it was used against you?"

"Nay, not that," objected Legolas. "It does please me," he started and halted again, looking to the small object cradled atop his palm. "It is just that…custom demands that I take it to my Nana, that is my mother, and seek her counsel regarding the match. It is a formality, of course, but a much cherished one." Now that the words were out, he was shocked to have spoken of this to a person he had counted little better than an enemy just moments ago. Perhaps he was more unsettled by the talk of the Ring than he'd realised.

"Ah, and you are now far from her," nodded Boromir, surprised by the elf's candour and eager to encourage it. He was determined to win the sylvan's trust and prove his worthiness to participate in the quest. Indeed, Lord Elrond had warned that his incumbency was dependent upon achieving that goal.

"She is dead," Legolas said flatly, his chest tightening up in a harsh spasm that robed him of air and sent a shock to his heart. It was the first time he'd spoken those words and the finality in them was crushing. The Man was speaking and he tried to focus on that, hoping to stave off the wave of nausea that engulfed him.

"I'm sorry; I had no idea." Boromir felt terrible, looking at the elf. Every pore of Legolas' body radiated abysmal dereliction and abandonment. He took a spontaneous step in his direction and stopped, uncertain what to do. "I lost my mother, also; though it was many years ago."

They spent a long moment in silent communion over this unexpected congruity in their lives and then Legolas spoke again, his voice very quiet and small.

"Do you still miss her?"

"Every day that dawns."

They did not speak anymore for Legolas began to sing and while Boromir did not know the words or the language he allowed the music to become an offering for his mother, too.

TBC

NOTE: Well, this one has been in mothballs a long time, so thought I would try to get something posted.