Post by Admin on Jan 9, 2021 3:09:24 GMT
Author: Erulisse (one L)
Ranking: 3rd place
Summary: Shortly before taking his place with the warriors who patrol the borders of the Greenwood, Legolas is presented with a gift from beyond the grave.
Characters/Pairing: Legolas, Thranduil
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Disclaimer: Tolkien built the sand box; I only play with the bucket and shovel that he left for me. No money, profit or non, is made from the publication of this story.
‘Thwap, thwap,' the sound of arrows striking a distant target in a regular rhythm filled the open glade. The youthful blond archer paused to reload his quiver from the pile of arrows at his feet and then resumed his assault on the distant leaf he had chosen as his target, semi-hidden just inside the edge of the sun-dappled grove. The changing light and shifting shadows served to make his tiny target even more challenging. Legolas smiled. The practice session was going well and when he had finished with the few arrows still remaining in his quiver he was looking forward to retrieving his spent arrows, seeing how well he had hit the various targets he had chosen, and determining how best he could fine-tune his aim and performance.
‘If I don’t get some practice without the necessity of hitting orcs or other enemies, I’ll fall short at the Fall Harvest Competition,’ he mused as he continued to practice. ‘Thwap, thwap’ continued to sound with a regular rhythm. He had committed to participating in the upcoming Harvest Festival archery competition, but was assigned to patrol the Southern borders for the next four months. Practice for the sake of practice would be hard to come by while on duty. ‘I think I’ll make at least another few handfuls of arrows before setting out on patrol. I wonder if Forghaland has any extra feathers he could spare me for fletching? I’m running low on them.’ A stray breeze tried to catch at his arrow, but it still flew straight and seemed to strike his target. ‘I’ve been at this for hours, I should probably gather my spent shafts and begin heading back to the Fortress.’
Hearing the sound of running footsteps coming up from behind him, he turned and saw one of his father's pages approaching him. "My Lord, the King requests your presence when you have completed your archery practice."
"Is there any urgency to his request?" the youth queried, unstringing his bow and preparing to retrieve his arrows.
"No Lord, the King merely asked for your presence in his private chambers as soon as practical."
Legolas nodded. “Return and tell him I’ll be at least another hour.” The the page bowed and then retreated back the way he had come while the young prince gathered up his quiver and the carrying cloth for his extra arrows. He began walking towards the far edge of the glade, his bow held lightly in one hand, the empty containers for arrows in the other.
It took him more than a third of an hour just to find all of his arrows, but he was well pleased with his results. His accuracy was good, very few of the arrows had gone astray. Pulling the last two shafts from the leaf which they had carried down to the ground, he straightened. ‘I wonder what Father wants with me? I leave in five days. Maybe he has received some new information about events in the South or the West.’ Examining the arrows for any sign of wear, he returned them to his quiver, closed the cloth around the extra shafts he had carried with him, and began walking back towards the Fortress.
As he crossed the bridge approaching the massive stone entry doors, he looked around him with pleasure. The light of mid-afternoon was shining strongly on the sward of open land that surrounded the hill. Children were playing in the sunlight under the watchful eyes of their teachers. In one fenced-off corner warriors were practicing their swordplay with a small audience of young girls watching the bravado of the men and giggling behind hands held over their mouths. As he passed them walking up the steps leading to the interior of the hill he could feel their eyes on him and heard their lilting tones and words of greeting. He entered the narrow passageway that was always under guard, walking into his home, the Fortress of the Greenwood’s King and his people.
“Prince Legolas...,” the guard on his right said while the guard on the left nodded respectfully.
“Please deliver a message to my father,” he responded. “Tell him I will meet him in his private quarters as soon as I have bathed and changed into clean clothing.”
“It will be done, sire.” The guard motioned with his hand and a young boy approached him even as Legolas crossed the central courtyard heading towards his rooms. He would take a moment to choose a change of clothing and then head down to the baths.
A short time later he entered the bathing chambers. This large cavern, located underneath the main keep, consisted of several rooms, each holding one or more pools of varying temperatures. He headed for the hot pools, rotating his right shoulder as he approached the waters.
“My Lord,” the attendant said. “Would you like a massage today?”
“No, unfortunately I haven’t the time for it. Today I just need to bathe and then join my father as soon as possible.”
