Disclaimer: I own NOTHING of middle-earth. All places and characters are JRR Tolkein's, and New Line Cinema. NO monies are made from this. It is strictly a work of enjoyment.
So Alone (AKA RainyDayz) – thanks so much for the encouragement. This story went from a five chapter to a 3 of ??? It has become an epic. I hope I don't disappoint.
Cestari – Thanks! I'll try and keep this updated more often (this is…if sff.net will let me!)
Tapetum Lucidum – Thank you so much for your comments. No – no Legomance. Not really my thing. I'd be too afraid to try. Well, I might one day, but not with this story. I do love input on what works and what doesn't. And I hope you enjoy the next installment.
All references to The Mellon Chronicles are placed with permission from Cassia – who received my first synopsis. Hmm…I might want to update her, when she gets back.
Chapter Three The Present… Trust and FriendshipNight rode on swift wings, bringing a chilled wind from the Misty Mountains down over the ragged cliff sides to the river Anduin. Spring had not fully gathered her cloak about her and set it instead as a shield to ward off winter's cruel fight to linger upon this part of Middle-Earth.
Like all points in time, some gathered moments are as a nexus, where decisions made or cast aside make the fate of the universe. Sometimes these moments are willed to fate, and destiny plays out her sometimes-wicked hand, ready to achieve her goals in the end, no matter what the means. As it had been for Strider's father had they not journeyed on that particular road, at that particular hour, who is to say his father would not have lived? And if so, would Strider have lived with the Elves? Would he have known Lord Elrond's love? Or the love and protection of twin brothers?
Such thoughts clouded the Ranger's decision making as he watched Elladan move silently and easily towards the gathered Horse Men, who were even now finishing their menstruations for camping the night beside the river. Should he signal to his brother of the Dunlending's danger? Would that action change whatever this meeting might hold? Or would his and Elrohir's hidden position prove better in defense if Granlyn Tovick should make a hostile move?
Fear for Elladan as well as the quake of indecision made Strider shift where he knelt. Elrohir placed a firm hand on his shoulder, and the Elf's gray eyes were wide with caution. "Stay for now and let our positions and being benefit Elladan. If this Dunlending is truly a danger, then let us act upon him with surprise."
Such words were truth, and the younger twin had spoken Strider's heart. Elladan could be in danger, and yet his brother seems so calm. Relaxed. Confident. If only I possessed the sheer tenacity of the Elves, my life might at times go smoother.
With a curt nod the Ranger looked back to the elder Elf's descent and was surprised to find Elladan had vanished. Strider searched the surrounding bush with his gaze and he shifted again.
Elrohir pointed behind the Dunlending to a scrap of brush and the very tree Strider had stood watch in earlier. "I see my brother also senses perhaps treachery for the Rohirrim have seen him, yet the scout is none the wiser."
This was true, as Strider noticed the other Horse Men had put hand to hilts, each of them stopping their toil as one to the other placed hand upon shoulder and nodded to the approaching Elf. Strider saw the Horse Man leader give a curt bow, his hand to his breast.
With a smile, the Ranger listened.
"I give you greetings from the Rohirrim, First Born," said the leader loud and clear.
The Dunlending whirled when he realized he had been approached from behind, his sword drawn, and a knife in his other hand. But Elladan was prepared, his right hand catching the wrist of the sword arm, and easily separating the Wild Man from his knife.
With a howl the Dunlending retreated a few steps and Elladan released him. The scout brandished his sword anew and meant to charge the Elf.
But the Rohan Leader unsheathed his own weapon with flashing speed and with a step forward, easily laid it to the Dunlending's throat, ceasing his intended attack. "Do not raise a hand to the First Born."
The scout snarled and scowled, his sword raised. He did not lower it.
"Sir - lower your blade and abandon your attack or I will slit your throat."
The Dunlending relented and his sword arm came down at a snail's pace, yet Strider could see the malice in Granlyn Tovick's eyes. He leaned to Elrohir. "He is upset because our brother came upon him unawares."
"Pride," Elrohir said and shook his head.
Strider gave his Elven brother a glance, but decided to remain silent. Should you not cast judgment of others over something you yourself possess in scads? But it was an argument for another day, and the Ranger turned his attention back to the ground below.
