Disclaimer: To read the usual rabble look the first chapters...
First of all I apologise for the delay, I had planned to post this chapter earlier, but with one thing and another...
Since this one is nearly as long as the previous two together I hope it'll make up for the delay.
University is starting again on monday (yuk), so I won't be able to post more than twice a week, more likely only once. Yes, this are the odds we fight against every day, and loose... (I'm in a very depressed mood today, for my spring break is OVER!!! *whines loudly*)
WHITE WOLF: Thank you *bows reverently* I promise there will be loads of blood and gore further on, I'll bathe them in it ... although maybe I shouldn't mention the word bath with a certain irate ex-ranger striding around *Aragorn glowers*
"Whatcha mean by that, mellon nîn?"
Uhm, well, nothing really. It's just that you have been travelling for days now, and.. *ducks a fiery blow at her head*
DJTCLuva: No, he's not dead... yet *cackles evilly* Since I've just borrowed them for the occasion, I'll have to return them eventually... But nothing in the contract especiefied the circumstances and conditions... mwahahaha
CHEYSULI: Thank you very much for your help with the grammar!!! I appreciate it very much. Sometimes it's just difficult to write something which differs only slightly from how it would be said in the native language, and then you get all mixed up. I really try to do my best. thank you again ;-)
Since English is not my first language I appreciate any kind of advise and corrections :-)
ENJOY, PLZ R&R!!!
Chapter 3: MEMORIES IN BLOOD
Slowly the awareness of his surroundings returned. Although he was fighting hard to remain in the cozy blackness something was determinedly pulling him out of it. White-hot agony swept over him and the first realization sliced through his numbed brain. *Oh no, I'm alive...* Now there was no way back. He was awake. And regretted it whole-heartedly. He felt like being danced on by a hord of Trolls, there was not a fibre in his body which didn't ache. A dull pain throbbed in his skull *How did Gimli get inside my head? And what is he mining in there?* Mentally cursing the second realization dawned on him. He was lying on the ground, his face scraping against the rough surface. Again.
*My face is certainly developing quite an affinity to the ground,* he thought wryly, *that's now the third time today. It's really getting quite annoying. At least I hope there's no permanent damage. It would be quite unfitting, Elf-Lords are supposed to be wise and fair.* 'And you've never been the first, now maybe you're neither' a voice inside his head mocked him.
He groaned and tried to open his eyes. And decided that it had been a stupid idea. A very stupid idea. White light exploded inside his skull, augmenting the pain he felt tenfold, his mind spinning quickly, yellow spots dancing in front of his eyes. Slowly everything calmed down. Still lying on the ground with his eyes closed he noticed the ground beneath him shacking.*An earthquake, here, in Ithilien?* Patiently he waited the tremours to subside, but they didn't. It was not the gound which was shacking, but him. He was trembling. Slowly the fog lifted from his senses. He was damp, his clothes clinging uncomfortably on him. But there was more. It was an akward feeling, very unfamiliar. So far he had felt it only three times in his lifetime, so it took him a little bit to recognize it. He was freezing. The shock of his discovery yanked him completely back to reality. He opened his eyes to slits, and after the throbbing in his head had receded to a bearable level, Legolas started to search his brain for an explanation.
*Why am I here? What happened? Where are the others?*
The last thing he remembered was water. Icy cold water, all around him. And then...a sharp crack...and blackness.
Well, that was maybe the reason why he was wet, but it didn't explain how he had got into the water. Images flashed through his brain. Elves. Crying Elves, fighting, dying. The sounds of metall scraping against metall, sclicing into flesh. Cries of agony.
Legolas whimpered.
His men... His patrol... All dead?
***** Flashback*****
"We should meet them any time, now, hîr nîn.[my lord] What are your plans for the Dwarf this time?"
Legolas shot Lólindir, his brother-in-law, a withering glare. Lólindir simply loved to tease him by my-lording him, fully aware how much Legolas despised to be called that. When he had come to Eryn Feredron for the first time he had even insisted to call Legolas "his majesty", only stopping after Legolas nearly fulfilled his threat to hang him from the highest tree by his pointy ears. Yes, torturing the Elf-Lord was fun.
Wide, innocent, grey eyes met blue ones.
"Pray, friend, what plans are you speaking of?" Legolas wore such a dulcet expression which made Lólindir want to run and hide in the next hole available. He snorted. Whatever Legolas had been scheming was all well with him, he'd simply join the games and enjoy. It would be definitely easy to approach the Dwarf afterwards and plan retaliation in return. Impartiality was his motto. He supported whoever in need..
Legolas chuckled as he watched his friend. By his dreamy expression he could tell that Lólindir was probably scheming pranks on his own. And he would have Gimli's help for sure. *After I've finished with him* Legolas grinned wolfishly. Yes, he had many little surprises in store for Gimli... *And it will be a pleasure to enlist Eldarion. His ingenuity matches even the twins' * His eyes gleamed as he remebered Elladan and Elrohir. It was a pity they wouldn't join the party this time, but maybe it was better this way, at least he could be sure that his colony would still stand after they had left. Besides, if a war on two fronts was a difficult task, he certainly wouldn't stand a chance if the twins and Aragorn ganged up on him as well. And Eldarion's loyalty might be swayed... *It must run in the family Peredhil.* A streak strong enough to run through the generations undiminished until flowing into Aragorn. He had been as much a terror in Imladris as the twins, that for sure. After all, they had been his teachers. And Eldarion... Well, Arwen was as bad as 'Dan and 'Ro, and now the two branches of the house of Peredhil had merged, and some qualities doubled in force....
Legolas smiled fondly thinking of Eldarion. It would be a pleasure to teach him Elvish ways. Legolas had been overjoyed and very honoured when Aragorn had asked him if he would take on Eldarion for a year to teach him all the skills of the wild and ways of fighting which his human mentors lacked. As much as Aragorn wanted, he had a kingdom to rule and could not spare time enough to be an efficient teacher. And since Ithilien was so close, who better than Legolas?
"You'll see, Lólindir, just wait, see... and admire."
Galdor rolled his eyes. Legolas was indeed in a very playful mood, he pitied Aragorn and Gimli. The older Elf reigned his horse and moved closer to the two Elfs. "What are you up to, you two Elflings?" Two fair heads turned towards the elder Elf, looking sheepishly. Galdor had been Legolas' First Guard since his birth, and as Legolas had moved to Ithilien he had followed his charge. Outsiders might take the two for kin for their great resemblances.
Suddenly there was a loud twang and something hissed past Legolas ears.
Lólindir gasped in pain. He looked down at himself, confused that there was an arrow protruding from his chest, wondering at the crimson stain spreading across his tunic. Why did Legolas look so shocked? He could hear Legolas call his name, but it seemed to come from very far away. He watched in slow motion Legolas jump from his horse in order to catch him before he hit the ground *I'm falling? Falling from my horse?*. As Legolas laid him gently to the ground, realization struck him like lightning. He had been hit. They were under attack.
