A/N: Hello there, fiction-fans! Thankyou very much for your lovely (and
might I say, slightly over-excited) reviews and support... each one's very
much appreciated and they all make me smile a lot. Cheers!
Hope you enjoy this chapter as much as the last, and don't forget to let me know your thoughts, opinions etc. Otherwise how can I tailor this story to suit you?! Lol.
Just to let you know, I'm at a music festival from very early Friday to very late Monday (in Scotland, where I don't think it has stopped raining for about a solid week now... bad news, seeing as I am camping!), and the point is that you shall either get the next chapter on Thursday night or Tuesday lunch... or perhaps a little later. Hope you can last till then, I think you'll survive!
Anyway, on with the story... and I promise there is action etc. to come, at the minute, I'm merely introducing characters and laying foundations of relationships regarding a certain elven prince that will most definitely be important later on.
So here we go!
............................................................................ ............................................................................ .......................................
"Now, my dear friends, there are one or two things you should know about the elves you shall be meeting."
The fellowship were nearing the great palace of Mirkwood and the elven stronghold surrounding it, and the hobbits were already beginning to feel a certain sort of misty enchantment in the air, and it was making them a little giddy: their tongues were a little looser than usual. Aragorn needed to warn Gimli and the hobbits of a few things before they reached it. They had dismounted their steeds and were walking at a leisurely pace in a small group far behind all the elven guards who were leading the way and might overhear to take offence - Gandalf walking among them as though he had known them for centuries (which was most probably a fair estimate). They also walked just ahead of the princes Legolas and Fienngil, who were so deep in animated talk that Aragorn doubted they'd notice a battalion of orcs leap into their path.
The ex-ranger knew full well that none of the halflings had ever encountered the elves of Mirkwood before, and most probably knew naught of their strange manners and complex character traits. And - as was the way with the kin of the forest - such ignorances could lead to many unwanted incidents occurring. Also, hobbits were not generally known for their subtlety in conversation, and the King of men wished dearly to avoid any disastrous confrontations... the meeting between Legolas and his father was going to be bad enough. And so Aragorn had taken the decision to school Gimli, Merry, Frodo, Pippin and Sam in the many ways to deal with such odd creatures as the elves of Mirkwood, and recognise the sly shifts in their demeanours.
"Come on then, let's be having these facts and useful tidbits," Merry laughed lightly, looking up at his tall friend and grinning impishly. He did, in fact, no naught of these strange elves, other than the fact they were both wondrous and frightening... and managed these two effects simultaneously.
"Well, Master Merry, you've managed to unwittingly demonstrate one of the first rules in dealing with a Wood-elf: no flippancy... they hate it and it boils their blood when any visitor of theirs displays it," Aragorn replied easily.
"What, now!" cried Gimli, disbelieving. He had the good sense to lower his voice considerably before he went on, "Elves are the flightiest of them all... why, I haven't seen Legolas pin down a single mood for any length of time throughout all the while I've known him - he goes through and discards about five in the space of one minute. You're telling us not to be fanciful?!"
"Neither have I," Aragorn chuckled, "but yes I am." He sighed, amusement shining in his glassy-grey orbs, "Mirkwood elves are widely known for being the worst for flightiness... Before the race of men or dwarves or hobbits entered the realms of these worlds, Elves were bestowed with many gifts, one of them being the ability to know the greatest joy as well as the deepest sorrow in life. Now, it is my personal reckoning that Wood-elves were the first to receive this prize, and so consequently have the most infuriatingly wide ranges of emotions in all of Elvendom."
The hobbits laughed heartily at this, and Gimli huffed slightly, looking less and less forward to having to stay in close proximity with more than one of these confounded creatures. "I have heard they are haughty, prideful, stubborn, argumentative and wilful... and we know all that already from our dealings with a certain elven princeling," he grumbled.
Aragorn continued as though he hadn't heard what the disgruntled dwarf had said, "In truth, they have the brightest spirits in the world and their magic is some of the strongest and strangest present in these lands... but long years innumerable of constant exposure to danger and the promise of a quick death have fashioned their many wits into a suspicious kind, and they are incredibly wary. They have a massive distrust of strangers and the notion of tolerance is occasionally a completely foreign concept to them. They live on the very brink of disaster and the slightest change could see their fair kingdom destroyed... they are not wicked, but because of this, they are not always necessarily kind."
The king glanced across at his companions and was vastly amused to find he held them all spellbound by his words - the hobbits' eyes were as round as dishes and even Gimli's ears seemed to be pricked. Frodo made a motion with his dark head for his friend to go on, and so Aragorn did. "This distrust of strangers has led to a very isolated existence, which is part of the reason I warn you so."
"Well, if they're as flighty as you claim - and as Legolas himself demonstrates - we have naught to worry about," Gimli brought his own thoughts into the fray: it was time to stop this ridiculousness.
But his friend shook his dark head vehemently, refusing Gimli's notions. "Nay, son of Gloin! The elves of this realm are highly dangerous, and it's a very foolish thing to think lightly of them, I swear it so! To underestimate them is your own doom. They have minds and tongues as sharp as the arrows they master - and these hunters have skill so that they can hit the eye of a bird flying far overhead with an arrow in the dimmest dark."
Aragorn paused, trying to think of some other way to phrase his worries, "If Lorien be the home of elven Kings and Queens; and Rivendell home to the elven lords and healers... then Mirkwood is the elvish home of warriors. And that's it: no question."
Merry let out a slow, deep whistle - a habit with a decidedly-Tookish origin that apparently signified an impressed halfling. Sam, however, looked most distressed, "Mr. Strider? Do you think you could let on a way of knowing how a conversation with one of these elven warriors is going... like, say, if you're on the road to insulting them, if you get me?"
