Scenes From A Childhood In Doriath by Fernstrike

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Marchwardens

This chapter we get to meet Galion. I’ve never believed he spent all his long life as a butler (not that spending your whole life as a butler is a bad thing) so I hope you’ll like what I’m going to do with his character.

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The gates of Menegroth close gently behind Galion as he and the other march-wardens step inside, shutting out the light of the bright midday sun. Despite this, the glow of the great lanterns and luminescent plants and creatures renders the great atrium as well-lit as the day outside. 

Thandir comes behind him and claps him on the back. "I think you nearly fell asleep for a few moments out there." 

 

Galion turns round and grins. "Only because your conversation was tiresome enough to lull even a dragon back to slumber." 

Thandir fakes a box to his friend's ears, and their squad of eight march-wardens laughs. Wearing a broad grin, Galion smooths down his hair and looks about his small troop, content and pleased. Within and without their underground city, there is at least a semblance of peace. Everyone is at ease, enjoying their calm isolation within Doriath. And at the borders, even obscured as they are by Melian's Girdle, there is peace enough to converse and doze and enjoy one another's company. 

The group arrive at the central guardhouse within a few minutes. It lies near to the gates, and is very quiet, with little activity within. In the central hall, poring over a light stack of reports from the border, Galion sees his father. He presses a hand to his heart and bows. "Captain Ferion." 

His father looks up, and Galion sees, with gladness, that for the first time in decades it is not drawn and wan, but rested, if no less aged by years of toil and worry. He steps forward and offers the squad a rare smile. They are favourites of his, and not just because of the presence of his son. They work hard, report promptly, and do their duty unimpeachably.  

Ferion nods in acknowledgement of his son's greeting. "What news from the east bank?"

“The marches of the Esgalduin remain quiet. No sight, sound, or trace of any creature, save our own people enjoying the good weather by the water."

“Hmph.” He smiles. "In other words, nothing happened whatsoever and you were all left to your own devices for the better part of the morning?"

"A fair assessment, Captain," says Thandir, bowing slightly, eyes twinkling in acknowledgement of Ferion’s good humour. "Although we always marked our watch keenly, despite our merriment."

"I've no doubt you did," says Ferion, raising his eyebrows. "And I mean it," he says in response to the worried look on the face of one of the other wardens. He smiles again and waves a hand in dismissal. "Go now and make merry once more, before it's time for your next watch. I'll pass your report on to Mablung." The soldiers all bow, and make to adjourn, but Ferion calls out Galion's name.

"A word, please," he says, gesturing to himself. Galion looks at Thandir, who nods, and steps outside to wait for him.

Ferion claps his son on the shoulder in greeting, and leans against the worktable. "How has it been?"

"Good, as we told you," he says.

"Not with the watch, my son, with yourself."

Galion gives a short laugh, running his hand across the back of his neck. "Well enough as well, I suppose."

Ferion looks at him skeptically. “That doesn’t sound confident. Is it your new position?"

Galion hesitates for a moment, and then sighs. "Any position of command comes with its own new responsibilities." He shifts his feet, unsure how to explain how he feels. "I'm glad you made Thandir watch leader instead of me, but even to be squad leader...it just feels harder to manage them when you've spent so many hours in the past trading jokes and barbs as equals."

"You're still equals," points out Ferion. "And you are lucky to have a rapport. They listened to you then. They listen to you now. As a friend, and now as a squad leader. So what troubles you?"

Galion shrugs. "I don't know."

"Yes, you do," says Ferion, grasping his son's shoulder. "And you must stop believing it. ‘Unworthy’ and ‘incapable’ are foreign titles to you, and ever it shall remain so. Don't bear them when they are not yours to bear."

Galion has always been amazed by his father's perception, and this moment is no different. He has never voiced his insecurity, and he thought he hid it well, but obviously not from the keen eyes of his father. He puts a hand to his heart and bows humbly, mouth numb and unable to respond. Ferion pats his arm and bids him depart. He meets Thandir outside, and they walk together in the direction of the main hall of Menegroth, the hub of activity.

