The Sylvanus

by Oliver McBride

  "No. The more you move, the more you will aggravate that cough. Stay still, let me do it."

  It seemed he had not the strength to object, and so he sat there in a state of utter submission as his under tunic was finally removed, leaving him naked from the waist up.

  The healer gasped, and then tutted as her eyes raked over the muscled torso of her patient. Now whether the gasp had been elicited by the bruises, scrapes and burns that covered him, or the impressive form of their warrior, Faunion could not say and he stifled the strange urge to chuckle, in spite of the situation.

  "Now what are we to do with this mass of locks, hum?" she asked kindly, for she needed it out of the way and so, she gathered the plaited braids on top until they were bunched at his crown, taking a longer piece of straight hair and using it as a band, she secured it with a clasp from her own hair. Leaning back, she smiled wickedly as she contemplated her makeshift updo.

  "Aren't you a handsome one, child!" she chuckled as she worked. Faunion did laugh then, but it didn't last long, for Legolas had not reacted at all to her words.

  "Now boys. I need some time with, eh, Hwindo?" she asked.

  "Aye, Hwindo," said Faunion with a smile. "It's," he began, holding his hand up, "it's a long story…" he smiled, and the healer smiled too, nodding, and then ushering them out, for the young Hwindo was not feeling well, and was obviously too proud to submit himself to the attention he so obviously needed.

  Alone now, she turned back to her patient and smiled. "So you are the one…"

  TSTSTSTSTSTSTTSTSTSTTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTS

  Dull light filtered through the small window at his bedside, and Legolas opened his eyes. They were sore and still stung, and he resisted the urge to rub at them. The heaviness in his chest was still there, and only the slightest of movements had him straining to cough, something he did not want to do, for with it came pain.

  Clearing his sore throat, he looked to the side, in search of water, startling when he realised there was a stranger sitting there, watching him.

  The man was tall, with long chestnut hair that hung straight and silky around his shoulders. Light grey eyes stared back at him steadily.

  He did not know what to think of him, for he spoke not, and yet his open, heavy gaze told him this elf was old, with a wisdom that comes from a humble life in the forests, indeed he reminded Legolas of Erthoron, his own village leader. Yet this was not Lorthil and Legolas sat up to meet the gaze with his own, less weighty yet just as compelling.

  His eyes slipped to the side and the water that stood there, and the elf finally moved, pouring a glass and handing it to Legolas in silence. Taking it, he drank gingerly at first, testing the effects of the cool liquid as it slipped down his burned throat. It felt good and he drank more - too much - and soon enough he was coughing and spluttering, the mysterious elf now beside him, patting his back worriedly.

  Before long, the healer was back with a mug of steaming liquid which Legolas eyed with trepidation. She laughed as a mother would her wayward son and sat on the edge of the bed.

  "Drink it - it is honey and citrus, with some herbs in there to help clear your chest. Drink it all now. And you, Saroden, do not keep him long, he should eat and sleep."

  The strange elf simply nodded, and then sat once more, watching as Legolas slowly sipped his hot drink, both hands wrapped around it, enjoying the warmth it lent his hands.

  "Saroden," Legolas finally managed to rasp, and the elf winced at the painful sound, holding up his hand for silence.

  "Do not, child. I wished simply to speak with you. I am chief forester of this village, the father of a child you saved yesterday," he said softly.

  Legolas started, his eyes darting momentarily from the mug to Saroden.

  "I cannot, will not simply thank you for what you did for it seems - pathetically insufficient. I have spoken to my fellow foresters, those that were at the tree when you arrived. They have told me what happened, of the uselessness of their circumstances…"

  Legolas tried and failed to articulate a word, and Saroden held his hand up once more.

  "Don't. Please just, listen. I do not - we do not understand how you did it. Perhaps one day we will know the truth, for you see I do not doubt the bravery of my colleagues. I know that if there had been any way to save them, they would have. As it is, it was all they could do to make their own way safely back to the village. So you see I cannot thank you, for that will not express my feelings, but know this. One day, I will lend you a service equal to that you have given to my family. I do not know how, when, or what that will entail, only that we will remember."