Aragorn shook his head again, "Unfortunately Master Samwise I cannot. All Mirkwood elves hold the uncanny skill of being able to school their features to be devoid of any emotion at all, and they do so almost without... no one can really tell what a Wood-elf is thinking, unless he wishes you to know; I will say this, though, you know you are in trouble when their eyes flash..." It was then, when he had finished his rant, that the man saw the spluttering, shocked faces of his friends
"... But do not worry, I am sure they won't harm you," he added in a sheepish tone, belatedly and a bit lamely. "They really are the most fascinating creatures... once you get to know them - or they let you get to know them."
"By the stars, Strider!" Pippin lamented, aghast, "I am positively fearing this meeting! I shall not know where to put my feet."
"Well, it's a welcome change that you realise that this time, Mr. Pip, sir," Sam retorted, still concerned about the possibility of slighting one of these strange elves without meaning to. Sam felt awkward enough about the prospect of staying with elves. There was always a feeling of ungainliness and inferiority when one was in the company of the Firstborn, he'd always thought - without worrying about how a break in eye contact could be of consequence.
The Took answered with a patented, gargoyle-like face in the hobbit gardener's direction.
"You'll stay like that if the wind changes, Pip," Frodo admonished easily, concentrating on walking once more.
............................................................................ ............................................................................ .......................................
In order to give the hobbits - who had been travelling for quite some time - a little bit of a rest before they reached the palace, the company had stopped to rest. Though, of course, none of the elves even sat down, preferring instead to patrol the perimeters of the clearing and generally make all the mortals of the group jumpy. Frodo supposed this was the usual procedure: after all, Mirkwood was a dangerous place... even more so at the moment, as he suspected things had recently taken place that had put all the wood-elves upon high-alert. The scorched trees, bloodied ground and thick darkness hanging in the air beneath the canopy all seemed evidence of this. The gentle-hobbit shifted anxiously No doubt we'll find out sooner rather than later, more's the pity
Legolas, meanwhile, was finding out the facts that very moment: he stood off to one side with Fienngil, for his brother would not divulge whatever it was within the various hearing-ranges of the mortals. "Tell me, Gil," he enquired softly, piercing green eyes trying to discern whatever they could from the Second Prince's inscrutable face.
Fienngil looked slightly uncomfortable, "When adar bids it, you shall be told all that is taking place in this land." At his younger sibling's distressed face and open mouth he swiftly continued, as he could see Legolas drawing breath in order to argue. "But I shall tell you this without his leave: our home is not safe, less now than before you left... and it is our belief that the dark forces - though dealt a massive blow by the laying-low of Dol Guldur - will soon rally themselves into one last, powerful wave. And you know that the powers of good and evil are only ever balanced here, or very slightly outweighed... but we fear that soon we may be overwhelmed. You cannot miss the danger and warning of the trees."
"Aye," said Legolas calmly, surprising Fienngil in his lack of reaction. "I had supposed some sort of trickery was in action... and it's not hard to guess with you and the guards as nervous as sheep at shauning-time - so much for notorious stoicism." He chuckled at Fienngil's abashed face, then sobered, "I will wait to find out what is happening, and how I might aid my people."
"If adar forgives you," Fienngil added after a small pause, a sly grin strangely becoming on his handsome face.
"If adar forgives me," Legolas nodded, eyes narrowed and voice a soft warning, a pose that never failed to set off alarm bells in the heads of his elder siblings. But his mock-threat relaxed when Fienngil laughed aloud, the expression bubbling with a fondly-familiar amusement, and clapped a large hand heavily upon his slender shoulder.
They turned to rejoin the group, and had gone only two steps when Legolas stopped abruptly. His brother, confused, twisted his head to ask reason for the sudden halt, but Greenleaf flashed his eyes at him, ceasing this action before it had even started. Then Legolas began walking again, slowly and with an unusual gait that attracted the attention of Gimli and Aragorn, and then the hobbits and Gandalf. They saw that Fienngil walked slightly behind him, bemusement painting a fair expression upon his noble features, and it was clear he knew naught of his brother's thoughts either.
Their eyes followed their elven friend as he ambled stiffly across the clearing towards them, head straight and eyes fixed forward, over to the horses and the packs. There he stooped and, quick as a flash of lightening, whirled and threw something up (and with considerable force) into the leaves of the large tree that stretched out over the clearing, making a sort of roof over the clearing with it's branches.
It was with utter surprise, then, that both the mortals and elves witnessed a rather heavy horse-brush, an abundance of leaves, a bow and an exceedingly-startled creature fall from the lush green canopy of the tree with a sharp cry.
The figure landed with an 'Oooof!' upon the hard ground where it then lay, groaning. The hobbits leapt to their feet and Gimli grabbed his axe, fully prepared to end the life of the figure... but all the elven warriors in the clearing merely laughed, some finally relaxing enough to sit down. Gimli thought it rather foolhardy to simply sit in the presence of peril, and he wondered momentarily at the widely-known reputation of these supposedly-dangerous warriors.
"Good shot, old boy!" came a bright and jolly comment – spoken in a melodious, lilting voice - from the wall of tree trunks from the company's left.
All whirled to face the giver of the compliment, glaring suspiciously into the gloom of the forest towards the direction of the voice - and out between the glittering green trunks out there gracefully stepped an elf, surrounded by a golden sort of light. This elf was slightly shorter and broader than Legolas, with two large braces of coneys and a rather heavy- looking dead deer laid across his strong back and a bright smile spread across his fair face. The potent feeling of nobility and ancestry that Fienngil had given off was not as present this time, but instead the elf seemed harsher... perhaps not in an entirely bad way: it merely seemed that this being had a more intense way of behaving.
