Upon the Branching Years by IgnobleBard

Blessed?

Legolas overhears something he shouldn't. He also gets a promotion, but no closer to Glorfindel.

They returned to Galdor’s halls where Legolas promptly got lost on his way to the kitchens. Fortunately, he was discovered by a maid who gave him directions with a coquettish smile. Legolas thanked her and returned to the scullery.
 
For many weeks he spent his days cleaning and polishing and making up fires in the kitchens. After the meals were served to the nobles, the kitchen staff had their repast around a long table. Their conversation mostly centered on palace gossip and the mundane details of their lives. Legolas was most keen on the contrast between their talk and that of the court as he was used to. It was a refreshing change and he found himself caught up in their daily struggles and small triumphs.

After the day’s work was over, he would wander the streets and empty markets or visit the the Square of the King to listen to the fountains. The gold and silver trees especially fascinated him. Once he had attempted a closer look at the glowing golden blossoms of Glingal and was immediately stopped by a guard.
 
“Do not touch the trees.”
 
“Come, she and I are kin,” Legolas joked, indicating the emblem on his tunic.
 
The guard chuckled. “That may be, but you two are not familiar enough for such niceties.”
 
“Only a closer look then? She may take a liking to me.”
 
The guard shook his head at such foolishness and waved him on. Legolas stepped closer, studying the golden blossoms with dazzled eyes. They looked like tiny sunrays, giving off radiance along with a perfume that seemed to encompass all the warmth, scent, and feel of summer itself. Belthil was equally beautiful, but her silver blossoms and scent were the cool promise of a cloudless spring night with many stars. He committed the sight and smells to memory knowing they would cheer him through difficulties whenever he revisited them in dream or reverie.
 
One evening as he lingered in the square, he saw Glorfindel arrive. It seemed there was to be a fête of some sort within, for several of the Lords and Ladies had already swept through the door in their finery. Legolas stood beneath one of the trees that edged the square, all but invisible due to the lights outside the palace and the camouflage of his clothing.

Just like every time he saw Glorfindel, Legolas’ heart fluttered with longing. How he ached to walk up and speak with him. Yet he could not. He was dressed in the simple livery of a servant and this was obviously a formal affair. Glorfindel looked stunning, every inch an Elven Lord. The blue silk of his tunic was studded with the celandines of his house, twinkling like stars in a midnight sky. His resplendent golden hair was fashioned in two braids that were twisted together with shining gold and silver ribbons. Legolas imagined tugging those ribbons loose and letting that hair flow through his hands like sunlight.

Just before Glorfindel reached the door, Ecthelion strode out and greeted him. “I didn’t know if you would be attending tonight,” he said in a low voice.
 
“Yes, well, I could hardly avoid it since it is a celebration of Idril’s anniversary.”
 
“It is gracious of you to come, considering how you dislike all this pomp and formality.”
 
“It’s only an evening,” he laughed. “I’m not that much of a shrinking violet.”
 
Ecthelion chuckled. “I myself am driven by curiosity this eve. Galdor seems so enamoured of his new toy I thought perhaps he might drag him along tonight to introduce him around the court.”
 
“He does seem quite taken with the lad. But why not? He’s pretty enough and doesn’t fawn or grovel. Or perhaps you have a different sort of curiosity.”
 
Ecthelion shuffled his feet and looked down for a moment. “What if I do? Don’t tell me you haven’t thought of it yourself. Fresh blood and all that.”
 
Glorfindel shook his head. “Even if I had, I wouldn’t cross Galdor in this. It’s not worth it.”
 
A fanfare of music drifted out the door and the two moved inside. Legolas turned away from the square and set his feet back toward Galdor’s house. Could they have been talking about him? Did they think Galdor…? The thought angered him should it be so. Galdor had shown him no special favor, though perhaps the gossip said otherwise. And if Ecthelion was interested in him, well, that was a most emphatic no.

By the time he reached the house he had calmed down a bit. It stung him to possibly be the subject of court gossip, but he supposed even Tuor had been the topic of much tongue wagging upon his arrival. It could not be otherwise in a society so insular. It was one of the reasons his father encouraged interaction and trade with the Men of Lake Town. Still, the thought that Galdor or Ecthelion might have designs on him while Glorfindel remained disinterested was the most painful wound.

When he turned in that night he lay staring at the ceiling for a bit, wanting to ask the advice of the others but trying to decide how to formulate his question. Finally, he said, “Has anyone heard scandalous talk aimed at or concerning me? I would not wish to repay my master’s kindness with any dishonor to his reputation.”

The others hastened to assure him it was not so. “Certainly your presence has generated interest and questions, but no one thinks ill of our master, or you,” said Ereglos kindly.

“It is not good to linger often within the square,” Dalfarion said, sounding cross. “Court gossip is none of our concern and can lead to ill feelings. Stick to the markets and public spaces.”

