The Silvan (Lord of the Rings-Legolas)[Wattys2016]

Chapter 15: He Is Ours

The next morning, the patrol kitted out in their heaviest gear and set out stealthily through the thickening, darkening forest, towards the South and the dreaded Mirkwood. Before they reached it though, they were to stop off at a nearby village where they were to gain information on the enemy's movements and establish whether or not its inhabitants needed help in the way of provisions or manpower. Being so close to the encroaching cloak of darkness, these Silvan foresters held great insight into how the enemy moved.

It would be the first time in weeks that the patrol would come into contact with civilians, and the thought was a good one, for there would be hot food and comfortable beds. There may even be a day of rest in which they could bathe, wash their clothing and care more extensively for their weapons.

Legolas' hair was a success, for he was able to gather up the thick top braids and tie them at his crown with a leather string. It was perfect and Lainion had joked that it pulled at his eyes, making him look Avarin.

Turion confessed to being absurdly confused, for Lainion had never joked. He was severe and curt, enigmatic yet fierce, frightening even, yet when he was around The Silvan he transformed. He decided he liked the contrast.

After two days, the western patrol emerged from the dense trees and into a glade, where some sunlight still managed to filter through the high boughs. They had been smelling the wood smoke for many hours now, and the predominantly Silvan troop had reminisced of their own homes, so similar to the village they now entered.

Legolas lifted his head and relished the timid warmth of the sun on his face, smiling before opening his eyes and looking around the settlement.

The Silvan foresters looked on as the warriors walked single file towards a large wooden construction Turion had surely imagined would be their community hall. As a Silvan settlement, there would be a village leader and a Spirit Herder. There would also be a master forester; these three figures were the leaders of their people and their starting point would be to find them.

Legolas felt a pang of nostalgia, for although much darker and enclosed, this village brought to mind his own forest home. He understood this society, these people. They were the very reason he had chosen to do what he now did and of a sudden he could not wait to take his vows and be counted amongst the king's warriors as an equal rather than a novice.

Children scampered around the warriors as they marched by, brushing their hands over worked leather and wooden cloaks, and when one of the more daring imps reached for a sword scabbard or a quiver, they were batted away with a good natured scowl. The children giggled and squealed until their mothers scolded them and ushered them away with apologetic and sometimes flirtatious smiles.

And none received more of these inviting smiles than Hwindohtar, who blushed at the attention, much to the glee of his companions, who shoved him and flicked at his hair, their mocking as incessant as it was light-hearted.

Soon, they arrived at the large hall, where two tall elves stood waiting. Turion stepped forward and placed his fist over his heart.

"Well met. I am Captain Turion of the Western Patrol. We have come to ensure your safety and assess your defences."

"Well met, Captain. I am Lorthil, leader of these people, and this is Narsorén, our Spirit Herder. Be you welcome brothers."

The entire patrol bowed to the two Silvan leaders as they were led inside and ushered to the long tables that ran almost the entire length of the hall. It would be used for meetings and festivities, for politics and parties, for spiritual events and entertainment. These buildings were the heart of any Silvan village. Today, however, women were placing food and bread upon the tables, filling cups with fresh water, and occasionally smiling up at the warriors as they went about their duties.