The forest of Mirkwood was strange and shadowed, but elves who sought peace and rest could still find them in its tall elms and slender beeches. In spite of their long journey from Imladris, Elladan and Elrohir had found themselves sleepless after their confrontation with Seregon, and left the Daemar settlement in the night to seek solitude in the forest. The brothers sat now in the strong, comforting branches of an oak, high in the canopy, to watch the stars.
Elrohir recalled again the strange bitterness in Seregon's voice, his icy calm as he said fool. The prince was not the same elf that he had known as friend - the laughing warrior, the mischievous jester, the fierce defender of his home. Yet only a few decades had passed since they had last hunted with Seregon in the Woodland Realm. How could an immortal lose hope so quickly?
"I am almost afraid to see King Thranduil," Elladan said softly. "If he has taken the same path as the Crown Prince, I do not wish to know it."
Elrohir was startled at this confession, for Elladan seldom disclosed much of his fear or uncertainty. "I do not believe that could be," he said. "Thranduil is strong, and he has endured evil days before. Mirkwood may be in shadow, but night has not fallen on her yet. The King must see this."
"Seregon was strong as well," Elladan answered. "Yet now I seem not to know him. I wonder how long ago he lost the will to fight."
"Six years," a voice said sadly. Elladan nearly leapt out of the tree, while Elrohir started violently and looked wildly about him.
Legolas stood perfectly balanced on a branch beneath them, bow and quiver slung as always across his back.
"It is not safe to venture into the mountains alone and unarmed at night," Legolas remarked. "I thought you might need my protection."
Elrohir stared down at him with his long-practiced Elrond Glare⢠and Legolas shifted uncomfortably on his branch. "I could not sleep either," he mumbled.
"Come up, then," Elladan sighed. "Although I should be angry that you followed us uninvited. Your father would say that eavesdropping is unfit for an elf of your lineage."
Legolas laughed. "And what would your father say if he knew that you were tracked unawares by a mere Moriquendi?"
"Impudent Sylvan elf," grumbled Elladan. Legolas smiled brilliantly.
"Six years, Legolas?" Elrohir asked.
The archer was instantly serious. "Aye, six. You recall that when evil returned to our home after the Last Alliance, my brother was unusually savage in battle and ruthless in his defense of the realm. I do not doubt that you remember his determination to restore Greenwood the Great."
"Seregon was fey indeed," Elrohir said quietly. "I have never seen a warrior more resolute in the protection of his kingdom."
"After the White Council drove the Necromancer from Dol Guldur in 2941, Seregon believed that we had won the victory. Yet six years ago the shadow returned, stronger than before. Seregon would not accept this. He denied the harsh truth until the capture of our southernmost settlements, when it became unquestionable that the power of Dol Guldur had been restored. Then he was broken."
"Broken?" Elladan echoed.
"It was my word," Legolas said, "for that is how it seemed to me. In the moment that he saw Dol Guldur rise again, my brother lost his will to fight."
"Yet does he not command the army?" demanded Elladan. "If Mirkwood is led by a prince who will not defend her, she shall inevitably fall!"
"It is the duty of the Crown Prince to serve the King as captain," Legolas answered. "Seregon must move against our enemy when my father commands, but he has never again fought with the ardor that drove the Necromancer from Dol Guldur. He has lost all hope of victory, and seeks only death." Legolas sighed. "I fear he shall someday cast his weapon aside in battle and stand unarmed to hasten his passing."
"Then the King must accept our aid," Elladan said urgently. "If the forces of Mirkwood cannot hold on to hope, Imladris will send those that can. My father shall marshal a contingent under Glorfindel at the moment Thranduil gives his accord. Legolas, you must persuade him to consent."
"Elladan-" Elrohir said softly.
"I shall sway him," Legolas said. "Fear me not - I will find a way."