The conversation became hushed and Strider's mortal ears were locked away from their words. But he kept his attention on Granlyn Tovick, waiting for the man to make another move against Elladan. But to his relief and suspicion, the scout kept his distance.
"They have news for us," Elrohir's stance tensed and he glanced at Strider.
Elladan turned in their direction and signaled the all clear. The mingling of relief and fear spurred Strider on behind his brother, and he kept still his Elven short-knife in his hand and at the ready.
It did not take the two of them the smallest of time to join their brother. Strider watched the scout back away, again his countenance stern and his expression poisoned. He had not known of their presence as well, and his pride was again wounded.
And wounded animals were not to be trusted.
"I present my brother, Elrohir of the House of Elrond, and the Dunédan Strider, also my brother and of the Last Homely House." Elladan's introduction was eloquent and yet vague with Strider's identity, which the Ranger liked.
The Horse Leader narrowed his eyes at Strider. "You are a man among Elves." It was not a question, but a summing up of opinion changed and rethought. "I am surprised to see Man and Elf travel in company."
Strider nodded, but kept his gaze fixed on the scout. "And I am amazed to see the Rohirrim keeping company with a sworn enemy."
He did not miss Elladan's surprised expression, nor did he miss the unspoken explanation given by Elrohir, for in its telling, the Elder Twin looked upon the scout with renewed suspicion.
But nothing could have prepared him for the Horse Leader's answer. "I know well the history and questionable reputation of Granlyn Tovick, but were it not for him, I would not have such distressing news of a missing Elf," he looked to each of them. "Come and sup with me by the fire and I will tell you all."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Night crept on as was its want as the Elves and Men sat around the fire. Mead and wine were served, though the attention and talk was not of a merry making. More introductions were given, and the Rohirrim Leader gave his history as a credential for his sincerity.
His name was Rodérin, son of Bodén of the King's guard. His mother had once known one of the High Born, her very life saved by his clever skills with sword and dagger. Rodérin's childhood had often revolved around stories of the First Born, of Ilúvatar, and of Men the ones that came after in the third song. Rodérin shared his mother's love of the Elven race, and had always wanted to meet Lord Elrond himself, eager to speak with such a learned scholar and healer.
But his duties as a guard's son had always intervened, and now he bore three children himself, all of which would know the old lore, and respect the Elven people.
Such words both overjoyed and frightened Strider. Much of the world that was not Elvish, especially those small pockets of the scattered race of Man, distrusted the Elves. Most blamed them for their own hardships. Strider could not tell if this man were friend or foe, yet his sincerity seemed real. Och if only for Legolas' keen senses in such matters. He would know if this man were false or true.
Yet Elladan and Elrohir, if they sensed anything false or ill placed, remained quiet and stoic as Rodérin revealed the tale.
The fire cast a flickering light upon Rodérin's face, and the man appeared both old and young. He smoked a pipe, tasting the weed Strider carried, finding it relaxing. Most of the small party was in attendance, with a small division on guard. All listened with respect and awe to their commander.
"Had to have been a fortnight ago that the horse came to us. We were several leagues from Rohan, out because of the odd attacks here and there of Orcs that had wondered into the Gap - a place rarely traveled by such creatures." Rodérin took a small toke of pipe and blew it quickly as he looked from Elladan to Elrohir. "It was a beauty, like nothing I had ever lain my eyes upon, and it was no stock of our people, for it held an intelligence in its eyes I'll not soon forget."
Strider suspected he knew the horse before any word was spoken. Asforloth. The horse of Glorfindel.
Rodérin continued. "It came to us, tracked by this man," he pointed to Granlyn Tovick, who sat a few paces away, sharpening his blade on a stone. "We knew what he was, a Wild Man of Dunland, and he was quick to give us his name. He also knew the horse was Elven, and the rider had been taken. He bargained this information for possession of the horse." The leader glanced again at the Scout. "I have not yet made my decision."
"You said the rider had been taken?" Elrohir ventured. His gray eyes were wide and his brother laid a hand upon his shoulder. "By whom?"
"Orcs," Granlyn said, his voice a mere grating of steel on stone. "Or something like them. And a group of men whose dress and garb I had never laid eyes on before in my time."
