Feast of the Hunter by chrissystriped

Feast of the Hunter

Written for the Middle-earth Olympics prompt: Athletics

Thranduil stood at one end of the large clearing, his people behind him and up in the trees. No one wanted to miss the feast at the beginning of the hunting season.

He was wearing the Hunter’s Crown — leather-bands holding the antlers in place — and ceremonial hunting clothes that were more rich than anything he’d ever wear on a real hunt. Today he was Tauron, bringing them a bountiful hunting season.

He smiled at Luiloth, who was offering him an intricately carved and painted javelin with a tip of obsidian. She was wearing a wreath of autumn flowers in her hair. His wife had gone from house to house all week, blessing the harvests of their people, representing the Two Sisters of Growth.

He took the javelin, feeling the smooth handle lying familiarly in his hand. He lifted it to his shoulder, made a few quick steps and threw it with all the power of his body. The javelin flew in a perfect arc, burying in the ground on the other side of the clearing.

Thranduil smiled satisfied as his people cheered for him. He’d trained more for this than he’d be willing to admit to anyone but his wife.

He offered Luiloth his arm and led her to the thrones that had been set on a dais from where they’d watch the hunters of their people trying to outdo him. The hunter who’d do best in the contest would be leader of the hunt for this season.

Legolas, who’d waited with Luiloth’s sister while his parents were busy, climbed on Luiloth’s lap, throwing Thranduil an uncertain look. The antlers were scaring him.

Luiloth ran her hand through his pale hair, tugging a leaf out.

“Did you see daddy throw the spear?”, she asked their son.

Legolas nodded, trying to push his whole fist into his mouth and staring wide eyed at Thranduil. Thranduil would be relieved to get rid of that crown as soon as possible, not only because it was heavy and uncomfortable but because he hated that it made his son afraid of him.

He turned his eyes on the contest. Everyone was allowed to compete and so there were a mix of people waiting for their turn: courtiers, soldiers, people from the town and those who lived in the deep of the forest for most of the year.

As the contest progressed Thranduil felt more and more pleased about his throw. Few people had come close to it, yet.

The woman who won the contest wore leathers, her bare arms covered in blue patterns -- one of the wandering tribes who roamed the forest. She bested his throw by almost a foot and smiled proudly at him when he presented her with the knife of the Leader of the Hunt.

“May I ask your name?”, he said softly.

“Nalairin”, she answered.

Thranduil lifted her arm. “Greet Nalairin, the Leader of this year’s Hunt”, he shouted and the whole glade cheered for her.

“And now for the feast.” Thranduil clapped his hands and servants set up long boards as tables, quickly lading them with food.

He offered Nalairin the seat of honour at his side and sat down himself again. Tomorrow the hunting season would start for real, filling their pantries for the coming winter.