  Legolas felt his face hot with embarrassment. He could not articulate a single word and perhaps he thought, it was just as well, for he would surely babble and make an ass of himself, and so he settled for a bashful smile and Saroden smiled back, his stern mien now that of a father who smiles upon his prodigal son.

  "You are so young, still a novice, and yet - you have won the heart of the Silvan people, child. You have won our respect and our love for your service was selfless, and nothing can be more worthy in the minds of the Silvan people - but this you already knew, did you not, Silvan?"

  Legolas smiled wider and nodded. He did indeed know, it was the basis of his own philosophy, what he wanted to achieve as a warrior. He did not want to be a simple fighter, executing the orders of his commanding officers. He wanted to believe it.

  Later that day, Legolas was given leave from the healing room, with strict instructions not to exert himself, or try to speak. With a nod and a bow of respect, Legolas had left, in search of the stream where he would wash away the bitter smell of smoke that lingered on him.

  Armed with soft cloths and soap he had been procured him with, he walked slowly to the stream, nodding and smiling at the elves that greeted him on his way. He was glad when the stream came into view, for he would finally be alone, alone with his thoughts.

  Ridding himself of his clothes, he walked gingerly into the river, wincing as the scrapes and burns stung on contact with the crisp water. His shoulders were soon under the water though, and he let out a sigh of utter relief, one which turned into a long groan of bliss when he loosed his hair and it cascaded down and around him, and then ducked his head below the surface and allowed himself to sink to the sandy bed.

  The water was crystal clear and he smiled as he observed the fauna, small, colourful fish darting between the swaying plants that brushed tenderly over his ankles.

  Surfacing once more, he relished a rare moment of sunlight, feeling its warmth upon his wet skin. It was a moment of bliss he strove to prolong as he washed himself, his hair, as he dried himself and then donned his now clean uniform, leaving only the outer protection and his weapons.

  It was over, and now, reality came back to him and he heaved a long breath.

  Why now? Why did everything conspire against him and his dreams?

  I do not want this, he said, the words echoing annoyingly in his head as he sat, clean and beautiful, sad and pensive.

  He had only ever wanted to be a warrior, a captain perchance, but he did not want this attention, it was not why he had dreamed all his life of serving. It had never been about fame or fortune but out meaning something, belonging, as he had only recently come to realise.

  This strange thing that took him both in battle and at rest, something related to the trees. Why? Why must this happen to him now, just when his dreams were starting to take shape?

  He felt miserable and moved to lean back against the tree at his back, but he stopped himself of a sudden. This tree had startled him just two days ago and a thought occurred to him then. With a deep breath, he let his upper body lean back until the strong wood supported him. He sat rigid for a moment, until nothing happened and the still weary warrior relaxed his muscles and closed his eyes, rueful of his own childish apprehension. It was a tree!

  Whatever it was that Narosen had muttered to him that day, he could not let it spoil his plans and a great s
ense of relief flooded him then and he smiled - it hadn't really been that bad, when he truly thought about it. A somewhat uncomfortable headache, altered vision and this new perspective of the trees that twice had assailed him. Nothing had come of it, not seriously…

  The first time had been in battle with the spiders, and according to his superiors he had carried himself well. The second time he seemed to have sensed danger well before it had showed itself, and, with mounting trepidation, Legolas recalled how the third time it had shown him the way to save the children. Indeed, why had it even occurred to him to leave the pump in the first place?

  It is a gift…

  Every time it had happened, something good had come of it, in spite of the fear it had evoked in him, still did. Had the trees communicated with him on some level he failed as yet to be conscious of?

  Do not be afraid…

  He wondered then, if his negativity of just five minutes had suddenly turned into hope. Hope that perhaps he could dominate this thing, use it to help and to serve.