Also accompanying this queer elf-warrior - again with more weapons than was entirely necessary secreted about his person - there came three blurs of massive, ebony-coloured dogs which launched themselves at Legolas, knocking him deftly to the ground and surging over him in a sea of paws and snouts.
Aragorn laughed deeply and clapped his hands together in amusement, stepping past the highly-confused halflings and Gimli - and the struggling Legolas - along with Gandalf to this new elf, both shaking his hand and clasping his shoulder, speaking fast in elvish.
"Mister Frodo," came Sam's quiet voice from his master's side, "What in the name of mushrooms is going on?"
"You speak for all of us, I'm afraid, dear Sam," was all Frodo could tell him, winter-blue eyes wide.
Fortunately, Fienngil heard this, and decided to rescue the situation from complete madness, and explain. "Fear not, Pheriannath." He glided over to Legolas, still fighting the three formidable creatures currently sitting on his chest and pinning him. Fienngil stood and pointed at them: "These are Leogolas' wolfhounds... they are as soft as feathers in temperament to anything that is not evil - their barks are worse than their bites if you have a wholesome nature."
He then strode across to the new elf, stood with Aragorn and Gandalf, and pointed at him in a similar manner before the warrior batted his hand away forcefully: "This is Arianduil Youngoak, eldest of the twin princes of Mirkwood... they are younger than me, and therefore are obliged to follow my orders." The harsh-looking elf, Arianduil, gave a curt nod of his dark, curled head and smiled slightly at the mortals - then he turned deftly to Fienngil and glared.
The elder shrugged his shoulders and chuckled. He walked away to the groaning figure who had tumbled so unceremoniously from the treetops, beginning to pick itself up from the ground: "And that, believe it or not, is another one of the royal princes - Andariun Deepstream, younger of the twins."
The figure finally stood, and Gimli and the halflings could see his face - it was nearly identical to that of Arianduil, though it was flushed heavily by an endearing rosiness as the elf dusted off his fine, hunting robes.
He blushes more than Legolas does... Merry thought idly. Then his quick thoughts wandered further: Was it a time of twins, a few centuries ago? He recalled the twin sons of Elrond in Rivendell, though it was impossible for him to say whether the two sets of twins had been born even in the same millenia.
"I meant to fall out of that tree, you know," the younger stated to the mortals, pointing half-heartedly to the canopy above, his accent when speaking Westron just as thick as Fienngil's. He righted his knife-sheaths, that had worked and twisted themselves around to his back during the commotion, and pulled hard upon the strap of his quiver which had loosened... then he quickly stooped to regain his dropped bow and, hopefully, a little bit of his dignity. Andariun also tried to ignore the laughter continuing to issue from the elven guards he had had for an audience.
"Sure you did, brother," that was typical Legolas sarcasm: he had finally escaped the over-zealous welcoming of his dogs, and so he ambled over to the twins.
The other twin saw him properly, and his deep blue eyes flashed, "Ah! So the wanderer returns! We wondered how long it would take for you to miss us, Legolas, and come crawling back for another dose of our dashing wit...." He stood in front of his youngest brother, rocked back on his heels and looked the silently-laughing archer up and down with a mocking eye, he then commented dryly, "I would embrace you, were it not for the hound-slobber painted all down your front."
Legolas stopped chuckling and looked down at himself, and Pippin – quite astute, or so he thought, at reading his elven friend – thought he spied the tips of his delicate ears flush pink once more in his embarrassment, as his suede hunting tunic was covered in a thick sheen of spittle from his hounds. He rubbed at it in an attempt to look slightly more royal and befitting of his status.
Andariun wandered up, "Aye, we're quite glad you are back, Little Leaf," he said softly. Legolas looked up, rather touched by this sincere-sounding statement coming from one of his more shy-of-feelings and guarded elder siblings... He had expected a warm welcome from Fienngil and another of his brothers, but not so much from the twins – they were more like the King in that respect. He was moved, until a jesting smile curled the corners of Andariun's lips upwards slightly, and his midnight blue eyes twinkled brightly, and he reiterated, "We're glad you are back: the dogs have missed you."
"Clearly," Legolas replied coldly, deflating somewhat... and Frodo considered suddenly Aragorn's warning of being in definate trouble with a Mirkwood elf when their eyes flashed: Legolas' were suddenly like the war beacons of Gondor. Knives could have sliced the tension in the air at that moment, Gimli shifted from foot to foot, and Merry and Pippin exchanged fearful glances... the only beings seeming to remain unworried were Aragorn and Gandalf, for even the brave and decidedly fearless Mirkwood warriors shifted uncomfortably, fingering their weapons for wont something else to do.
Then the three brothers, Legolas and both the twins, flew together in a clamour of loud elvish: Gimli stepped forward, ready to aid Legolas in the fray... but was stopped by Gandalf's wizened hand upon his shoulders. He glanced up, "Just look a little closer, Master Dwarf."
Gimli did – though he did not understand why - and saw then that the elven princes were actually embracing and partaking in a large amount of back- slapping and shoulder-clapping, smiles making their fair faces bright and merry, and the flurry of elvish actually had a warm basis, not a confrontational one... something he had not noticed before. He all but threw his axe to the ground in his frustration, and muttered, "Dratted elves! Just one mood a minute... it's all I ask!"
Gandalf clicked his tongue at him in a chiding sort of manner, but failed to hide his smile behind his white beard. It was merely the way of the Royal Family: he'd known them since long before the Crown Prince, Tusinduil, had even been conceived and they had not changed one little bit, and were never likely to.
And for that, he was extremely thankful.
...........................................................................................................................................
