Chapter Fifty-Three: Caught …
A/N: God, I'm such a ditz sometimes. I'm so sorry you guys, you must have been so lost. I kind of left out a part of the story, so I'm going to repost 52 so you can understand what's going on. Let me try again … SORRY!
…
"Prince," began Hukil, his black eyes began to shift nervously about the tent, watching for guards. "Prince Legolas, it is good to see that you are alive. Prince Findecano has sent me to hold counsels in your wisdom so that we may devise a plan for your safe escape."
"Safe escape," laughed Legolas for a moment. His back was sore, but he was ever aware of Aila's sleeping head against his shoulder. "I am sorry, Hukil. You have proved a good subject of me time and time again, but this time I have not the answer. It is my sleeping wife who has devised a plan, but I beg you not to wake her. We have had a rough night." Without waiting for Hukil to ask, Legolas answered his questions, creases appearing on his forehead, his blue eyes shifting to Aila, who slept peacefully on. "Not yet has she revealed her plan to me, too busy was she in her rage against the men. You must leave soon, my friend, or all else is lost. I fear the guards know already of your presence …"
And no sooner had he spoke that a rough voice came from outside: "What's going on in there?" The tent flap was pushed aside and the guard came in, bristling with spear and sword. In a dark corner of the tent there was a faint rustling, and Hukil was gone.
"So," began to guard, calling the other guards to him by smashing his spear-head against the ground twice. "Having a little chat with your elf friends, eh? Planning an escape, as I see it. We'll see what King Glorinul makes of this." He spoke to the other guards, gesturing to Aila. "Wake her up, and then bring them, tied like this, to the presence of Lord Glorinul. It is almost too cruel, but it shall please him. I will go inform his kingship of what has taken place here." His lip curled maliciously and he spat at Legolas, and the elven prince could do nothing to wipe the saliva from his cheek, except let it drip down his delicate face. Aila was awoken in a matter of moments. Legolas tried for a moment to wake her by using his voice, but she didn't stir, and the guards came fiercely at her, prodding with spears and swords, until she awoke in horror.
"Come," said one of them, as the other two pulled them to their feet. "You are to face King Glorinul for your crime."
"As you wish," spat Aila, bitterness returning. Legolas felt his heart swept from his chest to hear Aila like this, but it wasn't up to him. He had to get through this, and have her tell him the plan, so that he could relay the news to Hukil on his next visit. The sooner they got out of captivity, the better he felt it would be for Aila. He hardly cared about himself anymore. All he lived for were his wife and son. Aila and Findecano were his life, and he would give it up for them.
"Well," said Glorinul upon their arrival, and for a few minutes more, he said nothing. Aila raged with anger.
"Well, what? You pull us from our tent for nothing, you hold us hostage against our own people. Is there something more you would like to add to this torture, or do you feel it your duty to gloat in our faces?!" To Legolas the action seemed quite unlike Aila in tight situations. Usually she tried to keep a more level head. His hand wrapped around to grip hers, to perhaps hold her back. She accepted his hand, but would not lighten her attacks.
"Shut up!" cried Glorinul, and raised his hand as if to hit her. "Be quiet until spoken too!"
"I don't care," she said, challengingly. "I don't care what you want me to do. You can torture me, kill me, hit me, there is nothing you can do to make me give in. Never."
"So strong, she is. Too bad she's getting on my nerves," said Glorinul, his eyes narrowed upon Aila. But her face was just as determined and angry. "What if," mused Glorinul, lowering his hand, "what if I were to kill Aila now?"
The breath caught in Legolas' throat. He knew Aila would pay the price for challenging Glorinul like that, when he controlled their lives for the moment. But to go so extreme. He knew the human would do anything to win the war the elves were unwillingly fighting.
"If I were to kill Aila now …" He began to pull his sword from the scabbard at his waist.
…
The men who were had been woken by the guards around the holding tent were leaning into the tent of their king, listening intently upon what their king would make of this information. One, the most prominently tough, his blonde hair waving about his shoulders as he laughed silently to his comrades.
"If I were to kill Aila now …" he heard the king trail.
"Alas," said the man, a dark smile upon his face, his whispers hardly to be heard. "The elves will feel our wrath!" He clenched his fist, his muscles accentuated by a leather arm-let that wrapped around his forearms and extended from his wrists to just below his elbows. Each arm circlet had designs burned into them.