“As you command, Lord. Come this way please.” The attendant led the way to the heated pool, taking the clean clothing Legolas had brought and placing them in a draped changing room. “If I can be of any additional service, please don’t hesitate to ask,” and the attendant bowed, leaving him to shed his dirty clothing and walk out to the pools.
Entering the heated pool, a sigh of contentment sounded from him as he moved to the far side of the pool. Here there were bowls of liquid soap and a faster current that served to move the soapy and dirt-filled waters out of the main pool quickly. He soaped his body and then quickly washed his hair. After rinsing off he moved to the other side of the pool and leaned back against the edge, allowing his body to be supported by the softly moving heated waters. His eyes closed and he immersed himself in a feeling of total contentment.
“You remind me of a cat sitting in a warm windowsill,” a familiar voice said to his right.
“Father!” he exclaimed, and in the attempt to gain his footing and bow to his sire, he tangled himself up and ended up falling under the water's surface. Regaining his feet, he could see the amusement in his father's eyes as he regarded his youngest son.
“I was coming to see you soon, as soon as I was fully clean and dressed again,” Legolas spluttered.
“No matter, my son. My request was not a command and we will make our way there shortly,” Thranduil said as he moved to the wall, taking up a position similar to that which his son had been in just a few minutes before. “I got your message about a bath and clean clothing and it seemed like a good idea for me also, so I decided to join you. Unless you would rather I leave you to your thoughts...?”
“No! No, not at all. I was thinking no deep thoughts. Indeed I was just thinking about the Fall Harvest Competition and how I need to make some more arrows before I leave on patrol in a few days.” Legolas moved back to the wall and resumed his suspended position, his father on his right.
Anyone looking at them would have smiled to see them so. Like two bookends, they lay barely covered by the tinted waters, legs stretched out before them and upper arms braced on the lower lip of the pool. Their heads, almost identically golden haired, were tilted back, resting against the tiled pool's rim and both sets of eyes were closed. Blissful and relaxed expressions on each face were mirrored in the other.
“In truth,” Thranduil said, “I had hoped for a chance to speak with you a bit and this is as good an opportunity as any.”
“Hmmm … what did you wish to discuss with me, Father?”
“What do you know about your Grandfather, Legolas?”
“Which grandfather? Your father or mother's?”
“Good question, son. However, this time I mean my father, your grandfather Oropher. Another time I'll tell you about your mother's father for he also was a special man and well merits your attention.”
Legolas cast his thoughts back, memory wandering through the words and history of his grandfather. He had never met him. Oropher had died in front of the Black Gates in the war against Sauron that was called the 'Last Alliance'. Along with his grandfather, more than half of the Greenwood's warriors had been slain in front of those Gates.
“I know that he left Lindon to come east to the Greenwood when Gil-galad took the throne and that he was given the rule of this land by those elves who were already living here. Apparently he ruled well because his name is still said with loving respect. He died at the end of the Second Age in that same war that took the lives of Gil-galad and Elendil.”
“Yes,” sorrow tinged the tones of Thranduil as he responded to his son. “Those days were dark indeed and Oropher was hard pressed to keep up the spirits of his men. When he died in front of the Black Gates, the kingship came to me. I didn't want it, I had never wanted it. But nonetheless it came to me along with the joys and burdens that it carries....” Thranduil's voice tailed off. Then he sighed and picked up his tale of thought again.
“But, back to the question. Do you know much about what type of warrior your grandfather was?”
“Type? No, I don't know specifics about him, only that he was a good king and a beloved leader who made a disastrous decision at the gates of Mordor.”
“You remind me of him a great deal.”
“I do? I understood that his hair was more silver and he was shorter than I. In what manner do we resemble each other?”
“It has been my task to see you trained in armaments and discipline as well as tactical strategy, tracking, and a variety of techniques that will, I hope, keep you safe while you help defend this land.”
Legolas grunted in assent.
Thranduil opened his eyes and looked at his son floating next to him. He nodded, then brought his legs down and stood up. “Come. It is time to leave the water behind. Let's get dressed and remove to my study.”
The youth nodded agreement and escorted the King from the heated waters. The two of them moved to the next chamber where they dove into chilled mountain waters, swimming across the current to the far side where they emerged and were handed towels. After drying themselves off, they carried the towels with them to their dressing chambers where they were used one last time, drying their feet before donning their leggings and boots. Within a short time both elves were standing outside their chamber draperies, pulling combs through their wet hair.
