Through teary eyes, Elrond looked up to the tall Thranduillion, taking in the long messy hair sticking out from underneath thick bandages. Alcanor grimaced, his splinted hand pressing against his temple as he stumbled back, eyes scrunched shut. When he opened them once more, all Elrond could see was the pure silver behind a layer of tears.
Alcanor's attention snapped back to Elrond and suddenly he moved again. Instinctively, Elrond sidestepped and raised his arms but Alcanor had not thrown himself forward, he had put himself between Elrond and Roewen.
The guards seemed to have copied his movement, but they had inserted themselves not just between their Prince and Elrond, but were also drawing Roewen back and protecting her, their daggers drawn, the swords forsaken in the crowded space. Determination shone in fair faces. And the wavering elf, blinking as he regained his balance, just stared.
"What is this?" He asked.
"Crown Prince Alcanor? Is that you?" Elrond coughed, leaning against the painful iron bars, blinking his tears away.
"Who else would I be, Noldo?" Words drawled so deeply they were pressing down on everyone in the small cell. "Would someone please explain to me, why my own guards are holding me at the point of their weapons?" Sharp eyes that bore deep into Elrond, anger swirling in them, only swiftly glancing over the Mirkwood warriors who were beginning to hesitate.
"Alcanor?" Roewen questioned, pushing past her protectors.
"What is happening?" He sounded confused even as his glare refused to lighten up. "Where is Eyae?"
"Oh dear Valar, Alcanor," Roewen breathed and then rushed forward. Alcanor caught her around the waist, eyes wide in shock. He pulled her close as she clung to him. The confusion on his face was so honest and raw that, despite his current dislike for the Crown Prince, Lord Elrond could not help but feel his pain.
"Crown Prince Alcanor?" Elrond tried again, feeling the need to reassure himself despite the silver eyes and the now nonviolent behaviour. Once more, Alcanor's attention shifted, weighed heavy upon Elrond and the look of confusion and worry vanished. Bestowing a fiery but sane glare on the Noldo, Alcanor picked Roewen up, blinking heavily as he swayed. Despite his current need of self-preservation, concern still stirred in Elrond's healer's heart as he watched, but the weakness was erased from Alcanor's stance quickly, followed by another fierce glare.
Alcanor strode towards the cell door and when one of the guards shifted to move in his way, the elf halted.
"Move," he ground out, "unless you wish to be on guard duty of the lower levels for the next century."
"You can't let him leave!" Elrond snapped but the guard was already taking a step to the side.
"Hir-nin." A bow followed and the guard returned his dagger to his belt.
"Lock him up," Alcanor ground out and left the cell, Roewen held in strong arms.
Standing, anger bubbled in Elrond's chest and disbelief mingled with it.
"You just let him leave? You have seen the beast he was! How do you know he does not revert back?"
"I do not, Lord Elrond, yet this was no beast. This was my Prince and I am honour bound to serve him and follow his commands."
With that this guard too left the cell, the others having followed Alcanor. At least, they did not intend to leave him unguarded, Elrond thought and made to follow only to have the heavy cell door shut in his face, a key turning in the lock.
"Guard! You can't leave me here! I am a guest of your King."
"I am sorry, my Lord, but I received my orders."
Elrond took a deep, calming breath for he knew he would otherwise start pounding against the door he had no chance of overcoming. All that would do was to make a fool out of himself.
"Have you not been taught to think for yourself? And is your King's order not worth more than your Prince's?"
"My last order is the one I shall follow, I must follow lest it puts me or others in unnecessary harm's way. Locking you in here does not harm anyone and until I receive different orders, I shall obey those given by my Prince."
"Stubborn wood elves," Elrond muttered. He glanced at his hand and was surprised to see it had come from the back of his head without a trace of blood. Though the headache remained, it appeared Alcanor had not done more damage than a slightly sore throat and a bump on the back of his head joined by painful but negligible scrapes. It had felt like worse.
Resigning himself to spend some quality time in Mirkwood's dungeons, Elrond took the blanket from the floor and folded them before he took a seat leaning against the rough stone. There was absolutely nothing else for him to do but wait for his release.
Sweat covered Alcanor's face in a thin layer when he finally reached the top of the stairs. Pain had been ripping through him with each step he had taken, thundering in his skull with each beat of his worried heart, echoing dimly in his splinted hand.
Before Alcanor, the large caverns of the throne room opened and his eyes instantly sought out the mighty throne illuminated by a strand of distant light. It was empty, just a shawl of crimson silk laying forgotten on the elevated seat. The King was probably in his study or the council chambers. Alcanor refused the picture of Eyaenne that had burned itself in his thoughts, the picture of her weakened and in tears that seemed to cling to him like wet cloth, uncomfortable, chilling and heavy. The King was not in the Royal Healing Ward. He could not be. There was no reason for him to be there. Eyae was fine.