"Looks like I won't join the games anymore, Legolas..."
"Don't say that, mellon nîn, everything will be alright...." Legolas whispered soothingly, concern and fear written all over his face. "You know we can't disappoint Gimli... He'll be very insulted should we choose to leave him be!"
Lólindir chuckled dryly, blood trickling from a corner of his mouth. "Well, you'll have to manage that without me this time, my majesty."
"Don't you dare. If you call me like that again I'll have you dangling by those pointy ears of yours!" Legolas jested, his voice shacking, his grey ears brimming with tears. He knew that the friend he was holding in his hands was on the way to the Halls of Mandos, his heart pierced by an arrow out of nowhere.
"From the highest tree?"
"Aye, from the highest tree."
"That'll be quite a sight, don't you think, my majesty? I will always call you that, you nift, 'cause you're the king of your people, king of their hearts as true as you're my friend and brother... Tell Nilturiel I'm sorry... I love her... We'll meet again in Mandos! And see that it won't be too soon!" Lólindir smiled as his eyes glazed over and his body went limp in Legolas arms.
Legolas stared at his dead friend. He felt completely numb, only dimly aware that the warriors around him had all released a volley of arrows to the direction from which the arrow had come. Legolas closed his friend's eyes, softly releasing him to the ground. Now there was a battle to fight, he would grief later.
"Namaarie, mellon nîn." [Farewell my friend]
A cry pierced the air, chilling the Elves to the bone. The horses whinnied fearfully, shifting nervously, some rearing, nearly throwing off their riders. Dark shapes dropped from the trees, positioning themselves around the mounted Elves.
Legolas had never seen such hideous creatures. They where not so hideous for their outer appearance, but more from the evilness and the cruelty which was radiating from them like waves of heat. They where all black, black armour, black skin. It was not an ordinary blackness, but it rather seemed that all the light and colours were sucked by that intense darkness.
White manes were falling on the creatures' shoulders, but the most terrible thing were their eyes: White, empty eyes, piercing and intense. Legolas shuddered.
The creatures, twenty in all, cried ululatingly, and suddenly hell broke loose. The horses buckled and reared, unseating the warriors and dashing away, completely panick-stricken.
The warriors leapt to their feets graciously, unsheathing their swords and knifes.
"ELBERETH GILTHONIEL!" With that cry Legolas lunged at the foe standing next to him, swinging fiercely at him with his twin knifes. The creature blocked easily and attacked in return. Legolas parried the blow aimed at his head, the force of it making him stumble backwards. He had barely a chance to get over his surprise as the creature attacked again. This time Legolas ducked the swipe, and thrust forward himself, only to find his knife blocked. Immediately he shifted, only narrowingly avoiding the nasty-looking ragged blade. THEY WERE NOT ONLY AS STRONG AS ELVES, BUT AS QUICK AS WELL!
Soon Legolas found himself driven more and more backwards, desperately blocking the many blows and thrusts raining on him. He had not attained any serious injury so far, but his body was covered with small cuts and briuses. He was frantically searching for a breech in his opponent's defense, finding none. Whatever this creature in front of him was, it was definitely a very skilled warrior.
They were in engaged in a deadly sort of dance, ducking and avoiding the blows, encircling each other warily.
As Legolas tripped over a stone he lost his balance and fell hard on the ground. The creature sneered, showing long white fangs, licking his lips with a split tongue, like a snake.
"Weak Elf" it rasped, its voice sounding like dried leaves rattling in the wind. It thrust its blade down, ready to impale Legolas. Reacting instinctively he rolled off, swiping the creature's feet from beneath him. It fell with a grunt. Legolas jumped graciously on his feet, and seizing the opuurtunity, pinned the creature on the ground, driving the blade through its heart.
White eyes stared upon him. The creature snarled... and grinned. It jumped to its feet itself, yanking the knife that had crossed him from side to side from his body, looked at it dismissively... and tossed it away.
Legolas blinked. That... that was impossible. *I've just killed this creature. It has to be dead, not jumping up and grinning at me!* But it simply refused to die, quite on the contrary; with a an evil gnarl it drove its sword towards Legolas chest. Much too stupefied at this highly unusual refusal he reacted too slowly and leapt to the side only at the last moment, avoiding the mortal blow but not escaping the sword slicing through his right side. Blinding agony made him stagger, his other knife falling from his strenghtless hand.
"Retreat! Retreat! They cannot be slain! Make it to the trees! Warn Eryn Feredron!" Galdor yelled. He had just killed his opponent twice, once stabbing him in the back, once slicing its stomach. Both times it had continued fighting as if it had been merely caressed. He had millenia of experience, but he certainly had never seen anything like this. Never!
He could hear the warriors crying, dying. Few were left by now, mostly grieviously wounded. *Where is Legolas?* He searched frantically around him, only to see him stagger a few paces from him, clutching his right side, face contorted in pain. An evil creature leered at him, readying itself for the final blow. Galdor crossed the distance between himself and his charge like he had never moved before, just in time prevent its thrust at Legolas by chopping off the creature's arm which crumbled to dust as it fell on the ground. The creature howled in pain, its eyes darting from his stump to his new aggressor and back. Then it looked merely annoyed.
Eyes widened in horror as both Elves watched the stump slowly regrow into a fully functioning arm. A hoarse laughter left the creature's throat, more like an evil cackle. Leisuredly it retrieved its sword, and bowing mockingly it lunged for Galdor's throat. Galdor parried the blow, but it was driven so viciously that his own blade broke. He stood there, disarmed, defensless.
Legolas bent down and picked his knife up, the pain of the movement sending him nearly into unconsciousness. He had heard Galdor's sword break and terrified by the meaning of the sound he used every ounce of strenghth left to help him to a weapon. "Galdor, the kinfe!" Galdor turned his head at the source of the voice, deftly catching the weapon thrown at him. But it was too late. Sensing the Elf's momentary distraction the creature impaled him with its sword.
Legolas cried in horror and anguish as he saw his friend murdered in front of his eyes. Oblivious of him, the creature started to hack at Galdor's body on the ground, tearing at his face with clawed fingers, chewing it with his fangs.
Legolas turned around horrified, only to feel his blood turn to ice as he surveyed the area. It was a desastrous sight: all over the clearing there laid his warriors, dead or dying, defenseless at the brutal mutilation they were undergoing. The creatures feasted on their deeds, overtly enjoying the destruction of the Elves. From the corner of his eyes he glimpsed two Elves dissapear into the forest. He fervently hoped they would make it. They HAD to make it, somebody had to warn the colony and subsequently Faramir and Aragorn of this new threat.
'Run, you fool, run!' A voice inside his head urged him on. With a last reluctant look over his shoulder he found his feet running into the forest, dragging him deeper into the dense thicket, away from the carnage.
