Chapter 3 – Surprises

Legolas stood there, trying not to fidget, holding his head high.  For a young boy who had gone unnoticed all of his life, being the center of attention was enough to unnerve him.

He silently scanned the crowds around him in hopes of seeing his Adar approach.  Watching the faces of the crowd, he was confused by the mixture of emotions that were directed at him; amusement, sadness, hope, fear, joy and even pain.  He silently watched as a group of young warriors started a betting pool and he wondered if they were betting on how long he would stand here, who would come to get him, or both.

Having been taught by his Ammë that being scrutinized by a crowd is part of being royal, uncomfortable as it was, he tried to ignore the crowd and searched for familiar faces.  As he scanned the people around him his heart began beat faster, trying not to seem scared he sought for his family, and found them missing.

His sister Tiniwiel had already lost her resolve to watch her favorite brother being put through such a test and had fled to her room, weeping at her Ada’s hatred of Legolas.

Rowyn and Anaran watched from the window of one of the warrior barracks.  Having never had the opportunity to know their little brother, they felt rather indifferent towards him.  They did take pride in the fact that he bore himself well and, when a nearby warrior made a snide comment, Anaran gave him a bloody nose for his remark.  Legolas was still their brother and royalty at that.

Thranduil watched with pain as his youngest son waited all alone, knowing that he had once again rejected him.  As he watched, he once again pictured Teril at that age, remembering fondly training his heir.  He fought against the memories of Teril’s stupidity and thought once again, *if Legolas didn’t look so much like Teril, maybe it would be different.* He turned away from the window, not waiting to see Isál’s approach.

Elriowiel stood alone, with tears in her eyes, at what she had asked her son to do.  *Thranduil will have no choice but to do this,* she thought.  As Elriowiel watched Isál approach she knew that she had lost the battle, but she refused to lose the war.  She would do whatever was within her power to bring Thranduil and Legolas together.

**********

As Legolas watched in the direction his Adar should come from, he saw Lord Isál approach.  The Elf Lord was six feet six inches tall from what Legolas had heard, and had beautiful long blonde hair braided to show his position as the king’s chief advisor.  It was rumored among the warriors that Isál’s lineage could rival that of Thranduil but that Isál chooses to remain an enigma.

The entire population of Greenwood, gathered at the gate, no longer feigned nonchalance as the mighty warrior Isál approached the unwanted prince, knelt before him and spoke.

“Prince Legolas,” he started.  “The honor has been placed upon my shoulders to see that you are properly trained to be a warrior of the realm.  The choice is yours alone to accept or reject this offer, what say you my liege?”

An audible gasp was heard through the crowd at the offer presented to the youngest royal.  Not since he trained his own son could anyone remember the Elf Lord taking on a solitary pupil.  The air was thick with anticipation as the crowd pressed closer awaiting the decision of the young prince.

Legolas looked into the eyes of the elf before him, piercing ice blue orbs urging his acceptance.  Eyes showing Legolas that, should he be accepted as trainer and father figure, he would never betray his student.

“My Lord,” Legolas started, his voice cracking with the emotions thundering through his body, “it would be my honor to learn from such a skilled master.”

A collective breath was released as the crowd cheered the decision of the young prince.  Unbeknownst to any of them, they had also feared Legolas being a replica of Teril, a view that was being changed with the words and actions of a very wise teacher.

With a smile, Isál rose to his feet, “I have a gift for you Legolas.”  The stunned elfling watched as his new mentor pulled a package from the quiver strapped to his back.  “I promise you, we will soon have you fitted for a bow and I’ll teach you myself how to fletch your own arrows, but until then,” he paused as he unwrapped the package in his hands and held out to Legolas two daggers of remarkable make, “we will start your training with these.”

The crowd once again gasped and lowered their jaws to the catch-a-fly position as they wondered where such weapons came from.

Legolas looked up at Isál, asking for permission to touch the beautiful white handled daggers.  With a nod from his teacher, he took one and admired the intricate detail on the sheath.  When he pulled the dagger out, he looked closely at the exquisite markings on the blade.

Seeing Legolas glance up with questions in his eyes, Isál explained.  “These daggers were given to me as a gift of service and loyalty by your grandfather, Legolas.  It had been my honor and duty to serve beside him for many years, as it was on the day his immortal flame was extinguished.  I want you to have them now, to wield in the tradition of your fathers before you, to signify the great warrior you will one day be.”

As Legolas returned the knife to its sheath, he took the gift and clutched it to his chest.  “Thank you sir,” was all he could choke through his unshed tears.

As the crowd continued to inch closer, almost begging for a closer look at the daggers in the young prince’s hands, Isál spoke again.

“I believe, for us to get to know each other better Legolas, I will take you on a short journey.  I think however, that you should have a companion to travel with you, someone to be your friend and confidant.  You should choose someone of your own age, someone you feel you could learn from.”

As Isál stopped speaking the crowd surged with the boys that were Legolas’ age, boys who wanted to be picked despite the fact that for two years they had taunted and gossiped about their ‘friend’.  Parents, seeking the glory that could come to their family by being so close to the royal family, also flooded to the front of the crowd.

Legolas thought about all the boys he had played with in the gardens, the ones he had stood side by side with in their mock battles, the ones who had betrayed him with their unkind remarks as he was left behind.  As he thought about all of those, he knew there was only one he could choose.

As Legolas searched the crowd for Anarandil he knew just how they would react.  Having just moved here with his mother from Lothlorien, his father having died, Anarandil had been unwanted and unaccepted by those in his peer group.  He was clumsy and gawky and from the judgments of others was incapable of ever becoming a warrior.  In Legolas’ mind they were both outcasts and forming a bond together could only make them both stronger.

Finally finding the one he would choose, Legolas looked up to his teacher to let him know that he had decided.  The Elf Lord nodded his head and awaited the choice of the second student he would be taking on, with the parent’s approval of course.

Having made a choice, with maturity beyond his years, Legolas looked back to where Anarandil stood, knowing what was going through the other boy’s head.  Anarandil was kicking the dirt with his feet, knowing he had no chance of being picked, wishing he could be anywhere but where he is.

“I choose Anarandil,” Legolas states firmly, watching the other boy.

Deathly silence filled the courtyard as all heads turned to look at the chosen boy.