Chapter Six- Don't Be Afraid
"You are my guests, elfling. And unless you want something to happen to your friends, you will stay your tongue." The shadows hissed, emanating an Evil not seen in the world since the fall of Sauron. The young Elves instinctively moved towards each other, seeking solace from the overwhelming presence of dread that flooded their small forms.
Yet even in their obvious fear, they did not forget that there were those even more helpless and vulnerable in the cell with them. Celebrìan, delicate face wan from a prolonged captivity, wrapped her slender arms about her protruding abdomen as Olvaethor gently pushed her behind him, the noble lines of the Silva contorted in defiance as fierce as the fire in his emerald eyes. The elflings gathered about them, mimicking the defensive circles of warriors guarding something infinitely precious, a curious yet powerful melding of the gold of Greenwood, the silver of Lothlorien, and the ebony of Imladris.
Celebrìan glimpsed, fleetingly, of those shining features now grown, burning lights with the courage to stand against a tide of encroaching night. They were hope incarnate, the hope of the Elven race. The vision was gone as swiftly as if it had never been, leaving her with the image of four young elflings facing the shadows with an aura of audacity. Their courage touched her, for though they were frightened beyond measure, they refused to allow it to control their actions.
She could see their fates intertwined with one another. Earlier inhibitions had been tossed out the window, the racial boundaries that had sundered their people since the Last Alliance blurred. After all, there were each of the Elven races recognized here. The fair Vanyar, noble Noldor, sea-faring Teleri, quiet Sindar, woodland Silvan; even Man was to be found in the mixture that was brought together in the forms of the young Elves. They stood as one, the prejudices and wrongs of the past forgotten in light of the present desperate situation.
Even more so, it would mark the beginning of a friendship that was to last unto the ending of Iluvutar's Song, and beyond.
The Shadow hissed at the defiance evident in those so young, infuriated by their combined will. The twins paled, skin contrasting sharply with their dark hair, clutching at each other for support as they so often did. Legolas flinched, drawing his breath in sharply before raising his head to gaze once more into the darkness. Lìranar, trembling as a leaf in a gale, lifted her chin defiantly as she tugged upon a loose strand of moon-pale hair. None of them backed down, even as the rage radiated from the night in almost palpable waves.
"Do not make yourselves so comfortable. You shall not live out the week."
Ôlvaethor felt a malicious, malignant stare come to settle upon him. How he wanted to shake! To quail beneath that brutal, tearing onslaught; to break down and sob until he faded from this world. But he remained upright, the pride passed down from his willful father not allowing him to acquiesce to his defeat. Too, he felt the cerulean eyes of his younger brother upon him, felt the warm press of the slender young body against his own. The Crown Prince had made an oath to his parents, to bring their Greenleaf home. Never before had he broken his word. He would not fail them now.
"Do not fear, lass dithen. I am here." The softly spoken words lit the room with their melodious overtures into the once impregnable darkness.(little leaf)
"Speak not that accursed tongue, warrior prince!" The sharp hiss cut through the beautiful words. "Or it shall be the young one that pays!"
Legolas pressed closer to his brother, older by over a millennia and a half, heedless of the chains that cruelly bound the Elf to the wall. A small hand gripped his brother's wordlessly, offering reassurance though cerulean eyes never wavered from beyond the cell bars. Ôlvaethor could not help but feel a swell of pride at the courage shown by his youngest brother today. He had barely passed his majority and begun his weapons training, but already it could be seen that the strong, willful blood of the House of Oropher ran through his veins. Gentle as his younger brother might be, he would make a fine warrior when the time came.
"But you should not think I have brought you all here for the sake of just killing you." Silence met this remark. "You, my fair lady of Imladris, shall bear your child in the Dark. How ironic, for Elrond's own spawn shall be turned against him in service to the Shadow!" Cruel, jagged laughter echoed through the dank, enclosed space. Celebrìan leaned further behind her golden haired protector. It seemed almost impossible, but her face had gone even whiter than before, the only sign of life being the eyes of smoldering steel set in bleached ivory.
"Ce orch 'waur!" Ôlvaethor's rage was uncontained as he strained against his bonds futilely. The gentle lady did not deserve such a fate. "How dare you even speak to her! I swear by Elbereth I shall kill you if you harm any of them!" (Dirty orc!)