*There's nothing I could've done, nothing!* He kept repeating to himself, trying to calm his conscience. *I'm their leader! I should die with them! Galdor died because he saved me. It's my fault! My fault! Why didn't I sense anything. Why didn't the trees warn us? They were hiding in the trees. In the trees! It is my fault!* Incoherents thoughts raced though his head, both condemning and condoning. The fire on his right side spread all over his body, every breath laboured, threatening to burst his ribcage. *At least three broken ribs, I think, and the lung is punctured. How many more are bruised, I don't know, I certainly feel like all of'em have been ripped off and put together again in the wrong places... No, I've never done things halfway, have I?*
"Follow the fleeing Elves!" a fell voice rasped behind him. His blood pounded so loud in his veins he was hardly able to hear them. But he could feel their malice drawing ever nearer.
***** End of Flashback*****
He had run to the cliffs, and jumped down into the waters. The current had swiped him away from them, from their guttural cries, their hatred-filled snarls. How long he had been in the stream, fighting the current from pushing him under, battling the its icy embrace, receiving blows as he crashed against the rocks he did not know, it could've been minutes or hours. To him it had seemed ages. Before he had given in to unconsciousness he had heard the roar of a waterfall, of tons of water crashing down, he had felt himself falling, and then...
Legolas pulled himself to a kneeling position, feeling lightheaded from his immense bloodloss. How he had survived till now, was a miracle. He was breathing shallowly, emitting a gurgling sound with every breath.
*Lólindir, Galdor, Thaurbal, Culorë, Enedechôr, Alnarion, Saeros, Aegnor, Lissesúl, Ralogas, Bredonan, Foras, Daseth, Nevmacil, Celebril... They're all dead. Dead because of me, my self-confidence. I should have sensed the danger!!!* He moaned, letting out a bitter sob. He should have never been a leader himself, he was only the youngest son of King Thrandúil, a warrior, never meant for a crown. He had failed them all.
What had they been? This creatures all in black, with their white hair and their white, lifeless eyes. Foes unable to be slain... It rang a bell in his head, a memory of long forgotten times. He cursed. He should have been more attentive to his classes instead of devising ways to escape the droning of his teachers. Bored stiff, everything had served as a distraction, from flying butterflies to cirping birds and saucy squirrels... Squirrels! Images flashed through his head.
"Shape-shifters, the Cant-Ulûn, were the most deadly creatures we fought against in the Great War. Capable to turn into nearly everything they desired Sauron employed them mainly as spies and in order to divide the allies by creating distrust among them. They did not only change their shape at will, but posessed the strenght and the quick reflexes of the Elves at well. They were terrible enemies, deadly in battle; most of the losses of our people were caused by them. They could only be slain by being beheaded, nothing else could cause them permanent injury. Their healing abilities surpassed ours, to the extent that they could replace whole parts of the body. However, they had one weakness, by looking into our eyes the were forced to reveal themselves. That and the inability to take on the shape of the Firstborn made us their main target. The poured all their vileness and strenght on destroying us.... Legolas Thranduilion, stop playing with that squirrel! Can't you pay attention just for once! Wait till I tell your father!.."
*Shape-shifters in Ithilien! I've to warn my people... They won't stop till all the Elves of Eryn Lasgalen are destroyed!* He looked around him, trying to find out his current location. From what the trees told him he was a week from Eryn Feredron, but only four days from Minas Ithil, Faramir's city. *I won't make it another day in my condition. But maybe if I get close to the borders of Faramir's realm I'll be found by a border patrol. If Faramir learns of my death he will send troops to Eryn Ferdron for sure! And he will send word to Aragorn, he will also dispatch troops to help us... I've to get close to the border... Aragorn! Gimli! Eldarion! They were on the way! I hope they weren't attacked, too. Sweet Eru!* with these thoughts tormenting him Legolas steeled himself against the onslaught of the agony that held a tight grip on his body as he stood up. Staggering and stumbling he dragged himself onwards, fighting to remain in the realm of consciousness.
"I've to warn my people... They've to know.. Eryn Feredron... My people are in danger... Aragorn, Gimli, Eldarion...They're in danger... I've to get to Faramir... Faramir... Help us..."
**********
A few hours after they had left the terrible site life started to return to the forest. In a way it worsened everything, for as much as everybody greeted the sounds of life, the men started to jump at every shadow, each rustling in the bushes, often firing their arrows at harmless animals going about their business, very startled to find themselves under attack. It was nerv-shattering, and soon all the men were thoroughly exhausted by the emotional stress.
Just before sunset they encountered three Elven horses, one of them Arod, Legolas' mount. The proud and wilfull animal, dubbed the 'little demon' by Gimli, neighed softly and bowed his head guiltily, as if in shame for having deserted his master. He wouldn't come near until Gimli himself led Arod to his own horse and bound the reigns together. The other horses just contented themselves by trotting behind the company, head bowed in grief and in shame.
Aragorn had insisted to ride through the night, intent in reaching the safety of the colony as soon as possible.
Gimli found himself patting Arod absentmindedly as he observed the company. In front of him rode Aragorn with his bundle safely in his arms, face haggard and grey, his shoulders slumped. Lines of exhaustion marred his handsome face, he looked ready to drop fom his horse. His eyes red from the unshed tears sparkled defiantly, he would see his friend and his company safely to Eryn Feredron, come what may.
Next to him rode Eldarion, sitting straight in his saddle, stony-faced if it were not for his eyes. They were burning with hatred, so intense that Gimli feared that the trees might catch fire any minute. But his look was lost, though, focused on far away memories. Gimli sighed *I hope he won't be consumed by his hatred. But how can we help him if the only thing I want to do is to kill those beasts, if it is the last thing I do!*
Recalling it made his insides churn with wrath and his heart bleed, and he lost himself devising numerous ways to revenge his friend, each one more painful than the other.
He was so absorbed with his thoughts that he gave a start as an Elf materialised in front of them as if from the air. His hand went to the hilt of his axe automatically, only stopping as the Elf bowed low and raised his arm to touch his heart and his forehad in the elvish way of greeting.
"King Elessar."
Gimli knew this Elf, it was Neviâth, one of Legolas' captains. A tall, dark-haired elf from Imladris. His usually severe-looking face was complertely blank, there was no visible emotion at all. He looked as aloof and reserved as the tales told about. But Gimli knew better. Having been around Elves for about twenty years now, he knew that the eyes of an elf where the windows to their hearts. If you knew for what to look you could see the soul of an elf mirrored in them, and Gimli could read their emotions like an open book. Still, it never ceased to amaze him how they could appear so serene, composed and reserved, as if there was no human emotion to touch them. Because the Elves were quite the opposite, they felt everything more intensely than any other creature, even joy, bordering to a bittersweet agony. That was the reason why the Elves left Middle Earth, they couldn't bear the changes the humans brought upon it, for better or for worse.
Neviâth's eyes expressed a heart-breaking pain, but nothing else betrayed his feelings.
"Captain." Aragorn greeted in turn, waiting for the Elf to continue.
