DISCLAIMER: Tolkien owns everything except any characters you've never seen
in the books and my plot line. ...duh.
SUMMARY: See chapter one
Aragorn did a bit of a double take as his mind worked feverishly to process exactly what the soldier in front of him had just said. It wasn't possible. How could they be surrounded by orcs? Using a considerable amount of strength, he steeled the panic rising in his heart and collected himself until he was the perfect picture of the King Elessar.
"Surely you jest", he said, even though he was fully aware that this particular soldier was serious about everything. "Or perhaps you are mistaken. There can be no orcs here." The soldier finally raised his eyes from the ground at these words and looked at his king. Aragorn mentally kicked himself, for it seemed as though the doubt coloring his words had hurt the soldier to some extent. The soldier's mouth twisted into a frown. For once in his life, Aragorn was looked at by one of his subjects as though he had grown another head.
"Nay, my lord. I would not jest of this matter", he said in slight disbelief. Why would the king think he was joking about a matter like this? Arwen lightly touched the man on the arm and guided him over to a chair.
"Please, sit." She said in her quiet melodic voice as she swept over to a cupboard to gather bandages for the cut on his head. The soldier and Aragorn could hear her humming across the room, and they both found themselves suddenly drained of all panic. Aragorn came to stand in front of the soldier and pierced him with a steady, concerned gaze.
"Tell me everything", he said, hands clasped firmly behind him. The soldier looked slightly nervous when faced with the regal form of Aragorn, but he hesitated only a moment before twisting his hands in his lap and beginning his tale.
"We left for the trip this morning, nine of us, as you know." He paused to wince as Arwen applied a salve that stung to his head, looking apologetic. He continued at Aragorn's nod. "All was well until we reached about ten miles or so out. We met with orcs in large number. A group of at least forty spotted us as we crested a ridge overlooking the river Anorien where it crosses over the Mering stream." Aragorn nodded, he knew this meant that they were about ten miles out of Minas Tirith when they crested this ridge. He had traveled that way himself many times. The soldier continued. "They began firing on us almost immediately. There wasn't even time enough to turn the horses back. Two of our company fell at the foul points, as the rest of us were ambushed." Both Aragorn and Arwen could hear the rising emotion in his voice, and it pained him deeply to watch said emotions flit across his face. "There were too many!! Their numbers overtook us. I knew, as did the rest of the company, that someone had to survive and tell the king. Somehow I fought my way out, receiving only this wound," he said, indicating the wound Arwen was working diligently on bandaging. "As.as far as I could see, everyone around me was dying or already dead. The soldier's eyes filled with tears at the memory of something unknown to all save him. "In that moment," he murmured, sounding like a man confessing his sins. A man seeking reparation. "I became a coward, sire. I ran. I should have stayed, I could've helped." Aragorn could finally take no more and silenced the distraught man with gentle hand on the soldier and softly spoken words.
"You did all you could. You were right to run. Minas Tirith owes you much, for if you had stayed to die, news of the peril you speak of would never have reached us. It could have been let free to overrun our lands while we idle unaware. Be at peace, my friend." Aragorn wanted to ask him more about what it was he saw, because his story had not indicated them being surrounded. After taking a long look at the man before him, though, he knew he could ask no more of him this day. 'You have been through much. Rest now, and this matter will be discussed more fully later. You have done well." The words of his king seemed to assure the man more than anything else ever could. His eyes shone gratefully, silently thanking his king for helping him. He pushed himself to his feet and nodded.
"Thank you, milord." Aragorn nodded, clearly understanding that the word meant more than what was openly seen. The soldier turned to Arwen and thanked her for her care, then left. The door clicked shut behind him and Aragorn sighed.
"T'was ill tidings we just received, my love," Arwen murmured from just beside the chair recently vacated by the soldier. Aragorn gave a slightly startled jump, having forgotten the elf had been standing beside the chair the entire time. Her silvery laugh floated on the air, and she moved toward him on silent feet and impulsively wrapped her arms around him, knowing how troubled he would have to be to forget that she was in the room. Her voice glided into his ear, soothing him as much as her closeness. "This may be our last embrace for some time, my dear, if this talk of peril rings true." Aragorn wrapped his arms around her waist and placed his face in her hair, breathing in her scent of lavender from her gardens and the natural smell of trees all elves seemed to possess. The hugged her tightly to him, knowing just how truthful and foreboding her words could be.