The confidence of the young prince did not deceive Elrohir. The Woodland King was legend among Elves for his relentless force of will. It was said that none but Queen Elenwen, who had passed to the Undying Lands, had ever moved him from his resolved course. If Seregon had desired the aid of Imladris, Elrohir would have held more hope of success, for the will of the Crown Prince nearly matched that of his father - even broken and despairing, Seregon still gave forth an overwhelming sense of power and strength. Yet Legolas lacked this forcefulness. Elrohir feared that the proud independence of the King would not be quelled by his influence alone.
"Voice your doubt, Elrohir," Legolas said, watching him closely, "for while I see it in your face, I cannot answer it unless you give it speech."
"I fear that your influence may not move the King without the aid of your brother," Elrohir admitted, "and in this matter Seregon will not give his accord. He may even stand against us."
"He would not go so far," objected Elladan. "Seregon is not so changed as that - he may deny that Imladris can bring hope to Mirkwood, but he will not oppose friends of old. He has not turned traitor."
"I do not believe Seregon would speak openly against you," Legolas said, "although not out of some old loyalty. It is simply that he no longer interests himself in the concerns of Mirkwood unless my father gives his firm command. Seregon is no longer concerned with the fate of the realm, for he is sure that it is lost."
"If we are cautious in the manner of our offer," Elladan said slowly, "and we have your voice, Legolas Thranduil may yet be persuaded."
"Let us hope that we meet with no contention," Elrohir said, and his fair face was grim. "It is not in the nature of the King to welcome aid from the Noldor. If the counsel of another is against us, Thranduil may give it greater consequence, for it shall accord with his own mind."
*
Aragorn unwound the makeshift bandage with care and peered through the torn sleeve to the jagged laceration beneath.
"The blood has slowed," he murmured, almost to himself, "but the wound must not be pulled open again. You must not use this arm until the skin is strong enough to hold."
Mirlos answered that with a lopsided smile, exhaustion in his eyes as he sat propped up against an elm. "I fear I may not be able to take your advice, son of Arathorn. I would rest my sword-arm if I could, but the orcs of Mordor are well acquainted with it, and I must not deny them their old friend."
"If our strategy holds true, we shall not meet the orcs of Mordor," Aragorn replied, "and of that I am glad, for the battle would go ill for us."
"Two thousand orcs hide at Nuruhuine," Mirlos said pensively, "and twenty men have set to destroy them all. Indeed, if our tactics fail and we must meet them in combat, the odds will not favor the Dunedain."
Aragorn had never met such a master of the understatement as Mirlos. Merenglas had discovered in the morning that the southern captain had concealed for three days a wound suffered in their battle against the wolves - Mirlos had insisted that it was 'only a scrape,' yet Aragorn had had to use nine stitches to sew the split skin back together.
Aragorn drew his spare water skin from his pack and moved to clean the wound, yet Mirlos pulled away.
"I need it not," he said good-naturedly. "No, have done. Take some food for yourself at the campfire. You must be hungry, we have been walking since dawn."
"Elfling," a sharp voice said. Merenglas stood before them, glaring down at the two Dunedain who quickly rose to their feet. "Did I hear the Captain of the South refuse to let you tend his injury?"
Aragorn tried to hide a smile. "Yes, my lord."
The chieftain beckoned to Mirlos, who glanced at Aragorn with a sheepish grin and stepped forward. Merenglas cuffed him abruptly on the back of the head and motioned him to sit down again. "Obey the healer," he growled, and stalked away.
Mirlos leaned back against the elm with a rueful laugh. "Promise me, Aragorn," he said, "do not smack your underlings, when you become Chieftain of the Dunedain. It is most embarrassing - which, I am certain, is why he does it."
There was no answer. "Aragorn?"
The Dunadan was visibly shaken. "I had not yet thought of that," he murmured. "I knew that it would come someday - yet not so soon "
It was a moment before Mirlos knew of what he spoke. "You had forgotten the duty of a second," he said with a nod. "To someday take the place of his leader."