"Your men passed us a few hours ago, they... They told us about your discovery." He swallowed and stepped closer. "Is this... is this Prince Legolas?"
"Yes."
This single word hung in the air, leaving a sense of heaviness. Gimli could hear soft murmurs and some gasps, indicating that there were several other Elves in the trees. Why they had chosen to remain hidden he ignored.
"I want to see him." Neviâth touched the blanket which covered Legolas' body.
Aragorn held up his hand to stop him. "I don't think it wise. He's not in a condition..." he decided not to finish the sentence as he looked into the Captain's face. At Aragorn's gesture his face had hardened, and a fiery look admonished Aragorn silently not to interfere. Defeated he bowed his head, and nodded.
Neviâth drew the banner and the blanket aside, revealing the bloody pulp that remained of one of the most handsome faces of Middle Earth, for as much as Arwen had been counted the most beautiful of her kin, Legolas had been her male counterpart.
He shrnak back from the sight, stumbling backwards. His Elvish composure failed him, as his face contorted in horror and disbelief.
Leaves rustled, and a loud thud signaled that someone had travelled down the tree with the gravity.
*Now there's the second Elf I see falling from a tree...* Gimli mused.*Must run in the family* Kicking himself mentally for such frivolous thoughts he simply stared at the fallen Elf. This one he knew very well, too, for it was Nilturiel, Legolas elder sister.
Rising unsteadily she approached Aragorn slowly, lifting her hand as to caress the face of her brother, but letting it fall limply to her side.
"Legolas, tithen nîn..." [little one] she whispered barely audibly. Eyes wide in disbelief she simply looked at her brother, and the up towards Aragorn. "What did you do to him?"
Aragorn's blood tirned to ice. The words left a very uncomfortable silence, creating a very palpable tension among the people. He could hear bows being drawn, ready to shoot at the slightest indication of the Princess, but he could do nothing but simply stare at her, shocked.
"Forgive me, Aragorn. Please forgive me!" With that she fell to her kness, burying her face in both her hands, sobs shaking her slender frame.
Neviâth kneeled beside her, uttering soothing words, his arms held tightly around her. After a while the crying stopped, and she rose. Her face was now absolutely blank, her eyes shuttered. If it weren't for the silvery streaks the tears had left on her cheeks, nobody would have known of her grief. She was composed, and her voice serene and cool, now she was Princess Nilturiel from Greenwoog the Great, not Legolas' sister.
"Please tell me what happened, Estel." It was not a request, but a royal command.
Her gaze never wavered from his as Aragorn retold the tale about their discovery, omitting the more gruesome details at first, but then describing everything on her insistence. It was a cruel task, cruel for Aragorn and his men for having to relive that terrible hours, and cruel for the Elves for having to learn about their friends' terrible ordeal.
"We were to late. Maybe, maybe if we hadn't tarried so long in the mornings, if we had sped up our journey..." Aragorns words were silenced by Nilturiel's finger on his lips.
"Shh, Estel, stop it. What is cannot be undone." a sad smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. "I see you still indulge in that famous game of yours, to load yourself with heaps of undeserved guilt. So far I can recall, you were very good at it, nearly as good as Legolas. I'm sorry, mellon nîn, you least of all deserved those cruel words of mine. Can you forgive me?"
"There's nothing to forgive, Nilturiel, your words were spoken in pain."
"Pray, tell me, have you seen Lólindir among the dead?"
"Your husband was there, too? I'm sorry, I didn't recognize him. To be honest, I didn't want to recognize anybody after... We didn't linger there more than absolutely necessary."
If possible, she looked even more defeated. She let her gaze wander among the company, until it fell on Gimli, and the weapons he was craddling against his chest. She approached him slowly, hesitatingly.
Gimli glanced on the ground, fearfurl of her reaction.
"These are Legolas' weapons." It was a statement, not a question. Her voice was cold, stern. Gimli flinched. He knew that not everybody approved of their friendship, and so far both had borne the prejudices gracefully, not giving a damn about it. But now,... *Damn it, I didn't do anything but being his friend! I will not be shamed!* He rose his head until his eyes met hers.
"Aye, they are. It was the only means of indentification." *She's his sister,be polite and kind* He tended the weapons to her. To his surprise she clasped her hands around his.
"Carry them, Elvellon. My brother would be deeply honoured if you were their bearer. Who better than his dearest friends to honour him?"
To say that he was stunned was the understandment of the year. He was petrified. He had expected hard words or a cold nod at the best. Over the years Nilturiel had come to accept the friendship of her little brother with Aragorn, but it had taken all her willpower simply to tolerate the Dwarf. She had always been polite to him, the way she was polite to everybody, even to the servants. But she had never hidden her disapproval. Gimli knew that this had been the source of many quarrels between the siblings. It had not helped at all that Lólindir had befriended the Dwarf as well. Unwilling to be the cause for domestic strife one day Gimli had approached Legolas, offering him to stay out of Eryn Lasgalen, and meet him somewhere else instead. Legolas had been shocked, hurt and then very, very angry. He had threatened to shave his beard if he ever dared to attempt such thing. "If I get as much as a whiff of a suspicion that you might be avoiding me or Eryn Lasgalen I'll ride to Aglarond personally to rid you of that precious beard of yours. Seems to me that you spent all your energy in sprouting that hair on your face that your brain has suffered from severe undernourishment!" Witht that Legolas had stormed past him with a look on his face that made all the servants jump aside as if they had met the Dark Lord himself.
This memory warmed his heart, it had clearly shown him the depth of their friendship. And now Nilturiel acknowledged him, calling him Elvellon, Elf-friend. The world had been turned upside down.
Gimli smiled gratefully, and nodded his thanks. Words couldn't express his gratitude, but words weren't expected. Nilturiel sighed relievedly, and with tears blistening in her eyes she turned away as a soft neighing caught her attention. Tied next to Gimli's mount was Arod, Legolas' horse.
"Arod?" She approached him slowly, gently patting his muzzle. The eyes of the proud and faithful horse were downcast and shameful, his head bowed, neck exposed to punishment indicated his pleading for forgiveness. How long she had been staring at the horse she did not know. "Will you bear me, Arod?" The horse whinied , prodding softly against her chest. "Thank you." Gracefully she jumped on him and reigned him close to Gimli. "Thank you very much."
Gimli was not sure if it had been aimed at him or at the horse. It didn't matter.
With a short nod to Aragorn she spurred him, and soon the company was on the way to Eryn Feredron again.
They rode all the day, resting in the night on the insistence of Princess Nilturiel, for she had noticed the exhaustion of the men. "I won't have them drop from their horses, Estel!" had been her only comment on his and Neviâth's urging to continue. Over the days more border patrols joined them, for they had dispatched runners both to Eryn Ferdron and the others, alerting them of the danger.
After the third day they approached the gates which swung slowly open, allowing them to enter the city.
TBC...
