"I should not have lost my temper," a quiet voice drifted across the camp to where Legolas lay, unable to sleep.
"You cannot hope to control your feelings all the time," Ethindal's voice answered. He was speaking to his lord, somewhere behind Legolas. The elf lay still, hoping that in the darkness they would think he slept.
"I just have to look at him and the old wounds are torn open," the lord went on.
"Some wounds are not meant to heal."
"You've seen the way he acts." There was sadness in the voice, but it still sounded as though he might be smiling. "So fierce, so proud. Sometimes I could almost be talking to. . ." he broke off. There was a soft sound that might have been a stifled sob.
"You miss them still?" It was more of a statement than a question.
"Not a day goes by that I do not think of them."
There was a short pause, then Ethindal spoke again. "You have lost more than anyone should have to lose, suffered more than anyone should have to suffer. No one blames you if you let go of your control briefly."
"I do," the lord replied, "I cannot afford to lose myself so completely to my emotions."
"Not one of us is perfect, whether elf or human. You are in your own way as proud as our fair prisoner. You refuse to accept that some things are beyond your control. You cannot change the past, you can simply come to terms with it and accept what is gone."
"I can never accept it," the lord simply, "because that means accepting that my family, that which I hold most dear, are gone forever." The conversation ended there. Legolas lay awake for a long while, thinking over what he had heard. For the first time, he almost let himself feel pity for this man who had lost his family. Lost them at the hands of an elf?
***
The company travelled at dawn, with Damial riding in the wagon with Legolas and the children. He was looking considerably better, but his face was still pale and he gasped painfully when the wagon went over any bumps along the way.
"What happened between your lord and the elves?" Legolas asked after a while, "Ethindal mentioned something about one betraying him, but didn't go into details." He hoped that Damial's mind was dulled enough by the pain that he would answer readily.
"I don't know the details," Damial answered, "all I know is that it cost my lord his family."
"Do you know who the elf was?" Damial shook his head. Legolas sighed, deciding that if he wanted to know, he'd have to ask directly.
That night, when the company made camp, Legolas spoke to the men's lord.
"I heard you talking to Ethindal last night," he admitted, "What happened to your family?"
"I do not wish to talk about it, certainly not to a stranger. Why should I give the details of my life to one who will not even give me his name?" Legolas did think he had a point there.
"I may know something of the one who betrayed you," Legolas replied, "I may be able to help you."
"You cannot help me. My family were taken from me along with the one I was to marry. She was with child." He looked at the ground, but it seemed as though his gaze was fixed on some point immeasurably distant. Tears welled behind his eyes, but didn't fall. "I was the only one who knew, and now no one will ever know. My child was murdered before even having the chance to live." The anger and hatred was back in the man's eyes. Legolas could not even imagine the pain he was feeling.
"I'm sorry," Legolas said, feeling as he did so just how inadequate it sounded.
"I do not ask for your pity!" The grief was joined briefly by a flash of anger that was quickly quelled in a rain of tears that almost fell, but didn't quite. Legolas remembered the comments the man had made to Ethindal about keeping in control, and wondered how many seas of tears were locked behind that façade.
"I give you my pity anyway," Legolas said, "though it may be of little value to you."
"It's not of little value," the man corrected, "it's of none." He paused a moment, and his face regained its calm appearance, bereft of the tempestuous emotions that raged within. "Get some rest, elf," he said, "and try to keep your thoughts from other people's business."
He left then, and Legolas sat for a few moments with his thoughts surrounding him like a cloak. He found it hard to accept that any elf was capable of something so foul as what the man described, yet his eyes were unmistakable. Everything the man spoke of had happened as he said. No one could falsify such violent emotion. Legolas knew from his history that elves had in the past committed foul deeds, but those events seemed so long ago and distant that they were unconnected with the life he knew.
This elf the man had known was a disgrace to all his kindred. Had the elf been before Legolas now, the young prince would have been tempted to exact justice for the death of a woman and her innocent child. If he ever met this demon in fair skin, Legolas decided that he would do just that.
Legolas looked across at the man, busy giving orders to his men. How had he coped with such a loss? Or perhaps he hadn't coped, as his violent reaction to Legolas had indicated.
He had mentioned Legolas reminding him of someone. The treacherous elf? Anger flared inside Legolas for a moment at such a comparison, then realised that one who rarely saw an elf was certain to be reminded of such a horrific history.
"You would do better to forget your curiosity." Legolas had been so deep in thought that he hadn't noticed Damial approach him amid the bustle of the men's camp.
