Auth-en-Gail Dhógiel ~ Battle of Killing Light ~ Eriador 2917
"It is to be a moonless night fight under the stars, conducted on the low plains dividing the broken crags cradling Evendim and the hilly region north of Fornost, the very place where the men of Gondor first met and routed Angmar's army over a thousand years ago," Legolas announced in clear tones of confidence and gravity.
He stood before the gathered Rangers, tall, rugged, dour men unaccustomed to being addressed by any but their own Lords. Not even Elladan and Elrohir treated with them like this, deferring to their Chieftain to make any and all announcements of battle plans. They gazed upon him nonplussed, uncertain what to make of him, and Legolas wished in that moment that he had inherited the exalted and lordly stature of his Sindarin father instead of the lithe, limber conformation of his sylvan mother. Even with Elladan and Elrohir flanking him, he felt keenly the difference between him and these people whose loyalty he must win, whose hearts he must own.
Arathorn was right; these were not the simple woodsmen of the Greenwood and they were not impressed by his royal status as Thranduil's son, owning no king but their own deprecated and exiled Chieftain. Rather, they were inclined to view him as an unwanted condition of the environment that must be stoically endured until they could alter the circumstances. Yet, Legolas had faced difficult situations before and convinced far more taciturn minds than these, for none could be more stubborn, more arrogant, more set in their thinking than Wood Elves alive since the Awakening, and he had once earned the respect and allegiance of even these Elders among his people. He remembered why he was here and what was at stake and then he stood a bit straighter, raised his chin a little higher.
"I will not offer you any pretence. It would be hard to locate worse conditions possible for a Wood Elf accustomed to fighting under the cover of endless trees," he admitted openly and saw this was surprising to them. "Yet only these conditions will gain us the advantage we seek. Our foes will more easily fall for our ruse if we make the most of the unusual addition to your numbers. Word has gone round far and wide of my presence here. Few are the people who have seen any of the First-born, yet nearly all have heard much of the Wood Elves. They know of the divide between my people and yours, between my people and Lord Elrond's, and mistake this for dissension. So then, let them assume that distrust is real and that it represents a weakness they may exploit." He had their attention, though they did not see yet the gist of his speech, and he paced before them slowly, caught Elladan's eye, sparkling with pride and mild astonishment, and did not bother to subdue the broad smile this engendered.
"For it is true, is it not, at least in part?" he asked them and several assenting murmurs arose. "That is always the way before acquaintances become fast friends, and we need not be concerned over it." One or two faces exhibited mild surprise or confusion. "Nay, I will either win your trust at the conclusion of this endeavour, or not. Whatever the outcome, my addition to your ranks cannot diminish the strength of the Dunedain, nor erode the courage of the Rangers, nor lessen the cohesive force born of the experience of long hardship over many years of strife and toil. Nay, it matters not whether I am here or not; the Dunedain will carry the day, or the night." Heads nodded sagely and grim smiles approved his words.
"This is a fact, and one our foes should know, yet I predict these Shadow-slaves will believe otherwise. Indeed, it is in their nature to be deceitful, to be conniving, to vie one against the other for the highest place, to sacrifice an entire company to advance the course of one individual. They will believe what we show them, never doubting it to be false since it is the way of things among them. We will let them think it is Oropher's charge against Morannon all over again. They will be unable to ignore the lure and will surely come after my small band, thinking to run us down and destroy us utterly. They will find themselves overwhelmed instead."
More murmurs arose and Legolas listened, knew he hadn't won them yet, but neither did he expect to until the fight was over. He only needed them to see the logic of this strategy and follow through. They would only do so on orders from Arador.
"It is a fair plan," Halbarad conceded, stepping forward, "but who is to comprise this company of bold, if irrational, soldiers?" A few chuckles followed his words, and Legolas smiled, too, nodding.
"Aye, for who would follow a Wood Elf, knowing their reputation for stout hearts but weak intellects?" he asked. More laughter at that. Legolas shrugged. "I would neither ask nor order anyone among you to undertake such a task, for such is not my place. You have your ways of assigning duty and it is for your Lords to determine who is best suited for this one. It matters not to me, knowing full well every man among you to be a worthy and resourceful fighter." That made them all quiet and they remained still, evaluating him openly, as they had done these many weeks past. Legolas freely met the challenging, doubtful, and in some cases resentful stares evenly.
Then Arador stepped forward and he retreated, taking his place beside the Twins, openly securing Elladan's hand in his. Many were the eyes that ranged over them and he could see in those expressions wonder and appreciation; truly, they made a daunting and impressive trio: perilous, fair and fey and fantastic, heroes out of legends come to life, and he perhaps the most mythic of the three. For the Twins they knew and were even of their own kin, but a Wood Elf was a mystery and a fable, an unknown to fear or at least hold at a cautionary distance.
He was accustomed to distance, having experienced it among his own ever since that day; everyone gave him a wide berth. Even so, the nomadic life on the North Downs had been an uneasy transition for him, not principally due to resistance from the Rangers, who expressed their doubts in turned shoulders and silence, or in private beyond his hearing, but because of his unfamiliarity with the terrain and the methods of combat particular to it. He had realised at once he would need a new bow, for his was designed to use beneath the trees and the draw was lesser than required to fell foes at great distance. He would need that advantage if he would destroy the enemy's archers first. This he judged most important and the primary way in which his skills would show superior to the Rangers'. Even so, crafting a new bow took time he did not have. He resolved to work with the weapon he had brought out of Greenwood.
To gain every possible benefit from his natural ability, he learned to shoot from horseback. Now, Legolas could ride well, as any of the First-born could, but keeping horses was difficult in the woodland realm where forage was scarce enough for the indigenous wild life. The expense of providing shelter and food was too high to maintain a stable of war horses; nor was it practical to utilise them for combat in the close quarters of the endless trees. Thus, he had no experience in this area while comprehending at once the importance of developing the skill as quickly as possible. A horse was required for this and from Arathorn he requested and received permission to befriend and tame one of the moorland mares ranging the wild, deserted lands.
He chose a small, nimble steed less bulky than a traditional war horse, but fast and agile. She was a brash, curious creature who ignored the warnings of her herd-mates and let the archer approach. A brown and white piebald mare, she made Legolas work hard for two days before he could coax her to his will, but after being thrown from her bucking back three times and forced to either dismount or be rolled over upon, Legolas struck a bargain with her comprised of apples, sweet treats, respectful words, and a gentle touch. All this transpired amid the amused observation and unsolicited advice of Halbarad, Arathorn, Elladan, Elrohir, and various men among the Rangers who followed to see in action the much lauded elven way with animals.
Win her trust Legolas did, and accord between horse and elf progressed rapidly. They were a good match, as he'd known they would be, and he named her Rûskaninkwi. (Brown and white) She discovered she enjoyed the diligent grooming he performed, especially the attention to her feet as he cleaned them and filed her hooves, and the soft, lyrical speech that communicated approbation and genuine affection. She came to understand that he had no desire to enclose her in a fence or a stable and that he was pleased to run with her over the fields and meadows, to stand guard beside her when she slept, to rest near her as she grazed. This being true, she was disposed to carry him without bridle or halter or any gear at all. This barrier removed, Legolas proceeded to relearn his art from the mare's back and endured the laughter and ribbing of the Rangers with grace and humility, for his aim suffered terribly at first.
