Faith
by Kellen
Summary, disclaimers, and rating on on the prologue.
Author's notes: Please if you read it, review it. Thank you. Song used is by Three Doors Down.
Part Two
"Not supposed to be scared of anything,
But I don't know where I am.
I wish that I could move, but I'm exhausted
And nobody understands.
I'm trying hard to breathe now,
But there's no air in my lungs.
There's no one here to talk to and
The pain inside is making me numb.
I try to hold this under control.
They can't help me 'cause no one knows."
-Three Doors Down
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Given Legolas' propensity for making good time when he traveled, he found himself mildly amazed that Eldabeth eluded him at every turn. The most frustrating thing for him was that he knew she was close, yet she purposely avoided him. He tried to stamp down the frustration, telling himself it rose from a grief he had not had time to acknowledge and that Eldabeth herself had just lost her father. If she were anything like Legolas -- which he'd come to see was true from time to time, though he had no idea where it stemmed from -- she wanted to be alone and would resent any interuption.
Legolas winced at the double standard, but he also knew Eldabeth could be in real danger, and that Kirwen needed her daughter.
Just as Thranduil needed his youngest son.
Another wince. He'd just left his father sitting there, mourning.
Wonderful, he thought bitterly. Let's heap guilt on top of everything else.
He lept lightly over a fallen log. "Eldabeth," he called softly, "I know you hear me." The only response was a soft rustle to his left. He turned. "Backtracking, tithen men? Please, come." He caught sight of a swatch of forest green cloth -- the color of Eldabeth's favorite cloak. Then, she was gone again. "Eldabeth," he called sharply, annoyance coloring his voice.
Gone again. He sighed. Now he was going to have to find her to apologize to her. He'd been like this when his mother died: easily annoyed and prone to anger. He began to regret coming after Eldabeth. If Mener hadn't been injured, he might have gone back and gotten the warrior to corral Eldabeth.
He paused, reaching out with the keen senses he'd been blessed with. In a matter of moments, he moved forward again. Eldabeth had apparently backtracked on her backtracking. He came to a break in the trees before he saw her.
Tears sprang to his eyes. Panic started to wrap icy claws around his heart. "Eldabeth."
She turned, spearing him with a gaze that seemed almost dead. Her coppery hair had no life in it. She seemed dimmed, as if the natural glow that surrounded elves had been turned off. Even the sunlight avoided her. Gold thread in her cloak didn't catch the light. Eldabeth stood in front of a maw, a door into the earth, and the shadows enanated from it seemed to gather about her more solidly than the cloak that sat upon her shoulders. She shook her head and hesitated for a moment before drawing her cloak around her and abruptly striding into the cave.
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"Feeling weak and weary
Walking through this world alone.
Everything they say, every word of it,
Cuts me to the bone.
I've got something to say now
But I've got nowhere to turn.
It feels like I've been buried
Underneath the weight of the world.
I try to hold this under control.
They can't help me 'cause no one knows."
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Kirwen stared blankly at Mener. Her hands were fisted and her eyes narrowed. "Step aside." Her tone was low, angry. As the wife of the lost heir, she held a place of authority in Mirkwood. At this moment, she was the very picture of such authority: her emerald eyes clear, her red-blonde hair neatly combed. Anyone, save for the King himself, knew to follow her orders, and her voice conveyed her confidence in this. That was the way of things.
Mener, however, was both family and an Elf who adapted more readily to change than most of his counterparts. If the movement hadn't been hindered by injury, he would have crossed his arms. As it was, he settled for turned a glare on her worthy of Thranduil on his worst days. She did not flinch. "You are not, Kir."
"Move."
"No."
Kirwen drew herself up, matching his gaze with one of her own. Her generous mouth twisted into a sneer. "Please." The word was ground between clenched teeth.
"You stay here."
For a moment, all was still. Kirwen and Mener did not even draw breath. Kirwen stared at her cousin in shock and feeling betrayed, while Mener held his breath, waiting for Kirwen's next move.
She stepped forward and Mener braced himself. She was irrational right now; he was afraid she'd try to physically push past him, and he was in no shape to stop her. Still, he'd try. When Kirwen saw him tense, she stopped. Mener could see her trembling.
"That is my daughter out there."
"I know. Believe me, I know."
Kirwen's voice was turning shrill. "Her father just died."
Mener nodded.
"She is alone."
At this Mener shook his head. "She is not. Legolas went after her."
Kirwen snorted. "He is in as much grief as she. Them coming home safely is not something I put my utmost faith in."
"Perhaps you should."
