It seemed to Legolas the windstorm had relented for a while, leaving the air thick and dusty despite the growing chill that came with the approach of nightfall. His throat was dry from breathing in the grime, and his skin and garments were soiled with glittering fragments of dirt and sand. It was only when at last he slowed from his tireless run that he noticed what vigor he had upheld for innumerable miles. His destination stood right before his feet.
Two keeps shed their darkness upon him as he paced from one foot to the other and took a much deserved moment of stillness to consider his whereabouts. He surveyed the scene a fair distance ahead; at least a hundred steep-roofed dwellings gave shape to a perfectly dimensioned town. Further on, situated at the city's southern-most end and centered with the main road that separated the community, he saw what appeared to be a high-walled estrangement— less regal than a citadel but seemingly likewise in purpose in that it sheltered something within. However, he had already seen all this from afar as he had made his way across the plains, and so what was now left to be discovered could wait until he crossed the threshold. He had found civilization and a last resort for immediate assistance in his desperate hour. His mind was exhausted and still too hard-pressed with the matters at hand to care about much else.
His eyes gazed pensively over his shoulder and across the empty flatlands for the first time since he had left Turgon's side, and his feet, as if alive by their own will, moved him from the shadows to face him north-west where he had come. A part of him still held a deep and excruciating sense of regret for what he had done. Leaving one very dear to him to pursue another seemed very wrong to him, whether that companion was human or not.
A warning stirred him back to his senses. Feeling the unannounced presence of another, he sharply drew his attention to one of the guard towers. From within emerged a bronze-scaled sentinel who observed the Elf below with darkly outlined eyes. Alarm written deeply in the lines of his forehead, Legolas swiveled promptly to fully take in the image before him on stable feet, should his cautious rigidity fail him and the urge to act out of instinct— to immediately destroy what he knew was his enemy— rule over him.
The dragon-like armor caught his attention at once, and he knew his foe without having to set his eyes upon the face concealed beneath the red scarf. This was a town of the Easterlings, the dreaded dwellers of Rhûn and devoted servants of Sauron, who owned the skill and motive to create such work. The sentinel, less armored than a regular soldier, leaned over the railing, displaying a polearm in one of his gloved hands. The weapon was a vicious creation, bearing a serrated blade that caught the orange light as it was spun tediously on its wooden shaft, a means of both amusement and inducing discomfort.
Eithne had warned Legolas well— perhaps too vaguely for his moment of brashness, but she had told him nonetheless: they live by the ways of Rhûn. He knew at once this was one enemy he did not wish to know more of beyond the cautioning tales his elders had fed him during all his long years.
Legolas' body was rigid as his hands fell to his sides. Taking one breath to brace his concentration, he walked a straight path toward the town that lay ahead, serene in his attempt to disregard the first embodiment of great hatred that surrounded him. The sentinel leered after him, slowly circling the railing atop the guard tower to follow the Elf's footsteps. Had Legolas been some unwitting soul bearing the bow, the quiver of three arrows, and the deadly skills he himself possessed to wield such weapons, he would have seen both steely eyes rendered useless. Never in his life— even in the brooding woods of his homeland— did he so hate being watched.
A heavy gust blew across the very small, empty field that stood between the watchtowers and the city. Though the storm had died, such were the winds that ruled the plains, as he now realized. The road beneath his feet was hardly a road at all, but instead merely hard-packed earth. However, as the outlying structures neared, his boots crossed onto a real street paved with large, flat slabs of contrasting, earthen stones. A number of people sauntered in the streets a safe distance away, and it appeared they had not yet taken note of his presence.
He peered over his shoulder and looked back longer than he intended. The watch tower he had previously passed now bore a long wooden rod atop its railing that rose taller than the dark, steep roof. A lengthy and ravaged flag flapped atop the shaft in the developing wind, slowly billowing with a brooding effect against the pastel-tinted sky like running blood. Legolas knew it had not been there beforehand, and realized his passage was officially under close guard.
The town seemed faultless in its engineering, nothing misplaced or scattered unevenly. Every structure was a product of fine architecture; every tiny dwelling was given meticulous detail in its construction and all walls were built from great bricks of either stone or sun-hardened earth. They seemed to have been built for the purpose of withstanding the torrents of winds that frequently terrorized the plains, yet despite their solid, hardy exteriors they were greatly lavished with beautiful shrubbery and even wildflowers, small additions that served to take the attention away from the barren landscape. Every roof was identical, all of them high-peaked and steep-edged and covered by dark, rounded cedar shades that had long since faded to a dull grey color. Legolas was both bewildered and impressed. It was strange to him such a community had never found its place on a map.
The roads were solid, though they had seen their share of weathering over what Legolas judged to be many years of existence. The materials offered by the earth, particularly the soil and the stone, had been used in much of the town's construction— an indication of some efficiency among the inhabitants— yet there were other contributing resources that the land could not provide unless heavy trading occurred all across the plains. The town's foundation, after all, was nothing more than a barren field of dead grass and dry, hard-packed earth.
It took but a moment after his entrance for him to be detected by onlookers. Conversations halted and many stopped to point and gape his way, and he immediately felt unwelcome. Nearly every face bore a sallow complexion, dark locks, and even darker eyes. There were a number of faces of such a dark skin tone they were nearly ebony. He strode quietly and unassumingly passed the hushed crowds, most of which parted a clear road for him to go through. The air was thick with unease.
As he continued down the wide street, all eyes caught sight of the Elven bow, quiver, and two pearlescent scabbards clinging to holsters and leather straps upon his back, ready for immediate use. Several of the onlookers draped their garments across their faces as they left the scene and retreated through narrow streets between dwellings, seeming to anticipate a forthcoming confrontation not theirs to be a part of. Legolas peered passed his shoulder for but a moment, and a number of women, similarly dressed in many layers of richly colored fabrics, left at the mere sight of his harmless gaze, despite being visibly undaunted. It was if they were acting out of obedience.
Shadows danced upon the lifeless street as he made his way through the town, relying on the main road to keep him from losing his way. He had no time to spare on curiosity. He needed transportation, but his new problem seemed to lie in the community that was lacking any form of hospitality toward a stranger such as him. The task of finding a stable and a swift horse to borrow would be a difficult undertaking on his own.
