Chapter Thirteen: The Deepest Cut
The disconsolate darkness of the winter nights surrounded the palace like a shroud. The weather had taken a turn for the worse and had sunk to a bone-numbing chill even the Elves were beginning to feel. Torches were constantly relit by attentive servants in the main corridors while the unused ones sank into cold darkness. Fires blossomed in every room and antechamber. It had even begun to snow outside the very walls of the palace itself. The white flakes could be glimpsed now, whirling against the dark veins of the windows in the wind which moaned bitterly through the chinks in the stone. Such a thing had not happened in a very long time and for the woman who paced the lonely halls, it did not bode well.
Anariel wandered through the palace, her heart heavy with troubled thoughts. Now that her lord husband had departed and Ainan assumed control in his stead, there was little for her to do. The flagstones felt chill under her delicately shod feet as she paced through the corridor absently.
But her mind was not on the cold or the emptiness of the halls around her.
She looked up at the arched ceiling, ornamented with a thousand engravings of dark green vines, entwined with the living stone- lost in the shadows above. It was always dark here now and the bruised clouds merely grew more numerous and covered the entire forest with an unbroken roof for miles. It was odd how the weather seemed to so reflect the tones of the palace.
Gloomy. Moody.
The palace seemed… darker somehow, ominous. No one sported about in the courtyard any longer and it was very quiet. A brooding silence had descended upon the homeland of the elves with the departure of its King. The laughter sounded too forced. The whispers- conspiratorial. Anariel shook her head as though to banish such thoughts but she could not and her heart darkened. She looked up sharply as a flash of gold caught her eye.
Her brother strode towards her, the torchlight glancing off his long, honey-colored hair. He smiled upon seeing her- which she did not return, her brow still drawn in sombre thought. His expression hitched slightly as he touched her cheek gently and she flinched away from the contact, her own fingers brushing her bruised face.
"I am sorry about that you know," he said softly. She looked up at him, her blue eyes blank and inscrutable.
"So you said yesterday."
"And I meant it then too," he said, his silver-blue gaze seemingly honest. His eyes hardened slightly and he looked away from her.
"What did you tell Thranduil?"
She shook her head.
"I didn't. It was an accident I didn't feel was worth mentioning." He chuckled soundlessly.
"Good girl."
"What do you want, Ainan?" she asked coldly, not liking the reminder of her helplessness against him.
His eyes flickered with frost though his smile never wavered.
"You would do well to be more courteous to me, muinthel (sister)."
"I am still the Queen, Ainan," she reminded him quietly. His answering smile was distinctly deprecating and she bristled inwardly.
"Of course," he acquiesced with a nod and a slight bow which she thought mocked her, straightened and swept off. Anariel watched him for a long moment, her eyes burning in her pale face before she turned her back firmly on him and resumed her silent walk.
A glint of steel shone red in the torchlight.
Ainan stopped abruptly, his gaze straight ahead. Swift as a viper, he lunged and caught the figure in the shadows by his wrist.
"Be patient, my over-eager friend," Ainan cautioned his grip like a vise around the other elf's narrow wrist. Tindómëtir glanced up at him with a stricken expression then his eyes hardened as he glared at the Queen's retreating back. The dagger in his hand shook and Ainan tightened his grip.
"Tis a thin wire we tread now. We must be careful." His silver-blue eyes caught and held those dark ones until the other elf flinched.
"Be iest lin, hir nin. (As you wish, my lord)," Tindómëtir yielded, humbly averting his eyes. Slowly, Ainan released him and the dark elf sheathed his dagger with a snap and a scowl as he still stared down the corridor until Ainan redirected his attention.
"Have you heard ought of Thranduil's guards?" The dark elf shook his head dutifully.
"Nothing." Ainan smiled wickedly.
"Excellent. And what of our other venture?"
A truly evil smile flittered across Tindómëtir's mask like features.
