Tolkien Tales

Found!

Since the catastrophic Battle of the Five Armies, mourning had spread over the great forest of Eryn Galen, despite their wondrous defeat of the Necromancer and the expellation of his poisonous presence.

Such a victory should have been a cause of celebration, a thrill of hope and joy should have swept through the ancient land. But to the sorrow of all, this did not happen. Their king had faded soon after the Battle, and his younger brother Thranduil had ascended the throne. Thranduil had led the armies to Dale and done most of the negotiating; for years, his position as commander had been supreme, while the best healers striven to stay the fading of the ancient king. But years and the call of the sea had their effect, and upon the eve of their victory, another member Elu Thingol's family departed beyond the shores of Endor.

Yet this was not all that they had to mourn. More yet was to be cast in the Elves's face.

***

Feren, Thranduil's most loyal soldier, came before the King and bowed his head. His features were taut and rowdy, and whatever great emotion was within him, he could not seem to control it. " Aran-nín, galu! ( my king, a blessing) "

Thranduil's eyes contracted, and though none saw them move, they keenly took in every aspect of his soldier. The rents along his leathern armor, his heaving breast, the sweat that had mixed with dirt on his rounded cheeks—and above all his inability to meet his king's eyes.

But he decided to let the Ellon tell him himself what had so perturbed him.

" Na vedui ( at last), Feren. Were you hindered from coming to my side? Where is Hîr Legolas and Híril Elwanu?"

Feren paled and suddenly, he sagged to the floor sobbing, his back wrenching. His hair hung about his features in matted rags, and Thranduil immediately felt fear of the worst kind. " Feren, answer me. Where are my children?" He rose from his throne, letting the satin robes glissade from his shoulders, as in three quick bounds, he was before his cowering soldier. His hands griped him by the arms as he hauled him up to meet his eyes.

Feren gazed in the ice of his King's eyes and his soul withered away. No matter what tortures his king could devise, he could never bear to turn those eyes white with sorrow. It was not his place to tell the tale.

Thranduil heard and read all that Feren comprehended in his mind. The years of service and his own elfishness enabled him to read the minds of others with potent strength. Often, nothing was hidden from the mind of the King.

Feren dropped suddenly, and he gasped as the king placed a weighty foot upon his chest. " They are dead! Answer yes or no, Feren! Or answer not at all and I'll throw you off this bridge." Feren didn't quiver, but instead his gray-brown eyes found those of his king and focused on them. He was silent, his voice still, his heart beating with devotion.

Thranduil growled, and suddenly lifted the soldier off the ground, and, gripping him with mighty strength, prepared to hold him over the edge of the bridge that made up his throne room.

" Aran-nín, Adar (father)!" a youthful voice spoke out; his tones honeyed and mellow with the sweetness of a spring wind. Thranduil stopped, a solitary gaze of relief published across his face. He let Feren go—on firm ground— and then turned around.

Legolas Thranduiliôn stood behind him, his oceanic blue eyes, those inherited from his Mam (grandmother), were deep and rich. Yet trouble frolicked upon the waves of his heart, and his features, noble and bold, were down-trodden; sorrow imprinted by a terrible brand. Whatever relief had filled Thranduil when he first looked upon his son scampered away; immediately, a feeling of sickness overtook his fae and caused his mortal body to sway dangerously upon the edge.