"I had forgotten," Aragorn said quietly.
Mirlos watched him for a moment. A strong youth, no doubt of that - but not fully come to manhood, and possessed of a power that Aragorn did not yet perceive or comprehend. Mirlos could see just enough of his strength to imagine how much was still concealed, and understood why Merenglas had chosen Aragorn to lead the company if he should fall.
"The thought of command troubles you," Mirlos observed.
"I have little experience," Aragorn said. "I am still very young. And - I fear - I may not have the full support of the company."
Mirlos sighed heavily. "You speak of Halbarad. I had hoped he would forget his malice toward you when our journey began. Yet he has plainly distrusted you since the council."
"He cast aside my blade to fight wolves barehanded," Aragorn said. "He forsook his best chance at life only because it was I that offered it."
"Halbarad has loyalty and affection enough when among friends," Mirlos said. "Yet he is proud, and ambitious. You must know, son of Arathorn, that the Dunedain believed you dead since the fall of your father. Merenglas was aware that you were hidden in Rivendell, but he did not reveal it. The Dunedain thought that he would choose one of we four captains as his second as he grew older, for we believed the line of Isildur, from which had come our chieftains of old, had failed."
"I am sorry," Aragorn murmured. "I did not want-"
"Nay, Aragorn," said Mirlos. "I am a good captain, but I know that I can be no more. It was Halbarad who would have been chosen had you not lived.
"He may seem reckless and unseasoned," Mirlos went on, "but Halbarad is a brilliant commander. He has traveled with the Dunedain all his life, hunting the creatures of Mordor since he could lift blade. As his genius and skill in battle grew, he came to believe that he was meant to restore the Men of the West to their former strength and deliver Middle Earth from the forces of Sauron. Many are the Dunedain who believe he could do this."
"Yet since I am not dead "
" that destiny falls to you, not to Halbarad."
Aragorn gazed across the camp. The sun set, brilliantly red and orange in the West, while the dark blue cloak of night rose above the eastern horizon. The Dunedain made ready for another night at the foot of the Misty Mountains, and bulbous eyes began to shine from the undergrowth. Yet Aragorn saw none of this.
"He must think me unworthy," he said. "Halbarad has fought the forces of Mordor all his life, wandering with the Dunedain in the Wild, while I spent my youth in the safety and beauty of Rivendell. I have neither done great deeds nor been put to great trials. I have not earned what I take from him."
"It never was his," Mirlos answered. "I see your mind, Aragorn, and I would not have you wish to abandon your birthright because it may seem more fitting for another. The blood of the West is also strong in my veins, and though I have not the gift of the Elves, I say to you: if you try to escape your destiny, you will fail. Whether you seek it or not, fate shall find you, Heir of Isildur."
*
A/N: I promised two days. It's been four. What's a factor of two between friends? In any case, a disclaimer is in order. (ahem) The chapter title is taken from the biblical verse "and he who troubles his own house shall inherit the wind." Inherit the Wind is also the title of a very good play, but I assure you (and not in a next-update-in-two-days way), this story has nothing to do with the Great Monkey Trial. Although I suppose creative interpretation could twist it into some kind of parallel.
I also thought (and yes, it hurt) that you might be interested in the meanings of original character names. Et voila!
Merenglas - derived from either the Sindarin or Quenya for 'joyful.' Chosen because of the RL inspiration for his character, whose name means the same, and because of the profound happiness that both Merenglas and said inspiration derive from teasing - and bitch-slapping - their subordinates.
Seregon - literally 'blood (of) stone.' Also the name of a flower mentioned in the Silmarillion. It seemed to suit his cheerful personality.
Mirlos - 'snow jewel.' Absolutely no significance at all. I pieced two Elvish name elements together, thought "Hey! I like that name. I could use a character called Mirlos," and stuck him into the story.
Does anyone know what 'Halbarad' means? It's been bothering me (really. Sad, yes?).
