"Yes, you may rest now, ne vanim." I murmured into my horse's ear, a different horse from the black stallion, who had been taken down by a group of rogue bandits. This one was smaller, with a bay coat.
Running my fingers over his sweat-dampened shoulder, I stood, facing the looming trees ahead. So familiar, yet instead of looking upon them with a sense of homecoming, they arose a stir of emotions in me, none of them welcoming.
The forest where I once lived. Training day in and day out while my peers danced and laughed and throve in the sunlit groves.
Child-like jealousy stole over me as I remembered their bright, cheerful faces, poking fun at one another until their parents called them in. They would skip gaily into warm arms and the smaller ones would often be tossed into the air, squealing with mirth.
In contrast, when I returned from a lone hunting session, in full hunting garb, streaked with mud and leaves and smelling of sweat and blood with a dead hare swinging in my hands, my mother would look down at me with cold eyes and guide me into our home, her only words to me being, "Place that thing on the table and find your father, he's preparing a sparring match."
At first, when I was younger, tears would spring into my eyes and my throat would close up, but as I got older, the tears ceased and were replaced with a warrior-like resolve to break away, or at least prove to them I was good enough, better even.
Shaking off the old feelings with a mental reprimand to focus on the task at hand, I inhaled and faced my horse again. I needed to leave him here, at the edge of the forest. The less noise I made in the trees, the better.
Clicking to the bay softly, I led him to a young oak tree and secured his reins to one of the lower branches. He nickered at me, bobbing his head, and lazily began nibbling at the buds on the branch.
Half-smiling, I gave him a firm pat on the neck and proceeded into the woods, sticking to shade the trees provided in the afternoon sun. My boots didn't make a sound, which I was proud of, having trained for years to move in utter silence on any terrain. Even now, I still had to keep a sharp eye out for sticks or roots I could stumble on.
All elves have a naturally light step, but, as I saw in my childhood in Greenwood, we have some hopelessly clumsy cases. I was not one of those elves.
As I stalked through the wilderness, I eyed the earth for traces of a shallow Elven boot print. Not a hint. Quite impressive, perhaps I'd underestimated my kin.
No, this is their land, why creep around like intruders? Were my people in trouble? Doubtful. No many people could challenge the prowess of the elves, even the lesser elves like the Silvan.
I myself have both Sindar and a little bit of Noldor from my mother, a relative of Elrond of Imladris. My father was a warrior under King Thranduil, who had varying amounts of both Silvan and Sindar blood, so I suppose I am some of all three. But does that all really matter? If an elf has "seen the light" in Valinor, does it really improve them that much?
My parents, under the influence of a power much greater and more twisted than they, had not exposed me to much of the Elven religion. Yes, I swore by the Valar, but I respected them as ancient, possibly fabled, powerful warriors.
Ah, religion. The search for perfection for the Elves. No, being immortal with looks fairer than any human and battle skills that resemble a dance of death was not enough for them.
I took the long path around a particularly thorny patch of shrubbery, taking extra care to make sure none of my clothing snagged on the prickly branches.
It occurred to me I needed a plan. And another plan in case the first failed. Quinn, as much as he relied on gut instincts, always reminded me that having a well-structured idea of what you're going to do often makes sure that you're actually going to get it done correctly.
Well, I would locate Legolas, obviously. He would most likely be in the cliff side stronghold where his father held court. But I had to be ready if he wasn't. How would I lure him away to, well, complete the mission?
Was the "mission" actually worth it? Surprise flickered through me. Doubts? I didn't have doubts. My conscience apparently thought otherwise.
Why only kill the prince? And if you're going to kill someone, why him? Why not Thranduil? Is this whole ordeal something that needs to be done or something that I want to be done? Why are you going to the trouble? How-?
No! I was going to do this whether it would matter or not. Who said I had to care what other's thought of me? I never had, so why start now? Scowling, I glared into the distance where the main city of Eryn Lasgalen lay.
That prince will die. And then I will have fulfilled my vengeance and get on to...
What did I have to get on to? Without Quinn, I was just that pillaging ranger with no purpose, wandering Middle Earth for eternity. For one split second, I almost believed I felt...lonely. Then the second passed and I had to return to reality.
You are Jevryn Haldaer. There is no place in the world for your insignificant whining. Get on with it.
A barrage of voices filled the air, and I ducked behind a thick tree-trunk, my heart suddenly ramming against my ribcage.
Happy, lilting, Elvish voices. They spoke Sindarin at a comfortable, rapid pace. From what I could tell, they were discussing their people's welfare. Nothing that affects me.
The voices were all foreign, which did not help me at all. They faded as the party of elves moved farther away from me.
Now, two options had sprung up. Follow the elves to wherever they were heading, or travel to where I was sure the city would be.
Turning away from the elves, I snuck into the underbrush, resuming my trek to the city. The rest of the journey took me six and a half days, encountering no sentient beings on the way. In the middle of the seventh day, I came to the city.
The sun was blazing in the sky, creating long shadows that stretched out and embraced me, giving me a place to hide. Taking refuge in behind a house, I watched the elves passing by for any familiar faces.
It was peacetime for them, judging by the conversation of the elves in the forest and the general mood of the crowd, a glorious time to be spending with the Wood-elves.
Feasts and dancing with singing that made even the stars themselves shiver with delight. Never much of a singer or dancer- a strange concept for an elf such as I -I was always training during the feasts and usually dined on the leftovers my parents had scavenged for me. When I was training, I often listening to the singing, but that was as much as I participated in the merrymaking.
I recognized many elves resplendent in their Lothlorïen-style attire. Some even bore the mark of Imladris, a rare thing for elves of such high rank visiting wood rats like us.
