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True Bow (Cuthenin)	By : fremmet Category: -Multi-Age > General Views: 9634 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own the Lord of the Rings (and associated) book series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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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 translations)

NOTE: My thanks to everyone who has so patiently waited for this story to continue. For those who have sent me encouraging feedback, reviews, and notes, you are more appreciated than I can possibly express. I would like to explain the lack of updates yet I do not like to be the sort to moan and groan about life. I accepted too many commitments to do justice to them all and then had to deal with some personal problems that kept me from Cuthenin. I promise not to abandon the story and hope to be more regular in updates. I had originally planned to end this story at the completion of Úcaul Annaur so there have been quite a few details to work out. I will not leave anyone hanging as to the ultimate fate of Cuthenin and Glorfindel.

Speaking of which, I know from the reviews how eager everyone is to see these two interacting more closely, but please bear with me. Legolas is in Greenwood, facing some important issues not only personally but as a citizen of his father's kingdom as well. I hope everyone understands I could not just gloss over this visit, and hope the scene depicted gives some insight into those who, after the Ring Wars, chose to join Legolas in establishing the colony in Ithilien. Thank you again
all for your patience and continued support!

Cheers,

Fred

08/12/2006

Odog-ar-Pae Peth: Mereth o Thamas-en-Gladgalen
(Part
Seventeen: The Banquet in the Great Hall of the Greenwood)

"I disagree entirely. You cannot permit Cuthenin to join this futile endeavour."

Inarthan stood before his father in dispassionate defiance, regally imposing in spectacular battle armour that looked to be made of mithril it shone so brightly, certainly a relic from the First Age. A grandly plush cape of forest green wool backed in black silk was draped upon his shoulders. Just brushing the grass behind him, the long cloak was clasped at his neck with a lustrous ruby gem that flickered in the moonlight as if a living flame dwelled within its heart. The Greenwood prince's posture was calm and projected a comforting aura of strength and purpose but his eyes were alight with incredulous dismay. As he spoke he accepted a large tray laden with delectable fruit from the King and in turn passed it to a waiting server.

"He is of age; it is fitting for him to undergo this challenge and his heart bids him so."

Thranduil, uncrowned, presented sombre elegance rather than courtly ostentation for the occasion was formal rather than joyous. Dressed in an amber satin waistcoat and chestnut dyed breeches beneath a sleeveless, open robe of jade velvet edged in ermine, he remained equally collected and cordial in outward manner yet his strained voice betrayed his true feelings. He hefted a second platter, upon which reposed a delectable roasted pheasant, and gave it into his second son's care.

"You do not want him to go either."

Igeredir explicated the obvious with a soft snort. Cleansed of the grime of the campaign from which he surely must have returned but a scant hour or so hence, the middle son of the Sindarin ruler was clothed similarly to his sire. Waistcoat in silk the autumn colour of maple leaves overlaid a fine tunic with flowing sleeves of a soft sheer fabric in pale citron. His breeches were black and his luxurious robe was that shade of blue sported by spruce trees high on the slopes of the forest's weathered peaks. The warrior grimaced as he hastily pressed the succulent entré
into another waiter's grasp.

Now these attendants were nearly as richly garbed and sophisticated in demeanour as the King and his sons, yet passed among the gathered Wood Elves with subdued subservience, making certain to present their offerings to every group. As each family was approached, the unusual staff made sure to bow their heads in deference, no matter how lowly the simply clad silvan Elves looked in comparison. If appearance could be trusted, the nobles of the King's court were engaged in this humble duty, waiting upon the common folk of the realm as if they were the Valar and their Valarindi in some rustic disguise.

"I do not want him in such dire circumstances, but when you were his age neither did I hope for you to face the dangers that plague us daily. I did not stop you from doing so, however; nor did either of you forbid such hazards to my grandchildren. Nor they to your grandchildren." This time Thranduil presented his eldest with an ornate cauldron capped with a golden lid from which escaped the most delicious vapours via a series of minute pores around its perimeter.

"It is one thing to fight Orcs and spiders alongside a full company of warriors but quite another to brave the legions of Sauron's army en route to the very fires of Mount Doom in the heart of Mordor. With only mortals to aid him, and four of those untrained in warcraft. We shall lose him, Adar!" Inarthan's voice, though fraught with his earnest dread, remained modulated in tone and timbre. He nearly spilled the soup upon the grass, however, in his eagerness to be rid of it and his overabundance of strong emotion regarding the topic.

