The last sentence vibrated in the still air. Glorfindel felt as if though the wind had been knocked out of him. His own eyes burned, the words of the King cutting deep even though they were not even directed towards him.
"Which one of us?" A calm voice broke the utter silence. Glorfindel raised his head and saw Legolas. The lithe elf was holding his arms stiffly by his side.
Thranduil whirled around, meeting his son's gaze unflinching despite the loud accusation in Legolas' angry eyes.
"You know I speak of Alcanor, Legolas!" Thranduil replied quietly, clearly hurt. Glorfindel closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. Alcanor. The proud heir to the throne. A scar to his neck from Eranions attack, an elf with wild viciousness underlined with true royalty, the ability to endure long meetings with steady concentration and a quick yet calm tongue. Able to see above his own hurt and refrain from overly quick judgements, like the scars in Glorfindel's chest proved. Scars were a small price to pay considering what had occurred all those centuries ago. An heir like every King could only hope for.
The visiting Silvans had told them that Alcanor was not truly dead, that instead he was worse. A soul, too tortured to fade, a soul losing against the oppressing Darkness it had withstood against for so many years. Tortured and twisted until the Darkness had taken over, transforming the once proud Crown Prince of Mirkwood into a snarling orc in the skin of a fair elf. And Legolas knew none of it.
"Al is dead."
"No, ion-nin. I wish he was. Instead he suffers a pain I cannot even imagine and I can do nothing to aid him." He sounded so broken, the great Elven-king. Broken and defeated and so damn familiar for yes, he sounded exactly how Legolas had. Just like Glorfindel's young friend.
Opening his eyes, the balrog-slayer saw how his friend Elrond opened his mouth to speak. Quickly he stepped towards the healer, ramming his elbow into his side.
"Keep quiet, mellon!" The balrog slayer hissed. He had lived in Imladris for thousands of years and he respected Elrond more than most others but if his friend had one fault it was that he always wanted to help and sometimes did not see that all he could do was to be quiet and let the events take place without his interference. Elrond nodded reluctantly, trusting Glorfindel. Also, the blond elf could still see the shock and guilt in the kind brown eyes, caused by the recent down dressing the healer had received from the foreign ruler.
"I just want to help," he murmured back softly, eyes strained on Glorfindel.
"I know. But you won't help if you keep butting heads with Thranduil. And he was partially right: We cannot understand what happened here in Mirkwood. We have not suffered the way they have. I think, we should not try to make things better as we will only put our foot in our own mouth. Let them tell us how we can help instead of deciding where they need help."
Glorfindel had grasped Elrond's arm while he spoke but his last words had been absentminded as he continued to watch the Royal Family of Mirkwood. He could feel how Elrond's muscles tensed underneath his hand but the healer remained silent and by his side.
"What do you mean?" Legolas had asked once he had gotten over his shock. His voice trembled. His arms, held stiffly by his sides before, had wrapped around his middle. The poor elfling could not endure any more of this emotional up and down. The balrog slayer admired that the young elf, no more than a boy by Noldorian law, even though he was considered an adult in Mirkwood already, had not yet broken. He was so strong, stronger than even his scarred and battle-worn, well-muscled body revealed.
Thranduil of course heard the uncertainty. But all the King could do was answer honestly and admitting the helplessness he felt: "It means Al is nothing but a shell of his former glory, empty and hollow. He once reached high into the sky like a mighty tree, but now his branches are bare of leaves, blind to the sunlight above, and the wood inside is infested by bugs. Trapped inside, the decay is gnawing at his captured soul and here I stand and can do nothing about it."
Legolas was shaking his head, his lips twisted in a disbelieving half-smile without any joy all while the fear took a hold of his body. Elrond tensed even more by Glorfindel's side, the urge to draw the elfling into his protective embrace not only taking a hold of the healer but of the balrog slayer as well. However, Thranduil stood still his head tilted to the side not letting his son out of the captivating sight of his blue eyes. The young elf just stepped back, his arms tightening around his midsection.
