Chapter 9- Rendezvous

Strider slept uneasily. His dreams were not in the least pleasant, and their switching from one event and location to another wearied him. But he could not awake. There was a lit candlestick on the table. Legolas was looking at him, disappointed, clutching a fatal arrow while his blood spread fast on his tunic. His pleading eyes, the unspoken questions, his helplessness, hopelessness, fear.

Legolas mentally blaming him for being late, the eyes that said it was because of him, it was because of him. The soft voice that pleaded for him to release him from his agony, to never give it the pleasure of seeing him fade. Strider's own hand moving, slow and blurry, moving down with a blade in it, moving, governed by its own free will. The elf's eyes closing. The last breath, the last movement. The wind that blew out the flames of the candles. Smoke from the snuffed out candles curling, twirling in the air.

A dimly lit room. Letters and documents scattered like fallen leaves in the wind. Thranduil fighting with an elf, long blades clanging hard against each other. A fight to the death. Cruel and sharp hits, and Thranduil fell, transported to the dining room where Legolas was. The two beings together in death, motionless, with closed eyes.

Then screams, screams and more screams. This he knew to be the healing wing. Tirion was there, and his nana and ada. His nana was screaming, distraught and hysterical.

"Estel, Estel!" she cried, "why did you do this to him! He's only a young elf-child yet to see the world!"

He looked in as an outsider, as though from behind a closed window, unable to move, unable to speak. Tirion screamed even louder, twitching incessantly in pain. He did not blame anyone, but everyone knew his unspoken words, "You said to trust Estel and love, but both failed me!"

His nana only cupped his face in her hands, stroked his sweaty hair and whispered again and again, "Estelio estel, estelio veleth…"

Again and again, like a never-ending whirlpool.

"Estelio veleth…"

Strider's sweat was breaking out his own forehead.

"Veleth… Veleth…"

He bolted up in his bed, his body disorientated, but his mind was not.

"Melethlas," he said.

Then, as though suddenly realising what he had said, he jumped out of bed, dressed hurriedly and ran straight to the nearby healing wing.

Himorn and Elladan were there, taking the night shift.

"Melethlas!" Strider panted, "try melethlas!"

Himorn looked at him hesitantly. The herb was extremely mild, not even half as strong as athelas.

"But – " the elf began, and got no further.

"Let us try it," Aragorn cut him off resolutely with a stubborn shake of the head.

Himorn looked at Elladan, saw him nod almost imperceptibly, and relented.

The death toll was now twenty-seven, and daybreak would mark the fifth day of the poisoning. By now, they had a fairly good idea of who would be the next to go. Death after death may appear to be mere statistics to many, but Strider and every single elf still felt the misery and dear loss of the immortal lives. Any try would be far better than leaving the elves to die in such a manner.

Elladan quickly prepared the herb while Strider and Himorn paced back and forth impatiently. When it was finally ready, Strider moved towards the awakened patient. Himorn's mother was fading fast; the light already lost from her eyes. Himorn fed her the bitter herb, which she downed easily. Strider doubted he would be so willing to finish it.

Strider offered a silent prayer for the herb to work. The mildest of herbs, melethlas was also the most bitter, which was an irony in itself. Minutes passed. Nothing seemed to be happening, and Elladan left to tend to another patient. Himorn's hopeful face grew despondent.

"Himorn," her cracked voice croaked, "be careful. We are reaching."

Himorn stared at her, wondering what she was seeing behind the closed eyelids. He stood up and walked away, wishing to be alone for a moment. He knew that should anything happen, he should be beside his mother, but he could no longer bear to see her struggle thus.

She coughed.

Aragorn instinctively reached out to help her into an inclined position. It was then that Himorn turned and saw something.

His mother was glowing softly again.

There was life in her!

Strider looked at him, confused for a moment before he understood what had happened. When they faced each other, their eyes were moist. Himorn's tears ran down his cheeks in unbridled joy. He could have jumped and danced, sang and shouted, and done everything to express his happiness.

They had found the remedy!

They had finally found the cure!

There must have been no greater joy than this, at least for the two friends from which the emotions poured out freely. After all the days and night, all the effort, all the hard work, they had finally found it!

It was at this moment that they saw the shadows upon the threshold.

Legolas heard faint shouts. Even when he strained his ears to hear more, they were still barely audible. This meant that the commotion must have come from the other side of the Palace, which meant the sleeping chambers.

And his father's study.

He was gripped by a sharp bout of panic. What was going on? What had happened? Was the Palace under attack? Who did it? Why? A whole barrage of questions swarmed his mind, but two persisted: How did he fit into all this? Why was he locked here?

He could not recall any specific feud he or his father had with anyone. Could Mirkwood have been overrun by orcs? Or spiders? Or did the Necromancer decide to complete the conquest of Mirkwood? His thoughts whirled dizzyingly around him.

Legolas leaned against the stonewall, trying to chase away the colours dotting his vision, and calmed his breathing somewhat. He had gone far too long without food but that was the least of his concerns now. Whatever it was, he needed to be out there, fighting, not locked in a pathetic hole and treated as a beggar right in his own home.

Which is probably why I'm kept here, Legolas reflected.

"Prince Legolas?" A voice and candle-light floated down from the now-open flap.

As soon as Legolas turned upwards, a think coil of rope fell through.

"Hurry, my Lord!" The voice whispered again.

"Who are you?" Legolas was indeed his father's son; distrustful and wary.

A pause.

"One who has forfeited his Elven rights."

Legolas waited for the other to elaborate, but it was not to be.

"Prince Legolas, your father is in danger. You must hurry."

Legolas was still hesitant.

"My Prince, if I meant to do you harm, would I be here talking to you?"

