Disclaimer: I do not own LOTR.
Rating: PG – 13
Author's Note: My thanks to Estel la Rodeuse for reviewing Tears of Yesterday. Unfortunately, I had finished writing that story when I realized that I got the ages wrong – I had envisioned the entire thing with young boys, and couldn't bring myself to imagine otherwise. To change it to fit into canon would, I decided, ruin the entire drama of the story, so I left it that way. I hope you enjoy the rest of it. ;)
My thanks also to Liregon for reviewing Beasts of Burden. I am glad you liked it; thank you for your generous praises!
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by Kasmi Kassim
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Chapter 6: Impending Tide
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The men turned at the loud sound of horse hooves outside the inn. Someone cried out that the elf was actually outside of the inn, on horseback. Returning to the town to his pursuers. The locked door forgotten, the confused men rushed down to see the elf.
Arwen looked around in alarm as the footsteps pounded down the wooden stairs. And then, a little boy scuttled up the tree beside the window and hopped into the room.
"Galo!" Arwen exclaimed, lowering her sword. "What happened to my brother?"
The boy busily scurried about the room, packing up the two elves' belongings. "He dropped me off outside the village," he explained, eyes on the bundle of herbs that he was packing. "He says to get ready, so that you can escape when he makes the chance."
"What chance?" exclaimed Arwen. Males!
Galo looked up. "He says he is going to break down the stairs."
Arwen did not know whether she should laugh or fly into a fit. So she stood pensively still.
While the boy was gathering up the traveling gear, the men were slowly nearing the elf who was poised on top of his horse, in the middle of the village square. The animal under the lithe body shifted restlessly. The clear eyes of the elf remained on the men as he murmured soft words to his mount, steady hands running over the neck of the animal.
"So you come, Master Elf."
A dark-haired man stepped forward. He was a middle-aged man, with glittering eyes and a grizzly beard. Legolas recognized him instantly. That one was the leader who had battled him last time.
"How gallant of you to come to confront us."
Legolas did not respond. He eyed the approaching man warily.
"Do you not remember me, elf?" The voice was sinister. Dark. "I believe I left some marks on you to remember me by."
Legolas' expression was smooth, cold. "What do you seek of me?"
A hoarse laughter broke out of the man's throat. He approached, eyes glowing with a strange fire. Legolas tightened his grip upon the horse's mane, feeling an involuntary shiver run up his spine. He was sure that he had seen that look before.
The tension in the air was suddenly broken when green and gold abruptly flashed forward. The white horse sprang toward the side of the inn.
"Cursed elf!"
The men shouted and swore, giving chase. The elf swiftly stormed toward the back of the inn, and leaped onto the tall, willowy tree that reached the window of a second-floor room. The men stared, open-mouthed, as the elf nimbly climbed up. The tree swayed and bended, but did not give way.
With a clamor, the men stormed back into the inn, dashed past the flabbergasted innkeeper, and trampled up the stairs. Then they heard hoof beats again. Someone cried that the elf was outside. The men rushed back downstairs, the wood creaking dangerously under their booted feet.
The elf was on horseback once again, one arm encircled around the waist of a small figure seated before him. The figure was heavily cloaked, and unrecognizable. The men crowded outside, giving chase.
Without looking back, the elf spurred his horse to run to the stables, and reappeared without the bundle. The horse galloped toward the tree once again. With another clamorous curse, the men rushed back into the inn once more, and stampeded up the stairs. The innkeeper's despairing cry did not enter their ears.
When they reached the door, they heard a loud neigh below them. They again rushed back downstairs, and saw that a chestnut steed was running out of the stables, freed from its stall. The horse ran toward the tree, at the back side of the inn. Cursing, the men stampeded back up the stairs.
With a thunderous groan, the wooden stairway crashed beneath their feet.
Dust and wood flew up into the air as the men tumbled down on top of each other, screaming and cursing – and they landed in a heap, tangled between splinters of wood and beaten bodies. And then the door to the room upstairs opened, and a cloaked figure leaped down. The figure was incredibly light, hopping gracefully on the heads and bodies of the immobile men, and making his or her way to the exit.
When some men – those who were able to, that is – turned their heads to look out the door, past the gaping mouths and bulging eyes of the townspeople, they could see the gold and green streak pick up the dark figure onto the chestnut steed, which had miraculously appeared beside the white horse. And the two figures stormed away from the town, away from the groans, curses and wails of the men left behind.
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"Remind me to never cause your ire," commented Glorfindel, bringing a pair of wine glasses toward his friend.