*******
The creature faced another of his minions, listening reluctantly with barely contained impatience to it's speech. It gazed at its servant, bloodlust twinkling darkly within the depths of it's eyes. The only reason the foolish orc was still alive was because this report was very important to his plans. Very important. "...the dwarf received grave injury..." The creature was only catching bits and pieces of the orc's words, not particularly caring about anything but whether or not this part of the plan had succeeded. One part definitely caught its attention. "...elf saved it..attacked eight humans of Gondor.the ninth escaped..battle ---- " the creature interrupted the orc sharply.
"One .escaped?" The orc looked slightly taken aback, as this was the only time he had seen his master display an emotion other than strong anger. It was obvious that the information that has just been relayed to the creature had disturbed it greatly. Slowly fear began to build within the orc, for the reaction of it's master told him that something had certainly gone horribly wrong. "Explain." The creature commanded bitingly in a booming, murderous voice that spoke volumes of thinly veiled rage, rising from its dark throne. His minion took an involuntary step back as the pure evil radiating off of the creature felt foul even to something as tainted as the orc itself. The orc forced its throat to work and forced its tongue to form words around the block of fear that seemed to have lodged itself in his windpipe.
"There were------nine, m-m---my lord. When the dead were counted, only eight wer---were-erm---uh--..present." The creature did not move, but the orc stumbled backward as the creature's cold, finally uncontained fury seemed to pull the room beneath its icy thrall. Any warmth that may have been clinging to the walls or the corners was quickly and effectively banished in the span of a few seconds. With a voice dripping obvious disdain and annoyance, it spoke, raising a hand and pointing an accusing finger.
"You failed me." It was slightly amusing how a sentence so simple could affect the gofer cowering before the creature. He seemed to visibly shrink, even though the orc's feet stayed pinned to the floor where it stood.
"M-my --my lord, please", the orc pleaded, its voice taking on a pitiful tone. "please sire, it can be fi-" One again, the orc was cut off abruptly.
"'It can be' NOTHING. I appointed this task to you. YOUR GROUP." The orc cowered even lower, if that were actually possible, in the face of this storm. "I DO NOT TOLERATE FAILURE." As it spoke these words that held such a warning for the poor minion, the creature began to change. Silver eyes flashed brightly with white for a moment, then abruptly changed to red, tiny yellow pupils glinting maliciously. Claws sprouted in place of fingernails, teeth elongated into fangs, and the darkness already dominating the room drew closer to it, causing nearly all light to flee. The reason the creature had no name was now revealed. It had no soul, no true form, and just true emotions. Right now that emotions was distaste and rage. The orc turned to desperate pleading.
"Please my lord, please. It will not happen again---"
"I know", the creature interrupted in a guttural hiss of a voice. "it will not happen again, make no mistake." Faster than the eye could follow, the creature went from feet away to no more than three inches before the orc. In one fluid motion, the claws of the creature were embedded deeply in the orc's abdomen, causing the orc to writhe and squeal with pain, as skin, muscle, and even bone were broken. The creature lifted its minion into the air, and the cries of the orc reached a new level as all of it's weight was placed on the horrible wounds dealt to its abdomen. The sound was horribly grating on the ears, high pitched and pitiful. The creature bared its fangs, and the cries of the orc were cruelly and abruptly squelched as the fangs sunk into the skin of the orcs neck and the creature ripped the head from the orc's body. Blood poured from the site of the creature's wrath, dripping to the floor and dying the stone a sickening blue- black. The now lifeless body thudded to the floor as the creature ripped its claws from it. A feral grin without the slightest hint of mirth passed across the creature's face as it envisioned the orc's body being the body of another. Three others, in fact.
