Author: Mirrordance

Title: Return

Summary: Post-LOTR. Legolas always felt at odds with his home kingdom. Though it's King by birthright, he fled it, building a prosperous colony in Ithilien. Just when all seems well at last, great dangers in Mirkwood call for the return of THIS King home.

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PART FOURTEEN

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      ~Do not bother, Torres,~ Yasmina told her husband darkly, face wrinkled in her profound dismay, ~The Prince's game is sick and dirty.  You both know he can and will most likely flay you alive with the barest of efforts.  The hypocrisy of this show of fairness and honor sickens me.~

      Torres glanced at the blade upon his feet. 

      ~And yet,~ he murmured, ~And yet I find no other recourse myself.~

      ~Don't be a fool!~ she barked at him.

      ~I appreciate the dilemma,~ Torres said to Legolas, and to his furious wife, he said, ~Where else could this go? How else could it end, Yasmina, other than this here confrontation between the hero and his foil? It's like e of those stories, the ones we were told in the dark…~

      ~Oh, do what you will!~ Yasmina snapped, struggling fervently in Legolas' grip, ~Fool Prince, slide that thing across my flesh, I will have no part in this!~

      Legolas tightened his insistent grip for the nth time that night, ~Torres.  What will it be? The woman is pushing my hand.~

      ~Do not comply!~ Yasmina said to her husband, ~Torres…~ her harsh voice took on a strange, pained tone, ~Please.~

      He looked up at her longingly.

      ~We can only be what we were made to be,~ she told him, ~We cannot help but play this part.  We fight to live.  We can do no more, or no less.~

      ~You can choose,~ Legolas insisted, ~You are not bound to evil.~

      ~It is far easier to say that from the other side,~ Yasmina retorted.

      ~Alas,~ Torres told her wistfully after a moment of thought, ~These things I can no longer convince myself of so easily anymore.  In the end, I still do own myself, and these acts are mine.  I make my own fate, for all of its good and all of its bad.  I can no longer disown them and proffer them to my admittedly profoundly ill lot in life.~

      He met Legolas' eyes squarely.

      Legolas stared at him, trying to gauge if he would be true to his word.  And then he looked upon his father's face.  Just as equally, if he made a mistake, these acts were his and no one else's.  If his father should die, Thranduil's blood would be upon his hands.

      And yet how could he not trust? The battle here was larger than him and Torres.  The battle here was not just between the bad and the good.  The battle here was between a being and himself.  Could nature be defeated? How strong was one's will? How potent was a spirit bound by a body and all of its lacking? And he knew for a certainty that cannot not trust that the heart will win over the limitations of the material word.  To trust Torres was to live the belief that the spirit can surpass all of its mortal limitations.

      He pulled his blade away from Yasmina's neck, and stepped away from her.  The elf woman hurriedly ran away from him to the other side of the room.

      ~Kill the King, Torres!~ she exclaimed, ~The prince holds nothing against you now! Kill him!~

      The temptation was clear, and heavy, and so hideously easy to take.  But the elf prince's eyes were watching him expectantly, and Torres could not disappoint that burning, trusting stare, anymore than he could disappoint this curious new side of himself.  It's been awhile, since he had been looked upon as an equal, as one who is honorable and capable of the good.  It's been awhile since he looked at himself in that manner.  And he desperately ached for it.

      Torres pulled his knife away from Thranduil's neck, and pushed the King away from him, as he stooped low to recover the blade Legolas tossed his way.

      Yasmina pounded her fist upon the nearby desk, as the two elven leaders faced each other with weapons raised, and began to pace around each other.  Torres' guards looked on in tense awe, wondering if they should just stand and watch, or aid their leader.

      ~Torres--~ one of them stuttered.

      ~Hold your ground,~ Torres commanded them darkly.

      Yasmina rolled back her eyes and jogged to the window, poking her head out towards her kin gathered below, ~Fall back!~ she hollered, ~We are being attacked from within!~

      The response was immediate.

      Pounding feet.  Clanking armor.  Gimli had only felt this profound targeted feeling once before, in the deep dark of Moria.  What had the dwarves said? They are coming.  We cannot get out.

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      Aragorn watched the hollering elf-woman from the corner of his eyes.  The situation was volatile.  They were at the heart of enemy territory, even if it was practically a given that Legolas would win over Torres.