They were there: the company had reached the massive gates that kept the evil of the Mirkwood forest away from the settlement of the wood-elves. The gates were absolutely huge – made of many different types of wood and welded and interwoven with strips and bowers of wrought iron. The made an intimidating entrance to the realm, placed as they were between two vast oak trees, and other sorts of trees provided a natural wall that continued on from the monumental oaks, almost as though the forest itself had cultivated them merely for the protection of their beloved elves.
Sam gulped, craning his neck to look up, feeling smaller than ever within this noble world. He could not know it, but diagonally across from him there stood Legolas, experiencing very similar feelings himself.
Fienngil sensed this, and glanced across at his younger brother, attempting to give the archer a detached sort of support and let him know he was not alone, "This is it, Little Leaf... would you like to do the honours?"
Legolas nodded mutely, stepped forward and straightened his shoulders, cleared his throat and raised his soft voice along with his arms, as if to reach the very top of the gates, and said, "Im ernil o taure, lasto beth nin [I am a prince of (the) forest, hear my voice]."
Gimli and the hobbits watched in wonder as the gates, without any additional effort, groaned and swung open of their own accord to the sound of Legolas' elven voice. Slowly the gap between the gates widened to reveal a short, natural path leading to a bridge that crossed a swift river, winding up to a set of even bigger stone doors. Fierce-looking guards were stationed at the foot and head of the bridge, and just behind the gates as well. The doors were cut into the front of a formidable-looking cave, and were lined with tall beech trees, whose roots wound down to dip into the wide river in front of the cliff-face.
To either side of the short path leading up to the bridge there were many trees, and partially hidden by, built around and in the boughs of these trees were beautiful huts and flets, evidently some of the homes of the Elf King's subjects. These subjects themselves wandered and wove gracefully between their homes like graceful, eerily beautiful ghosts... it seemed like a land of Kings: the elves going about their business all held themselves with a great amount of dignity, dominating the area with their pride and power. They were bright with potent light and vigour, that seemed to challenge the opinion that the time of the elves was over, and their magic was fading from these shores.
It was the same across the river, though nothing was built in the beech trees flagging the entrance to the palace, perhaps as a sort of respect. Sparkling sunlight, misty in the magic-soaked air, drifted lazily throughout the area, and reflected from the river, lighting it's undercurrents and the undersides of the majestic beech trees.
The company moved forward, stepping out onto the natural path in order to cross the bridge. The elves of the land all stopped what they were doing, came to the sides of the path with small - but relieved and happy - smiles as the group passed, bowing their proud heads as a sign of respect to Legolas and his brothers. Barely any of them even spared a glance at the accompanying mortals, so they experienced none of the expected disdain, just a certain amount of coldness.
Legolas saw so many familiar faces, faces he had seen and loved all his long life, it made his head swim. His breathing came quickened, his legs felt heavy and the worry that clenched his insides suddenly rose once more... and all because he was drawing ever closer to his father's halls. He merely hoped Thranduil would react in much the same manner as his subjects, and merely smile at him. But he had a certain inkling that this was not the way it was going to happen... if only wishing made it so...
The group passed along the narrow bridge, and through the stone doors, after giving another (far more intricate) password that the hobbits, Gimli and even Aragorn were completely unable to catch. They were then led through many passageways that gradually sloped deeper under the mountain... the corridors should really have felt claustrophobic, dark and cold, and yet surprisingly did not. This was most likely due to the fact that the halls were fairly wide and tall with smoothly carved sides, and there were windows cut into the rock along with red torches lining the walls. Also, the cleverness of the Wood-elves had allowed them to construct a way of utilising all the natural light possible through mirrors and many hollow shafts that opened onto the passages.
Throughout the journey within the maze of halls of the palace, the necks of the hobbits seemed to have no bones, they swung their curly-topped heads about so much. It was clear to the four elven princes that their home had seriously impressed most of the mortals... and they were all surprised to discover a strange sort of pride stirring in their hearts at this notion.
Gimli had to grudgingly acknowledge to himself that the palace was a fine example of stonework, despite being obviously elven.
Very soon, they had reached the final set of doors, placed as they were very end of one of the larger halls: these doors were clearly the throne room of the King of Mirkwood. These doors were wrought from iron, oak and mithril – they seemed almost dazzling in the three beams of natural light that stabbed down from several openings in the roof, protected by thick glass. They were incredibly tall – dwarfing even the elves – but very narrow, giving the whole hall an eerie feeling.
Legolas paused before raising his hand to the door handle, an accustomed habit he had gained from having done it all his long life – he had always felt the need to collect his wits about him before he entered his father's presence, felt the need to build his confidence for just a second... this made it less likely it would be completely obliterated by Thranduil's sharp glare and cutting tongue.
He felt a strong hand bracing his shoulder, and turned his golden head slightly to meet the gaze of his best friend. Somehow - and this was by no means a new experience – he drew an amazing amount of strength from Aragorn, merely by watching the emotions shifting and swirling in the man's starry-grey orbs, like the sunlight under the surface of the entrance doors' river. The king of men offered him an encouraging smile, implicitly knowing all the methods that worked the most efficiently in bolstering the elven archer's confidence... he had had time enough in their lengthy friendship to catalogue each and every one.
Legolas nodded in his thanks, a little too frightened at that immediate moment to do anything else. His gaze then swept over the rest of the group: the warriors of Mirkwood who had – throughout countless watches, attacks and ambushes – become and remained his friends; Gandalf his mentor; three of his most beloved brothers; the hobbits he had become so unwittingly fond of through his largest and most perilous adventure... and his best friend, one of the reasons he was so hesitant to encounter his father, the endearingly-stalwart dwarf, Gimli.
He sighed, and lifted the latch of the door, pressing his full weight against it to make it open, and finally faced his father.
.................................................................................................................................................
