True Bow (Cuthenin)

Cuthenin (True-Bow)

by F.E.Morton

unbeta'd

italics = thoughts

(elvish translation)

Disclaimer: just borrowing, the characters and settings are Tolkien's,
the words here are mine.

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.

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Note: My apologies to everyone who reviewed recently. Your wonderful compliments and comments have been lost due to the 'glitch' with the aff.net database. I read and cherish every one of those reviews, and I am just sorry that my replies are likewise gone. I will try to redo them as much as I can remember when the new chapter posts. For now, I am just replacing the two chapters that were deleted.


I am using the following formula for age calculation: Tolkien says humans and elves developed at roughly the same rate up to the fifth year of life. After that, humans progressed much more rapidly, with elves only reaching physical maturity at age 50. So, using modern the American concept of physical and mental maturity at age 18, deducting the five years of equal growth from each, and dividing the one by the other, one arrives at about 3.46 years for elves equal 1 year for humans. Round that to 3.5, multiply by twelve, which is a commonly designated age for official transition from childhood into adolescence in many human cultures, and we get the elven age of 42 used in this chapter. Douglas Adams would surely love this!


Anyone who has not read "The Fall of Gondolin" in Tolkien's The Book of Lost Tales II, I highly encourage you to do so. It is absolutely my most favourite of Tolkien's legends and Galdor's importance therein is explained, and the House of the Swallow is described as producing the very best archers among the elves. Thus, I have stolen that House for the maternal half of Legolas' ancestors, recent and ancient. The story explains that a small remnant of the Houses of the Tree, the Arch, the Swallow, the Fountain, and the Wing (Tuor's House) managed to escape the destruction, using a secret tunnel delved by Tuor's adherents upon Idril's counsel.

Tolothen Peth: Laer Dhuir (Part Eight: Sombre Songs)

Legolas was not exactly certain how it came about but in universal accord the eight diners finished the meal and disbanded to attend to the remainder of the day's duties. Elladan and Elrohir exited together for unknown travail, Mithrandir and Elrond went to check on the hobbits at their over-flowing table, and Aragorn beseeched Glorfindel's aid in planning a scouting mission for the Rangers, collecting them from a smoke hazed alcove whence the Men had repaired at meal's end.

Legolas had enjoyed a last look shared with the Balrog Slayer, the mighty warrior's gaze both apologetic and encouraging, his simultaneously reassuring and genuinely cheerful in return. The silvan warrior was thus left in the company of the noble survivor from the ancient city destroyed so long ago by Melkor's vile machines of war and one traitorous elf's disgraceful betrayal.

"Sadron?" the Wood Elf turned to the ancient Lord with expectant puzzlement as they rose.

"Adjourn with me and let us take counsel together, Legolas."

"Aye, Lord, you honour me with the gift of your wisdom."

The Lord of the Tree smiled and led him away out of dining hall, offering neither explanations nor expecting any questions, for he was much above the silvan in rank with respect to their mutual creed, regardless of Legolas' heritage within a royal House. The woodland bŷr was bound to do as he was asked and would neither display hesitation nor offer counter suggestions. They moved through the still crowded refectory toward a side exit beyond which was a walled garden attached to Elrond's private morning room.

Galdor was aware of, but chose not to acknowledge, the notice taken by Erestor and Lindir as he and Legolas took their leave of the room. He had already heard the seamy stories and knew their source. Yet beyond that, the ancient Lord understood the cause of the Noldo's bitterness and was not bereft of sympathy and compassion. This other-half of the unravelled, tangled, ruined remnant of Glorfindel's last attempt at sharing his life was the most critical factor against allowing Cuthenin to become attached to the re-born warrior.

If Legolas was cognisant of the searing glares bent upon him by the Chief Advisor to Imladris, he did not deign to show it and this pleased the elder. The Wood Elf presented as calm and slightly aloof even in the midst of his mounting sorrow. This level of self-control under such derogatory public scrutiny bespoke the strength of his character as well as the high degree of his devotion to Pâd-en-Tawar. Galdor was absolutely sure the silvan archer was mentally reciting a litany designed to render the soul peaceful and the mind detached from detrimental emotional energy projected by antagonists.