"Well, my lord. They will never find him… until it is too late at least." Ainan's face registered distaste. Sometimes he thought that the other elf enjoyed this a little too much. But he did his job well. The light-haired elf abruptly turned away but paused and glanced back over his shoulder at the dark elf who stood as still as stone, watching him.
"Obey me and you might just live through this, Tindómëtir." With a tight smile, the dark elf bowed his head in humility.
"As always, my lord."
Legolas stumbled as he tried to keep up with the long strides of his uncle. There was no one in the halls. Nothing at all and that feeling and the silence pressed upon the young prince's ears, a heavy weight added to the one he already had to bear. Legolas knew where they were going and he shook with fear though his heart burned hot as the small triumph in him resurfaced.
"Father's gone! You can't hurt him now!" Kill was too strong a word for him at the moment. Ainan's answering smile chilled the young prince's blood and his throat suddenly seized up as they halted.
"My boy, your father is in the middle of the forest, alone and unprotected save for a few guards. Anything can happen." His twisted smile widened as he cradled the young elf's cheek in his hand.
"And even if your father were safe, where does that leave you, hmm?" His gaze fell pointedly to the splint around the boy's wrist.
"You cannot even speak the truth to your own mother," Ainan crowed softly, resuming his walk down into the deepest parts of the palace. "You are afraid, nephew- a craven creature of falsehoods and lies!" He threw that last like a javelin and it sank in deep.
Legolas bowed his head, knowing that his uncle spoke the truth.
Ainan paused again and found the chink in the stone that would slide back to reveal the hated hole that yawned up before him. Legolas clutched his arms to his chest fearfully, staring into that darkness with abject terror which overrode even the pain in his wrist. His uncle stared down at him with a cold, contemptuous look.
"Your life means less than the lowest spider spawn in this forest. Remember that, little prince. You are nothing! A weakling and a coward."
Legolas knew he was right. He was not fit for any company. What he suffered was all of his fault. He had let it go on for so long! He should have done something… but he was too afraid, even now, to admit that things had gotten way out of hand. He was too afraid… and he hated himself for it.
He curled himself up into a little ball on the cold stone floor inside the alcove with his uninjured arm draped over his knees and his disheveled golden head fell between his shoulders. He did not notice when his uncle pulled the panel to with a malicious smile of satisfaction alighting his cruel face. Legolas shivered in the darkness and damp, squeezing his eyes shut against the fearful specters that loomed up at him out of the deepest recesses of shadows.
But the prince did not cry.
He had not tears enough for the sorrow breaking his soul.
"My King?"
Thranduil fingered his bow absently lost in thought. He should not have left his kingdom, he knew it. The look on Legolas' face when he had said he was leaving had wrenched the Elvenking's heart. He hated to leave his son and his wife for something as trivial as a hunt. And now that he was alone, with only his guard around him, he could admit to himself that something was not right. Telas had been attacked! And what had he done about it?
Gone hunting because protocol demanded it.
Thranduil snorted unconsciously, earning an odd look from the guard who rode beside him. He ignored it, his thoughts in turmoil. Ainan, he knew, didn't trust him and most likely plotted against him. Telas had warned him of as much- and so had his wife. Now they were alone in the palace with none to protect them. And yet, the guards were there… and they would protect the royal family with their lives- if they still answered to his command. Thranduil sighed. The worst part of this whole affair was he didn't know in whom he could place his trust.
Even the stone faces of the guards around him he could imagine concealing foul plots and his uneasiness increased.
"My lord Thranduil!"
The Elvenking started and looked up sharply to see his one of his guard looking at him. He smiled guiltily.
"I'm sorry. I was distracted. Has she been found?" he asked of the white hind they hunted.
"Yes, my lord. She's grazing a short way ahead in the trees."
