Chapter III - Of Evils Unforgotten
Before the funerals of the dead took place, and the mourning for the lost began, a great hunting party went forth from the palace and sped off in hot pursuit of the orcs and Gollum. The path, plunging southward, remained easy enough to follow. Legolas insisted on going along, though he would speak to no one of the events of June 20th, save to his father alone. Even to Thranduil his words were brief and few. Legolas was a skilled tracker and their greatest archer. The other members of the party appreciated his presence, yet they saw that in his eyes a vital light had gone out.
The party was armed to the teeth with longbows and the renowned white knives of Mirkwood, and consisted of the best scouts and trackers in the kingdom. They followed the trail, heading southwards, for a grueling month and a half. Soon enough they found signs of Gollum: hand and foot prints pressed into the moss of many trees, a leaf curled by the pressing of a toe. It seemed he had decided to travel through the branches like an ape, not enjoying the company of the orcs who had apparently rescued him.
All hope for Baran and Silindë was lost after the first several days, for no sign of the two could be found amongst the pandemonium left behind by the orcs. Only one thing the trackers found: an Elven arrowhead, half buried in the earth. There was orc blood upon it. The captured Elves had clearly fought until their last moments.
Morale, already lessened by the inherent slayings of their friends, depleted even more as the scouting team realized that the trail clearly lead to Dol Guldur. It was August 5th, and the sunlight leaking through the Canopy was white and hot.
"The rumors must be true," a scout named Gwindor observed. "Those orcs were summoned by something in the Tower-why else would they travel there in such haste? Perhaps one of the Nazgûl still reigns there."
"Do not utter that word here!" hissed another, named Saeros. "We have drawn nigh to that black place. The air here is thick with evil." He turned to Legolas meaningfully. "My lord, we should turn back. We can do no more."
Legolas sighed. His bow was drawn and he was scanning the tree line for dangers. "I fear you are right, Saeros. Gollum is beyond our grasp, and these orcs must be in league with Dol Guldur, too evil a place for us to venture, even if our numbers were greater." He turned to his warriors, feeling strange for a moment that he, the youngest among them, was the one to make such decisions. They looked to him with sad eyes, but the eyes of many generations, eyes that had already seen more death and horror than he had ever known. "Do we agree to return home then?"
They did, unanimously but with heavy hearts. The going was swift-they no longer spent the time and toil searching for tracks or signs. It was raining upon the night they returned, and each Elven warrior was thankful that the weather could hide their ashamed, defeated tears.
* * *
October was approaching more swiftly than the Sylvan Elves had expected. Thranduil worked for three weeks at the end of August to organize the envoys for Rivendell. He resolved not to go himself, for the encroaching shadows around Mirkwood were his first and foremost concern.
Legolas' grief did not abate as his father had assured him it would. He wandered alone among the trees around the border of the forest, sometimes venturing out onto the grassy fields that lead to Esgaroth. Many nights he wandered there, staring up at the stars, listening to the whispering of the tall blades. His nocturnal disappearances scared Thranduil to death but he took no notice of his father's anxieties. He walked along the Forest River, nearing the minor colony of his father's kingdom-the people Outsiders called Raft-Elves, though they were of the same kith and kindred as Legolas' people. He could hear them singing at dusk, but their voices were soft, coming from inside their homes. They dared not venture out at night, not with the Spiders and the climbing shadows all around.
He thought of the times of legends, when his people were strong and joyful. Yet their time had passed before he was even born. He had been cheated out of their greatness and their happiness simply being young. He tried to remember his early youth, when the forest was still Greenwood, when the trees were noble and strong, not gnarled and drooping. All memories of childhood were eternally bound to memories of his mother, yet even she was fading from his mind. One such day while walking alone, he realized that he could not remember her laugh.
Thranduil became concerned. He ordered Legolas to stay within the boundaries of the palace during his three-week planning period, but the prince easily found ways to sneak out. At last, Thranduil's temper reached its apex. He called for an audience with his son in his study and the two sat and talked for many hours.
They had argued, drawn nigh to tears, and yelled at each other throughout their talk, and now father and son fell silent. Thranduil gazed at his hands, the fingertips up against each other. Legolas tilted his head to gaze out the narrow window into nothing. The mist had blocked out any view of the leaves or even the stars beyond.
"You realize why I will not allow you to go," the king said at last.
