True Bow (Cuthenin)

Cuthenin (True-Bow)

by F.E.Morton

unbeta'd

Disclaimer: just borrowing, the characters and settings are Tolkien's,
the words here are mine. No money earned.

thoughts

(elvish translation)

Summary: A look at what might happen if Legolas was just known as a
messenger and not as Thranduil's son. The setting is just before the
Council of Elrond. Features Glorfindel/Legolas pairing.

NOTE: My continued gratitude to those who are reading and especially
those reviewing! I appreciate every comment given. Please check my
profile for an alternate place to read the story where I can reply to
each review individually.

Now, this story has certainly showed me that the controversy
surrounding Legolas has not diminished over the years! I am making the
issues surrounding his heritage and his age, things never explicitly
stated in Tolkien's works, the focus of this tale. However, I do not
pretend that I am giving any sort of definitive answer to these
lingering questions! This remains at its core an AU story that is just
for enjoyment, not an essay on the intent of the character's creator. I
do not claim to be anything close to a Tolkien scholar, so please allow
for the liberties taken.

---

Enchui Peth: Maeth en Hant (Part six:
Field of Battle)

Now the activity on the training grounds ceased and silence engulfed
the various groups of warriors even before the bizarre procession came
into view. Dwarves were not unknown in the Hidden Vale of Lord Elrond
and diplomatic ties with the Iron Mountains may not have been strong
but at least they were maintained. Many of the Imladrian elves had seen
the dwarves sparring and practising with their weapons on previous
days, so it was no surprise that they would do so again. A few elves
had even made the effort to engage the Naugrim and test their speed,
skill, and strength against the endurance, might, and tenacity of the
dwarven fighters, axe against sword. Yet none of the Noldor had ever
seen a sight to match this, for the Lords of Dain's kingdom north of
Erebor were marching along the trail, singing with the Wood Elf
messenger that had already caused such a stir.

The archer's fair voice made a pleasingly harmonious accompaniment to
the basso chant of the deep-toned Naugrims' tramping canticle. His
aspect was likewise a striking contrast to the regal Lords and in every
way was he their opposite, though not for the usual reasons. Seldom did
one among the First-born present as lesser in elegance and refinement
to the children of Aulë, yet the Wood Elf nearly claimed that
distinction. Even so, it could not be denied that there was about him
an air of bold daring and defiance, for it required significant
self-possession to behave with such a calm and genial manner in so
difficult a situation. He seemed to appreciate the humour in it, even
if it was at his expense, and in a strange way this enabled him to
retain his dignity; dirty clothes, filthy boots, wicker basket and all.

Once the dwarves stopped their song and broke the single file
formation, the spell of stuporous disbelief lifted from the Noldor only
to be replaced with a mixture of amusement and irritation. Many found
the display highly entertaining and watched as the Naugrim and the
silvan engaged in some sort of formal and elaborate 'fare-thee-wells'
before parting ways, with much courtly bowing. Others found the Wood
Elf's second attempt to make himself the centre of attention appalling.
And as fate would have it, the undesirable sort from Legolas' point of
view, Ithil'wath and his cohorts happened to be present.

The Imladrian border guard had been relegated to the minor role of
squire for the training soldiers, relieved of his regular duties in the
patrols by Elrond himself, once the tale of his rash statements had
been told. He and two of his cronies were not too far from the pathway
and hastened over to confront the new arrivals, eager for a chance to
avenge his diminished esteem. Seeing the impending confrontation,
several more elves made their way closer to observe.

"Mae Govannen, Lord Gloín. How is it that you have become
afflicted with this messenger's company? Has he incurred your disfavour
in some way?" Ithil'wath asked, making a half-bow as he spoke.

"Good day to you, squire Moon Shadow," answered Gloín without
bothering to be more than minimally polite. Of course this was a
deliberate insult, for he had already bowed to Legolas upon wishing him
a good-bye before parting. The wily old dwarf was certain Ithil'wath
comprehended this. "Are you acquainted with this elf, Legolas?"

"Aye, we are known to one another, Lord Gloín," Legolas returned
as he once more set down all his gear. He could understand well enough
how this simple excursion to bathe would turn out. "This one accused me
of prevarication and self-aggrandisement. He is under my doom."

"Your doom? Did you ever hear such haughty words from so low a source
before, Ithil'wath?" goaded one of his confederates.

"Nay, I have not. Such over-confidence is a serious flaw, Wood Elf. I
need not reveal my superior talent with the blade; many here would be
glad to explain whom you have challenged. It will be a mercy if you are
spared further injury," spoke Ithil'wath, his voice soft as a serpent's
sigh and as dangerous as its venom. "If you retract your charge against
me and offer an apology here, before these witnesses, then I might
elect to forebear delivering the public thrashing you have earned."

"It is not I who have rendered insult and spoken falsely," Legolas
replied coolly. "I require neither your mercy nor forbearance. Neither
need I claim to assurance in besting you. As long as I meet the contest
with integrity and to the limit of my ability, then even if defeated I
will have at the very least gained knowledge of ways to improve my
skill. Yet, it is you who must face me to retrieve your honour; thus,
you remain under my power.  Whether or not the combat is open to
all eyes I leave to your decision, for I fear not the scrutiny of my
peers."

"Your peers? Nay, there are none of those here, Wood Elf; all your
equals are back in the mountain pass," Ithil'wath was angry and cared
not that this was a cruel thing to remark upon. Even so, his words drew
a few chuckles and assenting remarks from among the increasing crowd.

