Chapter Eleven: Vicious Revelations
Smoke drifted lazily though the air, making the already cloudy sky seem even darker. As Eowyn gazed at the people around her, she could barely recognize a soul because of the ash and blood that covered their tired faces. The enemy was gone, but not before setting Edoras alight.
Taking in a shuddering breath of barely-fresher air, the Shieldmaiden looked over her shoulder at the ruins of her home. Most of the wooden buildings were nothing more than charred wood now, and the grassy hill itself was still smoking and burning. Even the sky above could not escape the fire unscathed, plumes of smoke blocking out a majority of the sunlight and making the morning seem like dusk.
Eowyn scanned the faces of the survivors once more, biting her lip. Many looked back at her, all in varying states of exhaustion and despair. A few of the children were openly crying, while the adults stood in small, tense bunches. There was a feeling of confusion and loss in the air, as if they were unable to comprehend what had happened. Eowyn understood their disorientation.
She turned to Hama. "Are there more?" There has to be more.
The Captain shook his head, reddish hair a dull, grimy gray from the soot. "I'm afraid not, my Lady. We scoured the streets as much as we could, but the fire spread too quickly."
Eowyn swallowed. "Is it—" She paused, glancing at the boy that still clung to her dress. He was still trembling, even hours later, and refused to leave her side. "Is it Dark Fire?" she whispered, unwilling to let others hear her question.
"We don't believe so." Hama said. "A few people saw the enemy light the walls. The fire was orange, not green."
Eowyn sighed in relief. At least the land would not be cursed like the Shire. She let her eyes scan the area once more, not spotting the two people she sought. She knew that she should notice Theoden and Theodred immediately, and briefly wondered why they were not taking charge of the gathered citizens and soldiers.
"Where are my uncle and cousin? Are they still searching for survivors?" she queried.
A passing guard heard her question and paused midstep, turning to the Shieldmaiden. "My Lady." He bowed abruptly and straightened, refusing to meet her eyes. "The King… he…"
Eowyn watched the young man stutter and falter, unable to finish his sentence. "He what?"
Another guard, Herefara took pity on the younger man, placing a hand on his shoulder and stepping forward. "Theoden King was killed, my Lady."
Eowyn blinked. Something cold settled in her chest, but she ignored it, focusing completely on the guard. "I'm sorry. I must have misheard you. Could you repeat what you just said?"
The guard's black eyes were filled with an unfathomable sadness and when he spoke his voice was gentle. "Your Uncle was killed, my Lady." His voice lowered further. "He was assassinated by an archer in the Golden Hall."
"I…" Eowyn could barely speak, something terrible and bleak wrapping around her throat, choking her. "Theodred?"
"Prince Theodred fell to the same archer." Herefara murmured. "The arrows matched."
It was then that Eowyn saw the two black-feathered arrows in the man's hand, the tips still covered with blood. Since her mind refused to think about what she had just lost, it latched onto the uniquely-styled arrows, memorizing every aspect of their appearance. They looked familiar, and it was not until the child at her side gasped in recognition did she realize why.
It could not be, the Shieldmaiden thought, feeling ill. It wasn't that man. Why would he kill my uncle and cousin but save the child and I?
…My uncle and cousin are dead.
Grief struck her like a blow to the chest and she gasped lightly, leaning over and pressing her hands over her mouth. She could feel Hama's hand on her shoulder and hear his worried murmurs, but could not respond to his voice. Small, wailing sounds ripped themselves from her throat and her body shook with forcefully contained grief. Tears pricked at her eyes but she refused to let them fall, the small part of her that still held dignity firmly rejecting the option to show her despair in front of her people.
The dutiful Shieldmaiden of Rohan slowly crept to the forefront and Eowyn breathed hard, smothering her sorrow. She noticed that the guards had closed in around her, hiding her from sight as best they could so the citizens could not see her breakdown. Eowyn clenched her teeth and straightened her back, only the slight tremble of her hands revealing her barely-suppressed turmoil.