You see this beautiful button down here? It's a nice button. IT'S YOUR FRIEND. It needs your affection. So, please, press the button ;-)
First of all I apologise for the delay, I had planned to post this chapter earlier, but with one thing and another...
Since this one is nearly as long as the previous two together I hope it'll make up for the delay.
University is starting again on monday (yuk), so I won't be able to post more than twice a week, more likely only once. Yes, this are the odds we fight against every day, and loose... (I'm in a very depressed mood today, for my spring break is OVER!!! *whines loudly*)
WHITE WOLF: Thank you *bows reverently* I promise there will be loads of blood and gore further on, I'll bathe them in it ... although maybe I shouldn't mention the word bath with a certain irate ex-ranger striding around *Aragorn glowers*
"Whatcha mean by that, mellon nîn?"
Uhm, well, nothing really. It's just that you have been travelling for days now, and.. *ducks a fiery blow at her head*
DJTCLuva: No, he's not dead... yet *cackles evilly* Since I've just borrowed them for the occasion, I'll have to return them eventually... But nothing in the contract especiefied the circumstances and conditions... mwahahaha
CHEYSULI: Thank you very much for your help with the grammar!!! I appreciate it very much. Sometimes it's just difficult to write something which differs only slightly from how it would be said in the native language, and then you get all mixed up. I really try to do my best. thank you again ;-)
Since English is not my first language I appreciate any kind of advise and corrections :-)
ENJOY, PLZ R&R!!!
Chapter 3: MEMORIES IN BLOOD
Slowly the awareness of his surroundings returned. Although he was fighting hard to remain in the cozy blackness something was determinedly pulling him out of it. White-hot agony swept over him and the first realization sliced through his numbed brain. *Oh no, I'm alive...* Now there was no way back. He was awake. And regretted it whole-heartedly. He felt like being danced on by a hord of Trolls, there was not a fibre in his body which didn't ache. A dull pain throbbed in his skull *How did Gimli get inside my head? And what is he mining in there?* Mentally cursing the second realization dawned on him. He was lying on the ground, his face scraping against the rough surface. Again.
*My face is certainly developing quite an affinity to the ground,* he thought wryly, *that's now the third time today. It's really getting quite annoying. At least I hope there's no permanent damage. It would be quite unfitting, Elf-Lords are supposed to be wise and fair.* 'And you've never been the first, now maybe you're neither' a voice inside his head mocked him.
He groaned and tried to open his eyes. And decided that it had been a stupid idea. A very stupid idea. White light exploded inside his skull, augmenting the pain he felt tenfold, his mind spinning quickly, yellow spots dancing in front of his eyes. Slowly everything calmed down. Still lying on the ground with his eyes closed he noticed the ground beneath him shacking.*An earthquake, here, in Ithilien?* Patiently he waited the tremours to subside, but they didn't. It was not the gound which was shacking, but him. He was trembling. Slowly the fog lifted from his senses. He was damp, his clothes clinging uncomfortably on him. But there was more. It was an akward feeling, very unfamiliar. So far he had felt it only three times in his lifetime, so it took him a little bit to recognize it. He was freezing. The shock of his discovery yanked him completely back to reality. He opened his eyes to slits, and after the throbbing in his head had receded to a bearable level, Legolas started to search his brain for an explanation.
*Why am I here? What happened? Where are the others?*
The last thing he remembered was water. Icy cold water, all around him. And then...a sharp crack...and blackness.
Well, that was maybe the reason why he was wet, but it didn't explain how he had got into the water. Images flashed through his brain. Elves. Crying Elves, fighting, dying. The sounds of metall scraping against metall, sclicing into flesh. Cries of agony.
Legolas whimpered.
His men... His patrol... All dead?
***** Flashback*****
"We should meet them any time, now, hîr nîn.[my lord] What are your plans for the Dwarf this time?"
Legolas shot Lólindir, his brother-in-law, a withering glare. Lólindir simply loved to tease him by my-lording him, fully aware how much Legolas despised to be called that. When he had come to Eryn Feredron for the first time he had even insisted to call Legolas "his majesty", only stopping after Legolas nearly fulfilled his threat to hang him from the highest tree by his pointy ears. Yes, torturing the Elf-Lord was fun.
Wide, innocent, grey eyes met blue ones.
"Pray, friend, what plans are you speaking of?" Legolas wore such a dulcet expression which made Lólindir want to run and hide in the next hole available. He snorted. Whatever Legolas had been scheming was all well with him, he'd simply join the games and enjoy. It would be definitely easy to approach the Dwarf afterwards and plan retaliation in return. Impartiality was his motto. He supported whoever in need..
Legolas chuckled as he watched his friend. By his dreamy expression he could tell that Lólindir was probably scheming pranks on his own. And he would have Gimli's help for sure. *After I've finished with him* Legolas grinned wolfishly. Yes, he had many little surprises in store for Gimli... *And it will be a pleasure to enlist Eldarion. His ingenuity matches even the twins' * His eyes gleamed as he remebered Elladan and Elrohir. It was a pity they wouldn't join the party this time, but maybe it was better this way, at least he could be sure that his colony would still stand after they had left. Besides, if a war on two fronts was a difficult task, he certainly wouldn't stand a chance if the twins and Aragorn ganged up on him as well. And Eldarion's loyalty might be swayed... *It must run in the family Peredhil.* A streak strong enough to run through the generations undiminished until flowing into Aragorn. He had been as much a terror in Imladris as the twins, that for sure. After all, they had been his teachers. And Eldarion... Well, Arwen was as bad as 'Dan and 'Ro, and now the two branches of the house of Peredhil had merged, and some qualities doubled in force....
Legolas smiled fondly thinking of Eldarion. It would be a pleasure to teach him Elvish ways. Legolas had been overjoyed and very honoured when Aragorn had asked him if he would take on Eldarion for a year to teach him all the skills of the wild and ways of fighting which his human mentors lacked. As much as Aragorn wanted, he had a kingdom to rule and could not spare time enough to be an efficient teacher. And since Ithilien was so close, who better than Legolas?
"You'll see, Lólindir, just wait, see... and admire."
Galdor rolled his eyes. Legolas was indeed in a very playful mood, he pitied Aragorn and Gimli. The older Elf reigned his horse and moved closer to the two Elfs. "What are you up to, you two Elflings?" Two fair heads turned towards the elder Elf, looking sheepishly. Galdor had been Legolas' First Guard since his birth, and as Legolas had moved to Ithilien he had followed his charge. Outsiders might take the two for kin for their great resemblances.
Suddenly there was a loud twang and something hissed past Legolas ears.
Lólindir gasped in pain. He looked down at himself, confused that there was an arrow protruding from his chest, wondering at the crimson stain spreading across his tunic. Why did Legolas look so shocked? He could hear Legolas call his name, but it seemed to come from very far away. He watched in slow motion Legolas jump from his horse in order to catch him before he hit the ground *I'm falling? Falling from my horse?*. As Legolas laid him gently to the ground, realization struck him like lightning. He had been hit. They were under attack.