Thranduil eased his horse ahead slowly and took careful aim at the white glimmer he could just see under the dim shadows of the trees. But something creaked overhead, startling the deer into sudden flight. The Elvenking shook his head and let his draw drop as the white doe bounded away. Hang protocol! He had to protect his family! He turned his steed and met the astonished looks of his guard.
"I'm sorry," he said apologetically. "I have to get back to the palace."
"My lord?" Kirar questioned with a tilt of his head. He nudged his horse forward, reining in beside the Elvenking.
"Something is not right, Kirar," Thranduil answered his inquiring look. "The very forest screams of it. I feel it- and I can't help thinking that the real danger is back home. We cannot linger here. As soon as we get back, I will let the elven people know of the danger they may be in. Perhaps, there will be some answer that I can give to ease their fears."
Kirar's brow furrowed.
"Is it truly that serious, my king? Perhaps, we only-" But a shake of Thranduil's head silenced him.
"No. I know we must go back."
One of the guards suddenly spurred his horse forward and jerked in the saddle beside the Elvenking. Thranduil frowned and reached out to touch the soldier's shoulder.
"Brethien, what is it?"
The guard's mouth moved but no sound came out as he slumped sideways across the neck of the Elvenking's steed. Thranduil swallowed hard as he saw the black-shafted arrow sticking out of his guard's back.
"Arrows!" Kirar shouted needlessly as a torrent of deadly hail rained down upon them. One pierced the King's saddlebag through. Thranduil felt his arm seized and his horse broke into a wild run, the surprised shouts of his men and the thump of arrows striking flesh thumping in his ears.
Immediately, the darkness of the forest plunged in around them and the horses galloped through the undergrowth, stumbling over tree roots and ice encrusted streambeds. The snow fell thickly here and the drifts had piled against the trees near knee height of the horses.
Suddenly, the Elvenking's horse screamed and crashed over onto its side, flinging its rider. Thranduil landed painfully on his side and his head cracked against an exposed tree root. Then there were hands on him, dragging him upright. The Elvenking struggled against his unseen assailants as his vision blurred out of focus.
"Your Majesty!" Kirar's voice hauled him back from the darkness clouding his senses. Thranduil shook himself and pressed a hand to his ribs which throbbed with pain from his fall. Blinking, the Elvenking looked up into his friend's concerned face. Then his eyes fell to his horse, thrashing feebly as blood oozed from the arrow wound in her heaving side. The elf-king shook his head in wordless horror.
The trees creaked above them and it was then that Thranduil realized how quiet it was. They were alone. Only Kirar stood beside him. The Elvenking reached for his own quiver and bow as he saw something skitter through the trees above them but his hands closed on empty air. His bow had been shattered beneath his horse as she fell and his quiver fell from his shoulders useless.
Kirar's face was grim and one cheek bloodied where a grasping branch had sliced him. His eyes flickered from deep pool of shadow to deep pool of shadow, his hand tightly gripping his blade. Thranduil glanced at him uneasily drawing the only blade he had brought with him: his long knife.
Something hissed through the branches and only too late did the Elvenking realize it was an arrow. He was thrown violently backwards and stumbled against a tree trunk. Pain exploded through his shoulder and he gasped against it, clutching at the shaft.
His vision wavered and the cold darkness overwhelmed him.
Forgive me, Anariel.
Legolas started from sleep and immediately groaned softly. Every muscle in his body had seized up and ached with a bone-gnawing cold. His clothes were damp from the moisture on the walls and ceiling and his stomach ached with hunger. Rising slowly to a sitting position, he tried to stand and fell, waiting for the circulation of blood to restore in his tingling limbs.
Then he realized he was not alone and threw himself backwards as a flickering light poured in from the small entrance, sliding over his grubby face and making his eyes water after so long in the dark. He held up a hand to shield his eyes from the painful light and squinted up at the figure in the doorway.
Fear flared through him as he looked up into Tindómëtir's glittering eyes, the hard planes of his face shadowed by the unsteady torchlight.
"Time to go, tithen (little one)," the dark elf smiled.