**********
Legolas raised his head form its near permanent perch on Gimli's bed. The two arrows that had taken residence in his friend's body had, unfortunately, been tipped with poison. The blade hilt that had been swung with vicious force at his temple hadn't exactly helped matters either. For two days Mirkwood's healers had worked feverishly over Gimli's prone form, trying at least a hundred and one different remedies to pull the unknown morgul toxin from his system. Gimli was stabilized now, but he had yet to open his eyes. The dwarf had done so only once, in a feverish haze. His eyes had flickered open as he fought demons made known only to him, and the healers had fought a much more physically real battle to keep him from aggravating his wounds and hurting himself more. Legolas had been unable to help due to his bandaged arm, and it hurt worse than thousands of the sharpest knives to see his friend writhing in pain and fear and unable to do something for him. It had brought on a feeling of helplessness the seasoned warrior wasn't used to feeling. The elf balanced his chin on his one uninjured arm. His lithe frame was wracked with confusion as questions swirled in his mind. The orc that had attacked Gimli had been mere yards from his location. Why couldn't he sense them? The only thing that had saved them both from peril was that he felt his friend in distress, as opposed to the evil in the forest. An even more pressing matter: What were those foul former servants of Sauron doing so close to Mirkwood, attacking dwarves? If these unanswerable questions weren't enough, the mystery surrounding the strange poison cleared that problem. How a bunch of orcs could have possibly gotten a potion of such magnitude to almost kill a dwarf in hours and was older than him was a complete mystery. Another interesting and puzzling angle was the origin of the toxin. The healers had confirmed that it came from Dol Guldur. Did this mean that the area was still being used? Legolas pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes, unsuccessfully trying to ward off a headache. He snapped back into reality with a jolt, straightening as he heard the unmistakable sound of someone walking up the hall towards the room. His mind processed whom it was moments before a knock sounded on the door. Legolas stood from the chair by Gimli's bedside and crossed the room to open it. The door swung open to reveal a slightly rushed looking Thranduil. Legolas suddenly realized he hadn't seen his father at all fr the two days that he had been there. Gimli's problems had taken up everything in his mind at the time, and he had simply forgotten. Although he guessed it could go both ways, seeing as how his father must have heard that he was in the castle, but Thranduil had never sought him out himself. Legolas forced a frown to keep from showing as the thought that maybe he just wanted to see Gimli with almost no sense of dignity, lying in a bed half clothed and unconscious. The elf hoped his father wasn't that conniving, but he could see how seeing the dwarf like this might give him some satisfaction. Besides, if Gimli found out the man who had imprisoned his father had seen him like this, Legolas's life might be forfeit. Stepping outside and closing the door behind him as opposed to inviting his father inside, Legolas faced his father, raising a questioning eyebrow. His father had a strained smile on his face that seemed frozen to Legolas. Blue eyes met, and finally Thranduil broke the silence. "I just heard you have been here for two days now, my son. " Legolas blanched a bit at that, his hope that maybe his father wouldn't bring that up now dead. "I heard about the dwarf", Thranduil said, spitting the last two words of his sentence as though they were vile toxins. Legolas unconsciously went on the defensive as Thranduil continued. "What mess did he get you into this time?" The sapphire eyes of the younger elf flashed in anger. When he spoke his melodious voice was tight with annoyance.
"Gimli had nothing to do with what happened, father. He never does." The last part of Legolas's words had been spoken in remembrance of other times when his father had attempted to blame his dwarven friend for mishaps in the past. The elf was getting tired of defending his friend's honor to his father's harsh words. Gimli was a good person, and an honorable friend. If Thranduil would just see that...but no. Thranduil didn't want to see it, and Legolas knew that.
"So tending to the mortal for two days had your hands so full, you couldn't visit your father? You know I needed you to help me with those warriors." Legolas really didn't particularly care about that, and he certainly hadn't cared about it two days ago. To be entirely truthful, that was one of the reasons he had left the palace in the first place. He was tired of the duties that Thranduil had been shirking on him to simply keep him around. The king certainly didn't need Legolas to review the new warriors for the southern patrol. It was just an excuse to place more fault on his relationships with mortals. Legolas forced concern and sincerity to an otherwise blank face. Lying was something he resented doing, but he used what skills he had when he had to. He liked to think his diplomatic blood enabled him with such valuable qualities.
"I'm very sorry about that, father, but the healers thought I should stay to.um.." 'Ok', he thought, 'maybe lying isn't one of your strong points.' "To be a familiar voice..erm.presence..when he came around.", Legolas conceded, smiling in what he hoped was a convincing and not triumphant manner. Unfortunately, Thranduil missed his glorious accomplishment of a lie. Somehow, his father had caught sight of the bandages wrapped around his injured arm.
"What happened there?" he said, indicating the bandaged extremity. Legolas glanced at it, and his stomach clenched in foreboding of trouble to come. Fantastic. His father had just discovered another reason to bother Gimli. Saving him had gotten his son hurt.
