Footsteps echoed in the dim halls delved from stone and dirt beneath the earth. From below the hardy wooden cell door, a shadow crossed over the red torchlight beyond the small prison, and the long block of wood that fortified the entry was lifted. Three voices murmured in the Silvan tongue, and a pair of footsteps retreated back a small distance and stayed there nearby.
Niélawen squinted as the cell door constructed from strong oak swung open, and a gathering of light that seemed massive against her sight pierced the shadows. Celahir and Legolas entered slowly, and though she could not see their faces at first, she knew them well by their contrasting short and tall figures. The door closed behind Celahir as Legolas sat himself on a chair in the far corner. She realized that Celahir held in his hand a small tray, which he placed against the wall. He had brought in her evening meal.
She strained to see their faces in the dark, but her eyes had not yet adjusted from the recent exposure of light. All she could see was Legolas' hair glinting gold in the light that shone through the faults in the stone wall.
"This was not my doing," he murmured.
"Of course it wasn't."
Celahir squatted at her side. He took her hand in his. "Niélawen, tell us what happened?"
Niélawen looked to her right where Legolas sat in the shadow. She could see as much now as the dark outlines of his eyes, gazing at her beneath the weary tilt of his head. Out of shame she turned her head without a word.
"We have Oronar's version of the account, but not yours," Celahir explained gently. "What did he do to you?"
"So I am the victim?" she asked solemnly with the given impression of reservation. "You would believe my word over his?"
Legolas bowed his head in disappointment. Celahir squeezed her cold hand. "We know you well enough to believe you were provoked. The King will take our word; all that is needed is your plea of innocence."
Niélawen folded her legs and looked down into her lap. "How badly did I hurt him?"
Celahir looked to Legolas for an answer.
Legolas breathed in deeply. "You broke his jaw, and a small number of his ribs have been fractured. That is all but for a fair bit of bruising."
Niélawen swallowed and nodded stiffly.
"His father is not pleased," Celahir said. "He is convincing the King's council into believing you are a threat to the safety of all the people."
"And he demands you are punished," Legolas added. "Severely."
"What is the worst that could happen?" she inquired in a silent voice. "The crime is simply not worth execution and that much I know. I could be left in the woods to fend for myself, against all the cruelness that dwells in the deep places of the wild." She looked at Legolas. "It matters very little to me. That is how all this began." She made a bitter gesture against herself.
Legolas rose to his feet sharply. "We cannot save you so easily by only our efforts. For once you are responsible for what becomes of you. This is your fate."
She flinched, and slid up the wall. "Do not speak to me about fate. You don't know what reason I have to despair."
"Neither do you."
Niélawen held up her chin indignantly. Resentment and sorrow darkened her face as her thoughts strayed to a distant, dark place that she feared. "Leave me. Both of you, go."
Celahir nodded his understanding, and kissed her hand briefly and fondly before rising to leave. He gestured to her fine meal, a customary courtesy in the prisons of Mirkwood even to the nastiest of enemies. "Do eat, Néla. You need the nourishment." The guard waiting outside opened the cell door for him, and he was the first to leave.
Legolas stopped close to her face. She saw the dark lines of his jaw grow deep as he clenched troublingly. "You do not deserve this," he whispered.
She peered into his eyes, the brightest things she had seen yet in the darkness of the small, lightless cell. "I must persevere here for awhile. The time may offer me a chance to sort out my thoughts. I will accept whatever hand is dealt to me here, if it truly is what I deserve."
He looked upon her sadly, and turned to leave. She caught him by the arm.
"Bring me the map."
He gazed at her for an indefinite period of time, and nodded as the door closed after him.
Legolas pressed his ear against the grand oak door. Hundreds of voices echoed in the grand hall of the King's throne. Comments were unpleasant. Shouts would not cease.
His nails dug into the surface as he listened, and he felt the tension ever rising as the hollering voices reached out beneath the doors and into the secluded hall where he stood.
He heard his father's authoritative voice rise above the others, and soon all shouts dwindled to nothing. There was brief silence reserved for Thranduil's address, but Legolas assumed well that his father was recovering from the unease that had lasted for uncounted hours.
