Upon the Branching Years by IgnobleBard

Gondolin

Legolas must answer for himself and his mysterious appearance.

When he stepped out onto the mountainside the sight of the city across the wide green plain, set high upon it’s bed of stone, made him pull up short in awe. He had never seen an open space so large as the valley of Tumladen. The stories and poems were but pallid praises to the glory of this land, so vast it was nigh unfathomable to one who had spent a life in thick forest groves or traversing small plains and hills.
 
It was springtime, he could scent it in the freshness of the breeze that washed over him, see it in the blades of grass that rose strong and green, intermingled with clusters of white and yellow wildflowers, beneath his feet, feel it in the brush of butterfly and grasshopper wings against his arms and face. He felt as though he could live as comfortably upon these grassy, paradisaical meadows as any fine hall or deep forest he had ever made bed within.
 
Presently, he saw a group of riders coming toward him with weapons drawn. Legolas stopped short and raised his empty hands. One of the riders dismounted and drew his sword, gleaming bright silver in the sun. He looked so fierce and determined that Legolas took an involuntary step back. The man was as tall as Glorfindel and just as beautiful, with dark hair beneath a silver helm and piercing blue eyes. The sword he carried looked a bit like Glamdring, though it was not the famed Foe-hammer.
 
“How come you to this city, unescorted and unlooked for?” he barked.
 
His Sindarin was accented like Glorfindel’s but was thicker and more difficult to understand.
 
Legolas thought quickly. Ulmo had not told him how to handle the natives.
 
“I am Legolas Greenleaf of the… uh… Laegrim. My settlement was set upon by orcs of Morgoth and I alone escaped thralldom in the pits of Angband.”
 
“How does an Avari find his way here?”
 
“I came upon the mountains and was looking for a pass to take me through. Little did I expect to discover the famed city of the Gondolindrim.”
 
“Yet our patrols seem not to have espied you.”
 
“I cannot speak to that.”
 
The man’s look hardened. “You must surrender your weapons and come with us.”
 
Legolas allowed them to take his knife, which was all that was left to him. There was no danger here save what he had brought upon himself with his inexplicable arrival. He was ordered to mount one of the horses with the admonition that he would be killed if he attempted to escape, and they rode to the Amon Gwareth.
 
The sound of the waters reminded Legolas of Imladris, though the waterfalls were neither as high nor as loud and the steep hill that supported the city was not as formidable as the cliffs there. The stairs leading from the base of the hill up to the massive gate of steel were white marble, gleaming in the light of the midday sun. The riders dismounted and gave care of the horses to grooms who led them away. Legolas wondered where the stables might be. Perhaps carved into this high hill somewhere.
 
The sentries that met them at the gate bade them pass, giving curious glances to their guest. His escort took him through the city to the palace, urging him along when he slowed or stopped to gaze raptly at streets of marble and white stone, crystal fountains and gardens with profusions of strange, magnificent flowers such as he had never seen. It was said this city rivaled Tirion in Aman and its splendor was to his eyes the very pinnacle of Elven achievement. The halls of his people were as troll caves compared to this.
 
Upon approaching the king’s palace, he halted, struck dumb at the sight of the glorious fountain with its waters like music and two trees of silver and gold on each side of the portico. He wanted to fall to his knees and weep for the glory of a world long past, but a shove brought him out of his musings and he walked on, committing the sights and sounds to memory, as precious stones laid within a velvet box.
 
The king’s hall was no less impressive, appearing to have been carved from a mountain of pure white marble with no visible seam between the stones. The ceiling soared high overhead. Upon it were many frescoes of Aman. There were the Two Trees, the high mountain of Taniquetil, the harbor at Alqualondë where swan ships plied a sea so true to life Legolas was certain he felt the movement of the waves. The floor was grey-veined marble seamed with gold. Two massive pillars, carved in representations of Ulmo and Ossë, stood on either side of the King’s gold and white throne.

Legolas turned around and around taking it all in while a messenger was sent to inform the king of his arrival. At length Turgon appeared, dressed all in white, his raiment belted in gold. He was the tallest man Legolas had ever seen and carried himself with a regal air. His dark hair tumbled over his broad shoulders, held back from his face by a crown of garnet. In his hand he carried a long staff of ivory capped by a garnet encased in gold filigree. His bearing was imperious, yet not stern, and Legolas could see the curiosity mingled with concern on his fair face.
 
“I see our city is neither as well hidden nor as well guarded as I supposed,” he said with a pointed look at the guard. Then to Legolas, “How come you hither?”
 
Legolas made to bow before speaking but was rudely forced to his knees by the guard. Turgon frowned. “Come, it is not as dire as that,” he admonished the guard. “Rise, and let us speak together as men,” he said to Legolas.
 
Legolas rose with equanimity, having been on the other end of such antics in his youth when strangers were brought before Thranduil, and was as quickly chastened by his king.
 
