Disclaimer: If I listed all of the characters of this story that I didn't own here, you would be reading it for quite a while. So I'll keep this short and simple: if you saw them in the movie, or read them in the book, I don't own them. So there.
A/N: Nine more days of school…and counting. But, of course, Elbereth forbid that my teachers give me a break with the homework…I think I've done at least nine hours of homework already, and I probably have nine more to go. But I would never leave my loyal readers hanging! So I put down my hyperbola homework, and decided to write another chappy for you. Enjoy.
The Shadow of Death
Shadows of the Past
She walked deliberately but leisurely back to her uncle's chambers. Her spirits had been lifted. Legolas looked very healthy; he looked exactly like he did previous to the battle of Helm's Deep, except for the fact that his hair was black and his eyes were russet. He had been looking recovered and more lively than he had looked in perhaps a week. This cheered her up tremendously.
As she approached her uncle's oak doors, her joy dissipated slightly as she heard a heated argument. One voice belonged to her uncle, the other, as far as she could tell, belonged to Gandalf. She stopped perhaps three feet from the door, and stood completely silent. She strained her ears to try and overhear the dispute, but the heavy oak doors muffled their words. Unexpectedly, only a few seconds later, they swung open, and Gandalf strode out, looking particularly offensive and distressed. Eowyn, unsure of what was wrong, did not ask the Wizard to explain himself. In fact, he didn't even see her until he almost walked into her.
"Oh, excuse me, Eowyn," Gandalf muttered. "I didn't notice your presence."
"Nay, good Gandalf, 'tis nothing to apologize for."
He nodded, throwing her a fake smile. He turned to his left and began to leave, when Eowyn's curiosity got the better of her. "What were you and my uncle quarreling about?" It slipped out unintentionally, before Eowyn could stop herself.
Gandalf sighed heavily. "My Lady, I am afraid you must ask him." He nodded to her, and then quickly retreated down the long stone corridor.
Perplexed and slightly alarmed, she opened the doors and saw her uncle standing, arms crossed, looking out a window. The wind blew in from the casement, a chilly, crisp air. Despite herself, Eowyn shivered. Theoden apparently hadn't noticed his niece's entrance. He did not move, did not blink, and seemingly did not breathe until Eowyn decided to interrupt his train of thought.
"Is everything alright?"
Theoden turned towards her. He stared at her, an odd expression overpowering his usually relaxed face. He seemed to be studying her, sizing her up, trying to see through to her very thoughts. This strangeness caught her off guard, and made her perturbed. "Perhaps I shall return another time," Eowyn stated, her words quickly emerging. She turned to leave, anxious to get out of her uncle's gaze, when he spoke.
"No. Eowyn, come here."
She froze. His voice even sounded unnatural, as if he were trying to cover up an emotion willing itself to come out. She turned to face him, the feeling of uncertainty creeping over her, but she did not look at him; instead, she looked out of the window that he was previously staring at. It was lightly raining.
Without prelude, he began. "What is your relationship with Legolas?" She was shocked by this question. It held an edge to it, an anxiousness, and an undertone of disappointment and uncertainty.
"He is my friend," she stated matter-of-factly, if not somewhat hesitantly. Theoden did not respond instantly. He continued to look at his niece, studying her. She felt herself become self-conscious, and had the sudden urge to run out of the chambers, sprint down the hall, and forget about her uncle's glare. But out of respect, both for herself and for him, she stood her ground.
"Nothing more?" His words surprised her. She felt her mouth open, but quickly closed it, desperately trying to hide her astonishment at his question. Was he implying that she was romantically linked to him? It was such an illogical idea, such a seemingly random question, that she felt herself blush.
"Of course not."
"Then why do your cheeks grow red?"
The accusatory tone of her uncle's words angered her. "Because of the absurdity of your question."
Theoden's eyes squinted, and he slowly approached her. She felt the urge to recoil, to cave in. But being a Sheild Maiden, she did neither. "The absurdity of my question? How about the absurdity of your defense of him?" He was trying hard not to lose his temper.
"What?" Eowyn had no idea what he meant.
"You know of what I speak. You comforted him, Eowyn. You spoke to him gently, directly after he tried to kill me!" Theoden's eyes were open wide, his hands clenched over his chest. Eowyn had never seen her uncle like this, and it deeply unnerved her.
"I…I comforted him, for he has suffered much, and will continue to-"
"He tried to kill me!" Theoden roared incredulously. "Did you not see the crazed look in his eye, the determination in his face? He was choking me, Eowyn. I have never been so disrespected, dishonored, and so blatantly disgusted!" Theoden was now yelling. He stood barely four feet away from her, but he spoke in a tone of voice as if he were forty yards yonder.
"He did not mean-"
"And then," he continued, ignoring her protests, "you kiss him."