They were no longer jesting after the end of two week's practice when he was hitting targets so far away they could barely see them, this while the horse galloped at top speed over the rugged plains.
Legolas refrained from boasting about this achievement, letting their own eyes convince them. Soon there were new jokes to replace the ones about how inelegant and uncoordinated he was for one of the First-born. Now, the jeers mainly regarded the degree of sweating his efforts produced, also uncommon among the First-born, or so they had thought. Upon returning to the encampment one evening after a hard day's travail on horseback and in mock combat with Elladan, he was pelted with small slivers of pressed soap and urged to bathe amid much exaggerated nose holding and gagging. He weathered all this with equanimity, judging it the best sign that he was becoming accepted among the rugged edain, though he well knew the real test was yet to be passed.
As to that, in private council Elladan had urged him to defer to Arador and Arathorn. He was to be their new captain, but all orders must come from them. He must not speak out to them in front of the Rangers as he had done on his introduction to Arathorn. All he needed to do for this initial encounter was uphold his assigned role with honour and valour and the men would consider him one of their own thereafter. Legolas listened to all this without argument, but that was because he had expected such advise. He had no intention of adhering to these suggestions, knowing full well that what was required was something spectacular, something almost shocking. If the men were wary of him, it was a point of view he approved and even hoped to enhance into awe. If these seasoned men were to listen to his words and accept his plans in future, they must have the proof before them first. Then, their trust would be readily given and they would forfeit their very lives if need be to ensure victory.
His life with Elladan improved after the exchange of rings and the renewal of their bond. The pair became inseparable, for Elrohir remained true to his word and no longer sought to impede Legolas. His presence was felt as strongly as before, however, and aroused an entirely new set of difficulties for Legolas. It was worse, he found, to have Elrohir be cordial and courteous, even friendly, for now he had no excuse to avoid him as he had previously. Whenever he was near, tensions mounted and Elladan invariably expressed a jealous possessiveness that the archer found unbearable. It was difficult to conceal this from the Dunedain, not fools by any means. A pool was started based upon how long it would take for Legolas to relent to Elrohir's persistent attention and switch mates.
Legolas devised a way to evade these woes, suggesting he and Elladan set out on a scouting mission designed to familiarise the woodland archer with the geography of the fallen kingdom and make his presence known among the scattered farms and settlements. To explain his sudden appearance, they gave out word among these folk that a large portion of the sylvan people were seeking to immigrate to the region skirting the foothills of Nenuial; the very place where the battle was to be staged. If he was right about spies amid the populace, this news would spread to their enemies and thus encourage them to stop such an infusion of strength and vigour among the Rangers. Now at the advent of their first foray into the ten-year campaign, he could do no more to prepare for the battle. Either he had done enough or not and only time would give the answer.
"Elrohir, you will lead the Third battalion as always and proceed through the gap first," Arador issued his commands with calm authority, the map spread before them on the ground where he, the Twins, Arathorn, and Halbarad knelt. "At the Bend, you will abandon the course toward Nenuial and cross Baranduin, striking due south for the foothills. There you are to camp and await the caravan out of the Shire."
Arador cast a glance at the Wood Elf standing behind them, silent and inscrutable. He was glad of the monies Legolas brought to his cause, but leery of the Wood Elf's more involved contribution to the struggle. He was still an unknown quantity and the motives driving him seemed too distant, not so much in actual miles, though that was great, but in time. He supposed that was another example of 'the long view' about which Lord Erestor was forever harping.
All Legolas' assurances about the sham immigration story aside, the man simply did not have any confidence in the archer, considering him too volatile and too young to withstand the rigours of the kind of campaign required to raise the North Kingdom once again. True, he had shown his skills to be admirable and his willingness to endure primitive conditions unquestionable, but he was more foreign and strange to the Rangers than the wandering band of exiles under the loose leadership of Gildor, whom Arador had encountered but twice in all his life. The peculiar relationship between him and the Twins was confusing to say the least, and Arador considered him a threat to the stability of his most valued allies. Nonetheless, he had signed an agreement with him and would reap some benefit from it.
"Arathorn, you will command the main body of men and march north into the Downs, there to take the Dipping Path and thus come out north of Elrohir's encampment. Elladan, you will lead Legolas and the Second battalion south to meet and escort the caravan as it enters the expanse of the Dales. I will take the Inner Guard on quick march to the high grounds in the Foothills and there wait until the trap is sprung," he continued.
"We must expect at least token resistance as we begin these manoeuvres," added Arathorn, meeting the gaze of his staunchest soldiers. "We are to engage them but fall back until we seem to be in retreat."
"At this point Legolas will have the sudden uncontrollable urge to sweep in and support the caravan left bereft of aid. He will combat the enemy and do what Wood Elves do best, but without sacrificing any of my men, mind," Arador cast a baleful eye upon him.
Legolas smiled and offered a short bow. These people had no idea what Wood Elves did best, but they were about to be enlightened.
"The archer will get himself hopelessly overwhelmed and then the remainder of our forces will pounce. We will attack on three fronts: Elrohir's Third will come in on Legolas' right flank to break the enemy's advance there, while Arathorn will descend from the north and drive through to the surrounded soldiers, and finally I will bring down the Inner Guard, sweeping out of the Foothills to attack from the west. We will crush them."
"Agreed, the plot is efficient and direct, yet what of this caravan?" Halbarad asked, for this was a complete fabrication that must have a substantial physical presence upon the plain of battle, else the ruse must fail.
"Aye, we cannot really involve the folk of the Shire in this struggle," another man argued.
"No more shall we," Legolas spoke up. "This caravan is comprised of the first of my recruits, gleaned from a small cluster of isolated crofts and a village I visited in my wanderings with Elladan."
"What say you? These are the very homes of our own people!" One man stepped forward, displeased. "What right have you to ask the women and the young, or the aged and infirm to serve as bait for this elaborate trap?"
"I have not done any such thing," Legolas said. "These people have volunteered for this mission, and they do not number themselves among the Dunedain, no more would you."
"Then who are they?" demanded Arathorn, for he had not been told of this.
"They are refugees, driven out of their home by the encroaching Shadow. They are friends of the Dunedain from of old," Legolas explained.
"They seclude themselves for fear of being driven out," Elladan added. "They have seen the strength of the Rangers and fear you. Legolas and I have promised them the lands they now inhabit for their own if they join our cause, and their chief has agreed, for they cannot go home."
"In what lands are they dwelling? Tell me who they are, Elladan," Arador was not pleased. "I thought I made it clear that any recruits were to be approved by me before approaching them."
"Do you doubt my judgement?" Elladan demanded calmly, but his question was charged with that same manner of condescension Elrond was wont to use, a hint of the veiled might he was capable of wielding should he deem it necessary to do so.