The Elf who salvaged the elegant tureen gave him a look of concern and warning combined, for it was none other than Galion, the King's seneschal. He did not speak, however, and turned from the prince to do his duty and serve the tantalisingly fragrant broth. He gave his head-bob with a broad smirk and a wink, for the first Elves he waited upon were the visiting Lords, Glorfindel and Galdor, seated upon wide, low stools of brocaded satin trimmed in an intricately knotted fringe of silk tassels. Still he said nothing, merely ladling an ample portion of the concoction into the guests' bowls before moving away to serve the rest of Greenwood's population.

Glorfindel's attention was distracted from the drama playing out between the King and his elder sons by Galion's presence yet he barely spared the irreverent steward a thin frown. The Lord of the Golden Flower had not envisioned so formal a function in such a time of grim news from afar and the tragedy of recent losses locally. He had not thought to pack any garments suitable to represent his House in the grand manner on display amid the Sindarin nobles and had been forced to accept the loan of a fittingly flamboyant robe from Galion. It was made in the same style as the royal family's were, open and sleeveless, constructed in his case of opulent, carnelian fabric and trimmed in the fur of silver foxes. Beneath this heavy drape he wore his travelling clothes, these having been brushed and freshened with fragrant rosemary by some dedicated servant of the stronghold.

"Please try the soup, Hîren (my Lord)," spoke a quiet voice from his left. Glorfindel glanced over to find one of Thranduil's numerous great-great-grandchildren smiling politely at Galdor. The Sindarin Elf reminded him of Igeredir strongly yet her manner was not so imposing and the elleth was obviously not a warrior by trade. A scholar, perhaps, or a healer. Her mundanely courteous remark, juxtaposed against the serious conversation taking place between Thranduil and his princes, aptly encapsulated the bizarre atmosphere of the dinner.

Glorfindel transferred his sight to Galdor and noted that he, too, had borrowed clothing from the lofty-mannered seneschal. The emissary from Mithlond sampled the broth and declared it delicious, earning a gracious nod from the noble woodland Lady. Galdor behaved as if nothing out of the ordinary was occurring, as though his host was not discussing the private affairs of his family in front of everyone. Yet he must be as keenly interested in this strange council as I, if not more so. The Noldorin Lord presented his usual serenely composed countenance, the image of an ancient and revered sage from the Elder Days. That made Glorfindel smile, inwardly at least, for Galdor, august patriarch of the House of the Tree, a Sadron and Founder of Pâd-en-Tawar, was his contemporary, older by only a handful of years.

This was without doubt the strangest feast Glorfindel had ever attended. Indeed, this is more a grandiose picnic than a banquet.

The formal fête was being served, its opulence notwithstanding, outdoors under the stars for Thranduil's Great Hall was not found within his cavernous fortress. That this hall was but a broad, green meadow ringed, according to tradition and lore, by the very oldest living trees in all of Arda, purportedly planted by Yavanna's own hands, did not detract from the splendorous simplicity of the occasion or its locale. A sacred place in the Elder days, the grassy lea had served as the silvans' seat of council, market, trysting spot, and community gathering place since first the Teleri settled beneath the canopy.

It took no great amount of thought to comprehend why such an area would become so popular, for Wood Elves delighted in starlight and revelled in every opportunity to absorb the distant, argent shimmer, for open space in the tree-crowded forest was limited. Few evenings passed without a large portion of the population collecting in Thamas-en-Calenhad (Great Hall in the Green-space), filling the air with song, many of the melodies so ancient they were originally voiced at Cuivienen. There was no singing on this evening, as yet, but the silvans were apparently prepared to remain indefinitely, having carried down mats and small stools from their talans to make the ground more appealing to Elves at ease in the heights.

To Glorfindel, the impression adduced that this mode of convocation was common rather than unique. The Balrog Slayer gazed about in curiosity from his place of honour. His low but comfortably padded seat was situated on a subtle uplift in the turf before an aggregation of five tall stones that surely could not have found their places without the aid of elven strength and determination. Yet they were not carved, polished, sculpted or otherwise embellished in any way; they were just great oblong blocks of black basalt arranged in a crude arc upon this little hummock. He wondered what superstitious notions were attached to these hunks of rock and their placement within the open meadow so far from the mountain fortress. His meandering eyes and thoughts snapped back to the royal family as the King answered his eldest son.
"Loss is a familiar, bitter companion to the Elves of the Greenwood, both Sindarin and silvan, whether nobly or humbly bred, and many are the ways one may lose a loved one. Yet even so, Tûovor, (Strength Abundant - Inarthan's father-name) speak not those words of Legolas," Thranduil stated with understated vehemence that silenced the undercurrent of muted chatter around him. The light in his olivine orbs was awash in a turbulent flux of fear, anger, and something near to pleading.

