Disclaimer: Everything you recognise is obviously not mine :)
Quick note: I fully realise that this chapter has taken me nearly two years to get to you – but in my defence, its also 7,000 words long, so it was obviously going to take a long time. I have read through and checked it, but sorry if there are any lingering typos! Anyhoo, enjoy – if I still have any readers left that it :) Also, there is a NAUGHTY WORD in this chapter, as well as torture - you have been warned!
Chapter Ten – The Dark Watcher
"Tirmor – we trusted you!" The Prince's fair face was contorted in fury. "And you killed her – you killed your own Queen!"
"Save your words for those who care," Tirmor spat at him; "You pathetic little weasel, you would never understand; and but for your friend here, you would never have known! Hundreds of years I play my secret game and you think you can just waltz in on a whim and destroy everything? I think not." Dragging Estel with him, he began inching back towards the now gaping hole in the wall – Legolas mirrored his every movement.
"You are not going anywhere," he snarled, flashing icy eyes; "You will unhand that man; it's over. We know. There's nowhere you can hide any more, no more lies you can tell."
Tirmor chuckled darkly. "Silly, arrogant little Prince – you are in no position to be making any demands. I have taken orders from you and your filthy father all my life, but now I give the orders!" A manic light was in his face as he slowly drew one hand back into his pocket, keeping the other firmly on the knife at Estel's throat who with stars still dancing his eyes, could find no way to take advantage of the momentary weakness.
Legolas watched him warily, painfully aware that the room contained nothing, bar a chair, that could ever be used as a weapon. As Tirmor's hand reappeared, it seemed to be clenched tightly around something that Legolas could not see; and before he had a chance to dodge, Tirmor had showered him in a shadowy glittering power that stung his eyes and burned his gums. Stumbling backwards, he collided with a small table and as his hands fumbled they locked on something small, thin and pointed – the sowing needle. He could feel his mind beginning to numb as his balance swayed dangerously. From the floor, Estel watched helplessly as Legolas turned his back and collapsed onto the table, grasping and leaning over it for a few seconds, then slumped to the floor as his legs gave way and his eyes flickered as he hovered on the brink of unconsciousness. Without warning, Tirmor dealt Estel a second and heavier blow to the head, knocking him clean out. Breathing deeply, the traitor straightened up and brushed his hands off before dragging his prisoners back into the tunnel and throwing the tapestry over the entrance.
Romén's head snapped up as the door to his chamber was flung open, and his King strode purposefully in with the air of one who has had enough of being the last to know.
"Captain, I trust that you have good reason to bring me from my chambers – Kemen tells me you have a matter of dire importance to discuss. Explain yourself." His voice was curt and commanding, leaving no room for excuses.
The Captain dipped his head respectfully. "I apologise my Lord, but this cannot wait; at the trial yesterday, a close and supposedly loyal member of your staff lied to the full Council."
Silence. Thranduil's eyes narrowed. "This is a grave accusation. Think carefully before you continue."
"With all due respect sire, it is due to the gravity of this discovery that you are here. Culfin – inform the King of that which you have just told me."
Culfin swallowed hard and stepped forward from behind Romén's shoulder. "It was Tirmor sire" – several gasps resounded around the room, but the King remained unreadable –"he claimed, rightfully, that Prince Legolas asked me to send Captain Rómen to him as soon as I saw him. However, he also claimed that it was I who informed him of the Prince's request, when in truth, I did not speak to him at all that day."
Thranduil stared at Culfin with such intensity that he wished the ground would open up under him; and though it took a resilience of will, he managed to hold his King's gaze.
"Why did you not speak at the Council, if you are telling the truth?" The words were hard and ringing.
"Truthfully sire I – I did not notice," Culfin answered miserably, finally averting his eyes. "It was such – seemed such an insignificant detail that I did not see the error until much later. For what it is worth," he added, "I am more sorry than I can say for the ill I may have caused."
"Your Majesty, we need to talk to Tirmor immediately," Rómen said urgently into the quiet aftermath of Culfin's words. "If he has made a mistake then let him claim so; but if not… Sire, we are dealing with someone very clever, and very dangerous."
"I am well aware of that, thank you Captain," the King replied shortly. "Kemen, you will go to my son's chambers and wake him; I want him here for this."
"As you wish, my Lord," Kemen bowed and swiftly turned on his heel in one fluid motion, vanishing into the corridor.