Arador was used to this by now, but his face turned red nonetheless and his scowl was particularly bitter. "I do not doubt you, Elladan," he answered.
"But you do," Legolas suddenly challenged him.
"Nay, let it go, Legolas," Elladan reached for him and was brushed off.
"No! We cannot have this dissension among us any longer," he said. "Arador, if you do not want the help of Imladris and Greenwood it needs to be said, here and now. If you think our objectives different than yours, state your concerns here and now. If you believe we are not acting in the interests of all of us, then say so, though you will have waited late to do it."
"I do not renounce you or your aid," Arador quickly abjured his remarks, making a short bow to underscore them.
"Aye, yet it is accepted with reluctance," Legolas nodded. A few grumbling remarks indicated his words did not please the men. "It is the same for me," he went on. "In Greenwood the sylvan people have lived since the Great Journey, finding all we needed was supplied by the forest and the work of our own hands. When troubles came, we defended ourselves ably and resisted the incursions of evil upon our homeland unaided by any other people. Now, we find we are too few to defeat our enemy and so I am here among you. Our enemy is also your enemy; the losses that afflict my people have decimated yours as well. The time has come for us to set aside pride and work in common that both our peoples may survive."
"That is true enough," Halbarad said simply. He smiled grimly at the fair Wood Elf. "I think it wise to trust them," he added. "Elladan and ELrohir have been the friends of the Rangers since before my time, indeed, prior to any of your births. They have risked life and limb for our sakes without expectation of any recompense. I believe loyalty is the least we owe them."
"Aye, I've no quarrel with you there," one of the men agreed, "but we don't know anything about that one." He pointed at Legolas.
"Don't you?" Elrohir quickly jumped in to defend the archer. "We have all witnessed his perseverance and determination to adapt to a new environment with grace and dignity. He has done all you asked and more; this despite a somewhat cool welcome. He has if anything exceeded our expectations. Who among us would do as well in his world?"
"To be fair, my people would be just as suspicious of any of you," Legolas told them with a shrug. "I have no qualms about winning your trust; after tonight's fight, you will believe the Wood Elves will make powerful friends."
"We have agreed to this strategy," Arathorn guided them back to the matter before them, "because it is the best way to begin this campaign. Our objective is to re-establish the kingdom of Arnor in the north, and to do it we need more soldiers and the means to properly train and accoutre them. We have the experience required to undertake the training; Legolas has brought us the funds to see it done."
"Enough," Elladan suddenly stated, disgusted. "Our choice for the caravan will prove itself wise or not. If not, it is Legolas and I who will bear the brunt of their deception, and we will eradicate them if that is the case. Let us discuss this topic again after the battle, when I will be expecting apologies for this disparagement of my fitness to make so simple a decision." He turned and mounted his charger and set out at a brisk canter so that Legolas and the rest of the Second had to hurry to catch him up.
In the days that followed, the battle came to be called Auth-en-Gail Dhógiel, the Battle of the Killing Light, and word of the Ranger's victory spread throughout Eriador so that folk in the Angle and Dunland had word of it before a week had passed. It was a spectacular success and none could deny that this was due more to Legolas than to any other. He had easily fulfilled the role assigned him, leading a desperate charge into the heart of the attacking forces which had surrounded and, in fact, captured the caravan. By pre-arranged agreement, these fighters acting as humble merchants gave no resistance until the Wood Elf attacked. He did not wait for Elrohir's soldiers; he did not wait for Arathorn's men, he did not even wait for Elladan. Indeed, he had decided to bring everything to its climax before Elladan was in range of the enemy's arrows.
The opposing forces were a combination of Orcs and men, well trained, well armed, and more organised than would be a simple roving group of miscreants. They rode wargs and tough, rangy horses, and their only mistake was believing the sylvan elf and his small detachment would be easily subdued. Before they could extricate themselves from the field, more than a third of them were destroyed, slain primarily by elven arrows fired by Legolas, but that was not what made the battle memorable.
There came a point when all his arrows were spent and none were ready to hand, though there was an aid whose sole duty was to keep Legolas supplied with the bolts. He had failed to keep up with the archer, but this was not due to his carelessness nor even the vagaries of warfare. Legolas had deliberately driven ahead, moving forward past the enemy line exactly in the manner of an arrow fired into the heart of a foe. Once behind this line, Legolas shouldered his bow, unsheathed his long knife, and unleashed the full force of his brilliance upon them, a burst of white, illumination that confused the men and infused the Orcs with terror, for to them it seemed their deaths were a result of this light rather than the deadly blade that darted among them so quickly.
The ability to see their quarry more clearly under this tinu 'lân (brilliant spark) enabled Elrohir and Elladan to train their bows upon the surrounding host and bring down a substantial portion of the suddenly defensive force. Their work was crucial to Legolas' success, even to his survival, and the brothers shared thoughts dominated by exasperated terror intermingled with intense admiration to see him thus place himself at risk. Yet his strategy could not be deemed faulty in his own mind, for he knew himself and his capabilities and he knew the weak hearts of Orcs and the malleable minds of lesser men, and played those flaws to his advantage. As he had learned to do early in his life, Legolas loosed the full force of his hatred and his fear, his sorrow and his rage upon them, all camouflaged in the glorious beauty of pure elven light.
Apprised to expect something spectacular, the captured caravan of warriors raised aloud a piercing cry, a distinctive declaration particular to their people, shocking and frightening in its own right, and uncovered weapons hidden beneath in the very structure of their humble carts and wagons. Oh yes, the goods, furs and foodstuffs, had been appropriated by their captors, but none of them had thought to dismantle the wooden frames of the drays. The enemy found themselves beset from within and without and had no avenue for escape as Arathorn and his warriors swooped in to cut off their retreat. They were decimated nearly to the last soldier, but sufficient numbers escaped the massacre to spread news of the disaster far and wide. Auth-en-Gail Dhógiel was a great victory and an announcement of the Rangers' intent that none could fail to comprehend.
In imladris, Elrond learned of it and immediately sent Glorfindel out with orders for his sons to halt this initiative and return home, bringing Legolas with them.
It had been a spectacular and compelling fight, claiming the attention of everyone not wounded by the battle proper, and they stood now together as dawn broke over the windswept plains, the hint of its light touching upon them where they faced one another naked and spent amid the flowers of the field beside an ephemeral stream. Ebony and golden hair flowed freely, loosed to permit the touch of fingers and the wind, mingling in the fragrant breeze, draping them protectively, jealously from prying eyes that peered too closely for too long. A glance was permitted, welcomed, but could a glimpse of such perfection ever satisfy a soul hungry for proof of it in so marred a world? They knew the answer innately and let them look who would.
'Are you hurt? Ai, you're bleeding!' Elladan grabbed him at the biceps with either hand, his sword thrown down, forgotten on the bloody ground.
'It is nothing, a minor flesh wound. Be at peace; we have our first victory!' Legolas allowed his mate's harried inspection with tolerant appreciation, attributing his distress to the degree of his love.
'Ask me if I care! Nay, don't for I don't. You are reckless and dangerous, Legolas, and play freely with my heart, with my very life. I don't know if I can bear it!' Elladan could not rein back his emotions, cold terror still squeezing his heart while relief flooded through his mind, and the two collided in an explosion of angry resentment.