Legolas did not turn from the window. "It makes no sense to me, Father. None whatsoever."
"These are the darkest days our kingdom has seen since the Last Alliance, Legolas." Thranduil's tone had an edge. "Why now would I set you loose among all the dangers of the wild? Nothing in this world wishes us well. Men became wary. Our own trees have grown silent. Some have even turned to Him, I think."
"You do not understand," Legolas said, turning a cold stare upon his father, "Because you were not there. You did not hear the sound Amandil's body made when it fell to the earth, nor did you smell of all the blood in the air." His voice faltered. Thranduil's heart hurt seeing unshed tears gathering in his son's eyes. "My last words to Silindë were heartless and cold. Nothing can forgive that, not even my being allowed to bear the news to Elrond. But it would abate the sufferings of their kindred."
Thranduil considered these words carefully. His mind went back to his first battle alongside his own father, Oropher. He thought of that final moment when he had turned to his father, raising their banner high, and was met with the sight of a single black arrow buried in the king's neck. The memory was like swallowing swift poison, and it set all of Thranduil aching with sorrow. This he masked carefully, regaining his oratorical tone, and began, "You have a duty to your people-"
"I *betrayed* them!" Legolas snapped, rising to his feet as if he was about to pull the knife from his scabbard and stab someone. He towered over Thranduil, seething. "I let them lose four of their brothers and fathers and husbands and sons. I am the one who is responsible for Gollum's escape. Now he probably is running for the sanctuary of Barad-Dûr to report upon all our doings, revealing all to the Dark Lord Himself! How dare you remind me of my duty!"
"That is *enough*," Thranduil hissed, looking rather lethal. Legolas fell unsteadily silent. The king stood up, now matching his son's height to the inch. "What happened in June is no one's fault." He flung up a hand when Legolas began to protest. "Your friends would not disagree with me, had they the ability to speak with you now. Mandos holds them. They are sundered only from Middle-earth, but in the end, so are we all."
Legolas shut his eyes, wishing he were dead or nothing. He felt his father's gaze upon his face, and he felt his father's hand reach up to cup his shoulder.
"But you shall go."
He opened his eyes again, wide-eyed with surprise.
"Yes," Thranduil continued sadly. "You are certainly old enough to make your own decisions now, as much as this choice grieves my heart to bear. I grant you the permission to be the leader of the envoy to Imladris, Legolas. You have earned it. I see that now."
Legolas stared at his father who stared back, his deep gray eyes glittering. They suddenly moved toward each other at an unspoken agreement. Then the father laid his long hand upon his son's cheek and stared for a while into his eyes-eyes inherited from a queen long since stolen from their world, eyes that tilted up at the ends, but the color was his alone. In them gray seas were raging. A bright white fire was held back by only a thin barrier. But Thranduil let it pass. Then they separated and went to grieve in their own ways.
* * *
Baran had had no wife or lover, nor did Telchar, the Elf who had been fatally stabbed. Yet Silindë and Amandil had had wives indeed: Duilwen and Eilinel. The two Elf-maidens had spoken to no one, not even each other, after hearing of their loves' deaths. They remained in their homes and did not come out to sunlight or starlight for many months. Yet upon the eve of the envoy's departure, they sought an audience with the prince of their realm.
"It is too dangerous, Eilinel," Legolas said. He turned an entreating gaze upon Duilwen, who stood staring at the ground, her somber face curtained by a fall of honey-colored hair that must have come from some distant relation to the house of Finarfin. "Tell her, Duilwen. It is too risky for the both of you."
"Your Highness," Eilinel said in a whisper that sounded more like a threat than anything else, calm and frightening, "I speak for myself alone when I say I care no longer for Middle-earth. Without Amandil, it is an empty place devoid of life and happiness. Nothing can hurt me now. I do not expect you to understand, Sir, but I *will* go to Imladris-alone if I must."
"As will I," came the voice of Duilwen, still gazing at her feet. Tears had begun to fall from her eyes once again. The light danced off of her wet cheeks in a way that dazzled Legolas' eyes. For the first time, he saw why Silindë had fallen in love with her. His heart ached like cold fire.
"Very well," he sighed, running a hand through his hair, looking everywhere but at the Elf-maidens before him. "You two shall come with me and the others in the company. But the number must be few. I will sacrifice two of the riders for you. In Imladris you should easily be able to find someone to help you reach Valinor, for there the last of the Vanyar in Middle-earth dwell. I am told that they leave in small groups every year. You may go with them."