The further he treaded, the more people there were. The buildings on either side of him grew taller and more heavily populated, and most looked to be shops rather than homes. Given a greater number of onlookers in the area, there seemed to be less attention focused on him—much to his relief. Yet there were plenty of curious murmurs filling the air, hushed words all spoken in the Common Tongue but altered by rich accents rooted in a language he was unfamiliar with. As he reached the heart of the crowd, many people quite instantly took notice of him, their sallow faces showing little expression other than suspicion as they studied him. Though their eyes held no fear, they retreated beneath their silky garments and headscarves and indifferently took to the back roads without causing a stir. Indeed, as in the stories Legolas had once heard, they were a fearless folk, even without their terrible armor and weapons. Clearly they were far too proud of the reputation they upheld to falter outside of war— perhaps, to them, fear could never be a quality of the feared, even in their ordinary streets.
As the crowds began to clear in a fashion too disciplined to be natural, a great flurry of dust clouded the town, persuading all the rest to leave, and whether it was because of the bothersome wind or the sight of golden hair whirling about in the open, a great number retreated.
They wanted him to be spotted, Legolas quickly realized— marked, as he was, an invader of their domain. It occurred to him now that the red flag had called the people to duty.
Legolas ambled to a halt, suddenly aware of a new movement along the back roads to his right. His eyes widened as he gazed through spaces between wandering bodies. The tips of jagged bronze were distinct in the light. The crests of helmets worn by a small, advancing group rose above the passing bodies around him, and the sight of underlying red garments fluttering beneath sections of bronze scales put him on greater guard.
Whether they intended to approach him tactfully, or resort to cornering him in their own arena, he could not know. But something told him not to stop. Could he so easily trust a notoriously war-like culture to settle matters in peace? He highly doubted the thought.
He walked on at an even pace, looking to his left to catch a passing glimpse of another armored quartet rounding a corner from the back roads. His eyes narrowed ahead severely— another distraction to toy with his patience. The few people who were left dispersing in the streets made careful efforts to avoid the Elven wanderer. His path was clear.
A small group of young, under-dressed women flashed enticing smiles his way as they passed— the first individuals he came upon who did not attempt to disregard him. But they were not the only ones to get uncomfortably close to him as they passed. Two dark-haired, sallow-skinned fellows in simple attire seemed to be heading urgently in his direction. At the very last minute, their paces slowed. Legolas stared into their dark eyes as he proceeded, brandishing his fearlessness. Once the men realized at the last minute the Elf was not intending to stop, they were split from their side-by-side position as Legolas cut through them— but one of the two, tall and middle-aged, locked a cold and venomous gaze upon Legolas as the Elf passed, then acknowledged someone ahead; someone trailing a mere few feet behind the Elf.
Footsteps slowed and hushed words were exchanged. Legolas walked on solidly, for near ahead was an intersection in the road, a convenient means of escaping the scrutiny of his distrustful followers. However, he knew the possibility of some confrontation was still very likely to occur before he could reach this crossroad.
But there was no interruption of any kind. The road ahead of him was clear save for some passing civilians who continued to demonstrate a great lack of friendliness. With this, it took a mere moment to reach his point of retreat.
His thoughts were suddenly filled with the recurring image of the deep red signaling banner that still hailed in the sky like a vicious wound. It was a sight that would not leave him, for to him it was a message of waiting peril ahead. The road would long be unsafe…
Legolas randomly chose the east-road of the intersection. Prior to breaking away from the leering eyes at his back, he examined the scene across his shoulder. Three armor-clad soldiers were strenuously marching the distance outside the settlement toward the guard towers, while the unadorned yet authoritative men he had passed earlier conversed severely with the remaining soldiers. Only one face of these men would linger long in his mind, and with particular clarity now that the man had suddenly retrieved a long scimitar and clutched it eagerly in his dark, ashen hands.
Legolas felt no anxiety in the need to hide from every unfamiliar face, but was instead feeling more driven with determination. He presumed there was no help to be sought in the outer edge of the town— his destination lied beyond the walls of the barrack ahead. He would reach it with greater haste and greater stealth than they could anticipate, and if it meant spilling the blood of any who dared to look for trouble, he would not hesitate.
The sun was half set and already they had claimed every street. Great numbers of armor-clad men as well as cleverly disguised soldiers had quickly amassed from the inner walls within minutes of being dispatched. Now, all of them sought for the lone Elf who was wandering in their territory.
Clinging to the rough brick wall of his refuge, Legolas saw all from the first-floor roof of the two-story dwelling he was perched upon. His grey jerkin served well to conceal him alongside the dark wall, and he melted into the shadows. Countless men were hunting him, all of them bearing arms and ambling casually along every road, but there was only one he concentrated on; only one man that had unconsciously led him thus far to the barrack ahead…only one man who would get him inside it.
The scimitar flickered in the sun's glare as the man swiveled away unknowingly from Legolas' watchful eyes, approached the main road, and proceeded onward. Raising himself to his feet from his crouched position, Legolas leapt from the edge of the roof and landed soundlessly against a single-leveled building, guiding himself with his hand against the smooth, rounded tiles as he shambled toward the next reachable rooftop.
The men were confused— every one of them. They had, without doubt, ensured every path to be clear at least twice, yet finding naught but empty streets had quickly caused them frustration and disorientation. Legolas observed the armored soldier who had just appeared below him, watching as the man sharply wheeled about in every direction, polearm warily close as though waiting to be waylaid, before he cursed under his breath in a strange language unheard of to Legolas and changed direction down another street.
Close ahead, Legolas' target conversed with another visibly irritated sentinel.
"Third rounds," the man told the guard indifferently, his voice rolling with his strong, eccentric accent. At times Legolas could not even hope to discern any words, regardless of how close he came to the man.
An ill-tempered grunt followed. "But he is not here."
"You'll listen to your Captain," the man whispered coldly, flaunting his title. "He is here. Now get out of my face and do your job right."
It took no more than that. No others stopped him to complain, all of them now too busy searching the town a third time to spare a plea in his presence. With the walls of the barracks closing in quicker than Legolas had anticipated, he realized the critical part of his task would soon follow.
Built with rough stone blocks comparable to the rest of the dwellings in the town, the walls were quite high. Legolas perched himself upon the highest rooftop as close to the barrack as he could manage. The dark man had halted before a great wooden gateway and was waiting for one of its doors to open far enough for his passage. Legolas waited carefully. Atop the great wall sauntered an armed guard, alone but very alertly on duty. On each of the four corners of these walls was built a sturdy watchtower rising not much taller than the walls themselves. This was no heavily armed fortress he faced, and for that he was grateful. All he needed was a clear path to take a leap and then climb whatever distance he wouldn't be able to reach by jumping.
The gate on his far right rumbled on its great hinges, and the walking sentinel atop the walls passed through the dark archway into the nearest tower. The way was clear. Legolas backed far from the edge of the roof for a running start, sprinted softly across the cedar shades, and took flight.
