6.
 

            The afternoon sun had warmed the blue tent that housed the King and his household; it smouldered and shimmered on its pinnings under the brilliant white-blue sky.  The horses and mules that bore the King’s company were safely ensconced in their paddock, and their hooves, pawing at the straw, stirred up wisps of dust into the heavy air.  Within the stifling tent, heavy oak furniture had been placed inside its many rooms; rich carpets adorned the floor, and in deference to the heat of the day the servants had opened the window-flaps to let in what little breeze played about the fields.  Aragorn dismissed the servants and curtly addressed Belecthor and Eradan, saying he wished to converse with the Green Knight alone.  But he kept his wife, the Queen, with him, to temper his words and ease his anger, and when Éowyn and Faramir also entered he did not bid them leave.  So while his friends sat and waited for the Green Knight, Aragorn paced and muttered to himself, and his small audience observed his worried stalkings and mused upon their own separate thoughts.

            After some time, as the sun started to impale itself upon the tip of Mindolluin and the shadows grew long, Bergil lifted the inner door-flap of the King’s tent and said, his voice trembling with nervousness:  “My lord, Lasgalen of Dale,” and beat a hasty retreat.

            When the Green Knight entered the dimness of the tent it was no wonder Bergil in his youth had feared such a companion:  Tall was he, slim and silent, and walked with the studied grace of a hunting cat upon his soft brown boots.  The long sword in its figured green scabbard could hardly be seen beneath the great green cloak and hood that overwhelmed the figure, falling in thick folds down from his shoulders despite the stifling heat of the day; the hood was deeply cowled, and the face within shadowed and featureless.  Faramir and Éowyn both knew from Éodild that the Green Knight, when he was seen at all, was observed thus:  a mysterious and gloomy figure, noiseless in movement and footfall, speaking in either whispers or hisses; faceless and voiceless, yet a terror on the list.  All servants and most squires feared to face that blank regard, and even a few hardy knights and warriors felt the hairs on the backs of their necks stand upright as he glided past. 

            But Aragorn heeded that not, and when the Green Knight entered his tent and bowed, the King did not even incline his head in courtesy, but instead said, in a voice that could not be gainsaid:  “Legolas!  Remove this disguise, and unveil your face before us.”  Indeed, such was the sharpness in his voice that Éowyn looked at him in wonder, not knowing the reason for his ire.

            But the Green Knight threw back his cowled hood, revealing a head swathed entirely save the eyes in dark gauze; the eyes fixed themselves upon Aragorn, and swiftly he removed the mask, until the Elf stood before his friend, regarding him with care.  “You are angry, Aragorn,” he said at last in his clear voice.  “I feared it would be so.”  Then, to Arwen he bowed deeply and spoke to her in his own Sindarin tongue, which she answered, face grave but eyes twinkling; to Faramir and Éowyn he said:  “Hail, my lord and lady of Emyn Arnen!  May the stars shine upon the place of our meeting!”  Faramir and Éowyn inclined their heads to him, casting sidelong glances at their King, whose wrath was palpably building.  It seemed obvious to Faramir at least, who had been closeted with the King on numerous occasions when prevaricating speech had required a sharp and angry interruption, that Elessar was preparing himself for such an outburst; thus it was with thinly veiled amusement the lord of Emyn Arnen observed his lord’s ire suspended by the Wood-Elf’s quiet words:  “Speak, my friend; unburden your thoughts to me.  I would not have you silent.”

            “And you shall not have me thus!” said Aragorn sharply.  “What mean you by this, son of Thranduil?  What game, what jest, what ill-fashioned thought prompted in you such a foolish and wayward action on your part?  To what end did you think to come, challenging thus the swords and lances of the might of Men?  And to come in dissembling guise, under a false name!  Hooding your face and masquerading as a mortal Man, competing against legitimate knights for a prize of honor and gold!  I cannot believe it of you, Legolas Greenleaf; such avarice is beneath one of the Firstborn!”

            Legolas opened his mouth to speak, but suddenly a dark curly head peered in from the door-flap and a little voice squeaked:  “Oh, but you can’t blame him for that, your Majesty!  It was mostly my idea anyway.”

            “My esquire and reeve, Bandobras son of Reginard,” said Legolas, presenting the Hobbit with a small bow.  Turning to the Halfling he said gently,  “Bandobras, when you meet a king, remember it is customary to wait until you are first spoken to.”

            “Your father didn’t mind,” said the perian pertly, hooking his thumbs behind his braces. 

            “No, he did not; but my father is long on patience when it comes to Halflings, and he is easily amused,” smiled Legolas.  “Remember though Girion, the King of Dale!  I extracted you then from disgrace with difficulty.”

            “I’ll try to remember that, then,” said the Hobbit, looking round at the lords and ladies before him.  A worried frown wrinkled his forehead.  “Have I disgraced you again, Master?”

            “Not yet, little one,” said Legolas warningly.  “But I caution you to hold your tongue until you are bidden to speak.”

            Bandobras sighed, put his hands behind his back, and stood next to Legolas shaking his head.  Aragorn tried to frown at the Hobbit, but felt the corners of his mouth twitching irreverently.  “How is it that you have come accompanied, Legolas of Eryn Lasgalen?” he asked, trying to sound angry again.  “I bid you come alone.”

            “I followed him,” piped up Bandobras, and when Legolas turned to censure him, added quickly, “I’m sorry Master; it does come difficult: not speaking, you know.  I’m not used to it, and that’s the truth.”  A stifled noise came from the seats before him, and Aragorn realized to his consternation that Éowyn had tried unsuccessfully to suppress a laugh.  Wishing to regain the solemnity of the interview, Aragorn turned to the Hobbit.