"What did he say to you?" asks Thandir. 

"Nothing of consequence."

Thandir nods and doesn't press the matter. He has ever been the wisest of their squad, perhaps of all their host under Lord Oropher. Galion is glad of it. He is still trying to wrap his head around his father's advice, and would rather do it alone, untainted by the interpretations of others.

"He is keen to let us act so freely with our time," says Thandir.

“He knows what it is to live in times that are less peaceful."

"Well, so do we, even if we were too young to truly remember them.” Thandir pauses before the junction leading to another part of the cave system. "Are you off to the training fields now?"

"Hopefully, but I expect I'm soon to be waylaid by a certain elfling looking out for me." He glances at Thandir. "Your cousin."

Thandir's smile doesn't meet his eyes. "You really oughtn't encourage him."

"Excuse me?"

Thandir fixes him with a kind but serious look. "I know you're going to bring him to the fields with you." Galion opens his mouth to protest but Thandir holds up a hand. "You mean well, but I don't think it's wise anymore. Thranduil is not far now from coming of age, and he'll have to decide his profession."

"So why not?" asks Galion, genuinely confused. "He'd make an excellent march-warden when his time comes. He's swift, agile - he's got sharper eyes than any of us. It was he who saw when you first started courting Meressel and let all of us in on the secret."

Thandir scowls. "I admit, I'd rather put his keen eyes to the spying of orcs than ratting out young lovers. But my point is, for all his skill, it's not his father's will."

"Since when did Thranduil listen to anybody's will?" says Galion, but he understand's Thandir's point perfectly, and works to quell the anxiety that spikes his heart.

"You're his confidant," says Thandir. "You know better than anyone that in spite of all that show of defiance he is scared of displeasing his father."

"It wouldn't happen," says Galion, but now he fears he's just trying to convince himself. He couldn't bear the disappointment of thinking the little elfling wouldn't be joining him out on patrols. How many promises they’d made on the sunny summer days, jumping between trees; how many adventures they’d dreamt up, sitting round the blazing fire in winter. By now, they were brothers in everything but blood. 

"Lord Oropher will need all his wiles to convince his son of anything,” Galion concludes. "It'll be a contest of wills, and I don't think hîr Oropher would win it. He's too wise to fight that much."

"Thranduil is a child. He will change."

"And the borderlands between Doriath and Dorthonion will one day be completely safe. Some things don't change," says Galion, a touch testily, and leaves it at that.

Thandir just shrugs. "Sorry if I offended you. I'll leave you to cool down and entertain the whims of an elfling a quarter your age. I'm going to see Meressel - make sure he doesn't follow."

Before Galion can reply, Thandir has taken off down one of the many pathways leading off the central hall, and he is left standing there, bothered by his own unnecessary annoyance and by the thought that maybe Thandir is right. He doesn't have long to ponder it. A shout from the path they had just come down turns him round, and he stoops quick enough to grab Thranduil as the elfling barrels into him. Galion picks him up and flips him over; Thranduil screams, and his mother, standing a little way off, puts a hand over her mouth, shaking with laughter.

"Put me down!" cries Thranduil. 

“Hello, little spider,” he laughs. “Did you crawl up any trees today?"

“You’re horrible!” he shouts, ignoring Galion. "Put me down or I'll kick your face!"

The elfling's boots are worrisomely near Galion's face, so he flips him back over and onto the floor, and ruffles his straight blond hair until it is unruly. "It's good to see you too, little one."

He raises a hand in greeting to Thranduil's mother. "Good day to you, my lady Caladwen."

She is still surpressing her laughter. Her face is fair and shines like the sun in the amber-hued torchlight. "Will you bring him back by dinnertime?"

"Without fail."