The Noldo Lord ushered the Wood Elf into the hidden garden and grinned to hear the appreciative sigh that fled his companion's lips. The acre-sized cultivated plot was in fact an arboretum of exotic species not normally found so far north of the coast. Elrond, having effectively grown up in the southern climate of Lindon, did all he could to replicate the ecosystem found there. Here were trees such as Legolas had never imagined: palms without branches sprouting wide, green fans from their crowns, a strange sort of nutmeg with needle-like leaves and a wrinkled and leathery fruit, tall magnolias shedding their red-spotted seed pods, a wide variety of water-willows, innumerable ferns crowding the shaded bases of the trees, and more types of lilies and orchids than he could count. In fact, there were so many unknown varieties of flora that Legolas quite forgot he was expected to attend to the elder Lord's counsel and came as close to frolicking among the greenery as a full-grown elf was likely to do.

Galdor chuckled to see it and did nothing to inhibit the youth's excited exuberance, waiting patiently until the silvan archer had completed a tour of the garden and stopped beside a merry little brook. He joined Legolas, happy to see the absolute delight that transformed the formerly drawn and weary countenance, and led him to a comfortable bench. Close to the amply padded seat was an unusual fire stove formed from moulded clay, short and squat like a summer gourd, raised up off the ground about a third of a metre on sturdy wrought iron feet. From it radiated a cheery warmth more than welcomed by the messenger.

Legolas had not realised he was chilled until the fire's heat reached him and he stretched his hands toward it like a plant turning its leaves to the sun. "I had no idea such trees lived!" he exclaimed and smiled up at the elder Lord as he pointed to the palmettos' peculiar bark and waving fans. "Those would be easy to climb but uncomfortable for sitting or sleeping."

"Aye," Galdor laughed heartily at this remark. "Yavanna has created plants for every type of climate. In Mithlond, I think it is safe to say the elves would be just as surprised to behold the towering beeches and cedars of Greenwood." He sat beside the Wood Elf, noting in concern the ellon's need for the heat of the fire. He had not intended to have the conversation in the open, only using the garden as a convenient escape from curious eyes. Elrond's house was a maze and there was a second portal within the morning room which led to a servants' stairway. This would carry them beyond notice up to the elder's suite. Yet Legolas seemed at ease amid the arboretum and perhaps that was more important than absolute security from eavesdropping ears.

Legolas waited for the ancient Sadron to begin their discussion. He felt rather torn between a sense of deep gratitude for a chance to talk with someone so important within Pâd-en-Tawar and frustrated not to be permitted to meet privately with Mithrandir and deliver the news he had been sent to announce. The wizard had brushed aside his mid-meal request vaguely and then Elrond had immediately interrupted, virtually commanding the archer to withhold this revelation pending attendance at an important council on the morrow. He was now expected to explain to an entire roomful of strangers from foreign lands how he had failed in his duty and placed Greenwood in such an untenable position.

Thus when Galdor had excused them both at meal's end, Legolas had followed along in a rather forlorn state of mind, envisioning the scorn this unforeseen meeting between so many representatives of the free peoples of Arda would inflict upon his country.

"It will be difficult for you to deliver your message from Thranduil before an audience?" Galdor had noticed Legolas' morose disposition upon learning of the council and decided that was as easy a place to begin as any, for their discourse was likely to affect the silvan greatly before its conclusion.

"Aye, Sadron. I was hoping to tell this news only to Mithrandir, once I learned he was here. I will do as Lord Elrond asks, of course."

"What do you fear?"

"To hold my people up to more ridicule and offer all the other realms of Arda additional ammunition with which to snipe at my homeland. I must relate a grave error on my part, yet though the fault is mine it is Greenwood and the silvan people that will be derided for it."

"That is unfortunate. I am sure Elrond meant no such outcome, thinking only to prevent you from needing to tell the story over more than once. If you wish, I will ask him to excuse you from this chore."

"Nay, that would be worse. Many in the refectory will have heard him request my presence on the morrow. How shall it be that every realm of free people is represented except the Greenwood? If I fail to attend, this will only serve to reveal me as unreliable and cowardly, and my race thusly by association."

"That is too strong; no one would call you timid now that the whole account of the fight is known."

"It matters not for they will speculate until a derogatory cause is discovered or invented. I will face these delegates, Sadron, and make sure to emphasise that the mistake was mine alone." Legolas spoke with more conviction than he felt and a glance at the elder noble revealed this was no secret.

"Well then we shall do what we can to strengthen you for it," Galdor smiled and laid a hand upon the archer's shoulder kindly. He noted at once the fine tremors racing along beneath the borrowed garments and grew more concerned. "You are cold."

"Aye. I cannot get warm, except when I was in the spa, even though I feel my body is on fire at times. I believe it is an after-effect of the poison."