"Looks like I won't join the games anymore, Legolas..."
"Don't say that, mellon nîn, everything will be alright...." Legolas whispered soothingly, concern and fear written all over his face. "You know we can't disappoint Gimli... He'll be very insulted should we choose to leave him be!"
Lólindir chuckled dryly, blood trickling from a corner of his mouth. "Well, you'll have to manage that without me this time, my majesty."
"Don't you dare. If you call me like that again I'll have you dangling by those pointy ears of yours!" Legolas jested, his voice shacking, his grey ears brimming with tears. He knew that the friend he was holding in his hands was on the way to the Halls of Mandos, his heart pierced by an arrow out of nowhere.
"From the highest tree?"
"Aye, from the highest tree."
"That'll be quite a sight, don't you think, my majesty? I will always call you that, you nift, 'cause you're the king of your people, king of their hearts as true as you're my friend and brother... Tell Nilturiel I'm sorry... I love her... We'll meet again in Mandos! And see that it won't be too soon!" Lólindir smiled as his eyes glazed over and his body went limp in Legolas arms.
Legolas stared at his dead friend. He felt completely numb, only dimly aware that the warriors around him had all released a volley of arrows to the direction from which the arrow had come. Legolas closed his friend's eyes, softly releasing him to the ground. Now there was a battle to fight, he would grief later.
"Namaarie, mellon nîn." [Farewell my friend]
A cry pierced the air, chilling the Elves to the bone. The horses whinnied fearfully, shifting nervously, some rearing, nearly throwing off their riders. Dark shapes dropped from the trees, positioning themselves around the mounted Elves.
Legolas had never seen such hideous creatures. They where not so hideous for their outer appearance, but more from the evilness and the cruelty which was radiating from them like waves of heat. They where all black, black armour, black skin. It was not an ordinary blackness, but it rather seemed that all the light and colours were sucked by that intense darkness.
White manes were falling on the creatures' shoulders, but the most terrible thing were their eyes: White, empty eyes, piercing and intense. Legolas shuddered.
The creatures, twenty in all, cried ululatingly, and suddenly hell broke loose. The horses buckled and reared, unseating the warriors and dashing away, completely panick-stricken.
The warriors leapt to their feets graciously, unsheathing their swords and knifes.
"ELBERETH GILTHONIEL!" With that cry Legolas lunged at the foe standing next to him, swinging fiercely at him with his twin knifes. The creature blocked easily and attacked in return. Legolas parried the blow aimed at his head, the force of it making him stumble backwards. He had barely a chance to get over his surprise as the creature attacked again. This time Legolas ducked the swipe, and thrust forward himself, only to find his knife blocked. Immediately he shifted, only narrowingly avoiding the nasty-looking ragged blade. THEY WERE NOT ONLY AS STRONG AS ELVES, BUT AS QUICK AS WELL!
Soon Legolas found himself driven more and more backwards, desperately blocking the many blows and thrusts raining on him. He had not attained any serious injury so far, but his body was covered with small cuts and briuses. He was frantically searching for a breech in his opponent's defense, finding none. Whatever this creature in front of him was, it was definitely a very skilled warrior.
They were in engaged in a deadly sort of dance, ducking and avoiding the blows, encircling each other warily.
As Legolas tripped over a stone he lost his balance and fell hard on the ground. The creature sneered, showing long white fangs, licking his lips with a split tongue, like a snake.
"Weak Elf" it rasped, its voice sounding like dried leaves rattling in the wind. It thrust its blade down, ready to impale Legolas. Reacting instinctively he rolled off, swiping the creature's feet from beneath him. It fell with a grunt. Legolas jumped graciously on his feet, and seizing the opuurtunity, pinned the creature on the ground, driving the blade through its heart.
White eyes stared upon him. The creature snarled... and grinned. It jumped to its feet itself, yanking the knife that had crossed him from side to side from his body, looked at it dismissively... and tossed it away.
Legolas blinked. That... that was impossible. *I've just killed this creature. It has to be dead, not jumping up and grinning at me!* But it simply refused to die, quite on the contrary; with a an evil gnarl it drove its sword towards Legolas chest. Much too stupefied at this highly unusual refusal he reacted too slowly and leapt to the side only at the last moment, avoiding the mortal blow but not escaping the sword slicing through his right side. Blinding agony made him stagger, his other knife falling from his strenghtless hand.
"Retreat! Retreat! They cannot be slain! Make it to the trees! Warn Eryn Feredron!" Galdor yelled. He had just killed his opponent twice, once stabbing him in the back, once slicing its stomach. Both times it had continued fighting as if it had been merely caressed. He had millenia of experience, but he certainly had never seen anything like this. Never!
He could hear the warriors crying, dying. Few were left by now, mostly grieviously wounded. *Where is Legolas?* He searched frantically around him, only to see him stagger a few paces from him, clutching his right side, face contorted in pain. An evil creature leered at him, readying itself for the final blow. Galdor crossed the distance between himself and his charge like he had never moved before, just in time prevent its thrust at Legolas by chopping off the creature's arm which crumbled to dust as it fell on the ground. The creature howled in pain, its eyes darting from his stump to his new aggressor and back. Then it looked merely annoyed.
Eyes widened in horror as both Elves watched the stump slowly regrow into a fully functioning arm. A hoarse laughter left the creature's throat, more like an evil cackle. Leisuredly it retrieved its sword, and bowing mockingly it lunged for Galdor's throat. Galdor parried the blow, but it was driven so viciously that his own blade broke. He stood there, disarmed, defensless.
Legolas bent down and picked his knife up, the pain of the movement sending him nearly into unconsciousness. He had heard Galdor's sword break and terrified by the meaning of the sound he used every ounce of strenghth left to help him to a weapon. "Galdor, the kinfe!" Galdor turned his head at the source of the voice, deftly catching the weapon thrown at him. But it was too late. Sensing the Elf's momentary distraction the creature impaled him with its sword.
Legolas cried in horror and anguish as he saw his friend murdered in front of his eyes. Oblivious of him, the creature started to hack at Galdor's body on the ground, tearing at his face with clawed fingers, chewing it with his fangs.
Legolas turned around horrified, only to feel his blood turn to ice as he surveyed the area. It was a desastrous sight: all over the clearing there laid his warriors, dead or dying, defenseless at the brutal mutilation they were undergoing. The creatures feasted on their deeds, overtly enjoying the destruction of the Elves. From the corner of his eyes he glimpsed two Elves dissapear into the forest. He fervently hoped they would make it. They HAD to make it, somebody had to warn the colony and subsequently Faramir and Aragorn of this new threat.
'Run, you fool, run!' A voice inside his head urged him on. With a last reluctant look over his shoulder he found his feet running into the forest, dragging him deeper into the dense thicket, away from the carnage.
