Author: Mirrordance

Title: Exile

Summary: An elf is exiled as a suspect to his own brother's murder.  A young king goes out into the Wild.  Two warriors cross paths and embark on a common adventure as one seeks to escape his past and the other to reclaim it.  How Aragorn and Legolas met.

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PART 12

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3011

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      They made camp when night fell.  They both felt they could not risk a fire even in the frigid winter night, and simply sat close to each other, trying to share a warmth that was only too fleeting.

      Estel, as he always did, still found something to laugh about.  He coaxed a smile out of the pensive elf, saying it was comical how they were hiding from the two strongest forces in all of Middle-Earth.

      "Your brothers?" Legolas guessed gamely.

      "Well yes," smiled Estel, "but I was referring to both Elves and Orcs."

      "It is a bit like getting crushed between two rocks," Legolas admitted.

      Estel watched him from the corners of his eyes.  And the elf has been living that way for lifetimes.

      "What are you thinking about?" Legolas murmured, "You are looking at me with these sad eyes."

      "How do you know?" teased Estel, "Have you sprouted eyes along the side of your face?"

      "Yes."

      "I don't think so," Estel chuckled.

      They fell to a companionable silence, and the cold did not seem so bad after all.  Nor the night too dim and dark.

      "You should sleep," Legolas advised him, "It will be good for you."

      "My mind is wide awake," Estel said, "Perhaps I should take first watch.  You know… I've not seen you sleep at all since we met."

      "We never need much," Legolas said.

      "You need some," argued Estel, "I grew up with elves so do not try to pull my leg."

      Legolas smiled, skipped the topic altogether.  "You grew up with Lord Elrond's family.  Have you met the lovely Evenstar?"

      Estel pursed his lips.  "I have."

      "I've seen her but a few times," said Legolas, "Impeccable, isn't she? Downright magical."

      "Stunning," sighed Estel.

      Legolas turned towards him, eyes growing wide and grinning at the sight of the man's red face, even in the heart of winter.  "Ha! Oh, you do reach for the stars, mellon.  Estel indeed!"

      "Is it so unlikely?" snapped Estel, slightly offended.

      "Oh, you are fairly good looking," Legolas teased.

      Estel's lips quirked, but kept himself from smiling back.  The elf was already profoundly pleased with himself enough for finding his sore spot.

      "Your eyes are smiling," Legolas pointed out, "It is useless for you to pretend to be displeased with me."

      Estel let himself chuckle after a last effort.  "Ah, well."

      "It is less cold when one has someone to speak with," Legolas told him quietly, when one has someone to be with.

      "I do not know how you did it, mellon," said Estel, "Night after night.  Day after day.  Through hundreds of winters."

      "I had no choice," Legolas replied.

      Estel held his breath, waiting to hear more of the elf's story, for them to continue from where it was that they left off when they decided to stop for the night.

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Mirkwood, the 2800's

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      They knew they would have to take him by force.  And he knew they would by the strange, ominous feeling in the dank air.  One by one the familiar, smart-sounding footsteps of his regular guards faded in the distance, to be replaced by heavier, purposeful footfalls.

      The Elf-general Caro, who had been a lifelong friend to his Father, appeared by his cell, flanked by five similarly aged and stern-looking veteran elven soldiers of the highest credentials.  He looked up at them defiantly, their presence spiking his pride, even as his mind raced over what it was they intended to do to him.

      ~What brings you here?~ he demanded regally, unwilling to be daunted.

      Caro's eyes narrowed.  ~Will you go with us freely?~

      ~Not without knowing where,~ replied Legolas, ~Or why.  And certainly not if it is not the right thing to do.~

      Caro glanced at his soldiers.  There was a wordless order there that was easily grasped and comprehended by his loyal subordinates.  It was the mark of their long years of service together.  And it was precisely those long years of military service and effortless coordination that the warrior's instincts of Legolas began to fear.  They could do anything to him.  He was undoubtedly skilled, surpassing most elves easily, and he was younger and more sprightly.  But their number, their experience… he was Mirkwood soldier long enough to know what these legends were capable of, his father's most trusted, most skilled circle of captains and generals.

      They unlocked his cell, stepped forward.  He braced himself for an attack—he was never one to step back.

      With a precision perfected by years of service together, Caro and his men bested him after a quiet struggle.  He was a fighter, like his father.  And while this made way for a rather impressive gathering of bruises and hurts between Caro and his soldiers, this strengthened their resolve over what it was they had to do.

      The young elf prince must be saved, even if he did not wish to be.

      They bound his arms, bound his feet, bound his eyes and gagged him as he writhed and struggled.  But he would not cry out.  It was that fierce, regal pride of his.  Caro and his soldiers were not surprised.  He was also like his father in this respect.  He would not cry out.  Not for pain, not for help.

      Thranduil certainly did not cry for their help, Caro thought, but he does not need to.

