As ever I am indebted to those of you still reading and especially reviewing what has become a bit of an epic I'm afraid. If I can persuade them all to behave for the next few chapters however I think the end is nigh.
Special shout outs go to DaHybridQueen, LegolasLover2003 and bettsam0731 for their kind words and to those of you who have chosen to follow or favourite this little tale I send my heartfelt thanks.
It does a writer good to know people are actually reading what they write, never mind enjoying it!
Anyway, here's the next one. Hope it doesn't feel too rushed or confused.
Let me know how you feel about it. ... Please?!
Chapter 50
Flickers of darkness caress the corners of his mind. A half remembered memory that skips out of reach as he tries to pin it down. He has been here before. But never like this. Familiarity drags his thoughts along paths he does not wish to tread. Images flash unbidden across the canvas of his mind and he longs for them to cease. Death. He is the bringer of death. And now he understands.
He reaches out to touch the shadows with tentative fingers, marvelling at the way they skip and run across his hands. His feet move and he looks down to watch them step carefully along a narrow path of half light, wondering briefly where they may carry him, yet caring little where they do. He feels nothing. Neither breath of air, nor pain, nor grief. Cocooned within a gulf of empty space he walks as in a trance, neither waking nor asleep.
He stops. Suspended. The darkness gathers, then he starts to fall, spiralling down and down, without control, without restraint, without concern, until at last he halts and all is still.
"Come, Little Leaf."
He hears the voice and knows he must obey.
Back in the sick room bed, Legolas lies down staring up at the ceiling overhead, his mind wandering through the ghost of a dream. Fractured memories come to him of scenes he would rather forget and he curses the elven recall that allows nothing to fade completely from his thoughts.
How has he come to this? How has he altered so much? To threaten an unarmed man, nay to almost strike down an unarmed man is not in his nature, at least, so he thought, but now? Now he does not know what he is capable of any more.
He turns his thoughts back to the previous evening and sees again the terror in the mans face as he raises his knife for the killing blow and tears blur his vision as he realises that, if not for his friend, he would have completed the action and added another indelible stain to his once, bright fea.
He sighs and pulls himself into a sitting position, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed to let them dangle whilst he continues his recollections.
It was Estels voice that had brought him back from the brink. Estels arms which had enfolded him securely and held him tight as rage had dissipated like smoke to be replaced by a burning shame that almost brought him to his knees. Estel who had whispered soothing words into his ear and eased him into a chair, removing his weapon from nerveless fingers somewhere along the way. Estels voice that had anchored him once more to reality whilst others moved around the room like wraiths on the edge of his vision, there but not fully realised, until he gradually became aware of his surroundings once more and comprehended the scope of actions so narrowly avoided.
Apologies had been given and accepted but he could still see the wariness within each of their eyes and deep down knew they were right to be cautious. How might he expect them to uphold their trust in him when he could not do the same for himself? He pushed the thought away not wanting to delve within himself deep enough yet to uncover the grounds for this conclusion and instead dwelt upon the happenings once the brigand had resumed his tale.
The terror brought on by the archers rage fuelled intent to kill had further loosened Flinns lips as well as his bladder and he sat in a growing puddle of acrid fluid as the archer was calmed, disarmed and seated back on the uprighted chair once more. He had seen Elladan place an arm on the mans shoulder and momentarily thought he glimpsed a hint of compassion in his deep brown eyes before they turned downwards and his lips had curled in distaste at the steaming pool gathered beneath Flinns seat.
The man had then begun to speak once more, as if a dam had been opened, the words flying from his mouth, almost tumbling over themselves in their rush to be heard, as if wishing to escape the cowering form and find freedom in release.
He had told how the two men had set off on their journey in haste, carrying only the bare essentials, and a few bottles of beer to make the travelling bearable. How they had trekked through the forest, Draeg reassuring him that the spiders were being kept busy elsewhere so he could "stop 'is blessed whining and get on wiv walking." How they had met Estel, who he had called Malin, and taken him into their company and how Draeg had told him the master would be pleased he had found another young recruit to train and Legolas remembered the way Estel had bristled at these words.
