Chapter 30
Thranduil was relieved when he spotted the twin posts marking the entrance to one of the many Silvan settlements scattered throughout the Greenwood—or Mirkwood, as outsiders had begun to relevantly call it, he thought bitterly. Their food stores had just run out that morning, and it was questionable to whether or not there were still a few drops of water left in the leather skin. They were all weary of travel, and the uncertainty of the situation kept them all on edge with varying degrees of alertness.
The wounds Helgilion and Minaitir had acquired earlier had healed nicely, which was all well, for they no longer had any more healing supplies either. Thranduil was looking forward to having a roof over his head and the leaders of the settlement to take counsel with over the besieged stronghold.
One thing that did concern the Sinda was Minaitir's behavior. He seemed to be more distant and only spoke when spoken to, and the responses were usually heated spats which ended with a plea to be left alone. It might seem as if it was simply in the boy's nature to act so, but Thranduil wasn't so sure.
They were approaching the posts now, and were only a few meters away when Thranduil froze. This was wrong. There was no guard perched in the trees above, no merry greeting or snarl of warning nor even the faint creak of a bow. They were sure to have been spotted by now. He squinted to peer into the small telain, but saw no evidence of any current occupation.
He swiftly rushed to a towering beech and lay his hand upon it, recoiling slowly as the rush of unease emanating from the tree fed his apprehension like a tributary does a river.
But that's when the smell struck him. It was faint and almost stale, as if it had polluted the air for a time and had not suddenly burst forth. The familiarity of it made his heart skip a beat and ice rush through his veins. He signaled for the children to follow as he made a dash for the telain.
The smell was much stronger here, where a thick grey haze had settled on the air and clogged his airways. Thranduil studied the bottom of the talan on the left, running his hand along the rough bark and calling to the tree. A frantic whisper met his fea and died out as the tree recoiled within itself, refusing to speak to him.
Oh Valar, do not let it be!
"What's that funny smell?" Estella piped curiously as Thranduil began to climb up to the flet. Though her voice was quiet, it seemed far too loud for the ominous silence that cloaked them now. Helgilion shifted nervously, scanning surroundings as he had been trained to do, and Minaitir remained stony-faced as always.
"It smells like," Fararth paused to cough into his sleeve, "something burning." He wrinkled his nose in disgust. A few more beats of silence passed before all the elflings turned towards each other with horror in their eyes. Fire and forests did not mix well...
Their heads snapped up to a sharp intake of breath from the talan above.
Thranduil stared in horror at the lifeless body sprawled awkwardly at his feet, a large, bloody mess in the place of what used to be the elleth's throat. A bloody arrow at the opposite side of the talan attesting to the fact that it had passed all the way through the victim's neck, and was most likely shot at point-blank range. A haunted smile was frozen on her lips, only her sightless eyes betraying she had been surprised the last few seconds of her life. She had not even bothered to unsheathe her weapons. Her attacker was someone she knew. If anything, Silvans were more prone to pulling a weapon on a suspicious movement than not, so this had to be someone she trusted fully.
He could picture how it transpired in his mind. The elleth, seeing a familiar face had come to the edge of the flet, happily welcoming the newcomer, only with her salutations to be met with the bitter reply of an arrow through her throat where the impact threw her backwards without even a cry of alarm.
He walked over and picked up the arrow before angrily snapping it between his fingers. Rage heated his veins and he gently wrapped the elleth's mangled neck. Blasted humans! Do they not have an ounce of conscience in them!?
Yet he could not be sure. This guard would no doubt have regarded approaching humans with suspicion, if not malice, and the mortals' presence would most definitely not left her dead body with a plastered smile. Like he had determined previously, it had to be someone she trusted, someone she knew without a doubt would bring her no harm, someone who stood out enough for her not to notice the humans in the person's company...
Thranduil's thoughts immediately brought up Ausocitin, but quickly dismissed it, for the traitor was not very widely traveled and this was not the biggest of settlements to recognize a simple Advisor.
Frustrated, the Sinda shook his head and bore up the body, planning to stow it away and inform the civilians of its location as soon as he came in contact with the population.