"Where is he?" Legolas pressed out to the Noldor's surprise. Even though they had gotten to know him, they were still unused to the sheer stubbornness that gave him strength.
The tall Sinda hesitated. He took a step towards his struggling son. Legolas looked up with such wide, innocent eyes, Glorfindel felt his heart break in his chest. Once again, the proud warrior had vanished, washed away from where he stood, leaving his already exhausted emotions bare for the world to see. Slowly, the King drew nearer, careful as if though the elfling was an injured shy deer in the forest which would bolt if he moved too quick. And seeing the blond-haired warrior tense, Glorfindel felt himself relax, noticing that the boy's father knew indeed what he was doing and just how he had to approach his child.
"Captain Methelion, your sister and Falin hunted him down," Thranduil rumbled, his voice so deep and soothing it was balm even to Glorfindel's soul. Never before had he heard the aloof, cold and sharp-tongue elven King speak in this fashion. This calm power promised safety, gave the promise to be protected with all of the darkened forest's might. Somehow, Glorfindel felt the same power he sometimes felt radiating from Elrond or he had even known himself capable of, yet the tune was off, not mismatched but darker, wilder, more dangerous but no less protective.
Thranduil took another step closer, raising his arm and gentle fingers twitching slightly as if he wanted nothing more but touch his son.
"They brought him back here. He is no elf anymore, tithen-las. He is an orc, hiding behind your brother's face. He doesn't recognize us but we know he is still in there somewhere. He won't surface but is a prisoner of his own body. We cannot keep the orc calm. That is why he is in the dungeons."
Penneth pressed his lips together, hunching over. The moment he pressed his eyes shut, Thranduil took the last step and drew Legolas into his arms, his robes falling over slim shoulders, his hand carding through still uneven, still only shoulder-length hair. The King began whispering soft words. After a few minutes where Glorfindel finally let go of Elrond's arm and exchanged a relieved and yet worried glance with the healer, the young warrior replied, his words mumbled as he was still held in Thranduil's embrace, his head resting against the broad chest. Then Princess Eyaenne added something from the side, having stood by with her hands in nervous fists and the Noldor realise they all had spoken the language of the Silvan people.
Father and son broke their hug and Legolas once again looked steadier, having drawn strength from his Ada. Listening to their language was fascinating. Glorfindel continued to expect he would understand their words, so obviously produced by an elf's tongue, yet their meaning escaped him.
"I am going into the dungeons," Legolas declared. Young keen eyes met Glorfindel's and the older of the two blond-haired elves understood the silent question immediately and so he nodded, causing Legolas' lips to tug up into a relieved smile.
Thranduil, having caught the exchange, turned and scanned Glorfindel from head to toe before he nodded once with a small, grim smile. His attention then shifted to Elrond, still by the balrog slayer's side. Pressing his lips together, the King took a deep breath. He looked as if it pained him but he nodded to the healer as well, indicating they should follow them.
"You do not have to come along," Thranduil turned to his children. Indeed, the twins had already left the room without Glorfindel's notice, though their father did not seem surprised.
"Nah, I'll come along," Eyaenne attempted to play it off without much success. She looked over to Methelion who nodded and smiled, agreeing he would accompany her as well. Meanwhile, Falin seemed torn. He twisted the ends of his unusually long hair in his fingers.
"I better check on them and Roewen," he finally said, reluctance speaking in his voice.
"Thank you, Falin."
"If you allow, Thranduil, I would accompany Falin and make sure your sons are well," Erestor spoke up for the first time this morning. Respectfully and gratefully, Thranduil placed a hand over his chest and bowed, causing Glorfindel to raise his brows in surprise. It seemed Erestor had truly managed to earn the King's respect. That gave the balrog slayer hope that maybe they would be able to do the same.
Before he could contemplate the issue any further, Falin and Erestor left the room to search for the Royal Twins. The Noldorian set of twins, Elladan and Elrohir, had rarely ever been as quiet as they were today and they came up to Elrond's and Glorfindel's side.
