Wrath and ruin

Legolas lay on the bed by the window, half watching the stars, half allowing his mind to wander. Somewhere out to the north, his father and their army were battling dragons. Legolas had always dreamt of fighting dragons, as a boy, running through the passageways and corridors of the Halls of his father, fighting imaginary dragons and other such monsters with a practice sword and child-sized bow and quiver. This had been his chance to fight them as a man. He had truly believed that this was his turn; that he would be going off to war. His first real war. Of course, Legolas had been involved with the patrols of the Greenwood for many years, and had been mixed up in the occasional skirmish with stray orcs, but never a real, proper war. He had been involved in all the council meetings with his father and the other elves of senior standing, he had liaised with the armourers and smithies and other craftsmen in order to get armour and provisions for the troops. The night before they were to depart for the north, Legolas had been with his father in the throne room.

"That will be all," the King had said, dismissing his council. "Legolas, you stay."

Legolas had waited while the other elves had departed, full of anticipation. As soon as they were alone, Legolas could not help but speak. He had not had a moment alone with his father since the battle preparations had begun a week ago. "I will have my ceremonial armour polished and set out, Ada. I suppose it is what I must wear. What I wear for patrol is hardly fitting for a war. There has been no time for me to have other plate made."

"No," his father had replied coolly. "Your plate is for ceremonial use only. It is not for battle."

Legolas remembered his heart having jumped a beat and could feel it pounding with excitement and anticipation in his chest. Had his father had armour made for him without his knowing? "Then what shall I wear, Ada?"

"Whatever you please," the King replied, his hands clasped behind his back, "So long as it looks befitting of your position." Legolas had been confused. It must have shown on his face. "You are not coming north, Legolas."

He had been so shocked. He had been so sure he was to be included. It wasn't fair! "But there are those younger than me riding out with you! I am a better rider and swordsman and bowman and,"

"Vain and arrogant and young, though you cannot be to blame for that. Yes, there are those riding out who are younger than you. Yes, there are those over whom you are the better fighter. But you would be a liability," the King said sternly, "Perhaps it is my fault, that through these years you have had too many rights and no responsibilities. Now you must learn. Do not think I have made this decision lightly. No, you will stay in the Greenwood and rule our people in my absence."

Legolas had stood staring at his father. He had wanted to shout and yell and make a fuss, but that would only prove his father's point. "If it is your wish," he said sharply, gave a slight nod of his head and stalked away from his father without being dismissed. He had felt so bitter and resentful towards the King. This had been his chance to prove himself on the field, and instead he was to be kept locked safely away. Legolas avoided his father for the rest of the night and in the early hours of the morning, and the King had not called upon his son. The host had departed shortly after sunrise, and once they were gone from sight, Legolas had gone down to the practice field. Most of the Halls were empty, with so many having departed for war with the dragons. Sulking would do no good, so Legolas let out his anger and frustration at his father and at being left behind for an hour on the practice dummies. He then went back to his chambers, and changed into a clean, richly brocaded blue tunic and silver hose, and reluctantly taken up his duties as Regent.

Legolas pulled himself back to the present. There was a whispering in the trees, but Legolas could not quite make out what the whispers were saying. There was another noise too, a horse snorting and panting. He got up and went to the door, and poked his head down the corridor. There was no one nearby, but the voices carried through the Halls. He could not hear every word, but one carried more than the others. Hurry.

Legolas moved swiftly down the hallway, barefoot in just a light cotton tunic and trousers. He had a feeling in his chest that something was wrong. Legolas came to a bridge that overlooked the great cavernous Halls of the Greenwood King. There were a dozen figures hurrying across the hall below him. Legolas hid in the shadows of the pillars, though he knew that those below would not look up at him. He felt like a small child again, hiding behind those pillars, watching as the elves had departed for wars, or, just as likely, parties.

"I need fresh towels and hot water," the elf who appeared to be in charge ordered. Who was having a baby? Legolas wondered for a moment, before he recognised the voice and saw that behind the elf giving orders another was carrying a body. "And silk bandages!" Lord Elrond ordered. Legolas did not need to look twice. The cloaked figure in the arms of the elf behind Lord Elrond was no pregnant woman. Legolas felt as though he had been stabbed in the stomach. He slid down the wall behind him, pulling his knees up to his chest, unable to breath. He recognised the boots of the unconscious, cloaked figure.

"My Lord Elrond!" called someone below.

"Hurry!" cried Lord Elrond, as he marched across the bridges below.

Ada.