Chapter 4 - The Gift
As dusk fell, Legolas made his way to his chamber, saying, "I would be alone for a time, Estel." Though the memory had been purged, still it cut deep and Legolas had been filled with a weary sadness. Aragorn quietly left him.
The deep, rich gold of sunset flooded the corridor, spilling through the open door to Legolas's room.
Another glint, brighter than the sunset and mixed with silver, caught the light. His knife lay on the table next to his bed untouched since it had been placed there while he lay close to death. He reached out, hesitating.
The beautiful weapon had been a gift from his parents but now, it was mute testament to all that had been lost. He stared at it, watching as the glory of the setting sun danced along the blade's shining length, as it had on the evening it had been gifted to him.
He had excelled in all the tests. His training as a warrior was complete. "We are proud of you, ion nín," his father had said, and Legolas saw it in his parents' eyes and smiles. Standing in their chambers, Legolas caught his breath as Thranduil placed the gift traditionally given by the new warrior's parents into his hands.
He drew it from its sheath, dazzled by the pure silver-gold light reflected by the long, slender blade. "It is beautiful," he murmured. Strange; he had never seen this knife before. He thought he had seen all the various weapons his father owned.
He looked up, about to ask where it had come from, but the light in Thranduil's eyes had dimmed, as though a shadow had passed over the King's face; his mother looked troubled. Legolas bit back the question, returning his attention to the knife he held, running wondering fingers over it.
Looking up, he bowed to his parents, the knife held in both hands raised before him. As Prince to King, he said, "In your service, hir nín."
Thranduil nodded gravely. Then he grinned, pulling Legolas into a tight hug. Legolas laid his head on his father's shoulder, feeling his mother's arms enclose him also, smelling her familiar, sweet scent. Wrapped in his parents' embrace, Legolas closed his eyes. His father murmured, "You deserve a weapon to match your skill, ion nín."
His skill. Legolas's mouth twisted, but he pushed the feeling back. Irritated with his hesitation, he picked the knife up. It glowed in the fading light, its keen edge seeming to part the very air. Or Orc flesh. In memory, Legolas saw again the blood, black and viscous, clinging to the blade.
Four weeks out of Mirkwood, in a pass of the Misty Mountains, he had caught up with the last of them. This hollow in the shoulder of the mountain was enclosed on three sides by steep cliffs, rising sheer and jagged from the stony ground, disappearing into the gloom. The only access was a narrow opening in the cliff walls, which the Orcs guarded carefully.
From his concealment on a narrow ledge high on one of the cliff walls, Legolas looked down and smiled mirthlessly. The only access that was, except for a steep jagged ridge which few but an Elf could traverse.
He watched the evil creatures move about their camp. In the gathering dusk, their harsh voices echoed and re-echoed in the Elf's head, bouncing off the cliff walls. Despite his hatred of them, he was calm, focused. They would die, as the rest had died. Then his vow would be fulfilled.
There was a good chance that he would not survive this encounter yet he felt little regret.
For now though he needed to plan his attack They were wary, this last group. Oh yes, they were wary. As they had travelled , the Orcs had become aware that something was wrong. At first, only a few were disappearing. Their captain thought that the disloyal creatures had deserted the group in favour of some evil mischief of their own, but their numbers had kept dwindling. One night, as yet another patrol was late, the captain led a group into the trees.
In a small clearing, they came across the five Orcs of the patrol. They were dead. The captain, a veteran of many encounters, ran an experienced eye over the bodies. Whatever had killed them knew what it was doing; the Orcs were well armed and experienced, yet it was clear they had died without any of them having the time to draw a weapon.
Then the eyes of the captain narrowed . In the dark under the trees, the slender shafts protruding from the bodies were almost invisible, but the fading light did not hamper Orcs. The captain walked over to one of the bodies, pulling the arrow roughly from the dead creature. It snapped, leaving the tip behind, but the captain did not need to see the tip; it was clear from the skill with which the shaft had been crafted and from the fletchings what creature had killed these Orcs.