"My lord, I know it is not my place," Rómen started softly, and Thranduil's eyes pierced him. "The young Ranger – he has been attacked once already. If his attacker is still at large then I believe him to be very much in danger."
"I had his chambers guarded all night," Thranduil told him curtly.
"Then the twins, Lord Elrond's sons," Rómen persisted, "Alert them to the present danger."
"It is not your place to be issuing orders, Captain," the King pointed out.
"All the same sire…they are will want to know. If I may be so bold, they have a right to know."
The Elven King paused, considering not so much Rómen's suggestion as Rómen himself. A small eternity went by with the King scrutinising his Captain. Finally, he gave a sharp nod to a Culfin at the door – "Do as your Captain commands." Culfin started, flicked a quick look between his liege and commanding officer and bowed before running in the opposite direction Kemen had taken.
Rómen could hardly believe his ears. "Your Majesty – does this mean…?"
"I am not a fool Rómen – you are neither guilty, nor much use to this Household behind locked doors," Thranduil told him, holding back a sigh. "Before this day is through, I want the real assailant caught and behind bars – that is an order."
"It – it shall be done, my Lord," Romen forced out, full of confused pride. "And – and thank you, my Lord."
"Perhaps you have little to thank me for," the King replied in a quiet voice; "When you are in my position, Rómen – you have to be seen to act. For better or for worse." Rómen nodded solemnly, recognising the masked apology. Thranduil's eyes sought his and a mutual understanding passed that no further words were needed on the subject.
"Your Majesty!" came a suddenly cry. Rómen headed for the door as Kemen came hurtling back down the corridor. "Your Majesty, Prince Legolas is not in his chambers – his bed is still made and was never slept in."
"What? Then where is he?" demanded Thranduil, so that Kemen quailed beneath his gaze.
"Estel's chambers," said Rómen at once, and started off down the corridor in the wake of Culfin. When they reached the guest quarters however, they found quite a commotion.
"What do you mean, he is gone?" Elladan was insisting loudly, trying to force an answer out of a clearly intimidated guard who was trying and failing to stand his ground. "Men do not simply vanish, now where is my brother?"
"Dan, calm yourself, this will not help," Elrohir tried to reason. Culfin was by his side.
"What is going on?" Thranduil's voice boomed out, commanding silence.
"Your Majesty, far be it from me to question the ability of your guards, but this one has let my brother slip," Elladan said, glaring at the guard in question.
"Is this true? I ordered you to watch him all night," Thranduil intoned with a furrowed brow.
"I – my Lord – I do not understand – he must have left whilst I was away, I needed refreshment – but I swear to you I was not gone more than two minutes!" The young guard was almost visibly shaking.
"If both the young Ranger and your son are missing, sire, I would presume to guess that they are together," Rómen noted quietly to his King. "They must be within the Palace somewhere. I suggest we organise parties to find them at once."
"Agreed," Thranduil nodded, "See that it is done."
"Wait – Legolas is missing too?" quizzed Elladan. Rómen nodded affirmatively.
"Then you must let us help you search," Elrohir said at once, exchanging a dark look with his twin.
"As you wish, my Lords." Rómen bowed and swiftly set off with the twins, Culfin and the young guard in his wake. Kemen remained behind with the King.
"Your Majesty – if it is true that the culprit is still free, then it may not be safe for you to be alone. Allow me to escort you back to your chambers."
"Remain with me if you will, but I am headed for the Oval Room." Thranduil may have let it pass, but the glance between the twins had not gone unnoticed by him. All these events were linked, including the way his son had retreated into himself these past few days. There was more beneath the surface that he was not being told about, and before they could proceed, the truth had to be known.
-0-0-0-0-
The Oval Room was abuzz with members of the Royal Guard forming themselves into small groups and dividing sections of the Palace between them. Elladan and Elrohir watched the scene quietly, communicating with each other in silence.
"My heart does not bode well, brother," Elladan thought with a brooding look on his fair face.
"Nor mine neither," Elrohir agreed; "Wherever they are…Dan, I think they're in danger." His twin gave him a sharp glance. "I cannot be sure but… Estel's mind is closed. I cannot feel him anywhere within the Palace walls."
Elladan nodded, chewing his lower lip. "Maybe they are not within the Palace walls…Could they have gone into the forest?"
"Not without a guard noticing – besides, Rómen checked before he came down here."
"I am glad at least that the King had the good sense to reinstate him." Elladan admitted.