"And you trust him? A Dunlending?" Strider bit his tongue, admonishing himself for speaking his thoughts aloud.
Rodérin opened his mouth to speak, but Granlyn interrupted. "What I am had little to do with what I saw, Strider of the Dunédan," he spoke the title as if it were a word that tasted foul upon his tongue. "I know the abilities of the pointy-ears. And I saw four of these creatures in the company of orcs take him down. I watched as the horse fled and I chose to pursue the steed."
"What did the Elf look like?" Strider began packing his own pipe, still keeping his gaze upon the Dunlending. "Could you see his appearance?"
Granlyn shrugged. "An Elf. Blond hair that burned nearly white in the sunlight. He wore simple clothing of green and gold - but of his face, I gathered nothing. I could only assume he was as fair as the rest of the race."
Strider gave a long sigh. It was a description that would describe over half of the Elven races of Mirkwood and Lothlorien. But the only Elf the Ranger had known that could ride Asforloth, other than the twins or Legolas, was Glorfindel. And Elrond had sent the Elf Lord most recently into the Gap.
"And what of our brother?" Elladan rose, his hands clenched into fists. None of the Rohirrim moved against him, and Strider believed the Riders would have welcomed some entertaining sport at the expense of the scout's life. "What became of him?"
"He was taken," Granlyn stood and held his ground, though he was mightily dwarfed by the tall Elf. "I am not foolish to pursue such a group that could overpower a First Born."
"So instead you conspired with your cowardice to steel his horse," Elladan said.
Strider stood as Rodérin did. The Ranger put a hand on Elladan's shoulder. In the gray tongue he spoke. "Sit, he is not worth the anger. He speaks as if Glorfindel still lived. Hear out Rodérin."
With a glance at Strider, the tall Elf returned to his seat, though he kept his gaze locked upon the scout. Strider found delight in the Dunlending's discomfort.
"It is true, we in truth caught Granlyn in the middle of attempting to catch such a fine beast. He told us this story, and since I knew the work of Elven hands upon the bow and quiver the man had in his possession, I knew there was truth somewhere in his speaking. I could not believe such a disreputable man would possess such fine quality unless he had absconded with it. So I called upon my most trusted men and made a deal with this man, to lead me where he saw the Elf taken and track their progress. It seems they headed in this direction."
Strider looked at his brothers as they cast their glances upon him. "Dol Guldur."
"Nay," Rodérin said. "They couldn't possibly be headed for that abandoned place."
"The Northern Rangers," Strider glanced at the scout. "Have heard rumors of Easterlings seen at Dol Guldur and there have been tales of the Nazgûl there as well."
"Ring Wraiths?" Rodérin appeared visibly shaken. He tapped the bowl of his pipe out on the rock where he sat. "This is indeed grave news. You think these men Granlyn saw were Easterlings?"
"Aye," Strider nodded.
"Then they traveled in the company of Orcs."
"Which have descended from Gundabad into the Misty Mountains," Elrohir finished. "There is something foul indeed at work here. But if Glorfindel yet lives we should make haste to aid him."
Elladan nodded and Strider gave his own approval. They were set for the tower at their outset and now their journey had taken on new purpose.
"It was with this news of the Orcs that our father sent Glorfindel," Elrohir said to Rodérin. "Elrond wanted you warned, as your land rests below the Mountain's end."
"Then if these intruders, these Easterlings," Rodérin nodded slowly as he spoke, "If they knew what your friend had in mind then it is by all belief that they stopped him."
"Mayhaps," Strider said. It sounded all so simple, and yet he could not dissuade the warnings of his mind that sometimes the smallest, simplest of plans were set to weave spells of deceit upon the intended. I cannot help but wonder if our going to Dol Guldur is not a trap in some way? As if we are being led there.
Rodérin glared at Strider. "I feel uncomfortable in this, yet I cannot in clear conscious allow one of the First Born to suffer. My Mother would never forgive me. I will ask my men if they wish to accompany myself with you into the outskirts of Mirkwood Forest. I wish no harm to come to the Elf who would have been our patron and if there is a threat of such a trio of forces, then I must see it, and report back all to my King."
Elladan looked to Strider. The Ranger glanced at Elrohir who nodded, his expression unreadable. "We will accept your help, however it is given."
