The Price of Pride

Elvish translations

Hamio – sit
Ion nín – my son
Maer – good
Maliar – careful
Tur – control


Chapter 57


We finished the journey home slowly, as my father began teaching me to draw more from the trees than just information. Every morning when we woke, he would lead me away from the others and guide me as I opened my heart as well as my mind to the trees. We would repeat the process when we made camp for the night. The first few days, I could hear the trees easily enough, but I could not open my heart to them, having to rely on my father’s strength to keep me whole instead. I understand now that the problem came from my belief that there was nothing left of my heart, not even pieces that could be put back together. As my father’s care helped me heal, I finally abandoned that notion and began to make progress.

“I can feel it,” I exclaimed, as a trickle of energy flowed into me one morning.

“Maer,” he replied as I struggled to draw more energy from the trees. “Maliar,” he warned me. “You can draw too much.” I realize now that he was regulating the flow of strength from the trees, protecting me from taking more than I could handle. At the time, I knew only that the trees were trying to comfort me, as my father had done. The feeling of well-being lasted until long after lunch. When I felt it fade, I started to reach for more.

“Nay, ion nín,” my father said, bringing his horse beside mine. “You have not yet learned enough control to do this on your own. Wait for the evening.”

“But Ada…” I began.

The look he gave me was not father to son, but King to subject. I knew better than to argue with him in that mood so I subsided, forcing myself to wait until we made camp to experience again the amazing communion with the world around me. Once again, that night, my father guided me through the process of touching the trees, of finding their core and drawing from the life force of Arda. I was able to pull more energy than I had that morning as my father lessened his control over the process. It was still only a trickle of power, but the feeling of it coursing through me was incredibly potent. Once again, I struggled to pull in more. Once again, my father stopped me. “Tur, Legolas,” he told me. “You must control it, not let it control you. It is dangerous otherwise.”

Even with the little I had taken, I did not sleep that night, filled with seemingly boundless energy thadedaded just before the dawn. My father did not control my communion the next morning. The strength of the trees washed over me, almost drowning me before I could break the contact. I felt as if my body were alight with energy. I ranged far and wide that day, trying to release the pent-up power within me. I did not sleep that night. Or the next. And when I finally came down off the high, I felt worse than I had since I had been reunited with my father.

I was about to reach out to the trees again when my father appeared before me. “Have you still not understood?” he asked me. “This is not a trick to be used lightly. You can kill yourself this way just as easily as you can in your grief. You must take just enough strength from the trees to carry you through until your own strength is restored. If you become dependent on the trees, you will never be self-sufficient again. Your body and soul cannot withstand the highs and lows of drawing too much.”

I nodded as if I understood, but it took many more days before I truly did. He did not let me draw from the trees again for three days. When, finally, he let me again commune with them, I remembered his words, and tried not to take more than I could handle. It was still trial and error, and some days I had more success than others, but by the time we reached my father’s palace, I had learned enough control that my father no longer felt the need to monitor my e mov move.

As time passed, I relied less and less on the link with my father, though it never completely faded. Even now, I have only to think of it and I can feel his touch in my mind as I never could before.

We had been home for a month when my father called me to his study.

“Hamio,” my father said, indicating a chair. I took the indicated chair warily and waited. If my father wanted to chat, we did so as we dined in the evenings. A summons to his study meant that someg elg else – something important – was happening.

“You seem to be feeling better,” my father said, studying me closely.

“I am, Ada. Most of the time, anyway.” It was the truth. I was able to push aside my anger, my grief, my sense of betrayal most days, though occasionally the sight of a couple would bring it all back. Even then, though, I could pull myself back together quickly.

“You misunderstand me, ion nín. You are growing more adept at controlling your emotions, at hiding them, but you have not dealt with them. What will happen the next time you see Arwen? Or worse, the next time you see Aragorn? The walls you have built up around your feelings will come tumbling down and you will be as helpless as you were when this first started.”

“Aragorn is mortal,” I replied. “I merely have to avoid him for a few years and he will be gone.”

“Aragorn is Isildur’s heir. He has the blood of Numenor in his veins. He will not die in ‘a few years’ as you put it, though he will die eventually. His life will span two hundred years or more. I have spoken with Elrond. The world is changing. He and Galadriel have felt it, as have I, and they foresee a role for you in that change, in the fight that is to come. If you are to do that, you will have to stand beside Aragorn, for he, too, has a role to play in what is to come.”

“I will do my duty,” I informed him, dully.

“Oh, Legolas,” my father sighed, “this is not about duty. This is about loyalty and, aye, even about love. Duty will not face the Shadow. It takes more than that, as you know from your time patrolling these woods. Duty alone cannot stand. If you take up the task, whatever it may be, that Elrond has foreseen only out of duty, you will fail, and perhaps those with you as well. Tell me what passed between you and Aragorn. Maybe by helping me understand, you will help yourself as well.”

I was not ready to do as my father asked. I was quite sure I would never be ready to do as he asked. But my father was not King for nothing. He knew just what look to give me to have the words tumbling out. I spoke, haltingly at first, of coming upon Aragorn in the woods, of how I had joined in the battle simply because he was fighting Orcs, of how I had admired his courage and his skill, and of my shock at learning that he was Elrond’s foster-son. “Did you know that Elrond even had a foster-son?” I asked, interrupting my own tale.

“Aye,” my father replied. “He told me soon after the boy came to Imladris, but he bade me not speak of it. So I did not. Go on with your story.”

So I did. I talked of our courtship, of my doubts about Arwen, of the time in the inn, and then of going to Rohan. I told him of the hamlet we had found, of Aragorn’s injury, of the farmers and of our fight.

“I do not understand, Ada,” I said at that point. “I do not know how many times I explained my promise to Aragorn. Why could he not be patient a little longer?”

“Mortals are not known for their patience,” my father replied sagely. “He needed reassurances that you did not give him. I know you had your reasons, and I know you explained them to him, but all the explanations in the world do not take the place of what he wanted to hear.”

“I could not,” I answered.

“Could not, would not. All that matters to him is that you did not. You feel he has betrayed you, but he did not, Legolas. Until one of you spoke the words, there was nothing more binding between you than the physical. And while that might have been wonderful, it was not enough to stop him from taking from someone else what you would not give him. I taught you to be proud, ion nín, and I taught you that your word was inviolate. I may have taught you too well.”