Kirwen was trembling. "Are you not grieved? You act as if this is just another day."
Mener bit the inside of his lip. The last thing he wanted to do was explode in anger at Kirwen. She was being difficult, yes, and Mener felt as if he were dying inside. Grief had a hold of him and seemed to never want to let up it's hold, but Kirwen was his immediate concern. Later, alone, he could grieve Taricir and cry for Kirwen and Eldabeth. Now, he wanted to be the pillar of strength for her to lean on.
Except she didn't seem to want to lean against anything.
"Are you, Kirwen?"
"Am I what?" she snapped.
"Grieved."
Her trembling increased, until she seemed a fragile reed fighting to remain rooted on a windswept day. Her hands clenched again and Mener could actually see a vein throb in her neck. It was her eyes, though, that frightened him. Green fire, they seemed. An anger and rage seemed to emanate from their emerald depths and Mener actually wondered if the Kirwen he knew -- the caring, soft spoken Elf he had grown up with -- would ever come back.
She brushed past him, and Mener caught her arm as she went. "Kirwen, wait. I -"
"You have nothing more to say." She shook loose of his hold and swept out the door. Mener turned, catching himself on the door post as his balance swayed. He strode after her.
"I am not letting you out of my sight, cousin."
Kirwen whirled around, neatly combed hair becoming disarrayed. "Fine," she snapped. "Just quit speaking."
"Why?" Mener matched her tone, and he winced inwardly as he watched his words cut her. "Do my words hurt you? Where is your grief? Why do you hide behind anger, Kirwen? You need to stop. You will fade, Kirwen." Mener's voice broke, and he stared at the floor for a moment before looking up. Anger had drained away, replaced by a sorrow and fear he trembled with. "I already see you fading. What is it that angers you?"
"You do," was Kirwen's immediate response.
"No. Try again."
Kirwen trembled. "I go to speak to Thranduil. Do not stop me."
"Kirwen," Mener snapped. "What angers you?"
She yelled this time. "You do."
"I do not. What angers you?"
"You anger me. Taricir died saving you."
Mener closed his eyes, trying to let her words roll off him. Much as they stung him, he spoke again. "Who angers you, Kirwen?"
She trembled and turned away.
"You have never lied to me, cousin. We are like brother and sister."
Mener saw her shoulders shake and he knew she cried now. He came up behind her and rested his good hand on her shoulder. "Kirwen?"
She leaned into him and finally let him wrap his arm around her, as he wanted, needed, to do since her husband's death.
"Taricir," she whispered brokenly, both hoping he didn't hear and needing him to hear. "He holds my anger and my grief."
Mener kissed her forehead and let her cry. Later, he would go with her to Thranduil. Hopefully, by that time, Legolas will have brought Eldabeth back and maybe this family would have a chance to survive.
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"I'm blind and shaking
Bound and breaking
I hope I make it..."
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Legolas held his breath for a second before plunging into the cave just after Eldabeth. She was difficult to keep track of. Only the sound of her frantic running kept Legolas behind her. He called to her occasionally as she led them deeper into the network of tunnels and caves. It was only after the fourteenth or fifteenth time he'd either banged his head against an outcropping or fell to his knees after tripping over loose shale that exasperation took over and he yelled into the darkness "Eldabeth, stop." He scrambled to his feet, wincing at the pain in his knees -- he'd fallen rather hard that time. "Can we talk about this in sunlight? Or at least stop moving?"
To his suprise, she answered. They kept moving, though. "Don't want to see sunlight."
"What about starlight?" was Legolas' response, as he tripped, yet again. He snarled in the dark. He was feeling so very un-Elflike at the moment. "It will be dark outside by the time we get out of here."
"Darkness is," came the reply. Legolas blinked, thinking he must have missed the last half of the sentence.
"Oh, Eldabeth," he sighed when it came to him that that is what she meant. That darkness was all around her, encompassing her, dwelling in her. At a complete loss for what to say, Legolas called to her. "It will be all right."
She stopped. Legolas nearly ran her over before he realized she was no longer in motion. They were deep inside the caves now; the only light was the natural glow of Elves and Eldabeth's was dim indeed. Even Legolas' light struggled against the darkness. She turned to face him, and even in the dimness, he could see her countenance pale.
"How will it be all right?" Eldabeth cried, her voice breaking. "How, Legolas? How is this all right?" Tears flowed freely down her cheeks and the light around her that Legolas had seen dimming seemed to flare to life again as if in response to her anger. "My Ada is dead," she continued in a low voice, trying desparately to keep her emotions in check. A daughter of the heir -- former heir -- of Mirkwood was regal and Legolas could see that, despite the situation, she was scrambling for control. "My immortal father was struck down by an orc blade, I can see my Naneth fade and my uncle tells me things will be all right?" Her voice rose again. "When? When would that be?"
