Chapter Seven: Daeron

“How many more days?”  I asked with an exasperated sigh as I trailed along behind Legolas. The masters had kept us moving for days with nearly no rest. Tracking, mock battles and more tracking had filled our every waking minute, and most of the minutes of the last three days had been spent awake. Once again, we were off on a hunt for some elusive trail that would most likely end in another battle with whoever was missing from our group. “I want to sleep in my own bed, and I am tired of eating aewbas,” I complained further.

Legolas snorted and looked up at me where he had bent to look at something that I hoped with all my heart was a track. “A bed? I have heard of those.”

When he got up and resumed looking, I stood for a moment staring at the place he had just been, disgusted that it was nothing. Resolutely, I went back to looking at the ground, moving off to Legolas’s left. With hope, I glanced up to see where Alar was. Nouren was partnering with him on this day, and I caught sight of him up ahead, but I did not see Alar. Sighing, I went back to my duty.

During the games, tracking had become more difficult as each day passed. The masters simulated orcs, men, and Elves on different exercises. Men and orcs were as easy to follow as a pack of charging wargs, but when the masters felt like giving us something impossible, they simply became themselves. Tracking another Elf who does not want to be found is like tracking the way my nemesis, Míriel’s mind works. Alar and a few of the older novices seemed to be the only ones who could follow a path of thin air. Fortunately, I felt as if I were finally beginning to gain some insight into Elf-tracking—this was not the first time I had tracked an Elf; we had been training for years—but the games were the first time the youngest novices had tracked Elves who did everything they could to not leave a trail. Seregon says that you track an Elf more by sensing him than actually seeing his trail, and this must be learned the same way as we have to learn to follow physical signs. I put my hand on the nearest tree and cooed, “My, what lovely bark you have. Tell me, friend, have you seen an Elf skulking around here acting as if he does not want us to find him?”

I heard Nouren laugh as the others came toward where I was communing with the trees. “I do not think flattery will work. I am beginning to think that these trees have seen nothing.”

Tarior, our captain for the day, shook his head. “I think we are off course.” He turned to Alar. “Do you have any sense of which way we should adjust?”

I heard Belas snort behind me and mutter, “He has no sense of any kind.” Only Legolas, Nouren and I heard him, and we all three turned slowly to look at him. A sick, malicious smile slid across his mouth.

“From what I have seen, I would think the trail is probably more to the southeast,” Alar said. “The last sure signs we found could have gone directly south as we have come, or veered off slightly to the east.”

“Do you think we should backtrack all the way back to the last sign, or do you think you can pick up the trail if we adjust to a more easterly route?” Tarior asked.

Shaking his head, Alar said, “I do not think we need to go all the way back at this point. We can find it, I think, if we merely go back a short ways.”

Tarior nodded and called, “Move out.”

Alar joined Nouren as we began to walk to the east.  As Belas walked by him, he sneered and said, “If we get jumped, do not get anywhere near me. You got me killed yesterday when you were supposed to be watching my back.”

Nouren grimaced. “You got yourself killed.”

“We will see how you feel about having him at your back after today,” Belas snapped. “If you last more than three minutes then it will be a gift from the Valar.”

“Back off, Belas,” Nouren said calmly. “You are responsible for not blocking Derion’s thrust. Alar had nothing to do with it.”

“He was not where he should have been,” Belas said. “He was, as usual, dead.” Belas tossed his hands up into the air. “Why are you defending the child-novice anyway? He has no business being in training to be a warrior. He is death waiting.”

“What Alar does is none of your concern,” Nouren said, his voice finally rising.

“It is my concern if my life or the life of another warrior is forfeited because he is not capable,” Belas said.

“The masters are not concerned. They are fine with Alar,” Nouren said. “This is not your decision.”

Belas twisted his mouth with disgust. “You are a fool, Nouren.” Then he gave a short laugh and turned to go. “Tell me tomorrow when you are still trying to brush the clay out of your tunic if you still do not think he is a menace.” With that, Belas spun on his heels and disappeared into the forest.

