Disclaimer: I do not own LOTR.
Rating: PG-13
Author's Note: I am sorry for the late update! I would give you reasons but since nobody would really want to see them, I will just offer you my apologies and a longer chapter than usual. I give my hugs and kisses to all who waited!
My sincere thanks to Rhys, who reviewed many chapters in Tears of Yesterday! I am ecstatic to hear that you were so touched by the story. Your view of the story as a whole, seeing the abstract ties that binds the story and its characters, is beautiful. And I'm glad to hear that you liked my Erestor and Glorfindel's relationship! ;) Thank you for your wonderful reviews, and thank you for wishing me a happy birthday! ;)
Thank you to Sunn-Kissed, who reviewed Unfinished Earth! I am so flattered to hear your generous praises. I still consider myself as an amateur, and I respond to reviews through the format in which they were given to me...I would respond to you via email if you prefer, but I wasn't sure that would be appropriate, so I am responding here. ;) Thank you!
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By Kasmi Kassim
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From Twilight to Dawn
Chapter 4: In the Night
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The inn was larger than it looked. Legolas followed the small boy silently through the dark hallway, straining his ears to hear the quiet breathing of his unconscious companion. The squeaking of the wood beneath his feet added to the haunted hush of the corridor, so different from the gaiety downstairs. He could hear tremors of Arwen's breaths in the dark.
"Here is your room," said the boy, turning a rusty handle to a door at the end of the corridor. The dark brown wood opened with a creak, revealing an unlit room laden with a heavy scent of aging wood. The moderately spacious chamber was hushed; time seemed to slow to a standstill within the confines of the room, where the table and two chairs seemed to breathe in silence, as did the large white bed by the window.
Legolas stepped in slowly, and the boy scurried in after him, lighting lamps and candles until the room seemed to stir from its slumber, the darkness retreating at the face of vivacious life. The boy scuttled about busily, smoothening out sheets, organizing pillows, setting chairs. And then he stepped aside, watching in fascination, as Legolas gently lowered the black bundle onto the bed.
"Do you require anything?" he inquired hopefully.
Legolas did not look back as he busied himself with making Arwen comfortable. "Yes, if you would be so kind," he said, bending over and shifting the body of his companion around. "I need a basin of hot water, some soft cloth and bandages, and herbs, if you have any."
"Don't you need a healer?" asked the boy, surprised. The young stranger shook his head.
"Please do not tell anyone about this," he murmured. Nodding enthusiastically, the boy promptly dashed off.
After a brief glance to make sure that the door was shut, Legolas quickly ran his fingers through a pouch of herbs that he carried. Having found what he needed, he pulled out a small vial of green liquid. A sickening stench filled the room as he opened it. Gently lifting Arwen's dark head from the pillow, he proceeded to trickle a small amount of the liquid in between her lips. She remained unconscious and the potion dribbled down her chin; wiping it gently with a finger, he made sure the content had settled in between her lips, and sealed the vial with satisfaction.
"Fight it, Arwen," he whispered, tucking the vial away. He tenderly stroked dark strands of hair out of her face, whispering soft murmurs as the figure on the bed lay motionless. Eyes lowered, he remained still, an image of perfect serenity. But in the silence of the still room, his heart thundered with fear and anguish, threatening to be shattered by a rapidly transforming confusion, a rumbling magma of venom that churned beneath.
He could no longer ignore them. The men would have his answer.
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The innkeeper did not admonish Galo as he went about making a fuss about preparing the items that the stranger had requested. He was thankful for that, if not a bit surprised. How much had that stranger paid anyway? He had to be very rich, to make his employer so generous. But he did not look very wealthy at all. But then again, looks were deceiving. At least, that was what his brother had said.
"Galo."
He cringed at the voice of the innkeeper. Straightening his back, he turned and politely faced his warden. "Yes?"
The innkeeper was cocking an eyebrow in his direction. "Are you going to take care of the horses?"
Oh, yes, he had forgotten. He had briefly glimpsed the two horses, one white and one chestnut brown, which were said to belong to the stranger. He quickly scooped up the bundle of items in his arms. "He asked me for some assistance. I will do it later." He darted up the stairs.
The innkeeper sighed.