"Um, I was grazed. Nothing dangerous." Thranduil harrumphed.
"At this speed the naugrim* will kill you before you even have a chance to sail for Valinor." Legolas frowned. This was a very sore topic for them, Thranduil's distaste of mortals putting strain upon it. Unfortunately, the frown was not lost on his father. "Of course, perhaps you won't go anyway.", he murmured, glancing contemptuously past his son at the door of the room that housed Gimli. Legolas saw the look and anger and extreme sadness began to war in his heart. He wondered if his father could see how much attempting to force him to chose was hurting him. He knew his father loved him very much and only wanted his son in the Undying Lands by his side, but he also knew that Thranduil was aware of his ties here. At times he was much too aware of those ties. Times such as these.
"Father.." Thranduil focused angry eyes on his son. Legolas could also detect sadness in his gaze that mirrored his own.
"You would choose a mortal over your own blood?" Legolas was taken aback by the question his father threw at him, almost making it sound as though his father thought him a traitor. He was hurt, confused, and irked even more by those words.
"I made promises father. I fully intend to keep them!! I am tied here. I cannot leave, not yet. I will not leave."
"Tied to what? A dwarf and a man? Your 'promises' were made in a show of foolishness. They will die and you will be here, alone. Your fate will mirror that of the Evenstar." Legolas's eyes widened, the hurt he was feeling now perfectly apparent upon his chiseled features. They both fell silent, Legolas staring at his father in shock, and his father looking back at him with anger and an almost desperate sort of longing. Suddenly Legolas's gaze hardened into one of defiance.
"I will not part yet, father." The elf spoke the words with such finality it seemed as though not only the conversation, but the entire matter itself were closed, though both elves knew it was not. Without another word, Legolas turned and reentered Gimli's room, closing the door behind him on the shocked and angry visage of King Thranduil with a snap.
*naugrim- Dwarf. I think it's in the non-respectable terms.
Thanks to everyone who reviewed. There weren't many, but you guys definitely helped my muse wring this chapter out of me! ^_^
P.S..Many thanks to Niani, who pointed out that little mistake on Elladan's name. I honestly hadn't noticed. Thanks a bunch!
Ok, now click the little review button and tell me what ya think about this one!
Aragorn did a bit of a double take as his mind worked feverishly to process exactly what the soldier in front of him had just said. It wasn't possible. How could they be surrounded by orcs? Using a considerable amount of strength, he steeled the panic rising in his heart and collected himself until he was the perfect picture of the King Elessar.
"Surely you jest", he said, even though he was fully aware that this particular soldier was serious about everything. "Or perhaps you are mistaken. There can be no orcs here." The soldier finally raised his eyes from the ground at these words and looked at his king. Aragorn mentally kicked himself, for it seemed as though the doubt coloring his words had hurt the soldier to some extent. The soldier's mouth twisted into a frown. For once in his life, Aragorn was looked at by one of his subjects as though he had grown another head.
"Nay, my lord. I would not jest of this matter", he said in slight disbelief. Why would the king think he was joking about a matter like this? Arwen lightly touched the man on the arm and guided him over to a chair.
"Please, sit." She said in her quiet melodic voice as she swept over to a cupboard to gather bandages for the cut on his head. The soldier and Aragorn could hear her humming across the room, and they both found themselves suddenly drained of all panic. Aragorn came to stand in front of the soldier and pierced him with a steady, concerned gaze.
"Tell me everything", he said, hands clasped firmly behind him. The soldier looked slightly nervous when faced with the regal form of Aragorn, but he hesitated only a moment before twisting his hands in his lap and beginning his tale.
"We left for the trip this morning, nine of us, as you know." He paused to wince as Arwen applied a salve that stung to his head, looking apologetic. He continued at Aragorn's nod. "All was well until we reached about ten miles or so out. We met with orcs in large number. A group of at least forty spotted us as we crested a ridge overlooking the river Anorien where it crosses over the Mering stream." Aragorn nodded, he knew this meant that they were about ten miles out of Minas Tirith when they crested this ridge. He had traveled that way himself many times. The soldier continued. "They began firing on us almost immediately. There wasn't even time enough to turn the horses back. Two of our company fell at the foul points, as the rest of us were ambushed." Both Aragorn and Arwen could hear the rising emotion in his voice, and it pained him deeply to watch said emotions flit across his face. "There were too many!! Their numbers overtook us. I knew, as did the rest of the company, that someone had to survive and tell the king. Somehow I fought my way out, receiving only this wound," he said, indicating the wound Arwen was working diligently on bandaging. "As.as far as I could see, everyone around me was dying or already dead. The soldier's eyes filled with tears at the memory of something unknown to all save him. "In that moment," he murmured, sounding like a man confessing his sins. A man seeking reparation. "I became a coward, sire. I ran. I should have stayed, I could've helped." Aragorn could finally take no more and silenced the distraught man with gentle hand on the soldier and softly spoken words.
