A lone rider crossed the open plains, making for the distant, silver twinkling of the fast flowing Anduin. The decision to risk exposure had been a difficult one, yet Celdarion knew that if his King were to reach Minas Tirith in the quickest time possible, he would use the barges built by the wood Elves to transport themselves and their steeds down the river.
The guardian Elf had spent some time in the forest, just beyond the city, trying to ensure that his way was clear from the guards pursuing him. However, as soon as he felt more secure, he had called his faithful steed to his side and they had swiftly departed.
He had yet to hear or see any signs of pursuit, but still did not slow his pace. His aim was to reach the river and continue north, either until he met the King's party, or until he reached the safety of Lothlorien. It would be a hard pace, even for his horse to maintain, but the small bundle ensconced in his arms was more important.
He cast a swift look down to ensure the infant Prince of Gondor was still sleeping, before casting his eyes again to the river ahead of him, sending a swift prayer to the Valar to allow him to keep his charge safe.
Unaware of the Mirkwood Elf's desperate flight, the city of Minas Tirith slowly came into view of Lord Elrond's party. If they maintained their current pace they would reach the city by nightfall, and Rivendell's great Lord was eager to see what had been occurring in his foster son's kingdom.
The last news he'd received had informed him of the attempt on Elessarion's life, along with the new emergence of healing gifts within the Prince Legolas. He was also eager to check on Legolas' current health, after they had discovered that almost two weeks ago he had gotten with child again. Elrond was privy to his foster son's thoughts concerning future children, and was concerned about the current status of Aragorn's marriage. Sighing he resigned himself to having to wait until they arrived at the man made city.
Gimli stumbled, as the cart he was chained to lurched forward suddenly, only the helping hand of his Elven companion saving him from a fall. Casting a grateful smile up at his fellow captive, Gimli resumed his previous stumbling gait, though with a renewed sense of vigour, and a further dulling of the pain in his broken arm. He was pleased at the speed with which his previous injuries were healing, although, he mused that his companion was not fairing so well.
The Elven Prince looked gaunt, his cheeks already beginning to hollow out, dark shadows a constant beneath his dull and tired eyes. The grace for which the Eldar are renowned seemed to be more and more distant as Legolas marched forward, his feet beginning to drag more as the day wore on. The Dwarf was becoming worried about his companion. He was often awoken to the sound of the Elf's heaving in the early morning, and though the rations were not exactly tasty, it was important that both captives kept up their strength.
Legolas felt a little more of his energy drain from him as he prevented Gimli from falling forwards again. He had realized early on that his new healing gift was no longer under his control, and that any contact with an injury would draw his own vital energy away from him and into the injured party. He also felt the energy being drawn by his child in order to sustain itself, often leaving him sick and weak. The Prince acknowledged that he was in serious danger of collapsing very soon.
They had been traveling for a few days now, further south towards the lands of the Hrotaki. They had been watched closely, left with no opportunity for escape, and the further Legolas was taken from his husband's side, the more his despair enveloped him. When he had been taken from the city, the life of his mate had still been in question. Although Legolas had healed the King to the point where his injuries no longer immediately threatened his life, the young man was still vulnerable to attack. He also felt the anxiety of not knowing whether Celdarion had safely managed to escape the city with his son.
The captives were, for the most part, left alone. Each morning they were given a small ration of food and water in order to break their fast. They were left chained to the cart all day unless they were in need of a break to relieve themselves, in which case two of their guards would escort them to the side of the convoy.
They marched behind the wagon all day, and in the evening, when the convoy halted, they were given another ration of food and water. Then, aside from their guards watching over them, they were left alone again until the following morning. Chieftain Grotahn had not spoken to either of his captives since that first day, instead spending his time at the head of the convoy, riding one of the horses that only he and his guardsmen seemed to possess.
Legolas prayed silently that some opportunity for escape would afford itself soon, before he grew too weak to manage the journey back to Minas Tirith, and his husband's side.
Due to the current situation present in Gondor's capital, it was without the usual pomp and circumstance that Lord Elrond and his party entered the palace. Declining Lord Denethor's offer of an escort to his room and a chance to freshen up, Elrond immediately asked to be taken to his foster son and Prince Legolas.
Denethor paused nervously, his hesitation causing the Elf Lord's brow to climb higher. "Why do you hesitate, Lord Denethor? Both my son and Prince Legolas were expecting my arrival."