"He never talks about his past," Damial went on, "except sometimes to Ethindal. I only know a few fragments of his history, and the same could be said of any of the others here. You're unlikely to discover what his friends and comrades cannot."
"How can you accept a man as your lord if you know nothing about him?"
"I know that he cares far more for his people than for his own personal power or wealth, and that is something many could not claim. I know that he would risk his life for a single man, woman or child of his realm, and that makes me glad to follow him. You saw how he was when I was in danger. He is like that with all, even those for whom he's not responsible."
He smiled slightly, "Besides, there are those who know his past and they are satisfied with his every claim of lordship. He is of noble birth, there's no doubt of that, the last of a great bloodline. I doubt there will be any to follow him." If the man still grieved for a bride lost perhaps years ago there was little chance that he could come to love another in her place. Legolas suspected that Damial was right.
Around him the camp was preparing for the night, men laying out bedrolls or taking up watch positions on the outskirts. Ethindal came and bound Legolas' legs as usual, and the elf lay down in an attempt to sleep. As usual the ground beneath him made that very difficult. He shifted for some time trying to find a comfortable position, until his hand came across something he had been hoping for from the beginning: a piece of rock with a jagged, sharp edge.
His fingers closed tightly around this treasure and he shifted once more so that his body lay between his hands and the camp's one fire. In the shadow beneath his back his hands moved back and forth until his muscles were aching from the repetitiveness. The stars moved in their ageless dance above the sleeping men, and still Legolas' fingers worked, severing chords with agonising slowness.
Then the last strand gave. With a sudden snap his wrists were free.
Without moving, he took care to note where the men were, seeing guards hovering in the shadows far from the fire, now burning low. It was difficult, even with elven vision, to tell whether they were facing him, but he thought it was safe. He shifted once more, trying to look like one stirring slightly in sleep, until his hands were against the ropes around his legs.
He worked at the ropes tediously, every moment alert for an outcry as someone saw what he was up to. Minutes stretched and were distorted into hours as he worked, untying and cutting as he could. The men wandered on their watch, as the prisoner steadily freed himself.
When the ropes finally fell away, he took stock of the guards. There was no sense in wasting all this effort. He moved as cautiously as he was able, aware that any sharp movements would snap their attention to him.
The short distance to the edge of camp might have been leagues. He didn't dare to stand. He had to be careful least he knocked stones together or broke a twig. These humans didn't have elven senses, but they might still here. Silently as a shadow, Legolas crept onwards, scarcely daring to breathe.
So many times he couldn't count, he was forced to freeze and wait, lying close to the ground, as one of the men cast their gaze across the camp. Every time he had to hope he would seem just another sleeping man, then inch forwards again once the gaze moved on. Often he thought that the sun would have risen before he was even halfway out, but somehow he made it.
He reached the edge of the firelight, a thin cluster of trees beside the camp. He risked a rise now, slipping into the meagre shelter the trees offered, moving through them with elven silence. Now the trees blocked him from view of most of the camp. He just had to be careful of a stray guard looking in his direction.
He stayed on his feet now, but crouched low to the ground to make his form less obvious. This way he covered ground more swiftly, running as quickly as possible to put the men and his imprisonment behind him.
He never heard the outcry. He was only aware of the pursuit when he heard footsteps behind him, and by then it was too late.
He glanced behind him, and saw perhaps four of the men there, swiftly moving shadows in the darkness. One was closer than the others and made a lunge for Legolas. Legolas side-stepped quickly, grabbing the man's arm and using his weight to throw him to the ground.
He had little chance of outrunning these men, and knew that he'd be better fighting. He just had to hope that his greater experience would be enough over their greater numbers.
A second man seized Legolas' arm. Legolas brought his right foot up and dealt a sure kick to the man's stomach. As he doubled over in pain, a blow to the back of the head sent him sprawling to the ground.
By then another man had reached him. He hurled himself on Legolas, letting his weight knock the elf to the ground. The man was on top of him, a knee in his back pressing Legolas into the earth with such crushing force that it was difficult to breathe.
Legolas' hands scrabbled wildly, trying to find some grip to throw this man off. The man's hands closed tightly, painfully tight, around his wrists, halting the attempt.
"I do not allow anyone to harm my men," came the familiar voice of the lord in Legolas' ear.
Before he could either react or reply, pain cut into Legolas' flesh. It tore into his side with sharp force such as he'd never experienced before. As something heavy fell roughly on top of the wound he cried out, and welcomed the sweet oblivion that rushed to envelope him.
***
Author's note: A slightly longer chapter than the others. I would have updated sooner, but I went on holiday and my computer's not one of those nice, portable ones.