Eowyn did not answer. Kiss him she had…but it was a kiss of friendship, a kiss of reassurance. She had meant to do no more than to let Legolas know she would be there for him, to calm him down, to console him…
"I…." Eowyn knew not how to counter her uncle's accusations. They were false, but how could she prove them so?
"Yes, Eowyn, my darling niece, you kissed him. You kissed the very elf who tried to kill your uncle." The disgust and hatred in his voice was seeping from his throat. He narrowed his eyes, and wore a snarl upon his once handsome face. Eowyn stood silent. This was not her uncle speaking. She had never seen him this angry or this….strange. He had never acted like this. He had always been a rational man, a man who was good at analyzing emotions. She assumed that Theoden would understand Legolas's predicament, and come to the conclusion that he was acting out of pure emotion, not taking logic into account.
But he was doing neither.
Noticing she had nothing to say in defense of herself, Theoden spoke. "I want him gone."
She looked up at him, fear in her eyes. "No…uncle, you can't-"
"Do not tell me what I can and cannot do! An elf just tried to strangle me, and neither you nor Gandalf has any sympathy, save for that elf. He is a danger to my people, a danger to me, and a danger to you. He will be gone by morning."
"No!" The hoarse cry erupted from her throat like a volcano. It was filled with her pent up emotions, feelings that had been stored in her body since the battle for Helm's Deep. Frustration, anger, depression, sadness, hesitance, guilt, hope, despair…all of them came out in one syllable, one desperate sob, one forceful whimper.
"Yes." The response was as cold as ice. It was frozen yet unable to crack. It was stated blandly but maliciously, carelessly but vigorously. It was stated as an unwritten rule, a viable command…an order.
This could not be happening. Her uncle was not a hateful man. He was regal, loyal, just. He was lovable and loving, in command but full of compassion. He served his people willingly, with a vigor that had not been seen in many generations. But this man, of whom she so dearly loved, was intentionally banishing her friend. A friend who was suffering painfully, a friend who would have no where to go, no where to turn…
"You cannot do this," she responded, the tears now flowing without restraint. Her teeth were gritted, her jaw clenched. Yet her posture was slackened, and she did not look at her uncle. She refused to.
The King of Rohan unfolded his arms and regained his tall and royal posture. He looked upon her with uncaring and cold eyes, as his response came. "It is done."
~*~
Gandalf knew not what to do.
Legolas was about to be banished…at the best. At the worst, he would be detained, and stand trial for attempted murder.
How did it come to this? He asked himself, shaking his head as he walked down the corridor. How could such utter tragedy emerge from such a glorious victory?
But Gandalf knew the answer: vengeance.
Vengeance ate away at Theoden's soul. It engorged itself in his heart, pulsating throughout the king's veins. It entrenched itself in his mind, unwilling to let empathy and reason interfere with its own malevolent intents. Vengeance was what was speaking through Theoden's mouth. Or, perhaps, it was the lack thereof…
The absence of vengeance was detrimental to a man's soul. The need for it, the urge to have it but the inability to obtain it, was enough to drive anyone to the brink of madness. This is exactly what it was doing to Theoden, as it had begun to do to Legolas. How ironic, Gandalf contemplated. They suffer from the same ailment, yet Theoden does not comprehend the irrationality of Legolas's actions.
Ironic it was. Companions in the lust for retaliation, victims of the disease of retribution, but enemies due to the blindness caused by it. Gandalf had been mulling over possible ways to convince Theoden to let Legolas stay. But all of them had been folly; Theoden was a determined and prideful man. When he made up his mind, his decision was cast in stone. Neither chisel nor hammer could crack it…he had tried. But his anger had gotten the best of him. Gandalf had scolded himself for losing control of his emotions, but it pained him to see Legolas suffer so. It physically hurt him to think of Thranduil's reaction to finding out that his son had fallen victim to the Shadow…
Gandalf remembered it clearly: the day when Emradril fell. The hellish moment when Thranduil learned his son was worse than dead, and was an orc. His son had become one of the Woodland Elves' most hated and dreaded enemies; what was worse, he had helped to orchestrate the worst ambush on Mirkwood in all history.
"This cannot be…this cannot be…"
That was all Thranduil would say. Gandalf had ridden to Mirkwood after he had caught news of the terrible ambush. Hundreds, if not thousands, of defenseless elves had been cut down, slaughtered, and tortured by the orcs. It was unexpected, and occurred without any type of warning. It was devastating…no words would comfort the despairing King of Mirkwood. So Gandalf sat by his side, through the night, doing nothing but showing his support for his friend.
"Does Legolas know?"
Thranduil slowly shook his head in response. "He is too young, Gandalf. He is too impressionable, too sensitive…"
"You must tell Legolas what happened to Emradril. He's his brother, Thranduil."