Eilinel and Duilwen each said, "Thank you, my lord," and went away-to weep, perhaps, and to prepare for the treacherous journey to Rivendell.
Legolas knew that Eilinel was right. Though he had loved Silindë and Amandil deeply, he would never feel what loss the Elf-maidens felt. He had never truly loved anyone, not as they had. Yes, there had been moments of youthful distraction. Yes, he had stolen away with several maidens and he knew what it was to kiss and be kissed; he was not inexperienced in the art of lovemaking; he had infatuations and he had been both accepted and denied. But he was never truly absorbed in love, not the way he had seen others been lost in it. Furthermore, he still found Mirkwood a wonderful place, despite all of its twisting treacheries and savage dangers. He loved the western Misty Mountains with their jagged points like a saw blade, and the glassy expanse of the Lake of Esgaroth. Rivendell he yearned for almost every day, and he missed his friends there whom he had not seen since long before the Battle of Five Armies. One day, he dreamed, he might go to Lothlorien at last and visit his kindred there, while the light of Galadriel remained.
And he was destined to love before he departed from this world.
* * *
Upon the morning of September 7th, all faces were solemn with fear and foreboding. None looked as completely anxious and distressed as did the countenance of King Thranduil. He rested not at all upon the night before the company's departure. Nor did Legolas truthfully, though he did so mostly because of preparation-not anxiety. The prince felt no fear. Since losing his companions he mostly felt numb.
At dawn, the five chosen for the journey gathered at the great gates. With Legolas went Duilwen and Eilinel, as well as Gwindor and Lómion. Each rider was armed with a bow and a knife. They were given cloaks and a flask of Miruvor as well as enough food for the month-long journey. No tears fell, but a mournful silence hung over the cold morning. The Elf-maidens' families bade them farewell. Lómion's wife, Nienna, came running up to his steed. He leapt down and kissed her hard. Legolas watched them with jealous curiosity for a moment. Neither his nor Gwindor's hearts belonged to anyone else and for the first time he felt empty for it. Gwindor smiled at the couple and did not seem to mind.
The king came forward, tall and proud, draped in the ceremonial greens and browns of their ancient kingdom. Upon his head was the braided silver circlet that his father, Oropher, had worn until he had been shot down upon the battlefield of the Last Alliance.
"Farewell, my son," Thranduil said in a voice so low with sorrow that it was nearly a whisper. "Remember all I taught you, and all the things your teachers have instilled in you. Return as soon as you can." He reached forward and tucked a dark strand of hair behind Legolas' ear, one that the wind had cast across his face. Then the two fiercely embraced. As they pulled apart from each other Thranduil felt, with horrible, wrenching dread, that it could be the last time he saw Legolas. He felt a rush of irrational alarm and found his voice again. "Return, Legolas!" he called as the horses disappeared down the trail. "I shall be waiting."
Legolas turned in the saddle and smiled sadly. He was beautiful and strong, as tall as a young tree, his face possessing the loveliness of a more ancient strain of their people. The wind rippled his hair and cloak. Even as Thranduil's heart ached with sadness, it filled again with immense pride and wonder at his son's majesty. Legolas' voice was as proud as the king's when he spoke, and he seemed more regal and commanding than he had ever before in his life.
"Namarië, Adar."
It was September 7th of the year 3018. Thranduil did not see his son again until the Fourth Age.
* * *
"There is the Bridge of Mitheithel," Legolas said, pointing at the thin stone band that linked the banks of the Ford of Bruinen. It was just visible by Elven-sight, framed by the lush greenness of the valley of Rivendell. "Once we are over that, we have entered Elrond's dominion." He took up the braided reigns again and urged his horse onward. "It is not far."
