The tower in which she was confined was not a cold and dreary place. It
was adorned with the finest woven tapestries and rugs. A roaring fire
blazed on the huge stone hearth, and to the left of that sat a simple
wooden table holding all manner of food and drink. Opposite the hearth
were a soft, plush chair and a curtained four-poster bed with a purple lace
canopy. A nightstand to the left held a pitcher of water and a washbasin.
On the floor sat a beaten brass chamber pot. King Elrond had provided for
her every comfort, it seemed, but she knew she would not be happy here.
She sat up on the bed and rubbed her raw, watery eyes. Her wrenching sobs had tapered off to mere snufflings, but her chest was still tight with grief. She took in her surroundings. On unsteady feet, she wandered around the room, checking for any means of escape. At first, the high arched window had given her a flicker of hope, but one look at the dizzying one hundred and fifty foot drop to the river below had quickly dashed it.
She was still numb from the shock of this sudden betrayal. This was the last thing she had expected. She had anticipated his refusal, of course, but not this imprisonment. Whatever the reason Legolas had set out for Mordor, it was clear King Elrond wanted no interference of any sort. But why would he send Legolas to the dead lands of Mordor? No living thing dared enter that accursed land for fear of being taken captive by the evil orcs who lurked behind every hill and withered tree stump. It would be madness to order him there. In the dim past of her childhood, she recalled the legends of the dark lord Sauron, a mighty demon king who had enslaved nearly all of Middle Earth before a last desperate alliance of men and elves led by King Elrond challenged him upon the lifeless slopes of Mount Doom. By courage and might and the grace of the Lords of Elbereth, the demon was defeated and vanished from the land. Though no one had ever seen them, many inhabitants of Middle Earth swore that the ruins of his awesome fortress, Barak-Dur, still lie smoldering in that wasted land. Perhaps even Sauron himself still skulked amid the shadowy remnants of his ravaged castle. Into what madness had the great Elrond descended to order Legolas into that damned place? Had the whole world gone mad? She must escape.
She paced furiously back and forth as her sharp mind worked out possible escape scenarios. She tried the obvious routes first. Were there guards outside her door? "Guards," she called.
The door opened and one of the guards who'd brought her here entered. "Yes m'lady?" he said.
Blast it, she thought to herself, but out loud she said, "I'm feeling quite dirty and sore from the road. Can you please bring me a bath?"
The guard snapped his heels together smartly. "Yes, m'lady." He turned on his heel and left, closing the door behind him. Her keen ears discerned the metallic scrape of a key being turned in the lock. Even if the door was now unguarded, there was no help there.
The window had already been ruled out. While she waited for the guards to deliver her bath, she searched for trapdoors or hidden passages Elrond may have forgotten. Though, she crawled around on the floor from one end of the room to the other, there was nothing. By the time the guards had returned with her bath, she was grimy and dispirited.
"Will there be anything else, m'lady?" inquired the guard.
"No," she said, smiling ruefully.
The guard nodded, then hesitated a moment. "M'lady?"
"Yes?" She was tired; she wished he would leave.
He shifted uncomfortably. "I'm sorry about all this. I'm just-"
"Following orders," she finished for him. "I know. I'm very tired. Please go."
"Goodnight, m'lady." He turned a left, closing the door behind him.
She waited until she heard the grinding click of the key in the lock before stripping off her filthy gown and stepping into the steaming tub. She hissed in pleasure as the hot water went to work on her aching muscles. She sank down, immersing her hair in the water. When she resurfaced, she was touched to see that King Elrond had sent up dainty perfumed soaps and another white gown. I know your heart is in the right place, Your Majesty, she thought wistfully, but I cannot stay here.
"Oh Legolas," she said to the empty room, "why have you abandoned me?" She wept silently as she bathed. She just wanted her husband.
10
Telvryn listened to the heart-wrenching sobs drifting down to the barracks from the tower for three days. Finally he could take no more. While the other sentries snored lustily, he crept from his bed into the cool night air. The wind whispered through the trees, as though trying to alert the king to his treachery. He cursed it under his breath as he ventured toward the stables. Acting as naturally as he could, he went inside.
The sweet smell of hay and horse dung filled his nose. He could hear the faint whinnying of the horses as they dreamed inside their stalls. He moved as stealthily as he could between the rows, looking for Rhydon. Tails swished in the darkness, and one steed gave an offended snort when he drew too near. He saw Rhydon in the last stall on the right, his ears flicking impatiently, almost as though he had been waiting for him. The horse jammed his muzzle through the slats as he approached. Telvryn stroked him gently. "Easy, boy," he murmured. Just as he was reaching for the latch on the gate, a voice spoke behind him.