"Aye… but why? Why the sudden change of heart? Yesterday he was in a dungeon beneath the Palace, and now he has resumes his position. What catalyst began that?" Elrohir wondered.
The elder twin watched deep in thought as Rómen sent the last search party off to the lower levels of the Palace, then pored over an intricate map that Culfin had just brought him. Elrohir frowned at the creased parchment, his keen elven eyes reading it down the length of the table.
"That's a map of the Palace – including secret passages," Elrohir noted. Almost at once the same thought occurred to both of them – "Was there one to Estel's room?"
Moving as one, they came to stand on either side of the newly released Captain, who was leaning with one hand on the table whilst the other elegantly traced the lines of the Palace walls. His golden hair was still trussed from his recent spell in captivity, and his clothes creased, but his emerald eyes seemed to burn with intensity.
"Rómen – it is good to see you back," Elladan greeted him warmly. Rómen spared him a swift smile before continuing to pore over the map. "I am surprised you did not join a search party," he murmured distractedly, astute eyes running again and again over the image of corridors as familiar to him as his own face.
"Actually, we need to speak with you first," Elrohir said, placing a hand on Rómen's shoulder. Confused, the Captain pulled away from the map. "What would you speak of?"
"What made the King change his mind?" Elladan said bluntly. Rómen looked up sharply.
"We mean no offence," Elrohir offered quickly; "Only we have seen your King's stubbornness…something important must have made him release you – some evidence cast in your favour, perhaps?"
Rómen paused before going on, choosing his words carefully, unsure of how much information to give. "Is this all you want to ask me?"
"No – we also need to know whether there is a secret passage connected to Estel's room."
Momentarily, Rómen frowned. Looking back down at the map, he traced the corridor to the guest rooms. Both inside and directly outside were two dark blue marks, and lines trailing elsewhere in the Palace. "Well – technically yes, there are two – but they have both been closed for centuries, blocked during earth tremors. There is no way anyone could have used them," he added as Elladan went to interrupt.
The twins paused, each searching in the eyes of the other for permission to speak. "We had better do this in the privacy of your office," Elladan said finally with an air of mystery.
"What can you have to say that my Guard cannot hear?" he asked, eyes narrowed.
"We cannot risk being overheard by the wrong person – please Rómen, this is of a very personal nature regarding the King!" Elrohir pleaded.
"The King?" asked Rómen in bewilderment. "What can this possibly have to do with him?"
"Your office, Rómen," said Elladan firmly, fixing his gaze. Finally conceding, Rómen turned to Culfin – "Inform me immediately of any news" – before beckoning the twins through a door to his right. The heavily carpeting floor muffled the sounds of their boots, as candlelight cast long shadows along the walls.
"Do not let us be vague," Rómen started brusquely; "I have a duty to find my Prince, and your brother, and cannot waste time."
"We are not here to waste your time, Captain, we are here to help," Elladan said prickly, "You forget, we have been on the receiving end of an attack already – I want my brother safe, and I want this over."
"Then we are in agreement. Now, what do you so desperately need to tell me?"
"The passages - who has checked them recently?" he inquired, hearing his twin's thoughts – "Tirmor was assigned to guard the passages."
"Members of the Royal Guard, of course, accompanied by long serving household members. What is on your mind, sirs?"
"That there is someone close to the King whom we cannot trust – someone who will have served him for a very long time."
"Well most of the household staff has served the King since before any of us were even born. I repeat, what are you suggesting? That we have somehow been tricked? The Royal Guard are not so easily beguiled, I assure you."
"Forgive me my brashness, Rómen, but if your memory can be tampered with, then why not those of your men?" Elladan asked in a low, urgent voice. Rómen froze, staring at the son of Elrond with an unreadable expression.
"There is far more to this than someone who does not like us," Elrohir breathed, wary of being overhead. "There is more you need to know – we believe that there is a murderer in the Palace."
Rómen's eyes widened. "Impossible!" he spluttered, almost at a loss for words. "Impossible," he repeated resolutely, "There has not been a murder in the Greenwood for centuries, and certainly not within the Palace. Where have you gotten this notion from?"
Taking mental strength from his twin and a deep breath, Elladan took the plunge; "We have reason to believe that the murderer of your Queen, Lady Nimlothnen, is still at large within the Palace. Worse still, he knows that we know."
The words hung like blasphemy in the air. At the name of his late Queen, Rómen started and seemed physically winded.
"Impossible!" he repeated. "The Queen – the Queen was taken by Orcs, centuries ago, it is known – how could you possibly think this? It is treason!"