A/N: But unfortunately for you lot, you shall have to wait for next time to face the character Thranduil! Hope to see you then, what did you think of this? Review please! Thanks.
Hope you enjoy this chapter as much as the last, and don't forget to let me know your thoughts, opinions etc. Otherwise how can I tailor this story to suit you?! Lol.
Just to let you know, I'm at a music festival from very early Friday to very late Monday (in Scotland, where I don't think it has stopped raining for about a solid week now... bad news, seeing as I am camping!), and the point is that you shall either get the next chapter on Thursday night or Tuesday lunch... or perhaps a little later. Hope you can last till then, I think you'll survive!
Anyway, on with the story... and I promise there is action etc. to come, at the minute, I'm merely introducing characters and laying foundations of relationships regarding a certain elven prince that will most definitely be important later on.
So here we go!
............................................................................ ............................................................................ .......................................
"Now, my dear friends, there are one or two things you should know about the elves you shall be meeting."
The fellowship were nearing the great palace of Mirkwood and the elven stronghold surrounding it, and the hobbits were already beginning to feel a certain sort of misty enchantment in the air, and it was making them a little giddy: their tongues were a little looser than usual. Aragorn needed to warn Gimli and the hobbits of a few things before they reached it. They had dismounted their steeds and were walking at a leisurely pace in a small group far behind all the elven guards who were leading the way and might overhear to take offence - Gandalf walking among them as though he had known them for centuries (which was most probably a fair estimate). They also walked just ahead of the princes Legolas and Fienngil, who were so deep in animated talk that Aragorn doubted they'd notice a battalion of orcs leap into their path.
The ex-ranger knew full well that none of the halflings had ever encountered the elves of Mirkwood before, and most probably knew naught of their strange manners and complex character traits. And - as was the way with the kin of the forest - such ignorances could lead to many unwanted incidents occurring. Also, hobbits were not generally known for their subtlety in conversation, and the King of men wished dearly to avoid any disastrous confrontations... the meeting between Legolas and his father was going to be bad enough. And so Aragorn had taken the decision to school Gimli, Merry, Frodo, Pippin and Sam in the many ways to deal with such odd creatures as the elves of Mirkwood, and recognise the sly shifts in their demeanours.
"Come on then, let's be having these facts and useful tidbits," Merry laughed lightly, looking up at his tall friend and grinning impishly. He did, in fact, no naught of these strange elves, other than the fact they were both wondrous and frightening... and managed these two effects simultaneously.
"Well, Master Merry, you've managed to unwittingly demonstrate one of the first rules in dealing with a Wood-elf: no flippancy... they hate it and it boils their blood when any visitor of theirs displays it," Aragorn replied easily.
"What, now!" cried Gimli, disbelieving. He had the good sense to lower his voice considerably before he went on, "Elves are the flightiest of them all... why, I haven't seen Legolas pin down a single mood for any length of time throughout all the while I've known him - he goes through and discards about five in the space of one minute. You're telling us not to be fanciful?!"
"Neither have I," Aragorn chuckled, "but yes I am." He sighed, amusement shining in his glassy-grey orbs, "Mirkwood elves are widely known for being the worst for flightiness... Before the race of men or dwarves or hobbits entered the realms of these worlds, Elves were bestowed with many gifts, one of them being the ability to know the greatest joy as well as the deepest sorrow in life. Now, it is my personal reckoning that Wood-elves were the first to receive this prize, and so consequently have the most infuriatingly wide ranges of emotions in all of Elvendom."
The hobbits laughed heartily at this, and Gimli huffed slightly, looking less and less forward to having to stay in close proximity with more than one of these confounded creatures. "I have heard they are haughty, prideful, stubborn, argumentative and wilful... and we know all that already from our dealings with a certain elven princeling," he grumbled.
Aragorn continued as though he hadn't heard what the disgruntled dwarf had said, "In truth, they have the brightest spirits in the world and their magic is some of the strongest and strangest present in these lands... but long years innumerable of constant exposure to danger and the promise of a quick death have fashioned their many wits into a suspicious kind, and they are incredibly wary. They have a massive distrust of strangers and the notion of tolerance is occasionally a completely foreign concept to them. They live on the very brink of disaster and the slightest change could see their fair kingdom destroyed... they are not wicked, but because of this, they are not always necessarily kind."
The king glanced across at his companions and was vastly amused to find he held them all spellbound by his words - the hobbits' eyes were as round as dishes and even Gimli's ears seemed to be pricked. Frodo made a motion with his dark head for his friend to go on, and so Aragorn did. "This distrust of strangers has led to a very isolated existence, which is part of the reason I warn you so."
"Well, if they're as flighty as you claim - and as Legolas himself demonstrates - we have naught to worry about," Gimli brought his own thoughts into the fray: it was time to stop this ridiculousness.
But his friend shook his dark head vehemently, refusing Gimli's notions. "Nay, son of Gloin! The elves of this realm are highly dangerous, and it's a very foolish thing to think lightly of them, I swear it so! To underestimate them is your own doom. They have minds and tongues as sharp as the arrows they master - and these hunters have skill so that they can hit the eye of a bird flying far overhead with an arrow in the dimmest dark."
Aragorn paused, trying to think of some other way to phrase his worries, "If Lorien be the home of elven Kings and Queens; and Rivendell home to the elven lords and healers... then Mirkwood is the elvish home of warriors. And that's it: no question."
Merry let out a slow, deep whistle - a habit with a decidedly-Tookish origin that apparently signified an impressed halfling. Sam, however, looked most distressed, "Mr. Strider? Do you think you could let on a way of knowing how a conversation with one of these elven warriors is going... like, say, if you're on the road to insulting them, if you get me?"