Legolas had his chin set in a determined way, his eyes, seconds ago wide and hurt and so painfully innocent, were hard and he took several deep, calming breaths through the nose. He felt Glorfindel's gaze and turned his head, light catching in the fair hair and causing it to glow like liquid gold. The corners of his lips twisted upwards into a strange helpless half-smile that betrayed just how confused, pained and worried the young elf still was, despite the determined façade. Glorfindel smiled back and tried to show Penneth that he would be there for him in just that gesture.
The elf flinched when Thranduil's hand came down on his shoulder. Momentarily, the King pulled his hand away once more and instead of steering the slightly smaller elf towards the door, he gestured towards it with a twist of his wrist.
Elrond, the twins and Glorfindel followed the Mirkwood elves; Thranduil leading the way and Eyaenne walking next to her baby brother, her strong arm slung around his shoulders, head ducked as she talked with him. Methelion followed, the only one of them completely calm, no nervousness about him that turned even Lord Elrond from the strong rock in the breakwater into a light leave dancing on the surface without control. The Captain's brown eyes remained watchful like those of a hawk and his steps mirrored his inner strength.
They were led through numerous long hallways, sometimes leading into large caverns where no banister framed the wooden pathway floating though the vast caves, giant roots of the ancient forest. Never before had Glorfindel seen anything like this. High lanterns, strewn about the caves, and small creaks in the stone ceiling above their only source of light and yet at no point did the caves appear dark. The air was fresh and smelled of earth and strangely enough of pure rain. Deep down underneath the pathways crossing the empty space at different heights, the roaring of rivers was heard, a steady, deep rumbling like that of a stone giant breathing in his sleep.
"What is this place?", Elladan asked in wonder, slowing down, spinning around to take as much of his surroundings in as he could.
Methelion turned upon hearing the words, wisps in the largeness around them.
"T'is our world, Lord Elladan. Our city, encased in stone as it is, cannot be compared to the free beauties of Imladris, but that does not mean you cannot find beauty at all behind the castle's protective walls." Dropping water, gentle music upon steel plates, was heard. Walking past, Elrohir pointed towards a simple wind chime made of wood which was hanging in a small creak in the walls, wind hustling through and shaking the wooden pieces in a soothing and soft, barely audible rhythm.
"This is incredible," Elrond whispered, awed by what had been hidden in this castle without him even suspecting.
"My Lords," Methelion interrupted their musings. "We should close the gap to the others." Glorfindel turned and cursed upon noticing that the Elven King and his two children were nowhere to be seen, having walked on and out of view long since they had stopped. Only the archer was standing a few meters ahead, gesturing down the path and smiling in understanding.
Shaking his head, Elladan hurried to drag his twin towards the brown-haired Sinda. Elrond's brows drew together and he shook his head in a gesture similar to that of his son. Taking long steps, the group of visitors being led by the archer still needed several minutes to close up on the others. By the time, they had already climbed down several sets of stairs and passed more and more guards. Now, the roaring of water ways growing louder with each step, did they start descending the last flight of stairs leading down to the dungeons, small twisted cavers with narrow walkways, thick iron bars closing the small dark caves.
Legolas felt the cold air of the dungeons coat his skin in a thin layer once he stepped through the archway and continued down the shallow stairs. Eyaenne's arm around his shoulders had stiffened as well and he knew his sister did not want to be there. She was only accompanying them for his sake.
The thundering of the water sounded unnaturally loud in his ears. The snow in the hills had began to melt and all rivers underneath Mirkwood's dense foliage had swollen. Legolas thought he could feel tiny droplets of water prick his skin like icy needles but rationally he knew that was not true, for the river was too far below them, only the sound thundering up the cold hard walls of the creak before them.
He took another heavy step down, his eyes drawn towards his side. Through fossilised roots he could see down towards the cells of the dungeon. Another step, the roots thinning. Silver-blond hair caught the light of the dungeon and reflected it. Stopping and staring, the elf saw his eldest brother pacing in a small cell, the long hair drawn back into a low, messy ponytail, the strands dirty, stringy and knotted. Alcanor would never have allowed his hair to look like that. The Crown Prince of Mirkwood made a point of always looking presentable. To a degree he sometimes seemed prissy.