'Elladan! This is unseemly and stupid. I have been a capable warrior since my thirtieth year.' The archer disengaged and stepped away; this was not what he'd expected at all and it undermined his efforts to generate fearful awe among the new recruits. A quick glance found them watching, dumbstruck and confused, as were the Rangers. 'You should be glad of such a warrior, such a mate.'
'Glad! Ai Valar! You disregarded our plans and defied orders, placing yourself at unnecessary risk and thus my life in peril, too. Aye, you fight like a child at play. This is no run through the trees of Greenwood; you were an open target every minute of the battle.'
'Enough! I did what was necessary, no more nor less.' He moved away from Elladan, noting Elrohir near at hand cleaning his broadsword, watching and listening. Even as he looked their eyes met and Elrohir's held mute apology. The expression stopped him mid-step and felt his heart trip and surge the same moment. He let movement distract his troubled gaze. Arathorn and Arador were hurrying forward and dismounted when the way was barred by the caravan's wagons.
'And that blaze of light, what was this? Do you always fight this way? Why could you not have told me?" Elladan was pacing round him, circling and ranting his accusing words.
'Is that what bothers you, that I kept something back from you?' Legolas challenged him, for between the two of them he had been the more forthcoming.
Elladan halted and raked frantic fingers through his hair and made a desperate noise of frustration and misery. The next instant he lunged forward and caught Legolas roughly round the waist and pulled him close, dived for the lips parting in surprise, fisted a handful of yellow hair, and drove the rigid evidence of his elevated temper against the Wood Elf's thigh. He ended the kiss in a gasp for air and peered into sapphire eyes suddenly exuberant with joy, smiled and wrapped his arms tight about the slender figure, pressed his face into the flaxen mane, whispered in a blushing ear: 'I thought you lost, Legolas, in that mad charge and that expulsion of faerlim. That is what bothers me, Beloved. Don't you know?'
'Aye,' Legolas whispered back, rubbing gently the strong, broad back where the thundering of a petrified heart vibrated through his arm and into his soul, sorry he had caused this upset, yet ecstatic and moved beyond words. Lips and tongue answered physically, the language and the message the most primitive, the most exalted he could use. He smiled and exhaled a sigh of a laugh; Elladan's hand was burrowing down his leggings. He reached for it, but did not withdraw the searching fingers, let them caress his excited organ. 'Come away now, replenish me.'
They stood apart in the place he had chosen, hands and vision touching gently, carefully upon a bruised shoulder, a hip grazed, a deflected blow to the chest that left a dark blue contusion over the heart, evidence of older hurts that defined them. In accord they leaned across the minimal distance dividing them and destroyed it, joining mouths and lips in soft, compliant yearning, affirming the bond between them, begging absolution for the contention neither could manage to eradicate from their union. They found they could not endure separation and the oral embrace continued, extended by a multitude of single, successive osculations.
Elladan's hands came to rest on Legolas' rear, cupping the firm flesh there and pulling him close against his groin. Legolas threaded his arms through the inky onyx locks and round his mate's neck. With a sigh he shoved aside the heavy hair and set hungry lips to the long column of Elladan's neck, marking him; his action copied with a soft moan. They indulged another lengthy communion of mouths and tongues and then simply held one another, enveloped in a private sanctuary that none could accost though they stood in the open for all to see, contented fingers roaming at will and pressing pliant flesh to reassure the reality of the encounter, heads bent together brow against brow.
It was an intimate scene, yet they were not alone. Most of the soldiers had left them once the confusion and strife of the argument melted under the heat of passion and possession, but not all, nor did they deplore to be observed thus, each proclaiming in this public display the validity of the bond and their mutual pride in the bondage it imposed. They loved one another; they needed one another. It was enough for the moment, enough forever more.
Elrohir watched them, aware of Arador beside him watching him watching them. He had watched the entire erotic episode, from condemnation to consummation, and could not remove himself from the vicinity.
"Our compact is null, Arador," he suddenly announced, voice taut and strained.
"What?" The Chieftain peered at him, disturbed from his lecherous wondering if the Twins were sharing the encounter in the strange way they traded thoughts and emotions between them. The idea gave him a thrill and he evaluated Elrohir closely for any indication that his guess was true.
"We will not do this thing. We will leave them alone."
"And Elladan's soul?"
"It is in excellent hands," Elrohir's words formed around a wry grin; for the Wood Elf was very busy with his brother's cock at the moment.
"Your interest in the sylvan has cooled?"
This slyly coached query earned the man a sharp stab from dangerously clear grey eyes. "My interest is none of your concern. Legolas will fulfil his part of this treaty and that is all you need care about. See that you keep your end and all will be well."
A faint grunt and a decadent groan garnered their attention. They turned back in time to see Elladan throw Legolas down and begin fucking him with joyous and forceful pleasure. The Wood Elf bucked and shoved to improve the performance to his own satisfaction. An abrupt expletive preceded Elladan's dismount as he repositioned his mate and raised long, lean legs to his shoulders, improving both access and control. Several excited cries followed after but once more he pulled free, changing his stance only slightly this time before recommencing the penetrating thrusts of hips and thighs, holding Legolas still even as his voice rose in angry complaint and he struggled to get free. Elladan increased his pace, his ardour enhanced by the clear mastery he maintained, and he soon spilled, relishing the orgasm in long, low moans of triumph. Panting, he remained inside his mate, smiling down at Legolas frowning countenance and disparaging words even as he played tenderly with the sylvan's lax penis, deliberately rolling it into the sticky residual evidence of mutual pleasure smeared on the sylvan's belly.
"Let us go from here," Legolas spoke without rancour but with full knowledge of the watchers.
Elladan looked up and met his brother's gaze as he answered. "Nay, this is the place you chose, and they are leaving now."
"That is our dismissal," Elrohir grabbed Arador at the shoulder and pulled him along as he strode off. He did not let go and the man's efforts to free himself were deftly cancelled. When they had removed themselves a suitable distance such that both sight and hearing were beyond range of the loving couple, he shoved the heir of Elendil hard away from him. "Hear me; you will not hinder them in any manner. What we discussed is null, I say."
"No reason to be violent, Elrohir," Arador castigated him. "The ploy was yours; I had not reason to desire its realisation. If you say it is to be abandoned, then it is so."
"Good." Elrohir studied him carefully and noted that Arador was attempting deceit. Fury flooded his mind with a number of options and his desire to impress upon the Dúnedan the foolishness of such a course played out in vivid images, but he suppressed this urge. There was an easier way to ensure the man had no hold over him. He turned and left him there, opening a link with his brother as he walked.
Muindoren, we must tell Legolas about this.
Nay, he is opposed to the idea of you and me as lovers. If he guesses . . .
You mishandled it. Truly, you have no tact, for you upset him needlessly and deprived me of what is rightly mine to claim.
Your right? You had nothing to do with redeeming him; he is mine by rights, not yours.
I meant you, but it is yourself you redeemed, not him.