Inarthan sighed audibly and bowed his head; the effect was immediately disconcerting for the warrior prince was such a fulsome image of powerful authority that just the sight of him could give the heart courage. To see him despondent was to feel a quailing chill freeze the soul. "Nin gohenach, Adar, pennon inden Úistiel," (Forgive me, Father, I spoke my heart without thinking.) he said contritely ere he straightened his stance anew. "I understand Legolas' desire to prove himself and to make amends, but he could do that here at home. The struggle will come upon us first, for Dol Guldur will be the Enemy's command post in the north. A warrior with Cuthenin's skill will be greatly needed and difficult to replace."

"I do not dispute you. Yet fate has placed our Cuthenin on this path and he is unwilling to turn from it. There are many able warriors in Greenwood; there is only one Elf among all the First-born whom Mithrandir would have with him on this Quest." The major chord of a father's unabashed pride rang through these words as Thranduil corrected his eldest son gently, for Inarthan had omitted completely the wizard's part in the venture.
Throughout the meadow, the quiet murmur of low voices, the pitch of the sound affirming and supportive of the King, began anew as the royal family paused in the discussion, Thranduil's endorsement of his youngest son's participation being difficult for the elder princes to counter. Viewed from beyond their immediate circle, the trio gave every indication of engaging in a normal conversation; none of the other Elves gathered would be able to determine by sight that the Sindarin Lords were arguing. This was especially true since this immediate circle was comprised entirely of Elves belonging to Thranduil's clan, a sizeable throng and a substantial physical barrier between the King's family and his subjects. Nonetheless, elven hearing granted nearly everyone access to the particulars of the debate.

Which surely Thranduil knows. This must all be for the benefit of the Wood Elves.

Not for the first time was Glorfindel perplexed by the rationale behind the Sindarin Lord's behaviour. He had been subjected to one surprise after another this day and the inexplicable manner of hosting a feast while informing the public regarding personal affairs was just another eccentric feature of Greenwood's hybrid culture, he supposed. Still, he wondered if anyone would challenge the presented reasoning for sending Legolas, for all intents an untried warrior with a tendency to rash action, on so important a mission. Indeed, his own opinions on the topic were conflicted.

So much greater then must be their dilemma.

The family's voiced worries revealed their distress over the possibility of Cuthenin's demise during this quest while addressing the concerns of the populace over who should represent the woodland realm. None would doubt that the King's family wished Legolas to remain in his homeland, fearing him unprepared for such a hardship, yet forces beyond their control would compel them to let him go nonetheless.

Glorfindel revised his judgement, deciding Thranduil and his elder sons were shrewd politicians after all. The King was garnering his subjects' natural sympathies for his family's wrenching conundrum in order to soften opposition to Legolas' participation in the vital pursuit. He shook his head slightly, scoffing at his slow comprehension of the purpose behind such open cogitations, for while he was unsurpassed in tactical skill and warcraft, his acuity in the ways of statecraft was dull in comparison.

He scanned the numerous Elves belonging to Thranduil's clan and was struck by the lack of silvan folk among them. The House of the Beeches had not blended formally with the more primitive silvan bloodlines, it would seem. He recognised some people he knew personally, formerly of Mithlond, and the inescapable conclusion was that Thranduil's House sought mates amid adjuncts of the Sindarin nobles dwelling by the seashore. Yet none of them seemed disposed to dissent against Legolas and this silent support was equally unexpected, given Galion's vivid portrayal of disfavour among the Sindarin Lords for the King's illicit affair.

And still another peculiarity, given their lack of obvious hostility, is the fact that Legolas is not seated amid the multitude of his father's extended family.

Glorfindel's intended was much farther away, surrounded by a smaller coterie of Elves that must belong to his Naneth's people, for they were all silvan. He noted the distance between them and any other group or family; he absorbed the commonplace appearance, the reduced numbers of the descendants of the House of the Swallow. These observations saddened Glorfindel, for in Gondolin these folk had been highly lauded and dwelt in splendour under the favour of Turgon their King. He wondered if Legolas knew anything of his peoples' proud history and determined to share his memories of their brave deeds on that dreadful day so long ago. He also questioned whether the decision to sit with his Naneth's House was the archer's or a restriction imposed by his illegitimacy. Would Legolas choose to be so far from his father's presence in such a time of sorrow?