"The woman will not speak," declared someone out of turn in a deep, recognizable voice. Oronar's father sounded like the dominant figure in the room, and in many ways he was. There were more who supported him than Thranduil against the matter of Niélawen. Victory was very well his already. "I want justice. The stray must be penalized by the manner she deserves."
"We do not yet know her story!" Thranduil answered with vexation. "This we have discussed— I will not judge the sentence before I hear her plea."
There were murmurs all around the room. "You believe as much as we do, Majesty," Oronar's father began in a moderate, persuasive voice. "Your people risk everything to breathe the same air as the mortal. Their security and peace of mind is jeopardized with every day she—"
"We have yet to know true peace in Rhovanion, Amras," Thranduil interjected in a deep voice closing in on the brink of self-control. His intonation was low, almost ominous. "Do not throw false facts before me. Those I despise are those who fear reality."
"Fear?" Oronar's father echoed sharply, taken aback. "Fear? Of all who sit here this day, you, Milord, we see as the true victim of fear. If you cannot deal with her as she should be, there are many who will embrace suitable authority."
Legolas slid his back against the panels of the door and moved further into the part in the doorway, peering inside from over his shoulder.
"The method you see fit to punish her is inhumane, and it will not followed through to such likes. My word is the law and you will obey," Thranduil finalized.
Amras— tall, brawny, and grim— nodded his head with tight lips. "Then I suggest she is detained in your dungeons until she sees it fit to face her faults."
"If the council agrees, then I will give consent to that."
Legolas' eyes grew wide, and the rest of his face fell. Murmurs of approval scattered amidst the room, but as he looked upon his father, he saw a brave king stripped of his use and integrity by his own means, and Legolas' heart was further enraged.
He paid no heed to a silent entrance, and both doors swung open and thundered like an eruption in the hall even against the hundreds of voices. All eyes were on him— looks of shock and of animosity, all as though the Prince suddenly had no right to breathe the same air as the lot of them. He strode to his father, returning what looks of disapproval he could to the unfaithful, and with his very presence dealing out some hope yet to those— like Celaeglin— who held the righteous and dignified support to the heir.
Voices did not cease as he passed; in fact, they grew louder and more outraged. Legolas kneeled at his father's side, and he took his hand. Never before had he plead with him in such a way and so openly.
"Do not let this happen. I beg you."
Thranduil's hand overlapped his. "Legolas," he murmured, meeting his eyes earnestly, "There is nothing more that can be done on my part."
"What do you mean?" Legolas demanded, eyes raging with intensifying madness. "Are you not their King? Their choices— their orders— are powerless against your will!"
"I have limits, Legolas. Moral limits." Thranduil was hesitating, for once in many years looking quite uncertain. "I have overlooked you too much, but the truth lies in this— my power is within rules and democracy. You have something far greater than that. You will find a way to help her. For now she is safe. And that I have placed before you a great opportunity that, I hope, will not be undermined." He raised a brow, and leaned back against his throne.
Legolas turned his eyes to the floor, chiseling away at his mind out of urgency for some slight understanding, but the strain on him was too great. He looked around him, seeing many uncountable eyes watching and judging them both as they exchanged words with each other.
"Nay, there is nothing I can do."
Legolas stared up at his father, chin buried thoughtfully in his left hand as he gazed into the crowd with a subtle, suggestive expression playing on his face. And Legolas suddenly got the sensation that his father, though not meeting his eyes, was looking straight into his mind, and had already planned out a scenario that Legolas had not yet ascertained.
The arrows struck center-point, one after another, in a torrent of speed and strength drawn from pure anger. The blistering wind and falling snow blew viciously against him, tugging away at his garbs and gusting his flaxen hair in all directions. But his eyes were keen. It was the only composure he still had. He finally lowered his bow of dark mahogany and gazed ahead with remorse, his body and mind weary.
Despite the gracious conditions she would be given, she would still be confined to the prison of Mirkwood for the rest of her years if that was the ruling body's will, and his conscience would not let him forget it. He could not let the thought pass.
He backed away, staggered one uneven step at a time through the snow that had fallen and blanketed the earth in a thick layer of near knee-deep, blowing ice. And he fell to his knees, weighted by a sadness and hopelessness greater than he had known in a long while. He covered his face with his hands, and dropped to the very depths of the snow until his lap was absorbed around it. He was a failure.