"Telvryn, what are you doing?"
He spun around to find himself looking into the face of Jeren, his fellow sentry and close friend. He mustered what he hoped was a convincing smile. "I was just admiring this beautiful steed."
Jeren turned to look into the stall. "Oh, that one. You have good taste, my friend. One of the finer horses I've ever seen. Legolas certainly spared no expense."
Telvryn laughed. "I must confess I was quite envious of him during our journey here. Do you think I could take him for a ride?"
"Now you know I can't let you. King Elrond would kill me," he rebuked.
"Please?" he wheedled, "He probably needs the exercise."
"Nope. No can do." Jeren stood firm.
"Well, can I at least groom him then?" he pleaded, biting his lip.
"I don't see why not," Jeren relented. "Stay here while I get the grooming supplies." He jogged off to the tack room in search of the brushes and hoof picks.
Telvryn searched frantically for a weapon. He knew he didn't have much time. He spotted one in the form of a rusty shovel leaning against an adjacent stall. He hurried over and placed his body in front of it just as Jeren returned with his arms full of grooming supplies.
"Here you are," he said cheerfully, holding out the supplies.
Telvryn didn't move. He stood frozen, bracing himself for what he was about to do.
"Well, go on, take it," said Jeren, his brow creasing in confusion.
"Jeren, is that a sore on the horse's leg?" he asked pointing toward the animal with one hand while he slowly curled his fingers around the shovel with the other.
"Where?" he asked, turning to look.
As soon as he turned his head, Telvryn brought the shovel from behind his back and struck Jeren in the back of the head. The shovel connected with its intended mark with a sickening, heavy thuk. Please don't let me have killed him, he prayed as Jeren crumpled to the floor. He tossed the now dented shovel aside and moved quickly to bind and gag him with his own cloak.
"I'm sorry, my old friend," he breathed, working quickly to strip the unconscious form of its uniform. That done, he open the horse stall holding Rhydon and dragged him inside. Making sure no one was about, he stripped off his clothes and quickly stepped into Jeren's uniform. That done, he wadded up his clothes and tossed them into the corner.
"Now you stay here," he said, wagging his finger at Rhydon, "and when you hear Saryn yell, you come running, you hear?" He stepped out of the stall and closed it behind him, leaving it unlocked. "Wish me luck," he said, popping on the metal helmet and visor Jeren always wore. With a final prayer, he turned and dashed out of the stable.
He emerged from the stable just as another sentry was coming to fetch him. "Are you ready, Jeren?" the newcomer asked. "It's your shift to guard Lady Saryn."
He nodded, not trusting himself to speak. If this fellow figured out it wasn't Jeren under the helmet, it would be all over. He'd be joining Saryn in her tower prison faster than he could draw breath. It was a long shot this plan would work at all. He was quite prepared to be caught and flogged for this. Still, he had to try. He couldn't just leave her up there suffering like that.
He felt sweat dripping from the end of his nose as they passed the immobile palace guards, their faces locked in rictuses of chronic vigilance. He suddenly felt very claustrophobic under the helmet, and his chest tightened in panic. Beside him, his companion chattered on incessantly about the weather and the gorgeous elf maidens one could see bathing at the river on Saturday nights. He grunted noncommittal replies, wishing he would shut up.
"You're awfully quiet today, Jeren. Is something wrong?" his friend asked at last.
"I think I have a touch of the human cold," he croaked, distorting his voice as much as possible. "I'll be alright, though."
"Say, you DO sound awful. I'll have my wife bring you some of her delicious tea later. Fix you right up."
"Thanks, I appreciate it," he replied, relieved to see they had arrived at their destination.
"Well, I'll leave the two of you to it then," said his escort, clapping him on the back. "I'll bring that tea up later."
Telvryn allowed himself a small sigh of relief. Now came the hard part.
"Good morning," said his duty mate. I hate the dawn to midnight shift, don't you?"
He made no answer, and that was the last thing that passed between them for the next hour. Time crawled by on broken knees for him while he waited to make his move. I can't believe I'm doing this, he groaned to himself. Finally, he could delay it no longer. "Did you hear something?" he asked, cocking his head.
"No," came the answer.
"Well, the way she's been wailing the last couple of days, maybe we should check on her. King Elrond would be furious if she killed herself on our watch."
"I'm telling you I don't hear anything," insisted the other, annoyed.
"Well, I do," he snapped, "and it's better to be safe than sorry."
