Note: I just wanted to mention that my updates won't be as frequent from here on out. I have to focus on my original novel, on editing it and getting it published, so I'll really only have time for fanfiction on Fridays. As such, I'm planning to rotate my three fics in a cycle. So expect this one, "Fathers and Sons," and "Companions" to be updated on a three-week cycle.
Also note, I am trying to tie the histories and lore of Faerun and Middle Earth together. In this AU fic, (and please note the AU part), my theory is that both Middle Earth and Faerun are on the same continent and that Faerun is the western continent and Middle Earth is the eastern continent. I am going on this theory for my "Father and Sons" and "Companions" fics as well. I am using the wiki to piece together canons, but I want to emphasize that this story is AU.
Legolas kept alert as they moved through the dense forest. As he inhaled the scent of pine and birch and oak, he felt as though he had come home. This place, the High Forest, was so much like the Mirkwood of old, like how it was when it was called the Greenwood. The air was light and fresh, despite the thick canopy dimming the sunlight, casting a permanent shadow over the land below.
Legolas knew his home was sick. When he had left it, Mirkwood was in a state of decay, unlike anything he had seen. The air had been thick and the stench of rotting vegetation was ever present. But here, the trees were healthy and alive. Flowers bloomed and squirrels and birds fluttered about, bounding happily in the brush.
Legolas could walk in this forest with confidence, despite the thought of what dangers lurked within these trees. They had already encountered only a sampling of the creatures that lived here when they had encountered the ghoul.
And perhaps that was what kept him grounded in the present. The truth of the matter was that this was not his home. And these were not his trees. He was a stranger in this land. He was reminded more so of this as he glanced back toward Drizzt and Ky'lor, who carried the makeshift stretcher bearing Dinin. Catti-brie lingered behind the drow, guarding their rear with her magnificent bow always at the ready.
Legolas took up the lead. He didn't know where he was leading them. He moved swiftly along the narrow dirt path that took them deeper and deeper into the forest. But by taking the lead, he could believe in the illusion that he was in control here. That he was home in a place that was familiar to him.
And being in the lead also meant that he wouldn't have to look at the drow. He tried to keep his negative thoughts at bay, but he wanted nothing more than to turn around and kill all three of them. And he certainly felt guilt and shame for having such thoughts. Because he had thought that Drizzt was his friend. He thought Drizzt could be trusted.
Drizzt had been there, right beside him, in those horrible days when he was tortured by the members of House Baenres for no other reason than he was an elf. Drizzt had proven that he wasn't like others of his race, that he had a heart of principles and compassion and empathy, and of honor.
Yet it was all a lie. Legolas felt betrayed. Drizzt and Dinin had taken part in a massacre! And Legolas did not know what part his friend had played in the slaughter, but the knowledge of it all cast a dim shadow on their friendship. Drizzt refused to talk about the incident and Legolas had to wonder if only trauma motivated his silence or if it was guilt and remorse. Either way, Legolas wasn't sure he could ever look at his friend the same way again.
Of course, he held nothing but contempt for Dinin. As they moved through the forest, the drow's pitiful moans and whimpers only made the elf angrier. And guiltier, because in his true heart, he wanted to feel sympathy for someone who was suffering. He tried to force himself to feel empathy for Dinin. But he couldn't. And he silently hoped that the drow would simply expire and he wouldn't have to listen to those pitiful sounds.
Those thoughts, those feelings of resentment, of hoping that another being died in agony, Legolas tried so very hard to push them from his consciousness. This wasn't who he wanted to be. He wanted to be capable of compassion, even to his enemies. But how many elves begged for mercy before Dinin cut them down? Legolas couldn't help but wonder and think that the drow was getting what he deserved.
A slight shift in the forest air would have gone past most humans, but the elf, with his sensitive senses, was immediately alert. He tensed, gripping the blades he held in each hand as he glanced around at his surroundings.
"We're being watched," Catti-brie spoke up as Legolas came to the same conclusion.