"But," replied another, whispering as well, "the one King Glorinul is about to kill is a human. No elven blood will be shed and they will care not. His Kingship is going to let their Prince live."
"No, no," replied the blonde, "She may be human, but is royalty among them. Elves will not care of what race she is, as long as she is dead."
They turned their attentions back to the tent, where they could see through the fabric that Glorinul had his right hand slowly migrating towards his sword at his opposite hip. The metal rang softly as he pulled it slowly from his sheath.
Unbeknownst to the men watching, there was another watching their very movements, hoping to get an idea of what was happening. The soldiers watched as Glorinul raised his sword and fell it towards Aila's neck. Her scream was piercing and loud.
…
"Go, tell the others," whispered the blonde urgently. "Wake them, we have truly begun the war!" One of the other soldiers listening with him rushed through the camp, waking others and telling them the news.
"King Glorinul has murdered the Princess of the Elves! We have begun the war! She is dead, she is dead! Dead for her treachery to the human race and siding with the elves. I heard her scream, I watched her head fall to the ground!" Of course, this soldiers had not seen Aila's head fall to the ground through the fabric, but he said it anyway, to assure the soldiers that she was dead. The others who had been listening were retreating from the King's tent, in an attempt to avoid being caught.
However, the other who had been watching, deep in the foliage of a tree, felt his heart seize in sorrow, as he heard that his Princess' life had been taken. Aila was dead, and Hukil sprinted through the greenery back to the elven castle, to impart the words of dread upon the elven company.
…
"Well?" asked Findecano. He had been pacing the great hallway of the elven castle in Mirkwood. His light hands were clasped behind his back, his royal tunic was the same he had been wearing the previous day, wrinkled and somewhat dirty. He hadn't slept all night, but stayed up, pacing. His bright blue eyes, shot with gold, darted up to meet the sallow face of Hukil. Findecano stood tall, his body most like his father's, thin and lithe. His sinewy muscles could be easily seen through his garments, but the genius of his mind was also easy to acknowledge in a single glance. His deep blue eyes were wrought with worry as he watched the black eyes of Hukil, who bowed his head in the presence of the still relatively young prince.
Hukil was several millennia older than Findecano himself, and his dark black hair, shot with silver, waved to his shoulders and truly for a moment he looked his age. He sallow skin seemed greener than usual to the elven prince, who was immediately even more concerned.
"Hukil? What is wrong? What is happening to my parents?" Hukil lifted his face from the floor and met Findecano's deep blue eyes. For him, it was the most difficult thing he had ever had to do in his millennia of living: to tell a prince that his mother had been killed by the enemy because of his own plans for rescue. Blue eyes met black and for a moment they held the same spirit, but so far apart. One knew truth, the other only knew sorrow for the happening. One knew the tragedy he was about to unfold, the other willingly awaiting it.
"Sire," began Hukil. His low, deep voice, was slow, like a snake slithering across ground that was not firm. "Sire, about your parents …" Findecano stopped pacing, and stared at Hukil for a very long time. When Hukil did not continue, he prompted him.
"What about my parents?"
"Sire," came an entirely different voice. It was that of a female, and one of Findecano's attendants came from the shadow of the door. "The elves of Lothlorien and Ithilien have arrived, sire, and the Lady Galadriel requests your company." Frustrated, Findecano narrowed his eyes towards the attendant.
"Tell the Lady that she must wait for a few minutes. I am speaking to Hukil and I request solitude with him for at least a half hour more. Send her my greatest apologies and have her speak with my grandfather while she is waiting. Thank you." His blue eyes fell to the floor, glowering at the marble, until they were brought sharply back up to Hukil. "You were saying something?"
"Yes, sire. About your parents," again, Hukil paused. "I witnessed something quite terrible, sire." Findecano sat down in a chair nearest him and gripped the armrests until his knuckles were white.
"Continue."
"Yes, sire. I was speaking with your father, when the guards detected my presence, we must have been speaking too loud. I escaped just in time, I didn't think much of it, but the guards woke your mother, who had the plan of escape, but was asleep at the time; and the guards took them to King Glorinul, he spoke for a bit, your mother lost her temper, but I couldn't see what was happening, because soldiers were around the tent listening, and I wouldn't dare get too close. Well, your mother gave out an unearthly screech and one of the soldiers listening at the tent came around the camp and told the others that Gloinul had just killed … had just killed …"
"Had just killed my mother," said Findecano slowly.