When we all turned to Alar, his face was bright red. Hanging his head, he fingered his belt buckle. “I am sorry,” he said softly. “I should not be here.”

Nouren let out a great puff of air as he rubbed his forehead. “That is not true. You have every right to be here. No one feels this way but Belas, and it is often hard to tell if he really means what he says, or if he is merely talking to hear the sound of his own voice.”

“Nouren is right,” Legolas said. “You cannot allow Belas to dictate what you are allowed to do.”

“He is the one who has no business being a warrior,” I said angrily. “If he makes it to warrior without one of us breaking his legs, the commanders will not put up with his condescension and rude remarks.” I smiled grimly. “I hope to be a fly on the wall when Aldamir gets a hold of him.”

Nouren placed his hand on Alar’s shoulder and said, “You have to understand Belas. He is every bit as difficult as you think he is, but he was taught to be this way. I think he is really very unsure of himself so he tries to make others feel inadequate.”

I laughed harshly. “He is certainly sure how to do that!”

“Indeed,” Nouren said, as he began to walk toward our area to scout. “His family’s cottage is near mine. Since our naneths sew together, we played as children.” Nouren smiled wryly. “He has always been this way, but I had hoped that he would grow out of it.”

“Before the end of Arda?” I asked.

Nouren laughed. “I am beginning to think that will not be long enough either.”

“Who taught him to be this way?” Legolas asked. “Can his parents not do something?”

Nouren shook his head. “His parents are the problem. His adar is a gardener at the palace.” Legolas threw me a quick look of surprise. I did not know who he was either. “His adar is, in truth, a very nice person,” Nouren went on. “His naneth is nice too, but she dotes on Belas as if he were the only elfling in the world. He does no wrong in her eyes.” Nouren turned to look back at us. “I remember once when we were very young; my family was outside in the garden. Belas and his parents were outside too. Apparently Belas said something rude to his adar and his adar chastised him for it, but his naneth objected to how rude his adar was being for telling Belas that he could not speak that way. She has always excused Belas’s behavior for one reason or another: He is just a child, or he is tired, or he did not know. There is always an excuse from her for why Belas behaves so badly. And she will not tolerate anyone saying anything to him. I think his adar gave up fighting them both long ago.”

“Surely the masters have spoken to him about his behavior?” Legolas said.

“I do not know for certain, but I suspect that they have,” Nouren told us. “Especially since Belas has come from his reviews with the masters looking more than a little displeased.”

“Apparently,” I said, “it did no good.”

“I am not making excuses for Belas,” Nouren said to Alar. “He is responsible for his actions. But at least you will have some understanding for why he behaves as he does.”

“Knowing he has had little guidance,” Legolas offered, “will help to dismiss the unkind things he says.”

“My naneth used to say,” Nouren said, “that Belas’s behavior is because he is crying out for someone to show him that they love him by caring enough to discipline him.” He smiled. “I used to think that was madness. But now I think she is right; Belas does not feel valued.”

I laughed. “If discipline is the measure of love, then Legolas and I are the most loved children in all of Elvendom.”

“Then I am a close second,” Nouren laughed.

“I have been thinking,” I said. Everyone turned to look at me. Legolas looked slightly wary, I thought, but I have never been one to let Legolas’s lack of enthusiasm to thwart me. “We cannot go to the masters about this; when Belas finds out, it will only make him more determined, and this will make things worse for Alar.” They nodded. I smiled. “There is more than one way to wage a battle.” Putting my arm around Alar’s shoulders, I said, “The non-violent way. You must learn the art of verbal warfare.”

Legolas chortled. “You are the master,” he said.

I nodded regally. “Do you remember when Belas said that you are a menace?” I asked.

Alar flushed and nodded.

“You must have a response to him when he says things like that,” I told him.

Alar’s eyes widened as if this had never occurred to him. “If I say anything back to him, then I am afraid he will be angry, or he will hit me, and then we will both be in trouble with the masters.”

