Chapter 2
Shadows cast from the single candle seemed to lurk ominously, crouching then leaping as the wind caused the flame to flicker. Legolas shivered and self-consciously pulled his robe tighter. Why should this feeling come so unwelcome at the end of this day, so glorious in its unfolding? His mother had just left him to seek her own chambers after bidding him peace. Silwen, his sister, and Naurdril his brother, were yet in the great hall, doubtless laughing still at the afternoon competition.
"Which I would have won fairly," Legolas stated again, though to an empty room.
He grinned as he thought back to the archery contest earlier in the day. Fortunately, right before he was to shoot, he discovered that his bowstring had been replaced with skein. Naurdril and Silwen were able to suppress their grins, but their laughing eyes told all.
"Come now, young one. I cannot let you win every archery contest. I grow chevied and must thwart you at any opportunity. I am the eldest, after all. And elder is better." Naurdril rubbed a comely hand across his sturdy jaw grinning profusely. His sharp blue eyes looked askance as if he were actually trying to give reason to his prank.
Silwen pulled them both close laughing gaily. "Brains, strength, and courage; and each endowed with ample beauty to cause envy in any fair Elf."
"And which of us has the brains, sister of mine?" Legolas moved to stand in front of her, smiling into her laughing eyes.
"Whom do you think, Lægolas?" She purred, unable to resist using the non- dialectic Sindarin form of his name that his mother was so fond of using, but which irked him. She closed her eyes and lowered her chin, inviting him.
He placed his hands on her shoulders and positioned his forehead lightly against hers, then closed his eyes and let his mind go back to the many times they had done this. Naurdril enclosed them both in a protective embrace as he joined them mentally.
They had always been close, knowing each other's thoughts. The feeling of love flowed from and through him as he blended his essence with his sibling's. Their thoughts drifted together, light and airy, verging on the nether realm.
"Legolas!" The name had been cried from the darkness and burst into his calm. Then an oppressive blackness descended upon him totally obliterating all else.
Legolas gasped, then screamed as the blackness revealed to him its own: terror and pain. He fought against it, but it pulled at him relentlessly, attempting to steal him away to an uncomprehending darkness.
Then, as suddenly as it had appeared, the darkness disappeared; the pain and terror abated. Legolas opened his eyes as he felt the pressure of arms holding him. The eyes of Naurdril and Silwen were upon him quizzically.
"What happened? Why did you cry out?" Silwen was obviously worried. Naurdril frowned but said nothing.
"I am well. I suddenly felt strange, but I am alright now." Legolas made light of it, some part of him sending warning to ignore the whole incident. The bright heat of the midday sun felt especially favorable and warmed him, taking away the chill in his limbs that he had just noticed. He incredulously wondered if he were ill, but since he was feeling better with each passing moment, even this thought ebbed from his awareness.
Keeping a wary eye on their brother, Naurdril and Silwen convinced Legolas to partake of the midday meal earlier than usual. His lighthearted banter and quick laugh eventually convinced them that he was himself.
That was earlier, when the light was full overhead and no shadow was apparent. Now he was alone in the near darkness, and fear began to play along the edges of his mind. He scolded himself for even paying attention to such an undignified emotion. Was he not an Elf, an immortal, a Prince? He banished all such unwanted emotions with an elegant gesture of his hand.
He kept his robe on as he laid on his bed. The favorite green meadow beckoned in his mind and he eagerly went there.
The meadow was not as he remembered it. The greens were dull with brown patches of dead growth. But it still looked familiar somehow. Very familiar. This could not be.
"Legolas! We go south along the river for another day. We will find the enemy there."
Legolas turned and blood drained from his fair face. There were Ciriel, Alnaron, and Ancaleb his brother; the Gurth-Oneth, Thranduil's elite guard and his companions from his dream. No, his nightmare. Here. Now.
Quickly taking one of his knives, Legolas stabbed his hand, drawing blood.
His companions looked on with alarm and moved quickly, but Legolas was quicker.
He fell to the ground and held up his wounded hand to the sky. "Elbereth, hear me! Let me wake from this! Save me!"
Eärendil shone brilliantly in the night sky.