I would not think it, but if his low status so ordains he would be bound to obey, considering his fear of exposing his Adar to the nobles' disfavour. He idolises Thranduil. The Balrog Slayer had to admit he was bewildered by Cuthenin's strange circumstances: subject to oblique ostracism from all while discussed with obvious affection and worried misgivings by his father and brothers. And what does Legolas make of this council, for he is not so far removed that he cannot hear their contention plainly?

Glorfindel's eyes sought Legolas, perhaps for the twentieth time though he was unaware it had been so often, this time to check on how the younger warrior was bearing up under the strain of being the topic of open deliberation. The Vanya Lord grimaced, not because Cuthenin seemed to be in distress but conversely because he was not.

The woodland archer looked utterly relaxed, reclining upon the grass and leaning back into the arms of a silvan elleth. She held onto him with one arm round his chest while with the other she retrieved morsels from the various plates and bowls scattered around and fed them to him. Cuthenin was not wearing much, just a loose pair of breeches and what could only be a sleep-shirt, which was unlaced and hanging open, and he was barefoot. Glorfindel concluded that someone had roused him from bed and dragged him down to the meadow without giving him time to dress for the feast, which was the case.

This elleth, mayhap, brought him hence, but why so, if as appearance suggests, he had retired for resting? That no one else found Cuthenin's state of deshabille worthy of comment was yet another inexplicable wrinkle in the aspect of Greenwood's poorly fused, patched-together society.

Watching the pair, Glorfindel's eyes narrowed as his features hardened in an expression reserved for those deserving his most virulent wrath. From time to time, the silvan female's hand gently rubbed Cuthenin's chest, just over the tattooed spiral above his heart, through the gap in the shirt. Legolas' hand rested atop hers and he did not protest these intimate touches.

An aunt, perhaps, or even his maternal grandmother. Could be a cousin. Glorfindel reasoned to his jealous mind. It did not work, jealousy not being an emotion generally affected by rational thought. His left hand clenched tightly around his fork and he used it to stab in distraction at the delicacies upon his plate, yet his jaws were clamped shut and not a bite did he taste. It was denial more than logic that pushed him to seek an innocent explanantion. He is grieving; these Elves are his family. It is but a display of compassionate comforting. Besides, Legolas has no romantic interest in females. This notion did help a bit, yet almost at once the Balrog Slayer's ire returned as another Elf joined the archer's group.

This was the same warrior who had so openly embraced Legolas upon their arrival in Greenwood. The ellon summarily lifted Legolas off the elleth's lap and transferred him to his. Cuthenin laughed softly at something the warrior remarked as this was accomplished but made no effort to get free, even allowing this male friend to take over the task of feeding him. The ellon's long fingers slipped beneath the fabric of the shirt and Glorfindel could actually see Legolas' sigh, so deeply was it expelled from his lungs, and the mourning Elf shifted to settle more fully into his friend's comforting clasp. The warrior bent his head low toward Legolas and his hair fell forward, a curtain of dark tresses hiding their faces, and Glorfindel's breath ceased.

In rigid disbelief he watched, straining to see more clearly what was happening while at the same time forced to remain where he was lest he call attention to his inordinate interest in this tableau. Why is he shielding their interaction from view? What does he whisper, so softly none can overhear it? Is he kissing my Cuthenin? That idea, irrational though it might be, very nearly had Glorfindel on his feet but for Galdor's intervention. The worthy Guardian tapped him rudely on the shoulder and cleared his throat. The Vanya warrior turned to his old friend in seething fury.

"You permit this?" he accused in a hiss more audible than he intended, his hand making a swift, cutting gesture in the direction of his intended.

The exasperated expression transforming Galdor's features informed Glorfindel that he had been heard by everyone. He became uncomfortably aware that all speech had ceased. He swallowed, not daring to so much as glance in Cuthenin's direction, and darted a covert look at the King instead. Thranduil's glowering countenance was enough to make him wish he was still home in Imladris, for the threatening visage was mirrored not only on the faces of the King's older sons but on nearly every one of the assembled members of the House of The Beeches.

"You misunderstand," snarled Igeredir. "There is no insult to your sister in this for such assignations between like kind are forbidden in Greenwood. Furthermore, Cuthenin and Sûlchim are cousins, nearly as close in blood as brothers; Sûlchim's father and Cuthenin's mother were first cousins."