“I’m sorry to have caused your people alarm, oh High King. My settlement within the forests of Mithrim was beset by the minions of Morgoth and I was the only one to escape. Since then I have been traveling in search of Doriath, but I lost my way and came to the mountains, where I sought a pass that I might cut through and perhaps find kindred upon the other side. Little could I have hoped to find this fair and fabled land.”
 
Turgon looked skeptical. “Our kingdom is well guarded with enchantment. You should have wandered long and still not have passed through the mountains. Your dress and manner are like that of the Sindar, yet your speech carries the lilt of the Laegrim.” He turned to the guard. “Let me see his weapons.”
 
The guard handed over the knife and Turgon inspected it closely. “No sword, and this is crudely forged, the runes upon it strangely wrought. You carry a quiver but no arrows or bow. Perhaps you are escaped from some evil fate, but there is yet a mystery here.”
 
As he spoke, a group of men came into the hall and Legolas’ heart leapt into his throat to see that one of them was Glorfindel. His golden hair he wore in one long, thick braid that swung jauntily between his powerful shoulders. His face, exceedingly fair and youthful, was lit by arresting sea-blue eyes that radiated his familiar spirited charm. He wore a white tunic of the type he still favored, broidered with gold celandines upon the hem, sleeves, and neck. Legolas’ attention was so caught by him that he didn’t notice the king was still speaking.
 
“If you cannot answer for yourself you must remain prisoner until a proper answer is forthcoming.”
 
“Forgive me, High King,” he said quickly, snapping out of his trance. “I seem to have missed the question.”
 
The group of men stopped and bowed low. Turgon acknowledged them with a nod and indicated Legolas. “What say you in regard to this mysterious Elf who has breached our lands when so many have failed or fallen captive to the pits of Angband?”
 
Now Legolas looked upon the others for the first time. One he took to be Ecthelion for the crystals upon his tunic and belt, the other could only be Galdor, for the striking green leafed tree he bore upon the breast of his tunic and for the heavy cudgel he wore at his side.
 
“An odd specimen to be sure,” Ecthelion sniffed. “The whole of the city seems to have heard of this… evasion of our defenses, which is why we have come. How did he avoid our wards and make it onto Tumladen without being seen by our patrols?” He looked to Legolas for a response.
 
“I cannot speak to that,” Legolas said with a shrug.
 
“Bah, that’s his only answer,” grumbled one of the guards. “It is not possible.”
 
“His eyes are too clear, his bearing too straight to have been a thrall,” said Glorfindel. “As such, perhaps we are not dealing with a spy. Still, there may be some purpose to his wandering we have not guessed. Perhaps he is a pet of the enemy. Fed on dainties to fortify him and then sent as a scout.”
 
Legolas’ eyes grew wide. A vehement denial rose to his lips but before he could utter it, Galdor spoke.
 
“Nonsense. He looks all right to me. Strong of limb and heart to have escaped such a dark fate. He is obviously of the forest folk, you can see it in his dress. And the braids he wears are for hunting, not fighting. I have several of the Grey-elves among my folk. If the king will allow it, I will take him on as part of my house and train him up with my men. I will be responsible should he turn out to be other than an innocent that has strayed by happy chance herein.”
 
Legolas was beginning to feel like a sheep on the market block in Lake Town, but whether he was to be shorn for his wool or slaughtered for his meat seemed to be the question at hand.
 
The king looked him over thoughtfully. “Very well, Galdor. I will accept your sponsorship of this mysterious young Elf. But I insist he show you the way in which he entered our lands. Take him to the mountains tomorrow, for if this pass he found exists I would know of it.” To Legolas he said, “You have reached the sanctuary you sought. You may live here in peace as long as you may. As this realm is hidden for the safety of our people, you must never travel to the mountains without escort, under pain of death. Is this arrangement agreeable to you?”
 
“It is, High King. Thank you for your forbearance.” Legolas executed a proper, courtly bow. He caught amused smiles on the faces of Glorfindel and Ecthelion.
 
“As noble as a prince,” he heard Glorfindel mutter under his breath and Ecthelion nodded, a wide grin showing his perfect white teeth.
 
Galdor gave them a sharp look, clearly displeased with their lack of manners. “Come with me,” he said to Legolas. “I will see you well bestowed.”
 
He fell in at Galdor’s side as he strode from the palace, wishing as they left that he had time to study the magnificent trees and listen to the crystal fountains and birdsong.
 
“Thank you for speaking up for me, my lord. It was most kind of you.”
 
“Silly to keep a man locked up when he may be of use.” Galdor gave him a sidelong glance. “I recognize a noble heart when I see one. Whatever your story may be, you are not an enemy, though what you are is harder to see.”
 
“You are wise, my lord. I shall strive to be worthy of your faith in me.”
 
“You had better,” he said shortly. “My life depends on it.”