TBC
Shadows cast from the single candle seemed to lurk ominously, crouching then leaping as the wind caused the flame to flicker. Legolas shivered and self-consciously pulled his robe tighter. Why should this feeling come so unwelcome at the end of this day, so glorious in its unfolding? His mother had just left him to seek her own chambers after bidding him peace. Silwen, his sister, and Naurdril his brother, were yet in the great hall, doubtless laughing still at the afternoon competition.
"Which I would have won fairly," Legolas stated again, though to an empty room.
He grinned as he thought back to the archery contest earlier in the day. Fortunately, right before he was to shoot, he discovered that his bowstring had been replaced with skein. Naurdril and Silwen were able to suppress their grins, but their laughing eyes told all.
"Come now, young one. I cannot let you win every archery contest. I grow chevied and must thwart you at any opportunity. I am the eldest, after all. And elder is better." Naurdril rubbed a comely hand across his sturdy jaw grinning profusely. His sharp blue eyes looked askance as if he were actually trying to give reason to his prank.
Silwen pulled them both close laughing gaily. "Brains, strength, and courage; and each endowed with ample beauty to cause envy in any fair Elf."
"And which of us has the brains, sister of mine?" Legolas moved to stand in front of her, smiling into her laughing eyes.
"Whom do you think, Lægolas?" She purred, unable to resist using the non- dialectic Sindarin form of his name that his mother was so fond of using, but which irked him. She closed her eyes and lowered her chin, inviting him.
He placed his hands on her shoulders and positioned his forehead lightly against hers, then closed his eyes and let his mind go back to the many times they had done this. Naurdril enclosed them both in a protective embrace as he joined them mentally.
They had always been close, knowing each other's thoughts. The feeling of love flowed from and through him as he blended his essence with his sibling's. Their thoughts drifted together, light and airy, verging on the nether realm.
"Legolas!" The name had been cried from the darkness and burst into his calm. Then an oppressive blackness descended upon him totally obliterating all else.
Legolas gasped, then screamed as the blackness revealed to him its own: terror and pain. He fought against it, but it pulled at him relentlessly, attempting to steal him away to an uncomprehending darkness.
Then, as suddenly as it had appeared, the darkness disappeared; the pain and terror abated. Legolas opened his eyes as he felt the pressure of arms holding him. The eyes of Naurdril and Silwen were upon him quizzically.
"What happened? Why did you cry out?" Silwen was obviously worried. Naurdril frowned but said nothing.
"I am well. I suddenly felt strange, but I am alright now." Legolas made light of it, some part of him sending warning to ignore the whole incident. The bright heat of the midday sun felt especially favorable and warmed him, taking away the chill in his limbs that he had just noticed. He incredulously wondered if he were ill, but since he was feeling better with each passing moment, even this thought ebbed from his awareness.
Keeping a wary eye on their brother, Naurdril and Silwen convinced Legolas to partake of the midday meal earlier than usual. His lighthearted banter and quick laugh eventually convinced them that he was himself.
That was earlier, when the light was full overhead and no shadow was apparent. Now he was alone in the near darkness, and fear began to play along the edges of his mind. He scolded himself for even paying attention to such an undignified emotion. Was he not an Elf, an immortal, a Prince? He banished all such unwanted emotions with an elegant gesture of his hand.
He kept his robe on as he laid on his bed. The favorite green meadow beckoned in his mind and he eagerly went there.
The meadow was not as he remembered it. The greens were dull with brown patches of dead growth. But it still looked familiar somehow. Very familiar. This could not be.
"Legolas! We go south along the river for another day. We will find the enemy there."
Legolas turned and blood drained from his fair face. There were Ciriel, Alnaron, and Ancaleb his brother; the Gurth-Oneth, Thranduil's elite guard and his companions from his dream. No, his nightmare. Here. Now.
Quickly taking one of his knives, Legolas stabbed his hand, drawing blood.
His companions looked on with alarm and moved quickly, but Legolas was quicker.
He fell to the ground and held up his wounded hand to the sky. "Elbereth, hear me! Let me wake from this! Save me!"
Eärendil shone brilliantly in the night sky.
TBC