Don't!
You have to face it, Muindoren. You ave always blamed yourself for what happened to Nana. Saving Legolas was your way to . . .
Daro! I will not listen, nor will I share Legolas more than I am doing now. You must be content with this; he will not agree to more.
You misjudge him. Talk to him, show him what we are one to another, and allow him to come to terms with it.
Nay. If I tell him I permit you to experience what we share, he will be disgusted.
Tell him that I love you, that I love him, too.
You don't love him, you only want him so to hurt him for taking me from you and me for putting him in your place.
If I wanted to hurt him it is easily done, and you rejected me before you saved him. Tell him what we share and that I would share it fully. You would have it so, too.
It does not matter; he will never agree.
You must make him understand. If you won't, I will declare myself to him openly.
That would only drive him away. If you attempt this, we become enemies, Muindoren. Is that what you want?
Why ask me when you are the one who divided us. It was cruel, Muindoren, to leave me alone thus.
You need not have remained alone.
I need not be now, for there is Legolas to fill the space you opened between us. Say that you will try to convince him.
I will not.
Elladan shut himself off from Elrohir abruptly and the sudden isolation brought the younger twin to a stumbling halt. He had not explained about his plot with Arador and when his brother learned of it he was likely to make that break permanent. A surge of fear and determination chased each other through his heart; he would not permit that. Calming himself with a deep breath, he found he was near to the encampment and made his way to the tent erected for him. In it he paced, brooding on Elladan's intractability. He knew the love between them to be inviolable and the fantasies Elladan indulged during intercourse with his mate, freely transmitted to Elrohir, underscored this truth. It was almost as good as being with them and he viewed it as both an invitation and a deplorable attempt at consolation.
Nonetheless, the unexpected privilege had given him the first real hope he'd had in centuries, for unlike his brother he had not been able to stifle his heart by indulging his body's needs with others. He loved Elladan and only Elladan, until now. The notion that he might come to feel this way about the Wood Elf had been astonishing and arose on the day of Legolas' dive into the falls. All in a rush, he understood how his brother found means to replace him with the sylvan archer. He hadn't cared about the many lovers that supplanted his place in Elladan's bed over the years; they were nothing, mere urges spent. Elrohir stopped all motion, head low and heart lower, for that was a lie. He had cared terribly, suffered horribly, and if he hadn't loved his brother so much he would surely have learned to hate him. It was so rending to his soul he'd nearly chosen the fate of the Second-born, but had to reject it for then he would lose Elladan forever. His heart was willing to be patient, to compromise. As long as his twin remained unbound, Elrohir hoped to win him back.
Legolas destroyed that conviction and now, somehow, he brought it to life again. Somehow, the archer had closed the gaping gash in Elladan's spirit so that finally he could perceive his brother's pain. Elrohir was sure he wanted to rectify their separation, but simply did not know how to overcome the Wood Elf's ingrained prejudice against an incestuous mating. That and an irrational fear that he would lose both Legolas and Elrohir if he permitted the trio to unite; a fear no doubt spawned by guilt, for Elladan knew now how much his actions had hurt his brother. Reprisals were in order and he would be punished, certainly, and they both knew it, expected it. Beyond that, there had to be a way to smother both Elladan's unreasoning jealousy and the heavy burden of remorse. The archer's many charms were abundant, his gift for healing remarkable, and both were meant to be shared. For what other purpose had Elladan saved him?
Suddenly Elrohir's perspective shifted drastically and he saw that their way of treating with each other would not work with Legolas. He and Elladan shared a bond far deeper than that of lovers; they had access to one another completely in a manner Legolas could not possibly understand and probably could never achieve. Elladan was behaving as though the archer did share that total, lifelong, internal comprehension of his heart and soul. No wonder he was offended that Legolas could not tell the twins apart. Of course, Elrohir realised his own jealousy had only made things worse, and he had likewise focused his anger on Legolas. That ill-advised compact with Arador now threatened to rupture the tenuous bridge spanning the chasm between him and Elladan. He would have to explain and beg forgiveness. At least, he preened, he was prepared to own his errors and correct them. Why couldn't this stubborn Wood Elf and his intractable mate do the same? None of them would ever be content until all three of them were content. He sighed in irritation, hands on hips. Whatever was to be done, he would have to do it.
Arador watched the Wood Elf conducting a preliminary inspection of his new troops and had to admit, to himself at any rate, that he knew what he was about. Legolas was fully aware of the value his unique status lent to his authority, and he dealt with the men on terms they comprehended innately. He possessed a spirit of nobility Ages old in its lineage, owned a smooth, natural presence of superiority inherent to his race, his class, and his station, yet presented all this without a hint of arrogance or disdain for his rough recruits. He treated them with respect and they were astounded by it. He praised their efforts to work in harmony to do what he required, and their determination to excel doubled. He admitted frankly that he needed them, expressing genuine gratitude for their help, and they loved him for it. Most importantly, he obliquely referred, in words and manner and tone of voice, to past wrongs of which some of them were surely guilty, and utterly expunged their culpability.
'We cannot defeat what is already history, but we need not allow it to defeat us evermore.'
That statement carried in it, unspoken but wholly intelligible, the message that he knew personally of tragedies, regrets, errors, and what it was like to be beaten down so hard and so far that rising up again required more than one's own strength, and more than one attempt.
'Others may wish to determine our fates and define our place in the world, but we need not acquiesce to such impudence whilst we have breath and life and strength to resist. Singly, we are vulnerable to those whims. Together, we know them to be false and can reject them and those who propose them.'
In this way he subtly acknowledged their sense of injustice to have been relegated to the worst places to dwell: stony land that yielded no fruit, barren deserts wherein one fought to the death over a mouthful of water, low swamps teeming with insects and disease, frozen wastes devoid of green life. It was no mistake that he openly recognised that some who would keep them in those very hell holes were the Dunedain among whom they now served. His honesty stunned them and inspired them to cultivate the same trait in their dealings with him, with the Dunedain, and with each other.
Everything about Legolas was open, Arador reflected. He talked of his hopes as though they were already facts, assuming success assured now that he had these worthy allies to back him. He described the nation they were building, seeing towns and homes and farms filled with families, with abundance, with children free to laugh and play under the light of the sun. These ragged, downtrodden, dubious men of questionable character stood about him rapt in dew-eyed joy to hear it.
They believed him because he showed them what they wanted most in the deepest corners of their hearts, in the hidden places that were still soft, unscarred, unmarred by the life of hardship, oppression, and dark deeds all of them had lived to one extent or another. He saw. He knew. He showed them that what they had become was not what they were meant to be, and held out to them the possibility, nay the promise, that they could reclaim their true nature as beloved creations of Iluvatar. He took away the tattered remnants of their essential humanity and clothed them anew in the fullness of their original design. They beheld themselves in his eyes and were overwhelmed with the image of dignity and honour, strength, courage, and fidelity reflected there. They believed because it was obvious he believed, and his imaginings were accepted as visions of a truth forgotten, stolen from them by those who would deny them the right to live as men should live.
