Toloth
Legolas had traveled the main hallway of the eastern wing slowly, running over everything he had seen and heard in his mind. Now, speaking to his father seemed unavoidable and almost mandatory. Upon entering the central foyer where he had been standing not a half hour ago, he noticed that there remained only very few people scattered about. The servants must have completed their work and moved back into their quarters of the palace. He had been absentmindedly hugging his loosely bandaged arm when from behind he heard his name called out.
"Legolas! Stop for a moment wont you?" The voice was unmistakably Araorë's and yet Legolas could not help but feel he wished to avoid any conversation betwixt them altogether. He didn't wish to evoke Araorë's inevitable questions regarding his arm or arouse his curiosity as to why he had come from the East wing of the palace. Legolas reluctantly turned around, hugging his arm even tighter in nervousness.
"It is a good that I caught you. Your father has been looking for you and…" Araorë's eyes fell upon the white sleeve of Legolas' shirt now stained a bright red. His eyes narrowed suspiciously and he cut them quickly towards the eastern hallway. Legolas felt his stomach fall to the bottom of his feet.
"…he wishes to meet you in the gardens." Coldness fell into his voice and the unfamiliar flame of hatred which was glowing brightly behind Araorë's slate colored eyes, only served to exacerbate Legolas' growing discomfort.
"If that is all, Araorë?" He tried to sound lighthearted and confident but his voice betrayed him. What was wrong with his friend? Hadn't he known Araorë since their earliest childhood? He had always been so quite and reserved, incapable of violence- and yet Legolas could not mistake the development of violent hatred distorting the lines of Araorë's face.
"Yes." Araorë spoke as though he had come out of a trance, although his eyes never for a moment left Legolas' arm. "Yes, that is all." He turned on his heel and walked down the eastern hall, very nearly stalking, as an upset child would have done upon losing his favorite toy because he had been naughty. Legolas' arm cried in protest as he realized he too had been digging his nails into his skin.
{Why did I not speak with him about this? Surely there is a misunderstanding somewhere.}
But he knew perfectly well why he hadn't broached the subject. That flame…that fire behind Araorë's eyes reminded him all to well of the eyes he had seen in battle; eyes full of loathing and anger, waiting for the moment to strike weak flesh. Perhaps after he spoke with his father he would have a long talk with Araorë and discover what was troubling him so.
He felt a warm trickle run down the length of his arm and he decided that a quick stop at the house of the healers would be in order before speaking with Thranduil. With hurried footsteps he made his way outside and towards the gardens, making a sharp left before entering the arbor and coming to the doorway of a large sandstone structure. From outside the wafting smell of spices and herbs mixed with the perfume of the gardens was rich enough to intoxicate the mind completely.
Once inside he was attended to without much question and to his great relief he left without having to give an explanation for the cuts in his arm. He made his way into the arbor feeling much better as the pain in his arm had been reduced to a dull ache.
"Father." Legolas came upon Thranduil walking slowly through the blossom-laden boughs of the apple trees. The king did not respond at first, as though his mind were on things much farther away than the present moment. He slowly withdrew from his dreamlike state and turned to his son, smiling the smile of a tired old man.
"What is it Father?" Thranduil sighed and turned his eyes towards the sun, now approaching the crest of the distant trees and painting them with vivid splashes of orange and red.
"I have lived a very long time Legolas. The disadvantage to our immortality lies not in the endurance of our time…but it lives instead in the pride of thinking one has seen everything. There is something I must speak with you about, something of great importance."
"The lady in the eastern hall?" Thranduil looked at him with the faint trace of a grin on his face as the two of them began to slowly wind their way through the dense flowering trees.
"Yes. Her
name, or the name we have decided to give her, is Enberaidien- Araorë found it in an ancient manuscript and thought it
fit her nicely…"
"Araorë again." Legolas
interrupted, "What does he have to do with her?" Thranduil smiled indulgently
and clasped his hands slowly behind his back.
"Perhaps you should allow me to finish? I believe the answers you seek shall be given in time…have you the patience to hear the story in full?" Legolas lowered his eyes and apologized for the disrespect he had shown his father. Thranduil smiled again and picked up the thread of his earlier thoughts.
"Araorë found her sleeping in an unprotected field just outside the forest. Her skin had been burned horribly by the sun and as far as our healers could tell- she had survived for nearly two weeks without any type of nourishment. It was when she was first brought to the palace that Araorë had asked me personally if he could be in charge of the woman's care. I refused him and sent Andoion to attend to her. When we discovered, quite rudely, her violent nature, Araorë once again interceded, asking for time to watch her and consult with his books- he argued that there might be a cure, if not an explanation for her nature. I granted him that- and he has been most attentive and helpful.
"Enberaidien has been kept in secret from the rest of the kingdom- and from you, though not very long due to your preoccupancy with matters that aren't your concern…" Legolas sensed a slight bit of approval in his father's voice and did not take offence. He was, after all, slightly pretentious when it came to secrets. "…She has been kept secret for one reason- we do not know a thing about her. Have you seen her?" Legolas' mind focused in sharply on her misshapen and horrible ears; he felt his stomach give a protesting lurch.
"Yes, I have seen her."
"Then you have seen what was done to her?" Legolas nodded as Thranduil sighed deeply- a sigh laden with sadness and pity. "Just like an animal. From what Andoion can theorize, she was kept in a restraining device, something crude and cruel that encircled her neck and clamped down across her head from ear to ear." Legolas remembered the shiny white flesh of the two scars running the breadth of her head. "Her hair was burned off or ripped out in places and her ears…horrible. Andoion believes they were cut off and then burned to stop the bleeding. As far as the scars running across her eyes are concerned, Andoion believes she did that to herself." Legolas' eyebrow rose slightly.
"She did it to herself? Why? For what possible reason?"
"I do not know, Legolas. Until I do however, or until she speaks in words instead of screams, she shall remain hidden in the eastern wing and…" Thranduil stopped walking and faced his son head-on. His large green eyes left no room for maneuvering or second-guessing. "You would do well to stay away from her. It is my wish, that you stay away from her." Suddenly the words of the lady flew back into Legolas' mind.
{She had spoken! She had spoken in the Westron tongue! The man with the black eyes. Hadn't she said something like that?}
His father was wrong…she had spoken- he knew it!
Thranduil's gaze had not faltered and just as Legolas felt his epiphany reach the end of his tongue it fell away altogether in his father's stare.
{Why shouldn't I be allowed to see her? Was this a mandate from Araorë as well? What sway did he hold over the King of Mirkwood?}
Tossed from a glimpse of sanity back onto the violent sea of uncertainty and confusion, Legolas found himself questioning everything all over again.
"Yes father." Was all he could think to say. Confrontation was impossible, argument inconceivable. Thranduil sighed again deeply, this time with something of a deep satisfaction in his tone. Together they came from the gardens and into the arbor, silently walking side by side.