Legolas' frame tightened up in rigid wrath as he fought the urge to
strike the oafish elf for such a callous reference to the dead. Yet he
did master himself, for he was soon overwhelmed with woe, thinking how
he was here nursing his slighted pride while his comrades were confined
to Mandos and their remains lay rotting under the open sky.

"You would grant me greater stature than I have earned, on two counts,
Ithil'wath. First, my friends died that I might survive and ensure the
success of our mission. No more noble a sacrifice can an elf make than
rendering up immortal life for the sake of kin and country; thus, the
measure of their characters far surpasses mine.

"Second, your words could be taken to imply that I am peerless here in
the realm of such legends as Elrond Peredhel and Glorfindel of
Gondolin. While I am certain you did not intend to place me above the
Lords of your country, others who do not know you well may not
understand this."

The dwarves found this last part an excellent repost and laughed loudly
while Gimli again slapped the silvan a good-natured clap on the back.
They were not alone in their appreciation, for many of the Noldor
recalled Glorfindel's warnings concerning how to treat with the unusual
visitor and they did not like to hear loss of life so casually
disregarded and used as the brunt of a scurrilous jest.

"Do not denigrate the deceased, Ithil'wath. We all have kin in Mandos,"
scolded one.

"Mind your voice for it has become disconnected from your reason,"
admonished another.

"If you have any," mocked a third.

Before Ithil'wath could express his indignation to be taken to task
over the Wood Elf's sensibilities yet again, a group of three warriors
drew close, having finished their bout, and the bulk of the crush
shifted respectfully aside to let them through to the front. In the
Greenwood, this trio would be as odd a group as the dwarves and their
unlikely new friend, yet in the other elven countries and even among
the humans in the northern reaches of Eriador, they were a well-known
sight.

Two were elf-kind, tall and fair with burnished ebony hair that seemed
to absorb the gleam of Anor's rays and then jealously refused to let it
go so glossy was its sheen. They were bold in manner and within their
pale grey eyes resided both wisdom and ferocity while about them was an
aura of mastery such that only noble Lords possess. To look upon one
was to behold the second, for they were identical in every way, each
brother mirroring his sibling in stature, strength, and splendour. They
were dressed for battle and the bright glint of a mithril hauberk could
just be discerned at their necks. Belted at their waists were great
broadswords and the leather scabbards concealing the lethal blades were
darkly stained from long exposure to the residue of hunting Orcs. These
were the twin sons of Elrond Half-elven, Elladan and Elrohir.

Between them stood a Man, not as great in height but nearly so, broader
through the chest and with full-muscled arms that revealed a strength
uncommon among the Second-born of Iluvatar. He did not keep his
chestnut locks so long nor were the tresses as neatly combed and
braided as his elven comrades, for the human had about him a peculiar
air of wildness and authority mixed together. The feral half seemed to
have the upper hand, as if he could not be bothered with such
refinements and delicacies as plating and adorning his hair or scraping
away several days growth of a straggly beard. Deep-set and disturbing
were his eyes, for they carried a look of determined urgency, stubborn
assurance, and sorrow. Like his companions, he wore a heavy sword at
his hip and was dressed for war. The sweat on his brow showed he had
just finished a strenuous sparring match.

"Well said, silvan," spoke one of the twins, his voice quiet yet packed
with the might of his rank and station. "You are the one we have heard
about, called True-Bow?"

"I am, Lord," answered the archer, once more making as respectful a bow
as he could, realising who these two elves were by description and
reputation. Many stories of them were carried back to Greenwood by
Athedrainyn to Lothlorien, for the sons of Elrond were also the
grandsons of Galadriel, Lady of Light, and were often under the Mallorn
leaves. "Yet I am also named Legolas in my homeland and that is my
mother-name. I would be pleased for you to refer to me thus."

"So it shall be. Yet do not call me Lord," laughed the noble descendent
of Melian and Thingol. "I am Elladan and here is Elrohir. Beside us is
our younger brother Aragorn."

"Aye, well met, Legolas. These two are purely rogues; no need to offer
such deep obeisance," the human smiled as he said it and neatly ducked
Elrohir's quickly moving hand so that the attempted cuffing landed on
Elladan's neck instead.

"Ai! Mind your target, muindor (brother)," admonished Elladan, slapping
back.

"Gohenoch nin. (Sorry.)" Elrohir shrugged and accepted the hit
gracefully. He turned his attention to the visiting silvan. "Do not
listen to Aragorn, Legolas, he is an uncouth Ranger of the North. He
will only tarnish your grace and teach you the inestimable skills of
spitting and belching."

"Fie! Do not defame my mother; she showed me how to act in proper
company, Elrohir," retorted the man.

Now as this amiable banter was progressing Ithil'wath was fuming in
silent wrath, for he understood that the Lord's sons sought to defuse
the ambivalent mood and distract the throng from his conflict with the
Wood Elf. If they had their way, they would lead the messenger off
before the duel could begin. This he would not abide, for he was
determined to teach the upstart his place and reclaim his honour among
his fellows.

"Your presence is a blessing," he spoke up. "What better judges to
referee the match than Elladan, Elrohir, and Aragorn the
Dúnadan."

"Perhaps," Aragorn's eyes narrowed to wary slits as he regarded
Ithil'wath, for he did not like the things he had heard the elf say in
describing the new-comer to the valley. "Yet we are also citizens of
Imladris and thus may seem biased to some. I am thinking this contest
should be judged by someone without ties to either realm."

"Who would that be, one of your Ranger cohorts or a Man from Gondor?"
scoffed Ithil'wath.