He saw the king shudder and flinch when he mentioned his begotten son's name. "I do not have the heart to tell him." Gandalf sighed. Luckily, Legolas had been safely sleeping, in his bed, at the time of the attack. The Mirkwood Guard had prevented the intruders from reaching the castle, undoubtedly saving the young prince's life. "But Mithrandir…he has been asking me about his friends…" Thranduil spoke barely above a whisper. "He asked me where Vanoviel was, a friend of his since her birth…how could I tell him she is dead?"
Gandalf knew not how to respond. So he simply stated, "It must be done."
The king shook his head. "Legolas should be spared this grief. He has encountered it too much, with the death of his mother…" He trailed off, and Gandalf did not pursue.
But Legolas must learn to cope with grief, Mithrandir thought silently. It is a fact of life, even with an immortal one. Death is a part of life, and Legolas must learn to survive it. But looking at the king's tired and wary face, mourning the death of hundreds of his people, Gandalf could not bring himself to bestow another worry upon him. So he remained silently supportive, sitting by the king's side.
The death tolls came in, mounting with each passing hour. Two hundred…three hundred…four hundred…it came to the point where Gandalf could not bring himself to listen to these bearers of ill news. But Thranduil insisted on hearing every name, every toll, every detail and description about his people's deaths. Why Thranduil wished to know was a mystery, but it was not his place to question. Thus, he sat quietly, watching the once powerful king withdraw into himself, searching for peace.
Throughout the night, Thranduil said nothing. He sat, slouched, his head cupped in his hands, his face wrought with despair. He looked older than ever, as if he had miraculously aged twenty human years in a mere few hours. The air had grown so heavy and dank with the feel and aftermath of death that Gandalf felt it hard to breathe. The tension and despair was tangible, and so tense that he could have broken it in half. But when a member of the Mirkwood Guard cautiously and silently entered Thranduil's chambers, Gandalf felt the terse feelings ease just a bit; but they did not disappear by any means. The elf of the Guard walked towards the king, a note written on a piece of parchment. He held the note close to him, as if afraid to relinquish it. His blue eyes were filled with apprehension, and as he approached the throne, he stopped and showed his respect.
"Your Highness?" The uneasiness spilled over from his eyes to his voice.
"Yes," the exhausted reply came.
"A note from Arandilor, sire." The elf handed over the note to the king, who took it in his grasp. He bowed again, and quickly dismissed himself, as if fleeing the wrath that the note would bestow upon the king. Thranduil sat there, clenching the note so hard that his knuckles were white. He stared directly ahead of him at the marble floors, not moving, hardly breathing. Gandalf laid a hand on his friend's shoulder, shaking him from his trance.
"Thranduil, read the note," he suggested gently. The king looked to him and nodded. He opened the note, carefully, as if it were a dangerous creature that would pounce at any moment. The crinkle of the paper echoed throughout the stifled, silent chamber. Once it was successfully opened, Thranduil began to read. Gandalf watched his blue eyes trail along the paper, his expressionless face making no sign of emotions whatsoever. Mithrandir held his breath, not daring to move before the king finished reading. He looked from the parchment to his friend, back and forth, patiently awaiting for the consensus.
But the consensus did not come.
The piece of parchment fell from Thranduil's hands, gently drifting to the stone floor like a falling leaf. The king sat, transfixed, an expression of pure sadness cascading down his face, an expression that made Gandalf's heart sob. He didn't know whether to inquire about the letter or not. But he could suddenly not bare to be in the dark any longer. Thranduil was suffering, and Gandalf needed to know why.
"Thranduil, mellonin, what troubles you?"
Thranduil looked to Gandalf, a single tear falling. "Emradril is dead."
The Wizard's brows knotted together as he absorbed the information. Emradril is dead…"How is this known?" he asked quietly.
"They found his orc body. He was shot through the heart with an arrow." The voice was bland and monotone. Gandalf did not answer; instead, he studied the elf's face, tears flowing silently. He stared at the floor once again, avoiding Mithrandir's sympathetic and questioning eyes. "My son…" he suddenly whimpered, covering his face. "My son…"
The Wizard lowered his head. Emradril, the once compassionate, brave, and loyal son of Thranduil had been felled by the Shadow. He had been corrupted and corroded, both his flesh and soul disintegrated into one unified mass of evil. It was heart-wrenching. And the fact that now Thranduil would have to tell Legolas, his other son, about the horrifying events of the past days, was enough to throw Gandalf into the pit of bereavement.