"Thank you." She said shortly under her breath.
They nodded and stepped back, though Hama and the boy stayed at her sides.
"Where are they?" Eowyn made herself ask.
"With the rest of the fallen." Herefara murmured. "Those that we managed to retrieve."
She swallowed hard, taking in another, harsh gulp of air. "Who is next in the line of command?"
Hama's expression grew unreadable. "Your brother, Eomer. However, since he is not here, that would be you, my Lady."
"Oh." Was the Shieldmaiden's response.
She noticed it then. The people close enough to see her were watching her with those awfully lost expressions, hope and fear warring on their dirty features as they silently pleaded for guidance. Eowyn kept her expression calm and stern, drawing on all of her lessons in diplomacy to keep her grief off her face.
I'm their leader now, or until my brother returns, at least, Eowyn thought. They're going to rely on me to guide them, govern them, and keep them safe… It would be foolish to think that I can avoid losing anyone else but I swear to the Valar I will do my best.
I never wanted this, a tiny part of her whimpered but she shoved it away.
"What supplies do we have?" she asked, glancing around for whoever could answer her question. "Food? Water? Medicine?"
"We managed to save a large quantity of meat, breads, and drinks from storage before the flames reached it," a soldier—Fastred— informed her. "It should last a few weeks if we're careful. Most of the medical supplies we have are with the healers."
Eowyn directed her attention to the closest healer. "How many wounded?"
"Thirty-two are walking, twenty-six are bedridden, and four are still critical." The man reported bluntly.
"When will they be able to travel?" she questioned.
"Those that can will be able to in a few days." He stated.
Eowyn saw the meaning behind his words— not all of the injured were going to survive— but did not mention it. "Has there been word from any of the nearby villages?"
"I'm afraid many of them have been overrun, my Lady," Ceorl, a messenger told her reluctantly. "Any that escaped should arrive here within a week."
We're on our own then. The Shieldmaiden did not outwardly react, but her stomach churned uncomfortably. "I see. Herefara, assemble some men and set up camp. Have anyone who can assist you."
The guard nodded sharply and walked away, barking orders at his men. The dreary atmosphere lessened but did not disperse as the people of Edoras gained a purpose, moving about and helping where they could. Eowyn watched them for a moment before speaking to Hama in a low tone.
"Gather the dead for burial." Eowyn said grimly. "We cannot leave them to the elements. We'll… We will have the funeral tonight."
"Of course not, my Lady." Hama murmured, eyes distant.
She felt guilty for a moment, realizing he— everyone— had lost people too, but drove those feelings away. She had to focus on the people still alive. The guard went to do as she commanded and paused.
"Where are we going to go, my Lady?" the reddish-haired man asked. "We cannot remain here long. It is likely the enemy will return."
To kill the rest of us, they both finished silently, but did not say.
The Shieldmaiden considered his words, staring blankly over the grassy plains that surrounded Edoras. The wind blew past her towards the still-burning city, causing the smoke that hung in the air to float away from the gathered citizens.
Hama was right. They could not stay here. They may as well stay in the field with all the good the walls that surrounded Edoras did against the Void's forces. Eowyn briefly considered heading for Helm's Deep, but dismissed the idea immediately. Helm's Deep had no more defenses against the orcs and Shadowed Elves than Edoras did.
The same could be said of Gondor and Minas Tirith, which also had the added possibility of Denethor turning them away at the gate. Eowyn was politically aware enough to know that the Steward of Gondor was not in the most stable mental state at the moment, his mistrust and callousness only growing each day. It was as saddening as it was infuriating to see the once-proud and great man fall victim to the despair and darkness that plagued the world.
No, they could not go to Gondor. And Rohan was already ravaged, so open to another attack that the Shieldmaiden's skin crawled with nerves. This was not a normal war. They could not be ready for every attack, and the enemy could come from every shadow around them. They could not win back a country that had not truly been conquered, and Eowyn was unwilling to sit around a wait for the Void to kill her people one by one.
There truly was no other choice. The decision had already been made.