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When he returned to the room, Galo was surprised to find that the dark figure on the bed was no longer a wrapped-up body. A lovely maiden sat on the mattress, leaning against the headboard, as the blond-haired youth spoke to her softly, seated at her side and facing her. She turned her dark eyes upon Galo as he entered.
The slender youth stood and approached. "Thank you," he smiled, and took the items from Galo's hands. He set them up on the bed, and began to swiftly prepare what was undoubtedly a medical examination. So he was a healer then. He looked so surprisingly young – too young to be anything more than a beginning apprentice. Galo lingered where he was, afraid to go closer, but too rapt to leave.
The dark-haired maiden turned her gaze toward her companion, and spoke softly. When he grunted in response, busily examining and classifying herbs, she smiled and turned back toward Galo.
"Are you the son of the innkeeper?" she inquired, her soft voice edged by a feathery touch of a foreign accent.
Galo shook his head. Her voice was kind. He swallowed.
"You only work for him, then." The maiden winced as she tried to raise her arm to help her companion. The golden-haired creature shook his head and murmured a short phrase. Galo could not understand the words. Though unintelligible, however, the words were pleasant to the ear, possessing a mysteriously gentle, rolling quality.
"I am an orphan, and he took me in." Galo fidgeted. "So I work for him."
The maiden seemed surprised. She turned toward her companion, speaking rapidly in some sort of inquiry. He shook his head and replied in a soft voice, a smile lacing his face. She turned back toward Galo.
"Forgive me," she said with haste, "I did not realize...I mean, where we come from, orphans are all raised by their ruler. We...I...have never stayed in a human settlement before."
Galo's eyes bulged.
"Gwathel." A gentle voice of warning rolled from the male youth's lips. The maiden flinched, guiltily bringing a finger to her lips. The blond youth glanced up with an accusing glare and an exasperated smile. She smiled sheepishly in return.
Galo, meanwhile, dashed to the door and locked it breathlessly. Turning back toward the amused occupants on the bed, he stared, his chest heaving. "You are not human?" he whispered with awe. He knew a secret about the mysterious, beautiful travelers; his heart could burst with excitement.
The two travelers glanced at each other again. The male one – at least he sounded male, though Galo could not be certain, considering the beauty of his face – turned toward Galo with a slight smile. "We are elves."
The dark-haired maiden smiled as well. "But you cannot tell anyone."
Mouth agape, the boy nodded eagerly. He shared a secret with these enigmatic people from afar. He would never ever betray them; he swore silently that he never would.
Forcing his hanging mouth shut, he looked wildly from one elf to another. "My name is Galo."
The elves looked at each other. The maiden murmured something, and her companion rubbed his forehead, a worried frown creasing his smooth skin. He turned with some reluctance toward the boy, and his mellow voice and eyes shimmered with an apologetic smile. "We have no names to give you. We are merely travelers."
Galo could not hide his disappointment. "I see," he muttered.
As the blond elf returned to sorting out herbs, Galo still stood where he was, his other work forgotten. His voice was excited once again. "Do all elves look as beautiful as you do?" he blurted.
The elves looked at each other in mild surprise. The maiden said something to her companion in a teasing tone, and he muttered something with a sigh. Laughing softly, and wincing at a sudden attack of pain at her side, the maiden turned back to Galo.
"Thank you, Galo. But we are not exceptionally beautiful among our people."
Galo's mouth fell open.
The blond elf looked up, and said something in an accusing tone. The maiden answered back indignantly, and pointed her finger at him, returning the accusation. The male elf made a face, and the maiden burst into a soft laughter.
Suddenly wishing that he could understand this melodic language, Galo interjected again.
"Are you two eloping?"
Now this question grabbed their full attention; the young male's hands halted in the middle of his task. Both elves turned and stared at the boy, stupefied. And then, both burst into laughter. "No," answered the maiden, suddenly breathless, as she was burned with sudden pain. "We are siblings."
The blond head shot up, and he watched her with concern. He said something, and she shook his head. He said something again, in a stronger tone, and then his voice took on a softer timber, a gentle plea. The maiden looked long at him, and sighed.