  It sounded absurd even to his own ears. What was he to do? Speak to the tree? he snorted in genuine mirth then until a thought popped into his mind.

  Why not?

  He started, and then struggled to decide whether it had come from him, or from some outside source, the memory of Narosen perhaps.

  Trees do not speak, Legolas, he ground out to himself in exasperation.

  Trees do not speak, they communicate.

  He stood abruptly, spinning around and pinning the tree with a disbelieving glare.

  It was me and my own thoughts, he said to himself, a dialogue with myself, nothing more…

  Chuckling out loud now, he sat back down and leaned back once more, this time more confidently.

  It lasted but seconds though, before his body went ramrod stiff and he froze where he sat

  Child of the trees….

  He scrambled to his feet and only just resisted the urge to run, anywhere, far away from where he was now but he forced himself to think.

  Narosén, Narosen would help him… and with that, raking his now shaking hand through his unbraided hair, he strode into the village, in search of the Spirit Herder, for Legolas was sure, sure that he was, effectively, losing his mind.

  Narosén roared in laughter, deep and strangely addictive, but Legolas could not see the humour at all, and so he sat before the shaking Spirit Herder, an indignant frown upon his brow as he fidgeted uncomfortably.

  "Forgive me, young Legolas. I do understand your worry, do not misjudge me, but nay - you are not loosing your mind, child!"

  "But how can you know that? I cannot even identify my own words when I speak them to myself, cannot even understand if those thoughts are mine or those of some other…. entity…." he said, waving his hand as if he had just commented on the fine weather. "'tis as though I were possessed!"

  "Nay, stop, Legolas," he begged, fighting another wave of hysterics as he leaned forward to touch him lightly upon the knee. "I do not claim to have this gift but I know of another who does, and I know what she says. It would do you good to meet Agarel."

  "Agarel?"

  "Aye, a forester, the best we have. She lives half a day's trek to the East. Perhaps your captain would allow you the time to visit her. She would put your mind at ease, I am sure of it."

  "I have already missed yesterday's patrol, I am loathe to take any more time for myself, but the idea is a tempting one."

  "Captain Tirion seems fond of you," said Narosén as he watched the boy closely.

  "And I of him. He has been good to me. In truth both he and Lieutenant Lainion have been the best tutors I could ever have wished for."

  And it was true, albeit it was the first time Legolas had said as much to anyone.

  "It is not a frequent thing, I believe, to have two commanding officers that take your training and welfare so to heart - they see something in you," said the Spirit Herder, too casually perhaps, indeed Legolas afforded him a sideways glance before speaking.

  "And I do not wish to disappoint them, Narosén. I just want to understand this. If I am to have it for the rest of my life, I need to understand it, control it," he said with a sour scowl.

  "True. But for now, your patrol will not be back until dusk. Join us for lunch, our people are eager to meet you."

  "Narosén. I am not a hero. I do not want this attention, however much I understand their hearts, I do not understand their minds. I saved those children because I could. Any other member of my patrol could have done the same. If there is fame to be had, let it be for the Western Patrol, not for me alone."

  Legolas had said it almost as a plea, and Narosén had sensed no irritation in his tone, only incomprehension. He still did not understand, realised the Spirit Herder, and perhaps that was just as well. There would be time enough, he reminded himself.

  "Nevertheless, join us. Indulge them?" asked the Silvan with a paternal smile, which was soon reflected on Legolas' face.

  "Alright. The Valar forbid I refuse Silvan hospitality, Amareth's wrath would be memorable!" he exclaimed, the face of his aunt coming to his mind's eye.

  "Amareth? You mother?" asked Narosén.

  "Nay, my aunt. I lost my mother when I was just a babe."

  Narosén's shrewd eyes held the striking green irises for long moments before he sat back and lowered his head.

  "That name is familiar to me, but I cannot remember why. Perhaps I know her…" he trailed off.