"You did all you could. You were right to run. Minas Tirith owes you much, for if you had stayed to die, news of the peril you speak of would never have reached us. It could have been let free to overrun our lands while we idle unaware. Be at peace, my friend." Aragorn wanted to ask him more about what it was he saw, because his story had not indicated them being surrounded. After taking a long look at the man before him, though, he knew he could ask no more of him this day. 'You have been through much. Rest now, and this matter will be discussed more fully later. You have done well." The words of his king seemed to assure the man more than anything else ever could. His eyes shone gratefully, silently thanking his king for helping him. He pushed himself to his feet and nodded.
"Thank you, milord." Aragorn nodded, clearly understanding that the word meant more than what was openly seen. The soldier turned to Arwen and thanked her for her care, then left. The door clicked shut behind him and Aragorn sighed.
"T'was ill tidings we just received, my love," Arwen murmured from just beside the chair recently vacated by the soldier. Aragorn gave a slightly startled jump, having forgotten the elf had been standing beside the chair the entire time. Her silvery laugh floated on the air, and she moved toward him on silent feet and impulsively wrapped her arms around him, knowing how troubled he would have to be to forget that she was in the room. Her voice glided into his ear, soothing him as much as her closeness. "This may be our last embrace for some time, my dear, if this talk of peril rings true." Aragorn wrapped his arms around her waist and placed his face in her hair, breathing in her scent of lavender from her gardens and the natural smell of trees all elves seemed to possess. The hugged her tightly to him, knowing just how truthful and foreboding her words could be.
*******
The creature faced another of his minions, listening reluctantly with barely contained impatience to it's speech. It gazed at its servant, bloodlust twinkling darkly within the depths of it's eyes. The only reason the foolish orc was still alive was because this report was very important to his plans. Very important. "...the dwarf received grave injury..." The creature was only catching bits and pieces of the orc's words, not particularly caring about anything but whether or not this part of the plan had succeeded. One part definitely caught its attention. "...elf saved it..attacked eight humans of Gondor.the ninth escaped..battle ---- " the creature interrupted the orc sharply.
"One .escaped?" The orc looked slightly taken aback, as this was the only time he had seen his master display an emotion other than strong anger. It was obvious that the information that has just been relayed to the creature had disturbed it greatly. Slowly fear began to build within the orc, for the reaction of it's master told him that something had certainly gone horribly wrong. "Explain." The creature commanded bitingly in a booming, murderous voice that spoke volumes of thinly veiled rage, rising from its dark throne. His minion took an involuntary step back as the pure evil radiating off of the creature felt foul even to something as tainted as the orc itself. The orc forced its throat to work and forced its tongue to form words around the block of fear that seemed to have lodged itself in his windpipe.
"There were------nine, m-m---my lord. When the dead were counted, only eight wer---were-erm---uh--..present." The creature did not move, but the orc stumbled backward as the creature's cold, finally uncontained fury seemed to pull the room beneath its icy thrall. Any warmth that may have been clinging to the walls or the corners was quickly and effectively banished in the span of a few seconds. With a voice dripping obvious disdain and annoyance, it spoke, raising a hand and pointing an accusing finger.
"You failed me." It was slightly amusing how a sentence so simple could affect the gofer cowering before the creature. He seemed to visibly shrink, even though the orc's feet stayed pinned to the floor where it stood.
"M-my --my lord, please", the orc pleaded, its voice taking on a pitiful tone. "please sire, it can be fi-" One again, the orc was cut off abruptly.