"Had just killed your mother. I am sorry, Prince. Your mother is dead."
"What about my father?"
"I believe that Prince Legolas still lives, sire."
"You believe?"
"I left before I could learn more development to the story, it was far too tragic already." Findecano's hands were rapt upon the armrests, and the wood began to crush beneath his grip, but he didn't realize it. His blue eyes were still boring into the black nothingness that Hukil possessed. The prince's face was still strong and resolute, as if he hadn't yet realized what Hukil had told him.
"If you will excuse me, friend." Findecano stood from the chair and began to leave.
"Are you going to speak with Lady Galadriel?" Hukil asked, though out of turn.
"No," replied Findecano shortly, his voice was deep and harsh. His eyes were staring straight ahead, before he sighed, his chest heaving and his eyes dropped to the ground and he hung his head. It was the first time that Hukil had ever seen Findecano act like anything other than a rightful prince. His glory and mannerisms had left him, and Findecano was reduced to a small elven boy, weeping for his lost mother. "I go to mourn my mother," and his voice was dead. He walked from the room, and Hukil went to find the Lady Galadriel.
…
Findecano fell to his knees in front of a large statue of the Varda Queen, Elbereth. From his knees, his elbows his the ground and he held his wet face in his slender hands, so much like those of Legolas. His brown hair fell in waves about his pale face and tears streamed from his bright blue eyes, that were so much deeper than those of Legolas himself. His back was parallel with the sky and he sat there prostrate, on his elbows and knees, crying to the queen of the Varda, his tears dampening the dirt beneath him to mud at Elbereth's feet.
"Ai, Elbereth," he cried into his hands, the salty tears finding their way along his hands into his mouth. He choked on his own tears, but he heeded them little, paying attention to nothing in his grief. "Ai, Elbereth," he repeated. "Why? Why must you take my mother from me?" His crying continued broken by him screaming for his mother, the only tribute he had left to the woman who had raised him from birth. The woman who was now gone from his life. "Mother," he shouted. "Mother! MOTHER!" His cries became more hysterical than the tears that still streamed down his pale face, leaving dark streaks where their paths had been.
Hysterically, Findecano continued to mourn, in the most attention-grabbing way, but the elves who were near the garden heard his shouts, but knew enough not to go near him. They had no idea what he was crying to his mother for, but by listening further to his cries, they found she was dead.
"Ai, Mother! Why must you take her away, Elbereth? She was not meant to die here. Not here. Not now," he still cried into his hands, prone on the ground, his elbows were dirty, and his knees were covered as well, but still he lay there, sitting upon his feet, his back reigning to the sky. "Mother!"
"Prince Findecano," came a musical voice from behind him, "it tears at my heart to see you this way." He turned, expecting to see Galadriel, who had found him in the garden. Instead, however, he found the very female attendant who had announced the lady's presence, and her blonde hair fell in waves down her back, coursing down her white dress. Findecano raised himself from the ground, still crying, pulled his hands from his face and sat on his feet, his shins against the ground. He turned to her and she gasped at his face. "Prince Findecano," she began again, but he turned away, back towards the statue. He heard her race to him, and she dropped to her knees next to him, heedless of her white dress. "Prince Findecano, what is wrong?"
He did not answer her, but remained riveted upon the face of Elbereth carved in stone. Her hands went around his face and turned his face towards hers, and she wiped the salty tears from his cheeks, but still they coursed down.
"Prince," she said. "From the time I have been old enough to serve, I have served you and you alone. I feel responsible for you life. Please, tell me what is wrong?"
His voice was hoarse, and the spirit within it was dead. He had always been a noble prince, but always had he a lively spirit in his voice. Now it was gone. Monotonously, he spoke.
"She is dead. My mother is dead, killed by the king of the men." Wordlessly, she pulled him into her, burying his face in her shoulder. Heedlessly, Findecano continued to unleash his emotions, until he was sane enough to realize what was happening. His brought his head from her collar bone and pulled away from her hands which were wrapped around him.
"I must go," he said to her, standing up and attempting to dust himself off. "I must attend Lady Galadriel and this is no way for an elven prince to act, especially in such times as these." He began to walk away, leaving the serving girl sitting forlornly on the ground, her once clean white dress a mess of tears and dirt. Almost out of the garden, Findecano turned towards her, "Thank you," and walked away.
However, he had not gone far when he found Lady Galadriel striding toward him.