"Are you sixteen? Seventeen?" Galo tried again. The maiden looked only slightly older, if at all. Perhaps a year or two.
The maiden held her pained expression, and the male elf began to shuffle through his belongings with a sense of urgency. "Yes, something close to that," he said absentmindedly. Then he turned.
"Would you be so kind as to see to our horses? They have run a long way, and must be very tired-"
"Yes, of course!" Eyes twinkling, the boy ran to the door, unlocked it, and disappeared from view. The room was swept up in his excitement, the draft continuing to shake the bed sheets long after the door slammed. The serene silence took long to settle back in.
At last, Arwen sighed. "Children."
Legolas was rolling up his sleeves. "Lie down."
Arwen's gaze flitted back toward her companion. Azure blue looked into hesitant orbs of gray. And he smiled reassuringly.
"I am a healer, Arwen." He touched her shoulder. "And you are my sister."
His touch was gentle, warm. Arwen breathed deeply. Her eyes widened when she felt warmth probing into her shoulder; the fear and uneasiness that were clouding her heart began to drain away. She turned to protest, but Legolas shook his head. He pressed more insistently.
With slow movements, Arwen complied with his request, lying to her side. The warmth was gaining force, and her nervousness was rapidly disappearing. The darker corners of her mind that held unpleasant memories – such as tension with her father – were left untouched; Legolas did not invade her privacy, but nevertheless succeeded in cleansing much of the tucked-away resentment. Her mind felt relaxed, warm. Arwen wondered if she should give in to his gentle probing and let him drain away her dark emotions resulting from trouble with her father. It was tempting; her golden-haired brother was a kindhearted healer. He would be able to feel it all, take it away, pamper her with warmth and love and healing. But Arwen quickly admonished herself; Legolas seemed to carry enough burdens as was. She could not ask him to share her troubles by passing on more comfort.
She was lost in thought as her fingers unlaced her dress. Legolas averted his gaze, and finally took his hand away. He turned once more to the vials of liquid that emerged from his pouch. Arwen pulled the garment off of her skin gingerly.
"You will drain yourself," she murmured, letting the upper portion of the garment hang down from her bare torso. "Will you not let me heal your heart as well?"
Legolas smiled wistfully from behind. He reached up to his hair, and deft fingers tied the blond tresses behind his back. "I am already drained," he said lightly. "I do not have enough energy to ease your physical pain completely as I do this. Stay still."
Arwen narrowed her eyes as she felt hands on her bare torso. Slow fingers brushed dark hair out of the smooth planes of her back and side, letting the tresses fall over the curves and slopes of her body. "Legolas."
What are you hiding? Why do you hesitate to let me look into your mind? To heal your heart? The questions swirled in her head in a wild dance. But she said nothing.
Silence hung heavily as experienced hands began to tend to her wounds. Arwen hissed, sucking in her breath. Gentle glimmers of healing magic emanated from his hands, offering solace against the pain. She shut her eyes.
The stillness of the silence was broken by Legolas' voice. His hands did not falter.
"I am still unsure, Arwen." The voice was weary, and surprisingly young. "I don't want you to...I...still have so many questions. Maybe after this is over..."
Legolas' hands regained their surety when he saw the dark head give a small nod. His gaze turned back to her naked torso, sweeping imperturbably over the dark rivulets of hair that hid her front from his view. The gaping wound lay bare before him, foul and venomous amid the smooth texture of unmarred skin. No blood seeped from the wound; the flesh was yellow, almost a sickly hue of green. He took a deep breath and resumed his ministrations.
After the second hiss of pain had died down, he reached for the soft cloth resting against the basin by his side. After dumping the cloth into the warm water, he pulled out the fabric, and wringed it, his focused eyes never leaving the wound. Unrolling the cloth, he slowly reached toward the injury. Arwen's breath hitched as the fabric touched poisoned flesh without the aid of pain-numbing magic. He was indeed drained. Arwen realized with a twinge of guilt that he had absorbed much of her fear and uncertainty in exchange for the comfort.
When the cloth touched her skin again, Arwen's body reflexively jerked, and Legolas' other hand reached out to gently grasp the slope of her smooth hip, holding her in place. The soft body tensed as she battled the urge to pull away. Attempting to control her breath, Arwen's eyelids fluttered rapidly, counting her inhalations as she felt Legolas swiftly rubbing away the poison with dabs of potion.