“Here, Father. Let me do that for you,” and Legolas stepped behind his sire and gently coaxed the tangles from his long, loose hair.
“Thank you, son. Turn around and I'll return the favor and we'll both be free of these chambers the sooner.” Legolas turned and was soon declared tangle-free by his father. The two of them left together walking side by side. Neither saw the fond smiles on the faces of the bathing chamber's staff and guests as they watched the pair walk through the doorway. The elves of the Greenwood were very fond of their king and his youngest son.
A short time later saw them entering the chambers of Thranduil. Awaiting them was a small dinner that had been laid out on the circular, vine-embellished table by the window slit, and two goblets were chilling in a bucket of ice nearby.
“Wine?” Thranduil asked.
“A light wine would be welcome,” Legolas responded.
Thranduil poured a light fruit wine into the chilled goblets and returned to the table where the two men sat and shared the meal in comfortable silence. After they were finished eating the meats, cheeses and breads, he leaned back in his chair, examining his son carefully.
“My favorite weapon is my sword, although I can do well with a bow when need be,” he began. “I’m not exactly sure why I use a sword, perhaps because my weapons master was excellent with the single blade and taught me well. But I hear that you, although one of my best archers, are not as secure with the sword as I might wish you to be.”
Legolas’ eyes opened wide in shock. Had his father asked him here to berate his lack of skill at a bladed weapon? It was true that he was not fond of the longer blades favored by his father, but he still acquitted himself well on the training field. He opened his mouth to refute the implied accusation then closed it again when he saw that his father was holding a single finger up, telling him to be silent, that he was not through speaking yet.
“Your grandfather also was never comfortable with the sword. But he excelled with twin long knives and, as I hear from my weapons master, you also favor that weapon. Is this true?”
“I.... Yes. I prefer the more fluid style that using twin blades allows, although the bow will always be my weapon of preference,” Legolas responded. He leaned forward, taking his goblet in hand and drank the last swallow remaining in the glass. Returning the glass to the table top he fixed his father with a firm gaze. “Although I can handle the sword well enough, I think I am more effective with the twin blades and the shorter steel.”
Thranduil nodded. His son's words echoed those spoken by Oropher many years before. He continued. “The devastation of our troops before the gates of Mordor was widespread and complete. Few things survived and were returned to the Greenwood. I have one thing for you, though, as you begin your term of duty as a protector of this realm and, in turn, of Middle Earth.” He got up from his chair and walked to the far wall which was cast in shadow, coming to a halt in front of a cloth covered table.
“Come over here, Legolas,” Thranduil instructed. Legolas stood and walked to the table, standing at his father's left hand.
“As I said, few things survived that assault on the Black Gates. Among those items were my signet ring of office, the oak leaf circlet that I wear sometimes, the bracers which I gave to your brother, and these.” With that, Thranduil removed the cloth from the table, displaying two ivory-handled long knives, twin, one to the other, and an intricate back sheath which incorporated both of the knives and a quiver.
Legolas breathed in slowly, then released his breath in a low sigh, its tone almost worshipful. “Father. These are? – These belonged to grandfather?”
“The blades survived, although the handles did not. Your brother favored the sword, so I had him armed with another heirloom of our house when he joined the patrols. But you love the long knives. I had new handles made from the hardened teeth of animals found in the ice lands of the far northeast.”
“They are magnificent,” Legolas whispered, his eyes never leaving the table.
“Go ahead, take them up and try their balance. You will have a few days to practice in the ring with them, but hear them sing a bit now.”
Legolas reached out and took one blade into each hand, moving his grip minutely along the handles to determine the best place for each finger. Lifting the blades, he sighted across each one, admiring the wavelike patterning of the folded steel and the blade guards.
“These belonged to grandfather?” he asked again.
“Yes,” Thranduil said, a pride in his son swelling his chest as he saw his youngest carrying the blades of his own father, ready to protect his people and his realm. “Your grandfather would be very proud of you, my son, just as I am. I know that you will carry these proudly and use them well.”
Little did either of them know that the blades would once more be carried to the Black Gates, and even across the seas to the Uttermost West. Over the years that Legolas carried the twin, ivory handled blades, hundreds of enemies heard their song of steel as the last sound of their lives. And finally, when he met Oropher across the Western Sea, the blades broke down the distance of unfamiliarity, replacing it with the closeness of kinship.
