Chapter 3. Weapons of War

Boromir awoke with his senses on full alert.  Rivendell was the last place he would have expected a battle to be waged, yet there was no mistaking the well known ringing sound of metal upon metal that echoed across the valley. He roughly pushed the covers aside as he arose from the bed, and in a reflex action honed from many years at war, he lifted the scabbard of his sword from the bedside table where it lay, and drew his weapon as he ran out onto the balcony.

The sight that met his eyes made him stop short and laugh out loud at his own foolishness. Of course no sword would be raised in anger within the bounds of the Last Homely House. Certainly a battle of sorts was being waged, but it was merely two of the Shirelings practicing their swordplay, their inexperience easily recognizable by their lack of technique, and the fact that they were using real swords rather than wooden practice weapons.

Boromir was just about to call down a word of caution when Merry accidentally tripped, slicing a small gash in Pippin’s hand as he reached out to try and prevent his opponent from falling and hitting his head on the hard stone surface of the courtyard. It was but a short distance below, so Boromir leapt over the balcony rail and landed easily beside the two injured Hobbits.

“Here, use this as a bandage, your hand is bleeding rather heavily,” he said to Pippin, tearing a strip from the hem of his nightshirt and wrapping it tightly around the small hand. He then turned his attention to Merry and the large lump that was quickly forming on his forehead. “You need a healer, I will take you to Master Elrond,” he said as he gently lifted the small one into his arms and turned towards the healing chambers with a very concerned Pippin close on his heels.

“I have two patients for you, Master Elrond,” said Boromir as he settled his burden carefully on the bed that Elrond had prepared. The healer quickly examined them both, and tended the wounds that he declared to be minor. Pippin squirmed a little as the bandage was removed and replaced with a fresh one coated with a healing salve. Elrond then turned his attention to Merry and made him drink the rather unpleasant tasting potion that would relieve his head ache, instructing him to remain resting in bed for the rest of the day. The protest Merry was about to make about such a restriction died on his lips, when he saw the stern glare on Elrond’s face.

“I will stay and keep him company, Master Elrond, but may I first go to the kitchen and see if the cook can spare us a morsel of food?” asked Pippin judging it to be well past second breakfast time by now.

Elrond sighed at the excessive appetites his small guests exhibited, but allowed Pippin to do as he requested with a raised eyebrow and an incline f his head. The hungry Hobbit rushed from the room and in his haste, almost collided with Gimli who was standing in the open doorway. He smiled an apology at the Dwarf and then continued on his errand.

“Good morning, Boromir,” said Gimli with a slight bow to the Man of Gondor, who looked very embarrassed as he suddenly realized he was clad in nothing but his torn nightshirt. Noting his discomfort, Elrond walked over to the wardrobe in the corner of the room and selected an elegant maroon day robe, which he handed to Boromir.

“And to you, Gimli. I trust you are not also in need of a healer?” the Steward’s son asked politely as he dressed quickly and took the seat by the bed that Pippin had vacated in his rush to reach the kitchen.

“Only to introduce me to his smiths, as we had arranged,” replied Gimli with a slight incline of his head to acknowledge his guide.

“And I shall be pleased to do so, as soon as Peregrin returns to watch over Meriadoc,” Elrond said.

“I would be willing to take on that task for I wish to speak to these two further,” offered Boromir. For a reason he could not fathom, Elrond was at first reluctant to allow it, but when Merry eagerly agreed that Boromir would be excellent company, he chided himself for his suspicion.

“As you wish. Come Gimli, I believe the Mastersmith is planning to begin work on re-forging the ‘Sword that was Broken’ today,” said Elrond with a smile at the look of intrigued delight in the Dwarf’s eyes.

They had barely been gone but a few minutes when Pippin returned, his arms laden with a tray bearing enough breakfast for them all.

“Whatever possessed you two to practice with real weapons?” asked Boromir after they had eaten their fill, and barely a crumb was left.

“Is that not how it is done? I heard that Gimli and his father were practicing with their axes, and we thought we would do likewise with our swords,” explained Pippin.

“They are very experienced fighters, but such is not for ones like yourselves who, to my eye, have never really fought with a sword before,” said Boromir carefully choosing his words so as not to give insult.

“There is little call for the use of weapons in the Shire,” explained Merry attempting to sit up but deciding against it as he felt a wave of dizziness envelope him.

“Then how is it you are possession of swords?” asked Boromir. Pippin explained that they were in fact ancient knives that once belonged to the Men of Westernesse, and given to the Hobbits by Tom Bombadil.