"In that case we must retire to my chambers. I was reluctant to do so openly for fear of adding to the rumours flying about the house," said Galdor and rose, offering his hand to the archer to help him up, for he looked bone weary. "I know a means to reach the suite unnoticed. It is regrettable you had to get caught up in that awful conflict between my former countrymen. In any other matter, Erestor is beyond reproach and the staunchest ally one could have. If he had met you in a different context, I do not think he would have given you a second thought."

"Glorfindel has explained as much," replied the silvan messenger, permitting the Noldo Lord to guide him back within the mansion through a set of long glass doors where the garden's lawn met the morning room.

They did not speak during the walk to the Lord's chambers and as fate would have it the pair passed no less than three servants on the way. Once in his suite's sitting room, Galdor had to send for aid in lighting the fire, for there was no fuel set in the grate at this mild-seasoned time of the year. The elf attending to this task gave Legolas a thorough inspection and an unsavoury smile, half sneering and half leering, before leaving. That this was the page attached to Erestor neither Galdor nor Legolas could know, being but visitors to Imladris.

Legolas gave no response to the disquieting attention other than a stoic sigh.

The elder just caught it as he disappeared through one of the chamber's inner doors and made a mental note to counter the servant's tattling tongue as soon as possible. Elbereth knows how twisted this will become, thanks to Erestor and his seething jealousy.

"Sadron, I must ask for Pennas Lunnen (History Sung) for my fallen comrades. It does not seem likely now that I shall make it back to the place of their demise as quickly as I had hoped." Legolas' voice was filled with his sorrow and guilt as he lifted pleading eyes to the Noldo Lord upon his return.

"Aye, it shall be done. Yet I am thinking that will not be enough," Galdor had brought a thick woollen cloak from his bedroom and draped it around the silvan's shoulders, joining him on the sofa by the blazing hearth. "Glorfindel has suggested the need for Úcaul Annaur (Unburdening by Fire). I am inclined to agree with him."

"But he is not an initiate!" Legolas blurted out.

To say it was a shock to learn that Glorfindel had initially proposed the rite's invocation was grossly inadequate. Legolas realised the Vanya understood something of his religion by the recognition displayed concerning the hidden marks on his forearms. It was equally apparent by the lack of same upon the Balrog Slayer's body that he was not among the faithful. For someone outside Pâd-en-Tawar to suggest this course was unheard of.

"True, yet you do not deny the idea has crossed your mind also."

"Aye, Sadron, I have longed for it ever since…" Legolas low voice drifted into silence before the sentence completed.

"So I see." Galdor carefully rubbed the Wood Elf's back. "I was as surprised as are you that Glorfindel understands the concept. In all honesty, he does not really comprehend the full extent of the ritual. He only knows you are suffering and remembered this ceremony from his first life in Gondolin. I assure you, he does not mean any disrespect to you or to your comrades in requesting my intervention."

"I would never think thus. Yet it cannot be, for I have lost Tirn'wathelen (my Watcher-Sister: female Guardian) and there is no one here to replace her or to stand as Faer Hebron."

"Your Guardian, was she destined to become your mate and soul-keeper and you, hers?" asked the Noldo gently, for he suspected this to be the case considering the depth of the silvan youth's despair.

"Nay, Calarlim (Lamp-light) was only my Guardian, Sadron." Legolas voice broke over the pronouncing of her name and he barely held back a heart-tearing sob. His hands tugged the cape tighter around him and he shivered visibly, his blue eyes awash in such anguish that Galdor knew there was more to this relationship than the formal one of guardian and charge.

"I have seen the tragedy that has befallen you, young one. You lost your Guardian in the struggle to cross the Mountains," Galdor spoke softly and with compassion. "Yet there is something more, for in the vision I beheld the power of the bond you shared. You understand? Calarlim is asking me to aid you; she made the vision to come upon me. Tell me of this and relieve your soul of the strife."

"Nae! (Alas!) I begged her not to come along but of course Calarlim would not heed me!" he had cried in desperation, searching Sadron's face for absolution for failing to convince his Guardian to remain in the Greenwood.

"Nay, your Tirn'wathel could do no less; no entreaty you could make would have stayed her purpose. Lay aside any thought of blame over her fate, for it is one she chose willingly and gladly," Galdor soothed his hand gently against the suffering elf's spine, up and down, rubbing in hopes of encouraging some warmth back into the shuddering form beside him. He waited patiently, for he would hear Legolas divulge the real kernel of misery that was now sprouting so quickly and, if not uprooted, would too soon choke out any other emotion's growth. "Le annach caul lín." (Give me your burden.) Sadron commanded.