"It is the truth," said Elrohir emphatically. "At first we were unsure, but there can be no doubt, the evidence –"
"What evidence?" Rómen cut in curtly. "What possible evidence could you produce to back up this claim?"
"It – it is complicated," Elrohir sighed.
"It is our brother, Estel," Elladan said by way of explanation, unsure of how much information he should venture.
"A mortal? What could he possibly know? The Queen was lost generations before his forefathers were born! This is madness I tell you!" Rómen was convinced the twins were insane, or drunk, they must be!
"He is no mere mortal," Elladan replied carefully, keeping himself in check. "He has the gift of foresight and – well, he has seen and heard…things – echoes of the past, witnessed by and locked within these very Palace walls. The more he has seen, the greater the danger has become – increased attacks, theft, threats –"
"What do you mean threats?" Rómen quizzed, his brow furrowed.
"Letters, from someone calling himself 'The Dark Watcher'. He seals with a dark tower."
"Why did you not come to me with this before?" Rómen narrowed his bright green eyes, scrutinising the faces of the twins, still not convinced.
"It is such a sensitive topic – we did not want to drag up old and buried memories," Elrohir said softly. "But you must believe us when we say that if this is true, then both our brother and the Prince are in grave danger."
"Within the walls of this Palace? That is impossible! I say again, you are mistaken, it cannot be true, the Queen – the Queen was taken by Orcs –"
"And whose word to you have for that?" demanded Elladan, frustrated at the barricade Rómen put up. "Her body was never found, so how do you know it was Orcs?"
"She – she told the servants she was going riding before the New Years Feast, but she never returned. The search for her lasted weeks – the whole of the Guard were out, and the household staff, and the people, all of them – finally, a servant discovered her bloodied dress discarded near the southern border of the forest. The whole area was defiled, but the trail was cold – they had long since vanished into the dark depths of the Misty Mountains. Nothing else was ever found."
The twins shuddered at the eerie similarity to their own painful memories. Pushing past them, Elrohir tried to focus on the present. "No body was ever found, Rómen. All of the evidence may have suggested Orcs, but if it was what you all wanted to see…would you have looked elsewhere? Was a full investigation ever carried out?"
"No – but it was so obvious, there was no other explanation – "
"Rómen, we know how Orcs work, we have seen it first hand!" Elladan hissed. "They do not simply kill – for them an elf is sport, they will not just kill outright – " he cut off suddenly, running his hands through his hair. Elrohir placed a comforting hand on his twins shoulder. "It just doesn't make sense."
There was a pause. Rómen surveyed the twins, desperately trying to gauge whether or not to believe them. They were not liars, to be sure, but still…could this story really be true?
"Do you know which servant found her dress?" Elrohir asked in a solemn voice, dreading the answer.
"It was – Tirmor…" Rómen felt the bottom of his stomach plummet. It had to be a coincidence, it had to be – but he felt his mind slowly putting pieces together: the passages, the lie…
"Oh Eru," he whispered, "This cannot be…"
"I know it's a lot to consider, but –"
"No, you do not understand!" Rómen said, suddenly very agitated. "The evidence that convinced the King I was innocent was a flaw in someone else's – Tirmor's. He lied to the Council yesterday, when he said Culfin told him to find me, because Culfin never saw him."
The twins looked horrified. "Dan, it was Tirmor who was assigned to guard the passages!"
A knock at the door made all three of them jump. "Enter!" Rómen called swallowing away his dry throat, casting a glance over the twins that said, quite clearly, "Speak nothing of this." Culfin entered and bowed stiffly.
"Captain, the King is here and wishes an audience with you – also, the first of the parties has returned from the gardens without news."
"Thank you Culfin; show the King in." Rómen and the twins shared a final look before the King swept in, robes flurrying around him, and the three of the bowed.
"I had hoped to find you alone, Captain." The King at once noticed the taut atmosphere in the room, and wondered what he had walked in on.
"We are just leaving, Your Majesty," Elrohir said hastily, nudging his brother towards the door. Before they could leave with Culfin, Rómen called out to them – "Join a search party for your brother and the Prince, but tell someone where you are going. And Culfin? I need you to take the party that has just returned, and find Tirmor, as soon as possible. Tell no one why."
"As you command, Captain," Culfin replied, surprised at the urgency in the Captain's voice, but loathe to be the cause of more trouble.