He only made it far enough for his one arm to hug the wall's railing. He lithely climbed a small distance of the rough stone until his free hand could also seize hold of the ledge, and from there he pulled the rest of his body over the rough frame. His light boots landed with a sharp sigh against the stone as they reached solid foundation, and he immediately darted to his right, moving stealthily along the wall in the direction of the gate. The watch on the barrack was not heavy within and so he passed along the edge of the stronghold and onto the nearest roof without detection.
Atop the dwelling's high peak, he gazed over the fantastic sight before him. The wide, central street was lined with greatly elongated structures; narrow windows sent forth sparks while others emitted the unmistakable clash of steel upon steel— blacksmith shops in great numbers. Storehouses were gathered in clusters in the midst of all the buildings and houses, with numerous horse and mule-drawn carts parked in front. Other structures were filled with lively music and laughter, all buildings having uniquely narrow windows of a stylized craft gleaming brightly with golden light from within. The vicinity within the walls was nowhere near colossal, yet there were enough buildings contained inside to support a fair-sized and flourishing community.
Situated passed the halfway mark of the enclosed area and directly in line with the main road stood a lone structure bearing obvious importance. Steep-roofed and with a single-storey floor plan, it was of a wide, U-shaped construction, and since the foundation of the dwelling was raised, the entire front of the structure was lined with three flights of flat, broad steps. The two thick branches of the building that extended behind were adjoined with yet another dividing wall. All was blocked from this point, and though the walls were much smaller than those surrounding this central area, they did not look easy to climb. It was also very clearly, even from afar, more heavily guarded. All Legolas could see beyond those walls were the peaks of more roofs and some flickering lights.
A familiar voice brought him back to his focused task. His targeted man strode the open street and was being accompanied by an armored guard.
"Barid, milord, the streets are bare. Do we have your permission to go door-to-door? The people may have information."
Barid. At last, Legolas had a name for him. He looked on as his man came to an abrupt halt and muttered close to the soldier's ear.
"This business is ours—and Hers— not the people's."
"But surely many of them have already seen the Elf on the streets. If we just—"
"No." There was a length of silence. Their voices grew much quieter, and Legolas was forced to abandon the roof and take to the shadows of the back streets in order to get closer and listen better to the conversation. "No…Let no one leave these streets unless they have been searched and questioned. He must have crawled his way deep into this town to have passed our guard already…" Barid sent the man off with a nod and an aggressive pat on the shoulder and proceeded down the dimly lit street. He had the walk of a very confident man, his strides long and leisurely— as though there was nothing that could stand in his way or strike him down. Perhaps it was being enclosed in the heavy walls that provided him with a feeling of security— this confidence would be his first mistake.
Legolas watched Barid with a keen eye from every crack between structures until the man had turned from the main road and treaded between buildings. Legolas found his way through the shadows, using the nearby echo of feet on stone to guide him and keep him on his intended trail until the time was right.
The way was clear, for even with the small amount of light in the sky, the streets remained calm where he was. He rounded a corner and brushed against a wall, listening for the footsteps. They were the only noise in the still air, and they approached briskly. As Legolas intended, he was several steps ahead of Barid.
He reached for a knife from the scabbard at his back, the sharp and narrow blade brushing against its containment as it was slowly drawn. Legolas' target strode passed, and the Elf emerged at Barid's heels and seized him in mid-step, the Elven blade held close against the stubble flesh of the man's throat.
Though visibly startled, Barid cleared his throat and lifted his chin indignantly. It seemed he knew the identity of his captor. "Only cowards strike from behind."
With his free hand, Legolas gruffly snatched the scimitar from the man's left grasp.
"Are you going to cut me down with my own weapon?" Barid inquired, his voice devoid of fear.
Legolas lowered the Elvish blade from Barid's throat and sheathed it. He transferred the scimitar into his fighting hand and observed it before him. "Whether it is my weapon or yours I use, it does not matter… You'd be dead all the same." The man's weapon possessed a curved blade of steel with bronze completing the sword in a unique guard, handgrip, and pommel. The scimitar was a heavy weapon and Barid looked to be a formidable wielder, for though he was of equal height to Legolas he was visibly hardier in build. "You will have no use for this. I do not intend to kill unless I absolutely must."
The man swiveled around to face his assailant and indifferently tightened the scrap of red material that bound his black, shoulder-length hair. He made a face, furrowing his dark brows. "I don't care what your intentions are."
"I do not ask for you to care, just to obey," Legolas replied with a frown. He already despised this Barid. "You seem to know your way around here well enough for my use. Cooperation is all I can demand of you, seeing as there is far too much work needed on your temperament than I can afford with my time…" He eyed the man unkindly and stepped aside, gesturing toward a shadowy back road with the man's weapon. "Walk."
They had not ambled long through the chill darkness that hung between the buildings before a fit of rambunctious laughter and applause burst from an open window of a lengthy structure sitting alongside the back road they trekked. Golden light shone from every narrow window of this building, lighting up the empty street.
Legolas acknowledged Barid with a stern face, but the man was no fool. He kept quiet and, without much concern in any case, continued on submissively.
Legolas peered through the windows as he walked, catching sight of a large gathering of dark-haired men surrounding two young individuals wobbling drunkenly on a table. The air reeked of strong liquor. One of the men guzzled down a mug, his lack of perception causing him to spill most of it down his hairless face and neck, while the other took advantage of the perfect opportunity to knock down his opponent. In an instant, as Legolas saw through the final window that he passed, they toppled off the table in a groaning heap, liquor showering the roaring spectators all around them.
He gazed ahead with a raised brow, trying to decide what might be an appropriate reaction for what he'd seen. Ahead of him, Barid shook with light laughter. Certainly it was easy for Legolas to spare a simple grin after witnessing such drunken stupidity, but quickly after he invested some thought into it. He was learning more about the notorious warlords with every step he took, and he trusted it would all serve to his advantage in the end, whenever that was to come.
Barid slowed and waved his hand down a road on his right. Legolas came to stand at his side and surveyed the scene ahead. The main road was in view at the end of their path. "We must go this way," Barid explained to him. "Around the corner is where you will find your help."
"A stable?" Legolas inquired expectantly, gesturing Barid forward.
"Not exactly a stable, but someone who can grant you access to one."
At the thought of stepping into the open where threatening eyes could be lingering, Legolas gazed far passed his shoulder and in the direction they had just come. He sought for the billowing red flag above the roofs, wondering if it still stood, but could not see it beyond the high walls that divided the town.