As always, reviews are gladly received.
"You cannot hope to control your feelings all the time," Ethindal's voice answered. He was speaking to his lord, somewhere behind Legolas. The elf lay still, hoping that in the darkness they would think he slept.
"I just have to look at him and the old wounds are torn open," the lord went on.
"Some wounds are not meant to heal."
"You've seen the way he acts." There was sadness in the voice, but it still sounded as though he might be smiling. "So fierce, so proud. Sometimes I could almost be talking to. . ." he broke off. There was a soft sound that might have been a stifled sob.
"You miss them still?" It was more of a statement than a question.
"Not a day goes by that I do not think of them."
There was a short pause, then Ethindal spoke again. "You have lost more than anyone should have to lose, suffered more than anyone should have to suffer. No one blames you if you let go of your control briefly."
"I do," the lord replied, "I cannot afford to lose myself so completely to my emotions."
"Not one of us is perfect, whether elf or human. You are in your own way as proud as our fair prisoner. You refuse to accept that some things are beyond your control. You cannot change the past, you can simply come to terms with it and accept what is gone."
"I can never accept it," the lord simply, "because that means accepting that my family, that which I hold most dear, are gone forever." The conversation ended there. Legolas lay awake for a long while, thinking over what he had heard. For the first time, he almost let himself feel pity for this man who had lost his family. Lost them at the hands of an elf?
***
The company travelled at dawn, with Damial riding in the wagon with Legolas and the children. He was looking considerably better, but his face was still pale and he gasped painfully when the wagon went over any bumps along the way.
"What happened between your lord and the elves?" Legolas asked after a while, "Ethindal mentioned something about one betraying him, but didn't go into details." He hoped that Damial's mind was dulled enough by the pain that he would answer readily.
"I don't know the details," Damial answered, "all I know is that it cost my lord his family."
"Do you know who the elf was?" Damial shook his head. Legolas sighed, deciding that if he wanted to know, he'd have to ask directly.
That night, when the company made camp, Legolas spoke to the men's lord.
"I heard you talking to Ethindal last night," he admitted, "What happened to your family?"
"I do not wish to talk about it, certainly not to a stranger. Why should I give the details of my life to one who will not even give me his name?" Legolas did think he had a point there.
"I may know something of the one who betrayed you," Legolas replied, "I may be able to help you."
"You cannot help me. My family were taken from me along with the one I was to marry. She was with child." He looked at the ground, but it seemed as though his gaze was fixed on some point immeasurably distant. Tears welled behind his eyes, but didn't fall. "I was the only one who knew, and now no one will ever know. My child was murdered before even having the chance to live." The anger and hatred was back in the man's eyes. Legolas could not even imagine the pain he was feeling.
"I'm sorry," Legolas said, feeling as he did so just how inadequate it sounded.
"I do not ask for your pity!" The grief was joined briefly by a flash of anger that was quickly quelled in a rain of tears that almost fell, but didn't quite. Legolas remembered the comments the man had made to Ethindal about keeping in control, and wondered how many seas of tears were locked behind that façade.
"I give you my pity anyway," Legolas said, "though it may be of little value to you."
"It's not of little value," the man corrected, "it's of none." He paused a moment, and his face regained its calm appearance, bereft of the tempestuous emotions that raged within. "Get some rest, elf," he said, "and try to keep your thoughts from other people's business."
He left then, and Legolas sat for a few moments with his thoughts surrounding him like a cloak. He found it hard to accept that any elf was capable of something so foul as what the man described, yet his eyes were unmistakable. Everything the man spoke of had happened as he said. No one could falsify such violent emotion. Legolas knew from his history that elves had in the past committed foul deeds, but those events seemed so long ago and distant that they were unconnected with the life he knew.
This elf the man had known was a disgrace to all his kindred. Had the elf been before Legolas now, the young prince would have been tempted to exact justice for the death of a woman and her innocent child. If he ever met this demon in fair skin, Legolas decided that he would do just that.
Legolas looked across at the man, busy giving orders to his men. How had he coped with such a loss? Or perhaps he hadn't coped, as his violent reaction to Legolas had indicated.
He had mentioned Legolas reminding him of someone. The treacherous elf? Anger flared inside Legolas for a moment at such a comparison, then realised that one who rarely saw an elf was certain to be reminded of such a horrific history.
"You would do better to forget your curiosity." Legolas had been so deep in thought that he hadn't noticed Damial approach him amid the bustle of the men's camp.
"He never talks about his past," Damial went on, "except sometimes to Ethindal. I only know a few fragments of his history, and the same could be said of any of the others here. You're unlikely to discover what his friends and comrades cannot."