“I would very much like to see them, if I may?” said Boromir. Pippin collected the knives from the chair by the door where he had placed then when they entered the healing chamber, and Boromir accepted them with the reverence he felt they were due. He carefully examined the magnificent knives that, had he not known otherwise, he would have sworn had been forged that very day, so shiny and untarnished were the blades. “They are both beautiful and deadly, but they also deserve to be wielded properly,” he said as he carefully re- sheathed them and then handed them back to Pippin.

“Perhaps you could teach us to do so?” asked Merry.

“Yes, would you Boromir? If we learn to fight and defend ourselves, we may be able to convince Master Elrond to allow us to accompany Frodo and Sam when they leave,” said Pippin who had obviously given the matter some thought, and surprised Boromir with his perceptiveness. The Steward’s son knew he would not allow such innocents to travel on such a mission, and he suspected neither would Elrond.

“Very well, it will certainly help pass the time, but understand that I can make no promise as to whether honing your skills will influence Elrond’s decision,” he warned them.

“We know, but it will not stop us from asking him,” declared Merry with a determination in his voice that made Boromir smile and he decided that he had already taken a great liking to these carefree and apparently very courageous Halflings.

The pattern of their days was set as they awaited the return of the scouting parties Elrond had sent out and Boromir spent several hours a day teaching sword skills to Merry and Pippin, and once or twice to Frodo and Sam, although the latter two always appeared disinterested. It was not so much disinterest on Frodo’s part, but distrust for the raw lust for the power of the ring he saw in Boromir’s eyes whenever the gold peered through the opening in Frodo’s shirt as he joined in the swordplay.

The evenings would find Boromir frequently joining Gimli in a few tankards of ale, and a quiet smoke of their pipes as they listened to the songs and the tales told in the Hall of Fire. Although he was often invited, Gimli declined offers to practice his weapons skills with Boromir, for as unwilling as he was admit it, he had developed a friendship with some of the Elven smiths. Most were veterans of the wars of ages past, and were well aware that should Sauron regain the ring, he would gladly wage war upon Rivendell.

Gimli was content to attend the forges, and occasionally help in the work as they turned their skills once more to the forging of weapons and armour. Their craftsmanship was exquisite, a fact Gimli could not deny, and he was surprised to learn that the Elves also found great beauty in the Dwarvish armour he made for himself.

“Perhaps this augers well for the Fellowship,” suggested Elrond as he and Gandalf watched Gimli explaining the finer points of his technique to the one of the Elves who specialized in making weaponry. There was no sign of unpleasantness between the two, just the camaraderie of those with a passion for finely produced piece of metalwork.

“I think you will find there will be a mellowing in the relationship between Legolas and Gimli as well, given time,” said Gandalf with an element of certainty.

“Do you speak of the future you see for them?” asked Elrond. Gandalf placed a friendly hand on the Elf’s shoulder and looked at him from under his bushy brows.

“I have not the gift of foresight as you well know, mellon nin, but I listen when Galadriel speaks,” he said with a wink.

                                                           *******

Meanwhile, the journey to Mirkwood was almost at an end. The party led by Legolas had traveled to the safety of Thranduil’s realm without incident, other than spotting the signs of a raiding band of Orcs that had passed their way weeks earlier. Although they scouted the area carefully, no foul creature was to be found. Legolas thought this slightly unusual and was convinced it was so when he heard Thranduil’s report

“The numbers of Orcs and wolves and other dark creatures is definitively increasing, for we more often find their abandoned encampments, especially to the north and east,” the King told his son.

Without saying another word, Legolas took Elrond’s letter from his travel pouch and handing it to his Adar. Thranduil read the missive slowly, and then poured himself a glass of wine before reading it again.

“This is grave news indeed! It seems Isildur’s Bane is set to haunt us all,” he said as he swallowed the last of his wine in one nervous gulp.

“And from Elrond’s council I learned of the threat the agents of the Dark Lord are making to King Dain and King Brand. It seems that it is no longer only our borders that are now under threat from spies,” Legolas said with a worried frown.

“No, and nor is it surprising.  Our neighbors in the north should be warned of the danger immediately,” said Thranduil.

“The dwarf, Glóin was in attendance at the council and I believe he left for Erebor not long after I deprted Rivendell, but I accepted his charge that a message is to be sent to King Brand,” said Legolas, suddenly uncertain as to how Thranduil would react to his son taking orders from a Dwarf.

“So Glóin was among those seeking Elrond’s advice? Things must be grim under the Lonely Mountain for such a prideful King as Dain be forced to seek help from an Elf,” Thranduil mused.