Walking quietly behind the houses, I kept an eye on the shops across the road. Soldiers often stopped there for supplies before making their daily rounds, and not on any condition did I want to be seen.
That would create quite a problem if I wanted to enter the magic door that protected the King's hall and an assortment of underground rooms. A hooded outcast armed to the teeth wouldn't just be admitted in and told to wait for an audience with the king. There are no second chances here. I would be escorted out of Eryn Lasgalen or thrown into prison at best, and the Valar knows what else.
Grimacing, I glanced distractedly towards the shops one last time to check if any guards were lurking and froze.
Legolas was standing there with an elf from Lothlorïen who displayed the mark of a captain and might've been called Haldir if my memory served me correctly.
The prince was a bit broader in shoulder since I last set eyes on him, but still had the same look of agile strength about him. The sun shone off his white-blond hair, braided in the exact same style as it was that fateful day. He was clothed in a tunic, boots, bracers, leggings, and an Elven-made cloak attached with a leaf of Lorïen, all in dull shades of grey, brown and green. A hunting bow of our people was strung on his back complete with a quiver full of arrows, and two long knife sheaths crossed on his shoulders blades. He was one of the best of our people in archery, but I had never seen him with the knives. I assumed he had a hunting knife too, unless he was seriously daft.
He spoke with Haldir cordially, a master at politics by now. Haldir himself was a little shorter and stockier than Legolas with a rounder face and brown eyes, but they shared the same blond hair, albeit tied up in a different fashion.
My bow would be the best way to be done with it at the moment, but it would alert everyone of my presence, and I wasn't the best hand at archery anyways, unlike the impeccable prince over there.
Why was I even here? This plan was proving to be near impossible.
~Be grateful he wasn't inside the door.~
Well, it was a one in a million chance he'd randomly decide to take a lovely walk through the trees by himself, so I settled down to wait.
My stakeout went on for three days, and it was only on the eve of the fourth day that I had luck. I was half-asleep in the thicker branches of one of the trees around the town, clumsily holding onto the rough bark.
Yet, footsteps snapped me out of my stupor. Light and barely audible, they sounded from the bridge.
I roused myself, wincing at the pain in my stiff muscles, and settled into a crouch amongst the leaves, looking around them to search for the cause of the footsteps.
It was Legolas! The lean princeling was dressed in his hunting array and heading in the direction of the forest.
A grin flitted across my face. Indeed, this would be a pleasant day after all. Moving slowly like a giant spider descending from its web, I reached the ground and began to follow him.
Legolas didn't glance around and I trailed him successfully out of hearing range of any elves in the city.
A slight rasp made me cringe as I unsheathed my sword. A few birds called their alarm shrilly and I pictured myself shooting them out of their trees with my bow.
Legolas' head was tilted back, facing away from me, watching the birds chirping and chattering from branch to branch.
Raising my sword, I ran a few paces towards him on feet as light as feathers and leapt, the glint of the sun catching my blade.
The whistle in the air as my sword sliced downwards seemed skull-shatteringly loud, although I knew it was merely a whisper.
It was enough. Legolas spun around like a cat whose tail has been treaded on, his azure eyes narrowed. Just in time, he sprung back, the keen edge of my sword only giving him a thin cut across his chest.
Swinging my sword around, droplets of royal blood flying off it, and I took a fighting stance, glaring vehemently at Legolas. Charging him, I kicked him square in the chest, knocking him over, and swiped my sword at his throat.
But the prince met my sword with a flash of silver. He'd yanked both of his long knives out of their sheaths mid-fall. He hit my sword back, sending a tingle down into my hands as the blade shook, and was on his feet before I could retaliate.
We circled each other, and he spun his knives in his hands, but I did not allow myself to even glance at the bright mithril.
Suddenly a look of recognition flickered across his face. "Jevryn? A tanya lle?"
Not replying, I struck. My blade stood quivering at his neck, the edge poised about a throbbing artery. Legolas stood still, his eyes flitting over to meet mine.
The blue irises were full of memories and a strange sadness, the same I'd seen in my dream.
"A tanya lle?" He repeated, the words slow and cautious, like he was speaking to a wild panther who was unsure whether to attack or flee.
Tilting my head and, frankly enjoying having him at my mercy, I hissed into his ear. "Estelio nin, you will wish it wasn't."
"Lle naa belegohtar, Jevryn." His voice was calm, even-toned.
"Don't waste your petty compliments on me, princeling." I bit off each word viciously.
"Ah, indeed. There is a fire in your eyes, Haldaer, from the wrongs we have done you, there is no doubt."
"From the wrongs you did me." I gave him a cold look. "Now what is your bargain for your life? All of your wheedling does not escape me."
"I will accompany you out of Eryn Lasgalen." The words shocked me. I'd expected some pathetic pleading.
"The ransom will be high." He coaxed me.
"Silence. I have no need for gold." I considered it. Legolas was trying to appeal to the greedy side he thought was in me. He had a point, though. If I took him with me, I could demand a ransom, take the money and slaughter the prince.
"Fine. Drop your weapons- including that knife on your belt." I ordered, not lowering my sword.
Legolas threw his long knives to the ground, unslung his bow and quiver, and took out his hunting knife, tossing it at my feet with the others.
"Now move." I shoved him forward. This had better be worth it. I'd just allowed my victim to reason with me; this was a sharp one, and often, the deadliest weapon was the mind.
Ne vanim: My beauty
A tanya lle: Is that you?
Estelio nin: Trust me
Lle naa belegohtar: You are a mighty warrior.