Disclaimer: I have lawsuit repellent spray. Don't make me use it.
Long and rambling chapter that is even weirder and makes less sense than the last. Thanks for reading, and thanks again everyone who's reviewed ^.^
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Galion grunted. Very slowly the world came back into focus, or more likely, the shadows carried the essence of realness that made him aware that he was staring at a floor.
'Mae govannen.' A very displeased voice told him. Galion shifted and struggled to sit up. 'Sleep well?' Thranduil asked in a bittersweet tone, glaring at his butler from behind his desk.
'My apologies, my Lord.' Galion muttered, peering blearily around the room in search of some clue as to what had caused him to faint. 'What - what happened, my Lord?'
'Oh, it would appear the handwriting of Master Elrond is a truly terrible thing.' Thranduil replied. He poured a glass of wine and pushed it across the desk. Galion stood carefully and shuffled across to it.
'Handwriting?' He asked as he lifted the glass, stared at it confusedly for a moment, then downed it.
'Yes…' Thranduil dragged the word out with an unusual mix of uncertainty and disapproval. 'I was rather hoping you would explain.' He paused, watching the wine swirling in the glass he held. 'But never mind that for a moment, I'm sure you will tell all later. For now there are more important matters than your phobia.'
'Very well, my King.' Galion sat patiently, waiting for Thranduil to continue. It was strange set-up he and Thranduil tolerated. Unlike Elrond, who had too many advisors, Thranduil had none, and so had to contemplate the most important issues of Mirkwood's existence with his butler. Galion had once tried to introduce Thranduil to the idea of talking with his son, who was considered to be more qualified for the job. Unfortunately when Galion approached Legolas with this notion, the prince had nearly suffered a facial expression. Galion immediately discarded his idea, and burnt all evidence he had tried.
'While you were unconscious I re-read Elrond's letter-'
'Well done, my Lord.'
Thranduil threw a sharp glare at his butler, 'I sense a great unease has fallen upon Rivendell. I believe that Elrond was trying to warn us of something. Unfortunately, he did not finish writing the letter, maybe due to some emergency? In his haste, and desperation for help, he scribbled 'Doom' across all he had previously written, in much the same way as one would write 'Help'.'
'If he were in that much danger he would not have found anyone to send his letter.' The butler remarked.
'He may have come back to it afterwards.' The Elvenking said, a little doubtfully.
'It would have been irrelevant then.'
Thranduil paused uncomfortably. 'I hear initiative is a big thing in Imladris.'
'Maybe, but that's not what I heard, my Lord.'
'Be quiet, Galion.' Thranduil mumbled indignantly. 'I believe that Elrond is asking for help. We should answer his plea.'
Galion's brows furrowed, a sign that he was paddling in something that could yet become a deep thought. 'In what form, my Lord? I feel that if your concerns are true he will require more than our resources can offer…'
~
He could take it no more. If he heard that word ever again it would be too soon. That was quite a thought for an immortal mind. The Swear Box was loosing its effect on Elrond. Worse, the 'Doom' habit was spreading; frequently had he heard it uttered. All were whispering it, for it had to be said, but not too loudly. Say it too loudly and there was a price. He had to leave, and quickly.
'Just where do you think you're sneaking off to?' Elbereth.
'I'm not sneaking anywhere.'
'Why then are you hiding behind the banister, clad entirely in black, jumping at the slightest sound, and generally giving the appearance of one who is sneaking?'
'I am not sneaking.' He peered over the top of the banister; a familiar pair of grey eyes stared back.
'If that is so, I am very much impressed by your artistic interpretation of one who sneaks.'
'Good, now be gone with you.'
'Tsk-tsk-tsk, that is no way to speak to your brother.'
'Nor is sneaking up on your brother and accusing him of sneaking any way to treat your brother.'
'Maybe your brother was not sneaking, he was in fact innocently following his brother wondering just what in Luthien's name he was up to?'
Elrohir sighed. 'Elladan, I am not sneaking, nor am I up to anything.'
'Mock me more; it's funny.' Elladan scowled, folding his arms across his chest.
'If you must know, I am leaving.'
'Leaving?' Elladan echoed; his arms dropped back to his sides.
'I can't take it anymore, Imladris has changed, everyone is so secretive. Ada has been acting strangely, Glorfindel even stranger, even Erestor has been acting peculiarly -'
'Don't forget Lindir.'
Elrohir sniggered. 'I wish I could.'
Elladan laughed. 'So, where are you going to go to?' The elder asked, not bothering to deter Elrohir, or ask him any more reasons for his departure. Elladan had a pretty good idea already; it was same reason he wasn't the merriest of elves anymore.
'Good question.' Elrohir pondered. He hadn't thought about where to, only where from. Elladan was better at deciding destinations than him, 'Don't suppose you want to leave as well, do you?'
Elladan shrugged lazily. 'Will it involve avenging mothers torture and recklessly murdering orcs?' Elrohir nodded.
'If you want.'
'I'll go get my stuff.' Elladan grinned, and ran back up the stairs. Elrohir watched him until he was out of sight, and then set off to the stables. Elladan's ability to make quick decisions was the stuff of legend. The drawback being he would probably change his mind again when they were lost somewhere between the Misty Mountains and the Carrock; and if he insisted that 'Thranduil's all right as far as obsessive Elvenkings go, he'll let us stay in Mirkwood for a while, eh?' again… Elrohir shuddered. It didn't bear thinking about. Last time they were forced to hand over any shiny objects they owned at the gates, and some random thing kept shooting arrows at them. It was the Kinslaying all over again, on a more exclusive scale.