The journey to Imladris had not been without its challenges. Upon a night of rain, during the first week out, a group of eight full-grown Spiders had attacked the Wood-Elves' camp. Luckily little injury was taken, but the fight was long and laborious. One Spider had even spat it's webbing upon Legolas' shooting arm, pinning it against a tree. For a moment he was completely helpless. Then Duilwen of all people knocked an arrow as the creature leapt for him. The shaft struck the Spider so hard that it went straight through its abdomen. The Spider fell to the earth, a yard from Legolas, and collapsed in a hissing puddle of its own innards. Besides this incident, and a nasty cut Gwindor received, little else happened. They worked well together, united in their lingering sorrow. They steered clear of the mountain reaches where the trolls and goblins were rampant. Their Elven stealth was the only thing that prevented them from alerting their enemies of their presence. The wind blew at them, making the hike uncomfortable, but the horses' scent did not travel to the goblin caves. They reached the outer borders of Imladris' valley upon the 11th of October.
Then the greatest evil drew nigh.
Rumors of the Nine riding abroad had reached Mirkwood's people, another horror story to keep the Royal Guard doubled as it traced perimeter of the Empire Beneath the Canopy each night. Most wrote it off as just another tale to scare children, but King Thranduil took it seriously enough, as did Legolas. As the entourage neared the Bridge of Mitheithel, each Elf felt a strange watchful shadow near to them. Legolas' mind immediately went to the rumors. Yet none among them was able to guess at the strength of the malice that was approaching.
"Legolas," Lómion whispered, "Do you feel that?"
"Yes. It's not yrch either. Something more cunning I think." The three other Elves trotted close by. Legolas turned to them and said, "My heart tells me that there is something close to us that we cannot stand against at this time. But we are near to safety. We shall make a run for the Bridge and cross one by one: first Eilinel and Duilwen, then you, Lómion, and then Gwindor. I will be the rear guard."
"Your Highness-" Duilwen began.
"No, I insist upon being last," said Legolas. "I am the best and most accurate shot among us, and if it comes to arrows then I want to be within range. Time grows short-I feel the air throbbing with darkness." He urged his horse on without motion or word. The five Elves' steeds broke into a canter, flying over the stony terrain as swiftly and gracefully as deer.
Suddenly a cold, evil cry sliced through the sunlight.
Four Black Riders were gaining at uncanny speed, their steeds' hooves thundering upon the earth. The noise echoed in Legolas' ears as he rode as hard as he could. He did not get far before he began to feel very strangely out of control. He felt something holding him back, pulling him away from the safe haven he knew lay a few yards beyond. It seemed to close around his throat like a vice, filling his lungs like smoke. Strength weakened. He tried to shake off the Shadow, always urging his horse onward. Yet as he advanced, the nausea increased. The further he tried to get from his pursuers, the stronger he felt the tugging sensation in his chest, taught and raw.
Ahead of him, he saw the horses of his companions falter, cantering unsteadily. He knew the same hold was upon his friends. Gwindor slowly turned in his saddle, mouth open with exhaustion, and after his eyes locked with those of his prince he had a look of horror, staring at something just behind. Eilinel, Duilwen and Lómion had reached the other side of the Bridge. In a moment, Gwindor had crossed as well. It was narrow, and they could only pass one at a time safely. Legolas was relieved when his turn came.
Suddenly the world darkened, becoming blurred beyond recognition. He thought for a fleeting moment that he saw something ahead like a lighted torch, something calling to him desperately-it had a clear, ringing voice. But he knew that he was beyond any aid now. In a moment the Riders would catch up to him and he would fall forever into Shadow. He thought of his father and of the songs of his home, rising and falling like water lapping upon a distant shore. He thought of the stars burning.
As he shut his eyes, begging for death rather than the torments of the Nazgûl, Legolas heard a cry:
"Go back to the Shadow, shades of Men! You hold no dominion here! By Vilya the Great, and the power of Elrond Half-Elven who governs here, be gone from this place!"
He could see again! His horse regained its will to live and charged across the bridge. Life and breath came back into his limbs, and he grasped the reigns in both fists and let his head fall against the warm neck of his steed. As Legolas arrived on the other side of the river, he saw a gleaming shape ride past him, heading straight for the Riders. Still feeling sick, he turned and blearily saw the Elf-lord Glorfindel revealed in his wrath, glowing like the North Star. The Nazgûl wailed and fled before him. He held a long-bladed sword like a shaft of light and sped after them. He was silently chanting something, too: a strong spell that girdled Imladris from their terror for a while.
"Vilya..." Legolas whispered in wonder, sensing a great power all around him, and then he felt himself slip into nothingness, at last safe in Rivendell.
-Fin-
REVIEW please!
Continued in Chapter IV - In the House of Elrond, in which we will meet several humans, dwarves and hobbits of importance...