Legolas tore his gaze from the darkness to stare at his brother. Never had he seen him like this before. The warrior was always calm, poised, unruffled by events around him; the perfect prince. This raging anger hardly fit his knowledge of his beloved brother.
"Ahh, but don't think I have forgotten you, brave warrior." The amusement and anticipation in the voice struck the Elf more so than if the Shadow had raged back. "I would not want to deny my subjects some sport. They have been so very patient, even with Elf flesh near. It wouldn't be very kind of me to deprive them of their fun when they have worked so very hard to bring you here. Now, my lord prince, are you up to providing a little entertainment?"
The door of the cell squeaked loudly as it was forcefully opened, as if in prelude to the torment that would occur beyond its bounds. Orcs, their presence earlier concealed by the overwhelming Shadow, shuffled through, blood lust bright in their dark eyes. Vicious, dirtied hands caked with unmentionable matter thrust through the barrier of elflings, tossing the young ones aside like so much refuse in their quest for their promised toy. Macabre glee was found in the depths of their yellowed orbs as they set sight upon their prey.
They had not counted upon the ferocity of the young ones. Legolas had his mother's gentle Silvan spirit, but the deadly wrath of his father's House when provoked, especially when it came to the well-being of his family. With the focused precision of one who had just begun his training he fought, aiming his punches and kicks at the orcs' most vulnerable parts. Lìranar, though the youngest and smallest, had a temper matched by only that of Galadriel. Like silver fire she entered the fray, uncoordinated but enthusiastic in her retaliation against those who had brutally ripped her from her parents. Elladan and Elrohir, being farther in their majority, had more experience in such matters, using their strong connection with each other to coordinate their moves, channeling their anger at the treatment of their mother to strengthen their attack.
Their ferocity was short lived, however. The young Elves stood no chance against the more powerful, if less agile orcs. They were soon overpowered, bound hand and foot by cruel ropes before being tossed aside once more.
"Ôlvaethor!" Legolas cried desperately, warring against his bonds as his older brother was dragged bodily out.
"Avo 'osto nad, muindor nìn!" The warrior's last cries echoed through the corridor. The last they saw of him was a flash of sun bright hair swiftly swallowed by the surrounding dark. (Don't be afraid, my brother!)
"Pen neth, you must eat something. It will not aid your brother if you do not keep up your strength." The lady's soft voice cut through his grief fogged mind. It reminded him of the trees, of the special times in Greenwood when the light of the stars was bright enough to shine through the thick eaves and the spirit wraiths writhed to the pulse of the forests' heart. (young one)
"Ada and nana will be so sad," he whispered. "They've already lost two of my brothers. Now they shall lose two more. And there will only be Sùlaur and Aerlind left to comfort them." He rested his bruised face upon his arms once more as the shameful tears ran down his face.
Small arms encircled him. He looked into the smudged face of Lìranar, her deep blue eyes large in her delicate facial structure. Her silver hair was matted and tangled, its glow hidden beneath layers of caked refuse from the floor. She shone with the same concern as her millennia older sister behind her, yet it was the fear for one's friend rather than motherly instinct. In her mind he had passed a test, proving that this Silva was far from weak though cry he may.
"Don't worry."
"And why not?" His reply was short and bitter, so unlike him.
The younger Elf peered at him from beneath dark lashes. "Because your brother will come back. Celebrìan is like that too, and so are my adar and naneth. They think that only they can protect us. So they always come back." Her words were sure, certain in their truth. If Celebrìan's voice sounded as the fey forest glade, hers held the undertone of fire and passion, unpredictable as the song of the dancing flames that burned so brightly within her eyes. He felt drawn to her. So different was she from him. He could sense it, feel the ready heat of her ire and the easy humor hidden by an innocent façade, deviating greatly from his cool persona of tree speak and quiet contemplation. They were as diverse as night and day.
From that moment on he would love her as dearly as he would a sister.
"You are right. He has always come back before, even when he went out on patrol for five years. He will come back now." It was as if she had imparted some of her strength, her brightly burning hope that she would see her kin again, no matter what happened.
Elrohir crawled over, aided heavily by his twin. Elladan's dark face was serious, worried for the injuries his brother had sustained during the fight. Their mother had tended him as best she could, but his leg was bruised and probably fractured. The younger twin gave a bright smile to his frowning naneth.