"Why are there none of your men searching these streets?"
"We do not expect anyone to scale our walls," Barid replied dryly.
Legolas made a puzzled face and grinned at the statement. Scaling walls…? "Well, if that's the word…" He sighed, recalling a thought he wanted to confirm. "The red flag… it was raised for me, was it not?"
"Yes," Barid answered. "You are the reason for the warning. Everyone has been called to seek out any wanderer that does not look like the rest of us and identify them to my men." He turned his head sideways so that he acknowledged Legolas from the corner of his eye. "You're expected."
Legolas narrowed his eyes to the ground as he thought hard. How could they have known he was coming? There had been no sight of any scout along the way and no one around could have triggered his whereabouts… unless he had been deceived.
The thought of Eithne or her father lying to him seemed too wrong to believe, and so he refused to. They had both truly cared for him.
Who else, then, knew of his coming?
Barid suddenly spoke aloud, waking Legolas from his concentration. "That is how we go about communicating here. No heralds, just flags to bear urgent messages to the people. As for the horn, we use that for expected outsiders… or in your case, unwelcome ones." Barid brushed a dangling piece of his thick, straight hair from his face as he approached the corner— the entrance to the main road. "There's a disadvantage to everything."
Barid scanned left and right, and he and Legolas exited the back street. No longer confined to shadows and thick air, Legolas noticed a great change upon the open streets after having been parted from the open for so long. A distinct blue-gray light had replaced the warm colors of the setting sun and the air had grown cooler. Barid regarded the Elf with a sharp gesture of his head.
As Legolas followed in suit, a crisp breeze cooled his skin. It brought a peaceful feeling to him, and he wished there was time to sit and take advantage of something he had not felt in many days.
The area was quiet despite a backdrop of music, laughter, and rowdy cheers from randomly scattered buildings down the way. In the distance, a dog barked wildly into the darkening night. Down the main street, Barid was leading Legolas further into the heart of the town and, it seemed, nearer to the prestigious-looking structure that brought an immediate end to the central road.
"You spoke of dealing with outsiders earlier," Legolas began purely out of curiosity. "That would suggest you do business with traders, then. Who is there to trade with in these parts?"
"Anyone that comes to us seeking honest business— and the business only comes to us. Rarely do we ever need to venture across the plains for supplies. We have men coming from Rhûn, the far south, desperate stragglers from the west, the Old Settler—"
"Who?" Legolas cut in.
Barid halted and turned to Legolas. He was growing annoyed with all the questions, and it showed on his broad, sallow face. "The old man that lives on the outskirts of the western forest with his two daughters. Unfriendly and miserable thing he is— he doesn't divulge his name or that of his family's, or where he comes from— but he gets good business and he isn't a crook." Barid stretched his arms behind his back and rested his hands on the edge of his belt. "But it never hurts to know who these lot are, you know. There are a lot of rewards for the heads of some runaways, former members of the revolts that plagued this city years ago. All that is needed is outside information to tell us he's one of them, but otherwise there is no reason for us to lose our business with the man by acting out of suspicion and raiding his barricade, looting his storehouse, and stealing away that nice older daughter of his." He bit the end of his tongue with wickedness in his dark eyes. He raised his brows briefly. "You like women?"
Legolas swallowed, recalling again the fair face of Eithne, her father, their peaceful refuge behind their makeshift walls, little Ayan playing in the lush grass that only grew in the flourishing sanctuary they called home… He was suddenly very worried for them. "Take me where I need to go," he demanded sternly.
Barid grimaced, shook his head, and reluctantly started forward again. Somewhat to Legolas' surprise, the flat, wide steps of the prestigious building stood before their feet.
Legolas remembered the appearance of the structure from when he had first set eyes upon it in the distance. The stone blocks of its outer walls were evenly carved and smoothly surfaced, and the stone stairway was just as well kept. Straight ahead and sitting in the shadow cast by the overhanging roof was one entrance; a single, dark-stained wooden door with a strong, solid bronze handle crafted into a sharp, triangular design. Many windows lined the front of the dwelling, and most of them were either covered by wooden shutters painted black or left open with gossamer drapes riffling gently in the faintest of breezes. It had a neat and very well-cared look to it.
Barid had already climbed the low flight of stairs by the time Legolas returned to his senses. "I'll be announcing you before you enter," he stated indifferently, and passed between two of the numerous wood pillars before escaping through the wide doorway.
Legolas waited anxiously in the openness of the street. The wind had suddenly picked up from the east, howling as it fought against the outer walls with only a mild draft escaping the stone barrier to give some life to the streets. He lifted his eyes to the sky and was suddenly drawn to the east where a collection of menacing clouds moved west with haste. At their rate of travel, he was certain they would bring another terrible windstorm. He had to make certain Turgon was safe in his care before then.
After a short time Barid sauntered down the steps, chewing on the inside of his cheek. He, too, took the initiative of observing the sky while he approached Legolas, and his eyes narrowed at the clouds with resent as he shook his head. After he descended the stairs, it seemed as though he was going to walk right passed the Elf without any acknowledgement. But he ambled to a halt at Legolas' side, rubbing his rough chin with his callused hand as he was once again drawn to the skies in the east. "She'll see you."
Feeling Barid had done his part, Legolas held the man's scimitar aloft, pommel facing upwards for its rightful owner to reclaim.
Barid snatched it without a moment's delay and watched as Legolas advanced up the stairway. He grinned challengingly. "You're not afraid I'll use it against you in the time it takes you to climb those stairs?"
The Elf peered over his shoulder as he ascended, bearing a small smile and an amused flicker in his eye. "Not in the least, Barid."
"I never told you my name," the man replied in a dark voice, his smirk fading as his forehead creased in bewilderment.
Legolas continued without a word until the cold shadow of the overhanging roof touched his face. When he turned around for the last time, Barid's lips had again twitched into the faintest of smirks, knowing and very unsettling.
"I'll be seeing you again soon, golug." Barid swiveled around and departed from the street.
Legolas' feet froze on the stone foundation for a long while, the smile upon his own lips having vanished immediately after hearing the word. Golug… Barid had spoken to him in the tongue of the Dark Lands. Even if Legolas had not known any word of the language or had never heard its harshness uttered in his presence, the brief shiver it sent over his skin would have done just as well to indicate a mere breath of evil had just been cast upon him. Many times in his homeland he had heard Orcs spit and sneer that very word to him and his comrades in disdain. Elf, it meant, and no more than that, but it was only used with the desire to see a troubled reaction. Barid's intention could not have been any different.