"They were raised together," Inarthan added in cold disdain. "Sûlchim is but five years Legolas' senior."

The Balrog Slayer rose immediately to his feet and made a deep bow to the King and his sons. "Please forgive my offence against your House. I rashly assumed an affront to my sister that clearly was not presented. The ways of the Greenwood are not as those of Imladris, and for this reason my mind misinterpreted what my eyes beheld."

"It is understandable that you would wish to defend your sister's honour," answered Thranduil in a less than generous a tone. "No slight upon my House has been noticed." He resumed his task of passing out the food, dismissing his guest's indiscreet outburst, his ensuing silence forbidding additional censure of the foreign Lord.

Yet the atmosphere of the glen had acquired a distinct edge to it. More than a few hostile glares were bent upon the re-born warrior from both the House of the Swallow and of the Beeches.

Glorfindel resumed his seat with a heavy heart that was yet in great part eased, for he felt a sharp sense of having narrowly averted a catstrophe. Only the woodland princes' misunderstanding concerning the cause for his anger had prevented the public revelation of his true feelings. He busied himself with eating, reaching for and tasting something from all the dishes that had been steadily accumulating throughout the course of the extravagant meal. He kept his eyes averted from Cuthenin's location, not just to prove to the assembly that he was satisfied with the princes' explanation but to refrain from facing the hurt he was sure must be visible within the archer's eyes should he chance to meet them.

Ai! Where has my reason and self-control fled? I am acting like any love-struck adolescent elfling. The Vanya berated himself sternly, for the consequences of giving vent to this unseemly jealousy would be very grave for Legolas. He truly did not wish to place Cuthenin in such unbearable conditions: shamed and banished in disgrace from his homeland and his family.

"Well played, Hîren, skilfully done indeed." These mocking words, but faintly murmured close to Glorfindel's ear, arose from the smirking mouth of Galion. The steward had reappeared, this time bearing a trencher heaped with the smoked flesh of a boar, pulled from the bone and seasoned with a rich and tangy tawny-brown sauce. "Do taste this delicacy my Lords, I doubt anything similar is served in the court of Imladris. The preparation is something of a family secret here in Greenwood," Galion said in an audible tone as he leaned close to bring his burden within Glorfindel and Galdor's reach.

"My thanks, good steward," smiled Galdor. "Truly, the fare of the forest has my tongue awake with anticipation for every bite." As he helped himself he sent Glorfindel another scowling remonstrance. "Are there some among Thranduil's people, then, as you remarked earlier, who would put forth that Glorfindel's presence is more than a diplomatic necessity?" he asked of Galion in a subdued pitch inaudible beyond their seats.

"You honour us with your compliments, Hîren," the seneschal rejoined for the crowd's benefit before dropping his volume again. "There are always those who seek to discredit Legolas; even before his birth this was so. And not all here are ignorant of gossip from distant lands. Lord Glorfindel's reputation for bedding ellyn has reached the ears of many. However, his visible outrage and the timely explanation supplied by the elder princes has deflated the notion that he is interested in Cuthenin for himself. That is, for all save a few who are convinced of Legolas' true inclination but cannot prove anything.

"That being because there are those of us who have worked very hard over the years to keep him removed from any opportunity to indulge his passions. Legolas himself has determinedly refrained from putting his person in the way of temptation and I can attest to the truth of his complete innocence. He has not been publicly accused because he has never done anything forbidden for which to be indicted. Many may suspect his preference but none can impeach his conduct." These harsh words were intended solely to censure Glorfindel, for while Legolas would be the last to credit it the butler was one of his most vigilant protectors. Galion moved away to another group, sending one last searing glare into the Balrog Slayer's penitent beryl eyes.

Glorfindel sighed wearily and flashed a look into Galdor's face. The placid expression had returned as the Sadron chewed slowly but the Vanya warrior was not fooled. Legolas' Tirn'wador would be certain to take him to task over this slip ere the dawn had broken. He shifted his focus again to the King and the elder princes, noting that all the passing and serving was done and the aristocratic Sindarin staff were returning to their respective clans even as Thranduil took his place, a seat located in the centre of the stone arc. His sons sat beside him, Inarthan on his right and Igeredir on the left. The uncomfortably tense silence remained and Glorfindel shifted uneasily, knowing he was the cause for disrupting the usual protocol at such affairs.

Several edgy minutes of night elapsed as the stars looked down, spilling the trembling glint of their silvern splendour over the collected Elves.

