"Menel law mithrennin sin medui tad oer," Legolas said. The sun was not yet risen, but for that he was grateful. It was somehow relaxing, and refreshing, to wait.
There had been too little time for Arwen to appreciate a sunrise, between her wedding and then caring for Glorfindel in Rivendell. And there, faced with the impending loss of her father, it had been even harder to enjoy the beauty of them.
The sky this morning was an intense night blue, when it should have been gray, and blank as a painter's canvas.
"Gaernell can enni. Telithon dan len ab buin sen," Arwen said quietly. She turned and made her way down the rocky hill.
They had found a small shelter of sorts in which to spend the night; it was a windfall, most likely created by a Ranger over the past winter. Almost an hour ago, the three had awakened together and climbed up to see above the tree line.
Glorfindel was seated, and he faced East where the sun would come, but Legolas could not tell if he slept.
Silently, the younger Elf turned West. Gimli's colony was there, and Legolas wished he were up higher, so that he could see it, distant and flourishing. It was a small reminder of other things that were West...
When he let his mind wander, Legolas felt almost as if he were there. On the beach, where he could smell the wind and sea, where he was watching the cool green-white foam as it slid across the sand and circled itself around his feet. The gulls, too, were there; mocking him, or begging, it was hard to tell with those strange birds who dwelt on the edge of the world.
And if he dared, he would allow himself to gaze across the distance and see what awaited him.
"That is perilous, Legolas," a soft voice pulled him back, before it was unbearable. The younger Elf blinked, in an effort to clear his mind and return to the present. "Try not to let it rule your thoughts, unless you plan to make the journey soon."
"Are my thoughts so obvious?" Legolas wondered, trying to keep his eyes trained on the East.
Glorfindel smiled slightly. "They were not difficult to guess, caun neth. Many Elves long for the ocean the same as you."
The questions this brought died ere they reached Legolas' lips, but they echoed in his mind.
Did Glorfindel, then, still long for the Sea? For surely he had at some point. And where had he been, or rather, where had he gone, after he fought the Balrog? Long years had Glorfindel been buried...
If Glorfindel gave up his life here, then never would he return. And if he stayed, never would he see what Legolas had when Aragorn and Gimli and he had sailed to battle.
And what did that mean? Had the Orcs taken Glorfindel's wish to cross the Sea? If they had, what did it leave him?
"You pity me now?" Glorfindel asked.
Legolas frowned. "I grieve for your suffering. If that is the same as pity, then yes. I worry for you, as do all your friends."
"You should not."
"But I have reason to. Tell me that we do not!"
"Your concern is recognized, and appreciated. But it changes nothing! How many times must I insist upon this?"
The horizon became a deep red-violet. Glorfindel wore an embittered scowl as he said, "I tried, once, to see if a deal could be made with the Valar. I wondered. But they will not help, or cannot, or perhaps I have nothing to barter with, nothing they wish of me. I shall wander in darkness. Even for the deeds I have done, I still shall live with this cursed hollowness! And I cannot understand why, Legolas, why I must go on this way when perhaps it could have been stopped!"
A sliver of yellow-orange stood out behind the black mountains.
Glorfindel's expression had changed, but it was no relief to Legolas. "It is not only the loss of my sight that weighs on my heart. I see no beauty; but neither do I imagine it. Nothing is the same. It all feels, and smells, and sounds more different than I thought possible. I hear no music...the warmth of the sun, as it rises or sets or travels from horizon to horizon...it scorches me, as though the sun loathes me now. And the moon is cold, when its presence once hummed in my ears, murmuring of unity and peace to come."
"I know not what to say," Legolas told him hoarsely, and placed his hand on Glorfindel's shoulder. There was nothing else he could do. "Except that the songs are still there, and the Orcs can not take you from it; they have not." They fell into silence.
