Disclaimer: The plot and characters with unfamiliar names belong to me. The rest do not.
Rating: PG
Author's Note: Thank you to elvingirl3737, who reviewed Beasts of Burden! I'm glad you liked my POV! I hope I don't disappoint you!
Many thanks also to Levaire, for reviewing that story. Thanks for stopping by to tell me that you liked it! ;)
I would also like to thank Partheon for reviewing Beasts of Burden. I am honored that you read my story despite your busy schedule. ;) And your praises of my work...wow. It's heart-swelling to hear such generous words from an author like yourself. I am also quite with you on the friendship part – there are friends who seem to be too good for oneself, you know? I am glad you found that I portrayed my imagery and theme clearly, and grateful that you envisioned some of those details of imagery pieces that usually tend to slip from the mind. Your words encouraged me and moved me immensely. Thank you so much.
Thank you also to moonshine, for reviewing Of Elflings and Adolescents, and The Strength of One Green Leaf! It's so sweet to get a review for an age-past story!
And lomeloke, you stunned and moved me with your reviews for my already-finished fics, plus your email. The response for your reviews is down below. ;)
Kasmi Kassim
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Unfinished Earth
Part 2
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"Please, Ada."
The king nearly fell forward as the child clutched his armor tightly, preventing him from taking another step. With a soft sigh, he turned; large eyes looked up at him, glazed and pleading. Thranduil smiled wistfully.
"I will return soon, Legolas."
"But they say the marshes are deadly!" insisted the boy, his trembling voice now a lilting confusion of adolescence and childhood. "Let me go with you. You know I am capable of defending myself." His clutch tightened around his father's armor.
With a soft sigh, Thranduil turned fully around, and kneeled upon the carpeted floor. Though the child was no longer a baby-faced elfling, his frame was quite small for his age; supple limbs were yet soft and tender, not yet begun in their transformation. Yet a child.
Innocent eyes swam as the prince blinked back toward his father's direct gaze. Thranduil smiled tenderly, caressing the small hands that refused to let him go, lest he slip away.
"I would take you, Legolas," said the king, "but you are not yet tall enough. The mud in the swamp reaches up to a grown elf's chest."
The boy bit his lip, eyes filling with tears. His grip moved from the armor to a hand, trembling.
Then go with me when I am older.
The words echoed in his lips, silent against the quiet air of the study. Yet he did not voice them out loud; the young prince knew already the code that they were to live by. The code that promised safety for the wood elves – the code that stood proudly upon the stakes of royal lives. He lowered his head.
"You will have your turn, Legolas," soothed his father, stroking his hair with a free hand. "You will have more than enough of it. You will grow weary of it before long, and yet you will have to continue to fight."
I only want a turn to fight by your side, Ada.
Again, the words were unvoiced; instead, the elfling nodded mutely.
With a smile, his father patted his head. The child chewed painfully on his lip. He wished to be a child no longer. He wished to fight by his father's side. He wished to take the burden away from his father; he no longer wished to see his father riding into the darkness of the forest, bandaged and bruised, raising yet another vigorous call for his warriors. Legolas was weary of waiting at home, staying up nights, jumping to the window at every hoof beat.
But those thoughts remained silent as his father rose to his feet, light armor concealing the bandages that lined the hard body underneath.
"You remember what I told you about being a king, do you not?" asked his father, lightly stroking his hair. The prince nodded, swallowing hard.
"Do you still wish that I were not a king, little Greenleaf?" The gentle question halted the youngster's train of thought. Blinking, he looked up, and met his father's questioning eyes.
"Do you enjoy being a king, Ada?" he whispered. His widened eyes were afraid.
With a faint smile, the king turned to the window. The mist was ever dark upon the lands, sinister in its looming presence.
"Every living creature has its place in the tapestry of life." He turned to look down upon his child again, and smiled. "My place is found, for it is where many people need me to be, where I can be of most help to others."
The child did not answer. The king's eyes became wistful.
"Once you find your place, there is no regret. You will find yours someday as well."
The child bit his lip again, and lowered his gaze.
He was young, but he knew. He knew that there was a way to escape the burdens of royalty. He knew that he could be free if he wished. But his father refused to be free, because he was at the place where he would be most needed. And he had made his choice.
One could either run away from the burden, or take it willingly and turn it into a crown jewel. He never once wished to discard his title of prince. He knew that he would grow to hunt with his people, and protect his people at the battlefront. Not only did he embrace his destiny, but he strove to excel in it, to make it a shining jewel and weapon and armor that belonged to him. A fragment of himself, of what he was.
But it hurt nonetheless.
It hurt when he had to watch his father ride away, leaving him behind. When he had to see his father return with injuries. It still hurt.
As his father kissed his cheek and stood, leaving the room with a whoosh of his dark cloak, the child stood still, head bowed, fighting the urge to collapse onto his knees and weep. The room suddenly seemed so large, so empty.