"Mithrandir is wise; even among those deemed so he is a sage of renown," a new voice spoke, one of the Sindarin nobles among a group seated so close to the King's people that Glorfindel could not tell exactly where the division was. "Yet he is not as well informed on matters under the eaves of the forest."

"Aye, but he has an ally on our borders who keeps him apprised of news: Aiwendil," remarked Galion. "I would wager he knew of the Gollum's escape long before Cuthenin arrived in Imladris."

"Yet he drafted Cuthenin into service nonetheless," appended Igeredir, sensing where the nobleman's complaint was leading.

"That is not exactly so," Glorfindel boldly spoke up. He paused only for an instant to feel a twinge of regret over the shocked countenances gawking at him. "Mithrandir requested Legolas' aid after consultation with Lord Elrond, his sons, Lord Galdor, and myself. It was just that: a request, not an order or a penance imposed due to presumed shortcomings."

This unexpected interruption was followed by a few seconds of very dense stillness during which every Elf in the kingdom stared at the foreign Lord, their expressions an even mix of blatant surprise, distrustful resentment, and calculating shrewdness.

"Your information is invaluable and we are grateful for it," another Sindarin Lord of the court stood and bowed to Glorfindel, "yet when has the fate of the Greenwood's people been decided by the leaders of such distant lands?"

"Indeed, and more to the point, by what right did Legolas accept this challenge before consulting with his betters? He took much upon himself, for it was not intended that he should go to Imladris as emissary for our realm," another added with blunt disdain. "He was sent as a messenger, nothing more, and it is unseemly for a task of this magnitude to be given into his hands to accomplish."

"Or fail to accomplish, as the outcome will more likely be defeat if left under Cuthenin's command," a third Sindarin Lord stood and appended his disparagement.

"That is an unjust assessment," Glorfindel could not help challenging that insulting comment. "I examined him closely concerning the events surrounding the creature's escape. Nothing approaching negligence is indicated. Had any other Elf been the miserable gangrel's keeper, would anyone here condemn them for the attack?"

"Kind words, Lord Glorfindel, offered gallantly in your future law-brother's defence, but as you have remarked: our ways and those of Imladris differ. Our definitions of negligence likewise do not coincide," commented the first Elf Lord drily.

"Do you level such a charge upon my son, Tarias?" (Difficulty) demanded Thranduil, his demeanour cool, his tone level, and his eyes ablaze with fury.

As though his words contained some unvoiced mandate, and before an answer could be made, four of Thranduil's younger descendants rose from their places and made their way conspicuously to the clan of the Swallow. They stood still and silent, ringed in open solidarity around Legolas where he remained ensconced in his cousin's grasp. Though as richly dressed as the rest of their clan, each of these elves betrayed the manner and bearing of warriors; it was evident they must be common members of a single company and that Legolas was not only kin by blood but their war-brother as well.

Tarias frowned in disapproval as he watched this arrogant display of rebellious camaraderie yet shook his head as he answered. "Nay, excuse my wayward tongue for I misspoke, Aranen. (my King) It is more accurate to refer to Cuthenin's inexperience as the culprit in our warriors' deaths than any lack of spirit or courage on his part."

"That is twice you have maligned my brother in as few passing moments," intoned Inarthan in a soft voice that was laced with the promise of severe reprisal. "I would know the basis for it. Have you information we do not? Perhaps a formal account of Legolas' actions that day would enlighten us all."

"There is nothing untoward to relay," said a more distant voice.

Attention swerved to find its source and all watched and waited as the speaker approached from the far edge of the glade. The Elf was neither Sindarin nor silvan but one among the multitude who were a mixture of the two, for the example of spurning the woodland folk given by Thranduil's House was by no means followed universally. Indeed, it was only among the few most powerful clans of the Sindar that such discrimination was practised. She seemed in age a contemporary of the elder princes and moved with that sense of reserved power and command that denotes the leader of any fighting force, regardless the realm they serve. She came forward until she stood before Thranduil's seat and bowed in respect.

"Hîren, Cuthenin arrived for his turn at watch at the appointed time, alert and prepared for his tour. No unusual activity occurred during the three-day shift although he was relieved several hours late; a fact he did not reveal to me out of friendship for the tardy warrior. After making his customary report, Cuthenin requested permission for the Gollum to be allowed outside for a time, per Mithrandir's recommendation.

