CHAPTER SIX. 'Follow the Sun'

Thranduil shook his head, doubt playing on his features. One of the elders, Lemor, said, "That does not change the fact that an elf was slain."

Legolas could not be swayed. "I know that, but what if it was not the arrow that ended Gleofur's life?"

Arnol, the most esteemed of the elders, spoke up from his seat beside Thranduil. "And what could have possibly done it?" He shook his head when Legolas could not say anything to this. "This matter was long-buried, my Prince. I beg you not to dig up the past for it shall do nothing but bring more complications. We have enough troubles as it is."

For the first time in his life the Prince had the urge to smash his fist into the elder's face. But he did no such thing. Ignoring Arnol, he turned once more on the King.

"Father, have you nothing to say about this?" he asked desperately.

After a moment of thought the King straightened in his seat. "If it is exoneration of Lehramie's name that you seek, Legolas, then seek no more. Despite the disgrace with which he left with, he was still a son of Greenwood. Still one of us. It does not matter what he has done, he will always be remembered."

Resentment rose in Legolas. He glanced dismissively at the other elders who were nodding in agreement with the King's words. However, seeing the bitter look the Prince gave them, they subtly found other things to do.

"Always remembered, but still cast out." Legolas spun on his heel and walked out of the hall, passing Feniel standing by the doorway but ignoring him. At the end of the hallway stood Reeneal, accompanied by one of her maids, apparently ready to take her leave.

Clearly she had heard the exchange inside, for she gave Legolas a slow smile. "Even the blind can see," she said and bowed before him. "I hope that, with your eyes opened, you could seek him out, even in the deepest recesses of Middle-earth."

Legolas' blue eyes held the promise, and that was enough for the fair Reeneal. She could leave for the Havens in peace.

Dirt was in his nails, and soot was all over his face. Satisfied that it would work well in carrying on his deception, he wiped more grime into his hair, enough to conceal the unmistakable sheen of elvish locks.

Such a shame that he had to cut its length halfway. Of course, since elvish hair tend to grow back rapidly than most, he had to go through the wearisome task of chopping it off again and again.

So let it be. He had gone through all these years without anyone discovering what he truly was, and going through these simple, though arduous tasks of concealing it was a small feat.

He had grown used to it, anyhow. He had resigned himself to the fact that the dirt was his friend, the earth his ally...and this group of nomadic humans were his refuge.

Realizing he had stayed from the camp far too long already, he stood up. Soon they would begin to wonder where he was. They had made their dwelling within the foothills of the Iron Mountains for more than a year now, and they looked set to settle there longer. Nothing had disturbed them for the length of their stay, and the humans were beginning to feel kinship with the place.

So did he. Except it still felt close to home or, to be more precise, his old home.

Less than a hundred leagues from their dwelling Lehramie sensed something was amiss. Piercing the dark distance that lay between him and his home, his eyes saw traces of smoke coming from that direction.

Uttering a small prayer to no one in particular, he took off on a swift run across the fields, willing his legs to go faster and his wildly beating heart to be still. As he neared home screams filling the air reached his ears, and he ran faster. The smoke was now gone, now replaced by tongues of flame that illuminated the dark night like a torch in a murky cavern.

Everything was ablaze when he reached the area. Here and there corpses of people he used to know were strewn and a few others were scampering about, wild looks on their eyes, not even recognizing him.

"What happened?" he asked but no one would answer him. They were all running in different directions, as though chased by the very essence of evil. Exasperated, he roughly grabbed one of them. "Aidyl," he shouted the man's name. "Tell me, what is going on?"

"Elves!" Aidyl replied, terror written all over his face. "They have come! Oh, they are terrible! My wife...she's been murdered!" Then with a violent tug, Aidyl pulled away and ran off.

Bewildered, he turned and squinted against the heat coming from the burning houses. Elves! Here! But it seemed too...far-fetched!

Wanting to see it with his own eyes, he made his way into the burning group of houses, taking the opposite direction the others were taking. Shielding his face from flying embers and ashes he followed the sound of almost manic laughter.

Then he saw them. They were dressed in the greens and browns of Greenwood, only more filthy. Their hoods drawn up to conceal their faces, at first glance they indeed seemed like elves. But he knew better.

For one they were larger, with broader shoulders, more heavily built than the regular elves. For some reason he felt his heart pound harder against his chest. He could not take his eyes off the cloaks worn by the group. Indeed, they were once Greenwood cloaks, now fully transformed by filth and dirt. He watched, hidden from their view, as they threw their torches away and began to leave.