He was the prince. He was loved by all. And he needed to repay that love. He needed to be by his father's side.
Clenching his fist, he took a deep breath. Raising his head, his eyes glittered fiercely. He would not be able to speed up time, but he would strive to go forth to meet it.
Gripping his bow tight, he exited the chamber, and headed to the practice fields.
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Soft moans and whispers of comfort hovered gently in the air, enveloping the injured bodies on the ground, shielding them from the raw stench of death that hung among the trees. Legolas walked amidst them grimly, lending his skills to aid the uninjured warriors who were tending to the wounded. His lips seldom moved, occasionally curving upward for a genuine smile accompanying a wounded soldier in good humor, and sometimes moving in a silent murmur of comfort to a moaning warrior during healing ministrations. And not a single ragged scream pierced the thick fog of fresh death; the moans were soft, bitten down in painful endurance, as the elves struggled to press down the darkness that threatened to conquer them. The battle with oneself continued on.
The young prince was composed, ever calm, when one of the warriors reported that their food supply had dwindled.
"We cannot starve," stated the prince matter-of-factly, creasing his brows to stare at the trees. "These leaves do not look edible, however."
As long as their prince the commander remained unaffected by the grimness of their predicament, the elven warriors were free from panic or despair. Following his spirited comments and smiling countenance, the elves went about gathering food from what little ground space they were given against the surrounding orcs. And when their rations were finally exhausted, they were not discouraged, for the prince joined their meal of tree bark and roots jovially, sitting with the warriors on the flat ground that breathed blood-stained dust upon hardened mud. Their hearts were not yet worn.
When the advisor approached him again two days later, Legolas knew that this would be the final time. And he was forced to consider his choices with care.
Standing still and alone amid the round clearing, looking around at the warriors who stood guard, who tended to the injured, sharpened weapons – his breaths were quiet, a cool blue among the darkness. Waiting for the advisor to approach.
"I will be the messenger," said the dark-haired elf, his sword in hand. "Let me go, for I am the one who proposed it."
He was a quiet shadow upon the night. Moans around them were growing dimmer, softer. Hushed into gentle quietude.
Dusk was falling.
The moon was rising high into the sky, bright and white against the dim blue of foggy night. After every weary day came a soothing, calming night, the silver rays of the moon penetrating the thick dust that the sun could not. Whereas the sun embraced the copper red dust, allowed it to dance amidst its heated rays, the moonlight calmed the particles of blood, quieted the moans of pain. And though the danger remained close and imminent upon their throats, the elves looked up to the moon and sighed in a strange sense of relief, resting their weary hearts.
The moon had waxed. It would be full soon, as full as it had been when they first set out on the expedition.
The prince did not answer. He stared up at the moon, silent. The advisor waited patiently. Guards stood as shadows outlined by a film of white, unmoving. Quiet movements stirred here and there, but the night was enveloped in gentle peace.
At last, the prince raised his hand, and wearily ran it down his face. "Forgive me for dictating your actions in the name of rank," he said quietly. "But as commander, I cannot let you ride out to certain death."
The dark eyes of the advisor hardened. "You do realize," he said in a low voice, "that you may summon the deaths of all of your soldiers if you do not risk this."
At this, the young commander's eyes slowly came down to meet the steely gaze of the advisor. The pale blue glittered under the moon, as keen as the blades which he had wielded at the forefront earlier that day.
"I have weighed my choices, Tembor." His voice was even. "One certain death against an uncertain annihilation." He turned and walked toward the injured, crouching into the darkness of the night as he lowered himself to tend to a soldier.
And the advisor stood still, sword in hand, outlined by the quiet rays of the moon.
After that night, Tembor said no more; many days passed, and darkness continued to thicken around the army of elves.
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Another suffocating day.
Seated upon the hard ground plastered with blood, Legolas watched his fellow warriors take small sips from their bowls of light brown water. They were sitting in a circle, chatting amiably, occasionally sipping out of the bowl. His own bowl lay on his lap, untouched. Chewing his lip, he looked around, keen eyes scouring the small clearing. The wounded lay in the center, more numerous than the day before. The warriors who carried less grave injuries were busily moving about, carrying on their duties diligently despite the markings of copper dust etched upon their bodies. An even layer of them stood along the circular barricade, alert for danger; a number of them were at the center, tending to the wounded; a portion of them scurried to and fro, sharpening weapons, cleaning the cloaks and bandages for the wounded, taking count of the injured and those still able to fight, boiling more hard earth into soup. They would soon enter their own meal after being relieved of their duty by those who accompanied Legolas for the meal.