"But I must make one concession." Strider spoke and his voice was unmasked.
Rodérin nodded. "I feel I know where you stand on this, and I must tell you we will need a scout."
"I am trained in such a way, as are my Elven brothers," Strider nodded to each of them. "You would question the ability of two Elves and their senses, and a tested Dunédan against a murderous Dunlending?"
"I am no murderer!" Granlyn Tovick took a single step forward to Strider. "I know who you are. I recognize you. You are Telcontar, the Ranger of many names."
"And I have seen many things and experienced three times as much," Strider turned and faced the weaseling man. Several Riders moved slowly and began surrounding the scout from behind, their distaste of him obvious in their expressions. "I was there when you struck down your leader. I was there when you cursed the name of Rohirrim. I was there when your identity was revealed. I do not trust you, Wild Man. And I cannot banish the suspicion in my mind that you played some small part in our brother's capture."
As if spurred by Strider's words, or perhaps fear, the Dunlending let out a cry and spun, bringing his sword around. Two of the Riders were taken by surprise, their swords at their sides as the scout's blade sliced neatly into their chests, mortally wounding them both. As they fell back, Granlyn brought his sword around with the intent of removing Strider's head, but the Ranger was ready, his sword drawn, and he easily blocked the attack, then parried, spun and brought the sword low to hack at the man's left shin.
Granlyn howled and dropped his sword. He was immediately taken by three more of Rodérin's men and dragged away. Elladan and Elrohir had immediately knelt beside the two fallen Riders. Their faces clouded and Strider recognized that expression. It was the same one the Prince of Mirkwood wore at times, when those they had met along their travels had died.
It was the shield they wielded to protect their hearts from ache and grief, for only grief and the mortal wound of a weapon could end the life of a First Born. Never allow yourself to love them, Elrond had told his sons, and Strider had heard him. For their lives are brief, their fires burn fast and bright, and when they pass from this world, they are gone to us forever. Don't be taken down into that darkness, for it will consume your light as well.
"I am sorry," Elladan said. He stood in unison with his brother, one mirroring the other.
Rodérin's own expression was grim and Strider saw the leader's eyes glisten with unshed tears. "One was my brother-in-law, who followed me here, eager to see the Elves." He looked at Elladan. "I am happy yours was the last face he saw."
Strider closed his eyes and offered a small prayer in Elvish.
Three of Rodérin's men came to his side for orders. Their leader's gaze never left his kin. "Bind him. He comes with us, as prisoner and perhaps trade to the Easterlings."
Strider started to protest the Wild Man's including, on his tongue the truth that the Easterlings were not known to exchange prisoners, until he saw the expression of fear on Granlyn's face. Then he realized with a smile that Rodérin believed as he did, that somehow the scout shared responsibility for Glorifindel's capture. Baiting him as such might prove in the end, the Dunlending's undoing, and reveal more to the tale as they neared Dol Guldur.
The Rider moved away to carry out his leader's orders. Strider rubbed his forehead, wanting nothing more than to banish his thoughts. I should have destroyed him when I saw him. I should have cut him down. If I had been stronger, faster, Rodérin's men would still live.
A hand, full of warmth touched his shoulder and he looked into a pair of bright, gray eyes. "Estel, do not cast blame. You did what you could. Instead give your thoughts to the Valar to protect our Elven brother. Think of Glorfindel and know that his torture in the hands of Orcs can be nothing short of agony. For the beasts of darkness do not care much for Elves."
Strider nodded and clasped his hand on Elrohir's shoulder. "Aye and we will find him." Yes we will find him. I wish you were here, Legolas. Sometimes it is your unquenchable stability that I miss. I truly wish I had your strength to lean against on this journey.
Six Months earlier...
I am torn apart inside. Sundered by a grief I believed long buried.
The night had passed with a fluidity and speed unusual within the deep forests of Mirkwood. Now dawn rose with her brilliant salutation for the day - a new beginning brimming with possibilities. Or at least, that is how the Prince had once thought of mornings, a time of peace and joy, of reflection and meditation upon the day.