I waved my hand through the air. “He will not hit you. He is a warg’s tail, but he is not that dumb. No, what you must do is offer a confident reply. For example,” I said, “when he said to you that you are a menace, you could have replied: And you are my hero, Belas.”

“What!” Alar yelped.

I raised my hand. “Wait. Wait. This is where you make your message clear. Presentation is everything: The tone of your voice, the stance of your body, the tilt of your head and even where you put emphasis on your words will convey meaning.” Taking Alar by the arm, I turned him to me. “So, he has just called you a menace. Now, you stand casually,” I said as I demonstrated, “show no fear—and answer him in a very dry tone--And you are my hero. In such a neutral tone, he will not know if you are being serious or not. It will take him a moment to decide exactly what you are saying. Now, if you want him to really know that you are being sarcastic then, you could add some gestures, like throwing your hands up in the air and saying: And you are my hero.”  I leaned in closer to Alar. “Do you understand what I am saying?”

Alar’s brow creased as if he were studying the tracks of our elusive quarry. “I think so,” he said slowly.

“Good,” I said. “Now, let us practice.” Moving a step back, I waved to him in leave to give this a try. “Tell me that I am your hero.”

Legolas batted his eyelashes at me and warbled in a high voice, “Oh, Daeron, you are my hero.”

“Not you,” I said giving him a light shove.

Wiping the smile from his face, Alar threw his hands up in the air and said sweetly, “Oh, Belas, you are my hero.”

Involuntarily, the side of my mouth tilted upward. “Well,” I said thoughtfully, “that will certainly frighten him, but not in the way I had in mind.”

When we had all stopped laughing, we started again to walk to where we should have already been tracking. “All you need is a little practice,” I said reassuringly. “Just remember that when he insults you, you have to take his insult and turn it around on him. Like when he said that you were not watching his back, you then say: I was watching it. Unfortunately, your front got in the way of Derion’s sword. Or you could say: I was watching it, but then I was overcome with curiosity to see if when you were stabbed you would deflate like a skin of hot air.”

Between laughing and coughing, Alar said, “That would surely earn his wrath. He would use me to plow pea rows.”

“He will be too shocked that you stood up to him to react for a while,” I said. “If he thinks you will not allow his insults to upset you, then he will get the message and stop harassing you.”

“You hope,” Legolas said.

Still chuckling, Alar shook his head. “I do not think I can do this. I cannot think of such quick retorts.”

Slapping him firmly on the back, I said, “Of course you can. Stick with me, Alar, and soon you will be the master of condescending discourse.”

“I do not think this will work,” Alar moaned.

“Of course it will,” I said. “I promise you.”

Within the hour, Alar had found our trail. Time to rehearse Alar’s lines for when he met again with Belas’s sour disposition was not with us, but I was certain that it would come soon enough. Belas did not give up his targets easily, but I could not help but believe that he would not challenge Alar any further if Alar made it clear that he could play the game just as well as he. After all, Belas did not bother with anyone he thought would stand up to him, only those he thought vulnerable to his insults.

By mid-afternoon, we found the masters waiting in a small clearing at the end of the tracks. The other group had not arrived as yet and everyone took turns congratulating Alar for such a fine job of keeping us on track. That is everyone, but Belas. He looked as if he had been sucking green persimmons. I admit his irritation delighted me. I could think of no one who deserved more to be annoyed than Belas. However, I was a little concerned that my pupil was not quite ready to slay the worm with his verbal sword. A little more practice time was needed.

As we discussed with the masters our experience with the day’s tracking, I noticed that Alar said very little, and only then when addressed directly. Belas was more than happy to point out his contributions, which, I might add, were much less than he led the masters to believe. What a fool, I thought. The masters watched everything we did. I knew they did, even if they never told us that they would be observing us when we were in the forest and supposedly away from them. Belas had to know this since this was not his first trip on the games, but his mouth apparently got more time than his brain, and he conveniently overlooked this essential piece of information.  If I had not been taking so much delight in him building his own funeral pyre, then I might have offered to help him chop the wood for it or reminded him that the masters knew everything that went on. They were even aware that we had slowed our tracking to talk to Alar, I am certain. We still got to the end of the trail first…due to Alar. And the masters knew that too.