His compatriot sighed. "Alright, but I'm telling you she's fine." He pulled an iron keyring from his pocket and sorted through the contents until he came upon the right one and jammed it in the lock.
As soon as the tumbler pulled back from the lock, he made his move. He grabbed the distracted guard's head and rammed it twice in quick succession into the stout oak door. The guard slumped to the floor, and Telvryn pushed open the door.
11
While Telvryn was engaged in his daring rescue attempt, Saryn, too, was making plans for an escape. For the last hour, she'd been doggedly prying at the large door hinges with a fork. She'd accomplished nothing other than bending the fork and bloodying her hands. Tossing the mangled utensil aside, she turned her attention once again to the long window. It seemed her only hope.
That would be suicide and you know it, said the tiny voice of reason left inside her head. Very likely it would be. But maybe not. She took a closer look outside the window. The river below wound around the castle like a sparkling silver ribbon. Even from this distance, she could see that the fall would break numerous bones at the very least. Still, if she jumped feet-first, maybe she could swim the river with a broken leg and crawl through the woods for a while until help came in the form of passersby.
Had she been rational, she would have realized the stupidity of her plan. But three days in the tower being prodded by well-meaning midwives and nearly a month without Legolas' loving presence had taken their toll. Logic had lost its place in her mind. She had become a creature driven by need and emotion, and her overwhelming need was to be away from this place and closer to her husband.
Her mind made up, she kicked off her shoes. They would only weigh her down in the water. Before she climbed through the window, she spied a parchment and quill on the table. On impulse, she grabbed them and set about composing a note. It read:
Dear King Elrond,
Though Rivendell is beautiful, I cannot stay. I must find Legolas; my heart commands it. I thank you for your generous hospitality and beg your forgiveness for this disobedience. One day you will understand and forgive me. I am sorry. Long live Your Majesty.
Lady Saryn
She finished writing and looked it over, noticing the drops of blood left by her ravaged hands. The quill, too, was slick with it. She put them both back on the table and stepped out onto the narrow ledge. A wave of vertigo washed over her, and she had to clutch the wall to avoid toppling headfirst to her death. Her heart was triphammering in her chest, making her feel weak. Did she really want to do this? No, but what choice did she have? She had no intention of spending the remaining six months of her seven-month pregnancy stranded in this tower. She took a deep breath and inched closer to the edge. Just as she was making ready to leap from the window, the door crashed open behind her. Startled, she lost her balance and swayed dangerously on the ledge. She frantically pinwheeled her arms for balance, but it was no use. She was going over.
She would have toppled out the window and to her death if the slender hand hadn't reached out and jerked her back through the window.
She sat up on the bed and rubbed her raw, watery eyes. Her wrenching sobs had tapered off to mere snufflings, but her chest was still tight with grief. She took in her surroundings. On unsteady feet, she wandered around the room, checking for any means of escape. At first, the high arched window had given her a flicker of hope, but one look at the dizzying one hundred and fifty foot drop to the river below had quickly dashed it.
She was still numb from the shock of this sudden betrayal. This was the last thing she had expected. She had anticipated his refusal, of course, but not this imprisonment. Whatever the reason Legolas had set out for Mordor, it was clear King Elrond wanted no interference of any sort. But why would he send Legolas to the dead lands of Mordor? No living thing dared enter that accursed land for fear of being taken captive by the evil orcs who lurked behind every hill and withered tree stump. It would be madness to order him there. In the dim past of her childhood, she recalled the legends of the dark lord Sauron, a mighty demon king who had enslaved nearly all of Middle Earth before a last desperate alliance of men and elves led by King Elrond challenged him upon the lifeless slopes of Mount Doom. By courage and might and the grace of the Lords of Elbereth, the demon was defeated and vanished from the land. Though no one had ever seen them, many inhabitants of Middle Earth swore that the ruins of his awesome fortress, Barak-Dur, still lie smoldering in that wasted land. Perhaps even Sauron himself still skulked amid the shadowy remnants of his ravaged castle. Into what madness had the great Elrond descended to order Legolas into that damned place? Had the whole world gone mad? She must escape.
She paced furiously back and forth as her sharp mind worked out possible escape scenarios. She tried the obvious routes first. Were there guards outside her door? "Guards," she called.
The door opened and one of the guards who'd brought her here entered. "Yes m'lady?" he said.
Blast it, she thought to herself, but out loud she said, "I'm feeling quite dirty and sore from the road. Can you please bring me a bath?"
The guard snapped his heels together smartly. "Yes, m'lady." He turned on his heel and left, closing the door behind him. Her keen ears discerned the metallic scrape of a key being turned in the lock. Even if the door was now unguarded, there was no help there.
