Adult-FanFiction.org : Lord of the Rings

True Bow (Cuthenin)	By : fremmet Category: -Multi-Age > General Views: 9639 -:- 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.

Chapter List
- 20
- 21
- 22
Min-ar-Pae Peth: Thar Hithaeglir (Part Twenty-one: Across the Misty Mountains)

A note on the princes' names:

Inarthan (The Beacon) is Thranduil's first-born and heir.

Igeredir (The Maker) is the second-born son.

These are their nicknames, earned in their young years when they served as messengers, one of the first assignments of any warrior of Greenwood. I am tired of trying to switch back and forth between the cumbersome appellations I gave them, finding doing so with Legolas/Cuthenin is quite enough to manage, and so I beg everyone's indulgence for abandoning the elder prince's rightful names. :)

The soaring, white-capped peaks of the Misty Mountains rose beyond even the reach of Elven eyes. Veiled in the ragged clouds, the impenetrable ranks of rigid rock barred the way, a daunting and perilous enigma to the small band of woodland warriors and their foreign guests. They were but the most recent Elves to face these jagged pinnacles and feel their hope quail, their courage falter. This self-same barricade had caused a third of the Telerin Elves to balk at continuing the Great Journey to the sea and Aman in the furthest west more than three Ages ago in the Time before Time when there was neither Ithil nor Anor. Even at the behest of Oromë and his promise of peace and plenty, they would go no further.

It was no wonder lore and legend lent the mountains elements of a malevolent sentience stone could not possess, unless from some revenant remnant of Melkor, whose malice raised them up. Such was not deemed unreasonable by the Wood Elves, for everything in Arda was filled with Iluvatar's Music and thus could it be known. Melkor, for all his malignant corruption, was part of that Song no less than were Yavanna and Aulë.

What a strange thought, that this inanimate mass of rock and stone had influenced the evolution of the sylvan people, providing the isolation requisite to promotion of those traits unique to the Wood Elves. If not for the treacherous range of perpetually ice-clad mountains, would the folk of the Greenwood have become such a distinctive race among the First-born, so different from their Sindarin cousins and even from the Green Elves beyond the dividing elevation? Truly, the obstruction was as much an agent upon them as their beloved forest.

So thought Glorfindel, once a noble Lord of Gondolin and now naught but a humble warrior in service to a greater House. If the presence of Vala could not induce their ancestors to attempt the ascent, what could possibly convince this handful of sylvan and Sindarin soldiers to make the crossing?
Loyalty, respect, kinship, and a growing sense of pride over the part their youngest prince shall play in the struggle ahead.

For the Balrog-slayer, Cuthenin was nothing less: Ernil Nail o Greenwood (Greenwood's Third Prince), just as the indelible marks on his body proclaimed, and yet no sign was required to comprehend this fact. Indeed, he had noted Legolas' innate nobility the very first time he saw him, even battle-grimed and weary. It struck him as bizarre that he should be counted high-born and nearly peerless solely by virtue of his former marriage to Erestor, while Legolas, sprung from bloodlines that included Celeborn and Thingol among its many branches, was discounted and denigrated. At least among the present company none would judge Cuthenin less than the son of mighty Kings.

Glorfindel surveyed his companions trekking toward the pass, resolute and yet uplifted, determined yet hopeful, and deemed them both formidable and exemplary. They proceeded with the discipline and caution appropriate to such a well-trained fighting force, unfazed by the novelty of the open plains but wary of the heights before them. Here, they were visible to any enemy that might chance to spy upon the valley and all knew a bloody battle awaited them, yet this certainty held no power to perturb their doughty hearts. Indeed, they were keen to engage their foes and Glorfindel could feel the ferocity of that desire, see it burning brightly in eyes that scanned the rocky cliffs and defiles, sense it in ears that strained for any noise emanating from the distant peaks.

So the word of their fey and feral nature told to us by the wizard is cold truth. Mithrandir avowed he had never seen such pitiless annihilation as that witnessed at the feet of the Lonely Mountain.

Glorfindel's gaze fell upon Cuthenin and stayed, recalling the defeated Orcs among the boxwoods on the North Road, the daring solitary sortie to spare Igeredir's falcon, the selfless protection provided for him at the river crossing. It stirred him deeply and the revelation rose anew: Cuthenin was nothing less than the perfect incarnation of every trait the Balrog-slayer found worthy, both internally and externally. Could he design the ideal companion for his lonely heart, he would have crafted Legolas. Glorfindel's soul expanded with felicity and joy, pleased that he need no longer worry for his heart to show upon his countenance. The consuming vibrance of his emotion was tangible and Legolas turned to smile over his shoulder, blue eyes glinting with hunger that their stimulating experiment had but whetted rather than assuaged. Glorfindel's answering grin was nothing less than radiant.

"Tiro râd, Legolas," (Attend the trail, Legolas) ordered Galdor.

"Sui Pedich, Tirn'wador." (As you say, Guardian) Cuthenin gave his intended a saucy wink ere he obeyed.

Since the erotic interlude in the meadow, Galdor had kept his ward apart, insisting Legolas ride beside him in the forefront while the Balrog Slayer was relegated to the company of Sûlchim and Igeredir. Those two exchanged gleeful smiles over such cheeky behaviour from the normally subdued and shy sylvan archer, but refrained from any further jesting over their kinsman's blossoming personality. Everyone realised this exuberance represented the lifting of two centuries' worth of repressed needs and that was no laughing matter at all.

None understood this better than Galdor, who breathed a soft sigh of resignation. Managing an adult Elf so wholly denied all but the most basic outlet for such natural urges was difficult, to say the least. It was a delicate balance, upholding his promise to the Sindarin King and honouring his pledge to Legolas. He had to decide how strict to be, when to demand Cuthenin's obedience, and when to let him indulge this new-found freedom. Had the outcome not been so serious, he would gladly have let the couple engage as fully as they wished, but Ûcaul Annaur made that course impossible.

Besides, Legolas was completely ingenuous and simultaneously overwhelmed with the splendrous intimacy of co-habiting his Faer-hebron's body. How could such innocence differentiate between fleeting, euphoric delight and timeless devotion? Yet, Galdor could not deny that when first he had interviewed the archer, there had been in Legolas' voice the tone and timbre of truth. Even then, his soul had recognised and yearned for its mate. Of course, and also from the very beginning, the carnal attraction was equally strong.

Is it any wonder he craves physical union more than most?

Nay, and when the moment of confrontation had come, Galdor found he had no reprimand to give beyond an admonishing scowl at the Lord of the Golden Flower. Yet even in this he revealed a genuine gratitude, for it was clear enough that Glorfindel had not taken his young mate very far nor taken satisfaction for his own desires. Such restraint, not previously a hallmark of the warrior's character, said much of his commitment to Legolas.
How long he can resist; that is the question which plagues me now. Galdor glanced back and found Glorfindel watching him seriously. Another sigh left the venerable Lord of the Tree and earned a questioning look from Inarthan.

"You are troubled?" asked the King's heir quietly, shifting his sight to Legolas and back to Galdor.

"A bit. The hours of the night are long ones and I would have everyone rest before we must face the demons in the pass."