"After my mother died, my father began to take over her chores."
Caught by surprise, Arwen looked up and glanced back, scanning the blue eyes that were lowered onto the wound that his hands so gently and swiftly cleaned. He pulled the cloth away, and she let out a breath she had been holding. She could hear a soft trickle of water as he wetted and wringed the cloth again.
"He would tell me stories by the fire, sing me to sleep, go into the forest to pick berries with me..." a nostalgic smile could be detected in the voice. Despite her pains, Arwen let a faint smile surface on her contorted face as well. The sweetness of the memories seemed to fill the room, as if an echo of a childish laughter would ring in her ears at the very moment. It was a strange contrast, this phantasmal peace, to the dark pain that seared her mind and fought to devour the chamber.
"I would come back with scratches from playing outside, and he would hold me as the healer tended to the wounds."
A new burn touched her skin, and she knew that he had begun to probe into her wounded flesh. Valar, it hurt. She bit her lip, tensing under his gentle hold, which was more a reminder than a restraint. Pressing her head against the pillow, she panted, straining to hear the soft voice that rolled on melodiously with the trickling waters, drowning out the intensity of the pain.
His hands worked tenderly, carefully, as his voice spoke quietly, smoothly – easing the pain, soothing the burn. "In a young age, I learned to endure pain, but would nonetheless whine about it out of habit."
Arwen shut her eyes, clenching her teeth as another burn attacked her side.
Legolas' eyes were glowing with concentration as he performed his task. His voice did not falter as his hands failed to create another glimmer of magic. "It soon became customary for him to hold me whenever a healer was near, regardless of the seriousness of the injury."
A withheld breath was roughly released, a short laughter mingling with an agonizing pant. He smiled as well. The body was relaxing.
"And one day, when he was coming into the healing ward, I was lying on my back, and..."
And so the voice rolled on, smooth and melodious in the hushed chamber, enveloping the burn of agony.
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Erestor sighed, rubbing his eyes. He wished Elrond was back, though that was hardly possible, since the lord of the valley had left as soon as Legolas had departed. But he still wished Elrond was here. The advisor was weary.
Stretching with the languid grace of a cat, he rose to his feet. He briefly wondered if Elrond had reached his destination yet. The trip to Mirkwood was long. The elvenlord had muttered something about Thranduil and frayed bonds and misunderstandings before leaving in a hurry, leaving all to whisper in confusion. Erestor and Glorfindel had held calm expressions as they watched the elvenlord ride away alone, and the others had whispered at this, once again thoroughly impressed with the wisdom of the two lords and their deep bond to Lord Elrond. The pair, one light and one dark, had walked serenely back to Glorfindel's rooms only to smile at each other and shake their heads to the silent question that passed between them. Though they did understand the elvenlord better than many, they certainly could not read his mind; they were only confident enough in their ties of friendship, aged and experienced enough in the turbulences of the world, to be able to wait in leisurely patience until the return of the elusive elvenlord.
Though that did not diminish the vague shadow of foreboding Erestor had felt ever since seeing the young prince gallop into the valley weeks ago.
With a weary sigh, the chief councilor stared down at the stack of scrolls on the writing table. He had succeeded in signing his approval – and sorting out those that did not meet it – on the many plans and petitions from the artisans and house runners, despite the interruptions that had presented themselves in the form of a certain charming elvenlord who usually invited himself to the chief councilor's workspace when he was most tired and cheerfully dragged him out to take a walk or a ride. But despite having been thusly entertained –according to Glorfindel, of course, for Erestor preferred to say annoyed– by the blond elvenlord earlier that day, Erestor found himself wishing for another such distraction. He was getting a terrible headache from the constant foreboding of darkness that whispered in his ears lately. The humans were not helping either.