As Legolas passed from stone and onto the smooth oak flooring of the dwelling's interior, the air grew warm but the light around him remained dim. Immediately there was a strong aroma of foreign spices filling his nose, a product of some culinary creation being prepared in a nearby room. He entered the small square space, empty except for a crackling fireplace at the far wall and three chairs situated in the center of the floor: two of these stood side by side while the third sat across from them, bearing a small polished table at its side. The dark, wood-paneled walls were bare but for two narrow, shutter-covered windows on either side of the fireplace, and the floor was impeccably clean. Despite looking dull and sterile, the room had a calming effect on him, and he felt increasingly tempted to sit and gather his thoughts in the glow of the warm fire.
Soft footsteps approached on his right. He turned sharply to meet the long and gracefully defined bronze face of a dark haired, middle-aged woman almost equal in height to him. She was drying her hands with a thick crocheted towel.
Legolas hastily dipped his head low in greeting. The slender woman's deep, auburn eyes lit up as her voluptuous lips curved into a smile of delight and wonderment. "Goodness," she breathed, her hands falling to her sides. When he lifted his gaze to her, her glowing smile widened even further until it creased the outer corners of her eyes. Somehow, he knew that same smile… "I was not expecting you to arrive so soon."
Her elation puzzled him. It seemed there was nothing for him to do but stand silently on the spot while she beamed at him with twinkling eyes, and his body language proved his discomfort.
Towel in hand, she clasped her fingers together cheerfully. "Welcome. My name is Sedda." In her voice there was only a slight trace of an eastern accent - very discreet in comparison to that of Barid. "This is my home and my town in which you stand. That is why you have been brought to me, if you are still unaware."
Legolas bit his cheek. Would he ever get to where he needed to be? "I was told you have horses to loan."
"Is that how Barid got you here?" Sedda frowned, but she was quite visibly amused and tried to hide it. "He is only dependable to whomever he serves and toward a cause that would cost him his neck if he failed. I apologize on his behalf, I did not ask him to deceive you, but under my orders you were to be brought here." Seeing the worried glint in the Elf's eyes, she quickly assured him, "But do not fret, I do have horses, and I do intend to help you. In the meantime, you are most welcome here. But—" Her attention slipped past his shoulder. "— I'm afraid such weapons are not."
He considered the request with uncertainty. She was utterly mad to think he was submissive enough to surrender his weapons to a stranger. With that, he did not show any acknowledgement of her demand.
Sedda's face became grave. "You hesitate over a matter of diplomacy? Do you think I intend to use that bow against you? And as for those knives— I could not even throw one at you from where I stand." She pursed her thick lips and continued with deliberate slowness, "Let me assure you, you're quite safe leaving them with me. Rest your toys on that chair and we will get you settled. Or you may eat first— I've prepared enough dinner for three and I do expect you to eat while you sit under my roof." She winked, despite the rest of her face remaining stern. "I hope you like to eat."
Legolas pressed his jaw and exhaled heavily. All the interruptions coming his way were beginning to test his limits. "I was told you could help me. Can you, or not?"
She seemed unfazed by his assertiveness. "I can, yes. My horses are stabled across the road on the left side of the house. But I will not leave you to go off on your own."
"I'm no thief."
Her forehead wrinkled as she raised her dark brows and flashed him a half-grin. "I never said you were! Have you not seen those clouds in the distance? A storm is coming. The wind has already picked up. You will need easy access in and out of this town as well as assistance along the plains when the storm does come." Slightly rigid, she moved across the room, tossing her crocheted towel onto a chair as she strode to the front door. "I will gather some men to take you where you are headed. Leave your weapons on a seat there and follow me… unless you actually think you can continue your task without my help?" She halted at the doorway and eyed him with condescending doubt, knowing very well he would follow.
And with no less reservation, he did.
Sedda's stable housed a great number of impressive horses, all of them highly valued judging by the security that was constantly maintained within and around the perimeter of the stable.
Sedda had sent a messenger to seek out a particular group of men within the city and left Legolas with the generously offered duty of choosing the horse he wished to ride. All the while a tall and ebony-skinned man kept watch at the entrance of the stable, leaning up casually against the doorway while puffing blue smoke from a pipe and making visible the thick bladed scimitar dangling from his belt. He was undoubtedly a man of Harad descent.
Legolas paced the three long corridors of the stable in the glow of torches, convincing the plainly dressed sentinel he was actually concentrating on his selection when his thoughts were instead elsewhere.
As he walked along at a leisurely pace, he observed every horse with interest. It was evident they had all sat idly for some time, for though they were very strong, they also looked very well-fed and were immaculately groomed. What need was there for so many horses if they were so rarely put to use? To Legolas, the great array of beasts seemed more like a collection than anything else; beautiful, well-cared for horses at constant rest… did they have any use?
But suddenly there were a number of thoughts that occurred to him. The town was surrounded by a barren landscape— therefore there were certainly farms to tend. As had been mentioned before, the business of trade came to the town— they would need no horses to be dragged across distant lands with precious cargo. He could only muster two possibilities: the horses were either used as merchandise in trade... or for an army's cavalry.
But there was no war… yet. Or perhaps that was precisely the town's mentality. However, horses without trained riders would be useless to hand off to an army, and a country such as Rhûn bearing a strong reputation for its excellent cavalry would know as much. Where, then, were the riders… within the town? There was something very wrong and unsettling about the thought. He never suspected the town of any business but trade— mustering an army in a small settlement, in the middle of nowhere, was absurd… wasn't it?
Suddenly loud voices stirred the silence outside and forced him out of thought. A number of shadowy shapes drifted passed the narrow windows lining the stone walls of the stable, and Legolas strode to the wide door to meet those who approached.
Seven men entered the building, none of them so much as acknowledging the sentinel who was visibly intimidated by their presence. Five were of Easterling descent, one of Harad, and one who looked to be a mix of the two. There were clean shaven heads and some that bore thick, black, straight hair as long as Legolas', but what they all had alike were tall, narrow builds and broad, bony faces set with steely eyes. As they caught sight of the Elf approaching from the left, they silenced their conversations and examined him with a blatant lack of kindness.
After a length of silence, one of the men nudged a fellow at his side and they all immediately dispersed down each corridor to claim their horses. The stable was quickly filled with a stir of activity as horses were saddled and escorted out of their stalls. All the men conversed in the Common Speech, but when more than two eyes fell upon Legolas, very brief words were uttered in the harsh and mysterious tongue he only heard spoken once in the town… a language that seemed to perfectly suit the accent heard among the townspeople.