"One week from now, we will go to the Sanctuary." Eowyn stated.
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When he sensed the Shadowed Trees' ambush on the other group, Legolas resisted the urge to run to their sides. The assassin did not outwardly react, all-too aware of the black trunks that surrounded the Fellowship, though these trees were still calm.
The elf quickened his pace so that he was side-by-side with Eomer, speaking to the man in a low voice. "The Shadowed Trees have attacked and captured the others."
Eomer remained physically unworried by the news, but his aura flared with anxiety. "Do you know why?"
"No. I do not want to ask the trees. If I say the wrong thing, or act concerned for the others, these trees may turn against us as well." Legolas warned.
Behind the two of them, Elladan flinched, skin blanching. Before he could speak, the assassin stepped beside him, laying a hand on his arm.
"Don't do anything rash. Remember where we are."
The Son of Elrond's angry expression morphed into one of comprehension as his silver eyes flicked up towards the shadowy treetops. His teeth clenched so hard that Legolas heard the bones grind together. The violet-eyed elf could only watch helplessly as the elder twin grew steadily tenser, his body shaking from stress. Both elves simultaneously flinched, and Elladan uttered a vile curse.
"Elrohir's unconscious." He hissed in a low voice.
"I know." The assassin replied testily.
He closed his eyes, concentrating, and barely stopped himself from swearing aloud. A large group of dark presences had entered his range, heading rapidly for the other Fellowship. They surrounded the group of seven, their shadowy auras swamping their light ones, and just like that Legolas's friends were completely hidden from his senses. This time the assassin did curse aloud, drawing the attention of his companions.
"All of you need to stay calm." The assassin said flatly, giving Fili a warning glare. "Do not run off."
"What is it?" the dwarf asked dangerously, one hand on his sword-hilt.
Legolas caught Boromir's eye as he stepped behind the Prince, waiting a moment before replying. "The others were captured."
Fili burst into motion but Boromir caught him by the back of his tunic, grabbing him firmly and as the dwarf struggled in his grasp.
"Let me go!" Fili shouted, blue eyes blazing. "Let me go, blast it!"
"Please stop, Mister Fili!" Sam gasped.
The gardener blocked the dwarf's path, pressing his hands against the blonde-haired warrior's chest. Fili stopped fighting, unwilling to shove and potentially hurt the kind hobbit to get past him.
"The Shadowed Trees captured the others and our pursuers now have them," Legolas explained rapidly, taking advantage of the dwarf's hesitation. "I don't know why they betrayed the others, but we need to be careful so they don't attack us as well."
The words, said in a low but urgent tone, further calmed Fili. At least, the dwarf stopped looking like he wanted to rip through the forest to get to his brother.
"Figure out what happened and how we're going to rescue the others. Now." He snarled, danger and fear dancing in his eyes.
"I'll speak with the trees." The assassin said reluctantly. "Be ready to fight if they betray us as well."
Legolas eyed the closest Shadowed Tree, breathing slowly as he emptied his mind of his fear for Aragorn and the others. He did not touch the gray trunk, speaking casually to the mass consciousness that surrounded them.
Elf-Not-Glows saw Trees attack other meat-mortal and bright-elf group. Why? Legolas queried.
The trees' paused, surprised he was talking to them again, but responded easily enough.
Elf-Not-Glows asked us to not hurt his meat-mortals, the trees declared. But Dark Elf told us other meat-mortals not part of Elf-Not-Glows group.
The assassin wanted to ask who 'Dark Elf' was, but knew it was best not to demand information from the trees that they would see as none of 'Elf-Not-Glows' business. Still, the other elf's 'name' was enough of a hint for Legolas to deduce that 'Dark Elf' was actually a Shadowed Elf.