Ranking: 3rd place
Summary: Shortly before taking his place with the warriors who patrol the borders of the Greenwood, Legolas is presented with a gift from beyond the grave.
Characters/Pairing: Legolas, Thranduil
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Disclaimer: Tolkien built the sand box; I only play with the bucket and shovel that he left for me. No money, profit or non, is made from the publication of this story.
‘Thwap, thwap,' the sound of arrows striking a distant target in a regular rhythm filled the open glade. The youthful blond archer paused to reload his quiver from the pile of arrows at his feet and then resumed his assault on the distant leaf he had chosen as his target, semi-hidden just inside the edge of the sun-dappled grove. The changing light and shifting shadows served to make his tiny target even more challenging. Legolas smiled. The practice session was going well and when he had finished with the few arrows still remaining in his quiver he was looking forward to retrieving his spent arrows, seeing how well he had hit the various targets he had chosen, and determining how best he could fine-tune his aim and performance.
‘If I don’t get some practice without the necessity of hitting orcs or other enemies, I’ll fall short at the Fall Harvest Competition,’ he mused as he continued to practice. ‘Thwap, thwap’ continued to sound with a regular rhythm. He had committed to participating in the upcoming Harvest Festival archery competition, but was assigned to patrol the Southern borders for the next four months. Practice for the sake of practice would be hard to come by while on duty. ‘I think I’ll make at least another few handfuls of arrows before setting out on patrol. I wonder if Forghaland has any extra feathers he could spare me for fletching? I’m running low on them.’ A stray breeze tried to catch at his arrow, but it still flew straight and seemed to strike his target. ‘I’ve been at this for hours, I should probably gather my spent shafts and begin heading back to the Fortress.’
Hearing the sound of running footsteps coming up from behind him, he turned and saw one of his father's pages approaching him. "My Lord, the King requests your presence when you have completed your archery practice."
"Is there any urgency to his request?" the youth queried, unstringing his bow and preparing to retrieve his arrows.
"No Lord, the King merely asked for your presence in his private chambers as soon as practical."
Legolas nodded. “Return and tell him I’ll be at least another hour.” The the page bowed and then retreated back the way he had come while the young prince gathered up his quiver and the carrying cloth for his extra arrows. He began walking towards the far edge of the glade, his bow held lightly in one hand, the empty containers for arrows in the other.
It took him more than a third of an hour just to find all of his arrows, but he was well pleased with his results. His accuracy was good, very few of the arrows had gone astray. Pulling the last two shafts from the leaf which they had carried down to the ground, he straightened. ‘I wonder what Father wants with me? I leave in five days. Maybe he has received some new information about events in the South or the West.’ Examining the arrows for any sign of wear, he returned them to his quiver, closed the cloth around the extra shafts he had carried with him, and began walking back towards the Fortress.
As he crossed the bridge approaching the massive stone entry doors, he looked around him with pleasure. The light of mid-afternoon was shining strongly on the sward of open land that surrounded the hill. Children were playing in the sunlight under the watchful eyes of their teachers. In one fenced-off corner warriors were practicing their swordplay with a small audience of young girls watching the bravado of the men and giggling behind hands held over their mouths. As he passed them walking up the steps leading to the interior of the hill he could feel their eyes on him and heard their lilting tones and words of greeting. He entered the narrow passageway that was always under guard, walking into his home, the Fortress of the Greenwood’s King and his people.
“Prince Legolas...,” the guard on his right said while the guard on the left nodded respectfully.
“Please deliver a message to my father,” he responded. “Tell him I will meet him in his private quarters as soon as I have bathed and changed into clean clothing.”
“It will be done, sire.” The guard motioned with his hand and a young boy approached him even as Legolas crossed the central courtyard heading towards his rooms. He would take a moment to choose a change of clothing and then head down to the baths.
A short time later he entered the bathing chambers. This large cavern, located underneath the main keep, consisted of several rooms, each holding one or more pools of varying temperatures. He headed for the hot pools, rotating his right shoulder as he approached the waters.
“My Lord,” the attendant said. “Would you like a massage today?”
“No, unfortunately I haven’t the time for it. Today I just need to bathe and then join my father as soon as possible.”