In the Oval Room, Kemen was taking reports from the returned guards. The twins both watched as Culfin pulled the three who were finished with him and headed out of the chambers, up into the higher levels of the Palace. They paused before following.
"Did we tell him enough?" Elrohir wondered.
"Did we tell him too much?" Elladan replied darkly. "He will tell the King what we have said, you can count on it."
"Perhaps it is for the best – this mystery cannot be solved unless the truth is revealed. Hundreds of years of deceit have led to this."
"Deceit continued by Tirmor – I cannot believe it! How could he be involved? I wish…but we cannot wait to find out. We must find Estel." The sense of foreboding in Elladan's heart was growing more unnerving.
"Where would we be, if it were us?" Elrohir thought, trying to push the previous conversation from his mind.
Both knew, not from intuition but from experience, where they would find the Prince. "The Queens Chambers," they decided simultaneously and studying the map, found them located in a tower along from Legolas'.
"A tower, brother," Elladan frowned. Elrohir replied with a warning look, and escaping silently around the commotion, they followed the paths up to the higher levels of the Palace.
Passing Legolas' chambers, they followed the corridor to the turret, darkened by lack of light. Treading carefully, and straining their ears for the slightest noise, they wound their way upwards until the reached the landing. Here it became evident they were not the mornings first visitors. A rusty lock hung uselessly from an ornately carved wooden door, which had clearly been forced through.
"They will never think to look up here," Elrohir warned. "We should tell someone."
Elladan knew his twin spoke only sense, but he could feel how close they were – to turn back would waste time. "Rómen will," he decided; "if they do not find Tirmor, he will suggest this to the King…or the King may even decide it himself."
Elrohir held his tongue and motioned for his twin to lead on, but could not quell the sense that this was the wrong thing to do. Elladan could feel his misgivings but resolutely stepped into the eerie abandoned chambers, holding up his hand to shield his eyes from the light streaming through the windows after the darkness of the corridor. The pair stood, staring all about them as if waiting for an explanation, taking in the stale air and all the while fighting the feeling of familiarity that threatened to overwhelm them. The shoes in the corner, the dress over the chair…so like the way their own mother's chambers had been left, waiting patiently for their mistress's return. Even the Queen's diary seemed left open on –
"Ro," Elladan thought abruptly, "Why is the diary on the floor?"
Elrohir saw it and filled with alarm. Kneeling down, he ran his hand over the deep, dusty carpet. "There are footprints here, Dan – and signs – signs of a struggle."
Crouching down by his twin, Elladan saw it was true; some areas showed clear prints, but there something had clearly happened – two wide troughs of dust were swept away, and the carpet was brushed stiffly in the wrong direction.
"It's as though something had been dragged…" Elrohir murmured. Elladan silenced him with a steely grey look.
"I do not want to make anyone aware we are here," he warned. Elrohir shrugged apologetically. "What does the diary say?"
Carefully picking it up, Elrohir ran his slender fingers across the ancient yellowed pages, falling to the last few entries, even as their brother had done not long before. The content made them shudder. "She knew – before she died, she knew…" The younger twin pressed his eyes closed, clenching his fists so hard his nails cut painfully into his palm. Elladan shared every ounce of his brother's ache, and rested his forehead against his twin's temple. "We can do this," he said emphatically, "Ours is the past…we must focus on the present. I know you can be strong, Ro. Believe it. For Estel."
Elrohir nodded, taking strength from his sibling's encouragement. "We shall not fail him as we did her. We shall not lose him."
Rising together, Elrohir closed the diary and placed it safely in his inner shirt pocket. "So they were attacked – and dragged…where? The trail has a dead end."
A pause. "Ro, were there any secret passages in the Queen's chambers?"
Stepping warily towards the wall where the tracks ended, they approached a heavily hung tapestry depicting a scene in a golden wood – "Lothlorien," they realised together, praying that the light of their Lady Grandmother might also guide them in the darkness to come. Reaching out, Elladan brushed the woven material lightly with his fingers. It was cold and stiff to the touch, the wall solid behind it.