Erestor, who was leaning heavily on the table, looked up at Glorfindel in the corner of his eye and let out a quiet laugh. He did not speak as his eyes followed the glasses in Glorfindel's hands. The evening was cool and tranquil, and he was more tired than usual.
Setting the glasses down, Glorfindel seated himself. He smiled as his friend picked up a glass. "Ah well, they had it coming. They should have known better than to insult Erestor of Imladris. I must say, Elladan and Elrohir did quite well."
Erestor smirked. "I know not of which you speak." He sipped from his glass, and frowned. "Why is the wine so strong, Glorfindel?"
Surprised, the golden-haired elf quickly took the glass from his friend's hand and took a sip. His brows furrowed as his tested it in his mouth, and then he looked up at his friend, perplexed. "It is the same that we always drink."
The raven-haired elf leaned again onto the table, resting his chin on the smooth wood. His black hair fanned out and around his head, curling and draping over and under the table. "Hm."
Eyes shimmering with sympathy, Glorfindel reached out and patted Erestor's head. "You are tired."
Erestor plopped his face onto one side, feeling the cool wood beneath his skin, and stared drowsily at Glorfindel. "Did Elrond say Legolas is coming soon?"
Glorfindel shook his head. "He says he did what he could to warn Thranduil. There is no more that he can see."
Erestor nodded, and his eyes began to lose focus. His breathing became even and quiet. Glorfindel stared down in slight surprise, and waved his hand in front of Erestor's face. When he received no response, he rose without a sound, and reached around the lithe elf's body. He lifted the limp body effortlessly.
"Erestor," he sighed, his face taking on a thoughtful expression. The chief councilor was perpetually weary these days, nerves frazzled ever since he saw Legolas ride into Imladris weeks ago. A darkness was whispering in his sensitive ear, a shadow of a certain foreboding that only he could recognize from experience.
Glorfindel carried the slumbering elf to the side door leading to the councilor's bed chamber, and gently placed his friend down onto the bed. He sat down on the mattress, covering the still figure with a blanket. With another thoughtful look, he placed a hand upon the weary councilor's forehead, and whispered a quiet prayer. A warm golden light shimmered from his hand and seeped into the dark-haired elf. And then Erestor was sleeping soundly, the lines of worry softened on his face. With a heavier heart, Glorfindel slowly rose, mulling over the distant fear that he had glimpsed in the councilor's mind. With a lingering look at his friend, he blew out the candles, and silently slid out of the room.
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The ride was long. They rested little, and rode ceaselessly. Arwen did not voice discomfort, though Legolas' eyes upon her were ever watchful. Their meals were taken in hiding, hushed and hurried, and Legolas was always alert while he urged her to eat more. At nights, he carried her up into a tree and, making her comfortable against his body and the branches, tended to her wounds. And they would fall asleep, curled against the branches in a tangled mess, her leaning onto his chest with protective arms holding her, and his head drooping over the side of her neck.
They were both bleary-eyed by the time they reached the pastures that lay between the mountains and the woods.
"We are near," breathed Arwen on a sunny morning, as the forest loomed in the distance. Legolas nodded without a word. With a weary sigh, the two adolescents spurred their mounts forward, eager to throw themselves into the embracing bosom of Lorien.
They had not gone far into the tranquil forest when they were stopped.
"Halt."
Obediently, they stopped their horses, and waited for the invisible guards to show themselves. And one by one, strands of pale hair began to emerge from among the foliage. Legolas dismounted, and touched his heart.
"Greetings, guardians of the Golden Woods."
The two were soon surrounded by pale-haired elves clad in gray, who lowered their bows and greeted them in silence. Legolas looked up toward a particularly tall elf, who was eying them evenly as he approached. The prince broke into a deep smile.
"Well met, Haldir of Lorien."
The said elf touched his heart, his expression ever calm. "Well met Legolas, son of Thranduil." He turned toward the elleth still seated on the horse, and touched his heart again. "Greetings, Arwen. Your return is sooner than expected."
Arwen smiled sheepishly.
As the guardians dispersed toward their respective posts once again, Haldir motioned for the two travelers to follow. Turning, he began to lead the party toward the city. Legolas, reins in his hand, fell in pace with the warden. He leaned over to the taller elf's shoulder and voiced a whisper.
"Are you angry?"
Impassive cobalt blue eyes turned to look at him. Legolas made a sad face.
"Don't be angry with me, Haldir. I missed you."
The expressionless mask fell away, and a strong arm snaked around the prince's neck. "Do not use that face on me, Thranduilion, or I shall skin you yet."