But Gandalf sensed that the king would not tell Legolas about Emradril. Between his wife's death and his son's death, both within a span of only a couple years, he would not bring himself to impart any more grief upon the one son, the one child, he had left. Thranduil sighed and stood up, at first unsure of his footing. Gandalf saw him tremble, and feared for the king's health, but he would take no assistance from anyone. He stood, back straight, his head held high, his golden hair flowing down his back, furiously wiping his face on the sleeves of his royal robes. "I must tend to my people, Gandalf," he said in a shaky voice. "They are in need of me now, and I will not abandon them to my own feelings of misery."
"Mellonin, you must beware of your grief…" Gandalf replied. If Thranduil wasn't careful, the pure grief that filled his heart could kill him.
"Yes, my friend, I am aware. Thank you, Mithrandir. Your support has been most gracious." He looked at the Wizard with eyes glistening full of water. He knew the king could not bring himself to say any more, for he was wrought with emotion. So the Wizard nodded, a silent 'you're welcome' to his friend of old.
He watched as the king strode out of his chambers, knowing he must help his people in this time of need. His green robe trailed behind him, a regal air about him permeated the chamber. Gandalf knew that Thranduil was a great and powerful king, a selfless king, a just king. He knew he would put himself after the wellbeing of his loyal subjects. Gandalf only wished he knew how the king would deal with the sadness in his heart.
And the sadness would once again entrench the king's heart if Legolas fell. He would have to be the one to tell him of the heartbreaking news. He could see the utter haplessness on his friend's face. If Thranduil lost Legolas, he would have lost his whole family.
The mere thought was too much. Gandalf began to cry.
~*~
9 more days left of school. But who's counting? Maybe that's why I'm updating so much…I'm too lazy to do homework….
Now, for the infamous personal thank yous:
Aria Nightwing: Did I kill Estel? Are you sure? Yes? No? oooh, I hope the suspense is killing you! ;-) you do NOT have a sick mind…I love Legolas angst too, remember? It's perfectly healthy to torture the ones you love….err…maybe not….anyways thanks for the review! I hope this helped ease your angst craving…expect more in the future! And you can definitely borrow my muse…once I figure out what to name her…..
Mydogisfudge: I'm glad you found it interesting! Yes, I think it was weird, but I'm glad you liked it! I hope you liked this chapter as well.
Randomramblings: Awww, I don't want to see this story stop either! I've had so much fun writing it, and hearing from wonderful reviewers like you! But I'm sure you'll love the ending…at least, I hope you will….thanks for reviewing!
Moon Fox: I didn't mean to portray Gimli in a bad light. I merely figured that the poor Dwarf was injured…thus he didn't have his strength left, thus he didn't have the health nor the power to fight back. When one is seriously injured, they become weak, if not incapacitated…I merely figured having a giant slash across Gimli's chest might hinder his fighting ability. And since when was being heavy stop anyone from carrying anybody? If a grown man can be carried by another grown man, as is seen all of the time, what is so wrong when a grown man carries a dwarf? Also, I do not know what you meant by 'tork'…did you mean torque? Hmmm….dunno. It's also a shame you signed in under an anonymous name…I like to respond personally to people who critique (or flame) my stories. Oh well.
EternallyMine: I hurried! And here's the next chapter. Hope u enjoyed! (PS…I love Legolas too…)
Elentari Manwe: I'm glad you liked the emotional chapter…here's another one. I think I need to stop with the emotions…they're wearing me out. Whew. But anything to make my readers happy! ;-)
Stacee Phelps: I updated as soon as possible…although I did leave Aragorn like that…sorry! He will be addressed next chappy….I think…I hope….err…yeah. Thanks for reviewing!
Gwyn: You know, weirdness is good to a certain extent. And yes, I do know what you mean about the dream sequence…but I'm glad you enjoyed it. I think all angst stories contain a certain about of weirdness…like yours! But its good weirdness ;-) Thanks for the review, and update soon!
Legolasluver: Here's a tissue. *Hands tissue over* I bought a few packs….I thought at least one of my awesome readers would need one. Anyways, I'm glad you liked it. Thanks so much!
The Dark Rogue: *gasps* I KNOW you did not just say Legolas must…live?!?!?!?! Wow…what happened there? Was it a moment of emotional distress, or an insane attack? Wow, or have I really changed your mind? Hmmm…so many questions! But I'm glad you liked it…even though I can't really kill Arwen, since she's not physically in my story….thanks for the review!
Silvertoekee: Thanks for the 'feel better' wishes. I need them. I still feel pretty icky, but much better…thanks! I'm glad you like my fic, and thanks so much for being such a loyal reviewer! ;-)
Alright. 155 reviews and counting….I seriously can't believe it. I remember when I only had 35 reviews, and I was astonished then! You guys are awesome. Thanks! Oh, and if any of you have suggestions for my next story, please just let me know. I would love to get plot bunnies…my muse is currently working overtime on this story, so she has no time to worry about my next one. Suggestions welcome…thanks, mellonin.