"I will set reasonable watches; there is no cause for concern. We will not reach the dangerous regions this day."

"How far will we go?" asked Legolas, unconscious of the double entendre until Sûlchim snorted while attempting to suppress a sniggery giggle. Cuthenin's cheeks grew warm and he spared a peek at his Tirn'wador.

"Exactly what I was wondering," said Galdor drily.

Legolas frowned but did not respond, having no intention of prompting any edict that would thwart his plans for Glorfindel.

"I am thinking the cove you described is far enough to journey today and ample enough to hold our number," Inarthan addressed his brother without a hint of mirth in his tone. "The water is clean?"

"Aye, no foul thing has touched the place. I felt there the presence of Tawar; it is a good spot."

"So be it. Take Sûlchim and scout ahead. If all remains serene we will camp there."

The two sylvans broke from the company and sped across the rolling plain, but not before Legolas directed Alachas to flank Asfaloth whereupon he reached for Glorfindel's arm and pulled him down for a swift kiss that made his Faer-hebron fairly glow with delight. He rode away smiling and ten lengths out he turned, arm uplifted in farewell salute to Glorfindel, and he was smiling still.

"Legolas!" Sûlchim laughed easily, free now from the censure of his betters both in blood and belief, and slowed a bit, scrutinising his cousin thoroughly.

"What is it?" demanded Legolas, checking to be sure all ties were tied and all buckles fastened. He felt his hair to ascertain if his braids had come loose, and all this afforded Sûlchim greater merriment.

"Ai! Your appearance is perfection defined, as always," he said generously, to which his cousin gave a gracious dip of the head in thanks. "I just have never seen you act this way before."

"How am I acting? Is my behaviour inappropriate for a newly betrothed ellon?"

"Nay, it is exactly the way an Elf in love normally carries on."

"Well, you should know, having been in love at least six times now," laughed Legolas. Then he sobered. "Have you ever truly loved another, Sûl?"

"Nay, though I think I might soon," Sûl shrugged, suddenly diffident.

"Who?" asked Legolas eagerly. "When? I have barely been gone a month and you said nothing of this ere I left."

"You do not know her; she dwells in Lorien and came to visit her maternal aunt."

Legolas signalled Alachas for a full stop. "You would go to Lorien?"

"It is too soon to think of that," Sûlchim evaded the question, letting his horse walk on so that Legolas had to resume if they would speak. "What of you? Will you go to live in Imladris?"

"I have no other choice," Legolas answered, no small trace of bitterness in his words. "I never imagined something good could spring from such deep despair. Nor would I credit that a feeling so glorious could hold within it the seeds of a similar woe. This wondrous thing comes to pass just when I have gained Adar's respect and forces me to choose between them. Yet for me it is too soon to decide also, for first there is the Quest."

"I do not understand why he cannot go with you. It would seem logical to include a warrior with such experience."

"Lord Elrond and Mithrandir believe stealth provides the only hope for success. Glorfindel is too renowned to remain anonymous."

"I know not if I could endure such a separation so soon after bonding. It is best to spend the first few years together, or so I've been told."

"Sûl, we are not bound yet. There is Faras-en-Ind to be completed and…"

"Oh of course!" the archer laughed but then it was he who discarded all sign of jesting and halted his mare. "Do you really plan to wait? Do you think it wise to make him wait? His reputation for constancy is rather poor."

"That is not so," fumed Legolas, though his tone was underlain with doubt. "He would not dishonour our bond thus."

"You are not bound, remember? Legolas, I mean no disrespect to your Faer-hebron and if your Adar approves I am easier in my mind, but still I would not advise prolonging the engagement in your case. Claim him and make him yours before you leave Imladris again."

For some minutes the two stared at one another and though Sûlchim despised being the one to squelch his cousin's exuberant mood, he knew it was right. No one else would be this blunt with Legolas and the last thing Cuthenin needed was more lecturing about his duty as byr, as Thranduil's son, as a citizen of Greenwood, as the sole representative of the Elves among the Fellowship.

"You think his love is superficial," grimaced Legolas, trying to sound angry while his voice betrayed his fears.

"I do not know if that is true. What is clear is that he makes you happy and I would see that continue, for whatever time you have. We go to war, Legolas, and many will end up in Mandos before it is done. You deserve to know this joy, so do I, so does Glorfindel. If Ôlnathron (Dream Weaver) will consent, I will be bound before the Winter Solstice."

Legolas gasped, mouth agape. "You only met her a month ago!"

"Longer than you have known Glorfindel," Sûlchim pointed out.

Another silence commenced and by unspoken agreement the pair of scouts set forth anew, covering the remaining distance more quickly. Legolas took the lead and found the sheltered cove. A swift reconnaissance proved the site untouched since his last visit here. He let Alachas drink from the small stream and slid from her back, Sûlchim following suit. "What if you are wrong and you bond with someone you do not really love?" Legolas blurted out suddenly. "You would be forever linked to Ôlnathron. What if then you find the one who holds your heart?"

"I do not have the answer for any of that," the scout was shaking his head. "No one does. I trust my instincts."

"But you have thought yourself to be in love many times and it was not so," insisted Legolas, hoping desperately that his friend could provide an adequate explanation and ease his own worries.

"True and this is not the same as those other times," Sûl began. "I feel as though I already know her. I do not understand how, but I think it is the same for Ôlnathron. Legolas, she came here to find me, not to visit her aunt. No one is making excursions for such trivial reasons anymore; it is too dangerous, even on the paths laid down long ago."

"Sûl, that sounds preposterous. How could she know you even existed? Did one of the messengers speak to her of you?"

"Nay! You are deliberately trying to misunderstand and you know it. It was just the same for you. You insisted on going to Imladris though it was a ridiculous suggestion."

"What?"

"Aye, it was. You were not exactly the messenger of choice. Laying aside your illegitimate birth, which none but your family will do, and still you have next to no battle experience, had never left the forest before, had only the diplomatic training you learned from Galion, with little chance to practice any of it before you suddenly took off over the mountains on a highly dangerous journey at the end of which you were to meet with a wizard and/or an Elven Lord and explain the loss of one of Sauron's spies from captivity." Sûlchim laid it out as plainly as he knew how and watched as his cousin's visage coloured in a mixture of anger and embarrassment. There was a tense moment where the scout wondered if Cuthenin planned to strike him but they had settled arguments that way in the past and he was prepared, considering his kinsman might have much pent anxiety to vent.

Legolas did not give in to his fury, however. "You are saying my soul was seeking its mate and knew Glorfindel would be there."

Sûlchim released a deep breath and relaxed, smiling gently as he reached for and clasped his friend's arm. "Yes, I believe that is so. I am not sure if you hoped to meet Glorfindel, subconsciously, or if you just felt the pull of your soul-mate. These are dangerous and desperate times. Our Sadron tells of such instincts coming forth when the sylvans have faced war in the past."

Legolas was nodding in a thoughtful manner, his expression serious and brooding. "Perhaps you are right. If so, then all that has happened was fated to come to pass. I want to believe that, Sûl."

"I see no reason not to, muindor. Does he feel the same?"