Finding himself unable to understand what his father tried to assure him of, he began to demand cynical questions against himself for falling short of succeeding to the support of the one thing that actually meant the world to him. What could he do?
Nothing.
All his power lied in the authority of his father, and his father had admitted to being powerless right before his eyes. His father was the one who set the rules for the people to follow, and was the honest judger of the ruling body. Legolas' existence incorporated the very opposite, when he was not to be the embodiment of his father's pride. Breaking the rules, living the free, long years of his youth, dismissing the laws of his household for whatever reasons his spirit and heart swayed him to their will…
He looked up suddenly with an abrupt intake of air. He gaped around him in astonishment, grasping his bow and holding it close to his left breast. He had found it. He had found his answer.
He stood immediately and ignored the weighty snow that clung to his garbs and boots as well as the tiny fallen crystals that glistened in his long golden hair. He set out through the snowy trenches to the entrance of the under-earth fortress, and his excitement was so overwhelming that his fortitude became the strongest influence over his body and mind, and had he been anything but as thrilled as that, his smile would have lit the deepest trench in the heartland of the earth.
The map clutched in his hand crinkled in the desolate dungeon hall as he strode in long strides. The armor-clad sentinel, spear in hand, greeted him with a bow and Legolas eyed him carefully as he passed, the intensity of his devising mind causing everything around to be apart of his game— as though he was working against everyone but himself and the friend who needed him.
The reinforcing lock upon the low-security cell slid open and Niélawen awoke from her sleep. Legolas entered briskly, and he crouched before her anxiously, glancing expectantly over his shoulder as the door shut behind him. From the corner of the cell he snatched a lamp, and lit it to its full light before he spread out the map.
Niélawen studied him with a mystified look, and watched as the light from the lamp illuminated the map before them while Legolas held the light above their heads.
"Show me," he murmured.
Slightly agitated by his hasty manner, Niélawen tucked her lengthy, multicolored curly tresses behind her ears, and peered at the wrinkled parchment at her knees with careful thought.
Her finger traced the expanse of Northern Mirkwood, working its way to the weaving Forest River. She followed the flowing stream, a thin line upon the paper, to Esgaroth a short distance away, and she paused. Her eyes wandered to the Elven King's Gate, tiny, mountainous forms on the yellowed paper, and her face dropped. She looked up sadly, feeling incredible anguish at leaving her home even in spirit. She refused to indicate further.
He gazed at her long and solemnly. "Don't, Niélawen. You must do this."
She said nothing.
Legolas sighed, and carefully— nervously— placed his hand around her body, holding her encouragingly. She breathed in, closing her eyes as he stroked her arm in the attempt to comfort her. By now he could tell when grief was tugging at the far reaches of her mind, and only he could try to put her worries behind her. She could tell he had been outside by the cool, fresh smell that lingered on his clothes as well as the chill stroke of his hand, yet there was a great, radiating warmth coming from the touch of his skin. With a deep breath, her finger came upon the map once again, and she proceeded eastward from the Lake.
Legolas held back the fallen sensation within his heart as she moved further from the South on the western boundaries aside the Anduin and proceeded Eastward. For so long he had always hoped she was a woman of Rohan, or of Gondor— any place of some dignity and strength. But as she stopped just South of the Iron Hills, he shut his eyes briefly, and feared the end of her search as well as the possibility of more yet to come.
He looked upon her again, feeling her mind wandering, and he saw that she had indeed closed her own eyes, and was now trailing blindly downward along the map. Her index finger scrolled surely down the Carnen, following its winding stream, until she crossed upon open land.
His blood grew colder as he watched the distance between their present location at the far eastern border of Rhovanion and the Ered Lithui in the Black Lands of Mordor close in. His thoughts scurried frantically, suddenly finding sense and resolution in her abilities being the work of evil from the lands of the East— and nothing frightened him more if the truth indeed lied in the warning of his instincts. He took her hand earnestly. "No," he murmured, shaking his head. "It cannot be further."
Eyes still closed, she took her hand from beneath his and overlapped it with her palm reassuringly, and he calmed down. To his great relief, she deterred from the southern direction, and moved sharply eastbound. The dark shape of the Sea of Rhûn lingered beneath her fingertips, and it was upon the cluster of sketchy trees on the Northeastern corner of the dark water mass that she stopped. She tapped the forest in conclusion, opened her eyes, and nodded to herself.