Before the funerals of the dead took place, and the mourning for the lost began, a great hunting party went forth from the palace and sped off in hot pursuit of the orcs and Gollum. The path, plunging southward, remained easy enough to follow. Legolas insisted on going along, though he would speak to no one of the events of June 20th, save to his father alone. Even to Thranduil his words were brief and few. Legolas was a skilled tracker and their greatest archer. The other members of the party appreciated his presence, yet they saw that in his eyes a vital light had gone out.
The party was armed to the teeth with longbows and the renowned white knives of Mirkwood, and consisted of the best scouts and trackers in the kingdom. They followed the trail, heading southwards, for a grueling month and a half. Soon enough they found signs of Gollum: hand and foot prints pressed into the moss of many trees, a leaf curled by the pressing of a toe. It seemed he had decided to travel through the branches like an ape, not enjoying the company of the orcs who had apparently rescued him.
All hope for Baran and Silindë was lost after the first several days, for no sign of the two could be found amongst the pandemonium left behind by the orcs. Only one thing the trackers found: an Elven arrowhead, half buried in the earth. There was orc blood upon it. The captured Elves had clearly fought until their last moments.
Morale, already lessened by the inherent slayings of their friends, depleted even more as the scouting team realized that the trail clearly lead to Dol Guldur. It was August 5th, and the sunlight leaking through the Canopy was white and hot.
"The rumors must be true," a scout named Gwindor observed. "Those orcs were summoned by something in the Tower-why else would they travel there in such haste? Perhaps one of the Nazgûl still reigns there."
"Do not utter that word here!" hissed another, named Saeros. "We have drawn nigh to that black place. The air here is thick with evil." He turned to Legolas meaningfully. "My lord, we should turn back. We can do no more."
Legolas sighed. His bow was drawn and he was scanning the tree line for dangers. "I fear you are right, Saeros. Gollum is beyond our grasp, and these orcs must be in league with Dol Guldur, too evil a place for us to venture, even if our numbers were greater." He turned to his warriors, feeling strange for a moment that he, the youngest among them, was the one to make such decisions. They looked to him with sad eyes, but the eyes of many generations, eyes that had already seen more death and horror than he had ever known. "Do we agree to return home then?"
They did, unanimously but with heavy hearts. The going was swift-they no longer spent the time and toil searching for tracks or signs. It was raining upon the night they returned, and each Elven warrior was thankful that the weather could hide their ashamed, defeated tears.
* * *
October was approaching more swiftly than the Sylvan Elves had expected. Thranduil worked for three weeks at the end of August to organize the envoys for Rivendell. He resolved not to go himself, for the encroaching shadows around Mirkwood were his first and foremost concern.
Legolas' grief did not abate as his father had assured him it would. He wandered alone among the trees around the border of the forest, sometimes venturing out onto the grassy fields that lead to Esgaroth. Many nights he wandered there, staring up at the stars, listening to the whispering of the tall blades. His nocturnal disappearances scared Thranduil to death but he took no notice of his father's anxieties. He walked along the Forest River, nearing the minor colony of his father's kingdom-the people Outsiders called Raft-Elves, though they were of the same kith and kindred as Legolas' people. He could hear them singing at dusk, but their voices were soft, coming from inside their homes. They dared not venture out at night, not with the Spiders and the climbing shadows all around.
He thought of the times of legends, when his people were strong and joyful. Yet their time had passed before he was even born. He had been cheated out of their greatness and their happiness simply being young. He tried to remember his early youth, when the forest was still Greenwood, when the trees were noble and strong, not gnarled and drooping. All memories of childhood were eternally bound to memories of his mother, yet even she was fading from his mind. One such day while walking alone, he realized that he could not remember her laugh.
Thranduil became concerned. He ordered Legolas to stay within the boundaries of the palace during his three-week planning period, but the prince easily found ways to sneak out. At last, Thranduil's temper reached its apex. He called for an audience with his son in his study and the two sat and talked for many hours.
They had argued, drawn nigh to tears, and yelled at each other throughout their talk, and now father and son fell silent. Thranduil gazed at his hands, the fingertips up against each other. Legolas tilted his head to gaze out the narrow window into nothing. The mist had blocked out any view of the leaves or even the stars beyond.
"You realize why I will not allow you to go," the king said at last.