"I am aware of that my Lord, however there has arisen a… situation, I'm afraid." Denethor paused again, wondering how to the break his news to the ancient Elf. "Your son was caught in an explosion on the outer wall and lies in the halls of healing. His life is in no danger," he hastily assured, seeing the alarm on Elrond's face.
"Then take me there. I will speak with Legolas concerning his condition, and do my best to advance Elessar's healing," the Elf Lord stated calmly.
"I am afraid that is not possible my Lord. Prince Legolas has disappeared."
Elrond frowned. "Then who is taking care of Elessarion, and where is Celdarion?"
"My Lord, Prince Legolas sent me a letter explaining that he had instructed Lord Celdarion to take Prince Elessarion and leave the city, to meet with his father's party as they made their way towards Minas Tirith. Shortly after, Prince Legolas, and the Dwarf, Gimli, seem to have vanished and we can find no trace of them." Denethor said in a rush, determined to get all of the bad news out in one go.
Elrond's face was a mask of studied calm, and without a word he left the hall, collecting his sons along the way, and heading towards the halls of healing. When he located his foster son's room he was surprised to find Lord Fenner seated at the unconscious King's side.
"Lord Fenner," Elrond acknowledged with a small incline of his head.
"My Lord Elrond, we are very pleased to see you here," the Gondorian noble stated, not moving from his place by the King's side.
"Perhaps you can tell me the current situation of my son," the Elf asked calmly.
"Some days ago, the King took the visiting Dwarves to inspect the walls outside the city. He wanted to gain their aid in repairing the city's defensive walls, however, one of the walls collapsed, killing all but Master Gimli and the King, though it was a very close thing. Both injured parties were brought back here upon the instructions of Prince Legolas, who then dismissed the healers from the room." Fenner paused a moment. He cast an assessing look over the Elf Lord before continuing. "I assume you have been informed of Prince Legolas' new… talents?"
"I have," Elrond replied, waiting for the other man to continue.
Fenner nodded in acknowledgement. "I believe his plan was to heal the King himself. However, I gather from Lord Denethor that he did not believe the explosion to be an accident, and sent his guardian away to protect his son. All we know is that Prince Legolas was left alone in this room with the King and Master Gimli, and when the guards finally checked on them, both the Prince and the Dwarf had disappeared."
"This is certainly not what I expected to hear upon my arrival here." The Elf Lord moved forward and began to examine his foster son to determine the extent of his injuries. "Has Aragorn regained consciousness at all?" he enquired.
"Nay, both Lord Boromir and I have been taking turns to watch over the King. I am afraid that after attempts on the Royal Family we did not trust him alone with anyone. He has not regained consciousness at all since he was injured." Fenner said.
"Attempts?" Elladan broke in suddenly.
Lord Fenner's gaze shifted from the ancient Elf Lord, to his eldest son. "Yes, there was an attempt on Prince Elessarion's life. Someone attempted to poison him with mornthond. Had Prince Legolas not used his new gift the infant would surely be dead. The other we are not certain was attempt, but I personally feel couldn't have been otherwise."
"How so?" Elrohir asked.
"The King and Prince decided to go on a hunting trip with some members of the court, and some visitors from distant lands. When they reached the Royal Forest they were attacked by Orcs, Orcs that look to have been residing there for quite a few days. I could not tell you whether they were meant to find one or both of the Royal Couple, but thankfully they did not succeed in causing injury to either." Fenner paused. "Then there was this latest attempt on the King himself."
There was silence for a moment as the Elves digested this new information, and then Elladan spoke. "How is he Ada?"
"The injuries must have been very serious when he first received them, but I can feel where Legolas intervened. Much of his own spirit marks the injured spots, though I fear the Prince left himself weak and defenceless. Your brother however will live. I think that with a little encouragement he should awaken sometime within the next day or two," Elrond explained.
"Who will tell him what has happened?" Elrohir asked quietly.
No one answered.
Thranduil sighed softly, his anxiety increasing with the length of time it took to reach the city where his son now lived. They had been delayed by the Falls of Rauros, as they had to get the boats downriver, and with the horses to consider as well it had not been an easy task. Had there been no urgency, his own choice would have been to follow the Anduin down it's Eastern bank and cross the river closer to Minas Tirith where the ground was more level.
They were now mere days away from the city. They had passed the golden woods of the Lady Galadriel, but had not stopped, the King wanting to reach his son in the shortest possible time. He was jolted from his thoughts as Trasyn approached him, the King's faithful assistant looking at ease on his horse, as only an Elf could.
