Chapter Five: Legolas

“Water,” Daeron muttered, as he stripped and waded into the wide stream where the masters had paused to give us rest mid-morning of the fifth day. Tired, but feeling every bit as grateful as Daeron, I yanked off my tunic and leggings and joined him.

The water was warmer than usual and it ran low over the rocks in a lethargic flow to where it joined the Forest River further to the south, but it was water: wet and welcome. I heard no complaints about the quality of the stream from my fellow novices as I ducked under the shallow depths and scrubbed my hands through my hair, enjoying the feel of washing away nearly a week’s worth of grime and sweat. Bathing had been low on the masters’ priority list as they drove us from one exercise to another, but I suspected they finally gave us pause to truly wash because we had become so unbearable to be around that they feared a band of orcs might mistake us for some of their fellows and seek to join us. No matter the reason we had been given a chance to clean up, I was grateful. From the contented talk around me, I would say that all the novices were happy for this moment to rest and bathe. Not knowing when we would be summoned again with a surprise command, we all washed with a quick glee.

As I slogged out of the stream, I went to where Daeron was drying off with the tunic he had just removed. After rambling about in my jumbled pack, I pulled out a pair of leggings and stepped into them without bothering to dry; I would let the water that soaked into them dry slowly to help keep me cool. Daeron had removed his dirty clothes from his pack and eyed them with disgust. “Would you mind washing out my undergarments while you are doing yours?” he asked, his eyes still fixed firmly to the smelly, dirty pile.

I gave him a deserved look of horror and dipped an undershirt of my own into the stream. “I would not touch them,” I snorted. “They should be burned.”

“What to wear?” he mused as he looked each article of clothing over carefully. “Ah,” he crooned, “my cleanest dirty clothes.” Shaking out the least offensive of his dirt-encrusted and sweat-stiffened things, he pulled on leggings and tossed a tunic and undershirt to the side to put on later. As he plunged a tunic into the water, he grimaced and picked it up with two fingers. “You are right; they should be burned.”

“And they most likely will be once we return home,” I sighed as I scrubbed at a particularly stubborn stain on my undershirt.

Slapping his tunic on a rock as if that would offer some friction to aid in cleaning it, he looked at the dripping garment with a lopsided frown. “I cannot imagine the palace laundry doing these.” He glanced at me with a look of mischief on his face. “No one is that devoted to the king’s household.”

“Not even our naneths,” I agreed.

Over the splashing and light conversation, I heard Belas say something I did not completely make out, followed by a snort of laughter from his companions. Daeron punched me lightly on the shoulder and nodded to where Alar and Barahir were emerging from the stream just past where the older novices were washing out their clothing. Barahir’s face was flushed and his jaw was clinched. Alar merely turned his gaze to the ground and kept walking.

 “I am going to have to hurt Belas,” Daeron snapped. “Why will he not leave Alar alone? He is making himself look like a fool, and he is embarrassing Alar.”

“We will just have to ignore him,” I said. “Alar, especially, will have to turn a deaf ear.”

“You keep saying that, but he is harder to ignore than Dol Guldur,” Daeron said, turning back to his wash.

“We cannot get involved in this in a way that will cause problems,” I reminded him.

“Then what do we do, Legolas?” he asked. “Just allow him to use Alar for target practice?”

I sat back on my heels and watched as Alar and Barahir moved further down the stream away from the older novices. “No, I do not mean that,” I said. “I mean that we will have to choose carefully how we support Alar and not let anger take us. That would only cause us to get into trouble and would solve nothing.” I turned my attention back to my wash. “We will have to find a way to help Alar stand up for himself.”

Daeron snorted. “Alar is not likely to take on Belas in a fight. Belas would drum him into the ground like a rickety fence post. Alar may be shy and a little small for his age, but he is not dumb.”

“Of course not,” I said. “But there are other ways to stand up to Belas without getting beaten to a pulp.”

“Such as?” Daeron asked.

“I do not know exactly,” I said. “There has to be a way for Alar to make Belas his friend rather than his tormentor.” I slid my gaze to Daeron. “He could just talk to Belas and treat him like a friend. Perhaps then, Belas would see that he is really a very nice person who needs his friendship instead of his scorn.”