Legolas grinned. "He asked the Lady Arwen if he should give me his heart."

"I would consider that strong confirmation," laughed Sûl and gave Legolas arm a squeeze before letting go. His eyes filled with a sombre expression once more. "I will miss you."

"Aye," Legolas sighed heavily. "I will miss you also. I do not know how I will bear it. Greenwood still holds my heart; there are some woods in Imladris but it is mostly cleared land with houses and farms and villages. It is almost like Dale except the homes are grand instead of coarse."

"Well, once all this trouble is over I will come to visit and bring Ôlnathron. If you do as well on the Quest as you did on your first task, you will become a great hero. Mayhap we will name one of our sons after you."

"Ai! You would not dare!" Legolas blushed and landed a playful swat at Sûlchim's head. They laughed and strolled toward the bank of the stream where the steeds were busy tearing into the lush green clover. "I did do well, yes? Adar is pleased and even Igeredir is impressed. He said 'well done, Cuthenin' and you know he never gives out praise. Not to me at any rate."

"Valar!" Sûl's eyes popped wide. "The best he has done for me was a grudging nod, and that was some fifty years ago when I bested Fînhirith (Flowing Hair) with daggers."

The pair refreshed themselves at the stream and remounted, returning to report on the location, each one easier in his soul for the chance to speak openly of matters so close to their hearts. As for Legolas, the conversation bolstered his nerve and strengthened his determination as one remark continuously recurred in his mind: 'Claim him and make him yours before you leave Imladris again.'

ø þ ø þ ø þ ø þ ø þ ø þ ø ø þ ø þ ø þ ø þ ø þ ø þ ø

Anor was no more and the day reduced to a hazy glimmer, diminished to failing lustre floating amid the shimmer of mist and motes. The last of the light coalesced above the trickling surface of the winding creek, glazing its frets and dimples with momentary brilliance, or was it the other way round? The water and the air, different but in density, one the vapour and breath of Arda and the other its living fluid, merged more fully in the dusky gloam of twilight and spilled in a feathered flux of wispy white along the runlet. Into the sheltered cove this ghostly welkin tumbled, dancing in swirling whorls and cavorting in lazy curls that unrolled as they spread out into the open space. The ever-shifting surface of the liquid murmured, a tremulous drone underscoring the fair soft strains of Egleriad Enchui (Sixth Praise), annûn's concluding rite for all adherents to Pâd-en-Tawar.

As during his youth in Gondolin, Glorfindel found the plainsong praise soothing and calming, the melodious mingling of the sylvan voices satisfying in a way the music and singing of the Hall of Fire in Elrond's house never was. He watched the warriors setting camp, noting the way Greenwood's folk incorporated the final cycle of the day's prayers into the work and routine of a soldier's life, even as Legolas had done on the journey homeward. He saw that, like him, the Sindarin warriors who were not initiates in the ancient sect responded favourably, their movements synchronising to the rhythm of the chant, their faces slipping into contemplative expressions of respectful appreciation. There was no doubt the vocal meditation called forth a presence of magnitude whose roots anchored deep into the heart of the world. Glorfindel sensed the vigilant protection of the Spirit of the Great Wood emanating from the tree-topped hillocks ringing the cove and his cares ebbed away with the fading light.

He stood beside Cuthenin's elder brothers who watched him watching their sibling with what could only be named bittersweet acceptance. Glorfindel knew their scrutiny was upon him and waited, for he had no doubt as to the purpose of their close regard. He was surprised they would seek to intervene instead of Galdor, but then again the Sadron was deep into his communion with Tawar and was unlikely to confront the Balrog-slayer for some time. Glorfindel had no misconceptions as to the nature of the brothers' intent, no matter that they had stalled Cuthenin's Guardian earlier. He was accustomed to abiding in patience and did so now, confident Thranduil's heir would codify the boundaries of acceptable interaction between him and Legolas. Yet as before, the King's middle son was not so content or disposed to forebear Inarthan's hesitance.

"Lest you misconstrue our design in permitting the afternoon's activity," Igeredir began, "we are not condoning unbridled licentiousness on your part."

"Or our brother's," added Inarthan quickly. "We appreciate Legolas' desire to experience that which has so long been denied him, but would have… events unfold gradually."

"Aye, rather than this night. He needs time to adjust to his new circumstances," continued the second prince.

"I had not planned to divest Cuthenin of innocence in such a place and with so great an audience," snapped Glorfindel with a scowl and folded his strong arms before him in defiance. Really, the princes' fears were ridiculous. To his surprise, both snorted in amusement and Igeredir shook his head.

"You fail to consider what Legolas' plans may be," he said and spared the Balrog-slayer a wry grin.

Glorfindel's brows rose in surprise and he looked to Inarthan for confirmation of this concern, found it, and reordered his features in accord with his dawning worry. Had he taken Legolas too far? Would he understand if Glorfindel rebuffed his amorous advances or be hurt and humiliated?

"Aye, you comprehend us now," remarked Inarthan. "Cuthenin is quite strong-willed, as anyone would have to be to survive the harsh judgement his countrymen have never failed to proclaim to his face, save when he was a small elfling."

"You will find him quite determined, I would imagine," continued Igeredir. "Have you thought on how to counter his advances and spare both your honour and his ego?"

"Indeed, that is quite fragile, no matter how cocky a demeanour he adopts in public," instructed the King's heir. "I do not want him feeling rejected and unwanted."

"I assure you both I would not permit him to harbour such notions," said Glorfindel. "I will simply be direct and explain all these things in a straightforward manner. He will heed my reasons for restraint and while he will not be pleased Legolas will concede to my greater experience." This yielded another brusque bark of breath and a roll of the eyes as Inarthan propped his hands on his hips and eyed Glorfindel askance.

"You have no idea what you are dealing with," he intoned in combined sympathy and mirth.

"Perhaps we should enlighten him as to the depths of Cuthenin's stubborn and intractable nature," laughed Igeredir.

"Perhaps you had," said Glorfindel, "yet I hardly think he would attempt to force me to his will." When the princes shared a speculative glance the Balrog-slayer felt his heart make a most peculiar skip as his stomach muscles tightened inexplicably. The brief argument by the banks of Anduin regarding who should claim whom replayed through his mind. Surely, Legolas would not be the aggressor in their coupling? His eyes scanned the cove for Cuthenin and with something akin to alarm realised the young sylvan was striding purposely across the glade, prayers finished and chores all done. He reached them rather quickly and sent each a searching gaze.

"You were talking about me; I know it. What stories are they telling you?" he asked Glorfindel. "They exaggerate terribly; fully half of the scrapes and scandals they relate happened only in their imaginative brains. I was never so wilful or wild."

"You have revealed yourself, Cuthenin!" laughed Igeredir, clapping his brother on the shoulder. "We have said nothing of your less admirable qualities. Since you have done so, however, we can now feel free to enlighten your Faer-hebron fully."

"Ai! Be forewarned, I will not sit in silence as you defame me, muindyrin. (my brothers) I have as many tales to tell as you," Legolas threatened, a tilt of his chin flouted the princes' status as his elders and his lords.