            “Bandobras son of Reginard,” he said firmly, “you will return to your Master’s tent in silence, and there you shall stay, until your wits have fully grasped the concept of discretion.” 

            The Halfling opened his mouth to protest, but Legolas looked sharply at him, and he quailed and retreated, brushing quickly past the doorway and out into the yellow sunlight.  His footsteps pattered quickly away down the dusty path, and a heavy silence regained the close air of the blue tent.

            “Well, Legolas,” said Aragorn at last, “what defense have you?  What can you tell me to answer my queries?  What end did you seek, coming in stealth to a Tournament as you have?”

            “As for my coming,” said Legolas, “I came as one of the free peoples of Middle Earth to try myself in arms against the might of Gondor.”

            “Then why did you not enter the archery tournament?  That would have been more your strength,” said Aragorn.

            “I knew I could best the archers of Gondor,” said Legolas simply and without conceit.  “That would hardly have been a fair contest.”
            “Then why enter in secret?  Why not declare yourself as the son of Thranduil openly and compete as an Elf against Men?”

            “Would I have been accepted thus?” asked Legolas seriously.  “Think, Aragorn!  Would Belecthor the Ceremonies Master have graciously assented to welcome me, an Elf of the Northern Realm, within the borders of Gondor?  I have no letters patents, no certificates of land ownership, indeed, beyond my friendship with King Elessar and my deeds in the Great War, no place in the realms of Men at all; I am merely one more of the strange folk your people tell tales of, who walk in shadows for long ages beneath the haunted trees.  Men fear me and my people, and despite the union of Man and Elf within the halls of the Kings – “  here he bowed to Arwen  “ – legends and faerie-tales of the woodland races beget more distrust than acceptance.   Had I approached the lists as Legolas of Eryn Lasgalen, I should have waited in vain for any challenging knights to meet my lance; all would have shunned me, either fearing me or disdaining me.”

            “That is not true,” said Aragorn uncomfortably, though he knew Legolas was right.

            “Is it not?  Perhaps you understand less of your own kind than we do.”

            “And what do Elves understand about Men?” challenged Aragorn.

            “Not Elves, but all folk who are not Men,” answered Legolas.  “Dwarf, Hobbit and Elf all counseled me to hide my face behind helmet and hood whilst I sojourned as a knight in Gondor.  It is not wise for one who is not a Man to walk open to challenge within the borders of the countries of Men.  Were I a Dwarf, difficult though it would have been I should also have disguised myself.  We fade and disappear, we who are not of the race of Men; Men grow in strength and number, mistrusting and dreading those who are different, whether they be Elf, Dwarf, Hobbit or Ent.  Some wise men, giving themselves time to know us and our peoples, accept and admire us, but for the most part the alliances between our peoples are but legend, and the tales of the battles fought in Lórien, and Mirkwood, and Erebor and the Shire during the War of the Ring are not told here.   Thin are the Dúnedain upon the ground, and seldom told are the stories of the might and glory of our people.  I would not so expose myself before the unschooled peoples of your lands, opening the entire of my race to their ridicule and my shame.  Thus should I win one of the prizes, I might uncloak myself, though I know not yet if I shall; should I prove unworthy of the might of Gondor, Lasgalen of Dale shall simply dissolve into the crowds of Minas Tirith, and Legolas, messenger of King Thranduil to Elessar of Gondor, will emerge.”

            Aragorn looked at Faramir.  “Then when you asked about the messenger –“

            “I bethought it perhaps was Legolas of Mirkwood,” confessed Faramir to his lord.  “I knew him to be the only Wood-Elf familiar with our lands –“

            “And when I saw he rode with neither bit nor bridle, I knew him,” said Éowyn proudly.  “Also I recognized his carriage.  Long will I live outside the lands of my fathers before I wholly forget to mark a man, or yet an Elf by the way he rides upon a horse.  And Legolas your friend and companion I noticed particularly, my lord Aragorn, for Arod bore him with no tack, yet obeyed his every whim.  Not even the Rohirrim guide their steeds thus.”  She turned eagerly to Legolas.  “Tell me, friend Elf, from which lands did you procure your destrier?  He is wide of girth, deep-chested and clean-limbed, yet his cow-hocks must impede his gait somewhat.  And I do not think I have yet seen such hindquarters!  What power must be in his charge!  And he bears shaffron, peytral and crinet with no difficulty.”

            “Hatchet is an unusual horse,” began Legolas, warming a bit to the subject, but Aragorn interrupted them.

            “To return to the matter in dispute,” he said sharply, “now that I have unmasked you, what do you plan to do?”

            Legolas observed him solemnly for a moment, grey eyes unreadable.  Then he said,  “My lord, I bow to your whim.  If my presence in your Grand Tournament offends you, if my reasons for attending are unreasonable to you and to your council  – “ he bowed to Faramir, Éowyn and Arwen “ – I shall of course withdraw, and the pennant of Lasgalen of Dale will no longer grace the walls of your lists.  But if you decide to allow my lance and sword in game as you did in war, then I shall win what I can, to bring glory not to Eryn Lasgalen but to the memory of our friendship, and of our deeds of valor against the Corsairs of Umbar and before the Gates of the Morannon.  I shall wait inside my tent for your judgment, and accept what doom you set before me.”  Before Aragorn could reply he turned to Éowyn.  “My lady of Emyn Arnen,” he said, unfastening the scarf around his arm.  “I return to you your token, White Lady of Rohan, beloved wife of Faramir, Steward of Gondor!  It seems fated I shall not after all be your champion, nor win renown and honor for you at the tilt.”  He gave the blue scarf back to Éowyn with a deep bow, and without saying another word swept the hood of his cloak up around his face, and thus obscured quitted the tent.6.