The sound of a child's wail shook him out of his reverie and, thankful for the distraction, he went towards it. He could not bear to stand there and watch those monsters while long-forgotten thoughts of his kin Rolfan appeared in his mind's eye.

He stopped in front of the burning hut where the wail was coming from. At the doorway he saw the charred corpse of one of the hunters he had grown fond of. Swallowing his remorse, he covered his nose and walked into the flaming house.

He was immediately assaulted with the stinging heat of the fire, the smoke blurring his vision, yet he kept on, willing the child to go on crying so he could locate her. He found her under one of the tables, coughing violently against the smoke. Flames already began licking the doorway but he easily leaped over it and took hold of the little girl. Using his cloak to cover both of them he braved the inferno and until they were out of the burning house safely.

But not safe enough. Setting the girl to the ground, he felt a sudden pain at the back of his head. Throwing himself to the side he turned to find one of the green-cloaked beings standing over him. Before he could react further another blow was delivered to his stomach, causing him to choke up blood and curl against the intense pain that shot through him.

The belt that held his sword to his waist was somehow torn away from him, and the sword was out of his reach.

Helplessly he watched as the green-cloaked stranger lifted an enormous slab of rock, almost as large as a small babe, and mercilessly let it drop on top of the frozen child.

"No!" he screamed against the bitter liquid that rose in his mouth, watching the little girl fall under the weight of the rock. Turning glazed eyes toward the attacker, he staggered to his feet.

Their attacker turned to him, lifting his hood. There stood before him a giant of an orc, and yet not an orc. It looked like it was once human, fair even, but it ended there. It was hideous and grimy, and the eyes held such malice as it beheld its prey.

Lehramie squinted against the intense heat from the blaze all around him, fixing his attention on the bulky figure of the orc, unwilling, even for a moment to let his guard down.

"Who on earth are you?!" he yelled boldly at the creature, forgetting this was his first encounter ever with any of the foul beings.

Instead of a reply, the orc gave out a growl that was neither human nor beast, making the skin at the back of Lehramie's neck prickle. All the things he had been told about these creatures were nothing compared to this. This was more real. More terrifying.

When it spoke, the voice was guttural, almost incomprehensible.

But he heard the word. "Elf!" it said and lifted another slab of rock, aiming at him.

With his last ounce of strength he rolled over, avoiding the rock. Still clutching his middle, he leapt to his feet and drew his sword. The orc seemed surprised by the swift movements that it merely stood there, transfixed.

He took this opportunity. With an angry shout, Lehramie lunged at the orc, grabbing it by the collar of its cloak. With a strength he did not know he possessed, he threw it bodily against the wall of a burning building. At the impact Lehramie heard a loud crash from within, and he looked up to find the roof had caved in.

Ignoring the danger of the burning house toppling over him, Lehramie thre himself hard on the creature, slamming it back again on the wall.

The creature's menacing growl turned into a mewling cry. Lehramie ignored its pleas and went on bashing its face with his fist.

When he finally stopped he was breathing hard, and his skin now stung with too much exposure to the flames that seemed to increase by the second around him. With a disgusted sound he let go of the creature and stepped back. He watched it distastefully as it slid to the ground, its back leaning against the wall.

With resolute steps he walked over to where his sword lay and picked it up. Blind fury is flooding him, he knew, but the filthy orc deserved anything Lehramie was about to give it.

When he stood before the creature, it did not move or say anything. It merely sat there, looking up at Lehramie, its hideous face further made gruesome by its own blood, if it was indeed blood that ran in these creatures' veins.

Lehramie lifted the sword.

"Die, beast," he grated.

His sword arm stopped in mid-air. Something in the orc's grisly countenance stopped him.

Odd, but the despicable thing seemed to be smiling.

Shaking with barely contained anger, Lehramie stayed his sword, at least for the moment.

The orc was saying something inaudible. To human ears it would sound like incoherent chatter, but Lehramie's ears perceived it all the same.

"Kill me...I beg you."

Lehramie took a step back, mystified. He did not expect this.

The beast went on. "I beg you. End it...Gerian...my son."

The beating of his heart suddenly became faster, each thud getting louder, deafening even him. Lehramie shook his head, loath to believe what lay before him.

"No...it can't be..."