Daeron tossed the tunic he had been sloshing around in the water over on a rock to dry. He then peeked into my pack and asked, “Did you stow some of your Adar’s Dorwinion in there?” He snorted as he slumped back onto his heels. “You must be mad. Belas decide to just be friends? He is not happy unless he is ripping someone into kindling.”

“He seems to get along with the novices of his group,” I pointed out.

“That is only because he knows that any one of them could bind, gag and hang him from a tree with one hand tied behind them…and while singing the Lay of Luthien,” he said shaking his head. “I can just imagine the ridicule he would heap on anyone he sees as his lesser if they tried to befriend him. I do not think he understands anything but the hard cold fist of reality.”

Finished with my wash, I sat down to pull on my boots. “Daeron,” I said pointedly, “do not get into a scuffle with Belas. Aldamir and Seregon would be very angry. That is not even to mention what Adar would have to say. And then you would have to consider what the consequences would be from the masters. Unpleasant would not even begin to describe what would happen.”

Tossing the last of his garments on the rock next to mine to dry, Daeron dropped down next to me. “I am not going to get into a fight with the dumb beast. That would be unfair.” He smiled. “He might be large and quick, but he is mentally unarmed. He would not stand a chance.”

I laughed. “You would have to be quicker on your feet than you are with your mouth, cousin. I grant that you could take him verbally, but if you slowed dodging him for even a second, you could live to regret it.”

A slow mischievous smile slid slowly over Daeron’s face. “That gives me an idea,” he mused.

“What?” I asked, cautiously, knowing well that calculating look in his eyes.

“I am thinking. I am thinking,” he said as he lay back against the rock to turn his face to the sun.

“Oh, no…” I groaned.

Our wash had nearly dried under the oppressively hot sun when the masters called us. I noticed that they had all bathed and changed too. I supposed they had had enough of dirt and sweat and had also taken advantage of the stream. Melda motioned us to circle around him. “I will divide you into two groups. Two separate trails have been left. Each group will locate their trail and follow it to the end. Belas, you will captain today.” A satisfied smile came to Belas’s face, and I cringed against the hope that I would be spared from being under his command. Melda called out the remainder of Belas’s patrol and much to my chagrin, my name was called. When Alar’s name was called too, Daeron caught my eye and gave me a faint crooked smile. Tarior, Nouren and Kama were also in our group. I trusted that the three of them would offer some balance to Belas’s nasty disposition. Melda appointed Barahir to captain the other group and sent us on our way. I nodded to Daeron as our groups broke to begin seeking out our trails. He tilted his head slightly in response and disappeared into the woods.

Before we had begun to search in earnest, Belas summoned us to him. “Kama, you and Tarior will partner. Legolas, you will partner with Alar. Nouren, you are with me,” he said. “Do not stray beyond calling distance. Now go.”

The trees in this area of the forest are particularly dense with the undergrowth being sparse with so little light filtering to the forest floor. The one redeeming factor of such thick coverage was that it was much cooler. Alar and I took the search area to the west, moving slowly through the trees looking for some sign that someone had passed that way. More leaves than usual had fallen from the summer foliage in the hot, arid days that had gone on at this point for nearly two months. Finding a trail with so much debris littering the floor, took all our concentration.

Twenty minutes or so into our search, we heard the whistle to our south that sounded to tell us the trail had been spotted. Alar and I moved in that direction. Once again, we were well within site of the other four of our group. Taking a direct line from the disturbed leaves that showed us our first clue, we looked for further evidence.

For over an hour we tediously followed the well-disguised trail. Then all marks simply disappeared. As frustration grew in our group, we backtracked to nearly where we had seen the last signs and began again. Alar was completely silent as he searched to my left. At the edge of a small stream, I saw him bend low to inspect the bank. He stood up and with a smile on his face, motioned me to him. “Look here,” he said. “Two people have passed this way.”

“I will call the others,” I said as I clapped him on the shoulder.