Legolas swallowed. "How has this information come to you?" He peered up at her. "How do you know this?"
"I've seen it, but… my feelings have guided me. I suppose I do not know. I have little memory of it— if any." She sighed, and hunched over as though the stiff weight holding her together had finally been lifted. "This is it." She stared at the map in silence. "My home…"
They stared at the image of Rhûn before them in silence. The entire time in his mind, Legolas asked many questions to himself in the stillness. He wanted none of them answered— he did not want his life with her to come to an end so quickly. But he knew it would eventually come to that. His father had been right. All along he had understood with knowing so little. All along Legolas' hopes had been in vain.
Niélawen pushed the map aside and leaned against the stone wall. She peered at him knowingly. "Somehow I believe you had more reasons than one to sit here with me at this moment."
He nodded and knelt before her, where in his eyes was intensity mingled with sadness. "What is it you want most?"
She looked to the floor and showed through a smile she was glad in being asked. "To love. To be loved— unconditionally. I wonder if I have always had it, and yet I feel I have not yet seen and experienced all there is. But I suddenly believe now that something I have always wondered about has been before my very eyes all this time." She gazed into his face intently.
Legolas regarded her hopefully, his eyes suddenly alight, eagerness quickly returning to his face. His feelings stirred wildly within him as her gaze upon him intensified.
"All this time, I have dreamed of sisterhood."
The warm feeling inside of him slowly diminished as his forehead creased briefly in disappointment and disorder. He looked to the floor and nodded acceptingly, though he wasn't at full peace with her words. One fragment of his heart lost its illuminating power as the truth was laid before him—she truly wanted to leave. No devotion of his could change that…
All the while Niélawen saw this trouble, and more, in his eyes and face, but she left it overlooked. "I only now have to meet that thread of my fate." She glanced at the map. "In the East is where it lies."
"Then I shall take you there."
Niélawen smiled gratefully and took his hand. He did not look up, fearing there was more in his face than he wanted her to see.
His voice was hoarse as he spoke, but he did not make an attempt to clear his dry throat. "If we take the safe route to Esgaroth and proceed down the Celduin, it is a fourteen day journey to Rhûn by boat—"
"No," she interjected grievously. "Nessa… I could not part with her, Legolas."
He sighed. "Then we shall be confined to at least eighteen days if we trek by land."
"So be it." She gazed up at him in confirmation, wanting to be certain he was truly so willing to lead her through the grueling journey. "We are going to go forth with this? Are you certain it will be successful?"
"No." He stood to his feet, taking with him the map, which he rolled up and placed beneath his belt. He had many doubts, but if it meant making her dreams come true by returning her home, its worth was greater than any misfortune or sacrifice along the way. "I will come for you before dawn."
Niélawen pressed close to the rough wall nearest to the cell door. For hours she sat in waiting, hearing silence but for the low, steady breathing of her prison guard. Through a crack in the stone she watched him, erect and alert, expressionless as a granite statue and watching everything around him.
An eager feeling stirred within her, and she took it as a sign. She piled her long hair into a disorderly bunch and peered through the fissure in the stone with great anticipation.
The guard stationed at the crook in the corridor of the dungeon stumbled with a groan and slid back against the wall as something solid and swift collided against a vital point along the back of his neck, and he slowly dwindled to unconsciousness. Her cell swung open hastily, and Legolas grabbed her frantically from within.
"There is time enough to reach your room. You may only take with you small possessions, and few at that." Taking her hand in his, he led her through the dim hall, carefully stepping over the sprawled legs of the guard. "My apologies," he murmured to the snoozing figure.
"Nessa and Turgon await us at the path to the Gate. Do not leave my side," he instructed urgently. "Never have you walked amidst the darkness of this land. Troubles wander in places within these walls as well as outside." A smirk crawled along his face, and she identified his enjoyment of the adrenaline charge. "We are safe nowhere, so we must move quickly."
Stealthily and cleverly they shuffled through the halls above the dungeon wing, and though they were fortunate to have only come across one sentinel, she couldn't help but wonder where the rest had all gone to.
"You did not hit them all into unconsciousness, did you?" she inquired humorously.