      That signal needed to be raised right now!

      And yet he found himself hideously devoid of arrows.  His eyes scanned the room, searching for any kind of idea.

      Yasmina, on the other hand, was anything but short of plans.  She drew the curtains over the windows, and Aragorn watched her warily, wondering what in the world she had up her sleeve.  Almost casually, she strode over to the iron candle-holder, and blew out the flames.

      The room was engulfed in darkness for a breath, before Aragorn realized that in the darkness, the Forgotten Elves were mere shadows, whereas Legolas glowed, as his kin did.

      The elf prince stood at the center of the room with a weapon raised, glowing dimly, but practically a beacon in the dark of the night.  He was a painfully easy target, to an unseen aggressor hiding amidst the shadows.

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      Legolas was acutely aware of this brutal fact himself.  His heart pounded, as the dark engulfed the room and seemed to swallow his enemy before his very eyes.

      He could hear Torres' breathing, the rustling of his robes.  But the dark was so potent and absorbing, that it was making his head throb and race with all of the maddening possibilities.

      Torres swung the sword Legolas' way.  The Forgotten Elf was certainly more used to maneuvering in the dark.  Aside from the obvious advantage of Legolas being painfully seen and Torres being so well-hidden, the dark was also a reminder of the viciousness and violence he had lived and learned in his cave prison. 

      Legolas heard the swish of the sword.  He leaped back, and the tip of the blade caught the straps of his quiver, right over his pounding heart.  It broke cleanly, and Legolas hurriedly divested himself of his uncomfortably dangling bow and arrows.  They hit the ground in a clutter.

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      Arrows!

      Aragorn's heart soared.  He squinted his eyes, vainly trying to see through the thick of the dark.  Growling, he instead blindly made his way to the windows, hoping he would not be running into the despicable Yasmina.  His fingers brushed at the thick, velvet curtains, and threw them aside, casting the silver light of the moon into the room.

      He whipped around to note the location of the arrows and dive towards them, but he found Gimli already crouched upon the ground and crawling to reclaim the discarded weapons.

      Legolas also used the light to narrowly evade another potentially lethal attack, this time one that targeted his back.  The light touched the room and he found his enemy was not in front of him.  He turned swiftly to find Torres behind him, and though the long blade cut across his skin in a wide arc, it was not deep, nor fatal for he managed to jump away. 

      The coppery scent of blood filled the room. 

      A displeased Yasmina dived towards Aragorn and dragged the curtains close with her lunge.  The human King caught her by the shoulders as he struggled to keep himself from her teeth.

      The room was hit by the dark once again, and as the night breezes swirled the curtains, the King's study seemed to dance in an alternate of black dark and dim silver, black dark and dim silver…

      Gimli's hands closed upon the bow and arrows.

      "Aragorn!" the dwarf exclaimed to the preoccupied adan, who was rolling along the ground to keep from being eaten, "I never thought I would say this but I should have learned a thing or two from the blasted elf, I can't use this thing to save my life--"

      The dwarf's blood practically froze as he felt a hand upon his shoulder.

      "My hands are clapped in irons, master dwarf," Thranduil told him evenly, "But I will talk you through what you need to do."

      "Signal," Gimli whispered as he ran to the windows, pulling down the curtains and tearing them from the bars that held them, "Fiery arrow to the skies."

      "I regret to say we have no fire readily accessible," Thranduil apologized.

      "Just let me get this thing in the air," Gimli said urgently, "With any luck they will understand it anyhow."

TO BE CONTINUED…

Original Character Guide:

Lesandro was the much-beloved heir to Mirkwood and Legolas' older brother, until he was murdered in the 2800's. 

Legardo is Legolas' younger brother, and was the murderer of Lesandro, as Legolas finds out in "Exile."  He tries to kill Legolas too, but fails and is imprisoned.

Lady Andrada is an old elf woman who fell in love with Thranduil but staged her own death to escape her unreturned love and subsequent despair in Mirkwood.  She staged Legolas' death as well, to keep him from being a pawn in Sala's ambitions.

Torres – the leader of the Forgotten elves

Yasmina – Torres' beloved wife, also one of the Forgotten elves

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