Title: The Contest
Author: Minnie
Rating: G
Genre: General
Disclaimer: Not mine I’m afraid
Summary: A youthful Legolas learns an important lesson
Beta: Holly
A/N: A story based on a request bunny left on the Community Burrow site by Robyn. The actual request is printed at the end of the story, so you can see decide if I managed to fulfil the request successfully or not!
Dedicated to Robyn
The Contest
The echo of the door slamming reverberated around the study while the sound of running booted feet on paved floors and further slamming of doors disturbed the tranquility of Thranduil’s stronghold, causing elves to shake their heads and wonder what had upset the young prince this time.
Had anyone had the temerity to inquire of King Thranduil they might have found their answers, but given the ominous silence that emanated from the study no one chose to place themselves at risk of the kings’s considerable wrath by asking!
Thranduil let his head rest against the beautifully carved back of his chair and since he was now alone allowed himself the luxury of a sigh.
Well that had really gone well he told himself….
He thought back to the start of the conversation and wondered where it had gone so badly wrong.
“But that is so unfair”
The cry was so full of self-righteous indignation that had the situation not been so serious Thranduil would have laughed out loud.
His only son was at an age when everything was seen as a deliberate attempt to make his life more unbearable; knowing this he had tried to explain his decision more fully only to be met with the accusation
“You told me you would consider it.”
Holding onto his temper with difficulty he replied “And I did just that, and decided that you would not enter the competition this year.”
“I could have won it!”
“Yes, perhaps, but I have told you that for this year your name will not appear on the entrance list. There are many yeni for you to win this contest; one more year will not hurt your reputation any and I have very good reasons for making this decision.”
His son had not been in the least bit interested in hearing these reasons however. Legolas, whose temper was usually so equitable, had crossed the line of reasonableness and wanted to vent his spleen on someone or something and his father was the nearest target.
“Really?”
The tenor of the reply was less than respectful as was the curled lip that went with it.
Thranduil’s eyes flashed, “Mind your tone ion nin. While I can appreciate you are disappointed I will not tolerate any insolence from you.”
“I would not be disappointed if you had not prevented me from taking part in the festival,” Legolas mumbled sourly.
The king bit off a sigh at this massive overstatement of fact. “I have done nothing of the kind. You are free to attend the festival; you will not however enter any of the competitions.”
A sotto voce “It is just not fair,” caused him to add, “If however you continue in this vein I shall rescind my permission for that as well.”
Legolas scowled at this threat “I do not see why I have to have your permission to go. None of the other trainees do so.”
“You are not like the other trainees; you are under age and the son of the king. You cannot just ‘do’ what pleases you.”
Rolling his eyes at this piece of wisdom Legolas retorted heatedly, “I never seem to do anything that pleases me, only what pleases others!”
Exasperated as he was Thranduil tried to be reasonable, “Being my son brings with it additional obligations and duties Leafling, some of which call for you to make sacrifices that you regret; however it also gives you a much more comfortable existence than many of our folk. You should remember that when you complain of ‘your hard life’. Your obduracy is beginning to wear on me, child.”
There was a definite note of warning in the king’s words but the feeling of being hard done by persisted and led Legolas to counter with the cry of ill-used youth everywhere “I did not ask to be born the son of a king.”
“You are truly trying my patience this day.” Thranduil growled in response to this ludicrous charge, “Do you seek to question the will of the Valar by such foolish outbursts? We are who we are meant to be.”
“That is easy for you to say, Ada. You are not the one beset by all these foolish restrictions because of who you are. It is so unfair; all I want to do is enter the archery contest. What is so wrong with that? Why can I not?”
Patience finally at an end Thranduil rose to his feet. “You will do as you are bid. I have said you will not enter the contest. Continue to argue with me in this ridiculous fashion and you will find yourself confined to your chambers for the next two days.”
“Why not just lock me away until I reach my majority instead Ada? I may as well be confined as not. I never get to do what I want.”
“That is ENOUGH … I will hear no more of your complaints. You will go to your chamber and remain there until I give you permission to leave it. Go, before I change my mind and take my hand to your very deserving backside here and now.”
Legolas surged to his feet, knocking over his chair as he did so. He stomped to the door and yanked it open and ignoring the command to ‘pick that up’, he slammed the door behind him and raced away up the staircase.
With one final resounding crash Legolas slammed the door of his day chamber shut and leant back onto the wood, wondering how things could have gone so wrong.
He had only wanted permission to enter an archery competition. What was so iniquitous about that? You would think his Ada would be proud to see his son winning one of the competitions; but no, he had forbidden him to take part and when he had argued his case he had been sent to his chamber like the veriest elfling and was now confined here for the foreseeable future.
He stepped over to his balcony and opened the windows he could hear the sound of merriment as the elves began to congregate and set up stalls and the butts that would be needed for the archery. Music was playing and laughter and singing filled the glade just beyond the stronghold where the festival would be held over the next two days and nights.
This was so unfair!
The smell of venison roasting on an open spit on the green wafted under his nose, as well as baked apples and other fruits, wild boar and game birds in plenty some of which he had brought down himself. There would be wine and cider on offer and he would now be denied any of those delights; indeed he was quite likely to miss dinner completely this night. He doubted his father would have forgiven his outburst by the time the bell sounded to call the elves of the household to the dining hall; maybe not even by tomorrow.