"How can you accept a man as your lord if you know nothing about him?"
"I know that he cares far more for his people than for his own personal power or wealth, and that is something many could not claim. I know that he would risk his life for a single man, woman or child of his realm, and that makes me glad to follow him. You saw how he was when I was in danger. He is like that with all, even those for whom he's not responsible."
He smiled slightly, "Besides, there are those who know his past and they are satisfied with his every claim of lordship. He is of noble birth, there's no doubt of that, the last of a great bloodline. I doubt there will be any to follow him." If the man still grieved for a bride lost perhaps years ago there was little chance that he could come to love another in her place. Legolas suspected that Damial was right.
Around him the camp was preparing for the night, men laying out bedrolls or taking up watch positions on the outskirts. Ethindal came and bound Legolas' legs as usual, and the elf lay down in an attempt to sleep. As usual the ground beneath him made that very difficult. He shifted for some time trying to find a comfortable position, until his hand came across something he had been hoping for from the beginning: a piece of rock with a jagged, sharp edge.
His fingers closed tightly around this treasure and he shifted once more so that his body lay between his hands and the camp's one fire. In the shadow beneath his back his hands moved back and forth until his muscles were aching from the repetitiveness. The stars moved in their ageless dance above the sleeping men, and still Legolas' fingers worked, severing chords with agonising slowness.
Then the last strand gave. With a sudden snap his wrists were free.
Without moving, he took care to note where the men were, seeing guards hovering in the shadows far from the fire, now burning low. It was difficult, even with elven vision, to tell whether they were facing him, but he thought it was safe. He shifted once more, trying to look like one stirring slightly in sleep, until his hands were against the ropes around his legs.
He worked at the ropes tediously, every moment alert for an outcry as someone saw what he was up to. Minutes stretched and were distorted into hours as he worked, untying and cutting as he could. The men wandered on their watch, as the prisoner steadily freed himself.
When the ropes finally fell away, he took stock of the guards. There was no sense in wasting all this effort. He moved as cautiously as he was able, aware that any sharp movements would snap their attention to him.
The short distance to the edge of camp might have been leagues. He didn't dare to stand. He had to be careful least he knocked stones together or broke a twig. These humans didn't have elven senses, but they might still here. Silently as a shadow, Legolas crept onwards, scarcely daring to breathe.
So many times he couldn't count, he was forced to freeze and wait, lying close to the ground, as one of the men cast their gaze across the camp. Every time he had to hope he would seem just another sleeping man, then inch forwards again once the gaze moved on. Often he thought that the sun would have risen before he was even halfway out, but somehow he made it.
He reached the edge of the firelight, a thin cluster of trees beside the camp. He risked a rise now, slipping into the meagre shelter the trees offered, moving through them with elven silence. Now the trees blocked him from view of most of the camp. He just had to be careful of a stray guard looking in his direction.
He stayed on his feet now, but crouched low to the ground to make his form less obvious. This way he covered ground more swiftly, running as quickly as possible to put the men and his imprisonment behind him.
He never heard the outcry. He was only aware of the pursuit when he heard footsteps behind him, and by then it was too late.
He glanced behind him, and saw perhaps four of the men there, swiftly moving shadows in the darkness. One was closer than the others and made a lunge for Legolas. Legolas side-stepped quickly, grabbing the man's arm and using his weight to throw him to the ground.
He had little chance of outrunning these men, and knew that he'd be better fighting. He just had to hope that his greater experience would be enough over their greater numbers.
A second man seized Legolas' arm. Legolas brought his right foot up and dealt a sure kick to the man's stomach. As he doubled over in pain, a blow to the back of the head sent him sprawling to the ground.
By then another man had reached him. He hurled himself on Legolas, letting his weight knock the elf to the ground. The man was on top of him, a knee in his back pressing Legolas into the earth with such crushing force that it was difficult to breathe.
Legolas' hands scrabbled wildly, trying to find some grip to throw this man off. The man's hands closed tightly, painfully tight, around his wrists, halting the attempt.
"I do not allow anyone to harm my men," came the familiar voice of the lord in Legolas' ear.
Before he could either react or reply, pain cut into Legolas' flesh. It tore into his side with sharp force such as he'd never experienced before. As something heavy fell roughly on top of the wound he cried out, and welcomed the sweet oblivion that rushed to envelope him.
***
Author's note: A slightly longer chapter than the others. I would have updated sooner, but I went on holiday and my computer's not one of those nice, portable ones.
As always, reviews are gladly received.