Inarthan chuckled. "That is well; we can take it for we know each of your stories is linked to ours. You may claim to have come out ahead of us in any one of them, but we will dispute that most vehemently."

"Aye, let your betrothed be the judge of whose account lacks verity, Cuthenin," added a new voice as Sûlchim joined them.

"Oh no, he will favour our brother no matter what we say," complained Igeredir.

"What nonsense is afoot," grumbled Galdor in false pique, following his ward's cousin. "I am eldest here and shall judge the winner. Legolas, I forbid you to begin this contest prior to dinner, however, lest my appetite be lost in the throes of laughter your antics retold must elicit."

"As Tirn'wador, you are bound to be on my side in this," reminded Cuthenin.

"True, but I cannot always control my reaction to a good yarn and am just as bound to give in to merriment as the next Elf," grinned the Sadron. "I can be impartial, at least more so than Glorfindel."

"I would not choose Legolas' part solely because we are affianced," complained the Balrog-slayer. "I believe I am capable of honest criticism when it is due, no matter the subject's identity."

"Let the two from Imladris determine the victor together, then," suggested Inarthan, "and we shall go in teams: Igeredir and me against Cuthenin and Sûlchim."

By this time many of the warriors had collected around the princes and the Balrog-slayer and all clamoured for Oeth-en-Nern, (Battle of Stories) ratifying their Ernil Vain's decree. The principals in the opposing camps, Inarthan and Igeredir on one hand and Cuthenin with Sûlchim on the other, made their way amid much good-natured jesting and encouragement to the fire ring where the night's blaze was already thriving. Everyone found a spot, Glorfindel was shoved into the centre alongside Galdor, as the two foreigners were allotted the role of judging the tales. Yet as per Mithlond's Sadron, no word was uttered in contest until all had consumed a portion of the hearty soup and way-bread prepared for the evening meal. Once this was accomplished dice were rolled to determine who should be granted the opening story and luck was with the elder princes.

Legolas groaned in misery; mentally running through the many examples of the numerous trials and tribulations that had marked his growing years and trying to guess which would be the first revealed. He cast a wistful glance at Glorfindel. "You must promise not to laugh too hard," he said with a rueful smile.

"I promise," grinned the Balrog-slayer, leaning forward to rest his hand on the archer's knee with a confirming squeeze.

"If he breaks his word I will counter with a story or two of our youth in Gondolin," inserted Galdor, nudging his old friend in the back with his toe. His threat raised an approving chorus of ooohs from the crowd and laughter from the princes.

"So be it," said Inarthan. "I will begin." Then he leaned close to Igeredir and the two consulted in hushed whispers for a moment, breaking apart with snickers and suppressed grins, eyes alight with mischief and tinged with much love for their muindor dithen.

"Lasto! Lasto pân gwaith! Nín pith trenar cairdh Cuthenin. (Listen! Listen all people! My words tell the tale of Cuthenin's deeds.)" the Kings heir stood and announced in bold and formal tones so that everyone grew quiet and trained eyes and ears upon him, save those Elves who had drawn duty for the night's first watch.

"Lû min annan io," (One time, long ago) he began with the customary words. "When Legolas had lived but forty summers and was new to the duties of a page in Thranduil's court, he challenged an Age's old custom and broke with all mores of propriety by reminding our Adar of his status as Peniaur (Ancient One).

"Lest the custom in Greenwood be misunderstood by our guests, let me elaborate. Wood Elves do not mark any Begetting Day anniversary beyond the thousandth one. Once an Elf has achieved that milestone, further attention to the length of his or her life-span is deemed crass and vainglorious. The Age of Wisdom is to be noted by respectful adherence to such an august person's words and advice. Celebrating one's advancing years also highlights those who have been lost, whether to Mandos or the crossing, and is incredibly vulgar and insensitive."

"I did not see why it must be so," interrupted Legolas, leaning close to Glorfindel. "All Adar's celebrations had ceased long before ever I was conceived yet my brothers never forgot to detail these grand fêtes for my envious ears to hear."

"Dîn, Cuthenin!" boomed Igeredir, rising and pointing in stern authority at his younger brother. "You know the rules of Oeth-en-Nern: the tale may not be disputed in its telling. You are penalised two points of credibility." The middle prince sat back down with a smug grin that he shared with Inarthan. Legolas glowered in dismay but wisely refrained from further speech.

"Sui pedol (As I was saying)," Inarthan resumed. "Legolas behaved with unbelievable impertinence and entirely in secret, so that we, his brothers and chief mentors during this period in his development, were unable to prohibit the ill-considered and wholly disgraceful bacchanal that ensued.

"Not only did he plan and execute this kingdom-wide party, he did it using the official language of the court and Galion's stamp of approval as Chief Steward to the King. In short, Cuthenin forged the ellon's signature and affixed his Seal of Office to the proclamation before sending the invitations out to every corner of the realm and beyond."

A resounding low of disapproving exclamations circled the fire and there was much 'tut-tutting' and cries of 'nae-nae' (alas-alas) intermixed with a few calls of 'hen deleb' (abominable child). Legolas bore it well, standing and bowing to his detractors in mock gallantry as though their words were plaudits instead of insults, for it was all in jest. Glorfindel and Galdor exchanged their amazement in wide-eyed silence, for while brothers telling tales on one another was a time-honoured tradition among folk of every kind, never had they observed it taken to the level of serious competition. There could be no doubt, however, that coin and markers were being exchanged as the gathered Elves gambled on which team would arrive the winner.

"Hiren Adar (my Lord Father) was uninformed as well, of course, and wondered aloud as to the gay and gaudy decorations appearing around the city and especially in Calenhad (the Green-space). It was obvious he thought we were planning something but our ignorance was genuine, for it was not was many months until his Begetting Day and we did not yet suspect our muindor dithen. When all manner of minstrels, mummers, thespians, jugglers, jesters, contortionists, magicians, and pedlars began arriving, we confronted Galion. He, too, avowed no knowledge of the proceedings and was mystified as to how the event was being organised without his assistance."

"Galion was thoroughly flummoxed and absolutely livid." Igeredir interposed with obvious glee. "He interrogated the arriving entertainers to no avail: Cuthenin had sworn them to secrecy and paid for their oaths in riches from the King's own vaults. Without permission to do any such thing, naturally."

More aggrieved moans and admonishments arose from the crowd, among them the Balrog-slayer's aggrieved 'Ai Legolas!', and this time Cuthenin clutched his bowed head between his hands, feigning to be downcast in regret and remorse. Then again he stood and in soundless joy welcomed the accusations as accolades, smiling and gathering the scolding words in with magnanimous gestures. As he sat, he offered Glorfindel a helpless shrug and a wide smile.

"Well, the days followed one behind the other and it seemed that each dawn brought more excitement, more visitors, more craftsmen and artisans into the city. We had glass-blowers and ship builders and sculptors of whale bone from Mithlond, metal and gem smiths and bowyers from Lothlorien, Dale sent a contingent of human musicians while the Dwarves of the Iron Mountains sent weapons and armour and fine jewellery with them, fearing to enter Greenwood beyond the need to traverse the road yet still hoping to profit by the event. There were fire-breathers from Rohan as well as sleek race horses and diminutive riders to set them coursing. Most exotic of all, there was a caravan from Rhûn with dancers purported to be of mixed Avarin-human origin. The city was quickly taking on the atmosphere of a carnival.