"I cannot believe she is gone. It cannot be! Always has she been at my side; there is no time in my memory when Calarlim was not present. She raised me; she loved me as a mother would," the archer choked out, unable to stem the tears that began to fall.

"And your cuil-oneth? (life-giver) Where is she, Legolas?" Galdor was feeling more anxious by the second, fearing confirmation of the answer that had already formed in his mind.

"She is gone. I never knew her, for I am told she could not survive beyond my creation and bearing into life. Calarlim is her sister and became my Naneth Edwen (Second Mother). I have lost her, Sadron! Why could I not save her?" Legolas doubled over as if in pain, which he truly was, and wept openly as the images returned in all their horrific detail.

Must he perpetually witness her demise, the terrible moment when her attention wavered, distracted by his shout upon being wounded, when the Orc's blade made it past her defences? Must he ever see the filthy sword's deadly swing, hear the sickening sound of rending flesh as it sliced her open nearly in twain, spilling her blood and organs even before she fell to the ground? He clamped a hand over his mouth and nose, but this did not prevent the stench from pervading his every sense; the acrid smell of her blood, bile, and urine mixing as everything poured from her severed body's cavity. Legolas fought the sickness rising in his chest to no avail and was soon retching uncontrollably into a container of some sort that the ancient Lord held before him.

"There now, young one, there now," calmly Galdor whispered as he aided Legolas through the vomiting, having suspected some such thing would result. Thus he had gathered a large bowl and kept it near at hand as soon as they had entered his sitting room. He held back the long golden hair and supported the trembling body, spoke quiet encouragement and strengthening prayers. "You did all there was to do; it was not in your power to prevent this. It is a mother's right, be she first or second, to die protecting her child. This you must accept."

The foul odour of his undigested meal was too like the grotesque stench of death engulfing his Naneth Edwen and Cuthenin wailed between the heaving expulsions from his gut. He continued to disgorge acid and bile until he was empty, body and soul. It was all over in a matter of minutes but to Legolas it seemed an Age had passed while this demeaning weakness laid him down in defeat on the soft sofa.

With the violent emotional and physical upheaval diminishing, Galdor eased the slumped warrior's depleted body aside carefully and rose to dispose of the noisome liquified remains. That this had been the only nourishing meal the silvan had consumed in days added to the Noldo's worry. The venerable elder set the offensively reeking bowl outside the door and shut it firmly. He retreated to his bedroom and exited a moment later bearing a damp cloth from the washstand, and paused beside a side table upon which stood a collection of decanters and small jars. He poured a cup of miruvor and discreetly added a minute amount of some of the powdered herbs from the glass bottles, watching to ensure Legolas did not notice.

Galdor had been prepared for something grave but this was a calamity he had not envisioned. The elf had lost his naneth and his Guardian, one and the same person, all in the same battle. The noble Sadron had no reluctance to performing the ritual now, for the urge to follow his Second Mother to Mandos would only grow stronger in Legolas' feä with each passing hour. Galdor found himself stubbornly defiant in wishing to prevent the archer from doing so, though why he was so adamant was beyond definition.

I believe only the sickness from the poisoned wounds has prevented his fading thus far, for his mind has until recently been in a haze of fever. With physical healing underway and his thoughts coherent again, it is but a matter of time before Legolas succumbs to the sorrow. He must undergo Úcaul Annaur and if Glorfindel will not acquiesce to becoming the soul-keeper then another must be found at once.

Now he must seek to learn the Wood Elf's heart and ask him to give up his Tirn'wathel, permitting Galdor to assume this crucial role. It was cruel to force him to bear his soul thus, for Legolas was alone among strangers and yet must depend upon these outlanders to see him through the ordeal to come. It would not be easy to place his trust in someone so quickly, even though the elder was a leader among the Sadryn. For this reason Galdor had drugged the potent liqueur and while the cause was just the Noldo Lord could not prevent the guilt that stole over his heart to do it. He only hoped the messenger had not partaken of miruvor previously and would not notice the altered taste.

Assuming he did not observe my actions in tampering with it.

He need not have worried, for the woodland messenger was curled in the corner of the sofa, legs folded beneath him, one arm wrapped over his aching stomach and the other propped upon the armrest, holding up his head and covering his eyes. His shoulders shook with the aftermath of his sobbing and the wrenching regurgitation while his breath came and left with audible despair.

Galdor frowned in tribulation and hastened to the Wood Elf's side, unceremoniously pulling him into his arms and wiping the wan face with the soft cloth. Legolas avoided his eyes and this he had expected also, knowing Wood Elves would consider such a breakdown a sign of immaturity and indicative of a will lacking in strength. He knew how to counter this, however, and did not hesitate.