For a moment, Legolas could not answer her. He merely stared at her, covered in dirt, hair in disarray. Her hands were fisted, but it was her eyes that held his attention: They were the same shade as Taricir's had been and the fire that shown there brought tears to the prince's eyes. For a moment, he saw not Eldabeth, but Taricir. Taricir in the midst of battle, staring down his enemies. Taricir confronting Thranduil on some issue. For one moment, Legolas was with his brother again. "You are so like him," he whispered.
Eldabeth shook her head. "Please do not tell me that," she whispered brokenly, caught between anger and grief.
"Why, 'Beth?"
Eldabeth trembled from the force of emotion the truth brought. "Because he died."
Legolas closed his eyes briefly. He could feel the fear that drove her. He wanted nothing more than to disappear and grieve his own loss. He looked to Eldabeth. So lost, he thought. So young and so afraid. "You being like him," he said softly and firmly, "in no way foreshadows your future."
"But it does," she interupted almost hysterically. "His love for life, his fierceness, all that he was couldn't keep him here. Not even his family. We're supposed to be immortal. " Her voice broke again and she nearly yelled through her tears. "He was supposed to be here. With me. With Naneth. With you and with the king." She looked into Legolas' face, something she'd avoided since he caught her in the cave. "Why isn't he here?"
Legolas tried to hold her gaze but when his vision blurred through his as-yet unshed tears, he looked down.
Why indeed? Eldabeth wasn't the only one asking the question. Legolas, who had experienced the death of friends before, railed against the fates himself, to the point of cursing them for Taricir's death.
Was this how it was supposed to be? Kirwen and Eldabeth left alone? Legolas to become heir? He doubted he could tell Eldabeth to have faith when he himself carried so little.
Eldabeth was crying openly now, leaning against the cold stone wall. Legolas wanted nothing more that to go to her and gather her in his arms, but he knew as soon as her tears fell on him, the barriers he'd built around his own sorrow would crumble and he would surely sob as hard as she. As it was, tears slipped down his cheeks. He watched her, torn and helpless. He hated being helpless.
Eldabeth's knees gave way and she slid down the wall, coming to rest with her shoulder against the stone. One hand covered her face, the other clutched at the rock face. Legolas shook, then, damning himself to both his own and Eldabeth's pain, he knelt in front of her, reaching up to stroke her hair. As he had known they would, his own tears came.
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Tears had dried slowly, and ragged breathing had gradually even out, but Eldabeth's trembling remained. Legolas had pulled her closer sometime during her sobbing and her temple rested on his shoulder. The young Elf, except for the shivering, was absolutely still and one might have thought her asleep. Several times, Legolas had started to speak to suggest they return home, but each time thought better of interupting the silence.
Then, it was interupted for him.
His head came up at the not too distant sounds. He narrowed his eyes trying to distinguish between the myriad shuffling and clattering sounds. He frowned. No Elf made that much noise, even if they tried, and this had a distinctly un-Elven feel to it. Eldabeth stiffened and pushed away from him to peer into the darkness back the way they'd come. Back toward the entrance. "What-"
He shushed her and went back to listening. They both heard the black speech, the gutteral yells.
"Elbereth, please, not now," Legolas breathed as he stood up, a hand under Eldabeth's elbow drawing her upward as well.
"How far?" Eldabeth asked, her voice betraying her weariness.
"I'd say the mouth of the cave."
Her jaw dropped. "How did they get so close? We should have -"
Despite the situation, Legolas found time for a weary smile. "I was a little preoccupied with comforting my niece."
Fresh tears sprang to her eyes. She stammered out an apology.
He shook his head. "Not needed, tithen men. For now, we move."
She nodded, but then stood there, staring past him. "Legolas, they are ever closer."
"I know."
"It's my fault."
"Somehow I doubt that."
"My fault we're here," she clarified.
Legolas grasped her arm and pulled her with him deeper into the cave. "Later I'll ask why you came in here. For now, let's go."
"Go where?" She stumbled; in this darkness, even Elves had a difficult time seeing. No light seemed to permeate the tunnel.
"In the opposite direction of them."
"But out is that way."
"More often than not, there is more than one entrance into a cave system."
"Do you know where it is?"
Silence was the answer.
"Oh," she whispered, her breath hitching. Hand still on her arm, lest they become seperated, Legolas led them on, quickly stumbling into the darkness.
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