"So you say the twins have been… relaxing?" Legolas almost looked disappointed. There were many days he wished to be like them – brave, strong, sons of Elrond. Aye, Legolas loved his father – more than any word could say, but to be of the generation who had seen so much! Ah…
"Legolas, I have said this to you many times, and perhaps you will understand more now. They fight not because war beckons them, but to avenge their mother's torment. It is not happy battle. Those they kill were once our ancestors," Näurolas intervened, a knowing look crossing his features. "I remember still being your age, Legolas. I too, thought them to be as… mighty as you do. But for a decade I have resided among the jewels of Elrond, and I would not wish their fate," Näurolas sighed.
Legolas frowned. "I understand. Do not take such subjects further. Tell me then: how went your studies in Imladris?"
"I have learned many things. The halls of fire are as you first saw them, however brief: a place to reflect, and a place to stay silent and learn our many songs, or sing with others. I know many more things now about the ways of all: dwarves, men, even elves. It was an adventure, and father was wise in his decision to send me into the Last Homely House, but I missed my home. Elrond has bid me come back in a month, if possible. I do not know if I will leave at that time, but I shall try." Näurolas reflected.
"Ah. It does not sound as intriguing as I thought it would," Legolas commented, though more to himself.
"You wished to hear of battle! Or old tales," Näurolas smiled. "Time will give me the chance to indulge your young mind. I shall stop boring you with tales of relaxation and learning! Now tell me, brother, how fares our father's realm? Is all well?"
"All is well… in some ways. The songs of the trees have a new sound of melancholy. But I do not blame them. All of our songs have become less of what they were in their happiness. Father has increased the hold upon the door! Never would I think things would become so strict like this, though I have heard from many tales of times becoming dark. Can you not hear the trees?"
"You speak before thinking, Legolas. I am too far from our home to hear the voices of our old friends! Have you not noticed their absence?" Näurolas quipped, hiding his smile at the stunned look upon his brother's profile.
"It's true! I cannot hear them!" Legolas exclaimed. "Alas, that I have never been this far from our home! I had not noticed," Legolas almost sounded hurt that his brother had chided him so, though it was their normal fare of speech.
The smile upon Näurolas' face grew larger and he reached to his left, and squeezed his youngest brother's shoulder tightly. "Seventy years has taught you many things, young prince, but you must journey more often. Perhaps father will allow me to take you exploring. For though I know the many paths as well as one would know their lover; I would gladly take you across them. For an elf who does not notice such things, is a sorry elf indeed!"
"Aye. Father says I assume too much. I suppose I have thoroughly proven myself!" Legolas smiled brightly, looking ahead. The forest was nearing, and his heart was high, but his clear elven eyes could see that there was something different about the forest, even from afar. He looked to Näurolas, and tried to gauge the strange look upon his brother's face.
"Legolas, urge your steed into a run. Ride! Something is wrong." Näurolas all but whispered, even as he followed his own orders. He allowed his young brother to ride ahead of him, though he knew his beloved mare could easily outrun the aging Lagortâl.
Just when Legolas thought to ask why they were rushing, he heard the familiar song of arrows. His eyes grew wide, for as they caught a glimpse of the first shaft, he knew they were not of elvish origin.
'Yrch… in Mirkwood? What is this?' Näurolas thought to himself, urging his mare into a faster run. "Fly, Legolas!" he all but screamed, passing his youngest brother. He could see the fear written on Legolas' face, though when their eyes met it seemed the younger elf gained some sort of strength seeing his brother. "Fly!" Näurolas mouthed the words, casting his glance into the spare, yet still abundant, trees surrounding the edges of the dense forest. He could see many Orcs, and knew the pair were outnumbered. Speed would be their only ally and he hoped against all that among archery Legolas had mastered horse-riding. 'He rides an old steed, which can only tell me he is not accustomed to speed as of yet. He is young…' Just then he heard the shrill cry of Lagortâl, and Näurolas whirled the great mare beneath him into a stop and a full turn behind.
Lagortâl had been pierced by a cleverly aimed arrow, and he caught the last glimpse of his youngest brother flying from the steed. "Legolas!" he shouted, spurring the beast beneath him towards his sibling. Legolas, looking quite afraid, stood, and ran to his brother, nimbly jumping to the back of his horse.
"Go!" Legolas shouted, and Näurolas nodded. He did not have to urge the horse into anything, as she was just as shocked at the loss of Lagortâl as the two elves. On they rode towards the great gate of the palace, and they were halfway there before they realized the assault had completely stopped. Näurolas, thoroughly confused, turned his head as best he could towards Legolas. His golden hair was disheveled, a few leaves caught in the tresses. He seemed unharmed, though the look of stark fear was still etched into his features.
"Is this a normal occurrence here since my departure?" Näurolas, too, was breathless, but his brother was practically gasping for air. Legolas' frightened gray eyes turned to his older brother and he nodded.
"I have heard of it. What were they? Were they Orcs?" Legolas was finally calming himself, having finally noticed the assault had stopped. Näurolas couldn't help but smile.
"Yes, they were." The concerned look upon Näurolas' face did not leave, and the rest of the ride to Thranduil's palace – their home – was made in silence.