The window had already been ruled out. While she waited for the guards to deliver her bath, she searched for trapdoors or hidden passages Elrond may have forgotten. Though, she crawled around on the floor from one end of the room to the other, there was nothing. By the time the guards had returned with her bath, she was grimy and dispirited.
"Will there be anything else, m'lady?" inquired the guard.
"No," she said, smiling ruefully.
The guard nodded, then hesitated a moment. "M'lady?"
"Yes?" She was tired; she wished he would leave.
He shifted uncomfortably. "I'm sorry about all this. I'm just-"
"Following orders," she finished for him. "I know. I'm very tired. Please go."
"Goodnight, m'lady." He turned a left, closing the door behind him.
She waited until she heard the grinding click of the key in the lock before stripping off her filthy gown and stepping into the steaming tub. She hissed in pleasure as the hot water went to work on her aching muscles. She sank down, immersing her hair in the water. When she resurfaced, she was touched to see that King Elrond had sent up dainty perfumed soaps and another white gown. I know your heart is in the right place, Your Majesty, she thought wistfully, but I cannot stay here.
"Oh Legolas," she said to the empty room, "why have you abandoned me?" She wept silently as she bathed. She just wanted her husband.
10
Telvryn listened to the heart-wrenching sobs drifting down to the barracks from the tower for three days. Finally he could take no more. While the other sentries snored lustily, he crept from his bed into the cool night air. The wind whispered through the trees, as though trying to alert the king to his treachery. He cursed it under his breath as he ventured toward the stables. Acting as naturally as he could, he went inside.
The sweet smell of hay and horse dung filled his nose. He could hear the faint whinnying of the horses as they dreamed inside their stalls. He moved as stealthily as he could between the rows, looking for Rhydon. Tails swished in the darkness, and one steed gave an offended snort when he drew too near. He saw Rhydon in the last stall on the right, his ears flicking impatiently, almost as though he had been waiting for him. The horse jammed his muzzle through the slats as he approached. Telvryn stroked him gently. "Easy, boy," he murmured. Just as he was reaching for the latch on the gate, a voice spoke behind him.
"Telvryn, what are you doing?"
He spun around to find himself looking into the face of Jeren, his fellow sentry and close friend. He mustered what he hoped was a convincing smile. "I was just admiring this beautiful steed."
Jeren turned to look into the stall. "Oh, that one. You have good taste, my friend. One of the finer horses I've ever seen. Legolas certainly spared no expense."
Telvryn laughed. "I must confess I was quite envious of him during our journey here. Do you think I could take him for a ride?"
"Now you know I can't let you. King Elrond would kill me," he rebuked.
"Please?" he wheedled, "He probably needs the exercise."
"Nope. No can do." Jeren stood firm.
"Well, can I at least groom him then?" he pleaded, biting his lip.
"I don't see why not," Jeren relented. "Stay here while I get the grooming supplies." He jogged off to the tack room in search of the brushes and hoof picks.
Telvryn searched frantically for a weapon. He knew he didn't have much time. He spotted one in the form of a rusty shovel leaning against an adjacent stall. He hurried over and placed his body in front of it just as Jeren returned with his arms full of grooming supplies.
"Here you are," he said cheerfully, holding out the supplies.
Telvryn didn't move. He stood frozen, bracing himself for what he was about to do.
"Well, go on, take it," said Jeren, his brow creasing in confusion.
"Jeren, is that a sore on the horse's leg?" he asked pointing toward the animal with one hand while he slowly curled his fingers around the shovel with the other.
"Where?" he asked, turning to look.
As soon as he turned his head, Telvryn brought the shovel from behind his back and struck Jeren in the back of the head. The shovel connected with its intended mark with a sickening, heavy thuk. Please don't let me have killed him, he prayed as Jeren crumpled to the floor. He tossed the now dented shovel aside and moved quickly to bind and gag him with his own cloak.
"I'm sorry, my old friend," he breathed, working quickly to strip the unconscious form of its uniform. That done, he open the horse stall holding Rhydon and dragged him inside. Making sure no one was about, he stripped off his clothes and quickly stepped into Jeren's uniform. That done, he wadded up his clothes and tossed them into the corner.
"Now you stay here," he said, wagging his finger at Rhydon, "and when you hear Saryn yell, you come running, you hear?" He stepped out of the stall and closed it behind him, leaving it unlocked. "Wish me luck," he said, popping on the metal helmet and visor Jeren always wore. With a final prayer, he turned and dashed out of the stable.