Legolas did not turn from the window. "It makes no sense to me, Father. None whatsoever."
"These are the darkest days our kingdom has seen since the Last Alliance, Legolas." Thranduil's tone had an edge. "Why now would I set you loose among all the dangers of the wild? Nothing in this world wishes us well. Men became wary. Our own trees have grown silent. Some have even turned to Him, I think."
"You do not understand," Legolas said, turning a cold stare upon his father, "Because you were not there. You did not hear the sound Amandil's body made when it fell to the earth, nor did you smell of all the blood in the air." His voice faltered. Thranduil's heart hurt seeing unshed tears gathering in his son's eyes. "My last words to Silindë were heartless and cold. Nothing can forgive that, not even my being allowed to bear the news to Elrond. But it would abate the sufferings of their kindred."
Thranduil considered these words carefully. His mind went back to his first battle alongside his own father, Oropher. He thought of that final moment when he had turned to his father, raising their banner high, and was met with the sight of a single black arrow buried in the king's neck. The memory was like swallowing swift poison, and it set all of Thranduil aching with sorrow. This he masked carefully, regaining his oratorical tone, and began, "You have a duty to your people-"
"I *betrayed* them!" Legolas snapped, rising to his feet as if he was about to pull the knife from his scabbard and stab someone. He towered over Thranduil, seething. "I let them lose four of their brothers and fathers and husbands and sons. I am the one who is responsible for Gollum's escape. Now he probably is running for the sanctuary of Barad-Dûr to report upon all our doings, revealing all to the Dark Lord Himself! How dare you remind me of my duty!"
"That is *enough*," Thranduil hissed, looking rather lethal. Legolas fell unsteadily silent. The king stood up, now matching his son's height to the inch. "What happened in June is no one's fault." He flung up a hand when Legolas began to protest. "Your friends would not disagree with me, had they the ability to speak with you now. Mandos holds them. They are sundered only from Middle-earth, but in the end, so are we all."
Legolas shut his eyes, wishing he were dead or nothing. He felt his father's gaze upon his face, and he felt his father's hand reach up to cup his shoulder.
"But you shall go."
He opened his eyes again, wide-eyed with surprise.
"Yes," Thranduil continued sadly. "You are certainly old enough to make your own decisions now, as much as this choice grieves my heart to bear. I grant you the permission to be the leader of the envoy to Imladris, Legolas. You have earned it. I see that now."
Legolas stared at his father who stared back, his deep gray eyes glittering. They suddenly moved toward each other at an unspoken agreement. Then the father laid his long hand upon his son's cheek and stared for a while into his eyes-eyes inherited from a queen long since stolen from their world, eyes that tilted up at the ends, but the color was his alone. In them gray seas were raging. A bright white fire was held back by only a thin barrier. But Thranduil let it pass. Then they separated and went to grieve in their own ways.
* * *
Baran had had no wife or lover, nor did Telchar, the Elf who had been fatally stabbed. Yet Silindë and Amandil had had wives indeed: Duilwen and Eilinel. The two Elf-maidens had spoken to no one, not even each other, after hearing of their loves' deaths. They remained in their homes and did not come out to sunlight or starlight for many months. Yet upon the eve of the envoy's departure, they sought an audience with the prince of their realm.
"It is too dangerous, Eilinel," Legolas said. He turned an entreating gaze upon Duilwen, who stood staring at the ground, her somber face curtained by a fall of honey-colored hair that must have come from some distant relation to the house of Finarfin. "Tell her, Duilwen. It is too risky for the both of you."
"Your Highness," Eilinel said in a whisper that sounded more like a threat than anything else, calm and frightening, "I speak for myself alone when I say I care no longer for Middle-earth. Without Amandil, it is an empty place devoid of life and happiness. Nothing can hurt me now. I do not expect you to understand, Sir, but I *will* go to Imladris-alone if I must."
"As will I," came the voice of Duilwen, still gazing at her feet. Tears had begun to fall from her eyes once again. The light danced off of her wet cheeks in a way that dazzled Legolas' eyes. For the first time, he saw why Silindë had fallen in love with her. His heart ached like cold fire.
"Very well," he sighed, running a hand through his hair, looking everywhere but at the Elf-maidens before him. "You two shall come with me and the others in the company. But the number must be few. I will sacrifice two of the riders for you. In Imladris you should easily be able to find someone to help you reach Valinor, for there the last of the Vanyar in Middle-earth dwell. I am told that they leave in small groups every year. You may go with them."