“As you command, Lord. Come this way please.” The attendant led the way to the heated pool, taking the clean clothing Legolas had brought and placing them in a draped changing room. “If I can be of any additional service, please don’t hesitate to ask,” and the attendant bowed, leaving him to shed his dirty clothing and walk out to the pools.
Entering the heated pool, a sigh of contentment sounded from him as he moved to the far side of the pool. Here there were bowls of liquid soap and a faster current that served to move the soapy and dirt-filled waters out of the main pool quickly. He soaped his body and then quickly washed his hair. After rinsing off he moved to the other side of the pool and leaned back against the edge, allowing his body to be supported by the softly moving heated waters. His eyes closed and he immersed himself in a feeling of total contentment.
“You remind me of a cat sitting in a warm windowsill,” a familiar voice said to his right.
“Father!” he exclaimed, and in the attempt to gain his footing and bow to his sire, he tangled himself up and ended up falling under the water's surface. Regaining his feet, he could see the amusement in his father's eyes as he regarded his youngest son.
“I was coming to see you soon, as soon as I was fully clean and dressed again,” Legolas spluttered.
“No matter, my son. My request was not a command and we will make our way there shortly,” Thranduil said as he moved to the wall, taking up a position similar to that which his son had been in just a few minutes before. “I got your message about a bath and clean clothing and it seemed like a good idea for me also, so I decided to join you. Unless you would rather I leave you to your thoughts...?”
“No! No, not at all. I was thinking no deep thoughts. Indeed I was just thinking about the Fall Harvest Competition and how I need to make some more arrows before I leave on patrol in a few days.” Legolas moved back to the wall and resumed his suspended position, his father on his right.
Anyone looking at them would have smiled to see them so. Like two bookends, they lay barely covered by the tinted waters, legs stretched out before them and upper arms braced on the lower lip of the pool. Their heads, almost identically golden haired, were tilted back, resting against the tiled pool's rim and both sets of eyes were closed. Blissful and relaxed expressions on each face were mirrored in the other.
“In truth,” Thranduil said, “I had hoped for a chance to speak with you a bit and this is as good an opportunity as any.”
“Hmmm … what did you wish to discuss with me, Father?”
“What do you know about your Grandfather, Legolas?”
“Which grandfather? Your father or mother's?”
“Good question, son. However, this time I mean my father, your grandfather Oropher. Another time I'll tell you about your mother's father for he also was a special man and well merits your attention.”
Legolas cast his thoughts back, memory wandering through the words and history of his grandfather. He had never met him. Oropher had died in front of the Black Gates in the war against Sauron that was called the 'Last Alliance'. Along with his grandfather, more than half of the Greenwood's warriors had been slain in front of those Gates.
“I know that he left Lindon to come east to the Greenwood when Gil-galad took the throne and that he was given the rule of this land by those elves who were already living here. Apparently he ruled well because his name is still said with loving respect. He died at the end of the Second Age in that same war that took the lives of Gil-galad and Elendil.”
“Yes,” sorrow tinged the tones of Thranduil as he responded to his son. “Those days were dark indeed and Oropher was hard pressed to keep up the spirits of his men. When he died in front of the Black Gates, the kingship came to me. I didn't want it, I had never wanted it. But nonetheless it came to me along with the joys and burdens that it carries....” Thranduil's voice tailed off. Then he sighed and picked up his tale of thought again.
“But, back to the question. Do you know much about what type of warrior your grandfather was?”
“Type? No, I don't know specifics about him, only that he was a good king and a beloved leader who made a disastrous decision at the gates of Mordor.”
“You remind me of him a great deal.”
“I do? I understood that his hair was more silver and he was shorter than I. In what manner do we resemble each other?”
“It has been my task to see you trained in armaments and discipline as well as tactical strategy, tracking, and a variety of techniques that will, I hope, keep you safe while you help defend this land.”
Legolas grunted in assent.
Thranduil opened his eyes and looked at his son floating next to him. He nodded, then brought his legs down and stood up. “Come. It is time to leave the water behind. Let's get dressed and remove to my study.”
The youth nodded agreement and escorted the King from the heated waters. The two of them moved to the next chamber where they dove into chilled mountain waters, swimming across the current to the far side where they emerged and were handed towels. After drying themselves off, they carried the towels with them to their dressing chambers where they were used one last time, drying their feet before donning their leggings and boots. Within a short time both elves were standing outside their chamber draperies, pulling combs through their wet hair.