"And why not? Do you imply a Man is not worthy to gauge your skill and
determine the fairness of the combatants' moves?" demanded Elladan.

"Nay, I did not say so," objected the guard, remembering a little
behind his tactless tongue that the twins claimed edain heritage.

"Besides, none of the other men are present. To argue over their
ability is pointless," stated one of the other Noldor guards.

"A fitting reason not to force this contest's commencement this morn.
Better to wait for afternoon or even on the morrow," counselled Elrohir.

Many in the throng murmured agreement yet an equal number complained,
for they wished to see how the lowly silvan would comport himself
against one of their best swordsmen.

"Nay, I wish to conclude this event as quickly as I may." Legolas
interrupted. "There are other matters that demand my attention and I
must not allow so small a thing as a personal affront to interfere.
Better to meet my challenger now; indeed, I appreciate the chance to
test my skills and the combat methods of my people against one of
Imladris' warriors. Mayhap there is much to learn from it."

"The silvan speaks truthfully," Gimli nodded, his dark eyes twinkling
with glee as he delicately touched the prominent lump on his temple. He
knew well that the Noldo was likely to be the one doing the learning.
"It is unwise to assume too much when considering an opponent's skills."

The collected elves traded uncertain expressions and remarks between
them, for none were clear whether the dwarf was admonishing Ithil'wath
or the Wood Elf.

"I know my own skill, and that is sufficient," said Ithil'wath tersely.

"Then put it to use now and reclaim your place among the guards,"
suggested one of the onlookers. "What say you, Legolas? Will you agree
to have the Lord's sons judge the contest?"

"An excellent idea," boomed out Fralin with great gusto and strode
forward between the two combatants before the silvan could answer.
"Yet, if all parties agree, a referee can be had whose home lies
outside the borders of either elven realm. We dwarves will offer to
oversee the match, being impartial to either side."

"What?" Ithil'wath snorted in disdain. "I do not know if Naugrim would
be able to tell whether the Wood Elf was fighting honourably or not."

"Your lack of confidence in our sagacity is expected but regrettable
none the less," said Gloín indignantly. "That being the case, a
simple remedy can be suggested. State the rules of the contest clearly
so that none may claim to ignorance after the fact should an illegal
move be made."

"That is both fair and logical," Elrohir said, nodding thoughtfully. "I
say the dwarves will make excellent judges. What are your thoughts,
Legolas?"

"I have no objection, for the Lords of the Iron Mountain have already
demonstrated their scruples and sportsmanship to my satisfaction," he
said, grinning at Gimli, and all the elves wondered at the meaning of
his words.

"Excellent! I shall excuse myself and my son. Let Brór and
Fralin adjudicate the duel," added Gloín, nodding to his kinsmen
with a decidedly conspiratorial demeanour filling his gaze.

"So be it," replied Ithil'wath in undisguised displeasure. "Who will
lend this Wood Elf a weapon?"

"I will." Elladan stepped up and unsheathed his sword with speed born
of long centuries practise. This initial ring of the metal was as a
death knell for those enemies of Imladris fated to hear it, yet in the
quiet of the autumn morn it sang out in a nearly joyful note. He held
the hilt for Legolas to take and smiled reassurance at the uncertain
expression that met his eyes.

"Le Hantëan! (Thank you!)" exclaimed Legolas. "I am grieved to
have to decline, Lord Elladan." He had no wish to insult his host and
it was clear to all that to refuse caused him severe distress.

"Why so?" asked the Orc-slayer kindly, for he had no doubt this youth
had some concern over his worth to wield such a noble weapon, and hoped
to drive out that doubt. He was thus surprised to see the silvan's face
colour slightly even as his chin lifted in defiant pride.

"This sword, elegant and virtuous as it is, presents too great a weight
for my arm in its current state. I have never trained with such and
thus would be placed at disadvantage should I accept your generous
offer." Legolas was positively mortified to have to admit this
publicly, yet better that than to have Elladan think he meant to spurn
so strong a show of support. Predictably, a few snickers and some open
laughter followed his confession.

"This is not cause for amusement," scolded Aragorn angrily, meeting the
mocking elves' eyes with his steely stare. He passed his healer's
insightful gaze over the ruddy stains on the pale green shirt before
meeting the silvan's chagrined but obstinate visage. The man decided he
would not attempt to inquire about the archer's health. "That is a
valid point we had all overlooked, Legolas, and I ask that you forgive
such blatant disregard."

"Aye, in my zeal to give aid I have given offence instead. Please
pardon my indiscretion, Legolas," Elladan put away his sword and held
out his hand to the Wood Elf.

"No insult was given and no pardon is needed," answered the messenger
with a relieved smile and gripped the warrior's forearm firmly,
receiving an equal clasp in return from the Noldo Lord.

"Then what is to be done," said Elrohir, "for we are all armed in like
manner."

"Let the combat be hand-to-hand," suggested one elf.

"Or use knives. That would even out the disparity," another jeered,
"for surely the Wood Elf can lift a dagger."

"Nay, that would then grant to me an unfair advantage," replied
Legolas. "I am exceptionally skilled with knives and it is too
dangerous to subject Ithil'wath to such combat. I have been schooled
that once a fight comes down to daggers, the only end is kill or die. I
am not sure I can entirely stifle this instinct, for it has been
ingrained from childhood and reinforced in reality. I can guarantee
that Ithil'wath would not die, but not that he would come away without
serious injury."

His voice contained no hint of boasting or vanity, no indication of
bluff or pretence. Instead he uttered the speech reluctantly, as though
it was not proper for him to reveal the facts of his realm's methods to
outsiders, and this was true. An uncomfortable silence followed this
admission of brutal savagery, a characteristic of nearly mythic quality
so often was it whispered when Wood Elves were described.