"Proceed slowly," Drizzt whispered as he and Ky'lor inched along with the stretcher. It was quickly and poorly constructed of vine and branches and threatened to come apart and drop the drow with every movement, so Drizzt and Ky'lor had to take every step carefully and slowly. This had made the pace of the entire group unbearably slow. And now, perhaps, they had lingered too long for their own good.
Legolas inched forward, casting his gaze high to the canopy. As high as he could possibly see, scanning the branches and leaves for any movement. When a flutter caught the corner of his eye, he whirled, only to find himself staring at the tip of an arrow aimed at his face. He froze, glancing beyond at the archer.
"State your purpose in these woods," the elf woman demanded as she trained her arrow at him, her expression firm. About five elves, their weapons drawn, stood defensively behind her.
Legolas let the words catch in his throat for a moment, unsure of his response. That he found himself at the mercy of one of his own race was an irony not lost on him.
But as the woman regarded him and those who came with him, she narrowed her eyes. "You are an elf," she commented, speaking in an elven language. A familiar tongue that had Legolas cocking his head in confusion and surprise. "Yet you travel with dark elves. Are you being held against your will?"
In his time on Faerun, Legolas had been introduced to a few languages. Dwarvish and Drow were unfamiliar to him. The language that the dwarves spoke was similar to Khuzdul, but clearly different. And Drow was unlike any other language Legolas had ever heard. Legolas expected the elves of this world to speak a different tongue from the elves of Middle Earth. But although this seemed to be an unfamiliar dialect, it was clearly Silvan.
"No," Legolas stammered in Silvan after a wiggle of the arrow prompted him to speak. Though Mirkwood was one of the last strongholds of Silvan elves, and though his mother was a Silvan elf, his father had raised him as one of the Sindarin and by his lifetime, the Silvan elves were in decline, even in Mirkwood.
"We require a healer," Catti-brie explained in the common tongue as she moved up to stand beside Legolas. "Please, we do not mean to trespass in yer forest, we entered only out of need."
The elf regarded the human woman suspiciously. As a male elf moved up beside her, she kept her weapon trained on them.
"What should we care of dark elves?" he commented, shooting a glare at the drow. But as Dinin let out a loud moan of pain, both elves flinched, concern and sympathy clear in their faces.
"Please," Drizzt insisted as he and Ky'lor brought the stretcher forward so the elves could see that they were indeed carrying another drow, and that they were no threat since neither could draw their weapons while they carried the stretcher. "My brother was attacked by a ghoul. He cannot last long."
The elves exchanged hesitant looks, and the woman focused her attention back to Legolas. The two eyed only another, both scrutinizing their appearances with curiosity. She was a beautiful elf, her hair long, thick, and dark, and falling past her waist, her bangs covering her eyebrows. Her skin was a warm medium tan hue, and her eyes were a beautiful mahogany brown with flecks of red and gold in them. She was dressed in leather armor, armed with her bow and short sword on her belt.
"Can you vouch for the integrity of these dark elves?" the woman asked, addressing only Legolas, using the Silvan tongue again. Legolas hesitated, glancing back at the drow. He met Drizzt's eyes, saw the pleading and hope in his purple eyes, and sighed.
"Yes," he replied reluctantly, turning back to the elf. She glanced at her companions and several of them muttered obvious protests, but she silenced them with a nod of her head before returning to Legolas. To his relief, she put her bow away and motioned for him to walk with her.
"Our city is nearby," she explained. "We don't allow non elves inside its gates, but we will make an exception only for an errand of mercy. We have druids that can treat your companion."
"Our party is in your debt," Legolas said as the drow fell in line behind him, flanked by the rest of the elves who kept weapons trained on them at all times. As they walked, Catti-brie fell back to walk with the drow, helping carry Dinin's stretcher, while Legolas kept a pace with this elf as she took up the lead.
"How is it that you speak Silvan?" Legolas asked in Elvish "That language was spoken in my homeland, a continent very far in the east. And it has largely died out there as well."