Roewen moved in his arms, her sobs having subsided and her breathing slowly evening out. Relieved, Alcanor set her to her feet and the she-elf immediately turned to face him. Taking his face into her cool palms, she brushed over his cheeks.
"My head hurts," he admitted softly, reaching up and pulling her hands down.
"You should sit down. We'll get a healer for you." Her own cheeks were tear-stained, but she smiled a thin smile before she stretched and pressed a kiss against his lips.
"Roewen –," Alcanor said but was interrupted.
"I love you, Alcanor. I love you so much. I need you to know that. I need you to know I love you. I missed you. I missed you."
The words shook at Alcanor's core and almost made him forget his aches. The feeling that something was not right returned to him, but he did not know where to even start, did not know what to do. Rarely had he ever felt as helpless as he did now. There was no enemy to charge. The only threat had been the Noldo and he was in the dungeons.
Shock tore through him and he grabbed Roewen's arms, pulling her closer: "Are there more Noldor here? Have they harmed Eyaenne? Have they killed anyone?"
Roewen smiled tightly and shook her head. "They haven't done any harm. None of them. They are helping, Alcanor, they really are. I need you to trust me. Please trust me."
His chest ached, his heart being pressed into a tight ball. Alcanor blinked for there was a black mist before his eyes, pressing down on him.
"Alcanor! Don't, please don't! You can't … stay with me, please!" Roewen had grasped his arms and was shaking him, causing pain to drive up his spine and inside his head. Alcanor pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. He could not breathe. Could not think. A whirlwind took his orientation and Roewen's voice grew distant.
A warm body pressed against him, soft curves against his own hardened line. Sweet, welcomed lips pressed against the skin of his neck and well-known hands had slipped under his shirt, caressing his back, fingers running up and down along his spine. It was as if a tree trunk that had weighed on his chest had been lifted and the room brightened once more. Instinctively, Alcanor wrapped his arms around Roewen and pulled her closer, silver eyes darting around the throne room searching for a threat he could not find.
"What is happening?"
"Alcanor?" Roewen pulled back once more and heaved a sigh. "Let's sit down and I will explain."
She pulled him along towards the platform in the middle, her gaze never straying from his face. The she-elf chose the stairs that led from the walkway to the platform as seats, pulling him down next to her, his father's throne in their back.
The guards lingered at the foot of the stairs they had just come up, a few more having moved closer from the opposite side, two remaining almost hidden in the shadow of one of the nooks invisible to those who stood before their King. Their eyes were hard as they stared up at him, defiant as if he had given an order they were about to refuse. It was wrong. Those were his guards, his soldiers. He knew most of them by name, all of them by passing. Had fought side by side with many of them. They should not be seizing him up like that.
"What are you looking at?" Alcanor hissed, feeling the weight of his guards' hard gazes lie heavy upon him. He was using a quieter tone of voice when he had in the dungeons, not keen to experience the pain slam back into his forehead with the might of an orc club as it had when he had snarled at the Noldo.
"That has yet to be determined," one guard replied evenly, suspicion in his stance
Roewen's hand caressed the inside of his thigh, causing his attention to shift back to her. The tears he saw soothed his temper instantly and he cupped her cheek, feeling her lean into his hand.
"What is the last you remember?" Whispered words brushed over his skin and her free hand moved to touch his face, fingertips running along his jawline.
Closing his eyes, Alcanor felt his entire body tremble without being able to suppress it. He caught Roewen's hand, holding her tight, pulling her closer into his side. The darkness behind his lids was suffocating and he gasped, blinking quickly, pulling her even tighter.
"Eyaenne," he murmured, the torturous picture reappearing before his eyes. "She was hurt. Ai, Roewen, she was crying. Are you certain she is unharmed? I remember … she was hurt and I could not help!"
"She is not injured but yes, she was hurt. But Eyaenne will be alright, she is a fighter. Nightmares trouble her sleep, however, she has endured worse. She can hold her own."
A pause followed, a pause Alcanor used to watch her. Even in his muddled state, he knew something else had transpired, something so utterly painful he shied away from the thought. Bracing himself, Alcanor bit his lip and followed the stray thought that had begun with Eyaenne. His sister. The older of his two younger sisters. Iarith. Ai, Valar. Iarith!