I never considered the possibility that Shadowed Elves would be able to talk with Shadowed Trees, Legolas lamented to himself. In hindsight, it makes sense. The Shadowed Trees of Mirkwood are loyal to the Royal Family, but these trees are not a part of the Sanctuary, and would be more inclined to follow creatures of Darkness like them. I considered the fact that these trees were wilder than the ones back home, but I guess I never thought about how much more untamed they were. I need to be careful. If I do this right, I will at least be able to stop them from assisting that Shadowed Elf again…
Dark Elf lied to the Trees. Legolas informed them. Other meat-mortals and bright-elf were a part of Elf-Not-Glows' group.
That made the Shadowed Trees pause. When they spoke again, their voices were suspicious. But Elf-Not-Glows and other meat-bags are moving separately…
Above the Fellowship, black branches began moving, positioning themselves in ways so it would be easy to grab and stab. Legolas heard Frodo breath in sharply and Fili curse under his breath but ignored them both. The assassin stayed steadfast and stoic, not showing any nervousness or fear.
There is a river in your forest, but both sides of trees are of one woods, he reminded the trees. Elf-Not-Glows other group is of the same forest, but are divided by your woods like trees are divided by the river.
The creeping branches stilled and— to everyone's relief— retreated.
True, the Shadowed Trees mused. Their calm was torn away by anger as they realized what Legolas had said. Dark Elf lied to us, they snarled. Dark Elf Traitor used us!
Yes, Dark Elf did, Legolas said smoothly. Trees promised Elf-Not-Glows and his groups safe passage through your woods, but Dark Elf made Trees break that promise.
The Shadowed Trees' anger was almost like a physical force, the limbs and branches tensing and lashing angrily around the Fellowship. To Legolas's relief, none of the rage was directed at the people below the boughs, the limbs more likely to stab at each other or the sky than towards the ground. That was good. The trees had turned against 'Dark Elf' and would not assist him again because he betrayed them. Now to get the Trees to let the Fellowship get to the others…
Elf-Not-Glows needs to attack Dark Elf Traitor and retrieve his meat-mortals and bright-elf, Legolas stated, intentionally letting anger into his tone and using possessive terms for the Fellowship. That means Elf-Not-Glows and his together-group needs to travel through your woods until he finds his separate- group.
The Shadowed Trees understood having things that were theirs— their woods, their territory, theirs— so by claiming the Fellowship was his— even as he inwardly cringed at such a notion— the assassin hoped the trees would be more likely to assist him in his quest to get back what was 'his'. Or at least let the still-free part of the Fellowship stay in the forest to track down the others.
The trees murmured to each other, too low and rapid for Legolas to hear, before returning their attention back to the elf.
Trees will not stop you, but trees will not help, they decided.
There was something dark and sinister lurking at the back of their consciousness, but since that malice was not directed at the Fellowship, the assassin did not pry.
Thank you, Legolas said simply and broke the connection.
"A Shadowed Elf manipulated them into attacking the others." He told his allies. "I managed to turn them against him and convinced them to let us find Aragorn and the rest in these woods."
"Which way?" Fili asked immediately, unsheathing his sword.
"I can't sense the others anymore," Legolas revealed reluctantly. "There's too much Darkness covering their presences, even for me." He let his sixth sense brush over the small army that had been hunting them. "Their leader is also splitting up the army so that we cannot just follow them all to the other's location."
"So what's the plan then?" Frodo asked, Sting gripped in one hand.
The hobbit was pale but taking things considerably well, most likely using the knowledge that Merry, Pippin, and his other friends needed help to keep from panicking. Legolas silently went through a dozen different courses of action they could take, one sliding to the front of his mind and making him frown.
"We could—"
"Stop." Eomer interrupted. "Just for a moment."
They all looked at the man, whose face was set in a grim expression. Legolas recognized the face of a man who was putting aside his emotions for logic, becoming the commander of an army who had something to say and did not like it one bit. Eomer let his blue eyes drift over each of them, flicking between Fili and Elladan the most.
He exhaled sharply. "You all are going to despise me for this, but it needs to be said. What is our mission?"
"To retrieve the Black Weapons as quickly as possible." Frodo responded immediately.