*There's nothing I could've done, nothing!* He kept repeating to himself, trying to calm his conscience. *I'm their leader! I should die with them! Galdor died because he saved me. It's my fault! My fault! Why didn't I sense anything. Why didn't the trees warn us? They were hiding in the trees. In the trees! It is my fault!* Incoherents thoughts raced though his head, both condemning and condoning. The fire on his right side spread all over his body, every breath laboured, threatening to burst his ribcage. *At least three broken ribs, I think, and the lung is punctured. How many more are bruised, I don't know, I certainly feel like all of'em have been ripped off and put together again in the wrong places... No, I've never done things halfway, have I?*
"Follow the fleeing Elves!" a fell voice rasped behind him. His blood pounded so loud in his veins he was hardly able to hear them. But he could feel their malice drawing ever nearer.
***** End of Flashback*****
He had run to the cliffs, and jumped down into the waters. The current had swiped him away from them, from their guttural cries, their hatred-filled snarls. How long he had been in the stream, fighting the current from pushing him under, battling the its icy embrace, receiving blows as he crashed against the rocks he did not know, it could've been minutes or hours. To him it had seemed ages. Before he had given in to unconsciousness he had heard the roar of a waterfall, of tons of water crashing down, he had felt himself falling, and then...
Legolas pulled himself to a kneeling position, feeling lightheaded from his immense bloodloss. How he had survived till now, was a miracle. He was breathing shallowly, emitting a gurgling sound with every breath.
*Lólindir, Galdor, Thaurbal, Culorë, Enedechôr, Alnarion, Saeros, Aegnor, Lissesúl, Ralogas, Bredonan, Foras, Daseth, Nevmacil, Celebril... They're all dead. Dead because of me, my self-confidence. I should have sensed the danger!!!* He moaned, letting out a bitter sob. He should have never been a leader himself, he was only the youngest son of King Thrandúil, a warrior, never meant for a crown. He had failed them all.
What had they been? This creatures all in black, with their white hair and their white, lifeless eyes. Foes unable to be slain... It rang a bell in his head, a memory of long forgotten times. He cursed. He should have been more attentive to his classes instead of devising ways to escape the droning of his teachers. Bored stiff, everything had served as a distraction, from flying butterflies to cirping birds and saucy squirrels... Squirrels! Images flashed through his head.
"Shape-shifters, the Cant-Ulûn, were the most deadly creatures we fought against in the Great War. Capable to turn into nearly everything they desired Sauron employed them mainly as spies and in order to divide the allies by creating distrust among them. They did not only change their shape at will, but posessed the strenght and the quick reflexes of the Elves at well. They were terrible enemies, deadly in battle; most of the losses of our people were caused by them. They could only be slain by being beheaded, nothing else could cause them permanent injury. Their healing abilities surpassed ours, to the extent that they could replace whole parts of the body. However, they had one weakness, by looking into our eyes the were forced to reveal themselves. That and the inability to take on the shape of the Firstborn made us their main target. The poured all their vileness and strenght on destroying us.... Legolas Thranduilion, stop playing with that squirrel! Can't you pay attention just for once! Wait till I tell your father!.."
*Shape-shifters in Ithilien! I've to warn my people... They won't stop till all the Elves of Eryn Lasgalen are destroyed!* He looked around him, trying to find out his current location. From what the trees told him he was a week from Eryn Feredron, but only four days from Minas Ithil, Faramir's city. *I won't make it another day in my condition. But maybe if I get close to the borders of Faramir's realm I'll be found by a border patrol. If Faramir learns of my death he will send troops to Eryn Ferdron for sure! And he will send word to Aragorn, he will also dispatch troops to help us... I've to get close to the border... Aragorn! Gimli! Eldarion! They were on the way! I hope they weren't attacked, too. Sweet Eru!* with these thoughts tormenting him Legolas steeled himself against the onslaught of the agony that held a tight grip on his body as he stood up. Staggering and stumbling he dragged himself onwards, fighting to remain in the realm of consciousness.
"I've to warn my people... They've to know.. Eryn Feredron... My people are in danger... Aragorn, Gimli, Eldarion...They're in danger... I've to get to Faramir... Faramir... Help us..."
**********
A few hours after they had left the terrible site life started to return to the forest. In a way it worsened everything, for as much as everybody greeted the sounds of life, the men started to jump at every shadow, each rustling in the bushes, often firing their arrows at harmless animals going about their business, very startled to find themselves under attack. It was nerv-shattering, and soon all the men were thoroughly exhausted by the emotional stress.
Just before sunset they encountered three Elven horses, one of them Arod, Legolas' mount. The proud and wilfull animal, dubbed the 'little demon' by Gimli, neighed softly and bowed his head guiltily, as if in shame for having deserted his master. He wouldn't come near until Gimli himself led Arod to his own horse and bound the reigns together. The other horses just contented themselves by trotting behind the company, head bowed in grief and in shame.
Aragorn had insisted to ride through the night, intent in reaching the safety of the colony as soon as possible.
Gimli found himself patting Arod absentmindedly as he observed the company. In front of him rode Aragorn with his bundle safely in his arms, face haggard and grey, his shoulders slumped. Lines of exhaustion marred his handsome face, he looked ready to drop fom his horse. His eyes red from the unshed tears sparkled defiantly, he would see his friend and his company safely to Eryn Feredron, come what may.
Next to him rode Eldarion, sitting straight in his saddle, stony-faced if it were not for his eyes. They were burning with hatred, so intense that Gimli feared that the trees might catch fire any minute. But his look was lost, though, focused on far away memories. Gimli sighed *I hope he won't be consumed by his hatred. But how can we help him if the only thing I want to do is to kill those beasts, if it is the last thing I do!*
Recalling it made his insides churn with wrath and his heart bleed, and he lost himself devising numerous ways to revenge his friend, each one more painful than the other.
He was so absorbed with his thoughts that he gave a start as an Elf materialised in front of them as if from the air. His hand went to the hilt of his axe automatically, only stopping as the Elf bowed low and raised his arm to touch his heart and his forehad in the elvish way of greeting.
"King Elessar."
Gimli knew this Elf, it was Neviâth, one of Legolas' captains. A tall, dark-haired elf from Imladris. His usually severe-looking face was complertely blank, there was no visible emotion at all. He looked as aloof and reserved as the tales told about. But Gimli knew better. Having been around Elves for about twenty years now, he knew that the eyes of an elf where the windows to their hearts. If you knew for what to look you could see the soul of an elf mirrored in them, and Gimli could read their emotions like an open book. Still, it never ceased to amaze him how they could appear so serene, composed and reserved, as if there was no human emotion to touch them. Because the Elves were quite the opposite, they felt everything more intensely than any other creature, even joy, bordering to a bittersweet agony. That was the reason why the Elves left Middle Earth, they couldn't bear the changes the humans brought upon it, for better or for worse.
Neviâth's eyes expressed a heart-breaking pain, but nothing else betrayed his feelings.
"Captain." Aragorn greeted in turn, waiting for the Elf to continue.