Aragorn shook his head again, "Unfortunately Master Samwise I cannot. All Mirkwood elves hold the uncanny skill of being able to school their features to be devoid of any emotion at all, and they do so almost without... no one can really tell what a Wood-elf is thinking, unless he wishes you to know; I will say this, though, you know you are in trouble when their eyes flash..." It was then, when he had finished his rant, that the man saw the spluttering, shocked faces of his friends
"... But do not worry, I am sure they won't harm you," he added in a sheepish tone, belatedly and a bit lamely. "They really are the most fascinating creatures... once you get to know them - or they let you get to know them."
"By the stars, Strider!" Pippin lamented, aghast, "I am positively fearing this meeting! I shall not know where to put my feet."
"Well, it's a welcome change that you realise that this time, Mr. Pip, sir," Sam retorted, still concerned about the possibility of slighting one of these strange elves without meaning to. Sam felt awkward enough about the prospect of staying with elves. There was always a feeling of ungainliness and inferiority when one was in the company of the Firstborn, he'd always thought - without worrying about how a break in eye contact could be of consequence.
The Took answered with a patented, gargoyle-like face in the hobbit gardener's direction.
"You'll stay like that if the wind changes, Pip," Frodo admonished easily, concentrating on walking once more.
............................................................................ ............................................................................ .......................................
In order to give the hobbits - who had been travelling for quite some time - a little bit of a rest before they reached the palace, the company had stopped to rest. Though, of course, none of the elves even sat down, preferring instead to patrol the perimeters of the clearing and generally make all the mortals of the group jumpy. Frodo supposed this was the usual procedure: after all, Mirkwood was a dangerous place... even more so at the moment, as he suspected things had recently taken place that had put all the wood-elves upon high-alert. The scorched trees, bloodied ground and thick darkness hanging in the air beneath the canopy all seemed evidence of this. The gentle-hobbit shifted anxiously No doubt we'll find out sooner rather than later, more's the pity
Legolas, meanwhile, was finding out the facts that very moment: he stood off to one side with Fienngil, for his brother would not divulge whatever it was within the various hearing-ranges of the mortals. "Tell me, Gil," he enquired softly, piercing green eyes trying to discern whatever they could from the Second Prince's inscrutable face.
Fienngil looked slightly uncomfortable, "When adar bids it, you shall be told all that is taking place in this land." At his younger sibling's distressed face and open mouth he swiftly continued, as he could see Legolas drawing breath in order to argue. "But I shall tell you this without his leave: our home is not safe, less now than before you left... and it is our belief that the dark forces - though dealt a massive blow by the laying-low of Dol Guldur - will soon rally themselves into one last, powerful wave. And you know that the powers of good and evil are only ever balanced here, or very slightly outweighed... but we fear that soon we may be overwhelmed. You cannot miss the danger and warning of the trees."
"Aye," said Legolas calmly, surprising Fienngil in his lack of reaction. "I had supposed some sort of trickery was in action... and it's not hard to guess with you and the guards as nervous as sheep at shauning-time - so much for notorious stoicism." He chuckled at Fienngil's abashed face, then sobered, "I will wait to find out what is happening, and how I might aid my people."
"If adar forgives you," Fienngil added after a small pause, a sly grin strangely becoming on his handsome face.
"If adar forgives me," Legolas nodded, eyes narrowed and voice a soft warning, a pose that never failed to set off alarm bells in the heads of his elder siblings. But his mock-threat relaxed when Fienngil laughed aloud, the expression bubbling with a fondly-familiar amusement, and clapped a large hand heavily upon his slender shoulder.
They turned to rejoin the group, and had gone only two steps when Legolas stopped abruptly. His brother, confused, twisted his head to ask reason for the sudden halt, but Greenleaf flashed his eyes at him, ceasing this action before it had even started. Then Legolas began walking again, slowly and with an unusual gait that attracted the attention of Gimli and Aragorn, and then the hobbits and Gandalf. They saw that Fienngil walked slightly behind him, bemusement painting a fair expression upon his noble features, and it was clear he knew naught of his brother's thoughts either.
Their eyes followed their elven friend as he ambled stiffly across the clearing towards them, head straight and eyes fixed forward, over to the horses and the packs. There he stooped and, quick as a flash of lightening, whirled and threw something up (and with considerable force) into the leaves of the large tree that stretched out over the clearing, making a sort of roof over the clearing with it's branches.
It was with utter surprise, then, that both the mortals and elves witnessed a rather heavy horse-brush, an abundance of leaves, a bow and an exceedingly-startled creature fall from the lush green canopy of the tree with a sharp cry.
The figure landed with an 'Oooof!' upon the hard ground where it then lay, groaning. The hobbits leapt to their feet and Gimli grabbed his axe, fully prepared to end the life of the figure... but all the elven warriors in the clearing merely laughed, some finally relaxing enough to sit down. Gimli thought it rather foolhardy to simply sit in the presence of peril, and he wondered momentarily at the widely-known reputation of these supposedly-dangerous warriors.
"Good shot, old boy!" came a bright and jolly comment – spoken in a melodious, lilting voice - from the wall of tree trunks from the company's left.
All whirled to face the giver of the compliment, glaring suspiciously into the gloom of the forest towards the direction of the voice - and out between the glittering green trunks out there gracefully stepped an elf, surrounded by a golden sort of light. This elf was slightly shorter and broader than Legolas, with two large braces of coneys and a rather heavy- looking dead deer laid across his strong back and a bright smile spread across his fair face. The potent feeling of nobility and ancestry that Fienngil had given off was not as present this time, but instead the elf seemed harsher... perhaps not in an entirely bad way: it merely seemed that this being had a more intense way of behaving.