The other group arrived as the afternoon was beginning to wane. Still plenty of light remained as the masters told us that we would be moving again to our campsite for the night. With all my heart, I prayed that they would allow us to sleep for more than a few hours.

We had gone no further than a few hundred yards when we were attacked—for the fourth time in as many days—but this time, we were set upon by ten members of the home guard, screaming and grunting and wielding practice orc swords. Since we were on the ground, there was no time for us to take to the trees or to our bows. The battle was over with a fair swiftness, but not without casualties among the novices. I regret that I was one of the dead ones. A sneaky orc came up behind me and stabbed me in the back. I thought that was a dirty way to kill someone, but I suppose orcs do not battle by any particular etiquette manual.

The highlight of the battle was the contest between Melda and the captain of the home guard, Celelion. They are related by marriage, and this is apparently a long standing family tradition.  In this instance, there were certain rewards for being out of the battle as I was dead by the time that Celelion sought out Melda from where he had gone to gain a vantage point in an old oak.

With a grin on his face, our headmaster bounded from the tree onto the ground and drew his sword—his real sword, not a practice one. An equally delighted grin was on Celelion’s face as he threw aside the practice sword he carried and drew the long blade at his side. Shivers ran down my spine as I heard the swift scrape of a blade being released. For a few moments they circled one another, watching each other like hungry predators waiting for their prey to reveal a weakness. Celelion dipped his sword to draw Melda and it worked. Melda advanced on him. The sound of metal ringing caught everyone’s attention and to be honest, this action was most likely the cause of the quick demise of the remaining novices still engaged in battle. The sound of a real sword rings truer than those of the blunted practice swords, and everyone immediately knew what was afoot.

Gathering along with the home guard, the novices were privileged to watch the deadly, but incredibly beautiful dance of two Elves who were truly masters of the blade. The sword play was quick and precise as they feigned and parried, whirled and re-engaged. Rapid flashes of glittering light shot from the blades as the rays of dying sunlight caught home on the rapidly moving metal. Two Elves fought with all their strength and skill, never really having to pull thrusts as they were both so equally matched.

A fully engaged battle waged for nearly ten minutes without them breaking as they used all their skill to try and bring a quick end to the contest. Finally, still at a draw, they pulled back. The slow circling began again, careful steps almost completely mirrored. These two have battled each other so often that they knew one another’s moves as well as they knew their own. The only way to win would be to force a mistake.

Celelion charged this time, deftly swinging his blade so quickly that Melda could do nothing but block. Melda calmly took the defensive position until Celelion paused for just the instance in the assault that Melda needed. He took charge then, driving his opponent back in a swift attack that lacked the timed rhythm of the earlier bout.  Apparently that was what it took to throw off Celelion’s timing; he miscalculated and missed the block. In an instant, the tip of Melda’s sword was poised at his throat. Wild cheers erupted from the novices and the home guard. Melda and Celelion embraced first in a warrior’s greeting and then threw their arms around each other in a gleeful fraternal hug.

As soon as they broke from one another and after a few claps to our shoulders from the warriors, the home guard began to drift into the trees and disappeared. When they had gone, Melda turned back to us. We cheered again. With what looked to me like an extremely gratified smile, he re-sheathed his sword. And then, with a flick of his wrist, he motioned us back on our trail to our evening campsite. After watching such an exciting bout, I had to admit, I felt invigorated and happy to have been there.

Melda led us to a small clearing with a stream running nearby. The excited chatter about the bout ceased as he turned to address us. “I will place you into three new groups with new captains for tonight and these assignments will hold for tomorrow’s exercises.”

When he had finished arranging our groups, I felt slightly weak in the knees; I had been assigned as captain. This was not my first time to captain—I had done so earlier for part of a day—but the difficulty of the games increased as each day passed. To captain for the night and the following day made me more nervous than the thought of talking to Isilya. And to make matters worse, Belas and Alar were in my group. Having Legolas also assigned to me made me feel somewhat better, but why Belas? And why me? I moaned.