He paused momentarily to ponder the thought. Surely this was not the only guard posted here, at the main entrance! And even if she was, would she not have been discovered by now? He decided he would rather not think of the possibilities, and quickly descended the post.
His feet had barely come in contact with solid ground before a shrill scream tore him from his reverie. Estella. He lowered the body and bolted to the site.
All the elflings were bunched around a patch of brush near the main track leading into the settlement. Fararth had his face buried in Helgilion's chest, who's own face was pinched with horrified bewilderment. Estella had her eyes glued to a large indent in the middle of the brush and even Minaitir's dull eyes held an unidentifiable emotion. Sword in hand, Thranduil wedged himself in front of the young elleth.
Inside the brush lay another elven body, this time male. He lay on his stomach with his hair covering his face. He had a steel arrow tip protruding from his back, some black sticky tar clinging to its crude surface, making a disturbing blend with the dried blood.
Both his arms were stretched out above him, his stiff fingers still snagged in a luxurious wine-red outer cloak as worn by nobles of high rank. Thranduil bent down to examine it closer. Why, it was his!
A theory began to piece together in his mind.
Another object lay clutched in the soldier's other hand. He quickly picked it up, Helgilion wordlessly catching a loose sheaf of paper that fell from the leather-bound journal as he raised it up to examine it.
The journal was old, Thranduil could tell that much. The pine green leather cover was well-worn and wrinkled at the corners like it had been shoved in and out of a pack many times, and the thin strips binding the pages were soft from much handling. The pages inside were yellowed and brittle and had begun to chip off at the edges. Faded gold leaf was stamped onto the front in the traditional crest of Greenwood the Great, with a wreath of foliage and other flora surrounding a great stag in the center.
He gingerly lifted the cover and nearly dropped the journal after reading the name neatly scrawled in the top right corner of the first page.
'King Oropher of Greenwood: a personal account.'
His fingers involuntary began to shake and he slammed the book closed, refusing to let the sudden moisture in his eyes show.
Helgilion held out the lone piece of paper that had fallen from the journal to Thranduil but he quickly took it and shoved it inside the book and stuffed it in his pack. He had not the time nor energy to ponder this new discovery.
oOo
Feren strutted purposefully over to the bedside, ruffling through the official documents pledging the gold back to Greenwood. He was immensely proud of his little prince, and it showed on his face.
"You mean to tell me this is actually Greenwood's wealth?" Legolas asked, bewildered. He had just woken from two-day period of unconsciousness two hours ago, and Feren was catching him up on the current events.
The Captain nodded excitedly. "Yes, indeed Caun-nin. You might have just saved us after all."
Legolas furrowed his brow. "Explain please."
Galion wrung out a piece of cloth and approached with water dripping from his hands. "It means we can use the gold to get those blasted humans off our land."
Feren whirled over to him. "Or, we could offer it as extra wages to any available elven soldiers and drive them out," he said with a pointed look at Galion.
Galion rolled his eyes and tried to push the young fair-haired ellon back into a reclined position, who refused readily. Galion eventually sufficed himself with running the wet cloth over his healing knee. The period Legolas had been unconscious felt almost refreshing; it had been crucial to the speed in which he healed. He still winced when he moved but was definitely on the steady road to recovery.
"Not everything has to be done with brute force," said Galion with another irritated flick of his lashes. "We will use the gold to persuade the humans out of Greenwood and that's that. The only reason they're there in the first place is because we 'did not come to their aid' when Smaug inflicted his destruction."
"But there won't be enough," Legolas intervened, trying to brush off Galion's incessant fussing.
Both ellyn's faces fell. "I suppose your right," sighed Feren, seeing the shortcomings of their respective plans.
The tent brightened as Master Healer Filendis, and his wife, Helmeren, entered with hands full of various plants and roots. Helmeren smiled kindly and immediately began scanning the young Prince. "There isn't much out there but these will do," she said brightly as she set the herbs down. They had remained in the tent used typically as the town's traditional patrol party's healing area, not wanting to further aggravate Legolas' wounds by moving him.
The entrance flap opened once again. General Haldaner's downcast disposition and Estel's gentle hand on his shoulder told the worried elves in the room everything they needed to know.