 Belas stalked up to us like an angry boar charging his enemy. The pleased smile that Alar had worn earlier disappeared as he took a deep breath and pointed to the stream. His voice was soft as he said, “This rock has been disturbed recently. Do you see the frog moss on it?” he asked. “That kind of moss does not grow above the water line.” He bent over and pointed to the askew rock. “The rock is tilted so that the moss is now partially above the water line. Someone has recently stepped on it to cross the stream.” He stood and pointed to the opposite bank. “There is a footprint in the soil where someone landed. And there,” he redirected his finger to point at another place a few yards down the bank. “Another person landed in the cover of the leaves. There are two of them.”

Belas frowned. “How do you know these tracks were not made by animals?”

“Animals wearing boots?” Nouren laughed.

Belas shot him an annoyed look.

“There are no animals living in this part of the forest that would be large enough to upend a stone of that size,” Alar said cautiously.

“And there are the footprints,” Nouren said seemingly unfazed by Belas’s irritation.

“We have been following the trail of only one up until now,” Belas said.

“I think another person must have joined the one we have been tracking.” Alar turned to stare down the stream. “If we backtracked that way,” he said, “I think we would find the other person’s tracks leading here.”

With a blank expression that was easier to read than a scroll, Belas waded into the shallowest part of the stream. “Come,” he ordered. As he came to the opposite bank, he barely glanced at the faint toe outline of a boot and began again searching for the next track. I fell in beside Alar and gave him a smile of reassurance. A weak smile tilted his mouth.

For a quarter of a league we traveled west, following the tracks of two people until we saw signs that they had stopped, shuffled about and then split. One went to the southwest and the other to the northwest. Belas pointed to Alar and me. “Follow the tracks there,” he said, indicating the ones to the north. “Kama and Tarior, track to my and Nouren’s right. We will take the southwest track.”

I nodded, but could not help but feel that Belas had sent Alar and me on the trail he felt would be the least successful one. Still, any captain would investigate the alternate trail; I simply felt he intended to remove Alar from the possibility of leading us to our destination.

Alar moved quickly over the signs of bent twigs, shuffled leaves and obvious prints until again, the trail simply vanished. Standing to his back, I could feel his concentration as he scanned the ground and the trees. A smile crept onto his lips. “An Elf,” he said as his smile broadened even more. “We knew that, of course, but the trees are happy and content and tell of having had an Elf in their boughs.”

I smiled back. “Then our wily master has taken to the trees?”

“If the trees are to be believed,” he said as he caught hold of a low branch and swung upward.

I laughed as I followed his lead. “Do you think the masters can persuade the trees to lie to us?”

Alar laughed too, and bent to look at a small suckling that was bent gently against its natural growth. “I do not think the trees will lie for anyone. Deception is not in their nature.”

“I suppose such a thing would never occur to them,” I agreed as I followed closely behind Alar as he jumped to a neighboring oak. He made no further comment as his concentration had shifted once again to his duty. And I was simply awed by his ease of communication with his surroundings and his ability to almost instinctively follow a trail.  I think I would have eventually discerned the change of the trail to the trees, but I do not think I would have caught the adjustment as quickly as Alar did. He was one of the fastest trackers I had ever seen among the novices.

Within a quarter of an hour, Alar had found where our prey had left the trees and returned to the ground. From there, he nearly ran as he followed the course of the tracks. I felt as if I were doing nothing more than watching his back as he focused so wholly on his task. He did not seem aware of much else. While this trait was to be admired, such negligence of awareness could also prove fatal. I imagined the masters would note this about Alar and help him balance his concentration with the need to maintain alertness of more than merely his trail.

The tracks took a sudden turn to the east and as we began to follow, we heard the others of our group coming toward us. Alar stopped and listened. “I think the tracks we are following simply double back to rejoin the other trail. And both will then lead off to the southeast.”

“We should just sit down here and wait on the others,” I offered. “That would kill them to think we had gotten ahead.”

Alar’s eyes widened. “We cannot stop tracking.”

“I was only joking, Alar,” I said. “Lead on.”

Within minutes, we were face to face with the other four. “Our trail doubles back to join with yours just over there,” Alar said as he pointed in the direction to where we had found the tracks merge exactly as he said they would.

Belas’s cheeks flushed and his mouth set into a hard line. He said nothing, but turned and went in the direction Alar had indicated.

As all the others passed us, Alar slowed and looked down at the ground. “I have to learn to remain silent,” he said softly.