With another weary sigh, Erestor resolutely pushed the scrolls away into a neat pile at the corner of the table and walked toward the window. Thoughtful black eyes gazed out toward the peaceful gardens. Summer was coming; the air was warm. Moonlight touched the silver leaves with hushed tranquility. Erestor tilted his head. Perhaps the valley had been a bit too peaceful; the inhabitants were swallowing the latest gossip concerning the humans with ravenous excitement. The thought of danger and mystery seemed to enthrall them with irrepressible allure. The rumors spread fast, especially if they ever passed through – which was rare, for they usually sprouted from – the notorious kitchens. The simple fact was that two men had gotten into a brawl within Imladris borders, and had pleaded for sanctuary when threatened to be thrown out of the land. The elven warriors had brought them in for questioning. And when questioned, the men had both insisted that the other was at fault, and had expressed such intense hatred toward each other that all elves who had seen them had no doubt that they would try to kill each other at the first chance they were given. So they had been locked away into separate quarters, prepared for a judgment before the ruler of the land that they had dishonored. But the problem lay in the fact that the lord of the valley was not present at the moment.
That was not exactly a problem, of course, if one followed Glorfindel's irrefutable logic. Erestor was the lord when Elrond was absent, and he had every right to exercise his authority in such an occasion in any way he saw fit, for his actions would never contradict the thoughts of the elvenlord. But that did not mean Erestor had to like this situation. Having to judge humans that were out to slaughter each other over a seemingly trivial cause – and in another people's land too, for Valar's sake – was simply distasteful, not much different from having to judge right and wrong between two screaming children who were fighting over a toy.
But there was no other choice to be had. Erestor was the chief councilor, one of the two great authorities who influenced the valley behind the scenes. And he had heard enough encouragements and flatteries this morning to make him roll his eyes, all of which came from the other great hidden authority of the land, a certain annoyingly clever and loveable elvenlord who knew well how much Erestor was tempted to leave the men locked up until the lord of the valley returned.
With a deep exhalation, Erestor straightened his robes and straightened his hair in one fluid movement, and blew out the candles lighting the study. He then exited the chamber in his trademark gait, a calm bearing radiating subtle authority and hidden power with a gentle wave of sleek dark robes. And in this quiet gait, he glided toward the end of the corridor leading to the main hall.
When he entered, all eyes turned toward him with anticipation. Dressed in deep gray, his body glided gracefully toward the high seat in the center of the hall, his hair lapping gently against his shadowy form. His dark eyes were expressionless and sharp, watching the two humans that kneeled before him. As he neared the seat and lowered himself, his eyes did not leave the dumbstruck gaze of the humans; he held an aura of mysterious power, a shrouded darkness that was ever keen, ever watching, ever waiting for a chance to completely obliterate anything he wished with calm, collected ease.
The men swallowed. Elven guards lined the hall, as did scribes and councilors interspersed between them. The hall was lit with bright golden lights, though where the lamps were they could not ascertain. Excitement could be felt in the thrill of the air, as they were now a spectacle on display before the elven audience. They shifted nervously. The rest of the residents were not allowed into the hall out of respect to the humans, though they were undoubtedly crowded outside, pressing their ears against the great double doors. The ones who were privileged enough to attend the hearing were deathly still and silent.
The humans stared at the silent elvenlord before them, finally evading their eyes upon meeting the unflinching black gaze that bore into them with intensity. They both looked down onto the carpet, bewildered. This was Lord Elrond? He was much younger than they had thought. Why was he not saying anything?
"My lord," said one man with a deep inhalation, making a deep bow. The elf on the high seat brought a hand up to his heart and bowed in return.
"Greetings to you, my lords," he said quietly, his gaze unfaltering. "What brings you before me to be judged?"
"I demand justice!" cried the other man, who had remained silent all this time. He glared angrily at his companion, and hissed, "Have mercy, my lord, and punish this wicked creature!"
The slender elf before them did not seem affected by this outburst. "I would have you explain," he said, unperturbed. "However, I am compelled to remind you both that you have intruded into our realm and defiled it with your bloody attempts at kin-slaying, and therefore are subject to the mercy of the land's ruler."
Both men fell silent. The first man who spoke quickly bowed his head. "Of course, my lord, I beg forgiveness," he murmured hastily, and glanced at his still-seething companion. "However, I only come to seek sanctuary-"
"As do I!" cried the other man. The elves in the hall looked at one another. Scribes were furiously writing on parchments laid upon portable wooden slates. Councilors were watching with sharp, scrutinizing eyes. Spears and scabbards gleamed in the hands of the guards.
