Tolkien Tales

Found!

Ever 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 his poisonous presence being expelled from their forest.

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 could not happen. Their king had faded soon after the Battle and his younger brother Thranduil had stepped in to take his place. 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 had done their best 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 of the family of Elu Thingol departed beyond the shores of Endor.

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

***

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

Thranduil's eyes contracted and through none saw them move, they keenly took in every aspect of his soldier's armor. The rents along the leather of his sides, his heaving breasts, the sweat that had mixed with dirt to form a distinctive design alongside 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, where 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 with pain. 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 gripping 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. Never could he reveal that which he knew.

Thranduil heard and read all that Feren comprehended in his mind in one moment. The years of service and his own elfishness enabled him to read the minds of others, with a 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 to the king.

Thranduil growled and then 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 single 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 that he had 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 and immediately, the feeling of sickness overtook his fae and caused his mortal body to sway dangerously upon the edge.