"Your men passed us a few hours ago, they... They told us about your discovery." He swallowed and stepped closer. "Is this... is this Prince Legolas?"
"Yes."
This single word hung in the air, leaving a sense of heaviness. Gimli could hear soft murmurs and some gasps, indicating that there were several other Elves in the trees. Why they had chosen to remain hidden he ignored.
"I want to see him." Neviâth touched the blanket which covered Legolas' body.
Aragorn held up his hand to stop him. "I don't think it wise. He's not in a condition..." he decided not to finish the sentence as he looked into the Captain's face. At Aragorn's gesture his face had hardened, and a fiery look admonished Aragorn silently not to interfere. Defeated he bowed his head, and nodded.
Neviâth drew the banner and the blanket aside, revealing the bloody pulp that remained of one of the most handsome faces of Middle Earth, for as much as Arwen had been counted the most beautiful of her kin, Legolas had been her male counterpart.
He shrnak back from the sight, stumbling backwards. His Elvish composure failed him, as his face contorted in horror and disbelief.
Leaves rustled, and a loud thud signaled that someone had travelled down the tree with the gravity.
*Now there's the second Elf I see falling from a tree...* Gimli mused.*Must run in the family* Kicking himself mentally for such frivolous thoughts he simply stared at the fallen Elf. This one he knew very well, too, for it was Nilturiel, Legolas elder sister.
Rising unsteadily she approached Aragorn slowly, lifting her hand as to caress the face of her brother, but letting it fall limply to her side.
"Legolas, tithen nîn..." [little one] she whispered barely audibly. Eyes wide in disbelief she simply looked at her brother, and the up towards Aragorn. "What did you do to him?"
Aragorn's blood tirned to ice. The words left a very uncomfortable silence, creating a very palpable tension among the people. He could hear bows being drawn, ready to shoot at the slightest indication of the Princess, but he could do nothing but simply stare at her, shocked.
"Forgive me, Aragorn. Please forgive me!" With that she fell to her kness, burying her face in both her hands, sobs shaking her slender frame.
Neviâth kneeled beside her, uttering soothing words, his arms held tightly around her. After a while the crying stopped, and she rose. Her face was now absolutely blank, her eyes shuttered. If it weren't for the silvery streaks the tears had left on her cheeks, nobody would have known of her grief. She was composed, and her voice serene and cool, now she was Princess Nilturiel from Greenwoog the Great, not Legolas' sister.
"Please tell me what happened, Estel." It was not a request, but a royal command.
Her gaze never wavered from his as Aragorn retold the tale about their discovery, omitting the more gruesome details at first, but then describing everything on her insistence. It was a cruel task, cruel for Aragorn and his men for having to relive that terrible hours, and cruel for the Elves for having to learn about their friends' terrible ordeal.
"We were to late. Maybe, maybe if we hadn't tarried so long in the mornings, if we had sped up our journey..." Aragorns words were silenced by Nilturiel's finger on his lips.
"Shh, Estel, stop it. What is cannot be undone." a sad smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. "I see you still indulge in that famous game of yours, to load yourself with heaps of undeserved guilt. So far I can recall, you were very good at it, nearly as good as Legolas. I'm sorry, mellon nîn, you least of all deserved those cruel words of mine. Can you forgive me?"
"There's nothing to forgive, Nilturiel, your words were spoken in pain."
"Pray, tell me, have you seen Lólindir among the dead?"
"Your husband was there, too? I'm sorry, I didn't recognize him. To be honest, I didn't want to recognize anybody after... We didn't linger there more than absolutely necessary."
If possible, she looked even more defeated. She let her gaze wander among the company, until it fell on Gimli, and the weapons he was craddling against his chest. She approached him slowly, hesitatingly.
Gimli glanced on the ground, fearfurl of her reaction.
"These are Legolas' weapons." It was a statement, not a question. Her voice was cold, stern. Gimli flinched. He knew that not everybody approved of their friendship, and so far both had borne the prejudices gracefully, not giving a damn about it. But now,... *Damn it, I didn't do anything but being his friend! I will not be shamed!* He rose his head until his eyes met hers.
"Aye, they are. It was the only means of indentification." *She's his sister,be polite and kind* He tended the weapons to her. To his surprise she clasped her hands around his.
"Carry them, Elvellon. My brother would be deeply honoured if you were their bearer. Who better than his dearest friends to honour him?"
To say that he was stunned was the understandment of the year. He was petrified. He had expected hard words or a cold nod at the best. Over the years Nilturiel had come to accept the friendship of her little brother with Aragorn, but it had taken all her willpower simply to tolerate the Dwarf. She had always been polite to him, the way she was polite to everybody, even to the servants. But she had never hidden her disapproval. Gimli knew that this had been the source of many quarrels between the siblings. It had not helped at all that Lólindir had befriended the Dwarf as well. Unwilling to be the cause for domestic strife one day Gimli had approached Legolas, offering him to stay out of Eryn Lasgalen, and meet him somewhere else instead. Legolas had been shocked, hurt and then very, very angry. He had threatened to shave his beard if he ever dared to attempt such thing. "If I get as much as a whiff of a suspicion that you might be avoiding me or Eryn Lasgalen I'll ride to Aglarond personally to rid you of that precious beard of yours. Seems to me that you spent all your energy in sprouting that hair on your face that your brain has suffered from severe undernourishment!" Witht that Legolas had stormed past him with a look on his face that made all the servants jump aside as if they had met the Dark Lord himself.
This memory warmed his heart, it had clearly shown him the depth of their friendship. And now Nilturiel acknowledged him, calling him Elvellon, Elf-friend. The world had been turned upside down.
Gimli smiled gratefully, and nodded his thanks. Words couldn't express his gratitude, but words weren't expected. Nilturiel sighed relievedly, and with tears blistening in her eyes she turned away as a soft neighing caught her attention. Tied next to Gimli's mount was Arod, Legolas' horse.
"Arod?" She approached him slowly, gently patting his muzzle. The eyes of the proud and faithful horse were downcast and shameful, his head bowed, neck exposed to punishment indicated his pleading for forgiveness. How long she had been staring at the horse she did not know. "Will you bear me, Arod?" The horse whinied , prodding softly against her chest. "Thank you." Gracefully she jumped on him and reigned him close to Gimli. "Thank you very much."
Gimli was not sure if it had been aimed at him or at the horse. It didn't matter.
With a short nod to Aragorn she spurred him, and soon the company was on the way to Eryn Feredron again.
They rode all the day, resting in the night on the insistence of Princess Nilturiel, for she had noticed the exhaustion of the men. "I won't have them drop from their horses, Estel!" had been her only comment on his and Neviâth's urging to continue. Over the days more border patrols joined them, for they had dispatched runners both to Eryn Ferdron and the others, alerting them of the danger.
After the third day they approached the gates which swung slowly open, allowing them to enter the city.
TBC...
You see this beautiful button down here? It's a nice button. IT'S YOUR FRIEND. It needs your affection. So, please, press the button ;-)