"It is all over the palace," she began. "You mother is supposedly dead."
"Supposedly," said Findecano, his voice spiteful. "Nothing is supposed. She is dead. Hukil told me. He heard it from the soldiers who saw it with their own eyes. My mother is dead, decapitated. There is nothing you can do to comfort me. A maid has already tried."
"I am not here to comfort you, Findecano," and for a moment her musical voice was wrathful at his tone. "I am here to knock some sense into your delicate royal head. Your mother is a great woman, and your father even greater a man. I say is. Both still exist. I see it in my mirror that Hukil has heard wrongly, but it is only a matter of time. Your plans must commence quickly, or truly your mother will be gone."
"You mean," began Findecano.
"She is still alive, Findecano."
"I don't know how I can ever thank you," he said. He kissed her upon the cheek and ran from the room, sprinting with an extra spring in his already bouncy step. He ran to find Hukil, who he knew was mourning over what he had misheard. The joy was back in his eyes that his mother was still alive, but the joy was not shared by his parents, who still remained in the tent of the king.
…
"If I were to kill Aila now," repeated Glorinul, his sword entirely out of its scabbard and raised to Aila's throat. "If I killed her, and left her tied to dear Prince Legolas. What torture, what morose he should feel, captured and tied to his own dead wife. So tragic. So sad." He raised his sword and brought it back down slowly to Aila's neck, and she could do nothing but close her eyes tightly. Behind him, Legolas could almost hear the steel touch Aila's throat. She let out such an unearthly scream that it rang across the camp and probably woke up elves in the castle. He shuddered, his elven hearing picking up the noise tenfold, and his immediate impression was that she had been killed, but he felt her squirming against his bruised back and he took heart.
"No!" He shouted, turning his head towards Glorinul. "Do not kill her. Whatever you want from me, I will do whatever I can to give you. I will do what you want, but let Aila live."
…
A/N: Okay, better? This is actually the second time I've left something out of the story, but by the time I realized the other one … it was just a bit too late. Sorry again, enjoy. I'll come up with another chapter as soon as I can, CHRISTMAS BREAK! YAY! I watched LOTR the Two Towers, it was GRR-EAT! Like my friend Tony the Tiger would say. Anyway, chill out you guys, and peace.
A/N: God, I'm such a ditz sometimes. I'm so sorry you guys, you must have been so lost. I kind of left out a part of the story, so I'm going to repost 52 so you can understand what's going on. Let me try again … SORRY!
…
"Prince," began Hukil, his black eyes began to shift nervously about the tent, watching for guards. "Prince Legolas, it is good to see that you are alive. Prince Findecano has sent me to hold counsels in your wisdom so that we may devise a plan for your safe escape."
"Safe escape," laughed Legolas for a moment. His back was sore, but he was ever aware of Aila's sleeping head against his shoulder. "I am sorry, Hukil. You have proved a good subject of me time and time again, but this time I have not the answer. It is my sleeping wife who has devised a plan, but I beg you not to wake her. We have had a rough night." Without waiting for Hukil to ask, Legolas answered his questions, creases appearing on his forehead, his blue eyes shifting to Aila, who slept peacefully on. "Not yet has she revealed her plan to me, too busy was she in her rage against the men. You must leave soon, my friend, or all else is lost. I fear the guards know already of your presence …"
And no sooner had he spoke that a rough voice came from outside: "What's going on in there?" The tent flap was pushed aside and the guard came in, bristling with spear and sword. In a dark corner of the tent there was a faint rustling, and Hukil was gone.
"So," began to guard, calling the other guards to him by smashing his spear-head against the ground twice. "Having a little chat with your elf friends, eh? Planning an escape, as I see it. We'll see what King Glorinul makes of this." He spoke to the other guards, gesturing to Aila. "Wake her up, and then bring them, tied like this, to the presence of Lord Glorinul. It is almost too cruel, but it shall please him. I will go inform his kingship of what has taken place here." His lip curled maliciously and he spat at Legolas, and the elven prince could do nothing to wipe the saliva from his cheek, except let it drip down his delicate face. Aila was awoken in a matter of moments. Legolas tried for a moment to wake her by using his voice, but she didn't stir, and the guards came fiercely at her, prodding with spears and swords, until she awoke in horror.
"Come," said one of them, as the other two pulled them to their feet. "You are to face King Glorinul for your crime."