"End it!" The growl became louder and the orc moved to his feet to attack Lehramie. Out of reflex more than intent Lehramie's arms lifted and his sword sliced through the air.

Screaming incoherently, Lehramie hacked at it, cleanly lopping its head off. "No...You are not...You can't be..." he was saying, tears were blurring his vision.

The orc's head fell to the ground, bounced once, twice. Its body crumpled to the ground, against the wall, lifeless.

As if in a trance, Lehramie's gaze was drawn towards the severed head, lying on its right ear. He moved closer, dreading to confirm what he already realized moments ago.

The face was fixed in that mask of pure cruelty, grotesque and revolting. But all Lehramie could see were the eyes.

Its eyes...Glazed though it was moments ago, in death it was clear...and it was as blue as the sky.

Azure.

Like Legolas' eyes.

Like his own.

Like Gerian, his father's.

Rolfan's.

His cry sounded inhuman even to his ears, as it pierced the night sky, echoing through the foothills, resounding through the flames that raged all around him.

Despair overwhelmed him, and he felt like he was drowning. Only, there was no torrent to sweep him away, only the blaze that bit at him.

Lehramie stumbled away from the corpse and its head, just in the nick of time. The walls of the burning house collapsed atop the orc. Rolfan. His grandfather.

He knelt on the ground weakly. The tears came on swift. Not even when he was cast out from his home, not even when Legolas turned away from him, did he shed a tear. But now...He felt he had never wept so much in his long life.

For a moment he forgot where he was. The sound of walls and roofs crashing down was unheard. The blistering heat of the flames went unnoticed.

His own blood. His family. His kin. Rolfan, once on of the fairest among Elves. In death, he was reduced to this vile thing, its blood spilled by his own grandson. It did not matter that he asked for it. It did not matter that he begged for death.

He was dead. By the sword of his son's son.

Another loud crash broke Lehramie out of his trance. He turned to see the little girl pinned under the rock, unmoving, but her fearful eyes were wide open, watching him. Throwing his sword away he moved towards her.

But he did not make it. From somewhere an ember took to the air and angled down towards him. In an instant his cloak caught fire. Alarmed, he fumbled to untie the cloth from around his neck, feeling the heat on his back. To his utter panic the blasted knot would not come off!

He was flailing, his cloak now fully ablaze. He threw himself onto the ground and began rolling, hoping it would put off the fire. Just when he thought he would burn to a crisp he was doused over with water.

Gasping, he sat up to find the fire was put out. Wiping his face with his palms he looked up to find two faces bent over him, recognizing the captain Marin and his companion Ackor. Grateful, he gave a weak grin.

"Marin! I thought you have gone!" he exclaimed. However, none of them replied. They were looking at him strangely, as though they were just seeing him for the first time.

"What? What is it?" he asked, starting to get up but stopping when the tip of Marin's sword came to rest on his neck. "Marin, what--"

"An elf!" Marin pushed the tip deeper and he winced, half-expecting it to pierce the skin.

"All this time you fooled us!" Ackor was aghast.

He became still, realizing most of the grime he had put on earlier had been washed off, and when he wiped the water off his face...

Shaking his head, he said, "I never meant to fool you, Marin."

Marin seemed to wrestle with something in his mind. He closed his eyes, shook his head and drew his sword back.

Relieved that the sword was already nowhere near his neck, he sat up. "Marin--"

Marin whirled on him. "Your kind did this!" he spat out. Breathing deeply, he looked down at him. "You have your life. Take it and leave."

He looked at Marin, half-expecting the man to break into a smile and say he was jesting with him. But there was none of that coming.

"Marin," he implored.

"I mean it. I am sparing you this time. Leave, Lehramie."

Lehramie, a glint in his eyes, stood up and regarded Marin intently. With a swift movement he picked up his own sword from the ground and faced Marin. "I shall not."

Thranduil was at the watchtower of the palace when Legolas sought to find him early in the morning. Feniel and two other warriors were with the King when the Prince found them, and they were looking at something from afar.

Following the direction of their eyes, Legolas knew something had happened the previous night. But he went straight to his chambers last night, too angry at being dismissed by the elders.

Feniel whispered to Legolas' ear. "The Red Sun...it rises."

Legolas nodded solemnly. "Blood has been spilled."

"We saw flames last night," Feniel said. "From the Iron Mountains, it seemed. Scouts have already been sent. We expect them later in the evening to return."