Alcanor turned and Legolas felt utter despair wash over him upon seeing the red glow of unforgiving eyes. His hands started shaking and he entwined them into the fabric of his shirt, clenching it so strongly he expected to hear it tear. It didn't though.
Eyaenne's arm around his shoulders tightened, almost painfully so. Than Legolas forced his eyes away to look at her, he could see her kind eyes were glanced over. Feeling his attention, she looked at him and attempted a smile that failed spectacularly.
"Shall we continue?" Her normally harsh voice asked gently, squeezing his shoulder and nudging him slightly. Admiring her strength, Legolas leaned further into her side. Lowering his head, the elfling watched his leather clad feet and the stairs beneath them. With the sound of Eyaenne's breathing so close by and feeling her chest rise and fall against his side, he gathered his courage and went on. In the meantime, his mind was racing.
Thranduil was waiting for them on the middle of the arched bridge crossing the narrow creek. From here, one could not see the occupied cell anymore and Legolas was grateful for it. He looked elegant and unbothered but his blue eyes followed the siblings with barely visible concern.
"Are you certain you wish to go on?" The King whispered and his voice betrayed that he too was suffering. Between them, Legolas felt his determination rise. He would not be weak! He would not be too weak to see Alcanor. Had he payed better attention, had he ordered his patrol back earlier, Alcanor would not have had to suffer like that. He was responsible. Just as he was responsible for Iarith's death, for Eriandras' death, his best friend and second in command, and for the death of the elves under his command: the young Merion, the fierce healer Feriell, the sure archer Ferienne, the ever loyal elf Jaran, the silent and reliable Kirion, the scout Learon, the beautiful she-elf Neliell, the strong warrior Cyras, the always careful archer Leras … The names kept coming to his mind, thundering down like a heavy water fall, louder, far louder than the roaring water far underneath the bridge.
He owed them all. They all were his responsibility and they had died for him. Because of him. He owed them all and the very least he could do was to face what he had done. He had done this to his own brother who had always looked out for him, sometimes in an annoying protective way and Legolas had gone and failed him.
Therefore, determined to at very least fulfil the responsibilities he had loaded upon himself, Legolas nodded harshly, shrugging out from Eyaenne's protective embrace. He did not deserve to draw from her strength. He needed to be strong enough to face what he had done. And so he brushed past his surprised father who had to step back slightly, his heels now over the edge. Exchanging a glance with Legolas' sister, he followed his son close by.
His head held high, Legolas strode along the narrow pathway. And around the curve of the empty cells, dark holes behind iron bars like the deep abysses of dead volcanos, the occupied cell came into view. The prisoner was an orc. An orc looking like Legolas' big brother Alcanor, Crown Prince of Mirkwood.
Please review!
Sorry for the delay! And yes, nothing much happened here. I hope you like the chapter anyway
Guest#1: Of course he is not talking about Legolas! :)
Esther: Yeah, I know. It has been awhile since my last update again. The wood elves are stronger than the Sindar are willing to admit or even to see so far
Cassandra: Thanks for the praise. This chapter ain't as good as the last but I hope you find some joy in it nonetheless
Guest#2: Elrond is so used to have people go to him for advice or to have the same opinion as him, having Thranduil oppose almost everything is strange for him. He cannot understand that there are more than just one way to handle things
Oi: I guess teh translator improved heaps in recent years. I am glad you liked what I did with Elrond and that it wasn't out of character
Guest#3: Same answer as Guest#2
Guest#4: Thanks :) I like Falin as well. I like to give them at least slightly different personalities. Falin is stronger than many give him credit and he is polite and open-minded. Arahen and Daeros are a lot more sensitive but I imagine them to be better warriors as well. Everyone has their own strengts and weaknesses. And, well, you are the only one ever to mention they love Falin
Guest#5: He does. And I feel so sorry for him becaue he only now learns how to show his love as well