The slender elf with the dark hair raised his eyebrows. "And why do you seek sanctuary in Rivendell?"
The men both looked at each other.
"We met an elf called Legolas in the woods," said the first man, measuring his words. "He said he was being chased by this man here. This brute plans to kill him."
"Lies!" bellowed the second man. "This is the man who tried to kill Lord Legolas! I only came to warn him!"
The elf watched both of them in silence. He did not seem in the least confused or fazed. "I see," he said in the same quiet voice. "But how do I know which one of you to believe?"
The men seemed to be dumbstruck by the simple question. The elf had an unquestionable charisma to him, an undemanding and yet undeniable vibration that seemed to transform even the simplest words from his lips into beautiful, shocking, cutting-edge remarks.
The first man quickly edged forward. "Summon him, my lord," he said eagerly. "If he sees us, surely he will recognize us and tell you which one is telling the truth."
The black-haired elf watched them for a moment longer. "So you were fighting only because you feared for his life."
Both men nodded enthusiastically. Then they glared at each other.
The elf in the high seat interlocked his fingers neatly upon his lap. He looked like a statue, composed and still in the perfect posture of serenity, not a fold of his garments wrinkled and not a strand of hair astray.
"Lord Legolas is not here," he said evenly, eyes on the men, "but I will let you see him as soon as he returns. Until then, you will stay in the guest quarters. Lord Elrond will decide what to do with you two once he returns."
At this, the men looked at each other, stunned. One of them turned back to the elf. "You mean you are not Lord Elrond?" he stammered.
The dark-haired elf only looked steadily at him. An elf to his side spoke – a brown-haired councilor of the architecture sector.
"He is Lord Erestor, the chief councilor of the Rivendell council, personal advisor to Lord Elrond, and the head of the Last Homely House. You owe him the same respect and humility that you owe Lord Elrond."
The other man burst out in fury. "We have been groveling at the feet of a second-in-command?" He looked around, rage outlining his creased face. "Why must we obey this elf? I cannot believe this! I refuse to be ordered by this elf! We are not criminals, for Mordor's sake! I have a right to be shown to the lord of the valley!"
He stopped short, however, when he felt cold steel press against the skin of his neck.
"You forget yourself, human," glided a rich baritone from behind, as the steel trailed a lazy path down his back. The ice that laced the calm voice sent a chill down his spine. "But since you demand freedom of choice so fervently, I shall give you the freedom to choose between respect for Lord Erestor and an eternal union with my blade."
The man swallowed nervously, petrified into stillness. The hall fell into a silence. No one moved.
With a brusque wave of his hand, the raven-haired elf rose gracefully from his seat. "Do not trouble yourself, Lord Glorfindel," he said nonchalantly, turning away. Dark robes swirled in the sightline of the men before moving out of their view. "If they insist on being judged by the Peredhil family, they shall not be denied. The sons of Lord Elrond shall judge them tomorrow. You are all dismissed."
Before anyone could voice an objection, the raven hair was gone.
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The moonlight was streaming in through the window, marking a solid white square upon the floor. Legolas' eyes were riveted on that illuminated wood as he sat still, listening to the silence of the night. Arwen, now a dark black bundle on the bed by the window, was sleeping deeply. She did not stir once; Legolas had risen from his position on the floor to stand hunched over her and listen to her breathing several times through the night, knowing that she was well but unable to dispel the fear from his mind. He had not slept at all; his senses were keenly alert. There was a shadow stirring, a foul scent of greed and deception surrounding him. He had been in human settlements several times before, and knew enough about them to detect the gleam in their gazes when they laid eyes upon him, an unfamiliar elf. Thankfully they had not seen Arwen, and if the little boy kept his word, no one would know that he was with a lovely maiden. But at least the innkeeper had seen the gold, and human rumors spread fast. And many humans were unhesitant of taking drastic measures to obtain objects of desire that were not theirs to take.