  "I doubt it. She has not left her village for all the years of my life, or so I believe. She never seemed interested in journeying abroad."

  "And what of your father?" asked Narosén.

  Silence followed his question and he furrowed his brow.

  Legolas smiled ruefully then, and Narosén's intelligent eyes suddenly realised why. "You never knew him then?"

  Legolas shook his head, before elucidating. "All I know is that he must have been a Sinda, but Amareth would never tell me of him. I have always believed he was some, exile, perhaps, that he had done something shameful for no one seems to have known him, or if they did, they would not tell me of him."

  "It must have been hard," prompted Narosén.

  "Yes. But it is no longer of any consequence. I am what I am. My father played no role in my childhood and so who can say he was ever my father?" he reasoned softly.

  "You have a point, yes," conceded the wise Silvan. "But you must be curious. You must ask yourself what he was like, or is like, for he may still be alive. You must ask yourself why he never played a part in your life." Narosén was walking a fine line, he knew, but he would probably never get another opportunity to ask the boy.

  "No," said Legolas after a while. "I am no longer concerned with that. I used to feel shame, anger, but those days are gone. I have accepted it," he said bravely, but Narosén had not missed the defensive look, the hardened jaw and the steely glint in his eye. This was dangerous ground, but what could he say? That the boy was deluding himself?

  "Perhaps," he said simply, but his own expression was clear enough to Legolas, who simply held his gaze and nodded faintly. He had not been believed, but at least he had curbed any further, uncomfortable questioning, and Narosén decided that it was enough, for today. However, there was a nagging voice echoing around his mind.

  Amareth, where had he heard that name before?

  Dusk was upon them when the patrol returned to the village, apparently hail and in good spirits. No sooner had Legolas spied them, and he was trotting towards Tirion who led his elves into the village.

  "What news, Captain?" he asked eagerly, a slight roughness still present in his voice.

  "We have found the group responsible for the fire. Tomorrow, we hunt and neutralise," he said flatly.

  He nodded and then searched out Lainion who brought up the rear, slapping his fellow warriors upon the shoulders in fond welcome as they passed him. Soon he stood before his lieutenant, reading his eyes for a brief moment before smiling widely. "My braids have c
ome undone…" he said drolly, flicking at his long hair in irritation.

  Lainion gave him a rare smile, before smirking. "I had thought the village lasses would have done that for you…" he joked as he reached back for his bow, releasing the taut string.

  "If I had let them," snorted Legolas, holding out his hand to take Lainion's pack from him.

  Handing it over, Lainion rolled his stiff shoulder as they all walked towards the Village Hall.

  "Set up camp," ordered Tirion before turning to Lainion and Legolas who stood at his side.

  "Briefing will be in one hour. Food and then rest. We set out early tomorrow morning, you too, Legolas."

  Lainion nodded and then turned to Legolas, who was sporting a look of utter relief. He had been worried he would be left behind once more.

  Lainion signalled with his head towards their nascent camp fire, his silent order to join the patrol and help with their chores was instantly understood, and Legolas trotted off towards Faunion and Angion, hitching a bucket and making his way to the stream.

  Tirion caught his lieutenant's gaze from afar and the captain nodded. It was time, time to finish up here and move out. It was time to write to Handir and Aradan, for they would be back in a month - that was all they had to do, and the wheels of fate would be set into motion.

  They had said fond goodbyes, with many promises of passing this way again. Saroden too, had stood before Legolas and bowed from the waist, his wife and child mimicking the solemn gesture.

  "Remember, Hwindohtar. Remember my promise, for the Silvan's do not pledge service lightly…"

  Legolas was overwhelmed with the Silvan Forester's softly spoken words. He had no idea how to respond and so he did not and simply bowed back. "I am glad to have been of service to my Silvan kin," he said somewhat meekly, before turning to leave with the Western patrol, amid the respectful silence of the villagers, and the knowing gazes of Lorthil and Narosen, who each lifted one hand in silent farewell.