Agony • Concealed Memories | | Thranduil

10 • The intruder

Thranduil paced slowly along the long table, his hands folded behind his back, listening to his councilors, the head guard and scouts. Each of them had their own important task in the kingdom and each of their opinions and piece of information was important. Every new moon Thranduil gathered his most important elves for a meeting. They discussed food rations, possible enemies, current allies, the life of the forest and their human neighbours in Dale and other important matters of the kingdom. Thranduil listened carefully to every word that was spoken, for every word could be of importantance.

'And what of the people of Dale?' one of his councillors asked a scout. The scout rose from his chair and bowed briefly. 'There are no changes in Dale, my liege.'

Thranduil nodded and gestured for the elf to sit down again. He bowed his head and took his seat. The king looked around the table. 'I think our meeting is coming to an end. If there are any matters that need to be discussed, please announce them now.'

'Is there any news about the Withered Heath yet?'

Thranduil jerked his head towards the counselor. 'We don't need to speak about that for the next 50 years. We'll meet again in 25 years to discuss the Withered Heat, then we'll take action as usual.' His words were stern, but only the name of that dreadful place stirred feelings in him. There, where the greatest danger of Mirkwood had slept for over 200 years.

The Withered Heath was where the dragons nested. Once every 200 years, the Frostwyrms who lived in the Northern Waste would head for the Grey Mountains and lay their eggs in the valley, on the Withered Heat. Burnt and blackened, the barren ground was as if it had been heated by the fire resting in their bellies. Nature attempted to restore the valley every two hundred years, but when the eggs hatched, the youngsters ate everything bare and headed for Mirkwood to satisfy the rest of their hunger.

Thranduil remembers well how his father went there every 200 years to slay these dragons before they reached the forest, before they destroyed their kingdom. The beasts were an easy target, wingless and lacking the ability to spit fire, for only the adult males could do that and there were few of those.

But protecting their green forest was not the only reason for exterminating the dragons. Enemies such as orcs often hunted down the eggs and trained them to be used as mounts. The youngsters could easily handle the elves, but the adult dragons, ridden by orcs...

Thranduil was startled out of his thoughts and pricked up his ears. With a jolt he turned his head towards the door, which stood ajar. 'Who left the door open behind them?' The meetings were not for civilians and therefore there were no servants present, except for his councillors, guards and scouts.

Thranduil closed the door. With slow steps he walked to the centre of the meeting room. 'Good, if that was all-'

Giggles sounded from the curtains and all the elves turned towards the windows. Some raised their eyebrows and others chuckled behind their hands. Thranduil hardly dared to sigh, but walked towards the curtains before pulling them aside.

Legolas looked up, startled, but smiled when he saw that it was his father. 'Ada!' He raised his hands.

Thranduil lifted Legolas off the ground and walked him back towards the big table. Thranduil smiled. 'Legolas has decided that we should end this meeting. Enjoy your afternoon and thank you for your time.'

The men laughed and left. Thranduil placed Legolas on the table in front of him. 'Doors that are closed should not be opened without knocking, Legolas.'

Legolas looked at his father and nodded sadly. 'Aren't we going outside?' he asked in a soft voice.

Thranduil smiled. 'Maybe it is time that I taught you how to hold a bow.'

The leaves on the trees rustled softly in the summer wind. Twittering birds sang their songs among the branches. Thranduil held Legolas' small hand in his and stopped walking when they reached the clearing.

Legolas looked around curiously. He felt good between the trees. Even though the trees were taller than he was and even though large parts of the forest were unknown to him, this was where he seemed most at ease.

'Come, Legolas,' said the king, handing the young elf a small, woodcrafted bow. Thranduil had had it made especially for Legolas, from a flexible but light material, so that even at his young age he would have enough strength to use the bow. Thranduil had let him hold the bow more than once, but they had never used an arrow together. Until today. With his mother's talent, it would not take long for him to master the art.

'Here, hold your bow like this.' The king stretched out his arm, rested the arrow on his hand and pulled the bow tight. With a smooth movement he released the arrow and watched it hit the tree in front of him.

'Try it,' he said, looking back at his son. He knelt down behind him and helped the young prince take a grip on the bow. Thranduil squeezed the end of the blunt arrow between Legolas' fingers and helped him draw the bow tight.

The little one straightened his back and let go of the arrow. With speed it shot towards a tree, where it hit the trunk just below his father's arrow and then fell gently to the ground.

Thranduil proudly stroked his head. 'You are a natural talent, just like your mother.'