Legolas looked up at the coloring sky and said, "It may be that one day you will hear the world as you once did. Things now are not as they once were. It was even sung that 'he will not return to walk our fields, great Elf of Gondolin, until our world has changed.' So perhaps you have more to adjust to than the loss of your sight."
"Perhaps." Glorfindel kept his face turned to the East.
"I must ask you something. When we were surrounded in the woods, what was it that told you the horsemen were the masters of the wolves?"
"I did not know the wolves answered to them, not at first. It was faint, but the riders had with them a sound...one I had heard but twice in my years. At last I realized what it was." Glorfindel lost his set composure, for one cruel moment. "In place of golden bells...they have adorned their horses with bones."
"Shall we leave?" Arwen asked as she climbed up the hill. "...Legolas?"
"Yes, Lady Arwen. Unless I am mistaken, we are both ready." The prince's tone was distracted.
Arwen frowned. "Is there something I ought to know?"
Legolas turned to her. "Would the sound of bones, fashioned in place of bells, be familiar to you?"
Arwen thought for a minute and shook her head. "No, I can't say that it is...where have you heard such a thing?"
"When I was among the Orcs," Glorfindel broke in. "They did not use them; they had not even a single horse with them, and Orcs resent any music. But I heard it in the distance, when we had stopped for two overseers to finish their argument." The golden haired Elf winced and went on, "The second time was after we came across an old grave. Perhaps they sought a treasure they thought would be buried with that man, I do not know. But they forced me to dig him from the earth. When I was made to open the lid, two Orcs pulled the skeleton from his coffin and took what they could find. That was when I again heard bones striking one another."
His companions stared. There was nothing for them to say, even if they could have formed words.
"Gamphall." A farmer had whispered it, but Ral still caught it, and he smiled at the sound.
"Where is it, old man?" The farmer didn't answer. Ral frowned, a bit irritated by this. He tried again, speaking slower and -- hopefully -- clearer, without his thick accent. "Where is Gamphall?"
The farmer pointed behind him. Ral cursed the panther in his native tongue and turned, slowly. Vel would find no fault in Gamphall slaying someone if they startled it.
The golden-white creature was, instead, sniffing at the feet of the prisoners. Many of them had been injured, not badly, but Ral was worried that the exceptional scent of Elvish blood would prove a tempting treat.
The Elves stayed still and it lost interest. It turned to Ral, displaying whatever it had carried all the way to him. The lieutenant stepped forward and reached to take it ; Gamphall pulled it back before his fingers could brush the silver chain.
Ral cursed it again, feeling like a fool, and waited for the panther to drop it. He took back any ill feelings towards Vel's pet when at last he got his hands on the silver pendant.
"Do you know how far it has been?" he asked the only other member of Vel's group that had been allowed to go with him.
"No, Master Ral, perhaps as far as Rohan?"
"I doubt it. Even a po'icharl --I mean, a gamphall-- can't move that far that fast. But you were on the right track, for this has the crest of the Rohirrim on it." Ral held it up to the sun, ignoring the sticky blood on the chain. "The Riders of Rohan are wandering out of their land. We must be careful. With any luck, it will be some time before they notice Gamphall's victim is missing. Let's go." He threw it in Gamphall's direction and forced himself to be optimistic about the trek over the Grey Mountains.
"Arod?" Legolas placed a hand on the horse's neck, and pulled it back coated with the sweat of fear. They had been riding for more than two hours when Arod had stopped short, trembling with an unknown terror.
The Elven horses, too, were uneasy, but not nearly the same as Arod. The horse of Rohan neighed softly; it was then that Legolas' keen eyes saw what distressed Arod so.
Numbly, he slid off Arod's back, hoping to go alone and spare Arod any more sorrow or fear.
"Horses," Glorfindel commented. Legolas and Arwen turned, to find three of the Rohirrim galloping along the road.
Legolas walked out of the forest's cover to meet them, and Arwen followed. The riders stopped when they were near enough to speak to the Elves.