“Nonetheless, I will send word to Dale at once. Although past alliances no longer hold true, I sense that perhaps we here in the north may need to forge a new one in the coming days of darkness,” said Thranduil as he began writing the message. Legolas waited in silence until his Adar had finished the note, and then summonsed a messenger whom he warned to be both swift and careful. After the Elf was gone, Legolas gathered the courage to tell his own news.

“Adar, I do not know how to say this, but that is not all there is to hear,” he said, kneeling beside the chair where Thranduil sat, and taking a beloved hand in his.

“What is so troublesome to say?” asked the King, lovingly stroking the golden silk of his son’s hair in a gesture of reassurance.

“Elrond asked me to travel south with the Ring bearer, his companion… and Gimli, son of Glóin,” said Legolas breathing a sigh of relief at having at least said the words. Thranduil’s hand stiffened slightly on his son’s head, and Legolas felt a tremor run through his Adar’s fingers as he moved his hand to cup his son’s chin and lift his face so that their eyes met.

“Do not trust the Dwarf, for he is likely a treacherous creature,” counseled Thranduil.

“I am certain he thinks likewise of me, but I have agreed to tolerate his presence for the good of all,” Legolas told Thranduil who looked skeptical, but had a more pressing query.

“Why would you travel with the One Ring, into the very heart of Mordor?” he asked with a voice filled with pain.

“It was agreed by the council that destruction of the Ring was the only way to ensure the defeat of Sauron, and I believe it to be so,” Legolas replied simply.

“It is far too dangerous, I can not permit you to go,” Thranduil stated full of resolve.

“I am well past my majority and I have already given my word. Adar, I know it is a journey fraught with danger, but surely if it is not attempted, the danger is even greater still. Ever since I was but an elf child at your knee you have told me of the evil of Sauron, the courage of my grandsire, and those that followed him to the Halls of Mandos. Your tales spoke to me of the shadow that loomed ever larger as the spirit of the dark one grew because Isildur failed to destroy the ring when he had the chance. How can I not attempt to right that wrong?” Legolas entreated.

“My brave Legolas, the time of the Elves is fading. Do not be so eager to follow in Adar's footsteps,” said Thranduil sadly as he bent to kiss his son’s brow. “I have already lost so much; I cannot bear to lose you as well.”

“I do not wish to follow Oropher to the Halls of Mandos; I wish to avenge his death. Ai, we are fading, but I would leave Middle Earth free of the shadow, and if I must travel with Frodo to achieve that end, then so be it. Give me your blessing Adar, for I promise to return to you,” Legolas whispered. Thranduil stood and drew his son into his arms, and through the bond of father and son, gave him his blessing and his strength.

“Thank you, Adar. I love you,” said Legolas, kissing Thranduil’s cheek before stepping out of his embrace. Thranduil smiled though his eyes were bright with unshed tears.

“I love you, too, my Legolas. Come, I have something to give you,” he said, taking his son’s hand as he led him through the throne room to the armory beyond.

“Your skill with the bow is legendary, but in a war such as I fear you are yet to face, a bow is not enough,” he said as he dusted off a large wooden box and reverently opened the lid. Legolas recognized the contents as the personal effects of his grandsire, all that remained of the King of Greenwood after the battle at Dagorlad. He watched in silence as Thranduil carefully lifted a long white knife from the cloth protecting it. It was simply yet elegantly carved, but the white handle was embossed with a delicate design of leaves, that shone with the glow of mithril.

“This belonged to Adar, and I give it to you, for it is your legacy. Use it well, and do not give your immortality to the sword or arrow of the enemy.”

Legolas accepted the weapon, and drew it from its sheath to test its feel in his hand. Although he was not a skilled swordsman, he instinctively knew how to wield the knife and Thranduil was impressed with the moves he displayed.

“I will wear this with pride and honor,” he said.

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Almost six weeks later, the first of the scouting parties arrived back, and to Elrond’s relief, the party of Elves from Mirkwood had returned. Indicating for Gandalf to accompany him, Elrond made haste to greet Legolas as he rode through the gate. The young Mirkwood Elf bowed his respects to both Elrond and Gandalf, and accepted the invitation to join Elrond in his study once he had refreshed himself after his long journey.

Several hours later, Legolas knocked on the study door.

“Enter!” called Elrond. “What news do you have to report, Legolas?’ he asked offering the younger Elf a glass of wine and a comfortable chair by the fire. The days had grown colder as winter approached, and even Elves appreciated the warmth of the hearth as the sun set and the air took on the chill of evening.

Legolas took a sip of the wine and savored the feel of the warmth of the liquid as it traveled through him and then began his report.