      They took him away from the dungeons.  He knew this by the gradual lightening of the air, the cooling of the breeze, and the sounds of the forest as he was brought out to it after days in isolation.  It was wonderfully alive and healthily noisy, even if it was the heart of the night, quiet and still in the Woodland Realm, compared to the dank dungeon from which he just came.

      They traveled stealthily and quickly.  He felt the ground become more irregular, more thick with foliage.  They were moving away from the palace, towards the untamed woods. 

      Are they going to kill me? he wondered, even as his mind decided it could not be.  They would not.  They are my father's friends.  So what are they doing?

      They suddenly stopped.  And pushed him to his knees upon the hard ground.  It felt like a secret execution.      

      Someone was waiting for them there.  He felt her distinct presence, which was dimly familiar.  He knew her somewhat, but not well at all.  Perhaps from his distant, distant childhood. 

      They took away his blindfold, and he looked up at her gracefully aged, beautiful face.  If he remembered her at all, it must have been because of those stunning eyes.  Deep-set, thoughtful, wise, profoundly unhappy eyes.  Her name was Lady Andrada.  Another old friend of his father's, though in the past centuries he heard she died in her sleep, and they say she was a wandering, heartbroken ghost.

      ~You remember me,~ she smiled, ~We have not seen each other since you were very young.  You were lost in the woods.~

      Legolas looked up at her as she stepped forward, defiant, unwilling to be wooed by her disarming smile and gentle voice.  She seemed even more amused by this, and she looked at Caro, who was standing behind Legolas with a hand braced upon his shoulder, knowingly.  She also took in the appearance of the other soldiers, noting their injuries.

      ~You had some trouble?~ she teased them, an old fire lending life to her eyes.

      ~He was always a handful,~ Caro replied wryly.

      She kneeled before Legolas and took his face in her hands, watching him closely.  ~You look like your father.~  She said it coolly, making him wonder if it was a good thing, for she seemed slightly miffed by it.  Caro cleared his throat, and she glared at him.

      ~And I can tell you are like him in most other ways as well,~ she added quietly, ~A great loss for Mirkwood, that they would not have you as their King.~

      She drew a small vial from one of the folds of her gown.  It contained a clear red, viscous liquid and raised it to the level of his eyes, turning it in her hands, as hypnotized by it as he was.

      ~Some say,~ she murmured distractedly, ~That death is like sleeping.  But have you ever heard of a sleep that is much like death?~

      He turned his face away from the vial, away from her, beginning to have an idea of what was going to be done to him here.  ~I will not take it willingly,~ he snapped vehemently.

      ~It is not a question of whether or not you are willing, Legolas,~ she told him primly, ~But I think you will, after you hear what we have to say.~

      ~Why are you doing this?~ he asked, aching.  What was all this ridiculous intrigue all about and how in the world did he happen to fall right in the middle of it?

      ~We do this for the love of your father,~ she replied after a beat, ~And this is why you must do this as well.~

      ~We do not yet know who killed Lesandro,~ Caro told him, ~Perhaps it really was you.  But it could have been a number of others.  Either way, our most ambitious elves are beginning to have ideas in their heads.  Do you understand this, Legolas? They are using you against your father.~

      ~You already know of the rumors that have been spread about you,~ continued Andrada, ~They are constantly fed by other elves, who know that as long as he lives, Thranduil will never see your execution through.  That as long as he draws breath, Thranduil will not see you harmed.  They want the King to appear weak, and to seem as if he does not properly dispel justice.  They want to usurp him and claim the throne for themselves.~

      ~We do this for your father,~ said Caro, ~But we also do this for Mirkwood.  He is the best of Kings.  And with the problems ever rising in this turbulent land… no one short of him will do.~

      ~Who wishes to usurp my father?~ Legolas asked, stunned at the repercussions that Lesandro's death brought.

      ~The elf-lord Sala,~ replied Andrada, ~and with Thranduil as hesitant with your trial as he has been, Sala is gathering even more support.~

      ~Do you think he is the one behind Lesandro's killing?~ Legolas asked, his temper brewing.  The plan was certainly an intricate one—rid the Realm of its crown prince, accuse the King's son, make the monarch appear incompetent and weak, take his throne with the support of his own people.

      ~That we are unsure of,~ admitted Caro, ~He struck me more as a mere opportunist.  But it is also very likely.~

      ~Either way,~ said Andrada, ~Your death removes you completely as a lever to be used against Thranduil.  You are his sole weakness, Legolas.  If you are gone, Sala will be silenced.~

      ~We will say you tried to flee,~ said Caro, ~And was killed in the attempt to recover you.~

      ~The potion will give you the appearance of death,~ said Andrada, ~It is safe.  I swear to you I tried it myself.  It was my escape, and it shall be yours as well.~

TO BE CONTINUED…