"Hail, riders of King Eomer!" Arwen smiled at them.
"Queen Arwen, and Prince Legolas!"
"I wish that we could stay a little longer, Queen of Gondor, but we are members of a search party." The oldest spoke, but he clearly regretted having to break off their meeting.
"Then I offer you my deepest sympathy," Legolas told them sadly, "If I have found he whom you seek."
"We search for one of our newest riders, Eolin. He was separated from us two nights ago." When Legolas' reaction was worse than the young Rider had hoped, he added urgently, "He will be riding a black horse, and he will have a new helm, much like mine..." he trailed off.
"Take us to him," the other Rider said, grimly steeling himself for whatever was to come.
Above them, the clouds swirled and churned, pushed against each other by sudden bursts of wind. The sun fought vainly to be seen behind the greyness, finding brief holes through which to shine, only to be smothered again later.
In one of nature's crueler ironies, the gruesome scene of Eolin's death was the one bathed in ghostly, golden light when the three riders and the prince of Mirkwood came upon it. The four stood on the edge of the sunlight ; the wind had died.
"He is Eolin." The oldest Rider of the Mark spoke, and at his words, the youngest gave a strangled cry and ran forward.
Legolas turned his face away from the young man's grief, but everywhere he looked, he saw only dark blood, where it had stained the plant life and soaked the ground black.
Eolin's horse had been slain as well; it lay near him. Eolin, in death, was still straining his hand towards his shining spear.
"What is this?" Vel reached down, and Gamphall dropped a silver chain into his hand. Vel smiled slightly as he inspected it.
Gamphall instinctively went for its victim's throats. Vel had done everything possible to correct it, but to no avail. At last he had decided that, if Gamphall would not help him take live prisoners, it would be taught the next best thing. Vel learned something in doing so ; when one stopped fighting instinct, everything went smoother.
And now, anything Gamphall happened to find around its victims' necks, came back to Vel. Thus far, he had an impressive collection of gems, leather ceremonial bags, medicine pouches, and now a crest from Rohan.
Not that he could ignore this warning. "Riders of the Mark are closer than I thought," Vel said conversationally. "We will move North and East. You two" he motioned to two men, older than he by perhaps seven years, "Head South, one more Eastward and the other West. Scout them out, be sure they don't follow us."
With that, Vel turned, pushed a few horses from the watering trough, and allowed Gamphall to drink undisturbed. It had, after all, been several days since Vel had last seen it, and it must have been running more than it was accustomed to in order to carry messages from one group to the other. When it was finished, it turned and vanished back the way it had come.
As an afterthought, Vel slipped Eolin's crest on, over his own family's golden medallion.
Author's Notes: Burning_Tyger, guess what I found! I know how frustrating it is to battle with lotr.net...especially if you're like me and you have *very* limited Internet time, but now there's an easier way! Go to http://orlandomultimedia.cjb.net (You'll see! Tons of stuff, and guess who welcomes you there every time!)
Anyways, back to the story, non? Right-o then. First, that whole I'm-addicted-to-action thing is getting in the way of what I'm trying to do with this story, so future updates can be slow in coming. On top of that, it may get a little gruesome, as I go deeper into Vel's character (if you can't guess who he's based on by the end of this story, I'll tell you in the last chapter, whenever that is). I think I only rated this PG, but I'll probably have to change it later. I can't rate ANYTHING realistically, and I'm being more free with this story than *any* of my others. *shrug* sorry in advance if it bothers you! (I hate when that happens when I read stories, so I thought I'd just...ok ok ok! I'm shutting up, I promise!) You wanted the translations more anyway, right? Here ya go then:
"Menel law mithrennin sin medui tad oer" means "The sky has not been gray these last two mornings".
"Gaernell can enni. Telithon dan len ab buin sen." means "Gaernell calls to me. I will come back to you after I see to him."
"Caun neth" means "Young Prince"