Something clicked in Legolas's mind but he stayed silent, biting his lip so he would not say something he would regret. Logic and emotion fought violently within him but he silenced them both, focusing on Eomer's words.
"That's right." The Marshal of Rohan stated. "We are here to get the Weapons, and to make sure the Wielders stay safe. Boromir is the only one who knows where the Temple is and Legolas is a Wielder." He paused, but continued on, only his aura showing his reluctance. "That being said, technically we do not—"
"Continue that sentence and I will gut you." Fili snarled, realizing what the man was trying to say.
Eomer's expression twisted. "Fili—"
"We may not technically need the others to find the Black Weapons, but there's no blasted way we're leaving them behind!" the dwarf bellowed.
"I know." Eomer said hollowly. "But this is about more than just us. None of the others know the location of the Temple, so there is no risk of them revealing its location to the enemy. We need to consider—"
Fili grabbed the man by his arm, yanking him down so they were eye-to-eye. "We. Are. Not. Leaving. Them."
"I estimate that a rescue attempt will take two days at most." Legolas interjected before Eomer could say anything else. The assassin had noticed Elladan's increasingly unstable expression and decided to stop the argument before it came to blows. "A majority of the enemy forces are deeper in the forest. It is likely that the enemy's location is ahead of us, closer to our destination so there will be little time used to rescue our friends."
He could see Eomer waver, the military commander that fought for the greater good being chipped away by the man that wanted his friends to be saved. The assassin cast his senses out, pleased to almost immediately find what he was looking for.
"There is a small band of enemies less than a mile to the east. We could easily overpower them and get information on where the rest of the Fellowship is."
"Do you expect them to just tell us where they have the others?" Eomer asked, resolve crumbling further.
Legolas's expression grew cold. "Yes. The Shadowed Elves won't tell us— They're too loyal to the Void— and the orcs are too simpleminded, but there are men in the group as well."
"Why would the men tell us anything?" Sam asked naively.
"I have my ways." The assassin said in a clipped voice.
He could see that everyone except the gardener understood, their expressions in varying stages of wariness or discomfort.
"Esgal…" Boromir began, a frown on his face and worry in his gaze.
"I will do what I must to save them." Legolas stated, ending the discussion with the subtle warning in his tone. "We should get moving."
They headed east at a rapid pace, the assassin in the lead as he showed the way to the unlucky enemies they would soon encounter. As he ran, Legolas silently prepared himself for what was to come, his determination and training overcoming any reservations he had. He would not hold back against these foes, not when so much could be lost if they failed. This was a war, those men were his enemies, and he could not tread lightly if it meant leaving the Fellowship in enemy hands.
He would do whatever it took, no matter how immoral and cruel, to save his friends.
He just hoped they would not fear him for it.
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When the Gondorian healer finally told Fael and Megilag their sister was awake, it took all of the silver-haired Prince's self-control not to rush past the woman and into the Houses of Healing. Instead he waited impatiently for his older brother to thank the healer before following him into his sister's room.
Fael was relieved when she did not accompany them inside. He knew that the woman had saved Bereneth's life, but could she really be trusted? Could any of the people of Gondor? Faramir seemed to be nice and hospitable, but apparently his father— the Steward— was as close-minded as he was petty. The chances of him retaliating against the elves— or ordering his men to do so— were too high for Fael to be comfortable around anyone in the city.
He could not let his guard down. He needed to be ready when they were attacked. From the people here or enemies that looked like friends. He could only fully trust his siblings here. They would never try to hurt him. Not like—
The silver-haired Prince broke out of his thoughts as he caught sight of his sister, his current worries being brutally substituted for new ones.
Bereneth was so pale. The white bandages around her chest had more color than her complexion, a fact made only more obvious by the lack of glow that permeated from her skin. Even her normally golden hair seemed duller than usual, similar to a sun that was covered by a thin layer of clouds. Fael felt a slither of fear at the sight of her drawn, exhausted face, her normally confident expression replaced by one of despair and misery.