"It must be behind here somewhere…"
Communicating silently, they positioned themselves at either bottom corner of the tapestry, and as one lifted it from the wall in a gush of dust and rancid air to reveal a hollow, concealing a small wooden door. Pushing the tapestry aside, Elladan took hold of the black steel handle and pulled. Creaking and moaning in protest, the door reluctantly forced its way through the thick carpet, embedding it with thick oaken splinters. The tunnel behind was as black as the pits of Moria and as silent as a tomb. As they stepped determinedly inside, they hoped that a tomb was not what it would turn out to be…
-0-0-0-0-
As the twin sons of Elrond left the room, Thranduil could feel his Captain watching them anxiously. Perhaps he was tired still, or else simply concerned by completing his task but he seemed uncharacteristically restless. Strolling to the desk, the Elven King removed his showy outer robes and flung them aside, revealing a deep velvet tunic in rich navy embroidered with silver. Turning to face Rómen, he leant against the table, crossed his arms and legs and waited for an explanation, his fiercely blue eyes shining in the candlelight.
Rómen felt the King's incessant gaze with increasing disquiet. He was torn between his duty and his fervent desire to spare this good family yet more pain.
"I have sent Guards all over the Palace and ground, your Majesty," he said, after what felt like an immeasurable pause. He stood tall with his shoulders squared, but would not quite meet his monarch's eye.
"So I have seen." Thranduil continued to watch his Captain closely, reaching out to his mind. There was something… dark, lurking like a shadow that he did not want to reveal. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise up and an imperceptible shiver go down his spine. What could he sense that was so wrong?
"Your Majesty, please – " Rómen could feel the King pushing at his consciousness, feeling for an answer, but he did not want him to find out like that. With vaguely apologetic eyes, Thranduil retreated with a sigh.
"Rómen," he said softly, "Whatever it is, you must tell me, no matter how much it may hurt."
"I feel it is not I that will be hurt, your Majesty," replied the Captain with a thin and weary smile that did not stretch to his eyes. The notion suddenly struck Thranduil that Rómen was protecting him – a true Royal Guard, faithful in every way, and it warmed his heart.
"Tell me," he insisted firmly.
Rómen closed his eyes, surrendering to the will of his King – how could he do anything other? – but unsure of where to start. He hated his uncertainty and yet conviction that this situation would rapidly lead where he had no right to go – he was a rational, pragmatic soldier, organised and straightforward. The personal tragedies of others made him feel he was intruding on something private and closed off from all the rest of the world.
"Your Majesty – it is hard to know where to begin, or how to tell you," he started hesitantly, keenly aware of the intense look from his King. "But it may be" – (he took a deep breath) – " it may be that the murderer of long overlooked crime is loose within the Palace – that someone whom you have long known and trusted has grievously betrayed you."
The King's expression was unreadable. "Whose murder?"
Finally, Rómen raised his head and chiselled emerald eyes met searching sapphire blue, full off sorrow and compassion. "The murder of your Lady wife, your majesty."
Thranduil's jaw clenched involuntarily. His head swam with images and words and songs he had forcefully buried centuries ago, and with it all the pain and the bitterness that had consumed his soul. Feeling his legs shake, he gripped the table with white knuckles, his nails digging into the hard wood. Breathing deeply, he tried to speak, but could not, and turned his face from the Captain staring unseeing into the fire grate.
"You are mistaken, sir," he finally ground out, his voice strained and almost unrecognisable. "The Queen was taken by Orcs. There is no mystery."
Rómen felt a hundred different emotions welling up inside him – pity and compassion, the pain of his King, but also awkwardness and dread, knowing that if he stepped up now to offer comfort he would lose Thranduil forever. Loathe as he was to contradict him, Rómen had to explain.
"Your majesty, I know that is what all of the evidence pointed to but – but I have been informed of new evidence that suggests – "
"New evidence?!" The words exploded from Thranduil's mouth. Suddenly all the weakness he had felt a moment before vanished. "How can you possibly speak such idiocy? Do you mean to ridicule me? You, who were no more than an elfling, think you can tell me different?!"
Rómen physically flinched away from the emotional tirade pouring from his King and lowered his gaze to the floor. "Your Majesty, I know this must be unspeakably hard –"
"You know?!" Thranduil snapped maliciously, fuelling all of his pain into attacking his Captain. "You know what it is like, to have your heart pulled from your living chest, to have the dearest part ripped away whilst you watch, helpless – and knowing – knowing-" The King broke off, unable to speak around the rising lump in his throat. He ran his hands through his hair, over his face and neck, back through his hair, unable to be still and trembling all the while. Tears threatened but he resolutely held them back, unwilling to show the vulnerability that he keenly felt. "Trust me Captain," he managed hoarsely, "You do not know – you have no idea."