I cannot look upon the morning - I cannot look upon his face again. Too close is his grief at his friend's passing, that I see my own grief for my Mother. Legolas sat with his head in his hands, his unbraided flaxen hair spilling over his fingers, cloaking his shoulders. He had not eaten since his awakening from the tainted Orc's blood - and he could not eat now. Or drink. Grief worked its way into his thoughts, buried her vile and saddening fingers into his heart, and whispered to his soul. I had believed my Father incapable of such love and devotion. I had forgotten his despair at my Mother's passing. Even now those memories clamor for my attention, demand they be given penitence for my forceful burial of their pain.
He sat in the great hall at the farthest end of a long table. To his right was his Father's throne, empty now as it had been since evening began. Sunlight twinkled from the great windows set in colored glass, and cast rainbows of brilliance upon the floor and the table. He sensed Iswilen nearby. She had come to him several times, offering him a cup of water or a flask of wine. He refused both as his stomach twisted and fought with him.
From the shadows to the left of the throne, he heard Thranduil again demand to know the story. The telling had gone on all night - over and over again. It was as if the King somehow believed that in the retelling of it, the ending would somehow differ than before.
Fingolfin's usual calming voice was showing signs of weariness and frustration. "...perhaps a league from the river - I was with a hunting party nearer perhaps to Aman Sûl. We were attacked by men, they believed we bore great treasures."
"But what treasures would drive men to kill Elves?"
"Sire, I do not know. And in the end, I do not think my Father knew for what spoils he died. He has been gone less than a decade and I have struggled to put many of those memories behind me."
Legolas listened for his father again - but the King must have only nodded for Fingolfin continued.
"I do not believe they would have killed us, if there had not been an odd desperation in their eyes. They were driven by something - something they sought and somehow believed we possessed. My Father argued with them, and when they killed several of our people..."
At every retelling Fingolfin had paused at this same passage. Legolas squeezed his eyes shut as he sensed his own friend's grief and sadness.
"I do not like my brother defending them," Iswilen said, her voice so near beside Legolas that the Prince was startled into sitting up, and as he did, the wound in his calf throbbed. Slowly it was healing, as if the tainted blood refused to release its hold on life.
She stood to his right, though her face and gaze were focused on the shadowy alcove. He waited for the throbbing of his calf to subside to a dull ache before speaking. "You have not spoken of your discomfort before."
The twin turned an icy gaze to the Prince. "I have never been asked. As soon as I spoke the truth of his friend's passing, your father sent straight away for Fingolfin, as if my words could bear no more truth than a Wraith's."
He frowned at the venom so poisonous in her tone. His own sorrow stayed its hand as he took an interest in her anew. "I do not believe my Father passed by your appraisals or capabilities in the retelling of the tale simply because he does not trust you."
"Nay dear Prince." She raised her right eyebrow into a perfect arch. "As long as I tend to the infirmed, and you are healed, my place is respected. But now my duty is finished." Her eyes narrowed. "I too was there. It was not desperation that pushed them on Legolas; it was greed. They looked upon our horse's bridles, the fabrics of our clothing, the silver and gold adorning our heads and arms, and they coveted them."
Such harshness had never been held in Legolas' memories of his childhood friend. She had been a bright soul - full of song and love of life. He had not seen it in the forest before, but here in the quietness of the hall he sensed a darkness, a shadow that covered her as a shroud. "You say they killed your people to steal your possessions."
"They tried," she stood taller, but still looked down her nose at him. "My brother and I fought them. We slew many of them as they slew us. The fiend that killed my father stabbed him in the back - a coward's device. His spirit fled to Mandos before his body hit the ground."
Legolas pulled his gaze away from Iswilen's - his thoughts sorting what Fingolfin had repeated. Fingol's people had journeyed for many years from Mirkwood, not bothered with time or urgency to reach the Grey Havens. Fingol's intent was on delivering his people away from men, and as long as they achieved just such a state, he seemed happy. Years they rested in the Woodland realms in the Ettenmoors. A thousand years or so passed, until his people were eager to move on again.
Fingol led them on west where they entered the Hills of Evendim, known to the Elves as Emyn Uial. There his people settled again, intent on exploring the great deserted city of Annúminas, once the City of the Kings of Arnor. Another two hundred years or so passed in peace.
Then the men came. They attacked in the early morning, when most of the young archers were out hunting. Fingolfin had said their intrusion had been swift and unexpected. Many of their people were killed within the first few seconds of the attack. He and his sister had fought - though Fingolfin had been knocked senseless and believed dead, Iswilen had been taken with their father to be interrogated.