Heavy dust and grime coated all life in sight now, settling among the silent trees like a dark fog. The dust was red, the grime was black; singed bones crunched beneath their feet, and orc corpses continued to thicken the barricade. The weary elves survived on boiled soil, the hard, cracked earth. The trees were no longer silent. They were moaning softly, painfully. The forest had been stained.
They had been holding out against the orcs for a whole cycle of the moon now. They were cornered, alone, and undoubtedly waiting. Whether it was aid or doom they were awaiting, Legolas no longer knew. And he doubted any of them knew either. Their hearts were also covered in the weary dust, their ears mournful upon silent moans from the trees.
Legolas had not dared to send for aid when they were first captured in the midst of the ring of orcs. And now, it was too late.
Was it pride?
His mind wondered briefly, dusty teeth biting into chapped flesh. Had he been too proud to send for help, too eager to prove himself?
Perhaps it was.
He admitted it without hesitation, gaze wandering toward the elves who sat around him and conversed in spirited voices. It was true that he wanted to prove himself. But he refused to feel shame for his actions, or lack thereof, for the only audience he had wanted was himself. He had not aimed for his father, who had granted him this responsibility without a word; he had not aimed for the court advisors, who had violently opposed the young prince's partaking in the expedition; he had not aimed for his fellow warriors, who followed his will without the smallest voice of protest, who gathered around him with absolute trust and love. No, he had not aimed to please anyone. Even himself. He had not wished to please.
But the responsibility was his, and his alone. And he knew that his father's eyes were asking him if he was ready, and he was old enough to know that the responsibility belonged on his young shoulders. That he had to be ready, that he could remain sheltered no longer. He had willingly accepted, knowing that this was the way things were to be; he had followed the rustic ways of his uncivilized people, thrust himself at the forefront, however young and inexperienced, for he knew enough to be ready, his heart was old enough to be ready. Ready to fight at the forefront to defend his people, regardless of what the outcome may be.
To call for help would be a breach of the unspoken pact, a shattering disappointment for himself.
Perhaps it was pride; perhaps it was not. This was the prince's first experience in leading an army separate from the main forces, and to call for help would not only disappoint, but forever change him. Everything that he was, everything that he would be. The defender of his people, the prince of the warrior elves.
He had to stand on his own. He had to stand before his people, steady as a pillar, unwilling to bend even if it meant he would crack and shatter to pieces in the roaring fire. He could not ask for aid. Aid would come, sooner or later, but that was of little importance. He would keep his people alive, keep them hopeful. He would lead them through the darkness, show them light. He would do what he knew he was born to do.
He smiled ruefully. If Arwen heard his thoughts, she would undoubtedly call him foolish. A hardheaded wood elf, as she was fond of calling him. His eyes softened upon the reminiscence of her.
Lifting his eyes up to the dusty yellow skies, searching forlornly for the hidden rays of the sun, he found himself praying that he would see her again. But his silent prayers did not extend to his family. His mind did not reach the image of his father, for that was a forbidden territory, a sacred haven. No, he would not pray to see him again, for he would refuse to believe otherwise; he would not give in to fear. He would not despair.
Looking down at his untouched soup, he took a deep breath. With nonchalance, he brought the bowl determinedly to his lips. The chatter around him died down, and his comrades watched him in surprise, for they were fully aware of his reluctance to consume the poor substitute for food. It was he who had thought up of the solution to their absence of rations, but he himself did not feed himself or grant himself rest.
Eyes lowered, seemingly unaware of – or simply not bothered by – the eyes that stared, the young prince doggedly drank down the entire bowl of boiled earth, and put down the empty bowl with a thud. Raising his eyes, he tilted his head when he saw fellow elves staring at him. With a light smile, he rose, and moved away toward the wounded, relieving a healer to rise and join the meal.
The assembled soldiers looked down at their own bowls of boiled soil and water, and resolutely began to drink.
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To Be Continued
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Deana: Thank you! I hope you enjoyed this chapter!
Beling: Actually, I am tearing out my hair here as well...I have delved quite deep, and it's straining my shallow brain. ;) I originally intended to have this story as a vignette, but alas, it was too long. ;) So I decided to split it up and go more in depth with it, and drove myself crazy with the things I started digging into and felt quite lost at where I had led myself. I believe I am comprehending now – after all, the main theme that I started out with is quite simple – for the metaphors and details only add to the main theme. I believe you will see what I intended, if you didn't already. You always dig out beautiful images and meanings from my works, and I am confident that you will unearth something I had not been conscious of and hold it out for me to realize. ;) Thank you! And I so appreciated your email; I tried emailing fanfic authors several times because they were so inspiring and I wanted to get to know them, but I was only given a smug, distant, cold shoulder...you have no idea how touched I was to receive your email! Thank you so much!