I stopped and grabbed his arm. “No,” I said, “you do not. Our job was to track and you did this. You have nothing to apologize for, nor do you have anything to hide. Your skills are something to be proud of, Alar. You have obviously worked hard to learn the ways of the forest.”

He nodded slowly. “I have spent a lot of time in the forest.” A small smile lifted his mouth. “I love being alone in the woods, watching the animals and seeing what they do. The trees are comforting, and I have always felt they welcome me.”

Suddenly, I was struck with how lonely Alar must have felt all these years. I could not recall him ever being with a group of friends or even having one particularly good friend with whom he shared his time. He and Barahir often partnered in our exercises, but I did not know if that relationship extended to their free time. “You are indeed a friend to the forest,” I said. “You will one day be the best tracker in all of Mirkwood.”

Alar flushed faintly and started after the others. I fell in beside him as the two of us brought up the rear.

When Belas lost the trail, we fanned out again. Only minutes passed before Alar had located it. “You tell them that you found it,” he whispered to me.

“Why?” I asked. “Belas will just have to live with it that you can out track him blindfolded.” I put my hand on his shoulder. “Be proud of who you are, Alar. Do not let Belas make you feel inadequate.”

“I know I can track,” he said. “I do not fear being seen as inadequate in this, but Belas sees nothing but my other shortcomings. And he delights in pointing them out to everyone.” He shook his head. “I do not wish to bring any attention to myself when he is around.”

I smiled. “I think it is too late to worry about everyone knowing that you are such a good tracker. Now, take credit for what you have done.  I will call them.”

As the group gathered around us, Alar hesitantly pointed out the trail.

“Well, are you not the last hope for Elves everywhere?” Belas snapped.

Alar sucked in his breath and took a step back.

“That is not fair, Belas,” I said. “His job is to track, just like mine and yours. If he is proficient then that is something we should be grateful for. He will lead us to the destination long before the other group. In the long run, his skills make you, as captain, look quite good.”

Belas whirled around to face me. “What do you know, Thranduilion? In your pampered little life, you would not know a deer track from an orc’s boot.”

 “I know an orc’s rear end when I see it,” I snapped without thinking.

Nouren stepped forward and placed his hand on Belas’s arm. “This is not getting us any closer to our objective.” He turned to Belas. “You are in command. Tell us how you wish for us to proceed.”

Belas jerked his arm from Nouren’s grasp and flung it outwards. “We will go this way,” he said, indicating the place where Alar had found the merged tracks.

Alar glanced at me and hung his head. Angry with myself for being drawn into Belas’s ill humor as much as I was angry with Belas, I thought perhaps Alar was right and I should also remain silent.

We had not gone far, when Alar suddenly stopped and whispered to me. “Listen! They are ahead.” His eyes widened. “I think they are hiding.”

Despite Alar’s intent to remain unheard by anyone but me, Belas swung around. He stood perfectly still for a moment and then came toward us. “Everyone get into the trees. This is a trap.”

Once in the trees, we moved silently ahead until we could see the other novices and the masters hunkered down in a shallow ravine waiting on us to follow a trail that would lead us in front of them. I smiled to myself. There would be a surprise attack all right, but the surprise would be for them. A particular thrill ran through me as I sighted Daeron lying low with his practice orc sword. Even the masters were armed with the thick, practice orc blades. None wore quivers or carried bows. Plainly, they thought to overwhelm us with numbers as they attacked us on the ground.

Belas motioned us to a position overlooking them from behind. Our real arrows were secured in our quivers by a cloth with a cord tied about them. In the event they were needed, all that was required to release them was a tug on the cord and the cloth came free. Our practice arrows were kept in separate compartment in our training quivers. They remained free and at our disposal.

We took our bows and with one last check that no real arrows would be pulled in the heat of the battle, we nocked our padded arrows and awaited Belas’s command to attack.

When he was satisfied with our position, he thrilled the call to commence. I targeted Daeron, but he was far too quick. He moved immediately upon hearing Belas’s whistle and my arrow bounced on the ground. Only one novice had been hit and he lay where he had been felled. The others scrambled to hide behind trees, stepping out or running between trees only enough to draw another volley. They intended to make us use up our supply of arrows and take to the ground.