His eyes glittered sharply as he felt a faint tremor of life behind the door. He did not move. In his hand appeared awhite-handled knife, dark and invisible in the black of the night. Shifting his eyes away from the white square in the middle of the floor, he darted his gaze toward the solid wooden door that touched his back, focusing his senses on the approaching footsteps. The humans were evidently trying to be silent, but he could hear every breath they took.
A faint rustling and tinkering could be heard as the door lock was picked from outside. Still sitting on the floor with his back touching the door, Legolas did not move. The doorknob turned slowly. Legolas' bright eyes glowed with torrents of calculations and decisions.
Silently, he rose to his feet. As soon as he stepped away from the door, the door swung open, blocked mid-swing by Legolas' foot. He swiftly lunged at the first man who poked his head in.
With a loud crash, the man fell back onto the men who were lined up behind him. They all fell down like a wave. When they looked up from their confusion, the door had already closed with a click, cutting off the film of moonlight that had shone from within the room. They breathed heavily, whispering at one another to get off, looking around warily in the dark. What just happened?
At last, one of them spotted a flash of blond hair wavering before his eyes. He panicked, realizing too late that the occupant of the room was now standing with them in the corridor, in that same narrow space that trapped them all. But before he could scramble away or fight back, he fell unconscious onto the floor.
It took no more than ten breaths for Legolas to finish the task. Straightening his back warily, he looked down at the pile of four men sprawled on the ground. He looked around, wondering if he should drag them all downstairs at this hour. But he did not dare leave Arwen alone in the room. With a resigned sigh, he picked up the men one by one – as they were now sporting fractured bones in the leg area, all of them – and proceeded to drag them away from his door, dumping them at the end of the corridor where the stairs started. Resisting the temptation to kick them all down the stairs, he turned, and promptly disappeared into his room.
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To Be Continued
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-Sindarin Translations-
Gwathel: sworn sister
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Coolio02: Haha, thank you! I'm sorry to make you wait!
Deana: Here's the post! Thank you! ;)
Rede: I am glad to hear it! I hope I don't disappoint you...;)
merrymagic26: Oh, really? I am so happy to hear that! Thank you for letting me know!
Unsung Heroine: You don't know what an honor it is to be told that I made someone's day better! I'm glad! (hugs)
Brazgirl: Haha, I thought I would get that question from you. I recall what Gallo means in Spanish, but no, I actually had no such intentions on my mind, because this is Middle Earth after all. ;) I just picked the name Galo because it sounded like one of those human names. I made Legolas younger than Arwen because she seemed more careworn, for lack of better words. I think Legolas would know more about the world and the wild, since he travels on his father's behalf – Arwen's trips to and from Lorien notwithstanding – but I also see Arwen as the wiser and more mature of the two. Legolas just seemed so much more naïve than Arwen in the movies, you know? ;) And the men's intentions...well, you will see, my dear! ;) I hope your life is being kinder to you now!
Beling: My dear, it is positively heartwarming to see you pick up so much from my humble little stories. Your vision of Legolas and Arwen, and your understanding of their psyche, were beautiful! You are seeing so much of the dilemma that I laid out in Legolas, and hope to cultivate in the future. I'm so glad I came back to writing this! ;) Thank you, mellon nin! How are you doing, I wonder? I hope you had a very happy Thanksgiving!
Templa Otmena: Oops, that was not very soon...but I did try to come back to posting as soon as I was able! ;) I wonder how your job and education dilemmas are working out...and did you have fun at the movies? ;) Anyway, I would thank you once again for your effort in sending me the review through the ever-uncooperative fanfiction net site...;) I am so relived to hear that my depictions are presentable. Your expressions were so detailed and beautiful! And you caught my drift with the friendship between men and elves...you shall see more of that in the future, my dear! Keke. I do wish you well on your career search and trip plans...I am quite interested in Britain by the way; does Britain do that free college education thing like the rest of Europe? Ah anyway...the wedding...we are hired this time by some high-society politician family and an elitist church that says 'no secular music, only classical' (strange how that works, because most classical pieces are secular...) Well anyway. I didn't know that you had a fall! Are you not recovered? No doctor? No physical therapy, acupuncture, or anything? You have to heal it! Aghhhh! Take care!!
elvingirl3737: Haha, I am glad to hear that! I can never tire of reviews! Thank you!