"'It can be' NOTHING. I appointed this task to you. YOUR GROUP." The orc cowered even lower, if that were actually possible, in the face of this storm. "I DO NOT TOLERATE FAILURE." As it spoke these words that held such a warning for the poor minion, the creature began to change. Silver eyes flashed brightly with white for a moment, then abruptly changed to red, tiny yellow pupils glinting maliciously. Claws sprouted in place of fingernails, teeth elongated into fangs, and the darkness already dominating the room drew closer to it, causing nearly all light to flee. The reason the creature had no name was now revealed. It had no soul, no true form, and just true emotions. Right now that emotions was distaste and rage. The orc turned to desperate pleading.
"Please my lord, please. It will not happen again---"
"I know", the creature interrupted in a guttural hiss of a voice. "it will not happen again, make no mistake." Faster than the eye could follow, the creature went from feet away to no more than three inches before the orc. In one fluid motion, the claws of the creature were embedded deeply in the orc's abdomen, causing the orc to writhe and squeal with pain, as skin, muscle, and even bone were broken. The creature lifted its minion into the air, and the cries of the orc reached a new level as all of it's weight was placed on the horrible wounds dealt to its abdomen. The sound was horribly grating on the ears, high pitched and pitiful. The creature bared its fangs, and the cries of the orc were cruelly and abruptly squelched as the fangs sunk into the skin of the orcs neck and the creature ripped the head from the orc's body. Blood poured from the site of the creature's wrath, dripping to the floor and dying the stone a sickening blue- black. The now lifeless body thudded to the floor as the creature ripped its claws from it. A feral grin without the slightest hint of mirth passed across the creature's face as it envisioned the orc's body being the body of another. Three others, in fact.
**********
Legolas raised his head form its near permanent perch on Gimli's bed. The two arrows that had taken residence in his friend's body had, unfortunately, been tipped with poison. The blade hilt that had been swung with vicious force at his temple hadn't exactly helped matters either. For two days Mirkwood's healers had worked feverishly over Gimli's prone form, trying at least a hundred and one different remedies to pull the unknown morgul toxin from his system. Gimli was stabilized now, but he had yet to open his eyes. The dwarf had done so only once, in a feverish haze. His eyes had flickered open as he fought demons made known only to him, and the healers had fought a much more physically real battle to keep him from aggravating his wounds and hurting himself more. Legolas had been unable to help due to his bandaged arm, and it hurt worse than thousands of the sharpest knives to see his friend writhing in pain and fear and unable to do something for him. It had brought on a feeling of helplessness the seasoned warrior wasn't used to feeling. The elf balanced his chin on his one uninjured arm. His lithe frame was wracked with confusion as questions swirled in his mind. The orc that had attacked Gimli had been mere yards from his location. Why couldn't he sense them? The only thing that had saved them both from peril was that he felt his friend in distress, as opposed to the evil in the forest. An even more pressing matter: What were those foul former servants of Sauron doing so close to Mirkwood, attacking dwarves? If these unanswerable questions weren't enough, the mystery surrounding the strange poison cleared that problem. How a bunch of orcs could have possibly gotten a potion of such magnitude to almost kill a dwarf in hours and was older than him was a complete mystery. Another interesting and puzzling angle was the origin of the toxin. The healers had confirmed that it came from Dol Guldur. Did this mean that the area was still being used? Legolas pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes, unsuccessfully trying to ward off a headache. He snapped back into reality with a jolt, straightening as he heard the unmistakable sound of someone walking up the hall towards the room. His mind processed whom it was moments before a knock sounded on the door. Legolas stood from the chair by Gimli's bedside and crossed the room to open it. The door swung open to reveal a slightly rushed looking Thranduil. Legolas suddenly realized he hadn't seen his father at all fr the two days that he had been there. Gimli's problems had taken up everything in his mind at the time, and he had simply forgotten. Although he guessed it could go both ways, seeing as how his father must have heard that he was in the castle, but Thranduil had never sought him out himself. Legolas forced a frown to keep from showing as the thought that maybe he just wanted to see Gimli with almost no sense of dignity, lying in a bed half clothed and unconscious. The elf hoped his father wasn't that conniving, but he could see how seeing the dwarf like this might give him some satisfaction. Besides, if Gimli found out the man who had imprisoned his father had seen him like this, Legolas's life might be forfeit. Stepping outside and closing the door behind him as opposed to inviting his father inside, Legolas faced his father, raising a questioning eyebrow. His father had a strained smile on his face that seemed frozen to Legolas. Blue eyes met, and finally Thranduil broke the silence. "I just heard you have been here for two days now, my son. " Legolas blanched a bit at that, his hope that maybe his father wouldn't bring that up now dead. "I heard about the dwarf", Thranduil said, spitting the last two words of his sentence as though they were vile toxins. Legolas unconsciously went on the defensive as Thranduil continued. "What mess did he get you into this time?" The sapphire eyes of the younger elf flashed in anger. When he spoke his melodious voice was tight with annoyance.