So lost in my own worries and thoughts, I barely heard my name called for the evening assignment; my group was to fetch wood for the night’s fire. As everyone began their tasks to set up camp, I was standing silently for a moment to get my bearings when I saw the members of my group staring at me in wait of command. Belas, I thought, looked slightly amused, if not anticipatory for what havoc he could wreak. Alar looked mortified, and Legolas looked as if he thought a change of command was already due. “Come,” I said simply and began to walk into the forest to search for dead fall.

We did not have to go far to find plentiful dried wood. Since I could think of no command I needed to give—they already knew how to gather firewood—I began to gather small broken limbs and to pile them in a central area where they would add their haul to mine. Then we would distribute it among ourselves and take it back to camp.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Alar, laden with wood, stumble and fall. Belas burst into laughter. Before I could speak, Legolas whirled about face Belas. “What was that for?” Legolas said as he reached out a hand to Alar and pulled him to his feet. Poor Alar. His face was red, and I thought for a moment he might speak, but then, we had not covered tripping in his studies of retorts. Instead, he hung his head and began to recover the wood he had dropped.

Belas swayed slightly with laughter. “I cannot help it if the elfling cannot walk on his own two feet yet.”

“You tripped him,” Legolas said. I walked closer to them, dropping my armload of wood at the central pile as I went. Legolas’s voice was calm, but I could see the anger lit in his eyes.

“Then he should look where he is going,” Belas howled.

“I was looking where I was going,” Alar said meekly, “but your big foot got in the way.”

I groaned; my pupil definitely needed further instruction. Belas laughed harder. “Was that an insult, little one? I ask because I am not certain if you are even more stupid than I thought or if you are merely that clumsy.”

“He is not clumsy,” Legolas shot back. “Nor is he stupid.”

“Is that so?” Belas said, tossing the pieces of firewood he held over into the pile. “But then what would you know, Thranduilion?  You are just as inept as he is.”

I stepped between Legolas and Belas as quickly as I could. “That is enough,” I snapped. “This behavior will not be tolerated.” I turned to Belas. “If you do anything like that again, I will report you to the masters and while you are under my command you will conduct yourself in a manner appropriate to a warrior.”

Belas smiled. “Report me then, captain,” he said making my temporary title sound as if it were a pox on Elvendom. “The masters know that I am skilled with my weapons and will be a fine warrior. They are hardly going to concern themselves with some trivial matter like a child that will never be anything but a menace.”

“Perhaps you should be concerned,” Legolas said. “Your behavior will not be tolerated among the warriors. The commander will have you sweeping the steps to the cellars or standing guard over seedlings. He will not allow you to harass others.”

“And you would know,” Belas said sarcastically. “The commander will not do anything. He will not even do anything about novices such as him,” he said, pointing at Alar. “Some people do not like the disagreeable job of ferreting out the vermin and the fact that novices such as him are allowed to remain in training tells me that your brother does not care for such a job.”

“And you think it is your job?” I asked, incredulously.

“My brother,” Legolas said before Belas could answer, “knows what he is doing. You have not been paying attention if you do not think so.”

Belas snorted. “Your brother obviously cares little for what happens to the warriors in the field. If he did he would not allow such pathetic little mice into the ranks.”

I lifted my eyebrows in something as inappropriate as amusement at such a time. I could not wait for Aldamir to get this one in his clutches. Belas would rue the day he was born. “You are bordering on sedition,” I announced, proud of myself that I finally had some real meat to take back to the masters.

“Do not be obtuse,” Belas snapped. “I would follow the commander’s orders and do so willingly, but I will not allow someone like this child to get me killed. He should leave before anyone dies because he is not worthy of the troops.”

“And if the commander orders you to leave Alar alone?” Legolas asked.

“That will never happen,” he said as a slow smile spread over his teeth. “Alar will not be there to cause problems. Vermin is dealt with before it gets to the ranks.”