"Strange, I have not heard that Athedrainyn double as assassins,"
Ithil'wath finally broke the quietude and earned a smattering of
nervous laughter.

"That is probably because you have never deigned to speak to one
before," barked Elladan.

"Aye, and we should all be thankful our homeland does not require that
level of expertise among the messengers," added Elrohir.

"Or even among the guards," appended Aragorn. "Yet I have seen such
things, for I have travelled through the woodland realm before in the
company of warriors led by Inarthan (The Beacon), Prince of the
Greenwood. Couriers do not only go between distant lands but from
region to region within the forest, alerting each patrol to the others'
whereabouts and circumstances. Inarthan's messengers were equally
capable with bow, dagger, or hunting knife and necessity often demanded
employing all these skills in a single battle."

"True. First arrows and when those are gone, the long knife. Should
that be lost then there is only the dagger." Legolas smiled as he
dipped his head in gratitude, amused to hear that his eldest brother
also preferred to give to strangers the name conferred upon him during
his stint as Athedrainyn. The name was partly a joke referring to the
pale cast of his long hair and partly a tribute to the hope and
confidence he inspired in his troops.

"Then hand-to-hand it must be," concluded Gloín.

"Nay, I would rather spar with weapons, for it is a choice opportunity
to learn the battle techniques of the Noldor. If it is permissible, I
can suggest an implement with which both of us may be equally
comfortable," Legolas objected.

"Tell us your thoughts," encouraged Elladan.

"There near the tree line I see a rack of weapons: bows, bundles of
arrows…"

"I hope you are not suggesting an archery contest, Wood Elf, for then
you are surely false in stating no wish for advantage," interrupted
Ithil'wath.

"…spears and pikes," Legolas continued after the outburst, ignoring the
Noldo save for shooting him a cold glare. "I propose we take two of the
pikes and shorten their lengths."

"Of course, creating staffs sufficient in length for single combat. I
see no reason to reject the plan," said Aragorn. A chorus of approving
remarks arose among the collected audience and even Ithil'wath could
not produce a negative reply.

"It is decided," declared Brór in a tone expressive of his
relief that the long-winded elves seemed ready to move on to the actual
fight at last. Not everyone had the gift of unlimited time to debate
such fine points. "Let us remove to the other side of the grounds and
prepare these weapons as Legolas suggests."

This the throng did and shortly all were collected around the
principles and the stand of weaponry.

"You may choose first," offered Legolas. Now this was a gracious thing
to do and only what was right according silvan ways. Yet it was also a
wise move, for he had no information regarding his opponent's ability
and hoped to learn something by observing the elf's process of
selection.

Ithil'wath strode to the rack and gave the pikes a cursory inspection,
snatching up the one closest to his arm's reach and carrying it back to
the middle of the circle. He stared at Legolas.

Legolas stared back but did not move.

For a long moment more Ithil'wath and the Wood Elf remained in silent
contemplation of each other, neither blinking nor moving. Finally
Gloín cleared his throat loudly and the silvan lifted his brows
at Ithil'wath as if in surprise or confusion.

"You are satisfied?" he asked.

"Aye, it will suffice. Will you not choose or have you lost your will
for battle?" the Noldo quipped in derision.

"I am willing enough," replied Legolas and approached the available
arms.

Unlike his opponent, he hefted several and tested the weight and girth
of each pike. He also moved apart and performed a few cursory moves,
spinning and jabbing with the long rods to gauge the flexibility of the
wood, the balance of the shaft, and the feel of the grain against his
palm. Finally he decided on a solid walnut dowel; it sang a soft, high
whine as it cut through the air, a blurred arc in the silvan's hands.
"This one," he said with a smile and returned to centre of the group.

An excited hum of converse sprang up around him, for this was now
shaping up to be a most interesting competition after all. Elladan and
Elrohir exchanged expressions of amused and pleased surprise complete
with arched brows and wry smiles. Gloín chuckled and nudged his
son in the side.

Aragorn, who alone amid the throng had fought with the silvans beneath
their trees, met Brór's smug stare and realised that the dwarves
were just as cognisant as he regarding who would be the victor in this
match. He had the distinct hunch that this knowledge was not due to
stories told by Gloín regarding the Battle of the Five Armies,
but something much more recent. His glance turned to the elder Lord's
son and examined the fresh blue bruise, now painting one half of the
Naugrim's face, with new interest. Gimli actually winked when he
acknowledged the man's scrutiny.

But Ithil'wath did not notice these things and openly sneered at the
silvan's display while selecting a weapon, thinking this was a poor
attempt at intimidation. The small, slight elf was not equal to his
superior experience and strength, and if not for his loss of rank in
the guard Ithil'wath would almost pity the messenger.

"Now then, I shall trim them down so that none may claim the staffs are
disproportionate," Gimli stated as he walked to the competitors, axe in
hand. "Our folk fight and train with poles and clubs frequently, for if
an axe blade is broken or lost during war then still we are not
defenceless. It is the custom among my people to trim a staff to the
height of its owner. Do any here object to this method?"

When no one spoke he faced the challengers and had them hold their
pikes out at arm's length with the sharpened ends resting upon the
ground. With a swift chop he cut through each near the bottom and when
the elves lowered the shortened staves to the dirt each stood as high
as the warrior's head but no taller. This demonstration earned several
appreciative exclamations from the audience and the dwarf bowed
politely before gathering the cut pieces and returning to his father's
side. Fralin and Brór took his place.