Lossoth, Haradrim, and Dunlendings, they made a motley group, faces cast in every hue from sunburnt brown to bloodless white, eyes formed in as many shapes and colours, stature varied from stunted to immense, weapons primitive, language course and tongues harsher, cultures divergent in every way save those most elemental. Each desired a better life, each regarded his own kin with affection, each had killed to defend them, and all had at some point been enemies one to the other. They stood together now comrades in arms, countrymen in future.
The transformation had come haltingly at first with many a skirmish among them during the formidable training Legolas demanded. He forced them to work together by making it a rule that anyone who would accost a fellow soldier must instead be prepared to face the Wood Elf in single combat. They were reluctant to do so, first from fear and then from horror, and each contest left them subdued and penitent, not just to him but to each other. There was elven blood spilled in these confrontations, for he would not raise up any weapon against them, and Arador had seen grown men, fierce, fearsome, primitive warriors, weep knowing they must do it, cast themselves face down in the dirt at his feet and beg him not to make them do it. He never relented. He insisted the offender tend the wound given afterward, voicing a stern lecture the while, and then granted forgiveness. They knew not what to make of their leader, no more did Arador.
Then abruptly their cohesion gelled during the first battle when Legolas put himself between his men and a pack of orcs and slew every one of the beasts. The men discovered simultaneously that they were all fighting for the same cause. Their disparate grievances were discarded and their enmity they cast off, united under one goal and one lord.
"Anzo, what is that on your spear?" Legolas paused before one of his soldiers, pointing at the formidable weapon comfortably enclosed in the warrior's fist. A man of the forgotten folk of the Northern wastes, the Lossoth, he was a giant who towered over everyone and had yet to give up the heavy, white fur cloak that announced him as head man of his people. He sweated profusely and smelled of the bear whose skin he proudly wore.
"This, Alboin?" Anzo smiled and shook the spear, causing the attached decoration to wave and waffle in the motion.
"Yes, exactly so," Legolas was also smiling, as were every one of his recruits. He folded his arms over his chest. "Now, I do not recall naming you the standard bearer for our company."
"Well, but he's tallest, so all will see it if he carriers it," answered another man.
"True, Sigdag, but since he is always using that spear just as Elladan wields a sword, the banner will only be torn and sullied within the first minutes of battle," Legolas admonished and murmuring nods affirmed his judgement.
"But I am wanting to carry it," Anzo complained. "I made it, so I should carry it."
"You did not make it; those great fingers of yours cannot hold a spoon much less a needle."
"But I helped," insisted Anzo. He was headman, his eyes sullenly proclaimed.
"We all had a hand in its making." Sigdag was his brother and feared him not.
"Let him see it!" another voice cried out and all raised loud their assent.
The giant reached up and took the corner of the drooping flag, spread both arms wide so that he stood beneath the blood red cloth. On it they had stitched an emblem cut from bits of rich velvet fabric of icy blue, and the thread used was a filament of mithril. It was a twelve-pointed starburst emitting rays of light, these highlights etched in the precious metallic strands. Below this design a word was stitched, Alfher. Legolas stood transfixed, lips parted, cheeks pallid, blue eyes shining with both pride and dread, for a powerful sense of doom had engulfed him upon realising they had chosen this symbol without his ever having revealed its significance. He could not summon words and the long silence was interpreted as displeasure; unsettled shifting and shared expressions of concern passed through the ranks. Sigdag spoke for his fellows.
"See, this is the brilliance of the Killing Light for which you are famed far and wide. And here, this word means elf army, Alfher in our humble tongue. It is meant only to show our loyalty and to honour you."
"Ai!" Legolas came to himself with a jolt, colour flooding his cheeks. "You honour me, indeed," he said and bowed his head. "Forgive my reticence; this emblem is dear to my heart, for it is the sigil of my mother's people, who are now all gone from Arda save for me and my grandfather. We are Noss Kjelepêk'lâ, the people of the Silver Light, and I am the last."
Now stillness descended upon the men, their attentive eyes and pensive faces trained upon him, and it was clear they awaited the tale, the story of their adopted lord's origins. They waited as the need to tell it warred against the pain of sharing it and the resistant possessiveness with which he held it close inside his being. They saw his eyes flicker to Elladan and there rest a moment, and in that moment they saw the decision coalesce, and a gentle sigh exhaled from them redolent with joy and self-esteem, for now he would make them his in truth, joining his whole history to their brief one. If they did not expect the form of the narration, it was no less welcomed, and if they did not understand the words he sang, they were no less appreciated and absorbed. For it was the same story all of them knew and all of them shared, of triumph and travail amid sorrow and rage, all of it going on and on and on far away into the deeps of the Ages past and forward beyond them, beyond into whatever time remained to be marked by the eyes of even their most distant descendants and heirs. When he was done and his tears drained the agony from his soul and left him sapped, they closed round him, shielding him from the sight of others to whom he did not belong.
"Elladan," he called the word quietly, the syllables fraught with a sad, poorly veiled fear, and the men opened for the raven-haired ellon. Enveloping them both, they moved in a concentrated mass to a place beneath a stand of trees where Legolas would feel safe, and then dissolved into pairs and quartets which in turn disbanded, drifting off in every direction until a wide ring enclosed the lovers' haven, and there the men stood guard.
There number was forty-eight.
The wind rose and the standard fluttered and fanned, glinting in the sun, and Arador looked upon it with wonder, with jealousy, and with resentment, for it was not his.
Elladan tried to remain calm and aloof, to clothe himself in righteous anger and soothe his nerves with reason, but it was impossible to stifle the furious beating of his anxious heart or shield his mind from the humiliation of his situation. During the six days of his captivity, he'd made up his mind neither to kneel nor to bow before the Sindarin king, and he held firm to his resolve, head high, yet now that Thranduil was here, his presence produced an unanticipated effect.
"Leave us," the monarch ordered the guards from the cell and the two faced each other alone across the diameter of the circular chamber.
The odyssey terminating in this confrontation had not been uneventful for the Imladrian lord.
Stripped of weapons and clothing alike, his hands were bound at the wrists behind him, a tight strap of leather his only cover and that held fast his tongue. He had been run from the borders of Fangorn to this place on foot, chased and harried like a stray animal through the ragged foothills of Hithaeglir past Lorien and the Dimrill Dale, across the deserted plains of Nan Anduin, forced into the bogs and meres of Sîr Ninglor to make the crossing, under the eaves of the darkening forest, finally herded, foul and dirty and debased, along the avenues of Wood Elves' city where all those who had praised him just days ago stood in silent censure as he passed. Nearly two hundred leagues on foot, running day and night for ten days and now he was here, deep under the earth in this chamber of stone. He looked up; the ceiling receded into black oblivion and gave him the uneasy sensation of being at the bottom of a deep, dry well, or an oubliette. He looked down to see his feet on either side of a metal ring which was itself driven into the stone in the centre of an intricate star etched upon the floor.
