Chapter Twenty-Two: The Northerners

A servant-girl fluttered about Legolas, dodging to-and-fro, perfecting this-and-that on his outfit. He could barely sit still without her making little fussy noises and frowning at him. She was very jumpily getting the ties around his tunic together when there was a loud sound. It sounded like drums being played very far off. Lots of drums. The servant girl's hands were messing about his face, when he could stand no more and shoved them away.

"Shh! Do you hear that?" Of course, he should've said "feel" by now, the sound was so strong the ground began to rumble. Out of sheer stupidity, he could not put his finger on that sound. It came to him in the split second between him stepping forward and out onto the balcony where he could see.

They were hoof-beats. Almost a dozen, no fourteen, fourteen horses with fourteen riders were pounding down the pathway to the palace. The steeds were all black except for one, riding in front, which was only black at the mane. He almost smiled. It looked like Iledian, but it was not. The Northerners had come at last.

The horses charged on, obviously recently refreshed. The riders all wore black cloaks, but the hoods were thrown back, making different shades of gold and yellow shimmer. The rider on the black-maned horse remained with a hood over his face. As they dismounted, an abstract circle was formed around this one, Legolas watching carefully. He could see nothing of this elf's face.

Filior came up from behind Legolas. "That is the leader, Andulin. His wife should be in one of those black robes, but I do not see her."

Legolas nodded at the prince then looked down haughtily. "Do they always make such an entrance?"

He nodded. "They are the best assassins, warriors, archers, swordsman, what have you. They have a right to such an entrance. Anything to do with battle, they are the best in the whole of the land."

The western prince turned away, unimpressed. "Where are we meeting?"

"The main hall."

*~*~*~*

"King Felair, the Northerners have arrived." Maehar's disapproving face reminded the King strongly of Minele.

"I know, Maehar, I hear them." His last encounter with elves from the North made him doubt his wanting to be a king and have to deal with all kinds. However, that could not be helped now and he threw on a menacing-looking robe of burgundy and black and walked out into the entrance hall.

Vandelar the elf hopped off his black steed as the servants of the East King came and led them inside. He looked back at the horses, and the black maned one looked on the verge of panic.

"Leave that one." He instructed.

The horse-handler gave him a look of strong dislike. "It will run wild."

"Perhaps because it IS wild. However, if you insist on being stomped into the dirt, I'll not stand in your way."

Vandelar smirked as the steed was left alone, then he turned to look inward on the protective circle the group had formed. "I am not sure this plan will work, my liege." He muttered to his hooded leader.

"Neither am I," Was the reply. "But we'll try it anyway. If they see through it, there's not much they can do."

"I beg to differ." He looked up at the King, striding toward them feigning fiery defiance. The leader would take that away immediately, but he was still wary.

"Andulin, warrior of the North, I'd welcome you properly, if I could see you." The King wanted to wince. He was a jokester by nature, but he wasn't sure if Northerners had a sense of humor. Andulin gave a wave of one gloved hand and the front of the circle parted. Felair cleared his throat. "Which one of your men will be in the trails."

"Our leader will be in the trials, King Felair," said Vandelar.

He raised his eyebrows in surprise. "We do not want to risk any-"

"Our leader is adamant that he participate in the trials."

Felair was losing his patience. "Can your leader speak for himself?"

Another warrior, Fenra, closed the circle just a little. "No, I'm afraid he can't." The warriors looked more imposing that ever, but none more than Andulin. In the middle of the circle, face hidden, quietly controlling the action of the others, he was the most powerful of all.

Even Felair could feel that. He stopped yelling and swallowed in a way he hoped wasn't nervously. "Very well, someone will show you all to your rooms."

They all nodded and waited for him to go, but somehow the King did not feel right turning his back to them. It was disrespectful for them to turn on him, so he had no choice.

As he walked away, Vandelar leaned into the circle. "This may work."

The hooded figure smirked, though no one saw it. "If we are careful... Do not overprotect me like this all the time."

"My liege, that is risky. There are some here that would have you killed. We are your friends, but we are also your soldiers, we must stay by you."

The leader sighed. "Yes, always keep your friends close." Vandelar looked relieved. "But keep your enemies closer."

Vandelar kicked the dirt in frustration, but the figure remained still. "You and I will watch those that are a threat. Tell Fenra and the others to watch the King and the Prince."

"Which prince?" said Vandelar, glumly.

The leader looked up at him. "What? What do you mean?"

"Prince Legolas of the West is here, also."

There was an uncomfortable silence. A wind blew past, threatening to blow off the hood of the leader. "That will complicate things. Keep an eye on all three."

Choosing not to ask questions, the fourteen elves were led to inside the palace.

*~*~*~*

Something was wrong with this situation. Filior felt it. When Vandelar had shown up to the first meeting instead of Andulin, he didn't think anything of it. Now, Andulin was avoiding talking all costs, he only whispered to Vandelar, and when he did talk, his voice was raspy, deep, and snake-like. Suspiscion was waved by Vandelar finally being forced to tell the court that Andulin had been attacked on their last mission in the Far North. He'd taken very serious damage to the throat, but they had healers look at it, and they had been optimistic. But Filior's doubts rose again when they refused help from Elihar Silvermoon. Eli was the best, and just to have him look at it, he could've healed it or improved it greatly. They said no with such finality, he didn't press it.

Filior courteously knocked on Andulin's door. He'd seen Vandelar skulking around he stables, and no doubt, Andulin had been left to his own devices.

"Sir Andulin?"

"Come in..." That snakelike voice sent chills through his bones as he pushed the door open. "How can I help you, Prince Filior?" Filior stared. Andulin was still hooded. Was his face that horrible? "I suggest you state your business."

The prince jumped. "Oh, yes, forgive me."

The hooded elf waved a hand in a dismissive manner. "Think nothing of it. Tell me why you are here."

"My sister, Elorelei, she disappeared years ago." Filior paused, waiting for Andulin to tell him this was ridiculous, but the other elf said nothing. "It is rumored she went North. Have you heard nothing of her?"

"Her name again?"

The prince brightened. "Elorelei."

Andulin sighed. "I want to say I know her, but I'm afraid I do not."

"But you are a hunter? Could you track her down? Find her?"

Filior wondered if Andulin was part cat. He was sure that if the great hunter had a tail, it would be slowly twitching, thoughtfully. "We shall discuss this after the trials. Speak with your father, also."

Legolas listened around the corner, smirking at Filior, unwilling to admit he also hoped against hoped that Andulin could find her.