The pain ripped through him with such ease and power, Alcanor gasped, his hand pulling back from Roewen's cheek, pressing against his chest where the pain felt as if his rips were being torn away by cruel hands, breaking as his chest was opened to reveal his beating heart. Beating and bleeding, so much blood, blood everywhere! Iarith, slain in the dark, all alone. She had died alone and he had failed her, had failed to protect her. He remembered his Ada's agonized scream as the King had fallen to his knees next to Iarith's lifeless body, as he had picked her up, covered as he had been in the dark blood of spiders. Around him the carcasses of the arachnids he had slain, long legs still twitching, dark blood oozing from brutal wounds. And Iarith among them, her silver-blond hair so bright in the dark, his face so fair in the moonlight.
Iarith. Precious little Iarith. Dead. Gone. All alone in the dark.
All alone, just like tithen-Las had died. The rotten body of a decaying elf, of his baby brother. Underneath the thick, cruel foliage of trees that would have cursed him as he had taken his last breath. Legolas, the little child too young to die, far too young. He should have protected him. Should have forbidden any elf from crossing the border, from wandering deeper into the forest, into the suffocating grave that was Mirkwood. Legolas. Ai, he was gone. He was gone.
A sob escaped him and he clawed at his chest, his head threatening to burst.
"Nay, Iarith, tithen-Las," he cried, attempting in vain to focus on Roewen's hands, his fiancé leaning over him as she held him.
"He's alive, Alcanor! Legolas, he is alive!"
He knew she was lying; he had seen Legolas' body and her denial seared even deeper inside him. Black mist burst forth and span around him like the sticky threads of spider silk among the trees. He screamed and the Darkness enveloped him like an old friend.
Falin scratched his wrists while he searched their surroundings. He was unused to travel by horse but the army of Mirkwood pushing south, followed by an army of healers, messengers and supply units sent by the King had stamped a solid path through the wood. Falin hated it. Unlike the paths they usually laid, this one strode with no consideration of nature, cutting through the forest with the cold disregard of iron blood. But it provided ample ground for the horses to tread safely and so Lord Erestor had organized horses for them. And he too was eager to return home.
He felt free again, not having realised just how heavy the weight of the air had been on his chest until it was lifted by light and the song of birds. The trees were sprouting young, bright leaves, carefully unfolding in the still fresh air. But still, he was unsettled and he could not explain it. He knew to differentiate his feelings most of the time and he knew it was not just worry for the troops he had just left that irked him.
"Let us stop and rest, child," Erestor's soothing voice cut through his thoughts but Falin shook his head.
"No, we cannot. We must return."
Erestor's horse halted and Falin followed his example with tight lips. The other elves, injured warriors and their healers riding back north for healing as well as guards accompanying their incapacitated comrades passed Lord Erestor and Falin.
"What ails you?" Erestor spoke as soon as they were the last ones in the convoy, the guards twisting on their steeds in order to keep their Prince in sight.
"I can't explain it, my Lord. Something is wrong. I can feel it in the air, taste it even." His glance searched the foliage in hope of an answer to his quiet questions, but no spider revealed itself to be the source of his worries. Only the chirping of birds rang through the air close and far.
"I have to home. I can't explain it, Erestor, but I must go home."
"Stop scratching," the Noldo ordered and Falin noticed his skin was raw and irritated. Upset with himself for not having noticed what he had been doing, the Prince tugged at his arm guards as if he could pull them further down.
"Are these lands safe once more?" Erestor questioned and Falin sighed. As beautiful as the lands around them looked, they were not. Nowhere was truly safe anymore, especially since the regular warriors were all at the border. Therefore he shook his head, lips pressed together.
"How far is it to your father's Halls, child?" Erestor asked, directing his horse closer to Falin and pulling his hand away from his wrist.
"We will reach a village in about an hour. From there it is a day's travel, less since we are on horseback."
"And if we were to push the horses?"
"Three, maybe four hours from there."
"Then we shall take enough guards with us to proceed from there. The injured can be treated in the village, as I have been informed earlier."
Not feeling reassured, his stomach in knots, Falin nodded and petted the loyal horse he was riding, before directing it to move once more lest the gap between them and the convey grew too large.
Please review!
By my current estimation, there will be 2-3 more chapters.
Nightwalker: Thanks for joining and leaving so many reviews! I highly appreciate it!
Guest: Yes, it was nice to see a bit more of Roewen these last couple of chapters. Moving back to Glorfindel and Legolas for the next one, but she'll be in there too
Dragon of East: I love the two of them to bits! Great you like them as well! And thanks for the compliment. That many characters can be difficult to handle
Earthdragon: Yes, Legolas does behave like a brat and poor Daeros has to bear it. And yes, I would say Legolas is far more like Eyaenne than like Daeros .Everything happening with Alcanor will be cleared up in the next chapter, so don't worry, this will not drag on once again.