Belas motioned to Kama and Tarior to circle around behind them.  A small padded dagger flew through the air and struck Kama in the chest. He made a huffing sound as he looked down at the chalky, clay stain pinpointing where he had been hit and sat down on the branch where he was. Tarior dodged another dagger sent his way and moved to a branch behind the tree. I released my arrow toward Ambar when he showed himself to throw the dagger at Tarior. My arrow caught him in his stomach. He smiled and sat down, rubbing where he had been hit.

Moving constantly, I continued to shoot at the ‘orcs’ as they surfaced to draw our bolts. Much to my satisfaction, I hit Findo. Daeron had escaped my aim for the time being as he slipped in and out of view, moving to the south of where I was weaving in and out of branches. My arrow supply was nearly spent. I glanced to Belas and saw that his quiver held only two practice arrows.  Pulling my last one, I nocked it as I leapt to another branch. From the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of a dagger sailing in my direction. I twisted to the side, flattening my back against the trunk of the tree as it flew past me. Sliding further around the trunk to gain cover, I positioned myself and darted out to let loose my last arrow. A stunned Moralendi dropped to sit on the ground.

At that moment, Belas’s whistle to take to the ground came. I stowed my bow and leapt to the ground as I drew my practice sword. I much preferred the use of long knives to the sword, but the masters made the decision regarding which blades we would use. On this day, we all carried broad swords. Alar came quickly to my back and we engaged the first of the enemy.

Haluil charged me. His sword came down hard and fast to meet mine. I rolled his blade downward while he pushed against mine to try and break my guarded stance so he could slash at my middle. Dancing back, I let my blade roll again, until his sword was pushed off to my right. He slowed only enough to redirect his motion until he was swinging again at my waist. I blocked his blow, this time getting my blade under his while keeping mine straight. While his arms were extended upward, I advanced to drive my blade to his chest. He nodded and sat down.

I whirled around to find Alar struggling to hold back a determined Derion. I had only a second because I saw Daeron charging at me with a look of gleeful anticipation in his eye. I used that second to jab Derion in the side and whirled to meet my cousin.

Our blades met with a dull clang. Daeron withdrew and again brought his blade down hard and fast as he advanced to try and throw me off balance. I twisted to the side, his blade catching only the air of where I once stood. As I swung my sword in a tight arc toward him, he continued his swing to block my blow. We grappled for a moment as he pushed his weight against me in a show of brute strength. I could not push him off me entirely and could only hope to hold my ground until he broke. When he could not free his sword in our draw, he shoved me once more and backed away. I waited for him to strike again, hoping that as I defended, he would have to make a wide enough arc of his blade that I could come in under it. I could almost hear his blade break the air as he swung in a wide, fast arc at me. My blade caught under his and I could see at that moment that he knew he had walked into my trap. As I pushed his blade up, he tried to adjust, but it was too late. With his arms flung to the side from my blow, I pivoted to the side and ran my sword straight in to his chest. He made a disgusted face at me and sat down. At that point I realized that there was no one left to charge me. The last pair of Galdor and Nouren was still engaged in a heated battle. Leaping over Daeron, I stabbed toward Galdor, but his blade came back and blocked my blow, but as he defended against me, Nouren finished him.

Melda stood and clapped Nouren on the back. “The last Elves standing! Very good. Everyone did well.” He motioned to the ones on the ground. “Come, we will make camp here tonight and after we have eaten, we will discuss this day’s exercises.”

I turned and extended my hand to Daeron. He took it and pulled himself to his feet. “I cannot believe I lost to you with a blade,” he grumbled. With a lopsided grin on his face, he shook his finger at me. “And I would not have lost if I had been allowed to fight using my own style. Orcs fight like oafs!”

I laughed as I sheathed my sword. “I am glad I met you as Daeron, the orc. Daeron, the Elf, would have taken me in half the time it took me to stop you.”

Daeron held his ‘orc’ sword by two fingers as if it were something particularly odorous. “You would have done better than that, but at least, I would have had a fighting chance.”

“But you would have still bested me,” I said as we walked over to get our packs and start setting up camp.

He grinned. “Yes, I would have.”