"Now for the rules: No bones shall be broken nor teeth dislodged,"
started Fralin and unexpectedly drew a burst of laughter from the
Imladrians, save Elladan and Elrohir and the Dúnadan.

"Nay, it is no joke," cautioned Elrohir. "What is plain to us may not
be so to those of other lands. I will not permit any further ridicule
during this contest."

This silenced everyone and the dwarves continued.

"Vision shall not be targeted, nor the ears or nose. A stun to the head
is permitted within the bounds of these criteria." It was Brór
who spoke these restrictions.

"Hands and feet may be employed in conjunction with the staves," added
Fralin and had to stop again as loud commentary threatened to drown out
his speech. It was safe to say the Noldorin elves had not witnessed any
sort of fighting remotely similar to that which was about to ensue.
"Disarming one's opponent is not required to win, but neither does
doing so constitute victory. Combat will cease only upon the yielding
of one of the competitors to the other, whether by verbal request or
loss of consciousness."

That made the crowd as quiet as stone.

"If any disagree or challenge the fairness of these regulations, let
them say so now," called out Brór. Not even the wind whispered
in response. "Then begin!" he cried and hastened to the verge of the
broad circle, Fralin retreating to the opposite side so that they might
observe from differing perspectives.

All the elves drew back a few paces to give the two fighters more
leeway.

Legolas grasped his staff low in his left hand and switched it behind
him as he bowed to his opponent respectfully. When he straightened, he
saw that Ithil'wath would give no more than the slightest nod in
return. The archer moved to the centre of the rudimentary arena and
stood still, holding the wooden lance almost as if it was a sword,
waiting and watching.

Ithil'wath gripped his weapon more evenly toward its centre of gravity,
his hands shoulder-width apart, dividing the length of the wood by
thirds. He intended to use both ends and wasted no time. With a shout
he attacked, dashing quickly forward and aiming a blow to the side of
the silvan's head. He was shocked when the Wood Elf put up absolutely
no defence and the blunt heel of the wooden rod connected solidly and
loudly with the archer's cheek.

A gasp went up from the crowd as the silvan went down, for none had
expected Ithil'wath to land the first strike on his initial sortie.

Now in the Woodland Realm such contests were common and this was
nothing new to Legolas. Indeed, it was the custom during such sparring
matches for the elder opponent to have both the advantage of primary
selection of weapons and of making the inaugural hit. This was an
effective training method, for it enabled the more experienced fighters
to set the level of force permitted during the combat, preventing
over-eager novices from serious injury or just as debilitating losses
of confidence. No impact could be given that exceeded the first
strike's power.

This was not the way among the Noldor, for in Imladris opponents were
paired by similarity in skill level and experience, with each testing
and seeking to overcome the other, effectively learning their own
weaknesses and how other combatants might seek to utilise them in the
process. Thus, Ithil'wath had struck with force enough that he hoped to
disable the Wood Elf while fully expecting the move to be parried. He
knew not what to make of this, surmising the youth had frozen in a
panic, and stood still for a second but no more, advancing as soon as
he realised Legolas was not senseless. He smiled; it would be a sweet
victory to fell his foe in two blows. He swung his staff at the bowed,
golden head and inexplicably found himself flat on his back the next
instant.

Legolas silently thanked Iluvatar for making him the youngest of three
brothers, something he never in all his years would he have believed he
would do. Yet his much older siblings had been his foremost teachers in
the art of combat and neither had cared too much about use of excessive
force when they felt their muindor dithen (little brother) was growing
a bit too cheeky. Many were the times Legolas had found himself laid
out on the ground, desperately struggling against both of them at once.
He had learned early that as soon as he shook one off and attempted to
rise the other would knock him down again. He had devised a method for
dealing with this sort of thing, not attempting to get up at all.
Instead, he curled into a ball and literally rolled under his brothers'
feet, making his body a moving obstacle to bowl them over.

With painful sparks of blinding intensity hindering his vision,
excruciating pounding crushing any hope of rational thought, and loud
ringing obscuring his hearing, he instinctively employed this
manoeuvre. Legolas careened into the charging Noldo's legs, toppling
Ithil'wath and proceeding to recover his footing and centre his
balance, all in a single, fluid action. Using the residual speed of the
tumbling motion, he leaped into a high spin and let all of the momentum
of his flight flow into the staff as he descended.

It came down upon Ithil'wath's sprawled form, catching him soundly
across the shoulder with a ponderous thud, for the elf had sought to
escape the hit and was in the act of turning over. Normally Legolas
would have completed the attack by landing a bruising kick to the ribs
that emptied an opponent's lungs of air, but he was still dizzy from
the blow to his head and stepped back to recover his equilibrium.

This gave the Noldo a chance to gain his feet and flex his shoulders,
working through the sharp ache in the abused muscles. He glared at the
messenger, surprised by the silvan's quick recovery, and advanced
warily, for Legolas had resumed his unusual stance, holding forth the
staff in a two-fisted grip similar to that commonly used to wield a
broadsword. This time when Ithil'wath pivoted the end of his weapon up,
thinking to give the Wood Elf a matching contusion on the other cheek,
it was neatly parried. A stentorious clack as wood met wood resounded
through the field.