Next to Fael, Megilag forced a smile, approaching Bereneth's bed with false joy in his steps. "I'm glad you're finally awake, Bere. You missed quite a few interesting encounters while you were sleeping the days away."
The she-elf did not respond in any way, her eyes focused firmly on the ceiling above her. Fael's fear was slowly becoming full-blown terror at the sight, anxiety gripping his heart with its icy claws. He knew what his sister's condition reminded him of, but ignored the insight that would only lead to him falling into an inescapable panic.
Because Bereneth was not fading. There was no reason for her to, surely. Yes, they had fought— killed— their mother, but that could not be enough for strong, determined Bereneth to give up. Something in Fael shuddered unpleasantly as he remembered the encounter with the creature that Megilag claimed was not their mother, the sword at his hip feeling ten thousand times heavier.
She looked just like Naeneth, the Prince thought, shivering. And acted like her, and spoke like her, and… How could it not have been our mother? Is the Void's power so great that he can create copies of the people we've lost? But what if it wasn't a creature in Naneth's image? What if it was actually her? She attacked us and I killed her. What if the Void somehow brought her back and corrupted her? Is she gone forever? Did I destroy her soul? Did I—
Megilag abruptly sat on the edge of his sister's bed, the sudden movement startling Fael out of his increasingly frantic thoughts. The silver-gold haired Prince took his sister's hand and held it close to his chest.
"Bere, what's wrong? You're—" Quiet. Pale. Hopeless. Fading. "—upset. Please, tell us what is plaguing you."
She did not appear to hear him, cloudy eyes remaining fixed straight ahead. Fael could not think of anything to say to encourage their sister to speak her mind, wrapping his arms around himself in an effort to keep from sinking into his fretful thoughts again.
As a good younger brother, he should be brainstorming ways to cheer up his sister, not contemplating how he had potentially murdered their mother. Bereneth needed the help and attention not him because he was perfectly fine and did not have nightmares about Luineth killing his siblings and stabbing him or anything. He was not waiting for the other ax to fall and for the Gondorians to turn against the elves, because if his own mother could betray and hurt them then surely the men who already barely trusted them would—
"Esgal is Legolas."
At first, Fael thought he had imagined Bereneth's whispered words. His mind went blank, all thoughts of mothers and murder and betrayal fading away and leaving nothing but a hazy whiteness. Apparently he had not hallucinated the words either because he distantly heard Megilag's soft gasp.
"W-What?" the elder Prince stammered. "Bere, what are you saying?"
She finally looked at them, eyes still cloudy and face impassive. "You heard me. Esgal— the Assassin, the Guardian, the elf we've known for half a century— is our lost little brother." A laugh burst from her lips, high-pitched and hysterical. "He was right in front of us all this time and we didn't notice."
Fael's brain began to work again, thousands of thoughts and memories rushing around his head and making him feel faint. He found himself recalling each and every interaction he had with the violet-eyed assassin, comparing his face to that of the elfling they had lost, wondering how in Arda he had not noticed the similarities before…
"How do you know?" Megilag asked quietly, as if he could barely find the effort to speak. "A-Are you sure that—"
"Don't pretend it isn't true." Their sister said hollowly. "All the little puzzle pieces are coming together at last in your head, aren't they?" Her tone remained flat, not the slightest hint of sarcasm in her voice.
"I…" The elder Prince lifted a shaking hand to his head, brushing his hair out of his face vigorously. "How can this… We're here for nothing." Both hands went to his hair now, gripping it tightly, uncaring that it was becoming mussed. "We left the Sanctuary and traveled here for nothing."
"Adar knows who Esgal is." Bereneth informed them listlessly. "Why else would he send Thiad to bring us back to Mirkwood?"
Fael recalled Thiad's shifty words to them before they had been taken to Minas Tirith. The Eagle had wanted to tell them something, but had been unwilling to where enemies could hear…
Clarity struck the elf like a thunderbolt and he clapped his hands on both of his sibling's shoulders, mind clearer than it had been ever since that day.
"Don't mention his name anymore." He said urgently, but softly. "Remember where we are."