He was impeccably dressed in a white silk tunic, threaded with dark green embroidery of vines. A blue velvet mantle draped his elegant shoulders, sweeping the ground as he moved. The firelight gleamed off the gold ring on his finger and the pendant at his throat and glittered on his honey-colored hair as he faced the beautiful woman standing across from him.
"How can you defeat him? Thranduil is well-protected and the people's hearts are ever turned towards he and the Queen." Ainan smiled.
"The people care not as long as their own lives are undisturbed. They will accept me as their King." the elf said softly, daring her to laugh at him. "I too am a prince of Mirkwood." Eraeriel smiled and swayed closer, touching his face with gentle hands. The dark cloud of her hair framed her face like a veil and only her glittering eyes like night-shrouded stars shone in the dim lantern light.
"Allow me by your side, my lord, or should I say 'Your Majesty?'" Ainan's handsome face darkened in disapproval.
"Tis bad luck to call me such before the deed is done." Her coy smile faltered and fell as she looked up into his silver-blue eyes- cold as daggers. Ainan smiled chillingly as he cupped the subdued woman's chin in his long, white hands.
"Only a fool trusts a woman, my dear. And I am no fool."
She fell to her knees and looked up at him, her face pale in the moonlight as he stretched a hand towards her. She enfolded his bejeweled hand in hers and took it to her cheek, pressing a kiss to his fingers.
"Hir-nin, (my lord,)" she whispered. "Command me. I shall do whatever you ask."
"Of course you will," he said quietly, a dangerous grin lighting his face. He tilted her chin up to his eyes and raised her to her feet.
"The people await their King," he said into the silence with a wicked smile.
A rippling murmur spread over the crowd gathered in the palace courtyard as a figure appeared on the stairs above their heads. The elf raised his hands for silence and the people quieted almost instantly.
"Hail, my Good People! I come before you with most desperate news! Need has driven me to speak at last to you against the wishes of the King."
"He sought to deceive you, Good People. Pretending that all was well when in truth, there is trouble in this Kingdom. Treason wafts through the air like a foul cloud. In whom can we place our trust? Even your King dared not be honest with you- could not tell you the worst of what was done in this very palace. You perhaps have not heard of the attack on the King's councilor the night before?" Shocked murmurs and outraged exclamations met his ears and his expression darkened, hiding a small, satisfied smile.
"We should never have trusted these outsiders," Ainan continued, his honey tongued voice spilling over the ears of the elves who listened raptly. His silver-blue gaze flickered to where the elves of Lothlórien stood beneath the flying buttresses at the edge of the courtyard.
"They whose Queen lives in secrecy and sorcery in her hidden forest- allies of Kinslayers!"
"That lying-!"
"Ancadal," Haldir said sharply, making the name a command as more than several pairs of eyes flickered in their direction. The younger elf bowed his head in acknowledgment but his face was suffused with righteous anger. Haldir's face was grim and still, his hand tightly gripping his sword. Rameil was silent, his eyes fixed on the speaking figure.
"Thranduil trusted them- I fear to his downfall."
He seemed so humble and spoke so eloquently, their thoughts turned towards his.
Why hadn't Thranduil warned them? What had he to hide? What had happened? Their Regent promised them safety, protection, honesty and a vanishing of their problems.
Lóthmir's father shook his head, his expression one of utter disgust as he clasped his son's shoulder. He knew more about this affair than he had ever wished to and he cast his gaze to the flagstones in thought and horror.
Where was the King?
"How many more, Good People?" Ainan asked, raising his voice so that it echoed in every corner. "How many more- your soldiers, your friends, your children- will suffer before Thranduil is done and the Kingdom is brought down with him?"
Tirien and others looked up sharply as a clatter of hooves reached his ears and another murmur spread through the crowd like a pebble dropped into a still pond. The elves parted for the horse to pass through, its sides heaving and froth-lathered. The elf upon it looked, possibly, even worse. He rode right up the steps and collapsed at Ainan's feet, shaking on the stone stairs.