Relieved, Legolas stifled a laugh. "At least I did not forget you. A prince has his duties, you know. He is ever busy with protecting his people, pleasing his father, and-" he squealed as the arm around his neck suddenly gained strength. Giggling, he curled his neck against his shoulders, steps faltering and running into Haldir's. "I yield, Haldir! I yield!"
Finally loosening his headlock, Haldir tousled the younger elf's hair. "You are beyond late, princeling," he growled. Legolas let out a melodious laugh and put an arm around his companion's shoulder. And they walked side by side, shoulder to shoulder, chatting and laughing.
Seated atop her chestnut steed, Arwen rolled her eyes. Males.
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"Is it true, then?"
Legolas' eyes were troubled. Galadriel walked across the pavilion, her white dress tapping soundlessly against her bare feet. The young one's mind was no doubt in turmoil. She needed time to think. What could she say to answer in honesty, and still protect him from the anguish that his tender heart would undoubtedly suffer? She needed to think. But the youth standing before her did not give her time. He demanded answers.
With uncertainty, she turned, and faced the young prince. Meeting his blazing eyes, her gaze hardened with resolve. She no longer knew what to give him, except for the truth.
"Yes, Legolas. It is true that orcs were created from tormented elves. They are beyond healing."
The elf before her stiffened. His pale face became paler. His eyelids slowly fluttered shut. With a tremendous darkness, she could feel the weary moan in his heart.
And suddenly, she was tired. She was no longer in control in the course of Fate. She felt helpless for the first time in a very long time.
"Haldir and his brothers have waited long for you." It was a feeble attempt, a last desperate one. She watched his eyes open, steeling as swift thoughts condensed and sharpened. How like his father, Galadriel thought fleetingly, as blue eyes glittered with resolve. She was once again seeing a young Prince Thranduil, the determined young elf who refused to fall with despair no matter what the Valar had taken away from him.
And just as Thranduil had been indomitable, so was his son. The youth was beyond her reach and she knew it. She sighed again as Legolas bowed, hand to his heart.
"I thank you, my lady," he said slowly, and turned away. "I shall return."
"Legolas."
Galadriel fought the urge to run to him, to hold him back. Physical restraint would not stop him. But how she wished it would.
The ominous whispers were overwhelming his light, swirling around the young body with blunt darkness – promising demise and despair to the youth who illuminated the dark forests of Mirkwood. He was walking into doom. But he would willingly, knowingly walk into doom, head held up high, just like his father – if only to see what it would hold for him. If only to see if he would be able to fight it.
Such strength of will and defiance to Fate was Oropher's downfall; for a time, Galadriel had feared that it would be Thranduil's as well.
To her relief, the disheveled young prince with tear-filled eyes that glittered with defiance had grown to be a king, now with no less heat in his blood but with more winds of age in his heart that tempered such a heat – and she did not wish for him to suffer yet another loss. He never appeared to be the unfortunate elf that he was, what with his loud commands and boyish smile and confident laughs and fierce battles and merrymaking – and yet in the unrelenting strength of the king was the tattered heart of the elf who had gritted his teeth as all that he held dear were taken away from him one by one. And what treacherous sins had he committed to deserve such a cruel fate?
"Legolas, stay."
If only for your father.
Her gaze was intense. The youth's body stiffened once more, halting in its tracks. Not turning around, he bowed his head.
"Forgive me." His whisper was soft. "I have brought danger upon Arwen. I cannot stay."
The white lady swallowed. Legolas did not move. Silently asking for her to let him go. With a deep breath, she lifted her hand. There was no turning back.
Her eyes were deep, unfathomable, as she held her hand out toward the youth's lonely back, toward the setting sun.
"May the Valar protect you," she whispered.
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To Be Continued
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Brazgirl: Haha, yes, Thranduil. I thought you might have some fun reading him. But anyway, the cliffie is resolved for now, but from the next chapter begins the real thing...;)
elvingirl3737: I'm glad you liked my interpretation of them! ;) Thank you!
Templa Otmena: Bah, you and your flatteries once again. I have no idea what you're talking about when you go off on those eloquent praises. ;) But they are greatly appreciated by my inflated ego! ;) I hope you have had a very merry Christmas and have a wonderful New Year! ;)
Beling: I love your interpretation of the three youngsters! So insightful! And you are really catching the adolescence thing clearly – probably because you have been there and done that, eh? ;) I have used adolescence as the backdrop of this story for a reason, and it will play an important part in the story – as I see that you have already sensed! Thank you for offering to listen to my young turmoil – I will remember! Thank you so much! I hope this wait wasn't too long! ;)
Unsung Heroine: Yay, I'm glad that you are able to review! Thank you! Are you enjoying your holidays at home? ;)