With the dropped side of his truncheon, the Noldo strived to impair his
opponent's leg, hoping to land a hit upon his thigh just above the
knee. He was amazed to find this blocked by Legolas' bare foot and with
sufficient strength to send him reeling backwards. He circled the
silvan, twirling the heavy rod hand over hand in a deliberately slow
and casual manner as he closed the distance between them with each lap.
Ithil'wath inverted the staff's position so that the opposite hand was
now dominant, hoping to catch the Wood Elf off guard and deliver the
disabling blow to the other flank instead. With a rush he shot forward
and lashed out but this attempt was also stymied and he received a
strike to his biceps in return. The hit evoked a loud cry of anger and
pain, for never before had Ithil'wath been struck by an opponent who
was in a defensive posture.

Yet Legolas had done so. Instead of falling back from the advancing
Noldo, the silvan had stepped into the driving thrust, allowing his
weapon to slide down the length of the pike as he pushed back. Then he
abruptly relaxed his effort, utilising the pent energy of the Noldo's
resistance and acceleration to snap the wood against the warrior's
unprotected outer arm. The Wood Elf was beyond range the next instant,
leaping into another of those deceptively light and airy, spiralling
spins.

In vain Ithil'wath tried to prepare a counter attack, but he was
expecting the staff again and thus was watching the messenger's hands.
When Legolas' foot slammed into his cheek in exactly the same place and
with identical force to the blow he had initially given the silvan,
Ithil'wath began to see that he was not going to have an easy win. He
was down again and a second strike crashed across the shoulders and
checked his recovery. He groaned and shifted in misery, trying to right
his topsy-turvy vision and keep his breakfast in his stomach. Once the
Noldo was able to clear his head enough to see straight, there was
Legolas staring back, casually leaning on his staff, regarding him
impassively.

He did not speak but neither did he need to; his posture made his
intent clear enough. Ithil'wath was being asked to yield.

That was enough to set a furious wrath alight in the Noldo's heart and
he scrambled to his feet with a low curse, swaying as he snatched up
his weapon. How it had been loosed form his grasp during the fall he
could not remember. With energy fuelled by his rage he advanced, hoping
to employ his strength and weight to overwhelm the smaller elf. He
laughed as Legolas hastily resumed his defence and once more fell back
before the assault. Yet no matter what tactic he used, Ithil'wath could
not confer another blow upon the elf.

Loudly sang the wooden pikes as each slice and jab was parried and
blocked, each thrust turned aside, the moves and counter-moves no
longer definable as single events so much as continuous fluctuations in
a current of strife. The Noldo pressed for dominance, increasing the
speed of his assault, and the clamourous staccato as the staves
concussed echoed through the glade, a mesmerising rhythm of violence
and intimidation.

Surrounding the percussion of the duelling lances, the silence of the
assembled spectators was absolute. Beyond that one involuntary exhale
of surprise not a sound did the other elves utter. The Imladrians were
thoroughly engrossed in the spectacle, for there was a stronger degree
of ambivalence in this contention than in any grudge match they had yet
observed. And they were astounded, for here was an uncivilised Wood Elf
meeting his opponent with an almost disinterested detachment while one
of their own grew hotter with each failure to take the silvan down.

As for the dwarves, two were vigilantly watching the battlers while
Gloín and Gimli moved among the crowd, accepting the Noldor's
wagers on the outcome of the fight.

Legolas let the Imladrian come at him for some time, learning how the
elf preferred to fight, giving him subtle openings that turned into
useful knowledge but never permitted contact with his flesh. One mark
upon his body was all he would allow the insolent elf to make. Soon
enough, though his shoulder burned, his side throbbed, and his head
felt ready to explode, Legolas had the Noldo's methods and timing
committed to memory forever and he grew bored. At the same time he
became disgusted, for this guard was not even much of a challenge for
him compared to the sort of combatants he was accustomed to facing.

Even in training exercises, Legolas expected either a second opponent,
a hidden weapon, or at the very least the use of hands and feet as
auxiliary tools. As soon as he realised the Noldo was not adept in such
combinations, he ceased attacking that way, for he did not want the elf
to claim later that he had used an unjust technique. It was now a
question of how to end the contest for both could continue the
dangerously graceful dance and extend the desire to immobilise the
other long into the day before exhaustion chose the victor. With his
previous injuries still so tender, that was unlikely to be Legolas, and
he was not willing to lose due to such a weakness.

The deafening cacophony continued. Legolas drew back before
Ithil'wath's onslaught. The throng of spectators shifted and re-formed
their encircling boundary in concert with them.

Yet he did not want to make the situation worse through humiliating the
older warrior. He was representing his entire culture and the heritage
of his father's noble House, after all. It only served the
narrow-minded elves like Ithil'wath if he roused belligerence among the
majority of the Noldor. Giving the other elven realms reason to resent
the Wood Elves was not his objective.

On the other hand, Legolas had hoped Ithil'wath would recognise his
skill and change his attitude, treating him as an equal and worthy
opponent. Instead the hard-headed bigot resorted to useless anger and
pointless profanity. He recalled the heartless dismissal of his
friends' deaths and fresh determination flared in his soul. Whatever
respect the messenger had held out for this elf, based solely on the
Noldo's seniority and greater experience, vanished. It was time to end
the battle.

Abruptly Legolas altered his style, making his hold mirror his
adversary's. For a few more moves he let the Noldo believe there was no
reason to be alarmed by this, continuing merely to parry and block,
swerving and weaving to avoid the blows aimed at his legs, arms, and
head. Then in three hits, and in roughly the same number of seconds, he
concluded the contest. The first assault landed a sharp rap upon
Ithil'wath's knuckles that forced him to drop that hand from his lance.
In the opening this created, Legolas simply stepped in and shoved the
blunt base of his truncheon into the Noldo's stomach as he did so. The
last strike fell upon the back of the head, exposed as the warrior
doubled over, and deposited Ithil'wath insensate upon the
autumn-browned grass.