Also accompanying this queer elf-warrior - again with more weapons than was entirely necessary secreted about his person - there came three blurs of massive, ebony-coloured dogs which launched themselves at Legolas, knocking him deftly to the ground and surging over him in a sea of paws and snouts.
Aragorn laughed deeply and clapped his hands together in amusement, stepping past the highly-confused halflings and Gimli - and the struggling Legolas - along with Gandalf to this new elf, both shaking his hand and clasping his shoulder, speaking fast in elvish.
"Mister Frodo," came Sam's quiet voice from his master's side, "What in the name of mushrooms is going on?"
"You speak for all of us, I'm afraid, dear Sam," was all Frodo could tell him, winter-blue eyes wide.
Fortunately, Fienngil heard this, and decided to rescue the situation from complete madness, and explain. "Fear not, Pheriannath." He glided over to Legolas, still fighting the three formidable creatures currently sitting on his chest and pinning him. Fienngil stood and pointed at them: "These are Leogolas' wolfhounds... they are as soft as feathers in temperament to anything that is not evil - their barks are worse than their bites if you have a wholesome nature."
He then strode across to the new elf, stood with Aragorn and Gandalf, and pointed at him in a similar manner before the warrior batted his hand away forcefully: "This is Arianduil Youngoak, eldest of the twin princes of Mirkwood... they are younger than me, and therefore are obliged to follow my orders." The harsh-looking elf, Arianduil, gave a curt nod of his dark, curled head and smiled slightly at the mortals - then he turned deftly to Fienngil and glared.
The elder shrugged his shoulders and chuckled. He walked away to the groaning figure who had tumbled so unceremoniously from the treetops, beginning to pick itself up from the ground: "And that, believe it or not, is another one of the royal princes - Andariun Deepstream, younger of the twins."
The figure finally stood, and Gimli and the halflings could see his face - it was nearly identical to that of Arianduil, though it was flushed heavily by an endearing rosiness as the elf dusted off his fine, hunting robes.
He blushes more than Legolas does... Merry thought idly. Then his quick thoughts wandered further: Was it a time of twins, a few centuries ago? He recalled the twin sons of Elrond in Rivendell, though it was impossible for him to say whether the two sets of twins had been born even in the same millenia.
"I meant to fall out of that tree, you know," the younger stated to the mortals, pointing half-heartedly to the canopy above, his accent when speaking Westron just as thick as Fienngil's. He righted his knife-sheaths, that had worked and twisted themselves around to his back during the commotion, and pulled hard upon the strap of his quiver which had loosened... then he quickly stooped to regain his dropped bow and, hopefully, a little bit of his dignity. Andariun also tried to ignore the laughter continuing to issue from the elven guards he had had for an audience.
"Sure you did, brother," that was typical Legolas sarcasm: he had finally escaped the over-zealous welcoming of his dogs, and so he ambled over to the twins.
The other twin saw him properly, and his deep blue eyes flashed, "Ah! So the wanderer returns! We wondered how long it would take for you to miss us, Legolas, and come crawling back for another dose of our dashing wit...." He stood in front of his youngest brother, rocked back on his heels and looked the silently-laughing archer up and down with a mocking eye, he then commented dryly, "I would embrace you, were it not for the hound-slobber painted all down your front."
Legolas stopped chuckling and looked down at himself, and Pippin – quite astute, or so he thought, at reading his elven friend – thought he spied the tips of his delicate ears flush pink once more in his embarrassment, as his suede hunting tunic was covered in a thick sheen of spittle from his hounds. He rubbed at it in an attempt to look slightly more royal and befitting of his status.
Andariun wandered up, "Aye, we're quite glad you are back, Little Leaf," he said softly. Legolas looked up, rather touched by this sincere-sounding statement coming from one of his more shy-of-feelings and guarded elder siblings... He had expected a warm welcome from Fienngil and another of his brothers, but not so much from the twins – they were more like the King in that respect. He was moved, until a jesting smile curled the corners of Andariun's lips upwards slightly, and his midnight blue eyes twinkled brightly, and he reiterated, "We're glad you are back: the dogs have missed you."
"Clearly," Legolas replied coldly, deflating somewhat... and Frodo considered suddenly Aragorn's warning of being in definate trouble with a Mirkwood elf when their eyes flashed: Legolas' were suddenly like the war beacons of Gondor. Knives could have sliced the tension in the air at that moment, Gimli shifted from foot to foot, and Merry and Pippin exchanged fearful glances... the only beings seeming to remain unworried were Aragorn and Gandalf, for even the brave and decidedly fearless Mirkwood warriors shifted uncomfortably, fingering their weapons for wont something else to do.
Then the three brothers, Legolas and both the twins, flew together in a clamour of loud elvish: Gimli stepped forward, ready to aid Legolas in the fray... but was stopped by Gandalf's wizened hand upon his shoulders. He glanced up, "Just look a little closer, Master Dwarf."
Gimli did – though he did not understand why - and saw then that the elven princes were actually embracing and partaking in a large amount of back- slapping and shoulder-clapping, smiles making their fair faces bright and merry, and the flurry of elvish actually had a warm basis, not a confrontational one... something he had not noticed before. He all but threw his axe to the ground in his frustration, and muttered, "Dratted elves! Just one mood a minute... it's all I ask!"
Gandalf clicked his tongue at him in a chiding sort of manner, but failed to hide his smile behind his white beard. It was merely the way of the Royal Family: he'd known them since long before the Crown Prince, Tusinduil, had even been conceived and they had not changed one little bit, and were never likely to.
And for that, he was extremely thankful.
...........................................................................................................................................
They were there: the company had reached the massive gates that kept the evil of the Mirkwood forest away from the settlement of the wood-elves. The gates were absolutely huge – made of many different types of wood and welded and interwoven with strips and bowers of wrought iron. The made an intimidating entrance to the realm, placed as they were between two vast oak trees, and other sorts of trees provided a natural wall that continued on from the monumental oaks, almost as though the forest itself had cultivated them merely for the protection of their beloved elves.