The black-skinned face lifted, flattened nose scenting the air. It smelt nothing. Their enemy was too clever for that and had either gone, to strike another day, or….Cursing its own stupidity, the captain motioned for the group to fall back. But it was too late.
The captain had not returned to give warning, nor had any of the others. From that night on, the Orcs realised they were being hunted by some unseen foe. It picked off stragglers; it ambushed them as they went for water; it harassed and pursued them relentlessly. And their numbers dwindled.
Now, the last of them huddled by the fire in the crude, hastily erected camp. They shifted constantly, black eyes scanning the entrance to the hollow and the cliff walls. Legolas laughed silently.
He thought of Aragorn. This pass of the Misty Mountains was but half a day from Imladris. Fleetingly, he wished for the presence of his friend, knowing also that he needed the ranger's help.
In the last encounter, he had planned as ever to pick the Orcs off. But a deer, grazing near the Elf's position had been startled by the Orcs' presence and had broken cover, forcing Legolas to throw himself backwards to avoid the flying hooves. Turning, one of the Orcs had spotted the Elf and suddenly Legolas was facing six opponents with no room to use his bow.
Three had fallen to his knife when one, with a last effort, one managed to reach out and snare his boot. Legolas had quickly snatched his foot from the Orc's grasp turning to administer a fatal kick to the creature's temple, but it gave the others an opening.
By the time the Orcs were dead, Legolas was bleeding from several wounds; his wrist was excruciatingly painful and he suspected it was broken. That night, he bound it up and tried to draw his bow. The pain made him dizzy. His knife was now his only weapon.
Legolas shook his head; Aragorn was not here. He may not yet even know what had happened in Mirkwood. Thranduil would be too sunk in grief and despair to answer any message and Legolas wondered if Tathar or his father would have sent word.
The Elf looked down once more to the six Orcs below him, judging the point at which the uncertain light of dusk would be most confusing….
His feet took the first Orc between the shoulder blades, sending it sprawling forward into a second. The three seated at the fire shouted as it stumbled into the fire, scattering sparks and swirling smoke.
Legolas was already in motion. Landing lightly, he jumped, catching one of the two still standing under the chin with his foot. Its head jerked back; he heard its neck snap as with his right hand he slashed his knife across the throat of the Orc closest to him. It too died instantly.
The others had sorted themselves out, though it appeared the one that had stumbled into the fire had been badly burnt and it staggered about, bellowing in pain. The sickly stench of singed flesh filled the air. Legolas landed once more and spun to meet the first of the remaining four.
They were hampered by the fact that Legolas had landed intentionally near to one of the hollow's rough corners so they could not circle behind him. Still, they moved to flank him. Two of them came at him at once and Legolas ducked under the scimitar of one. He knew the others were close and tried to keep them in sight as he surged forward under the Orc's arm, intending to disembowel the creature.
But one of the Orcs had seen that the Elf held his wrist stiffly. Grinning, it reached out, not to strike at the Elf but to grab hold of the wrist. Legolas saw the movement as he ducked and almost managed to pull his arm out of the way. The Orc caught his sleeve for a brief second, but it was enough.
Pain shot up Legolas's arm and he was pulled momentarily off balance, but he continued the upward thrust of his knife. The Orc grunted as the knife entered its belly. It fell away and the space it left was filled by another Orc.
Distracted by the sudden agony, Legolas struggled to parry as the Orc that had grabbed him lunged. He felt slicing pain across his thigh and staggered back, bringing his knife up to meet the thrust of the Orc on his other side. He was only partially successful; the black blade laid his wrist open to the bone.
The Orcs closed in; the injured one remaining a little back, armed, but letting its fellows kill the hated Elf.