"Not a trace. Nothing," Haldaner said sadly. Helmeren accepted Filendis' reassuring embrace. He whispered, "We will find them. We will find our little ones."
Feren and Galion exchanged a glance. There were still many things they had to do.
oOo
Elrohir balanced precariously on the edge of a crate of quivers, reaching for a curious-looking box on the shelf above the one where the arrowheads were stored. The crate tipped precariously and Elrohir threw his weight the opposite direction to keep from toppling to the floor. Elladan peeked his head inside the dusky chamber, a wide smirk on his face.
"Do you require my aid, tithen muindor-nin?" he said mischievously.
Elrohir rolled his eyes and let out an irritated sigh while he lifted his heels and grasped the edge of the shelf. Elladan ambled over to Elrohir and stood by, his arms crossed and smirk steady.
"I'm—afraid—whatever that was— in Ada's wine—did not leave me— at the prime state—of balance—oof!" The shelf detached from the wall and the small box slid off as Elrohir went down with a crash, the crate tipped over and the contents spilling out. The small box landed squarely on his head and broke open with a loud poof! as he was showered with a fine white, cloudy powder that looked suspiciously like flour.
The room was lost in the milky white fog that had burst from the small box so that the twins could scarcely see each other through it.
Elladan was frozen in surprise, then began roaring with laughter.
Elrohir groaned and laid down on the floor right where he was in his mess of quivers, rubbing his head and sputtering angrily. "That," he spat, his face distorting into an expression of disgust and swallowing several times to rid his mouth of the taste, "is not flour."
Elladan laughed harder and offered a hand to help him up. "I suppose that's what you get! You were supposed to be trying to help Ada make tactical plans, not sneaking off to the weapons Hall," Elladan said after eventually dousing his merriment.
Elrohir ignored him as he fixed his eyes on a small white orb that had survived the crash off of the shelf. He picked it up and rolled it between his fingers, his gears turning rapidly. "What do you suppose these are for?" he said absently.
Elladan took the orb from him and inspected it. "Tip your arrow with this and they won't even see the next one coming," he said easily. "Works for orcs, I suppose, because it's much easier for us to see through this than it is for the enemy."
Elrohir scanned the room and found several more identical boxes on the other shelves. Perfect! He thought excitedly, eyes far away as his mind continued to work rapidly.
"'Ro? What's wrong?" Elladan said, waving his hand in front of his brother's face.
Elrohir looked at him seriously, a determined glint in his eye that almost always identified as a plan of trouble or conspiracy. "I think I have a plan. We can get out of this."
Elladan shared Elrohir's smile. He liked the sound of that.
oOo
Elrond swept down the winding corridors, stopping a servant in her path. "Miss? Do you happen to know of my son's whereabouts?"
She looked at him with wide eyes, surprised to being addressed by the mighty elven lord. "Uhh yes, my lord, I had seen —Lord Elladan, was it?— on the way to the healing rooms. Elrond nodded his thanks and rushed over to that wing of that palace.
Elladan and Elrohir were nowhere to be found. He questioned a healer.
"Oh, yes! I do believe I saw Lord Elrohir, I believe, on his way to his rooms," she answered before bustling away. Elrond groaned. That was on the entirely opposite side of the palace. He began walking in that direction and stopped another servant when he found both Elladan and Elrohir's rooms to be empty. He made his inquiry from a patrolling guard.
"Last time I had seen, uhh Lord Elladan, he was on his way to the healing rooms," the soldier answered.
Elrond resisted the urge to pound his fist into the wall. He was suddenly very happy that Imladrís was much smaller. He cursed their identical faces then quickly apologized to no one in particular; he fancied those identical faces and certainly wanted to see them again, even if it meant he was condemning himself to a life where there was a prank of some sort right around the corner. They made life interesting I suppose, he thought fondly.
Several soldiers came running down the corridor. "Daesíl!" one shouted, obviously this soldier's name. They skid to a stop and inclined their heads respectfully to Elrond. The one that had previously spoken held out a folded piece of parchment to the Noldo as he gasped for breath. "We have searched everywhere, sir. The Lords Elladan and Elrohir— they are gone! We found a mess one of the chambers in the weapons hall. One of the chests for the White Orbs was broken open and several other chests are missing. We found this note."