"No questions," he muttered shamelessly, grinning half-heartedly. He paused at a corner, peered around cautiously, and he dragged her down the sloping corridor without having suffered a single faltering move along the way. Without warning, he shoved her towards a pair of doors, and she stumbled into what she sheepishly realized was her room. "Pack," he ordered.
"Nice detour." She rushed through her wardrobe. "I could have found that useful growing up."
"I never doubted the thought." Legolas glanced periodically through the small crack in the door. "Hurry," he murmured.
Niélawen peered over her shoulder carefully as she tucked away numerous vials and leaf-wrapped packages into a brown leather sack. She grabbed little from her closet that contained fine garments in a plentiful number, and managed a last look at the long, off white gown she had warn but a couple nights before. With a heartbreaking sigh, she tore her eyes from the garbs she would never see again and shut them away into darkness.
She stood in silence for the greatest time, gazing at the memories that surrounded her. She caressed the fine quilt of her bed and ran her fingers over the slash marks and dents on the delicate oak frame of her bed. There were even two dusty, broken sticks still in a candlelight chandelier on the wall. Nothing had changed since she arrived years ago.
Legolas awaited her at the doorway, watching her as she neared him. In an instant, every memory of her past washed over her in a torrent of despair upon meeting his eyes— still untouched by age, unwavering yet soft in nature. In time to come she would never look into them again. Her eyes filled with tears.
He left his guard upon the door, having watched her mingle in reminiscences of things of great significance soon to be forgotten forever, and it was inevitable that he was to share her grief in due time. "Come," he whispered, reaching out for her hand.
She wiped her eyes and clasped her fingers with his. She passed through the doors, her emerald eyes still glistening with tears. "To think this is only the first of my goodbyes."
Legolas swallowed grievously as he grasped the meaning of her words, for it was likely that he was the last of which she spoke. He forced the thought from his mind, and led her briskly up the inclination of the hall. He brought her to the corner that led away from her hall, and with a hasty check he insured it was a safe crossing to the end of the corridor. Two narrow green doors closed in ahead as they rushed through the unbent hall without a single branching passage along its barren walls.
The crisp winter air brushed against her damp cheeks and burned at her eyes as she followed at Legolas' heals into the frigid snow. They darted silently towards the trees like ghosts, passing through barren space between the mound and the forest, and just as quickly into shadowy woodland. Legolas slowed as they passed deeper into the woods, and he paused to further walk at her side.
"None will know that we have left," she murmured to him absently. "There will be no more to bid farewell." She gazed behind her, though there was no longer anything left to see but darkness.
Legolas trekked carefully through the snow, taking her gently by the elbow and directing her in the southern direction. "Celahir will understand. The anonymity will go unanswered until I return…alone. I will be the first to tell him the truth."
"He will be sad." Her voice drifted, lost in words that were bringing her closer to regret.
"Look past it," he encouraged. "This is an end to one life, and ahead is the beginning of another. And you have my word to guide you tirelessly to the end of this one." He braced his hand against the back of her soft neck, and he stroked her skin with his fingers. "Come," he whispered, and led her off gingerly.
They stepped through the passage of trees, and ahead of them the Forest River glinted like a silver stream of glass between two mounds of rock solid snow and ice. In the far eastern sky, morning light was breaking through the darkness, and in that place the sky was blue and faint, steadily growing brighter. Legolas beckoned her to stay put, and he took a long step forward, peering around the trees at his right. Niélawen rubbed her hands furiously, feeling the bitter wind on her bare skin and regretting the absence of some heavy leather gloves. While reflecting that failed idea, she looked ahead and across the churning water of the river where steam rose from its much warmer depths, and her eyes squinted to two large objects not far off on the other side.
Like two lifeless debris of stone, earthen-colored and pure as white chalk, Nessa and Turgon awaited them in the bush upon the opposite end of the river between their present location and the bridge less than a kilometer away. And of course, if the bridge was near, the enchanted and heavily guarded entrance to the Elven King's Gate was just as close, if not closer.
Legolas took her bag and leaned into her. Excitement was replaced by a slight inkling of apprehension, and she knew what he was about to say before he spoke it.
"Here now is where our presence fails by all accounts to go unnoticed," he said softly and urgently to her. "We must ride swifter than the wind— without rest— to the Mountains of Mirkwood." He gestured to the opposite side. "Turgon and Nessa are well rested, and supplied with twenty-days' worth of food and supplies. The only challenge now lies in carefully, but hastily, crossing the river." He grasped her arm tightly, the urgency in his face growing. "We cannot stop."