The hunt had been surprisingly short and that was in some ways the most humbling aspect of the entire experience thus far. The Wood Elves had known exactly where he was and followed him for a day, forcing his direction so that he came to understand they had established warriors at advanced positions, indicating they had been observing him for some time before the trap was sprung. He did not believe Haldir had betrayed him, accepting that both he and the March Warden had underestimated the wily sylvans. The child had been taken away at once under terrific and voluble protest from him and from Legolas to which nobody responded. He had no idea where Legolas was now; he'd been handed into the care of his grandfather who rode off with him in haste, on Elladan's own steed, no less. The child, while distressed to be separated from his saviour, had not been averse to his kinsman's care and this was the single reassuring aspect of the ordeal.
He had not seen Thranduil then and few words were spoken to him by the capable warriors who supervised his journey back to the Woodland Realm. They made certain no serious harm came to him while caring little for scrapes and blisters afflicting bare soles and exposed skin. They fed him food and water, removing the gag for this but replacing it immediately if he began to ask questions or voice protests. After going hungry and thirsty the first day, he learned his lesson. Marched naked through miles of open terrain under the silent, indifferent observation of the sylvans, he had become detached from his nudity; paraded before the cold stares of the woodland people, his shame reawakened. It was a relief to be driven into the stronghold proper and find his destination was this circular cavern lit by flickering torches.
He could move about exactly three paces in any direction before his progress was halted by the length of the leather lash tied round his left ankle. This was attached to the iron ring embedded in the stone of the floor. Besides that, there was nothing in the room. It was a circle large enough to hold him with space left over sufficiently wide to prevent him touching the wall even if he extended his leg to its furthest limit. Two warriors remained in the cell at all times and watched him with impassive faces and disdainful eyes, their swords held ever at the ready. There was a change of the duty every six hours, but the assignment was shared between the same six ellyn, all dressed in the simple livery of the King's Guard. He came to hate them passionately.
There was no place for him to rest; he must sit or stand or lie upon the floor. His hands were never loosed and he had to submit to being fed by his captors at a time of their choosing. This had mortified him on the journey and he'd been glad Legolas was gone and could not witness it, but he was used to it now and kept his eyes averted during the process. New abasement awaited in his new environment, for the room had no accommodation for relieving his body of wastes. This was a source of burning humiliation he had not considered out in the natural world of air and light, where the warriors led him to bushes and trees when need demanded. Urination was less an issue even here for he took care to direct the stream as far away from himself as possible, but to defecate he was forced to select a place within the circumference of his confining circle and squat. While he thought that the height of his degradation, it was further enhanced by the fact that no one bothered to remove the feces.
Six days he suffered this demoralising, passive abuse and on the seventh Thranduil entered the chamber.
Regal, imposing, immaculate in his robes of state and his glossy crown of green and red, the king waited until the door was shut and then locked it himself, left the key in the slot, then turned to survey his prisoner closely. He walked the perimeter of the room, nodding at the evidence of life's most basic functions with satisfaction. "You have been adequately nourished." He met the blazing fury in Elladan's eyes with a sneer and a slow shake of the head. "You think yourself ill-used, Peredhel?" Of course, no answer was possible with the tongue thus restrained so he supplied his own. "Nay, we have given deference to your rank and heritage. Still, you are not considered particularly marvellous here despite your exalted House. In my world, you will be judged by your actions." He stopped before the portal and observed all the unspoken curses and revilements that were nearly choking the raven-haired lord. "You have been so cruel, so heartless that I hardly know how to understand you."
His voice wavered, bewildered and aggrieved, his clear eyes stricken with a drowning, abyssal sorrow, and Elladan was shocked out of his indignant wrath and stood staring. The next instant his head dropped; he could not bear to see the pain in those tormented eyes, and suddenly the magnitude of his disgrace inundated him. Here was a new definition of dishonour and one with which all his House was now tainted.
"Ah, so you see it at last," Thranduil acknowledged Elladan's remorse, but sounded dispirited, disappointed, and tired. "Too late you see it, long after the harm is done. Yet, even now all you comprehend is the harm accruing to you and yours. What you have wrought upon my world you care nothing about." He watched to learn if this would produce any response, but Elladan remained frozen, face to the floor, shoulders rising and falling quickly in his mounting distress. The King sighed heavily and reached up to his brow, removing and casting aside the crown of holly. The motion and the sound of it drew his captive's attention and Elladan finally looked up as he removed his formal robes and then his ornately embroidered silk tunic. He stood in leggings and sleeveless undershirt and unbuckled the mighty sword from which he was never parted, setting it with care against the oaken door. This left him with a dagger at his waist and he drew it.
"Do you understand what you have done?" he asked calmly, stepping closer as he did. So fierce was the anguish in his eyes that Elladan fell back from him at first until Thranduil snatched hold of his arm to prevent further retreat. With a quick flick of the wrist he cut the leather gag and shoved Elladan back roughly. "Answer!' he demanded, respiration rapidly as his rage built.
Elladan spat the strap from his mouth and licked his lips carefully, eyes on the naked blade in the monarch's fist. "Aranen, I did as I thought best for the child."
"What you thought best?" Thranduil scoffed. "What strange thoughts you must entertain to think it best to rip apart a family already so sorely wounded." He motioned with his free hand for Elladan to approach him, but the ellon would not. Again he released an irritated huff and came to collect his prisoner, grabbing his biceps and spinning him round. He sliced through the remaining bonds and again pushed Elladan out of reach. They stood in silence as the King watched him rubbing his arms and hands and wrists to restore circulation. Finally Elladan lifted wary eyes to his.
"What is it you want?" he asked.
"Want?" Thranduil blinked, the notion so absurd he couldn't get past that aspect of it for a moment, and then his face contorted in a vicious scowl as he pointed with the dagger. "I want my son."
"You have him."
"Nay, he is gone from me, perhaps for a short time, perhaps forever. None can predict, or else they fear to tell me the truth. What say you to that, Elladan of Imladris? Why did you take Legolas away from me?"
"I . . . he said he . . ."
"No!" Thranduil thundered, such horrible torment in his face and his broken roar that Elladan flinched. "He was mine. My son, my child, my whole world, my entire family, my reason for living, my hope and my faith and the only thing left that I love." This profession came out of him as though wrenched from his heart under great duress, which it was, and his rage could not contend against his sorrow. "I've lost him as surely as if he'd fallen that day, for he did fall. You brought him back, but only to keep him for yourself. What gave you the right to do this?"
Elladan had no answer; it was something he could not explain even to himself. "I came here for him," he tried to make sense of it. "I was brought here to save him, and that made him mine. He was lost, as you say, and I called him back from that abyss."
"And so you deem this means his life belongs to you?" Thranduil stared at him, judging this was as much of the truth as the Peredhel lord understood. He nodded and drew a deep breath, released it in a dismal gust. "So you bought him, light for light. That is the sylvan way, sometimes, but even so it is not done like this, never in all the history of these people like this." He began pacing rapidly before the door, the fisted dagger swinging in time with his steps. "You cannot own him; he is not a . . a pet to be kept or a slave to be claimed, but a free being, a child of Eru, and besides that Greenwood's child and my child. A bond like this cannot be used as a means of possessing another's very soul, Elladan." He stopped and stared at his captive, his expression earnest as though desperate to elucidate a difficult topic. "That is the same vile desire the Necromancer harboured."
