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 15
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Mirkwood
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"Mirkwood soldiers must be rather lax," Elladan commented quietly, "for us to have gotten this far into their Realm without detection."
"It's not for lacking on their part," Estel told him, "Legolas knows how they work, and this forest inside-out. He's only spent centuries hidden beneath their very noses, after all."
The party of four made their way across the vast forest on foot, having left the far-harder-to-conceal horses some miles back. Traveling this way lent them more stealth, and secrecy was vital in their success. The Mirkwood elf held point, moving without hesitation. He knew these woods as if it was a kingdom that was still his own.
Estel followed close behind, noting how much more silent Legolas had become after they gained the company of his brothers. It wasn't altogether a huge surprise, considering the elf's perpetually-raised defenses. But his was an easy charm Estel sincerely missed, and one that was so ironically, potently absent.
"You're pretty silent," Estel murmured at his back, deciding to tease him.
"We have to be," Legolas told him after a moment.
Estel watched him from the corner of his eyes. It wasn't just the presence of Elrohir and Elladan after all, Estel deduced by the clouded, thoughtful look of Legolas, not so hidden beneath his vigilant concentration.
The elf spoke, as if he read the other's thoughts. "I've never returned this close before," he said softly, "Mirkwood elves live here, sleep in these rooms, have spoken with their friends, dined with their families…" he shook his head, as if the act would free him from his memories, "As I said. I've never returned this close before."
"Well it was bound to happen sometime," Estel pointed out.
"I did not think so," said Legolas, "when I left… I thought it was 'til forever."
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They journeyed through to the evening, never once encountering a Mirkwood patrol or that of orcs. While Legolas was skilled enough at evading, it was also undoubtedly due to a great measure of luck. Soon, they reached the barest corners of the heart of the Woodland Realm, where most of the Mirkwood elves lived.
They knew they were moving ever closer to the Realm's fortress palace as the great Greens tamed beneath their feet and over there heads. Soon enough indeed, they came upon the sight of Mirkwood's main city, dimly lit and mostly asleep in the deep night, which they beheld at a distance for a brief moment. It has long been said that Mirkwood was as close an image to the once-most-beautiful elven city of Middle-Earth Menegroth, as there could be at present. The latter now long-fallen, Estel could only wonder at its splendor, for Mirkwood was already vast and stunning in a way that took his breath away, then when he passed through here with Gandalf days ago, and now, once again, with its reluctant prince at his side. Intricately designed ways and arches, mansions and chambers built around towering trees… it was a sight to behold, long hidden in these mysterious forests, standing tall and proud amidst the horrors that strove to threaten it.
"It is as beautiful as I remembered," said Legolas quietly, as helplessly enthralled by the magical kingdom as he must have been when he was Mirkwood's favorite child a long, long time ago. Even as he expressed this, though, he was dismayed by his sentimentality, and clouded it with a dictation of his plans, "At the outskirts of the city is where we lay our dead. There are not very many of us who are felled in battle, but the invaders of the South have given us enough to make such a space necessary."
"We have none in Rivendell," said Elrohir.
"I am not surprised," said Legolas, "You also do not have Dol Guldur. You will be familiar with the spot of land that I speak," he hesitated for a moment, "It is where Lesandro was laid to rest."
"I see," Elrohir said, also at odds as to what to say of the topic.
"What of it?" Estel asked, diffusing the tension.
"There is a mausoleum for him," said Legolas, "Where his body joins our mother's. It has a secret way into the palace at the heart of the city. It was created so that in case of defeat and flight, we may use it to leave the city. But mostly, my brothers and I, we used it to visit our mother whenever we pleased."
"Lord Sala resides in the palace?" asked Estel.
"The last I knew of," replied Legolas, "He was one of my father's advisors. You understand… this was centuries ago."
"Perhaps it would be wiser to seek Caro first," suggested Estel.
"Then the palace is indeed the place to go," said Legolas, "His counsel is invaluable to my father, especially with the orc attacks. He lived there last I knew, and since the problem has not left our land since my absence, he could very well be there also."
