The Elves of Mirkwood gathered near the walls in the large mausoleum, with sombre faces and tears that fell silently like the leaves outside. Some looked to those stood around them, trying desperately to understand what was happening. Others kept their eyes, deep and filled with pain, fixed on the ground. One or two of the older Elves tried not to break down, but the tension was enough to make even the strongest crumble. They waited. The biers would be brought in any time soon.
King Thranduil looked around, noticing but not really seeing. His emotion filled eyes fell on Lord Celeborn, who stood silently at the opposite wall, and behind him were Haldir, the March-warden of Lórien, and a whole host of Elves who were clad in the garb of the Golden Wood. He was not entirely sure how they came to be there, though he suspected it had something to do with Galadriel and her Mirror. Not that he cared, though.
Exhaling deeply, Thranduil stole a glance at Legolas, who was standing quietly at his side. No tears fell from the young Elf's eyes, though they were filled with pain. He kept his silver gaze on a monument that had long ago been carved of Oropher, after the Last Alliance. He had spoken not a single word since hearing the tolling of the bell.
There was a slight noise from the end of the room, and everyone jerked their heads up. The doors to the mausoleum had just been opened, and it was the Lady Galadriel who walked slowly in. She wore a long dress of gold, it seemed, though there was not one single word which could describe its hue, as was common among the Galadhrim. Her footsteps fell lightly, so lightly that one would think her to be floating. Her face remained impassive, though she could not hide the sorrow in her sapphire eyes.
Legolas drew in a sharp breath as he looked past the Lady, and out into the courtyard. "Ada, they are…"
"I know," Thranduil said softly.
The Prince nodded in determination, and watched as a silent procession made their way through the large doors and into the mausoleum. Walking just behind Galadriel were four soldiers, bearing a bier which held Airëlus' body. Wreaths of flowers had been lain around his slender form, and his fair hair was loose, spread across his shoulders. Legolas bit down on his lip, hoping and praying for the strength to get through it.
Behind this bier were other groups of four soldiers who bore the bodies of their fallen comrades. All of them tried to hold their emotions back and keep the stoic expressions on their faces, although there was not a single one of them who could deny that his eyes had not remained dry. They had fought, jested, been through a lot with those who had passed on.
"King Thranduil," Galadriel said softly.
"My Lady," the Sinda Elf replied. He looked up at her and inclined his head briefly, willing to forget all animosity for that day.
Galadriel held the Elven-lord's gaze for a moment, before lowering her eyes to meet those of the young Prince. They flickered with a mix of different emotions – sorrow, regret, pity. She had seen much of Legolas' plight, and that he had had to go through such an ordeal at such an age upset her greatly. There was not a lot in the world that disturbed her any more, but this….this was different.
Legolas dropped his gaze to the ground immediately. He had heard of her powers, and was loath to have his thoughts read when all he wanted was to keep them hidden. But as he sensed her moving away, he looked up again. He knew what was coming, but still drew in a sharp breath as he laid eyes upon the brother that he had lost.
The soldiers walked slowly down the passage that had been created for them, stopping every once in a while to let the gathered Elves touch a hand to the bodies of the fallen, and say silent prayers as they did so. But as they came to a halt in front of the King and Prince, everyone respectfully averted their eyes.
"Na sídh, gwador-nin," Legolas whispered.
Thranduil was silent as he looked into his eldest child's face, and if anyone was to glance up, they would have seen the battle that raged within his eyes. It was as though part of him was not ready to say goodbye, but the other part knew full well that there was nothing else that could be done. He shook his head slightly, as though trying to straighten out the confused thoughts in his mind, and slowly reached out a hand to touch it to Airëlus' cheek. "Namaarie, ion-nin," he said softly.
The soldiers slowly continued their journey down to the end of the long chamber, the Prince's bier followed by those of the warriors who had lost their lives. This time though, the procession did not stop in front of the Royals, though both King and Prince thought prayers for the fallen ones.