"I will be fine." She drew her hooded cloak over her head and wrapped it closer to her body.
Legolas looked doubtful. "The water is will be cold, but you must concentrate on moving as quick as possible. I can guarantee that we will be spotted and pursued for at least two miles, but we can lessen the chances of a close chase if we move swiftly when it is of greatest importance." He gave her a firm nod, and without further delay they sprang hastily to the banks.
Legolas waded through the frigid water with little sense of the coldness. Not once did he look back— he was without time to do so, and his concentration was lying so heavily on his strength that he had not the wits to check her state.
Niélawen braced herself as she tread through the river with more reluctance and lessened speed. As she splashed through the shallow edge there was little effect on her, but as she hit a steep realm of the riverbed, an unforgettable pain that froze her blood in an instant shot through her legs and up to her waist and immediately rendered her stiff and frail.
She cried out as her blood continued to solidify quicker than hot water in freezing air, but she managed to guide her body through the strong currents with the pulling action of her arms in the air, though the steady loss of feeling was beginning to take severe effect.
Ahead of her, Legolas plunged his body into the deepest section of water, and he swam vigorously against the powerful movement of the river. Niélawen became faint as she watched the distance between them grow, and she made the most severe mistake of halting momentarily.
Her voice was raspy as though frost lined the interior of her parched throat. She inhaled and exhaled heavily, but her throat was dry and it burned to breathe in the winter air. "No," she muttered in alarm as her legs numbed completely. She shook them frantically, but the very attempt was as difficult as lifting twice her weight. "Legolas, help me!" she yelled.
"Swim!" he hollered with a brief acknowledgment over his shoulder, his face periodically bobbing in and out of the water. "You have nowhere to go but forward! Now move!"
Niélawen took in a deep, shuddered breath, shut her eyes, and ignored the immobility that had completely consumed her limbs and was gradually increasing in influence upon her entire body. She immersed herself up to the throat into the deepest realms of the water. A strangled gasp escaped her lips, and for a moment everything flashed black. Her head felt as though it was swelling from the painful cold, and there was great stress on her mind as her brain uselessly commanded the rest of her organs to stay in operation.
"Niélawen!" Legolas' voice was faint far ahead of her. He was now treading through the shallows, peering over his shoulder in haste. He tossed her bag to the shore, and looked to the high Gate imbedded in the mountainside, and his heart raced. "Come on!" he yelled to her, and his legs suddenly and unintentionally became in command of his whole body as he pushed back toward the deep, wildly churning river. "Swim!" he screamed as he waded through the water as strongly as he could.
From so far off he knew little of what he was watching. Niélawen drew in a breath as she absently treaded water, growing stiller and looking to be near hopelessness. No doubt she was more than just cold— her heavy garments added ten additional pounds to her light body. Legolas rushed further into the water, but judging by her state she would not make it much further and so it was likely he would not reach her before she lost consciousness in the depths. "Swim, Niélawen! You cannot stop, you have to swim!" he screamed frantically as the water rose to his shoulders. He glanced briefly toward the Gate which was visible ahead, and when he peered back, the water was still. There was nothing but vapor and dark, unrelenting currents in his path.
But the water churned beneath him, and a shadow lingered near his legs. Instantly relieved that Niélawen had clearly found the strength to make it through the most treacherous region of the river, he was still too panicked to be ginger with her. He snatched her from the depths by her hood, pulling her through the freezing water with only a small bit of her own effort wading them through. He swore under his breath as he dragged her through the shallows and over the bank. He forced her gruffly to her feet, but she could hardly stand on her own. She was half alert, but yet very distant, and suffering from a deadly shiver.
He took a last glimpse over his shoulder to the dark, looming Gate, staring fearfully at it as though it were some brooding storm threatening to spill over to a dreadful degree of inevitable power. With his perpetual strength he lifted her over his shoulder, carried her the short distance to the uneasy horses, and lifted her atop Nessa's back. He hastily wrapped a heavy blanket around her body, leapt upon Turgon, and with control of both steeds he led them away through the forest with unrelenting speed that he knew grimly would have to endure for the many miles that faced them ahead.