Megilag's own gaze sharpened and he nodded once in understanding. "Right."
Bereneth remained in her bubble of misery. "I mocked him. I hurt him and called him terrible things and treated him awfully." She barely held back a sob. "I hated and was jealous of my own brother."
"Bere…" the silver-haired Prince said helplessly, glancing around nervously to make sure no one was near. "We really should talk about this la—"
"No… I hate and am still jealous of him." Bereneth put her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking violently. "I remember and love the little elfling we lost, but I'm dismissive and envious of the assassin we know. I know they're the same, but I don't see Esgal as my brother. I'm a terrible person!"
If possible, her face grew paler, eyes sliding shut. For a moment, Fael thought she might have fainted, but her eyes snapped open before he could check her pulse.
"I broke his arm…" she whimpered. "I attacked him and… I— I—"
The two Princes could only watch as her breathing grew faster, faster, coming in desperate, panicked gasps that made Fael want to join her in her hysteria. Megilag kept a level head, grasping his sister's shoulders and looking her in the eyes.
"Bere, breathe. Breathe with me." He said, demonstrating.
Fael wanted to cry as his sister struggled to calm herself, the strong, fierce warrior broken down by the realization of what she had done. Slowly— too slowly— Bereneth's breathing evened out, some color returning to her cheeks as she steadied herself.
"What is going on here?"
Fael was moving before the voice fully registered, standing defensively in front of the door to Bereneth's room. The healer looked unimpressed by his position, a warning on her face as she silently promised retribution if he did not steps aside.
The Prince refused to move. His siblings were unbalanced— weakened— and he was not going to let a potential threat near them. And this woman was a threat— now more than ever before— because Fael knew that if she heard that a certain assassin was a Mirkwood Royal, she would tell someone. Most likely Denethor or Faramir, but no matter what outsiders would know.
Legolas's identity was Mirkwood's business, and no one else's. The elf did not know how much the Steward knew about the Lost Prince, but it would be just like Denethor to use that information against the Royals and Mirkwood somehow. The bitter man would find a way, and Fael felt that the elves were already in a dangerous place for merely being in Minas Tirith.
Fael boldly continued his blockage of the door, refusing to let the healer near his siblings. "Nothing is wrong. You do not need to come in. We're all right."
"She doesn't sound 'all right', dear." The woman said stubbornly.
Fael could still hear his sister's soft sobbing and quiet rambles, but did not turn back to look at her. "We will handle it. Bereneth just found out something…" Wonderful. -changing. Horrible. "…that has altered her perception of many things. We're handling it."
The healer looked unconvinced, but she gave in. "All right. I will return in the hour to check her bandages. If you need help before then, come get me."
"Thank you." Fael said shortly but genuinely.
He waited for her to retreat before returning to his siblings. Megilag was holding Bereneth now, who had finished rambling and was merely sitting silently in his arms. The elder Prince's gaze caught Fael's emerald one and he shook his head, grimacing. Peering closer at his sister, the silver-haired elf realized that she was indeed silent, but that did not mean she was not talking.
Bereneth's mouth moved silently, no words exiting her lips, and Fael could vaguely read the self-blame and apologies she did not utter aloud. His own guilt and worries retreated further into the back of his mind as he sat beside his two siblings, hugging them both and wondering why things had to happen this way.
The sequence of events that had led to this moment had started too long ago for them to stop it, unintentional antagonism between two unknowing siblings culminating in a breakdown on the antagonistic older sister's side. Fael had been preparing himself for a less-than happy reunion with Legolas when he first thought his little brother was in Minas Morgul, but nothing could have prepared him for this.
Fael may not know his brother— the assassin— as well as he might like, but he knew one thing for certain.
Esgal— Legolas— would never forgive himself if he was the reason Bereneth broke.
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A/N: So I finally got back to the three Royals! This was supposed to happen a while ago but my muse refused to let me write the scene. T_T
Thanks to all the wonderful people that read, reviewed, favorited and followed! :D