"Not long after the visiting entertainers were all settled in their various camps and compounds, guests began arriving in small groups. I can tell you that was an eye-opener and a puzzler all at once, for while the dignitaries were happy to present their invitations, the documents only promised a 'joyous, convivial gala'. None in Greenwood could admit to the mystery, for how would it look to our allies and friends should King Thranduil and his court deny knowledge of the celebration? Thus, we all became Cuthenin's unwilling, hapless advocates and co-conspirators."

"I think Legolas just earned back those two points," called out one of his many grand-nephews from the ranks and a smattering of laughter supported the notion.

"Fine, so be it," agreed Igeredir and continued the story where his brother had stopped. "The roster of delegates was impressive, including Gildor Inglorion and several of his rambling nomads. Haldir of Lothlorien and his brothers arrived, serving as personal guards to Celeborn the Wise, eager to compete in the pre-arranged tournament. Aewendil accompanied Beorn himself, eager to participate in a promised hunt beneath the full moon. Círdan came with his knights and ladies, Mithrandir brought his fireworks, Fréalaf of Rohan sent his daughter and her husband, and even the retiring folk of Forodwaith dispatched a contingent of their foremost citizens to witness the occasion."

"Ah, I see by your expressions, worthy folk of Gondolin, that you now recall this event and what it signified. So be it! Let me finish ere you announce your judgement!" Inarthan called out firmly, for it was true that Glorfindel and Galdor understood.

Galdor had naturally learned of it by virtue of his high position in Mithlond and had advised Círdan to attend in person rather than sending a lesser emissary. Invitations from Thranduil's court were rare and though a treaty of trade and defence existed between the two realms, a visit with a less serious agenda would bolster those ties by building trust and friendship between the distant lands. He had elected not to go himself, and could not help wondering how different events might have been had he done so and encountered Legolas during those formative years. I could have brought him away to Mithlond; he need never have learned to despise and suppress his own nature. The Sadron offered his ward a sad smile, but Legolas' eyes were trained elsewhere.

Glorfindel had heard of the grand event through Imladris' connection to Lothlorien, but since no invitation ever arrived in Imladris, the Balrog-slayer could not convince Elrond to permit him to attend. Neither did the twin Lords or their sister deign to crash the party for the over-sight was deemed an insult. No doubt Cuthenin, concerned over lingering resentment, harboured by both realms' rulers and based on losses at Dagorlad, had elected not to include the Noldorin folk from Rivendell. It would be good to set the record straight and explain to Elrond that the harm was caused by a mere youth of forty summers rather than by the King of the Wood Elves. He gazed in gaping wonder upon Legolas, whose smile had become subdued and even shy as he watched to see how Glorfindel reacted. Never would he have dreamed Cuthenin was the author of such a controversial convocation. It had taken nearly a hundred years for people to stop talking about it.

"Now, picture if you will our beloved Galion scurrying to and fro attempting to accommodate all these unexpected visitors, housing them in a manner suitable to there rank and station and race, providing for meals and baths and the washing of clothes, all without having a clue as to the perpetrator of the elaborate scheme," crowed Igeredir, clearly revelling in the steward's discombobulation. Many in the troop responded in kind, laughing at Galion's expense, the steward's penchant for snooping having earned him numerous detractors. "And imagine, if you can my good friends and kin-folk, our baby brother watching all this from the sidelines, for as a humble page and not yet of age, he was not permitted to engage in the full-blown festivities."

"Aye, he planned and organised a party to which he was not even allowed full access," Inarthan took care to emphasise, "though as yet we did not know it.

"Finally, the day of the feast dawned and though we had no part in arranging it still we were left no room to doubt it, for a magnificent banner was draped above the dais in Adar's throne room, proclaiming the day a national holiday and the beginning of a new Mereth Baedâd (festival held every twelve years) that was to run for an entire cycle of Ithil, all to commemorate…" Inarthan paused to lend the moment its proper dramatic impact. "…the arrival of Oropher and his Sindarin refugees from Beleriand!"

Right on cue the gathered Elves burst into raucous laughter and hoots of delighted derision as the elder prince seemed to have revealed a flaw in his own argument against Cuthenin.

"The Princes are bested!"

"Concede defeat, Minya'dar!"

"Aye, you are lost, Ernil Arad!" (noble Prince)
"Yet it was the wrong day!" Inarthan fairly bellowed to be heard above the crowd. At once they quieted, anticipating his concluding remarks. "None of the visitors would know this, of course, and so to preserve the dignity of our House and our people we all went along with it. Ah yes, our Cuthenin was clever indeed, for this fine party to honour the fusion of Sindarin and sylvan culture just happened to coincide with Adaren's Begetting Day Anniversary."

At this a great cheer and loud clapping erupted among the Elves and many rose to their feet and drew near to grip Legolas in soldier's salute or openly envelop him in hugging arms. He was passed from one to another and ended up between his brothers, flushed and giddy with joy as each draped an arm across his shoulders. It took some time for the felicitous clamour to subside, aided by Sûlchim's call for quiet. When the ruckus calmed, Sûl addressed the visitors.

"What say you, Lord Galdor, Lord Glorfindel? Is Legolas best or bested by this tale?" Of course he knew what the answer must be yet tradition demanded he speak the challenge.

Galdor and Glorfindel stood and all fell silent to hear their words. They made a brief show of conferring with one another, lips to ears, before the Sadron announced their decision. "It is abundantly clear that Legolas bested not only his brothers but Galion, Thranduil, all of Greenwood, and indeed the leading members of nearly all the free peoples of Arda! I proclaim him indubitably Best and would dearly love…" the rest of his sentence was drowned out in the rousing chorus of praises that went up from the troop. It took a bit of effort to get them to settle again and only the combined shouting of Glorfindel and the elder princes achieved the goal. "I would dearly love to hear the end of this story," said Galdor. "How did you learn that Cuthenin was the culprit?"

"Aye, I want to know that, too," said Legolas, eyeing his brothers with interest, for they had never before revealed this part to him either. They had confided, after the conclusion of the event, that they deduced his responsibility and awarded a punishment so far beneath the stature of his 'crime' that he had dared not breath another word about it, considering himself fortunate that the festival was so successful that the princes could not in good conscience condemn him fully.

"I am the one who uncovered the deed's author," answered Igeredir. "Keep in mind that Inarthan and I were at the time Cuthenin's principal tutors. On top of our regular duties to the realm, we had to oversee his education. My subject was history and it was rather a coincidence that lessons had recently covered the history of our people in Beleriand and the ensuing migration. That roused my suspicions and so I did a bit of investigating. I discovered several practice sheets inked with Galion's signature hidden in Legolas' desk in the library."

"You went through my things?" Legolas was shocked.

"Hold a moment and you may perhaps forgive me," Igeredir held up his hand to forestall the impending eruption of indignant wrath. "I also found the note you wrote for Ada, wishing him 'a joyous Begetting Day from your last-born son, who never had opportunity to present a gift to mark the anniversary.' It was on that day that you truly became my brother, Legolas."