Sam gulped, craning his neck to look up, feeling smaller than ever within this noble world. He could not know it, but diagonally across from him there stood Legolas, experiencing very similar feelings himself.
Fienngil sensed this, and glanced across at his younger brother, attempting to give the archer a detached sort of support and let him know he was not alone, "This is it, Little Leaf... would you like to do the honours?"
Legolas nodded mutely, stepped forward and straightened his shoulders, cleared his throat and raised his soft voice along with his arms, as if to reach the very top of the gates, and said, "Im ernil o taure, lasto beth nin [I am a prince of (the) forest, hear my voice]."
Gimli and the hobbits watched in wonder as the gates, without any additional effort, groaned and swung open of their own accord to the sound of Legolas' elven voice. Slowly the gap between the gates widened to reveal a short, natural path leading to a bridge that crossed a swift river, winding up to a set of even bigger stone doors. Fierce-looking guards were stationed at the foot and head of the bridge, and just behind the gates as well. The doors were cut into the front of a formidable-looking cave, and were lined with tall beech trees, whose roots wound down to dip into the wide river in front of the cliff-face.
To either side of the short path leading up to the bridge there were many trees, and partially hidden by, built around and in the boughs of these trees were beautiful huts and flets, evidently some of the homes of the Elf King's subjects. These subjects themselves wandered and wove gracefully between their homes like graceful, eerily beautiful ghosts... it seemed like a land of Kings: the elves going about their business all held themselves with a great amount of dignity, dominating the area with their pride and power. They were bright with potent light and vigour, that seemed to challenge the opinion that the time of the elves was over, and their magic was fading from these shores.
It was the same across the river, though nothing was built in the beech trees flagging the entrance to the palace, perhaps as a sort of respect. Sparkling sunlight, misty in the magic-soaked air, drifted lazily throughout the area, and reflected from the river, lighting it's undercurrents and the undersides of the majestic beech trees.
The company moved forward, stepping out onto the natural path in order to cross the bridge. The elves of the land all stopped what they were doing, came to the sides of the path with small - but relieved and happy - smiles as the group passed, bowing their proud heads as a sign of respect to Legolas and his brothers. Barely any of them even spared a glance at the accompanying mortals, so they experienced none of the expected disdain, just a certain amount of coldness.
Legolas saw so many familiar faces, faces he had seen and loved all his long life, it made his head swim. His breathing came quickened, his legs felt heavy and the worry that clenched his insides suddenly rose once more... and all because he was drawing ever closer to his father's halls. He merely hoped Thranduil would react in much the same manner as his subjects, and merely smile at him. But he had a certain inkling that this was not the way it was going to happen... if only wishing made it so...
The group passed along the narrow bridge, and through the stone doors, after giving another (far more intricate) password that the hobbits, Gimli and even Aragorn were completely unable to catch. They were then led through many passageways that gradually sloped deeper under the mountain... the corridors should really have felt claustrophobic, dark and cold, and yet surprisingly did not. This was most likely due to the fact that the halls were fairly wide and tall with smoothly carved sides, and there were windows cut into the rock along with red torches lining the walls. Also, the cleverness of the Wood-elves had allowed them to construct a way of utilising all the natural light possible through mirrors and many hollow shafts that opened onto the passages.
Throughout the journey within the maze of halls of the palace, the necks of the hobbits seemed to have no bones, they swung their curly-topped heads about so much. It was clear to the four elven princes that their home had seriously impressed most of the mortals... and they were all surprised to discover a strange sort of pride stirring in their hearts at this notion.
Gimli had to grudgingly acknowledge to himself that the palace was a fine example of stonework, despite being obviously elven.
Very soon, they had reached the final set of doors, placed as they were very end of one of the larger halls: these doors were clearly the throne room of the King of Mirkwood. These doors were wrought from iron, oak and mithril – they seemed almost dazzling in the three beams of natural light that stabbed down from several openings in the roof, protected by thick glass. They were incredibly tall – dwarfing even the elves – but very narrow, giving the whole hall an eerie feeling.
Legolas paused before raising his hand to the door handle, an accustomed habit he had gained from having done it all his long life – he had always felt the need to collect his wits about him before he entered his father's presence, felt the need to build his confidence for just a second... this made it less likely it would be completely obliterated by Thranduil's sharp glare and cutting tongue.
He felt a strong hand bracing his shoulder, and turned his golden head slightly to meet the gaze of his best friend. Somehow - and this was by no means a new experience – he drew an amazing amount of strength from Aragorn, merely by watching the emotions shifting and swirling in the man's starry-grey orbs, like the sunlight under the surface of the entrance doors' river. The king of men offered him an encouraging smile, implicitly knowing all the methods that worked the most efficiently in bolstering the elven archer's confidence... he had had time enough in their lengthy friendship to catalogue each and every one.
Legolas nodded in his thanks, a little too frightened at that immediate moment to do anything else. His gaze then swept over the rest of the group: the warriors of Mirkwood who had – throughout countless watches, attacks and ambushes – become and remained his friends; Gandalf his mentor; three of his most beloved brothers; the hobbits he had become so unwittingly fond of through his largest and most perilous adventure... and his best friend, one of the reasons he was so hesitant to encounter his father, the endearingly-stalwart dwarf, Gimli.
He sighed, and lifted the latch of the door, pressing his full weight against it to make it open, and finally faced his father.
.................................................................................................................................................
A/N: But unfortunately for you lot, you shall have to wait for next time to face the character Thranduil! Hope to see you then, what did you think of this? Review please! Thanks.