"We-we were attacked. They came from the trees," Kirar's tired voice gasped though it carried strangely through the ranks of the crowds and his words were repeated by those in front.
"The King… is gone."
Ainan squeezed Kirar's shoulder consolingly as he knelt on the steps, cradling the fallen soldier in his arms.
"He bears grievous news, my people," Ainan said quietly though his voice was heard by every elf in the courtyard. "The King's guard has been found- slain by brigands. The King is… gone." He paused for a moment as though overwhelmed by emotion.
Behind him, he heard Anariel inhale sharply. Legolas stood stricken, his face white in the orange glow of the candles. He looked cleaner than he had and a new tunic replaced the filthy one he had worn before. Tindómëtir stood attentively behind him, his dark gaze fixed on the speaker.
Ainan stood slowly, Kirar's blood staining his hands and robe. His long hair whipped around his face in the high wind.
"Do not fear!" he cried out to those whose faces were stricken. Women held their hands to their mouths with their husbands' arms wrapped around them. "He will be avenged! But we must see first to our needs. It seems that fate has granted us good fortune. We can start again and rise from the ashes of this tragedy- to greet the dawning of a new era!"
Ainan swept his hands out towards them, his eyes flickering in the torchlight, his gaze steady, unwavering, a reassuring smile alighting his face.
"Bring me your grievances as your King and I promise you the safety of your children and the fulfillment of promises too long left unfulfilled."
Their hearts were stirred by his words.
The flames of sedition had been fanned into a full-blown blaze. The younger ones, too young to remember old grievances, nodded their heads in agreement for his words seemed fair to them.
Haldir shook his head in despair, turned and walked back into the shadows of the hall, his heart and his steps heavy.
Legolas felt his heart stop beating at his uncle's words and he closed his eyes as Anariel turned to her ever-faithful guard, her face white and stricken.
"Is this true?"
Tirien looked up at her with wide, sorrowful eyes, horror clearly written on his features.
"We searched for them, hiril-nin (my lady) when they did not meet our other huntsmen near the river. The guards were found- slain by black arrows." The Royal Guard captain's face was very pale. "Of the King… there was no sign." Anariel's shaking fingers covered her mouth even as she enfolded her son in a tight embrace.
Legolas' face was utterly stricken.
His uncle had succeeded…
Lóthmir and Rinniad ran up to him, their faces as aghast as his own, he imagined. Rinniad wore the livery of a sentry of the palace, an honor just recently bestowed on him but he didn't care about that now.
"Valar, Legolas, I'm so sorry!" he gasped out, his eyes wide.
"Don't worry, Legolas, my father will find him," Lóthmir said stoutly with a faithful glance up at Tirien.
"If he's still alive," Rinniad put in despondently. The taller elf cuffed him.
"Don't be an idiot of course he's still alive!"
Legolas smiled slightly as his friends tried to reassure him but he knew better. He looked up as his uncle reappeared beside them his face a mask of sorrow but Legolas could have sworn he saw a gleam of triumph in those silver-blue eyes as Ainan enfolded his sister in his arms.
Sighing softly, Legolas looked away from his friends' concerned gazes and touched his fingertips to the cold stone, shuddering as he felt its chill- more to his heart than his skin. The living stone whispered to him. Though he was no dwarf, living beneath the stone had granted Legolas a small knowledge of their language- as he had of the trees.
The stones whispered of their secrets- of cold-blooded deeds, evil schemes and travesties unspeakable not with words but with senses- anger, outrage, disgust. These emotions whirled so swiftly through the young elf he pulled away, frightened and overwhelmed by the swollen flood that threatened to drown him.
"Legolas, you all right?" Rinniad's voice called him back to himself and the young prince shook himself, glancing at his friend, unsmilingly.
"Fine."