As Legolas' keen eyes pierced through the gloom and watched smoke rising from far off, he had this sudden uncanny feeling...a mixture of dread and anxiety, though over what, he did not know.

But he was about to find out later that evening when the scouts of Mirkwood arrived, obviously exhausted. They seemed to have flown their horses over the leagues to get home soon.

Edval, the captain of the warriors, bowed low before the King and the Prince. "Your Highness," he spoke reverently. "We came as fast as we could."

"What news do you bring, Edval?" Thranduil asked.

Edval nodded. One of the warriors came forward and laid something wrapped in cloth on the King's feet.

"What is that which you bear?" Feniel asked, eyeing the cloth.

"When we arrived at the foothills of the Iron Mountains, we found a humanfolk dwelling burned to the ground," Edval began. There were charred remains of houses and livestock and worse, corpses. Humans burned to their deaths." Gasps rose from the crowd that had assembled in the hall. "We did not find any living being among the ruins. Except one.

"She was a little girl, barely alive when one of the warriors found her. She was pinned under a huge slab of rock, although how she got under it, we were never able to find out. We tried to heal her wounds, but she died all the same. She was much too weak." Sympathy flooded the great hall; the thought of one dying so young seemed unjust somehow.

"And what has this to do with anything?" Feniel asked, wondering where this was all going.

Edval threw an almost intolerant look at the King's nephew that Legolas had to bite back a smile. "Before she died she said something, and we were unsure if it was delirium that caused it, but we were jolted nonetheless."

"What was it?" The Elvenking was leaning forward on his seat.

"Don't flag, warrior," Feniel warned, but the captain ignored him.

"She gave one confounded look at us, and said, 'You look like him.' We asked, 'Who?'" Edval paused, throwing a meaningful look at the Prince. "What she said next astounded us. She said, 'Lehramie.'"

Time seemed to stand still for Legolas as he stared hard at the captain. Suddenly forgetting everyone else in the room, he whispered, "Lehramie..."

Edval continued. "She began to go into shock, suddenly mouthing off incoherent words but we made out something from her words. She said 'Lehramie...help him...they are going to kill him.' Then she was gone." He reached for the cloth and revealed two items: a partially burnt piece of cloth and a belt, burnt on the edges.

Legolas froze, looking at the belt, a chord of familiarity struck within him. When Edval unfolded the burnt cloth, it turned out to be once a cloak of the Greenwood elves.

"What are those?" Feniel asked the very same question in everyone's mind.

Edval turned to look at Legolas. "I thought the Prince, and his Highness may know."

All eyes turned towards the Prince, who stood stock-still. "Lehramie's cloak," he whispered. "And his belt."

Thranduil, in an almost unrecognizable voice, spoke. "You know what this means?"

Edval nodded, sadness written all over his face. "I fear that we have found Lehramie far too late. We tried to find him amongst the burned corpses but they were beyond recognition. He could have been anyone of them, as most were males."

Legolas no longer heard the rest of Edval's report. The phrases 'buried them properly' and 'at peace' barely registered in his mind. What he kept seeing was Reeneal's hopeful eyes when she had looked up at him not too many nights ago and asked her to find Lehramie.

He was not aware of leaving the room, or his feet even moving. Yet somehow they have, for he found himself in the long corridor where he, Lehramie, and Reeneal had spent countless hours chasing each other down.

Weakly he leaned against the wall and did not even turn at the sound of someone behind him. Not even when he heard his father's voice did he stir.

"This was not how I had hoped to find him."

Legolas thought for a moment, then said, "So have I." Slowly he turned his head and met his father's grief. Behind him stood Feniel, a dazed look on his face.

Feniel shook his head. "This was not supposed to happen..." he uttered, more to himself than to anyone. "This is an injustice."

Legolas nodded, swallowing his grief before them. "I fear I can no longer keep my promise to your sister, Feniel. Even in our parting I failed her." With a strength coming from necessity more than spirit he pushed away from the wall and walked towards his rooms. "I shall need some moment alone," he told them in a death-like voice and quietly let himself into his chambers.

Alone in the comfort of his own rooms he glanced around. Odd, how he felt empty and burdened, both at the same time. It's strange how he felt conflicted, yet everything seemed clear.

If this was, indeed, the end...may the shock go as quickly as it had come, although he knew the pain would not be as relenting.

If this was the end...

FIN. (next part will be up soon!)