This seemed to put an end to the discussion and the others settled in without another word. Legolas decided he shouldn’t have spoken up. There was much he had to learn about the structure of the classes here. These people did not need to get caught up in palace and court matters. A careless slip of the tongue could cost them dearly. There were few Sindar of high rank within the city, which put the reputations of the ones of lower stature in a more precarious position. He chastised himself for his error.

The next day brought another unwanted surprise when Legolas was ordered to report to Galdor immediately. The others pretended not to know or see him when he was called away. This was bad. First he had eavesdropped on a conversation between his betters and now came an order to report to his lord. He must have been noted. It was foolish to think he had escaped the eyes of the palace guard. His heart was in his throat when came into the hall.

Galdor greeted him with a jubilant air and a wide grin, which faded when he saw his demeanor. “What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a Balrog.”

“Nothing, my lord. I feared bad news when you called for me.”

“Why?”

“To tell the truth, I thought you had forgotten about me so when I received the message to present myself I thought I might be in trouble.”

Galdor laughed and clapped him on the back. “Quite the opposite, I assure you. I have been told your performance has been exemplary. Never a complaint, and doing the most unpleasant work. As such, I am promoting you to the armory.”

Legolas wasn’t sure this turn was to his liking. Despite the general grunginess of the scullery, he found he enjoyed the company of his fellows there. Yet he couldn’t remain hiding in the kitchens forever. He had a mission, despite knowing little about his part in it. He had to let events play out and hope, as Ulmo had promised, he would know when he had succeeded.

“That is most kind of you, my lord,” he said.

“Perhaps I have not made it clear, and for that ask your pardon, but I intend to move you up to my guard one day.

Legolas felt his stomach flip with nerves. “Indeed, my lord?” he said uncertainly.

“I am not a fool, Legolas. I know you are more than merely a Nandor living in some rustic forest settlement. You are, or once were, a warrior. I don’t know who you served, Thingol perhaps or Finrod, but I would be a fool if I didn’t take advantage of your skills. I cannot simply make you a guard, for that would raise too many eyebrows, but I can have you work your way up and test your mettle and loyalty at the same time.”

Legolas knew he was caught. He looked Galdor in the eye. “I’ll not dishonor you or myself by denying it, but neither do I wish to say more about my experiences. It is difficult to ask for trust without reciprocation so I will not do so with words. Instead I offer my actions and hard work as proof of my intent.”

“We have all been through more than we bargained for when we left Aman. I will not press you. If you have lost your stomach for war, I will not even ask you to fight should war ever find us. Yet I would like to work you into the patrols in the mountains. If you were able to find your way here you may prove quite useful in navigating the terrain in those high places, which can be as arduous as they are treacherous, and your hunting skills will be useful against the creatures of Morgoth who seek ever to find and report our location to their dark master.”

“That is something I would enjoy very much. I have no great stomach for conflict, but will, whenever I may, combat the forces of Morgoth who have marred our fair lands for too long. It will be a privilege to fight for your house should the need arise. I owe you much for your kindness, but also I believe honorable leaders deserve the loyalty of their men.”

Galdor’s eyes glistened. He covered the emotion with a gruff clearing of his throat. “I knew I was right about you from the first moment I saw you standing boldly before the king. I look forward to seeing you thrive here. Now go tell the kitchen staff you will be leaving and report to the armory. You will bunk in the barracks there.”

“Yes, my lord.” Legolas hurried off, relieved to have surmounted another obstacle in his quest to fulfill Ulmo’s command, and excited for the elevation in rank that might make a meeting with Glorfindel at least possible at some point. He also took satisfaction from the fact that Ecthelion's assessment of Galdor was dead wrong, arrogant Noldo that he was.

He said his goodbyes, offering Aerant his hopes that her vegetable garden suffered no more ravages from the cutworms plaguing it, and congratulating Gaerion on his son’s new apprenticeship with the house scribes. They all wished him well in return, even those in his dormitory who had abandoned him to his fate earlier. Legolas understood and bore them no ill will. They were good people, comfortable, or at least accepting, of their station in life and fearful to challenge the status quo lest they lose what they had achieved.

When he reported to the armory he found another change of livery awaiting him. This time the tunic was the pale green of newly budded foliage, the tree on the front was cunningly wrought with silver thread and the pants were the color of bronze.

He was introduced to the Armorer and was put to work polishing and oiling the armor of the house guard. The work was harder than that of the kitchens and with the ringing of metal and heat of the forges it was louder and hotter. There were twenty workers in the armory that cared for and kept inventory of all the weapons within. Unlike the kitchens, where the staff was comfortable with their roles, here the object was to become a knight and so, though there was camaraderie and laughter here, there was also the undercurrent of tension competition always engendered. Legolas would have hardly considered the armory a promotion except that it marked a rise from a lesser to a higher station.