"Gimli had nothing to do with what happened, father. He never does." The last part of Legolas's words had been spoken in remembrance of other times when his father had attempted to blame his dwarven friend for mishaps in the past. The elf was getting tired of defending his friend's honor to his father's harsh words. Gimli was a good person, and an honorable friend. If Thranduil would just see that...but no. Thranduil didn't want to see it, and Legolas knew that.
"So tending to the mortal for two days had your hands so full, you couldn't visit your father? You know I needed you to help me with those warriors." Legolas really didn't particularly care about that, and he certainly hadn't cared about it two days ago. To be entirely truthful, that was one of the reasons he had left the palace in the first place. He was tired of the duties that Thranduil had been shirking on him to simply keep him around. The king certainly didn't need Legolas to review the new warriors for the southern patrol. It was just an excuse to place more fault on his relationships with mortals. Legolas forced concern and sincerity to an otherwise blank face. Lying was something he resented doing, but he used what skills he had when he had to. He liked to think his diplomatic blood enabled him with such valuable qualities.
"I'm very sorry about that, father, but the healers thought I should stay to.um.." 'Ok', he thought, 'maybe lying isn't one of your strong points.' "To be a familiar voice..erm.presence..when he came around.", Legolas conceded, smiling in what he hoped was a convincing and not triumphant manner. Unfortunately, Thranduil missed his glorious accomplishment of a lie. Somehow, his father had caught sight of the bandages wrapped around his injured arm.
"What happened there?" he said, indicating the bandaged extremity. Legolas glanced at it, and his stomach clenched in foreboding of trouble to come. Fantastic. His father had just discovered another reason to bother Gimli. Saving him had gotten his son hurt.
"Um, I was grazed. Nothing dangerous." Thranduil harrumphed.
"At this speed the naugrim* will kill you before you even have a chance to sail for Valinor." Legolas frowned. This was a very sore topic for them, Thranduil's distaste of mortals putting strain upon it. Unfortunately, the frown was not lost on his father. "Of course, perhaps you won't go anyway.", he murmured, glancing contemptuously past his son at the door of the room that housed Gimli. Legolas saw the look and anger and extreme sadness began to war in his heart. He wondered if his father could see how much attempting to force him to chose was hurting him. He knew his father loved him very much and only wanted his son in the Undying Lands by his side, but he also knew that Thranduil was aware of his ties here. At times he was much too aware of those ties. Times such as these.
"Father.." Thranduil focused angry eyes on his son. Legolas could also detect sadness in his gaze that mirrored his own.
"You would choose a mortal over your own blood?" Legolas was taken aback by the question his father threw at him, almost making it sound as though his father thought him a traitor. He was hurt, confused, and irked even more by those words.
"I made promises father. I fully intend to keep them!! I am tied here. I cannot leave, not yet. I will not leave."
"Tied to what? A dwarf and a man? Your 'promises' were made in a show of foolishness. They will die and you will be here, alone. Your fate will mirror that of the Evenstar." Legolas's eyes widened, the hurt he was feeling now perfectly apparent upon his chiseled features. They both fell silent, Legolas staring at his father in shock, and his father looking back at him with anger and an almost desperate sort of longing. Suddenly Legolas's gaze hardened into one of defiance.
"I will not part yet, father." The elf spoke the words with such finality it seemed as though not only the conversation, but the entire matter itself were closed, though both elves knew it was not. Without another word, Legolas turned and reentered Gimli's room, closing the door behind him on the shocked and angry visage of King Thranduil with a snap.
*naugrim- Dwarf. I think it's in the non-respectable terms.
Thanks to everyone who reviewed. There weren't many, but you guys definitely helped my muse wring this chapter out of me! ^_^
P.S..Many thanks to Niani, who pointed out that little mistake on Elladan's name. I honestly hadn't noticed. Thanks a bunch!
Ok, now click the little review button and tell me what ya think about this one!