A mixture of elated shouts and low groans erupted through the throng as
the gamblers collected their winnings or paid out their debts. Loud
amid the hubbub were the good-natured guffaws and barking laughter of
the Naugrim, for they had bet heavily on the silvan warrior while few
among the Imladrians had done so. Great was the profit collected by
Aulë's children that morn.

Elrond's sons had refused to wager, however, and instead watched the
Wood Elf closely.

Legolas stood still gazing down on the Noldo, working to reign in his
emotions and refrain from spitting in disgust. Yet he could not call
this sensation satisfaction or any sort of pride in accomplishment, for
he could only think of his fallen comrades. When the real test had
come, he had failed to defeat his enemies and others had paid the price
for it; not once but twice. In contrast, this victory was empty and
meaningless.

"Well fought, lad," chuckled the deep gruff voice of the ginger-bearded
dwarf. A third time he bestowed a resounding thump upon the middle of
the silvan's back, this time with sufficient force to cause the Wood
Elf to step forward in order to retain his footing.

"I thank you Master Gimli, yet if you continue to show me such
boisterous regard my spine will be too bruised to hold me up!" Legolas
smiled down at the smaller being.

"Ah well, I shall try to make allowances for your delicate construction
in future," replied the dwarf, grinning back. "But here is your share
of the winnings." He held up a folded handkerchief bulging with coin
and a gem or two.   

"What?" cried Legolas in surprised outrage, his smile gone. "This was a
duel of honour and not some common brawl to be made an object of low
sport!"

"Is it unseemly for your fellows to back you, displaying their belief
in your ability?" asked Gimli, completely bewildered. In his realm it
would be an insult not to lay a bet in support of a comrade's skill,
whether the odds favoured a win or not. His hand was on the haft of the
axe in his belt.

Now the onlookers grew quiet and wary, fearful that a new and more
bloody contention might be on the horizon, and edged back from the
dwarf and the silvan.

But Legolas gave attention only to the Naugrim's dark, earnest eyes,
seeking to know if the whole encounter had been in some manner arranged
by the dwarves solely for the purpose of acquiring these winnings from
the Noldor. Is this the reason they goaded me into that fight
on the path, so as to know which elf to back in the contest?
He frowned, for he had thought his impression of the dwarves'
good-natured sportsmanship over the encounter was genuine. He must
know, for if he had been used for their sport then he must demand yet
another duel. To determine the truth he did something no elf had done
in many long Ages.

Legolas crouched down on his heels and brought himself to eye-height
with Gimli, meeting the dwarf's serious stare with his disconcerted
confusion honestly. If he heard the gasps, from dwarves and elves
alike, he ignored them entirely, focusing all his interest upon the
sturdy, stunted warrior before him.

"Aye, in my country it would be disrespectful. Mayhap in yours it is
not so?" he asked hopefully.

"Nay, just the opposite. If I have offended, I ask your pardon," Gimli
said and made a courtly bow.

"I see. Different and strange to me are the ways of the Lords of the
Iron Hills. Yet I perceive you did not mean to give insult, Gimli son
of Gloín. There is no need for apologies; we remain in accord,"
Legolas said and placed a companionable hand upon the dwarf's shoulder
before he rose back to full height. He gazed at the shrouded money
still clutched in the Naugrim's meaty fist. "And I accept your tribute;
this coin will be put to good use, securing the necessities of life for
the descendants of my lost friends."  

Loud was the sound of exhalation from the numerous elves, three
dwarves,
and one human who had been holding their breaths in fear of this
simple conversation's conclusion. Both its principles looked around
them in surprise and grinned at each other upon understanding the cause
of the out-rushing air.

"Well said! You do more credit to your folk than you know, Legolas."
Gloín shook his head and laughed as he drew closer to the silvan
and made as if to copy his son's ebullient gesture of camaraderie.

Legolas jumped behind the younger dwarf, avoiding the elder Lord's
heavy hand. "I thank you, yet I beg reprieve from any more of this
back-thumping custom," Legolas begged, reaching behind to rub his
spine. "Mayhap we could just do as Men do and shake hands?"

This amused everyone when Gloín assented, gripping the Wood
Elf's fingers tightly and giving two jarring shakes. After this the
dwarves took their leave, marching off to find a spot for their battle
practise. The crowd began to disperse and ere they departed many among
the warriors advanced to offer Legolas their congratulations and, in
the spirit of the lightened mood, each one that did so gave the human
handshake to signify their friendship. Soon only the Lord of the
Valley's sons remained next to the insensible figure on the ground and
the messenger from Thranduil's kingdom.

Aragorn bent to examine the status of Ithil'wath and, deciding he would
suffer no more than a mild concussion and severe headache, called for
two of his cohorts to carry him off the field. "He will be well on the
morrow," he said as he stood. "That was an impressive demonstration. I
have seen the silvan folk in battle before, yet even for me there were
some surprises. That leaping kick is surely uncommon."

"Aye, I have never beheld such a tactic either," commented Elladan.

"I was taught by my father," Legolas shrugged, "for we share identical
circumstances regarding birth order. Both of us are the youngest of
three brothers, with the elder siblings many centuries senior in age
and experience. Mastering such skills gave me at least a slim chance of
surviving their loving attention."

"Ai! Would that I had been so schooled," lamented Aragorn. "I am
youngest also and had to endure the battery inflicted when these two
chose to lavish me with similar affection!"