Battered by this outburst, Rómen gaped silently at his King – this mighty strong figure who had never in his memory been so exposed as he was now. The quiet was broken only by Thranduil's ragged breathing, his chest rising and falling erratically as he tried to control it. It made what he had to say harder, but there was nothing he could do now but plough resolutely onwards.
"Your Majesty – you are right," he began softly. "I can never even begin to imagine your pain, and I pray to Eru I will never have to live through anything like it – but I cannot hide the truth from you, now matter how difficult it is. You deserve better than that."
Thranduil glared at him, but did not trust himself to speak. Rómen took that as permission enough to continue. "The sons of Elrond have informed me of threats they have received in the form of letters, signed with the mark of a dark tower…and the Ranger, Estel – they say he has had visions – of the past…"he broke off awkwardly, acutely aware of the bizarre notion he was suggesting. "I mean to say that – events that occurred with the walls of this Palace centuries ago, so horrific that they have remained as silent ghosts, have somehow communicated themselves through his sub-conscious mind. It may be because…he is human," he mused to himself, drawing the same conclusion that Elrohir had done.
"Be that as it may, Captain," Thranduil ground out slowly, each word measured, "You have no evidence to connect it to your Queen."
"Your Majesty – I believe I am right in thinking it was Tirmor who found – who made the discovery?" he asked tentatively. Thranduil gave a jerky nod. "He is the link," Rómen breathed; "Between the past and the present, his name recurs – he it was who was assigned to check the passages; he it was who lied to the Council. My Lord, I hope beyond hope that this is an ill conceived coincidence but…"
Rómen trailed off, awaiting his King's response. Thranduil was leaning on the desk again, but now his shoulders were slumped as though worn down by a heavy burden. "You believe that the dreams of the human are the murder of my wife," he said tonelessly. His beautiful, loving, trusting wife…even after all this time, Thranduil had not dealt with the grief of his loss; instead he had buried it deep in his heart, throwing himself into his work and duties, repressing and forgetting until the pain grew numb as though it were someone else's, viewed from a distance.
"I cannot know anything for sure, my Lord," Rómen replied gently.
"If the human had…he would have told Legolas," he muttered to himself, "He would have told my son, who would…but it makes no sense….but he has…"
Rómen quirked an eyebrow at his monarch's illogical ramblings, sensing that he heard only half of the conversation. Noticing his Captain's confusion, Thranduil cleared his throat.
"Suppose for an instant that you are right in your assumptions, and I in mine…there is one area of the Palace you will not have searched." Taking a deep breath, the Elven King drew himself up to his full height, once more squaring his shoulders. "Prepare an armed contingent, Captain," he ordered, his face set. "I think I know where we can find my son."
-0-0-0-0-
A face was smiling softly down at him, a halo of golden light shimmering around it. He smiled softly as the fragrance of lilies wafted like a blanket, warm and gentle, as the melody of his favourite lullaby hung like sweet spring rain in the air.
"See the white stars shining now,
In the sky,
Of the night,
See them shining clear and bright,
For their fair lady…"
Legolas sighed deeply at the face of his mother, her eyes as green as her forest home, her skin as fair as snow. He felt only as he could feel in her presence – safe, from the entire world, from his father's expectations, from everything.
"My precious son," she whispered softly, kissing his forehead. "My brave little Legolas…little no more, but a warrior grown." Her tone was sad. "A warrior…you must be strong, my love, just a while longer."
Stay with me, he wanted to say, but could not make a sound. Frowning, he struggled to follow her as she began to drift away. She smiled wistfully at him, but shook her head. "You cannot follow where I go...but I never left you, sweetling…"
Then stay! Don't leave! he wanted to scream, but she was dissolving like the morning mists.
"Wake up, Legolas," her voice called, "Wake up now…wake up…"
"Wake up!" Icy water sloshed at face, throwing the real world back into sharp perspective. Gasping for breath, he blinked the streaming water out of his eyes, his head sluggish and pounding. He was gagged, his hands and feet were bound behind his back, and he was lying on a hard, damp stone floor, and it was cold, windy – the realisation dawned that he was outside.
"So nice of you to join us, your Majesty," a voice spat, and Legolas felt a heavy boot collide with his ribs. He choked on the soaked rag in his mouth as he instinctively took a sharp intake of breath. "You've been asleep for quite some time now. Been missing out on a whole world of fun – hasn't he, human?"