“You have no right!” Legolas said.

“I have every right, pampered son of the king,” he snapped. “I have every right in Arda to purge sorry warriors from the ranks. I will not have a personal guard like you. I have to depend on the warrior at my back, and I will not have one that I cannot trust.”

“Please…” Alar muttered, putting his hand on Legolas’s arm.

“Please what?” Belas snapped. “Defend you some more? Legolas does not have to concern himself with whether you will be a danger to him. I do. And I will not have you serve as a warrior. You are not and never will be good enough.”

“How dare you?” I said shocked more with myself than Belas that I did not expect his venom. Nothing he said or did should have surprised me. “Alar’s ability to track may one day save your miserable hide.”

“I dare,” he said through his teeth, “because no one else will take it upon themselves to see the refuse removed. I will not be like the masters or the commander and coddle novices like him. If he cannot make the grade then he has no place among the warriors. His tracking skills are no better than the least of the older novices.”

“You insult the masters and the commander,” I said angrily. “You have dug your own grave.”

“My grave is what I fear, captain,” he snapped. “I do not fear the masters or the commander.”

“Then you are a bigger fool than I realized,” I said. “If you want to be a warrior, then learning some respect would a good place to start. If you make it out of novice training, then the commander will not tolerate your insolence.”

“He is a fool,” Belas said, “if he does not appreciate the warriors seeing to their own.”

Legolas was seething. I could see the barely contained anger in his clenched fists, and I could hear it in his voice. Belas was only moments from a beating. And I had to prevent it from happening.

“My brother is no fool,” Legolas said through clenched teeth. “And you would do well to remember this.”

“Enough!” I said. “We will let the masters deal with this.” I pointed to the wood pile. “Gather your portion and take it back to camp.”

Alar was the only one to move to obey, but even he stopped when no one else moved.

“Grow up, Legolas,” Belas said as he punched Legolas in the chest with his finger. “Your big brother is not perfect. Until he commands the masters to rid of us of the likes of him,” he said, pointing to Alar, “then we will always have dead warriors and lost ground to the enemy.”

“We do not have dead warriors nor do we lose ground due to faults of Aldamir’s,” Legolas snapped.

“Yet we lose more ground,” Belas said. “He is worrying over villages now because he cannot defend them.”

“And you would have him decrease his troop numbers according to your whims?” Legolas said.

“Perhaps if he had such whims, we would not be in the trouble we are in now,” Belas replied haughtily.

Legolas’s fist was so fast I did not have time to intervene. Belas fell flat on his back, a look of shock plainly written on his face. “I have had enough of you,” Legolas said through clinched teeth; his legs were wide and his fists were balled at his sides.

Belas sneered. “You have not gotten nearly enough, Thranduilion,” he said as he rose to a crouch. In the blink of an eye, he charged, catching Legolas around the waist.

“Stop!” I yelled as they rolled, looking like nothing more that a whirl of flying fists and knees. “Stop, I said!” Grabbing Legolas by the back of his tunic, I attempted to haul him off Belas, but I only managed to lift him up enough for Belas to get in a good punch to his jaw.

That took care of all my self control. Tossing Legolas to the side, I grabbed Belas by the front of his tunic and hauled him to his feet. The feel of my fist impacting with his jaw was one of the most satisfying moments of my life. However, my glee was short lived; his fist found a satisfying mark on my face. I thought all the bones must have shattered. Literally, I saw stars.

Before any further exchanging of fists could take place, Alar yelled, “Listen!”

The tone of his voice brought us all back to reason. Suddenly from behind me, I heard a strange, rapidly approaching clacking sound that rattled the calm of the forest. I heard the first twang of a bow string being released, and Orocarni shout from somewhere over my head, “To Arms! Daeron! Get them moving!”

In an instant, we were armed with our bows and with our arrows nocked--our real arrows, not the padded ones. I felt more secure being truly armed until I got a look at our enemy swarming through the trees. It is not the home guard was my only thought as I was faced with the most overwhelming terror I had ever known.