"Nay, you cannot blame us any longer, muindor dithen," declaimed
Elrohir. "Take it up with Adar; he should have taught you the necessary
skills as Legolas' sire did."

"But he was a twin, as you two are, and thus his sympathies reside with
his elder children," complained Aragorn.

"We had no control over that," retorted Elladan. "Cry out to Elbereth;
mayhap she will hearken to your whining, for you will receive no
apologies from me. We trained you well; see how fine you turned out
under our tutelage?"

"So claim my elder brothers also." Legolas could not suppress a giggle
at Aragorn's expense, so incredulous was his expression as he looked
from one twin to the other. "I empathise with you, Aragorn, yet I fear
you are beyond the age when learning the spinning kick will avail you
much advantage."

"I thank you for your commiseration, then, for no one else seems to
understand the situation."

"We understand it, Aragorn, we just do not share your desire to lament
over it unceasingly," jibed Elrohir. "However, on a different note
altogether, I am wondering why our guest has been so neglected during
his stay. That is unlike the hospitality of our House and I am rather
embarrassed to have to point it out." His eyes travelled the silvan's
dishevelled garments and bare feet as he spoke.

"Oh, nay, that is not so, Elrohir," Legolas hastened to correct him.
"Glorfindel has been seeing to my comfortable disposition but a
pressing concern required his immediate attention. Otherwise, I would
not be wandering about in so unseemly a state. The Hobbits were trying
to direct me to the kitchen…"

"Aye, that I believe!" laughed Aragorn. "Every other thought in their
heads seems of food. Have you not broken fast at this late hour?"

"Nay, but that is due to…"

"Valar! That is unacceptable; I will have to inform Adar that
Glorfindel is slipping in his old age," quipped Elladan, but he was now
as concerned as the others and the three surrounded the Wood Elf. "When
did you arrive?"

"This morning just at dawn, but…"

"And no one has directed you to rooms that you might change out of
those tattered garments?" demanded Elrohir.

"Aye, Glorfindel himself escorted me to the talan but I was…"

"Talan? Do you mean to say you are lodging in that decrepit old flet in
the oaks behind his house?" Aragorn was shocked. He was used to rugged
conditions but certainly enjoyed the comforts of Imladris when he was
home. To refuse the same to a visitor was unheard of in the Last Homely
House. "What was he thinking?"

"Of my comfort, I believe, and he was correct. I quite like that
ancient oak," assured Legolas, desperately trying to get a complete
sentence out before they started off again. For some reason this
statement made the others silent and they were looking at him as if he
must be mad, but he took advantage of their speechlessness.

"I am only still wearing these clothes because my pack was lost in a
skirmish with Orcs while coming through the mountain pass. My comrades
were killed there and I did not think more of the other items left
behind until bathing. That is why Frodo directed me to the kitchens. I
hoped to learn where I might wash out the stains of battle and repair
the torn fabric before I must meet with Lord Elrond," he concluded.

"I grieve for your fallen friends," said Elrohir and reached his arm
around the silvan's shoulder as he began to walk, drawing Legolas along
with him. The other two fell into step behind them.

"Yet surely we can supply you with something to wear while your
garments are repaired," stated Elladan. "There is an entire room filled
with clothing that Aragorn has outgrown, and because humans grow so
quickly there is hardly any sign of use upon the garments."

"Aye, you two see to that while I find Glorfindel and Adar. If possible
I will discover when you are to have this meeting and arrange for you
to take some nourishment before then. It will soon be time for the noon
meal at any rate," added Aragorn.

"Indeed. We will assist Legolas in securing clothes and then accompany
him to the refectory, Aragorn, and will meet you there," decided
Elladan, being oldest. "In the interim, you must inspect that talan and
make it presentable. If Legolas prefers to stay there, then the least
we must do is insure it is furnished hospitably."

"It is fine, truly, there is no need…"

"Agreed. We shall meet later, Legolas," Aragorn interrupted any further
protests and took his leave, retracing the same path Legolas had used
earlier.

"Come along, Legolas," encouraged Elrohir as the silvan hesitated.

"My boots and tunic are there on the ground," he pointed out the
discarded basket quietly, but Elladan waved away this information.

"We shall send someone to fetch it later," he said. "You cannot use
those boots until they are cleaned anyway. Although Aragorn's feet are
too large for you to fit any of his, even from years past."

"Aye, that presents a problem," nodded Elrohir, wrinkling his brow in
concentration over the quandary. They could not permit a guest to go
unshod.

"I will have them clean in no time," assured Legolas, attempting to
disengage from the twin's grasp to gather them up.

"Nay, we do not do things that way here. Guests do not fulfil the roles
of employees in the House." Elladan took hold of the Wood Elf's arm
much as Glorfindel had done while his brother tightened his grip across
Legolas' back. "What think you of a pair of Arwen's shoes?" Elladan
asked his twin.

"Aye, that might do," Elrohir replied. The brothers were now regarding
Legolas' feet with intense scrutiny. "Who would ever imagine that so
delicate and exquisitely fair an appendage could be such a fearsome
weapon?"

Legolas' face grew warm in embarrassment at this remark but he could
think of nothing to say in answer. He was not sure whether he should
feel insulted or pleased. Imladris, he decided, was a very confusing
place.


TBC.

Reviews from ff.net:


Angelsfyre: Thank you for reviewing! Your compliments regarding the characters' interactions is very much appreciated. I am pleased the tattooing works in your mind, too. Could not resist making Legolas' way of fighting a little different, happy to know it went over well. Thanks again!


Sesshyangel: Lov ya back! Thanks for reviewing.