The elf glanced at him curiously. "You come from the continent in the east?" she asked, surprised. "I am not familiar with the history of this forest as I am not native here, but the elders speak of a continent of origin in the far east. A place that all elves of Faerun journeyed from in ancient times."
Legolas absorbed that information with intrigue. A million questions filtered from his mind. The realization that there was indeed a link between Middle Earth and Faerun was astonishing. Legolas was a young elf. He had not even passed his first century yet. And his father only spoke of the history of Mirkwood as it pertained to the Sindarin elves. He had once called the Silvans 'lowly' and their history inconsequential to his precious Woodland Realm.
"I cannot answer your questions," the elf spoke up, as if she could see his thoughts. "For I am not from the High Forest. But there are elders who might be able to quench your thirst for knowledge."
"Where is it you call home?" Legolas asked, wanting to know more about the elves of Faerun, whether they come from this forest or not. The elf had become more relaxed in his company as the two walked together, the troop following close behind.
"My name is Chandrelle Durothil," she introduced herself as her troops stayed alert. "I've lived here for several decades, but I am originally from an island far in the west. I'm a sun elf. Most of those who inhabit this forest are wood elves or moon elves."
"You don't have to tell these strangers that which is not their concern," one of the elves spoke up from behind. "The elves of the High Forest rarely see visitors. We are a self-contained society, we do not trade outside the forest and we do not invite outsiders. Especially drow elves."
"I understand," Legolas offered. "The Woodland Realm is similar. Preferring the company of our own kind than to others. But I hope you will forgive my curiosity. I am quite alone in this land. I am traveling in search of my father."
"Your father?" Chandrelle questioned. Legolas was about to respond when Ky'lor moved up beside them then, Catti-brie taking his place in helping to carry Dinin.
"Please, we must pick up the pace," Ky'lor implored. "Dinin is struggling again, my counterspell is fading. The paralysis spell will eventually stop his lungs and his heart."
Legolas swallowed as he and the elves turned their attention to the stretcher. Dinin's moans and whimpers ceased as he struggled, his breath coming out in strained coughs. Chandrelle nodded, understanding the need for urgency, and they moved swiftly through the brush, their pace quicker.
Eventually, they came to the elven city. Legolas was stunned by what he saw. A magnificent city built of elegant white stone. The flowing design of each structure seemed as if it were part of the forest. As if the towers that shot up were no different from the trees they were nestled in.
Vines and natural rope snaked around tree trunks and cross crossed from structure to structure from high up in the canopy. The whole place sparkled with majesty. And the entire area seemed very reminiscent of the palace of the Woodland Realm. In fact, it felt so familiar to him that Legolas almost expected to see Thranduil waiting for them as Chandrelle led them to the central tower and threw the elegantly arched doors into the entranceway.
The interior of the place was well lit, with plenty of sunlight streaming through open windows, as the building seemed built to make use of any break in the canopy above to allow for as much natural light as possible. The height of this tower extended up to the high tree canopy and the domed roof of the immense tower was covered in branches and leaves so that, to an aerial observer, it would look indistinguishable from a natural tree. A trick of camouflage, no doubt.
"This is Amandir," Chandrelle explained. "A moderate city and one of several meeting places in the High Forest for the council of Caerilcarn.'' She let the awestruck group survey their surroundings for only a brief time before waving a hand, calling up one guard. "Take the dark elves and their human companion to the ward of healing," she ordered. "I will take this one directly for an audience with Lord Sundomar."
"He is an outsider," the elf proclaimed haughtily, but Chandrelle silenced him with a narrowing of her eyes. He sighed and turned away, prompting the drow to follow him down a corridor.
Legolas felt relieved to be away from Dinin, but more than that, he felt excited to be in this place. He thought of Thranduil then and wondered what his father would make of this place, and if these indeed turned out to be Silvan elves, then perhaps the king would have to retract his claim that Silvan elves were "lowly."