Eilinel and Duilwen each said, "Thank you, my lord," and went away-to weep, perhaps, and to prepare for the treacherous journey to Rivendell.
Legolas knew that Eilinel was right. Though he had loved Silindë and Amandil deeply, he would never feel what loss the Elf-maidens felt. He had never truly loved anyone, not as they had. Yes, there had been moments of youthful distraction. Yes, he had stolen away with several maidens and he knew what it was to kiss and be kissed; he was not inexperienced in the art of lovemaking; he had infatuations and he had been both accepted and denied. But he was never truly absorbed in love, not the way he had seen others been lost in it. Furthermore, he still found Mirkwood a wonderful place, despite all of its twisting treacheries and savage dangers. He loved the western Misty Mountains with their jagged points like a saw blade, and the glassy expanse of the Lake of Esgaroth. Rivendell he yearned for almost every day, and he missed his friends there whom he had not seen since long before the Battle of Five Armies. One day, he dreamed, he might go to Lothlorien at last and visit his kindred there, while the light of Galadriel remained.
And he was destined to love before he departed from this world.
* * *
Upon the morning of September 7th, all faces were solemn with fear and foreboding. None looked as completely anxious and distressed as did the countenance of King Thranduil. He rested not at all upon the night before the company's departure. Nor did Legolas truthfully, though he did so mostly because of preparation-not anxiety. The prince felt no fear. Since losing his companions he mostly felt numb.
At dawn, the five chosen for the journey gathered at the great gates. With Legolas went Duilwen and Eilinel, as well as Gwindor and Lómion. Each rider was armed with a bow and a knife. They were given cloaks and a flask of Miruvor as well as enough food for the month-long journey. No tears fell, but a mournful silence hung over the cold morning. The Elf-maidens' families bade them farewell. Lómion's wife, Nienna, came running up to his steed. He leapt down and kissed her hard. Legolas watched them with jealous curiosity for a moment. Neither his nor Gwindor's hearts belonged to anyone else and for the first time he felt empty for it. Gwindor smiled at the couple and did not seem to mind.
The king came forward, tall and proud, draped in the ceremonial greens and browns of their ancient kingdom. Upon his head was the braided silver circlet that his father, Oropher, had worn until he had been shot down upon the battlefield of the Last Alliance.
"Farewell, my son," Thranduil said in a voice so low with sorrow that it was nearly a whisper. "Remember all I taught you, and all the things your teachers have instilled in you. Return as soon as you can." He reached forward and tucked a dark strand of hair behind Legolas' ear, one that the wind had cast across his face. Then the two fiercely embraced. As they pulled apart from each other Thranduil felt, with horrible, wrenching dread, that it could be the last time he saw Legolas. He felt a rush of irrational alarm and found his voice again. "Return, Legolas!" he called as the horses disappeared down the trail. "I shall be waiting."
Legolas turned in the saddle and smiled sadly. He was beautiful and strong, as tall as a young tree, his face possessing the loveliness of a more ancient strain of their people. The wind rippled his hair and cloak. Even as Thranduil's heart ached with sadness, it filled again with immense pride and wonder at his son's majesty. Legolas' voice was as proud as the king's when he spoke, and he seemed more regal and commanding than he had ever before in his life.
"Namarië, Adar."
It was September 7th of the year 3018. Thranduil did not see his son again until the Fourth Age.
* * *
"There is the Bridge of Mitheithel," Legolas said, pointing at the thin stone band that linked the banks of the Ford of Bruinen. It was just visible by Elven-sight, framed by the lush greenness of the valley of Rivendell. "Once we are over that, we have entered Elrond's dominion." He took up the braided reigns again and urged his horse onward. "It is not far."
The journey to Imladris had not been without its challenges. Upon a night of rain, during the first week out, a group of eight full-grown Spiders had attacked the Wood-Elves' camp. Luckily little injury was taken, but the fight was long and laborious. One Spider had even spat it's webbing upon Legolas' shooting arm, pinning it against a tree. For a moment he was completely helpless. Then Duilwen of all people knocked an arrow as the creature leapt for him. The shaft struck the Spider so hard that it went straight through its abdomen. The Spider fell to the earth, a yard from Legolas, and collapsed in a hissing puddle of its own innards. Besides this incident, and a nasty cut Gwindor received, little else happened. They worked well together, united in their lingering sorrow. They steered clear of the mountain reaches where the trolls and goblins were rampant. Their Elven stealth was the only thing that prevented them from alerting their enemies of their presence. The wind blew at them, making the hike uncomfortable, but the horses' scent did not travel to the goblin caves. They reached the outer borders of Imladris' valley upon the 11th of October.