"My Lord, the scouts have returned, they say that a lone rider approaches. They are unsure though, as to whether or not he knows we are here, and he was too distant for them to make out any details about the rider," Trasyn informed him.
Thranduil frowned. There were few people who would have cause to be riding this far north, into what was more commonly Elven territory. "Send out a small greeting party, and find out what he is doing here," the King commanded, and with a single nod Trasyn guided his horse away to rejoin the scout who had initially reported to him.
A short time later, Thranduil observed the return of the party. However they were not alone. A hooded figure slouched over his horse's back accompanied them. The lone rider was brought before the King, and Thranduil noticed a strange lump beneath the rider's cloak. He frowned as the lump moved slightly, and then the rider tossed back his head to remove his hood.
"Celdarion!" the King exclaimed in surprise.
"My Lord," the weary Elf acknowledged.
"What are you doing here? Where is my son?" Thranduil demanded, his voice taking on a sharp pitch as fear invaded him.
"I have traveled to meet you under the orders of your son my Lord. However, I do not travel alone." Carefully Celdarion pulled his cloak aside, revealing the slumbering form of the King's grandson.
Without thought Thranduil held out his arms, and the guardian Elf gently handed over his precious burden. The King looked down, gently stroking back a strand of the infant's downy hair, and then he raised a sharp gaze back to his warrior.
"Not lightly would my son part with his child. I think we shall stop here and you may rest Celdarion, but not before you inform me of what has been happening."
Celdarion nodded and allowed his kinsmen to escort him from his horse to a bedroll where he awaited the King.
Lord Denethor felt his heart miss a beat as one of the palace guards delivered his message.
"King Thranduil is here already? How big is his party?" Denethor asked, hoping it wasn't big enough to cause a great deal of carnage amongst the citizens of the city who had lost his precious son.
"I am not certain in what sort of packs Elves usually travel my Lord, but it appears as though King Thranduil has bought a fairly large retinue. I am afraid we cannot ascertain who are the warriors and household staff amongst the group," the seasoned soldier reported.
"Very well, please ensure King Thranduil is escorted here with all haste, and have someone summon Lord Elrond. He will most likely still be in the healing halls with the King, but I think his presence here may become necessary," Denethor commanded, silently adding to himself that Elrond's presence might be the only thing to save his life once the Mirkwood King discovered the fate of his son and grandson.
Lord Elrond was surprised by the summons to the great hall from Lord Denethor, but hearing that Thranduil had arrived lightened his heart a little. He made his way swiftly to the palace audience hall at the very centre of the city, standing tall above the sprawling mass of buildings beneath and around it, its white tower a gleaming beacon to all Men. He encountered Lord Denethor sat upon the Steward's chair, his face pale, a faint gleam of sweat detected by sharp Elven eyes.
"Lord Denethor, are you well?" Elrond asked in concern.
Denethor gave a quick bark of laughter, but it was not humorous. "I fear that I may well meet my end this day Elrond," the old man said finally. "Lord Thranduil can not yet know of his son, and as Steward, with the King as yet still unconscious, it is my duty to impart this disastrous news."
They did not have to wait long, King Thranduil and a few of his retinue, cloaked in the dark greens and greys of Mirkwood, entered the hall. The King himself an imposing figure, as his heavy cloak swirled around his powerfully striding legs. Thranduil stopped before the Steward of Gondor, and Denethor stood, Elrond at his side.
"Lord Elrond," Thranduil acknowledged with a thin veneer of politeness before his sharp blue gaze zeroed in on the Steward. "Lord Denethor, I would like to know how things have come to pass, that my son is now missing, and my son in law lies in the halls of healing, attacked possibly by your own people."
Denethor almost sighed in relief at not actually having to break the news, when the thought occurred to him, how exactly did King Thranduil know what had come to pass? "Lord Thranduil, I am afraid that is not all that has occurred. Under the orders of your son, Lord Celdarion took Prince Elessarion and left the city. We have sent men out to find them but have been unable to do so."
The Elven King's head moved back slightly and his gaze now rested upon Denethor from above an imperiously tilted nose. "Nay, and you would not do so, for Celdarion is amongst the finest of Mirkwood's warriors. He holds my trust completely and as such has done his duty to his people." Thranduil motioned suddenly with one arm, and one of the Elves at the rear of the party stepped forward, one hand reaching up to dislodge the hood of his cloak.