"Oi— pretty-boy!" one of the men jeered to Legolas from inside a stall at the end of the corridor. "You'll be needing a horse, I think!"
Legolas glanced randomly to his left. The first stall that caught his eye housed a beautiful and noble mount— a russet brown mare with a gentle face— peering out from her stall. He reached out his hand and stroked her muzzle, indicating his choice.
A second fellow grunted as he dressed himself in another layer of garments, looking well prepared for the perilous venture that soon awaited them. "She's a vivacious one." He smirked to the others and bellowed, "Loose like our women!"
The corridor rang with great cheers from all the men in range. Legolas quickly distracted himself with untying the horse, hoping to conceal the spark of resentment in his eyes. It seemed with every moment, there was something new to feed his fear. He prayed again Niélawen was safe…
There was far too much on his mind— too many worries running through his head all at once. For the time, he could only think of Turgon. Afterwards, there would be time to hope Niélawen had not befallen some terrible fate he could only envision in his darkest thoughts. He hoped she would know to fight back if she had to…
When all was prepared, the seven men rode their horses from the stable, caring little if the Elf mingled amongst them or trailed behind— so long as he did not attempt to lead. Every one of them looked at him strangely as he handled the dark mare without a saddle, but they made no comment to him. The small party halted before the steps of Sedda's dwelling at the end of the main road, where those who were not fully dressed for the oncoming storm could use their last opportunity to do so.
Every man was attired in many layers of light materials with a thin scarf wrapped around each head, meant to cover the eyes when blowing dust threatened to blind them. For the moment, they were drawn back, covering everything but their dark eyes. In his weather-beaten Elven garbs and nothing more, Legolas knew the men were laughing beneath the drapes that bound their faces.
A distant sound of rustling wind and dry earth against stone filled the virtually noiseless air. A great gust followed, whistling furiously between structures. Legolas and those whose backs stood against the oncoming noise turned in their saddles. A light brown cloud seeped through the dark streets and flowed into the openness of the main road. The men covered their eyes and turned their faces from the filthy wind. Their horses shifted below them, and only Legolas' dainty mare remained composed.
A weakness among the men had, at last, been revealed to him. They grew silent and whispered to each other from then on, quite visibly apprehensive.
"What are you all waiting for? Those horses won't ride themselves into an oncoming storm." Sedda gracefully descended the stairs from the entrance of her dwelling, bearing a pile of garments in her arms. She grinned. "They need fools like you to lead them."
Immediately, the woman's words brightened their spirits, and they chuckled appreciatively. Sedda sauntered toward Legolas, mounted bareback on his loaned horse, and she smiled at his choice.
"Paku is a fine ride for one of the Fair Folk. Her stamina is good— she will take you far at her greatest pace." Sedda scratched the mare's nose, curiously acknowledging her saddle-free back from the corner of her eye. But she made no comment on her thoughts. Then she pursed her lips and gazed up at Legolas, speaking quietly. "I do not know what drives you to do this, to very well risk your safety… and I will not ask now. I only hope that you will accept such tokens from me so that you have a decent chance of returning."
She lifted the garments that were folded neatly in her arms. Legolas reached out and dipped his head in thanks as he received them. Among these materials was a black scarf to cover his face, and so unflawed was its texture, color, and intricate gold embroidering, he was certain it had rarely been touched, if at all, since its making. There were also two maroon cloaks, one that was a sleeveless tunic which easily slipped over his head, and another that was thicker, long-sleeved, and had a bulky hood to conceal his golden head. Completing the ensemble was a sash and a pair of thick maroon gloves. Legolas clenched his teeth briefly, for despite Sedda's thoughtfulness in providing for him, he was only short an array of bronze armor from looking the part of an Easterling soldier.
Unbeknownst to Legolas, all of the men surrounding him gazed on with surprise and awe as he received the gifts from the revered woman.
Sedda leaned in close, stroking Paku's brown mane. "I wish greatly for you to return, for there are great matters at hand that will certainly be of interest to you." Her auburn eyes were wide and earnest. "You must come back alive, edhel." Her thick, loosely waved hair swayed against her back as she turned on her heels and climbed the broad stairs to her house, diminishing into the shadows within.
As Legolas rode through the streets alongside the search company, donning the layers of quality eastern materials, the building winds against his body were the least of his concerns. Still, he draped the black scarf over the lower half of his face, though he was the last of the company to do so. Wandering eyes from the cracks of partly open doors followed them as they passed along the street, until the outskirts had been reached and the brown cloud many miles to the east could be seen devouring the horizon.
With a great holler from a leader up front, the horses moved from their graceful canters to a vigorous gallop, the wind both aiding their ride north-west as well as working against them in the attempt to maintain their direction.
Legolas peered over his shoulder countless times as Paku flew across the plains, battling with great strength the periodic gusts that beat against the right side of her elegant figure. Legolas drove her forward, and she cut through the gaps between the other horses until she was in lead of the company. There, much to Legolas' surprise, the men let him stay.
The sky had fully darkened, not only because of the diminishing light but also from the thick dust that clouded the air. Their going was slow— the fastest pace they ever maintained was a weak trot— but it gave the company the ability to communicate amongst each other, despite having low-hanging heads to divert their eyes from the haphazard dirt particles.
The wind blew hard, and it never relented for longer than a few seconds. Legolas listened intently to all the life around him as Paku trotted strongly near the head of the line, now somewhat occupied by the grey-speckled mount that had joined their company.
Turgon had found only meager shelter in a wilting bush of dying grass and trees of stunted stature near to where he had been left, and it was there they found him. Only now could Legolas really see what toll the great journey had taken on Turgon. He looked less hardy than he had always been, and as he scuttled along his head hung low and his limbs quivered with each step. Legolas looked on with difficulty as he guided his companion by the loose end of the outer garment he had discarded in order to wrap about the horse's eyes. He stroked Turgon often and spoke to him in Elvish so that he would find some comfort in the sound of it. Of course, Paku was no less tender, and it seemed she knew without indication from Legolas when Turgon fell behind and needed for his guides to slow down.
Even as the wind tore at the men's garments and sent sharp pricks against their exposed skin, there was much discussion throughout the company. Legolas quickly realized they were a well-spoken bunch, obviously educated in what appeared to be a wide range of subjects. He found himself automatically drawn to their conversations, and listened intently for a long while.
"…The shipments will make it to town before the noon hour tomorrow. Word has it we are receiving a large one."
"Ahh, sounds like preparations are being made." A few of the men exchanged rather eager glances. "War is brewing."