He slumped down into his chair next to his desk and allowed himself to feel very sorry for himself as the sky darkened and as the sound of merriment grew louder so did his feelings of ill usage. His feet once again took him to the window and this time he looked upwards towards the beech tree that stood just outside, its leaves fluttered softly as if wanting to offer him comfort.
He reached out and patted the thick branch that almost touched his balcony window. Many a night he had sat within the beeches branches and watched the stars or climbed down its trunk to run off into the woods to play and tonight …
A smile came to his lips.
Thranduil rubbed the bridge of his nose and he had to suppress another sigh. Outside his folk were enjoying themselves; he had planned to go out as well to spend time with those who had come to celebrate the autumn festival, but had yet to do so.
Dinner that night had been a quiet affair. He had sent most of his staff off to enjoy the evening, and chosen to eat in his private study rather than sit alone in the dining hall. The food was as delicious as ever, but he had little appetite. It did not seem right to enjoy his meal when his son was going hungry, even if it was his own fault! His eyes rose to the ceiling of his study knowing that above him his son was sitting in his room, alone and probably feeling very sorry for himself.
He had not wished to ban his son from the competition, but if he had not, there was no doubt in his mind that Legolas would have won and Elionnion son of Elian would have missed his last opportunity to win the much coveted silver arrow and to take his prize with him when he went with his naneth and his badly injured adar to Valinor.
Thranduil recognized that his realm owed a great debt to Elian who had sacrificed much in its defense. Elian had been a warrior since the Sindar had crossed the mountains and set up their home in the Great Greenwood, giving his all to protect those in his care.
In the last few yeni however the old warrior had suffered increasingly from the sickness that the growing evil in the south of the Wood brought to the elves. Now a sword cut had all but severed his arm and the healers were afraid Elian would fade if he did not take ship. His wife and son had chosen to accompany him and Thranduil had given them his blessing.
He was determined also that Elian and his family would have only good memories of their last days on Arda and if that meant him refusing to let Legolas take part in the competition to make sure Elionnion won then so be it.
His son had a good heart and once he had got over his fit of the sullens and heard the reasons for his father’s choices, Thranduil was sure Legolas would agree with what he had done and even applaud his choice. Mayhap then they could both go out and enjoy what was left of the evening’s festivities.
With this in mind he got to his feet and made for the door, careful to open and close it quietly in sharp contrast to the noisy exit his son had made earlier. Laughing to himself Thranduil trod up the stairway and made his way to Legolas’s quarters.
As soon as he stepped into the day chamber he felt that he was alone and the frown that had fled to be replaced by a smile such a little time before, returned. Stalking over to the bedchamber he opened the door and from the light of the fire he saw a shape in the bed and breathed a sigh of relief. Legolas had obviously decided to retire early rather than sit alone.
Memories of the years of Legolas’s elflinghood when he had come to tuck his son into bed each night and to spend time telling him stories in the small hours of the morning when the prince had woken from bad dreams assailed him and made his smile more tender than ever.
Stepping silently into the bed chamber he leaned forward to place the covers more securely over his slumbering child and realized with a shock that he had been smiling fondly at a set of bolsters laid on the bed to represent his missing son!
Swinging round he moved back into the day chamber and surveyed the empty room. His eyes were drawn to the windows facing onto the balcony which appeared to be closed; but as he inspected it more closely he found that the window had been latched with a piece of hithlum rope so that it could be opened from the outside.
Pushing it open Thranduil gazed out into the night sky and allowed his mind to contact the stately beech.
The tree was happy to inform him that his son had indeed used it to descend to the ground safely and to agree to warn him when Legolas returned. Closing the window Thranduil retreated back into the room. He supposed he should not be surprised that his son had disregarded his instruction to remain in his chamber. Legolas had been angry and frustrated and unwilling to listen and when he was in such a mood he often acted without thought for the consequences he might face later; and there would be consequences the king nodded to himself; oh yes, there would definitely be consequences.
While it would likely be some time yet Thranduil decided to remain where he was for he wished to catch his son at the moment of his return. In the meantime he looked about him for something to occupy his mind. On Legolas’s desk there was a collection of books, most of which dealt with archery. You could not fault his son’s dedication to his craft, the king snorted. Then there was an essay on ancient laws of the Eldar written in Quenya, which had been marked by Sellie. From the copious amounts of crossings out and changes to tenses and nomenclature it seemed his son had no more love for the language of the Noldor than he did.
Moving over to the bookcase he found a book of poetry to wile away the time and his eye was caught by the Mithril backed hairbrush that Legolas had inherited from his naneth. It was rare for him to discipline his child with anything more than his hand but maybe tonight…
Then he shook his head. No, he was more than capable of teaching his disobedient son a lesson he would not swiftly forget; he would not need to sully his son’s memory of his mother by using the hairbrush. Picking up the book of poetry he settled into a chair and prepared to await the return of his errant son.
Legolas found that his enjoyment of the festival had diminished even before he had sneaked past the guards at the main gates to join the revelers. It was not that he felt guilty about disobeying his father, not at all …It was just that, well, there was no fun to be had, hiding from any of the household staff who would know that he was not supposed to be outside.
What was more he had had to watch someone else win the archery competition he should have won and then realized what his Adar had been trying to explain to him all along; of course the prize should have gone to Elionnion. He deserved it, both him and his family. They would never have the joy of another autumn festival beneath the trees; never again would they raise their voices in praise of the beauty around them. Legolas felt humbled by what they had sacrificed for his land and what they had lost and would lose when they took ship.