He emerged from the stable just as another sentry was coming to fetch him. "Are you ready, Jeren?" the newcomer asked. "It's your shift to guard Lady Saryn."
He nodded, not trusting himself to speak. If this fellow figured out it wasn't Jeren under the helmet, it would be all over. He'd be joining Saryn in her tower prison faster than he could draw breath. It was a long shot this plan would work at all. He was quite prepared to be caught and flogged for this. Still, he had to try. He couldn't just leave her up there suffering like that.
He felt sweat dripping from the end of his nose as they passed the immobile palace guards, their faces locked in rictuses of chronic vigilance. He suddenly felt very claustrophobic under the helmet, and his chest tightened in panic. Beside him, his companion chattered on incessantly about the weather and the gorgeous elf maidens one could see bathing at the river on Saturday nights. He grunted noncommittal replies, wishing he would shut up.
"You're awfully quiet today, Jeren. Is something wrong?" his friend asked at last.
"I think I have a touch of the human cold," he croaked, distorting his voice as much as possible. "I'll be alright, though."
"Say, you DO sound awful. I'll have my wife bring you some of her delicious tea later. Fix you right up."
"Thanks, I appreciate it," he replied, relieved to see they had arrived at their destination.
"Well, I'll leave the two of you to it then," said his escort, clapping him on the back. "I'll bring that tea up later."
Telvryn allowed himself a small sigh of relief. Now came the hard part.
"Good morning," said his duty mate. I hate the dawn to midnight shift, don't you?"
He made no answer, and that was the last thing that passed between them for the next hour. Time crawled by on broken knees for him while he waited to make his move. I can't believe I'm doing this, he groaned to himself. Finally, he could delay it no longer. "Did you hear something?" he asked, cocking his head.
"No," came the answer.
"Well, the way she's been wailing the last couple of days, maybe we should check on her. King Elrond would be furious if she killed herself on our watch."
"I'm telling you I don't hear anything," insisted the other, annoyed.
"Well, I do," he snapped, "and it's better to be safe than sorry."
His compatriot sighed. "Alright, but I'm telling you she's fine." He pulled an iron keyring from his pocket and sorted through the contents until he came upon the right one and jammed it in the lock.
As soon as the tumbler pulled back from the lock, he made his move. He grabbed the distracted guard's head and rammed it twice in quick succession into the stout oak door. The guard slumped to the floor, and Telvryn pushed open the door.
11
While Telvryn was engaged in his daring rescue attempt, Saryn, too, was making plans for an escape. For the last hour, she'd been doggedly prying at the large door hinges with a fork. She'd accomplished nothing other than bending the fork and bloodying her hands. Tossing the mangled utensil aside, she turned her attention once again to the long window. It seemed her only hope.
That would be suicide and you know it, said the tiny voice of reason left inside her head. Very likely it would be. But maybe not. She took a closer look outside the window. The river below wound around the castle like a sparkling silver ribbon. Even from this distance, she could see that the fall would break numerous bones at the very least. Still, if she jumped feet-first, maybe she could swim the river with a broken leg and crawl through the woods for a while until help came in the form of passersby.
Had she been rational, she would have realized the stupidity of her plan. But three days in the tower being prodded by well-meaning midwives and nearly a month without Legolas' loving presence had taken their toll. Logic had lost its place in her mind. She had become a creature driven by need and emotion, and her overwhelming need was to be away from this place and closer to her husband.
Her mind made up, she kicked off her shoes. They would only weigh her down in the water. Before she climbed through the window, she spied a parchment and quill on the table. On impulse, she grabbed them and set about composing a note. It read:
Dear King Elrond,
Though Rivendell is beautiful, I cannot stay. I must find Legolas; my heart commands it. I thank you for your generous hospitality and beg your forgiveness for this disobedience. One day you will understand and forgive me. I am sorry. Long live Your Majesty.
Lady Saryn
She finished writing and looked it over, noticing the drops of blood left by her ravaged hands. The quill, too, was slick with it. She put them both back on the table and stepped out onto the narrow ledge. A wave of vertigo washed over her, and she had to clutch the wall to avoid toppling headfirst to her death. Her heart was triphammering in her chest, making her feel weak. Did she really want to do this? No, but what choice did she have? She had no intention of spending the remaining six months of her seven-month pregnancy stranded in this tower. She took a deep breath and inched closer to the edge. Just as she was making ready to leap from the window, the door crashed open behind her. Startled, she lost her balance and swayed dangerously on the ledge. She frantically pinwheeled her arms for balance, but it was no use. She was going over.
She would have toppled out the window and to her death if the slender hand hadn't reached out and jerked her back through the window.