"Then we better make the best of tomorrow night!" cried a different voice. The rest chuckled and nodded in agreement.
"Agh— Adriag has already helped himself. I found him boasting early this morning after I saw his evening appointment rush out at dawn." The man who spoke raised a brow and regarded those around him. "She was very pretty. Never seen her in our parts, mind you…"
"The aggressive man always wins… Foreign or not, it sounds like the women are learning at last."
The last torchlight in the stable was beginning to die, but he was not yet ready to leave Turgon's side. Now washed and well fed, the horse's large body was strewn across a hay bed within a stall designated to him and no others. Legolas leaned his head against the wall of the enclosure, rubbing his dirt-caked hands idly as Turgon's breaths began to slow with oncoming sleep. Outside, the howl of the storm gradually dissipated into a fierce breath throughout the streets.
The relative peace within the stable was suddenly disturbed by the grinding of an opening door and some approaching footsteps along the corridor. Legolas lifted his head in perfect timing as a man peered over the stall door, looking relieved to have finally found the Elf. He opened the gate.
"Sedda calls for you."
Legolas licked the corner of his mouth, feeling the grossly rough texture of dirt against his tongue. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve. Drawing his hood over his head, he ensured Turgon remained sleeping as he departed from the stallion's side.
"The storm is diminishing," the man informed Legolas before they exited the stable, but as they passed through the wide doorway of the structure a great wind beat against them and forced them to dash across the road without delay. Legolas climbed the broad steps to Sedda's door where the messenger parted from him, likely journeying home to call it a night.
Legolas crossed from the cold night air into the warmth of Sedda's dwelling, but all was as dark within just as it was outdoors. The light in the fireplace had diminished long ago, and only a pale glow lingered in the room at his right. He drew back his hood and passed through the archway, the scent of herbs even stronger than it had been hours earlier.
A low, square table sat in the center of the room with four welcoming seats along each side. There was a three-tiered pyramid-like structure as a centerpiece, and on each level was a small candle— only the four on the second level were lit. Two sets of plates and utensils had been assembled at the far corner of the table. As Legolas proceeded further into the small space, he noticed a second doorway leading to a conjoining room at the wall furthest away from him, where a shadow moved busily across the floor.
He ran his hands along the material which covered the seat nearest to him. "I received your message," he said carefully, so as not to alarm her.
Sedda emerged from the kitchen and lifted her brows in surprise, smiling slightly. "I did not even hear you enter!" She disappeared behind the wall again. "The food is not yet ready. You have plenty of time to wash before dinner."
"Dinner?"
Her face peered out briefly, looking puzzled. "Of course."
Legolas raised a brow. "I see," he quietly replied after a short pause.
Sedda frowned at his reaction, laying a hand on her hip. "You also have a room to stay in, if that happens to surprise you as well!" She eyed his dusty grey jerkin with distaste, turning up her nose to a smell Legolas assumed was of horses. "You have no where else to rest but the stable."
"The stable is—"
"Ah, don't tell me, I'm sure I already know your answer to that. After all, I doubt you would care to sleep much in any case… right?" She smirked smugly. "You need not answer, I know I am right. Which is fortunate for the both of us. There is much to discuss this night. But first, you must bathe. You're full of the plain's filth and I will not have any of it at my table." She snapped her fingers severely to the hand that rested upon the chair. "Touch nothing until you're clean."
Legolas withdrew his hands from the back of the cushioned seat and turned away rigidly, gladly exiting into the darkness without a word.
"Down the hall straight ahead," she called from the kitchen. "Fifth door on your left."
Legolas walked into the entrance hall and entered the corridor Sedda had directed him to. As he ventured down the narrow space filled with doors along the expanse of its left wall, he noticed a pair at the very end of the corridor. They had a look of importance— it was quite effortless to assume it was the room of Sedda. And as he came to stand before the fifth passage along the left wall, he realized there was only one door separating his room from hers.
The dwelling was not a large one, so it did not surprise him to find a very small room behind the door before him. The floor was of the same smooth, spotless oak surface that covered the expanse of the house, while the walls were covered with elegant wooden panels stained black and lit by two individual torches set in bronze cages on opposite walls. Two narrow windows were positioned at the far wall, both tightly sealed from the outside with black shudders and adorned inside by silky indigo drapes that billowed against the glass with even the slightest shift in the air. To his right was an attractive chair with a number of spare quilts and blankets folded in a neat stack upon its seat; on his left was a low-lying bed framed with a solid, dark oak frame and covered by deep red sheets; in the far left corner was an age-worn porcelain tub, and right beside it was an empty bronze basin and a matching ewer filled with steaming water— beneath the basin sat what looked to be a clean change of clothing.
His attention was suddenly drawn back to the bed and the slight lumps beneath the scarlet sheets. Three shapes were barely visible outside the bed covers— the hilts of his knives, the dark tip of his bow, and an edge of his quiver, all carefully veiled yet visible enough for the eyes of an Elf.
Was this really the woman he had heard to be loved like a god— the woman a society clearly dominated by men accepted as their ruler? Whether or not he was dealing with a woman worthy of fear, the courteous preparations made on a room all his own seemed to put aside some of the doubts he had of her… but only some. Clearly, she was different— much different than he would have expected from an Easterling— yet his instincts still warned him of something dangerously amiss.
In due time the storm had quieted altogether, and the night was clear beyond the pane of glass that separated Legolas and the small courtyard outside. As he fitted his arm into the last, heavy black sleeve of his borrowed shirt, he curiously studied the backyard from the only window in the hallway.
Dry, lifeless bushes and wilted flower stalks lined the three outer walls of the turned-in dwelling, the neglect of the formerly flourishing garden leaking over the neat barrier of pebbles and onto the smooth, stone paved surface. He looked to the left where there stood a small structure in the center of a stone patch, clearly assembled with great care. Unlike every structure he'd seen in the town, it was not made of stone blocks, but rather of wood beams stained black or painted different shades of red and indigo with an array of bronze chimes dangling from overhanging beams. There was no doubt in his mind that what he saw was a place of worship, a shrine of some sort—despite it looking just as neglected as the garden surrounding it.
As he gathered his damp hair in his hands, his eyes caught sight of a thick stone barrier concealed behind a line of wilting trees at the rear of the small sanctuary. His curiosity was immediately diverted passed the limits of the window frame. Clear in view was the innermost wall he had wondered about many times before, now only a very short walk away from where he stood. He could even make out the profile of a fully-armored man pacing along the top of the highest wall in the town, his silhouette and tall weapon faintly illuminated by some light source below.