"Mine also, for of course Igeredir shared his findings with me," continued Inarthan quietly. Indeed, everyone was still and silent, taking in this heartfelt moment. "The words brought me near to tears, realising you had engineered the entire celebration just to bring a smile to our Adar, who for the most part was weighed down in grief and guilt those days."

"We put everything back as we found it and never told of our discovery. You scarcely imagined that we were as eager to see Adar's reaction as you were, Legolas. It was the most wonderful gift I believe he ever received, that simple note rolled up and tied with a blue silk ribbon. How you managed to sneak it onto his tray at the feast, this I still wonder about."

"Ai, that was the easiest part," replied Cuthenin. "As page to the King, I was the one serving him every dish and keeping his wineglass filled." Legolas fell quiet, remembering the night with melancholy nostalgia. "He did smile; the party pleased him."

"Indeed, he had not truly felt joy since your naneth's death," admitted Inarthan seriously. "It was the moment that renewed his self-confidence and enabled him in some measure to forgive himself. I hope he took time to thank you properly and let me do so now."

With that Inarthan snatched his brother close and held him tight against his heart until he feared he truly would weep. Igeredir peeled them apart only to mimic his elder's action and pressed a kiss upon Cuthenin's brow that was nearly fierce. Of course, the company exploded in happy applause and cheers anew, and not all could prevent the emotion from spilling down their cheeks.

At last the Elves fell quiet and returned to their places while Legolas remained between his brothers, who would not release him. He smiled at Glorfindel and Galdor and shared his happiness with everyone at large before seeking Igeredir's eyes again.

"I do forgive you," he began solemnly, "but now it is my turn to tell a tale," and beamed as both princes exhaled long suffering groans and guffaws in protest.

Many tales were told that night by many among the group and Glorfindel learned much of Cuthenin's young years, some stories sad and serious while others remained light and carefree. It was not lost on the Balrog-slayer that he was not the only one to be enlightened by the narratives, for Legolas was hanging on every word his people spoke, hungry to find out what their thoughts truly were, gratified to discover the disgust and hatred he so dreaded were never shared by these few at least. If Inarthan had been concerned over his brother's vulnerable ego, Glorfindel reflected, his worries were placated somewhat by the affirming words of these stout-hearted warriors. Beyond that, the exercise in camaraderie ensured he was never alone with his betrothed.

Cuthenin realised this was nothing less than a conspiracy and openly accused his Tirn'wador of arranging it, which the Sadron refuted in abused and martyred terms. Nonetheless, Legolas could not manage a single moment apart with his Faer-hebron and in the end had to accept this joint effort to chaperone his activities. His was the last watch of the night and he stood it alongside Sûl far from the camp on the crest of the encircling hills. Thus, he missed the discussion between the princes, Galdor, and Glorfindel regarding the coming ascent to the pass.

ø þ ø þ ø þ ø þ ø þ ø þ ø ø þ ø þ ø þ ø þ ø þ ø þ ø

Not until the entourage was half-way to the desolate place did Inarthan reveal their plan. Glorfindel and Igeredir would ride ahead as scouts, so to gain intelligence on the most likely place from which to expect an ambush. In vain did Legolas argue against them and Glorfindel silenced him at last, sealing their lips together in farewell ere he mounted up and rode away. Camp was set, though it was but mid-afternoon, yet instead of being grateful for the respite the warriors were tense and anxious, for some thought as did Legolas, that it was his right to go, while others believed he must defer to the authority of the princes. He paced unceasingly across the stony ground, casting many an aggrieved look in his elder brother's direction for failing to consult with him. Slowly the hours wore on and the scouts did not return.

"What a place!" exclaimed Sûlchim and shivered. "A fortress for certain and these endless piles of weathered rock its battlements. I wonder that any creature can keep life in its body and call this place home, for what does the mountain give but cold and hardship? Many say Orcs and goblins were made from Elves, but I wonder if it might perhaps have been dwarves that supplied the initial stock instead."

"What are you talking about?" snapped Legolas, edgy and disquieted by the long delay.

"The caves, of course," replied Sûlchim, not bothered by his cousin's attitude for distraction was his sole intent. "It is said the entire range is riddled with them and, did one know the route, a journey could be made from here to the mines of Khazad Dûm, all without ever seeing the sun or the stars."

"I have heard that, also, yet what has it to do with the origin of Orcs and goblins?" demanded Legolas, halting by his life-long friend.

"If there is such a sophisticated arrangement in those tunnels and caverns, then it cannot have been the design of anything so lacking in intellect as are goblins. The dwarves must have done the delving, and for their troubles were captured and converted into servants of the Dark Lord."

"Ai! The thoughts that clutter up your mind!" Legolas shook his head in aggravation. "Even ants can make an ordered network under the dirt and wasps form a parchment hive of symmetrical chambers. The creatures of Arda do not need intellect to understand the world which spawned them. Your proof fails, muindor."

"Ants and wasps are natural components of Yavanna's design; it is expected for them to have the skill needed to manipulate the elements for habitation. Orcs and goblins are not. How could they have the kind of instinctive insight necessary to tame the might of such mountains? Nay, it had to be dwarves, for they are the handiwork of Aulë and thus to these stunted children he imparted the art of working in stone. How else does the weight of all this rock not crush and collapse the tunnels?"

"Mayhap Sûlchim speaks truth, for is it not a fact that dwarves do not recognise green life nor hear the Music? These are traits they share with Orcs," commented another warrior.

"Aye, have we not had as much to bear from the Naugrim of the Grey Mountains as from the spawn of Melkor? I have long considered how similar the dwarves are to goblins: short and stocky, fearful of Elves and sunlight, cruel and without honour," yet another opined.

"That much is not true," stated Legolas, "and I guess there are dwarves and then yet dwarves of other kind, just as there are Wood Elves as well as Noldorin and Sindarin folk among the First-born. For my part, I have found the dwarves of Erebor as honourable as you are, though their ways and customs are strange."

"What is that you say?" asked Inarthan, breaking into the conversation. "When have you had such close dealings with Durin's race?"

"In Imladris, of course," interjected Galdor. "Though Legolas was not inclined to tell the story himself, Gloin, an esteemed Lord of the Iron Mountains, was not a bit shy of relating the tale once he had downed a few tankards of potent wine. Cuthenin earned the trust and respect of the Dwarven emissaries to Elrond's Council and no doubt that fact influenced the decision to include him among the Fellowship."

Legolas groaned and shook his head, for he had not wanted to speak of this among his people yet the warriors were restive and eager for any means to turn their thoughts from ruminating over the conflict to come. Paused upon the barren, rocky land, waiting for the return of the scouts, they listened with attentive ears to the Sadron's engaging account of Legolas' combat with Gimli, Gloin's son. When it was done there was much laughter and comment and congratulatory remarks were offered by one and all, for the Wood Elves, sylvan and Sindarin alike, were pleased with the young archer's handling of the predicament.