Then the greatest evil drew nigh.
Rumors of the Nine riding abroad had reached Mirkwood's people, another horror story to keep the Royal Guard doubled as it traced perimeter of the Empire Beneath the Canopy each night. Most wrote it off as just another tale to scare children, but King Thranduil took it seriously enough, as did Legolas. As the entourage neared the Bridge of Mitheithel, each Elf felt a strange watchful shadow near to them. Legolas' mind immediately went to the rumors. Yet none among them was able to guess at the strength of the malice that was approaching.
"Legolas," Lómion whispered, "Do you feel that?"
"Yes. It's not yrch either. Something more cunning I think." The three other Elves trotted close by. Legolas turned to them and said, "My heart tells me that there is something close to us that we cannot stand against at this time. But we are near to safety. We shall make a run for the Bridge and cross one by one: first Eilinel and Duilwen, then you, Lómion, and then Gwindor. I will be the rear guard."
"Your Highness-" Duilwen began.
"No, I insist upon being last," said Legolas. "I am the best and most accurate shot among us, and if it comes to arrows then I want to be within range. Time grows short-I feel the air throbbing with darkness." He urged his horse on without motion or word. The five Elves' steeds broke into a canter, flying over the stony terrain as swiftly and gracefully as deer.
Suddenly a cold, evil cry sliced through the sunlight.
Four Black Riders were gaining at uncanny speed, their steeds' hooves thundering upon the earth. The noise echoed in Legolas' ears as he rode as hard as he could. He did not get far before he began to feel very strangely out of control. He felt something holding him back, pulling him away from the safe haven he knew lay a few yards beyond. It seemed to close around his throat like a vice, filling his lungs like smoke. Strength weakened. He tried to shake off the Shadow, always urging his horse onward. Yet as he advanced, the nausea increased. The further he tried to get from his pursuers, the stronger he felt the tugging sensation in his chest, taught and raw.
Ahead of him, he saw the horses of his companions falter, cantering unsteadily. He knew the same hold was upon his friends. Gwindor slowly turned in his saddle, mouth open with exhaustion, and after his eyes locked with those of his prince he had a look of horror, staring at something just behind. Eilinel, Duilwen and Lómion had reached the other side of the Bridge. In a moment, Gwindor had crossed as well. It was narrow, and they could only pass one at a time safely. Legolas was relieved when his turn came.
Suddenly the world darkened, becoming blurred beyond recognition. He thought for a fleeting moment that he saw something ahead like a lighted torch, something calling to him desperately-it had a clear, ringing voice. But he knew that he was beyond any aid now. In a moment the Riders would catch up to him and he would fall forever into Shadow. He thought of his father and of the songs of his home, rising and falling like water lapping upon a distant shore. He thought of the stars burning.
As he shut his eyes, begging for death rather than the torments of the Nazgûl, Legolas heard a cry:
"Go back to the Shadow, shades of Men! You hold no dominion here! By Vilya the Great, and the power of Elrond Half-Elven who governs here, be gone from this place!"
He could see again! His horse regained its will to live and charged across the bridge. Life and breath came back into his limbs, and he grasped the reigns in both fists and let his head fall against the warm neck of his steed. As Legolas arrived on the other side of the river, he saw a gleaming shape ride past him, heading straight for the Riders. Still feeling sick, he turned and blearily saw the Elf-lord Glorfindel revealed in his wrath, glowing like the North Star. The Nazgûl wailed and fled before him. He held a long-bladed sword like a shaft of light and sped after them. He was silently chanting something, too: a strong spell that girdled Imladris from their terror for a while.
"Vilya..." Legolas whispered in wonder, sensing a great power all around him, and then he felt himself slip into nothingness, at last safe in Rivendell.
-Fin-
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Continued in Chapter IV - In the House of Elrond, in which we will meet several humans, dwarves and hobbits of importance...