Fingolfin had awoken to a great wailing, a lamenting keen that hurt his soul. He had eased away from those men that patrolled the dead. Swiftly he stole bow and sword and found where his sister and father were. Terrible was the sight he beheld in what had once been his people's gathering hall, though he would not speak of what it was he beheld. His father and those that still held defiance in them gave out a great call and a rebellion ensued.
Fingolfin joined in, felling many men before he got to his sister. Yet before he could save his father, the men's leader did as Iswilen said - sliced through Fingol's heart with a long sword of Elven make - his father's own work.
Legolas swallowed the bile that threatened to rise again in his throat. Such atrocities. And yet I am surprised? I who have experienced the cruelty of men? I once despised them as Iswilen does. I refuted them, thought only of their eventual destruction and erasure from Middle-Earth.
And then...
A chance meeting had changed everything. A wounded Ranger lost on the edges of Mirkwood - a man with a great legacy. A man who had been raised by Elves. The two had become dear and inseparable friends - and everything had changed. If it had not been for Estel, Legolas might still hold such vehemence for the race of men in his heart.
His father's voice rose again above Fingolfin's and Legolas opened his eyes. Iswilen had moved to the chair opposite him. She sat with her right side facing him, and he reached out to touch her shoulder.
Her abrupt withdrawal - nay, her spurned retreat - executed with such speed and vigor, seemed almost familiar to the Prince. He narrowed his eyes as she held him in her own untrusting gaze. "You're trembling."
She looked away from him, her face flushed crimson. Iswilen wrapped her arms about her shoulder and looked away.
Just as I once looked away from Estel when he chanced to touch me...and could not stop the shaking of memories long entrenched in my body.
Realization dawned harsh and ugly on Legolas as he looked upon the twin with renewed anger and understanding. His already bruised heart, suffering from wounds reopened - unshielded now from the grief relived of his mother's death, opened up to his old friend. Of this we share the same. I am a kindred soul and I could help her.
Will she hear me?
"Iswilen," he said softly and stood slowly, if not shakily. She did not look at him. "I know what it is now that Fingolfin saw. He raped you, did he not? The Man? Before your people? Your father?"
Her silence was answer enough. She did not cry - not a tear fell, and Legolas believed in her long anguished life since that day, she had cried enough. Instead her back grew straighter and she lowered her arms as she looked at him. "I do not need your pity."
Legolas put his right hand to his breast; only now aware he wore little more than a light shift and leggings. "I have none. I can only give you my understanding."
She shook her head. "You know nothing of what I..."
"Yes," he said simply, his soft voice enough to silence her angered words. "I do." He licked his lips, amazed at their cracked feel. He needed water. He had become dehydrated. "You remember me, the shivering wreck brought back to my father by Lord Elrond." He lowered his gaze, not wanting to go forward, but knowing he had too, if only to ease her anger. "Many things were done to me...some I have been able to work through, with solitude and the whisper of my wood. But there are some things so terrible - nightmares that rip away your very self that you fear you will never get it back. And that any touch - any - will finish what was started in that instant of violation. And from that pain, that wound, festers the repulsion of touch, closeness, companionship."
As he spoke her eyes widened and the harsh lines of her anger faded. She put a hand to her lips. "Legolas...I did not realize - I did not guess they had done such things to you."
"I do not speak of them, and with Elrond's help, and that of a close friend, I have overcome much of my anger. The wound is still there, and it slowly heals."
"Lord Elrond's kindness is testimony enough to his vast knowledge of sickness, though of the mind I cannot fathom his wisdom. But to have a friend to help you through such a thing - to share such an intimate violation with someone," she shook her head. "Who is this hero that has been such a friend to you through these centuries since your wounding?"
Centuries. Legolas blanched inwardly. She believed his friend was Elven, and rightly for her to do so. He thought in that instant that perhaps it would be best not to divulge Estel's identity and race just yet, since she might not understand such a friendship in her state. "He is not here in Mirkwood," Legolas swallowed and cleared his throat. "He is in...Rivendell."