On the opposite side of the large chamber, Estel stood with Elladan and Elrohir, their father just a little way away. The twins wore identical robes of dusky blue, whilst the mortal wore his usual formal attire, as he had not bothered to pack anything else when leaving Rivendell all those days back. Sighing heavily, he glanced across at Legolas, and forced himself to give his friend what he hoped was a reassuring smile. The Elf merely inclined his head briefly, before snapping his attention back to the dais, where Airëlus had been lain on a marble tablet in front of Galadriel. The fallen warriors were being lain on tablets on one of the lower platforms.
"Friends, we are here today to mourn the passing of our loved ones," the Lady said softly, though every word was caught. "This is for the dead, but also for us. We are leaving the fallen ones in the hands of Eru, with the trust that you will meet them again. Their bodies remain here, yet their souls have departed.
"Life is a long journey, full of love, light, and freedom. Yet every one of us will experience heartache, loss, and sorrow." At this, Galadriel let her eyes rest first of all on Thranduil, then Legolas. "Your loved ones have found another world, away from all of that. But grieve not. Instead, rejoice, and celebrate their lives."
The Prince smiled briefly, although, like everything else that he had said or done in the past week, it was without the slightest trace of humor. He had never thought to celebrate death, but celebrating life did not sound so bad. Feeling only slightly heartened, he looked away from Galadriel, who was murmuring an Elvish prayer.
He slowly scanned the congregation standing at the opposite wall. He took in their falling tears and ashen faces, and wondered at the fact that he had shown no such signs of grief or despair as of yet. His eyes swept over someone standing by the door, but no sooner had they passed, he immediately flicked them back again. It was an Elf, that much was clear by their slender build, and long dark hair that fell past their shoulders. The stranger had bowed his head, face covered by a hood, and… Wait a minute: dark hair?
Legolas' heart stopped, and his mouth ran dry as paranoia set in. Could it…? No, it was not Calaen. He was not fool enough to return to the palace, especially on a day like this. The Prince exhaled deeply, feeling angry with himself. He could not panic every time that he saw a dark haired Elf; that would be taking things to the extreme. But even with that thought still in his mind, he moved a little closer to his father.
Thranduil looked down at his son and inclined his head briefly, before directing his attention back to Galadriel. Legolas swallowed nervously, and flicked his eyes across to the dark haired Elf who still stood close by the doors. Maybe it was Elladan or Elro – No, they were directly opposite him.
The stranger pulled his cloak tighter around his slender body, and moved slowly nearer to the doors, keeping his face turned down to the ground. Legolas' heart pounded painfully against his chest, and he drew in a sharp breath as panic set in. It went unnoticed though – everyone thought it to be held back grief. The Elven-king wrapped an arm around his son's waist and pulled him close, in a rare moment of public affection.
"Ada, it is…he…" Legolas broke off and jerked his head towards the doors.
"Hush," Thranduil whispered. He could feel the trembling of the Prince's body, and turned him slightly so that he was facing away from the dais. "Do not do this now. Just…just try and get through this. Please."
Legolas closed his eyes for a brief moment, before raising himself slightly to look over his father's shoulder. The Elf with the dark hair had reached the doors, one slender hand moving to open them. He kept his face down, but raised his eyes. Green orbs met blue, and the latter widened in shock. He stared in horror as the stranger turned and silently left the mausoleum.
"I'm sorry," Legolas muttered. He pulled himself from Thranduil's hold, and brushing past him, ran up the passage, ignoring hushed exclamations from either side.
The Elven-king sighed deeply, but made no move to follow his son. 'I cannot force you to be here, but you should. You will regret this, ion-nin, and you will wish that you had not left. But you must do as you wish.'
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Legolas pushed open the heavy doors and ran out into the courtyard, eyes constantly flicking around, searching for the dark haired Elf. In the middle of the large vicinity was a three tiered fountain, and standing just beside it, staring at the flowing water, was the stranger from inside the mausoleum. His hands were clasped behind his back, and if one watched closely, they would see the heavy rise and fall of his shoulders, and see that he was constantly sighing.