Legolas, though he stopped his agitated pacing, could not dispel a growing sense of anxiety and with it resentment for his brothers' refusal to appoint him one of the scouts. No matter his experience of the trail or knowledge of the location of Orc dens, they had denied him. As hours passed with no news, Legolas' anger gave way to fear. He remembered well how long it had taken to reach the place of the ambush; the scouts had been gone too long not to have returned from that point. Still, he could not deny that he felt none of the wrenching emptiness he had endured upon the death of Calarlim, and so he hoped this meant his beloved Balrog-slayer was safe. Mayhap they had found nothing and thus ventured a little farther. The stars were shining before he lost all patience and with a plaintive curse strode to Inarthan.

"Let me go after them," he demanded.

"Nay." Inarthan raised his eyes to Cuthenin's distraught countenance and shook his head. "I will not risk any others to satisfy your fears. Both are crafty and skilled in stealth; knowing what to expect, they would not be taken unaware. Whatever may be the delay it is not due to any harm befalling them."

"How can you be certain of this?" Legolas countered, dread sounding through the words even as he hoped for reassurance. His brother smiled and stood, clasping his shoulder in comfort, but it was Galdor who replied.

"You would know at once if something befell your soul-keeper, whether from Orcs or mischance. After what I observed at the Gladden crossing, I do not believe the Valar themselves could halt your efforts to charge to Glorfindel's rescue. Tell me, do you feel he is in peril or are you merely impatient and fretful?"

"Fretful?" Legolas snorted, blushing in embarrassment as several of his comrades snickered over the rebuke. "I am eager to kill my naneth's murderers; is that unexpected?" Yet he was actually pleased by the elder Lord's remarks, for he needed to be sure his instincts were trustworthy in this case.

"Nay, I am surprised you have been this patient," joked Sûlchim and moved to console his cousin. "We will see them all slain before another day's passing."

Legolas did not heed his words, however, for at that moment his ears detected the faint echo of hooves on stone. He bounded up the moonlit path, struggling to contain his hope and happiness, and upon a turn of a switch-back hailed the returning warriors with a loud whoop. In no time he reached the riders and found himself beside Asfoloth, gripping to Glorfindel's calf and smiling, eyes more brilliant than the stars, bright with both relief and love.

"Mae govannen, Faer Hebron. What took so long?"

"Mae govannen, Cuthenin. All is well," the Balrog Slayer reached out and ran his hand through the golden hair and touched the upturned cheek, his eyes revealing a mix of sadness and compassion.

"What is it?" Legolas lifted his hand to hold Glorfindel's against his face for a moment longer.

"The remains are there, Legolas, and it was not a fair vision to behold."

"Nay, it could never be that," Cuthenin responded, walking beside the stallion as their progress resumed down the track.

"It is not the sort of thing you have been exposed to," Igeredir expounded. "We would spare you the sight."

"I have seen worse, for I watched as they were destroyed." Legolas met his brother's eyes over his shoulder, noting the same grim demeanour Glorfindel presented. "Nothing could be more terrible."

To this they could contrive no rebuttal. They walked the remainder of the distance in silence and entered the camp, the fingers of Legolas's right hand still resting on Glorfindel's knee. There much argument ensued once the scouts dismounted and gave their report, for the Princes of Greenwood were divided on the best course of action and the warriors divided with them, half on either side. Igeredir held that they must fight their way through and take as many of the foul creatures to death as they could. Inarthan avowed he would not risk another immortal life if he could do so and still see his brother safely across the mountains.

"The pass is too closely watched; the way to the font of Mitheithel is free of Orc-sign. That is how we should cross," stated Inarthan.

"Nay, we have come here to avenge the deaths of my comrades and my naneth," Legolas insisted. "Whatever awaits us there, I will not be deterred."

"We have come to get you over the mountains uninjured," countered Inarthan. "The paths leading north are not as hazardous as this one, though the way is longer."

"That is not known with any certainty," argued Igeredir. "What if we travel all that distance only to find the conditions worse? None have investigated the pass at Mitheithel's font in many years; at least, none who have returned to Greenwood. The fact that Glorfindel and I encountered no indications could be a deliberate lure. We may be drawn into ambush."

"Highly unlikely, Ernil Edwen. The fact that the river flows so swiftly there will grant an advantage to us," said Glorfindel. "The goblins are fearful of it and will not have many caves opening into the passes there. Without the cover of their noisome holes, they will not chance being caught in the open by so large a force."

"You want me to turn away, even after telling me my naneth's remains are subject to debasement, debasement so vile that you refuse to speak plainly about it? That is too much to ask. I will not go north," Legolas railed in high displeasure, shocked to hear his Faer-hebron support Inarthan's scheme.

"Your purpose is greater than the need for personal revenge," reminded Galdor sternly. "Mithrandir and the rest of the Fellowship are depending on your participation. What of the Quest should you fall here?"

"I will not," hissed Legolas. "I survived before with much less aid."

"At a cost of three lives! Would you have more blood spilled just so you can seek vengeance?" growled Galdor, angry at this open defiance from his ward.

"This is my right, for I have been wronged in ways that can not be repaired unless I sail beyond this world and meet those lost ones, re-born and renewed," Cuthenin ground out bitterly. "I do not ask for any to join me who find the cause unworthy. Yet I wonder that you can doubt my skill, Tirn'wador, for we have fought together."

"That was not my meaning," avowed the Lord of the Tree. "Even the greatest of warriors may fall by the merest chance of fate."

Inarthan sighed, realising there was no means of dissuading Cuthenin but determined to try. "Your skill is not in doubt, nor is it right for you to be weighed down with remorse, for I believe that motivates this rash desire to confront the foul goblins. Have you not completed Úcaul Annaur? Nothing more do you owe to the deceased."

"No, it is not a question of a debt to be paid but of honour and duty to those we love," Igeredir got between his brothers but it was to Inarthan he spoke. "If I lay among the dead there, or Legolas, would you be content to turn away? He is not a child anymore and it is time to acknowledge that fact."

"I know this, but I would spare him as long as possible. What lies ahead on the Quest is danger enough and more. Why court trouble when it already stalks him so closely? Now that we are here and I have heard Glorfindel's report, I misgive this plan. We should go north and cross at Mitheithel's font."

"Inarthan, I am going through that pass," stated Legolas, his anger vanquished in light of the love within his brother's words. "I understand your distress for I also am torn. In one respect, I would rather you and Igeredir turned back now and let me continue on alone. So, too, I dread to have Glorfindel exposed to such hazards, or Galdor, or any of my kin and friends, for the love I bear them. Yet at the same time I understand that what I feel is returned and none of us here would wish hardship on another."

"Hardship is upon us, whatever we may wish," continued Igeredir. "I would rather face it boldly at my brothers' sides. We must clear this pass now, not just to satisfy Cuthenin's desire for revenge but for future need. Who can say whether the Elves of Greenwood might need to go forth in aid to the lands of the west? Adar would never ignore a call to arms from Mithlond and this way is the quickest means to reach Eriador. What if Greenwood should require help, how would our messengers even reach their destinations if the Orcs know we will not fight to keep the pass open? Let these foul beasts know the Wood Elves are not a people so easily subdued once riled."