Looking around, Legolas saw the face of his tormentor – Tirmor, his eyes wild with savage passion, his shirt rolled up to his elbows and his hands bloodied. Anger surged through every nerve in Legolas' body, and he struggled uselessly against his bonds, writhing like a mad thing on the floor. Tirmor laughed mercilessly, mimicking the Prince's frenzied movements. "I'm a Prince, let me go, I'll tell Papa!" he mocked. "Ha! Do not waste your energy you fool, you're not going anywhere. No one is coming to save you, least of all your ignorant idiot of a father."
Legolas glared, such hatred seething in his eyes that he was sure it could kill the lying bastard where he stood. But this only made Tirmor laugh louder. "But no wonder you are frustrated – look at what you've been missing!" Standing aside, Tirmor revealed the slumping figure of Estel groaning softly on the stone floor. He raised his head just enough to look into Legolas' eyes – at least, as much as he could. One was already black and swollen shut, and the other not far off it. Tirmor had removed the Ranger's shirt, and the whiplashes on his streaked back spoke only too clearly of a flogging. His breathing was hitched and strained, convincing Legolas of at least one broken rib. Frozen and immobilised, the Prince could only gaze on in horror.
"The problem with humans of course," Tirmor carried on conversationally, as he stepped towards the tortured man, "Is that they break far too easily – far too quickly. They simply don't have the resistance of, say, an elf. Do you, human?" The question was accompanied by a boot to the chest, causing Estel to cry out in pain and curl in on himself.
"No pride at all," Tirmor muttered, disgusted. "Even your mother showed more fire than this pathetic pile of skin and bone." Tirmor eyed Legolas tauntingly, trying to evoke a reaction. "She struggled to the last and never gave in…unlike this." Tirmor spat on Estel's helpless form. "I bet he would even beg for death…" Bending down, Tirmor grabbed a fistful of Estel's hair and yanked his head back up. "Shall we find out?"
Involuntarily, Legolas shook his head his eyes pleading with his irrational, crazed captor as he reached for his lash, giving Tirmor all the answer he needed. Breathing heavily in Estel's ear, Tirmor's eyes never left the Prince's. "Beg for death," he grinned, "Ask me to end it and its over."
"N-never," the Ranger croaked, spitting out blood, emitting another cry as Tirmor dropped his head back down and rose up.
"Oh I beg to differ," he muttered.
Every single time the lash rose, and with every cry his friend made, Legolas could feel his soul being torn apart; hot tears streamed down his face and clouded his vision and Estel's body jerked and twisted away uselessly. For an eternity, the world was nothing but that small, secluded courtyard – until finally, Estel stopped making any sound and simply lay motionless on the floor. "Enough," he whispered between broken lips, "Enough…"
Flustered and flushed with fervour, Tirmor paused at the small sound. "Do you yield?"
No reply. A another half lashes followed, another keening cry – "I yield – I yield!"
Wiping his dripping brow, Tirmor stepped around and knelt down in front of the Ranger. "Do you yield?"
Brokenly, sobbing, Estel nodded. "Yes…"
"And you want me to end it for you?" Tirmor asked almost soothingly. Legolas screamed and writhed on the floor, his voice muffled by the gag. Again, Estel nodded, no longer caring if he lived or died so long as the pain went away.
"Then you ask for death – and so shall I deliver," Tirmor intoned with almost pious severity. "Pitiful creature...so like water; no substance, no strength, no resilience. So by water you shall die."
Legolas screamed and screamed, tearing at the ropes that tied him to no avail as Tirmor dragged Estel's forlorn body towards a marble fountain...a familiar marble fountain – with a shock that skipped a heart beat, Legolas realised where they were; in his mother's garden! Despair enveloped him – they were so close, so close to the Palace, but no one would ever think to look for them here; they were doomed – his friend, his loyal innocent friend was about to die and there was nothing he could do.
In one swift movement, Tirmor heaved Estel's body up and over the edge and into the icy water. Breaking the surface of the shallow pool, he gasped for breath as Tirmor's hands tightened around his throat – he clawed at them, but he was too weak, too weak to do anything but watch.
"You are the reason I lost the only thing I have ever loved – now it is your turn."
With a final malicious grin at the Prince, Tirmor thrust the man's head under water and held him with fierce strength. Estel flailed and fought and sent water soaring in steely showers over the fountain's edge, but he was too weak...gradually, the struggling began to subside, and suddenly, it ceased. Legolas sobbed, straining his ears for any sound of life. Nothing. He felt numb was the truth seared him like fire – Estel was dead.
Nothing like a good cliff-hanger to begin another two year wait for a chapter ;)