'I will not let him defeat me again,' Legolas thought, determination crossing his face. He clenched his fists, took a deep breath, and pushed himself forwards. He jumped lightly, landing just behind the dark haired Elf. And without giving the other a chance to speak or even try and defend himself, he grabbed the stranger, and pulled him around.
"What are you doing here?" he hissed.
"What are you talking about?" The other Elf reached up a hand, and pulled the hood down from his face.
Legolas took a step back, and his eyes flickered slightly. "I remember you. At least, I remember your face. I do not remember your name. In fact, I did not even know your name."
"Berian."
"Oh. Well, Berian, I am sorry. Forgive me for attacking you like that," the Prince said. "But what are you doing here?"
The guard from Rivendell sat down on the edge of the fountain, and smiled sadly. "Your brother turned up in Imladris not that long ago, looking for Lord Elrond and his sons. They had already left. Prince Airëlus was tired, as were his riders. It was suggested they rest for a while, but he wanted to journey straight back here. He did not stop to think about it, he just jumped on his horse and rode off. One of his riders wanted to go after him, but foolishly, I…I said it would be best if they rested awhile in Rivendell, and caught up with him later. Had I known, I would not have…"
"You had no way of knowing," Legolas sighed. "But why are you here? The only other Elves from Imladris that I have seen are Lord Elrond and his sons."
"The riders grew tired of waiting after a few hours, so they decided to go after Prince Airëlus," Berian replied. "But I was suddenly struck with a desire to see Mirkwood. After all, this is my old home. And so I came with them."
Legolas nodded absentmindedly. "But why are you here now? Why not stay in for the service?"
The guard's eyes narrowed, and the expression on his face was cold. "I was not a friend of your brother. Nor am I a friend of you. In fact, for a time, I was not friends with Prince Calaen. But things change."
"I do not understand," Legolas said slowly.
"I came here for one reason and one reason only. It was not to mourn your dear brother, nor the Elves that so….valiantly died in the fire," Berian replied.
The Prince shook his head doubtfully. "This is your grief speaking. You are unaware of what words come from your mouth. I am sorry, but I must return into the mausoleum." With that, he turned and made to leave.
"You are going nowhere," Berian hissed, reaching out and grabbing Legolas' wrist. "Nor is Calaen. He will remain in Middle Earth, unseen and hidden. For a time, at least. But never will he cease to cause damage to you and your father."
"What do you know of Calaen?" Legolas breathed.
"I know that he is a very talented individual," Berian replied. "He can adopt voices of others; he is skilled with a bow and a knife. I also know that he can disguise his writing so that it seems to be the script of others. Did you know that?"
"He was my brother!" Legolas spat. "Of course I know!"
Berian smiled and reached into his pocket, his spare hand still wrapped tightly around the Prince's wrist. "Calaen would come here himself, but under the circumstances…"
"He is afraid," Legolas hissed. He looked as though he was about to say more, but his captor dropped something onto the ground, and he lowered his gaze. "That is my writing. Calaen has written a letter in….in my hand?"
"Exactly." Berian quickly scanned the courtyard, searching for any guards who might prevent him from doing his job. But no, there were none. They were all in the mausoleum. "Rather careless really," he mused. "Ah well."
He reached inside his cloak and swiftly drew out a knife. The blade shone and glinted in the sun, and as he held it up, his eyes flickered slightly. It seemed as though he had realized exactly what had been asked of him, and did not like it one bit. But the moment of indecision passed, and without further hesitation, he wrenched the weapon across Legolas' stomach, right above the permanent scar he had been marked with.
"What are you…?" The Prince was broken off as he found himself being thrown to the floor, the bloody knife coming to land next to him.
"Everything is explained in that letter," Berian replied. "Make sure your father reads it. He will not understand otherwise."
Legolas drew in a sharp breath, and reached across to the aforementioned letter. He picked it up and scanned it, with eyes that were going slowly out of focus. "Ai Elbereth," he breathed. "No…." He looked up to Berian. But the guard had gone.
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Na sídh, gwador-nin……………..Be at peace, my brother
Namaarie………………………...Farewell