They had manoeuvred further into the open and the three Orcs now attacked simultaneously. Judging the one on his left to be further away, at the edge of his scimitar's range, Legolas threw his hips sideways. Reversing the movement, he spun between the other two. Expecting their enemy to retreat, they had not anticipated the forward movement and for a moment, as Legolas had hoped, they were slow to respond.
It gave Legolas the brief time he needed. As he passed the closest Orc, he stabbed his blade into its chest. It grunted in surprise and dropped its weapon to clutch at the wound. Legolas turned to face the remaining two Orcs as the injured one now came forward.
But even as he turned, gutting one of the remaining Orcs as he did so, he felt another cut, across his ribs. He tried to pull away, but the cliff was too close; his only choice was to rush one of his opponents. He chose the injured Orc, who was also the smaller of the two, but the creature, whether by luck or design brought its weapon up at just the right moment to meet the Elf's unexpected attack. Legolas continued forward, but the Orc stumbled backwards. By the time the creature fell, lung fatally pierced, Legolas felt the other Orc closing in once again.
This time its blade caught his upper arm and chest. Legolas pivoted, but the Orc was on his injured side and in the space he had, he could not bring his blade to bear. Instead, he slammed the creature bodily into the rock wall. Its breath left its lungs in a rush and it grabbed at Legolas. The Elf pulled free and elbowed the creature in the face. He felt the crunch of bone as he broke the creature's jaw and he stepped back, finally able to bring his weapon across the Orc's throat as it struggled to fill its lungs with air. It gurgled wetly and clawed at him as it died.
Then Legolas caught movement to his left. Instinctively, he threw himself backwards as stinging pain ran across his side and injured arm. He tried to turn but something hit him hard and it was his turn to be slammed into the unyielding rock of the cliff wall. He struggled to breathe, feeling a new agony in his right shoulder.
The Orc he had stabbed in the chest had not died immediately and though the knowledge of its own death was in the creature's black eyes, it held the hated Elf fast against the cliff wall. It held a crude knife and Legolas twisted, trying to free himself. In this position, the Orc, biggest of the group, could kill him at leisure. He steeled himself against the searing waves of pain in shoulder and wrist, hoping that his injured leg would hold him. Bracing his back against the cliff , he pushed his entire weight against that of the Orc. As he did so, he felt more cuts to his chest and across his abdomen and as he succeeded in shoving the Orc off him, he felt another to his arm. The creature staggered back several steps and Legolas quickly slipped past it, placing himself in the centre of the hollow, away from the cliff wall.
He was now effectively unarmed; he could not raise his right arm, rendering the knife he still held useless. Knowing this, the Orc laughed at him. It would die, but not before taking the Elf with it. Legolas looked round. It seemed hopeless, but somehow, unaffected by grief or hopelessness his warrior instinct saw its chance.
Slightly behind the Elf and several yards to his left, a jagged shard of rock jutted from the cliff wall. It angled upwards to about the length of Legolas's knife. He turned slightly and backed away, hiding the Orc's view of the rock with his body. The Orc, tiring of sneering at the Elf and feeling its strength begin to fade, snarled and charged forward. Legolas waited until the last possible second and then threw himself to the side. The Orc, seeing its peril, was unable to stop its forward momentum. The rock entered just below its breastbone.
But in its rush, it had tried to decapitate Legolas. He twisted away, but his leg gave way beneath him and, unable to catch himself, he hit the floor hard, falling awkwardly across a jagged boulder. More pain and the accompanying loud crack was enough to tell the Elf it too was broken.
Panting, Legolas lay near the cliff. The pain was overwhelming and he felt unconsciousness reaching out to enfold him. He tried to get up, to assure himself the Orcs were all dead., but the movement made points of light flash before his eyes. He shook his head to clear it and saw with fading vision, that the bodies in the hollow were all still. Fighting growing weakness, he tried to pull himself up. But the darkness reached out, dragging him down, and he fell back.