“Here, Father. Let me do that for you,” and Legolas stepped behind his sire and gently coaxed the tangles from his long, loose hair.
“Thank you, son. Turn around and I'll return the favor and we'll both be free of these chambers the sooner.” Legolas turned and was soon declared tangle-free by his father. The two of them left together walking side by side. Neither saw the fond smiles on the faces of the bathing chamber's staff and guests as they watched the pair walk through the doorway. The elves of the Greenwood were very fond of their king and his youngest son.
A short time later saw them entering the chambers of Thranduil. Awaiting them was a small dinner that had been laid out on the circular, vine-embellished table by the window slit, and two goblets were chilling in a bucket of ice nearby.
“Wine?” Thranduil asked.
“A light wine would be welcome,” Legolas responded.
Thranduil poured a light fruit wine into the chilled goblets and returned to the table where the two men sat and shared the meal in comfortable silence. After they were finished eating the meats, cheeses and breads, he leaned back in his chair, examining his son carefully.
“My favorite weapon is my sword, although I can do well with a bow when need be,” he began. “I’m not exactly sure why I use a sword, perhaps because my weapons master was excellent with the single blade and taught me well. But I hear that you, although one of my best archers, are not as secure with the sword as I might wish you to be.”
Legolas’ eyes opened wide in shock. Had his father asked him here to berate his lack of skill at a bladed weapon? It was true that he was not fond of the longer blades favored by his father, but he still acquitted himself well on the training field. He opened his mouth to refute the implied accusation then closed it again when he saw that his father was holding a single finger up, telling him to be silent, that he was not through speaking yet.
“Your grandfather also was never comfortable with the sword. But he excelled with twin long knives and, as I hear from my weapons master, you also favor that weapon. Is this true?”
“I.... Yes. I prefer the more fluid style that using twin blades allows, although the bow will always be my weapon of preference,” Legolas responded. He leaned forward, taking his goblet in hand and drank the last swallow remaining in the glass. Returning the glass to the table top he fixed his father with a firm gaze. “Although I can handle the sword well enough, I think I am more effective with the twin blades and the shorter steel.”
Thranduil nodded. His son's words echoed those spoken by Oropher many years before. He continued. “The devastation of our troops before the gates of Mordor was widespread and complete. Few things survived and were returned to the Greenwood. I have one thing for you, though, as you begin your term of duty as a protector of this realm and, in turn, of Middle Earth.” He got up from his chair and walked to the far wall which was cast in shadow, coming to a halt in front of a cloth covered table.
“Come over here, Legolas,” Thranduil instructed. Legolas stood and walked to the table, standing at his father's left hand.
“As I said, few things survived that assault on the Black Gates. Among those items were my signet ring of office, the oak leaf circlet that I wear sometimes, the bracers which I gave to your brother, and these.” With that, Thranduil removed the cloth from the table, displaying two ivory-handled long knives, twin, one to the other, and an intricate back sheath which incorporated both of the knives and a quiver.
Legolas breathed in slowly, then released his breath in a low sigh, its tone almost worshipful. “Father. These are? – These belonged to grandfather?”
“The blades survived, although the handles did not. Your brother favored the sword, so I had him armed with another heirloom of our house when he joined the patrols. But you love the long knives. I had new handles made from the hardened teeth of animals found in the ice lands of the far northeast.”
“They are magnificent,” Legolas whispered, his eyes never leaving the table.
“Go ahead, take them up and try their balance. You will have a few days to practice in the ring with them, but hear them sing a bit now.”
Legolas reached out and took one blade into each hand, moving his grip minutely along the handles to determine the best place for each finger. Lifting the blades, he sighted across each one, admiring the wavelike patterning of the folded steel and the blade guards.
“These belonged to grandfather?” he asked again.
“Yes,” Thranduil said, a pride in his son swelling his chest as he saw his youngest carrying the blades of his own father, ready to protect his people and his realm. “Your grandfather would be very proud of you, my son, just as I am. I know that you will carry these proudly and use them well.”
Little did either of them know that the blades would once more be carried to the Black Gates, and even across the seas to the Uttermost West. Over the years that Legolas carried the twin, ivory handled blades, hundreds of enemies heard their song of steel as the last sound of their lives. And finally, when he met Oropher across the Western Sea, the blades broke down the distance of unfamiliarity, replacing it with the closeness of kinship.