Legolas sighed, knowing he had no other choice anyway. Even if this was only a ruse to draw him to death and destruction, he had no other choice; his father could not wait indefinitely and he could not remain in this hole indefinitely either. He held onto the rope, and before he could climb, was immediately pulled up.

"Galion," he recognised the exiled wood-elf immediately. Galion, the Butler, had been banished by King Thranduil, in a fit of wrath, along with his friend, a Captain of the Prison Guard, for negligence leading to a security breach and a rather embarrassing incident, involving some dwarves, for the Kingdom.

"Lord Carasgon will kill the King, but he seeks you first. Go to the healing wing. You must get help," Galion did not give Legolas much time to think.

"Why are you doing this?" Legolas asked.

"Go!" Galion said nothing else, and prodded Legolas in the direction of the exit.

Legolas gave Galion a grateful look and dashed out of the room. He had to take this risk, to trust that elf and hope that Eru would make a way for him. As he neared the main entrance, he sighted Easterling guards. He paused. He had that blade as a weapon, but against thirty over guards at the same time?

He was thinking of a sound strategy when an elven voice called out in the Easterling tongue. The guards, including some uncountable number from outside the Palace left their posts immediately without question. Legolas ran through the door unopposed, took down a small handful of guards loitering around, and went on and on until he reached the healing wing. He was unnoticed amidst all the commotion in the wing, which was just as well.

He could barely believe he had made it out without any difficulty. It was as though he was merely dreaming. In all the excitement, he had forgotten about his fatigued body. Now it all came back, and he collapsed onto the floor, faintly registering voices calling out to him in surprise and worry.

Legolas awoke sluggishly a while later, moving his arm across his face and catching the attention of all present.

"Estel?" he asked, blinking to see the faces more clearly, "Elladan? Himorn?"

He paused, unable to believe his eyes.

"Haldir?" he finally asked.

"Yes, yes, it is us," Haldir answered for them, "and don't ask how we came here. That is a long story we do not have time for. Just tell us what is going on."

Legolas nodded his thanks to Estel for the offered miruvor and lembas. He thought over what to say and how to phrase it in the best possible way, then found that the words just blurted out on their own accord.

"Carasgon has plans to kill my father and I, and perhaps destroy Mirkwood in the process."

Plain and simple.

"Carasgon," Himorn repeated.

"I'm sorry," Legolas nodded, watching as Himorn made a waving gesture to stop him, "how long have I been out?"

"Half an hour," Estel replied.

"We must hurry," Legolas decided.

And the gathering of friends turned into a war council. They moved into a quieter room and managed to rouse Elrohir and Calenlas from sleep.

"Four thousand of the army that was sent has been accounted for, but they are slow in returning," Haldir reported.

Calenlas gave his input next, "At such short notice, the remnant of the Mirkwood Army may not come in time. We can only rely on the trainees and reserves who are within this area."

"How many will we have?" Aragorn asked, every experience gained in the form of Strider and Thorongil coming back to him.

"Two hundred and fifty reserves, seventy trainees, thirty from Lórien, twenty from Imladris. That would be three hundred and seventy," Calenlas answered.

"And if you exclude the females and children?" Legolas suspected they were included in the count as well.

Calenlas' face turned grim, "A hundred and eighty then, but if you include males old enough to pass hunting age, there would be two hundred and fifty, should all of them be well enough to fight."

"But not all are well-trained," Himorn reminded them. "This may not be enough."

"I will not have the females and elf-children sent to war," Legolas would not change his stand.

"Let's assume there are more of them than us, which is very likely the case. If we surround the Palace, they're in the central area, we are spread out. They can deploy troops fast, but we will face delays should anything happen on any front. If we enter from a single entrance, they may find another way out," Elladan analysed the situation briefly.

"I may have an idea," Aragorn said, growing more confident with each word, "we split into two groups. One goes into the Palace and splinters to cover more ground, leaving a certain number in every secured room to guard it and tend to any fallen elves. The other group also further divides into smaller groups to watch the main entrance and the underground stream. There should be no way through the mountain, so that area need not be watched."

The elves nodded. This seemed logical. The Palace was not known for wide corridors, and a large force might even hamper their progress.

"Why the underground stream?" Himorn asked finally, "we should save as many warriors as we can."

"The stream is a possible way of escape. Slim as the chances may be, we would not want to have missed anything," Aragorn explained.

Himorn nodded, accepting the explanation. Rúmil whispered something in Haldir's ear.

"Are you sure there are no other exits?" Haldir asked.

"We could have a group guard the area between the main entrance and the stream," Elladan suggested.

"I will open the gates, so we can enter easily," Legolas said, "the main entrance may be fiercely guarded, but it should be nearer to where my father is."

Legolas then went on to summarise the cries he had heard and the guards at the entrance.

"And that was probably when things had not settled down yet. More men may be sent there, and perhaps to the sentry posts too," he finished.

There was a brief silence during which everyone pondered over what Legolas had said.

"Galion? Easterlings? Just who else are involved in this? This is totally unbelievable!" Elrohir exclaimed suddenly, although he had already accepted it as truth.

Further quick discussions settled ways to decide on who would remain in the rooms, how many to stay in each room (two for smaller ones, up to eight for larger ones with more exits), what to do with resistance (disarm and bind when possible; kill when attacked by the men) and other such details. The general plan was to proceed according to the circumstances.

An hour passed.

Another half-hour for all fit warriors to muster.

Now they were ready.

"This is insane! Two hundred and twenty half-trained people against an unknown force?" Calenlas could not help commenting.

"Isn't this what we're known for?" Elladan teased.

"We have Eru on our side. This will tip the balance in our favour," Legolas said with a strength and confidence that surprised the others.

Yes, that will help.