"As you wish," spat Aila, bitterness returning. Legolas felt his heart swept from his chest to hear Aila like this, but it wasn't up to him. He had to get through this, and have her tell him the plan, so that he could relay the news to Hukil on his next visit. The sooner they got out of captivity, the better he felt it would be for Aila. He hardly cared about himself anymore. All he lived for were his wife and son. Aila and Findecano were his life, and he would give it up for them.
"Well," said Glorinul upon their arrival, and for a few minutes more, he said nothing. Aila raged with anger.
"Well, what? You pull us from our tent for nothing, you hold us hostage against our own people. Is there something more you would like to add to this torture, or do you feel it your duty to gloat in our faces?!" To Legolas the action seemed quite unlike Aila in tight situations. Usually she tried to keep a more level head. His hand wrapped around to grip hers, to perhaps hold her back. She accepted his hand, but would not lighten her attacks.
"Shut up!" cried Glorinul, and raised his hand as if to hit her. "Be quiet until spoken too!"
"I don't care," she said, challengingly. "I don't care what you want me to do. You can torture me, kill me, hit me, there is nothing you can do to make me give in. Never."
"So strong, she is. Too bad she's getting on my nerves," said Glorinul, his eyes narrowed upon Aila. But her face was just as determined and angry. "What if," mused Glorinul, lowering his hand, "what if I were to kill Aila now?"
The breath caught in Legolas' throat. He knew Aila would pay the price for challenging Glorinul like that, when he controlled their lives for the moment. But to go so extreme. He knew the human would do anything to win the war the elves were unwillingly fighting.
"If I were to kill Aila now …" He began to pull his sword from the scabbard at his waist.
…
The men who were had been woken by the guards around the holding tent were leaning into the tent of their king, listening intently upon what their king would make of this information. One, the most prominently tough, his blonde hair waving about his shoulders as he laughed silently to his comrades.
"If I were to kill Aila now …" he heard the king trail.
"Alas," said the man, a dark smile upon his face, his whispers hardly to be heard. "The elves will feel our wrath!" He clenched his fist, his muscles accentuated by a leather arm-let that wrapped around his forearms and extended from his wrists to just below his elbows. Each arm circlet had designs burned into them.
"But," replied another, whispering as well, "the one King Glorinul is about to kill is a human. No elven blood will be shed and they will care not. His Kingship is going to let their Prince live."
"No, no," replied the blonde, "She may be human, but is royalty among them. Elves will not care of what race she is, as long as she is dead."
They turned their attentions back to the tent, where they could see through the fabric that Glorinul had his right hand slowly migrating towards his sword at his opposite hip. The metal rang softly as he pulled it slowly from his sheath.
Unbeknownst to the men watching, there was another watching their very movements, hoping to get an idea of what was happening. The soldiers watched as Glorinul raised his sword and fell it towards Aila's neck. Her scream was piercing and loud.
…
"Go, tell the others," whispered the blonde urgently. "Wake them, we have truly begun the war!" One of the other soldiers listening with him rushed through the camp, waking others and telling them the news.
"King Glorinul has murdered the Princess of the Elves! We have begun the war! She is dead, she is dead! Dead for her treachery to the human race and siding with the elves. I heard her scream, I watched her head fall to the ground!" Of course, this soldiers had not seen Aila's head fall to the ground through the fabric, but he said it anyway, to assure the soldiers that she was dead. The others who had been listening were retreating from the King's tent, in an attempt to avoid being caught.
However, the other who had been watching, deep in the foliage of a tree, felt his heart seize in sorrow, as he heard that his Princess' life had been taken. Aila was dead, and Hukil sprinted through the greenery back to the elven castle, to impart the words of dread upon the elven company.
…
"Well?" asked Findecano. He had been pacing the great hallway of the elven castle in Mirkwood. His light hands were clasped behind his back, his royal tunic was the same he had been wearing the previous day, wrinkled and somewhat dirty. He hadn't slept all night, but stayed up, pacing. His bright blue eyes, shot with gold, darted up to meet the sallow face of Hukil. Findecano stood tall, his body most like his father's, thin and lithe. His sinewy muscles could be easily seen through his garments, but the genius of his mind was also easy to acknowledge in a single glance. His deep blue eyes were wrought with worry as he watched the black eyes of Hukil, who bowed his head in the presence of the still relatively young prince.
Hukil was several millennia older than Findecano himself, and his dark black hair, shot with silver, waved to his shoulders and truly for a moment he looked his age. He sallow skin seemed greener than usual to the elven prince, who was immediately even more concerned.