~
Asfaloth yawned in the face of a most momentous decision. Whether to start with his hay, or to dig around his bed for renegade bits of breakfast. He slurped up a long drink of water, which tasted a little like breakfast and hay mixed up together; the stable elves had already changed his water twice that morning, but he only needed a minute to make an interesting soup out of it again. Once his thirst was quenched, he looked out over his stable door, as is tradition with all of equine-kind, and let much slobbery water and hay soup drip heavily onto the young elf sweeping up outside of his stable. A cry of 'EURGH! Asfaloth!' echoed throughout the stables, and Asfaloth was satisfied that he had made one elf's morning rather uncomfortable and cringe-worthy. He turned around and buried his nose in the straw. Renegade breakfast bits it was.
~
Galion pulled his cloak closer around him, the weather revealing a taste of the winter that rapidly approached them. Fallen leaves crunched underfoot, and were whisked about in the air overhead. Though the cold weather was not the first thing on his mind. It was the task Thranduil had set him that weighed heavily on his thoughts.
He had sworn an oath many years ago that he would do whatever the Elvenking asked of him. But back then, he had not realised that that oath also covered hunting for Thranduil's son in the cold and dark, when he could have been anywhere in the woods. Also chances were if Galion did find Legolas, the lad would put an arrow through him first and ask questions later. Admittedly, he had survived his previous encounters with the prince of Mirkwood, but only just. It was a well-known fact that the King had requested mithril-plated earmuffs for his butler after the 'new advisor' incident.
'Legolas?' Galion called timidly into the shadows, then ducked rapidly. When he realised no arrows had embedded themselves uncomfortably in his person, he gingerly stood back up again, and walked on.
The day was slowly failing, and already Galion could see the faint glow of the lanterns of the Elvenhalls. If he didn't find Thranduil's son soon, he decided, he would make his way back and tell the King the prince was away lighting fires and putting them out again, and generally annoying those of a shorter stature than himself. Galion scowled at the ground, kicking at an unsuspecting leaf as is brushed by. He had never done that when he was three thousand. Well, except for the annoying dwarves bit; that was the whole point of being an elf, and the reason for dwarves existence. But still, elves now were an unruly bunch of demi-pyromaniacs, far more unruly than he ever -
Twang!
Galion dropped to the ground with a cry of 'ARGH!', covering his head with his arms. He lay there for a while, slowly sinking into the mud and silently praying that the other would take pity on him. He heard no one approach him, but that meant little. He would have to see for himself if was Him. He mustered what little courage he had left to look up from the ground: it was as he feared.
'Galion?' Even through mithril earmuffs, the voice definitely belonged to the prince of Mirkwood.
'Don't hurt me!' Galion pleaded, looking back to the ground and staring determinedly at the mud.
'What are you doing out here? Did Ada send you?' Legolas demanded.
'I'lltalk! Don'thurtme!' Galion squeaked.
'Talk then!'
'I'mtalkingI'mtalking!' Galion blurted, then calming himself slightly, 'Lord Thranduil sent me to fetch you! It was his idea!'
'What does he want me for?'
Galion blinked, and risked looking away from the ground. 'He has something he wishes to ask of you.'
'What would that be?' Legolas said sharply. 'And for Luthien's sake, stand up.'
Galion obeyed, although reluctantly. He realised that when he stood up, he would be covered in mud. Well, it beat being dead, he supposed. 'I can't tell you here, Thranduil wants to tell you himself.'
'I see. He want's me to see him now, I take it?' Galion nodded. Legolas, not bothering with the formalities of dismissing the other, trudged down the path, back home.
Galion breathed a sigh of relief, and thanked Elbereth he had survived another encounter. Pulling his cloak back around his shoulders, he trailed across to the tree Legolas had viciously attacked in lieu of him. Inspecting the arrow, he couldn't help but notice the inscription down the side of it. 'Galion'. The butler sighed and pulled the arrow out of the bark. Legolas had had that arrow since he was old enough to aim a bow at Galion's knees; it would be a shame to see it rot on the side of tree after all these years.
~
In a semicircle they sat, the faint splashing of water the only break in their silence, the smell of soap hanging thickly in the air. They had spent many years trying to train horses to obey commands without a bridle or saddle, but to no avail. The power of the elves was not so much they could avoid tack cleaning. One of the elves sighed heavily. One fought to clean the green stain of grass from the edges of one horses bit. One simply stared blankly into the middle-distance. The last searching for a cloth lost for the third time that half-hour. The tap at the door went almost unnoticed in the thick layer of apathy.
'Come in.' The one searching for the misplaced cloth muttered. The door opened a bit, just enough for one to look through without letting too much of the cloying soapy smell cling to their clothes or hair, and also left the other side of the door conveniently shadowy.
'I'll just stand here. Can someone pass me Asfaloth's tack, please?' An apparently male voice called through the door. The stable elves exchanged glances. The one closest to the door shrugged, took Asfaloth's saddle from the rack, and handed it through the gap; the figure on the other side sinking back into the shadows before the elf caught a look at who it was.
'Th-uh, Thank you.' The voice faltered. The stable elves exchanged glances again.
'Your welcome… sir?' The elf said doubtfully. The figure scurried off down the row of stalls.
'Glorfindel's acting strangely lately, isn't he?' The elf cleaning the bit remarked.
'Very strangely. First that box thing, now this. You know, I'm not entirely sure Glorfindel is Glorfindel anymore' The one at the door mumbled, watching the entity disappear into Asfaloth's stable.
'I don't think any Glorfindel's not Glorfindel. Especially not the box one, he knew all about Gondolin.' The one searching for the cloth said thoughtfully, 'I just don't think that Glorfindel was the real Glorfindel.'
The elf by the door shrugged and sat back down again. 'If it wasn't we'll soon find out. Asfaloth doesn't take kindly to intruders.'
There was a faint murmur of agreement, and the bored silence resumed.
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