"What are you talking about?" Elrohir asked, suddenly perplexed that the situation now sounded far more complicated than Estel first made it out to be. Earlier in their journey, he was hastily filled in by the human about the situation; 'He was set-up, we're going back to get some answers.' And since the elf who was at the core of all the madness was loathe to speak of his own tale to his new companions, Elrohir bit his tongue and kept his patience. But it was not altogether his strongest value, and he certainly felt he had been tactful long enough, giving the Mirkwood elf the space he needed. Now he needed to be informed before they moved further.
"Caro aided in Legolas' escape," said Estel, "You see, Lesandro's murder and Legolas' trial thereafter was pushing an ambitious Elf-lord named Sala at the forefront of the throne. Sala kept using Legolas against King Thranduil, making the King seem unjust, and gaining support from the people to usurp him. Caro staged the death of Legolas and arranged his consequent exile and hiding to remove him from the position of being his father's weakness. We think it may have been Sala who killed Lesandro and framed Legolas in order to wrest the Kingdom from Thranduil. In the meantime, Caro swore to find Lesandro's killer. But Legolas never heard from him."
Elladan's brows furrowed in thought, "I remember Lord Sala loosely, from when we were here. He seemed… rather unhinged."
"I would not put it past him at all," Elrohir added thoughtfully. He looked at Legolas, as if truly seeing him for the first time. "Then again, I once also felt the same way about you."
"Once?" Legolas asked, wryly.
Elrohir frowned, irritated that the Mirkwood elf would find now to be an opportune moment for him to apologize for all of his accusations. "Your conviction is almost as madly convincing as Estel's," he said, stiff-necked, "And besides, all logic is against you going through all this trouble if it were just a charade. I think at last that you are indeed innocent of any wrongdoing, Legolas. But has anyone ever told you that you do not accept aid, compliment or apology very graciously?"
Legolas almost smiled, despite the situation. Estel chuckled at them shamelessly, and both elves knew they were at last on the same side when they both reached for the insufferable man and poked him.
The confidence surely boosted the Mirkwood elf's heart, and the group strode forward, headed towards the quietest part of the Realm, where the dead rested. Here, even the towering trees seemed reverently silent. It was along this road that, as if struck by some unknown force, Legolas uttered a low cry of surprise and hurt, and ceased his fervent, determined walking.
Estel, panicked, turned to him, watching his face. His eyes were bloodshot and turbulent, and as Estel opened his mouth to ask why, he felt Elrohir's hand on his shoulder, the elf shaking his head in warning.
The four warriors stood still, and the world about him seemed to stay unmoving, as unmoving as these graves and these trees that surrounded it. Estel's senses soon picked up what the three elves in his company must have been hearing.
A song, Estel realized.
It was a tragic lament; a great, secret one, sung only in the dead of the night, in the quietest of places, for the most forbidden feelings and the most forsaken of souls.
For the most forsaken of souls… Estel thought, glancing at the elf prince beside him, who had just taken to smiling again before this.
The sound was hailing, low and muffled but still as beautiful as the most beautiful songs of elvish make, from inside the sealed mausoleum that held two of the royal family. But it was not for Lesandro that it was being sung, nor for his mother beside him. Legolas was hearing his father singing it for his other lost son.
Estel's heart beat frantically. Of course. When the Legolas decided to come back here out of his rekindled desire for truth and vengeance—when he came back to satisfy his hunger and hate—he also inadvertently returned to the things that he loved and lost. Estel was realizing just now, what the elf had realized earlier along their journey here. He was also coming back to his family. He was also coming back home.
Home, thought Estel, To where elves live, sleep, speak with their friends, dine with their families…
I've never returned this close before, he had said.
Estel placed a reassuring hand on Legolas' shoulder and it seemed to break the spell. Legolas turned toward him with shining eyes, as if seeking answers from his face.
Fight or flee?
"I do not have the answers, mellon," Estel told him quietly, trying to coax a smile out of him by saying, "Even if I did, I would not speak it. So none of you can blame the outcome on me."
It worked, marginally, but it did what it had to do. The look on the elf's eyes strengthened, and he stepped forward once more. He had originally intended to return to his father only after his name was cleaned. He had originally intended to return to his father when he can only be a credit to him.
But this was a night when at least one grief would end. Thranduil's song, his prayer, would be answered. No matter what eventualities his return would yield to, his father had one loss less to feel. He was back.
TO BE CONTINUED…