Soft footsteps approached the hallway and he tore his gaze away from the window, starting down the length of the hall and meeting Sedda just as she passed through the archway. Her dark eyes lit up in surprise as he emerged before her unexpectedly.
She laughed aloud, gripping her stomach with alarm. She gave a shake of her head. "You tread so lightly, edhel!" Still chuckling, she looked him over approvingly before offering something to draw back his hair, unraveling a piece of thin fabric from the end of her own long black braid. All the while, it seemed his deep gaze had fallen upon her face, automatically drawn to her familiar smile once again. "Come— dinner is waiting, and I am eager to talk." She turned and led the way back toward the dining quarters. She walked across the smooth floor with a regal stride that seemed to flatter her elegant, statuesque figure, and just like Legolas, her feet were undressed as she glided across the floor.
As they passed in and out of the entrance hall, Legolas' attention moved to one of the two windows located on either side of the fireplace, feeling the urge for another glimpse of the walled division.
But Sedda brought him into the dining room without delay, where the plates had been generously filled and the candles had been dimmed to a relaxing tone. In the far corner of the table they were situated, and out of respect Legolas waited until Sedda had taken her seat before he took his own.
With a growing desire to eat, he studied the thick helping of meat covered in spices, a pile of strange vegetables he had never seen before bathing in a golden sauce, and several other small portions he could not hope to identify. The entire dish emitted a very strong, spicy aroma he was not used to in his native food, but it was altogether appetizing. Sitting at the top left corner of each of their plates was a wine glass generously filled with red wine as rich as the black of evening.
Sedda shifted forward along her seat, observing the food and rearranging her place setting with the hand that did not lie studiously in her lap. "I hope you can find it in you to… trust me a little more, now that I have proven my intentions to you."
Legolas swallowed and slowly reached for his goblet of wine. He gazed at the dark, swishing liquid with absent eyes. "Why am I here? Why do you insist on keeping me in your care?"
"I feel it's my obligation."
"Why?" he asked, sharper than he had intended.
Her eyes narrowed for a brief moment. "Why are you interrogating me?"
He raised the heavy glass to his lips and engulfed a generous amount of wine before setting the goblet down upon the table. "I do not trust you," he said in a low voice.
Sedda clenched her teeth momentarily before she murmured, "You are as difficult as I thought you would be." She took her cutlery in her slender hands and began to eat, and all the while Legolas knew her mind was bustling with thoughts she was aching to reveal.
All the while as they ate she remained this way. She fought hard to maintain her studious disposition, but as the meal progressed, Legolas watched the change in her eyes and face. She wanted desperately to speak, and it seemed she was even growing angry, though he could not understand why she held back…
The food, at least, was enough to take his mind off an impending dispute. His first taste of the dressed meat sent a violent, burning sensation through his lungs, and he fought back a fit of coughs until the burning in his head subsided. He soon came to realize that every portion of his meal was almost spicy beyond toleration. But he was immediately grateful for the wine— the thick red substance soothed the fire in his mouth and throat and allowed him to bear the remainder of his meal with a little more ease.
Once it was clear they were both satisfied, Sedda wiped the corners of her mouth and acknowledged Legolas' clean plate with raised brows. "You ate… everything."
Legolas swallowed his fourth glass of wine, pursing his lips as he lowered the glass. "It was quite good," he said, his voice slightly hoarse. Realizing this with some embarrassment, he averted his eyes, cleared his throat, and drank some more.
Sedda forced back a smile before her face grew solemn again. She raised her elbows upon the table and crossed her slender fingers together, pressing them to her mouth. "I want to know your name," she stated softly but firmly. "I cannot simply call you 'edhel' from now on…"
"Can't you?"
She shut her eyes out of annoyance. "Enough of the stubbornness."
He held a strong gaze. "Stubbornness is not the issue. Such business is my own, and I do not think it necessary for me to divulge any of it."
Her eyes narrowed. "What have you to hide…?"
"Everything."
She managed another slight smile. "Edhel, you have much less to hide from me than you think." She lowered her hands from her face and moved nearer to the light. "There is something in my face that sparks your interest. I've seen the reminiscent look on yours many times already," she breathed, eagerness suddenly alight in her auburn eyes. But in them, too, was an all-knowing gaze that bore through him with an uncanny depth. "Whom do you see?"
What she spoke did not confuse Legolas, it downright shocked him.
It was as though she had been reading his eyes since the first moment he took in her image… her smile. Every time she beamed, a forlorn feeling washed over him, stealing away his thoughts to distant memories he feared losing…
And in an instant, he lost his breath.
When he finally mustered the ability to speak, nothing came out but a breath of air. He swallowed the dryness from his mouth, and softly murmured, "Niélawen."
His low voice did not reach Sedda, but the change that came over his face was enough of an indication to her that he understood perfectly. She lowered her head and rearranged the cutlery on her plate. "We have the best interest in mind for one person." Her glimmering eyes peered up from her dark brows. "Why do you think that is?"
"You're one of her kin."
"Her mother."
He swallowed and dipped his head into the shadows. He was not sure what to think or what to feel. One half of him was elated— the woman before him was proof to Niélawen that she was not as alone as she thought; an advantage that was not only on her side, but on his as well.
However, his other half sparked the great anger that had been all the while hiding just at the surface. At last he could demand why the child had been left wounded and deserted without having to curse at the empty sky and hear no answer to his plea. No… he could have answers now. He balled his hands into fists upon the table.
But she spoke before he could. "You know she is here, just as I do. We are not enemies, edhel…you and I…" Her eyes pleaded with him. She leaned over the table with desperation in her face. "She needs help from both of us."
His profile darkened as his face tensed nervously. Help? He knew the decision Niélawen had made put her at great risk…but perhaps her need was far graver than he dared imagine. "What do you mean?"
Sedda drew in a breath and rose from her seat, looking doubtful. "Are you willing to sacrifice an evening of sleep?"
Legolas climbed to his feet— his mind had been set long ago. He had not endured so much or come so far to hesitate over Niélawen's well being. He had an obligation to her, having unconsciously vowed to himself long ago he would finish what he had started, no matter where that led him… "Tell me what I must know."
Relief washed over her and she shut her eyes, overcome by a moment of liberation. When she opened them to Legolas, she smiled eagerly, and nodded. Then, lowering her voice to a mere whisper, her gaze slipped passed him and her eyes glistened over with what looked to be the first sign of tears. She chewed at the soft edges of her trembling fingers as she breathed with quivering breaths. "My Naida…" She regarded him briefly— no kinder light had he ever seen in the woman's eyes. "No longer shall she be lost…"