Caladwen waves a hand in farewell and makes her way to her own home.

Thranduil is looking up expectantly at Galion. The latter smiles and takes the elfling's hand. Thranduil beams, and they walk briskly to the door that leads to the great outdoor training field.

"Have you been at the watch?" asks Thranduil eagerly. "What news?"

"Nothing exciting to report," sighs Galion. "No big trolls or orcs or other unsavoury creatures within a hundred miles of our forest."

"Oh." Thranduil goes quiet for a second, then gives a small smile. "That's a good thing I suppose."

Galion is surprised. Usually the elfling would be quick to scowl and lament the absence of anything to swing a sword at. Whatever changed his reaction, Galion does not have a chance to ask, because Thranduil speaks again.

"Aren't you weary then? From all that sitting around?"

"Well, no. Though for certain I may have dropped off for a few moments."

"Then it's good we're going to the training fields."

"So I can finally fire off a few arrows?"

"So you don't get all stiff and out of practice like those old Edain."

Galion ruffles his hair again, laughing at the elfling's protest. The doors to the outside approach, flung open, and Galion nods at the guards, both of whom he recognises, before stepping through.

A short march through the trees later, and they arrive at the training field. They both inhale deeply the scent of the fresh, dewy earth, warmed a little by the sun and still ripe with newness. Nobody is there, despite the good weather. Likely all have abandoned such dutiful pursuits and are singing and dancing in the glens, thinks Galion.

He still has his quiver and bow, and sets the former into the ground where he can quickly grab and string the arrows. Thranduil settles himself in the roots of a nearby tree and watches eagerly.

The targets are far off, but generous in their width. Galion strings an arrow, inhales and exhales, and then fires. It hits its mark just off dead centre. Thranduil applauds from his place at the roots of the tree, and Galion feels a burst of pride blossom in his chest. He fires off another, and another, grabbing a few arrows in his hand and moving, running, jumping as he fires, pretending he's fighting an enemy, all the while spurred on by little cheers and clapping from his companion. He feels fantastic, and he is so thrilled by the notion that his young friend is watching this and loving it, wanting to be a part of it.

That thought gives him sudden pause, and his next arrow misses the centre of the target.

His thoughts are troubled now, and muddy, and he lowers his bow and turns back to Thranduil, who has his head put to the side in a wordless question.

"I do believe my arm is tired," says Galion, bluffing his way through an explanation 

"You're still half asleep I think," laughs Thranduil. "Come sit with me."

Galion joins him, leaning against the tree trunk rather than sitting down. Thranduil beams up at him.

"That was brilliant," he breathes. "When I'm grown I should like to be a march-warden the same as you."

Galion feels his breath still in his lungs, unsure what to say. Despite his own heart, he recalls Thandir's words, and knows his friend is sound in his wisdom. But he doesn't know how to say it. "I'm not sure what your father will think of that," he tries.

Thranduil's smile slips instantly, and Galion curses inwardly. He'd made it a personal rule - never bring up Oropher if he could help it - but he couldn't find a way of avoiding it this time. How else did he justify Thandir's - no, his own - misgivings?

Thranduil looks away and shrugs. “He may think what he likes. I've heard him speak in court and found it to be boring. I don't want to be a lord or an advisor or a council member like him."

"You have the wit for it, you know, if not the tact." And Galion is being honest, because the elfling before him is the farthest thing from dull.

"Maybe," replies Thranduil. "But which one, I ask you, is more useful?"

"Well, once you have greater wisdom, you shall know."

"I've wisdom enough to know I'll never be suited to it."

Galion is about to respond - whether to agree or to feebly try and further Thandir's - no, his own - case, when he freezes suddenly and quickly snaps to attention.

Thranduil turns around and Galion can see the whirl of emotions that suddenly springs up in his eyes.

He can say no words of reassurance, though, and simply puts a hand over his heart and bows. "Hîr-nin Oropher.”