"I will go with you," announced Sûlchim and took his place beside his cousin. At his word, the majority united behind the King's younger sons, for Igeredir and Cuthenin had declared what each one felt in the corners of the heart and soul.

Then Glorfindel stood before his betrothed and placed a hand upon Legolas' shoulder, gazing down into the fiery determination in the shining cobalt eyes. He gave a quick nod and squeezed the tense muscles beneath his fingers. "My place is with you and I will see you through this trial by the might of my arm and the strength of my spirit, for am I not your chosen Faer-hebron? Forgive me for doubting you, Cuthenin."

Not even Galdor dared interpose any argument to this, seeing the two Elves entirely absorbed in one another. Truly, he had never doubted that such would be the case but rather wished that he might have spared Legolas the pain that awaited ahead along the path. He sighed and shook his head.

"Better just absolve everyone, especially me, for above all others I should know not to gainsay the will of Tawar, which surely has guided our actions on your behalf thus far. Let us clear this pass, Legolas."

"Nasan," intoned Inarthan grimly, convinced but nonetheless uneasy and sick at heart. Like his Adar, he detested seeing Legolas fight and had never been able to give an order that called for his youngest brother to go forth into the midst of hazardous terrain, forcing his wife-mate and Igeredir to bear that burden up to now. "I call a council of war."

And so they plotted the means to overthrow their enemies and reclaim the High Pass for the free peoples of Arda. Minuial saw them dispersing along the track in small groups, the plan calling for the bulk of the troop to detour as if intending to head for Mitheithel's Font. The rest made slowly for the more traditional crossing, the pace deliberately sluggish in order to draw the vile creatures out of their hiding places. The ruse worked and just beneath the crest of the peaks the black caverns spilled a hellish sputum of living filth upon them, all shouting in their fiendish tongue and brandishing their cruel weapons. It seemed an easy victory would go to the Shadow, just as when Cuthenin had made the trip before.

Yet it was not so. This time, Inarthan ordered his brother to seek a secure position whence he could fire upon the swarming mass at will, picking off the Orcs as Thranduil's heir led Glorfindel, Sûlchim, and Galdor in a direct charge. No sooner had the trio become surrounded than a fearsome war cry arose amid the rocks and crags, echoing in thunderous noise so loud that it seemed the Powers had come down upon Middle-earth to destroy the minions of Melkor. In truth, it was Igeredir and the remainder of the troop, scrabbling over the rough landscape to turn the ambuscade upon the glamhoth. In vain the fiends tried to escape back within their foetid dens, for Cuthenin slew them in silent and bitter relish, his bow singing an anthem of death more vibrant than any taunt of war or chant of doom could be.

It was over before Arien had completed a fourth of her daily trek, for whatever demons remained hidden in the caves and tunnels refused to come forth and face the Wood Elves. None among the troop had forfeited life for duty done and injuries were overall minor. Three among the valiant Wood Elves would need to be borne home on litters, but this sacrifice was small in comparison to the achievement of their goal. The message had been delivered, the lesson given: the High Pass through Hithaeglir was not a toll-road for evil's hordes.

But there was no joy in the victory, for now that the way was clear all beheld the despicable scene Glorfindel had hoped to prevent Legolas from witnessing. There upon the highest accessible point in the defile were all that remained of the valiant warriors who had faced down the Orcs at Cuthenin's side.

The bodies were not intact nor lay as they had fallen. Cruelly had the enemy degraded and disgraced the First-born, for each Elf had been dismembered. Limbs were rent from torsos and jumbled in a heap, the bones charred and chipped and gnawed as would be any shank of deer meat roasted on a spit. Ribs had been ripped apart, likewise picked clean, and driven into the rocky ground to form a crude barricade across the trail. Worst of all, three sculls capped the ends of crude black pikes thrust deeply into the earth, the fair heads gouged free of eyes and most of the skin and all the teeth, so that only a few trailing wisps of silken hair drifted in the wind, a grotesque banner proclaiming the Orcs' dominion.

In silence the Elves gazed upon this abomination, overcome with sorrow and stunned by the sight, an image that must surely remain ever sharp in all its horrific detail for time unending, unable to find means to act or thoughts to guide their weary hearts. A stricken sob arose but from which soul none could say. The biting breath of Manwë's gale, howling in impotent fury to touch upon such woe, dried tears that blinded eyes to that which no Elf was ever meant to see. Galdor knelt upon the ground and began softly to pray Egleriad an Fern (Rite for the Dead). Others joined him and soon the voices rose above the cutting gusts of air, soothing the frantic whirlwind of emotion into a steady, calming breeze, clean and crisp and arising from the west.

Through it all Cuthenin stood still upon the desecrated ground, still and firm and strong. He did not weep or wail in agony, nor curse the name of Vairë, nor challenge Námo's right to determine the fate of any sundered spirit. He knew what he would see here, had imagined it since the battle that claimed his beloved Tirn'wathel, had heard the vision confirmed when soul to soul they shared his body on the day of Ûcaul Anaur. In the same way, he was prepared for what he must do now, determined to carry out the last instructions from Calarlim to her adopted son.
With the holy chant enveloping him in its protecting influence, Legolas removed his cloak from around his shoulders, strode forward, and gently retrieved the severed head of the only mother he had ever known. Carefully he gathered up the fluttering nut-brown tresses and anchored them beneath the bone and then the whole scull he wrapped securely, leaving a length of cloth open upon the ground. Then he went to the pile of mix-matched limbs, fragmented fingers, and scattered vertebrae, selecting form among them those that were hers, unhesitating, confident, sure that his choices were right. Three arm-loads he carried from the midden to the cloak and when he was satisfied every shard of her remains were accounted for, Cuthenin tied the bundle tight with strands of his own hair.

The prayers ended as he stood and Legolas found himself staring down upon the meagre packet of fabric. That this should be all there was to her, a being so dear to him, a person so loyal and true to him, the one Elf in Arda who had never thought ill of him for even a fraction of a second, this truth he could not encompass. Such a thing was absurd, could not possibly be so. Then he faltered and the tears came and he would have collapsed had Glorfindel not been there to bolster him up and hold him close. As he spent his grief upon the Balrog-slayer's shoulder, his kin and countrymen repeated his efforts for the other two fallen warriors. By noon all of it was done and there was no reason to stay. They left the eastern side of Hithaeglir and commenced the descent into Eriador.

TBC

NOTE: Hi folks. This chapter is dedicated to Vicky, Stef, Cerren Cae, Setare, and wetheril, who have either declared Cuthenin a favourite or inspired someone to do so, and in all cases have left me very encouraging feedback just about everywhere. It is also dedicated to QAFho, who has been a good friend throughout the writing of this tale. Many have requested I finish the story. I never meant to abandon Cuthenin; I just got really downhearted and ended up questioning whether the story is any good or worth continuing. I did intend to see this through to the start of the Fellowship, though, and so I will drag out the outline and see if I can follow through. To those kind folks who added me and/or the story to their favourites at ff.net, this is for you, too. My great appreciation to everyone who has ever read even a little of this tale.

Cheers,

Fred

07/12/2008
- 20
- 21
- 22
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

True Bow (Cuthenin)