These were serious charges and Elladan did not like hearing them. His back stiffened as the insult engulfed him, yet he restrained his pride and swallowed his bitter renunciations, aware of that dagger and the barely contained ire still boiling behind the cool emerald eyes of the woodland King. Minutes passed and neither spoke, nor would Elladan meet Thranduil's gaze, staring at the pattern beneath his bare feet. He sensed the Sindarin lord's shift to a more aggressive stance and tensed, but the harried father merely posed another question.
"Do you love him? Is he your mate?"
That brought Elladan's head up in a snap and he gaped, eyes wide in almost frightened uncertainty, for his mind went to his brother and the hurt he had caused in that heart. Now here were two more his actions had wounded to the core, and yet he was freely offered the means to expiate his selfishness. Again he licked his lips, weighing his options quickly. He could ensure Legolas' future happiness; surely there was no wrong in that. No one ever need learn of his union with Elrohir and he would finally rid himself of responsibility for the darkness their bond had visited upon the family, a bond he had cemented in the stirrings of adolescence. Thranduil would have no choice but to accept the situation, and in any case the king merely wanted a scapegoat to answer for his own failings, which must be grave for the child to indict him so soundly. Elladan made his decision quickly and snatched hold of that avenue to absolution. "Yes, Aranen."
Thranduil canted his head to the right and peered through narrowed lids at this person, studying the subtle changes shimmering through Elladan's aura, evaluating the spirit visible behind the grey irises, and then he shook his head. "Yes and No, as Mithrandir would say. I don't think you do love him, but you have claimed him for your mate anyway. You have enslaved his very soul. I must tell you I consider this a grave offence, for you do not seem to appreciate your crime."
"It cannot be a crime to save another from such a horrible end," Elladan argued. "I am not so unattractive a choice for his spouse; he will not suffer at my hands and besides, this rift between you and him was none of my doing."
"Dare you speak so?" Thranduil was aghast and shook his head. Again he raised the dagger and pointed. "You are already bound to another, are you not?" The answer was provided by the violent start and sudden pallor this insight evinced. "Oh, hurt to me I might have borne, you wretch, but not to Legolas. You will be punished for that, Peredhel."
Elladan swallowed, heart racing, eyes on the knife, body ready to meet the challenge about to commence. "It was never my intent to hurt him, Aranen." He assumed a defensive posture as Thranduil moved, but the king merely bent down and set the dagger upon the floor, sliding it over the smooth surface to rest at Elladan's feet before he straightened up. Their eyes met, Thranduil's sad and weary, Elladan's confused and wary. "What is this?"
"You are banned from Greenwood," Thranduil shrugged. Elladan seemed not to comprehend how many chances he had been given to redeem himself and the wronged father no longer cared. "Never return to my realm, Elladan of Imladris. Imprisonment in the dungeon will be the penalty should you defy my decree. Go and leave my son alone, for you do not care about him. If you do, you will have to find means to prove it to my satisfaction."
"Saving his life, his very spirit, does not prove it?" Elladan dared exclaim, felling bolder now that the knife was not in Thranduil's grasp. His arrogant words raised a hoarse growl from the king.
"Gwarth! (Betrayer!) Your way out is through me."
There was nothing more to say, but no action did either one take for quite some time. Finally, Elladan stepped over the dagger and attempted to force his way past the king. He was grappled and thrown down soundly. He gazed up at the king, who waited patiently for him to rise and try again, and wondered what all this meant. Was he to be let go or were there further reprisals in store? Slowly he stood and when he was upright Thranduil lunged for him, silent, powerful, and determined. Steely arms wrapped tight about his chest and Elladan was heaved up off the floor only to be slammed down with all the force Thranduil could summon.
He did not hesitate this time, falling atop him with an enraged shout as he doubled his hands into a mighty fist and pounded this hammer thrice against Elladan's breast-bone, punctuating the blows with raw contempt. "Thief! Abducer! Deceiver!"
Elladan grunted in pained protest and gasped, shocked by the power of the assault and the magnitude of the excruciation radiating through his chest. He saw the arms raised high again and feared the next strike would split the bony shield and puncture his heart. Instinct moved him to roll and he lashed out with his arms and legs, sending Thranduil toppling forward, nose against the floor, and Elladan grappled him, pressed his down. For a brief moment he held him and then a resounding bellow echoed against the walls and the king reared back, got his legs beneath him and with all the strength of his body propelled them backward, ramming Elladan into the rough stone.
Down Elladan crumpled, all air driven out of his lungs and his spine afire in tingling spikes. He remained there, open-mouthed to suck in a noisy breath, and received the toe of the king's booted foot against his teeth. He saw stars and tasted blood and that was enough to ignite his fury. Up he leaped and they fought hand to hand, trading blows and kicks and throttling compression from tenacious fingers each eager to win the bitter and vicious duel, twisting arms and bruising bones. Thranduil was enraged nearly to the point of murder and Elladan was fully aware of the danger to his person, determined to get free whatever the cost. They wrestled and pummelled one another, rolling in the filth on the floor, silent save for the grunts and exclamations wrung from them by fists that fell like the hammers of the dwarves beating on the stones of their anvils, each striking to ensure internal compression wounds of the soft tissues that would be slow and painful in the healing, deadly if ignored. The strength of each was legendary even among the First-born and so the fight went on long beyond the reckoning of either combatant.
They harmed each other dreadfully, yet neither would take up the blade nor break bones, making it nearly a bloodless battle. Perhaps Elladan's conscience smote him, or Thranduil's wrath outstripped his desperation, for eventually it became clear the king was inflicting more hurt than he received. On they fought and outside Anor rose and set twice before exhaustion wore them down to stumbling vertigo and ineffectual punches from leaden limbs. At last both sat hunched upon the floor, dirty and panting and favouring particular sore spots with gingerish half-touches. This impasse was never surmounted. With a harsh groan Thranduil at last hauled himself up and reeled to the door, turned the key and shoved it open. He staggered into the arms of his loyal guards and they escorted him away, leaving Elladan alone.
None of them returned and after a short period of rest, he picked himself up and stumbled from the cell, wandering in dizzy confusion as he tried to find his way out. He passed several elves, but none would aid him nor acknowledge his pleas for directions. After circling the lower levels thrice, he finally encountered the right passage and emerged into the cool air of night. Too depleted to continue, he collapsed in the courtyard and lapsed into a healing slumber. Dawn found him hoisted onto his charger, all his gear and weapons and clothing strapped to the saddle even as he was himself. Before he could do more than voice an incoherent protest, someone struck the horse's flank and Nirmë cantered carefully away from the fortress. He passed out before they made it out of the forest and when next Elladan opened his eyes he found himself in Haldir's care, clean and dressed and covered with blankets beside a warm fire out under the open sky of Nan Anduin near Rhosgobel. They retreated in easy stages to Lorien unmolested by the Wood Elves.
tbc
Names and Such
Anzo - Giant
Alboin - Elf friend
Sigdag - Victory Day