Elrond squeezed his eyes shut and unfolded the letter slowly, fearing what he may find. He only hoped they hadn't been taken by the infiltrator or— he stopped his line of thought.
The letter read:
'We have a plan. Do not look for us. Please forgive the mess. '
Signed, 'Elladan and Elrohir'
Elrond crushed the paper in his hand. All three sons, gone?
oOo
Elrohir crouched behind a copse of bushes, peering through the foliage and silently nocking and arrow. He glanced up to Elladan who was standing in the branches above and received an affirming nod.
Elrohir tentatively raised his bow and sighted in on the Man in command who was currently giving orders, then released. The Adan was dead before he hit the ground. All the others were so stunned they dared not move.
Elrohir burst from the bushes, firing as many arrows as he could, trying hard to merely injure and not kill. He had been forced to take out the leader, for he needed a disorganized and chaotic environment for their plan to work.
Men crumpled to the ground like flies as they advanced on him. They took up no formation and attacked individually, showing the importance of a leader. The plan was going well so far...
Shouts ricocheted amongst the trees as several persons tried to shout instructions to the rest of the group, but the orders were lost in the disorganization. He spared a second to glance up, seeking Elladan. A lithe silhouette flashed over the silver moon and disappeared into the shadows of the foliage.
A voice broke out over the din. "FORMATION FIVE! FORMATION FIVE! Move! Move!" The effect was like clockwork. Shield bearers sprinted to the front of the group, using the wide coverage to protect themselves, as the amount of targets lessened. Elrohir was now much harder pressed to get in accurate shots. His heart began to race. Eru grant us the fulfillment of this scheme, for once; lives will be spared. He didn't add that things were beginning to look rather down for him and he would feel much better if something reversed to his favor... like right now, he thought frantically as he reached back to his quiver and fingered his remaining arrows. He knew it was only a matter of time before he was stopped and overtaken.
Edain presses in around him, many unsheathing their blades; never a good sign. Sure enough, as Elrohir reached back for another arrow, his hand met only his unbound hair. He closed his eyes. This was it. There was no turning back now. He unsheathed his blade and challenged the on-comers with a steely glint in his eye.
He had barely begun to engage one Adan before several sword points poked his chest and abdomen. He lowered his sword without the consequences of what would happen if he didn't being shouted in his ear; he knew full well the bite of a blade, and he did not fancy it one bit.
"It's another one of them bloody elves!" one shouted. They pressed in and Elrohir backed away, stopping when his back met with the rough bark of a thick tree. His heart began to speed up as a Man pushed through the crowd with an air of authority.
I couldn't have eliminated the wrong one...? Elrohir thought. He had observed the camp several minutes before striking to assure himself he was taking the correct life.
The Man that stood before him definitely did not strike Elrohir as a leader. His hair was greasy and thin, and his shoulders hunched. His clothes were stained; several blotches that looked like blood stains and Manwë knows what else. Elrohir lifted his chin defiantly and looked the Adan in the eye, a challenge rising from the tension in the air.
The Adan simply looked him up and down while wiping his hands on an old cloth that he shoved back in the pocket of his trousers. He nodded and 'hmphed' to himself, then turned away.
"Make sure he's alone. And make sure he doesn't get away like the other one. Do not disturb me any longer," he said in a loud, gravelly voice that didn't seem to fit his lowly posture and appearance. He stopped before disappearing into a large tent and threw another command over his hunched shoulder. "Get the body away from here." And then he was gone.
This was not good. Not good at all. The very first step of their plan, and it had gone wrong. The people had not reacted violently to their leader's death at all, and now this sorry excuse for a Man had taken over. Elrohir wondered who's this man was to demand such from the other rebels.
He cast a worried glance to the branches above, barely making out Elladan's slim form pressed against the trunk.
The last thing he experienced was a fist slammed into his stomach before it went dark.
oOoOoOo
I apologize for the disappointing length. I had been preoccupied writing some angsty Silmarillion fics that I had to finish before I forgot :3 (You might wanna take a peek at those, as well my little collection of one shots—the 'Inkwell' series— if you haven't already :))
Thank you all for the RandR and my faithful beta, Scribbles :)