"I agreed with the wizard's ideas about healing the miserable creature and I gave that order. This was not the first time I had done so. Should anyone wish to lay blame for the events that came to pass thereafter, they need look no further than my compassionate heart. Cuthenin was dismissed from duty for the day, as he had completed his watch. I have found nothing in his actions that displayed either lack of discipline or want of sound judgement."

Her speech compete, the captain gave a reverent nod to her King, turned and strode over to join the warriors surrounding Cuthenin. As she did, several more Elves arose from their respective families and made their way to stand in support of Legolas. They were not only silvan nor drawn solely from among the archer's blood relations but constituted a fair representation of the Greenwood's divers populace, both in class, race, and age. Warriors all, the common denominator linking them was the bond of soldiers who depended on one another for life and safety. This was a bond Glorfindel understood well and he nodded in approval.

Now it was clear from the captain's rapid, concise delivery that she had given this same assessment before, at least privately, yet even so Glorfindel could not suppress a triumphant grin which he trained first upon the contemptuous Sindarin nobles and then upon Cuthenin. His intended's vision was focused elsewhere, however, and Glorfindel's smile softened. Legolas' shining eyes were locked upon his Adar's, revelling in the outpouring of encouragement, approbation, and love emanating from the deep emerald sea of Thranduil's orbs.

Glorfindel could tell that Cuthenin wished to go to his father yet remained among his mother's people, and the Balrog Slayer had to rein in his desire to rise and forcibly relocate the young archer to his rightful place. Silvan he might be in heritage and culture, yet there was still honour and dignity in the House of the Sparrow. Beyond this, Cuthenin was every inch Thranduil's son; none would doubt his innate nobility. None with a shred of intelligence, at least.

The intensity of his gaze reached Legolas even across so great a distance and the archer turned to him. Cuthenin blinked wide blue eyes and then responded with a slight smile, a shy smile, an almost apologetic smile that at once elated and bewildered Glorfindel. The re-born warrior felt his heart turn over in his chest and a painfully wistful sigh fled his lips. How he yearned to go stand beside Cuthenin, to place a supporting hand upon his shoulder.

And why should I not? Is it so unseemly for me to back my future law-brother? It would be right, a way to amend my poor behaviour earlier. He stirred, intending to follow through on this idea, when another sharp poke in the shoulder drew his sight away from Cuthenin.

With the spell broken, and Galdor's disapproving glare upon him once more, Glorfindel realised that his prolonged indulgence in admiration of Legolas had been of sufficient magnitude to garner others' notice as well, most importantly that of Thranduil, Inarthan, and Igeredir. The trio were regarding him with seemingly bland unconcern but their eyes proclaimed their combined surprise, comprehension, and alarm. No doubt did the Balrog Slayer harbour; they knew.

He felt his soul shrink within his body, receding in quaking dread behind his valiant heart, the pounding of which overwhelmed his hearing for a moment. Unable to bear the strain of meeting their consolidated and disapproving scrutiny, he transferred his notice to Galdor and physically winced. The Lord of the Tree looked ready to commit his first act kin-slaying. "Valar, nin beria," (Valar protect me.) Glorfindel whispered gloomily, having absolutely no faith in such a plea being heard.

"…regardless the outcome. Is it right for an outlander, be he even from the Blessed Realm, to so determine who should represent our people? I say it is not meet. Let the folk of the Greenwood choose their champion for this Quest." Tarias had resumed his discordant protests and this bold challenge snatched Glorfindel's notice away from his personal dilemma.

"Aye, we should put it to voice," one of the other malcontents averred.

"Is this the will of my subjects?" demanded Thranduil, rising and stepping forward from the encircling black obelisks. "Or is this but more belligerent complaining from the Houses of Beor and Brûn Ist? (Houses of the Followers and of Ancient Lore) Let us see who supports the choice of Tarias and Lumren." (Difficulty and Shady)

So saying, the King demonstrated his meaning by example, walking purposefully to stand with those collected amid the Swallows. As soon as he was close enough, he bent and took his youngest son by the arm, aiding him to rise, and then wrapped one strong arm around the youth's shoulders, drawing him close to his side. Legolas presented his Adar with a brief but exultant smile, winding his arm about his sire's waist to reinforce this unity, before mimicking Thranduil's serious demeanour.

Very quickly the Wood Elves sorted themselves between the two camps, with the head of each House moving to stand in support of either the King and his son or the dissenting nobles. Though he would have wished it otherwise, Glorfindel was not surprised that the numbers were not overwhelmingly in favour of Legolas. Still, he could discern that enough had joined Thranduil to over-rule the opposition. Tarias and Lumnen said nothing, allowing their scowling frowns to indicate their dismay.