The man had come to him then and his heart tightened at the memory. He was to have been utilised as nothing more than a pawn and the thought made him blush with shame. To be used in such a way. Against his own father. It was unthinkable, yet this master had thought it not only possible, but achievable and had set his plans accordingly.
According to Flinn his companion had been given a bottle containing a potion that they were to feed to 'the elf' once they had detached him from the orcs tender mercies, something to keep him quiet and biddable until they reached their masters fortress and handed him over for his training to begin.
Legolas' weary blue orbs close as Flinns face dances before his vision, recalling the fear and pity etched deep within his troubled eyes. The brigand had seen snatches of this 'training' before and knew just what it entailed. The archers mind skips over details involving regular beatings and humiliation, small, dark rooms in which the only sound was the continual, slow drip of water from an unseen source, starvation, mind numbing infusions and the tantalising promise of escape quashed at its moment of realisation, until the spirit was broken and all thought of free will relinquished, surrender inevitable.
It would seem the Master was a master at this game.
Legolas sighs and opens his eyes once more. He recalls how he had laughed then. Laughed scornfully at the little adan and mocked him for thinking an eldar would succumb to such things. How men may be mastered by these ploys but elves, especially this elf, were so much stronger. Men were weak, easy prey and easily corrupted but he, he would never fall so low. He would die before allowing his will to be bent to anothers. And he had watched the pity increase in the mans face as he waited in silence for him to cease his tirade then had calmly announced that he was wrong. An elf could fall. An elf had fallen but had proved too susceptible to the poisoned will of the master and had ultimately failed in his task and paid the highest price.
Lhosson. Tears fill the archers sky blue eyes. Lhosson. His once mentor, friend and surrogate father had fallen. The loss of a beloved only daughter, finally breaking a heart damaged only a decade before by that of an adored spouse proving too much to handle after years fighting the encroaching darkness within a home no longer green nor great. Captured after tracking down the orcs responsible for the latest outrage against his sanity and held in conditions designed to fuel his hatred, his desire for revenge had been twisted and turned until it burned under the masters control. Finally released he had single mindedly sought out the one painted as author of all his hurts, intent on wiping him from the face of Arda thereby weakening the royal hold on the throne.
The archer feels his heart will break as he relives the moment he realised the truth in what the man had said. Even as he had protested that Lhosson was already weakened from his grief therefore easier prey for the evil being practised upon him a brief flicker of doubt had crossed his mind. Would he really have fallen also? He had forcefully pushed the traitorous thought aside but even now it tickled the edges of his mind and he gnaws his lip inadvertently as he tries to ignore its irritating presence.
Standing he begins to pace restlessly around the room. Lhosson had not succeeded in his assassination yet he had still effectively ended his life. The warrior may have been under the darkness' thrall but that did not negate the fact that Legolas had killed him. He should have realised his mentor was not himself, should have known something was horribly wrong, that he needed help yet he had given no aid. Had been so wrapped up in his own disappointment and pain had not seen his elders until it was too late. Had played right into the enemies hands himself. He may have survived the attack yet he was tarnished forever with the title he deserved. No prince was he, no noble elf who could assist his father in the rule of a kingdom struggling against all the odds to survive. No. Kinslayer he was and would forever remain. In his moment of weakness he had almost gifted the master control. Almost allowed his father to be swept aside in the final cruel twist plotted by this monsterous being.
His relentless pacing stops and he slumps once more down onto the bed.
"Aie, Ada." Softly on a breath the whispered words are torn from his mouth. "Diheno nin, ada, diheno nin, forgive me father, forgive me."
How can he even bear to think on what may have come to pass?
Flinns reply to his long ago question once more echoes through his mind and he understands the full horror of their meaning now.
Kill the King. His planned fate uncovered. His destiny revealed. True kinslayer in name and deed. To kill the king and take the throne as the masters thrall. A puppet, used to bring down the once great kingdom and the one elf strong enough to hold back the encroaching darkness. His father. The last, great Elvenking remaining upon these shores.
Turning onto his side and curling up into a tight ball like an elfling afraid of the dark Legolas refuses to allow the tears building within to fall.