ThePastIsPrologue: Your compliments made me swoon. ;) Seriously, you are much too kind to this humble-but-increasingly-growing-head. ;) I'm so honored that you, who hates reading most 'despair' stuff, find this story intriguing. It's delightful to see that you caught the warring emotions! Yes, this story is not all about just 'let's take them on, we can do it' adrenaline. ;) And you caught that beautifully – it shows by the sentence that you quoted. I am nowhere near as good as many fanfic authors around here – I'm still an amateur – but I am so grateful and encouraged that you value my writing so highly. I am just going to have to work harder not to disappoint you, aren't I? ;)
I am afraid the Hobbit escaped my hands, but I plan on getting it back soon. I am enrolled in a class that requires...very intensive reading...of many world literature classics...but I am trying to squeeze in the reading of the Tolkien series in between. Ooh, why oh why did Tolkien not elaborate on Thranduil? He is such a...you know. ;) I suppose you know by now how much I love the elf. ;) I am glad you read into my Thranduil through my Legolas introspection. He is a very important character – even if he is not physically there with his son! ;)
And about the movie-making of the Hobbit...I am hopeful that it would come out...is it coming out? If it does, I hope PJ chooses a good Thranduil, a beautiful one and a noble one. I agree that Haldir's actor was glorious. The problem would be that it'd be weird to see the family secret finally unveiled – Haldir was actually Legolas' father! (snicker) Oh anyway. I must stop blathering. Thank you so much!
Anastasia Who: Wow, thank you! I'm happy to hear that you are liking it!
Unsung Heroine: Hmm, sorry if this wasn't exciting enough for you. ;) I hope you liked it.
Rede: Oh my, you stun me with your flattering praises and generosity. I'm touched that you were touched with my words; I'm not really all that good – it must be your beautiful reading ability and insight. ;) I do hope to have a career in writing, and I suppose fanfiction is a way to hone my skills. But don't get me wrong – it may be practice for the professional career, but I care deeply about my fanfics and devote my all to writing them. Thank you so much for your encouragement!
elvingirl3737: Hehe, you like my blood and all? Yes, this fic has plenty of that...hehe. Thank you!
Brazgirl: Hello there! I hope you forgive me for not writing more action here! This story was actually supposed to be a vignette, you see. It just became too long and I had to split it. ;) Anyway, I am glad you see the connection between this story and The Strength of One Green Leaf! Wonderful! And yes, I know you're drooling about your Thranduil. Did my flashback give you some glimpses of more of your handsome elvenking? I hope it did! ;) Thank you!
lomeloke: You cannot imagine my surprise when I found your email in my inbox. And your suggestion, and your reviews...stunning. Thank you so much. And what a surprise...Thranduil and Elrond are related by marriage? What a delicious little addition to my feeble knowledge! O what inspirations I could draw from this...(evil laughter) I do plan to finish reading the Hobbit before moving onto LOTR, and Silmarillion – I hope to read all of Tolkien's works in the order in which he wrote them. Thank you for your data. And about the blood and biting scene...let's say Elrond is in anguish and feels the need for self-torture. ;) I'm sorry that was not all that clear. Thank you so much for your numerous reviews, not to mention multiple reviews for Tears of Yesterday. And your introspection on the rescue in Into the Light was very thoughtful. Beautiful reading. And thank you for your quote in the review for Unfinished Earth chapter 1. Whoever wrote it is a beautiful storyteller. ;) And your reading...wow. Again I am surprised with your critical reading. You saw Thranduil through my Legolas, saw the Mirkwood elves as a whole, and even caught my pottery theme beautifully. It's such an honor to have a reader who is willing to read so closely and thoughtfully into a work, putting in the time and effort to unwrap the layers that the author wrapped around it – so rewarding. Thank you so much.
jibade7: Hahaha, I am afraid this one will not be focused on action sequences. I aimed for an introspective vignette, which happened to get split due to increasing length. I'm glad you are seeing my visions so vividly! Wow. Thank you!
Templa Otmena: Do you have any idea how much I missed you? ;) I hope you're getting your bearings well...I wouldn't want you getting stressed because of reviewing my stories when you have urgent matters to tend to! ;) How is life?
Thank you so much for promising to be more frequent in your reviews like back in those days...those words alone make me swell with happiness and gratitude. I'm just excited to hear form you again. ;) Your descriptions...ooh, so wonderful yet again! I was once again impressed into your speculation of the 'green leaf' line, which I carefully integrated but was sure would be overlooked by the majority of my readers! And it's such delight to hear that you like my OC's...I am usually critical in my judgment in OC's in general, and hoped my original characters wouldn't upset readers too much. And the beautiful reviewer once again makes connections...I am excited you see the connection with the Strength of One Green Leaf! And you once again recognize another one of my universal themes – splendid, and wonderfully read and analyzed my friend. You always manage to throw me back into my writing! I do hope I tie up all the loose endings that you caught without disappointing you! Thank you so much!