"You should not move, ion nin," she reprimanded gently from her place by Legolas's side.
"Oh nana, it's fine. 'Dan won't let me do anything on it anyways." He eyed his twin mischievously. "Sometimes I think he's my naneth."
Elladan scowled. "You seem to need another one. You're always getting us into trouble. Glorfindel still probably wants to kill us."
"I told you before. I'm not the one who put the dye in his soap."
"It was your plan! And you were supposed to be keeping watch!"
Lìranar glared at them both accusingly as she flailed beneath a laughing Legolas. "Will you two stop it and get him off of me? He's heavier than he looks!" She turned her willful glance upon the young Silva, who immediately straightened but kept a smile upon his face.
"That reminds me of the time Sùlaur and I put food dye into the cake meant for the fall festival. Ada ordered us to work the cellars with Galion for a year after it was brought out in public."
"Our ada gave us to Glorfindel." Elladan looked solemnly upon them all. "I don't care what people say, he is evil."
Lìranar gave an unladylike snort, much like her father had before she had been captured. "No. Evil is how my nana looked at Rumìl when she found out he promised to bring me back a warg cub."
"A warg cub?" came three incredulous voices.
She nodded sagely. "Yes. He said that if I would stop talking for a night he would find me one." She frowned pensively, chewing on a dirtied strand of silver hair. "I hope he remembers."
Legolas leaned back against the wall, staring into space. "Do you think we'll ever be free again?" his quiet voice whispered, sounding much like the despondency of rustling leaves.
He felt a small body settle against him, and a silver head nestle into the contours of his shoulder. Elladan set his younger brother between himself and his mother's sister. "Of course we will, Galadh-hèn," came her soft whisper as she drifted into reverie. (Child of trees)
The partaking of two scanty, barely edible meals had elasped since Ôlvaethor had passed through the crudely wrought iron doors, an ominous presence lurking in the open. Legolas was growing more desperate with each passing moment, but he hid his anguish valiantly beneath a smooth façade so as not to concern his friends. They could see his building anxiety, though, especially Lìranar, who took it upon himself to make sure he did not lose himself to despair. Elladan and Elrohir often joined their conversation, amusing the other two with their constant quarreling. No matter how much they argued, it was apparent that they loved each other more than anything; bonded by the heart and by their immortal fea.
Celebrìan kept watch over the young ones, wearily leaned against the dank wall. The elflings found her an object of extreme consternation, for with her bleached skin, frail as parchment, and fatigued demeanor she seemed no more than a wraith herself. Elladan especially feared for his naneth and unborn sibling, as there was no ada to relieve the strain and share the burden of supporting another growing life.
"She needs the sun and the trees," Lìranar stated matter-of-factly when he confided to them.
"We all do," Legolas murmured softly, slumping against her slim shoulder. "None of us looks much better, you must agree."
"Quite the optimist, aren't we?" was Elrohir's comment, complete with a grin, albeit weak one.
The young Silva gave him a weak half-smile in turn. "Sùlaur would laugh and say that I must have angered Aerlind yet again. Is that better?"
Elladan hissed. "Hush up, you two! You'll wake naneth!" But his dark eyes flashed with kindled amusement in their grey depths.
Elrohir rolled his own identical eyes. "Yes, nana."
"Quiet!" Lìranar's command came taughtly as she abruptly stood, her purple hued orbs narrowed in intense concentration. The bantering swiftly stopped as the others followed suite.
The woodland elfling inhaled swiftly, cerulean eyes flashing as he dug his nails tightly into his fist. "They approach." The elflings gathered about the slumbering Celebrìan, as they had earlier.
No attention was paid to the orcs flanking either side of their limp burden. Rather, their focus was the bloody, golden-haired figure slumped between the creatures.
Legolas made a whimper of distress as he broke away from their circle and caught his unconscious brother as his body tumbled to the ground. "Ôlvaethor! No!
What did they do to you?" He stoked his brother's matted hair, the once shining strands sullied by filth and his own blood. The younger Elf's tears fell silently to be lost in the mass. The other elflings could only watch as the sad scene unfolded before them, lost in the shared grief of an Eldar's eternal pain.