"Sîdh, Legolas, (Peace) this shall remain between us, for I shall be your Tirn'wador from henceforth, unless you object. It is fitting for you to share your sorrow with your Guardian, is this not so? You must have a Guardian until you are soul-bound to your mate. I shall take up this task."

Then the young warrior lifted surprised, tear-reddened eyes to the ancient elf's, searching them intently for some sense of comprehension. "Why would you do this, Sadron? We are not even of the same race much less the same House. Do…do you know any of my people?"

"I met your minya'dar (first-father: grandfather) many centuries ago. I witnessed his honourable sacrifice at the Last Alliance, something many do not fully comprehend, even among the First-born. Oropher's pre-emptive charge caught the Dark forces by surprise and kept them quite busy as Gil-Galad prepared for the full assault upon the Black Gates."

Galdor passed the cup to his guest and encouraged him to drink. "Your people are known to me and therein lies another mystery, for the House of Oropher is not counted istad im Pâd-en-Tawar. (knowing in the Way of Tawar.) How is it then that you and I are of the same faith?"

"I was raised by Calarlim through my infancy and was not brought within Hiren Adar's (my Lord Father's) court until my forty-second year. She is of Noss Tuilin (the House of the Swallow)."

"Ah, that explains it, for the Swallows were staunch adherents to the Way. I am gratified that some remnant of those valourous people survived Maeglin's betrayal and also saddened that I had no knowledge of where they settled. Like ashes are the Gondolindrim (people of Gondolin), scattered by the wind," Galdor's voice was fraught with nostalgic regret for the loss of so great a kingdom of the elves.

"Say not ashes, Sadron, but seeds; and fertile is the ground of the Greenwood," replied the archer quietly.

"Aye." Galdor smiled into the corn-flower blue gaze, both pleased and impressed by this insightful counter-comment to his bitter-sweet remark. Legolas had a depth of wisdom few elves were capable of at his age and this only strengthened the elder's determination to salvage the woodland messenger. "This is a tie beyond our distinct ancestry. Our realms may be separate yet we both live within the bounty of Tawar. It does not matter if I am Noldorin and you silvan, for the allegiance between the House of the Tree and that of the Swallow goes back into the Ages. Besides, are not all the elves Iluvatar's Children?"

"Aye, Sadron."

"Then all that is required is your acceptance. If there is another you might choose to delegate I will approach him or her, yet in Elrond's Realm there are few that comprehend the nature of such a commitment. Moreover, I see that my journey here was ordained by Tawar specifically to fulfil this duty. None shall gainsay the voice of Tawar save Manwë himself, and I hear not the wind. What say you, Legolas? Can you abide a stranger as replacement for your beloved Tirn'wathel?"

"It is as you say: the will of Tawar is not to be questioned, Sadron. Yet it does not feel like you are a stranger, Lord, but rather that we are kinsmen, somehow." Legolas was confused that this should be so but could not deny that he felt completely at ease in Galdor's presence. He took another sip of the miruvor and continued. "I will abide it, Sadron; indeed it is an honour to be granted so noble a Guardian as one among the Founders." Everything was happening so very quickly and yet he instantly felt better upon accepting this generous offer.

"Nasan." (So be it.)

Galdor rose from the couch and again vanished into the inner rooms, returning with a small wooden box tooled in fine kidskin leather and stained a rich dark violet. Upon its lid was the emblem of his ancient House, a great cedar tree, and the sides of the container were decorated in an elaborate border of interlocking symbols that looked like leaf and limb but were really constructed from sacred runes and spells. This he set upon the hearth and then gathered up the bottle of miruvor and the cloth as well. He collected Legolas last of all, escorting him to the fireplace and settling him on the raised lip of stone before the roaring grate.

"It is best to be near the fire in your condition," he said in answer to the questioning look the archer sent him. "Finish the tonic I gave you, for that will make this easier as well."

Legolas dipped his head in assent and swallowed down the rest of the drink. He was fully aware the cordial was drugged but in truth he was grateful rather than offended. He could not imagine his heart relinquishing his Tirn'wathel readily, even though his mind understood she was far beyond his reality now. The potent mixture, combined with Sadron's frequent declarations of the will of Tawar, made him agreeable to whatever the elder suggested. It did not even seem so unimaginable to accept Glorfindel as Faer Hebron, though his reason was fairly shouting that this could never be so. He set aside the drained cup and faced his new mentor.

"Gerin hûr," (I am ready.) he said.

TBC