"It is decided, but for one more voice as yet unheard," extolled the King. He met his youngest's eyes and gave a brief nod, separating from Legolas and standing back a pace.

Cuthenin took too strides forward into the open and turned to face his father.

"I will go, for I have given my word to Mithrandir that I would aid this undertaking in any manner possible. I go not only to remove the injury the reputation of the Woodland Realm has suffered due to the escape of Gollum, though that is perhaps sufficient reason. I go to do what I may to bring an end to the tyranny of the Dark Lord, too long a resident in our lands and now subjecting the people of every land to his evil cruelty.

"Should I fail, let not the people of Greenwood bear the burden of that defeat, for I join the Fellowship not as representative for her folk alone. I will stand for all the First-born, for while our time here draws to a close, yet it is right to support the cause of those who will inherit Arda from our hands. I pray I do not fail, or if I do so that it will not be from lack of fortitude or ability but only because the Shadow has been victorious and won its prize, in which case my soul will be in Nâmo's Keeping, there to be joined by many of my kin.

"I pray my courage is enough and my skill sufficient. I beg the aid of Tawar and the petitions and supplications of all here on my behalf, that I have what strength is required to bring honour to my family and homeland, that I prove anew the gallant constitution of the Elves. I beg the grace of your Blessing, Aranen, that I may go with a clear conscience, free of regret for my absence in such a time of adversity." His proclamation concluded, Legolas knelt upon the grass before the King, head bowed and hand over his heart, awaiting this last affirmation of his decision.

Thranduil did not hesitate and in fact had reached his son before Cuthenin's speech concluded. His right hand he placed upon the crown of golden tresses and his left rested upon Legolas' shoulder as he spoke:

"I grant you my Blessing with both joy and misgiving, filled with both pride and regret. How can it be otherwise? You are my own child, yet grown and a warrior well-fitted to this task. In selfishness I would wish to deny your participation, yet even if I did this you would go. That is to your credit, for it speaks of a strong character and a true heart. I have no doubt that you will do justice to the trust the wizard has conferred upon you yet I feel my heart straining against the woes you must face upon this journey.

"Let no concern or fear for our fate cause you distraction lest you falter and cause me to face the dread of losing you. We will be fighting beside you, albeit divided by the long leagues of many realms and wasted wilds. Our stewardship of Arda may be waning but the determination of the First-born has not diminished, anymore than the Wood Elves have come to love less the trees that have sheltered them since the Elder days. We shall all succeed or all fail, and if the latter then it will not be for lack of valour on the part of elf-kind.

"Go with the your King's sanction and your Father's reluctant consent. But return to me, Legolas, if you can, for my heart cannot abide here longer if yours is in Mandos." This last sentence was murmured for the benefit of Cuthenin's hearing alone, for Thranduil once more raised his son upright, pulling him against his chest in a clasp so tight as to be painful, his soul aching in fear of this being the last time he might ever hold his youngest child thus.

A subtle cacophony followed this inspiring scene as many of the silvan byr (followers) of Pâd-en-Tawar uttered entreaties for Cuthenin's protection and the success of the Fellowship's venture. Among the Sindarin Elves could be heard scattered avowals of approbation for Legolas and of commitment to ridding the world of the Shadow, for their hearts were stirred and they were eager to be part of this fight.

Now Thranduil met his elder sons' eyes, a questioning, almost pleading expression shining from his. Inarthan and Igeredir smiled and silently communicated their understanding before their father released their younger brother from his embrace, resettling his arm around Legolas' shoulders as he led him away from the crowd. In unison Greenwood's princes tuned and converged upon their guests, bearing down upon Glorfindel like wolves after a hart. Their smiles were courteously cold and grim and their silence was more ominous than any curse or accusation would have sounded.

Glorfindel stood, not one to meet his doom in cowering meekness no matter how hopeless the situation appeared. He was glad for the stool behind his knees, however, for it prevented the unseemly act of taking a step backwards, something his instinct screamed he ought to do as the Sindarin princes advanced. He felt a hand upon his back and realised it was Galdor, quietly pledging his support, and thanked the Valar for the elder Elf's friendship. As Inarthan and Igeredir flanked him, Glorfindel caught the smirking leer of Galion. The seneschal was right behind the King's sons and together the three Sindarin Elves escorted the visiting Lords from Thamas-en-Calenhad.

TBC
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True Bow (Cuthenin)