"Hukil? What is wrong? What is happening to my parents?" Hukil lifted his face from the floor and met Findecano's deep blue eyes. For him, it was the most difficult thing he had ever had to do in his millennia of living: to tell a prince that his mother had been killed by the enemy because of his own plans for rescue. Blue eyes met black and for a moment they held the same spirit, but so far apart. One knew truth, the other only knew sorrow for the happening. One knew the tragedy he was about to unfold, the other willingly awaiting it.
"Sire," began Hukil. His low, deep voice, was slow, like a snake slithering across ground that was not firm. "Sire, about your parents …" Findecano stopped pacing, and stared at Hukil for a very long time. When Hukil did not continue, he prompted him.
"What about my parents?"
"Sire," came an entirely different voice. It was that of a female, and one of Findecano's attendants came from the shadow of the door. "The elves of Lothlorien and Ithilien have arrived, sire, and the Lady Galadriel requests your company." Frustrated, Findecano narrowed his eyes towards the attendant.
"Tell the Lady that she must wait for a few minutes. I am speaking to Hukil and I request solitude with him for at least a half hour more. Send her my greatest apologies and have her speak with my grandfather while she is waiting. Thank you." His blue eyes fell to the floor, glowering at the marble, until they were brought sharply back up to Hukil. "You were saying something?"
"Yes, sire. About your parents," again, Hukil paused. "I witnessed something quite terrible, sire." Findecano sat down in a chair nearest him and gripped the armrests until his knuckles were white.
"Continue."
"Yes, sire. I was speaking with your father, when the guards detected my presence, we must have been speaking too loud. I escaped just in time, I didn't think much of it, but the guards woke your mother, who had the plan of escape, but was asleep at the time; and the guards took them to King Glorinul, he spoke for a bit, your mother lost her temper, but I couldn't see what was happening, because soldiers were around the tent listening, and I wouldn't dare get too close. Well, your mother gave out an unearthly screech and one of the soldiers listening at the tent came around the camp and told the others that Gloinul had just killed … had just killed …"
"Had just killed my mother," said Findecano slowly.
"Had just killed your mother. I am sorry, Prince. Your mother is dead."
"What about my father?"
"I believe that Prince Legolas still lives, sire."
"You believe?"
"I left before I could learn more development to the story, it was far too tragic already." Findecano's hands were rapt upon the armrests, and the wood began to crush beneath his grip, but he didn't realize it. His blue eyes were still boring into the black nothingness that Hukil possessed. The prince's face was still strong and resolute, as if he hadn't yet realized what Hukil had told him.
"If you will excuse me, friend." Findecano stood from the chair and began to leave.
"Are you going to speak with Lady Galadriel?" Hukil asked, though out of turn.
"No," replied Findecano shortly, his voice was deep and harsh. His eyes were staring straight ahead, before he sighed, his chest heaving and his eyes dropped to the ground and he hung his head. It was the first time that Hukil had ever seen Findecano act like anything other than a rightful prince. His glory and mannerisms had left him, and Findecano was reduced to a small elven boy, weeping for his lost mother. "I go to mourn my mother," and his voice was dead. He walked from the room, and Hukil went to find the Lady Galadriel.
…
Findecano fell to his knees in front of a large statue of the Varda Queen, Elbereth. From his knees, his elbows his the ground and he held his wet face in his slender hands, so much like those of Legolas. His brown hair fell in waves about his pale face and tears streamed from his bright blue eyes, that were so much deeper than those of Legolas himself. His back was parallel with the sky and he sat there prostrate, on his elbows and knees, crying to the queen of the Varda, his tears dampening the dirt beneath him to mud at Elbereth's feet.
"Ai, Elbereth," he cried into his hands, the salty tears finding their way along his hands into his mouth. He choked on his own tears, but he heeded them little, paying attention to nothing in his grief. "Ai, Elbereth," he repeated. "Why? Why must you take my mother from me?" His crying continued broken by him screaming for his mother, the only tribute he had left to the woman who had raised him from birth. The woman who was now gone from his life. "Mother," he shouted. "Mother! MOTHER!" His cries became more hysterical than the tears that still streamed down his pale face, leaving dark streaks where their paths had been.
Hysterically, Findecano continued to mourn, in the most attention-grabbing way, but the elves who were near the garden heard his shouts, but knew enough not to go near him. They had no idea what he was crying to his mother for, but by listening further to his cries, they found she was dead.