***
He regained consciousness as the sun shone full on his face. He was still lying in the lee of the cliff. The Orcs lay a short distance away, the sandy floor of the hollow sticky with their blood.
He looked up, judging from the position of the sun that it was long past dawn. His head swam dizzily as he reached out to the rock wall to pull himself up.
Legolas couldn't help crying out as waves of agony crashed through him, making him faint and nauseous. He fell back, looking down. He was bleeding, though he was uncertain how badly. He could feel also that his shoulder was dislocated and his left leg would not support his weight, the right not much better.
He needed to find help quickly. From the numbness which was beginning to overcome the pain, he realised he had another problem. The Orcs had poisoned their blades.
According to Elrond, the poisons Orcs used were difficult to produce and only used in extreme circumstance. Clearly, he had been considered an extreme circumstance. A ghost of a smile flitted across Legolas's pale lips, but the smile held no real amusement; Legolas knew he was in serious trouble.
The poison would be one of two the Orcs used. One prevented wounds from closing; the other, even more evil and deadly, slowly increased the severity of the bleeding as it worked its way deeper until the victim either died from loss of blood or the poison reached the heart. Legolas did not wish to consider either possibility.
For a moment he lay back, defeated. He had fulfilled his vow; he could let go.
Then a thought surfaced in his tired mind pushing aside the lassitude creeping through him. Aragorn. He needed to see Aragorn. Slowly, almost fainting from the pain, he dragged himself up, relief flooding through him when he saw his horse grazing nearby.
It took many minutes and all of the well bred stallion's training, for Legolas to drag himself onto the animal's back. He turned the horse in the direction Imladris lay, clinging to his mount's mane. He did not realise he still held his knife, black with Orc blood, in a hand covered with his own.
***
Legolas… Night had fallen as he stood with the white knife in his hands, lost in memories. He looked round, but there was no one in the doorway.
Frowning, he laid the knife on the bad and moved to light the lamps. As the light flared, he heard it again.
Legolas….
He turned, senses alert. A glance out of the window revealed no-one in the gardens or by any of the flowing streams. As he frowned in puzzlement it came a third time.
It could not be. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Legolas cautiously picked up the knife…and almost dropped it again. The weapon was humming, a low, resonating sound which shivered through the length of the blade. Incredulous, Legolas stared at it.
Legolas….Again came the soft voice, and by now he was sure it was the blade which called to him.
What is it you want of me?
There was a pause, …Brother…
Legolas shook his head, not understanding.
Brother…..
Whose brother? Legolas silently questioned.
Silence…Yours…and mine.
Aragorn? Who was the other?
"I do not understand," Legolas said aloud.
He looked up. Elrond stood in the doorway. For a moment, the eyes of the other Elf dropped to the knife Legolas held. Then he came forward into the room, seating himself beside the younger Elf.
"It is time now to speak of this…." he said softly, fingers gently touching the hilt of the knife, "and of other things, long unsaid."
"I, the blade… it spoke…."
He was taken aback when Elrond nodded, unsurprised. "It has done so before. To give me permission to separate it from its twin."
"Its twin?"
Again the nod, and Elrond looked at Legolas, "This blade is part of a pair. They have long been in my family and once, I gave one of them to your father as token of our brotherhood."
"And the other?" Legolas was unsure which revelation to react to first.
Elrond was silent for so long, Legolas thought he would not answer, but then he said, " The other I gave to the most noble of our kind I have ever known. He also was gwador to me, but he is long dead. There is one of whom your father would never speak, even when you asked, is there not?"
Legolas did not answer. Elrond's eyes dropped once more to the white knife. When he spoke, his voice was barely audible, "The twin to this blade I gave to my friend and King."
"Gil-galad," Legolas murmured.
"Out of love and respect for your father, I have remained silent. There are many reasons why Thranduil would not speak of Ereinion Gil-galad. You must now hear them."
Legolas sat silently, staring down at the knife in his hands. Then he stood, and followed Elrond from the chamber.