Iswilen smiled. It was nice to see it. "Then perhaps I will meet him one day, for my journey's end is Imladris. By what name should I ask of him? For I wish to lay blessing upon the one that brought our Prince from the brink of a grief filled end."
Again the Prince cleared his throat, and before he could stop himself, he heard his own voice answer, "Estel."
"Hope - what a fitting name."
The Hall's Great doors opened wide then, their banging holding everyone's attention hostage. Legolas gave an audible sigh, relieved to have the twin's attention diverted elsewhere. One of the King's aids ran on nimble feet down the long hall, past the table. He gave a small bow to Legolas as he approached the throne.
King Thranduil moved out of the shadow with Fingolfin behind him. Legolas forced himself to look at his father's face, to confront the anguish reflected in that stern, ever-young countenance. It seemed though as if that expression had aged, for dark circles hung beneath his eyes like dark moons, and his own flaxen hair was limp upon his shoulders.
"My liege," the aid stopped and gave a bow.
"Speak," Thranduil said, and the Prince noted the anger and irritation in his father's voice.
"There have been two more attacks, Sire" The aid stood up straight and faced the King. "This one was in the southern region, near the foot of the mountains. A small hunting party, hoping to avoid the Spiders and hunt for game and a patrol in the southwest border."
"Survivors?"
The aid shook his head slowly. "None. In both instances, our scouts found Orcs as well."
Thranduil's face grew livid and he cast a glance at each of those in the room. He turned, his gaze sliding over Legolas and Iswilen, and looked behind him to Fingolfin. "Gather some men. I want those areas scavenged. I want to know why these Spiders are attacking unprovoked. I want these ill-tainted Orcs found. And then I want them both exterminated."
"Father?" Legolas started forward, only to have his wounded leg give way. He nearly fell against the table but Iswilen caught his arm. She was discrete in her aid and did not linger nearby. "I can go with Fingolfin."
"You?" he looked his son up and down once. "You are in no shape to ride, much less fight if need be. And I might suggest you practice more on your aim with knives before you engage in any combat, hence you wound yourself again."
The King nodded to Iswilen, more out of courtesy than respect, then strode from the room, his robes billowing out behind him.
Even as the door slammed in the great hall, Legolas' body trembled. His father's words stung and continued to wrestle with his pride. A realization about his injury came to him, one he'd not thought of before. King Thranduil was embarrassed. His son had wounded himself.
Thranduil's pride was bruised. His son was clumsy, unskilled, and invalid.
"Legolas," Fingolfin was beside him. The use of his Elven name brought his attention to the twin. "I am sorry for what he said. Come...let's get your leg looked at one final time, and perhaps my sister can help in setting it where it does not pain you."
The Prince started to protest, but the twin put up his hand. "Greenleaf - turn that anger to a better use. To the Spiders and the orcs, but not your Father. He is grieving inside - and with that grief comes thoughtless words. He does not wish you to go into danger because he feels he has lost too much."
"Nay," Legolas reached out to the table, his legs shaky. "He is right. I would be no good to you. I can barely stand." Though the pain in his leg was not as in evidence as before, his grief remained, an insistent nagging upon his conscious. If I go with them, perhaps I can avoid the facing of such pain – but in the end, such a state will overtake me, and I fear for that moment.
"You are wrong," Fingolfin winked and his gray eyes twinkled like starlight. "In your thinking." He tapped a long, slender finger to his temple. "When the grief comes, I will be there. I vow to keep you on your feet. But for now, I prefer horses to walking. Perhaps seated you could be much help. I might can hear your thoughts - but you speak to the trees as I cannot." He turned to his sister. "You will help us?"
"I will accompany you?"
"Can I really stop you?"
She smiled and Fingolfin laughed. He looked to Legolas but gestured with a nod to his twin. "Be glad you do not have one of these." He nodded to his sister. "They get you into all sorts of mischief."
Legolas thought of Estel then; closest he had to a sibling and he gave a small laugh as he thought of all the close-calls he and the Ranger had been in during their friendship. "Yes..." he said as Fingolfin gave him an arm to lean on. "They do, don't they?"
Aragorn, I wish you were with me, for it is within the strength of our friendship that I will find the power to evade this greiving I have put aside for too long. For if I cannot build that strength into a shield, I fear it will devour me.
TBC