"Celdarion," Denethor gasped in recognition. Then his gaze moved downwards to the small body nestled within the warriors' arms. "Thank the Gods," the Steward cried in relief. "Prince Elessarion is returned to us."
"For now," Thranduil said calmly, his arms still flashing fire.
This puzzled the Steward. "I am afraid that I do not understand you my Lord. The Prince is returned to his rightful place as heir to the throne of Gondor, at his father's side."
Thranduil smiled, his teeth glinting in a predatory fashion. "I believe you forget something Lord Denethor. Elessarion is my grandson. He is also in line to rule the throne of Mirkwood, but more importantly he is the flesh of my son, and if I feel that his safety is in any doubt he will return to Mirkwood with me, as will my son when he is recovered. Treaty or no, you had my two most valued possessions within your grasp and you lost both."
"Thranduil, perhaps now is not a good time to have this conversation," Elrond said quietly, finally entering the conversation. "Your people will wish to rest, and no doubt you will wish to discuss what is to be done to discover your son's whereabouts."
Thranduil continued to hold Denethor's gaze for a moment; the man sweating under the intensity of those immortal eyes, before the Elven King finally looked at Elrond and nodded. "If Lord Denethor would be so kind as to arrange somewhere for my people to rest…?" It was not a question. "I wish to visit with Aragorn. Elrond, how does he fare?"
"Better, he has been healed past the point where the injuries would still be life threatening, but he has yet to regain consciousness."
Nodding Thranduil allowed Rivendell's Lord to escort him from the hall.
It was his hearing that returned to him at first, the strange mumbled sounds pulling him away from the darkness. There was something missing though. Some feeling of warmth that was absent, and so he resisted the pull of the light and fell back into the darkness for a time.
It was not enough to keep him in the darkness though, and eventually he surfaced again, the mumbled noises still not making much sense. This time, however, he felt a warm spark of something familiar close by, encouraging him to open his eyes just a fraction. When his head did not explode at the dull light that filtered through his lashes, he risked opening his eyes a little further. This did get a response, although not the one he had expected, there was a sudden cessation in the sounds around him, and then he sensed movement, coming closer. The mumbling began again, only this time it seemed more focused and was getting closer. Then a face appeared in his field of vision.
"Estel! Estel my son, look at me," Lord Elrond gently called, his spirits having lifted greatly upon seeing his foster son's eyes open. He was aware of his twin sons approaching the bed, calling out to their brother, but he remained focused on assessing his injure son. What he saw did not reassure him.
Estel had turned his head fractionally to look at him but there appeared to be no recognition in those dull grey eyes. He kept his expression calm and again spoke softly to his son.
"Estel, can you hear me?" the Elven Lord queried. Yet there was still no response.
By now, the twin brothers had realized all was not well when their foster brother failed to acknowledge their presence, and their voices fell silent. A sudden wail interrupted the pressing silence, and all heads turned to face the infant Elfling resting in the arms of his grandfather.
The young man on the bed heard the infant's cry and something within him broke free, a small memory of a soft body held close in his arms, and himself turning towards figures standing close by, proudly and dazedly showing off this miracle of life.
"Elessarion," he said, or at least attempted to, but what emerged was a hoarse whisper than was unintelligible to the Elves around him. He licked dry lips and tried again, this time with a little more success.
King Thranduil rose from his seat in the corner, and approached the bed, gently rocking the crying babe in his arms. When he stood next to the bedside of the injured King, he bent, showing the young man the infant he held within. As Elessarion made eye contact with his papa his cries vanished. Aragorn's arm shifted slightly, a gap forming at his side, and Thranduil gently nestled Elessarion against his father's side, the young King's arm tightening fractionally around the smaller body.
"Papa!" Elessarion exclaimed, a small grin forming on his red, tear stained face.
"Do not fear Estel, he is safe now," Thranduil stated calmly.
Aragorn frowned. Why would his son have been in any danger? A sudden burst of images flashed through his mind, himself walking into a chamber, only to be restrained as his husband attempted to heal their son. Aragorn gasped sharply, alarming his Elven father, but the young man ignored him, his gaze instead searching the room for the presence he was missing. However, the only golden Elf here was his father-in-law.
Aragorn turned a panicked expression on his father. "Legolas?" he croaked out. He noticed the dark looks shared by the Elves around him, and he spoke again, this time with more force, his tone more demanding. "Legolas?"
Silence answered him.
End of Chapter 11