"Ai, Mother! Why must you take her away, Elbereth? She was not meant to die here. Not here. Not now," he still cried into his hands, prone on the ground, his elbows were dirty, and his knees were covered as well, but still he lay there, sitting upon his feet, his back reigning to the sky. "Mother!"
"Prince Findecano," came a musical voice from behind him, "it tears at my heart to see you this way." He turned, expecting to see Galadriel, who had found him in the garden. Instead, however, he found the very female attendant who had announced the lady's presence, and her blonde hair fell in waves down her back, coursing down her white dress. Findecano raised himself from the ground, still crying, pulled his hands from his face and sat on his feet, his shins against the ground. He turned to her and she gasped at his face. "Prince Findecano," she began again, but he turned away, back towards the statue. He heard her race to him, and she dropped to her knees next to him, heedless of her white dress. "Prince Findecano, what is wrong?"
He did not answer her, but remained riveted upon the face of Elbereth carved in stone. Her hands went around his face and turned his face towards hers, and she wiped the salty tears from his cheeks, but still they coursed down.
"Prince," she said. "From the time I have been old enough to serve, I have served you and you alone. I feel responsible for you life. Please, tell me what is wrong?"
His voice was hoarse, and the spirit within it was dead. He had always been a noble prince, but always had he a lively spirit in his voice. Now it was gone. Monotonously, he spoke.
"She is dead. My mother is dead, killed by the king of the men." Wordlessly, she pulled him into her, burying his face in her shoulder. Heedlessly, Findecano continued to unleash his emotions, until he was sane enough to realize what was happening. His brought his head from her collar bone and pulled away from her hands which were wrapped around him.
"I must go," he said to her, standing up and attempting to dust himself off. "I must attend Lady Galadriel and this is no way for an elven prince to act, especially in such times as these." He began to walk away, leaving the serving girl sitting forlornly on the ground, her once clean white dress a mess of tears and dirt. Almost out of the garden, Findecano turned towards her, "Thank you," and walked away.
However, he had not gone far when he found Lady Galadriel striding toward him.
"It is all over the palace," she began. "You mother is supposedly dead."
"Supposedly," said Findecano, his voice spiteful. "Nothing is supposed. She is dead. Hukil told me. He heard it from the soldiers who saw it with their own eyes. My mother is dead, decapitated. There is nothing you can do to comfort me. A maid has already tried."
"I am not here to comfort you, Findecano," and for a moment her musical voice was wrathful at his tone. "I am here to knock some sense into your delicate royal head. Your mother is a great woman, and your father even greater a man. I say is. Both still exist. I see it in my mirror that Hukil has heard wrongly, but it is only a matter of time. Your plans must commence quickly, or truly your mother will be gone."
"You mean," began Findecano.
"She is still alive, Findecano."
"I don't know how I can ever thank you," he said. He kissed her upon the cheek and ran from the room, sprinting with an extra spring in his already bouncy step. He ran to find Hukil, who he knew was mourning over what he had misheard. The joy was back in his eyes that his mother was still alive, but the joy was not shared by his parents, who still remained in the tent of the king.
…
"If I were to kill Aila now," repeated Glorinul, his sword entirely out of its scabbard and raised to Aila's throat. "If I killed her, and left her tied to dear Prince Legolas. What torture, what morose he should feel, captured and tied to his own dead wife. So tragic. So sad." He raised his sword and brought it back down slowly to Aila's neck, and she could do nothing but close her eyes tightly. Behind him, Legolas could almost hear the steel touch Aila's throat. She let out such an unearthly scream that it rang across the camp and probably woke up elves in the castle. He shuddered, his elven hearing picking up the noise tenfold, and his immediate impression was that she had been killed, but he felt her squirming against his bruised back and he took heart.
"No!" He shouted, turning his head towards Glorinul. "Do not kill her. Whatever you want from me, I will do whatever I can to give you. I will do what you want, but let Aila live."
…
A/N: Okay, better? This is actually the second time I've left something out of the story, but by the time I realized the other one … it was just a bit too late. Sorry again, enjoy. I'll come up with another chapter as soon as I can, CHRISTMAS BREAK! YAY! I watched LOTR the Two Towers, it was GRR-EAT! Like my friend Tony the Tiger would say. Anyway, chill out you guys, and peace.